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diff --git a/23972-h/23972-h.htm b/23972-h/23972-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a1a79b3 --- /dev/null +++ b/23972-h/23972-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,46106 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Book of Humorous Verse, by Various</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + .tnote {border: dashed 1px; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; + padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + + .linenum {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */ + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + .sidenote {width: 20%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em; margin-left: 1em; + float: right; clear: right; margin-top: 1em; + font-size: smaller; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: dashed 1px;} + + .h_5 {text-align: center; font-weight: bold; + font-size: small;} + .bb {border-bottom: solid 1px;} + .bl {border-left: solid 1px;} + .bt {border-top: solid 1px;} + .br {border-right: solid 1px;} + .bbox {border: solid 1px;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .u {text-decoration: underline;} + .strikeout{text-decoration: underline; color: red} + + .caption {font-weight: bold;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .figleft {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: + 1em; margin-right: 1em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .figright {float: right; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + .fnanchor {vertical-align: super; font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + + .poem {margin-top: 0em; margin-bottom: 0em; text-align: left; + text-indent: -5em; margin-left: 5em;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + hr.full { width: 100%; + margin-top: 3em; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + height: 4px; + border-width: 4px 0 0 0; /* remove all borders except the top one */ + border-style: solid; + border-color: #000000; + clear: both; } + pre {font-size: 85%;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Book of Humorous Verse, by Various, +Edited by Carolyn Wells</h1> +<pre> +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 <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: The Book of Humorous Verse</p> +<p>Author: Various</p> +<p>Editor: Carolyn Wells</p> +<p>Release Date: December 22, 2007 [eBook #23972]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BOOK OF HUMOROUS VERSE***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3>E-text prepared by Hilary Caws-Elwitt, Huub Bakker,<br /> + and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (http://www.pgdp.net)</h3> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h1>THE BOOK OF<br /> +HUMOROUS VERSE</h1> +<p class='center'> +<br /> +<br /> +<i>Compiled by</i><br /> +<big>CAROLYN WELLS</big><br /> +<span class="smcap">Author of "Such Nonsense,"<br /> +"The Whimsey Anthology,"<br /> +etc., etc.</span> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +NEW YORK<br /> +GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg iv]</a></span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +TO<br /> +ROBERT CHAPMAN SPRAGUE<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg v]</a></span> +</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="INTRODUCTION" id="INTRODUCTION"></a>INTRODUCTION</h2> + + +<p>A hope of immortality and a sense of humor distinguish man +from the beasts of the field.</p> + +<p>A single exception may be made, perhaps, of the Laughing +Hyena, and, on the other hand, not every one of the human +race possesses the power of laughter. For those who do, this +volume is intended.</p> + +<p>And since there can be nothing humorous about an introduction, +there can be small need of a lengthy one.</p> + +<p>Merely a few explanations of conditions which may be +censured by captious critics.</p> + +<p>First, the limitations of space had to be recognized. +Hence, the book is a compilation, not a collection. It is +representative, but not exhaustive. My ambition was toward +a volume to which everyone could go, with a surety of +finding any one of his favorite humorous poems between +these covers. But no covers of one book could insure that, +so I reluctantly gave up the dream for a reality which I +trust will make it possible for a majority of seekers to find +their favorites here.</p> + +<p>The compiler's course is a difficult one. The Scylla of +Popularity lures him on the one hand, while the Charybdis +of the Classical charms him on the other. He has nothing +to steer by but his own good taste, and good taste, alack, is +greatly a matter of opinion.</p> + +<p>And no opinion seemeth good unto an honest compiler, +save his own. Wherefore, the choice of these selections, like +kissing, went by favor. As to the arrangement of them, every +compiler will tell you that Classification is Vexation. And +why not? When many a poem may be both Parody and +Satire,—both Romance and Cynicism. Wherefore, the compiler +sorted with loving care the selections here presented +striving to do justice to the verses themselves, and +taking a chance on the tolerant good nature of the +reader. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg vi]</a></span></p> + +<p>For,</p> + +<p><span class='poem'> +<span class='i4'>"A jest's prosperity lies in the ear</span> +<span class='i4'>Of him that hears it.</span> +<span class='i4'>Never in the tongue</span> +<span class='i4'>Of him that makes it."</span></span> +</p> + +<p>Which made me all the more careful to do my authors justice, +leaving the prosperity of the jests to the hearers.</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Carolyn Wells</span>.<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg vii]</a></span> +</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="ACKNOWLEDGMENTS" id="ACKNOWLEDGMENTS"></a>ACKNOWLEDGMENTS</h2> + + +<p>The compiler is indebted to the publisher or author, as +noted below, for the use of copyright material included in +this volume. Special arrangements have been made with +the authorized publishers of those American poets, whose +works in whole or in part have lapsed copyright. All rights +of these poems have been reserved by the authorized publisher, +author or holder of the copyright as indicated in the +following:</p> + +<p>Little, Brown & Company: For selections from the Poems +and Limericks of Edward Lear.</p> + +<p>The Macmillan Company: For selections from the Poems +of Lewis Carroll and Verses from "Alice's Adventures in +Wonderland" and "Through the Looking Glass."</p> + +<p>Harr Wagner Publishing Company: For permission to +reprint from "The Complete Poems" of Joaquin Miller +"That Gentle Man From Boston Town," "That Texan +Cattle Man," "William Brown of Oregon."</p> + +<p>Frederick A. Stokes Company: "Bessie Brown, M.D." +and "A Kiss in the Rain," by Samuel Minturn Peck.</p> + +<p>Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Company: For the inclusion of +the following Poems by Sam Walter Foss: "The Meeting +of the Clabberhuses," "A Philosopher" and "The Prayer +of Cyrus Brown" from "Dreams in Homespun," copyright, +1897. "Then Agin—" and "Husband and Heathen," from +"Back Country Poems," copyright, 1894. "The Ideal Husband +to His Wife," from "Whiffs from Wild Meadows," +copyright, 1895.</p> + +<p>Forbes & Company: "How Often?" "If I Should Die +To-night," and "The Pessimist," by Ben King.</p> + +<p>The Century Company: For permission to reprint from +<i>St. Nicholas Magazine</i> the following poems by Ruth McEnery +Stuart: "The Endless Song" and "The Hen-Roost Man"; +and by Tudor Jenks: "An Old Bachelor"; and by Mary +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg viii]</a></span> +Mapes Dodge: "Home and Mother," "Life in Laconics," +"Over the Way" and "The Zealless Xylographer."</p> + +<p>Thomas L. Masson: For permission to reprint "The Kiss" +from "Life."</p> + +<p>E. P. Button & Company: "The Converted Cannibals" +and "The Retired Pork-Butcher and the Spook," by G. E. +Farrow.</p> + +<p>Houghton Mifflin Company: With their permission and +by special arrangement, as authorized publishers of the following +authors' works, are used: Selections from Nora +Perry, John Townsend Trowbridge, Charles E. Carryl, +Oliver Wendell Holmes, John Greenleaf Whittier, Ralph +Waldo Emerson, Bret Harte, James Thomas Fields, John +G. Saxe, James Russell Lowell and Bayard Taylor.</p> + +<p>A. P. Watt & Son and Doubleday, Page & Company: For +their permission to use "Divided Destinies," "Study of an +Elevation, in Indian Ink," and "Commonplaces," by Rudyard +Kipling.</p> + +<p>G. P. Putnam's Sons: Selections from the Poems of +Eugene Fitch Ware and "The Wreck of the 'Julie Plante,'" +by William Henry Drummond.</p> + +<p>Henry Holt & Company: Two Parodies from "— +and Other Poets," by Louis Untermeyer.</p> + +<p>Dodd, Mead & Company: "The Constant Cannibal +Maiden," "Blow Me Eyes" and "A Grain of Salt," by +Wallace Irwin.</p> + +<p>John Lane Company: For Poems by Owen Seaman, +Anthony C. Deane and G. K. Chesterton.</p> + +<p>The Smart Set: "Dighton is Engaged," and "Kitty +Wants to Write," by Gelett Burgess.</p> + +<p>Small, Maynard & Company: For selections from Holman +F. Day, Richard Hovey and Clinton Scollard.</p> + +<p>The Bobbs-Merrill Company: For special permission to +reprint from the Biographical Edition of the Complete +Works of James Whitcomb Riley (copyright, 1913) the following +Poems: "Little Orphant Annie," "The Lugubrious +Whing-Whang," "The Man in the Moon," "The Old Man +and Jim," "Prior to Miss Belle's Appearance," "Spirk +Throll-Derisive," "When the Frost is on the Punkin."</p> + +<p>The Bobbs-Merrill Company: For permission to use the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg ix]</a></span> +following Poems by Robert J. Burdette, from "Smiles Yoked +with Sighs" (copyright, 1900), "Orphan Born," "The Romance +of the Carpet," "Soldier, Rest!", "Songs without +Words," "What Will We Do?".</p> + +<p>Charles Scribner's Sons: For permission to use "The +Dinkey-Bird," "Dutch Lullaby," "The Little Peach," "The +Truth About Horace," by Eugene Field. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg x]</a></span> +</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h2> + + +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="contents" width='100%'> +<tr><td style='text-align: center; width: 60%;'>I: BANTER</td><td style='width: 33%;'></td><td style='width: 5%;'><p class='smcap'>page</p></td><td style='width: 2%;'></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Played-Out Humorist</td><td><i>W. S. Gilbert</i></td><td><a href="#Page_25">25</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Practical Joker</td><td><i>W. S. Gilbert</i></td><td><a href="#Page_26">26</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>To Phœbe</td><td><i>W. S. Gilbert</i></td><td><a href="#Page_28">28</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Malbrouck</td><td><i>Father Prout</i></td><td><a href="#Page_29">29</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Mark Twain: A Pipe Dream</td><td><i>Oliver Herford</i></td><td><a href="#Page_30">30</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>From a Full Heart</td><td><i>A. A. Milne</i></td><td><a href="#Page_31">31</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Ultimate Joy</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_32">32</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Old Fashioned Fun</td><td><i>W. M. Thackeray</i></td><td><a href="#Page_33">33</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>When Moonlike Ore the Hazure Seas</td><td><i>W. M. Thackeray</i></td><td><a href="#Page_34">34</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>When the Frost is on the Punkin</td><td><i>James Whitcomb Riley</i></td><td><a href="#Page_34">34</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Two Men</td><td><i>Edwin Arlington Robinson</i></td><td><a href="#Page_35">35</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Familiar Letter to Several Correspondents</td><td><i>Oliver Wendell Holmes</i></td><td><a href="#Page_36">36</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Height of the Ridiculous</td><td><i>Oliver Wendell Holmes</i></td><td><a href="#Page_38">38</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Shake, Mulleary and Go-ethe</td><td><i>H. C. Bunner</i></td><td><a href="#Page_40">40</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Rondelay</td><td><i>Peter A. Motteux</i></td><td><a href="#Page_41">41</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Winter Dusk</td><td><i>R. K. Munkittrick</i></td><td><a href="#Page_42">42</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Comic Miseries</td><td><i>John G. Saxe</i></td><td><a href="#Page_42">42</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Early Rising</td><td><i>John G. Saxe</i></td><td><a href="#Page_44">44</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>To the Pliocene Skull</td><td><i>Bret Harte</i></td><td><a href="#Page_46">46</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ode to Work in Springtime</td><td><i>Thomas R. Ybarra</i></td><td><a href="#Page_47">47</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Old Stuff</td><td><i>Bert Leston Taylor</i></td><td><a href="#Page_48">48</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>To Minerva</td><td><i>Thomas Hood</i></td><td><a href="#Page_49">49</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Legend of Heinz Von Stein</td><td><i>Charles Godfrey Leland</i></td><td><a href="#Page_49">49</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Truth About Horace</td><td><i>Eugene Field</i></td><td><a href="#Page_50">50</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Propinquity Needed</td><td><i>Charles Battell Loomis</i></td><td><a href="#Page_51">51</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>In the Catacombs</td><td><i>Harlan Hoge Ballard</i></td><td><a href="#Page_52">52</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Our Native Birds</td><td><i>Nathan Haskell Dole</i></td><td><a href="#Page_53">53</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Prayer of Cyrus Brown</td><td><i>Sam Walter Foss</i></td><td><a href="#Page_54">54</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Erring in Company</td><td><i>Franklin P. Adams</i></td><td><a href="#Page_55">55</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Cupid</td><td><i>William Blake</i></td><td><a href="#Page_56">56</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>If We Didn't Have to Eat</td><td><i>Nixon Waterman</i></td><td><a href="#Page_57">57</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>To My Empty Purse</td><td><i>Geoffrey Chaucer</i></td><td><a href="#Page_58">58</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Birth of Saint Patrick</td><td><i>Samuel Lover</i></td><td><a href="#Page_58">58</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Her Little Feet</td><td><i>William Ernest Henley</i></td><td><a href="#Page_59">59</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>School</td><td><i>James Kenneth Stephen</i></td><td><a href="#Page_60">60</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Millennium</td><td><i>James Kenneth Stephen</i></td><td><a href="#Page_60">60</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"Exactly So"</td><td><i>Lady T. Hastings</i></td><td><a href="#Page_61">61</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Companions</td><td><i>Charles Stuart Calverley</i></td><td><a href="#Page_63">63</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Schoolmaster</td><td><i>Charles Stuart Calverley</i></td><td><a href="#Page_64">64</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Appeal for Are to the Sextant of the old Brick Meetinouse</td><td><i>Arabella Willson</i></td><td><a href="#Page_66">66</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Cupid's Darts</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_67">67</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Plea for Trigamy</td><td><i>Owen Seaman</i></td><td><a href="#Page_68">68</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Pope</td><td><i>Charles Lever</i></td><td><a href="#Page_70">70</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>All at Sea</td><td><i>Frederick Moxon</i></td><td><a href="#Page_70">70</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ballad of the Primitive Jest</td><td><i>Andrew Lang</i></td><td><a href="#Page_72">72</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Villanelle of Things Amusing</td><td><i>Gelett Burgess</i></td><td><a href="#Page_73">73</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>How to Eat Watermelons</td><td><i>Frank Libby Stanton</i></td><td><a href="#Page_73">73</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Vague Story</td><td><i>Walter Parke</i></td><td><a href="#Page_74">74</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>His Mother-in-Law</td><td><i>Walter Parke</i></td><td><a href="#Page_75">75</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>On a Deaf Housekeeper</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_76">76</a></td><td><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11"><span style='font-size: smaller;'>[Pg xi]</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Homœopathic Soup</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_76">76</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Some Little Bug</td><td><i>Roy Atwell</i></td><td><a href="#Page_77">77</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>On the Downtown Side of an Uptown Street</td><td><i>William Johnston</i></td><td><a href="#Page_79">79</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Written After Swimming from Sestos to Abydos</td><td><i>Lord Byron</i></td><td><a href="#Page_80">80</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Fisherman's Chant</td><td><i>F. C. Burnand</i></td><td><a href="#Page_81">81</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Report of an Adjudged Case</td><td><i>William Cowper</i></td><td><a href="#Page_82">82</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Prehistoric Smith</td><td><i>David Law Proudfit</i></td><td><a href="#Page_83">83</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Song</td><td><i>George Canning</i></td><td><a href="#Page_84">84</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Lying</td><td><i>Thomas Moore</i></td><td><a href="#Page_86">86</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Strictly Germ-Proof</td><td><i>Arthur Guiterman</i></td><td><a href="#Page_87">87</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Lay of the Lover's Friend</td><td><i>William B. Aytoun</i></td><td><a href="#Page_88">88</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Man's Place in Nature</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_89">89</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The New Version</td><td><i>W. J. Lampton</i></td><td><a href="#Page_90">90</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Amazing Facts About Food</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_91">91</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Transcendentalism</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_92">92</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A "Caudal" Lecture</td><td><i>William Sawyer</i></td><td><a href="#Page_92">92</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Salad</td><td><i>Sydney Smith</i></td><td><a href="#Page_93">93</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Nemesis</td><td><i>J. W. Foley</i></td><td><a href="#Page_94">94</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"Mona Lisa"</td><td><i>John Kendrick Bangs</i></td><td><a href="#Page_95">95</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Siege of Djklxprwbz</td><td><i>Eugene Fitch Ware</i></td><td><a href="#Page_96">96</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Rural Bliss</td><td><i>Anthony C. Deane</i></td><td><a href="#Page_97">97</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>An Old Bachelor</td><td><i>Tudor Jenks</i></td><td><a href="#Page_98">98</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Song</td><td><i>J. R. Planché</i></td><td><a href="#Page_99">99</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Quest of the Purple Cow</td><td><i>Hilda Johnson</i></td><td><a href="#Page_100">100</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>St. Patrick of Ireland, My Dear!</td><td><i>William Maginn</i></td><td><a href="#Page_101">101</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Irish Schoolmaster</td><td><i>James A. Sidey</i></td><td><a href="#Page_103">103</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Reflections on Cleopathera's Needle</td><td><i>Cormac O'Leary</i></td><td><a href="#Page_105">105</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Origin of Ireland</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_106">106</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>As to the Weather</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_107">107</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Twins</td><td><i>Henry S. Leigh</i></td><td><a href="#Page_108">108</a></td></tr> +<tr><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='center'>II: THE ETERNAL FEMININE</td></tr> +<tr><td>He and She</td><td><i>Eugene Fitch Ware</i></td><td><a href="#Page_109">109</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Kiss</td><td><i>Tom Masson</i></td><td><a href="#Page_109">109</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Courtin'</td><td><i>James Russell Lowell</i></td><td><a href="#Page_110">110</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Hiram Hover</td><td><i>Bayard Taylor</i></td><td><a href="#Page_113">113</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Blow Me Eyes!</td><td><i>Wallace Irwin</i></td><td><a href="#Page_115">115</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>First Love</td><td><i>Charles Stuart Calverley</i></td><td><a href="#Page_116">116</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>What Is a Woman Like?</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_118">118</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Mis' Smith</td><td><i>Albert Bigelow Paine</i></td><td><a href="#Page_119">119</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Triolet</td><td><i>Paul T. Gilbert</i></td><td><a href="#Page_120">120</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Bessie Brown, M.D.</td><td><i>Samuel Minturn Peck</i></td><td><a href="#Page_120">120</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Sketch from the Life</td><td><i>Arthur Guiterman</i></td><td><a href="#Page_121">121</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Minguillo's Kiss</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_122">122</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Kiss in the Rain</td><td><i>Samuel Minturn Peck</i></td><td><a href="#Page_123">123</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Love-Knot</td><td><i>Nora Perry</i></td><td><a href="#Page_124">124</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Over the Way</td><td><i>Mary Mapes Dodge</i></td><td><a href="#Page_125">125</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Chorus of Women</td><td><i>Aristophanes</i></td><td><a href="#Page_126">126</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Widow Malone</td><td><i>Charles Lever</i></td><td><a href="#Page_126">126</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Smack in School</td><td><i>William Pitt Palmer</i></td><td><a href="#Page_128">128</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>'Späcially Jim</td><td><i>Bessie Morgan</i></td><td><a href="#Page_129">129</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Kitty of Coleraine</td><td><i>Edward Lysaght</i></td><td><a href="#Page_130">130</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Why Don't the Men Propose?</td><td><i>Thomas Haynes Bayly</i></td><td><a href="#Page_130">130</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Pin</td><td><i>Ella Wheeler Wilcox</i></td><td><a href="#Page_132">132</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Whistler</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_133">133</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Cloud</td><td><i>Oliver Herford</i></td><td><a href="#Page_134">134</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Constancy</td><td><i>John Boyle O'Reilly</i></td><td><a href="#Page_137">137</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ain't it Awful, Mabel?</td><td><i>John Edward Hazzard</i></td><td><a href="#Page_137">137</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Wing Tee Wee</td><td><i>J. P. Denison</i></td><td><a href="#Page_139">139</a></td><td><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12"><span style='font-size: smaller;'>[Pg xii]</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Phyllis Lee</td><td><i>Oliver Herford</i></td><td><a href="#Page_139">139</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Sorrows of Werther</td><td><i>W. M. Thackeray</i></td><td><a href="#Page_140">140</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Unattainable</td><td><i>Harry Romaine</i></td><td><a href="#Page_141">141</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Rory O'More; or, Good Omens</td><td><i>Samuel Lover</i></td><td><a href="#Page_141">141</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Dialogue from Plato</td><td><i>Austin Dobson</i></td><td><a href="#Page_142">142</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Dora Versus Rose</td><td><i>Austin Dobson</i></td><td><a href="#Page_144">144</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Tu Quoque</td><td><i>Austin Dobson</i></td><td><a href="#Page_146">146</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Nothing to Wear</td><td><i>William Allen Butler</i></td><td><a href="#Page_148">148</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>My Mistress's Boots</td><td><i>Frederick Locker-Lampson</i></td><td><a href="#Page_153">153</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Mrs. Smith</td><td><i>Frederick Locker-Lampson</i></td><td><a href="#Page_155">155</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Terrible Infant</td><td><i>Frederick Locker-Lampson</i></td><td><a href="#Page_156">156</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Susan</td><td><i>Frederick Locker-Lampson</i></td><td><a href="#Page_157">157</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"I Didn't Like Him"</td><td><i>Harry B. Smith</i></td><td><a href="#Page_157">157</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>My Angeline</td><td><i>Harry B. Smith</i></td><td><a href="#Page_158">158</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Nora's Vow</td><td><i>Sir Walter Scott</i></td><td><a href="#Page_159">159</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Husband and Heathen</td><td><i>Sam Walter Foss</i></td><td><a href="#Page_160">160</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Lost Pleiad</td><td><i>Arthur Reed Ropes</i></td><td><a href="#Page_161">161</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The New Church Organ</td><td><i>Will Carleton</i></td><td><a href="#Page_162">162</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Larrie O'Dee</td><td><i>William W. Fink</i></td><td><a href="#Page_165">165</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>No Fault in Women</td><td><i>Robert Herrick</i></td><td><a href="#Page_166">166</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Cosmopolitan Woman</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_167">167</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Courting in Kentucky</td><td><i>Florence E. Pratt</i></td><td><a href="#Page_168">168</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Any One Will Do</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_169">169</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Bird in the Hand</td><td><i>Frederic E. Weatherly</i></td><td><a href="#Page_170">170</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Belle of the Ball</td><td><i>Winthrop Mackworth Praed</i></td><td><a href="#Page_171">171</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Retort</td><td><i>George Pope Morris</i></td><td><a href="#Page_174">174</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Behave Yoursel' Before Folk</td><td><i>Alexander Rodger</i></td><td><a href="#Page_174">174</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Chronicle: A Ballad</td><td><i>Abraham Cowley</i></td><td><a href="#Page_176">176</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Buxom Joan</td><td><i>William Congreve</i></td><td><a href="#Page_179">179</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Oh, My Geraldine</td><td><i>F. C. Burnand</i></td><td><a href="#Page_180">180</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Parterre</td><td><i>E. H. Palmer</i></td><td><a href="#Page_180">180</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>How to Ask and Have</td><td><i>Samuel Lover</i></td><td><a href="#Page_181">181</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Sally in Our Alley</td><td><i>Henry Carey</i></td><td><a href="#Page_182">182</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>False Love and True Logic</td><td><i>Laman Blanchard</i></td><td><a href="#Page_183">183</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Pet's Punishment</td><td><i>J. Ashby-Sterry</i></td><td><a href="#Page_184">184</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ad Chloen, M.A.</td><td><i>Mortimer Collins</i></td><td><a href="#Page_184">184</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Chloe, M.A.</td><td><i>Mortimer Collins</i></td><td><a href="#Page_185">185</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Fair Millinger</td><td><i>Fred W. Loring</i></td><td><a href="#Page_186">186</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Two Fishers</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_188">188</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Maud</td><td><i>Henry S. Leigh</i></td><td><a href="#Page_188">188</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Are Women Fair?</td><td><i>Francis Davison</i></td><td><a href="#Page_189">189</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Plaidie</td><td><i>Charles Sibley</i></td><td><a href="#Page_190">190</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Feminine Arithmetic</td><td><i>Charles Graham Halpine</i></td><td><a href="#Page_191">191</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Lord Guy</td><td><i>George F. Warren</i></td><td><a href="#Page_191">191</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Sary "Fixes Up" Things</td><td><i>Albert Bigelow Paine</i></td><td><a href="#Page_192">192</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Constant Cannibal Maiden</td><td><i>Wallace Irwin</i></td><td><a href="#Page_194">194</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Widow Bedott to Elder Sniffles</td><td><i>Frances M. Whitcher</i></td><td><a href="#Page_195">195</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Under the Mistletoe</td><td><i>George Francis Shults</i></td><td><a href="#Page_196">196</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Broken Pitcher</td><td><i>William E. Aytoun</i></td><td><a href="#Page_196">196</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Gifts Returned</td><td><i>Walter Savage Landor</i></td><td><a href="#Page_198">198</a></td></tr> +<tr><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='center'>III: LOVE AND COURTSHIP</td></tr> +<tr><td>Noureddin, the Son of the Shah</td><td><i>Clinton Scollard</i></td><td><a href="#Page_199">199</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Usual Way</td><td><i>Frederic E. Weatherly</i></td><td><a href="#Page_200">200</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Way to Arcady</td><td><i>H. C. Bunner</i></td><td><a href="#Page_201">201</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>My Love and My Heart</td><td><i>Henry S. Leigh</i></td><td><a href="#Page_204">204</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Quite by Chance</td><td><i>Frederick Langbridge</i></td><td><a href="#Page_205">205</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Nun</td><td><i>Leigh Hunt</i></td><td><a href="#Page_206">206</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Chemist to His Love</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_206">206</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Categorical Courtship</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_207">207</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Lanty Leary</td><td><i>Samuel Lover</i></td><td><a href="#Page_208">208</a></td><td><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13"><span style='font-size: smaller;'>[Pg xiii]</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Secret Combination</td><td><i>Ellis Parker Butler</i></td><td><a href="#Page_209">209</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Forty Years After</td><td><i>H. H. Porter</i></td><td><a href="#Page_210">210</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Cupid</td><td><i>Ben Jonson</i></td><td><a href="#Page_211">211</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Paring-Time Anticipated</td><td><i>William Cowper</i></td><td><a href="#Page_212">212</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Why</td><td><i>H. P. Stevens</i></td><td><a href="#Page_214">214</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Sabine Farmer's Serenade</td><td><i>Father Prout</i></td><td><a href="#Page_214">214</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I Hae Laid a Herring in Saut</td><td><i>James Tytler</i></td><td><a href="#Page_216">216</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Clown's Courtship</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_217">217</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Out Upon It</td><td><i>Sir John Suckling</i></td><td><a href="#Page_218">218</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Love is Like a Dizziness</td><td><i>James Hogg</i></td><td><a href="#Page_218">218</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Kitchen Clock</td><td><i>John Vance Cheney</i></td><td><a href="#Page_220">220</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Lady Mine</td><td><i>H. E. Clarke</i></td><td><a href="#Page_221">221</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ballade of the Golfer in Love</td><td><i>Clinton Scollard</i></td><td><a href="#Page_222">222</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ballade of Forgotten Loves</td><td><i>Arthur Grissom</i></td><td><a href="#Page_223">223</a></td></tr> +<tr><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='center'>IV: SATIRE</td></tr> +<tr><td>A Ballade of Suicide</td><td><i>G. K. Chesterton</i></td><td><a href="#Page_224">224</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Finnigan to Flannigan</td><td><i>S. W. Gillinan</i></td><td><a href="#Page_225">225</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Study of an Elevation in Indian Ink </td><td><i>Rudyard Kipling</i></td><td><a href="#Page_226">226</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The V-a-s-e</td><td><i>James Jeffrey Roche</i></td><td><a href="#Page_227">227</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Miniver Cheevy</td><td><i>Edwin Arlington Robinson</i></td><td><a href="#Page_229">229</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Recruit</td><td><i>Robert W. Chambers</i></td><td><a href="#Page_230">230</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Officer Brady</td><td><i>Robert W. Chambers</i></td><td><a href="#Page_232">232</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Post-Impressionism</td><td><i>Bert Leston Taylor</i></td><td><a href="#Page_235">235</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>To the Portrait of "A Gentleman"</td><td><i>Oliver Wendell Holmes</i></td><td><a href="#Page_236">236</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Cacoethes Scribendi</td><td><i>Oliver Wendell Holmes</i></td><td><a href="#Page_238">238</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Contentment</td><td><i>Oliver Wendell Holmes</i></td><td><a href="#Page_238">238</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Boston Lullaby</td><td><i>James Jeffrey Roche</i></td><td><a href="#Page_240">240</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Grain of Salt</td><td><i>Wallace Irwin</i></td><td><a href="#Page_241">241</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Song</td><td><i>Richard Lovelace</i></td><td><a href="#Page_241">241</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Philosopher</td><td><i>Sam Walter Foss</i></td><td><a href="#Page_242">242</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Meeting of the Clabberhuses</td><td><i>Sam Walter Foss</i></td><td><a href="#Page_244">244</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Ideal Husband to His Wife</td><td><i>Sam Walter Foss</i></td><td><a href="#Page_246">246</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Distichs</td><td><i>John Hay</i></td><td><a href="#Page_247">247</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Hen-roost Man</td><td><i>Ruth McEnery Stuart</i></td><td><a href="#Page_247">247</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>If They Meant All They Say</td><td><i>Alice Duer Miller</i></td><td><a href="#Page_247">247</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Man</td><td><i>Stephen Crane</i></td><td><a href="#Page_248">248</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Thought</td><td><i>James Kenneth Stephen</i></td><td><a href="#Page_248">248</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Musical Ass</td><td><i>Tomaso de Yriarte</i></td><td><a href="#Page_249">249</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Knife-Grinder</td><td><i>George Canning</i></td><td><a href="#Page_249">249</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>St. Anthony's Sermon to the Fishes</td><td><i>Abraham á Sancta-Clara</i></td><td><a href="#Page_251">251</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Battle of Blenheim</td><td><i>Robert Southey</i></td><td><a href="#Page_252">252</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Three Black Crows</td><td><i>John Byrom</i></td><td><a href="#Page_254">254</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>To the Terrestrial Globe</td><td><i>W. S. Gilbert</i></td><td><a href="#Page_256">256</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Etiquette</td><td><i>W. S. Gilbert</i></td><td><a href="#Page_256">256</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Modest Wit</td><td><i>Selleck Osborn</i></td><td><a href="#Page_260">260</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Latest Decalogue</td><td><i>Arthur Hugh Clough</i></td><td><a href="#Page_261">261</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Simile</td><td><i>Matthew Prior</i></td><td><a href="#Page_262">262</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>By Parcels Post</td><td><i>George R. Sims</i></td><td><a href="#Page_262">262</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>All's Well That Ends Well</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_264">264</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Contrast</td><td><i>Captain C. Morris</i></td><td><a href="#Page_265">265</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Devonshire Lane</td><td><i>John Marriott</i></td><td><a href="#Page_266">266</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Splendid Fellow</td><td><i>H. C. Dodge</i></td><td><a href="#Page_267">267</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>If</td><td><i>H. C. Dodge</i></td><td><a href="#Page_268">268</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Accepted and Will Appear</td><td><i>Parmenas Mix</i></td><td><a href="#Page_268">268</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Little Vagabond</td><td><i>William Blake</i></td><td><a href="#Page_269">269</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Sympathy</td><td><i>Reginald Heber</i></td><td><a href="#Page_270">270</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Religion of Hudibras</td><td><i>Samuel Butler</i></td><td><a href="#Page_271">271</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Holy Willie's Prayer</td><td><i>Robert Burns</i></td><td><a href="#Page_272">272</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Learned Negro</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_274">274</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>True to Poll</td><td><i>F. C. Burnand</i></td><td><a href="#Page_275">275</a></td><td><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14"><span style='font-size: smaller;'>[Pg xiv]</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Trust in Women</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_276">276</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Literary Lady</td><td><i>Richard Brinsley Sheridan</i></td><td><a href="#Page_278">278</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Twelve Articles</td><td><i>Dean Swift</i></td><td><a href="#Page_279">279</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>All-Saints</td><td><i>Edmund Yates</i></td><td><a href="#Page_280">280</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>How to Make a Man of Consequence</td><td><i>Mark Lemon</i></td><td><a href="#Page_280">280</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>On a Magazine Sonnet</td><td><i>Russell Hilliard Loines</i></td><td><a href="#Page_281">281</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Paradise</td><td><i>George Birdseye</i></td><td><a href="#Page_281">281</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Friar of Orders Gray</td><td><i>John O'Keefe</i></td><td><a href="#Page_282">282</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Of a Certain Man</td><td><i>Sir John Harrington</i></td><td><a href="#Page_282">282</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Clean Clara</td><td><i>W. B. Rands</i></td><td><a href="#Page_283">283</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Christmas Chimes</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_284">284</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Ruling Passion</td><td><i>Alexander Pope</i></td><td><a href="#Page_285">285</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Pope and the Net</td><td><i>Robert Browning</i></td><td><a href="#Page_286">286</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Actor</td><td><i>John Wolcot</i></td><td><a href="#Page_287">287</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Lost Spectacles</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_287">287</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>That Texan Cattle Man</td><td><i>Joaquin Miller</i></td><td><a href="#Page_288">288</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Fable</td><td><i>Ralph Waldo Emerson</i></td><td><a href="#Page_290">290</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Hoch! Der Kaiser</td><td><i>Rodney Blake</i></td><td><a href="#Page_291">291</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>What Mr. Robinson Thinks</td><td><i>James Russell Lowell</i></td><td><a href="#Page_292">292</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Candidate's Creed</td><td><i>James Russell Lowell</i></td><td><a href="#Page_294">294</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Razor Seller</td><td><i>John Wolcot</i></td><td><a href="#Page_297">297</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Devil's Walk on Earth</td><td><i>Robert Southey</i></td><td><a href="#Page_298">298</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Father Molloy</td><td><i>Samuel Lover</i></td><td><a href="#Page_307">307</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Owl-Critic</td><td><i>James Thomas Fields</i></td><td><a href="#Page_309">309</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>What Will We Do?</td><td><i>Robert J. Burdette</i></td><td><a href="#Page_311">311</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Life in Laconics</td><td><i>Mary Mapes Dodge</i></td><td><a href="#Page_311">311</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>On Knowing When to Stop</td><td><i>L. J. Bridgman</i></td><td><a href="#Page_312">312</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Rev. Gabe Tucker's Remarks</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_312">312</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Thursday</td><td><i>Frederic E. Weatherly</i></td><td><a href="#Page_313">313</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Sky-Making</td><td><i>Mortimer Collins</i></td><td><a href="#Page_314">314</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Positivists</td><td><i>Mortimer Collins</i></td><td><a href="#Page_315">315</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Martial in London</td><td><i>Mortimer Collins</i></td><td><a href="#Page_316">316</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Splendid Shilling</td><td><i>John Philips</i></td><td><a href="#Page_316">316</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>After Horace</td><td><i>A. D. Godley</i></td><td><a href="#Page_320">320</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Of a Precise Tailor</td><td><i>Sir John Harrington</i></td><td><a href="#Page_322">322</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Money</td><td><i>Jehan du Pontalais</i></td><td><a href="#Page_323">323</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Boston Nursery Rhymes</td><td><i>Rev. Joseph Cook</i></td><td><a href="#Page_324">324</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Kentucky Philosophy</td><td><i>Harrison Robertson</i></td><td><a href="#Page_325">325</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>John Grumlie</td><td><i>Allan Cunningham</i></td><td><a href="#Page_326">326</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Song of Impossibilities</td><td><i>Winthrop Mackworth Praed</i></td><td><a href="#Page_327">327</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Song</td><td><i>John Donne</i></td><td><a href="#Page_330">330</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Oubit</td><td><i>Charles Kingsley</i></td><td><a href="#Page_330">330</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Double Ballade of Primitive Man</td><td><i>Andrew Lang</i></td><td><a href="#Page_331">331</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Phillis's Age</td><td><i>Matthew Prior</i></td><td><a href="#Page_332">332</a></td></tr> +<tr><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='center'>V: CYNICISM</td></tr> +<tr><td>Good and Bad Luck</td><td><i>John Hay</i></td><td><a href="#Page_334">334</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Bangkolidye</td><td><i>Barry Pain</i></td><td><a href="#Page_334">334</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Pensées De Noël</td><td><i>A. D. Godley</i></td><td><a href="#Page_336">336</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Ballade of an Anti-Puritan</td><td><i>G. K. Chesterton</i></td><td><a href="#Page_337">337</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Pessimism</td><td><i>Newton Mackintosh</i></td><td><a href="#Page_338">338</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Cynical Ode to an Ultra-Cynical Public</td><td><i>Charles Mackay</i></td><td><a href="#Page_339">339</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Youth and Art</td><td><i>Robert Browning</i></td><td><a href="#Page_339">339</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Bachelor's Dream</td><td><i>Thomas Hood</i></td><td><a href="#Page_342">342</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>All Things Except Myself I Know</td><td><i>Francois Villon</i></td><td><a href="#Page_343">343</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Joys of Marriage</td><td><i>Charles Cotton</i></td><td><a href="#Page_344">344</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Third Proposition</td><td><i>Madeline Bridges</i></td><td><a href="#Page_345">345</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Ballad of Cassandra Brown</td><td><i>Helen Gray Cone</i></td><td><a href="#Page_345">345</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>What's in a Name?</td><td><i>R. K. Munkittrick</i></td><td><a href="#Page_347">347</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Too Late</td><td><i>Fits Hugh Ludlow</i></td><td><a href="#Page_348">348</a></td><td><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15"><span style='font-size: smaller;'>[Pg xv]</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Annuity</td><td><i>George Outram</i></td><td><a href="#Page_350">350</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>K. K.—Can't Calculate</td><td><i>Frances M. Whitcher</i></td><td><a href="#Page_353">353</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Northern Farmer</td><td><i>Lord Tennyson</i></td><td><a href="#Page_354">354</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Fin de Siècle</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_357">357</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Then Ag'in</td><td><i>Sam Walter Foss</i></td><td><a href="#Page_357">357</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Pessimist</td><td><i>Ben King</i></td><td><a href="#Page_358">358</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Without and Within</td><td><i>James Russell Lowell</i></td><td><a href="#Page_359">359</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Same Old Story</td><td><i>Harry B. Smith</i></td><td><a href="#Page_360">360</a></td></tr> +<tr><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='center'>VI: EPIGRAMS</td></tr> +<tr><td>Woman's Will</td><td><i>John G. Saxe</i></td><td><a href="#Page_362">362</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Cynicus to W. Shakespeare</td><td><i>James Kenneth Stephen</i></td><td><a href="#Page_362">362</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Senex to Matt. Prior</td><td><i>James Kenneth Stephen</i></td><td><a href="#Page_362">362</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>To a Blockhead</td><td><i>Alexander Pope</i></td><td><a href="#Page_362">362</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Fool and the Poet</td><td><i>Alexander Pope</i></td><td><a href="#Page_363">363</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Rhymester</td><td><i>Samuel Taylor Coleridge</i></td><td><a href="#Page_363">363</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Giles's Hope</td><td><i>Samuel Taylor Coleridge</i></td><td><a href="#Page_363">363</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Cologne</td><td><i>Samuel Taylor Coleridge</i></td><td><a href="#Page_363">363</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>An Eternal Poem</td><td><i>Samuel Taylor Coleridge</i></td><td><a href="#Page_364">364</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>On a Bad Singer</td><td><i>Samuel Taylor Coleridge</i></td><td><a href="#Page_364">364</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Job</td><td><i>Samuel Taylor Coleridge</i></td><td><a href="#Page_364">364</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Reasons for Drinking</td><td><i>Dr. Henry Aldrich</i></td><td><a href="#Page_364">364</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Smatterers</td><td><i>Samuel Butler</i></td><td><a href="#Page_365">365</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Hypocrisy</td><td><i>Samuel Butler</i></td><td><a href="#Page_365">365</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>To Doctor Empiric</td><td><i>Ben Jonson</i></td><td><a href="#Page_365">365</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Remedy Worse than the Disease</td><td><i>Matthew Prior</i></td><td><a href="#Page_365">365</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Wife</td><td><i>Richard Brinsley Sheridan</i></td><td><a href="#Page_366">366</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Honey-Moon</td><td><i>Walter Savage Landor</i></td><td><a href="#Page_366">366</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Dido</td><td><i>Richard Porson</i></td><td><a href="#Page_366">366</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>An Epitaph</td><td><i>George John Cayley</i></td><td><a href="#Page_366">366</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>On Taking a Wife</td><td><i>Thomas Moore</i></td><td><a href="#Page_367">367</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Upon Being Obliged to Leave a Pleasant Party</td><td><i>Thomas Moore</i></td><td><a href="#Page_367">367</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Some Ladies</td><td><i>Frederick Locker-Lampson</i></td><td><a href="#Page_367">367</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>On a Sense of Humor</td><td><i>Frederick Locker-Lampson</i></td><td><a href="#Page_367">367</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>On Hearing a Lady Praise a Certain Rev. Doctor's Eyes</td><td><i>George Outram</i></td><td><a href="#Page_368">368</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Epitaph Intended for His Wife</td><td><i>John Dryden</i></td><td><a href="#Page_368">368</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>To a Capricious Friend</td><td><i>Joseph Addison</i></td><td><a href="#Page_368">368</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Which is Which</td><td><i>John Byrom</i></td><td><a href="#Page_368">368</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>On a Full-Length Portrait of Beau Marsh</td><td><i>Lord Chesterfield</i></td><td><a href="#Page_369">369</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>On Scotland</td><td><i>Cleveland</i></td><td><a href="#Page_369">369</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Mendax</td><td><i>Lessing</i></td><td><a href="#Page_369">369</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>To a Slow Walker and Quick Eater </td><td><i>Lessing</i></td><td><a href="#Page_369">369</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>What's My Thought Like?</td><td><i>Thomas Moore</i></td><td><a href="#Page_370">370</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Of All the Men</td><td><i>Thomas Moore</i></td><td><a href="#Page_370">370</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>On Butler's Monument</td><td><i>Rev. Samuel Wesley</i></td><td><a href="#Page_370">370</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Conjugal Conundrum</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_371">371</a></td></tr> +<tr><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='center'>VII: BURLESQUE</td></tr> +<tr><td>Lovers and a Reflection</td><td><i>Charles Stuart Calverley</i></td><td><a href="#Page_372">372</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Our Hymn</td><td><i>Oliver Wendell Holmes</i></td><td><a href="#Page_374">374</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"Soldier, Rest!"</td><td><i>Robert J. Burdette</i></td><td><a href="#Page_374">374</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Imitation</td><td><i>Anthony C. Deane</i></td><td><a href="#Page_375">375</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Mighty Must</td><td><i>W. S. Gilbert</i></td><td><a href="#Page_376">376</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Midsummer Madness</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_377">377</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Mavrone</td><td><i>Arthur Guiterman</i></td><td><a href="#Page_378">378</a></td><td><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16"><span style='font-size: smaller;'>[Pg xvi]</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Lilies</td><td><i>Don Marquis</i></td><td><a href="#Page_379">379</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>For I am Sad</td><td><i>Don Marquis</i></td><td><a href="#Page_379">379</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Little Swirl of Vers Libre</td><td><i>Thomas R. Ybarra</i></td><td><a href="#Page_380">380</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Young Lochinvar</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_381">381</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Imagiste Love Lines</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_383">383</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Bygones</td><td><i>Bert Lesion Taylor</i></td><td><a href="#Page_383">383</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Justice to Scotland</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_384">384</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Lament of the Scotch-Irish Exile</td><td><i>James Jeffrey Roche</i></td><td><a href="#Page_385">385</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Song of Sorrow</td><td><i>Charles Battell Loomis</i></td><td><a href="#Page_386">386</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Rejected "National Hymns"</td><td><i>Robert H. Newell</i></td><td><a href="#Page_387">387</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Editor's Wooing</td><td><i>Robert H. Newell</i></td><td><a href="#Page_389">389</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Baby's Debut</td><td><i>James Smith</i></td><td><a href="#Page_390">390</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Cantelope</td><td><i>Bayard Taylor</i></td><td><a href="#Page_393">393</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Never Forget Your Parents</td><td><i>Franklin P. Adams</i></td><td><a href="#Page_394">394</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Girl was Too Reckless of Grammar</td><td><i>Guy Wetmore Carryl</i></td><td><a href="#Page_395">395</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Behold the Deeds!</td><td><i>H. C. Bunner</i></td><td><a href="#Page_397">397</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Villon's Straight Tip to All Cross Coves</td><td><i>William Ernest Henley</i></td><td><a href="#Page_399">399</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Culture in the Slums</td><td><i>William Ernest Henley</i></td><td><a href="#Page_400">400</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Lawyer's Invocation to Spring</td><td><i>Henry Howard Brownell</i></td><td><a href="#Page_402">402</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>North, East, South, and West</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_403">403</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Martin Luther at Potsdam</td><td><i>Barry Pain</i></td><td><a href="#Page_404">404</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>An Idyll of Phatte and Leene</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_406">406</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The House that Jack Built</td><td><i>Samuel Taylor Coleridge</i></td><td><a href="#Page_407">407</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Palabras Grandiosas</td><td><i>Bayard Taylor</i></td><td><a href="#Page_407">407</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Love Playnt</td><td><i>Godfrey Turner</i></td><td><a href="#Page_408">408</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Darwinity</td><td><i>Herman C. Merivale</i></td><td><a href="#Page_409">409</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Select Passages from a Coming Poet</td><td><i>F. Anstey</i></td><td><a href="#Page_410">410</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Romaunt of Humpty Dumpty</td><td><i>Henry S. Leigh</i></td><td><a href="#Page_411">411</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Wedding</td><td><i>Thomas Hood, Jr.</i></td><td><a href="#Page_412">412</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>In Memoriam Technicam</td><td><i>Thomas Hood, Jr.</i></td><td><a href="#Page_413">413</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"Songs Without Words"</td><td><i>Robert J. Burdette</i></td><td><a href="#Page_413">413</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>At the Sign of the Cock</td><td><i>Owen Seaman</i></td><td><a href="#Page_414">414</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Presto Furioso</td><td><i>Owen Seaman</i></td><td><a href="#Page_417">417</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>To Julia in Shooting Togs</td><td><i>Owen Seaman</i></td><td><a href="#Page_418">418</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Farewell</td><td><i>Bert Leston Taylor</i></td><td><a href="#Page_419">419</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Here is the Tale</td><td><i>Anthony C. Deane</i></td><td><a href="#Page_421">421</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Willows</td><td><i>Bret Harte</i></td><td><a href="#Page_423">423</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Ballad</td><td><i>Guy Wetmore Carryl</i></td><td><a href="#Page_426">426</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Translated Way</td><td><i>Franklin P. Adams</i></td><td><a href="#Page_427">427</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Commonplaces</td><td><i>Rudyard Kipling</i></td><td><a href="#Page_427">427</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Angelo Orders His Dinner</td><td><i>Bayard Taylor</i></td><td><a href="#Page_428">428</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Promissory Note</td><td><i>Bayard Taylor</i></td><td><a href="#Page_429">429</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Camerados</td><td><i>Bayard Taylor</i></td><td><a href="#Page_430">430</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Last Ride Together</td><td><i>James Kenneth Stephen</i></td><td><a href="#Page_431">431</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Imitation of Walt Whitman</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_434">434</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Salad</td><td><i>Mortimer Collins</i></td><td><a href="#Page_436">436</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>If</td><td><i>Mortimer Collins</i></td><td><a href="#Page_436">436</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Jabberwocky of Authors</td><td><i>Harry Persons Taber</i></td><td><a href="#Page_437">437</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Town of Nice</td><td><i>Herman C. Merivale</i></td><td><a href="#Page_438">438</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Willow-Tree</td><td><i>W. M. Thackeray</i></td><td><a href="#Page_439">439</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Ballade of Ballade-Mongers</td><td><i>Augustus M. Moore</i></td><td><a href="#Page_441">441</a></td></tr> +<tr><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='center'>VIII: BATHOS</td></tr> +<tr><td>The Confession</td><td><i>Richard Harris Barham</i><br />["<i>Thomas Ingoldsby</i>"]</td><td><a href="#Page_443">443</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>If You Have Seen</td><td><i>Thomas Moore</i></td><td><a href="#Page_444">444</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Circumstance</td><td><i>Frederick Locker-Lampson</i></td><td><a href="#Page_444">444</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Elegy</td><td><i>Arthur Guiterman</i></td><td><a href="#Page_445">445</a></td><td><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17"><span style='font-size: smaller;'>[Pg xvii]</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Our Traveler</td><td><i>H. Cholmondeley-Pennell</i></td><td><a href="#Page_445">445</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Optimism</td><td><i>Newton Mackintosh</i></td><td><a href="#Page_445">445</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Declaration</td><td><i>N. P. Willis</i></td><td><a href="#Page_446">446</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>He Came to Pay</td><td><i>Parmenas Mix</i></td><td><a href="#Page_447">447</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Forlorn One</td><td><i>Richard Harris Barham</i><br />["<i>Thomas Ingoldsby</i>"]</td><td><a href="#Page_449">449</a></td></tr> +<tr><td></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td>Rural Raptures</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_450">450</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Fragment</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_450">450</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Bitter Bit</td><td><i>William E. Aytoun</i></td><td><a href="#Page_451">451</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Comfort in Affliction</td><td><i>William E. Aytoun</i></td><td><a href="#Page_453">453</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Husband's Petition</td><td><i>William E. Aytoun</i></td><td><a href="#Page_454">454</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Lines Written After a Battle</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_456">456</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Lines</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_456">456</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Imaginative Crisis</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_457">457</a></td></tr> +<tr><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='center'>IX: PARODY</td></tr> +<tr><td>The Higher Pantheism in a Nut-Shell </td><td><i>Algernon Charles Swinburne</i></td><td><a href="#Page_458">458</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Nephelidia</td><td><i>Algernon Charles Swinburne</i></td><td><a href="#Page_459">459</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Up the Spout</td><td><i>Algernon Charles Swinburne</i></td><td><a href="#Page_460">460</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>In Memoriam</td><td><i>Cuthbert Bede</i></td><td><a href="#Page_463">463</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Lucy Lake</td><td><i>Newton Mackintosh</i></td><td><a href="#Page_463">463</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Cock and the Bull</td><td><i>Charles Stuart Calverley</i></td><td><a href="#Page_464">464</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ballad</td><td><i>Charles Stuart Calverley</i></td><td><a href="#Page_467">467</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Disaster</td><td><i>Charles Stuart Calverley</i></td><td><a href="#Page_469">469</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Wordsworthian Reminiscence</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_470">470</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Inspect Us</td><td><i>Edith Daniell</i></td><td><a href="#Page_471">471</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Messed Damozel</td><td><i>Charles Hanson Towne</i></td><td><a href="#Page_471">471</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Melton Mowbray Pork-Pie</td><td><i>Richard le Gallienne</i></td><td><a href="#Page_472">472</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Israfiddlestrings</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_472">472</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>After Dilettante Concetti</td><td><i>H. D. Traill</i></td><td><a href="#Page_474">474</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Whenceness of the Which</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_476">476</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Little Star</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_476">476</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Original Lamb</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_477">477</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Sainte Margérie</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_477">477</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Robert Frost</td><td><i>Louis Untermeyer</i></td><td><a href="#Page_479">479</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Owen Seaman</td><td><i>Louis Untermeyer</i></td><td><a href="#Page_480">480</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Modern Hiawatha</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_482">482</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Somewhere-in-Europe-Wocky</td><td><i>F. G. Hartswick</i></td><td><a href="#Page_482">482</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Rigid Body Sings</td><td><i>J. C. Maxwell</i></td><td><a href="#Page_483">483</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Ballad of High Endeavor</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_484">484</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Father William</td><td><i>Lewis Carroll</i></td><td><a href="#Page_485">485</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Poets at Tea</td><td><i>Barry Pain</i></td><td><a href="#Page_486">486</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>How Often</td><td><i>Ben King</i></td><td><a href="#Page_489">489</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>If I Should Die To-Night</td><td><i>Ben King</i></td><td><a href="#Page_489">489</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"The Day is Done"</td><td><i>Phoebe Cary</i></td><td><a href="#Page_490">490</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Jacob</td><td><i>Phoebe Cary</i></td><td><a href="#Page_491">491</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ballad of the Canal</td><td><i>Phoebe Cary</i></td><td><a href="#Page_492">492</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"There's a Bower of Beanvines"</td><td><i>Phoebe Cary</i></td><td><a href="#Page_493">493</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Reuben</td><td><i>Phoebe Cary</i></td><td><a href="#Page_493">493</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Wife</td><td><i>Phoebe Cary</i></td><td><a href="#Page_494">494</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>When Lovely Woman</td><td><i>Phoebe Cary</i></td><td><a href="#Page_494">494</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>John Thomson's Daughter</td><td><i>Phoebe Cary</i></td><td><a href="#Page_494">494</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Portrait</td><td><i>John Keats</i></td><td><a href="#Page_496">496</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Annabel Lee</td><td><i>Stanley Huntley</i></td><td><a href="#Page_497">497</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Home Sweet Home with Variations</td><td><i>H. C. Bunner</i></td><td><a href="#Page_498">498</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>An Old Song by New Singers</td><td><i>A. C. Wilkie</i></td><td><a href="#Page_506">506</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>More Impressions</td><td><i>Oscuro Wildgoose</i></td><td><a href="#Page_509">509</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Nursery Rhymes á la Mode</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_509">509</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Maudle-In Ballad</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_510">510</a></td><td><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18"><span style='font-size: smaller;'>[Pg xviii]</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Gillian</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_511">511</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Extracts from the Rubaiyat of Omar Cayenne</td><td><i>Gelett Burgess</i></td><td><a href="#Page_512">512</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Diversions of the Re-Echo Club</td><td><i>Carolyn Wells</i></td><td><a href="#Page_515">515</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Styx River Anthology</td><td><i>Carolyn Wells</i></td><td><a href="#Page_521">521</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Answer to Master Wither's Song, "Shall I, Wasting in Despair?"</td><td><i>Ben Jonson</i></td><td><a href="#Page_526">526</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Song of the Springtide</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_527">527</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Village Choir</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_528">528</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>My Foe</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_529">529</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Nursery Song in Pidgin English</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_530">530</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Father William</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_531">531</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Poe-'em of Passion</td><td><i>C. F. Lummis</i></td><td><a href="#Page_532">532</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>How the Daughters Come Down at Dunoon</td><td><i>H. Cholmondeley-Pennell</i></td><td><a href="#Page_533">533</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>To an Importunate Host</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_534">534</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Cremation</td><td><i>William Sawyer</i></td><td><a href="#Page_534">534</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>An Imitation of Wordsworth</td><td><i>Catharine M. Fanshawe</i></td><td><a href="#Page_535">535</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Lay of the Love-Lorn</td><td><i>Aytoun and Martin</i></td><td><a href="#Page_537">537</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Only Seven</td><td><i>Henry S. Leigh</i></td><td><a href="#Page_543">543</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>'Twas Ever Thus</td><td><i>Henry S. Leigh</i></td><td><a href="#Page_544">544</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Foam and Fangs</td><td><i>Walter Parke</i></td><td><a href="#Page_544">544</a></td></tr> +<tr><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='center'>X: NARRATIVE</td></tr> +<tr><td>Little Billee</td><td><i>W. M. Thackeray</i></td><td><a href="#Page_546">546</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Crystal Palace</td><td><i>W. M. Thackeray</i></td><td><a href="#Page_547">547</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Wofle New Ballad of Jane Roney and Mary Brown</td><td><i>W. M. Thackeray</i></td><td><a href="#Page_552">552</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>King John and the Abbot</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_554">554</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>On the Death of a Favorite Cat</td><td><i>Thomas Gray</i></td><td><a href="#Page_557">557</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Misadventures at Margate</td><td><i>Richard Harris Barham</i><br />["<i>Thomas Ingoldsby</i>"]</td><td><a href="#Page_558">558</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Gouty Merchant and the Stranger</td><td><i>Horace Smith</i></td><td><a href="#Page_563">563</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Diverting History of John Gilpin</td><td><i>William Cowper</i></td><td><a href="#Page_564">564</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Paddy O'Rafther</td><td><i>Samuel Lover</i></td><td><a href="#Page_571">571</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Here She Goes and There She Goes</td><td><i>James Nack</i></td><td><a href="#Page_572">572</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Quaker's Meeting</td><td><i>Samuel Lover</i></td><td><a href="#Page_576">576</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Jester Condemned to Death</td><td><i>Horace Smith</i></td><td><a href="#Page_578">578</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Deacon's Masterpiece</td><td><i>Oliver Wendell Holmes</i></td><td><a href="#Page_580">580</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Ballad of the Oysterman</td><td><i>Oliver Wendell Holmes</i></td><td><a href="#Page_583">583</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Well of St. Keyne</td><td><i>Robert Southey</i></td><td><a href="#Page_584">584</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Jackdaw of Rheims</td><td><i>Richard Harris Barham</i><br />["<i>Thomas Ingoldsby</i>"]</td><td><a href="#Page_586">586</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Knight and the Lady</td><td><i>Richard Harris Barham</i><br />["<i>Thomas Ingoldsby</i>"]</td><td><a href="#Page_590">590</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>An Eastern Question</td><td><i>H. M. Paull</i></td><td><a href="#Page_598">598</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>My Aunt's Spectre</td><td><i>Mortimer Collins</i></td><td><a href="#Page_600">600</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Casey at the Bat</td><td><i>Ernest Lawrence Thayer</i></td><td><a href="#Page_601">601</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Pied Piper of Hamelin</td><td><i>Robert Browning</i></td><td><a href="#Page_603">603</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Goose</td><td><i>Lord Tennyson</i></td><td><a href="#Page_611">611</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Ballad of Charity</td><td><i>Charles Godfrey Leland</i></td><td><a href="#Page_613">613</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Post Captain</td><td><i>Charles E. Carryl</i></td><td><a href="#Page_615">615</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Robinson Crusoe's Story</td><td><i>Charles E. Carryl</i></td><td><a href="#Page_617">617</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ben Bluff</td><td><i>Thomas Hood</i></td><td><a href="#Page_619">619</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Pilgrims and the Peas</td><td><i>John Wolcot</i></td><td><a href="#Page_621">621</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Tam O'Shanter</td><td><i>Robert Burns</i></td><td><a href="#Page_623">623</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>That Gentleman from Boston Town</td><td><i>Joaquin Miller</i></td><td><a href="#Page_629">629</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Yarn of the "Nancy Bell"</td><td><i>W. S. Gilbert</i></td><td><a href="#Page_632">632</a></td><td><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19"><span style='font-size: smaller;'>[Pg xix]</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ferdinando and Elvira</td><td><i>W. S. Gilbert</i></td><td><a href="#Page_635">635</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Gentle Alice Brown</td><td><i>W. S. Gilbert</i></td><td><a href="#Page_639">639</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Story of Prince Agib</td><td><i>W. S. Gilbert</i></td><td><a href="#Page_641">641</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Sir Guy the Crusader</td><td><i>W. S. Gilbert</i></td><td><a href="#Page_644">644</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Kitty Wants to Write</td><td><i>Gelett Burgess</i></td><td><a href="#Page_646">646</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Dighton is Engaged</td><td><i>Gelett Burgess</i></td><td><a href="#Page_647">647</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Plain Language from Truthful James</td><td><i>Bret Harte</i></td><td><a href="#Page_648">648</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Society Upon the Stanisalaus</td><td><i>Bret Harte</i></td><td><a href="#Page_650">650</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"Jim"</td><td><i>Bret Harte</i></td><td><a href="#Page_652">652</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>William Brown of Oregon</td><td><i>Joaquin Miller</i></td><td><a href="#Page_653">653</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Little Breeches</td><td><i>John Hay</i></td><td><a href="#Page_657">657</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Enchanted Shirt</td><td><i>John Hay</i></td><td><a href="#Page_658">658</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Jim Bludso</td><td><i>John Hay</i></td><td><a href="#Page_661">661</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Wreck of the "Julie Plante"</td><td><i>William Henry Drummond</i></td><td><a href="#Page_662">662</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Alarmed Skipper</td><td><i>James T. Fields</i></td><td><a href="#Page_664">664</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Elderly Gentleman</td><td><i>George Canning</i></td><td><a href="#Page_665">665</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Saying Not Meaning</td><td><i>William Basil Wake</i></td><td><a href="#Page_666">666</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Hans Breitmann's Party</td><td><i>Charles Godfrey Leland</i></td><td><a href="#Page_668">668</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ballad by Hans Breitmann</td><td><i>Charles Godfrey Leland</i></td><td><a href="#Page_669">669</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Grampy Sings a Song</td><td><i>Holman F. Day</i></td><td><a href="#Page_670">670</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The First Banjo</td><td><i>Irwin Russell</i></td><td><a href="#Page_672">672</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Romance of the Carpet</td><td><i>Robert J. Burdette</i></td><td><a href="#Page_674">674</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Hunting of the Snark, The</td><td><i>Lewis Carroll</i></td><td><a href="#Page_676">676</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Old Man and Jim</td><td><i>James Whitcomb Riley</i></td><td><a href="#Page_678">678</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Sailor's Yarn</td><td><i>James Jeffrey Roche</i></td><td><a href="#Page_680">680</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Converted Cannibals</td><td><i>G. E. Farrow</i></td><td><a href="#Page_683">683</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Retired Pork-Butcher and the Spook</td><td><i>G. E. Farrow</i></td><td><a href="#Page_685">685</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Skipper Ireson's Ride</td><td><i>John Greenleaf Whittier</i></td><td><a href="#Page_688">688</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Darius Green and His Flying-Machine</td><td><i>John Townsend Trowbridge</i></td><td><a href="#Page_690">690</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Great Fight</td><td><i>Robert H. Newell</i></td><td><a href="#Page_697">697</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Donnybrook Jig</td><td><i>Viscount Dillon</i></td><td><a href="#Page_700">700</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Unfortunate Miss Bailey</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_702">702</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Laird o' Cockpen</td><td><i>Lady Nairne</i></td><td><a href="#Page_703">703</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Wedding</td><td><i>Sir John Suckling</i></td><td><a href="#Page_704">704</a></td></tr> +<tr><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='center'>XI: TRIBUTE</td></tr> +<tr><td>The Ahkond of Swat</td><td><i>Edward Lear</i></td><td><a href="#Page_708">708</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Ahkoond of Swat</td><td><i>George Thomas Lanigan</i></td><td><a href="#Page_710">710</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Dirge of the Moolla of Kotal</td><td><i>George Thomas Lanigan</i></td><td><a href="#Page_712">712</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Ballad of Bouillabaisse</td><td><i>W. M. Thackeray</i></td><td><a href="#Page_714">714</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ould Doctor Mack</td><td><i>Alfred Perceval Graves</i></td><td><a href="#Page_717">717</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Father O'Flynn</td><td><i>Alfred Perceval Graves</i></td><td><a href="#Page_719">719</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Bald-headed Tyrant</td><td><i>Vandyne, Mary E.</i></td><td><a href="#Page_720">720</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Barney McGee</td><td><i>Richard Hovey</i></td><td><a href="#Page_721">721</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Address to the Toothache</td><td><i>Robert Burns</i></td><td><a href="#Page_724">724</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Farewell to Tobacco</td><td><i>Charles Lamb</i></td><td><a href="#Page_726">726</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>John Barleycorn</td><td><i>Robert Burns</i></td><td><a href="#Page_730">730</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Stanzas to Pale Ale</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_732">732</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ode to Tobacco</td><td><i>Charles Stuart Calverley</i></td><td><a href="#Page_732">732</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Sonnet to a Clam</td><td><i>John G. Saxe</i></td><td><a href="#Page_734">734</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>To a Fly</td><td><i>John Wolcot</i></td><td><a href="#Page_734">734</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ode to a Bobtailed Cat</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_737">737</a></td></tr> +<tr><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='center'>XII: WHIMSEY</td></tr> +<tr><td>An Elegy</td><td><i>Oliver Goldsmith</i></td><td><a href="#Page_740">740</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Parson Gray</td><td><i>Oliver Goldsmith</i></td><td><a href="#Page_741">741</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Irishman and the Lady</td><td><i>William Maginn</i></td><td><a href="#Page_742">742</a></td><td><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20"><span style='font-size: smaller;'>[Pg xx]</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Cataract of Lodore</td><td><i>Robert Southey</i></td><td><a href="#Page_743">743</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Lay of the Deserted Influenzaed </td><td><i>H. Cholmondeley-Pennell</i></td><td><a href="#Page_746">746</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Bellagcholly Days</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_747">747</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Rhyme of the Rail</td><td><i>John G. Saxe</i></td><td><a href="#Page_748">748</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Echo</td><td><i>John G. Saxe</i></td><td><a href="#Page_750">750</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Song</td><td><i>Joseph Addison</i></td><td><a href="#Page_751">751</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Gentle Echo on Woman</td><td><i>Dean Swift</i></td><td><a href="#Page_752">752</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Lay of Ancient Rome</td><td><i>Thomas R. Ybarra</i></td><td><a href="#Page_753">753</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A New Song</td><td><i>John Gay</i></td><td><a href="#Page_754">754</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The American Traveller</td><td><i>Robert H. Newell</i></td><td><a href="#Page_757">757</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Zealless Xylographer</td><td><i>Mary Mapes Dodge</i></td><td><a href="#Page_759">759</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Old Line Fence</td><td><i>A. W. Bellaw</i></td><td><a href="#Page_760">760</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>O-U-G-H</td><td><i>Charles Battell Loomis</i></td><td><a href="#Page_761">761</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Enigma on the Letter H</td><td><i>Catherine M. Fanshawe</i></td><td><a href="#Page_762">762</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Travesty of Miss Fanshawe's Enigma</td><td><i>Horace Mayhew</i></td><td><a href="#Page_763">763</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>An Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog</td><td><i>Oliver Goldsmith</i></td><td><a href="#Page_764">764</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>An Epitaph</td><td><i>Matthew Prior</i></td><td><a href="#Page_765">765</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Old Grimes</td><td><i>Albert Gorton Greene</i></td><td><a href="#Page_766">766</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Endless Song</td><td><i>Ruth McEnery Stuart</i></td><td><a href="#Page_768">768</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Hundred Best Books</td><td><i>Mostyn T. Pigott</i></td><td><a href="#Page_769">769</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Cosmic Egg</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_771">771</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Five Wines</td><td><i>Robert Herrick</i></td><td><a href="#Page_772">772</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Rhyme for Musicians</td><td><i>E. Lemke</i></td><td><a href="#Page_772">772</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>My Madeline</td><td><i>Walter Parke</i></td><td><a href="#Page_773">773</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Susan Simpson</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_774">774</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The March to Moscow</td><td><i>Robert Southey</i></td><td><a href="#Page_775">775</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Half Hours with the Classics</td><td><i>H. J. DeBurgh</i></td><td><a href="#Page_779">779</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>On the Oxford Carrier</td><td><i>John Milton</i></td><td><a href="#Page_780">780</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ninety-Nine in the Shade</td><td><i>Rossiter Johnson</i></td><td><a href="#Page_781">781</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Triolet</td><td><i>William Ernest Henley</i></td><td><a href="#Page_782">782</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Rondeau</td><td><i>Austin Dobson</i></td><td><a href="#Page_782">782</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Life</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_783">783</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ode to the Human Heart</td><td><i>Laman Blanchard</i></td><td><a href="#Page_784">784</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Strike Among the Poets</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_785">785</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Whatever Is, Is Right</td><td><i>Laman Blanchard</i></td><td><a href="#Page_786">786</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Nothing</td><td><i>Richard Porson</i></td><td><a href="#Page_786">786</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Dirge</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_787">787</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>O D V</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_788">788</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Man of Words</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_790">790</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Similes</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_791">791</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>No!</td><td><i>Thomas Hood</i></td><td><a href="#Page_792">792</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Faithless Sally Brown</td><td><i>Thomas Hood</i></td><td><a href="#Page_792">792</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Tim Turpin</td><td><i>Thomas Hood</i></td><td><a href="#Page_795">795</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Faithless Nelly Gray</td><td><i>Thomas Hood</i></td><td><a href="#Page_797">797</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Sally Simpkin's Lament</td><td><i>Thomas Hood</i></td><td><a href="#Page_800">800</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Death's Ramble</td><td><i>Thomas Hood</i></td><td><a href="#Page_801">801</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Panegyric on the Ladies</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_803">803</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ambiguous Lines</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_804">804</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Surnames</td><td><i>James Smith</i></td><td><a href="#Page_804">804</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Ternary of Littles, Upon a Pipkin of Jelly Sent to a Lady</td><td><i>Robert Herrick</i></td><td><a href="#Page_806">806</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Carman's Account of a Law Suit</td><td><i>Sir David Lindesay</i></td><td><a href="#Page_807">807</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Out of Sight, Out of Mind</td><td><i>Barnaby Googe</i></td><td><a href="#Page_807">807</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Nongtongpaw</td><td><i>Charles Dibdin</i></td><td><a href="#Page_808">808</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Logical English</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_809">809</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Logic</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_809">809</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Careful Penman</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_810">810</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Questions with Answers</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_810">810</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Conjugal Conjugations</td><td><i>A. W. Bellaw</i></td><td><a href="#Page_810">810</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Love's Moods and Senses</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_812">812</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Siege of Belgrade</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_813">813</a></td><td><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21"><span style='font-size: smaller;'>[Pg xxi]</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Happy Man</td><td><i>Gilles Ménage</i></td><td><a href="#Page_814">814</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Bells</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_816">816</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Takings</td><td><i>Thomas Hood, Jr.</i></td><td><a href="#Page_817">817</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Bachelor's Mono-Rhyme</td><td><i>Charles Mackay</i></td><td><a href="#Page_817">817</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Art of Bookkeeping</td><td><i>Laman Blanchard</i></td><td><a href="#Page_818">818</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>An Invitation to the Zoological Gardens</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_822">822</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Nocturnal Sketch</td><td><i>Thomas Hood</i></td><td><a href="#Page_823">823</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Lovelilts</td><td><i>Marion Hill</i></td><td><a href="#Page_824">824</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Jocosa Lyra</td><td><i>Austin Dobson</i></td><td><a href="#Page_824">824</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>To a Thesaurus</td><td><i>Franklin P. Adams</i></td><td><a href="#Page_825">825</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Future of the Classics</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_826">826</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Cautionary Verses</td><td><i>Theodore Hook</i></td><td><a href="#Page_828">828</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The War: A-Z</td><td><i>John R. Edwards</i></td><td><a href="#Page_829">829</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Lines to Miss Florence Huntingdon </td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_830">830</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>To My Nose</td><td><i>Alfred A. Forrester</i></td><td><a href="#Page_832">832</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Polka Lyric</td><td><i>Barclay Philips</i></td><td><a href="#Page_832">832</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Catalectic Monody</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_833">833</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ode for a Social Meeting</td><td><i>Oliver Wendell Holmes</i></td><td><a href="#Page_833">833</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Jovial Priest's Confession</td><td><i>Leigh Hunt</i></td><td><a href="#Page_834">834</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Limericks</td><td><i>Carolyn Wells</i></td><td><a href="#Page_835">835</a></td></tr> +<tr><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='center'>XIII: NONSENSE</td></tr> +<tr><td>Lunar Stanzas</td><td><i>Henry Coggswell Knight</i></td><td><a href="#Page_841">841</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Whango Tree</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_842">842</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Three Children</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_843">843</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>'Tis Midnight</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_843">843</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Cossimbazar</td><td><i>Henry S. Leigh</i></td><td><a href="#Page_843">843</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>An Unexpected Fact</td><td><i>Edward Cannon</i></td><td><a href="#Page_844">844</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Cumberbunce</td><td><i>Paul West</i></td><td><a href="#Page_844">844</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Mr. Finney's Turnip</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_847">847</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Nonsense Verses</td><td><i>Charles Lamb</i></td><td><a href="#Page_848">848</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Like to the Thundering Tone</td><td><i>Bishop Corbet</i></td><td><a href="#Page_848">848</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Aestivation</td><td><i>Oliver Wendell Holmes</i></td><td><a href="#Page_849">849</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Uncle Simon and Uncle Jim</td><td><i>Charles Farrar Browne</i><br />["<i>Artemus Ward</i>"]</td><td><a href="#Page_849">849</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Tragic Story</td><td><i>W. M. Thackeray</i></td><td><a href="#Page_850">850</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Sonnet Found in a Deserted Mad House</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_851">851</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Jim-Jam King of the Jou-Jous</td><td><i>Alaric Bertrand Stuart</i></td><td><a href="#Page_851">851</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>To Marie</td><td><i>John Bennett</i></td><td><a href="#Page_852">852</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>My Dream</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_853">853</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Rollicking Mastodon</td><td><i>Arthur Macy</i></td><td><a href="#Page_853">853</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Invisible Bridge</td><td><i>Gelett Burgess</i></td><td><a href="#Page_855">855</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Lazy Roof</td><td><i>Gelett Burgess</i></td><td><a href="#Page_855">855</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>My Feet</td><td><i>Gelett Burgess</i></td><td><a href="#Page_855">855</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Spirk Troll-Derisive</td><td><i>James Whitcomb Riley</i></td><td><a href="#Page_855">855</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Man in the Moon</td><td><i>James Whitcomb Riley</i></td><td><a href="#Page_856">856</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Lugubrious Whing-Whang</td><td><i>James Whitcomb Riley</i></td><td><a href="#Page_858">858</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo</td><td><i>Edward Lear</i></td><td><a href="#Page_859">859</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Jumbles</td><td><i>Edward Lear</i></td><td><a href="#Page_862">862</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Pobble Who Has no Toes</td><td><i>Edward Lear</i></td><td><a href="#Page_865">865</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The New Vestments</td><td><i>Edward Lear</i></td><td><a href="#Page_866">866</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Two Old Bachelors</td><td><i>Edward Lear</i></td><td><a href="#Page_868">868</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Jabberwocky</td><td><i>Lewis Carroll</i></td><td><a href="#Page_869">869</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ways and Means</td><td><i>Lewis Carroll</i></td><td><a href="#Page_870">870</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Humpty Dumpty's Recitation</td><td><i>Lewis Carroll</i></td><td><a href="#Page_872">872</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Some Hallucinations</td><td><i>Lewis Carroll</i></td><td><a href="#Page_874">874</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Sing for the Garish Eye</td><td><i>W. S. Gilbert</i></td><td><a href="#Page_875">875</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Shipwreck</td><td><i>E. H. Palmer</i></td><td><a href="#Page_876">876</a></td><td><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22"><span style='font-size: smaller;'>[Pg xxii]</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Uffia</td><td><i>Harriet R. White</i></td><td><a href="#Page_877">877</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>'Tis Sweet to Roam</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_878">878</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Three Jovial Huntsmen</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_878">878</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>King Arthur</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_879">879</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Hyder Iddle</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_879">879</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Ocean Wanderer</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_879">879</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Scientific Proof</td><td><i>J. W. Foley</i></td><td><a href="#Page_880">880</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Thingumbob</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_882">882</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Wonders of Nature</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_882">882</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Lines by an Old Fogy</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_882">882</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Country Summer Pastoral</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_883">883</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Turvey Top</td><td><i>William Sawyer</i></td><td><a href="#Page_884">884</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Ballad of Bedlam</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_886">886</a></td></tr> +<tr><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='center'>XIV: NATURAL HISTORY</td></tr> +<tr><td>The Fastidious Serpent</td><td><i>Henry Johnstone</i></td><td><a href="#Page_887">887</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Legend of the First Cam-u-el</td><td><i>Arthur Guiterman</i></td><td><a href="#Page_888">888</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Unsatisfied Yearning</td><td><i>R. K. Munkittrick</i></td><td><a href="#Page_889">889</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Kindly Advice</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_890">890</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Kindness to Animals</td><td><i>J. Ashby-Sterry</i></td><td><a href="#Page_891">891</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>To Be or Not To Be</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_891">891</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Hen</td><td><i>Matthew Claudius</i></td><td><a href="#Page_892">892</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Of Baiting the Lion</td><td><i>Owen Seaman</i></td><td><a href="#Page_893">893</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Flamingo</td><td><i>Lewis Gaylord Clark</i></td><td><a href="#Page_894">894</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Why Doth a Pussy Cat?</td><td><i>Burges Johnson</i></td><td><a href="#Page_895">895</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Walrus and the Carpenter</td><td><i>Lewis Carroll</i></td><td><a href="#Page_896">896</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Nirvana</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_900">900</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Catfish</td><td><i>Oliver Herford</i></td><td><a href="#Page_900">900</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>War Relief</td><td><i>Oliver Herford</i></td><td><a href="#Page_901">901</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Owl and the Pussy-Cat</td><td><i>Edward Lear</i></td><td><a href="#Page_901">901</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Mexican Serenade</td><td><i>Arthur Guiterman</i></td><td><a href="#Page_902">902</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Orphan Born</td><td><i>Robert J. Burdette</i></td><td><a href="#Page_903">903</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Divided Destinies</td><td><i>Rudyard Kipling</i></td><td><a href="#Page_904">904</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Viper</td><td><i>Hilaire Belloc</i></td><td><a href="#Page_906">906</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Llama</td><td><i>Hilaire Belloc</i></td><td><a href="#Page_906">906</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Yak</td><td><i>Hilaire Belloc</i></td><td><a href="#Page_906">906</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Frog</td><td><i>Hilaire Belloc</i></td><td><a href="#Page_907">907</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Microbe</td><td><i>Hilaire Belloc</i></td><td><a href="#Page_907">907</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Great Black Crow</td><td><i>Philip James Bailey</i></td><td><a href="#Page_907">907</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Colubriad</td><td><i>William Cowper</i></td><td><a href="#Page_909">909</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Retired Cat</td><td><i>William Cowper</i></td><td><a href="#Page_910">910</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Darwinian Ballad</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_913">913</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Pig</td><td><i>Robert Southey</i></td><td><a href="#Page_914">914</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Fish Story</td><td><i>Henry A. Beers</i></td><td><a href="#Page_916">916</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Cameronian Cat</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_917">917</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Young Gazelle</td><td><i>Walter Parke</i></td><td><a href="#Page_918">918</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Ballad of the Emeu</td><td><i>Bret Harte</i></td><td><a href="#Page_921">921</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Turtle and Flamingo</td><td><i>James Thomas Fields</i></td><td><a href="#Page_923">923</a></td></tr> +<tr><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='center'>XV: JUNIORS</td></tr> +<tr><td>Prior to Miss Belle's Appearance</td><td><i>James Whitcomb Riley</i></td><td><a href="#Page_925">925</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>There Was a Little Girl</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_926">926</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Naughty Darkey Boy</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_927">927</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Dutch Lullaby</td><td><i>Eugene Field</i></td><td><a href="#Page_928">928</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Dinkey-Bird</td><td><i>Eugene Field</i></td><td><a href="#Page_929">929</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Little Peach</td><td><i>Eugene Field</i></td><td><a href="#Page_931">931</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Counsel to Those that Eat</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_932">932</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Home and Mother</td><td><i>Mary Mapes Dodge</i></td><td><a href="#Page_932">932</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Little Orphant Annie</td><td><i>James Whitcomb Riley</i></td><td><a href="#Page_934">934</a></td><td><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23"><span style='font-size: smaller;'>[Pg xxiii]</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Visit From St. Nicholas</td><td><i>Clement Clarke Moore</i></td><td><a href="#Page_935">935</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Nursery Legend</td><td><i>Henry S. Leigh</i></td><td><a href="#Page_937">937</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Little Goose</td><td><i>Eliza Sproat Turner</i></td><td><a href="#Page_938">938</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Leedle Yawcob Strauss</td><td><i>Charles Follen Adams</i></td><td><a href="#Page_940">940</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Parental Ode to My Son, Aged Three Years and Five Months</td><td><i>Thomas Hood</i></td><td><a href="#Page_941">941</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Little Mamma</td><td><i>Charles Henry Webb</i></td><td><a href="#Page_943">943</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Comical Girl</td><td><i>M. Pelham</i></td><td><a href="#Page_946">946</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Bunches of Grapes</td><td><i>Walter Ramal</i></td><td><a href="#Page_947">947</a></td></tr> +<tr><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='center'>XVI: IMMORTAL STANZAS</td></tr> +<tr><td>The Purple Cow</td><td><i>Gelett Burgess</i></td><td><a href="#Page_948">948</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Young Lady of Niger</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_948">948</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Laughing Willow</td><td><i>Oliver Herford</i></td><td><a href="#Page_948">948</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Said Opie Reed</td><td><i>Julian Street</i> and <i>James Montgomery Flagg</i></td><td><a href="#Page_948">948</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Manila</td><td><i>Eugene F. Ware</i></td><td><a href="#Page_949">949</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>On the Aristocracy of Harvard</td><td><i>Dr. Samuel G. Bushnell</i></td><td><a href="#Page_949">949</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>On the Democracy of Yale</td><td><i>Dean Jones</i></td><td><a href="#Page_949">949</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Herring</td><td><i>Sir Walter Scott</i></td><td><a href="#Page_949">949</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>If the Man</td><td><i>Samuel Johnson</i></td><td><a href="#Page_949">949</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Kilkenny Cats</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_950">950</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Poor Dear Grandpapa</td><td><i>D'Arcy W. Thompson</i></td><td><a href="#Page_950">950</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>More Walks</td><td><i>Richard Harris Barham</i><br />["<i>Thomas Ingoldsby</i>"]</td><td><a href="#Page_950">950</a></td></tr> +<tr><td></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td>Indifference</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_950">950</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Madame Sans Souci</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_950">950</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Riddle</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_951">951</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>If</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td><a href="#Page_951">951</a></td></tr> +</table> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg xxiv]</a></span></p> +<p> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +</p> + +<h2>THE BOOK OF HUMOROUS VERSE</h2> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="I" id="I"></a>I</h2> + +<h2>BANTER</h2> +<p><br /></p> + +<h3>THE PLAYED-OUT HUMOURIST</h3> + +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Quixotic is his enterprise and hopeless his adventure is,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who seeks for jocularities that haven't yet been said;</span><br /> +The world has joked incessantly for over fifty centuries,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And every joke that's possible has long ago been made.</span><br /> +I started as a humourist with lots of mental fizziness,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But humour is a drug which it's the fashion to abuse;</span><br /> +For my stock-in-trade, my fixtures and the good-will of the business<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No reasonable offer I am likely to refuse.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">And if anybody choose</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">He may circulate the news</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That no reasonable offer I am likely to refuse.</span><br /> +<br /> +Oh, happy was that humourist—the first that made a pun at all—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who when a joke occurred to him, however poor and mean,</span><br /> +Was absolutely certain that it never had been done at all—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How popular at dinners must that humourist have been!</span><br /> +Oh, the days when some step-father for a query held a handle out,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The door-mat from the scraper, is it distant very far?</span><br /> +And when no one knew where Moses was when Aaron put the candle out,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And no one had discovered that a door could be a-jar!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">But your modern hearers are</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">In their tastes particular,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And they sneer if you inform them that a door can be a jar!</span><br /> +<br /> +In search of quip and quiddity I've sat all day alone, apart—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And all that I could hit on as a problem was—to find</span><br /> +Analogy between a scrag of mutton and a Bony-part,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which offers slight employment to the speculative mind.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> +<br /> +For you cannot call it very good, however great your charity—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It's not the sort of humour that is greeted with a shout—</span><br /> +And I've come to the conclusion that my mine of jocularity,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In present Anno Domini is worked completely out!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Though the notion you may scout,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">I can prove beyond a doubt</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That my mine of jocularity is worked completely out!</span><br /> +</p> +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>W. S. Gilbert.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE PRACTICAL JOKER</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p class='poem'>Oh, what a fund of joy jocund lies hid in harmless hoaxes!</p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 4em;">What keen enjoyment springs</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 4em;">From cheap and simple things!</span></p> +<p class='poem'>What deep delight from sources trite inventive humour coaxes,</p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 4em;">That pain and trouble brew</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 4em;">For every one but you!</span></p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>Gunpowder placed inside its waist improves a mild Havana,</p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 4em;">Its unexpected flash</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 4em;">Burns eyebrows and moustache.</span></p> +<p class='poem'>When people dine no kind of wine beats ipecacuanha,</p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 4em;">But common sense suggests</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 4em;">You keep it for your guests—</span></p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>Then naught annoys the organ boys like throwing red hot coppers.</p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 4em;">And much amusement bides</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 4em;">In common butter slides;</span></p> +<p class='poem'>And stringy snares across the stairs cause unexpected croppers.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'><span style="margin-left: 4em;">Coal scuttles, recollect,</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 4em;">Produce the same effect.</span></p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">A man possessed</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 7em;">Of common sense</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">Need not invest</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 7em;">At great expense—</span></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p> + + +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">It does not call</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 7em;">For pocket deep,</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">These jokes are all</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 7em;">Extremely cheap.</span></p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>If you commence with eighteenpence—it's all you'll have to pay;</p> +<p class='poem'>You may command a pleasant and a most instructive day.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>A good spring gun breeds endless fun, and makes men jump like rockets—</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'><span style="margin-left: 4em;">And turnip heads on posts</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 4em;">Make very decent ghosts.</span></p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>Then hornets sting like anything, when placed in waistcoat pockets—</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'><span style="margin-left: 4em;">Burnt cork and walnut juice</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 4em;">Are not without their use.</span></p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>No fun compares with easy chairs whose seats are stuffed with needles—</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'><span style="margin-left: 4em;">Live shrimps their patience tax</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 4em;">When put down people's backs.</span></p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>Surprising, too, what one can do with a pint of fat black beetles—</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'><span style="margin-left: 4em;">And treacle on a chair</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 4em;">Will make a Quaker swear!</span></p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">Then sharp tin tacks</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 7em;">And pocket squirts—</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">And cobbler's wax</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 7em;">For ladies' skirts—</span></p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">And slimy slugs</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 7em;">On bedroom floors—</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">And water jugs</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 7em;">On open doors—</span></p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>Prepared with these cheap properties, amusing tricks to play</p> +<p class='poem'>Upon a friend a man may spend a most delightful day.</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>W. S. Gilbert.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>TO PHŒBE</h3> + +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +"Gentle, modest little flower,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sweet epitome of May,</span><br /> +Love me but for half an hour,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Love me, love me, little fay."</span><br /> +Sentences so fiercely flaming<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In your tiny, shell-like ear,</span><br /> +I should always be exclaiming<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If I loved you, Phœbe dear.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Smiles that thrill from any distance<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shed upon me while I sing!</span><br /> +Please ecstaticize existence,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Love me, oh, thou fairy thing!"</span><br /> +Words like these, outpouring sadly,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You'd perpetually hear,</span><br /> +If I loved you fondly, madly;—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But I do not, Phœbe dear.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>W. S. Gilbert.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>MALBROUCK</h3> + +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Malbrouck, the prince of commanders,<br /> +Is gone to the war in Flanders;<br /> +His fame is like Alexander's;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But when will he come home?</span><br /> +<br /> +Perhaps at Trinity Feast, or<br /> +Perhaps he may come at Easter.<br /> +Egad! he had better make haste, or<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We fear he may never come.</span><br /> +<br /> +For Trinity Feast is over,<br /> +And has brought no news from Dover;<br /> +And Easter is past, moreover,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Malbrouck still delays.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> + +<br /> +Milady in her watch-tower<br /> +Spends many a pensive hour,<br /> +Not well knowing why or how her<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dear lord from England stays.</span><br /> +<br /> +While sitting quite forlorn in<br /> +That tower, she spies returning<br /> +A page clad in deep mourning,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With fainting steps and slow.</span><br /> +<br /> +"O page, prithee, come faster!<br /> +What news do you bring of your master?<br /> +I fear there is some disaster,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Your looks are so full of woe."</span><br /> +<br /> +"The news I bring, fair lady,"<br /> +With sorrowful accent said he,<br /> +"Is one you are not ready<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So soon, alas! to hear.</span><br /> +<br /> +"But since to speak I'm hurried,"<br /> +Added this page, quite flurried,<br /> +"Malbrouck is dead and buried!"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(And here he shed a tear.)</span><br /> +<br /> +"He's dead! he's dead as a herring!<br /> +For I beheld his 'berring,'<br /> +And four officers transferring<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His corpse away from the field.</span><br /> +<br /> +"One officer carried his sabre,<br /> +And he carried it not without labour,<br /> +Much envying his next neighbour,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who only bore a shield.</span><br /> +<br /> +"The third was helmet-bearer—<br /> +That helmet which on its wearer<br /> +Filled all who saw with terror,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And covered a hero's brains.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> + +<br /> +"Now, having got so far, I<br /> +Find that (by the Lord Harry!)<br /> +The fourth is left nothing to carry;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So there the thing remains."</span><br /> +</p> + +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Translated by <i>Father Prout</i>.</span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>MARK TWAIN: A PIPE DREAM</h3> + +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Well I recall how first I met<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mark Twain—an infant barely three</span><br /> +Rolling a tiny cigarette<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While cooing on his nurse's knee.</span><br /> +<br /> +Since then in every sort of place<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I've met with Mark and heard him joke,</span><br /> +Yet how can I describe his face?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I never saw it for the smoke.</span><br /> +<br /> +At school he won a <i>smokership</i>,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At Harvard College (Cambridge, Mass.)</span><br /> +His name was soon on every lip,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They made him "smoker" of his class.</span><br /> +<br /> +Who will forget his smoking bout<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With Mount Vesuvius—our cheers—</span><br /> +When Mount Vesuvius went out<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And didn't smoke again for years?</span><br /> +<br /> +The news was flashed to England's King,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who begged Mark Twain to come and stay,</span><br /> +Offered him dukedoms—anything<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To smoke the London fog away.</span><br /> +<br /> +But Mark was firm. "I bow," said he,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"To no imperial command,</span><br /> +No ducal coronet for me,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My smoke is for my native land!"</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> + +<br /> +For Mark there waits a brighter crown!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When Peter comes his card to read—</span><br /> +He'll take the sign "No Smoking" down,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then Heaven will be Heaven indeed.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Oliver Herford.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>FROM A FULL HEART</h3> + +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +In days of peace my fellow-men<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rightly regarded me as more like</span><br /> +A Bishop than a Major-Gen.,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And nothing since has made me warlike;</span><br /> +But when this age-long struggle ends<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I have seen the Allies dish up</span><br /> +The goose of Hindenburg—oh, friends!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I shall out-bish the mildest Bishop.</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>When the War is over and the Kaiser's out of print<br /> +I'm going to buy some tortoises and watch the beggars sprint;<br /> +When the War is over and the sword at last we sheathe<br /> +I'm going to keep a jelly-fish and listen to it breathe.</i><br /> +<br /> +I never really longed for gore,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And any taste for red corpuscles</span><br /> +That lingered with me left before<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The German troops had entered Brussels.</span><br /> +In early days the Colonel's "'Shun!"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Froze me; and as the war grew older</span><br /> +The noise of some one else's gun<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Left me considerably colder.</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>When the War is over and the battle has been won<br /> +I'm going to buy a barnacle and take it for a run;<br /> +When the War is over and the German fleet we sink<br /> +I'm going to keep a silkworm's egg and listen to it think.</i><br /> +<br /> +The Captains and the Kings depart—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It may be so, but not lieutenants;</span><br /> +Dawn after weary dawn I start<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The never ending round of penance;</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> + +One rock amid the welter stands<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On which my gaze is fixed intently:</span><br /> +An after-life in quiet lands<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lived very lazily and gently.</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>When the War is over and we've done the Belgians proud<br /> +I'm going to keep a chrysalis and read to it aloud;<br /> +When the War is over and we've finished up the show<br /> +I'm going to plant a lemon pip and listen to it grow</i>.<br /> +<br /> +Oh, I'm tired of the noise and turmoil of battle,<br /> +And I'm even upset by the lowing of cattle,<br /> +And the clang of the bluebells is death to my liver,<br /> +And the roar of the dandelion gives me a shiver,<br /> +And a glacier, in movement, is much too exciting,<br /> +And I'm nervous, when standing on one, of alighting—<br /> +Give me Peace; that is all, that is all that I seek....<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Say, starting on Saturday week.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>A. A. Milne.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE ULTIMATE JOY</h3> + +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I have felt the thrill of passion in the poet's mystic book<br /> +And I've lingered in delight to catch the rhythm of the brook;<br /> +I've felt the ecstasy that comes when prima donnas reach<br /> +For upper C and hold it in a long, melodious screech.<br /> +And yet the charm of all these blissful memories fades away<br /> +As I think upon the fortune that befell the other day,<br /> +As I bring to recollection, with a joyous, wistful sigh,<br /> +That I woke and felt the need of extra covers in July.<br /> +<br /> +Oh, eerie hour of drowsiness—'twas like a fairy spell,<br /> +That respite from the terrors we have known, alas, so well,<br /> +The malevolent mosquito, with a limp and idle bill,<br /> +Hung supinely from the ceiling, all exhausted by his chill.<br /> +And the early morning sunbeam lost his customary leer<br /> +And brought a gracious greeting and a prophecy of cheer;<br /> +A generous affability reached up from earth to sky,<br /> +When I woke and felt the need of extra covers in July.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> + +<br /> +In every life there comes a time of happiness supreme,<br /> +When joy becomes reality and not a glittering dream.<br /> +'Tis less appreciated, but it's worth a great deal more<br /> +Than tides which taken at their flood lead on to fortune's shore.<br /> +How vain is Art's illusion, and how potent Nature's sway<br /> +When once in kindly mood she deigns to waft our woes away!<br /> +And the memory will cheer me, though all other pleasures fly,<br /> +Of how I woke and needed extra covers in July.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>OLD FASHIONED FUN</h3> + +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +When that old joke was new,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It was not hard to joke,</span><br /> +And puns we now pooh-pooh,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Great laughter would provoke.</span><br /> +<br /> +True wit was seldom heard,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And humor shown by few,</span><br /> +When reign'd King George the Third,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And that old joke was new.</span><br /> +<br /> +It passed indeed for wit,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Did this achievement rare,</span><br /> +When down your friend would sit,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To steal away his chair.</span><br /> +<br /> +You brought him to the floor,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You bruised him black and blue,</span><br /> +And this would cause a roar,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When your old joke was new.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>W. M. Thackeray.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> + +<hr /> + +<h3>WHEN MOONLIKE ORE THE HAZURE SEAS</h3> + +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td><p> +When moonlike ore the hazure seas<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In soft effulgence swells,</span><br /> +When silver jews and balmy breaze<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bend down the Lily's bells;</span><br /> +When calm and deap, the rosy sleap<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Has lapt your soal in dreems,</span><br /> +R Hangeline! R lady mine!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dost thou remember Jeames?</span><br /> +<br /> +I mark thee in the Marble all,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where England's loveliest shine—</span><br /> +I say the fairest of them hall<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is Lady Hangeline.</span><br /> +My soul, in desolate eclipse,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With recollection teems—</span><br /> +And then I hask, with weeping lips,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dost thou remember Jeames?</span><br /> +<br /> +Away! I may not tell thee hall<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This soughring heart endures—</span><br /> +There is a lonely sperrit-call<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That Sorrow never cures;</span><br /> +There is a little, little Star,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That still above me beams;</span><br /> +It is the Star of Hope—but ar!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dost thou remember Jeames?</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>W. M. Thackeray.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> + +<hr /> + +<h3>WHEN THE FROST IS ON THE PUNKIN</h3> + +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock,<br /> +And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin' turkey-cock,<br /> +And the clackin' of the guineys, and the cluckin' of the hens,<br /> +And the rooster's hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence;<br /> +O it's then's the times a feller is a-feelin' at his best,<br /> +With the risin' sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest,<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> + +As he leaves the house, bare-headed, and goes out to feed the stock,<br /> +When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.<br /> +<br /> +They's something kindo' hearty-like about the atmosphere,<br /> +When the heat of summer's over and the coolin' fall is here—<br /> +Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossoms on the trees,<br /> +And the mumble of the hummin'-birds and buzzin' of the bees;<br /> +But the air's so appetisin'; and the landscape through the haze<br /> +Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days<br /> +Is a pictur that no painter has the colorin' to mock—<br /> +When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.<br /> +<br /> +The husky, rusty rustle of the tossels of the corn,<br /> +And the raspin' of the tangled leaves, as golden as the morn;<br /> +The stubble in the furries—kindo' lonesome-like, but still<br /> +A-preachin' sermons to us of the barns they growed to fill;<br /> +The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed;<br /> +The hosses in theyr stalls below—the clover overhead!—<br /> +O, it sets my heart a-clickin' like the tickin' of a clock,<br /> +When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock!<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>James Whitcomb Riley.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> + +<hr /> + +<h3>TWO MEN</h3> + +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +There be two men of all mankind<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That I should like to know about;</span><br /> +But search and question where I will,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I cannot ever find them out.</span><br /> +<br /> +Melchizedek he praised the Lord,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And gave some wine to Abraham;</span><br /> +But who can tell what else he did<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Must be more learned than I am.</span><br /> +<br /> +Ucalegon he lost his house<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When Agamemnon came to Troy;</span><br /> +But who can tell me who he was—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'll pray the gods to give him joy.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> + +There be two men of all mankind<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That I'm forever thinking on;</span><br /> +They chase me everywhere I go,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Melchizedek, Ucalegon.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Edwin Arlington Robinson.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> + +<hr /> + +<h3>A FAMILIAR LETTER TO SEVERAL CORRESPONDENTS</h3> + +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Yes, write if you want to—there's nothing like trying;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who knows what a treasure your casket may hold?</span><br /> +I'll show you that rhyming's as easy as lying,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If you'll listen to me while the art I unfold.</span><br /> +<br /> +Here's a book full of words: one can choose as he fancies,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As a painter his tint, as a workman his tool;</span><br /> +Just think! all the poems and plays and romances<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Were drawn out of this, like the fish from a pool!</span><br /> +<br /> +You can wander at will through its syllabled mazes,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And take all you want—not a copper they cost;</span><br /> +What is there to hinder your picking out phrases<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For an epic as clever as "Paradise Lost"?</span><br /> +<br /> +Don't mind if the index of sense is at zero;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Use words that run smoothly, whatever they mean;</span><br /> +Leander and Lillian and Lillibullero<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are much the same thing in the rhyming machine.</span><br /> +<br /> +There are words so delicious their sweetness will smother<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That boarding-school flavour of which we're afraid;</span><br /> +There is "lush" is a good one and "swirl" is another;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Put both in one stanza, its fortune is made.</span><br /> +<br /> +With musical murmurs and rhythmical closes<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You can cheat us of smiles when you've nothing to tell;</span><br /> +You hand us a nosegay of milliner's roses,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And we cry with delight, "Oh, how sweet they do smell!"</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> + +Perhaps you will answer all needful conditions<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For winning the laurels to which you aspire,</span><br /> +By docking the tails of the two prepositions<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I' the style o' the bards you so greatly admire.</span><br /> +<br /> +As for subjects of verse, they are only too plenty<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For ringing the changes on metrical chimes;</span><br /> +A maiden, a moonbeam, a lover of twenty,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Have filled that great basket with bushels of rhymes.</span><br /> +<br /> +Let me show you a picture—'tis far from irrelevant—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By a famous old hand in the arts of design;</span><br /> +'Tis only a photographed sketch of an elephant;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The name of the draughtsman was Rembrandt of Rhine.</span><br /> +<br /> +How easy! no troublesome colours to lay on;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It can't have fatigued him, no, not in the least;</span><br /> +A dash here and there with a haphazard crayon,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And there stands the wrinkled-skinned, baggy-limbed beast.</span><br /> +<br /> +Just so with your verse—'tis as easy as sketching;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You can reel off a song without knitting your brow,</span><br /> +As lightly as Rembrandt a drawing or etching;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It is nothing at all, if you only know how.</span><br /> +<br /> +Well, imagine you've printed your volume of verses;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Your forehead is wreathed with the garland of fame;</span><br /> +Your poem the eloquent school-boy rehearses;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her album the school-girl presents for your name.</span><br /> +<br /> +Each morning the post brings you autograph letters;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You'll answer them promptly—an hour isn't much</span><br /> +For the honour of sharing a page with your betters,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With magistrates, members of Congress, and such.</span><br /> +<br /> +Of course you're delighted to serve the committees<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That come with requests from the country all round;</span><br /> +You would grace the occasion with poems and ditties<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When they've got a new school-house, or poor-house, or pound.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> + +<br /> +With a hymn for the saints, and a song for the sinners,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You go and are welcome wherever you please;</span><br /> +You're a privileged guest at all manner of dinners;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You've a seat on the platform among the grandees.</span><br /> +<br /> +At length your mere presence becomes a sensation;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Your cup of enjoyment is filled to its brim</span><br /> +With the pleasure Horatian of digitmonstration,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As the whisper runs round of "That's he!" or "That's him!"</span><br /> +<br /> +But, remember, O dealer in phrases sonorous,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So daintily chosen, so tunefully matched,</span><br /> +Though you soar with the wings of the cherubim o'er us,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The ovum was human from which you were hatched.</span><br /> +<br /> +No will of your own, with its puny compulsion,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Can summon the spirit that quickens the lyre;</span><br /> +It comes, if at all, like the sibyl's convulsion,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And touches the brain with a finger of fire.</span><br /> +<br /> +So, perhaps, after all, it's as well to be quiet,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If you've nothing you think is worth saying in prose,</span><br /> +As to furnish a meal of their cannibal diet<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the critics, by publishing, as you propose.</span><br /> +<br /> +But it's all of no use, and I'm sorry I've written;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I shall see your thin volume some day on my shelf;</span><br /> +For the rhyming tarantula surely has bitten,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And music must cure you, so pipe it yourself.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Oliver Wendell Holmes.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE HEIGHT OF THE RIDICULOUS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I wrote some lines once on a time<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In wondrous merry mood,</span><br /> +And thought, as usual, men would say<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They were exceeding good.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> + +<br /> +They were so queer, so very queer,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I laughed as I would die;</span><br /> +Albeit, in the general way,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A sober man am I.</span><br /> +<br /> +I called my servant, and he came;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How kind it was of him,</span><br /> +To mind a slender man like me,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He of the mighty limb!</span><br /> +<br /> +"These to the printer," I exclaimed,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And, in my humorous way,</span><br /> +I added (as a trifling jest),<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"There'll be the devil to pay."</span><br /> +<br /> +He took the paper, and I watched,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And saw him peep within;</span><br /> +At the first line he read, his face<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was all upon a grin.</span><br /> +<br /> +He read the next, the grin grew broad,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And shot from ear to ear;</span><br /> +He read the third, a chuckling noise<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I now began to hear.</span><br /> +<br /> +The fourth, he broke into a roar;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The fifth, his waistband split;</span><br /> +The sixth, he burst five buttons off,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And tumbled in a fit.</span><br /> +<br /> +Ten days and nights, with sleepless eye,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I watched that wretched man,</span><br /> +And since, I never dare to write<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As funny as I can.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Oliver Wendell Holmes.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + + +<h3>SHAKE, MULLEARY AND GO-ETHE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p class='h_5'>I</p> +<p> +I have a bookcase, which is what<br /> +Many much better men have not.<br /> +There are no books inside, for books,<br /> +I am afraid, might spoil its looks.<br /> +But I've three busts, all second-hand,<br /> +Upon the top. You understand<br /> +I could not put them underneath—<br /> +Shake, Mulleary and Go-ethe.<br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>II</p> +<p> +Shake was a dramatist of note;<br /> +He lived by writing things to quote,<br /> +He long ago put on his shroud:<br /> +Some of his works are rather loud.<br /> +His bald-spot's dusty, I suppose.<br /> +I know there's dust upon his nose.<br /> +I'll have to give each nose a sheath—<br /> +Shake, Mulleary and Go-ethe.<br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>III</p> +<p> +Mulleary's line was quite the same;<br /> +He has more hair, but far less fame.<br /> +I would not from that fame retrench—<br /> +But he is foreign, being French.<br /> +Yet high his haughty head he heaves,<br /> +The only one done up in leaves,<br /> +They're rather limited on wreath—<br /> +Shake, Mulleary and Go-ethe.<br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>IV</p> +<p> +Go-ethe wrote in the German tongue:<br /> +He must have learned it very young.<br /> +His nose is quite a butt for scoff,<br /> +Although an inch of it is off.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> + +He did quite nicely for the Dutch;<br /> +But here he doesn't count for much.<br /> +They all are off their native heath—<br /> +Shake, Mulleary and Go-ethe.<br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>V</p> +<p> +They sit there, on their chests, as bland<br /> +As if they were not second-hand.<br /> +I do not know of what they think,<br /> +Nor why they never frown or wink,<br /> +But why from smiling they refrain<br /> +I think I clearly can explain:<br /> +They none of them could show much teeth—<br /> +Shake, Mulleary and Go-ethe.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>H. C. Bunner.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + + +<h3>A RONDELAY</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Man is for woman made,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And woman made for man:</span><br /> +As the spur is for the jade,<br /> +As the scabbard for the blade,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As for liquor is the can,</span><br /> +So man's for woman made,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And woman made for man.</span><br /> +<br /> +As the sceptre to be sway'd,<br /> +As to night the serenade,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As for pudding is the pan,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As to cool us is the fan,</span><br /> +So man's for woman made,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And woman made for man.</span><br /> +<br /> +Be she widow, wife, or maid,<br /> +Be she wanton, be she staid,<br /> +Be she well or ill array'd,<br /> +So man's for woman made,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And woman made for man.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Peter A. Motteux.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + + +<h3>WINTER DUSK</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +The prospect is bare and white,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the air is crisp and chill;</span><br /> +While the ebon wings of night<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are spread on the distant hill.</span><br /> +<br /> +The roar of the stormy sea<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Seem the dirges shrill and sharp</span><br /> +That winter plays on the tree—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His wild Æolian harp.</span><br /> +<br /> +In the pool that darkly creeps<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In ripples before the gale,</span><br /> +A star like a lily sleeps<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And wiggles its silver tail.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>R. K. Munkittrick.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>COMIC MISERIES</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +My dear young friend, whose shining wit<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sets all the room a-blaze,</span><br /> +Don't think yourself a "happy dog,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For all your merry ways;</span><br /> +But learn to wear a sober phiz,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Be stupid, if you can,</span><br /> +It's such a very serious thing<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To be a funny man!</span><br /> +<br /> +You're at an evening party, with<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A group of pleasant folks,—</span><br /> +You venture quietly to crack<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The least of little jokes,—</span><br /> +A lady doesn't catch the point,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And begs you to explain—</span><br /> +Alas for one that drops a jest<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And takes it up again!</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> + +<br /> +You're talking deep philosophy<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With very special force,</span><br /> +To edify a clergyman<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With suitable discourse,—</span><br /> +You think you've got him—when he calls<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A friend across the way,</span><br /> +And begs you'll say that funny thing<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You said the other day!</span><br /> +<br /> +You drop a pretty <i>jeu-de-mot</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Into a neighbor's ears,</span><br /> +Who likes to give you credit for<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The clever thing he hears,</span><br /> +And so he hawks your jest about,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The old authentic one,</span><br /> +Just breaking off the point of it,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And leaving out the pun!</span><br /> +<br /> +By sudden change in politics,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or sadder change in Polly,</span><br /> +You, lose your love, or loaves, and fall<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A prey to melancholy,</span><br /> +While everybody marvels why<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Your mirth is under ban,—</span><br /> +They think your very grief "a joke,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You're such a funny man!</span><br /> +<br /> +You follow up a stylish card<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That bids you come and dine,</span><br /> +And bring along your freshest wit<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(To pay for musty wine),</span><br /> +You're looking very dismal, when<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My lady bounces in,</span><br /> +And wonders what you're thinking of<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And why you don't begin!</span><br /> +<br /> +You're telling to a knot of friends<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A fancy-tale of woes</span><br /> +That cloud your matrimonial sky,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And banish all repose—</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> + +A solemn lady overhears<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The story of your strife,</span><br /> +And tells the town the pleasant news:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You quarrel with your wife!</span><br /> +<br /> +My dear young friend, whose shining wit<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sets all the room a-blaze,</span><br /> +Don't think yourself "a happy dog,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For all your merry ways;</span><br /> +But learn to wear a sober phiz,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Be stupid, if you can,</span><br /> +It's such a very serious thing<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To be a funny man!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>John G. Saxe.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>EARLY RISING</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +"God bless the man who first invented sleep!"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So Sancho Panza said, and so say I:</span><br /> +And bless him, also, that he didn't keep<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His great discovery to himself; nor try</span><br /> +To make it—as the lucky fellow might—<br /> +A close monopoly by patent-right!<br /> +<br /> +Yes—bless the man who first invented sleep,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(I really can't avoid the iteration;)</span><br /> +But blast the man, with curses loud and deep,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whate'er the rascal's name, or age, or station,</span><br /> +Who first invented, and went round advising,<br /> +That artificial cut-off—Early Rising!<br /> +<br /> +"Rise with the lark, and with the lark to bed,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Observes some solemn, sentimental owl;</span><br /> +Maxims like these are very cheaply said;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But, ere you make yourself a fool or fowl,</span><br /> +Pray just inquire about his rise and fall,<br /> +And whether larks have any beds at all!<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> + +<br /> +The time for honest folks to be a-bed<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is in the morning, if I reason right;</span><br /> +And he who cannot keep his precious head<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon his pillow till it's fairly light,</span><br /> +And so enjoy his forty morning winks,<br /> +Is up to knavery; or else—he drinks!<br /> +<br /> +Thompson, who sung about the "Seasons," said<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It was a glorious thing to <i>rise</i> in season;</span><br /> +But then he said it—lying—in his bed,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At ten o'clock <span class="smcap">A.M.</span>,—the very reason</span><br /> +He wrote so charmingly. The simple fact is<br /> +His preaching wasn't sanctioned by his practice.<br /> +<br /> +'Tis, doubtless, well to be sometimes awake,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Awake to duty, and awake to truth,—</span><br /> +But when, alas! a nice review we take<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of our best deeds and days, we find, in sooth,</span><br /> +The hours that leave the slightest cause to weep<br /> +Are those we passed in childhood or asleep!<br /> +<br /> +'Tis beautiful to leave the world awhile<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For the soft visions of the gentle night;</span><br /> +And free, at last, from mortal care or guile,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To live as only in the angel's sight,</span><br /> +In sleep's sweet realm so cosily shut in,<br /> +Where, at the worst, we only <i>dream</i> of sin!<br /> +<br /> +So let us sleep, and give the Maker praise.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I like the lad who, when his father thought</span><br /> +To clip his morning nap by hackneyed phrase<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of vagrant worm by early songster caught,</span><br /> +Cried, "Served him right!—it's not at all surprising;<br /> +The worm was punished, sir, for early rising!"<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>John G. Saxe.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + + +<h3>TO THE PLIOCENE SKULL</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +"Speak, O man less recent!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Fragmentary fossil!</span><br /> +Primal pioneer of pliocene formation,<br /> +Hid in lowest drifts below the earliest stratum<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of volcanic tufa!</span><br /> +<br /> +"Older than the beasts, the oldest Palæotherium;<br /> +Older than the trees, the oldest Cryptogami;<br /> +Older than the hills, those infantile eruptions<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of earth's epidermis!</span><br /> +<br /> +"Eo—Mio—Plio—whatsoe'er the 'cene' was<br /> +That those vacant sockets filled with awe and wonder,—<br /> +Whether shores Devonian or Silurian beaches,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Tell us thy strange story!</span><br /> +<br /> +"Or has the professor slightly antedated<br /> +By some thousand years thy advent on this planet,<br /> +Giving thee an air that's somewhat better fitted<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For cold-blooded creatures?</span><br /> +<br /> +"Wert thou true spectator of that mighty forest<br /> +When above thy head the stately Sigillaria<br /> +Reared its columned trunks in that remote and distant<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Carboniferous epoch?</span><br /> +<br /> +"Tell us of that scene—the dim and watery woodland,<br /> +Songless, silent, hushed, with never bird or insect,<br /> +Veiled with spreading fronds and screened with tall club-mosses,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Lycopodiacea,—</span><br /> +<br /> +"When beside thee walked the solemn Plesiosaurus,<br /> +And all around thee crept the festive Ichthyosaurus,<br /> +While from time to time above thee flew and circled<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Cheerful Pterodactyls;—</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> + +<br /> +"Tell us of thy food,—those half-marine refections,<br /> +Crinoids on the shell, and Brachipods <i>au naturel</i>,—<br /> +Cuttle-fish to which the <i>pieuvre</i> of Victor Hugo<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Seems a periwinkle.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Speak, thou awful vestige of the Earth's creation—<br /> +Solitary fragment of remains organic!<br /> +Tell the wondrous secret of thy past existence—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Speak! thou oldest primate!"</span><br /> +<br /> +Even as I gazed, a thrill of the maxilla,<br /> +And a lateral movement of the condyloid process,<br /> +With post-pliocene sounds of healthy mastication,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Ground the teeth together.</span><br /> +<br /> +And, from that imperfect dental exhibition,<br /> +Stained with expressed juices of the weed Nicotian,<br /> +Came these hollow accents, blent with softer murmurs<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of expectoration:</span><br /> +<br /> +"Which my name is Bowers, and my crust was busted<br /> +Falling down a shaft in Calaveras county,<br /> +But I'd take it kindly if you'd send the pieces<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Home to old Missouri!"</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Bret Harte.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>ODE TO WORK IN SPRINGTIME</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Oh, would that working I might shun,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From labour my connection sever,</span><br /> +That I might do a bit—or none<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whatever!</span><br /> +<br /> +That I might wander over hills,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Establish friendship with a daisy,</span><br /> +O'er pretty things like daffodils<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Go crazy!</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> + +<br /> +That I might at the heavens gaze,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Concern myself with nothing weighty,</span><br /> +Loaf, at a stretch, for seven days—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or eighty.</span><br /> +<br /> +Why can't I cease a slave to be,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And taste existence beatific</span><br /> +On some fair island, hid in the<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pacific?</span><br /> +<br /> +Instead of sitting at a desk<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Mid undone labours, grimly lurking—</span><br /> +Oh, say, what is there picturesque<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In working?</span><br /> +<br /> +But no!—to loaf were misery!—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I love to work! Hang isles of coral!</span><br /> +(To end this otherwise would be<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Immoral!)</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Thomas R. Ybarra.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>OLD STUFF</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +If I go to see the play,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the story I am certain;</span><br /> +Promptly it gets under way<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With the lifting of the curtain.</span><br /> +Builded all that's said and done<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On the ancient recipe—</span><br /> +'Tis the same old Two and One:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>A and B in love with C</i>.</span><br /> +<br /> +If I read the latest book,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There's the mossy situation;</span><br /> +One may confidently look<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For the trite triangulation.</span><br /> +Old as time, but ever new,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Seemingly, this tale of Three—</span><br /> +Same old yarn of One and Two:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>A and C in love with B</i>.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> + +<br /> +If I cast my eyes around,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Far and near and middle distance,</span><br /> +Still the formula is found<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In our everyday existence.</span><br /> +Everywhere I look I see—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fact or fiction, life or play—</span><br /> +Still the little game of Three:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>B and C in love with A.</i></span><br /> +<br /> +While the ancient law fulfills,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Myriad moons shall wane and wax.</span><br /> +Jack must have his pair of Jills,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Jill must have her pair of Jacks.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Bert Leston Taylor.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>TO MINERVA</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +My temples throb, my pulses boil,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'm sick of Song and Ode and Ballad—</span><br /> +So Thyrsis, take the midnight oil,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And pour it on a lobster salad.</span><br /> +<br /> +My brain is dull, my sight is foul,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I cannot write a verse, or read—</span><br /> +Then Pallas, take away thine Owl,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And let us have a Lark instead.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Thomas Hood.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE LEGEND OF HEINZ VON STEIN</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Out rode from his wild, dark castle<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The terrible Heinz von Stein;</span><br /> +He came to the door of a tavern<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And gazed on its swinging sign.</span><br /> +<br /> +He sat himself down at a table,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And growled for a bottle of wine;</span><br /> +Up came with a flask and a corkscrew<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A maiden of beauty divine.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> + +<br /> +Then, seized with a deep love-longing,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He uttered, "O damosel mine,</span><br /> +Suppose you just give a few kisses<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the valorous Ritter von Stein!"</span><br /> +<br /> +But she answered, "The kissing business<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is entirely out of my line;</span><br /> +And I certainly will not begin it<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On a countenance ugly as thine!"</span><br /> +<br /> +Oh, then the bold knight was angry,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And cursed both coarse and fine;</span><br /> +And asked, "How much is the swindle<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For your sour and nasty wine?"</span><br /> +<br /> +And fiercely he rode to the castle<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And sat himself down to dine;</span><br /> +And this is the dreadful legend<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the terrible Heinz von Stein.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Charles Godfrey Leland.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE TRUTH ABOUT HORACE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +It is very aggravating<br /> +To hear the solemn prating<br /> +Of the fossils who are stating<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That old Horace was a prude;</span><br /> +When we know that with the ladies<br /> +He was always raising Hades,<br /> +And with many an escapade his<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Best productions are imbued.</span><br /> +<br /> +There's really not much harm in a<br /> +Large number of his carmina,<br /> +But these people find alarm in a<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Few records of his acts;</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> + +<br /> +So they'd squelch the muse caloric,<br /> +And to students sophomoric<br /> +They'd present as metaphoric<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What old Horace meant for facts.</span><br /> +<br /> +We have always thought 'em lazy;<br /> +Now we adjudge 'em crazy!<br /> +Why, Horace was a daisy<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That was very much alive!</span><br /> +And the wisest of us know him<br /> +As his Lydia verses show him,—<br /> +Go, read that virile poem,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It is No. 25.</span><br /> +<br /> +He was a very owl, sir,<br /> +And starting out to prowl, sir,<br /> +You bet he made Rome howl, sir,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Until he filled his date;</span><br /> +With a massic-laden ditty<br /> +And a classic maiden pretty,<br /> +He painted up the city,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Mæcenas paid the freight!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Eugene Field.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>PROPINQUITY NEEDED</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Celestine Silvousplait Justine de Mouton Rosalie,<br /> +A coryphée who lived and danced in naughty, gay Paree,<br /> +Was every bit as pretty as a French girl e'er can be<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">(Which isn't saying much).</span><br /> +<br /> +Maurice Boulanger (there's a name that would adorn a king),<br /> +But Morris Baker was the name they called the man I sing.<br /> +He lived in New York City in the Street that's labeled Spring<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">(Chosen because it rhymed).</span><br /> +<br /> +Now Baker was a lonesome youth and wanted to be wed,<br /> +And for a wife, all over town he hunted, it is said;<br /> +And up and down Fifth Avenue he ofttimes wanderéd<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">(He was a peripatetic Baker, he was).</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> + +<br /> +And had he met Celestine, not a doubt but Cupid's darts<br /> +Would in a trice have wounded both of their fond, loving hearts;<br /> +But he has never left New York to stray in foreign parts<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">(Because he hasn't the price).</span><br /> +<br /> +And she has never left Paree and so, of course, you see<br /> +There's not the slightest chance at all she'll marry Morris B.<br /> +For love to get well started, really needs propinquity<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">(Hence my title).</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Charles Battell Loomis.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>IN THE CATACOMBS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Sam Brown was a fellow from way down East,<br /> +Who never was "staggered" in the least.<br /> +No tale of marvellous beast or bird<br /> +Could match the stories he had heard;<br /> +No curious place or wondrous view<br /> +"Was ekil to Podunk, I tell yu."<br /> +<br /> +If they told him of Italy's sunny clime,<br /> +"Maine kin beat it, every time!"<br /> +If they marvelled at Ætna's fount of fire,<br /> +They roused his ire:<br /> +With an injured air<br /> +He'd reply, "I swear<br /> +I don't think much of a smokin' hill;<br /> +We've got a moderate little rill<br /> +Kin make yer old volcaner still;<br /> +Jes' pour old Kennebec down the crater,<br /> +'N' I guess it'll cool her fiery nater!"<br /> +<br /> +They showed him a room where a queen had slept;<br /> +"'Twan't up to the tavern daddy kept."<br /> +They showed him Lucerne; but he had drunk<br /> +From the beautiful Molechunkamunk.<br /> +They took him at last to ancient Rome,<br /> +And inveigled him into a catacomb:<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> + +<br /> +Here they plied him with draughts of wine,<br /> +Though he vowed old cider was twice as fine,<br /> +Till the fumes of Falernian filled his head,<br /> +And he slept as sound as the silent dead;<br /> +They removed a mummy to make him room,<br /> +And laid him at length in the rocky tomb.<br /> +<br /> +They piled old skeletons round the stone,<br /> +Set a "dip" in a candlestick of bone,<br /> +And left him to slumber there alone;<br /> +Then watched from a distance the taper's gleam,<br /> +Waiting to jeer at his frightened scream,<br /> +When he should wake from his drunken dream.<br /> +<br /> +After a time the Yankee woke,<br /> +But instantly saw through the flimsy joke;<br /> +So never a cry or shout he uttered,<br /> +But solemnly rose, and slowly muttered:<br /> +"I see how it is. It's the judgment day,<br /> +We've all been dead and stowed away;<br /> +All these stone furreners sleepin' yet,<br /> +An' I'm the fust one up, you bet!<br /> +Can't none o' you Romans start, I wonder?<br /> +<i>United States ahead, by thunder!</i>"<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Harlan Hoge Ballard.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>OUR NATIVE BIRDS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Alone I sit at eventide;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The twilight glory pales,</span><br /> +And o'er the meadows far and wide<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I hear the bobolinks—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(We have no nightingales!)</span><br /> +<br /> +Song-sparrows warble on the tree,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I hear the purling brook,</span><br /> +And from the old manse on the lea<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Flies slow the cawing crow—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(In England 'twere a rook!)</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> + +<br /> +The last faint golden beams of day<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Still glow on cottage panes,</span><br /> +And on their lingering homeward way<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Walk weary laboring men—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Alas! we have no swains!)</span><br /> +<br /> +From farmyards, down fair rural glades<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come sounds of tinkling bells,</span><br /> +And songs of merry brown milkmaids<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sweeter than catbird's strains—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(I should say Philomel's!)</span><br /> +<br /> +I could sit here till morning came,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All through the night hours dark,</span><br /> +Until I saw the sun's bright flame<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And heard the oriole—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Alas! we have no lark!)</span><br /> +<br /> +We have no leas, no larks, no rooks,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No swains, no nightingales,</span><br /> +No singing milkmaids (save in books)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The poet does his best:—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It is the rhyme that fails.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Nathan Haskell Dole.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE PRAYER OF CYRUS BROWN</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +"The proper way for a man to pray,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Said Deacon Lemuel Keyes,</span><br /> +"And the only proper attitude<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is down upon his knees."</span><br /> +<br /> +"No, I should say the way to pray,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Said Rev. Doctor Wise,</span><br /> +"Is standing straight with outstretched arms<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And rapt and upturned eyes."</span><br /> +<br /> +"Oh, no; no, no," said Elder Slow,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Such posture is too proud:</span><br /> +A man should pray with eyes fast closed<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And head contritely bowed."</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> + +<br /> +"It seems to me his hands should be<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Austerely clasped in front.</span><br /> +With both thumbs pointing toward the ground,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Said Rev. Doctor Blunt.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Las' year I fell in Hodgkin's well<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Head first," said Cyrus Brown,</span><br /> +"With both my heels a-stickin' up,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My head a-pinting down;</span><br /> +<br /> +"An' I made a prayer right then an' there—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Best prayer I ever said,</span><br /> +The prayingest prayer I ever prayed,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A-standing on my head."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Sam Walter Foss.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>ERRING IN COMPANY</h3> +<div class="blockquot"><p>"If I have erred, I err in company with Abraham Lincoln."—<i>Theodore +Roosevelt</i>.</p></div> + + +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +If e'er my rhyming be at fault,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If e'er I chance to scribble dope,</span><br /> +If that my metre ever halt,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I err in company with Pope.</span><br /> +<br /> +An that my grammar go awry,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An that my English be askew,</span><br /> +Sooth, I can prove an alibi—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Bard of Avon did it too.</span><br /> +<br /> +If often toward the bottled grape<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My errant fancy fondly turns,</span><br /> +Remember, leering jackanape,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I err in company with Burns.</span><br /> +<br /> +If now and then I sigh "Mine own!"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Unto another's wedded wife,</span><br /> +Remember, I am not alone—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hast ever read Lord Byron's Life?</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> + +<br /> +If frequently I fret and fume,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And absolutely will not smile,</span><br /> +I err in company with Hume,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Old Socrates and T. Carlyle.</span><br /> +<br /> +If e'er I fail in etiquette,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And foozle on The Proper Stuff</span><br /> +Regarding manners, don't forget<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A. Tennyson's were pretty tough.</span><br /> +<br /> +Eke if I err upon the side<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of talking overmuch of Me,</span><br /> +I err, it cannot be denied,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In most illustrious company.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Franklin P. Adams.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>CUPID</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Why was Cupid a boy,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And why a boy was he?</span><br /> +He should have been a girl,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For aught that I can see.</span><br /> +<br /> +For he shoots with his bow,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the girl shoots with her eye;</span><br /> +And they both are merry and glad,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And laugh when we do cry.</span><br /> +<br /> +Then to make Cupid a boy<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was surely a woman's plan,</span><br /> +For a boy never learns so much<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till he has become a man.</span><br /> +<br /> +And then he's so pierced with cares,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And wounded with arrowy smarts,</span><br /> +That the whole business of his life<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is to pick out the heads of the darts.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>William Blake.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + + +<h3>IF WE DIDN'T HAVE TO EAT</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Life would be an easy matter<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If we didn't have to eat.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">If we never had to utter,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Won't you pass the bread and butter,</span><br /> +Likewise push along that platter<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Full of meat?"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yes, if food were obsolete</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Life would be a jolly treat,</span><br /> +If we didn't—shine or shower,<br /> +Old or young, 'bout every hour—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Have to eat, eat, eat, eat, eat—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Twould be jolly if we didn't have to eat.</span><br /> +<br /> +We could save a lot of money<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If we didn't have to eat.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Could we cease our busy buying,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Baking, broiling, brewing, frying,</span><br /> +Life would then be oh, so sunny<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And complete;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And we wouldn't fear to greet</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Every grocer in the street</span><br /> +If we didn't—man and woman,<br /> +Every hungry, helpless human—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Have to eat, eat, eat, eat, eat—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We'd save money if we didn't have to eat.</span><br /> +<br /> +All our worry would be over<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If we didn't have to eat.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Would the butcher, baker, grocer</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Get our hard-earned dollars? No, Sir!</span><br /> +We would then be right in clover<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cool and sweet.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Want and hunger we could cheat,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And we'd get there with both feet,</span><br /> +If we didn't—poor or wealthy,<br /> +Halt or nimble, sick or healthy—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Have to eat, eat, eat, eat, eat,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We could get there if we didn't have to eat.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Nixon Waterman.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + + +<h3>TO MY EMPTY PURSE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +To you, my purse, and to none other wight,<br /> +Complain I, for ye be my lady dere;<br /> +I am sorry now that ye be light,<br /> +For, certes, ye now make me heavy chere;<br /> +Me were as lefe be laid upon a bere,<br /> +For which unto your mercy thus I crie,<br /> +Be heavy againe, or els mote I die.<br /> +<br /> +Now vouchsafe this day or it be night,<br /> +That I of you the blissful sowne may here,<br /> +Or see your color like the sunne bright,<br /> +That of yellowness had never pere;<br /> +Ye are my life, ye be my hertes stere,<br /> +Queen of comfort and of good companie,<br /> +Be heavy againe, or els mote I die.<br /> +<br /> +Now purse, thou art to me my lives light,<br /> +And saviour, as downe in this world here,<br /> +Out of this towne helpe me by your might,<br /> +Sith that you will not be my treasure,<br /> +For I am slave as nere as any frere,<br /> +But I pray unto your curtesie,<br /> +Be heavy againe, or els mote I die.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Geoffrey Chaucer.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE BIRTH OF SAINT PATRICK</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +On the eighth day of March it was, some people say,<br /> +That Saint Pathrick at midnight he first saw the day;<br /> +While others declare 'twas the ninth he was born,<br /> +And 'twas all a mistake between midnight and morn;<br /> +For mistakes <i>will</i> occur in a hurry and shock,<br /> +And some blam'd the baby—and some blam'd the clock—<br /> +Till with all their cross-questions sure no one could know,<br /> +If the child was too fast—or the clock was too slow.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> + +<br /> +Now the first faction fight in ould Ireland, they say,<br /> +Was all on account of Saint Pathrick's birthday,<br /> +Some fought for the eighth—for the ninth more would die.<br /> +And who wouldn't see right, sure they blacken'd his eye!<br /> +At last, <i>both</i> the factions so positive grew,<br /> +That <i>each</i> kept a birthday, so Pat then had <i>two</i>,<br /> +Till Father Mulcahy, who showed them their sins,<br /> +Said, "No one could have two birthdays but a <i>twins</i>."<br /> +<br /> +Says he, "Boys, don't be fightin' for eight or for nine,<br /> +Don't be always dividin'—but sometimes combine;<br /> +Combine eight with nine, and seventeen is the mark,<br /> +So let that be his birthday."—"Amen," says the clerk.<br /> +"If he wasn't a <i>twins</i>, sure our hist'ry will show—<br /> +That, at least, he's worth any <i>two</i> saints that we know!"<br /> +Then they all got blind dhrunk—which complated their bliss,<br /> +And we keep up the practice from that day to this.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Samuel Lover.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>HER LITTLE FEET</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Her little feet! ... Beneath us ranged the sea,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She sat, from sun and wind umbrella-shaded,</span><br /> +One shoe above the other danglingly,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And lo! a Something exquisitely graded,</span><br /> +Brown rings and white, distracting—to the knee!<br /> +<br /> +The band was loud. A wild waltz melody<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Flowed rhythmic forth. The nobodies paraded.</span><br /> +And thro' my dream went pulsing fast and free:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Her little feet.</span><br /> +<br /> +Till she made room for some one. It was He!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A port-wine flavored He, a He who traded,</span><br /> +Rich, rosy, round, obese to a degree!<br /> +A sense of injury overmastered me.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Quite bulbously his ample boots upbraided</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Her little feet.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>William Ernest Henley.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + + +<h3>SCHOOL</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +If there is a vile, pernicious,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wicked and degraded rule,</span><br /> +Tending to debase the vicious,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And corrupt the harmless fool;</span><br /> +If there is a hateful habit<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Making man a senseless tool,</span><br /> +With the feelings of a rabbit<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the wisdom of a mule;</span><br /> +It's the rule which inculcates,<br /> +It's the habit which dictates<br /> +The wrong and sinful practice of going into school.<br /> +<br /> +If there's anything improving<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To an erring sinner's state,</span><br /> +Which is useful in removing<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All the ills of human fate;</span><br /> +If there's any glorious custom<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which our faults can dissipate,</span><br /> +And can casually thrust 'em<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Out of sight and make us great;</span><br /> +It's the plan by which we shirk<br /> +Half our matu-ti-nal work,<br /> +The glorious institution of always being late.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>James Kenneth Stephen.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE MILLENNIUM</h3> +<h4>TO R. K.</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> + +<p> +<i>As long I dwell on some stupendous<br /> +And tremendous (Heaven defend us!)</i><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> + +<i>Monstr'-inform'-ingens-horrendous<br /> +Demoniaco-seraphic<br /> +Penman's latest piece of graphic.</i><br /> +</p> +<p style='text-align: right;'><span class="smcap">—Robert Browning.</span></p> + +<p><br /> +Will there never come a season<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which shall rid us from the curse</span><br /> +Of a prose which knows no reason<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And an unmelodious verse:</span><br /> +When the world shall cease to wonder<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At the genius of an Ass,</span><br /> +And a boy's eccentric blunder<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shall not bring success to pass:</span><br /> +<br /> +When mankind shall be delivered<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From the clash of magazines,</span><br /> +And the inkstand shall be shivered<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Into countless smithereens:</span><br /> +When there stands a muzzled stripling,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mute, beside a muzzled bore:</span><br /> +When the Rudyards cease from Kipling<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the Haggards Ride no more?</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>James Kenneth Stephen.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>"EXACTLY SO"</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +A speech, both pithy and concise,<br /> +Marks a mind acute and wise;<br /> +What speech, my friend, say, do you know,<br /> +Can stand before "Exactly so?"<br /> +<br /> +I have a dear and witty friend<br /> +Who turns this phrase to every end;<br /> +None can deny that "Yes" or "No"<br /> +Is meant in this "Exactly so."<br /> +<br /> +Or when a bore his ear assails,<br /> +Good-humour in his bosom fails,<br /> +No response from his lips will flow,<br /> +Save, now and then, "Exactly so."<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> + +<br /> +Is there remark on matters grave<br /> +That he may wish perchance to waive,<br /> +Or thinks perhaps is rather slow,<br /> +He stops it by "Exactly so."<br /> +<br /> +It saves the trouble of a thought—<br /> +No sour dispute can thence be sought;<br /> +It leaves the thing in <i>statu quo</i>,<br /> +This beautiful "Exactly so."<br /> +<br /> +It has another charm, this phrase,<br /> +For it implies the speaker's praise<br /> +Of what has just been said—<i>ergo</i>—<br /> +It pleases, this "Exactly so."<br /> +<br /> +Nor need the conscience feel distress,<br /> +By answ'ring wrongly "No" or "Yes;"<br /> +It 'scapes a falsehood, which is low,<br /> +And substitutes "Exactly so."<br /> +<br /> +Each mortal loves to think he's right,<br /> +That his opinion, too, is bright;<br /> +Then, Christian, you may soothe your foe<br /> +By chiming in "Exactly so."<br /> +<br /> +Whoe'er these lines may chance peruse,<br /> +Of this famed word will see the use,<br /> +And mention where'er he may go,<br /> +The praises of "Exactly so."<br /> +<br /> +Of this more could my muse relate,<br /> +But you, kind reader, I'll not sate;<br /> +For if I did you'd cry "Hallo!<br /> +I've heard enough"—"Exactly so."<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Lady T. Hastings.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + + +<h3>COMPANIONS</h3> +<h4>A TALE OF A GRANDFATHER</h4> + +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I know not of what we ponder'd<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or made pretty pretence to talk,</span><br /> +As, her hand within mine, we wander'd<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tow'rd the pool by the lime-tree walk,</span><br /> +While the dew fell in showers from the passion flowers<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the blush-rose bent on her stalk.</span><br /> +<br /> +I cannot recall her figure:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was it regal as Juno's own?</span><br /> +Or only a trifle bigger<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than the elves who surround the throne</span><br /> +Of the Faëry Queen, and are seen, I ween,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By mortals in dreams alone?</span><br /> +<br /> +What her eyes were like, I know not:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Perhaps they were blurr'd with tears;</span><br /> +And perhaps in your skies there glow not<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(On the contrary) clearer spheres.</span><br /> +No! as to her eyes I am just as wise<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As you or the cat, my dears.</span><br /> +<br /> +Her teeth, I presume, were "pearly":<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But which was she, brunette or blonde?</span><br /> +Her hair, was it quaintly curly,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or as straight as a beadle's wand?</span><br /> +That I fail'd to remark;—it was rather dark<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And shadowy round the pond.</span><br /> +<br /> +Then the hand that reposed so snugly<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In mine,—was it plump or spare?</span><br /> +Was the countenance fair or ugly?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nay, children, you have me there!</span><br /> +<i>My</i> eyes were p'r'aps blurr'd; and besides I'd heard<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That it's horribly rude to stare.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> + +<br /> +And I—was I brusque and surly?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or oppressively bland and fond?</span><br /> +Was I partial to rising early?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or why did we twain abscond,</span><br /> +All breakfastless, too, from the public view,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To prowl by a misty pond?</span><br /> +<br /> +What pass'd, what was felt or spoken—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whether anything pass'd at all—</span><br /> +And whether the heart was broken<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That beat under that shelt'ring shawl—</span><br /> +(If shawl she had on, which I doubt)—has gone,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yes, gone from me past recall.</span><br /> +<br /> +Was I haply the lady's suitor?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or her uncle? I can't make out—</span><br /> +Ask your governess, dears, or tutor.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For myself, I'm in hopeless doubt</span><br /> +As to why we were there, who on earth we were,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And, what this is all about.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Charles Stuart Calverley.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE SCHOOLMASTER</h3> +<h4>ABROAD WITH HIS SON</h4> + +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +O what harper could worthily harp it,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mine Edward! this wide-stretching wold</span><br /> +(Look out <i>wold</i>) with its wonderful carpet<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of emerald, purple and gold!</span><br /> +Look well at it—also look sharp, it<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Is getting so cold.</span><br /> +<br /> +The purple is heather (<i>erica</i>);<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The yellow, gorse—call'd sometimes "whin."</span><br /> +Cruel boys on its prickles might spike a<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Green beetle as if on a pin.</span><br /> +You may roll in it, if you would like a<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Few holes in your skin.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> + +<br /> +You wouldn't? Then think of how kind you<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Should be to the insects who crave</span><br /> +Your compassion—and then, look behind you<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At yon barley-ears! Don't they look brave</span><br /> +As they undulate—(<i>undulate</i>, mind you,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">From <i>unda, a wave</i>).</span><br /> +<br /> +The noise of those sheep-bells, how faint it<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sounds here—(on account of our height)!</span><br /> +And this hillock itself—who could paint it,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With its changes of shadow and light?</span><br /> +Is it not—(never, Eddy, say "ain't it")—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A marvelous sight?</span><br /> +<br /> +Then yon desolate eerie morasses.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The haunts of the snipe and the hern—</span><br /> +(I shall question the two upper classes<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On <i>aquatiles</i>, when we return)—</span><br /> +Why, I see on them absolute masses<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of <i>filix</i> or fern.</span><br /> +<br /> +How it interests e'en a beginner<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Or <i>tiro</i>) like dear little Ned!</span><br /> +Is he listening? As I am a sinner<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He's asleep—he is wagging his head.</span><br /> +Wake up! I'll go home to my dinner,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And you to your bed.</span><br /> +<br /> +The boundless ineffable prairie;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The splendor of mountain and lake</span><br /> +With their hues that seem ever to vary;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The mighty pine forests which shake</span><br /> +In the wind, and in which the unwary<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">May tread on a snake;</span><br /> +<br /> +And this wold with its heathery garment—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are themes undeniably great.</span><br /> +But—although there is not any harm in't—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It's perhaps little good to dilate</span><br /> +On their charms to a dull little varmint<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of seven or eight.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Charles Stuart Calverley.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + + +<h3>A APPEAL FOR ARE TO THE SEXTANT OF THE OLD BRICK MEETINOUSE</h3> +<h4>BY A GASPER</h4> + +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +The sextant of the meetinouse, which sweeps<br /> +And dusts, or is supposed too! and makes fiers,<br /> +And lites the gas and sometimes leaves a screw loose,<br /> +in which case it smells orful—worse than lampile;<br /> +And wrings the Bel and toles it when men dyes<br /> +to the grief of survivin pardners, and sweeps pathes;<br /> +And for the servases gits $100 per annum,<br /> +Which them that thinks deer, let em try it;<br /> +Getting up be foar star-lite in all weathers and<br /> +Kindlin-fires when the wether it is cold<br /> +As zero, and like as not green wood for kindlers;<br /> +I wouldn't be hired to do it for no some—<br /> +But o sextant! there are 1 kermoddity<br /> +Which's more than gold, wich doant cost nothin,<br /> +Worth more than anything exsep the Sole of Man.<br /> +i mean pewer Are, sextent, i mean pewer are!<br /> +O it is plenty out o dores, so plenty it doant no<br /> +What on airth to dew with itself, but flys about<br /> +Scaterin levs and bloin of men's hatts;<br /> +in short, jest "fre as are" out dores.<br /> +But o sextant, in our church its scarce as piety,<br /> +scarce as bank bills wen agints beg for mischuns,<br /> +Wich some say purty often (taint nothin to me,<br /> +Wat I give aint nothin to nobody), but o sextant,<br /> +u shut 500 mens wimmen and children,<br /> +Speshally the latter, up in a tite place,<br /> +Some has bad breths, none aint 2 swete,<br /> +some is fevery, some is scrofilus, some has bad teeth,<br /> +And some haint none, and some aint over clean;<br /> +But every 1 on em breethes in and out and out and in,<br /> +Say 50 times a minit, or 1 million and a half breths an our,<br /> +Now how long will a church ful of are last at that rate,<br /> +I ask you, say 15 minutes, and then wats to be did?<br /> +Why then they must brethe it all over agin.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> + +And then agin, and so on, till each has took it down,<br /> +At least ten times, and let it up again, and wats more<br /> +The same individible don't have the privilege<br /> +of brethen his own are, and no one's else;<br /> +Each one mus take whatever comes to him,<br /> +O sextant, don't you know our lungs is bellusses,<br /> +To blo the fier of life, and keep it from<br /> +goin out; and how can bellusses blow without wind,<br /> +And aint wind <i>are</i>? i put it to your conscens.<br /> +Are is the same to us as milk to babes,<br /> +Or water to fish, or pendlums to clox—<br /> +Or roots and airbs unto an injun Doctor,<br /> +Or little pils to an omepath,<br /> +Or boys to gurls. Are is for us to brethe,<br /> +Wat signifies who preeches if i cant brethe?<br /> +Wats Pol? Wats Pollus? to sinners who are ded?<br /> +Ded for want of breth? why sextant, when we die<br /> +Its only coz we cant brethe no more—that's all.<br /> +And now, O sextant, let me beg of you<br /> +2 let a little are into our church.<br /> +(Pewer are is sertin proper for the pews)<br /> +And do it weak days and Sundays tew—<br /> +It aint much trouble—only make a hole<br /> +And the are will come in itself;<br /> +(It luvs to come in whare it can git warm):<br /> +And o how it will rouse the people up<br /> +And sperrit up the preacher, and stop garbs,<br /> +And yawns and figgits as effectooal<br /> +As wind on the dry Boans the Profit tells of.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Arabella Willson.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>CUPID'S DARTS</h3> +<h4>WHICH ARE A GROWING MENACE TO THE PUBLIC</h4> + +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Do not worry if I scurry from the grill room in a hurry,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dropping hastily my curry and retiring into balk;</span><br /> +Do not let it cause you wonder if, by some mischance or blunder,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We encounter on the Underground and I get out and walk.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> + +<br /> +If I double as a cub'll when you meet him in the stubble,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Do not think I am in trouble or attempt to make a fuss;</span><br /> +Do not judge me melancholy or attribute it to folly<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If I leave the Metropolitan and travel 'n a bus.</span><br /> +<br /> +Do not quiet your anxiety by giving me a diet,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or by base resort to <i>vi et armis</i> fold me to your arms,</span><br /> +And let no suspicious tremor violate your wonted phlegm or<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Any fear that Harold's memory is faithless to your charms.</span><br /> +<br /> +For my passion as I dash on in that disconcerting fashion<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is as ardently irrational as when we forged the link</span><br /> +When you gave your little hand away to me, my own Amanda<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As we sat 'n the veranda till the stars began to wink.</span><br /> +<br /> +And I am in such a famine when your beauty I examine<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That it lures me as the jam invites a hungry little brat;</span><br /> +But I fancy that, at any rate, I'd rather waste a penny<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then be spitted by the many pins that bristle from your hat.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A PLEA FOR TRIGAMY</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I've been trying to fashion a wifely ideal,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And find that my tastes are so far from concise</span><br /> +That, to marry completely, no fewer than three'll<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Suffice</span><br /> +<br /> +I've subjected my views to severe atmospheric<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Compression, but still, in defiance of force,</span><br /> +They distinctly fall under three heads, like a cleric<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Discourse.</span><br /> +<br /> +My <i>first</i> must be fashion's own fancy-bred daughter,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Proud, peerless, and perfect—in fact, <i>comme il faut</i>;</span><br /> +A waltzer and wit of the very first water—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">For <i>show</i>.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> + +<br /> +But these beauties that serve to make all the men jealous,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Once face them alone in the family cot,</span><br /> +Heaven's angels incarnate (the novelists tell us)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">They're <i>not</i>.</span><br /> +<br /> +But so much for appearances. Now for my <i>second</i>,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My lover, the wife of my home and my heart:</span><br /> +Of all fortune and fate of my life to be reckon'd<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">A part.</span><br /> +<br /> +She must know all the needs of a rational being,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Be skilled to keep counsel, to comfort, to coax;</span><br /> +And, above all things else, be accomplished at seeing<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">My jokes.</span><br /> +<br /> +I complete the ménage by including the other<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With all the domestic prestige of a hen:</span><br /> +As my housekeeper, nurse, or it may be, a mother<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Of men.</span><br /> +<br /> +Total <i>three!</i> and the virtues all well represented;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With fewer than this such a thing can't be done;</span><br /> +Though I've known married men who declare they're contented<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">With one.</span><br /> +<br /> +Would you hunt during harvest, or hay-make in winter?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And how can one woman expect to combine</span><br /> +Certain qualifications essentially inter-<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">necine?</span><br /> +<br /> +You may say that my prospects are (legally) sunless;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I state that I find them as clear as can be:—</span><br /> +I will marry <i>no</i> wife, since I can't do with one less<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Than three.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Owen Seaman.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + + +<h3>THE POPE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +The Pope he leads a happy life,<br /> +He fears not married care nor strife.<br /> +He drinks the best of Rhenish wine,—<br /> +I would the Pope's gay lot were mine.<br /> +<br /> +But yet all happy's not his life,<br /> +He has no maid, nor blooming wife;<br /> +No child has he to raise his hope,—<br /> +I would not wish to be the Pope.<br /> +<br /> +The Sultan better pleases me,<br /> +His is a life of jollity;<br /> +He's wives as many as he will,—<br /> +I would the Sultan's throne then fill.<br /> +<br /> +But even he's a wretched man,<br /> +He must obey the Alcoran;<br /> +He dare not drink one drop of wine—<br /> +I would not change his lot for mine.<br /> +<br /> +So here I'll take my lowly stand,<br /> +I'll drink my own, my native land;<br /> +I'll kiss my maiden fair and fine,<br /> +And drink the best of Rhenish wine.<br /> +<br /> +And when my maiden kisses me<br /> +I'll think that I the Sultan be;<br /> +And when my cheery glass I tope,<br /> +I'll fancy then I am the Pope.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Charles Lever.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>ALL AT SEA</h3> +<h4>THE VOYAGE OF A CERTAIN UNCERTAIN SAILORMAN</h4> + +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I saw a certain sailorman who sat beside the sea,<br /> +And in the manner of his tribe he yawned this yarn to me:<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> + +"'Twere back in eighteen-fifty-three, or mebbe fifty-four,<br /> +I skipped the farm,—no, 't were the shop,—an' went to Baltimore.<br /> +I shipped aboard the <i>Lizzie</i>—or she might ha' bin the <i>Jane;</i><br /> +Them wimmin names are mixey, so I don't remember plain;<br /> +But anyhow, she were a craft that carried schooner rig,<br /> +(Although Sam Swab, the bo'sun, allus swore she were a brig);<br /> +We sailed away from Salem Town,—no, lemme think;—'t were <i>Lynn</i>,—<br /> +An' steered a course for Africa (or Greece, it might ha' bin);<br /> +But anyway, we tacked an' backed an' weathered many a storm—<br /> +Oh, no,—as I recall it now, that week was fine an' warm!<br /> +Who did I say the cap'n was? I <i>didn't</i> say at all?<br /> +Wa-a-ll now, his name were 'Lijah Bell—or was it Eli Ball?<br /> +I kinder guess 't were Eli. He'd a big, red, bushy beard—<br /> +No-o-o, come to think, he allus kept <i>his</i> whiskers nicely sheared.<br /> +<br /> +But anyhow, that voyage was the first I'd ever took,<br /> +An' all I had to do was cut up cabbage for the cook;<br /> +But come to talk o' cabbage just reminds me,—that there trip<br /> +Would prob'ly be my <i>third</i> one, on a Hong Kong clipper-ship.<br /> +<br /> +The crew they were a jolly lot, an' used to sing '<i>Avast</i>,'<br /> +I think it were, or else '<i>Ahoy</i>,' while bailing out the mast.<br /> +And as I recollect it now,—"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12.5em;">But here I cut him short,</span><br /> +And said: "It's time to tack again, and bring your wits to port;<br /> +I came to get a story both adventurous and <i>true</i>,<br /> +And here is how I started out to write the interview:<br /> +'I saw a <i>certain</i> sailorman,' but you turn out to be<br /> +The most <i>un</i>-certain sailorman that ever sailed the sea!"<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> + +He puffed his pipe, and answered, "Wa-a-ll, I <i>thought</i> 'twere mine, but still,<br /> +<i>I must ha' told the one belongs to my twin brother Bill</i>!"<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Frederick Moxon.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>BALLAD OF THE PRIMITIVE JEST</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I am an ancient Jest!<br /> +Paleolithic man<br /> +In his arboreal nest<br /> +The sparks of fun would fan;<br /> +My outline did he plan,<br /> +And laughed like one possessed,<br /> +'Twas thus my course began,<br /> +I am a Merry Jest.<br /> +<br /> +I am an early Jest!<br /> +Man delved and built and span;<br /> +Then wandered South and West<br /> +The peoples Aryan,<br /> +<i>I</i> journeyed in their van;<br /> +The Semites, too, confessed,—<br /> +From Beersheba to Dan,—<br /> +I am a Merry Jest.<br /> +<br /> +I am an ancient Jest,<br /> +Through all the human clan,<br /> +Red, black, white, free, oppressed,<br /> +Hilarious I ran!<br /> +I'm found in Lucian,<br /> +In Poggio, and the rest,<br /> +I'm dear to Moll and Nan!<br /> +I am a Merry Jest!<br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>ENVOY:</p> +<p> +Prince, you may storm and ban—<br /> +Joe Millers <i>are</i> a pest,<br /> +Suppress me if you can!<br /> +I am a Merry Jest!<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Andrew Lang.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + + +<h3>VILLANELLE OF THINGS AMUSING</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +These are the things that make me laugh—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Life's a preposterous farce, say I!</span><br /> +And I've missed of too many jokes by half.<br /> +<br /> +The high-heeled antics of colt and calf,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The men who think they can act, and try—</span><br /> +These are the things that make me laugh.<br /> +<br /> +The hard-boiled poses in photograph,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The groom still wearing his wedding tie—</span><br /> +And I've missed of too many jokes by half!<br /> +<br /> +These are the bubbles I gayly quaff<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With the rank conceit of the new-born fly—</span><br /> +These are the things that make me laugh!<br /> +<br /> +For, Heaven help me! I needs must chaff,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And people will tickle me till I die—</span><br /> +And I've missed of too many jokes by half!<br /> +<br /> +So write me down in my epitaph<br /> +As one too fond of his health to cry—<br /> +These are the things that make me laugh,<br /> +And I've missed of too many jokes by half!<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Gelett Burgess.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>HOW TO EAT WATERMELONS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +When you slice a Georgy melon you mus' know what you is at<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An' look out how de knife is gwine in.</span><br /> +Put one-half on dis side er you—de yuther half on dat,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">En' den you gits betwixt 'em, en begin!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Oh, melons!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Honey good ter see;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But we'en it comes ter sweetness,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">De melon make fer me!</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> + +<br /> +En den you puts yo' knife up, en you sorter licks de blade,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">En never stop fer sayin' any grace;</span><br /> +But eat ontell you satisfy—roll over in de shade,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">En sleep ontell de sun shine in yo' face!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Oh, melons!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Honey good ter see;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But we'en it comes ter sweetness,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">De melon make fer me!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Frank Libby Stanton.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A VAGUE STORY</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Perchance it was her eyes of blue,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her cheeks that might the rose have shamed,</span><br /> +Her figure in proportion true<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To all the rules by artists framed;</span><br /> +Perhaps it was her mental worth<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That made her lover love her so,</span><br /> +Perhaps her name, or wealth, or birth—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I cannot tell—I do not know.</span><br /> +<br /> +He may have had a rival, who<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Did fiercely gage him to a duel,</span><br /> +And, being luckier of the two,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Defeated him with triumph cruel;</span><br /> +Then <i>she</i> may have proved false, and turned<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To welcome to her arms his foe,</span><br /> +Left <i>him</i> despairing, conquered, spurned—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I cannot tell—I do not know.</span><br /> +<br /> +So oft such woes will counteract<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The thousand ecstacies of love,</span><br /> +That you may fix on base of fact<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The story hinted at above;</span><br /> +But all on earth so doubtful is,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Man <i>knows</i> so little here below,</span><br /> +That, if you ask for proof of this,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I cannot tell—I do not know.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Walter Parke.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + + +<h3>HIS MOTHER-IN-LAW</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +He stood on his head by the wild seashore,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And danced on his hands a jig;</span><br /> +In all his emotions, as never before,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A wildly hilarious grig.</span><br /> +<br /> +And why? In that ship just crossing the bay<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His mother-in-law had sailed</span><br /> +For a tropical country far away,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where tigers and fever prevailed.</span><br /> +<br /> +Oh, now he might hope for a peaceful life<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And even be happy yet,</span><br /> +Though owning no end of neuralgic wife,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And up to his collar in debt.</span><br /> +<br /> +He had borne the old lady through thick and thin,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And she lectured him out of breath;</span><br /> +And now as he looked at the ship she was in<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He howled for her violent death.</span><br /> +<br /> +He watched as the good ship cut the sea,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And bumpishly up-and-downed,</span><br /> +And thought if already she qualmish might be,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He'd consider his happiness crowned.</span><br /> +<br /> +He watched till beneath the horizon's edge<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The ship was passing from view;</span><br /> +And he sprang to the top of a rocky ledge<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And pranced like a kangaroo.</span><br /> +<br /> +He watched till the vessel became a speck<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That was lost in the wandering sea;</span><br /> +And then, at the risk of breaking his neck,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Turned somersaults home to tea.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Walter Parke.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + + +<h3>ON A DEAF HOUSEKEEPER</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Of all life's plagues I recommend to no man<br /> +To hire as a domestic a deaf woman.<br /> +I've got one who my orders does not hear,<br /> +Mishears them rather, and keeps blundering near.<br /> +Thirsty and hot, I asked her for a <i>drink</i>;<br /> +She bustled out, and brought me back some <i>ink</i>.<br /> +Eating a good rump-steak, I called for <i>mustard</i>;<br /> +Away she went, and whipped me up a <i>custard</i>.<br /> +I wanted with my chicken to have <i>ham</i>;<br /> +Blundering once more, she brought a pot of <i>jam</i>.<br /> +I wished in season for a cut of <i>salmon</i>;<br /> +And what she brought me was a huge fat <i>gammon</i>.<br /> +I can't my voice raise higher and still higher,<br /> +As if I were a herald or town-crier.<br /> +'T would better be if she were deaf outright;<br /> +But anyhow she quits my house this night.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>HOMŒOPATHIC SOUP</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Take a robin's leg</span><br /> +(Mind, the drumstick merely);<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Put it in a tub</span><br /> +Filled with water nearly;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Set it out of doors,</span><br /> +In a place that's shady;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Let it stand a week</span><br /> +(Three days if for a lady);<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Drop a spoonful of it</span><br /> +In a five-pail kettle,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which may be made of tin</span><br /> +Or any baser metal;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fill the kettle up,</span><br /> +Set it on a boiling,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Strain the liquor well,</span><br /> +To prevent its oiling;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One atom add of salt,</span><br /> +For the thickening one rice kernel,<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> + +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And use to light the fire</span><br /> +"The Homœopathic Journal."<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Let the liquor boil</span><br /> +Half an hour, no longer,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(If 'tis for a man</span><br /> +Of course you'll make it stronger).<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Should you now desire</span><br /> +That the soup be flavoury,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stir it once around,</span><br /> +With a stalk of savoury.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When the broth is made,</span><br /> +Nothing can excell it:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then three times a day</span><br /> +Let the patient <i>smell</i> it.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If he chance to die,</span><br /> +Say 'twas Nature did it:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If he chance to live,</span><br /> +Give the soup the credit.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>SOME LITTLE BUG</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +In these days of indigestion<br /> +It is oftentimes a question<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As to what to eat and what to leave alone;</span><br /> +For each microbe and bacillus<br /> +Has a different way to kill us,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And in time they always claim us for their own.</span><br /> +There are germs of every kind<br /> +In any food that you can find<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the market or upon the bill of fare.</span><br /> +Drinking water's just as risky<br /> +As the so-called deadly whiskey,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And it's often a mistake to breathe the air.</span><br /> +<br /> +Some little bug is going to find you some day,<br /> +Some little bug will creep behind you some day,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then he'll send for his bug friends</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And all your earthly trouble ends;</span><br /> +Some little bug is going to find you some day.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> + +<br /> +The inviting green cucumber<br /> +Gets most everybody's number,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While the green corn has a system of its own;</span><br /> +Though a radish seems nutritious<br /> +Its behaviour is quite vicious,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And a doctor will be coming to your home.</span><br /> +Eating lobster cooked or plain<br /> +Is only flirting with ptomaine,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While an oyster sometimes has a lot to say,</span><br /> +But the clams we eat in chowder<br /> +Make the angels chant the louder,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For they know that we'll be with them right away.</span><br /> +<br /> +Take a slice of nice fried onion<br /> +And you're fit for Dr. Munyon,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Apple dumplings kill you quicker than a train.</span><br /> +Chew a cheesy midnight "rabbit"<br /> +And a grave you'll soon inhabit—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ah, to eat at all is such a foolish game.</span><br /> +Eating huckleberry pie<br /> +Is a pleasing way to die,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While sauerkraut brings on softening of the brain.</span><br /> +When you eat banana fritters<br /> +Every undertaker titters,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the casket makers nearly go insane.</span><br /> +<br /> +Some little bug is going to find you some day,<br /> +Some little bug will creep behind you some day,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a nervous little quiver</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He'll give cirrhosis of the liver;</span><br /> +Some little bug is going to find you some day.<br /> +<br /> +When cold storage vaults I visit<br /> +I can only say what is it<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Makes poor mortals fill their systems with such stuff?</span><br /> +Now, for breakfast, prunes are dandy<br /> +If a stomach pump is handy<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And your doctor can be found quite soon enough.</span><br /> +Eat a plate of fine pigs' knuckles<br /> +And the headstone cutter chuckles,<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> + +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While the grave digger makes a note upon his cuff.</span><br /> +Eat that lovely red bologna<br /> +And you'll wear a wooden kimona,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As your relatives start scrappin 'bout your stuff.</span><br /> +<br /> +Some little bug is going to find you some day,<br /> +Some little bug will creep behind you some day,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Eating juicy sliced pineapple</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Makes the sexton dust the chapel;</span><br /> +Some little bug is going to find you some day.<br /> +<br /> +All those crazy foods they mix<br /> +Will float us 'cross the River Styx,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or they'll start us climbing up the milky way.</span><br /> +And the meals we eat in courses<br /> +Mean a hearse and two black horses<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So before a meal some people always pray.</span><br /> +Luscious grapes breed 'pendicitis,<br /> +And the juice leads to gastritis,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So there's only death to greet us either way;</span><br /> +And fried liver's nice, but, mind you,<br /> +Friends will soon ride slow behind you<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the papers then will have nice things to say.</span><br /> +<br /> +Some little bug is going to find you some day,<br /> +Some little bug will creep behind you some day<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Eat some sauce, they call it chili,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On your breast they'll place a lily;</span><br /> +Some little bug is going to find you some day.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Roy Atwell.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>ON THE DOWNTOWN SIDE OF AN UPTOWN STREET</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +On the downtown side of an uptown street<br /> +Is the home of a girl that I'd like to meet,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But I'm on the uptown,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And she's on the downtown,</span><br /> +On the downtown side of an uptown street.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> + +<br /> +On the uptown side of the crowded old "L,"<br /> +I see her so often I know her quite well,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But I'm on the downtown</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When she's on the uptown,</span><br /> +On the uptown side of the crowded old "L."<br /> +<br /> +On the uptown side of a downtown street<br /> +This girl is employed that I'd like to meet,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But I work on the downtown</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And she on the uptown,</span><br /> +The uptown side of a downtown street.<br /> +<br /> +On a downtown car of the Broadway line<br /> +Often I see her for whom I repine,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But when I'm on a uptown</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She's on a downtown,</span><br /> +On a downtown car of the Broadway line.<br /> +<br /> +Oh, to be downtown when I am uptown,<br /> +Oh, to be uptown when I am downtown,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I work at night time,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She in the daytime,</span><br /> +Never the right time for us to meet,<br /> +Uptown or downtown, in "L," car or street.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>William Johnston.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>WRITTEN AFTER SWIMMING FROM SESTOS +TO ABYDOS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +If, in the month of dark December,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Leander, who was nightly wont</span><br /> +(What maid will not the tale remember?)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To cross thy stream broad Hellespont.</span><br /> +<br /> +If, when the wint'ry tempest roar'd,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He sped to Hero nothing loth,</span><br /> +And thus of old thy current pour'd,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fair Venus! how I pity both!</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> + +<br /> +For <i>me</i>, degenerate, modern wretch,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Though in the genial month of May,</span><br /> +My dripping limbs I faintly stretch,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And think I've done a feat to-day.</span><br /> +<br /> +But since he crossed the rapid tide,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">According to the doubtful story,</span><br /> +To woo—and—Lord knows what beside,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And swam for Love, as I for Glory;</span><br /> +<br /> +'T were hard to say who fared the best:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sad mortals! thus the gods still plague you!</span><br /> +He lost his labor, I my jest;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For he was drowned, and I've the ague.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Lord Byron.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE FISHERMAN'S CHANT</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Oh, the fisherman is a happy wight!<br /> +He dibbles by day, and he sniggles by night.<br /> +He trolls for fish, and he trolls his lay—<br /> +He sniggles by night, and he dibbles by day.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh, who so merry as he!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On the river or the sea!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sniggling,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Wriggling</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Eels, and higgling</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Over the price</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of a nice</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Slice</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of fish, twice</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">As much as it ought to be.</span><br /> +<br /> +Oh, the fisherman is a happy man!<br /> +He dibbles, and sniggles, and fills his can!<br /> +With a sharpened hook, and a sharper eye,<br /> +He sniggles and dibbles for what comes by,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh, who so merry as he!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On the river or the sea!</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> + +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Dibbling</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Nibbling</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Chub, and quibbling</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Over the price</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of a nice</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Slice</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of fish, twice</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">As much as it ought to be.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>F. C. Burnand.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>REPORT OF AN ADJUDGED CASE</h3> +<h4>NOT TO BE FOUND IN ANY OF THE BOOKS</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Between Nose and Eyes a strange contest arose,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The spectacles set them unhappily wrong;</span><br /> +The point in dispute was, as all the world knows,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To which the said spectacles ought to belong.</span><br /> +<br /> +So Tongue was the lawyer, and argued the cause<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a great deal of skill, and a wig full of learning;</span><br /> +While chief baron Ear sat to balance the laws,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So famed for his talent in nicely discerning.</span><br /> +<br /> +In behalf of the Nose it will quickly appear,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And your lordship, he said, will undoubtedly find,</span><br /> +That the Nose has had spectacles always to wear,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which amounts to possession time out of mind.</span><br /> +<br /> +Then holding the spectacles up to the court—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Your lordship observes they are made with a straddle</span><br /> +As wide as the ridge of the Nose is; in short,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Designed to sit close to it, just like a saddle.</span><br /> +<br /> +Again, would your lordship a moment suppose<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">('Tis a case that has happened, and may be again)</span><br /> +That the visage or countenance had not a nose,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pray who would, or who could, wear spectacles then!</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> + +On the whole it appears, and my argument shows<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a reasoning the court will never condemn,</span><br /> +That the spectacles plainly were made for the Nose,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the Nose was as plainly intended for them.</span><br /> +<br /> +Then shifting his side (as a lawyer knows how),<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He pleaded again in behalf of the Eyes;</span><br /> +But what were his arguments few people know,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For the court did not think they were equally wise.</span><br /> +<br /> +So his lordship decreed with a grave solemn tone,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Decisive and clear, without one <i>if</i> or <i>but</i>—</span><br /> +That, whenever the Nose put his spectacles on,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By daylight or candlelight—Eyes should be shut!</span><br /> +</p> +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>William Cowper.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>PREHISTORIC SMITH</h3> + +<h4>QUATERNARY EPOCH—POST-PLIOCENE PERIOD</h4> + +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +A man sat on a rock and sought<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Refreshment from his thumb;</span><br /> +A dinotherium wandered by<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And scared him some.</span><br /> +<br /> +His name was Smith. The kind of rock<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He sat upon was shale.</span><br /> +One feature quite distinguished him—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He had a tail.</span><br /> +<br /> +The danger past, he fell into<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A revery austere;</span><br /> +While with his tail he whisked a fly<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From off his ear.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Mankind deteriorates," he said,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Grows weak and incomplete;</span><br /> +And each new generation seems<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yet more effete.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span></p> + +<p> +"Nature abhors imperfect work,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And on it lays her ban;</span><br /> +And all creation must despise<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A tailless man.</span><br /> +<br /> +"But fashion's dictates rule supreme,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ignoring common sense;</span><br /> +And fashion says, to dock your tail<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is just immense.</span><br /> +<br /> +"And children now come in the world<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With half a tail or less;</span><br /> +Too stumpy to convey a thought,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And meaningless.</span><br /> +<br /> +"It kills expression. How can one<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Set forth, in words that drag,</span><br /> +The best emotions of the soul,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Without a wag?"</span><br /> +<br /> +Sadly he mused upon the world,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Its follies and its woes;</span><br /> +Then wiped the moisture from his eyes,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And blew his nose.</span><br /> +<br /> +But clothed in earrings, Mrs. Smith<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Came wandering down the dale;</span><br /> +And, smiling, Mr. Smith arose,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And wagged his tail.</span><br /> +</p> +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>David Law Proudfit.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>SONG</h3> + +<h4>OF ONE ELEVEN YEARS IN PRISON</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> + +<p class='h_5'>I</p> +<p> +Whene'er with haggard eyes I view<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This dungeon that I'm rotting in,</span><br /> +I think of those companions true<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> + +Who studied with me at the U<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">niversity of Gottingen,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">niversity of Gottingen.</span><br /> +</p></td></tr></table> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>[Weeps, and pulls out a blue kerchief, with which he +wipes his eyes; gazing tenderly at it, he proceeds—</p></div> + +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p class='h_5'>II</p> +<p> +Sweet kerchief, check'd with heavenly blue,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which once my love sat knotting in!—</span><br /> +Alas! Matilda <i>then</i> was true!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At least I thought so at the U</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">niversity of Gottingen,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">niversity of Gottingen.</span><br /> +</p> +</td></tr></table> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>[At the repetition of this line he clanks his chains +in cadence.</p></div> + +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p class='h_5'>III</p> +<p> +Barbs! Barbs! alas! how swift you flew,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her neat post-wagon trotting in!</span><br /> +Ye bore Matilda from my view;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Forlorn I languish'd at the U</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">niversity of Gottingen,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">niversity of Gottingen.</span><br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>IV</p> +<p> +This faded form! this pallid hue!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This blood my veins is clotting in,</span><br /> +My years are many—they were few<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When first I entered at the U</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">niversity of Gottingen,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">niversity of Gottingen.</span><br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>V</p> +<p> +There first for thee my passion grew,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sweet, sweet Matilda Pottengen!</span><br /> +Thou wast the daughter of my tu<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">tor, law professor at the U</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">niversity of Gottingen,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">niversity of Gottingen.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> + +</p> +<p class='h_5'>VI</p> +<p> +Sun, moon and thou, vain world, adieu,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That kings and priests are plotting in;</span><br /> +Here doom'd to starve on water gru<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">el, never shall I see the U</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">niversity of Gottingen,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">niversity of Gottingen.</span><br /> +</p> +</td></tr></table> +<div class="blockquot"><p>[During the last stanza he dashes his head repeatedly against the +walls of his prison; and, finally, so hard as to produce a visible +contusion; he then throws himself on the floor in an agony. +The curtain drops; the music still continuing to play till it is +wholly fallen.</p></div> + +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>George Canning.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>LYING</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I do confess, in many a sigh,<br /> +My lips have breath'd you many a lie,<br /> +And who, with such delights in view,<br /> +Would lose them for a lie or two?<br /> +<br /> +Nay—look not thus, with brow reproving:<br /> +Lies are, my dear, the soul of loving!<br /> +If half we tell the girls were true,<br /> +If half we swear to think and do,<br /> +Were aught but lying's bright illusion,<br /> +The world would be in strange confusion!<br /> +If ladies' eyes were, every one,<br /> +As lovers swear, a radiant sun,<br /> +Astronomy should leave the skies,<br /> +To learn her lore in ladies' eyes!<br /> +Oh no!—believe me, lovely girl,<br /> +When nature turns your teeth to pearl,<br /> +Your neck to snow, your eyes to fire,<br /> +Your yellow locks to golden wire,<br /> +Then, only then, can heaven decree,<br /> +That you should live for only me,<br /> +Or I for you, as night and morn,<br /> +We've swearing kiss'd, and kissing sworn.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> + +<br /> +And now, my gentle hints to clear,<br /> +For once, I'll tell you truth, my dear!<br /> +Whenever you may chance to meet<br /> +A loving youth, whose love is sweet,<br /> +Long as you're false and he believes you,<br /> +Long as you trust and he deceives you,<br /> +So long the blissful bond endures;<br /> +And while he lies, his heart is yours:<br /> +But, oh! you've wholly lost the youth<br /> +The instant that he tells you truth!<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Thomas Moore.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>STRICTLY GERM-PROOF</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +The Antiseptic Baby and the Prophylactic Pup<br /> +Were playing in the garden when the Bunny gamboled up;<br /> +They looked upon the Creature with a loathing undisguised;—<br /> +It wasn't Disinfected and it wasn't Sterilized.<br /> +<br /> +They said it was a Microbe and a Hotbed of Disease;<br /> +They steamed it in a vapor of a thousand-odd degrees;<br /> +They froze it in a freezer that was cold as Banished Hope<br /> +And washed it in permanganate with carbolated soap.<br /> +<br /> +In sulphureted hydrogen they steeped its wiggly ears;<br /> +They trimmed its frisky whiskers with a pair of hard-boiled shears;<br /> +They donned their rubber mittens and they took it by the hand<br /> +And 'lected it a member of the Fumigated Band.<br /> +<br /> +There's not a Micrococcus in the garden where they play;<br /> +They bathe in pure iodoform a dozen times a day;<br /> +And each imbibes his rations from a Hygienic Cup—<br /> +The Bunny and the Baby and the Prophylactic Pup.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Arthur Guiterman.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE LAY OF THE LOVER'S FRIEND</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p><span class="smcap">Air</span>—"<i>The days we went a-gipsying</i>."</p> + +<p> +I would all womankind were dead,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or banished o'er the sea;</span><br /> +For they have been a bitter plague<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">These last six weeks to me:</span><br /> +It is not that I'm touched myself,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For that I do not fear;</span><br /> +No female face hath shown me grace<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For many a bygone year.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But 'tis the most infernal bore,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Of all the bores I know,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To have a friend who's lost his heart</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">A short time ago.</span><br /> +<br /> +Whene'er we steam it to Blackwall,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or down to Greenwich run,</span><br /> +To quaff the pleasant cider cup,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And feed on fish and fun;</span><br /> +Or climb the slopes of Richmond Hill,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To catch a breath of air:</span><br /> +Then, for my sins, he straight begins<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To rave about his fair.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Oh, 'tis the most tremendous bore,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Of all the bores I know,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To have a friend who's lost his heart</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">A short time ago.</span><br /> +<br /> +In vain you pour into his ear<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Your own confiding grief;</span><br /> +In vain you claim his sympathy,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In vain you ask relief;</span><br /> +In vain you try to rouse him by<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Joke, repartee, or quiz;</span><br /> +His sole reply's a burning sigh,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And "What a mind it is!"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">O Lord! it is the greatest bore,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Of all the bores I know,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To have a friend who's lost his heart</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">A short time ago.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p> + +<p> +I've heard her thoroughly described<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A hundred times, I'm sure;</span><br /> +And all the while I've tried to smile,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And patiently endure;</span><br /> +He waxes strong upon his pangs,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And potters o'er his grog;</span><br /> +And still I say, in a playful way—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Why you're a lucky dog!"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But oh! it is the heaviest bore,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Of all the bores I know,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To have a friend who's lost his heart</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">A short time ago.</span><br /> +<br /> +I really wish he'd do like me<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When I was young and strong;</span><br /> +I formed a passion every week,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But never kept it long.</span><br /> +But he has not the sportive mood<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That always rescued me,</span><br /> +And so I would all women could<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Be banished o'er the sea.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For 'tis the most egregious bore,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Of all the bores I know,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To have a friend who's lost his heart</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">A short time ago.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>William E. Aytoun.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>MAN'S PLACE IN NATURE</h3> + +<h4>DEDICATED TO DARWIN AND HUXLEY</h4> + +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +They told him gently he was made<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of nicely tempered mud,</span><br /> +That man no lengthened part had played<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anterior to the Flood.</span><br /> +'Twas all in vain; he heeded not,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Referring plant and worm,</span><br /> +Fish, reptile, ape, and Hottentot,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To one primordial germ.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p> + +<p> +They asked him whether he could bear<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To think his kind allied</span><br /> +To all those brutal forms which were<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In structure Pithecoid;</span><br /> +Whether he thought the apes and us<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Homologous in form;</span><br /> +He said, "Homo and Pithecus<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Came from one common germ."</span><br /> +<br /> +They called him "atheistical,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Sceptic," and "infidel."</span><br /> +They swore his doctrines without fail<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Would plunge him into hell.</span><br /> +But he with proofs in no way lame,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Made this deduction firm,</span><br /> +That all organic beings came<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From one primordial germ.</span><br /> +<br /> +That as for the Noachian flood,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Twas long ago disproved,</span><br /> +That as for man being made of mud,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All by whom truth is loved</span><br /> +Accept as fact what, <i>malgré</i> strife,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Research tends to confirm—</span><br /> +That man, and everything with life,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Came from one common germ.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE NEW VERSION</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +A soldier of the Russians<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lay japanned at Tschrtzvkjskivitch,</span><br /> +There was lack of woman's nursing<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And other comforts which</span><br /> +Might add to his last moments<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And smooth the final way;—</span><br /> +But a comrade stood beside him<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To hear what he might say.</span><br /> +The japanned Russian faltered<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As he took that comrade's hand,</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> + +And he said: "I never more shall see<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My own, my native land;</span><br /> +Take a message and a token<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To some distant friends of mine,</span><br /> +For I was born at Smnlxzrskgqrxzski,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fair Smnlxzrskgqrxzski on the Irkztrvzkimnov."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>W. J. Lampton.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>AMAZING FACTS ABOUT FOOD</h3> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>The Food Scientist tells us: "A deficiency of iron, phosphorus, +potassium, calcium and the other mineral salts, colloids and +vitamines of vegetable origin leads to numerous forms of +physical disorder."</p></div> + +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I yearn to bite on a Colloid<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With phosphorus, iron and Beans;</span><br /> +I want to be filled with Calcium, grilled,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Veg'table Vitamines!</span><br /> +<br /> +I yearn to bite on a Colloid<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Though I don't know what it means)</span><br /> +To line my inside with Potassium, fried,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Veg'table Vitamines.</span><br /> +<br /> +I would sate my soul with spinach<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And dandelion greens.</span><br /> +No eggs, nor ham, nor hard-boiled clam,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But Veg'table Vitamines.</span><br /> +<br /> +Hi, Waiter! Coddle the Colloids<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With phosphorus, iron and Beans;</span><br /> +Though Mineral Salts may have some faults,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bring on the Vitamines.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + + +<h3>TRANSCENDENTALISM</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +It is told, in Buddhi-theosophic schools,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">There are rules.</span><br /> +By observing which, when mundane labor irks<br /> +One can simulate quiescence<br /> +By a timely evanescence<br /> +From his Active Mortal Essence,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">(Or his Works.)</span><br /> +<br /> +The particular procedure leaves research<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In the lurch,</span><br /> +But, apparently, this matter-moulded form<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is a kind of outer plaster,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which a well-instructed Master</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Can remove without disaster</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">When he's warm.</span><br /> +<br /> +And to such as mourn an Indian Solar Clime<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">At its prime</span><br /> +'Twere a thesis most immeasurably fit,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So expansively elastic,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And so plausibly fantastic,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That one gets enthusiastic</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For a bit.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A "CAUDAL" LECTURE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Philosophy shows us 'twixt monkey and man<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One simious line in unbroken extendage;</span><br /> +Development only since first it began—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And chiefly in losing the caudal appendage.</span><br /> +<br /> +Our ancestors' holding was wholly <i>in tail</i>,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the loss of this feature we claim as a merit;</span><br /> +But though often at tale-bearing people we rail,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Tis rather a loss than a gain we inherit.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span></p> + +<p> +The tail was a rudder—a capital thing<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To a man who was half—or a quarter—seas over;</span><br /> +And as for a sailor, by that he could cling,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And use for his hands and his feet both discover.</span><br /> +<br /> +In the Arts it would quickly have found out a place;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The painter would use it to steady his pencil;</span><br /> +In music, how handy to pound at the bass!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And then one could write by its coilings prehensile.</span><br /> +<br /> +The Army had gained had the fashion endured—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Twould carry a sword, or be good in saluting;</span><br /> +If the foe should turn tail, they'd be quickly secured;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or, used as a lasso, 'twould help in recruiting.</span><br /> +<br /> +To the Force 'twould add force—they could "run 'em in" so<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That one to three culprits would find himself equal;</span><br /> +He could collar the two, have the other in tow—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A very good form of the Tale and its Sequel.</span><br /> +<br /> +In life many uses 'twould serve we should see—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A man with no bed could hang cosily snoozing;</span><br /> +'Twould hold an umbrella, hand cups round at tea,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or a candle support while our novel perusing.</span><br /> +<br /> +In fact, when one thinks of our loss from of old,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It makes us regret that we can't go in for it, or</span><br /> +Wish, like the Dane, we a <i>tail</i> could unfold,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Instead of remaining each one a <i>stump</i> orator.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>William Sawyer.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>SALAD</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +To make this condiment, your poet begs<br /> +The pounded yellow of two hard-boiled eggs;<br /> +Two boiled potatoes, passed through kitchen-sieve,<br /> +Smoothness and softness to the salad give;<br /> +Let onion atoms lurk within the bowl,<br /> +And, half-suspected, animate the whole.<br /> +Of mordant mustard add a single spoon,<br /> +Distrust the condiment that bites so soon;<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> + +But deem it not, thou man of herbs, a fault,<br /> +To add a double quantity of salt.<br /> +And, lastly, o'er the flavored compound toss<br /> +A magic soup-spoon of anchovy sauce.<br /> +Oh, green and glorious! Oh, herbaceous treat!<br /> +'Twould tempt the dying anchorite to eat;<br /> +Back to the world he'd turn his fleeting soul,<br /> +And plunge his fingers in the salad bowl!<br /> +Serenely full, the epicure would say,<br /> +Fate can not harm me, I have dined to-day!<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Sydney Smith.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>NEMESIS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p class='poem'>The man who invented the women's waists that button down behind,</p> +<p class='poem'>And the man who invented the cans with keys and the strips that will never wind,</p> +<p class='poem'>Were put to sea in a leaky boat and with never a bite to eat</p> +<p class='poem'>But a couple of dozen of patent cans in which was their only meat.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>And they sailed and sailed o'er the ocean wide and never they had a taste</p> +<p class='poem'>Of aught to eat, for the cans stayed shut, and a peek-a-boo shirtwaist</p> +<p class='poem'>Was all they had to bale the brine that came in the leaky boat;</p> +<p class='poem'>And their tongues were thick and their throats were dry, and they barely kept afloat.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>They came at last to an island fair, and a man stood on the shore.</p> +<p class='poem'>So they flew a signal of distress and their hopes rose high once more,</p> +<p class='poem'>And they called to him to fetch a boat, for their craft was sinking fast,</p> +<p class='poem'>And a couple of hours at best they knew was all their boat would last.</p><p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span></p> + +<p class='poem'>So he called to them a cheery call and he said he would make haste,</p> +<p class='poem'>But first he must go back to his wife and button up her waist,</p> +<p class='poem'>Which would only take him an hour or so and then he would fetch a boat.</p> +<p class='poem'>And the man who invented the backstairs waist, he groaned in his swollen throat.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>The hours passed by on leaden wings and they saw another man</p> +<p class='poem'>In the window of a bungalow, and he held a tin meat can</p> +<p class='poem'>In his bleeding hands, and they called to him, not once but twice and thrice,</p> +<p class='poem'>And he said: "Just wait till I open this and I'll be there in a trice!"</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>And the man who invented the patent cans he knew what the promise meant,</p> +<p class='poem'>So he leaped in air with a horrid cry and into the sea he went,</p> +<p class='poem'>And the bubbles rose where he sank and sank and a groan choked in the throat</p> +<p class='poem'>Of the man who invented the backstairs waist and he sank with the leaky boat!</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>J. W. Foley.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>"MONA LISA"</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Mona Lisa, Mona Lisa!</span><br /> +Have you gone? Great Julius Cæsar!<br /> +Who's the Chap so bold and pinchey<br /> +Thus to swipe the great da Vinci,<br /> +Taking France's first Chef d'oeuvre<br /> +Squarely from old Mr. Louvre,<br /> +Easy as some pocket-picker<br /> +Would remove our handkerchicker<br /> +As we ride in careless folly<br /> +On some gaily bounding trolley?<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Mona Lisa, Mona Lisa,</span><br /> +Who's your Captor? Doubtless he's a<br /> +Crafty sort of treasure-seeker—<br /> +Ne'er a Turpin e'er was sleeker—<br /> +But, alas, if he can win you<br /> +Easily as I could chin you,<br /> +What is safe in all the nations<br /> +From his dreadful depredations?<br /> +He's the style of Chap, I'm thinkin',<br /> +Who will drive us all to drinkin'!<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Mona Lisa, Mona Lisa,</span><br /> +Next he'll swipe the Tower of Pisa,<br /> +Pulling it from out its socket<br /> +For to hide it in his pocket;<br /> +Or perhaps he'll up and steal, O,<br /> +Madame Venus, late of Milo;<br /> +Or maybe while on the grab he<br /> +Will annex Westminster Abbey,<br /> +And elope with that distinguished<br /> +Heap of Ashes long extinguished.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Maybe too, O Mona Lisa,</span><br /> +He will come across the seas a—<br /> +Searching for the style of treasure<br /> +That we have in richest measure.<br /> +Sunset Cox's brazen statue,<br /> +Have a care lest he shall catch you!<br /> +Or maybe he'll set his eye on<br /> +Hammerstein's, or the Flatiron,<br /> +Or some bit of White Wash done<br /> +By those lads at Washington—<br /> +<br /> +Truly he's a crafty geezer,<br /> +Is your Captor, Mona Lisa!<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>John Kendrick Bangs.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE SIEGE OF DJKLXPRWBZ</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Before a Turkish town<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Russians came.</span><br /> +And with huge cannon<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Did bombard the same.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span></p> + +<p> +They got up close<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And rained fat bombshells down,</span><br /> +And blew out every<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Vowel in the town.</span><br /> +<br /> +And then the Turks,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Becoming somewhat sad,</span><br /> +Surrendered every<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Consonant they had.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Eugene Fitch Ware.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>RURAL BLISS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +The poet is, or ought to be, a hater of the city,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And so, when happiness is mine, and Maud becomes my wife,</span><br /> +We'll look on town inhabitants with sympathetic pity,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For we shall lead a peaceful and serene Arcadian life.</span><br /> +<br /> +Then shall I sing in eloquent and most effective phrases,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The grandeur of geraniums and the beauty of the rose;</span><br /> +Immortalise in deathless strains the buttercups and daisies—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For even I can hardly be mistaken as to those.</span><br /> +<br /> +The music of the nightingale will ring from leafy hollow,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And fill us with a rapture indescribable in words;</span><br /> +And we shall also listen to the robin and the swallow<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(I wonder if a swallow sings?) and ... well, the other birds.</span><br /> +<br /> +Too long I dwelt in ignorance of all the countless treasures<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which dwellers in the country have in such abundant store;</span><br /> +To give a single instance of the multitude of pleasures—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The music of the nighting—oh, I mentioned that before.</span><br /> +<br /> +And shall I prune potato-trees and artichokes, I wonder,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And cultivate the silo-plant, which springs (I hope it springs?)</span><br /> +In graceful foliage overhead?—Excuse me if I blunder,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It's really inconvenient not to know the name of things!</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></p> + +<p> +No matter; in the future, when I celebrate the beauty<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of country life in glowing terms, and "build the lofty rhyme"</span><br /> +Aware that every Englishman is bound to do his duty,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'll learn to give the stupid things their proper names in time!</span><br /> +<br /> +Meanwhile, you needn't wonder at the view I've indicated,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The country life appears to me indubitably blest,</span><br /> +For, even if its other charms are somewhat overstated,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As long as Maud is there, you see,—what matters all the rest?</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Anthony C. Deane.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>AN OLD BACHELOR</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +'Twas raw, and chill, and cold outside,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a boisterous wind untamed,</span><br /> +But I was sitting snug within,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where my good log-fire flamed.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">As my clock ticked,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">My cat purred,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And my kettle sang.</span><br /> +<br /> +I read me a tale of war and love,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Brave knights and their ladies fair;</span><br /> +And I brewed a brew of stiff hot-scotch<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To drive away dull care.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">As my clock ticked,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">My cat purred,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And my kettle sang.</span><br /> +<br /> +At last the candles sputtered out,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But the embers still were bright,</span><br /> +When I turned my tumbler upside down,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An' bade m'self g' night!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">As th' ket'l t-hic-ked,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The clock purred,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And the cat (hic) sang!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Tudor Jenks.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>SONG</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Three score and ten by common calculation<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The years of man amount to; but we'll say</span><br /> +He turns four-score, yet, in my estimation,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In all those years he has not lived a day.</span><br /> +<br /> +Out of the eighty you must first remember<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The hours of night you pass asleep in bed;</span><br /> +And, counting from December to December,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Just half your life you'll find you have been dead.</span><br /> +<br /> +To forty years at once by this reduction<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We come; and sure, the first five from your birth,</span><br /> +While cutting teeth and living upon suction,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You're not alive to what this life is worth.</span><br /> +<br /> +From thirty-five next take for education<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fifteen at least at college and at school;</span><br /> +When, notwithstanding all your application,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The chances are you may turn out a fool.</span><br /> +<br /> +Still twenty we have left us to dispose of,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But during them your fortune you've to make;</span><br /> +And granting, with the luck of some one knows of,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Tis made in ten—that's ten from life to take.</span><br /> +<br /> +Out of the ten yet left you must allow for<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The time for shaving, tooth and other aches,</span><br /> +Say four—and that leaves, six, too short, I vow, for<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Regretting past and making fresh mistakes.</span><br /> +<br /> +Meanwhile each hour dispels some fond illusion;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Until at length, sans eyes, sans teeth, you may</span><br /> +Have scarcely sense to come to this conclusion—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You've reached four-score, but haven't lived a day!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>J. R. Planché.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + + +<h3>THE QUEST OF THE PURPLE COW</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +He girded on his shining sword,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He clad him in his suit of mail,</span><br /> +He gave his friends the parting word,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With high resolve his face was pale.</span><br /> +They said, "You've kissed the Papal Toe,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To great Moguls you've made your bow,</span><br /> +Why will you thus world-wandering go?"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"I never saw a purple cow!"</span><br /> +<br /> +"I never saw a purple cow!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh, hinder not my wild emprise—</span><br /> +Let me depart! For even now<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Perhaps, before some yokel's eyes</span><br /> +The purpling creature dashes by,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bending its noble, hornèd brow.</span><br /> +They see its glowing charms, but I—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I never saw a purple cow!"</span><br /> +<br /> +"But other cows there be," they said,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Both cows of high and low degree,</span><br /> +Suffolk and Devon, brown, black, red,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Ayrshire and the Alderney.</span><br /> +Content yourself with these." "No, no,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He cried, "Not these! Not these! For how</span><br /> +Can common kine bring comfort? Oh!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I never saw a purple cow!"</span><br /> +<br /> +He flung him to his charger's back,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He left his kindred limp and weak,</span><br /> +They cried: "He goes, alack! alack!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The unattainable to seek."</span><br /> +But westward still he rode—pardee!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The West! Where such freaks be; I vow,</span><br /> +I'd not be much surprised if he<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Should some day see</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Purple</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Cow!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Hilda Johnson.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + + +<h3>ST. PATRICK OF IRELAND, MY DEAR!</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +A fig for St. Denis of France—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He's a trumpery fellow to brag on;</span><br /> +A fig for St. George and his lance,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which spitted a heathenish dragon;</span><br /> +And the saints of the Welshman or Scot<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are a couple of pitiful pipers,</span><br /> +Both of whom may just travel to pot,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Compared with that patron of swipers—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">St. Patrick of Ireland, my dear!</span><br /> +<br /> +He came to the Emerald Isle<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On a lump of a paving-stone mounted;</span><br /> +The steamboat he beat by a mile,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which mighty good sailing was counted.</span><br /> +Says he, "The salt water, I think,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Has made me most bloodily thirsty;</span><br /> +So bring me a flagon of drink<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To keep down the mulligrubs, burst ye!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of drink that is fit for a saint!"</span><br /> +<br /> +He preached, then, with wonderful force,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The ignorant natives a-teaching;</span><br /> +With a pint he washed down his discourse,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"For," says he, "I detest your dry preaching."</span><br /> +The people, with wonderment struck<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At a pastor so pious and civil,</span><br /> +Exclaimed—"We're for you, my old buck!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And we pitch our blind gods to the devil,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Who dwells in hot water below!"</span><br /> +<br /> +This ended, our worshipful spoon<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Went to visit an elegant fellow,</span><br /> +Whose practice, each cool afternoon,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was to get most delightfully mellow.</span><br /> +That day with a black-jack of beer,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It chanced he was treating a party;</span><br /> +Says the saint—"This good day, do you hear,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I drank nothing to speak of, my hearty!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">So give me a pull at the pot!"</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> +<br /> +The pewter he lifted in sport<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Believe me, I tell you no fable);</span><br /> +A gallon he drank from the quart,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And then placed it full on the table.</span><br /> +"A miracle!" every one said—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And they all took a haul at the stingo;</span><br /> +They were capital hands at the trade,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And drank till they fell; yet, by jingo,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The pot still frothed over the brim.</span><br /> +<br /> +Next day, quoth his host, "'Tis a fast,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I've nought in my larder but mutton;</span><br /> +And on Fridays who'd made such repast,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Except an unchristian-like glutton?"</span><br /> +Says Pat, "Cease your nonsense, I beg—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What you tell me is nothing but gammon;</span><br /> +Take my compliments down to the leg,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And bid it come hither a salmon!"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And the leg most politely complied.</span><br /> +<br /> +You've heard, I suppose, long ago,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How the snakes, in a manner most antic,</span><br /> +He marched to the county Mayo,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And trundled them into th' Atlantic.</span><br /> +Hence, not to use water for drink,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The people of Ireland determine—</span><br /> +With mighty good reason, I think,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Since St. Patrick has filled it with vermin</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And vipers, and other such stuff!</span><br /> +<br /> +Oh, he was an elegant blade<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As you'd meet from Fairhead to Kilcrumper;</span><br /> +And though under the sod he is laid,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yet here goes his health in a bumper!</span><br /> +I wish he was here, that my glass<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He might by art magic replenish;</span><br /> +But since he is not—why, alas!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My ditty must come to a finish,—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Because all the liquor is out!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>William Maginn.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE IRISH SCHOOLMASTER</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +"Come here, my boy; hould up your head,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And look like a jintlemàn, Sir;</span><br /> +Jist tell me who King David was—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now tell me if you can, Sir."</span><br /> +"King David was a mighty man,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And he was King of Spain, Sir;</span><br /> +His eldest daughter 'Jessie' was<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The 'Flower of Dunblane,' Sir."</span><br /> +<br /> +"You're right, my boy; hould up your head,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And look like a jintlemàn, Sir;</span><br /> +Sir Isaac Newton—who was he?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now tell me if you can, Sir."</span><br /> +"Sir Isaac Newton was the boy<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That climbed the apple-tree, Sir;</span><br /> +He then fell down and broke his crown,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And lost his gravity, Sir."</span><br /> +<br /> +"You're right, my boy; hould up your head,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And look like a jintlemàn, Sir;</span><br /> +Jist tell me who ould Marmion was—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now tell me if you can, Sir."</span><br /> +"Ould Marmion was a soldier bold,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But he went all to pot, Sir;</span><br /> +He was hanged upon the gallows tree,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For killing Sir Walter Scott, Sir."</span><br /> +<br /> +"You're right, my boy; hould up your head,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And look like a jintlemàn, Sir;</span><br /> +Jist tell me who Sir Rob Roy was;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now tell me if you can, Sir."</span><br /> +"Sir Rob Roy was a tailor to<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The King of the Cannibal Islands;</span><br /> +He spoiled a pair of breeches, and<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was banished to the Highlands."</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span></p> + +<p> +"You're right, my boy; hould up your head,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And look like a jintlemàn, Sir;</span><br /> +Then, Bonaparte—say, who was he?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now tell me if you can, Sir."</span><br /> +"Ould Bonaparte was King of France<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Before the Revolution;</span><br /> +But he was kilt at Waterloo,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which ruined his constitution."</span><br /> +<br /> +"You're right, my boy; hould up your head,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And look like a jintlemàn, Sir;</span><br /> +Jist tell me who King Jonah was;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now tell me if you can, Sir."</span><br /> +"King Jonah was the strangest man<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That ever wore a crown, Sir;</span><br /> +For though the whale did swallow him,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It couldn't keep him down, Sir."</span><br /> +<br /> +"You're right, my boy; hould up your head,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And look like a jintlemàn, Sir;</span><br /> +Jist tell me who that Moses was;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now tell me if you can, Sir."</span><br /> +"Shure Moses was the Christian name<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of good King Pharaoh's daughter;</span><br /> +She was a milkmaid, and she took<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A <i>profit</i> from the water."</span><br /> +<br /> +"You're right, my boy; hould up your head,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And look like a jintlemàn, Sir;</span><br /> +Jist tell me now where Dublin is;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now tell me if you can, Sir."</span><br /> +"Och, Dublin is a town in Cork,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And built on the equator;</span><br /> +It's close to Mount Vesuvius,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And watered by the 'craythur.'"</span><br /> +<br /> +"You're right, my boy; hould up your head,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And look like a jintlemàn, Sir;</span><br /> +Jist tell me now where London is;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now tell me if you can, Sir."</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> + +"Och, London is a town in Spain;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Twas lost in the earthquake, Sir;</span><br /> +The cockneys murther English there,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whenever they do spake, Sir."</span><br /> +<br /> +"You're right, my boy; hould up your head,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ye're now a jintlemàn, Sir;</span><br /> +For in history and geography<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I've taught you all I can, Sir.</span><br /> +And if any one should ask you now,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where you got all your knowledge,</span><br /> +Jist tell them 'twas from Paddy Blake,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of Bally Blarney College."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>James A. Sidey.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>REFLECTIONS ON CLEOPATHERA'S NEEDLE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +So that's Cleopathera's Needle, bedad,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An' a quare lookin' needle it is, I'll be bound;</span><br /> +What a powerful muscle the queen must have had<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That could grasp such a weapon an' wind it around!</span><br /> +<br /> +Imagine her sittin' there stitchin' like mad<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wid a needle like that in her hand! I declare</span><br /> +It's as big as the Round Tower of Slane, an', bedad,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It would pass for a round tower, only it's square!</span><br /> +<br /> +The taste of her, ordherin' a needle of granite!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Begorra, the sight of it sthrikes me quite dumb!</span><br /> +An' look at the quare sort of figures upon it;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I wondher can these be the thracks of her thumb!</span><br /> +<br /> +I once was astonished to hear of the faste<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cleopathera made upon pearls; but now</span><br /> +I declare, I would not be surprised in the laste<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If ye told me the woman had swallowed a cow!</span><br /> +<br /> +It's aisy to see why bould Cæsar should quail<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In her presence, an' meekly submit to her rule;</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> + +Wid a weapon like that in her fist I'll go bail<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She could frighten the sowl out of big Finn MacCool!</span><br /> +<br /> +But, Lord, what poor pigmies the women are now,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Compared with the monsthers they must have been then!</span><br /> +Whin the darlin's in those days would kick up a row,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Holy smoke, but it must have been hot for the men!</span><br /> +<br /> +Just think how a chap that goes courtin' would start<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If his girl was to prod him wid that in the shins!</span><br /> +I have often seen needles, but bouldly assart<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That the needle in front of me there takes the pins!</span><br /> +<br /> +O, sweet Cleopathera! I'm sorry you're dead;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An' whin lavin' this wondherful needle behind</span><br /> +Had ye thought of bequathin' a spool of your thread<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An' yer thimble an' scissors, it would have been kind.</span><br /> +<br /> +But pace to your ashes, ye plague of great men,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yer strength is departed, yer glory is past;</span><br /> +Ye'll never wield sceptre or needle again,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An' a poor little asp did yer bizzness at last!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Cormac O'Leary.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE ORIGIN OF IRELAND</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +With due condescension, I'd call your attention<br /> +To what I shall mention of Erin so green,<br /> +And without hesitation I will show how that nation<br /> +Became of creation the gem and the queen.<br /> +<br /> +'Twas early one morning, without any warning,<br /> +That Vanus was born in the beautiful say,<br /> +And by the same token, and sure 'twas provoking,<br /> +Her pinions were soaking and wouldn't give play.<br /> +<br /> +Old Neptune, who knew her, began to pursue her,<br /> +In order to woo her—the wicked old Jew—<br /> +And almost had caught her atop of the water—<br /> +Great Jupiter's daughter!—which never would do.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p> + +<p> +But Jove, the great janius, looked down and saw Vanus,<br /> +And Neptune so heinous pursuing her wild,<br /> +And he spoke out in thunder, he'd rend him asunder—<br /> +And sure 'twas no wonder—for tazing his child.<br /> +<br /> +A star that was flying hard by him espying,<br /> +He caught with small trying, and down let it snap;<br /> +It fell quick as winking, on Neptune a-sinking,<br /> +And gave him, I'm thinking, a bit of a rap.<br /> +<br /> +That star it was dry land, both low land and high land,<br /> +And formed a sweet island, the land of my birth;<br /> +Thus plain is the story, that sent down from glory,<br /> +Old Erin asthore as the gem of the earth!<br /> +<br /> +Upon Erin nately jumped Vanus so stately,<br /> +But fainted, kase lately so hard she was pressed—<br /> +Which much did bewilder, but ere it had killed her<br /> +Her father distilled her a drop of the best.<br /> +<br /> +That sup was victorious, it made her feel glorious—<br /> +A little uproarious, I fear it might prove—<br /> +So how can you blame us that Ireland's so famous<br /> +For drinking and beauty, for fighting and love?<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>AS TO THE WEATHER</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I remember, I remember,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ere my childhood flitted by,</span><br /> +It was cold then in December,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And was warmer in July.</span><br /> +In the winter there were freezings—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the summer there were thaws;</span><br /> +But the weather isn't now at all<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like what it used to was!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE TWINS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +In form and feature, face and limb,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I grew so like my brother,</span><br /> +That folks got taking me for him,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And each for one another.</span><br /> +It puzzled all our kith and kin,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It reach'd an awful pitch;</span><br /> +For one of us was born a twin,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yet not a soul knew which.</span><br /> +<br /> +One day (to make the matter worse),<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Before our names were fix'd,</span><br /> +As we were being wash'd by nurse<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We got completely mix'd;</span><br /> +And thus, you see, by Fate's decree,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Or rather nurse's whim),</span><br /> +My brother John got christen'd <i>me</i>,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I got christen'd <i>him</i>.</span><br /> +<br /> +This fatal likeness even dogg'd<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My footsteps when at school,</span><br /> +And I was always getting flogg'd,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For John turned out a fool.</span><br /> +I put this question hopelessly<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To every one I knew—</span><br /> +What <i>would</i> you do, if you were me,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To prove that you were <i>you</i>?</span><br /> +<br /> +Our close resemblance turn'd the tide<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of my domestic life;</span><br /> +For somehow my intended bride<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Became my brother's wife.</span><br /> +In short, year after year the same<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Absurd mistakes went on;</span><br /> +And when I died—the neighbors came<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And buried brother John!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Henry S. Leigh.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="II" id="II"></a>II</h2> + +<h2>THE ETERNAL FEMININE</h2> +<p><br /></p> + +<h3>HE AND SHE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +When I am dead you'll find it hard,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Said he,</span><br /> +To ever find another man<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Like me.</span><br /> +<br /> +What makes you think, as I suppose<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">You do,</span><br /> +I'd ever want another man<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Like you?</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Eugene Fitch Ware.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE KISS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +"What other men have dared, I dare,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He said. "I'm daring, too:</span><br /> +And tho' they told me to beware,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One kiss I'll take from you.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Did I say one? Forgive me, dear;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That was a grave mistake,</span><br /> +For when I've taken one, I fear,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One hundred more I'll take.</span><br /> +<br /> +"'Tis sweet one kiss from you to win,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But to stop there? Oh, no!</span><br /> +One kiss is only to begin;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There is no end, you know."</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> + +<br /> +The maiden rose from where she sat<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And gently raised her head:</span><br /> +"No man has ever talked like that—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You may begin," she said.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Tom Masson.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE COURTIN'</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +God makes sech nights, all white an' still<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fur 'z you can look or listen,</span><br /> +Moonshine an' snow on field an' hill,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All silence an' all glisten.</span><br /> +<br /> +Zekle crep' up quite unbeknown<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An' peeked in thru' the winder,</span><br /> +An' there sot Huldy all alone,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Ith no one nigh to hender.</span><br /> +<br /> +A fireplace filled the room's one side<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With half a cord o' wood in—</span><br /> +There warn't no stoves (tell comfort died)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To bake ye to a puddin'.</span><br /> +<br /> +The wa'nut logs shot sparkles out<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Towards the pootiest, bless her,</span><br /> +An' leetle flames danced all about<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The chiny on the dresser.</span><br /> +<br /> +Agin the chimbley crook-necks hung,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An' in amongst 'em rusted</span><br /> +The ole queen's-arm that Gran'ther Young<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fetched back f'om Concord busted.</span><br /> +<br /> +The very room, coz she was in,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Seemed warm f'om floor to ceilin',</span><br /> +An' she looked full ez rosy agin<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ez the apples she was peelin'.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> + +<br /> +'Twas kin' o' kingdom-come to look<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On sech a blessed cretur;</span><br /> +A dogrose blushin' to a brook<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ain't modester nor sweeter.</span><br /> +<br /> +He was six foot o' man, A 1,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Clear grit an' human natur';</span><br /> +None couldn't quicker pitch a ton<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor dror a furrer straighter.</span><br /> +<br /> +He'd sparked it with full twenty gals,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He'd squired 'em, danced 'em, druv 'em,</span><br /> +Fust this one, an' then thet, by spells—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All is, he couldn't love 'em.</span><br /> +<br /> +But long o' her his veins 'ould run<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All crinkly like curled maple;</span><br /> +The side she breshed felt full o' sun<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ez a south slope in Ap'il.</span><br /> +<br /> +She thought no v'ice hed sech a swing<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ez hisn in the choir;</span><br /> +My! when he made Ole Hunderd ring,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She <i>knowed</i> the Lord was nigher.</span><br /> +<br /> +An' she'd blush scarlit, right in prayer,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When her new meetin'-bunnet</span><br /> +Felt somehow thru its crown a pair<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O' blue eyes sot upun it.</span><br /> +<br /> +Thet night, I tell ye, she looked <i>some</i>!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She seemed to 've gut a new soul,</span><br /> +For she felt sartin-sure he'd come,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Down to her very shoe-sole.</span><br /> +<br /> +She heered a foot, an' knowed it tu,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A-raspin' on the scraper—</span><br /> +All ways to once her feelins flew<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like sparks in burnt-up paper.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> + +<br /> +He kin' o' l'itered on the mat,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Some doubtfle o' the sekle;</span><br /> +His heart kep' goin' pity-pat,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But hern went pity Zekle.</span><br /> +<br /> +An' yit she gin her cheer a jerk<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ez though she wished him furder,</span><br /> +An' on her apples kep' to work,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Parin' away like murder.</span><br /> +<br /> +"You want to see my Pa, I s'pose?"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Wal ... no ... I come dasignin'—"</span><br /> +"To see my Ma? She's sprinklin' clo'es<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Agin to-morrer's i'nin'."</span><br /> +<br /> +To say why gals act so or so,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or don't, 'ould be presumin';</span><br /> +Mebbe to mean <i>yes</i> an' say <i>no</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Comes nateral to women.</span><br /> +<br /> +He stood a spell on one foot fust,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then stood a spell on t'other,</span><br /> +An' on which one he felt the wust<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He couldn't ha' told ye nuther.</span><br /> +<br /> +Says he, "I'd better call agin";<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Says she, "Think likely, Mister";</span><br /> +Thet last word pricked him like a pin,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An' ... Wal, he up an' kist her.</span><br /> +<br /> +When Ma bimeby upon 'em slips,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Huldy sot pale ez ashes,</span><br /> +All kin' o' smily roun' the lips<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An' teary roun' the lashes.</span><br /> +<br /> +For she was jes' the quiet kind<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whose naturs never vary,</span><br /> +Like streams that keep a summer mind<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Snowhid in Jenooary.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> + +<br /> +The blood clost roun' her heart felt glued<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Too tight for all expressin',</span><br /> +Tell mother see how metters stood,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An' gin 'em both her blessin'.</span><br /> +<br /> +Then her red come back like the tide<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Down to the Bay o' Fundy,</span><br /> +An' all I know is they was cried<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In meetin' come nex' Sunday.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>James Russell Lowell.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>HIRAM HOVER</h3> + +<h4>A BALLAD OF NEW ENGLAND LIFE</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Where the Moosatockmaguntic<br /> +Pours its waters in the Skuntic,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Met, along the forest side</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hiram Hover, Huldah Hyde.</span><br /> +<br /> +She, a maiden fair and dapper,<br /> +He, a red-haired, stalwart trapper,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hunting beaver, mink, and skunk</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the woodlands of Squeedunk.</span><br /> +<br /> +She, Pentucket's pensive daughter,<br /> +Walked beside the Skuntic water<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gathering, in her apron wet,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Snake-root, mint, and bouncing-bet.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Why," he murmured, loth to leave her,<br /> +"Gather yarbs for chills and fever,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When a lovyer bold and true,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Only waits to gather you?"