London Lyrics — O Tempora Mutantur!

O TEMPORA MUTANTUR!

"O cruel Time!

O tyrant Time!

Whose winter all the streams of rhyme, The flowing waves of Love sublime, In bitter passage freezes.

I only see the scrambling goat, The lotos on the water float, While an old shepherd with an oat Pipes to the autumn breezes."

MR M.

COLLINS.

Yes!

here, once more, a traveller, I find the Angel Inn, Where landlord, maids, and serving-men, Receive me with a grin: They surely can't remember _me_, My hair is grey and scanter;

I'm chang'd, so chang'd since I was here-- "O tempora mutantur!"

The Angel's not much alter'd since That sunny month of June, Which brought me here with Pamela To spend our honey-moon!

I recollect it down to e'en The shape of this decanter.

We've since been both much put about-- "O tempora mutantur!"

Aye, there's the clock, and looking-glass Reflecting me again;

She vow'd her Love was very fair-- I see I'm very plain.

And there's that daub of Prince Leboo, 'Twas Pamela's fond banter To fancy it resembled me-- "O tempora mutantur!"

The curtains have been dyed; but there, Unbroken, is the same, The very same cracked pane of glass On which I scratch'd her name.

Yes!

there's her tiny flourish still, It used to so enchant her To link two happy names in one-- "O tempora mutantur!"

* * * * * What brought this wand'rer here, and why Was Pamela away?

It may be she had found her grave, Or he had found her gay.

The fairest fade; the best of men May meet with a supplanter;-- How natural, how trite the cry, "O tempora mutantur!"