POETRY.
A DUBLIN STREET DANCE. THERE'S nothing in life like a Jig or a Reel ; First a tap with your toe, then a drum with your heel, And now doable-shuffle, and next heel-and-toe, And then turn your partner as over you go.
And as you grow warmer your muscles grow free, And looser your ankle, and looser your knee; And you' re in your glory : hurroo ! arrah, then Old men become boys, and gossoons become men. Play faster the music ! it isn't a wake : Yes, faster and loud, till you make the walls shake. And see, as the notes our shoe-leather inspire, From the cold English pavement* we tread out the fire.
Till age tells at last, and the elders drop off; And as each turns his tail, all the young colleens scoff ; While them that remains, though they hallo and whoop, 'Tis as plain as a pike they're beginning to droop.
And now, at long last, there remain but one pair, Who a halo of glory and eminence wear, Forby they have danced all the company down : With a naggin of whiskey the darlings let's crown !
A. F. G.
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