Adventure of a Poet
As I was walking down the street
A week ago,
Near Henderson's I chanced to meet
A man I know.
His name is Alexander Bell,
His home, Dundee;
I do not know him quite so well
As he knows me.
He gave my hand a hearty shake,
Discussed the weather,
And then proposed that we should take
A stroll together.
Down College Street we took our way,
And there we met
The beautiful Miss Mary Gray,
That arch coquette,
Who stole last spring my heart away
And has it yet.
That smile with which my bow she greets,
Would it were fonder!
Or else less fond-since she its sweets
On all must squander.
Thus, when I meet her in the streets,
I sadly ponder,
And after her, as she retreats,
My thoughts will wander.
And so I listened with an air
Of inattention,
While Bell described a folding-chair
Of his invention.
And when we reached the Swilcan Burn,
'It looks like rain,'
Said I, 'and we had better turn.'
'Twas all in vain,
For Bell was weather-wise, and knew
The signs aerial;
He bade me note the strip of blue
Above the Imperial,
Also another patch of sky,
South-west by south,
Which meant that we might journey dry
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poem by Robert Fuller Murray
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