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@@ -1,39 +1,4 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Book Of Ballads, by Various - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: The Book Of Ballads - Eleventh Edition, 1870 - -Author: Various - -Editor: Bon Gaultier - -Illustrator: Doyle, Leech, Cromquill - -Release Date: January 30, 2014 [EBook #44798] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BOOK OF BALLADS *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page scans generously provided -by the Internet Archive - - - - - - +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 44798 *** [Illustration: 004] @@ -100,7 +65,7 @@ THE BROKEN PITCHER But scored him on the costard, and so the jug was broke. - "My uncle, the Alcayde, he waits for me at home, + "My uncle, the Alcaydè, he waits for me at home, And will not take his tumbler until Zorayda come: I cannot bring him water--the pitcher is in pieces-- And so I'm sure to catch it, 'cos he wallops all his nieces." @@ -109,7 +74,7 @@ THE BROKEN PITCHER "Oh, maiden, Moorish maiden! wilt thou be ruled by me! So wipe thine eyes and rosy lips, and give me kisses three; And I'll give thee my helmet, thou kind and courteous lady, - To carry home the water to thy uncle, the Alcayde." + To carry home the water to thy uncle, the Alcaydè." He lighted down from off his steed--he tied him to a @@ -318,7 +283,7 @@ DON FERNANDO GOMERSALEZ Then he seized his lance, and vaulting in the saddle sate upright; - Marble seemed the noble courser, iron seemed the mailed + Marble seemed the noble courser, iron seemed the mailèd knight; And a cry of admiration burst from every Moorish lady. "Five to four on Don Fernando!" cried the sable-bearded @@ -406,7 +371,7 @@ DON FERNANDO GOMERSALEZ beneath, That {016}the good Damascus weapon sank within the folds of fat, - And as dead as Julius Caesar dropped the Gordian + And as dead as Julius Cæsar dropped the Gordian Acrobat. @@ -1653,7 +1618,7 @@ THE STUDENT OF JENA Gazed upon the tranquil pool, Whence {064}the silver-voiced Undine, When the nights were calm and cool, - As the Baron Fouque tells us, + As the Baron Fouqué tells us, Rose from out her shelly grot, Casting glamour o'er the waters, Witching that enchanted spot. @@ -2611,7 +2576,7 @@ THE MIDNIGHT VISIT "Thou thoughtst the lion was afar, but he hath burst the chain-- The watchword for to-night is France--the answer St - Helene. + Heléne. "And didst thou deem the barren isle, or ocean waves, @@ -3101,7 +3066,7 @@ PART I. And she has ta'en the silk and gowd, The like was never seen; And she {117}has ta'en the Prince Albert, - And the bauld Lord Aberdeen. + And the bauld Lord Abërdeen. "Ye'se bide at hame, Lord Wellington: @@ -3538,7 +3503,7 @@ THE MASSACRE OF MACPHERSON Here's Mhic-Mac-Methusaleh Coming wi' his fassals, Gillies seventy-three, - And sixty Dhuine wassails!" + And sixty Dhuiné wassails!" IV. @@ -3817,7 +3782,7 @@ FYTTE THE FIRST. Down went the window with a crash,--in silence and in fear - Each ragged bard looked anxiously upon his neighbour + Each raggèd bard looked anxiously upon his neighbour near; Then up and spake young Tennyson--'Who's here that fears for death? @@ -4117,7 +4082,7 @@ THE BARD OF ERIN'S LAMENT No, its ashes are dead--and, alas! Love or Song No charm to Life's lengthening shadows can lend, Like a cup of old wine, rich, mellow, and strong, - And a seat by the fire _tete-a-tete_ with a friend. + And a seat by the fire _tête-à -tête_ with a friend. [Illustration: 164] @@ -4189,7 +4154,7 @@ THE LAUREATE Then I'd fling them bunches of garden flowers, And hyacinths plucked from the Castle bowers; And I'd challenge them all to come down to me, - And I'd kiss them all till they kissed me, + And I'd kiss them all till they kissèd me, Laughingly, laughingly. @@ -4907,7 +4872,7 @@ A LEGEND OF GLASGOW. Then I {181}straightway did espy, with my slantly-sloping eye, - A carved stone hard by, somewhat worn; + A carvèd stone hard by, somewhat worn; And I read in letters cold @@ -5393,7 +5358,7 @@ Gaultier at a Fancy Ball, declares the destructive consequences thus.] Like one that swoons, 'twixt sweet amaze and fear, I heard the music burning in my ear, And felt I cared not, so thou wert with me, - If Gurth or Wamba were our vis-a-vis. + If Gurth or Wamba were our vis-à -vis. So, when a tall Knight Templar ringing came, @@ -5528,7 +5493,7 @@ THE CADI'S DAUGHTER, A LEGEND OF THE BOSPHORUS. As he fondly bent above her. - "Speak, Leila, speak; for my light caique + "Speak, Leila, speak; for my light caïque Rides proudly in yonder bay; I have come from my rest to her I love best, To carry thee, love, away. @@ -5616,7 +5581,7 @@ THE DIRGE OF THE DRINKER declined; Glass for glass, in fierce Jamaica, I have shared the plant- er's rum, - Drunk with Highland dhuine-wassails, till each gibbering + Drunk with Highland dhuiné-wassails, till each gibbering Gael grew dumb; @@ -5742,7 +5707,7 @@ Beggars' Opera.] Where he must stoop to death his head sublime, Hymned in full many an elegiac rhyme. He left his deeds behind him, and his name-- - For he, like Caesar, had lived long enough for fame. + For he, like Cæsar, had lived long enough for fame. He quailed not, save when, as he raised the chalice,-- @@ -5784,7 +5749,7 @@ Beggars' Opera.] Like famed Mohammed's tomb, uphung midway in air. - As droops the cup of the surcharged lily + As droops the cup of the surchargèd lily Beneath the buffets of the surly storm, Or the soft petals of the daffodilly, When Sirius is uncomfortably warm, @@ -6213,7 +6178,7 @@ JUPITER AND THE INDIAN ALE Let that trash be served again. - Ho, Lyaeus, thou, the beery! + Ho, Lyæus, thou, the beery! Quick--invent some other drink; Or, in a brace of shakes, thou standest On Cocytus' sulphury brink!" @@ -6508,7 +6473,7 @@ CAROLINE In my easy-chair, Wherefore on my slumbers creep-- Wherefore start me from repose, - Tickling of my hooked nose, + Tickling of my hookèd nose, Pulling of my hair? Wherefore, then, if thou dost love me, So to words of anger move me, @@ -6526,7 +6491,7 @@ CAROLINE Yes, it was your tricksy self, - Wicked-tricked little elf, + Wicked-trickèd little elf, Naughty cousin Caroline! @@ -6950,7 +6915,7 @@ SONNET TO BRITAIN. O Britain! O my country! Words like these Have made thy name a terror and a fear To all the nations. Witness Ebro's banks, - Assaye, Toulouse, Nivelle, and Waterloo, + Assaÿe, Toulouse, Nivelle, and Waterloo, Where the grim despot muttered--_Sauve qui peut!_ And Ney fled darkling.--Silence in the ranks! @@ -6975,360 +6940,4 @@ THE END. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: The Book Of Ballads - Eleventh Edition, 1870 - -Author: Various - -Editor: Bon Gaultier - -Illustrator: Doyle, Leech, Cromquill - -Release Date: January 30, 2014 [EBook #44798] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BOOK OF BALLADS *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page scans generously provided -by the Internet Archive - - - - - - - -[Illustration: 004] - -THE BOOK OF BALLADS - - -By Various - - -Edited by BON GAULTIER - - -Illustrated by DOYLE, LEECH, CROMQUILL - - -Eleventh Edition - - -1870 - - -[Illustration: 005] - - -[Illustration: 011] - - -[Illustration: 012] - - -[Illustration: 015] - - - - - - -THE BROKEN PITCHER - - - It {003}was a Moorish maiden was sitting by a well, - And what the maiden thought of, I cannot, cannot tell, - When by there rode a valiant knight from the town of - Oviedo-- - Alphonzo Guzman was he hight, the Count of Tololedo. - - - "Oh, maiden, Moorish maiden, why sitt'st thou by the - spring? - Say, dost thou seek a lover, or any other thing? - Why dost thou look upon me, with eyes so dark and wide, - And wherefore doth the pitcher lie broken by thy side?" - - - "I {004}do not seek a lover, thou Christian knight so gay, - Because an article like that hath never come my way; - And why I gaze upon you, I cannot, cannot tell, - Except that in your iron hose you look uncommon swell. - - - "My pitcher it is broken, and this the reason is,-- - A shepherd came behind me, and tried to snatch a kiss; - I would not stand his nonsense, so ne'er a word I spoke, - But scored him on the costard, and so the jug was broke. - - - "My uncle, the Alcaydè, he waits for me at home, - And will not take his tumbler until Zorayda come: - I cannot bring him water--the pitcher is in pieces-- - And so I'm sure to catch it, 'cos he wallops all his nieces." - - - "Oh, maiden, Moorish maiden! wilt thou be ruled by me! - So wipe thine eyes and rosy lips, and give me kisses three; - And I'll give thee my helmet, thou kind and courteous lady, - To carry home the water to thy uncle, the Alcaydè." - - - He lighted down from off his steed--he tied him to a - tree-- - He bent him to the maiden, and he took his kisses three; - "To wrong thee, sweet Zorayda, I swear would be a sin!" - And he knelt him at the fountain, and he dipped his - helmet in. - - - Up {005}rose the Moorish maiden--behind the knight she steals, - And caught Alphonzo Guzman in a twinkling by the heels: - She tipped him in, and held him down beneath the bub- - bling water,-- - "Now, take thou that for venturing to kiss Al Hamet's - daughter!" - - - A Christian maid is weeping in the town of Oviedo; - She waits the coming of her love, the Count of Tololedo. - I pray you all in charity, that you will never tell, - How he met the Moorish maiden beside the lonely well. - - -[Illustration: 017] - - -[Illustration: 018] - - - - - - -DON FERNANDO GOMERSALEZ - - - From the Spanish of Astley's. - - - Don {006}Fernando Gomersalez! basely have - they borne thee down; - Paces ten behind thy charger is thy - glorious body thrown; - Fetters have they bound upon thee--iron - fetters, fast and sure; - Don Fernando Gomersalez, thou art cap- - tive to the Moor! - - - Long {007}within a dingy dungeon pined that brave and noble - knight, - For the Saracenic warriors well they knew and feared his - might; - Long he lay and long he languished on his dripping bed - of stone, - Till the cankered iron fetters ate their way into his bone. - - - On the twentieth day of August--'twas the feast of false - Mahound-- - Came the Moorish population from the neighbouring cities - round; - There to hold their foul carousal, there to dance and there - to sing, - And to pay their yearly homage to Al-Widdicomb, the - King! - - - First they wheeled their supple coursers, wheeled them at - their utmost speed, - Then they galloped by in squadrons, tossing far the light - jereed; - Then around the circus racing, faster than the swallow - flies, - Did they spurn the yellow sawdust in the rapt spectators' - eyes. - - -[Illustration: 020] - - - Proudly {008}did the Moorish monarch every passing warrior - greet, - As he sate enthroned above them, with the lamps beneath - his feet; - "Tell me, thou black-bearded Cadi! are there any in the - land, - That against my janissaries dare one hour in combat stand?" - - - Then the bearded Cadi answered--"Be not wroth, my lord - the King, - If thy faithful slave shall venture to observe one little thing; - Valiant, {009}doubtless, are thy warriors, and their beards are - long and hairy, - And a thunderbolt in battle is each bristly janissary: - - - "But I cannot, O my sovereign, quite forget that fearful - day, - "When I saw the Christian army in its terrible array; - When they charged across the footlights like a torrent - down its bed, - With the red cross floating o'er them, and Fernando at - their head! - - - "Don Fernando Gomersalez! matchless chieftain he in war, - Mightier than Don Sticknejo, braver than the Cid Bivar! - Not a cheek within Grenada, O my King, but wan and - pale is, - When they hear the dreaded name of Don Fernando - Gomersalez!" - - - "Thou shalt see thy champion, Cadi! hither quick the - captive bring!" - Thus in wrath and deadly anger spoke Al-Widdicomb, the - King: - "Paler than a maiden's forehead is the Christian's hue, I - ween, - Since a year within the dungeons of Grenada he hath - been!" - - - Then {010}they brought the Gomersalez, and they led the - warrior in; - Weak and wasted seemed his body, and his face was pale - and thin; - But the ancient fire was burning, unallayed, within his eye, - And his step was proud and stately, and his look was stern - and high. - - - Scarcely from tumultuous cheering could the galleried - crowd refrain, - For they knew Don Gomersalez and his prowess in the - plain; - But they feared the grizzly despot and his myrmidons in - steel, - So their sympathy descended in the fruitage of Seville. - - - "Wherefore, monarch, hast thou brought me from the - dungeon dark and drear, - Where these limbs of mine have wasted in confinement - for a year? - Dost thou lead me forth to torture?--Rack and pincers - I defy! - Is it that thy base grotesquos may behold a hero die?" - - - "Hold thy peace, thou Christian caitiff, and attend to what - I say! - Thou art called the starkest rider of the Spanish cur's array: - If {011}thy courage be undaunted, as they say it was of yore, - Thou mayst yet achieve thy freedom,--yet regain thy - native shore. - - - "Courses three within this circus 'gainst my warriors shalt - thou run, - Ere yon weltering pasteboard ocean shall receive yon - muslin sun; - Victor--thou shalt have thy freedom; but if stretched - upon the plain, - To thy dark and dreary dungeon they shall hale thee back - again." - - - "Give me but the armour, monarch, I have worn in many - a field, - Give me but my trusty helmet, give me but my dinted - shield; - And my old steed, Bavieca, swiftest courser in the ring, - And I rather should imagine that I'll do the business, King!" - - - Then they carried down the armour from the garret where - it lay, - O! but it was red and rusty, and the plumes were shorn - away: - And they led out Bavieca from a foul and filthy van, - For the conqueror had sold him to a Moorish dogs'-meat - man. - - - When {012}the steed beheld his master, then he whinnied loud - and free, - And, in token of subjection, knelt upon each broken knee; - And a tear of walnut largeness to the warrior's eyelids - rose, - As he fondly picked a bean-straw from his coughing - courser's nose. - - - "Many a time, O Bavieca, hast thou borne me through - the fray! - Bear me but again as deftly through the listed ring this - day; - Or if thou art worn and feeble, as may well have come to - pass, - Time it is, my trusty charger, both of us were sent to grass!" - - - Then he seized his lance, and vaulting in the saddle sate - upright; - Marble seemed the noble courser, iron seemed the mailèd - knight; - And a cry of admiration burst from every Moorish lady. - "Five to four on Don Fernando!" cried the sable-bearded - Cadi. - - - Warriors three from Alcantara burst into the listed space, - Warriors three, all bred in battle, of the proud Alhambra - race: - Trumpets {013}sounded, coursers bounded, and the foremost - straight went down, - Tumbling, like a sack of turnips, just before the jeering - Clown. - - - In the second chieftain galloped, and he bowed him to the - King, - And his saddle-girths were tightened by the Master of the - Ring; - Through three blazing hoops he bounded ere the desperate - fight began-- - Don Fernando! bear thee bravely!--'tis the Moor Abdor- - rhoman! - - - Like a double streak of lightning, clashing in the sulphurous - sky, - Met the pair of hostile heroes, and they made the sawdust - And the Moslem spear so stiffly smote on Don Fernando's - mail, - That he reeled, as if in liquor, back to Bavieca's tail: - - - But he caught the mace beside him, and he griped it hard - and fast, - And he swung it starkly upwards as the foeman bounded - past; - And {014}the deadly stroke descended through, the skull and - through the brain, - As ye may have seen a poker cleave a cocoa-nut in twain. - - - Sore astonished was the monarch, and the Moorish warriors - all, - Save the third bold chief, who tarried and beheld his - brethren fall; - And the Clown, in haste arising from the footstool where - he sat, - Notified the first appearance of the famous Acrobat; - - - Never on a single charger rides that stout and stalwart - Moor,-- - Five beneath his stride so stately bear him o'er the - trembling floor; - Five Arabians, black as midnight--on their necks the rein - he throws, - And the outer and the inner feel the pressure of his toes. - - - Never wore that chieftain armour; in a knot himself he - ties, - With his grizzly head appearing in the centre of his - thighs, - Till the petrified spectator asks, in paralysed alarm, - Where may be the warrior's body,--which is leg, and - which is arm? - - -[Illustration: 027] - - - "Sound [015]the charge!" The coursers started; with a yell - and furious vault, - High in air the Moorish champion cut a wondrous somer- - sault; - O'er the head of Don Fernando like a tennis-ball he sprung, - Caught him tightly by the girdle, and behind the crupper - hung. - - - Then his dagger Don Fernando plucked from out its - jewelled sheath, - And he struck the Moor so fiercely, as he grappled him - beneath, - That {016}the good Damascus weapon sank within the folds - of fat, - And as dead as Julius Cæsar dropped the Gordian - Acrobat. - - - Meanwhile fast the sun was sinking--it had sunk beneath - the sea, - Ere Fernando Gomersalez smote the latter of the three; - And Al-Widdicomb, the monarch, pointed, with a bitter - smile, - To the deeply-darkening canvass;--blacker grew it all the - while. - - - "Thou hast slain my warriors, Spaniard! but thou hast - not kept thy time; - Only two had sunk before thee ere I heard the curfew - chime; - Back thou goest to thy dungeon, and thou mayst be - wondrous glad - That thy head is on thy shoulders for thy work to-day, - my lad! - - - "Therefore all thy boasted valour, Christian dog, of no - avail is!" - Dark as midnight grew the brow of Don Fernando Gomer- - salez;-- - Stiffly {017}sate he in his saddle, grimly looked around the - ring, - Laid his lance within the rest, and shook his gauntlet at - the King. - - - "O, thou foul and faithless traitor! wouldst thou play me - false again? - Welcome death and welcome torture, rather than the - captive's chain! - But I give thee warning, caitiff! Look thou sharply to - thine eye-- - Unavenged, at least in harness, Gomersalez shall not - die!" - - - Thus he spoke, and Bavieca like an arrow forward flew, - Right and left the Moorish squadron wheeled to let the - hero through; - Brightly gleamed the lance of vengeance--fiercely sped - the fatal thrust-- - From his throne the Moorish monarch tumbled lifeless in - the dust. - - - Speed thee, speed thee, Bavieca! speed thee faster than - the wind! - Life and freedom are before thee, deadly foes give chase - behind! - - -[Illustration: 030] - - - Speed {018}thee up the sloping spring-board; o'er the bridge - that spans the seas; - Yonder gauzy moon will light thee through the grove of - canvas trees. - Close {019}before thee, Pampeluna spreads her painted paste- - board gate! - Speed thee onward, gallant courser, speed thee with thy - knightly freight! - - - Victory! The town receives them!--Gentle ladies, this - the tale is, - Which I learned in Astley's Circus, of Fernando Gomer- - salez. - - -[Illustration: 031] - - -[Illustration: 032] - - - - - - -THE COURTSHIP OF OUR CID - - - What {020}a pang of sweet emotion - Thrilled the Master of the Ring, - When he first beheld the lady - Through the stabled portal spring! - Midway in his wild grimacing - Stopped the piebald-visaged Clown - And the thunders of the audience - Nearly brought the gallery down. - - - Donna {021}Inez Woolfordinez! - Saw ye ever such a maid, - With the feathers swaling o'er her, - And her spangled rich brocade? - In her fairy hand a horsewhip, - On her foot a buskin small, - So she stepped, the stately damsel, - Through the scarlet grooms and all. - - - And she beckoned for her courser, - And they brought a milk-white mare; - Proud, I ween, was that Arabian - Such a gentle freight to bear: - And the Master moved to greet her, - With a proud and stately walk; - And, in reverential homage, - Rubbed her soles with virgin chalk. - - - Round she flew, as Flora flying - Spans the circle of the year; - And the youth of London, sighing, - Half forgot the ginger-beer-- - Quite forgot the maids beside them; - As they surely well might do, - When she raised two Roman candles, - Shooting fireballs red and blue! - Swifter {022}than the Tartar's arrow, - - - Lighter than the lark in flight, - On the left foot now she bounded, - Now she stood upon the right. - Like a beautiful Bacchante, - Here she soars, and there she kneels, - While amid her floating tresses - Flash two whirling Catherine wheels! - Hark! the blare of yonder trumpet! - - - See, the gates are opened wide! - Room, there, room for Gomersalez,-- - Gomersalez in his pride! - Rose the shouts of exultation, - Rose the cat's triumphant call, - As he bounded, man and courser, - Over Master, Clown, and all! - Donna Inez Woolfordinez! - - - Why those blushes on thy cheek? - Doth thy trembling bosom tell thee, - He hath come thy love to seek? - Fleet thy Arab, but behind thee - He is rushing like a gale; - One foot on his coal-black's shoulders, - And the other on his tail! - Onward, {023}onward, panting maiden! - - - He is faint, and fails, for now - By the feet he hangs suspended - From his glistening saddle-bow. - Down are gone both cap and feather, - Lance and gonfalon are down! - Trunks, and cloak, and vest of velvet, - He has flung them to the Clown, - Faint and failing! Up he vaulteth, - Fresh as when he first began; - All in coat of bright vermilion, - 'Quipped as Shaw, the Lifeguardsman; - Eight and left his whizzing broadsword, - Like a sturdy flail, he throws; - Cutting out a path unto thee - Through imaginary foes. - - - Woolfordinez! speed thee onward! - He is hard upon thy track,-- - Paralysed is Widdicombez, - Nor his whip can longer crack; - He has flung away his broadsword, - 'Tis to clasp thee to his breast. - Onward!