The stately streets of London

Are always "up" in Spring,

To ordinary minds an ex-

traordinary thing.

Then cabs across strange ridges bound,

Or sink in holes, abused

With words resembling not, in sound,

Those Mrs. Hemans used.

The miry streets of London,

Dotted with lamps by night;

What pitfalls where the dazzled eye

Sees doubly ruddy light!

For in the season, just in May,

When many meetings meet,

The jocund vestry starts away,

And closes all the street.

The shut-up streets of London!

How willingly one jumps

From where one's cab must stop through pools

Of mud, in dancing pumps!

When thus one skips on miry ways

One's pride is much decreased,

Like Mrs. Gilpin's, for one's "chaise"

Is "three doors off" at least.

The free, fair streets of London

Long, long, in vestry hall,

May heads of native thickness rise,

When April showers fall;

And green for ever be the men

Who spend the rates in May,

By stopping all the traffic then

In such a jocose way!