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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)
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 Wedding Guests (in number three ) ?— Why are they all defrauded ?
The men who worked the cataract?
The plush-clad carpet lifters ?— Where is the countless host, in fact, Whose cue is not to speak, but act,— The "supers" and the shifters ?
Think what a crowd whom none recall,
Unsung,-unpraised,-unpitied ;Women for whom no bouquets fall, And men whose names no galleries bawl,— The Great un Benefit-ed!
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 mother with her lines of care;
The noisy, red-cheeked nursery-maid,
The Frenchman with his frogs and braid ;—
If possible, the small, dusk bird
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. And then,-
To whom that hour of listening men
But "Art for Art !" the Poet said,
That sings where no men's feet will tread,