  O LOVE! Love! Love! What times were those, Long ere the age of belles and beaux, And Brussels lace and silken hose, When, in the green Arcadian close, You married Psyche under the rose, With only the grass for bedding! Heart to heart, and hand to hand, You followed Nature’s sweet command, Roaming lovingly through the land, Nor sighed for a Diamond Wedding. So have we read, in classic Ovid, How Hero watched for her belovÉd, Impassioned youth, Leander. She was the fairest of the fair, And wrapt him round with her golden hair, Whenever he landed cold and bare, With nothing to eat and nothing to wear, For Love was Love, and better than money; The slyer the theft, the sweeter the honey; And kissing was clover, all the world over, Wherever Cupid might wander. So thousands of years have come and gone, And still the moon is shining on, Still Hymen’s torch is lighted; And hitherto, in this land of the West, Most couples in love have thought it best To follow the ancient way of the rest, And quietly get united. But now, True Love, you’re growing old— Bought and sold, with silver and gold, Like a house, or a horse and carriage! Midnight talks, Moonlight walks, The glance of the eye and sweetheart sigh, The shadowy haunts, with no one by, I do not wish to disparage, But every kiss Has a price for its bliss, In the modern code of marriage; And the compact sweet Is not complete Till the high contracting parties meet Before the altar of Mammon; And the bride must be led to a silver bower, Where pearls and rubies fall in a shower That would frighten Jupiter Ammon! I need not tell How it befell, (Since Jenkins has told the story Over and over and over again, In a style I cannot hope to attain, And covered himself with glory!) How it befell, one summer’s day, The king of the Cubans strolled this way— King January’s his name, they say— And fell in love with the Princess May, The reigning belle of Manhattan; Nor how he began to smirk and sue, And dress as lovers who come to woo, Or as Max Maretzek and Jullien do, When they sit full-bloomed in the ladies’ view, And flourish the wondrous baton. He wasn’t one of your Polish nobles, Whose presence their country somehow troubles, And so our cities receive them; Nor one of your make-believe Spanish grandees, Who ply our daughters with lies and candies, Until the poor girls believe them. No, he was no such charlatan— Count de Hoboken Flash-in-the-pan, Full of gasconade and bravado— But a regular, rich Don Rataplan Santa Claus de la Muscovado SeÑor Grandissimo Bastinado. His was the rental of half Havana, Rich as he was, could hardly hold A candle to light the mines of gold Our Cuban owned, choke-full of diggers; And broad plantations, that, in round figures, Were stocked with at least five thousand niggers! “Gather ye rosebuds while ye may!” The seÑor swore to carry the day, To capture the beautiful Princess May, With his battery of treasure; Velvet and lace she should not lack; Tiffany, Haughwout, Ball & Black, Genin and Stewart his suit should back, And come and go at her pleasure; Jet and lava, silver and gold, Garnets, emeralds rare to behold, Diamonds, sapphires, wealth untold, All were hers, to have and to hold— Enough to fill a peck measure! He didn’t bring all his forces on At once, but, like a crafty old Don, Who many a heart had fought and won, Kept bidding a little higher; And every time he made his bid, And what she said, and all they did, ’Twas written down For the good of the town, By Jeems, of The Daily Flyer. A coach and horses, you’d think, would buy For the Don an easy victory; A diamond necklace caught her eye, But a wreath of pearls first made her sigh. She knew the worth of each maiden glance, And, like young colts that curvet and prance, She led the Don a deuce of a dance, In spite of the wealth he wielded. She stood such a fire of silks and laces, Jewels and gold dressing-cases, And ruby brooches, and jets and pearls, That every one of her dainty curls Brought the price of a hundred common girls; Folks thought the lass demented! But at last a wonderful diamond ring, An infant Kohinoor, did the thing, And, sighing with love, or something the same, (What
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