His Christmas dinner on that day
He tackled with a vim;
And thanked his stars, as shuddering
He thought upon his swim,
That that wild pickerel had not
Spent Christmas eating him.
THE LOST EXPRESSION.
BY MARSHALL STEELE.
Oh! I fell in love with Dora, and my heart was all a-glow,
For I never met before a girl who took my fancy so;
She had eyes--no! cheeks a-blushing with the peach's ripening flush,
Was ecstatically gushing--and I like a girl to gush.
She'd the loveliest of faces, and the goldenest of hair,
And all customary graces lovers fancy in the fair.
Now, she doated on romances, she was yearnful and refined,
She had sentimental fancies of a most aesthetic kind,
She was sensitive, fantastic, tender, too, as she was fair,
But alas! she was not plastic, as I owned in my despair.
And, for all she was so gentle, yet she gave me this rebuff--
Though I might be sentimental, I'd not sentiment enough.
Then I _did_ grow sentimental, for that seemed to be my part,
And I talked in transcendental fashion that might move her heart,
Sighed to live in fairy grottoes with my Dora all alone,
And I studied cracker mottoes, which I quoted as my own.
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