(_Ballad, by Milton Featherly Jonsone_.)
[Illustration: Rose on the Swell.]
The roses were blowing, like whales in the sea
Where the apple-bloom icebergs plunged fearless and free,
And the larks carolled madly their high jubilee
In the ether.
The daisies ran riot in sunshine and shade,
And the call of the cuckoo was heard from the glade,
Where Summer with mellow monotony play'd
On her zither.
_Tempo di Valse_.
Ho, larks and roses!
Hey, the bonny weather!
Hey, we rose at morning prime;
Ho, we lark'd together!
'Mid roses and larks in our shallop we glide
By Inglesham poplars, on Teddington's tide,
Where the water of Thame under Sinodun slide,
And at Marlow,
By Cliveden's green caverns, and Abingdon's walls,
Where wirgles the Windrush, where Eynsham weir falls,
By Sonning, or Sandford (whose lasher recalls
_Mr. Barlow_).
_Con tenerezza_.
Oh, larks, and ro(w)ses
On the shining river;
Silver water-lilies, love;
Love will last for ever!
But the blooms turn'd to apples for urchins to munch,
And the roses were sold at a penny a bunch,
And the larks were served up for an Alderman's lunch,
Dead and cold, love;
And the lustre has faded from tresses and cheek,
And the eyes do not sparkle, the eyes that I seek,
And the temper is strong and the logic is weak
Of my old love.
_Snuffiamente_.
No larks and roses
In a winter gloaming;
Ruby-red love's nose is;
Chilblain time a-coming'.
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+The Watchword of the Sugar-Bounty Conference.+--"England expects that
every man (and woman) will pay an import duty."
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+Latest French Cookery.+--Spilling the +Grevy+.
[Illustration: HOW WE ADVERTISE NOW.]
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[Illustration: "SABLES."
_Pastor_. "+How I do regret, my dear Madam, to see you wearing these sad
Habiliments of Woe!+" _Widow_. "+'M ye-es. Black never did suit
me!+"]
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