All aboard! - Let go his head, bub! - Romeo, off and away!
Nine of us, three on a seat, but nobody cramped in the least.
Proudly ignoring his spavins, gallops our high-mettled beast.
Handkerchiefs flutter responsive to cheers from a girl on a gate.
As down through the village we clatter, pursued by a poodle irate.
Round by the Winchester Farms, all fresh with the newly mown hay,
Down the long hill to the river, on by the Clapboard-tree way.
Silvery birches bend o'er us, wood-birds are wishing "good speed,"
And a brook chatters on as we journey, - a sociable fellow indeed.
What! Are we there? Goodness gracious! why, what a wee bit of a ride!
This is Miss Phoebe's opinion, - mine, too (I sit by her side).
Her I assist in unpacking, her I enthrone on a shawl,
And she watches me squeezing the lemons; they hardly need sugar at all.
There is a druggist's assistant, spectacled, spying, and spare,
With faintest of straw-colored whisker and smoothest of straw-colored hair.