</span><br /> +<br /> +"Go," she answered, "I'm not hasty,<br /> +I prefer a man more tasty;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Leastways, one to please me well</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Should not have a beasty smell."</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> + +<br /> +"Haughty Huldah!" Hiram answered,<br /> +"Mind and heart alike are cancered;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Jest look here! these peltries give</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cash, wherefrom a pair may live.</span><br /> +<br /> +"I, you think, am but a vagrant,<br /> +Trapping beasts by no means fragrant;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yet, I'm sure it's worth a thank—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I've a handsome sum in bank."</span><br /> +<br /> +Turned and vanished Hiram Hover,<br /> +And, before the year was over,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Huldah, with the yarbs she sold,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bought a cape, against the cold.</span><br /> +<br /> +Black and thick the furry cape was,<br /> +Of a stylish cut the shape was;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the girls, in all the town,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Envied Huldah up and down.</span><br /> +<br /> +Then at last, one winter morning,<br /> +Hiram came without a warning.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Either," said he, "you are blind,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Huldah, or you've changed your mind.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Me you snub for trapping varmints,<br /> +Yet you take the skins for garments;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Since you wear the skunk and mink,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There's no harm in me, I think."</span><br /> +<br /> +"Well," said she, "we will not quarrel,<br /> +Hiram; I accept the moral,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now the fashion's so I guess</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I can't hardly do no less."</span><br /> +<br /> +Thus the trouble all was over<br /> +Of the love of Hiram Hover.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thus he made sweet Huldah Hyde</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Huldah Hover as his bride.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> + +<br /> +Love employs, with equal favor,<br /> +Things of good and evil savor;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That which first appeared to part,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Warmed, at last, the maiden's heart.</span><br /> +<br /> +Under one impartial banner,<br /> +Life, the hunter, Love the tanner,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Draw, from every beast they snare,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Comfort for a wedded pair!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Bayard Taylor.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>BLOW ME EYES!</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +When I was young and full o' pride,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A-standin' on the grass</span><br /> +And gazin' o'er the water-side,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I seen a fisher lass.</span><br /> +"O, fisher lass, be kind awhile,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I asks 'er quite unbid.</span><br /> +"Please look into me face and smile"—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And, blow me eyes, she did!</span><br /> +<br /> +O, blow me light and blow me blow,<br /> +I didn't think she'd charm me so—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But, blow me eyes, she did!</span><br /> +<br /> +She seemed so young and beautiful<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I <i>had</i> to speak perlite,</span><br /> +(The afternoon was long and dull,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But she was short and bright).</span><br /> +"This ain't no place," I says, "to stand—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Let's take a walk instid,</span><br /> +Each holdin' of the other's hand"—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And, blow me eyes, she did!</span><br /> +<br /> +O, blow me light and blow me blow,<br /> +I sort o' thunk she wouldn't go—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But, blow me eyes, she did!</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> + +<br /> +And as we walked along a lane<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With no one else to see,</span><br /> +Me heart was filled with sudden pain,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And so I says to she:</span><br /> +"If you would have me actions speak<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The words what can't be hid,</span><br /> +You'd sort o' let me kiss yer cheek"—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And, blow me eyes, she did!</span><br /> +<br /> +O, blow me light and blow me blow,<br /> +How sweet she was I didn't know—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But, blow me eyes, <i>she</i> did!</span><br /> +<br /> +But pretty soon me shipmate Jim<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Came strollin' down the beach,</span><br /> +And she began a-oglin' him<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As pretty as a peach.</span><br /> +"O, fickle maid o' false intent,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Impulsively I chid,</span><br /> +"Why don't you go and wed that gent?"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And, blow me eyes, she did!</span><br /> +<br /> +O, blow me light and blow me blow,<br /> +I didn't think she'd treat me so—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But, blow me eyes, she did!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Wallace Irwin.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>FIRST LOVE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +O my earliest love, who, ere I number'd<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ten sweet summers, made my bosom thrill!</span><br /> +Will a swallow—or a swift, or some bird—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fly to her and say, I love her still?</span><br /> +<br /> +Say my life's a desert drear and arid,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To its one green spot I aye recur:</span><br /> +Never, never—although three times married—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Have I cared a jot for aught but her.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> + +<br /> +No, mine own! though early forced to leave you,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Still my heart was there where first we met;</span><br /> +In those "Lodgings with an ample sea-view,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which were, forty years ago, "To Let."</span><br /> +<br /> +There I saw her first, our landlord's oldest<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Little daughter. On a thing so fair</span><br /> +Thou, O Sun,—who (so they say) beholdest<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Everything,—hast gazed, I tell thee, ne'er.</span><br /> +<br /> +There she sat—so near me, yet remoter<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than a star—a blue-eyed, bashful imp:</span><br /> +On her lap she held a happy bloater,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Twixt her lips a yet more happy shrimp.</span><br /> +<br /> +And I loved her, and our troth we plighted<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On the morrow by the shingly shore:</span><br /> +In a fortnight to be disunited<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By a bitter fate forevermore.</span><br /> +<br /> +O my own, my beautiful, my blue-eyed!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To be young once more, and bite my thumb</span><br /> +At the world and all its cares with you, I'd<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Give no inconsiderable sum.</span><br /> +<br /> +Hand in hand we tramp'd the golden seaweed,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Soon as o'er the gray cliff peep'd the dawn:</span><br /> +Side by side, when came the hour for tea, we'd<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Crunch the mottled shrimp and hairy prawn:—</span><br /> +<br /> +Has she wedded some gigantic shrimper,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That sweet mite with whom I loved to play?</span><br /> +Is she girt with babes that whine and whimper,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That bright being who was always gay?</span><br /> +<br /> +Yes—she has at least a dozen wee things!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yes—I see her darning corduroys,</span><br /> +Scouring floors, and setting out the tea-things,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For a howling herd of hungry boys,</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> + +<br /> +In a home that reeks of tar and sperm-oil!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But at intervals she thinks, I know,</span><br /> +Of those days which we, afar from turmoil,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Spent together forty years ago.</span><br /> +<br /> +O my earliest love, still unforgotten,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With your downcast eyes of dreamy blue!</span><br /> +Never, somehow, could I seem to cotton<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To another as I did to you!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Charles Stuart Calverley.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>WHAT IS A WOMAN LIKE?</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +A woman is like to—but stay—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What a woman is like, who can say?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There is no living with or without one.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Love bites like a fly,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now an ear, now an eye,</span><br /> +Buzz, buzz, always buzzing about one.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When she's tender and kind</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She is like to my mind,</span><br /> +(And Fanny was so, I remember).<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She's like to—Oh, dear!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She's as good, very near,</span><br /> +As a ripe, melting peach in September.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If she laugh, and she chat,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Play, joke, and all that,</span><br /> +And with smiles and good humor she meet me,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She's like a rich dish</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of venison or fish,</span><br /> +That cries from the table, Come eat me!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But she'll plague you and vex you,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Distract and perplex you;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">False-hearted and ranging,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Unsettled and changing,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What then do you think, she is like?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Like sand? Like a rock?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Like a wheel? Like a clock?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ay, a clock that is always at strike.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> + +Her head's like the island folks tell on,<br /> +Which nothing but monkeys can dwell on;<br /> +Her heart's like a lemon—so nice<br /> +She carves for each lover a slice;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In truth she's to me,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like the wind, like the sea,</span><br /> +Whose raging will hearken to no man;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like a mill, like a pill,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like a flail, like a whale,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like an ass, like a glass</span><br /> +Whose image is constant to no man;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like a shower, like a flower,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like a fly, like a pie,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like a pea, like a flea,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like a thief, like—in brief,</span><br /> +She's like nothing on earth—but a woman!<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>MIS' SMITH</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +All day she hurried to get through,<br /> +The same as lots of wimmin do;<br /> +Sometimes at night her husban' said,<br /> +"Ma, ain't you goin' to come to bed?"<br /> +And then she'd kinder give a hitch,<br /> +And pause half way between a stitch,<br /> +And sorter sigh, and say that she<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was ready as she'd ever be,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">She reckoned.</span><br /> +<br /> +And so the years went one by one,<br /> +An' somehow she was never done;<br /> +An' when the angel said, as how<br /> +"Mis' Smith, it's time you rested now,"<br /> +She sorter raised her eyes to look<br /> +A second, as a stitch she took;<br /> +"All right, I'm comin' now," says she,<br /> +"I'm ready as I'll ever be,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I reckon."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Albert Bigelow Paine.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + + +<h3>TRIOLET</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +"I love you, my lord!"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was all that she said—</span><br /> +What a dissonant chord,<br /> +"I love you, my lord!"<br /> +Ah! how I abhorred<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That sarcastic maid!—</span><br /> +"<i>I</i> love you? My <i>Lord</i>!"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was all that she said.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Paul T. Gilbert.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>BESSIE BROWN, M.D.</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +'Twas April when she came to town;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The birds had come; the bees were swarming.</span><br /> +Her name, she said, was Doctor Brown;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I saw at once that she was charming.</span><br /> +She took a cottage tinted green,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where dewy roses loved to mingle;</span><br /> +And on the door, next day, was seen<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A dainty little shingle.</span><br /> +<br /> +Her hair was like an amber wreath;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her hat was darker, to enhance it.</span><br /> +The violet eyes that glowed beneath<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Were brighter than her keenest lancet,</span><br /> +The beauties of her glove and gown<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The sweetest rhyme would fail to utter.</span><br /> +Ere she had been a day in town<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The town was in a flutter.</span><br /> +<br /> +The gallants viewed her feet and hands,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And swore they never saw such wee things;</span><br /> +The gossips met in purring bands,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And tore her piecemeal o'er the tea-things.</span><br /> +The former drank the Doctor's health<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With clinking cups, the gay carousers;</span><br /> +The latter watched her door by stealth,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Just like so many mousers.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> + +<br /> +But Doctor Bessie went her way,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Unmindful of the spiteful cronies,</span><br /> +And drove her buggy every day<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Behind a dashing pair of ponies.</span><br /> +Her flower-like face so bright she bore<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I hoped that time might never wilt her.</span><br /> +The way she tripped across the floor<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Was better than a philter.</span><br /> +<br /> +Her patients thronged the village street;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her snowy slate was always quite full.</span><br /> +Some said her bitters tasted sweet,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And some pronounced her pills delightful.</span><br /> +'Twas strange—I knew not what it meant—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She seemed a nymph from Eldorado;</span><br /> +Where'er she came, where'er she went,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Grief lost its gloomy shadow.</span><br /> +<br /> +Like all the rest I, too, grew ill;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My aching heart there was no quelling.</span><br /> +I tremble at my doctor's bill—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And lo! the items still are swelling.</span><br /> +The drugs I've drunk you'd weep to hear!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They've quite enriched the fair concocter,</span><br /> +And I'm a ruined man, I fear,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Unless—I wed the Doctor!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Samuel Minturn Peck.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A SKETCH FROM THE LIFE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Its eyes are gray;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Its hair is either brown</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Or black;</span><br /> +And, strange to say,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Its dresses button down</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">The back!</span><br /> +<br /> +It wears a plume<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That loves to frisk around</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">My ear.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> + +It crowds the room<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With cushions in a mound</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And queer</span><br /> +<br /> +Old rugs and lamps<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In corners à la Turque</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And things.</span><br /> +It steals my stamps,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And when I want to work</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">It sings!</span><br /> +<br /> +It rides and skates—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But then it comes and fills</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">My walls</span><br /> +With plaques and plates<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And keeps me paying bills</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And calls.</span><br /> +<br /> +It's firm; and if<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I should my many woes</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Deplore,</span><br /> +'Twould only sniff<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And perk its little nose</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Some more.</span><br /> +<br /> +It's bright, though small;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Its name, you may have guessed,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Is "Wife."</span><br /> +But, after all,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">It gives a wondrous zest</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">To life!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Arthur Guiterman.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>MINGUILLO'S KISS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Since for kissing thee, Minguillo,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mother's ever scolding me,</span><br /> +Give me swiftly back, thou dear one,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Give the kiss I gave to thee.</span><br /> +Give me back the kiss—that one, now;<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> + +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Let my mother scold no more;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Let us tell her all is o'er:</span><br /> +What was done is all undone now.<br /> +Yes, it will be wise, Minguillo,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My fond kiss to give to me;</span><br /> +Give me swiftly back, thou dear one,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Give the kiss I gave to thee.</span><br /> +Give me back the kiss, for mother<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is impatient—prithee, do!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For that one thou shalt have two:</span><br /> +Give me that, and take another.<br /> +Yes, then will they be contented,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then can't they complain of me;</span><br /> +Give me swiftly back, thou dear one,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Give the kiss I gave to thee.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A KISS IN THE RAIN</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +One stormy morn I chanced to meet<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A lassie in the town;</span><br /> +Her locks were like the ripened wheat,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her laughing eyes were brown.</span><br /> +I watched her as she tripped along<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till madness filled my brain,</span><br /> +And then—and then—I know 'twas wrong—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I kissed her in the rain!</span><br /> +<br /> +With rain-drops shining on her cheek,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like dew-drops on a rose,</span><br /> +The little lassie strove to speak<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My boldness to oppose;</span><br /> +She strove in vain, and quivering<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her fingers stole in mine;</span><br /> +And then the birds began to sing,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The sun began to shine.</span><br /> +<br /> +Oh, let the clouds grow dark above,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My heart is light below;</span><br /> +'Tis always summer when we love,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">However winds may blow;</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> + +And I'm as proud as any prince,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All honors I disdain:</span><br /> +She says I am her <i>rain beau</i> since<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I kissed her in the rain.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Samuel Minturn Peck.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE LOVE-KNOT</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Tying her bonnet under her chin,<br /> +She tied her raven ringlets in;<br /> +But, not alone in the silken snare<br /> +Did she catch her lovely floating hair,<br /> +For, tying her bonnet under her chin,<br /> +She tied a young man's heart within.<br /> +<br /> +They were strolling together up the hill,<br /> +Where the wind comes blowing merry and chill;<br /> +And it blew the curls, a frolicsome race,<br /> +All over the happy peach-coloured face,<br /> +Till, scolding and laughing, she tied them in,<br /> +Under her beautiful dimpled chin.<br /> +<br /> +And it blew a colour bright as the bloom<br /> +Of the pinkest fuchsia's tossing plume,<br /> +All over the cheeks of the prettiest girl<br /> +That ever imprisoned a romping curl,<br /> +Or, in tying her bonnet under her chin,<br /> +Tied a young man's heart within.<br /> +<br /> +Steeper and steeper grew the hill—<br /> +Madder, merrier, chillier still—<br /> +The western wind blew down and played<br /> +The wildest tricks with the little maid,<br /> +As, tying her bonnet under her chin,<br /> +She tied a young man's heart within.<br /> +<br /> +Oh, western wind, do you think it was fair<br /> +To play such tricks with her floating hair?—<br /> +To gladly, gleefully do your best<br /> +To blow her against the young man's breast,<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> + +Where he as gladly folded her in,<br /> +And kissed her mouth and dimpled chin?<br /> +<br /> +Oh, Ellery Vane! you little thought<br /> +An hour ago, when you besought<br /> +This country lass to walk with you,<br /> +After the sun had dried the dew,<br /> +What perilous danger you'd be in<br /> +As she tied her bonnet under her chin.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Nora Perry.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>OVER THE WAY</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Over the way, over the way,<br /> +I've seen a head that's fair and gray;<br /> +I've seen kind eyes not new to tears,<br /> +A form of grace, though full of years—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her fifty summers have left no flaw—</span><br /> +And I, a youth of twenty-three,<br /> +So love this lady, fair to see,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I want her for my mother-in-law!</span><br /> +<br /> +Over the way, over the way,<br /> +I've seen her with the children play;<br /> +I've seen her with a royal grace<br /> +Before the mirror adjust her lace;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A kinder woman none ever saw;</span><br /> +God bless and cheer her onward path,<br /> +And bless all treasures that she hath,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And let her be my mother-in-law!</span><br /> +<br /> +Over the way, over the way,<br /> +I think I'll venture, dear, some day<br /> +(If you will lend a helping hand,<br /> +And sanctify the scheme I've planned);<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'll kneel in loving, reverent awe</span><br /> +Down at the lady's feet, and say:<br /> +"I've loved your daughter many a day—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Please won't you be my mother-in-law?"</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Mary Mapes Dodge.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>CHORUS OF WOMEN</h3> + +<h4>FROM THE "THESMOPHORIAZUSÆ."</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +They're always abusing the women,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As a terrible plague to men;</span><br /> +They say we're the root of all evil,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And repeat it again and again—</span><br /> +Of war, and quarrels, and bloodshed,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All mischief, be what it may.</span><br /> +And pray, then, why do you marry us,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If we're all the plagues you say?</span><br /> +And why do you take such care of us,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And keep us so safe at home,</span><br /> +And are never easy a moment<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If ever we chance to roam?</span><br /> +When you ought to be thanking Heaven<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That your plague is out of the way,</span><br /> +You all keep fussing and fretting—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Where is my Plague to-day?"</span><br /> +If a Plague peeps out of the window,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Up go the eyes of men;</span><br /> +If she hides, then they all keep staring<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Until she looks out again.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Aristophanes.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE WIDOW MALONE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Did you hear of the Widow Malone<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">O hone!</span><br /> +Who lived in the town of Athlone<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">Alone?</span><br /> +O, she melted the hearts<br /> +Of the swains in them parts;<br /> +So lovely the Widow Malone,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">O hone!</span><br /> +So lovely the Widow Malone.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> + +<br /> +Of lovers she had a full score<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">Or more;</span><br /> +And fortunes they all had galore<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">In store;</span><br /> +From the minister down<br /> +To the clerk of the Crown,<br /> +All were courting the Widow Malone<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">O hone!</span><br /> +All were courting the Widow Malone.<br /> +<br /> +But so modest was Mrs. Malone,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">'Twas known,</span><br /> +That no one could see her alone,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">O hone!</span><br /> +Let them ogle and sigh,<br /> +They could ne'er catch her eye;<br /> +So bashful the Widow Malone,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">O hone!</span><br /> +So bashful the Widow Malone.<br /> +<br /> +Till one Mister O'Brien from Clare,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">How quare!</span><br /> +'Tis little for blushing they care<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">Down there;</span><br /> +Put his arm round her waist,<br /> +Gave ten kisses at laste,<br /> +And says he, "You're my Molly Malone,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">My own."</span><br /> +Says he, "You're my Molly Malone."<br /> +<br /> +And the widow they all thought so shy—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">My eye!</span><br /> +Never thought of a simper or sigh;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">For why?</span><br /> +"O Lucius," said she,<br /> +"Since you've now made so free,<br /> +You may marry your Mary Malone,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">Your own;</span><br /> +You may marry your Mary Malone."<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> + +<br /> +There's a moral contained in my song,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">Not wrong;</span><br /> +And one comfort it's not very long,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">But strong:—</span><br /> +If for widows you die,<br /> +Learn to kiss—not to sigh,<br /> +For they're all like sweet Mistress Malone!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">O hone!</span><br /> +O they're all like sweet Mistress Malone!<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Charles Lever.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE SMACK IN SCHOOL</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +A district school, not far away,<br /> +Mid Berkshire's hills, one winter's day,<br /> +Was humming with its wonted noise<br /> +Of threescore mingled girls and boys;<br /> +Some few upon their tasks intent,<br /> +But more on furtive mischief bent.<br /> +The while the master's downward look<br /> +Was fastened on a copy-book;<br /> +When suddenly, behind his back,<br /> +Rose sharp and clear a rousing smack!<br /> +As 'twere a battery of bliss<br /> +Let off in one tremendous kiss!<br /> +"What's that?" the startled master cries;<br /> +"That, thir," a little imp replies,<br /> +"Wath William Willith, if you pleathe,—<br /> +I thaw him kith Thuthanna Peathe!"<br /> +With frown to make a statue thrill,<br /> +The master thundered, "Hither, Will!"<br /> +Like wretch o'ertaken in his track,<br /> +With stolen chattels on his back,<br /> +Will hung his head in fear and shame,<br /> +And to the awful presence came,—<br /> +A great, green, bashful simpleton,<br /> +The butt of all good-natured fun.<br /> +With smile suppressed, and birch upraised,<br /> +The thunderer faltered,—"I'm amazed<br /> +That you, my biggest pupil, should<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> + +Be guilty of an act so rude!<br /> +Before the whole set school to boot—<br /> +What evil genius put you to't?"<br /> +"'Twas she herself, sir," sobbed the lad,<br /> +"I did not mean to be so bad;<br /> +But when Susannah shook her curls,<br /> +And whispered, I was 'fraid of girls<br /> +And dursn't kiss a baby's doll,<br /> +I couldn't stand it, sir, at all,<br /> +But up and kissed her on the spot!<br /> +I know—boo—hoo—I ought to not,<br /> +But, somehow, from her looks—boo—hoo—<br /> +I thought she kind o' wished me to!"<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>William Pitt Palmer.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>'SPÄCIALLY JIM</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I wus mighty good-lookin' when I wus young—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Peert an' black-eyed an' slim,</span><br /> +With fellers a-courtin' me Sunday nights,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">'Späcially Jim.</span><br /> +<br /> +The likeliest one of 'em all wus he,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Chipper an' han'som' an' trim;</span><br /> +But I toss'd up my head, an' made fun o' the crowd,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">'Späcially Jim.</span><br /> +<br /> +I said I hadn't no 'pinion o' men<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An' I wouldn't take stock in <i>him!</i></span><br /> +But they kep' up a-comin' in spite o' my talk,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">'Späcially Jim.</span><br /> +<br /> +I got <i>so</i> tired o' havin' 'em roun'<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">('Späcially Jim!),</span><br /> +I made up my mind I'd settle down<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An' take up with him;</span><br /> +<br /> +So we was married one Sunday in church,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Twas crowded full to the brim,</span><br /> +'Twas the only way to get rid of 'em all,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">'Späcially Jim.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Bessie Morgan.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>KITTY OF COLERAINE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +As beautiful Kitty one morning was tripping,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a pitcher of milk from the fair of Coleraine,</span><br /> +When she saw me she stumbled, the pitcher it tumbled,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And all the sweet buttermilk water'd the plain.</span><br /> +<br /> +"O, what shall I do now, 'twas looking at you now,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sure, sure, such a pitcher I'll ne'er meet again!</span><br /> +'Twas the pride of my dairy: O Barney M'Cleary!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You're sent as a plague to the girls of Coleraine."</span><br /> +<br /> +I sat down beside her,—and gently did chide her,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That such a misfortune should give her such pain;</span><br /> +A kiss then I gave her,—and ere I did leave her,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She vow'd for such pleasure she'd break it again.</span><br /> +<br /> +'Twas hay-making season, I can't tell the reason,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Misfortunes will never come single,—that's plain,</span><br /> +For, very soon after poor Kitty's disaster,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The devil a pitcher was whole in Coleraine.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Edward Lysaght.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>WHY DON'T THE MEN PROPOSE?</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Why don't the men propose, mamma?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Why don't the men propose?</span><br /> +Each seems just coming to the point,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And then away he goes;</span><br /> +It is no fault of yours, mamma,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>That</i> everybody knows;</span><br /> +You <i>fête</i> the finest men in town,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yet, oh! they won't propose.</span><br /> +<br /> +I'm sure I've done my best, mamma,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To make a proper match;</span><br /> +For coronets and eldest sons,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'm ever on the watch;</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> + +I've hopes when some <i>distingué</i> beau<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A glance upon me throws;</span><br /> +But though he'll dance and smile and flirt,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Alas! he won't propose.</span><br /> +<br /> +I've tried to win by languishing,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And dressing like a blue;</span><br /> +I've bought big books and talked of them<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As if I'd read them through!</span><br /> +With hair cropp'd like a man I've felt<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The heads of all the beaux;</span><br /> +But Spurzheim could not touch their hearts,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And oh! they won't propose.</span><br /> +<br /> +I threw aside the books, and thought<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That ignorance was bliss;</span><br /> +I felt convinced that men preferred<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A simple sort of Miss;</span><br /> +And so I lisped out nought beyond<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Plain "yesses" or plain "noes,"</span><br /> +And wore a sweet unmeaning smile;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yet, oh! they won't propose.</span><br /> +<br /> +Last night at Lady Ramble's rout<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I heard Sir Henry Gale</span><br /> +Exclaim, "Now I <i>propose</i> again——"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I started, turning pale;</span><br /> +I really thought my time was come,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I blushed like any rose;</span><br /> +But oh! I found 'twas only at<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Ecarté</i> he'd propose.</span><br /> +<br /> +And what is to be done, mamma?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh, what is to be done?</span><br /> +I really have no time to lose,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For I am thirty-one;</span><br /> +At balls I am too often left<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where spinsters sit in rows;</span><br /> +Why don't the men propose, mamma?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Why <i>won't</i> the men propose?</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Thomas Haynes Bayly.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A PIN</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Oh, I know a certain woman who is reckoned with the good,<br /> +But she fills me with more terror than a raging lion would.<br /> +The little chills run up and down my spine when'er we meet,<br /> +Though she seems a gentle creature and she's very trim and neat.<br /> +<br /> +And she has a thousand virtues and not one acknowledged sin,<br /> +But she is the sort of person you could liken to a pin,<br /> +And she pricks you, and she sticks you, in a way that can't be said—<br /> +When you seek for what has hurt you, why, you cannot find the head.<br /> +<br /> +But she fills you with discomfort and exasperating pain—<br /> +If anybody asks you why, you really can't explain.<br /> +A pin is such a tiny thing,—of that there is no doubt,—<br /> +Yet when it's sticking in your flesh, you're wretched till it's out!<br /> +<br /> +She is wonderfully observing—when she meets a pretty girl<br /> +She is always sure to tell her if her "bang" is out of curl.<br /> +And she is so sympathetic: to a friend, who's much admired,<br /> +She is often heard remarking, "Dear, you look so worn and tired!"<br /> +<br /> +And she is a careful critic; for on yesterday she eyed<br /> +The new dress I was airing with a woman's natural pride,<br /> +And she said, "Oh, how becoming!" and then softly added, "It<br /> +Is really a misfortune that the basque is such a fit."<br /> +<br /> +Then she said, "If you had heard me yestereve, I'm sure, my friend,<br /> +You would say I am a champion who knows how to defend."<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> + +And she left me with the feeling—most unpleasant, I aver—<br /> +That the whole world would despise me if it had not been for her.<br /> +<br /> +Whenever I encounter her, in such a nameless way<br /> +She gives me the impression I am at my worst that day,<br /> +And the hat that was imported (and that cost me half a sonnet)<br /> +With just one glance from her round eyes becomes a Bowery bonnet.<br /> +<br /> +She is always bright and smiling, sharp and shining for a thrust—<br /> +Use does not seem to blunt her point, not does she gather rust—<br /> +Oh! I wish some hapless specimen of mankind would begin<br /> +To tidy up the world for me, by picking up this pin.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Ella Wheeler Wilcox.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE WHISTLER</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +"You have heard," said a youth to his sweetheart, who stood<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While he sat on a corn-sheaf, at daylight's decline—</span><br /> +"You have heard of the Danish boy's whistle of wood;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I wish that the Danish boy's whistle were mine!"</span><br /> +<br /> +"And what would you do with it?—tell me," she said,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While an arch smile play'd over her beautiful face.</span><br /> +"I would blow it," he answered, "and then my fair maid<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Would fly to my side, and would there take her place."</span><br /> +<br /> +"Is that all you wish for? Why, that may be yours<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Without any magic," the fair maiden cried;</span><br /> +"A favour so slight one's good-nature secures;"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And she playfully seated herself by his side.</span><br /> +<br /> +"I would blow it again," said the youth; "and the charm<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Would work so, that not even modesty's check</span><br /> +Would be able to keep from my neck your white arm."<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She smiled, and she laid her white arm round his neck.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> + +<br /> +"Yet once more I would blow, and the music divine<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Would bring me a third time an exquisite bliss</span><br /> +You would lay your fair cheek to this brown one of mine<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And your lips, stealing past it, would give me a kiss."</span><br /> +<br /> +The maiden laughed out in her innocent glee—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"What a fool of yourself with the whistle you'd make!</span><br /> +For only consider how silly 'twould be<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To sit there and whistle for what you might take."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE CLOUD</h3> + +<h4>AN IDYLL OF THE WESTERN FRONT</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> + +<p class='h_5'>I</p> +<p> +<span class="smcap">Scene</span>: <i>A wayside shrine in France.</i><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Persons</span>: Celeste, Pierre, a Cloud.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Celeste</span> (<i>gazing at the solitary white Cloud</i>):<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I wonder what your thoughts are, little Cloud,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Up in the sky, so lonely and so proud!</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cloud</span>: Not proud, dear maiden; lonely, if you will.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Long have I watched you, sitting there so still</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Before that little shrine beside the way,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And wondered where your thoughts might be astray;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Your knitting lying idle on your knees,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And worse than idle—like Penelope's,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Working its own undoing!</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Celeste</span> (<i>picks up her knitting</i>): Who was she?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Saints! What a knot!—Who was Penelope?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What happened to <i>her</i> knitting? Tell me, Cloud!</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cloud</span>: She was a Queen; she wove her husband's shroud.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Celeste</span> (<i>drops the knitting</i>).<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His shroud!</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cloud</span>:<span style="margin-left: 4em;">There, there! 'Twas only an excuse</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To put her lovers off, a wifely ruse,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bidding them bide till it was finished, she</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Each night the web unravelled secretly.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Celeste</span>: He came home safe?<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> + +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cloud</span>:<span style="margin-left: 10em;">If I remember right,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It was the lovers needed shrouds that night!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It is an old, old tale. I heard it through</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Wind whose ancestor it was that blew</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ulysses' ship across the purple sea</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Back to his people and Penelope.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We Clouds pick up strange tales, as far and wide</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And to and fro above the world we ride,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Across uncharted seas, upon the swell</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of viewless waves and tides invisible,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Freighted with friendly flood or forkèd flame,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Knowing not whither bound nor whence we came;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now drifting lonely, now a company</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of pond'rous galleons—</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Celeste</span>:<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Oft-times I see</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Cloud, as by some playful fancy stirred,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Take likeness of a monstrous beast or bird</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or some fantastic fish, as though 'twere clay</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Moulded by unseen hands.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cloud</span>:<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Then tell me, pray,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What I resemble now!</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Celeste</span>:<span style="margin-left: 6em;">I scarcely know.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But had you asked a little while ago,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I should have said a camel; then your hump</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dissolved, and you became a gosling plump,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Downy and white and warm—</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cloud</span>:<span style="margin-left: 12em;">What! <i>Warm</i>, up here?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ten thousand feet above the earth!</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Celeste</span>:<span style="margin-left: 13em;">Oh dear!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What am I thinking of! Of course I know</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How cold it is. Pierre has told me so</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A thousand times.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cloud</span>:<span style="margin-left: 6em;">And who is this Pierre</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That tells you all the secrets of the air?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How came he to such frigid heights to soar?</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Celeste</span>: Pierre's my—He is in the Flying Corps.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cloud</span>: Ah, now I understand! And he's away?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Celeste</span>: He left at dawn, where for he would not say,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Telling me only 'twas a bombing raid</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Somewhere—My God! What's that?</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cloud</span>:<span style="margin-left: 14em;">What, little maid?</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> + +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Celeste</span> (<i>pointing</i>): That—over there—beyond the wooded crest!<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cloud</span>: Only a skylark dropping to her nest;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her mate is hov'ring somewhere near. I heard</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His tremulous song of love—</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Celeste</span>:<span style="margin-left: 10em;">That was no bird!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(<i>Drops upon her knees.</i>)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O Mary! Blessed Mother! Hear, my prayer!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That one that fell—grant it was not Pierre!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Here is the cross my mother gave me—I</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Will burn the longest candle it will buy!</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cloud</span>: Courage, my child! Your prayer will not be vain!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who guards the lark, will guide your lover's plane.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The West Wind's calling. I must go!—Hark! There</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He sings again! <i>Le bon Dieu garde, ma chère!</i></span><br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>II</p> +<p> +<span class="smcap">Pierre</span>: I made a perfect landing over there<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Behind the church—</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Celeste</span>:<span style="margin-left: 8em;">The Virgin heard my prayer!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now I must burn the candle that I vowed—</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Pierre</span>: Then 'twas our Blessed Lady sent that Cloud<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That saved me when the Boche came up behind.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I made a lightning turn, only to find</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Boche on top of me. It seemed a kind</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of miracle to see that Cloud—I swear</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A moment past the sky was everywhere</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As clear as clear; there was no Cloud in sight.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It looked to me, floating there calm and white.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like a great mother hen, and I a chick.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She seemed to call me, and I scurried quick</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Behind her wing. That spoiled the Boche's game,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And gave me time to turn and take good aim.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I emptied my last drum, and saw him drop</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ten thousand feet in flames—</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Celeste</span> (<i>shuddering</i>):<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Stop! Pierre, stop!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Maybe a girl is waiting for him too—</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Pierre</span>: 'Twas either him or me—<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> + +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Celeste</span>:<span style="margin-left: 12em;">Thank God, not you!</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Pierre</span> (<i>pointing to the church</i>): Come, let us burn the candle that you vowed.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Celeste</span>: Two candles!<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Pierre</span>: Who's the other for?<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Celeste</span>: The Cloud!<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Oliver Herford.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>CONSTANCY</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +"You gave me the key of your heart, my love;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then why do you make me knock?"</span><br /> +"Oh, that was yesterday, Saints above!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And last night—I changed the lock!"</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>John Boyle O'Reilly.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>AIN'T IT AWFUL, MABEL?</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +It worries me to beat the band<br /> +To hear folks say our lives is grand;<br /> +Wish they'd try some one-night stand.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ain't it awful, Mabel?</span><br /> +<br /> +Nothin' ever seems to suit—<br /> +The manager's an awful brute;<br /> +Spend our lives jest lookin' cute.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ain't it awful, Mabel?</span><br /> +<br /> +Met a boy last Tuesday night,<br /> +Was spendin' money left and right—-<br /> +Me, gee! I couldn't eat a bite!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ain't it awful, Mabel?</span><br /> +<br /> +Then I met another guy—<br /> +Hungry! well, I thought I'd die!<br /> +But I couldn't make him buy.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ain't it awful, Mabel?</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> + +<br /> +Lots of men has called me dear,<br /> +Said without me life was drear,<br /> +But men is all so unsincere!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ain't it awful, Mabel?</span><br /> +<br /> +I tell you, life is mighty hard,<br /> +I've had proposals by the yard—<br /> +Some of 'em would 'a had me starred.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ain't it awful, Mabel?</span><br /> +<br /> +Remember that sealskin sacque of mine?<br /> +When I got it, look'd awful fine—<br /> +I found out it was a shine.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ain't it awful, Mabel?</span><br /> +<br /> +Prima donna's sore on me;<br /> +My roses had her up a tree—<br /> +I jest told her to "twenty-three."<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ain't it awful, Mabel?</span><br /> +<br /> +My dear, she went right out and wired<br /> +The New York office to have me "fired";<br /> +But say! 'twas the author had me hired.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ain't it awful, Mabel?</span><br /> +<br /> +I think hotels is awful mean,<br /> +Jim and me put out of room sixteen—<br /> +An' we was only readin' Laura Jean.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ain't it awful, Mabel?</span><br /> +<br /> +The way folks talk about us too;<br /> +For the smallest thing we do—<br /> +'Nuff to make a girl feel blue.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ain't it awful, Mabel?</span><br /> +<br /> +My Gawd! is that the overture?<br /> +I never will be on, I'm sure—<br /> +The things us actresses endure,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ain't it awful, Mabel?</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>John Edward Hazzard.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>WING TEE WEE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Oh, Wing Tee Wee</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Was a sweet Chinee,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And she lived in the town of Tac.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Her eyes were blue,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And her curling queue</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hung dangling down her back;</span><br /> +And she fell in love with gay Win Sil<br /> +When he wrote his name on a laundry bill.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And, oh, Tim Told</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Was a pirate bold,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And he sailed in a Chinese junk;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And he loved, ah me!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sweet Wing Tee Wee,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But his valiant heart had sunk;</span><br /> +So he drowned his blues in fickle fizz,<br /> +And vowed the maid would yet be his.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">So bold Tim Told</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Showed all his gold</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the maid in the town of Tac;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And sweet Wing Wee</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Eloped to sea,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And nevermore came back;</span><br /> +For in far Chinee the maids are fair,<br /> +And the maids are false,—as everywhere.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>J. P. Denison.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>PHYLLIS LEE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Beside a Primrose 'broider'd Rill<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sat Phyllis Lee in Silken Dress</span><br /> +Whilst Lucius limn'd with loving skill<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her likeness, as a Shepherdess.</span><br /> +Yet tho' he strove with loving skill<br /> +His Brush refused to work his Will.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> + +<br /> +"Dear Maid, unless you close your Eyes<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I cannot paint to-day," he said;</span><br /> +"Their Brightness shames the very Skies<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And turns their Turquoise into Lead."</span><br /> +Quoth Phyllis, then, "To save the Skies<br /> +And speed your Brush, I'll shut my Eyes."<br /> +<br /> +Now when her Eyes were closed, the Dear,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Not dreaming of such Treachery,</span><br /> +Felt a Soft Whisper in her Ear,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Without the Light, how can one See?"</span><br /> +"If you are <i>sure</i> that none can see<br /> +I'll keep them shut," said Phyllis Lee.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Oliver Herford.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE SORROWS OF WERTHER</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Werther had a love for Charlotte<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Such as words could never utter;</span><br /> +Would you know how first he met her?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She was cutting bread and butter.</span><br /> +<br /> +Charlotte was a married lady,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And a moral man was Werther,</span><br /> +And for all the wealth of Indies,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Would do nothing for to hurt her.</span><br /> +<br /> +So he sigh'd and pined and ogled,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And his passion boil'd and bubbled,</span><br /> +Till he blew his silly brains out,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And no more was by it troubled.</span><br /> +<br /> +Charlotte, having seen his body<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Borne before her on a shutter,</span><br /> +Like a well-conducted person,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Went on cutting bread and butter.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>W. M. Thackeray.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE UNATTAINABLE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Tom's album was filled with the pictures of belles<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who had captured his manly heart,</span><br /> +From the fairy who danced for the front-row swells<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the maiden who tooled her cart;</span><br /> +But one face as fair as a cloudless dawn<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Caught my eye, and I said, "Who's this?"</span><br /> +"Oh, that," he replied, with a skilful yawn,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Is the girl I couldn't kiss."</span><br /> +<br /> +Her face was the best in the book, no doubt,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But I hastily turned the leaf,</span><br /> +For my friend had let his cigar go out,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I knew I had bared his grief:</span><br /> +For caresses we win and smiles we gain<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yield only a transient bliss,</span><br /> +And we're all of us prone to sigh in vain<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For "the girl we couldn't kiss."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Harry Romaine.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>RORY O'MORE; OR, GOOD OMENS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Young Rory O'More, courted Kathleen Bawn,<br /> +He was bold as a hawk,—she as soft as the dawn;<br /> +He wish'd in his heart pretty Kathleen to please,<br /> +And he thought the best way to do that was to tease.<br /> +<br /> +"Now, Rory, be aisy," sweet Kathleen would cry,<br /> +(Reproof on her lip, but a smile in her eye),<br /> +"With your tricks I don't know, in troth, what I'm about,<br /> +Faith you've teased till I've put on my cloak inside out."<br /> +"Oh, jewel," says Rory, "that same is the way<br /> +You've thrated my heart for this many a day;<br /> +And 'tis plaz'd that I am, and why not to be sure?<br /> +For 'tis all for good luck," says bold Rory O'More.<br /> +<br /> +"Indeed, then," says Kathleen, "don't think of the like,<br /> +For I half gave a promise to soothering Mike;<br /> +The ground that I walk on he loves, I'll be bound."<br /> +"Faith," says Rory, "I'd rather love you than the ground."<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> + +<br /> +"Now, Rory, I'll cry if you don't let me go;<br /> +Sure I drame ev'ry night that I'm hating you so!"<br /> +"Oh," says Rory, "that same I'm delighted to hear,<br /> +For drames always go by conthraries, my dear;<br /> +Oh! jewel, keep draming that same till you die,<br /> +And bright morning will give dirty night the black lie!<br /> +And 'tis plaz'd that I am, and why not, to be sure?<br /> +Since 'tis all for good luck," says bold Rory O'More.<br /> +<br /> +"Arrah, Kathleen, my darlint, you've teas'd me enough,<br /> +Sure I've thrash'd for your sake Dinny Grimes and Jim Duff;<br /> +And I've made myself, drinking your health, quite a baste,<br /> +So I think, after that, I may talk to the praste."<br /> +Then Rory, the rogue, stole his arm around her neck,<br /> +So soft and so white, without freckle or speck,<br /> +And he look'd in her eyes that were beaming with light,<br /> +And he kiss'd her sweet lips;—don't you think he was right?<br /> +"Now, Rory, leave off, sir; you'll hug me no more,<br /> +That's eight times to-day you have kiss'd me before."<br /> +"Then here goes another," says he, "to make sure,<br /> +For there's luck in odd numbers," says Rory O'More.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Samuel Lover.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A DIALOGUE FROM PLATO</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<div class='blockquot'><p>"<i>Le temps le mieux employé est celui qu' on perd</i>."</p> + +<p style="text-align: right;">—<span class="smcap">Claude Tillier</span>.</p></div> + +<p> +I'd read three hours. Both notes and text<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Were fast a mist becoming;</span><br /> +In bounced a vagrant bee, perplexed,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And filled the room with humming.</span><br /> +<br /> +Then out. The casement's leafage sways,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And, parted light, discloses</span><br /> +Miss Di., with hat and book,—a maze<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of muslin mixed with roses.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> + +<br /> +"You're reading Greek?" "I am—and you?"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"O, mine's a mere romancer!"</span><br /> +"So Plato is." "Then read him—do;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I'll read mine in answer."</span><br /> +<br /> +I read. "My Plato (Plato, too,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That wisdom thus should harden!)</span><br /> +Declares 'blue eyes look doubly blue<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beneath a Dolly Varden.'"</span><br /> +<br /> +She smiled. "My book in turn avers<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(No author's name is stated)</span><br /> +That sometimes those Philosophers<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are sadly mis-translated."</span><br /> +<br /> +"But hear,—the next's in stronger style:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Cynic School asserted</span><br /> +That two red lips which part and smile<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">May not be controverted!"</span><br /> +<br /> +She smiled once more—"My book, I find,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Observes some modern doctors</span><br /> +Would make the Cynics out a kind<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of album-verse concoctors."</span><br /> +<br /> +Then I—"Why not? 'Ephesian law,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No less than time's tradition,</span><br /> +Enjoined fair speech on all who saw<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Diana's apparition.'"</span><br /> +<br /> +She blushed—this time. "If Plato's page<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No wiser precept teaches,</span><br /> +Then I'd renounce that doubtful sage,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And walk to Burnham-beeches."</span><br /> +<br /> +"Agreed," I said. "For Socrates<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(I find he too is talking)</span><br /> +Thinks Learning can't remain at ease<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While Beauty goes a-walking."</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> + +<br /> +She read no more, I leapt the sill:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The sequel's scarce essential—</span><br /> +Nay, more than this, I hold it still<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Profoundly confidential.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Austin Dobson.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>DORA VERSUS ROSE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p class='center'>"<i>The case is proceeding.</i>"</p> + +<p> +From the tragic-est novels at Mudie's—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At least, on a practical plan—</span><br /> +To the tales of mere Hodges and Judys,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One love is enough for a man.</span><br /> +But no case that I ever yet met is<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like mine: I am equally fond</span><br /> +Of Rose, who a charming brunette is,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11.5em;">And Dora, a blonde.</span><br /> +<br /> +Each rivals the other in powers—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Each waltzes, each warbles, each paints—</span><br /> +Miss Rose, chiefly tumble-down towers;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Miss Do., perpendicular saints.</span><br /> +In short, to distinguish is folly;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Twixt the pair I am come to the pass</span><br /> +Of Macheath, between Lucy and Polly,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11.5em;">Or Buridan's ass.</span><br /> +<br /> +If it happens that Rosa I've singled<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For a soft celebration in rhyme,</span><br /> +Then the ringlets of Dora get mingled<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Somehow with the tune and the time;</span><br /> +Or I painfully pen me a sonnet<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To an eyebrow intended for Do.'s,</span><br /> +And behold I am writing upon it<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11.5em;">The legend, "To Rose,"</span><br /> +<br /> +Or I try to draw Dora (my blotter<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is all overscrawled with her head),</span><br /> +If I fancy at last that I've got her,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It turns to her rival instead;</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> + +Or I find myself placidly adding<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the rapturous tresses of Rose</span><br /> +Miss Dora's bud-mouth, and her madding<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11.5em;">Ineffable nose.</span><br /> +<br /> +Was there ever so sad a dilemma?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For Rose I would perish (pro tem.);</span><br /> +For Dora I'd willingly stem a—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Whatever might offer to stem);</span><br /> +But to make the invidious election,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To declare that on either one's side</span><br /> +I've a scruple,—a grain, more affection,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11.5em;">I <i>cannot</i> decide.</span><br /> +<br /> +And, as either so hopelessly nice is,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My sole and my final resource</span><br /> +Is to wait some indefinite crisis,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Some feat of molecular force,</span><br /> +To solve me this riddle conducive<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By no means to peace or repose,</span><br /> +Since the issue can scarce be inclusive<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11.5em;">Of Dora <i>and</i> Rose.</span><br /> +</p> +<p class='center'>(<i>Afterthought</i>)</p> +<p> +But, perhaps, if a third (say a Nora),<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Not quite so delightful as Rose,—</span><br /> +Not wholly so charming as Dora,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Should appear, is it wrong to suppose,—</span><br /> +As the claims of the others are equal,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And flight—in the main—is the best,—</span><br /> +That I might ... But no matter,—the sequel<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11.5em;">Is easily guessed.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Austin Dobson.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + + +<h3>TU QUOQUE</h3> + +<h4>AN IDYLL IN THE CONSERVATORY</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> + +<p class='h_5'>NELLIE</p> +<p> +If I were you, when ladies at the play, Sir,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beckon and nod, a melodrama through,</span><br /> +I would not turn abstractedly away, Sir,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If I were you!</span><br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>FRANK</p> +<p> +If I were you, when persons I affected,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wait for three hours to take me down to Kew,</span><br /> +I would at least pretend I recollected,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If I were you!</span><br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>NELLIE</p> +<p> +If I were you, when ladies are so lavish,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sir, as to keep me every waltz but two,</span><br /> +I would not dance with <i>odious</i> Miss M'Tavish,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If I were you!</span><br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>FRANK</p> +<p> +If I were you, who vow you cannot suffer<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whiff of the best,—the mildest "honey dew,"</span><br /> +I would not dance with smoke-consuming Puffer,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If I were you!</span><br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>NELLIE</p> +<p> +If I were you, I would not, Sir, be bitter,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Even to write the "Cynical Review";—</span><br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>FRANK</p> +<p> +No, I should doubtless find flirtation fitter,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If I were you!</span><br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>NELLIE</p> +<p> +Really! You would? Why, Frank, you're quite delightful,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hot as Othello, and as black of hue;</span><br /> +Borrow my fan. I would not look so <i>frightful</i>,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If I were you!</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> + +</p> +<p class='h_5'>FRANK</p> +<p> +"It is the cause." I mean your chaperon is<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bringing some well-curled juvenile. Adieu!</span><br /> +<i>I</i> shall retire. I'd spare that poor Adonis,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If I were you!</span><br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>NELLIE</p> +<p> +Go, if you will. At once! And by express, Sir!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where shall it be? To China—or Peru?</span><br /> +Go. I should leave inquirers my address, Sir,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If I were you!</span><br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>FRANK</p> +<p> +No—I remain. To stay and fight a duel<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Seems, on the whole, the proper thing to do—</span><br /> +Ah, you are strong,—I would not then be cruel,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If I were you!</span><br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>NELLIE</p> +<p> +One does not like one's feelings to be doubted,—<br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>FRANK</p> +<p> +One does not like one's friends to misconstrue,—<br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>NELLIE</p> +<p> +If I confess that I a wee-bit pouted?<br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>FRANK</p> +<p> +I should admit that I was <i>piqué</i>, too.<br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>NELLIE</p> +<p> +Ask me to dance. I'd say no more about it,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If I were you!</span><br /> + +</p> +<p class='h_5'>[Waltz—<i>Exeunt</i>.]</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Austin Dobson.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>NOTHING TO WEAR</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Miss Flora McFlimsey, of Madison Square,<br /> +Has made three separate journeys to Paris;<br /> +And her father assures me, each time she was there,<br /> +That she and her friend Mrs. Harris<br /> +(Not the lady whose name is so famous in history,<br /> +But plain Mrs. H., without romance or mystery)<br /> +Spent six consecutive weeks without stopping,<br /> +In one continuous round of shopping;—<br /> +Shopping alone, and shopping together,<br /> +At all hours of the day, and in all sorts of weather:<br /> +For all manner of things that a woman can put<br /> +On the crown of her head or the sole of her foot,<br /> +Or wrap round her shoulders, or fit round her waist,<br /> +Or that can be sewed on, or pinned on, or laced,<br /> +Or tied on with a string, or stitched on with a bow,<br /> +In front or behind, above or below;<br /> +For bonnets, mantillas, capes, collars, and shawls;<br /> +Dresses for breakfasts, and dinners, and balls;<br /> +Dresses to sit in, and stand in, and walk in,<br /> +Dresses to dance in, and flirt in, and talk in;<br /> +Dresses in which to do nothing at all;<br /> +Dresses for winter, spring, summer, and fall,—<br /> +All of them different in color and pattern,<br /> +Silk, muslin, and lace, crape, velvet, and satin,<br /> +Brocade, and broadcloth, and other material<br /> +Quite as expensive and much more ethereal:<br /> +In short, for all things that could ever be thought of,<br /> +Or milliner, modiste, or tradesman be bought of,<br /> +From ten-thousand-francs robes to twenty-sous frills;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In all quarters of Paris, and to every store:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While McFlimsey in vain stormed, scolded, and swore.</span><br /> +They footed the streets, and he footed the bills.<br /> +<br /> +The last trip, their goods shipped by the steamer <i>Argo</i><br /> +Formed, McFlimsey declares, the bulk of her cargo,<br /> +Not to mention a quantity kept from the rest,<br /> +Sufficient to fill the largest-sized chest,<br /> +Which did not appear on the ship's manifest,<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> + +But for which the ladies themselves manifested<br /> +Such particular interest that they invested<br /> +Their own proper persons in layers and rows<br /> +Of muslins, embroideries, worked underclothes,<br /> +Gloves, handkerchiefs, scarfs, and such trifles as those;<br /> +Then, wrapped in great shawls, like Circassian beauties,<br /> +Gave <i>good-by</i> to the ship, and <i>go-by</i> to the duties.<br /> +Her relations at home all marvelled, no doubt,<br /> +Miss Flora had grown so enormously stout<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For an actual belle and a possible bride;</span><br /> +But the miracle ceased when she turned inside out,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the truth came to light, and the dry-goods beside,</span><br /> +Which, in spite of collector and custom-house sentry,<br /> +Had entered the port without any entry.<br /> +And yet, though scarce three months have passed since the day<br /> +The merchandise went, on twelve carts, up Broadway,<br /> +This same Miss McFlimsey, of Madison Square,<br /> +The last time we met, was in utter despair,<br /> +Because she had nothing whatever to wear!<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Nothing to wear</span>! Now, as this is a true ditty,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I do not assert—this you know is between us—</span><br /> +That she's in a state of absolute nudity,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like Powers's Greek Slave, or the Medici Venus;</span><br /> +But I do mean to say I have heard her declare,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When at the same moment she had on a dress</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which cost five hundred dollars, and not a cent less,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And jewelry worth ten times more, I should guess,</span><br /> +That she had not a thing in the wide world to wear!<br /> +I should mention just here, that out of Miss Flora's<br /> +Two hundred and fifty or sixty adorers,<br /> +I had just been selected as he who should throw all<br /> +The rest in the shade, by the gracious bestowal<br /> +On myself, after twenty or thirty rejections<br /> +Of those fossil remains which she called her "affections,"<br /> +And that rather decayed but well-known work of art,<br /> +Which Miss Flora persisted in styling "her heart."<br /> +So we were engaged. Our troth had been plighted<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Not by moonbeam or starbeam, by fountain or grove;</span><br /> +But in a front parlor, most brilliantly lighted,<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> + +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beneath the gas-fixtures we whispered our love—</span><br /> +Without any romance, or raptures, or sighs,<br /> +Without any tears in Miss Flora's blue eyes,<br /> +Or blushes, or transports, or such silly actions;<br /> +It was one of the quietest business transactions,<br /> +With a very small sprinkling of sentiment, if any,<br /> +And a very large diamond imported by Tiffany.<br /> +On her virginal lips while I printed a kiss,<br /> +She exclaimed, as a sort of parenthesis,<br /> +And by way of putting me quite at my ease,<br /> +"You know, I'm to polka as much as I please,<br /> +And flirt when I like,—now stop,—don't you speak,—<br /> +And you must not come here more than twice in the week,<br /> +Or talk to me either at party or ball;<br /> +But always be ready to come when I call:<br /> +So don't prose to me about duty and stuff,—<br /> +If we don't break this off, there will be time enough<br /> +For that sort of thing; but the bargain must be,<br /> +That as long as I choose I am perfectly free:<br /> +For this is a sort of engagement, you see,<br /> +Which is binding on you, but not binding on me."<br /> +<br /> +Well, having thus wooed Miss McFlimsey, and gained her,<br /> +With the silks, crinolines, and hoops that contained her,<br /> +I had, as I thought, a contingent remainder<br /> +At least in the property, and the best right<br /> +To appear as its escort by day and by night;<br /> +And it being the week of the Stuckups' grand ball,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their cards had been out for a fortnight or so,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And set all the Avenue on the tiptoe,—</span><br /> +I considered it only my duty to call<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And see if Miss Flora intended to go.</span><br /> +I found her—as ladies are apt to be found<br /> +When the time intervening between the first sound<br /> +Of the bell and the visitor's entry is shorter<br /> +Than usual—I found—I won't say I caught—her<br /> +Intent on the pier-glass, undoubtedly meaning<br /> +To see if perhaps it didn't need cleaning.<br /> +She turned as I entered—"Why, Harry, you sinner,<br /> +I thought that you went to the Flashers' to dinner!"<br /> +"So I did," I replied; "but the dinner is swallowed,<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> + +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And digested, I trust; for 'tis now nine or more:</span><br /> +So being relieved from that duty, I followed<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Inclination, which led me, you see, to your door.</span><br /> +And now will your Ladyship so condescend<br /> +As just to inform me if you intend<br /> +Your beauty and graces and presence to lend<br /> +(All of which, when I own, I hope no one will borrow)<br /> +To the Stuckups, whose party, you know, is to-morrow?"<br /> +The fair Flora looked up with a pitiful air,<br /> +And answered quite promptly, "Why, Harry, <i>mon cher</i>,<br /> +I should like above all things to go with you there;<br /> +But really and truly—I've nothing to wear."<br /> +<br /> +"Nothing to wear? Go just as you are:<br /> +Wear the dress you have on, and you'll be by far,<br /> +I engage, the most bright and particular star<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On the Stuckup horizon—" I stopped, for her eye,</span><br /> +Notwithstanding this delicate onset of flattery,<br /> +Opened on me at once a most terrible battery<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of scorn and amazement. She made no reply,</span><br /> +But gave a slight turn to the end of her nose<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(That pure Grecian feature), as much as to say,</span><br /> +"How absurd that any sane man should suppose<br /> +That a lady would go to a ball in the clothes,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No matter how fine, that she wears every day!"</span><br /> +So I ventured again—"Wear your crimson brocade."<br /> +(Second turn-up of nose)—"That's too dark by a shade."—<br /> +"Your blue silk—" "That's too heavy."—"Your pink—" "That's too light."—<br /> +"Wear tulle over satin." "I can't endure white."—<br /> +"Your rose-colored, then, the best of the batch—"<br /> +"I haven't a thread of point lace to match."—<br /> +"Your brown moire-antique—" "Yes, and look like a Quaker."—<br /> +"The pearl-colored—" "I would, but that plaguy dressmaker<br /> +Has had it a week."—"Then that exquisite lilac,<br /> +In which you would melt the heart of a Shylock."<br /> +(Here the nose took again the same elevation)—<br /> +"I wouldn't wear that for the whole of creation."—<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> + +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Why not? It's my fancy, there's nothing could strike it</span><br /> +As more <i>comme il faut</i>"—"Yes, but, dear me, that lean<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sophronia Stuckup has got one just like it,</span><br /> +And I won't appear dressed like a chit of sixteen."—<br /> +"Then that splendid purple, that sweet mazarine,<br /> +That superb <i>point d'aiguille</i>, that imperial green,<br /> +That zephyr-like tarlatan, that rich grenadine—"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Not one of all which is fit to be seen,"</span><br /> +Said the lady, becoming excited and flushed.<br /> +"Then wear," I exclaimed, in a tone which quite crushed<br /> +Opposition, "that gorgeous toilette which you sported<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In Paris last spring, at the grand presentation,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When you quite turned the head of the head of the nation;</span><br /> +And by all the grand court were so very much courted."<br /> +The end of the nose was portentously tipped up,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And both the bright eyes shot forth indignation,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As she burst upon me with the fierce exclamation,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"I have worn it three times at the least calculation,</span><br /> +And that and most of my dresses are ripped up!"<br /> +Here I <i>ripped out</i> something, perhaps rather rash—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Quite innocent, though; but to use an expression</span><br /> +More striking than classic, it "settled my hash,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And proved very soon the last act of our session.</span><br /> +"Fiddlesticks, is it, sir? I wonder the ceiling<br /> +Doesn't fall down and crush you!—oh, you men have no feeling.<br /> +You selfish, unnatural, illiberal creatures,<br /> +Who set yourselves up as patterns and preachers,<br /> +Your silly pretence—why, what a mere guess it is!<br /> +Pray, what do you know of a woman's necessities?<br /> +I have told you and shown you I've nothing to wear,<br /> +And it's perfectly plain you not only don't care,<br /> +But you do not believe me" (here the nose went still higher):<br /> +"I suppose if you dared you would call me a liar.<br /> +Our engagement is ended, sir—yes, on the spot;<br /> +You're a brute, and a monster, and—I don't know what."<br /> +I mildly suggested the words Hottentot,<br /> +Pickpocket, and cannibal, Tartar, and thief,<br /> +As gentle expletives which might give relief:<br /> +But this only proved as a spark to the powder,<br /> +And the storm I had raised came faster and louder;<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> + +It blew, and it rained, thundered, lightened, and hailed<br /> +Interjections, verbs, pronouns, till language quite failed<br /> +To express the abusive, and then its arrears<br /> +Were brought up all at once by a torrent of tears;<br /> +And my last faint, despairing attempt at an obs-<br /> +Ervation was lost in a tempest of sobs.<br /> +<br /> +Well, I felt for the lady, and felt for my hat too,<br /> +Improvised on the crown of the latter a tattoo,<br /> +In lieu of expressing the feelings which lay<br /> +Quite too deep for words, as Wordsworth would say:<br /> +Then, without going through the form of a bow,<br /> +Found myself in the entry,—I hardly knew how,—<br /> +On doorstep and sidewalk, past lamp-post and square,<br /> +At home and up-stairs, in my own easy-chair;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Poked my feet into slippers, my fire into blaze,</span><br /> +And said to myself, as I lit my cigar,—<br /> +Supposing a man had the wealth of the Czar<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the Russias to boot, for the rest of his days,</span><br /> +On the whole do you think he would have much time to spare<br /> +If he married a woman with nothing to wear?<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>William Allen Butler.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>MY MISTRESS'S BOOTS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +They nearly strike me dumb,<br /> +And I tremble when they come<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pit-a-pat:</span><br /> +This palpitation means<br /> +These boots are Geraldine's—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Think of that!</span><br /> +<br /> +Oh, where did hunter win<br /> +So delectable a skin<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For her feet?</span><br /> +You lucky little kid,<br /> +You perished, so you did,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For my sweet!</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> + +<br /> +The faëry stitching gleams<br /> +On the sides, and in the seams,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And it shows</span><br /> +The Pixies were the wags<br /> +Who tipt those funny tags<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And these toes.</span><br /> +<br /> +What soles to charm an elf!<br /> +Had Crusoe, sick of self,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Chanced to view</span><br /> +<i>One</i> printed near the tide,<br /> +Oh, how hard he would have tried<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For the two!</span><br /> +<br /> +For Gerry's debonair<br /> +And innocent, and fair<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As a rose;</span><br /> +She's an angel in a frock,<br /> +With a fascinating cock<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To her nose.</span><br /> +<br /> +The simpletons who squeeze<br /> +Their extremities to please<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mandarins,</span><br /> +Would positively flinch<br /> +From venturing to pinch<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Geraldine's.</span><br /> +<br /> +Cinderella's <i>lefts and rights</i>,<br /> +To Geraldine's were frights;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I trow,</span><br /> +The damsel, deftly shod,<br /> +Has dutifully trod<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Until now.</span><br /> +<br /> +Come, Gerry, since it suits<br /> +Such a pretty Puss (in Boots)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">These to don;</span><br /> +Set this dainty hand awhile<br /> +On my shoulder, dear, and I'll<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Put them on.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Frederick Locker-Lampson.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>MRS. SMITH</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Last year I trod these fields with Di,<br /> +Fields fresh with clover and with rye;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They now seem arid!</span><br /> +Then Di was fair and single; how<br /> +Unfair it seems on me, for now<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Di's fair—and married!</span><br /> +<br /> +A blissful swain—I scorn'd the song<br /> +Which says that though young Love is strong,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Fates are stronger;</span><br /> +Breezes then blew a boon to men,<br /> +The buttercups were bright, and then<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This grass was longer.</span><br /> +<br /> +That day I saw and much esteem'd<br /> +Di's ankles, which the clover seem'd<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Inclined to smother;</span><br /> +It twitch'd, and soon untied (for fun)<br /> +The ribbon of her shoes, first one,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And then the other.</span><br /> +<br /> +I'm told that virgins augur some<br /> +Misfortune if their shoe-strings come<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To grief on Friday:</span><br /> +And so did Di, and then her pride<br /> +Decreed that shoe-strings so untied<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are "so untidy!"</span><br /> +<br /> +Of course I knelt; with fingers deft<br /> +I tied the right, and then the left;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Says Di, "The stubble</span><br /> +Is very stupid!—as I live,<br /> +I'm quite ashamed!—I'm shock'd to give<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You so much trouble!"</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> + +<br /> +For answer I was fain to sink<br /> +To what we all would say and think<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Were Beauty present:</span><br /> +"Don't mention such a simple act—<br /> +A trouble? not the least! in fact<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It's rather pleasant!"</span><br /> +<br /> +I trust that Love will never tease<br /> +Poor little Di, or prove that he's<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A graceless rover.</span><br /> +She's happy now as <i>Mrs. Smith</i>—<br /> +And less polite when walking with<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her chosen lover!</span><br /> +<br /> +Heigh-ho! Although no moral clings<br /> +To Di's blue eyes, and sandal strings,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We've had our quarrels!—</span><br /> +I think that Smith is thought an ass;<br /> +I know that when they walk in grass<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She wears <i>balmorals</i>.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Frederick Locker-Lampson.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A TERRIBLE INFANT</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I recollect a nurse call'd Ann,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who carried me about the grass,</span><br /> +And one fine day a fine young man<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Came up, and kiss'd the pretty lass.</span><br /> +She did not make the least objection!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Thinks I, "<i>Aha</i>!</span><br /> +<i>When I can talk I'll tell Mamma</i>"<br /> +—And that's my earliest recollection.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Frederick Locker-Lampson.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> + +<hr /> + +<h3>SUSAN</h3> + +<h4>A KIND PROVIDENCE</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +He dropt a tear on Susan's bier,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He seem'd a most despairing swain;</span><br /> +But bluer sky brought newer tie,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And—would he wish her back again?</span><br /> +<br /> +The moments fly, and when we die,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Will Philly Thistletop complain?</span><br /> +She'll cry and sigh, and—dry her eye,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And let herself be woo'd again.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Frederick Locker-Lampson.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>"I DIDN'T LIKE HIM"</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Perhaps you may a-noticed I been soht o' solemn lately,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Haven't been a-lookin' quite so pleasant.</span><br /> +Mabbe I have been a little bit too proud and stately;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dat's because I'se lonesome jes' at present.</span><br /> +I an' him agreed to quit a week or so ago,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fo' now dat I am in de social swim</span><br /> +I'se 'rived to de opinion dat he ain't my style o' beau,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So I tole him dat my watch was fas' fo' him.</span><br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>REFRAIN</p> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Oh, I didn't like his clo'es,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">An' I didn't like his eyes,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Nor his walk, nor his talk,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Nor his ready-made neckties.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I didn't like his name a bit,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Jes' 'spise the name o' Jim;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">If dem ere reasons ain't enough,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">I didn't like <i>Him</i>.</span><br /> +<br /> +Dimon' ring he give to me, an' said it was a fine stone.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Guess it's only alum mixed wif camphor.</span><br /> +Took it roun' to Eisenstein; he said it was a rhinestone,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Kind, he said, he didn't give a dam fur.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> + +<br /> +Sealskin sack he give to me it got me in a row.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">P'liceman called an' asked to see dat sack;</span><br /> +Said another lady lost it. Course I don't know how;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But I had to go to jail or give it back.</span><br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>REFRAIN</p> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Oh, I didn't like his trade;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Trade dat kep' him out all night.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">He'd de look ob a crook,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">An' he owned a bull's-eye light.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">So when policemen come to ask</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">What <i>I</i> know 'bout dat Jim,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I come to de confusion dat</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">I didn't like <i>Him</i>.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Harry B. Smith.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>MY ANGELINE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +She kept her secret well, oh, yes,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her hideous secret well.</span><br /> +We together were cast, I knew not her past;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For how was I to tell?</span><br /> +I married her, guileless lamb I was;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'd have died for her sweet sake.</span><br /> +How could I have known that my Angeline<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Had been a Human Snake?</span><br /> +Ah, we had been wed but a week or two<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When I found her quite a wreck:</span><br /> +Her limbs were tied in a double bow-knot<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At the back of her swan-like neck.</span><br /> +No curse there sprang to my pallid lips,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor did I reproach her then;</span><br /> +I calmly untied my bonny bride<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And straightened her out again.</span><br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'><i>Refrain</i></p> +<p> +My Angeline! My Angeline!<br /> +Why didst disturb my mind serene?<br /> +My well-belovèd circus queen,<br /> +My Human Snake, my Angeline!<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> + +<br /> +At night I'd wake at the midnight hour,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a weird and haunted feeling,</span><br /> +And there she'd be, in her <i>robe de nuit</i>,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A-walking upon the ceiling.</span><br /> +She said she was being "the human fly,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And she'd lift me up from beneath</span><br /> +By a section slight of my garb of night,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which she held in her pearly teeth.</span><br /> +For the sweet, sweet sake of the Human Snake<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'd have stood this conduct shady;</span><br /> +But she skipped in the end with an old, old friend,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An eminent bearded lady.</span><br /> +But, oh, at night, when my slumber's light,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Regret comes o'er me stealing;</span><br /> +For I miss the sound of those little feet,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As they pattered along the ceiling.</span><br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'><i>Refrain</i></p> +<p> +My Angeline! My Angeline!<br /> +Why didst disturb my mind serene?<br /> +My well-belovèd circus queen,<br /> +My Human Snake, my Angeline!<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Harry B. Smith.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>NORA'S VOW</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Hear what Highland Nora said,—<br /> +"The Earlie's son I will not wed,<br /> +Should all the race of nature die,<br /> +And none be left but he and I.<br /> +For all the gold, for all the gear,<br /> +And all the lands both far and near,<br /> +That ever valour lost or won,<br /> +I would not wed the Earlie's son."<br /> +<br /> +"A maiden's vows," old Callum spoke,<br /> +"Are lightly made and lightly broke,<br /> +The heather on the mountain's height<br /> +Begins to bloom in purple light;<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> + +The frost-wind soon shall sweep away<br /> +That lustre deep from glen and brae;<br /> +Yet Nora, ere its bloom be gone,<br /> +May blithely wed the Earlie's son."<br /> +<br /> +"The swan," she said, "the lake's clear breast<br /> +May barter for the eagle's nest;<br /> +The Awe's fierce stream may backward turn,<br /> +Ben-Cruaichan fall, and crush Kilchurn;<br /> +Our kilted clans, when blood is high,<br /> +Before their foes may turn and fly;<br /> +But I, were all these marvels done,<br /> +Would never wed the Earlie's son."<br /> +<br /> +Still in the water-lily's shade<br /> +Her wonted nest the wild swan made;<br /> +Ben-Cruaichan stands as fast as ever,<br /> +Still downward foams the Awe's fierce river;<br /> +To shun the clash of foeman's steel,<br /> +No Highland brogue has turn'd the heel;<br /> +But Nora's heart is lost and won,<br /> +—She's wedded to the Earlie's son!<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Sir Walter Scott.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>HUSBAND AND HEATHEN</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p class='poem'>O'er the men of Ethiopia she would pour her cornucopia,</p> +<p class='poem'>And shower wealth and plenty on the people of Japan,</p> +<p class='poem'>Send down jelly cake and candies to the Indians of the Andes,</p> +<p class='poem'>And a cargo of plum pudding to the men of Hindoostan;</p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">And she said she loved 'em so,</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Bushman, Finn, and Eskimo.</span></p> +<p class='poem'>If she had the wings of eagles to their succour she would fly</p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Loaded down with jam and jelly,</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Succotash and vermicelli,</span></p> +<p class='poem'>Prunes, pomegranates, plums and pudding, peaches, pineapples, and pie.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>She would fly with speedy succour to the natives of Molucca</p> +<p class='poem'>With whole loads of quail and salmon, and with tons of fricassee</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> + +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">And give cake in fullest measure</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">To the men of Australasia</span></p> +<p class='poem'>And all the Archipelagoes that dot the southern sea;</p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">And the Anthropophagi,</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">All their lives deprived of pie,</span></p> +<p class='poem'>She would satiate and satisfy with custards, cream, and mince;</p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">And those miserable Australians</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">And the Borrioboolighalians,</span></p> +<p class='poem'>She would gorge with choicest jelly, raspberry, currant, grape, and quince.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>But like old war-time hardtackers, her poor husband lived on crackers,</p> +<p class='poem'>Bought at wholesale from a baker, eaten from the mantelshelf;</p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">If the men of Madagascar,</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">And the natives of Alaska,</span></p> +<p class='poem'>Had enough to sate their hunger, let him look out for himself.</p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">And his coat had but one tail</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">And he used a shingle nail</span></p> +<p class='poem'>To fasten up his galluses when he went out to his work;</p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">And she used to spend his money</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">To buy sugar-plums and honey</span></p> +<p class='poem'>For the Terra del Fuegian and the Turcoman and Turk.</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Sam Walter Foss.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE LOST PLEIAD</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Twas a pretty little maiden</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In a garden gray and old,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where the apple trees were laden</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With the magic fruit of gold;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But she strayed beyond the portal</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of the garden of the Sun,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And she flirted with a mortal,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Which she oughtn't to have done!</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> + +<br /> +For a giant was her father and a goddess was her mother,<br /> +She was Merope or Sterope—the one or else the other;<br /> +And the man was not the equal, though presentable and rich,<br /> +Of Merope or Sterope—I don't remember which!<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now the giant's daughters seven,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">She among them, if you please,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Were translated to the heaven</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">As the starry Pleiades!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But amid their constellation</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">One alone was always dark,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For she shrank from observation</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Or censorious remark.</span><br /> +<br /> +She had yielded to a mortal when he came to flirt and flatter.<br /> +She was Merope or Sterope—the former or the latter;<br /> +So the planets all ignored her, and the comets wouldn't call<br /> +On Merope or Sterope—I am not sure at all!<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But the Dog-star, brightly shining</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In the hottest of July,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Saw the pretty Pleiad pining</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In the shadow of the sky,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And he courted her and kissed her</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Till she kindled into light;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the Pleiads' erring sister</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Was the lady of the night!</span><br /> +<br /> +So her former indiscretion as a fault was never reckoned,<br /> +To Merope or Sterope—the first or else the second,<br /> +And you'll never see so rigidly respectable a dame<br /> +As Merope or Sterope—I can't recall her name!<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Arthur Reed Ropes.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE NEW CHURCH ORGAN</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +They've got a brand-new organ, Sue,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For all their fuss and search;</span><br /> +They've done just as they said they'd do,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And fetched it into church.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> + +They're bound the critter shall be seen,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And on the preacher's right</span><br /> +They've hoisted up their new machine<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In everybody's sight.</span><br /> +They've got a chorister and choir,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ag'in' <i>my</i> voice and vote;</span><br /> +For it was never <i>my</i> desire<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To praise the Lord by note.</span><br /> +<br /> +I've been a sister good an' true<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For five-an'-thirty year;</span><br /> +I've done what seemed my part to do,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An' prayed my duty clear;</span><br /> +I've sung the hymns both slow and quick,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Just as the preacher read,</span><br /> +And twice, when Deacon Tubbs was sick,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I took the fork an' led;</span><br /> +And now, their bold, new-fangled ways<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is comin' all about;</span><br /> +And I, right in my latter days,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Am fairly crowded out!</span><br /> +<br /> +To-day the preacher, good old dear,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With tears all in his eyes,</span><br /> +Read, "I can read my title clear<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To mansions in the skies."</span><br /> +I al'ays liked that blessed hymn—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I s'pose I al'ays will—</span><br /> +It somehow gratifies <i>my</i> whim,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In good old Ortonville;</span><br /> +But when that choir got up to sing,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I couldn't catch a word;</span><br /> +They sung the most dog-gondest thing<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A body ever heard!</span><br /> +<br /> +Some worldly chaps was standin' near;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An' when I see them grin,</span><br /> +I bid farewell to every fear,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And boldly waded in.</span><br /> +I thought I'd chase their tune along,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An' tried with all my might;</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> + +But though my voice was good an' strong,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I couldn't steer it right.</span><br /> +When they was high, then I was low,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An' also contrawise;</span><br /> +An' I too fast, or they too slow,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To "mansions in the skies."</span><br /> +<br /> +An' after every verse, you know<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They play a little tune;</span><br /> +I didn't understand, and so<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I started in too soon.</span><br /> +I pitched it pretty middlin' high,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I fetched a lusty tone,</span><br /> +But oh, alas! I found that I<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was singin' there alone!</span><br /> +They laughed a little, I am told;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But I had done my best;</span><br /> +And not a wave of trouble rolled<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Across my peaceful breast.</span><br /> +<br /> +And Sister Brown—I could but look—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She sits right front of me;</span><br /> +She never was no singin'-book,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An' never went to be;</span><br /> +But then she al'ays tried to do<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The best she could, she said;</span><br /> +She understood the time right through,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An' kep' it with her head;</span><br /> +But when she tried this mornin', oh,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I had to laugh, or cough!</span><br /> +It kep' her head a-bobbin' so,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It e'en a'most came off.</span><br /> +<br /> +An' Deacon Tubbs—he all broke 'down,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As one might well suppose;</span><br /> +He took one look at Sister Brown,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And meekly scratched his nose.</span><br /> +He looked his hymn-book through and through,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And laid it on the seat,</span><br /> +And then a pensive sigh he drew,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And looked completely beat.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> + +And when they took another bout,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He didn't even rise;</span><br /> +But drawed his red bandanner out,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An' wiped his weepin' eyes.</span><br /> +<br /> +I've been a sister, good an' true,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For five-an'-thirty year;</span><br /> +I've done what seemed my part to do,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An' prayed my duty clear;</span><br /> +But Death will stop my voice, I know,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For he is on my track;</span><br /> +And some day I to church will go,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And nevermore come back;</span><br /> +And when the folks gets up to sing—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whene'er that time shall be—</span><br /> +I do not want no <i>patent</i> thing<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A-squealin' over me!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Will Carteton.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>LARRIE O'DEE</h3> + +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Now the Widow McGee,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">And Larrie O'Dee,</span><br /> +Had two little cottages out on the green,<br /> +With just room enough for two pig-pens between.<br /> +The widow was young and the widow was fair,<br /> +With the brightest of eyes and the brownest of hair,<br /> +And it frequently chanced, when she came in the morn,<br /> +With the swill for her pig, Larrie came with the corn,<br /> +And some of the ears that he tossed from his hand<br /> +In the pen of the widow were certain to land.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">One morning said he:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">"Och! Misthress McGee,</span><br /> +It's a waste of good lumber, this runnin' two rigs,<br /> +Wid a fancy purtition betwane our two pigs!"<br /> +"Indade, sur, it is!" answered Widow McGee,<br /> +With the sweetest of smiles upon Larrie O'Dee.<br /> +"And thin, it looks kind o' hard-hearted and mane,<br /> +Kapin' two friendly pigs so exsaidenly near<br /> +That whiniver one grunts the other can hear,<br /> +And yit kape a cruel purtition betwane."<br /> +<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> + +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">"Shwate Widow McGee,"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Answered Larrie O'Dee,</span><br /> +"If ye fale in your heart we are mane to the pigs,<br /> +Ain't we mane to ourselves to be runnin' two rigs?<br /> +Och! it made me heart ache when I paped through the cracks<br /> +Of me shanty, lasht March, at yez shwingin' yer axe;<br /> +An' a-bobbin' yer head an' a-shtompin' yer fate,<br /> +Wid yer purty white hands jisht as red as a bate,<br /> +A-shplittin' yer kindlin'-wood out in the shtorm,<br /> +When one little shtove it would kape us both warm!"<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">"Now, piggy," says she,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">"Larrie's courtin' o' me,</span><br /> +Wid his dilicate tinder allusions to you;<br /> +So now yez must tell me jisht what I must do:<br /> +For, if I'm to say yes, shtir the swill wid yer snout;<br /> +But if I'm to say no, ye must kape yer nose out.<br /> +Now Larrie, for shame! to be bribin' a pig<br /> +By a-tossin' a handful of corn in its shwig!"<br /> +"Me darlint, the piggy says yes," answered he.<br /> +And that was the courtship of Larrie O'Dee.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>William W. Fink.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>NO FAULT IN WOMEN</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +No fault in women, to refuse<br /> +The offer which they most would choose.<br /> +No fault in women to confess<br /> +How tedious they are in their dress;<br /> +No fault in women, to lay on<br /> +The tincture of vermilion,<br /> +And there to give the cheek a dye<br /> +Of white, where Nature doth deny.<br /> +No fault in women, to make show<br /> +Of largeness, when they've nothing so;<br /> +When, true it is, the outside swells<br /> +With inward buckram, little else.<br /> +No fault in women, though they be<br /> +But seldom from suspicion free;<br /> +No fault in womankind at all,<br /> +If they but slip, and never fall.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Robert Herrick.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A COSMOPOLITAN WOMAN</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +She went round and asked subscriptions<br /> +For the heathen black Egyptians<br /> +And the Terra del Fuegians,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">She did;</span><br /> +For the tribes round Athabasca,<br /> +And the men of Madagascar,<br /> +And the poor souls of Alaska,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">So she did;</span><br /> +She longed, she said, to buy<br /> +Jelly, cake, and jam, and pie,<br /> +For the Anthropophagi,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">So she did.</span><br /> +<br /> +Her heart ached for the Australians<br /> +And the Borriobooli-Ghalians,<br /> +And the poor dear Amahagger,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Yes, it did;</span><br /> +And she loved the black Numidian,<br /> +And the ebon Abyssinian,<br /> +And the charcoal-coloured Guinean,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Oh, she did!</span><br /> +And she said she'd cross the seas<br /> +With a ship of bread and cheese<br /> +For those starving Chimpanzees,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">So she did.</span><br /> +<br /> +How she loved the cold Norwegian<br /> +And the poor half-melted Feejeean,<br /> +And the dear Molucca Islander,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">She did:</span><br /> +She sent tins of red tomato<br /> +To the tribes beyond the Equator,<br /> +But her husband ate potato,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">So he did;</span><br /> +The poor helpless, homeless thing<br /> +(My voice falters as I sing)<br /> +Tied his clothes up with a string,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Yes, he did.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>COURTING IN KENTUCKY</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> + +<p class='poem'>When Mary Ann Dollinger got the skule daown thar on Injun Bay,</p> +<p class='poem'>I was glad, for I like ter see a gal makin' her honest way.</p> +<p class='poem'>I heerd some talk in the village abaout her flyin' high,</p> +<p class='poem'>Tew high for busy farmer folks with chores ter do ter fly;</p> +<p class='poem'>But I paid no sorter attention ter all the talk ontell</p> +<p class='poem'>She come in her reg'lar boardin' raound ter visit with us a spell.</p> +<p class='poem'>My Jake an' her had been cronies ever since they could walk,</p> +<p class='poem'>An' it tuk me aback to hear her kerrectin' him in his talk.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>Jake ain't no hand at grammar, though he hain't his beat for work;</p> +<p class='poem'>But I sez ter myself, "Look out, my gal, yer a-foolin' with a Turk!"</p> +<p class='poem'>Jake bore it wonderful patient, an' said in a mournful way,</p> +<p class='poem'>He p'sumed he was behindhand with the doin's at Injun Bay.</p> +<p class='poem'>I remember once he was askin' for some o' my Injun buns,</p> +<p class='poem'>An' she said he should allus say, "them air," stid o' "them is" the ones.</p> +<p class='poem'>Wal, Mary Ann kep' at him stiddy mornin' an' evenin' long,</p> +<p class='poem'>Tell he dassent open his mouth for fear o' talkin' wrong.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>One day I was pickin' currants daown by the old quince-tree,</p> +<p class='poem'>When I heerd Jake's voice a-saying', "Be yer willin' ter marry me?"</p> +<p class='poem'>An' Mary Ann kerrectin', 'Air ye willin' yeou sh'd say";</p> +<p class='poem'>Our Jake he put his foot daown in a plum, decided way,</p> +<p class='poem'>"No wimmen-folks is a-goin' ter be rearrangin' me,</p> +<p class='poem'>Hereafter I says 'craps,' 'them is,' 'I calk'late,' an' 'I be.'</p> +<p class='poem'>Ef folks don't like my talk they needn't hark ter what I say:.</p> +<p class='poem'>But I ain't a-goin' to take no sass from folks from Injun Bay.</p> +<p class='poem'>I ask you free an' final, 'Be ye goin' ter marry me?'"</p> +<p class='poem'>An' Mary Ann says, tremblin, yet anxious-like, "I be."</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Florence E. Pratt.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>ANY ONE WILL DO</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +A maiden once, of certain age,<br /> +To catch a husband did engage;<br /> +But, having passed the prime of life<br /> +In striving to become a wife<br /> +Without success, she thought it time<br /> +To mend the follies of her prime.<br /> +<br /> +Departing from the usual course<br /> +Of paint and such like for resource,<br /> +With all her might this ancient maid<br /> +Beneath an oak-tree knelt and prayed;<br /> +Unconscious that a grave old owl<br /> +Was perched above—the mousing fowl!<br /> +<br /> +"Oh, give! a husband give!" she cried,<br /> +"While yet I may become a bride;<br /> +Soon will my day of grace be o'er,<br /> +And then, like many maids before,<br /> +I'll die without an early Jove,<br /> +And none to meet me there above!<br /> +<br /> +"Oh, 'tis a fate too hard to bear!<br /> +Then answer this my humble prayer,<br /> +And oh, a husband give to me!"<br /> +Just then the owl from out the tree,<br /> +In deep bass tones cried, "Who—who—who!"<br /> +"Who, Lord? And dost Thou ask me who?<br /> +Why, any one, good Lord, will do."<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A BIRD IN THE HAND</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There were three young maids of Lee;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They were fair as fair can be,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And they had lovers three times three,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For they were fair as fair can be,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">These three young maids of Lee.</span><br /> +But these young maids they cannot find<br /> +A lover each to suit her mind;<br /> +The plain-spoke lad is far too rough,<br /> +The rich young lord is not rich enough,<br /> +The one is too poor, and one is too tall,<br /> +And one just an inch too short for them all.<br /> +"Others pick and choose, and why not we?<br /> +We can very well wait," said the maids of Lee.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There were three young maids of Lee;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They were fair as fair can be,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And they had lovers three times three</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For they were fair as fair can be,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">These three young maids of Lee.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There are three old maids of Lee,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And they are old as old can be,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And one is deaf, and one cannot see,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And they are all as cross as a gallows-tree,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">These three old maids of Lee.</span><br /> +Now, if any one chanced—'tis a chance remote—<br /> +One single charm in these maids to note,<br /> +He need not a poet nor handsome be,<br /> +For one is deaf and one cannot see;<br /> +He need not woo on his bended knee,<br /> +For they all are willing as willing can be.<br /> +He may take the one, or the two, or the three,<br /> +If he'll only take them away from Lee.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There are three old maids at Lee;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They are cross as cross can be;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And there they are, and there they'll be</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the end of the chapter, one, two, three,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">These three old maids of Lee.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Frederic E. Weatherly.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE BELLE OF THE BALL</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Years—years ago,—ere yet my dreams<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Had been of being wise and witty,—</span><br /> +Ere I had done with writing themes,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or yawn'd o'er this infernal Chitty;—</span><br /> +Years, years ago, while all my joy<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was in my fowling-piece and filly:</span><br /> +In short, while I was yet a boy,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I fell in love with Laura Lily.</span><br /> +<br /> +I saw her at the county ball;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There, when the sounds of flute and fiddle</span><br /> +Gave signal sweet in that old hall<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of hands across and down the middle,</span><br /> +Hers was the subtlest spell by far<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of all that set young hearts romancing:</span><br /> +She was our queen, our rose, our star;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And when she danced—O Heaven, her dancing!</span><br /> +<br /> +Dark was her hair, her hand was white;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her voice was exquisitely tender,</span><br /> +Her eyes were full of liquid light;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I never saw a waist so slender;</span><br /> +Her every look, her every smile,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shot right and left a score of arrows;</span><br /> +I thought 'twas Venus from her isle,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And wonder'd where she'd left her sparrows.</span><br /> +<br /> +She talk'd,—of politics or prayers;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of Southey's prose, or Wordsworth's sonnets;</span><br /> +Of daggers or of dancing bears,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of battles, or the last new bonnets;</span><br /> +By candle-light, at twelve o'clock,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To me it matter'd not a tittle,</span><br /> +If those bright lips had quoted Locke,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I might have thought they murmur'd Little.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> + +<br /> +Through sunny May, through sultry June,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I loved her with a love eternal;</span><br /> +I spoke her praises to the moon,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I wrote them for the <i>Sunday Journal</i>.</span><br /> +My mother laugh'd; I soon found out<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That ancient ladies have no feeling;</span><br /> +My father frown'd; but how should gout<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">See any happiness in kneeling?</span><br /> +<br /> +She was the daughter of a Dean,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rich, fat, and rather apoplectic;</span><br /> +She had one brother, just thirteen,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whose color was extremely hectic;</span><br /> +Her grandmother for many a year<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Had fed the parish with her bounty;</span><br /> +Her second cousin was a peer,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And lord lieutenant of the county.</span><br /> +<br /> +But titles and the three per cents,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And mortgages, and great relations,</span><br /> +And India bonds, and tithes and rents,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh! what are they to love's sensations?</span><br /> +Black eyes, fair forehead, clustering locks,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Such wealth, such honors, Cupid chooses;</span><br /> +He cares as little for the stocks,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As Baron Rothschild for the Muses.</span><br /> +<br /> +She sketch'd; the vale, the wood, the beach,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Grew lovelier from her pencil's shading;</span><br /> +She botanized; I envied each<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Young blossom in her boudoir fading;</span><br /> +She warbled Handel; it was grand—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She made the Catalani jealous;</span><br /> +She touch'd the organ; I could stand<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For hours and hours to blow the bellows.</span><br /> +<br /> +She kept an album, too, at home,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Well fill'd with all an album's glories;</span><br /> +Paintings of butterflies, and Rome,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Patterns for trimming, Persian stories;</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> + +Soft songs to Julia's cockatoo,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fierce odes to Famine and to Slaughter;</span><br /> +And autographs of Prince Leboo,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And recipes for elder water.</span><br /> +<br /> +And she was flatter'd, worshipp'd, bored;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her steps were watch'd, her dress was noted;</span><br /> +Her poodle dog was quite adored,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her sayings were extremely quoted.</span><br /> +She laugh'd, and every heart was glad,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As if the taxes were abolish'd;</span><br /> +She frown'd, and every look was sad,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As if the Opera were demolished.</span><br /> +<br /> +She smil'd on many just for fun—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I knew that there was nothing in it;</span><br /> +I was the first—the only one<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her heart had thought of for a minute;</span><br /> +I knew it, for she told me so,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In phrase which was divinely moulded;</span><br /> +She wrote a charming hand,—and oh!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How sweetly all her notes were folded!</span><br /> +<br /> +Our love was like most other loves—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A little glow, a little shiver;</span><br /> +A rosebud and a pair of gloves,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And "Fly Not Yet," upon the river;</span><br /> +Some jealousy of some one's heir,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Some hopes of dying broken-hearted,</span><br /> +A miniature, a lock of hair,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The usual vows—and then we parted.</span><br /> +<br /> +We parted;—months and years roll'd by;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We met again four summers after;</span><br /> +Our parting was all sob and sigh—-<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our meeting was all mirth and laughter;</span><br /> +For in my heart's most secret cell,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There had been many other lodgers;</span><br /> +And she was not the ballroom belle,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But only—Mrs. Something Rogers.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Winthrop Mackworth Praed.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE RETORT</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Old Nick, who taught the village school,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wedded a maid of homespun habit;</span><br /> +He was as stubborn as a mule,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She was as playful as a rabbit.</span><br /> +<br /> +Poor Jane had scarce become a wife,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Before her husband sought to make her</span><br /> +The pink of country-polished life,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And prim and formal as a Quaker.</span><br /> +<br /> +One day the tutor went abroad,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And simple Jenny sadly missed him;</span><br /> +When he returned, behind her lord<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She slyly stole, and fondly kissed him!</span><br /> +<br /> +The husband's anger rose!—and red<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And white his face alternate grew!</span><br /> +"Less freedom, ma'am!" Jane sighed and said,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"<i>Oh, dear! I didn't know 'twas you</i>!"</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>George Pope Morris.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>BEHAVE YOURSEL' BEFORE FOLK</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Behave yoursel' before folk,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Behave yoursel' before folk,</span><br /> +And dinna be sae rude to me,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As kiss me sae before folk.</span><br /> +<br /> +It wadna gi'e me meikle pain,<br /> +Gin we were seen and heard by nane,<br /> +To tak' a kiss, or grant you ane;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But guidsake! no before folk.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Behave yoursel' before folk,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Behave yoursel' before folk;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whate'er ye do, when out o' view,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Be cautious aye before folk.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> + +<br /> +Consider, lad, how folk will crack,<br /> +And what a great affair they'll mak'<br /> +O' naething but a simple smack,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That's gi'en or ta'en before folk.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Behave yoursel' before folk,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Behave yoursel' before folk;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor gi'e the tongue o' auld or young</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Occasion to come o'er folk.</span><br /> +<br /> +It's no through hatred o' a kiss,<br /> +That I sae plainly tell you this;<br /> +But, losh! I tak' it sair amiss<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To be sae teazed before folk.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Behave yoursel' before folk,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Behave yoursel' before folk;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When we're our lane ye may tak' ane,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But fient a ane before folk.</span><br /> +<br /> +I'm sure wi' you I've been as free<br /> +As ony modest lass should be;<br /> +But yet it doesna do to see<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sic freedom used before folk.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Behave yoursel' before folk,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Behave yoursel' before folk;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'll ne'er submit again to it—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">So mind you that—before folk.</span><br /> +<br /> +Ye tell me that my face is fair;<br /> +It may be sae—I dinna care—<br /> +But ne'er again gar't blush sae sair<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As ye ha'e done before folk.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Behave yoursel' before folk,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Behave yoursel' before folk;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor heat my cheeks wi' your mad freaks,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But aye de douce before folk.</span><br /> +<br /> +Ye tell me that my lips are sweet,<br /> +Sic tales, I doubt, are a' deceit;<br /> +At ony rate, it's hardly meet<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To pree their sweets before folk.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> + +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Behave yoursel' before folk,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Behave yoursel' before folk;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gin that's the case, there's time, and place,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But surely no before folk.</span><br /> +<br /> +But, gin you really do insist<br /> +That I should suffer to be kiss'd,<br /> +Gae, get a license frae the priest,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And mak' me yours before folk.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Behave yoursel' before folk,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Behave yoursel' before folk;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And when we're ane, baith flesh and bane,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Ye may tak' ten—before folk.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Alexander Rodger.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE CHRONICLE: A BALLAD</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Margarita first possess'd,<br /> +If I remember well, my breast,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Margarita, first of all;</span><br /> +But when a while the wanton maid<br /> +With my restless heart had play'd,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Martha took the flying ball.</span><br /> +<br /> +Martha soon did it resign<br /> +To the beauteous Catharine.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beauteous Catharine gave place</span><br /> +(Though loth and angry she to part<br /> +With the possession of my heart)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To Eliza's conquering face.</span><br /> +<br /> +Eliza till this hour might reign,<br /> +Had she not evil counsel ta'en:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fundamental laws she broke,</span><br /> +And still new favourites she chose,<br /> +Till up in arms my passions rose,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And cast away her yoke.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> + +<br /> +Mary then and gentle Anne,<br /> +Both to reign at once began,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Alternately they swayed:</span><br /> +And sometimes Mary was the fair,<br /> +And sometimes Anne the crown did wear,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And sometimes both I obey'd.</span><br /> +<br /> +Another Mary then arose,<br /> +And did rigorous laws impose;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A mighty tyrant she!</span><br /> +Long, alas, should I have been<br /> +Under that iron-scepter'd queen,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Had not Rebecca set me free.</span><br /> +<br /> +When fair Rebecca set me free,<br /> +'Twas then a golden time with me,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But soon those pleasures fled;</span><br /> +For the gracious princess died<br /> +In her youth and beauty's pride,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Judith reigned in her stead.</span><br /> +<br /> +One month, three days, and half an hour,<br /> +Judith held the sovereign power,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wondrous beautiful her face;</span><br /> +But so weak and small her wit,<br /> +That she to govern was unfit,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And so Susanna took her place.</span><br /> +<br /> +But when Isabella came,<br /> +Arm'd with a resistless flame,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And th' artillery of her eye;</span><br /> +Whilst she proudly march'd about<br /> +Greater conquests to find out:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She beat out Susan by the bye.</span><br /> +<br /> +But in her place I then obey'd<br /> +Black-ey'd Bess, her viceroy maid,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To whom ensued a vacancy:</span><br /> +Thousand worse passions then possess'd<br /> +The interregnum of my breast;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bless me from such an anarchy.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> + +<br /> +Gentle Henrietta then,<br /> +And a third Mary next began;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then Joan, and Jane, and Andria:</span><br /> +And then a pretty Thomasine,<br /> +And then another Catharine,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And then a long et cætera.</span><br /> +<br /> +But should I now to you relate<br /> +The strength and riches of their state,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The powder, patches, and the pins,</span><br /> +The ribbons, jewels, and the rings,<br /> +The lace, the paint, and warlike things,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That make up all their magazines:</span><br /> +<br /> +If I should tell the politic arts<br /> +To take and keep men's hearts;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The letters, embassies, and spies,</span><br /> +The frowns, and smiles, and flatteries,<br /> +The quarrels, tears, and perjuries,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Numberless, nameless, mysteries!</span><br /> +<br /> +And all the little lime-twigs laid<br /> +By Machiavel, the waiting maid;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I more voluminous should grow</span><br /> +(Chiefly if I, like them, should tell<br /> +All change of weather that befel)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than Holinshed or Stow.</span><br /> +<br /> +But I will briefer with them be,<br /> +Since few of them were long with me:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An higher and a nobler strain</span><br /> +My present empress does claim,<br /> +Eleonora, first o' th' name,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whom God grant long to reign.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Abraham Cowley.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>BUXOM JOAN</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +A soldier and a sailor,<br /> +A tinker and a tailor,<br /> +Had once a doubtful strife, sir,<br /> +To make a maid a wife, sir,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whose name was Buxom Joan.</span><br /> +For now the time was ended,<br /> +When she no more intended<br /> +To lick her lips at men, sir,<br /> +And gnaw the sheets in vain, sir,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And lie o' nights alone.</span><br /> +<br /> +The soldier swore like thunder,<br /> +He loved her more than plunder;<br /> +And showed her many a scar, sir,<br /> +That he had brought from far, sir,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With fighting for her sake.</span><br /> +The tailor thought to please her,<br /> +With offering her his measure.<br /> +The tinker too with mettle,<br /> +Said he could mend her kettle,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And stop up every leak.</span><br /> +<br /> +But while these three were prating,<br /> +The sailor slily waiting,<br /> +Thought if it came about, sir,<br /> +That they should all fall out, sir,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He then might play his part.</span><br /> +And just e'en as he meant, sir,<br /> +To loggerheads they went, sir,<br /> +And then he let fly at her<br /> +A shot 'twixt wind and water,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That won this fair maid's heart.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>William Congreve.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>OH, MY GERALDINE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Oh, my Geraldine,<br /> +No flow'r was ever seen so toodle um.<br /> +You are my lum ti toodle lay,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pretty, pretty queen,</span><br /> +Is rum ti Geraldine and something teen,<br /> +More sweet than tiddle lum in May.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like the star so bright</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That somethings all the night,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">My Geraldine!</span><br /> +You're fair as the rum ti lum ti sheen,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hark! there is what—ho!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From something—um, you know,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Dear, what I mean.</span><br /> +Oh I rum! tum!! tum!!! my Geraldine.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>F. C. Burnand.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE PARTERRE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I don't know any greatest treat<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As sit him in a gay parterre,</span><br /> +And sniff one up the perfume sweet<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of every roses buttoning there.</span><br /> +<br /> +It only want my charming miss<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who make to blush the self red rose;</span><br /> +Oh! I have envy of to kiss<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The end's tip of her splendid nose.</span><br /> +<br /> +Oh! I have envy of to be<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What grass 'neath her pantoffle push,</span><br /> +And too much happy seemeth me<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The margaret which her vestige crush.</span><br /> +<br /> +But I will meet her nose at nose,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And take occasion for her hairs,</span><br /> +And indicate her all my woes,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That she in fine agree my prayers.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> + +</p> +<p class='h_5'><span class="smcap">The Envoy</span></p> +<p> +I don't know any greatest treat<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As sit him in a gay parterre,</span><br /> +With Madame who is too more sweet<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than every roses buttoning there.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>E. H. Palmer.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>HOW TO ASK AND HAVE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +"Oh, 'tis time I should talk to your mother,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sweet Mary," says I;</span><br /> +"Oh, don't talk to my mother," says Mary,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Beginning to cry:</span><br /> +"For my mother says men are decaivers,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And never, I know, will consent;</span><br /> +She says girls in a hurry to marry,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">At leisure repent."</span><br /> +<br /> +"Then, suppose I should talk to your father,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sweet Mary," says I;</span><br /> +"Oh, don't talk to my father," says Mary,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Beginning to cry:</span><br /> +"For my father he loves me so dearly,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He'll never consent I should go;—</span><br /> +If you talk to my father," says Mary,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"He'll surely say 'No.'"</span><br /> +<br /> +"Then how shall I get you, my jewel,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sweet Mary?" says I;</span><br /> +"If your father and mother's so cruel,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Most surely I'll die!"</span><br /> +"Oh, never say die, dear," says Mary;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"A way now to save you I see:</span><br /> +Since my parents are both so conthrairy,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">You'd better ask <i>me</i>."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Samuel Lover.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>SALLY IN OUR ALLEY</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Of all the girls that are so smart,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There's none like Pretty Sally;</span><br /> +She is the darling of my heart,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And lives in our alley.</span><br /> +There's ne'er a lady in the land<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That's half so sweet as Sally;</span><br /> +She is the darling of my heart,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And lives in our alley.</span><br /> +<br /> +Her father he makes cabbage-nets,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And through the streets does cry them;</span><br /> +Her mother she sells laces long<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To such as please to buy them:</span><br /> +But sure such folk can have no part<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In such a girl as Sally;</span><br /> +She is the darling of my heart,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And lives in our alley.</span><br /> +<br /> +When she is by, I leave my work,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I love her so sincerely;</span><br /> +My master comes, like any Turk,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And bangs me most severely:</span><br /> +But let him bang, long as he will,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'll bear it all for Sally;</span><br /> +She is the darling of my heart,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And lives in our alley.</span><br /> +<br /> +Of all the days are in the week,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I dearly love but one day,</span><br /> +And that's the day that comes betwixt<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Saturday and Monday;</span><br /> +For then I'm dressed, all in my best,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To walk abroad with Sally;</span><br /> +She is the darling of my heart,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And lives in our alley.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> + +<br /> +My master carries me to church,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And often am I blamed,</span><br /> +Because I leave him in the lurch,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Soon as the text is named:</span><br /> +I leave the church in sermon time,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And slink away to Sally;</span><br /> +She is the darling of my heart,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And lives in our alley.</span><br /> +<br /> +When Christmas comes about again,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh, then I shall have money;</span><br /> +I'll hoard it up and, box and all,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'll give it to my honey;</span><br /> +Oh, would it were ten thousand pounds,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'd give it all to Sally;</span><br /> +For she's the darling of my heart,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And lives in our alley.</span><br /> +<br /> +My master, and the neighbors all,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Make game of me and Sally,</span><br /> +And but for her I'd better be<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A slave, and row a galley:</span><br /> +But when my seven long years are out,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh, then I'll marry Sally,</span><br /> +And then how happily we'll live—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But not in our alley.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Henry Carey.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>FALSE LOVE AND TRUE LOGIC</h3> + +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> + +<p class='h_5'>THE DISCONSOLATE</p> +<p>My heart will break—I'm sure it will:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My lover, yes, my favorite—he</span><br /> +Who seemed my own through good and ill—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Has basely turned his back on me.</span><br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>THE COMFORTER</p> +<p> +Ah! silly sorrower, weep no more;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Your lover's turned his back, we see;</span><br /> +But you had turned his head before,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And now he's as he ought to be.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Laman Blanchard.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>PET'S PUNISHMENT</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +O, if my love offended me,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And we had words together,</span><br /> +To show her I would master be,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'd whip her with a feather!</span><br /> +<br /> +If then she, like a naughty girl,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Would tyranny declare it,</span><br /> +I'd give my pet a cross of pearl,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And make her always bear it.</span><br /> +<br /> +If still she tried to sulk and sigh,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And threw away my posies,</span><br /> +I'd catch my darling on the sly,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And smother her with roses.</span><br /> +<br /> +But should she clench her dimpled fists,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or contradict her betters,</span><br /> +I'd manacle her tiny wrists<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With dainty jewelled fetters.</span><br /> +<br /> +And if she dared her lips to pout,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like many pert young misses,</span><br /> +I'd wind my arm her waist about,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And punish her—with kisses!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>J. Ashby-Sterry.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>AD CHLOEN, M.A.</h3> + +<h4>FRESH FROM HER CAMBRIDGE EXAMINATION</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Lady, very fair are you,<br /> +And your eyes are very blue,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And your hose;</span><br /> +And your brow is like the snow,<br /> +And the various things you know,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Goodness knows.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> + +<br /> +And the rose-flush on your cheek,<br /> +And your Algebra and Greek<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Perfect are;</span><br /> +And that loving lustrous eye<br /> +Recognizes in the sky<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Every star.</span><br /> +<br /> +You have pouting piquant lips,<br /> +You can doubtless an eclipse<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Calculate;</span><br /> +But for your cerulean hue,<br /> +I had certainly from you<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Met my fate.</span><br /> +<br /> +If by some arrangement dual<br /> +I were Adams mixed with Whewell,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then some day</span><br /> +I, as wooer, perhaps might come<br /> +To so sweet an Artium<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Magistra.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Mortimer Collins.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>CHLOE, M.A.</h3> + +<h4>AD AMANTEM SUAM</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Careless rhymer, it is true,<br /> +That my favourite colour's blue:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But am I</span><br /> +To be made a victim, sir,<br /> +If to puddings I prefer<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cambridge [pi]?</span><br /> +<br /> +If with giddier girls I play<br /> +Croquet through the summer day<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On the turf,</span><br /> +Then at night ('tis no great boon)<br /> +Let me study how the moon<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sways the surf.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> + +<br /> +Tennyson's idyllic verse<br /> +Surely suits me none the worse<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If I seek</span><br /> +Old Sicilian birds and bees—<br /> +Music of sweet Sophocles—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Golden Greek.</span><br /> +<br /> +You have said my eyes are blue;<br /> +There may be a fairer hue,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Perhaps—and yet</span><br /> +It is surely not a sin<br /> +If I keep my secrets in<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Violet.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Mortimer Collins.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE FAIR MILLINGER</h3> +<h4>By the Watertown Horse-Car Conductor</h4> + +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +It was a millinger most gay,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As sat within her shop;</span><br /> +A student came along that way,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And in he straight did pop.</span><br /> +Clean shaven he, of massive mould,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He thought his looks was killing her;</span><br /> +So lots of stuff to him she sold:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Thanks!" says the millinger.</span><br /> +<br /> +He loafed around and seemed to try<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On all things to converse;</span><br /> +The millinger did mind her eye,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But also mound his purse.</span><br /> +He tried, then, with his flattering tongue,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With nonsense to be filling her;</span><br /> +But she was sharp, though she was young:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Thanks," said the millinger.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> + +<br /> +He asked her to the theatre,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They got into my car;</span><br /> +Our steeds were tired, could hardly stir,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He thought the way not far.</span><br /> +A pretty pict-i-ure she made,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No doctors had been pilling her;</span><br /> +Fairly the fair one's fare he paid:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Thanks!" said the millinger.</span><br /> +<br /> +When we arrived in Bowdoin Square,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A female to them ran;</span><br /> +Then says that millinger so fair:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"O, thank you, Mary Ann!</span><br /> +She's going with us, she is," says she,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"She only is fulfilling her</span><br /> +Duty in looking after me:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thanks!" said that millinger.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Why," says that student chap to her,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"I've but two seats to hand."</span><br /> +"Too bad," replied that millinger,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Then you will have to stand."</span><br /> +"I won't stand this," says he, "I own<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The joke which you've been drilling her;</span><br /> +Here, take the seats and go alone!"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Thanks!" says the millinger.</span><br /> +<br /> +That ere much-taken-down young man<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stepped back into my car.</span><br /> +We got fresh horses, off they ran;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He thought the distance far.</span><br /> +And now she is my better half,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And oft, when coo-and-billing her,</span><br /> +I think about that chap and laugh:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Thanks!" says my millinger.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Fred W. Loring.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>TWO FISHERS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +One morning when Spring was in her teens—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A morn to a poet's wishing,</span><br /> +All tinted in delicate pinks and greens—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Miss Bessie and I went fishing.</span><br /> +<br /> +I in my rough and easy clothes,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With my face at the sun-tan's mercy;</span><br /> +She with her hat tipped down to her nose,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And her nose tipped—<i>vice versa</i>.</span><br /> +<br /> +I with my rod, my reel, and my hooks,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And a hamper for lunching recesses;</span><br /> +She with the bait of her comely looks,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the seine of her golden tresses.</span><br /> +<br /> +So we sat us down on the sunny dike,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where the white pond-lilies teeter,</span><br /> +And I went to fishing like quaint old Ike,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And she like Simon Peter.</span><br /> +<br /> +All the noon I lay in the light of her eyes,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And dreamily watched and waited,</span><br /> +But the fish were cunning and would not rise,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the baiter alone was baited.</span><br /> +<br /> +And when the time of departure came,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My bag hung flat as a flounder;</span><br /> +But Bessie had neatly hooked her game—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A hundred-and-fifty-pounder.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>MAUD</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Nay, I cannot come into the garden just now,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tho' it vexes me much to refuse:</span><br /> +But I <i>must</i> have the next set of waltzes, I vow,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With Lieutenant de Boots of the Blues.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> + +<br /> +I am sure you'll be heartily pleas'd when you hear<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That our ball has been quite a success.</span><br /> +As for <i>me</i>—I've been looking a monster, my dear.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In that old-fashion'd guy of a dress.</span><br /> +<br /> +You had better at once hurry home, dear, to bed;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It is getting so dreadfully late.</span><br /> +You may catch the bronchitis or cold in the head<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If you linger so long at our gate.</span><br /> +<br /> +Don't be obstinate, Alfy; come, take my advice—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For I know you're in want of repose:</span><br /> +Take a basin of gruel (you'll find it so nice),<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And remember to tallow your nose.</span><br /> +<br /> +No, I tell you I can't and I shan't get away,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For De Boots has implor'd me to sing.</span><br /> +As to <i>you</i>—if you like it, of course you can stay,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You were always an obstinate thing.</span><br /> +<br /> +If you feel it a pleasure to talk to the flow'rs<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">About "babble and revel and wine,"</span><br /> +When you might have been snoring for two or three hours,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Why, it's not the least business of mine.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Henry S. Leigh.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>ARE WOMEN FAIR?</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +"Are women fair?" Ay, wondrous fair to see, too.<br /> +"Are women sweet?" Yea, passing sweet they be, too.<br /> +Most fair and sweet to them that only love them;<br /> +Chaste and discreet to all save them that prove them.<br /> +<br /> +"Are women wise?" Not wise, but they be witty;<br /> +"Are women witty?" Yea, the more the pity;<br /> +They are so witty, and in wit so wily,<br /> +Though ye be ne'er so wise, they will beguile ye.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> + +<br /> +"Are women fools?" Not fools, but fondlings many;<br /> +"Can women fond be faithful unto any?"<br /> +When snow-white swans do turn to colour sable,<br /> +Then women fond will be both firm and stable.<br /> +<br /> +"Are women saints?" No saints, nor yet no devils;<br /> +"Are women good?" Not good, but needful evils.<br /> +So Angel-like, that devils I do not doubt them,<br /> +So needful evils that few can live without them.<br /> +<br /> +"Are women proud?" Ay! passing proud, an praise them.<br /> +"Are women kind?" Ay! wondrous kind, an please them.<br /> +Or so imperious, no man can endure them,<br /> +Or so kind-hearted, any may procure them.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Francis Davison.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE PLAIDIE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Upon ane stormy Sunday,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Coming adoon the lane,</span><br /> +Were a score of bonnie lassies—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the sweetest I maintain</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Was Caddie,</span><br /> +That I took unneath my plaidie,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To shield her from the rain.</span><br /> +<br /> +She said that the daisies blushed<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For the kiss that I had ta'en;</span><br /> +I wadna hae thought the lassie<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wad sae of a kiss complain:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Now, laddie!</span><br /> +I winna stay under your plaidie,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If I gang hame in the rain!"</span><br /> +<br /> +But, on an after Sunday,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When cloud there was not ane,</span><br /> +This selfsame winsome lassie<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(We chanced to meet in the lane),</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Said, "Laddie,</span><br /> +Why dinna ye wear your plaidie?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wha kens but it may rain?"</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Charles Sibley.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + + +<h3>FEMININE ARITHMETIC</h3> + +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> + +<p class='h_5'>LAURA</p> +<p> +On me he shall ne'er put a ring,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So, mamma, 'tis in vain to take trouble—</span><br /> +For I was but eighteen in spring<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While his age exactly is double.</span><br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>MAMMA</p> +<p> +He's but in his thirty-sixth year,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tall, handsome, good-natured and witty,</span><br /> +And should you refuse him, my dear,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">May you die an old maid without pity!</span><br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>LAURA</p> +<p> +His figure, I grant you, will pass,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And at present he's young enough plenty;</span><br /> +But when I am sixty, alas!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Will not he be a hundred and twenty?</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Charles Graham Halpine.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>LORD GUY</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +When swallows Northward flew<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Forth from his home did fare</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Guy, Lord of Lanturlaire</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And Lanturlu.</span><br /> +<br /> +Swore he to cross the brine,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pausing not, night nor day,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That he might Paynims slay</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In Palestine.</span><br /> +<br /> +Half a league on his way<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Met he a shepherdess</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beaming with loveliness—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Fair as Young Day.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> + +<br /> +Gazed he in eyes of blue—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Saw love in hiding there</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Guy, Lord of Lanturlaire</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And Lanturlu.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Let the foul Paynim wait!"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Plead Love, "and stay with me.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cruel and cold the sea—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Here's brighter fate."</span><br /> +<br /> +When swallows Southward flew<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Back to his home did fare</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Guy, Lord of Lanturlaire</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And Lanturlu.</span><br /> +<br /> +Led he his charger gay<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bearing a shepherdess</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beaming with happiness—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Fair as Young Day.</span><br /> +<br /> +White lambs, be-ribboned blue—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tends now with anxious care,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Guy, Lord of Lanturlaire</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And Lanturlu.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>George F. Warren.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>SARY "FIXES UP" THINGS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> + +<p class='poem'>Oh, yes, we've be'n fixin' up some sence we sold that piece o' groun'</p> +<p class='poem'>Fer a place to put a golf-lynx to them crazy dudes from town.</p> +<p class='poem'>(Anyway, they laughed like crazy when I had it specified,</p> +<p class='poem'>Ef they put a golf-lynx on it, thet they'd haf to keep him tied.)</p> +<p class='poem'>But they paid the price all reg'lar, an' then Sary says to me,</p> +<p class='poem'>"Now we're goin' to fix the parlor up, an' settin'-room," says she.</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> + +<p class='poem'>Fer she 'lowed she'd been a-scrimpin' an' a-scrapin' all her life,</p> +<p class='poem'>An' she meant fer once to have things good as Cousin Ed'ard's wife.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>Well, we went down to the city, an' she bought the blamedest mess;</p> +<p class='poem'>An' them clerks there must 'a' took her fer a' Astoroid, I guess;</p> +<p class='poem'>Fer they showed her fancy bureaus which they said was shiffoneers,</p> +<p class='poem'>An' some more they said was dressers, an' some curtains called porteers.</p> +<p class='poem'>An' she looked at that there furnicher, an' felt them curtains' heft;</p> +<p class='poem'>Then she sailed in like a cyclone an' she bought 'em right an' left;</p> +<p class='poem'>An' she picked a Bress'ls carpet thet was flowered like Cousin Ed's,</p> +<p class='poem'>But she drawed the line com-pletely when we got to foldin'-beds.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>Course, she said, 't 'u'd make the parlor lots more roomier, she s'posed;</p> +<p class='poem'>But she 'lowed she'd have a bedstid thet was shore to stay un-closed;</p> +<p class='poem'>An' she stopped right there an' told us sev'ral tales of folks she'd read</p> +<p class='poem'>Bein' overtook in slumber by the "fatal foldin'-bed."</p> +<p class='poem'>"Not ef it wuz set in di'mon's! Nary foldin'-bed fer me!</p> +<p class='poem'>I ain't goin' to start fer glory in a rabbit-trap!" says she.</p> +<p class='poem'>"When the time comes I'll be ready an' a-waitin'; but ez yet,</p> +<p class='poem'>I shan't go to sleep a-thinkin' that I've got the triggers set."</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>Well, sir, shore as yo''re a-livin', after all thet Sary said,</p> +<p class='poem'>'Fore we started home that evenin' she hed bought a foldin'-bed;</p> +<p class='poem'>An' she's put it in the parlor, where it adds a heap o' style;</p> +<p class='poem'>An' we're sleepin' in the settin'-room at present fer a while.</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> + +<p class='poem'>Sary still maintains it's han'some, "an' them city folks'll see</p> +<p class='poem'>That we're posted on the fashions when they visit us," says she;</p> +<p class='poem'>But it plagues her some to tell her, ef it ain't no other use,</p> +<p class='poem'>We can set it fer the golf-lynx ef he ever sh'u'd get loose.</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Albert Bigelow Paine.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE CONSTANT CANNIBAL MAIDEN</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Far, oh, far is the Mango island,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Far, oh, far is the tropical sea—</span><br /> +Palms a-slant and the hills a-smile, and<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A cannibal maiden a-waiting for me.</span><br /> +<br /> +I've been deceived by a damsel Spanish,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Indian maidens both red and brown,</span><br /> +A black-eyed Turk and a blue-eyed Danish,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And a Puritan lassie of Salem town.</span><br /> +<br /> +For the Puritan Prue she sets in the offing,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A-castin' 'er eyes at a tall marine,</span><br /> +And the Spanish minx is the wust at scoffing<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of all of the wimming I ever seen.</span><br /> +<br /> +But the cannibal maid is a simple creetur,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a habit of gazin' over the sea,</span><br /> +A-hopin' in vain for the day I'll meet 'er,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And constant and faithful a-yearnin' for me.</span><br /> +<br /> +Me Turkish sweetheart she played me double—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Eloped with the Sultan Harum In-Deed,</span><br /> +And the Danish damsel she made me trouble<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When she ups and married an oblong Swede.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> + +<br /> +But there's truth in the heart of the maid o' Mango,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Though her cheeks is black like the kiln-baked cork,</span><br /> +As she sets in the shade o' the whingo-whango,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A-waitin' for me—with a knife and fork.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Wallace Irwin.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>WIDOW BEDOTT TO ELDER SNIFFLES</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +O reverend sir, I do declare<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It drives me most to frenzy,</span><br /> +To think of you a-lying there<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Down sick with influenzy.</span><br /> +<br /> +A body'd thought it was enough<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To mourn your wife's departer,</span><br /> +Without sich trouble as this ere<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To come a-follerin' arter.</span><br /> +<br /> +But sickness and affliction<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are sent by a wise creation,</span><br /> +And always ought to be underwent<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By patience and resignation.</span><br /> +<br /> +O, I could to your bedside fly,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And wipe your weeping eyes,</span><br /> +And do my best to cure you up,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If 'twouldn't create surprise.</span><br /> +<br /> +It's a world of trouble we tarry in,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But, Elder, don't despair;</span><br /> +That you may soon be movin' again<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is constantly my prayer.</span><br /> +<br /> +Both sick and well, you may depend<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You'll never be forgot</span><br /> +By your faithful and affectionate friend,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span class="smcap">Priscilla Pool Bedott</span>.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Frances Miriam Whitcher.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>UNDER THE MISTLETOE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +She stood beneath the mistletoe<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That hung above the door,</span><br /> +Quite conscious of the sprig above,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Revered by maids of yore.</span><br /> +A timid longing filled her heart;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her pulses throbbed with heat;</span><br /> +He sprang to where the fair girl stood.<br /> +"May I—just one—my sweet?"<br /> +He asked his love, who tossed her head,<br /> +"Just do it—if—you dare!" she said.<br /> +<br /> +He sat before the fireplace<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Down at the club that night.</span><br /> +"She loves me not," he hotly said,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Therefore she did but right!"</span><br /> +She sat alone within her room,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And with her finger-tips</span><br /> +She held his picture to her heart,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then pressed it to her lips.</span><br /> +"My loved one!" sobbed she, "if you—cared<br /> +You surely would have—would have—dared."<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>George Francis Shults.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE BROKEN PITCHER</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +It was a Moorish maiden was sitting by a well,<br /> +And what the maiden thought of I cannot, cannot tell.<br /> +When by there rode a valiant knight from the town of Oviedo—<br /> +Alphonso Guzman was he hight, the Count of Desparedo.<br /> +<br /> +"Oh, maiden, Moorish maiden! why sitt'st thou by the spring?<br /> +Say, dost thou seek a lover, or any other thing?<br /> +Why gazest thou upon me, with eyes so large and wide,<br /> +And wherefore doth the pitcher lie broken by thy side?"<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> + +<br /> +"I do not seek a lover, thou Christian knight so gay,<br /> +Because an article like that hath never come my way;<br /> +And why I gaze upon you, I cannot, cannot tell,<br /> +Except that in your iron hose you look uncommon swell.<br /> +<br /> +"My pitcher it is broken, and this the reason is,—<br /> +A shepherd came behind me, and tried to snatch a kiss;<br /> +I would not stand his nonsense, so ne'er a word I spoke,<br /> +But scored him on the costard, and so the jug was broke.<br /> +<br /> +"My uncle, the Alcaydè, he waits for me at home,<br /> +And will not take his tumbler until Zorayda come.<br /> +I cannot bring him water—the pitcher is in pieces—<br /> +And so I'm sure to catch it, 'cos he wallops all his nieces."<br /> +<br /> +"Oh, maiden, Moorish maiden! wilt thou be ruled by me!<br /> +So wipe thine eyes and rosy lips, and give me kisses three;<br /> +And I'll give thee my helmet, thou kind and courteous lady,<br /> +To carry home the water to thy uncle, the Alcaydè."<br /> +<br /> +He lighted down from off his steed—he tied him to a tree—<br /> +He bowed him to the maiden, and took his kisses three:<br /> +"To wrong thee, sweet Zorayda, I swear would be a sin!"<br /> +He knelt him at the fountain, and he dipped his helmet in.<br /> +<br /> +Up rose the Moorish maiden—behind the knight she steals,<br /> +And caught Alphonso Guzman up tightly by the heels;<br /> +She tipped him in, and held him down beneath the bubbling water,—<br /> +"Now, take thou that for venturing to kiss Al Hamet's daughter!"<br /> +<br /> +A Christian maid is weeping in the town of Oviedo;<br /> +She waits the coming of her love, the Count of Desparedo.<br /> +I pray you all in charity, that you will never tell,<br /> +How he met the Moorish maiden beside the lonely well.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>William E. Aytoun.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>GIFTS RETURNED</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +"You must give back," her mother said,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">To a poor sobbing little maid,</span><br /> +"All the young man has given you,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Hard as it now may seem to do."</span><br /> +"'Tis done already, mother dear!"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Said the sweet girl, "So never fear."</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;"><i>Mother</i>. Are you quite certain? Come, recount</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">(There was not much) the whole amount.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;"><i>Girl</i>. The locket; the kid gloves.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;"><i>Mother</i>.<span style='margin-left: 11em;'>Go on.</span></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;"><i>Girl</i>. Of the kid gloves I found but one.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;"><i>Mother</i>. Never mind that. What else? Proceed.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">You gave back all his trash?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;"><i>Girl</i>.<span style='margin-left: 10em;'>Indeed.</span></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;"><i>Mother</i>. And was there nothing you would save?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;"><i>Girl</i>. Everything I could give I gave.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;"><i>Mother</i>. To the last tittle?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;"><i>Girl</i>.<span style='margin-left: 10em;'>Even to that.</span></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;"><i>Mother</i>. Freely?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;"><i>Girl</i>.<span style='margin-left: 6em;'>My heart went pit-a-pat</span></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">At giving up ... ah me! ah me!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">I cry so I can hardly see ...</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">All the fond looks and words that past,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And all the kisses, to the last.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Walter Savage Landor.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="III" id="III"></a>III</h2> + +<h2>LOVE AND COURTSHIP</h2> +<p><br /></p> + +<h3>NOUREDDIN, THE SON OF THE SHAH</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +There once was a Shah had a second son<br /> +Who was very unlike his elder one,<br /> +For he went about on his own affairs,<br /> +And scorned the mosque and the daily prayers;<br /> +When his sire frowned fierce, then he cried, "Ha, ha!"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Noureddin, the son of the Shah.</span><br /> +<br /> +But worst of all of the pranks he played<br /> +Was to fall in love with a Christian maid,—<br /> +An Armenian maid who wore no veil,<br /> +Nor behind a lattice grew thin and pale;<br /> +At his sire's dark threats laughed the youth, "Ha, ha!"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Noureddin, the son of the Shah.</span><br /> +<br /> +"I will shut him close in an iron cage,"<br /> +The monarch said, in a fuming rage;<br /> +But the prince slipped out by a postern door,<br /> +And away to the mountains his loved one bore;<br /> +Loud his glee rang back on the winds, "Ha, ha!"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Noureddin, the son of the Shah.</span><br /> +<br /> +And still in the town of Teheran,<br /> +When a youth and a maid adopt this plan,—<br /> +All frowns and threats with a laugh defy,<br /> +And away from the mosques to the mountains fly,—<br /> +Folk meet and greet with a gay "<i>Ha, ha!</i>"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Noureddin, the son of the Shah</i>.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Clinton Scollard.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE USUAL WAY</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +There was once a little man, and his rod and line he took,<br /> +For he said, "I'll go a-fishing in the neighboring brook."<br /> +And it chanced a little maiden was walking out that day,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And they met—in the usual way.</span><br /> +<br /> +Then he sat him down beside her, and an hour or two went by,<br /> +But still upon the grassy brink his rod and line did lie;<br /> +"I thought," she shyly whispered, "you'd be fishing all the day!"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And he was—in the usual way.</span><br /> +<br /> +So he gravely took his rod in hand, and threw the line about,<br /> +But the fish perceived distinctly that he was not looking out;<br /> +And he said, "Sweetheart, I love you!" but she said she could not stay:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But she did—in the usual way.</span><br /> +<br /> +Then the stars came out above them, and she gave a little sigh,<br /> +As they watched the silver ripples, like the moments, running by;<br /> +"We must say good-by," she whispered, by the alders old and gray,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And they did—in the usual way.</span><br /> +<br /> +And day by day beside the stream they wandered to and fro,<br /> +And day by day the fishes swam securely down below;<br /> +Till this little story ended, as such little stories may,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Very much—in the usual way.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> + +<br /> +And now that they are married, do they always bill and coo?<br /> +Do they never fret and quarrel as other couples do?<br /> +Does he cherish her and love her? Does she honor and obey?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Well—they do—in the usual way.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Frederic E. Weatherly.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE WAY TO ARCADY</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +<i>Oh, what's the way to Arcady,</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>To Arcady, to Arcady;</i></span><br /> +<i>Oh, what's the way to Arcady,</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Where all the leaves are merry</i>?</span><br /> +<br /> +Oh, what's the way to Arcady?<br /> +The spring is rustling in the tree—<br /> +The tree the wind is blowing through—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It sets the blossoms flickering white.</span><br /> +I knew not skies could burn so blue<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor any breezes blow so light.</span><br /> +They blow an old-time way for me,<br /> +Across the world to Arcady.<br /> +<br /> +Oh, what's the way to Arcady?<br /> +Sir Poet, with the rusty coat,<br /> +Quit mocking of the song-bird's note.<br /> +How have you heart for any tune,<br /> +You with the wayworn russet shoon?<br /> +Your scrip, a-swinging by your side,<br /> +Gapes with a gaunt mouth hungry-wide.<br /> +I'll brim it well with pieces red,<br /> +If you will tell the way to tread.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Oh, I am bound for Arcady,</i><br /> +<i>And if you but keep pace with me</i><br /> +<i>You tread the way to Arcady.</i><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> + +<br /> +And where away lies Arcady,<br /> +And how long yet may the journey be?<br /> +<br /> +<i>Ah, that</i> (quoth he) <i>I do not know</i>—<br /> +<i>Across the clover and the snow</i>—<br /> +<i>Across the frost, across the flowers</i>—<br /> +<i>Through summer seconds and winter hours</i><br /> +<i>I've trod the way my whole life long</i>,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>And know not now where it may be;</i></span><br /> +<i>My guide is but the stir to song,</i><br /> +<i>That tells me I cannot go wrong,</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Or clear or dark the pathway be</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Upon the road to Arcady</i>.</span><br /> +<br /> +But how shall I do who cannot sing?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I was wont to sing, once on a time—</span><br /> +There is never an echo now to ring<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Remembrance back to the trick of rhyme.</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>'Tis strange you cannot sing</i> (quoth he),<br /> +<i>The folk all sing in Arcady</i>.<br /> +<br /> +But how may he find Arcady<br /> +Who hath not youth nor melody?<br /> +<br /> +<i>What, know you not, old man</i> (quoth he)—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Your hair is white, your face is wise</i>—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>That Love must kiss that Mortal's eyes</i></span><br /> +<i>Who hopes to see fair Arcady</i>?<br /> +<i>No gold can buy you entrance there</i>;<br /> +<i>But beggared Love may go all bare</i>—<br /> +<i>No wisdom won with weariness</i>;<br /> +<i>But Love goes in with Folly's dress</i>—<br /> +<i>No fame that wit could ever win</i>;<br /> +<i>But only Love may lead Love in</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>To Arcady, to Arcady</i>.</span><br /> +<br /> +Ah, woe is me, through all my days<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wisdom and wealth I both have got,</span><br /> +And fame and name, and great men's praise;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But Love, ah, Love! I have it not.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> + +<br /> +There was a time, when life was new—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But far away, and half forgot—</span><br /> +I only know her eyes were blue;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But Love—I fear I knew it not.</span><br /> +We did not wed, for lack of gold,<br /> +And she is dead, and I am old.<br /> +All things have come since then to me,<br /> +Save Love, ah, Love! and Arcady.<br /> +<i>Ah, then I fear we part</i> (quoth he),<br /> +<i>My way's for Love and Arcady.</i><br /> +<br /> +But you, you fare alone, like me;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The gray is likewise in your hair.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What love have you to lead you there,</span><br /> +To Arcady, to Arcady?<br /> +<br /> +<i>Ah, no, not lonely do I fare;</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>My true companion's Memory.</i></span><br /> +<i>With Love he fills the Spring-time air;</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>With Love he clothes the Winter tree.</i></span><br /> +<i>Oh, past this poor horizon's bound</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>My song goes straight to one who stands—</i></span><br /> +<i>Her face all gladdening at the sound—</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>To lead me to the Spring-green lands,</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>To wander with enlacing hands.</i></span><br /> +<i>The songs within my breast that stir</i><br /> +<i>Are all of her, are all of her.</i><br /> +<i>My maid is dead long years</i> (quoth he),<br /> +<i>She waits for me in Arcady</i>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Oh, yon's the way to Arcady,</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>To Arcady, to Arcady;</i></span><br /> +<i>Oh, yon's the way to Arcady,</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Where all the leaves are merry.</i></span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>H. C. Bunner.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>MY LOVE AND MY HEART</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Oh, the days were ever shiny<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When I ran to meet my love;</span><br /> +When I press'd her hand so tiny<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Through her tiny tiny glove.</span><br /> +Was I very deeply smitten?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh, I loved like <i>anything</i>!</span><br /> +But my love she is a kitten,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And my heart's a ball of string.</span><br /> +<br /> +She was pleasingly poetic,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And she loved my little rhymes;</span><br /> +For our tastes were sympathetic,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the old and happy times.</span><br /> +Oh, the ballads I have written,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And have taught my love to sing!</span><br /> +But my love she is a kitten,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And my heart's a ball of string.</span><br /> +<br /> +Would she listen to my offer,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On my knees I would impart</span><br /> +A sincere and ready proffer<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of my hand and of my heart.</span><br /> +And below her dainty mitten<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I would fix a wedding ring—</span><br /> +But my love she is a kitten,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And my heart's a ball of string.</span><br /> +<br /> +Take a warning, happy lover,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From the moral that I show;</span><br /> +Or too late you may discover<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What I learn'd a month ago.</span><br /> +We are scratch'd or we are bitten<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By the pets to whom we cling.</span><br /> +Oh, my love she is a kitten,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And my heart's a ball of string.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Henry S. Leigh.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>QUITE BY CHANCE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +She flung the parlour window wide<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One eve of mid-July,</span><br /> +And he, as fate would have it tide,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That moment sauntered by.</span><br /> +His eyes were blue and hers were brown,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With drooping fringe of jet;</span><br /> +And he looked up as she looked down,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And so their glances met.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Things as strange, I dare to say,</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Happen somewhere every day.</i></span><br /> +<br /> +A mile beyond the straggling street,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A quiet pathway goes;</span><br /> +And lovers here are wont to meet,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As all the country knows.</span><br /> +Now she one night at half-past eight<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Had sought that lonely lane,</span><br /> +When <i>he</i> came up, by will of fate,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And so they met again.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Things as strange, I dare to say,</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Happen somewhere every day.</i></span><br /> +<br /> +The parish church, so old and gray,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is quite a sight to see;</span><br /> +And he was there at ten one day,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And so, it chanced, was she.</span><br /> +And while they stood, with cheeks aflame,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And neighbours liked the fun,</span><br /> +In stole and hood the parson came,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And made the couple one.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Things as strange, I dare to say,</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Happen somewhere every day.</i></span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Frederick Langbridge.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE NUN</h3> + +<h4>SUGGESTED BY PART OF THE ITALIAN SONG, BEGINNING "SE +MONECA TI FAI."</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p class='h_5'>I</p> +<p> +If you become a nun, dear,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A friar I will be;</span><br /> +In any cell you run, dear,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pray look behind for me.</span><br /> +The roses all turn pale, too;<br /> +The doves all take the veil, too;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The blind will see the show:</span><br /> +What! you become a nun, my dear!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'll not believe it, no.</span><br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>II</p> +<p> +If you become a nun, dear,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The bishop Love will be;</span><br /> +The Cupids every one, dear,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Will chaunt "We trust in thee";</span><br /> +The incense will go sighing,<br /> +The candles fall a dying,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The water turn to wine:</span><br /> +What! you go take the vows, my dear!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You may—but they'll be mine.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Leigh Hunt.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE CHEMIST TO HIS LOVE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I love thee, Mary, and thou lovest me—<br /> +Our mutual flame is like th' affinity<br /> +That doth exist between two simple bodies:<br /> +I am Potassium to thine Oxygen.<br /> +'Tis little that the holy marriage vow<br /> +Shall shortly make us one. That unity<br /> +Is, after all, but metaphysical.<br /> +Oh, would that I, my Mary, were an acid,<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> + +A living acid; thou an alkali<br /> +Endow'd with human sense, that, brought together,<br /> +We both might coalesce into one salt,<br /> +One homogeneous crystal. Oh, that thou<br /> +Wert Carbon, and myself were Hydrogen;<br /> +We would unite to form olefiant gas,<br /> +Or common coal, or naphtha—would to heaven<br /> +That I were Phosphorus, and thou wert Lime!<br /> +And we of Lime composed a Phosphuret.<br /> +I'd be content to be Sulphuric Acid,<br /> +So that thou might be Soda. In that case<br /> +We should be Glauber's Salt. Wert thou Magnesia<br /> +Instead we'd form the salt that's named from Epsom.<br /> +Couldst thou Potassa be, I Aqua-fortis,<br /> +Our happy union should that compound form,<br /> +Nitrate of Potash—otherwise Saltpetre.<br /> +And thus our several natures sweetly blent,<br /> +We'd live and love together, until death<br /> +Should decompose the fleshly <i>tertium quid</i>,<br /> +Leaving our souls to all eternity<br /> +Amalgamated. Sweet, thy name is Briggs<br /> +And mine is Johnson. Wherefore should not we<br /> +Agree to form a Johnsonate of Briggs?<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>CATEGORICAL COURTSHIP</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I sat one night beside a blue-eyed girl—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The fire was out, and so, too, was her mother;</span><br /> +A feeble flame around the lamp did curl,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Making faint shadows, blending in each other:</span><br /> +'Twas nearly twelve o'clock, too, in November;<br /> +She had a shawl on, also, I remember.<br /> +<br /> +Well, I had been to see her every night<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For thirteen days, and had a sneaking notion</span><br /> +To pop the question, thinking all was right,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And once or twice had make an awkward motion</span><br /> +To take her hand, and stammer'd, cough'd, and stutter'd,<br /> +But, somehow, nothing to the point had utter'd.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> + +<br /> +I thought this chance too good now to be lost;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I hitched my chair up pretty close beside her,</span><br /> +Drew a long breath, and then my legs I cross'd,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bent over, sighed, and for five minutes eyed her:</span><br /> +She looked as if she knew what next was coming,<br /> +And with her feet upon the floor was drumming.<br /> +<br /> +I didn't know how to begin, or where—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I couldn't speak—the words were always choking;</span><br /> +I scarce could move—I seem'd tied to the chair—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I hardly breathed—'twas awfully provoking!</span><br /> +The perspiration from each pore came oozing,<br /> +My heart, and brain, and limbs their power seem'd losing.<br /> +<br /> +At length I saw a brindle tabby cat<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Walk purring up, inviting me to pat her;</span><br /> +An idea came, electric-like at that—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My doubts, like summer clouds, began to scatter,</span><br /> +I seized on tabby, though a scratch she gave me,<br /> +And said, "Come, Puss, ask Mary if she'll have me."<br /> +<br /> +'Twas done at once—the murder now was out;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The thing was all explain'd in half a minute.</span><br /> +She blush'd, and, turning pussy-cat about,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Said, "Pussy, tell him 'yes'"; her foot was in it!</span><br /> +The cat had thus saved me my category,<br /> +And here's the catastrophe of my story.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>LANTY LEARY</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Lanty was in love, you see,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With lovely, lively Rosie Carey;</span><br /> +But her father can't agree<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To give the girl to Lanty Leary.</span><br /> +Up to fun, "Away we'll run,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Says she, "my father's so contrary.</span><br /> +Won't you follow me? Won't you follow me?"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Faith, I will!" says Lanty Leary.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> + +<br /> +But her father died one day<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(I hear 'twas not by dhrinkin' wather);</span><br /> +House and land and cash, they say,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He left, by will, to Rose, his daughter;</span><br /> +House and land and cash to seize,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Away she cut so light and airy.</span><br /> +"Won't you follow me? Won't you follow me?"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Faith, I will!" says Lanty Leary.</span><br /> +<br /> +Rose, herself, was taken bad;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The fayver worse each day was growin';</span><br /> +"Lanty, dear," says she, "'tis sad,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To th' other world I'm surely goin'.</span><br /> +You can't survive my loss, I know,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor long remain in Tipperary.</span><br /> +Won't you follow me? Won't you follow me?"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Faith, I won't!" says Lanty Leary.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Samuel Lover.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE SECRET COMBINATION</h3> + +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Her heart she locked fast in her breast,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Away from molestation;</span><br /> +The lock was warranted the best—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A patent combination.</span><br /> +She knew no simple lock and key<br /> +Would serve to keep out Love and me.<br /> +<br /> +But Love a clever cracksman is,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And cannot be resisted;</span><br /> +He likes such stubborn jobs as this,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Complex and hard and twisted,</span><br /> +And though we worked a many day,<br /> +At last we bore her heart away.<br /> +<br /> +For Love has learned full many tricks<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In his strange avocation;</span><br /> +He knew the figures were but six<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In this, her combination;</span><br /> +Nor did we for a minute rest<br/> +Until we had unlocked her breast.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> + +<br /> +First, then, we turned the knob to "Sighs,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then back to "Words Sincerest,"</span><br /> +Then "Gazing Fondly in Her Eyes,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then "Softly Murmured 'Dearest;'"</span><br /> +Then, next, "A Warm Embrace" we tried,<br /> +And at "A Kiss" the door flew wide.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Ellis Parker Butler.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>FORTY YEARS AFTER</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +We climbed to the top of Goat Point hill,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sweet Kitty, my sweetheart, and I;</span><br /> +And watched the moon make stars on the waves,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the dim white ships go by,</span><br /> +While a throne we made on a rough stone wall,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the king and the queen were we;</span><br /> +And I sat with my arm about Kitty,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And she with her arm about me.</span><br /> +<br /> +The water was mad in the moonlight,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the sand like gold where it shone,</span><br /> +And our hearts kept time to its music,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As we sat in the splendour alone.</span><br /> +And Kitty's dear eyes twinkled brightly,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Kitty's brown hair blew so free,</span><br /> +While I sat with my arm about Kitty,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And she with her arm about me.</span><br /> +<br /> +Last night we drove in our carriage,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the wall at the top of the hill;</span><br /> +And though we're forty years older,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We're children and sweethearts still.</span><br /> +And we talked again of that moonlight<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That danced so mad on the sea,</span><br /> +When I sat with my arm about Kitty,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And she with her arm about me.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> + +<br /> +The throne on the wall was still standing,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But we sat in the carriage last night,</span><br /> +For a wall is too high for old people<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whose foreheads have linings of white.</span><br /> +And Kitty's waist measure is forty,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While mine is full fifty and three,</span><br /> +So I can't get my arm about Kitty,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor can she get both hers around me.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>H. H. Porter.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>CUPID</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Beauties, have ye seen this toy,<br /> +Calléd love, a little boy<br /> +Almost naked, wanton, blind,<br /> +Cruel now, and then as kind?<br /> +If he be amongst ye, say!<br /> +He is Venus' runaway.<br /> +<br /> +He hath of marks about him plenty;<br /> +Ye shall know him among twenty;<br /> +All his body is a fire,<br /> +And his breath a flame entire,<br /> +That, being shot like lightning in,<br /> +Wounds the heart, but not the skin.<br /> +<br /> +He doth bear a golden bow,<br /> +And a quiver, hanging low,<br /> +Full of arrows, that outbrave<br /> +Dian's shafts, where, if he have<br /> +Any head more sharp than other,<br /> +With that first he strikes his mother.<br /> +<br /> +Trust him not: his words, though sweet,<br /> +Seldom with his heart do meet;<br /> +All his practice is deceit,<br /> +Every gift is but a bait;<br /> +Not a kiss but poison bears,<br /> +And most treason in his tears.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> + +<br /> +If by these ye please to know him,<br /> +Beauties, be not nice, but show him,<br /> +Though ye had a will to hide him.<br /> +Now, we hope, ye'll not abide him,<br /> +Since ye hear his falser play,<br /> +And that he's Venus' runaway.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Ben Jonson.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>PARING-TIME ANTICIPATED</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I shall not ask Jean Jacques Rousseau<br /> +If birds confabulate or no;<br /> +'Tis clear that they were always able<br /> +To hold discourse, at least in fable;<br /> +And e'en the child who knows no better<br /> +Than to interpret, by the letter,<br /> +A story of a cock and bull,<br /> +Must have a most uncommon skull.<br /> +It chanced, then, on a winter's day,<br /> +But warm, and bright, and calm as May,<br /> +The birds, conceiving a design<br /> +To forestall sweet St. Valentine,<br /> +In many an orchard, copse, and grove,<br /> +Assembled on affairs of love,<br /> +And, with much twitter and much chatter,<br /> +Began to agitate the matter.<br /> +At length a bullfinch, who could boast<br /> +More years and wisdom than the most,<br /> +Entreated, opening wide his beak,<br /> +A moment's liberty to speak;<br /> +And, silence publicly enjoin'd,<br /> +Deliver'd briefly thus his mind:<br /> +"My friends, be cautious how ye treat<br /> +The subject upon which we meet;<br /> +I fear we shall have winter yet."<br /> +A finch, whose tongue knew no control,<br /> +With golden wing and satin poll,<br /> +A last year's bird, who ne'er had tried<br /> +What marriage means, thus pert replied:<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> + +"Methinks the gentleman," quoth she,<br /> +"Opposite in the apple-tree,<br /> +By his good-will would keep us single<br /> +Till yonder heaven and earth shall mingle,<br /> +Or—which is likelier to befall—<br /> +'Til death exterminate us all.<br /> +I marry without more ado.<br /> +My dear Dick Redcap, what say you?"<br /> +Dick heard, and tweedling, ogling, bridling,<br /> +Turned short 'round, strutting, and sidling,<br /> +Attested, glad, his approbation<br /> +Of an immediate conjugation.<br /> +Their sentiments, so well express'd,<br /> +Influenced mightily the rest;<br /> +All pair'd, and each pair built a nest.<br /> +But, though the birds were thus in haste,<br /> +The leaves came on not quite so fast,<br /> +And destiny, that sometimes bears<br /> +An aspect stern on man's affairs,<br /> +Not altogether smiled on theirs.<br /> +The wind, of late breathed gently forth,<br /> +Now shifted east, and east by north;<br /> +Bare trees and shrubs but ill, you know,<br /> +Could shelter them from rain or snow.<br /> +Stepping into their nests, they paddled,<br /> +Themselves were chill'd, their eggs were addled.<br /> +Soon every father bird and mother<br /> +Grew quarrelsome, and peck'd each other,<br /> +Parted without the least regret,<br /> +Except that they had ever met,<br /> +And learn'd in future to be wiser<br /> +Than to neglect a good adviser.<br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>MORAL</p> + +<p> +Misses, the tale that I relate<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This lesson seems to carry:</span><br /> +Choose not alone a proper mate,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But proper time to marry.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>William Cowper.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>WHY</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Do you know why the rabbits are caught in the snare<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or the tabby cat's shot on the tiles?</span><br /> +Why the tigers and lions creep out of their lair?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Why an ostrich will travel for miles?</span><br /> +Do you know why a sane man will whimper and cry<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And weep o'er a ribbon or glove?</span><br /> +Why a cook will put sugar for salt in a pie?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Do you know? Well, I'll tell you—it's Love.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>H. P. Stevens.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE SABINE FARMER'S SERENADE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> + +<p class='h_5'>I</p> +<p> +'Twas on a windy night,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At two o'clock in the morning,</span><br /> +An Irish lad so tight,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All wind and weather scorning,</span><br /> +At Judy Callaghan's door.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sitting upon the palings,</span><br /> +His love-tale he did pour,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And this was part of his wailings:—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Only say</i></span><br /> +<i>You'll be Mrs. Brallaghan;</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Don't say nay,</i></span><br /> +<i>Charming Judy Callaghan</i>.<br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>II</p> +<p> +Oh! list to what I say,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Charms you've got like Venus;</span><br /> +Own your love you may,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There's but the wall between us.</span><br /> +You lie fast asleep<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Snug in bed and snoring;</span><br /> +Round the house I creep,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Your hard heart imploring.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> + +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Only say</i></span><br /> +<i>You'll have Mr. Brallaghan;</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Don't say nay,</i></span><br /> +<i>Charming Judy Callaghan.</i><br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>III</p> +<p> +I've got a pig and a sow,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I've got a sty to sleep 'em</span><br /> +A calf and a brindled cow,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And a cabin too, to keep 'em;</span><br /> +Sunday hat and coat,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An old grey mare to ride on,</span><br /> +Saddle and bridle to boot,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which you may ride astride on.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Only say</i></span><br /> +<i>You'll be Mrs. Brallaghan;</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Don't say nay,</i></span><br /> +<i>Charming Judy Callaghan.</i><br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>IV</p> +<p> +I've got an acre of ground,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I've got it set with praties;</span><br /> +I've got of 'baccy a pound,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I've got some tea for the ladies;</span><br /> +I've got the ring to wed,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Some whisky to make us gaily;</span><br /> +I've got a feather bed<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And a handsome new shillelagh.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Only say</i></span><br /> +<i>You'll have Mr. Brallaghan;</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Don't say nay,</i></span><br /> +<i>Charming Judy Callaghan.</i><br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>V</p> +<p> +You've got a charming eye,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You've got some spelling and reading</span><br /> +You've got, and so have I,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A taste for genteel breeding;</span><br /> +You're rich, and fair, and young,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As everybody's knowing;</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> + +You've got a decent tongue<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whene'er 'tis set a-going.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Only say</i></span><br /> +You'll be Mrs. Brallaghan;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Don't say nay,</i></span><br /> +<i>Charming Judy Callaghan.</i><br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>VI</p> +<p> +For a wife till death<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I am willing to take ye;</span><br /> +But, och! I waste my breath,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The devil himself can't wake ye.</span><br /> +'Tis just beginning to rain,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So I'll get under cover;</span><br /> +To-morrow I'll come again,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And be your constant lover.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Only say</i></span><br /> +<i>You'll be Mrs. Brallaghan;</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Don't say nay,</i></span><br /> +<i>Charming Judy Callaghan.</i><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Father Prout.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>I HAE LAID A HERRING IN SAUT</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I hae laid a herring in saut—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lass, gin ye lo'e me, tell me now;</span><br /> +I hae brew'd a forpit o' maut,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I canna come ilka day to woo:</span><br /> +<br /> +I hae a calf that will soon be a cow—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lass, gin ye lo'e me, tell me now;</span><br /> +I hae a stook, and I'll soon hae a mowe,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I canna come ilka day to woo:</span><br /> +<br /> +I hae a house upon yon moor—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lass, gin ye lo'e me, tell me now;</span><br /> +Three sparrows may dance upon the floor,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I canna come ilka day to woo:</span><br /> +I hae a but, and I hae a ben—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lass, gin ye lo'e me, tell me now;</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> + +A penny to keep, and a penny to spen',<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I canna come ilka day to woo:</span><br /> +<br /> +I hae a hen wi' a happitie leg—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lass, gin ye lo'e me, tell me now;</span><br /> +That ilka day lays me an egg,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I canna come ilka day to woo:</span><br /> +I hae a cheese upon my skelf—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lass, gin ye lo'e me, tell me now;</span><br /> +And soon wi' mites 'twill rin itself,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I canna come ilka day to woo.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>James Tytler.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE CLOWN'S COURTSHIP</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Quoth John to Joan, will thou have me;<br /> +I prithee now, wilt? and I'll marry thee,<br /> +My cow, my calf, my house, my rents,<br /> +And all my lands and tenements:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Oh, say, my Joan, will not that do?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I cannot come every day to woo.</span><br /> +<br /> +I've corn and hay in the barn hardby,<br /> +And three fat hogs pent up in the sty,<br /> +I have a mare and she is coal black,<br /> +I ride on her tail to save my back.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">Then say, etc.</span><br /> +<br /> +I have a cheese upon the shelf,<br /> +And I cannot eat it all myself;<br /> +I've three good marks that lie in a rag,<br /> +In a nook of the chimney, instead of a bag.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">Then say, etc.</span><br /> +<br /> +To marry I would have thy consent,<br /> +But faith I never could compliment;<br /> +I can say nought but "Hoy, gee ho!"<br /> +Words that belong to the cart and the plough.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">So say, my Joan, will not that do,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I cannot come every day to woo.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>OUT UPON IT</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Out upon it, I have loved<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Three whole days together;</span><br /> +And am like to love three more,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">If it prove fair weather.</span><br /> +<br /> +Time shall moult away his wings,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Ere he shall discover</span><br /> +In the whole wide world again<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Such a constant Lover.</span><br /> +<br /> +But the spite on't is, no praise<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Is due at all to me:</span><br /> +Love with me had made no stays,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Had it any been but she.</span><br /> +<br /> +Had it any been but she,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And that very face,</span><br /> +There had been at least ere this<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A dozen dozen in her place.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Sir John Suckling.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>LOVE IS LIKE A DIZZINESS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I lately lived in quiet case,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An' ne'er wish'd to marry, O!</span><br /> +But when I saw my Peggy's face,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I felt a sad quandary, O!</span><br /> +Though wild as ony Athol deer,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She has trepann'd me fairly, O!</span><br /> +Her cherry cheeks an' een sae clear<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Torment me late an' early O!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">O, love, love, love!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Love is like a dizziness;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">It winna let a poor body</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Gang about his biziness!</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> + +<br /> +To tell my feats this single week<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wad mak a daft-like diary, O!</span><br /> +I drave my cart out ow'r a dike,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My horses in a miry, O!</span><br /> +I wear my stockings white an' blue,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My love's sae fierce an' fiery, O!</span><br /> +I drill the land that I should pleugh,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An' pleugh the drills entirely, O!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">O, love, love, love! etc.</span><br /> +<br /> +Ae morning, by the dawn o' day,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I rase to theek the stable, O!</span><br /> +I keust my coat, and plied away<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As fast as I was able, O!</span><br /> +I wrought that morning out an' out,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As I'd been redding fire, O!</span><br /> +When I had done an look'd about,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gudefaith, it was the byre, O!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">O, love, love, love! etc.</span><br /> +<br /> +Her wily glance I'll ne'er forget,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The dear, the lovely blinkin o't</span><br /> +Has pierced me through an' through the heart,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An' plagues me wi' the prinking o't.</span><br /> +I tried to sing, I tried to pray,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I tried to drown't wi' drinkin' o't,</span><br /> +I tried with sport to drive't away,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But ne'er can sleep for thinkin' o't.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">O, love, love, love! etc.</span><br /> +<br /> +Nae man can tell what pains I prove,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or how severe my pliskie, O!</span><br /> +I swear I'm sairer drunk wi' love<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than ever I was wi' whiskey, O!</span><br /> +For love has raked me fore an' aft,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I scarce can lift a leggie, O!</span><br /> +I first grew dizzy, then gaed daft,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An' soon I'll dee for Peggy, O!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">O, love, love, love!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Love is like a dizziness;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">It winna let a poor body</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Gang about his biziness!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>James Hogg.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE KITCHEN CLOCK</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Knitting is the maid o' the kitchen, Milly,<br /> +Doing nothing sits the chore boy, Billy:<br /> +"Seconds reckoned,<br /> +Seconds reckoned;<br /> +Every minute,<br /> +Sixty in it.<br /> +Milly, Billy,<br /> +Billy, Milly,<br /> +Tick-tock, tock-tick,<br /> +Nick-knock, knock-nick,<br /> +Knockety-nick, nickety-knock,"—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Goes the kitchen clock.</span><br /> +<br /> +Closer to the fire is rosy Milly,<br /> +Every whit as close and cosy, Billy:<br /> +"Time's a-flying,<br /> +Worth your trying;<br /> +Pretty Milly—<br /> +Kiss her, Billy!<br /> +Milly, Billy,<br /> +Billy, Milly,<br /> +Tick-tock, tock-tick,<br /> +Now—now, quick—quick!<br /> +Knockety-nick, nickety-knock,"—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Goes the kitchen clock.</span><br /> +<br /> +Something's happened, very red is Milly,<br /> +Billy boy is looking very silly;<br /> +"Pretty misses,<br /> +Plenty kisses;<br /> +Make it twenty,<br /> +Take a plenty.<br /> +Billy, Milly,<br /> +Milly, Billy,<br /> +Right—left, left—right,<br /> +That's right, all right,<br /> +Knockety-nick, nickety-knock,"—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Goes the kitchen clock.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> + +<br /> +Weeks gone, still they're sitting, Milly, Billy;<br /> +O, the winter winds are wondrous chilly!<br /> +"Winter weather,<br /> +Close together;<br /> +Wouldn't tarry,<br /> +Better marry.<br /> +Milly, Billy,<br /> +Billy, Milly,<br /> +Two—one, one—two,<br /> +Don't wait, 'twon't do,<br /> +Knockety-nick, nickety-knock,"—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Goes the kitchen clock.</span><br /> +<br /> +Winters two have gone, and where is Milly?<br /> +Spring has come again, and where is Billy?<br /> +"Give me credit,<br /> +For I did it;<br /> +Treat me kindly,<br /> +Mind you wind me.<br /> +Mister Billy,<br /> +Mistress Milly,<br /> +My—O, O—my,<br /> +By-by, by-by,<br /> +Nickety-knock, cradle rock,"—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Goes the kitchen clock.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>John Vance Cheney.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>LADY MINE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Lady mine, most fair thou art<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With youth's gold and white and red;</span><br /> +'Tis a pity that thy heart<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is so much harder than thy head.</span><br /> +<br /> +This has stayed my kisses oft,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This from all thy charms debarr'd,</span><br /> +That thy head is strangely soft,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While thy heart is strangely hard.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> + +<br /> +Nothing had kept us apart—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I had loved thee, I had wed—</span><br /> +Hadst thou had a softer heart<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or a harder head.</span><br /> +<br /> +But I think I'll bear Love's smart<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till the wound has healed and fled,</span><br /> +Or thy head is like thy heart,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or thy heart is like thy head.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>H. E. Clarke.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>BALLADE OF THE GOLFER IN LOVE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +In the "foursome" some would fain<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Find nepenthe for their woe;</span><br /> +Following through shine or rain<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where the "greens" like satin show;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But I vote such sport as "slow"—</span><br /> +Find it rather glum and gruesome;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a little maid I know</span><br /> +I would play a quiet "twosome"!<br /> +<br /> +In the "threesome," some maintain,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lies excitement's gayest glow—</span><br /> +Strife that mounts unto the brain<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like the sparkling <i>Veuve Clicquot</i>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My opinion? Nay, not so!</span><br /> +Noon or eve or morning dewsome<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a little maid I know</span><br /> +I would play a quiet "twosome"!<br /> +<br /> +Bays of glory some would gain<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With grim "Bogey" for their foe;</span><br /> +(He's a bogey who's not slain<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Save one smite with canny blow!)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yet I hold this tame, and though</span><br /> +My refrain seems trite, 'tis truesome;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a little maid I know</span><br /> +I would play a quiet "twosome"!<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> + +</p> +<p class='h_5'>ENVOY</p> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Comrades all who golfing go,</span><br /> +Happiness—if you would view some—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a little maid <i>you</i> know,</span><br /> +Haste and play a quiet "twosome"!<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Clinton Scollard.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>BALLADE OF FORGOTTEN LOVES</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Some poets sing of sweethearts dead,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Some sing of true loves far away;</span><br /> +Some sing of those that others wed,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And some of idols turned to clay.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I sing a pensive roundelay</span><br /> +To sweethearts of a doubtful lot,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The passions vanished in a day—</span><br /> +The little loves that I've forgot.<br /> +<br /> +For, as the happy years have sped,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And golden dreams have changed to gray,</span><br /> +How oft the flame of love was fed<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By glance, or smile, from Maud or May,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When wayward Cupid was at play;</span><br /> +Mere fancies, formed of who knows what,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But still my debt I ne'er can pay—</span><br /> +The little loves that I've forgot.<br /> +<br /> +O joyous hours forever fled!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O sudden hopes that would not stay!</span><br /> +Held only by the slender thread<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of memory that's all astray.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their very names I cannot say.</span><br /> +Time's will is done, I know them not;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But blessings on them all, I pray—</span><br /> +The little loves that I've forgot.<br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>ENVOI</p> +<p> +Sweetheart, why foolish fears betray?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ours is the one true lovers' knot;</span><br /> +Note well the burden of my lay—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The little loves that I've forgot.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Arthur Grissom.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="IV" id="IV"></a>IV</h2> + +<h2>SATIRE</h2> +<p><br /></p> + +<h3>A BALLADE OF SUICIDE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +The gallows in my garden, people say,<br /> +Is new and neat and adequately tall.<br /> +I tie the noose on in a knowing way<br /> +As one that knots his necktie for a ball;<br /> +But just as all the neighbours—on the wall—<br /> +Are drawing a long breath to shout "Hurray!"<br /> +The strangest whim has seized me.... After all<br /> +I think I will not hang myself to-day.<br /> +<br /> +To-morrow is the time I get my pay—<br /> +My uncle's sword is hanging in the hall—<br /> +I see a little cloud all pink and grey—<br /> +Perhaps the rector's mother will <i>not</i> call—<br /> +I fancy that I heard from Mr. Gall<br /> +That mushrooms could be cooked another way—<br /> +I never read the works of Juvenal—<br /> +I think I will not hang myself to-day.<br /> +<br /> +The world will have another washing day;<br /> +The decadents decay; the pedants pall;<br /> +And H. G. Wells has found that children play,<br /> +And Bernard Shaw discovered that they squall;<br /> +Rationalists are growing rational—<br /> +And through thick woods one finds a stream astray,<br /> +So secret that the very sky seems small—<br /> +I think I will not hang myself to-day.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> + +</p> +<p class='h_5'>ENVOI</p> +<p> +Prince, I can hear the trump of Germinal,<br /> +The tumbrils toiling up the terrible way;<br /> +Even to-day your royal head may fall—<br /> +I think I will not hang myself to-day.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>G. K. Chesterton.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>FINNIGIN TO FLANNIGAN</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Superintendent wuz Flannigan;<br /> +Boss av the siction wuz Finnigin;<br /> +Whiniver the kyars got offen the thrack,<br /> +An' muddled up things t' th' divil an' back,<br /> +Finnigin writ it to Flannigan,<br /> +Afther the wrick wuz all on ag'in;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That is, this Finnigin</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Repoorted to Flannigan.</span><br /> +<br /> +Whin Finnigin furst writ to Flannigan,<br /> +He writed tin pages—did Finnigin,<br /> +An' he tould jist how the smash occurred;<br /> +Full minny a tajus, blunderin' wurrd<br /> +Did Finnigin write to Flannigan<br /> +Afther the cars had gone on ag'in.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That wuz how Finnigin</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Repoorted to Flannigan.</span><br /> +<br /> +Now Flannigan knowed more than Finnigin—<br /> +He'd more idjucation, had Flannigan;<br /> +An' it wore'm clane an' completely out<br /> +To tell what Finnigin writ about<br /> +In his writin' to Muster Flannigan.<br /> +So he writed back to Finnigin:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Don't do sich a sin ag'in;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Make 'em brief, Finnigin!"</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> + +<br /> +Whin Finnigin got this from Flannigan,<br /> +He blushed rosy rid, did Finnigin;<br /> +An' he said: "I'll gamble a whole month's pa-ay<br /> +That it will be minny an' minny a da-ay<br /> +Befoore Sup'rintindint—that's Flannigan—<br /> +Gits a whack at this very same sin ag'in.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From Finnigin to Flannigan</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Repoorts won't be long ag'in."</span></p> + +<hr style="width: 33%; margin-top: 0em; margin-bottom: 0em;" /> + +<p> +Wan da-ay, on the siction av Finnigin,<br /> +On the road sup'rintinded by Flannigan,<br /> +A rail give way on a bit av a curve,<br /> +An' some kyars went off as they made the swerve.<br /> +"There's nobody hurted," sez Finnigin,<br /> +"But repoorts must be made to Flannigan."<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An' he winked at McGorrigan,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As married a Finnigin.</span><br /> +<br /> +He wuz shantyin' thin, wuz Finnigin,<br /> +As minny a railroader's been ag'in,<br /> +An' the shmoky ol' lamp wuz burnin' bright<br /> +In Finnigin's shanty all that night—<br /> +Bilin' down his repoort, was Finnigin!<br /> +An' he writed this here: "Muster Flannigan:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Off ag'in, on ag'in,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gone ag'in—Finnigin."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>S. W. Gillinan.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>STUDY OF AN ELEVATION, IN INDIAN INK</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Potiphar Gubbins, C. E.,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Stands at the top of the tree;</span><br /> +And I muse in my bed on the reasons that led<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To the hoisting of Potiphar G.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Potiphar Gubbins, C. E.,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Is seven years junior to Me;</span><br /> +Each bridge that he makes either buckles or breaks,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And his work is as rough as he.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> + +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Potiphar Gubbins, C. E.,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Is coarse as a chimpanzee;</span><br /> +And I can't understand why you gave him your hand,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Lovely Mehitabel Lee.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Potiphar Gubbins, C. E.,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Is dear to the Powers that Be;</span><br /> +For they bow and They smile in an affable style<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Which is seldom accorded to Me.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Potiphar Gubbins, C. E.,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Is certain as certain can be</span><br /> +Of a highly paid post which is claimed by a host<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of seniors—including Me.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Careless and lazy is he,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Greatly inferior to Me.</span><br /> +What is the spell that you manage so well,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Commonplace Potiphar G.?</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Lovely Mehitabel Lee,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Let me inquire of thee,</span><br /> +Should I have riz to what Potiphar is,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Hadst thou been mated to Me?</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Rudyard Kipling.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE V-A-S-E</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +From the madding crowd they stand apart,<br /> +The maidens four and the Work of Art;<br /> +<br /> +And none might tell from sight alone<br /> +In which had culture ripest grown,—<br /> +<br /> +The Gotham Million fair to see,<br /> +The Philadelphia Pedigree,<br /> +<br /> +The Boston Mind of azure hue,<br /> +Or the soulful Soul from Kalamazoo,—<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> + +<br /> +For all loved Art in a seemly way,<br /> +With an earnest soul and a capital A.</p> + +<hr style="width: 33%; margin-top: 0em; margin-bottom: 0em;" /> + +<p> +Long they worshiped; but no one broke<br /> +The sacred stillness, until up spoke<br /> +<br /> +The Western one from the nameless place,<br /> +Who blushing said, "What a lovely vace!"<br /> +<br /> +Over three faces a sad smile flew,<br /> +And they edged away from Kalamazoo.<br /> +<br /> +But Gotham's haughty soul was stirred<br /> +To crush the stranger with one small word.<br /> +<br /> +Deftly hiding reproof in praise,<br /> +She cries, "'Tis, indeed, a lovely vaze!"<br /> +<br /> +But brief her unworthy triumph when<br /> +The lofty one from the house of Penn,<br /> +<br /> +With the consciousness of two grandpapas,<br /> +Exclaims, "It is quite a lovely vahs!"<br /> +<br /> +And glances round with an anxious thrill,<br /> +Awaiting the word of Beacon Hill.<br /> +<br /> +But the Boston maid smiles courteouslee,<br /> +And gently murmurs, "Oh, pardon me!<br /> +<br /> +"I did not catch your remark, because<br /> +I was so entranced with that lovely vaws!"<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Dies erit praegelida</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Sinistra quum Bostonia.</i></span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>James Jeffrey Roche.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>MINIVER CHEEVY</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Miniver Cheevy, child of scorn,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Grew lean while he assailed the seasons;</span><br /> +He wept that he was ever born,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And he had reasons.</span><br /> +<br /> +Miniver loved the days of old<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When swords were bright and steeds were prancing;</span><br /> +The vision of a warrior bold<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Would set him dancing.</span><br /> +<br /> +Miniver sighed for what was not,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And dreamed and rested from his labors;</span><br /> +He dreamed of Thebes and Camelot<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Priam's neighbors.</span><br /> +<br /> +Miniver mourned the ripe renown<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That made so many a name so fragrant;</span><br /> +He mourned Romance, now on the town,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Art, a vagrant.</span><br /> +<br /> +Miniver loved the Medici,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Albeit he had never seen one;</span><br /> +He would have sinned incessantly<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Could he have been one.</span><br /> +<br /> +Miniver cursed the commonplace,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And eyed a khaki suit with loathing;</span><br /> +He missed the mediæval grace<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of iron clothing.</span><br /> +<br /> +Miniver scorned the gold he sought,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But sore annoyed he was without it;</span><br /> +Miniver thought and thought and thought<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And thought about it.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> + +<br /> +Miniver Cheevy, born too late,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Scratched his head and kept on thinking;</span><br /> +Miniver coughed, and called it fate,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And kept on drinking.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Edwin Arlington Robinson.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE RECRUIT</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Sez Corporal Madden to Private McFadden:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">"Bedad, yer a bad un!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Now turn out yer toes!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Yer belt is unhookit,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Yer cap is on crookit,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Ye may not be dhrunk,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But, be jabers, ye look it!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Wan—two!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Wan—two!</span><br /> +Ye monkey-faced divil, I'll jolly ye through!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Wan—two!—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Time! Mark!</span><br /> +Ye march like the aigle in Cintheral Parrk!"<br /> +<br /> +Sez Corporal Madden to Private McFadden:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"A saint it ud sadden</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To dhrill such a mug!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Eyes front!—ye baboon, ye!—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Chin up!—ye gossoon, ye!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Ye've jaws like a goat—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Halt! ye leather-lipped loon, ye!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Wan—two!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Wan—two!</span><br /> +Ye whiskered orang-outang, I'll fix you!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Wan—two!—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Time! Mark!</span><br /> +Ye've eyes like a bat!—can ye see in the dark?"<br /> +<br /> +Sez Corporal Madden to Private McFadden:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Yer figger wants padd'n'—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sure, man, ye've no shape!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Behind ye yer shoulders</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Stick out like two boulders;</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> + +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Yer shins is as thin</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">As a pair of pen-holders!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Wan—two!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Wan—two!</span><br /> +Yer belly belongs on yer back, ye Jew!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Wan—two!—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Time! Mark!</span><br /> +I'm dhry as a dog—I can't shpake but I bark!"<br /> +<br /> +Sez Corporal Madden to Private McFadden:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Me heart it ud gladden</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To blacken your eye.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Ye're gettin' too bold, ye</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Compel me to scold ye,—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Tis halt! that I say,—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Will ye heed what I told ye?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Wan—two!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Wan—two!</span><br /> +Be jabers, I'm dhryer than Brian Boru!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Wan—two!—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Time! Mark!</span><br /> +What's wur-ruk for chickens is sport for the lark!"<br /> +<br /> +Sez Corporal Madden to Private McFadden:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"I'll not stay a gaddin',</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Wid dagoes like you!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I'll travel no farther,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I'm dyin' for—wather;—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Come on, if ye like,—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Can ye loan me a quather?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Ya-as, you—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">What,—two?</span><br /> +And ye'll pay the potheen? Ye're a daisy! Whurroo!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">You'll do!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Whist! Mark!</span><br /> +The Rigiment's flattered to own ye, me spark!"<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Robert W. Chambers.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>OFFICER BRADY</h3> + +<h4>THE MODERN RECRUIT</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> + +<p class='h_5'>I</p> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sez Alderman Grady</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To Officer Brady:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"G'wan! Ye're no lady!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Luk here what ye've done:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Ye've run in Red Hogan,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Ye've pulled Paddy Grogan,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Ye've fanned Misther Brogan</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">An' called him a 'gun'!</span><br /> +<br /> +"Way up in Tammany Hall<br /> +They's a gintleman layin' f'r you!<br /> +'An' what,' sez he, 't' 'ell,' sez he,<br /> +'Does the villyun mane to do?<br /> +Lock up the ass in his shtall!<br /> +He'll rue the day I rue,<br /> +F'r he's pulled the dive that kapes me alive,<br /> +An' he'll go to the goats! Whurroo!'"<br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>II</p> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sez Alderman Grady</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To Officer Brady:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Ye pinched young Mullady</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">F'r crackin' a safe!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">An' Sinitor Moran</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">An' Alderman Doran</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Is inside, a-roarin'</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">F'r justice, ye thafe!</span><br /> +<br /> +"'Way up in Tammany Hall<br /> +They's a gintleman layin' f'r you!<br /> +'What's this,' sez he, 'I hear?' sez he—<br /> +An' the air, bedad, grew blue!<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> + +'Well, I nivver did hear av such gall!<br /> +But if phwat ye say is thrue,<br /> +He's pulled a fri'nd av a fri'nd av me fri'nd,<br /> +An' he'll go to the goats! Whurroo!"<br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>III</p> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sez Alderman Grady</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To Officer Brady:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Here's Sullivan's lady</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Cavoortin' an' riled;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">She lifted a locket</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">From Casey's coat pocket,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">An' it goes to the docket,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">An' Sullivan's wild!</span><br /> +<br /> +"'Way up in Tammany Hall<br /> +They's a gintleman layin' f'r you!<br /> +''Tis a shame,' sez he, 'f'r to blame,' sez he,<br /> +'A lady so fair an' thrue,<br /> +An' so divinely tall'—<br /> +'Tis po'ms he talked, ye Jew!<br /> +An' ye've cooked yer goose, an' now ye're loose<br /> +F'r to folly the goats! Whurroo!"<br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>IV</p> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sez Alderman Grady</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To Officer Brady:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Where's Katie Macready,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Confidence Queen?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">She's niece to O'Lafferty's</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Cousins, the Caffertys—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sinitor Rafferty's</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Steady colleen!</span><br /> +<br /> +"'Way up in Tammany Hall<br /> +They's a gintleman layin' f'r you!<br /> +'He's pinched,' sez he, 'an' cinched,' sez he,<br /> +'A lady tray comme eel foo!<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> + +Go dangle th' tillyphone call,<br /> +An' gimme La Mulberry Roo,<br /> +F'r the town is too warrm f'r this gendarme,<br /> +An' he'll go to the goats, mon Dieu!'"<br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>V</p> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sez Alderman Grady</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To Officer Brady:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">"McCabe is afraid he</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Can't open to-night,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">F'r throuble's a-brewin',</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">An' mischief's a-stewin',</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Wid nothin' a-doin'</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">An' everything tight!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">There's Register Ronnell,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Commissioner Donnell,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">An' Congressman Connell</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Preparin' f'r flight;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The Dhistrict Attorney</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Told Magistrate Kearny</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That Captain McBurney</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Was dyin' o' fright!</span><br /> +<br /> +"Oh!<br /> +'Way up in Tammany Hall<br /> +They's a gintleman lookin' f'r you!<br /> +'Bedad,' sez he, 'he's mad,' sez he.<br /> +'So turrn on the screw f'r Bellevue,<br /> +An' chain 'im ag'in' the wall,<br /> +An' lather 'im wan or two,<br /> +An' tether 'im out on the Bloomin'dale route<br /> +Like a loonytick goat! Whurroo!'"<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Robert W. Chambers.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>POST-IMPRESSIONISM</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I cannot tell you how I love<br /> +The canvases of Mr. Dove,<br /> +Which Saturday I went to see<br /> +In Mr. Thurber's gallery.<br /> +<br /> +At first you fancy they are built<br /> +As patterns for a crazy quilt,<br /> +But soon you see that they express<br /> +An ambient simultaneousness.<br /> +<br /> +This thing which you would almost bet<br /> +Portrays a Spanish omelette,<br /> +Depicts instead, with wondrous skill,<br /> +A horse and cart upon a hill.<br /> +<br /> +Now, Mr. Dove has too much art<br /> +To show the horse or show the cart;<br /> +Instead, he paints the <i>creak</i> and <i>strain</i>,<br /> +Get it? No pike is half as plain.<br /> +<br /> +This thing which would appear to show<br /> +A fancy vest scenario,<br /> +Is really quite another thing,<br /> +A flock of pigeons on the wing.<br /> +<br /> +But Mr. Dove is much too keen<br /> +To let a single bird be seen;<br /> +To show the pigeons would not do<br /> +And so he simply paints the <i>coo</i>.<br /> +<br /> +It's all as simple as can be;<br /> +He paints the things you cannot see,<br /> +Just as composers please the ear<br /> +With "programme" things you cannot hear.<br /> +<br /> +Dove is the cleverest of chaps;<br /> +And, gazing at his rhythmic maps,<br /> +I wondered (and I'm wondering yet)<br /> +Whether he did them on a bet.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Bert Leston Taylor.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>TO THE PORTRAIT OF "A GENTLEMAN,"</h3> + +<h4>IN THE ATHENÆUM GALLERY</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +It may be so—perhaps thou hast<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A warm and loving heart;</span><br /> +I will not blame thee for thy face,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Poor devil as thou art.</span><br /> +<br /> +That thing, thou fondly deem'st a nose,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Unsightly though it be,—</span><br /> +In spite of all the cold world's scorn,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">It may be much to thee.</span><br /> +<br /> +Those eyes,—among thine elder friends<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Perhaps they pass for blue;—</span><br /> +No matter,—if a man can see,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">What more have eyes to do?</span><br /> +<br /> +Thy mouth—that fissure in thy face<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">By something like a chin,—</span><br /> +May be a very useful place<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To put thy victual in.</span><br /> +<br /> +I know thou hast a wife at home,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I know thou hast a child,</span><br /> +By that subdued, domestic smile<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Upon thy features mild.</span><br /> +<br /> +That wife sits fearless by thy side,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That cherub on thy knee;</span><br /> +They do not shudder at thy looks,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">They do not shrink from thee.</span><br /> +<br /> +Above thy mantel is a hook,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A portrait once was there;</span><br /> +It was thine only ornament,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Alas! that hook is bare.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> + +<br /> +She begged thee not to let it go,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">She begged thee all in vain:</span><br /> +She wept,—and breathed a trembling prayer<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To meet it safe again.</span><br /> +<br /> +It was a bitter sight to see<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That picture torn away;</span><br /> +It was a solemn thought to think<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">What all her friends would say!</span><br /> +<br /> +And often in her calmer hours,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And in her happy dreams,</span><br /> +Upon its long-deserted hook<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The absent portrait seems.</span><br /> +<br /> +Thy wretched infant turns his head<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In melancholy wise,</span><br /> +And looks to meet the placid stare<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of those unbending eyes.</span><br /> +<br /> +I never saw thee, lovely one,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Perchance I never may;</span><br /> +It is not often that we cross<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Such people in our way;</span><br /> +<br /> +But if we meet in distant years,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Or on some foreign shore,</span><br /> +Sure I can take my Bible oath<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I've seen that face before.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Oliver Wendell Holmes.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>CACOËTHES SCRIBENDI</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +If all the trees in all the woods were men,<br /> +And each and every blade of grass a pen;<br /> +If every leaf on every shrub and tree<br /> +Turned to a sheet of foolscap; every sea<br /> +Were changed to ink, and all earth's living tribes<br /> +Had nothing else to do but act as scribes,<br /> +And for ten thousand ages, day and night,<br /> +The human race should write, and write, and write,<br /> +Till all the pens and paper were used up,<br /> +And the huge inkstand was an empty cup,<br /> +Still would the scribblers clustered round its brink<br /> +Call for more pens, more paper, and more ink.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Oliver Wendell Holmes.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>CONTENTMENT</h3> + +<h4>"MAN WANTS BUT LITTLE HERE BELOW"</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Little I ask; my wants are few;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I only wish a hut of stone</span><br /> +(A very plain brone stone will do)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That I may call my own;</span><br /> +And close at hand is such a one,<br /> +In yonder street that fronts the sun.<br /> +<br /> +Plain food is quite enough for me;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Three courses are as good as ten;</span><br /> +If Nature can subsist on three,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thank Heaven for three—Amen!</span><br /> +I always thought cold victual nice—<br /> +My choice would be vanilla-ice.<br /> +<br /> +I care not much for gold or land;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Give me a mortgage here and there,</span><br /> +Some good bank-stock, some note of hand,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or trifling railroad share.</span><br /> +I only ask that Fortune send<br /> +A little more than I shall spend.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> + +<br /> +Jewels are baubles; 'tis a sin<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To care for such unfruitful things;</span><br /> +One good-sized diamond in a pin,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Some, <i>not so large</i>, in rings.</span><br /> +A ruby, and a pearl, or so,<br /> +Will do for me—I laugh at show.<br /> +<br /> +My dame should dress in cheap attire<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Good, heavy silks are never dear);</span><br /> +I own perhaps I <i>might</i> desire<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Some shawls of true Cashmere—</span><br /> +Some marrowy crapes of China silk,<br /> +Like wrinkled skins on scalded milk.<br /> +<br /> +I would not have the horse I drive<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So fast that folks must stop and stare;</span><br /> +An easy gait—two, forty-five—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Suits me; I do not care;</span><br /> +Perhaps, for just a <i>single spurt</i>,<br /> +Some seconds less would do no hurt.<br /> +<br /> +Of pictures, I should like to own<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Titians and Raphaels three or four—</span><br /> +I love so much their style and tone—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One Turner, and no more.</span><br /> +(A landscape, foreground golden dirt,<br /> +The sunshine painted with a squirt).<br /> +<br /> +Of books but few—some fifty score<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For daily use, and bound for wear;</span><br /> +The rest upon an upper floor;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Some <i>little</i> luxury <i>there</i></span><br /> +Of red morocco's gilded gleam,<br /> +And vellum rich as country cream.<br /> +<br /> +Busts, cameos, gems—such things as these,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which others often show for pride,</span><br /> +<i>I</i> value for their power to please,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And selfish churls deride;</span><br /> +<i>One</i> Stradivarius, I confess,<br /> +<i>Two</i> Meerschaums, I would fain possess.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> + +<br /> +Wealth's wasteful tricks I will not learn,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor ape the glittering upstart fool;</span><br /> +Shall not carved tables serve my turn,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But <i>all</i> must be of buhl?</span><br /> +Give grasping pomp its double share—<br /> +I ask but <i>one</i> recumbent chair.<br /> +<br /> +Thus humble let me live and die,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor long for Midas' golden touch;</span><br /> +If Heaven more generous gifts deny,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I shall not miss them <i>much</i>—</span><br /> +Too grateful for the blessing lent<br /> +Of simple tastes and mind content!<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Oliver Wendell Holmes.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A BOSTON LULLABY</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Baby's brain is tired of thinking<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On the Wherefore and the Whence;</span><br /> +Baby's precious eyes are blinking<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With incipient somnolence.</span><br /> +<br /> +Little hands are weary turning<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Heavy leaves of lexicon;</span><br /> +Little nose is fretted learning<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How to keep its glasses on.</span><br /> +<br /> +Baby knows the laws of nature<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are beneficent and wise;</span><br /> +His medulla oblongata<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bids my darling close his eyes.</span><br /> +<br /> +And his pneumogastrics tell him<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Quietude is always best</span><br /> +When his little cerebellum<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Needs recuperative rest.</span><br /> +<br /> +Baby must have relaxation,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Let the world go wrong or right.</span><br /> +Sleep, my darling—leave Creation<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To its chances for the night.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>James Jeffrey Roche.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A GRAIN OF SALT</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Of all the wimming doubly blest<br /> +The sailor's wife's the happiest,<br /> +For all she does is stay to home<br /> +And knit and darn—and let 'im roam.<br /> +<br /> +Of all the husbands on the earth<br /> +The sailor has the finest berth,<br /> +For in 'is cabin he can sit<br /> +And sail and sail—and let 'er knit.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Wallace Irwin.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>SONG</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Why should you swear I am forsworn,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Since thine I vowed to be?</span><br /> +Lady, it is already morn,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And 'twas last night I swore to thee</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That fond impossibility.</span><br /> +<br /> +Have I not loved thee much and long,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A tedious twelve hours' space?</span><br /> +I must all other beauties wrong,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And rob thee of a new embrace,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Could I still dote upon thy face.</span><br /> +<br /> +Not but all joy in thy brown hair<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By others may be found;</span><br /> +But I must search the black and fair,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like skilful mineralists that sound</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For treasure in unploughed-up ground.</span><br /> +<br /> +Then, if when I have loved my round,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thou prov'st the pleasant she;</span><br /> +With spoils of meaner beauties crowned<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I laden will return to thee,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Even sated with variety.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Richard Lovelace.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A PHILOSOPHER</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Zack Bumstead useter flosserfize<br /> +About the ocean an' the skies;<br /> +An' gab an' gas f'um morn till noon<br /> +About the other side the moon;<br /> +An' 'bout the natur of the place<br /> +Ten miles beyend the end of space.<br /> +An' if his wife she'd ask the crank<br /> +Ef he wouldn't kinder try to yank<br /> +Hisself out-doors an' git some wood<br /> +To make her kitchen fire good,<br /> +So she c'd bake her beans an' pies,<br /> +He'd say, "I've gotter flosserfize."<br /> +<br /> +An' then he'd set an' flosserfize<br /> +About the natur an' the size<br /> +Of angels' wings, an' think, and gawp,<br /> +An' wonder how they make 'em flop.<br /> +He'd calkerlate how long a skid<br /> +'Twould take to move the sun, he did;<br /> +An' if the skid was strong an' prime,<br /> +It couldn't be moved to supper-time.<br /> +An' w'en his wife 'd ask the lout<br /> +Ef he wouldn't kinder waltz about<br /> +An' take a rag an' shoo the flies,<br /> +He'd say, "I've gotter flosserfize."<br /> +<br /> +An' then he'd set an' flosserfize<br /> +'Bout schemes for fencing in the skies,<br /> +Then lettin' out the lots to rent,<br /> +So's he could make an honest cent.<br /> +An' if he'd find it pooty tough<br /> +To borry cash fer fencin'-stuff;<br /> +An' if 'twere best to take his wealth<br /> +An' go to Europe for his health,<br /> +Or save his cash till he'd enough<br /> +To buy some more of fencin'-stuff;<br /> +Then, ef his wife she'd ask the gump<br /> +Ef he wouldn't kinder try to hump<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> + +Hisself to t'other side the door,<br /> +So she c'd come an' sweep the floor,<br /> +He'd look at her with mournful eyes,<br /> +An' say, "I've gotter flosserfize."<br /> +<br /> +An' so he'd set an' flosserfize<br /> +'Bout what it wuz held up the skies,<br /> +An' how God made this earthly ball<br /> +Jest simply out er nawthin' 'tall,<br /> +An' 'bout the natur, shape, an' form<br /> +Of nawthin' that he made it from.<br /> +Then, ef his wife sh'd ask the freak<br /> +Ef he wouldn't kinder try to sneak<br /> +Out to the barn an' find some aigs,<br /> +He'd never move, nor lift his laigs;<br /> +He'd never stir, nor try to rise,<br /> +But say, "I've gotter flosserfize."<br /> +<br /> +An' so he'd set an' flosserfize<br /> +About the earth, an' sea, an' skies,<br /> +An' scratch his head, an' ask the cause<br /> +Of w'at there wuz before time wuz,<br /> +An' w'at the universe 'd do<br /> +Bimeby w'en time hed all got through;<br /> +An' jest how fur we'd have to climb<br /> +Ef we sh'd travel out er time;<br /> +An' ef we'd need, w'en we got there,<br /> +To keep our watches in repair.<br /> +Then, ef his wife she'd ask the gawk<br /> +Ef he wouldn't kinder try to walk<br /> +To where she had the table spread,<br /> +An' kinder git his stomach fed,<br /> +He'd leap for that ar kitchen door,<br /> +An' say, "W'y didn't you speak afore?"<br /> +An' when he'd got his supper et,<br /> +He'd set, an' set, an' set, an' set,<br /> +An' fold his arms, an' shet his eyes,<br /> +An' set, an' set, an' flosserfize.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Sam Walter Foss.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE MEETING OF THE CLABBERHUSES</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> + +<p class='h_5'>I</p> +<p> +He was the Chairman of the Guild<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of Early Pleiocene Patriarchs;</span><br /> +He was chief Mentor of the Lodge<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the Oracular Oligarchs;</span><br /> +He was the Lord High Autocrat<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Vizier of the Sons of Light,</span><br /> +And Sultan and Grand Mandarin<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the Millennial Men of Might.</span><br /> +<br /> +He was Grand Totem and High Priest<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the Independent Potentates;</span><br /> +Grand Mogul of the Galaxy<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the Illustrious Stay-out-lates;</span><br /> +The President of the Dandydudes,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Treasurer of the Sons of Glee;</span><br /> +The Leader of the Clubtown Band<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Architects of Melody.</span><br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>II</p> +<p> +She was Grand Worthy Prophetess<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the Illustrious Maids of Mark;</span><br /> +Of Vestals of the Third Degree<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She was Most Potent Matriarch;</span><br /> +She was High Priestess of the Shrine<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of Clubtown's Culture Coterie,</span><br /> +And First Vice-President of the League<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the illustrious G. A. B.</span><br /> +<br /> +She was the First Dame of the Club<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For teaching Patagonians Greek;</span><br /> +She was Chief Clerk and Auditor<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of Clubtown's Anti-Bachelor Clique;</span><br /> +She was High Treasurer of the Fund<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For Borrioboolighalians,</span><br /> +And the Fund for Sending Browning's Poems<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To Native-born Australians.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> + +</p> +<p class='h_5'>III</p> +<p> +Once to a crowded social fête<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Both these much-titled people came,</span><br /> +And each perceived, when introduced,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They had the selfsame name.</span><br /> +Their hostess said, when first they met:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Permit me now to introduce</span><br /> +My good friend Mr. Clabberhuse<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To Mrs. Clabberhuse."</span><br /> +<br /> +"'Tis very strange," said she to him,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Such an unusual name!—</span><br /> +A name so very seldom heard,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That we should bear the same."</span><br /> +"Indeed, 'tis wonderful," said he,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"And I'm surprised the more,</span><br /> +Because I never heard the name<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Outside my home before.</span><br /> +<br /> +"But now I come to look at you,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Said he, "upon my life,</span><br /> +If I am not indeed deceived,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You are—you are—my wife."</span><br /> +She gazed into his searching face<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And seemed to look him through;</span><br /> +"Indeed," said she, "it seems to me<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You are my husband, too.</span><br /> +<br /> +"I've been so busy with my clubs<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And in my various spheres</span><br /> +I have not seen you now," she said,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"For over fourteen years."</span><br /> +"That's just the way it's been with me,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">These clubs demand a sight"—</span><br /> +And then they both politely bowed,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And sweetly said "Good night."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Sam Walter Foss.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE IDEAL HUSBAND TO HIS WIFE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +We've lived for forty years, dear wife,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And walked together side by side,</span><br /> +And you to-day are just as dear<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As when you were my bride.</span><br /> +I've tried to make life glad for you,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One long, sweet honeymoon of joy,</span><br /> +A dream of marital content,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Without the least alloy.</span><br /> +I've smoothed all boulders from our path,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That we in peace might toil along,</span><br /> +By always hastening to admit<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That I was right and you were wrong.</span><br /> +<br /> +No mad diversity of creed<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Has ever sundered me from thee;</span><br /> +For I permit you evermore<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To borrow your ideas of me.</span><br /> +And thus it is, through weal or woe,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our love forevermore endures;</span><br /> +For I permit that you should take<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My views and creeds, and make them yours.</span><br /> +And thus I let you have my way,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And thus in peace we toil along,</span><br /> +For I am willing to admit<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That I am right and you are wrong.</span><br /> +<br /> +And when our matrimonial skiff<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Strikes snags in love's meandering stream,</span><br /> +I lift our shallop from the rocks,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And float as in a placid dream.</span><br /> +And well I know our marriage bliss<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While life shall last will never cease;</span><br /> +For I shall always let thee do,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In generous love, just what I please.</span><br /> +Peace comes, and discord flies away,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Love's bright day follows hatred's night;</span><br /> +For I am ready to admit<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That you are wrong and I am right.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Sam Walter Foss.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>DISTICHS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> + +<p class='poem'>Wisely a woman prefers to a lover a man who neglects her.</p> +<p class='poem'>This one may love her some day; some day the lover will not.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>There are three species of creatures who when they seem coming are going,</p> +<p class='poem'>When they seem going they come: Diplomats, women, and crabs.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>As the meek beasts in the Garden came flocking for Adam to name them,</p> +<p class='poem'>Men for a title to-day crawl to the feet of a king.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>What is a first love worth except to prepare for a second?</p> +<p class='poem'>What does the second love bring? Only regret for the first.</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>John Hay.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE HEN-ROOST MAN</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +De Hen-roost Man he'll preach about Paul,<br /> +An' James an' John, an' Herod, an' all,<br /> +But nuver a word about Peter, oh, no!<br /> +He's afeard he'll hear dat rooster crow.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">An' he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">An' he ain't by 'isself in dat.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Ruth McEnery Stuart.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>IF THEY MEANT ALL THEY SAID</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Charm is a woman's strongest arm;<br /> +My charwoman is full of charm;<br /> +I chose her, not for strength of arm<br /> +But for her strange, elusive charm.<br /> +<br /> +And how tears heighten woman's powers!<br /> +My typist weeps for hours and hours:<br /> +I took her for her weeping powers—<br /> +They so delight my business hours.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> + +<br /> +A woman lives by intuition.<br /> +Though my accountant shuns addition<br /> +She has the rarest intuition.<br /> +(And I myself can do addition.)<br /> +<br /> +Timidity in girls is nice.<br /> +My cook is so afraid of mice.<br /> +Now you'll admit it's very nice<br /> +To feel your cook's afraid of mice.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Alice Duer Miller.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE MAN</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +A man said to the universe,<br /> +"Sir, I exist!"<br /> +"However," replied the universe,<br /> +"The fact has not created in me<br /> +A sense of obligation."<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Stephen Crane.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A THOUGHT</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +If all the harm that women have done<br /> +Were put in a bundle and rolled into one,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Earth would not hold it,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The sky could not enfold it,</span><br /> +It could not be lighted nor warmed by the sun;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Such masses of evil</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Would puzzle the devil,</span><br /> +And keep him in fuel while Time's wheels run.<br /> +<br /> +But if all the harm that's been done by men<br /> +Were doubled, and doubled, and doubled again,<br /> +And melted and fused into vapour, and then<br /> +Were squared and raised to the power of ten,<br /> +There wouldn't be nearly enough, not near,<br /> +To keep a small girl for the tenth of a year.<br /> +To keep a small girl for the tenth of a year.<br /> +</p> +<i>James Kenneth Stephen.</i><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE MUSICAL ASS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +The fable which I now present,<br /> +Occurred to me by accident:<br /> +And whether bad or excellent,<br /> +Is merely so by accident.<br /> +<br /> +A stupid ass this morning went<br /> +Into a field by accident:<br /> +And cropped his food, and was content,<br /> +Until he spied by accident<br /> +A flute, which some oblivious gent<br /> +Had left behind by accident;<br /> +When, sniffling it with eager scent,<br /> +He breathed on it by accident,<br /> +And made the hollow instrument<br /> +Emit a sound by accident.<br /> +"Hurrah, hurrah!" exclaimed the brute,<br /> +"How cleverly I play the flute!"<br /> +<br /> +A fool, in spite of nature's bent,<br /> +May shine for once,—by accident.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Tomaso de Yriarte.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE KNIFE-GRINDER</h3> + +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> + +<p class='h_5'><i>Friend of Humanity</i></p> +<p> +"Needy Knife-grinder! whither are you going?<br /> +Rough is the road—your wheel is out of order—<br /> +Bleak blows the blast; your hat has got a hole in't,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 17.5em;">So have your breeches!</span><br /> +<br /> +"Weary Knife-grinder! little think the proud ones,<br /> +Who in their coaches roll along the turnpike-<br /> +Road, what hard work 'tis crying all day' Knives and<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 17.5em;">Scissors to grind O!'</span><br /> +<br /> +"Tell me, Knife-grinder, how you came to grind knives?<br /> +Did some rich man tyrannically use you?<br /> +Was it the squire? or parson of the parish?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 17.5em;">Or the attorney?</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span> + +<br /> +"Was it the squire, for killing of his game? or<br /> +Covetous parson, for his tithes distraining?<br /> +Or roguish lawyer, made you lose your little<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 17.5em;">All in a law-suit?</span><br /> +<br /> +"(Have you not read the Rights of Man, by Tom Paine?)<br /> +Drops of compassion tremble on my eyelids,<br /> +Ready to fall, as soon as you have told your<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 17.5em;">Pitiful story."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p class='h_5'><i>Knife-grinder</i></p> + +<p> +"Story! God bless you! I have none to tell, sir,<br /> +Only last night, a-drinking at the Chequers,<br /> +This poor old hat and breeches, as you see, were<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 17.5em;">Tom in a scuffle.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Constables came up for to take me into<br /> +Custody; they took me before the justice;<br /> +Justice Oldmixon put me in the parish-<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 17.5em;">Stocks for a vagrant.</span><br /> +<br /> +"I should be glad to drink your Honour's health in<br /> +A pot of beer, if you will give me sixpence;<br /> +But for my part, I never love to meddle<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 17.5em;">With politics, sir."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p class='h_5'><i>Friend of Humanity</i></p> + +<p> +"<i>I</i> give thee sixpence! I will see thee damn'd first—<br /> +Wretch! whom no sense of wrongs can rouse to vengeance—<br /> +Sordid, unfeeling, reprobate, degraded,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 17.5em;">Spiritless outcast!"</span><br /> +</p> +</td></tr></table> + +<div class='blockquot'><p>[<i>Kicks the Knife-grinder, overturns his wheel, and exit in +a transport of Republican enthusiasm and universal philanthropy.</i>]</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>George Canning.</i></p></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span></p> +<hr /> + +<h3>ST. ANTHONY'S SERMON TO THE FISHES</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Saint Anthony at church<br /> +Was left in the lurch,<br /> +So he went to the ditches<br /> +And preached to the fishes.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They wriggled their tails,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the sun glanced their scales.</span><br /> +<br /> +The carps, with their spawn,<br /> +Are all thither drawn;<br /> +Have opened their jaws,<br /> +Eager for each clause.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No sermon beside</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Had the carps so edified.</span><br /> +<br /> +Sharp-snouted pikes,<br /> +Who keep fighting like tikes,<br /> +Now swam up harmonious<br /> +To hear Saint Antonius.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No sermon beside</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Had the pikes so edified.</span><br /> +<br /> +And that very odd fish,<br /> +Who loves fast-days, the cod-fish,—<br /> +The stock-fish, I mean—<br /> +At the sermon was seen.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No sermon beside</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Had the cods so edified.</span><br /> +<br /> +Good eels and sturgeon,<br /> +Which aldermen gorge on,<br /> +Went out of their way<br /> +To hear preaching that day.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No sermon beside</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Had the eels so edified.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span> + +<br /> +Crabs and turtles also,<br /> +Who always move low,<br /> +Made haste from the bottom<br /> +As if the devil had got 'em.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No sermon beside</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The crabs so edified.</span><br /> +<br /> +Fish great and fish small,<br /> +Lords, lackeys, and all,<br /> +Each looked at the preacher<br /> +Like a reasonable creature.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At God's word,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They Anthony heard.</span><br /> +<br /> +The sermon now ended,<br /> +Each turned and descended;<br /> +The pikes went on stealing,<br /> +The eels went on eeling.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Much delighted were they,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But preferred the old way.</span><br /> +<br /> +The crabs are backsliders,<br /> +The stock-fish thick-siders,<br /> +The carps are sharp-set—<br /> +All the sermon forget.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Much delighted were they,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But preferred the old way.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Abraham á Sancta-Clara.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +It was a summer's evening;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Old Casper's work was done,</span><br /> +And he before his cottage-door<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was sitting in the sun;</span><br /> +And by him sported on the green<br /> +His little grandchild Wilhelmine.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> + +<br /> +She saw her brother Peterkin<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Roll something large and round,</span><br /> +That he beside the rivulet<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In playing there had found.</span><br /> +He came to ask what he had found,<br /> +That was so large, and smooth, and round.<br /> +<br /> +Old Casper took it from the boy,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who stood expectant by;</span><br /> +And then the old man shook his head,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And with a natural sigh,</span><br /> +"'Tis some poor fellow's skull," said he,<br /> +"Who fell in the great victory.<br /> +<br /> +"I find them in the garden, for<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There's many here about;</span><br /> +And often, when I go to plough,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The ploughshare turns them out;</span><br /> +For many thousand men," said he,<br /> +"Were slain in the great victory."<br /> +<br /> +"Now tell us what 'twas all about,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Young Peterkin he cries;</span><br /> +And little Wilhelmine looks up,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With wonder-waiting eyes:</span><br /> +"Now tell us all about the war,<br /> +And what they kill'd each other for."<br /> +<br /> +"It was the English," Casper cried,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"That put the French to rout;</span><br /> +But what they kill'd each other for,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I could not well make out;</span><br /> +But everybody said," quoth he,<br /> +"That 'twas a famous victory.<br /> +<br /> +"My father lived at Blenheim then,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yon little stream hard by;</span><br /> +They burnt his dwelling to the ground,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And he was forced to fly;</span><br /> +So with his wife and child he fled,<br /> +Nor had he where to rest his head.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> + +<br /> +"With fire and sword the country round,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was wasted far and wide,</span><br /> +And many a childing mother then<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And new-born infant died.</span><br /> +But things like that, you know, must be<br /> +At every famous victory.<br /> +<br /> +"They say it was a shocking sight,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">After the field was won,</span><br /> +For many a thousand bodies here<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lay rotting in the sun.</span><br /> +But things like that, you know, must be<br /> +After a famous victory.<br /> +<br /> +"Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And our good Prince Eugene."</span><br /> +"Why, 'twas a very wicked thing!"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Said little Wilhelmine.</span><br /> +"Nay, nay, my little girl," quoth he,<br /> +"It was a famous victory;<br /> +<br /> +"And everybody praised the duke,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who such a fight did win."</span><br /> +"But what good came of it at last?"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Quoth little Peterkin.</span><br /> +"Why, that I cannot tell," said he;<br /> +"But 'twas a famous victory."<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Robert Southey.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE THREE BLACK CROWS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Two honest tradesmen meeting in the Strand,<br /> +One took the other briskly by the hand;<br /> +"Hark-ye," said he, "'tis an odd story, this,<br /> +About the crows!" "I don't know what it is,"<br /> +Replied his friend. "No! I'm surprised at that;<br /> +Where I came from it is the common chat;<br /> +But you shall hear—an odd affair indeed!<br /> +And that it happened, they are all agreed.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> + +Not to detain you from a thing so strange,<br /> +A gentleman, that lives not far from 'Change,<br /> +This week, in short, as all the alley knows,<br /> +Taking a puke, has thrown up three black crows."<br /> +"Impossible!" "Nay, but it's really true;<br /> +I have it from good hands, and so may you."<br /> +"From whose, I pray?" So, having named the man,<br /> +Straight to inquire his curious comrade ran.<br /> +"Sir, did you tell"—relating the affair.<br /> +"Yes, sir, I did; and, if it's worth your care,<br /> +Ask Mr. Such-a-one, he told it me.<br /> +But, by the bye, 'twas two black crows—not three."<br /> +Resolved to trace so wondrous an event,<br /> +Whip, to the third, the virtuoso went;<br /> +"Sir"—and so forth. "Why, yes; the thing is fact,<br /> +Though, in regard to number, not exact;<br /> +It was not two black crows—'twas only one;<br /> +The truth of that you may depend upon;<br /> +The gentleman himself told me the case."<br /> +"Where may I find him?" "Why, in such a place."<br /> +Away goes he, and, having found him out,<br /> +"Sir, be so good as to resolve a doubt."<br /> +Then to his last informant he referred,<br /> +And begged to know if true what he had heard.<br /> +"Did you, sir, throw up a black crow?" "Not I."<br /> +"Bless me! how people propagate a lie!<br /> +Black crows have been thrown up, three, two, and one;<br /> +And here, I find, all comes, at last, to none.<br /> +Did you say nothing of a crow at all?"<br /> +"Crow—crow—perhaps I might, now I recall<br /> +The matter over." "And pray, sir, what was't?"<br /> +"Why, I was horrid sick, and, at the last,<br /> +I did throw up, and told my neighbor so,<br /> +Something that was—as black, sir, as a crow."<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>John Byrom.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>TO THE TERRESTRIAL GLOBE</h3> + +<h4>BY A MISERABLE WRETCH</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Roll on, thou ball, roll on!<br /> +Through pathless realms of space<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Roll on!</span><br /> +What though I'm in a sorry case?<br /> +What though I cannot meet my bills?<br /> +What though I suffer toothache's ills?<br /> +What though I swallow countless pills?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Never <i>you</i> mind!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Roll on!</span><br /> +<br /> +Roll on, thou ball, roll on!<br /> +Through seas of inky air<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Roll on!</span><br /> +It's true I've got no shirts to wear;<br /> +It's true my butcher's bill is due;<br /> +It's true my prospects all look blue;<br /> +But don't let that unsettle you.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Never <i>you</i> mind!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Roll on!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(<i>It rolls on.</i>)</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>W. S. Gilbert.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>ETIQUETTE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +The <i>Ballyshannon</i> foundered off the coast of Cariboo,<br /> +And down in fathoms many went the captain and the crew;<br /> +Down went the owners—greedy men whom hope of gain allured:<br /> +Oh, dry the starting tear, for they were heavily insured.<br /> +<br /> +Besides the captain and the mate, the owners and the crew,<br /> +The passengers were also drowned excepting only two:<br /> +Young Peter Gray, who tasted teas for Baker, Croop, and Co.,<br /> +And Somers, who from Eastern shores imported indigo.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> + +<br /> +These passengers, by reason of their clinging to a mast,<br /> +Upon a desert island were eventually cast.<br /> +They hunted for their meals, as Alexander Selkirk used,<br /> +But they couldn't chat together—they had not been introduced.<br /> +<br /> +For Peter Gray, and Somers, too, though certainly in trade,<br /> +Were properly particular about the friends they made;<br /> +And somehow thus they settled it, without a word of mouth,<br /> +That Gray should take the northern half, while Somers took the south.<br /> +<br /> +On Peter's portion oysters grew—a delicacy rare,<br /> +But oysters were a delicacy Peter couldn't bear.