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BEFORE THE CURTAIN.
ISS PEACOCK 's called." And who demurs?
If praise be due, one sure prefers
That some such face as fresh as hers
And yet, most strange to say, I find
(E'en bards are sometimes prosy) Her presence here but brings to mind That undistinguished crowd behind For whom life's not so rosy.
The pleased young premier led her on,
And where that best of Mothers?
Where is "Sir Lumley Leycester, Bart."?
Where is the cool Detective,—he
The Lawyer, who refused the fee ?—
The men who worked the cataract?
Think what a crowd whom none recall,
Ah, Reader, ere you turn the page,
A NIGHTINGale in KENSINGTON GARDENS. 169
A NIGHTINGALE IN KENSINGTON
HEY paused,-the cripple in the chair,
The noisy, red-cheeked nursery-maid,
The Frenchman with his frogs and braid ;—
If possible, the small, dusk bird
Had poured the joyous chant they heard,
And one poor POET stopped and thought—
That bird had sung ere fortune brought
It near the common way,
Where the crowd hears the note.
But "Art for Art !" the Poet said,
That sings where no men's feet will tread,