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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Poems and Verses of Charles Dickens, by
+Charles Dickens
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Poems and Verses of Charles Dickens
+
+Author: Charles Dickens
+
+Editor: F. G. Kitton
+
+Release Date: March 10, 2011 [EBook #35536]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS, VERSES OF CHARLES DICKENS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David E. Brown, Bryan Ness and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This
+file was produced from images generously made available
+by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE POEMS AND VERSES OF CHARLES DICKENS
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: CHARLES DICKENS, HIS WIFE, & HER SISTER
+
+DRAWN BY MACLISE IN 1842.
+
+Maclise. R.A.
+
+C. H. Jeens]
+
+
+
+
+  THE POEMS AND VERSES
+  OF CHARLES DICKENS
+
+
+  Collected and Edited, with
+  Bibliographical Notes, by
+
+  F. G. KITTON
+
+
+  LONDON
+  CHAPMAN AND HALL, LIMITED
+  1903
+
+
+
+
+Edinburgh: Printed by T. and A. CONSTABLE
+
+
+
+
+  TO MISS GEORGINA HOGARTH
+  THIS LITTLE VOLUME
+  IS RESPECTFULLY
+  DEDICATED
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+                                                          PAGE
+
+  THE VILLAGE COQUETTES (1836),                              3
+
+    _Round._
+    Hail to the merry Autumn days,                           7
+
+    _Lucy's Song._
+    Love is not a feeling to pass away,                      8
+
+    _Squire Norton's Song._
+    That very wise head, old AEsop, said,                     9
+
+    _George Edmunds' Song._
+    Autumn leaves, autumn leaves,                           10
+
+    _Rose's Song._
+    Some folks who have grown old and sour,                 11
+
+    _Duet (Flam and Rose)._
+    'Tis true I'm caressed by the witty,                    12
+
+    _Squire Norton's Song._
+    The child and the old man sat alone,                    13
+
+    _Duet (The Squire and Lucy)._
+    In rich and lofty station shine,                        14
+
+    _Sestet and Chorus._
+    Turn him from the farm,                                 15
+
+    _Quartet._
+    Hear me, when I swear that the farm is your own,        17
+
+    _Squire Norton's Song._
+    There's a charm in Spring,                              20
+
+    _Young Benson's Song._
+    My fair home is no longer mine,                         21
+
+    _Duet (The Squire and Edmunds)._
+    Listen, though I do not fear you,                       22
+
+    _Lucy's Song._
+    How beautiful at even-tide,                             23
+
+    _Chorus._
+    Join the dance, with step as light,                     23
+
+    _Quintet._
+    No light bound of stag or timid hare,                   24
+
+
+  THE LAMPLIGHTER (1838),                                   29
+
+    _Duet (Tom and Betsy)._
+    There comes a new moon twelve times a year,             31
+
+
+  THE PICKWICK PAPERS (1837),                   35, 41, 47, 51
+
+    _The Ivy Green._
+    Oh, a dainty plant is the Ivy green,                    36
+
+    _A Christmas Carol._
+    I care not for Spring,                                  42
+
+    _Gabriel Grub's Song._
+    Brave lodgings for one,                                 48
+
+    _Romance (Sam Weller's Song)._
+    Bold Turpin vunce, on Hounslow Heath,                   53
+
+
+  THE EXAMINER (1841),                                      57
+
+    _The Fine Old English Gentleman._
+    I'll sing you a new ballad,                             59
+
+    _The Quack Doctor's Proclamation._
+    An astonishing doctor has just come to town,            67
+
+    _Subjects for Painters._
+    To you, Sir Martin,                                     73
+
+
+  THE PATRICIAN'S DAUGHTER (1842),                          79
+
+    _Prologue._
+    No tale of streaming plumes and harness bright,         81
+
+
+  THE KEEPSAKE (1844),                                      87
+
+    _A Word in Season._
+    They have a superstition in the East,                   89
+
+
+  THE DAILY NEWS (1846),                                    93
+
+    _The British Lion._
+    Oh, p'r'aps you may have heard,                         95
+