<br /> +On Somer's side was turtle, on the shingle lying thick,<br /> +Which Somers couldn't eat, because it always made him sick.<br /> +<br /> +Gray gnashed his teeth with envy as he saw a mighty store<br /> +Of turtle unmolested on his fellow-creature's shore.<br /> +The oysters at his feet aside impatiently he shoved,<br /> +For turtle and his mother were the only things he loved.<br /> +<br /> +And Somers sighed in sorrow as he settled in the south,<br /> +For the thought of Peter's oysters brought the water to his mouth.<br /> +He longed to lay him down upon the shelly bed, and stuff:<br /> +He had often eaten oysters, but had never had enough.<br /> +<br /> +How they wished an introduction to each other they had had<br /> +When on board the <i>Ballyshannon</i>! And it drove them nearly mad<br /> +To think how very friendly with each other they might get,<br /> +If it wasn't for the arbitrary rule of etiquette!<br /> +<br /> +One day, when out a-hunting for the <i>mus ridiculus</i>,<br /> +Gray overheard his fellow-man soliloquising thus:<br /> +"I wonder how the playmates of my youth are getting on,<br /> +M'Connell, S. B. Walters, Paddy Byles, and Robinson?"<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> + +<br /> +These simple words made Peter as delighted as could be;<br /> +Old chummies at the Charterhouse were Robinson and he.<br /> +He walked straight up to Somers, then he turned extremely red,<br /> +Hesitated, hummed and hawed a bit, then cleared his throat, and said:<br /> +<br /> +"I beg your pardon—pray forgive me if I seem too bold,<br /> +But you have breathed a name I knew familiarly of old.<br /> +You spoke aloud of Robinson—I happened to be by.<br /> +You know him?" "Yes, extremely well." "Allow me, so do I."<br /> +<br /> +It was enough: they felt they could more pleasantly get on,<br /> +For (ah, the magic of the fact!) they each knew Robinson!<br /> +And Mr. Somers' turtle was at Peter's service quite,<br /> +And Mr. Somers punished Peter's oyster-beds all night.<br /> +<br /> +They soon became like brothers from community of wrongs;<br /> +They wrote each other little odes and sang each other songs;<br /> +They told each other anecdotes disparaging their wives;<br /> +On several occasions, too, they saved each other's lives.<br /> +<br /> +They felt quite melancholy when they parted for the night,<br /> +And got up in the morning soon as ever it was light;<br /> +Each other's pleasant company they reckoned so upon,<br /> +And all because it happened that they both knew Robinson!<br /> +<br /> +They lived for many years on that inhospitable shore,<br /> +And day by day they learned to love each other more and more.<br /> +At last, to their astonishment, on getting up one day,<br /> +They saw a frigate anchored in the offing of the bay.<br /> +<br /> +To Peter an idea occurred. "Suppose we cross the main?<br /> +So good an opportunity may not be found again."<br /> +And Somers thought a minute, then ejaculated, "Done!<br /> +I wonder how my business in the City's getting on?"<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> + +<br /> +"But stay," said Mr. Peter; "when in England, as you know,<br /> +I earned a living tasting teas for Baker, Croop, and Co.,<br /> +I may be superseded—my employers think me dead!"<br /> +"Then come with me," said Somers, "and taste indigo instead."<br /> +<br /> +But all their plans were scattered in a moment when they found<br /> +The vessel was a convict ship from Portland outward bound;<br /> +When a boat came off to fetch them, though they felt it very kind,<br /> +To go on board they firmly but respectfully declined.<br /> +<br /> +As both the happy settlers roared with laughter at the joke,<br /> +They recognized a gentlemanly fellow pulling stroke:<br /> +'Twas Robinson—a convict, in an unbecoming frock!<br /> +Condemned to seven years for misappropriating stock!!!<br /> +<br /> +They laughed no more, for Somers thought he had been rather rash<br /> +In knowing one whose friend had misappropriated cash;<br /> +And Peter thought a foolish tack he must have gone upon<br /> +In making the acquaintance of a friend of Robinson.<br /> +<br /> +At first they didn't quarrel very openly, I've heard;<br /> +They nodded when they met, and now and then exchanged a word:<br /> +The word grew rare, and rarer still the nodding of the head.<br /> +And when they meet each other now, they cut each other dead.<br /> +<br /> +To allocate the island they agreed by word of mouth,<br /> +And Peter takes the north again, and Somers takes the south;<br /> +And Peter has the oysters, which he hates, in layers thick,<br /> +And Somers has the turtle—turtle always makes him sick.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>W. S. Gilbert.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A MODEST WIT</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +A supercilious nabob of the East—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Haughty, being great—purse-proud, being rich—</span><br /> +A governor, or general, at the least,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I have forgotten which—</span><br /> +Had in his family a humble youth,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who went from England in his patron's suite,</span><br /> +An unassuming boy, in truth<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A lad of decent parts, and good repute.</span><br /> +<br /> +This youth had sense and spirit;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But yet with all his sense,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Excessive diffidence</span><br /> +Obscured his merit.<br /> +<br /> +One day, at table, flushed with pride and wine,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His honor, proudly free, severely merry,</span><br /> +Conceived it would be vastly fine<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To crack a joke upon his secretary.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Young man," he said, "by what art, craft, or trade<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Did your good father gain a livelihood?"</span><br /> +"He was a saddler, sir," Modestus said,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"And in his time was reckoned good."</span><br /> +<br /> +"A saddler, eh? and taught you Greek,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Instead of teaching you to sew!</span><br /> +Pray, why did not your father make<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A saddler, sir, of you?"</span><br /> +<br /> +Each parasite, then, as in duty bound,<br /> +The joke applauded, and the laugh went round.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At length Modestus, bowing low,</span><br /> +Said (craving pardon, if too free he made),<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Sir, by your leave, I fain would know</span><br /> +Your father's trade!"<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> + +<br /> +"My father's trade! by Heaven, that's too bad!<br /> +My father's trade? Why, blockhead, are you mad?<br /> +My father, sir, did never stoop so low—<br /> +He was a gentleman, I'd have you know."<br /> +<br /> +"Excuse the liberty I take,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Modestus said, with archness on his brow,</span><br /> +"Pray, why did not your father make<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A gentleman of you?"</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Selleck Osborn.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE LATEST DECALOGUE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Thou shalt have one God only, who<br /> +Would be at the expense of two?<br /> +No graven images may be<br /> +Worshipped, except the currency:<br /> +Swear not at all; for, for thy curse<br /> +Thine enemy is none the worse:<br /> +At Church on Sunday to attend<br /> +Will serve to keep the world thy friend:<br /> +Honour thy parents; that is, all<br /> +From whom advancement may befall:<br /> +Thou shalt not kill; but need'st not strive<br /> +Officiously to keep alive:<br /> +Do not adultery commit;<br /> +Advantage rarely comes of it:<br /> +Thou shalt not steal; an empty feat,<br /> +When it's so lucrative to cheat:<br /> +Bear not false witness; let the lie<br /> +Have time on its own wings to fly:<br /> +Thou shalt not covet, but tradition<br /> +Approves all forms of competition.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Arthur Hugh Clough.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A SIMILE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Dear Thomas, didst thou never pop<br /> +Thy head into a tin-man's shop?<br /> +There, Thomas, didst thou never see<br /> +('Tis but by way of simile)<br /> +A squirrel spend his little rage,<br /> +In jumping round a rolling cage?<br /> +The cage, as either side turn'd up,<br /> +Striking a ring of bells a-top?—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mov'd in the orb, pleas'd with the chimes,</span><br /> +The foolish creature thinks he climbs:<br /> +But here or there, turn wood or wire,<br /> +He never gets two inches higher.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So fares it with those merry blades,</span><br /> +That frisk it under Pindus' shades.<br /> +In noble songs, and lofty odes,<br /> +They tread on stars, and talk with gods;<br /> +Still dancing in an airy round,<br /> +Still pleas'd with their own verses' sound;<br /> +Brought back, how fast soe'er they go,<br /> +Always aspiring, always low.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Matthew Prior.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>BY PARCELS POST</h3> + +<h4>A DOMESTIC IDYLL</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I sent my love a parcel<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the days when we were young,</span><br /> +Or e'er by care and trouble<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our heart-strings had been wrung.</span><br /> +By parcels post I sent it—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What 'twas I do not know—</span><br /> +In the days when we were courting,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A long time ago.</span><br /> +<br /> +The spring-time waxed to summer,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then autumn leaves grew red,</span><br /> +And in the sweet September<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My love and I were wed.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> + +But though the Church had blessed us,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My little wife looked glum;</span><br /> +I'd posted her a parcel,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the parcel hadn't come.</span><br /> +<br /> +Ah, many moons came after,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And then there was a voice,</span><br /> +A little voice whose music<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Would make our hearts rejoice.</span><br /> +And, singing to her baby,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My dear one oft would say,</span><br /> +"I wonder, baby darling,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Will that parcel come to-day?"</span><br /> +<br /> +The gold had changed to silver<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon her matron brow;</span><br /> +The years were eight-and-twenty<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Since we breathed our marriage vow,</span><br /> +And our grandchildren were playing<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hunt-the-slipper on the floor,</span><br /> +When they saw the postman standing<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By our open cottage door.</span><br /> +<br /> +Then they ran with joy to greet him,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For they knew he'd come at last;</span><br /> +They had heard me tell the story<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Very often in the past.</span><br /> +He handed them a parcel,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And they brought it in to show—</span><br /> +'Twas the parcel I had posted<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Eight-and-twenty years ago.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>George R. Sims.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +A friend of mine was married to a scold,<br /> +To me he came, and all his troubles told.<br /> +Said he, "She's like a woman raving mad."<br /> +"Alas! my friend," said I, "that's very bad!"<br /> +"No, not so bad," said he; "for, with her, true<br /> +I had both house and land, and money too."<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"That was well," said I;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"No, not so well," said he;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"For I and her own brother</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Went to law with one another;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I was cast, the suit was lost,</span><br /> +And every penny went to pay the cost."—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"That was bad," said I;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"No, not so bad," said he:</span><br /> +"For we agreed that he the house should keep,<br /> +And give to me four score of Yorkshire sheep<br /> +All fat, and fair, and fine, they were to be."<br /> +"Well, then," said I, "sure that was well for thee?"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"No, not so well," said he;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"For, when the sheep I got,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">They every one died of the rot."</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"That was bad," said I;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"No, not so bad," said he;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"For I had thought to scrape the fat,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And keep it in an oaken vat;</span><br /> +Then into tallow melt for winter store."<br /> +"Well, then," said I, "that's better than before?"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"'Twas not so well," said he;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"For having got a clumsy fellow</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To scrape the fat and melt the tallow;</span><br /> +Into the melting fat the fire catches,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And, like brimstone matches,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Burnt my house to ashes."</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"That <i>was</i> bad," said I;</span><br /> +"No! not so bad," said he; "for, what is best,<br /> +My scolding wife has gone among the rest."<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE CONTRAST</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +In London I never know what I'd be at,<br /> +Enraptured with this, and enchanted with that;<br /> +I'm wild with the sweets of variety's plan,<br /> +And life seems a blessing too happy for man.<br /> +<br /> +But the country, Lord help me! sets all matters right,<br /> +So calm and composing from morning to night;<br /> +Oh, it settles the spirits when nothing is seen<br /> +But an ass on a common, a goose on a green!<br /> +<br /> +In town, if it rain, why it damps not our hope,<br /> +The eye has her choice, and the fancy her scope;<br /> +What harm though it pour whole nights or whole days?<br /> +It spoils not our prospects, or stops not our ways.<br /> +<br /> +In the country, what bliss, when it rains in the fields,<br /> +To live on the transports that shuttlecock yields;<br /> +Or go crawling from window to window, to see<br /> +A pig on a dunghill or crow on a tree.<br /> +<br /> +In town, we've no use for the skies overhead,<br /> +For when the sun rises then we go to bed;<br /> +And as to that old-fashioned virgin the moon,<br /> +She shines out of season, like satin in June.<br /> +<br /> +In the country, these planets delightfully glare,<br /> +Just to show us the object we want isn't there;<br /> +Oh, how cheering and gay, when their beauties arise,<br /> +To sit and gaze round with the tears in one's eyes!<br /> +<br /> +But 'tis in the country alone we can find<br /> +That happy resource, the relief of the mind,<br /> +When, drove to despair, our last efforts we make,<br /> +And drag the old fish-pond, for novelty's sake:<br /> +<br /> +Indeed I must own, 'tis a pleasure complete<br /> +To see ladies well-draggled and wet in their feet;<br /> +But what is all that to the transport we feel<br /> +When we capture, in triumph, two toads and an eel?<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> + +<br /> +I have heard though, that love in a cottage is sweet,<br /> +When two hearts in one link of soft sympathy meet;<br /> +That's to come—for as yet I, alas! am a swain,<br /> +Who require, I own it, more links to my chain.<br /> +<br /> +In the country, if Cupid should find a man out,<br /> +The poor tortured victim mopes hopeless about;<br /> +But in London, thank Heaven! our peace is secure,<br /> +Where for one eye to kill, there's a thousand to cure.<br /> +<br /> +In town let me live then, in town let me die,<br /> +For in truth I can't relish the country, not I.<br /> +If one must have a villa in summer to dwell,<br /> +Oh, give me the sweet shady side of Pall Mall!<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Captain C. Morris.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE DEVONSHIRE LANE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +In a Devonshire lane as I trotted along<br /> +T'other day, much in want of a subject for song;<br /> +Thinks I to myself, I have hit on a strain—<br /> +Sure marriage is much like a Devonshire lane.<br /> +<br /> +In the first place, 'tis long, and when once you are in it,<br /> +It holds you as fast as the cage holds a linnet;<br /> +For howe'er rough and dirty the road may be found,<br /> +Drive forward you must, since there's no turning round.<br /> +<br /> +But though 'tis so long, it is not very wide,<br /> +For two are the most that together can ride;<br /> +And e'en there 'tis a chance but they get in a pother,<br /> +And jostle and cross, and run foul of each other.<br /> +<br /> +Old Poverty greets them with mendicant looks,<br /> +And Care pushes by them o'erladen with crooks,<br /> +And Strife's grating wheels try between them to pass,<br /> +Or Stubbornness blocks up the way on her ass.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span> + +<br /> +Then the banks are so high, both to left hand and right,<br /> +That they shut up the beauties around from the sight;<br /> +And hence, you'll allow, 'tis an inference plain<br /> +That marriage is just like a Devonshire lane.<br /> +<br /> +But, thinks I, too, these banks within which we are pent,<br /> +With bud, blossom, and berry are richly besprent;<br /> +And the conjugal fence which forbids us to roam<br /> +Looks lovely when deck'd with the comforts of home.<br /> +<br /> +In the rock's gloomy crevice the bright holly grows,<br /> +The ivy waves fresh o'er the withering rose;<br /> +And the evergreen love of a virtuous wife<br /> +Smooths the roughness of care—cheers the winter of life.<br /> +<br /> +Then long be the journey and narrow the way;<br /> +I'll rejoice that I've seldom a turnpike to pay;<br /> +And, whate'er others think, be the last to complain,<br /> +Though marriage is just like a Devonshire lane.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>John Marriott.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A SPLENDID FELLOW</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Delmonico's is where he dines<br /> +On quail on toast, washed down with wines;<br /> +Then lights a twenty-cent cigar<br /> +With quite a flourish at the bar.<br /> +<br /> +He throws his money down so proud,<br /> +And "sets 'em up" for all the crowd;<br /> +A dozen games of billiards, too,<br /> +He gaily loses ere he's through.<br /> +<br /> +Oh, he's a splendid fellow, quite;<br /> +He pays his debts with such delight,<br /> +And often boasts of—to his clan—<br /> +His honour as a gentleman.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> + +<br /> +But when this splendid fellow's wife,<br /> +Who leads at home a frugal life<br /> +Begs for a little change to buy<br /> +A dress, he looks at her so wry,<br /> +<br /> +That she, alarmed at his distress,<br /> +Gives him a kiss and sweet caress,<br /> +And says, "Don't worry so, my dear,<br /> +I'll turn the dress I made last year."<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>H. C. Dodge.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>IF</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +If a man could live a thousand years,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When half his life had passed,</span><br /> +He might, by strict economy,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A fortune have amassed.</span><br /> +<br /> +Then having gained some common-sense,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And knowledge, too, of life,</span><br /> +He could select the woman who<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Would make him a true wife.</span><br /> +<br /> +But as it is, man hasn't time<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To even pay his debts,</span><br /> +And weds to be acquainted with<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The woman whom he gets.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>H. C. Dodge.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>ACCEPTED AND WILL APPEAR</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">One evening while reclining</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">In my easy-chair, repining</span><br /> +O'er the lack of true religion, and the dearth of common sense,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">A solemn visaged lady,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Who was surely on the shady</span><br /> +Side of thirty, entered proudly, and to crush me did commence:<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> + +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">"I sent a poem here, sir,"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Said the lady, growing fiercer,</span><br /> +"And the subject which I'd chosen, you remember, sir, was 'Spring';<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">But, although I've scanned your paper,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Sir, by sunlight, gas, and taper,</span><br /> +I've discovered of that poem not a solitary thing."<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">She was muscular and wiry,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And her temper sure was fiery,</span><br /> +And I knew to pacify her I would have to—fib like fun.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">So I told her ere her verses,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Which were great, had come to—bless us,</span><br /> +We'd received just sixty-one on "Spring," of which we'd printed one.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And I added, "We've decided</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">That they'd better be divided</span><br /> +Among the years that follow—one to each succeeding Spring.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">So your work, I'm pleased to mention,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Will receive our best attention</span><br /> +In the year of nineteen-forty, when the birds begin to sing."<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Parmenas Mix.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE LITTLE VAGABOND</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Dear mother, dear mother, the Church is cold;<br /> +But the Alehouse is healthy, and pleasant, and warm.<br /> +Besides, I can tell where I am used well;<br /> +The poor parsons with wind like a blown bladder swell.<br /> +<br /> +But, if at the Church they would give us some ale,<br /> +And a pleasant fire our souls to regale,<br /> +We'd sing and we'd pray all the livelong day,<br /> +Nor ever once wish from the Church to stray.<br /> +<br /> +Then the Parson might preach, and drink, and sing,<br /> +And we'd be as happy as birds in the spring;<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span> + +And modest Dame Lurch, who is always at Church,<br /> +Would not have bandy children, nor fasting, nor birch.<br /> +<br /> +And God, like a father, rejoicing to see<br /> +His children as pleasant and happy as He,<br /> +Would have no more quarrel with the Devil or the barrel,<br /> +But kiss him, and give him both drink and apparel.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>William Blake.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>SYMPATHY</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +A knight and a lady once met in a grove<br /> +While each was in quest of a fugitive love;<br /> +A river ran mournfully murmuring by,<br /> +And they wept in its waters for sympathy.<br /> +<br /> +"Oh, never was knight such a sorrow that bore!"<br /> +"Oh, never was maid so deserted before!"<br /> +"From life and its woes let us instantly fly,<br /> +And jump in together for company!"<br /> +<br /> +They searched for an eddy that suited the deed,<br /> +But here was a bramble and there was a weed;<br /> +"How tiresome it is!" said the fair, with a sigh;<br /> +So they sat down to rest them in company.<br /> +<br /> +They gazed at each other, the maid and the knight;<br /> +How fair was her form, and how goodly his height!<br /> +"One mournful embrace," sobbed the youth, "ere we die!"<br /> +So kissing and crying kept company.<br /> +<br /> +"Oh, had I but loved such an angel as you!"<br /> +"Oh, had but my swain been a quarter as true!"<br /> +"To miss such perfection how blinded was I!"<br /> +Sure now they were excellent company!<br /> +<br /> +At length spoke the lass, 'twixt a smile and a tear,<br /> +"The weather is cold for a watery bier;<br /> +When summer returns we may easily die,<br /> +Till then let us sorrow in company."<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Reginald Heber.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE RELIGION OF HUDIBRAS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For his religion it was fit</span><br /> +To match his learning and his wit:<br /> +'Twas Presbyterian true blue;<br /> +For he was of that stubborn crew<br /> +Of errant saints, whom all men grant<br /> +To be the true church militant;<br /> +Such as do build their faith upon<br /> +The holy text of pike and gun;<br /> +Decide all controversies by<br /> +Infallible artillery;<br /> +And prove their doctrine orthodox,<br /> +By apostolic blows and knocks;<br /> +Call fire, and sword, and desolation,<br /> +A godly, thorough reformation,<br /> +Which always must be carried on,<br /> +And still be doing, never done;<br /> +As if religion were intended<br /> +For nothing else but to be mended:<br /> +A sect whose chief devotion lies<br /> +In odd perverse antipathies;<br /> +In falling out with that or this,<br /> +And finding somewhat still amiss;<br /> +More peevish, cross, and splenetic,<br /> +Than dog distract, or monkey sick;<br /> +That with more care keep holy-day<br /> +The wrong, than others the right way,<br /> +Compound for sins they are inclin'd to,<br /> +By damning those they have no mind to:<br /> +Still so perverse and opposite,<br /> +As if they worshipped God for spite:<br /> +The self-same thing they will abhor<br /> +One way, and long another for:<br /> +Free-will they one way disavow,<br /> +Another, nothing else allow:<br /> +All piety consists therein<br /> +In them, in other men all sin:<br /> +Rather than fail, they will defy<br /> +That which they love most tenderly;<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span> + +Quarrel with minc'd pies and disparage<br /> +Their best and dearest friend, plum porridge,<br /> +Fat pig and goose itself oppose,<br /> +And blaspheme custard through the nose.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Samuel Butler.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +O thou wha in the heavens dost dwell,<br /> +Wha, as it pleases best Thysel,<br /> +Sends ane to Heaven, an' ten to Hell,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">A' for Thy glory,</span><br /> +And no for onie guid or ill<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">They've done before Thee!</span><br /> +<br /> +I bless and praise Thy matchless might,<br /> +When thousands Thou hast left in night,<br /> +That I am here, before Thy sight,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For gifts an' grace,</span><br /> +A burnin' an' a shinin' light<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To a' this place.</span><br /> +<br /> +What was I, or my generation,<br /> +That I should get sic exaltation!<br /> +I, wha deserv'd most just damnation,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For broken laws</span><br /> +Sax thousand years ere my creation,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Thro' Adam's cause.</span><br /> +<br /> +When frae my mither's womb I fell,<br /> +Thou might hae plung'd me deep in Hell,<br /> +To gnash my gooms, to weep and wail<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In burnin' lakes,</span><br /> +Whare damnèd devils roar and yell,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Chain'd to their stakes.</span><br /> +<br /> +Yet I am here, a chosen sample,<br /> +To show Thy grace is great and ample;<br /> +I'm here a pillar o' Thy temple,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Strong as a rock,</span><br /> +A guide, a buckler, an example<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To a' Thy flock!</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span> + +<br /> +But yet, O Lord! confess I must,<br /> +At times I'm fash'd wi' fleshly lust;<br /> +An' sometimes, too, in warldly trust,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Vile self gets in;</span><br /> +But Thou remembers we are dust,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Defil'd wi' sin.</span><br /> +<br /> +May be Thou lets this fleshly thorn<br /> +Beset Thy servant e'en and morn,<br /> +Lest he owre proud and high should turn<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">That he's sae gifted:</span><br /> +If sae, Thy han' maun e'en be borne<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Until Thou lift it.</span><br /> +<br /> +Lord, bless Thy chosen in this place,<br /> +For here Thou has a chosen race:<br /> +But God confound their stubborn face,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">An' blast their name,</span><br /> +Wha bring Thy elders to disgrace<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">An' open shame!</span><br /> +<br /> +Lord, mind Gawn Hamilton's deserts,<br /> +He drinks, an' swears, an' plays at cartes,<br /> +Yet has sae monie takin' arts,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Wi' great and sma',</span><br /> +Frae God's ain priest the people's hearts<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">He steals awa.</span><br /> +<br /> +An' when we chasten'd him therefore,<br /> +Thou kens how he bred sic a splore,<br /> +As set the warld in a roar<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">O' laughin' at us;—</span><br /> +Curse Thou his basket and his store,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Kail an' potatoes!</span><br /> +<br /> +Lord, hear my earnest cry and pray'r<br /> +Against the Presbyt'ry of Ayr!<br /> +Thy strong right hand, Lord, mak it bare<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Upo' their heads!</span><br /> +Lord, visit them, an' dinna spare,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For their misdeeds!</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> + +<br /> +O Lord, my God! that glib-tongu'd Aiken,<br /> +My vera heart and saul are quakin'<br /> +To think how we stood sweatin', shakin',<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">An' pish'd wi' dread,</span><br /> +While he wi' hingin' lip an' snakin',<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Held up his head.</span><br /> +<br /> +Lord, in Thy day o' vengeance try him!<br /> +Lord, visit them wha did employ him,<br /> +And pass not in Thy mercy by them,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Nor hear their pray'r;</span><br /> +But for Thy people's sake destroy them,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">An' dinna spare!</span><br /> +<br /> +But, Lord, remember me and mine,<br /> +Wi' mercies temp'ral and divine,<br /> +That I for grace and gear may shine,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Excell'd by nane,</span><br /> +An' a' the glory shall be Thine,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Amen, Amen!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Robert Burns.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE LEARNED NEGRO</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +There was a negro preacher, I have heard,<br /> +In Southern parts before rebellion stirred,<br /> +Who did not spend his strength in empty sound;<br /> +His was a mind deep-reaching and profound.<br /> +Others might beat the air, and make a noise,<br /> +And help to amuse the silly girls and boys;<br /> +But as for him, he was a man of thought,<br /> +Deep in theology, although untaught.<br /> +He could not read or write, but he was wise,<br /> +And knew right smart how to extemporize.<br /> +One Sunday morn, when hymns and prayers were said,<br /> +The preacher rose and rubbing up his head,<br /> +"Bredren and sisterin, and companions dear,<br /> +Our preachment for to-day, as you shall hear,<br /> +Will be ob de creation,—ob de plan<br /> +On which God fashioned Adam, de fust man.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span> +When God made Adam, in de ancient day,<br /> +He made his body out ob earth and clay,<br /> +He shape him all out right, den by and by,<br /> +He set him up again de fence to dry."<br /> +"Stop," said a voice; and straightway there arose<br /> +An ancient negro in his master's clothes.<br /> +"Tell me," said he, "before you farder go,<br /> +One little thing which I should like to know.<br /> +It does not quite get through dis niggar's har,<br /> +How came dat fence so nice and handy dar?"<br /> +Like one who in the mud is tightly stuck,<br /> +Or one nonplussed, astonished, thunderstruck,<br /> +The preacher looked severely on the pews,<br /> +And rubbed his hair to know what words to use:<br /> +"Bredren," said he, "dis word I hab to say;<br /> +De preacher can't be bothered in dis way;<br /> +For, if he is, it's jest as like as not,<br /> +Our whole theology will be upsot."<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>TRUE TO POLL</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I'll sing you a song, not very long,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But the story somewhat new,</span><br /> +Of William Kidd, who, whatever he did,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To his Poll was always true.</span><br /> +He sailed away in a galliant ship<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From the port of old Bris<i>tol</i>,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And the last words he uttered,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">As his hankercher he fluttered,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Were, "My heart is true to Poll."</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">His heart was true to Poll,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">His heart was true to Poll,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">It's no matter what you do</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">If your heart be only true:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And his heart <i>was</i> true to Poll.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span> + +<br /> +'Twas a wreck. Willi<i>am</i>, on shore he swam,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And looked about for an inn;</span><br /> +When a noble savage lady, of a color rather shady,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Came up with a kind of grin:</span><br /> +"Oh, marry <i>me</i>, and a king you'll be,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And in a palace loll;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Or we'll eat you willy-nilly."</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">So he gave his <i>hand</i>, did Billy,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But his <i>heart</i> was true to Poll.</span><br /> +<br /> +Away a twelvemonth sped, and a happy life he led<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As the King of the Kikeryboos;</span><br /> +His paint was red and yellar, and he used a big umbrella,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And he wore a pair of over-<i>shoes</i>;</span><br /> +He'd corals and knives, and twenty-six wives,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whose beauties I cannot here extol;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">One day they all revolted,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">So he back to Bristol bolted,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For his <i>heart</i> was true to Poll.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">His heart was true to Poll,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">His heart was true to Poll,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">It's no matter what you do</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">If your heart be only true:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And his heart <i>was</i> true to Poll.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>F. C. Burnand.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>TRUST IN WOMEN</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">When these things following be done to our intent,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Then put women in trust and confident.</span><br /> +<br /> +When nettles in winter bring forth roses red,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And all manner of thorn trees bear figs naturally,</span><br /> +And geese bear pearls in every mead,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And laurel bear cherries abundantly,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And oaks bear dates very plenteously,</span><br /> +And kisks give of honey superfluence,<br /> +Then put women in trust and confidence.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span> +<br /> +When box bear paper in every land and town,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And thistles bear berries in every place,</span><br /> +And pikes have naturally feathers in their crown,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And bulls of the sea sing a good bass,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And men be the ships fishes trace,</span><br /> +And in women be found no insipience,<br /> +Then put them in trust and confidence.<br /> +<br /> +When whitings do walk forests to chase harts,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And herrings their horns in forests boldly blow,</span><br /> +And marmsets mourn in moors and lakes,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And gurnards shoot rooks out of a crossbow,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And goslings hunt the wolf to overthrow,</span><br /> +And sprats bear spears in armès of defence,<br /> +Then put women in trust and confidence.<br /> +<br /> +When swine be cunning in all points of music,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And asses be doctors of every science,</span><br /> +And cats do heal men by practising of physic,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And buzzards to scripture give any credence,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And merchants buy with horn, instead of groats and pence,</span><br /> +And pyes be made poets for their eloquence,<br /> +Then put women in trust and confidence.<br /> +<br /> +When sparrows build churches on a height,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And wrens carry sacks unto the mill,</span><br /> +And curlews carry timber houses to dight,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And fomalls bear butter to market to sell,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And woodcocks bear woodknives cranes to kill,</span><br /> +And greenfinches to goslings do obedience,<br /> +Then put women in trust and confidence.<br /> +<br /> +When crows take salmon in woods and parks,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And be take with swifts and snails,</span><br /> +And camels in the air take swallows and larks,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And mice move mountains by wagging of their tails,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And shipmen take a ride instead of sails,</span><br /> +And when wives to their husbands do no offence,<br /> +Then put women in trust and confidence.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span> +<br /> +When antelopes surmount eagles in flight,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And swans be swifter than hawks of the tower,</span><br /> +And wrens set gos-hawks by force and might,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And muskets make verjuice of crabbes sour,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And ships sail on dry land, silt give flower,</span><br /> +And apes in Westminster give judgment and sentence,<br /> +Then put women in trust and confidence.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE LITERARY LADY</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +What motley cares Corilla's mind perplex,<br /> +Whom maids and metaphors conspire to vex!<br /> +In studious dishabille behold her sit,<br /> +A lettered gossip and a household wit;<br /> +At once invoking, though for different views,<br /> +Her gods, her cook, her milliner and muse.<br /> +Round her strewed room a frippery chaos lies,<br /> +A checkered wreck of notable and wise,<br /> +Bills, books, caps, couplets, combs, a varied mass,<br /> +Oppress the toilet and obscure the glass;<br /> +Unfinished here an epigram is laid,<br /> +And there a mantua-maker's bill unpaid.<br /> +There new-born plays foretaste the town's applause,<br /> +There dormant patterns pine for future gauze.<br /> +A moral essay now is all her care,<br /> +A satire next, and then a bill of fare.<br /> +A scene she now projects, and now a dish;<br /> +Here Act the First, and here, Remove with Fish.<br /> +Now, while this eye in a fine frenzy rolls,<br /> +That soberly casts up a bill for coals;<br /> +Black pins and daggers in one leaf she sticks,<br /> +And tears, and threads, and bowls, and thimbles mix.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Richard Brinsley Sheridan.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>TWELVE ARTICLES</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p class='h_5'>I</p> +<p> +Lest it may more quarrels breed,<br /> +I will never hear you read.<br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>II</p> +<p> +By disputing, I will never,<br /> +To convince you once endeavor.<br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>III</p> +<p> +When a paradox you stick to,<br /> +I will never contradict you.<br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>IV</p> +<p> +When I talk and you are heedless,<br /> +I will show no anger needless.<br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>V</p> +<p> +When your speeches are absurd,<br /> +I will ne'er object a word.<br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>VI</p> +<p> +When you furious argue wrong,<br /> +I will grieve and hold my tongue.<br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>VII</p> +<p> +Not a jest or humorous story<br /> +Will I ever tell before ye:<br /> +To be chidden for explaining,<br /> +When you quite mistake the meaning.<br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>VIII</p> +<p> +Never more will I suppose,<br /> +You can taste my verse or prose.<br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>IX</p> +<p> +You no more at me shall fret,<br /> +While I teach and you forget.<br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>X</p> +<p> +You shall never hear me thunder,<br /> +When you blunder on, and blunder.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>XI</p> +<p> +Show your poverty of spirit,<br /> +And in dress place all your merit;<br /> +Give yourself ten thousand airs:<br /> +That with me shall break no squares.<br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>XII</p> +<p> +Never will I give advice,<br /> +Till you please to ask me thrice:<br /> +Which if you in scorn reject,<br /> +'T will be just as I expect.<br /> +<br /> +Thus we both shall have our ends<br /> +And continue special friends.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Dean Swift.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>ALL-SAINTS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +In a church which is furnish'd with mullion and gable,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With altar and reredos, with gargoyle and groin,</span><br /> +The penitents' dresses are sealskin and sable,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The odour of sanctity's eau-de-Cologne.</span><br /> +<br /> +But only could Lucifer, flying from Hades,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gaze down on this crowd with its panniers and paints,</span><br /> +He would say, as he look'd at the lords and the ladies,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Oh, where is All-Sinners', if this is All-Saints'?"</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Edmund Yates.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>HOW TO MAKE A MAN OF CONSEQUENCE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +A brow austere, a circumspective eye.<br /> +A frequent shrug of the <i>os humeri</i>;<br /> +A nod significant, a stately gait,<br /> +A blustering manner, and a tone of weight,<br /> +A smile sarcastic, an expressive stare:<br /> +Adopt all these, as time and place will bear;<br /> +Then rest assur'd that those of little sense<br /> +Will deem you sure a man of consequence.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Mark Lemon.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>ON A MAGAZINE SONNET</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +"Scorn not the sonnet," though its strength be sapped,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor say malignant its inventor blundered;</span><br /> +The corpse that here in fourteen lines is wrapped<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Had otherwise been covered with a hundred.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Russell Hilliard Loines.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>PARADISE</h3> + +<h4>A HINDOO LEGEND</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +A Hindoo died—a happy thing to do<br /> +When twenty years united to a shrew.<br /> +Released, he hopefully for entrance cries<br /> +Before the gates of Brahma's Paradise.<br /> +"Hast been through Purgatory?" Brahma said.<br /> +"I have been married," and he hung his head.<br /> +"Come in, come in, and welcome, too, my son!<br /> +Marriage and Purgatory are as one."<br /> +In bliss extreme he entered heaven's door,<br /> +And knew the peace he ne'er had known before.<br /> +<br /> +He scarce had entered in the Garden fair,<br /> +Another Hindoo asked admission there.<br /> +The self-same question Brahma asked again:<br /> +"Hast been through Purgatory?" "No; what then?"<br /> +"Thou canst not enter!" did the god reply.<br /> +"He that went in was no more there than I."<br /> +"Yes, that is true, but he has married been,<br /> +And so on earth has suffered for all sin."<br /> +"Married? 'Tis well; for I've been married twice!"<br /> +"Begone! We'll have no fools in Paradise!"<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>George Birdseye.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I am a friar of orders gray,<br /> +And down in the valleys I take my way;<br /> +I pull not blackberry, haw, or hip;<br /> +Good store of venison fills my scrip;<br /> +My long bead-roll I merrily chant;<br /> +Where'er I walk no money I want;<br /> +And why I'm so plump the reason I tell:<br /> +Who leads a good life is sure to live well.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">What baron or squire,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Or knight of the shire,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Lives half so well as a holy friar?</span><br /> +<br /> +After supper, of heaven I dream,<br /> +But that is a pullet and clouted cream;<br /> +Myself by denial I mortify—<br /> +With a dainty bit of a warden-pie;<br /> +I'm clothed in sackcloth for my sin—<br /> +With old sack wine I'm lined within;<br /> +A chirping cup is my matin song,<br /> +And the vesper's bell is my bowl, ding-dong.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">What baron or squire,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Or knight of the shire,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Lives half so well as a holy friar?</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>John O'Keefe.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>OF A CERTAIN MAN</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +There was (not certain when) a certain preacher<br /> +That never learned, and yet became a teacher,<br /> +Who, having read in Latin thus a text<br /> +Of <i>erat quidam homo</i>, much perplexed,<br /> +He seemed the same with study great to scan,<br /> +In English thus, <i>There was a certain man</i>.<br /> +"But now," quoth he, "good people, note you this,<br /> +He said there was: he doth not say there is;<br /> +For in these days of ours it is most plain<br /> +Of promise, oath, word, deed, no man's certain;<br /> +Yet by my text you see it comes to pass<br /> +That surely once a certain man there was;<br /> +But yet, I think, in all your Bible no man<br /> +Can find this text, <i>There was a certain woman</i>."<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Sir John Harrington.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>CLEAN CLARA</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +What! not know our Clean Clara?<br /> +Why, the hot folks in Sahara,<br /> +And the cold Esquimaux,<br /> +Our little Clara knows!<br /> +Clean Clara, the Poet sings!<br /> +Cleaned a hundred thousand things!<br /> +<br /> +She cleaned the keys of the harpsichord,<br /> +She cleaned the hilt of the family sword,<br /> +She cleaned my lady, she cleaned my lord,<br /> +All the pictures in their frames,<br /> +Knights with daggers and stomachered dames—<br /> +Cecils, Godfreys, Montforts, Graemes,<br /> +Winifreds—all those nice old names!<br /> +<br /> +She cleaned the works of the eight-day clock,<br /> +She cleaned the spring of a secret lock,<br /> +She cleaned the mirror, she cleaned the cupboard,<br /> +All the books she India-rubbered!<br /> +She cleaned the Dutch tiles in the place,<br /> +She cleaned some very old-fashioned lace;<br /> +The Countess of Miniver came to her,<br /> +"Pray, my dear, will you clean my fur?"<br /> +All her cleanings are admirable.<br /> +To count your teeth you will be able,<br /> +If you look in the walnut table.<br /> +<br /> +She cleaned the tent-stitch and the sampler,<br /> +She cleaned the tapestry, which was ampler;<br /> +Joseph going down into the pit,<br /> +And the Shunammite woman with the boy in a fit.<br /> +<br /> +You saw the reapers, <i>not</i> in the distance.<br /> +And Elisha, coming to the child's assistance,<br /> +With the house on the wall that was built for the prophet,<br /> +The chair, the bed and the bolster of it.<br /> +The eyebrows all had a twirl reflective,<br /> +Just like an eel: to spare invective<br /> +There was plenty of color but no perspective.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span> +However, Clara cleaned it all,<br /> +With a curious lamp, that hangs in the hall;<br /> +She cleaned the drops of the chandeliers,<br /> +Madam, in mittens, was moved to tears.<br /> +<br /> +She cleaned the cage of the cockatoo,<br /> +The oldest bird that ever grew;<br /> +I should say a thousand years old would do.<br /> +I'm sure he looked it, but nobody knew;<br /> +She cleaned the china, she cleaned the delf,<br /> +She cleaned the baby, she cleaned herself!<br /> +<br /> +Tomorrow morning, she means to try<br /> +To clean the cobwebs from the sky;<br /> +Some people say the girl will rue it,<br /> +But my belief is she will do it.<br /> +<br /> +So I've made up my mind to be there to see<br /> +There's a beautiful place in the walnut tree;<br /> +The bough is as firm as a solid rock;<br /> +She brings out her broom at six o'clock.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>W. B. Rands.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>CHRISTMAS CHIMES</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Little Penelope Socrates,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Boston maid of four,</span><br /> +Wide opened her eyes on Christmas morn,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And looked the landscape o'er.</span><br /> +"What is it inflates my <i>bas de bleu</i>?"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She asked with dignity;</span><br /> +"'Tis Ibsen in the original!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh, joy beyond degree!"</span><br /> +<br /> +Miss Mary Cadwallader Rittenhouse<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of Philadelphia town,</span><br /> +Awoke as much as they ever do there<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And watched the snow come down.</span><br /> +"I'm glad that it is Christmas,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You might have heard her say,</span><br /> +"For my family is one year older now<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than it was last Christmas day."</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span> + +<br /> +'Twas Christmas in giddy Gotham.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Miss Irene de Jones</span><br /> +Awoke at noon and yawned and yawned,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And stretched her languid bones.</span><br /> +"I'm sorry it is Christmas,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Papa at home will stay,</span><br /> +For 'Change is closed and he won't make<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A single cent to-day."</span><br /> +<br /> +Windily dawned the Christmas<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On the city by the lake,</span><br /> +And Miss Arabel Wabash Breezy<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was instantly awake.</span><br /> +"What's that thing in my stocking?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Well, in two jiffs I'll know!"</span><br /> +And she drew a grand piano forth<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From 'way down in the toe.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE RULING PASSION</h3> + +<h4>From "Moral Essays," Epistle I</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The frugal crone, whom praying priests attend,</span><br /> +Still tries to save the hallowed taper's end,<br /> +Collects her breath, as ebbing life retires,<br /> +For one puff more, and in that puff expires.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Odious! in woollen! 'twould a saint provoke,"</span><br /> +Were the last words that poor Narcissa spoke;<br /> +"No, let a charming chintz and Brussels lace<br /> +Wrap my cold limbs, and shade my lifeless face:<br /> +One would not, sure, be frightful when one's dead,—<br /> +And—Betty—give this cheek a little red."<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The courtier smooth, who forty years had shined</span><br /> +An humble servant to all humankind.<br /> +Just brought out this, when scarce his tongue could stir,<br /> +"If—where I'm going—I could serve you, sir?"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"I give and I devise" (old Euclio said,</span><br /> +And sighed) "my lands and tenements to Ned."<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span> +Your money, sir? "My money, sir! What, all?<br /> +Why—if I must" (then wept)—"I give it Paul."<br /> +The manor, sir? "The manor, hold!" he cried,<br /> +"Not that,—I cannot part with that,"—and died.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Alexander Pope.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE POPE AND THE NET</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +What, he on whom our voices unanimously ran,<br /> +Made Pope at our last Conclave? Full low his life began:<br /> +His father earned the daily bread as just a fisherman.<br /> +<br /> +So much the more his boy minds book, gives proof of mother-wit,<br /> +Becomes first Deacon, and then Priest, then Bishop: see him sit<br /> +No less than Cardinal ere long, while no one cries "Unfit!"<br /> +<br /> +But some one smirks, some other smiles, jogs elbow and nods head;<br /> +Each wings at each: "I' faith, a rise! Saint Peter's net, instead<br /> +Of sword and keys, is come in vogue!" You think he blushes red?<br /> +<br /> +Not he, of humble holy heart! "Unworthy me!" he sighs:<br /> +"From fisher's drudge to Church's prince—it is indeed a rise:<br /> +So, here's my way to keep the fact forever in my eyes!"<br /> +<br /> +And straightway in his palace-hall, where commonly is set<br /> +Some coat-of-arms, some portraiture ancestral, lo, we met<br /> +His mean estate's reminder in his fisher-father's net!<br /> +<br /> +Which step conciliates all and some, stops cavil in a trice:<br /> +"The humble holy heart that holds of new-born pride no spice!<br /> +He's just the saint to choose for Pope!" Each adds, "'Tis my advice."<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span> +<br /> +So Pope he was: and when we flocked—its sacred slipper on—<br /> +To kiss his foot, we lifted eyes, alack, the thing was gone—<br /> +That guarantee of lowlihead,—eclipsed that star which shone!<br /> +<br /> +Each eyed his fellow, one and all kept silence. I cried "Pish!<br /> +I'll make me spokesman for the rest, express the common wish.<br /> +Why, Father, is the net removed?" "Son, it hath caught the fish."<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Robert Browning.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>AN ACTOR</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +A shabby fellow chanced one day to meet<br /> +The British Roscius in the street,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Garrick, of whom our nation justly brags;</span><br /> +The fellow hugged him with a kind embrace;—<br /> +"Good sir, I do not recollect your face,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Quoth Garrick. "No?" replied the man of rags;</span><br /> +"The boards of Drury you and I have trod<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Full many a time together, I am sure."</span><br /> +"When?" with an oath, cried Garrick, "for, by G—d,<br /> +I never saw that face of yours before!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What characters, I pray,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Did you and I together play?"</span><br /> +"Lord!" quoth the fellow, "think not that I mock—<br /> +When you played Hamlet, sir, I played the cock!"<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>John Wolcot.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE LOST SPECTACLES</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +A country curate, visiting his flock,<br /> +At old Rebecca's cottage gave a knock.<br /> +"Good morrow, dame, I mean not any libel,<br /> +But in your dwelling have you got a Bible?"<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span> +"A Bible, sir?" exclaimed she in a rage,<br /> +"D'ye think I've turned a Pagan in my age?<br /> +Here, Judith, and run upstairs, my dear,<br /> +'Tis in the drawer, be quick and bring it here."<br /> +The girl return'd with Bible in a minute,<br /> +Not dreaming for a moment what was in it;<br /> +When lo! on opening it at parlor door,<br /> +Down fell her spectacles upon the floor.<br /> +Amaz'd she stared, was for a moment dumb,<br /> +But quick exclaim'd, "Dear sir, I'm glad you're come.<br /> +'Tis six years since these glasses first were lost,<br /> +And I have miss'd 'em to my poor eyes' cost!"<br /> +Then as the glasses to her nose she raised,<br /> +She closed the Bible—saying, "God be praised!"<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THAT TEXAN CATTLE MAN</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +We rode the tawny Texan hills,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A bearded cattle man and I;</span><br /> +Below us laughed the blossomed rills,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Above the dappled clouds blew by.</span><br /> +We talked. The topic? Guess. Why, sir,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Three-fourths of man's whole time he keeps</span><br /> +To talk, to think, to <i>be</i> of <span class="smcap">HER</span>;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The other fourth he sleeps.</span><br /> +<br /> +To learn what he might know of love,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I laughed all constancy to scorn.</span><br /> +"Behold yon happy, changeful dove!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Behold this day, all storm at morn,</span><br /> +Yet now 't is changed to cloud and sun.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yea, all things change—the heart, the head,</span><br /> +Behold on earth there is not one<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That changeth not," I said.</span><br /> +<br /> +He drew a glass as if to scan<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The plain for steers; raised it and sighed.</span><br /> +He craned his neck, this cattle man,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then drove the cork home and replied:</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span> +"For twenty years (forgive these tears)—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For twenty years no word of strife—</span><br /> +I have not known for twenty years<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One folly from my wife."</span><br /> +<br /> +I looked that Texan in the face—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That dark-browed, bearded cattle man,</span><br /> +He pulled his beard, then dropped in place<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A broad right hand, all scarred and tan,</span><br /> +And toyed with something shining there<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From out his holster, keen and small.</span><br /> +I was convinced. I did not care<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To argue it at all.</span><br /> +<br /> +But rest I could not. Know I must<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The story of my Texan guide;</span><br /> +His dauntless love, enduring trust;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His blessed, immortal bride.</span><br /> +I wondered, marvelled, marvelled much.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was she of Texan growth? Was she</span><br /> +Of Saxon blood, that boasted such<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Eternal constancy?</span><br /> +<br /> +I could not rest until I knew—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Now twenty years, my man," said I,</span><br /> +"Is a long time." He turned and drew<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A pistol forth, also a sigh.</span><br /> +"'Tis twenty years or more," said he,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Nay, nay, my honest man, I vow</span><br /> +I do not doubt that this may be;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But tell, oh! tell me how.</span><br /> +<br /> +"'Twould make a poem true and grand;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All time should note it near and far;</span><br /> +And thy fair, virgin Texan land<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Should stand out like a Winter star.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span> +America should heed. And then<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The doubtful French beyond the sea—</span><br /> +'T would make them truer, nobler men.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To know how this may be."</span><br /> +<br /> +"It's twenty years or more," urged he,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Nay, that I know, good guide of mine;</span><br /> +But lead me where this wife may be,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I a pilgrim at a shrine.</span><br /> +And kneeling, as a pilgrim true"—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He, scowling, shouted in my ear;</span><br /> +"I cannot show my wife to you;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She's dead this twenty year."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Joaquin Miller.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>FABLE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +The mountain and the squirrel<br /> +Had a quarrel,<br /> +And the former called the latter "Little Prig";<br /> +Bun replied,<br /> +"You are doubtless very big;<br /> +But all sorts of things and weather<br /> +Must be taken in together,<br /> +To make up a year<br /> +And a sphere,<br /> +And I think it no disgrace<br /> +To occupy my place.<br /> +If I'm not so large as you,<br /> +You are not so small as I,<br /> +And not half so spry.<br /> +I'll not deny you make<br /> +A very pretty squirrel track;<br /> +Talents differ; all is well and wisely put;<br /> +If I cannot carry forests on my back,<br /> +Neither can you crack a nut."<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Ralph Waldo Emerson.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>HOCH! DER KAISER</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Der Kaiser of dis Faterland<br /> +Und Gott on high all dings command,<br /> +Ve two—ach! Don't you understand?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Myself—und Gott.</span><br /> +<br /> +Vile some men sing der power divine,<br /> +Mine soldiers sing, "Der Wacht am Rhine,"<br /> +Und drink der health in Rhenish wine<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Of Me—und Gott.</span><br /> +<br /> +Dere's France, she swaggers all aroundt;<br /> +She's ausgespield, of no account,<br /> +To much we think she don't amount;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Myself—und Gott.</span><br /> +<br /> +She vill not dare to fight again,<br /> +But if she shouldt, I'll show her blain<br /> +Dot Elsass und (in French) Lorraine<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Are mein—by Gott!</span><br /> +<br /> +Dere's grandma dinks she's nicht small beer,<br /> +Mit Boers und such she interfere;<br /> +She'll learn none owns dis hemisphere<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">But me—und Gott!</span><br /> +<br /> +She dinks, good frau, fine ships she's got<br /> +And soldiers mit der scarlet goat.<br /> +Ach! We could knock them! Pouf! Like dot,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Myself—mit Gott!</span><br /> +<br /> +In dimes of peace, brebare for wars,<br /> +I bear the spear and helm of Mars,<br /> +Und care not for a thousand Czars,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Myself—mit Gott!</span><br /> +<br /> +In fact, I humor efery whim,<br /> +With aspect dark and visage grim;<br /> +Gott pulls mit Me, and I mit him,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Myself—und Gott!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Rodney Blake.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>WHAT MR. ROBINSON THINKS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Gineral B. is a sensible man;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He stays to his home an' looks arter his folks;</span><br /> +He draws his furrer ez straight ez he can,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An' into nobody's tater-patch pokes;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">But John P.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Robinson, he</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sez he wunt vote for Gineral B.</span><br /> +<br /> +My! ain't it terrible? Wut shall we do?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We can't never choose him, o' course—that's flat:</span><br /> +Guess we shall hev to come round (don't you?),<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An' go in for thunder an' guns, an' all that;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Fer John P.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Robinson, he</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sez he wunt vote for Gineral B.</span><br /> +<br /> +Gineral C. is a dreffle smart man:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He's been on all sides that give places or pelf;</span><br /> +But consistency still was a part of his plan—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He's been true to' <i>one</i> party, and that is himself;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">So John P.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Robinson, he</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sez he shall vote fer Gineral C.</span><br /> +<br /> +Gineral C. goes in for the war;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He don't vally principle mor'n an old cud;</span><br /> +What did God make us raytional creeturs fer,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But glory an' gunpowder, plunder an' blood?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">So John P.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Robinson, he</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sez he shall vote fer Gineral C.</span><br /> +<br /> +We're gettin' on nicely up here to our village,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With good old idees o' wut's right an' wut ain't;</span><br /> +We o' thought Christ went against war and pillage,<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span> + +An' that eppyletts worn't the best mark of a saint;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">But John P.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Robinson, he</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sez this kind o' thing's an exploded idee.</span><br /> +<br /> +The side of our country must ollers be took,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An' President Pulk, you know, <i>he</i> is our country;</span><br /> +An' the angel that writes all our sins in a book,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Puts the <i>debit</i> to him, an' to us the <i>per contry</i>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">An' John P.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Robinson, he</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sez this is his view o' the thing to a T.</span><br /> +<br /> +Parson Wilbur he calls all these arguments lies;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sez they're nothin' on airth but jest <i>fee, faw, fum</i>;</span><br /> +An' that all this big talk of our destinies<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is half on it ignorance, an' t'other half rum;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">But John P.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Robinson, he</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sez it ain't no such thing; an', of course, so must we.</span><br /> +<br /> +Parson Wilbur sez <i>he</i> never heered in his life<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thet the Apostles rigg'd out in their swallow-tail coats,</span><br /> +An' marched round in front of a drum an' a fife,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To git some on 'em office, an' some on 'em votes;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">But John P.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Robinson, he</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sez they didn't know everythin' down in Judee.</span><br /> +<br /> +Wal, it's a marcy we're gut folks to tell us<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The rights an' the wrongs o' these matters, I vow—</span><br /> +God sends country lawyers an' other wise fellers<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To drive the world's team wen it gits in a slough;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6.5em;">For John P.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6.5em;">Robinson, he</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sez the world'll go right, ef he hollers out Gee!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>James Russell Lowell.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE CANDIDATE'S CREED</h3> + +<h4>BIGLOW PAPERS</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I du believe in Freedom's cause,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ez fur away ez Paris is;</span><br /> +I love to see her stick her claws<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In them infarnal Pharisees;</span><br /> +It's wal enough agin a king<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To dror resolves and triggers,—</span><br /> +But libbaty's a kind o' thing<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thet don't agree with niggers.</span><br /> +<br /> +I du believe the people want<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A tax on teas and coffees,</span><br /> +Thet nothin' ain't extravygunt,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Purvidin' I'm in office;</span><br /> +For I hev loved my country sence<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My eye-teeth filled their sockets,</span><br /> +An' Uncle Sam I reverence,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Partic'larly his pockets.</span><br /> +<br /> +I du believe in <i>any</i> plan<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O' levyin' the taxes,</span><br /> +Ez long ez, like a lumberman,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I git jest wut I axes:</span><br /> +I go free-trade thru thick an' thin,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Because it kind o' rouses</span><br /> +The folks to vote—and keep us in<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our quiet custom-houses.</span><br /> +<br /> +I du believe it's wise an' good<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To sen' out furrin missions,</span><br /> +Thet is, on sartin understood<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An' orthydox conditions;—</span><br /> +I mean nine thousan' dolls, per ann.,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nine thousan' more fer outfit,</span><br /> +An' me to recommend a man<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The place 'ould jest about fit.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span> + +<br /> +I du believe in special ways<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O' prayin' an' convartin';</span><br /> +The bread comes back in many days,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An' buttered, tu, fer sartin;—</span><br /> +I mean in preyin' till one busts<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On wut the party chooses,</span><br /> +An' in convartin' public trusts<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To very privit uses.</span><br /> +<br /> +I do believe hard coin the stuff<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fer 'lectioneers to spout on;</span><br /> +The people's ollers soft enough<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To make hard money out on;</span><br /> +Dear Uncle Sam pervides fer his,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An' gives a good-sized junk to all—</span><br /> +I don't care <i>how</i> hard money is,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ez long ez mine's paid punctooal.</span><br /> +<br /> +I du believe with all my soul<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the gret Press's freedom,</span><br /> +To pint the people to the goal<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An' in the traces lead 'em:</span><br /> +Palsied the arm thet forges yokes<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At my fat contracts squintin',</span><br /> +An' withered be the nose thet pokes<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Inter the gov'ment printin'!</span><br /> +<br /> +I du believe thet I should give<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wut's his'n unto Cæsar,</span><br /> +Fer it's by him I move an' live,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From him my bread an' cheese air.</span><br /> +I du believe thet all o' me<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Doth bear his souperscription,—</span><br /> +Will, conscience, honor, honesty,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An' things o' thet description.</span><br /> +<br /> +I du believe in prayer an' praise<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To him thet hez the grantin'</span><br /> +O' jobs—in every thin' thet pays,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But most of all in <span class="smcap">Cantin'</span>;</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span> + +This doth my cup with marcies fill,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This lays all thought o' sin to rest—</span><br /> +I <i>don't</i> believe in princerple,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But, O, I <i>du</i> in interest.</span><br /> +<br /> +I du believe in bein' this<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or thet, ez it may happen</span><br /> +One way, or t' other hendiest is<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To ketch the people nappin';</span><br /> +It ain't by princerples nor men<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My preudent course is steadied—</span><br /> +I scent wich pays the best, an' then<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Go into it baldheaded.</span><br /> +<br /> +I du believe thet holdin' slaves<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Comes nat'ral tu a President,</span><br /> +Let 'lone the rowdedow it saves<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To have a wal-broke precedunt;</span><br /> +Fer any office, small or gret,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I couldn't ax with no face,</span><br /> +Without I'd been, thru dry an' wet,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The unrizziest kind o' doughface.</span><br /> +<br /> +I du believe wutever trash<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'ll keep the people in blindness,—</span><br /> +Thet we the Mexicans can thrash<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Right inter brotherly kindness—</span><br /> +Thet bombshells, grape, an' powder 'n' ball<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Air good-will's strongest magnets—</span><br /> +Thet peace, to make it stick at all,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Must be druv in with bagnets.</span><br /> +<br /> +In short, I firmly du believe<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In Humbug generally,</span><br /> +Fer it's a thing thet I perceive<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To hev a solid vally;</span><br /> +This heth my faithful shepherd ben,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In pastures sweet heth led me,</span><br /> +An' this'll keep the people green<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To feed ez they have fed me.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>James Russell Lowell.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE RAZOR SELLER</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +A fellow in a market town,<br /> +Most musical, cried razors up and down,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And offered twelve for eighteen-pence;</span><br /> +Which certainly seemed wondrous cheap,<br /> +And for the money quite a heap,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As every man would buy, with cash and sense.</span><br /> +<br /> +A country bumpkin the great offer heard:<br /> +Poor Hodge, who suffered by a broad black beard,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That seemed a shoe-brush stuck beneath his nose</span><br /> +With cheerfulness the eighteen-pence he paid,<br /> +And proudly to himself, in whispers, said,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"This rascal stole the razors, I suppose.</span><br /> +<br /> +"No matter if the fellow <i>be</i> a knave,<br /> +Provided that the razors <i>shave</i>;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It certainly will be a monstrous prize."</span><br /> +So home the clown, with his good fortune, went,<br /> +Smiling in heart and soul, content,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And quickly soaped himself to ears and eyes.</span><br /> +<br /> +Being well lathered from a dish or tub,<br /> +Hodge now began with grinning pain to grub,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Just like a hedger cutting furze:</span><br /> +'Twas a vile razor!—then the rest he tried—<br /> +All were imposters—"Ah," Hodge sighed!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"I wish my eighteen-pence within my purse."</span><br /> +<br /> +In vain to chase his beard, and bring the graces,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He cut, and dug, and winced, and stamped, and swore,</span><br /> +Brought blood, and danced, blasphemed, and made wry faces,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And cursed each razor's body o'er and o'er:</span><br /> +<br /> +His muzzle, formed of <i>opposition</i> stuff,<br /> +Firm as a Foxite, would not lose its ruff!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So kept it—laughing at the steel and suds:</span><br /> +Hodge, in a passion, stretched his angry jaws,<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span> + +Vowing the direst vengeance, with clenched claws,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On the vile cheat that sold the goods.</span><br /> +"Razors; a damned, confounded dog,<br /> +Not fit to scrape a hog!"<br /> +<br /> +Hodge sought the fellow—found him—and begun:<br /> +"P'rhaps, Master Razor rogue, to you 'tis fun,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That people flay themselves out of their lives:</span><br /> +You rascal! for an hour have I been grubbing,<br /> +Giving my crying whiskers here a scrubbing,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With razors just like oyster knives.</span><br /> +Sirrah! I tell you, you're a knave,<br /> +To cry up razors that can't <i>shave</i>."<br /> +"Friend," quoth the razor-man, "I'm not a knave.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">As for the razors you have bought,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Upon my soul I never thought</span><br /> +That they would <i>shave</i>."<br /> +"Not think they'd <i>shave</i>!" quoth Hodge, with wond'ring eyes,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And voice not much unlike an Indian yell;</span><br /> +"What were they made for then, you dog?" he cries:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Made!" quoth the fellow, with a smile—"to <i>sell</i>."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>John Wolcot.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE DEVIL'S WALK ON EARTH</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +From his brimstone bed at break of day<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A walking the Devil is gone,</span><br /> +To look at his snug little farm of the World,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And see how his stock went on.</span><br /> +<br /> +Over the hill and over the dale,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And he went over the plain;</span><br /> +And backward and forward he swish'd his tail<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As a gentleman swishes a cane.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How then was the Devil drest?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh, he was in his Sunday's best</span><br /> +His coat was red and his breeches were blue,<br /> +And there was a hole where his tail came through.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span> + +A lady drove by in her pride,<br /> +In whose face an expression he spied<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For which he could have kiss'd her;</span><br /> +Such a flourishing, fine, clever woman was she,<br /> +With an eye as wicked as wicked can be,<br /> +I should take her for my Aunt, thought he,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If my dam had had a sister.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He met a lord of high degree,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">No matter what was his name;</span><br /> +Whose face with his own when he came to compare<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The expression, the look, and the air,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the character, too, as it seem'd to a hair—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Such a twin-likeness there was in the pair</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That it made the Devil start and stare</span><br /> +For he thought there was surely a looking-glass there,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But he could not see the frame.</span><br /> +<br /> +He saw a Lawyer killing a viper,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On a dung-hill beside his stable;</span><br /> +Ha! quoth he, thou put'st me in mind<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the story of Cain and Abel.</span><br /> +<br /> +An Apothecary on a white horse<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rode by on his vocation;</span><br /> +And the Devil thought of his old friend<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Death in the Revelation.</span><br /> +<br /> +He pass'd a cottage with a double coach-house,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A cottage of gentility,</span><br /> +And he own'd with a grin<br /> +That his favorite sin,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is pride that apes humility.</span><br /> +<br /> +He saw a pig rapidly<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Down a river float;</span><br /> +The pig swam well, but every stroke<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was cutting his own throat;</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span> + +<br /> +And Satan gave thereat his tail<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A twirl of admiration;</span><br /> +For he thought of his daughter War,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And her suckling babe Taxation.</span><br /> +<br /> +Well enough, in sooth, he liked that truth<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And nothing the worse for the jest;</span><br /> +But this was only a first thought<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And in this he did not rest:</span><br /> +Another came presently into his head,<br /> +And here it proved, as has often been said<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That second thoughts are best.</span><br /> +<br /> +For as Piggy plied with wind and tide,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His way with such celerity,</span><br /> +And at every stroke the water dyed<br /> +With his own red blood, the Devil cried,<br /> +Behold a swinish nation's pride<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In cotton-spun prosperity.</span><br /> +<br /> +He walk'd into London leisurely,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The streets were dirty and dim:</span><br /> +But there he saw Brothers the Prophet,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Brothers the Prophet saw him.</span><br /> +<br /> +He entered a thriving bookseller's shop;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Quoth he, we are both of one college,</span><br /> +For I myself sate like a Cormorant once<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon the Tree of Knowledge.</span><br /> +<br /> +As he passed through Cold-Bath Fields he look'd<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At a solitary cell;</span><br /> +And he was well-pleased, for it gave him a hint<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For improving the prisons of Hell.</span><br /> +<br /> +He saw a turnkey tie a thief's hands<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a cordial tug and jerk;</span><br /> +Nimbly, quoth he, a man's fingers move<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When his heart is in his work.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span> + +<br /> +He saw the same turnkey unfettering a man<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With little expedition;</span><br /> +And he chuckled to think of his dear slave-trade,<br /> +And the long debates and delays that were made,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Concerning its abolition.</span><br /> +<br /> +He met one of his favorite daughters<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By an Evangelical Meeting:</span><br /> +And forgetting himself for joy at her sight,<br /> +He would have accosted her outright,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And given her a fatherly greeting.</span><br /> +<br /> +But she tipt him the wink, drew back, and cried,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Avaunt! my name's Religion!</span><br /> +And then she turn'd to the preacher<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And leer'd like a love-sick pigeon.</span><br /> +<br /> +A fine man and a famous Professor was he,<br /> +As the great Alexander now may be,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Whose fame not yet o'erpast is:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or that new Scotch performer</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who is fiercer and warmer,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The great Sir Arch-Bombastes.</span><br /> +<br /> +With throbs and throes, and ah's and oh's.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Far famed his flock for frightning;</span><br /> +And thundering with his voice, the while<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His eyes zigzag like lightning.</span><br /> +<br /> +This Scotch phenomenon, I trow,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beats Alexander hollow;</span><br /> +Even when most tame<br /> +He breathes more flame<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then ten Fire-Kings could swallow.</span><br /> +<br /> +Another daughter he presently met;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With music of fife and drum,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And a consecrated flag,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And shout of tag and rag,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And march of rank and file,</span><br /> +Which had fill'd the crowded aisle<br /> +Of the venerable pile,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From church he saw her come.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span> +<br /> +He call'd her aside, and began to chide,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For what dost thou here? said he,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My city of Rome is thy proper home,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And there's work enough there for thee.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Thou hast confessions to listen,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And bells to christen,</span><br /> +And altars and dolls to dress;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And fools to coax,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And sinners to hoax,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And beads and bones to bless;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And great pardons to sell</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For those who pay well,</span><br /> +And small ones for those who pay less.<br /> +<br /> +Nay, Father, I boast, that this is my post,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She answered; and thou wilt allow,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That the great Harlot,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Who is clothed in scarlet,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Can very well spare me now.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon her business I am come here,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That we may extend our powers:</span><br /> +Whatever lets down this church that we hate,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Is something in favor of ours.</span><br /> +<br /> +You will not think, great Cosmocrat!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That I spend my time in fooling;</span><br /> +Many irons, my sire, have we in the fire,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I must leave none of them cooling;</span><br /> +For you must know state-councils here,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are held which I bear rule in.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">When my liberal notions,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Produce mischievous motions,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There's many a man of good intent,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In either house of Parliament,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Whom I shall find a tool in;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I have hopeful pupils too</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Who all this while are schooling.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span> + +<br /> +Fine progress they make in our liberal opinions,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">My Utilitarians,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">My all sorts of—inians</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And all sorts of—arians;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">My all sorts of—ists,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And my Prigs and my Whigs</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Who have all sorts of twists</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Train'd in the very way, I know,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Father, you would have them go;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">High and low,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Wise and foolish, great and small,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">March-of-Intellect-Boys all.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Well pleased wilt thou be at no very far day</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">When the caldron of mischief boils,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I bring them forth in battle array</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And bid them suspend their broils,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That they may unite and fall on the prey,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For which we are spreading our toils.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How the nice boys all will give mouth at the call,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Hark away! hark away to the spoils!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My Macs and my Quacks and my lawless-Jacks,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">My Shiels and O'Connells, my pious Mac-Donnells,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">My joke-smith Sydney, and all of his kidney,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">My Humes and my Broughams,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">My merry old Jerry,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">My Lord Kings, and my Doctor Doyles!</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At this good news, so great</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The Devil's pleasure grew,</span><br /> +That with a joyful swish he rent<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The hole where his tail came through.</span><br /> +<br /> +His countenance fell for a moment<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When he felt the stitches go;</span><br /> +Ah! thought he, there's a job now<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That I've made for my tailor below.</span><br /> +<br /> +Great news! bloody news! cried a newsman;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Devil said, Stop, let me see!</span><br /> +Great news? bloody news? thought the Devil,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The bloodier the better for me.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span> +<br /> +So he bought the newspaper, and no news<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At all for his money he had.</span><br /> +Lying varlet, thought he, thus to take in old Nick!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But it's some satisfaction, my lad,</span><br /> +To know thou art paid beforehand for the trick,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For the sixpence I gave thee is bad.</span><br /> +<br /> +And then it came into his head<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By oracular inspiration,</span><br /> +That what he had seen and what he had said<br /> +In the course of this visitation,<br /> +Would be published in the Morning Post<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For all this reading nation.</span><br /> +<br /> +Therewith in second sight he saw<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The place and the manner and time,</span><br /> +In which this mortal story<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Would be put in immortal rhyme.</span><br /> +<br /> +That it would happen when two poets<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Should on a time be met,</span><br /> +In the town of Nether Stowey,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the shire of Somerset.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There while the one was shaving</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Would he the song begin;</span><br /> +And the other when he heard it at breakfast,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In ready accord join in.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So each would help the other,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Two heads being better than one;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And the phrase and conceit</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Would in unison meet,</span><br /> +And so with glee the verse flow free,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In ding-dong chime of sing-song rhyme,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Till the whole were merrily done.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And because it was set to the razor,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Not to the lute or harp,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Therefore it was that the fancy</span><br /> +Should be bright, and the wit be sharp.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span> + +<br /> +But, then, said Satan to himself,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As for that said beginner,</span><br /> +Against my infernal Majesty,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There is no greater sinner.</span><br /> +<br /> +He hath put me in ugly ballads<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With libelous pictures for sale;</span><br /> +He hath scoff'd at my hoofs and my horns,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And has made very free with my tail.</span><br /> +<br /> +But this Mister Poet shall find<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I am not a safe subject for whim;</span><br /> +For I'll set up a School of my own,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And my Poets shall set upon him.</span><br /> +<br /> +He went to a coffee-house to dine,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And there he had soy in his dish;</span><br /> +Having ordered some soles for his dinner,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Because he was fond of flat fish.</span><br /> +<br /> +They are much to my palate, thought he,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And now guess the reason who can,</span><br /> +Why no bait should be better than place,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When I fish for a Parliament-man.</span><br /> +<br /> +But the soles in the bill were ten shillings;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tell your master, quoth he, what I say;</span><br /> +If he charges at this rate for all things,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He must be in a pretty good way.</span><br /> +<br /> +But mark ye, said he to the waiter,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'm a dealer myself in this line,</span><br /> +And his business, between you and me,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nothing like so extensive as mine.</span><br /> +<br /> +Now soles are exceedingly cheap,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which he will not attempt to deny,</span><br /> +When I see him at my fish-market,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I warrant him, by-and-by.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span> + +<br /> +As he went along the Strand<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Between three in the morning and four</span><br /> +He observed a queer-looking person<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who staggered from Perry's door.</span><br /> +<br /> +And he thought that all the world over<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In vain for a man you might seek,</span><br /> +Who could drink more like a Trojan<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or talk more like a Greek.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Devil then he prophesied</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It would one day he matter of talk,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That with wine when smitten,</span><br /> +And with wit moreover being happily bitten,<br /> +The erudite bibber was he who had written<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The story of this walk.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A pretty mistake, quoth the Devil;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A pretty mistake I opine!</span><br /> +I have put many ill thoughts in his mouth,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He will never put good ones in mine.</span><br /> +<br /> +And whoever shall say that to Porson<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">These best of all verses belong,</span><br /> +He is an untruth-telling whore-son,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And so shall be call'd in the song.</span><br /> +<br /> +And if seeking an illicit connection with fame,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Any one else should put in a claim,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In this comical competition;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That excellent poem will prove</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A man-trap for such foolish ambition,</span><br /> +Where the silly rogue shall be caught by the leg,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And exposed in a second edition.</span><br /> +<br /> +Now the morning air was cold for him<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who was used to a warm abode;</span><br /> +And yet he did not immediately wish,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To set out on his homeward road.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span> +<br /> +For he had some morning calls to make<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Before he went back to Hell;</span><br /> +So thought he I'll step into a gaming-house,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And that will do as well;</span><br /> +But just before he could get to the door<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A wonderful chance befell.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For all on a sudden, in a dark place,</span><br /> +He came upon General ——'s burning face;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And it struck him with such consternation,</span><br /> +That home in a hurry his way did he take,<br /> +Because he thought, by a slight mistake<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Twas the general conflagration.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Robert Southey.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>FATHER MOLLOY</h3> + +<h4>OR, THE CONFESSION</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Paddy McCabe was dying one day,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Father Molloy he came to confess him;</span><br /> +Paddy pray'd hard he would make no delay,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But forgive him his sins and make haste for to bless him.</span><br /> +"First tell me your sins," says Father Molloy,<br /> +"For I'm thinking you've not been a very good boy."<br /> +"Oh," says Paddy, "so late in the evenin', I fear,<br /> +'Twould throuble you such a long story to hear,<br /> +For you've ten long miles o'er the mountains to go,<br /> +While the road <i>I've</i> to travel's much longer, you know.<br /> +So give us your blessin' and get in the saddle,<br /> +To tell all my sins my poor brain it would addle;<br /> +And the docther gave ordhers to keep me so quiet—<br /> +'Twould disturb me to tell all my sins, if I'd thry it,<br /> +And your Reverence has towld us, unless we tell <i>all</i>,<br /> +'Tis worse than not makin' confession at all.<br /> +So I'll say in a word I'm no very good boy—<br /> +And, therefore, your blessin', sweet Father Molloy."<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span> +<br /> +"Well, I'll read from a book," says Father Molloy,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"The manifold sins that humanity's heir to;</span><br /> +And when you hear those that your conscience annoy,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You'll just squeeze my hand, as acknowledging thereto."</span><br /> +Then the father began the dark roll of iniquity,<br /> +And Paddy, thereat, felt his conscience grow rickety,<br /> +And he gave such a squeeze that the priest gave a roar—<br /> +"Oh, murdher," says Paddy, "don't read any more,<br /> +For, if you keep readin', by all that is thrue,<br /> +Your Reverence's fist will be soon black and blue;<br /> +Besides, to be throubled my conscience begins,<br /> +That your Reverence should have any hand in my sins,<br /> +So you'd betther suppose I committed them all,<br /> +For whether they're great ones, or whether they're small,<br /> +Or if they're a dozen, or if they're fourscore,<br /> +'Tis your Reverence knows how to absolve them, asthore;<br /> +So I'll say in a word, I'm no very good boy—<br /> +And, therefore, your blessin', sweet Father Molloy."<br /> +<br /> +"Well," says Father Molloy, "if your sins I forgive,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So you must forgive all your enemies truly;</span><br /> +And promise me also that, if you should live,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You'll leave off your old tricks, and begin to live newly."</span><br /> +"I forgive ev'rybody," says Pat, with a groan,<br /> +"Except that big vagabone Micky Malone;<br /> +And him I will murdher if ever I can—"<br /> +"Tut, tut," says the priest, "you're a very bad man;<br /> +For without your forgiveness, and also repentance,<br /> +You'll ne'er go to Heaven, and that is my sentence."<br /> +"Poo!" says Paddy McCabe, "that's a very hard case—<br /> +With your Reverence and Heaven I'm content to make pace;<br /> +But with Heaven and your Reverence I wondher—<i>Och hone</i>—<br /> +You would think of comparin' that blackguard Malone—<br /> +But since I'm hard press'd and that I <i>must</i> forgive,<br /> +I forgive—if I die—but as sure as I live<br /> +That ugly blackguard I will surely desthroy!—<br /> +So, <i>now</i> for your blessin', sweet Father Molloy!"<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Samuel Lover.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE OWL-CRITIC</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +"Who stuffed that white owl?" No one spoke in the shop,<br /> +The barber was busy, and he couldn't stop;<br /> +The customers, waiting their turns, were all reading<br /> +The "Daily," the "Herald," the "Post," little heeding<br /> +The young man who blurted out such a blunt question;<br /> +Not one raised a head, or even made a suggestion;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And the barber kept on shaving.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Don't you see, Mr. Brown,"<br /> +Cried the youth, with a frown,<br /> +"How wrong the whole thing is,<br /> +How preposterous each wing is<br /> +How flattened the head is, how jammed down the neck is—<br /> +In short, the whole owl, what an ignorant wreck 't is!<br /> +I make no apology;<br /> +I've learned owl-eology.<br /> +<br /> +I've passed days and nights in a hundred collections,<br /> +And cannot be blinded to any deflections<br /> +Arising from unskilful fingers that fail<br /> +To stuff a bird right, from his beak to his tail.<br /> +Mister Brown! Mister Brown!<br /> +Do take that bird down,<br /> +Or you'll soon be the laughing-stock all over town!"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And the barber kept on shaving.</span><br /> +<br /> +"I've <i>studied</i> owls,<br /> +And other night-fowls,<br /> +And I tell you<br /> +What I know to be true;<br /> +An owl cannot roost<br /> +With his limbs so unloosed;<br /> +No owl in this world<br /> +Ever had his claws curled,<br /> +Ever had his legs slanted,<br /> +Ever had his bill canted,<br /> +Ever had his neck screwed<br /> +Into that attitude.<br /> +He can't <i>do</i> it, because<br /> +'Tis against all bird-laws.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span> +<br /> +Anatomy teaches,<br /> +Ornithology preaches,<br /> +An owl has a toe<br /> +That <i>can't</i> turn out so!<br /> +I've made the white owl my study for years,<br /> +And to see such a job almost moves me to tears!<br /> +Mr. Brown, I'm amazed<br /> +You should be so gone crazed<br /> +As to put up a bird<br /> +In that posture absurd!<br /> +To <i>look</i> at that owl really brings on a dizziness;<br /> +The man who stuffed <i>him</i> don't half know his business!"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And the barber kept on shaving.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Examine those eyes.<br /> +I'm filled with surprise<br /> +Taxidermists should pass<br /> +Off on you such poor glass;<br /> +So unnatural they seem<br /> +They'd make Audubon scream,<br /> +And John Burroughs laugh<br /> +To encounter such chaff.<br /> +Do take that bird down;<br /> +Have him stuffed again, Brown!"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And the barber kept on shaving.</span><br /> +<br /> +"With some sawdust and bark<br /> +I could stuff in the dark<br /> +An owl better than that.<br /> +I could make an old hat<br /> +Look more like an owl<br /> +Than that horrid fowl,<br /> +Stuck up there so stiff like a side of coarse leather.<br /> +In fact, about <i>him</i> there's not one natural feather."<br /> +<br /> +Just then, with a wink and a sly normal lurch,<br /> +The owl, very gravely, got down from his perch,<br /> +Walked round, and regarded his fault-finding critic<br /> +(Who thought he was stuffed) with a glance analytic,<br /> +And then fairly hooted, as if he should say:<br /> +"Your learning's at fault <i>this</i> time, anyway;<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span> + +Don't waste it again on a live bird, I pray.<br /> +I'm an owl; you're another. Sir Critic, good day!"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And the barber kept on shaving.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>James Thomas Fields.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>WHAT WILL WE DO?</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +What will we do when the good days come—<br /> +When the prima donna's lips are dumb,<br /> +And the man who reads us his "little things"<br /> +Has lost his voice like the girl who sings;<br /> +When stilled is the breath of the cornet-man,<br /> +And the shrilling chords of the quartette clan;<br /> +When our neighbours' children have lost their drums—<br /> +Oh, what will we do when the good time comes?<br /> +Oh, what will we do in that good, blithe time,<br /> +When the tramp will work—oh, thing sublime!<br /> +And the scornful dame who stands on your feet<br /> +Will "Thank you, sir," for the proffered seat;<br /> +And the man you hire to work by the day,<br /> +Will allow you to do his work your way;<br /> +And the cook who trieth your appetite<br /> +Will steal no more than she thinks is right;<br /> +When the boy you hire will call you "Sir,"<br /> +Instead of "Say" and "Guverner";<br /> +When the funny man is humorsome—<br /> +How can we stand the millennium?<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Robert J. Burdette.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>LIFE IN LACONICS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Given a roof, and a taste for rations,<br /> +And you have the key to the "wealth of nations."<br /> +<br /> +Given a boy, a tree, and a hatchet,<br /> +And virtue strives in vain to match it.<br /> +<br /> +Given a pair, a snake, and an apple,<br /> +You make the whole world need a chapel.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span> + +<br /> +Given "no cards," broad views, and a hovel,<br /> +You have a realistic novel.<br /> +<br /> +Given symptoms and doctors with potion and pill,<br /> +And your heirs will ere long be contesting your will.<br /> +<br /> +That good leads to evil there's no denying:<br /> +If it were not for <i>truth</i> there would be no <i>lying</i>.<br /> +<br /> +"I'm nobody!" should have a hearse;<br /> +But then, "I'm somebody!" is worse.<br /> +<br /> +"Folks say," <i>et cetera</i>! Well, they shouldn't,<br /> +And if they knew you well, they wouldn't.<br /> +<br /> +When you coddle your life, all its vigor and grace<br /> +Shrink away with the whisper, "We're in the wrong place."<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Mary Mapes Dodge.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>ON KNOWING WHEN TO STOP</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +The woodchuck told it all about.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"I'm going to build a dwelling</span><br /> +Six stories high, up to the sky!"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He never tired of telling.</span><br /> +<br /> +He dug the cellar smooth and well<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But made no more advances;</span><br /> +That lovely hole so pleased his soul<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And satisfied his fancies.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>L. J. Bridgman.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>REV. GABE TUCKER'S REMARKS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +You may notch it on de palin's as a mighty resky plan<br /> +To make your judgment by de clo'es dat kivers up a man;<br /> +For I hardly needs to tell you how you often come across<br /> +A fifty-dollar saddle on a twenty-dollar hoss;<br /> +An', wukin' in de low-groun's, you diskiver, as you go,<br /> +Dat de fines' shuck may hide de meanes' nubbin in a row.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span> +<br /> +I think a man has got a mighty slender chance for heben<br /> +Dat holds on to his piety but one day out o' seben;<br /> +Dat talks about de sinners wid a heap o' solemn chat,<br /> +And nebber draps a nickel in de missionary hat;<br /> +Dat's foremost in de meetin'-house for raisin' all de chunes,<br /> +But lays aside his 'ligion wid his Sunday pantaloons.<br /> +<br /> +I nebber judge o' people dat I meets along de way<br /> +By de places whar dey come fum an' de houses whar dey stay;<br /> +For de bantam chicken's awful fond o' roostin' pretty high,<br /> +An' de turkey buzzard sails above de eagle in de sky;<br /> +Dey ketches little minners in de middle ob de sea,<br /> +An' you finds de smalles' possum up de bigges' kind o' tree!<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THURSDAY</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The sun was setting, and vespers done;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From chapel the monks came one by one,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And down they went thro' the garden trim,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In cassock and cowl, to the river's brim.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ev'ry brother his rod he took;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ev'ry rod had a line and a hook;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ev'ry hook had a bait so fine,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And thus they sang in the even shine:</span><br /> +"Oh, to-morrow will be Friday, so we'll fish the stream to-day!<br /> +Oh, to-morrow will be Friday, so we'll fish the stream to-day!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Benedicite!"</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So down they sate by the river's brim,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And fish'd till the light was growing dim;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They fish'd the stream till the moon was high,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But never a fish came wand'ring by.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They fish'd the stream in the bright moonshine,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But not one fish would he come to dine.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the Abbot said, "It seems to me</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">These rascally fish are all gone to sea.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span> + +And to-morrow will be Friday, but we've caught no fish to-day;<br /> +Oh, to-morrow will be Friday, but we've caught no fish to-day!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Maledicite!"</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So back they went to the convent gate,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Abbot and monks disconsolate;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For they thought of the morrow with faces white,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Saying, "Oh, we must curb our appetite!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But down in the depths of the vault below</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There's Malvoisie for a world of woe!"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So they quaff their wine, and all declare</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That fish, after all, is but gruesome fare.</span><br /> +"Oh, to-morrow will be Friday, so we'll warm our souls to-day!<br /> +Oh, to-morrow will be Friday, so we'll warm our souls to-day!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Benedicite!"</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Frederick E. Weatherly.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>SKY-MAKING</h3> + +<h4>TO PROFESSOR TYNDALL</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Just take a trifling handful, O philosopher,<br /> +Of magic matter, give it a slight toss over<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The ambient ether, and I don't see why</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">You shouldn't make a sky.</span><br /> +<br /> +O hours Utopian which we may anticipate!<br /> +Thick London fog how easy 'tis to dissipate,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And make the most pea-soupy day as clear</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">As Bass's brightest beer!</span><br /> +<br /> +Poet-professor! now my brain thou kindlest;<br /> +I am become a most determined Tyndallist.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If it is known a fellow can make skies,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Why not make bright blue eyes?</span><br /> +<br /> +This to deny, the folly of a dunce it is;<br /> +Surely a girl as easy as a sunset is.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If you can make a halo or eclipse,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Why not two laughing lips?</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span> + +<br /> +The creed of Archimedes, erst of Sicily,<br /> +And of D'Israeli ... <i>forti nil difficile</i>,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is likewise mine. Pygmalion was a fool</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Who should have gone to school.</span><br /> +<br /> +Why should an author scribble rhymes or articles?<br /> +Bring me a dozen tiny Tyndall particles;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Therefrom I'll coin a dinner, Nash's wine,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And a nice girl to dine.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Mortimer Collins.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE POSITIVISTS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Life and the Universe show spontaneity:<br /> +Down with ridiculous notions of Deity!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Churches and creeds are all lost in the mists;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Truth must be sought with the Positivists.</span><br /> +<br /> +Wise are their teachers beyond all comparison,<br /> +Comte, Huxley, Tyndall, Mill, Morley, and Harrison;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Who will adventure to enter the lists</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With such a squadron of Positivists?</span><br /> +<br /> +Social arrangements are awful miscarriages;<br /> +Cause of all crime is our system of marriages.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Poets with sonnets, and lovers with trysts,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Kindle the ire of the Positivists.</span><br /> +<br /> +Husbands and wives should be all one community,<br /> +Exquisite freedom with absolute unity.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Wedding-rings worse are than manacled wrists—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Such is the creed of the Positivists.</span><br /> +<br /> +There was an ape in the days that were earlier;<br /> +Centuries passed, and his hair became curlier;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Centuries more gave a thumb to his wrist—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Then he was Man, and a Positivist.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span> + +<br /> +If you are pious (mild form of insanity)<br /> +Bow down and worship the mass of humanity.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Other religions are buried in mists;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">We're our own Gods, say the Positivists.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Mortimer Collins.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>MARTIAL IN LONDON</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Exquisite wines and comestibles,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From Slater, and Fortnum and Mason;</span><br /> +Billiard, écarté, and chess tables;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Water in vast marble basin;</span><br /> +Luminous books (not voluminous)<br /> +To read under beech-trees cacuminous;<br /> +One friend, who is fond of a distich,<br /> +And doesn't get too syllogistic;<br /> +A valet, who knows the complete art<br /> +Of service—a maiden, his sweetheart:<br /> +Give me these, in some rural pavilion,<br /> +And I'll envy no Rothschild his million.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Mortimer Collins.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE SPLENDID SHILLING</h3> + +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<div class='blockquot'><p><span style='margin-left: 7em;'>"... Sing, heavenly Muse!</span><br /> +Things unattempted yet, in prose or rhyme,"<br /> +A shilling, breeches, and chimeras dire.</p></div> + +<p> +Happy the man, who, void of cares and strife,<br /> +In silken or in leather purse retains<br /> +A Splendid Shilling: he nor hears with pain<br /> +New oysters cried, nor sighs for cheerful ale;<br /> +But with his friends, when nightly mists arise,<br /> +To Juniper's Magpie, or Town-hall repairs:<br /> +Where, mindful of the nymph, whose wanton eye<br /> +Transfix'd his soul, and kindled amorous flames,<br /> +Chloe, or Phillis, he each circling glass<br /> +Wisheth her health, and joy, and equal love.<br /> +Meanwhile, he smokes, and laughs at merry tale,<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span> + +Or pun ambiguous, or conundrum quaint.<br /> +But I, whom griping penury surrounds,<br /> +And Hunger, sure attendant upon Want,<br /> +With scanty offals, and small acid tiff,<br /> +(Wretched repast!) my meagre corpse sustain:<br /> +Then solitary walk, or doze at home<br /> +In garret vile, and with a warming puff<br /> +Regale chill'd fingers: or from tube as black<br /> +As winter-chimney, or well-polish'd jet,<br /> +Exhale mundungus, ill-perfuming scent:<br /> +Not blacker tube, nor of a shorter size,<br /> +Smokes Cambro-Briton (vers'd in pedigree,<br /> +Sprung from Cadwallador and Arthur, kings<br /> +Full famous in romantic tale) when he,<br /> +O'er many a craggy hill and barren cliff,<br /> +Upon a cargo of fam'd Cestrian cheese,<br /> +High over-shadowing rides, with a design<br /> +To vend his wares, or at th' Avonian mart,<br /> +Or Maridunum, or the ancient town<br /> +Yelep'd Brechinia, or where Vaga's stream<br /> +Encircles Ariconium, fruitful soil!<br /> +Whence flow nectareous wines, that well may vie<br /> +With Massic, Setin, or renown'd Falern.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thus while my joyless minutes tedious flow,</span><br /> +With looks demure, and silent pace, a Dun,<br /> +Horrible monster! hated by gods and men,<br /> +To my aërial citadel ascends,<br /> +With vocal heel thrice thundering at my gate,<br /> +With hideous accent thrice he calls; I know<br /> +The voice ill-boding, and the solemn sound.<br /> +What should I do? or whither turn? Amaz'd,<br /> +Confounded, to the dark recess I fly<br /> +Of wood-hole; straight my bristling hairs erect<br /> +Through sudden fear; a chilly sweat bedews<br /> +My shuddering limbs, and (wonderful to tell!)<br /> +My tongue forgets her faculty of speech;<br /> +So horrible he seems! His faded brow,<br /> +Intrench'd with many a frown, and conic beard,<br /> +And spreading band, admir'd by modern saints,<br /> +Disastrous acts forbode; in his right hand<br /> +Long scrolls of paper solemnly he waves,<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span> + +With characters and figures dire inscrib'd,<br /> +Grievous to mortal eyes; (ye gods, avert<br /> +Such plagues from righteous men!) Behind him stalks<br /> +Another monster, not unlike himself,<br /> +Sullen of aspect, by the vulgar call'd<br /> +A catchpole, whose polluted hands the gods,<br /> +With force incredible, and magic charms,<br /> +First have endued: if he his ample palm<br /> +Should haply on ill-fated shoulder lay<br /> +Of debtor, straight his body, to the touch<br /> +Obsequious (as whilom knights were wont,)<br /> +To some enchanted castle is convey'd,<br /> +Where gates impregnable, and coercive chains,<br /> +In durance strict detain him, till, in form<br /> +Of money, Pallas sets the captive free.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beware, ye debtors! when ye walk, beware,</span><br /> +Be circumspect; oft with insidious ken<br /> +The caitiff eyes your steps aloof, and oft<br /> +Lies perdu in a nook or gloomy cave,<br /> +Prompt to enchant some inadvertent wretch<br /> +With his unhallowed touch. So, (poets sing)<br /> +Grimalkin, to domestic vermin sworn<br /> +An everlasting foe, with watchful eye<br /> +Lies nightly brooding o'er a chinky gap,<br /> +Portending her fell claws, to thoughtless mice<br /> +Sure ruin. So her disembowell'd web<br /> +Arachne, in a hall or kitchen, spreads<br /> +Obvious to vagrant flies: she secret stands<br /> +Within her woven cell: the humming prey,<br /> +Regardless of their fate, rush on the toils<br /> +Inextricable, nor will aught avail<br /> +Their arts, or arms, or shapes of lovely hue;<br /> +The wasp insidious, and the buzzing drone,<br /> +And butterfly, proud of expanded wings<br /> +Distinct with gold, entangled in her snares,<br /> +Useless resistance make; with eager strides,<br /> +She towering flies to her expected spoils;<br /> +Then, with envenomed jaws, the vital blood<br /> +Drinks of reluctant foes, and to her cave<br /> +Their bulky carcasses triumphant drags.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So pass my days. But when nocturnal shades</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span> + +This world envelop, and th' inclement air<br /> +Persuades men to repel benumbing frosts<br /> +With pleasant wines, and crackling blaze of wood;<br /> +Me, lonely sitting, nor the glimmering light<br /> +Of make-weight candle, nor the joyous talk<br /> +Of loving friend, delights: distress'd, forlorn,<br /> +Amidst the horrors of the tedious night,<br /> +Darkling I sigh, and feed with dismal thoughts<br /> +My anxious mind: or sometimes mournful verse<br /> +Indite, and sing of groves and myrtle shades,<br /> +Or desperate lady near a purling stream,<br /> +Or lover pendent on a willow tree.<br /> +Meanwhile I labor with eternal drought,<br /> +And restless wish, and rave; my parched throat<br /> +Finds no relief, nor heavy eyes repose:<br /> +But if a slumber haply does invade<br /> +My weary limbs, my fancy's still awake,<br /> +Thoughtful of drink, and eager, in a dream,<br /> +Tipples imaginary pots of ale,<br /> +In vain; awake I find the settled thirst<br /> +Still gnawing, and the pleasant phantom curse.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thus do I live, from pleasure quite debarred,</span><br /> +Nor taste the fruits that the sun's genial rays<br /> +Mature, john-apple, nor the downy peach,<br /> +Nor walnut in rough-furrow'd coat secure,<br /> +Nor medlar, fruit delicious in decay;<br /> +Afflictions great! yet greater still remain:<br /> +My galligaskins, that have long withstood<br /> +The winter's fury, and encroaching frosts,<br /> +By time subdued (what will not time subdue!)<br /> +An horrid chasm disclos'd with orifice<br /> +Wide, discontinuous; at which the winds<br /> +Eurus and Auster, and the dreadful force<br /> +Of Boreas, that congeals the Cronian waves,<br /> +Tumultuous enter with dire chilling blasts,<br /> +Portending agues. Thus a well-fraught ship,<br /> +Long sail'd secure, or through th' Ægean deep,<br /> +Or the Ionian, till cruising near<br /> +The Lilybean shore, with hideous crush<br /> +On Scylla, or Charybdis (dangerous rocks!)<br /> +She strikes rebounding; whence the shatter'd oak,<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span> + +So fierce a shock unable to withstand,<br /> +Admits the sea: in at the gaping side<br /> +The crowding waves gush with impetuous rage<br /> +Resistless, overwhelming; horrors seize<br /> +The mariners; Death in their eyes appears,<br /> +They stare, they lave, they pump, they swear, they pray<br /> +(Vain efforts!) still the battering waves rush in,<br /> +Implacable, till, delug'd by the foam,<br /> +The ship sinks foundering in the vast abyss.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>John Philips.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>AFTER HORACE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +What asks the Bard? He prays for nought<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But what the truly virtuous crave:</span><br /> +That is, the things he plainly ought<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">To have.</span><br /> +<br /> +'Tis not for wealth, with all the shocks<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That vex distracted millionaires,</span><br /> +Plagued by their fluctuating stocks<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And shares:</span><br /> +<br /> +While plutocrats their millions new<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Expend upon each costly whim,</span><br /> +A great deal less than theirs will do<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">For him:</span><br /> +<br /> +The simple incomes of the poor<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His meek poetic soul content:</span><br /> +Say, £30,000 at four<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Per cent.!</span><br /> +<br /> +His taste in residence is plain:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No palaces his heart rejoice:</span><br /> +A cottage in a lane (Park Lane<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">For choice)—</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span> + +<br /> +Here be his days in quiet spent:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Here let him meditate the Muse:</span><br /> +Baronial Halls were only meant<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">For Jews,</span><br /> +<br /> +And lands that stretch with endless span<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From east to west, from south to north,</span><br /> +Are often much more trouble than<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">They're worth!</span><br /> +<br /> +Let epicures who eat too much<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Become uncomfortably stout:</span><br /> +Let gourmets feel th' approaching touch<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Of gout,—</span><br /> +<br /> +The Bard subsists on simpler food:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A dinner, not severely plain,</span><br /> +A pint or so of really good<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Champagne—</span><br /> +<br /> +Grant him but these, no care he'll take<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Though Laureates bask in Fortune's smile,</span><br /> +Though Kiplings and Corellis make<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Their pile:</span><br /> +<br /> +Contented with a scantier dole<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His humble Muse serenely jogs,</span><br /> +Remote from scenes where authors roll<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Their logs:</span><br /> +<br /> +Far from the madding crowd she lurks,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And really cares no single jot</span><br /> +Whether the public read her works<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Or not!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>A. D. Godley.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>OF A PRECISE TAILOR</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +A tailor, a man of an upright dealing,<br /> +True but for lying, honest but for stealing,<br /> +Did fall one day extremely sick by chance,<br /> +And on the sudden was in wondrous trance.<br /> +The Fiends of hell, mustering in fearful manner,<br /> +Of sundry-coloured silks displayed a banner,<br /> +Which he had stol'n; and wished, as they did tell,<br /> +That one day he might find it all in hell.<br /> +The man, affrighted at this apparition,<br /> +Upon recovery grew a great precisian.<br /> +He bought a Bible of the new translation,<br /> +And in his life he showed great reformation.<br /> +He walkèd mannerly and talkèd meekly;<br /> +He heard three lectures and two sermons weekly;<br /> +He vowed to shun all companies unruly,<br /> +And in his speech he used no oath but "truly":<br /> +And, zealously to keep the Sabbath's rest,<br /> +His meat for that day on the even was dressed.<br /> +And, lest the custom that he had to steal<br /> +Might cause him sometime to forget his zeal,<br /> +He gives his journeyman a special charge<br /> +That, if the stuff allowed fell out too large,<br /> +And that to filch his fingers were inclined,<br /> +He then should put the Banner in his mind.<br /> +This done, I scant the rest can tell for laughter.<br /> +A Captain of a ship came three days after,<br /> +And bought three yards of velvet and three quarters,<br /> +To make Venetians down below the garters.<br /> +He, that precisely knew what was enough,<br /> +Soon slipped away three quarters of the stuff.<br /> +His man, espying it, said in derision,<br /> +"Remember, Master, how you saw the vision!"<br /> +"Peace, knave," quoth he; "I did not see one rag<br /> +Of such-a-coloured silk in all the flag."<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Sir John Harrington.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>MONEY</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Who money has, well wages the campaign;<br /> +Who money has, becomes of gentle strain;<br /> +Who money has, to honor all accord:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He is my lord.</span><br /> +Who money has, the ladies ne'er disdain;<br /> +Who money has, loud praises will attain;<br /> +Who money has, in the world's heart is stored,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The flower adored.</span><br /> +O'er all mankind he holds his conquering track—<br /> +They only are condemned who money lack.<br /> +<br /> +Who money has, will wisdom's credit gain;<br /> +Who money has, all earth is his domain;<br /> +Who money has, praise is his sure reward,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Which all afford.</span><br /> +Who money has, from nothing need refrain;.<br /> +Who money has, on him is favor poured;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And, in a word,</span><br /> +Who money has, need never fear attack—<br /> +They only are condemned who money lack.<br /> +<br /> +Who money has, in every heart does reign;<br /> +Who money has, all to approach are fain;<br /> +Who money has, of him no fault is told,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Nor harm can hold.</span><br /> +Who money has, none does his right restrain;<br /> +Who money has, can whom he will maintain;<br /> +Who money has, clerk, prior, by his gold,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Is straight enrolled.</span><br /> +Who money has, all raise, none hold him back—<br /> +They only are condemned who money lack.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Jehan du Pontalais.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>BOSTON NURSERY RHYMES</h3> + +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p class='h_5'>RHYME FOR A GEOLOGICAL BABY</p> + +<p> +Trilobite, Grapholite, Nautilus pie;<br /> +Seas were calcareous, oceans were dry.<br /> +Eocene, miocene, pliocene Tuff,<br /> +Lias and Trias and that is enough.<br /> +</p> + +<p class='h_5'>RHYME FOR ASTRONOMICAL BABY</p> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Bye Baby Bunting,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Father's gone star-hunting;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Mother's at the telescope</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Casting baby's horoscope.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Bye Baby Buntoid,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Father's found an asteroid;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Mother takes by calculation</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The angle of its inclination.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p class='h_5'>RHYME FOR BOTANICAL BABY</p> + +<p> +Little bo-peepals<br /> +Has lost her sepals,<br /> +And can't tell-where to find them;<br /> +In the involucre<br /> +By hook or by crook or<br /> +She'll make up her mind not to mind them.<br /> +</p> + +<p class='h_5'>RHYME FOR A CHEMICAL BABY</p> + +<p> +Oh, sing a song of phosphates,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fibrine in a line,</span><br /> +Four-and-twenty follicles<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the van of time.</span><br /> +<br /> +When the phosphorescence<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Evoluted brain,</span><br /> +Superstition ended,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Men began to reign.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Rev. Joseph Cook.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>KENTUCKY PHILOSOPHY</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> + +<p class='poem'>You Wi'yum, cum 'ere, suh, dis minute. Wut dat you got under dat box?</p> +<p class='poem'>I don't want no foolin'—you hear me? Wut you say? Ain't nu'h'n but <i>rocks</i>?</p> +<p class='poem'>'Peahs ter me you's owdashus perticler. S'posin' dey's uv a new kine.</p> +<p class='poem'>I'll des take a look at dem rocks. Hi yi! der you think dat I's bline?</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'><i>I</i> calls dat a plain water-million, you scamp, en I knows whah it growed;</p> +<p class='poem'>It come fum de Jimmerson cawn fiel', dah on ter side er de road.</p> +<p class='poem'>You stole it, you rascal—you stole it! I watched you fum down in de lot.</p> +<p class='poem'>En time I gits th'ough wid you, nigger, you won't eb'n be a grease spot!</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'><i>I'll</i> fix you. Mirandy! Mirandy! go cut me a hick'ry—make 'ase!</p> +<p class='poem'>En cut me de toughes' en keenes' you c'n fine anywhah on de place.</p> +<p class='poem'>I'll larn you, Mr. Wi'yum Joe Vetters, ter steal en ter lie, you young sinner,</p> +<p class='poem'>Disgracin' yo' ole Christian mammy, en makin' her leave cookin' dinner!</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>Now ain't you ashamed er yo'se'f, suh? I is. I's 'shamed you's my son!</p> +<p class='poem'>En de holy accorjun angel he's 'shamed er wut you has done;</p> +<p class='poem'>En he's tuk it down up yander in coal-black, blood-red letters—</p> +<p class='poem'>"One water-million stoled by Wi'yum Josephus Vetters."</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>En wut you s'posin' Brer Bascom, yo' teacher at Sunday school,</p> +<p class='poem'>'Ud say ef he knowed how you's broke de good Lawd's Gol'n Rule?</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span> + +<p class='poem'>Boy, whah's de raisin' I give you? Is you boun' fuh ter be a black villiun?</p> +<p class='poem'>I's s'prised dat a chile er yo' mammy 'ud steal any man's water-million.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>En I's now gwiner cut it right open, en you shain't have narry bite,</p> +<p class='poem'>Fuh a boy who'll steal water-millions—en dat in de day's broad light—</p> +<p class='poem'>Ain't—<i>Lawdy!</i> it's <span class="smcap">GREEN</span>! Mirandy; Mi-ran-dy! come on wi' dat switch!</p> +<p class='poem'><i>Well</i>, stealin' a g-r-e-e-n water-million! who ever heered tell er des sich?</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>Cain't tell w'en dey's ripe? W'y, you thump 'um, en w'en dey go pank dey is green;</p> +<p class='poem'>But when dey go <i>punk</i>, now you mine me, dey's ripe—en dat's des wut I mean.</p> +<p class='poem'>En nex' time you hook water-millions—<i>you</i> heered me, you ign'ant young hunk,</p> +<p class='poem'>Ef you don't want a lickin' all over, be sho dat dey allers go "punk"!</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Harrison Robertson.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>JOHN GRUMLIE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +John Grumlie swore by the light o' the moon<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the green leaves on the tree,</span><br /> +That he could do more work in a day<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than his wife could do in three.</span><br /> +His wife rose up in the morning<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wi' cares and troubles enow—</span><br /> +John Grumlie bide at hame, John,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I'll go haud the plow.</span><br /> +<br /> +First ye maun dress your children fair,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And put them a' in their gear;</span><br /> +And ye maun turn the malt, John,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or else ye'll spoil the beer;</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span> + +And ye maun reel the tweel, John,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That I span yesterday;</span><br /> +And ye maun ca' in the hens, John,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Else they'll all lay away.</span><br /> +<br /> +O he did dress his children fair,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And put them a' in their gear;</span><br /> +But he forgot to turn the malt,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And so he spoil'd the beer:</span><br /> +And he sang loud as he reeled the tweel<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That his wife span yesterday;</span><br /> +But he forgot to put up the hens,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the hens all layed away.</span><br /> +<br /> +The hawket crummie loot down nae milk;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He kirned, nor butter gat;</span><br /> +And a' gade wrang, and nought gade right;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He danced with rage, and grat;</span><br /> +Then up he ran to the head o' the knowe<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wi' mony a wave and shout—</span><br /> +She heard him as she heard him not,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And steered the stots about.</span><br /> +<br /> +John Grumlie's wife cam hame at e'en,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A weary wife and sad,</span><br /> +And burst into a laughter loud,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And laughed as she'd been mad:</span><br /> +While John Grumlie swore by the light o' the moon<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the green leaves on the tree,</span><br /> +If my wife should na win a penny a day<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She's aye have her will for me.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Allan Cunningham.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A SONG OF IMPOSSIBILITIES</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Lady, I loved you all last year,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How honestly and well—</span><br /> +Alas! would weary you to hear,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And torture me to tell;</span><br /> +I raved beneath the midnight sky,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I sang beneath the limes—</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span> + +Orlando in my lunacy,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Petrarch in my rhymes.</span><br /> +But all is over! When the sun<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dries up the boundless main,</span><br /> +When black is white, false-hearted one,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I may be yours again!</span><br /> +<br /> +When passion's early hopes and fears<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are not derided things;</span><br /> +When truth is found in falling tears,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or faith in golden rings;</span><br /> +When the dark Fates that rule our way<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Instruct me where they hide</span><br /> +One woman that would ne'er betray,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One friend that never lied;</span><br /> +When summer shines without a cloud,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And bliss without a pain;</span><br /> +When worth is noticed in a crowd,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I may be yours again!</span><br /> +<br /> +When science pours the light of day<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon the lords of lands;</span><br /> +When Huskisson is heard to say<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That Lethbridge understands;</span><br /> +When wrinkles work their way in youth,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or Eldon's in a hurry;</span><br /> +When lawyers represent the truth,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or Mr. Sumner Surrey;</span><br /> +When aldermen taste eloquence<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or bricklayers champagne;</span><br /> +When common law is common sense,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I may be yours again!</span><br /> +<br /> +When learned judges play the beau,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or learned pigs the tabor;</span><br /> +When traveller Bankes beats Cicero,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or Mr. Bishop Weber;</span><br /> +When sinking funds discharge a debt,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or female hands a bomb;</span><br /> +When bankrupts study the <i>Gazette</i>,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or colleges <i>Tom Thumb</i>;</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span> + +When little fishes learn to speak,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or poets not to feign;</span><br /> +When Dr. Geldart construes Greek,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I may be yours again!</span><br /> +<br /> +When Pole and Thornton honour cheques,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or Mr. Const a rogue;</span><br /> +When Jericho's in Middlesex,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or minuets in vogue;</span><br /> +When Highgate goes to Devonport,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or fashion to Guildhall;</span><br /> +When argument is heard at Court,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or Mr. Wynn at all;</span><br /> +When Sydney Smith forgets to jest,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or farmers to complain;</span><br /> +When kings that are are not the best,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I may be yours again!</span><br /> +<br /> +When peers from telling money shrink,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or monks from telling lies;</span><br /> +When hydrogen begins to sink,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or Grecian scrip to rise;</span><br /> +When German poets cease to dream,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Americans to guess;</span><br /> +When Freedom sheds her holy beam<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On Negroes, and the Press;</span><br /> +When there is any fear of Rome,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or any hope of Spain;</span><br /> +When Ireland is a happy home,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I may be yours again!</span><br /> +<br /> +When you can cancel what has been,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or alter what must be,</span><br /> +Or bring once more that vanished scene,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Those withered joys to me;</span><br /> +When you can tune the broken lute,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or deck the blighted wreath,</span><br /> +Or rear the garden's richest fruit,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon a blasted heath;</span><br /> +When you can lure the wolf at bay<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Back to his shattered chain,</span><br /> +To-day may then be yesterday—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I may be yours again!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Winthrop Mackworth Praed.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>SONG</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Go and catch a falling star,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Get with child a mandrake root;</span><br /> +Tell me where all past years are,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or who cleft the Devil's foot;</span><br /> +Teach me to hear Mermaids singing,—<br /> +Or to keep off envy's stinging,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And find</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">What wind</span><br /> +Serves to advance an honest mind.<br /> +<br /> +If thou beest born to strange sights,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Things invisible to see,</span><br /> +Ride ten thousand days and nights,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till age snow white hairs on thee;</span><br /> +Thou, when thou return'st, wilt tell me<br /> +All strange wonders that befell thee,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And swear</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Nowhere</span><br /> +Lives a woman true and fair.<br /> +<br /> +If thou find'st one, let me know;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Such a pilgrimage were sweet.</span><br /> +Yet do not; I would not go,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Though at next door we might meet.</span><br /> +Though she were true when you met her,<br /> +And last till you write your letter,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Yet she</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Will be</span><br /> +False, ere I come, to two or three.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>John Donne.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE OUBIT</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +It was an hairy oubit, sae proud he crept alang;<br /> +A feckless hairy oubit, and merrily he sang:<br /> +"My Minnie bade me bide at home until I won my wings,<br /> +I shew her soon my soul's aboon the warks o' creeping things."<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span> +<br /> +This feckless hairy oubit cam' hirpling by the linn,<br /> +A swirl o' wind cam' doun the glen, and blew that oubit in.<br /> +Oh, when he took the water, the saumon fry they rose,<br /> +And tigg'd him a' to pieces sma', by head and tail and toes.<br /> +<br /> +Tak' warning then, young poets a', by this poor oubit's shame;<br /> +Though Pegasus may nicher loud, keep Pegasus at hame.<br /> +O haud your hands frae inkhorns, though a' the Muses woo;<br /> +For critics lie, like saumon fry, to mak' their meals o' you.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Charles Kingsley.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>DOUBLE BALLADE OF PRIMITIVE MAN</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +He lived in a cave by the seas,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He lived upon oysters and foes,</span><br /> +But his list of forbidden degrees<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An extensive morality shows;</span><br /> +Geological evidence goes<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To prove he had never a pan,</span><br /> +But he shaved with a shell when he chose,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Twas the manner of Primitive Man.</span><br /> +<br /> +He worshipp'd the rain and the breeze,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He worshipp'd the river that flows,</span><br /> +And the Dawn, and the Moon, and the trees<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And bogies, and serpents, and crows;</span><br /> +He buried his dead with their toes<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tucked-up, an original plan,</span><br /> +Till their knees came right under their nose,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Twas the manner of Primitive Man.</span><br /> +<br /> +His communal wives, at his ease,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He would curb with occasional blows</span><br /> +Or his State had a queen, like the bees<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(As another philosopher trows):</span><br /> +When he spoke, it was never in prose,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But he sang in a strain that would scan,</span><br /> +For (to doubt it, perchance, were morose)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Twas the manner of Primitive Man!</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span> + +<br /> +On the coasts that incessantly freeze,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With his stones, and his bones, and his bows,</span><br /> +On luxuriant tropical leas,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where the summer eternally glows,</span><br /> +He is found, and his habits disclose<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Let theology say what she can)</span><br /> +That he lived in the long, long agos,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Twas the manner of Primitive Man!</span><br /> +<br /> +From a status like that of the Crees<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our society's fabric arose,—</span><br /> +Develop'd, evolved, if you please,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But deluded chronologists chose,</span><br /> +In a fancied accordance with Mos<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">es, 4000 <span class="smcap">B.C.</span> for the span</span><br /> +When he rushed on the world and its woes,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Twas the manner of Primitive Man.</span><br /> +<br /> +But the mild anthropologist—<i>he's</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Not <i>recent</i> inclined to suppose</span><br /> +Flints Palæolithic like these,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Quaternary bones such as those!</span><br /> +In Rhinoceros, Mammoth and Co.'s<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">First epoch the Human began</span><br /> +Theologians all to expose,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Tis the <i>mission</i> of Primitive Man.</span><br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>ENVOY</p> +<p> +Max, proudly your Aryans pose,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But their rigs they undoubtedly ran,</span><br /> +For, as every Darwinian knows,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Twas the manner of Primitive Man!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Andrew Lang.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>PHILLIS'S AGE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +How old may Phillis be, you ask,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whose beauty thus all hearts engages?</span><br /> +To answer is no easy task:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For she has really two ages.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span> + +<br /> +Stiff in brocade, and pinch'd in stays,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her patches, paint, and jewels on;</span><br /> +All day let envy view her face,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Phillis is but twenty-one.</span><br /> +<br /> +Paint, patches, jewels laid aside,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At night astronomers agree,</span><br /> +The evening has the day belied;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Phillis is some forty-three.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Matthew Prior.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="V" id="V"></a>V</h2> + +<h2>CYNICISM</h2> +<p><br /></p> + +<h3>GOOD AND BAD LUCK</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Good Luck is the gayest of all gay girls;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Long in one place she will not stay:</span><br /> +Back from your brow she strokes the curls,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Kisses you quick and flies away.</span><br /> +<br /> +But Madame Bad Luck soberly comes<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And stays—no fancy has she for flitting;</span><br /> +Snatches of true-love songs she hums,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And sits by your bed, and brings her knitting.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>John Hay.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>BANGKOLIDYE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +"Gimme my scarlet tie,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">Says I.</span><br /> +"Gimme my brownest boots and hat,<br /> +Gimme a vest with a pattern fancy,<br /> +Gimme a gel with some style, like Nancy,<br /> +And then—well, it's gimes as I'll be at,<br /> +Seein' as its bangkolidye,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">Says I.</span><br /> +<br /> +"May miss it, but we'll try,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">Says I.</span><br /> +Nancy ran like a frightened 'en<br /> +Hup the steps of the bloomin' styeshun.<br /> +Bookin'-orfus at last! Salvyeshun!<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span> + +An' the two returns was five-and-ten.<br /> +"An' travellin' mikes your money fly,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">Says I.</span><br /> +<br /> +"This atmosphere is 'igh,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">Says I.</span><br /> +Twelve in a carriage is pretty thick,<br /> +When 'ite of the twelve is a sittin', smokin';<br /> +Nancy started 'er lawkin, and jokin',<br /> +Syin' she 'oped as we shouldn't be sick;<br /> +"Don't go on, or you'll mike me die!"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">Says I.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Three styeshuns we've porst by,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">Says I.</span><br /> +"So hout we get at the next, my gel."<br /> +When we got hout, she wer pale and saint-like,<br /> +White in the gills, and sorter faint-like,<br /> +An' said my cigaw 'ad a powerful smell,<br /> +"Well, it's the sime as I always buy,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">Says I.</span><br /> +<br /> +"'Ites them clouds in the sky,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">Says I.</span><br /> +"Don't like 'em at all," I says, "that's flat—<br /> +Black as your boots and sorter thick'nin'."<br /> +"If it's wet," says she, "it <i>will</i> be sick'nin'.<br /> +I wish as I'd brought my other 'at."<br /> +"You thinks too much of your finery,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">Says I.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Keep them sanwidjus dry,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">Says I.</span><br /> +When the rine came down in a reggiler sheet.<br /> +But what can yo do with one umbrella,<br /> +And a damp gel strung on the arm of a fella?<br /> +"Well, rined-on 'am ain't pleasant to eat,<br /> +If yer don't believe it, just go an try,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">Says I.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span> + +<br /> +"There is some gels whort cry,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">Says I.</span><br /> +"And there is some don't shed a tear,<br /> +But just get tempers, and when they has'em<br /> +Reaches a pint in their sarcasem,<br /> +As on'y a dorg could bear to 'ear."<br /> +This unto Nancy by-and-by,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">Says I.</span><br /> +<br /> +All's hover now. And why,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">Says I.</span><br /> +But why did I wear them boots, that vest?<br /> +The bloom is off 'em; they're sad to see;<br /> +And hev'rythin's off twixt Nancy and me;<br /> +And my trousers is off and gone to be pressed—<br /> +And ain't this a blimed bangkolidye?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">Says I.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Barry Pain.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>PENSÉES DE NOËL</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +When the landlord wants the rent<br /> +Of your humble tenement;<br /> +When the Christmas bills begin<br /> +Daily, hourly pouring in;<br /> +When you pay your gas and poor rate<br /> +Tip the rector, fee the curate,<br /> +Let this thought your spirit cheer—<br /> +Christmas comes but once a year.<br /> +<br /> +When the man who brings the coal<br /> +Claims his customary dole:<br /> +When the postman rings and knocks<br /> +For his usual Christmas-box:<br /> +When you're dunned by half the town<br /> +With demands for half-a-crown,—<br /> +Think, although they cost you dear,<br /> +Christmas comes but once a year.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span> + +<br /> +When you roam from shop to shop,<br /> +Seeking, till you nearly drop,<br /> +Christmas cards and small donations<br /> +For the maw of your relations,<br /> +Questing vainly 'mid the heap<br /> +For a thing that's nice, and cheap:<br /> +Think, and check the rising tear,<br /> +Christmas comes but once a year.<br /> +<br /> +Though for three successive days<br /> +Business quits her usual ways;<br /> +Though the milkman's voice be dumb;<br /> +Though the paper doesn't come;<br /> +Though you want tobacco, but<br /> +Find that all the shops are shut:<br /> +Bravely still your sorrows bear—<br /> +Christmas comes but once a year.<br /> +<br /> +When mince-pies you can't digest<br /> +Join with waits to break your rest:<br /> +When, oh when, to crown your woe,<br /> +Persons who might better know<br /> +Think it needful that you should<br /> +Don a gay convivial mood:—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bear with fortitude and patience</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">These afflicting dispensations:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Man was born to suffer here:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Christmas comes but once a year.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>A. D. Godley.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A BALLADE OF AN ANTI-PURITAN</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +They spoke of Progress spiring round,<br /> +Of Light and Mrs. Humphry Ward—<br /> +It is not true to say I frowned,<br /> +Or ran about the room and roared;<br /> +I might have simply sat and snored—<br /> +I rose politely in the club<br /> +And said, "I feel a little bored;<br /> +Will someone take me to a pub?"<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span> + +<br /> +The new world's wisest did surround<br /> +Me; and it pains me to record<br /> +I did not think their views profound,<br /> +Or their conclusions well assured;<br /> +The simple life I can't afford,<br /> +Besides, I do not like the grub—<br /> +I want a mash and sausage, "scored"—<br /> +Will someone take me to a pub?<br /> +<br /> +I know where Men can still be found,<br /> +Anger and clamorous accord,<br /> +And virtues growing from the ground,<br /> +And fellowship of beer and board,<br /> +And song, that is a sturdy cord,<br /> +And hope, that is a hardy shrub,<br /> +And goodness, that is God's last word—<br /> +Will someone take me to a pub?<br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>ENVOI</p> +<p> +Prince, Bayard would have smashed his sword<br /> +To see the sort of knights you dub—<br /> +Is that the last of them—O Lord!<br /> +Will someone take me to a pub?<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>G. K. Chesterton.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>PESSIMISM</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +In the age that was golden, the halcyon time,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All the billows were balmy and breezes were bland.</span><br /> +Then the poet was never hard up for a rhyme,<br /> +Then the milk and the honey flew free and were prime,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the voice of the turtle was heard in the land.</span><br /> +<br /> +In the times that are guilty the winds are perverse,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Blowing fair for the sharper and foul for the dupe.</span><br /> +Now the poet's condition could scarcely be worse,<br /> +Now the milk and the honey are strained through the purse,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the voice of the turtle is dead in the soup.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Newton Mackintosh.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>CYNICAL ODE TO AN ULTRA-CYNICAL PUBLIC</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +You prefer a buffoon to a scholar,<br /> +A harlequin to a teacher,<br /> +A jester to a statesman,<br /> +An Anonyma flaring on horseback<br /> +To a modest and spotless woman—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Brute of a public!</span><br /> +<br /> +You think that to sneer shows wisdom,<br /> +That a gibe outvalues a reason,<br /> +That slang, such as thieves delight in,<br /> +Is fit for the lips of the gentle,<br /> +And rather a grace than a blemish,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Thick-headed public!</span><br /> +<br /> +You think that if merit's exalted<br /> +'Tis excellent sport to decry it,<br /> +And trail its good name in the gutter;<br /> +And that cynics, white-gloved and cravatted,<br /> +Are the cream and quintessence of all things,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Ass of a public!</span><br /> +<br /> +You think that success must be merit,<br /> +That honour and virtue and courage<br /> +Are all very well in their places,<br /> +But that money's a thousand times better;<br /> +Detestable, stupid, degraded<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Pig of a public!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Charles Mackay.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>YOUTH AND ART</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +It once might have been, once only:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We lodged in a street together.</span><br /> +You, a sparrow on the house-top lonely,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I, a lone she-bird of his feather.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</a></span> + +<br /> +Your trade was with sticks and clay,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You thumbed, thrust, patted and polished,</span><br /> +Then laughed, "They will see some day<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Smith made, and Gibson demolished."</span><br /> +<br /> +My business was song, song, song;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I chirped, cheeped, trilled and twittered,</span><br /> +"Kate Brown's on the boards ere long,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Grisi's existence embittered!"</span><br /> +<br /> +I earned no more by a warble<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than you by a sketch in plaster;</span><br /> +You wanted a piece of marble,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I needed a music-master.</span><br /> +<br /> +We studied hard in our styles,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Chipped each at a crust like Hindoos,</span><br /> +For air, looked out on the tiles,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For fun watched each other's windows.</span><br /> +<br /> +You lounged, like a boy of the South,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cap and blouse—nay, a bit of beard too;</span><br /> +Or you got it rubbing your mouth<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With fingers the clay adhered to.</span><br /> +<br /> +And I—soon managed to find<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Weak points in the flower-fence facing,</span><br /> +Was forced to put up a blind<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And be safe in my corset-lacing.</span><br /> +<br /> +No harm! It was not my fault<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If you never turned your eyes' tail up,</span><br /> +As I shook upon E <i>in alt.</i>,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or ran the chromatic scale up:</span><br /> +<br /> +For spring bade the sparrows pair,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the boys and girls gave guesses,</span><br /> +And stalls in our streets looked rare<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With bulrush and watercresses.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</a></span> + +<br /> +Why did not you pinch a flower<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In a pellet of clay and fling it?</span><br /> +Why did I not put a power<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of thanks in a look, or sing it?</span><br /> +<br /> +I did look, sharp as a lynx,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(And yet the memory rankles,)</span><br /> +When models arrived, some minx<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tripped up-stairs, she and her ankles.</span><br /> +<br /> +But I think I gave you as good!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"That foreign fellow—who can know</span><br /> +How she pays, in a playful mood,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For his tuning her that piano?"</span><br /> +<br /> +Could you say so, and never say,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Suppose we join hands and fortunes,</span><br /> +And I fetch her from over the way,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her, piano, and long tunes and short tunes?"</span><br /> +<br /> +No, no; you would not be rash,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor I rasher and something over:</span><br /> +You've to settle yet Gibson's hash,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Grisi yet lives in clover.</span><br /> +<br /> +But you meet the Prince at the Board,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'm queen myself at <i>bals-paré</i>,</span><br /> +I've married a rich old lord,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And you're dubbed knight and an R. A.</span><br /> +<br /> +Each life's unfulfilled, you see;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It hangs still, patchy and scrappy:</span><br /> +We have not sighed deep, laughed free,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Starved, feasted, despaired—been happy.</span><br /> +<br /> +And nobody calls you a dunce,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And people suppose me clever:</span><br /> +This could but have happened once,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And we missed it, lost it forever.</span><br /> +</p> +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Robert Browning.</i></p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE BACHELOR'S DREAM</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +My pipe is lit, my grog is mixed,<br /> +My curtains drawn and all is snug;<br /> +Old Puss is in her elbow-chair,<br /> +And Tray is sitting on the rug.<br /> +Last night I had a curious dream,<br /> +Miss Susan Bates was Mistress Mogg—<br /> +What d'ye think of that, my cat?<br /> +What d'ye think of that, my dog?<br /> +<br /> +She looked so fair, she sang so well,<br /> +I could but woo and she was won;<br /> +Myself in blue, the bride in white,<br /> +The ring was placed, the deed was done!<br /> +Away we went in chaise-and-four.<br /> +As fast as grinning boys could flog—<br /> +What d'ye think of that, my cat?<br /> +What d'ye think of that, my dog?<br /> +<br /> +At times we had a spar, and then<br /> +Mamma must mingle in the song—<br /> +The sister took a sister's part—<br /> +The maid declared her master wrong—<br /> +The parrot learned to call me "Fool!"<br /> +My life was like a London fog—<br /> +What d'ye think of that, my cat?<br /> +What d'ye think of that, my dog?<br /> +<br /> +My Susan's taste was superfine,<br /> +As proved by bills that had no end;<br /> +<i>I</i> never had a decent coat—<br /> +<i>I</i> never had a coin to spend!<br /> +She forced me to resign my club,<br /> +Lay down my pipe, retrench my grog—<br /> +What d'ye think of that, my cat?<br /> +What d'ye think of that, my dog?<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</a></span> + +<br /> +Each Sunday night we gave a rout<br /> +To fops and flirts, a pretty list;<br /> +And when I tried to steal away,<br /> +I found my study full of whist!<br /> +Then, first to come, and last to go,<br /> +There always was a Captain Hogg—<br /> +What d'ye think of that, my cat?<br /> +What d'ye think of that, my dog?<br /> +<br /> +Now was not that an awful dream<br /> +For one who single is and snug—<br /> +With Pussy in the elbow chair,<br /> +And Tray reposing on the rug?—<br /> +If I must totter down the hill,<br /> +'Tis safest done without a clog—<br /> +What d'ye think of that, my cat?<br /> +What d'ye think of that, my dog?<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Thomas Hood.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>ALL THINGS EXCEPT MYSELF I KNOW</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I know when milk does flies contain;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I know men by their bravery;</span><br /> +I know fair days from storm and rain;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And what fruit apple-trees supply;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And from their gums the trees descry;</span><br /> +I know when all things smoothly flow;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I know who toil or idle lie;</span><br /> +All things except myself I know.<br /> +<br /> +I know the doublet by the grain;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The monk beneath the hood can spy;</span><br /> +Master from man can ascertain;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I know the nun's veiled modesty;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I know when sportsmen fables ply;</span><br /> +Know fools who creams and dainties stow;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wine from the butt I certify;</span><br /> +All things except myself I know.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</a></span> + +<br /> +Know horse from mule by tail and mane;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I know their worth or high or low;</span><br /> +Bell, Beatrice, I know the twain;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I know each chance of cards and dice;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I know what visions prophesy,</span><br /> +Bohemian heresies, I trow;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I know men of each quality;</span><br /> +All things except myself I know.<br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>ENVOY</p> +<p> +Prince, I know all things 'neath the sky,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pale cheeks from those of rosy glow;</span><br /> +I know death whence can no man fly;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All things except myself I know.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>François Villon.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE JOYS OF MARRIAGE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +How uneasy is his life,<br /> +Who is troubled with a wife!<br /> +Be she ne'er so fair or comely,<br /> +Be she ne'er so foul or homely,<br /> +Be she ne'er so young and toward,<br /> +Be she ne'er so old and froward,<br /> +Be she kind, with arms enfolding,<br /> +Be she cross, and always scolding,<br /> +Be she blithe or melancholy,<br /> +Have she wit, or have she folly,<br /> +Be she wary, be she squandering,<br /> +Be she staid, or be she wandering,<br /> +Be she constant, be she fickle,<br /> +Be she fire, or be she ickle;<br /> +Be she pious or ungodly,<br /> +Be she chaste, or what sounds oddly:<br /> +Lastly, be she good or evil,<br /> +Be she saint, or be she devil,—<br /> +Yet, uneasy is his life<br /> +Who is married to a wife.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Charles Cotton.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE THIRD PROPOSITION</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +If I were thine, I'd fail not of endeavour<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">The loftiest,</span><br /> +To make thy daily life, now and forever,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Supremely blest—</span><br /> +I'd watch thy moods, I'd toil and wait, with yearning,<br /> +Incessant incense at thy dear shrine burning,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">If I were thine.</span><br /> +<br /> +If thou wert mine, quite changed would be these features.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Then, I suspect,</span><br /> +Thou wouldst the humblest prove of loving creatures,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">And not object</span><br /> +To do the very things I am declaring<br /> +I'd undertake for <i>thee</i>, with selfless daring,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">If thou wert mine.</span><br /> +<br /> +If we were ours? And now, here comes the riddle!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">How would that work?</span><br /> +I'm sure <i>you'd</i> never stoop to second fiddle,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">And—I might shirk</span><br /> +The part of serf. And, likewise, each might neither<br /> +Be willing slave or servitor of either,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">If we were ours!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Madeline Bridges.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE BALLAD OF CASSANDRA BROWN</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> + +<p class='poem'>Though I met her in the summer, when one's heart lies round at ease,</p> +<p class='poem'>As it were in tennis costume, and a man's not hard to please,</p> +<p class='poem'>Yet I think that any season to have met her was to love,</p> +<p class='poem'>While her tones, unspoiled, unstudied, had the softness of the dove.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>At request she read us poems in a nook among the pines,</p> +<p class='poem'>And her artless voice lent music to the least melodious lines;</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</a></span> + +<p class='poem'>Though she lowered her shadowing lashes, in an earnest reader's wise,</p> +<p class='poem'>Yet we caught blue, gracious glimpses of the heavens which were her eyes.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>As in paradise I listened—ah, I did not understand</p> +<p class='poem'>That a little cloud, no larger than the average human hand,</p> +<p class='poem'>Might, as stated oft in fiction, spread into a sable pall,</p> +<p class='poem'>When she said that she should study Elocution in the fall!</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>I admit her earliest efforts were not in the Ercles vein;</p> +<p class='poem'>She began with "Little Maaybel, with her faayce against the payne</p> +<p class='poem'>And the beacon-light a-t-r-r-remble"—which, although it made me wince,</p> +<p class='poem'>Is a thing of cheerful nature to the things she's rendered since.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>Having heard the Soulful Quiver, she acquired the Melting Mo-o-an,</p> +<p class='poem'>And the way she gave "Young Grayhead" would have liquefied a stone.</p> +<p class='poem'>Then the Sanguinary Tragic did her energies employ,</p> +<p class='poem'>And she tore my taste to tatters when she slew "The Polish Boy."</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>It's not pleasant for a fellow when the jewel of his soul</p> +<p class='poem'>Wades through slaughter on the carpet, while her orbs in frenzy roll;</p> +<p class='poem'>What was I that I should murmur? Yet it gave me grievous pain</p> +<p class='poem'>That she rose in social gatherings, and Searched among the Slain.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>I was forced to look upon her in my desperation dumb,</p> +<p class='poem'>Knowing well that when her awful opportunity was come</p> +<p class='poem'>She would give us battle, murder, sudden death at very least,</p> +<p class='poem'>As a skeleton of warning, and a blight upon the feast.</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</a></span> + + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>Once, ah! once I fell a-dreaming; some one played a polonaise</p> +<p class='poem'>I associated strongly with those happier August days;</p> +<p class='poem'>And I mused, "I'll speak this evening," recent pangs forgotten quite—</p> +<p class='poem'>Sudden shrilled a scream of anguish: "Curfew shall not ring to-night!"</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>Ah, that sound was as a curfew, quenching rosy, warm romance—</p> +<p class='poem'>Were it safe to wed a woman one so oft would wish in France?</p> +<p class='poem'>Oh, as she "cul-limbed" that ladder, swift my mounting hope came down,</p> +<p class='poem'>I am still a single cynic; she is still Cassandra Brown!</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Helen Gray Cone.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>WHAT'S IN A NAME?</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +In letters large upon the frame,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That visitors might see,</span><br /> +The painter placed his humble name:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>O'Callaghan McGee</i>.</span><br /> +<br /> +And from Beersheba unto Dan,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The critics with a nod</span><br /> +Exclaimed: "This painting Irishman<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Adores his native sod.</span><br /> +<br /> +"His stout heart's patriotic flame<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There's naught on earth can quell;</span><br /> +He takes no wild romantic name<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To make his pictures sell!"</span><br /> +<br /> +Then poets praise in sonnets neat<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His stroke so bold and free;</span><br /> +No parlour wall was thought complete<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That hadn't a McGee.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</a></span> + +<br /> +All patriots before McGee<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Threw lavishly their gold;</span><br /> +His works in the Academy<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Were very quickly sold.</span><br /> +<br /> +His "Digging Clams at Barnegat,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His "When the Morning smiled,"</span><br /> +His "Seven Miles from Ararat,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His "Portrait of a Child,"</span><br /> +<br /> +Were purchased in a single day<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And lauded as divine.—</span></p> + +<hr style="width: 33%; margin-top: 0em; margin-bottom: 0em;" /> + +<p> +That night as in his <i>atelier</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The artist sipped his wine,</span><br /> +<br /> +And looked upon his gilded frames,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He grinned from ear to ear:—</span><br /> +"They little think my <i>real</i> name's<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">V. Stuyvesant De Vere!"</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>R. K. Munkittrick.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>TOO LATE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +"<i>Ah! si la jeunesse savait</i>,—<i>si la vieillesse pouvait</i>!"<br /> +<br /> +There sat an old man on a rock,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And unceasing bewailed him of Fate,—</span><br /> +That concern where we all must take stock,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Though our vote has no hearing or weight;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And the old man sang him an old, old song,—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Never sang voice so clear and strong</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That it could drown the old man's for long,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">For he sang the song "Too late! too late!"</span><br /> +<br /> +When we want, we have for our pains<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The promise that if we but wait</span><br /> +Till the want has burned out of our brains,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Every means shall be present to state;</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</a></span> + +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">While we send for the napkin the soup gets cold,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">While the bonnet is trimming the face grows old,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">When we've matched our buttons the pattern is sold</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And everything comes too late,—too late!</span><br /> +<br /> +"When strawberries seemed like red heavens,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Terrapin stew a wild dream,—</span><br /> +When my brain was at sixes and sevens,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If my mother had 'folks' and ice cream,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Then I gazed with a lickerish hunger</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">At the restaurant man and fruit-monger,—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But oh! how I wished I were younger</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">When the goodies all came in a stream! in a stream!</span><br /> +<br /> +"I've a splendid blood horse, and—a liver<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That it jars into torture to trot;</span><br /> +My row-boat's the gem of the river,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gout makes every knuckle a knot!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I can buy boundless credits on Paris and Rome,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But no palate for <i>ménus</i>,—no eyes for a dome,—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Those</i> belonged to the youth who must tarry at home,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">When no home but an attic he'd got,—he'd got!</span><br /> +<br /> +"How I longed, in that lonest of garrets,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where the tiles baked my brains all July,</span><br /> +For ground to grow two pecks of carrots,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Two pigs of my own in a sty,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A rosebush,—a little thatched cottage,—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Two spoons—love—a basin of pottage!—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Now in freestone I sit,—and my dotage,—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">With a woman's chair empty close by, close by!</span><br /> +<br /> +"Ah! now, though I sit on a rock,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I have shared one seat with the great;</span><br /> +I have sat—knowing naught of the clock—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On love's high throne of state;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But the lips that kissed, and the arms that caressed,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To a mouth grown stern with delay were pressed,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And circled a breast that their clasp had blessed,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Had they only not come too late,—too late!"</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Fitz Hugh Ludlow.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[Pg 350]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE ANNUITY</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I gaed to spend a week in Fife—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An unco week it proved to be—</span><br /> +For there I met a waesome wife<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lamentin' her viduity.</span><br /> +Her grief brak out sae fierce and fell,<br /> +I thought her heart wad burst the shell;<br /> +And,—I was sae left to mysel',—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I sell't her an annuity.</span><br /> +<br /> +The bargain lookit fair eneugh—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She just was turned o' saxty-three—</span><br /> +I couldna guessed she'd prove sae teugh,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By human ingenuity.</span><br /> +But years have come, and years have gane,<br /> +And there she's yet as stieve as stane—<br /> +The limmer's growin' young again,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Since she got her annuity.</span><br /> +<br /> +She's crined' awa' to bane and skin,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But that, it seems, is nought to me;</span><br /> +She's like to live—although she's in<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The last stage o' tenuity.</span><br /> +She munches wi' her wizen'd gums,<br /> +An' stumps about on legs o' thrums;<br /> +But comes, as sure as Christmas comes,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To ca' for her annuity.</span><br /> +<br /> +I read the tables drawn wi' care<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For an insurance company;</span><br /> +Her chance o' life was stated there,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wi' perfect perspicuity.</span><br /> +But tables here or tables there,<br /> +She's lived ten years beyond her share,<br /> +An' 's like to live a dozen mair,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To ca' for her annuity.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[Pg 351]</a></span> + +<br /> +Last Yule she had a fearfu' host,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I thought a kink might set me free—</span><br /> +I led her out, 'mang snaw and frost,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wi' constant assiduity.</span><br /> +But deil ma' care—the blast gaed by,<br /> +And miss'd the auld anatomy—<br /> +It just cost me a tooth, for bye<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Discharging her annuity.</span><br /> +<br /> +If there's a' sough o' cholera,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or typhus,—wha sae gleg as she?</span><br /> +She buys up baths, an' drugs, an' a',<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In siccan superfluity!</span><br /> +She doesna need—she's fever proof—<br /> +The pest walked o'er her very roof—<br /> +She tauld me sae—an' then her loof<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Held out for her annuity.</span><br /> +<br /> +Ae day she fell, her arm she brak—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A compound fracture as could be—</span><br /> +Nae leech the cure wad undertake,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whate'er was the gratuity.</span><br /> +It's cured! She handles 't like a flail—<br /> +It does as weel in bits as hale—<br /> +But I'm a broken man mysel'<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wi' her and her annuity.</span><br /> +<br /> +Her broozled flesh and broken banes<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are weel as flesh and banes can be.</span><br /> +She beats the taeds that live in stanes,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An' fatten in vacuity!</span><br /> +They die when they're exposed to air—<br /> +They canna thole the atmosphere;<br /> +But her!—expose her onywhere—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She lives for her annuity.</span><br /> +<br /> +If mortal means could nick her thread,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sma' crime it wad appear to me;</span><br /> +Ca't murder, or ca't homicide,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'd justify 't—an' do it tae.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[Pg 352]</a></span> + +But how to fell a withered wife<br /> +That's carved out o' the tree o' life—<br /> +The timmer limmer daurs the knife<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To settle her annuity.</span><br /> +<br /> +I'd try a shot: but whar's the mark?—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her vital parts are hid frae me;</span><br /> +Her backbane wanders through her sark<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In an unkenn'd corkscrewity.</span><br /> +She's palsified—an shakes her head<br /> +Sae fast about, ye scarce can see;<br /> +It's past the power o' steel or lead<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To settle her annuity.</span><br /> +<br /> +She might be drowned—but go she'll not<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Within a mile o' loch or sea;</span><br /> +Or hanged—if cord could grip a throat<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O' siccan exiguity.</span><br /> +It's fitter far to hang the rope—<br /> +It draws out like a telescope;<br /> +'Twad tak a dreadfu' length o' drop<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To settle her annuity.</span><br /> +<br /> +Will puzion do't?—It has been tried;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But, be't in hash or fricassee,</span><br /> +That's just the dish she can't abide,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whatever kind o' gout it hae.</span><br /> +It's needless to assail her doubts,<br /> +She gangs by instinct, like the brutes,<br /> +An' only eats an' drinks what suits<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hersel' and her annuity.</span><br /> +<br /> +The Bible says the age o' man<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Threescore and ten, perchance, may be;</span><br /> +She's ninety-four. Let them who can,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Explain the incongruity.</span><br /> +She should hae lived afore the flood—<br /> +She's come o' patriarchal blood,<br /> +She's some auld Pagan mummified<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Alive for her annuity.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[Pg 353]</a></span> + +<br /> +She's been embalmed inside and oot—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She's sauted to the last degree—</span><br /> +There's pickle in her very snoot<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sae caper-like an' cruety.</span><br /> +Lot's wife was fresh compared to her—<br /> +They've kyanized the useless knir,<br /> +She canna decompose—nae mair<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than her accursed annuity.</span><br /> +<br /> +The water-drop wears out the rock,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As this eternal jaud wears me;</span><br /> +I could withstand the single shock,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But not the continuity.</span><br /> +It's pay me here, an' pay me there,<br /> +An' pay me, pay me, evermair—<br /> +I'll gang demented wi' despair—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'm charged for her annuity.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>George Outram.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>K. K.—CAN'T CALCULATE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +What poor short-sighted worms we be;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For we can't calculate,</span><br /> +With any sort of sartintee,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What is to be our fate.</span><br /> +<br /> +These words Prissilla's heart did reach,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And caused her tears to flow,</span><br /> +When first she heard the Elder preach,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">About six months ago.</span><br /> +<br /> +How true it is what he did state,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And thus affected her,</span><br /> +That nobody can't calculate<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What is a-gwine to occur.</span><br /> +<br /> +When we retire, can't calculate<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But what afore the morn</span><br /> +Our housen will conflaggerate,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And we be left forlorn.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[Pg 354]</a></span> + +<br /> +Can't calculate when we come in<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From any neighborin' place,</span><br /> +Whether we'll ever go out agin<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To look on natur's face.</span><br /> +<br /> +Can't calculate upon the weather,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It always changes so;</span><br /> +Hain't got no means of telling whether<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It's gwine to rain or snow.</span><br /> +<br /> +Can't calculate with no precision<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On naught beneath the sky;</span><br /> +And so I've come to the decision<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That't ain't worth while to try.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Frances M. Whitcher.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>NORTHERN FARMER</h3> + +<h4>NEW STYLE</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Dosn't thou 'ear my 'erse's legs, as they canters awaäy?<br /> +Proputty, proputty, proputty—that's what I 'ears 'em saäy.<br /> +Proputty, proputty, proputty—Sam, thou's an ass for thy paaïns:<br /> +Theer's moor sense i' one o' 'is legs nor in all thy braaïns.<br /> +<br /> +Woä—theer's a craw to pluck wi' tha, Sam: yon's parson's 'ouse—<br /> +Dosn't thou knaw that a man mun be eäther a man or a mouse?<br /> +Time to think on it, then; for thou'll be twenty to weeäk.<br /> +Proputty, proputty—woä then, woä—let ma 'ear mysén speäk.<br /> +<br /> +Me an' thy muther, Sammy, 'as beän a-talkin' o' thee;<br /> +Thou's been talkin' to muther, an' she beän a-tellin' it me.<br /> +Thou'll not marry for munny—thou's sweet upo' parson's lass—<br /> +Noä—thou'll marry for luvv—an' we boäth of us thinks tha an ass.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[Pg 355]</a></span> + +<br /> +Seeä'd her to-daäy goä by—Saäint's-daäy—they was ringing the bells.<br /> +She's a beauty, thou thinks—an' soä is scoors o' gells.<br /> +Them as 'as munny an' all—wot's a beauty?—the flower as blaws.<br /> +But proputty, proputty sticks, an' proputty, proputty graws.<br /> +<br /> +Do'ant be stunt: taäke time: I knaws what maäkes tha sa mad.<br /> +Warn't I craäzed fur the lasses mysén when I wur a lad?<br /> +But I knaw'd a Quaäker feller as often 'as towd ma this:<br /> +"Do'ant thou marry for munny, but goä wheer munny is!"<br /> +<br /> +An' I went wheer munny war: an' thy mother coom to 'and,<br /> +Wi' lots o' munny laaïd by, an' a nicetish hit o' land.<br /> +Maäybe she warn't a beauty: I niver giv it a thowt—<br /> +But warn't she as good to cuddle an' kiss as a lass as 'ant nowt?<br /> +<br /> +Parson's lass 'ant nowt, an' she weänt 'a nowt when 'e's deäd,<br /> +Mun be a guvness, lad, or summut, and addle her breäd:<br /> +Why? fur 'e's nobbut a curate, an' weänt niver git naw 'igher;<br /> +An' 'e's maäde the bed as 'e ligs on afoor 'e coom'd to the shire.<br /> +<br /> +An' thin 'e coom'd to the parish wi' lots o' 'Varsity debt,<br /> +Stook to his taäil they did, an' 'e 'ant got shut on 'em yet.<br /> +An' 'e ligs on 'is back i' the grip, wi noän to lend 'im a shove,<br /> +Woorse nor a far-welter'd yowe: fur, Sammy, 'e married fur luvv.<br /> +<br /> +Luvv? what's luvv? thou can luvv thy lass an' 'er munny too,<br /> +Maäkin' 'em goä togither, as they've good right to do.<br /> +Couldn't I luvv thy muther by cause o' 'er munny laaïd by?<br /> +Naäy—for I luvv'd her a vast sight moor fur it: reäson why.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[Pg 356]</a></span> + +<br /> +Ay, an' thy muther says thou wants to marry the lass,<br /> +Cooms of a gentleman burn; an' we boäth on us thinks tha an ass.<br /> +Woä then, proputty, wiltha?—an ass as near as mays nowt—<br /> +Woä then, wiltha? dangtha!—the bees is as fell as owt.<br /> +<br /> +Breäk me a bit o' the esh for his 'eäd, lad, out o' the fence!<br /> +Gentleman burn! What's gentleman burn? Is it shillins an' pence?<br /> +Proputty, proputty's ivrything 'ere, an', Sammy, I'm blest<br /> +If it isn't the saäme oop yonder, fur them as 'as it's the best.<br /> +<br /> +'Tisn' them as 'as munny as breäks into 'ouses an' steäls,<br /> +Them as 'as coöts to their backs an 'taäkes their regular meäls.<br /> +Noä, but it's them as niver knaws wheer a meäl's to be 'ad.<br /> +Taäke my word for it, Sammy, the poor in a loomp is bad.<br /> +<br /> +Them or thir feythers, tha sees, mun 'a beän a laäzy lot.<br /> +Fur work mun 'a gone to the gittin' whiniver munny was got.<br /> +Feyther 'ad ammost nowt; leästways 'is munny was 'id.<br /> +But 's tued an' moil'd 'issén deäd, an' 'e died a good un, 'e did.<br /> +<br /> +Looök thou theer wheer Wrigglesby beck cooms out by the 'ill!<br /> +Feyther run oop to the farm, an' I runs oop to the mill;<br /> +An' I'll run oop to the brig, an' that thou'll live to see;<br /> +And if thou marries a good un I'll leäve the land to thee.<br /> +<br /> +Thim's my noätions, Sammy, wheerby I meäns to stick;<br /> +But if 'thou marries a bad un, I'll leäve the land to Dick.—<br /> +Coom oop, proputty, proputty—that's what I 'ears 'im saäy—<br /> +Proputty, proputty, proputty—canter an' canter awaäy.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Lord Tennyson.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[Pg 357]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>FIN DE SIÉCLE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Life is a gift that most of us hold dear:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I never asked the spiteful gods to grant it;</span><br /> +Held it a bore—in short; and now it's here,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I do not want it.</span><br /> +<br /> +Thrust into life, I eat, smoke, drink, and sleep,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My mind's a blank I seldom care to question;</span><br /> +The only faculty I active keep<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Is my digestion.</span><br /> +<br /> +Like oyster on his rock, I sit and jest<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At others' dreams of love or fame or pelf,</span><br /> +Discovering but a languid interest<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Even in myself.</span><br /> +<br /> +An oyster: ah! beneath the quiet sea<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To know no care, no change, no joy, no pain,</span><br /> +The warm salt water gurgling into me<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And out again.</span><br /> +<br /> +While some in life's old roadside inns at ease<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sit careless, all unthinking of the score</span><br /> +Mine host chalks up in swift unseen increase<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Behind the door;</span><br /> +<br /> +Bound like Ixion on life's torture-wheel,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I whirl inert in pitiless gyration,</span><br /> +Loathing it all; the one desire I feel,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Annihilation!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THEN AG'IN</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Jim Bowker, he said, ef he'd had a fair show,<br /> +And a big enough town for his talents to grow,<br /> +And the least bit assistance in hoein' his row,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Jim Bowker, he said,</span><br /> +He'd filled the world full of the sound of his name,<br /> +An' clim the top round in the ladder of fame.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[Pg 358]</a></span> + +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">It may have been so;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">I dunno;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Jest so, it might been,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Then ag'in—</span><br /> +<br /> +But he had tarnal luck—eyerythin' went ag'in him,<br /> +The arrers of fortune they allus' 'ud pin him;<br /> +So he didn't get no chance to show off what was in him.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Jim Bowker, he said,</span><br /> +Ef he'd had a fair show, you couldn't tell where he'd come,<br /> +An' the feats he'd a-done, an' the heights he'd a-clum—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">It may have been so;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">I dunno;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Jest so, it might been,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Then ag'in—</span><br /> +<br /> +But we're all like Jim Bowker, thinks I, more or less—<br /> +Charge fate for our bad luck, ourselves for success,<br /> +An' give fortune the blame for all our distress,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">As Jim Bowker, he said,</span><br /> +Ef it hadn't been for luck an' misfortune an' sich,<br /> +We might a-been famous, an' might a-been rich.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">It might be jest so;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">I dunno;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Jest so, it might been,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Then ag'in—</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Sam Walter Foss.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE PESSIMIST</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Nothing to do but work,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nothing to eat but food,</span><br /> +Nothing to wear but clothes,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To keep one from going nude.</span><br /> +<br /> +Nothing to breathe but air,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Quick as a flash 't is gone;</span><br /> +Nowhere to fall but off,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nowhere to stand but on.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[Pg 359]</a></span> + +<br /> +Nothing to comb but hair,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nowhere to sleep but in bed,</span><br /> +Nothing to weep but tears,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nothing to bury but dead.</span><br /> +<br /> +Nothing to sing but songs,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ah, well, alas! alack!</span><br /> +Nowhere to go but out,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nowhere to come but back.</span><br /> +<br /> +Nothing to see but sights,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nothing to quench but thirst,</span><br /> +Nothing to have but what we've got<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thus through life we are cursed.</span><br /> +<br /> +Nothing to strike but a gait;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Everything moves that goes.</span><br /> +Nothing at all but common sense<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Can ever withstand these woes.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Ben King.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>WITHOUT AND WITHIN</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +My coachman, in the moonlight there,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Looks through the side-light of the door;</span><br /> +I hear him with his brethren swear,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As I could do,—but only more.</span><br /> +<br /> +Flattening his nose against the pane,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He envies me my brilliant lot,</span><br /> +Breathes on his aching fist in vain,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And dooms me to a place more hot.</span><br /> +<br /> +He sees me in to supper go,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A silken wonder by my side,</span><br /> +Bare arms, bare shoulders, and a row<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of flounces, for the door too wide.</span><br /> +<br /> +He thinks how happy is my arm,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Neath its white-gloved and jewelled load;</span><br /> +And wishes me some dreadful harm,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hearing the merry corks explode.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[Pg 360]</a></span> + +<br /> +Meanwhile I inly curse the bore<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of hunting still the same old coon,</span><br /> +And envy him, outside the door,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The golden quiet of the moon.</span><br /> +<br /> +The winter wind is not so cold<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As the bright smile he sees me win,</span><br /> +Nor the host's oldest wine so old<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As our poor gabble, sour and thin.</span><br /> +<br /> +I envy him the rugged prance<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By which his freezing feet he warms,</span><br /> +And drag my lady's chains, and dance,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The galley-slave of dreary forms.</span><br /> +<br /> +Oh, could he have my share of din,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I his quiet—past a doubt</span><br /> +'Twould still be one man bored within,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And just another bored without.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>James Russell Lowell.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>SAME OLD STORY</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +History, and nature, too, repeat themselves, they say;<br /> +Men are only habit's slaves; we see it every day.<br /> +Life has done its best for me—I find it tiresome still;<br /> +For nothing's everything at all, and everything is nil.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Same old get-up, dress, and tub;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Same old breakfast; same old club;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Same old feeling; same old blue;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Same old story—nothing new!</span><br /> +<br /> +Life consists of paying bills as long as you have health;<br /> +Woman? She'll be true to you—as long as you have wealth;<br /> +Think sometimes of marriage, if the right girl I could strike;<br /> +But the more I see of girls, the more they are alike.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Same old giggles, smiles, and eyes;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Same old kisses; same old sighs;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Same old chaff you; same adieu;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Same old story—nothing new!</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[Pg 361]</a></span> + +<br /> +Go to theatres sometimes to see the latest plays;<br /> +Same old plots I played with in my happy childhood's days;<br /> +Hero, same; same villain; and same heroine in tears,<br /> +Starving, homeless, in the snow—with diamonds in her ears.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Same stern father making "bluffs";</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Leading man all teeth and cuffs;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Same soubrettes, still twenty-two;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Same old story—nothing new!</span><br /> +<br /> +Friend of mine got married; in a year or so, a boy!<br /> +Father really foolish in his fond paternal joy;<br /> +Talked about that "kiddy," and became a dreadful bore—<br /> +Just as if a baby never had been born before.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Same old crying, only more;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Same old business, walking floor;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Same old "kitchy—coochy—coo!"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Same old baby—nothing new!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Harry B. Smith.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[Pg 362]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="VI" id="VI"></a>VI</h2> + +<h2>EPIGRAMS</h2> +<p><br /></p> + +<h3>WOMAN'S WILL</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Men, dying, make their wills, but wives<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Escape a work so sad;</span><br /> +Why should they make what all their lives<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The gentle dames have had?</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>John G. Saxe.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>CYNICUS TO W. SHAKESPEARE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +You wrote a line too much, my sage,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of seers the first, and first of sayers;</span><br /> +For only half the world's a stage,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And only all the women players.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>James Kenneth Stephen.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>SENEX TO MATT. PRIOR</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Ah! Matt, old age has brought to me<br /> +Thy wisdom, less thy certainty;<br /> +The world's a jest, and joy's a trinket;<br /> +I knew that once,—but now I think it.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>James Kenneth Stephen.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>TO A BLOCKHEAD</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +You beat your pate, and fancy wit will come:<br /> +Knock as you please, there's nobody at home.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Alexander Pope.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[Pg 363]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE FOOL AND THE POET</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Sir, I admit your general rule,<br /> +That every poet is a fool,<br /> +But you yourself may serve to show it,<br /> +That every fool is not a poet.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Alexander Pope.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A RHYMESTER</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Jem writes his verses with more speed<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than the printer's boy can set 'em;</span><br /> +Quite as fast as we can read,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And only not so fast as we forget 'em.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Samuel Taylor Coleridge.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>GILES'S HOPE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +What? rise again with <i>all</i> one's bones,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Quoth Giles, I hope you fib:</span><br /> +I trusted, when I went to Heaven,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To go without my rib.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Samuel Taylor Coleridge.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>COLOGNE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +In Köln, a town of monks and bones,<br /> +And pavements fanged with murderous stones,<br /> +And rags, and hags, and hideous wenches,<br /> +I counted two-and-seventy stenches,<br /> +All well defined, and separate stinks!<br /> +Ye nymphs that reign o'er sewers and sinks,<br /> +The river Rhine, it is well known,<br /> +Doth wash your city of Cologne;<br /> +But tell me, nymphs, what power divine<br /> +Shall henceforth wash the river Rhine?<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Samuel Taylor Coleridge.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[Pg 364]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>AN ETERNAL POEM</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Your poem must <i>eternal</i> be,<br /> +Dear sir, it can not fail,<br /> +For 'tis incomprehensible,<br /> +And wants both <i>head</i> and <i>tail</i>.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Samuel Taylor Coleridge.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>ON A BAD SINGER</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Swans sing before they die:—'twere no bad thing,<br /> +Should certain persons die before they sing.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Samuel Taylor Coleridge.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>JOB</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Sly Beelzebub took all occasions<br /> +To try Job's constancy and patience.<br /> +He took his honor, took his health;<br /> +He took his children, took his wealth,<br /> +His servants, horses, oxen, cows,—<br /> +But cunning Satan did <i>not</i> take his spouse.<br /> +<br /> +But Heaven, that brings out good from evil,<br /> +And loves to disappoint the devil,<br /> +Had predetermined to restore<br /> +<i>Twofold</i> all he had before;<br /> +His servants, horses, oxen, cows—<br /> +Short-sighted devil, <i>not</i> to take his spouse!<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Samuel Taylor Coleridge.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>REASONS FOR DRINKING</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +If all be true that I do think,<br /> +There are five reasons we should drink;<br /> +Good wine—a friend—or being dry—<br /> +Or lest we should be by and by—<br /> +Or any other reason why.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Dr. Henry Aldrich.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[Pg 365]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>SMATTERERS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All smatterers are more brisk and pert</span><br /> +Than those that understand an art;<br /> +As little sparkles shine more bright<br /> +Than glowing coals, that give them light.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Samuel Butler.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>HYPOCRISY</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hypocrisy will serve as well</span><br /> +To propagate a church, as zeal;<br /> +As persecution and promotion<br /> +Do equally advance devotion:<br /> +So round white stones will serve, they say,<br /> +As well as eggs to make hens lay.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Samuel Butler.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>TO DOCTOR EMPIRIC</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +When men a dangerous disease did 'scape,<br /> +Of old, they gave a cock to Æsculape;<br /> +Let me give two, that doubly am got free;<br /> +From my disease's danger, and from thee.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Ben Jonson.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A REMEDY WORSE THAN THE DISEASE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I sent for Ratcliffe; was so ill,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That other doctors gave me over:</span><br /> +He felt my pulse, prescribed his pill,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I was likely to recover.</span><br /> +<br /> +But when the wit began to wheeze,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And wine had warm'd the politician,</span><br /> +Cured yesterday of my disease,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I died last night of my physician.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Matthew Prior.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[Pg 366]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A WIFE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Lord Erskine, at women presuming to rail,<br /> +Calls a wife "a tin canister tied to one's tail";<br /> +And fair Lady Anne, while the subject he carries on,<br /> +Seems hurt at his Lordship's degrading comparison.<br /> +But wherefore degrading? consider'd aright,<br /> +A canister's useful, and polish'd, and bright:<br /> +And should dirt its original purity hide,<br /> +That's the fault of the puppy to whom it is tied.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Richard Brinsley Sheridan.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE HONEY-MOON</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +The honey-moon is very strange.<br /> +Unlike all other moons the change<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She regularly undergoes.</span><br /> +She rises at the full; then loses<br /> +Much of her brightness; then reposes<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Faintly; and then ... has naught to lose.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Walter Savage Landor.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>DIDO</h3> +<h4>IMPROMPTU EPIGRAM ON THE LATIN GERUNDS</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +When Dido found Æneas would not come,<br /> +She mourn'd in silence, and was <i>Di-do-dum(b)</i>.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Richard Parson.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>AN EPITAPH</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +A lovely young lady I mourn in my rhymes:<br /> +She was pleasant, good-natured, and civil sometimes.<br /> +Her figure was good: she had very fine eyes,<br /> +And her talk was a mixture of foolish and wise.<br /> +Her adorers were many, and one of them said,<br /> +"She waltzed rather well! It's a pity she's dead!"<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>George John Cayley.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[Pg 367]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>ON TAKING A WIFE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +"Come, come," said Tom's father, "at your time of life,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There's no longer excuse for thus playing the rake.—</span><br /> +It is time you should think, boy, of taking a wife."—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Why, so it is, father,—whose wife shall I take?"</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Thomas Moore.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>UPON BEING OBLIGED TO LEAVE A PLEASANT PARTY +FROM THE WANT OF A PAIR OF BREECHES TO DRESS +FOR DINNER IN</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Between Adam and me the great difference is,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Though a paradise each has been forced to resign,</span><br /> +That he never wore breeches till turn'd out of his,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While, for want of my breeches, I'm banish'd from mine.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Thomas Moore.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>SOME LADIES</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Some ladies now make pretty songs,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And some make pretty nurses;</span><br /> +Some men are great at righting wrongs<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And some at writing verses.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Frederick Locker-Lampson.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>ON A SENSE OF HUMOUR</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +He cannot be complete in aught<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who is not humorously prone;</span><br /> +A man without a merry thought<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Can hardly have a funny-bone.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Frederick Locker-Lampson.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[Pg 368]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>ON HEARING A LADY PRAISE A CERTAIN +REV. DOCTOR'S EYES</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I cannot praise the Doctor's eyes;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I never saw his glance divine;</span><br /> +He always shuts them when he prays,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And when he preaches he shuts mine.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>George Outram.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>EPITAPH INTENDED FOR HIS WIFE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Here lies my wife: here let her lie!<br /> +Now she's at rest, and so am I.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>John Dryden.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>TO A CAPRICIOUS FRIEND</h3> +<h4>IMITATED FROM MARTIAL</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +In all thy humors, whether grave or mellow,<br /> +Thou 'rt such a touchy, testy, pleasant fellow;<br /> +Hast so much wit, and mirth, and spleen about thee,<br /> +There is no living with thee, nor without thee.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Joseph Addison.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>WHICH IS WHICH</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +"God bless the King! God bless the faith's defender!<br /> +God bless—no harm in blessing—the Pretender.<br /> +But who pretender is, and who is king,<br /> +God bless us all, that's quite another thing."<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>John Byrom.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[Pg 369]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>ON A FULL-LENGTH PORTRAIT OF BEAU MARSH +PLACED BETWEEN THE BUSTS OF NEWTON AND POPE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +"Immortal Newton never spoke<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">More truth than here you'll find;</span><br /> +Nor Pope himself e'er penn'd a joke<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">More cruel on mankind.</span><br /> +<br /> +"The picture placed the busts between,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gives satire all its strength;</span><br /> +Wisdom and Wit are little seen—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But Folly at full length."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Lord Chesterfield.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>ON SCOTLAND</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +"Had Cain been Scot, God would have changed his doom;<br /> +Nor forced him wander, but confined him home."<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Cleveland.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>MENDAX</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +See yonder goes old Mendax, telling lies<br /> +To that good easy man with whom he's walking;<br /> +How know I that? you ask, with some surprise;<br /> +Why, don't you see, my friend, the fellow's talking.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Lessing.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>TO A SLOW WALKER AND QUICK EATER</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +So slowly you walk, and so quickly you eat,<br /> +You should march with your mouth, and devour with your feet.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Lessing.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[Pg 370]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>WHAT'S MY THOUGHT LIKE?</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +<i>Quest.</i>—Why is a Pump like Viscount Castlereagh?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Answ.</i>—Because it is a slender thing of wood,</span><br /> +That up and down its awkward arm doth sway,<br /> +And coolly spout, and spout, and spout away,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In one weak, washy, everlasting flood!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Thomas Moore.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>OF ALL THE MEN</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Of all the men one meets about,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There's none like Jack—he's everywhere:</span><br /> +At church—park—auction—dinner—rout—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Go when and where you will, he's there.</span><br /> +Try the West End, he's at your back—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Meets you, like Eurus, in the East—</span><br /> +You're call'd upon for "How do, Jack?"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One hundred times a day, at least.</span><br /> +A friend of his one evening said,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As home he took his pensive way,</span><br /> +"Upon my soul, I fear Jack's dead—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I've seen him but three times to-day!"</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Thomas Moore.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>ON BUTLER'S MONUMENT</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +While Butler, needy wretch, was yet alive,<br /> +No generous patron would a dinner give.<br /> +See him, when starved to death and turn'd to dust,<br /> +Presented with a monumental bust.<br /> +The poet's fate is here in emblem shown—<br /> +He ask'd for <i>bread</i>, and he received a <i>stone</i>.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Rev. Samuel Wesley.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[Pg 371]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A CONJUGAL CONUNDRUM</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Which is of greater value, prythee, say,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Bride or Bridegroom?—must the truth be told?</span><br /> +Alas, it must! The Bride is given away—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Bridegroom's often regularly sold.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[Pg 372]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="VII" id="VII"></a>VII</h2> + +<h2>BURLESQUE</h2> +<p><br /></p> + +<h3>LOVERS AND A REFLECTION</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +In moss-prankt dells which the sunbeams flatter<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(And heaven it knoweth what that may mean;</span><br /> +Meaning, however, is no great matter)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where woods are a-tremble with words a-tween;</span><br /> +<br /> +Thro' God's own heather we wonned together,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I and my Willie (O love my love):</span><br /> +I need hardly remark it was glorious weather,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And flitter-bats wavered alow, above:</span><br /> +<br /> +Boats were curtseying, rising, bowing,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Boats in that climate are so polite,)</span><br /> +And sands were a ribbon of green endowing,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And O the sun-dazzle on bark and bight!</span><br /> +<br /> +Thro' the rare red heather we danced together<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(O love my Willie,) and smelt for flowers:</span><br /> +I must mention again it was glorious weather,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rhymes are so scarce in this world of ours:</span><br /> +<br /> +By rises that flushed with their purple favors,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thro' becks that brattled o'er grasses sheen,</span><br /> +We walked or waded, we two young shavers,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thanking our stars we were both so green.</span><br /> +<br /> +We journeyed in parallels, I and Willie,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In fortunate parallels! Butterflies,</span><br /> +Hid in weltering shadows of daffodilly<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or Marjoram, kept making peacock eyes:</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">[Pg 373]</a></span> + +<br /> +Song-birds darted about, some inky<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As coal, some snowy (I ween) as curds;</span><br /> +Or rosy as pinks, or as roses pinky—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They reck of no eerie To-come, those birds!</span><br /> +<br /> +But they skim over bents which the mill-stream washes,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or hang in the lift 'neath a white cloud's hem;</span><br /> +They need no parasols, no goloshes;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And good Mrs. Trimmer she feedeth them.</span><br /> +<br /> +Then we thrid God's cowslips (as erst his heather),<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That endowed the wan grass with their golden blooms;</span><br /> +And snapt—(it was perfectly charming weather)—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our fingers at Fate and her goddess-glooms:</span><br /> +<br /> +And Willie 'gan sing—(Oh, his notes were fluty;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wafts fluttered them out to the white-winged sea)—</span><br /> +Something made up of rhymes that have done much duty,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rhymes (better to put it) of "ancientry":</span><br /> +<br /> +Bowers of flowers encountered showers<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In William's carol—(O love my Willie!)</span><br /> +Then he bade sorrow borrow from blithe to-morrow<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I quite forget what—say a daffodilly.</span><br /> +<br /> +A nest in a hollow, "with buds to follow,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I think occurred next in his nimble strain;</span><br /> +And clay that was "kneaden" of course in Eden—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A rhyme most novel I do maintain:</span><br /> +<br /> +Mists, bones, the singer himself, love-stories,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And all least furlable things got furled;</span><br /> +Not with any design to conceal their glories,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But simply and solely to rhyme with world.</span><br /> +<br /> +O if billows and pillows and hours and flowers,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And all the brave rhymes of an elder day,</span><br /> +Could be furled together, this genial weather,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And carted or carried on wafts away,</span><br /> +Nor ever again trotted out—ah me!<br /> +How much fewer volumes of verse there'd be.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Charles Stuart Calverley.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[Pg 374]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>OUR HYMN</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +At morning's call<br /> +The small-voiced pug dog welcomes in the sun,<br /> +And flea-bit mongrels wakening one by one,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Give answer all.</span><br /> +<br /> +When evening dim<br /> +Draws rounds us, then the lovely caterwaul,<br /> +Tart solo, sour duet and general squall,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">These are our hymn.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Oliver Wendell Holmes.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>"SOLDIER, REST!"</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +A Russian sailed over the blue Black Sea<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Just when the war was growing hot,</span><br /> +And he shouted, "I'm Tjalikavakeree—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Karindabrolikanavandorot—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Schipkadirova—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Ivandiszstova—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Sanilik—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Danilik—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Varagobhot!"</span><br /> +<br /> +A Turk was standing upon the shore<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Right where the terrible Russian crossed;</span><br /> +And he cried, "Bismillah! I'm Abd el Kor—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bazaroukilgonautoskobrosk—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Getzinpravadi—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Kilgekosladji—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Grivido—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Blivido—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Jenikodosk!"</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[Pg 375]</a></span> + +<br /> +So they stood like brave men, long and well,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And they called each other their proper names,</span><br /> +Till the lockjaw seized them, and where they fell<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They buried them both by the Irdosholames—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Kalatalustchuk—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Mischaribustchup—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Bulgari—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Dulgari—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Sagharimainz.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Robert J. Burdette.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>IMITATION</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Calm and implacable,<br /> +Eying disdainfully the world beneath,<br /> +Sat Humpty-Dumpty on his mural eminence<br /> +In solemn state:<br /> +And I relate his story<br /> +In verse unfettered by the bothering restrictions of rhyme or metre,<br /> +In verse (or "rhythm," as I prefer to call it)<br /> +Which, consequently, is far from difficult to write.<br /> +<br /> +He sat. And at his feet<br /> +The world passed on—the surging crowd<br /> +Of men and women, passionate, turgid, dense,<br /> +Keenly alert, lethargic, or obese.<br /> +(Those two lines scan!)<br /> +<br /> +Among the rest<br /> +He noted Jones; Jones with his Roman nose,<br /> +His eyebrows—the left one streaked with a dash of gray—<br /> +And yellow boots.<br /> +Not that Jones<br /> +Has anything in particular to do with the story;<br /> +But a descriptive phrase<br /> +Like the above shows that the writer is<br /> +A Master of Realism.<br /> +<br /> +Let us proceed. Suddenly from his seat<br /> +Did Humpty-Dumpty slip. Vainly he clutched<br /> +The impalpable air. Down and down,<br /> +Right to the foot of the wall,<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[Pg 376]</a></span> + +Right on to the horribly hard pavement that ran beneath it,<br /> +Humpty-Dumpty, the unfortunate Humpty-Dumpty,<br /> +Fell.<br /> +<br /> +And him, alas! no equine agency,<br /> +Him no power of regal battalions—<br /> +Resourceful, eager, strenuous—<br /> +Could ever restore to the lofty eminence<br /> +Which once was his.<br /> +Still he lies on the very identical<br /> +Spot where he fell—lies, as I said on the ground,<br /> +Shamefully and conspicuously abased!<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Anthony C. Deane.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE MIGHTY MUST</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Come mighty Must!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Inevitable Shall!</span><br /> +In thee I trust.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Time weaves my coronal!</span><br /> +Go mocking Is!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Go disappointing Was!</span><br /> +That I am this<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ye are the cursed cause!</span><br /> +Yet humble second shall be first,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I ween;</span><br /> +And dead and buried be the curst<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Has Been!</span><br /> +<br /> +Oh weak Might Be!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh, May, Might, Could, Would, Should!</span><br /> +How powerless ye<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For evil or for good!</span><br /> +In every sense<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Your moods I cheerless call,</span><br /> +Whate'er your tense<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ye are imperfect, all!</span><br /> +Ye have deceived the trust I've shown<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In ye!</span><br /> +Away! The Mighty Must alone<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Shall be!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>W. S. Gilbert.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[Pg 377]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>MIDSUMMER MADNESS</h3> + +<h4>A SOLILOQUY</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I am a hearthrug—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yes, a rug—</span><br /> +Though I cannot describe myself as snug;<br /> +Yet I know that for me they paid a price<br /> +For a Turkey carpet that would suffice<br /> +(But we live in an age of rascal vice).<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Why was I ever woven,</span><br /> +For a clumsy lout, with a wooden leg,<br /> +To come with his endless Peg! Peg!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Peg! Peg!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">With a wooden leg,</span><br /> +Till countless holes I'm drove in.<br /> +("Drove," I have said, and it should be "driven";<br /> +A hearthrug's blunders should be forgiven,<br /> +For wretched scribblers have exercised<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Such endless bosh and clamour,</span><br /> +So improvidently have improvised,<br /> +That they've utterly ungrammaticised<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Our ungrammatical grammar).</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And the coals</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Burn holes,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Or make spots like moles,</span><br /> +And my lily-white tints, as black as your hat turn,<br /> +And the housemaid (a matricide, will-forging slattern),<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Rolls</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The rolls</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">From the plate, in shoals,</span><br /> +When they're put to warm in front of the coals;<br /> +And no one with me condoles,<br /> +For the butter stains on my beautiful pattern.<br /> +But the coals and rolls, and sometimes soles,<br /> +Dropp'd from the frying-pan out of the fire.<br /> +Are nothing to raise my indignant ire,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Like the Peg! Peg!</span><br /> +Of that horrible man with the wooden leg.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">[Pg 378]</a></span> + +This moral spread from me,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sing it, ring it, yelp it—</span><br /> +Never a hearthrug be,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That is if you can help it.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>MAVRONE</h3> + +<h4>ONE OF THOSE SAD IRISH POEMS, WITH NOTES</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +From Arranmore the weary miles I've come;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An' all the way I've heard</span><br /> +A Shrawn<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> that's kep' me silent, speechless, dumb,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Not sayin' any word.</span><br /> +An' was it then the Shrawn of Eire,<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> you'll say,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For him that died the death on Carrisbool?</span><br /> +It was not that; nor was it, by the way,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Sons of Garnim<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> blitherin' their drool;</span><br /> +Nor was it any Crowdie of the Shee,<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or Itt, or Himm, nor wail of Barryhoo<a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a></span><br /> +For Barrywhich that stilled the tongue of me.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[Pg 379]</a></span> + +'Twas but my own heart cryin' out for you<br /> +Magraw!<a name="FNanchor_6_6" id="FNanchor_6_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> Bulleen, shinnanigan, Boru,<br /> +Aroon, Machree, Aboo!<a name="FNanchor_7_7" id="FNanchor_7_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Arthur Guiterman.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> A Shrawn is a pure Gaelic noise, something like a groan, +more like a shriek, and most like a sigh of longing.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> Eire was daughter of Carne, King of Connaught. Her lover, +Murdh of the Open Hand, was captured by Greatcoat Mackintosh, +King of Ulster, on the plain of Carrisbool, and made into +soup. Eire's grief on this sad occasion has become proverbial.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> Garnim was second cousin to Manannan MacLir. His sons +were always sad about something. There were twenty-two of +them, and they were all unfortunate in love at the same time, just +like a chorus at the opera. "Blitherin' their drool" is about the +same as "dreeing their weird."</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> The Shee (or "Sidhe," as I should properly spell it if you +were not so ignorant) were, as everybody knows, the regular, +stand-pat, organization fairies of Erin. The Crowdie was their +annual convention, at which they made melancholy sounds. The +Itt and Himm were the irregular, or insurgent, fairies. They +<i>never</i> got any offices or patronage. See MacAlester, <i>Polity of +the Sidhe of West Meath</i>, page 985.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> The Barryhoo is an ancient Celtic bird about the size of a +Mavis, with lavender eyes and a black-crape tail. It continually +mourns its mate (Barrywhich, feminine form), which has an +hereditary predisposition to an early and tragic demise and +invariably dies first.</p></div> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> Magraw, a Gaelic term of endearment, often heard on the +baseball fields of Donnybrook.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_7_7" id="Footnote_7_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_7"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> These last six words are all that tradition has preserved of +the original incantation by means of which Irish rats were rhymed +to death. Thereby hangs a good Celtic tale, which I should be +glad to tell you in this note; but the publishers say that being +prosed to death is as bad as being rhymed to death, and that +the readers won't stand for any more.</p></div> + +<hr /> + +<h3>LILIES</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> + +<p class='poem'>Lilies, lilies, white lilies and yellow—</p> +<p class='poem'>Lilies, lilies, purple lilies and golden—</p> +<p class='poem'>Calla lilies, tiger lilies, lilies of the valley—</p> +<p class='poem'>Lilies, lilies, lilies—</p> +<p class='poem'>Bulb, bud and blossom—</p> +<p class='poem'>What made them lilies?</p> +<p class='poem'>If they were not lilies they would have to be something else, would they not?</p> +<p class='poem'>What was it that made them lilies instead of making them violets or roses or geraniums or petunias?</p> +<p class='poem'>What was it that made you yourself and me myself? What?</p> +<p class='poem'>Alas! I do not know!</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Don Marquis.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>FOR I AM SAD</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +No usual words can bear the woe I feel,<br /> +No tralatitions trite give me relief!<br /> +O Webster! lend me words to voice my grief<br /> +Bitter as quassia, quass or kumquat peel!<br /> +For I am sad ... bound on the cosmic wheel,<br /> +What mad chthonophagy bids slave and chief<br /> +Through endless cycles bite the earth like beef,<br /> +By turns each cannibal and each the meal?<br /> +Turn we to nature Webster, and we see<br /> +Your whidah bird refuse all strobile fruit,<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">[Pg 380]</a></span> + +Your tragacanth in tears ooze from the tree ...<br /> +We hear your flammulated owlets hoot!<br /> +Turn we to nature, Webster, and we find<br /> +Few creatures have a quite contented mind.<br /> +Your koulan there, with dyslogistic snort,<br /> +Will leave his phacoid food on worts to browse,<br /> +While glactophorous Himalayan cows<br /> +The knurled kohl-rabi spurn in uncouth sport;<br /> +No margay climbs margosa trees; the short<br /> +Gray mullet drink no mulse, nor house<br /> +In pibcorns when the youth of Wales carouse ...<br /> +No tournure doth the toucan's tail contort ...<br /> +So I am sad! ... and yet, on Summer eves,<br /> +When xebecs search the whishing scree for whelk,<br /> +And the sharp sorrel lifts obcordate leaves,<br /> +And cryptogamous plants fulfil the elk,<br /> +I see the octopus play with his feet,<br /> +And find within this sadness something sweet.<br /> +</p> +</td></tr></table> +<div class='blockquot'> +<p>The thing we like about that poem is its recognition of all +the sorrow there is in the universe ... its <i>unflinching</i> recognition, +we might say, if we were not afraid of praising our own +work too highly ... combined with its happy ending.</p> + +<p>One feels, upon reading it, that, although everything everywhere +is very sad, and all wrong, one has only to have patience +and after a while everything everywhere will be quite right and +very sweet.</p> + +<p>No matter how interested one may be in these literary problems, +one must cease discussing them at times or one will be +late to one's meals.</p> +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Don Marquis.</i></p> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<h3>A LITTLE SWIRL OF VERS LIBRE</h3> + +<h4>NOT COVERED, STRANGE TO SAY, BY THE PENAL CODE</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> + +<p class='poem'>I am numb from world-pain—</p> +<p class='poem'>I sway most violently as the thoughts course through me,</p> +<p class='poem'>And athwart me,</p> +<p class='poem'>And up and down me—</p> +<p class='poem'>Thoughts of cosmic matters,</p> +<p class='poem'>Of the mergings of worlds within worlds,</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381">[Pg 381]</a></span> + +<p class='poem'>And unutterabilities</p> +<p class='poem'>And room-rent,</p> +<p class='poem'>And other tremendously alarming phenomena,</p> +<p class='poem'>Which stab me,</p> +<p class='poem'>Rip me most outrageously;</p> +<p class='poem'>(Without a semblance, mind you, of respect for the Hague Convention's rules governing soul-slitting.)</p> +<p class='poem'>Aye, as with the poniard of the Finite pricking the rainbow-bubble of the Infinite!</p> +<p class='poem'>(Some figure, that!)</p> +<p class='poem'>(Some little rush of syllables, that!)—</p> +<p class='poem'>And make me—(are you still whirling at my coat-tails, reader?)</p> +<p class='poem'>Make me—ahem, where was I?—oh, yes—make me,</p> +<p class='poem'>In a sudden, overwhelming gust of soul-shattering rebellion,</p> +<p class='poem'>Fall flat on my face!</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Thomas R. Ybarra.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>YOUNG LOCHINVAR</h3> + +<h4>THE TRUE STORY IN BLANK VERSE</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Oh! young Lochinvar has come out of the West,<br /> +Thro' all the wide border his horse has no equal,<br /> +Having cost him forty-five dollars at the market,<br /> +Where good nags, fresh from the country,<br /> +With burrs still in their tails are selling<br /> +For a song; and save his good broad sword<br /> +He weapon had none, except a seven-shooter<br /> +Or two, a pair of brass knuckles, and an Arkansaw<br /> +<br /> +Toothpick in his boot, so, comparatively speaking,<br /> +He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone,<br /> +Because there was no one going his way.<br /> +He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for<br /> +Toll-gates; he swam the Eske River where ford<br /> +There was none, and saved fifteen cents<br /> +In ferriage, but lost his pocket-book, containing<br /> +Seventeen dollars and a half, by the operation.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">[Pg 382]</a></span> + +Ere he alighted at the Netherby mansion<br /> +He stopped to borrow a dry suit of clothes,<br /> +And this delayed him considerably, so when<br /> +He arrived the bride had consented—the gallant<br /> +Came late—for a laggard in love and a dastard in war<br /> +Was to wed the fair Ellen, and the guests had assembled.<br /> +<br /> +So, boldly he entered the Netherby Hall<br /> +Among bridesmen and kinsmen and brothers and<br /> +Brothers-in-law and forty or fifty cousins;<br /> +Then spake the bride's father, his hand on his sword<br /> +(For the poor craven bridegroom ne'er opened his head)<br /> +<br /> +"Oh, come ye in peace here, or come ye in anger,<br /> +Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?"<br /> +"I long wooed your daughter, and she will tell you<br /> +I have the inside track in the free-for-all<br /> +For her affections! my suit you denied; but let<br /> +That pass, while I tell you, old fellow, that love<br /> +Swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide,<br /> +And now I am come with this lost love of mine<br /> +To lead but one measure, drink one glass of beer;<br /> +There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far<br /> +That would gladly be bride to yours very truly."<br /> +<br /> +The bride kissed the goblet, the knight took it up,<br /> +He quaffed off the nectar and threw down the mug,<br /> +Smashing it into a million pieces, while<br /> +He remarked that he was the son of a gun<br /> +From Seven-up and run the Number Nine.<br /> +She looked down to blush, but she looked up again<br /> +For she well understood the wink in his eye;<br /> +He took her soft hand ere her mother could<br /> +Interfere, "Now tread we a measure; first four<br /> +Half right and left; swing," cried young Lochinvar.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383">[Pg 383]</a></span> + +<br /> +One touch to her hand and one word in her ear,<br /> +When they reached the hall door and the charger<br /> +Stood near on three legs eating post hay;<br /> +So light to the croup the fair lady he swung,<br /> +Then leaped to the saddle before her.<br /> +"She is won! we are gone! over bank, bush, and spar,<br /> +They'll have swift steeds that follow"—but in the<br /> +<br /> +Excitement of the moment he had forgotten<br /> +To untie the horse, and the poor brute could<br /> +Only gallop in a little circus around the<br /> +Hitching-post; so the old gent collared<br /> +The youth and gave him the awfullest lambasting<br /> +That was ever heard of on Canobie Lee;<br /> +So dauntless in war and so daring in love,<br /> +Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>IMAGISTE LOVE LINES</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I love my lady with a deep purple love;<br /> +She fascinates me like a fly<br /> +Struggling in a pot of glue.<br /> +Her eyes are grey, like twin ash-cans,<br /> +Just emptied, about which still hovers<br /> +A dainty mist.<br /> +Her disposition is as bright as a ten-cent shine,<br /> +Yet her kisses are tender and goulashy.<br /> +I love my lady with a deep purple love.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>BYGONES</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Or ever a lick of Art was done,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or ever a one to care,</span><br /> +I was a Purple Polygon,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And you were a Sky-Blue Square.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384">[Pg 384]</a></span> + +<br /> +You yearned for me across a void,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For I lay in a different plane,</span><br /> +I'd set my heart on a Red Rhom<i>boid</i>,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And your sighing was in vain.</span><br /> +<br /> +You pined for me as well I knew,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And you faded day by day,</span><br /> +Until the Square that was heavenly Blue,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Had paled to an ashen grey.</span><br /> +<br /> +A myriad years or less or more,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Have softly fluttered by,</span><br /> +Matters are much as they were before,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Except 'tis I that sigh.</span><br /> +<br /> +I yearn for you, but I have no chance,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You lie in a different plane,</span><br /> +I break my heart for a single glance,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I break said heart in vain.</span><br /> +<br /> +And ever I grow more pale and wan,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And taste your old despair,</span><br /> +When I was a Purple Polygon,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And you were a Sky-Blue Square.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Bert Leston Taylor.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>JUSTICE TO SCOTLAND</h3> + +<h4>AN UNPUBLISHED POEM BY BURNS</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +O mickle yeuks the keckle doup,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An' a' unsicker girns the graith,</span><br /> +For wae and wae! the crowdies loup<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O'er jouk an' hallan, braw an' baith</span><br /> +Where ance the coggie hirpled fair,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And blithesome poortith toomed the loof,</span><br /> +There's nae a burnie giglet rare<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But blaws in ilka jinking coof.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385">[Pg 385]</a></span> + +<br /> +The routhie bield that gars the gear<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is gone where glint the pawky een.</span><br /> +And aye the stound is birkin lear<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where sconnered yowies wheeped yestreen,</span><br /> +The creeshie rax wi' skelpin' kaes<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nae mair the howdie bicker whangs,</span><br /> +Nor weanies in their wee bit claes<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Glour light as lammies wi' their sangs.</span><br /> +<br /> +Yet leeze me on my bonny byke!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My drappie aiblins blinks the noo,</span><br /> +An' leesome luve has lapt the dyke<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Forgatherin' just a wee bit fou.</span><br /> +And Scotia! while thy rantin' lunt<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is mirk and moop with gowans fine,</span><br /> +I'll stowlins pit my unco brunt,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An' cleek my duds for auld lang syne.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>LAMENT OF THE SCOTCH-IRISH EXILE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Oh, I want to win me hame<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To my ain countrie,</span><br /> +The land frae whence I came<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Far away across the sea;</span><br /> +Bit I canna find it there, on the atlas anywhere,<br /> +And I greet and wonder sair<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where the deil it can be?</span><br /> +<br /> +I hae never met a man,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In a' the warld wide,</span><br /> +Who has trod my native lan'<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or its distant shores espied;</span><br /> +But they tell me there's a place where my hypothetic race<br /> +Its dim origin can trace—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tipperary-on-the-Clyde.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_386" id="Page_386">[Pg 386]</a></span> + +<br /> +But anither answers: "Nae,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ye are varra far frae richt;</span><br /> +Glasgow town in Dublin Bay<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is the spot we saw the licht."</span><br /> +But I dinna find the maps bearing out these pawkie chaps,<br /> +And I sometimes think perhaps<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It has vanished out o' sight.</span><br /> +<br /> +Oh, I fain wad win me hame<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To that undiscovered lan'</span><br /> +That has neither place nor name<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where the Scoto-Irishman</span><br /> +May behold the castles fair by his fathers builded there<br /> +Many, many ages ere<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ancient history began.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>James Jeffrey Roche.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A SONG OF SORROW</h3> + +<h4>A LULLABYLET FOR A MAGAZINELET</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Wan from the wild and woful West—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sleep, little babe, sleep on!</span><br /> +Mother will sing to—you know the rest—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sleep, little babe, sleep on!</span><br /> +Softly the sand steals slowly by,<br /> +Cursed be the curlew's chittering cry;<br /> +By-a-by, oh, by-a-by!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sleep, little babe, sleep on!</span><br /> +<br /> +Rosy and sweet come the hush of night—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sleep, little babe, sleep on!</span><br /> +(Twig to the lilt, I have got it all right)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sleep, little babe, sleep on!</span><br /> +Dark are the dark and darkling days<br /> +Winding the webbed and winsome ways,<br /> +Homeward she creeps in dim amaze—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sleep, little babe, sleep on!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">(But it waked up, drat it!)</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Charles Battell Loomis.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_387" id="Page_387">[Pg 387]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE REJECTED "NATIONAL HYMNS"</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> + + +<p class='h_5'>I</p> +<p class='h_5'>BY H—-Y W. L-NGF——W</p> + +<p> +Back in the years when Phlagstaff, the Dane, was monarch<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Over the sea-ribb'd land of the fleet-footed Norsemen,</span><br /> +Once there went forth young Ursa to gaze at the heavens—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ursa—the noblest of all the Vikings and horsemen.</span><br /> +<br /> +Musing, he sat in his stirrups and viewed the horizon,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where the Aurora lapt stars in a North-polar manner,</span><br /> +Wildly he started,—for there in the heavens before him<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Flutter'd and flam'd the original Star Spangled Banner.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p class='h_5'>II</p> +<p class='h_5'>BY J-HN GR—NL—F WH—T—R</p> + +<p> +My Native Land, thy Puritanic stock<br /> +Still finds its roots firm-bound in Plymouth Rock,<br /> +And all thy sons unite in one grand wish—<br /> +To keep the virtues of Preservèd Fish.<br /> +<br /> +Preservèd Fish, the Deacon stern and true,<br /> +Told our New England what her sons should do,<br /> +And if they swerve from loyalty and right,<br /> +Then the whole land is lost indeed in night.<br /> +</p> + +<p class='h_5'>III</p> +<p class='h_5'>BY DR. OL-V-R W-ND-L H-LMES</p> + +<p> +A diagnosis of our hist'ry proves<br /> +Our native land a land its native loves;<br /> +Its birth a deed obstetric without peer,<br /> +Its growth a source of wonder far and near.<br /> +<br /> +To love it more behold how foreign shores<br /> +Sink into nothingness beside its stores;<br /> +Hyde Park at best—though counted ultra-grand—<br /> +The "Boston Common" of Victoria's land.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_388" id="Page_388">[Pg 388]</a></span> +</p> + +<p class='h_5'>IV</p> +<p class='h_5'>BY R-LPH W-LDO EM-R—N</p> + +<p> +Source immaterial of material naught,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Focus of light infinitesimal,</span><br /> +Sum of all things by sleepless Nature wrought,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of which the normal man is decimal.</span><br /> +<br /> +Refract, in prism immortal, from thy stars<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the stars bent incipient on our flag,</span><br /> +The beam translucent, neutrifying death,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And raise to immortality the rag.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p class='h_5'>V</p> +<p class='h_5'>BY W-LL—M C-LL-N B-Y-NT</p> + +<p> +The sun sinks softly to his Ev'ning Post,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The sun swells grandly to his morning crown;</span><br /> +Yet not a star our Flag of Heav'n has lost,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And not a sunset stripe with him goes down.</span><br /> +<br /> +So thrones may fall, and from the dust of those<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">New thrones may rise, to totter like the last;</span><br /> +But still our Country's nobler planet glows<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While the eternal stars of Heaven are fast.</span><br /> +<br /> + +</p> + +<p class='h_5'>VI</p> +<p class='h_5'>BY N. P. W-LL-IS</p> + +<p> +One hue of our Flag is taken<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From the cheeks of my blushing Pet,</span><br /> +And its stars beat time and sparkle<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like the studs on her chemisette.</span><br /> +<br /> +Its blue is the ocean shadow<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That hides in her dreamy eyes,</span><br /> +It conquers all men, like her,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And still for a Union flies.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_389" id="Page_389">[Pg 389]</a></span> +</p> + +<p class='h_5'>VII</p> +<p class='h_5'>BY TH-M—S B-IL-Y ALD—CH</p> + +<p> +The little brown squirrel hops in the corn,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The cricket quaintly sings,</span><br /> +The emerald pigeon nods his head,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the shad in the river springs,</span><br /> +The dainty sunflow'r hangs its head<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On the shore of the summer sea;</span><br /> +And better far that I were dead,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If Maud did not love me.</span><br /> +<br /> +I love the squirrel that hops in the corn,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the cricket that quaintly sings;</span><br /> +And the emerald pigeon that nods his head,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the shad that gaily springs.</span><br /> +I love the dainty sunflow'r, too,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Maud with her snowy breast;</span><br /> +I love them all;—but I love—I love—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I love my country best.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Robert H. Newell.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE EDITOR'S WOOING</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +We love thee, Ann Maria Smith,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And in thy condescension</span><br /> +We see a future full of joys<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Too numerous to mention.</span><br /> +<br /> +There's Cupid's arrow in thy glance,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That by thy love's coercion</span><br /> +Has reached our melting heart of hearts,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And asked for one insertion.</span><br /> +<br /> +With joy we feel the blissful smart;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And ere our passion ranges,</span><br /> +We freely place thy love upon<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The list of our exchanges.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_390" id="Page_390">[Pg 390]</a></span> + +<br /> +There's music in thy lowest tone,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And silver in thy laughter:</span><br /> +And truth—but we will give the full<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Particulars hereafter.</span><br /> +<br /> +Oh, we could tell thee of our plans<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All obstacles to scatter;</span><br /> +But we are full just now, and have<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A press of other matter.</span><br /> +<br /> +Then let us marry, Queen of Smiths,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Without more hesitation:</span><br /> +The very thought doth give our blood<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A larger circulation.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Robert H. Newell.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE BABY'S DÉBUT<a name="FNanchor_1_8" id="FNanchor_1_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_8" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></h3> +<h4>A BURLESQUE IMITATION OF WORDSWORTH—REJECTED +ADDRESSES</h4> + +<div class='blockquot'><p>[Spoken in the character of Nancy Lake, a girl eight years of +age, who is drawn upon the stage in a child's chaise by Samuel +Hughes, her uncle's porter.]</p></div> + +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +My brother Jack was nine in May,<br /> +And I was eight on New-year's-day;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So in Kate Wilson's shop</span><br /> +Papa (he's my papa and Jack's)<br /> +Bought me, last week, a doll of wax,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And brother Jack a top.</span><br /> +Jack's in the pouts, and this it is—<br /> +He thinks mine came to more than his;<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_391" id="Page_391">[Pg 391]</a></span> + +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">So to my drawer he goes,</span><br /> +Takes out the doll, and, O, my stars!<br /> +He pokes her head between the bars,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And melts off half her nose!</span><br /> +<br /> +Quite cross, a bit of string I beg,<br /> +And tie it to his peg-top's peg,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And bang, with might and main,</span><br /> +Its head against the parlor-door:<br /> +Off flies the head, and hits the floor,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And breaks a window-pane.</span><br /> +<br /> +This made him cry with rage and spite:<br /> +Well, let him cry, it serves him right.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A pretty thing, forsooth!</span><br /> +If he's to melt, all scalding hot,<br /> +Half my doll's nose, and I am not<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To draw his peg-top's tooth!</span><br /> +<br /> +Aunt Hannah heard the window break,<br /> +And cried, "O naughty Nancy Lake,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Thus to distress your aunt:</span><br /> +No Drury Lane for you to-day!"<br /> +And while papa said, "Pooh, she may!"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Mamma said, "No, she sha'n't!"</span><br /> +<br /> +Well, after many a sad reproach,<br /> +They got into a hackney-coach,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And trotted down the street.</span><br /> +I saw them go: one horse was blind,<br /> +The tails of both hung down behind,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Their shoes were on their feet.</span><br /> +<br /> +The chaise in which poor brother Bill<br /> +Used to be drawn to Pentonville,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Stood in the lumber-room:</span><br /> +I wiped the dust from off the top,<br /> +While Molly mopped it with a mop,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And brushed it with a broom.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_392" id="Page_392">[Pg 392]</a></span> + +<br /> +My uncle's porter, Samuel Hughes,<br /> +Came in at six to black the shoes,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">(I always talk to Sam:)</span><br /> +So what does he, but takes, and drags<br /> +Me in the chaise along the flags,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And leaves me where I am.</span><br /> +<br /> +My father's walls are made of brick,<br /> +But not so tall and not so thick<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">As these; and, goodness me!</span><br /> +My father's beams are made of wood,<br /> +But never, never half so good<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">As those that now I see.</span><br /> +<br /> +What a large floor! 'tis like a town!<br /> +The carpet, when they lay it down,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Won't hide it, I'll be bound;</span><br /> +And there's a row of lamps!—my eye!<br /> +How they do blaze! I wonder why<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">They keep them on the ground.</span><br /> +<br /> +At first I caught hold of the wing,<br /> +And kept away; but Mr. Thing-<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">umbob, the prompter man,</span><br /> +Gave with his hand my chaise a shove,<br /> +And said, "Go on, my pretty love;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Speak to 'em little Nan.</span><br /> +<br /> +"You've only got to curtsy, whisp-<br /> +er, hold your chin up, laugh and lisp,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And then you're sure to take:</span><br /> +I've known the day when brats, not quite<br /> +Thirteen, got fifty pounds a night;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Then why not Nancy Lake?"</span><br /> +<br /> +But while I'm speaking, where's papa?<br /> +And where's my aunt? and where's mamma?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Where's Jack? O there they sit!</span><br /> +They smile, they nod; I'll go my ways,<br /> +And order round poor Billy's chaise,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To join them in the pit.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_393" id="Page_393">[Pg 393]</a></span> + +<br /> +And now, good gentlefolks, I go<br /> +To join mamma, and see the show;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">So, bidding you adieu,</span><br /> +I curtsy like a pretty miss,<br /> +And if you'll blow to me a kiss,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I'll blow a kiss to you.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">[Blows a kiss, and exit.]</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>James Smith.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_8" id="Footnote_1_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_8"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> "The author does not, in this instance, attempt to copy any +of the higher attributes of Mr. Wordsworth's poetry; but has +succeeded perfectly in the imitation of his mawkish affectations +of childish simplicity and nursery stammering. We hope it will +make him ashamed of his <i>Alice Fell</i>, and the greater part of his +last volumes—of which it is by no means a parody, but a very +fair, and indeed we think a flattering, imitation."—<i>Edinburg +Review.</i></p></div> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE CANTELOPE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Side by side in the crowded streets,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Amid its ebb and flow,</span><br /> +We walked together one autumn morn;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">('Twas many years ago!)</span><br /> + +The markets blushed with fruits and flowers;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Both Memory and Hope!)</span><br /> +You stopped and bought me at the stall,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A spicy cantelope.</span><br /> + +We drained together its honeyed wine,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We cast the seeds away;</span><br /> +I slipped and fell on the moony rinds,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And you took me home on a dray!</span><br /> + +The honeyed wine of your love is drained;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I limp from the fall I had;</span><br /> +The snow-flakes muffle the empty stall,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And everything is sad.</span><br /> + +The sky is an inkstand, upside down,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It splashes the world with gloom;</span><br /> +The earth is full of skeleton bones,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the sea is a wobbling tomb!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Bayard Taylor.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_394" id="Page_394">[Pg 394]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>POPULAR BALLAD: "NEVER FORGET YOUR +PARENTS"</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +A young man once was sitting<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Within a swell café,</span><br /> +The music it was playing sweet—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The people was quite gay.</span><br /> +But he alone was silent,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A tear was in his eye—</span><br /> +A waitress she stepped up to him, and<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Asked him gently why.</span><br /> +</p> +<div class='center'>(Change to Minor)</div> +<p> +He turned to her in sorrow and<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At first he spoke no word,</span><br /> +But soon he spoke unto her, for<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She was an honest girl.</span><br /> +He rose up from the table<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In that elegant café,</span><br /> +And in a voice replete with tears<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To her he then did say:</span><br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>CHORUS</p> +<p> +Never forget your father,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Think all he done for you;</span><br /> +A mother is a boy's best friend,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So loving, kind, and true,</span><br /> +If it were not for them, I'm sure<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I might be quite forlorn;</span><br /> +And if your parents had not have lived<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You would not have been born.</span><br /> +<br /> +A hush fell on the laughing throng,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It made them feel quite bad,</span><br /> +For most of them was people, and<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Some parents they had had.</span><br /> +Both men and ladies did shed tears.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The music it did cease,</span><br /> +For all knew he had spoke the truth<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By looking at his face.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_395" id="Page_395">[Pg 395]</a></span> + +</p> +<div class='center'>(Change to Minor)</div> +<p> +The waitress she wept bitterly<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And others was in tears</span><br /> +It made them think of the old home<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They had not saw in years.</span><br /> +And while their hearts was heavy and<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their eyes they was quite red.</span><br /> +This brave and honest boy again<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To them these words he said:</span><br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>CHORUS</p> +<p> +Never forget your father,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Think all he done for you;</span><br /> +A mother is a boy's best friend,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So loving, kind, and true,</span><br /> +If it were not for them, I'm sure<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I might be quite forlorn;</span><br /> +And if your parents had not have lived<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You would not have been born.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Franklin P. Adams.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>HOW A GIRL WAS TOO RECKLESS OF GRAMMAR</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Matilda Maud Mackenzie frankly hadn't any chin,<br /> +Her hands were rough, her feet she turned invariably in;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her general form was German,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">By which I mean that you</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her waist could not determine</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Within a foot or two.</span><br /> +And not only did she stammer,<br /> +But she used the kind of grammar<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That is called, for sake of euphony, askew.</span><br /> +<br /> +From what I say about her, don't imagine I desire<br /> +A prejudice against this worthy creature to inspire.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She was willing, she was active,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">She was sober, she was kind,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But she <i>never</i> looked attractive</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And she <i>hadn't</i> any mind.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_396" id="Page_396">[Pg 396]</a></span> +I knew her more than slightly,<br /> +And I treated her politely<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When I met her, but of course I wasn't blind!</span><br /> +<br /> +Matilda Maud Mackenzie had a habit that was droll,<br /> +She spent her morning seated on a rock or on a knoll,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And threw with, much, composure</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A smallish rubber ball</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At an inoffensive osier</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">By a little waterfall;</span><br /> +But Matilda's way of throwing<br /> +Was like other people's mowing,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And she never hit the willow-tree at all!</span><br /> +<br /> +One day as Miss Mackenzie with uncommon ardour tried<br /> +To hit the mark, the missile flew exceptionally wide.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And, before her eyes astounded,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">On a fallen maple's trunk</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ricochetted and rebounded</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In the rivulet, and sunk!</span><br /> +Matilda, greatly frightened,<br /> +In her grammar unenlightened,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Remarked, "Well now I ast yer, who'd 'er thunk?"</span><br /> +<br /> +But what a marvel followed! From the pool at once there rose<br /> +A frog, the sphere of rubber balanced deftly on his nose.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He beheld her fright and frenzy</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And, her panic to dispel,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On his knee by Miss Mackenzie</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He obsequiously fell.</span><br /> +With quite as much decorum<br /> +As a speaker in a forum<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He started in his history to tell.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Fair maid," he said, "I beg you do not hesitate or wince,<br /> +If you'll promise that you'll wed me, I'll at once become a prince;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For a fairy, old and vicious,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">An enchantment round me spun!"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then he looked up, unsuspicious,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And he saw what he had won,</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_397" id="Page_397">[Pg 397]</a></span> +And in terms of sad reproach, he<br /> +Made some comments, <i>sotto voce</i>,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Which the publishers have bidden me to shun!)</span><br /> +<br /> +Matilda Maud Mackenzie said, as if she meant to scold;<br /> +"I <i>never</i>! Why, you forward thing! Now, ain't you awful bold!"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Just a glance he paused to give her,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And his head was seen to clutch,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then he darted to the river,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And he dived to beat the Dutch!</span><br /> +While the wrathful maiden panted<br /> +"I don't think he was enchanted!"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(And he really didn't look it overmuch!)</span><br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>THE MORAL</p> +<p> +In one's language one conservative should be;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Speech is silver and it never should be free!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Guy Wetmore Carryl.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>BEHOLD THE DEEDS!</h3> + +<h4>CHANT ROYAL</h4> +<div class='blockquot'>(Being the Plaint of Adolphe Culpepper Ferguson, Salesman +of Fancy Notions, held in durance of his Landlady for a failure +to connect on Saturday night.)</div> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> + +<p class='h_5'>I</p> +<p> +I would that all men my hard case might know;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How grievously I suffer for no sin:</span><br /> +I, Adolphe Culpepper Ferguson, for lo!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I, of my landlady am lockèd in.</span><br /> +For being short on this sad Saturday,<br /> +Nor having shekels of silver wherewith to pay,<br /> +She has turned and is departed with my key;<br /> +Wherefore, not even as other boarders free,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I sing (as prisoners to their dungeon stones</span><br /> +When for ten days they expiate a spree):<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Behold the deeds that are done of Mrs. Jones!</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_398" id="Page_398">[Pg 398]</a></span> + +</p> +<p class='h_5'>II</p> +<p> +One night and one day have I wept my woe;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor wot I when the morrow doth begin,</span><br /> +If I shall have to write to Briggs & Co.,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To pray them to advance the requisite tin</span><br /> +For ransom of their salesman, that he may<br /> +Go forth as other boarders go alway—<br /> +As those I hear now flocking from their tea,<br /> +Led by the daughter of my landlady<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pianoward. This day for all my moans,</span><br /> +Dry bread and water have been servèd me.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Behold the deeds that are done of Mrs. Jones!</span><br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>III</p> +<p> +Miss Amabel Jones is musical, and so<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The heart of the young he-boarder doth win,</span><br /> +Playing "The Maiden's Prayer," adagio—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That fetcheth him, as fetcheth the banco skin</span><br /> +The innocent rustic. For my part, I pray:<br /> +That Badarjewska maid may wait for aye<br /> +Ere sits she with a lover, as did we<br /> +Once sit together, Amabel! Can it be<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That all of that arduous wooing not atones</span><br /> +For Saturday shortness of trade dollars three?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Behold the deeds that are done of Mrs. Jones!</span><br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>IV</p> +<p> +Yea! she forgets the arm was wont to go<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Around her waist. She wears a buckle whose pin</span><br /> +Galleth the crook of the young man's elbow;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I forget not, for I that youth have been.</span><br /> +Smith was aforetime the Lothario gay.<br /> +Yet once, I mind me, Smith was forced to stay<br /> +Close in his room. Not calm, as I, was he;<br /> +But his noise brought no pleasaunce, verily.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Small ease he gat of playing on the bones,</span><br /> +Or hammering on his stove-pipe, that I see.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Behold the deeds that are done of Mrs. Jones!</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_399" id="Page_399">[Pg 399]</a></span> + +</p> +<p class='h_5'>V</p> +<p> +Thou, for whose fear the figurative crow<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I eat, accursed be thou and all thy kin!</span><br /> +Thee will I show up—yea, up will I show<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thy too thick buckwheats, and thy tea too thin.</span><br /> +Ay! here I dare thee, ready for the fray!<br /> +Thou dost not keep a first-class house, I say!<br /> +It does not with the advertisements agree.<br /> +Thou lodgest a Briton with a pugaree,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And thou hast harbored Jacobses and Cohns,</span><br /> +Also a Mulligan. Thus denounce I thee!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Behold the deeds that are done of Mrs. Jones!</span><br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>ENVOY</p> +<p> +Boarders! the worst I have not told to ye:<br /> +She hath stole my trousers, that I may not flee<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Privily by the window. Hence these groans,</span><br /> +There is no fleeing in a <i>robe de nuit</i>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Behold the deeds that are done of Mrs. Jones!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>H. C. Bunner.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>VILLON'S STRAIGHT TIP TO ALL CROSS COVES</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p>"<i>Tout aux tavernes et aux fiells</i>"</p> + +<p> +Suppose you screeve? or go cheap-jack?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or fake the broads? or fig a nag?</span><br /> +Or thimble-rig? or knap a yack?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or pitch a snide? or smash a rag?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Suppose you duff? or nose and lag?</span><br /> +Or get the straight, and land your pot?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How do you melt the multy swag?</span><br /> +Booze and the blowens cop the lot.<br /> +<br /> +Fiddle, or fence, or mace, or mack;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or moskeneer, or flash the drag;</span><br /> +Dead-lurk a crib, or do a crack;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pad with a slang, or chuck a fag;</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_400" id="Page_400">[Pg 400]</a></span> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bonnet, or tout, or mump and gag;</span><br /> +Rattle the tats, or mark the spot;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You cannot bag a single stag;</span><br /> +Booze and the blowens cop the lot.<br /> +<br /> +Suppose you try a different tack,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And on the square you flash your flag?</span><br /> +At penny-a-lining make your whack,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or with the mummers mug and gag?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For nix, for nix the dibbs you bag!</span><br /> +At any graft, no matter what,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Your merry goblins soon stravag:</span><br /> +Booze and the blowens cop the lot.<br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>THE MORAL</p> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It's up the spout and Charley Wag</span><br /> +With wipes and tickers and what not<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Until the squeezer nips your scrag,</span><br /> +Booze and the blowens cop the lot.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>William Ernest Henley.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>CULTURE IN THE SLUMS</h3> +<p class='center'>Inscribed to an Intense Poet</p> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> + +<p class='h_5'>I. RONDEAU</p> +<p> +"O crikey, Bill!" she ses to me, she ses.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Look sharp," ses she, "with them there sossiges.</span><br /> +Yea! sharp with them there bags of mysteree!<br /> +For lo!" she ses, "for lo! old pal," ses she,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"I'm blooming peckish, neither more nor less."</span><br /> +<br /> +Was it not prime—I leave you all to guess<br /> +How prime!—to have a Jude in love's distress<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Come spooning round, and murmuring balmilee,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 18em;">"O crikey, Bill!"</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_401" id="Page_401">[Pg 401]</a></span> + +<br /> +For in such rorty wise doth Love express<br /> +His blooming views, and asks for your address,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And makes it right, and does the gay and free.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I kissed her—I did so! And her and me</span><br /> +Was pals. And if that ain't good business,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 18em;">"O crikey, Bill!"</span><br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>II. VILLANELLE</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Now ain't they utterly too-too</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">(She ses, my Missus mine, ses she),</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Them flymy little bits of Blue.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Joe, just you kool 'em—nice and skew</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Upon our old meogginee,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Now ain't they utterly too-too?</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">They're better than a pot'n' a screw,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">They're equal to a Sunday spree,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Them flymy little bits of Blue!</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Suppose I put 'em up the flue,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And booze the profits, Joe? Not me.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Now ain't they utterly too-too?</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I do the 'Igh Art fake, I do.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Joe, I'm consummate; and I <i>see</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Them flymy little bits of Blue.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Which Joe, is why I ses ter you—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Æsthetic-like, and limp, and free—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Now <i>ain't</i> they utterly too-too,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Them flymy little bits of Blue?</span><br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>III. BALLADE</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I often does a quiet read</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">At Booty Shelly's poetry;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I thinks that Swinburne at a screed</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Is really almost too too fly;</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_402" id="Page_402">[Pg 402]</a></span> + +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">At Signor Vagna's harmony</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I likes a merry little flutter;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">I've had at Pater many a shy;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In fact, my form's the Bloomin' Utter.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">My mark's a tidy little feed,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And 'Enery Irving's gallery,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To see old 'Amlick do a bleed,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And Ellen Terry on the die,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Or Frankey's ghostes at hi-spy,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And parties carried on a shutter.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Them vulgar Coupeaus is my eye!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In fact my form's the Bloomin' Utter.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The Grosvenor's nuts—it is, indeed!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">I goes for 'Olman 'Unt like pie.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">It's equal to a friendly lead</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">To see B. Jones's judes go by.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Stanhope he make me fit to cry.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Whistler he makes me melt like butter.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Strudwick he makes me flash my cly—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In fact, my form's the Bloomin' Utter.</span><br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>ENVOY</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">I'm on for any Art that's 'Igh;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I talks as quiet as I can splutter;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">I keeps a Dado on the sly;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In fact, my form's the Bloomin' Utter.