And look, dyspeptic, brave, and kind, Here's Pyrrha, "golden-haired" at will; Asterie flirting,— Radiant, of course. We'll make her black, Ask her when Gyges' ship comes back. So with the rest. Who will may trace Defined as clearly; Science proceeds, and man stands still; As yours was, Horace! You alone, CUPID'S ALLEY A MORALITY O, Love's but a dance, Where Time plays the fiddle! See the couples advance,— O, Love's but a dance! A whisper, a glance,— "Shall we twirl down the middle?" O, Love's but a dance, Where Time plays the fiddle! T runs (so saith my Chronicler) IT Across a smoky City ; A Babel filled with buzz and whirr, Huge, gloomy, black and gritty ; Dark-louring looks the hill-side near, Dark-yawning looks the valley,But here 'tis always fresh and clear, For here is "Cupid's Alley." And, from an Arbour cool and green All day he plays,—a single tune !— The folks who ne'er have danced before, Can dance-in "Cupid's Alley." And here, for ages yet untold, Long, long before my ditty, Came high and low, and young and old, From out the crowded City; And still to-day they come, they go, And just as fancies tally, They foot it quick, they foot it slow, All day-in "Cupid's Alley." Strange Dance! 'Tis free to Rank and Rags ; Here no distinction flatters; Here Riches shakes its money-bags, And Poverty its tatters; Church, Army, Navy, Physic, Law; Maid, Mistress, Master, Valet ; Long locks, gray hairs, bald heads, and a',— Strange pairs! To laughing, light Fifteen Here capers Prudence thrifty; Here Prodigal leads down the green A blushing Maid of fifty; Some treat it as a serious thing, And some but shilly-shally; And some have danced without the ring (Ah me!)-in "Cupid's Alley." And sometimes one to one will dance, And some, they know not how nor why, And some will dance an age or so Who came for half a minute; And some, who like the game, will go And some will vow they're "danced to death," Strange cures are wrought (mine Author saith), Strange cures !—in "Cupid's Alley." It may be one will dance to-day, It may be one will steal away For till that City's wheel-work vast And shuddering beams shall crumble ;— And till that Fiddler lean at last From off his seat shall tumble ; Till then (the Civic records say), Of Go and Stay, of Yea and Nay, |