Then with the arbour's rustic-like assistance,

And nimble Cupid with his bow close by,

The various colours melting in the distance

Lent quite a pleasing aspect to the eye,

And perhaps produced the very faintest sigh

For such-like beauties on a larger scale,

Where sweeping meadows meet the azure sky,

And florid milk-maids bear their bounteous pail,

And breezes waft the sound of winnow and of flail.

XXII.

'Twas here papa did often love to wander,

First in the shade, now in the pleasant sun,

And peep at this and that, and hurry yonder,

To see some potting properly begun;

He strolled to-day, a regular Big Gun,

Around the precincts of his bright domain,

His egg and toast dispatched. (Forgive the pun,

I promise I won't do the same again;

Frivolities like these oft run across the grain.)[9]

[9]

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