--see, he bares his bosom, - Tears away his scarlet vest; - Leaps {024}from out his nether garments, - And his leathern stock unties-- - As the flower of London's dustmen, - Now in swift pursuit he flies. - - - Nimbly now he cuts and shuffles, - O'er the buckle, heel and toe! - Flaps his hands in his tail-pockets, - Winks to all the throng below! - - - Onward, onward rush the coursers; - Woolfordinez, peerless girl, - O'er the garters lightly bounding - From her steed with airy whirl! - Gomersalez, wild with passion, - Danger--all but her--forgets; - Wheresoe'er she flies, pursues her, - Casting clouds of somersets! - - - Onward, onward rush the coursers; - Bright is Gomersalez' eye; - Saints protect thee, Woolfordinez, - For his triumph sure is nigh: - Now his courser's flanks he lashes, - O'er his shoulder flings the rein, - And his feet aloft he tosses, - Holding stoutly by the mane! - - - Then, {025}his feet once more regaining, - Doffs his jacket, doffs his smalls, - And in graceful folds around him - A bespangled tunic falls. - Pinions from his heels are bursting, - His bright locks have pinions o'er them; - And the public see with rapture - Maia's nimble son before them. - - - Speed thee, speed thee, Woolfordinez! - For a panting god pursues; - And the chalk is very nearly - Rubbed from thy White satin shoes; - Every bosom throbs with terror, - You might hear a pin to drop; - All is hushed, save where a starting - Cork gives out a casual pop. - - - One smart lash across his courser, - One tremendous bound and stride, - And our noble Cid was standing - By his Woolfordinez' side! - With a god's embrace he clasped her, - Raised her in his manly arms; - And the stables' closing barriers - Hid his valour, and her charms! - - -[Illustration: 041] - - - - - - -AMERICAN BALLADS - - - - - - -THE FIGHT WITH THE SNAPPING TURTLE - - - - - - -FYTTE FIRST - - - Have {029}you heard of Philip Slingsby, - Slingsby of the manly chest; - How he slew the Snapping Turtle - In the regions of the 'West? - - - Every day the huge Cawana - Lifted up its monstrous jaws; - And it swallowed Langton Bennett, - And digested Rufus Dawes. - - - Riled, {030}I ween, was Philip Slingsby, - Their untimely deaths to hear; - For one author owed him money, - And the other loved him dear. - - - "Listen now, sagacious Tyler, - Whom the loafers all obey; - What reward will Congress give me, - If I take this pest away?" - - - Then sagacious Tyler answered, - "You're the ring-tailed squealer! Less - Than a hundred heavy dollars - Won't be offered you, I guess! - - - "And a lot of wooden nutmegs - In the bargain, too, we'll throw-- - Only you just fix the critter. - Won't you liquor ere you go?" - - - Straightway leaped the valiant Slingsby - Into armour of Seville, - With a strong Arkansas toothpick - Screwed in every joint of steel. - - - "Come thou with me, Cullen Bryant, - Come with me, as squire, I pray; - Be the Homer of the battle - Which I go to wage to-day." - - - So {031}they went along careering - With a loud and martial tramp, - Till they neared the Snapping Turtle - In the dreary Swindle Swamp. - - - But when Slingsby saw the water, - Somewhat pale, I ween, was he. - "If I come not back, dear Bryant, - Tell the tale to Melanie! - - - "Tell her that I died devoted, - Victim to a noble task! - Han't you got a drop of brandy - In the bottom of your flask?" - - - As he spoke, an alligator - Swam across the sullen creek; - And the two Columbians started, - When they heard the monster shriek; - - - For a snout of huge dimensions - Rose above the waters high, - And took down the alligator, - As a trout takes down a fly. - - - "'Tarnal death! the Snapping Turtle!" - Thus the squire in terror cried; - But the noble Slingsby straightway - Drew the toothpick from his side. - - - "Fare {032}thee well!" he cried, and dashing - Through the waters, strongly swam: - Meanwhile, Cullen Bryant, watching, - Breathed a prayer and sucked a dram. - - - Sudden from the slimy bottom - Was the snout again upreared, - With a snap as loud as thunder,-- - And the Slingsby disappeared. - - - Like a mighty steam-ship foundering, - Down the monstrous vision sank; - And the ripple, slowly rolling, - Plashed and played upon the bank. - - - Still and stiller grew the water, - Hushed the canes within the brake; - There was but a kind of coughing - At the bottom of the lake. - - - Bryant wept as loud and deeply - As a father for a son-- - "He's a finished 'coon, is Slingsby, - And the brandy's nearly done!" - - - - - - -FYTTE SECOND. - - - In a {033}trance of sickening anguish, - Cold and stiff, and sore and damp, - For two days did Bryant linger - By the dreary Swindle Swamp; - - - Always peering at the water, - Always waiting for the hour - When those monstrous jaws should open - As he saw them ope before.. - - - Still in vain;--the alligators - Scrambled through the marshy brake, - And the vampire leeches gaily - Sucked the garfish in the lake. - - - But the Snapping Turtle never - Rose for food or rose for rest, - Since he lodged the steel deposit - In the bottom of his chest. - - - Only always from the bottom - Sounds of frequent coughing rolled, - Just as if the huge Cawana - Had a most confounded cold. - - - On {034}the bank lay Cullen Bryant, - As the second moon arose, - Gouging on the sloping greensward - Some imaginary foes; - - - When the swamp began to tremble, - And the canes to rustle fast, - As though some stupendous body - Through their roots were crushing past. - - - And the waters boiled and bubbled, - And, in groups of twos and threes, - Several alligators bounded, - Smart as squirrels, up the trees. - - - Then a hideous head was lifted, - With such huge distended jaws, - That they might have held Goliath - Quite as well as Rufus Dawes. - - - Paws of elephantine thickness - Dragged its body from the bay, - And it glared at Cullen Bryant - In a most unpleasant way. - - - Then it writhed as if in torture, - And it staggered to and fro; - And its very shell was shaken - In the anguish of its throe: - - - And {035}its cough grew loud and louder, - And its sob more husky thick! - For, indeed, it was apparent - That the beast was very sick. - - -[Illustration: 047] - - - Till, {036}at last, a spasmy vomit - Shook its carcass through and through, - And as if from out a cannon, - All in armour Slingsby flew. - - - Bent and bloody was the bowie - Which he held within his grasp; - And he seemed so much exhausted - That he scarce had strength to gasp-- - - - "Gouge him, Bryant! darn ye, gouge him! - Gouge him while he's on the shore!" - Bryant's thumbs were straightway buried - Where no thumbs had pierced before. - - - Right from out their bony sockets - Did he scoop the monstrous balls; - And, with one convulsive shudder, - Dead the Snapping Turtle falls! - - - **** - - - "Post the tin, sagacious Tyler!" - But the old experienced file, - Leering first at Clay and Webster, - Answered, with a quiet smile-- - - - "Since {037}you dragged the 'tarnal crittur - From the bottom of the ponds, - Here's the hundred dollars due you, - _All in Pennsylvanian Bonds!_" - - -[Illustration: 049] - - - - - - -THE LAY OF MR COLT. - - -[The {038}story of Mr Colt, of which our Lay contains merely the sequel, -is this: A New York printer, of the name of Adams, had the effrontery -to call upon him one day for payment of an account, which the -independent Colt settled by cutting his creditor's head to fragments -with an axe. He then packed his body in a box, sprinkling it with salt, -and despatched it to a packet bound for New Orleans. Suspicions having -been excited, he was seized and tried before Judge Kent. The trial is, -perhaps, the most disgraceful upon the records of any country. The -ruffian's mistress was produced in court, and examined, in disgusting -detail, as to her connection with Colt, and his movements during the -days and nights succeeding the murder. The head of the murdered man was -bandied to and fro in the court, handed up to the jury, and commented on -by witnesses and counsel; and to crown the horrors of the whole -proceeding, the wretch's own counsel, a Mr Emmet, commencing the defence -with a cool admission that his client took the life of Adams, and -following it up by a de-tail of the whole circumstances of this most -brutal-murder in the first person, as though he himself had been the -murderer, ended by telling the jury, that his client was "_entitled to -the sympathy_ of a jury of his country," as "a young man just entering -into life, _whose prospects, probably, have been permanently blasted_." -Colt was found guilty; but a variety of exceptions were taken to the -charge by the judge, and after a long series of appeals, which _occupied -more than a year from the date of conviction_, the sentence of death was -ratified by Governor Seward. The rest of Colt's story is told in our -ballad.] - - - - - - -STREAK THE FIRST. - - - And now the sacred rite was done, and the marriage-knot - was tied, - And Colt withdrew his blushing wife a little way aside; - "Let's go," he said, "into my cell; let's go alone, my dear; - I fain would shelter that sweet face from the sheriff's - odious leer. - - - The {039}jailer and the hangmen, they are waiting both for - me,-- - I cannot bear to see them wink so knowingly at thee! - Oh, how I loved thee, dearest! They say that I am - wild, - That a mother dares not trust me with the weasand of - her child; - - - They say my bowie-knife is keen to sliver into halves - The carcass of my enemy, as butchers slay their calves. - They say that I am stern of mood, because, like salted - beef, - I packed my quartered foeman up, and marked him 'prime - tariff;' - - - Because I thought to palm him on the simple-souled John - Bull, - And clear a small percentage on the sale at Liverpool; - It may be so, I do not know--these things, perhaps, - may be; - But surely I have always been a gentleman to thee! - - - Then come, my love, into my cell, short bridal space is - ours,-- - Nay, sheriff, never look thy watch--I guess there's good - two hours. - We'll shut the prison doors and keep the gaping world - at bay, - For love is long as 'tarnity, though I must die to-day!" - - - - - - -STREAK THE SECOND. - - - The {040}clock is ticking onward, - It nears the hour of doom, - And no one yet hath entered - Into that ghastly room. - - - The jailer and the sheriff, - They are walking to and fro: - And the hangman sits upon the steps, - And smokes his pipe below. - - - In grisly expectation - The prison all is bound, - And, save expectoration, - You cannot hear a sound. - - - The turnkey stands and ponders,--, - His hand upon the bolt,-- - "In twenty minutes more, I guess, - 'Twill all be up with Colt!" - - - But see, the door is opened! - Forth comes the weeping bride; - The courteous sheriff lifts his hat, - And saunters to her side,-- - - - "I beg your pardon, Mrs C., - But is your husband ready?" - "I {041}guess you'd better ask himself," - Replied the woeful lady. - - - The clock is ticking onward, - The minutes almost run, - The hangman's pipe is nearly out, - 'Tis on the stroke of one. - - - At every grated window, - Unshaven faces glare; - There's Puke, the judge of Tennessee, - And Lynch, of Delaware; - - - And Batter, with the long black beard, - Whom Hartford's maids know well; - And Winkinson, from Fish Kill Reach, - The pride of New Rochelle; - - - Elkanah Nutts, from Tarry Town, - The gallant gouging boy; - And 'coon-faced Bushwhack, from the hills - That frown o'er modern Troy; - - - Young Julep, whom our Willis loves, - Because, 'tis said, that he - One morning from a bookstall filched - The tale of "Melanie;" - - - And Skunk, who fought his country's fight - Beneath the stripes and stars,-- - All thronging at the windows stood, - And gazed between the bars. - - - The {042}little hoys that stood behind - (Young thievish imps were they!) - Displayed considerable _nous_ - On that eventful day; - - - For bits of broken looking-glass - They held aslant on high, - And there a mirrored gallows-tree - Met their delighted eye. * - - - * A fact. - - - The clock is ticking onward; - Hark! Hark! it striketh one! - Each felon draws a whistling breath, - "Time's up with Colt! he's done - - - The sheriff looks his watch again, - Then puts it in his fob, - And turns him to the hangman,-- - "Get ready for the job." - - - The jailer knocketh loudly, - The turnkey draws the bolt, - And pleasantly the sheriff says, - "We're waiting, Mister Colt!" - - - No answer! no! no answer! - All's still as death within; - The sheriff eyes the jailer, - The jailer strokes his chin. - - - "I {043}shouldn't wonder, Nahum, if - It were as you suppose." - The hangman looked unhappy, and - The turnkey blew his nose. - - - They entered. On his pallet - The noble convict lay,-- - The bridegroom on his marriage-bed, - But not in trim array. - - - His red right hand a razor held, - Fresh sharpened from the hone, - And his ivory neck was severed, - And gashed into the bone. - - - **** - - - And when the lamp is lighted - In the long November days, - And lads and lasses mingle - At the shucking of the maize; - - - When pies of smoking pumpkin - Upon the table stand, - And bowls of black molasses - Go round from hand to hand; - - - When slap-jacks, maple-sugared, - Are hissing in the pan, - And cider, with a dash of gin, - Foams in the social can; - - - When {044}the goodman wets his whistle, - And the goodwife scolds the child; - And the girls exclaim convulsively, - "Have done, or I'll be riled!" - - - When the loafer sitting next them - Attempts a sly caress, - And whispers, "O! you 'possum, - You've fixed my heart, I guess!" - - - With laughter and with weeping, - Then shall they tell the tale, - How Colt his foeman quartered, - And died within the jail. - - - [Illustration: 056] - - - - - - -THE DEATH OF JABEZ DOLLAR - - -[Before {045}the following poem, which originally appeared in 'Fraser's -Magazine,' could have reached America, intelligence was received in -this country of an affray in Congress, very nearly the counterpart of -that which the Author has here imagined in jest. It was very clear, to -any one who observed the state of public manners in America, that such -occurrences _must_ happen, sooner or later. The Americans apparently -felt the force of the satire, as the poem was widely reprinted -throughout the States. It subsequently returned to this country, -embodied in an American work on American manners, where it -characteristically appeared as the writer's _own_ production; and it -afterwards went the round of British newspapers, as an amusing satire, -by an American, of his countrymen's foibles!] - - - The Congress met, the day was wet, Van Buren took the - chair; - On either side, the statesman pride of far Kentuck was - there. - With moody frown, there sat Calhoun, and slowly in his - cheek - His quid he thrust, and slaked the dust, as Webster rose - to speak. - - - Upon that day, near gifted Clay, a youthful member sat, - And like a free American upon the floor he spat; - Then turning round to Clay, He said, and wiped his manly - chin, - "What kind of Locofoco's that, as wears the painter's - skin?" - - - "Young {046}man," quoth Clay, "avoid the way of Slick of - Tennessee; - Of gougers fierce, the eyes that pierce, the fiercest gouger - he; - He chews and spits, as there he sits, and whittles at the - chairs, - And in his hand, for deadly strife, a bowie-knife he - bears. - - - "Avoid that knife. In frequent strife its blade, so long - and thin, - Has found itself a resting-place his rivals' ribs within." - But coward fear came never near young Jabez Dollar's - heart,-- - "Were he an alligator, I would rile him pretty smart!" - - - Then up he rose, and cleared his nose, and looked toward - the chair; - He saw the stately stripes and stars,--our country's flag - was there! - His heart beat high, with eldritch cry upon the floor he - sprang, - Then raised his wrist, and shook his fist, and spoke his - first harangue. - - - "Who {047}sold the nutmegs made of wood--the clocks that - wouldn't figure? - Who grinned the bark off gum-trees dark--the everlasting - nigger? - For twenty cents, ye Congress gents, through 'tarnity I'll - kick - That man, I guess, though nothing less than 'coon-faced - Colonel Slick!" - - - The {047}Colonel smiled--with frenzy wild,--his very beard - waxed blue,-- - His shirt it could not hold him, so wrathy riled he grew; - He foams and frets, his knife he whets upon his seat - below-- - He sharpens it on either side, and whittles at his toe,-- - - - "Oh! waken snakes, and walk your chalks!" he cried, - with ire elate; - "Darn my old mother, but I will in wild cats whip my - weight! - Oh! 'tarnal death, I'll spoil your breath, young Dollar, and - your chaffing,-- - Look to your ribs, for here is that will tickle them without - laughing!" - - - His {048}knife he raised--with, fury crazed, he sprang across - the hall; - He cut a caper in the air--he stood before them all: - He never stopped to look or think if he the deed should - do, - But spinning sent the President, and on young Dollar - flew. - - - They met--they closed--they sank--they rose,--in vain - young Dollar strove-- - For, like a streak of lightning greased, the infuriate Colonel - drove - His bowie-blade deep in his side, and to the ground they - rolled, - And, drenched in gore, wheeled o'er and o'er, locked in - each other's hold. - - - With fury dumb--with nail and thumb--they struggled - and they thrust,-- - The blood ran red from Dollar's side, like rain, upon the - dust; - He nerved his might for one last spring, and as he sank - and died, - Reft of an eye, his enemy fell groaning by his side. - - - Thus {049}did he fall within the hall of Congress, that brave - youth; - The bowie-knife has quenched his life of valour and of - truth; - And still among the statesmen throng at Washington they - tell - How nobly Dollar gouged his man--how gallantly he fell. - - -[Illustration: 061] - - -[Illustration: 062] - - - - - - -THE ALABAMA DUEL - - - "Young {050}chaps, give ear, the case is clear. You, Silas - Fixings, you - Pay Mister Nehemiali Dodge them dollars as you're due. - You are a bloody cheat,--you are. But spite of all your - tricks, it - Is not in you Judge Lynch to do. No! nohow you can - fix it!" - - - Thus {051}spake Judge Lynch, as there he sat in Alabama's - forum, - Around he gazed, with legs upraised upon the bench before - him; - And, as he gave this sentence stern to him who stood - beneath, - Still with his gleaming bowie-knife he slowly picked his - teeth. - - - It was high noon, the month was June, and sultry was the - air, - A cool gin-sling stood by his hand, his coat hung o'er his - chair; - All naked were his manly arms, and shaded by his hat, - Like an old senator of Rome that simple Archon sat. - - - "A bloody cheat?--Oh, legs and feet!" in wrath young - Silas cried; - And springing high into the air, he jerked his quid - aside. - "No man shall put my dander up, or with my feelings - trifle, - As long as Silas Fixings wears a bowie-knife and rifle." - - - "If your shoes pinch," replied Judge Lynch, "you'll very, - soon have ease; - I'll give you satisfaction, squire, in any way you please; - What are your weapons?--knife or gun?--at both I'm - pretty spry!" - "Oh! 'tarnal death, you're spry, you are?" quoth Silas; - "so am I!" - - - Hard by the town a forest stands, dark with the shades - of time, - And they have sought that forest dark at morning's early - prime; - Lynch, backed by Nehemiah Dodge, and Silas with a - friend, - And half the town in glee came down to see that contest's - end. - - - They led their men two miles apart, they measured out - the ground; - A belt of that, vast wood it was, they notched the trees - around; - Into the tangled brake they turned them off, and neither - knew - Where he should seek his wagered foe, how get him into - view. - - -[Illustration: 065] - - - With {053}stealthy tread, and stooping head, - from tree to tree they passed, - They crept beneath the crackling furze, they - held their rifles fast: - - - Hour passed on hour, the noonday sun - smote fiercely down, but yet - No sound to the expectant crowd proclaimed - that they had met. - - - And now the sun was going down, when, - hark! a rifle's crack! - Hush--hush! another strikes the air,--and - all their breath draw back,-- - Then crashing on through bush and briar, - the crowd from either side - Rush in to see whose rifle sure with blood - the moss has dyed. - - - Weary {054}with watching up and down, brave Lynch con- - ceived a plan, - An artful dodge whereby to take at unawares his man; - He hung his hat upon a bush, and hid himself hard by; - Young Silas thought he had him fast, and at the hat let - fly. - It fell; up sprang young Silas,--he hurled his gun - away; - Lynch fixed him with his rifle, from the ambush where he - lay. - - - The bullet pierced his manly breast--yet, valiant to the - last, - Young Fixings drew his bowie-knife, and up his foxtail * - cast. - - - * The Yankee substitute for the _chapeau de soie_. - - - With tottering step and glazing eye he cleared the space - between, - And stabbed the air as stabs in grim Macbeth the younger - Kean: - Brave Lynch received him with a bang that stretched him - on the ground, - Then sat himself serenely down till all the crowd drew - round. - - - They {055}hailed him with triumphant cheers--in him each - loafer saw - The bearing bold that could uphold the majesty of law; - And, raising him aloft, they bore him homewards at his - ease,-- - That noble judge, whose daring hand enforced his own - decrees. - - - They buried Silas Fixings in the hollow where he fell, - And gum-trees wave above his grave--that tree he loved - so well; - And the 'coons sit chattering o'er him when the nights are - long and damp; - But he sleeps well in that lonely dell, the Dreary 'Possum - Swamp. - - - - - - -THE AMERICAN'S APOSTROPHE TO BOZ - - -[Rapidly {056}as oblivion does its work nowadays, the burst of amiable -indignation with which enlightened America received the issue of Boz's -_Notes_ can scarcely yet be forgotten. Not content with waging a -universal rivalry in the piracy of the work, Columbia showered upon its -author the riches of its own choice vocabulary of abuse; while some of -her more fiery spirits threw out playful hints as to the propriety of -gouging the "stranger," and furnishing him with a permanent suit of tar -and feathers, in the very improbable event of his paying them a second -visit. The perusal of these animated expressions of free opinion -suggested the following lines, which those who remember Boz's book, and -the festivities with which he was all but hunted to death, will at once -understand. We hope we have done justice to the bitterness and -"immortal hate" of these thin-skinned sons of freedom. When will Americans -cease to justify the ridicule of Europe, by bearing rebuke, or even -misrepresentation, calmly as a great nation should?] - - - Sneak across the wide Atlantic, worthless London's puling - child, - Better that its waves should bear thee, than the land thou - hast reviled; - Better in the stifling cabin, on the sofa thou shouldst lie, - Sickening as the fetid nigger bears the greens and bacon by; - Better, when the midnight horrors haunt the strained and - creaking ship, - Thou shouldst yell in vain for brandy with a fever-sodden - lip; - - - When amid the deepening darkness and the lamp's ex- - piring shade, - From {057}the bagman's berth above thee comes the bountiful - cascade, - Better than upon the Broadway thou shouldst be at noon- - day seen, - Smirking like a Tracy Tupman with a Mantalini mien, - With a rivulet of satin falling o'er thy puny chest, - Worse than even P. Willis for an evening party drest! - - - We received thee warmly--kindly--though we knew thou - wert a quiz, - Partly for thyself it may be, chiefly for the sake of Phiz! - Much we bore, and much we suffered, listening to remorse- - less spells - Of that Smike's unceasing drivellings, and these everlast- - ing Nells. - When you talked of babes and sunshine, fields, and all - that sort of thing, - Each Columbian inly chuckled, as he slowly sucked his - sling; - - - And though all our sleeves were bursting, from