When Betsinda held the Rose And the Ring decked Giglio’s finger Thackeray! ’twas sport to linger With thy wise, gay-hearted prose. Books were merry, goodness knows! When Betsinda held the Rose. Who but foggy drudglings doze While Rob Gilpin toasts thy witches, While the Ghost waylays thy breeches, Ingoldsby? Such tales as those Exorcised our peevish woes When Betsinda held the Rose. Realism, thou specious pose! Haply it is good we met thee; But, passed by, we’ll scarce regret thee; For we love the light that glows Where Queen Fancy’s pageant goes, And Betsinda holds the Rose. Shall we dare it? Then let’s close Doors to-night on things statistic, Seek the hearth in circle mystic, Till the conjured fire-light shows Where Youth’s bubbling Fountain flows, And Betsinda holds the Rose.
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