Is far from being Bacchanal;
For, though there come from Chiswick Eyot
Soft sounds of something going on
Where the wild herons congregate
And revel madly with the swan,
You might suppose the people dead.
You mustn't; they have gone to bed.

No extra forces of police
Were needed here at Armistice;
No little European Peace
Could tamper with a peace like this.
Yet on the Eve of this New Year
A strange degrading thing occurred;
A startled Chiswick woke to hear
Such noise as she has never heard,
The sound of dance and singing at
About eleven. O my hat!

Yes, it was bad. But what is worse
They know not yet who broke the code,
And the dread Chiswick Fathers' curse
Still hovers sadly, unbestowed
Nay, there are wild false tales about
And hideous accusations made;
Men say old Piper led the rout
With that young fellow from "The Glade,"
While old maids murmur with a tear,
"I'm told it was the Rector, dear."