the many - hundreds near - Not one single scornful titter rose on thy complacent ear. - Then to show thee to the ladies, with our usual want of sense - We engaged the place in Park Street at a ruinous expense; - Even our own three-volumed Cooper waived his old pre- - scriptive right, - And deluded Dickens figured first on that eventful night. - - - Clusters {058}of uncoated Yorkers, vainly striving to be cool, - Saw thee desperately plunging through, the perils of La - Poule: - And their muttered exclamation drowned the tenor of the - tune,-- - "Don't he beat all natur hollow? Don't He foot it like a - 'coon?" - Did we spare our brandy-cocktails, stint thee of our whisky- - grogs? - Half the juleps that we gave thee would have floored a - Newman Noggs; - - - And thou took'st them in so kindly, little was there then - to blame, - To thy parched and panting palate sweet as mother's milk - they came. - Did the hams of old Virginny find no favour in thine - eyes? - Came no soft compunction o'er thee at the thought of - pumpkin pies? - Could not all our chicken fixings into silence fix thy scorn? - Did not all our cakes rebuke thee, Johnny, waffle, dander, - corn? - - - Could not all our care and coddling teach, thee how to - draw it mild? - Well, no matter, we deserve it. Serves us right! We - spoilt the child! - You, {059}forsooth, must come crusading, boring us with broad- - est hints - Of your own peculiar losses by American reprints. - Such an impudent remonstrance never in our face was flung; - Lever stands it, so does Ainsworth; _you_, I guess, may hold - your tongue. - - - Downpour throats you'd cram your projects, thick and hard - as pickled salmon, - That, I s'pose, you call free trading,--I pronounce it utter - gammon. - No, my lad, a 'cuter vision than your own might soon - have seen - That a true Columbian ogle carries little that is green; - That we never will surrender useful privateering rights, - Stoutly won at glorious Bunker's Hill, and other famous - fights; - - - That we keep our native dollars for our native scribbling - gents, - And on British manufacture only waste our straggling cents; - Quite enough we pay, I reckon, when we stump of these a few - For the voyages and travels of a freshman such as you. - - - I have been at Niagara, I have stood beneath the Falls, - I have marked the water twisting over its rampagious walls; - But "a holy calm sensation," one, in fact, of perfect peace, - Was as much my first idea as the thought of Christmas - geese. - As for {060}"old familiar faces," looking through the misty air, - Surely you were strongly liquored when you saw your - Chuckster there. - - - One familiar face, however, you will very likely see, - If you'll only treat the natives to a call in Tennessee, - Of a certain individual, true Columbian every inch, - In a high judicial station, called by 'mancipators, Lynch. - Half an hour of conversation with his worship in a wood, - Would, I strongly notion, do you an infernal deal of good. - - - Then you'd understand more clearly than you ever did - before, - Why an independent patriot freely spits upon the floor, - Why he gouges when he pleases, why he whittles at the - chairs, - Why for swift and deadly combat still the bowie-knife he - bears,-- - Why he sneers at the old country with republican disdain, - And, unheedful of the negro's cry, still tighter draws his - chain. - - - All these things the judge shall teach thee of the land - thou hast reviled; - Get thee o'er the wide Atlantic, worthless London's puling - child! - - - - - - -MISCELLANEOUS BALLADS - - -[Illustration: 075] - - - - - - -THE STUDENT OF JENA - - - Once--'twas {063}when I lived at Jena-- - At a Wirthshous' door I sat; - And in pensive contemplation - Ate the sausage thick and fat' - Ate the kraut that never sourer - Tasted to my lips than here; - Smoked my pipe of strong canaster, - Sipped my fifteenth jug of beer; - Gazed upon the glancing river, - Gazed upon the tranquil pool, - Whence {064}the silver-voiced Undine, - When the nights were calm and cool, - As the Baron Fouqué tells us, - Rose from out her shelly grot, - Casting glamour o'er the waters, - Witching that enchanted spot. - - - From the shadow which the coppice - Flings across the rippling stream, - Did I hear a sound of music-- - Was it thought or was it dream? - There, beside a pile of linen, - Stretched along the daisied sward, - Stood a young and blooming maiden-- - 'Twas her thrush-like song I heard. - - - Evermore within the eddy - Did she plunge the white chemise; - And her robes were losely gathered - Rather far above her knees; - Then my breath at once forsook me, - For too surely did I deem - That I saw the fair Undine - Standing in the glancing stream-- - And I felt the charm of knighthood; - And from that remembered day, - Every evening to the Wirthshaus - Took I my enchanted way. - - - Shortly {065}to relate my story, - Many a week of summer long - Came I there, when beer-o'ertaken, - With my lute and with my song; - Sang in mellow-toned soprano - All my love and all my woe, - Till the river-maiden answered, - Lilting in the stream below:-- - "Fair Undine! sweet Undine! - Dost thou love as I love thee?" - "Love is free as running water," - Was the answer made to me. - - - Thus, in interchange seraphic, - Did I woo my phantom fay, - Till the nights grew long and chilly, - Short and shorter grew the day; - Till at last--'twas dark and gloomy, - Dull and starless was the sky, - And my steps were all unsteady, - For a little flushed was I,-- - To the well-accustomed signal - No response the maiden gave; - But I heard the waters washing, - And the moaning of the wave. - - - Vanished {066}was my own Undine, - All her linen, too, was gone; - And I walked about lamenting - On the river bank alone. - Idiot that I was, for never - Had I asked the maiden's name. - Was it Lieschen--was it Gretchen? - Had she tin, or whence she came? - So I took my trusty meerschaum, - And I took my lute likewise; - Wandered forth in minstrel fashion, - Underneath the louring skies; - Sang before each comely Wirthshaus, - Sang beside each purling stream, - That same ditty which I chanted - When Undine was my theme, - Singing, as I sang at Jena, - When the shifts were hung to dry, - "Fair Undine! young Undine! - Dost thou love as well as I?" - - - But, alas! in field or village, - Or beside the pebbly shore, - Did I see those glancing ankles, - And the white robe never more; - And {067}no answer came to greet me, - No sweet voice to mine replied; - But I heard the waters rippling, - And the moaning of the tide. - - -[Illustration: 079] - - -[Illustration: 080] - - - - - - -THE LAY OF THE JEBITE - - - There {068}is a sound that's dear to me, - It haunts me in my sleep; - I wake, and, if I hear it not, - I cannot choose but weep. - - - Above the roaring of the wind, - Above the river's flow, - Methinks I hear the mystic cry - Of "Clo!--Old Clo!" - - - The exile's song, it thrills among - The dwellings of the free, - Its {69}sound is strange to English ears, - But 'tis not strange to me; - - - For it hath shook the tented field - In ages long ago, - And hosts have quailed before the cry - Of "Clo!--Old Clo!" - - - Oh, lose it not! forsake it not! - And let no time efface - The memory of that solemn sound, - The watchword of our race; - - - For not by dark and eagle eye - The Hebrew shall you know, - So well as by the plaintive cry - Of "Clo!--Old Clo!" - - - Even now, perchance, by Jordan's banks, - Or Sidon's sunny walls, - Where, dial-like, to portion time, - The palm-tree's shadow falls, - - - The pilgrims, wending on their way, - Will linger as they go, - And listen to the distant cry - Of "Clo!--Old Clo!" - - -[Illustration: 082] - - - - - - -BURSCH GROGGNEBURG - - - [After the manner of Schiller.] - - - "Bursch! {070}if foaming beer content ye, - Come and drink your fill; - In our cellars there is plenty; - Himmel! how you swill! - That the liquor hath allurance, - Well I understand; - But 'tis really past endurance, - When you squeeze my hand!" - - - And he heard her as if dreaming, - Heard her half in awe; - And {071}the meerschaum's smoke came streaming - From his open jaw: - And his pulse heat somewhat quicker - Than it did before, - And he finished off his liquor, - Staggered through the door; - - - Bolted off direct to Munich, - And within the year - Underneath his German tunic - Stowed whole butts of beer. - And he drank like fifty fishes, - Drank till all was blue; - For he felt extremely vicious-- - Somewhat thirsty too. - - - But at length this dire deboshing - Drew towards an end; - Few of all his silver groschen - Had he left to spend. - And he knew it was not prudent - Longer to remain; - So, with weary feet, the student - Wended home again. - - - At the tavern's well-known portal - Knocks he as before, - And a {072}waiter, rather mortal, - Hiccups through the door-- - "Master's sleeping in the kitchen - You'll alarm the house; - Yesterday the Jungfrau Fritchen - Married baker Kraus!" - - - Like a fiery comet bristling, - Rose the young man's hair, - And, poor soul! he fell a-whistling - Out of sheer despair. - Down the gloomy street in silence, - Savage-calm he goes; - But he did no deed of vi'lence-- - Only blew his nose. - - - Then he hired an airy garret - Near her dwelling-place; - Grew a beard of fiercest carrot, - Never washed his face; - Sate all day beside the casement, - Sate a dreary man; - Found in smoking such an easement - As the wretched can; - - - Stared for hours and hours together. - Stared yet more and more; - Till {073}in fine and sunny weather. - At the baker's door, - Stood, in apron white and mealy, - That beloved dame, - Counting out the loaves so freely, - Selling of the same. - - - Then like a volcano puffing, - Smoked he out his pipe; - Sighed and supped on ducks and stuffing, - Ham and kraut and tripe; - Went to bed, and, in the morning, - Waited as before, - Still his eyes in anguish turning - To the baker's door; - - - Till, with apron white and mealy, - Came the lovely dame, - Counting out the loaves so freely, - Selling of the same. - So one day--the fact's amazing!-- - On his post he died! - And they found the body gazing - At the baker's bride. - - - - - - -NIGHT AND MORNING - - - [Not by Sir E. Bulwer Lytton.] - - - "Thy {074}coffee, Tom, 's untasted, - And thy egg is very cold; - Thy cheeks are wan and wasted, - Not rosy as of old. - - - My boy, what has come o'er ye? - You surely are not well! - Try some of that ham before ye, - And then, Tom, ring the bell!" - - - "I cannot eat, my mother, - My tongue is parched and bound, - And my head, somehow or other, - Is swimming round and round. - - - In my Eyes there is a fulness, - And my pulse is beating quick; - On my brain is a weight of dulness: - Oh, mother, I am sick!" - - - "These {075}long, long nights of watching - Are killing you outright; - The evening dews are catching, - And you're out every night. - - - Why does that horrid grumbler, - Old Inkpen, work you so?" - "My head! Oh, that tenth tumbler! - 'Twas that which wrought my woe!" - - - - - - -THE BITTER BIT - - - The {076}sun is in the sky, mother, the flowers are springing - fair, - And the melody of woodland birds is stirring in the air; - The river, smiling to the sky, glides onward to the sea, - And happiness is everywhere, oh mother, but with me! - - - They are going to the church, mother,--I hear the mar- - riage-bell; - It booms along the upland,--oh! it haunts me like a - knell; - He leads her on his arm, mother, he cheers her faltering - step, - And closely to his side she clings,--she does, the demirep! - - - They are crossing by the stile, mother, where we so oft - have stood, - The stile beside the shady thorn, at the corner of the - wood; - And the boughs, that wont to murmur back the words - that won my ear, - Wave their silver blossoms o'er him, as he leads his bridal - fere. - - - He will pass {077}beside the stream, mother, where first my - hand he pressed, - By the meadow where, with quivering lip, his passion he - confessed; - And down the hedgerows where we've strayed again and - yet again; - But he will not think of me, mother, his broken-hearted - Jane! - - - He said that I was proud, mother,--that I looked for rank - and gold; - He said I did not love him,--he said my words were - cold; - He said I kept him off and on, in hopes of higher - game-- - And it may be that I did, mother; but who hasn't done - the same? - - - I did not know my heart, mother,--I know it now too - late; - I thought that I without a pang could wed some nobler - mate; - But no nobler suitor sought me,--and he has taken wing, - And my heart is gone, and I am left a lone and blighted - thing. - - - You {078}may lay me in my "bed, mother,--my head is throb- - bing sore; - And, mother, prithee, let the sheets be duly aired before; - And, if you'd do a kindness to your poor desponding - child, - Draw me a pot of beer, mother--and, mother, draw it mild! - - -[Illustration: 090] - - - - - - -THE MEETING - - - Once {079}I lay beside a fountain, - Lulled me with its gentle song, - And my thoughts o'er dale and mountain - With the clouds were borne along. - - - There I saw old castles flinging - Shadowy gleams on moveless seas, - Saw gigantic forests swinging - To and fro without a breeze; - - - And in dusky alleys straying, - Many a giant shape of power, - Troops of nymphs in sunshine playing, - Singing, dancing, hour on hour. - - - I, too, trod these plains Elysian, - Heard their ringing tones of mirth, - But a brighter, fairer vision - Called me back again to earth. - - - From the forest shade advancing, - See, where comes a lovely May; - The dew, like gems, before her glancing, - As she brushes it away! - - - Straight {080}I rose, and ran to meet her, - Seized her hand--the heavenly blue - Of her eyes smiled brighter, sweeter, - As she asked me--"Who are you?" - - - To that question came another-- - What its aim I still must doubt-- - And she asked me, "How's your mother? - Does she know that you are out?" - - - "No! my mother does not know it, - Beauteous, heaven-descended muse!" - "Then be off, my handsome poet, - And say I sent you with the news!" - - -[Illustration: 093] - - - - - - -THE CONVICT AND THE AUSTRALIAN LADY - - - Thy {081}skin is dark as jet, ladye, - Thy cheek is sharp and high, - And there's a cruel leer, love, - Within thy rolling eye: - - - These tangled ebon tresses - No comb hath e'er gone through; - And thy forehead, it is furrowed by - The elegant tattoo! - - - I love {082}thee,--oh, I love thee, - Thou strangely-feeding maid! - Nay, lift not thus thy boomerang, - I meant not to upbraid! - - - Come, let me taste those yellow lips - That ne'er were tasted yet, - Save when the shipwrecked mariner - Passed through them for a whet. - - - Nay, squeeze me not so tightly! - For I am gaunt and thin; - There's little flesh to tempt thee - Beneath a convict's skin. - - - I came not to be eaten; - I sought thee, love, to woo; - Besides, bethink thee, dearest, - Thou'st dined on cockatoo. - - - Thy father is a chieftain! - Why, that's the very thing! - Within my native country - I too have been a king. - - - Behold this branded letter, - Which nothing can efface! - It is the royal emblem, - The token of my race! - - - But {083}rebels rose against me, - And dared my power disown-- - You've heard, love, of the judges? - They drove me from my throne. - - - And I have wandered hither, - Across the stormy sea, - In search of glorious freedom,-- - In search, my sweet, of thee! - - - The bush is now my empire, - The knife my sceptre keen; - Come with me to the desert wild, - And be my dusky queen. - - - I cannot give thee jewels, - I have nor sheep nor cow, - Yet there are kangaroos, love, - And colonists enow. - - - We'll meet the unwary settler, - As whistling home he goes, - And I'll take tribute from him, - His money and his clothes. - - - Then on his bleeding carcass - Thou'lt lay thy pretty paw, - And lunch upon him roasted, - Or, if you like it, raw! - - - Then {084}come with me, my princess, - My own Australian dear, - Within this grove of gum-trees - We'll hold our bridal cheer! - - - Thy heart with love is heating, - I feel it through my side:-- - Hurrah, then, for the noble pair, - The Convict and his Bride! - - - - - - -DOLEFUL LAY OF THE HONORABLE J. O. UWINS - - - Come and listen, lords and ladies, - To a woeful lay of mine; - He whose tailor's bill unpaid is, - Let him now his ear incline! - - - Let him hearken to my story, - How the noblest of the land - Pined in piteous purgatory, - 'Neath a sponging Bailiffs hand. - - - I. O. Uwins! I. O. Uwins! - Baron's son although thou be, - Thou must pay for thy misdoings - In the country of the free! - - - None of all thy sire's retainers - To thy rescue now may come; - And there lie some score detainers - With Abednego, the bum. - - - Little recked he of his prison - Whilst the sun was in the sky: - Only when the moon was risen - Did you hear the captive's cry. - - - For till then, cigars and claret - Lulled him in oblivion sweet; - And {086}he much, preferred a garret, - For his drinking, to the street. - - - But the moonlight, pale and broken, - Pained at soul the Baron's son; - For he knew, by that soft token, - That the larking had begun;-- - - - That the stout and valiant Marquis - Then was leading forth his swells, - Milling some policeman's carcass, - Or purloining private bells. - - - So he sat in grief and sorrow, - Rather drunk than otherwise, - Till the golden gush of morrow - Dawned once more upon his eyes: - - - Till the sponging Bailiff's daughter, - Lightly tapping at the door, - Brought his draught of soda-water, - Brandy-bottomed as before. - - - "Sweet Rebecca! has your father, - Think you, made a deal of brass?" - And she answered--"Sir, I rather - Should imagine that he has." - - - Uwins then, his whiskers scratching, - Leered upon the maiden's face, - And, {087}her hand with ardour catching, - Folded her in close embrace. - - - "La, Sir! let alone--you fright me!" - Said the daughter of the Jew: - "Dearest, how those eyes delight me! - Let me love thee, darling, do!" - - - "Vat is dish?" the Bailiff muttered, - Rushing in with fury wild; - "Ish your muffins so veil buttered, - Dat you darsh insult ma shild?" - - - "Honourable my intentions, - Good Abednego, I swear! - And I have some small pretensions, - For I am a Baron's heir. - - - If you'll only clear my credit, - And advance a _thou_ * or so, - She's a peeress--I have said it: - Don't you twig, Abednego?" - - - * The fashionable abbreviation for a thousand pounds. - - - "Datsh a very different matter," - Said the Bailiff, with a leer; - "But you musht not cut it fatter - Than ta slish will shtand, ma tear! - - - If you seeksh ma approbation, - You musht quite give up your rigsh, - Alsho {088}you musht join our nashun, - And renounsli ta flesh of pigsh. - - - Fast as one of Fagin's pupils, - I. O. Uwins did agree! - little plagued with holy scruples - From the starting-post was he. - - - But at times a baleful vision - Rose before his shuddering view, - For he knew that circumcision - Was expected from a Jew. - - - At a meeting of the Rabbis, - Held about the Whitsuntide, - Was this thorough-paced Barabbas - Wedded to his Hebrew bride: - - - All his previous debts compounded, - From the sponging-house he came, - And his father's feelings wounded - With reflections on the same. - - - But the sire his son accosted-- - "Split my wig! if any more - Such a double-dyed apostate - Shall presume to cross my door! - - - Not a penny-piece to save ye - From the kennel or the spout;-- - Dinner, {089}John! the pig and gravy!-- - Kick this dirty scoundrel out!" - - - Forth rushed I. O. Uwins, faster - Than all winking--much afraid - That the orders of the master - Would be punctually obeyed: - - - Sought his club, and then the sentence - Of expulsion first he saw; - No one dared to own acquaintance - With a Bailiff's son-in-law. - - - Uselessly, down Bond Street strutting, - Did he greet his friends of yore: - Such a universal cutting - Never man received before: - - - Till at last his pride revolted-- - Pale, and lean, and stern he grew; - And his wife Rebecca bolted - With a missionary Jew. - - - Ye who read this doleful ditty, - Ask ye where is Uwins now? - Wend your way through London city, - Climb to Holborn's lofty brow; - - - Near the sign-post of the "Nigger," - Near the baked-potato shed, - You {090}may see a ghastly figure - With three hats upon his head. - - - When the evening shades are dusky, - Then the phantom form draws near, - And, with accents low and husky, - Pours effluvium in your ear; - - - Craving an immediate barter - Of your trousers or surtout; - And you know the Hebrew martyr, - Once the peerless I. O. U - - -[Illustration: 102] - - -[Illustration: 103] - - - - - - -THE KNYGHTE AND THE TAYLZEOUR'S DAUGHTER - - - Did {091}you ever hear the story-- - Old the legend is, and true-- - How a knyghte of fame and glory - All aside his armour threw; - Spouted spear and pawned habergeon, - Pledged his sword and surcoat gay, - Sate down cross-legged on the shop-board, - Sate and stitched the livelong day? - - - "Taylzeour! {092}not one single shilling - Does my breeches-pocket hold: - I to pay am really willing, - If I only had the gold. - Farmers none can I encounter, - Graziers there are none to kill; - Therefore, prithee, gentle taylzeour, - Bother not about thy bill." - - - "Good Sir Knyghte, just once too often - Have you tried that slippery trick; - Hearts like mine you cannot soften, - Vainly do you ask for tick. - Christmas and its bills are coming, - Soon will they be showering in; - Therefore, once for all, my rum un, - I expect you'll post the tin. - - - "Mark, Sir Knyghte, that gloomy bayliffe - In the palmer's amice brown; - He shall lead you unto jail, if - Instantly you stump not down." - Deeply swore the young crusader, - But the taylzeour would not hear; - And the gloomy, bearded bayliffe - Evermore kept sneaking near. - - - "Neither groat nor maravedi - Have I got my soul to bless; - And {093}I'd feel extremely seedy, - Languishing in vile duresse. - Therefore listen, ruthless taylzeour, - Take my steed and armour free, - Pawn them at thy Hebrew uncle's, - And I'll work the rest for thee." - - - Lightly leaped he on the shop-board, - Lightly crooked his manly limb, - Lightly drove the glancing needle - Through the growing doublet's rim. - Gaberdines in countless number - Did the taylzeour knyghte repair, - And entirely on cucumber - And on cabbage lived he there. - - - Once his weary task beguiling - With a low and plaintive song, - That good knyghte o'er miles of broadcloth - Drove the hissing goose along; - From her lofty latticed window - Looked the taylzeour's daughter down, - And she instantly discovered - That her heart was not her own. - - - "Canst thou love me, gentle stranger?" - Picking at a pink she stood-- - And the knyghte at once admitted - That he rather thought he could. - "He {094}who weds me shall have riches, - Gold, and lands, and houses free." - "For a single pair of--_small-clothes_, - I would roam the world with thee!" - - - Then she flung him down the tickets-- - Well the knyghte their import knew-- - "Take this gold, and win thy armour - From the unbelieving Jew. - Though in garments mean and lowly, - Thou wouldst roam the world with me, - Only {095}as a belted warrior, - Stranger, will I wed with, thee!" - - -[Illustration: 106] - - - At the feast of good Saint Stitchem, - In the middle of the Spring, - There was some superior jousting, - By the order of the King. - "Valiant knyghtes!" proclaimed the monarch, - "You will please to understand, - He who bears himself most bravely - Shall obtain my daughter's hand." - - - Well and bravely did they bear them, - Bravely battled, one and all; - But the bravest in the tourney - Was a warrior stout and tall. - None could tell his name or lineage, - None could meet him in the field, - And a goose regardant proper - Hissed along his azure shield. - - - "Warrior, thou hast won my daughter!" - But the champion bowed his knee, - "Royal blood may not be wasted - On a simple knight like me. - She I love is meek and lowly; - But her heart is kind and free; - Also, there is tin forthcoming, - Though she is of low degree." - - - Slowly {096}rose that nameless warrior, - Slowly turned his steps aside, - Passed the lattice where the princess - Sate in beauty, sate in pride. - Passed the row of noble ladies, - Hied him to an humbler seat, - And in silence laid the chaplet - At the taylzeour's daughter's feet. - - -[Illustration: 108] - - -[Illustration: 109] - - - - - - -THE MIDNIGHT VISIT - - - It was the Lord of Castlereagh, he sat within his room, - His arms were crossed upon his breast, his face was - marked with gloom; - They said that St Helena's Isle had rendered up its - charge, - That France was bristling high in arms--the Emperor at - large. - - - 'Twas {098}midnight! all the lamps were dim, and dull as - death the street, - It might be that the watchman slept that night upon his - beat, - When lo! a heavy foot was heard to creak upon the - stair, - The door revolved upon its hinge--Great Heaven!