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>William Ernest Henley.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE LAWYER'S INVOCATION TO SPRING</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Whereas, on certain boughs and sprays<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now divers birds are heard to sing,</span><br /> +And sundry flowers their heads upraise,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hail to the coming on of Spring!</span><br /> +<br /> +The songs of those said birds arouse<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The memory of our youthful hours,</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_403" id="Page_403">[Pg 403]</a></span> + +As green as those said sprays and boughs,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As fresh and sweet as those said flowers.</span><br /> +<br /> +The birds aforesaid—happy pairs—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Love, 'mid the aforesaid boughs, inshrines</span><br /> +In freehold nests; themselves their heirs,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Administrators, and assigns.</span><br /> +<br /> +O busiest term of Cupid's Court,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where tender plaintiffs actions bring,—</span><br /> +Season of frolic and of sport,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hail, as aforesaid, coming Spring!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Henry Howard Brownell.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>NORTH, EAST, SOUTH, AND WEST</h3> + +<h4>AFTER R. K.</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> + +<p class='poem'>Oh! I have been North, and I have been South, and the East hath seen me pass,</p> +<p class='poem'>And the West hath cradled me on her breast, that is circled round with brass,</p> +<p class='poem'>And the world hath laugh'd at me, and I have laugh'd at the world alone,</p> +<p class='poem'>With a loud hee-haw till my hard-work'd jaw is stiff as a dead man's bone!</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>Oh! I have been up and I have been down and over the sounding sea,</p> +<p class='poem'>And the sea-birds cried as they dropp'd and died at the terrible sight of me,</p> +<p class='poem'>For my head was bound with a star, and crown'd with the fire of utmost hell,</p> +<p class='poem'>And I made this song with a brazen tongue and a more than fiendish yell:</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>"Oh! curse you all, for the sake of men who have liv'd and died for spite,</p> +<p class='poem'>And be doubly curst for the dark ye make where there ought to be but light,</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_404" id="Page_404">[Pg 404]</a></span> + +<p class='poem'>And be trebly curst by the deadly spell of a woman's lasting hate,—</p> +<p class='poem'>And drop ye down to the mouth of hell who would climb to the Golden Gate!"</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>Then the world grew green, and grim and grey at the horrible noise I made,</p> +<p class='poem'>And held up its hands in a pious way when I call'd a spade a spade;</p> +<p class='poem'>But I cared no whit for the blame of it, and nothing at all for its praise,</p> +<p class='poem'>And the whole consign'd with a tranquil mind to a sempiternal blaze!</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>All this have I sped, and have brought me back to work at the set of sun,</p> +<p class='poem'>And I set my seal to the thoughts I feel in the twilight one by one,</p> +<p class='poem'>For I speak but sooth in the name of Truth when I write such things as these;</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>And the whole I send to a critical friend who is learnèd in Kiplingese!</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>MARTIN LUTHER AT POTSDAM</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +What lightning shall light it? What thunder shall tell it?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the height of the height, in the depth of the deep?</span><br /> +Shall the sea-storm declare it, or paint it, or smell it?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shall the price of a slave be its treasure to keep?</span><br /> +When the night has grown near with the gems on her bosom,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When the white of mine eyes is the whiteness of snow,</span><br /> +When the cabman—in liquor—drives a blue roan, a kicker,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Into the land of the dear long ago.</span><br /> +<br /> +Ah!—Ah, again!—You will come to me, fall on me—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You are <i>so</i> heavy, and I am <i>so</i> flat.</span><br /> +And I? I shall not be at home when you call on me,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But stray down the wind like a gentleman's hat:</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_405" id="Page_405">[Pg 405]</a></span> + +I shall list to the stars when the music is purple,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Be drawn through a pipe, and exhaled into rings;</span><br /> +Turn to sparks, and then straightway get stuck in the gateway<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That stands between speech and unspeakable things.</span><br /> +<br /> +As I mentioned before, by what light is it lighted?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh! Is it fourpence, or piebald, or gray?</span><br /> +Is it a mayor that a mother has knighted<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or is it a horse of the sun and the day?</span><br /> +Is it a pony? If so, who will change it?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O golfer, be quiet, and mark where it scuds,</span><br /> +And think of its paces—of owners and races—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Relinquish the links for the study of studs.</span><br /> +<br /> +Not understood? Take me hence! Take me yonder!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Take me away to the land of my rest—</span><br /> +There where the Ganges and other gees wander,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And uncles and antelopes act for the best,</span><br /> +And all things are mixed and run into each other<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In a violet twilight of virtues and sins,</span><br /> +With the church-spires below you and no one to show you<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where the curate leaves off and the pew-rent begins!</span><br /> +<br /> +In the black night through the rank grass the snakes peer—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The cobs and the cobras are partial to grass—</span><br /> +And a boy wanders out with a knowledge of Shakespeare<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That's not often found in a boy of his class,</span><br /> +And a girl wanders out without any knowledge,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And a bird wanders out, and a cow wanders out,</span><br /> +Likewise one wether, and they wander together—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There's a good deal of wandering lying about.</span><br /> +<br /> +But its all for the best; I've been told by my friends, Sir,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That in verses I'd written the meaning was slight;</span><br /> +I've tried with no meaning—to make 'em amends, Sir—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And find that this kind's still more easy to write.</span><br /> +The title has nothing to do with the verses,<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_406" id="Page_406">[Pg 406]</a></span> + +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But think of the millions—the laborers who</span><br /> +In busy employment find deepest enjoyment,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And yet, like my title, have nothing to do!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Barry Pain.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>AN IDYLL OF PHATTE AND LEENE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +The hale John Sprat—oft called for shortness, Jack—<br /> +Had married—had, in fact, a wife—and she<br /> +Did worship him with wifely reverence.<br /> +He, who had loved her when she was a girl,<br /> +Compass'd her too, with sweet observances;<br /> +E'en at the dinner table did it shine.<br /> +For he—liking no fat himself—he never did,<br /> +With jealous care piled up her plate with lean,<br /> +Not knowing that all lean was hateful to her.<br /> +And day by day she thought to tell him o't,<br /> +And watched the fat go out with envious eye,<br /> +But could not speak for bashful delicacy.<br /> +<br /> +At last it chanced that on a winter day,<br /> +The beef—a prize joint!—little was but fat;<br /> +So fat, that John had all his work cut out,<br /> +To snip out lean fragments for his wife,<br /> +Leaving, in very sooth, none for himself;<br /> +Which seeing, she spoke courage to her soul,<br /> +Took up her fork, and, pointing to the joint<br /> +Where 'twas the fattest, piteously she said;<br /> +"Oh, husband! full of love and tenderness!<br /> +What is the cause that you so jealously<br /> +Pick out the lean for me. I like it not!<br /> +Nay, loathe it—'tis on the fat that I would feast;<br /> +O me, I fear you do not like my taste!"<br /> +<br /> +Then he, dropping his horny-handled carving knife,<br /> +Sprinkling therewith the gravy o'er her gown,<br /> +Answer'd, amazed: "What! you like fat, my wife!<br /> +And never told me. Oh, this is not kind!<br /> +Think what your reticence has wrought for us;<br /> +How all the fat sent down unto the maid—<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_407" id="Page_407">[Pg 407]</a></span> + +Who likes not fat—for such maids never do—<br /> +Has been put in the waste-tub, sold for grease,<br /> +And pocketed as servant's perquisite!<br /> +Oh, wife! this news is good; for since, perforce,<br /> +A joint must be not fat nor lean, but both;<br /> +Our different tastes will serve our purpose well;<br /> +For, while you eat the fat—the lean to me<br /> +Falls as my cherished portion. Lo! 'tis good!"<br /> +So henceforth—he that tells the tale relates—<br /> +In John Sprat's household waste was quite unknown;<br /> +For he the lean did eat, and she the fat,<br /> +And thus the dinner-platter was all cleared.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +And this reft house is that the which he built,<br /> +Lamented Jack! and here his malt he piled.<br /> +Cautious in vain! these rats that squeak so wild,<br /> +Squeak not unconscious of their father's guilt.<br /> +Did he not see her gleaming through the glade!<br /> +Belike 'twas she, the maiden all forlorn.<br /> +What though she milked no cow with crumpled horn,<br /> +Yet, aye she haunts the dale where erst she strayed:<br /> +And aye before her stalks her amorous knight!<br /> +Still on his thighs their wonted brogues are worn,<br /> +And through those brogues, still tattered and betorn,<br /> +His hindward charms gleam an unearthly white.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Samuel Taylor Coleridge.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>PALABRAS GRANDIOSAS</h3> + +<h4>AFTER T—— B—— A——</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I lay i' the bosom of the sun,<br /> +Under the roses dappled and dun.<br /> +I thought of the Sultan Gingerbeer,<br /> +In his palace beside the Bendemeer,<br /> +With his Afghan guards and his eunuchs blind,<br /> +And the harem that stretched for a league behind.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_408" id="Page_408">[Pg 408]</a></span> + +<br /> +The tulips bent i' the summer breeze,<br /> +Under the broad chrysanthemum-trees,<br /> +And the minstrel, playing his culverin,<br /> +Made for mine ears a merry din,<br /> +If I were the Sultan, and he were I,<br /> +Here i' the grass he should loafing lie,<br /> +And I should bestride my zebra steed,<br /> +And ride to the hunt of the centipede:<br /> +While the pet of the harem, Dandeline,<br /> +Should fill me a crystal bucket of wine,<br /> +And the kislar aga, Up-to-Snuff,<br /> +Should wipe my mouth when I sighed, "Enough!"<br /> +And the gay court poet, Fearfulbore,<br /> +Should sit in the hall when the hunt was o'er,<br /> +And chant me songs of silvery tone,<br /> +Not from Hafiz, but—mine own!<br /> +<br /> +Ah, wee sweet love, beside me here,<br /> +I am not the Sultan Gingerbeer,<br /> +Nor you the odalisque Dandeline,<br /> +Yet I am yourn, and you are mine!<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Bayard Taylor.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A LOVE PLAYNT—1370</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +To yow, my Purse, and to noon other wighte,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Complayne I, for ye be my lady dere!</span><br /> +I am so sorry now that ye been lyghte,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For, certes, yf ye make me hevy chere,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Me were as leef be layde upon my beere.</span><br /> +For whiche unto your mercie thus I crye,<br /> +Beethe hevy ageyne, or elles mote I die!<br /> +<br /> +Now voucheth sauf this day, or hyt be nighte,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That I of yow the blissful soun may here,</span><br /> +Or see your colour lyke the sunnè brighte,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That of yellòwnesse haddè never pere.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ye be my lyf! ye be myn herty's stere!</span><br /> +Quenè of comfort and good companye!<br /> +Beethe hevy ageyne, or elles mote I die!<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_409" id="Page_409">[Pg 409]</a></span> + +<br /> +Now, Purse! that ben to me my lyve's lyghte,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And surety as doune in this world here,</span><br /> +Out of this toune helpè me through your myghte,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Syn that you wole not bene my tresorere;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For I am shave as nigh as is a frere.</span><br /> +But I pray unto your curtesye,<br /> +Beethe hevy ageyne, or elles mote I die!<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Godfrey Turner.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>DARWINITY</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Power to thine elbow, thou newest of sciences,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All the old landmarks are ripe for decay;</span><br /> +Wars are but shadows, and so are alliances,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Darwin the great is the man of the day.</span><br /> +<br /> +All other 'ologies want an apology;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bread's a mistake—Science offers a stone;</span><br /> +Nothing is true but Anthropobiology—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Darwin the great understands it alone.</span><br /> +<br /> +Mighty the great evolutionist teacher is<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Licking Morphology clean into shape;</span><br /> +Lord! what an ape the Professor or Preacher is<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ever to doubt his descent from an ape.</span><br /> +<br /> +Man's an Anthropoid—he cannot help that, you know—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">First evoluted from Pongos of old;</span><br /> +He's but a branch of the <i>catarrhine</i> cat, you know—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Monkey I mean—that's an ape with a cold.</span><br /> +<br /> +Fast dying out are man's later Appearances,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cataclysmitic Geologies gone;</span><br /> +Now of Creation completed the clearance is,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Darwin alone you must anchor upon.</span><br /> +<br /> +Primitive Life—Organisms were chemical,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Busting spontaneous under the sea;</span><br /> +Purely subaqueous, panaquademical,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was the original Crystal of Me.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_410" id="Page_410">[Pg 410]</a></span> + +<br /> +I'm the Apostle of mighty Darwinity,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stands for Divinity—sounds much the same—</span><br /> +Apo-theistico-Pan-Asininity<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Only can doubt whence the lot of us came.</span><br /> +<br /> +Down on your knees, Superstition and Flunkeydom!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Won't you accept such plain doctrines instead?</span><br /> +What is so simple as primitive Monkeydom<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Born in the sea with a cold in its head?</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Herman C. Merivale.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>SELECT PASSAGES FROM A COMING PORT</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> + +<p class='h_5'>DISENCHANTMENT</p> +<p> +My Love has sicklied unto Loath,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And foul seems all that fair I fancied—</span><br /> +The lily's sheen's a leprous growth,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The very buttercups are rancid.</span> +</p> + +<p class='h_5'>ABASEMENT</p> +<p> +With matted head a-dabble in the dust,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And eyes tear-sealèd in a saline crust</span><br /> +I lie all loathly in my rags and rust—<br /> +Yet learn that strange delight may lurk in self-disgust.<br /> +</p> + +<p class='h_5'>STANZA WRITTEN IN DEPRESSION NEAR DULWICH</p> +<p> +The lark soars up in the air;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The toad sits tight in his hole;</span><br /> +And I would I were certain which of the pair<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Were the truer type of my soul!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p class='h_5'>TO MY LADY</p> +<p> +Twine, lanken fingers, lily-lithe,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gleam, slanted eyes, all beryl-green,</span><br /> +Pout, blood-red lips that burst a-writhe,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then—kiss me, Lady Grisoline!</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_411" id="Page_411">[Pg 411]</a></span> + +</p> +<p class='h_5'>THE MONSTER</p> +<p> +Uprears the monster now his slobberous head,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Its filamentous chaps her ankles brushing;</span><br /> +Her twice-five roseal toes are cramped in dread,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Each maidly instep mauven-pink is flushing.</span><br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>A TRUMPET BLAST</p> +<p> +Pale Patricians, sunk in self-indulgence,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Blink your blearèd eyes. Behold the Sun—</span><br /> +Burst proclaim in purpurate effulgence,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Demos dawning, and the Darkness done!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>F. Anstey.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE ROMAUNT OF HUMPTY DUMPTY</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +'Tis midnight, and the moonbeam sleeps<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon the garden sward;</span><br /> +My lady in yon turret keeps<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her tearful watch and ward.</span><br /> +"Beshrew me!" mutters, turning pale,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The stalwart seneschal;</span><br /> +"What's he, that sitteth, clad in mail<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon our castle wall?"</span><br /> +<br /> +"Arouse thee, friar of orders grey;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What ho! bring book and bell!</span><br /> +Ban yonder ghastly thing, I say;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And, look ye, ban it well!</span><br /> +By cock and pye, the Humpty's face!"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The form turned quickly round;</span><br /> +Then totter'd from its resting-place—</p> + +<hr style="width: 33%; margin-top: 0em; margin-bottom: 0em;" /> +<p> +That night the corse was found.<br /> +<br /> +The king, with hosts of fighting men<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rode forth at break of day;</span><br /> +Ah! never gleamed the sun till then<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On such a proud array.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_412" id="Page_412">[Pg 412]</a></span> + +<br /> +But all that army, horse and foot,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Attempted, quite in vain,</span><br /> +Upon the castle wall to put<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Humpty up again.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Henry S. Leigh.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE WEDDING</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Lady Clara Vere de Vere!<br /> +I hardly know what I must say,<br /> +But I'm to be Queen of the May, mother,<br /> +I'm to be Queen of the May!<br /> +I am half-crazed; I don't feel grave,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Let me rave!</span><br /> +<br /> +Whole weeks and months, early and late,<br /> +To win his love I lay in wait.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Oh, the Earl was fair to see,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">As fair as any man could be;—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The wind is howling in turret and tree!</span><br /> +<br /> +We two shall be wed tomorrow morn,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I shall be the Lady Clare,</span><br /> +And when my marriage morn shall fall,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I hardly know what I shall wear.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But I shan't say "my life is dreary,"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And sadly hang my head,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With the remark, "I'm very weary,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And wish that I were dead."</span><br /> +<br /> +But on my husband's arm I'll lean,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And roundly waste his plenteous gold,</span><br /> +Passing the honeymoon serene<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In that new world which is the old.</span><br /> +For down we'll go and take the boat<br /> +Beside St. Katherine's docks afloat,<br /> +Which round about its prow has wrote—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"The Lady of Shalotter"</span><br /> +(Mondays and Thursdays,—Captain Foat),<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bound for the Dam of Rotter.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Thomas Hood, Jr.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_413" id="Page_413">[Pg 413]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>IN MEMORIAM TECHNICAM</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I count it true which sages teach—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That passion sways not with repose,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That love, confounding these with those,</span><br /> +Is ever welding each with each.<br /> +<br /> +And so when time has ebbed away,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like childish wreaths too lightly held,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The song of immemorial eld</span><br /> +Shall moan about the belted bay.<br /> +<br /> +Where slant Orion slopes his star,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To swelter in the rolling seas,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till slowly widening by degrees</span><br /> +The grey climbs upward from afar.<br /> +<br /> +And golden youth and passion stray<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Along the ridges of the strand,—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Not far apart, but hand in hand,—</span><br /> +With all the darkness danced away!<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Thomas Hood, Jr.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>"SONGS WITHOUT WORDS"</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I cannot sing the old songs,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Though well I know the tune,</span><br /> +Familiar as a cradle-song<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With sleep-compelling croon;</span><br /> +Yet though I'm filled with music<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As choirs of summer birds</span><br /> +"I cannot sing the old songs"—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I do not know the words.</span><br /> +<br /> +I start on "Hail Columbia,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And get to "heav'n-born band,"</span><br /> +And there I strike an up-grade<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With neither steam nor sand;</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_414" id="Page_414">[Pg 414]</a></span> + +<br /> +"Star Spangled Banner" downs me<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Right in my wildest screaming,</span><br /> +I start all right, but dumbly come<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To voiceless wreck at "streaming."</span><br /> +<br /> +So, when I sing the old songs,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Don't murmur or complain</span><br /> +If "Ti, diddy ah da, tum dum,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Should fill the sweetest strain.</span><br /> +I love "Tolly um dum di do,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the "trilla-la yeep da" birds,</span><br /> +But "I cannot sing the old songs"—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I do not know the words.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Robert J. Burdette.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>AT THE SIGN OF THE COCK</h3> + +<h4>FRENCH STYLE, 1898</h4> + +<div class='blockquot'><p>Being an Ode in further "Contribution to the Song of French +History," dedicated, without malice or permission to Mr. George +Meredith.</p></div> + +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p class='h_5'>I</p> +<p> +Rooster her sign,<br /> +Rooster her pugnant note, she struts<br /> +Evocative, amazon spurs aprick at heel;<br /> +Nid-nod the authentic stump<br /> +Of the once ensanguined comb vermeil as wine;<br /> +With conspuent doodle-doo<br /> +Hails breach o' the hectic dawn of yon New Year,<br /> +Last issue up to date<br /> +Of quiverful Fate<br /> +Evolved spontaneous; hails with tenant trump<br /> +The spiriting prime o' the clashed carillon-peal;<br /> +Ruffling her caudal plumes derisive of scuts;<br /> +Inconscient how she stalks an immarcessibly absurd<br /> +Bird.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_415" id="Page_415">[Pg 415]</a></span> + +</p> +<p class='h_5'>II</p> +<p> +Mark where her Equatorial Pioneer<br /> +Delirant on the tramp goes littoralwise.<br /> +His Flag at furl, portmanteaued; drains to the dregs<br /> +The penultimate brandy-bottle, coal-on-the-head-piece gift<br /> +Of who avenged the Old Sea-Rover's smirch.<br /> +Marchant he treads the all-along of inarable drift<br /> +On dubiously connivent legs,<br /> +The facile prey of predatory flies;<br /> +Panting for further; sworn to lurch<br /> +Empirical on to the Menelik-buffered, enhavened blue,<br /> +Rhyming—see Cantique I.—with doodle-doo.<br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>III</p> +<p> +Infuriate she kicked against Imperial fact;<br /> +Vulnant she felt<br /> +What pin-stab should have stained Another's pelt<br /> +Puncture her own Colonial lung-balloon,<br /> +Volant to nigh meridian. Whence rebuffed,<br /> +The perjured Scythian she lacked<br /> +At need's pinch, sick with spleen of the rudely cuffed<br /> +Below her breath she cursed; she cursed the hour<br /> +When on her spring for him the young Tyrannical broke<br /> +Amid the unhallowed wedlock's vodka-shower,<br /> +She passionate, he dispassionate; tricked<br /> +Her wits to eye-blind; borrowed the ready as for dower;<br /> +Till from the trance of that Hymettus-moon<br /> +She woke,<br /> +A nuptial-knotted derelict;<br /> +Pensioned with Rescripts other aid declined<br /> +By the plumped leech saturate urging Peace<br /> +In guise of heavy-armed Gospeller to men,<br /> +Tyrannical unto fraternal equal liberal, her. Not she;<br /> +Not till Alsace her consanguineous find<br /> +What red deteutonising artillery<br /> +Shall shatter her beer-reek alien police<br /> +The just-now pluripollent; not till then.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_416" id="Page_416">[Pg 416]</a></span> + +</p> +<p class='h_5'>IV</p> +<p> +More pungent yet the esoteric pain<br /> +Squeezing her pliable vitals nourishes feud<br /> +Insanely grumous, grumously insane.<br /> +For lo!<br /> +Past common balmly on the Bordereau,<br /> +Churns she the skim o' the gutter's crust<br /> +With Anti-Judaic various carmagnole,<br /> +Whooped praise of the Anti-just;<br /> +Her boulevard brood<br /> +Gyratory in convolvements militant-mad;<br /> +Theatrical of faith in the Belliform,<br /> +Her Og,<br /> +Her Monstrous. Fled what force she had<br /> +To buckle the jaw-gape, wide agog<br /> +For the Preconcerted One,<br /> +The Anticipated, ripe to clinch the whole;<br /> +Queen-bee to hive the hither and thither volant swarm.<br /> +<br /> +Bides she his coming; adumbrates the new<br /> +Expurgatorial Divine,<br /> +Her final effulgent Avatar,<br /> +Postured outside a trampling mastodon<br /> +Black as her Baker's charger; towering; visibly gorged<br /> +With blood of traitors. Knee-grip stiff,<br /> +Spine straightened, on he rides;<br /> +Embossed the Patriot's brow with hieroglyph<br /> +Of martial <i>dossiers</i>, nothing forged<br /> +About him save his armour. So she bides<br /> +Voicing his advent indeterminably far,<br /> +Rooster her sign,<br /> +Rooster her conspuent doodle-doo.<br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>V</p> +<p> +Behold her, pranked with spurs for bloody sport,<br /> +How she acclaims,<br /> +A crapulous chanticleer,<br /> +Breach of the hectic dawn of yon New Year.<br /> +Not yet her fill of rumours sucked;<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_417" id="Page_417">[Pg 417]</a></span> + +Inebriate of honour; blushfully wroth;<br /> +Tireless to play her old primeval games;<br /> +Her plumage preened the yet unplucked<br /> +Like sails of a galleon, rudder hard amort<br /> +With crepitant mast<br /> +Fronting the hazard to dare of a dual blast<br /> +The intern and the extern, blizzards both.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Owen Seaman.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>PRESTO FURIOSO</h3> + +<h4>AFTER WALT WHITMAN</h4> +<table class='center' style='width: 90%;' summary='poem'><tr><td> + +<p class='poem'>Spontaneous Us!</p> +<p class='poem'>O my Camarados! I have no delicatesse as a diplomat, but I go blind on Libertad!</p> +<p class='poem'>Give me the flap-flap of the soaring Eagle's pinions!</p> +<p class='poem'>Give me the tail of the British lion tied in a knot inextricable, not to be solved anyhow!</p> +<p class='poem'>Give me a standing army (I say "give me," because just at present we want one badly, armies being often useful in time of war).</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>I see our superb fleet (I take it that we are to have a superb fleet built almost immediately);</p> +<p class='poem'>I observe the crews prospectively; they are constituted of various nationalities, not necessarily American;</p> +<p class='poem'>I see them sling the slug and chew the plug;</p> +<p class='poem'>I hear the drum begin to hum;</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>Both the above rhymes are purely accidental, and contrary to my principles.</p> +<p class='poem'>We shall wipe the floor of the mill-pond with the scalps of able-bodied British tars!</p> +<p class='poem'>I see Professor Edison about to arrange for us a torpedo-hose on wheels, likewise an infernal electro-semaphore;</p> +<p class='poem'>I see Henry Irving dead sick and declining to play Corporal Brewster;</p> +<p class='poem'>Cornell, I yell! I yell Cornell!</p> +<p><br /></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_418" id="Page_418">[Pg 418]</a></span> + +<p class='poem'>I note the Manhattan boss leaving his dry-goods store and investing in a small Gatling-gun and a ten-cent banner;</p> +<p class='poem'>I further note the Identity evolved out of forty-four spacious and thoughtful States;</p> +<p class='poem'>I note Canada as shortly to be merged in that Identity; similarly Van Diemen's Land, Gibraltar, and Stratford-on-Avon;</p> +<p class='poem'>Briefly, I see creation whipped!</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>O ye Colonels! I am with you (I too am a Colonel and on the pension-list);</p> +<p class='poem'>I drink to the lot of you; to Colonels Cleveland, Hitt, Vanderbilt, Chauncey M. Depew, O'Donovan Rossa, and the late Colonel Monroe;</p> +<p class='poem'>I drink an egg-flip, a morning-caress, an eye-opener, a maiden-bosom, a vermuth-cocktail, three sherry-cobblers, and a gin-sling!</p> +<p class='poem'>Good old Eagle!</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Owen Seaman.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>TO JULIA IN SHOOTING TOGS +AND A HERRICKOSE VEIN</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +When as to shoot my Julia goes,<br /> +Then, then (methinks), how bravely shows<br /> +That rare arrangement of her clothes!<br /> +<br /> +So shod as when the Huntress Maid<br /> +With thumping buskin bruised the glade,<br /> +She moveth, making earth afraid.<br /> +<br /> +Against the sting of random chaff<br /> +Her leathern gaiters circle half<br /> +The arduous crescent of her calf.<br /> +<br /> +Unto th' occasion timely fit,<br /> +My love's attire doth show her wit,<br /> +And of her legs a little bit.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_419" id="Page_419">[Pg 419]</a></span> + +<br /> +Sorely it sticketh in my throat,<br /> +She having nowhere to bestow't<br /> +To name the absent petticoat.<br /> +<br /> +In lieu whereof a wanton pair<br /> +Of knickerbockers she doth wear,<br /> +Full windy and with space to spare.<br /> +<br /> +Enlargèd by the bellying breeze,<br /> +Lord! how they playfully do ease<br /> +The urgent knocking of her knees!<br /> +<br /> +Lengthways curtailèd to her taste<br /> +A tunic circumvents her waist,<br /> +And soothly it is passing chaste.<br /> +<br /> +Upon her head she hath a gear<br /> +Even such as wights of ruddy cheer<br /> +Do use in stalking of the deer.<br /> +<br /> +Haply her truant tresses mock<br /> +Some coronal of shapelier block,<br /> +To wit, the bounding billy-cock.<br /> +<br /> +Withal she hath a loaded gun,<br /> +Whereat the pheasants, as they run,<br /> +Do make a fair diversiòn.<br /> +<br /> +For very awe, if so she shoots,<br /> +My hair upriseth from the roots,<br /> +And lo! I tremble in my boots!<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Owen Seaman.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>FAREWELL</h3> + +<h4>PROVOKED BY CALVERLEY'S "FOREVER"</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +"Farewell!" Another gloomy word<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As ever into language crept.</span><br /> +'Tis often written, never heard,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Except</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_420" id="Page_420">[Pg 420]</a></span> + +<br /> +In playhouse. Ere the hero flits—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In handcuffs—from our pitying view.</span><br /> +"Farewell!" he murmurs, then exits<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">R. U.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Farewell" is much too sighful for<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An age that has not time to sigh.</span><br /> +We say, "I'll see you later," or<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">"Good by!"</span><br /> +<br /> +When, warned by chanticleer, you go<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From her to whom you owe devoir,</span><br /> +"Say not 'good by,'" she laughs, "but<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">'Au Revoir!'"</span><br /> +<br /> +Thus from the garden are you sped;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Juliet were the first to tell</span><br /> +You, you were silly if you said<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">"Farewell!"</span><br /> +<br /> +"Farewell," meant long ago, before<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It crept, tear-spattered, into song,</span><br /> +"Safe voyage!" "Pleasant journey!" or<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">"So long!"</span><br /> +<br /> +But gone its cheery, old-time ring;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The poets made it rhyme with knell—</span><br /> +Joined it became a dismal thing—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">"Farewell!"</span><br /> +<br /> +"Farewell!" into the lover's soul<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You see Fate plunge the fatal iron.</span><br /> +All poets use it. It's the whole<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Of Byron.</span><br /> +<br /> +"I only feel—farewell!" said he;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And always fearful was the telling—</span><br /> +Lord Byron was eternally<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Farewelling.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_421" id="Page_421">[Pg 421]</a></span> + +<br /> +"Farewell!" A dismal word, 'tis true<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(And why not tell the truth about it!);</span><br /> +But what on earth would poets do<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Without it?</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Bert Leston Taylor.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>HERE IS THE TALE</h3> + +<h4>AFTER RUDYARD KIPLING</h4> + +<table class='center' style='width: 90%;' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +<i>Here is the tale—and you must make the most of it!</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Here is the rhyme—ah, listen and attend!</i></span><br /> +<i>Backwards—forwards—read it all and boast of it</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>If you are anything the wiser at the end!</i></span><br /> +</p> +<p class='poem'>Now Jack looked up—it was time to sup, and the bucket was yet to fill,</p> +<p class='poem'>And Jack looked round for a space and frowned, then beckoned his sister Jill,</p> +<p class='poem'>And twice he pulled his sister's hair, and thrice he smote her side;</p> +<p class='poem'>"Ha' done, ha' done with your impudent fun—ha' done with your games!" she cried;</p> +<p class='poem'>"You have made mud-pies of a marvellous size—finger and face are black,</p> +<p class='poem'>You have trodden the Way of the Mire and Clay—now up and wash you, Jack!</p> +<p class='poem'>Or else, or ever we reach our home, there waiteth an angry dame—</p> +<p class='poem'>Well you know the weight of her blow—the supperless open shame!</p> +<p class='poem'>Wash, if you will, on yonder hill—wash, if you will, at the spring,—</p> +<p class='poem'>Or keep your dirt, to your certain hurt, and an imminent walloping!"</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>"You must wash—you must scrub—you must scrape!" growled Jack, "you must traffic with cans and pails,</p> +<p class='poem'>Nor keep the spoil of the good brown soil in the rim of your finger-nails!</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_422" id="Page_422">[Pg 422]</a></span> + +<p class='poem'>The morning path you must tread to your bath—you must wash ere the night descends,</p> +<p class='poem'>And all for the cause of conventional laws and the soap-makers' dividends!</p> +<p class='poem'>But if 'tis sooth that our meal in truth depends on our washing, Jill,</p> +<p class='poem'>By the sacred right of our appetite—haste—haste to the top of the hill!"</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>They have trodden the Way of the Mire and Clay, they have toiled and travelled far,</p> +<p class='poem'>They have climbed to the brow of the hill-top now, where the bubbling fountains are,</p> +<p class='poem'>They have taken the bucket and filled it up—yea, filled it up to the brim;</p> +<p class='poem'>But Jack he sneered at his sister Jill, and Jill she jeered at him:</p> +<p class='poem'>"What, blown already!" Jack cried out (and his was a biting mirth!)</p> +<p class='poem'>"You boast indeed of your wonderful speed—but what is the boasting worth?</p> +<p class='poem'>Now, if you can run as the antelope runs and if you can turn like a hare,</p> +<p class='poem'>Come, race me, Jill, to the foot of the hill—and prove your boasting fair!"</p> +<p class='poem'>"Race? What is a race" (and a mocking face had Jill as she spake the word)</p> +<p class='poem'>"Unless for a prize the runner tries? The truth indeed ye heard,</p> +<p class='poem'>For I can run as the antelope runs, and I can turn like a hare:—</p> +<p class='poem'>The first one down wins half-a-crown—and I will race you there!"</p> +<p class='poem'>"Yea, if for the lesson that you will learn (the lesson of humbled pride)</p> +<p class='poem'>The price you fix at two-and-six, it shall not be denied;</p> +<p class='poem'>Come, take your stand at my right hand, for here is the mark we toe:</p> +<p class='poem'>Now, are you ready, and are you steady? Gird up your petticoats! Go!"</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_423" id="Page_423">[Pg 423]</a></span> + +<p class='poem'>And Jill she ran like a winging bolt, a bolt from the bow released,</p> +<p class='poem'>But Jack like a stream of the lightning gleam, with its pathway duly greased;</p> +<p class='poem'>He ran down hill in front of Jill like a summer-lightning flash—</p> +<p class='poem'>Till he suddenly tripped on a stone, or slipped, and fell to the earth with a crash.</p> +<p class='poem'>Then straight did rise on his wondering eyes the constellations fair,</p> +<p class='poem'>Arcturus and the Pleiades, the Greater and Lesser Bear,</p> +<p class='poem'>The swirling rain of a comet's train he saw, as he swiftly fell—</p> +<p class='poem'>And Jill came tumbling after him with a loud triumphant yell:</p> +<p class='poem'>"You have won, you have won, the race is done! And as for the wager laid—</p> +<p class='poem'>You have fallen down with a broken crown—the half-crown debt is paid!"</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>They have taken Jack to the room at the back where the family medicines are,</p> +<p class='poem'>And he lies in bed with a broken head in a halo of vinegar;</p> +<p class='poem'>While, in that Jill had laughed her fill as her brother fell to earth,</p> +<p class='poem'>She had felt the sting of a walloping—she hath paid the price of her mirth!</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'><i>Here is the tale</i>—<i>and now you have the whole of it,</i></p> +<p class='poem'><i>Here is the story</i>—<i>well and wisely planned,</i></p> +<p class='poem'><i>Beauty</i>—<i>Duty</i>—<i>these make up the soul of it</i>—</p> +<p class='poem'><i>But, ah, my little readers, will you mark and understand?</i></p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Anthony C. Deane.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE WILLOWS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +The skies they were ashen and sober,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The streets they were dirty and drear;</span><br /> +It was night in the month of October,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of my most immemorial year;</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_424" id="Page_424">[Pg 424]</a></span> + +Like the skies I was perfectly sober,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As I stopped at the mansion of Shear,—</span><br /> +At the "Nightingale,"—perfectly sober,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the willowy woodland, down here.</span><br /> +<br /> +Here once in an alley Titanic<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of Ten-pins,—I roamed with my soul,—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of Ten-pins,—with Mary, my soul;</span><br /> +They were days when my heart was volcanic,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And impelled me to frequently roll,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And made me resistlessly roll,</span><br /> +Till my ten-strikes created a panic<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the realms of the Boreal pole,</span><br /> +Till my ten-strikes created a panic<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With the monkey atop of his pole.</span><br /> +<br /> +I repeat, I was perfectly sober,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But my thoughts they were palsied and sear,—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My thoughts were decidedly queer;</span><br /> +For I knew not the month was October,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I marked not the night of the year;</span><br /> +I forgot that sweet <i>morçeau</i> of Auber<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That the band oft performèd down here;</span><br /> +And I mixed the sweet music of Auber<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With the Nightingale's music by Shear.</span><br /> +<br /> +And now as the night was senescent,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And star-dials pointed to morn,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And car-drivers hinted of morn,</span><br /> +At the end of the path a liquescent<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And bibulous lustre was born:</span><br /> +'Twas made by the bar-keeper present,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who mixèd a duplicate horn,—</span><br /> +His two hands describing a crescent<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Distinct with a duplicate horn.</span><br /> +<br /> +And I said: "This looks perfectly regal;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For it's warm, and I know I feel dry,—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I am confident that I feel dry.</span><br /> +We have come past the emeu and eagle,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And watched the gay monkey on high;</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_425" id="Page_425">[Pg 425]</a></span> + +<br /> +Let us drink to the emeu and eagle,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the swan and the monkey on high—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the eagle and monkey on high;</span><br /> +For this bar-keeper will not inveigle,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bully boy with the vitreous eye;</span><br /> +He surely would never inveigle,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sweet youth with the crystalline eye."</span><br /> +<br /> +But Mary, uplifting her finger,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Said, "Sadly this bar I mistrust,—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I fear that this bar does not trust.</span><br /> +Oh, hasten! oh, let us not linger!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh, fly!—let us fly—ere we must!"</span><br /> +In terror she cried, letting sink her<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Parasol till it trailed in the dust,—</span><br /> +In agony sobbed, letting sink her<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Parasol till it trailed in the dust,—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till it sorrowfully trailed in the dust.</span><br /> +<br /> +Then I pacified Mary, and kissed her,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And tempted her into the room,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And conquer'd her scruples and gloom;</span><br /> +And we passed to the end of the vista,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But were stopped by the warning of doom—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By some words that were warning of doom.</span><br /> +And I said, "What is written, sweet sister,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At the opposite end of the room?"</span><br /> +She sobbed, as she answered, "All liquors<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Must be paid for ere leaving the room."</span><br /> +<br /> +Then my heart it grew ashen and sober,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As the streets were deserted and drear—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For my pockets were empty and drear;</span><br /> +And I cried, "It was surely October,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On this very night of last year,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That I journeyed—I journeyed down here—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That I brought a fair maiden down here,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On this night of all nights in the year.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ah! to me that inscription is clear:</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_426" id="Page_426">[Pg 426]</a></span> + +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Well I know now I'm perfectly sober,</span><br /> +Why no longer they credit me here,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Well I know now that music of Auber,</span><br /> +And this Nightingale, kept by one Shear."<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Bret Harte.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A BALLAD</h3> + +<h4>IN THE MANNER OF R-DY-RD K-PL-NG</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> + +<p class='poem'>As I was walkin' the jungle round, a-killin' of tigers an' time;</p> +<p class='poem'>I seed a kind of an author man a writin' a rousin' rhyme;</p> +<p class='poem'>'E was writin' a mile a minute an' more, an' I sez to 'im, "'Oo are you?"</p> +<p class='poem'>Sez 'e, "I'm a poet—'er majesty's poet—soldier an' sailor, too!"</p> +<p class='poem'>An 'is poem began in Ispahan an' ended in Kalamazoo,</p> +<p class='poem'>It 'ad army in it, an' navy in it, an' jungle sprinkled through,</p> +<p class='poem'>For 'e was a poet—'er majesty's poet—soldier an' sailor, too!</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>An' after, I met 'im all over the world, a doin' of things a host;</p> +<p class='poem'>'E 'ad one foot planted in Burmah, an' one on the Gloucester coast;</p> +<p class='poem'>'Es 'alf a sailor an' 'alf a whaler, 'e's captain, cook and crew,</p> +<p class='poem'>But most a poet—'er majesty's poet—soldier an' sailor too!</p> +<p class='poem'>'E's often Scot an' 'e's often not, but 'is work is never through</p> +<p class='poem'>For 'e laughs at blame, an' 'e writes for fame, an' a bit for revenoo,—</p> +<p class='poem'>Bein' a poet—'er majesty's poet—soldier an' sailor too!</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>'E'll take you up to the Artic zone, 'e'll take you down to the Nile,</p> +<p class='poem'>'E'll give you a barrack ballad in the Tommy Atkins style,</p> +<p class='poem'>Or 'e'll sing you a Dipsy Chantey, as the bloomin' bo'suns do,</p> +<p class='poem'>For 'e is a poet—'er majesty's poet—soldier an' sailor too.</p> +<p class='poem'>An' there isn't no room for others, an' there's nothin' left to do;</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_427" id="Page_427">[Pg 427]</a></span> + +<p class='poem'>'E 'as sailed the main from the 'Orn to Spain, 'e 'as tramped the jungle through,</p> +<p class='poem'>An' written up all there is to write—soldier an' sailor, too!</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>There are manners an' manners of writin', but 'is is the <i>proper</i> way,</p> +<p class='poem'>An' it ain't so hard to be a bard if you'll imitate Rudyard K.;</p> +<p class='poem'>But sea an' shore an' peace an' war, an' everything else in view—</p> +<p class='poem'>'E 'as gobbled the lot!—'er majesty's poet—soldier an' sailor, too.</p> +<p class='poem'>'E's not content with 'is Indian 'ome, 'e's looking for regions new,</p> +<p class='poem'>In another year 'e'll ave swept 'em clear, an' what'll the rest of us do?</p> +<p class='poem'>'<i>E's crowdin' us out!</i>—'er majesty's poet—soldier an' sailor too!</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Guy Wetmore Carryl.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE TRANSLATED WAY</h3> +<div><p class='blockquot'>Being a lyric translation of Heine's "Du bist wie eine Blume," +as it is usually done.</p></div> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Thou art like unto a Flower,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So pure and clean thou art;</span><br /> +I view thee and much sadness<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Steals to me in the heart.</span><br /> +<br /> +To me it seems my Hands I<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Should now impose on your</span><br /> +Head, praying God to keep you<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So fine and clean and pure.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Franklin P. Adams.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>COMMONPLACES</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Rain on the face of the sea,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rain on the sodden land,</span><br /> +And the window-pane is blurred with rain<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As I watch it, pen in hand.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_428" id="Page_428">[Pg 428]</a></span> + +<br /> +Mist on the face of the sea,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mist on the sodden land,</span><br /> +Filling the vales as daylight fails,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And blotting the desolate sand.</span><br /> +<br /> +Voices from out of the mist,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Calling to one another:</span><br /> +"Hath love an end, thou more than friend,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thou dearer than ever brother?"</span><br /> +<br /> +Voices from out of the mist,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Calling and passing away;</span><br /> +But I cannot speak, for my voice is weak,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And ... this is the end of my lay.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Rudyard Kipling.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>ANGELO ORDERS HIS DINNER</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I, Angelo, obese, black-garmented,<br /> +Respectable, much in demand, well fed<br /> +With mine own larder's dainties, where, indeed,<br /> +Such cakes of myrrh or fine alyssum seed,<br /> +Thin as a mallow-leaf, embrowned o' the top.<br /> +Which, cracking, lets the ropy, trickling drop<br /> +Of sweetness touch your tongue, or potted nests<br /> +Which my recondite recipe invests<br /> +With cold conglomerate tidbits—ah, the bill!<br /> +(You say), but given it were mine to fill<br /> +My chests, the case so put were yours, we'll say<br /> +(This counter, here, your post, as mine to-day),<br /> +And you've an eye to luxuries, what harm<br /> +In smoothing down your palate with the charm<br /> +Yourself concocted? There we issue take;<br /> +And see! as thus across the rim I break<br /> +This puffy paunch of glazed embroidered cake,<br /> +So breaks, through use, the lust of watering chaps<br /> +And craveth plainness: do I so? Perhaps;<br /> +But that's my secret. Find me such a man<br /> +As Lippo yonder, built upon the plan<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_429" id="Page_429">[Pg 429]</a></span> + +Of heavy storage, double-navelled, fat<br /> +From his own giblet's oils, an Ararat<br /> +Uplift o'er water, sucking rosy draughts<br /> +From Noah's vineyard,—crisp, enticing wafts<br /> +Yon kitchen now emits, which to your sense<br /> +Somewhat abate the fear of old events,<br /> +Qualms to the stomach,—I, you see, am slow<br /> +Unnecessary duties to forego,—<br /> +You understand? A venison haunch, <i>haul gout</i>.<br /> +Ducks that in Cimbrian olives mildly stew.<br /> +And sprigs of anise, might one's teeth provoke<br /> +To taste, and so we wear the complex yoke<br /> +Just as it suits,—my liking, I confess,<br /> +More to receive, and to partake no less,<br /> +Still more obese, while through thick adipose<br /> +Sensation shoots, from testing tongue to toes<br /> +Far off, dim-conscious, at the body's verge,<br /> +Where the froth-whispers of its waves emerge<br /> +On the untasting sand. Stay, now! a seat<br /> +Is bare: I, Angelo, will sit and eat.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Bayard Taylor.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE PROMISSORY NOTE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In the lonesome latter years</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">(Fatal years!)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To the dropping of my tears</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Danced the mad and mystic spheres</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In a rounded, reeling rune,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">'Neath the moon,</span><br /> +To the dripping and the dropping of my tears.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Ah, my soul is swathed in gloom,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">(Ulalume!)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In a dim Titanic tomb,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For my gaunt and gloomy soul</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Ponders o'er the penal scroll,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">O'er the parchment (not a rhyme),</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Out of place,—out of time,—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I am shredded, shorn, unshifty,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">(Oh, the fifty!)</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_430" id="Page_430">[Pg 430]</a></span> + +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And the days have passed, the three,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Over me!</span><br /> +And the debit and the credit are as one to him and me!<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">'Twas the random runes I wrote</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">At the bottom of the note,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">(Wrote and freely</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Gave to Greeley)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In the middle of the night,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In the mellow, moonless night,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">When the stars were out of sight,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">When my pulses, like a knell,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">(Israfel!)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Danced with dim and dying fays</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">O'er the ruins of my days,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">O'er the dimeless, timeless days,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">When the fifty, drawn at thirty,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Seeming thrifty, yet the dirty</span><br /> +Lucre of the market, was the most that I could raise!<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Fiends controlled it,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">(Let him hold it!)</span><br /> +Devils held for me the inkstand and the pen;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Now the days of grace are o'er,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">(Ah, Lenore!)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I am but as other men;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">What is time, time, time,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To my rare and runic rhyme,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To my random, reeling rhyme,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">By the sands along the shore,</span><br /> +Where the tempest whispers, "Pay him!" and I answer, "Nevermore!"<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Bayard Taylor.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>CAMERADOS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> + +<p class='poem'>Everywhere, everywhere, following me;</p> +<p class='poem'>Taking me by the buttonhole, pulling off my boots, hustling me with the elbows;</p> +<p class='poem'>Sitting down with me to clams and the chowder-kettle;</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_431" id="Page_431">[Pg 431]</a></span> + +<p class='poem'>Plunging naked at my side into the sleek, irascible surges;</p> +<p class='poem'>Soothing me with the strain that I neither permit nor prohibit;</p> +<p class='poem'>Flocking this way and that, reverent, eager, orotund, irrepressible;</p> +<p class='poem'>Denser than sycamore leaves when the north-winds are scouring Paumanok;</p> +<p class='poem'>What can I do to restrain them? Nothing, verily nothing,</p> +<p class='poem'>Everywhere, everywhere, crying aloud for me;</p> +<p class='poem'>Crying, I hear; and I satisfy them out of my nature;</p> +<p class='poem'>And he that comes at the end of the feast shall find something over.</p> +<p class='poem'>Whatever they want I give; though it be something else, they shall have it.</p> +<p class='poem'>Drunkard, leper, Tammanyite, small-pox and cholera patient, shoddy and codfish millionnaire,</p> +<p class='poem'>And the beautiful young men, and the beautiful young women, all the same,</p> +<p class='poem'>Crowding, hundreds of thousands, cosmical multitudes,</p> +<p class='poem'>Buss me and hang on my hips and lean up to my shoulders,</p> +<p class='poem'>Everywhere listening to my yawp and glad whenever they hear it;</p> +<p class='poem'>Everywhere saying, say it, Walt, we believe it:</p> +<p class='poem'>Everywhere, everywhere.</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Bayard Taylor.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE LAST RIDE TOGETHER</h3> +<h4>FROM HER POINT OF VIEW</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +When I had firmly answered "No,"<br /> +And he allowed that that was so,<br /> +I really thought I should be free<br /> +For good and all from Mr. B.,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And that he would soberly acquiesce.</span><br /> +I said that it would be discreet<br /> +That for awhile we should not meet;<br /> +I promised that I would always feel<br /> +A kindly interest in his weal;<br /> +I thanked him for his amorous zeal;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In short, I said all I could but "yes."</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_432" id="Page_432">[Pg 432]</a></span> + +<br /> +I said what I'm accustomed to;<br /> +I acted as I always do.<br /> +I promised he should find in me<br /> +A friend,—a sister, if that might be;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But he was still dissatisfied.</span><br /> +He certainly was most polite;<br /> +He said exactly what was right,<br /> +He acted very properly,<br /> +Except indeed for this, that he<br /> +Insisted on inviting me<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To come with him for "one more last ride."</span><br /> +<br /> +A little while in doubt I stood:<br /> +A ride, no doubt, would do me good;<br /> +I had a habit and a hat<br /> +Extremely well worth looking at;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The weather was distinctly fine.</span><br /> +My horse, too, wanted exercise,<br /> +And time, when one is riding, flies;<br /> +Besides, it really seemed, you see,<br /> +The only way of ridding me<br /> +Of pertinacious Mr. B.;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So my head I graciously incline.</span><br /> +<br /> +I won't say much of what happened next;<br /> +I own I was extremely vexed.<br /> +Indeed I should have been aghast<br /> +If any one had seen what passed;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But nobody need ever know</span><br /> +That, as I leaned forward to stir the fire,<br /> +He advanced before I could well retire;<br /> +And I suddenly felt, to my great alarm,<br /> +The grasp of a warm, unlicensed arm,<br /> +An embrace in which I found no charm;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I was awfully glad when he let me go.</span><br /> +<br /> +Then we began to ride; my steed<br /> +Was rather fresh, too fresh indeed,<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_433" id="Page_433">[Pg 433]</a></span> + +And at first I thought of little, save<br /> +The way to escape an early grave,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As the dust rose up on either side.</span><br /> +My stern companion jogged along<br /> +On a brown old cob both broad and strong.<br /> +He looked as he does when he's writing verse,<br /> +Or endeavoring not to swear and curse,<br /> +Or wondering Where he has left his purse;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Indeed it was a sombre ride.</span><br /> +<br /> +I spoke of the weather to Mr. B.,<br /> +But he neither listened nor spoke to me.<br /> +I praised his horse, and I smiled the smile<br /> +Which was wont to move him once in a while.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I said I was wearing his favorite flowers,</span><br /> +But I wasted my words on the desert air,<br /> +For he rode with a fixed and gloomy stare.<br /> +I wonder what he was thinking about.<br /> +As I don't read verse, I shan't find out.<br /> +It was something subtle and deep, no doubt,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A theme to detain a man for hours.</span><br /> +<br /> +Ah! there was the corner where Mr. S.<br /> +So nearly induced me to whisper "yes";<br /> +And here it was that the next but one<br /> +Proposed on horseback, or would have done,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Had his horse not most opportunely shied;</span><br /> +Which perhaps was due to the unseen flick<br /> +He received from my whip; 'twas a scurvy trick,<br /> +But I never could do with that young man,—<br /> +I hope his present young woman can.<br /> +Well, I must say, never, since time began,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Did I go for a duller or longer ride.</span><br /> +<br /> +He never smiles and he never speaks;<br /> +He might go on like this for weeks;<br /> +He rolls a slightly frenzied eye<br /> +Towards the blue and burning sky,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the cob bounds on with tireless stride.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_434" id="Page_434">[Pg 434]</a></span> + +If we aren't home for lunch at two<br /> +I don't know what papa will do;<br /> +But I know full well he will say to me,<br /> +"I never approved of Mr. B.;<br /> +It's the very devil that you and he<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ride, ride together, forever ride."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>James Kenneth Stephen.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>IMITATION OF WALT WHITMAN</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p class='poem'>Who am I?</p> +<p class='poem'>I have been reading Walt Whitman, and know not whether he be me, or me he;—</p> +<p class='poem'>Or otherwise!</p> +<p class='poem'>Oh, blue skies! oh, rugged mountains! oh, mighty, rolling Niagara!</p> +<p class='poem'>O, chaos and everlasting bosh!</p> +<p class='poem'>I am a poet; I swear it! If you do not believe it you are a dolt, a fool, an idiot!</p> +<p class='poem'>Milton, Shakespere, Dante, Tommy Moore, Pope, never, but Byron, too, perhaps, and last, not least, Me, and the Poet Close.</p> +<p class='poem'>We send our resonance echoing down the adamantine cañons of the future!</p> +<p class='poem'>We live forever! The worms who criticise us (asses!) laugh, scoff, jeer, and babble—die!</p> +<p class='poem'>Serve them right.</p> +<p class='poem'>What is the difference between Judy, the pride of Fleet Street, the glory of Shoe Lane, and Walt Whitman?</p> +<p class='poem'>Start not! 'Tis no end of a minstrel show who perpends this query;</p> +<p class='poem'>'Tis no brain-racking puzzle from an inner page of the Family Herald,</p> +<p class='poem'>No charade, acrostic (double or single), conundrum, riddle, rebus, anagram, or other guess-work.</p> +<p class='poem'>I answer thus: We both write truths—great, stern, solemn, unquenchable truths—couched in more or less ridiculous language.</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_435" id="Page_435">[Pg 435]</a></span> + +<p class='poem'>I, as a rule use rhyme, he does not; therefore, I am his Superior (which is also a lake in his great and glorious country).</p> +<p class='poem'>I scorn, with the unutterable scorn of the despiser of pettiness, to take a mean advantage of him.</p> +<p class='poem'>He writes, he sells, he is read (more or less); why then should I rack my brains and my rhyming dictionary? I will see the public hanged first!</p> +<p class='poem'>I sing of America, of the United States, of the stars and stripes of Oskhosh, of Kalamazoo, and of Salt Lake City.</p> +<p class='poem'>I sing of the railroad cars, of the hotels, of the breakfasts, the lunches, the dinners, and the suppers;</p> +<p class='poem'>Of the soup, the fish, the entrées, the joints, the game, the puddings and the ice-cream.</p> +<p class='poem'>I sing all—I eat all—I sing in turn of Dr. Bluffem's Anti-bilious Pills.</p> +<p class='poem'>No subject is too small, too insignificant, for Nature's poet.</p> +<p class='poem'>I sing of the cocktail, a new song for every cocktail, hundreds of songs, hundreds of cocktails.</p> +<p class='poem'>It is a great and a glorious land! The Mississippi, the Missouri, and a million other torrents roll their waters to the ocean.</p> +<p class='poem'>It is a great and glorious land! The Alleghanies, the Catskills, the Rockies (see atlas for other mountain ranges too numerous to mention) pierce the clouds!</p> +<p class='poem'>And the greatest and most glorious product of this great and glorious land is Walt Whitman;</p> +<p class='poem'>This must be so, for he says it himself.</p> +<p class='poem'>There is but one greater than he between the rising and the setting sun.</p> +<p class='poem'>There is but one before whom he meekly bows his humbled head.</p> +<p class='poem'>Oh, great and glorious land, teeming producer of all things, creator of Niagara, and inventor of Walt Whitman,</p> +<p class='poem'>Erase your national advertisements of liver pads and cures for rheumatism from your public monuments, and inscribe thereon in letters of gold the name <i>Judy</i>.</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_436" id="Page_436">[Pg 436]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>SALAD</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +O cool in the summer is salad,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And warm in the winter is love;</span><br /> +And a poet shall sing you a ballad<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Delicious thereon and thereof.</span><br /> +A singer am I, if no sinner,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My muse has a marvellous wing,</span><br /> +And I willingly worship at dinner<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The Sirens of Spring.</span><br /> +<br /> +Take endive—like love it is bitter,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Take beet—for like love it is red;</span><br /> +Crisp leaf of the lettuce shall glitter,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And cress from the rivulet's bed;</span><br /> +Anchovies, foam-born, like the lady<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whose beauty has maddened this bard;</span><br /> +And olives, from groves that are shady;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And eggs—boil 'em hard.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Mortimer Collins.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>IF</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +If life were never bitter,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And love were always sweet,</span><br /> +Then who would care to borrow<br /> +A moral from to-morrow—<br /> +If Thames would always glitter,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And joy would ne'er retreat,</span><br /> +If life were never bitter,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And love were always sweet!</span><br /> +<br /> +If care were not the waiter<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Behind a fellow's chair,</span><br /> +When easy-going sinners<br /> +Sit down to Richmond dinners,<br /> +And life's swift stream flows straighter,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By Jove, it would be rare,</span><br /> +If care were not the waiter<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Behind a fellow's chair.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_437" id="Page_437">[Pg 437]</a></span> + +<br /> +If wit were always radiant,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And wine were always iced,</span><br /> +And bores were kicked out straightway<br /> +Through a convenient gateway;<br /> +Then down the year's long gradient<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Twere sad to be enticed,</span><br /> +If wit were always radiant,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And wine were always iced.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Mortimer Collins.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE JABBERWOCKY OF AUTHORS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +'Twas gilbert. The kchesterton<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Did locke and bennett in the reed.</span><br /> +All meredith was the nicholson,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And harrison outqueed.</span><br /> +<br /> +Beware the see-enn-william, son,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The londonjack with call that's wild.</span><br /> +Beware the gertroo datherton<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And richardwashburnchild.</span><br /> +<br /> +He took his brady blade in hand;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Long time the partridge foe he sought.</span><br /> +Then stood a time by the oppenheim<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In deep mcnaughton thought.</span><br /> +<br /> +In warwick deeping thought he stood—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He poised on edithwharton brink;</span><br /> +He cried, "Ohbernardshaw! I could<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If basilking would kink."</span><br /> +<br /> +Rexbeach! rexbeach!—and each on each<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O. Henry's mantles ferber fell.</span><br /> +It was the same'sif henryjames<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Had wally eaton well.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_438" id="Page_438">[Pg 438]</a></span> + +<br /> +"And hast thou writ the greatest book?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come to thy birmingham, my boy!</span><br /> +Oh, beresford way! Oh, holman day!"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He kiplinged in his joy.</span><br /> +<br /> +'Twas gilbert. The kchesterton<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Did locke and bennett in the reed.</span><br /> +All meredith was the nicholson,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And harrison outqueed.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Harry Persons Taber.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE TOWN OF NICE</h3> + +<h4>MAY, 1874</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +The town of Nice! the town of Nice!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where once mosquitoes buzzed and stung,</span><br /> +And never gave me any peace,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The whole year round when I was young!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Eternal winter chills it yet,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">It's always cold, and mostly wet.</span><br /> +<br /> +Lord Brougham sate on the rocky brow,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which looks on sea-girt Cannes, I wis,</span><br /> +But wouldn't like to sit there now,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Unless 'twere warmer than it is;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I went to Cannes the other day,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But found it much too damp to stay.</span><br /> +<br /> +The mountains look on Monaco,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Monaco looks on the sea;</span><br /> +And, playing there some hours ago,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I meant to win enormously;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But, tho' my need of coin was bad</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I lost the little that I had.</span><br /> +<br /> +Ye have the southern charges yet—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where is the southern climate gone?</span><br /> +Of two such blessings, why forget<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The cheaper and the seemlier one?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">My weekly bill my wrath inspires;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Think ye I meant to pay for fires?</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_439" id="Page_439">[Pg 439]</a></span> + +<br /> +Why should I stay? No worse art thou,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My country! on thy genial shore</span><br /> +The local east-winds whistle now,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The local fogs spread more and more;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But in the sunny south, the weather</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Beats all you know of put together.</span><br /> +<br /> +I cannot eat—I cannot sleep—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The waves are not so blue as I;</span><br /> +Indeed, the waters of the deep<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are dirty-brown, and so's the sky:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I get dyspepsia when I dine—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Oh, dash that pint of country-wine!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Herman C. Merivale.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE WILLOW-TREE</h3> + +<h4>ANOTHER VERSION</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Long by the willow-trees<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Vainly they sought her,</span><br /> +Wild rang the mother's screams<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O'er the gray water:</span><br /> +Where is my lovely one?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where is my daughter?</span><br /> +<br /> +"Rouse thee, Sir Constable—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rouse thee and look;</span><br /> +Fisherman, bring your net,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Boatman, your hook.</span><br /> +Beat in the lily-beds,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dive in the brook!"</span><br /> +<br /> +Vainly the constable<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shouted and called her;</span><br /> +Vainly the fisherman<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beat the green alder;</span><br /> +Vainly he flung the net,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Never it hauled her!</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_440" id="Page_440">[Pg 440]</a></span> + +<br /> +Mother beside the fire<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sat, her nightcap in;</span><br /> +Father, in easy chair,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gloomily napping,</span><br /> +When at the window-sill<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Came a light tapping!</span><br /> +<br /> +And a pale countenance<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Looked through the casement,</span><br /> +Loud beat the mother's heart,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sick with amazement,</span><br /> +And at the vision which<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Came to surprise her,</span><br /> +Shrieked in an agony—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Lor'! it's Elizar!"</span><br /> +<br /> +Yes, 'twas Elizabeth—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yes, 'twas their girl;</span><br /> +Pale was her cheek, and her<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hair out of curl.</span><br /> +"Mother," the loving one,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Blushing exclaimed,</span><br /> +"Let not your innocent<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lizzy be blamed.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Yesterday, going to Aunt<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Jones's to tea,</span><br /> +Mother, dear mother, I<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Forgot the door-key!</span><br /> +And as the night was cold<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the way steep,</span><br /> +Mrs. Jones kept me to<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Breakfast and sleep."</span><br /> +<br /> +Whether her Pa and Ma<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fully believed her,</span><br /> +That we shall never know,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stern they received her;</span><br /> +And for the work of that<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cruel, though short, night</span><br /> +Sent her to bed without<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tea for a fortnight.</span><br /> +</p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_441" id="Page_441">[Pg 441]</a></span> + +<h5>MORAL</h5> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Hey diddle diddlety,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Cat and the fiddlety,</span><br /> +Maidens of England, take caution by she!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Let love and suicide</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Never tempt you aside,</span><br /> +And always remember to take the door-key.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>W. M. Thackeray.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A BALLADE OF BALLADE-MONGERS</h3> + +<h4>AFTER THE MANNER OF MASTER FRANÇOIS VILLON OF PARIS</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +In Ballades things always contrive to get lost,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Echo is constantly asking where</span><br /> +Are last year's roses and last year's frost?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And where are the fashions we used to wear?</span><br /> +And what is a "gentleman," and what is a "player"?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Irrelevant questions I like to ask:</span><br /> +Can you reap the tret as well as the tare?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And who was the Man in the Iron Mask?</span><br /> +<br /> +What has become of the ring I tossed<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the lap of my mistress false and fair?</span><br /> +Her grave is green and her tombstone mossed;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But who is to be the next Lord Mayor?</span><br /> +And where is King William, of Leicester Square?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And who has emptied my hunting flask?</span><br /> +And who is possessed of Stella's hair?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And who was the Man in the Iron Mask?</span><br /> +<br /> +And what became of the knee I crossed,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the rod and the child they would not spare?</span><br /> +And what will a dozen herring cost<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When herring are sold at three halfpence a pair?</span><br /> +And what in the world is the Golden Stair?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Did Diogenes die in a tub or cask,</span><br /> +Like Clarence, for love of liquor there?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And who was the Man in the Iron Mask?</span></p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_442" id="Page_442">[Pg 442]</a></span> + +<p class='h_5'>ENVOY</p> + +<p> +Poets, your readers have much to bear,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For Ballade-making is no great task,</span><br /> +If you do not remember, I don't much care<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who was the man in the Iron Mask.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Augustus M. Moore.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_443" id="Page_443">[Pg 443]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="VIII" id="VIII"></a>VIII</h2> + +<h2>BATHOS</h2> + +<p><br /></p> + +<h3>THE CONFESSION</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +There's somewhat on my breast, father,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There's somewhat on my breast!</span><br /> +The livelong day I sigh, father,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And at night I cannot rest.</span><br /> +I cannot take my rest, father,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Though I would fain do so;</span><br /> +A weary weight oppresseth me—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This weary weight of woe!</span><br /> +<br /> +'Tis not the lack of gold, father,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor want of worldly gear;</span><br /> +My lands are broad, and fair to see,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My friends are kind and dear.</span><br /> +My kin are leal and true, father,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They mourn to see my grief;</span><br /> +But, oh! 'tis not a kinsman's hand<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Can give my heart relief!</span><br /> +<br /> +'Tis not that Janet's false, father,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Tis not that she's unkind;</span><br /> +Though busy flatterers swarm around,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I know her constant mind.</span><br /> +'Tis not <i>her</i> coldness, father,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That chills my laboring breast;</span><br /> +It's that confounded cucumber<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I ate, and can't digest.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Richard Harris Barham.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_444" id="Page_444">[Pg 444]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>IF YOU HAVE SEEN</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Good reader! if you e'er have seen,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When Phœbus hastens to his pillow,</span><br /> +The mermaids, with their tresses green,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dancing upon the western billow:</span><br /> +If you have seen, at twilight dim,<br /> +When the lone spirit's vesper hymn<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Floats wild along the winding shore:</span><br /> +If you have seen, through mist of eve,<br /> +The fairy train their ringlets weave,<br /> +Glancing along the spangled green;—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If you have seen all this and more,</span><br /> +God bless me! what a deal you've seen!<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Thomas Moore.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>CIRCUMSTANCE</h3> + +<h4>THE ORANGE</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +It ripen'd by the river banks,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where, mask and moonlight aiding,</span><br /> +Dons Blas and Juan play their pranks,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dark Donnas serenading.</span><br /> +<br /> +By Moorish damsel it was pluck'd,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beneath the golden day there;</span><br /> +By swain 'twas then in London suck'd—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who flung the peel away there.</span><br /> +<br /> +He could not know in Pimlico,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As little she in Seville,</span><br /> +That <i>I</i> should reel upon that peel,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And—wish them at the devil!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Frederick Locker-Lampson.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_445" id="Page_445">[Pg 445]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>ELEGY</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +The jackals prowl, the serpents hiss<br /> +In what was once Persepolis.<br /> +Proud Babylon is but a trace<br /> +Upon the desert's dusty face.<br /> +The topless towers of Ilium<br /> +Are ashes. Judah's harp is dumb.<br /> +The fleets of Nineveh and Tyre<br /> +Are down with Davy Jones, Esquire<br /> +And all the oligarchies, kings,<br /> +And potentates that ruled these things<br /> +Are gone! But cheer up; don't be sad;<br /> +Think what a lovely time they had!<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Arthur Guiterman.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>OUR TRAVELLER</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p>If thou would'st stand on Etna's burning brow,<br /> +With smoke above, and roaring flame below;<br /> +And gaze adown that molten gulf reveal'd,<br /> +Till thy soul shudder'd and thy senses reel'd:<br /> +If thou wouldst beard Niag'ra in his pride,<br /> +Or stem the billows of Propontic tide;<br /> +Scale all alone some dizzy Alpine <i>haut</i>,<br /> +And shriek "Excelsior!" among the snow:<br /> +Would'st tempt all deaths, all dangers that may be—<br /> +Perils by land, and perils on the sea;<br /> +This vast round world, I say, if thou wouldst view it—<br /> +Then, why the dickens don't you go and do it?<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Henry Cholmondeley-Pennell.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>OPTIMISM</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Be brave, faint heart,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The dough shall yet be cake;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Be strong, weak heart,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The butter is to come.</span><br /> +Some cheerful chance will right the apple-cart,<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_446" id="Page_446">[Pg 446]</a></span> + +The devious pig will gain the lucky mart,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Loquacity be dumb,—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Collapsed the fake.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Be brave, faint heart!</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Be strong, weak heart,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The path will be made plain;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Be brave, faint heart,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The bore will crawl away.</span><br /> +The upside down will turn to right side up,<br /> +The stiffened lip compel that slipping cup,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The doldrums of the day</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Be not in vain.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Be strong, weak heart!</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Be brave, faint heart,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The jelly means to jell;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Be strong, weak heart,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The hopes are in the malt.</span><br /> +The wrong side in will yet turn right side out,<br /> +The long-time lost come down yon cormorant spout.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Life still is worth her salt:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">What ends well's well.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Be brave, faint heart!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Newton Mackintosh.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE DECLARATION</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Twas late, and the gay company was gone,<br /> +And light lay soft on the deserted room<br /> +From alabaster vases, and a scent<br /> +Of orange-leaves, and sweet verbena came<br /> +Through the unshutter'd window on the air.<br /> +And the rich pictures with their dark old tints<br /> +Hung like a twilight landscape, and all things<br /> +Seem'd hush'd into a slumber. Isabel,<br /> +The dark-eyed, spiritual Isabel<br /> +Was leaning on her harp, and I had stay'd<br /> +To whisper what I could not when the crowd<br /> +Hung on her look like worshipers. I knelt,<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_447" id="Page_447">[Pg 447]</a></span> + +<br /> +And with the fervor of a lip unused<br /> +To the cool breath of reason, told my love.<br /> +There was no answer, and I took the hand<br /> +That rested on the strings, and press'd a kiss<br /> +Upon it unforbidden—and again<br /> +Besought her, that this silent evidence<br /> +That I was not indifferent to her heart,<br /> +Might have the seal of one sweet syllable.<br /> +I kiss'd the small white fingers as I spoke,<br /> +And she withdrew them gently, and upraised<br /> +Her forehead from its resting-place, and look'd<br /> +Earnestly on me—<i>She had been asleep!</i><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>N. P. Willis.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>HE CAME TO PAY</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +The editor sat with his head in his hands<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And his elbows at rest on his knees;</span><br /> +He was tired of the ever-increasing demands<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On his time, and he panted for ease.</span><br /> +The clamor for copy was scorned with a sneer,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And he sighed in the lowest of tones:</span><br /> +"Won't somebody come with a dollar to cheer<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The heart of Emanuel Jones?"</span><br /> +<br /> +Just then on the stairway a footstep was heard<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And a rap-a-tap loud at the door,</span><br /> +And the flickering hope that had been long deferred<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Blazed up like a beacon once more;</span><br /> +And there entered a man with a cynical smile<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That was fringed with a stubble of red,</span><br /> +Who remarked, as he tilted a sorry old tile<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the back of an average head:</span><br /> +<br /> +"I have come here to pay"—Here the editor cried:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"You're as welcome as flowers in spring!</span><br /> +Sit down in this easy armchair by my side,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And excuse me awhile till I bring</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_448" id="Page_448">[Pg 448]</a></span> + +A lemonade dashed with a little old wine<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And a dozen cigars of the best....</span><br /> +Ah! Here we are! This, I assure you, is fine;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Help yourself, most desirable guest."</span><br /> +<br /> +The visitor drank with a relish, and smoked<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till his face wore a satisfied glow,</span><br /> +And the editor, beaming with merriment, joked<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In a joyous, spontaneous flow;</span><br /> +And then, when the stock of refreshments was gone,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His guest took occasion to say,</span><br /> +In accents distorted somewhat by a yawn,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"My errand up here is to pay—"</span><br /> +<br /> +But the generous scribe, with a wave of his hand,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Put a stop to the speech of his guest,</span><br /> +And brought in a melon, the finest the land<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ever bore on its generous breast;</span><br /> +And the visitor, wearing a singular grin,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Seized the heaviest half of the fruit,</span><br /> +And the juice, as it ran in a stream from his chin,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Washed the mud of the pike from his boot.</span><br /> +<br /> +Then, mopping his face on a favorite sheet<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which the scribe had laid carefully by,</span><br /> +The visitor lazily rose to his feet<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With the dreariest kind of a sigh,</span><br /> +And he said, as the editor sought his address,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In his books to discover his due:</span><br /> +"I came here to pay—my respects to the press,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And to borrow a dollar of you!"</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Parmenas Mix.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_449" id="Page_449">[Pg 449]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE FORLORN ONE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Ah! why those piteous sounds of woe,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lone wanderer of the dreary night?</span><br /> +Thy gushing tears in torrents flow,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thy bosom pants in wild affright!</span><br /> +<br /> +And thou, within whose iron breast<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Those frowns austere too truly tell,</span><br /> +Mild pity, heaven-descended guest,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hath never, never deign'd to dwell.</span><br /> +<br /> +"That rude, uncivil touch forego,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stern despot of a fleeting hour!</span><br /> +Nor "make the angels weep" to know<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The fond "fantastic tricks" of power!</span><br /> +<br /> +Know'st thou not "mercy is not strain'd,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But droppeth as the gentle dew,"</span><br /> +And while it blesseth him who gain'd,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It blesseth him who gave it, too?</span><br /> +<br /> +Say, what art thou? and what is he,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pale victim of despair and pain,</span><br /> +Whose streaming eyes and bended knee<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sue to thee thus—and sue in vain?</span><br /> +<br /> +Cold callous man!—he scorns to yield,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or aught relax his felon gripe,</span><br /> +But answers, "I'm Inspector Field<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And this here warment's prigg'd your wipe."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Richard Harris Barham.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_450" id="Page_450">[Pg 450]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>RURAL RAPTURES</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +'Tis sweet at dewy eve to rove<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When softly sighs the western breeze,</span><br /> +And wandering 'mid the starlit grove<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To take a pinch of snuff and sneeze.</span><br /> +<br /> +'Tis sweet to see in daisied field<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The flocks and herds their pleasure take;</span><br /> +But sweeter are the joys they yield<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In tender chop and juicy steak.</span><br /> +<br /> +'Tis sweet to hear the murmurous sound<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That from the vocal woods doth rise,</span><br /> +To mark the pigeons wheeling round,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And think how nice they'd be in pies.</span><br /> +<br /> +When nightingales pour from their throats<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their gushing melody, 'tis sweet;</span><br /> +Yet sweeter 'tis to catch the notes<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That issue from Threadneedle Street.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A FRAGMENT</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +His eye was stern and wild—his cheek was pale and cold as clay;<br /> +Upon his tightened lip a smile of fearful meaning lay.<br /> +He mused awhile—but not in doubt—no trace of doubt was there;<br /> +It was the steady solemn pause of resolute despair.<br /> +Once more he looked upon the scroll—once more its words he read—<br /> +Then calmly, with unflinching hand, its folds before him spread.<br /> +I saw him bare his throat, and seize the blue-cold gleaming steel,<br /> +And grimly try the tempered edge he was so soon to feel!<br /> +A sickness crept upon my heart, and dizzy swam my head—<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_451" id="Page_451">[Pg 451]</a></span> + +I could not stir—I could not cry—I felt benumbed and dead;<br /> +Black icy horrors struck me dumb, and froze my senses o'er;<br /> +I closed my eyes in utter fear, and strove to think no more.<br /> +<br /> +Again I looked: a fearful change across his face had passed—<br /> +He seemed to rave—on cheek and lip a flaky foam was cast;<br /> +He raised on high the glittering blade—then first I found a tongue—<br /> +"Hold, madman! stay thy frantic deed!" I cried, and forth I sprung;<br /> +He heard me, but he heeded not; one glance around he gave,<br /> +And ere I could arrest his hands, he had—begun to <i>shave</i>!<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE BITER BIT</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +The sun is in the sky, mother, the flowers are springing fair,<br /> +And the melody of woodland birds is stirring in the air;<br /> +The river, smiling to the sky, glides onward to the sea,<br /> +And happiness is everywhere, oh, mother, but with me!<br /> +<br /> +They are going to the church, mother—I hear the marriage bell<br /> +It booms along the upland—oh! it haunts me like a knell;<br /> +He leads her on his arm, mother, he cheers her faltering step,<br /> +And closely to his side she clings—she does, the demirep!<br /> +<br /> +They are crossing by the stile, mother, where we so oft have stood,<br /> +The stile beside the shady thorn, at the corner of the wood;<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_452" id="Page_452">[Pg 452]</a></span> + +And the boughs, that wont to murmur back the words that won my ear,<br /> +Wave their silver branches o'er him, as he leads his bridal fere.<br /> +<br /> +He will pass beside the stream, mother, where first my hand he pressed,<br /> +By the meadow where, with quivering lip, his passion he confessed;<br /> +And down the hedgerows where we've strayed again and yet again;<br /> +But he will not think of me, mother, his broken-hearted Jane!<br /> +<br /> +He said that I was proud, mother, that I looked for rank and gold,<br /> +He said I did not love him—he said my words were cold;<br /> +He said I kept him off and on, in hopes of higher game—<br /> +And it may be that I did, mother; but who hasn't done the same.<br /> +<br /> +I did not know my heart, mother—I know it now too late;<br /> +I thought that I without a pang could wed some nobler mate;<br /> +But no nobler suitor sought me—and he has taken wing,<br /> +And my heart is gone, and I am left a lone and blighted thing.<br /> +<br /> +You may lay me in my bed, mother—my head is throbbing sore;<br /> +And, mother, prithee, let the sheets be duly aired before;<br /> +And, if you'd please, my mother dear, your poor desponding child,<br /> +Draw me a pot of beer, mother, and, mother, draw it mild!<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>William E. Aytoun.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_453" id="Page_453">[Pg 453]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>COMFORT IN AFFLICTION</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +"Wherefore starts my bosom's lord?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Why this anguish in thine eye?</span><br /> +Oh, it seems as thy heart's chord<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Had broken with that sigh!</span><br /> +<br /> +"Rest thee, my dear lord, I pray,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rest thee on my bosom now!</span><br /> +And let me wipe the dews away,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are gathering on thy brow.</span><br /> +<br /> +"There, again! that fevered start!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What, love! husband! is thy pain?</span><br /> +There is a sorrow in thy heart,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A weight upon thy brain!</span><br /> +<br /> +"Nay, nay, that sickly smile can ne'er<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Deceive affection's searching eye;</span><br /> +'Tis a wife's duty, love, to share<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her husband's agony.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Since the dawn began to peep,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Have I lain with stifled breath;</span><br /> +Heard thee moaning in thy sleep,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As thou wert at grips with death.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Oh, what joy it was to see<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My gentle lord once more awake!</span><br /> +Tell me, what is amiss with thee?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Speak, or my heart will break!"</span><br /> +<br /> +"Mary, thou angel of my life,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thou ever good and kind;</span><br /> +'Tis not, believe me, my dear wife,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The anguish of the mind!</span><br /> +<br /> +"It is not in my bosom, dear,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No, nor in my brain, in sooth;</span><br /> +But, Mary, oh, I feel it here,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Here in my wisdom tooth!</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_454" id="Page_454">[Pg 454]</a></span> + +<br /> +"Then give,—oh, first, best antidote,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sweet partner of my bed!</span><br /> +Give me thy flannel petticoat<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To wrap around my head!"</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>William E. Aytoun.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE HUSBAND'S PETITION</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Come hither, my heart's darling,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come, sit upon my knee,</span><br /> +And listen, while I whisper,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A boon I ask of thee.</span><br /> +You need not pull my whiskers<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So amorously, my dove;</span><br /> +'Tis something quite apart from<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The gentle cares of love.</span><br /> +<br /> +I feel a bitter craving—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A dark and deep desire,</span><br /> +That glows beneath my bosom<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like coals of kindled fire.</span><br /> +The passion of the nightingale,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When singing to the rose,</span><br /> +Is feebler than the agony<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That murders my repose!</span><br /> +<br /> +Nay, dearest! do not doubt me,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Though madly thus I speak—</span><br /> +I feel thy arms about me,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thy tresses on my cheek:</span><br /> +I know the sweet devotion<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That links thy heart with mine—</span><br /> +I know my soul's emotion<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is doubly felt by thine:</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_455" id="Page_455">[Pg 455]</a></span> + +<br /> +And deem not that a shadow<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hath fallen across my love:</span><br /> +No, sweet, my love is shadowless,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As yonder heaven above.</span><br /> +These little taper fingers—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ah! Jane, how white they be!—</span><br /> +Can well supply the cruel want<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That almost maddens me.</span><br /> +<br /> +Thou wilt not sure deny me<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My first and fond request;</span><br /> +I pray thee, by the memory<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of all we cherish best—</span><br /> +By all the dear remembrance<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of those delicious days,</span><br /> +When, hand in hand, we wandered<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Along the summer braes:</span><br /> +<br /> +By all we felt, unspoken,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When 'neath the early moon,</span><br /> +We sat beside the rivulet,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the leafy month of June;</span><br /> +And by the broken whisper,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That fell upon my ear,</span><br /> +More sweet than angel-music,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When first I woo'd thee, dear!</span><br /> +<br /> +By that great vow which bound thee<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Forever to my side,</span><br /> +And by the ring that made thee<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My darling and my bride!</span><br /> +Thou wilt not fail nor falter,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But bend thee to the task—</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">A boiled sheep's head on Sunday</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is all the boon I ask.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>William E. Aytoun.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_456" id="Page_456">[Pg 456]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>LINES WRITTEN AFTER A BATTLE</h3> + +<h4>BY AN ASSISTANT SURGEON OF THE NINETEENTH NANKEENS</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Stiff are the warrior's muscles,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Congeal'd, alas! his chyle;</span><br /> +No more in hostile tussles<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Will he excite his bile.</span><br /> +Dry is the epidermis,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A vein no longer bleeds—</span><br /> +And the communis vermis<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon the warrior feeds.</span><br /> +<br /> +Compress'd, alas! the thorax,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That throbbed with joy or pain;</span><br /> +Not e'en a dose of borax<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Could make it throb again.</span><br /> +Dried up the warrior's throat is,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All shatter'd too, his head:</span><br /> +Still is the epiglottis—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The warrior is dead.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>LINES</h3> + +<h4>ADDRESSED TO ** **** ***** ON THE 29TH OF SEPTEMBER, +WHEN WE PARTED FOR THE LAST TIME</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I have watch'd thee with rapture, and dwelt on thy charms,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As link'd in Love's fetters we wander'd each day;</span><br /> +And each night I have sought a new life in thy arms,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And sigh'd that our union could last not for aye.</span><br /> +<br /> +But thy life now depends on a frail silken thread,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which I even by kindness may cruelly sever,</span><br /> +And I look to the moment of parting with dread,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For I feel that in parting I lose thee forever.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_457" id="Page_457">[Pg 457]</a></span> + +<br /> +Sole being that cherish'd my poor troubled heart!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thou know'st all its secrets—each joy and each grief;</span><br /> +And in sharing them all thou did'st ever impart<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To its sorrows a gentle and soothing relief.</span><br /> +<br /> +The last of a long and affectionate race,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As thy days are declining I love thee the more,</span><br /> +For I feel that thy loss I can never replace—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That thy death will but leave me to weep and deplore.</span><br /> +<br /> +Unchanged, thou shalt live in the mem'ry of years,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I cannot—I will not—forget what thou wert!</span><br /> +While the thoughts of thy love as they call forth my tears,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In fancy will wash thee once more—<span class="smcap">MY LAST SHIRT</span>.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE IMAGINATIVE CRISIS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Oh, solitude! thou wonder-working fay,<br /> +Come nurse my feeble fancy in your arms,<br /> +Though I, and thee, and fancy town-pent lay,<br /> +Come, call around, a world of country charms.<br /> +Let all this room, these walls dissolve away,<br /> +And bring me Surrey's fields to take their place:<br /> +This floor be grass, and draughts as breezes play;<br /> +Yon curtains trees, to wave in summer's face;<br /> +My ceiling, sky; my water-jug a stream;<br /> +My bed, a bank, on which to muse and dream.<br /> +The spell is wrought: imagination swells<br /> +My sleeping-room to hills, and woods, and dells!<br /> +I walk abroad, for naught my footsteps hinder,<br /> +And fling my arms. Oh! mi! I've broke the <i>winder</i>!<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_458" id="Page_458">[Pg 458]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="IX" id="IX"></a>IX</h2> + +<h2>PARODY</h2> + +<p><br /></p> +<h3>THE HIGHER PANTHEISM IN A NUTSHELL</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +One, who is not, we see; but one, whom we see not, is;<br /> +Surely, this is not that; but that is assuredly this.<br /> +<br /> +What, and wherefore, and whence: for under is over and under;<br /> +If thunder could be without lightning, lightning could be without thunder.<br /> +<br /> +Doubt is faith in the main; but faith, on the whole, is doubt;<br /> +We cannot believe by proof; but could we believe without?<br /> +<br /> +Why, and whither, and how? for barley and rye are not clover;<br /> +Neither are straight lines curves; yet over is under and over.<br /> +<br /> +One and two are not one; but one and nothing is two;<br /> +Truth can hardly be false, if falsehood cannot be true.<br /> +<br /> +Parallels all things are; yet many of these are askew;<br /> +You are certainly I; but certainly I am not you.<br /> +<br /> +One, whom we see not, is; and one, who is not, we see;<br /> +Fiddle, we know, is diddle; and diddle, we take it, is dee.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Algernon Charles Swinburne.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_459" id="Page_459">[Pg 459]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>NEPHELIDIA</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p class='poem'>From the depth of the dreamy decline of the dawn through a notable nimbus of nebulous moonshine,</p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pallid and pink as the palm of the flag-flower that flickers with fear of the flies as they float,</span></p> +<p class='poem'>Are they looks of our lovers that lustrously lean from a marvel of mystic miraculous moonshine,</p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">These that we feel in the blood of our blushes that thicken and threaten with throbs through the throat?</span></p> +<p class='poem'>Thicken and thrill as a theatre thronged at appeal of an actor's appalled agitation,</p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fainter with fear of the fires of the future than pale with the promise of pride in the past;</span></p> +<p class='poem'>Flushed with the famishing fulness of fever that reddens with radiance of rathe recreation,</p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gaunt as the ghastliest of glimpses that gleam through the gloom of the gloaming when ghosts go aghast?</span></p> +<p class='poem'>Nay, for the nick of the tick of the time is a tremulous touch on the temples of terror,</p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Strained as the sinews yet strenuous with strife of the dead who is dumb as the dust-heaps of death;</span></p> +<p class='poem'>Surely no soul is it, sweet as the spasm of erotic emotional exquisite error,</p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bathed in the balms of beatified bliss, beatific itself by beatitude's breath.</span></p> +<p class='poem'>Surely no spirit or sense of a soul that was soft to the spirit and soul of our senses</p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sweetens the stress of surprising suspicion that sobs in the semblance and sound of a sigh;</span></p> +<p class='poem'>Only this oracle opens Olympian, in mystical moods and triangular tenses,—</p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Life is the lust of a lamp for the light that is dark till the dawn of the day when we die."</span></p> +<p class='poem'>Mild is the mirk and monotonous music of memory, melodiously mute as it may be,</p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">While the hope in the heart of a hero is bruised by the breach of men's rapiers, resigned to the rod;</span></p> +<p class='poem'>Made meek as a mother whose bosom-beats bound with the bliss-bringing bulk of a balm-breathing baby,</p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_460" id="Page_460">[Pg 460]</a></span> + +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">As they grope through the grave-yard of creeds, under skies growing green at a groan for the grimness of God.</span></p> +<p class='poem'>Blank is the book of his bounty beholden of old, and its binding is blacker than bluer:</p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Out of blue into black is the scheme of the skies, and their dews are the wine of the bloodshed of things:</span></p> +<p class='poem'>Till the darkling desire of delight shall be free as a fawn that is freed from the fangs that pursue her,</p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till the heart-beats of hell shall be hushed by a hymn from the hunt that has harried the kennel of kings.</span></p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Algernon Charles Swinburne.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>UP THE SPOUT</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p class='h_5'>I</p> + +<p> +Hi! Just you drop that! Stop, I say!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shirk work, think slink off, twist friend's wrist?</span><br /> +Where that spined sand's lined band's the bay—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lined blind with true sea's blue, as due—</span><br /> +Promising—not to pay?<br /> +</p> + +<p class='h_5'>II</p> + +<p> +For the sea's debt leaves wet the sand;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Burst worst fate's weight's in one burst gun?</span><br /> +A man's own yacht, blown—What? off land?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tack back, or veer round here, then—queer!</span><br /> +Reef points, though—understand?<br /> +</p> + +<p class='h_5'>III</p> + +<p> +I'm blest if I do. Sigh? be blowed!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Love's doves make break life's ropes, eh? Tropes!</span><br /> +Faith's brig, baulked, sides caulked, rides at road;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hope's gropes befogged, storm-dogged and bogged—</span><br /> +Clogged, water-logged, her load!<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_461" id="Page_461">[Pg 461]</a></span> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>IV</p> + +<p> +Stowed, by Jove, right and tight, away.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No show now how best plough sea's brow,</span><br /> +Wrinkling—breeze quick, tease thick, ere day,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Clear sheer wave's sheen of green, I mean,</span><br /> +With twinkling wrinkles—eh?<br /> +</p> + +<p class='h_5'>V</p> + +<p> +Sea sprinkles wrinkles, tinkles light<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shells' bells—boy's joys that hap to snap!</span><br /> +It's just sea's fun, breeze done, to spite<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">God's rods that scourge her surge, I'd urge—</span><br /> +Not proper, is it—quite?<br /> +</p> + +<p class='h_5'>VI</p> + +<p> +See, fore and aft, life's craft undone!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Crank plank, split spritsail—mark, sea's lark!</span><br /> +That gray cold sea's old sprees, begun<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When men lay dark i' the ark, no spark,</span><br /> +All water—just God's fun!<br /> +</p> + +<p class='h_5'>VII</p> + +<p> +Not bright, at best, his jest to these<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Seemed—screamed, shrieked, wreaked on kin for sin!</span><br /> +When for mirth's yell earth's knell seemed please<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Some dumb new grim great whim in him</span><br /> +Made Jews take chalk for cheese.<br /> +</p> + +<p class='h_5'>VIII</p> + +<p> +Could God's rods bruise God's Jews? Their jowls<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bobbed, sobbed, gaped, aped, the plaice in face!</span><br /> +None heard, 'tis odds, his—God's—folk's howls.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now, how must I apply, to try</span><br /> +This hookiest-beaked of owls?<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_462" id="Page_462">[Pg 462]</a></span> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>IX</p> + +<p> +Well, I suppose God knows—I don't.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Time's crimes mark dark men's types, in stripes</span><br /> +Broad as fen's lands men's hands were wont<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Leave grieve unploughed, though proud and loud</span><br /> +With birds' words—No! he won't!<br /> +</p> + +<p class='h_5'>X</p> + +<p> +One never should think good impossible.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Eh? say I'd hide this Jew's oil's cruse—</span><br /> +His shop might hold bright gold, engrossible<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By spy—spring's air takes there no care</span><br /> +To wave the heath-flower's glossy bell!<br /> +</p> + +<p class='h_5'>XI</p> + +<p> +But gold bells chime in time there, coined—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gold! Old Sphinx winks there—"Read my screed!"</span><br /> +Doctrine Jews learn, use, burn for, joined<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Through new craft's stealth) with health and wealth—</span><br /> +At once all three purloined!<br /> +</p> + +<p class='h_5'>XII</p> + +<p> +I rose with dawn, to pawn, no doubt,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Miss this chance, glance untried aside?)</span><br /> +John's shirt, my—no! Ay, so—the lout!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Let yet the door gape, store on floor</span><br /> +And not a soul about?<br /> +</p> + +<p class='h_5'>XIII</p> + +<p> +Such men lay traps, perhaps—and I'm<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Weak—meek—mild—child of woe, you know!</span><br /> +But theft, I doubt, my lout calls crime.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shrink? Think! Love's dawn in pawn—you spawn</span><br /> +Of Jewry! Just in time!<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Algernon Charles Swinburne.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_463" id="Page_463">[Pg 463]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>IN IMMEMORIAM</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +We seek to know, and knowing seek;<br /> +We seek, we know, and every sense<br /> +Is trembling with the great Intense<br /> +And vibrating to what we speak.<br /> +<br /> +We ask too much, we seek too oft,<br /> +We know enough, and should no more;<br /> +And yet we skim through Fancy's lore<br /> +And look to earth and not aloft.<br /> +<br /> +A something comes from out the gloom;<br /> +I know it not, nor seek to know;<br /> +I only see it swell and grow,<br /> +And more than this world would presume.<br /> +<br /> +Meseems, a circling void I fill,<br /> +And I, unchanged where all is changed;<br /> +It seems unreal; I own it strange,<br /> +Yet nurse the thoughts I cannot kill.<br /> +<br /> +I hear the ocean's surging tide,<br /> +Raise quiring on its carol-tune;<br /> +I watch the golden-sickled moon,<br /> +And clearer voices call beside.<br /> +<br /> +O Sea! whose ancient ripples lie<br /> +On red-ribbed sands where seaweeds shone;<br /> +O Moon! whose golden sickle's gone;<br /> +O Voices all! like ye I die!<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Cuthbert Bede.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>LUCY LAKE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Poor Lucy Lake was overgrown,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But somewhat underbrained.</span><br /> +She did not know enough, I own,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To go in when it rained.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_464" id="Page_464">[Pg 464]</a></span> + +<br /> +Yet Lucy was constrained to go;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Green bedding,—you infer.</span><br /> +Few people knew she died, but oh,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The difference to her!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Newton Mackintosh.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE COCK AND THE BULL</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +You see this pebble-stone? It's a thing I bought<br /> +Of a bit of a chit of a boy i' the mid o' the day—<br /> +I like to dock the smaller parts-o'-speech,<br /> +As we curtail the already cur-tailed cur<br /> +(You catch the paronomasia, play 'po' words?)<br /> +Did, rather, i' the pre-Landseerian days.<br /> +Well, to my muttons. I purchased the concern,<br /> +And clapt it i' my poke, having given for same<br /> +By way o' chop, swop, barter or exchange—<br /> +"Chop" was my snickering dandiprat's own term—<br /> +One shilling and fourpence, current coin o' the realm.<br /> +O-n-e one and f-o-u-r four<br /> +Pence, one and fourpence—you are with me, sir?—<br /> +What hour it skills not: ten or eleven o' the clock,<br /> +One day (and what a roaring day it was<br /> +Go shop or sight-see—bar a spit o' rain!)<br /> +In February, eighteen sixty nine,<br /> +Alexandrina Victoria, Fidei,<br /> +Hm—hm—how runs the jargon? being on the throne.<br /> +<br /> +Such, sir, are all the facts, succinctly put,<br /> +The basis or substratum—what you will—<br /> +Of the impending eighty thousand lines.<br /> +"Not much in 'em either," quoth perhaps simple Hodge.<br /> +But there's a superstructure. Wait a bit.<br /> +<br /> +Mark first the rationale of the thing:<br /> +Hear logic rivel and levigate the deed.<br /> +That shilling—and for matter o' that, the pence—<br /> +I had o' course upo' me—wi' me say—<br /> +(<i>Mecum's</i> the Latin, make a note o' that)<br /> +When I popp'd pen i' stand, scratched ear, wiped snout,<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_465" id="Page_465">[Pg 465]</a></span> + +<br /> +(Let everybody wipe his own himself)<br /> +Sniff'd—tch!—at snuffbox; tumbled up, he-heed,<br /> +Haw-haw'd (not he-haw'd, that's another guess thing):<br /> +Then fumbled at, and stumbled out of, door,<br /> +I shoved the timber ope wi' my omoplat;<br /> +And <i>in vestibulo</i>, i' the lobby to-wit,<br /> +(Iacobi Facciolati's rendering, sir,)<br /> +Donned galligaskins, antigropeloes,<br /> +And so forth; and, complete with hat and gloves,<br /> +One on and one a-dangle i' in my hand,<br /> +And ombrifuge (Lord love you!) cas o' rain,<br /> +I flopped forth, 'sbuddikins! on my own ten toes,<br /> +(I do assure you there be ten of them)<br /> +And went clump-clumping up hill and down dale<br /> +To find myself o' the sudden i' front o' the boy.<br /> +Put case I hadn't 'em on me, could I ha' bought<br /> +This sort-o'-kind-o'-what-you-might-call-toy,<br /> +This pebble-thing, o' the boy-thing? Q. E. D.<br /> +That's proven without aid for mumping Pope,<br /> +Sleek porporate or bloated cardinal.<br /> +(Isn't it, old Fatchops? You're in Euclid now.)<br /> +So, having the shilling—having i' fact a lot—<br /> +And pence and halfpence, ever so many o' them,<br /> +I purchased, as I think I said before,<br /> +The pebble (<i>lapis</i>, <i>lapidis</i>, <i>di</i>, <i>dem</i>, <i>de</i>—<br /> +What nouns 'crease short i' the genitive, Fatchops, eh?)<br /> +O, the boy, a bare-legg'd beggarly son of a gun,<br /> +For one-and-fourpence. Here we are again.<br /> +Now Law steps in, bewigged, voluminous-jaw'd;<br /> +Investigates and re-investigates.<br /> +Was the transaction illegal? Law shakes head.<br /> +Perpend, sir, all the bearings of the case.<br /> +<br /> +At first the coin was mine, the chattel his.<br /> +But now (by virtue of the said exchange<br /> +And barter) <i>vice versa</i> all the coin,<br /> +<i>Rer juris operationem</i>, vests<br /> +I' the boy and his assigns till ding o' doom;<br /> +<i>In sæcula sæculo-o-orum</i>;<br /> +(I think I hear the Abate mouth out that.)<br /> +To have and hold the same to him and them ...<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_466" id="Page_466">[Pg 466]</a></span> + +Confer some idiot on Conveyancing.<br /> +Whereas the pebble and every part thereof,<br /> +And all that appertaineth thereunto,<br /> +<i>Quodcunque pertinet ad em rem</i>,<br /> +(I fancy, sir, my Latin's rather pat)<br /> +Or shall, will, may, might, can, could, would, or should,<br /> +<i>Subaudi cætera</i>—clap we to the close—<br /> +For what's the good of law in such a case o' the kind<br /> +Is mine to all intents and purposes.<br /> +This settled, I resume the thread o' the tale.<br /> +<br /> +Now for a touch o' the vendor's quality.<br /> +He says a gen'lman bought a pebble of him,<br /> +(This pebble i' sooth, sir, which I hold i' my hand)—<br /> +And paid for 't, <i>like</i> a gen'lman, on the nail.<br /> +"Did I o'ercharge him a ha'penny? Devil a bit.<br /> +Fiddlepin's end! Get out, you blazing ass!<br /> +Gabble o' the goose. Don't bugaboo-baby <i>me</i>!<br /> +Go double or quits? Yah! tittup! what's the odds?"<br /> +—There's the transaction viewed in the vendor's light.<br /> +<br /> +Next ask that dumpled hag, stood snuffling by,<br /> +With her three frowsy blowsy brats o' babes,<br /> +The scum o' the Kennel, cream o' the filth-heap—Faugh!<br /> +Aie, aie, aie, aie! [Greek: otototototoi],<br /> +('Stead which we blurt out, Hoighty toighty now)—<br /> +And the baker and candlestick maker, and Jack and Gill.<br /> +Blear'd Goody this and queasy Gaffer that,<br /> +Ask the Schoolmaster, Take Schoolmaster first.<br /> +He saw a gentleman purchase of a lad<br /> +A stone, and pay for it <i>rite</i> on the square,<br /> +And carry it off <i>per saltum</i>, jauntily<br /> +<i>Propria quæ maribus</i>, gentleman's property now<br /> +(Agreeable to the law explained above).<br /> +<i>In proprium usum</i>, for his private ends,<br /> +The boy he chucked a brown i' the air, and bit<br /> +I' the face the shilling; heaved a thumping stone<br /> +At a lean hen that ran cluck-clucking by,<br /> +(And hit her, dead as nail i' post o' door,)<br /> +Then <i>abiit</i>—What's the Ciceronian phrase?<br /> +<i>Excessit</i>, <i>evasit</i>, <i>erupit</i>—off slogs boy;<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_467" id="Page_467">[Pg 467]</a></span> + +<br /> +Off like bird, <i>avi similis</i>—(you observed<br /> +The dative? Pretty i' the Mantuan!)—<i>Anglice</i><br /> +Off in three flea skips. <i>Hactenus</i>, so far,<br /> +So good, <i>tam bene. Bene, satis, male</i>,—<br /> +Where was I with my trope 'bout one in a quag?<br /> +I did once hitch the Syntax into verse<br /> +<i>Verbum personale</i>, a verb personal,<br /> +<i>Concordat</i>—ay, "agrees," old Fatchops—<i>cum</i><br /> +<i>Nominativo</i>, with its nominative,<br /> +<i>Genere</i>, i' point of gender, <i>numero</i>,<br /> +O' number, <i>et persona</i>, and person. <i>Ut</i>,<br /> +Instance: <i>Sol ruit</i>, down flops sun, <i>et</i> and,<br /> +<i>Montes umbrantur</i>, out flounce mountains. Pah!<br /> +Excuse me, sir, I think I'm going mad.<br /> +<br /> +You see the trick on't, though, and can yourself<br /> +Continue the discourse <i>ad libitum</i>.<br /> +It takes up about eighty thousand lines,<br /> +A thing imagination boggles at;<br /> +And might, odds-bobs, sir! in judicious hands<br /> +Extend from here to Mesopotamy.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Charles Stuart Calverley.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>BALLAD</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +The auld wife sat at her ivied door,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(<i>Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese</i>)</span><br /> +A thing she had frequently done before;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And her spectacles lay on her apron'd knees.</span><br /> +<br /> +The piper he piped on the hilltop high,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(<i>Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese</i>)</span><br /> +Till the cow said "I die," and the goose asked "Why?"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the dog said nothing, but search'd for fleas.</span><br /> +<br /> +The farmer he strode through the square farmyard;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(<i>Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese</i>)</span><br /> +His last brew of ale was a trifle hard—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The connection of which the plot one sees.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_468" id="Page_468">[Pg 468]</a></span> + +<br /> +The farmer's daughter hath frank blue eyes;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(<i>Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese</i>)</span><br /> +She hears the rooks caw in the windy skies,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As she sits at her lattice and shells her peas.</span><br /> +<br /> +The farmer's daughter hath ripe red lips;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(<i>Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese</i>)</span><br /> +If you try to approach her, away she skips<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Over tables and chairs with apparent ease.</span><br /> +<br /> +The farmer's daughter hath soft brown hair;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(<i>Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese</i>)</span><br /> +And I met with a ballad, I can't say where,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which wholly consisted of lines like these.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p class='h_5'>PART II</p> + +<p> +She sat with her hands 'neath her dimpled cheeks,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(<i>Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese</i>)</span><br /> +And spake not a word. While a lady speaks<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There is hope, but she didn't even sneeze.</span><br /> +<br /> +She sat, with her hands 'neath her crimson cheeks;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(<i>Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese</i>)</span><br /> +She gave up mending her father's breeks,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And let the cat roll in her new chemise.</span><br /> +<br /> +She sat with her hands 'neath her burning cheeks,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(<i>Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese</i>)</span><br /> +And gazed at the piper for thirteen weeks;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then she follow'd him o'er the misty leas.</span><br /> +<br /> +Her sheep follow'd her, as their tails did them,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(<i>Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese</i>)</span><br /> +And this song is consider'd a perfect gem,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And as to the meaning, it's what you please.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Charles Stuart Calverley.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_469" id="Page_469">[Pg 469]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>DISASTER</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +'Twas ever thus from childhood's hour!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My fondest hopes would not decay;</span><br /> +I never loved a tree or flower<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which was the first to fade away!</span><br /> +The garden, where I used to delve<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Short-frock'd, still yields me pinks in plenty;</span><br /> +The pear-tree that I climbed at twelve<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I see still blossoming, at twenty.</span><br /> +<br /> +I never nursed a dear gazelle;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But I was given a parroquet—</span><br /> +(How I did nurse him if unwell!)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He's imbecile, but lingers yet.</span><br /> +He's green, with an enchanting tuft;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He melts me with his small black eye;</span><br /> +He'd look inimitable stuffed,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And knows it—but he will not die!</span><br /> +<br /> +I had a kitten—I was rich<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In pets—but all too soon my kitten</span><br /> +Became a full-sized cat, by which<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I've more than once been scratched and bitten</span><br /> +And when for sleep her limbs she curl'd<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One day beside her untouch'd plateful,</span><br /> +And glided calmly from the world,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I freely own that I was grateful.</span><br /> +<br /> +And then I bought a dog—a queen!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ah, Tiny, dear departing pug!</span><br /> +She lives, but she is past sixteen<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And scarce can crawl across the rug.</span><br /> +I loved her beautiful and kind;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Delighted in her pert bow-wow;</span><br /> +But now she snaps if you don't mind;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Twere lunacy to love her now.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_470" id="Page_470">[Pg 470]</a></span> + +<br /> +I used to think, should e'er mishap<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Betide my crumple-visaged Ti,</span><br /> +In shape of prowling thief, or trap,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or coarse bull-terrier—I should die.</span><br /> +But ah! disasters have their use,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And life might e'en be too sunshiny;</span><br /> +Nor would I make myself a goose,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If some big dog should swallow Tiny.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Charles Stuart Calverley.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>WORDSWORTHIAN REMINISCENCE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I walked and came upon a picket fence,<br /> +And every picket went straight up and down,<br /> +And all at even intervals were placed,<br /> +All painted green, all pointed at the top,<br /> +And every one inextricably nailed<br /> +Unto two several cross-beams, which did go,<br /> +Not as the pickets, but quite otherwise,<br /> +And they two crossed, but back of all were posts.<br /> +<br /> +O beauteous picket fence, can I not draw<br /> +Instruction from thee? Yea, for thou dost teach,<br /> +That even as the pickets are made fast<br /> +To that which seems all at cross purposes,<br /> +So are our human lives, to the Divine,<br /> +But, oh! not purposeless, for even as they<br /> +Do keep stray cows from trespass, we, no doubt,<br /> +Together guard some plan of Deity.<br /> +<br /> +Thus did I moralise. And from the beams<br /> +And pickets drew a lesson to myself,—<br /> +But where the posts came in, I could not tell.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_471" id="Page_471">[Pg 471]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>INSPECT US</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Out of the clothes that cover me<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tight as the skin is on the grape,</span><br /> +I thank whatever gods may be<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For my unconquerable shape.</span><br /> +<br /> +In the fell clutch of bone and steel<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I have not whined nor cried aloud;</span><br /> +Whatever else I may conceal,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I show my thoughts unshamed and proud.</span><br /> +<br /> +The forms of other actorines<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I put away into the shade;</span><br /> +All of them flossy near-blondines<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Find and shall find me unafraid.</span><br /> +<br /> +It matters not how straight the tape,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How cold the weather is, or warm—</span><br /> +I am the mistress of my shape—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I am the captain of my form.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Edith Daniell.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE MESSED DAMOZEL</h3> + +<h4>AT THE CUBIST EXHIBITION</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +The Messed Damozel leaned out<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From the gold cube of Heav'n;</span><br /> +There were three cubes within her hands,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the cubes in her hair were seven;</span><br /> +I looked, and looked, and looked, and looked—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I could not see her, even.</span><br /> +<br /> +Her robe, a cube from clasp to hem,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was moderately clear;</span><br /> +Methought I saw two cubic eyes,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When I had looked a year;</span><br /> +But when I turned to tell the world,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Those eyes did disappear!</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_472" id="Page_472">[Pg 472]</a></span> + +<br /> +It was the rampart of some house<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That she was standing on;</span><br /> +That much, at least, was plain to me<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As her I gazed upon;</span><br /> +But even as I gazed, alas!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The rampart, too, was gone!</span><br /> +<br /> +(I saw her smile!) Oh, no, I didn't,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Though long mine eyes did stare;</span><br /> +The cubes closed down and shut her out;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I wept in deep despair;</span><br /> +But this I know, and know full well—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>She simply wasn't there!</i></span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Charles Hanson Towne.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A MELTON MOWBRAY PORK-PIE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Strange pie that is almost a passion,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O passion immoral for pie!</span><br /> +Unknown are the ways that they fashion,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Unknown and unseen of the eye.</span><br /> +The pie that is marbled and mottled,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The pie that digests with a sigh:</span><br /> +For all is not Bass that is bottled,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And all is not pork that is pie.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Richard Le Gallienne.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>ISRAFIDDLESTRINGS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +In heaven a Spirit doth dwell<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whose heart strings are a fiddle,</span><br /> +(The reason he sings so well—<br /> +This fiddler Israfel),<br /> +And the giddy stars (will any one tell<br /> +Why giddy?) to attend his spell<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cease their hymns in the middle.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_473" id="Page_473">[Pg 473]</a></span> + +<br /> +On the height of her go<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Totters the Moon, and blushes</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As the song of that fiddle rushes</span><br /> +Across her bow.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The red Lightning stands to listen,</span><br /> +And the eyes of the Pleiads glisten<br /> +As each of the seven puts its fist in<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Its eye, for the mist in.</span><br /> +<br /> +And they say—it's a riddle—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That all these listening things,</span><br /> +That stop in the middle<br /> +For the heart-strung fiddle<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With such the Spirit sings,</span><br /> +Are held as on the griddle<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By these unusual strings.</span><br /> +<br /> +Wherefore thou art not wrong,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Israfel! in that thou boastest</span><br /> +Fiddlestrings uncommon strong;<br /> +To thee the fiddlestrings belong<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With which thou toastest</span><br /> +Other hearts as on a prong.<br /> +<br /> +Yes! heaven is thine, but this<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is a world of sours and sweets,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where cold meats are cold meats,</span><br /> +And the eater's most perfect bliss<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is the shadow of him who treats.</span><br /> +<br /> +If I could griddle<br /> +As Israfiddle<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Has griddled—he fiddle as I,—</span><br /> +He might not fiddle so wild a riddle<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As this mad melody,</span><br /> +While the Pleiads all would leave off in the middle<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hearing my griddle-cry.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_474" id="Page_474">[Pg 474]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>AFTER DILETTANTE CONCETTI</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +"Why do you wear your hair like a man,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sister Helen?</span><br /> +This week is the third since you began."<br /> +"I'm writing a ballad; be still if you can,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little brother.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">(O Mother Carey, mother!</span><br /> +What chickens are these between sea and heaven?)"<br /> +<br /> +"But why does your figure appear so lean,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sister Helen?</span><br /> +And why do you dress in sage, sage green?"<br /> +"Children should never be heard, if seen,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little brother?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">(O Mother Carey, mother!</span><br /> +What fowls are a-wing in the stormy heaven!)"<br /> +<br /> +"But why is your face so yellowy white,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sister Helen?</span><br /> +And why are your skirts so funnily tight?"<br /> +"Be quiet, you torment, or how can I write,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little brother?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">(O Mother Carey, mother!</span><br /> +How gathers thy train to the sea from the heaven!)"<br /> +<br /> +"And who's Mother Carey, and what is her train,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sister Helen?</span><br /> +And why do you call her again and again?"<br /> +"You troublesome boy, why that's the refrain,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little brother.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">(O Mother Carey, mother!</span><br /> +What work is toward in the startled heaven?)"<br /> +<br /> +"And what's a refrain? What a curious word,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sister Helen!</span><br /> +Is the ballad you're writing about a sea-bird?"<br /> +"Not at all; why should it be? Don't be absurd,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little brother.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">(O Mother Carey, mother!</span><br /> +Thy brood flies lower as lowers the heaven.)"<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_475" id="Page_475">[Pg 475]</a></span> + +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">(A big brother speaketh:)</span><br /> +"The refrain you've studied a meaning had,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sister Helen!</span><br /> +It gave strange force to a weird ballad.<br /> +But refrains have become a ridiculous 'fad,'<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little brother.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And Mother Carey, mother,</span><br /> +Has a bearing on nothing in earth or heaven.<br /> +<br /> +"But the finical fashion has had its day,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sister Helen.</span><br /> +And let's try in the style of a different lay<br /> +To bid it adieu in poetical way,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little brother.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">So, Mother Carey, mother!</span><br /> +Collect your chickens and go to—heaven."<br /> +</p> +</td></tr></table> + +<div class='blockquot'>(<i>A pause. Then the big brother singeth, accompanying +himself in a plaintive wise on the triangle.</i>)</div> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +"Look in my face. My name is Used-to-was;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I am also called Played-out, and Done to Death,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And It-will-wash-no-more. Awakeneth</span><br /> +Slowly but sure awakening it has,<br /> +The common-sense of man; and I, alas!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The ballad-burden trick, now known too well,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And turned to scorn, and grown contemptible—</span><br /> +A too transparent artifice to pass.<br /> +<br /> +"What a cheap dodge I am! The cats who dart<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tin-kettled through the streets in wild surprise</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Assail judicious ears not otherwise;</span><br /> +And yet no critics praise the urchin's 'art,'<br /> +Who to the wretched creature's caudal part<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Its foolish empty-jingling 'burden' ties."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>H. D. Traill.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_476" id="Page_476">[Pg 476]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>WHENCENESS OF THE WHICH</h3> + +<h4>SOME DISTANCE AFTER TENNYSON</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Come into the Whenceness Which,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For the fierce Because has flown:</span><br /> +Come into the Whenceness Which,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I am here by the Where alone;</span><br /> +And the Whereas odors are wafted abroad<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till I hold my nose and groan.</span><br /> +<br /> +Queen Which of the Whichbud garden of What's<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come hither the jig is done.</span><br /> +In gloss of Isness and shimmer of Was,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Queen Thisness and Which in one;</span><br /> +Shine out, little Which, sunning over the bangs,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the Nowness, and be its sun.</span><br /> +<br /> +There has fallen a splendid tear<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From the Is flower at the fence;</span><br /> +She is coming, my Which, my dear,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And as she Whistles a song of the Whence,</span><br /> +The Nowness cries, "She is near, she is near."<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the Thingness howls, "Alas!"</span><br /> +The Whoness murmurs, "Well, I should smile,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the Whatlet sobs, "I pass."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE LITTLE STAR</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Scintillate, scintillate, globule orific,<br /> +Fain would I fathom thy nature's specific.<br /> +Loftily poised in ether capacious,<br /> +Strongly resembling a gem carbonaceous.<br /> +<br /> +When torrid Phœbus refuses his presence<br /> +And ceases to lamp with fierce incandescence,<br /> +Then you illumine the regions supernal,<br /> +Scintillate, scintillate, semper nocturnal.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_477" id="Page_477">[Pg 477]</a></span> + +<br /> +Then the victim of hospiceless peregrination<br /> +Gratefully hails your minute coruscation.<br /> +He could not determine his journey's direction<br /> +But for your bright scintillating protection.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE ORIGINAL LAMB</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Oh, Mary had a little Lamb, regarding whose cuticular<br /> +The fluff exterior was white and kinked in each particular.<br /> +On each occasion when the lass was seen perambulating,<br /> +The little quadruped likewise was there a gallivating.<br /> +<br /> +One day it did accompany her to the knowledge dispensary,<br /> +Which to every rule and precedent was recklessly contrary.<br /> +Immediately whereupon the pedagogue superior,<br /> +Exasperated, did eject the lamb from the interior.<br /> +<br /> +Then Mary, on beholding such performance arbitrary,<br /> +Suffused her eyes with saline drops from glands called lachrymary,<br /> +And all the pupils grew thereat tumultuously hilarious,<br /> +And speculated on the case with wild conjectures various.<br /> +<br /> +"What makes the lamb love Mary so?" the scholars asked the teacher.<br /> +He paused a moment, then he tried to diagnose the creature.<br /> +"Oh pecus amorem Mary habit omnia temporum."<br /> +"Thanks, teacher dear," the scholars cried, and awe crept darkly o'er 'em.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>SAINTE MARGÉRIE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Slim feet than lilies tenderer,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;"><i>Margérie!</i></span><br /> +That scarce upbore the body of her,<br /> +Naked upon the stones they were;—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;"><i>C'est ça Sainte Margérie!</i></span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_478" id="Page_478">[Pg 478]</a></span> + +<br /> +White as a shroud the silken gown,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;"><i>Margérie!</i></span><br /> +That flowed from shoulder to ankle down,<br /> +With clear blue shadows along it thrown;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;"><i>C'est ça Sainte Margérie!</i></span><br /> +<br /> +On back and bosom withouten braid,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;"><i>Margérie!</i></span><br /> +In crispèd glory of darkling red,<br /> +Round creamy temples her hair was shed;—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;"><i>C'est ça Sainte Margérie!</i></span><br /> +<br /> +Eyes, like a dim sea, viewed from far,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;"><i>Margérie!</i></span><br /> +Lips that no earthly love shall mar,<br /> +More sweet that lips of mortals are;—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;"><i>C'est ça Sainte Margérie!</i></span><br /> +<br /> +The chamber walls are cracked and bare;—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;"><i>Margérie!</i></span><br /> +Without the gossips stood astare<br /> +At men her bed away that bare;—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;"><i>C'est ça Sainte Margérie!</i></span><br /> +<br /> +Five pennies lay her hand within,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;"><i>Margérie!</i></span><br /> +So she her fair soul's weal might win,<br /> +Little she reck'd of dule or teen;—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;"><i>C'est ça Sainte Margérie!</i></span><br /> +<br /> +Dank straw from dunghill gathered,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;"><i>Margérie!</i></span><br /> +Where fragrant swine have made their bed,<br /> +Thereon her body shall be laid;—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;"><i>C'est ça Sainte Margérie!</i></span><br /> +<br /> +Three pennies to the poor in dole,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;"><i>Margérie!</i></span><br /> +One to the clerk her knell shall toll,<br /> +And one to masses for her soul;—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;"><i>C'est ça Sainte Margérie!</i></span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_479" id="Page_479">[Pg 479]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>ROBERT FROST</h3> + +<h4>RELATES THE DEATH OF THE TIRED MAN</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +There were two of us left in the berry-patch;<br /> +Bryan O'Lin and Jack had gone to Norwich.—<br /> +They called him Jack a' Nory, half in fun<br /> +And half because it seemed to anger him.—<br /> +So there we stood and let the berries go,<br /> +Talking of men we knew and had forgotten.<br /> +A sprawling, humpbacked mountain frowned on us<br /> +And blotted out a smouldering sunset cloud<br /> +That broke in fiery ashes. "Well," he said,<br /> +"Old Adam Brown is dead and gone; you'll never<br /> +See him any more. He used to wear<br /> +A long, brown coat that buttoned down before.<br /> +That's all I ever knew of him; I guess that's all<br /> +That anyone remembers. Eh?" he said,<br /> +And then, without a pause to let me answer,<br /> +He went right on.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">"How about Dr. Foster?"</span><br /> +"Well, how <i>about</i> him?" I managed to reply.<br /> +He glared at me for having interrupted.<br /> +And stopped to pick his words before he spoke;<br /> +Like one who turns all personal remarks<br /> +Into a general survey of the world.<br /> +Choosing his phrases with a finicky care<br /> +So they might fit some vague opinions,<br /> +Taken, third-hand, from last year's <i>New York Times</i><br /> +And jumbled all together into a thing<br /> +He thought was his philosophy.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">"Never mind;</span><br /> +There's more in Foster than you'd understand.<br /> +But," he continued, darkly as before,<br /> +"What do you make of Solomon Grundy's case?<br /> +You know the gossip when he first came here.<br /> +Folks said he'd gone to smash in Lunenburg,<br /> +And four years in the State Asylum here<br /> +Had almost finished him. It was Sanders' job<br /> +That put new life in him. A clear, cool day;<br /> +The second Monday in July it was.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_480" id="Page_480">[Pg 480]</a></span> + +'Born on a Monday,' that is what they said.<br /> +Remember the next few days? I guess you don't;<br /> +That was before your time. Well, Tuesday night<br /> +He said he'd go to church; and just before the prayer<br /> +He blurts right out, 'I've come here to get christened.<br /> +If I am going to have a brand new life<br /> +I'll have a new name, too.' Well, sure enough<br /> +They christened him, though I've forgotten what;<br /> +And Etta Stark, (you know, the pastor's girl)<br /> +Her head upset by what she called romance,<br /> +She went and married him on Wednesday noon.<br /> +Thursday the sun or something in the air<br /> +Got in his blood and right off he took sick.<br /> +Friday the thing got worse, and so did he;<br /> +And Saturday at four o'clock he died.<br /> +Buried on Sunday with the town decked out<br /> +As if it was a circus-day. And not a soul<br /> +Knew why they went or what he meant to them<br /> +Or what he died of. What would be <i>your</i> guess?"<br /> +"Well," I replied, "it seems to me that he,<br /> +Just coming from a sedentary life,<br /> +Felt a great wave of energy released,<br /> +And tried to crowd too much in one short week.<br /> +The laws of physics teach—"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">"No, not at all.</span><br /> +He never knew 'em. He was just tired," he said.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Louis Untermeyer.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>OWEN SEAMAN</h3> + +<h4>ESTABLISHES THE "ENTENTE CORDIALE" BY RECITING "THE +SINGULAR STUPIDITY OF J. SPRATT, ESQ.," IN THE MANNER OF +GUY WETMORE CARRYL.</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Of all the mismated pairs ever created<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The worst of the lot were the Spratts.</span><br /> +Their life was a series of quibbles and queries<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And quarrels and squabbles and spats.</span><br /> +They argued at breakfast, they argued at tea,<br /> +And they argued from midnight to quarter past three.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_481" id="Page_481">[Pg 481]</a></span> + +<br /> +The family Spratt-head was rather a fat-head,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And a bellicose body to boot.</span><br /> +He was selfish and priggish and worse, he was piggish—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A regular beast of a brute.</span><br /> +At table his acts were incredibly mean;<br /> +He gave his wife fat—and <i>he</i> gobbled the lean!<br /> +<br /> +What's more, she was censured whenever she ventured<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To dare to object to her fare;</span><br /> +He said "It ain't tasteful, but we can't be wasteful;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And <i>someone</i> must eat what is there!"</span><br /> +But his coarseness exceeded all bounds of control<br /> +When he laughed at her Art and the State of her Soul.<br /> +<br /> +So what with his jeering and fleering and sneering,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He plagued her from dawn until dark.</span><br /> +He bellowed "I'll teach ye to read Shaw and Nietzsche"—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And he was as bad as his bark.</span><br /> +"The place for a woman——" he'd start, very glib....<br /> +And so on, for two or three hours <i>ad lib</i>.<br /> +<br /> +So very malignant became his indignant<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Remarks about "Culture" and "Cranks,"</span><br /> +That at last she revolted. She up and she bolted<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And entered the militant ranks....</span><br /> +When she died, after breaking nine-tenths of the laws,<br /> +She left all her money and jewels to the Cause!<br /> +<br /> +And <i>THE MORAL</i> is this (though a bit abstruse):<br /> +What's sauce for a more or less proper goose,<br /> +When it rouses the violent, feminine dander,<br /> +Is apt to be sauce for the propaganda.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Louis Untermeyer.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_482" id="Page_482">[Pg 482]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE MODERN HIAWATHA</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +He killed the noble Mudjokivis.<br /> +Of the skin he made him mittens,<br /> +Made them with the fur side inside<br /> +Made them with the skin side outside.<br /> +He, to get the warm side inside,<br /> +Put the inside skin side outside;<br /> +He, to get the cold side outside,<br /> +Put the warm side fur side inside.<br /> +That's why he put the fur side inside,<br /> +Why he put the skin side outside.<br /> +Why he turned them inside outside.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>SOMEWHERE-IN-EUROPE-WOCKY</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +'Twas brussels, and the loos liège<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Did meuse and arras in latour;</span><br /> +All vimy were the metz maubege,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the tsing-tau namur.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Beware the petrograd, my son—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The jaws that bite, the claws that plough!</span><br /> +Beware the posen, and verdun<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The soldan mons glogau!"</span><br /> +<br /> +He took his dixmude sword in hand;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Long time his altkirch foe he sought;</span><br /> +Then rested he 'neath the warsaw tree,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And stood awhile in thought.</span><br /> +<br /> +And as in danzig thought he stood<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The petrograd, with eyes of flame,</span><br /> +Came ypring through the cracow wood,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And longwied as it came.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_483" id="Page_483">[Pg 483]</a></span> + +<br /> +One two! One two! and through and through<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The dixmude blade went snicker-snack;</span><br /> +He left it dead, and with its head<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He gallipolied back.</span><br /> +<br /> +"And hast thou slain the petrograd?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come to my arms, my krithnia boy!</span><br /> +O chanak day! Artois! Grenay!"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He woevred in his joy.</span><br /> +<br /> +'Twas brussels, and the loos liège<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Did meuse and arras in latour;</span><br /> +All vimy were the metz maubege,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the tsing-tau namur.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>F. G. Hartswick.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>RIGID BODY SINGS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Gin a body meet a body<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Flyin' through the air,</span><br /> +Gin a body hit a body,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Will it fly? and where?</span><br /> +Ilka impact has its measure,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ne'er a' ane hae I,</span><br /> +Yet a' the lads they measure me,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or, at least, they try.</span><br /> +<br /> +Gin a body meet a body<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Altogether free,</span><br /> +How they travel afterwards<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We do not always see.</span><br /> +Ilka problem has its method<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By analytics high;</span><br /> +For me, I ken na ane o' them,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But what the waur am I?</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>J. C. Maxwell.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_484" id="Page_484">[Pg 484]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A BALLAD OF HIGH ENDEAVOR</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Ah Night! blind germ of days to be,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ah, me! ah me!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">(Sweet Venus, mother!)</span><br /> +What wail of smitten strings hear we?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Ah me! ah me!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Hey diddle dee!</i>)</span><br /> +<br /> +Ravished by clouds our Lady Moon,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ah me! ah me!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Sweet Venus, mother!)</span><br /> +Sinks swooning in a lady-swoon<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Ah me! ah me!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>Dum diddle dee!</i>)</span><br /> +<br /> +What profits it to rise i' the dark?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ah me! ah me!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Sweet Venus, mother!)</span><br /> +If love but over-soar its mark<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Ah me! ah me!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;"><i>Hey diddle dee!</i>)</span><br /> +<br /> +What boots to fall again forlorn?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ah me! ah me!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Sweet Venus, mother!)</span><br /> +Scorned by the grinning hound of scorn,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Ah me! ah me!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;"><i>Dum diddle dee!</i>)</span><br /> +<br /> +Art thou not greater who art less?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ah me! ah me!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Sweet Venus, mother!)</span><br /> +Low love fulfilled of low success?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Ah me! ah me!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;"><i>Hey diddle dee!</i>)</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_485" id="Page_485">[Pg 485]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>FATHER WILLIAM</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +"You are old, Father William," the young man said,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"And your hair has become very white;</span><br /> +And yet you incessantly stand on your head—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Do you think, at your age, it is right?"</span><br /> +<br /> +"In my youth," Father William replied to his son,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"I feared it might injure the brain;</span><br /> +But now that I'm perfectly sure I have none,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Why, I do it again and again."</span><br /> +<br /> +"You are old," said the youth, "as I mentioned before,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And have grown most uncommonly fat;</span><br /> +Yet you turned a back somersault in at the door—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pray, what is the reason of that?"</span><br /> +<br /> +"In my youth," said the sage, as he shook his gray locks,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"I kept all my limbs very supple</span><br /> +By the use of this ointment—one shilling the box—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Allow me to sell you a couple."</span><br /> +<br /> +"You are old," said the youth, "and your jaws are too weak<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For anything tougher than suet;</span><br /> +Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pray, how did you manage to do it?"</span><br /> +<br /> +"In my youth," said his father, "I took to the law,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And argued each case with my wife;</span><br /> +And the muscular strength which it gave to my jaw,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Has lasted the rest of my life."</span><br /> +<br /> +"You are old," said the youth; "one would hardly suppose<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That your eye was as steady as ever;</span><br /> +Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What made you so awfully clever?"</span><br /> +<br /> +"I have answered three questions, and that is enough,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Said his father; "don't give yourself airs!</span><br /> +Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Be off, or I'll kick you down-stairs!"</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Lewis Carroll.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_486" id="Page_486">[Pg 486]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE POETS AT TEA</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p class='h_5'> +1—(<i>Macaulay, who made it</i>)</p> +<p> +Pour, varlet, pour the water,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The water steaming hot!</span><br /> +A spoonful for each man of us,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Another for the pot!</span><br /> +We shall not drink from amber,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor Capuan slave shall mix</span><br /> +For us the snows of Athos<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With port at thirty-six;</span><br /> +Whiter than snow the crystals,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Grown sweet 'neath tropic fires,</span><br /> +More rich the herbs of China's field,<br /> +The pasture-lands more fragrance yield;<br /> +For ever let Britannia wield<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The tea-pot of her sires!</span><br /> +</p><p class='h_5'> +2—(<i>Tennyson, who took it hot</i>)</p> +<p> +I think that I am drawing to an end:<br /> +For on a sudden came a gasp for breath,<br /> +And stretching of the hands, and blinded eyes,<br /> +And a great darkness falling on my soul.<br /> +O Hallelujah!... Kindly pass the milk.<br /> +</p><p class='h_5'>3—(<i>Swinburne, who let it get cold</i>)</p> +<p> +As the sin that was sweet in the sinning<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is foul in the ending thereof,</span><br /> +As the heat of the summer's beginning<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is past in the winter of love:</span><br /> +O purity, painful and pleading!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O coldness, ineffably gray!</span><br /> +Oh, hear us, our handmaid unheeding.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And take it away!</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_487" id="Page_487">[Pg 487]</a></span> + +</p><p class='h_5'> +4—(<i>Cowper, who thoroughly enjoyed it</i>)</p> +<p> +The cosy fire is bright and gay,<br /> +The merry kettle boils away<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And hums a cheerful song.</span><br /> +I sing the saucer and the cup;<br /> +Pray, Mary, fill the tea-pot up,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And do not make it strong.</span><br /> +</p><p class='h_5'> +5—(<i>Browning, who treated it allegorically</i>)</p> +<p> +Tut! Bah! We take as another case—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pass the bills on the pills on the window-sill; notice the capsule</span><br /> +(A sick man's fancy, no doubt, but I place<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Reliance on trade-marks, Sir)—so perhaps you'll</span><br /> +Excuse the digression—this cup which I hold<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Light-poised—Bah, it's spilt in the bed!—well, let's on go—</span><br /> +Hold Bohea and sugar, Sir; if you were told<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The sugar was salt, would the Bohea be Congo?</span><br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>6—(<i>Wordsworth, who gave it away</i>)</p> +<p> +"Come, little cottage girl, you seem<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To want my cup of tea;</span><br /> +And will you take a little cream?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now tell the truth to me."</span><br /> +<br /> +She had a rustic, woodland grin,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her cheek was soft as silk,</span><br /> +And she replied, "Sir, please put in<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A little drop of milk."</span><br /> +<br /> +"Why, what put milk into your head?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Tis cream my cows supply;"</span><br /> +And five times to the child I said,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Why, pig-head, tell me, why?"</span><br /> +<br /> +"You call me pig-head," she replied;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"My proper name is Ruth.</span><br /> +I called that milk"—she blushed with pride—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"You bade me speak the truth."</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_488" id="Page_488">[Pg 488]</a></span> + +</p><p class='h_5'>7—(<i>Poe, who got excited over it</i>)</p> +<p> +Here's a mellow cup of tea, golden tea!<br /> +What a world of rapturous thought its fragrance brings to me!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh, from out the silver cells</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How it wells!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How it smells!</span><br /> +Keeping tune, tune, tune<br /> +To the tintinnabulation of the spoon.<br /> +And the kettle on the fire<br /> +Boils its spout off with desire,<br /> +With a desperate desire<br /> +And a crystalline endeavour<br /> +Now, now to sit, or never,<br /> +On the top of the pale-faced moon,<br /> +But he always came home to tea, tea, tea, tea, tea,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Tea to the n——th.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p class='h_5'>8—(<i>Rossetti, who took six cups of it</i>)</p> +<p> +The lilies lie in my lady's bower<br /> +(O weary mother drive the cows to roost),<br /> +They faintly droop for a little hour;<br /> +My lady's head droops like a flower.<br /> +<br /> +She took the porcelain in her hand<br /> +(O weary mother, drive the cows to roost);<br /> +She poured; I drank at her command;<br /> +Drank deep, and now—you understand!<br /> +(O weary mother, drive the cows to roost.)<br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>9—(<i>Burns, who liked it adulterated</i>)</p> +<p> +Weel, gin ye speir, I'm no inclined,<br /> +Whusky or tay—to state my mind,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Fore ane or ither;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For, gin I tak the first, I'm fou,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And gin the next, I'm dull as you,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Mix a' thegither.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_489" id="Page_489">[Pg 489]</a></span> + +</p><p class='h_5'> +10—(<i>Walt Whitman, who didn't stay more than a minute</i>)</p> +<p> +One cup for myself-hood,<br /> +Many for you. Allons, camerados, we will drink together,<br /> +O hand-in-hand! That tea-spoon, please, when you've done with it.<br /> +What butter-colour'd hair you've got. I don't want to be personal.<br /> +All right, then, you needn't. You're a stale-cadaver.<br /> +Eighteen-pence if the bottles are returned.<br /> +Allons, from all bat-eyed formula.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Barry Pain.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>HOW OFTEN</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +They stood on the bridge at midnight,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In a park not far from the town;</span><br /> +They stood on the bridge at midnight,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Because they didn't sit down.</span><br /> +<br /> +The moon rose o'er the city,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Behind the dark church spire;</span><br /> +The moon rose o'er the city<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And kept on rising higher.</span><br /> +<br /> +How often, oh, how often!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They whispered words so soft;</span><br /> +How often, oh, how often;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How often, oh, how oft!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Ben King</i>.</p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>IF I SHOULD DIE TO-NIGHT</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">If I should die to-night</span><br /> +And you should come to my cold corpse and say,<br /> +Weeping and heartsick o'er my lifeless clay—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">If I should die to-night,</span><br /> +And you should come in deepest grief and woe—<br /> +And say: "Here's that ten dollars that I owe,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">I might arise in my large white cravat</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And say, "What's that?"</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_490" id="Page_490">[Pg 490]</a></span> + +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">If I should die to-night</span><br /> +And you should come to my cold corpse and kneel,<br /> +Clasping my bier to show the grief you feel,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">I say, if I should die to-night</span><br /> +And you should come to me, and there and then<br /> +Just even hint 'bout paying me that ten,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">I might arise the while,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">But I'd drop dead again.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Ben King.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>"THE DAY IS DONE"</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +The day is done, and darkness<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From the wing of night is loosed,</span><br /> +As a feather is wafted downward,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From a chicken going to roost.</span><br /> +<br /> +I see the lights of the baker,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gleam through the rain and mist,</span><br /> +And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That I cannot well resist.</span><br /> +<br /> +A feeling of sadness and longing<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That is not like being sick,</span><br /> +And resembles sorrow only<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As a brickbat resembles a brick.</span><br /> +<br /> +Come, get for me some supper,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A good and regular meal—</span><br /> +That shall soothe this restless feeling,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And banish the pain I feel.</span><br /> +<br /> +Not from the pastry bakers,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Not from the shops for cake;</span><br /> +I wouldn't give a farthing<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For all that they can make.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_491" id="Page_491">[Pg 491]</a></span> + +<br /> +For, like the soup at dinner,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Such things would but suggest</span><br /> +Some dishes more substantial,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And to-night I want the best.</span><br /> +<br /> +Go to some honest butcher,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whose beef is fresh and nice,</span><br /> +As any they have in the city<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And get a liberal slice.</span><br /> +<br /> +Such things through days of labor,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And nights devoid of ease,</span><br /> +For sad and desperate feelings,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are wonderful remedies.</span><br /> +<br /> +They have an astonishing power<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To aid and reinforce,</span><br /> +And come like the "finally, brethren,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That follows a long discourse.</span><br /> +<br /> +Then get me a tender sirloin<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From off the bench or hook.</span><br /> +And lend to its sterling goodness<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The science of the cook.</span><br /> +<br /> +And the night shall be filled with comfort,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the cares with which it begun</span><br /> +Shall fold up their blankets like Indians,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And silently cut and run.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Phœbe Cary.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>JACOB</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +He dwelt among "Apartments let,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">About five stories high;</span><br /> +A man, I thought, that none would get,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And very few would try.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_492" id="Page_492">[Pg 492]</a></span> + +<br /> +A boulder, by a larger stone<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Half hidden in the mud,</span><br /> +Fair as a man when only one<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is in the neighborhood.</span><br /> +<br /> +He lived unknown, and few could tell<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When Jacob was not free;</span><br /> +But he has got a wife—and O!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The difference to me!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Phœbe Cary.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>BALLAD OF THE CANAL</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +We were crowded in the cabin,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Not a soul had room to sleep;</span><br /> +It was midnight on the waters,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the banks were very steep.</span><br /> +<br /> +'Tis a fearful thing when sleeping,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To be startled by the shock,</span><br /> +And to hear the rattling trumpet<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thunder, "Coming to a lock!"</span><br /> +<br /> +So we shuddered there in silence,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For the stoutest berth was shook,</span><br /> +While the wooden gates were opened<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the mate talked with the cook.</span><br /> +<br /> +And as thus we lay in darkness,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Each one wishing we were there,</span><br /> +"We are through!" the captain shouted,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And he sat down on a chair.</span><br /> +<br /> +And his little daughter whispered,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thinking that he ought to know,</span><br /> +"Isn't travelling by canal-boats<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Just as safe as it is slow?"</span><br /> +<br /> +Then he kissed the little maiden,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And with better cheer we spoke,</span><br /> +And we trotted into Pittsburg,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When the morn looked through the smoke.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Phœbe Cary.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_493" id="Page_493">[Pg 493]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THERE'S A BOWER OF BEAN-VINES</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +There's a bower of bean-vines in Benjamin's yard,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the cabbages grow round it, planted for greens;</span><br /> +In the time of my childhood 'twas terribly hard<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To bend down the bean-poles, and pick off the beans.</span><br /> +<br /> +That bower and its products I never forget,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But oft, when my landlady presses me hard,</span><br /> +I think, are the cabbages growing there yet,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are the bean-vines still bearing in Benjamin's yard?</span><br /> +<br /> +No, the bean-vines soon withered that once used to wave,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But some beans had been gathered, the last that hung on;</span><br /> +And a soup was distilled in a kettle, that gave<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All the fragrance of summer when summer was gone.</span><br /> +<br /> +Thus memory draws from delight, ere it dies,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An essence that breathes of it awfully hard;</span><br /> +As thus good to my taste as 'twas then to my eyes,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is that bower of bean-vines in Benjamin's yard.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Phœbe Cary.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>REUBEN</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +That very time I saw, (but thou couldst not),<br /> +Walking between the garden and the barn,<br /> +Reuben, all armed; a certain aim he took<br /> +At a young chicken, standing by a post,<br /> +And loosed his bullet smartly from his gun,<br /> +As he would kill a hundred thousand hens.<br /> +But I might see young Reuben's fiery shot<br /> +Lodged in the chaste board of the garden fence,<br /> +And the domesticated fowl passed on<br /> +In henly meditation, bullet free.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Phœbe Cary.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_494" id="Page_494">[Pg 494]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE WIFE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Her washing ended with the day,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yet lived she at its close,</span><br /> +And passed the long, long night away<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In darning ragged hose.</span><br /> +<br /> +But when the sun in all its state<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Illumed the Eastern skies,</span><br /> +She passed about the kitchen grate<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And went to making pies.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Phœbe Cary.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>WHEN LOVELY WOMAN</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +When lovely woman wants a favor,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And finds, too late, that man won't bend,</span><br /> +What earthly circumstance can save her<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From disappointment in the end?</span><br /> +<br /> +The only way to bring him over,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The last experiment to try,</span><br /> +Whether a husband or a lover,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If he have feeling is—to cry.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Phœbe Cary.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>JOHN THOMPSON'S DAUGHTER</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +A fellow near Kentucky's clime<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cries, "Boatman, do not tarry,</span><br /> +And I'll give thee a silver dime<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To row us o'er the ferry."</span><br /> +<br /> +"Now, who would cross the Ohio,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This dark and stormy water?"</span><br /> +"O, I am this young lady's beau,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And she, John Thompson's daughter.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_495" id="Page_495">[Pg 495]</a></span> + +<br /> +"We've fled before her father's spite<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With great precipitation;</span><br /> +And should he find us here to-night,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'd lose my reputation.</span><br /> +<br /> +"They've missed the girl and purse beside,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His horsemen hard have pressed me;</span><br /> +And who will cheer my bonny bride,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If yet they shall arrest me?"</span><br /> +<br /> +Out spoke the boatman then in time,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"You shall not fail, don't fear it;</span><br /> +I'll go, not for your silver dime,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But for your manly spirit.</span><br /> +<br /> +"And by my word, the bonny bird<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In danger shall not tarry;</span><br /> +For though a storm is coming on,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'll row you o'er the ferry."</span><br /> +<br /> +By this the wind more fiercely rose,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The boat was at the landing;</span><br /> +And with the drenching rain their clothes<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Grew wet where they were standing.</span><br /> +<br /> +But still, as wilder rose the wind,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And as the night grew drearer;</span><br /> +Just back a piece came the police,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their tramping sounded nearer.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Oh, haste thee, haste!" the lady cries,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"It's anything but funny;</span><br /> +I'll leave the light of loving eyes,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But not my father's money!"</span><br /> +<br /> +And still they hurried in the face<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of wind and rain unsparing;</span><br /> +John Thompson reached the landing place—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His wrath was turned to swearing.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_496" id="Page_496">[Pg 496]</a></span> + +<br /> +For by the lightning's angry flash,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His child he did discover;</span><br /> +One lovely hand held all the cash,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And one was round her lover!</span><br /> +<br /> +"Come back, come back!" he cried in woe,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Across the stormy water;</span><br /> +"But leave the purse, and you may go,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My daughter, oh, my daughter!"</span><br /> +<br /> +'Twas vain; they reached the other shore<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Such doom the Fates assign us);</span><br /> +The gold he piled went with his child,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And he was left there <i>minus</i>.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Phœbe Cary.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A PORTRAIT</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +He is to weet a melancholy carle:<br /> +Thin in the waist, with bushy head of hair,<br /> +As hath the seeded thistle, when a parle<br /> +It holds with Zephyr, ere it sendeth fair<br /> +Its light balloons into the summer air;<br /> +Thereto his beard had not begun to bloom.<br /> +No brush had touched his cheek, or razor sheer;<br /> +No care had touched his cheek with mortal doom,<br /> +But new he was and bright, as scarf from Persian loom.<br /> +<br /> +Ne carèd he for wine, or half and half;<br /> +Ne carèd he for fish, or flesh, or fowl;<br /> +And sauces held he worthless as the chaff;<br /> +He 'sdeigned the swine-head at the wassail-bowl:<br /> +Ne with lewd ribbalds sat he cheek by jowl;<br /> +Ne with sly lemans in the scorner's chair;<br /> +But after water-brooks this pilgrim's soul<br /> +Panted and all his food was woodland air;<br /> +Though he would oft-times feast on gilliflowers rare.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_497" id="Page_497">[Pg 497]</a></span> + +<br /> +The slang of cities in no wise he knew,<br /> +<i>Tipping the wink</i> to him was heathen Greek;<br /> +He sipped no "olden Tom," or "ruin blue,"<br /> +Or Nantz, or cherry-brandy, drunk full meek<br /> +By many a damsel brave and rouge of cheek;<br /> +Nor did he know each aged watchman's beat,<br /> +Nor in obscurèd purlieus would be seek<br /> +For curlèd Jewesses, with ankles neat,<br /> +Who, as they walk abroad, make tinkling with their feet.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>John Keats.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>ANNABEL LEE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +'Twas more than a million years ago,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or so it seems to me,</span><br /> +That I used to prance around and beau<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The beautiful Annabel Lee.</span><br /> +There were other girls in the neighborhood<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But none was a patch to she.</span><br /> +<br /> +And this was the reason that long ago,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My love fell out of a tree,</span><br /> +And busted herself on a cruel rock;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A solemn sight to see,</span><br /> +For it spoiled the hat and gown and looks<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.</span><br /> +<br /> +We loved with a love that was lovely love,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I and my Annabel Lee,</span><br /> +And we went one day to gather the nuts<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That men call hickoree.</span><br /> +And I stayed below in the rosy glow<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While she shinned up the tree,</span><br /> +But no sooner up than down kerslup<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Came the beautiful Annabel Lee.</span><br /> +<br /> +And the pallid moon and the hectic noon<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bring gleams of dreams for me,</span><br /> +Of the desolate and desperate fate<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_498" id="Page_498">[Pg 498]</a></span> + +<br /> +And I often think as I sink on the brink<br /> +Of slumber's sea, of the warm pink link<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That bound my soul to Annabel Lee;</span><br /> +And it wasn't just best for her interest<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To climb that hickory tree,</span><br /> +For had she stayed below with me,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We'd had no hickory nuts maybe,</span><br /> +But I should have had my Annabel Lee.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Stanley Huntley.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>HOME SWEET HOME WITH VARIATIONS</h3> +<div class='blockquot'>Being suggestions of the various styles in which an old theme +might have been treated by certain metrical composers.</div> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> + +<p class='h_5'>FANTASIA</p> + +<p class='h_5'>I</p> + +<p style='text-align: center;'><i>The original theme as John Howard Payne wrote it:</i></p> + +<p> +'Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,<br /> +Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home!<br /> +A charm from the skies seems to hallow it there,<br /> +Which, seek through the world, is not met with elsewhere.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Home, home! Sweet, Sweet Home!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">There's no place like Home!</span><br /> +<br /> +An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain!<br /> +Oh, give me my lowly thatched cottage again!<br /> +The birds singing gaily that came at my call!<br /> +Give me them! and the peace of mind, dearer than all.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Home, home! Sweet, Sweet Home!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">There's no place like Home!</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_499" id="Page_499">[Pg 499]</a></span> + +</p><p class='h_5'>II</p> +</td></tr></table> + +<div class='blockquot'>(<i>As Algernon Charles Swinburne might have wrapped it up +in variations.</i>)</div> + +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +('Mid pleasures and palaces—)<br /> +<br /> +As sea-foam blown of the winds, as blossom of brine that is drifted<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hither and yon on the barren breast of the breeze,</span><br /> +Though we wander on gusts of a god's breath, shaken and shifted,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The salt of us stings and is sore for the sobbing seas.</span><br /> +For home's sake hungry at heart, we sicken in pillared porches<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of bliss made sick for a life that is barren of bliss,</span><br /> +For the place whereon is a light out of heaven that sears not nor scorches,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor elsewhere than this.</span><br /> +<br /> +(An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain—)<br /> +<br /> +For here we know shall no gold thing glisten,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No bright thing burn, and no sweet thing shine;</span><br /> +Nor love lower never an ear to listen<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To words that work in the heart like wine.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">What time we are set from our land apart,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For pain of passion and hunger of heart,</span><br /> +Though we walk with exiles fame faints to christen,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or sing at the Cytherean's shrine.</span><br /> +<br /> +(Variation: An exile from home—)<br /> +<br /> +Whether with him whose head<br /> +Of gods is honored,<br /> +With song made splendent in the sight of men—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whose heart most sweetly stout,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From ravishing France cast out,</span><br /> +Being firstly hers, was hers most wholly then—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or where on shining seas like wine</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The dove's wings draw the drooping Erycine.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_500" id="Page_500">[Pg 500]</a></span> + +<br /> +(Give me my lowly thatched cottage—)<br /> +<br /> +For Joy finds Love grow bitter,<br /> +And spreads his wings to quit her,<br /> +At thought of birds that twitter<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beneath the roof-tree's straw—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of birds that come for calling,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No fear or fright appalling,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When dews of dusk are falling,</span><br /> +Or daylight's draperies draw.<br /> +<br /> +(Give me them, and the peace of mind—)<br /> +<br /> +Give me these things then back, though the giving<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Be at cost of earth's garner of gold;</span><br /> +There is no life without these worth living,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No treasure where these are not told.</span><br /> +For the heart give the hope that it knows not,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Give the balm for the burn of the breast—</span><br /> +For the soul and the mind that repose not,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh, give us a rest!</span><br /> +</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p class='h_5'>III</p> + +<div class='blockquot'>(<i>As Mr. Francis Bret Harte might have woven it into a +touching tale of a western gentleman in a red shirt.</i>)</div> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Brown o' San Juan,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stranger, I'm Brown.</span><br /> +Come up this mornin' from 'Frisco—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Be'n a-saltin' my specie-stacks down.</span><br /> +<br /> +Be'n a-knockin' around,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fer a man from San Juan,</span><br /> +Putty consid'able frequent—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Jes' catch onter that streak o' the dawn!</span><br /> +<br /> +Right thar lies my home—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Right thar in the red—</span><br /> +I could slop over, stranger, in po'try—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Would spread out old Shakspoke cold dead.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_501" id="Page_501">[Pg 501]</a></span> + +<br /> +Stranger, you freeze to this: there ain't no kinder gin-palace,<br /> +Nor no variety-show lays over a man's own rancho.<br /> +Maybe it hain't no style, but the Queen in the Tower o' London,<br /> +Ain't got naathin' I'd swop for that house over thar on the hill-side.<br /> +<br /> +Thar is my ole gal, 'n' the kids, 'n' the rest o' my live-stock;<br /> +Thar my Remington hangs, and thar there's a griddle-cake br'ilin'—<br /> +For the two of us, pard—and thar, I allow, the heavens<br /> +Smile more friendly-like than on any other locality.<br /> +<br /> +Stranger, nowhere else I don't take no satisfaction.<br /> +Gimme my ranch, 'n' them friendly old Shanghai chickens—<br /> +I brung the original pair f'm the States in eighteen-'n'-fifty—<br /> +Gimme me them and the feelin' of solid domestic comfort.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yer parding, young man—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But this landscape a kind</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Er flickers—I 'low 'twuz the po'try—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I thought that my eyes hed gone blind.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Take that pop from my belt!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Hi, thar!—gimme yer han'—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or I'll kill myself—Lizzie—she's left me—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Gone off with a purtier man!</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thar, I'll quit—the ole gal</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">An' the kids—run away!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I be derned! Howsomever, come in, pard—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The griddle-cake's thar, anyway.</span><br /> +</p> +</td></tr></table> + +<p class='h_5'>IV</p> + +<div class='blockquot'>(<i>As Austin Dobson might have translated it from Horace, if +it had ever occurred to Horace to write it.</i>)</div> + +<p class='h_5'>RONDEAU</p> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +At home alone, O Nomades,<br /> +Although Mæcenas' marble frieze<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_502" id="Page_502">[Pg 502]</a></span> + +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stand not between you and the sky</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor Persian luxury supply</span><br /> +Its rosy surfeit, find ye ease.<br /> +<br /> +Tempt not the far Ægean breeze;<br /> +With home-made wine and books that please,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To duns and bores the door deny,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">At home, alone.</span><br /> +<br /> +Strange joys may lure. Your deities<br /> +Smile here alone. Oh, give me these:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Low eaves, where birds familiar fly,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And peace of mind, and, fluttering by,</span><br /> +My Lydia's graceful draperies,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">At home, alone.</span><br /> +</p> +</td></tr></table> + +<p class='h_5'>V</p> + +<div class='blockquot'>(<i>As it might have been constructed in 1744, Oliver Goldsmith, +at 19, writing the first stanza, and Alexander Pope, at +52, the second.</i>)</div> + +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Home! at the word, what blissful visions rise,<br /> +Lift us from earth, and draw us toward the skies;<br /> +'Mid mirag'd towers, or meretricious joys,<br /> +Although we roam, one thought the mind employs:<br /> +Or lowly hut, good friend, or loftiest dome,<br /> +Earth knows no spot so holy as our Home.<br /> +There, where affection warms the father's breast,<br /> +There is the spot of heav'n most surely blest.<br /> +Howe'er we search, though wandering with the wind<br /> +Through frigid Zembla, or the heats of Ind,<br /> +Not elsewhere may we seek, nor elsewhere know,<br /> +The light of heaven upon our dark below.<br /> +<br /> +When from our dearest hope and haven reft,<br /> +Delight nor dazzles, nor is luxury left,<br /> +We long, obedient to our nature's law,<br /> +To see again our hovel thatched with straw:<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_503" id="Page_503">[Pg 503]</a></span> + +<br /> +See birds that know our avenaceous store<br /> +Stoop to our hand, and thence repleted soar:<br /> +But, of all hopes the wanderer's soul that share,<br /> +His pristine peace of mind's his final prayer.<br /> +</p> +</td></tr></table> + +<p class='h_5'>VI</p> + +<div class='center'>(<i>As Walt Whitman might have written all around it.</i>)</div> + +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<h6>I</h6> +<p class='poem'> +You over there, young man with the guide-book, red-bound, covered flexibly with red linen,</p> +<p class='poem'>Come here, I want to talk with you; I, Walt, the Manhattanese, citizen of these States, call you.</p> +<p class='poem'>Yes, and the courier, too, smirking, smug-mouthed, with oil'd hair; a garlicky look about him generally; him, too, I take in, just as I would a coyote or a king, or a toad-stool, or a ham-sandwich, or anything, or anybody else in the world.</p> +<p class='poem'>Where are you going?</p> +<p class='poem'>You want to see Paris, to eat truffles, to have a good time; in Vienna, London, Florence, Monaco, to have a good time; you want to see Venice.</p> +<p class='poem'>Come with me. I will give you a good time; I will give you all the Venice you want, and most of the Paris.</p> +<p class='poem'>I, Walt, I call to you. I am all on deck! Come and loafe with me! Let me tote you around by your elbow and show you things.</p> +<p class='poem'>You listen to my ophicleide!</p> +<p class='poem'>Home!</p> +<p class='poem'>Home, I celebrate. I elevate my fog-whistle, inspir'd by the thought of home.</p> +<p class='poem'>Come in!—take a front seat; the jostle of the crowd not minding; there is room enough for all of you.</p> +<p class='poem'>This is my exhibition—it is the greatest show on earth—there is no charge for admission.</p> +<p class='poem'>All you have to pay me is to take in my romanza. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_504" id="Page_504">[Pg 504]</a></span> +</p> + +<p class='h_5'>II</p> + +<p style='text-indent: -3em; margin-left: 3em;'>1. The brown-stone house; the father coming home worried +from a bad day's business; the wife meets him in the +marble pav'd vestibule; she throws her arms about +him; she presses him close to her; she looks him full +in the face with affectionate eyes; the frown from his +brow disappearing. +<br /> +Darling, she says, Johnny has fallen down and cut his +head; the cook is going away, and the boiler leaks. +</p> +<p style='text-indent: -3em; margin-left: 3em;'>2. The mechanic's dark little third-story room, seen in a +flash from the Elevated Railway train; the sewing-machine +in a corner; the small cook-stove; the whole +family eating cabbage around a kerosene lamp; of the +clatter and roar and groaning wail of the Elevated +train unconscious; of the smell of the cabbage unconscious. +<br /> +Me, passant, in the train, of the cabbage not quite so +unconscious. +</p> +<p style='text-indent: -3em; margin-left: 3em;'>3. The French Flat; the small rooms, all right-angles, un-individual; +the narrow halls; the gaudy, cheap decorations +everywhere. +</p> +<p style='text-indent: -3em; margin-left: 3em;'>The janitor and the cook exchanging compliments up and +down the elevator-shaft; the refusal to send up more +coal, the solid splash of the water upon his head, the +language he sends up the shaft, the triumphant laughter +of the cook, to her kitchen retiring. +</p> +<p style='text-indent: -3em; margin-left: 3em;'>4. The widow's small house in the suburbs of the city; the +widow's boy coming home from his first day down +town; he is flushed with happiness and pride; he is no +longer a school-boy, he is earning money; he takes +on the airs of a man and talks learnedly of business. +</p> +<p style='text-indent: -3em; margin-left: 3em;'>5. The room in the third-class boarding-house; the mean +little hard-coal fire, the slovenly Irish servant-girl +making it, the ashes on the hearth, the faded furniture, +the private provender hid away in the closet, the +dreary backyard out the window; the young girl at the +glass, with her mouth full of hairpins, doing up her +hair to go downstairs and flirt with the young fellows +in the parlor. +</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_505" id="Page_505">[Pg 505]</a></span> + +<p style='text-indent: -3em; margin-left: 3em;'>6. The kitchen of the old farm-house; the young convict just +returned from prison—it was his first offense, and the +judges were lenient on him. +</p> +<p style='text-indent: -3em; margin-left: 3em;'>He is taking his first meal out of prison; he has been received +back, kiss'd, encourag'd to start again; his +lungs, his nostrils expand with the big breaths of free +air; with shame, with wonderment, with a trembling +joy, his heart too, expanding. +</p> +<p style='text-indent: -3em; margin-left: 3em;'>The old mother busies herself about the table; she has ready +for him the dishes he us'd to like; the father sits with +his back to them, reading the newspaper, the newspaper +shaking and rustling much; the children hang +wondering around the prodigal—they have been caution'd: +Do not ask where our Jim has been; only say +you are glad to see him. +</p> +<p style='text-indent: -3em; margin-left: 3em;'>The elder daughter is there, palefac'd, quiet; her young man +went back on her four years ago; his folks would not +let him marry a convict's sister. She sits by the +window, sewing on the children's clothes, the clothes +not only patching up; her hunger for children of her +own invisibly patching up. +</p> +<p style='text-indent: -3em; margin-left: 3em;'>The brother looks up; he catches her eye, he fearful, apologetic; +she smiles back at him, not reproachfully smiling, +with loving pretence of hope smiling—it is too +much for him; he buries his face in the folds of the +mother's black gown. +</p> +<p style='text-indent: -3em; margin-left: 3em;'>7. The best room of the house, on the Sabbath only open'd; +the smell of horse-hair furniture and mahogany varnish; +the ornaments on the what-not in the corner; the +wax fruit, dusty, sunken, sagged in, consumptive-looking, +under a glass globe, the sealing-wax imitation +of coral; the cigar boxes with shells plastered over, the +perforated card-board motto. +</p> +<p style='text-indent: -3em; margin-left: 3em;'>The kitchen; the housewife sprinkling the clothes for the +fine ironing to-morrow—it is the Third-day night, and +the plain things are ready iron'd, now in cupboards, +in drawers stowed away. +</p> +<p style='text-indent: -3em; margin-left: 3em;'>The wife waiting for the husband—he is at the tavern, jovial, +carousing; she, alone in the kitchen sprinkling clothes—the +little red wood clock with peaked top, with pendulum + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_506" id="Page_506">[Pg 506]</a></span> + +wagging behind a pane of gayly painted glass, +strikes twelve. +</p> +<p style='text-indent: -3em; margin-left: 3em;'>The sound of the husband's voice on the still night air—he is +singing: "We won't go home until morning!"—the +wife arising, toward the wood-shed hastily going, +stealthily entering, the voice all the time coming +nearer, inebriate, chantant. +</p> +<p style='text-indent: -3em; margin-left: 3em;'>The husband passing the door of the wood-shed; the club +over his head, now with his head in contact; the +sudden cessation of the song; the benediction of peace +over the domestic foyer temporarily resting. +</p> +<p style='margin-top: 0em; margin-bottom: 0em;'>I sing the soothing influences of home.</p> +<p style='text-indent: -3em; margin-left: 3em; margin-top: 0em; margin-bottom: 0em;'>You, young man, thoughtlessly wandering, with courier, with guide-book wandering,</p> +<p style='margin-top: 0em; margin-bottom: 0em;'>You hearken to the melody of my steam-calliope</p> +<p style='margin-top: 0em; margin-bottom: 0em;'>Yawp! +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>H. C. Bunner.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>AN OLD SONG BY NEW SINGERS</h3> + +<h4>IN THE ORIGINAL</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Mary had a little lamb,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Its fleece was white as snow,—</span><br /> +And everywhere that Mary went<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The lamb was sure to go.</span><br /> +</p> +<p class='center'>(<i>As Austin Dobson writes it.</i>)</p> + +<p class='h_5'>TRIOLET</p> +<p> +A little lamb had Mary, sweet,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a fleece that shamed the driven snow.</span><br /> +Not alone Mary went when she moved her feet<br /> +(For a little lamb had Mary, sweet),<br /> +And it tagged her 'round with a pensive bleat,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And wherever she went it wanted to go;</span><br /> +A little lamb had Mary, sweet,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a fleece that shamed the driven snow.</span><br /> +</p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_507" id="Page_507">[Pg 507]</a></span> + +<p class='center'> +(<i>As Mr. Browning has it.</i>)</p> +<p> +You knew her?—Mary the small,<br /> +How of a summer,—or, no, was it fall?<br /> +You'd never have thought it, never believed,<br /> +But the girl owned a lamb last fall.<br /> +<br /> +Its wool was subtly, silky white,<br /> +Color of lucent obliteration of night,<br /> +Like the shimmering snow or—our Clothild's arm!<br /> +You've seen her arm—her right, I mean—<br /> +The other she scalded a-washing, I ween—<br /> +How white it is and soft and warm?<br /> +<br /> +Ah, there was soul's heart-love, deep, true, and tender,<br /> +Wherever went Mary, the maiden so slender,<br /> +There followed, his all-absorbed passion, inciting,<br /> +That passionate lambkin—her soul's heart delighting—<br /> +Ay, every place that Mary sought in,<br /> +That lamb was sure to soon be caught in.<br /> +</p> +<p class='center'>(<i>As Longfellow might have done it.</i>)</p> +<p> +Fair the daughter known as Mary,<br /> +Fair and full of fun and laughter,<br /> +Owned a lamb, a little he-goat,<br /> +Owned him all herself and solely.<br /> +White the lamb's wool as the Gotchi—<br /> +The great Gotchi, driving snowstorm.<br /> +Hither Mary went and thither,<br /> +But went with her to all places,<br /> +Sure as brook to run to river,<br /> +Her pet lambkin following with her.<br /> +</p> +<p class='center'>(<i>How Andrew Lang sings it.</i>)</p> + +<p class='h_5'>RONDEAU</p> +<p> +A wonderful lass was Marie, petite,<br /> +And she looked full fair and passing sweet—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And, oh! she owned—but cannot you guess</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What pet can a maiden so love and caress</span><br /> +As a tiny lamb with a plaintive bleat<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_508" id="Page_508">[Pg 508]</a></span> +<br /> +And mud upon his dainty feet<br /> +And a gentle veally odour of meat,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And a fleece to finger and kiss and press—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">White as snow?</span><br /> +<br /> +Wherever she wandered, in lane or street,<br /> +As she sauntered on, there at her feet<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She would find that lambkin—bless</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The dear!—treading on her dainty dress,</span><br /> +Her dainty dress, fresh and neat—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">White as snow!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p class='center'>(<i>Mr. Algernon C. Swinburne's idea.</i>)</p> + +<p class='h_5'>VILLANELLE</p> + +<p>Dewy-eyed with shimmering hair,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Maiden and lamb were a sight to see,</span><br /> +For her pet was white as she was fair.<br /> +<br /> +And its lovely fleece was beyond compare,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And dearly it loved its Mistress Marie,</span><br /> +Dewy-eyed, with shimmering hair.<br /> +<br /> +Its warpéd wool was an inwove snare,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To tangle her fingers in, where they could be</span><br /> +(For her pet was white as she was fair).<br /> +<br /> +Lost from sight, both so snow-white were,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the lambkin adored the maiden wee,</span><br /> +Dewy-eyed with shimmering hair.<br /> +<br /> +Th' impassioned incarnation of rare,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of limpid-eyed, luscious-lipped, loved beauty,</span><br /> +And her pet was white as she was fair.<br /> +<br /> +Wherever she wandered, hither and there,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wildly that lambkin sought with her to be,</span><br /> +With the dewy-eyed, with shimmering hair,<br /> +And a pet as white as its mistress was fair.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>A. C. Wilkie.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_509" id="Page_509">[Pg 509]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>MORE IMPRESSIONS</h3> + +<h4>LA FUITE DES OIES</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +To outer senses they are geese,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dull drowsing by a weedy pool;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But try the impression trick. Cool! Cool!</span><br /> +Snow-slumbering sentinels of Peace!<br /> +<br /> +Deep silence on the shadowy flood,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Save rare sharp stridence (that means "quack"),</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Low amber light in Ariel track</span><br /> +Athwart the dun (that means the mud).<br /> +<br /> +And suddenly subsides the sun,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bulks mystic, ghostly, thrid the gloom</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(That means the white geese waddling home),</span><br /> +And darkness reigns! (See how it's done?)<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Oscuro Wildgoose.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>NURSERY RHYMES À LA MODE</h3> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>(<i>Our nurseries will soon lie too cultured to admit the old +rhymes in their Philistine and unæsthetic garb. They +may be redressed somewhat on this model.</i>)</p></div> + +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Oh, but she was dark and shrill,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Hey-de-diddle and hey-de-dee!)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The cat that (on the first April)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Played the fiddle on the lea.</span><br /> +Oh, and the moon was wan and bright,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Hey-de-diddle and hey-de-dee!)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Cow she looked nor left nor right,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But took it straight at a jump, pardie!</span><br /> +The hound did laugh to see this thing,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Hey-de-diddle and hey-de-dee!)</span><br /> +As it was parlous wantoning,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Ah, good my gentles, laugh not ye,)</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_510" id="Page_510">[Pg 510]</a></span> + +And underneath a dreesome moon<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Two lovers fled right piteouslie;</span><br /> +A spooney plate with a plated spoon,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Hey-de-diddle and hey-de-dee!)</span><br /> +</p> + +<p class='h_5'>POSTSCRIPT</p> + +<p> +Then blame me not, altho' my verse<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sounds like an echo of C. S. C.</span><br /> +Since still they make ballads that worse and worse<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Savor of diddle and hey-de-dee.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A MAUDLE-IN BALLAD</h3> + +<h4>TO HIS LILY</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +My lank limp lily, my long lithe lily,<br /> +My languid lily-love fragile and thin,<br /> +With dank leaves dangling and flower-flap chilly.<br /> +That shines like the shin of a Highland gilly!<br /> +Mottled and moist as a cold toad's skin!<br /> +Lustrous and leper-white, splendid and splay!<br /> +Art thou not Utter and wholly akin<br /> +To my own wan soul and my own wan chin,<br /> +And my own wan nose-tip, tilted to sway<br /> +The peacock's feather, <i>sweeter than sin</i>,<br /> +That I bought for a halfpenny yesterday?<br /> +<br /> +My long lithe lily, my languid lily,<br /> +My lank limp lily-love, how shall I win—<br /> +Woo thee to wink at me? Silver lily,<br /> +How shall I sing to thee, softly or shrilly?<br /> +What shall I weave for thee—what shall I spin—<br /> +Rondel, or rondeau, or virelai?<br /> +Shall I buzz like a bee with my face thrust in<br /> +Thy choice, chaste chalice, or choose me a tin<br /> +Trumpet, or touchingly, tenderly play<br /> +On the weird bird-whistle, <i>sweeter than sin</i>,<br /> +That I bought for a halfpenny yesterday.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_511" id="Page_511">[Pg 511]</a></span> + +<br /> +My languid lily, my lank limp lily,<br /> +My long lithe lily-love, men may grin—<br /> +Say that I'm soft and supremely silly—<br /> +What care I while you whisper stilly;<br /> +What care I while you smile? Not a pin!<br /> +While you smile, you whisper—'Tis sweet to decay?<br /> +<br /> +I have watered with chlorodine, tears of chagrin,<br /> +The churchyard mould I have planted thee in,<br /> +Upside down in an intense way,<br /> +In a rough red flower-pot, <i>sweeter than sin</i>,<br /> +That I bought for a halfpenny yesterday.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>GILLIAN</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Jack and Jille<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I have made me an end of the moods of maidens,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">I have loosed me, and leapt from the links of love;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">From the kiss that cloys and desire that deadens,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The woes that madden, the words that move.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In the dim last days of a spent September,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">When fruits are fallen, and flies are fain;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Before you forget, and while I remember,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">I cry as I shall cry never again.</span><br /> +<br /> +Went up a hylle<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Where the strong fell faints in the lazy levels</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Of misty meadows, and streams that stray;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">We raised us at eve from our rosy revels,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">With the faces aflame for the death of the day;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With pale lips parted, and sighs that shiver,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Low lids that cling to the last of love:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">We left the levels, we left the river,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And turned us and toiled to the air above.</span><br /> +<br /> +To fetch a paile of water,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">By the sad sweet springs that have salved our sorrow,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The fates that haunt us, the grief that grips—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Where we walk not to-day nor shall walk not tomorrow—</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_512" id="Page_512">[Pg 512]</a></span> + +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The wells of Lethe for wearied lips.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With souls nor shaken with tears nor laughter,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">With limp knees loosed as of priests that pray,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">We bowed us and bent to the white well-water,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">We dipped and we drank it and bore away.</span><br /> +<br /> +Jack felle downe<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The low light trembled on languid lashes,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The haze of your hair on my mouth was blown,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Our love flashed fierce from its fading ashes,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">As night's dim net on the day was thrown.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">What was it meant for, or made for, that minute,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">But that our lives in delight should be dipt?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Was it yours, or my fault, or fate's, that in it</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Our frail feet faltered, our steep steps slipt.</span><br /> +<br /> +And brake his crowne, and Jille came tumblynge after.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Our linked hands loosened and lapsed in sunder,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Love from our limbs as a shift was shed,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But paused a moment, to watch with wonder</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The pale pained body, the bursten head.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">While our sad souls still with regrets are riven,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">While the blood burns bright on our bruised brows,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I have set you free, and I stand forgiven—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And now I had better go call my cows.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>EXTRACTS FKOM THE RUBAIYAT OF +OMAR CAYENNE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Wake! for the Hack can scatter into flight<br /> +Shakespeare and Dante in a single Night!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Penny-a-Liner is Abroad, and strikes</span><br /> +Our Modern Literature with blithering Blight.<br /> +<br /> +Before Historical Romances died,<br /> +Methought a Voice from Art's Olympus cried,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"When all Dumas and Scott is still for Sale,</span><br /> +Why nod o'er drowsy Tales, by Tyros tried?"<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_513" id="Page_513">[Pg 513]</a></span> + +<br /> +A Book of Limericks—Nonsense, anyhow—<br /> +Alice in Wonderland, the Purple Cow<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beside me singing on Fifth Avenue—</span><br /> +Ah, this were Modern Literature enow!<br /> +<br /> +Ah, my Beloved, write the Book that clears<br /> +<span class="smcap">To-Day</span> of dreary Debt and sad Arrears;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To-morrow!—Why, To-Morrow I may see</span><br /> +My Nonsense popular as Edward Lear's.<br /> +<br /> +And we, that now within the Editor's Room<br /> +Make merry while we have our little Boom,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ourselves must we give way to next month's Set—</span><br /> +Girls with Three Names, who know not Who from Whom!<br /> +<br /> +As then the Poet for his morning Sup<br /> +Fills with a Metaphor his mental Cup,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Do you devoutly read your Manuscripts</span><br /> +That Someone may, before you burn them up!<br /> +<br /> +And if the Bosh you write, the Trash you read,<br /> +End in the Garbage-Barrel—take no Heed;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Think that you are no worse than other Scribes,</span><br /> +Who scribble Stuff to meet the Public Need.<br /> +<br /> +So, when <span class="smcap">Who's-Who</span> records your silly Name,<br /> +You'll think that you have found the Road to Fame;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And though ten thousand other Names are there,</span><br /> +You'll fancy you're a Genius, just the Same!<br /> +<br /> +Why, if an Author can fling Art aside,<br /> +And in a Book of Balderdash take pride,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Were't not a Shame—were't not a Shame for him</span><br /> +A Conscientious Novel to have tried?<br /> +<br /> +And fear not, if the Editor refuse<br /> +Your work, he has no more from which to choose;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Literary Microbe shall bring forth</span><br /> +Millions of Manuscripts too bad to use.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_514" id="Page_514">[Pg 514]</a></span> + +<br /> +The Woman's Touch runs through our Magazines;<br /> +For her the Home, and Mother-Tale, and Scenes<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of Love-and-Action, Happy at the End—</span><br /> +The same old Plots, the same old Ways and Means.<br /> +<br /> +But if, in spite of this, you build a Plot<br /> +Which these immortal Elements has not,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You gaze <span class="smcap">To-Day</span> upon a Slip, which reads,</span><br /> +"The Editor Regrets"—and such-like Rot.<br /> +<br /> +Waste not your Ink, and don't attempt to use<br /> +That subtle Touch which Editors refuse;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Better be jocund at two cents a word,</span><br /> +Than, starving, court an ill-requited Muse!<br /> +<br /> +Strange—is it not?—that of the Authors who<br /> +Publish in England, such a mighty Few<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Make a Success, though here they score a Hit?</span><br /> +The British Public knows a Thing or Two!<br /> +<br /> +The Scribe no question makes of Verse or Prose,<br /> +But what the Editor demands, he shows;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And he who buys three thousand words of Drool,</span><br /> +He knows what People want—you Bet He knows!<br /> +<br /> +Would but some wingèd Angel bring the News<br /> +Of Critic who reads Books that he Reviews,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And make the stern Reviewer do as well</span><br /> +Himself, before he Meed of Praise refuse!<br /> +<br /> +Ah, Love, could you and I perchance succeed<br /> +In boiling down the Million Books we read<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Into One Book, and edit that a Bit—</span><br /> +There'd be a <span class="smcap">World's Best Literature</span> indeed!<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Gelett Burgess.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_515" id="Page_515">[Pg 515]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>DIVERSIONS OF THE RE-ECHO CLUB</h3> +<div class='blockquot'>It is with pleasure that we announce our ability to offer to +the public the papers of the Re-Echo Club. This club, somewhat +after the order of the Echo Club, late of Boston, takes pleasure +in trying to better what is done. On the occasion of the meeting +of which the following gems of poesy are the result, the several +members of the club engaged to write up the well-known tradition +of the Purple Cow in more elaborate form than the +quatrain made famous by Mr. Gelett Burgess:</div> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +"I never saw a Purple Cow,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I never hope to see one;</span><br /> +But I can tell you, anyhow,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'd rather see than be one."</span><br /> +</p> +</td></tr></table> + +<div class='blockquot'>The first attempt here cited is the production of Mr. John +Milton:</div> + +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Hence, vain, deluding cows.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The herd of folly, without colour bright,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How little you delight,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or fill the Poet's mind, or songs arouse!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But, hail! thou goddess gay of feature!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hail, divinest purple creature!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh, Cow, thy visage is too bright</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To hit the sense of human sight.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And though I'd like, just once, to see thee,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I never, never, never'd be thee!</span><br /> +</p> +</td></tr></table> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p class='h_5'>MR. P. BYSSHE SHELLEY:</p> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Hail to thee, blithe spirit!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Cow thou never wert;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">But in life to cheer it</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Playest thy full part</span><br /> +In purple lines of unpremeditated art.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The pale purple colour</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Melts around thy sight</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Like a star, but duller,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">In the broad daylight.</span><br /> +I'd see thee, but I would not be thee if I might.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_516" id="Page_516">[Pg 516]</a></span> + +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">We look before and after</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">At cattle as they browse;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Our most hearty laughter</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Something sad must rouse.</span><br /> +Our sweetest songs are those that tell of Purple Cows.<br /> +</p> +</td></tr></table> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p class='h_5'>Mr. W. WORDSWORTH:</p> +<p> +She dwelt among the untrodden ways<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beside the springs of Dee;</span><br /> +A Cow whom there were few to praise<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And very few to see.</span><br /> +<br /> +A violet by a mossy stone<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Greeting the smiling East</span><br /> +Is not so purple, I must own,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As that erratic beast.</span><br /> +She lived unknown, that Cow, and so<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I never chanced to see;</span><br /> +But if I had to be one, oh,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The difference to me!</span><br /> +</p> +</td></tr></table> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p class='h_5'>MR. T. GRAY:</p> +<p> +The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea;</span><br /> +I watched them slowly wend their weary way,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But, ah, a Purple Cow I did not see.</span><br /> +Full many a cow of purplest ray serene<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is haply grazing where I may not see;</span><br /> +Full many a donkey writes of her, I ween,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But neither of these creatures would I be.</span><br /> +</p> +</td></tr></table> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p class='h_5'>MR. J. W. RILEY:</p> +<p> +There, little Cow, don't cry!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You are brindle and brown, I know.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And with wild, glad hues</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of reds and blues,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You never will gleam and glow.</span><br /> +But though not pleasing to the eye,<br /> +There, little Cow, don't cry, don't cry.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_517" id="Page_517">[Pg 517]</a></span> + +</p> +</td></tr></table> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p class='h_5'>LORD A. TENNYSON:</p> +<p> +Ask me no more. A cow I fain would see<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of purple tint, like to a sun-soaked grape—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of purple tint, like royal velvet cape—</span><br /> +But such a creature I would never be—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Ask me no more.</span><br /> +</p> +</td></tr></table> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p class='h_5'>MR. R. BROWNING:</p> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">All that I know</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Of a certain Cow</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Is it can throw,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Somewhere, somehow,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Now a dart of red,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Now a dart of blue</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">(That makes purple, 'tis said).</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">I would fain see, too.</span><br /> +This Cow that darkles the red and the blue!<br /> +</p> +</td></tr></table> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p class='h_5'>MR. J. KEATS:</p> +<p> +A cow of purple is a joy forever.<br /> +Its loveliness increases. I have never<br /> +Seen this phenomenon. Yet ever keep<br /> +A brave lookout; lest I should be asleep<br /> +When she comes by. For, though I would not be one,<br /> +I've oft imagined 'twould be joy to see one.<br /> +</p> +</td></tr></table> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p class='h_5'>MR. D. G. ROSSETTI:</p> +<p> +The Purple Cow strayed in the glade;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Oh, my soul! but the milk is blue!)</span><br /> +She strayed and strayed and strayed and strayed<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(And I wail and I cry Wa-hoo!)</span><br /> +<br /> +I've never seen her—nay, not I;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Oh, my soul! but the milk is blue!)</span><br /> +Yet were I that Cow I should want to die.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(And I wail and I cry Wa-hoo!)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But in vain my tears I strew.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_518" id="Page_518">[Pg 518]</a></span> + +</p> +</td></tr></table> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p class='h_5'>MR. T. ALDRICH:</p> +<p> +Somewhere in some faked nature place,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In Wonderland, in Nonsense Land,</span><br /> +Two darkling shapes met face to face,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And bade each other stand.</span><br /> +<br /> +"And who are you?" said each to each;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Tell me your title, anyhow."</span><br /> +One said, "I am the Papal Bull,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"And I the Purple Cow."</span><br /> +</p> +</td></tr></table> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p class='h_5'>MR. E. ALLAN POE:</p> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Open then I flung a shutter,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And, with many a flirt and flutter,</span><br /> +In there stepped a Purple Cow which gayly tripped around my floor.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Not the least obeisance made she,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Not a moment stopped or stayed she,</span><br /> +But with mien of chorus lady perched herself above my door.<br /> +On a dusty bust of Dante perched and sat above my door.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And that Purple Cow unflitting</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Still is sitting—still is sitting</span><br /> +On that dusty bust of Dante just above my chamber door,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And her horns have all the seeming</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of a demon's that is screaming,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And the arc-light o'er her streaming</span><br /> +Casts her shadow on the floor.<br /> +And my soul from out that pool of Purple shadow on the floor,<br /> +Shall be lifted Nevermore!<br /> +</p> +</td></tr></table> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p class='h_5'>MR. H. LONGFELLOW:</p> +<p> +The day is done, and the darkness<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Falls from the wing of night</span><br /> +As ballast is wafted downward<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From an air-ship in its flight.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_519" id="Page_519">[Pg 519]</a></span> + +<br /> +I dream of a purple creature<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which is not as kine are now;</span><br /> +And resembles cattle only<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As Cowper resembles a cow.</span><br /> +<br /> +Such cows have power to quiet<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our restless thoughts and rude;</span><br /> +They come like the Benedictine<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That follows after food.</span><br /> +</p> +</td></tr></table> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p class='h_5'>MR. A. SWINBURNE:</p> +<p> +Oh, Cow of rare rapturous vision,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh, purple, impalpable Cow,</span><br /> +Do you browse in a Dream Field Elysian,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are you purpling pleasantly now?</span><br /> +By the side of wan waves do you languish?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or in the lithe lush of the grove?</span><br /> +While vainly I search in my anguish,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O Bovine of mauve!</span><br /> +<br /> +Despair in my bosom is sighing,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hope's star has sunk sadly to rest;</span><br /> +Though cows of rare sorts I am buying,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Not one breathes a balm to my breast.</span><br /> +Oh, rapturous rose-crowned occasion,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When I such a glory might see!</span><br /> +But a cow of a purple persuasion<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I never would be.</span><br /> +</p> +</td></tr></table> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p class='h_5'>MR. A. DOBSON:</p> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'd love to see</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A Purple Cow,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh, Goodness me!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'd love to see</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But not to be</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">One. Anyhow,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'd love to see</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A Purple Cow.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_520" id="Page_520">[Pg 520]</a></span> + +</p> +</td></tr></table> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p class='h_5'>MR. O. HERFORD:</p> +<p> +Children, observe the Purple Cow,<br /> +You cannot see her, anyhow;<br /> +And, little ones, you need not hope<br /> +Your eyes will e'er attain such scope.<br /> +But if you ever have a choice<br /> +To be, or see, lift up your voice<br /> +And choose to see. For surely you<br /> +Don't want to browse around and moo.<br /> +</p> +</td></tr></table> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p class='h_5'>MR. H. C. BUNNER:</p> +<p> +<i>Oh, what's the way to Arcady,</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Where all the cows are purple?</i></span><br /> +Ah, woe is me! I never hope<br /> +On such a sight my eyes to ope;<br /> +But as I sing in merry glee<br /> +Along the road to Arcady,<br /> +Perchance full soon I may espy<br /> +A Purple Cow come dancing by.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Heigho! I then shall see one.</span><br /> +Her horns bedecked with ribbons gay,<br /> +And garlanded with rosy may,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A tricksy sight. Still I must say</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'd rather see than be one.</span><br /> +</p> +</td></tr></table> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p class='h_5'>MR. A. SWINBURNE:</p> +<p class='center'> +(Who was so enthused that he made a second attempt.)<br /> +</p> +<p class='poem'>Only in dim, drowsy depths of a dream do I dare to delight in deliciously dreaming</p> +<p class='poem'>Cows there may be of a passionate purple,—cows of a violent violet hue;</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>Ne'er have I seen such a sight, I am certain it is but a demi-delirious dreaming—</p> +<p class='poem'>Ne'er may I happily harbour a hesitant hope in my heart that my dream may come true.</p> +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_521" id="Page_521">[Pg 521]</a></span> + +</p> +<p class='poem'>Sad is my soul, and my senses are sobbing so strong is my strenuous spirit to see one.</p> +<p class='poem'>Dolefully, drearily doomed to despair as warily wearily watching I wait;</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>Thoughts thickly thronging are thrilling and throbbing; to <i>see</i> is a glorious gain—but to <i>be</i> one!</p> +<p class='poem'>That were a darker and direfuller destiny, that were a fearfuller, frightfuller fate!<br /> +</p> +</td></tr></table> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p class='h_5'>MR R. KIPLING:</p> +<p> +In the old ten-acre pasture,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lookin' eastward toward a tree,</span><br /> +There's a Purple Cow a-settin'<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I know she thinks of me.</span><br /> +For the wind is in the gum-tree,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the hay is in the mow,</span><br /> +And the cow-bells are a-calling<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Come and see a Purple Cow!"</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But I am not going now,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Not at present, anyhow,</span><br /> +For I am not fond of purple, and<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I can't abide a cow;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No, I shall not go to-day,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where the Purple Cattle play.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But I think I'd rather see one</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than to be one, anyhow.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Carolyn Wells.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>STYX RIVER ANTHOLOGY</h3> + +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p class='h_5'>ALICE BEN BOLT</p> +<p> +I couldn't help weeping with delight<br /> +When the boys kissed me and called me sweet.<br /> +It was foolish, I know,<br /> +To weep when I was glad;<br /> +But I was young and I wasn't very well.<br /> +I was nervous, weak, anemic,<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_522" id="Page_522">[Pg 522]</a></span> + +A sort of human mimosa; and I hadn't much brains,<br /> +And my mind wouldn't jell, anyhow.<br /> +That's why I trembled with fear when they frowned.<br /> +But they didn't frown often,<br /> +For I was sweetly pretty and most pliable.<br /> +But, oh, the grim joke of asking Ben Bolt if he remembered me!<br /> +Me!<br /> +Why, it was Ben Bolt who—<br /> +Well, never mind. He paid for this granite slab,<br /> +And it's as stylish as any in the church yard.<br /> +But I wish I had a more becoming shroud.<br /> +</p> + + +<p class='h_5'>THE BLESSED DAMOZEL</p> +<p> +I was one of those long, lanky, loose-jointed girls<br /> +Who fool people into believing<br /> +They are willowy and psychic and mysterious.<br /> +I was always hungry; I never ate enough to satisfy me,<br /> +For fear I'd get fat.<br /> +Oh, how little the world knows of the bitterness of life<br /> +To a woman who tries to keep thin!<br /> +Many thought I died of a broken heart,<br /> +But it was an empty stomach.<br /> +Then Mr. Rossetti wrote about me.<br /> +He described me all dolled up in some ladies' wearing apparel<br /> +That I wore at a fancy ball.<br /> +I had fasted all day, and had had my hair marcelled<br /> +And my face corrected.<br /> +And I <i>was</i> a dream.<br /> +But he seemed to think he really saw me,<br /> +Seemed to think I appeared to him after my death.<br /> +Oh, fudge!<br /> +Those spiritualists are always seeing things!<br /> +</p> + + +<p class='h_5'>ENOCH ARDEN</p> +<p> +Yes, it was the eternal triangle,<br /> +Only they didn't call it that then.<br /> +Of course everybody thought I was all broken up<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_523" id="Page_523">[Pg 523]</a></span> + +When I found Annie wed to Philip,<br /> +But, as a matter of fact,<br /> +I didn't care so much;<br /> +For she was one of those self-starting weepers,<br /> +And a man can't stand blubbering all the time.<br /> +And, then, of course,<br /> +When I was off on that long sea trip—<br /> +Oh, well, you know what sailors are.<br /> +</p> + + +<p class='h_5'>LITTLE EVA</p> +<p> +To be honest,<br /> +I didn't mind dying,<br /> +For I had<br /> +One of these here now<br /> +Dressy deaths.<br /> +It was staged, you know,<br /> +And, like Samson,<br /> +My death brought down the house.<br /> +I was a smarty kid,<br /> +And they were less frequent then than later.<br /> +Oh, I was the Mary Pickford of my time,<br /> +And I rest content<br /> +With my notoriety.<br /> +</p> + + +<p class='h_5'>LUCY</p> +<p> +Yes, I am in my grave,<br /> +And you bet it makes a difference to him!<br /> +For we were to be married,—at least, I think we were,<br /> +And he'd made me promise to deed him the house.<br /> +But I had to go and get appendicitis,<br /> +And they took me to the hospital.<br /> +It was a nice hospital, clean,<br /> +And Tables Reserved For Ladies.<br /> +Well, my heart gave out.<br /> +He came and stood over my grave,<br /> +And registered deep concern.<br /> +And now, he's going round with that<br /> +Hen-minded Hetty What's-her-name!<br /> +Her with her Whistler's Mother and her Baby Stuart<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_524" id="Page_524">[Pg 524]</a></span> + +On her best-room wall!<br /> +And I hate her, and I'm glad she squints.<br /> +Well, I suppose I lived my life,<br /> +But it was Life in name only.<br /> +And I'm mad at the whole world!<br /> +</p> + + +<p class='h_5'>OPHELIA</p> +<p> +No, it wasn't suicide,<br /> +But I had heard so much of those mud baths,<br /> +I thought I'd try one.<br /> +Ugh! it was a mess!<br /> +Weeds, slime, and tangled vines! Oh, me!<br /> +Had I been Annette Kellerman<br /> +Or even a real mermaid,<br /> +I had lived to tell the tale.<br /> +But I slid down and under,<br /> +And so Will Shaxpur told it for me.<br /> +Just as well.<br /> +But I think my death scene is unexcelled<br /> +By any in cold print.<br /> +It beats that scrawny, red-headed old thing of Tom Hood's<br /> +All hollow!<br /> +</p> + + +<p class='h_5'>CASABLANCA</p> +<p> +I played to the Grand Stand!<br /> +Sure I did,<br /> +And I made good.<br /> +Ain't I in McGuffey's Third Reader?<br /> +Don't they speak pieces about me Friday afternoons?<br /> +Don't everybody know the first two lines of my story,—<br /> +And no more?<br /> +Say, I was there with the goods,<br /> +Wasn't I?<br /> +And it paid.<br /> +But I wish Movin' Pitchers had been invented then!<br /> +</p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_525" id="Page_525">[Pg 525]</a></span> + +<p class='h_5'>ANNABEL LEE</p> +<p> +They may say all they like<br /> +About germs and micro-crocuses,—<br /> +Or whatever they are!<br /> +But my set opinion is,—<br /> +If you want to get a good, old-fashioned chills and fever,<br /> +Just poke around<br /> +In a damp, messy place by the sea,<br /> +Without rubbers on.<br /> +A good cold wind,<br /> +Blowing out of a cloud, by night,<br /> +Will give you a harder shaking ague<br /> +Than all the bacilli in the Basilica.<br /> +It did me.<br /> +</p> + + +<p class='h_5'>ANGUS MCPHAIRSON</p> +<p> +Oh, of course,<br /> +It's always some dratted petticoat!<br /> +Just because that little flibbertigibbet, Annie Laurie<br /> +Had a white throat and a blue e'e,<br /> +She played the very devil with my peace of mind.<br /> +She'd dimple at me<br /> +Till I was aboot crazy;<br /> +And then laugh at me through her dimples!<br /> +She was my bespoke.<br /> +And I'd beg her to have the banns called,—<br /> +But there was no pinning her down.<br /> +Well, she was so bonny<br /> +That like a fool, I said I'd lay me doon<br /> +And dee for her.<br /> +And,—like a fool,—<br /> +I did.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Carolyn Wells.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_526" id="Page_526">[Pg 526]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>ANSWER TO MASTER WITHER'S SONG, "SHALL +I, WASTING IN DESPAIR?"</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Shall I, mine affections slack,<br /> +'Cause I see a woman's black?<br /> +Or myself, with care cast down,<br /> +'Cause I see a woman brown?<br /> +Be she blacker than the night,<br /> +Or the blackest jet in sight!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If she be not so to me,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What care I how black she be?</span><br /> +<br /> +Shall my foolish heart be burst,<br /> +'Cause I see a woman's curst?<br /> +Or a thwarting hoggish nature<br /> +Joinèd in as bad a feature?<br /> +Be she curst or fiercer than<br /> +Brutish beast, or savage man!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If she be not so to me,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What care I how curst she be?</span><br /> +<br /> +Shall a woman's vices make<br /> +Me her vices quite forsake?<br /> +Or her faults to me made known,<br /> +Make me think that I have none?<br /> +Be she of the most accurst,<br /> +And deserve the name of worst!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If she be not so to me,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What care I how bad she be?</span><br /> +<br /> +'Cause her fortunes seem too low,<br /> +Shall I therefore let her go?<br /> +He that bears an humble mind<br /> +And with riches can be kind,<br /> +Think how kind a heart he'd have,<br /> +If he were some servile slave!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And if that same mind I see</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What care I how poor she be?</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_527" id="Page_527">[Pg 527]</a></span> + +<br /> +Poor, or bad, or curst, or black,<br /> +I will ne'er the more be slack!<br /> +If she hate me (then believe!)<br /> +She shall die ere I will grieve!<br /> +If she like me when I woo<br /> +I can like and love her too!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If that she be fit for me!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What care I what others be?</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Ben Jonson.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>SONG OF THE SPRINGTIDE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +O Season supposed of all free flowers,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Made lovely by light of the sun,</span><br /> +Of garden, of field, and of tree-flowers,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thy singers are surely in fun!</span><br /> +Or what is it wholly unsettles<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thy sequence of shower and shine,</span><br /> +And maketh thy pushings and petals<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To shrivel and pine?</span><br /> +<br /> +Why is it that o'er the wild waters<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That beastly North-Easter still blows,</span><br /> +Dust-dimming the eyes of our daughters,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Blue-nipping each nice little nose?</span><br /> +Why is it these sea-skirted islands<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are plagued with perpetual chills,</span><br /> +Driving men to Italian or Nile-lands<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">From Albion's ills?</span><br /> +<br /> +Happy he, O Springtide, who hath found thee,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All sunlit, in luckier lands,</span><br /> +With thy garment of greenery round thee,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And belted with blossomy bands.</span><br /> +From us by the blast thou art drifted,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All brag of thy beauties is bosh;</span><br /> +When the songs of thy singers are sifted,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">They simply won't wash.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_528" id="Page_528">[Pg 528]</a></span> + +<br /> +What lunatic lune, what vain vision,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thy laureate, Springtide, may move</span><br /> +To sing thee,—oh, bitter derision!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A season of laughter and love?</span><br /> +You make a man mad beyond measure,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O Spring, and thy lauders like thee:</span><br /> +Thy flowers, thy pastimes and pleasures,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are fiddlededee!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE VILLAGE CHOIR</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Half a bar, half a bar,<br /> +Half a bar onward!<br /> +Into an awful ditch<br /> +Choir and precentor hitch,<br /> +Into a mess of pitch,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">They led the Old Hundred.</span><br /> +Trebles to right of them,<br /> +Tenors to left of them,<br /> +Basses in front of them,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Bellowed and thundered.</span><br /> +Oh, that precentor's look,<br /> +When the sopranos took<br /> +Their own time and hook<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">From the Old Hundred!</span><br /> +Screeched all the trebles here,<br /> +Boggled the tenors there,<br /> +Raising the parson's hair,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">While his mind wandered;</span><br /> +Theirs not to reason why<br /> +This psalm was pitched too high:<br /> +Theirs but to gasp and cry<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Out the Old Hundred.</span><br /> +Trebles to right of them,<br /> +Tenors to left of them,<br /> +Basses in front of them,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Bellowed and thundered.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_529" id="Page_529">[Pg 529]</a></span> + +<br /> +Stormed they with shout and yell,<br /> +Not wise they sang nor well,<br /> +Drowning the sexton's bell,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While all the church wondered.</span><br /> +<br /> +Dire the percenter's glare,<br /> +Flashed his pitchfork in air<br /> +Sounding fresh keys to bear<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Out the Old Hundred.</span><br /> +Swiftly he turned his back,<br /> +Reached he his hat from rack,<br /> +Then from the screaming pack,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Himself he sundered.</span><br /> +Tenors to right of him,<br /> +Tenors to left of him,<br /> +Discords behind him,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Bellowed and thundered.</span><br /> +Oh, the wild howls they wrought:<br /> +Right to the end they fought!<br /> +Some tune they sang, but not,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Not the Old Hundred.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>MY FOE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +John Alcohol, my foe, John,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When we were first acquaint,</span><br /> +I'd siller in my pockets, John,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which noo, ye ken, I want;</span><br /> +I spent it all in treating, John,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Because I loved you so;</span><br /> +But mark ye, how you've treated me,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">John Alcohol, my foe.</span><br /> +<br /> +John Alcohol, my foe, John,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We've been ower lang together,</span><br /> +Sae ye maun tak' ae road, John,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I will take anither;</span><br /> +For we maun tumble down, John,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If hand in hand we go;</span><br /> +And I shall hae the bill to pay,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">John Alcohol, my foe.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_530" id="Page_530">[Pg 530]</a></span> + +<br /> +John Alcohol, my foe, John,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ye've blear'd out a' my een,</span><br /> +And lighted up my nose, John,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A fiery sign atween!</span><br /> +My hands wi' palsy shake, John,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My locks are like the snow;</span><br /> +Ye'll surely be the death of me,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">John Alcohol, my foe.</span><br /> +<br /> +John Alcohol, my foe, John,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Twas love to you, I ween,</span><br /> +That gart me rise sae ear', John,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And sit sae late at e'en;</span><br /> +The best o' friens maun part, John,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It grieves me sair, ye know;</span><br /> +But "we'll nae mair to yon town,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">John Alcohol, my foe.</span><br /> +<br /> +John Alcohol, my foe, John,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ye've wrought me muckle skaith;</span><br /> +And yet to part wi' you, John,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I own I'm unko' laith;</span><br /> +But I'll join the temperance ranks, John,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ye needna say me no;</span><br /> +It's better late than ne'er do weel,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">John Alcohol, my foe.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>NURSERY SONG IN PIDGIN ENGLISH</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Singee a songee sick a pence,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pockee muchee lye;</span><br /> +Dozen two time blackee bird<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cookee in e pie.</span><br /> +When him cutee topside<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Birdee bobbery sing;</span><br /> +Himee tinkee nicey dish.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Setee foree King!</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_531" id="Page_531">[Pg 531]</a></span> + +<br /> +Kingee in a talkee loom<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Countee muchee money;</span><br /> +Queeny in e kitchee,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Chew-chee breadee honey.</span><br /> +Servant galo shakee,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hangee washee clothes;</span><br /> +Cho-chop comee blackie bird,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nipee off her nose!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>FATHER WILLIAM</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +"You are old, Father William," the young man said,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"And your nose has a look of surprise;</span><br /> +Your eyes have turned round to the back of your head,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And you live upon cucumber pies."</span><br /> +"I know it, I know it," the old man replied,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"And it comes from employing a quack,</span><br /> +Who said if I laughed when the crocodile died<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I should never have pains in my back."</span><br /> +<br /> +"You are old, Father William," the young man said,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"And your legs always get in your way;</span><br /> +You use too much mortar in mixing your bread,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And you try to drink timothy hay."</span><br /> +"Very true, very true," said the wretched old man,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Every word that you tell me is true;</span><br /> +And it's caused by my having my kerosene can<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Painted red where it ought to be blue."</span><br /> +<br /> +"You are old, Father William," the young man said,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"And your teeth are beginning to freeze,</span><br /> +Your favorite daughter has wheels in her head,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the chickens are eating your knees."</span><br /> +"You are right," said the old man, "I cannot deny,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That my troubles are many and great,</span><br /> +But I'll butter my ears on the Fourth of July,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And then I'll be able to skate."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_532" id="Page_532">[Pg 532]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A POE-'EM OF PASSION</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +It was many and many a year ago,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On an island near the sea,</span><br /> +That a maiden lived whom you mightn't know<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By the name of Cannibalee;</span><br /> +And this maiden she lived with no other thought<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than a passionate fondness for me.</span><br /> +<br /> +I was a child, and she was a child—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tho' her tastes were adult Feejee—</span><br /> +But she loved with a love that was more than love,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My yearning Cannibalee;</span><br /> +With a love that could take me roast or fried<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or raw, as the case might be.</span><br /> +<br /> +And that is the reason that long ago,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In that island near the sea,</span><br /> +I had to turn the tables and eat<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My ardent Cannibalee—</span><br /> +Not really because I was fond of her,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But to check her fondness for me.</span><br /> +<br /> +But the stars never rise but I think of the size<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of my hot-potted Cannibalee,</span><br /> +And the moon never stares but it brings me nightmares<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of my spare-rib Cannibalee;</span><br /> +And all the night-tide she is restless inside,<br /> +Is my still indigestible dinner-belle bride,<br /> +In her pallid tomb, which is Me,<br /> +In her solemn sepulcher, Me.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>C. F. Lummis.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_533" id="Page_533">[Pg 533]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>HOW THE DAUGHTERS COME DOWN AT DUNOON</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">How do the daughters</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Come down at Dunoon?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Daintily,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Tenderly,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Fairily,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Gingerly,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Glidingly,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Slidingly,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Slippingly,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Skippingly,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Trippingly,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Clippingly,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Bumpingly,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Thumpingly,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Stumpingly,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Clumpingly,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Starting and bolting,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">And darting and jolting,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">And tottering and staggering,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">And lumbering and slithering,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">And hurrying and scurrying,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">And worrying and flurrying,</span><br /> +And rushing and leaping and crushing and creeping;<br /> +Feathers a-flying all—bonnets untying all—<br /> +Petticoats rapping and flapping and slapping all,<br /> +Crinolines flowing and blowing and showing all<br /> +Balmorals, dancing and glancing, entrancing all;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Feats of activity—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Nymphs on declivity—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Mothers in extacies—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Fathers in vextacies—</span><br /> +Lady-loves whisking and frisking and clinging on<br /> +True-lovers puffing and blowing and springing on,<br /> +Dashing and clashing and shying and flying on,<br /> +Blushing and flushing and wriggling and giggling on,<br /> +Teasing and pleasing and squeezing and wheezing on,<br /> +Everlastingly falling and bawling and sprawling on,<br /> +Tumbling and rumbling and grumbling and stumbling on,<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_534" id="Page_534">[Pg 534]</a></span> + +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Any fine afternoon,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">About July or June—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">That's just how the Daughters</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Come down at Dunoon!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>H. Cholmondeley Pennell.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>TO AN IMPORTUNATE HOST</h3> + +<h4>DURING DINNER AND AFTER TENNYSON</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Ask me no more: I've had enough Chablis;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The wine may come again, and take the shape,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From glass to glass, of "Mountain" or of "Cape;"</span><br /> +But, my dear boy, when I have answered thee,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 17em;">Ask me no more.</span><br /> +<br /> +Ask me no more: what answer should I give,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I love not pickled pork nor partridge pie;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I feel if I took whisky I should die!</span><br /> +Ask me no more—for I prefer to live:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 17em;">Ask me no more.</span><br /> +<br /> +Ask me no more: unless my fate is sealed,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I have striven against you all in vain.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Let your good butler bring me Hock again:</span><br /> +Then rest, dear boy. If for this once I yield,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 17em;">Ask me no more!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>CREMATION</h3> + +<h4>BY A BURNING ADMIRER OF SIR HENRY THOMPSON</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +To Urn, or not to Urn? that is the question:<br /> +Whether 'tis nobler for our frames to suffer<br /> +The shows and follies of outrageous custom,<br /> +Or to take fire—against a sea of zealots—<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_535" id="Page_535">[Pg 535]</a></span> + +And by consuming, end them? To Urn—to keep—<br /> +No more: and while we keep, to say we end<br /> +Contagion and the thousand graveyard ills<br /> +That flesh is heir to—'tis a consume-ation<br /> +Devoutly to be wished! To burn—to keep—<br /> +To keep! Perchance to lose—aye, there's the rub:<br /> +For in the course of things what duns may come,<br /> +Or who may shuffle off our Dresden urn,<br /> +Must give us pause. There's the respect<br /> +That makes inter-i-ment of so long use.<br /> +For who would have the pall and plumes of hire,<br /> +The tradesman's prize—a proud man's obsequies,<br /> +The chaffering for graves, the legal fee,<br /> +The cemetery beadle and the rest,<br /> +When he himself might his few ashes make<br /> +With a mere furnace? Who would tombstones bear,<br /> +And lie beneath a lying epitaph,<br /> +But that the dread of simmering after death—<br /> +That uncongenial furnace from whose burn<br /> +No incremate returns—weakens the will,<br /> +And makes us rather bear the graves we have<br /> +Than fly to ovens that we know not of?<br /> +This, Thompson, does make cowards of us all.<br /> +And thus the wisdom of incineration<br /> +Is thick-laid o'er with the pale ghost of nought,<br /> +And incremators of great pith and courage<br /> +With this regard their faces turn awry,<br /> +And shudder at cremation.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>William Sawyer.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>AN IMITATION OF WORDSWORTH</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +There is a river clear and fair,<br /> +'Tis neither broad nor narrow;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It winds a little here and there—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It winds about like any hare;</span><br /> +And then it takes as straight a course<br /> +As on the turnpike road a horse,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or through the air an arrow.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_536" id="Page_536">[Pg 536]</a></span> + +<br /> +The trees that grow upon the shore,<br /> +Have grown a hundred years or more;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So long there is no knowing.</span><br /> +Old Daniel Dobson does not know<br /> +When first these trees began to grow;<br /> +But still they grew, and grew, and grew,<br /> +As if they'd nothing else to do,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But ever to be growing.</span><br /> +<br /> +The impulses of air and sky<br /> +Have rear'd their stately heads so high,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And clothed their boughs with green;</span><br /> +Their leaves the dews of evening quaff,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And when the wind blows loud and keen,</span><br /> +I've seen the jolly timbers laugh,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And shake their sides with merry glee—</span><br /> +Wagging their heads in mockery.<br /> +<br /> +Fix'd are their feet in solid earth,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where winds can never blow;</span><br /> +But visitings of deeper birth<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Have reach'd their roots below.</span><br /> +For they have gain'd the river's brink,<br /> +And of the living waters drink.<br /> +<br /> +There's little Will, a five years child—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He is my youngest boy:</span><br /> +To look on eyes so fair and wild,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It is a very joy:—</span><br /> +He hath conversed with sun and shower<br /> +And dwelt with every idle flower,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As fresh and gay as them.</span><br /> +He loiters with the briar rose,—<br /> +The blue-belles are his play-fellows,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That dance upon their slender stem.</span><br /> +<br /> +And I have said, my little Will,<br /> +Why should not he continue still<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A thing of Nature's rearing?</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_537" id="Page_537">[Pg 537]</a></span> + +A thing beyond the world's control—<br /> +A living vegetable soul,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No human sorrow fearing.</span><br /> +<br /> +It were a blessed sight to see<br /> +That child become a Willow-tree,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His brother trees among.</span><br /> +He'd be four times as tall as me,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And live three times as long.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Catharine M. Fanshawe.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE LAY OF THE LOVE-LORN</h3> + +<h4>PARODY ON TENNYSON'S "LOCKSLEY HALL"</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Comrades, you may pass the rosy. With permission of the chair,<br /> +I shall leave you for a little, for I'd like to take the air.<br /> +<br /> +Whether 'twas the sauce at dinner, or that glass of ginger-beer,<br /> +Or these strong cheroots, I know not, but I feel a little queer.<br /> +<br /> +Let me go. Now, Chuckster, blow me, 'pon my soul, this is too bad!<br /> +When you want me, ask the waiter, he knows where I'm to be had!<br /> +<br /> +Whew! This is a great relief now! Let me but undo my stock;<br /> +Resting here beneath the porch, my nerves will steady like a rock.<br /> +<br /> +In my ears I hear the singing of a lot of favourite tunes—<br /> +Bless my heart, how very odd! Why, surely, there's a brace of moons!<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_538" id="Page_538">[Pg 538]</a></span> + +<br /> +See—the stars! How bright they twinkle, winking with a frosty glare,<br /> +Like my faithless cousin Amy when she drove me to despair.<br /> +<br /> +Oh, my cousin, spider-hearted! Oh, my Amy! No, confound it!<br /> +I must wear the mournful willow—all around my hat I've bound it.<br /> +<br /> +Falser than the Bank of Fancy, frailer than a shilling glove,<br /> +Puppet to a father's anger, minion to a nabob's love!<br /> +<br /> +Is it well to wish thee happy? Having known me, could you ever<br /> +Stoop to marry half a heart, and little more than half a liver?<br /> +<br /> +Happy! Damme! Thou shalt lower to his level day by day,<br /> +Changing from the best of china to the commonest of clay.<br /> +<br /> +As the husband is, the wife is. He is stomach-plagued and old,<br /> +And his curry soups will make thy cheek the colour of his gold.<br /> +<br /> +When his feeble love is sated, he will hold thee surely then<br /> +Something lower than his hookah, something less than his cayenne.<br /> +<br /> +What is this? His eyes are pinky. Was't the claret? Oh, no, no—<br /> +Bless your soul, it was the salmon—salmon always makes him so.<br /> +<br /> +Take him to thy dainty chamber, soothe him with thy lightest fancies,<br /> +He will understand thee, won't he—pay thee with a lover's glances?<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_539" id="Page_539">[Pg 539]</a></span> + +<br /> +Louder than the loudest trumpet, harsh as harshest ophicleide,<br /> +Nasal respirations answer the endearments of his bride.<br /> +<br /> +Sweet response, delightful music! Gaze upon thy noble charge<br /> +Till the spirit fill thy bosom that inspired the meek Lafarge.<br /> +<br /> +Better thou wert dead before me, better, better that I stood<br /> +Looking on thy murdered body, like the injured Daniel Good!<br /> +<br /> +Better thou and I were lying, cold and limber-stiff and dead,<br /> +With a pan of burning charcoal underneath our nuptial bed!<br /> +<br /> +Cursed be the Bank of England's notes, that tempt the soul to sin!<br /> +Cursed be the want of acres—doubly cursed the want of tin!<br /> +<br /> +Cursed be the marriage contract, that enslaved thy soul to greed!<br /> +Cursed be the sallow lawyer, that prepared and drew the deed!<br /> +<br /> +Cursed be his foul apprentice, who the loathsome fees did earn!<br /> +Cursed be the clerk and parson—cursed be the whole concern!<br /> +<br /> +Oh, 'tis well that I should bluster; much I'm like to make of that.<br /> +Better comfort have I found in singing "All Around My Hat."<br /> +<br /> +But that song, so wildly plaintive, palls upon my British ears.<br /> +'Twill not do to pine for ever: I am getting up in years.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_540" id="Page_540">[Pg 540]</a></span> + +<br /> +Can't I turn the honest penny, scribbling for the weekly press,<br /> +And in writing Sunday libels drown my private wretchedness?<br /> +<br /> +Oh, to feel the wild pulsation that in manhood's dawn I knew,<br /> +When my days were all before me, and my years were twenty-two;<br /> +<br /> +When I smoked my independent pipe along the Quadrant wide,<br /> +With the many larks of London flaring up on every side;<br /> +<br /> +When I went the pace so wildly, caring little what might come,<br /> +Coffee-milling care and sorrow, with a nose-adapted thumb;<br /> +<br /> +Felt the exquisite enjoyment, tossing nightly off, oh, heavens!<br /> +Brandy at the Cider Cellars, kidneys smoking-hot at Evans';<br /> +<br /> +Or in the Adelphi sitting, half in rapture, half in tears,<br /> +Saw the glorious melodrama conjure up the shades of years—<br /> +<br /> +Saw Jack Sheppard, noble stripling, act his wondrous feats again,<br /> +Snapping Newgate's bars of iron, like an infant's daisy chain;<br /> +<br /> +Might was right, and all the terrors which had held the world in awe<br /> +Were despised and prigging prospered, spite of Laurie, spite of law.<br /> +<br /> +In such scenes as these I triumphed, ere my passion's edge was rusted,<br /> +And my cousin's cold refusal left me very much disgusted!<br /> +<br /> +Since, my heart is sore and withered, and I do not care a curse<br /> +Whether worse shall be the better, or the better be the worse.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_541" id="Page_541">[Pg 541]</a></span> + +<br /> +Hark! my merry comrades call me, bawling for another jorum;<br /> +They would mock me in derision, should I thus appear before 'em.<br /> +<br /> +Womankind no more shall vex me, such, at least, as go arrayed<br /> +In the most expensive satins, and the newest silk brocade.<br /> +<br /> +I'll to Afric, lion-haunted, where the giant forest yields<br /> +Rarer robes and finer tissue than are sold at Spitalfields.<br /> +<br /> +Or to burst all chains of habit, flinging habit's self aside,<br /> +I shall walk the tangled jungle in mankind's primeval pride;<br /> +<br /> +Feeding on the luscious berries and the rich casava root,<br /> +Lots of dates and lots of guavas, clusters of forbidden fruit.<br /> +<br /> +Never comes the trader thither, never o'er the purple main<br /> +Sounds the oath of British commerce, or the accents of Cockaigne.<br /> +<br /> +There, methinks, would be enjoyment, where no envious rule prevents;<br /> +Sink the steamboats! Cuss the railways! Rot, oh, rot the Three per Cents!<br /> +<br /> +There the passions, cramped no longer, shall have space to breathe, my cousin!<br /> +I will take some savage woman—nay, I'll take at least a dozen.<br /> +<br /> +There I'll rear my young mulattoes, as no Bond Street brats are reared:<br /> +They shall dive for alligators, catch the wild goats by the beard,<br /> +<br /> +Whistle to the cockatoos, and mock the hairy-faced baboon,<br /> +Worship mighty Mumbo Jumbo, in the mountains of the Moon.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_542" id="Page_542">[Pg 542]</a></span> + +<br /> +I, myself, in far Timbuctoo, leopard's blood will daily quaff,<br /> +Ride a-tiger-hunting, mounted on a thorough-bred giraffe.<br /> +<br /> +Fiercely shall I shout the war-whoop, as some sullen stream he crosses,<br /> +Startling from their noon-day slumbers iron-bound rhinoceroses.<br /> +<br /> +Fool! Again, the dream, the fancy! But I know my words are mad,<br /> +For I hold the gray barbarian lower than the Christian cad.<br /> +<br /> +I, the swell, the city dandy! I to seek such horrid places,<br /> +I to haunt with squalid Negroes, blubber-lips, and monkey faces!<br /> +<br /> +I to wed with Coromantees! I, who managed—very near—<br /> +To secure the heart and fortune of the widow Shillibeer!<br /> +<br /> +Stuff and nonsense! Let me never fling a single chance away.<br /> +Maids ere now, I know, have loved me, and another maiden may.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Morning Post</i> (<i>The Times</i> won't trust me), help me, as I know you can;<br /> +I will pen an advertisement—that's a never-failing plan:<br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Wanted</span>—By a bard in wedlock, some young interesting woman.<br /> +Looks are not so much an object, if the shiners be forthcoming!<br /> +<br /> +"Hymen's chains, the advertiser vows, shall be but silken fetters.<br /> +Please address to A. T., Chelsea. N.B.—You must pay the letters."<br /> +<br /> +That's the sort of thing to do it. Now I'll go and taste the balmy.<br /> +Rest thee with thy yellow nabob, spider-hearted cousin Amy!<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Aytoun</i> and <i>Martin.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_543" id="Page_543">[Pg 543]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>ONLY SEVEN</h3> + +<h4>A PASTORAL STORY AFTER WORDSWORTH</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I marvell'd why a simple child,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That lightly draws its breath,</span><br /> +Should utter groans so very wild,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And look as pale as Death.</span><br /> +<br /> +Adopting a parental tone,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I ask'd her why she cried;</span><br /> +The damsel answered with a groan,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"I've got a pain inside!</span><br /> +<br /> +"I thought it would have sent me mad<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Last night about eleven."</span><br /> +Said I, "What is it makes you bad?<br /> +How many apples have you had?"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She answered, "Only seven!"</span><br /> +<br /> +"And are you sure you took no more,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My little maid?" quoth I;</span><br /> +"Oh, please, sir, mother gave me four,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But <i>they</i> were in a pie!"</span><br /> +<br /> +"If that's the case," I stammer'd out,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Of course you've had eleven."</span><br /> +The maiden answer'd with a pout,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"I ain't had more nor seven!"</span><br /> +<br /> +I wonder'd hugely what she meant,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And said, "I'm bad at riddles;</span><br /> +But I know where little girls are sent<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For telling taradiddles.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Now, if you won't reform," said I,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"You'll never go to Heaven."</span><br /> +But all in vain; each time I try,<br /> +That little idiot makes reply,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"I ain't had more nor seven!"</span><br /> +</p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_544" id="Page_544">[Pg 544]</a></span> + +<p class='h_5'>POSTSCRIPT</p> + +<p> +To borrow Wordsworth's name was wrong,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or slightly misapplied;</span><br /> +And so I'd better call my song,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Lines after Ache-Inside."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Henry S. Leigh.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>'TWAS EVER THUS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I never rear'd a young gazelle,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Because, you see, I never tried);</span><br /> +But had it known and loved me well,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No doubt the creature would have died.</span><br /> +My rich and aged Uncle John<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Has known me long and loves me well</span><br /> +But still persists in living on—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I would he were a young gazelle.</span><br /> +<br /> +I never loved a tree or flower;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But, if I had, I beg to say</span><br /> +The blight, the wind, the sun, or shower<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Would soon have withered it away.</span><br /> +I've dearly loved my Uncle John,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From childhood to the present hour,</span><br /> +And yet he will go living on—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I would he were a tree or flower!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Henry S. Leigh.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>FOAM AND FANGS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +O nymph with the nicest of noses;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And finest and fairest of forms;</span><br /> +Lips ruddy and ripe as the roses<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That sway and that surge in the storms;</span><br /> +O buoyant and blooming Bacchante,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of fairer than feminine face,</span><br /> +Rush, raging as demon of Dante—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To this, my embrace!</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_545" id="Page_545">[Pg 545]</a></span> + +<br /> +The foam and the fangs and the flowers,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The raving and ravenous rage</span><br /> +Of a poet as pinion'd in powers<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As a condor confined in a cage!</span><br /> +My heart in a haystack I've hidden,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As loving and longing I lie,</span><br /> +Kiss open thine eyelids unbidden—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I gaze and I die!</span><br /> +<br /> +I've wander'd the wild waste of slaughter,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I've sniffed up the sepulchre's scent,</span><br /> +I've doated on devilry's daughter,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And murmur'd much more than I meant;</span><br /> +I've paused at Penelope's portal,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So strange are the sights that I've seen,</span><br /> +And mighty's the mind of the mortal<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who knows what I mean.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Walter Parke.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_546" id="Page_546">[Pg 546]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="X" id="X"></a>X</h2> + +<h2>NARRATIVE</h2> +<p><br /></p> + +<h3>LITTLE BILLEE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +There were three sailors of Bristol City<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who took a boat and went to sea,</span><br /> +But first with beef and captain's biscuits,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And pickled pork they loaded she.</span><br /> +<br /> +There was gorging Jack, and guzzling Jimmy,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the youngest he was little Billee.</span><br /> +Now when they'd got as far as the Equator<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They'd nothing left but one split pea.</span><br /> +<br /> +Says gorging Jack to guzzling Jimmy,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"I am extremely hungaree."</span><br /> +To gorging Jack says guzzling Jimmy,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"We've nothing left, us must eat we."</span><br /> +<br /> +Says gorging Jack to guzzling Jimmy,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"With one another we shouldn't agree!</span><br /> +There's little Bill, he's young and tender,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"We're old and tough, so let's eat he."</span><br /> +<br /> +"O Billy! we're going to kill and eat you,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So undo the button of your chemie."</span><br /> +When Bill received this information,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He used his pocket-handkerchie.</span><br /> +<br /> +"First let me say my catechism,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which my poor mother taught to me."</span><br /> +"Make haste! make haste!" says guzzling Jimmy,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While Jack pulled out his snicker-snee.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_547" id="Page_547">[Pg 547]</a></span> + +<br /> +Then Bill went up to the main-top-gallant-mast,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And down he fell on his bended knee,</span><br /> +He scarce had come to the Twelfth Commandment<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When up he jumps—"There's land I see!"</span><br /> +<br /> +"Jerusalem and Madagascar,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And North and South Amerikee,</span><br /> +There's the British flag a-riding at anchor,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With Sir Admiral Napier, K.C.B."</span><br /> +<br /> +So when they got aboard of the Admiral's,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He hanged fat Jack and flogged Jimmee,</span><br /> +But as for little Bill, he made him<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The captain of a Seventy-three.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>W. M. Thackeray.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE CRYSTAL PALACE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With ganial foire</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Thransfuse me loyre,</span><br /> +Ye sacred nymphs of Pindus,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The whoile I sing</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That wondthrous thing,</span><br /> +The Palace made o' windows!<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Say, Paxton, truth,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Thou wondthrous youth,</span><br /> +What sthroke of art celistial,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">What power was lint</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">You to invint</span><br /> +This combineetion cristial.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">O would before</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That Thomas Moore,</span><br /> +Likewoise the late Lord Boyron,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Thim aigles sthrong</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of godlike song,</span><br /> +Cast oi on that cast oiron!<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_548" id="Page_548">[Pg 548]</a></span> + +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And saw thim walls,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And glittering halls,</span><br /> +Thim rising slendther columns,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Which I, poor pote,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Could not denote,</span><br /> +No, not in twinty vollums.