<h2><SPAN name="page51"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>PRECIOUS STONES.<br/> <span class="GutSmall">AN INCIDENT IN MODERN HISTORY.</span></h2>
<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">My</span>
Cherrystones! I prize them,<br/>
No tongue can tell how much!<br/>
Each lady caller eyes them,<br/>
And madly longs to touch!<br/>
At eve I lift them down, I look<br/>
Upon them, and I cry;<br/>
Recalling how my Prince ‘partook’<br/>
(Sweet word!) of cherry-pie!</p>
<p class="poetry">To me it was an Era<br/>
In life, that Dejeuner!<br/>
They ate, they sipp’d Madeira<br/>
Much in the usual way.<br/>
<SPAN name="page52"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>Many a
soft item there would be,<br/>
No doubt, upon the carte:<br/>
But one made life a heaven to me:<br/>
It was the cherry-tart.</p>
<p class="poetry">Lightly the spoonfuls enter’d<br/>
That mouth on which the gaze<br/>
Of ten fair girls was centred<br/>
In rapturous amaze.<br/>
Soon that august assemblage clear’d<br/>
The dish; and—as they ate—<br/>
The stones, all coyly, re-appear’d<br/>
On each illustrious plate.</p>
<p class="poetry">And when His Royal Highness<br/>
Withdrew to take the air,<br/>
Waiving our natural shyness,<br/>
We swoop’d upon his chair.<br/>
<SPAN name="page53"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>Policemen
at our garments clutch’d:<br/>
We mock’d those feeble powers;<br/>
And soon the treasures that had touch’d<br/>
Exalted lips were ours!</p>
<p class="poetry">One large one—at the moment<br/>
It seem’d almost divine—<br/>
Was got by that Miss Beaumont:<br/>
And three, O three, are mine!<br/>
Yes! the three stones that rest beneath<br/>
Glass, on that plain deal shelf,<br/>
Stranger, once dallied with the teeth<br/>
Of Royalty itself.</p>
<p class="poetry">Let Parliament abolish<br/>
Churches and States and Thrones:<br/>
With reverent hand I’ll polish<br/>
Still, still my Cherrystones!<br/>
<SPAN name="page54"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>A
clod—a piece of orange-peel<br/>
An end of a cigar—<br/>
Once trod on by a Princely heel,<br/>
How beautiful they are!</p>
<p class="poetry">Years since, I climb’d Saint Michael<br/>
His Mount:—you’ll all go there<br/>
Of course, and those who like’ll<br/>
Sit in Saint Michael’s Chair:<br/>
For there I saw, within a frame,<br/>
The pen—O heavens! the pen—<br/>
With which a Duke had sign’d his name,<br/>
And other gentlemen.</p>
<p class="poetry">“Great among geese,” I faltered,<br/>
“Is she who grew that quill!”<br/>
And, Deathless Bird, unalter’d<br/>
Is mine opinion still.<br/>
<SPAN name="page55"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>Yet
sometimes, as I view my three<br/>
Stones with a thoughtful brow,<br/>
I think there possibly might be<br/>
E’en greater geese than thou.</p>
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