A Barren "Idealty."

    This song that I sing--
    It is not of a spring,
Nor yet of a silvery stream--
    But of a vision bright
    Which came last night
In the garb of a blissful dream--
    When I thought, as I lay,
    It was Thanksgiving Day,
And I was invited to dine
    Where a table stood
    On which everything good
Spread a feast that was almost divine!

    Where the savors arose,
    Right under my nose,
From turkey--and pumpkin pies;
    And from jolly roast pig
    Were slices as big
As some of the campaign lies!
    And celery so white
    'Twas a thing of delight
To bite the crisp stalks in two.
    And the cranberry sauce--
    Oh, I tell you 'twas boss--
And flanked by an oyster stew!

    Where the bread and the cake--
    The best they can bake--
Were cut into slices heroic.
    And the amber ice cream
    Melted into my dream
Like love to the heart of a 'poet';
    And they heaped up my plate,
    And I sat there and ate
Till I awoke with a yell,
    And a shiver and shake
    And a pain and an ache
That rudely my dream did dispel!

    But dreams, as you know,
    By contraries go,
And thus I fear if it will be
    With the one of delight
    That came last night
When I feasted so heartily;
    And Thanksgiving Day
    In the usual way
Will come to me, don't you see,
    And the dinner I had
    And the ache that was bad
Prove a----barren "idealty"!