OUR TABLE GIRL.
“O, those girls!Naughty, laughing, beautiful girls.”—Old Song.
“O, those girls!Naughty, laughing, beautiful girls.”—Old Song.
“O, those girls!Naughty, laughing, beautiful girls.”—Old Song.
“O, those girls!
Naughty, laughing, beautiful girls.”—Old Song.
I commenced boarding in a new place to-day, and am completely smitten by the charming table girl—
Oh, she is young and bright and fair,With midnight eyes and inky hair,Which unconfined, without a check,Falls round a plump and snowy neck.Oh, sweet she bends above my chairLike Juno, when old Jove’s her care,And as she stoops to hear me speak,Soft falls her breath upon my cheek,And I forget (true as I live)The order that I fain would give.Before her dark and earnest eyesMy appetite distracted flies,And though I hungry sit me down,I rise full as a country clownWho by a picnic table stands,And shovels in with both his hands.’Tis true, at times the humble boardDoes but a scant repast afford;At times we grumble at the bread,Or at the butter shake the head;And oft the whisper circles roundAbout the mystery profound,That may within the hash repose,And any fateful stir disclose.But still we linger, still we stay,And hope for better things each day;Thus proving that one winning faceCan keep from bankruptcy the place.
Oh, she is young and bright and fair,With midnight eyes and inky hair,Which unconfined, without a check,Falls round a plump and snowy neck.Oh, sweet she bends above my chairLike Juno, when old Jove’s her care,And as she stoops to hear me speak,Soft falls her breath upon my cheek,And I forget (true as I live)The order that I fain would give.Before her dark and earnest eyesMy appetite distracted flies,And though I hungry sit me down,I rise full as a country clownWho by a picnic table stands,And shovels in with both his hands.’Tis true, at times the humble boardDoes but a scant repast afford;At times we grumble at the bread,Or at the butter shake the head;And oft the whisper circles roundAbout the mystery profound,That may within the hash repose,And any fateful stir disclose.But still we linger, still we stay,And hope for better things each day;Thus proving that one winning faceCan keep from bankruptcy the place.
Oh, she is young and bright and fair,With midnight eyes and inky hair,Which unconfined, without a check,Falls round a plump and snowy neck.Oh, sweet she bends above my chairLike Juno, when old Jove’s her care,And as she stoops to hear me speak,Soft falls her breath upon my cheek,And I forget (true as I live)The order that I fain would give.Before her dark and earnest eyesMy appetite distracted flies,And though I hungry sit me down,I rise full as a country clownWho by a picnic table stands,And shovels in with both his hands.’Tis true, at times the humble boardDoes but a scant repast afford;At times we grumble at the bread,Or at the butter shake the head;And oft the whisper circles roundAbout the mystery profound,That may within the hash repose,And any fateful stir disclose.But still we linger, still we stay,And hope for better things each day;Thus proving that one winning faceCan keep from bankruptcy the place.
Oh, she is young and bright and fair,
With midnight eyes and inky hair,
Which unconfined, without a check,
Falls round a plump and snowy neck.
Oh, sweet she bends above my chair
Like Juno, when old Jove’s her care,
And as she stoops to hear me speak,
Soft falls her breath upon my cheek,
And I forget (true as I live)
The order that I fain would give.
Before her dark and earnest eyes
My appetite distracted flies,
And though I hungry sit me down,
I rise full as a country clown
Who by a picnic table stands,
And shovels in with both his hands.
’Tis true, at times the humble board
Does but a scant repast afford;
At times we grumble at the bread,
Or at the butter shake the head;
And oft the whisper circles round
About the mystery profound,
That may within the hash repose,
And any fateful stir disclose.
But still we linger, still we stay,
And hope for better things each day;
Thus proving that one winning face
Can keep from bankruptcy the place.