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And look, dyspeptic, brave, and kind,
Comes dear Mæcenas, half behind
Terentia's skirting;

Here's Pyrrha, "golden-haired" at will;
Prig Damasippus, preaching still;

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
Behind the new each elder face

Defined as clearly;

Science proceeds, and man stands still;
Our "world" to-day's as good or ill,-
As cultured (nearly),—

As yours was, Horace! You alone,
Unmatched, unmet, we have not known.

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
With aspect down the middle,
An ancient Fiddler, gray and lean,
Scrapes on an ancient fiddle;
Alert he seems, but aged enow
To punt the Stygian galley ;-
With wisp of forelock on his brow,
He plays-in "Cupid's Alley."

All day he plays,—a single tune !—
But, by the oddest chances,
Gavotte, or Brawl, or Rigadoon,
It suits all kinds of dances;
My Lord may walk a pas de Cour
To Jenny's pas de Chalet;-

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',—
They bob-in "Cupid's Alley."

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 think of one behind her;
And one by one will stand, perchance,
Yet look all ways to find her;
Some seek a partner with a sigh,
Some win him with a sally;

And some, they know not how nor why,
Strange fate of " Cupid's Alley."

And some will dance an age or so

Who came for half a minute;

And some, who like the game, will go
Before they well begin it;

And some will vow they're "danced to death,"
Who (somehow) always rally;

Strange cures are wrought (mine Author saith), Strange cures !—in "Cupid's Alley."

It may be one will dance to-day,
And dance no more to-morrow;

It may be one will steal away
And nurse a life-long sorrow;
What then? The rest advance, evade,
Unite, dispart, and dally,
Re-set, coquet, and gallopade,
Not less-in "Cupid's Alley."

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),
This quaint, fantastic ballet

Of Go and Stay, of Yea and Nay,
Must last-in "Cupid's Alley."

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