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In the words of the poet's song, which I do not quite remember: Thrown on the wide world, doom'd to wander and roam, Bereft of my parents, bereft of a home, A stranger to something and what's his name joy, Behold little Edmund the poor Peasant boy. And equally, said Mr Wegg, repairing the want of direct application in the last line, 'behold myself on a similar footing!
Mysterious Rhymer, doom'd by fate's decree, Still to revisit Eildon's fated tree; Where oft the swain, at dawn of Hallow-day, Hears thy fleet barb with wild impatience neigh; Say who is he, with summons long and high.
This is the song: I. Go, happy paper, gently steal, And underneath her pillow lie; There, in soft dreams, my love reveal, That love which I must still conceal, And, wrapt in awful silence, die. Should flames be doom'd thy hapless fate, To atoms thou wouldst quickly turn: My pains may bear a longer date; For should I live, and should she hate, In endless torments I should burn.
My, what a pity you is shut up here, with these young galls all day, talking by the yard about the corrallas, calyxes, and staminas of flowers, while you "'Are doom'd to blush unseen, And waste your sweetness on the desert air.
"Who is he that wishes for more men from England," exclaimed Mareschal, in a theatrical tone of affected heroism, "My cousin Ellieslaw? No, my fair cousin, If we are doom'd to die " "For God's sake," said Ellieslaw, "spare us your folly at present, Mareschal." "Well, then," said his kinsman, "I'll bestow my wisdom upon you instead, such as it is.
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