Young England.

The times still "grow to something strange";          We rap and turn the tables;     We fire our guns at awful range;          We lay Atlantic cables;     We bore the hills, we bridge the seas--          To me 'tis better far     To sit before my fire at ease,          And smoke a mild cigar.     We start gigantic bubble schemes,--          Whoever can invent 'em!--     How splendid the prospectus seems,          With int'rest cent. per centum     His shares the holder, startled, sees          At eighty below par:     I dawdle to my club at ease,          And light a mild cigar.     We pickle peas, we lock up sound,          We bottle electricity;     We run our railways underground,          Our trams above in this city     We fly balloons in calm or breeze,          And tumble from the car;     I wander down Pall Mall at ease,          And smoke a mild cigar.     Some strive to get a post or place,          Or entree to society;     Or after wealth or pleasure race,          Or any notoriety;     Or snatch at titles or degrees,          At ribbon, cross, or star:     I elevate my limbs at ease,          And smoke a mild cigar.     Some people strive for manhood right          With riots or orations;     For anti-vaccination fight,          Or temperance demonstrations:     I gently smile at things like these,          And, 'mid the clash and jar,     I sit in my arm-chair at ease,          And smoke a mild cigar.     They say young ladies all demand          A smart barouche and pair,     Two flunkies at the door to stand,          A mansion in May Fair:     I can't afford such things as these,          I hold it safer far     To sip my claret at my ease,          And smoke a mild cigar.     It may be proper one should take          One's place in the creation;     It may be very right to make          A choice of some vocation;     With such remarks one quite agrees,          So sensible they are:     I much prefer to take my ease,          And smoke a mild cigar.     They say our morals are so so,          Religion still more hollow;     And where the upper classes go,          The lower always follow;     That honour lost with grace and ease          Your fortunes will not mar:     That's not so well; but, if you please,          We'll light a fresh cigar.     Rank heresy is fresh and green,          E'en womenkind have caught it;     They say the Bible doesn't mean          What people always thought it;     That miracles are what you please,          Or nature's order mar:     I read the last review at ease,          And smoke a mild cigar.     Some folks who make a fearful fuss,          In eighteen ninety-seven,     Say, heaven will either come to us,          Or we shall go to heaven;     They settle it just as they please;          But, though it mayn't be far,     At any rate there's time with ease          To light a fresh cigar.     It may be there is something true;          It may be one might find it;     It may be, if one looked life through,          That something lies behind it;     It may be, p'raps, for aught one sees,          The things that may be, are:     I'm growing serious--if you please          We'll light a fresh cigar.