--What - enters there? - - - A little man, of stately mien, with slow and solemn - stride; - His hands are crossed upon his back, his coat is opened - wide; - And on his vest of green he wears an eagle and a - star,-- - Saint George! protect us! 'tis The Man--the thunder- - bolt of war! - - - Is that the famous hat that waved along Marengo's - ridge? - Are these the spurs of Austerlitz--the boots of Lodi's - bridge? - Leads he the conscript swarm again from France's hornet - hive? - - - What seeks the fell usurper here, in Britain, and alive? - Pale {099}grew the Lord of Castlereagh, his tongue was parched - and dry, - As in his brain he felt the glare of that tremendous eye; - What wonder if he shrunk in fear, for who could meet the - glance - Of him who reared, 'mid Russian snows, the gonfalon of - France? - - - From the side-pocket of his vest a pinch the despot - took, - Yet not a whit did he relax the sternness of his look: - "Thou thoughtst the lion was afar, but he hath burst the - chain-- - The watchword for to-night is France--the answer St - Heléne. - - - "And didst thou deem the barren isle, or ocean waves, - could bind - The master of the universe--the monarch of mankind? - I tell thee, fool! the world itself is all too small for me; - I laugh to scorn thy bolts and bars--I burst them, and - am free. - - - "Thou thinkst that England hates me! Mark!--This - very night my name - Was thundered in its capital with tumult and acclaim! - They {100}saw me, knew me, owned my power--Proud lord! - I say, beware! - There be men within the Surrey side, who know to do - and dare! - - - "To-morrow in thy very teeth my standard will I rear-- - Ay, well that ashen cheek of thine may blanch and shrink - with fear! - To-morrow night another town shall sink in ghastly - flames; - And as I crossed the Borodin, so shall I cross the - Thames! - - - "Thou'lt seize me, wilt thou, ere the dawn? Weak - lordling, do thy worst! - These hands ere now have broke thy chains, thy fetters - they have burst. - Yet, wouldst thou know my resting-place? Behold, 'tis - written there! - And let thy coward myrmidons approach me if they dare!" - - - Another pinch, another stride--he passes through the - door-- - "Was it a phantom or a man was standing on the floor? - And could that be the Emperor that moved before my eyes? - Ah, yes! too sure it was himself, for here the paper lies!" - - - With, {101}trembling hands Lord Castlereagh undid the mystic - scroll, - With glassy eye essayed to read, for fear was on his soul-- - "What's here?--'At Astley's, every night, the play of - Moscow's Fall! - Napoleon, for the thousandth time, by Mr Gomersal!'" - - -[Illustration: 113] - - -[Illustration: 114] - - - - - - -THE LAY OF THE LOVELORN. - - - Comrades, {102}you may pass the rosy. With permission of - the chair, - I shall leave you for a little, for I'd like to take the air. - Whether 'twas the sauce at dinner, or that glass of ginger- - beer, - Or these strong cheroots, I know not, but I feel a little queer. - - - Let me go. Nay, Chuckster, blow me, 'pon my soul, this - is too bad! - When you want me, ask the waiter; he knows where I'm - to be had. - Whew! {103}This is a great relief now! Let me but undo my - stock; - Resting here beneath the porch, my nerves will steady - like a rock. - - - In my ears I hear the singing of a lot of favourite tunes-- - Bless my heart, how very odd! Why, surely there's a - brace of moons! - See! the stars! how bright they twinkle, winking with a - frosty glare, - Like my faithless cousin Amy when she drove me to - despair. - - - Oh, my cousin, spider-hearted! Oh, my Amy! No, con- - found it! - I must wear the mournful willow,--all around my hat - I've bound it. - Falser than the bank of fancy, frailer than a shilling glove, - Puppet to a father's anger, minion to a nabob's love! - - - Is it well to wish thee happy? Having known me, could - you ever - Stoop to marry half a heart, and little more than half a - liver? - Happy! Damme! Thou shalt lower to his level day by - day, - Changing from the best of china to the commonest of - clay. - - - As the husband is, the wife is,--he is stomach-plagued - and old; - And his curry soups will make thy cheek the colour of - his gold. - When his feeble love is sated, he will hold thee surely - then - Something lower than his hookah,--something less than - his cayenne. - - - What is this? His eyes are pinky. Was't the claret? - Oh, no, no,-- - Bless your soul! it was the salmon,--salmon always makes - him so. - Take him to thy dainty chamber--sooth him with thy - lightest fancies; - He will understand thee, won't he?--pay thee with a - lover's glances? - - - Louder {105}than the loudest trumpet, harsh as harshest - ophicleide, - Nasal respirations answer the endearments of his bride. - Sweet response, delightful music! Gaze upon thy noble - charge, - Till the spirit fill thy bosom that inspired the meek - Laffarge. - - - Better thou wert dead before me,--better, better that I - stood, - Looking on thy murdered body, like the injured Daniel - Good! - Better thou and I were lying, cold and timber-stiff and - dead, - With a pan of burning charcoal underneath our nuptial - bed! - - - Cursed be the Bank of England's notes, that tempt the - soul to sin! - Cursed be the want of acres,--doubly cursed the want of tin! - Cursed be the marriage-contract, that enslaved thy soul - to greed! - Cursed be the sallow lawyer, that prepared and drew the - deed! - - - Cursed {106}be his foul apprentice, who the loathsome fees did - earn! - Cursed be the clerk and parson,--cursed be the whole - concern! - Oh, 'tis well that I should bluster,--much I'm like to - make of that; - Better comfort have I found in singing "All Around my - Hat." - - - But that song, so wildly plaintive, palls upon my British - ears. - 'Twill not do to pine for ever,--I am getting up in - years. - Can't I turn the honest penny, scribbling for the weekly - press, - And in writing Sunday libels drown my private wretched- - ness? - Oh, to feel the wild pulsation that in manhood's dawn I - knew, - When my days were all before me, and my years were - twenty-two! - - - When I {107}smoked my independent pipe along the Quadrant - wide, - With the many larks of London flaring up on every side; - - - When I went the pace so wildly, caring little what might - come; - Coffee-milling care and sorrow, with a nose-adapted thumb; - Felt the exquisite enjoyment, tossing nightly off, oh - heavens! - Brandy at the Cider Cellars, kidneys smoking-hot at - Evans'! - - - Or in the Adelphi sitting, half in rapture, half in tears, - Saw the glorious melodrama conjure up the shades of - years! - Saw Jack Sheppard, noble stripling, act his wondrous feats - again, - Snapping Newgate's bars of iron, like an infant's daisy - chain. - - - Might was right, and all the terrors, which had held the - world in awe, - Were despised, and prigging prospered, spite of Laurie, - spite of law. - In such {108}scenes as these I triumphed, ere my passion's - edge was rusted, - And my cousin's cold refusal left me very much dis- - gusted! - - - Since, my heart is sere and withered, and I do not care a - curse, - Whether worse shall be the better, or the better be the - worse. - Hark! my merry comrades call me, bawling for another - jorum; - They would mock me in derision, should I thus appear - before 'em. - - - Womankind no more shall vex me, such at least as go - arrayed. - In the most expensive satins and the newest silk brocade. - I'll to Afric, lion-haunted, where the giant forest yields - Rarer robes and finer tissue than are sold at Spital- - fields. - - - Or to burst all chains of habit, flinging habit's self - aside, - I shall walk the tangled jungle in mankind's primeval - pride; - Feeding on the luscious berries and the rich cassava root, - Lots of dates and lots of guavas, clusters of forbidden - fruit. - - - Never comes the trader thither, never o'er the purple - main - Sounds the oath of British commerce, or the accents of - Cockaigne. - There, methinks, would be enjoyment, where no envious - rule prevents; - Sink the steamboats! cuss the railways! rot, O rot the - Three per Cents! - - - There the passions, cramped no longer, shall have space - to breathe, my cousin! - I will wed some savage woman--nay, I'll wed at least a - dozen. - There I'll rear my young mulattoes, as no Bond Street - brats are reared: - They shall dive for alligators, catch the mid goats by the - beard-- - - - Whistle to the cockatoos, and mock the hairy-faced - baboon, - Worship mighty Mumbo Jumbo in the Mountains of the - Moon. - I myself, in {110}far Timbuctoo, leopard's blood will daily - quaff, - Ride a tiger-hunting, mounted on a thorough-bred giraffe. - - - Fiercely shall I shout the war-whoop, as some sullen - stream he crosses, - Startling from their noonday slumbers iron-bound rhino- - ceroses. - Fool! again the dream, the fancy! But I know my words - are mad, - For I hold the grey barbarian lower than the Christian - cad. - - - I the swell--the city dandy! I to seek such horrid - places,-- - I to haunt with squalid negroes, blubber-lips, and monkey- - faces! - I to wed with Coromantees! I, who managed--very - near-- - To secure theheart and fortune of the widow Shilli- - beer! - - - Stuff and nonsense! let me never fling a single chance - away; - Maids ere now, I know, have loved me, and another - maiden may. - 'Morning {111}post' ('The Times' won't trust me) - help me, as I know you can; - I will pen an advertisement,--that's a never- - failing plan. - - -[Illustration: 123] - - - "Wanted--By a bard, in wedlock, some young - interesting woman: - Looks are not so much an object, if the shiners - be forthcoming! - "Hymen's chains the advertiser vows shall be - but silken fetters; - Please address to A. T., Chelsea. N.B.--You - must pay the letters." - That's the sort of thing to do it. Now I'll go - and taste the balmy,-- - Rest thee with thy yellow nabob, spider-hearted - Cousin Amy! - - -[Illustration: 124] - - - - - - -MY WIFE'S COUSIN - - - Decked {112}with shoes of blackest polish, - And with shirt as white as snow, - After matutinal breakfast - To my daily desk I go; - - - First a fond salute bestowing - On my Mary's ruby lips, - Which, perchance, may be rewarded - With a pair of playful nips. - - - All day long across the ledger - Still my patient pen I drive, - Thinking what a feast awaits me - In my happy home at five; - - - In my small one-storeyed Eden, - Where my wife awaits my coming, - And our solitary handmaid - Mutton-chops with care is crumbing. - - - When {113}the clock proclaims my freedom, - Then my hat I seize and vanish; - Every trouble from my bosom, - Every anxious care I banish. - - - Swiftly brushing o'er the pavement, - At a furious pace I go, - Till I reach my darling dwelling - In the wilds of Pimlico. - - - "Mary, wife, where art thou, dearest?" - Thus I cry, while yet afar; - Ah! what scent invades my nostrils?-- - 'Tis the smoke of a cigar! - - - Instantly into the parlour - Like a maniac I haste, - And I find a young Life-Guardsman, - With his arm round Mary's waist. - - - And his other hand is playing - Most familiarly with hers; - And I think my Brussels carpet - Somewhat damaged by his spurs. - - - "Fire and furies! what the blazes?" - Thus in frenzied wrath I call; - When my spouse her arms upraises, - With a most astounding squall. - - - "Was there ever such a monster, - Ever such a wretched wife? - Ah! how {114}long must I endure it, - How protract this hateful life? - - - All day long, quite unprotected, - Does he leave his wife at home; - And she cannot see her cousins, - Even when they kindly come!" - - - Then the young Life-Guardsman, rising, - Scarce vouchsafes a single word, - But, with look of deadly menace, - Claps his hand upon his sword; - - - And in fear I faintly falter-- - "This your cousin, then he's mine! - Very glad, indeed, to see you,- - Won't you stop with us, and dine?" - - - Won't a ferret suck a rabbit?-- - As a thing of course he stops; - And with most voracious swallow - Walks into my mutton-chops. - - - In the twinkling of a bed-post - Is each savoury platter clear, - And he shows uncommon science - In his estimate of beer. - - - Half-and-half goes down before him, - Gurgling from the pewter pot; - And he {115}moves a counter motion - For a glass of something hot. - - - Neither chops nor beer I grudge him, - Nor a moderate share of goes; - But I know not why he's always - Treading upon Mary's toes. - - - Evermore, when, home returning, - From the counting-house I come, - Do I find the young Life-Guardsman - Smoking pipes and drinking rum. - - - Evermore he stays to dinner, - Evermore devours my meal; - For I have a wholesome horror - Both of powder and of steel. - - - Yet I know he's Mary's cousin, - For my only son and heir - Much resembles that young Guardsman, - "With the self-same curly hair; - - - But I wish he would not always - Spoil my carpet with his spurs; - And I'd rather see his fingers - In the fire, than touching hers. - - -[Illustration: 128] - - - - - - -THE QUEEN IN FRANCE - - - An Ancient Scottish Ballad. - - - - - - -PART I. - - - It {116}fell upon the August month, - When landsmen bide at hame, - That our gude Queen went out to sail - Upon the saut-sea faem. - - - And she has ta'en the silk and gowd, - The like was never seen; - And she {117}has ta'en the Prince Albert, - And the bauld Lord Abërdeen. - - - "Ye'se bide at hame, Lord Wellington: - Ye daurna gang wi' me: - For ye hae been ance in the land o' France, - And that's enench for ye. - - - "Ye'se bide at hame, Sir Robert Peel, - To gather the red and the white monie; - And see that my men dinna eat me up - At Windsor wi' their gluttonie." - - - They hadna sailed a league, a league,-- - A league, but barely twa, - When the lift grew dark, and the waves grew wan, - And the wind began to blaw. - - - "O weel weel may the waters rise, - In welcome o' their Queen; - What gars ye look sae white, Albert? - What makes your ee sae green?" - - - "My heart is sick, my heid is sair: - "Gie me a glass o' the gude brandie: - To set my foot on the braid green sward, - I'd gie the half o' my yearly fee. - - - "It's {118}sweet to hunt the sprightly hare - On the bonny slopes o' Windsor lea, - But O, it's ill to bear the thud - And pitching o' the saut saut sea!" - - - And aye they sailed, and aye they sailed, - Till England sank behind, - And over to the coast of France - They drave before the wind. - - - Then up and spak the King o' France, - Was birling at the wine; - "O wha may be the gay ladye, - That owns that ship sae fine? - - - "And wha may be that bonny lad, - That looks sae pale and wan? - I'll wad my lands o' Picardie, - That he's nae Englishman." - - - Then up and spak an auld French lord, - Was sitting beneath his knee, - "It is the Queen o' braid England - That's come across the sea." - - - "And O an it be England's Queen, - She's welcome here the day; - I'd rather hae her for a friend - Than for a deadly fae. - - - "Gae, {119}kill the eerock in the yard, - The auld sow in the sty, - And bake for her the brockit calf, - But and the puddock-pie!" - - - And he has gane until the ship, - As soon as it drew near, - And he has ta'en her by the hand-- - "Ye're kindly welcome here!" - - - And syne he kissed her on ae cheek, - And syne upon the ither; - And he ca'd her his sister dear, - And she ca'd him her brither. - - - "Light doun, light doun now, ladye mine, - Light doun upon the shore; - Nae English king has trodden here - This thousand years and more." - - - "And gin I lighted on your land, - As light fu' weel I may, - O am I free to feast wi' you, - And free to come and gae?" - - - And he has sworn by the Haly Rood, - And the black stane o' Dumblane, - That she is free to come and gae - Till twenty days are gane. - - - "I've {120}lippened to a Frenchman's aith," - Said gude Lord Aberdeen; - "But I'll never lippen to it again - Sae lang's the grass is green. - - - "Yet gae your ways, my sovereign liege, - Sin' better mayna be; - The wee bit bairns are safe at hame, - By the blessing o' Marie!" - - - Then doun she lighted frae the ship, - She lighted safe and sound; - And glad was our good Prince Albert - To step upon the ground. - - - "Is that your Queen, my Lord," she said, - "That auld and buirdly dame? - I see the crown upon her head; - But I dinna ken her name." - - - And she has kissed the Frenchman's Queen, - And eke her daughters three, - And gien her hand to the young Princess, - That louted upon the knee. - - - And she has gane to the proud castle, - That's biggit beside the sea: - But aye, when she thought o' the bairns at hame, - The tear was in her ee. - - - She {121}gied the King the Cheshire cheese, - But and the porter fine; - And he gied her the puddock-pies, - But and the blude-red wine. - - - Then up and spak the dourest Prince, - An admiral was he; - "Let's keep the Queen o' England here, - Sin' better mayna be! - - - "O mony is the dainty king - That we hae trappit here; - And mony is the English yerl - That's in our dungeons drear!" - - - "You lee, you lee, ye graceless loon, - Sae loud's I hear ye lee! - There never yet was Englishman - That came to skaith by me. - - - "Gae oot, gae oot, ye fause traitour! - Gae oot until the street; - It's shame that Kings and Queens should sit - Wi' sic a knave at meat!" - - - Then up and raise the young French lord, - In wrath and hie disdain-- - "O ye may sit, and ye may eat - Your puddock-pies alane! - - - "But {122}were I in my ain gude ship, - And sailing wi' the wind, - And did I meet wi' auld Napier, - I'd tell him o' my mind." - - - O then the Queen leuch loud and lang, - And her colour went and came; - "Gin ye meet wi' Charlie on the sea, - Ye'd wish yersel at hame!" - - - And aye they birlit at the wine, - And drank richt merrilie, - Till the auld cock crawed in the castle-yard, - And the abbey bell struck three. - - - The Queen she gaed until her bed, - And Prince Albert likewise; - And the last word that gay ladye said - Was--"O thae puddock-pies!" - - - - - - -PART II. - - - The sun was high within the lift - Afore the French King raise; - And syne he louped intil his sark, - And warslit on his claes. - - - "Gae {123}up, gae up, my little foot-page, - Gae up until the toun; - And gin ye meet wi' the auld harper, - Be sure ye bring him doun." - - - And he has met wi' the auld harper; - O but his een were reid; - And the bizzing o' a swarm o' bees - Was singing in his heid. - - - "Alack! alack!" the harper said, - "That this should e'er hae been! - I daurna gang before my liege, - For I was fou yestreen." - - - "It's ye maun come, ye auld harper: - Ye dauma tarry lang; - The King is just dementit-like - For wanting o' a sang." - - - And when he came to the King's chamber, - He loutit on his knee, - "O what may be your gracious will - Wi' an auld frail man like me?" - - - "I want a sang, harper," he said, - "I want a sang richt speedilie; - And gin ye dinna make a sang, - I'll hang ye up on the gallows tree." - - - "I canna {124}do't, my liege," he said, - "Hae mercy on my auld grey hair! - But gin that I had got the words, - I think that I might mak the air." - - - "And wha's to mak the words, fause loon, - When minstrels we have barely twa; - And Lamartine is in Paris toun, - And Victor Hugo far awa?" - - - "The diel may gang for Lamartine, - And flee away wi' auld Hugo, - For a better minstrel than them baith - Within this very toun I know. - - - "O kens my liege the gude Walter, - At hame they ca' him Bon Gaultier? - He'll rhyme ony day wi' True Thomas, - And he is in the castle here." - - - The French King first he lauchit loud, - And syne did he begin to sing; - "My een are auld, and my heart is cauld, - Or I suld hae known the minstrels' King. - - - "Gae take to him this ring o' gowd, - And this mantle o' the silk sae fine, - And bid him mak a maister sang - For his sovereign ladye's sake and mine." - - - "I winna {125}take the gowden ring, - Nor yet the mantle fine: - But I'll mak the sang for my ladye's sake, - And for a cup of wine." - - - The Queen was sitting at the cards, - The King ahint her back; - And aye she dealed the red honours, - And aye she dealed the black; - - - And syne unto the dourest Prince - She spak richt courteouslie;-- - "Now will ye play, Lord Admiral, - Now will ye play wi' me?" - - - The dourest Prince he bit his lip, - And his brow was black as glaur; - "The only game that e'er I play - Is the bluidy game o' war!" - - - "And gin ye play at that, young man, - It weel may cost ye sair; - Ye'd better stick to the game at cards, - For you'll win nae honours there!" - - - The King he leuch, and the Queen she leuch, - Till the tears ran blithely doon; - But the Admiral he raved and swore, - Till they kicked him frae the room. - - - The {126}harper came, and the harper sang, - And O but they were fain; - For when he had sung the gude sang twice, - They called for it again. - - - It was the sang o' the Field o' Gowd, - In the days of anld langsyne; - When bauld King Henry crossed the seas, - Wi' his brither King to dine. - - - And aye he harped, and aye he carped, - Till up the Queen she sprang-- - "I'll wad a County Palatine, - Gude Walter made that sang." - - - Three days had come, three days had gane, - The fourth began to fa', - When our gude Queen to the Frenchman said, - "It's time I was awa! - - - "O, bonny are the fields o' France, - And saftly draps the rain; - But my barnies are in Windsor Tower, - And greeting a' their lane. - - - "Now ye maun come to me, Sir King, - As I have come to ye; - And a benison upon your heid - For a' your courtesie! - - - "Ye maun {127}come, and bring your ladye fere; - Ye sail na say me no; - And ye'se mind, we have aye a bed to spare - For that gawsy chield Guizot." - - - Now he has ta'en her lily-white hand, - And put it to his lip, - And he has ta'en her to the strand, - And left her in her ship. - - - "Will ye come back, sweet bird," he cried, - "Will ye come kindly here, - When the lift is blue, and the lavrocks sing, - In the spring-time o' the year?" - - - "It's I would blithely come, my Lord, - To see ye in the spring; - It's I would blithely venture back, - But for ae little thing. - - - "It isna that the winds are rude, - Or that the waters rise, - But I loe the roasted beef at hame, - And no thae puddock-pies!" - - -[Illustration: 140] - - - - - - -THE MASSACRE OF MACPHERSON - - - [From the Gaelic.] - - - I. - - - Fhairshon {128}swore a feud - Against the elan M'Tavish; - Marched into their land - To murder and to rafish; - For he did resolve - To extirpate the vipers, - With four-and-twenty men - And five-and-thirty pipers. - - - II. - - - But {129}when he had gone - Half-way down Strath Canaan, - Of his fighting tail - Just three were remainin'. - They were all he had, - To back him in ta battle; - All the rest had gone - Olf, to drive ta cattle. - - - III. - - - "Fery coot!" cried Fhairshon, - "So my clan disgraced is; - Lads, we'll need to fight, - Pefore we touch the peasties. - Here's Mhic-Mac-Methusaleh - Coming wi' his fassals, - Gillies seventy-three, - And sixty Dhuiné wassails!" - - - IV. - - - "Coot tay to you, sir; - Are you not ta Fhairshon? - Was you coming here - To fisit any person? - You {130}are a plackguard, sir! - It is now six hundred - Coot long years, and more, - Since my glen was plundered." - - - V. - - - "Fat is tat you say? - Dare you cock your peaver? - I will teach you, sir, - Fat is coot pehaviour! - You shall not exist - For another day more; - I will shoot you, sir, - Or stap you with my claymore!" - - - VI. - - - "I am fery glad - To learn what you mention, - Since I can prevent - Any such intention." - So Mhic-Mac-Methusaleh - Gave some warlike howls, - Trew his skhian-dhu, - An' stuck it in his powels. - - - VII. - - - In {131}this fery way - Tied ta faliant Fhairshon, - Who was always thought - A superior person. - Fhairshon had a son, - Who married Noah's daughter, - And nearly spoiled ta Flood, - By trinking up ta water: - - - VIII. - - - Which he would have done, - I at least believe it, - Had ta mixture peen - Only half Glenlivet. - This is all my tale: - Sirs, I hope 'tis new t'ye! - Here's your fery good healths, - And tamn ta whusky duty! - - -[Illustration: 144] - - - - - - -THE YOUNG STOCKBROKER'S BRIDE - - - "O swiftly {132}speed the gallant bark!