O TEMPORA MUTANTUR!

Yes, here, once more, a traveller, I find the Angel Inn, Where landlord, maids, and serving-men Receive me with a grin: They surely can't remember me, My hair is grey and scanter; I'm changed, so changed since I was here— "O tempora mutantur!" The Angel's not much altered since That sunny month of June, Which brought me here with Pamela To spend our honeymoon! I recollect it down to e'en The shape of this decanter,— We've since been both much put about— "O tempora mutantur!" Ay, there's the clock, and looking-glass Reflecting me again; She vowed her Love was very fair— I see I'm very plain. And there's that daub of Prince Leeboo: 'Twas Pamela's fond banter To fancy it resembled me— "O tempora mutantur!" The curtains have been dyed; but there, Unbroken, is the same, The very same cracked pane of glass On which I scratched her name. Yes, there's her tiny flourish still, It used to so enchant her To link two happy names in one— "O tempora mutantur!" * * * * * What brought this wanderer here, and why Was Pamela away? It might be she had found her grave, Or he had found her gay. The fairest fade; the best of men May meet with a supplanter;— I wish the times would change their cry Of "tempora mutantur."