We wonder much if a voice so small
Could reach our loved Monarch's ear;
If so, she said "God bless the poor!
Who cry and have no one near."
So then we will rattle our little bell,
And shout and laugh, and sing as well--
Roo-too-tooit! Shallabella!
Life to the Prince! Fallalderalla!
Our little Prince (though he heard them not)
Hath been greeted with honied words,
And his cheeks have been fondled to win a smile
By the Privy Council Lords.
Will he trust the "charmer" in after years,
And deem he is more than man?
Or will he feel that he's but a speck
In creation's mighty plan?
Let us hope the best, and rattle our bell,
And shout and laugh, and sing as well--
Roo-too-tooit! Shallabella!
Life to the Prince! Fallalderalla!
Our little Prince, when be grows a boy,
Will be taught by men of lore,
From the "dusty tome" of the ancient sage,
As Kings have been taught before.
But will there be _one_ good, true man near,
To tutor the infant heart?
To tell him the world was made for all,
And the poor man claims his part?
We trust there will; so we'll rattle our bell,
And shout and laugh, and sing as well--
Roo-too-tooit! Shallabella!
Life to the Prince! Fallalderalla!
* * * * *
A CON-CONSTITUTIONAL.
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