A GLIMPSE OF GRETNA GREEN, IN THE DISTANCE

“My Kate, at the Waterloo column,

To-morrow, precisely at eight;

Remember, thy promise was solemn,

And — thine till to-morrow, my Kate!”

That evening seem’ d strangely to linger,

The licence and luggage were packt,

And Time, with a long and short finger,

Approvingly mark’ d me exact.

Arrived, woman’ s constancy blessing,

No end of nice people I see,

Some hither, some thitherwards pressing,

But none of them waiting for me.

Time passes, my watch how I con it,

I see her — she’ s coming — no, stuff!

Instead of Kate’ s smart little bonnet,

It is aunt and her wonderful muff!

( Yes! Fortune deserves to be chidden,

It is a coincidence queer,

Whenever one wants to be hidden,

One’ s relatives always appear. )

Near nine! how the passers despise me,

They smile at my anguish, I think;

And even the sentinel eyes me,

And tips that policeman the wink.

Ah! Kate made me promises solemn,

At eight she had vow’ d to be mine;

While waiting for one at this column,

I find I’ ve been waiting for nine.

O Fame! on thy pillar so steady,

Some dupes watch beneath thee in vain:

How many have done it already!

How many will do it again!