I
O! My aged Uncle Arly!
Sitting on a heap of Barley
      Thro' the silent hours of night, --
Close beside a leafy thicket: --
On his nose there was a Cricket, --
In his hat a Railway-Ticket; --
      (But his shoes were far too tight.)

II
Long ago, in youth, he squander'd
All his goods away, and wander'd
      To the Tiniskoop-hills afar.
There on golden sunsets blazing,
Every morning found him gazing,--
Singing -- "Orb! you're quite amazing!
      How I wonder what you are!"

III
Like the ancient Medes and Persians,
Always by his own exertions
      He subsisted on those hills; --
Whiles, -- by teaching children spelling, --
Or at times by merely yelling, --
Or at intervals by selling
      "Propter's Nicodemus Pills."

IV
Later, in his morning rambles
He perceived the moving brambles --
      Something square and white disclose; --
"Twas a First-class Railway Ticket;
But, on stooping down to pick it
Off the ground, -- a pea-green Cricket
      settled on my uncle's Nose.

V
Never -- never more, -- Oh! never,
Did that Cricket leave him ever, --
      Dawn or evening, day or night; --
Clinging as a constant treasure, --
Chirping with a cheerious measure, --
Wholly to my uncle's pleasure
      (Though his shoes were far too tight.)

VI
So for three-and-forty winters,
Till his shoes were worn to splinters,
      All those hills he wander'd o'er, --
Sometimes silent; -- sometimes yelling; --
Till he came to Borley-Melling,
Near his old ancestral dwelling; --
      (But his shoes were far too tight.)

VII
On a little heap of Barley
Died my aged uncle Arly,
      And they buried him one night; --
Close beside the leafy thicket; --
There, -- his hat and Railway-Ticket; --
There, -- his ever-faithful Cricket; --
      (But his shoes were far too tight.)