EELER! hast thou found my treasure,—

Hast thou seen my vanish'd Fair?

Flora of the raven ringlets,

Flora of the shining hair?

Tell me quick, and no palaver,

For I am a man of heat—

Hast thou seen her, X 100?

Hast thou view'd her on thy beat?

Mark'd, I say, her fairy figure

In the wilderness of Bow?

Traced her lilliputian foot-prints

On the sands of Rotten Row?

Out, alas! thou answ'rest nothing,

And my senseless anger dies;

Who would look for "speculation"

In a boil'd potato's eyes?

Foggy Peeler! purblind Peeler!

Wherefore walk'st thou in a dream?—

Ask a plethoric black beetle

Why it walks into the cream!

Why the jolly gnats find pleasaunce

In your drowsy orbs of sight,—

Why besotted daddy long-legs

Hum into the nearest light,—

'Tis his creed, "non mi ricordo,"

And he wanders in a fog;

As that other peel, her—

Baceous, wanders in your glass of grog;—

Ah, my Flora! (graceless chit!) O

Pearl of all thy peerless race!

Where shall fancy find one fit, O

Fit to fill thy vacant place?

Who can be the graceful ditt-o

Ditto to that form and face?

Hence, then, sentimental twaddle!

Love, thy fetters I will fly—

Friendship is not worth a boddle,

Lost, alas! I've lost—my Skye.