The harp that once through Music Halls
Sheer maddening rapture shed,
Now hangs as mute on willow-walls
As though that Boom were dead.
So dims the pride of former days,
So fame's fine thrill is o'er,
And throngs who once yelled high with praise,
Now find the Boom a bore.
No more to toffs and totties bright
Thy tones, "Ta-ra-ra" swell.
The gloom that hailed my turn to-night
Sad tales of "staleness" tell.
The Chorus now will seldom wake,
The old mad cheers who gives?
And LOTTIE some new ground must break
To prove that still she lives.
_She harketh back to the old strain:--_
What would you do now if distant tidings,
Thy fame's confidings should undermine,--
Of some "Star" abiding 'neath other skies,
In the public eyes yet more bright than thine?
Oh, name it not! 'Twould bring shade and shame
On my new-made name, and it can't be true.
This far fame of mine, did some rival share it,
I could not bear it--what _would_ I do?
What would you do, now, if home returning,
With anger burning at the fickle crew,
You found the prospect of another Boom,
To dispel your gloom--ah! what would you do?
Why then by Ta-Ra, I'd bless the morrow
And banish sorrow, and raise my "screw."
I'd re-string this Harp hung no more on the willow,
And with tears my pillow no more bedew.
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