-- - I say, you mind my luggage, porter! - I do not heed yon storm-cloud dark, - I go to wed old Jenkin's daughter. - I go to claim my own Mariar, - The fairest flower that blooms in Harwich; - My panting bosom is on fire, - And all is ready for the marriage." - - - Thus {133}spoke young Mivins, as he stepped - On hoard the "Firefly," Harwich packet; - The bell rang out, the paddles swept - Plish-plashing round with noisy racket. - The louring clouds young Mivins saw, - But fear, he felt, was only folly; - And so he smoked a fresh cigar, - Then fell to whistling "Nix my dolly!" - - - The wind it roared; the packet's hulk - Rocked with a most unpleasant motion; - Young Mivins leant him o'er a bulk, - And poured his sorrows to the ocean. - Tints--blue and yellow--signs of woe-- - Flushed, rainbow like, his noble face in, - As suddenly he rushed below, - Crying, "Steward, steward, bring a basin!" - - - On sped the bark: the howling storm - The funnel's tapering smoke did blow far; - Unmoved, young Mivins' lifeless form - Was stretched upon a haircloth sofar. - All night he moaned, the steamer groaned, - And he was hourly getting fainter; - When it came bump against the pier, - And there was fastened by the painter. - Young Mivins {134}rose, arranged his clothes, - Caught wildly at his small portmanteau; - He was unfit to lie or sit, - And found it difficult to stand, too. - - - He sought the deck, he sought the shore, - He sought the lady's house like winking, - And asked, low tapping at the door, - "Is this the house of Mr Jenkin?" - A short man came--he told his name-- - Mivins was short--he cut him shorter, - For in a fury he exclaimed, - "Are you the man as vants my darter? - Yot kim'd on you, last night, young sqvire?" - "It was the steamer, rot and scuttle her!" - "Mayhap it vos, but our Mariar - Yalked off last night with Bill the butler." - - - "And so you've kim'd a post too late." - "It was the packet, sir, miscarried!" - "Vy, does you think a gal can vait - As sets 'er 'art on being married? - Last night she vowed she'd be a bride, - And 'ave a spouse for vuss or better: - So Bill struck in; the knot vos tied, - And now I vishes you may get her!" - - - Young {135}Mivins turned him from the spot, - Bewildered with the dreadful stroke, her - Perfidy came like a shot-- - He was a thunder-struck stockbroker. - "A curse on steam and steamers too! - By their delays I have been undone!" - He cried, as, looking very blue, - He rode a bachelor to London. - - - - - - -THE LAUREATES' TOURNEY - - -By the Hon. T- B----M'A-. - - -[This {136}and the five following Poems were among those forwarded to -the Home Secretary, by "the unsuccessful competitors for the -Laureateship, on its becoming vacant by the death of Southey. How they -came into our possession is a matter between Sir James Graham and -ourselves. The result of the contest could never have been doubtful, -least of all to the great poet who then succeeded to the bays. His own -sonnet on the subject is full of the serene consciousness of -superiority, which does not even admit the idea of rivalry, far less of -defeat. - - - Bays! which in former days have graced the brow - Of some, who lived and loved, and sang and died; - Leaves that were gathered on the pleasant side - Of old Parnassus from Apollo's bough; - With palpitating hand I take ye now, - Since worthier minstrel there is none beside, - And with a thrill of song half deified, - I bind them proudly on my locks of snow. - There shall they bide, till he who follows next, - Of whom I cannot even guess the name, - Shall by Court favour, or some vain pretext - Of fancied merit, desecrate the same,-- - And think, perchance, he wears them quite as well - As the sole bard who sang of Peter Bell!] - - - - - - -FYTTE THE FIRST. - - - "What news, what news, thou pilgrim grey, what news - from southern land? - How fare the bold Conservatives, how is it with Ferrand? - How does the little Prince of Wales--how looks our lady - Queen? - - - And tell me, is the monthly nurse once more at Windsor - seen?" - "I bring {137}no tidings from the Court, nor from St Stephen's - hall; - I've heard the thundering tramp of horse, and the trum- - pet's battle-call; - And these old eyes have seen a fight, which England ne'er - hath seen, - Since fell King Richard sobbed his soul through blood on - Bosworth Green. - - - 'He's dead, he's dead, the Laureate's dead!' 'Twas thus - the cry began, - And straightway every garret-roof gave up its minstrel - man; - From Grub Street, and from Houndsditch, and from Far- - ringdon Within, - The poets all towards Whitehall poured on with eldritch - din. - - - Loud yelled they for Sir James the Graham: but sore - afraid was he; - A hardy knight were he that might face such a minstrelsie. - 'Now by St Giles of Netherby, my patron Saint, I - swear, - I'd rather by a thousand crowns Lord Palmerston were - here!-- - - - 'What is't {138}ye seek, ye rebel knaves--what make you - there beneath?' - 'The bays, the bays! we want the bays! we seek the - laureate wreath! - We seek the butt of generous wine that cheers the sons - of song; - Choose thou among us all, Sir Knight--we may not tarry - long!' - - - Loud laughed the good Sir James in scorn--'Rare jest it - were, I think, - But one poor butt of Xeres, and a thousand rogues to - drink! - An' if it flowed with wine or beer, 'tis easy to be - seen, - That dry within the hour would be the well of Hippo- - crene. - - - 'Tell me, if on Parnassus' heights there grow a thousand - sheaves: - Or has Apollo's laurel bush yet borne ten hundred - leaves? - Or if so many leaves were there, how long would they - sustain - The ravage and the glutton bite of such a locust train? - - - 'No! get {139}ye "back into your dens, take counsel for the - night, - And choose me out two champions to meet in deadly - fight; - To-morrow's dawn shall see the lists marked out in Spital- - fields, - And he who wins shall have the hays, and he shall die - who yields!' - - - Down went the window with a crash,--in silence and in - fear - Each raggèd bard looked anxiously upon his neighbour - near; - Then up and spake young Tennyson--'Who's here that - fears for death? - 'Twere better one of us should die, than England lose the - wreath! - - - 'Let's cast the lots among us now, which two shall fight - to-morrow;-- - For armour bright we'll club our mite, and horses we can - borrow; - 'Twere shame that bards of France should sneer, and - German _Dichters_ too, - If none of British song might dare a deed of _derring-do!_' - - - 'The lists {140}of Love are mine,' said Moore, 'and not the - lists of Mars - Said Hunt, 'I seek the jars of wine, but shun the com- - bat's jars!' - 'I'm old,' quoth Samuel Rogers.--'Faith, says Camp- - bell, 'so am I!' - 'And I'm in holy orders, sir!' quoth Tom of Ingoldsby. - - - 'Now out upon ye, craven loons!' cried Moxon, good at - need,-- - 'Bide, if ye will, secure at home, and sleep while others - bleed. - I second Alfred's motion, boys,--let's try the chance of - lot; - And monks shall sing, and bells shall ring, for him that - goes to pot.' - - - Eight hundred minstrels slunk away--two hundred - stayed to draw,-- - Now Heaven protect the daring wight that pulls the - longest straw! - 'Tis done! 'tis done! And who hath won? Keep silence - one and all,-- - The first is William Wordsworth hight, the second Ned - Fitzball! - - - - - - -FYTTE THE SECOND. - - - 'Oh, {141}bright and gay hath dawned the day on lordly - Spitalfields,-- - How flash the rays with ardent blaze from polished helms - and shields! - On either side the chivalry of England throng the green, - And in the middle balcony appears our gracious Queen. - - - With iron fists, to keep the lists, two valiant knights ap- - pear, - The Marquis Hal of Waterford, and stout Sir Aubrey Vere. - 'What ho! there, herald, blow the trump! Let's see who - comes to claim - The butt of golden Xeres, and the Laureate's honoured - name!' - - - That instant dashed into the lists, all armed from head to - heel, - On courser brown, with vizor down, a warrior sheathed in - steel; - Then said our Queen--'Was ever seen so stout a knight - and tall? - His name--his race?'--'An't please your grace, it is the - brave Fitzball. - - - 'Oft in {142}the Melodrama line his prowess hath been - shown, - And well throughout the Surrey side his thirst for blood - is known. - But see, the other champion comes!'--Then rang the - startled air - With shouts of 'Wordsworth, Wordsworth, ho! the bard - of Kydal's there.' - - - And lo! upon a little steed, unmeet for such a course, - Appeared the honoured veteran; but weak seemed man - and horse. - Then shook their ears the sapient peers,--'That joust - will soon be done: - My Lord of Brougham, I'll back Fitzball, and give you - two to one!' - - - 'Done,' quoth the Brougham,--'And done with you!' - 'Now, Minstrels, are you ready?' - Exclaimed the Lord of Waterford,--'You'd better both - sit steady. - Blow, trumpets, blow the note of charge! and forward to' - the fight!' - 'Amen!' said good Sir Aubrey Vere; 'Saint Schism - defend the right!' - - - As {143}sweeps the blast against the mast when blows the - furious squall, - So started at the trumpet's sound the terrible Fitzball; - His lance he bore his breast before,--Saint George protect - the just! - Or Wordsworth's hoary head must roll along the shame- - ful dust! - - - 'Who threw that calthrop? Seize the knave!' Alas! - the deed is done; - Down went the steed, and o'er his head flew bright - Apollo's son. - 'Undo his helmet! cut the lace! pour water on his - head!' - 'It ain't no use at all, my lord; 'cos vy? the covey's - dead!' - - - Above him stood the Rydal bard--his face was full of - woe, - 'Now there thou liest, stiff and stark, who never feared a - foe: - A braver knight, or more renowned in tourney and in - hall, - Ne'er brought the upper gallery down than terrible Fitz- - ball!' - - - They led {144}our Wordsworth to the Queen--she crowned - him with the bays, - And wished him many happy years, and many quarter- - days; - And if you'd have the story told by abler lips than - mine, - You've but to call at Rydal Mount, and taste the - Laureate's wine!" - - -[Illustration: 157] - - - - - - -THE ROYAL BANQUET - - - By the Hon. G- S- S-- - - - The {145}Queen she kept high festival in Winclsor's lordly - hall, - And round her sat the gartered knights, and ermined - nobles all; - There drank the valiant Wellington, there fed the wary - Peel, - And at the bottom of the board Prince Albert carved the - veal. - - - "What, {146}pantler, ho! remove the cloth! Ho! cellarer, - the wine, - And bid the royal nurse bring in the hope of Brunswick's - line!" - Then rose with one tumultuous shout the band of British - peers, - "God bless her sacred Majesty! Let's see the little - dears!" - - - Now by Saint George, our patron saint, 'twas a touching - sight to see - That iron warrior gently place the Princess on his - knee; - To hear him hush her infant fears, and teach her how to - gape - With rosy mouth expectant for the raisin and the - grape! - - - They passed the wine, the sparkling wine--they filled the - goblets up; - Even Brougham, the cynic anchorite, smiled blandly on - the cup; - And Lyndhurst, with a noble thirst, that nothing could - appease, - Proposed the immortal memory of King William on his - knees. - - - "What {147}want we here, my gracious liege," cried gay Lord - Aberdeen, - "Save gladsome song and minstrelsy to flow our cups - between? - I ask not now for Goulburn's voice or Knatchbull's - warbling lay, - But where's the Poet Laureate to grace our board to- - day?" - - - Loud laughed the Knight of Netherby, and scornfully he - cried, - "Or art thou mad with wine, Lord Earl, or art thyself - beside? - Eight hundred Bedlam bards have claimed the Laureate's - vacant crown, - And now like frantic Bacchanals run wild through London - town!" - - - "Now glory to our gracious Queen!" a voice was heard - to cry, - And dark Macaulay stood before them all with frenzied - eye; - "Now glory to our gracious Queen, and all her glorious - race, - A boon, a boon, my sovran liege! Give me the Laureate's - place! - - - "'Twas I {148}that sang the might of Rome, the glories of - Navarre; - And who could swell the fame so well of Britain's Isles - afar? - The hero of a hundred fights------" Then Wellington up - sprung, - "Ho, silence in the ranks, I say! Sit down and hold - your tongue! - - - "By heaven, thou shalt not twist my name into a jingling - lay, - Or mimic in thy puny song the thunders of Assaye! - 'Tis hard that for thy lust of place in peace we cannot - dine. - Nurse, take her Royal Highness, here! Sir Robert, pass - the wine!" - - - "No Laureate need we at our board!" then spoke the - Lord of Vaux; - "Here's many a voice to charm the ear with minstrel - song, I know. - Even I {149}myself------" Then rose the cry--"A song, a - song from Brougham!" - He sang,--and straightway found himself alone within - the room. - - -[Illustration: 161] - - - - - - -THE BARD OF ERIN'S LAMENT - - - By T- M-EE, Esq. - - - Oh, {150}weep for the hours, when the little blind boy - Wove round me the spells of his Paphian bower; - When I dipped my light wings in the nectar of joy, - And soared in the sunshine, the moth of the hour! - From beauty to beauty I passed, like the wind; - Now fondled the lily, now toyed with the rose; - And the fair, that at morn had enchanted my mind, - Was forsook for another ere evening's close. - - - I sighed not for honour, I cared not for fame, - While Pleasure sat by me, and Love was my guest; - They twined a fresh wreath for each day as it came, - And the bosom of Beauty still pillowed my rest: - And the harp of my country--neglected it slept-- - In hall or by greenwood unheard were its songs; - From Love's Sybarite dreams I aroused me, and swept - Its chords to the tale of her glories and wrongs, - but weep{151} for the hour!--Life's summer is past, - And the snow of its winter lies cold on my brow; - And my soul, as it shrinks from each stroke of the blast, - Cannot turn to a fire that glows inwardly now. - - - No, its ashes are dead--and, alas! Love or Song - No charm to Life's lengthening shadows can lend, - Like a cup of old wine, rich, mellow, and strong, - And a seat by the fire _tête-à-tête_ with a friend. - - -[Illustration: 164] - - - - - - -THE LAUREATE - - - By A- T-. - - - Who {152}would not be - The Laureate bold, - With his butt of sherry - To keep him merry, - And nothing to do but to pocket his gold? - 'Tis I {153}would be the Laureate bold! - - - When the days are hot, and the sun is strong, - I'd lounge in the gateway all the day long, - With her Majesty's footmen in crimson and gold. - I'd care not a pin for the waiting-lord; - But I'd lie on my back on the smooth greensward - With a straw in my mouth, and an open vest, - And the cool wind blowing upon my breast, - And I'd vacantly stare at the clear blue sky, - And watch the clouds as listless as I, - Lazily, lazily! - - - And I'd pick the moss and daisies white, - And chew their stalks with a nibbling bite; - And I'd let my fancies roam abroad - In search of a hint for a birthday ode, - Crazily, crazily! - - - Oh, that would be the life for me, - With plenty to get and nothing to do, - But to deck a pet poodle with ribbons of blue, - And whistle all day to the Queen's cockatoo, - Trance-somely, trance-somely! - - - Then the chambermaids, that clean the rooms, - Would come to the windows and rest on their brooms, - With their saucy caps and their crisped hair, - And they'd toss their heads in the fragrant air, - And say {154}to each other--"Just look down there, - At the nice young man, so tidy and small, - Who is paid for writing on nothing at all, - Handsomely, handsomely!" - - - They would pelt me with matches and sweet pastilles, - And crumpled-up halls of the royal hills, - Giggling and laughing, and screaming with fun, - As they'd see me start, with a leap and a run, - From the broad of my back to the points of my toes, - When a pellet of paper hit my nose, - Teasingly, sneezingly. - - - Then I'd fling them bunches of garden flowers, - And hyacinths plucked from the Castle bowers; - And I'd challenge them all to come down to me, - And I'd kiss them all till they kissèd me, - Laughingly, laughingly. - - - Oh, would not that be a merry life, - Apart from care and apart from strife, - With the Laureate's wine, and the Laureate's pay, - And no deductions at quarter-day? - Oh, that would be the post for me! - With {155}plenty to get and nothing to do, - But to deck a pet poodle with ribbons of blue, - And whistle a tune to the Queen's cockatoo, - And scribble of verses remarkably few, - And at evening empty a bottle or two, - Quaffingly, quaffingly! - - - 'Tis I would be - The Laureate bold, - With my butt of sherry - To keep me merry, - And nothing to do but to pocket my gold! - - -A MIDNIGHT MEDITAION - - - By Sir E- B- L-. - - - Fill me {156}once more the foaming pewter up! - Another hoard of oysters, ladye mine! - To-night Lucullus with himself shall sup. - - - These Mute inglorious Miltons are divine! - And as I here in slippered ease recline, - Quaffing of Perkins's Entire my fill, - I sigh not for the lymph of Aganippe's rill. - - - A nobler inspiration fires my brain, - Caught from Old England's fine time-hallowed drink; - I snatch the pot again and yet again, - And as the foaming fluids shrink and shrink, - Fill me once more, I say, up to the brink! - - - This makes strong hearts--strong heads attest its charm-- - This nerves the might that sleeps in Britain's brawny arm! - - - But these remarks are neither here nor there. - Where was I? Oh, I see--old Southey's dead! - They'll want some bard to fill the vacant chair, - And drain the annual butt--and oh, what head - More fit with laurel to be garlanded - Than {157}this, which, curled in many a fragrant coil, - Breathes of Castalia's streams, and best Macassar oil? - - - I know a grace is seated on my brow, - Like young Apollo's with his golden beams-- - There should Apollo's bays be budding now:-- - And in my flashing eyes the radiance beams - That marks the poet in his waking dreams, - When, as his fancies cluster thick and thicker, - He feels the trance divine of poesy and liquor. - - - They throng around me now, those things of air, - That from my fancy took their being's stamp: - There Pelham sits and twirls his glossy hair, - There Clifford leads his pals upon the tramp; - There pale Zanoni, bending o'er his lamp, - Roams through the starry wilderness of thought, - Where all is everything, and everything is nought. - - - Yes, I am he who sang how Aram won - The gentle ear of pensive Madeline! - How love and murder hand in hand may run, - Cemented by philosophy serene, - And kisses bless the spot where gore has been! - Who {158}breathed the melting sentiment of crime, - And for the assassin waked a sympathy sublime! - - - Yes, I am he, who on the novel shed - Obscure philosophy's enchanting light! - Until the public, 'wildered as they read, - Believed they saw that which was not in sight-- - Of course 'twas not for me to set them right; - For in my nether heart convinced I am, - Philosophy's as good as any other bam. - - - Novels three-volumed I shall write no more-- - Somehow or other now they will not sell; - And to invent new passions is a bore-- - I find the Magazines pay quite as well. - Translating's simple, too, as I can tell, - Who've hawked at Schiller on his lyric throne, - And given the astonished bard a meaning all my own. - - - Moore, Campbell, Wordsworth, their best days are grassed: - Battered and broken are their early lyres, - Rogers, a pleasant memory of the past, - Warmed his young hands at Smithfield's martyr fires, - And, worth a plum, nor bays nor butt