Then "home, sweet home!" the crowded coach--
The joyous shout--the loud approach--
The winding horns like rams'!
The meeting sweet that made me thrill,
The sweetmeats, almost sweeter still,
No 'satis' to the 'jams'!--


XVII.

When that I was a tiny boy
My days and nights were full of joy,
My mates were blithe and kind!
No wonder that I sometimes sigh,
And dash the tear-drop from my eye,
To cast a look behind!




BALLAD.


It was not in the Winter
Our loving lot was cast;
It was the Time of Roses,--
We plucked them as we passed!

That churlish season never frown'd