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">My Muse's words</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Is like the bird's</span><br /> +That roosts beneath the panes there;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Her wings she spoils</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">'Gainst them bright toiles,</span><br /> +And cracks her silly brains there.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">This Palace tall,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">This Cristial Hall,</span><br /> +Which Imperors might covet,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Stands in High Park</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Like Noah's Ark,</span><br /> +A rainbow bint above it.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The towers and fanes,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In other scaynes,</span><br /> +The fame of this will undo,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Saint Paul's big doom,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Saint Payther's, Room.</span><br /> +And Dublin's proud Rotundo.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">'Tis here that roams,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">As well becomes</span><br /> +Her dignitee and stations,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Victoria Great,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And houlds in state</span><br /> +The Congress of the Nations.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Her subjects pours</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">From distant shores,</span><br /> +Her Injians and Canajians,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And also we,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Her kingdoms three,</span><br /> +Attind with our allagiance.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_549" id="Page_549">[Pg 549]</a></span> + +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Here come likewise</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Her bould allies,</span><br /> +Both Asian and Europian;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">From East and West</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">They send their best</span><br /> +To fill her Coornucopean.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I seen (thank Grace!)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">This wondthrous place</span><br /> +(His Noble Honour Misther<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">H. Cole it was</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That gave the pass,</span><br /> +And let me see what is there).<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With conscious proide</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I stud insoide</span><br /> +And look'd the World's Great Fair in,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Until me sight</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Was dazzled quite,</span><br /> +And couldn't see for staring.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">There's holy saints</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And window paints,</span><br /> +By maydiayval Pugin;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Alhamborough Jones</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Did paint the tones,</span><br /> +Of yellow and gambouge in.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">There's fountains there</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And crosses fair;</span><br /> +There's water-gods with urrns;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">There's organs three,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To play, d'ye see,</span><br /> +"God save the Queen," by turrns.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">There's statues bright</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of marble white,</span><br /> +Of silver, and of copper;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And some in zinc,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And some, I think,</span><br /> +That isn't over proper.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_550" id="Page_550">[Pg 550]</a></span> + +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">There's staym injynes,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That stands in lines,</span><br /> +Enormous and amazing,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That squeal and snort</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Like whales in sport,</span><br /> +Or elephants a-grazing.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">There's carts and gigs,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And pins for pigs,</span><br /> +There's dibblers and there's harrows,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And ploughs like toys</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For little boys,</span><br /> +And illigant wheelbarrows.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For thim genteels</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Who ride on wheels,</span><br /> +There's plenty to indulge 'em:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">There's droskys snug</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">From Paytersbug,</span><br /> +And vayhycles from Bulgium.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">There's cabs on stands</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And shandthrydanns;</span><br /> +There's wagons from New York here;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">There's Lapland sleighs</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Have cross'd the seas,</span><br /> +And jaunting cyars from Cork here.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Amazed I pass</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">From glass to glass,</span><br /> +Deloighted I survey 'em;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Fresh wondthers grows</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Before me nose</span><br /> +In this sublime Musayum!<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Look, here's a fan</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">From far Japan,</span><br /> +A sabre from Damasco:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">There's shawls ye get</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">From far Thibet,</span><br /> +And cotton prints from Glasgow.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_551" id="Page_551">[Pg 551]</a></span> + +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">There's German flutes,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Marocky boots,</span><br /> +And Naples macaronies;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Bohaymia</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Has sent Behay;</span><br /> +Polonia her polonies.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">There's granite flints</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That's quite imminse,</span><br /> +There's sacks of coals and fuels,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">There's swords and guns,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And soap in tuns,</span><br /> +And gingerbread and jewels.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">There's taypots there,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And cannons rare;</span><br /> +There's coffins fill'd with roses;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">There's canvas tints,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Teeth insthrumints,</span><br /> +And shuits of clothes by Moses.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">There's lashins more</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of things in store,</span><br /> +But thim I don't remimber;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Nor could disclose</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Did I compose</span><br /> +From May time to Novimber!<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Ah, Judy thru!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With eyes so blue,</span><br /> +That you were here to view it!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And could I screw</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But tu pound tu,</span><br /> +'Tis I would thrait you to it!<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">So let us raise</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Victoria's praise,</span><br /> +And Albert's proud condition<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That takes his ayse</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">As he surveys</span><br /> +This Cristial Exhibition.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>W. M. Thackeray.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_552" id="Page_552">[Pg 552]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE WOFLE NEW BALLAD OF JANE RONEY +AND MARY BROWN</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +An igstrawnary tail I vill tell you this veek—<br /> +I stood in the Court of A'Beckett the Beak,<br /> +Vere Mrs. Jane Roney, a vidow, I see,<br /> +Who charged Mary Brown with a robbin' of she.<br /> +<br /> +This Mary was pore and in misery once,<br /> +And she came to Mrs. Roney it's more than twelve monce<br /> +She adn't got no bed, nor no dinner, nor no tea,<br /> +And kind Mrs. Roney gave Mary all three.<br /> +<br /> +Mrs. Roney kep Mary for ever so many veeks<br /> +(Her conduct disgusted the best of all Beax),<br /> +She kept her for nothink, as kind as could be,<br /> +Never thinking that this Mary was a traitor to she.<br /> +<br /> +"Mrs. Roney, O Mrs. Roney, I feel very ill;<br /> +Will you jest step to the doctor's for to fetch me a pill?"<br /> +"That I will, my pore Mary," Mrs. Roney says she:<br /> +And she goes off to the doctor's as quickly as may be.<br /> +<br /> +No sooner on this message Mrs. Roney was sped,<br /> +Than hup gits vicked Mary, and jumps out a bed;<br /> +She hopens all the trunks without never a key—<br /> +She bustes all the boxes, and vith them makes free.<br /> +<br /> +Mrs. Roney's best linning gownds, petticoats, and close,<br /> +Her children's little coats and things, her boots and her hose,<br /> +She packed them, and she stole 'em, and avay vith them did flee<br /> +Mrs. Roney's situation—you may think vat it vould be!<br /> +<br /> +Of Mary, ungrateful, who had served her this vay,<br /> +Mrs. Roney heard nothink for a long year and a day,<br /> +Till last Thursday, in Lambeth, ven whom should she see?<br /> +But this Mary, as had acted so ungrateful to she.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_553" id="Page_553">[Pg 553]</a></span> + +<br /> +She was leaning on the helbo of a worthy young man;<br /> +They were going to be married, and were walkin hand in hand;<br /> +And the church-bells was a ringing for Mary and he,<br /> +And the parson was ready, and a waitin' for his fee.<br /> +<br /> +When up comes Mrs. Roney, and faces Mary Brown,<br /> +Who trembles, and castes her eyes upon the ground.<br /> +She calls a jolly pleaseman, it happens to be me;<br /> +I charge this young woman, Mr. Pleaseman, says she.<br /> +<br /> +Mrs. Roney, o, Mrs. Roney, o, do let me go,<br /> +I acted most ungrateful I own, and I know,<br /> +But the marriage bell is ringin, and the ring you may see,<br /> +And this young man is a waitin, says Mary, says she.<br /> +<br /> +I don't care three fardens for the parson and clark,<br /> +And the bell may keep ringing from noon day to dark.<br /> +Mary Brown, Mary Brown, you must come along with me.<br /> +And I think this young man is lucky to be free.<br /> +<br /> +So, in spite of the tears which bejewed Mary's cheek,<br /> +I took that young gurl to A'Beckett the Beak;<br /> +That exlent justice demanded her plea—<br /> +But never a sullable said Mary said she.<br /> +<br /> +On account of her conduck so base and so vile,<br /> +That wicked young gurl is committed for trile,<br /> +And if she's transpawted beyond the salt sea,<br /> +It's a proper reward for such willians as she.<br /> +<br /> +Now, you young gurls of Southwark for Mary who veep,<br /> +From pickin and stealin your ands you must keep,<br /> +Or it may be my dooty, as it was Thursday veek<br /> +To pull you all hup to A'Beckett the Beak.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>W. M. Thackeray.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_554" id="Page_554">[Pg 554]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +An ancient story Ile tell you anon<br /> +Of a notable prince, that was called King John;<br /> +And he ruled England with maine and with might,<br /> +For he did great wrong, and maintein'd little right.<br /> +<br /> +And Ile tell you a story, a story so merrye,<br /> +Concerning the Abbot of Canterbùrye;<br /> +How for his house-keeping, and high renowne,<br /> +They rode poste for him to fair London towne.<br /> +<br /> +An hundred men, the king did heare say,<br /> +The abbot kept in his house every day;<br /> +And fifty golde chaynes, without any doubt,<br /> +In velvet coates waited the abbot about.<br /> +<br /> +How now, father abbot, I heare it of thee,<br /> +Thou keepest a farre better house than mee,<br /> +And for thy house-keeping and high renowne,<br /> +I feare thou work'st treason against my crown.<br /> +<br /> +My liege, quo' the abbot, I would it were knowne,<br /> +I never spend nothing but what is my owne;<br /> +And I trust your grace will doe me no deere<br /> +For spending of my owne true-gotten geere.<br /> +<br /> +Yes, yes, father abbot, thy fault it is highe,<br /> +And now for the same thou needest must dye;<br /> +For except thou canst answer me questions three,<br /> +Thy head shall be smitten from thy bodie.<br /> +<br /> +And first, quo' the king, when I'm in this stead,<br /> +With my crowne of golde so faire on my head,<br /> +Among all my liege-men, so noble of birthe,<br /> +Thou must tell me to one penny what I am worthe.<br /> +<br /> +Secondlye, tell me, without any doubt,<br /> +How soone I may ride the whole world about,<br /> +And at the third question thou must not shrink,<br /> +But tell me here truly what I do think.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_555" id="Page_555">[Pg 555]</a></span> + +<br /> +O, these are hard questions for my shallow witt,<br /> +Nor I cannot answer your grace as yet;<br /> +But if you will give me but three weekes space,<br /> +Ile do my endeavour to answer your grace.<br /> +<br /> +Now three weeks space to thee will I give.<br /> +And that is the longest time thou hast to live;<br /> +For if thou dost not answer my questions three,<br /> +Thy lands and thy livings are forfeit to mee.<br /> +<br /> +Away rode the abbot, all sad at that word,<br /> +And he rode to Cambridge and Oxenford;<br /> +But never a doctor there was so wise,<br /> +That could with his learning an answer devise.<br /> +<br /> +Then home rode the abbot, of comfort so cold,<br /> +And he mett his shepheard agoing to fold:<br /> +How now, my lord abbot, you are welcome home<br /> +What newes do you bring us from good King John?<br /> +<br /> +Sad newes, sad newes, shepheard, I must give:<br /> +That I have but three days more to live;<br /> +For if I do not answer him questions three,<br /> +My head will be smitten from my bodie.<br /> +<br /> +The first is to tell him there in that stead,<br /> +With his crowne of golde so fair on his head<br /> +Among all his liege-men so noble of birth,<br /> +To within one penny of what he is worth.<br /> +<br /> +The seconde, to tell him, without any doubt,<br /> +How soone he may ride this whole world about:<br /> +And at the third question I must not shrinke,<br /> +But tell him there truly what he does thinke.<br /> +<br /> +Now cheare up, sire abbot, did you never hear yet,<br /> +That a fool he may learne a wise man witt?<br /> +Lend me horse, and serving-men, and your apparel,<br /> +And I'll ride to London to answere your quarrel.<br /> +<br /> +Nay frowne not, if it hath bin told unto mee,<br /> +I am like your lordship, as ever may bee:<br /> +And if you will but lend me your gowne,<br /> +There is none shall knowe us in fair London towne.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_556" id="Page_556">[Pg 556]</a></span> + +<br /> +Now horses and serving-men thou shalt have,<br /> +With sumptuous array most gallant and brave;<br /> +With crozier, and miter, and rochet, and cope,<br /> +Fit to appears 'fore our fader the pope.<br /> +<br /> +Now welcome, sire abbot, the king he did say,<br /> +'Tis well thou'rt come back to keepe thy day;<br /> +For and if thou canst answer my questions three,<br /> +Thy life and thy living both saved shall bee.<br /> +<br /> +And first, when thou seest me here in this stead,<br /> +With my crown of golde so fair on my head,<br /> +Among all my liege-men so noble of birthe,<br /> +Tell me to one penny what I am worth.<br /> +<br /> +For thirty pence our Saviour was sold<br /> +Among the false Jewes, as I have bin told:<br /> +And twenty-nine is the worth of thee,<br /> +For I thinke, thou art one penny worser than hee.<br /> +<br /> +The king he laughed, and swore by St. Bittel,<br /> +I did not think I had been worth so littel!<br /> +—Now secondly tell me, without any doubt,<br /> +How soone I may ride this whole world about.<br /> +<br /> +You must rise with the sun, and ride with the same,<br /> +Until the next morning he riseth againe;<br /> +And then your grace need not make any doubt<br /> +But in twenty-four hours you'll ride it about.<br /> +<br /> +The king he laughed, and swore by St. Jone,<br /> +I did not think it could be gone so soone!<br /> +—Now from the third question thou must not shrinke,<br /> +But tell me here truly what I do thinke.<br /> +<br /> +Yea, that shall I do, and make your grace merry:<br /> +You thinke I'm the abbot of Canterbùry;<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_557" id="Page_557">[Pg 557]</a></span> + +But I'm his poor shepheard, as plain you may see,<br /> +That am come to beg pardon for him and for mee.<br /> +<br /> +The king he laughed, and swore by the masse,<br /> +Ile make thee lord abbot this day in his place!<br /> +Now naye, my liege, be not in such speede,<br /> +For alacke I can neither write, ne reade.<br /> +<br /> +Four nobles a week, then, I will give thee,<br /> +For this merry jest thou hast showne unto mee:<br /> +And tell the old abbot, when thou comest home,<br /> +Thou hast brought him a pardon from good King John.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'>From <i>Percy's Reliques</i>.</p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + + +<h3>ON THE DEATH OF A FAVORITE CAT,</h3> + +<h4>DROWNED IN A TUB OF GOLDFISHES</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +'Twas on a lofty vase's side,<br /> +Where China's gayest art had dyed<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The azure flowers that blow,</span><br /> +Demurest of the tabby kind,<br /> +The pensive Selima, reclined,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gazed on the lake below.</span><br /> +<br /> +Her conscious tail her joy declared;<br /> +The fair round face, the snowy beard,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The velvet of her paws,</span><br /> +Her coat that with the tortoise vies,<br /> +Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She saw, and purred applause.</span><br /> +<br /> +Still had she gaz'd, but, 'midst the tide,<br /> +Two angel forms were seen to glide,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Genii of the stream:</span><br /> +Their scaly armor's Tyrian hue,<br /> +Through richest purple, to the view<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Betrayed a golden gleam.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_558" id="Page_558">[Pg 558]</a></span> +<br /> +The hapless nymph with wonder saw:<br /> +A whisker first, and then a claw,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With many an ardent wish,</span><br /> +She stretched in vain to reach the prize:<br /> +What female heart can gold despise?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What Cat's averse to fish?</span><br /> +<br /> +Presumptuous maid! with looks intent,<br /> +Again she stretched, again she bent,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor knew the gulf between:</span><br /> +(Malignant Fate sat by and smiled)<br /> +The slippery verge her feet beguiled;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She tumbled headlong in.</span><br /> +<br /> +Eight times emerging from the flood,<br /> +She mewed to every watery god<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Some speedy aid to send.</span><br /> +No Dolphin came, no Nereid stirred,<br /> +Nor cruel Tom or Susan heard:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A fav'rite has no friend!</span><br /> +<br /> +From hence, ye Beauties! undeceived,<br /> +Know one false step is ne'er retrieved,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And be with caution bold:</span><br /> +Not all that tempts your wandering eyes,<br /> +And heedless hearts, is lawful prize,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor all that glistens gold.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Thomas Gray.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>MISADVENTURES AT MARGATE</h3> + +<h4>A LEGEND OF JARVIS'S JETTY</h4> + +<p class='h_5'>MR. SIMPKINSON (<i>loquitur</i>)</p> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I was in Margate last July, I walk'd upon the pier,<br /> +I saw a little vulgar Boy—I said "What make you here?—<br /> +The gloom upon your youthful cheek speaks any thing but joy;"<br /> +Again I said, "What make you here, you little vulgar Boy?"<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_559" id="Page_559">[Pg 559]</a></span> +<br /> +He frown'd, that little vulgar Boy—he deem'd I meant to scoff:<br /> +And when the little heart is big, a little "sets it off";<br /> +He put his finger in his mouth, his little bosom rose,—<br /> +He had no little handkerchief to wipe his little nose!<br /> +<br /> +"Hark! don't you hear, my little man?—it's striking nine," I said,<br /> +"An hour when all good little boys and girls should be in bed.<br /> +Run home and get your supper, else your Ma' will scold—Oh! fie!—<br /> +It's very wrong indeed for little boys to stand and cry!"<br /> +<br /> +The tear-drop in his little eye again began to spring,<br /> +His bosom throbb'd with agony—he cried like any thing!<br /> +I stoop'd, and thus amidst his sobs I heard him murmur—"Ah<br /> +I haven't got no supper! and I haven't got no Ma'!!—<br /> +<br /> +"My father, he is on the seas,—my mother's dead and gone!<br /> +And I am here, on this here pier, to roam the world alone;<br /> +I have not had, this live-long day, one drop to cheer my heart,<br /> +Nor '<i>brown</i>' to buy a bit of bread with,—let alone a tart.<br /> +<br /> +"If there's a soul will give me food, or find me in employ,<br /> +By day or night, then blow me tight!" (he was a vulgar Boy);<br /> +"And now I'm here, from this here pier it is my fixed intent<br /> +To jump, as Mr. Levi did from off the Monu-ment!"<br /> +<br /> +"Cheer up! cheer up! my little man—cheer up!" I kindly said.<br /> +"You are a naughty boy to take such things into your head:<br /> +If you should jump from off the pier, you'd surely break your legs,<br /> +Perhaps your neck—then Bogey'd have you, sure as eggs are eggs!<br /> +<br /> +"Come home with me, my little man, come home with me and sup;<br /> +My landlady is Mrs. Jones—we must not keep her up—<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_560" id="Page_560">[Pg 560]</a></span> + +There's roast potatoes on the fire,—enough for me and you—<br /> +Come home,—you little vulgar Boy—I lodge at Number 2."<br /> +<br /> +I took him home to Number 2, the house beside "The Foy,"<br /> +I bade him wipe his dirty shoes,—that little vulgar Boy,—<br /> +And then I said to Mistress Jones, the kindest of her sex,<br /> +"Pray be so good as go and fetch a pint of double X!"<br /> +<br /> +But Mrs. Jones was rather cross, she made a little noise,<br /> +She said she "did not like to wait on little vulgar Boys."<br /> +She with her apron wiped the plates, and, as she rubb'd the delf,<br /> +Said I might "go to Jericho, and fetch my beer myself!"<br /> +<br /> +I did not go to Jericho—I went to Mr. Cobb—<br /> +I changed a shilling—(which in town the people call "a Bob")—<br /> +It was not so much for myself as for that vulgar child—<br /> +And I said, "A pint of double X, and please to draw it mild!"<br /> +<br /> +When I came back I gazed about—I gazed on stool and chair—<br /> +I could not see my little friend—because he was not there!<br /> +I peep'd beneath the table-cloth—beneath the sofa too—<br /> +I said "You little vulgar Boy! why what's become of you?"<br /> +<br /> +I could not see my table-spoons—I look'd, but could not see<br /> +The little fiddle-pattern'd ones I use when I'm at tea;<br /> +—I could not see my sugar-tongs—my silver watch—oh, dear!<br /> +I know 'twas on the mantle-piece when I went out for beer.<br /> +<br /> +I could not see my Mackintosh!—it was not to be seen!<br /> +Nor yet my best white beaver hat, broad-brimm'd and lined with green;<br /> +My carpet-bag—my cruet-stand, that holds my sauce and soy,—<br /> +My roast potatoes!—all are gone!—and so's that vulgar Boy!<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_561" id="Page_561">[Pg 561]</a></span> +<br /> +I rang the bell for Mrs. Jones, for she was down below,<br /> +"—Oh, Mrs. Jones! what <i>do</i> you think?—ain't this a pretty go?<br /> +—That horrid little vulgar Boy whom I brought here to-night,<br /> +—He's stolen my things and run away!!"—Says she, "And sarve you right!!" +</p> + +<hr style='width: 33%; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em' /> + +<p>Next morning I was up betimes—I sent the Crier round,<br /> +All with his bell and gold-laced hat, to say I'd give a pound<br /> +To find that little vulgar Boy, who'd gone and used me so;<br /> +But when the Crier cried "O Yes!" the people cried, "O No!"<br /> +<br /> +I went to "Jarvis' Landing-place," the glory of the town,<br /> +There was a common sailor-man a-walking up and down;<br /> +I told my tale—he seem'd to think I'd not been treated well,<br /> +And called me "Poor old Buffer!" what that means I cannot tell.<br /> +<br /> +That sailor-man, he said he'd seen that morning on the shore,<br /> +A son of—something—'twas a name I'd never heard before,<br /> +A little "gallows-looking chap"—dear me; what could he mean?<br /> +With a "carpet-swab" and "muckingtogs," and a hat turned up with green.<br /> +<br /> +He spoke about his "precious eyes," and said he'd seen him "sheer,"<br /> +—It's very odd that sailor-men should talk so very queer—<br /> +And then he hitch'd his trowsers up, as is, I'm told, their use,<br /> +—It's very odd that sailor-men should wear those things so loose.<br /> +<br /> +I did not understand him well, but think he meant to say<br /> +He'd seen that little vulgar Boy, that morning swim away<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_562" id="Page_562">[Pg 562]</a></span> + +In Captain Large's Royal George about an hour before,<br /> +And they were now, as he supposed, "some<i>wheres</i>" about the Nore.<br /> +<br /> +A landsman said, "I <i>twig</i> the chap—he's been upon the Mill—<br /> +And 'cause he <i>gammons</i> so the flats, ve calls him Veeping Bill!"<br /> +He said "he'd done me wery brown," and "nicely <i>stow'd</i> the <i>swag</i>."<br /> +—That's French, I fancy, for a hat—or else a carpet-bag.<br /> +<br /> +I went and told the constable my property to track;<br /> +He asked me if "I did not wish that I might get it back?"<br /> +I answered, "To be sure I do!—it's what I come about."<br /> +He smiled and said, "Sir, does your mother know that you are out?"<br /> +<br /> +Not knowing what to do, I thought I'd hasten back to town,<br /> +And beg our own Lord Mayor to catch the Boy who'd "done me brown."<br /> +His Lordship very kindly said he'd try and find him out,<br /> +But he "rather thought that there were several vulgar boys about."<br /> +<br /> +He sent for Mr. Whithair then, and I described "the swag,"<br /> +My Mackintosh, my sugar-tongs, my spoons, and carpet-bag;<br /> +He promised that the New Police should all their powers employ;<br /> +But never to this hour have I beheld that vulgar Boy!<br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>MORAL</p> +<p> +Remember, then, what when a boy I've heard my Grandma' tell,<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Be warn'd in time by others' harm, and you shall do full well!</span>"<br /> +Don't link yourself with vulgar folks, who've got no fix'd abode,<br /> +Tell lies, use naughty words, and say they "wish they may be blow'd!"<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_563" id="Page_563">[Pg 563]</a></span> +<br /> +Don't take too much of double X!—and don't at night go out<br /> +To fetch your beer yourself, but make the pot-boy bring your stout!<br /> +And when you go to Margate next, just stop and ring the bell,<br /> +Give my respects to Mrs. Jones, and say I'm pretty well!<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Richard Harris Barham.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE GOUTY MERCHANT AND THE STRANGER</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +In Broad Street Buildings on a winter night,<br /> +Snug by his parlor-fire a gouty wight<br /> +Sat all alone, with one hand rubbing<br /> +His feet, rolled up in fleecy hose:<br /> +While t'other held beneath his nose<br /> +The <i>Public Ledger</i>, in whose columns grubbing,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He noted all the sales of hops,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ships, shops, and slops;</span><br /> +Gum, galls, and groceries; ginger, gin,<br /> +Tar, tallow, turmeric, turpentine, and tin;<br /> +When lo! a decent personage in black<br /> +Entered and most politely said:<br /> +"Your footman, sir, has gone his nightly track<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the King's Head,</span><br /> +And left your door ajar; which I<br /> +Observed in passing by,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And thought it neighborly to give you notice."</span><br /> +"Ten thousand thanks; how very few get,<br /> +In time of danger,<br /> +Such kind attentions from a stranger!<br /> +Assuredly, that fellow's throat is<br /> +Doomed to a final drop at Newgate:<br /> +He knows, too (the unconscionable elf!),<br /> +That there's no soul at home except myself."<br /> +"Indeed," replied the stranger (looking grave),<br /> +"Then he's a double knave;<br /> +He knows that rogues and thieves by scores<br /> +Nightly beset unguarded doors:<br /> +And see, how easily might one<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of these domestic foes,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Even beneath your very nose,</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_564" id="Page_564">[Pg 564]</a></span> + +Perform his knavish tricks;<br /> +Enter your room, as I have done,<br /> +Blow out your candles—<i>thus</i>—and <i>thus</i>—<br /> +Pocket your silver candlesticks,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And—walk off—<i>thus</i>!"—</span><br /> +So said, so done; he made no more remark<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor waited for replies,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But marched off with his prize,</span><br /> +Leaving the gouty merchant in the dark.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Horace Smith.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE DIVERTING HISTORY OF JOHN GILPIN</h3> + +<h4>SHOWING HOW HE WENT FARTHER THAN HE INTENDED AND +CAME SAFE HOME AGAIN</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +John Gilpin was a citizen of credit and renown;<br /> +A train-band captain eke was he, of famous London town.<br /> +<br /> +John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear—"Though wedded we have been<br /> +These twice ten tedious years, yet we no holiday have seen.<br /> +<br /> +"To-morrow is our wedding-day, and we will then repair<br /> +Unto the Bell at Edmonton all in a chaise and pair.<br /> +<br /> +"My sister, and my sister's child, myself, and children three,<br /> +Will fill the chaise; so you must ride on horseback after we."<br /> +<br /> +He soon replied, "I do admire of womankind but one,<br /> +And you are she, my dearest dear; therefore it shall be done.<br /> +<br /> +"I am a linendraper bold, as all the world doth know;<br /> +And my good friend, the calender, will lend his horse to go."<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_565" id="Page_565">[Pg 565]</a></span> +<br /> +Quoth Mrs. Gilpin, "That's well said; and, for that wine is dear,<br /> +We will be furnished with our own, which is both bright and clear."<br /> +<br /> +John Gilpin kissed his loving wife; o'erjoyed was he to find<br /> +That, though on pleasure she was bent, she had a frugal mind.<br /> +<br /> +The morning came, the chaise was brought, but yet was not allowed<br /> +To drive up to the door, lest all should say that she was proud.<br /> +<br /> +So three doors off the chaise was stayed, where they did all get in—<br /> +Six precious souls, and all agog to dash through thick and thin.<br /> +<br /> +Smack went the whip, round went the wheels—were never folks so glad;<br /> +The stones did rattle underneath, as if Cheapside were mad.<br /> +<br /> +John Gilpin at his horse's side seized fast the flowing mane,<br /> +And up he got, in haste to ride—but soon came down again:<br /> +<br /> +For saddletree scarce reached had he, his journey to begin,<br /> +When, turning round his head, he saw three customers come in.<br /> +<br /> +So down he came: for loss of time, although it grieved him sore,<br /> +Yet loss of pence, full well he knew, would trouble him much more.<br /> +<br /> +'Twas long before the customers were suited to their mind;<br /> +When Betty, screaming, came down-stairs—"The wine is left behind!"<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_566" id="Page_566">[Pg 566]</a></span> +<br /> +"Good lack!" quoth he—"yet bring it me, my leathern belt likewise,<br /> +In which I wear my trusty sword when I do exercise."<br /> +<br /> +Now Mistress Gilpin (careful soul!) had two stone bottles found,<br /> +To hold the liquor that she loved, and keep it safe and sound.<br /> +<br /> +Each bottle had a curling ear, through which the belt he drew,<br /> +And hung a bottle on each side to make his balance true.<br /> +<br /> +Then over all, that he might be equipped from top to toe,<br /> +His long red cloak, well brushed and neat, he manfully did throw.<br /> +<br /> +Now see him mounted once again upon his nimble steed,<br /> +Full slowly pacing o'er the stones, with caution and good heed.<br /> +<br /> +But finding soon a smoother road beneath his well-shod feet,<br /> +The snorting beast began to trot, which galled him in his seat.<br /> +<br /> +So, "Fair and softly," John he cried, but John he cried in vain;<br /> +That trot became a gallop soon, in spite of curb and rein.<br /> +<br /> +So stooping down, as needs he must who cannot sit upright,<br /> +He grasped the mane with both his hands, and eke with all his might.<br /> +<br /> +His horse, who never in that sort had handled been before,<br /> +What thing upon his back had got did wonder more and more.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_567" id="Page_567">[Pg 567]</a></span> +<br /> +Away went Gilpin, neck or nought; away went hat and wig;<br /> +He little dreamt, when he set out, of running such a rig.<br /> +<br /> +The wind did blow—the cloak did fly, like streamer long and gay;<br /> +Till, loop and button failing both, at last it flew away.<br /> +<br /> +Then might all people well discern the bottles he had slung—<br /> +A bottle swinging at each side, as hath been said or sung.<br /> +<br /> +The dogs did bark, the children screamed, up flew the windows all;<br /> +And every soul cried out, "Well done!" as loud as he could bawl.<br /> +<br /> +Away went Gilpin—who but he? His fame soon spread around—<br /> +"He carries weight! he rides a race! 'Tis for a thousand pound!"<br /> +<br /> +And still as fast as he drew near, 'twas wonderful to view<br /> +How in a trice the turnpike men their gates wide open threw.<br /> +<br /> +And now, as he went bowing down his reeking head full low,<br /> +The bottles twain behind his back were shattered at a blow.<br /> +<br /> +Down ran the wine into the road, most piteous to be seen,<br /> +Which made his horse's flanks to smoke as they had basted been.<br /> +<br /> +But still he seemed to carry weight, with leathern girdle braced;<br /> +For all might see the bottle necks still dangling at his waist.<br /> +<br /> +Thus all through merry Islington these gambols did he play,<br /> +Until he came unto the Wash of Edmonton so gay;<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_568" id="Page_568">[Pg 568]</a></span> +<br /> +And there he threw the wash about on both sides of the way,<br /> +Just like unto a trundling mop, or a wild goose at play.<br /> +<br /> +At Edmonton his loving wife from the balcony spied<br /> +Her tender husband, wondering much to see how he did ride.<br /> +<br /> +"Stop, stop, John Gilpin! here's the house," they all at once did cry;<br /> +"The dinner waits, and we are tired." Said Gilpin—"So am I!"<br /> +<br /> +But yet his horse was not a whit inclined to tarry there;<br /> +For why?—his owner had a house full ten miles off, at Ware.<br /> +<br /> +So like an arrow swift he flew, shot by an archer strong:<br /> +So did he fly—which brings me to the middle of my song.<br /> +<br /> +Away went Gilpin out of breath, and sore against his will,<br /> +Till at his friend the calender's his horse at last stood still.<br /> +<br /> +The calender, amazed to see his neighbor in such trim,<br /> +Laid down his pipe, flew to the gate, and thus accosted him:<br /> +<br /> +"What news? what news? your tidings tell; tell me you must and shall—<br /> +Say why bareheaded you are come, or why you come at all?"<br /> +<br /> +Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit, and loved a timely joke;<br /> +And thus unto the calender in merry guise he spoke:<br /> +<br /> +"I came because your horse would come; and, if I well forebode,<br /> +My hat and wig will soon be here, they are upon the road."<br /> +<br /> +The calender, right glad to find his friend in merry pin,<br /> +Returned him not a single word, but to the house went in;<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_569" id="Page_569">[Pg 569]</a></span> +<br /> +Whence straight he came with hat and wig: a wig that flowed behind,<br /> +A hat not much the worse for wear—each comedy in its kind.<br /> +<br /> +He held them up, and in his turn thus showed his ready wit—<br /> +"My head is twice as big as yours, they therefore needs must fit.<br /> +<br /> +"But let me scrape the dirt away that hangs upon your face,<br /> +And stop and eat, for well you may be in a hungry case."<br /> +<br /> +Said John, "It is my wedding-day, and all the world would stare,<br /> +If wife should dine at Edmonton, and I should dine at Ware."<br /> +<br /> +So, turning to his horse, he said, "I am in haste to dine;<br /> +'Twas for your pleasure you came here—you shall go back for mine."<br /> +<br /> +Ah, luckless speech, and bootless boast, for which he paid full dear!<br /> +For, while he spake, a braying ass did sing most loud and clear;<br /> +<br /> +Whereat his horse did snort, as he had heard a lion roar,<br /> +And galloped off with all his might, as he had done before.<br /> +<br /> +Away went Gilpin, and away went Gilpin's hat and wig:<br /> +He lost them sooner than at first, for why?—they were too big.<br /> +<br /> +Now Mistress Gilpin, when she saw her husband posting down<br /> +Into the country far away, she pulled out half a crown;<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_570" id="Page_570">[Pg 570]</a></span> +<br /> +And thus unto the youth she said, that drove them to the Bell,<br /> +"This shall be yours when you bring back my husband safe and well."<br /> +<br /> +The youth did ride, and soon did meet John coming back amain—<br /> +Whom in a trice he tried to stop, by catching at his rein;<br /> +<br /> +But not performing what he meant, and gladly would have done,<br /> +The frighted steed he frighted more, and made him faster run.<br /> +<br /> +Away went Gilpin, and away went post-boy at his heels,<br /> +The post-boy's horse right glad to miss the lumbering of the wheels.<br /> +<br /> +Six gentlemen upon the road, thus seeing Gilpin fly,<br /> +With post-boy scampering in the rear, they raised the hue and cry:<br /> +<br /> +"Stop thief! stop thief!—a highwayman!" Not one of them was mute;<br /> +And all and each that passed that way did join in the pursuit.<br /> +<br /> +And now the turnpike gates again flew open in short space;<br /> +The tollmen thinking, as before, that Gilpin rode a race.<br /> +<br /> +And so he did, and won it, too, for he got first to town;<br /> +Nor stopped till where he had got up he did again get down.<br /> +<br /> +Now let us sing, long live the king! and Gilpin, long live he;<br /> +And when he next doth ride abroad, may I be there to see!<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>William Cowper.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_571" id="Page_571">[Pg 571]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>PADDY O'RAFTHER</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Paddy, in want of a dinner one day,<br /> +Credit all gone, and no money to pay,<br /> +Stole from a priest a fat pullet, they say,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And went to confession just afther;</span><br /> +"Your riv'rince," says Paddy, "I stole this fat hen."<br /> +"What, what!" says the priest, "at your ould thricks again?<br /> +Faith, you'd rather be staalin' than sayin' <i>amen</i>,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">Paddy O'Rafther!"</span><br /> +<br /> +"Sure, you wouldn't be angry," says Pat, "if you knew<br /> +That the best of intintions I had in my view—<br /> +For I stole it to make it a present to you,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And you can absolve me afther."</span><br /> +"Do you think," says the priest, "I'd partake of your theft?<br /> +Of your seven small senses you must be bereft—<br /> +You're the biggest blackguard that I know, right and left,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">Paddy O'Rafther."</span><br /> +<br /> +"Then what shall I do with the pullet," says Pat,<br /> +"If your riv'rince won't take it? By this and by that<br /> +I don't know no more than a dog or a cat<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What your riv'rince would have me be afther."</span><br /> +"Why, then," says his rev'rence, "you sin-blinded owl,<br /> +Give back to the man that you stole from his fowl:<br /> +For if you do not, 'twill be worse for your sowl,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">Paddy O'Rafther."</span><br /> +<br /> +Says Paddy, "I ask'd him to take it—'tis thrue<br /> +As this minit I'm talkin', your riv'rince, to you;<br /> +But he wouldn't resaive it—so what can I do?"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Says Paddy, nigh choken with laughter.</span><br /> +"By my throth," says the priest, "but the case is absthruse;<br /> +If he won't take his hen, why the man is a goose:<br /> +'Tis not the first time my advice was no use,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">Paddy O'Rafther."</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_572" id="Page_572">[Pg 572]</a></span> +<br /> +"But, for sake of your sowl, I would sthrongly advise<br /> +To some one in want you would give your supplies—<br /> +Some widow, or orphan, with tears in their eyes;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And <i>then</i> you may come to <i>me</i> afther."</span><br /> +So Paddy went off to the brisk Widow Hoy,<br /> +And the pullet between them was eaten with joy,<br /> +And, says she, "'Pon my word you're the cleverest boy,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">Paddy O'Rafther."</span><br /> +<br /> +Then Paddy went back to the priest the next day,<br /> +And told him the fowl he had given away<br /> +To a poor lonely widow, in want and dismay,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The loss of her spouse weeping afther.</span><br /> +"Well, now," says the priest, "I'll absolve you, my lad,<br /> +For repentantly making the best of the bad,<br /> +In feeding the hungry and cheering the sad,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">Paddy O'Rafther!"</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Samuel Lover.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>HERE SHE GOES, AND THERE SHE GOES</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Two Yankee wags, one summer day,<br /> +Stopped at a tavern on their way,<br /> +Supped, frolicked, late retired to rest,<br /> +And woke to breakfast on the best.<br /> +The breakfast over, Tom and Will<br /> +Sent for the landlord and the bill;<br /> +Will looked it over:—"Very right—<br /> +But hold! what wonder meets my sight?<br /> +Tom, the surprise is quite a shock!"<br /> +"What wonder? where?" "The clock, the clock!"<br /> +<br /> +Tom and the landlord in amaze<br /> +Stared at the clock with stupid gaze,<br /> +And for a moment neither spoke;<br /> +At last the landlord silence broke,—<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_573" id="Page_573">[Pg 573]</a></span> + +"You mean the clock that's ticking there?<br /> +I see no wonder, I declare!<br /> +Though maybe, if the truth were told,<br /> +'Tis rather ugly, somewhat old;<br /> +Yet time it keeps to half a minute;<br /> +But, if you please, what wonder's in it?"<br /> +<br /> +"Tom, don't you recollect," said Will,<br /> +"The clock at Jersey, near the mill,<br /> +The very image of this present,<br /> +With which I won the wager pleasant?"<br /> +Will ended with a knowing wink;<br /> +Tom scratched his head and tried to think.<br /> +"Sir, begging pardon for inquiring,"<br /> +The landlord said, with grin admiring,<br /> +"What wager was it?"<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">"You remember</span><br /> +It happened, Tom, in last December:<br /> +In sport I bet a Jersey Blue<br /> +That it was more than he could do<br /> +To make his finger go and come<br /> +In keeping with the pendulum,<br /> +Repeating, till the hour should close,<br /> +Still,—'<i>Here she goes, and there she goes</i>.'<br /> +He lost the bet in half a minute."<br /> +<br /> +"Well, if I would, the deuce is in it!"<br /> +Exclaimed the landlord; "try me yet,<br /> +And fifty dollars be the bet."<br /> +"Agreed, but we will play some trick,<br /> +To make you of the bargain sick!"<br /> +"I'm up to that!"<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">"Don't make us wait,—</span><br /> +Begin,—the clock is striking eight."<br /> +He seats himself, and left and right<br /> +His finger wags with all its might,<br /> +And hoarse his voice and hoarser grows,<br /> +With—"<i>Here she goes, and there she goes</i>!"<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_574" id="Page_574">[Pg 574]</a></span> +<br /> +"Hold!" said the Yankee, "Plank the ready!"<br /> +The landlord wagged his finger steady,<br /> +While his left hand, as well as able,<br /> +Conveyed a purse upon the table.<br /> +"Tom! with the money let's be off!"<br /> +This made the landlord only scoff.<br /> +<br /> +He heard them running down the stair,<br /> +But was not tempted from his chair;<br /> +Thought he, "The fools! I'll bite them yet!<br /> +So poor a trick sha'n't win the bet."<br /> +And loud and long the chorus rose<br /> +Of—<i>"Here she goes, and there she goes!"</i><br /> +While right and left his finger swung,<br /> +In keeping to his clock and tongue.<br /> +<br /> +His mother happened in to see<br /> +Her daughter: "Where is Mrs. B——?"<br /> +"When will she come, do you suppose?<br /> +Son!"—</p> +<p class='poem' style='text-align: right;'><i>"Here she goes, and there she goes!"</i></p> +<p> +"Here!—where?"—the lady in surprise<br /> +His finger followed with her eyes:<br /> +"Son! why that steady gaze and sad?<br /> +Those words,—that motion,—are you mad?<br /> +But here's your wife, perhaps she knows,<br /> +And—"</p> +<p class='poem' style='text-align: right;'><i>"Here she goes, and there she goes!"</i></p> +<p> +His wife surveyed him with alarm,<br /> +And rushed to him, and seized his arm;<br /> +He shook her off, and to and fro<br /> +His finger persevered to go;<br /> +While curled his very nose with ire<br /> +That <i>she</i> against him should conspire;<br /> +And with more furious tone arose<br /> +The—<i>"Here she goes, and there she goes!"</i><br /> +<br /> +"Lawks!" screamed the wife, "I'm in a whirl!<br /> +Run down and bring the little girl;<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_575" id="Page_575">[Pg 575]</a></span> +She is his darling, and who knows<br /> +But—"</p> +<p class='poem' style='text-align: right;'><i>"Here she goes, and there she goes!"</i></p> +<p> +"Lawks! he is mad! What made him thus?<br /> +Good Lord! what will become of us?<br /> +Run for a doctor,—run, run, run,—<br /> +For Doctor Brown and Doctor Dun,<br /> +And Doctor Black and Doctor White,<br /> +And Doctor Gray, with all your might!"<br /> +<br /> +The doctors came, and looked, and wondered,<br /> +And shook their heads, and paused and pondered.<br /> +Then one proposed he should be bled,—<br /> +"No, leeched you mean," the other said,<br /> +"Clap on a blister!" roared another,—<br /> +"No! cup him,"—"No, trepan him, brother."<br /> +A sixth would recommend a purge,<br /> +The next would an emetic urge;<br /> +The last produced a box of pills,<br /> +A certain cure for earthly ills:<br /> +"I had a patient yesternight,"<br /> +Quoth he, "and wretched was her plight,<br /> +And as the only means to save her,<br /> +Three dozen patent pills I gave her;<br /> +And by to-morrow I suppose<br /> +That—"</p> +<p class='poem' style='text-align: right;'><i>"Here she goes, and there she goes!"</i></p> +<p>"You are all fools!" the lady said,—<br /> +"The way is just to shave his head.<br /> +Run! bid the barber come anon."<br /> +"Thanks, mother!" thought her clever son;<br /> +"You help the knaves that would have bit me,<br /> +But all creation sha'n't outwit me!"<br /> +Thus to himself while to and fro<br /> +His finger perseveres to go,<br /> +And from his lips no accent flows<br /> +But,—<i>"Here she goes, and there she goes!"</i><br /> +The barber came—"Lord help him! what<br /> +A queerish customer I've got;<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_576" id="Page_576">[Pg 576]</a></span> + +But we must do our best to save him,—<br /> +So hold him, gemmen, while I shave him!"<br /> +But here the doctors interpose,—<br /> +"A woman never—"</p> +<p class='poem' style='text-align: right;'><i>"There she goes!"</i></p> +<p> +"A woman is no judge of physic,<br /> +Not even when her baby is sick.<br /> +He must be bled,"—"No, cup him,"—"Pills!"<br /> +And all the house the uproar fills.<br /> +<br /> +What means that smile? what means that shiver?<br /> +The landlord's limbs with rapture quiver,<br /> +And triumph brightens up his face,<br /> +His finger yet will win the race;<br /> +The clock is on the stroke of nine,<br /> +And up he starts,—"'Tis mine! 'tis mine!"<br /> +"What do you mean?"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">"I mean the fifty;</span><br /> +I never spent an hour so thrifty.<br /> +But you who tried to make me lose,<br /> +Go, burst with envy, if you choose!<br /> +But how is this? where are they?"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 15em;">"Who?"</span><br /> +"The gentlemen,—I mean the two<br /> +Came yesterday,—are they below?"<br /> +"They galloped off an hour ago."<br /> +"Oh, dose me! blister! shave and bleed!<br /> +For, hang the knaves, I'm mad indeed!"<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>James Nack.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE QUAKER'S MEETING</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +A traveller wended the wilds among,<br /> +With a purse of gold and a silver tongue;<br /> +His hat it was broad, and all drab were his clothes,<br /> +For he hated high colors—except on his nose,<br /> +And he met with a lady, the story goes.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Heigho! <i>yea</i> thee and <i>nay</i> thee.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_577" id="Page_577">[Pg 577]</a></span> + +<br /> +The damsel she cast him a merry blink,<br /> +And the traveller nothing was loth, I think,<br /> +Her merry black eye beamed her bonnet beneath,<br /> +And the Quaker, he grinned, for he'd very good teeth,<br /> +And he asked, "Art thee going to ride on the heath?"<br /> +<br /> +"I hope you'll protect me, kind sir," said the maid,<br /> +"As to ride this heath over, I'm sadly afraid;<br /> +For robbers, they say, here in numbers abound,<br /> +And I wouldn't for anything I should be found,<br /> +For, between you and me, I have five hundred pound."<br /> +<br /> +"If that is thee own, dear," the Quaker, he said,<br /> +"I ne'er saw a maiden I sooner would wed;<br /> +And I have another five hundred just now,<br /> +In the padding that's under my saddle-bow,<br /> +And I'll settle it all upon thee, I vow!"<br /> +<br /> +The maiden she smil'd, and her rein she drew,<br /> +"Your offer I'll take, but I'll not take you,"<br /> +A pistol she held at the Quaker's head—<br /> +"Now give me your gold, or I'll give you my lead,<br /> +'Tis under the saddle, I think you said."<br /> +<br /> +The damsel she ripped up the saddle-bow,<br /> +And the Quaker was never a quaker till now!<br /> +And he saw, by the fair one he wished for a bride,<br /> +His purse borne away with a swaggering stride,<br /> +And the eye that shamm'd tender, now only defied.<br /> +<br /> +"The spirit doth move me, friend Broadbrim," quoth she,<br /> +"To take all this filthy temptation from thee,<br /> +For Mammon deceiveth, and beauty is fleeting,<br /> +Accept from thy maiden this right-loving greeting,<br /> +For much doth she profit by this Quaker's meeting!<br /> +<br /> +"And hark! jolly Quaker, so rosy and sly,<br /> +Have righteousness, more than a wench, in thine eye;<br /> +Don't go again peeping girls' bonnets beneath,<br /> +Remember the one that you met on the heath,<br /> +Her name's Jimmy Barlow, I tell to your teeth."<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_578" id="Page_578">[Pg 578]</a></span> + +<br /> +"Friend James," quoth the Quaker, "pray listen to me,<br /> +For thou canst confer a great favor, d'ye see;<br /> +The gold thou hast taken is not mine, my friend,<br /> +But my master's; and truly on thee I depend,<br /> +To make it appear I my trust did defend.<br /> +<br /> +"So fire a few shots thro' my clothes, here and there,<br /> +To make it appear 'twas a desp'rate affair."<br /> +So Jim he popp'd first through the skirt of his coat,<br /> +And then through his collar—quite close to his throat;<br /> +"Now one thro' my broadbrim," quoth Ephraim, "I vote."<br /> +<br /> +"I have but a brace," said bold Jim, "and they're spent,<br /> +And I won't load again for a make-believe rent."—<br /> +"Then!"—said Ephraim, producing his pistols, "just give<br /> +My five hundred pounds back, or, as sure as you live,<br /> +I'll make of your body a riddle or sieve."<br /> +<br /> +Jim Barlow was diddled—and, tho' he was game,<br /> +He saw Ephraim's pistol so deadly in aim,<br /> +That he gave up the gold, and he took to his scrapers,<br /> +And when the whole story got into the papers,<br /> +They said that "<i>the thieves were no match for the Quakers</i>."<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Heigho! <i>yea</i> thee and <i>nay</i> thee.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Samuel Lover.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE JESTER CONDEMNED TO DEATH</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +One of the Kings of Scanderoon,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A royal jester</span><br /> +Had in his train, a gross buffoon,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who used to pester</span><br /> +The court with tricks inopportune,<br /> +Venting on the highest folks his<br /> +Scurvy pleasantries and hoaxes.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_579" id="Page_579">[Pg 579]</a></span> +<br /> +It needs some sense to play the fool,<br /> +Which wholesome rule<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Occurred not to our jackanapes,</span><br /> +Who consequently found his freaks<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lead to innumerable scrapes,</span><br /> +And quite as many tricks and tweaks,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which only seemed to make him faster</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Try the patience of his master.</span><br /> +<br /> +Some sin, at last, beyond all measure<br /> +Incurred the desperate displeasure<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of his Serene and raging Highness:</span><br /> +Whether he twitched his most revered<br /> +And sacred beard,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or had intruded on the shyness</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the seraglio, or let fly</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An epigram at royalty,</span><br /> +None knows: his sin was an occult one,<br /> +But records tell us that the Sultan,<br /> +Meaning to terrify the knave,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Exclaimed, "'Tis time to stop that breath;</span><br /> +Thy doom is sealed, presumptuous slave!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thou stand'st condemned to certain death:</span><br /> +<br /> +"Silence, base rebel! no replying!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But such is my indulgence still,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That, of my own free grace and will,</span><br /> +I leave to thee the mode of dying,"<br /> +"Thy royal will be done—'tis just,"<br /> +Replied the wretch, and kissed the dust.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Since my last moment to assuage,</span><br /> +Your majesty's humane decree<br /> +Has deigned to leave the choice to me,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'll die, so please you, of old age!"</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Horace Smith.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_580" id="Page_580">[Pg 580]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE DEACON'S MASTERPIECE;</h3> + +<h4>OR, THE WONDERFUL "ONE-HOSS SHAY"</h4> +<p class='h_5'><i>A Logical Story</i></p> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> + +<p> +Have you heard of the wonderful one-hoss shay,<br /> +That was built in such a logical way,<br /> +It ran a hundred years to a day,<br /> +And then, of a sudden, it—ah, but stay,<br /> +I'll tell you what happened without delay,—<br /> +Scaring the parson into fits,<br /> +Frightening the people out of their wits—<br /> +Have you ever heard of that, I say?<br /> +<br /> +Seventeen hundred and fifty-five,<br /> +<i>Georgius Secundus</i> was then alive—<br /> +Stuffy old drone from the German hive.<br /> +That was the year when Lisbon-town<br /> +Saw the earth open and gulp her down,<br /> +And Braddock's army was done so brown,<br /> +Left without a scalp to its crown.<br /> +It was on the terrible earthquake-day<br /> +That the Deacon finished his one-hoss shay.<br /> +<br /> +Now in building of chaises, I'll tell you what,<br /> +There is always <i>somewhere</i> a weakest spot—<br /> +In hub, tire, or felloe, in spring or thill,<br /> +In panel, or crossbar, or floor, or sill,<br /> +In screw, bolt, thorough brace—lurking still,<br /> +Find it somewhere you must and will—<br /> +Above or below, or within or without—<br /> +And that's the reason, beyond a doubt,<br /> +A chaise <i>breaks down</i>, but doesn't <i>wear out</i>.<br /> +<br /> +But the Deacon swore (as Deacons do,<br /> +With an "I dew vam" or an "I tell <i>yeou</i>"),<br /> +He would build one shay to beat the taown<br /> +'n' the keounty 'n' all the kentry raoun';<br /> +It should be so built that it <i>couldna'</i> break daown;<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_581" id="Page_581">[Pg 581]</a></span> +<br /> +—"Fur," said the Deacon, "'t's mighty plain<br /> +That the weakes' place mus' stan' the strain;<br /> +'n' the way t' fix it, uz I maintain,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Is only jest</span><br /> +T' make that place uz strong uz the rest."<br /> +<br /> +So the deacon inquired of the village folk<br /> +Where he could find the strongest oak,<br /> +That couldn't be split nor bent nor broke—<br /> +That was for spokes and floor and sills;<br /> +He sent for lancewood to make the thills;<br /> +The cross-bars were ash, from the straightest trees;<br /> +The panels of white-wood, that cuts like cheese,<br /> +But lasts like iron for things like these;<br /> +The hubs of logs from the "Settler's ellum"—<br /> +Last of its timber—they couldn't sell 'em,<br /> +<br /> +Never an axe had seen their chips,<br /> +And the wedges flew from between their lips;<br /> +Their blunt ends frizzled like celery-tips;<br /> +Step and prop-iron, bolt and screw,<br /> +Spring, tire, axle, and linch-pin too,<br /> +Steel of the finest, bright and blue;<br /> +Thorough-broke bison-skin, thick and wide;<br /> +Boot, top, dasher, from tough old hide<br /> +Found in the pit when the tanner died.<br /> +That was the way he "put her through"—<br /> +"There!" said the deacon, "naow she'll dew!"<br /> +<br /> +Do! I tell you, I rather guess<br /> +She was a wonder, and nothing less.<br /> +Colts grew horses, beards turned gray,<br /> +Deacon and deaconess dropped away,<br /> +Children and grandchildren—where were they!<br /> +But there stood the stout old one-hoss shay<br /> +As fresh as on Lisbon earthquake-day!<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Eighteen hundred</span>;—it came and found<br /> +The deacon's masterpiece strong and sound.<br /> +Eighteen hundred increased by ten;—<br /> +"Hahnsum kerridge" they called it then.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_582" id="Page_582">[Pg 582]</a></span> + +Eighteen hundred and twenty came;—<br /> +Running as usual; much the same.<br /> +Thirty and forty at last arrive,<br /> +And then came fifty and <span class="smcap">fifty-five</span>.<br /> +<br /> +Little of all we value here<br /> +Wakes on the morn of its hundredth year<br /> +Without both feeling and looking queer.<br /> +In fact, there's nothing that keeps its youth,<br /> +So far as I know but a tree and truth.<br /> +(That is a moral that runs at large;<br /> +Take it—you're welcome.—No extra charge.)<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">First of November</span>—The Earthquake-day—<br /> +There are traces of age in the one-hoss shay,<br /> +A general flavour of mild decay,<br /> +But nothing local, as one may say.<br /> +There couldn't be—for the deacon's art<br /> +Had made it so like in every part<br /> +That there wasn't a chance for one to start.<br /> +For the wheels were just as strong as the thills,<br /> +And the floor was just as strong as the sills,<br /> +And the panels just as strong as the floor,<br /> +And the whippletree neither less nor more,<br /> +And the back-crossbar as strong as the fore,<br /> +And spring and axle and hub <i>encore</i>.<br /> +And yet, <i>as a whole</i> it is past a doubt<br /> +In another hour it will be <i>worn out</i>!<br /> +<br /> +First of November, 'Fifty-five!<br /> +This morning the parson takes a drive.<br /> +Now, small boys, get out of the way!<br /> +Here comes the wonderful one-hoss shay,<br /> +Drawn by a rat-tailed, ewe-necked bay,<br /> +"Huddup!" said the parson.—Off went they.<br /> +<br /> +The parson was working his Sunday's text—<br /> +Had got to <i>fifthly</i>, and stopped perplexed<br /> +At what the—Moses—was coming next.<br /> +All at once the horse stood still,<br /> +Close by the meet'n'-house on the hill.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_583" id="Page_583">[Pg 583]</a></span> +<br /> +—First a shiver, and then a thrill,<br /> +Then something decidedly like a spill—<br /> +And the parson was sitting upon a rock<br /> +At half-past nine by the meet'n'-house clock—<br /> +Just the hour of the earthquake shock!<br /> +—What do you think the parson found,<br /> +When he got up and stared around?<br /> +The poor old chaise in a heap or mound,<br /> +As if it had been to the mill and ground!<br /> +You see, of course, if you're not a dunce,<br /> +How it went to pieces all at once,—<br /> +All at once and nothing first—<br /> +Just as bubbles do when they burst.<br /> +<br /> +End of the wonderful one-hoss shay.<br /> +Logic is logic. That's all I say.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Oliver Wendell Holmes.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE BALLAD OF THE OYSTERMAN</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +It was a tall young oysterman lived by the river-side;<br /> +His shop was just upon the bank, his boat was on the tide.<br /> +The daughter of a fisherman, that was so straight and slim,<br /> +Lived over on the other bank, right opposite to him.<br /> +<br /> +It was the pensive oysterman that saw a lovely maid,<br /> +Upon a moonlight evening, a-sitting in the shade;<br /> +He saw her wave her handkerchief, as much as if to say,<br /> +"I'm wide awake, young oysterman, and all the folks away."<br /> +<br /> +Then up arose the oysterman, and to himself said he,<br /> +"I guess I'll leave the skiff at home, for fear that folks should see;<br /> +I read it in the story-book, that, for to kiss his dear,<br /> +Leander swam the Hellespont—and I will swim this here."<br /> +<br /> +And he has leaped into the waves, and crossed the shining stream,<br /> +And he has clambered up the bank, all in the moonlight gleam;<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_584" id="Page_584">[Pg 584]</a></span> + +O there were kisses sweet as dew, and words as soft as rain—<br /> +But they have heard her father's step, and in he leaps again!<br /> +<br /> +Out spoke the ancient fisherman—"O what was that, my daughter?"<br /> +"'Twas nothing but a pebble, sir, I threw into the water."<br /> +"And what is that, pray tell me, love, that paddles off so fast?"<br /> +"It's nothing but a porpoise, sir, that's been a-swiinming past."<br /> +<br /> +Out spoke the ancient fisherman—"Now bring me my harpoon!<br /> +I'll get into my fishing-boat, and fix the fellow soon."<br /> +Down fell that pretty innocent, as falls a snow-white lamb;<br /> +Her hair drooped round her pallid cheeks, like sea-weed on a clam.<br /> +<br /> +Alas for those two loving ones! she waked not from her swound,<br /> +And he was taken with the cramp, and in, the waves was drowned;<br /> +But Fate has metamorphosed them, in pity of their wo,<br /> +And now they keep an oyster-shop for mermaids down below.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Oliver Wendell Holmes.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE WELL OF ST. KEYNE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +A well there is in the west country,<br /> +And a clearer one never was seen;<br /> +There is not a wife in the west country<br /> +But has heard of the Well of St. Keyne.<br /> +<br /> +An oak and an elm-tree stand beside,<br /> +And behind doth an ash-tree grow,<br /> +And a willow from the bank above<br /> +Droops to the water below.<br /> +<br /> +A traveller came to the Well of St. Keyne,<br /> +Joyfully he drew nigh,<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_585" id="Page_585">[Pg 585]</a></span> + +For from cock-crow he had been travelling,<br /> +And there was not a cloud in the sky.<br /> +<br /> +He drank of the water so cool and clear,<br /> +For thirsty and hot was he;<br /> +And he sat down upon the bank<br /> +Under the willow-tree.<br /> +<br /> +There came a man from the house hard by<br /> +At the well to fill his pail;<br /> +On the well-side he rested it,<br /> +And he bade the stranger hail.<br /> +<br /> +"Now art thou a bachelor, stranger?" quoth he,<br /> +"For an if thou hast a wife,<br /> +The happiest draught thou hast drank this day<br /> +That ever thou didst in thy life.<br /> +<br /> +"Or hast thy good woman, if one thou hast,<br /> +Ever here in Cornwall been?<br /> +For an if she have, I'll venture my life<br /> +She has drank of the Well of St. Keyne."<br /> +<br /> +"I have left a good woman who never was here,"<br /> +The stranger he made reply;<br /> +"But that my draught should be the better for that<br /> +I pray you answer me why?"<br /> +<br /> +"St. Keyne," quoth the Cornishman, "many a time<br /> +Drank of this crystal well,<br /> +And before the angels summon'd her,<br /> +She laid on the water a spell.<br /> +<br /> +"If the husband of this gifted well<br /> +Shall drink before his wife,<br /> +A happy man thenceforth is he,<br /> +For he shall be master for life.<br /> +<br /> +"But if the wife should drink of it first,<br /> +God help the husband then!"<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_586" id="Page_586">[Pg 586]</a></span> + +The stranger stooped to the Well of St. Keyne,<br /> +And drank of the water again.<br /> +<br /> +"You drank of the well, I warrant, betimes?"<br /> +He to the Cornishman said:<br /> +But the Cornishman smiled as the stranger spake,<br /> +And sheepishly shook his head.<br /> +<br /> +"I hasten'd as soon as the wedding was done,<br /> +And left my wife in the porch;<br /> +But i' faith she had been wiser than me,<br /> +For she took a bottle to church."<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Robert Southey.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE JACKDAW OF RHEIMS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +The Jackdaw sat on the Cardinal's chair!<br /> +Bishop, and Abbot, and Prior were there;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Many a monk, and many a friar,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Many a knight and many a squire,</span><br /> +With a great many more of lesser degree—<br /> +In sooth, a goodly company;<br /> +And they served the Lord Primate on bended knee,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Never, I ween,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Was a prouder seen,</span><br /> +Read of in books, or dreamt of in dreams,<br /> +Than the Cardinal Lord Archbishop of Rheims!<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">In and out</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Through the motley rout,</span><br /> +That little Jackdaw kept hopping about;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Here and there,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Like a dog in a fair,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Over comfits and cates,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And dishes and plates,</span><br /> +Cowl and cope, and rochet and pall,<br /> +Mitre and crosier, he hopped upon all!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">With saucy air,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">He perched on the chair</span><br /> +Where, in state, the great Lord Cardinal sat<br /> +In the great Lord Cardinal's great red hat;<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_587" id="Page_587">[Pg 587]</a></span> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And he peered in the face</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Of his Lordship's grace,</span><br /> +With a satisfied look, as if he would say,<br /> +"We two are the greatest folks here to-day!"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And the priests, with awe,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">As such freaks they saw,</span><br /> +Said, "The devil must be in that little Jackdaw!"<br /> +<br /> +The feast was over, the board was cleared,<br /> +The flawns and the custards had all disappeared,<br /> +And six little singing-boys—dear little souls!<br /> +In nice clean faces, and nice white stoles,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Came, in order due,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Two by two,</span><br /> +Marching that grand refectory through!<br /> +<br /> +A nice little boy held a golden ewer,<br /> +Embossed and filled with water, as pure<br /> +As any that flows between Rheims and Namur,<br /> +Which a nice little boy stood ready to catch<br /> +In a fine golden hand-basin made to match.<br /> +Two nice little boys, rather more grown,<br /> +Carried lavender-water and eau-de-Cologne;<br /> +And a nice little boy had a nice cake of soap,<br /> +Worthy of washing the hands of the Pope.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">One little boy more</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">A napkin bore,</span><br /> +Of the best white diaper, fringed with pink,<br /> +And a cardinal's hat marked in "permanent ink."<br /> +<br /> +The great Lord Cardinal turns at the sight<br /> +Of these nice little boys dressed all in white:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">From his finger he draws</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">His costly turquoise,</span><br /> +And, not thinking at all about little Jackdaws,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Deposits it straight</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">By the side of his plate,</span><br /> +While the nice little boys on his Eminence wait;<br /> +Till, when nobody's dreaming of any such thing,<br /> +That little Jackdaw hops off with the ring!<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_588" id="Page_588">[Pg 588]</a></span> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">There's a cry and a shout,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And a deuce of a rout,</span><br /> +And nobody seems to know what they're about,<br /> +But the monks have their pockets all turned inside out;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The friars are kneeling,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And hunting and feeling</span><br /> +The carpet, the floor, and the walls, and the ceiling.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Cardinal drew</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Off each plum-coloured shoe,</span><br /> +And left his red stockings exposed to the view;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">He peeps and he feels,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">In the toes and the heels;</span><br /> +They turn up the dishes, they turn up the plates,<br /> +They take up the poker and poke out the grates,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">They turn up the rugs,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">They examine the mugs—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">But no! no such thing;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">They can't find <span class="smcap">the ring</span>!</span><br /> +And the Abbot declared that "when nobody twigged it,<br /> +Some rascal or other had popped in and prigged it."<br /> +<br /> +The Cardinal rose with a dignified look,<br /> +He called for his candle, his bell, and his book!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In holy anger and pious grief,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He solemnly cursed that rascally thief!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He cursed him at board, he cursed him in bed;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From the sole of his foot to the crown of his head;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He cursed him in sleeping, that every night</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He should dream of the devil, and wake in a fright;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He cursed him in eating, he cursed him in drinking,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He cursed him in coughing, in sneezing, in winking;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He cursed him in sitting, in standing, in lying;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He cursed him in walking, in riding, in flying;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He cursed him in living, he cursed him in dying!—</span><br /> +Never was heard such a terrible curse!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">But, what gave rise</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">To no little surprise,</span><br /> +Nobody seemed one penny the worse!<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_589" id="Page_589">[Pg 589]</a></span> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The day was gone,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The night came on,</span><br /> +The monks and the friars they searched till dawn;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">When the Sacristan saw,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">On crumpled claw,</span><br /> +Come limping a poor little lame Jackdaw;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">No longer gay,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">As on yesterday;</span><br /> +His feathers all seemed to be turned the wrong way;<br /> +His pinions drooped, he could hardly stand,<br /> +His head was as bald as the palm of your hand;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">His eye so dim,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">So wasted each limb,</span><br /> +That, heedless of grammar, they all cried "<span class="smcap">That's him</span>!<br /> +That's the scamp that has done this scandalous thing!<br /> +That's the thief that has got my Lord Cardinal's ring!"<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The poor little Jackdaw,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">When the monks he saw,</span><br /> +Feebly gave vent to the ghost of a caw,<br /> +And turned his bald head, as much as to say,<br /> +"Pray be so good as to walk this way!"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Slower and slower</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">He limped on before,</span><br /> +Till they came to the back of the belfry door,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Where the first thing they saw,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Midst the sticks and the straw,</span><br /> +Was the <span class="smcap">ring</span> in the nest of that little Jackdaw!<br /> +<br /> +Then the great Lord Cardinal called for his book,<br /> +And off that terrible curse he took;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The mute expression</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Served in lieu of confession,</span><br /> +And, being thus coupled with full restitution,<br /> +The Jackdaw got plenary absolution!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">When these words were heard,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">That poor little bird</span><br /> +Was so changed in a moment, 'twas really absurd;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">He grew sleek and fat;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">In addition to that,</span><br /> +A fresh crop of feathers came thick as a mat!<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_590" id="Page_590">[Pg 590]</a></span> + +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">His tail waggled more</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Even than before;</span><br /> +But no longer it wagged with an impudent air,<br /> +No longer he perched on the Cardinal's chair,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">He hopped now about</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">With a gait devout;</span><br /> +At matins, at vespers, he never was out;<br /> +And, so far from any more pilfering deeds,<br /> +He always seemed telling the Confessor's beads.<br /> +<br /> +If any one lied, or if any one swore,<br /> +Or slumbered in prayer-time and happened to snore,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">That good Jackdaw</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Would give a great "Caw!"</span><br /> +As much as to say, "Don't do so any more!"<br /> +While many remarked, as his manners they saw,<br /> +That they "never had known such a pious Jackdaw!"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">He long lived the pride</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Of that country side,</span><br /> +And at last in the odour of sanctity died;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">When, as words were too faint</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">His merits to paint,</span><br /> +The Conclave determined to make him a Saint;<br /> +And on newly-made Saints and Popes, as you know,<br /> +It's the custom, at Rome, new names to bestow,<br /> +So they canonised him by the name of Jim Crow!<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Richard Harris Barham.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE KNIGHT AND THE LADY</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +The Lady Jane was tall and slim,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Lady Jane was fair</span><br /> +And Sir Thomas, her lord, was stout of limb,<br /> +And his cough was short, and his eyes were dim,<br /> +And he wore green "specs" with a tortoise shell rim,<br /> +And his hat was remarkably broad in the brim,<br /> +And she was uncommonly fond of him—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And they were a loving pair!</span><br /> +And wherever they went, or wherever they came,<br /> +Every one hailed them with loudest acclaim;<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_591" id="Page_591">[Pg 591]</a></span> + +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Far and wide,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The people cried,</span><br /> +All sorts of pleasure, and no sort of pain,<br /> +To Sir Thomas the good, and the fair Lady Janel<br /> +<br /> +Now Sir Thomas the good, be it well understood,<br /> +Was a man of very contemplative mood—<br /> +He would pour by the hour, o'er a weed or a flower,<br /> +Or the slugs, that came crawling out after a shower;<br /> +Black beetles, bumble-bees, blue-bottle flies,<br /> +And moths, were of no small account in his eyes;<br /> +An "industrious flea," he'd by no means despise,<br /> +While an "old daddy long-legs," whose long legs and thighs<br /> +Passed the common in shape, or in color, or size,<br /> +He was wont to consider an absolute prize.<br /> +Giving up, in short, both business and sport, he<br /> +Abandoned himself, <i>tout entier</i>, to philosophy.<br /> +<br /> +Now as Lady Jane was tall and slim,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And Lady Jane was fair.</span><br /> +And a good many years the junior of him,<br /> +There are some might be found entertaining a notion,<br /> +That such an entire, and exclusive devotion,<br /> +To that part of science, folks style entomology,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Was a positive shame,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And, to such a fair dame,</span><br /> +Really demanded some sort of apology;<br /> +Ever poking his nose into this, and to that—<br /> +At a gnat, or a bat, or a cat, or a rat,<br /> +At great ugly things, all legs and wings,<br /> +With nasty long tails, armed with nasty long stings<br /> +And eternally thinking, and blinking, and winking,<br /> +At grubs—when he ought of <i>her</i> to be thinking.<br /> +But no! ah no! 'twas by no means so<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">With the fair Lady Jane,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;"><i>Tout au contraire</i>, no lady so fair,</span><br /> +Was e'er known to wear more contented an air;<br /> +And—let who would call—every day she was there<br /> +Propounding receipts for some delicate fare,<br /> +Some toothsome conserve, of quince, apple or pear<br /> +Or distilling strong waters—or potting a hare—<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_592" id="Page_592">[Pg 592]</a></span> + +Or counting her spoons, and her crockery ware;<br /> +Enough to make less gifted visitors stare.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Nay more; don't suppose</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">With such doings as those</span><br /> +This account of her merits must come to a close;<br /> +No!—examine her conduct more closely, you'll find<br /> +She by no means neglected improving her mind;<br /> +For there all the while with an air quite bewitching<br /> +She sat herring-boning, tambouring, or stitching,<br /> +Or having an eye to affairs of the kitchen.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Close by her side,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Sat her kinsman, MacBride—</span><br /> +Captain Dugald MacBride, Royal Scots Fusiliers;—<br /> +And I doubt if you'd find, in the whole of his clan,<br /> +A more highly intelligent, worthy young man;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And there he'd be sitting,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">While she was a-knitting,</span><br /> +Reading aloud, with a very grave look,<br /> +Some very "wise saw," from some very good book—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">No matter who came,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">It was always the same,</span><br /> +The Captain was reading aloud to the dame,<br /> +Till, from having gone through half the books on the shelf,<br /> +They were <i>almost</i> as wise as Sir Thomas himself.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Well it happened one day—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">I really can't say</span><br /> +The particular month;—but I <i>think</i> 'twas in May,<br /> +'Twas I <i>know</i> in the spring-time, when "nature looks gay,"<br /> +As the poet observes—and on tree-top and spray,<br /> +The dear little dickey birds carol away,<br /> +That the whole of the house was thrown into affright,<br /> +For no soul could conceive what was gone with the Knight.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">It seems he had taken</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">A light breakfast—bacon,</span><br /> +An egg, a little broiled haddock—at most<br /> +A round and a half of some hot buttered toast,<br /> +With a slice of cold sirloin from yesterday's roast.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_593" id="Page_593">[Pg 593]</a></span> + +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And then, let me see,—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">He had two,—perhaps three</span><br /> +Cups, with sugar and cream, of strong gunpowder tea,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">But no matter for that—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">He had called for his hat,</span><br /> +With the brim that I've said was so broad and so flat,<br /> +And his "specs" with the tortoise-shell rim, and his cane.<br /> +With the crutch-handled top, which he used to sustain<br /> +His steps in his walk, or to poke in the shrubs<br /> +Or the grass, when unearthing his worms or his grubs;<br /> +Thus armed he set out on a ramble—a-lack!<br /> +He <i>set out</i>, poor dear soul!—but he never came back!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">"First dinner bell" rang</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Out its euphonous clang</span><br /> +At five—folks kept early hours then—and the "last"<br /> +Ding-donged, as it ever was wont, at half-past.<br /> +Still the master was absent—the cook came and said, he<br /> +Feared dinner would spoil, having been so long ready,<br /> +That the puddings her ladyship thought such a treat<br /> +He was morally sure, would be scarce fit to eat!<br /> +Said the lady, "Dish up! Let the meal be served straight,<br /> +And let two or three slices be put on a plate,<br /> +And kept hot for Sir Thomas."—Captain Dugald said grace,<br /> +Then set himself down in Sir Thomas' place.<br /> +<br /> +Wearily, wearily, all that night,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That live-long night did the hours go by;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And the Lady Jane,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">In grief and pain,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">She sat herself down to cry!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And Captain MacBride,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Who sat by her side,</span><br /> +Though I really can't say that he actually cried,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">At least had a tear in his eye!</span><br /> +As much as can well be expected, perhaps,<br /> +From "very young fellows," for very "old chaps."<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And if he had said</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">What he'd got in his head,</span><br /> +'Twould have been, "Poor old Duffer, he's certainly dead!"<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_594" id="Page_594">[Pg 594]</a></span> + +The morning dawned—and the next—and the next<br /> +And all in the mansion were still perplexed;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">No knocker fell,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">His approach to tell;</span><br /> +Not so much as a runaway ring at the bell.<br /> +<br /> +Yet the sun shone bright upon tower and tree,<br /> +And the meads smiled green as green may be,<br /> +And the dear little dickey birds caroled with glee,<br /> +And the lambs in the park skipped merry and free.—<br /> +Without, all was joy and harmony!<br /> +<br /> +And thus 'twill be—nor long the day—<br /> +Ere we, like him, shall pass away!<br /> +Yon sun that now our bosoms warms,<br /> +Shall shine—but shine on other forms;<br /> +Yon grove, whose choir so sweetly cheers<br /> +Us now, shall sound on other ears;<br /> +The joyous lambs, as now, shall play,<br /> +But other eyes its sports survey;<br /> +The stream we loved shall roll as fair,<br /> +The flowery sweets, the trim parterre,<br /> +Shall scent, as now, the ambient air;<br /> +The tree whose bending branches bear<br /> +The one loved name—shall yet be there—<br /> +But where the hand that carved it? Where?<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">These were hinted to me as the very ideas</span><br /> +Which passed through the mind of the fair Lady Jane,<br /> +As she walked on the esplanade to and again,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">With Captain MacBride,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Of course at her side,</span><br /> +Who could not look <i>quite</i> so forlorn—though he tried,<br /> +An "idea" in fact, had got into <i>his</i> head,<br /> +That if "poor dear Sir Thomas" should really be dead,<br /> +It might be no bad "spec" to be there in his stead,<br /> +And by simply contriving, in due time, to wed<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">A lady who was young and fair,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">A lady slim and tall,</span><br /> +To set himself down in comfort there,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">The lord of Tapton Hall.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_595" id="Page_595">[Pg 595]</a></span> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Thinks he, "We have sent</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Half over Kent,</span><br /> +And nobody knows how much money's been spent,<br /> +Yet no one's been found to say which way he went!<br /> +Here's a fortnight and more has gone by, and we've tried<br /> +Every plan we could hit on—and had him well cried<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">'<span class="smcap">Missing</span>!! <i>Stolen or Strayed</i>,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;"><i>Lost or Mislaid</i>,</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">A Gentleman</span>;—middle-aged, sober and staid;<br /> +Stoops slightly;—and when he left home was arrayed<br /> +In a sad-colored suit, somewhat dingy and frayed;<br /> +Had spectacles on with a tortoise-shell rim,<br /> +And a hat rather low crowned, and broad in the brim.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Whoe'er shall bear,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Or send him with care,</span><br /> +(Right side uppermost) home; or shall give notice where<br /> +Said middle-aged <span class="smcap">Gentleman</span> is; or shall state<br /> +Any fact, that may tend to throw light on his fate,<br /> +To the man at the turnpike, called <i>Tappington Gate</i>,<br /> +Shall receive a reward of <i>Five Pounds</i> for his trouble.<br /> +N.B. If defunct, the <i>Reward</i> will be double!!'<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">"Had he been above ground,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">He <i>must</i> have been found.</span><br /> +No; doubtless he's shot—or he's hanged—or he's drowned!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Then his widow—ay! ay!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">But what will folks say?—</span><br /> +To address her at once, at so early a day.<br /> +Well—what then—who cares!—let 'em say what they may."<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">When a man has decided</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">As Captain MacBride did,</span><br /> +And once fully made up his mind on the matter, he<br /> +Can't be too prompt in unmasking his battery.<br /> +He began on the instant, and vowed that her eyes<br /> +Far exceeded in brilliance the stars in the skies;<br /> +That her lips were like roses, her cheeks were like lilies;<br /> +Her breath had the odor of daffadowndillies!—<br /> +With a thousand more compliments, equally true,<br /> +Expressed in similitudes equally new!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Then his left arm he placed</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Round her jimp, taper waist—</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_596" id="Page_596">[Pg 596]</a></span> + +<br /> +Ere she fixed to repulse or return his embrace,<br /> +Up came running a man at a deuce of a pace,<br /> +With that very peculiar expression of face<br /> +Which always betokens dismay or disaster,<br /> +Crying out—'twas the gard'ner—"Oh, ma'am! we've found master!!"<br /> +"Where! where?" screamed the lady; and echo screamed,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">"Where?"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The man couldn't say "there!"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">He had no breath to spare,</span><br /> +But gasping for breath he could only respond<br /> +By pointing—be pointed, alas! <span class="smcap">TO THE POND</span>.<br /> +'Twas e'en so; poor dear Knight, with his "specs" and his hat,<br /> +He'd gone poking his nose into this and to that;<br /> +When close to the side of the bank, he espied<br /> +An uncommon fine tadpole, remarkably fat!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">He stooped;—and he thought her</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">His own;—he had caught her!</span><br /> +Got hold of her tail—and to land almost brought her,<br /> +When—he plumped head and heels into fifteen feet water!<br /> +<br /> +The Lady Jane was tall and slim,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Lady Jane was fair,</span><br /> +Alas! for Sir Thomas!—she grieved for him,<br /> +As she saw two serving men sturdy of limb,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">His body between them bear;</span><br /> +She sobbed and she sighed, she lamented and cried,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For of sorrow brimful was her cup;</span><br /> +She swooned, and I think she'd have fallen down and died,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">If Captain MacBride</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Hadn't been by her side</span><br /> +With the gardener;—they both their assistance supplied,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And managed to hold her up.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">But when she "comes to,"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Oh! 'tis shocking to view</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The sight which the corpse reveals!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sir Thomas' body,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">It looked so odd—he</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was half eaten up by the eels!</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_597" id="Page_597">[Pg 597]</a></span> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">His waistcoat and hose,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And the rest of his clothes,</span><br /> +Were all gnawed through and through;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And out of each shoe,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">An eel they drew;</span><br /> +And from each of his pockets they pulled out two!<br /> +And the gardener himself had secreted a few,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">As well might be supposed he'd do,</span><br /> +For, when he came running to give the alarm,<br /> +He had six in the basket that hung on his arm.<br /> +<br /> +Good Father John was summoned anon;<br /> +Holy water was sprinkled and little bells tinkled,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And tapers were lighted,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And incense ignited,</span><br /> +And masses were sung, and masses were said,<br /> +All day, for the quiet repose of the dead,<br /> +And all night no one thought about going to bed.<br /> +<br /> +But Lady Jane was tall and slim,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And Lady Jane was fair,</span><br /> +And ere morning came, that winsome dame<br /> +Had made up her mind, or—what's much the same—<br /> +Had <i>thought about</i>, once more "changing her name,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And she said with a pensive air,</span><br /> +To Thompson the valet, while taking away,<br /> +When supper was over, the cloth and the tray,<br /> +"Eels a many I've ate; but any<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">So good ne'er tasted before!—</span><br /> +They're a fish too, of which I'm remarkably fond—<br /> +Go—pop Sir Thomas again in the pond—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Poor dear!—<i>he'll catch us some more</i>."</span><br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>MORAL</p> +<p> +All middle-aged gentlemen let me advise,<br /> +If you're married, and hav'n't got very good eyes,<br /> +Don't go poking about after blue-bottle flies.<br /> +If you've spectacles, don't have a tortoise-shell rim,<br /> +And don't go near the water—unless you can swim.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_598" id="Page_598">[Pg 598]</a></span> + +Married ladies, especially such as are fair,<br /> +Tall and slim, I would next recommend to beware,<br /> +How, on losing one spouse, they give way to despair,<br /> +But let them reflect, there are fish, and no doubt on't,<br /> +As good <i>in</i> the river, as ever came <i>out</i> on't.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Richard Harris Barham.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>AN EASTERN QUESTION</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +My William was a soldier, and he says to me, says he,<br /> +"My Susan, I must sail across the South Pacific sea;<br /> +For we've got to go to Egypt for to fight the old Khedive;<br /> +But when he's dead I'll marry you, as sure as I'm alive!"<br /> +<br /> +'Twere hard for me to part with him; he couldn't read nor write,<br /> +So I never had love letters for to keep my memory bright;<br /> +But Jim, who is our footman, took the <i>Daily Telegraph</i>,<br /> +And told me William's reg-i-ment mowed down the foe like chaff.<br /> +<br /> +So every day Jim come to me to read the Eastern news,<br /> +And used to bring me bouquets, which I scarcely could refuse;<br /> +Till one fine day it happened—<i>how</i> it happened, goodness knows,—<br /> +He put his arm around me and he started to propose.<br /> +<br /> +I put his hand from off me, and I said in thrilling tones,<br /> +"I like you, Jim, but <i>never</i> will I give up William Jones;<br /> +It ain't no good your talking, for my heart is firm and fixed,<br /> +For William is engaged to me, and naught shall come betwixt."<br /> +<br /> +So Jim he turned a ghastly pale to find there was no hope;<br /> +And made remarks about a pond, and razors, and a rope;<br /> +The other servants pitied him, and Rosie said as much;<br /> +But Rosie was too flighty, and he didn't care for such.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_599" id="Page_599">[Pg 599]</a></span> +<br /> +The weeks and months passed slowly, till I heard the Eastern war<br /> +Was over, and my William would soon be home once more;<br /> +And I was proud and happy for I knew that I could say<br /> +I'd been true to my sweet William all the years he'd been away.<br /> +<br /> +Says Jim to me, "I love you, Sue, you know full well I do,<br /> +And evermore whilst I draw breath I vow I will be true;<br /> +But my feelings are too sensitive, I really couldn't stand<br /> +A-seeing of that soldier taking hold your little hand.<br /> +<br /> +"So I've made my mind up finally to throw myself away;<br /> +There's Rosie loves me truly, and no more I'll say her nay;<br /> +I've bought a hat on purpose, and I'm going to hire a ring,<br /> +And I've borrowed father's wedding suit that looks the very thing."<br /> +<br /> +So Jim he married Rosie, just the very day before<br /> +My William's reg-i-ment was due to reach their native shore;<br /> +I was there to see him landed and to give him welcome home,<br /> +And take him to my arms from which he never more should roam.<br /> +<br /> +But I couldn't see my William, for the men were all alike,<br /> +With their red coats and their rifles, and their helmets with a spike;<br /> +So I curtseys to a sergeant who was smiling very kind,<br /> +"Where's William Jones?" I asks him, "if so be you wouldn't mind?"<br /> +<br /> +Then he calls a gawky, red-haired chap, that stood good six-feet two:<br /> +"Here, Jones," he cries, "this lady here's enquiring after you."<br /> +"Not me!" I says, "I want a man who 'listed from our Square;<br /> +With a small moustache, but growing fast, and bright brown curly hair."<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_600" id="Page_600">[Pg 600]</a></span> +<br /> +The sergeant wiped his eye, and took his helmet from his head,<br /> +"I'm very sorry, ma'am," he said, "<i>that</i> William Jones is dead;<br /> +He died from getting sunstroke, and we envied him his lot,<br /> +For we were melted to our bones, the climate was that hot!"<br /> +<br /> +So that's how 'tis that I'm condemned to lead a single life,<br /> +For the sergeant, who was struck with me, already had a wife;<br /> +And Jim is tied to Rosie, and can't get himself untied,<br /> +Whilst the man that I was faithful to has been and gone and died!<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>H. M. Paull.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>MY AUNT'S SPECTRE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +They tell me (but I really can't<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Imagine such a rum thing),</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">It</span> is the phantom of my Aunt,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who ran away—or something.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">It</span> is the very worst of bores:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(My Aunt was most delightful).</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">It</span> prowls about the corridors,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And utters noises frightful.</span><br /> +<br /> +At midnight through the rooms <span class="smcap">It</span> glides,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Behaving very coolly,</span><br /> +Our hearts all throb against our sides—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The lights are burning bluely.</span><br /> +<br /> +The lady, in her living hours,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was the most charming vixen</span><br /> +That ever this poor sex of ours<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Delighted to play tricks on.</span><br /> +<br /> +Yes, that's her portrait on the wall,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In quaint old-fangled bodice:</span><br /> +Her eyes are blue—her waist is small—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A ghost! Pooh, pooh,—a goddess!</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_601" id="Page_601">[Pg 601]</a></span> + +<br /> +A fine patrician shape, to suit<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My dear old father's sister—</span><br /> +Lips softly curved, a dainty foot:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Happy the man that kissed her!</span><br /> +<br /> +Light hair of crisp irregular curl<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Over fair shoulders scattered—</span><br /> +Egad, she was a pretty girl,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Unless Sir Thomas flattered!</span><br /> +<br /> +And who the deuce, in these bright days,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Could possibly expect her</span><br /> +To take to dissipated ways,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And plague us as a spectre?</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Mortimer Collins.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>CASEY AT THE BAT</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +It looked extremely rocky for the Mudville nine that day,<br /> +The score stood four to six with but an inning left to play.<br /> +And so, when Cooney died at first, and Burrows did the same,<br /> +A pallor wreathed the features of the patrons of the game.<br /> +A straggling few got up to go, leaving there the rest,<br /> +With that hope which springs eternal within the human breast.<br /> +For they thought if only Casey could get a whack at that,<br /> +They'd put up even money with Casey at the bat.<br /> +But Flynn preceded Casey, and likewise so did Blake,<br /> +And the former was a pudding and the latter was a fake;<br /> +So on that stricken multitude a death-like silence sat,<br /> +For there seemed but little chance of Casey's getting to the bat.<br /> +But Flynn let drive a single to the wonderment of all,<br /> +And the much despisèd Blakey tore the cover off the ball,<br /> +And when the dust had lifted and they saw what had occurred,<br /> +There was Blakey safe on second, and Flynn a-hugging third.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_602" id="Page_602">[Pg 602]</a></span> + +Then from the gladdened multitude went up a joyous yell,<br /> +It bounded from the mountain top and rattled in the dell,<br /> +It struck upon the hillside, and rebounded on the flat,<br /> +For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.<br /> +There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place,<br /> +There was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile on Casey's face,<br /> +And when responding to the cheers he lightly doffed his hat,<br /> +No stranger in the crowd could doubt, 'twas Casey at the bat.<br /> +Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt,<br /> +Five thousand tongues applauded as he wiped them on his shirt;<br /> +And while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip—<br /> +Defiance gleamed from Casey's eye—a sneer curled Casey's lip.<br /> +And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,<br /> +And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there;<br /> +Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped—<br /> +"That hain't my style," said Casey—"Strike one," the Umpire said.<br /> +From the bleachers black with people there rose a sullen roar,<br /> +Like the beating of the storm waves on a stern and distant shore,<br /> +"Kill him! kill the Umpire!" shouted some one from the stand—<br /> +And it's likely they'd have done it had not Casey raised his hand.<br /> +With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage shone,<br /> +He stilled the rising tumult and he bade the game go on;<br /> +He signalled to the pitcher and again the spheroid flew,<br /> +But Casey still ignored it and the Umpire said "Strike two."<br /> +"Fraud!" yelled the maddened thousands, and the echo answered "Fraud,"<br /> +But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed;<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_603" id="Page_603">[Pg 603]</a></span> + +They saw his face grow stern and cold; they saw his muscles strain,<br /> +And they knew that Casey would not let that ball go by again.<br /> +The sneer is gone from Casey's lip; his teeth are clenched with hate,<br /> +He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate;<br /> +And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,<br /> +And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow.<br /> +Oh! somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright,<br /> +The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,<br /> +And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout;<br /> +But there is no joy in Mudville—mighty Casey has "Struck Out."<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Ernest Lawrence Thayer.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hamelin Town's in Brunswick,</span><br /> +By famous Hanover City;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The river Weser, deep and wide,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Washes its wall on the southern side;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A pleasanter spot you never spied;</span><br /> +But when begins my ditty,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Almost five hundred years ago,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To see the townsfolk suffer so</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">From vermin was a pity.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Rats!</span><br /> +They fought the dogs, and killed the cats,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And bit the babies in the cradles,</span><br /> +And ate the cheeses out of the vats,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And licked the soup from the cook's own ladles,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Split open the kegs of salted sprats,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Made nests inside men's Sunday hats,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And even spoiled the women's chats,</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_604" id="Page_604">[Pg 604]</a></span> + +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">By drowning their speaking</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With shrieking and squeaking</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In fifty different sharps and flats.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At last the people in a body</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To the Town Hall came flocking:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Tis clear," cried they, "our Mayor's a noddy;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And as for our Corporation—shocking</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To think we buy gowns lined with ermine</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For dolts that can't or won't determine</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What's best to rid us of our vermin!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You hope, because you're old and obese,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To find in the furry civic robe ease?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rouse up, Sirs! Give your brains a racking</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To find the remedy we're lacking,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or, sure as fate, we'll send you packing!"</span><br /> +At this the Mayor and Corporation<br /> +Quaked with a mighty consternation.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An hour they sate in council,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">At length the Mayor broke silence:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"For a guilder I'd my ermine gown sell!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I wish I were a mile hence!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It's easy to bid one rack one's brain—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'm sure my poor head aches again</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I've scratched it so, and all in vain.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh, for a trap, a trap, a trap!"</span><br /> +<br /> +Just as he said this, what should hap<br /> +At the chamber door but a gentle tap?<br /> +"Bless us," cried the Mayor, "what's that?"<br /> +(With the Corporation as he sat,<br /> +Looking little though wondrous fat;<br /> +Nor brighter was his eye, nor moister,<br /> +Than a too-long-opened oyster,<br /> +Save when at noon his paunch grew mutinous<br /> +For a plate of turtle green and glutinous),<br /> +"Only a scraping of shoes on the mat?<br /> +Anything like the sound of a rat<br /> +Makes my heart go pit-a-pat!"<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_605" id="Page_605">[Pg 605]</a></span> +<br /> +"Come in!"—the Mayor cried, looking bigger:<br /> +And in did come the strangest figure.<br /> +His queer long coat from heel to head<br /> +Was half of yellow and half of red;<br /> +And he himself was tall and thin,<br /> +With sharp blue eyes, each like a pin,<br /> +And light loose hair, yet swarthy skin,<br /> +No tuft on cheek nor beard on chin,<br /> +But lips where smiles went out and in;<br /> +There was no guessing his kith and kin:<br /> +And nobody could enough admire<br /> +The tall man and his quaint attire.<br /> +Quoth one: "It's as my great grandsire,<br /> +Starting up at the Trump of Doom's tone,<br /> +Had walked this way from his painted tombstone!"<br /> +<br /> +He advanced to the council-table;<br /> +And, "Please your honours," said he, "I'm able,<br /> +By means of a secret charm, to draw<br /> +All creatures living beneath the sun,<br /> +That creep or swim or fly or run,<br /> +After me so as you never saw!<br /> +And I chiefly use my charm<br /> +On creatures that do people harm,<br /> +The mole and toad and newt and viper;<br /> +And people call me the Pied Piper."<br /> +(And here they noticed round his neck<br /> +A scarf of red and yellow stripe,<br /> +To match with his coat of the selfsame cheque;<br /> +And at the scarf's end hung a pipe;<br /> +And his fingers, they noticed, were ever straying<br /> +As if impatient to be playing<br /> +Upon this pipe, as low it dangled<br /> +Over his vesture so old-fangled.)<br /> +"Yet," said he, "poor piper as I am,<br /> +In Tartary I freed the Cham,<br /> +Last June, from his huge swarms of gnats;<br /> +I eased in Asia the Nizam<br /> +Of a monstrous brood of vampyre bats:<br /> +And as for what your brain bewilders,<br /> +If I can rid your town of rats,<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_606" id="Page_606">[Pg 606]</a></span> + +Will you give me a thousand guilders?"<br /> +"One? fifty thousand!" was the exclamation<br /> +Of the astonished Mayor and Corporation.<br /> +<br /> +Into the street the Piper stept,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Smiling first a little smile,</span><br /> +As if he knew what magic slept<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In his quiet pipe the while;</span><br /> +Then, like a musical adept,<br /> +To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled,<br /> +And green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled<br /> +Like a candle flame where salt is sprinkled;<br /> +And ere three shrill notes the pipe uttered,<br /> +You heard as if an army muttered;<br /> +And the muttering grew to a grumbling;<br /> +And the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling;<br /> +And out of the house the rats came tumbling.<br /> +Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats,<br /> +Brown rats, black rats, grey rats, tawny rats,<br /> +Grave old plodders, gay young friskers,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins,</span><br /> +Cocking tails and pricking whiskers,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Families by tens and dozens,</span><br /> +Brothers, sisters, husbands, wives—<br /> +Followed the Piper for their lives.<br /> +From street to street he piped advancing,<br /> +And step by step they followed dancing,<br /> +Until they came to the river Weser<br /> +Wherein all plunged and perished<br /> +—Save one, who, stout as Julius Cæsar,<br /> +Swam across and lived to carry<br /> +(As he the manuscript he cherished)<br /> +To Rat-land home his commentary,<br /> +Which was, "At the first shrill notes of the pipe,<br /> +I heard a sound as of scraping tripe,<br /> +And putting apples wondrous ripe,<br /> +Into a cider-press's gripe:<br /> +And a moving away of pickle-tub boards,<br /> +And a leaving ajar of conserve cupboards,<br /> +And a drawing the corks of train-oil-flasks,<br /> +And a breaking the hoops of butter-casks:<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_607" id="Page_607">[Pg 607]</a></span> +<br /> +And it seemed as if a voice<br /> +(Sweeter far than by harp or by psaltery<br /> +Is breathed) called out, Oh rats, rejoice!<br /> +The world is grown to one vast drysaltery!<br /> +So munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon,<br /> +Breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon!<br /> +And just as a bulky sugar puncheon,<br /> +All ready staved, like a great sun shone<br /> +Glorious scarce an inch before me,<br /> +Just as methought it said, Come, bore me!<br /> +—I found the Weser rolling o'er me."<br /> +<br /> +You should have heard the Hamelin people<br /> +Ringing the bells till they rocked the steeple.<br /> +"Go," cried the Mayor, "and get long poles!<br /> +Poke out the nests and block up the holes!<br /> +Consult with carpenters and builders,<br /> +And leave in our town not even a trace<br /> +Of the rats!"—when suddenly, up the face<br /> +Of the piper perked in the market-place,<br /> +With a "First, if you please, my thousand guilders!"<br /> +<br /> +A thousand guilders! The Mayor looked blue;<br /> +So did the Corporation too.<br /> +For council dinners made rare havock<br /> +With Claret, Moselle, Vin-de-Grave, Hock;<br /> +And half the money would replenish<br /> +Their cellar's biggest butt with Rhenish.<br /> +To pay this sum to a wandering fellow<br /> +With a gipsy coat of red and yellow!<br /> +"Beside," quoth the Mayor with a knowing wink,<br /> +"Our business was done at the river's brink;<br /> +We saw with our eyes the vermin sink,<br /> +And what's dead can't come to life, I think.<br /> +So, friend, we're not the folks to shrink<br /> +From the duty of giving you something to drink,<br /> +And a matter of money to put in your poke;<br /> +But as for the guilders, what we spoke<br /> +Of them, as you very well know, was in joke;<br /> +Beside, our losses have made us thrifty:<br /> +A thousand guilders! Come, take fifty!"<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_608" id="Page_608">[Pg 608]</a></span> +<br /> +The Piper's face fell, and he cried,<br /> +"No trifling! I can't wait, beside!<br /> +I've promised to visit by dinner time<br /> +Bagdad, and accept the prime<br /> +Of the Head Cook's pottage, all he's rich in,<br /> +For having left in the Caliph's kitchen,<br /> +Of a nest of scorpions no survivor:<br /> +With him I proved no bargain-driver,<br /> +With you, don't think I'll bate a stiver!<br /> +And folks who put me in a passion<br /> +May find me pipe after another fashion."<br /> +<br /> +"How?" cried the Mayor, "d'ye think I'll brook<br /> +Being worse treated than a Cook?<br /> +Insulted by a lazy ribald<br /> +With idle pipe and vesture piebald?<br /> +You threaten us, fellow? Do your worst,<br /> +Blow your pipe there till you burst!"<br /> +<br /> +Once more he stept into the street;<br /> +And to his lips again<br /> +Laid his long pipe of smooth straight cane;<br /> +And ere he blew three notes (such sweet<br /> +Soft notes as yet musician's cunning<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Never gave the enraptured air),</span><br /> +There was a rustling, that seemed like a bustling<br /> +Of merry crowds justling at pitching and hustling,<br /> +Small feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering,<br /> +Little hands clapping and little tongues chattering,<br /> +And, like fowls in a farmyard when barley is scattering,<br /> +Out came the children running.<br /> +All the little boys and girls,<br /> +With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls<br /> +And sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls,<br /> +Tripping and skipping, ran merrily after<br /> +The wonderful music with shouting and laughter.<br /> +<br /> +The Mayor was dumb, and the Council stood<br /> +As if they were changed into blocks of wood,<br /> +Unable to move a step, or cry<br /> +To the children merrily skipping by,<br /> +And could only follow with the eye<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_609" id="Page_609">[Pg 609]</a></span> +<br /> +That joyous crowd at the Piper's back.<br /> +But how the Mayor was on the rack,<br /> +And the wretched Council's bosoms beat,<br /> +As the Piper turned from the High Street<br /> +To where the Weser rolled its waters<br /> +Right in the way of their sons and daughters!<br /> +However he turned from South to West,<br /> +And to Koppelberg Hill his steps addressed,<br /> +And after him the children pressed;<br /> +Great was the joy in every breast.<br /> +"He never can cross that mighty top!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He's forced to let the piping drop,</span><br /> +And we shall see our children stop!"<br /> +When, lo, as they reached the mountain's side,<br /> +A wondrous portal opened wide,<br /> +As if a cavern were suddenly hollowed;<br /> +And the Piper advanced and the children followed,<br /> +And when all were in to the very last,<br /> +The door in the mountain-side shut fast.<br /> +Did I say—all? No! one was lame,<br /> +And could not dance the whole of the way;<br /> +And in after years, if you would blame<br /> +His sadness, he was used to say,—<br /> +"It's dull in our town since my playmates left;<br /> +I can't forget that I'm bereft<br /> +Of all the pleasant sights they see,<br /> +Which the Piper also promised me;<br /> +For he led us, he said, to a joyous land,<br /> +Joining the town and just at hand,<br /> +Where waters gushed and fruit-trees grew,<br /> +And flowers put forth a fairer hue,<br /> +And everything was strange and new;<br /> +The sparrows were brighter than peacocks here,<br /> +And their dogs outran our fallow deer,<br /> +And honey-bees had lost their stings;<br /> +And horses were born with eagle's wings;<br /> +And just as I became assured<br /> +My lame foot would be speedily cured,<br /> +The music stopped, and I stood still,<br /> +And found myself outside the Hill,<br /> +Left alone against my will,<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_610" id="Page_610">[Pg 610]</a></span> + +To go now limping as before,<br /> +And never hear of that country more!"<br /> +<br /> +Alas, alas, for Hamelin!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There came into many a burgher's pate</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A text which says, that Heaven's Gate</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Opes to the Rich at as easy rate</span><br /> +As the needle's eye takes a camel in!<br /> +The Mayor sent East, West, North, and South,<br /> +To offer the Piper by word of mouth,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wherever it was men's lot to find him,</span><br /> +Silver and gold to his heart's content,<br /> +If he'd only return the way he went,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And bring the children all behind him.</span><br /> +But when they saw 'twas a lost endeavour,<br /> +And Piper and dancers were gone for ever,<br /> +They made a decree that lawyers never<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Should think their records dated duly</span><br /> +If, after the day of the month and year,<br /> +These words did not as well appear,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"And so long after what happened here</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On the twenty-second of July,</span><br /> +Thirteen hundred and seventy-six:"<br /> +And the better in memory to fix<br /> +The place of the Children's last retreat,<br /> +They called it the Pied Piper's Street—<br /> +Where any one playing on pipe or tabor<br /> +Was sure for the future to lose his labour.<br /> +Nor suffered they hostelry or tavern<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To shock with mirth a street so solemn;</span><br /> +But opposite the place of the cavern<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They wrote the story on a column.</span><br /> +And on the great Church Window painted<br /> +The same, to make the world acquainted<br /> +How their children were stolen away,<br /> +And there it stands to this very day.<br /> +And I must not omit to say<br /> +That in Transylvania there's a tribe<br /> +Of alien people that ascribe<br /> +The outlandish ways and dress,<br /> +On which their neighbours lay such stress,<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_611" id="Page_611">[Pg 611]</a></span> + +To their fathers and mothers having risen<br /> +Out of some subterraneous prison,<br /> +Into which they were trepanned<br /> +Long time ago in a mighty band<br /> +Out of Hamelin town in Brunswick Land,<br /> +But how or why, they don't understand.<br /> +<br /> +So, Willy, let me and you be wipers<br /> +Of scores out with all men—especially pipers;<br /> +And, whether they pipe us free from rats or from mice,<br /> +If we've promised them aught, let us keep our promise.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Robert Browning.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE GOOSE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I knew an old wife lean and poor,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her rags scarce held together;</span><br /> +There strode a stranger to the door,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And it was windy weather.</span><br /> +<br /> +He held a goose upon his arm,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He utter'd rhyme and reason,</span><br /> +"Here, take the goose, and keep you warm,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It is a stormy season."</span><br /> +<br /> +She caught the white goose by the leg,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A goose—'twas no great matter.</span><br /> +The goose let fall a golden egg<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With cackle and with clatter.</span><br /> +<br /> +She dropt the goose, and caught the pelf,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And ran to tell her neighbours;</span><br /> +And bless'd herself, and cursed herself,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And rested from her labours.</span><br /> +<br /> +And feeding high, and living soft,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Grew plump and able-bodied;</span><br /> +Until the grave churchwarden doff'd,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The parson smirk'd and nodded.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_612" id="Page_612">[Pg 612]</a></span> + +<br /> +So sitting, served by man and maid,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She felt her heart grow prouder:</span><br /> +But, ah! the more the white goose laid<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It clack'd and cackled louder.</span><br /> +<br /> +It clutter'd here, it chuckled there;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It stirr'd the old wife's mettle:</span><br /> +She shifted in her elbow-chair,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And hurl'd the pan and kettle.</span><br /> +<br /> +"A quinsy choke thy cursed note!"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then wax'd her anger stronger.</span><br /> +"Go, take the goose, and wring her throat,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I will not bear it longer."</span><br /> +<br /> +Then yelp'd the cur, and yawl'd the cat;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ran Gaffer, stumbled Gammer.</span><br /> +The goose flew this way and flew that,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And fill'd the house with clamour.</span><br /> +<br /> +As head and heels upon the floor<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They flounder'd all together,</span><br /> +There strode a stranger to the door,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And it was windy weather:</span><br /> +<br /> +He took the goose upon his arm,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He utter'd words of scorning;</span><br /> +"So keep you cold, or keep you warm,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It is a stormy morning."</span><br /> +<br /> +The wild wind rang from park and plain,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And round the attics rumbled,</span><br /> +Till all the tables danced again,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And half the chimneys tumbled.</span><br /> +<br /> +The glass blew in, the fire blew out,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The blast was hard and harder.</span><br /> +Her cap blew off, her gown blew up,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And a whirlwind clear'd the larder:</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_613" id="Page_613">[Pg 613]</a></span> + +<br /> +And while on all sides breaking loose<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her household fled the danger,</span><br /> +Quoth she, "The Devil take the goose,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And God forget the stranger!"</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Lord Tennyson.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE BALLAD OF CHARITY</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +It was in a pleasant deepô, sequestered from the rain,<br /> +That many weary passengers were waitin' for the train;<br /> +Piles of quite expensive baggage, many a gorgeous portmantó,<br /> +Ivory-handled umberellas made a most touristic show.<br /> +<br /> +Whereunto there came a person, very humble was his mien,<br /> +Who took an observation of the interestin' scene;<br /> +Closely scanned the umberellas, watched with joy the mighty trunks,<br /> +And observed that all the people were securin' Pullman bunks:<br /> +<br /> +Who was followed shortly after by a most unhappy tramp,<br /> +Upon whose features poverty had jounced her iron stamp;<br /> +And to make a clear impression as bees sting you while they buzz,<br /> +She had hit him rather harder than she generally does.<br /> +<br /> +For he was so awful ragged, and in parts so awful bare,<br /> +That the folks were quite repulsioned to behold him begging there;<br /> +And instead of drawing currency from out their pocket-books,<br /> +They drew themselves asunder with aversionary looks.<br /> +<br /> +Sternly gazed the first newcomer on the unindulgent crowd,<br /> +Then in tones which pierced the deepô he solilicussed aloud:—<br /> +"I hev trevelled o'er this cont'nent from Quebec to Bogotáw,<br /> +But sech a set of scallawags as these I never saw.<br /> +<br /> +"Ye are wealthy, ye are gifted, ye have house and lands and rent,<br /> +Yet unto a suff'rin' mortal ye will not donate a cent;<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_614" id="Page_614">[Pg 614]</a></span> + +Ye expend your missionaries to the heathen and the Jew,<br /> +But there isn't any heathen that is half as small as you.<br /> +<br /> +"Ye are lucky—ye hev cheque-books and deeposits in the bank,<br /> +And ye squanderate your money on the titled folks of rank;<br /> +The onyx and the sardonyx upon your garments shine,<br /> +An' ye drink at every dinner p'r'aps a dollar's wuth of wine.<br /> +<br /> +"Ye are goin' for the summer to the islands by the sea,<br /> +Where it costs four dollars daily—setch is not for setch as me;<br /> +Iv'ry-handled umberellas do not come into my plan,<br /> +But I kin give a dollar to this suff'rin' fellow-man.<br /> +<br /> +"Hand-bags made of Rooshy leather are not truly at my call,<br /> +Yet in the eyes of Mussy I am richer 'en you all,<br /> +For I kin give a dollar wher' you dare not stand a dime,<br /> +And never miss it nother, nor regret it ary time."<br /> +<br /> +Sayin' this he drew a wallet from the inner of his vest,<br /> +And gave the tramp a daddy, which it was his level best;<br /> +Other people havin' heard him soon to charity inclined—<br /> +One giver soon makes twenty if you only get their wind.<br /> +<br /> +The first who gave the dollar led the other one about,<br /> +And at every contribution he a-raised a joyful shout,<br /> +Exclaimin' how 'twas noble to relieviate distress,<br /> +And remarkin' that our duty is our present happiness.<br /> +<br /> +Thirty dollars altogether were collected by the tramp,<br /> +When he bid 'em all good evenin' and went out into the damp,<br /> +And was followed briefly after by the one who made the speech,<br /> +And who showed by good example how to practise as to preach.<br /> +<br /> +Which soon around the corner the couple quickly met,<br /> +And the tramp produced the specie for to liquidate his debt;<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_615" id="Page_615">[Pg 615]</a></span> + +And the man who did the preachin' took his twenty of the sum,<br /> +Which you see that out of thirty left a tenner for the bum.<br /> +<br /> +And the couple passed the summer at Bar Harbor with the rest,<br /> +Greatly changed in their appearance and most elegently dressed.<br /> +Any fowl with change of feathers may a brilliant bird become:<br /> +Oh, how hard is life for many! oh, how sweet it is for some!<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Charles Godfrey Leland.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE POST CAPTAIN</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +When they heard the Captain humming and beheld the dancing crew,<br /> +On the "Royal Biddy" frigate was Sir Peter Bombazoo;<br /> +His mind was full of music and his head was full of tunes,<br /> +And he cheerfully exhibited on pleasant afternoons.<br /> +<br /> +He could whistle, on his fingers, an invigorating reel,<br /> +And could imitate a piper on the handles of the wheel;<br /> +He could play in double octaves, too, all up and down the rail,<br /> +Or rattle off a rondo on the bottom of a pail.<br /> +<br /> +Then porters with their packages and bakers with their buns,<br /> +And countesses in carriages and grenadiers with guns,<br /> +And admirals and commodores arrived from near and far,<br /> +To listen to the music of this entertaining tar.<br /> +<br /> +When they heard the Captain humming and beheld the dancing crew.<br /> +The commodores severely said, "Why, this will never do!"<br /> +And the admirals all hurried home, remarking, "This is most<br /> +Extraordinary conduct for a captain at his post."<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_616" id="Page_616">[Pg 616]</a></span> +<br /> +Then they sent some sailing-orders to Sir Peter, in a boat,<br /> +And he did a little fifing on the edges of the note;<br /> +But he read the sailing orders, as of course he had to do,<br /> +And removed the "Royal Biddy" to the Bay of Boohgabooh.<br /> +<br /> +Now, Sir Peter took it kindly, but it's proper to explain<br /> +He was sent to catch a pirate out upon the Spanish Main.<br /> +And he played, with variations, an imaginary tune<br /> +On the buttons of his waistcoat, like a jocular bassoon.<br /> +<br /> +Then a topman saw the pirate come a-sailing in the bay,<br /> +And reported to the Captain in the ordinary way.<br /> +"I'll receive him," said Sir Peter, "with a musical salute,"<br /> +And he gave some imitations of a double-jointed flute.<br /> +<br /> +Then the Pirate cried derisively, "I've heard it done before!"<br /> +And he hoisted up a banner emblematical of gore.<br /> +But Sir Peter said serenely, "You may double-shot the guns<br /> +While I sing my little ballad of 'The Butter on the Buns.'"<br /> +<br /> +Then the Pirate banged Sir Peter and Sir Peter banged him back,<br /> +And they banged away together as they took another tack.<br /> +Then Sir Peter said, politely, "You may board him, if you like,"<br /> +And he played a little dirge upon the handle of a pike.<br /> +<br /> +Then the "Biddies" poured like hornets down upon the Pirate's deck<br /> +And Sir Peter caught the Pirate and he took him by the neck,<br /> +And remarked, "You must excuse me, but you acted like a brute<br /> +When I gave my imitation of that double-jointed flute."<br /> +<br /> +So they took that wicked Pirate and they took his wicked crew,<br /> +And tied them up with double knots in packages of two.<br /> +And left them lying on their backs in rows upon the beach<br /> +With a little bread and water within comfortable reach.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_617" id="Page_617">[Pg 617]</a></span> +<br /> +Now the Pirate had a treasure (mostly silverware and gold),<br /> +And Sir Peter took and stowed it in the bottom of his hold;<br /> +And said, "I will retire on this cargo of doubloons,<br /> +And each of you, my gallant crew, may have some silver spoons."<br /> +<br /> +Now commodores in coach-and-fours and corporals in cabs,<br /> +And men with carts of pies and tarts and fishermen with crabs,<br /> +And barristers with wigs, in gigs, still gather on the strand,<br /> +But there isn't any music save a little German band.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Charles E. Carryl.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>ROBINSON CRUSOE'S STORY</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The night was thick and hazy</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When the <i>Piccadilly Daisy</i></span><br /> +Carried down the crew and captain in the sea;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I think the water drowned 'em,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For they never, never found 'em,</span><br /> +And I know they didn't come ashore with me.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh! 'twas very sad and lonely</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When I found myself the only</span><br /> +Population on this cultivated shore;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But I've made a little tavern</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In a rocky little cavern,</span><br /> +And I sit and watch for people at the door.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I spent no time in looking</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For a girl to do my cooking,</span><br /> +As I'm quite a clever hand at making stews;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But I had that fellow Friday</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Just to keep the tavern tidy,</span><br /> +And to put a Sunday polish on my shoes.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I have a little garden</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That I'm cultivating lard in,</span><br /> +As the things I eat are rather tough and dry;<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_618" id="Page_618">[Pg 618]</a></span> + +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For I live on toasted lizards,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Prickly pears and parrot gizzards,</span><br /> +And I'm really very fond of beetle pie.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The clothes I had were furry,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And it made me fret and worry</span><br /> +When I found the moths were eating off the hair;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I had to scrape and sand 'em,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I boiled 'em and I tanned 'em,</span><br /> +Till I got the fine morocco suit I wear.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I sometimes seek diversion</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In a family excursion,</span><br /> +With the few domestic animals you see;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And we take along a carrot</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As refreshment for the parrot,</span><br /> +And a little can of jungleberry tea.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then we gather as we travel</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bits of moss and dirty gravel,</span><br /> +And we chip off little specimens of stone;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And we carry home as prizes</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Funny bugs of handy sizes,</span><br /> +Just to give the day a scientific tone.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If the roads are wet and muddy</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We remain at home and study,—</span><br /> +For the Goat is very clever at a sum,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the Dog, instead of fighting</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Studies ornamental writing,</span><br /> +While the Cat is taking lessons on the drum.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We retire at eleven,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And we rise again at seven;</span><br /> +And I wish to call attention, as I close,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the fact that all the scholars</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are correct about their collars,</span><br /> +And particular in turning out their toes.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Charles E. Carryl.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_619" id="Page_619">[Pg 619]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>BEN BLUFF</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Ben Bluff was a whaler, and many a day<br /> +Had chased the huge fish about Baffin's old Bay;<br /> +But time brought a change his diversion to spoil,<br /> +And that was when Gas took the shine out of Oil.<br /> +<br /> +He turned up his nose at the fumes of the coke,<br /> +And swore the whole scheme was a bottle of smoke;<br /> +As to London, he briefly delivered his mind,<br /> +"Sparma-city," said he,—but the city declined.<br /> +<br /> +So Ben cut his line in a sort of a huff,<br /> +As soon as his whales had brought profits enough,—<br /> +And hard by the Docks settled down for his life,<br /> +But, true to his text, went to Wales for a wife.<br /> +<br /> +A big one she was, without figure or waist,<br /> +More bulky than lovely, but that was his taste;<br /> +In fat she was lapped from her sole to her crown,<br /> +And, turned into oil, would have lighted a town.<br /> +<br /> +But Ben, like a whaler, was charmed with the match,<br /> +And thought, very truly, his spouse a great catch;<br /> +A flesh-and-blood emblem of Plenty and Peace,<br /> +And would not have changed her for Helen of Greece!<br /> +<br /> +For Greenland was green in his memory still;<br /> +He'd quitted his trade, but retained the good-will;<br /> +And often when softened by bumbo and flip,<br /> +Would cry till he blubbered about his old ship.<br /> +<br /> +No craft like the <i>Grampus</i> could work through a floe,<br /> +What knots she could run, and what tons she could stow!<br /> +And then that rich smell he preferred to the rose,<br /> +By just nosing the hold without holding his nose.<br /> +<br /> +Now Ben he resolved, one fine Saturday night,<br /> +A snug arctic circle of friends to invite;<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_620" id="Page_620">[Pg 620]</a></span> + +Old tars in the trade, who related old tales,<br /> +And drank, and blew clouds that were "very like whales."<br /> +<br /> +Of course with their grog there was plenty of chat,<br /> +Of canting, and flenching, and cutting up fat;<br /> +And how gun-harpoons into fashion had got,<br /> +And if they were meant for the gun-whale or not?<br /> +<br /> +At last they retired, and left Ben to his rest,<br /> +By fancies cetaceous and drink well possessed,<br /> +When, lo! as he lay by his partner in bed,<br /> +He heard something blow through two holes in its head!<br /> +<br /> +"A start!" muttered Ben, in the <i>Grampus</i> afloat,<br /> +And made but one jump from the deck to the boat!<br /> +"Huzza! pull away for the blubber and bone,—<br /> +I look on that whale as already my own!"<br /> +<br /> +Then groping about by the light of the moon,<br /> +He soon laid his hand on his trusty harpoon;<br /> +A moment he poised it, to send it more pat,<br /> +And then made a plunge to imbed it in fat!<br /> +<br /> +"Starn all!" he sang out, "as you care for your lives,—<br /> +Starn all! as you hope to return to your wives,—<br /> +Stand by for the flurry! she throws up the foam!<br /> +Well done, my old iron; I've sent you right home!"<br /> +<br /> +And scarce had he spoken, when lo! bolt upright<br /> +The leviathan rose in a great sheet of white,<br /> +And swiftly advanced for a fathom or two,<br /> +As only a fish out of water could do.<br /> +<br /> +"Starn all!" echoed Ben, with a movement aback,<br /> +But too slow to escape from the creature's attack;<br /> +If flippers it had, they were furnished with nails,—<br /> +"You willin, I'll teach you that women ain't whales!"<br /> +<br /> +"Avast!" shouted Ben, with a sort of a screech,<br /> +"I've heard a whale spouting, but here is a speech!"<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_621" id="Page_621">[Pg 621]</a></span> + +"A-spouting, indeed!—very pretty," said she;<br /> +"But it's you I'll blow up, not the froth of the sea!<br /> +<br /> +"To go to pretend to take <i>me</i> for a fish!<br /> +You great polar bear—but I know what you wish;<br /> +You're sick of a wife that your hankering balks,<br /> +You want to go back to some young Esquimaux!"<br /> +<br /> +"O dearest," cried Ben, frightened out of his life,<br /> +"Don't think I would go for to murder a wife<br /> +I must long have bewailed!" But she only cried, "Stuff!"<br /> +Don't name it, you brute, you've <i>be-whaled</i> me enough!"<br /> +<br /> +"Lord, Polly!" said Ben, "such a deed could I do?<br /> +I'd rather have murdered all Wapping than you!<br /> +Come, forgive what is past." "O you monster!" she cried,<br /> +"It was none of your fault that it passed off one side!"<br /> +<br /> +However, at last she inclined to forgive;<br /> +"But, Ben, take this warning as long as you live,—<br /> +If the love of harpooning so strong must prevail,<br /> +Take a whale for a wife,—not a wife for a whale!"<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Thomas Hood.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE PILGRIMS AND THE PEAS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +A brace of sinners, for no good,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Were order'd to the Virgin Mary's shrine,</span><br /> +Who at Loretto dwelt, in wax, stone, wood,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And in a fair white wig look'd wondrous fine.</span><br /> +<br /> +Fifty long miles had those sad rogues to travel,<br /> +With something in their shoes much worse than gravel;<br /> +In short, their toes so gentle to amuse,<br /> +The priest had order'd peas into their shoes:<br /> +<br /> +A nostrum, famous in old popish times,<br /> +For purifying souls that stunk with crimes;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A sort of apostolic salt,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which popish parsons for its powers exalt,</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_622" id="Page_622">[Pg 622]</a></span> + +For keeping souls of sinners sweet,<br /> +Just as our kitchen salt keeps meat.<br /> +<br /> +The knaves set off on the same day,<br /> +Peas in their shoes, to go and pray:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But very different was their speed, I wot:</span><br /> +One of the sinners gallop'd on,<br /> +Swift as a bullet from a gun;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The other limp'd, as if he had been shot.</span><br /> +<br /> +One saw the Virgin soon—<i>peccavi</i> cried—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Had his soul whitewash'd all so clever;</span><br /> +Then home again he nimbly hied,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Made fit with saints above to live forever.</span><br /> +<br /> +In coming back, however, let me say,<br /> +He met his brother rogue about half-way,<br /> +Hobbling, with outstretch'd arms and bended knees,<br /> +Damning the souls and bodies of the peas;<br /> +His eyes in tears, his cheeks and brow in sweat,<br /> +Deep sympathizing with his groaning feet.<br /> +<br /> +"How now," the light-toed, white-wash'd pilgrim broke,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"You lazy lubber!"</span><br /> +"Odds curse it!" cried the other, "'tis no joke;<br /> +My feet, once hard as any rock,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are now as soft as blubber.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Excuse me, Virgin Mary, that I swear:<br /> +As for Loretto, I shall not go there;<br /> +No! to the Devil my sinful soul must go,<br /> +For damme if I ha'n't lost every toe.<br /> +But, brother sinner, pray explain<br /> +How 'tis that you are not in pain?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What power hath work'd a wonder for your toes?</span><br /> +Whilst I, just like a snail, am crawling,<br /> +Now swearing, now on saints devoutly bawling,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whilst not a rascal comes to ease my woes?</span><br /> +<br /> +"How is't that <i>you</i> can like a greyhound go,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Merry as if that naught had happen'd, burn ye!"</span><br /> +"Why," cried the other, grinning, "you must know,<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_623" id="Page_623">[Pg 623]</a></span> + +That, just before I ventured on my journey,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To walk a little more at ease,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I took the liberty to boil <i>my</i> peas."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>John Wolcot.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>TAM O'SHANTER</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +When chapman billies leave the street,<br /> +And drouthy neibors neibors meet,<br /> +As market days are wearin' late,<br /> +And folk begin to tak the gate:<br /> +<br /> +While we sit bousing at the nappy,<br /> +And gettin' fou and unco happy,<br /> +We thinkna on the lang Scots miles,<br /> +The mosses, waters, slaps, and stiles,<br /> +That lie between us and our hame,<br /> +Whare sits our sulky sullen dame,<br /> +Gathering her brows like gathering storm,<br /> +Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.<br /> +<br /> +This truth fand honest Tam o'Shanter,<br /> +As he frae Ayr ae night did canter<br /> +(Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses<br /> +For honest men and bonny lasses).<br /> +<br /> +O Tam! hadst thou but been sae wise<br /> +As ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advice!<br /> +She tauld thee weel thou wast a skellum,<br /> +A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum;<br /> +That frae November till October,<br /> +Ae market day thou wasna sober;<br /> +That ilka melder, wi' the miller<br /> +Thou sat as lang as thou hadst siller;<br /> +That every naig was ca'd a shoe on,<br /> +The smith and thee gat roaring fou on;<br /> +That at the Lord's house, even on Sunday,<br /> +Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday.<br /> +She prophesied, that, late or soon,<br /> +Thou wouldst be found deep drown'd in Doon!<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_624" id="Page_624">[Pg 624]</a></span> + +Or catch'd wi' warlocks i' the mirk,<br /> +By Alloway's auld haunted kirk.<br /> +<br /> +Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet<br /> +To think how mony counsels sweet,<br /> +How mony lengthen'd, sage advices,<br /> +The husband frae the wife despises!<br /> +<br /> +But to our tale:—Ae market night,<br /> +Tam had got planted unco right,<br /> +Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely,<br /> +Wi' reaming swats, that drank divinely;<br /> +And at his elbow, Souter Johnny,<br /> +His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony;<br /> +Tam lo'ed him like a very brither—<br /> +They had been fou for weeks thegither!<br /> +The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter,<br /> +And aye the ale was growing better:<br /> +The landlady and Tam grew gracious,<br /> +Wi' favours secret, sweet, and precious<br /> +The Souter tauld his queerest stories,<br /> +The landlord's laugh was ready chorus:<br /> +The storm without might rair and rustle—<br /> +Tam didna mind the storm a whistle.<br /> +<br /> +Care, mad to see a man sae happy,<br /> +E'en drown'd himsel' amang the nappy!<br /> +As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure,<br /> +The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure;<br /> +Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious,<br /> +O'er a' the ills o' life victorious!<br /> +<br /> +But pleasures are like poppies spread,<br /> +You seize the flower, its bloom is shed!<br /> +Or like the snowfall in the river,<br /> +A moment white—then melts for ever;<br /> +Or like the borealis race,<br /> +That flit ere you can point their place<br /> +Or like the rainbow's lovely form,<br /> +Evanishing amid the storm.<br /> +Nae man can tether time or tide;<br /> +The hour approaches Tam maun ride;<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_625" id="Page_625">[Pg 625]</a></span> + +That hour, o' night's black arch the keystane,<br /> +That dreary hour he mounts his beast in;<br /> +And sic a night he taks the road in<br /> +As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in.<br /> +<br /> +The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last;<br /> +The rattling showers rose on the blast;<br /> +The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd;<br /> +Loud, deep, and lang, the thunder bellow'd:<br /> +That night, a child might understand<br /> +The deil had business on his hand.<br /> +<br /> +Weel mounted on his grey mare Meg,<br /> +A better never lifted leg,<br /> +Tam skelpit on through dub and mire,<br /> +Despising wind, and rain, and fire;<br /> +Whiles holding fast his guid blue bonnet,<br /> +Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet;<br /> +Whiles glowering round wi' prudent cares,<br /> +Lest bogles catch him unawares:<br /> +Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh,<br /> +Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry.<br /> +By this time he was 'cross the foord,<br /> +Whare in the snaw the chapman smoor'd;<br /> +And past the birks and meikle stane<br /> +Whare drunken Charlie brak's neck-bane:<br /> +And through the whins, and by the cairn<br /> +Whare hunters fand the murder'd bairn;<br /> +And near the thorn, aboon the well,<br /> +Whare Mungo's mither hang'd hersel'.<br /> +Before him Doon pours a' his floods;<br /> +The doubling storm roars through the woods;<br /> +The lightnings flash frae pole to pole;<br /> +Near and more near the thunders roll;<br /> +When, glimmering through the groaning trees,<br /> +Kirk-Alloway seem'd in a bleeze;<br /> +Through ilka bore the beams were glancing,<br /> +And loud resounded mirth and dancing.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_626" id="Page_626">[Pg 626]</a></span> +<br /> +Inspiring bold John Barleycorn!<br /> +What dangers thou canst mak us scorn!<br /> +Wi' tippenny, we fear nae evil;<br /> +Wi' usquebae, we'll face the devil!—<br /> +The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle,<br /> +Fair play, he cared na deils a boddle.<br /> +But Maggie stood right sair astonish'd,<br /> +Till, by the heel and hand admonish'd,<br /> +She ventured forward on the light;<br /> +And, wow! Tam saw an unco sight!<br /> +Warlocks and witches in a dance;<br /> +Nae cotillon brent-new frae France,<br /> +But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels,<br /> +Put life and mettle i' their heels:<br /> +At winnock-bunker, i' the east,<br /> +There sat auld Nick, in shape o' beast;<br /> +A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large,<br /> +To gie them music was his charge;<br /> +He screw'd the pipes, and gart them skirl,<br /> +Till roof and rafters a' did dirl.<br /> +Coffins stood round, like open presses,<br /> +That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses;<br /> +And by some devilish cantrip slight<br /> +Each in its cauld hand held a light,—<br /> +By which heroic Tam was able<br /> +To note upon the haly table,<br /> +A murderer's banes in gibbet airns;<br /> +Twa span-lang, wee, unchristian bairns;<br /> +A thief, new-cutted frae a rape,<br /> +Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape;<br /> +Five tomahawks, wi' bluid red-rusted;<br /> +Five scimitars, wi' murder crusted;<br /> +A garter, which a babe had strangled;<br /> +A knife, a father's throat had mangled,<br /> +Whom his ain son o' life bereft,<br /> +The grey hairs yet stack to the heft:<br /> +Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu',<br /> +Which even to name wad be unlawfu'.<br /> +<br /> +As Tammie glower'd, amazed and curious<br /> +The mirth and fun grew fast and furious<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_627" id="Page_627">[Pg 627]</a></span> + +The piper loud and louder blew,<br /> +The dancers quick and quicker flew;<br /> +They reel'd, they set, they cross'd, they cleekit,<br /> +Till ilka carlin swat and reekit,<br /> +And coost her duddies to the wark,<br /> +And linket at it in her sark.<br /> +Now Tam! O Tam! had thae been queans,<br /> +A' plump and strappin' in their teens,<br /> +Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen,<br /> +Been snaw-white seventeen-hunder linen!<br /> +Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair,<br /> +That ance were plush, o' guid blue hair,<br /> +I wad hae gien them aff my hurdies,<br /> +For ae blink o' the bonny burdies!<br /> +<br /> +But wither'd beldams, auld and droll,<br /> +Rigwoodie hags, wad spean a foal,<br /> +Lowpin' and flingin' on a cummock,<br /> +I wonder didna turn thy stomach.<br /> +<br /> +But Tam kenn'd what was what fu' brawlie,<br /> +"There was ae winsome wench and walie,"<br /> +That night enlisted in the core<br /> +(Lang after kenn'd on Carrick shore;<br /> +For mony a beast to dead she shot,<br /> +And perish'd money a bonny boat,<br /> +And shook baith meikle corn and bear,<br /> +And kept the country-side in fear).<br /> +Her cutty sark, o' Paisley harn,<br /> +That, while a lassie, she had worn,<br /> +In longitude though sorely scanty,<br /> +It was her best, and she was vauntie.<br /> +<br /> +Ah! little kenn'd thy reverend grannie,<br /> +That sark she coft for her wee Nannie,<br /> +Wi' twa pund Scots ('twas a' her riches),<br /> +Wad ever graced a dance o' witches!<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_628" id="Page_628">[Pg 628]</a></span> + +But here my Muse her wing maun core,<br /> +Sic flights are far beyond her power;<br /> +To sing how Nannie lap and flang<br /> +(A souple jade she was, and strang),<br /> +And how Tam stood, like ane bewitch'd,<br /> +And thought, his very een enriched.<br /> +Even Satan glower'd, and fidged fu' fain,<br /> +And hotch'd and blew wi' might and main;<br /> +Till first ae caper, syne anither,<br /> +Tam tint his reason a' thegither,<br /> +And roars out, "Weel done, Cutty-sark!"<br /> +And in an instant a' was dark:<br /> +And scarcely had he Maggie rallied,<br /> +When out the hellish legion sallied.<br /> +As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke,<br /> +When plundering herds assail their byke,<br /> +As open pussie's mortal foes,<br /> +When, pop! she starts before their nose;<br /> +As eager runs the market-crowd,<br /> +When "Catch the thief!" resounds aloud;<br /> +So Maggie runs, the witches follow,<br /> +Wi' mony an eldritch screech and hollow.<br /> +<br /> +Ah, Tam! ah, Tam! thou'lt get thy fairin'!<br /> +In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin'!<br /> +In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin'!<br /> +Kate soon will be a woefu' woman!<br /> +Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg,<br /> +And win the keystane of the brig;<br /> +There at them thou thy tail may toss,<br /> +A running stream they darena cross;<br /> +But ere the keystane she could make,<br /> +The fient a tail she had to shake!<br /> +For Nannie, far before the rest,<br /> +Hard upon noble Maggie prest,<br /> +And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle;<br /> +But little wist she Maggie's mettle—<br /> +Ae spring brought off her master hale,<br /> +But left behind her ain grey tail:<br /> +The carlin caught her by the rump,<br /> +And left poor Maggie scarce a stump.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_629" id="Page_629">[Pg 629]</a></span> + +Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read,<br /> +Ilk man and mother's son, take heed:<br /> +Whane'er to drink you are inclined,<br /> +Or cutty-sarks run in your mind,<br /> +Think! ye may buy the joys ower dear—<br /> +Remember Tam o' Shanter's mare.<br /> +</p> +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Robert Burns.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THAT GENTLE MAN FROM BOSTON TOWN</h3> + +<h4>AN IDYL OF OREGON</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Two webfoot brothers loved a fair<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Young lady, rich and good to see;</span><br /> +And oh, her black abundant hair!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And oh, her wondrous witchery!</span><br /> +Her father kept a cattle farm,<br /> +These brothers kept her safe from harm:<br /> +<br /> +From harm of cattle on the hill;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From thick-necked bulls loud bellowing</span><br /> +The livelong morning, loud and shrill,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And lashing sides like anything;</span><br /> +From roaring bulls that tossed the sand<br /> +And pawed the lilies from the land.<br /> +<br /> +There came a third young man. He came<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From far and famous Boston town.</span><br /> +He was not handsome, was not "game,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But he could "cook a goose" as brown</span><br /> +As any man that set foot on<br /> +The sunlit shores of Oregon.<br /> +<br /> +This Boston man he taught the school,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Taught gentleness and love alway,</span><br /> +Said love and kindness, as a rule,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Would ultimately "make it pay."</span><br /> +He was so gentle, kind, that he<br /> +Could make a noun and verb agree.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_630" id="Page_630">[Pg 630]</a></span> + +<br /> +So when one day the brothers grew<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All jealous and did strip to fight,</span><br /> +He gently stood between the two,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And meekly told them 'twas not right.</span><br /> +"I have a higher, better plan,"<br /> +Outspake this gentle Boston man.<br /> +<br /> +"My plan is this: Forget this fray<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">About that lily hand of hers;</span><br /> +Go take your guns and hunt all day<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">High up yon lofty hill of firs,</span><br /> +And while you hunt, my loving doves,<br /> +Why, I will learn which one she loves."<br /> +<br /> +The brothers sat the windy hill,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their hair shone yellow, like spun gold,</span><br /> +Their rifles crossed their laps, but still<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They sat and sighed and shook with cold.</span><br /> +Their hearts lay bleeding far below;<br /> +Above them gleamed white peaks of snow.<br /> +<br /> +Their hounds lay couching, slim and neat;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A spotted circle in the grass.</span><br /> +The valley lay beneath their feet;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They heard the wide-winged eagles pass.</span><br /> +The eagles cleft the clouds above;<br /> +Yet what could they but sigh and love?<br /> +<br /> +"If I could die," the elder sighed,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"My dear young brother here might wed."</span><br /> +"Oh, would to Heaven I had died!"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The younger sighed, with bended head.</span><br /> +Then each looked each full in the face<br /> +And each sprang up and stood in place.<br /> +<br /> +"If I could die,"—the elder spake,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Die by your hand, the world would say</span><br /> +'Twas accident;—and for her sake,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dear brother, be it so, I pray."</span><br /> +"Not that!" the younger nobly said;<br /> +Then tossed his gun and turned his head.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_631" id="Page_631">[Pg 631]</a></span> + +<br /> +And fifty paces back he paced!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And as he paced he drew the ball;</span><br /> +Then sudden stopped and wheeled and faced<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His brother to the death and fall!</span><br /> +Two shots rang wild upon the air!<br /> +But lo! the two stood harmless there!<br /> +<br /> +An eagle poised high in the air;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Far, far below the bellowing</span><br /> +Of bullocks ceased, and everywhere<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Vast silence sat all questioning.</span><br /> +The spotted hounds ran circling round<br /> +Their red, wet noses to the ground.<br /> +<br /> +And now each brother came to know<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That each had drawn the deadly ball;</span><br /> +And for that fair girl far below<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Had sought in vain to silent fall.</span><br /> +And then the two did gladly "shake,"<br /> +And thus the elder bravely spake:<br /> +<br /> +"Now let us run right hastily<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And tell the kind schoolmaster all!</span><br /> +Yea! yea! and if she choose not me,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But all on you her favors fall,</span><br /> +This valiant scene, till all life ends,<br /> +Dear brother, binds us best of friends."<br /> +<br /> +The hounds sped down, a spotted line,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The bulls in tall, abundant grass,</span><br /> +Shook back their horns from bloom and vine,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And trumpeted to see them pass—</span><br /> +They loved so good, they loved so true,<br /> +These brothers scarce knew what to do.<br /> +<br /> +They sought the kind schoolmaster out<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As swift as sweeps the light of morn;</span><br /> +They could but love, they could not doubt<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This man so gentle, "in a horn,"</span><br /> +They cried, "Now whose the lily hand—<br /> +That lady's of this webfoot land?"<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_632" id="Page_632">[Pg 632]</a></span> + +<br /> +They bowed before that big-nosed man,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That long-nosed man from Boston town;</span><br /> +They talked as only lovers can,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They talked, but he could only frown;</span><br /> +And still they talked, and still they plead;<br /> +It was as pleading with the dead.<br /> +<br /> +At last this Boston man did speak—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Her father has a thousand ceows,</span><br /> +An hundred bulls, all fat and sleek;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He also had this ample heouse."</span><br /> +The brothers' eyes stuck out thereat,<br /> +So far you might have hung your hat.<br /> +<br /> +"I liked the looks of this big heouse—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My lovely boys, won't you come in?</span><br /> +Her father has a thousand ceows,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He also had a heap of tin.</span><br /> +The guirl? Oh yes, the guirl, you see—<br /> +The guirl, just neow she married me."<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Joaquin Miller.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE YARN OF THE "NANCY BELL"</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +'Twas on the shores that round our coast<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From Deal to Ramsgate span,</span><br /> +That I found alone on a piece of stone<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An elderly naval man.</span><br /> +<br /> +His hair was weedy, his beard was long,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And weedy and long was he,</span><br /> +And I heard this wight on the shore recite,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In a singular minor key:</span><br /> +<br /> +"Oh, I am a cook and the captain bold,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the mate of the <i>Nancy</i> brig,</span><br /> +And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the crew of the captain's gig."</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_633" id="Page_633">[Pg 633]</a></span> + +<br /> +And he shook his fists and he tore his hair,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till I really felt afraid,</span><br /> +For I couldn't help thinking the man had been drinking,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And so I simply said:</span><br /> +<br /> +"Oh, elderly man, it's little I know<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the duties of men of the sea,</span><br /> +And I'll eat my hand if I understand<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How you can possibly be</span><br /> +<br /> +"At once a cook, and a captain bold,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the mate of the <i>Nancy</i> brig,</span><br /> +And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the crew of the captain's gig."</span><br /> +<br /> +Then he gave a hitch to his trousers, which<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is a trick all seamen larn,</span><br /> +And having got rid of a thumping quid,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He spun this painful yarn:</span><br /> +<br /> +"'Twas in the good ship <i>Nancy Bell</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That we sailed to the Indian Sea,</span><br /> +And there on a reef we come to grief,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which has often occurred to me.</span><br /> +<br /> +"And pretty nigh all the crew was drowned<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(There was seventy-seven o' soul),</span><br /> +And only ten of the <i>Nancy's</i> men<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Said 'here' to the muster-roll.</span><br /> +<br /> +"There was me and the cook and the captain bold,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the mate of the <i>Nancy</i> brig,</span><br /> +And the bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the crew of the captain's gig.</span><br /> +<br /> +"For a month we'd neither wittles nor drink,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till a-hungry we did feel,</span><br /> +So we drawed a lot, and accordin' shot<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The captain for our meal.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_634" id="Page_634">[Pg 634]</a></span> + +<br /> +"The next lot fell to the <i>Nancy's</i> mate,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And a delicate dish he made;</span><br /> +Then our appetite with the midshipmite<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We seven survivors stayed.</span><br /> +<br /> +"And then we murdered the bos'un tight,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And he much resembled pig;</span><br /> +Then we wittled free, did the cook and me,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On the crew of the captain's gig.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Then only the cook and me was left,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the delicate question, 'Which</span><br /> +Of us two goes to the kettle?' arose,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And we argued it out as sich.</span><br /> +<br /> +"For I loved that cook as a brother, I did,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the cook he worshipped me;</span><br /> +But we'd both be blowed if we'd either be stowed<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the other chap's hold, you see.</span><br /> +<br /> +"'I'll be eat if you dines off me,' says Tom.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Yes, that,' says I, 'you'll be,—</span><br /> +I'm boiled if I die, my friend,' quoth I.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And 'Exactly so,' quoth he.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Says he, 'Dear James, to murder me<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Were a foolish thing to do,</span><br /> +For don't you see that you can't cook <i>me</i>,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While I can—and will—cook <i>you</i>!'</span><br /> +<br /> +"So he boils the water, and takes the salt<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the pepper in portions true</span><br /> +(Which he never forgot), and some chopped shalot,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And some sage and parsley too.</span><br /> +<br /> +"'Come here,' says he, with a proper pride,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which his smiling features tell,</span><br /> +''Twill soothing be if I let you see<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How extremely nice you'll smell.'</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_635" id="Page_635">[Pg 635]</a></span> + +<br /> +"And he stirred it round and round and round,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And he sniffed at the foaming froth;</span><br /> +When I ups with his heels, and smothers his squeals<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the scum of the boiling broth.</span><br /> +<br /> +"And I eat that cook in a week or less,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And—as I eating be</span><br /> +The last of his chops, why, I almost drops,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For a vessel in sight I see.</span></p> + +<hr style="width: 33%; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;" /> + +<p>"And I never larf, and I never smile,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I never lark or play,</span><br /> +But sit and croak, and a single joke<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I have,—which is to say:</span><br /> +<br /> +"Oh, I am a cook and a captain bold,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the mate of the <i>Nancy</i> brig,</span><br /> +And a bos'un tight, and a midshipmite,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the crew of the captain's gig."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>W. S. Gilbert.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>FERDINANDO AND ELVIRA</h3> + +<h4>OR, THE GENTLE PIEMAN</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p class='h_5'>PART I</p> + +<p class='poem'>At a pleasant evening party I had taken down to supper</p> +<p class='poem'>One whom I will call Elvira, and we talked of love and Tupper.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>Mr. Tupper and the Poets, very lightly with them dealing,</p> +<p class='poem'>For I've always been distinguished for a strong poetic feeling.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>Then we let off paper crackers, each of which contained a motto,</p> +<p class='poem'>And she listened while I read them, till her mother told her not to.</p> +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_636" id="Page_636">[Pg 636]</a></span> + +</p> +<p class='poem'>Then she whispered, "To the ballroom we had better, dear, be walking;</p> +<p class='poem'>If we stop down here much longer, really people will be talking."</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>There were noblemen in coronets, and military cousins,</p> +<p class='poem'>There were captains by the hundred, there were baronets by dozens.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>Yet she heeded not their offers, but dismissed them with a blessing;</p> +<p class='poem'>Then she let down all her back hair, which had taken long in dressing.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>Then she had convulsive sobbings in her agitated throttle,</p> +<p class='poem'>Then she wiped her pretty eyes and smelt her pretty smelling bottle.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>So I whispered, "Dear Elvira, say,—what can the matter be with you?</p> +<p class='poem'>Does anything you've eaten, darling Popsy, disagree with you?"</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>But spite of all I said, her sobs grew more and more distressing,</p> +<p class='poem'>And she tore her pretty back hair, which had taken long in dressing.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>Then she gazed upon the carpet, at the ceiling, then above me,</p> +<p class='poem'>And she whispered, "Ferdinando, do you really, <i>really</i> love me?"</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>"Love you?" said I, then I sighed, and then I gazed upon her sweetly—</p> +<p class='poem'>For I think I do this sort of thing particularly neatly.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>"Send me to the Arctic regions, or illimitable azure,</p> +<p class='poem'>On a scientific goose-chase, with my Coxwell or my Glaisher!</p> +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_637" id="Page_637">[Pg 637]</a></span> + +</p> +<p class='poem'>"Tell me whither I may hie me—tell me, dear one, that I may know—</p> +<p class='poem'>Is it up the highest Andes? down a horrible volcano?"</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>But she said, "It isn't polar bears, or hot volcanic grottoes;</p> +<p class='poem'>Only find out who it is that writes those lovely cracker mottoes!"</p> + +<p class='h_5'>PART II</p> + +<p class='poem'>"Tell me, Henry Wadsworth, Alfred, Poet Close, or Mister Tupper,</p> +<p class='poem'>Do you write the bon-ton mottoes my Elvira pulls at supper?"</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>But Henry Wadsworth smiled, and said he had not had that honor;</p> +<p class='poem'>And Alfred, too, disclaimed the words that told so much upon her.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>"Mister Martin Tupper, Poet Close, I beg of you inform us;"</p> +<p class='poem'>But my question seemed to throw them both into a rage enormous.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>Mister Close expressed a wish that he could only get anigh to me;</p> +<p class='poem'>And Mister Martin Tupper sent the following reply to me:</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>"A fool is bent upon a twig, but wise men dread a bandit,"—</p> +<p class='poem'>Which I know was very clever; but I didn't understand it.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>Seven weary years I wandered—Patagonia, China, Norway,</p> +<p class='poem'>Till at last I sank exhausted at a pastrycook his doorway.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>There were fuchsias and geraniums, and daffodils and myrtle;</p> +<p class='poem'>So I entered, and I ordered half a basin of mock turtle.</p> +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_638" id="Page_638">[Pg 638]</a></span> + +</p> +<p class='poem'>He was plump and he was chubby, he was smooth and he was rosy,</p> +<p class='poem'>And his little wife was pretty and particularly cosy.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>And he chirped and sang, and skipped about, and laughed with laughter hearty—</p> +<p class='poem'>He was wonderfully active for so very stout a party.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>And I said, "O gentle pieman, why so very, very merry?</p> +<p class='poem'>Is it purity of conscience, or your one-and-seven sherry?"</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>But he answered, "I'm so happy—no profession could be dearer—</p> +<p class='poem'>If I am not humming 'Tra la la' I'm singing 'Tirer, lirer!'</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>"First I go and make the patties, and the puddings, and the jellies,</p> +<p class='poem'>Then I make a sugar bird-cage, which upon a table swell is:</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>"Then I polish all the silver, which a supper-table lacquers:</p> +<p class='poem'>Then I write the pretty mottoes which you find inside the crackers—"</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>"Found at last!" I madly shouted. "Gentle pieman, you astound me!"</p> +<p class='poem'>Then I waved the turtle soup enthusiastically round me.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>And I shouted and I danced until he'd quite a crowd around him,</p> +<p class='poem'>And I rushed away, exclaiming, "I have found him! I have found him!"</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>And I heard the gentle pieman in the road behind me trilling,</p> +<p class='poem'>"'Tira! lira!' stop him, stop him! 'Tra! la! la!' the soup's a shilling!"</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>But until I reached Elvira's home, I never, never waited,</p> +<p class='poem'>And Elvira to her Ferdinand's irrevocably mated!</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>W. S. Gilbert.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_639" id="Page_639">[Pg 639]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>GENTLE ALICE BROWN</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +It was a robber's daughter, and her name was Alice Brown.<br /> +Her father was the terror of a small Italian town;<br /> +Her mother was a foolish, weak, but amiable old thing;<br /> +But it isn't of her parents that I'm going for to sing.<br /> +<br /> +As Alice was a-sitting at her window-sill one day,<br /> +A beautiful young gentleman he chanced to pass that way;<br /> +She cast her eyes upon him, and he looked so good and true,<br /> +That she thought, "I could be happy with a gentleman like you!"<br /> +<br /> +And every morning passed her house that cream of gentlemen,<br /> +She knew she might expect him at a quarter unto ten,<br /> +A sorter in the Custom-house, it was his daily road<br /> +(The Custom-house was fifteen minutes' walk from her abode.)<br /> +<br /> +But Alice was a pious girl, who knew it wasn't wise<br /> +To look at strange young sorters with expressive purpleeyes;<br /> +So she sought the village priest to whom her family confessed,<br /> +The priest by whom their little sins were carefully assessed.<br /> +<br /> +"Oh, holy father," Alice said, "'twould grieve you, would it not?<br /> +To discover that I was a most disreputable lot!<br /> +Of all unhappy sinners I'm the most unhappy one!"<br /> +The padre said, "Whatever have you been and gone and done?"<br /> +<br /> +"I have helped mamma to steal a little kiddy from its dad,<br /> +I've assisted dear papa in cutting up a little lad.<br /> +I've planned a little burglary and forged a little cheque,<br /> +And slain a little baby for the coral on its neck!"<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_640" id="Page_640">[Pg 640]</a></span> +<br /> +The worthy pastor heaved a sigh, and dropped a silent tear—<br /> +And said, "You mustn't judge yourself too heavily, my dear—<br /> +It's wrong to murder babies, little corals for to fleece;<br /> +But sins like these one expiates at half-a-crown apiece.<br /> +<br /> +"Girls will be girls—you're very young, and flighty in your mind;<br /> +Old heads upon young shoulders we must not expect to find:<br /> +We mustn't be too hard upon these little girlish tricks—<br /> +Let's see—five crimes at half-a-crown—exactly twelve-and-six."<br /> +<br /> +"Oh, father," little Alice cried, "your kindness makes me weep,<br /> +You do these little things for me so singularly cheap—<br /> +Your thoughtful liberality I never can forget;<br /> +But oh, there is another crime I haven't mentioned yet!<br /> +<br /> +"A pleasant-looking gentleman, with pretty purple eyes,<br /> +I've noticed at my window, as I've sat a-catching flies;<br /> +He passes by it every day as certain as can be—<br /> +I blush to say I've winked at him and he has winked at me!"<br /> +<br /> +"For shame," said Father Paul, "my erring daughter! On my word<br /> +This is the most distressing news that I have ever heard.<br /> +Why, naughty girl, your excellent papa has pledged your hand<br /> +To a promising young robber, the lieutenant of his band!<br /> +<br /> +"This dreadful piece of news will pain your worthy parents so!<br /> +They are the most remunerative customers I know;<br /> +For many many years they've kept starvation from my doors,<br /> +I never knew so criminal a family as yours!<br /> +<br /> +"The common country folk in this insipid neighborhood<br /> +Have nothing to confess, they're so ridiculously good;<br /> +And if you marry any one respectable at all,<br /> +Why, you'll reform, and what will then become of Father Paul?"<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_641" id="Page_641">[Pg 641]</a></span> +<br /> +The worthy priest, he up and drew his cowl upon his crown,<br /> +And started off in haste to tell the news to Robber Brown;<br /> +To tell him how his daughter, who was now for marriage fit,<br /> +Had winked upon a sorter, who reciprocated it.<br /> +<br /> +Good Robber Brown, he muffled up his anger pretty well,<br /> +He said, "I have a notion, and that notion I will tell;<br /> +I will nab this gay young sorter, terrify him into fits,<br /> +And get my gentle wife to chop him into little bits.<br /> +<br /> +"I've studied human nature, and I know a thing or two,<br /> +Though a girl may fondly love a living gent, as many do—<br /> +A feeling of disgust upon her senses there will fall<br /> +When she looks upon his body chopped particularly small."<br /> +<br /> +He traced that gallant sorter to a still suburban square;<br /> +He watched his opportunity and seized him unaware;<br /> +He took a life-preserver and he hit him on the head,<br /> +And Mrs. Brown dissected him before she went to bed.<br /> +<br /> +And pretty little Alice grew more settled in her mind,<br /> +She nevermore was guilty of a weakness of the kind,<br /> +Until at length good Robber Brown bestowed her pretty hand<br /> +On the promising young robber, the lieutenant of his band.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>W. S. Gilbert.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE STORY OF PRINCE AGIB</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Strike the concertina's melancholy string!<br /> +Blow the spirit-stirring harp like anything!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Let the piano's martial blast</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Rouse the Echoes of the Past,</span><br /> +For of Agib, Prince of Tartary, I sing!<br /> +<br /> +Of Agib, who, amid Tartaric scenes,<br /> +Wrote a lot of ballet music in his teens:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">His gentle spirit rolls</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">In the melody of souls—</span><br /> +Which is pretty, but I don't know what it means.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_642" id="Page_642">[Pg 642]</a></span> +<br /> +Of Agib, who could readily, at sight,<br /> +Strum a march upon the loud Theodolite.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">He would diligently play</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">On the Zoetrope all day,</span><br /> +And blow the gay Pantechnicon all night.<br /> +<br /> +One winter—I am shaky in my dates—<br /> +Came two starving Tartar minstrels to his gates;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Oh, Allah be obeyed,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">How infernally they played!</span><br /> +I remember that they called themselves the "Oüaits."<br /> +<br /> +Oh! that day of sorrow, misery, and rage<br /> +I shall carry to the Catacombs of Age,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Photographically lined</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">On the tablet of my mind,</span><br /> +When a yesterday has faded from its page!<br /> +<br /> +Alas! Prince Agib went and asked them in;<br /> +Gave them beer, and eggs, and sweets, and scent, and tin.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And when (as snobs would say)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">They had "put it all away,"</span><br /> +He requested them to tune up and begin.<br /> +<br /> +Though its icy horror chill you to the core,<br /> +I will tell you what I never told before,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The consequences true</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Of that awful interview,</span><br /> +<i>For I listened at the keyhole in the door!</i><br /> +<br /> +They played him a sonata—let me see!<br /> +"<i>Medulla oblongata</i>"—key of G.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Then they began to sing</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">That extremely lovely thing,</span><br /> +"<i>Scherzando! ma non troppo, ppp.</i>"<br /> +<br /> +He gave them money, more than they could count,<br /> +Scent from a most ingenious little fount,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">More beer, in little kegs,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Many dozen hard-boiled eggs,</span><br /> +And goodies to a fabulous amount.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_643" id="Page_643">[Pg 643]</a></span> +<br /> +Now follows the dim horror of my tale<br /> +And I feel I'm growing gradually pale,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">For, even at this day,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Though its sting has passed away,</span><br /> +When I venture to remember it, I quail!<br /> +<br /> +The elder of the brothers gave a squeal,<br /> +All-overish it made me for to feel;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">"Oh, Prince," he says, says he,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">"<i>If a Prince indeed you be</i>,</span><br /> +I've a mystery I'm going to reveal!<br /> +<br /> +"Oh, listen, if you'd shun a horrid death,<br /> +To what the gent who's speaking to you saith:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">No 'Oüaits' in truth are we,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">As you fancy that we be;</span><br /> +For (ter-remble!) I am Aleck—this is Beth!"<br /> +<br /> +Said Agib, "Oh! accursed of your kind,<br /> +I have heard that ye are men of evil mind!"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Beth gave a fearful shriek—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">But before he'd time to speak</span><br /> +I was mercilessly collared from behind.<br /> +<br /> +In number ten or twelve, or even more,<br /> +They fastened me full length upon the floor.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">On my face extended flat,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">I was walloped with a cat</span><br /> +For listening at the keyhole of a door.<br /> +<br /> +Oh! the horror of that agonizing thrill!<br /> +(I can feel the place in frosty weather still).<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">For a week from ten to four</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">I was fastened to the floor,</span><br /> +While a mercenary wopped me with a will.<br /> +<br /> +They branded me and broke me on a wheel,<br /> +And they left me in an hospital to heal;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And, upon my solemn word,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">I have never never heard</span><br /> +What those Tartars had determined to reveal.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_644" id="Page_644">[Pg 644]</a></span> +<br /> +But that day of sorrow, misery, and rage,<br /> +I shall carry to the Catacombs of Age,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Photographically lined</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">On the tablet of my mind,</span><br /> +When a yesterday has faded from its page.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>W. S. Gilbert.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>SIR GUY THE CRUSADER</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Sir Guy was a doughty crusader,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A muscular knight,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Ever ready to fight,</span><br /> +A very determined invader,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Dickey de Lion's delight.</span><br /> +<br /> +Lenore was a Saracen maiden,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Brunette, statuesque,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The reverse of grotesque;</span><br /> +Her pa was a bagman from Aden,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her mother she played in burlesque.</span><br /> +<br /> +A <i>coryphée</i>, pretty and loyal,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In amber and red,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The ballet she led;</span><br /> +Her mother performed at the Royal,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lenore at the Saracen's Head.</span><br /> +<br /> +Of face and of figure majestic,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">She dazzled the cits—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Ecstaticised pits;—</span><br /> +Her troubles were only domestic,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But drove her half out of her wits.</span><br /> +<br /> +Her father incessantly lashed her,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">On water and bread</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">She was grudgingly fed;</span><br /> +Whenever her father he thrashed her,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her mother sat down on her head.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_645" id="Page_645">[Pg 645]</a></span> +<br /> +Guy saw her, and loved her, with reason,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For beauty so bright</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sent him mad with delight;</span><br /> +He purchased a stall for the season<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And sat in it every night.</span><br /> +<br /> +His views were exceedingly proper,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He wanted to wed,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">So he called at her shed</span><br /> +And saw her progenitor whop her—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her mother sit down on her head.</span><br /> +<br /> +"So pretty," said he, "and so trusting!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">You brute of a dad,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">You unprincipled cad,</span><br /> +Your conduct is really disgusting,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come, come, now admit it's too bad!</span><br /> +<br /> +"You're a turbaned old Turk, and malignant—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Your daughter Lenore</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I intensely adore,</span><br /> +And I cannot help feeling indignant,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A fact that I hinted before;</span><br /> +<br /> +To see a fond father employing<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A deuce of a knout</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For to bang her about,</span><br /> +To a sensitive lover's annoying."<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Said the bagman, "Crusader, get out."</span><br /> +<br /> +Says Guy, "Shall a warrior laden<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With a big spiky knob</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sit in peace on his cob,</span><br /> +While a beautiful Saracen maiden<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is whipped by a Saracen snob?</span><br /> +<br /> +"To London I'll go from my charmer."<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Which he did, with his loot</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">(Seven hats and a flute),</span><br /> +And was nabbed for his Sydenham armour<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At Mr. Ben-Samuel's suit.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_646" id="Page_646">[Pg 646]</a></span> +<br /> +Sir Guy he was lodged in the Compter;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Her pa, in a rage,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Died (don't know his age);</span><br /> +His daughter she married the prompter,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Grew bulky and quitted the stage.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>W. S. Gilbert.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>KITTY WANTS TO WRITE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Kitty wants to write! Kitty intellectual!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What has been effectual to turn her stockings blue?</span><br /> +Kitty's seventh season has brought sufficient reason,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She has done 'most everything that there is left to do!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Half of them to laugh about and half of them to rue,—</span><br /> +Now we wait in terror for Kitty's wildest error.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What has she to write about? Wheeeeeeeeew!</span><br /> +<br /> +Kitty wants to write! Débutante was Kitty,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Frivolous and witty as ever bud that blew.</span><br /> +Kitty lacked sobriety, yet she ran society,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A leader whom the chaperons indulged a year or two;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Corner-men, eligibles, dancing-dolls she knew,—</span><br /> +Kitty then was slighted, ne'er again invited;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What has she to write about? Wheeeeeeeeew!</span><br /> +<br /> +Kitty wants to write! At the Social Settlement<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Girls of Kitty's mettle meant a mission for a few;</span><br /> +Men to teach the classes, men to mould the masses,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Men to follow Kitty to adventures strange and new.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Some of her benevolence was hidden out of view!—</span><br /> +A patroness offended, Kitty's slumming ended.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What is there to write about? Wheeeeeeeeew!</span><br /> +<br /> +Kitty wants to write! Kitty was a mystic,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Deep from cabalistic lore many hints she drew!</span><br /> +Freaks of all description, Hindoo and Egyptian,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Prattled in her parlor—such a wild and hairy crew!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Many came for money, and one or two to woo—</span><br /> +Kitty's pet astrologer wanted to acknowledge her!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What has she to write about? Wheeeeeeeeew!</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_647" id="Page_647">[Pg 647]</a></span> +<br /> +Kitty wants to write! Kitty was a doctor;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nothing ever shocked her, though they hazed a little, too!</span><br /> +Kitty learned of medicos how a heart unsteady goes,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Besides a score of secrets that are secrets still to you.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Kitty's course in medicine gave her many a clue—</span><br /> +Much of modern history now is less a mystery.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What has she to write about? Wheeeeeeeeew!</span><br /> +<br /> +Kitty wants to write! Everybody's writing!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Won't it be exciting, the panic to ensue?</span><br /> +We who all have known her, think what we have shown her!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Read it in the magazines! Which half of <i>this</i> is true?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where did she get <i>that</i> idea? Is it him, or who?—</span><br /> +Kitty's wretched enemies now will learn what venom is!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What has she to write about? Wheeeeeeeeew!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Gelett Burgess.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>DIGHTON IS ENGAGED!</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Dighton is engaged! Think of it and tremble!<br /> +Two-and-twenty ladies who have known him must dissemble;<br /> +Two-and-twenty ladies in a panic must repeat,<br /> +"Dighton is a gentleman; will Dighton be discreet?"<br /> +All the merry maidens who have known him at his best<br /> +Wonder what the girl is like, and if he has confessed.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dighton the philanderer, will he prove a slanderer?</span><br /> +A man gets confidential ere the honeymoon has sped—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dighton was a rover then, Dighton lived in clover then;</span><br /> +Dighton is a gentleman—but Dighton is to wed!<br /> +<br /> +Dighton is engaged! Think of it, Corinna!<br /> +Watch and see his fiancée smile on you at dinner!<br /> +Watch and hear his fiancée whisper, "<i>That's</i> the one?"<br /> +Try and raise a blush for what you said was "only fun."<br /> +Long have you been wedded; have you then forgot?<br /> +If you have, I'll venture that a certain man has not!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dighton had a way with him; did you ever play with him?</span><br /> +Now that dream is over and the episode is dead.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dighton never harried you after Charlie married you;</span><br /> +Dighton is a gentleman—but Dighton is to wed!<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_648" id="Page_648">[Pg 648]</a></span> + +<br /> +Dighton is engaged! Think of it, Bettina!<br /> +Did you ever love him when the sport was rather keener?<br /> +Did you ever kiss him as you sat upon the stairs?<br /> +Did you ever tell him of your former love affairs?<br /> +Think of it uneasily and wonder if his wife<br /> +Soon will know the amatory secrets of your life!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dighton was impressible, you were quite accessible—</span><br /> +The bachelor who marries late is apt to lose his head.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dighton wouldn't hurt you; does it disconcert you?</span><br /> +Dighton is a gentleman—but Dighton is to wed!<br /> +<br /> +Dighton is engaged! Tremble, Mrs. Alice!<br /> +When he comes no longer will you bear the lady malice?<br /> +Now he comes to dinner, and he smokes cigars with Clint,<br /> +But he never makes a blunder and he never drops a hint;<br /> +He's a universal uncle, with a welcome everywhere,<br /> +He adopts his sweetheart's children and he lets 'em pull his hair.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dighton has a memory bright and sharp as emery,</span><br /> +He <i>could</i> tell them fairy stories that would make you rather red!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dighton can be trusted, though; Dighton's readjusted, though!</span><br /> +Dighton is a gentleman—but Dighton is to wed!<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Gelett Burgess.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>PLAIN LANGUAGE FROM TRUTHFUL JAMES</h3> + +<h4>TABLE MOUNTAIN, 1870</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Which I wish to remark—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And my language is plain—</span><br /> +That for ways that are dark,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And for tricks that are vain,</span><br /> +The heathen Chinee is peculiar,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which the same I would rise to explain.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_649" id="Page_649">[Pg 649]</a></span> + +<br /> +Ah Sin was his name;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I will not deny</span><br /> +In regard to the same<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What that name might imply;</span><br /> +But his smile it was pensive and childlike,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As I frequent remarked to Bill Nye.</span><br /> +<br /> +It was August the third;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And quite soft was the skies:</span><br /> +Which it might be inferred<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That Ah Sin was likewise;</span><br /> +Yet he played it that day upon William<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And me in a way I despise.</span><br /> +<br /> +Which we had a small game,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Ah Sin took a hand.</span><br /> +It was Euchre. The same<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He did not understand;</span><br /> +But he smiled as he sat by the table,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a smile that was childlike and bland.</span><br /> +<br /> +Yet the cards they were stocked<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In a way that I grieve,</span><br /> +And my feelings were shocked<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At the state of Nye's sleeve:</span><br /> +Which was stuffed full of aces and bowers,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the same with intent to deceive.</span><br /> +<br /> +But the hands that were played<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By that heathen Chinee,</span><br /> +And the points that he made,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Were quite frightful to see—</span><br /> +Till at last he put down a right bower,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which the same Nye had dealt unto me.</span><br /> +<br /> +Then I looked up at Nye,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And he gazed upon me;</span><br /> +And he rose with a sigh,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And said, "Can this be?</span><br /> +We are ruined by Chinese cheap labour—"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And he went for that heathen Chinee.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_650" id="Page_650">[Pg 650]</a></span> +<br /> +In the scene that ensued<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I did not take a hand;</span><br /> +But the floor it was strewed<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like the leaves on the strand</span><br /> +With the cards that Ah Sin had been hiding,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the game "he did not understand."</span><br /> +<br /> +In his sleeves, which were long,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He had twenty-four packs—</span><br /> +Which was coming it strong,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yet I state but the facts;</span><br /> +And we found on his nails, which were taper,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What is frequent in tapers—that's wax.</span><br /> +<br /> +Which is why I remark,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And my language is plain,</span><br /> +That for ways that are dark,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And for tricks that are vain,</span><br /> +The heathen Chinee is peculiar—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which the same I am free to maintain.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Bret Harte.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + + +<h3>THE SOCIETY UPON THE STANISLAUS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I reside at Table Mountain, and my name is Truthful James;<br /> +I am not up to small deceit, or any sinful games;<br /> +And I'll tell in simple language what I know about the row<br /> +That broke up our society upon the Stanislow.<br /> +<br /> +But first I would remark, that it is not a proper plan<br /> +For any scientific man to whale his fellow-man,<br /> +And, if a member don't agree with his peculiar whim,<br /> +To lay for that same member for to "put a head" on him.<br /> +<br /> +Now, nothing could be finer or more beautiful to see<br /> +Than the first six months' proceedings of that same society,<br /> +Till Brown of Calaveras brought a lot of fossil bones<br /> +That he found within a tunnel near the tenement of Jones.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_651" id="Page_651">[Pg 651]</a></span> +<br /> +Then Brown he read a paper, and he reconstructed there,<br /> +From those same bones, an animal that was extremely rare;<br /> +And Jones then asked the Chair for a suspension of the rules,<br /> +Till he could prove that those same bones was one of his lost mules.<br /> +<br /> +Then Brown he smiled a bitter smile and said he was at fault,<br /> +It seemed he had been trespassing on Jones's family vault;<br /> +He was a most sarcastic man, this quiet Mr. Brown,<br /> +And on several occasions he had cleaned out the town.<br /> +<br /> +Now, I hold it is not decent for a scientific gent<br /> +To say another is an ass—at least, to all intent;<br /> +Nor should the individual who happens to be meant<br /> +Reply by heaving rocks at him to any great extent.<br /> +<br /> +Then Abner Dean of Angel's raised a point of order, when<br /> +A chunk of old red sandstone took him in the abdomen,<br /> +And he smiled a kind of sickly smile, and curled up on the floor,<br /> +And the subsequent proceedings interested him no more.<br /> +<br /> +For, in less time than I write it, every member did engage<br /> +In a warfare with the remnants of a palæozoic age;<br /> +And the way they heaved those fossils in their anger was a sin,<br /> +Till the skull of an old mammoth caved the head of Thompson in.<br /> +<br /> +And this is all I have to say of these improper games<br /> +For I live at Table Mountain, and my name is Truthful James;<br /> +And I've told, in simple language, what I know about the row<br /> +That broke up our society upon the Stanislow.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Bret Harte.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_652" id="Page_652">[Pg 652]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>"JIM"</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Say there! P'r'aps<br /> +Some on you chaps<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Might know Jim Wild!</span><br /> +Well,—no offence:<br /> +Thar ain't no sense<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In gittin' riled!</span><br /> +<br /> +Jim was my chum<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Up on the Bar:</span><br /> +That's why I come<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Down from up yar,</span><br /> +Lookin' for Jim.<br /> +Thank ye, sir! <i>you</i><br /> +Ain't of that crew,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Blest if you are!</span><br /> +<br /> +Money?—Not much;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That ain't my kind:</span><br /> +I ain't no such.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Rum?—I don't mind,</span><br /> +Seein' it's you.<br /> +<br /> +Well, this yer Jim,<br /> +Did you know him?—<br /> +Jess 'bout your size;<br /> +Same kind of eyes;—<br /> +<br /> +Well, that is strange:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Why, it's two year</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Since he came here,</span><br /> +Sick, for a change.<br /> +Well, here's to us:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Eh?</span><br /> +The h——, you say!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Dead?</span><br /> +That little cuss?<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_653" id="Page_653">[Pg 653]</a></span> + +<br /> +What makes you star,—<br /> +You over thar?<br /> +Can't a man drop<br /> +'s glass 'n yer shop<br /> +But you must rar'?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">It wouldn't take</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">D—— much to break</span><br /> +You and your bar.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Dead!</span><br /> +Poor—little—Jim!<br /> +—Why, thar was me,<br /> +Jones, and Bob Lee,<br /> +Harry and Ben,—<br /> +No—account men:<br /> +Then to take <i>him</i>!<br /> +<br /> +Well, thar—Good-bye—<br /> +No more, sir,—I—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Eh?</span><br /> +What's that you say?—<br /> +Why, dern it!—sho!—<br /> +No? Yes! By Jo!<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sold!</span><br /> +Sold! Why, you limb!<br /> +You ornery,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Derned old</span><br /> +Long-legged Jim!<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Bret Harte.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>WILLIAM BROWN OF OREGON</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +They called him Bill, the hired man,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But she, her name was Mary Jane,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Squire's daughter; and to reign</span><br /> +The belle from Ber-she-be to Dan<br /> +Her little game. How lovers rash<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Got mittens at the spelling school!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How many a mute, inglorious fool</span><br /> +Wrote rhymes and sighed and died—mustache!<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_654" id="Page_654">[Pg 654]</a></span> + +<br /> +This hired man had loved her long,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Had loved her best and first and last,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her very garments as she passed</span><br /> +For him had symphony and song.<br /> +So when one day with sudden frown<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She called him "Bill," he raised his head,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He caught her eye and, faltering, said,</span><br /> +"I love you; and my name is Brown."<br /> +<br /> +She fairly waltzed with rage; she wept;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You would have thought the house on fire.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She told her sire, the portly squire,</span><br /> +Then smelt her smelling-salts, and slept.<br /> +Poor William did what could be done;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He swung a pistol on each hip,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He gathered up a great ox-whip,</span><br /> +And drove toward the setting sun.<br /> +<br /> +He crossed the great back-bone of earth,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He saw the snowy mountains rolled</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like mighty billows; saw the gold</span><br /> +Of awful sunsets; felt the birth<br /> +Of sudden dawn that burst the night<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like resurrection; saw the face</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of God and named it boundless space</span><br /> +Ringed round with room and shoreless light.<br /> +<br /> +Her lovers passed. Wolves hunt in packs,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They sought for bigger game; somehow</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They seemed to see above her brow</span><br /> +The forky sign of turkey tracks.<br /> +The teter-board of life goes up,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The teter-board of life goes down,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The sweetest face must learn to frown;</span><br /> +The biggest dog has been a pup.<br /> +<br /> +O maidens! pluck not at the air;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The sweetest flowers I have found</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Grow rather close unto the ground,</span><br /> +And highest places are most bare.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_655" id="Page_655">[Pg 655]</a></span> + +Why, you had better win the grace<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of our poor cussed Af-ri-can,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than win the eyes of every man</span><br /> +In love alone with his own face.<br /> +<br /> +At last she nursed her true desire.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She sighed, she wept for William Brown,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She watched the splendid sun go down</span><br /> +Like some great sailing ship on fire,<br /> +Then rose and checked her trunk right on;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And in the cars she lunched and lunched,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And had her ticket punched and punched,</span><br /> +Until she came to Oregon.<br /> +<br /> +She reached the limit of the lines,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She wore blue specs upon her nose,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wore rather short and manly clothes,</span><br /> +And so set out to reach the mines.<br /> +Her pocket held a parasol<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her right hand held a Testament,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And thus equipped right on she went,</span><br /> +Went water-proof and water-fall.<br /> +<br /> +She saw a miner gazing down,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Slow stirring something with a spoon;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"O, tell me true and tell me soon,</span><br /> +What has become of William Brown?"<br /> +He looked askance beneath her specs,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then stirred his cocktail round and round.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then raised his head and sighed profound,</span><br /> +And said, "He's handed in his checks."<br /> +<br /> +Then care fed on her damaged cheek,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And she grew faint, did Mary Jane,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And smelt her smelling-salts in vain,</span><br /> +She wandered, weary, worn, and weak.<br /> +At last, upon a hill alone.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She came, and there she sat her down;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For on that hill there stood a stone,</span><br /> +And, lo! that stone read, "William Brown."<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_656" id="Page_656">[Pg 656]</a></span> + +<br /> +"O William Brown! O William Brown!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And here you rest at last," she said,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"With this lone stone above your head,</span><br /> +And forty miles from any town!<br /> +I will plant cypress trees, I will,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I will build a fence around,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I will fertilise the ground</span><br /> +With tears enough to turn a mill."<br /> +<br /> +She went and got a hired man,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She brought him forty miles from town,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And in the tall grass squatted down</span><br /> +And bade him build as she should plan.<br /> +But cruel cow-boys with their bands<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They saw, and hurriedly they ran</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And told a bearded cattle man</span><br /> +Somebody builded on his lands.<br /> +<br /> +He took his rifle from the rack,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He girt himself in battle pelt,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He stuck two pistols in his belt,</span><br /> +And, mounting on his horse's back,<br /> +He plunged ahead. But when they showed<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A woman fair, about his eyes</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He pulled his hat, and he likewise</span><br /> +Pulled at his beard, and chewed and chewed.<br /> +<br /> +At last he gat him down and spake:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"O lady dear, what do you here?"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"I build a tomb unto my dear,</span><br /> +I plant sweet flowers for his sake."<br /> +The bearded man threw his two hands<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Above his head, then brought them down</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And cried, "Oh, I am William Brown,</span><br /> +And this the corner-stone of my lands!"<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Joaquin Miller.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_657" id="Page_657">[Pg 657]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>LITTLE BREECHES</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I don't go much on religion,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I never ain't had no show;</span><br /> +But I've got a middlin' tight grip, sir,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On a handful o' things I know.</span><br /> +I don't pan out on the prophets<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And free-will and that sort of thing—</span><br /> +But I be'lieve in God and the angels,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ever sence one night last spring.</span><br /> +<br /> +I come into town with some turnips,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And my little Gabe come along—</span><br /> +No four-year-old in the county<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Could beat him for pretty and strong—</span><br /> +Peart and chipper and sassy,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Always ready to swear and fight—</span><br /> +And I'd larnt him to chaw terbacker<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Jest to keep his milk-teeth white.</span><br /> +<br /> +The snow come down like a blanket<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As I passed by Taggart's store;</span><br /> +I went in for a jug of molasses<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And left the team at the door.</span><br /> +They scared at something and started—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I heard one little squall,</span><br /> +And hell-to-split over the prairie!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Went team, Little Breeches, and all.</span><br /> +<br /> +Hell-to-split over the prairie!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I was almost froze with skeer;</span><br /> +But we rousted up some torches,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And sarched for 'em far and near.</span><br /> +At last we struck hosses and wagon,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Snowed under a soft white mound,</span><br /> +Upsot, dead beat, but of little Gabe<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No hide nor hair was found.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_658" id="Page_658">[Pg 658]</a></span> + +<br /> +And hero all hope soured on me<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of my fellow-critter's aid;</span><br /> +I jest flopped down on my marrow-bones,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Crotch-deep in the snow, and prayed.</span></p> + +<hr style="width: 33%; margin-top: 0em; margin-bottom: 0em;" /> + +<p>By this, the torches was played out,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And me and Isrul Parr</span><br /> +Went off for some wood to a sheepfold<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That he said was somewhar thar.</span><br /> +<br /> +We found it at last, and a little shed<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where they shut up the lambs at night;</span><br /> +We looked in and seen them huddled thar,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So warm and sleepy and white;</span><br /> +And thar sot Little Breeches and chirped,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As peart as ever you see,</span><br /> +"I want a chaw of terbacker,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And that's what's the matter of me."</span><br /> +<br /> +How did he git thar? Angels.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He could never have walked in that storm:</span><br /> +They jest scooped down and toted him<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To whar it was safe and warm.</span><br /> +And I think that saving a little child,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And fotching him to his own,</span><br /> +Is a derned sight better business<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than loafing around the Throne.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>John Hay.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE ENCHANTED SHIRT</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +The King was sick. His cheek was red,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And his eye was clear and bright;</span><br /> +He ate and drank with a kingly zest,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And peacefully snored at night.</span><br /> +<br /> +But he said he was sick, and a king should know,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And doctors came by the score.</span><br /> +They did not cure him. He cut off their heads,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And sent to the schools for more.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_659" id="Page_659">[Pg 659]</a></span> + +<br /> +At last two famous doctors came,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And one was as poor as a rat,—</span><br /> +He had passed his life in studious toil,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And never found time to grow fat.</span><br /> +<br /> +The other had never looked in a book;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His patients gave him no trouble:</span><br /> +If they recovered, they paid him well;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If they died, their heirs paid double.</span><br /> +<br /> +Together they looked at the royal tongue,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As the King on his couch reclined;</span><br /> +In succession they thumped his august chest,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But no trace of disease could find.</span><br /> +<br /> +The old sage said, "You're as sound as a nut."<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Hang him up," roared the King in a gale—</span><br /> +In a ten-knot gale of royal rage;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The other leech grew a shade pale;</span><br /> +<br /> +But he pensively rubbed his sagacious nose,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And thus his prescription ran—</span><br /> +<i>The King will be well, if he sleeps one night</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>In the Shirt of a Happy Man</i>.</span></p> + +<hr style="width: 33%; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;" /> + +<p>Wide o'er the realm the couriers rode,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And fast their horses ran,</span><br /> +And many they saw, and to many they spoke,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But they found no Happy Man.</span><br /> +<br /> +They found poor men who would fain be rich,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And rich who thought they were poor;</span><br /> +And men who twisted their waist in stays,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And women that shorthose wore.</span><br /> +<br /> +They saw two men by the roadside sit,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And both bemoaned their lot;</span><br /> +For one had buried his wife, he said,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the other one had not.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_660" id="Page_660">[Pg 660]</a></span> + +<br /> +At last they came to a village gate,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A beggar lay whistling there;</span><br /> +He whistled, and sang, and laughed, and rolled,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On the grass in the soft June air.</span><br /> +<br /> +The weary couriers paused and looked<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At the scamp so blithe and gay;</span><br /> +And one of them said, "Heaven save you, friend!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You seem to be happy to-day."</span><br /> +<br /> +"O yes, fair sirs," the rascal laughed,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And his voice rang free and glad;</span><br /> +"An idle man has so much to do<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That he never has time to be sad."</span><br /> +<br /> +"This is our man," the courier said;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Our luck has lead us aright.</span><br /> +I will give you a hundred ducats, friend,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For the loan of your shirt to-night."</span><br /> +<br /> +The merry blackguard lay back on the grass,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And laughed till his face was black;</span><br /> +"I would do it, God wot," and he roared with the fun,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"But I haven't a shirt to my back."</span></p> + +<hr style="width: 33%; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;" /> + +<p> +Each day to the King the reports came in<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of his unsuccessful spies,</span><br /> +And the sad panorama of human woes<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Passed daily under his eyes.</span><br /> +<br /> +And he grew ashamed of his useless life,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And his maladies hatched in gloom;</span><br /> +He opened his windows and let the air<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the free heaven into his room.</span><br /> +<br /> +And out he went in the world, and toiled<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In his own appointed way;</span><br /> +And the people blessed him, the land was glad,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the King was well and gay.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>John Hay.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_661" id="Page_661">[Pg 661]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>JIM BLUDSO</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Wal, no! I can't tell whar he lives,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Because he don't live, you see;</span><br /> +Leastways, he's got out of the habit<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of livin' like you and me.</span><br /> +Whar have you been for the last three years<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That you haven't heard folks tell</span><br /> +How Jemmy Bludso passed-in his checks,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The night of the Prairie Belle?</span><br /> +<br /> +He weren't no saint—them engineers<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is all pretty much alike—</span><br /> +One wife in Natchez-under-the-Hill,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And another one here in Pike.</span><br /> +A keerless man in his talk was Jim,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And an awkward man in a row—</span><br /> +But he never flunked, and he never lied;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I reckon he never knowed how.</span><br /> +<br /> +And this was all the religion he had—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To treat his engines well;</span><br /> +Never be passed on the river;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To mind the pilot's bell;</span><br /> +And if ever the Prairie Belle took fire,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A thousand times he swore,</span><br /> +He'd hold her nozzle agin the bank<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till the last soul got ashore.</span><br /> +<br /> +All boats have their day on the Mississip,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And her day come at last.</span><br /> +The Movastar was a better boat,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But the Belle she wouldn't be passed;</span><br /> +And so come tearin' along that night,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The oldest craft on the line,</span><br /> +With a nigger squat on her safety valve,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And her furnace crammed, rosin and pine.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_662" id="Page_662">[Pg 662]</a></span> + +<br /> +The fire bust out as she clared the bar,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And burnt a hole in the night,</span><br /> +And quick as a flash she turned, and made<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To that willer-bank on the right.</span><br /> +There was runnin' and cursin', but Jim yelled out<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Over all the infernal roar,</span><br /> +"I'll hold her nozzle agin the bank<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till the last galoot's ashore."</span><br /> +<br /> +Through the hot black breath of the burnin' boat<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Jim Bludso's voice was heard,</span><br /> +And they all had trust in his cussedness,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And know he would keep his word.</span><br /> +And, sure's you're born, they all got off<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Afore the smokestacks fell,—</span><br /> +And Bludso's ghost went up alone<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the smoke of the Prairie Belle.</span><br /> +<br /> +He weren't no saint—but at jedgment<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'd run my chance with Jim,</span><br /> +'Longside of some pious gentlemen<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That wouldn't shook hands with him.</span><br /> +He'd seen his duty, a dead-sure thing—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And went for it thar and then:</span><br /> +And Christ ain't a going to be too hard<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On a man that died for men.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>John Hay.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>WRECK OF THE "JULIE PLANTE"</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +On wan dark night on Lac St. Pierre,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">De win' she blow, blow, blow,</span><br /> +An' de crew of de wood scow "Julie Plante"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Got scar't an' run below;</span><br /> +For de win' she blow lak hurricane,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bimeby she blow some more,</span><br /> +An' de scow bus' up on Lac St. Pierre,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wan arpent from de shore.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_663" id="Page_663">[Pg 663]</a></span> + +<br /> +De Captinne walk on de fronte deck,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An' walk de hin' deck, too—</span><br /> +He call de crew from up de hole<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He call de cook also.</span><br /> +De cook she's name was Rosie,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She come from Montreal,</span><br /> +Was chambre maid on lumber barge,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On de Grande Lachine Canal.</span><br /> +<br /> +De win' she blow from nor'—eas'—wes'<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">De sout' win' she blow, too,</span><br /> +W'en Rosie cry "Mon cher Captinne,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mon cher, w'at I shall do?"</span><br /> +Den de Captinne t'row de big ankerre,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But still de scow she dreef,</span><br /> +De crew he can't pass on de shore,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Becos' he los' hees skeef.</span><br /> +<br /> +De night was dark, lak' one black cat,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">De wave run high an' fas',</span><br /> +Wen de Captinne tak' de Rosie girl<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An' tie her to de mas'.</span><br /> +Den he also tak' de life preserve,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An' jomp off on de lak',</span><br /> +An' say, "Good by, ma Rosie dear,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I go drown for your sak'."</span><br /> +<br /> +Nex' morning very early,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Bout ha'f-pas' two—t'ree—four—</span><br /> +De Captinne, scow, an' de poor Rosie<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was corpses on de shore;</span><br /> +For he win' she blow lak' hurricane<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bimeby she blow some more,</span><br /> +An' de scow bus' up on Lac St. Pierre,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wan arpent from de shore.</span></p> + +<p class='h_5'>MORAL</p> +<p> +Now, all good wood scow sailor man<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tak' warning by dat storm,</span><br /> +An' go an' marry some nice French girl<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An' leev on wan beeg farm;</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_664" id="Page_664">[Pg 664]</a></span> + +<br /> +De win' can blow lak' hurricane,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An' s'pose she blow some more,</span><br /> +You can't get drown on Lac St. Pierre,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So long you stay on shore.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>William Henry Drummond.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE ALARMED SKIPPER</h3> + +<h4>"IT WAS AN ANCIENT MARINER"</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Many a long, long year ago,<br /> +Nantucket skippers had a plan<br /> +Of finding out, though "lying low,"<br /> +How near New York their schooners ran.<br /> +<br /> +They greased the lead before it fell,<br /> +And then, by sounding through the night,<br /> +Knowing the soil that stuck, so well,<br /> +They always guessed their reckoning right.<br /> +<br /> +A skipper gray, whose eyes were dim,<br /> +Could tell, by <i>tasting</i>, just the spot,<br /> +And so below he'd "dowse the glim"—<br /> +After, of course, his "something hot."<br /> +<br /> +Snug in his berth, at eight o'clock,<br /> +This ancient skipper might be found;<br /> +No matter how his craft would rock,<br /> +He slept—for skippers' naps are sound!<br /> +<br /> +The watch on deck would now and then<br /> +Run down and wake him, with the lead;<br /> +He'd up, and taste, and tell the men<br /> +How many miles they went ahead.<br /> +<br /> +One night, 'twas Jotham Marden's watch,<br /> +A curious wag—the peddler's son—<br /> +And so he mused (the wanton wretch),<br /> +"To-night I'll have a grain of fun.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_665" id="Page_665">[Pg 665]</a></span> + +<br /> +"We're all a set of stupid fools<br /> +To think the skipper knows by <i>tasting</i><br /> +What ground he's on—Nantucket schools<br /> +Don't teach such stuff, with all their basting!"<br /> +<br /> +And so he took the well-greased lead<br /> +And rubbed it o'er a box of earth<br /> +That stood on deck—a parsnip-bed—<br /> +And then he sought the skipper's berth.<br /> +<br /> +"Where are we now, sir? Please to taste."<br /> +The skipper yawned, put out his tongue,<br /> +Then ope'd his eyes in wondrous haste,<br /> +And then upon the floor he sprung!<br /> +<br /> +The skipper stormed and tore his hair,<br /> +Thrust on his boots, and roared to Marden,<br /> +"<i>Nantucket's sunk, and here we are<br /> +Right over old Marm Hackett's garden!</i>"<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>James Thomas Fields.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p class='poem'>By the side of a murmuring stream an elderly gentleman sat.</p> +<p class='poem'>On the top of his head was a wig, and a-top of his wig was his hat.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>The wind it blew high and blew strong, as the elderly gentleman sat;</p> +<p class='poem'> +And bore from his head in a trice, and plunged in the river his hat.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>The gentleman then took his cane which lay by his side as he sat;</p> +<p class='poem'>And he dropped in the river his wig, in attempting to get out his hat.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>His breast it grew cold with despair, and full in his eye madness sat;</p> +<p class='poem'>So he flung in the river his cane to swim with his wig, and his hat.</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_666" id="Page_666">[Pg 666]</a></span> + + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>Cool reflection at last came across while this elderly gentleman sat;</p> +<p class='poem'>So he thought he would follow the stream and look for his cane, wig, and hat.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>His head being thicker than common, o'er-balanced the rest of his fat;</p> +<p class='poem'>And in plumped this son of a woman to follow his wig, cane, and hat. +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>George Canning.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>SAYING NOT MEANING</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Two gentlemen their appetite had fed,<br /> +When opening his toothpick-case, one said,<br /> +"It was not until lately that I knew<br /> +That <i>anchovies</i> on <i>terrâ firmâ</i> grew."<br /> +"Grow!" cried the other, "yes, they <i>grow</i>, indeed,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like other fish, but not upon the land;</span><br /> +You might as well say grapes grow on a reed,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or in the Strand!"</span><br /> +<br /> +"Why, sir," returned the irritated other,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">"My brother,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">When at Calcutta</span><br /> +Beheld them <i>bonâ fide</i> growing;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He wouldn't utter</span><br /> +A lie for love or money, sir; so in<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This matter you are thoroughly mistaken."</span><br /> +"Nonsense, sir! nonsense! I can give no credit<br /> +To the assertion—none e'er saw or read it;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Your brother, like his evidence, should be shaken."</span><br /> +<br /> +"Be shaken, sir! let me observe, you are<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Perverse—in short—"</span><br /> +"Sir," said the other, sucking his cigar,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And then his port—</span><br /> +"If you will say impossibles are true,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You may affirm just anything you please—</span><br /> +That swans are quadrupeds, and lions blue,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And elephants inhabit Stilton cheese!</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_667" id="Page_667">[Pg 667]</a></span> + +Only you must not <i>force</i> me to believe<br /> +What's propagated merely to deceive."<br /> +<br /> +"Then you force me to say, sir, you're a fool,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Return'd the bragger.</span><br /> +Language like this no man can suffer cool:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">It made the listener stagger;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So, thunder-stricken, he at once replied,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"The traveler <i>lied</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who had the impudence to tell it you;"</span><br /> +"Zounds! then d'ye mean to swear before my face<br /> +That anchovies <i>don't</i> grow like cloves and mace?"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"I <i>do</i>!"</span><br /> +<br /> +Disputants often after hot debates<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Leave the contention as they found it—bone,</span><br /> +And take to duelling or thumping <i>têtes</i>;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thinking by strength of artery to atone</span><br /> +For strength of argument; and he who winces<br /> +From force of words, with force of arms convinces!<br /> +<br /> +With pistols, powder, bullets, surgeons, lint,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Seconds, and smelling-bottles, and foreboding,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our friends advanced; and now portentous loading</span><br /> +(Their hearts already loaded) serv'd to show<br /> +It might be better they shook hands—but no;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When each opines himself, though frighten'd, right,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Each is, in courtesy, oblig'd to fight!</span><br /> +And they <i>did</i> fight: from six full measured paces<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The unbeliever pulled his trigger first;</span><br /> +And fearing, from the braggart's ugly faces,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The whizzing lead had whizz'd its very worst,</span><br /> +Ran up, and with a <i>duelistic</i> fear<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(His ire evanishing like morning vapors),</span><br /> +Found him possess'd of one remaining ear,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who in a manner sudden and uncouth,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Had given, not lent, the other ear to truth;</span><br /> +For while the surgeon was applying lint,<br /> +He, wriggling, cried—"The deuce is in't—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sir, I <i>meant</i>—<span class="smcap">CAPERS</span>!"</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>William Basil Wake.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_668" id="Page_668">[Pg 668]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>HANS BREITMANN'S PARTY</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Hans Breitmann gife a barty;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dey had biano-blayin':</span><br /> +I felled in lofe mit a Merican frau,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her name was Madilda Yane.</span><br /> +She hat haar as prown ash a pretzel,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her eyes vas himmel-plue,</span><br /> +Und ven dey looket indo mine,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dey shplit mine heart in two.</span><br /> +<br /> +Hans Breitmann gife a barty:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I vent dere, you'll pe pound.</span><br /> +I valtzet mit Madilda Yane<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Und vent shpinnen round und round.</span><br /> +De pootiest Fräulein in de house,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She vayed 'pout dwo hoondred pound,</span><br /> +Und efery dime she gife a shoomp<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She make de vindows sound.</span><br /> +<br /> +Hans Breitmann gife a barty:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I dells you it cost him dear.</span><br /> +Dey rolled in more ash sefen kecks<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of foost-rate Lager Beer,</span><br /> +Und venefer dey knocks de shpicket in<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">De Deutschers gifes a cheer.</span><br /> +I dinks dat so vine a barty<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nefer coom to a het dis year.</span><br /> +<br /> +Hans Breitmann gife a barty;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dere all vas Souse und Brouse;</span><br /> +Ven de sooper comed in, de gompany<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Did make demselfs to house.</span><br /> +Dey ate das Brot und Gensy broost,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">De Bratwurst und Braten fine,</span><br /> +Und vash der Abendessen down<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mit four parrels of Neckarwein.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_669" id="Page_669">[Pg 669]</a></span> + +<br /> +Hans Breitmann gife a barty.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We all cot troonk ash bigs.</span><br /> +I poot mine mout to a parrel of bier,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Und emptied it oop mit a schwigs.</span><br /> +Und denn I gissed Madilda Yane<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Und she shlog me on de kop,</span><br /> +Und de gompany fited mit daple-lecks<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dill be coonshtable made oos shtop.</span><br /> +<br /> +Hans Breitmann gife a barty—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where ish dat barty now!</span><br /> +Where ish de lofely golden cloud<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dat float on de moundain's prow?</span><br /> +Where ish de himmelstrablende Stern—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">De shtar of de shpirit's light?</span><br /> +All goned afay mit de Lager Beer—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Afay in de Ewigkeit!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Charles Godfrey Leland.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>BALLAD BY HANS BREITMANN</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Der noble Ritter Hugo<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Von Schwillensaufenstein</span><br /> +Rode out mit shpeer and helmet,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Und he coom to de panks of de Rhine.</span><br /> +<br /> +Und oop dere rose a meermaid,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fot hadn't got nodings on,</span><br /> +Und she say, "Oh, Ritter Hugo,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Vhere you goes mit yourself alone?"</span><br /> +<br /> +And he says, "I ride in de creenwood,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mit helmet und mit shpeer,</span><br /> +Till I cooms into em Gasthaus,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Und dere I trinks some beer."</span><br /> +<br /> +Und den outshpoke the maiden<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Vot hadn't got nodings on:</span><br /> +"I ton't tink mooch of beoplesh<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dat goes mit demselfs alone.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_670" id="Page_670">[Pg 670]</a></span> + +<br /> +"You'd petter coom down in de wasser,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Vhere deres heaps of dings to see,</span><br /> +Und hafe a shplendid tinner<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Und drafel along mit me.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Dere you sees de fisch a schwimmin',<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Und you catches dem efery von:"—</span><br /> +So sang dis wasser maiden,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Vot hadn't got nodings on.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Dere ish drunks all full mit money<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In ships dat vent down of old;</span><br /> +Und you helpsh yourself, by dunder!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To shimmerin' crowns of gold.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Shoost look at these shpoons and vatches!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shoost see dese diamant rings!</span><br /> +Coom down and fill your pockets,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I'll giss you like efery dings.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Vot you vanst mit your schnapps and lager?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come down into der Rhine!</span><br /> +Der ish pottles de Kaiser Charlemagne<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Vonce filled mit gold-red wine!"</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Dat</i> fetched him—she shtood all shpell-pound;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She pooled his coat-tails down;</span><br /> +She drawed him oonder der wasser,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">De maiden mit nodings on.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Charles Godfrey Leland.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>GRAMPY SINGS A SONG</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Row-diddy, dow de, my little sis,<br /> +Hush up your teasin' and listen to this:<br /> +'Tain't much of a jingle, 'tain't much of a tune,<br /> +But it's spang-fired truth about Chester Cahoon.<br /> +The thund'rinest fireman Lord ever made<br /> +Was Chester Cahoon of the Tuttsville Brigade.<br /> +He was boss of the tub and the foreman of hose;<br /> +When the 'larm rung he'd start, sis, a-sheddin' his clothes,<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_671" id="Page_671">[Pg 671]</a></span> + +—Slung cote and slung wes'cote and kicked off his shoes,<br /> +A-runnin' like fun, for he'd no time to lose.<br /> +And he'd howl down the ro'd in a big cloud of dust,<br /> +For he made it his brag he was allus there fust.<br /> +—Allus there fust, with a whoop and a shout,<br /> +And he never shut up till the fire was out.<br /> +And he'd knock out the winders and save all the doors,<br /> +And tear off the clapboards, and rip up the floors,<br /> +For he allus allowed 'twas a tarnation sin<br /> +To 'low 'em to burn, for you'd want 'em agin.<br /> +He gen'rally stirred up the most of his touse<br /> +In hustling to save the outside of the house.<br /> +And after he'd wrassled and hollered and pried,<br /> +He'd let up and tackle the stuff 'twas inside.<br /> +To see him you'd think he was daft as a loon,<br /> +But that was jest habit with Chester Cahoon.<br /> +<br /> +Row diddy-iddy, my little sis,<br /> +Now see what ye think of a doin' like this:<br /> +The time of the fire at Jenkins' old place<br /> +It got a big start—was a desprit case;<br /> +The fambly they didn't know which way to turn.<br /> +And by gracious, it looked like it all was to burn.<br /> +But Chester Cahoon—oh, that Chester Cahoon,<br /> +He sailed to the roof like a reg'lar balloon;<br /> +Donno how he done it, but done it he did,<br /> +—Went down through the scuttle and shet down the lid.<br /> +And five minutes later that critter he came<br /> +To the second floor winder surrounded by flame.<br /> +He lugged in his arms, sis, a stove and a bed,<br /> +And balanced a bureau right square on his head.<br /> +His hands they was loaded with crockery stuff,<br /> +China and glass; as if that warn't enough,<br /> +He'd rolls of big quilts round his neck like a wreath,<br /> +And carried Mis' Jenkins' old aunt with his teeth.<br /> +You're right—gospel right, little sis,—didn't seem<br /> +The critter'd git down, but he called for the stream,<br /> +And when it come strong and big round as my wrist;<br /> +He stuck out his legs, sis, and give 'em a twist;<br /> +And he hooked round the water jes' if 'twas a rope,<br /> +And down he come easin' himself on the slope,<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_672" id="Page_672">[Pg 672]</a></span> + +—So almighty spry that he made that 'ere stream<br /> +As fit for his pupp'us' as if 'twas a beam.<br /> +Oh, the thund'rinest fireman Lord ever made<br /> +Was Chester Cahoon of the Tuttsville Brigade.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Holman F. Day.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE FIRST BANJO</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p class='poem'>Go 'way, fiddle; folks is tired o' hearin' you a-squawkin'—</p> +<p class='poem'>Keep silence fur yo' betters!—don't you heah de banjo talkin'?</p> +<p class='poem'>About de 'possum's tail she's gwine to lecter—ladies, listen!—</p> +<p class='poem'>About de ha'r whut isn't dar, an' why de ha'r is missin':</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>"Dar's gwine to be a' oberflow," said Noah, lookin' solemn—</p> +<p class='poem'>Fur Noah tuk the "<i>Herald</i>," an' he read de ribber column—</p> +<p class='poem'>An' so he sot his hands to wuk a-cl'arin' timber-patches,</p> +<p class='poem'>An' 'lowed he's gwine to build a boat to beat de steamah <i>Natchez</i>.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>Ol' Noah kep' a-nailin' an' a-chippin' an' a-sawin';</p> +<p class='poem'>An' all de wicked neighbours kep' a-laughin' an' a-pshawin';</p> +<p class='poem'>But Noah didn't min' 'em, knowin' whut wuz gwine to happen:</p> +<p class='poem'>An' forty days an' forty nights de rain it kep' a-drappin'.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>Now, Noah had done cotched a lot ob ebry sort o' beas'es—</p> +<p class='poem'>Ob all de shows a-trabbelin', it beat 'em all to pieces!</p> +<p class='poem'>He had a Morgan colt an' sebral head o' Jarsey cattle—</p> +<p class='poem'>An' druv 'em 'board de Ark as soon's he heered de thunder rattle.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>Den sech anoder fall ob rain!—it come so awful hebby,</p> +<p class='poem'>De ribber riz immejitly, an' busted troo de lebbee;</p> +<p class='poem'>De people all wuz drownded out—'cep' Noah an' de critters,</p> +<p class='poem'>An' men he'd hired to work de boat—an' one to mix de bitters.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>De Ark she kep' a-sailin' an' a-sailin', <i>an'</i> a-sailin';</p> +<p class='poem'>De lion got his dander up, an' like to bruk de palin';</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_673" id="Page_673">[Pg 673]</a></span> + + +<p class='poem'>De sarpints hissed; de painters yelled; tell, whut wid all de fussin',</p> +<p class='poem'>You c'u'dn't hardly heah de mate a-bossin' round' an' cussin'.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>Now, Ham, he only nigger whut wuz runnin' on de packet,</p> +<p class='poem'>Got lonesome in de barber-shop, and c'u'dn't stan' de racket;</p> +<p class='poem'>An' so, fur to amuse he-se'f, he steamed some wood an' bent it,</p> +<p class='poem'>An' soon he had a banjo made—de fust dat wuz invented.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>He wet de ledder, stretched it on; made bridge an' screws an aprin;</p> +<p class='poem'>An' fitted in a proper neck—'twas berry long and tap'rin';</p> +<p class='poem'>He tuk some tin, an' twisted him a thimble fur to ring it;</p> +<p class='poem'>An' den de mighty question riz: how wuz he gwine to string it?</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>De 'possum had as fine a tail as dis dat I's a-singin';</p> +<p class='poem'>De ha'r's so long an' thick an' strong,—des fit fur banjo-stringin';</p> +<p class='poem'>Dat nigger shaved 'em off as short as wash-day-dinner graces;</p> +<p class='poem'>An' sorted ob 'em by de size, f'om little E's to basses.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>He strung her, tuned her, struck a jig,—'twus "Nebber min' de wedder,"—</p> +<p class='poem'>She soun' like forty-lebben bands a-playin' all togedder;</p> +<p class='poem'>Some went to pattin'; some to dancin': Noah called de figgers;</p> +<p class='poem'>An' Ham he sot an' knocked de tune, de happiest ob niggers!</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>Now, sence dat time—it's mighty strange—dere's not de slightes' showin'</p> +<p class='poem'>Ob any ha'r at all upon de 'possum's tail a-growin';</p> +<p class='poem'>An' curi's, too, dat nigger's ways: his people nebber los' 'em—</p> +<p class='poem'>Fur whar you finds de nigger—dar's de banjo an' de 'possum!</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Irwin Russell.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_674" id="Page_674">[Pg 674]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE ROMANCE OF THE CARPET</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Basking in peace in the warm spring sun,<br /> +South Hill smiled upon Burlington.<br /> +<br /> +The breath of May! and the day was fair,<br /> +And the bright motes danced in the balmy air.<br /> +<br /> +And the sunlight gleamed where the restless breeze<br /> +Kissed the fragrant blooms on the apple-trees.<br /> +<br /> +His beardless cheek with a smile was spanned,<br /> +As he stood with a carriage whip in his hand.<br /> +<br /> +And he laughed as he doffed his bobtail coat,<br /> +And the echoing folds of the carpet smote.<br /> +<br /> +And she smiled as she leaned on her busy mop,<br /> +And said she'd tell him when to stop.<br /> +<br /> +So he pounded away till the dinner-bell<br /> +Gave him a little breathing spell.<br /> +<br /> +But he sighed when the kitchen clock struck one,<br /> +And she said the carpet wasn't done.<br /> +<br /> +But he lovingly put in his biggest licks,<br /> +And he pounded like mad till the clock struck six.<br /> +<br /> +And she said, in a dubious sort of way,<br /> +That she guessed he could finish it up next day.<br /> +<br /> +Then all that day, and the next day, too,<br /> +That fuzz from the dirtless carpet flew.<br /> +<br /> +And she'd give it a look at eventide,<br /> +And say, "Now beat on the other side."<br /> +<br /> +And the new days came as the old days went,<br /> +And the landlord came for his regular rent.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_675" id="Page_675">[Pg 675]</a></span> + +<br /> +And the neighbors laughed at the tireless broom,<br /> +And his face was shadowed with clouds of gloom.<br /> +<br /> +Till at last, one cheerless winter day,<br /> +He kicked at the carpet and slid away.<br /> +<br /> +Over the fence and down the street,<br /> +Speeding away with footsteps fleet.<br /> +<br /> +And never again the morning sun<br /> +Smiled on him beating his carpet-drum.<br /> +<br /> +And South Hill often said with a yawn,<br /> +"Where's the carpet-martyr gone?"<br /> +<br /> +Years twice twenty had come and passed<br /> +And the carpet swayed in the autumn blast.<br /> +<br /> +For never yet, since that bright spring-time,<br /> +Had it ever been taken down from the line.<br /> +<br /> +Over the fence a gray-haired man<br /> +Cautiously clim, clome, clem, clum, clamb.<br /> +<br /> +He found him a stick in the old woodpile,<br /> +And he gathered it up with a sad, grim smile,<br /> +<br /> +A flush passed over his face forlorn<br /> +As he gazed at the carpet, tattered and torn.<br /> +<br /> +And he hit it a most resounding thwack,<br /> +Till the startled air gave his echoes back.<br /> +<br /> +And out of the window a white face leaned,<br /> +And a palsied hand the pale face screened.<br /> +<br /> +She knew his face; she gasped, and sighed,<br /> +"A little more on the other side."<br /> +<br /> +Right down on the ground his stick he throwed,<br /> +And he shivered and said, "Well, I am blowed!"<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_676" id="Page_676">[Pg 676]</a></span> + +<br /> +And he turned away, with a heart full sore,<br /> +And he never was seen not more, not more.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Robert J. Burdette.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE HUNTING OF THE SNARK</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +"Come, listen, my men, while I tell you again<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The five unmistakable marks</span><br /> +By which you may know, wheresoever you go,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The warranted genuine Snarks.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Let us take them in order. The first is the taste,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which is meagre and hollow, but crisp:</span><br /> +Like a coat that is rather too tight in the waist,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a flavor of Will-o'-the-wisp.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Its habit of getting up late you'll agree<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That it carries too far when I say</span><br /> +That it frequently breakfasts at five-o'clock tea,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And dines on the following day.</span></p> + +<hr style="width: 33%; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;" /> + +<p>"The fourth is its fondness for bathing-machines,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which it constantly carries about,</span><br /> +And believes that they add to the beauty of scenes—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A sentiment open to doubt.</span><br /> +<br /> +"The fifth is ambition. It next will be right<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To describe each particular batch;</span><br /> +Distinguishing those that have feathers, and bite,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From those that have whiskers, and scratch.</span><br /> +<br /> +"For, although common Snarks do no manner of harm,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yet I feel it my duty to say</span><br /> +Some are Boojums—" The Bellman broke off in alarm,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For the Baker had fainted away.</span><br /> +<br /> +They roused him with muffins—they roused him with ice—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They roused him with mustard and cress—</span><br /> +They roused him with jam and judicious advice—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They set him conundrums to guess.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_677" id="Page_677">[Pg 677]</a></span> + +<br /> +When at length he sat up and was able to speak,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His sad story he offered to tell;</span><br /> +And the Bellman cried "Silence! Not even a shriek!"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And excitedly tingled his bell.</span><br /> +<br /> +There was silence supreme! Not a shriek, not a scream,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Scarcely even a howl or a groan,</span><br /> +As the man they called "Ho!" told his story of woe.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In an antediluvian tone.</span><br /> +<br /> +"My father and mother were honest, though poor—"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Skip all that!" cried the Bellman in haste,</span><br /> +"If it once becomes dark, there's no chance of a Snark,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We have hardly a minute to waste!"</span><br /> +<br /> +"I skip forty years," said the Baker, in tears,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"And proceed without further remark</span><br /> +To the day when you took me aboard of your ship<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To help you in hunting the Snark.</span><br /> +<br /> +"A dear uncle of mine (after whom I was named)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Remarked, when I bade him farewell—"</span><br /> +"Oh, skip your dear uncle," the Bellman exclaimed,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As he angrily tingled his bell.</span><br /> +<br /> +"He remarked to me then," said that mildest of men,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"'If your Snark be a Snark, that is right;</span><br /> +Fetch it home by all means—you may serve it with greens<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And it's handy for striking a light.</span><br /> +<br /> +"'You may seek it with thimbles—and seek it with care;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You may hunt it with forks and hope;</span><br /> +You may threaten its life with a railway-share;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You may charm it with smiles and soap—</span><br /> +<br /> +"'But oh, beamish nephew, beware of the day,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If your Snark be a Boojum! For then</span><br /> +You will softly and suddenly vanish away<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And never be met with again!'</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_678" id="Page_678">[Pg 678]</a></span> + +<br /> +"It is this, it is this that oppresses my soul,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When I think of my uncle's last words:</span><br /> +And my heart is like nothing so much as a bowl<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Brimming over with quivering curds!</span><br /> +<br /> +"I engage with the Snark—every night after dark—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In a dreamy delirious fight:</span><br /> +I serve it with greens in those shadowy scenes,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I use it for striking a light:</span><br /> +<br /> +"But if ever I meet with a Boojum, that day,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In a moment (of this I am sure),</span><br /> +I shall softly and suddenly vanish away—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the notion I cannot endure!"</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Lewis Carroll.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE OLD MAN AND JIM</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Old man never had much to say—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">'Ceptin' to Jim,—</span><br /> +And Jim was the wildest boy he had—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And the Old man jes' wrapped up in him!</span><br /> +Never heerd him speak but once<br /> +Er twice in my life,—and first time was<br /> +When the army broke out, and Jim he went,<br /> +The Old man backin' him, fer three months.—<br /> +And all 'at I heerd the Old man say<br /> +Was, jes' as we turned to start away,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">"Well; good-bye, Jim:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Take keer of yourse'f!"</span><br /> +<br /> +'Peard-like, he was more satisfied<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Jes' <i>lookin'</i> at Jim,</span><br /> +And likin' him all to hisse'f-like, see?—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">'Cause he was jes' wrapped up in him!</span><br /> +And over and over I mind the day<br /> +The Old man come and stood round in the way<br /> +While we was drillin', a-watchin' Jim—<br /> +And down at the deepot a-heerin' him say,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">"Well; good-bye, Jim:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Take keer of yourse'f!"</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_679" id="Page_679">[Pg 679]</a></span> + +<br /> +Never was nothin' about the farm<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Disting'ished Jim;—</span><br /> +Neighbours all ust to wonder why<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Old man 'peared wrapped up in him:</span><br /> +But when Cap. Biggler, he writ back,<br /> +'At Jim was the bravest boy we had<br /> +In the whole dern rigiment, white er black,<br /> +And his fightin' good as his farmin' bad—<br /> +'At he had led, with a bullet clean<br /> +Bored through his thigh, and carried the flag<br /> +Through the bloodiest battle you ever seen,—<br /> +The Old man wound up a letter to him<br /> +'At Cap. read to us, 'at said,—"Tell Jim<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Good-bye;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And take keer of hisse'f."</span><br /> +<br /> +Jim come back jes' long enough<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">To take the whim</span><br /> +'At he'd like to go back in the cavelry—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And the Old man jes' wrapped up in him!—</span><br /> +Jim 'lowed 'at he'd had sich luck afore,<br /> +Guessed he'd tackle her three years more.<br /> +And the Old man give him a colt he'd raised<br /> +And follered him over to Camp Ben Wade,<br /> +And laid around fer a week er so,<br /> +Watchin' Jim on dress-parade—<br /> +Tel finally he rid away,<br /> +And last he heerd was the Old man say,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">"Well; good-bye, Jim:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Take keer of yourse'f!"</span><br /> +<br /> +Tuk the papers, the Old man did,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">A-watchin' fer Jim—</span><br /> +Fully believin' he'd make his mark<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>Some</i> way—jes' wrapped up in him!—</span><br /> +And many a time the word 'u'd come<br /> +'At stirred him up like the tap of a drum—<br /> +At Petersburg, fer instance, where<br /> +Jim rid right into their cannons there,<br /> +And tuk 'em, and p'inted 'em t'other way,<br /> +And socked it home to the boys in grey,<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_680" id="Page_680">[Pg 680]</a></span> + +As they skooted fer timber, and on and on—<br /> +Jim a lieutenant and one arm gone,<br /> +And the Old man's words in his mind all day,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">"Well; good-bye, Jim:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Take keer of yourse'f!"</span><br /> +<br /> +Think of a private, now, perhaps,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">We'll say like Jim,</span><br /> +'At's clumb clean up to the shoulder-straps—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And the Old man jes' wrapped up in him!</span><br /> +Think of him—with the war plum' through,<br /> +And the glorious old Red-White-and-Blue<br /> +A-laughin' the news down over Jim,<br /> +And the Old man, bendin' over him—<br /> +The surgeon turnin' away with tears<br /> +'At hadn't leaked fer years and years—<br /> +As the hand of the dyin' boy clung to<br /> +His father's, the old voice in his ears,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">"Well; good-bye, Jim:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Take keer of yourse'f!"</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>James Whitcomb Riley.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A SAILOR'S YARN</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +<i>This is the tale that was told to me,<br /> +By a battered and shattered son of the sea—<br /> +To me and my messmate, Silas Green,<br /> +When I was a guileless young marine.</i><br /> +<br /> +"'Twas the good ship <i>Gyascutus</i>,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All in the China seas,</span><br /> +With the wind a-lee and the capstan free<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To catch the summer breeze.</span><br /> +<br /> +"'Twas Captain Porgie on the deck,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To his mate in the mizzen hatch,</span><br /> +While the boatswain bold, in the forward hold,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was winding the larboard watch.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_681" id="Page_681">[Pg 681]</a></span> + +<br /> +"'Oh, how does our good ship head to-night!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How heads our gallant craft?'</span><br /> +'Oh, she heads to the E. S. W. by N.,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the binnacle lies abaft!'</span><br /> +<br /> +"'Oh, what does the quadrant indicate,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And how does the sextant stand?'</span><br /> +'Oh, the sextant's down to the freezing point,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the quadrant's lost a hand!'</span><br /> +<br /> +"'Oh, and if the quadrant has lost a hand,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the sextant falls so low,</span><br /> +It's our bodies and bones to Davy Jones<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This night are bound to go!</span><br /> +<br /> +"'Oh, fly aloft to the garboard strake!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And reef the spanker boom;</span><br /> +Bend a studding sail on the martingale,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To give her weather room.</span><br /> +<br /> +"'Oh, boatswain, down in the for'ard hold<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What water do you find?'</span><br /> +'Four foot and a half by the royal gaff<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And rather more behind!'</span><br /> +<br /> +"'Oh, sailors, collar your marline spikes<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And each belaying pin;</span><br /> +Come stir your stumps, and spike the pumps,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or more will be coming in!'</span><br /> +<br /> +"They stirred their stumps, they spiked the pumps,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They spliced the mizzen brace;</span><br /> +Aloft and alow they worked, but oh!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The water gained apace.</span><br /> +<br /> +"They bored a hole above the keel<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To let the water out;</span><br /> +But, strange to say, to their dismay,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The water in did spout.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_682" id="Page_682">[Pg 682]</a></span> + +<br /> +"Then up spoke the Cook, of our gallant ship,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And he was a lubber brave:</span><br /> +'I have several wives in various ports,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And my life I'd orter save.'</span><br /> +<br /> +"Then up spoke the Captain of Marines,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who dearly loved his prog:</span><br /> +'It's awful to die, and it's worse to be dry,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I move we pipe to grog.'</span><br /> +<br /> +"Oh, then 'twas the noble second mate<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What filled them all with awe;</span><br /> +The second mate, as bad men hate,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And cruel skipper's jaw.</span><br /> +<br /> +"He took the anchor on his back,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And leaped into the main;</span><br /> +Through foam and spray he clove his way,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And sunk and rose again!</span><br /> +<br /> +"Through foam and spray, a league away<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The anchor stout he bore;</span><br /> +Till, safe at last, he made it fast<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And warped the ship ashore!</span><br /> +<br /> +"'Taint much of a job to talk about,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But a ticklish thing to see,</span><br /> +And suth'in to do, if I say it, too,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For that second mate was me!"</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Such was the tale that was told to me<br /> +By that modest and truthful son of the sea,<br /> +And I envy the life of a second mate,<br /> +Though captains curse him and sailors hate,<br /> +For he ain't like some of the swabs I've seen,<br /> +As would go and lie to a poor marine.</i><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>James Jeffrey Roche.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_683" id="Page_683">[Pg 683]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE CONVERTED CANNIBALS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Upon an island, all alone,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They lived, in the Pacific;</span><br /> +Somewhere within the Torrid Zone,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where heat is quite terrific.</span><br /> +'Twould shock you were I to declare<br /> +The many things they did not wear,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Altho' no doubt</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">One's best without</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Such things in heat terrific.</span><br /> +<br /> +Though cannibals by birth were they,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yet, since they'd first existed,</span><br /> +Their simple menu day by day<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of such-like things consisted:</span><br /> +Omelets of turtle's eggs, and yams,<br /> +And stews from freshly-gathered clams,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Such things as these</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Were,—if you please,—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of what their fare consisted.</span><br /> +<br /> +But after dinner they'd converse,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor did their topic vary;</span><br /> +Wild tales of gore they would rehearse,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And talk of <i>missionary</i>.</span><br /> +They'd gaze upon each other's joints,<br /> +And indicate the tender points.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Said one: "For us</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">'Tis dangerous</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To <i>think</i> of <i>missionary</i>."</span><br /> +<br /> +Well, on a day, upon the shore,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As flotsam, or as jetsam,</span><br /> +Some wooden cases,—ten, or more,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Were cast up. "Let us get some,</span><br /> +And see, my friend, what they contain;<br /> +The chance may not occur again,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Said good Who-zoo.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Said Tum-tum, "Do;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We'll both wade out and get some."</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_684" id="Page_684">[Pg 684]</a></span> + +<br /> +The cases held,—what do you think?—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"<span class="smcap">Prime Missionary—tinned.</span>"</span><br /> +Nay! gentle reader, do not shrink—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The man who made it sinned:</span><br /> +He thus had labelled bloater-paste<br /> +To captivate the native taste.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">He hoped, of course,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">This fraud to force</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On them. In this he sinned.</span><br /> +<br /> +Our simple friends knew naught of sin;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They thought that this confection</span><br /> +<i>Was</i> missionary in a tin<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">According to direction.</span><br /> +For very joy they shed salt tears.<br /> +"'Tis what we've waited for, for years,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Said they. "Hooray!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">We'll feast to-day</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">According to direction."</span><br /> +<br /> +"'Tis very tough," said one, for he<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The tin and all had eaten.</span><br /> +"Too salt," the other said, "for me;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The flavour might be beaten."</span><br /> +It was enough. Soon each one swore<br /> +He'd missionary eat no more:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Their tastes were cured,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">They felt assured</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This flavour might be beaten.</span><br /> +<br /> +And, should a missionary call<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To-day, he'd find them gentle,</span><br /> +With no perverted tastes at all,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And manners ornamental;</span><br /> +He'd be received, I'm bound to say,<br /> +In courteous and proper way;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Nor need he fear</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">To taste their cheer</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">However ornamental.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>G. E. Farrow.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_685" id="Page_685">[Pg 685]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE RETIRED PORK-BUTCHER AND THE +SPOOK</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I may as well</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Proceed to tell</span><br /> +About a Mister Higgs,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who grew quite rich</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In trade—the which</span><br /> +Was selling pork and pigs.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From trade retired,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He much desired</span><br /> +To rank with gentlefolk,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So bought a place</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He called "The Chase,"</span><br /> +And furnished it—old oak.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ancestors got</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Twelve pounds the lot,</span><br /> +In Tottenham Court Road);<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A pedigree—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For nine pounds three,—</span><br /> +The Heralds' Court bestowed.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Within the hall,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And on the wall,</span><br /> +Hung armour bright and strong.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"To Ethelbred"—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The label read—</span><br /> +"De Higgs, this did belong."<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Twas <i>quite</i> complete,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This country seat,</span><br /> +Yet neighbours stayed away.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nobody called,—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Higgs was blackballed,—</span><br /> +Which caused him great dismay.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_686" id="Page_686">[Pg 686]</a></span> + +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Why <i>can</i> it be?"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One night said he</span><br /> +When thinking of it o'er.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There came a knock</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">('Twas twelve o'clock)</span><br /> +Upon his chamber door.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Higgs cried, "Come in!"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A vapour thin</span><br /> +The keyhole wandered through.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Higgs rubbed his eyes</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In mild surprise:</span><br /> +A ghost appeared in view.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"I beg," said he,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"You'll pardon me,</span><br /> +In calling rather late.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A family ghost,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I seek a post,</span><br /> +With wage commensurate.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"I'll serve you well;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My 'fiendish yell'</span><br /> +Is certain sure to please.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Sepulchral tones,'</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And 'rattling bones,'</span><br /> +I'm <i>very</i> good at these.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Five bob I charge</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To roam at large,</span><br /> +With 'clanking chains' <i>ad lib.</i>;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I do such things</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As 'gibberings'</span><br /> +At one-and-three per gib.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Or, by the week,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I merely seek</span><br /> +Two pounds—which is not dear;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Because I need,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of course, <i>no</i> feed,</span><br /> +<i>No</i> washing, and <i>no</i> beer."<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_687" id="Page_687">[Pg 687]</a></span> + +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Higgs thought it o'er</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A bit, before</span><br /> +He hired the family ghost,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But, finally,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He did agree</span><br /> +To give to him the post.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It got about—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You know, no doubt,</span><br /> +How quickly such news flies—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Throughout the place,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From "Higgses Chase"</span><br /> +Proceeded ghostly cries.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The rumour spread,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Folks shook their head,</span><br /> +But dropped in one by one.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A bishop came</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Forget his name),</span><br /> +And then the thing was done.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For afterwards</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>All</i> left their cards,</span><br /> +"Because," said they, "you see,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One who can boast</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A family ghost</span><br /> +Respectable <i>must</i> be."<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When it was due,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The "ghostes's" screw</span><br /> +Higgs raised—as was but right—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They often play,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In friendly way,</span><br /> +A game of cards at night.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>G. E. Farrow.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_688" id="Page_688">[Pg 688]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>SKIPPER IRESON'S RIDE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Of all the rides since the birth of time,<br /> +Told in story or sung in rhyme,—<br /> +On Apuleius's Golden Ass,<br /> +Or one-eyed Calendar's horse of brass,<br /> +Witch astride of a human back,<br /> +Islam's prophet on Al-Borak,—<br /> +The strangest ride that ever was sped<br /> +Was Ireson's, out from Marblehead!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">By the women of Marblehead!</span><br /> +<br /> +Body of turkey, head of owl,<br /> +Wings a-droop like a rained-on fowl,<br /> +Feathered and ruffled in every part,<br /> +Skipper Ireson stood in the cart.<br /> +Scores of women, old and young,<br /> +Strong of muscle, and glib of tongue,<br /> +Pushed and pulled up the rocky lane,<br /> +Shouting and singing the shrill refrain:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">By the women o' Morble'ead!"</span><br /> +<br /> +Wrinkled scolds with hands on hips,<br /> +Girls in bloom of cheek and lips,<br /> +Wild-eyed, free-limbed, such as chase<br /> +Bacchus round some antique vase,<br /> +Brief of skirt, with ankles bare,<br /> +Loose of kerchief and loose of hair,<br /> +With conch-shells blowing and fish-horns' twang,<br /> +Over and over the Mænads sang:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">By the women o' Morble'ead!"</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_689" id="Page_689">[Pg 689]</a></span> + +<br /> +Small pity for him!—He sailed away<br /> +From a leaking ship, in Chaleur Bay,—<br /> +Sailed away from a sinking wreck,<br /> +With his own town's-people on her deck!<br /> +"Lay by! lay by!" they called to him.<br /> +Back he answered, "Sink or swim!<br /> +Brag of your catch of fish again!"<br /> +And off he sailed through the fog and rain!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">By the women of Marblehead!</span><br /> +<br /> +Fathoms deep in dark Chaleur<br /> +That wreck shall lie forevermore.<br /> +Mother and sister, wife and maid,<br /> +Looked from the rocks of Marblehead<br /> +Over the moaning and rainy sea,—<br /> +Looked for the coming that might not be!<br /> +What did the winds and the sea-birds say<br /> +Of the cruel captain who sailed away?—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">By the women of Marblehead!</span><br /> +<br /> +Through the street, on either side,<br /> +Up flew windows, doors swung wide;<br /> +Sharp-tongued spinsters, old wives gray,<br /> +Treble lent the fish-horn's bray.<br /> +Sea-worn grandsires, cripple-bound,<br /> +Hulks of old sailors run aground,<br /> +Shook head, and fist, and hat, and cane,<br /> +And cracked with curses the hoarse refrain:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">By the women o' Morble'ead!"</span><br /> +<br /> +Sweetly along the Salem road<br /> +Bloom of orchard and lilac showed.<br /> +Little the wicked skipper knew<br /> +Of the fields so green and the sky so blue.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_690" id="Page_690">[Pg 690]</a></span> + +Riding there in his sorry trim,<br /> +Like an Indian idol glum and grim,<br /> +Scarcely he seemed the sound to hear<br /> +Of voices shouting, far and near:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">By the women o' Morble'ead!"</span><br /> +<br /> +"Hear me, neighbors!" at last he cried,—<br /> +"What to me is this noisy ride?<br /> +What is the shame that clothes the skin<br /> +To the nameless horror that lives within?<br /> +Waking or sleeping, I see a wreck,<br /> +And hear a cry from a reeling deck!<br /> +Hate me and curse me,—I only dread<br /> +The hand of God and the face of the dead!"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Said old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">By the women of Marblehead!</span><br /> +<br /> +Then the wife of the skipper lost at sea<br /> +Said, "God has touched him! Why should we?"<br /> +Said an old wife, mourning her only son:<br /> +"Cut the rogue's tether and let him run!"<br /> +So with soft relentings and rude excuse,<br /> +Half scorn, half pity, they cut him loose,<br /> +And gave him a cloak to hide him in,<br /> +And left him alone with his shame and sin.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Poor Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">By the women of Marblehead!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>J. G. Whittier.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>DARIUS GREEN AND HIS FLYING-MACHINE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +If ever there lived a Yankee lad,<br /> +Wise or otherwise, good or bad,<br /> +Who, seeing the birds fly, didn't jump<br /> +With flapping arms from stake or stump,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Or, spreading the tail</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Of his coat for a sail,</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_691" id="Page_691">[Pg 691]</a></span> + +Take a soaring leap from post or rail,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">And wonder why</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">He couldn't fly,</span><br /> +And flap and flutter and wish and try—<br /> +If ever you knew a country dunce<br /> +Who didn't try that as often as once,<br /> +All I can say is, that's a sign<br /> +He never would do for a hero of mine.<br /> +<br /> +An aspiring genius was D. Green:<br /> +The son of a farmer, age fourteen;<br /> +His body was long and lank and lean—<br /> +Just right for flying, as will be seen;<br /> +He had two eyes as bright as a bean,<br /> +And a freckled nose that grew between,<br /> +A little awry—for I must mention<br /> +That he had riveted his attention<br /> +Upon his wonderful invention,<br /> +Twisting his tongue as he twisted the strings,<br /> +And working his face as he worked the wings,<br /> +And with every turn of gimlet and screw<br /> +Turning and screwing his mouth round too,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Till his nose seemed bent</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">To catch the scent,</span><br /> +Around some corner, of new-baked pies,<br /> +And his wrinkled cheeks and his squinting eyes<br /> +Grew puckered into a queer grimace,<br /> +That made him look very droll in the face,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">And also very wise.</span><br /> +And wise he must have been, to do more<br /> +Than ever a genius did before,<br /> +Excepting Dædalus of yore<br /> +And his son Icarus, who wore<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Upon their backs</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Those wings of wax</span><br /> +He had read of in the old almanacs.<br /> +Darius was clearly of the opinion<br /> +That the air is also man's dominion,<br /> +And that, with paddle or fin or pinion,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">We soon or late shall navigate</span><br /> +The azure as now we sail the sea.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_692" id="Page_692">[Pg 692]</a></span> + +<br /> +The thing looks simple enough to me;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">And if you doubt it,</span><br /> +Hear how Darius reasoned about it.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">"The birds can fly an' why can't I?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Must we give in," says he with a grin.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">"That the bluebird an' phœbe</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Are smarter'n we be?</span><br /> +Jest fold our hands an' see the swaller<br /> +An' blackbird an' catbird beat us holler?<br /> +Doos the little chatterin', sassy wren,<br /> +No bigger'n my thumb, know more than men?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Just show me that!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Ur prove 't the bat</span><br /> +Hez got more brains than's in my hat.<br /> +An' I'll back down, an' not till then!"<br /> +He argued further: "Nur I can't see<br /> +What's th' use o' wings to a bumble-bee,<br /> +Fur to git a livin' with, more'n to me;—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Ain't my business</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Important's his'n is?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">That Icarus</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Made a perty muss—</span><br /> +Him an' his daddy Dædalus<br /> +They might 'a' knowed wings made o' wax<br /> +Wouldn't stand sun-heat an' hard whacks.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">I'll make mine o' luther,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Ur suthin' ur other."</span><br /> +<br /> +And he said to himself, as he tinkered and planned:<br /> +"But I ain't goin' to show my hand<br /> +To mummies that never can understand<br /> +The fust idee that's big an' grand."<br /> +So he kept his secret from all the rest,<br /> +Safely buttoned within his vest;<br /> +And in the loft above the shed<br /> +Himself he locks, with thimble and thread<br /> +And wax and hammer and buckles and screws<br /> +And all such things as geniuses use;—<br /> +Two bats for patterns, curious fellows!<br /> +A charcoal-pot and a pair of bellows;<br /> +Some wire, and several old umbrellas;<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_693" id="Page_693">[Pg 693]</a></span> + +A carriage-cover, for tail and wings;<br /> +A piece of harness; and straps and strings;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">And a big strong box,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">In which he locks</span><br /> +These and a hundred other things.<br /> +His grinning brothers, Reuben and Burke<br /> +And Nathan and Jotham and Solomon, lurk<br /> +Around the corner to see him work—<br /> +Sitting cross-legged, like a Turk,<br /> +Drawing the waxed-end through with a jerk,<br /> +And boring the holes with a comical quirk<br /> +Of his wise old head, and a knowing smirk.<br /> +But vainly they mounted each other's backs,<br /> +And poked through knot-holes and pried through cracks;<br /> +With wood from the pile and straw from the stacks<br /> +He plugged the knot-holes and caulked the cracks;<br /> +And a dipper of water, which one would think<br /> +He had brought up into the loft to drink<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">When he chanced to be dry,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Stood always nigh,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">For Darius was sly!