The Toast

I'm as loyal a subject as Britain can boast; Our Queen she is gracious, and gentle, and wise; But another this moment demandeth my toast,— 'Tis Annie, the lass with the two hazel eyes. The hair of my idol's a stream of delight, The lustre thereof with the aerolite vies; Her dimpled cheeks apples, the pure red and white; But these are outshone by her two hazel eyes. Her breasts are two hillocks of new-driven snow, Between them a dell of enchantment lies, Where love lurks, the elf ! with his death-darts, but no— These cannot be named with her two hazel eyes. The golden-eyed lily but faintly displays The grace of her form, her demeanour, and guise; A jewel is she in heart, language, and ways; But nothing can equal her two hazel eyes. I'm as loyal a subject as Britain can boast; Victoria's gentle, gracious, and wise; But another this moment demanded my toast,— I drink to the lass with the two hazel eyes.