Policeman deemed that he was meant
Profound detective deeds to do,
And that repose was mean.

Now there was nothing to detect
Pomona Road along -
None faked a cly, nor cracked a crib,
Nor prigged a wipe, nor told a fib,--
Minds cultivated and select
Slip rarely into wrong!

Thus bored to desolation went
The Peeler on his beat;
He know not Love, he did not care,
If Love be born on mountains bare;
Nay, crime to punish, or prevent,
Was more than dalliance sweet!

The weary wanderer, day by day,
Was marked by Howard Fry -
A neighbouring philanthropist,
Who saw what that Policeman missed -
A sympathetic 'Well-a-day'
He'd moan, and pipe his eye.

'What CAN I do,' asked Howard Fry,
'To soothe that brother's pain?
His glance when first we met was keen,
Most martial and erect his mien'
(What mien may mean, I know not I)