desires. - But these are tilings would suit me to the letter, - For though the Stout is good, old Sherry's greatly better. - A fico {159}for your small poetic ravers, - Your Hunts, your Tennysons, your Milnes, and these! - Shall they compete with him who wrote 'Maltravers,' - Prologue to 'Alice or the Mysteries'? - No! Even now my glance prophetic sees - My own high brow girt with the bays about. - - - What ho! within there, ho! another pint of Stout! - - -[Illustration: 171] - - - - - - -MONTGOMERY, A POEM. - - - Like {162}one who, waking from a troublous dream, - Pursues with force his meditative theme; - Calm as the ocean in its halcyon still, - Calm as the sunlight sleeping on the hill; - - - Calm as at Ephesus great Paul was seen - To rend his robes in agonies serene; - Calm as the love that radiant Luther bore - To all that lived behind him and before; - - - Calm as meek Calvin, when, with holy smile, - He sang the mass around Servetus' pile,-- - So once again I snatch this harp of mine, - To breathe rich incense from a mystic shrine. - - - Not now to whisper to the ambient air - The sounds of Satan's Universal Prayer; - Not now to sing, in sweet domestic strife - That woman reigns the Angel of our life; - - - But to proclaim the wish, with pious art, - Which thrills through Britain's universal heart,-- - That on this brow, with native honours graced, - The Laureate's chaplet should at length be placed. - - - Fear {161}not, ye maids, who love to hear me speak; - Let no desponding tears bedim your cheek! - No gust of envy, no malicious scorn, - Hath this poor heart of mine with frenzy torn. - - - There are who move so far above the great, - Their very look disarms the glance of hate; - Their thoughts, more rich than emerald or gold, - Enwrap them like the prophet's mantle's fold. - - - Fear not for me, nor think that this our age, - Blind though it be, hath yet no Archimage. - I, who have bathed in bright Castalia's tide, - By classic Isis and more classic Clyde; - - - I, who have handled, in my lofty strain, - All things divine, and many things profane; - I, who have trod where seraphs fear to tread; - I, who on mount-no, "honey-dew" have fed; - - - I, who undaunted broke the mystic seal, - And left no page for prophets to reveal; - I, who in shade portentous Dante threw; - I, who have done what Milton dared not do,-- - - - I fear no rival for the vacant throne; - No mortal thunder shall eclipse my own! - Let dark Macaulay chant his Roman lays, - Let Monckton Milnes go maunder for the bays, - - - Let Simmons call on great Napoleon's shade, - Let Lytton Bulwer seek his Aram's aid, - Let {162}Wordsworth, ask for help from Peter Bell, - Let Campbell carol Copenhagen's knell, - - - Let Delta warble through his Delphic groves, - Let Elliott shout for pork and penny loaves,-- - I care not, I! resolved to stand or fall; - One down, another on, I'll smash them all! - - - Back, ye profane! this hand alone hath power - To pluck the laurel from its sacred bower; - This brow alone is privileged to wear - The ancient wreath o'er hyacinthine hair; - - - These lips alone may quaff the sparkling wine, - And make its mortal juice once more divine. - Back, ye profane! And thou, fair Queen, rejoice: - A nation's praise shall consecrate thy choice. - - - Thus, then, I kneel where Spenser knelt before, - On the same spot, perchance, of Windsor's floor; - And take, while awe-struck millions round me stand, - The hallowed wreath from great Victoria's hand. - - - - - - -THE DEATH OF SPACE - - -[Why {163}has Satan's own Laureate never given to the world his -marvellous threnody on the "Death of Space"? Who knows where the bays -might have fallen, had he forwarded that mystic manuscript to the Home -Office? If un-wonted modesty withholds it from the public eye, the -public will pardon the boldness that tears from blushing obscurity the -following fragments of this unique poem.] - - - Eternity shall raise her funeral-pile - In the vast dungeon of the extinguished sky, - And, clothed in dim barbaric splendour, smile, - And murmur shouts of elegiac joy. - - - While those that dwell beyond the realms of space, - And those that people all that dreary void, - When old Time's endless heir hath run his race, - Shall live for aye, enjoying and enjoyed. - - - And 'mid the agony of unsullied bliss, - Her Demogorgon's doom shall Sin bewail, - The undying serpent at the spheres shall hiss, - And lash the empyrean with his tail. - - - And {164}Hell, inflated with supernal wrath, - Shall open wide her thunder-bolted jaws, - And shout into the dull cold ear of Death, - That he must pay his debt to Nature's laws. - - - And when the King of Terrors breathes his last, - Infinity shall creep into her shell, - Cause and effect shall from their thrones be cast, - And end their strife with suicidal yell: - - - While from their ashes, burnt with pomp of kings, - 'Mid incense floating to the evanished skies, - Nonentity, on circumambient wings, - An everlasting Phoenix shall arise. - - -[Illustration: 177] - - - - - - -LITTLE JOHN AND THE RED FRIAR, A LAY OF SHERWOOD. - - - - - - -FYTTE THE FIRST. - - - The {165}deer may leap within the glade; - The fawns may follow free-- - For Robin is dead, and his bones are laid - Beneath the greenwood tree. - - - And {166}broken are his merry, merry men, - That goodly companie: - There's some have ta'en the northern road - With Jem of Netherbee. - - - The best and bravest of the band - With Derby Ned are gone; - But Earlie Gray and Charlie Wood, - They stayed with Little John. - - - Now Little John was an outlaw proud, - A prouder ye never saw; - Through Nottingham and Leicester shires - He thought his word, was law, - - - And he strutted through the greenwood wide, - Like a pestilent jackdaw. - He swore that none, but with leave of him, - Should set foot on the turf so free: - - - And he thought to spread his cutter's rule, - All over the south countrie. - "There's never a knave in the land," he said, - "But shall pay his toll to me!" - - - And Charlie Wood was a taxman good - As ever stepped the ground, - He levied mail, like a sturdy thief, - From all the yeomen round. - - - "Nay, stand!" quoth he, "thou shalt pay to me - Seven pence from every pound!" - - - Now word has come to Little John, - As he lay upon the grass, - That a Friar red was in merry Sherwood - Without his leave to pass. - - - "Come hither, come hither, my little foot-page! - Ben Hawes, come tell to me, - What manner of man is this burly frere - Who walks the woods so free?" - - - "My master good!" the little page said, - "His name I wot not well, - But he wears on his head a hat so red, - With a monstrous scallop-shell. - - - "He says he is Prior of Copmanshurst, - And Bishop of London town, - And he comes with a rope from our father the Pope, - To put the outlaws down. - - - "I saw {168}him ride but yester-tide, - With his jolly chaplains three; - And he swears that he has an open pass - From Jem of Netherbee!" - - - Little John has ta'en an arrow so broad, - And broken it o'er his knee; - "Now may I never strike doe again, - But this wrong avenged shall be! - - - "And has he dared, this greasy frere, - To trespass in my bound, - Nor asked for leave from Little John - To range with hawk and hound? - - - "And has he dared to take a pass - From Jem of Netherbee, - Forgetting that the Sherwood shaws - Pertain of right to me? - - - "O were he but a simple man, - And not a slip-shod frere! - I'd hang him up by his own waist-rope - Above yon tangled brere. - - - "O did {169}he come alone from Jem, - And not from our father the Pope, - I'd bring him in to Copmanshurst, - With the noose of a hempen rope! - - - "But since he has come from our father the Pope, - And sailed across the sea, - And since he has power to bind and loose, - His life is safe for me; - But a heavy penance he shall do - Beneath the greenwood tree!" - - - "O tarry yet!" quoth Charlie Wood. - "O tarry, master mine! - It's ill to shear a yearling hog, - Or twist the wool of swine! - - - "It's ill to make a bonny silk purse - From the ear of a bristly boar; - It's ill to provoke a shaveling's curse, - When the way lies him before. - - - "I've walked the forest for twenty years, - In wet weather and dry, - And {170}never stopped a good fellowe, - "Who had no coin to buy. - - - "What boots it to search a beggarman's bags, - When no silver groat he has? - So, master mine, I rede you well, - E'en let the Friar pass!" - - - "Now cease thy prate," quoth Little John, - "Thou japest but in vain; - An he have not a groat within his pouch, - We may find a silver chain. - - - "But were he as bare as a new-flayed buck, - As truly he may be, - He shall not tread the Sherwood shaws - Without the leave of me!" - - - Little John has taken his arrows and bow, - His sword and buckler strong, - And lifted up his quarter-staff, - Was full three cloth yards long. - - - And he has left his merry men - At the trysting-tree behind, - And {171}gone into the gay greenwood, - This burly frere to find. - - - O'er holt and hill, through brake and brere, - He took his way alone-- - Now, Lordlings, list and you shall hear - This geste of Little John. - - - - - - -FYTTE THE SECOND- - - - 'Tis merry, 'tis merry in gay greenwood, - When the little birds are singing, - When the buck is belling in the fern, - And the hare from the thicket springing! - - - 'Tis merry to hear the waters clear, - As they splash in the pebbly fall; - And the ouzel whistling to his mate, - As he lights on the stones so small. - - - But small pleasaunce took Little John - In all he heard and saw; - Till he reached the cave of a hermit old - Who wonned within the shaw. - - - "_Ora pro nobis!_" quoth {172}Little John-- - His Latin was somewhat rude-- - "Now, holy father, hast thou seen - A frere within the wood? - - - "By his scarlet hose, and his ruddy nose, - I guess you may know him well; - And he wears on his head a hat so red, - And a monstrous scallop-shell." - - - "I have served Saint Pancras," the hermit said, - "In this cell for thirty year, - Yet never saw I, in the forest bounds, - The face of such a frere! - - - "An' if ye find him, master mine, - E'en take an old man's advice, - An' raddle him well, till he roar again, - Lest ye fail to meet him twice!" - - - "Trust me for that!" quoth Little John-- - "Trust me for that!" quoth he, with a laugh; - "There never was man of woman born, - That asked twice for the taste of my quarter- - staff!" - - - Then {173}Little John, he strutted on, - Till he came to an open bound, - And he was aware of a Red Friar, - Was sitting upon the ground. - - - His shoulders they were broad and strong, - And large was he of limb; - Few yeomen in the north countrie - Would care to mell with him. - - - He heard the rustling of the boughs, - As Little John drew near; - But never a single word he spoke, - Of welcome or of cheer: - Less stir he made than a pedlar would - For a small gnat in his ear! - - - I like not his looks! thought Little John, - Nor his staff of the oaken tree. - Now may our Lady be my help, - Else beaten I well may be! - - - "What dost thou here, thou strong Friar, - In Sherwood's merry round, - Without the leave of Little John, - To range with hawk and hound?" - - - "Small {174}thought have I," quoth the Red Friar, - "Of any leave, I trow; - That Little John is an outlawed thief, - And so, I ween, art thou! - - - "Know, I am Prior of Copmanshurst, - And Bishop of London town, - And I bring a rope from our father the Pope, - To put the outlaws down." - - - Then out spoke Little John in wrath, - "I tell thee, burly frere, - The Pope may do as he likes at home, - But he sends no Bishops here! - - - "Up, and away, Red Friar!" he said, - "Up, and away, right speedilie; - An it were not for that cowl of thine, - Avenged on thy body I would be!" - - - "Nay, heed not that," said the Red Friar, - "And let my cowl no hindrance be; - I warrant that I can give as good - As ever I think to take from thee!" - - - Little {175}John he raised his quarter-staff, - And so did the burly priest, - And they fought beneath the greenwood tree - A stricken hour at least. - - - But Little John was weak of fence, - And his strength began to fail; - Whilst the Friar's blows came thundering down, - Like the strokes of a threshing-flail. - - - "Now hold thy hand, thou stalwart Friar, - Now rest beneath the thorn, - Until I gather breath enow, - For a blast at my bugle-horn!" - - - "I'll hold my hand," the Friar said, - "Since that is your propine, - But, an you sound your bugle-horn, - I'll even blow on mine!" - - - Little John he wound a blast so shrill - 'That it rang o'er rock and linn, - And Charlie Wood, and his merry men all, - Came lightly bounding in. - - - The Friar {176}he wound a blast so strong - That it shook both bush and tree, - And to his side came witless Will, - And Jem of Netherbee; - With all the worst of Robin's band, - And many a Rapparee! - - - Little John he wist not what to do, - When he saw the others come; - So he twisted his quarter-staff between - His fingers and his thumb. - - - "There's some mistake, good Friar!" he said, - "There's some mistake 'twixt thee and me - I know thou art Prior of Copmanshurst, - But not beneath the greenwood tree. - - - "And if you will take some other name, - You shall have ample leave to bide; - With pasture also for your Bulls, - And power to range the forest wide." - - - "There's no mistake!" the Friar said; - "I'll call myself just what I please. - My doctrine is that chalk is chalk, - And cheese is nothing else than cheese." - - - "So be it, {177}then!" quoth Little John; - "But surely you will not object, - If I and all my merry men - Should treat you with reserved respect? - - -[Illustration: 189] - - - "We {178}can't call you Prior of Copmanshurst, - Nor Bishop of London town, - Nor on the grass, as you chance to pass, - Can we very well kneel down. - - - "But you'll send the Pope my compliments, - And say, as a further hint, - That, within the Sherwood bounds, you saw - Little John, who is the son-in-law - Of his friend, old Mat-o'-the-Mint!" - - - So ends this geste of Little John-- - God save our noble Queen! - But, Lordlings, say--Is Sherwood now - What Sherwood once hath been? - - -[Illustration: 191] - - - - - - -THE RHYME OF SIR LAUNCELOT BOGLE. - - -A LEGEND OF GLASGOW. - - - There's {179}a pleasant place of rest, near a City of the West, - Where its bravest and its best find their grave. - Below {180}the willows weep, and their hoary branches steep - In the waters still and deep, - Not a wave! - - - And the old Cathedral Wall, so scathed and grey and tall. - Like a priest surveying all, stands beyond; - And the ringing of its bell, when the ringers ring it well, - Makes a kind of tidal swell - On the pond! - - - And there it was I lay, on a beauteous summer's day, - With the odour of the hay floating by; - And I heard the blackbirds sing, and the bells demurely ring, - Chime by chime, ting by ting, - Droppingly. - - - Then my thoughts went wandering back, on a very beaten - track, - To the confine deep and black of the tomb; - And I wondered who he was, that is laid beneath the - grass, - Where the dandelion has - Such a bloom. - - - Then I {181}straightway did espy, with my slantly-sloping eye, - A carvèd stone hard by, somewhat worn; - And I read in letters cold - - -==> See Page Scan - - - Here the letters failed outright, but I knew - That a stout crusading lord, who had crossed the Jordan's - ford, - Lay there beneath the sward, - Wet with dew. - - - Time and tide they passed away, on that pleasant summer's - day, - And around me, as I lay, all grew old: - Sank the chimneys from the town, and the clouds of vapour - brown - No longer, like a crown, - O'er it rolled. - - - Sank the great Saint Rollox stalk, like a pile of dingy chalk; - Disappeared the cypress walk, and the flowers; - And a donjon-keep arose, that might baffle any foes, - With its men-at-arms in rows, - On the towers. - - - And the {182}flag that flaunted there showed the grim and - grizzly bear, - Which the Bogles always wear for their crest. - And I heard the warder call, as he stood upon the wall, - "Wake ye up! my comrades all, - From your rest! - - - "For, by the blessed rood, there's a glimpse of armour - good - In the deep Cowcaddens wood, o'er the stream; - And I hear the stifled hum of a multitude that come, - Though they have not beat the drum, - It would seem! - - - "Go tell it to my Lord, lest he wish to man the ford - With partisan and sword, just beneath; - Ho, Gilkison and Nares! Ho, Provan of Cowlairs! - We'll back the bonny bears - To the death!" - - - To the tower above the moat, like one who heedeth not, - Came the bold Sir Launcelot, half undressed; - On the outer rim he stood, and peered into the wood, - With his arms across him glued - On his breast. - - - And {183}he muttered, "Foe accurst! hast thou dared to seek - me first? - George of Gorbals, do thy worst--for I swear, - O'er thy gory corpse to ride, ere thy sister and my bride, - From my undissevered side - Thou shalt tear! - - - "Ho, herald mine, Brownlee! ride forth, I pray, and see, - Who, what, and whence is he, foe or friend! - Sir Roderick Dalgleish, and my foster-brother Neish, - With his bloodhounds in the leash, - Shall attend." - - - Forth went the herald stout, o'er the drawbridge and - without, - Then a wild and savage shout rose amain, - Six arrows sped their force, and, a pale and bleeding corse, - He sank from off his horse - On the plain! - - - Back drew the bold Dalgleish, back started stalwart Neish, - With his bloodhounds in the leash, from Brownlee. - "Now shame be to the sword that made thee knight and - lord, - Thou caitiff thrice abhorred, - Shame on thee! - - - "Ho, {184}bowmen, bend your bows! Discharge upon the - foes - Forthwith no end of those heavy bolts. - Three angels to the brave who finds the foe a grave, - And a gallows for the slave - Who revolts!" - - - Ten days the combat lasted; but the bold defenders - fasted, - While the foemen, better pastied, fed their host; - You might hear the savage cheers of the hungry Gorbaliers, - As at night they dressed the steers - For the roast. - - - And Sir Launcelot grew thin, and Provan's double chin - Showed sundry folds of skin down beneath; - In silence and in grief found Gilkison relief, - Nor did Neish the spell-word, beef, - Dare to breathe. - - - To the ramparts Edith came, that fair and youthful dame, - With the rosy evening flame on her face. - She sighed, and looked around on the soldiers on the ground, - Who but little penance found, - Saying grace! - - - And {185}she said unto her lord, as he leaned upon his sword, - "One short and little word may I speak? - I cannot bear to view those eyes so ghastly blue, - Or mark the sallow hue - Of thy cheek! - - - "I know the rage and wrath that my furious brother hath - Is less against us both than at me. - Then, dearest, let me go, to find among the foe - An arrow from the bow, - Like Brownlee!" - - - "I would soil my father's name, I would lose my treasured - fame, - Ladye mine, should such a shame on me light: - While I wear a belted brand, together still we stand, - Heart to heart, hand in hand!" - Said the knight. - - - "All our chances are not lost, as your brother and his - host - Shall discover to their cost rather hard! - Ho, Provan! take this key--hoist up the Malvoisie, - And heap it, d'ye see, - In the yard. - - - "Of {186}usquebaugh and rum, you will find, I reckon, some, - Besides the beer and mum, extra stout; - Go straightway to your tasks, and roll me all the casks, - As also range the flasks, - Just without. - - - "If I know the Gorbaliers, they are sure to dip their ears - In the very inmost tiers of the drink. - Let them win the outer court, and hold it for their sport, - Since their time is rather short, - I should think!" - - - With a loud triumphant yell, as the heavy drawbridge fell, - Rushed the Gorbaliers pell-mell, wild as Druids; - Mad with thirst for human gore, how they threatened and - they swore, - Till they stumbled on the floor, - O'er the fluids. - - - Down their weapons then they threw, and each savage - soldier drew - From his belt an iron screw, in his fist; - George of Gorbals found it vain their excitement to re- - strain, - And indeed was rather fain - To assist. - - - With a beaker in his hand, in the midst he took his stand, - And silence did command, all below-- - "Ho! Launcelot the bold, ere thy lips are icy cold, - In the centre of thy hold, - Pledge me now! - - - "Art surly, brother mine? In this cup of rosy wine, - I drink to the decline of thy race! - Thy proud career is done, thy sand is nearly run, - Never more shall setting sun - Gild thy face! - - - "The pilgrim, in amaze, shall see a goodly blaze, - Ere the pallid morning rays flicker up; - And perchance he may espy certain corpses swinging - high! - What, brother! art thou dry? - Fill my cup!" - - - Dumb as death stood Launcelot, as though he heard him - not, - But his bosom Provan smote, and he swore: - And Sir Roderick Dalgleish remarked aside to Neish, - "Never sure did thirsty fish - Swallow more! - - - "Thirty {188}casks are nearly done, yet the revel's scarce - begun; - It were knightly sport and fun to strike in!" - "Nay, tarry till they come," quoth Neish, "unto the - rum-- - They are working at the mum, - And the gin!" - - - Then straight there did appear to each gallant Gorbalier - Twenty castles dancing near, all around; - The solid earth did shake, and the stones beneath them - quake, - And sinuous as a snake - Moved the ground. - - - Why and wherefore they had come, seemed intricate to - some, - But all agreed the rum was divine. - And they looked with bitter scorn on their leader highly - born, - Who preferred to fill his horn - Up with wine! - - - Then said Launcelot the tall, "Bring the chargers from - their stall; - Lead them straight unto the hall, down below: - Draw {189}your weapons from your side, fling the gates asunder - wide, - And together we shall ride - On the foe!" - - - Then Provan knew full well, as he leaped into his selle, - That few would 'scape to tell how they fared; - And Gilkison and Nares, both mounted on their mares, - Looked terrible as bears, - All prepared. - - - With his bloodhounds in the leash, stood the iron-sinewed - Neish, - And the falchion of Dalgleish glittered bright-- - "Now, wake the trumpet's blast; and, comrades, follow - fast; - Smite them down unto the last!" - Cried the knight. - - - In the cumbered yard without, there was shriek, and yell, - and shout, - As the warriors wheeled about, all in mail. - On the miserable kerne fell the death-strokes stiff and stern, - As the deer treads down the fern, - In the vale! - - - Saint {190}Mungo be my guide! It was goodly in that tide - To see the Bogle ride in his haste; - He accompanied each blow with a cry of "Ha!" or - "Ho!" - And always cleft the foe - To the waist. - - - "George of Gorbals--craven lord! thou didst threat me - with the cord; - Come forth and brave my sword, if you dare!" - But he met with no reply, and never could descry - The glitter