-----
[Illustration]
Night it was--nay, nearer morning,
Snores and nightmares whisked about,
And the pallid moon gave warning
That her lamp was nearly out.
Twain we sat, and ruminated
On the world, its joys and ills,
What we loved, and what we hated,
Woman, wine--exams and bills.
[Illustration]
Often, too, with short-lived splendour,
Flashed the ready epigram,
Thoughts we uttered, soft and tender,
Ending in a smothered "----";
All the truths and lies of ages
Compassed we in one short breath,
Flouted whims of priests and sages,
Lightly toyed with life and death.
[Illustration]
Men and manners, saints and sinners,
All and more we touched upon,
How the worst were ever winners,
For _we_ yet had never won;
And we cursed at superstition,
Villain smiles, and sects, and cants,
Hurled to ruin and perdition
All the tribe of sycophants--
[Illustration]
Queried, thinking of cold faces,
Colder hearts of living stone,
Why our lot within such places,
Why upon such days was thrown;
In our years' maturing crescent
Spied we how our fate was fraught,
Spanned the future and the present
With the flimsy bridge of thought.
So the morn came, pale and haggard,
Lighting up our sunken eyes,
And we rose and thither staggered
Whence we would but slowly rise;
Plain our footsteps, weak and frisky,
Told their moral--speak who can--
Midnight words and midnight whiskey
Play the devil with a man!
[Illustration]
[Illustration: (FROM A PHOTOGRAPH BY MESSRS. ELLIOTT AND FRY.)]
My First Book.