Near Albury, so runs my lay,
All in a meadow green,
One desperately sultry day,
A weeping MAID was seen.
“Oh for a parasol!” she cried,
“Or a balloon, to go
And dwell on some far MOUNTAIN-side,
Whose peak is crowned with snow!
“I roam this FIELD with weary tread,
Heavy as roly-poly—
This field where (as some Poet said)
‘The lowing herd winds slowly.’”
Just then a BOY runs up to beg—
An orphan (so he pleads)
Who, deaf and dumb, with but one leg,
Two aged parents feeds.
“Little have I to give or lend,”
Quoth she: “my wealth is small—
ONE SHILLING’S WORTH OF HALFPENCE, friend.
Please do not take it all!”
The orphan snatched the purse and fled,
Not at the pace of snails,
But like a TRAIN that goes ahead
And skims along the rails!