of his eye - Anywhere. - - - Ere the dawn of morning shone, all the Gorbaliers were - down, - Like a field of barley mown in the ear: - It had done a soldier good to see how Provan stood, - With Neish all bathed in blood, - Panting near. - - - "Now ply ye to your tasks--go carry down those casks, - And place the empty flasks on the floor; - George of Gorbals scarce will come, with trumpet and - with drum, - To taste our beer and rum - Any more!" - - - So {191}they plied them to their tasks, and they carried down - the casks, - And replaced the empty flasks on the floor; - But pallid for a week was the cellar-master's cheek,. - For he swore he heard a shriek - Through the door. - - - When the merry Christmas came, and the Yule-log lent - its flame - To the face of squire and dame in the hall, - The cellarer went down to tap October brown, - Which was rather of renown - 'Mongst them all. - - - He placed the spigot low, and gave the cask a blow, - But his liquor would not flow through the pin. - "Sure, 'tis sweet as honeysuckles!" so he rapped it with - his knuckles, - But a sound, as if of buckles, - Clashed within. - - - "Bring a hatchet, varlets, here!" and they cleft the cask - of beer: - What a spectacle of fear met their sight! - There George of Gorbals lay, skull and bones all blanched - and grey, - In the arms he bore the day - Of the fight! - - - I have {192}sung this ancient tale, not, I trust, without avail, - Though the moral ye may fail to perceive; - Sir Launcelot is dust, and his gallant sword is rust, - And now, I think, I must - Take my leave! - - -[Illustration: 204] - - -[Illustration: 205] - - - - - - -THE LAY OF THE LOVER'S FRIEND - - - [Air--"The days we went a-gypsying."] - - - I {193}would all womankind were dead, - Or banished o'er the sea; - For they have been a bitter plague - These last six weeks to me: - It is not that I'm touched myself, - For that I do not fear; - No {194}female face has shown me grace - For many a bygone year. - But 'tis the most infernal bore, - Of all the bores I know, - To have a friend who's lost his heart - A short time ago. - - - Whene'er we steam it to Black wall, - Or down to Greenwich run, - To quaff the pleasant cider-cup, - And feed on fish and fun; - Or climb the slopes of Richmond Hill, - To catch a breath of air: - Then, for my sins, he straight begins - To rave about his fair. - Oh, 'tis the most tremendous bore, - Of all the bores I know, - To have a friend who's lost his heart - A short time ago. - - - In vain you pour into his ear - Your own confiding grief; - In vain you claim his sympathy, - In vain you ask relief; - In vain you try to rouse him by - Joke, repartee, or quiz; - His {195}sole reply's a burning sigh, - And "What a mind it is!" - O Lord! it is the greatest bore, - Of all the bores I know, - To have a friend who's lost his heart - A short time ago. - - - I've heard her thoroughly described - A hundred times, I'm sure; - And all the while I've tried to smile, - And patiently endure; - He waxes strong upon his pangs, - And potters o'er his grog; - And still I say, in a playful way-- - "Why, you're a lucky dog!" - But oh! it is the heaviest bore, - Of all the bores I know, - To have a friend who's lost his heart - A short time ago. - - - I really wish he'd do like me, - When I was young and strong; - I formed a passion every week, - But never kept it long. - But he has not the sportive mood - That always rescued me, - And {196}so I would all women could - Be banished o'er the sea. - For 'tis the most egregious bore, - Of all the bores I know, - To have a friend who's lost his heart - A short time ago. - - -[Illustration: 209] - - - - - - -FRANCESCA DA RIMINI - - - - - - -TO BON GAULTIER. - - -[Argument.--An {197}impassioned pupil of Leigh Hunt, having met Bon -Gaultier at a Fancy Ball, declares the destructive consequences thus.] - - - Didst thou not praise me, Gaultier, at the hall, - Ripe lips, trim boddice, and a waist so small, - With clipsome lightness, dwindling ever less, - Beneath the robe of pea-y greeniness? - - - Dost thou remember, when, with stately prance, - Our heads went crosswise in the country-dance; - How {198}soft, warm fingers, tipped like "buds of balm, - Trembled within the squeezing of thy palm; - And how a cheek grew flushed and peachy-wise - At the frank lifting of thy cordial eyes? - - - Ah, me! that night there was one gentle thing, - Who, like a dove, with its scarce feathered wing, - Fluttered at the approach of thy quaint swaggering! - - - There's wont to be, at conscious times like these, - An affectation of a bright-eyed ease,-- - A crispy cheekiness, if so I dare - Describe the swaling of a jaunty air; - - - And thus, when swirling from the waltz's wheel, - You craved my hand to grace the next quadrille, - That smiling voice, although it made me start, - Boiled in the meek o'erlifting of my heart;. - And, picking at my flowers, I said, with free - And usual tone, "O yes, sir, certainly!" - - - Like one that swoons, 'twixt sweet amaze and fear, - I heard the music burning in my ear, - And felt I cared not, so thou wert with me, - If Gurth or Wamba were our vis-à-vis. - - - So, when a tall Knight Templar ringing came, - And took his place amongst us with his dame, - I neither turned away, nor bashful shrunk - From the stern survey of the soldier-monk, - Though, {199}rather more than three full quarters drunk; - But, threading through the figure, first in rule, - I paused to see thee plunge into La Poule. - - - Ah, what a sight was that! Not prurient Mars, - Pointing his toe through ten celestial bars-- - Not young Apollo, beamily arrayed - In tripsome guise for Juno's masquerade-- - - - Not smartest Hermes, with his pinion girth, - Jerking with freaks and snatches down to earth, - Looked half so bold, so beautiful, and strong, - As thou, when pranking through the glittering throng! - How the calmed ladies looked with eyes of love - On thy trim velvet doublet laced above; - The hem of gold, that, like a wavy river, - Flowed down into thy back with glancing shiver! - So bare was thy fine throat, and curls of black, - So lightsomely dropped in thy lordly back, - So crisply swaled the feather in thy bonnet, - So glanced thy thigh, and spanning palm upon it, - That my weak soul took instant flight to thee, - Lost in the fondest gush of that sweet witchery! - - - But when the dance was o'er, and arm in arm - (The full heart beating 'gainst the elbow warm) - We passed into the great refreshment-hall, - Where the heaped cheese-cakes and the comfits small - Lay, {200}like a hive of sunbeams, brought to burn - Around the margin of the negus urn; - When my poor quivering hand you fingered twice, - And, with inquiring accents, whispered "Ice, - Water, or cream?" I could no more dissemble, - But dropped upon the couch all in a tremble. - A swimming faintness misted o'er my brain, - The corks seemed starting from the brisk champagne, - The custards fell untouched upon the floor, - Thine eyes met mine. That night we danced no more! - - -[Illustration: 212] - - -[Illustration: 213] - - - - - - -THE CADI'S DAUGHTER, A LEGEND OF THE BOSPHORUS. - - - How {201}beauteous is the star of night - Within the eastern skies, - Like the twinkling glance of the Toorkman's lance, - Or the antelope's azure eyes! - - - A lamp of love in the heaven above, - That star is fondly streaming; - And the gay kiosk and the shadowy mosque - In the Golden Horn are gleaming. - - - Young {202}Leila sits in her jasmine bower, - And she hears the bulbul sing,' - As it thrills its throat to the first full note, - That anthems the flowery spring. - - - She gazes still, as a maiden will, - On that beauteous eastern star: - You might see the throb of her bosom's sob - Beneath the white cymar! - - - She thinks of him who is far away,-- - Her own brave Galiongee,-- - Where the billows foam and the breezes roam, - On the wild Carpathian sea. - - - She thinks of the oath that bound them both - Beside the stormy water; - And the words of love, that in Athens' grove - He spake to the Cadi's daughter. - - - "My Selim!" thus the maiden said, - "Though severed thus we be, - By the raging deep and the mountain steep, - My soul still yearns to thee. - - - Thy form so dear is mirrored here - In my heart's pellucid well, - As the rose looks up to Phingari's orb, - Or the moth to the gay gazelle. - - - "I think {203}of the time when the Kaftan's crime - Our love's young joys o'ertook, - And thy name still floats in the plaintive notes - Of my silver-toned chibouque. - - - Thy hand is red with the blood it has shed, - Thy soul it is heavy laden; - Yet come, my Giaour, to thy Leila's bower; - Oh, come to thy Turkish maiden!" - - - A light step trod on the dewy sod, - And a voice was in her ear, - And an arm embraced young Leila's waist-- - "Beloved! I am here!" - - - Like the phantom form that rules the storm, - Appeared the pirate lover, - And his fiery eye was like Zatanai, - As he fondly bent above her. - - - "Speak, Leila, speak; for my light caïque - Rides proudly in yonder bay; - I have come from my rest to her I love best, - To carry thee, love, away. - - - The breast of thy lover shall shield thee, and cover - My own jemscheed from harm; - Think'st thou I fear the dark vizier, - Or the mufti's vengeful arm? - - - "Then droop not, love, nor turn away - From this rude hand of mine! - And Leila looked in her lover's eyes, - And murmured--"I am thine!" - - - But a gloomy man with a yataghan - Stole through the acacia-blossoms, - And the thrust he made with his gleaming blade - Hath pierced through both their bosoms. - - - "There! there! thou cursed caitiff Giaour! - There, there, thou false one, lie!" - Remorseless Hassan stands above, - And he smiles to see them die. - - - They sleep beneath the fresh green turf. - The lover and the lady-- - And the maidens wail to hear the tale - Of the daughter of the Cadi! - - -[Illustration: 216] - - - - - - -THE DIRGE OF THE DRINKER - - - Brothers, {205}spare awhile your liquor, lay your final tumbler - down; - He has dropped--that star of honour--on the field of his - renown! - Raise the wail, but raise it softly, lowly bending on your - knees, - If you find it more convenient, you may hiccup if you - please. - - - Sons of Pantagruel, gently let your hip-hurrahing sink, - Be your manly accents clouded, half with sorrow, half - with drink! - Lightly to the sofa pillow lift his head from off the floor; - See, how calm he sleeps, unconscious as the deadest nail - in door! - - - Widely o'er the earth I've wandered; where the drink - most freely flowed, - I have ever reeled the foremost, foremost to the beaker - strode. - Deep in shady Cider Cellars I have dreamed o'er heavy wet, - By the fountains of Damascus I have quaffed the rich - sherbet, - - - Regal {206}Montepulciano drained beneath its native rock, - On Johannis' sunny mountain frequent hiccuped o'er my - hock; - I have bathed in butts of Xeres deeper than did e'er - Monsoon, - Sangaree'd with bearded Tartars in the Mountains of the - Moon; - - - In beer-swilling Copenhagen I have drunk your Danesman - blind, - I have kept my feet in Jena, when each bursch to earth - declined; - Glass for glass, in fierce Jamaica, I have shared the plant- - er's rum, - Drunk with Highland dhuiné-wassails, till each gibbering - Gael grew dumb; - - - But a stouter, bolder drinker--one that loved his liquor - more-- - Never yet did I encounter than our friend upon the floor! - Yet the best of us are mortal, we to weakness all are - heir, - He has fallen who rarely staggered--let the rest of us - beware! - - - We shall leave him as we found him,--lying where his - manhood fell, - 'Mong the trophies of the revel, for he took his tipple well. - Better 'twere we loosed his neckcloth, laid his throat and - bosom bare, - Pulled his {207}Hobies off, and turned his toes to taste the - breezy air. - - - Throw the sofa-cover o'er him, dim the flaring of the gas, - Calmly, calmly let him slumber, and, as by the bar we - pass, - We shall bid that thoughtful waiter place beside him, near - and handy, - Large supplies of soda-water, tumblers bottomed well with - brandy, - - - So, when waking, he shall drain them, with that deathless - thirst of his,-- - Clinging to the hand that smote him, like a good 'un as - he is! - - - - - - -THE DEATH OF DUBAL - - -By W- H-- A-TH, Esq. - - -["Methinks {208}I see him already in the cart, sweeter and more lovely -than the nosegay in his hand! I hear the crowd extolling his resolution -and intrepidity! What volleys of sighs are sent from the windows of -Holbom, that so comely a youth should be brought to disgrace! I see him -at the tree! the whole circle are in tears! even butchers weep!"-- -Beggars' Opera.] - - - A living sea of eager human faces, - A thousand bosoms throbbing all as one, - Walls, windows, balconies, all sorts of places, - Holding their crowds of gazers to the sun: - Through the hushed groups low-buzzing murmurs run; - And on the air, with slow reluctant swell, - Comes the dull funeral-boom of old Sepulchre's bell. - - - Oh, joy in London now! in festal measure - Be spent the evening of this festive day! - For thee is opening now a high-strung pleasure; - Now, even now, in yonder press-yard they - Strike from his limbs the fetters loose away! - A little while, and he, the brave Duval, - Will issue forth, serene, to glad and greet you all. - "Why comes he not? say, wherefore doth he tarry?" - Starts the inquiry loud from every tongue. - - - "Surely," they cry, "that tedious Ordinary - His tedious psalms must long ere this have sung,-- - Tedious to him that's waiting to be hung!" - But hark! old Newgate's doors fly wide apart. - "He comes, he comes!" A thrill shoots through each - gazer's heart. - - - Joined in the stunning cry ten thousand voices, - All Smithfield answered to the loud acclaim. - "He comes, he comes!" and every breast rejoices, - As down Snow Hill the shout tumultuous came, - Bearing to Holborn's crowd the welcome fame. - "He comes, he comes!" and each holds back his breath-- - Some ribs are broke, and some few scores are crushed to - death. - - - With step majestic to the cart advances - The dauntless Claude, and springs into his seat. - He feels that on him now are fixed the glances - Of many a Briton bold and maiden sweet, - Whose hearts responsive to his glories beat. - - - In him the honour of "The Road" is centred, - And all the hero's fire into his bosom entered. - His {210}was the transport--his the exultation - Of Rome's great generals, when from afar, - Up to the Capitol in the ovation, - They bore with them, in the triumphal car, - Rich gold and gems, the spoils of foreign war. - _Io Triumphe!_ They forgot their clay. - - - E'en so Duval, who rode in glory on his way, - His laced cravat, his kids of purest yellow, - The many-tinted nosegay in his hand, - His large black eyes, so fiery, yet so mellow, - Like the old vintages of Spanish land, - Locks clustering o'er a brow of high command, - Subdue all hearts; and, as up Holborn's steep - Toils the slow car of death, e'en cruel butchers weep. - - - He saw it, but he heeded not. His story, - He knew, was graven on the page of Time. - Tyburn to him was as a field of glory, - Where he must stoop to death his head sublime, - Hymned in full many an elegiac rhyme. - He left his deeds behind him, and his name-- - For he, like Cæsar, had lived long enough for fame. - - - He quailed not, save when, as he raised the chalice,-- - St Giles's bowl,--filled with the mildest ale, - To pledge {211}the crowd, on her--his beauteous Alice-- - His eye alighted, and his cheek grew pale. - She, whose sweet breath was like the spicy gale, - She, whom he fondly deemed his own dear girl, - Stood with a tall dragoon, drinking long draughts of - purl. - - - He bit his lip--it quivered but a moment-- - Then passed his hand across his flushing brows: - He could have spared so forcible a comment - Upon the constancy of woman's vows. - - - One short sharp pang his hero-soul allows; - But in the bowl he drowned the stinging pain, - And on his pilgrim course went calmly forth again. - - - A princely group of England's noble daughters - Stood in a balcony suffused with grief, - Diffusing fragrance round them, of strong waters, - And waving many a snowy handkerchief; - Then glowed the prince of highwayman and thief! - His soul was touched with a seraphic gleam-- - That woman could be false was but a mocking dream. - - - And now, his bright career of triumph ended, - His chariot stood beneath the triple tree. - The law's {212}grim finisher to its boughs ascended, - And fixed the hempen bandages, while he - Bowed to the throng, then bade the car go free. - The car rolled on, and left him dangling there, - Like famed Mohammed's tomb, uphung midway in air. - - - As droops the cup of the surchargèd lily - Beneath the buffets of the surly storm, - Or the soft petals of the daffodilly, - When Sirius is uncomfortably warm, - So drooped his head upon his manly form, - While floated in the breeze his tresses brown. - He hung the stated time, and then they cut him down. - - - With soft and tender care the trainbands bore him, - Just as they found him, nightcap, robe, and all, - And placed this neat though plain inscription o'er him, - Among the atomies in Surgeons' Hall: - "_These are the Bones of the Renowned Duval!_" - There still they tell us, from their glassy case, - He was the last, the best of all that noble race! - - -[Illustration: 225] - - - - - - -EASTERN SERENADE - - - The minarets {213}wave on the plain of Stamboul, - And the breeze of the evening blows freshly and cool; - The voice of the musnud is heard from the west, - And kaftan and kalpac have gone to their rest. - - - The notes of the kislar re-echo no more, - And the waves of Al Sirat fall light on the shore. - 'Where art thou, my beauty; where art thou, my bride? - Oh, come and repose by thy dragoman's side! - - - I wait {214}for thee still by the flowery tophaik-- - I have broken my Eblis for Zuleima's sake. - But the heart that adores thee is faithful and true, - Though it beats 'neath the folds of a Greek Allah-hu! - - - Oh, wake thee, my dearest! the muftis are still, - And the tschocadars sleep on the Franguestan hill; - No sullen aleikoum--no derveesh is here, - And the mosques are all watching by lonely Kashmere! - - - Oh, come in the gush of thy beauty so full, - I have waited for thee, my adored attar-gul! - I see thee--I hear thee--thy antelope foot - Treads lightly and soft on the velvet cheroot; - - - The jewelled amaun of thy zemzem is bare, - And the folds of thy palampore wave in the air. - Come, rest on the bosom that loves thee so well, - My dove! my phingari! my gentle gazelle! - - - Nay, tremble not, dearest! I feel thy heart throb, - 'Neath the sheltering shroud of thy snowy kiebaub; - Lo, there shines Muezzin, the beautiful star! - Thy lover is with thee, and danger afar: - - - Say, is it the glance of the haughty vizier, - Or the bark of the distant effendi, you fear? - Oh, swift {215}fly the hours in the garden of bliss! - And sweeter than balm of Gehenna thy kiss! - - - Wherever I wander--wherever I roam, - My spirit flies back to its beautiful home; - It dwells by the lake of the limpid Stamboul, - With thee, my adored one! my own attar-gul! - - -[Illustration: 227] - - - - - - -DAME FREDEGONDE - - - When {216}folks, with headstrong passion blind, - To play the fool make up their mind, - They're sure to come with phrases nice, - And modest air, for your advice. - - - But as a truth unfailing make it, - They ask, but never mean to take it. - 'Tis not advice they want, in fact, - But confirmation in their act. - - - Now mark what did, in such a case, - A worthy priest who knew the race. - - - A dame more buxom, blithe, and free, - Than Fredegonde you scarce would see. - So smart her dress, so trim her shape, - N e'er hostess offered juice of grape, - - - Could {217}for her trade wish better sign; - Her looks gave flavour to her wine, - And each guest feels it, as he sips, - Smack of the ruby of her lips. - - - A smile for all, a welcome glad,-- - A jovial coaxing way she had; - And,--what was more her fate than blame,-- - A nine months' widow was our dame. - - - But toil was hard, for trade was good, - And gallants sometimes will be rude. - "And what can a lone woman do? - The nights are long and eerie too. - - - Now, Guillot there's a likely man, - None better draws or taps a can; - He's just the man, I think, to suit, - If I could bring my courage to't." - - - With thoughts like these her mind is crossed: - The dame, they say, who doubts, is lost. - "But then the risk? I'll beg a slice - Of Father Raulin's good advice." - - - Prankt in her best, with looks demure, - She seeks the priest; and, to be sure, - Asks if he thinks she ought to wed: - "With such a business on my head, - I'm {218}worried off my legs with care, - And need some help to keep things square. - - - I've thought of Guillot, truth to tell! - He's steady, knows his business well. - What do you think?" When thus he met her: - "Oh, take him, dear, you can't do better!" - - - "But then the danger, my good pastor, - If of the man I make the master. - There is no trusting to these men." - - - "Well, well, my dear, don't have him, then!" - "But help I must have; there's the curse. - I may go farther and fare worse." - - - "Why, take him, then!" - - -"But if he should - Turn out a thankless ne'er-do-good-- - In drink and riot waste my all, - And rout me out of house and hall?" - - - "Don't have him, then! But I've a plan - To clear your doubts, if any can. - - - The bells a peal are ringing,--hark! - Go straight, and what they tell you mark. - If they say 'Yes!' wed, and be blest-- - If 'No,' why--do as you think best." - - - The bells rang out a triple bob: - Oh, how our widow's heart did throb, - As {219}thus she heard their burden go, - "Marry, mar-marry, mar-Guillot!" - - - Bells were not then left to hang idle: - A week,--and they rang for her bridal. - - - But, woe the while, they might as well - Have rung the poor dame's parting knell. - The rosy dimples left her cheek, - She lost her beauties plump and sleek; - For Guillot oftener kicked than kissed, - And backed his orders with his fist, - Proving by deeds as well as words - That servants make the worst of lords. - - - She seeks the priest, her ire to wreak, - And speaks as angry women speak, - With tiger looks and bosom swelling, - Cursing the hour she took his telling. - - - To all, his calm reply was this,-- - "I fear you've read the bells amiss: - If they have led you wrong in aught, - Your wish, not they, inspired the thought. - - - Just go, and mark well what they say." - Off trudged the dame upon her way, - And sure enough their chime went so,-- - "Don't have that knave, that knave Guillot!" - - - "Too true," she cried, "there's not a doubt - What could my ears have been about?" - She had forgot, that, as fools think, - The bell is ever sure to clink. - - -[Illustration: 232] - - - - - - -THE DEATH OF ISHMAEL. - - -[This and {221}the six following poems are examples of that new -achievement of modern song--which, blending the _utile_ with the -_dulce_, symbolises at once the practical and spiritual characteristics -of the age,--and is called familiarly "the puff poetical."] - - - Died the Jew? "The Hebrew died. - On the pavement cold he lay, - Around him closed the living tide; - The butcher's cad set down his tray; - The pot-boy from the Dragon Green - No longer for his pewter calls; - The Nereid rushes in between, - Nor more her 'Fine live mackerel!' bawls." - - - Died the Jew? "The Hebrew died. - They raised him gently from the stone, - They flung his coat and neckcloth wide-- - But linen had that Hebrew none. - They raised the pile of hats that pressed - His noble head, his locks of snow; - But, ah, that head, upon his breast, - Sank down with an expiring 'Clo!'" - - - Died {222}the Jew? "The Hebrew died, - Struck with overwhelming qualms - From the flavour spreading wide - Of some fine Virginia hams. - Would you know the fatal spot, - Fatal to that child of sin? - These fine-flavoured hams are bought - _At 50 Bishopsgate Within!