Le Dernier Jour D'Un Condamné.

        Old coat, for some three or four seasons
            We've been jolly comrades, but now
        We part, old companion, forever;
            To fate, and the fashion, I bow.
        You'd look well enough at a dinner,
            I'd wear you with pride at a ball;
        But I'm dressing to-night for a wedding
            My own and you'd not do at all.

        You've too many wine-stains about you,
            You're scented too much with cigars,
        When the gas-light shines full on your collar,
            It glitters with myriad stars,
        That wouldn't look well at my wedding;
            They'd seem inappropriate there
        Nell doesn't use diamond powder,
            She tells me it ruins the hair.

        You've been out on Cozzens' piazza
            Too late, when the evenings were damp,
        When the moon-beams were silvering Cro'nest,
            And the lights were all out in the camp.
        You've rested on highly-oiled stairways
            Too often, when sweet eyes were bright,
        And somebody's ball dress not Nellie's
            Flowed 'round you in rivers of white.

        There's a reprobate looseness about you;
            Should I wear you to-night, I believe,
        As I come with my bride from the altar,
            You'd laugh in your wicked old sleeve,
        When you felt there the tremulous pressure
            Of her hand, in its delicate glove,
        That is telling me shyly, but proudly,
            Her trust is as deep as her love.

        So, go to your grave in the wardrobe,
            And furnish a feast for the moth,
        Nell's glove shall betray its sweet secrets
            To younger, more innocent cloth.
        'Tis time to put on your successor
            It's made in a fashion that's new;
        Old coat, I'm afraid it will never
            Sit as easily on me as you.