  OH, where’s the little maid That Garibaldi kissed? She ought to be displayed, She shall be, I insist, Command, resolve, determine,— Beneath a tent of gold, In swan’s-down and in ermine, If Christmas should be cold! I am not very rich, But would give a golden guinea To see that little witch, That happy pick-a-ninny! He bowed to my own daughter, And Polly is her name; She wore a shirt of slaughter, Of Garibaldi flame,— Of course I mean of scarlet; But the girl he kissed—who knows?— May be named Selina Charlotte, And dressed in yellow clothes! I look for her in church, I seek her in the crowd; Some bellman on a perch Ought to ask for her out loud! I would offer a reward, But I might get cheated then, And I cannot well afford To make that guinea ten. She may live up in Lancashire, All in her yellow gown, Or down in Hankypankyshire, Or here in London town. She may be on board a steamer Upon the briny sea— O stewardess! esteem her, For a glorious girl is she! Perhaps at some academy Her TÉlÉmaque is read— They would think it very bad of me To turn her little head! She may be doing fancy-work, She may be taking tea; But I wish some necromancy-work Would bring that girl to me! For I would dress the little girl That Garibaldi kissed In a necklace all of precious pearl, With a bracelet for her wrist, With diamonds in her stomacher, And garlands in her hair; She should sit, for folks to come at her, All in a silver chair; And no one would be rude To Garibaldi’s pet,— The sight would do the people good, They never would forget! Oh glorious is the girl Whom such a man has kissed, The proudest duke or earl Stands lower in the list! It would be a happy plan For everything that’s human, If the pet of such a man Should grow to such a woman! If she does as much in her way As he has done in his,— Turns bad things topsy-turvey, And sad things into bliss,— Oh, we shall not need a survey To find that little miss, Grown to a woman worthy Of Garibaldi’s kiss! |
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