A GLIMPSE OF GRETNA GREEN, IN THE DISTANCE
Reading edition
“My Kate, at the Waterloo column, To-morrow, precisely at eight; Remember, thy promise was solemn, And—thine till to-morrow, my Kate!”
* * * * *
That evening seem’d strangely to linger, The licence and luggage were packt, And Time, with a long and short finger, Approvingly mark’d me exact.
Arrived, woman’s constancy blessing, No end of nice people I see, Some hither, some thitherwards pressing, But none of them waiting for me.
Time passes, my watch how I con it, I see her—she’s coming—no, stuff! Instead of Kate’s smart little bonnet, It is aunt and her wonderful muff!
(Yes! Fortune deserves to be chidden, It is a coincidence queer, Whenever one wants to be hidden, One’s relatives always appear.)
Near nine! how the passers despise me, They smile at my anguish, I think; And even the sentinel eyes me, And tips that policeman the wink.
Ah! Kate made me promises solemn, At eight she had vow’d to be mine; While waiting for one at this column, I find I’ve been waiting for nine.
O Fame! on thy pillar so steady, Some dupes watch beneath thee in vain: How many have done it already! How many will do it again!