</span><br /> +And whenever at work he happened to spy<br /> +At chink or crevice a blinking eye,<br /> +He let the dipper of water fly.<br /> +"Take that! an' ef ever ye git a peep,<br /> +Guess ye'll ketch a weasel asleep!"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">And he sings as he locks</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">His big strong box:—</span><br /> +<br /> +"The weasel's head is small an' trim,<br /> +An' he is little an' long an' slim,<br /> +An' quick of motion an' nimble of limb<br /> +An' ef you'll be<br /> +Advised by me,<br /> +Keep wide awake when ye're ketchin' him!"<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">So day after day</span><br /> +He stitched and tinkered and hammered away,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Till at last 'twas done—</span><br /> +The greatest invention under the sun!<br /> +"An' now," says Darius, "hooray fur some fun!"<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_694" id="Page_694">[Pg 694]</a></span> + +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">'Twas the Fourth of July,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">And the weather was dry,</span><br /> +And not a cloud was on all the sky,<br /> +Save a few light fleeces, which here and there<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Half mist, half air,</span><br /> +Like foam on the ocean went floating by—<br /> +Just as lovely a morning as ever was seen<br /> +For a nice little trip in a flying-machine.<br /> +Thought cunning Darius: "Now I shan't go<br /> +Along 'ith the fellers to see the show.<br /> +I'll say I've got sich a terrible cough!<br /> +An' then, when the folks 'ave all gone off,<br /> +I'll hev full swing fur to try the thing,<br /> +An' practise a little on the wing."<br /> +"Ain't goin' to see the celebration?"<br /> +Says brother Nate. "No; botheration!<br /> +I've got sich a cold—a toothache—I—<br /> +My gracious!—feel's though I should fly!"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Said Jotham, "Sho!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Guess ye better go."</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">But Darius said, "No!</span><br /> +Shouldn't wonder 'f you might see me, though,<br /> +'Long 'bout noon, ef I git red<br /> +O' this jumpin', thumpin' pain 'n my head."<br /> +For all the while to himself he said:—<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">"I tell ye what!</span><br /> +I'll fly a few times around the lot,<br /> +To see how 't seems, then soon's I've got<br /> +The hang o' the thing, ez likely's not,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">I'll astonish the nation,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">An' all creation,</span><br /> +By flyin' over the celebration!<br /> +Over their heads I'll sail like an eagle;<br /> +I'll balance myself on my wings like a sea-gull:<br /> +I'll dance on the chimbleys; I'll stand on the steeple;<br /> +I'll flop up to winders an' scare the people!<br /> +I'll light on the liberty-pole, an' crow;<br /> +An' I'll say to the gawpin' fools below,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">'What world's this 'ere</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">That I've come near?'</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_695" id="Page_695">[Pg 695]</a></span> + +Fur I'll make 'em b'lieve I'm a chap f'm the moon;<br /> +An' I'll try to race 'ith their ol' balloon!"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">He crept from his bed;</span><br /> +And, seeing the others were gone, he said,<br /> +"I'm gittin' over the cold 'n my head."<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">And away he sped,</span><br /> +To open the wonderful box in the shed.<br /> +<br /> +His brothers had walked but a little way,<br /> +When Jotham to Nathan chanced to say,<br /> +"What is the feller up to, hey!"<br /> +"Don'o'—the 's suthin' ur other to pay,<br /> +Ur he wouldn't 'a' stayed tu hum to-day."<br /> +Says Burke, "His toothache's all 'n his eye!<br /> +<i>He</i> never 'd missed a Fo'th-o'-July,<br /> +Ef he hedn't got some machine to try."<br /> +Then Sol, the little one, spoke: "By darn!<br /> +Le's hurry back an' hide 'n the barn,<br /> +An' pay him fur tellin' us that yarn!"<br /> +"Agreed!" Through the orchard they creep back<br /> +Along by the fences, behind the stack,<br /> +And one by one, through a hole in the wall,<br /> +In under the dusty barn they crawl,<br /> +Dressed in their Sunday garments all;<br /> +And a very astonishing sight was that,<br /> +When each in his cobwebbed coat and hat<br /> +Came up through the floor like an ancient rat<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">And there they hid;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">And Reuben slid</span><br /> +The fastenings back, and the door undid.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">"Keep dark!" said he,</span><br /> +"While I squint an' see what the' is to see."<br /> +<br /> +As knights of old put on their mail—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">From head to foot an iron suit,</span><br /> +Iron jacket and iron boot,<br /> +Iron breeches, and on the head<br /> +No hat, but an iron pot instead,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">And under the chin the bail,</span><br /> +(I believe they called the thing a helm,)<br /> +Then sallied forth to overwhelm<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_696" id="Page_696">[Pg 696]</a></span> + +The dragons and pagans that plagued the earth<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">So this <i>modern</i> knight</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Prepared for flight,</span><br /> +Put on his wings and strapped them tight<br /> +Jointed and jaunty, strong and light—<br /> +Buckled them fast to shoulder and hip;<br /> +Ten feet they measured from tip to tip<br /> +And a helm had he, but that he wore,<br /> +Not on his head, like those of yore,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">But more like the helm of a ship.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">"Hush!" Reuben said,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">"He's up in the shed!</span><br /> +He's opened the winder—I see his head!<br /> +He stretches it out, an' pokes it about,<br /> +Lookin' to see 'f the coast is clear,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">An' nobody near;—</span><br /> +Guess he don' o' who's hid in here!<br /> +He's riggin' a spring-board over the sill!<br /> +Stop laffin', Solomon! Burke, keep still!<br /> +He's a climbin' out now—Of all the things!<br /> +What's he got on? I vum, it's wings!<br /> +An' that 'tother thing? I vum, it's a tail!<br /> +An' there he sits like a hawk on a rail!<br /> +Steppin' careful, he travels the length<br /> +Of his spring-board, and teeters to try its strength.<br /> +Now he stretches his wings, like a monstrous bat;<br /> +Peeks over his shoulder; this way an' that,<br /> +Fur to see 'f the' 's any one passin' by;<br /> +But the' 's on'y a caf an' goslin nigh.<br /> +<i>They</i> turn up at him a wonderin' eye,<br /> +To see— The dragon! he's goin' to fly!<br /> +Away he goes! Jimminy! what a jump!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Flop—flop—an' plump</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">To the ground with a thump!</span><br /> +Flutt'rin' an' flound'rin' all 'n a lump!"<br /> +<br /> +As a demon is hurled by an angel's spear,<br /> +Heels over head, to his proper sphere—<br /> +Heels over head, and head over heels,<br /> +Dizzily down the abyss he wheels—<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_697" id="Page_697">[Pg 697]</a></span> + +<br /> +So fell Darius. Upon his crown,<br /> +In the midst of the barn-yard, he came down,<br /> +In a wonderful whirl of tangled strings,<br /> +Broken braces and broken springs.<br /> +Broken tail and broken wings,<br /> +Shooting-stars, and various things;<br /> +Barn-yard litter of straw and chaff,<br /> +And much that wasn't so sweet by half.<br /> +Away with a bellow fled the calf,<br /> +And what was that? Did the gosling laugh?<br /> +'Tis a merry roar from the old barn-door,<br /> +And he hears the voice of Jotham crying,<br /> +"Say, D'rius! how do you like flyin'?"<br /> +Slowly, ruefully, where he lay,<br /> +Darius just turned and looked that way,<br /> +As he stanched his sorrowful nose with his cuff.<br /> +"Wal, I like flyin' well enough,"<br /> +He said; "but the' ain't such a thunderin' sight<br /> +O' fun in 't when ye come to light."<br /> +<br /> +I just have room for the <span class="smcap">moral</span> here:<br /> +And this is the moral—Stick to your sphere.<br /> +Or if you insist, as you have the right,<br /> +On spreading your wings for a loftier flight,<br /> +The moral is—Take care how you light.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>John Townsend Trowbridge.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A GREAT FIGHT</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +"There was a man in Arkansaw<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As let his passions rise,</span><br /> +And not unfrequently picked out<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Some other varmint's eyes.</span><br /> +<br /> +"His name was Tuscaloosa Sam<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And often he would say,</span><br /> +'There's not a cuss in Arkansaw<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I can't whip any day.'</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_698" id="Page_698">[Pg 698]</a></span> +<br /> +"One morn, a stranger passin' by,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Heard Sammy talkin' so,</span><br /> +And down he scrambled from his hoss,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And off his coat did go.</span><br /> +<br /> +"He sorter kinder shut one eye,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And spit into his hand,</span><br /> +And put his ugly head one side,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And twitched his trowsers' band.</span><br /> +<br /> +"'My boy,' says he, 'it's my belief,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whomever you may be,</span><br /> +That I kin make you screech, and smell<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pertiklor agony.'</span><br /> +<br /> +"I'm thar,' said Tuscaloosa Sam,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And chucked his hat away;</span><br /> +'I'm thar,' says he, and buttoned up<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As far as buttons may.</span><br /> +<br /> +"He thundered on the stranger's mug,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The stranger pounded he;</span><br /> +And oh! the way them critters fit<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was beautiful to see.</span><br /> +<br /> +"They clinched like two rampageous bears,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And then went down a bit;</span><br /> +They swore a stream of six-inch oaths<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And fit, and fit, and fit.</span><br /> +<br /> +"When Sam would try to work away,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And on his pegs to git,</span><br /> +The stranger'd pull him back; and so,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They fit, and fit, and fit!</span><br /> +<br /> +"Then like a pair of lobsters, both<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon the ground were knit,</span><br /> +And yet the varmints used their teeth,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And fit, and fit, and fit!!</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_699" id="Page_699">[Pg 699]</a></span> +<br /> +"The sun of noon was high above,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And hot enough to split,</span><br /> +But only riled the fellers more,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That fit, and fit, and fit!!!</span><br /> +<br /> +"The stranger snapped at Samy's nose,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And shortened it a bit;</span><br /> +And then they both swore awful hard,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And fit, and fit, and fit!!!!</span><br /> +<br /> +"The mud it flew, the sky grew dark,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And all the litenins lit;</span><br /> +But still them critters rolled about,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And fit, and fit, and fit!!!!!</span><br /> +<br /> +"First Sam on top, then t'other chap;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When one would make a hit,</span><br /> +The other'd smell the grass; and so<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They fit, and fit, and fit!!!!!!</span><br /> +<br /> +"The night came on, the stars shone out<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As bright as wimmen's wit;</span><br /> +And still them fellers swore and gouged,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And fit, and fit, and fit!!!!!!!</span><br /> +<br /> +"The neighbours heard the noise they made,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And thought an earthquake lit;</span><br /> +Yet all the while 'twas him and Sam<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As fit, and fit, and fit!!!!!!!!</span><br /> +<br /> +"For miles around the noise was heard;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Folks couldn't sleep a bit,</span><br /> +Because them two rantankerous chaps<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Still fit, and fit, and fit!!!!!!!!!</span><br /> +<br /> +"But jist at cock-crow, suddenly,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There came an awful pause,</span><br /> +And I and my old man run out<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To ascertain the cause.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_700" id="Page_700">[Pg 700]</a></span> + +<br /> +"The sun was rising in the yeast,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And lit the hull concern;</span><br /> +But not a sign of either chap<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was found at any turn.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Yet, in the region where they fit,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We found, to our surprise,</span><br /> +One pint of buttons, two big knives,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Some whiskers, and four, eyes!"</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Robert Henry Newell.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE DONNYBROOK JIG</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Oh! 'twas Dermot O'Nolan M'Figg,<br /> +That could properly handle a twig,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He wint to the fair, and kicked up a dust there,</span><br /> +In dancing a Donnybrook jig—with his twig.<br /> +Oh! my blessing to Dermot M'Figg.<br /> +<br /> +Whin he came to the midst of the fair,<br /> +He was all in a paugh for fresh air,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For the fair very soon, was as full—as the moon,</span><br /> +Such mobs upon mobs as were there, oh rare!<br /> +So more luck to sweet Donnybrook Fair.<br /> +<br /> +But Dermot, his mind on love bent,<br /> +In search of his sweetheart he went,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Peep'd in here and there, as he walked through the fair,</span><br /> +And took a small drop in each tent—as he went,—<br /> +Oh! on whisky and love he was bent.<br /> +<br /> +And who should he spy in a jig,<br /> +With a meal-man so tall and so big,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But his own darling Kate, so gay and so nate?</span><br /> +Faith! her partner he hit him a dig—the pig,<br /> +He beat the meal out of his wig.<br /> +<br /> +The piper, to keep him in tune,<br /> +Struck up a gay lilt very soon;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Until an arch wag cut a hole in the bag,</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_701" id="Page_701">[Pg 701]</a></span> + +And at once put an end to the tune—too soon—<br /> +Och! the music flew up to the moon.<br /> +<br /> +The meal-man he looked very shy,<br /> +While a great big tear stood in his eye,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He cried, "Lord, how I'm kilt, all alone for that jilt;</span><br /> +With her may the devil fly high in the sky,<br /> +For I'm murdered, and don't know for why."<br /> +<br /> +"Oh!" says Dermot, and he in the dance,<br /> +Whilst a step to'ards his foe did advance,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"By the Father of Men, say but that word again,</span><br /> +And I'll soon knock you back in a trance—to your dance,<br /> +For with me you'd have but small chance."<br /> +<br /> +"But," says Kitty, the darlint, says she,<br /> +"If you'll only just listen to me,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It's myself that will show that he can't be your foe,</span><br /> +Though he fought for his cousin—that's me," says she,<br /> +"For sure Billy's related to me.<br /> +<br /> +"For my own cousin-jarmin, Anne Wild,<br /> +Stood for Biddy Mulroony's first child;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Biddy's step-son, sure he married Bess Dunn,</span><br /> +Who was gossip to Jenny, as mild a child<br /> +As ever at mother's breast smiled.<br /> +<br /> +"And may be you don't know Jane Brown,<br /> +Who served goat's-whey in Dundrum's sweet town?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Twas her uncle's half-brother, who married my mother,</span><br /> +And bought me this new yellow gown, to go down<br /> +When the marriage was held in Milltown."<br /> +<br /> +"By the powers, then," says Dermot, "'tis plain,<br /> +Like the son of that rapscallion Cain,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My best friend I have kilt, though no blood is spilt,</span><br /> +But the devil a harm did I mane—that's plain;<br /> +And by me he'll be ne'er kilt again."<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Viscount Dillon</i>.</p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_702" id="Page_702">[Pg 702]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + + +<h3>UNFORTUNATE MISS BAILEY</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +A captain bold from Halifax who dwelt in country quarters,<br /> +Betrayed a maid who hanged herself one morning in her Garters.<br /> +His wicked conscience smited him, he lost his Stomach daily,<br /> +And took to drinking Ratafia while thinking of Miss Bailey.<br /> +<br /> +One night betimes he went to bed, for he had caught a Fever;<br /> +Says he, "I am a handsome man, but I'm a gay Deceiver."<br /> +His candle just at twelve o'clock began to burn quite palely,<br /> +A Ghost stepped up to his bedside and said "Behold Miss Bailey!"<br /> +<br /> +"Avaunt, Miss Bailey!" then he cries, "your Face looks white and mealy."<br /> +"Dear Captain Smith," the ghost replied, "you've used me ungenteelly;<br /> +The Crowner's 'Quest goes hard with me because I've acted frailly,<br /> +And Parson Biggs won't bury me though I am dead Miss Bailey."<br /> +<br /> +"Dear Corpse!" said he, "since you and I accounts must once for all close,<br /> +There really is a one pound note in my regimental Smallclothes;<br /> +I'll bribe the sexton for your grave." The ghost then vanished gaily<br /> +Crying "Bless you, Wicked Captain Smith, Remember poor Miss Bailey."<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_703" id="Page_703">[Pg 703]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + + +<h3>THE LAIRD O' COCKPEN</h3> +<p class='center'>The last two stanzas were added by Miss Ferrier.</p> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> + +<p> +The Laird o' Cockpen, he's proud and he's great;<br /> +His mind is ta'en up wi' the things o' the state;<br /> +He wanted a wife his braw house to keep;<br /> +But favour wi' wooin' was fashious to seek.<br /> +<br /> +Doun by the dyke-side a lady did dwell,<br /> +At his table-head he thought she'd look well<br /> +M'Clish's ae daughter o' Claverse-ha' Lee—<br /> +A pennyless lass wi' a lang pedigree.<br /> +<br /> +His wig was well-pouther'd, as guid as when new,<br /> +His waistcoat was white, his coat it was blue:<br /> +He put on a ring, a sword, and cock'd hat—<br /> +And wha could refuse the Laird wi' a' that?<br /> +<br /> +He took the grey mare, and rade cannilie—<br /> +And rapped at the yett o' Claverse-ha' Lee;<br /> +"Gae tell mistress Jean to come speedily ben:<br /> +She's wanted to speak wi' the Laird o' Cockpen."<br /> +<br /> +Mistress Jean she was makin' the elder-flower wine;<br /> +"And what brings the Laird at sic a like time?"<br /> +She put off her apron, and on her silk gown,<br /> +Her mutch wi' red ribbons, and gaed awa' down.<br /> +<br /> +And when she cam' ben, he boued fu' low;<br /> +And what was his errand he soon let her know,<br /> +Amazed was the Laird when the lady said, Na,<br /> +And wi' a laigh curtsie she turned awa'.<br /> +<br /> +Dumfounder'd he was, but nae sigh did he gi'e;<br /> +He mounted his mare, and rade cannilie;<br /> +And aften he thought, as he gaed through the glen,<br /> +"She's daft to refuse the Laird o' Cockpen."<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_704" id="Page_704">[Pg 704]</a></span> + +<br /> +And now that the Laird his exit had made,<br /> +Mistress Jean she reflected on what she had said;<br /> +"Oh! for ane I'll get better, it's waur I'll get ten—<br /> +I was daft to refuse the Laird o' Cockpen."<br /> +<br /> +Neist time that the Laird and the Lady were seen,<br /> +They were gaun arm and arm to the kirk on the green;<br /> +Now she sits in the ha' like a weel-tappit hen,<br /> +But as yet there's nae chickens appeared at Cockpen.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Lady Nairne.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A WEDDING</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I tell thee, Dick, where I have been;<br /> +Where I the rarest things have seen;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh, things without compare!</span><br /> +Such sights again can not be found<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In any place on English ground,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Be it at wake or fair.</span><br /> +<br /> +At Charing Cross, hard by the way<br /> +Where we (thou know'st) do sell our hay,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There is a house with stairs;</span><br /> +And there did I see coming down<br /> +Such folks as are not in our town;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Vorty at least, in pairs.</span><br /> +<br /> +Amongst the rest one pest'lent fine<br /> +(His beard no bigger tho' than thine)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Walk'd on before the rest;</span><br /> +Our landlord looks like nothing to him;<br /> +The King (God bless him!) 'twould undo him<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Should he go still so drest.</span><br /> +<br /> +At Course-a-park, without all doubt,<br /> +He should have first been taken out<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By all the maids i' th' town:</span><br /> +Though lusty Roger there had been,<br /> +Or little George upon the green,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or Vincent of the crown.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_705" id="Page_705">[Pg 705]</a></span> + +<br /> +But wot you what? The youth was going<br /> +To make an end of all his woing;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The parson for him staid:</span><br /> +Yet by his leave, for all his haste,<br /> +He did not so much wish all past,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Perchance as did the maid.</span><br /> +<br /> +The maid (and thereby hangs a tale)<br /> +For such a maid no Whitson-ale<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Could ever yet produce;</span><br /> +No grape that's kindly ripe, could be<br /> +So round, so plump, so soft, as she<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor half so full of juyce.</span><br /> +<br /> +Her finger was so small, the ring<br /> +Would not stay on which they did bring;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It was too wide a peck:</span><br /> +And, to say truth (for out it must),<br /> +It look'd like the great collar (just)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">About our young colt's neck.</span><br /> +<br /> +Her feet beneath her petticoat,<br /> +Like little mice, stole in and out,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As if they fear'd the light:</span><br /> +But oh! she dances such a way;<br /> +No sun upon an Easter day<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is half so fine a sight.</span><br /> +<br /> +Her cheeks so rare a white was on,<br /> +No daisie makes comparison<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Who sees them is undone);</span><br /> +For streaks of red were mingled there,<br /> +Such as are on a Cath'rine pear,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The side that's next the Sun.</span><br /> +<br /> +Her lips were red; and one was thin,<br /> +Compared to that was next her chin<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Some bee had stung it newly);</span><br /> +But, Dick, her eyes so guard her face,<br /> +I durst no more upon them gaze,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than on a Sun in July.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_706" id="Page_706">[Pg 706]</a></span> + +<br /> +Her mouth so small, when she does speak,<br /> +Thou'dst swear her teeth her words did break,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That they might passage get;</span><br /> +But she so handled still the matter,<br /> +They came as good as ours, or better,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And are not spent a whit.</span><br /> +<br /> +Passion, oh me! how I run on!<br /> +There's that that would be thought upon,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I trow, besides the bride.</span><br /> +The business of the kitchen's great;<br /> +For it is fit that men should eat,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor was it there denied.</span><br /> +<br /> +Just in the nick the Cook knock'd thrice,<br /> +And all the waiters in a trice<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His summons did obey;</span><br /> +Each serving man, with dish in hand,<br /> +March'd boldly up like our train'd band,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Presented, and away.</span><br /> +<br /> +When all the meat was on the table,<br /> +What man of knife, or teeth, was able<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To stay to be entreated?</span><br /> +And this the very reason was,<br /> +Before the parson could say grace<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The company was seated.</span><br /> +<br /> +Now hats fly off, and youths carouse;<br /> +Healths first go round, and then the house,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The bride's came thick and thick;</span><br /> +And when 'twas named another's health,<br /> +Perhaps he made it hers by stealth,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(And who could help it, Dick?)</span><br /> +<br /> +O' th' sudden, up they rise and dance;<br /> +Then sit again, and sigh, and glance:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then dance again, and kiss:</span><br /> +Thus sev'ral ways the time did pass,<br /> +Till ev'ry woman wish'd her place,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And ev'ry man wish'd his.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_707" id="Page_707">[Pg 707]</a></span> + +<br /> +By this time all were stol'n aside<br /> +To counsel and undress the bride;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But that he must not know:</span><br /> +But yet 'twas thought he guest her mind,<br /> +And did not mean to stay behind<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Above an hour or so.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Sir John Suckling.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_708" id="Page_708">[Pg 708]</a></span> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XI" id="XI"></a>XI</h2> + +<h2>TRIBUTE</h2> +<p><br /></p> + +<h3>THE AHKOND OF SWAT</h3> + +<p> +Who, or why, or which, or <i>what</i>,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 15em;">Is the Ahkond of Swat?</span><br /> +<br /> +Is he tall or short, or dark or fair?<br /> +Does he sit on a stool or sofa or chair, or Squat,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 15em;">The Ahkond of Swat?</span><br /> +<br /> +Is he wise or foolish, young or old?<br /> +Does he drink his soup and his coffee cold, or Hot,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 15em;">The Ahkond of Swat?</span><br /> +<br /> +Does he sing or whistle, jabber or talk,<br /> +And when riding abroad does he gallop or walk, or Trot,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 15em;">The Ahkond of Swat?</span><br /> +<br /> +Does he wear a turban, a fez, or a hat?<br /> +Does he sleep on a mattress, a bed or a mat, or a Cot,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 15em;">The Ahkond of Swat?</span><br /> +<br /> +When he writes a copy in round-hand size,<br /> +Does he cross his t's and finish his i's with a Dot,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 15em;">The Ahkond of Swat?</span><br /> +<br /> +Can he write a letter concisely clear,<br /> +Without a speck or a smudge or smear or a Blot,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 15em;">The Ahkond of Swat?</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_709" id="Page_709">[Pg 709]</a></span> + +<br /> +Do his people like him extremely well?<br /> +Or do they, whenever they can, rebel, or Plot,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 15em;">At the Ahkond of Swat?</span><br /> +<br /> +If he catches them then, either old or young,<br /> +Does he have them chopped in pieces or hung, or Shot,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 15em;">The Ahkond of Swat?</span><br /> +<br /> +Do his people prig in the lanes or park?<br /> +Or even at times, when days are dark, Garotte?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 15em;">Oh, the Ahkond of Swat?</span><br /> +<br /> +Does he study the wants of his own dominion?<br /> +Or doesn't he care for public opinion a Jot,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 15em;">The Ahkond of Swat?</span><br /> +<br /> +To amuse his mind do his people show him<br /> +Pictures, or any one's last new poem, or What,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 15em;">For the Ahkond of Swat?</span><br /> +<br /> +At night if he suddenly screams and wakes,<br /> +Do they bring him only a few small cakes, or a Lot,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 15em;">For the Ahkond of Swat?</span><br /> +<br /> +Does he live on turnips, tea or tripe,<br /> +Does he like his shawl to be marked with a stripe or a Dot,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 15em;">The Ahkond of Swat?</span><br /> +<br /> +Does he like to lie on his back in a boat<br /> +Like the lady who lived in that isle remote, Shalott.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 15em;">The Ahkond of Swat?</span><br /> +<br /> +Is he quiet, or always making a fuss?<br /> +Is his steward a Swiss or a Swede or a Russ, or a Scot,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 15em;">The Ahkond of Swat?</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_710" id="Page_710">[Pg 710]</a></span> + +<br /> +Does he like to sit by the calm blue wave?<br /> +Or to sleep and snore in a dark green cave, or a Grott,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 15em;">The Ahkond of Swat?</span><br /> +<br /> +Does he drink small beer from a silver jug?<br /> +Or a bowl? or a glass? or a cup? or a mug? or a Pot,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 15em;">The Ahkond of Swat?</span><br /> +<br /> +Does he beat his wife with a gold-topped pipe,<br /> +When she lets the gooseberries grow too ripe, or Rot,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 15em;">The Ahkond of Swat?</span><br /> +<br /> +Does he wear a white tie when he dines with his friends,<br /> +And tie it neat in a bow with ends, or a Knot,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 15em;">The Ahkond of Swat?</span><br /> +<br /> +Does he like new cream, and hate mince-pies?<br /> +When he looks at the sun does he wink his eyes, or Not,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 15em;">The Ahkond of Swat?</span><br /> +<br /> +Does he teach his subjects to roast and bake?<br /> +Does he sail about on an inland lake, in a Yacht,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 15em;">The Ahkond of Swat?</span><br /> +<br /> +Some one, or nobody knows I wot<br /> +Who or which or why or what<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 15em;">Is the Ahkond of Swat!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Edward Lear.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE AHKOOND OF SWAT</h3> + +<p class='center'>"The Ahkoond of Swat is dead."—London Papers of +Jan. 22, 1878.</p> + +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> + +<p> +What, what, what,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">What's the news from Swat?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sad news,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Bad news,</span><br /> +Comes by the cable led<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_711" id="Page_711">[Pg 711]</a></span> + +<br /> +Through the Indian Ocean's bed,<br /> +Through the Persian Gulf, the Red<br /> +Sea and the Med-<br /> +Iterranean—he's dead;<br /> +The Ahkoond is dead!<br /> +<br /> +For the Ahkoond I mourn,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Who wouldn't?</span><br /> +He strove to disregard the message stern,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But he Ahkoodn't.</span><br /> +Dead, dead, dead:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">(Sorrow, Swats!)</span><br /> +Swats wha hae wi' Ahkoond bled,<br /> +Swats whom he hath often led<br /> +Onward to a gory bed,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Or to victory,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">As the case might be.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sorrow, Swats!</span><br /> +Tears shed,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Shed tears like water.</span><br /> +Your great Ahkoond is dead!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That Swats the matter!</span><br /> +<br /> +Mourn, city of Swat,<br /> +Your great Ahkoond is not,<br /> +But laid 'mid worms to rot.<br /> +His mortal part alone, his soul was caught<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">(Because he was a good Ahkoond)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Up to the bosom of Mahound.</span><br /> +Though earthly walls his frame surround<br /> +(Forever hallowed by the ground!)<br /> +<br /> +And skeptics mock the lowly mound<br /> +And say "He's now of no Ahkoond!"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">His soul is in the skies—</span><br /> +The azure skies that bend above his loved<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Metropolis of Swat.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He sees with larger, other eyes,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Athwart all earthly mysteries—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He knows what's Swat.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_712" id="Page_712">[Pg 712]</a></span> + +<br /> +Let Swat bury the great Ahkoond<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With a noise of mourning and of lamentation!</span><br /> +Let Swat bury the great Ahkoond<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With the noise of the mourning of the Swattish nation!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Fallen is at length</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Its tower of strength;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Its sun is dimmed ere it had nooned;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Dead lies the great Ahkoond,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The great Ahkoond of Swat</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Is not!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>George Thomas Lanigan.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>DIRGE OF THE MOOLLA OF KOTAL,</h3> + +<h4>RIVAL OF THE AKHOOND OF SWAT</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p class='h_5'>I</p> + +<p> +Alas, unhappy land; ill-fated spot<br /> +Kotal—though where or what<br /> +On earth Kotal is, the bard has forgot;<br /> +Further than this indeed he knoweth not—<br /> +It borders upon Swat!<br /> +</p> + +<p class='h_5'>II</p> + +<p> +When sorrows come, they come not single spies,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But in battal-</span><br /> +Ions: the gloom that lay on Swat now lies<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon Kotal,</span><br /> +On sad Kotal whose people ululate<br /> +For their loved Moolla late.<br /> +Put away his little turban,<br /> +And his narghileh embrowned,<br /> +The lord of Kotal—rural urban—<br /> +'S gone unto his last Akhoond,<br /> +'S gone to meet his rival Swattan,<br /> +'S gone, indeed, but not forgotten.</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_713" id="Page_713">[Pg 713]</a></span> + +<p class='h_5'>III</p> + +<p> +His rival, but in what?<br /> +Wherein did the deceased Akhoond of Swat<br /> +Kotal's lamented Moolla late,<br /> +As it were, emulate?<br /> +Was it in the tented field<br /> +With crash of sword on shield,<br /> +While backward meaner champions reeled<br /> +And loud the tom-tom pealed?<br /> +Did they barter gash for scar<br /> +With the Persian scimetar<br /> +Or the Afghanistee tulwar,<br /> +While loud the tom-tom pealed—<br /> +While loud the tom-tom pealed,<br /> +And the jim-jam squealed,<br /> +And champions less well heeled<br /> +Their war-horses wheeled<br /> +And fled the presence of these mortal big bugs o' the field?<br /> +Was Kotal's proud citadel—<br /> +Bastioned, walled, and demi-luned,<br /> +Beaten down with shot and shell<br /> +By the guns of the Akhoond?<br /> +Or were wails despairing caught, as<br /> +The burghers pale of Swat<br /> +Cried in panic, "Moolla ad Portas?"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">—Or what?</span><br /> +Or made each in the cabinet his mark<br /> +Kotalese Gortschakoff, Swattish Bismarck?<br /> +Did they explain and render hazier<br /> +The policies of Central Asia?<br /> +Did they with speeches from the throne,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Wars dynastic,</span><br /> +<i>Entents cordiales</i>,<br /> +Between Swat and Kotal;<br /> +Holy alliances,<br /> +And other appliances<br /> +Of statesmen with morals and consciences plastic<br /> +Come by much more than their own?<br /> +Made they mots, as "There to-day is<br /> +No more Himalayehs,"<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_714" id="Page_714">[Pg 714]</a></span> + +Or, if you prefer it, "There to-day are<br /> +No more Himalaya?"<br /> +Or, said the Akhoond, "Sah,<br /> +L'Etat de Swat c'est moi?"<br /> +Khabu, did there come great fear<br /> +On thy Khabuldozed Ameer<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Ali Shere?</span><br /> +Or did the Khan of far<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Kashgar</span><br /> +Tremble at the menace hot<br /> +Of the Moolla of Kotal,<br /> +"I will extirpate thee, pal<br /> +Of my foe the Akhoond of Swat?"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Who knows</span><br /> +Of Moolla and Akhoond aught more than I did?<br /> +Namely, in life they rivals were, or foes,<br /> +And in their deaths not very much divided?<br /> +If any one knows it,<br /> +Let him disclose it!<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>George Thomas Lanigan.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE BALLAD OF BOUILLABAISSE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +A street there is in Paris famous,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For which no rhyme our language yields,</span><br /> +Rue Neuve des Petits Champs its name is—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The New Street of the Little Fields.</span><br /> +And here's an inn, not rich and splendid,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But still in comfortable case;</span><br /> +The which in youth I oft attended,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To eat a bowl of Bouillabaisse.</span><br /> +<br /> +This Bouillabaisse a noble dish is—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A sort of soup, or broth, or brew,</span><br /> +Or hotchpotch of all sorts of fishes,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That Greenwich never could outdo:</span><br /> +Green herbs, red peppers, mussels, saffron,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Soles, onions, garlic, roach, and dace:</span><br /> +All these you eat at Terré's tavern<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In that one dish of Bouillabaisse.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_715" id="Page_715">[Pg 715]</a></span> + +<br /> +Indeed, a rich and savoury stew 'tis;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And true philosophers, methinks,</span><br /> +Who love all sorts of natural beauties,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Should love good victuals and good drinks.</span><br /> +And Cordelier or Benedictine<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Might gladly, sure, his lot embrace,</span><br /> +Nor find a fast-day too afflicting,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which served him up a Bouillabaisse.</span><br /> +<br /> +I wonder if the house still there is?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yes, here the lamp is, as before;</span><br /> +The smiling red-cheeked <i>écaillère</i> is<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Still opening oysters at the door.</span><br /> +Is Terré still alive and able?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I recollect his droll grimace:</span><br /> +He'd come and smile before your table,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And hope you liked your Bouillabaisse.</span><br /> +<br /> +We enter—nothing's changed or older.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"How's Monsieur Terré, waiter, pray?"</span><br /> +The waiter stares, and shrugs his shoulder—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Monsieur is dead this many a day."</span><br /> +"It is the lot of saint and sinner,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So honest Terré's run his race."</span><br /> +"What will Monsieur require for dinner?"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Say, do you still cook Bouillabaisse?"</span><br /> +<br /> +"Oh, oui, Monsieur," 's the waiter's answer;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Quel vin Monsieur désire-t-il?"</span><br /> +"Tell me a good one."—"That I can, Sir:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Chambertin with yellow seal."</span><br /> +"So Terré's gone," I say, and sink in<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My old accustom'd corner-place;</span><br /> +"He's done with feasting and with drinking,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With Burgundy and with Bouillabaisse."</span><br /> +<br /> +My old accustom'd corner here is,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The table still is in the nook;</span><br /> +Ah! vanished many a busy year is<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This well-known chair since last I took.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_716" id="Page_716">[Pg 716]</a></span> + +When first I saw ye, <i>cari luoghi</i>,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'd scarce a beard upon my face,</span><br /> +And now a grizzled, grim old fogy,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I sit and wait for Bouillabaisse.</span><br /> +<br /> +Where are you, old companions trusty<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of early days here met to dine?</span><br /> +Come, waiter! quick, a flagon crusty—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'll pledge them in the good old wine.</span><br /> +The kind old voices and old faces<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My memory can quick retrace;</span><br /> +Around the board they take their places,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And share the wine and Bouillabaisse.</span><br /> +<br /> +There's Jack has made a wondrous marriage;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There's laughing Tom is laughing yet;</span><br /> +There's brave Augustus drives his carriage;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There's poor old Fred in the <i>Gazette</i>;</span><br /> +On James's head the grass is growing:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Good Lord! the world has wagged apace</span><br /> +Since here we set the claret flowing,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And drank, and ate the Bouillabaisse.</span><br /> +<br /> +Ah me! how quick the days are flitting!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I mind me of a time that's gone,</span><br /> +When here I'd sit, as now I'm sitting,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In this same place—but not alone.</span><br /> +A fair young form was nestled near me,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A dear dear face looked fondly up,</span><br /> +And sweetly spoke and smiled to cheer me<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">—There's no one now to share my cup.</span></p> + +<hr style="width: 33%; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;" /> +<p> +I drink it as the Fates ordain it.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come, fill it, and have done with rhymes:</span><br /> +Fill up the lonely glass, and drain it<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In memory of dear old times.</span><br /> +Welcome the wine, whate'er the seal is;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And sit you down and say your grace</span><br /> +With thankful heart, whate'er the meal is.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">—Here comes the smoking Bouillabaisse!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>W. M. Thackeray.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_717" id="Page_717">[Pg 717]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>OULD DOCTOR MACK</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Ye may tramp the world over</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">From Delhi to Dover,</span><br /> +And sail the salt say from Archangel to Arragon,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Circumvint back</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Through the whole Zodiack,</span><br /> +But to ould Docther Mack ye can't furnish a paragon.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Have ye the dropsy,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">The gout, the autopsy?</span><br /> +Fresh livers and limbs instantaneous he'll shape yez,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">No ways infarior</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In skill, but suparior,</span><br /> +And lineal postarior to Ould Aysculapius.</p> +<p class='center'><br /><i>Chorus</i></p> +<p><span style="margin-left: 2em;">He and his wig wid the curls so carroty,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Aigle eye, and complexion clarety:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Here's to his health,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Honor and wealth,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The king of his kind and the crame of all charity!</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">How the rich and the poor,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">To consult for a cure,</span><br /> +Crowd on to his doore in their carts and their carriages,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Showin' their tongues</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Or unlacin' their lungs,</span><br /> +For divle one symptom the docther disparages.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Troth, an' he'll tumble,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For high or for humble,</span><br /> +From his warm feather-bed wid no cross contrariety;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Makin' as light</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Of nursin' all night</span><br /> +The beggar in rags as the belle of society.<br /> +</p> +<p class='center'><br /><i>Chorus</i>—He and his wig, etc.</p> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And as if by a meracle,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Ailments hysterical,</span><br /> +Dad, wid one dose of bread-pills he can smother,<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_718" id="Page_718">[Pg 718]</a></span> + +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And quench the love-sickness</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Wid wonderful quickness,</span><br /> +By prescribin' the right boys and girls to aich other.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And the sufferin' childer—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Your eyes 'twould bewilder</span><br /> +To see the wee craythurs his coat-tails unravellin',<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And aich of them fast</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">On some treasure at last,</span><br /> +Well knowin' ould Mack's just a toy-shop out travellin'.<br /> +</p> +<p class='center'><br /><i>Chorus</i>—He and his wig, etc.</p> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Thin, his doctherin' done,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">In a rollickin' run</span><br /> +Wid the rod or the gun, he's the foremost to figure.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">By Jupiter Ammon,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">What jack-snipe or salmon</span><br /> +E'er rose to backgammon his tail-fly or trigger!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And hark! the view-hollo!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">'Tis Mack in full follow</span><br /> +On black "Faugh-a-ballagh" the country-side sailin'.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Och, but you'd think</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">'Twas old Nimrod in pink,</span><br /> +Wid his spurs cryin' chink over park-wall and palin'.<br /> +</p> +<p class='center'><br /><i>Chorus</i></p> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He and his wig wid the curls so carroty,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Aigle eye, and complexion clarety:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Here's to his health,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Honor and wealth!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Hip, hip, hooray! wid all hilarity,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Hip, hip, hooray! That's the way,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">All at once, widout disparity!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">One more cheer</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For our docther dear,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The king of his kind and the crame of all charity.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Hip, hip, hooray!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Alfred Perceval Graves.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_719" id="Page_719">[Pg 719]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>FATHER O'FLYNN</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Of priests we can offer a charmin' variety,<br /> +Far renowned for larnin' and piety;<br /> +Still, I'd advance ye, widout impropriety,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Father O'Flynn as the flower of them all.</span><br /> +</p> +<p class='center'><br /><span class="smcap">Chorus</span></p> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>Here's a health to you, Father O'Flynn,</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>Slainté, and slainté, and slainté agin;</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;"><i>Powerfulest preacher, and</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;"><i>Tenderest teacher, and</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>Kindliest creature in ould Donegal.</i></span><br /> +<br /> +Don't talk of your Provost and Fellows of Trinity,<br /> +Famous for ever at Greek and Latinity,<br /> +Dad and the divels and all at Divinity,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Father O'Flynn 'd make hares of them all!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Come, I venture to give you my word,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Never the likes of his logic was heard,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Down from Mythology</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Into Thayology,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Troth! and Conchology if he'd the call.</span><br /> +</p> +<p class='center'><br /><i>Chorus</i></p> +<p> +Och! Father O'Flynn, you've the wonderful way wid you,<br /> +All ould sinners are wishful to pray wid you,<br /> +All the young childer are wild for to play wid you,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You've such a way wid you, Father avick!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Still for all you've so gentle a soul,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Gad, you've your flock in the grandest control;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Checking the crazy ones,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Coaxin' onaisy ones,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Liftin' the lazy ones on wid the stick.</span><br /> +</p> +<p class='center'><br /><i>Chorus</i></p> +<p> +And though quite avoidin' all foolish frivolity,<br /> +Still at all seasons of innocent jollity,<br /> +Where was the play-boy could claim an equality<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At comicality, Father, wid you?</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_720" id="Page_720">[Pg 720]</a></span> + +Once the Bishop looked grave at your jest,<br /> +Till this remark set him off wid the rest:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">"Is it lave gaiety</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">All to the laity?</span><br /> +Cannot the clargy be Irishmen too?"<br /> +</p> +<p class='center'><br /><i>Chorus</i></p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Alfred Perceval Graves.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE BALD-HEADED TYRANT</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +O the quietest home in earth had I,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No thought of trouble, no hint of care;</span><br /> +Like a dream of pleasure the days fled by,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Peace had folded her pinions there.</span><br /> +But one day there joined in our household band<br /> +A bald-headed tyrant from No-man's-land.<br /> +<br /> +Oh, the despot came in the dead of night,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And no one ventured to ask him why;</span><br /> +Like slaves we trembled before his might,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our hearts stood still when we heard him cry;</span><br /> +For never a soul could his power withstand,<br /> +That bald-headed tyrant from No-man's-land.<br /> +<br /> +He ordered us here, and he sent us there—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Though never a word could his small lips speak—</span><br /> +With his toothless gums and his vacant stare,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And his helpless limbs so frail and weak,</span><br /> +Till I cried, in a voice of stern command,<br /> +"Go up, thou bald-head from No-man's-land!"<br /> +<br /> +But his abject slaves they turned on me;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like the bears in Scripture, they'd rend me there,</span><br /> +The while they worshiped with bended knee<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This ruthless wretch with the missing hair;</span><br /> +For he rules them all with relentless hand,<br /> +This bald-headed tyrant from No-man's-land.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_721" id="Page_721">[Pg 721]</a></span> + +<br /> +Then I searched for help in every clime,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For peace had fled from my dwelling now,</span><br /> +Till I finally thought of old Father Time,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And low before him I made my bow.</span><br /> +"Wilt thou deliver me out of his hand,<br /> +This bald-headed tyrant from No-man's-land?"<br /> +<br /> +Old Time he looked with a puzzled stare,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And a smile came over his features grim.</span><br /> +"I'll take the tyrant under my care:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Watch what my hour-glass does to him.</span><br /> +The veriest humbug that ever was planned<br /> +Is this same bald-head from No-man's-land."<br /> +<br /> +Old Time is doing his work full well—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Much less of might does the tyrant wield;</span><br /> +But, ah! with sorrow my heart will swell,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And sad tears fall as I see him yield.</span><br /> +Could I stay the touch of that shriveled hand,<br /> +I would keep the bald-head from No-man's-land.<br /> +<br /> +For the loss of peace I have ceased to care;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like other vassals, I've learned, forsooth,</span><br /> +To love the wretch who forgot his hair<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And hurried along without a tooth,</span><br /> +And he rules me too with his tiny hand,<br /> +This bald-headed tyrant from No-man's-land.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Mary E. Vandyne.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>BARNEY McGEE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Barney McGee, there's no end of good luck in you,<br /> +Will-o'-the-wisp, with a flicker of Puck in you,<br /> +Wild as a bull-pup, and all of his pluck in you—<br /> +Let a man tread on your coat and he'll see!<br /> +Eyes like the lakes of Killarney for clarity,<br /> +Nose that turns up without any vulgarity,<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_722" id="Page_722">[Pg 722]</a></span> + +Smile like a cherub, and hair that is carroty—<br /> +Whoop, you're a rarity, Barney McGee!<br /> +Mellow as Tarragon,<br /> +Prouder than Aragon—<br /> +Hardly a paragon,<br /> +You will agree—<br /> +Here's all that's fine to you!<br /> +Books and old wine to you!<br /> +Girls be divine to you,<br /> +Barney McGee!<br /> +<br /> +Lucky the day when I met you unwittingly,<br /> +Dining where vagabonds came and went flittingly.<br /> +Here's some <i>Barbera</i> to drink it befittingly,<br /> +That day at Silvio's, Barney McGee!<br /> +Many's the time we have quaffed our Chianti there,<br /> +Listened to Silvio quoting us Dante there—<br /> +Once more to drink Nebiolo Spumante there,<br /> +How we'd pitch Pommery into the sea!<br /> +There where the gang of us<br /> +Met ere Rome rang of us,<br /> +They had the hang of us<br /> +To a degree.<br /> +How they would trust to you!<br /> +That was but just to you.<br /> +Here's o'er their dust to you,<br /> +Barney McGee!<br /> +<br /> +Barney McGee, when you're sober you scintillate,<br /> +But when you're in drink you're the pride of the intellect;<br /> +Divil a one of us ever came in till late,<br /> +Once at the bar where you happened to be—<br /> +Every eye there like a spoke in you centering,<br /> +You with your eloquence, blarney, and bantering—<br /> +All Vagabondia shouts at your entering,<br /> +King of the Tenderloin, Barney McGee!<br /> +There's no satiety<br /> +In your society<br /> +With the variety<br /> +Of your <i>esprit</i>.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_723" id="Page_723">[Pg 723]</a></span> + +Here's a long purse to you,<br /> +And a great thirst to you!<br /> +Fate be no worse to you,<br /> +Barney McGee!<br /> +<br /> +Och, and the girls whose poor hearts you deracinate,<br /> +Whirl and bewilder and flutter and fascinate!<br /> +Faith, it's so killing you are, you assassinate—<br /> +Murder's the word for you, Barney McGee!<br /> +Bold when they're sunny, and smooth when they're showery—<br /> +Oh, but the style of you, fluent and flowery!<br /> +Chesterfield's way, with a touch of the Bowery!<br /> +How, would they silence you, Barney machree?<br /> +Naught can your gab allay,<br /> +Learned as Rabelais<br /> +(You in his abbey lay<br /> +Once on the spree).<br /> +Here's to the smile of you,<br /> +(Oh, but the guile of you!)<br /> +And a long while of you,<br /> +Barney McGee!<br /> +<br /> +Facile with phrases of length and Latinity,<br /> +Like honorificabilitudinity,<br /> +Where is the maid could resist your vicinity,<br /> +Wiled by the impudent grace of your plea?<br /> +Then your vivacity and pertinacity<br /> +Carry the day with the divil's audacity;<br /> +No mere veracity robs your sagacity<br /> +Of perspicacity, Barney McGee.<br /> +When all is new to them,<br /> +What will you do to them?<br /> +Will you be true to them?<br /> +Who shall decree?<br /> +Here's a fair strife to you!<br /> +Health and long life to you!<br /> +And a great wife to you, Barney McGee!<br /> +<br /> +Barney McGee, you're the pick of gentility;<br /> +Nothing can phase you, you've such a facility;<br /> +Nobody ever yet found your utility—<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_724" id="Page_724">[Pg 724]</a></span> + +There is the charm of you, Barney McGee;<br /> +Under conditions that others would stammer in,<br /> +Still unperturbed as a cat or a Cameron,<br /> +Polished as somebody in the Decameron,<br /> +Putting the glamour on price or Pawnee.<br /> +In your meanderin',<br /> +Love and philanderin',<br /> +Calm as a mandarin<br /> +Sipping his tea!<br /> +Under the art of you,<br /> +Parcel and part of you,<br /> +Here's to the heart of you,<br /> +Barney McGee!<br /> +<br /> +You who were ever alert to befriend a man,<br /> +You who were ever the first to defend a man,<br /> +You who had always the money to lend a man,<br /> +Down on his luck and hard up for a V!<br /> +Sure, you'll be playing a harp in beatitude<br /> +(And a quare sight you will be in that attitude)—<br /> +Some day, where gratitude seems but a platitude,<br /> +You'll find your latitude, Barney McGee.<br /> +That's no flim-flam at all,<br /> +Frivol or sham at all,<br /> +Just the plain—Damn it all,<br /> +Have one with me!<br /> +Here's one and more to you!<br /> +Friends by the score to you,<br /> +True to the core to you,<br /> +Barney MeGee!<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Richard Hovey.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>ADDRESS TO THE TOOTHACHE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +My curse upon your venom'd stang,<br /> +That shoots my tortur'd gooms alang;<br /> +An' thro' my lug gies monie a twang,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Wi' gnawing vengeance,</span><br /> +Tearing my nerves wi' bitter pang,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Like racking engines!</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_725" id="Page_725">[Pg 725]</a></span> + +<br /> +A' down my beard the slavers trickle!<br /> +I throw the wee stools o'er the mickle,<br /> +While round the fire the giglets keckle<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">To see me loup;</span><br /> +An', raving mad, I wish a heckle<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Were i' their doup!</span><br /> +<br /> +When fevers burn, or ague freezes,<br /> +Rheumatics gnaw, or colic squeezes,<br /> +Our neebors sympathize to ease us<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Wi' pitying moan;</span><br /> +But thee!—thou hell o' a' diseases,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">They mock our groan!</span><br /> +<br /> +Of a' the num'rous human dools,<br /> +Ill-hairsts, daft bargains, cutty-stools,<br /> +Or worthy frien's laid i' the mools,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Sad sight to see!</span><br /> +The tricks o' knaves, or fash o' fools,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Thou bear'st the gree!</span><br /> +<br /> +Whare'er that place be priests ca' hell,<br /> +Whare a' the tones o' misery yell,<br /> +An' rankèd plagues their numbers tell<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">In dreadfu' raw,</span><br /> +Thou, Toothache, surely bear'st the bell<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Amang them a'!</span><br /> +<br /> +O thou grim, mischief-making chiel,<br /> +That gars the notes o' discord squeel,<br /> +'Till humankind aft dance a reel<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">In gore a shoe-thick;—</span><br /> +Gie a' the faes o' Scotland's weal<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">A towmond's toothache!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Robert Burns.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_726" id="Page_726">[Pg 726]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A FAREWELL TO TOBACCO</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +May the Babylonish curse<br /> +Straight confound my stammering verse,<br /> +If I can a passage see<br /> +In this word-perplexity,<br /> +Or a fit expression find,<br /> +Or a language to my mind,<br /> +(Still the phrase is wide or scant)<br /> +To take leave of thee, <i>great plant</i>!<br /> +<br /> +Or in any terms relate<br /> +Half my love, or half my hate:<br /> +For I hate, yet love thee so,<br /> +That, whichever thing I show,<br /> +The plain truth will seem to be<br /> +A contrain'd hyperbole,<br /> +And the passion to proceed<br /> +More from a mistress than a weed.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sooty retainer to the vine,</span><br /> +Bacchus' black servant, negro fine;<br /> +Sorcerer, that mak'st us dote upon<br /> +Thy begrimed complexion,<br /> +And, for thy pernicious sake,<br /> +More and greater oaths to break<br /> +Than reclaimèd lovers take<br /> +'Gainst women: thou thy siege dost lay<br /> +Much too in the female way,<br /> +While thou suck'st the laboring breath<br /> +Faster than kisses or than death.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thou in such a cloud dost bind us</span><br /> +That our worst foes cannot find us,<br /> +And ill-fortune, that would thwart us,<br /> +Shoots at rovers, shooting at us;<br /> +While each man, through thy height'ning steam,<br /> +Does like a smoking Etna seem,<br /> +And all about us does express<br /> +(Fancy and wit in richest dress)<br /> +A Sicilian fruitfulness.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_727" id="Page_727">[Pg 727]</a></span> + +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thou through such a mist dost show us</span><br /> +That our best friends do not know us,<br /> +And, for those allowèd features,<br /> +Due to reasonable creatures,<br /> +Liken'st us to fell Chimeras,<br /> +Monsters,—that who see us, fear us;<br /> +Worse than Cerberus or Geryon,<br /> +Or, who first loved a cloud, Ixion.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bacchus we know, and we allow</span><br /> +His tipsy rites. But what art thou<br /> +That but by reflex canst show<br /> +What his deity can do,<br /> +As the false Egyptian spell<br /> +Aped the true Hebrew miracle?<br /> +Some few vapors thou may'st raise,<br /> +The weak brain may serve to amaze,<br /> +But to the reins and nobler heart<br /> +Canst nor life nor heat impart.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Brother of Bacchus, later born,</span><br /> +The old world was sure forlorn<br /> +Wanting thee, that aidest more<br /> +The god's victories than, before,<br /> +All his panthers, and the brawls<br /> +Of his piping Bacchanals.<br /> +These, as stale, we disallow,<br /> +Or judge of <i>thee</i> meant: only thou<br /> +His true Indian conquest art;<br /> +And, for ivy round his dart,<br /> +The reformèd god now weaves<br /> +A finer thyrsus of thy leaves.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Scent to match thy rich perfume</span><br /> +Chemic art did ne'er presume<br /> +Through her quaint alembic strain,<br /> +None so sov'reign to the brain;<br /> +Nature, that did in thee excel,<br /> +Framed again no second smell,<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_728" id="Page_728">[Pg 728]</a></span> + +Roses, violets, but toys<br /> +For the smaller sort of boys,<br /> +Or for greener damsels meant;<br /> +Thou art the only manly scent.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stinkingest of the stinking kind!</span><br /> +Filth of the mouth and fog of the mind!<br /> +Africa, that brags her foison,<br /> +Breeds no such prodigious poison!<br /> +Henbane, nightshade, both together,<br /> +Hemlock, aconite—<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">Nay, rather,</span><br /> +Plant divine, of rarest virtue;<br /> +Blisters on the tongue would hurt you!<br /> +'Twas but in a sort I blamed thee;<br /> +None e'er prosper'd who defamed thee;<br /> +Irony all, and feign'd abuse,<br /> +Such as perplex'd lovers use,<br /> +At a need, when, in despair<br /> +To paint forth their fairest fair,<br /> +Or in part but to express<br /> +That exceeding comeliness<br /> +Which their fancies doth so strike,<br /> +They borrow language of dislike;<br /> +And, instead of Dearest Miss,<br /> +Jewel, Honey, Sweetheart, Bliss,<br /> +And those forms of old admiring,<br /> +Call her Cockatrice and Siren,<br /> +Basilisk, and all that's evil,<br /> +Witch, Hyena, Mermaid, Devil,<br /> +Ethiop, Wench, and Blackamoor,<br /> +Monkey, Ape, and twenty more;<br /> +Friendly Trait'ress, loving Foe—<br /> +Not that she is truly so,<br /> +But no other way they know<br /> +A contentment to express,<br /> +Borders so upon excess,<br /> +That they do not rightly wot<br /> +Whether it be from pain or not.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_729" id="Page_729">[Pg 729]</a></span> + +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or, as men constrain'd to part</span><br /> +With what's nearest to their heart,<br /> +While their sorrow's at the height,<br /> +Lose discrimination quite,<br /> +And their hasty wrath let fall,<br /> +To appease their frantic gall,<br /> +On the darling thing whatever,<br /> +Whence they feel it death to sever<br /> +Though it be, as they, perforce,<br /> +Guiltless of the sad divorce.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For I must (nor let it grieve thee,</span><br /> +Friendliest of plants, that I must) leave thee.<br /> +For thy sake, <span class="smcap">tobacco</span>, I<br /> +Would do anything but die,<br /> +And but seek to extend my days<br /> +Long enough to sing thy praise.<br /> +But, as she who once hath been<br /> +A king's consort is a queen<br /> +Ever after, nor will bate<br /> +Any tittle of her state<br /> +Though a widow, or divorced,<br /> +So I, from thy converse forced,<br /> +The old name and style retain,<br /> +A right Katherine of Spain;<br /> +And a seat, too, 'mongst the joys<br /> +Of the blest Tobacco Boys;<br /> +Where, though I, by sour physician,<br /> +Am debarr'd the full fruition<br /> +Of thy favors, I may catch<br /> +Some collateral sweets, and snatch<br /> +Sidelong odors, that give life<br /> +Like glances from a neighbor's wife;<br /> +And still live in the by-places<br /> +And the suburbs of thy graces;<br /> +And in thy borders take delight,<br /> +An unconquer'd Canaanite.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Charles Lamb.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_730" id="Page_730">[Pg 730]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>JOHN BARLEYCORN</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +There were three kings into the east,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Three kings both great and high;</span><br /> +And they hae sworn a solemn oath<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">John Barleycorn should die.</span><br /> +<br /> +They took a plough and plough'd him down,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Put clods upon his head;</span><br /> +And they hae sworn a solemn oath<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">John Barleycorn was dead.</span><br /> +<br /> +But the cheerful spring came kindly on,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And showers began to fall:</span><br /> +John Barleycorn got up again,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And sore surprised them all.</span><br /> +<br /> +The sultry suns of summer came,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And he grew thick and strong;</span><br /> +His head weel arm'd wi' pointed spears,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That no one should him wrong.</span><br /> +<br /> +The sober autumn enter'd mild,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When he grew wan and pale;</span><br /> +His bending joints and drooping head<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Show'd he began to fail.</span><br /> +<br /> +His colour sicken'd more and more,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He faded into age;</span><br /> +And then his enemies began<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To show their deadly rage.</span><br /> +<br /> +They've ta'en a weapon, long and sharp,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And cut him by the knee;</span><br /> +Then tied him fast upon a cart,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like a rogue for forgerie.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_731" id="Page_731">[Pg 731]</a></span> + +<br /> +They laid him down upon his back,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And cudgell'd him full sore;</span><br /> +They hung him up before the storm,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And turn'd him o'er and o'er.</span><br /> +<br /> +They fillèd up a darksome pit<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With water to the brim:</span><br /> +They heavèd in John Barleycorn,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There let him sink or swim.</span><br /> +<br /> +They laid him out upon the floor,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To work him further woe:</span><br /> +And still, as signs of life appear'd,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They toss'd him to and fro.</span><br /> +<br /> +They wasted o'er a scorching flame<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The marrow of his bones;</span><br /> +But a miller used him worst of all—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He crush'd him 'tween two stones.</span><br /> +<br /> +And they hae ta'en his very heart's blood,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And drank it round and round,</span><br /> +And still the more and more they drank,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their joy did more abound.</span><br /> +<br /> +John Barleycorn was a hero bold,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of noble enterprise;</span><br /> +For if you do but taste his blood,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Twill make your courage rise.</span><br /> +<br /> +'Twill make a man forget his woe;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Twill heighten all his joy:</span><br /> +'Twill make the widow's heart to sing,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Though the tear were in her eye.</span><br /> +<br /> +Then let us toast John Barleycorn,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Each man a glass in hand;</span><br /> +And may his great posterity<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ne'er fail in old Scotland!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Robert Burns.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_732" id="Page_732">[Pg 732]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>STANZAS TO PALE ALE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Oh! I have loved thee fondly, ever<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Preferr'd thee to the choicest wine;</span><br /> +From thee my lips they could not sever<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By saying thou contain'dst strychnine.</span><br /> +Did I believe the slander? Never!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I held thee still to be divine.</span><br /> +<br /> +For me thy color hath a charm,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Although 'tis true they call thee Pale;</span><br /> +And be thou cold when I am warm,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As late I've been—so high the scale</span><br /> +Of <span class="smcap">Fahrenheit</span>—and febrile harm<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Allay, refrigerating Ale!</span><br /> +<br /> +How sweet thou art!—yet bitter, too<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And sparkling, like satiric fun;</span><br /> +But how much better thee to brew,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than a conundrum or a pun,</span><br /> +It is, in every point of view,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Must be allow'd by every one.</span><br /> +<br /> +Refresh my heart and cool my throat,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Light, airy child of malt and hops!</span><br /> +That dost not stuff, engross, and bloat<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The skin, the sides, the chin, the chops,</span><br /> +And burst the buttons off the coat,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like stout and porter—fattening slops!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>ODE TO TOBACCO</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Thou who, when fears attack,<br /> +Bidst them avaunt, and Black<br /> +Care, at the horseman's back<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Perching, unseatest;</span><br /> +Sweet, when the morn is gray;<br /> +Sweet, when they've cleared away<br /> +Lunch; and at close of day<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Possibly sweetest:</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_733" id="Page_733">[Pg 733]</a></span> + +<br /> +I have a liking old<br /> +For thee, though manifold<br /> +Stories, I know, are told,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Not to thy credit;</span><br /> +How one (or two at most)<br /> +Drops make a cat a ghost—<br /> +Useless, except to roast—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Doctors have said it:</span><br /> +<br /> +How they who use fusees<br /> +All grow by slow degrees<br /> +Brainless as chimpanzees,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Meagre as lizards;</span><br /> +Go mad, and beat their wives;<br /> +Plunge (after shocking lives)<br /> +Razors and carving knives<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Into their gizzards.</span><br /> +<br /> +Confound such knavish tricks!<br /> +Yet know I five or six<br /> +Smokers who freely mix<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Still with their neighbors;</span><br /> +Jones—(who, I'm glad to say,<br /> +Asked leave of Mrs. J.)—<br /> +Daily absorbs a clay<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">After his labors.</span><br /> +<br /> +Cats may have had their goose<br /> +Cooked by tobacco-juice;<br /> +Still why deny its use<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thoughtfully taken?</span><br /> +We're not as tabbies are:<br /> +Smith, take a fresh cigar!<br /> +Jones, the tobacco-jar!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Here's to thee, Bacon!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Charles Stuart Calverley.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_734" id="Page_734">[Pg 734]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>SONNET TO A CLAM</h3> + +<h4>DUM TACENT CLAIMANT</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Inglorious friend! most confident I am<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thy life is one of very little ease;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Albeit men mock thee with their similes</span><br /> +And prate of being "happy as a clam!"<br /> +What though thy shell protects thy fragile head<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From the sharp bailiffs of the briny sea?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thy valves are, sure, no safety-valves to thee,</span><br /> +While rakes are free to desecrate thy bed,<br /> +And bear thee off—as foemen take their spoil—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Far from thy friends and family to roam;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Forced, like a Hessian, from thy native home,</span><br /> +To meet destruction in a foreign broil!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Though thou art tender yet thy humble bard</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Declares, O clam! thy case is shocking hard!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>John G. Saxe.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>TO A FLY</h3> +<h4>TAKEN OUT OF A BOWL Of PUNCH</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Ah! poor intoxicated little knave,<br /> +Now senseless, floating on the fragrant wave;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Why not content the cakes alone to munch?</span><br /> +Dearly thou pay'st for buzzing round the bowl;<br /> +Lost to the world, thou busy sweet-lipped soul—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thus Death, as well as Pleasure, dwells with Punch.</span><br /> +<br /> +Now let me take thee out, and moralize—<br /> +Thus 'tis with mortals, as it is with flies,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Forever hankering after Pleasure's cup:</span><br /> +Though Fate, with all his legions, be at hand,<br /> +The beasts, the draught of Circe can't withstand,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But in goes every nose—they must, will sup.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_735" id="Page_735">[Pg 735]</a></span> + +<br /> +Mad are the passions, as a colt untamed!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When Prudence mounts their backs to ride them mild.</span><br /> +They fling, they snort, they foam, they rise inflamed,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Insisting on their own sole will so wild.</span><br /> +<br /> +Gadsbud! my buzzing friend, thou art not dead;<br /> +The Fates, so kind, have not yet snapped thy thread;<br /> +By heavens, thou mov'st a leg, and now its brother.<br /> +And kicking, lo, again, thou mov'st another!<br /> +<br /> +And now thy little drunken eyes unclose,<br /> +And now thou feelest for thy little nose,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And, finding it, thou rubbest thy two hands</span><br /> +Much as to say, "I'm glad I'm here again."<br /> +And well mayest thou rejoice—'tis very plain,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That near wert thou to Death's unsocial lands.</span><br /> +<br /> +And now thou rollest on thy back about,<br /> +Happy to find thyself alive, no doubt—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now turnest—on the table making rings,</span><br /> +Now crawling, forming a wet track,<br /> +Now shaking the rich liquor from thy back,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now fluttering nectar from thy silken wings.</span><br /> +<br /> +Now standing on thy head, thy strength to find,<br /> +And poking out thy small, long legs behind;<br /> +And now thy pinions dost thou briskly ply;<br /> +Preparing now to leave me—farewell, fly!<br /> +<br /> +Go, join thy brothers on yon sunny board,<br /> +And rapture to thy family afford—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There wilt thou meet a mistress, or a wife,</span><br /> +That saw thee drunk, drop senseless in the stream.<br /> +Who gave, perhaps, the wide-resounding scream,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And now sits groaning for thy precious life.</span><br /> +<br /> +Yes, go and carry comfort to thy friends,<br /> +And wisely tell them thy imprudence ends.<br /> +Let buns and sugar for the future charm;<br /> +These will delight, and feed, and work no harm—<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_736" id="Page_736">[Pg 736]</a></span> + +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While Punch, the grinning, merry imp of sin,</span><br /> +Invites th' unwary wanderer to a kiss,<br /> +Smiles in his face, as though he meant him bliss,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then, like an alligator, drags him in.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then, like an alligator, drags him in.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>John Wolcot.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>ODE TO A BOBTAILED CAT</h3> + +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> + +Felis Infelix! Cat unfortunate,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With nary narrative!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Canst thou no tail relate</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Of how</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">(Miaow!)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thy tail end came to terminate so bluntly</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Didst wear it off by</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sedentary habits</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">As do the rabbits?</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Didst go a</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Fishing with it,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Wishing with it</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">To "bob" for catfish,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And get bobbed thyself?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Curses on that fish!</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Didst lose it in kittenhood,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Hungrily chawing it?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or, gaily pursuing it,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Did it make tangent</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From thy swift circuit?</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Did some brother Greyback—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Yowling</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And howling</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In nocturnal strife,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Spitting and staring</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Cursing and swearing,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Ripping and tearing,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Calling thee "Sausagetail,"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Abbreviate thy suffix?</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_737" id="Page_737">[Pg 737]</a></span> + +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or did thy jealous wife</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Detect yer</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In some sly flirtation,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And, after caudal lecture,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bite off thy termination?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And sarve yer right!</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Did some mischievous boy,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Some barbarous boy,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Eliminate thy finis?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">(Probably!)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The wretch!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The villain!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Cruelly spillin'</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Thy innocent blood!</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Furiously scratch him</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where'er yer may catch him!</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Well, Bob, this course now is left,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Since thus of your tail you're bereft:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Tell your friend that by letter</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">From Paris</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You have learned the style there is</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">To wear the tail short,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And the briefer the better;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Such is the passion,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That every Grimalkin will</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Follow your fashion.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A DIRGE</h3> + +<h4>CONCERNING THE LATE LAMENTED KING OF THE CANNIBAL ISLANDS</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +And so our royal relative is dead!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And so he rests from gustatory labors!</span><br /> +The white man was his choice, but when he fed<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He'd sometimes entertain his tawny neighbors.</span><br /> +He worshipped, as he said, his "Fe-fo-fum,"<br /> +The goddess of the epigastrium.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_738" id="Page_738">[Pg 738]</a></span> + +<br /> +And missionaries graced his festive board,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Solemn and succulent, in twos and dozens,</span><br /> +And smoked before their hospitable lord,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Welcome as if they'd been his second cousins.</span><br /> +When cold, he warmed them as he would his kin—<br /> +They came as strangers, and he took them in.<br /> +<br /> +And generous!—oh, wasn't he? I have known him<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Exhibit a celestial amiability:—</span><br /> +He'd eat an enemy, and then would own him<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of flavor excellent, despite hostility.</span><br /> +The crudest captain of the Turkish navy<br /> +He buried in an honorable grave—y.<br /> +<br /> +He had a hundred wives. To make things pleasant<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They found it quite judicious to adore him;—</span><br /> +And when he dined, the nymphs were always present—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sometimes beside him and sometimes—before him.</span><br /> +When he was tired of one, he called her "sweet,"<br /> +And told her she was "good enough to eat."<br /> +<br /> +He was a man of taste—and justice, too;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He opened his mouth for e'en the humblest sinner,</span><br /> +And three weeks stall-fed an emaciate Jew<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Before they brought him to the royal dinner.</span><br /> +With preacher-men he shared his board and wallet<br /> +And let them nightly occupy his palate!<br /> +<br /> +We grow like what we eat. Bad food depresses;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Good food exalts us like an inspiration,</span><br /> +And missionary on the <i>menu</i> blesses<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And elevates the Feejee population.</span><br /> +A people who for years, saints, bairns, and women ate<br /> +Must soon their vilest qualities eliminate.<br /> +<br /> +But the deceased could never hold a candle<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To those prim, pale-faced people of propriety</span><br /> +Who gloat o'er gossip and get fat on scandal—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The cannibals of civilized society;</span><br /> +They drink the blood of brothers with their rations,<br /> +And crunch the bones of living reputations.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_739" id="Page_739">[Pg 739]</a></span> + +<br /> +They kill the soul; he only claimed the dwelling.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They take the sharpened scalpel of surmises</span><br /> +And cleave the sinews when the heart is swelling,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And slaughter Fame and Honor for their prizes.</span><br /> +They make the spirit in the body quiver;<br /> +They quench the Light! He only took the—Liver!<br /> +<br /> +I've known some hardened customers, I wot,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A few tough fellows—pagans beyond question—</span><br /> +I wish had got into his dinner-pot;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Although I'm certain they'd defy digestion,</span><br /> +And break his jaw, and ruin his esophagus,<br /> +Were he the chief of beings anthropophagous!<br /> +<br /> +How fond he was of children! To his breast<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The tenderest nurslings gained a free admission.</span><br /> +Rank he despised, nor, if they came well dressed,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cared if they were plebeian or patrician.</span><br /> +Shade of Leigh Hunt! Oh, guide this laggard pen<br /> +To write of one who loved his fellow men!<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>William Augustus Croffut.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_740" id="Page_740">[Pg 740]</a></span> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XII" id="XII"></a>XII</h2> + +<h2>WHIMSEY</h2> +<p><br /></p> +<h3>AN ELEGY</h3> + +<h4>ON THE GLORY OF HER SEX, MRS. MARY BLAIZE</h4> + + +<p> +Good people all, with one accord,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lament for Madam Blaize,</span><br /> +Who never wanted a good word—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From those who spoke her praise.</span><br /> +<br /> +The needy seldom pass'd her door,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And always found her kind;</span><br /> +She freely lent to all the poor—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who left a pledge behind.</span><br /> +<br /> +She strove the neighborhood to please<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With manners wondrous winning;</span><br /> +And never follow'd wicked ways—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Unless when she was sinning.</span><br /> +<br /> +At church, in silks and satins new,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With hoop of monstrous size,</span><br /> +She never slumber'd in her pew—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But when she shut her eyes.</span><br /> +<br /> +Her love was sought, I do aver,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By twenty beaux and more;</span><br /> +The King himself has follow'd her—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When she has walk'd before.</span><br /> +<br /> +But now, her wealth and finery fled,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her hangers-on cut short all;</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_741" id="Page_741">[Pg 741]</a></span> + +<br /> +The doctors found, when she was dead—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her last disorder mortal.</span><br /> +<br /> +Let us lament, in sorrow sore,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For Kent Street well may say,</span><br /> +That had she lived a twelvemonth more<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She had not died to-day.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Oliver Goldsmith.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>PARSON GRAY</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +A quiet home had Parson Gray,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Secluded in a vale;</span><br /> +His daughters all were feminine,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And all his sons were male.</span><br /> +<br /> +How faithfully did Parson Gray<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The bread of life dispense—</span><br /> +Well "posted" in theology,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And post and rail his fence.</span><br /> +<br /> +'Gainst all the vices of the age<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He manfully did battle;</span><br /> +His chickens were a biped breed,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And quadruped his cattle.</span><br /> +<br /> +No clock more punctually went,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He ne'er delayed a minute—</span><br /> +Nor ever empty was his purse,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When he had money in it.</span><br /> +<br /> +His piety was ne'er denied;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His truths hit saint and sinner;</span><br /> +At morn he always breakfasted;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He always dined at dinner.</span><br /> +<br /> +He ne'er by any luck was grieved,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By any care perplexed—</span><br /> +No filcher he, though when he preached,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He always "took" a text.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_742" id="Page_742">[Pg 742]</a></span> + +<br /> +As faithful characters he drew<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As mortal ever saw;</span><br /> +But ah! poor parson! when he died,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His breath he could not draw!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Oliver Goldsmith.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE IRISHMAN AND THE LADY</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">There was a lady liv'd at Leith,</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 4em;">A lady very stylish, man;</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">And yet, in spite of all her teeth,</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 4em;">She fell in love with an Irishman—</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">A nasty, ugly Irishman,</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">A wild, tremendous Irishman,</span></p> +<p class='poem'>A tearing, swearing, thumping, bumping, ranting, roaring Irishman.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">His face was no ways beautiful,</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 4em;">For with small-pox 'twas scarr'd across;</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">And the shoulders of the ugly dog</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 4em;">Were almost double a yard across.</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">Oh, the lump of an Irishman,</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">The whiskey-devouring Irishman,</span></p> +<p class='poem'>The great he-rogue with his wonderful brogue—the fighting, rioting Irishman!</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">One of his eyes was bottle-green,</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 4em;">And the other eye was out, my dear;</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">And the calves of his wicked-looking legs</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 4em;">Were more than two feet about, my dear.</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">Oh, the great big Irishman,</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">The rattling, battling Irishman—</span></p> +<p class='poem'>The stamping, ramping, swaggering, staggering, leathering swash of an Irishman!</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">He took so much of Lundy-foot</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 4em;">That he used to snort and snuffle—O!</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">And in shape and size the fellow's neck</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 4em;">Was as bad as the neck of a buffalo.</span></p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_743" id="Page_743">[Pg 743]</a></span> + +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">Oh, the horrible Irishman,</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">The thundering, blundering Irishman—</span></p> +<p class='poem'>The slashing, dashing, smashing, lashing, thrashing, hashing Irishman!</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">His name was a terrible name, indeed,</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 4em;">Being Timothy Thady Mulligan;</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">And whenever he emptied his tumbler of punch</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 4em;">He'd not rest till he fill'd it full again.</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">The boosing, bruising Irishman,</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">The 'toxicated Irishman—</span></p> +<p class='poem'>The whiskey, frisky, rummy, gummy, brandy, no dandy Irishman!</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">This was the lad the lady lov'd,</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 4em;">Like all the girls of quality;</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">And he broke the skulls of the men of Leith,</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 4em;">Just by the way of jollity.</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">Oh, the leathering Irishman,</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">The barbarous, savage Irishman—</span></p> +<p class='poem'>The hearts of the maids, and the gentlemen's heads, were bothered, I'm sure, by this Irishman!</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>William Maginn.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE CATARACT OF LODORE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">"How does the water</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Come down at Lodore?"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">My little boy asked me</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Thus, once on a time;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">And moreover he tasked me</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">To tell him in rhyme.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Anon at the word,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">There first came one daughter,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">And then came another,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">To second and third</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">The request of their brother,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">And to hear how the water</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Comes down at Lodore,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">With its rush and its roar,</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_744" id="Page_744">[Pg 744]</a></span> + +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">As many a time</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">They had seen it before.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">So I told them in rhyme,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For of rhymes I had store;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And 'twas in my vocation</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">For their recreation</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">That so I should sing;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Because I was Laureate</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">To them and the King.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">From its sources which well</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">In the tarn on the fell;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">From its fountains</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">In the mountains,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Its rills and its gills;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Through moss and through brake,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">It runs and it creeps</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For a while till it sleeps</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">In its own little lake.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And thence at departing,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Awakening and starting,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">It runs through the reeds,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">And away it proceeds,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Through meadow and glade,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">In sun and in shade,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And through the wood-shelter,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Among crags in its flurry,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Helter-skelter,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Hurry-skurry,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Here it comes sparkling,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And there it lies darkling;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Now smoking and frothing</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Its tumult and wrath in,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Till, in this rapid race</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">On which it is bent,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">It reaches the place</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Of its steep descent.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">The cataract strong</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Then plunges along,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Striking and raging</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_745" id="Page_745">[Pg 745]</a></span> + +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">As if a war waging</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Its caverns and rocks among;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Rising and leaping,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Sinking and creeping,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Swelling and sweeping,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Showering and springing,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Flying and flinging,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Writhing and wringing,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Eddying and whisking,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Spouting and frisking,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Turning and twisting</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Around and around</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With endless rebound:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Smiting and fighting,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">A sight to delight in;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Confounding, astounding,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dizzying and deafening the ear with its sound.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Collecting, projecting,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Receding and speeding,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And shocking and rocking,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And darting and parting,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And threading and spreading,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And whizzing and hissing,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And dripping and skipping,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And hitting and splitting,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And shining and twining,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And rattling and battling,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And shaking and quaking,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And pouring and roaring,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And waving and raving,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And tossing and crossing,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And flowing and going,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And running and stunning,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And foaming and roaming,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And dinning and spinning,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And dropping and hopping,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And working and jerking,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And guggling and struggling,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And heaving and cleaving,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And moaning and groaning;</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_746" id="Page_746">[Pg 746]</a></span> + +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And glittering and frittering,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And gathering and feathering,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And whitening and brightening,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And quivering and shivering,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And hurrying and skurrying,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And thundering and floundering;</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Dividing and gliding and sliding,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And falling and brawling and sprawling,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And driving and riving and striving,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And sprinkling and twinkling and wrinkling,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And sounding and bounding and rounding,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And bubbling and troubling and doubling,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And grumbling and rumbling and tumbling,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And clattering and battering and shattering;</span><br /> +<br /> +Retreating and beating and meeting and sheeting,<br /> +Delaying and straying and playing and spraying.<br /> +Advancing and prancing and glancing and dancing,<br /> +Recoiling, turmoiling and toiling and boiling,<br /> +And gleaming and streaming and steaming and beaming,<br /> +And rushing and flushing and brushing and gushing,<br /> +And flapping and rapping and clapping and slapping,<br /> +And curling and whirling and purling and twirling,<br /> +And thumping and plumping and bumping and jumping,<br /> +And dashing and flashing and splashing and clashing;<br /> +And so never ending, but always descending,<br /> +Sounds and motions forever and ever are blending,<br /> +All at once and all o'er, with a mighty uproar,—<br /> +And this way the water comes down at Lodore.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Robert Southey.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>LAY OF THE DESERTED INFLUENZAED</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Doe, doe!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I shall dever see her bore!</span><br /> +Dever bore our feet shall rove<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The beadows as of yore!</span><br /> +Dever bore with byrtle boughs<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_747" id="Page_747">[Pg 747]</a></span> + +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her tresses shall I twide—</span><br /> +Dever bore her bellow voice<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bake bellody with bide!</span><br /> +Dever shall we lidger bore,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Abid the flow'rs at dood,</span><br /> +Dever shall we gaze at dight<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon the tedtder bood!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Ho, doe, doe!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Those berry tibes have flowd,</span><br /> +Ad I shall dever see her bore,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By beautiful! by owd!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Ho, doe, doe!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I shall dever see her bore,</span><br /> +She will forget be id a bonth,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Bost probably before)—</span><br /> +She will forget the byrtle boughs,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The flow'rs we plucked at dood,</span><br /> +Our beetigs by the tedtder stars.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our gazigs at the bood.</span><br /> +Ad I shall dever see agaid<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Lily and the Rose;</span><br /> +The dabask cheek! the sdowy brow!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The perfect bouth ad dose!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Ho, doe, doe!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Those berry tibes have flowd—</span><br /> +Ad I shall dever see her bore,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By beautiful! by owd!!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>H. Cholmondeley-Pennell.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>BELAGCHOLLY DAYS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Chilly Dovebber with his boadigg blast<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dow cubs add strips the beddow add the lawd,</span><br /> +Eved October's suddy days are past—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Add Subber's gawd!</span><br /> +<br /> +I kdow dot what it is to which I cligg<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That stirs to sogg add sorrow, yet I trust</span><br /> +That still I sigg, but as the liddets sigg—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Because I bust.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_748" id="Page_748">[Pg 748]</a></span> + +<br /> +Add dow, farewell to roses add to birds,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To larded fields and tigkligg streablets eke;</span><br /> +Farewell to all articulated words<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I faid would speak.</span><br /> +<br /> +Farewell, by cherished strolliggs od the sward,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Greed glades add forest shades, farewell to you;</span><br /> +With sorrowing heart I, wretched add forlord,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Bid you—achew!!!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>RHYME OF THE RAIL</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Singing through the forests,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rattling over ridges,</span><br /> +Shooting under arches,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rumbling over bridges,</span><br /> +Whizzing through the mountains,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Buzzing o'er the vale—</span><br /> +Bless me! this is pleasant,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Riding on the Rail!</span><br /> +<br /> +Men of different "stations"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the eye of Fame</span><br /> +Here are very quickly<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Coming to the same.</span><br /> +High and lowly people,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Birds of every feather,</span><br /> +On a common level<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Travelling together.</span><br /> +<br /> +Gentleman in shorts,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Looming very tall;</span><br /> +Gentleman at large,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Talking very small;</span><br /> +Gentleman in tights,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a loose-ish mien;</span><br /> +Gentleman in grey,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Looking rather green;</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_749" id="Page_749">[Pg 749]</a></span> + +<br /> +Gentleman quite old,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Asking for the news;</span><br /> +Gentleman in black,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In a fit of blues;</span><br /> +Gentleman in claret,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sober as a vicar;</span><br /> +Gentleman in tweed,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dreadfully in liquor!</span><br /> +<br /> +Stranger on the right,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Looking very sunny,</span><br /> +Obviously reading<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Something very funny.</span><br /> +Now the smiles are thicker,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wonder what they mean?</span><br /> +Faith, he's got the <span class="smcap">Knicker-<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bocker</span> Magazine!</span><br /> +<br /> +Stranger on the left,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Closing up his peepers;</span><br /> +Now he snores again,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like the Seven Sleepers;</span><br /> +At his feet a volume<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gives the explanation,</span><br /> +How the man grew stupid<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From "Association."</span><br /> +<br /> +Ancient maiden lady<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anxiously remarks,</span><br /> +That there must be peril<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Mong so many sparks;</span><br /> +Roguish-looking fellow,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Turning to the stranger,</span><br /> +Says it's his opinion<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>She</i> is out of danger!</span><br /> +<br /> +Woman with her baby,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sitting <i>vis-à-vis</i>,</span><br /> +Baby keeps a-squalling,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Woman looks at me;</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_750" id="Page_750">[Pg 750]</a></span> + +Asks about the distance,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Says it's tiresome talking,</span><br /> +Noises of the cars<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are so very shocking!</span><br /> +<br /> +Market-woman, careful<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the precious casket,</span><br /> +Knowing eggs are eggs,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tightly holds her basket;</span><br /> +Feeling that a smash,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If it came, would surely</span><br /> +Send her eggs to pot<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rather prematurely.</span><br /> +<br /> +Singing through the forests,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rattling over ridges,</span><br /> +Shooting under arches,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rumbling over bridges,</span><br /> +Whizzing through the mountains,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Buzzing o'er the vale;</span><br /> +Bless me! this is pleasant,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Riding on the Rail!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>John G. Saxe.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>ECHO</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I asked of Echo, t'other day<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Whose words are often few and funny),</span><br /> +What to a novice she could say<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of courtship, love, and matrimony.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Quoth Echo plainly,—"Matter-o'-money!"</span><br /> +<br /> +Whom should I marry? Should it be<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A dashing damsel, gay and pert,</span><br /> +A pattern of inconstancy;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or selfish, mercenary flirt?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Quoth Echo, sharply,—"Nary flirt!"</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_751" id="Page_751">[Pg 751]</a></span> + +<br /> +What if, aweary of the strife<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That long has lured the dear deceiver,</span><br /> +She promise to amend her life,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And sin no more; can I believe her?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Quoth Echo, very promptly,—"Leave her!"</span><br /> +<br /> +But if some maiden with a heart<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On me should venture to bestow it,</span><br /> +Pray, should I act the wiser part<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To take the treasure or forego it?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Quoth Echo, with decision,—"Go it!"</span><br /> +<br /> +But what if, seemingly afraid<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To bind her fate in Hymen's fetter,</span><br /> +She vow she means to die a maid,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In answer to my loving letter?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Quoth Echo, rather coolly,—"Let her!"</span><br /> +<br /> +What if, in spite of her disdain,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I find my heart intwined about</span><br /> +With Cupid's dear delicious chain<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So closely that I can't get out?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Quoth Echo, laughingly,—"Get out!"</span><br /> +<br /> +But if some maid with beauty blest,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As pure and fair as Heaven can make her,</span><br /> +Will share my labor and my rest<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till envious Death shall overtake her?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Quoth Echo (sotto voce),—"Take her!"</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>John G. Saxe.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>SONG</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Echo, tell me, while I wander<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O'er this fairy plain to prove him,</span><br /> +If my shepherd still grows fonder,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ought I in return to love him?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Echo: Love him, love him!</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_752" id="Page_752">[Pg 752]</a></span> + +<br /> +If he loves, as is the fashion,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Should I churlishly forsake him?</span><br /> +Or in pity to his passion,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fondly to my bosom take him?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Echo: Take him, take him!</span><br /> +<br /> +Thy advice then, I'll adhere to,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Since in Cupid's chains I've led him;</span><br /> +And with Henry shall not fear to<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Marry, if you answer, "Wed him!"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Echo: Wed him, wed him!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Joseph Addison.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A GENTLE ECHO ON WOMAN</h3> + +<h4>IN THE DORIC MANNER</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +<i>Shepherd.</i> <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Echo, I ween, will in the woods reply,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">And quaintly answer questions: shall I try?</span><br /> +<i>Echo.</i> <span style="margin-left: 18em;">Try.</span><br /> +<i>Shepherd.</i> <span style="margin-left: 1em;">What must we do our passion to express?</span><br /> +<i>Echo.</i> <span style="margin-left: 18em;">Press.</span><br /> +<i>Shepherd.</i> <span style="margin-left: 1em;">How shall I please her, who ne'er loved before?</span><br /> +<i>Echo.</i> <span style="margin-left: 18em;">Before.</span><br /> +<i>Shepherd.</i> <span style="margin-left: 1em;">What most moves women when we them address?</span><br /> +<i>Echo.</i> <span style="margin-left: 18em;">A dress.</span><br /> +<i>Shepherd.</i> <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Say, what can keep her chaste whom I adore?</span><br /> +<i>Echo.</i> <span style="margin-left: 18em;">A door.</span><br /> +<i>Shepherd.</i> <span style="margin-left: 1em;">If music softens rocks, love tunes my lyre.</span><br /> +<i>Echo.</i> <span style="margin-left: 18em;">Liar.</span><br /> +<i>Shepherd.</i> <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then teach me, Echo, how shall I come by her?</span><br /> +<i>Echo.</i> <span style="margin-left: 18em;">Buy her.</span><br /> +<i>Shepherd.</i> <span style="margin-left: 1em;">When bought, no question I shall be her dear?</span><br /> +<i>Echo.</i> <span style="margin-left: 18em;">Her deer.</span><br /> +<i>Shepherd.</i> <span style="margin-left: 1em;">But deer have horns: how must I keep her under?</span><br /> +<i>Echo.</i> <span style="margin-left: 18em;">Keep her under.</span><br /> +<i>Shepherd.</i> <span style="margin-left: 1em;">But what can glad me when she's laid on bier?</span><br /> +<i>Echo.</i> <span style="margin-left: 18em;">Beer.</span><br /> +<i>Shepherd.</i> <span style="margin-left: 1em;">What must I do so women will be kind?</span><br /> +<i>Echo.</i> <span style="margin-left: 18em;">Be kind.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_753" id="Page_753">[Pg 753]</a></span> + +<i>Shepherd.</i> <span style="margin-left: 1em;">What must I do when women will be cross?</span><br /> +<i>Echo.</i> <span style="margin-left: 18em;">Be cross.</span><br /> +<i>Shepherd.</i> <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lord, what is she that can so turn and wind?</span><br /> +<i>Echo.</i> <span style="margin-left: 18em;">Wind.</span><br /> +<i>Shepherd.</i> <span style="margin-left: 1em;">If she be wind, what stills her when she blows?</span><br /> +<i>Echo.</i> <span style="margin-left: 18em;">Blows.</span><br /> +<i>Shepherd.</i> <span style="margin-left: 1em;">But if she bang again, still should I bang her?</span><br /> +<i>Echo.</i> <span style="margin-left: 18em;">Bang her.</span><br /> +<i>Shepherd.</i> <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is there no way to moderate her anger?</span><br /> +<i>Echo.</i> <span style="margin-left: 18em;">Hang her.</span><br /> +<i>Shepherd.</i> <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thanks, gentle Echo! right thy answers tell</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">What woman is and how to guard her well.</span><br /> +<i>Echo.</i> <span style="margin-left: 18em;">Guard her well.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Dean Swift.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>LAY OF ANCIENT ROME</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Oh, the Roman was a rogue,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He erat was, you bettum;</span><br /> +He ran his automobilus<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And smoked his cigarettum.</span><br /> +He wore a diamond studibus<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And elegant cravattum,</span><br /> +A maxima cum laude shirt<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And such a stylish hattum!</span><br /> +<br /> +He loved the luscious hic-haec-hoc,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And bet on games and equi;</span><br /> +At times he won at others though,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He got it in the nequi;</span><br /> +He winked, (quo usque tandem?) at<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Puellas on the Forum,</span><br /> +And sometimes, too, he even made<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Those goo-goo oculorum!</span><br /> +<br /> +He frequently was seen<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At combats gladiatorial</span><br /> +And ate enough to feed<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ten boarders at Memorial;</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_754" id="Page_754">[Pg 754]</a></span> + +He often went on sprees<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And said, on starting homus,</span><br /> +"Hic labour—opus est,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh, where's my hic—hic—domus?"</span><br /> +<br /> +Although he lived in Rome,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of all the arts the middle—</span><br /> +He was, (excuse the phrase,)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A horrid individ'l;</span><br /> +Ah, what a different thing<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was the homo (dative, hominy)</span><br /> +Of far away B. C.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From us of Anno Domini.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Thomas R. Ybarra.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A NEW SONG</h3> + +<h4>OF NEW SIMILES</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +My passion is as mustard strong;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I sit all sober sad;</span><br /> +Drunk as a piper all day long,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or like a March-hare mad.</span><br /> +<br /> +Round as a hoop the bumpers flow;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I drink, yet can't forget her;</span><br /> +For though as drunk as David's sow<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I love her still the better.</span><br /> +<br /> +Pert as a pear-monger I'd be,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If Molly were but kind;</span><br /> +Cool as a cucumber could see<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The rest of womankind.</span><br /> +<br /> +Like a stuck pig I gaping stare,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And eye her o'er and o'er;</span><br /> +Lean as a rake, with sighs and care,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sleek as a mouse before.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_755" id="Page_755">[Pg 755]</a></span> + +<br /> +Plump as a partridge was I known,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And soft as silk my skin;</span><br /> +My cheeks as fat as butter grown,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But as a goat now thin!</span><br /> +<br /> +I melancholy as a cat,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Am kept awake to weep;</span><br /> +But she, insensible of that,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sound as a top can sleep.</span><br /> +<br /> +Hard is her heart as flint or stone,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She laughs to see me pale;</span><br /> +And merry as a grig is grown,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And brisk as bottled ale.</span><br /> +<br /> +The god of Love at her approach<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is busy as a bee;</span><br /> +Hearts sound as any bell or roach,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are smit and sigh like me.</span><br /> +<br /> +Ah me! as thick as hops or hail<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The fine men crowd about her;</span><br /> +But soon as dead as a door-nail<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shall I be, if without her.</span><br /> +<br /> +Straight as my leg her shape appears,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O were we join'd together!</span><br /> +My heart would be scot-free from cares,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And lighter than a feather.</span><br /> +<br /> +As fine as five-pence is her mien,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No drum was ever tighter;</span><br /> +Her glance is as the razor keen,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And not the sun is brighter.</span><br /> +<br /> +As soft as pap her kisses are,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Methinks I taste them yet;</span><br /> +Brown as a berry is her hair,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her eyes as black as jet.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_756" id="Page_756">[Pg 756]</a></span> + +<br /> +As smooth as glass, as white as curds<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her pretty hand invites;</span><br /> +Sharp as her needle are her words,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her wit like pepper bites.</span><br /> +<br /> +Brisk as a body-louse she trips,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Clean as a penny drest;</span><br /> +Sweet as a rose her breath and lips,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Round as the globe her breast.</span><br /> +<br /> +Full as an egg was I with glee,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And happy as a king:</span><br /> +Good Lord! how all men envied me!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She loved like any thing.</span><br /> +<br /> +But false as hell, she, like the wind,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Chang'd, as her sex must do;</span><br /> +Though seeming as the turtle kind,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And like the gospel true.</span><br /> +<br /> +If I and Molly could agree,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Let who would take Peru!</span><br /> +Great as an Emperor should I be,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And richer than a Jew.</span><br /> +<br /> +Till you grow tender as a chick,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'm dull as any post;</span><br /> +Let us like burs together stick,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And warm as any toast.</span><br /> +<br /> +You'll know me truer than a die,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And wish me better sped;</span><br /> +Flat as a flounder when I lie,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And as a herring dead.</span><br /> +<br /> +Sure as a gun she'll drop a tear<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And sigh, perhaps, and wish,</span><br /> +When I am rotten as a pear,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And mute as any fish.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>John Gay.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_757" id="Page_757">[Pg 757]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE AMERICAN TRAVELLER</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +To Lake Aghmoogenegamook<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All in the State of Maine,</span><br /> +A man from Wittequergaugaum came<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One evening in the rain.</span><br /> +<br /> +"I am a traveller," said he,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Just started on a tour,</span><br /> +And go to Nomjamskillicook<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To-morrow morn at four."</span><br /> +<br /> +He took a tavern-bed that night,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And, with the morrow's sun,</span><br /> +By way of Sekledobskus went,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With carpet-bag and gun.</span><br /> +<br /> +A week passed on, and next we find<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our native tourist come</span><br /> +To that sequestered village called<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Genasagarnagum.</span><br /> +<br /> +From thence he went to Absequoit,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And there—quite tired of Maine—</span><br /> +He sought the mountains of Vermont,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon a railroad train.</span><br /> +<br /> +Dog Hollow, in the Green Mount State,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was his first stopping-place;</span><br /> +And then Skunk's Misery displayed<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Its sweetness and its grace.</span><br /> +<br /> +By easy stages then he went<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To visit Devil's Den;</span><br /> +And Scrabble Hollow, by the way,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Did come within his ken.</span><br /> +<br /> +Then <i>via</i> Nine Holes and Goose Green<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He travelled through the State;</span><br /> +And to Virginia, finally,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was guided by his fate.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_758" id="Page_758">[Pg 758]</a></span> + +<br /> +Within the Old Dominion's bounds,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He wandered up and down;</span><br /> +To-day at Buzzard's Roost ensconced,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To-morrow, at Hell Town.</span><br /> +<br /> +At Pole Cat, too, he spent a week,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till friends from Bull Ring came;</span><br /> +And made him spend a day with them<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In hunting forest-game.</span><br /> +<br /> +Then, with his carpet-bag in hand,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To Dog Town next he went;</span><br /> +Though stopping at Free Negro Town,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where half a day he spent.</span><br /> +<br /> +From thence, into Negationburg<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His route of travel lay;</span><br /> +Which having gained, he left the State,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And took a southward way.</span><br /> +<br /> +North Carolina's friendly soil<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He trod at fall of night,</span><br /> +And, on a bed of softest down,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He slept at Hell's Delight.</span><br /> +<br /> +Morn found him on the road again,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To Lousy Level bound;</span><br /> +At Bull's Tail, and Lick Lizard, too,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Good provender he found.</span><br /> +<br /> +The country all about Pinch Gut<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So beautiful did seem</span><br /> +That the beholder thought it like<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A picture in a dream.</span><br /> +<br /> +But the plantations near Burnt Coat<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Were even finer still,</span><br /> +And made the wondering tourist feel<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A soft, delicious thrill.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_759" id="Page_759">[Pg 759]</a></span> + +<br /> +At Tear Shirt, too, the scenery<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Most charming did appear,</span><br /> +With Snatch It in the distance far,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Purgatory near.</span><br /> +<br /> +But, spite of all these pleasant scenes,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The tourist stoutly swore</span><br /> +That home is brightest, after all,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And travel is a bore.</span><br /> +<br /> +So back he went to Maine, straightway;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A little wife he took;</span><br /> +And now is making nutmegs at<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Moosehicmagunticook.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Robert H. Newell.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE ZEALLESS XYLOGRAPHER</h3> + +<h4>DEDICATED TO THE END OF THE DICTIONARY</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +A xylographer started to cross the sea<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By means of a Xanthic Xebec;</span><br /> +But, alas! he sighed for the Zuyder Zee,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And feared he was in for a wreck.</span><br /> +He tried to smile, but all in vain,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Because of a Zygomatic pain;</span><br /> +And as for singing, his cheeriest tone<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Reminded him of a Xylophone—</span><br /> +Or else, when the pain would sharper grow,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His notes were as keen as a Zuffolo.</span><br /> +And so it is likely he did not find<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On board Xenodochy to his mind.</span><br /> +The fare was poor, and he was sure<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Xerofphagy he could not endure;</span><br /> +Zoöphagous surely he was, I aver,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This dainty and starving Xylographer.</span><br /> +Xylophagous truly he could not be—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No sickly vegetarian he!</span><br /> +He'd have blubbered like any old Zeuglodon<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Had Xerophthalmia not come on.</span><br /> +And the end of it was he never again<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In a Xanthic Xebec went sailing the main.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Mary Mapes Dodge.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_760" id="Page_760">[Pg 760]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE OLD LINE FENCE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Zig-zagging it went<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">On the line of the farm,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And the trouble it caused</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Was often quite warm,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;"><span class="smcap">The old line fence</span>.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">It was changed every year</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">By decree of the court,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">To which, when worn out,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Our sires would resort</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">With the old line fence</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">In hoeing their corn,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">When the sun, too, was hot,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">They surely would jaw,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Punch or claw, when they got</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7.5em;"><span class="smcap">To the old line fence</span>.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">In dividing the lands</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">It fulfilled no desires,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">But answered quite well</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">In "dividing" our sires,</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">This old line fence</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Though sometimes in this</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">It would happen to fail,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">When, with top rail in hand,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">One would flare up and scale</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7.5em;"><span class="smcap">The old line fence</span>!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Then the conflict was sharp</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">On debatable ground,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And the fertile soil there</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Would be mussed far around</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">The old line fence</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">It was shifted so oft</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">That no flowers there grew.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">What frownings and clods,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">And what words were shot through</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7.5em;"><span class="smcap">The old line fence</span>!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Our sires through the day</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">There would quarrel or fight,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">With a vigour and vim,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">But 'twas different at night</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_761" id="Page_761">[Pg 761]</a></span> + +<span class="smcap">By the old line fence</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The fairest maid there</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">You would have descried</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">That ever leaned soft</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">On the opposite side</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7.5em;"><span class="smcap">Of an old line fence</span>.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Where our fathers built hate</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">There we builded our love,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Breathed our vows to be true</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">With our hands raised above</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">The old line fence</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Its place might be changed,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">But there we would meet,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">With our heads through the rails,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">And with kisses most sweet,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7.5em;"><span class="smcap">At the old line fence</span>.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">It was love made the change,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">And the clasping of hands</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Ending ages of hate,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And between us now stands</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">Not a sign of line fence</span>.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">No debatable ground</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Now enkindles alarms.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">I've the girl I met there,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">And, well, both of the farms,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7.5em;"><span class="smcap">And no line fence</span>.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>A. W. Bellow.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>O-U-G-H</h3> +<h4>A FRESH HACK AT AN OLD KNOT</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> + +<p> +I'm taught p-l-o-u-g-h<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">S'all be pronouncé "plow."</span><br /> +"Zat's easy w'en you know," I say,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Mon Anglais, I'll get through!"</span><br /> +<br /> +My teacher say zat in zat case,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O-u-g-h is "oo."</span><br /> +And zen I laugh and say to him,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Zees Anglais make me cough."</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_762" id="Page_762">[Pg 762]</a></span> + +<br /> +He say "Not 'coo,' but in zat word,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O-u-g-h is 'off,'"</span><br /> +Oh, Sacre bleu! such varied sounds<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of words makes me hiccough!</span><br /> +<br /> +He say, "Again mon frien' ees wrong;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O-u-g-h is 'up'</span><br /> +In hiccough." Zen I cry, "No more,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You make my t'roat feel rough."</span><br /> +<br /> +"Non, non!" he cry, "you are not right;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O-u-g-h is 'uff.'"</span><br /> +I say, "I try to spik your words,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I cannot spik zem though!"</span><br /> +<br /> +"In time you'll learn, but now you're wrong!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O-u-g-h is 'owe.'"</span><br /> +"I'll try no more, I s'all go mad,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'll drown me in ze lough!"</span><br /> +<br /> +"But ere you drown yourself," said he,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"O-u-g-h is 'ock.'"</span><br /> +He taught no more, I held him fast,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And killed him wiz a rough.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Charles Battell Loomis.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>ENIGMA ON THE LETTER H</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +'Twas whispered in heaven, 'twas muttered in hell,<br /> +And echo caught faintly the sound as it fell;<br /> +On the confines of earth 'twas permitted to rest,<br /> +And the depths of the ocean its presence confessed;<br /> +'Twill be found in the sphere when 'tis riven asunder,<br /> +Be seen in the lightning, and heard in the thunder.<br /> +'Twas allotted to man with his earliest breath,<br /> +It assists at his birth and attends him in death,<br /> +Presides o'er his happiness, honor, and health,<br /> +Is the prop of his house and the end of his wealth,<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_763" id="Page_763">[Pg 763]</a></span> + +In the heaps of the miser is hoarded with care,<br /> +But is sure to be lost in his prodigal heir.<br /> +It begins every hope, every wish it must bound,<br /> +It prays with the hermit, with monarchs is crowned;<br /> +Without it the soldier, the sailor, may roam,<br /> +But woe to the wretch who expels it from home.<br /> +In the whisper of conscience 'tis sure to be found,<br /> +Nor e'en in the whirlwind of passion is drowned;<br /> +'Twill soften the heart, but, though deaf to the ear,<br /> +It will make it acutely and instantly hear;<br /> +But, in short, let it rest like a delicate flower;<br /> +Oh, breathe on it softly, it dies in an hour.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Catherine Fanshawe.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>TRAVESTY OF MISS FANSHAWE'S ENIGMA</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I dwells in the Hearth, and I breathes in the Hair;<br /> +If you searches the Hocean, you'll find that I'm there.<br /> +The first of all Hangels in Holympus am Hi,<br /> +Yet I'm banished from 'Eaven, expelled from on 'igh.<br /> +But, though on this Horb I'm destined to grovel,<br /> +I'm ne'er seen in an 'Ouse, in an 'Ut, nor an 'Ovel.<br /> +Not an 'Orse, not an 'Unter e'er bears me, alas!<br /> +But often I'm found on the top of a Hass.<br /> +I resides in a Hattic, and loves not to roam,<br /> +And yet I'm invariably absent from 'Ome.<br /> +Though 'Ushed in the 'Urricane, of the Hatmosphere part,<br /> +I enters no 'Ed, I creeps into no 'Art.<br /> +Only look, and you'll see in the Heye Hi appear;<br /> +Only 'Ark, and you'll 'Ear me just breathe in the Hear.<br /> +Though in sex not an 'E, I am (strange paradox)<br /> +Not a bit of an 'Effer, but partly a Hox.<br /> +Of Heternity I'm the beginning! and, mark,<br /> +Though I goes not with Noar, I'm first in the Hark.<br /> +I'm never in 'Ealth; have with Fysic no power,<br /> +I dies in a month, but comes back in a Hour.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Horace Mayhew.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_764" id="Page_764">[Pg 764]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Good people all, of every sort,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Give ear unto my song;</span><br /> +And if you find it wondrous short,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It cannot hold you long.</span><br /> +<br /> +In Islington there was a man,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of whom the world might say</span><br /> +That still a godly race he ran,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whene'er he went to pray.</span><br /> +<br /> +A kind and gentle heart he had,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To comfort friends and foes;</span><br /> +The naked every day he clad,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When he put on his clothes.</span><br /> +<br /> +And in that town a dog was found,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As many dogs there be,</span><br /> +Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And curs of low degree.</span><br /> +<br /> +The dog and man at first were friends;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But when a pique began,</span><br /> +The dog, to gain some private ends,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Went mad, and bit the man.</span><br /> +<br /> +Around from all the neighboring streets,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The wondering neighbors ran,</span><br /> +And swore the dog had lost his wits<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To bite so good a man.</span><br /> +<br /> +The wound it seemed both sore and sad<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To every Christian eye;</span><br /> +And while they swore the dog was mad<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They swore the man would die.</span><br /> +<br /> +But soon a wonder came to light,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That showed the rogues they lied;</span><br /> +The man recovered of the bite,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The dog it was that died.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Oliver Goldsmith.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_765" id="Page_765">[Pg 765]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>AN EPITAPH</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Interred beneath this marble stone<br /> +Lie sauntering Jack and idle Joan.<br /> +While rolling threescore years and one<br /> +Did round this globe their courses run.<br /> +If human things went ill or well,<br /> +If changing empires rose or fell,<br /> +The morning past, the evening came,<br /> +And found this couple just the same.<br /> +They walked and ate, good folks. What then?<br /> +Why, then they walked and ate again;<br /> +They soundly slept the night away;<br /> +They did just nothing all the day,<br /> +Nor sister either had, nor brother;<br /> +They seemed just tallied for each other.<br /> +Their moral and economy<br /> +Most perfectly they made agree;<br /> +Each virtue kept its proper bound,<br /> +Nor trespassed on the other's ground.<br /> +Nor fame nor censure they regarded;<br /> +They neither punished nor rewarded.<br /> +He cared not what the footman did;<br /> +Her maids she neither praised nor chid;<br /> +So every servant took his course,<br /> +And, bad at first, they all grew worse;<br /> +Slothful disorder filled his stable,<br /> +And sluttish plenty decked her table.<br /> +Their beer was strong, their wine was port;<br /> +Their meal was large, their grace was short.<br /> +They gave the poor the remnant meat,<br /> +Just when it grew not fit to eat.<br /> +They paid the church and parish rate,<br /> +And took, but read not, the receipt;<br /> +For which they claimed their Sunday's due<br /> +Of slumbering in an upper pew.<br /> +No man's defects sought they to know,<br /> +So never made themselves a foe.<br /> +No man's good deeds did they commend,<br /> +So never raised themselves a friend.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_766" id="Page_766">[Pg 766]</a></span> + +Nor cherished they relations poor,<br /> +That might decrease their present store;<br /> +Nor barn nor house did they repair,<br /> +That might oblige their future heir.<br /> +They neither added nor confounded;<br /> +They neither wanted nor abounded.<br /> +Nor tear nor smile did they employ<br /> +At news of grief or public joy<br /> +When bells were rung and bonfires made,<br /> +If asked, they ne'er denied their aid;<br /> +Their jug was to the ringers carried,<br /> +Whoever either died or married.<br /> +Their billet at the fire was found,<br /> +Whoever was deposed or crowned.<br /> +Nor good, nor bad, nor fools, nor wise;<br /> +They would not learn, nor could advise;<br /> +Without love, hatred, joy, or fear,<br /> +They led—a kind of—as it were;<br /> +Nor wished, nor cared, nor laughed, nor cried.<br /> +And so they lived, and so they died.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Matthew Prior.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>OLD GRIMES</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Old Grimes is dead; that good old man<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We never shall see more:</span><br /> +He used to wear a long, black coat,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All button'd down before.</span><br /> +<br /> +His heart was open as the day,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His feelings all were true;</span><br /> +His hair was some inclined to gray—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He wore it in a queue.</span><br /> +<br /> +Whene'er he heard the voice of pain,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His breast with pity burn'd;</span><br /> +The large, round head upon his cane<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From ivory was turn'd.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_767" id="Page_767">[Pg 767]</a></span> + +<br /> +Kind words he ever had for all;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He knew no base design:</span><br /> +His eyes were dark and rather small,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His nose was aquiline.</span><br /> +<br /> +He lived at peace with all mankind,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In friendship he was true:</span><br /> +His coat had pocket-holes behind,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His pantaloons were blue.</span><br /> +<br /> +Unharm'd, the sin which earth pollutes<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He pass'd securely o'er,</span><br /> +And never wore a pair of boots<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For thirty years or more.</span><br /> +<br /> +But good old Grimes is now at rest,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor fears misfortune's frown:</span><br /> +He wore a double-breasted vest—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The stripes ran up and down.</span><br /> +<br /> +He modest merit sought to find,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Any pay it its desert:</span><br /> +He had no malice in his mind,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No ruffles on his shirt.</span><br /> +<br /> +His neighbors he did not abuse—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was sociable and gay:</span><br /> +He wore large buckles on his shoes,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And changed them every day.</span><br /> +<br /> +His knowledge, hid from public gaze,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He did not bring to view,</span><br /> +Nor made a noise, town-meeting days,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As many people do.</span><br /> +<br /> +His worldly goods he never threw<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In trust to fortune's chances,</span><br /> +But lived (as all his brothers do)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In easy circumstances.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_768" id="Page_768">[Pg 768]</a></span> + +<br /> +Thus undisturb'd by anxious cares,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His peaceful moments ran;</span><br /> +And everybody said he was<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A fine old gentleman.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Albert Gorton Greene.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE ENDLESS SONG</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Oh, I used to sing a song,<br /> +An' dey said it was too long,<br /> +So I cut it off de en'<br /> +To accommodate a frien'<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Nex' do', nex' do'—</span><br /> +To accommodate a frien' nex' do'.<br /> +<br /> +But it made de matter wuss<br /> +Dan it had been at de fus,<br /> +'Ca'ze de en' was gone, an' den<br /> +Co'se it didn't have no en'<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Any mo', any mo'—</span><br /> +Oh, it didn't have no en' any mo'!<br /> +<br /> +So, to save my frien' from sinnin',<br /> +I cut off de song's beginnin';<br /> +Still he cusses right along<br /> +Whilst I sings <i>about</i> my song<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Jes so, jes so—</span><br /> +Whilst I sings <i>about</i> my song <i>jes so</i>.<br /> +<br /> +How to please 'im is my riddle,<br /> +So I'll fall back on my fiddle;<br /> +For I'd stan' myself on en'<br /> +To accommodate a frien'<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Nex' do', nex' do'—</span><br /> +To accommodate a frien' nex' do'.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Ruth McEnery Stuart.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_769" id="Page_769">[Pg 769]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE HUNDRED BEST BOOKS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +First there's the Bible,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And then the Koran,</span><br /> +Odgers on Libel,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pope's Essay on Man,</span><br /> +Confessions of Rousseau,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Essays of Lamb,</span><br /> +Robinson Crusoe<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Omar Khayyam,</span><br /> +Volumes of Shelley<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Venerable Bede,</span><br /> +Machiavelli<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Captain Mayne Reid,</span><br /> +Fox upon Martyrs<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Liddell and Scott,</span><br /> +Stubbs on the Charters,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The works of La Motte,</span><br /> +The Seasons by Thomson,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Paul de Verlaine,</span><br /> +Theodore Mommsen<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Clemens (Mark Twain),</span><br /> +The Rocks of Hugh Miller,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Mill on the Floss,</span><br /> +The Poems of Schiller,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Iliados,</span><br /> +Don Quixote (Cervantes),<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">La Pucelle by Voltaire,</span><br /> +Inferno (that's Dante's),<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Vanity Fair,</span><br /> +Conybeare-Howson,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Brillat-Savarin,</span><br /> +And Baron Munchausen,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mademoiselle De Maupin,</span><br /> +The Dramas of Marlowe,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Three Musketeers,</span><br /> +Clarissa Harlowe,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the Pioneers,</span><br /> +Sterne's Tristram Shandy,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Ring and the Book,</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_770" id="Page_770">[Pg 770]</a></span> + +And Handy Andy,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Captain Cook,</span><br /> +The Plato of Jowett,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Mill's Pol. Econ.,</span><br /> +The Haunts of Howitt,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Encheiridion,</span><br /> +Lothair by Disraeli,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Boccaccio,</span><br /> +The Student's Paley,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Westward Ho!</span><br /> +The Pharmacopœia,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Macaulay's Lays,</span><br /> +Of course The Medea,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Sheridan's Plays,</span><br /> +The Odes of Horace,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Verdant Green,</span><br /> +The Poems of Morris,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Faery Queen,</span><br /> +The Stones of Venice,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Natural History (White's),</span><br /> +And then Pendennis,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Arabian Nights,</span><br /> +Cicero's Orations,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Plain Tales from the Hills,</span><br /> +The Wealth of Nations,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Byles on Bills,</span><br /> +As in a Glass Darkly,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Demosthenes' Crown,</span><br /> +The Treatise of Berkeley,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tom Hughes's Tom Brown,</span><br /> +The Mahabharata,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Humour of Hook,</span><br /> +The Kreutzer Sonata,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Lalla Rookh,</span><br /> +Great Battles by Creasy,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Hudibras,</span><br /> +And Midshipman Easy,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Rasselas,</span><br /> +Shakespeare <i>in extenso</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the Æneid,</span><br /> +And Euclid (Colenso),<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_771" id="Page_771">[Pg 771]</a></span> + +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Woman who Did,</span><br /> +Poe's Tales of Mystery,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then Rabelais,</span><br /> +Guizot's French History,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Men of the Day,</span><br /> +Rienzi, by Lytton,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Poems of Burns,</span><br /> +The Story of Britain,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Journey (that's Sterne's),</span><br /> +The House of Seven Gables,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Carroll's Looking-glass,</span><br /> +Æsop his Fables,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Leaves of Grass,</span><br /> +Departmental Ditties,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Woman in White,</span><br /> +The Tale of Two Cities,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ships that Pass in the Night,</span><br /> +Meredith's Feverel,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gibbon's Decline,</span><br /> +Walter Scott's Peveril,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And—some verses of mine.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Mostyn T. Pigott.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE COSMIC EGG</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Upon a rock, yet uncreate,<br /> +Amid a chaos inchoate,<br /> +An uncreated being sate;<br /> +Beneath him, rock,<br /> +Above him, cloud.<br /> +And the cloud was rock,<br /> +And the rock was cloud.<br /> +The rock then growing soft and warm,<br /> +The cloud began to take a form,<br /> +A form chaotic, vast and vague,<br /> +Which issued in the cosmic egg.<br /> +Then the Being uncreate<br /> +On the egg did incubate,<br /> +And thus became the incubator;<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_772" id="Page_772">[Pg 772]</a></span> + +And of the egg did allegate,<br /> +And thus became the alligator;<br /> +And the incubator was potentate,<br /> +But the alligator was potentator.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>FIVE WINES</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Brisk methinks I am, and fine<br /> +When I drink my cap'ring wine;<br /> +Then to love I do incline,<br /> +When I drink my wanton wine;<br /> +And I wish all maidens mine,<br /> +When I drink my sprightly wine;<br /> +Well I sup and well I dine,<br /> +When I drink my frolic wine;<br /> +But I languish, lower, and pine,<br /> +When I want my fragrant wine.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Robert Herrick.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A RHYME FOR MUSICIANS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Händel, Bendel, Mendelssohn,<br /> +Brendel, Wendel, Jadassohn,<br /> +Müller, Hiller, Heller, Franz,<br /> +Plothow, Flotow, Burto, Ganz.<br /> +<br /> +Meyer, Geyer, Meyerbeer,<br /> +Heyer, Weyer, Beyer, Beer,<br /> +Lichner, Lachner, Schachner, Dietz,<br /> +Hill, Will, Brüll, Grill, Drill, Reiss, Rietz.<br /> +<br /> +Hansen, Jansen, Jensen, Kiehl,<br /> +Siade, Gade, Laade, Stiehl,<br /> +Naumann, Riemann, Diener, Wurst,<br /> +Niemann, Kiemann, Diener, Furst.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_773" id="Page_773">[Pg 773]</a></span> + +<br /> +Kochler, Dochler, Rubinstein,<br /> +Himmel, Hummel, Rosenhain,<br /> +Lauer, Bauer, Kleinecke,<br /> +Homberg, Plomberg, Reinecke.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>E. Lemke.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>MY MADELINE</h3> + +<h4>SERENADE IN M FLAT</h4> + +<h4>SUNG BY MAJOR MARMADUKE MUTTONHEAD TO +MADEMOISELLE MADELINE MENDOZA</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +My Madeline! my Madeline!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mark my melodious midnight moans;</span><br /> +Much may my melting music mean,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My modulated monotones.</span><br /> +<br /> +My mandolin's mild minstrelsy,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My mental music magazine,</span><br /> +My mouth, my mind, my memory,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Must mingling murmur "Madeline!"</span><br /> +<br /> +Muster 'mid midnight masquerades,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mark Moorish maidens, matrons' mien;</span><br /> +'Mongst Murcia's most majestic maids,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Match me my matchless Madeline.</span><br /> +<br /> +Mankind's malevolence may make<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Much melancholy musing mine;</span><br /> +Many my motives may mistake,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My modest merits much malign.</span><br /> +<br /> +My Madeline's most mirthful mood<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Much mollifies my mind's machine,</span><br /> +My mournfulness's magnitude<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Melts—make me merry, Madeline!</span><br /> +<br /> +Match-making mas may machinate,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Manœuvring misses me mis-ween;</span><br /> +Mere money may make many mate,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My magic motto's "Madeline!"</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_774" id="Page_774">[Pg 774]</a></span> + +<br /> +Melt, most mellifluous melody,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Midst Murcia's misty mounts marine;</span><br /> +Meet me 'mid moonlight; marry me,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Madonna mia</i>! my Madeline!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Walter Parke.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>SUSAN SIMPSON</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Sudden swallows swiftly skimming,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sunset's slowly spreading shade,</span><br /> +Silvery songsters sweetly singing,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Summer's soothing serenade.</span><br /> +<br /> +Susan Simpson strolled sedately,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stifling sobs, suppressing sighs.</span><br /> +Seeing Stephen Slocum, stately<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She stopped, showing some surprise.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Say," said Stephen, "sweetest sigher;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Say, shall Stephen spouseless stay?"</span><br /> +Susan, seeming somewhat shyer,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Showed submissiveness straightway.</span><br /> +<br /> +Summer's season slowly stretches,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Susan Simpson Slocum she—</span><br /> +So she signed some simple sketches—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Soul sought soul successfully.</span><br /> +</p> +<hr style="width: 33%; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;" /> +<p> +Six Septembers Susan swelters;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Six sharp seasons snow supplies;</span><br /> +Susan's satin sofa shelters<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Six small Slocums side by side.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_775" id="Page_775">[Pg 775]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE MARCH TO MOSCOW</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The Emperor Nap he would set off</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">On a summer excursion to Moscow;</span><br /> +The fields were green and the sky was blue,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Morbleu! Parbleu!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What a splendid excursion to Moscow!</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Four hundred thousand men and more</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Must go with him to Moscow:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There were Marshals by the dozen,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And Dukes by the score;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Princes a few, and Kings one or two;</span><br /> +While the fields are so green, and the sky so blue,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Morbleu! Parbleu!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What a pleasant excursion to Moscow!</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">There was Junot and Augereau,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Heigh-ho for Moscow!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Dombrowsky and Poniatowsky,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Marshall Ney, lack-a-day!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">General Rapp, and the Emperor Nap;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Nothing would do,</span><br /> +While the fields were so green, and the sky so blue,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Morbleu! Parbleu!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Nothing would do</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For the whole of his crew,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But they must be marching to Moscow.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The Emperor Nap he talk'd so big</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">That he frighten'd Mr. Roscoe.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">John Bull, he cries, if you'll be wise,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Ask the Emperor Nap if he will please</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To grant you peace upon your knees,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Because he is going to Moscow!</span><br /> +He'll make all the Poles come out of their holes,<br /> +And beat the Russians, and eat the Prussians;<br /> +For the fields are green, and the sky is blue,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Morbleu! Parbleu!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And he'll certainly march to Moscow!</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_776" id="Page_776">[Pg 776]</a></span> + +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Counsellor Brougham was all in a fume</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At the thought of the march to Moscow:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Russians, he said, they were undone,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And the great Fee-Faw-Fum</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Would presently come,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a hop, step, and jump, unto London,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For, as for his conquering Russia,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">However some persons might scoff it,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Do it he could, do it he would,</span><br /> +And from doing it nothing would come but good,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And nothing could call him off it.</span><br /> +Mr. Jeffrey said so, who must certainly know,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For he was the Edinburgh Prophet.</span><br /> +They all of them knew Mr. Jeffrey's Review,<br /> +Which with Holy Writ ought to be reckon'd:<br /> +It was, through thick and thin, to its party true,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Its back was buff, and its sides were blue,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Morbleu! Parbleu!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It served them for law and for gospel too.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But the Russians stoutly they turned to</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Upon the road to Moscow.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nap had to fight his way all through;</span><br /> +They could fight, though they could not parlez-vous;<br /> +But the fields were green, and the sky was blue,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Morbleu! Parbleu!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And so he got to Moscow.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He found the place too warm for him,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For they set fire to Moscow.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To get there had cost him much ado,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And then no better course he knew</span><br /> +While the fields were green, and the sky was blue,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Morbleu! Parbleu!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But to march back again from Moscow.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The Russians they stuck close to him</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">All on the road from Moscow.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">There was Tormazow and Jemalow,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And all the others that end in ow;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Milarodovitch and Jaladovitch,</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_777" id="Page_777">[Pg 777]</a></span> + +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And Karatschkowitch,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And all the others that end in itch;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Schamscheff, Souchosaneff,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And Schepaleff,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And all the others that end in eff:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Wasiltschikoff, Kotsomaroff,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And Tchoglokoff,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And all the others that end in off;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Rajeffsky, and Novereffsky,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And Rieffsky,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And all the others that end in effsky;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Oscharoffsky and Rostoffsky,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And all the others that end in offsky;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And Platoff he play'd them off,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And Shouvaloff he shovell'd them off,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And Markoff he mark'd them off,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And Krosnoff he cross'd them off,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And Touchkoff he touch'd them off,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And Boroskoff he bored them off,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And Kutousoff he cut them off,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And Parenzoff he pared them off,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And Worronzoff he worried them off,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And Doctoroff he doctor'd them off,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And Rodinoff he flogg'd them off.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And, last of all, an Admiral came,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A terrible man with a terrible name,</span><br /> +A name which you all know by sight very well,<br /> +But which no one can speak, and no one can spell.<br /> +They stuck close to Nap with all their might;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They were on the left and on the right</span><br /> +Behind and before, and by day and by night;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He would rather parlez-vous than fight;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But he look'd white, and he look'd blue.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Morbleu! Parbleu!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When parlez-vous no more would do.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For they remember'd Moscow.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And then came on the frost and snow</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">All on the road from Moscow.</span><br /> +The wind and the weather he found, in that hour,<br /> +Cared nothing for him, nor for all his power;<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_778" id="Page_778">[Pg 778]</a></span> + +For him who, while Europe crouch'd under his rod,<br /> +Put his trust in his Fortune, and not in his God.<br /> +Worse and worse every day the elements grew,<br /> +The fields were so white and the sky was so blue,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Sacrebleu! Ventrebleu!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">What a horrible journey from Moscow!</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">What then thought the Emperor Nap</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Upon the road from Moscow?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Why, I ween he thought it small delight</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To fight all day, and to freeze all night;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And he was besides in a very great fright,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For a whole skin he liked to be in;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And so not knowing what else to do,</span><br /> +When the fields were so white, and the sky so blue,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Morbleu! Parbleu!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He stole away,—I tell you true,—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Upon the road from Moscow.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Tis myself, quoth he, I must mind most;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So the devil may take the hindmost.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Too cold upon the road was he;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Too hot had he been at Moscow;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But colder and hotter he may be,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For the grave is colder than Moscovy;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And a place there is to be kept in view,</span><br /> +Where the fire is red, and the brimstone blue,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Morbleu! Parbleu!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Which he must go to,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">If the Pope say true,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">If he does not in time look about him;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Where his namesake almost</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">He may have for his Host;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He has reckon'd too long without him;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">If that Host get him in Purgatory,</span><br /> +He won't leave him there alone with his glory;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But there he must stay for a very long day,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For from thence there is no stealing away,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As there was on the road from Moscow.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Robert Southey.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_779" id="Page_779">[Pg 779]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>HALF HOURS WITH THE CLASSICS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Ah, those hours when by-gone sages<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Led our thoughts through Learning's ways,</span><br /> +When the wit of sunnier ages,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Called once more to Earth the days</span><br /> +When rang through Athens' vine-hung lanes<br /> +Thy wild, wild laugh, Aristophanes!<br /> +<br /> +Pensive through the land of Lotus,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sauntered we by Nilus' side;</span><br /> +Garrulous old Herodotus<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Still our mentor, still our guide,</span><br /> +Prating of the mystic bliss<br /> +Of Isis and of Osiris.<br /> +<br /> +All the learn'd ones trooped before us,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All the wise of Hellas' land,</span><br /> +Down from mythic Pythagoras,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the hemlock drinker grand.</span><br /> +Dark the hour that closed the gates<br /> +Of gloomy Dis on thee, Socrates.<br /> +<br /> +Ah, those hours of tend'rest study,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When Electra's poet told</span><br /> +Of Love's cheek once warm and ruddy,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pale with grief, with death chill cold!</span><br /> +Sobbing low like summer tides<br /> +Flow thy verses, Euripides!<br /> +<br /> +High our hearts beat when Cicero<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shook the Capitolian dome;</span><br /> +How we shuddered, watching Nero<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Mid the glare of blazing Rome!</span><br /> +How those records still affright us<br /> +On thy gloomy page, Tacitus!<br /> +<br /> +Back to youth I seem to glide, as<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I recall those by-gone scenes,</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_780" id="Page_780">[Pg 780]</a></span> + +When we conned o'er Thucydides,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or recited Demosthenes.</span><br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>L'ENVOI</p> +<p> +Ancient sages, pardon these<br /> +Somewhat doubtful quantities.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>H. I. DeBurgh.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>ON THE OXFORD CARRIER</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Here lieth one, who did most truly prove<br /> +That he could never die while he could move;<br /> +So hung his destiny never to rot<br /> +While he might still jog on and keep his trot;<br /> +Made of sphere metal, never to decay<br /> +Until his revolution was at stay.<br /> +Time numbers motion, yet (without a crime<br /> +'Gainst old truth) motion number'd out his time<br /> +And like an engine moved with wheel and weight,<br /> +His principles being ceased, he ended straight.<br /> +Rest, that gives all men life, gave him his death,<br /> +And too much breathing put him out of breath;<br /> +Nor were it contradiction to affirm,<br /> +Too long vacation hasten'd on his term.<br /> +Merely to drive the time away he sicken'd,<br /> +Fainted, and died, nor would with ale be quicken'd;<br /> +"Nay," quoth he, on his swooning bed outstretch'd,<br /> +"If I mayn't carry, sure I'll ne'er be fetch'd,<br /> +But vow, though the cross doctors all stood hearers,<br /> +For one carrier put down to make six bearers."<br /> +Ease was his chief disease; and to judge right,<br /> +He died for heaviness that his cart went light:<br /> +His leisure told him that his time was come.<br /> +And lack of load made his life burdensome.<br /> +That even to his last breath (there be that say't),<br /> +As he were press'd to death, he cried, "More weight;"<br /> +But, had his doings lasted as they were,<br /> +He had been an immortal carrier.<br /> +Obedient to the moon he spent his date<br /> +In course reciprocal, and had his fate<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_781" id="Page_781">[Pg 781]</a></span> + +Link'd to the mutual flowing of the seas,<br /> +Yet (strange to think) his wane was his increase:<br /> +His letters are deliver'd all, and gone,<br /> +Only remains the superscription.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>John Milton.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>NINETY-NINE IN THE SHADE</h3> + +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +O for a lodge in a garden of cucumbers!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O for an iceberg or two at control!</span><br /> +O for a vale which at mid-day the dew cumbers!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O for a pleasure-trip up to the pole!</span><br /> +<br /> +O for a little one-story thermometer,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With nothing but zeroes all ranged in a row!</span><br /> +O for a big double-barreled hygrometer,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To measure this moisture that rolls from my brow!</span><br /> +<br /> +O that this cold world were twenty times colder!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(That's irony red-hot it seemeth to me);</span><br /> +O for a turn of its dreaded cold shoulder!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O what a comfort an ague would be!</span><br /> +<br /> +O for a grotto frost-lined and rill-riven,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Scooped in the rock under cataract vast!</span><br /> +O for a winter of discontent even!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O for wet blankets judiciously cast!</span><br /> +<br /> +O for a soda-fount spouting up boldly<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From every hot lamp-post against the hot sky!</span><br /> +O for proud maiden to look on me coldly,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Freezing my soul with a glance of her eye!</span><br /> +<br /> +Then O for a draught from a cup of cold pizen,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And O for a resting-place in the cold grave!</span><br /> +With a bath in the Styx where the thick shadow lies on<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And deepens the chill of its dark-running wave.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Rossiter Johnson.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_782" id="Page_782">[Pg 782]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE TRIOLET</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Easy is the triolet,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If you really learn to make it!</span><br /> +Once a neat refrain you get,<br /> +Easy is the triolet.<br /> +As you see!—I pay my debt<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With another rhyme. Deuce take it,</span><br /> +Easy is the triolet,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If you really learn to make it!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>William Ernest Henley.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE RONDEAU</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +You bid me try, Blue-eyes, to write<br /> +A Rondeau. What! forthwith?—to-night?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Reflect? Some skill I have, 'tis true;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But thirteen lines!—and rhymed on two!—</span><br /> +"Refrain," as well. Ah, hapless plight!<br /> +<br /> +Still there are five lines—ranged aright.<br /> +These Gallic bonds, I feared, would fright<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My easy Muse. They did, till you—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 13em;">You bid me try!</span><br /> +<br /> +That makes them eight.—The port's in sight;<br /> +'Tis all because your eyes are bright!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now just a pair to end in "oo,"—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When maids command, what can't we do?</span><br /> +Behold! The Rondeau—tasteful, light—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 13em;">You bid me try!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Austin Dobson.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_783" id="Page_783">[Pg 783]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>LIFE<a name="FNanchor_1_9" id="FNanchor_1_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_9" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">1. Why all this toil for triumphs of an hour?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">2. Life's a short summer, man a flower.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">3. By turns we catch the vital breath and die—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">4. The cradle and the tomb, alas! so nigh.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">5. To be, is better far than not to be.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">6. Though all man's life may seem a tragedy;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">7. But light cares speak when mighty griefs are dumb,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">8. The bottom is but shallow whence they come.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">9. Your fate is but the common lot of all:</span><br /> +10. Unmingled joys here to no man befall,<br /> +11. Nature to each allots his proper sphere;<br /> +12. Fortune makes folly her peculiar care;<br /> +13. Custom does often reason overrule,<br /> +14. And throw a cruel sunshine on a fool.<br /> +15. Live well; how long or short, permit to Heaven;<br /> +16. They who forgive most, shall be most forgiven.<br /> +17. Sin may be clasped so close we cannot see its face—<br /> +18. Vile intercourse where virtue has no place.<br /> +19. Then keep each passion down, however dear;<br /> +20. Thou pendulum betwixt a smile and tear.<br /> +21. Her sensual snares, let faithless pleasure lay,<br /> +22. With craft and skill, to ruin and betray;<br /> +23. Soar not too high to fall, but stoop to rise.<br /> +24. We masters grow of all that we despise.<br /> +25. Oh, then, renounce that impious self-esteem;<br /> +26. Riches have wings, and grandeur is a dream.<br /> +27. Think not ambition wise because 'tis brave,<br /> +28. The paths of glory lead but to the grave.<br /> +29. What is ambition?—'tis a glorious cheat!—<br /> +30. Only destructive to the brave and great.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_784" id="Page_784">[Pg 784]</a></span> + +31. What's all the gaudy glitter of a crown?<br /> +32. The way to bliss lies not on beds of down.<br /> +33. How long we live, not years but actions tell;<br /> +34. That man lives twice who lives the first life well.<br /> +35. Make, then, while yet ye may, your God your friend,<br /> +36. Whom Christians worship yet not comprehend.<br /> +37. The trust that's given guard, and to yourself be just;<br /> +38. For, live we how we can, yet die we must.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_9" id="Footnote_1_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_9"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> 1. Young; 2. Dr. Johnson; 3. Pope; 4. Prior; 5. Sewell; +6. Spenser; 7. Daniell; 8. Sir Walter Raleigh; 9. Longfellow; +10. Southwell; 11. Congreve; 12. Churchill; 13. Rochester; 14. +Armstrong; 15. Milton; 16. Bailey; 17. Trench; 18. Somerville; +19. Thomson; 20. Byron; 21. Smollett; 22. Crabbe; 23. Massinger; +24. Cowley; 25. Beattie; 26. Cowper; 27. Sir Walter +Davenant; 28. Gray; 29. Willis; 30. Addison; 31. Dryden; 32. +Francis Quarles; 33. Watkins; 34. Herrick; 35. William Mason; +36. Hill; 37. Dana; 38. Shakespeare.</p></div> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>ODE TO THE HUMAN HEART</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Blind Thamyris, and blind Mæonides,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pursue the triumph and partake the gale!</span><br /> +Drop tears as fast as the Arabian trees,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To point a moral or adorn a tale.</span><br /> +<br /> +Full many a gem of purest ray serene,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears,</span><br /> +Like angels' visits, few and far between,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Deck the long vista of departed years.</span><br /> +<br /> +Man never is, but always to be bless'd;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The tenth transmitter of a foolish face,</span><br /> +Like Aaron's serpent, swallows up the rest,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And makes a sunshine in the shady place.</span><br /> +<br /> +For man the hermit sigh'd, till woman smiled,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To waft a feather or to drown a fly,</span><br /> +(In wit a man, simplicity a child,)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With silent finger pointing to the sky.</span><br /> +<br /> +But fools rush in where angels fear to tread<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Far out amid the melancholy main;</span><br /> +As when a vulture on Imaus bred,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dies of a rose in aromatic pain.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Laman Blanchard.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_785" id="Page_785">[Pg 785]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A STRIKE AMONG THE POETS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +In his chamber, weak and dying,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While the Norman Baron lay,</span><br /> +Loud, without, his men were crying,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Shorter hours and better pay."</span><br /> +<br /> +Know you why the ploughman, fretting,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Homeward plods his weary way</span><br /> +Ere his time? He's after getting<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shorter hours and better pay.</span><br /> +<br /> +See! the <i>Hesperus</i> is swinging<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Idle in the wintry bay,</span><br /> +And the skipper's daughter's singing,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Shorter hours and better pay."</span><br /> +<br /> +Where's the minstrel boy? I've found him<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Joining in the labour fray</span><br /> +With his placards slung around him,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Shorter hours and better pay."</span><br /> +<br /> +Oh, young Lochinvar is coming;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Though his hair is getting grey,</span><br /> +Yet I'm glad to hear him humming,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Shorter hours and, better pay."</span><br /> +<br /> +E'en the boy upon the burning<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Deck has got a word to say,</span><br /> +Something rather cross concerning<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shorter hours and better pay.</span><br /> +<br /> +Lives of great men all remind us<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We can make as much as they,</span><br /> +Work no more, until they find us<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shorter hours and better pay.</span><br /> +<br /> +Hail to thee, blithe spirit! (Shelley)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wilt thou be a blackleg? Nay.</span><br /> +Soaring, sing above the mélée,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Shorter hours and better pay."</span><br /> +</p> +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_786" id="Page_786">[Pg 786]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>WHATEVER IS, IS RIGHT</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Lives there a man with soul so dead<br /> +Who never to himself has said,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">"Shoot folly as it flies"?</span><br /> +Oh! more than tears of blood can tell,<br /> +Are in that word, farewell, farewell!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">'Tis folly to be wise.</span><br /> +<br /> +And what is friendship but a name,<br /> +That boils on Etna's breast of flame?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Thus runs the world away,</span><br /> +Sweet is the ship that's under sail<br /> +To where yon taper cheers the vale,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">With hospitable ray!</span><br /> +<br /> +Drink to me only with thine eyes<br /> +Through cloudless climes and starry skies!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">My native land, good night!</span><br /> +Adieu, adieu, my native shore;<br /> +'Tis Greece, but living Greece no more—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Whatever is, is right!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Laman Blanchard.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>NOTHING</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Mysterious Nothing! how shall I define<br /> +Thy shapeless, baseless, placeless emptiness?<br /> +Nor form, nor colour, sound, nor size is thine,<br /> +Nor words nor fingers can thy voice express;<br /> +But though we cannot thee to aught compare,<br /> +A thousand things to thee may likened be,<br /> +And though thou art with nobody nowhere,<br /> +Yet half mankind devote themselves to thee.<br /> +How many books thy history contain;<br /> +How many heads thy mighty plans pursue;<br /> +What labouring hands thy portion only gain;<br /> +What busy bodies thy doings only do!<br /> +To thee the great, the proud, the giddy bend,<br /> +And—like my sonnet—all in nothing end.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Richard Porson.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_787" id="Page_787">[Pg 787]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>DIRGE</h3> +<div class='blockquot'>To the memory of Miss Ellen Gee, of Kew, who died in +consequence of being stung in the eye.</div> + +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> + +<p> +Peerless yet hapless maid of Q!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Accomplish'd LN G!</span><br /> +Never again shall I and U<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Together sip our T.</span><br /> +<br /> +For, ah! the Fates I know not Y,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sent 'midst the flowers a B,</span><br /> +Which ven'mous stung her in the I,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So that she could not C.</span><br /> +<br /> +LN exclaim'd, "Vile spiteful B!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If ever I catch U</span><br /> +On jess'mine, rosebud, or sweet P,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'll change your singing Q.</span><br /> +<br /> +"I'll send you like a lamb or U<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Across th' Atlantic C.</span><br /> +From our delightful village Q<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To distant O Y E.</span><br /> +<br /> +"A stream runs from my wounded I,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Salt as the briny C</span><br /> +As rapid as the X or Y,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The OIO or D.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Then fare thee ill, insensate B!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who stung, nor yet knew Y,</span><br /> +Since not for wealthy Durham's C<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Would I have lost my I."</span><br /> +<br /> +They bear with tears fair LN G<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In funeral R A,</span><br /> +A clay-cold corse now doom'd to B<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whilst I mourn her DK.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_788" id="Page_788">[Pg 788]</a></span> + +<br /> +Ye nymphs of Q, then shun each B,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">List to the reason Y;</span><br /> +For should A B C U at T,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He'll surely sting your I.</span><br /> +<br /> +Now in a grave L deep in Q,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She's cold as cold can B,</span><br /> +Whilst robins sing upon A U<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her dirge and LEG.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>O D V</h3> + +<h4>CONTAINING A FULL, TRUE, AND PARTICULAR ACCOUNT OF THE +TERRIBLE FATE OF ABRAHAM ISAACS, OF IVY LANE</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +"True 'tis P T, and P T 'tis, 'tis true."<br /> +<br /> +In I V Lane, of C T fame,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There lived a man D C,</span><br /> +And A B I 6 was his name,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now mark his history.</span><br /> +<br /> +Long time his conduct free from blame<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Did merit L O G,</span><br /> +Until an evil spirit came<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the shape of O D V.</span><br /> +<br /> +"O! that a man into his mouth<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Should put an N M E</span><br /> +To steal away his brains"—no drouth<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Such course from sin may free.</span><br /> +<br /> +Well, A B drank, the O T loon!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And learned to swear, sans ruth;</span><br /> +And then he gamed, and U Z soon<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To D V 8 from truth.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_789" id="Page_789">[Pg 789]</a></span> + +<br /> +An hourly glass with him was play,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He'd swallow that with phlegm;</span><br /> +Judge what he'd M T in a day,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"X P D <i>Herculem</i>."</span><br /> +<br /> +Of virtue none to sots, I trow,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With F E K C prate;</span><br /> +And O of N R G could now<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From A B M N 8.</span><br /> +<br /> +Who on strong liquor badly dote,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Soon poverty must know;</span><br /> +Thus A B in a C D coat<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was shortly forced to go.</span><br /> +<br /> +From poverty D C T he caught,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And cheated not A F U,</span><br /> +For what he purchased paying O,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or but an "I O U."</span><br /> +<br /> +Or else when he had tried B 4,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To shirk a debt, his wits,</span><br /> +He'd cry, "You shan't wait N E more,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'll W or quits."</span><br /> +<br /> +So lost did I 6 now A P R,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That said his wife, said she,</span><br /> +"F U act so, your fate quite clear<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is for 1 2 4 C."</span><br /> +<br /> +His inside soon was out and out<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">More fiery than K N;</span><br /> +And while his state was thereabout<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A cough C V R came.</span><br /> +<br /> +He I P K Q N A tried,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And linseed T and rue;</span><br /> +But O could save him, so he died<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As every 1 must 2.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_790" id="Page_790">[Pg 790]</a></span> + +<br /> +Poor wight! till black in' the face he raved,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Twas P T S 2 C</span><br /> +His latest spirit "spirit" craved—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His last words, "O D V."</span><br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>MORAL</p> +<p> +I'll not S A to preach and prate,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But tell U if U do</span><br /> +Drink O D V at such R 8,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Death will 4 stall U 2.</span><br /> +<br /> +O U then who A Y Z have,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shun O D V as a wraith,</span><br /> +For 'tis a bonus to the grave,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An S A unto death.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A MAN OF WORDS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +A man of words and not of deeds,<br /> +Is like a garden full of weeds;<br /> +And when the weeds begin to grow,<br /> +It's like a garden full of snow;<br /> +And when the snow begins to fall,<br /> +It's like a bird upon the wall;<br /> +And when the bird away does fly,<br /> +It's like an eagle in the sky;<br /> +And when the sky begins to roar,<br /> +It's like a lion at the door;<br /> +And when the door begins to crack,<br /> +It's like a stick across your back;<br /> +And when your back begins to smart,<br /> +It's like a penknife in your heart;<br /> +And when your heart begins to bleed,<br /> +You're dead, and dead, and dead indeed.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_791" id="Page_791">[Pg 791]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>SIMILES</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +As wet as a fish—as dry as a bone;<br /> +As live as a bird—as dead as a stone;<br /> +As plump as a partridge—as poor as a rat;<br /> +As strong as a horse—as weak as a cat;<br /> +As hard as a flint—as soft as a mole;<br /> +As white as a lily—as black as a coal;<br /> +As plain as a pike-staff—as rough as a bear;<br /> +As light as a drum—as free as the air;<br /> +As heavy as lead—as light as a feather;<br /> +As steady as time—uncertain as weather;<br /> +As hot as an oven—as cold as a frog;<br /> +As gay as a lark—as sick as a dog;<br /> +As slow as the tortoise—as swift as the wind;<br /> +As true as the Gospel—as false as mankind;<br /> +As thin as a herring—as fat as a pig;<br /> +As proud as a peacock—as blithe as a grig;<br /> +As savage as tigers—as mild as a dove;<br /> +As stiff as a poker—as limp as a glove;<br /> +As blind as a bat—as deaf as a post;<br /> +As cool as a cucumber—as warm as a toast;<br /> +As flat as a flounder—as round as a ball;<br /> +As blunt as a hammer—as sharp as an awl;<br /> +As red as a ferret—as safe as the stocks;<br /> +As bold as a thief—as sly as a fox;<br /> +As straight as an arrow—as crook'd as a bow;<br /> +As yellow as saffron—as black as a sloe;<br /> +As brittle as glass—as tough as gristle;<br /> +As neat as my nail—as clean as a whistle;<br /> +As good as a feast—as had as a witch;<br /> +As light as is day—as dark as is pitch;<br /> +As brisk as a bee—as dull as an ass;<br /> +As full as a tick—as solid as brass.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_792" id="Page_792">[Pg 792]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>NO!</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">No sun—no moon!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">No morn—no noon—</span><br /> +No dawn—no dusk—no proper time of day—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">No sky—no earthly view—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">No distance looking blue—</span><br /> +No road—no street—no "t'other side the way"—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">No end to any Row—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">No indications where the Crescents go—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">No top to any steeple—</span><br /> +No recognitions of familiar people—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">No courtesies for showing 'em—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">No knowing 'em!</span><br /> +No travelling at all—no locomotion,<br /> +No inkling of the way—no notion—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">"No go"—by land or ocean—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">No mail—no post—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">No news from any foreign coast—</span><br /> +No park—no ring—no afternoon gentility—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">No company—no nobility—</span><br /> +No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,<br /> +No comfortable feel in any member—<br /> +No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,<br /> +No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds, November!<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Thomas Hood.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>FAITHLESS SALLY BROWN</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Young Ben he was a nice young man,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A carpenter by trade;</span><br /> +And he fell in love with Sally Brown,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That was a lady's maid.</span><br /> +<br /> +But as they fetched a walk one day,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They met a press-gang crew;</span><br /> +And Sally she did faint away,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whilst Ben he was brought to.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_793" id="Page_793">[Pg 793]</a></span> + +<br /> +The boatswain swore with wicked words,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Enough to shock a saint,</span><br /> +That though she did seem in a fit,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Twas nothing but a feint.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Come, girl," said he, "hold up your head,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He'll be as good as me;</span><br /> +For when your swain is in our boat,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A boatswain he will be."</span><br /> +<br /> +So when they'd made their game of her,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And taken off her elf,</span><br /> +She roused, and found she only was<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A coming to herself.</span><br /> +<br /> +"And is he gone, and is he gone?"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She cried, and wept outright:</span><br /> +"Then I will to the water side,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And see him out of sight."</span><br /> +<br /> +A waterman came up to her,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Now, young woman," said he,</span><br /> +"If you weep on so, you will make<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Eye-water in the sea."</span><br /> +<br /> +"Alas! they've taken my beau, Ben,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To sail with old Benbow;"</span><br /> +And her woe began to run afresh,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As if she'd said, "Gee woe!"</span><br /> +<br /> +Says he, "They've only taken him<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the Tender-ship, you see;"</span><br /> +"The Tender-ship," cried Sally Brown,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"What a hard-ship that must be!</span><br /> +<br /> +"O! would I were a mermaid now,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For then I'd follow him;</span><br /> +But, O!—I'm not a fish-woman,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And so I cannot swim.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_794" id="Page_794">[Pg 794]</a></span> + +<br /> +"Alas! I was not born beneath<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The virgin and the scales,</span><br /> +So I must curse my cruel stars,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And walk about in Wales."</span><br /> +<br /> +Now Ben had sailed to many a place<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That's underneath the world;</span><br /> +But in two years the ship came home,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And all her sails were furled.</span><br /> +<br /> +But when he called on Sally Brown,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To see how she got on,</span><br /> +He found she'd got another Ben,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whose Christian name was John.</span><br /> +<br /> +"O, Sally Brown, O, Sally Brown,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How could you serve me so?</span><br /> +I've met with many a breeze before,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But never such a blow!"</span><br /> +<br /> +Then reading on his 'bacco-box,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He heaved a heavy sigh,</span><br /> +And then began to eye his pipe,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And then to pipe his eye.</span><br /> +<br /> +And then he tried to sing "All's Well,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But could not, though he tried;</span><br /> +His head was turned, and so he chewed<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His pigtail till he died.</span><br /> +<br /> +His death, which happened in his berth,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At forty-odd befell:</span><br /> +They went and told the sexton, and<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The sexton tolled the bell.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Thomas Hood.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_795" id="Page_795">[Pg 795]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>TIM TURPIN</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Tim Turpin he was gravel blind,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And ne'er had seen the skies:</span><br /> +For Nature, when his head was made,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Forgot to dot his eyes.</span><br /> +<br /> +So, like a Christmas pedagogue,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Poor Tim was forced to do,—</span><br /> +Look out for pupils, for he had<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A vacancy for two.</span><br /> +<br /> +There's some have specs to help their sight<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of objects dim and small;</span><br /> +But Tim had <i>specks</i> within his eyes,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And could not see at all.</span><br /> +<br /> +Now Tim he wooed a servant maid,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And took her to his arms;</span><br /> +For he, like Pyramus, had cast<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A wall-eye on her charms.</span><br /> +<br /> +By day she led him up and down<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where'er he wished to jog,</span><br /> +A happy wife, although she led<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The life of any dog.</span><br /> +<br /> +But just when Tim had lived a month<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In honey with his wife,</span><br /> +A surgeon oped his Milton eyes,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like oysters, with a knife.</span><br /> +<br /> +But when his eyes were opened thus,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He wished them dark again;</span><br /> +For when he looked upon his wife,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He saw her very plain.</span><br /> +<br /> +Her face was bad, her figure worse,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He couldn't bear to eat;</span><br /> +For she was anything but like<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Grace before his meat.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_796" id="Page_796">[Pg 796]</a></span> + +<br /> +Now Tim he was a feeling man:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For when his sight was thick,</span><br /> +It made him feel for everything,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But that was with a stick.</span><br /> +<br /> +So, with a cudgel in his hand,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It was not light or slim,—</span><br /> +He knocked at his wife's head until<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It opened unto him.</span><br /> +<br /> +And when the corpse was stiff and cold,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He took his slaughtered spouse,</span><br /> +And laid her in a heap with all<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The ashes of her house.</span><br /> +<br /> +But, like a wicked murderer,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He lived in constant fear</span><br /> +From day to day, and so he cut<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His throat from ear to ear.</span><br /> +<br /> +The neighbors fetched a doctor in:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Said he, "This wound I dread</span><br /> +Can hardly be sewed up,—his life<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is hanging on a thread."</span><br /> +<br /> +But when another week was gone,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He gave him stronger hope,—</span><br /> +Instead of hanging on a thread,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of hanging on a rope.</span><br /> +<br /> +Ah! when he hid his bloody work,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In ashes round about,</span><br /> +How little he supposed the truth<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Would soon be sifted out!</span><br /> +<br /> +But when the parish dustman came,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His rubbish to withdraw,</span><br /> +He found more dust within the heap<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than he contracted for!</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_797" id="Page_797">[Pg 797]</a></span> + +<br /> +A dozen men to try the fact,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Were sworn that very day;</span><br /> +But though they all were jurors, yet<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No conjurors were they.</span><br /> +<br /> +Said Tim unto those jurymen,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"You need not waste your breath,</span><br /> +For I confess myself, at once,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The author of her death.</span><br /> +<br /> +"And O, when I reflect upon<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The blood that I have spilt,</span><br /> +Just like a button is my soul,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Inscribed with double <i>guilt</i>!"</span><br /> +<br /> +Then turning round his head again<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He saw before his eyes</span><br /> +A great judge, and a little judge,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The judges of a-size!</span><br /> +<br /> +The great judge took his judgment-cap,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And put it on his head,</span><br /> +And sentenced Tim by law to hang<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till he was three times dead.</span><br /> +<br /> +So he was tried, and he was hung<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Fit punishment for such)</span><br /> +On Horsham drop, and none can say<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It was a drop too much.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Thomas Hood.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>FAITHLESS NELLY GRAY</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Ben Battle was a soldier bold,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And used to war's alarms:</span><br /> +But a cannon-ball took off his legs,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So he laid down his arms!</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_798" id="Page_798">[Pg 798]</a></span> + +<br /> +Now, as they bore him off the field,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Said he, "Let others shoot,</span><br /> +For here I leave my second leg,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the Forty-second Foot!"</span><br /> +<br /> +The army surgeons made him limbs:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Said he, "They're only pegs;</span><br /> +But there's as wooden members quite,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As represent my legs!"</span><br /> +<br /> +Now Ben he loved a pretty maid,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her name was Nelly Gray;</span><br /> +So he went to pay her his devours<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When he'd devoured his pay!</span><br /> +<br /> +But when he called on Nelly Gray,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She made him quite a scoff;</span><br /> +And when she saw his wooden legs,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Began to take them off!</span><br /> +<br /> +"O Nelly Gray! O Nelly Gray!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is this your love so warm?</span><br /> +The love that loves a scarlet coat,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Should be more uniform!"</span><br /> +<br /> +Said she, "I loved a soldier once,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For he was blithe and brave;</span><br /> +But I will never have a man<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With both legs in the grave!</span><br /> +<br /> +"Before you had those timber toes,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Your love I did allow,</span><br /> +But then you know, you stand upon<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Another footing now!"</span><br /> +<br /> +"O Nelly Gray! O Nelly Gray!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For all your jeering speeches,</span><br /> +At duty's call I left my legs<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In Badajos's breaches!"</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_799" id="Page_799">[Pg 799]</a></span> + +<br /> +"Why, then," said she, "you've lost the feet<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of legs in war's alarms,</span><br /> +And now you cannot wear your shoes<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon your feats of arms!"</span><br /> +<br /> +"Oh, false and fickle Nelly Gray;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I know why you refuse:</span><br /> +Though I've no feet—some other man<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is standing in my shoes!</span><br /> +<br /> +"I wish I ne'er had seen your face;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But now a long farewell!</span><br /> +For you will be my death—alas!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You will not be my Nell!"</span><br /> +<br /> +Now, when he went from Nelly Gray,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His heart so heavy got—</span><br /> +And life was such a burden grown,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It made him take a knot!</span><br /> +<br /> +So round his melancholy neck<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A rope he did entwine,</span><br /> +And, for his second time in life<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Enlisted in the Line!</span><br /> +<br /> +One end he tied around a beam,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And then removed his pegs,</span><br /> +And as his legs were off,—of course,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He soon was off his legs!</span><br /> +<br /> +And there he hung till he was dead<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As any nail in town,—</span><br /> +For though distress had cut him up,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It could not cut him down!</span><br /> +<br /> +A dozen men sat on his corpse,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To find out why he died—</span><br /> +And they buried Ben in four cross-roads,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a stake in his inside!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Thomas Hood.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_800" id="Page_800">[Pg 800]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>SALLY SIMPKIN'S LAMENT</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +"Oh! what is that comes gliding in,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And quite in middling haste?</span><br /> +It is the picture of my Jones,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And painted to the waist.</span><br /> +<br /> +"It is not painted to the life,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For where's the trousers blue?</span><br /> +O Jones, my dear!—Oh, dear! my Jones,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What is become of you?"</span><br /> +<br /> +"O Sally, dear, it is too true,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The half that you remark</span><br /> +Is come to say my other half<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is bit off by a shark!</span><br /> +<br /> +"O Sally, sharks do things by halves,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yet most completely do!</span><br /> +A bite in one place seems enough,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But I've been bit in two.</span><br /> +<br /> +"You know I once was all your own,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But now a shark must share!</span><br /> +But let that pass—for now to you<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'm neither here nor there.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Alas! death has a strange divorce<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Effected in the sea,</span><br /> +It has divided me from you,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And even me from me!</span><br /> +<br /> +"Don't fear my ghost will walk o' nights<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To haunt, as people say;</span><br /> +My ghost <i>can't</i> walk, for, oh! my legs<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are many leagues away!</span><br /> +<br /> +"Lord! think when I am swimming round,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And looking where the boat is,</span><br /> +A shark just snaps away a <i>half,</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Without 'a <i>quarter's notice</i>.'</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_801" id="Page_801">[Pg 801]</a></span> + +<br /> +"One half is here, the other half<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is near Columbia placed;</span><br /> +O Sally, I have got the whole<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Atlantic for my waist.</span><br /> +<br /> +"But now, adieu—a long adieu!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I've solved death's awful riddle,</span><br /> +And would say more, but I am doomed<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To break off in the middle!"</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Thomas Hood.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>DEATH'S RAMBLE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +One day the dreary old King of Death<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Inclined for some sport with the carnal,</span><br /> +So he tied a pack of darts on his back,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And quietly stole from his charnel.</span><br /> +<br /> +His head was bald of flesh and of hair,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His body was lean and lank;</span><br /> +His joints at each stir made a crack, and the cur<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Took a gnaw, by the way, at his shank.</span><br /> +<br /> +And what did he do with his deadly darts,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This goblin of grisly bone?</span><br /> +He dabbled and spilled man's blood, and he killed<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like a butcher that kills his own.</span><br /> +<br /> +The first he slaughtered it made him laugh<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(For the man was a coffin-maker),</span><br /> +To think how the mutes, and men in black suits,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Would mourn for an undertaker.</span><br /> +<br /> +Death saw two Quakers sitting at church;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Quoth he, "We shall not differ."</span><br /> +And he let them alone, like figures of stone,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For he could not make them stiffer.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_802" id="Page_802">[Pg 802]</a></span> + +<br /> +He saw two duellists going to fight,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In fear they could not smother;</span><br /> +And he shot one through at once—for he knew<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They never would shoot each other.</span><br /> +<br /> +He saw a watchman fast in his box,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And he gave a snore infernal;</span><br /> +Said Death, "He may keep his breath, for his sleep<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Can never be more eternal."</span><br /> +<br /> +He met a coachman driving a coach<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So slow that his fare grew sick;</span><br /> +But he let him stray on his tedious way,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For Death only wars on the <i>quick</i>.</span><br /> +<br /> +Death saw a tollman taking a toll,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the spirit of his fraternity;</span><br /> +But he knew that sort of man would extort,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Though summoned to all eternity.</span><br /> +<br /> +He found an author writing his life,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But he let him write no further;</span><br /> +For Death, who strikes whenever he likes,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is jealous of all self-murther!</span><br /> +<br /> +Death saw a patient that pulled out his purse,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And a doctor that took the sum;</span><br /> +But he let them be—for he knew that the "fee"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was a prelude to "faw" and "fum."</span><br /> +<br /> +He met a dustman ringing a bell,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And he gave him a mortal thrust;</span><br /> +For himself, by law, since Adam's flaw,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is contractor for all our dust.</span><br /> +<br /> +He saw a sailor mixing his grog,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And he marked him out for slaughter;</span><br /> +For on water he scarcely had cared for death,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And never on rum-and-water.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_803" id="Page_803">[Pg 803]</a></span> + +<br /> +Death saw two players playing at cards,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But the game wasn't worth a dump,</span><br /> +For he quickly laid them flat with a spade,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To wait for the final trump!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Thomas Hood.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>PANEGYRIC ON THE LADIES</h3> + +<h4>READ ALTERNATE LINES</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +That man must lead a happy life<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who's free from matrimonial chains,</span><br /> +Who is directed by a wife<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is sure to suffer for his pains.</span><br /> +<br /> +Adam could find no solid peace<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When Eve was given for a mate;</span><br /> +Until he saw a woman's face<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Adam was in a happy state.</span><br /> +<br /> +In all the female race appear<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hypocrisy, deceit, and pride;</span><br /> +Truth, darling of a heart sincere,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In woman never did reside.</span><br /> +<br /> +What tongue is able to unfold<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The failings that in woman dwell?</span><br /> +The worth in woman we behold<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is almost imperceptible.</span><br /> +<br /> +Confusion take the man, I say,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who changes from his singleness,</span><br /> +Who will not yield to woman's sway<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is sure of earthly blessedness.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_804" id="Page_804">[Pg 804]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>AMBIGUOUS LINES</h3> + +<h4>READ WITH A COMMA AFTER THE FIRST NOUN IN EACH LINE</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I saw a peacock with a fiery tail<br /> +I saw a blazing comet pour down hail<br /> +I saw a cloud all wrapt with ivy round<br /> +I saw a lofty oak creep on the ground<br /> +I saw a beetle swallow up a whale<br /> +I saw a foaming sea brimful of ale<br /> +I saw a pewter cup sixteen feet deep<br /> +I saw a well full of men's tears that weep<br /> +I saw wet eyes in flames of living fire<br /> +I saw a house as high as the moon and higher<br /> +I saw the glorious sun at deep midnight<br /> +I saw the man who saw this wondrous sight.<br /> +<br /> +I saw a pack of cards gnawing a bone<br /> +I saw a dog seated on Britain's throne<br /> +I saw King George shut up within a box<br /> +I saw an orange driving a fat ox<br /> +I saw a butcher not a twelvemonth old<br /> +I saw a great-coat all of solid gold<br /> +I saw two buttons telling of their dreams<br /> +I saw my friends who wished I'd quit these themes.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>SURNAMES</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Men once were surnamed for their shape or estate<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(You all may from history worm it),</span><br /> +There was Louis the bulky, and Henry the Great,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">John Lackland, and Peter the Hermit:</span><br /> +But now, when the doorplates of misters and dames<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are read, each so constantly varies;</span><br /> +From the owner's trade, figure, and calling, surnames<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Seem given by the rule of contraries.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_805" id="Page_805">[Pg 805]</a></span> + +<br /> +Mr. Wise is a dunce, Mr. King is a whig,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mr. Coffin's uncommonly sprightly,</span><br /> +And huge Mr. Little broke down in a gig<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While driving fat Mrs. Golightly.</span><br /> +At Bath, where the feeble go more than the stout<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(A conduct well worthy of Nero),</span><br /> +Over poor Mr. Lightfoot, confined with the gout,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mr. Heavyside danced a bolero.</span><br /> +<br /> +Miss Joy, wretched maid, when she chose Mr. Love,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Found nothing but sorrow await her;</span><br /> +She now holds in wedlock, as true as a dove,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That fondest of mates, Mr. Hayter.</span><br /> +Mr. Oldcastle dwells in a modern-built hut;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Miss Sage is of madcaps the archest;</span><br /> +Of all the queer bachelors Cupid e'er cut,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Old Mr. Younghusband's the starchest.</span><br /> +<br /> +Mr. Child, in a passion, knock'd down Mr. Rock;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mr. Stone like an aspen-leaf shivers;</span><br /> +Miss Pool used to dance, but she stands like a stock<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ever since she became Mrs. Rivers.</span><br /> +Mr. Swift hobbles onward, no mortal knows how,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He moves as though cords had entwined him;</span><br /> +Mr. Metcalf ran off upon meeting a cow,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With pale Mr. Turnbull behind him.</span><br /> +<br /> +Mr. Barker's as mute as a fish in the sea,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mr. Miles never moves on a journey,</span><br /> +Mr. Gotobed sits up till half after three,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mr. Makepeace was bred an attorney.</span><br /> +Mr. Gardener can't tell a flower from a root,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mr. Wild with timidity draws back,</span><br /> +Mr. Ryder performs all his journeys on foot,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mr. Foot all his journeys on horseback.</span><br /> +<br /> +Mr. Penny, whose father was rolling in wealth,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Consumed all the fortune his dad won;</span><br /> +Large Mr. Le Fever's the picture of health;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mr. Goodenough is but a bad one;</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_806" id="Page_806">[Pg 806]</a></span> + +Mr. Cruikshank stept into three thousand a year<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By showing his leg to an heiress:</span><br /> +Now I hope you'll acknowledge I've made it quite clear<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Surnames ever go by contraries.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>James Smith.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A TERNARY OF LITTLES, UPON A PIPKIN OF +JELLY SENT TO A LADY</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +A little saint best fits a little shrine,<br /> +A little prop best fits a little vine;<br /> +As my small cruse best fits my little wine.<br /> +<br /> +A little seed best fits a little soil,<br /> +A little trade best fits a little toil;<br /> +As my small jar best fits my little oil.<br /> +<br /> +A little bin best fits a little bread,<br /> +A little garland fits a little head;<br /> +As my small stuff best fits my little shed.<br /> +<br /> +A little hearth best fits a little fire,<br /> +A little chapel fits a little choir;<br /> +As my small bell best fits my little spire.<br /> +<br /> +A little stream best fits a little boat,<br /> +A little lead best fits a little float;<br /> +As my small pipe best fits my little note.<br /> +<br /> +A little meat best fits a little belly,<br /> +As sweetly, lady, give me leave to tell ye,<br /> +This little pipkin fits this little jelly.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Robert Herrick.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_807" id="Page_807">[Pg 807]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A CARMAN'S ACCOUNT OF A LAW-SUIT</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Marry, I lent my gossip my mare, to fetch home coals,<br /> +And he her drownéd into the quarry holes;<br /> +And I ran to the Consistory, for to 'plain,<br /> +And there I happened among a greedy meine.<br /> +They gave me first a thing they call Citandum;<br /> +Within eight days, I got but Libellandum;<br /> +Within a month, I got Ad oppenendum;<br /> +In half a year, I got Interloquendum;<br /> +And then I got—how call ye it?—Ad replicandum.<br /> +But I could never one word yet understand them;<br /> +And then, they caused me cast out many placks,<br /> +And made me pay for four-and-twenty acts.<br /> +But, ere they came half gait to Concludendum,<br /> +The fiend one plack was left for to defend him.<br /> +Thus they postponed me two years, with their train,<br /> +Then, hodie ad octo, bade me come again,<br /> +And then, these rooks, they roupit wonder fast,<br /> +For sentence silver, they criéd at the last.<br /> +Of Pronunciandum they made me wonder fain;<br /> +But I got never my good grey mare again.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Sir David Lindesay.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>OUT OF SIGHT, OUT OF MIND</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +The oft'ner seen, the more I lust,<br /> +The more I lust, the more I smart,<br /> +The more I smart, the more I trust,<br /> +The more I trust, the heavier heart,<br /> +The heavy heart breeds mine unrest,<br /> +Thy absence therefore I like best.<br /> +<br /> +The rarer seen, the less in mind,<br /> +The less in mind, the lesser pain,<br /> +The lesser pain, less grief I find,<br /> +The lesser grief, the greater gain,<br /> +The greater gain, the merrier I,<br /> +Therefore I wish thy sight to fly.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_808" id="Page_808">[Pg 808]</a></span> + +<br /> +The further off, the more I joy,<br /> +The more I joy, the happier life,<br /> +The happier life, less hurts annoy,<br /> +The lesser hurts, pleasure most rife,<br /> +Such pleasures rife shall I obtain<br /> +When distance doth depart us train.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Barnaby Googe.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>NONGTONGPAW</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +John Bull for pastime took a prance,<br /> +Some time ago, to peep at France;<br /> +To talk of sciences and arts,<br /> +And knowledge gain'd in foreign parts.<br /> +Monsieur, obsequious, heard him speak,<br /> +And answer'd John in heathen Greek:<br /> +To all he ask'd, 'bout all he saw,<br /> +'Twas, <i>Monsieur, je vous n'entends pas</i>.<br /> +<br /> +John, to the Palais-Royal come,<br /> +Its splendor almost struck him dumb.<br /> +"I say, whose house is that there here?"<br /> +"House! <i>Je vous n'entends pas, Monsieur.</i>"<br /> +"What, Nongtongpaw again!" cries John;<br /> +"This fellow is some mighty Don:<br /> +No doubt he's plenty for the maw,<br /> +I'll breakfast with this Nongtongpaw."<br /> +<br /> +John saw Versailles from Marli's height,<br /> +And cried, astonish'd at the sight,<br /> +"Whose fine estate is that there here?"<br /> +"State! <i>Je vous n'entends pas, Monsieur.</i>"<br /> +"His? what! the land and houses, too?<br /> +The fellow's richer than a Jew:<br /> +On <i>everything</i> he lays his claw!<br /> +I'd like to dine with Nongtongpaw."<br /> +<br /> +Next tripping came a courtly fair,<br /> +John cried, enchanted with her air,<br /> +"What lovely wench is that there here?"<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_809" id="Page_809">[Pg 809]</a></span> + +"Ventch! <i>Je vous n'entends pas, Monsieur.</i>"<br /> +"What, he again? Upon, my life!<br /> +A palace, lands, and then a wife<br /> +Sir Joshua might delight to draw!<br /> +I'd like to sup with Nongtongpaw."<br /> +<br /> +"But hold! whose funeral's that?" cries John.<br /> +"<i>Je vous n'entends pas.</i>"—"What! is he gone?<br /> +Wealth, fame, and beauty could not save<br /> +Poor Nongtongpaw then from the grave!<br /> +His race is run, his game is up,—<br /> +I'd with him breakfast, dine, and sup;<br /> +But since he chooses to withdraw,<br /> +Good night t'ye, Mounseer Nongtongpaw!"<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Charles Dibdin.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>LOGICAL ENGLISH</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I said, "This horse, sir, will you shoe?"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And soon the horse was shod.</span><br /> +I said, "This deed, sir, will you do?"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And soon the deed was dod!</span><br /> +<br /> +I said, "This stick, sir, will you break?"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At once the stick he broke.</span><br /> +I said, "This coat, sir, will you make?"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And soon the coat he moke!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>LOGIC</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I have a copper penny and another copper penny,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Well, then, of course, I have two copper pence;</span><br /> +I have a cousin Jenny and another cousin Jenny,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Well, pray, then, do I have two cousin Jence?</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_810" id="Page_810">[Pg 810]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE CAREFUL PENMAN</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +A Persian penman named Aziz,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Remarked, "I think I know my biz.</span><br /> +For when I write my name as is,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It is Aziz as is Aziz."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>QUESTIONS WITH ANSWERS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +What is earth, sexton?—A place to dig graves;<br /> +What is earth, rich men?—A place to work slaves,<br /> +What is earth, grey-beard?—A place to grow old;<br /> +What is earth, miser?—A place to dig gold;<br /> +What is earth, school-boy?—A place for my play;<br /> +What is earth, maiden?—A place to be gay;<br /> +What is earth, seamstress?—A place where I weep;<br /> +What is earth, sluggard?—A good place to sleep;<br /> +What is earth, soldier?—A place for a battle;<br /> +What is earth, herdsman?—A place to raise cattle;<br /> +What is earth, widow?—A place of true sorrow;<br /> +What is earth, tradesman?—I'll tell you to-morrow;<br /> +What is earth, sick man?—'Tis nothing to me;<br /> +What is earth, sailor?—My home is the sea;<br /> +What is earth, statesman?—A place to win fame;<br /> +What is earth, author?—I'll write there my name;<br /> +What is earth, monarch?—For my realm 'tis given;<br /> +What is earth, Christian?—The gateway of heaven.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>CONJUGAL CONJUGATIONS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Dear maid, let me speak</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">What I never yet spoke:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">You have made my heart squeak</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">As it never yet squoke,</span><br /> +And for sight of you, both my eyes ache as they ne'er before oak.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_811" id="Page_811">[Pg 811]</a></span> + +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">With your voice my ears ring,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">And a sweeter ne'er rung,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Like a bird's on the wing</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">When at morn it has wung.</span><br /> +And gladness to me it doth bring, such as never voice brung.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">My feelings I'd write,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">But they cannot be wrote,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">And who can indite</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">What was never indote!</span><br /> +And my love I hasten to plight—the first that I plote.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Yes, you would I choose,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Whom I long ago chose,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">And my fond spirit sues</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">As it never yet sose,</span><br /> +And ever on you do I muse, as never man mose.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">The house where you bide</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Is a blessed abode;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Sure, my hopes I can't hide,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">For they will not be hode,</span><br /> +And no person living has sighed, as, darling, I've sode.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Your glances they shine</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">As no others have shone,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">And all else I'd resign</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">That a man could resone,</span><br /> +And surely no other could pine as I lately have pone.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">And don't you forget</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">You will ne'er be forgot,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">You never should fret</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">As at times you have frot,</span><br /> +I would chase all the cares that beset, if they ever besot.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">For you I would weave</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Songs that never were wove,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">And deeds I'd achieve</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Which no man yet achove,</span><br /> +And for me you never should grieve, as for you I have grove.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_812" id="Page_812">[Pg 812]</a></span> + +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">I'm as worthy a catch</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">As ever, was caught.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">O, your answer I watch</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">As a man never waught,</span><br /> +And we'd make the most elegant match as ever was maught.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Let my longings not sink;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">I would die if they sunk.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">O, I ask you to think</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">As you never have thunk,</span><br /> +And our fortunes and lives let us link, as no lives could be lunk.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>A. W. Bellow.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>LOVE'S MOODS AND SENSES</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p class='poem'>Sally Salter, she was a young lady who taught,</p> +<p class='poem'>And her friend Charley Church was a preacher who praught!</p> +<p class='poem'>Though his enemies called him a screecher who scraught.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>His heart when he saw her kept sinking and sunk,</p> +<p class='poem'>And his eye, meeting hers, began winking and wunk;</p> +<p class='poem'>While she in her turn fell to thinking, and thunk.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>He hastened to woo her, and sweetly he wooed,</p> +<p class='poem'>For his love grew until to a mountain it grewed,</p> +<p class='poem'>And what he was longing to do then he doed.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>In secret he wanted to speak, and he spoke,</p> +<p class='poem'>To seek with his lips what his heart long had soke;</p> +<p class='poem'>So he managed to let the truth leak, and it loke.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>He asked her to ride to the church, and they rode,</p> +<p class='poem'>They so sweetly did glide, that they both thought they glode,</p> +<p class='poem'>And they came to the place to be tied, and were tode.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>Then, "homeward" he said, "let us drive" and they drove,</p> +<p class='poem'>And soon as they wished to arrive, they arrove;</p> +<p class='poem'>For whatever he couldn't contrive she controve.</p> +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_813" id="Page_813">[Pg 813]</a></span> + +</p> +<p class='poem'>The kiss he was dying to steal, then he stole:</p> +<p class='poem'>At the feet where he wanted to kneel, then he knole,</p> +<p class='poem'>And said, "I feel better than ever I fole."</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>So they to each other kept clinging, and clung;</p> +<p class='poem'>While time his swift circuit was winging, and wung;</p> +<p class='poem'>And this was the thing he was bringing, and brung:</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>The man Sally wanted to catch, and had caught—</p> +<p class='poem'>That she wanted from others to snatch, and had snaught—</p> +<p class='poem'>Was the one that she now liked to scratch and she scraught.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>And Charley's warm love began freezing and froze,</p> +<p class='poem'>While he took to teasing, and cruelly toze</p> +<p class='poem'>The girl he had wished to be squeezing and squoze.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>"Wretch!" he cried, when she threatened to leave him, and left,</p> +<p class='poem'>"How could you deceive me, as you have deceft?"</p> +<p class='poem'>And she answered, "I promised to cleave, and I've cleft!"</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE SIEGE OF BELGRADE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +An Austrian army, awfully array'd,<br /> +Boldly by battery besiege Belgrade;<br /> +Cossack commanders cannonading come,<br /> +Deal devastation's dire destructive doom;<br /> +Ev'ry endeavour engineers essay,<br /> +For fame, for freedom, fight, fierce furious fray.<br /> +Gen'rals 'gainst gen'rals grapple,—gracious God!<br /> +How honors Heav'n heroic hardihood!<br /> +Infuriate, indiscriminate in ill,<br /> +Just Jesus, instant innocence instill!<br /> +Kinsmen kill kinsmen, kindred kindred kill.<br /> +Labour low levels longest, loftiest lines;<br /> +Men march 'midst mounds, motes, mountains, murd'rous mines.<br /> +Now noisy, noxious numbers notice nought,<br /> +Of outward obstacles o'ercoming ought;<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_814" id="Page_814">[Pg 814]</a></span> + +Poor patriots perish, persecution's pest!<br /> +Quite quiet Quakers "Quarter, quarter," quest;<br /> +Reason returns, religion, right, redounds,<br /> +Suwarow stop such sanguinary sounds!<br /> +Truce to thee, Turkey, terror to thy train!<br /> +Unwise, unjust, unmerciful Ukraine!<br /> +Vanish vile vengeance, vanish victory vain!<br /> +Why wish we warfare? wherefore welcome won<br /> +Xerxes, Nantippus, Navier, Xenophon?<br /> +Yield, ye young Yaghier yeomen, yield your yell!<br /> +Zimmerman's, Zoroaster's, Zeno's zeal<br /> +Again attract; arts against arms appeal.<br /> +All, all ambitious aims, avaunt, away!<br /> +Et cetera, et cetera, et ceterae.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE HAPPY MAN</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +La Galisse now I wish to touch;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Droll air! if I can strike it,</span><br /> +I'm sure the song will please you much;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That is, if you should like it.</span><br /> +<br /> +La Galisse was, indeed, I grant,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Not used to any dainty,</span><br /> +When he was born; but could not want<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As long as he had plenty.</span><br /> +<br /> +Instructed with the greatest care,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He always was well bred,</span><br /> +And never used a hat to wear<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But when 'twas on his head.</span><br /> +<br /> +His temper was exceeding good,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Just of his father's fashion;</span><br /> +And never quarrels boiled his blood<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Except when in a passion.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_815" id="Page_815">[Pg 815]</a></span> + +<br /> +His mind was on devotion bent;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He kept with care each high day,</span><br /> +And Holy Thursday always spent<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The day before Good Friday.</span><br /> +<br /> +He liked good claret very well,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I just presume to think it;</span><br /> +For ere its flavour he could tell<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He thought it best to drink it.</span><br /> +<br /> +Than doctors more he loved the cook,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Though food would make him gross,</span><br /> +And never any physic took<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But when he took a dose.</span><br /> +<br /> +Oh, happy, happy is the swain<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The ladies so adore;</span><br /> +For many followed in his train<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whene'er he walked before.</span><br /> +<br /> +Bright as the sun his flowing hair<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In golden ringlets shone;</span><br /> +And no one could with him compare,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If he had been alone.</span><br /> +<br /> +His talents I cannot rehearse,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But every one allows</span><br /> +That whatsoe'er he wrote in verse,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No one could call it prose.</span><br /> +<br /> +He argued with precision nice,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The learned all declare;</span><br /> +And it was his decision wise,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No horse could be a mare.</span><br /> +<br /> +His powerful logic would surprise,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Amaze, and much delight:</span><br /> +He proved that dimness of the eyes<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was hurtful to the sight.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_816" id="Page_816">[Pg 816]</a></span> + +<br /> +They liked him much—so it appears<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Most plainly—who preferred him;</span><br /> +And those did never want their ears<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who any time had heard him.</span><br /> +<br /> +He was not always right, 'tis true,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And then he must be wrong;</span><br /> +But none had found it out, he knew,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If he had held his tongue.</span><br /> +<br /> +Whene'er a tender tear he shed,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Twas certain that he wept;</span><br /> +And he would lie awake in bed,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Unless, indeed, he slept.</span><br /> +<br /> +In tilting everybody knew<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His very high renown;</span><br /> +Yet no opponents he o'erthrew<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But those that he knocked down.</span><br /> +<br /> +At last they smote him in the head,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What hero ever fought all?</span><br /> +And when they saw that he was dead,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They knew the wound was mortal.</span><br /> +<br /> +And when at last he lost his breath,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It closed his every strife;</span><br /> +For that sad day that sealed his death<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Deprived him of his life.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Gilles Ménage.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE BELLS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Oh, it's H-A-P-P-Y I am, and it's F-R-double-E,<br /> +And it's G-L-O-R-Y to know that I'm S-A-V-E-D.<br /> +Once I was B-O-U-N-D by the chains of S-I-N<br /> +And it's L-U-C-K-Y I am that all is well again.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_817" id="Page_817">[Pg 817]</a></span> + +<br /> +Oh, the bells of Hell go ting-a-ling-a-ling<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For you, but not for me.</span><br /> +The bells of Heaven go sing-a-ling-a-ling<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For there I soon shall be.</span><br /> +Oh, Death, where is thy sting-a-ling-a-ling<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh, Grave, thy victorie-e.</span><br /> +No Ting-a-ling-a-ling, no sting-a-ling-a-ling<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But sing-a-ling-a-ling for me.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>TAKINGS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +He took her fancy when he came,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He took her hand, he took a kiss,</span><br /> +He took no notice of the shame<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That glowed her happy cheek at this.</span><br /> +<br /> +He took to come of afternoons,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He took an oath he'd ne'er deceive,</span><br /> +He took her master's silver spoons,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And after that he took his leave.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Thomas Hood, Jr.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A BACHELOR'S MONO-RHYME</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Do you think I'd marry a woman<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That can neither cook nor sew,</span><br /> +Nor mend a rent in her gloves<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or a tuck in her furbelow;</span><br /> +Who spends her time in reading<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The novels that come and go;</span><br /> +Who tortures heavenly music,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And makes it a thing of woe;</span><br /> +Who deems three-fourths of my income<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Too little, by half, to show</span><br /> +What a figure she'd make, if I'd let her,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Mid the belles of Rotten Row;</span><br /> +Who has not a thought in her head<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where thoughts are expected to grow,</span><br /> +Except of trumpery scandals<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Too small for a man to know?</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_818" id="Page_818">[Pg 818]</a></span> + +Do you think I'd wed with <i>that</i>,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Because both high and low</span><br /> +Are charmed by her youthful graces<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And her shoulders white as snow?</span><br /> +Ah no! I've a wish to be happy,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I've a thousand a year or so,</span><br /> +'Tis all I can expect<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That fortune will bestow!</span><br /> +So, pretty one, idle one, stupid one!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You're not for me, I trow,</span><br /> +To-day, nor yet to-morrow,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No, no! decidedly no!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Charlts Mackay.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE ART OF BOOK-KEEPING</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +How hard, when those who do not wish<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To lend, that's lose, their books,</span><br /> +Are snared by anglers—folks that fish<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With literary hooks;</span><br /> +<br /> +Who call and take some favourite tome,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But never read it through;</span><br /> +They thus complete their set at home,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By making one at you.</span><br /> +<br /> +Behold the bookshelf of a dunce<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who borrows—never lends;</span><br /> +Yon work, in twenty volumes, once<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Belonged to twenty friends.</span><br /> +<br /> +New tales and novels you may shut<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From view—'tis all in vain;</span><br /> +They're gone—and though the leaves are "cut"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They never "come again."</span><br /> +<br /> +For pamphlets lent I look around,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For tracts my tears are spilt;</span><br /> +But when they take a book that's bound,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Tis surely extra guilt.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_819" id="Page_819">[Pg 819]</a></span> + +<br /> +A circulating library<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is mine—my birds are flown;</span><br /> +There's one odd volume left, to be<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like all the rest, a-lone.</span><br /> +<br /> +I, of my "Spenser" quite bereft,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Last winter sore was shaken;</span><br /> +Of "Lamb" I've but a quarter left,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor could I save my "Bacon."</span><br /> +<br /> +My "Hall" and "Hill" were levelled flat,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But "Moore" was still the cry;</span><br /> +And then, although I threw them "Sprat,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They swallowed up my "Pye."</span><br /> +<br /> +O'er everything, however slight,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They seized some airy trammel;</span><br /> +They snatched my "Hogg" and "Fox" one night,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And pocketed my "Campbell."</span><br /> +<br /> +And then I saw my "Crabbe" at last,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like Hamlet's, backward go;</span><br /> +And as my tide was ebbing fast,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of course I lost my "Rowe."</span><br /> +<br /> +I wondered into what balloon<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My books their course had bent;</span><br /> +And yet, with all my marvelling, soon<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I found my "Marvell" went.</span><br /> +<br /> +My "Mallet" served to knock me down,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which makes me thus a talker;</span><br /> +And once, while I was out of town,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My "Johnson" proved a "Walker."</span><br /> +<br /> +While studying o'er the fire one day<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My "Hobbes" amidst the smoke;</span><br /> +They bore my "Colman" clean away,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And carried off my "Coke."</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_820" id="Page_820">[Pg 820]</a></span> + +<br /> +They picked my "Locke," to me far more<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than Bramah's patent's worth;</span><br /> +And now my losses I deplore,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Without a "Home" on earth.</span><br /> +<br /> +If once a book you let them lift,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Another they conceal,</span><br /> +For though I caught them stealing "Swift,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As swiftly went my "Steele."</span><br /> +<br /> +"Hope" is not now upon my shelf,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where late he stood elated;</span><br /> +But, what is strange, my "Pope" himself<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is excommunicated.</span><br /> +<br /> +My little "Suckling" in the grave<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is sunk, to swell the ravage;</span><br /> +And what 'twas Crusoe's fate to save<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Twas mine to lose—a "Savage."</span><br /> +<br /> +Even "Glover's" works I cannot put<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My frozen hands upon;</span><br /> +Though ever since I lost my "Foote,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My "Bunyan" has been gone.</span><br /> +<br /> +My "Hoyle" with "Cotton" went; oppressed,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My "Taylor" too must fail;</span><br /> +To save my "Goldsmith" from arrest,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In vain I offered "Bayle."</span><br /> +<br /> +I "Prior," sought, but could not see<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The "Hood" so late in front;</span><br /> +And when I turned to hunt for "Lee,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh! where was my "Leigh Hunt!"</span><br /> +<br /> +I tried to laugh, old care to tickle,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yet could not "Tickell" touch;</span><br /> +And then, alas! I missed my "Mickle,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And surely mickle's much.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_821" id="Page_821">[Pg 821]</a></span> + +<br /> +'Tis quite enough my griefs to feed,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My sorrows to excuse,</span><br /> +To think I cannot read my "Reid,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor even use my "Hughes."</span><br /> +<br /> +To "West," to "South," I turn my head,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Exposed alike to odd jeers;</span><br /> +For since my "Roger Ascham's" fled,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I ask 'em for my "Rogers."</span><br /> +<br /> +They took my "Horne"—and "Horne Tooke" too,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And thus my treasures flit;</span><br /> +I feel when I would "Hazlitt" view,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The flames that it has lit.</span><br /> +<br /> +My word's worth little, "Wordsworth" gone,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If I survive its doom;</span><br /> +How many a bard I doted on<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was swept off—with my "Broome."</span><br /> +<br /> +My classics would not quiet lie,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A thing so fondly hoped;</span><br /> +Like Dr. Primrose, I may cry,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"My 'Livy' has eloped!"</span><br /> +<br /> +My life is wasting fast away—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I suffer from these shocks;</span><br /> +And though I fixed a lock on "Grey"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There's grey upon my locks.</span><br /> +<br /> +I'm far from young—am growing pale—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I see my "Butter" fly;</span><br /> +And when they ask about my <i>ail</i>,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Tis "Burton" I reply.</span><br /> +<br /> +They still have made me slight returns,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And thus my griefs divide;</span><br /> +For oh! they've cured me of my "Burns,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And eased my "Akenside."</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_822" id="Page_822">[Pg 822]</a></span> + +<br /> +But all I think I shall not say,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor let my anger burn;</span><br /> +For as they never found me "Gay,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They have not left me "Sterne."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Laman Blanchard.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>AN INVITATION TO THE ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS</h3> + +<h4>BY A STUTTERING LOVER</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p class='poem'>I have found out a gig-gig-gift for my fuf-fuf-fair,</p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">I have found where the rattlesnakes bub-bub-breed;</span></p> +<p class='poem'>Will you co-co-come, and I'll show you the bub-bub-bear,</p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the lions and tit-tit-tigers at fuf-fuf-feed.</span></p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>I know where the co-co-cockatoo's song</p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Makes mum-mum-melody through the sweet vale;</span></p> +<p class='poem'>Where the mum-monkeys gig-gig-grin all the day long,</p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or gracefully swing by the tit-tit-tit-tail.</span></p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>You shall pip-play, dear, some did-did-delicate joke</p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">With the bub-bub-bear on the tit-tit-top of his pip-pip-pip-pole;</span></p> +<p class='poem'>But observe, 'tis forbidden to pip-pip-poke</p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">At the bub-bub-bear with your pip-pip-pink pip-pip-pip-pip-parasol!</span></p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>You shall see the huge elephant pip-pip-play,</p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">You shall gig-gig-gaze on the stit-stit-stately raccoon;</span></p> +<p class='poem'>And then, did-did-dear, together we'll stray</p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the cage of the bub-bub-blue-faced bab-bab-boon.</span></p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>You wished (I r-r-remember it well,</p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I lul-lul-loved you the m-m-more for the wish)</span></p> +<p class='poem'>To witness the bub-bub-beautiful pip-pip-pelican</p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">swallow the l-l-live little fuf-fuf-fish!</span></p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_823" id="Page_823">[Pg 823]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A NOCTURNAL SKETCH</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Even is come; and from the dark Park, hark,<br /> +The signal of the setting sun—one gun!<br /> +And six is sounding from the chime, prime time<br /> +To go and see the Drury-Lane, Dane slain,—<br /> +Or hear Othello's jealous doubt spout out,—<br /> +Or Macbeth raving at that shade-made blade,<br /> +Denying to his frantic clutch much touch;—<br /> +Or else to see Ducrow with wide stride ride<br /> +Four horses as no other man can span;<br /> +Or in the small Olympic Pit, sit split<br /> +Laughing at Liston, while you quiz his phiz.<br /> +Anon Night comes, and with her wings brings things<br /> +Such as, with his poetic tongue, Young sung;<br /> +The gas up-blazes with its bright white light,<br /> +And paralytic watchmen prowl, howl, growl,<br /> +About the streets and take up Pall-Mall Sal,<br /> +Who, hasting to her nightly jobs, robs fobs.<br /> +<br /> +Now thieves to enter for your cash, smash, crash,<br /> +Past drowsy Charley, in a deep sleep, creep,<br /> +But frightened by Policeman B 3, flee,<br /> +And while they're going, whisper low, "No go!"<br /> +Now puss, while folks are in their beds, treads leads.<br /> +And sleepers waking, grumble—"Drat that cat!"<br /> +Who in the gutter caterwauls, squalls, mauls<br /> +Some feline foe, and screams in shrill ill-will.<br /> +<br /> +Now Bulls of Bashan, of a prize size, rise<br /> +In childish dreams, and with a roar gore poor<br /> +Georgy, or Charley, or Billy, willy-nilly;—<br /> +But Nursemaid, in a nightmare rest, chest-pressed,<br /> +Dreameth of one of her old flames, James Games,<br /> +And that she hears—what faith is man's!—Ann's banns<br /> +And his, from Reverend Mr. Rice, twice, thrice:<br /> +White ribbons flourish, and a stout shout out,<br /> +That upward goes, shows Rose knows those bows' woes!<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Thomas Hood.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_824" id="Page_824">[Pg 824]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>LOVELILTS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Thine eyes, dear one, dot dot, are like, dash, what?<br /> +They, pure as sacred oils, bless and anoint<br /> +My sin-swamped soul which at thy feet sobs out,<br /> +O exclamation point, O point, O point!<br /> +<br /> +Ah, had I words, blank blank, which, dot, I've not,<br /> +I'd swoon in songs which should'st illume the dark<br /> +With light of thee. Ah, God (it's <i>strong</i> to swear)<br /> +Why, why, interrogation mark, why, mark?<br /> +<br /> +Dot dot dot dot. And so, dash, yet, but nay!<br /> +My tongue takes pause; some words must not be said,<br /> +For fear the world, cold hyphen-eyed, austere,<br /> +Should'st shake thee by the throat till reason fled.<br /> +<br /> +One hour of love we've had. Dost thou recall<br /> +Dot dot dash blank interrogation mark?<br /> +The night was ours, blue heaven over all<br /> +Dash, God! dot stars, keep thou our secret dark!<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Marion Hill.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>JOCOSA LYRA</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +In our hearts is the Great One of Avon<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Engraven,</span><br /> +And we climb the cold summits once built on<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">By Milton.</span><br /> +<br /> +But at times not the air that is rarest<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Is fairest,</span><br /> +And we long in the valley to follow<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Apollo.</span><br /> +<br /> +Then we drop from the heights atmospheric<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">To Herrick,</span><br /> +Or we pour the Greek honey, grown blander,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Of Landor;</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_825" id="Page_825">[Pg 825]</a></span> + +<br /> +Or our cosiest nook in the shade is<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Where Praed is,</span><br /> +Or we toss the light bells of the mocker<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">With Locker.</span><br /> +<br /> +Oh, the song where not one of the Graces<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Tight-laces,—</span><br /> +Where we woo the sweet Muses not starchly<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">But archly,—</span><br /> +<br /> +Where the verse, like a piper a-Maying,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Comes playing,—</span><br /> +And the rhyme is as gay as a dancer<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">In answer,—</span><br /> +<br /> +It will last till men weary of pleasure<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">In measure!</span><br /> +It will last till men weary of laughter ...<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">And after!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Austin Dobson.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>TO A THESAURUS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +O precious code, volume, tome,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Book, writing, compilation, work</span><br /> +Attend the while I pen a pome,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A jest, a jape, a quip, a quirk.</span><br /> +<br /> +For I would pen, engross, indite,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Transcribe, set forth, compose, address,</span><br /> +Record, submit—yea, even write<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An ode, an elegy to bless—</span><br /> +<br /> +To bless, set store by, celebrate,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Approve, esteem, endow with soul,</span><br /> +Commend, acclaim, appreciate,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Immortalize, laud, praise, extol.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_826" id="Page_826">[Pg 826]</a></span> + +<br /> +Thy merit, goodness, value, worth,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Experience, utility—</span><br /> +O manna, honey, salt of earth,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I sing, I chant, I worship thee!</span><br /> +<br /> +How could I manage, live, exist,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Obtain, produce, be real, prevail,</span><br /> +Be present in the flesh, subsist,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Have place, become, breathe or inhale.</span><br /> +<br /> +Without thy help, recruit, support,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Opitulation, furtherance,</span><br /> +Assistance, rescue, aid, resort,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Favour, sustention and advance?</span><br /> +<br /> +Alack! Alack! and well-a-day!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My case would then be dour and sad,</span><br /> +Likewise distressing, dismal, gray,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pathetic, mournful, dreary, bad.</span><br /> +</p> +<hr style="width: 33%; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;" /> +<p> +Though I could keep this up all day,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This lyric, elegiac, song,</span><br /> +Meseems hath come the time to say<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Farewell! Adieu! Good-by! So long!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Franklin P. Adams.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE FUTURE OF THE CLASSICS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +No longer, O scholars, shall Plautus<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Be taught us.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">No more shall professors be partial</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">To Martial.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">No ninny</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Will stop playing "shinney"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">For Pliny.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Not even the veriest Mexican Greaser</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Will stop to read Cæsar.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">No true son of Erin will leave his potato</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To list to the love-lore of Ovid or Plato.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_827" id="Page_827">[Pg 827]</a></span> + +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Old Homer,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">That hapless old roamer,</span><br /> +Will ne'er find a rest 'neath collegiate dome or<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Anywhere else. As to Seneca,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Any cur</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Safely may snub him, or urge ill</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Effects from the reading of Virgil.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Cornelius Nepos</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Wont keep us</span><br /> +Much longer from pleasure's light errands—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Nor Terence.</span><br /> +The irreverent now may all scoff in ease<br /> +At the shade of poor old Aristophanes.<br /> +And moderns it now doth behoove in all<br /> +Ways to despise poor old Juvenal;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And to chivvy</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Livy.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The class-room hereafter will miss a row</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of eager young students of Cicero.</span><br /> +The 'longshoreman—yes, and the dock-rat, he's<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Down upon Socrates.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">And what'll</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Induce us to read Aristotle?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">We shall fail in</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Our duty to Galen.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">No tutor henceforward shall rack us</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">To construe old Horatius Flaccus.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">We have but a wretched opinion</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Of Mr. Justinian.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In our classical pabulum mix we've no wee sop</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Of Æsop.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Our balance of intellect asks for no ballast</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">From Sallust.</span><br /> +With feminine scorn no fair Vassar-bred lass at us<br /> +Shall smile if we own that we cannot read Tacitus.<br /> +No admirer shall ever now weathe with begonias<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">The bust of Suetonius.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And so, if you follow me,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">We'll have to cut Ptolemy.</span><br /> +Besides, it would just be considered facetious<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">To look at Lucretius.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_828" id="Page_828">[Pg 828]</a></span> + +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">And you can</span><br /> +Not go in Society if 'you read Lucan,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And we cannot have any fun</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Out of Xenophon.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>CAUTIONARY VERSES</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p class='poem'>My little dears, who learn to read, pray early, learn to shun</p> +<p class='poem'>That very silly thing indeed which people call a pun;</p> +<p class='poem'>Read Entick's rules, and 'twill be found how simple an offence</p> +<p class='poem'>It is to make the selfsame sound afford a double sense.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>For instance, ale may make you ail, your aunt an ant may kill,</p> +<p class='poem'>You in a vale may buy a veil and Bill may pay the bill.</p> +<p class='poem'>Or if to France your bark you steer, at Dover it may be</p> +<p class='poem'>A peer appears upon the pier, who blind, still goes to sea.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>Thus, one might say, when, to a treat, good friends accept our greeting,</p> +<p class='poem'>'Tis meet that men who meet to eat should eat their meat when meeting;</p> +<p class='poem'>Brawn on the board's no bore indeed, although from boar prepared;</p> +<p class='poem'>Nor can the fowl on which we feed, foul feeding be declared.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>Thus one ripe fruit may be a pear, and yet be pared again,</p> +<p class='poem'>And still be one, which seemeth rare until we do explain.</p> +<p class='poem'>It therefore should be all your aim to speak with ample care,</p> +<p class='poem'>For who, however fond of game, would choose to swallow hair?</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>A fat man's gait may make us smile, who have no gate to close;</p> +<p class='poem'>The farmer sitting on his stile no stylish person knows.</p> +<p class='poem'>Perfumers men of scents must be; some Scilly men are bright;</p> +<p class='poem'>A brown man oft deep read we see, a black a wicked wight.</p> +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_829" id="Page_829">[Pg 829]</a></span> + +</p> +<p class='poem'>Most wealthy men good manors have, however vulgar they;</p> +<p class='poem'>And actors still the harder slave the oftener they play;</p> +<p class='poem'>So poets can't the baize obtain, unless their tailors choose;</p> +<p class='poem'>While grooms and coachmen, not in vain, each evening seek the Mews.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>The dyer, who by dyeing lives, a dire life maintains;</p> +<p class='poem'>The glazier, it is known, receives his profits for his panes;</p> +<p class='poem'>By gardeners thyme is tied, 'tis true, when spring is in its prime,</p> +<p class='poem'>But time or tide won't wait for you if you are tied for time.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>Then now you see, my little dears, the way to make a pun;</p> +<p class='poem'>A trick which you, through coming years, should sedulously shun;</p> +<p class='poem'>The fault admits of no defence; for wheresoe'er 'tis found,</p> +<p class='poem'>You sacrifice for sound the sense; the sense is never sound.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>So let your words and actions too, one single meaning prove,</p> +<p class='poem'>And, just in all you say or do, you'll gain esteem and love;</p> +<p class='poem'>In mirth and play no harm you'll know when duty's task is done,</p> +<p class='poem'>But parents ne'er should let you go unpunished for a pun!</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Theodore Hook.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE WAR: A-Z</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +An Austrian Archduke, assaulted and assailed,<br /> +Broke Belgium's barriers, by Britain bewailed,<br /> +Causing consternation, confused chaotic crises;<br /> +Diffusing destructive, death dealing devices.<br /> +England engaged earnestly, eager every ear,<br /> +France fought furiously, forsaking foolish fear,<br /> +Great German garrisons grappled Gallic guard,<br /> +Hohenzollern Hussars hammered, heavy, hard.<br /> +Infantry, Imperial, Indian, Irish, intermingling,<br /> +Jackets jaunty, joking, jesting, jostling, jingling.<br /> +Kinetic, Kruppised Kaiser, kingdom's killing knight,<br /> +Laid Louvain lamenting, London lacking light,<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_830" id="Page_830">[Pg 830]</a></span> + +Mobilising millions, marvellous mobility,<br /> +Numberless nonentities, numerous nobility.<br /> +Oligarchies olden opposed olive offering,<br /> +Prussia pressed Paris, Polish protection proffering,<br /> +Quaint Quebec quickly quartered quotidian quota,<br /> +Renascent Russia, resonant, reported regal rota.<br /> +Scotch soldiers, sterling, songs stalwart sung,<br /> +"Tipperary" thundered through titanic tongue.<br /> +United States urging unarmament, unwanted,<br /> +Visualised victory vociferously vaunted,<br /> +Wilson's warnings wasted, world war wild,<br /> +Xenian Nanthochroi Nantippically X-iled.<br /> +Yorkshire's young yeomen yelling youthfully,<br /> +"Zigzag Zeppelins, Zuyder Zee."<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>John R. Edwards.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>LINES TO MISS FLORENCE HUNTINGDON</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Sweet maiden of Passamaquoddy<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shall we seek for communion of souls</span><br /> +Where the deep Mississippi meanders<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or the distant Saskatchewan rolls?</span><br /> +<br /> +Ah, no!—for in Maine I will find thee<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A sweetly sequestrated nook,</span><br /> +Where the far-winding Skoodoowabskooksis<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Conjoins with the Skoodoowabskook.</span><br /> +<br /> +There wander two beautiful rivers,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With many a winding and crook:</span><br /> +The one is the Skoodoowabskooksis;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The other, the Skoodoowabskook.</span><br /> +<br /> +Ah, sweetest of haunts! though unmentioned<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In geography, atlas, or book,</span><br /> +How fair is the Skoodoowabskooksis,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When joining the Skoodoowabskook!</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_831" id="Page_831">[Pg 831]</a></span> + +<br /> +Our cot shall be close by the waters,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Within that sequestrated nook,</span><br /> +Reflected by Skoodoowabskooksis,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And mirrored in Skoodoowabskook.</span><br /> +<br /> +You shall sleep to the music of leaflets,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By zephyrs in wantonness shook,</span><br /> +To dream of the Skoodoowabskooksis,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And, perhaps, of the Skoodoowabskook.</span><br /> +<br /> +Your food shall be fish from the waters,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Drawn forth on the point of a hook,</span><br /> +From murmuring Skoodoowabskooksis,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or meandering Skoodoowabskook.</span><br /> +<br /> +You shall quaff the most sparkling of waters,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Drawn forth from a silvery brook,</span><br /> +Which flows to the Skoodoowabskooksis,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And so to the Skoodoowabskook.</span><br /> +<br /> +And you shall preside at the banquet,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I shall wait on you as cook;</span><br /> +And we'll talk of the Skoodoowabskooksis,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And sing of the Skoodoowabskook.</span><br /> +<br /> +Let others sing loudly of Saco,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of Quoddy and Tattamagouche,</span><br /> +Of Kenebeccasis and Quaco,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of Merigoniche and Buctouche,</span><br /> +<br /> +Of Nashwaak and Magaguadavique,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or Memmerimammericook:—</span><br /> +There's none like the Skoodoowabskooksis,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Excepting the Skoodoowabskook!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_832" id="Page_832">[Pg 832]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>TO MY NOSE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Knows he that never took a pinch,<br /> +Nosey, the pleasure thence which flows,<br /> +Knows he the titillating joys<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Which my nose knows?</span><br /> +O Nose, I am as proud of thee<br /> +As any mountain of its snows,<br /> +I gaze on thee, and feel that pride<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A Roman knows!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Albert A. Forrester (Alfred Crowquill).</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A POLKA LYRIC</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Qui nunc dancere vult modo,<br /> +Wants to dance in the fashion, oh!<br /> +Discere debet—ought to know,<br /> +Kickere floor cum heel and toe,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">One, two, three,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Hop with me,</span><br /> +Whirligig, twirligig, rapide.<br /> +<br /> +Polkam jungere, Virgo, vis,<br /> +Will you join the polka, miss?<br /> +Liberius—most willingly,<br /> +Sic agimus—then let us try:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Nunc vide,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Skip with me,</span><br /> +Whirlabout, roundabout, celere.<br /> +<br /> +Tum læva cito, turn dextra,<br /> +First to the left, and then t'other way;<br /> +Aspice retro in vultu,<br /> +You look at her, and she looks at you.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Das palmam</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Change hands, ma'am;</span><br /> +Celere—run away, just in sham.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Barclay Philips.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_833" id="Page_833">[Pg 833]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A <i>CAT</i>ALECTIC MONODY!</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +A cat I sing, of famous memory,<br /> +Though <i>cat</i>achrestical my song may be;<br /> +In a small garden <i>cat</i>acomb she lies,<br /> +And <i>cat</i>aclysms fill her comrades' eyes;<br /> +Borne on the air, the <i>cat</i>acoustic song<br /> +Swells with her virtues' <i>cat</i>alogue along,<br /> +No <i>cat</i>aplasm could lengthen out her years,<br /> +Though mourning friends shed <i>cat</i>aracts of tears.<br /> +Once loud and strong her <i>cat</i>echist-like voice<br /> +It dwindled to a <i>cat</i>call's squeaking noise;<br /> +Most <i>cat</i>egorical her virtues shone,<br /> +By <i>cat</i>enation join'd each one to one;—<br /> +But a vile <i>cat</i>chpoll dog, with cruel bite,<br /> +Like <i>cat</i>ling's cut, her strength disabled quite;<br /> +Her <i>cat</i>erwauling pierced the heavy air,<br /> +As <i>cat</i>aphracts their arms through legions bear;<br /> +'Tis vain! as <i>cat</i>erpillars drag away<br /> +Their lengths, like <i>cat</i>tle after busy day,<br /> +She ling'ring died, nor left in kit <i>kat</i> the<br /> +Embodyment of this <i>cat</i>astrophe.