When matters are desperate we must put on a desperate face.
Dweller in yon dungeon dark, Hangman of creation, mark! Who in widow weeds appears, Laden with unhonoured years, Noosing with care a bursting purse, Baited with many a deadly curse?
And like a passing thought, she fled In light away.
Why has a religious turn of mind always a tendency to narrow and harden the heart?
I'm truly sorry man's dominion has broken Nature's social union.
As Tammie glow'red, amazed and curious, The mirth and fun grew fast and furious.