"She was sweet," thought I, "last season, but 'twere surely wild unreason
"Such a tiny hope to freeze on as was offered by my Star,
"When she whispered, something sadly:—'I—we feel your going badly?'"
"And you let the chance escape you?" rapped the rattling tonga-bar.
"What a chance and what an idiot!" clinked the vicious tonga-bar.
Heart of man—Oh heart of putty! Had I gone by Kakahutti,
On the old Hill-road and rutty, I had 'scaped that fatal car:
But his fortune each must bide by, so I watched the milestones slide by.
To—"You call on Her to-morrow!"—fugue with cymbals by the bar—
"You must call on Her to-morrow!"—post-horn gallop by the bar.
With a double lurch and roll on, best foot foremost, ganz und gar—
Yet a further stage my goal on—we were whirling down to Solon,