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Cruikshank's Omnibus</i>.</p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>ODE FOR A SOCIAL MEETING</h3> + +<h4>WITH SLIGHT ALTERATIONS BY A TEETOTALER<a name="FNanchor_9_1" id="FNanchor_9_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p style='font-family: monospace;'> +Come! fill a fresh bumper—for why should we go<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><span class='bbox'>logwood</span></span><br /> +While the <span class='strikeout'>nectar</span> still reddens our cups as they flow?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8.5em;"><span class='bbox'>decoction</span></span><br /> +Pour out the <span class='strikeout'>rich juices</span> still bright with the sun,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 20em;"><span class='bbox'>dye-stuff</span></span><br /> +Till o'er the brimmed crystal the <span class='strikeout'>rubies</span> shall run.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><span class='bbox'>half-ripened apples</span></span><br /> +The <span class='strikeout'>purple-globed clusters</span> their life-dews have bled;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10.5em;"><span class='bbox'>taste</span> <span class='bbox'>sugar of lead</span></span><br /> +How sweet is the <span class='strikeout'>breath</span> of the <span class='strikeout'>fragrance they shed</span>!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7.5em;"><span class='bbox'>rank poisons</span> <span class='bbox'><i>wines!!!</i></span></span><br /> +For Summer's <span class='strikeout'>last roses</span> lie hid in the <span class='strikeout'>wines</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><span class='bbox'>stable-boys smoking long-nines</span></span><br /> +That were garnered by <span class='strikeout'>maidens who laughed through the vines</span>,<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_834" id="Page_834">[Pg 834]</a></span> + +<span style="margin-left: 4em;"><span class='bbox'>scowl</span> <span class='bbox'>howl</span> <span class='bbox'>scoff</span> <span class='bbox'>sneer</span></span><br /> +Then a <span class='strikeout'>smile</span>, and a <span class='strikeout'>glass</span>, and a <span class='strikeout'>toast</span>, and a <span class='strikeout'>cheer</span>,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><span class='bbox'>strychnine and whiskey, and ratsbane and beer</span></span><br /> +For <span class='strikeout'>all the good wine, and we've some of it here</span>!<br /> +<br /> +In cellar, in pantry, in attic, in hall,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;"><span class='bbox'>Down, down with the tyrant that masters us all!</span></span><br /> +<span class='strikeout'>Long live the gay servant that laughs for us all!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Oliver Wendell Holmes.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE JOVIAL PRIEST'S CONFESSION</h3> + +<h4>TRANSLATED FROM THE LATIN OF WALTER DE MAPES, +TIME OF HENRY II</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p class='poem'>I devise to end my days—in a tavern drinking,</p> +<p class='poem'>May some Christian hold for me—the glass when I am shrinking,</p> +<p class='poem'>That the cherubim may cry—when they see me sinking,</p> +<p class='poem'>God be merciful to a soul—of this gentleman's way of thinking.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>A glass of wine amazingly—enlighteneth one's internals;</p> +<p class='poem'>'Tis wings bedewed with nectar—that fly up to supernals;</p> +<p class='poem'>Bottles cracked in taverns—have much the sweeter kernels,</p> +<p class='poem'>Than the sups allowed to us—in the college journals.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>Every one by nature hath—a mold which he was cast in;</p> +<p class='poem'>I happen to be one of those—who never could write fasting;</p> +<p class='poem'>By a single little boy—I should be surpass'd in</p> +<p class='poem'>Writing so: I'd just as lief—be buried; tomb'd and grass'd in.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>Every one by nature hath—a gift too, a dotation:</p> +<p class='poem'>I, when I make verses—do get the inspiration</p> +<p class='poem'>Of the very best of wine—that comes into the nation:</p> +<p class='poem'>It maketh sermons to astound—for edification.</p> +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_835" id="Page_835">[Pg 835]</a></span> + +</p> +<p class='poem'>Just as liquor floweth good—floweth forth my lay so;</p> +<p class='poem'>But I must moreover eat—or I could not say so;</p> +<p class='poem'>Naught it availeth inwardly—should I write all day so;</p> +<p class='poem'>But with God's grace after meat—I beat Ovidius Naso.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>Neither is there given to me—prophetic animation,</p> +<p class='poem'>Unless when I have eat and drank—yea, ev'n to saturation,</p> +<p class='poem'>Then in my upper story—hath Bacchus domination,</p> +<p class='poem'>And Phœbus rushes into me, and beggareth all relation.</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Leigh Hunt.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>LIMERICKS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +There was an old man of Tobago,<br /> +Who lived upon rice, gruel and sago;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till, much to his bliss,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His physician said this:</span><br /> +"To a leg, sir, of mutton, you may go."<br /> +<br /> +There was an old soldier of Bister,<br /> +Went walking one day with his sister;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When a cow, at one poke,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tossed her into an oak,</span><br /> +Before the old gentleman missed her.<br /> +<br /> +There was a young man of St. Kitts<br /> +Who was very much troubled with fits;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The eclipse of the moon</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Threw him into a swoon,</span><br /> +When he tumbled and broke into bits.<br /> +<br /> +There was an old man who said, "Gee!<br /> +<i>I</i> can't multiply seven by three!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Though fourteen seems plenty,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It <i>might</i> come to twenty,—</span><br /> +I haven't the slightest idee!"<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_836" id="Page_836">[Pg 836]</a></span> + +<br /> +There was an old man in a pie,<br /> +Who said, "I must fly! I must fly!"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When they said, "You can't do it!"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He replied that he knew it,</span><br /> +But he <i>had</i> to get out of that pie!<br /> +<br /> +A Tutor who tooted the flute<br /> +Tried to teach two young tooters to toot;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Said the two to the Tutor,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Is it harder to toot, or</span><br /> +To tutor two tooters to toot?"<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Carolyn Wells.</i><br /> </p> + +<p class='h_5'>RECITED BY A CHINESE INFANT</p> +<p> +If-itty-teshi-mow Jays<br /> +Haddee ny up-plo-now-shi-buh nays;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">ha! ha!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He lote im aw dow,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Witty motti-fy flow;</span><br /> +A-flew-ty ho-lot-itty flays! Hee!<br /> +</p> +<p class='center'><i>Translation</i></p> +<p> +Infinitesimal James<br /> +Had nine unpronounceable names;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He wrote them all down,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With a mortified frown,</span><br /> +And threw the whole lot in the flames.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +For beauty I am not a star,<br /> +There are others more handsome by far;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But my face I don't mind it,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For I am behind it,</span><br /> +It's the people in front that I jar.<br /> +<br /> +There was a young lady of Oakham,<br /> +Who would steal your cigars and then soak 'em<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_837" id="Page_837">[Pg 837]</a></span> + +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In treacle and rum,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And then smear them with gum,</span><br /> +So it wasn't a pleasure to smoke 'em.<br /> +<br /> +There was an Old Man in a tree<br /> +Who was horribly bored by a bee;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">When they said, "Does it buzz?"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He replied, "Yes, it does!</span><br /> +It's a regular brute of a bee."<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Edward Lear.</i><br /> </p> + +<p> +There was an Old Man of St. Bees<br /> +Who was stung in the arm by a wasp.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">When asked, "Does it hurt?"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He replied, "No, it doesn't,</span><br /> +But I thought all the while 'twas a hornet."<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>W. S. Gilbert.</i><br /> </p> + +<p> +There was an old man of the Rhine,<br /> +When asked at what hour he would dine,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Replied, "At eleven,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Four, six, three and seven,</span><br /> +And eight and a quarter of nine."<br /> +<br /> +There was a young man of Laconia,<br /> +Whose mother-in-law had pneumonia;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He hoped for the worst,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And after March first</span><br /> +They buried her 'neath a begonia.<br /> +<br /> +There was a young man of the cape<br /> +Who always wore trousers of crêpe;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">When asked, "Don't they tear?"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He replied, "Here and there;</span><br /> +But they keep such a beautiful shape."<br /> +<br /> +There once were some learned M.D.'s,<br /> +Who captured some germs of disease,<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_838" id="Page_838">[Pg 838]</a></span> + +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And infected a train,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Which without causing pain,</span><br /> +Allowed one to catch it with ease.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Oliver Herford.</i><br /> </p> + +<p> +There was a young lady of Lynn,<br /> +Who was deep in original sin;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">When they said, "Do be good,"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">She said, "Would if I could!"</span><br /> +And straightway went at it ag'in.<br /> +<br /> +I'd rather have fingers than toes;<br /> +I'd rather have ears than a nose;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And as for my hair</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I'm glad it's all there,</span><br /> +I'll be awfully sad when it goes.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Gelett Burgess.</i><br /> </p> + +<p> +There was a young fellow named Clyde;<br /> +Who was once at a funeral spied.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">When asked who was dead,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He smilingly said,</span><br /> +"<i>I</i> don't know,—I just came for the ride!"<br /> +<br /> +There was a young lady of Truro,<br /> +Who wished a mahogany bureau;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But her father said, "Dod!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">All the men on Cape Cod</span><br /> +Couldn't buy a mahogany bureau!"<br /> +<br /> +There was a young man of Ostend<br /> +Who vowed he'd hold out to the end,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But when halfway over</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">From Calais to Dover,</span><br /> +He done what he didn't intend—<br /> +<br /> +There was a young man of Cohoes,<br /> +Wore tar on the end of his nose;<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_839" id="Page_839">[Pg 839]</a></span> + +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">When asked why he done it,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He said for the fun it</span><br /> +Afforded the men of Cohoes.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Robert J. Burdette.</i><br /> </p> + +<p> +There is a young artist called Whistler,<br /> +Who in every respect is a bristler;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A tube of white lead,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Or a punch on the head,</span><br /> +Come equally handy to Whistler.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Dante Gabriel Rossetti.</i><br /> </p> + +<p> +There is a creator named God,<br /> +Whose doings are sometimes quite odd;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He made a painter named Val,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And I say and I shall,</span><br /> +That he does no great credit to God.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>J. M. Whistler.</i><br /> </p> + +<p> +There was a young lady of station,<br /> +"I love man!" was her sole exclamation;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But when men cried, "You flatter!"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">She replied, "Oh, no matter!</span><br /> +Isle of Man, is the true explanation."<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Lewis Carroll.</i><br /> </p> + +<p> +There was a young lady of Twickenham,<br /> +Whose shoes were too tight to walk quick in 'em;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">She came back from her walk,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Looking white as a chalk,</span><br /> +And took 'em both off and was sick in 'em.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Oliver Herford.</i><br /> </p> + +<p> +"It's a very warm day," observed Billy.<br /> +"I hope that you won't think it silly<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">If I say that this heat</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Makes me think 'twould be sweet</span><br /> +If one were a coolie in Chile!"<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Tudor Jenks.</i><br /> </p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_840" id="Page_840">[Pg 840]</a></span> + +<p> +There was a young man from Cornell,<br /> +Who said, "I'm aware of a smell,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But whether it's drains</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Or human remains,</span><br /> +I'm really unable to tell."<br /> +<br /> +There was a young lady from Joppa,<br /> +Whose friends all decided to drop her;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">She went with a friend</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">On a trip to Ostend,—</span><br /> +And the rest of the story's improper.<br /> +<br /> +There once was a sculptor named Phidias,<br /> +Whose statues by some were thought hideous;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He made Aphrodite</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Without any nighty,</span><br /> +Which shocked all the ultra-fastidious.<br /> +<br /> +John woke on Jan. first and felt queer;<br /> +Said, "Crackers I'll swear off this year!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For the lobster and wine</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And the rabbit were fine,—</span><br /> +And it certainly wasn't the beer."<br /> +<br /> +There was a young lady of Venice<br /> +Who used hard-boiled eggs to play tennis;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">When they said, "You are wrong,"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">She replied, "Go along!</span><br /> +You don't know how prolific my hen is!"<br /> +<br /> +There was a young man of Fort Blainey,<br /> +Who proposed to his typist named Janey;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">When his friends said, "Oh, dear!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">She's so old and so queer!"</span><br /> +He replied, "But the day was so rainy!"<br /> +</p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_841" id="Page_841">[Pg 841]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XIII" id="XIII"></a>XIII</h2> + +<h2>NONSENSE</h2> +<p><br /></p> + +<h3>LUNAR STANZAS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Night saw the crew like pedlers with their packs<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Altho' it were too dear to pay for eggs;</span><br /> +Walk crank along with coffin on their backs<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While in their arms they bow their weary legs.</span><br /> +<br /> +And yet 'twas strange, and scarce can one suppose<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That a brown buzzard-fly should steal and wear</span><br /> +His white jean breeches and black woollen hose,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But thence that flies have souls is very clear.</span><br /> +<br /> +But, Holy Father! what shall save the soul,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When cobblers ask three dollars for their shoes?</span><br /> +When cooks their biscuits with a shot-tower roll,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And farmers rake their hay-cocks with their hoes.</span><br /> +<br /> +Yet, 'twere profuse to see for pendant light,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A tea-pot dangle in a lady's ear;</span><br /> +And 'twere indelicate, although she might<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Swallow two whales and yet the moon shine clear.</span><br /> +<br /> +But what to me are woven clouds, or what,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If dames from spiders learn to warp their looms?</span><br /> +If coal-black ghosts turn soldiers for the State,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With wooden eyes, and lightning-rods for plumes?</span><br /> +<br /> +Oh! too, too shocking! barbarous, savage taste!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To eat one's mother ere itself was born!</span><br /> +To gripe the tall town-steeple by the waste,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And scoop it out to be his drinking-horn.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_842" id="Page_842">[Pg 842]</a></span> + +<br /> +No more: no more! I'm sick and dead and gone;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Boxed in a coffin, stifled six feet deep;</span><br /> +Thorns, fat and fearless, prick my skin and bone,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And revel o'er me, like a soulless sheep.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Henry Coggswell Knight.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE WHANGO TREE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +The woggly bird sat on the whango tree,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nooping the rinkum corn,</span><br /> +And graper and graper, alas! grew he,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And cursed the day he was born.</span><br /> +His crute was clum and his voice was rum,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As curiously thus sang he,</span><br /> +"Oh, would I'd been rammed and eternally clammed<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ere I perched on this whango tree."</span><br /> +<br /> +Now the whango tree had a bubbly thorn,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As sharp as a nootie's bill,</span><br /> +And it stuck in the woggly bird's umptum lorn<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And weepadge, the smart did thrill.</span><br /> +He fumbled and cursed, but that wasn't the worst,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For he couldn't at all get free,</span><br /> +And he cried, "I am gammed, and injustibly nammed<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On the luggardly whango tree."</span><br /> +<br /> +And there he sits still, with no worm in his bill,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor no guggledom in his nest;</span><br /> +He is hungry and bare, and gobliddered with care,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And his grabbles give him no rest;</span><br /> +He is weary and sore and his tugmut is soar,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And nothing to nob has he,</span><br /> +As he chirps, "I am blammed and corruptibly jammed,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In this cuggerdom whango tree."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_843" id="Page_843">[Pg 843]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THREE CHILDREN</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Three children sliding on the ice<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon a summer's day,</span><br /> +As it fell out they all fell in,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The rest they ran away.</span><br /> +<br /> +Now, had these children been at home,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or sliding on dry ground,</span><br /> +Ten thousand pounds to one penny<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They had not all been drowned.</span><br /> +<br /> +You parents all that children have,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And you too that have none,</span><br /> +If you would have them safe abroad<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pray keep them safe at home.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>'TIS MIDNIGHT</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +'Tis midnight, and the setting sun<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is slowly rising in the west;</span><br /> +The rapid rivers slowly run,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The frog is on his downy nest.</span><br /> +The pensive goat and sportive cow,<br /> +Hilarious, leap from bough to bough.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>COSSIMBAZAR</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Come fleetly, come fleetly, my hookabadar,<br /> +For the sound of the tam-tam is heard from afar.<br /> +"Banoolah! Banoolah!" The Brahmins are nigh,<br /> +And the depths of the jungle re-echo their cry.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;"><i>Pestonjee Bomanjee!</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Smite the guitar;</span><br /> +Join in the chorus, my hookabadar.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_844" id="Page_844">[Pg 844]</a></span> + +<br /> +Heed not the blast of the deadly monsoon,<br /> +Nor the blue Brahmaputra that gleams in the moon<br /> +Stick to thy music, and oh, let the sound<br /> +Be heard with distinctness a mile or two round.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;"><i>Jamsetjee, Jeejeebhoy!</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Sweep the guitar.</span><br /> +Join in the chorus, my hookabadar.<br /> +<br /> +Art thou a Buddhist, or dost thou indeed<br /> +Put faith in the monstrous Mohammedan creed?<br /> +Art thou a Ghebir—a blinded Parsee?<br /> +Not that it matters an atom to me.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;"><i>Cursetjee Bomanjee!</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Twang the guitar</span><br /> +Join in the chorus, my hookabadar.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Henry S. Leigh.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>AN UNSUSPECTED FACT</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +If down his throat a man should choose<br /> +In fun, to jump or slide,<br /> +He'd scrape his shoes against his teeth,<br /> +Nor dirt his own inside.<br /> +But if his teeth were lost and gone,<br /> +And not a stump to scrape upon,<br /> +He'd see at once how very pat<br /> +His tongue lay there by way of mat,<br /> +And he would wipe his feet on <i>that</i>!<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Edward Cannon.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE CUMBERBUNCE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I strolled beside the shining sea,<br /> +I was as lonely as could be;<br /> +No one to cheer me in my walk<br /> +But stones and sand, which cannot talk—<br /> +Sand and stones and bits of shell,<br /> +Which never have a thing to tell.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_845" id="Page_845">[Pg 845]</a></span> + +<br /> +But as I sauntered by the tide<br /> +I saw a something at my side,<br /> +A something green, and blue, and pink,<br /> +And brown, and purple, too, I think.<br /> +I would not say how large it was;<br /> +I would not venture that, because<br /> +It took me rather by surprise,<br /> +And I have not the best of eyes.<br /> +<br /> +Should you compare it to a cat,<br /> +I'd say it was as large as that;<br /> +Or should you ask me if the thing<br /> +Was smaller than a sparrow's wing,<br /> +I should be apt to think you knew,<br /> +And simply answer, "Very true!"<br /> +<br /> +Well, as I looked upon the thing,<br /> +It murmured, "Please, sir, can I sing?"<br /> +And then I knew its name at once—<br /> +It plainly was a Cumberbunce.<br /> +<br /> +You are amazed that I could tell<br /> +The creature's name so quickly? Well,<br /> +I knew it was not a paper-doll,<br /> +A pencil or a parasol,<br /> +A tennis-racket or a cheese,<br /> +And, as it was not one of these,<br /> +And I am not a perfect dunce—<br /> +It had to be a Cumberbunce!<br /> +<br /> +With pleading voice and tearful eye<br /> +It seemed as though about to cry.<br /> +It looked so pitiful and sad<br /> +It made me feel extremely bad.<br /> +My heart was softened to the thing<br /> +That asked me if it, please, could sing.<br /> +Its little hand I longed to shake,<br /> +But, oh, it had no hand to take!<br /> +I bent and drew the creature near,<br /> +And whispered in its pale blue ear,<br /> +"What! Sing, my Cumberbunce? You can!<br /> +Sing on, sing loudly, little man!"<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_846" id="Page_846">[Pg 846]</a></span> + +<br /> +The Cumberbunce, without ado,<br /> +Gazed sadly on the ocean blue,<br /> +And, lifting up its little head,<br /> +In tones of awful longing, said:<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Oh, I would sing of mackerel skies,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And why the sea is wet,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of jelly-fish and conger-eels,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And things that I forget.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And I would hum a plaintive tune</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Of why the waves are hot</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">As water boiling on a stove,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Excepting that they're not!</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"And I would sing of hooks and eyes,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And why the sea is slant,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And gayly tips the little ships,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Excepting that I can't!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I never sang a single song,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">I never hummed a note.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">There is in me no melody,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">No music in my throat.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"So that is why I do not sing</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of sharks, or whales, or anything!"</span><br /> +<br /> +I looked in innocent surprise,<br /> +My wonder showing in my eyes,<br /> +"Then why, O, Cumberbunce," I cried,<br /> +"Did you come walking at my side<br /> +And ask me if you, please, might sing,<br /> +When you could not warble anything?"<br /> +<br /> +"I did not ask permission, sir,<br /> +I really did not, I aver.<br /> +You, sir, misunderstood me, quite.<br /> +I did not ask you if I <i>might</i>.<br /> +Had you correctly understood,<br /> +You'd know I asked you if I <i>could</i>.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_847" id="Page_847">[Pg 847]</a></span> + +<br /> +So, as I cannot sing a song,<br /> +Your answer, it is plain, was wrong.<br /> +The fact I could not sing I knew,<br /> +But wanted your opinion, too."<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A voice came softly o'er the lea.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Farewell! my mate is calling me!"</span><br /> +<br /> +I saw the creature disappear,<br /> +Its voice, in parting, smote my ear—<br /> +"I thought all people understood<br /> +The difference 'twixt 'might' and 'could'!"<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Paul West.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>MR. FINNEY'S TURNIP</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Mr. Finney had a turnip<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And it grew and it grew;</span><br /> +And it grew behind the barn,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And that turnip did no harm.</span><br /> +<br /> +There it grew and it grew<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till it could grow no longer;</span><br /> +Then his daughter Lizzie picked it<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And put it in the cellar.</span><br /> +<br /> +There it lay and it lay<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till it began to rot;</span><br /> +And his daughter Susie took it<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And put it in the pot.</span><br /> +<br /> +And they boiled it and boiled it<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As long as they were able,</span><br /> +And then his daughters took it,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And put it on the table.</span><br /> +<br /> +Mr. Finney and his wife<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They sat down to sup;</span><br /> +And they ate and they ate<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And they ate that turnip up.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_848" id="Page_848">[Pg 848]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>NONSENSE VERSES</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Lazy-bones, lazy-bones, wake up and peep!<br /> +The cat's in the cupboard, your mother's asleep.<br /> +There you sit snoring, forgetting her ills;<br /> +Who is to give her her Bolus and Pills?<br /> +Twenty fine Angels must come into town,<br /> +All for to help you to make your new gown:<br /> +Dainty aerial Spinsters and Singers;<br /> +Aren't you ashamed to employ such white fingers?<br /> +Delicate hands, unaccustom'd to reels,<br /> +To set 'em working a poor body's wheels?<br /> +Why they came down is to me all a riddle,<br /> +And left Hallelujah broke off in the middle:<br /> +Jove's Court, and the Presence angelical, cut—<br /> +To eke out the work of a lazy young slut.<br /> +Angel-duck, Angel-duck, winged and silly,<br /> +Pouring a watering-pot over a lily,<br /> +Gardener gratuitous, careless of pelf,<br /> +Leave her to water her lily herself,<br /> +Or to neglect it to death if she chuse it:<br /> +Remember the loss is her own if she lose it.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Charles Lamb.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>LIKE TO THE THUNDERING TONE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Like to the thundering tone of unspoke speeches,<br /> +Or like a lobster clad in logic breeches,<br /> +Or like the gray fur of a crimson cat,<br /> +Or like the mooncalf in a slipshod hat;<br /> +E'en such is he who never was begotten<br /> +Until his children were both dead and rotten.<br /> +<br /> +Like to the fiery tombstone of a cabbage,<br /> +Or like a crab-louse with its bag and baggage,<br /> +Or like the four square circle of a ring,<br /> +Or like to hey ding, ding-a, ding-a, ding;<br /> +E'en such is he who spake, and yet, no doubt,<br /> +Spake to small purpose, when his tongue was out.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_849" id="Page_849">[Pg 849]</a></span> + +<br /> +Like to a fair, fresh, fading, wither'd rose,<br /> +Or like to rhyming verse that runs in prose,<br /> +Or like the stumbles of a tinder-box,<br /> +Or like a man that's sound yet sickness mocks;<br /> +E'en such is he who died and yet did laugh<br /> +To see these lines writ for his epitaph.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Bishop Corbet in 17th century.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>ÆSTIVATION</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +In candent ire the solar splendour flames;<br /> +The foles, languescent, pend from arid rames;<br /> +His humid front the cive, anheling, wipes,<br /> +And dreams of erring on ventiferous ripes.<br /> +<br /> +How dolce to vive occult to mortal eyes,<br /> +Dorm on the herb with none to supervise,<br /> +Carp the suave berries from the crescent vine,<br /> +And bibe the flow from longicaudate kine!<br /> +<br /> +To me, alas! no verdurous visions come,<br /> +Save yon exiguous pool's conferva-scum—<br /> +No concave vast repeats the tender hue<br /> +That laves my milk-jug with celestial blue.<br /> +<br /> +Me wretched! let me curr to quercine shades!<br /> +Effund your albid hausts, lactiferous maids!<br /> +Oh, might I vole to some umbrageous clump,—<br /> +Depart—be off,—excede,—evade,—crump!<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Oliver Wendell Holmes.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>UNCLE SIMON AND UNCLE JIM</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Uncle Simon he<br /> +Clumb up a tree<br /> +To see<br /> +What he could see,<br /> +When presentlee<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_850" id="Page_850">[Pg 850]</a></span> + +<br /> +Uncle Jim<br /> +Clumb up beside of him<br /> +And squatted down by he.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Charles Farrar Browne</i> (Artemus Ward).</p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A TRAGIC STORY</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +There lived a sage in days of yore,<br /> +And he a handsome pigtail wore;<br /> +But wondered much and sorrowed more,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Because it hung behind him.</span><br /> +<br /> +He mused upon this curious case,<br /> +And swore he'd change the pigtail's place,<br /> +And have it hanging at his face,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Not dangling there behind him.</span><br /> +<br /> +Says he, "The mystery I've found,—<br /> +I'll turn me round,"—he turned him round;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But still it hung behind him.</span><br /> +<br /> +Then round and round, and out and in,<br /> +All day the puzzled sage did spin;<br /> +In vain—it mattered not a pin,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The pigtail hung behind him.</span><br /> +<br /> +And right and left, and round about,<br /> +And up and down, and in and out,<br /> +He turned; but still the pigtail stout<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hung steadily behind him.</span><br /> +<br /> +And though his efforts never slack,<br /> +And though he twist and twirl and tack,<br /> +Alas! still faithful to his back,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The pigtail hangs behind him.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>W. M. Thackeray.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_851" id="Page_851">[Pg 851]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>SONNET FOUND IN A DESERTED MAD HOUSE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Oh that my soul a marrow-bone might seize!<br /> +For the old egg of my desire is broken,<br /> +Spilled is the pearly white and spilled the yolk, and<br /> +As the mild melancholy contents grease<br /> +My path the shorn lamb baas like bumblebees.<br /> +Time's trashy purse is as a taken token<br /> +Or like a thrilling recitation, spoken<br /> +By mournful mouths filled full of mirth and cheese.<br /> +<br /> +And yet, why should I clasp the earthful urn?<br /> +Or find the frittered fig that felt the fast?<br /> +Or choose to chase the cheese around the churn?<br /> +Or swallow any pill from out the past?<br /> +Ah, no Love, not while your hot kisses burn<br /> +Like a potato riding on the blast.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE JIM-JAM KING OF THE JOU-JOUS</h3> + +<h4>AN ARABIAN LEGEND</h4> +<p class='center'>Translated from the Arabic</p> + +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> + +<p> +Far off in the waste of desert sand,<br /> +The Jim-jam rules in the Jou-jou land:<br /> +He sits on a throne of red-hot rocks,<br /> +And moccasin snakes are his curling locks;<br /> +And the Jou-jous have the conniption fits<br /> +In the far-off land where the Jim-jam sits—<br /> +If things are now as things were then.<br /> +Allah il Allah! Oo-aye! Amen!<br /> +<br /> +The country's so dry in Jou-jou land<br /> +You could wet it down with Sahara sand,<br /> +And over its boundaries the air<br /> +Is hotter than 'tis—no matter where:<br /> +A camel drops down completely tanned<br /> +When he crosses the line in Jou-jou land—<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_852" id="Page_852">[Pg 852]</a></span> + +If things are now as things were then.<br /> +Allah il Allah! Oo-aye! Amen!<br /> +<br /> +A traveller once got stuck in the sand<br /> +On the fiery edge of Jou-jou land;<br /> +The Jou-jous they confiscated him,<br /> +And the Jim-jam tore him limb from limb;<br /> +But, dying, he said: "If eaten I am,<br /> +I'll disagree with this Dam-jim-jam!<br /> +He'll think his stomach's a Hoodoo's den!"<br /> +Allah il Allah! Oo-aye! Amen!<br /> +<br /> +Then the Jim-jam felt so bad inside,<br /> +It just about humbled his royal pride.<br /> +He decided to physic himself with sand,<br /> +And throw up his job in the Jou-jou land.<br /> +He descended his throne of red-hot rocks,<br /> +And hired a barber to cut his locks:<br /> +The barber died of the got-'em-again.<br /> +Allah il Allah! Oo-aye! Amen!<br /> +<br /> +And now let every good Mussulman<br /> +Get all the good from this tale he can.<br /> +If you wander off on a Jamboree,<br /> +Across the stretch of the desert sea,<br /> +Look out that right at the height of your booze<br /> +You don't get caught by the Jou-jou-jous!<br /> +You may, for the Jim-jam's at it again.<br /> +Allah il Allah! Oo-aye! Amen!<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Alaric Bertrand Stuart.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>TO MARIE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +When the breeze from the bluebottle's blustering blim<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Twirls the toads in a tooroomaloo,</span><br /> +And the whiskery whine of the wheedlesome whim<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Drowns the roll of the rattatattoo,</span><br /> +Then I dream in the shade of the shally-go-shee,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the voice of the bally-molay</span><br /> +Brings the smell of stale poppy-cods blummered in blee<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From the willy-wad over the way.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_853" id="Page_853">[Pg 853]</a></span> + +<br /> +Ah, the shuddering shoo and the blinketty-blanks<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When the yungalung falls from the bough</span><br /> +In the blast of a hurricane's hicketty-hanks<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On the hills of the hocketty-how!</span><br /> +Give the rigamarole to the clangery-whang,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If they care for such fiddlededee;</span><br /> +But the thingumbob kiss of the whangery-bang<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Keeps the higgledy-piggle for me.</span><br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>L'ENVOI</p> +<p> +It is pilly-po-doddle and aligobung<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When the lollypop covers the ground,</span><br /> +Yet the poldiddle perishes punketty-pung<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When the heart jimmy-coggles around.</span><br /> +If the soul cannot snoop at the giggle-some cart,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Seeking surcease in gluggety-glug,</span><br /> +It is useless to say to the pulsating heart,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Panky-doodle ker-chuggetty-chug!"</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>John Bennett.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>MY DREAM</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I dreamed a dream next Tuesday week,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beneath the apple-trees;</span><br /> +I thought my eyes were big pork-pies,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And my nose was Stilton cheese.</span><br /> +The clock struck twenty minutes to six,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When a frog sat on my knee;</span><br /> +I asked him to lend me eighteenpence,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But he borrowed a shilling of me.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE ROLLICKING MASTODON</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +A rollicking Mastodon lived in Spain,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the trunk of a Tranquil Tree.</span><br /> +His face was plain, but his jocular vein<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was a burst of the wildest glee.</span><br /> +His voice was strong and his laugh so long<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_854" id="Page_854">[Pg 854]</a></span> + +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That people came many a mile,</span><br /> +And offered to pay a guinea a day<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For the fractional part of a smile.</span><br /> +<br /> +The Rollicking Mastodon's laugh was wide—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Indeed, 'twas a matter of family pride;</span><br /> +And oh! so proud of his jocular vein<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was the Rollicking Mastodon over in Spain.</span><br /> +<br /> +The Rollicking Mastodon said one day,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"I feel that I need some air,</span><br /> +For a little ozone's a tonic for bones,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As well as a gloss for the hair."</span><br /> +So he skipped along and warbled a song<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In his own triumphulant way.</span><br /> +His smile was bright and his skip was light<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As he chirruped his roundelay.</span><br /> +<br /> +The Rollicking Mastodon tripped along,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And sang what Mastodons call a song;</span><br /> +But every note of it seemed to pain<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Rollicking Mastodon over in Spain.</span><br /> +<br /> +A Little Peetookle came over the hill,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dressed up in a bollitant coat;</span><br /> +And he said, "You need some harroway seed,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And a little advice for your throat."</span><br /> +The Mastodon smiled and said, "My child,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There's a chance for your taste to grow.</span><br /> +If you polish your mind, you'll certainly find<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How little, how little you know."</span><br /> +<br /> +The Little Peetookle, his teeth he ground<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At the Mastodon's singular sense of sound;</span><br /> +For he felt it a sort of a musical stain<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On the Rollicking Mastodon over in Spain.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Alas! and alas! has it come to this pass?"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Said the Little Peetookle. "Dear me!</span><br /> +It certainly seems your horrible screams<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Intended for music must be!"</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_855" id="Page_855">[Pg 855]</a></span> + +The Mastodon stopped, his ditty he dropped,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And murmured, "Good morning, my dear!</span><br /> +I never will sing to a sensitive thing<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That shatters a song with a sneer!"</span><br /> +<br /> +The Rollicking Mastodon bade him "adieu."<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of course 'twas a sensible thing to do;</span><br /> +For Little Peetookle is spared the strain<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the Rollicking Mastodon over in Spain.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Arthur Macy.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<p style='font-size: larger; text-align: center;'><i>NONSENSE VERSES</i></p> + +<h3>THE INVISIBLE BRIDGE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I'd Never Dare to Walk across<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Bridge I Could Not See;</span><br /> +For Quite afraid of Falling off,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I fear that I Should Be!</span><br /> +</p> +</td></tr></table> + + +<h3>THE LAZY ROOF</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +The Roof it has a Lazy Time<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A-lying in the Sun;</span><br /> +The Walls they have to Hold Him Up;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They do Not Have Much Fun!</span><br /> +</p> +</td></tr></table> + + +<h3>MY FEET</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +My feet, they haul me Round the House,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They Hoist me up the Stairs;</span><br /> +I only have to Steer them and<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They Ride me Everywheres.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Gelett Burgess.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>SPIRK TROLL-DERISIVE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +The Crankadox leaned o'er the edge of the moon,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And wistfully gazed on the sea</span><br /> +Where the Gryxabodill madly whistled a tune<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the air of "Ti-fol-de-ding-dee."</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_856" id="Page_856">[Pg 856]</a></span> + +The quavering shriek of the Fliupthecreek<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was fitfully wafted afar</span><br /> +To the Queen of the Wunks as she powdered her cheek<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With the pulverized rays of a star.</span><br /> +<br /> +The Gool closed his ear on the voice of the Grig,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And his heart it grew heavy as lead</span><br /> +As he marked the Baldekin adjusting his wig<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On the opposite side of his head;</span><br /> +And the air it grew chill as the Gryxabodill<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Raised his dank, dripping fins to the skies</span><br /> +To plead with the Plunk for the use of her bill<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To pick the tears out of his eyes.</span><br /> +<br /> +The ghost of the Zhack flitted by in a trance;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the Squidjum hid under a tub</span><br /> +As he heard the loud hooves of the Hooken advance<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a rub-a-dub-dub-a-dub dub!</span><br /> +And the Crankadox cried as he laid down and died,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"My fate there is none to bewail!"</span><br /> +While the Queen of the Wunks drifted over the tide<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a long piece of crape to her tail.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>James Whitcomb Riley.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE MAN IN THE MOON</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Said the Raggedy Man on a hot afternoon,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"My!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sakes!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">What a lot o' mistakes</span><br /> +Some little folks makes on the Man in the Moon<br /> +But people that's been up to see him like Me,<br /> +And calls on him frequent and intimutly,<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_857" id="Page_857">[Pg 857]</a></span> + +Might drop a few hints that would interest you<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Clean!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Through!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">If you wanted 'em to—</span><br /> +Some actual facts that might interest you!<br /> +<br /> +"O the Man in the Moon has a crick in his back<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Whee!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Whimm!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Ain't you sorry for him?</span><br /> +And a mole on his nose that is purple and black;<br /> +And his eyes are so weak that they water and run<br /> +If he dares to <i>dream</i> even he looks at the sun,—<br /> +So he jes' dreams of stars, as the doctor's advise—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">My!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Eyes!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">But isn't he wise—</span><br /> +To jes' dream of stars, as the doctors advise?<br /> +<br /> +"And the Man in the Moon has a boil on his ear—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Whee!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Whing!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">What a singular thing!</span><br /> +I know! but these facts are authentic, my dear,—<br /> +There's a boil on his ear; and a corn on his chin,—<br /> +He calls it a dimple,—but dimples stick in,—<br /> +Yet it might be a dimple turned over, you know!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Whang!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Ho!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Why certainly so!—</span><br /> +It might be a dimple turned over, you know!<br /> +<br /> +"And the Man in the Moon has a rheumatic knee,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Gee!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Whizz!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">What a pity that is!</span><br /> +And his toes have worked round where his heels ought to be.<br /> +So whenever he wants to go North he goes South,<br /> +And comes back with porridge crumbs all round his mouth,<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_858" id="Page_858">[Pg 858]</a></span> + +And he brushes them off with a Japanese fan,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Whing!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Whann!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">What a marvellous man!</span><br /> +What a very remarkably marvellous man!<br /> +<br /> +"And the Man in the Moon," sighed the Raggedy Man,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Gits!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">So!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Sullonesome, you know!</span><br /> +Up there by himself since creation began!—<br /> +That when I call on him and then come away,<br /> +He grabs me and holds me and begs me to stay,—<br /> +Till—well, if it wasn't for <i>Jimmy-cum-Jim</i>,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Dadd!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Limb!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">I'd go pardners with him!</span><br /> +Jes' jump my bob here and be pardners with him!"<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>James Whitcomb Riley.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE LUGUBRIOUS WHING-WHANG</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Out on the margin of moonshine land,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Tickle me, love, in these lonesome ribs,</span><br /> +Out where the whing-whang loves to stand<br /> +Writing his name with his tail on the sand,<br /> +And wiping it out with his oogerish hand;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Tickle me, love, in these lonesome ribs.</span><br /> +<br /> +Is it the gibber of gungs and keeks?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Tickle me, love, in these lonesome ribs,</span><br /> +Or what <i>is</i> the sound the whing-whang seeks,<br /> +Crouching low by the winding creeks,<br /> +And holding his breath for weeks and weeks?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Tickle me, love, in these lonesome ribs.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_859" id="Page_859">[Pg 859]</a></span> + +<br /> +Aroint him the wraithest of wraithly things!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Tickle me, love, in these lonesome ribs,</span><br /> +'Tis a fair whing-whangess with phosphor rings,<br /> +And bridal jewels of fangs and stings,<br /> +And she sits and as sadly and softly sings<br /> +As the mildewed whir of her own dead wings;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Tickle me, dear; tickle me here;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Tickle me, love, in these lonesome ribs.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>James Whitcomb Riley.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE YONGHY-BONGHY-BO</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> + +<p class='h_5'>I</p> +<p> +On the Coast of Coromandel<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where the early pumpkins blow,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In the middle of the woods</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lived the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.</span><br /> +Two old chairs, and half a candle,<br /> +One old jug without a handle,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">These were all his worldly goods:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In the middle of the woods,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">These were all the worldly goods</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.</span><br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>II</p> +<p> +Once, among the Bong-trees walking<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where the early pumpkins blow,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To a little heap of stones</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Came the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.</span><br /> +There he heard a Lady talking,<br /> +To some milk-white Hens of Dorking,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"'Tis the Lady Jingly Jones!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">On that little heap of stones</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sits the Lady Jingly Jones!"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_860" id="Page_860">[Pg 860]</a></span> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>III</p> +<p> +"Lady Jingly! Lady Jingly!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sitting where the pumpkins blow,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Will you come and be my wife?"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,</span><br /> +"I am tired of living singly,—<br /> +On this coast so wild and shingly,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I'm a-weary of my life;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">If you'll come and be my wife,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Quite serene would be my life!"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.</span><br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>IV</p> +<p> +"On this Coast of Coromandel<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shrimps and watercresses grow,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Prawns are plentiful and cheap,"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.</span><br /> +"You shall have my chairs and candle,<br /> +And my jug without a handle!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Gaze upon the rolling deep</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">(Fish is plentiful and cheap):</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">As the sea, my love is deep!"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.</span><br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>V</p> +<p> +Lady Jingly answered sadly,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And her tears began to flow,—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Your proposal comes too late,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!</span><br /> +I would be your wife most gladly!"<br /> +(Here she twirled her fingers madly,)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"But in England I've a mate!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Yes! you've asked me far too late,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For in England I've a mate,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_861" id="Page_861">[Pg 861]</a></span> + +</p> +<p class='h_5'>VI</p> +<p> +"Mr. Jones (his name is Handel,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Handel Jones, Esquire & Co.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Dorking fowls delights to send,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!</span><br /> +Keep, oh, keep your chairs and candle,<br /> +And your jug without a handle,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I can merely be your friend!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Should my Jones more Dorkings send,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I will give you three, my friend!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!</span><br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>VII</p> +<p> +"Though you've such a tiny body,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And your head so large doth grow,—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Though your hat may blow away,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!</span><br /> +Though you're such a Hoddy Doddy,<br /> +Yet I wish that I could modi-<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">fy the words I needs must say!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Will you please to go away?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That is all I have to say,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!"</span><br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>VIII</p> +<p> +Down the slippery slopes of Myrtle,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where the early pumpkins blow,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To the calm and silent sea</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fled the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.</span><br /> +There, beyond the Bay of Gurtle,<br /> +Lay a large and lively Turtle.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"You're the Cove," he said, "for me:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">On your back beyond the sea,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Turtle, you shall carry me!"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_862" id="Page_862">[Pg 862]</a></span> + +</p> +<p class='h_5'>IX</p> +<p> +Through the silent roaring ocean<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Did the Turtle swiftly go;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Holding fast upon his shell</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rode the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.</span><br /> +With a sad primæval motion<br /> +Toward the sunset isles of Boshen<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Still the Turtle bore him well,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Holding fast upon his shell.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Lady Jingly Jones, farewell!"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sang the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sang the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.</span><br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>X</p> +<p> +From the Coast of Coromandel<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Did that Lady never go,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">On that heap of stones she mourns</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.</span><br /> +On that Coast of Coromandel,<br /> +In his jug without a handle<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Still she weeps, and daily moans;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">On the little heap of stones</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To her Dorking Hens she moans,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Edward Lear.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE JUMBLIES</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> + +<p class='h_5'>I</p> +<p> +They went to sea in a sieve, they did;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In a sieve they went to sea:</span><br /> +In spite of all their friends could say,<br /> +On a winter's morn, on a stormy day,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In a sieve they went to sea.</span><br /> +And when the sieve turned round and round,<br /> +And every one cried, "You'll all be drowned!"<br /> +They called aloud, "Our sieve ain't big;<br /> +But we don't care a button, we don't care a fig:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In a sieve we'll go to sea!"</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_863" id="Page_863">[Pg 863]</a></span> + +Far and few, far and few,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are the lands where the Jumblies live;</span><br /> +Their heads are green, and their hands are blue;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And they went to sea in a sieve.</span><br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>II</p> +<p> +They sailed away in a sieve, they did,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In a sieve they sailed so fast,</span><br /> +With only a beautiful pea-green veil<br /> +Tied with a ribbon by way of a sail,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To a small tobacco-pipe mast.</span><br /> +And every one said who saw them go,<br /> +"Oh! won't they soon be upset, you know?<br /> +For the sky is dark and the voyage is long,<br /> +And, happen what may, it's extremely wrong<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In a sieve to sail so fast."</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Far and few, far and few,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Are the lands where the Jumblies live;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Their heads are green and their hands are blue;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And they went to sea in a sieve.</span><br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>III</p> +<p> +The water it soon came in, it did;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The water it soon came in:</span><br /> +So, to keep them dry, they wrapped their feet<br /> +In a pinky paper all folded neat;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And they fastened it down with a pin.</span><br /> +And they passed the night in a crockery-jar;<br /> +And each of them said, "How wise we are!<br /> +Though the sky be dark, and the voyage be long,<br /> +Yet we never can think we were rash or wrong,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While round in our sieve we spin."</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Far and few, far and few,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Are the lands where the Jumblies live;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Their heads are green and their hands are blue;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And they went to sea in a sieve.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_864" id="Page_864">[Pg 864]</a></span> + +</p> +<p class='h_5'>IV</p> +<p> +And all night long they sailed away;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And when the sun went down,</span><br /> +They whistled and warbled a moony song<br /> +To the echoing sound of a coppery gong,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the shade of the mountains brown.</span><br /> +"O Timballoo! How happy we are<br /> +When we live in a sieve and a crockery-jar!<br /> +And all night long, in the moonlight pale,<br /> +We sail away with a pea-green sail<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the shade of the mountains brown."</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Far and few, far and few,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Are the lands where the Jumblies live;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Their heads are green, and their hands are blue;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And they went to sea in a sieve.</span><br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>V</p> +<p> +They sailed to the Western Sea, they did,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To a land all covered with trees;</span><br /> +And they bought an owl and a useful cart,<br /> +And a pound of rice, and a cranberry-tart,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And a hive of silvery bees;</span><br /> +And they bought a pig, and some green jackdaws,<br /> +And a lovely monkey with lollipop paws,<br /> +And forty bottles of ring-bo-ree,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And no end of Stilton cheese.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Far and few, far and few,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Are the lands where the Jumblies live;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Their heads are green, and their hands are blue;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And they went to sea in a sieve.</span><br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>VI</p> +<p> +And in twenty years they all came back,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In twenty years or more;</span><br /> +And every one said, "How tall they've grown!<br /> +For they've been to the Lakes, and the Torrible Zone,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the hills of the Chankly Bore."</span><br /> +And they drank their health, and gave them a feast—<br /> +Of dumplings made of beautiful yeast;<br /> +And every one said, "If we only live,<br /> +We, too, will go to sea in a sieve,<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_865" id="Page_865">[Pg 865]</a></span> + +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the hills of the Chankly Bore."</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Far and few, far and few,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Are the lands where the Jumblies live;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Their heads are green, and their hands are blue;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And they went to sea in a sieve.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Edward Lear.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE POBBLE WHO HAS NO TOES</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +The Pobble who has no toes<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Had once as many as we;</span><br /> +When they said, "Some day you may lose them all,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He replied, "Fish fiddle de-dee!"</span><br /> +And his Aunt Jobiska made him drink<br /> +Lavender water tinged with pink;<br /> +For she said, "The World in general knows<br /> +There's nothing so good for a Pobble's toes!"<br /> +<br /> +The Pobble who has no toes<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Swam across the Bristol Channel;</span><br /> +But before he set out he wrapped his nose<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In a piece of scarlet flannel.</span><br /> +For his Aunt Jobiska said, "No harm<br /> +Can came to his toes if his nose is warm;<br /> +And it's perfectly known that a Pobble's toes<br /> +Are safe—provided he minds his nose."<br /> +<br /> +The Pobble swam fast and well,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And when boats or ships came near him,</span><br /> +He tinkledy-binkledy-winkled a bell<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So that all the world could hear him.</span><br /> +And all the Sailors and Admirals cried,<br /> +When they saw him nearing the farther side,<br /> +"He has gone to fish for his Aunt Jobiska's<br /> +Runcible Cat with crimson whiskers!"<br /> +<br /> +But before he touched the shore—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The shore of the Bristol Channel,</span><br /> +A sea-green Porpoise carried away<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His wrapper of scarlet flannel.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_866" id="Page_866">[Pg 866]</a></span> + +And when he came to observe his feet,<br /> +Formerly garnished with toes so neat,<br /> +His face at once became forlorn<br /> +On perceiving that all his toes were gone!<br /> +<br /> +And nobody ever knew,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From that dark day to the present,</span><br /> +Whoso had taken the Pobble's toes,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In a manner so far from pleasant.</span><br /> +Whether the shrimps or crawfish gray,<br /> +Or crafty mermaids stole them away,<br /> +Nobody knew; and nobody knows<br /> +How the Pobble was robbed of his twice five toes!<br /> +<br /> +The Pobble who has no toes<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was placed in a friendly Bark,</span><br /> +And they rowed him back and carried him up<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To his Aunt Jobiska's Park.</span><br /> +And she made him a feast at his earnest wish,<br /> +Of eggs and buttercups fried with fish;<br /> +And she said, "It's a fact the whole world knows,<br /> +That Pobbles are happier without their toes."<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Edward Lear.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE NEW VESTMENTS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +There lived an old man in the kingdom of Tess,<br /> +Who invented a purely original dress;<br /> +And when it was perfectly made and complete,<br /> +He opened the door and walked into the street.<br /> +<br /> +By way of a hat he'd a loaf of Brown Bread,<br /> +In the middle of which he inserted his head;<br /> +His Shirt was made up of no end of dead Mice,<br /> +The warmth of whose skins was quite fluffy and nice;<br /> +His Drawers were of Rabbit-skins, so were his Shoes,<br /> +His Stockings were skins, but it is not known whose;<br /> +His Waistcoat and Trowsers were made of Pork Chops;<br /> +His Buttons were Jujubes and Chocolate Drops.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_867" id="Page_867">[Pg 867]</a></span> + +<br /> +His Coat was all Pancakes with Jam for a border,<br /> +And a girdle of Biscuits to keep it in order.<br /> +And he wore over all, as a screen from bad weather,<br /> +A Cloak of green Cabbage leaves, stitched all together.<br /> +<br /> +He had walked a short way, when he heard a great noise<br /> +Of all sorts of Beasticles, Birdlings and Boys;<br /> +And from every long street and dark lane in the town<br /> +Beasts, Birdies and Boys in a tumult rushed down.<br /> +Two Cows and a Calf ate his Cabbage leaf Cloak;<br /> +Four Apes seized his girdle which vanished like smoke;<br /> +Three Kids ate up half of his Pancaky Coat,<br /> +And the tails were devoured by an ancient He Goat.<br /> +An army of Dogs in a twinkling tore <i>up</i> his<br /> +Pork Waistcoat and Trowsers to give to their Puppies;<br /> +And while they were growling and mumbling the Chops<br /> +Ten Boys prigged the Jujubes and Chocolate Drops.<br /> +He tried to run back to his house, but in vain,<br /> +For scores of fat Pigs came again and again;<br /> +They rushed out of stables and hovels and doors,<br /> +They tore off his Stockings, his Shoes and his Drawers.<br /> +And now from the housetops with screechings descend<br /> +Striped, spotted, white, black and grey Cats without end;<br /> +They jumped on his shoulders and knocked off his hat,<br /> +When Crows, Ducks and Hens made a mincemeat of that.<br /> +They speedily flew at his sleeves in a trice<br /> +And utterly tore up his Shirt of dead Mice;<br /> +They swallowed the last of his Shirt with a squall,—<br /> +Whereon he ran home with no clothes on at all.<br /> +And he said to himself as he bolted the door,<br /> +"I will not wear a similar dress any more,<br /> +Any more, any more, any more, nevermore!"<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Edward Lear.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_868" id="Page_868">[Pg 868]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE TWO OLD BACHELORS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p class='poem'>Two old Bachelors were living in one house;</p> +<p class='poem'>One caught a Muffin, the other caught a Mouse.</p> +<p class='poem'>Said he who caught the Muffin to him who caught the Mouse,</p> +<p class='poem'>"This happens just in time, for we've nothing in the house,</p> +<p class='poem'>Save a tiny slice of lemon and a teaspoonful of honey,</p> +<p class='poem'>And what to do for dinner,—since we haven't any money?</p> +<p class='poem'>And what can we expect if we haven't any dinner</p> +<p class='poem'>But to lose our teeth and eyelashes and keep on growing thinner?"</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>Said he who caught the Mouse to him who caught the Muffin,</p> +<p class='poem'>"We might cook this little Mouse if we only had some Stuffin'!</p> +<p class='poem'>If we had but Sage and Onions we could do extremely well,</p> +<p class='poem'>But how to get that Stuffin' it is difficult to tell!"</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>And then those two old Bachelors ran quickly to the town</p> +<p class='poem'>And asked for Sage and Onions as they wandered up and down;</p> +<p class='poem'>They borrowed two large Onions, but no Sage was to be found</p> +<p class='poem'>In the Shops or in the Market or in all the Gardens round.</p> +<p class='poem'></p> +<p class='poem'>But some one said, "A hill there is, a little to the north,</p> +<p class='poem'>And to its purpledicular top a narrow way leads forth;</p> +<p class='poem'>And there among the rugged rocks abides an ancient Sage,—</p> +<p class='poem'>An earnest Man, who reads all day a most perplexing page.</p> +<p class='poem'>Climb up and seize him by the toes,—all studious as he sits,—</p> +<p class='poem'>And pull him down, and chop him into endless little bits!</p> +<p class='poem'>Then mix him with your Onion (cut up likewise into scraps),</p> +<p class='poem'>And your Stuffin' will be ready, and very good—perhaps."</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>And then those two old Bachelors, without loss of time,</p> +<p class='poem'>The nearly purpledicular crags at once began to climb;</p> +<p class='poem'>And at the top among the rocks, all seated in a nook,</p> +<p class='poem'>They saw that Sage a-reading of a most enormous book.</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_869" id="Page_869">[Pg 869]</a></span> + +<p class='poem'>"You earnest Sage!" aloud they cried, "your book you've read enough in!</p> +<p class='poem'>We wish to chop you into bits and mix you into Stuffin'!"</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>But that old Sage looked calmly up, and with his awful book</p> +<p class='poem'>At those two Bachelors' bald heads a certain aim he took;</p> +<p class='poem'>And over crag and precipice they rolled promiscuous down,—</p> +<p class='poem'>At once they rolled, and never stopped in lane or field or town;</p> +<p class='poem'>And when they reached their house, they found (besides their want of Stuffin')</p> +<p class='poem'>The Mouse had fled—and previously had eaten up the Muffin.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>They left their home in silence by the once convivial door;</p> +<p class='poem'>And from that hour those Bachelors were never heard of more.</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Edward Lear.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>JABBERWOCKY</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;</span><br /> +All mimsy were the borogoves,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the mome raths outgrabe.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!</span><br /> +Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The frumious Bandersnatch!"</span><br /> +<br /> +He took his vorpal sword in hand:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Long time the manxome foe he sought.</span><br /> +So rested he by the Tumtum tree,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And stood awhile in thought.</span><br /> +<br /> +And as in uffish thought he stood,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Jabberwock with eyes of flame,</span><br /> +Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And burbled as it came!</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_870" id="Page_870">[Pg 870]</a></span> + +<br /> +One, two! One, two! And through, and through<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!</span><br /> +He left it dead, and with its head<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He went galumphing back.</span><br /> +<br /> +"And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come to my arms, my beamish boy!</span><br /> +Oh, frabjous day! Callooh! callay!"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He chortled in his joy.</span><br /> +<br /> +'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;</span><br /> +All mimsy were the borogoves<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the mome raths outgrabe.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Lewis Carroll.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>WAYS AND MEANS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I'll tell thee everything I can;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There's little to relate.</span><br /> +I saw an aged aged man,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A-sitting on a gate.</span><br /> +"Who are you, aged man?" I said,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"And how is it you live?"</span><br /> +His answer trickled through my head<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like water through a sieve.</span><br /> +<br /> +He said, "I look for butterflies<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That sleep among the wheat:</span><br /> +I make them into mutton-pies,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And sell them in the street.</span><br /> +I sell them unto men," he said,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Who sail on stormy seas;</span><br /> +And that's the way I get my bread—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A trifle, if you please."</span><br /> +<br /> +But I was thinking of a plan<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To dye one's whiskers green,</span><br /> +And always use so large a fan<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That they could not be seen.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_871" id="Page_871">[Pg 871]</a></span> + +So, having no reply to give<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To what the old man said,</span><br /> +I cried, "Come, tell me how you live!"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And thumped him on the head.</span><br /> +<br /> +His accents mild took up the tale;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He said, "I go my ways</span><br /> +And when I find a mountain-rill<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I set it in a blaze;</span><br /> +And thence they make a stuff they call<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rowland's Macassar Oil—</span><br /> +Yet twopence-halfpenny is all<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They give me for my toil."</span><br /> +<br /> +But I was thinking of a way<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To feed oneself on batter,</span><br /> +And so go on from day to day<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Getting a little fatter.</span><br /> +I shook him well from side to side,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Until his face was blue;</span><br /> +"Come, tell me how you live," I cried,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"And what it is you do!"</span><br /> +<br /> +He said, "I hunt for haddock's eyes<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Among the heather bright,</span><br /> +And work them into waistcoat-buttons<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the silent night.</span><br /> +And these I do not sell for gold<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or coin of silvery shine,</span><br /> +But for a copper halfpenny<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And that will purchase nine.</span><br /> +<br /> +"I sometimes dig for buttered rolls,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or set limed twigs for crabs;</span><br /> +I sometimes search the grassy knolls<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For wheels of Hansom cabs.</span><br /> +And that's the way" (he gave a wink)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"By which I get my wealth—</span><br /> +And very gladly will I drink<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Your Honor's noble health."</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_872" id="Page_872">[Pg 872]</a></span> + +<br /> +I heard him then, for I had just<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Completed my design</span><br /> +To keep the Menai Bridge from rust<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By boiling it in wine.</span><br /> +I thanked him much for telling me<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The way he got his wealth,</span><br /> +But chiefly for his wish that he<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Might drink my noble health.</span><br /> +<br /> +And now if e'er by chance I put<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My fingers into glue,</span><br /> +Or madly squeeze a right-hand foot<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Into a left-hand shoe,</span><br /> +Or if I drop upon my toe<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A very heavy weight,</span><br /> +I weep, for it reminds me so<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of that old man I used to know—</span><br /> +Whose look was mild, whose speech was slow,<br /> +Whose hair was whiter than the snow,<br /> +Whose face was very like a crow,<br /> +With eyes, like cinders, all aglow,<br /> +Who seemed distracted with his woe,<br /> +Who rocked his body to and fro,<br /> +And muttered mumblingly, and low,<br /> +As if his mouth were full of dough,<br /> +Who snorted like a buffalo—<br /> +That summer evening, long ago,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A-sitting on a gate.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Lewis Carroll.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>HUMPTY DUMPTY'S RECITATION</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +"In winter, when the fields are white,<br /> +I sing this song for your delight——<br /> +<br /> +"In spring, when woods are getting green,<br /> +I'll try and tell you what I mean:"<br /> +<br /> +"In summer, when the days are long,<br /> +Perhaps you'll understand the song:<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_873" id="Page_873">[Pg 873]</a></span> + +<br /> +In autumn, when the leaves are brown,<br /> +Take pen and ink, and write it down."<br /> +<br /> +"I sent a message to the fish:<br /> +I told them 'This is what I wish.'<br /> +<br /> +The little fishes of the sea,<br /> +They sent an answer back to me.<br /> +<br /> +The little fishes' answer was,<br /> +'We cannot do it, Sir, because——'"<br /> +<br /> +"I sent to them again to say<br /> +'It will be better to obey.'<br /> +<br /> +The fishes answered, with a grin,<br /> +'Why, what a temper you are in!'<br /> +<br /> +I told them once, I told them twice:<br /> +They would not listen to advice.<br /> +<br /> +I took a kettle large and new,<br /> +Fit for the deed I had to do.<br /> +<br /> +My heart went hop, my heart went thump:<br /> +I filled the kettle at the pump.<br /> +<br /> +Then some one came to me and said,<br /> +'The little fishes are in bed.'<br /> +<br /> +I said to him, I said it plain,<br /> +'Then you must wake them up again.'<br /> +<br /> +I said it very loud and clear:<br /> +I went and shouted in his ear.<br /> +<br /> +But he was very stiff and proud:<br /> +He said, 'You needn't shout so loud!'<br /> +<br /> +And he was very proud and stiff:<br /> +He said, 'I'd go and wake them, if——'<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_874" id="Page_874">[Pg 874]</a></span> + +<br /> +I took a corkscrew from the shelf:<br /> +I went to wake them up myself.<br /> +<br /> +And when I found the door was locked,<br /> +I pulled and pushed and kicked and knocked.<br /> +<br /> +And when I found the door was shut,<br /> +I tried to turn the handle, but——"<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Lewis Carroll.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>SOME HALLUCINATIONS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +He thought he saw an Elephant,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That practised on a fife:</span><br /> +He looked again, and found it was<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A letter from his wife.</span><br /> +"At length I realise," he said,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"The bitterness of Life!"</span><br /> +<br /> +He thought he saw a Buffalo<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon the chimney-piece:</span><br /> +He looked again, and found it was<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His Sister's Husband's Niece.</span><br /> +"Unless you leave this house," he said,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"I'll send for the Police!"</span><br /> +<br /> +He thought he saw a Rattlesnake<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That questioned him in Greek:</span><br /> +He looked again, and found it was<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Middle of Next Week.</span><br /> +"The one thing I regret," he said,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Is that it cannot speak!"</span><br /> +<br /> +He thought he saw a Banker's Clerk<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Descending from the 'bus:</span><br /> +He looked again, and found it was<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Hippopotamus:</span><br /> +"If this should stay to dine," he said,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"There won't be much for us!"</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_875" id="Page_875">[Pg 875]</a></span> + +<br /> +He thought he saw an Albatross<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That fluttered round the lamp:</span><br /> +He looked again, and found it was<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Penny-Postage-Stamp.</span><br /> +"You'd best be getting home," he said;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"The nights are very damp!"</span><br /> +<br /> +He thought he saw a Coach-and-Four<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That stood beside his bed:</span><br /> +He looked again, and found it was<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Bear without a Head.</span><br /> +"Poor thing," he said, "poor silly thing!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It's waiting to be fed!"</span><br /> +<br /> +He thought he saw a Kangaroo<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That worked a coffee-mill:</span><br /> +He looked again, and found it was<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Vegetable-Pill.</span><br /> +"Were I to swallow this," he said,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"I should be very ill!"</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Lewis Carroll.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>SING FOR THE GARISH EYE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Sing for the garish eye,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When moonless brandlings cling!</span><br /> +Let the froddering crooner cry,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the braddled sapster sing.</span><br /> +For never, and never again,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Will the tottering beechlings play,</span><br /> +For bratticed wrackers are singing aloud,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the throngers croon in May!</span><br /> +<br /> +The wracking globe unstrung,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Unstrung in the frittering light</span><br /> +Of a moon that knows no day,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of a day that knows no night!</span><br /> +Diving away in the crowd<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of sparkling frets in spray,</span><br /> +The bratticed wrackers are singing aloud,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the throngers croon in May!</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_876" id="Page_876">[Pg 876]</a></span> + +<br /> +Hasten, O hapful blue,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Blue, of the shimmering brow,</span><br /> +Hasten the deed to do<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That shall roddle the welkin now!</span><br /> +For never again shall a cloud<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Out-thribble the babbling day,</span><br /> +When bratticed wrackers are singing aloud,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the throngers croon in May!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>W. S. Gilbert.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE SHIPWRECK</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Upon the poop the captain stands,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As starboard as may be;</span><br /> +And pipes on deck the topsail hands<br /> +To reef the topsail-gallant strands<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Across the briny sea.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Ho! splice the anchor under-weigh!"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The captain loudly cried;</span><br /> +"Ho! lubbers brave, belay! belay!<br /> +For we must luff for Falmouth Bay<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Before to-morrow's tide."</span><br /> +<br /> +The good ship was a racing yawl,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A spare-rigged schooner sloop,</span><br /> +Athwart the bows the taffrails all<br /> +In grummets gay appeared to fall,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To deck the mainsail poop.</span><br /> +<br /> +But ere they made the Foreland Light,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Deal was left behind,</span><br /> +The wind it blew great gales that night,<br /> +And blew the doughty captain tight,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Full three sheets in the wind.</span><br /> +<br /> +And right across the tiller head<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The horse it ran apace,</span><br /> +Whereon a traveller hitched and sped<br /> +Along the jib and vanished<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To heave the trysail brace.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_877" id="Page_877">[Pg 877]</a></span> + +<br /> +What ship could live in such a sea?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What vessel bear the shock?</span><br /> +"Ho! starboard port your helm-a-lee!<br /> +Ho! reef the maintop-gallant-tree,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With many a running block!"</span><br /> +<br /> +And right upon the Scilly Isles<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The ship had run aground;</span><br /> +When lo! the stalwart Captain Giles<br /> +Mounts up upon the gaff and smiles,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And slews the compass round.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Saved! saved!" with joy the sailors cry,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And scandalize the skiff;</span><br /> +As taut and hoisted high and dry<br /> +They see the ship unstoppered lie<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon the sea-girt cliff.</span><br /> +<br /> +And since that day in Falmouth Bay,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As herring-fishers trawl,</span><br /> +The younkers hear the boatswains say<br /> +How Captain Giles that awful day<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Preserved the sinking yawl.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>E. H. Palmer.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>UFFIA</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +When sporgles spanned the floreate mead<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And cogwogs gleet upon the lea,</span><br /> +Uffia gopped to meet her love<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who smeeged upon the equat sea.</span><br /> +<br /> +Dately she walked aglost the sand;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The boreal wind seet in her face;</span><br /> +The moggling waves yalped at her feet;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pangwangling was her pace.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Harriet R. White.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_878" id="Page_878">[Pg 878]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>'TIS SWEET TO ROAM</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +'Tis sweet to roam when morning's light<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Resounds across the deep;</span><br /> +And the crystal song of the woodbine bright<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hushes the rocks to sleep,</span><br /> +And the blood-red moon in the blaze of noon<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is bathed in a crumbling dew,</span><br /> +And the wolf rings out with a glittering shout,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To-whit, to-whit, to-whoo!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THREE JOVIAL HUNTSMEN</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +There were three jovial huntsmen,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As I have heard them say,</span><br /> +And they would go a-hunting<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All on a summer's day.</span><br /> +<br /> +All the day they hunted,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And nothing could they find</span><br /> +But a ship a-sailing,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A-sailing with the wind.</span><br /> +<br /> +One said it was a ship,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The other said Nay;</span><br /> +The third said it was a house<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With the chimney blown away.</span><br /> +<br /> +And all the night they hunted,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And nothing could they find;</span><br /> +But the moon a-gliding,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A-gliding with the wind.</span><br /> +<br /> +One said it was the moon,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The other said Nay;</span><br /> +The third said it was a cheese,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And half o't cut away.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_879" id="Page_879">[Pg 879]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>KING ARTHUR</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +When good King Arthur ruled the land,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He was a goodly king:</span><br /> +He stole three pecks of barley meal,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To make a bag-pudding.</span><br /> +<br /> +A bag-pudding the king did make,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And stuffed it well with plums;</span><br /> +And in it put great lumps of fat,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As big as my two thumbs.</span><br /> +<br /> +The king and queen did eat thereof,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And noblemen beside;</span><br /> +And what they could not eat that night,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The queen next morning fried.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>HYDER IDDLE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Hyder iddle diddle dell,<br /> +A yard of pudding is not an ell;<br /> +Not forgetting tweedle-dye,<br /> +A tailor's goose will never fly.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE OCEAN WANDERER</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Bright breaks the warrior o'er the ocean wave<br /> +Through realms that rove not, clouds that cannot save,<br /> +Sinks in the sunshine; dazzles o'er the tomb<br /> +And mocks the mutiny of Memory's gloom.<br /> +Oh! who can feel the crimson ecstasy<br /> +That soothes with bickering jar the Glorious Tree?<br /> +O'er the high rock the foam of gladness throws,<br /> +While star-beams lull Vesuvius to repose:<br /> +Girds the white spray, and in the blue lagoon,<br /> +Weeps like a walrus o'er the waning moon?<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_880" id="Page_880">[Pg 880]</a></span> + +Who can declare?—not thou, pervading boy<br /> +Whom pibrochs pierce not, crystals cannot cloy;—<br /> +Not thou soft Architect of silvery gleams,<br /> +Whose soul would simmer in Hesperian streams,<br /> +Th' exhaustless fire—the bosom's azure bliss,<br /> +That hurtles, life-like, o'er a scene like this;—<br /> +Defies the distant agony of Day—<br /> +And sweeps o'er hecatombs—away! away!<br /> +Say shall Destruction's lava load the gale,<br /> +The furnace quiver and the mountain quail?<br /> +Say shall the son of Sympathy pretend<br /> +His cedar fragrance with our Chief's to blend?<br /> +There, where the gnarled monuments of sand<br /> +Howl their dark whirlwinds to the levin brand;<br /> +Conclusive tenderness; fraternal grog,<br /> +Tidy conjunction; adamantine bog,<br /> +Impetuous arrant toadstool; Thundering quince,<br /> +Repentant dog-star, inessential Prince,<br /> +Expound. Pre-Adamite eventful gun,<br /> +Crush retribution, currant-jelly, pun,<br /> +Oh! eligible Darkness, fender, sting,<br /> +Heav'n-born Insanity, courageous thing.<br /> +Intending, bending, scouring, piercing all,<br /> +Death like pomatum, tea, and crabs must fall.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>SCIENTIFIC PROOF</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +If we square a lump of pemmican<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And cube a pot of tea,</span><br /> +Divide a musk ox by the span<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From noon to half-past three;</span><br /> +If we calculate the Eskimo<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By solar parallax,</span><br /> +Divide the sextant by a floe<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And multiply the cracks</span><br /> +By nth-powered igloos, we may prove<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All correlated facts.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_881" id="Page_881">[Pg 881]</a></span> + +<br /> +If we prolongate the parallel<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Indefinitely forth,</span><br /> +And cube a sledge till we can tell<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The real square root of North;</span><br /> +Bisect a seal and bifurcate<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The tangent with a pack</span><br /> +Of Polar ice, we get the rate<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Along the Polar track,</span><br /> +And proof of corollary things<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which otherwise we lack.</span><br /> +<br /> +If we multiply the Arctic night<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By X times ox times moose,</span><br /> +And build an igloo on the site<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of its hypotenuse;</span><br /> +If we circumscribe an arc about<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An Arctic dog and weigh</span><br /> +A segment of it, every doubt<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is made as clear as day.</span><br /> +We also get the price of ice<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">F. O. B. Baffin's Bay.</span><br /> +<br /> +If we amplify the Arctic breeze<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By logarithmic signs,</span><br /> +And run through the isosceles<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Imaginary lines,</span><br /> +We find that twice the half of one<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is equal to the whole.</span><br /> +Which, when the calculus is done,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Quite demonstrates the Pole.</span><br /> +It also gives its length and breadth<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And what's the price of coal.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And what's the price of coal.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>J. W. Foley.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_882" id="Page_882">[Pg 882]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE THINGUMBOB</h3> + +<h4>A PASTEL</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +The Thingumbob sat at eventide,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On the shore of a shoreless sea,</span><br /> +Expecting an unexpected attack<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From something it could not foresee.</span><br /> +<br /> +A still calm rests on the angry waves,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The low wind whistles a mournful tune,</span><br /> +And the Thingumbob sighs to himself, "Alas,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I've had no supper now since noon."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>WONDERS OF NATURE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Ah! who has seen the mailèd lobster rise,<br /> +Clap her broad wings, and, soaring, claim the skies?<br /> +When did the owl, descending from her bower,<br /> +Crop, 'midst the fleecy flocks, the tender flower;<br /> +Or the young heifer plunge, with pliant limb,<br /> +In the salt wave, and, fish-like, try to swim?<br /> +The same with plants, potatoes 'tatoes breed,<br /> +The costly cabbage springs from cabbage-seed;<br /> +Lettuce to lettuce, leeks to leeks succeed;<br /> +Nor e'er did cooling cucumbers presume<br /> +To flower like myrtle, or like violets bloom.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>The Anti-Jacobin.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>LINES BY AN OLD FOGY</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I'm thankful that the sun and moon<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are both hung up so high,</span><br /> +That no presumptuous hand can stretch<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And pull them from the sky.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_883" id="Page_883">[Pg 883]</a></span> + +<br /> +If they were not, I have no doubt<br /> +But some reforming ass<br /> +Would recommend to take them down<br /> +And light the world with gas.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A COUNTRY SUMMER PASTORAL</h3> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>As written by a learned scholar of the city from knowledge +derived from etymological deductions rather than from +actual experience.</p></div> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> + +<p> +I would flee from the city's rule and law,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From its fashion and form cut loose,</span><br /> +And go where the strawberry grows on its straw,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the gooseberry on its goose;</span><br /> +Where the catnip tree is climbed by the cat<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As she crouches for her prey—</span><br /> +The guileless and unsuspecting rat<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On the rattan bush at play.</span><br /> +<br /> +I will watch at ease for the saffron cow<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the cowlet in their glee,</span><br /> +As they leap in joy from bough to bough<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On the top of the cowslip tree;</span><br /> +Where the musical partridge drums on his drum,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the dog devours the dogwood plum</span><br /> +And the wood chuck chucks his wood,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the primitive solitude.</span><br /> +<br /> +And then to the whitewashed dairy I'll turn,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where the dairymaid hastening hies,</span><br /> +Her ruddy and golden-haired butter to churn<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From the milk of her butterflies;</span><br /> +And I'll rise at morn with the early bird,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the fragrant farm-yard pass,</span><br /> +When the farmer turns his beautiful herd<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of grasshoppers out to grass.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_884" id="Page_884">[Pg 884]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>TURVEY TOP</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +'Twas after a supper of Norfolk brawn<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That into a doze I chanced to drop,</span><br /> +And thence awoke in the grey of dawn,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the wonder-land of Turvey Top.</span><br /> +<br /> +A land so strange I never had seen,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And could not choose but look and laugh—</span><br /> +A land where the small the great includes,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the whole is less than the half!</span><br /> +<br /> +A land where the circles were not lines<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Round central points, as schoolmen show,</span><br /> +And the parallels met whenever they chose,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And went playing at touch-and-go!</span><br /> +<br /> +There—except that every round was square,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And save that all the squares were rounds—</span><br /> +No surface had limits anywhere,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So they never could beat the bounds.</span><br /> +<br /> +In their gardens, fruit before blossom came,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the trees diminished as they grew;</span><br /> +And you never went out to walk a mile,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It was the mile that walked to you.</span><br /> +<br /> +The people there are not tall or short,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Heavy or light, or stout or thin,</span><br /> +And their lives begin where they should leave off,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or leave off where they should begin.</span><br /> +<br /> +There childhood, with naught of childish glee,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Looks on the world with thoughtful brow;</span><br /> +'Tis only the aged who laugh and crow,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And cry "We have done with it now!";</span><br /> +<br /> +A singular race! what lives they spent!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Got up before they went to bed!</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_885" id="Page_885">[Pg 885]</a></span> + +And never a man said what he meant,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or a woman meant what she said.</span><br /> +<br /> +They blended colours that will not blend,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All hideous contrasts voted sweet;</span><br /> +In yellow and red their Quakers dress'd,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And considered it rather neat.</span><br /> +<br /> +They didn't believe in the wise and good,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Said the best were worst, the wisest fools;</span><br /> +And 'twas only to have their teachers taught<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That they founded national schools.</span><br /> +<br /> +They read in "books that are no books,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their classics—chess-boards neatly bound;</span><br /> +Those their greatest authors who never wrote,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And their deepest the least profound.</span><br /> +<br /> +Now, such were the folks of that wonder-land,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A curious people, as you will own;</span><br /> +But are there none of the race abroad,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are no specimens elsewhere known?</span><br /> +<br /> +Well, I think that he whose views of life<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are crooked, wrong, perverse, and odd,</span><br /> +Who looks upon all with jaundiced eyes—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sees himself and believes it God,</span><br /> +<br /> +Who sneers at the good, and makes the ill,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Curses a world he cannot mend;</span><br /> +Who measures life by the rule of wrong<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And abuses its aim and end,</span><br /> +<br /> +The man who stays when he ought to move,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And only goes when he ought to stop—</span><br /> +Is strangely like the folk in my dream,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And would flourish in Turvey Top.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>William Sawyer.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_886" id="Page_886">[Pg 886]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A BALLAD OF BEDLAM</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +O lady wake!—the azure moon<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is rippling in the verdant skies,</span><br /> +The owl is warbling his soft tune,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Awaiting but thy snowy eyes.</span><br /> +The joys of future years are past,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To-morrow's hopes have fled away;</span><br /> +Still let us love, and e'en at last,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We shall be happy yesterday.</span><br /> +<br /> +The early beam of rosy night<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Drives off the ebon morn afar,</span><br /> +While through the murmur of the light<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The huntsman winds his mad guitar.</span><br /> +Then, lady, wake! my brigantine<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pants, neighs, and prances to be free;</span><br /> +Till the creation I am thine.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To some rich desert fly with me.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_887" id="Page_887">[Pg 887]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XIV" id="XIV"></a>XIV</h2> + +<h2>NATURAL HISTORY</h2> +<p><br /></p> + +<h3>THE FASTIDIOUS SERPENT</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +There was a snake that dwelt in Skye,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Over the misty sea, oh;</span><br /> +He lived upon nothing but gooseberry pie<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For breakfast, dinner and tea, oh.</span><br /> +<br /> +Now gooseberry pie—as is very well known,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Over the misty sea, oh,</span><br /> +Is not to be found under every stone,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor yet upon every tree, oh.</span><br /> +<br /> +And being so ill to please with his meat,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Over the misty sea, oh;</span><br /> +The snake had sometimes nothing to eat,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And an angry snake was he, oh.</span><br /> +<br /> +Then he'd flick his tongue and his head he'd shake,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Over the misty sea, oh,</span><br /> +Crying, "Gooseberry pie! For goodness' sake,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Some gooseberry pie for me, oh."</span><br /> +<br /> +And if gooseberry pie was not to be had,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Over the misty sea, oh,</span><br /> +He'd twine and twist like an eel gone mad,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or a worm just stung by a bee, oh.</span><br /> +<br /> +But though he might shout and wriggle about,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Over the misty sea, oh,</span><br /> +The snake had often to go without<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His breakfast, dinner and tea, oh.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Henry Johnstone.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_888" id="Page_888">[Pg 888]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE LEGEND OF THE FIRST CAM-U-EL</h3> + +<h4>AN ARABIAN APOLOGUE</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">Across the sands of Syria,</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">Or, possibly, Algeria,</span></p> +<p class='poem'>Or some benighted neighbourhood of barrenness and drouth,</p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">There came the Prophet Sam-u-el</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">Upon the Only Cam-u-el—</span></p> +<p class='poem'>A bumpy, grumpy Quadruped of discontented mouth.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">The atmosphere was glutinous;</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">The Cam-u-el was mutinous;</span></p> +<p class='poem'>He dumped the pack from off his back; with horrid grunts and squeals</p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">He made the desert hideous;</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">With strategy perfidious</span></p> +<p class='poem'>He tied his neck in curlicues, he kicked his paddy heels.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">Then quoth the gentle Sam-u-el,</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">"You rogue, I ought to lam you well!</span></p> +<p class='poem'>Though zealously I've shielded you from every grief and woe,</p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">It seems, to voice a platitude,</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">You haven't any gratitude.</span></p> +<p class='poem'>I'd like to hear what cause you have for doing thus and so!"</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">To him replied the Cam-u-el,</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">"I beg your pardon, Sam-u-el.</span></p> +<p class='poem'>I know that I'm a Reprobate, I know that I'm a Freak;</p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">But, oh! this utter loneliness!</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">My too-distinguished Onliness!</span></p> +<p class='poem'>Were there but other Cam-u-els I wouldn't be Unique."</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">The Prophet beamed beguilingly.</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">"Aha," he answered, smilingly,</span></p> +<p class='poem'>"You feel the need of company? I clearly understand.</p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">We'll speedily create for you</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">The corresponding mate for you—</span></p> +<p class='poem'>Ho! presto, change-o, dinglebat!"—he waved a potent hand,</p> +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_889" id="Page_889">[Pg 889]</a></span> + +</p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">And, lo! from out Vacuity</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">A second Incongruity,</span></p> +<p class='poem'>To wit, a Lady Cam-u-el was born through magic art.</p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">Her structure anatomical,</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">Her form and face were comical;</span></p> +<p class='poem'>She was, in short, a Cam-u-el, the other's counterpart.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">As Spaniards gaze on Aragon,</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">Upon that Female Paragon</span></p> +<p class='poem'>So gazed the Prophet's Cam-u-el, that primal Desert Ship.</p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">A connoisseur meticulous,</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">He found her that ridiculous</span></p> +<p class='poem'>He grinned from ear to auricle <i>until he split his lip</i>!</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">Because of his temerity</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">That Cam-u-el's posterity</span></p> +<p class='poem'>Must wear divided upper lips through all their solemn lives!</p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">A prodigy astonishing</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">Reproachfully admonishing</span></p> +<p class='poem'>Those, wicked, heartless married men who ridicule their wives.</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Arthur Guiterman.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>UNSATISFIED YEARNING</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Down in the silent hallway<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Scampers the dog about,</span><br /> +And whines, and barks, and scratches,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In order to get out.</span><br /> +<br /> +Once in the glittering starlight,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He straightway doth begin</span><br /> +To set up a doleful howling<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In order to get in.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>R. K. Munkittrick.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_890" id="Page_890">[Pg 890]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>KINDLY ADVICE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Be kind to the panther! for when thou wert young,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In thy country far over the sea,</span><br /> +'Twas a panther ate up thy papa and mama,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And had several mouthfuls of thee!</span><br /> +<br /> +Be kind to the badger! for who shall decide<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The depth of his badgery soul?</span><br /> +And think of the tapir, when flashes the lamp<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O'er the fast and the free flowing bowl.</span><br /> +<br /> +Be kind to the camel! nor let word of thine<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ever put up his bactrian back;</span><br /> +And cherish the she-kangaroo with her bag,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor venture to give her the sack.</span><br /> +<br /> +Be kind to the ostrich! for how canst thou hope<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To have such a stomach as it?</span><br /> +And when the proud day of your "bridal" shall come,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Do give the poor birdie a "bit."</span><br /> +<br /> +Be kind to the walrus! nor ever forget<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To have it on Tuesday to tea;</span><br /> +But butter the crumpets on only one side,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Save such as are eaten by thee.</span><br /> +<br /> +Be kind to the bison! and let the jackal<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the light of thy love have a share;</span><br /> +And coax the ichneumon to grow a new tail,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And have lots of larks in its lair!</span><br /> +<br /> +Be kind to the bustard, that genial bird,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And humour its wishes and ways;</span><br /> +And when the poor elephant suffers from bile,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then tenderly lace up his stays!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_891" id="Page_891">[Pg 891]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>KINDNESS TO ANIMALS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p class='poem'>Speak gently to the herring and kindly to the calf,</p> +<p class='poem'>Be blithesome with the bunny, at barnacles don't laugh!</p> +<p class='poem'>Give nuts unto the monkey, and buns unto the bear,</p> +<p class='poem'>Ne'er hint at currant jelly if you chance to see a hare!</p> +<p class='poem'>Oh, little girls, pray hide your combs when tortoises draw nigh,</p> +<p class='poem'>And never in the hearing of a pigeon whisper Pie!</p> +<p class='poem'>But give the stranded jelly-fish a shove into the sea,—</p> +<p class='poem'>Be always kind to animals wherever you may be!</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>Oh, make not game of sparrows, nor faces at the ram,</p> +<p class='poem'>And ne'er allude to mint sauce when calling on a lamb.</p> +<p class='poem'>Don't beard the thoughtful oyster, don't dare the cod to crimp,</p> +<p class='poem'>Don't cheat the pike, or ever try to pot the playful shrimp.</p> +<p class='poem'>Tread lightly on the turning worm, don't bruise the butterfly,</p> +<p class='poem'>Don't ridicule the wry-neck, nor sneer at salmon-fry;</p> +<p class='poem'>Oh, ne'er delight to make dogs fight, nor bantams disagree,—</p> +<p class='poem'>Be always kind to animals wherever you may be!</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>Be lenient with lobsters, and ever kind to crabs,</p> +<p class='poem'>And be not disrespectful to cuttle-fish or dabs;</p> +<p class='poem'>Chase not the Cochin-China, chaff not the ox obese,</p> +<p class='poem'>And babble not of feather-beds in company with geese.</p> +<p class='poem'>Be tender with the tadpole, and let the limpet thrive,</p> +<p class='poem'>Be merciful to mussels, don't skin your eels alive;</p> +<p class='poem'>When talking to a turtle don't mention calipee—</p> +<p class='poem'>Be always kind to animals wherever you may be.</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>J. Ashby-Sterry.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>TO BE OR NOT TO BE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> + +<p class='h_5'>I</p> +<p> +I sometimes think I'd rather crow<br /> +And be a rooster than to roost<br /> +And be a crow. But I dunno.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_892" id="Page_892">[Pg 892]</a></span> + +</p> +<p class='h_5'>II</p> +<p> +A rooster he can roost also,<br /> +Which don't seem fair when crows can't crow.<br /> +Which may help some. Still I dunno.<br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>III</p> +<p> +Crows should be glad of one thing, though;<br /> +Nobody thinks of eating crow,<br /> +While roosters they are good enough<br /> +For anyone unless they're tough.<br /> +</p> +<p class='h_5'>IV</p> +<p> +There are lots of tough old roosters, though,<br /> +And anyway a crow can't crow,<br /> +So mebby roosters stand more show.<br /> +It looks that way. But I dunno.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE HEN</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Was once a hen of wit not small<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(In fact, 'twas not amazing),</span><br /> +And apt at laying eggs withal,<br /> +Who, when she'd done, would scream and bawl,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As if the house were blazing.</span><br /> +A turkey-cock, of age mature,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Felt thereat indignation;</span><br /> +'Twas quite improper, he was sure—<br /> +He would no more the thing endure;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So, after cogitation,</span><br /> +He to the lady straight repaired,<br /> +And thus his business he declared:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Madam, pray, what's the matter,</span><br /> +That always, when you've laid an egg,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You make so great a clatter?</span><br /> +I wish you'd do the thing in quiet.<br /> +Do be advised by me, and try it."<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_893" id="Page_893">[Pg 893]</a></span> + +"Advised by you!" the lady cried,<br /> +And tossed her head with proper pride;<br /> +"And what do you know, now I pray,<br /> +Of the fashion of the present day,<br /> +You creature ignorant and low?<br /> +However, if you want to know,<br /> +This is the reason why I do it:<br /> +I lay my egg, and then review it!"<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Matthew Claudius.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>OF BAITING THE LION</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Remembering his taste for blood<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You'd better bait him with a cow;</span><br /> +Persuade the brute to chew the cud<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her tail suspended from a bough;</span><br /> +It thrills the lion through and through<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To hear the milky creature moo.</span><br /> +<br /> +Having arranged this simple ruse,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yourself you climb a neighboring tree;</span><br /> +See to it that the spot you choose<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Commands the coming tragedy;</span><br /> +Take up a smallish Maxim gun,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A search-light, whisky, and a bun.</span><br /> +<br /> +It's safer, too, to have your bike<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Standing immediately below,</span><br /> +In case your piece should fail to strike,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or deal an ineffective blow;</span><br /> +The Lion moves with perfect grace,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But cannot go the scorcher's pace.</span><br /> +<br /> +Keep open ear for subtle signs;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thus, when the cow profusely moans,</span><br /> +That means to say, the Lion dines.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The crunching sound, of course, is bones;</span><br /> +Silence resumes her ancient reign—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This shows the cow is out of pain.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_894" id="Page_894">[Pg 894]</a></span> + +<br /> +But when a fat and torpid hum<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Escapes the eater's unctuous nose,</span><br /> +Turn up the light and let it come<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Full on his innocent repose;</span><br /> +Then pour your shot between his eyes,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And go on pouring till he dies.</span><br /> +<br /> +Play, even so, discretion's part;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Descend with stealth; bring on your gun;</span><br /> +Then lay your hand above his heart<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To see if he is really done;</span><br /> +Don't skin him till you know he's dead<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Or you may perish in his stead!</span><br /> +</p> +<hr style="width: 33%; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;" /> +<p> +Years hence, at home, when talk is tall,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You'll set the gun-room wide agape,</span><br /> +Describing how with just a small<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pea-rifle, going after ape</span><br /> +You met a Lion unaware,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And felled him flying through the air.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Owen Seaman.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE FLAMINGO</h3> +<div class='blockquot'>Inspired by reading a chorus of spirits in a German play</div> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> + + +<p class='h_5'>FIRST VOICE</p> +<p class='poem'>Oh! tell me have you ever seen a red, long-leg'd Flamingo?</p> +<p class='poem' style='margin-bottom: 1em;'>Oh! tell me have you ever yet seen him the water in go?</p> + +<p class='h_5'>SECOND VOICE</p> +<p class='poem'>Oh! yes at Bowling-Green I've seen a red long-leg'd Flamingo,</p> +<p class='poem' style='margin-bottom: 1em;'>Oh! yes at Bowling-Green I've there seen him the water in go.</p> + +<p class='h_5'>FIRST VOICE</p> + +<p class='poem'>Oh! tell me did you ever see a bird so funny stand-o</p> +<p class='poem' style='margin-bottom: 1em;'>When forth he from the water comes and gets upon the land-o?</p> +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_895" id="Page_895">[Pg 895]</a></span> + +</p> +<p class='h_5'>SECOND VOICE</p> + +<p class='poem'>No! in my life I ne'er did see a bird so funny stand-o</p> +<p class='poem' style='margin-bottom: 1em;'>When forth he from the water comes and gets upon the land-o.</p> + +<p class='h_5'>FIRST VOICE</p> + +<p class='poem'>He has a leg some three feet long, or near it, so they say, Sir.</p> +<p class='poem' style='margin-bottom: 1em;'>Stiff upon one alone he stands, t'other he stows away, Sir.</p> + +<p class='h_5'>SECOND VOICE</p> + +<p class='poem'>And what an ugly head he's got! I wonder that he'd wear it.</p> +<p class='poem' style='margin-bottom: 1em;'>But rather <i>more</i> I wonder that his long, thin neck can bear it.</p> + +<p class='h_5'>FIRST VOICE</p> + +<p class='poem'>And think, this length of neck and legs (no doubt they have their uses)</p> +<p class='poem' style='margin-bottom: 1em;'>Are members of a little frame, much smaller than a goose's!</p> + +<p class='h_5'>BOTH</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>Oh! isn't he a curious bird, that red, long-leg'd Flamingo?</p> +<p class='poem'>A water bird, a gawky bird, a sing'lar bird, by jingo!</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Lewis Gaylord Clark.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>WHY DOTH A PUSSY CAT?</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Why doth a pussy cat prefer,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When dozing, drowsy, on the sill,</span><br /> +To purr and purr and purr and purr<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Instead of merely keeping still?</span><br /> +With nodding head and folded paws,<br /> +She keeps it up without a cause.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_896" id="Page_896">[Pg 896]</a></span> + +<br /> +Why doth she flaunt her lofty tail<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In such a stiff right-angled pose?</span><br /> +If lax and limp she let it trail<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Twould seem more restful, Goodness knows!</span><br /> +When strolling 'neath the chairs or bed,<br /> +She lets it bump above her head.<br /> +<br /> +Why doth she suddenly refrain<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From anything she's busied in</span><br /> +And start to wash, with might and main,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Most any place upon her skin?</span><br /> +Why doth she pick that special spot,<br /> +Not seeing if it's soiled or not?<br /> +<br /> +Why doth she never seem to care<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To come directly when you call,</span><br /> +But makes approach from here and there,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or sidles half around the wall?</span><br /> +Though doors are opened at her mew,<br /> +You often have to push her through.<br /> +<br /> +Why doth she this? Why doth she that?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I seek for cause—I yearn for clews;</span><br /> +The subject of the pussy cat<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Doth endlessly inspire the mews.</span><br /> +Why doth a pussy cat? Ah, me,<br /> +I haven't got the least idee. '.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Burges Johnson.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE WALRUS AND THE CARPENTER</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +The sun was shining on the sea,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shining with all his might:</span><br /> +He did his very best to make<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The billows smooth and bright—</span><br /> +And this was odd, because it was<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The middle of the night.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_897" id="Page_897">[Pg 897]</a></span> + +<br /> +The moon was shining sulkily,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Because she thought the sun</span><br /> +Had got no business to be there<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">After the day was done—</span><br /> +"It's very rude of him," she said,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"To come and spoil the fun!"</span><br /> +<br /> +The sea was wet as wet could be,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The sands were dry as dry.</span><br /> +You could not see a cloud, because<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No cloud was in the sky:</span><br /> +No birds were flying overhead—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There were no birds to fly.</span><br /> +<br /> +The Walrus and the Carpenter<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Were walking close at hand;</span><br /> +They wept like anything to see<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Such quantities of sand:</span><br /> +"If this were only cleared away,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They said, "it would be grand!"</span><br /> +<br /> +"If seven maids with seven mops<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Swept it for half a year,</span><br /> +Do you suppose," the Walrus said,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"That they could get it clear?"</span><br /> +"I doubt it," said the Carpenter,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And shed a bitter tear.</span><br /> +<br /> +"O Oysters come and walk with us!"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Walrus did beseech.</span><br /> +"A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Along the briny beach:</span><br /> +We cannot do with more than four,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To give a hand to each."</span><br /> +<br /> +The eldest Oyster looked at him,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But not a word he said:</span><br /> +The eldest Oyster winked his eye,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And shook his heavy head—</span><br /> +Meaning to say he did not choose<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To leave the oyster-bed.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_898" id="Page_898">[Pg 898]</a></span> + +<br /> +But four young Oysters hurried up,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All eager for the treat:</span><br /> +Their coats were brushed, their faces washed,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their shoes were clean and neat—</span><br /> +And this was odd, because, you know,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They hadn't any feet.</span><br /> +<br /> +Four other Oysters followed them,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And yet another four;</span><br /> +And thick and fast they came at last,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And more, and more, and more—</span><br /> +All hopping through the frothy waves,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And scrambling to the shore.</span><br /> +<br /> +The Walrus and the Carpenter<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Walked on a mile or so,</span><br /> +And then they rested on a rock,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Conveniently low:</span><br /> +And all the little Oysters stood<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And waited in a row.</span><br /> +<br /> +"The time has come," the Walrus said,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"To talk of many things:</span><br /> +Of shoes—and ships—and sealing-wax—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of cabbages—and kings—</span><br /> +And why the sea is boiling hot—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And whether pigs have wings."</span><br /> +<br /> +"But wait a bit," the Oysters cried,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Before we have our chat;</span><br /> +For some of us are out of breath,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And all of us are fat!"</span><br /> +"No hurry!" said the Carpenter.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They thanked him much for that.</span><br /> +<br /> +"A loaf of bread," the Walrus said,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Is what we chiefly need;</span><br /> +Pepper and vinegar besides<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are very good indeed—</span><br /> +Now, if you're ready, Oysters dear,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We can begin to feed."</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_899" id="Page_899">[Pg 899]</a></span> + +<br /> +"But not on us," the Oysters cried,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Turning a little blue.</span><br /> +"After such kindness that would be<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A dismal thing to do!"</span><br /> +"The night is fine," the Walrus said,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Do you admire the view?"</span><br /> +<br /> +"It was so kind of you to come,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And you are very nice!"</span><br /> +The Carpenter said nothing but,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Cut us another slice.</span><br /> +I wish you were not quite so deaf—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I've had to ask you twice!"</span><br /> +<br /> +"It seems a shame," the Walrus said,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"To play them such a trick.</span><br /> +After we've brought them out so far<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And made them trot so quick!"</span><br /> +The Carpenter said nothing but,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"The butter's spread too thick!"</span><br /> +<br /> +"I weep for you," the Walrus said,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"I deeply sympathize."</span><br /> +With sobs and tears he sorted out<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Those of the largest size,</span><br /> +Holding his pocket-handkerchief<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Before his streaming eyes.</span><br /> +<br /> +"O Oysters," said the Carpenter,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"You've had a pleasant run!</span><br /> +Shall we be trotting home again?"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But answer came there none—</span><br /> +And this was scarcely odd, because<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They'd eaten every one.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Lewis Carroll.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_900" id="Page_900">[Pg 900]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>NIRVANA</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I am<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Clam!</span><br /> +Come learn of me<br /> +Unclouded peace and calm content,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Serene, supreme tranquillity,</span><br /> +Where thoughtless dreams and dreamless thoughts are blent.<br /> +<br /> +When the salt tide is rising to the flood,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In billows blue my placid pulp I lave;</span><br /> +And when it ebbs I slumber in the mud,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Content alike with ooze or crystal wave.</span><br /> +<br /> +I do not shudder when in chowder stewed,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor when the Coney Islander engulfs me raw.</span><br /> +When in the church soup's dreary solitude<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Alone I wander, do I shudder? Naw!</span><br /> +<br /> +If jarring tempests beat upon my bed,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or summer peace there be,</span><br /> +I do not care: as I have said,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All's one to me;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A Clam</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I am.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE CATFISH</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +The saddest fish that swims the briny ocean,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Catfish I bewail.</span><br /> +I cannot even think without emotion<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of his distressful tail.</span><br /> +When with my pencil once I tried to draw one,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(I dare not show it here)</span><br /> +Mayhap it is because I never saw one,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The picture looked so queer.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_901" id="Page_901">[Pg 901]</a></span> + + +I vision him half feline and half fishy,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A paradox in twins,</span><br /> +Unmixable as vitriol and vichy—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A thing of fur and fins.</span><br /> +A feline Tantalus, forever chasing<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His fishy self to rend;</span><br /> +His finny self forever self-effacing<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In circles without end.</span><br /> +This tale may have a Moral running through it<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As Æsop had in his;</span><br /> +If so, dear reader, you are welcome to it,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If you know what it is!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Oliver Herford.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>WAR RELIEF</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +"Can you spare a Threepenny bit,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dear Miss Turkey," said Sir Mouse,</span><br /> +"For Job's Turkey's benefit?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I've engaged the Opera House!"</span><br /> +<br /> +"Alas! I've naught to spare!"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Said Miss Turkey, "save advice,</span><br /> +I am getting up a Fair,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To relieve the Poor Church Mice."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Oliver Herford.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE OWL AND THE PUSSY-CAT</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +The Owl and the Pussy-Cat went to sea<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In a beautiful pea-green boat:</span><br /> +They took some honey, and plenty of money<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wrapped up in a five-pound note.</span><br /> +The Owl looked up to the stars above,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And sang to a small guitar,</span><br /> +"Oh, lovely Pussy, oh, Pussy, my love,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What a beautiful Pussy you are,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">You are,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">You are!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What a beautiful Pussy you are!"</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_902" id="Page_902">[Pg 902]</a></span> + +<br /> +Pussy said to the Owl, "You elegant fowl,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How charmingly sweet you sing!</span><br /> +Oh, let us be married; too long we have tarried:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But what shall we do for a ring?"</span><br /> +They sailed away for a year and a day,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the land where the bong-tree grows;</span><br /> +And there in the wood a Piggy-wig stood,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a ring at the end of his nose,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">His nose,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">His nose,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a ring at the end of his nose.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Your ring?" Said the Piggy, "I will."</span><br /> +So they took it away and were married next day<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By the Turkey who lives on the hill.</span><br /> +They dined on mince and slices of quince,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which they ate with a runcible spoon;</span><br /> +And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They danced by the light of the moon,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">The moon,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">The moon,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They danced by the light of the moon.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Edward Lear.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>MEXICAN SERENADE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +When the little armadillo<br /> +With his head upon his pillow<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Sweetly rests,</span><br /> +And the parrakeet and lindo<br /> +Flitting past my cabin window<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Seek their nests,—</span><br /> +<br /> +When the mists of even settle<br /> +Over Popocatapetl,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Dropping dew,—</span><br /> +Like the condor, over yonder,<br /> +Still I ponder, ever fonder,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Dear, of You!</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_903" id="Page_903">[Pg 903]</a></span> + +<br /> +May no revolution shock you,<br /> +May the earthquake gently rock you<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">To repose,</span><br /> +While the sentimental panthers<br /> +Sniff the pollen-laden anthers<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Of the rose!</span><br /> +<br /> +While the pelican is pining,<br /> +While the moon is softly shining<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">On the stream,</span><br /> +May the song that I am singing<br /> +Send a tender cadence winging<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Through your dream!</span><br /> +<br /> +I have just one wish to utter—<br /> +That you twinkle through your shutter<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Like a star,</span><br /> +While, according to convention,<br /> +I shall cas-u-ally mention<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">My guitar.</span><br /> +<br /> +Señorita Maraquita,<br /> +Muy bonita, pobracita!—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Hear me weep!—</span><br /> +But the night is growing wetter,<br /> +So I guess that you had better<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Go to sleep.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Arthur Guiterman.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>ORPHAN BORN</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I am a lone, unfathered chick,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of artificial hatching,</span><br /> +A pilgrim in a desert wild,<br /> +By happier, mothered chicks reviled,<br /> +From all relationships exiled,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To do my own lone scratching.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_904" id="Page_904">[Pg 904]</a></span> + +<br /> +Fair science smiled upon my birth<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One raw and gusty morning;</span><br /> +But ah, the sounds of barnyard mirth<br /> +To lonely me have little worth;<br /> +Alone am I in all the earth—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An orphan without borning.</span><br /> +<br /> +Seek I my mother? I would find<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A heartless personator;</span><br /> +A thing brass-feathered, man-designed,<br /> +With steam-pipe arteries intermined,<br /> +And pulseless cotton-batting lined—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A patent incubator.</span><br /> +<br /> +It wearies me to think, you see—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Death would be better, rather—</span><br /> +Should downy chicks be hatched of me,<br /> +By fate's most pitiless decree,<br /> +My piping pullets still would be<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With never a grandfather.</span><br /> +<br /> +And when to earth I bid adieu<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To seek a planet greater,</span><br /> +I will not do as others do,<br /> +Who fly to join the ancestral crew,<br /> +For I will just be gathered to<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My incubator.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Robert J. Burdette.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>DIVIDED DESTINIES</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p class='poem'>It was an artless Bandar, and he danced upon a pine,</p> +<p class='poem'>And much I wondered how he lived, and where the beast might dine,</p> +<p class='poem'>And many, many other things, till, o'er my morning smoke,</p> +<p class='poem'>I slept the sleep of idleness and dreamed that Bandar spoke.</p> +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_905" id="Page_905">[Pg 905]</a></span> + +</p> +<p class='poem'>He said: "Oh, man of many clothes! sad crawler on the Hills!</p> +<p class='poem'>Observe, I know not Ranken's shop, nor Ranken's monthly bills!</p> +<p class='poem'>I take no heed to trousers or the coats that you call dress;</p> +<p class='poem'>Nor am I plagued with little cards for little drinks at Mess.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>"I steal the bunnia's grain at morn, at noon and eventide</p> +<p class='poem'>(For he is fat and I am spare), I roam the mountainside,</p> +<p class='poem'>I follow no man's carriage, and no, never in my life</p> +<p class='poem'>Have I flirted at Peliti's with another Bandar's wife.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>"Oh, man of futile fopperies—unnecessary wraps;</p> +<p class='poem'>I own no ponies in the Hills, I drive no tall-wheeled traps;</p> +<p class='poem'>I buy me not twelve-button gloves, 'short-sixes' eke, or rings,</p> +<p class='poem'>Nor do I waste at Hamilton's my wealth on pretty things.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>"I quarrel with my wife at home, we never fight abroad;</p> +<p class='poem'>But Mrs. B. has grasped the fact I am her only lord.</p> +<p class='poem'>I never heard of fever—dumps nor debts depress my soul;</p> +<p class='poem'>And I pity and despise you!" Here he pouched my breakfast-roll.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>His hide was very mangy and his face was very red,</p> +<p class='poem'>And undisguisedly he scratched with energy his head.</p> +<p class='poem'>His manners were not always nice, but how my spirit cried</p> +<p class='poem'>To be an artless Bandar loose upon the mountainside!</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>So I answered: "Gentle Bandar, an inscrutable Decree</p> +<p class='poem'>Makes thee a gleesome, fleasome Thou, and me a wretched Me.</p> +<p class='poem'>Go! Depart in peace, my brother, to thy home amid the pine;</p> +<p class='poem'>Yet forget not once a mortal wished to change his lot with thine."</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Rudyard Kipling.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_906" id="Page_906">[Pg 906]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE VIPER</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Yet another great truth I record in my verse,<br /> +That some Vipers are venomous, some the reverse;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A fact you may prove if you try,</span><br /> +By procuring two Vipers and letting them bite;<br /> +With the first you are only the worse for a fright,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But after the second you die.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Hilaire Belloc.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE LLAMA</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +The Llama is a woolly sort of fleecy, hairy goat,<br /> +With an indolent expression and an undulating throat,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like an unsuccessful literary man.</span><br /> +And I know the place he lives in (or at least I think I do)<br /> +It is Ecuador, Brazil or Chile—possibly Peru;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You must find it in the Atlas if you can.</span><br /> +<br /> +The Llama of the Pampases you never should confound<br /> +(In spite of a deceptive similarity of sound),<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With the Lhama who is Lord of Turkestan.</span><br /> +For the former is a beautiful and valuable beast,<br /> +But the latter is not lovable nor useful in the least;<br /> +And the Ruminant is preferable surely to the Priest<br /> +Who battens on the woful superstitions of the East,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Mongol of the Monastery of Shan.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Hilaire Belloc.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE YAK</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +As a friend to the children commend me the yak,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You will find it exactly the thing:</span><br /> +It will carry and fetch, you can ride on its back,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or lead it about with a string.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_907" id="Page_907">[Pg 907]</a></span> + +<br /> +A Tartar who dwells on the plains of Thibet<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(A desolate region of snow)</span><br /> +Has for centuries made it a nursery pet,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And surely the Tartar should know!</span><br /> +<br /> +Then tell your papa where the Yak can be got,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And if he is awfully rich,</span><br /> +He will buy you the creature—or else he will not,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(I cannot be positive which).</span><br /> +</p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + + +<h3>THE FROG</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Be kind and tender to the Frog,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And do not call him names,</span><br /> +As "Slimy-Skin," or "Polly-wog,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or likewise, "Uncle James,"</span><br /> +Or "Gape-a-grin," or "Toad-gone-wrong,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or, "Billy-Bandy-knees;"</span><br /> +The Frog is justly sensitive<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To epithets like these.</span><br /> +<br /> +No animal will more repay<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A treatment kind and fair,</span><br /> +At least, so lonely people say +Who keep a frog (and, by the way,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They are extremely rare).</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Hilaire Belloc.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE MICROBE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> + +The Microbe is so very small<br /> +You cannot make him out at all,<br /> +But many sanguine people hope<br /> +To see him through a microscope.<br /> +His jointed tongue that lies beneath<br /> +A hundred curious rows of teeth;<br /> +His seven tufted tails with lots<br /> +Of lovely pink and purple spots<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_908" id="Page_908">[Pg 908]</a></span> + +<br /> +On each of which a pattern stands,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Composed of forty separate bands;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">His eyebrows of a tender green;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">All these have never yet been seen—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">But Scientists, who ought to know,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Assure us that they must be so....</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Oh! let us never, never doubt</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">What nobody is sure about!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Hilaire Belloc.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE GREAT BLACK CROW</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +The crow—the crow! the great black crow!<br /> +He cares not to meet us wherever we go;<br /> +He cares not for man, beast, friend, nor foe,<br /> +For nothing will eat him he well doth know.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Know—know! you great black crow!</span><br /> +It's a comfort to feel like a great black crow!<br /> +<br /> +The crow—the crow! the great black crow!<br /> +He loves the fat meadow—his taste is low;<br /> +He loves the fat worms, and he dines in a row<br /> +With fifty fine cousins all black as a sloe.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sloe—sloe! you great black crow!</span><br /> +But it's jolly to fare like a great black crow!<br /> +<br /> +The crow—the crow! the great black crow!<br /> +He never gets drunk on the rain or snow;<br /> +He never gets drunk, but he never says no!<br /> +If you press him to tipple ever so.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So—so! you great black crow!</span><br /> +It's an honour to soak like a great black crow!<br /> +<br /> +The crow—the crow! the great black crow!<br /> +He lives for a hundred year and mo';<br /> +He lives till he dies, and he dies as slow<br /> +As the morning mists down the hill that go.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Go—go! you great black crow!</span><br /> +But it's fine to live and die like a great black crow!<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Philip James Bailey.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_909" id="Page_909">[Pg 909]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE COLUBRIAD</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Close by the threshold of a door nailed fast,<br /> +Three kittens sat; each kitten looked aghast.<br /> +I, passing swift and inattentive by,<br /> +At the three kittens cast a careless eye;<br /> +Not much concerned to know what they did there;<br /> +Not deeming kittens worth a poet's care.<br /> +But presently, a loud and furious hiss<br /> +Caused me to stop, and to exclaim, "What's this?"<br /> +When lo! upon the threshold met my view,<br /> +With head erect, and eyes of fiery hue,<br /> +A viper long as Count de Grasse's queue.<br /> +Forth from his head his forked tongue he throws,<br /> +Darting it full against a kitten's nose;<br /> +Who, having never seen, in field or house,<br /> +The like, sat still and silent as a mouse;<br /> +Only projecting, with attention due,<br /> +Her whiskered face, she asked him, "Who are you?"<br /> +On to the hall went I, with pace not slow,<br /> +But swift as lightning, for a long Dutch hoe:<br /> +With which well armed, I hastened to the spot<br /> +To find the viper—but I found him not.<br /> +And, turning up the leaves and shrubs around,<br /> +Found only that he was not to be found;<br /> +But still the kittens, sitting as before,<br /> +Sat watching close the bottom of the door.<br /> +"I hope," said I, "the villain I would kill<br /> +Has slipped between the door and the door-sill;<br /> +And if I make despatch, and follow hard,<br /> +No doubt but I shall find him in the yard:"<br /> +(For long ere now it should have been rehearsed,<br /> +'Twas in the garden that I found him first.)<br /> +E'en there I found him: there the full-grown cat<br /> +His head, with velvet paw, did gently pat;<br /> +As curious as the kittens erst had been<br /> +To learn what this phenomenon might mean.<br /> +Filled with heroic ardour at the sight,<br /> +And fearing every moment he would bite,<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_910" id="Page_910">[Pg 910]</a></span> + +And rob our household of our only cat<br /> +That was of age to combat with a rat;<br /> +With outstretched hoe I slew him at the door,<br /> +And taught him never to come there no more!<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>William Cowper.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE RETIRED CAT</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +A Poet's Cat, sedate and grave<br /> +As poet well could wish to have,<br /> +Was much addicted to inquire<br /> +For nooks to which she might retire,<br /> +And where, secure as mouse in chink,<br /> +She might repose, or sit and think.<br /> +I know not where she caught the trick;<br /> +Nature perhaps herself had cast her<br /> +In such a mold <span class="smcap">philosophique</span>,<br /> +Or else she learned it of her master.<br /> +Sometimes ascending, debonair,<br /> +An apple-tree, or lofty pear,<br /> +Lodged with convenience in the fork,<br /> +She watched the gardener at his work;<br /> +Sometimes her ease and solace sought<br /> +In an old empty watering-pot,<br /> +There wanting nothing, save a fan,<br /> +To seem some nymph in her sedan,<br /> +Appareled in exactest sort,<br /> +And ready to be borne to court.<br /> +<br /> +But love of change it seems has place<br /> +Not only in our wiser race;<br /> +Cats also feel, as well as we,<br /> +That passion's force, and so did she.<br /> +Her climbing, she began to find,<br /> +Exposed her too much to the wind,<br /> +And the old utensil of tin<br /> +Was cold and comfortless within:<br /> +She therefore wished, instead of those,<br /> +Some place of more serene repose,<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_911" id="Page_911">[Pg 911]</a></span> + +Where neither cold might come, nor air<br /> +Too rudely wanton in her hair,<br /> +And sought it in the likeliest mode<br /> +Within her master's snug abode.<br /> +<br /> +A drawer, it chanced, at bottom lined<br /> +With linen of the softest kind,<br /> +With such as merchants introduce<br /> +From India, for the ladies' use;<br /> +A drawer, impending o'er the rest,<br /> +Half open, in the topmost chest,<br /> +Of depth enough, and none to spare,<br /> +Invited her to slumber there;<br /> +Puss with delight beyond expression,<br /> +Surveyed the scene and took possession.<br /> +Recumbent at her ease, ere long,<br /> +And lulled by her own humdrum song,<br /> +She left the cares of life behind,<br /> +And slept as she would sleep her last,<br /> +When in came, housewifely inclined,<br /> +The chambermaid, and shut it fast,<br /> +By no malignity impelled,<br /> +But all unconscious whom it held.<br /> +<br /> +Awakened by the shock (cried puss)<br /> +"Was ever cat attended thus!<br /> +The open drawer was left, I see,<br /> +Merely to prove a nest for me,<br /> +For soon as I was well composed,<br /> +Then came the maid, and it was closed.<br /> +How smooth those 'kerchiefs, and how sweet<br /> +Oh what a delicate retreat!<br /> +I will resign myself to rest<br /> +Till Sol declining in the west,<br /> +Shall call to supper, when, no doubt,<br /> +Susan will come, and let me out."<br /> +<br /> +The evening came, the sun descended,<br /> +And puss remained still unattended.<br /> +The night rolled tardily away<br /> +(With her indeed 'twas never day),<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_912" id="Page_912">[Pg 912]</a></span> + +The sprightly morn her course renewed,<br /> +The evening gray again ensued,<br /> +And puss came into mind no more<br /> +Than if entombed the day before;<br /> +With hunger pinched, and pinched for room,<br /> +She now presaged approaching doom.<br /> +Nor slept a single wink, nor purred,<br /> +Conscious of jeopardy incurred.<br /> +<br /> +That night, by chance, the poet, watching,<br /> +Heard an inexplicable scratching;<br /> +His noble heart went pit-a-pat,<br /> +And to himself he said—"What's that?"<br /> +He drew the curtain at his side,<br /> +And forth he peeped, but nothing spied.<br /> +Yet, by his ear directed, guessed<br /> +Something imprisoned in the chest;<br /> +And, doubtful what, with prudent care<br /> +Resolved it should continue there.<br /> +At length a voice which well he knew,<br /> +A long and melancholy mew,<br /> +Saluting his poetic ears,<br /> +Consoled him, and dispelled his fears;<br /> +He left his bed, he trod the floor,<br /> +He 'gan in haste the drawers explore,<br /> +The lowest first, and without stop<br /> +The next in order to the top.<br /> +For 'tis a truth well known to most,<br /> +That whatsoever thing is lost,<br /> +We seek it, ere it come to light,<br /> +In every cranny but the right.<br /> +Forth skipped the cat, not now replete<br /> +As erst with airy self-conceit,<br /> +Nor in her own fond comprehension,<br /> +A theme for all the world's attention,<br /> +But modest, sober, cured of all<br /> +Her notions hyperbolical,<br /> +And wishing for a place of rest,<br /> +Any thing rather than a chest.<br /> +Then stepped the poet into bed<br /> +With this reflection in his head:<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_913" id="Page_913">[Pg 913]</a></span> + +</p> +<p class='h_5'>MORAL</p> +<p> +Beware of too sublime a sense<br /> +Of your own worth and consequence.<br /> +The man who dreams himself so great,<br /> +And his importance of such weight,<br /> +That all around in all that's done<br /> +Must move and act for him alone,<br /> +Will learn in school of tribulation<br /> +The folly of his expectation.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>William Cowper.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A DARWINIAN BALLAD</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Oh, many have told of the monkeys of old,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What a pleasant race they were,</span><br /> +And it seems most true that I and you<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are derived from an apish pair.</span><br /> +They all had nails, and some had tails,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And some—no "accounts in arrear";</span><br /> +They climbed up the trees, and they scratched out the—these<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of course I will not mention here.</span><br /> +<br /> +They slept in a wood, or wherever they could,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For they didn't know how to make beds;</span><br /> +They hadn't got huts; they dined upon nuts,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which they cracked upon each other's heads.</span><br /> +They hadn't much scope, for a comb, brush or soap,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or towels, or kettle or fire.</span><br /> +They had no coats nor capes, for ne'er did these apes<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Invent what they didn't require.</span><br /> +<br /> +The sharpest baboon never used fork or spoon,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor made any boots for his toes,</span><br /> +Nor could any thief steal a silk handker-chief,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For no ape thought much of his nose;</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_914" id="Page_914">[Pg 914]</a></span> + +They had cold collations; they ate poor relations:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Provided for thus, by-the-bye.</span><br /> +No Ou-rang-ou-tang a song ever sang—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He couldn't, and so didn't try.</span><br /> +<br /> +From these though descended our manners are mended,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Though still we can grin and backbite!</span><br /> +We cut up each other, be he friend or brother,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And tales are the fashion—at night.</span><br /> +This origination is all speculation—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We gamble in various shapes;</span><br /> +So Mr. Darwin may speculate in<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our ancestors having been apes.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE PIG</h3> + +<h4>A COLLOQUIAL POEM</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Jacob! I do not like to see thy nose<br /> +Turn'd up in scornful curve at yonder pig,<br /> +It would be well, my friend, if we like him,<br /> +Were perfect in our kind!... And why despise<br /> +The sow-born grunter?... He is obstinate,<br /> +Thou answerest; ugly, and the filthiest beast<br /> +That banquets upon offal.... Now I pray you<br /> +Hear the pig's counsel.<br /> + +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">Is he obstinate?</span><br /> +We must not, Jacob, be deceived by words;<br /> +We must not take them as unheeding hands<br /> +Receive base money at the current worth<br /> +But with a just suspicion try their sound,<br /> +And in the even balance weight them well<br /> +See now to what this obstinacy comes:<br /> +A poor, mistreated, democratic beast,<br /> +He knows that his unmerciful drivers seek<br /> +Their profit, and not his. He hath not learned<br /> +That pigs were made for man,... born to be brawn'd<br /> +And baconized: that he must please to give<br /> +Just what his gracious masters please to take;<br /> +Perhaps his tusks, the weapons Nature gave<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_915" id="Page_915">[Pg 915]</a></span> + +For self-defense, the general privilege;<br /> +Perhaps,... hark, Jacob! dost thou hear that horn?<br /> +Woe to the young posterity of Pork!<br /> +Their enemy is at hand.<br /> + +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">Again. Thou say'st</span><br /> +The pig is ugly. Jacob, look at him!<br /> +Those eyes have taught the lover flattery.<br /> +His face,... nay, Jacob! Jacob! were it fair<br /> +To judge a lady in her dishabille?<br /> +Fancy it dressed, and with saltpeter rouged.<br /> +Behold his tail, my friend; with curls like that<br /> +The wanton hop marries her stately spouse:<br /> +So crisp in beauty Amoretta's hair<br /> +Rings round her lover's soul the chains of love.<br /> +And what is beauty, but the aptitude<br /> +Of parts harmonious? Give thy fancy scope,<br /> +And thou wilt find that no imagined change<br /> +Can beautify this beast. Place at his end<br /> +The starry glories of the peacock's pride,<br /> +Give him the swan's white breast; for his horn-hoofs<br /> +Shape such a foot and ankle as the waves<br /> +Crowded in eager rivalry to kiss<br /> +When Venus from the enamor'd sea arose;...<br /> +Jacob, thou canst but make a monster of him!<br /> +An alteration man could think, would mar<br /> +His pig-perfection.<br /> + +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">The last charge,... he lives</span><br /> +A dirty life. Here I could shelter him<br /> +With noble and right-reverend precedents.<br /> +And show by sanction of authority<br /> +That 'tis a very honorable thing<br /> +To thrive by dirty ways. But let me rest<br /> +On better ground the unanswerable defense.<br /> +The pig is a philosopher, who knows<br /> +No prejudice. Dirt?... Jacob, what is dirt?<br /> +If matter,... why the delicate dish that tempts<br /> +An o'ergorged epicure to the last morsel<br /> +That stuffs him to the throat-gates, is no more.<br /> +If matter be not, but as sages say,<br /> +Spirit is all, and all things visible<br /> +Are one, the infinitely modified,<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_916" id="Page_916">[Pg 916]</a></span> + +Think, Jacob, what that pig is, and the mire<br /> +Wherein he stands knee-deep!<br /> + +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">And there! the breeze</span><br /> +Pleads with me, and has won thee to a smile<br /> +That speaks conviction. O'er yon blossom'd field<br /> +Of beans it came, and thoughts of bacon rise.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Robert Southey.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A FISH STORY</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +A whale of great porosity<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And small specific gravity,</span><br /> +Dived down with much velocity<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beneath the sea's concavity.</span><br /> +<br /> +But soon the weight of water<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Squeezed in his fat immensity,</span><br /> +Which varied—as it ought to—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Inversely as his density.</span><br /> +<br /> +It would have moved to pity<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An Ogre or a Hessian,</span><br /> +To see poor Spermaceti<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thus suffering compression.</span><br /> +<br /> +The while he lay a-roaring<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In agonies gigantic,</span><br /> +The lamp-oil out came pouring,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And greased the wide Atlantic.</span><br /> +<br /> +(Would we'd been in the Navy,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And cruising there! Imagine us</span><br /> +All in a sea of gravy,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With billow oleaginous!)</span><br /> +<br /> +At length old million-pounder,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Low on a bed of coral,</span><br /> +Gave his last dying flounder,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whereto I pen this moral.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_917" id="Page_917">[Pg 917]</a></span> + +</p> +<p class='h_5'>MORAL</p> +<p> +O, let this tale dramatic,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anent the whale Norwegian</span><br /> +And pressure hydrostatic,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Warn you, my young collegian,</span><br /> +<br /> +That down-compelling forces<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Increase as you get deeper;</span><br /> +The lower down your course is,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The upward path's the steeper.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Henry A. Beers.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE CAMERONIAN CAT</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +There was a Cameronian cat<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was hunting for a prey,</span><br /> +And in the house she catched a mouse<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon the Sabbath-day.</span><br /> +<br /> +The Whig, being offended<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At such an act profane,</span><br /> +Laid by his book, the cat he took,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And bound her in a chain.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Thou damned, thou cursed creature!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This deed so dark with thee!</span><br /> +Think'st thou to bring to hell below<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My holy wife and me?</span><br /> +<br /> +"Assure thyself that for the deed<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thou blood for blood shalt pay,</span><br /> +For killing of the Lord's own mouse<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon the Sabbath-day."</span><br /> +<br /> +The presbyter laid by the book,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And earnestly he prayed</span><br /> +That the great sin the cat had done<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Might not on him be laid.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_918" id="Page_918">[Pg 918]</a></span> + +<br /> +And straight to execution<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Poor pussy she was drawn,</span><br /> +And high hanged up upon a tree—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The preacher sung a psalm.</span><br /> +<br /> +And, when the work was ended,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They thought the cat near dead;</span><br /> +She gave a paw, and then a mew,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And stretchèd out her head.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Thy name," said he, "shall certainly<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A beacon still remain,</span><br /> +A terror unto evil ones<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For evermore, Amen."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE YOUNG GAZELLE</h3> + +<h4>A MOORE-ISH TALE</h4> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +In early youth, as you may guess,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I revelled in poetic lore,</span><br /> +And while my schoolmates studied less,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I resolutely studied <i>Moore</i>.</span><br /> +<br /> +Those touching lines from "Lalla Rookh,"—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Ah, ever thus—" you know them well,</span><br /> +Such root within my bosom took,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I wished <i>I</i> had a young Gazelle.</span><br /> +<br /> +Oh, yes! a sweet, a sweet Gazelle,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"To charm me with its soft black eye,"</span><br /> +So soft, so liquid, that a spell<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Seems in that gem-like orb to lie.</span><br /> +<br /> +Years, childhood passed, youth fled away,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My vain desire I'd learned to quell,</span><br /> +Till came that most auspicious day<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When <i>some one gave me a Gazelle</i>.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_919" id="Page_919">[Pg 919]</a></span> + +<br /> +With care, and trouble, and expense,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Twas brought from Afric's northern cape;</span><br /> +It seemed of great intelligence,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And oh! so beautiful a shape.</span><br /> +<br /> +Its lustrous, liquid eye was bent<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With special lovingness on me;</span><br /> +No gift that mortal could present<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">More welcome to my heart could be.</span><br /> +<br /> +I brought him food with fond caress,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Built him a hut, snug, neat, and warm;</span><br /> +I called him "Selim," to express<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The marked <i>s(e)lim</i>ness of his form.</span><br /> +<br /> +The little creature grew so tame,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He "learned to know (the neighbors) well;"</span><br /> +And then the ladies, when they came,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh! how they "nursed that dear Gazelle."</span><br /> +<br /> +But, woe is me! on earthly ground<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Some ill with every blessing dwells;</span><br /> +And soon to my dismay I found<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That this applies to young Gazelles.</span><br /> +<br /> +When free allowed to roam indoors,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The mischief that he did was great;</span><br /> +The walls, the furniture, the floors,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He made in a terrific state.</span><br /> +<br /> +He nibbled at the table-cloth,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And trod the carpet into holes,</span><br /> +And in his gambols, nothing loth,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Kicked over scuttles full of coals.</span><br /> +<br /> +To view his image in the glass,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He reared upon his hinder legs;</span><br /> +And thus one morn I found, alas!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Two porcelain vases smashed like eggs.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_920" id="Page_920">[Pg 920]</a></span> + +<br /> +Whatever did his fancy catch<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By way of food, he would not wait</span><br /> +To be invited, but would snatch<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It from one's table, hand, or plate.</span><br /> +<br /> +He riled the dog, annoyed the cat,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And scared the goldfish into fits;</span><br /> +He butted through my newest hat,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And tore my manuscript to bits.</span><br /> +<br /> +'Twas strange, so light his hooflets weighed,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His limbs as slender as a hare's,</span><br /> +The noise my little Selim made<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In trotting up and down the stairs.</span><br /> +<br /> +To tie him up I thought was wise,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But loss of freedom gave him pain;</span><br /> +I could not stand those pleading eyes,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And so I let him go again.</span><br /> +<br /> +How sweet to see him skip and prance<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon the gravel or the lawn;</span><br /> +More light in step than fairies' dance,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">More graceful than an English fawn.</span><br /> +<br /> +But then he spoilt the garden so,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Trod down the beds, raked up the seeds,</span><br /> +And ate the plants—nor did he show<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The least compunction for his deeds.</span><br /> +<br /> +He trespassed on the neighbors' ground,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And broke two costly melon frames,</span><br /> +With other damages—a pound<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To pay, resulted from his games.</span><br /> +<br /> +In short, the mischief was immense<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That from his gamesome pranks befel,</span><br /> +And, truly, in a double sense,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He proved a <i>very</i> "dear Gazelle."</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_921" id="Page_921">[Pg 921]</a></span> + +<br /> +At length I sighed—"Ah, ever thus<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Doth disappointment mock each hope;</span><br /> +But 'tis in vain to make a fuss;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You'll have to go, my antelope."</span><br /> +<br /> +The chance I wished for did occur;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A lady going to the East</span><br /> +Was willing; so I gave to her<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That little antelopian beast.</span><br /> +<br /> +I said, "This antler'd desert child<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In Turkish palaces may roam,</span><br /> +But he is much too free and wild<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To keep in any English home."</span><br /> +<br /> +Yes, tho' I gave him up with tears,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Experience had broke the spell,</span><br /> +And if I live a thousand years,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'll never have a young Gazelle.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Walter Parke.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE BALLAD OF THE EMEU</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +O say, have you seen at the Willows so green—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So charming and rurally true—</span><br /> +A Singular bird; with a manner absurd,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which they call the Australian Emeu?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Have you?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ever seen this Australian Emeu?</span><br /> +<br /> +It trots all around with its head on the ground,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or erects it quite out of your view;</span><br /> +And the ladies all cry, when its figure they spy,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"O, what a sweet pretty Emeu!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Oh! do</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Just look at that lovely Emeu!"</span><br /> +<br /> +One day to this spot, when the weather was hot,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Came Matilda Hortense Fortescue;</span><br /> +And beside her there came a youth of high name—<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_922" id="Page_922">[Pg 922]</a></span> + +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Augustus Florell Montague:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">The two</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Both loved that wild foreign Emeu.</span><br /> +<br /> +With two loaves of bread then they fed it, instead<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the flesh of the white cockatoo,</span><br /> +Which once was its food in that wild neighbourhood<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where ranges the sweet kangaroo</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">That, too,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is game for the famous Emeu!</span><br /> +<br /> +Old saws and gimlets but its appetite whet<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like the world famous bark of Peru;</span><br /> +There's nothing so hard that the bird will discard,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And nothing its taste will eschew,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">That you</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Can give that long-legged Emeu!</span><br /> +<br /> +The time slipped away in this innocent play,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When up jumped the bold Montague:</span><br /> +"Where's that specimen pin that I gaily did win<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In raffle, and gave unto you,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Fortescue?"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No word spoke the guilty Emeu!</span><br /> +<br /> +"Quick! tell me his name whom thou gavest that same,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ere these hands in thy blood I imbrue!"</span><br /> +"Nay, dearest," she cried as she clung to his side,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"I'm innocent as that Emeu!"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">"Adieu!"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He replied, "Miss M. H. Fortescue!"</span><br /> +<br /> +Down she dropped at his feet, all as white as a sheet,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As wildly he fled from her view;</span><br /> +He thought 'twas her sin—for he knew not the pin<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Had been gobbled up by the Emeu;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">All through</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"I'm innocent as that Emeu!"</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Bret Harte.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_923" id="Page_923">[Pg 923]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE TURTLE AND FLAMINGO</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +A lively young turtle lived down by the banks<br /> +Of a dark rolling stream called the Jingo;<br /> +And one summer day, as he went out to play,<br /> +Fell in love with a charming flamingo—<br /> +An enormously genteel flamingo!<br /> +An expansively crimson flamingo!<br /> +A beautiful, bouncing flamingo!<br /> +<br /> +Spake the turtle, in tones like a delicate wheeze:<br /> +"To the water I've oft seen you in go,<br /> +And your form has impressed itself deep on my shell,<br /> +You perfectly modelled flamingo!<br /> +You tremendously A-1 flamingo!<br /> +You in-ex-press-<i>i</i>-ble flamingo!<br /> +<br /> +"To be sure, I'm a turtle, and you are a belle,<br /> +And my language is not your fine lingo;<br /> +But smile on me, tall one, and be my bright flame,<br /> +You miraculous, wondrous flamingo!<br /> +You blazingly beauteous flamingo!<br /> +You turtle-absorbing flamingo!<br /> +You inflammably gorgeous flamingo!"<br /> +<br /> +Then the proud bird blushed redder than ever before,<br /> +And that was quite un-nec-es-<i>sa</i>-ry,<br /> +And she stood on one leg and looked out of one eye,<br /> +The position of things for to vary,—<br /> +This aquatical, musing flamingo!<br /> +This dreamy, uncertain flamingo!<br /> +This embarrasing, harassing flamingo!<br /> +<br /> +Then she cried to the quadruped, greatly amazed:<br /> +"Why your passion toward <i>me</i> do you hurtle?<br /> +I'm an ornithological wonder of grace,<br /> +And you're an illogical turtle,—<br /> +A waddling, impossible turtle!<br /> +A low-minded, grass-eating turtle!<br /> +A highly improbable turtle!"<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_924" id="Page_924">[Pg 924]</a></span> + +<br /> +Then the turtle sneaked off with his nose to the ground<br /> +And never more looked at the lasses;<br /> +And falling asleep, while indulging his grief,<br /> +Was gobbled up whole by Agassiz,—<br /> +The peripatetic Agassiz!<br /> +The turtle-dissecting Agassiz!<br /> +The illustrious, industrious Agassiz!<br /> +<br /> +Go with me to Cambridge some cool, pleasant day,<br /> +And the skeleton lover I'll show you;<br /> +He's in a hard case, but he'll look in your face,<br /> +Pretending (the rogue!) he don't know you!<br /> +Oh, the deeply deceptive young turtle!<br /> +The double-faced, glassy-cased turtle!<br /> +The <i>green</i> but a very <i>mock</i> turtle!<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>James Thomas Fields.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_925" id="Page_925">[Pg 925]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XV" id="XV"></a>XV</h2> + +<h2>JUNIORS</h2> +<p><br /></p> + +<h3>PRIOR TO MISS BELLE'S APPEARANCE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +What makes you come <i>here</i> fer, Mister,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So much to <i>our</i> house?—<i>Say</i>?</span><br /> +Come to see our big sister!—<br /> +An' Charley he says 'at you kissed her<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An' he ketched you, thuther day!—</span><br /> +Didn' you, Charley?—But we p'omised Belle<br /> +And crossed our heart to never to tell—<br /> +'Cause <i>she</i> gived us some o' them-er<br /> +Chawk'lut-drops 'at you bringed to her!<br /> +<br /> +Charley he's my little b'uther—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An' we has a-mostest fun,</span><br /> +Don't we, Charley?—Our Muther,<br /> +Whenever we whips one-anuther,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tries to whip <i>us</i>—an' we <i>run</i>—</span><br /> +Don't we, Charley?—An' nen, bime-by,<br /> +Nen she gives us cake—an' pie—<br /> +Don't she, Charley?—when we come in<br /> +An' p'omise never to do it agin!<br /> +<br /> +<i>He's</i> named Charley.—I'm <i>Willie</i>—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An' I'm got the purtiest name!</span><br /> +But Uncle Bob <i>he</i> calls me "Billy"—<br /> +Don't he, Charley?—'Nour filly<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We named "Billy," the same</span><br /> +Ist like me! An' our Ma said<br /> +'At "Bob put foolishnuss into our head!"—<br /> +Didn' she, Charley?—An' <i>she</i> don't know<br /> +Much about <i>boys</i>!—'Cause Bob said so!<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_926" id="Page_926">[Pg 926]</a></span> + +<br /> +Baby's a funniest feller!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Naint no hair on his head—</span><br /> +<i>Is</i> they, Charley? It's meller<br /> +Wite up there! An' ef Belle er<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Us ask wuz <i>we</i> that way, Ma said,—</span><br /> +"Yes; an' yer <i>Pa's</i> head wuz soft as that,<br /> +An' it's that way yet!"—An' Pa grabs his hat<br /> +An' says, "Yes, childern, she's right about Pa—<br /> +'Cause that's the reason he married yer Ma!"<br /> +<br /> +An' our Ma says 'at "Belle couldn'<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ketch nothin 'at all but ist <i>'bows!'</i>"</span><br /> +An' <i>Pa</i> says 'at "you're soft as puddun!"—<br /> +An <i>Uncle Bob</i> says "you're a good-un—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Cause he can tell by yer nose!"—</span><br /> +Didn' he, Charley? And when Belle'll play<br /> +In the poller on th' pianer, some day,<br /> +Bob makes up funny songs about you,<br /> +Till she gits mad—like he wants her to!<br /> +<br /> +Our sister <i>Fanny</i>, she's <i>'leven</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Years old. 'At's mucher 'an <i>I</i>—</span><br /> +Ain't it, Charley?... I'm seven!—<br /> +But our sister Fanny's in <i>Heaven</i>!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nere's where you go ef you die!—</span><br /> +Don't you, Charley? Nen you has <i>wings</i>—<br /> +<i>Ist like Fanny</i>!—an' <i>purtiest things</i>!—<br /> +Don't you, Charley? An' nen you can <i>fly</i>—<br /> +Ist fly—an' <i>ever'</i>thing!... Wisht <i>I'd</i> die!<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>James Whitcomb Riley.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THERE WAS A LITTLE GIRL</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +There was a little girl,<br /> +And she had a little curl<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Right in the middle of her forehead.</span><br /> +When she was good<br /> +She was very, very good,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And when she was bad she was horrid.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_927" id="Page_927">[Pg 927]</a></span> + +<br /> +One day she went upstairs,<br /> +When her parents, unawares,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the kitchen were occupied with meals</span><br /> +And she stood upon her head<br /> +In her little trundle-bed,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And then began hooraying with her heels.</span><br /> +<br /> +Her mother heard the noise,<br /> +And she thought it was the boys<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A-playing at a combat in the attic;</span><br /> +But when she climbed the stair,<br /> +And found Jemima there,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She took and she did spank her most emphatic.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE NAUGHTY DARKEY BOY</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +There was a cruel darkey boy,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who sat upon the shore,</span><br /> +A catching little fishes by<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The dozen and the score.</span><br /> +<br /> +And as they squirmed and wriggled there,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He shouted loud with glee,</span><br /> +"You surely cannot want to live,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You're little-er dan me."</span><br /> +<br /> +Just then with a malicious leer,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And a capacious smile,</span><br /> +Before him from the water deep<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There rose a crocodile.</span><br /> +<br /> +He eyed the little darkey boy,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then heaved a blubbering sigh,</span><br /> +And said, "You cannot want to live,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You're little-er than I."</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_928" id="Page_928">[Pg 928]</a></span> + +<br /> +The fishes squirm and wriggle still,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beside that sandy shore,</span><br /> +The cruel little darkey boy,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was never heard of more.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>DUTCH LULLABY</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sailed off in a wooden shoe,—</span><br /> +Sailed on a river of misty light<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Into a sea of dew.</span><br /> +"Where are you going, and what do you wish?"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The old moon asked the three.</span><br /> +"We have come to fish for the herring-fish<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That live in this beautiful sea;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nets of silver and gold have we,"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Said Wynken,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Blynken,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And Nod.</span><br /> +<br /> +The old moon laughed and sung a song,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As they rocked in the wooden shoe;</span><br /> +And the wind that sped them all night long<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ruffled the waves of dew;</span><br /> +The little stars were the herring-fish<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That lived in the beautiful sea.</span><br /> +"Now cast your nets wherever you wish,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But never afeard are we!"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So cried the stars to the fishermen three,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Wynken,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Blynken,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And Nod.</span><br /> +<br /> +All night long their nets they threw<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For the fish in the twinkling foam,</span><br /> +Then down from the sky came the wooden shoe,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bringing the fishermen home;</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_929" id="Page_929">[Pg 929]</a></span> + +'Twas all so pretty a sail, it seemed<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As if it could not be;</span><br /> +And some folk thought 'twas a dream they'd dreamed<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of sailing that beautiful sea;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But I shall name you the fishermen three:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Wynken,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Blynken,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And Nod.</span><br /> +<br /> +Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Nod is a little head,</span><br /> +And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is a wee one's trundle-bed;</span><br /> +So shut your eyes while Mother sings<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of wonderful sights that be,</span><br /> +And you shall see the beautiful things<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As you rock on the misty sea</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Wynken,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Blynken,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And Nod.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Eugene Field.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE DINKEY-BIRD</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +In an ocean, 'way out yonder<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(As all sapient people know),</span><br /> +Is the land of Wonder-Wander,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whither children love to go;</span><br /> +It's their playing, romping, swinging,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That give great joy to me</span><br /> +While the Dinkey-Bird goes singing<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the Amfalula-tree!</span><br /> +<br /> +There the gum-drops grow like cherries,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And taffy's thick as peas,—</span><br /> +Caramels you pick like berries<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When, and where, and how you please</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_930" id="Page_930">[Pg 930]</a></span> + +Big red sugar-plums are clinging<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the cliffs beside that sea</span><br /> +Where the Dinkey-Bird is singing<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the Amfalula-tree.</span><br /> +<br /> +So when children shout and scamper<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And make merry all the day,</span><br /> +When there's naught to put a damper<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the ardor of their play;</span><br /> +When I hear their laughter ringing,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then I'm sure as sure can be</span><br /> +That the Dinkey-Bird is singing<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the Amfalula-tree.</span><br /> +<br /> +For the Dinkey-Bird's bravuras<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And staccatos are so sweet—</span><br /> +His roulades, appogiaturas,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And robustos so complete,</span><br /> +That the youth of every nation—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Be they near or far away—</span><br /> +Have especial delectation<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In that gladsome roundelay.</span><br /> +<br /> +Their eyes grow bright and brighter,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their lungs begin to crow,</span><br /> +Their hearts get light and lighter,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And their cheeks are all aglow;</span><br /> +For an echo cometh bringing<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The news to all and me</span><br /> +That the Dinkey-Bird is singing<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the Amfalula-tree.</span><br /> +<br /> +I'm sure you'd like to go there<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To see your feathered friend—</span><br /> +And so many goodies grow there<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You would like to comprehend!</span><br /> +<i>Speed, little dreams, your winging</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>To that land across the sea</i></span><br /> +<i>Where the Dinkey-Bird is singing</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>In the Amfalula-Tree!</i></span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Eugene Field.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_931" id="Page_931">[Pg 931]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE LITTLE PEACH</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +A little peach in the orchard grew,<br /> +A little peach of emerald hue:<br /> +Warmed by the sun, and wet by the dew,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">It grew.</span><br /> +<br /> +One day, walking the orchard through,<br /> +That little peach dawned on the view<br /> +Of Johnny Jones and his sister Sue—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">Those two.</span><br /> +<br /> +Up at the peach a club they threw:<br /> +Down from the limb on which it grew,<br /> +Fell the little peach of emerald hue—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">Too true!</span><br /> +<br /> +John took a bite, and Sue took a chew,<br /> +And then the trouble began to brew,—<br /> +Trouble the doctor couldn't subdue,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">Paregoric too.</span><br /> +<br /> +Under the turf where the daisies grew,<br /> +They planted John and his sister Sue;<br /> +And their little souls to the angels flew—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">Boo-hoo!</span><br /> +<br /> +But what of the peach of emerald hue,<br /> +Warmed by the sun, and wet by the dew?<br /> +Ah, well! its mission on earth is through—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">Adieu!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Eugene Field.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_932" id="Page_932">[Pg 932]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>COUNSEL TO THOSE THAT EAT</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +With chocolate-cream that you buy in the cake<br /> +Large mouthfuls and hurry are quite a mistake.<br /> +<br /> +Wise persons prolong it as long as they can<br /> +But putting in practice this excellent plan.<br /> +<br /> +The cream from the chocolate lining they dig<br /> +With a Runaway match or a clean little twig.<br /> +<br /> +Many hundreds,—nay, thousands—of scoopings they make<br /> +Before they've exhausted a twopenny cake.<br /> +<br /> +With ices 'tis equally wrongful to haste;<br /> +You ought to go slowly and dwell on each taste.<br /> +<br /> +Large mouthfuls are painful, as well as unwise,<br /> +For they lead to an ache at the back of the eyes.<br /> +<br /> +And the delicate sip is e'en better, one finds,<br /> +If the ice is a mixture of different kinds.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>HOME AND MOTHER</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Sleep, my own darling,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">By, baby, by;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Mother is with thee,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">By, baby, by.</span><br /> +There, baby. (Oh, how the wild winds wail!)<br /> +Hush, baby. (Turning to sleet and hail;<br /> +Ah, how the pine-tree moans and mutters!—<br /> +I wonder if Ellen will think of the shutters?)<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Sleep, my own darling,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">By, baby, by;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Mother is with thee,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">By, baby, by.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_933" id="Page_933">[Pg 933]</a></span> + +Rest thee. (She couldn't have left the blower<br /> +Down in the parlor? There's so much to show her!)<br /> +By-by, my sweetest. (Now the rain's pouring!<br /> +Is it wind or the dining-room fire that's roaring?)<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Sleep, my own darling,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">By, baby, by;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Mother is with thee,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">By, baby, by.</span><br /> +How lovely his forehead!—my own blessed pet!<br /> +He's nearly asleep. (Now I mustn't forget<br /> +That pork in the brine, and the stair-rods to-morrow.)<br /> +Heaven shield him forever from trouble and sorrow!<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Sleep, my own darling,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">By, baby, by;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Mother is with thee,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">By, baby, by.</span><br /> +Those dear little ringlets, so silky and bright!<br /> +(I do hope the muffins will be nice and light.)<br /> +How lovely he is! (Yes, she said she could fry.)<br /> +Oh, what would I do if my baby should die!<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Sleep, my own darling,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">By, baby, by;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Mother is with thee,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">By, baby, by.</span><br /> +That sweet little hand, and the soft, dimpled cheek!<br /> +Sleep, darling. (I'll have his clothes shortened this week.<br /> +How tightly he's holding my dress; I'm afraid<br /> +He'll wake when I move. There! his bed isn't made!)<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Sleep, my own darling,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">By, baby, by;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">In thy soft cradle</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Peacefully lie.</span><br /> +(He's settled at last. But I can't leave him so,<br /> +Though I ought to be going this instant, I know.<br /> +There's everything standing and waiting down-stairs.<br /> +Ah me, but a mother is cumbered with cares!)<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Mary Mapes Dodge.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_934" id="Page_934">[Pg 934]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>LITTLE ORPHANT ANNIE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p class='poem'>Little Orphant Annie's come to our house to stay,</p> +<p class='poem'>An' wash the cups and saucers up, an' brush the crumbs away,</p> +<p class='poem'>An' shoo the chickens off the porch, an' dust the hearth, an' sweep,</p> +<p class='poem'>An' make the fire, an' bake the bread, an' earn her board-an'-keep;</p> +<p class='poem'>An' all us other children, when the supper things is done,</p> +<p class='poem'>We set around the kitchen fire an' has the mostest fun</p> +<p class='poem'>A-list'nin' to the witch-tales 'at Annie tells about,</p> +<p class='poem'>An' the Gobble-uns 'at gits you</p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 4em;">Ef you</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">Don't</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 8em;">Watch</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 10em;">Out!</span></p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>Onc't there was a little boy wouldn't say his pray'rs—</p> +<p class='poem'>An' when he went to bed at night, away up stairs,</p> +<p class='poem'>His mammy heerd him holler, an' his daddy heerd him bawl,</p> +<p class='poem'>An' when they turn't the kivvers down, he wasn't there at all!</p> +<p class='poem'>An' they seeked him in the rafter-room, an' cubby-hole, an' press,</p> +<p class='poem'>An' seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an' ever'wheres, I guess;</p> +<p class='poem'>But all they ever found was thist his pants an' roundabout!</p> +<p class='poem'>An' the Gobble-uns'll git you</p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 4em;">Ef you</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">Don't</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 8em;">Watch</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 10em;">Out!</span></p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>An' one time a little girl 'ud allus laugh an' grin,</p> +<p class='poem'>An' make fun of ever' one, an' all her blood-an'-kin;</p> +<p class='poem'>An' onc't when they was "company," an' ole folks was there,</p> +<p class='poem'>She mocked 'em an' shocked 'em, an' said she didn't care!</p> +<p class='poem'>An' thist as she kicked her heels, an' turn't to run an' hide,</p> +<p class='poem'>They was two great big Black Things a-standin' by her side,</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_935" id="Page_935">[Pg 935]</a></span> + +<p class='poem'>An' they snatched her through the ceilin' 'fore she knowed what she's about!</p> +<p class='poem'>An' the Gobble-uns'll git you</p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 4em;">Ef you</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">Don't</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 8em;">Watch</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 10em;">Out!</span></p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>An' little Orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue,</p> +<p class='poem'>An' the lampwick sputters, an' the wind goes woo-oo!</p> +<p class='poem'>An' you hear the crickets quit, an' the moon is gray,</p> +<p class='poem'>An' the lightnin'-bugs in dew is all squenched away,—</p> +<p class='poem'>You better mind yer parents, and yer teachers fond and dear,</p> +<p class='poem'>An' churish them 'at loves you, an' dry the orphant's tear,</p> +<p class='poem'>An' he'p the pore an' needy ones 'at clusters all about,</p> +<p class='poem'>Er the Gobble-uns'll git you</p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 4em;">Ef you</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 6em;">Don't</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 8em;">Watch</span></p> +<p class='poem'><span style="margin-left: 10em;">Out!</span></p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>James Whitcomb Riley.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A VISIT FROM ST. NICHOLAS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house<br /> +Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;<br /> +The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,<br /> +In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;<br /> +The children were nestled all snug in their beds,<br /> +While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;<br /> +And mamma in her kerchief, and I in my cap,<br /> +Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap,<br /> +When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,<br /> +I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_936" id="Page_936">[Pg 936]</a></span> + +Away to the window I flew like a flash,<br /> +Tore open the shutters, and threw up the sash.<br /> +The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow<br /> +Gave a luster of mid-day to objects below,<br /> +When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,<br /> +But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,<br /> +With a little old driver, so lively and quick,<br /> +I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.<br /> +More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,<br /> +And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;<br /> +"Now, <i>Dasher</i>! now, <i>Dancer</i>! now, <i>Prancer</i> and <i>Vixen</i>!<br /> +On, <i>Comet</i>! on, <i>Cupid</i>! on, <i>Dunder</i> and <i>Blitzen</i>!<br /> +To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall!<br /> +Now, dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"<br /> +As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,<br /> +When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;<br /> +So up to the housetop the coursers they flew,<br /> +With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas, too.<br /> +And then in a twinkling, I heard on the roof<br /> +The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.<br /> +As I drew in my head, and was turning around,<br /> +Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.<br /> +He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,<br /> +And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;<br /> +A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,<br /> +And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.<br /> +His eyes—how they twinkled!—his dimples how merry!<br /> +His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!<br /> +His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,<br /> +And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;<br /> +The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,<br /> +And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;<br /> +He had a broad face and a round little belly,<br /> +That shook when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.<br /> +He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,<br /> +And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;<br /> +A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,<br /> +Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;<br /> +He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,<br /> +And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_937" id="Page_937">[Pg 937]</a></span> + +And laying his finger aside of his nose,<br /> +And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;<br /> +He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,<br /> +And away they all flew like the down of a thistle;<br /> +But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,<br /> +"<i>Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night</i>!"<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Clement Clarke Moore.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A NURSERY LEGEND</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p class='poem'>Oh! listen, little children, to a proper little song</p> +<p class='poem'>Of a naughty little urchin who was always doing wrong:</p> +<p class='poem'>He disobey'd his mammy, and he disobey'd his dad,</p> +<p class='poem'>And he disobey'd his uncle, which was very near as bad.</p> +<p class='poem'>He wouldn't learn to cipher, and he wouldn't learn to write,</p> +<p class='poem'>But he <i>would</i> tear up his copy-books to fabricate a kite;</p> +<p class='poem'>And he used his slate and pencil in so barbarous a way,</p> +<p class='poem'>That the grinders of his governess got looser ev'ry day.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>At last he grew so obstinate that no one could contrive</p> +<p class='poem'>To cure him of a theory that two and two made five</p> +<p class='poem'>And, when they taught him how to spell, he show'd his wicked whims</p> +<p class='poem'>By mutilating Pinnock and mislaying Watts's Hymns.</p> +<p class='poem'>Instead of all such pretty books, (which <i>must</i> improve the mind,)</p> +<p class='poem'>He cultivated volumes of a most improper kind;</p> +<p class='poem'>Directories and almanacks he studied on the sly,</p> +<p class='poem'>And gloated over Bradshaw's Guide when nobody was by.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>From such a course of reading you can easily divine</p> +<p class='poem'>The condition of his morals at the age of eight or nine.</p> +<p class='poem'>His tone of conversation kept becoming worse and worse,</p> +<p class='poem'>Till it scandalised his governess and horrified his nurse.</p> +<p class='poem'>He quoted bits of Bradshaw that were quite unfit to hear,</p> +<p class='poem'>And recited from the Almanack, no matter who was near:</p> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_938" id="Page_938">[Pg 938]</a></span> + +<p class='poem'>He talked of Reigate Junction and of trains both up and down,</p> +<p class='poem'>And referr'd to men who call'd themselves Jones, Robinson, and Brown.</p> + +<p class='poem' style='margin-top: 1em;'>But when this naughty boy grew up he found the proverb true,</p> +<p class='poem'>That Fate one day makes people pay for all the wrong they do.</p> +<p class='poem'>He was cheated out of money by a man whose name was Brown,</p> +<p class='poem'>And got crippled in a railway smash while coming up to town.</p> +<p class='poem'>So, little boys and little girls, take warning while you can,</p> +<p class='poem'>And profit by the history of this unhappy man.</p> +<p class='poem'>Read Dr. Watts and Pinnock, dears; and when you learn to spell,</p> +<p class='poem'>Shun Railway Guides, Directories, and Almanacks as well!</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Henry S. Leigh.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A LITTLE GOOSE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +The chill November day was done,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The working world home faring;</span><br /> +The wind came roaring through the streets<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And set the gas-lights flaring;</span><br /> +And hopelessly and aimlessly<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The scared old leaves were flying;</span><br /> +When, mingled with the sighing wind,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I heard a small voice crying.</span><br /> +<br /> +And shivering on the corner stood<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A child of four, or over;</span><br /> +No cloak or hat her small, soft arms,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And wind blown curls to cover.</span><br /> +Her dimpled face was stained with tears;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her round blue eyes ran over;</span><br /> +She cherished in her wee, cold hand,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A bunch of faded clover.</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_939" id="Page_939">[Pg 939]</a></span> + +<br /> +And one hand round her treasure while<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She slipped in mine the other:</span><br /> +Half scared, half confidential, said,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Oh! please, I want my mother!"</span><br /> +"Tell me your street and number, pet:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Don't cry, I'll take you to it."</span><br /> +Sobbing she answered, "I forget:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The organ made me do it.</span><br /> +<br /> +"He came and played at Milly's steps,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The monkey took the money;</span><br /> +And so I followed down the street,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The monkey was so funny.</span><br /> +I've walked about a hundred hours,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From one street to another:</span><br /> +The monkey's gone, I've spoiled my flowers,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh! please, I want my mother."</span><br /> +<br /> +"But what's your mother's name? and what<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The street? Now think a minute."</span><br /> +"My mother's name is mamma dear—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The street—I can't begin it."</span><br /> +"But what is strange about the house,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or new—not like the others?"</span><br /> +"I guess you mean my trundle-bed,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mine and my little brother's.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Oh dear! I ought to be at home<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To help him say his prayers,—</span><br /> +He's such a baby he forgets;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And we are both such players;—</span><br /> +And there's a bar to keep us both<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From pitching on each other,</span><br /> +For Harry rolls when he's asleep:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh dear! I want my mother."</span><br /> +<br /> +The sky grew stormy; people passed<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All muffled, homeward faring:</span><br /> +"You'll have to spend the night with me,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I said at last, despairing,</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_940" id="Page_940">[Pg 940]</a></span> + +I tied a kerchief round her neck—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"What ribbon's this, my blossom?"</span><br /> +"Why don't you know!" she smiling, said,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And drew it from her bosom.</span><br /> +<br /> +A card with number, street, and name;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My eyes astonished met it;</span><br /> +"For," said the little one, "you see<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I might sometimes forget it:</span><br /> +And so I wear a little thing<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That tells you all about it;</span><br /> +For mother says she's very sure<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I should get lost without it."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Eliza Sproat Turner.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>LEEDLE YAWCOB STRAUSS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I haf von funny leedle poy,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Vot comes schust to mine knee;</span><br /> +Der queerest schap, der createst rogue,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As efer you dit see.</span><br /> +He runs, und schumps, und schmashes dings<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In all barts off der house:</span><br /> +But vot off dot? He vas mine son,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mine leedle Yawcob Strauss.</span><br /> +<br /> +He get der measles und der mumbs<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And eferyding dot's oudt;</span><br /> +He sbills mine glass off lager bier,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Poots schnuff indo mine kraut.</span><br /> +He fills mine pipe mit Limburg cheese—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dot vas der roughest chouse;</span><br /> +I'd dake dot vrom no oder poy<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But leedle Yawcob Strauss.</span><br /> +<br /> +He dakes der milk-ban for a dhrum,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Und cuts mine cane in dwo,</span><br /> +To make der schticks to beat it mit—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mine cracious, dot vas drue!</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_941" id="Page_941">[Pg 941]</a></span> + +I dinks mine hed vas schplit abart,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He kicks oup sooch a touse:</span><br /> +But nefer mind; der poys vas few<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like dot young Yawcob Strauss.</span><br /> +<br /> +He asks me questions sooch as dese:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who baints mine nose so red?</span><br /> +Who vas it cuts dot schmoodth blace oudt<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Vrom der hair ubon mine hed?</span><br /> +Und vere dere plaze goes vrom her lamp<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Vene'er der glim I douse.</span><br /> +How gan I all dose dings eggsblain<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To dot schmall Yawcob Strauss?</span><br /> +<br /> +I somedimes dink I schall go vild<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mit sooch a grazy poy,</span><br /> +Und vish vonce more I gould haf rest,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Und beaceful dimes enshoy;</span><br /> +But ven he vas aschleep in ped<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So guiet as a mouse,</span><br /> +I prays der Lord, "Dake anyding,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But leaf dot Yawcob Strauss."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Charles Follen Adams.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A PARENTAL ODE TO MY SON, AGED THREE +YEARS AND FIVE MONTHS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Thou happy, happy elf!</span><br /> +(But stop,—first let me kiss away that tear)—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Thou tiny image of myself!</span><br /> +(My love, he's poking peas into his ear!)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Thou merry, laughing sprite!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">With spirits feather-light,</span><br /> +Untouched by sorrow, and unsoiled by sin—<br /> +(Good Heavens! the child is swallowing a pin!)<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Thou little tricksy Puck!</span><br /> +With antic toys so funnily bestuck,<br /> +Light as the singing bird that wings the air—<br /> +(The door! the door! he'll tumble down the stair!)<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_942" id="Page_942">[Pg 942]</a></span> + +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Thou darling of thy sire!</span><br /> +(Why, Jane, he'll set his pinafore afire!)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Thou imp of mirth and joy!</span><br /> +In love's dear chain, so strong and bright a link,<br /> +Thou idol of thy parents—(Drat the boy!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">There goes my ink!)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Thou cherub—but of earth;</span><br /> +Fit playfellow for Fays, by moonlight pale,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">In harmless sport and mirth,</span><br /> +(That dog will bite him if he pulls its tail!)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thou human humming-bee, extracting honey</span><br /> +From every blossom in the world that blows,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Singing in youth's elysium ever sunny,</span><br /> +(Another tumble!—that's his precious nose!)<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Thy father's pride and hope!</span><br /> +(He'll break the mirror with that skipping-rope!)<br /> +With pure heart newly stamped from Nature's mint—<br /> +(Where <i>did</i> he learn that squint?)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Thou young domestic dove!</span><br /> +(He'll have that jug off with another shove!)<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Dear nursling of the Hymeneal nest!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">(Are those torn clothes his best?)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Little epitome of man!</span><br /> +(He'll climb upon the table, that's his plan!)<br /> +Touched with the beauteous tints of dawning life<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">(He's got a knife!)</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Thou enviable being!</span><br /> +No storms, no clouds, in thy blue sky foreseeing,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Play on, play on,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">My elfin John!</span><br /> +Toss the light ball—bestride the stick—<br /> +(I knew so many cakes would make him sick!)<br /> +With fancies, buoyant as the thistle-down,<br /> +Prompting the face grotesque, and antic brisk,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">With many a lamb-like frisk,</span><br /> +(He's got the scissors, snipping at your gown!)<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_943" id="Page_943">[Pg 943]</a></span> + +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Thou pretty opening rose!</span><br /> +(Go to your mother, child, and wipe your nose!)<br /> +Balmy and breathing music like the South,<br /> +(He really brings my heart into my mouth!)<br /> +Fresh as the morn, and brilliant as its star,—<br /> +(I wish that window had an iron bar!)<br /> +Bold as the hawk, yet gentle as the dove,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">(I'll tell you what, my love,</span><br /> +I cannot write unless he's sent above!)<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Thomas Hood.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>LITTLE MAMMA</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Why is it the children don't love me<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">As they do Mamma?</span><br /> +That they put her ever above me—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">"Little Mamma?"</span><br /> +I'm sure I do all that I can do,<br /> +What more can a rather big man do,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Who can't be Mamma—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little Mamma?</span><br /> +<br /> +Any game that the tyrants suggest,<br /> +"Logomachy,"—which I detest,—<br /> +Doll-babies, hop-scotch, or baseball,<br /> +I'm always on hand at the call.<br /> +When Noah and the others embark,<br /> +I'm the elephant saved in the ark.<br /> +I creep, and I climb, and I crawl—<br /> +By turns am the animals all.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">For the show on the stair</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">I'm always the bear,</span><br /> +Chimpanzee, camel, or kangaroo.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">It is never, "Mamma,—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>Little</i> Mamma,—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Won't <i>you</i>?"</span><br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_944" id="Page_944">[Pg 944]</a></span> + +<br /> +My umbrella's the pony, if any—<br /> +None ride on Mamma's parasol:<br /> +I'm supposed to have always the penny<br /> +For bonbons, and beggars, and all.<br /> +My room is the one where they clatter—<br /> +Am I reading, or writing, what matter!<br /> +My knee is the one for a trot,<br /> +My foot is the stirrup for Dot.<br /> +If his fractions get into a snarl<br /> +Who straightens the tangles for Karl?<br /> +Who bounds Massachusetts and Maine,<br /> +And tries to bound flimsy old Spain?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Why,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">It is <i>I</i>,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Papa,—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Not Little Mamma!</span><br /> +<br /> +That the youngsters are ingrates don't say.<br /> +I think they love me—in a way—<br /> +As one does the old clock on the stair,—<br /> +Any curious, cumbrous affair<br /> +That one's used to having about,<br /> +And would feel rather lonely without.<br /> +I think that they love me, I say,<br /> +In a sort of a tolerant way;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">But it's plain that Papa</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Isn't Little Mamma.</span><br /> +<br /> +Thus when twilight comes stealing anear,<br /> +When things in the firelight look queer;<br /> +And shadows the playroom enwrap,<br /> +They never climb into my lap<br /> +And toy with <i>my</i> head, smooth and bare,<br /> +As they do with Mamma's shining hair;<br /> +Nor feel round my throat and my chin<br /> +For dimples to put fingers in;<br /> +Nor lock my neck in a loving vise,<br /> +And say they're "mousies"—that's mice—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And will nibble my ears,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Will nibble and bite</span><br /> +With their little mice-teeth, so sharp and so white,<br /> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_945" id="Page_945">[Pg 945]</a></span> + +If I do not kiss them this very minute—<br /> +Don't-wait-a-bit-but-at-once-begin-it—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Dear little Papa!</span><br /> +That's what they say and do to Mamma.<br /> +<br /> +If, mildly hinting, I quietly say that<br /> +Kissing's a game that more can play at,<br /> +They turn up at once those innocent eyes,<br /> +And I suddenly learn to my great surprise<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">That my face has "prickles"—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">My moustache tickles.</span><br /> +If, storming their camp, I seize a pert shaver,<br /> +And take as a right what was asked as a favor,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">It is, "Oh, Papa,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">How horrid you are—</span><br /> +You taste exactly like a cigar!"<br /> +<br /> +But though the rebels protest and pout,<br /> +And make a pretence of driving me out,<br /> +I hold, after all, the main redoubt,—<br /> +Not by force of arms nor the force of will,<br /> +But the power of love, which is mightier still.<br /> +And very deep in their hearts, I know,<br /> +Under the saucy and petulant "Oh,"<br /> +The doubtful "Yes," or the naughty "No,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">They love Papa.</span><br /> +<br /> +And down in the heart that no one sees,<br /> +Where I hold my feasts and my jubilees,<br /> +I know that I would not abate one jot<br /> +Of the love that is held by my little Dot<br /> +Or my great big boy for their little Mamma,<br /> +Though out in the cold it crowded Papa.<br /> +I would not abate it the tiniest whit,<br /> +And I am not jealous the least little bit;<br /> +For I'll tell you a secret: Come, my dears,<br /> +And I'll whisper it—right-into-your-ears—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">I, too, love Mamma,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Little Mamma!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Charles Henry Webb.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_946" id="Page_946">[Pg 946]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE COMICAL GIRL</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +There was a child, as I have been told,<br /> +Who when she was young didn't look very old.<br /> +Another thing, too, some people have said,<br /> +At the top of her body there grew out a head;<br /> +And what perhaps might make some people stare<br /> +Her little bald pate was all covered with hair.<br /> +Another strange thing which made gossipers talk,<br /> +Was that she often attempted to walk.<br /> +And then, do you know, she occasioned much fun<br /> +By moving so fast as sometimes to run.<br /> +Nay, indeed, I have heard that some people say<br /> +She often would smile and often would play.<br /> +And what is a fact, though it seems very odd,<br /> +She had monstrous dislike to the feel of a rod.<br /> +This strange little child sometimes hungry would be<br /> +And then she delighted her victuals to see.<br /> +Even drink she would swallow, and though strange it appears<br /> +Whenever she listened it was with her ears.<br /> +With her eyes she could see, and strange to relate<br /> +Her peepers were placed in front of her pate.<br /> +There, too, was her mouth and also her nose,<br /> +And on her two feet were placed her ten toes.<br /> +Her teeth, I've been told, were fixed in her gums,<br /> +And beside having fingers she also had thumbs.<br /> +A droll child she therefore most surely must be,<br /> +For not being blind she was able to see.<br /> +One circumstance more had slipped from my mind<br /> +Which is when not cross she always was kind.<br /> +And, strangest of any that yet I have said,<br /> +She every night went to sleep on her bed.<br /> +And, what may occasion you no small surprise,<br /> +When napping, she always shut close up her eyes.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>M. Pelham.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_947" id="Page_947">[Pg 947]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>BUNCHES OF GRAPES</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +"Bunches of grapes," says Timothy,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Pomegrantes pink," says Elaine;</span><br /> +"A junket of cream and a cranberry tart<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For me," says Jane.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Love-in-a-mist," says Timothy,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Primroses pale," says Elaine;</span><br /> +"A nosegay of pinks and mignonette<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For me," says Jane.</span><br /> +<br /> +"Chariots of gold," says Timothy,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Silvery wings," says Elaine;</span><br /> +"A bumpety ride in a waggon of hay<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For me," says Jane.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Walter Ramal.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_948" id="Page_948">[Pg 948]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XVI" id="XVI"></a>XVI</h2> + +<h2>IMMORTAL STANZAS</h2> +<p><br /></p> + +<h3>THE PURPLE COW</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I never saw a Purple Cow,<br /> +I never hope to see one;<br /> +But I can tell you, anyhow,<br /> +I'd rather see than be one.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Gelett Burgess.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE YOUNG LADY OF NIGER</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +There was a young lady of Niger<br /> +Who smiled as she rode on a Tiger;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They came back from the ride</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With the lady inside,</span><br /> +And the smile on the face of the Tiger.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE LAUGHING WILLOW</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +To see the Kaiser's epitaph<br /> +Would make a weeping willow laugh.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Oliver Herford.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>SAID OPIE READ</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Said Opie Read to E. P. Roe,<br /> +"How do you like Gaboriau?"<br /> +"I like him very much indeed!"<br /> +Said E. P. Roe to Opie Read.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Julian Street</i> and <i>James Montgomery Flagg.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_949" id="Page_949">[Pg 949]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>MANILA</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Oh, dewy was the morning, upon the first of May,<br /> +And Dewey was the admiral, down in Manila Bay;<br /> +And dewy were the Regent's eyes, them royal orbs of blue,<br /> +And do we feel discouraged? We do not think we do!<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Eugene F. Ware.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>ON THE ARISTOCRACY OF HARVARD</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +I come from good old Boston,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The home of the bean and the cod;</span><br /> +Where the Cabots speak only to Lowells,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And the Lowells speak only to God!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Dr. Samuel G. Bushnell.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>ON THE DEMOCRACY OF YALE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Here's to the town of New Haven,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The home of the truth and the light;</span><br /> +Where God speaks to Jones in the very same tones,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That he uses with Hadley and Dwight!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Dean Jones.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE HERRING</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +"The Herring he loves the merry moonlight<br /> +And the Mackerel loves the wind,<br /> +But the Oyster loves the dredging song<br /> +For he comes of a gentler kind."<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Sir Walter Scott.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>IF THE MAN</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +If the man who turnips cries,<br /> +Cry not when his father dies,<br /> +'Tis a proof that he had rather<br /> +Have a turnip than his father.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Samuel Johnson.</i></p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_950" id="Page_950">[Pg 950]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>THE KILKENNY CATS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +There wanst was two cats of Kilkenny,<br /> +Each thought there was one cat too many,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So they quarrell'd and fit,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They scratch'd and they bit,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till, barrin' their nails,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the tips of their tails,</span><br /> +Instead of two cats, there warnt any.<br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Unknown.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>POOR DEAR GRANDPAPA</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +What is the matter with Grandpapa?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What can the matter be?</span><br /> +He's broken his leg in trying to spell<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tommy without a T.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>D'Arcy W. Thompson.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>MORE WALKS</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +Whene'er I take my walks abroad,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How many rich I see;</span><br /> +There's A. and B. and C. and D.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All better off than me!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p style='text-align: right;'><i>Richard Harris Barham.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>INDIFFERENCE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +The cat is in the parlour,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The dog is in the lake;</span><br /> +The cow is in the hammock,—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What difference does it make?</span><br /> +</p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + + +<h3>MADAME SANS SOUCI</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +"Bon jour, Madame Sans Souci;<br /> +Combien coûtent ces soucis ci?"<br /> +"Six sous." "Six sous ces soucis ci!<br /> +C'est trop cher, Madame Sans Souci!"<br /> +</p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_951" id="Page_951">[Pg 951]</a></span> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + +<h3>A RIDDLE</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +The man in the wilderness asked of me<br /> +How many strawberries grew in the sea.<br /> +I answered him as I thought good,<br /> +As many as red herrings grow in the wood.<br /> +</p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + + +<h3>IF</h3> +<table class='center' summary='poem'><tr><td> +<p> +If all the land were apple-pie,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And all the sea were ink;</span><br /> +And all the trees were bread and cheese,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What should we do for drink?</span><br /> +</p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr /> + + +<h3>THE END</h3> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_952" id="Page_952">[Pg 952]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="INDICES" id="INDICES"></a>INDICES</h2> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_953" id="Page_953">[Pg 953]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="INDEX_OF_AUTHORS" id="INDEX_OF_AUTHORS"></a>INDEX OF AUTHORS</h2> + +<table summary='author index'><tr><td></td><td style='text-align: right;'><span class='smcap'>page</span></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Authors Unknown</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> All's Well That Ends Well</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_264">264</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Amazing Facts About Food</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_91">91</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Ambiguous Lines</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_804">804</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Any One Will Do</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_169">169</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> As To The Weather</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_107">107</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Ballad of Bedlam, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_886">886</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Ballad of High Endeavor, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_484">484</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Bellagcholly Days</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_747">747</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Bells, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_816">816</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Cameronian Cat, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_917">917</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Careful Penman, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_810">810</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Catalectic Monody, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_833">833</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Categorical Courtship</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_207">207</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Chemist to His Love, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_206">206</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Christmas Chimes</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_284">284</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Clown's Courtship, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_217">217</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Conjugal Conundrum, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_371">371</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Cosmic Egg, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_771">771</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Cosmopolitan Woman, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_167">167</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Counsel to Those That Eat</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_932">932</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Country Summer Pastoral, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_883">883</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Cupid's Darts</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_67">67</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Darwinian Ballad</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_913">913</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Dirge</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_787">787</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Father William</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_531">531</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Fin de Siècle</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_357">357</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Fragment, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_450">450</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Future of the Classics, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_826">826</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Gillian</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_511">511</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Homœopathic Soup</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_76">76</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Hyder Iddle</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_879">879</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Idyll of Phatte and Leene, An</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_406">406</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> If</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_951">951</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Imagiste Love Lines</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_383">383</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Imaginative Crisis, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_451">451</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Imitations of Walt Whitman</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_434">434</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Indifference</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_950">950</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Invitation to the Zoological Gardens, An</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_822">822</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Israfiddlestrings</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_472">472</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Justice to Scotland</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_384">384</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Kilkenny Cats, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_950">950</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Kindly Advice</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_890">890</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> King John and the Abbot</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_554">554</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> King Arthur</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_879">879</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Learned Negro, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_274">274</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Life</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_783">783</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Lines</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_456">456</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Lines by an Old Fogy</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_882">882</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Lines to Miss Florence Huntingdon</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_830">830</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Lines Written After a Battle</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_456">456</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Little Star, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_476">476</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Logic</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_809">809</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Logical English</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_809">809</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Lost Spectacles, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_287">287</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Love's Moods and Tenses</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_812">812</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Man of Words, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_790">790</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Man's Place in Nature</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_89">89</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Maudle-in-Ballad, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_510">510</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Midsummer Madness</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_377">377</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Minguillo's Kiss</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_122">122</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Mme. Sans Souci</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_951">951</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Modern Hiawatha, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_482">482</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Mr. Finney's Turnip</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_847">847</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> My Dream</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_853">853</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> My Foe</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_529">529</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Naughty Darkey Boy, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_927">927</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Nirvana</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_900">900</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> North, East, South and West</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_403">403</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Nursery Rhymes à la Mode</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_509">509</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Nursery Song in Pidgin English</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_530">530</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Ocean Wanderer, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_879">879</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Ode to a Bobtailed Cat</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_736">736</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Odv</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_788">788</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> On a Deaf Housekeeper</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_76">76</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Origin of Ireland, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_106">106</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Original Lamb, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_477">477</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Panegyric on the Ladies</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_803">803</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Questions with Answers</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_810">810</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Rev. Gabe Tucker's Remarks</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_312">312</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Riddle, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_951">951</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Rural Raptures</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_450">450</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Sainte Margérie</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_477">477</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Siege of Belgrade, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_813">813</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Similes</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_791">791</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Song of the Springtide</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_527">527</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Sonnet Found in a Deserted Mad House</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_851">851</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Stanzas to Pale Ale</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_732">732</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Strike Among the Poets, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_785">785</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Susan Simpson</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_774">774</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> There was a Little Girl</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_926">926</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Thingumbob, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_882">882</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Three Children</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_843">843</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Three Jovial Huntsmen</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_878">878</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> 'Tis Midnight</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_843">843</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> 'Tis Sweet to Roam</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_878">878</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> To an Importunate Host</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_534">534</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> To Be or Not To Be</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_891">891</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Transcendentalism</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_92">92</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Trust in Women</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_276">276</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Two Fishers</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_188">188</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Ultimate Joy, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_32">32</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Unfortunate Miss-Bailey</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_702">702</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Village Choir, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_528">528</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Whango Tree, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_842">842</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> What is a Woman Like?</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_118">118</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Whenceness of the Which</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_476">476</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Whistler, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_133">133</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Wonders of Nature</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_882">882</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Wordsworthian Reminiscence</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_470">470</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Young Lady of Niger, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_948">948</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Young Lochinvar</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_381">381</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Adams, Charles Follen</span></td><td style='text-align: right;'></td></tr> +<tr><td> Leedle Yawcob Strauss</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_940">940</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Adams, Franklin P.</span></td><td style='text-align: right;'></td></tr> +<tr><td> Erring in Company</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_55">55</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Popular Ballad: "Never Forget Your Parents"</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_394">394</a> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_954" id="Page_954">[Pg 954]</a></span> +</td></tr> +<tr><td> To a Thesaurus</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_825">825</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Translated Way</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_427">427</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Addison, Joseph</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Song</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_751">751</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> To a Capricious Friend</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_368">368</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Aldrich, Dr. Henry</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Reasons for Drinking</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_364">364</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Anstey, F.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Select Passages from a Coming Poet</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_410">410</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Aristophanes</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Chorus of Women</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_126">126</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Ashby-Sterry, J.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Kindness to Animals</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_891">891</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Pet's Punishment</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_184">184</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Atwell, Roy</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Some Little Bug</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_77">77</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Aytoun, William E.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Bitter Bit, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_451">451</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Broken Pitcher, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_196">196</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Comfort in Affliction</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_453">453</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Husband's Petition, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_454">454</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Lay of the Lover's Friend, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_88">88</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Aytoun, William E.</span>, <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Martin</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Lay of the Love Lorn, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_537">537</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Bailey, Philip James</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Great Black Crow, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_908">908</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Ballard, Harlan Hoge</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> In the Catacombs</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_52">52</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Bangs, John Kendrick</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> "Mona Lisa"</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_95">95</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Barham, Richard Harris</span> [<span class="smcap">Thomas Ingoldsby</span>]</td></tr> +<tr><td> Confession, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_443">443</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Forlorn One, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_449">449</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Jackdaw of Rheims, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_586">586</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Knight and the Lady, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_590">590</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Misadventures at Margate</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_558">558</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> More Walks</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_950">950</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Bayly, Thomas Haynes</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Why Don't the Men Propose?</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_130">130</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Bede, Cuthbert</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> In Memoriam</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_463">463</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Beers, Henry A.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Fish Story, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_916">916</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Bellaw, A. W.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Conjugal Conjugations</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_810">810</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Old Line Fence, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_760">760</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Belloc, Hilaire</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Frog, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_907">907</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Llama, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_906">906</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Microbe, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_907">907</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Viper, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_906">906</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Yak, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_906">906</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Bennett, John</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> To Marie</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_852">852</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Birdseye, George</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Paradise</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_281">281</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Blake, Rodney</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Hoch! der Kaiser</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_291">291</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Blake, William</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Cupid</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_56">56</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Little Vagabond, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_269">269</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Blanchard, Laman</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Art of Book-Keeping, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_818">818</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> False Love and True Logic</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_183">183</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Ode to a Human Heart</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_784">784</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Whatever is, is Right</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_786">786</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Bridges, Madeline</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Third Proposition, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_345">345</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Bridgman, L. J.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> On Knowing When to Stop</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_312">312</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Browne, Charles Farrar</span> [<span class="smcap">Artemus Ward</span>]</td></tr> +<tr><td> Uncle Simon and Uncle Jim</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_849">849</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Brownell, Henry Howard</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Lawyer's Invocation to Spring, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_402">402</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Browning, Robert</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Pied Piper of Hamelin, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_603">603</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Pope and the Net, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_286">286</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Youth and Art</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_339">339</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Bunner, H. C.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Behold the Deeds</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_397">397</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Home Sweet Home with Variations</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_498">498</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Shake, Mulleary and Go-Ethe</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_40">40</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Way to Arcady, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_201">201</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Burdette, Robert J.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Orphan Born</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_903">903</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Romance of the Carpet, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_674">674</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> "Soldier, Rest!"</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_374">374</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> "Songs without Words"</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_413">413</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> What Will We Do?</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_311">311</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Burgess, Gelett</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Dighton is Engaged</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_647">647</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Extracts from the Rubaiyat of Omar Cayenne</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_512">512</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Invisible Bridge, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_855">855</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Kitty Wants to Write</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_646">646</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Lazy Roof, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_855">855</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> My Feet</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_855">855</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Purple Cow, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_948">948</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Villanelle of Things Amusing</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_73">73</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Burnand, F. C.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Fisherman's Chant, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_81">81</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Oh, My Geraldine</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_180">180</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> True to Poll</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_275">275</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Burns, Robert</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Address to the Toothache</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_724">724</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Holy Willie's Prayer</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_272">272</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> John Barleycorn</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_730">730</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Tam O'Shanter</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_623">623</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Bushnell, Dr. Samuel G.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> On the Aristocracy of Harvard</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_949">949</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Butler, Ellis Parker</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Secret Combination, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_209">209</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Butler, Samuel</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Hypocrisy</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_365">365</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Religion of Hudibras, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_271">271</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Smatterers</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_365">365</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Butler, William Allen</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Nothing to Wear</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_148">148</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Byron, John</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Three Black Crows</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_254">254</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Which is Which</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_368">368</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Byron, Lord</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Written After Swimming from Sestos to Abydos</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_80">80</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Calverley, Charles Stuart</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Ballad</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_467">467</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Cock and the Bull, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_464">464</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Companions</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_63">63</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Disaster</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_469">469</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_955" id="Page_955">[Pg 955]</a></span></td><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td> First Love</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_116">116</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Lovers and a Reflection</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_372">372</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Ode to Tobacco</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_732">732</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Schoolmaster, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_64">64</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Cannan, Edward</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Unexpected Fact, An</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_844">844</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Canning, George</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Elderly Gentlemen, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_665">665</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Knife-grinder, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_249">249</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Song</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_84">84</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Carey, Henry</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Sally in Our Alley</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_182">182</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Carleton, Will</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> New Church Organ, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_162">162</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Carroll, Lewis</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Father William</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_485">485</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Humpty Dumpty's Recitation</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_872">872</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Hunting of the Snark, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_676">676</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Jabberwocky</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_869">869</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Some Hallucinations</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_874">874</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Walrus and the Carpenter, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_896">896</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Ways and Means</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_870">870</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Carryl, Charles E.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> Post Captain, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_615">615</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Robinson Crusoe's Story</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_617">617</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Carryl, Guy Wetmore</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Ballad, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_426">426</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Girl was too Reckless of Grammar, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_395">395</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Cary, Phoebe</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Ballad of the Canal</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_492">492</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> "The Day is Done"</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_490">490</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Jacob</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_491">491</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> John Thomson's Daughter</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_494">494</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> There's a Bower of Bean-vines</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_493">493</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Reuben</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_493">493</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> When Lovely Woman</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_494">494</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Wife, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_494">494</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Cayley, George John</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Epitaph, An</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_366">366</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Chambers, Robert W.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Officer Brady</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_232">232</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Recruit, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_230">230</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Chaucer, Geoffrey</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> To My Empty Purse</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_58">58</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Cheney, John Vance</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Kitchen Clock, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_220">220</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Chesterfield, Lord</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> On a Full-length Portrait of Beau Marsh</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_369">369</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Chesterton</span>, G. K.</td></tr> +<tr><td> Ballade of an Anti-Puritan, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_337">337</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Ballade of Suicide, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_224">224</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Cholmondeley-Pennell, H.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> How the Daughters Come Down At Dunoon</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_533">533</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Lay of the Deserted Influenzaed</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_746">746</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Our Traveller</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_445">445</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Clarke</span>, H. E.</td></tr> +<tr><td> Lady Mine</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_221">221</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Clarke, Lewis Gaylord</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> Flamingo, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_894">894</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Claudius, Matthew</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Hen, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_892">892</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Cleveland</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> On Scotland</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_369">369</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Clough, Arthur Hugh</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Latest Decalogue, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_261">261</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Coleridge, Samuel Taylor</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Cologne</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_363">363</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Eternal Poem, An</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_364">364</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Giles's Hope</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_363">363</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> House that Jack Built, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_407">407</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Job</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_364">364</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> On a Bad Singer</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_364">364</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Rhymester, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_363">363</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Collins, Mortimer</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Ad Chloen, M.A.</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_184">184</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Chloe, M.A.</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_185">185</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> If</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_436">436</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Martial in London</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_316">316</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> My Aunt's Spectre</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_600">600</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Positivists, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_315">315</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Salad</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_436">436</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Sky-Making</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_314">314</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Cone, Helen Gray</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Ballad of Cassandra Brown, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_345">345</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Congreve, William</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Buxom Joan</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_179">179</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Cook, Rev. Joseph</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Boston Nursery Rhymes</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_324">324</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Corbet, Bishop</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Like to the Thundering Tone</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_848">848</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Cotton, Charles</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Joys of Marriage, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_344">344</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Cowley, Abraham</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Chronicle: A Ballad, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_176">176</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Cowper, William</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Colubriad, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_909">909</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Diverting History of John Gilpin, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_564">564</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Pairing-Time Anticipated</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_212">212</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Report of an Adjudged Case</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_82">82</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Retired Cat, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_910">910</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Crane, Stephen</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Man, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_248">248</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Croffut, William Augustus</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Dirge, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_737">737</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Cunningham, Allan</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> John Grumlie</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_326">326</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Daniell, Edith</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> Inspect Us</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_471">471</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Davison, Francis</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Are Women Fair?</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_189">189</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Day, Holman F.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> Grampy Sings a Song</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_670">670</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Deane, Anthony C.</span> </td></tr> +<tr><td> Here is the Tale</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_421">421</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Imitation</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_375">375</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Rural Bliss</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_97">97</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">DeBurgh, H. J.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Half Hours with the Classics</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_779">779</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Denison, J. P.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Wing Tee Wee</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_139">139</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Dibdin, Charles</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Nongtongpaw</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_808">808</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Dillon, Viscount</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Donnybrook Jig, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_700">700</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Dobson, Austin</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Dialogue From Plato, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_142">142</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Dora Versus Rose</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_144">144</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Jocosa Lyra</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_824">824</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_956" id="Page_956">[Pg 956]</a></span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Rondeau, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_782">782</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Tu Quoque</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_146">146</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Dodge, H. C.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> If</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_268">268</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Splendid Fellow, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_267">267</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Dodge, Mary Mapes</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Home and Mother</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_932">932</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Life in Laconics</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_311">311</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Over the Way</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_125">125</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Zealless Xylographer, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_759">759</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Dole, Nathan Haskell</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Our Native Birds</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_53">53</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Donne, John</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Song</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_330">330</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Drummond, William Henry</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Wreck of the "Julie Plante"</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_662">662</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Dreyden, John</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Epitaph Intended for His Wife</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_368">368</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Edwards, John R.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> War: A-Z, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_829">829</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Emerson, Ralph Waldo</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Fable</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_290">290</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Fanshawe, Catherine M.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> Enigma on the Letter H</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_762">762</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Imitation of Wordsworth, An</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_535">535</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Farrow, G. E.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Converted Cannibals, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_683">683</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Retired Pork-Butcher and the Spook, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_685">685</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Field, Eugene</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Dinkey Bird, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_929">929</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Dutch Lullaby</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_928">928</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Little Peach, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_931">931</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Truth About Horace, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_50">50</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Fields, James Thomas</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Alarmed Skipper, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_664">664</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Owl-Critic, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_309">309</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Turtle and the Flamingo, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_923">923</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Fink, William W.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Larrie O'Dee</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_165">165</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Flagg, James Montgomery</span> [<i>with</i> <span class="smcap">Julian Street</span>]</td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td>Said Opie Reed</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_948">948</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Foley, J. W.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Nemesis</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_94">94</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Scientific Proof</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_880">880</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Forrester, Alfred A.</span> [<span class="smcap">Alfred Croquill</span>]</td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> To My Nose</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_832">832</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Foss, Sam Walter</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Husband and Heather</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_160">160</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Ideal Husband to His Wife, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_246">246</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Meeting of the Clabberhuses, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_244">244</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> A Philosopher</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_242">242</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Prayer of Cyrus Brown, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_54">54</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Then Ag'in</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_357">357</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Gallienne, Richard Le</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> Melton Mowbray Pork-Pie, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_472">472</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Gay, John</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> New Song, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_754">754</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Gilbert, Paul T.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Triolet</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_120">120</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Gilbert, W. S.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Etiquette</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_256">256</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Ferdinando and Elvira</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_635">635</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Gentle Alice Brown</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_639">639</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Mighty Must, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_376">376</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Played-Out Humorist, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_25">25</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Practical Joker, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_26">26</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Sing for the Garish Eye</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_875">875</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Sir Guy the Crusader</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_644">644</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Story of Prince Agib, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_641">641</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> To Phoebe</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_28">28</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> To the Terrestrial Globe</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_256">256</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Yarn of the "Nancy Bell"</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_632">632</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Gillinan, S. W.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Finnigin to Flannigan</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_225">225</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Godley, A. D.