And a prophet (so they said) 

 After sunset thro' the taverns 

 Loud proclaimed the custom dead. 

 This a legend of old Persia 

 Of an earlier happier day 

 Of a happy happy people— 

 How they ended none can say. 

 

 

 The Enchanted Gipsy. 

 "Gilda, Gilda, my ragged child, 

 Where have you been, 

 In the lane, the green lane, or the heather, 

 My little queen?" 

 "Honey mother, sweet little mother, 

 Oh! my old grey mummy, 

 It's the blood of berries on my skirt 

 Makes me look rummy." 

 "There is no juice on your coral lips, 

 Your amber eyes are wild, 

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