Hark! This here tale did not take place in Pest.
Such novel adventures there rarely happen.
The distinguished members of the party
Took their seats and set out, atop a wagon.
They rode by wagon, an ox-drawn one at that.
Two pairs of oxen the procession led.
All along the highway, with wagon in tow,
The four oxen trodded slowly ahead.
T’was a bright eve. The moon was up and out;
She shone dimly, moving past tattered clouds,
Like a sad widow, searching for her dear
Departed husband’s tomb, among earthen mounds.
A merchant breeze wafted from neighboring fields
And carried from grasses their sweetest scents.
All along the highway, with wagon in tow,
The four oxen trodded slowly ahead.
I, too, partook in that delegation,
Next to fair Eliza, my station,
As the rest of our merry company
Took to song and to conversation.
My mind wandered, and I turned to Eliza:
"Shall we not pick out our own stars?" I said.
All along the highway, with wagon in tow,
The four oxen trodded slowly ahead.
"Shall we not pick out our own stars?" I said,
Turning to Eliza with wandering mind,
"Let the stars be shepherds that lead us
Back to cherished mem’ries of recent time,
If our destinies should drive us apart."
And we picked out our stars, up overhead.
All along the highway, with wagon in tow,
The four oxen trodded slowly ahead.