_" - - -[Illustration: 234] - - - - - - -PARR'S LIFE PILLS - - - Twas {223}in the town of Lubeck, - A hundred years ago, - An old man walked into the church, - With beard as white as snow; - Yet were his cheeks not wrinkled, - Nor dim his eagle eye: - There's many a knight that steps the street, - Might wonder, should he chance to meet - That man erect and high! - - - When silenced was the organ, - And hushed the vespers loud, - The Sacristan approached the sire, - And drew him from the crowd-- - "There's something in thy visage, - On which I dare not look; - And when I rang the passing bell, - A tremor that I may not tell, - My very vitals shook. - - - "Who art thou, awful stranger? - Our ancient annals say, - That twice two hundred years ago - Another passed this way - Like {224}thee in face and feature; - And, if the tale be true, - 'Tis writ, that in this very year - Again the stranger shall appear. - Art thou the Wandering Jew?" - - - "The Wandering Jew, thou dotard!" - The wondrous phantom cried-- - "'Tis several centuries ago - Since that poor stripling died. - He would not use my nostrums-- - See, shaveling, here they are! - _These_ put to flight all human ills, - These conquer death--unfailing pills, - And I'm the inventor, PARR!" - - -[Illustration: 236] - - - - - - -TARQUIN AND THE AUGUR - - - Gingerly {225}is good King Tarquin shaving, - Gently glides the razor o'er his chin, - Near him stands a grim Haruspex raving, - And with nasal whine he pitches in - Church extension hints, - Till the monarch squints, - Snicks his chin, and swears--a deadly sin! - - - "Jove confound thee, thou bare-legged impostor - From my dressing-table get thee gone! - Dost thou think my flesh is double Glo'ster? - There again! That cut was to the bone! - Get ye from my sight; - I'll believe you're right - When my razor cuts the sharpening hone!" - - - Thus spoke Tarquin with a deal of dryness; - But the Augur, eager for his fees, - Answered--"Try it, your Imperial Highness; - Press a little harder, if you please. - There! the {126}deed is done!" - - - Through the solid stone - Went the steel as glibly as through cheese. - So the Augur touched the tin of Tarquin, - Who suspected some celestial aid: - But he wronged the blameless gods; for hearken! - Ere the monarch's bet was rashly laid, - With his searching eye - Did the priest espy - RODGERS' name engraved upon the blade. - - - - - - -LA MORT d'ARTHUR - - - - - - -NOT BY ALFRED TENNYSON. - - - Slowly, {227}as one who bears a mortal hurt, - Through which the fountain of his life runs dry, - Crept good King Arthur down unto the lake. - - - A roughening wind was bringing in the waves - With cold dull plash and plunging to the shore, - And a great bank of clouds came sailing up - Athwart the aspect of the gibbous moon, - Leaving no glimpse save starlight, as he sank, - With a short stagger, senseless on the stones. - - - No man yet knows how long he lay in swound - But long enough it was to let the rust - Lick half the surface of his polished shield; - For it was made by far inferior hands, - Than forged his helm, his breastplate, and his greaves, - Whereon no canker lighted, for they bore - The magic stamp of MECHI'S SILVER STEEL. - - -[Illustration: 240] - - - - - - -JUPITER AND THE INDIAN ALE - - - "Take {228}away this clammy nectar!" - Said the king of gods and men; - "Never at Olympus' table - Let that trash be served again. - - - Ho, Lyæus, thou, the beery! - Quick--invent some other drink; - Or, in a brace of shakes, thou standest - On Cocytus' sulphury brink!" - - - Terror shook the limbs of Bacchus, - Paly grew his pimpled nose, - And {229}already in his rearward - Felt he Jove's tremendous toes; - When a bright idea struck him-- - "Dash my thyrsus! I'll be bail-- - For you never were in India-- - That you know not HODGSON'S ALE!" - - - "Bring it!" quoth the Cloud-compeller; - And the wine-god brought the beer-- - "Port and claret are like water - To the noble stuff that's here!" - - - And Saturnius drank and nodded, - Winking with his lightning eyes, - And amidst the constellations - Did the star of HODGSON rise! - - -[Illustration: 241] - - - - - - -THE LAY OF THE DONDNEY BROTHERS - - - Coats at {230}five-and-forty shillings! trousers ten-and-six a - pair! - Summer waistcoats, three a sov'reign, light and comfort- - able wear! - Taglionis, black or coloured, Chesterfield and velveteen! - The old English shooting-jacket--doeskins, such as ne'er - were seen! - Army cloaks and riding-habits, Alberts at a trifling cost! - Do you want an annual contract? Write to DOUDNEYS' - by the post. - - - DOUDNEY BROTHERS! DOUDNEY BROTHERS! Not the men - that drive the van, - Plastered o'er with advertisements, heralding some paltry - plan, - How, by base mechanic stinting, and by pinching of their - backs, - Slim attorneys' clerks may manage to retrieve their - Income-tax: - But the old established business--where the best of clothes - are given - At the very lowest prices--Fleet Street, Number Ninety- - seven. - - - Wouldst {231}thou know the works of DOUDNEY? Hie thee - to the thronged Arcade, - To the Park upon a Sunday, to the terrible Parade. - - - There, amid the bayonets bristling, and the flashing of the - steel, - When the household troops in squadrons round the bold - field-marshals wheel, - Shouldst thou see an aged warrior in a plain blue morning - frock, - Peering at the proud battalions o'er the margin of his - stock,-- - Should thy throbbing heart then tell thee, that the veteran - worn and grey - Curbed the course of Bonaparte, rolled the thunders of - Assaye-- - Let it tell thee, stranger, likewise, that the goodly garb - he wears - Started into shape and being from the DOUDNEY BROTHERS' - shears! - - - Seek thou next the rooms of Willis--mark, where - D'Orsay's Count is bending, - See the trouser's undulation from his graceful hip - descending; - Hath the earth another trouser so compact and love- - compelling? - Thou canst find it, stranger, only, if thou seek'st the - DOUDNEYS' dwelling! - Hark, {232}from Windsor's royal palace, what sweet voice - enchants the ear? - "Goodness, what a lovely waistcoat! Oh, who made it, - Albert dear? - 'Tis the very prettiest pattern! You must get a dozen - others!" - And the Prince, in rapture, answers--"'Tis the work of - DOUDNEY BROTHERS!" - - - - - - -PARIS AND HELEN - - - As {233}the youthful Paris presses - Helen to his ivory breast, - Sporting with her golden tresses, - Close and ever closer pressed, - - - "Let me," said he, "quaff the nectar, - "Which thy lips of ruby yield; - Glory I can leave to Hector, - Gathered in the tented field. - - - "Let me ever gaze upon thee, - Look into thine eyes so deep; - With a daring hand I won thee, - With a faithful heart I'll keep. - - - "Oh, my Helen, thou bright wonder, - Who was ever like to thee? - Jove would lay aside his thunder, - So he might be blest like me. - - - "How {234}mine eyes so fondly linger - On thy soft and pearly skin; - Scan each round and rosy finger, - Drinking draughts of beauty in! - - - "Tell me, whence thy beauty, fairest? - Whence thy cheek's enchanting bloom? - Whence the rosy hue thou wearest, - Breathing round thee rich perfume?" - - - Thus he spoke, with heart that panted, - Clasped her fondly to his side, - Gazed on her with look enchanted, - While his Helen thus replied: - - - "Be no discord, love, between us, - If I not the secret tell! - 'Twas a gift I had of Venus,-- - Venus, who hath loved me well. - - - "And she told me as she gave it, - 'Let not e'er the charm be known; - O'er thy person freely lave it, - Only when thou art alone.' - - - "'Tis enclosed in yonder casket-- - Here behold its golden key; - But its name--love, do not ask it, - Tell't I may not, even to thee!" - - - Long {235}with vow and kiss he plied her; - Still the secret did she keep, - Till at length he sank beside her, - Seemed as he had dropped to sleep. - - - Soon was Helen laid in slumber, - When her Paris, rising slow, - Did his fair neck disencumber - From her rounded arms of snow. - - - Then, her heedless fingers oping, - Takes the key and steals away, - To the ebon table groping, - Where the wondrous casket lay; - - - Eagerly the lid uncloses, - Sees within it, laid aslope, - PEAR'S LIQUID BLOOM OF ROSES, - Cakes of his TRANSPARENT SOAP! - - - - - - -SONG OF THE ENNUYE - - - I'm {236}weary, and sick, and disgusted - With Britain's mechanical din; - Where I'm much too well known to be trusted, - And plaguily pestered for tin; - Where love has two eyes for your hanker, - And one chilly glance for yourself; - Where souls can afford to be franker, - But when they're well garnished with pelf. - - - I'm sick of the whole race of poets, - Emasculate, misty, and fine; - They brew their small-heer, and don't know its - Distinction from full-bodied wine. - - - I'm sick of the prosers, that house up - At drowsy St Stephen's,--ain't you? - I want some strong spirits to rouse up - A good revolution or two! - - - I'm {237}sick of a land, where each morrow - Repeats the dull tale of to-day, - Where you can't even find a new sorrow - To chase your stale pleasures away. - - - I'm sick of blue stockings horrific, - Steam, railroads, gas, scrip, and consols: - So I'll off where the golden Pacific - Round islands of Paradise rolls. - - - There the passions shall revel unfettered, - And the heart never speak but in truth, - And the intellect, wholly unlettered, - Be bright with the freedom of youth! - There the earth can rejoice in her blossoms, - Unsullied by vapour or soot, - And there chimpanzees and opossums - Shall playfully pelt me with fruit. - - - There I'll sit with my dark Orianas, - In groves by the murmuring sea, - And they'll give, as I suck the bananas, - Their kisses, nor ask them from me. - They'll never torment me for sonnets, - Nor bore me to death with their own; - They'll ask not for shawls nor for bonnets, - For milliners there are unknown. - - - There {238}my couch shall be earth's freshest flowers, - My curtains the night and the stars, - And my spirit shall gather new powers, - Uncramped by conventional bars. - - - Love for love, truth for truth ever giving, - My days shall be manfully sped; - I shall know that I'm loved while I'm living, - And be wept by fond eyes when I'm dead! - - - - - - -CAROLINE - - - Lightsome, {239}brightsome, cousin mine, - Easy, breezy Caroline! - - - With, thy locks all raven-shaded, - From thy merry brow up-braided, - And thine eyes of laughter full, - Brightsome cousin mine! - - - Thou in chains of love hast bound me-- - Wherefore dost thou flit around me, - Laughter-loving Caroline! - - - When I fain would go to sleep - In my easy-chair, - Wherefore on my slumbers creep-- - Wherefore start me from repose, - Tickling of my hookèd nose, - Pulling of my hair? - Wherefore, then, if thou dost love me, - So to words of anger move me, - Corking of this face of mine, - Tricksy cousin Caroline? - - - When a {240}sudden sound I hear, - Much my nervous system suffers, - Shaking through and through. - Cousin Caroline, I fear, - 'Twas no other, now, but you, - Put gunpowder in the snuffers, - Springing such a mine! - - - Yes, it was your tricksy self, - Wicked-trickèd little elf, - Naughty cousin Caroline! - - - Pins she sticks into my shoulder, - Places needles in my chair, - And, when I begin to scold her, - Tosses back her combed hair, - With so saucy-vexed an air, - That the pitying beholder - Cannot brook that I should scold her: - Then again she comes, and bolder, - Blacks anew this face of mine, - Artful cousin Caroline! - - - Would she only say she'd love me, - Winsome, tinsome Caroline, - Unto such excess 'twould move me, - Teazing, pleasing, cousin mine! - - - That {241}she might the live-long day - Undermine the snuffer-tray, - Tickle still my hooked nose, - Startle me from calm repose - With her pretty persecution; - - - Throw the tongs against my shins, - Run me through and through with pins, - Like a pierced cushion; - - - Would she only say she'd love me, - Darning-needles should not move me; - But, reclining back, I'd say, - "Dearest! there's the snuffer-tray; - Pinch, o pinch those legs of mine! - - - Cork me, cousin Caroline!" - - - TO A FORGET-ME-NOT - - - - - - -FOUND IN MY EMPORIUM OF LOVE-TOKENS. - - - Sweet {242}flower, that with thy soft blue eye - Didst once look up in shady spot, - To whisper to the passer-by - Those tender words--Forget-me-not! - - - Though withered now, thou art to me - The minister of gentle thought,-- - And I could weep to gaze on thee,. - Love's faded pledge--Forget-me-not! - - - Thou speak'st of hours when I was young, - And happiness arose unsought; - When she, the whispering woods among, - Gave me thy bloom--Forget-me-not! - - - That rapturous hour with that dear maid - From memory's page no time shall blot, - When, yielding to my kiss, she said, - "Oh, Theodore--Forget me not!" - - - Alas {243}for love! alas for truth! - Alas for man's uncertain lot! - Alas for all the hopes of youth - That fade like thee--Forget-me-not! - - - Alas for that one image fair, - With all my brightest dreams inwrought! - That walks beside me everywhere, - Still whispering--Forget me not! - - - Oh, Memory! thou art but a sigh - For friendships dead and loves forgot, - And many a cold and altered eye - That once did say--Forget me not! - - - And I must bow me to thy laws, - For--odd although it may be thought-- - I can't tell who the deuce it was - That gave me this Forget-me-not! - - - - - - -THE MISHAP - - - "Why {244}art thou weeping, sister? - Why is thy cheek so pale? - Look up, dear Jane, and tell me - What is it thou dost ail? - - - "I know thy will is froward, - Thy feelings warm and keen, - And that _that_ Augustus Howard - For weeks has not been seen. - - - "I know {245}how much you loved him; - But I know thou dost not weep - For him;--for though his passion be, - His purse is noways deep. - - - "Then tell me why those tear-drops? - What means this woeful mood? - Say, has the tax-collector - Been calling, and been rude? - - - "Or has that hateful grocer, - The slave! been here to-day? - Of course he had, by morrow's noon, - A heavy bill to pay! - - - "Come, on thy brother's bosom - Unburden all thy woes; - Look up, look up, sweet sister; - Nay, sob not through thy nose." - - - "Oh, John, 'tis not the grocer - For his account, although - How ever he is to be paid, - I really do not know. - - - "'Tis {246}not the tax-collector; - Though by his fell command - They've seized our old paternal clock, - And new umbrella-stand! - - - "Nor that Augustus Howard, - Whom I despise almost,-- - But the soot's come down the chimney, John, - And fairly spoiled the roast!" - - - - - - -COMFORT IN AFFLICTION - - - "Wherefore {247}starts my bosom's lord? - Why this anguish in thine eye? - Oh, it seems as thy heart's chord - Had broken with that sigh! - - - "Rest thee, my dear lord, I pray, - Rest thee on my bosom now! - And let me wipe the dews away, - Are gathering on thy brow. - - - "There, again! that fevered start! - What, love! husband! is thy pain? - There is a sorrow on thy heart, - A weight upon thy brain! - - - "Nay, nay, that sickly smile can ne'er - Deceive affection's searching eye; - 'Tis a wife's duty, love, to share - Her husband's agony. - - - "Since {248}the dawn began to peep, - Have I lain with stifled breath; - Heard thee moaning in thy sleep, - As thou wert at grips with death. - - - "Oh, what joy it was to see - My gentle lord once more awake! - Tell me, what is amiss with thee? - Speak, or my heart will break!" - - - "Mary, thou angel of my life, - Thou ever good and kind; - 'Tis not, believe me, my dear wife, - The anguish of the mind! - - - "It is not in my bosom, dear, - No, nor my brain, in sooth; - But Mary, oh, I feel it here, - Here in my wisdom tooth! - - - "Then give,--oh, first best antidote,-- - Sweet partner of my bed! - Give me thy flannel petticoat - To wrap around my head!" - - - - - - -THE INVOCATION - - - "Brother, {249}thou art very weary, - And thine eye is sunk and dim, - And thy neckcloth's tie is crumpled, - And thy collar out of trim; - There is dust upon thy visage,-- - Think not, Charles, I would hurt ye, - When I say, that altogether - You appear extremely dirty. - - - "Frown not, brother, now, but hie thee - To thy chamber's distant room; - Drown the odours of the ledger - With the lavender's perfume. - Brush the mud from off thy trousers, - O'er the china basin kneel, - Lave thy brows in water softened - With the soap of Old Castile. - - - "Smooth the locks that o'er thy forehead - 'Now in loose disorder stray; - Pare thy nails, and from thy whiskers - Cut those ragged points away; - Let no more thy calculations - Thy bewildered brain beset; - Life has other hopes than Cocker's, - Other joys than tare and tret. - - - "Haste thee, for I ordered dinner, - Waiting to the very last, - Twenty minutes after seven, - And 'tis now the quarter past. - 'Tis a dinner which Lucullus - Would have wept with joy to see, - One, might wake the soul of Curtis - From death's drowsy atrophy. - - - "There is soup of real turtle, - Turbot, and the dainty sole; - And the mottled row of lobsters - Blushes through the butter-bowl. - There the lordly haunch of mutton, - Tender as the mountain grass, - Waits to mix its ruddy juices - With the girdling caper-sauce. - - - "There a stag, whose branching forehead - Spoke him monarch of the herds, - He whose flight was o'er the heather - Swift as through the air the bird's, - Yields for thee a dish of cutlets; - And the haunch that wont to dash - O'er the roaring mountain-torrent, - Smokes in most delicious hash. - - - "There, besides, are amber jellies. - Floating like a golden dream; - Ginger from the far Bermudas, - Dishes of Italian pream; - And a princely apple-dumpling, - Which my own fair fingers wrought, - Shall unfold its nectared treasures - To thy lips all smoking hot. - - - "Ha! I see thy brow is clearing, - Lustre flashes from thine eyes; - To thy lips I see the moisture - Of anticipation rise. - Hark! the dinner-bell is sounding!" - "Only wait one moment, Jane: - I'll be dressed, and down, before you - Can get up the iced champagne!" - - - - - - -THE HUSBAND'S PETITION - - - Come {252}hither, my heart's darling, - Come, sit upon my knee, - And listen, while I whisper - A boon I ask of thee. - - - You need not pull my whiskers - So amorously, my dove; - 'Tis something quite apart from - The gentle cares of love. - - - I feel a bitter craving-- - A dark and deep desire, - That glows beneath my bosom - Like coals of kindled fire. - - - The passion of the nightingale, - When singing to the rose, - Is {253}feebler than the agony - That murders my repose! - - - Nay, dearest! do not doubt me, - Though madly thus I speak-- - I feel thy arms about me, - Thy tresses on my cheek: - - - I know the sweet devotion - That links thy heart with mine,-- - I know my soul's emotion - Is doubly felt by thine: - - - And deem not that a shadow - Hath fallen across my love: - No, sweet, my love is shadowless, - As yonder heaven above. - - - These little taper fingers-- - Ah, Jane! how white they be!-- - Can well supply the cruel want - That almost maddens me. - - - Thou wilt not sure deny me - My first and fond request; - I pray thee, by the memory - Of all we cherish best-- - - - By all the dear remembrance - Of those delicious days, - When, hand in hand, we wandered - Along the summer braes; - - - By {254}all we felt, unspoken, - When 'neath the early moon, - We sat beside the rivulet, - In the leafy month of June; - - - And by the broken whisper - That fell upon my ear, - More sweet than angel music, - When first I wooed thee, dear! - - - By thy great vow which bound thee - For ever to my side, - And by the ring that made thee - My darling and my bride! - - - Thou wilt not fail nor falter, - But bend thee to the task-- - _A BOILED SHEEP'S-HEAD ON SUNDAY_ - Is all the boon I ask! - - -[Illustration: 266] - - -[Illustration: 267] - - - - - - -SONNET TO BRITAIN. - - - Halt! {255}Shoulder arms! Recover - As you were! - Right wheel! Eyes left! Attention! - Stand at ease! - - - O Britain! O my country! Words like these - Have made thy name a terror and a fear - To all the nations. Witness Ebro's banks, - Assaÿe, Toulouse, Nivelle, and Waterloo, - Where the grim despot muttered--_Sauve qui peut!_ - And Ney fled darkling.--Silence in the ranks! - - - Inspired {256}by these, amidst the iron crash - Of armies, in the centre of his troop - The soldier stands--unmovable, not rash-- - Until the forces of the foeman droop; - Then knocks the Frenchman to eternal smash, - Pounding them into mummy. Shoulder, hoop! - - - -THE END. - - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Book Of Ballads, by Various - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BOOK OF BALLADS *** - -***** This file should be named 44798-8.txt or 44798-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/4/7/9/44798/ - -Produced by David Widger from page scans generously provided -by the Internet Archive - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: The Book Of Ballads - Eleventh Edition, 1870 - -Author: Various - -Editor: Bon Gaultier - -Illustrator: Doyle, Leech, Cromquill - -Release Date: January 30, 2014 [EBook #44798] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BOOK OF BALLADS *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page scans generously provided -by the Internet Archive - - - - - - -</pre> <div style="height: 8em;"> <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> @@ -8011,374 +7973,7 @@ by the Internet Archive -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Book Of Ballads, by Various - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BOOK OF BALLADS *** - -***** This file should be named 44798-h.htm or 44798-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/4/7/9/44798/ - -Produced by David Widger from page scans generously provided -by the Internet Archive - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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