They tell me my hat is old!
I scarce believe it so;
But since I'm uncivilly told
The dear old thing must go,
I bid thee farewell, old hat,
Good hat!
Farewell to thee, good old hat!
I must soon to the city his,
And trudge to some horrid store,
A smart new tile to buy,
With a heart exceedingly sore,
For I cast off a long-tried friend,
A close friend,--
I'm ashamed of a trusty old friend.
Ah, let me remember with tears
The day thou wast first my own,
When I settled thee over my ears,
Then with soap-locks overgrown.
"Hurra for a beaver hat,
A sleek hat!
A cheer for a sleek beaver hat!"
That day is in memory green
Among those that were all of that hue;
Sweet days of my youth! Ah! I've seen
But too many since that were _blue_.
How smooth was our front, my hat,
My first hat!
Unbent were our brows, my first hat!
The first dent,--what a sorrow it was!
Were it only my skull instead!
Indignant I think on the cause,
And pommel my stupid head.
I was new to the care of a hat,
A tall hat,--
Unworthy to wear a tall hat.
The omnibus portal, low-browed,
Had ne'er grazed my humble cap,
But it knocked off my beaver so proud,
Which into a puddle fell slap.
Alas for my dignified hat,
My proud hat!
Woe to my lofty-crowned hat!
It survived, but it had a weak side,
And so had its wearer, perchance,
Since I left it on stairs to abide,
At a house where I went to a dance.
A lady ran into my hat,
My poor hat!
She demolished my invalid hat!