Part 105 (1/2)

Now wrap thy cloak about thee-- The hours must sure go wrong, For when they're past without thee, They're, oh, ten times as long.

WATCHMAN.

Past three o'clock--past three.

Again that dreadful warning!

Had ever time such flight?

And see the sky, 'tis morning-- So now, _indeed_, good night.

WATCHMAN.

Past three o'clock--past three.

Goodnight, good night.

SAY, WHAT SHALL WE DANCE?

Say, what shall we dance?

Shall we bound along the moonlight plain, To music of Italy, Greece, or Spain?

Say, what shall we dance?

Shall we, like those who rove Thro' bright Grenada's grove, To the light Bolero's measures move?

Or choose the Guaracia's languis.h.i.+ng lay, And thus to its sound die away?

Strike the gay chords, Let us hear each strain from every sh.o.r.e That music haunts, or young feet wander o'er.

Hark! 'tis the light march, to whose measured time, The Polish lady, by her lover led, Delights thro' gay saloons with step untried to tread, Or sweeter still, thro' moonlight walks Whose shadows serve to hide The blush that's raised by who talks Of love the while by her side, Then comes the smooth waltz, to whose floating sound Like dreams we go gliding around, Say, which shall we dance? which shall we dance?

THE EVENING GUN.

Remember'st thou that setting sun, The last I saw with thee, When loud we heard the evening gun Peal o'er the twilight sea?

Boom!--the sounds appeared to sweep Far o'er the verge of day,

Till, into realms beyond the deep, They seemed to die away.