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And ever, as the story drained The wells of fancy dry, And faintly strove that weary one To put the subject by, " The rest next time — " " It t's next The happy voices cry. time 1 V Thus grew the tale of Wonderland : Thus slowly, one by one, Its quaint events were hammered out — And now the tale is done, And home we steer, a merry crew. Beneath the setting sun. Alice ! a childish story take, And with a gentle hand Lay it where Childhood's dreams are twined In Memory's mystic band. Like pilgrim's withered wreath of flowers Pluck'd in a far-off land.