EHEU FUGACES —!

The air is charged with amatory numbers —

Soft madrigals, and dreamy lovers’ lays.

Peace, peace, old heart! Why waken from its slumbers

The aching memory of the old, old days?

Time was when Love and I were well acquainted.

Time was when we walked ever hand in hand;

A saintly youth, with worldly thought untainted,

None better-loved than I in all the land!

Time was, when maidens of the noblest station,

Forsaking even military men,

Would gaze upon me, rapt in adoration —

Ah, me, I was a fair young curate then!

Had I a headache? sighed the maids assembled;

Had I a cold? welled forth the silent tear;

Did I look pale? then half a parish trembled;

And when I coughed all thought the end was near!

I, had no care — no jealous doubts hung o'er me —

For I was loved beyond all other men.

Fled gilded dukes and belted earls before me!

Ah, me! I was a pale young curate then!