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> After Horace</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_320">320</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Pensées de Noël</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_336">336</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Goldsmith, Oliver</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Elegy, An</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_740">740</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog, An</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_764">764</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Parson Gray</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_741">741</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Googe, Barnaby</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Out of Sight, Out of Mind</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_807">807</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Graves, Alfred Perceval</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Father O'Flynn</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_719">719</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Ould Doctor Macke</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_717">717</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Gray, Thomas</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> On the Death of a Favorite Cat</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_557">557</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Greene, Albert Gorton</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Old Grimes</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_766">766</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Grissom, Arthur</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Ballade of Forgotten Loves</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_223">223</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Guiterman, Arthur</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Elegy</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_445">445</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Legend of the First Cam-u-el, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_888">888</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Mavrone</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_378">378</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Mexican Serenade</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_902">902</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Sketch from the Life, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_121">121</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Strictly Germ Proof</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_87">87</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Halpine, Charles Graham</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> Feminine Arithmetic</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_191">191</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Harrington, Sir John</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Of a Certain Man</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_282">282</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Of a Precise Tailor</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_322">322</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Harte, Bret</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Ballad of the Emeu, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_921">921</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> "Jim"</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_652">652</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Plain Language from Truthful James</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_648">648</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Society Upon the Stanislaus, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_650">650</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> To the Pliocene Skull</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_46">46</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Willows, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_423">423</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Hartswick, F. G.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Somewhere-in-Europe-Wodky</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_482">482</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Hastings, Lady T.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> "Exactly So"</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_61">61</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Hay, John</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Distichs</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_247">247</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Enchanted Shirt, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_658">658</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Good and Bad Luck</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_334">334</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Jim Bludso</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_661">661</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Little Breeches</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_657">657</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_957" id="Page_957">[Pg 957]</a></span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Hazzard, John Edward</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> Ain't It Awful, Mabel?</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_137">137</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Heber, Reginald</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Sympathy</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_270">270</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Henley, William Ernest</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Culture in the Slums</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_400">400</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Her Little Feet</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_59">59</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Triolet, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_782">782</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Villon's Straight Tip to All Cross Coves</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_399">399</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Herford, Oliver</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Catfish, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_900">900</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Cloud, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_134">134</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Laughing Willow, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_948">948</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Mark Twain: A Pipe Dream</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_30">30</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Phyllis Lee</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_139">139</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> War Relief</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_901">901</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Herrick, Robert</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Five Wives</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_772">772</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> No Fault in Women</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_166">166</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Ternary of Littles Upon a Pipkin of Jelly Sent to a Lady, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_806">806</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Hill, Marion</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Lovelilts</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_824">824</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Hogg, James</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Love is Like a Dizziness</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_218">218</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Holmes, Oliver Wendell</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Æstivation</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_849">849</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Ballad of the Oysterman, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_583">583</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Cacoethes Scribendi</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_238">238</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Contentment</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_238">238</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> The Deacon's Masterpiece</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_580">580</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Familiar Letter to Several Correspondents, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_36">36</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Height of the Ridiculous, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_38">38</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Ode for a Social Meeting</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_833">833</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Our Hymn</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_374">374</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> To the Portrait of "A Gentleman"</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_236">236</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Hood, Thomas</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Bachelor's Dream, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_342">342</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Ben Bluff</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_619">619</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Death's Ramble</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_801">801</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Faithless Nellie Gray</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_797">797</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Faithless Sally Brown</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_792">792</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> No!</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_792">792</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Nocturnal Sketch, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_823">823</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Parental Ode to my Son Aged Three Years and Five Months, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_941">941</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Sally Simpkin's Lament</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_800">800</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Tim Turpin</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_795">795</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> To Minerva</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_49">49</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Hood, Thomas</span>, <i>Jr.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td> In Memoriam Technicam</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_413">413</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Takings</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_817">817</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Wedding, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_412">412</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Hook, Theodore</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Cautionary Verses</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_828">828</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Hovey, Richard</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Barney McGee</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_721">721</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Hunt, Leigh</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Jovial Priest's Confession, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_834">834</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Nun, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_206">206</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Huntley, Stanley</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Annabel Lee</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_497">497</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Ingoldsby, Thomas</span> [<i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Richard Harris Barham</span>]</td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Irwin, Wallace</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> Blow Me Eyes!</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_115">115</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Constant Cannibal Maiden, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_194">194</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Grain of Salt, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_241">241</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Jenks, Tudor</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Old Bachelor, An</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_98">98</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Johnson, Burges</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Why Doth a Pussy Cat?</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_895">895</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Johnson, Hilda</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Quest of the Purple Cow, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_100">100</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Johnson, Rossiter</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Ninety-nine in the Shade</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_781">781</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Johnson, Samuel</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> If the Man</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_949">949</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Johnston, William</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> On the Downtown Side of an Uptown Street</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_79">79</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Johnstone, Henry</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Fastidious Serpent, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_887">887</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Jones, Dean</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> On the Democracy of Yale</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_949">949</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Jonson, Ben</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Answer to Master Wither's Song, "Shall I, Wasting in Despair?"</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_526">526</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Cupid</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_211">211</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> To Doctor Empiric</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_365">365</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Keats, John</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Portrait, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_496">496</a></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Kerr, Orpheus</span> [<i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Robert H. Newell</span>]</td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">King, Ben</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> How Often</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_489">489</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> If I Should Die To-night</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_489">489</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Pessimist, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_358">358</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Kingsley, Charles</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Oubit, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_330">330</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Kipling, Rudyard</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Commonplaces</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_427">427</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Divided Destinies</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_904">904</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Study of an Elevation, in Indian Ink</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_226">226</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Knight, Henry Coggswell</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Lunar Stanzas</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_841">841</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Lamb, Charles</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Farewell to Tobacco, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_726">726</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Nonsense Verses</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_848">848</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Lampton, W. J.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> New Persion, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_90">90</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Landor, Walter Savage</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Honey-moon, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_366">366</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Gifts Returned</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_198">198</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Lang, Andrew</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Ballad of the Primitive Jest</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_72">72</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Double Ballad of Primitive Man</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_331">331</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Langbridge, Frederick</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Quite By Chance</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_205">205</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Lanigan, George Thomas</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Ahkoond of Swat, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_710">710</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Dirge of the Moolla of Kotal</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_712">712</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_958" id="Page_958">[Pg 958]</a></span></td><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Lear, Edward</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> Ahkoond of Swat, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_708">708</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Jumbles, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_862">862</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> New Vestments, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_866">866</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Owl and the Pussy Cat, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_901">901</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Pobble Who Has No Toes, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_865">865</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Two Old Bachelors, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_868">868</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Yongby-Bonghy-Bo, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_859">859</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Leigh, Henry S.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Cossimbazar</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_843">843</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Maud</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_188">188</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> My Love and My Heart</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_204">204</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Nursery Legend, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_937">937</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Only Seven</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_543">543</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Romanunt of Humpty Dumpty, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_411">411</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> 'Twas Ever Thus</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_544">544</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Twins, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_108">108</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Leland, Charles Godfrey</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Ballad of Charity, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_613">613</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Ballad of Hans Breitmann</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_669">669</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Hans Breitmann's Party</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_668">668</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Legend of Heinz Von Stein, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_49">49</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Lemke, E.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Rhyme of Musicians, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_772">772</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Lemon, Mark</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> How to Make a Man of Consequence</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_280">280</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Lessing</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Mendax</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_369">369</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> To a Slow Walker and Quick Eater</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_369">369</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Lever, Charles</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Pope, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_70">70</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Widow Malone, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_126">126</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Lindesay, Sir David</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Carman's Account of a Law Suit, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_807">807</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Locker-Lampson, Frederick</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Circumstance</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_444">444</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Mrs. Smith</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_155">155</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> My Mistress's Boots</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_153">153</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> On a Sense of Humor</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_367">367</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Some Ladies</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_367">367</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Susan</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_157">157</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Terrible Infant, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_156">156</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Loines, Russell Hilliard</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> On a Magazine Sonnet</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_281">281</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Loomis, Charles Battell</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> O-u-g-h</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_761">761</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Propinquity Needed</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_51">51</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Song of Sorrow, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_386">386</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Loring, Fred W.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Fair Millinger, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_186">186</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Lovelace, Richard</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Song</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_241">241</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Lover, Samuel</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Birth of Saint Patrick, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_58">58</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Father Malloy</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_307">307</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> How to Ask and Have</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_181">181</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Lanty Leary</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_208">208</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Paddy O'Rafther</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_571">571</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Quaker's Meeting, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_576">576</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Rory O'More; or, Good Omens</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_141">141</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Lowell, James Russell</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Candidate's Creed, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_294">294</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Courtin', The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_110">110</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> What Mr. Robinson Thinks</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_292">292</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Without and Within</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_359">359</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Ludlow, Fitz Hugh</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Too Late</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_348">348</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Lummis, C. F.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Poe-'em of Passion, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_532">532</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Lysaght, Edward</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Kitty of Coleraine</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_130">130</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Mackay, Charles</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Bachelor's Mono-Rhyme, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_817">817</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Cynical Ode to an Ultra-Cynical Public</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_339">339</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Mackintosh, Newton</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Lucy Lake</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_463">463</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Optimism</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_445">445</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Pessimism</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_338">338</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Macy, Arthur</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Rollicking Mastodon, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_853">853</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Maginn, William</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Irishman and the Lady, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_742">742</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> St. Patrick, of Ireland, My Dear!</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_101">101</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Marquis, Don</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> For I Am Sad</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_379">379</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Lilies</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_379">379</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Marriott, John</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Devonshire Lane, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_266">266</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Masson, Tom</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Kiss, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_109">109</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Maxwell, J. C.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Rigid Body Sings</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_483">483</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Mayhew, Horace</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Travesty of Miss Fanshawe's Enigma</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_763">763</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Ménage, Gilles</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Happy Man, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_814">814</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Merivale, Herman C.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Darwinity</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_409">409</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Town of Nice, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_438">438</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Miller, Alice Duer</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> If They Meant All They Said</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_247">247</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Miller, Joaquin</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> That Gentle Man From Boston Town</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_629">629</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> That Texan Cattle Man</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_288">288</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> William Brown of Oregon</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_653">653</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Milne, A. A.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> From a Full Heart</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_31">31</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Milton, John</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> On the Oxford Carrier</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_780">780</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Mix, Parmenas</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Accepted and Will Appear</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_268">268</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> He Came to Pay</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_447">447</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Moore, Augustus M.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Ballade of Ballade-Mongers, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_441">441</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Moore, Clement Clarke</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Visit from St. Nicholas, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_935">935</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Moore, Thomas</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> If you Have Seen</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_444">444</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Lying</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_86">86</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Of All the Men</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_370">370</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> On Taking a Wife</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_367">367</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Upon Being Obliged to Leave a Pleasant Party</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_367">367</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> What's My Thought Like?</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_370">370</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_959" id="Page_959">[Pg 959]</a></span></td><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Morgan, Bessie</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> 'Späcially Jim</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_129">129</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Morris, Captain C.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Contrast, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_265">265</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Morris, George Pope</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Retort, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_174">174</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Motteux, Peter A.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Rondelay, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_41">41</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Moxon, Frederick</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> All at Sea</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_70">70</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Munkittrick, R. K.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Unsatisfied Yearning</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_889">889</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> What's in a Name?</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_347">347</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Winter Dusk</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_42">42</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Nack, James</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> Here She Goes and There She Goes</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_572">572</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Nairne, Lady</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> The Laird o' Cockpen</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_703">703</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Newell, Robert H.</span> [<span class="smcap">Orpheus C. Kerr</span>]</td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> American Traveller, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_757">757</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Editor's Wooing, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_389">389</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Great Fight, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_697">697</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Rejected "National Hymns," The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_387">387</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">O'Keefe, John</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> Friar of Orders Gray, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_282">282</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">O'Leary, Cormac</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Reflections on Cleopathera's Needle</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_105">105</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">O'Reilly, John Boyle</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Constancy</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_137">137</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Osborn, Selleck</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Modest Wit, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_260">260</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Outram, George</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Annuity, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_350">350</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> On Hearing a Lady Praise a Certain Rev. Doctor's Eyes</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_368">368</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Pain, Barry</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Bangkolidye</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_334">334</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Martin Luther at Potsdam</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_404">404</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Oh! Weary Mother</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a name="FNanchor_9_2" id="FNanchor_9_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_2">000</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Poets at Tea, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_486">486</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Paine, Albert Bigelow</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Mis' Smith</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_119">119</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Sary "Fixes Up" Things</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_192">192</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Palmer, E. H.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Parterre, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_180">180</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Shipwreck, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_876">876</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Palmer, William Pitt</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Smack in School, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_128">128</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Parke, Walter</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Foam and Fangs</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_544">544</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> His Mother-in-Law</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_75">75</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> My Madeline</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_773">773</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Vague Story, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_74">74</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Young Gazelle</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_918">918</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Paull, H. M.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Eastern Question, An</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_598">598</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Peck, Samuel Minturn</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Bessie Brown, M.D.</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_120">120</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Kiss in the Rain, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_123">123</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Pelham, M.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Comical Girl, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_946">946</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Perry, Nora</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Love Knot, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_124">124</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Philips, Barclay</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Polka Lyric, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_832">832</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Philips, John</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Splendid Shilling, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_316">316</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Piggot, Mostyn T.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Hundred Best Books, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_769">769</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Planché, J. R.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Song</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_99">99</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Pontalais, Jehan Du</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Money</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_323">323</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Pope, Alexander</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Fool and the Poet, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_363">363</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Ruling Passion, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_285">285</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> To a Blockhead</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_362">362</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Porson, Richard</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Dido</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_366">366</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Nothing</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_786">786</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Porter, H. H.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Forty Years After</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_210">210</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Praed, Winthrop Mackworth</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Belle of the Ball, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_171">171</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Song of Impossibilities, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_327">327</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Pratt, Florence E.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Courting in Kentucky</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_168">168</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Prior, Matthew</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Epitaph, An</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_765">765</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Phillis's Age</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_332">332</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Remedy Worse Than the Disease, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_365">365</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Simile, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_262">262</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Proudfit, David Law</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Prehistoric Smith</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_83">83</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Prout, Father</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Malbrouck</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_28">28</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Sabine Farmer's Serenade, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_214">214</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Ramal, Walter</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Bunches of Grapes</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_947">947</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Rands, W. B.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Clean Clara</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_283">283</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Riley, James Whitcomb</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Little Orphant Annie</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_934">934</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Lugubrious Whing-Whang, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_858">858</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Man in the Moon, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_856">856</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Old Man and Jim, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_678">678</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Prior to Miss Belle's Appearance</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_925">925</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Spirk Throll-Derisive</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_855">855</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> When the Frost Is on the Punkin</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_34">34</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Robertson, Harrison</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Kentucky Philosophy</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_325">325</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Robinson, Edwin Arlington</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Miniver Cheevy</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_229">229</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Two Men</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_35">35</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Roche, James Jeffrey</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Boston Lullaby, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_240">240</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Lament of the Scotch Irish Exile</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_385">385</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Sailor's Yarn, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_680">680</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> V-A-S-E, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_227">227</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Rodger, Alexander</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Behave Yoursel' Before Folk</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_174">174</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Romaine, Harry</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Unattainable, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_141">141</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Ropes, Arthur Reed</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Lost Pleiad, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_161">161</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_960" id="Page_960">[Pg 960]</a></span></td><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Russell, Irwin</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> First Banjo, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_672">672</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Sancta-Clara, á Abraham</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> St. Anthony's Sermon to the Fishes</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_251">251</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Saxe, John G.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Comic Miseries</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_42">42</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Early Rising</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_44">44</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Echo</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_750">750</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Rhyme of the Rail</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_748">748</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Sonnet to a Clam</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_734">734</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Woman's Will</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_362">362</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Sawyer, William</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> "Caudal" Lecture, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_92">92</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Cremation</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_534">534</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Turvey Top</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_884">884</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Scollard, Clinton</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Ballade of the Golfer in Love</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_222">222</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Noureddin, the Son of the Shah</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_199">199</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Scott, Sir Walter</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Herring, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_949">949</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Nora's Vow</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_159">159</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Seaman, Owen</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> At the Sign of the Cock</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_414">414</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Of Baiting the Lion</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_893">893</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Plea for Trigamy, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_68">68</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Presto Furioso</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_417">417</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> To Julia in Shooting Togs</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_418">418</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Sheridan, Richard Brinsley</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Literary Lady, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_278">278</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Wife, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_366">366</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Shults, George Francis</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Under the Mistletoe</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_196">196</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Sibley, Charles</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Plaidie, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_190">190</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Sidney, James A.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Irish Schoolmaster, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_103">103</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Sims, George R.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> By Parcels Post</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_262">262</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Smith, Harry B.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> "I Didn't Like Him"</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_157">157</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> My Angeline</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_158">158</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Same Old Story</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_360">360</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Smith, Horace</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Gouty Merchant and the Stranger, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_563">563</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Jester Condemned to Death, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_378">378</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Smith, James</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Baby's Début, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_390">390</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Surnames</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_804">804</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Smith, Sydney</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Salad</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_93">93</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Southey, Robert</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Battle of Blenheim, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_252">252</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Cataract of Lodore, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_743">743</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Devil's Walk on Earth, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_298">298</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> March to Moscow, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_775">775</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Pig, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_914">914</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Well of St. Keyne, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_584">584</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Stanton, Frank Libby</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> How to Eat Watermelons</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_73">73</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Stephen, James Kenneth</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Cynicus to W. Shakespeare</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_362">362</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Last Ride Together, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_431">431</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Millennium, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_60">60</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> School</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_60">60</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Senex to Matt. Prior</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_362">362</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Thought, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_248">248</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Stevens, H. P.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Why</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_214">214</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Street, Julian</span> [<i>with</i> <span class="smcap">James Montgomery Flagg</span>]</td></tr> +<tr><td> Said Opie Reed</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_948">948</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Stuart, Alaric Bertrand</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Jim-Jam King of the Jou-jous, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_851">851</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Stuart, Ruth McEnery</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Endless Song, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_768">768</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Hen-Roost Man, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_247">247</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Suckling, Sir John</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Out Upon It</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_218">218</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Wedding, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_704">704</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Swift, Dean</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Gentle Echo On Woman, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_752">752</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Twelve Articles</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_279">279</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Swinburne, Algernon Charles</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Higher Pantheism in a Nutshell, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_458">458</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Nephelidia</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_459">459</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Up the Spout</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_460">460</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Taber, Harry Parsons</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Jaberwocky of Authors, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_437">437</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Taylor, Bayard</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Angelo Orders His Dinner</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_428">428</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Camerados</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_430">430</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Cantelope, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_393">393</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Hiram Hover</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_113">113</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Palabras Grandiosas</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_407">407</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Promissory Note, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_429">429</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Taylor, Bert Leston</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Bygones</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_383">383</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Farewell</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_419">419</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Old Stuff</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_48">48</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Post-Impressionism</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_235">235</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Tennyson, Lord</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Goose, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_611">611</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Northern Farmer</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_354">354</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Thackeray, W. M.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Ballad of Bouillabaisse, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_714">714</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Crystal Palace, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_547">547</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Little Billee</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_546">546</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Old Fashioned Fun</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_33">33</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Sorrows of Werther, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_140">140</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Tragic Story, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_850">850</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> When Moonlike Ore the Hazure Seas</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_34">34</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Willow-Tree, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_439">439</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Wofle New Ballad of Jane Roney and Mary Brown, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_552">552</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Thayer, Ernest Lawrence</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Casey at the Bat</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_601">601</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Thompson, D'Arcy W.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Poor Dear Grandpapa</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_950">950</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Towne, Charles Hanson</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Messed Damozel, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_471">471</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Traill, H. D.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> After Dilettante Concetti</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_474">474</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Trowbridge, John Townsend</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Darius Green and His Flying-Machine</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_690">690</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Turner, Eliza Sproat</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Little Goose, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_938">938</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Turner, Godfrey</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Love Playnt, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_408">408</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Tytler, James</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> I Hae Laid a Herring in Saut</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_216">216</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_961" id="Page_961">[Pg 961]</a></span></td><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Untermeyer, Louis</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Owen Seaman</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_480">480</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Robert Frost</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_479">479</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Vandyne, Mary E.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> The Bald-headed Tyrant</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_720">720</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Villon, François</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> All Things Except Myself I Know</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_343">343</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Wake, William Basil</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Saying Not Meaning</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_666">666</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Ward, Artemus</span> [<i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Charles Farrar Browne</span>]</td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Ware, Eugene Fitch</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> He and She</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_109">109</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Manila</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_949">949</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Siege of Djklxprwbz, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_96">96</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Warren, George F.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Lord Guy</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_191">191</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Waterman, Nixon</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> If We Didn't Have to Eat</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_57">57</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Weatherly, Frederic E.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Bird in the Hand, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_170">170</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Thursday</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_313">313</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Usual Way, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_200">200</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Webb, Charles Henry</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Little Mamma</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_943">943</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Wells, Carolyn</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Diversions of the Re-Echo Club</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_515">515</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Limericks</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_835">835</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Styx River Anthology</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_521">521</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">West, Paul</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Cumberbunce, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_844">844</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Wesley, Rev. Samuel</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> On Butler's Monument</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_370">370</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Witcher, Frances M.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> K. K.—Can't Calculate</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_353">353</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Widow Bedott to Elder Sniffles</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_195">195</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">White, Harriet R.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Uffia</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_877">877</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Whittier, John Greenleaf</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Skipper Ireson's Ride</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_688">688</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Wilcox, Ella Wheeler</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Pin, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_132">132</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Wildgoose, Oscuro</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> More Impressions</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_509">509</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Wilkie, A. C.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Old Song By New Singers, An</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_506">506</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Willis</span>, N. P.</td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Declaration, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_446">446</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Willson, Arabella</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Appeal for Are to the Sextant of the Old Brick Meetinouse, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_66">66</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Wolcot, John</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Actor, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_287">287</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Pilgrims and the Peas, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_621">621</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Razor Seller, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_297">297</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> To a Fly</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_734">734</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Yates, Edmund</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> All-Saints</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_280">280</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Ybarra, Thomas R.</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td>Lay of Ancient Rome</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_753">753</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Little Swirl of Vers Libre, A</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_380">380</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> Ode to Work in Springtime</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_47">47</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Yriarte, Tomaso de</span></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td> Musical Ass, The</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_249">249</a></td></tr> +</table> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_962" id="Page_962">[Pg 962]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="INDEX_OF_FIRST_LINES" id="INDEX_OF_FIRST_LINES"></a>INDEX OF FIRST LINES</h2> + + +<table summary='first-line index'><tr><td></td><td style='text-align: right;'><span class='smcap'>page</span></td></tr> +<tr><td>A brace of sinners, for no good</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_621">621</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A brow austere, a circumspective eye</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_280">280</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A captain bold from Halifax who dwelt in country quarters</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_702">702</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A cat I sing, of famous memory</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_833">833</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A country curate visiting his flock</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_287">287</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A district school, not far away</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_128">128</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A fellow in a market town</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_297">297</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A fellow near Kentuck's clime</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_494">494</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A fig for St. Denis of France</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_101">101</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A friend of mine was married to a scold</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_264">264</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A hindoo died—a happy thing to do</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_281">281</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A knight and a lady once met in a grove</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_270">270</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A little peach in the orchard grew</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_931">931</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A little saint best fits a little shrine</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_806">806</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A lively young turtle lived down by the banks</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_923">923</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A lovely young lady I mourn in my rhymes</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_366">366</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A maiden once, of certain age</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_169">169</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A man of words and not of deeds</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_790">790</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A man said to the universe</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_248">248</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A man sat on a rock and sought</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_83">83</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Persian penman named Aziz</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_810">810</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Poet's Cat, sedate and grave</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_910">910</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A quiet home had Parson Gray</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_741">741</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A rollicking Mastodon lived in Spain</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_853">853</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A Russian sailed over the blue Black Sea</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_374">374</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A shabby fellow chanced one day to meet</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_287">287</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A soldier and a sailor</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_179">179</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A soldier of the Russians</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_90">90</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A speech, both pithy and concise</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_61">61</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A street there is in Paris famous</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_714">714</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A supercilious nabob of the East</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_260">260</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A tailor, a man of an upright dealing</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_322">322</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A traveller wended the wilds among</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_576">576</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A well there is in the west country</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_584">584</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A whale of great porosity</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_916">916</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A woman is like to—but stay</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_118">118</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A xylographer started to cross the sea</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_759">759</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>A young man once was sitting</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_394">394</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Across the sands of Syria</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_888">888</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ah! Matt, old age has brought to me</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_362">362</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ah, Night! blind germ of days to be</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_484">484</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ah! poor intoxicated little knave</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_734">734</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ah, those hours when by-gone sages</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_779">779</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ah! who has seen the mailed lobster rise</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_882">882</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ah! why those piteous sounds of woe</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_449">449</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Alas, unhappy land; ill-fated spot</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_712">712</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>All day she hurried to get through</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_119">119</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>All smatterers are more brisk and pert</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_365">365</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Alone I sit at eventide</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_53">53</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>An ancient story I'll tell you anon</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_554">554</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>An Austrian Archduke, assaulted and assailed</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_829">829</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>An Austrian army, awfully array'd</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_813">813</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>An igstrawnary tail I vill tell you this week</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_552">552</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_963" id="Page_963">[Pg 963]</a></span></td><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td>And so our royal relative was dead!</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_737">737</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>And this reft house is that the which he built</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_407">407</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"Are women fair?" Ay, wondrous fair to see, too</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_189">189</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>As a friend to the children commend me the yak</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_906">906</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>As beautiful Kitty one morning was tripping</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_130">130</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>As I was walkin' the jungle round, a-killin' of tigers an' time</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_426">426</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>As long as I dwell on some stupendous</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_60">60</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>As wet as a fish—as dry as a bone</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_791">791</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ask me no more: I've had enough Chablis</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_534">534</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>At a pleasant evening party I had taken down to supper</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_635">635</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>At morning's call</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_374">374</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Baby's brain is tired of thinking</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_240">240</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Back in the years when Phlagstaff, the Dane, was monarch</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_387">387</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Barney McGee, there's no end of good luck in you</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_721">721</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Basking in peace in the warm spring sun</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_674">674</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Be brave, faint heart</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_445">445</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Be kind and tender to the Frog</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_907">907</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Be kind to the panther! for when thou wert young</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_890">890</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Beauties, have ye seen this toy</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_211">211</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Before a Turkish town</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_96">96</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Behave yoursel' before folk</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_174">174</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ben Battle was a soldier bold</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_797">797</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ben Bluff was a whaler, and many a day</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_619">619</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Beside a Primrose 'broider'd Rill</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_139">139</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Between Adam and me the great difference is</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_367">367</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Between Nose and Eyes a strange contest arose</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_82">82</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Blind Thamyris, and blind Maeonides</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_784">784</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"Bon jour, Madame Sans Souci</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_950">950</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Bright breaks the warrior o'er the ocean wave</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_879">879</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Brisk methinks I am, and fine</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_772">772</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"Bunches of grapes," says Timothy</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_947">947</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>By the side of a murmuring stream an elderly gentleman sat</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_665">665</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Bye Baby Bunting</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_324">324</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Calm and implacable</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_375">375</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"Can you spare a Threepenny bit</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_901">901</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Careless rhymer, it is true</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_185">185</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Celestine Silvousplait Justine de Mouton Rosalie</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_51">51</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Charm is a woman's strongest arm</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_247">247</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Chilly Dovebber with his boadigg blast</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_747">747</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Close by the threshold of a door nailed fast</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_909">909</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"Come, come," said Tom's father, "at your time of life</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_367">367</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Come! fill a fresh bumper,—for why should we go</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_833">833</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Come fleetly, come fleetly, my hooksbadar</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_843">843</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"Come here, my boy; hould up your head</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_103">103</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Come hither, my heart's darling</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_454">454</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Come into the Whenceness Which</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_476">476</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"Come, listen, my men, while I tell you again</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_676">676</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Come mighty Must!</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_376">376</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Comrades, you may pass the rosy. With permission of the chair</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_537">537</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>De Hen-roost Man he'll preach about Paul</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_247">247</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Dear maid, let me speak</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_810">810</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Dear mother, dear mother, the Church is cold</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_269">269</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Dear Thomas, didst thou never pop</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_262">262</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Delmonico's is where he dines</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_267">267</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Der Kaiser of dis Faterland</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_291">291</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Der noble Ritter Hugo</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_669">669</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Did you hear of the Widow Malone</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_126">126</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Dighton is engaged! Think of it and tremble!</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_647">647</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Do not worry if I scurry from the grill room in a hurry</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_67">67</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Do you know why the rabbits are caught in the snare</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_214">214</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Do you think I'll marry a woman</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_817">817</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Doe, doe!</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_746">746</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Dosn't thou 'ear my 'erse's legs, as they canters awaäy?</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_354">354</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Down in the silent hallway</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_889">889</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_964" id="Page_964">[Pg 964]</a></span></td><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td>Easy is the triolet</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_782">782</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Echo, tell me, while I wander</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_751">751</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Even is come; and from the dark Park, hark</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_823">823</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Everywhere, everywhere, following me</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_430">430</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Exquisite wines and comestibles</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_316">316</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Far off in the waste of desert sand</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_851">851</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Far, oh, far is the Mango island</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_194">194</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"Farewell!" Another gloomy word</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_419">419</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Felis Infelix Cat unfortunate</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_736">736</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>First there's the Bible</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_769">769</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>For his religion it was fit</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_271">271</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>From Arranmore the weary miles I've come</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_378">378</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>From his brimstone bed at break of day</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_298">298</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>From the depth of the dreamy decline of the dawn through</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_459">459</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>From the madding crowd they stand apart</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_227">227</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>From the tragic-est novels at Mudie's</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_144">144</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"Gentle, modest little flower</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_28">28</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"Gimme my scarlet tie,"</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_334">334</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Gin a body meet a body</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_483">483</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Gineral B. is a sensible man</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_292">292</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Given a roof, and a taste for rations</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_311">311</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Go and catch a falling star</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_330">330</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Go 'way, fiddle; folks is tired o' hearin' you a-squawkin'</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_672">672</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"God bless the King! God bless the faith's defender!</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_368">368</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"God bless the man who first invented sleep!"</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_44">44</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>God makes sech nights, all white an' still</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_110">110</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Good Luck is the gayest of all gay girls</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_334">334</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Good people all, of every sort</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_764">764</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Good people all, with one accord</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_740">740</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Good reader! if you e'er have seen</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_444">444</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"Had Cain been Scot, God would have changed his doom</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_369">369</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Half a bar, half a bar</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_528">528</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Hamelin Town's in Brunswick</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_603">603</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Handel, Bendel, Mendelssohn</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_772">772</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Hans Breitmann gife a barty</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_668">668</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Happy the man, who, void of cares and strife</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_316">316</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Have you heard of the wonderful one-hoss shay</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_580">580</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>He cannot be complete in aught</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_367">367</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>He dropt a tear on Susan's bier</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_157">157</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>He dwelt among "Apartments let,"</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_491">491</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>He girded on his shining sword</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_100">100</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>He is too weet a melancholy carle</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_496">496</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>He killed the noble Mudjokivis</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_482">482</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>He lived in a cave by the seas</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_331">331</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>He stood on his head by the wild seashore</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_75">75</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>He thought he saw an Elephant</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_874">874</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>He took her fancy when he came</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_817">817</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>He was the chairman of the Guild</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_244">244</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Hear what Highland Nora said</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_159">159</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Her heart she locked fast in her breast</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_209">209</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Her little feet! ... Beneath us ranged the sea</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_59">59</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Her washing ended with the day</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_494">494</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Here lies my wife: here let her lie!</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_368">368</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Here lieth one, who did not most truly prove</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_780">780</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Here's to the town of New Haven</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_949">949</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Hi! Just you drop that! Stop, I say!</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_460">460</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>His eye was stern and wild—his cheek was pale and cold as clay</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_450">450</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>History, and nature, too, repeat themselves, they say</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_360">360</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>How do the daughters</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_533">533</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"How does the water</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_743">743</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>How hard, when those who do not wish</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_818">818</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>How old may Philis be, you ask</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_332">332</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>How uneasy is his life</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_344">344</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Hyder iddle didle dell</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_879">879</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_965" id="Page_965">[Pg 965]</a></span></td></tr> + +<tr><td>Hypocrisy will serve as well</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_365">365</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I am</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_900">900</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I am a friar of orders gray</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_282">282</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I am an ancient Jest!</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_72">72</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I come from good old Boston</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_949">949</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I am a hearthrug</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_377">377</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I am a lone, unfeathered chick</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_903">903</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I am numb from world-pain</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_380">380</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I, Angelo, obese, black-garmented</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_428">428</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I asked of Echo, t'other day</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_750">750</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I cannot praise the doctor's eyes</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_368">368</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I cannot sing the old songs</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_413">413</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I cannot tell you how I love</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_235">235</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I couldn't help weeping with delight</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_521">521</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I count it true which sages teach</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_413">413</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I devise to end my days—in a tavern drinking</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_834">834</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I du believe in Freedom's cause</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_294">294</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I do confess, in many a sigh</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_86">86</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I don't go much on religion</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_657">657</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I don't know any greatest treat</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_180">180</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I dreamed a dream next Tuesday week</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_853">853</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I dwells in the Hearth, and I breathes in the Hair</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_763">763</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I gaed to spend a week in Fife</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_350">350</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I hae laid a herring in saut</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_216">216</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I haf von funny leedle poy</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_940">940</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I have a bookcase, which is what</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_40">40</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I have a copper penny and another copper penny</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_809">809</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I have felt the thrill of passion in the poet's mystic book</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_32">32</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I have found out a gig-gig-gift for my fuf-fuf-fair</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_822">822</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I have made me an end of the moods of maidens</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_511">511</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I have watch'd thee with rapture, and dwelt on thy charms</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_456">456</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I knew an old wife lean and poor</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_611">611</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I know not of what we ponder'd</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_63">63</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I know when milk does flies contain</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_343">343</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I lately lived in quiet ease</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_218">218</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I lay i' the bosom of the sun</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_407">407</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I love my lady with a deep purple love</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_383">383</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I love thee, Mary, and thou lovest me</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_206">206</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"I love you, my lord!"</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_120">120</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I marvell'd why a simple child</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_543">543</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I may as well</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_685">685</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I never rear'd a young gazelle</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_544">544</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I never saw a Purple Cow</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_948">948</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"I never saw a purple cow</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_515">515</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I recollect a nurse call'd Ann</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_156">156</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I remember, I remember</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_107">107</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I reside at Table Mountain, and my name is Truthful James</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_650">650</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I said, "This horse, sir, will you shoe?"</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_809">809</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I sat one night beside a blue-eyed girl</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_207">207</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I saw a certain sailorman who sat beside the sea</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_70">70</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I saw a peacock with a fiery tail</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_804">804</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I sent for Ratcliffe; was so ill</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_365">365</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I sent my love a parcel</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_262">262</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I shall not ask Jean Jacques Rousseau</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_212">212</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I sometimes think I'd rather crow</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_891">891</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I strolled beside the shining sea</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_844">844</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I tell thee, Dick, where I have been</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_704">704</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I walked and came upon a picket fence</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_470">470</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I was in Margate last July. I walk'd upon the pier</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_558">558</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I wonder what your thoughts are, little cloud</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_134">134</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I would all womankind were dead</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_88">88</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I would flee from the city's rule and law</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_883">883</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I would that all men my hard case might know</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_397">397</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I wrote some lines once on a time</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_38">38</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_966" id="Page_966">[Pg 966]</a></span></td><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td>I wus mighty good-lookin' when I was young</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_129">129</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I yearn to bite on a Colloid</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_91">91</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I'd Never Dare to Walk across</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_855">855</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I'd read three hours. Both notes and text</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_142">142</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>If all be true that I do think</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_364">364</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>If all the harm women have done</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_248">248</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>If all the land were apple-pie</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_951">951</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>If all the trees in all the woods were men</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_238">238</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>If down his throat a man should choose</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_844">844</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>If e'er my rhyming be at fault</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_55">55</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>If ever there lived a Yankee lad</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_690">690</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>If I go to see the play</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_48">48</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>If I should die to-night</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_489">489</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>If I were thine, I'd fail not of endeavour</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_345">345</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>If I were you, when ladies at the play, Sir</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_146">146</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>If, in the month of dark December</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_80">80</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>If life were never bitter</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_436">436</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>If the man who turnips cries</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_949">949</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>If there is a vile, pernicious</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_60">60</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>If thou wouldst stand on Etna's burning brow</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_445">445</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>If we square a lump of pemmican</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_880">880</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>If you become a nun, dear</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_206">206</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I'll sing you a song, not very long</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_275">275</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I'll tell thee everything I can</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_870">870</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I'm taught p-l-o-u-g-h</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_761">761</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I'm thankful that the sun and moon</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_882">882</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"Immortal Newton never spoke</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_369">369</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>In a church which is furnish'd with mullion and gable, I</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_280">280</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>In a Devonshire lane as I trotted along</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_266">266</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>In all thy humors, whether grave or mellow</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_368">368</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>In an ocean, 'way out yonder</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_929">929</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>In Ballades things always contrive to get lost</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_441">441</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>In Broad Street Buildings on a winter night</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_563">563</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>In candent ire the solar splendour flames</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_849">849</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>In days of peace my fellow-men</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_31">31</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>In early youth, as you may guess</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_918">918</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>In form and feature, face and limb</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_108">108</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>In heaven a spirit doth dwell</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_472">472</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>In his chamber, weak and dying</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_785">785</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>In Köln, a town of monks and bones</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_363">363</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>In letters large upon the frame</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_347">347</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>In London I never know what I'd be at</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_265">265</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>In our hearts is the Great One of Avon</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_824">824</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>In the age that was golden, the halcyon time</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_338">338</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>In the "Foursome" some would fain</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_222">222</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>In the lonesome latter years</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_429">429</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>In these days of indigestion</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_77">77</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"In winter, when the fields are white</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_872">872</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Inglorious friend! most confident I am</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_734">734</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Interred beneath this marble stone</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_765">765</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Is moss-prankt dells which the sunbeams flatter</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_372">372</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>It is told, on Buddhi-theosophic schools</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_92">92</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>It is very aggravating</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_50">50</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>It looked extremely rocky for the Mudville nine that day</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_601">601</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>It may be so—perhaps thou hast</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_236">236</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>It once might have been, once only</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_339">339</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>It was a millinger most gay</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_186">186</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>It was a Moorish maiden was sitting by the well</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_196">196</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>It was a robber's daughter, and her name was Alice Brown</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_639">639</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>It was a summer's evening</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_252">252</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>It was a tall young oysterman lived by the river-side</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_583">583</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>It was an artless Bandar, and he danced upon a pine</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_904">904</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>It was a hairy oubit, sac proud he crept alabg</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_330">330</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>It was in a pleasant deepô, sequestered from the rain</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_613">613</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_967" id="Page_967">[Pg 967]</a></span></td><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td>It was many and many a year ago</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_532">532</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>It ripen'd by the river banks</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_444">444</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>It worries me to beat the band</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_137">137</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Its eyes are gray</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_121">121</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I've been trying to fashion a wifely ideal</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_68">68</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Jacob! I do not like to see thy nose</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_914">914</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Jem writes his verses with more speed</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_363">363</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Jim Bowker, he said, if he'd had a fair show</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_357">357</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>John Alcohol, my foe, John</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_529">529</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>John Bull for pastime took a prance</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_808">808</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>John Gilpin was a citizen of credit and renown</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_564">564</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>John Grumlie Swore by the light o' the moon</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_326">326</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Just take a trifling handful, O philosopher</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_314">314</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Kitty wants to write! Kitty intellectual!</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_646">646</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Knitting is the maid o' the kitchen, Milly</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_220">220</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Knows he that never took a pinch</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_832">832</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>La Galisse now I wish to touch</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_814">814</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Lady Clara Vere de Vere!</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_412">412</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Lady, I loved you all last year</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_327">327</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Lady mine, most fair thou art</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_221">221</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Lady, very fair are you</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_184">184</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Lanty was in love, you see</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_208">208</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Last year I trod these fields with Di</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_155">155</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Lazy-bones, lazy-bones, wake up and peep!</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_848">848</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Lest it may more quarrels breed</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_279">279</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Life and the Universe show spontaneity</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_315">315</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Life is a gift that most of us hold dear</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_357">357</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Life would be an easy matter</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_57">57</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Lilies, lilies, white lilies and yellow</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_379">379</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Like to the thundering tone of unspoke speeches</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_848">848</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Little bopeepals</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_324">324</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Little I ask; my wants are few</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_238">238</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Little Orphant Annie's come to our house to stay</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_934">934</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Little Penelope Socrates</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_284">284</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Lives there a man with a soul so dead</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_786">786</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Long by the willow-trees</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_439">439</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Lord Erskine, at women presuming to rail</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_366">366</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Malbrouck, the prince of commanders</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_28">28</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Man is for woman made</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_41">41</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Many a long, long year ago</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_664">664</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Margarita first possess'd</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_176">176</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Marry, I lent my gossip my mare, to fetch home coals</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_807">807</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Mary had a little lamb</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_506">506</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Matilda Maud Mackenzie frankly hadn't any chin</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_395">395</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>May the Babylonish curse</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_726">726</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Men, Dying, make their wills, but wives</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_362">362</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Men once were surnamed for their shape or estate</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_804">804</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>'Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_498">498</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Miniver Cheevy, child of scorn</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_229">229</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Mona Lisa, Mona Lisa!</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_95">95</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Miss Flora McFlimsey, of Madison Square</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_148">148</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Mr. Finney had a turnip</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_847">847</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>My brother Jack was nine in May</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_390">390</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>My coachman, in the moonlight there</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_359">359</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>My curse upon you venom'd stang</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_724">724</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>My dear young friend, whose shining wit</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_42">42</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>My feet, they haul me Round the House</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_855">855</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>My Heart will break—I'm sure it will</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_183">183</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>My lank limp lily, my long lithe lily</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_510">510</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>My little dears, who learn to read, pray early, learn to shun</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_828">828</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>My Love has sicklied unto Loath</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_410">410</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>My Madeline! my Madeline!</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_773">773</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>My passion is as mustard strong</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_754">754</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>My pipe is lit, my grog is mixed</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_342">342</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_968" id="Page_968">[Pg 968]</a></span></td><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td>My temples throb, my pulses boil</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_49">49</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>My William was a soldier, and he says to me, says he</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_598">598</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Mysterious Nothing! how shall I define</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_786">786</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Nay, I cannot come into the garden just now</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_188">188</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"Needy Knife-grinder! whither are you going?</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_249">249</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Night saw the crew like pedlars with their packs</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_841">841</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>No fault in women, to refuse</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_166">166</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>No longer, O scholars, shall Platus</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_826">826</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>No sun—no moon!</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_792">792</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>No usual words can bear the woe I feel</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_379">379</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Nothing to do but work</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_358">358</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Now Jake looked up—it was time to sup, and the buckets was yet to fill</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_421">421</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Now the Widow McGee</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_165">165</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>O cool in the summer is salad</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_436">436</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"O Crikey, Bill!" she ses to me, she ses</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_400">400</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>O for a lodge in a garden of cucumbers!</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_781">781</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>O, if my love offended me</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_184">184</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>O lady wake!—the azure moon</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_886">886</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>O mickle yeuks the keckle doup</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_384">384</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>O my earliest love, who, ere I number'd</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_116">116</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>O nymph with the nicest of noses</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_544">544</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>O precious code, volume, tome</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_825">825</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>O reverend sir, I do declare</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_195">195</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>O say, have you seen at the willows so green</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_921">921</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>O Season supposed of all free flowers</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_527">527</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>O the quietest home on earth had I</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_720">720</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>O thou wha in the heavens dost dwell</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_272">272</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>O what harper could worthily harp it</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_64">64</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>O'er the men of Ethiopia she would pour her cornucopia</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_160">160</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Of all life's plagues I recommend to no man</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_76">76</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Of all the girls that are so smart</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_182">182</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Of all the mismated pairs ever created</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_480">480</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Of all the men one meets about</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_370">370</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Of all the rides since the birth of time</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_688">688</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Of all the wimming doubly blest</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_241">241</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Of priests we can offer a charmin' variety</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_719">719</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Oh, but she was dark and shrill</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_509">509</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Oh, dewy was the morning, upon the first of May</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_949">949</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Oh, I have been North, and I have been South, and the East hath seen me pass</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_403">403</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Oh! I have loved thee fondly, ever</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_732">732</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Oh, I know a certain woman who is reckoned with the good</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_132">132</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Oh, I used to sing a song</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_768">768</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Oh, I want to win me hame</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_385">385</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Oh listen, little children, to a proper little song</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_937">937</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Oh, many have told of the monkeys of old</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_913">913</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Oh, Mary had a little lamb, regarding whose cuticular</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_477">477</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Oh, my Geraldine</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_180">180</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Oh, sing a song of phosphates</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_324">324</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Oh, solitude thou wonder-working fay</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_457">457</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Oh, tell me have you ever seen a red, long-leg'd Flamingo?</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_894">894</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Oh that my soul a marrow-bone might seize!</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_851">851</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Oh, the days were ever shiny</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_204">204</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Oh, the fisherman is a happy wight!</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_81">81</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Oh, the Roman was a rogue</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_753">753</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"Oh, 'tis time I should talk to your mother</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_181">181</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Oh, 'twas O'Nolan M'Figg</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_700">700</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Oh, what a fund of joy jocund lies hid in harmless hoaxes!</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_26">26</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"Oh! what is that comes gliding in</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_800">800</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Oh, what's the way to Arcady?</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_201">201</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Oh, Wing Tee Wee</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_139">139</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Oh, would that working I might shun</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_47">47</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Oh, yes, we've be'n fixin' some sence we sold that piece o' groun'</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_192">192</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_969" id="Page_969">[Pg 969]</a></span></td><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td>Oh! young Lochinvar has come out of the West</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_381">381</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Old Grimes is dead; that good old man</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_766">766</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Old man never had much to say</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_678">678</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Old Nick, who taught the village school</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_174">174</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>On wan dark night on Lac St. Pierre</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_662">662</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>On me he shall ne'er put a ring</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_191">191</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>On the Coast of Goromandel</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_859">859</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>On the downtown side of an uptown street</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_79">79</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>On the eighth day of March it was, some people say</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_58">58</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>One day the dreary old King of death</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_801">801</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>One evening while reclining</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_268">268</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>One morning when Spring was in her teens</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_188">188</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>One of the kings of Scanderoon</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_578">578</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>One stormy morn I chanced to meet</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_123">123</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>One, who is not, we see; but one, whom we see not, is</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_458">458</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Or ever a lick of Art was done</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_383">383</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Out of the clothes that cover me</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_471">471</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Out on the margin of moonshine land</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_858">858</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Out rode from his wild, dark castle</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_49">49</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Out upon it, I have loved</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_218">218</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Over the way, over the way</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_125">125</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Paddy, in want of a dinner one day</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_571">571</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Paddy McCabe was dying one day</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_307">307</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Peerless yet hapless maid of Q!</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_787">787</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Perchance it was her eyes of blue</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_74">74</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Perhaps you may a-noticed I been soht o' solemn lately</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_157">157</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Philosophy shows us 'twixt monkey and man</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_92">92</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ph, it's H-A-P-P-Y I am, and it's F-R-double-E</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_816">816</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Poor Lucy Lake was overgrown</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_463">463</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Potiphar Gubbins, C.E.</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_226">226</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Pour varlet, pour the water</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_486">486</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Power to thine elbow, thou newest of sciences</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_409">409</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Quest.—Why is a pump like Viscount Castlereagh?</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_370">370</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Qui nune dancere vult modo</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_832">832</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Quixotic is his enterprise and hopeless his adventure is</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_25">25</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Quoth John to Joan, will thou have me</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_217">217</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Rain on the face of the sea</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_427">427</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Remembering his taste for blood</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_893">893</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Roll on, thou ball, roll on!</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_256">256</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Rooster her sign</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_414">414</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Row-diddy, dow de, my little sis</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_670">670</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Said Opie Read to E. P. Roe</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_948">948</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Said the Raggedy Man on a hot afternoon</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_856">856</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Saint Anthony at church</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_251">251</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Sally Salter, she was a young lady who taught</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_812">812</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Sam Brown was a fellow from way down East</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_52">52</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Say there! P'r'aps</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_652">652</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Scintillate scintillate, globule orific</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_476">476</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"Scorn not the sonnet," though its strength be sapped</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_281">281</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>See yonder goes old Mendax, telling lies</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_369">369</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Sez Alderman Grady</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_232">232</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Sez Corporal Madden to Private McFadden</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_230">230</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Shall I, mine affections slack</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_526">526</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>She flung the parlour window wide</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_205">205</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Shepherd. Echo, I wean, will in the woods reply</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_752">752</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>She kept her secret well, oh, yes</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_158">158</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>She stood beneath the mistletoe</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_196">196</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>She went around and asked subscriptions</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_167">167</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Side by side in the crowded streets</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_393">393</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Sin, I admit your general rule</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_363">363</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Since for kissing thee, Minguillo</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_122">122</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Sing for the garish eye</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_875">875</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Singee a songee sick a pence</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_530">530</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Singing through the forests</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_748">748</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_970" id="Page_970">[Pg 970]</a></span></td><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td>Sir Guy was a doughty crusader</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_644">644</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Sleep, my own darling</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_932">932</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Slim feet than lilies tenderer</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_477">477</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Sly Beelzebub took all occasions</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_364">364</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>So slowly you walk, and so quickly you eat</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_369">369</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>So that's Cleopathera's Needle, bedad</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_105">105</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Some ladies now make pretty songs</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_367">367</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Some poets sing of sweethearts dead</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_223">223</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Speak gently to the herring and kindly to the calf</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_891">891</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"Speak, O man less recent!</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_46">46</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Spontaneous Us!</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_417">417</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Stiff are the warrior's muscles</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_456">456</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Strange pie that is almost a passion</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_472">472</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Strike the concertina's melancholy string!</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_641">641</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Sudden swallows swiftly skimming</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_774">774</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Superintendent wuz Flannigan</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_225">225</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Suppose you screeve? or go cheap-jack?</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_399">399</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Swans sing before they die:—'twere no bad thing</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_364">364</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Sweet maiden of Passamaquoddy</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_830">830</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Take a robin's leg</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_76">76</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>That man must lead a happy life</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_803">803</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>That very time I saw, (but thou couldst not)</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_493">493</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Antiseptic Baby and the Prophylactic Pup</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_87">87</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The auld wife sat at her ivied door</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_467">467</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Ballyshannon foundered off the coast of Cariboo</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_256">256</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The cat is in the parlour</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_950">950</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The chill November day was done</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_938">938</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Crankadox leaned o'er the edge of the moon</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_855">855</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The crow—the crow! the great black crow!</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_908">908</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The day was done, and darkness</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_490">490</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The editor sat with his head in his hands</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_447">447</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Emperor Nap he would set off</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_775">775</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The fable which I now present</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_249">249</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The frugal crone, whom praying priest attend</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_285">285</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The gallows in my garden, people say</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_224">224</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The hale John Spratt—oft called for shortness, Jack</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_406">406</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"The Herring he loves the merry moonlight</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_949">949</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The honey-moon is very strange</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_366">366</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The jackals prowl, the serpents hiss</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_445">445</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Jackdaw sat on the Cardinal's chair!</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_586">586</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The King was sick. His cheek was red</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_658">658</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Lady Jane was tall and slim</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_590">590</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Laird o' Cockpen, he's proud and he's great</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_703">703</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Llama is a woolly sort of fleecy, hairy goat</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_906">906</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The man in the wilderness asked of me</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_951">951</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The man who invented women's waists that button down behind</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_94">94</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Messed Damozel leaned out</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_471">471</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Microbe is so very small</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_907">907</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The mountain and the squirrel</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_290">290</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The night was thick and hazy</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_617">617</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The oft'ner seen, the more I lust</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_807">807</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Owl and the Pussy-Cat went to sea</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_901">901</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Pobble who has no toes</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_865">865</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The poet is, or ought to be, a hater of the city</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_97">97</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Pope he leads a happy life</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_70">70</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"The proper way for a man to pray,"</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_54">54</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The prospect is bare and white</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_42">42</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Roof it has a Lazy Time</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_855">855</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The saddest fish that swims the briny ocean</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_900">900</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The sextant of the meetinouse, which sweeps</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_66">66</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The skies they were ashen and sober</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_423">423</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The sun is in the sky, mother, the flowers are springing fair</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_451">451</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The sun was setting, and vespers done</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_313">313</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The sun was shining on the sea</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_896">896</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_971" id="Page_971">[Pg 971]</a></span></td><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td>The Thingumbob sat at eventide</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_882">882</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The town of Nice! the town of Nice!</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_438">438</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The woggly bird sat on the whango tree</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_842">842</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The woodchuck told it all about</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_312">312</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>There be two men of all mankind</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_35">35</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>There is a river clear and fair</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_535">535</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>There lived an old man in the kingdom of Tess</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_866">866</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>There lived a sage in days of yore</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_850">850</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>There once was a Shah had a second son</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_199">199</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>There sat an old man on a rock</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_348">348</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>There's a bower of bean-vines in Benjamin's yard</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_493">493</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>There's somewhat on my breast, father</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_443">443</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>There wanst was two cats at Kilkenny</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_950">950</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>There was a Cameronian cat</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_917">917</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>There was a child, as I have been told</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_946">946</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>There was a cruel darkey boy</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_927">927</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>There was a lady liv'd at Leith</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_742">742</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>There was a little girl</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_926">926</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>There was a man in Arkansaw</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_697">697</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>There was a negro preacher, I have heard</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_274">274</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>There was an old man of Tobago</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_835">835</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>There was a snake that dwelt in Skye</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_887">887</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>There was a young lady of Niger</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_948">948</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>There was (not a certain when) a certain preacher</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_282">282</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>There was once a little man, and his rod and line he took</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_200">200</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>There were three jovial huntsmen</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_878">878</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>There were three kings into the east</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_730">730</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>There were three young maids of Lee</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_170">170</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>There were three sailors of Bristol City</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_546">546</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>There were two of us left in the berry-patch</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_479">479</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>These are the things that make me laugh</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_73">73</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>They called him Bill, the hired man</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_653">653</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>They nearly strike me dumb</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_153">153</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>They're always abusing the women</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_126">126</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>They spoke of Progress spiring round</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_337">337</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>They stood on the bridge at midnight</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_489">489</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>They tell me (but I really can't</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_600">600</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>They told hum gently he was made</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_89">89</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>They've got a brand-new organ, Sue</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_162">162</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>They went to sea in a sieve, they did</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_862">862</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Thine eyes, dear ones, dot dot, are like, dash, what?</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_824">824</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>This is the tale that was told to me</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_680">680</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Thou art like unto a Flower</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_427">427</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Thou happy, happy elf!</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_941">941</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Thou shall have one God only, who</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_261">261</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Thou who, when fears attack</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_732">732</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Though I met her in the summer, when one's heart lies round at east</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_345">345</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Three children sliding on the ice</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_843">843</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Three score and ten by common calculation</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_99">99</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Tim Turpin he was gravel blind</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_795">795</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>'Tis midnight and the moonbeam sleeps</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_411">411</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>'Tis midnight, and the setting sun</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_843">843</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>'Tis sweet at dewy eve to rove</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_450">450</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>'Tis sweet to roam when morning's light</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_878">878</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>To Lake Aghmoogenegamook</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_757">757</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>To make this condiment, your poet begs</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_93">93</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The outer senses they are geese</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_509">509</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>To see the Kaiser's epitaph</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_948">948</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>To Urn, or not to Urn? that is the question</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_534">534</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>To you, my purse, and to none other wight</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_58">58</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Tom's album was filled with the pictures of belles</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_141">141</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Trilobite, Graphtolite, Nautilus pie</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_324">324</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"True 'tis a P T, and P T 'tis, 'tis true"</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_788">788</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_972" id="Page_972">[Pg 972]</a></span></td><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td>'Twas a pretty little maiden</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_161">161</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>'Twas after supper of Norfolk brawn</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_884">884</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>'Twas April when she came to town</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_120">120</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_869">869</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>'Twas brussels, and the loose liege</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_482">482</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>'Twas ever thus from childhood's hour!</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_469">469</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>'Twas gilbert. The kchesterton</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_437">437</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>'Twas late, and the gay company was gone</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_446">446</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>'Twas more than a million years ago</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_497">497</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>'Twas on a lofty vase's side</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_557">557</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>'Twas on a windy night</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_214">214</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>'Twas on the shores that round our coast</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_632">632</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>'Twas raw, and chill, and cold outside</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_98">98</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_935">935</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>'Twas whispered in heaven, 'twas muttered in hell</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_762">762</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Two gentlemen their appetite had fed</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_666">666</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Two honest tradesmen meeting in the Strand</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_254">254</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Two old Bachelors were living in one house</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_868">868</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Two webfoot brothers loved a fair</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_629">629</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Two Yankee wags, one summer day</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_572">572</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Tying her bonnet under her chin</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_124">124</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Uncle Simon he</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_849">849</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Upon a rock, yet uncreate</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_771">771</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Upon an island, all alone</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_683">683</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Upon ane stormy Sunday</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_190">190</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Upon the poop the captain stands</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_876">876</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Wake! for the Hack can scatter into flight</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_512">512</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Wal, no! I can't tell whar he lives</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_661">661</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Wan from the wild and woful West</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_386">386</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Was once a hen of wit not small</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_892">892</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>We climbed to the top of Goat Point hill</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_210">210</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>We love thee Ann Maria Smith</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_389">389</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>We rode the tawny Texan hills</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_288">288</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>We seek to know, and knowing seek</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_463">463</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>We were crowded in the cabin</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_492">492</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>We've lived for forty years, dear wife</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_246">246</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Well I recall how first I met</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_30">30</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Werther had a love for Charlotte</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_140">140</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>What asks the Bard? He prays for nought</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_320">320</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>What, he on whom our voices unanimously ran</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_286">286</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>What is Earth, sexton—A place to dig graves</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_810">810</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>What is the matter with Grandpapa?</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_950">950</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>What lightning shall light it? What thunder shall tell it?</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_404">404</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>What makes you come here fer, Mister</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_925">925</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>What motley cares Corilla's mind perplex</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_278">278</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>What! not know our Clean Clara?</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_283">283</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"What other men have dared, I dare."</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_109">109</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>What poor short-sighted worms we be</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_353">353</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>What? rise again with all one's bones</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_363">363</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>What, what, what</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_710">710</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>What will we do when the good days come</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_311">311</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Whenas to shoot my Julia goes</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_418">418</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>When Chapman billies leave the street</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_623">623</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>When dido found Aeneas would not come</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_366">366</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>When good King Arthur ruled the land</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_879">879</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>When I am dead you'll find it hard</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_109">109</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>When I had firmly answered "no,"</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_431">431</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>When I was young and full o' pride</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_115">115</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>When lovely woman wants a favor</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_494">494</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>When Mary Ann Dollinger got the skule daown thar on Injun Bay</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_168">168</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>When men a dangerous disease did 'scape</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_365">365</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>When moonlike ore the hazure seas</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_34">34</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>When nettles in winter bring forth roses red</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_276">276</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_973" id="Page_973">[Pg 973]</a></span></td><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td>When sporgles spanned the floreate mead</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_877">877</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>When swallows Northward flew</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_191">191</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>When that old joke was new</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_33">33</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>When the breeze from the bluebottle's blustering blim</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_852">852</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_34">34</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>When the landlord wants the rent</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_336">336</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>When the little armadillo</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_902">902</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>When they heard the Captain humming and beheld the dancing crew</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_615">615</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>When you slice a Georgy melon you mus' know what you is at</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_73">73</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Whene'er I take my walks abroad</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_950">950</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Whene'er with haggard eyes I view</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_84">84</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Where the Moosatockmaguntic</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_113">113</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Whereas, on certain boughs and sprays</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_402">402</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"Wherefore starts my bosom's lord?</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_453">453</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Which I wish to remark</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_648">648</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Which is of greater value, prythee, say</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_371">371</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>While Butler, needy wretch, was yet alive</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_370">370</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Who am I?</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_434">434</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Who money hast, well wages the campaign</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_323">323</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Who, or why, or which, or what</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_708">708</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"Who stuffed that white owl?" No one spoke in the shop</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_309">309</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>1. Why all this toil for triumphs of an hour?</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_783">783</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"Why do you wear your hair like a man</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_474">474</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Why don't the men propose, mamma?</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_130">130</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Why doth the pussy cat prefer</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_895">895</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Why is it the children don't love me</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_943">943</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Why should you swear I am forsworn</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_241">241</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Why was Cupid a boy</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_56">56</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Wisely a woman prefers to a lover a man who neglects her</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_247">247</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>With chocolate-cream that you buy in the cake</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_932">932</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>With due condescension, I'd call your attention</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_106">106</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>With ganial foire</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_547">547</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_928">928</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ye may tramp the world over</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_717">717</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Years—years ago—ere yet my dreams</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_171">171</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Yes, write if you want to—there's nothing like trying</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_36">36</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Yet another great truth I record in my verse</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_906">906</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"You are old, Father William," the young man said</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_485">485</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"You are old, Father William," the young man said</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_531">531</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>You beat your pate, and fancy wit will come</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_362">362</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>You bid me try, Blue-eyes, to write</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_782">782</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"You gave me the key of your heart, my love</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_137">137</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"You have heard," said a youth to his sweetheart, who stood</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_133">133</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>You may notch it on the palin's as a mighty resky plan</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_312">312</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"You must give back," her mother said</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_198">198</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>You prefer a buffoon to a scholar</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_339">339</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>You see this pebble-stone? It's a thing I bought</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_464">464</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>You Wi'yum, sir, dis minute. Wut dat you got</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_325">325</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>You wrote a line too much, my sage</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_362">362</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Young Ben he was a nice young man</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_792">792</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Young Rory O'More courted Kathleen Bawn</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_141">141</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Your poem must eternal be</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_364">364</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Zack Bumstead useter flosserfize</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_242">242</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Zig-zagging it went</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_760">760</a></td></tr> +</table> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_974" id="Page_974">[Pg 974]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="INDEX_OF_TITLES" id="INDEX_OF_TITLES"></a>INDEX OF TITLES</h2> + +<table summary='title index'><tr><td></td><td></td><td style='text-align: right;'><span class='smcap'>page</span></td></tr> +<tr><td><p style='margin-top: 1em; text-align: center;'>A</p></td><td></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td>Accepted and Will Appear</td><td><i>Parmenas Mix</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_268">268</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Actor, An</td><td><i>John Wolcot</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_287">287</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ad Chloen, M. A.</td><td><i>Mortimer Collins</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_184">184</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Address to the Toothache</td><td><i>Robert Burns</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_724">724</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Æstivation</td><td><i>Oliver Wendell Holmes</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_849">849</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>After Dilettante Concetti</td><td><i>H. D. Traill</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_474">474</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>After Horace</td><td><i>A. D. Godley</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_320">320</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ahkoond of Swat, The</td><td><i>George Thomas Lanigan</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_710">710</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ahkond of Swat, The</td><td><i>Edward Lear</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_708">708</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ain't It Awful, Mabel?</td><td><i>John Edward Hazzard</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_137">137</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Alarmed Skipper, The</td><td><i>James Thomas Fields</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_664">664</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>All at Sea</td><td><i>Frederick Moxon</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_70">70</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>All-Saints</td><td><i>Edmund Yates</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_280">280</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>All's Well That Ends Well</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_264">264</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>All Things Except Myself I Know</td><td><i>François Villon</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_343">343</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Amazing Facts About Food</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_91">91</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ambiguous Lines</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_804">804</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>American Traveller, The</td><td><i>Robert H. Newell</i> (<i>Orpheus C. Kerr</i>)</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_751">751</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Angelo Orders His Dinner</td><td><i>Bayard Taylor</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_428">428</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Annabel Lee</td><td><i>Stanley Huntley</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_497">497</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Annuity, The</td><td><i>George Outram</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_350">350</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Answer to Master Wither's Song, "Shall I, Wasting in Despair?"</td><td><i>Ben Jonson</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_526">526</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Any One Will Do</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_169">169</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Appeal for Are to the Sextant of the Old Brick Meetinouse, A</td><td><i>Arabella Willson</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_66">66</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Are Women Fair?</td><td><i>Francis Davison</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_189">189</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Art of Book-keeping, The</td><td><i>Laman Blanchard</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_818">818</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>As to the Weather</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_107">107</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>At the Sign of the Cock</td><td><i>Owen Seaman</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_414">414</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><p style='margin-top: 1em; text-align: center;'>B</p></td><td></td><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td>Baby's Début, The</td><td><i>James Smith</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_390">390</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Bachelor's Dream, The</td><td><i>Thomas Hood</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_342">342</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Bachelor's Mono-Rhyme, A</td><td><i>Charles Mackay</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_817">817</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Bald-headed Tyrant, The</td><td><i>Mary E. Vandyne</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_720">720</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ballad</td><td><i>Charles Stuart Calverley</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_467">467</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ballad, A</td><td><i>Guy Wetmore Carryl</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_426">426</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ballade of An Anti-Puritan, A</td><td><i>G. K. Chesterton</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_337">337</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ballade of Ballade-Mongers, A</td><td><i>Augustus M. Moore</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_441">441</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ballad of Bedlam, A</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_886">886</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ballad of Bouillabaisse, The</td><td><i>W. M. Thackeray</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_714">714</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ballad of the Canal</td><td><i>Phœbe Cary</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_492">492</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ballad of Cassandra Brown, The</td><td><i>Helen Gray Cone</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_345">345</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ballad of Charity, A</td><td><i>Charles Godfrey Leland</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_613">613</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ballad of the Emeu, The</td><td><i>Bret Harte</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_921">921</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ballade of Forgotten Loves</td><td><i>Arthur Grissom</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_223">223</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ballade of the Golfer in Love</td><td><i>Clinton Scollard</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_222">222</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ballad of Hans Breitmann</td><td><i>Charles Godfrey Leland</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_669">669</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ballad of High Endeavor, A</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_484">484</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ballad of the Oysterman, The</td><td><i>Oliver Wendell Holmes</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_583">583</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ballad of the Primitive Jest</td><td><i>Andrew Lang</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_72">72</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ballade of Suicide, A</td><td><i>G. K. Chesterton</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_224">224</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Bangkolidye</td><td><i>Barry Pain</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_334">334</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Barney McGee</td><td><i>Richard Hovey</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_721">721</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Battle of Blenheim, The</td><td><i>Robert Southey</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_252">252</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Behave Yoursel' Before Folk</td><td><i>Alexander Rodger</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_174">174</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Behold the Deeds</td><td><i>H. C. Bunner</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_397">397</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Bellancholly Days</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_747">747</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Belle of the Ball, The</td><td><i>Winthrop Mackworth Praed</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_171">171</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Bells, The</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_816">816</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ben Bluff</td><td><i>Thomas Hood</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_619">619</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Bessie Brown, M. D.</td><td><i>Samuel Minturn Peck</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_120">120</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Bird in the Hand, A</td><td><i>Frederic E. Weatherly</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_170">170</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Birth of Saint Patrick, The</td><td><i>Samuel Lover</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_58">58</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Bitter Bit, The</td><td><i>William E. Aytoun</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_451">451</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Blow Me Eyes!</td><td><i>Wallace Irwin</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_115">115</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Boston Lullaby, A</td><td><i>James Jeffrey Roche</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_240">240</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Boston Nursery Rhymes</td><td><i>Rev. Joseph Cook</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_324">324</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Broken Pitcher, The</td><td><i>William E. Aytoun</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_86">86</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Bunches of Grapes</td><td><i>Walter Ramal</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_947">947</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Buxom Joan</td><td><i>William Congreve</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_179">179</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Bygones</td><td><i>Bert Leston Taylor</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_383">383</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>By Parcels Post</td><td><i>George R. Sims</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_262">262</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><p style='margin-top: 1em; text-align: center;'>C</p></td><td></td><td><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_975" id="Page_975">[Pg 975]</a></span></td></tr> + +<tr><td>Cacoethes Scribendi</td><td><i>Oliver Wendell Holmes</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_238">238</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Camerados</td><td><i>Bayard Taylor</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_430">430</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Cameronian Cat, The</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_917">917</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Candidate's Creed, The</td><td><i>James Russell Lowell</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_294">294</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Cantelope, The</td><td><i>Bayard Taylor</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_393">393</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Careful Penman, The</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_810">810</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Carman's Account of a Law Suit, A</td><td><i>Sir David Lindesay</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_807">807</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Casey at the Bat</td><td><i>Ernest Lawrence Thayer</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_601">601</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Catalectic Monody, A</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_833">833</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Cataract of Lodore, The</td><td><i>Robert Southey</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_743">743</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Categorical Courtship</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_207">207</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Catfish, The</td><td><i>Oliver Herford</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_900">900</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"Caudal" Lecture, A</td><td><i>William Sawyer</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_92">92</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Cautionary Verses</td><td><i>Theodore Hook</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_828">828</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Chemist to His Love, The</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_206">206</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Chloe, M. A.</td><td><i>Mortimer Collins</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_185">185</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Chorus of Women</td><td><i>Aristophanes</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_126">126</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Christmas Chimes</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_284">284</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Chronicle: A Ballad, The</td><td><i>Abraham Cowley</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_176">176</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Circumstance</td><td><i>Frederick Locker-Lampson</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_444">444</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Clean Clara</td><td><i>W. B. Rands</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_283">283</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Cloud, The</td><td><i>Oliver Herford</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_134">134</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Clown's Courtship, The</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_217">217</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Cock and the Bull, The</td><td><i>Charles Stuart Calverley</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_464">464</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Cologne</td><td><i>Samuel Taylor Coleridge</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_363">363</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Colubriad, The</td><td><i>William Cowper</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_909">909</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Comfort in Affliction</td><td><i>William E. Aytoun</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_453">453</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Comic Miseries</td><td><i>John G. Saxe</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_42">42</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Comical Girl, The</td><td><i>M. Pelham</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_946">946</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Commonplaces</td><td><i>Rudyard Kipling</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_427">427</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Companions</td><td><i>Charles Stuart Calverley</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_63">63</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Confession, The</td><td><i>Richard Harris Barham</i> (<i>Thomas Ingoldsby</i>)</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_443">443</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Conjugal Conjugations</td><td><i>A. W. Bellaw</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_810">810</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Conjugal Conundrum, A</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_371">371</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Constancy</td><td><i>John Boyle O'Reilly</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_137">137</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Constant Cannibal Maiden, The</td><td><i>Wallace Irwin</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_194">194</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Contentment</td><td><i>Oliver Wendell Holmes</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_238">238</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Contrast, The</td><td><i>Captain C. Morris</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_265">265</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Converted Cannibals, The</td><td><i>G. E. Farrow</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_683">683</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Cosmic Egg, The</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_771">771</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Cosmopolitan Woman, A</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_167">167</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Cossimbazar</td><td><i>Henry S. Leigh</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_843">843</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Counsel to Those That Eat</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_932">932</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Country Summer Pastoral, A</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_883">883</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Courtin', The</td><td><i>James Russell Lowell</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_110">110</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Courting in Kentucky</td><td><i>Florence E. Pratt</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_168">168</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Cremation</td><td><i>William Sawyer</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_534">534</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Crystal Palace, The</td><td><i>W. M. Thackeray</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_547">547</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Culture in the Slums</td><td><i>William Ernest Henley</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_400">400</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Cumberbunce, The</td><td><i>Paul West</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_844">844</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Cupid</td><td><i>William Blake</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_56">56</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Cupid</td><td><i>Ben Jonson</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_211">211</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Cupid's Darts</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_67">67</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Cynical Ode to An Ultra-Cynical Public</td><td><i>Charles Mackay</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_339">339</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Cynicus to W. Shakespeare</td><td><i>James Kenneth Stephen</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_362">362</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><p style='margin-top: 1em; text-align: center;'>D</p></td><td></td><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td>Darius Green and His Flying-Machine</td><td><i>John Townsend Trowbridge</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_690">690</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Darwinian Ballad</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_913">913</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Darwinity</td><td><i>Herman C. Merivale</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_409">409</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Day Is Done," "The</td><td><i>Phœbe Cary</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_490">490</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Deacon's Masterpiece, The</td><td><i>Oliver Wendell Holmes</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_580">580</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Death's Ramble</td><td><i>Thomas Hood</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_801">801</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Declaration, The</td><td><i>N. P. Willis</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_446">446</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Devil's Walk on Earth, The</td><td><i>Robert Southey</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_298">298</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Devonshire Lane, The</td><td><i>John Marriott</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_266">266</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Dialogue from Plato, A</td><td><i>Austin Dobson</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_142">142</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Dido</td><td><i>Richard Porson</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_366">366</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Dighton Is Engaged</td><td><i>Gelett Burgess</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_647">647</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Dinkey-Bird, The</td><td><i>Eugene Field</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_929">929</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Dirge</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_787">787</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Dirge, A</td><td><i>William Augustus Croffut</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_737">737</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Dirge of the Moolla of Kotal</td><td><i>George T. Lanigan</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_712">712</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Disaster</td><td><i>Charles Stuart Calverley</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_469">469</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Distichs</td><td><i>John Hay</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_247">247</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Diversions of the Re-Echo Club</td><td><i>Carolyn Wells</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_515">515</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Diverting History of John Gilpin, The</td><td><i>William Cowper</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_564">564</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Divided Destinies</td><td><i>Rudyard Kipling</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_704">704</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Donnybrook Jig, The</td><td><i>Viscount Dillon</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_700">700</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Dora Versus Rose</td><td><i>Austin Dobson</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_144">144</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Double Ballade of Primitive Man</td><td><i>Andrew Lang</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_331">331</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Dutch Lullaby</td><td><i>Eugene Field</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_928">928</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><p style='margin-top: 1em; text-align: center;'>E</p></td><td></td><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td>Early Rising</td><td><i>J. G. Saxe</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_44">44</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Eastern Question, An</td><td><i>H. M. Paull</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_598">598</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_976" id="Page_976">[Pg 976]</a></span></td><td></td><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td>Echo</td><td><i>J. G. Saxe</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_750">750</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Editor's Wooing, The</td><td><i>Robert H. Newell</i> (<i>Orpheus C. Kerr</i>) </td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_389">389</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Elderly Gentleman, The</td><td><i>George Canning</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_665">665</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Elegy</td><td><i>Arthur Guiterman</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_445">445</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Elegy, An</td><td><i>Oliver Goldsmith</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_740">740</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog, An</td><td><i>Oliver Goldsmith</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_764">764</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Enchanted Shirt, The</td><td><i>John Hay</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_658">658</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Endless Song, The</td><td><i>Ruth McEnery Stuart</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_968">968</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Enigma on the Letter H</td><td><i>Catherine Fanshawe</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_762">762</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Epitaph, An</td><td><i>George John Cayley</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_366">366</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Epitaph, An</td><td><i>Matthew Prior</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_765">765</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Epitaph Intended for His Wife</td><td><i>John Dryden</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_368">368</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Erring in Company</td><td><i>Franklin P. Adams</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_55">55</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Eternal Poem, An</td><td><i>Samuel Taylor Coleridge</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_364">364</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Etiquette</td><td><i>W. S. Gilbert</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_256">256</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"Exactly So"</td><td><i>Lady T. Hastings</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_61">61</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Extracts from the Rubaiyat of Omar Cayenne</td><td><i>Gelett Burgess</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_512">512</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><p style='margin-top: 1em; text-align: center;'>F</p></td><td></td><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td>Fable,</td><td><i>Ralph Waldo Emerson</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_290">290</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Fair Millinger, The</td><td><i>Fred W. Loring</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_186">186</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Faithless Nellie Gray</td><td><i>Thomas Hood</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_797">797</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Faithless Sally Brown</td><td><i>Thomas Hood</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_792">792</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>False Love and True Logic</td><td><i>Laman Blanchard</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_183">183</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Familiar Letter to Several Correspondents, A</td><td><i>Oliver Wendell Holmes</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_36">36</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Farewell</td><td><i>Bert Leston Taylor</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_419">419</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Farewell to Tobacco, A</td><td><i>Charles Lamb</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_726">726</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Fastidious Serpent, The</td><td><i>Henry Johnstons</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_887">887</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Father Molloy.</td><td><i>Samuel Lover</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_307">307</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Father O'Flynn</td><td><i>Alfred Perceval Graves</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_719">719</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Father William</td><td><i>Lewis Carroll</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_485">485</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Father William</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_531">531</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Feminine Arithmetic</td><td><i>Charles Graham Halpine</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_191">191</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Fernando and Elvira</td><td><i>W. S. Gilbert</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_635">635</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Fin de Siècle</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_357">357</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Finnigin to Flannigan</td><td><i>S. W. Gillinan</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_225">225</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>First Banjo, The</td><td><i>Irwin Russell</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_672">672</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>First Love</td><td><i>Charles Stuart Calverley</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_116">116</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Fish Story, A</td><td><i>Henry A. Beers</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_916">916</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Fisherman's Chant, The</td><td><i>F. C. Burnand</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_81">81</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Five Wives</td><td><i>Robert Herrick</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_772">772</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Flamingo, The</td><td><i>Lewis Gaylord Clark</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_894">894</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Foam and Fangs</td><td><i>Walter Parke</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_544">544</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Fool and the Poet, The</td><td><i>Alexander Pope</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_363">363</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>For I Am Sad</td><td><i>Don Marquis</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_379">379</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Forlorn One, The</td><td><i>Richard Harris Barham</i> <i>(Thomas Ingoldsby)</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_449">449</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Forty Years After</td><td><i>H. H. Porter</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_210">210</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Fragment, A</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_450">450</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Friar of Orders Gray, The</td><td><i>John O'Keefe</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_282">282</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Frog, The</td><td><i>Hilaire Belloc</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_907">907</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>From a Full Heart</td><td><i>A. A. Milne</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_31">31</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Future of the Classics, The</td><td><i>Anonymous</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_826">826</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><p style='margin-top: 1em; text-align: center;'>G</p></td><td></td><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td>Gentle Alice Brown</td><td><i>W. S. Gilbert</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_639">639</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Gentle Echo on Woman, A</td><td><i>Dean Swift</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_752">752</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Gifts Returned</td><td><i>Walter Savage Landor</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_198">198</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Giles's Hope</td><td><i>Samuel Taylor Coleridge</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_363">363</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Girl Was Too Reckless of Grammar, A</td><td><i>Guy Wetmore Carryl</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_395">395</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Good and Bad Luck</td><td><i>John Hay</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_334">334</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Goose, The</td><td><i>Lord Tennyson</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_611">611</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Gouty Marchant and the Stranger, The</td><td><i>Horace Smith</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_563">563</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Grain of Salt, A</td><td><i>Wallace Irwin</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_241">241</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Grampy Sings a Song</td><td><i>Holman F. Day</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_670">670</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Great Black Crow, The</td><td><i>Philip James Bailey</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_908">908</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Great Fight, A </td><td><i>Robert H. Newell</i> (<i>Orpheus C. Kerr</i>)</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_697">697</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><p style='margin-top: 1em; text-align: center;'>H</p></td><td></td><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td>Half Hours with the Classics</td><td><i>H. J. DeBurgh</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_779">779</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Hans Breitmann's Party</td><td><i>Charles Godfrey Leland</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_668">668</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Happy Man, The</td><td><i>Gilles Ménage</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_814">814</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>He and She</td><td><i>Eugene Fitch Ware</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_109">109</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>He Came to Pay</td><td><i>Parmenas Mix</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_447">447</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Height of the Ridiculous, The</td><td><i>Oliver Wendell Holmes</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_38">38</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Hen, The</td><td><i>Matthew Claudius</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_892">892</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Hen-Roost Man, The</td><td><i>Ruth McEnery Stuart</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_247">247</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Here Is the Tale</td><td><i>Anthony C. Deane</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_421">421</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Here She Goes and There She Goes</td><td><i>James Nack</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_572">572</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Her Little Feet</td><td><i>William Ernest Henley</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_59">59</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Herring, The</td><td><i>Sir Walter Scott</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_949">949</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_977" id="Page_977">[Pg 977]</a></span></td><td></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td>Higher Pantheism in a Nutshell, The</td><td><i>Algernon Charles Swinburne</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_458">458</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Hiram Hover</td><td><i>Bayard Taylor</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_113">113</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>His Mother-in-Law</td><td><i>Walter Parke</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_75">75</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Hoch! Der Kaiser</td><td><i>Rodney Blake</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_291">291</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Holy Willie's Prayer</td><td><i>Robert Burns</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_272">272</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Home and Mother</td><td><i>Mary Mapes Dodge</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_932">932</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Homœopathic Soup</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_76">76</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Home Sweet Home with Variations</td><td><i>H. C. Bunner</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_498">498</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Honey-Moon, The</td><td><i>Walter Savage Landor</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_366">366</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>House That Jack Built, The</td><td><i>Samuel Taylor Coleridge</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_407">407</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>How the Daughters Come Down at Dunoon</td><td><i>H. Chalmondeley-Pennell</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_533">533</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>How Often</td><td><i>Ben King</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_489">489</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>How to Ask and Have</td><td><i>Samuel Lover</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_181">181</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>How to Eat Watermelons</td><td><i>Frank Libby Stanton</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_73">73</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>How to Make a Man of Consequence</td><td><i>Mark Lemon</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_280">280</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Humpty Dumpty's Recitations</td><td><i>Lewis Carroll</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_872">872</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Hundred Best Books, The</td><td><i>Mostyn T. Pigott</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_769">769</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Hunting of the Snark, The</td><td><i>Lewis Carroll</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_676">676</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Husband and Heathen Sam</td><td><i>Walter Foss</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_160">160</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Husband's Petition, The</td><td><i>William B. Aytoun</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_454">454</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Hyder Iddle</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_879">879</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Hypocrisy</td><td><i>Samuel Butler</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_365">365</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><p style='margin-top: 1em; text-align: center;'>I</p></td><td></td><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td>Ideal Husband to His Wife, The</td><td><i>Sam Walter Foss</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_246">246</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"I Didn't Like Him"</td><td><i>Harry B. Smith</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_157">157</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Idyll of Phatte and Leene, An</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_406">406</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>If</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_951">951</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>If</td><td><i>Mortimer Collins</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_436">436</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>If</td><td><i>H. C. Dodge</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_268">268</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>If I Should Die To-night</td><td><i>Ben King</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_489">489</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>If the Man</td><td><i>Samuel Johnson</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_949">949</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>If They Meant All They Said</td><td><i>Alice Duer Miller</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_247">247</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>If We Didn't Have to Eat</td><td><i>Nixon Waterman</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_57">57</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>If You Have Seen</td><td><i>Thomas Moore</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_444">444</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>I Hae Laid a Herring in Saut</td><td><i>James Tytler</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_216">216</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Imaginative Crisis, The</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_457">457</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Imagiste Love Lines</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_383">383</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Imitation</td><td><i>Anthony C. Deane</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_375">375</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Imitation of Walt Whitman</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_434">434</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Imitation of Wordsworth, An</td><td><i>Catherine M. Fanshawe</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_535">535</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Indifference</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_950">950</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>In Memoriam</td><td><i>Cuthbert Bede</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_463">463</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>In Memoriam Technicam</td><td><i>Thomas Hood, Jr.</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_413">413</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Invisible Bridge, The</td><td><i>Gelett Burgess</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_855">855</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Invitation to the Zoölogical Gardens, An</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_822">822</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Inspect Us</td><td><i>Edith Daniell</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_471">471</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>In the Catacombs</td><td><i>Harlan Hoge Ballard</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_52">52</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Irishman and the Lady, The</td><td><i>William Maginn</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_742">742</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Irish Schoolmaster, The</td><td><i>James A. Sidey</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_103">103</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Israfiddlestrings</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_472">472</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><p style='margin-top: 1em; text-align: center;'>J</p></td><td></td><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td>Jabberwocky</td><td><i>Lewis Carroll</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_869">869</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Jabberwocky of Authors, The</td><td><i>Harry Parsons Taber</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_437">437</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Jackdaw of Rheims, The</td><td><i>Richard Harris Barham</i> (<i>Thomas Ingoldsby</i>)</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_586">586</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Jacob</td><td><i>Phœbe Cary</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_491">491</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Jester Condemned to Death, The</td><td><i>Horace Smith</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_578">578</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"Jim"</td><td><i>Bret Harte</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_652">652</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Jim Bludso</td><td><i>John Hay</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_661">661</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Jim-Jam King of the Jou-Jous</td><td><i>Alaric Bertrand Stuart</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_851">851</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Job</td><td><i>Samuel Taylor Coleridge</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_364">364</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Jocosa Lyra</td><td><i>Austin Dobson</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_824">824</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>John Barleycorn</td><td><i>Robert Burns</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_730">730</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>John Grumlie</td><td><i>Allen Cunningham</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_326">326</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>John Thompson's Daughter</td><td><i>Phœbe Cary</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_494">494</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Jovial Priest's Confession, The</td><td><i>Leigh Hunt</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_834">834</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Joys of Marriage, The</td><td><i>Charles Cotton</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_344">344</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Jumbles, The</td><td><i>Edward Lear</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_862">862</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Justice to Scotland</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_384">384</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><p style='margin-top: 1em; text-align: center;'>K</p></td><td></td><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td>K. K.—Can't Calculate</td><td><i>Frances M. Whitcher</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_353">353</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Kentucky Philosophy</td><td><i>Harrison Robertson</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_325">325</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Kindly Advice</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_890">890</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Kindness to Animals</td><td><i>J. Ashby-Sterry</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_891">891</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>King Arthur</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_879">879</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>King John and the Abbot</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_554">554</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Kilkenny Cats, The</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_950">950</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Kiss, The</td><td><i>Tom Masson</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_109">109</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Kiss in the Rain, A</td><td><i>Samuel Minturn Peck</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_123">123</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Kitchen Clock, The</td><td><i>John Vance Cheney</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_220">220</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Kitty of Coleraine</td><td><i>Edward Lysaght</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_130">130</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Kitty Wants to Write</td><td><i>Gelett Burgess</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_646">646</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>K. K.—Can't Calculate</td><td><i>F. M. Witcher</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_354">354</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Knife-Grinder, The</td><td><i>George Canning</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_249">249</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Knight and the Lady, The</td><td><i>Richard Harris Barham</i> (<i>Thomas Ingoldsby</i>)</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_590">590</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><p style='margin-top: 1em; text-align: center;'>L</p></td><td></td><td><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_978" id="Page_978">[Pg 978]</a></span></td></tr> + +<tr><td>Lady Mine</td><td><i>H. E. Clarke</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_221">221</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Laird O'Cockpen, The</td><td><i>Lady Nairne</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_703">703</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Lament of the Scotch Irish Exile</td><td><i>James Jeffrey Roche</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_385">385</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Lanty Leary</td><td><i>Samuel Lover</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_208">208</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Larrie O'Dee,</td><td><i>William W. Fink</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_165">165</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Last Ride Together, The</td><td><i>James Kenneth Stephen</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_431">431</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Latest Decalogue, The</td><td><i>Arthur Hugh Clough</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_261">261</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Laughing Willow, The</td><td><i>Oliver Herford</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_948">948</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Lawyer's Invocation to Spring, The</td><td><i>Henry Howard Brownell</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_402">402</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Lay of Ancient Rome</td><td><i>Thomas R. Ybarra</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_753">753</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Lay of the Deserted Influenzaed</td><td><i>N. Cholmondeley-Pennell</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_746">746</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Lay of the Love Lorn, The</td><td><i>Aytoun, William E.</i>, and <i>Martin</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_537">537</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Lay of the Lover's Friend, The</td><td><i>William E. Aytoun</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_88">88</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Lazy Roof, The</td><td><i>Gelett Burgess</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_855">855</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Learned Negro, The</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_274">274</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Leedle Yawcob Straus</td><td><i>Charles Follen Adams</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_940">940</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Legend of the First Cam-u-el, The</td><td><i>Arthur Guiterman</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_888">888</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Legend of Heinz von Stein, The</td><td><i>Charles Godfrey Leland</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_49">49</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Life</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_783">783</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Life in Laconics</td><td><i>Mary Mapes Dodge</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_311">311</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Like to the Thundering Tone</td><td><i>Bishop Corbet</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_848">848</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Lilies</td><td><i>Don Marquis</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_379">379</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Limericks</td><td><i>Carolyn Wells</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_835">835</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Lines</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_456">456</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Lines by an Old Fogy</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_882">882</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Lines to Miss Florence Huntingdon</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_830">830</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Lines Written After a Battle</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_456">456</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Literary Lady, The</td><td><i>Richard Brinsley Sheridan</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_278">278</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Little Billee</td><td><i>W. M. Thackeray</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_546">546</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Little Breeches</td><td><i>John Hay</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_657">657</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Little Goose, A</td><td><i>Eliza Sproat Turner</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_938">938</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Little Mamma</td><td><i>Charles Henry Webb</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_943">943</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Little Orphant Annie</td><td><i>James Whitcomb Riley</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_934">934</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Little Peach, The</td><td><i>Eugene Field</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_931">931</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Little Star, The</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_476">476</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Little Swirl of Vers Libre, A</td><td><i>Thomas R. Ybarra</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_380">380</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Little Vagabond, The</td><td><i>William Blake</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_269">269</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Llama, The</td><td><i>Hilaire Belloc</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_906">906</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Logic</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_809">809</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Logical English</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_809">809</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Lord Guy</td><td><i>George F. Warren</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_191">191</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Lost Pleiad, The</td><td><i>Arthur Reed Ropes</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_161">161</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Lost Spectacles, The</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_287">287</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Love is Like a Dizziness</td><td><i>James Hogg</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_218">218</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Lovers and a Reflection</td><td><i>Charles Stuart Calverley</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_372">372</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Love Knot, The</td><td><i>Nora Perry</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_124">124</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Lovelilts</td><td><i>Marion Hill</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_824">824</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Love Playnt, A</td><td><i>Godfrey Turner</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_408">408</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Love's Moods and Tenses</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_812">812</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Lucy Lake</td><td><i>Newton Mackintosh</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_463">463</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Lugubrious Whing-Whang, The</td><td><i>James Whitcomb Riley</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_858">858</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Lunar Stanzas</td><td><i>Henry Coggswell Knight</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_841">841</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Lying</td><td><i>Thomas Moore</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_86">86</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><p style='margin-top: 1em; text-align: center;'>M</p></td><td></td><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td>Madame Sans Souci</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_951">951</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Malbrouck</td><td><i>Father Prout</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_28">28</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Man, The</td><td><i>Stephen Crane</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_248">248</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Man in the Moon, The</td><td><i>James Whitcomb Riley</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_856">856</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Man of Words, A</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_790">790</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Man's Place in Nature</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_89">89</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Manila</td><td><i>Eugene Fitch Ware</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_949">949</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>March to Moscow, The</td><td><i>Robert Southey</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_775">775</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Mark Twain: A Pipe Dream</td><td><i>Oliver Herford</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_30">30</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Martial in London</td><td><i>Mortimer Collins</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_316">316</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Martin Luther at Potsdam</td><td><i>Barry Pain</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_404">404</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Maud</td><td><i>Henry S. Leigh</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_188">188</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Maudle-in-Ballad</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_510">510</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Mavrone</td><td><i>Arthur Guiterman</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_378">378</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Meeting of the Clabberhuses, The</td><td><i>Sam Walter Foss</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_244">244</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Melton Mowbray Pork-Pie, A</td><td><i>Richard le Gallienne</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_472">472</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Mendax</td><td><i>Lessing</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_369">369</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Messed Damozel, The</td><td><i>Charles Hanson Towne</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_471">471</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Mexican Serenade</td><td><i>Arthur Guiterman</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_902">902</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Microbe, The</td><td><i>Hilaire Belloc</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_907">907</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Midsummer Madness</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_377">377</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Mighty Must, The</td><td><i>W. S. Gilbert</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_376">376</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Millennuim, The</td><td><i>Robert Browning</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_60">60</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Minguillo's Kiss</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_122">122</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Miniver Cheevy</td><td><i>Edward Arlington Robinson</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_229">229</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Misadventures at Margate</td><td><i>Richard Harris Barham</i> (<i>Thomas Ingoldsby</i>)</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_558">558</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Mis' Smith</td><td><i>Albert Bigelow Paine</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_119">119</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Modern Hiawatha, The</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_482">482</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Modest Wit, A</td><td><i>Selleck Osborn</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_260">260</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"Mona Lisa"</td><td><i>John Kendrick Bangs</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_95">95</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Money</td><td><i>Jehan du Pontalais</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_323">323</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>More Impressions</td><td><i>Oscuro Wildgoose</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_509">509</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_979" id="Page_979">[Pg 979]</a></span></td><td></td><td></td></tr> +<tr><td>More Walks</td><td><i>Richard Harris Barham</i> (<i>Thomas Ingoldsby</i>)</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_950">950</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Mr. Finney's Turnip</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_847">847</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Mrs. Smith</td><td><i>Frederick Locker-Lampson</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_155">155</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Musical Ass, The</td><td><i>Tomaso de Yriarte</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_249">249</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>My Angeline</td><td><i>Harry B. Smith</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_158">158</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>My Aunt's Spectre</td><td><i>Mortimer Collins</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_600">600</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>My Dream</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_853">853</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>My Feet</td><td><i>Gelett Burgess</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_855">855</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>My Foe</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_529">529</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>My Love and My Heart</td><td><i>Henry S. Leigh</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_204">204</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>My Madeline</td><td><i>Walter Parke</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_773">773</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>My Mistress's Boots</td><td><i>Frederick Locker-Lampson</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_153">153</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><p style='margin-top: 1em; text-align: center;'>N</p></td><td></td><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td>Naughty Darkey Boy, The</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_927">927</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Nemesis</td><td><i>J. W. Foley</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_94">94</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Nephelidia</td><td><i>Algernon Charles Swinburne</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_459">459</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"Never Forget Your Parents"</td><td><i>Franklin P. Adams</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_394">394</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>New Church Organ, The</td><td><i>Will Carleton</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_162">162</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>New Song, A</td><td><i>John Gay</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_754">754</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>New Version, The</td><td><i>W. J. Lampton</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_90">90</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>New Vestments</td><td><i>Edward Lear</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_866">866</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ninety-Nine in the Shade</td><td><i>Rossiter Johnson</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_781">781</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Nirvana</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_900">900</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>No!</td><td><i>Thomas Hood</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_792">792</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>No Fault in Women</td><td><i>Robert Herrick</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_166">166</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Nocturnal Sketch, A</td><td><i>Thomas Hood</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_823">823</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Nongtongpaw</td><td><i>Charles Dibdin</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_808">808</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Nonsense Verses</td><td><i>Charles Lamb</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_848">848</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Nora's Vow</td><td><i>Sir Walter Scott</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_159">159</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Northern Farmer</td><td><i>Lord Tennyson</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_354">354</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>North, East, South and West</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_403">403</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Nothing</td><td><i>Richard Porson</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_786">786</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Nothing to Wear</td><td><i>William Allen Butler</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_148">148</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Noureddin, The Son of the Shah</td><td><i>Clinton Scollard</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_199">199</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Nun, The</td><td><i>Leigh Hunt</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_206">206</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Nursery Legend, A</td><td><i>Henry S. Leigh</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_937">937</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Nursery Rhymes à la Mode</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_509">509</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Nursery Song in Pidgin English</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_530">530</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><p style='margin-top: 1em; text-align: center;'>O</p></td><td></td><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td>Ocean Wanderer, The</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_879">879</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ode for a Social Meeting</td><td><i>Oliver Wendell Holmes</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_833">833</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ode for a Social Meeting</td><td><i>Leigh Hunt</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_834">834</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ode to a Bobtailed Cat</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_936">936</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ode to the Human Heart</td><td><i>Laman Blanchard</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_784">784</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ode to Tobacco</td><td><i>Charles Stuart Calverley</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_732">732</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ode to Work in Springtime</td><td><i>Thomas R. Ybarra</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_47">47</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>O D V</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_788">788</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Of a Certain Man</td><td><i>Sir John Harrington</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_282">282</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Of All the Men</td><td><i>Thomas Moore</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_370">370</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Of a Precise Tailor</td><td><i>Sir John Harrington</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_322">322</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Of Baiting the Lion</td><td><i>Owen Seaman</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_893">893</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Officer Brady</td><td><i>Robert W. Chambers</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_232">232</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Oh, My Geraldine</td><td><i>F. C. Burnand</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_180">180</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Old Bachelor, An</td><td><i>Tudor Jenks</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_98">98</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Old Fashioned Fun</td><td><i>W. M. Thackery</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_33">33</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Old Grimes</td><td><i>Albert Gorton Greene</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_766">766</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Old Line Fence, The</td><td><i>A. W. Bellaw</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_760">760</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Old Man and Jim, The</td><td><i>James Whitcomb Riley</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_678">678</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Old Song by New Singers, An</td><td><i>A. C. Wilkie</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_506">506</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Old Stuff</td><td><i>Bert Leston Taylor</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_48">48</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>On the Aristocracy of Harvard</td><td><i>Dr. Samuel G. Bushnell</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_949">949</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>On a Bad Singer</td><td><i>Samuel Taylor Coleridge</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_364">364</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>On Butler's Monument</td><td><i>Rev. Samuel Wesley</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_370">370</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>On a Deaf Housekeeper</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_76">76</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>On the Death of a Favorite Cat</td><td><i>Thomas Gray</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_557">557</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>On the Democracy of Yale</td><td><i>Dean Jones</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_949">949</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>On the Downtown Side of an Uptown Street</td><td><i>William Johnstone</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_79">79</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>On a Full-Length Portrait of Beau Marsh</td><td><i>Lord Chesterfield</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_369">369</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>On Hearing a Lady Praise a Certain Rev. Doctor's Eyes</td><td><i>George Outram</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_368">368</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>On Knowing When to Stop</td><td><i>L. J. Bridgman</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_312">312</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>On a Magazine Sonnet</td><td><i>Russell Hilliard Loines</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_281">281</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>On the Oxford Carrier</td><td><i>John Milton</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_780">780</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>On Scotland</td><td><i>Cleveland</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_369">369</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>On a Sense of Humor</td><td><i>Frederick Locker-Lampson</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_367">367</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>On Taking a Wife</td><td><i>Thomas Moore</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_367">367</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Only Seven</td><td><i>Henry S. Leigh</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_543">543</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Optimism</td><td><i>Newton Mackintosh</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_445">445</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Origin of Ireland, The</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_106">106</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Original Lamb, The</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_477">477</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Orphan Born</td><td><i>Robert J. Burdette</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_903">903</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Oubit, The</td><td><i>Charles Kingsley</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_330">330</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>O-u-g-h</td><td><i>Charles Battell Loomis</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_761">761</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_980" id="Page_980">[Pg 980]</a></span></td><td></td><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td>Ould Doctor Mack</td><td><i>Alfred Perceval Graves</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_717">717</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Our Hymn</td><td><i>Oliver Wendell Holmes</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_374">374</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Our Native Birds</td><td><i>Nathan Haskell Dole</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_53">53</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Our Traveller</td><td><i>Henry Cholmondeley-Pennell</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_445">445</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Out of Sight, Out of Mind</td><td><i>Barnaby Googe</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_807">807</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Out Upon it</td><td><i>Sir John Suckling</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_218">218</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Over the Way</td><td><i>Mary Mapes Dodge</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_125">125</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Owen Seaman</td><td><i>Louis Untermeyer</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_480">480</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Owl and the Pussy Cat, The</td><td><i>Edward Lear</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_901">901</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Owl-Critic, The</td><td><i>James Thomas Fields</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_309">309</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><p style='margin-top: 1em; text-align: center;'>P</p></td><td></td><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td>Paddy O'Rafther</td><td><i>Samuel Lover</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_571">571</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Pairing-Time Anticipated</td><td><i>William Cowper</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_212">212</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Palabras Grandiosas</td><td><i>Bayard Taylor</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_407">407</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Panegyric on the Ladies</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_803">803</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Paradise</td><td><i>George Birdseye</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_281">281</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Parental Ode to My Son, Aged Three Years and Five Months, A</td><td><i>Thomas Hood</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_941">941</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Parson Gray</td><td><i>Oliver Goldsmith</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_741">741</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Parterre, The</td><td><i>E. H. Palmer</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_180">180</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Pensées de Noël</td><td><i>A. D. Godley</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_336">336</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Pessimism</td><td><i>Newton Mackintosh</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_338">338</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Pessimist, The</td><td><i>Ben King</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_358">358</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Pet's Punishment</td><td><i>J. Ashby-Sterry</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_184">184</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Phillis's Age</td><td><i>Matthew Prior</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_332">332</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Philosopher, A</td><td><i>Sam Walter Foss</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_242">242</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Phyllis Lee</td><td><i>Oliver Herford</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_139">139</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Pied Piper of Hamelin, The</td><td><i>Robert Browning</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_603">603</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Pig, The</td><td><i>Robert Southey</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_914">914</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Pilgrims and the Peas, The</td><td><i>John Wolcot</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_621">621</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Pin, A</td><td><i>Ella Wheeler Wilcox</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_132">132</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Plaidie, The</td><td><i>Charles Sibley</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_190">190</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Plain Language from Truthful James</td><td><i>Bret Harte</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_648">648</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Played-Out Humorist, The</td><td><i>W. S. Gilbert</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_25">25</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Plea for Trigamy, A</td><td><i>Owen Seaman</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_68">68</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Pobble Who Has No Toes, The</td><td><i>Edward Lear</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_865">865</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Poe-'em of Passion, A</td><td><i>C. F. Lummis</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_532">532</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Poets at Tea, The</td><td><i>Barry Pain</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_486">486</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Polka Lyric, A</td><td><i>Barclay Philips</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_832">832</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Poor Dear Grandpapa</td><td><i>D'Arcy W. Thompson</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_950">950</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Pope, The</td><td><i>Chas. Lever</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_70">70</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Pope and the Net, The</td><td><i>Robert Browning</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_286">286</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Portrait, A</td><td><i>John Keats</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_496">496</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Positivists, The</td><td><i>Mortimer Collins</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_315">315</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Post Captain, The</td><td><i>Charles E. Carryl</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_615">615</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Post-Impressionism</td><td><i>Bert Leston Taylor</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_235">235</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Practical Joker, The</td><td><i>W. S. Gilbert</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_26">26</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Prayer of Cyrus Brown, The</td><td><i>Sam Walter Foss</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_54">54</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Prehistoric Smith</td><td><i>David Law Proudfit</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_83">83</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Presto Furioso</td><td><i>Owen Seaman</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_417">417</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Prior to Miss Belle's Appearance</td><td><i>James Whitcomb Riley</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_925">925</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Promissory Note, The</td><td><i>Bayard Taylor</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_429">429</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Propinquity Needed</td><td><i>Charles Battell Loomis</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_51">51</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Purple Cow, The</td><td><i>Gelett Burgess</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_948">948</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><p style='margin-top: 1em; text-align: center;'>Q</p></td><td></td><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td>Quaker's Meeting, The</td><td><i>Samuel Lover</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_576">576</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Quest of the Purple Cow, The</td><td><i>Hilda Johnson</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_100">100</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Questions with Answers</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_810">810</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Quite by Chance</td><td><i>Frederick Langbridge</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_205">205</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><p style='margin-top: 1em; text-align: center;'>R</p></td><td></td><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td>Razor Seller, The</td><td><i>John Wolcot</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_297">297</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Reasons for Drinking</td><td><i>Dr. Henry Aldrich</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_364">364</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Recruit, The</td><td><i>Robert W. Chambers</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_230">230</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Reflections on Cleopathera's Needle</td><td><i>Cormac O'Leary</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_105">105</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Rejected "National Hymns," The</td><td><i>Robert H. Newell</i> (<i>Orpheus C. Kerr</i>)</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_387">387</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Religion of Hudibras, The</td><td><i>Samuel Butler</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_271">271</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Remedy Worse than the Disease, A</td><td><i>Matthew Prior</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_365">365</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Report of an Adjudged Case</td><td><i>William Cowper</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_82">82</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Retired Cat, The</td><td><i>William Cowper</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_910">910</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Retired Pork-Butcher and the Spook</td><td><i>G. E. Farrow</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_685">685</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Retort, The</td><td><i>George Pope Morris</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_174">174</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Rev. Gabe Tucker's Remarks</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_312">312</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Reuben</td><td><i>Phœbe Cary</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_493">493</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Rhyme for Musicians, A</td><td><i>E. Lemke</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_772">772</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Rhyme of the Rail</td><td><i>John G. Saxe</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_748">748</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Rhymester, A</td><td><i>Samuel Taylor Coleridge</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_363">363</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Riddle, A</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_951">951</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Rigid Body Sings</td><td><i>J. C. Maxwell</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_483">483</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Robert Frost</td><td><i>Louis Untermeyer</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_479">479</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Robinson Crusoe's Story</td><td><i>Charles E. Carryl</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_617">617</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_981" id="Page_981">[Pg 981]</a></span></td><td></td><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td>Rollicking Mastodon, The</td><td><i>Arthur Macy</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_853">853</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Romance of the Carpet, The</td><td><i>Robert J. Burdette</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_674">674</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Romaunt of Humpty Dumpty The</td><td><i>Henry S. Leigh</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_411">411</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Rondeau, The</td><td><i>Austin Dobson</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_782">782</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Rondelay, A</td><td><i>Peter A. Motteux</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_41">41</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Rory O'More; or, Good Omens</td><td><i>Samuel Lover</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_141">141</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ruling Passion, The</td><td><i>Alexander Pope</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_285">285</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Rural Bliss</td><td><i>Anthony C. Deane</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_97">97</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Rural Raptures</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_450">450</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><p style='margin-top: 1em; text-align: center;'>S</p></td><td></td><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td>Sabine Farmer's Serenade, The</td><td><i>Father Prout</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_214">214</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Said Opie Reed</td><td><i>Julian Street</i> and <i>Montgomery Flagg</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_948">948</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Sailor's Yarn, A</td><td><i>James Jeffrey Roche</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_680">680</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Sainte Margerie</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_477">477</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Salad</td><td><i>Mortimer Collins</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_436">436</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Salad</td><td><i>Sydney Smith</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_93">93</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Sally in Our Alley</td><td><i>Henry Carey</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_182">182</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Sally Simkin's Lament</td><td><i>Thomas Hood</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_800">800</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Same Old Story</td><td><i>Harry B. Smith</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_360">360</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Sary "Fixes Up" Things</td><td><i>Albert Bigelow Paine</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_192">192</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Saying, Not Meaning</td><td><i>William Basil Wake</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_666">666</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>School</td><td><i>James Kenneth Stephen</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_60">60</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Schoolmaster, The</td><td><i>Charles Stuart Calverley</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_64">64</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Scientific Proof</td><td><i>J. W. Foley</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_880">880</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Secret Combination, The</td><td><i>Ellis Parker Butler</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_209">209</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Select Passages from a Coming Poet</td><td><i>F. Anstey</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_410">410</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Senex to Matt. Prior</td><td><i>James Kenneth Stephen</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_362">362</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Shake, Mulleary and Go-ethe</td><td><i>H. C. Bunner</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_40">40</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Shipwreck, The</td><td><i>H. Palmer</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_876">876</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Siege of Belgrade, The</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_813">813</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Siege of Djklxprwbz, The</td><td><i>Eugene Fitch Ware</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_96">96</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Similes</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_791">791</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Simile, A</td><td><i>Matthew Prior</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_262">262</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Sing for the Garish Eye</td><td><i>W. S. Gilbert</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_875">875</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Sir Guy the Crusader</td><td><i>W. S. Gilbert</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_644">644</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Sketch from the Life, A</td><td><i>Arthur Guiterman</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_121">121</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Skipper Treson's Ride</td><td><i>John Greenleat Whittier</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_688">688</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Sky-Making</td><td><i>Mortimer Collins</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_314">314</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Smack in School, The</td><td><i>William Pitt Palmer</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_128">128</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Smatterers</td><td><i>Samuel Butler</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_365">365</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Society upon the Stanislaus The</td><td><i>Bret Harte</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_650">650</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"Soldier, Rest!"</td><td><i>Robert J. Burdette</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_374">374</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Some Hallucinations</td><td><i>Lewis Carroll</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_874">874</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Some Ladies</td><td><i>Frederick Locker-Lampson</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_367">367</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Some Little Bug</td><td><i>Roy Atwell</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_77">77</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Somewhere-in-Europe-Wocky</td><td><i>F. G. Hartswick</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_482">482</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Song</td><td><i>Joseph Addison</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_751">751</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Song</td><td><i>George Canning</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_84">84</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Song</td><td><i>John Donne</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_330">330</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Song</td><td><i>Richard Lovelace</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_241">241</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Song</td><td><i>J. R. Ptanche</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_99">99</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Song of Impossibilities, A</td><td><i>Winthrop Mackintosh Praed</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_327">327</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Song of Sorrow, A</td><td><i>Charles Battell Loomis</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_386">386</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Song of the Springtide</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_527">527</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"Songs Without Words"</td><td><i>Robert J. Burdette</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_413">413</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Sonnet Found in a Deserted Mad House</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_851">851</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Sonnet to a Clam</td><td><i>John G. Saxe</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_734">734</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Sorrows of Werther, The</td><td><i>W. M. Thackeray</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_140">140</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>'Spacially Jim</td><td><i>Bessie Morgan</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_129">129</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Spirk Throll-Derisiye</td><td><i>James Whitcomb Riley</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_855">855</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Splendid Fellow, A</td><td><i>H. C. Dodge</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_267">267</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Splendid Shilling, The</td><td><i>John Philips</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_316">316</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>St. Anthony's Sermon to the Fishes</td><td><i>Abraham á Sancta-Clara</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_251">251</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Stanzas to Pale Ale</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_732">732</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>St. Patrick of Ireland, My Dear!</td><td><i>William Maginn</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_101">101</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Story of Prince Agib, The</td><td><i>W. S. Gilbert</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_641">641</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Strictly Germ-Proof</td><td><i>Arthur Guiterman</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_87">87</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Strike Among the Poets, A</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_785">785</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Study of an Elevation, in Indian Ink</td><td><i>Rudyard Kipling</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_226">226</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Styx River Anthology</td><td><i>Carolyn Wells</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_521">521</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Surnames</td><td><i>James Smith</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_804">804</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Susan</td><td><i>Frederick Locker-Lampson</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_157">157</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Susan Simpson</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_774">774</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Sympathy</td><td><i>Reginald Heber</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_270">270</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><p style='margin-top: 1em; text-align: center;'>T</p></td><td></td><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td>Takings</td><td><i>Thomas Hood, Jr.</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_817">817</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Tam o' Shanter</td><td><i>Robert Burns</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_623">623</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ternary of Littles, Upon a Pipkin of Jelly Sent to a Lady, A</td><td><i>Robert Herrick</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_806">806</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Terrible Infant, A</td><td><i>Frederick Locker-Lampson</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_156">156</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>'Tis Midnight</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_843">843</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>'Tis Sweet to Roam</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_878">878</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>That Gentle Man from Boston Town</td><td><i>Joaquin Miller</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_629">629</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>That Texan Cattle Man</td><td><i>Joaquin Miller</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_288">288</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Thingumbob, The</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_882">882</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Then Ag'in</td><td><i>Sam Walter Foss</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_357">357</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_982" id="Page_982">[Pg 982]</a></span></td><td></td><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td>"There's a Bower of Bean-vines"</td><td><i>Phœbe Cary</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_493">493</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>There Was a Little Girl</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_926">926</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Third Proposition, The</td><td><i>Madeline Bridges</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_345">345</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Thought, A</td><td><i>James Kenneth Stephen</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_248">248</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Three Black Crows, The</td><td><i>John Byrom</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_254">254</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Three Children</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_843">843</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Three Jovial Huntsmen</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_878">878</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Thursday</td><td><i>Frederick E. Weatherly</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_313">313</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Tim Turpin</td><td><i>Thomas Hood</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_795">795</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>To a Blockhead</td><td><i>Alexander Pope</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_362">362</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>To a Capricious Friend</td><td><i>Joseph Addison</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_368">368</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>To a Fly</td><td><i>John Wolcot</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_734">734</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>To an Importunate Host</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_534">534</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>To a Slow Walker and Quick Eater</td><td><i>Lessing</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_369">369</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>To a Thesaurus</td><td><i>Franklin P. Adams</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_825">825</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>To Be or Not To Be</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_891">891</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>To Doctor Empiric</td><td><i>Ben Jonson</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_365">365</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>To Julia in Shooting Togs</td><td><i>Owen Seaman</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_418">418</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>To Marie</td><td><i>John Bennett</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_852">852</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>To Minerva</td><td><i>Thomas Hood</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_49">49</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>To My Empty Purse</td><td><i>Geoffrey Chaucer</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_58">58</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>To My Nose</td><td><i>Alfred A. Forrester</i> (<i>Alfred Croquill</i>)</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_832">832</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Too Late</td><td><i>Fitz Hugh Ludlow</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_348">348</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>To Phœbe</td><td><i>W. S. Gilbert</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_28">28</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>To the Pliocene Skull</td><td><i>Bret Harte</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_46">46</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>To the Portrait of "A Gentleman"</td><td><i>Oliver Wendell Holmes</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_236">236</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>To the Terrestrial Globe</td><td><i>W. S. Gilbert</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_256">256</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Town of Nice, The</td><td><i>Herman C. Merivale</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_438">438</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Tragic Story, A</td><td><i>W. M. Thackeray</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_850">850</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Transcendentalism</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_92">92</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Translated Way</td><td><i>Franklin P. Adams</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_427">427</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Travesty of Miss Fanshawe's Enigma</td><td><i>Horace Mayhew</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_763">763</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Triolet</td><td><i>Paul T. Gilbert</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_120">120</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Triolet, The</td><td><i>William Ernest Henley</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_782">782</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>True to Poll</td><td><i>F. C. Burnand</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_275">275</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Trust in Women</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_276">276</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Truth About Horace, The</td><td><i>Eugene Field</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_50">50</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Tu Quoque</td><td><i>Austin Dobson</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_146">146</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Turtle and the Flamingo, The</td><td><i>James Thomas Fields</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_923">923</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Turvey Top</td><td><i>William Sawyer</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_884">884</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>'Twas Ever Thus</td><td><i>Henry S. Leigh</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_544">544</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Twelve Articles</td><td><i>Dean Swift</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_279">279</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Twins, The</td><td><i>Henry S. Leigh</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_108">108</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Two Fishes</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_188">188</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Two Men</td><td><i>Edwin Arlington Robinson</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_35">35</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Two Old Bachelors, The</td><td><i>Edward Lear</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_868">868</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><p style='margin-top: 1em; text-align: center;'>V</p></td><td></td><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td>Uffia</td><td><i>Harriet R. White</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_877">877</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ultimate Joy, The</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_32">32</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Unattainable, The</td><td><i>Harry Romaine</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_141">141</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Uncle Simon and Uncle Jim</td><td><i>Charles Farrar Browne</i> (<i>Artemus Ward</i>)</td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_849">849</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Under the Mistletoe</td><td><i>George Francis Schults</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_196">196</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Unexpected Fact, An</td><td><i>Edward Cannon</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_844">844</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Unfortunate Miss Bailey</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_702">702</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Unsatisfied Yearning</td><td><i>R. K. Munkittrick</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_889">889</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Upon Being Obliged to Leave a Pleasant Party</td><td><i>Thomas Moore</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_367">367</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Up the Spout</td><td><i>Algernon Charles Swinburne</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_460">460</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Usual Way, The</td><td><i>Frederick E. Weatherly</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_200">200</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><p style='margin-top: 1em; text-align: center;'>V</p></td><td></td><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td>Vague Story, A</td><td><i>Walter Parke</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_74">74</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>V-A-S-E, The</td><td><i>James Jeffrey Roche</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_227">227</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Village Choir, The</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_528">528</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Villanelle of Things Amusing</td><td><i>Gelett Burgess</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_73">73</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Villon's Straight Tip to All Cross Coves</td><td><i>William Ernest Henley</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_399">399</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Viper, The</td><td><i>Hilaire Belloc</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_906">906</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Visit from St. Nicholas, A</td><td><i>Clement Clarke Moore</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_935">935</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><p style='margin-top: 1em; text-align: center;'>W</p></td><td></td><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td>Walrus and the Carpenter, The</td><td><i>Lewis Carroll</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_896">896</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>The Whango Tree</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_842">842</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>War: A-Z, The</td><td><i>John R. Edwards</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_829">829</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>War Relief</td><td><i>Oliver Herford</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_901">901</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Ways and Means</td><td><i>Lewis Carroll</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_870">870</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Way to Arcady, The</td><td><i>H. C. Bunner</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_201">201</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Wedding, A</td><td><i>Sir John Suckling</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_704">704</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Wedding, The</td><td><i>Thomas Hood, Jr.</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_412">412</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Well of St. Keyne, The</td><td><i>Robert Southey</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_584">584</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>What is a Woman Like?</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_118">118</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>What's In a Name?</td><td><i>R. K. Munkittrick</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_347">347</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>What's My Thought Like?</td><td><i>Thomas Moore</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_370">370</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>What Will We Do?</td><td><i>Robert J. Burdette</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_311">311</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Whatever Is, Is Right</td><td><i>Laman Blanchard</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_786">786</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_983" id="Page_983">[Pg 983]</a></span></td><td></td><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td>What Mr. Robinson Thinks</td><td><i>James Russell Lowell</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_292">292</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Whenceness of the Which</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_476">476</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>When Lovely Woman</td><td><i>Phoebe Cary</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_494">494</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>When Moonlike Ore the Hazure Seas</td><td><i>W. M. Thackeray</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_34">34</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>When the Frost Is on the Punkin</td><td><i>James Whitcomb Riley</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_34">34</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Which Is Which</td><td><i>John Byrom</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_368">368</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Whistler, The</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_133">133</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Why?</td><td><i>H. P. Stevens</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_214">214</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Why Don't the Men Propose?</td><td><i>Thomas Haynes Bayly</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_131">131</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Why Doth a Pussy Cat?</td><td><i>Surges Johnson</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_895">895</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Widow Bedott to Elder Sniffles</td><td><i>Frances M. Whicher</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_195">195</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Widow Malone, The</td><td><i>Charles Lever</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_126">126</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Wife, A</td><td><i>Richard Brinsley Sheriian</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_366">366</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Wife, The</td><td><i>Phoebe Cary</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_494">494</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>William Brown of Oregon</td><td><i>Joaquin Miller</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_653">653</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Willows, The</td><td><i>Bret Harte</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_423">423</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Willow-Tree, The</td><td><i>W. M. Thackeray</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_439">439</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Wing Tee Wee</td><td><i>J. P. Denison</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_139">139</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Winter Dusk</td><td><i>R. K. Munkittrick</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_42">42</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Within and Without</td><td><i>James Russell Lowell</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_359">359</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Wofle New Ballad of Jane Roney and Mary Brown, The</td><td><i>W. M. Thackeray</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_552">552</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Woman's Will</td><td><i>John G. Saxe</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_362">362</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Wonders of Nature</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_470">470</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Wordsworthian Reminiscence</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_470">470</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Wreck of the "Julie Plante"</td><td><i>William Henry Drummond</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_662">662</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Written After Swimming from Sestos to Abydos</td><td><i>Lord Byron</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_80">80</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><p style='margin-top: 1em; text-align: center;'>Y</p></td><td></td><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td>Yak, The</td><td><i>Hilaire Belloc</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_906">906</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Yarn of the "Nancy Bell"</td><td><i>W. S. Gilbert</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_632">632</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Yonghy-Bonghy Ho, The</td><td><i>Edward Lear</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_859">859</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Young Gazelle</td><td><i>Walter Parke</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_918">918</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Young Lady of Niger, The</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_948">948</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Young Lochinvar</td><td><i>Unknown</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_381">381</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>Youth and Art</td><td><i>Robert Browning</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_339">339</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><p style='margin-top: 1em; text-align: center;'>Z</p></td><td></td><td></td></tr> + +<tr><td>Zealless Xylographer, The</td><td><i>Mary Mapes Dodge</i></td><td style='text-align: right;'><a href="#Page_759">759</a></td></tr> +</table> + +<p><br /></p> +<div class='tnote'><h3>Transcriber's Notes</h3> + +<p>Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.</p> +<p>It is not always obvious if verses in the original have been split through pagination; if there is doubt the split has been retained.</p> +<p><a name="Footnote_9_1" id="Footnote_9_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_1">'Ode for a Social Meeting'</a> has some words struck out and replaced above with alternatives. This has been represented with the struckout words underlined in red and the alternate words in boxes above. The font of the poem has been switched to monospaced to accurately align the two.</p> +<p>Both "Geoffrey" and "Goeffrey" are used as spellings for Geoffrey Chaucer's name without obvious reason. The spelling has been standardised here to the more commonly accepted (today) version "Geoffrey".</p> +<p>The title of "Spirk, Troll-Derisive" uses both "Troll" and "Throll" throughout the original text. The spelling has been standardised here to "Troll".</p> + +<p>"There is no poem in the original beginning <a name="Footnote_9_2" id="Footnote_9_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_2">'Oh! Weary mother'</a> and it appears to have been an error. The page reference, '000,' is from the original."</p> +</div> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BOOK OF HUMOROUS VERSE***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 23972-h.txt or 23972-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/3/9/7/23972">http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/9/7/23972</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>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. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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