SAINT CHARLES

Saint Charles! ah yes, let other men

Love Elia for his antic pen,

And watch with dilettante eyes

His page for every quaint surprise,

Curious of caviare phrase.

Yea; these who will not also praise?

We surely must, but which is more

The motley that his sorrow wore,

Or the great heart whose valorous beat

Upheld his brave unfaltering feet

Along the narrow path he chose,

And followed faithful to the close?

Yea, Elia, thank thee for thy wit,

How poor our laughter, lacking it!

For all thy gillyflowers of speech

Gramercy, Elia; but most rich

Are we, most holpen, when we meet

Thee and thy Bridget in the street,

Upon that tearful errand set —

So often trod, so patient yet!