e there,
And the _Boa Constrictors_ so slimy and gay,
That they seem'd to have painted themselves for the day.
The _Green-bonnet Monkey_, with speckles bespread,
Was proud of the verdigris tuft on his head;
For it look'd, as he leap'd in his frolic and joy,
Like the top of the turban of _Rammohun Roy_.
Dame _Tortoise_ roam'd over the green and beyond,
For she pass'd on her pilgrimage right to the pond.
As she gazed on the _Crocodile_ softly she sigh'd,
Though she thought that his mouth was a _little_ too wide.
The _Zebra_ look'd sprightly, as every one saw,
And the _African Sheep_ and white-footed _Nyl Ghau_;
And that leaper of leapers, the strange _Kangaroo_,
That is biped and triped and quadruped too,
Who out-juggles the _Juggler_, by hill and by dale;
For he makes, when he pleases, a leg of his tail.
With a soft, silky, aspect, demure and profound,
A _tabby Cat_ wander'd the _Gardens_ around,
And purr'd her applause with a quiet delight,
As she gazed half-entranced on the heart-cheering sight.
Among the rare wonders that caught every eye,
Demanding a glance from the gay passer-by,
Was the _Alpaca_, _Zebu_ of Indian race,
And the _Camel_, brought up in that beautiful place.
A dome in the centre, deservedly praised,
Transparent as crystal, was artfully raised,
Where African _Lions_, and _Tigers_ untamed,
And _Sloths_ and _Hyaenas_, for savageness famed,
And _Leopards_ and _Ladies_, and _Monsters_ and _Men_,
Securely might meet in the very same pen.

The crowd still increased on that magical ground,
And thousands and thousands came trooping around.
The _haut ton_ and _beau monde_ paced about debonair,
Tall and short, _enbonpoint_, slender, sunburnt, and fair,
While Hatred and Anger and Care fled away,
And light hearts and bright eyes were the charm of the day.
Then the painted _balloon_ in its glory was bright,
And it mounted on high till it sail'd out of sight.
The _Juggler_, with tricks and illusions came forth,
And the _Russians_ with _musical horns_ from the North,
Transporting enough to make _Orpheus_ mute:
As loud as the trumpet, as soft as the lute,
They fill'd every bosom, absorbing them quite,
And the _reeds_ seem'd to burden the air with delight.
Such strains have rung round me in seasons gone by,
When escaped from the cloister I mused with a sigh,
And listed awhile to the balm-shedding breeze,
As it f