A BARREN "IDEALTY."

This song that I sing— It is not of a spring, Nor yet of a silvery stream— But of a vision bright Which came last night In the garb of a blissful dream— When I thought, as I lay, It was Thanksgiving Day, And I was invited to dine Where a table stood On which everything good Spread a feast that was almost divine! Where the savors arose, Right under my nose, From turkey—and pumpkin pies; And from jolly roast pig Were slices as big As some of the campaign lies! And celery so white 'Twas a thing of delight To bite the crisp stalks in two. And the cranberry sauce— Oh, I tell you 'twas boss— And flanked by an oyster stew! Where the bread and the cake— The best they can bake— Were cut into slices heroic. And the amber ice cream Melted into my dream Like love to the heart of a 'poet'; And they heaped up my plate, And I sat there and ate Till I awoke with a yell, And a shiver and shake And a pain and an ache That rudely my dream did dispel! But dreams, as you know, By contraries go, And thus I fear if it will be With the one of delight That came last night When I feasted so heartily; And Thanksgiving Day In the usual way Will come to me, don't you see, And the dinner I had And the ache that was bad Prove a——barren "idealty"!