"Beware the Ministerial branch- "Obstructionists!" At noon that day O'Donnell craved "Obstructionists!" The chaplain came his usual round, To crush that band, not over nice--- But late on that eventful day The "stumbling blocks" were kicked away; South Africa rejoiced afar, And Biggar moaned, "It's done we are!"— "Obstructionists!" His hair was dark, and you could trace The liveried myrmidon but jeered, 66 Respectfully Dedicated to the Author of “ The Bridge." I SAT in the Rink at midday; The clocks were striking the hour, But you would not have known, for the April sun I saw the raindrops falling In puddles in the street, And I envied the throng that was passing along And far in the hazy distance Of that dripping April day, My snug hearth fire gleam'd redder and higher, The rattle of wheels rang round me, And groups of the fair, with dishevelled hair, E'en I, in a moment of madness, Had snatched at the fatal cup, And my rollers were on, but I sat all alone, And like those rinkers rolling In the days that had gone by, I had waltzed in that room at midnight, How often, oh, how often, I had wished that a cab from afar, For my limbs were hot and restless, But now it is changed and vanished, And I think how many thousands I see the long procession, Still tottering to and fro, The young feet clumsy and rapid, And for ever, and for ever, As long as the raindrops fall, As long as we've angling ladies, (And angular too) at all, The Rink and its ceaseless rollers, The Figaro, June 14, 1876. KIT NUBBLES THE WHITEFRIARGATE Bridge. I stood on the bridge at midnight, I stood and recalled how savage, I was stopped by that bridge at midday, Respectfully Dedicated to the Author of "The Bridge." I SAT in the Rink at midday; The clocks were striking the hour, But you would not have known, for the April sun Was quenched in a copious shower. I saw the raindrops falling In puddles in the street, And I envied the throng that was passing along And far in the hazy distance Of that dripping April day, My snug hearth fire gleam'd redder and higher, The rattle of wheels rang round me, And groups of the fair, with dishevelled hair, E'en I, in a moment of madness, Had snatched at the fatal cup, And like those rinkers rolling In the days that had gone by, I had waltzed in that room at midnight, How often, oh, how often, I had wished that a cab from afar, For my limbs were hot and restless, But now it is changed and vanished, Yet whenever I watch these rinkers And I think how many thousands I see the long procession, Still tottering to and fro, The young feet clumsy and rapid, And for ever, and for ever, As long as the raindrops fall, As long as we've angling ladies, (And angular too) at all, The Rink and its ceaseless rollers, The Figaro, June 14, 1876. KIT NUBBLES THE WHITEFRIARGATE BRIDGE, I stood on the bridge at midnight, I stood and recalled how savage, I was stopped by that bridge at midday, |