Oracles

THE LITTLE HALF-SOVEREIGN I7 Then to the shrieks of devils Writhing in torments keen, Sing me the song that tells me Ever of Walham Green. Sing of the little half-sovereign Dancing in golden sheen ; Leave me in Hell—or, better, Leave me in Walham Green. [The occasion of this poem was the meeting of the author with a fair and virtuous damsel of pleasant address and conversation. She politely asked him to call at her residence on the following Sunday : but, on his doing so, she straightway demanded half-a-sovereign, and proffered a shameful equivalent. The indignant boy went off and gave vent to his feeling in the above rhymes.—R. P. L.]