According to metaphysical creed
Gold! Gold! Gold! Gold!
I remember, I remember
Miss Kilmansegg took off her leg
Now the Precious Leg while cash was flush
Of all the spirits of evil fame
One more Unfortunate
Our youth! our childhood! that spring of springs!
Supposing the Trunk and Limbs of Man
The horse that carried Miss Kilmansegg
The moon—the moon, so silver and cold
The stars are with the voyager
The swallow with summer
Though Shakspeare asks us, “What’s in a name?”
Tis a stern and startling thing to think
To gratify stern ambition’s whims
To trace the Kilmansegg pedigree
Twas in that mellow season of the year
Twas in the prime of summer-time
Twas morn—a most auspicious one!
When leaving Eden’s happy land
Who hath not met with home-made bread
With fingers weary and worn