+    _The Hymn of the Wiltshire Labourers._
+    Oh God, who by Thy Prophet's hand,                     101
+
+
+  LINES ADDRESSED TO MARK LEMON (1849),                    107
+
+    _New Song._
+    Lemon is a little hipped,                              109
+
+
+  THE LIGHTHOUSE (1855),                                   113
+
+    _Prologue._
+    A story of those rocks where doom'd ships come,        115
+
+    _The Song of the Wreck._
+    The wind blew high, the waters raved,                  119
+
+
+  THE FROZEN DEEP (1856),                                  125
+
+    _Prologue._
+    One savage footprint on the lonely shore,              127
+
+
+  THE WRECK OF THE GOLDEN MARY (1856),                     131
+
+    _A Child's Hymn._
+    Hear my prayer, O! Heavenly Father,                    133
+
+
+
+
+SONGS, CHORUSES, AND CONCERTED PIECES FROM 'THE VILLAGE COQUETTES'
+
+A COMIC OPERA
+
+1836
+
+
+THE VILLAGE COQUETTES
+
+About the year 1834, when the earliest of the _Sketches by Boz_ were
+appearing in print, a young composer named John Hullah set to music a
+portion of an opera called _The Gondolier_, which he thought might prove
+successful on the stage. Twelve months later Hullah became acquainted with
+Charles Dickens, whose name was then unknown to those outside his own
+immediate circle, and it occurred to him that he and 'Boz' might combine
+their forces by converting _The Gondolier_ into a popular play. Dickens,
+who always entertained a passion for the theatre, entered into the project
+at once, and informed Hullah that he had a little unpublished story by him
+which he thought would dramatise well--even better than _The Gondolier_
+notion; confessing that he would rather deal with familiar English scenes
+than with the unfamiliar Venetian environment of the play favoured by
+Hullah. The title of _The Gondolier_ was consequently abandoned, and a
+novel subject found and put forward as _The Village Coquettes_, a comic
+opera of which songs, duets, and concerted pieces were to form
+constituent parts. Dickens, of course, became responsible for the
+_libretto_ and Hullah for the music; and when completed the little play
+was offered to, and accepted by, Braham, the lessee of the St. James's
+Theatre, who expressed an earnest desire to be the first to introduce
+'Boz' to the public as a dramatic writer. A favourite comedian of that
+day, John Pritt Harley, after reading the words of the opera prior to its
+representation, declared it was 'a sure card,' and felt so confident of
+its success that he offered to wager ten pounds that it would run fifty
+nights!--an assurance which at once decided Braham to produce it.
+
+_The Village Coquettes_, described on the title-page of the printed copies
+as 'A Comic Opera, in Two Acts,' was played for the first time on December
+6, 1836, with Braham and Harley in the cast. In his preface to the play
+(published contemporaneously by Richard Bentley, and dedicated to Harley)
+Dickens explained that 'the _libretto_ of an opera must be, to a certain
+extent, a mere vehicle for the music,' and that 'it is scarcely fair or
+reasonable to judge it by those strict rules of criticism which would be
+justly applicable to a five-act tragedy or a finished comedy.' There is no
+doubt that the merits of the play were based upon the songs set to
+Hullah's music rather than upon the play itself, and it is said that
+Harley's reputation as a vocalist was established by his able rendering of
+them.
+
+_The Village Coquettes_ enjoyed a run of nineteen nights in London during
+the season, and was then transferred to Edinburgh, where it was performed
+under the management of Mr. Ramsay, a friend of Sir Walter Scott. Sala, as
+a boy of ten, witnessed its first representation in London, and ever
+retained a vivid impression of the event; while especial interest
+appertains to the fact that a copy of the play became the means of first
+bringing Dickens into personal communication with John Forster, his
+life-long friend and biographer. It is more than probable that 'Boz' felt
+a little elated by the reception accorded by the public to the 'dramatic
+bantling,' but as time progressed he realised that the somewhat
+unfavourable comments of the critics were not entirely devoid of truth.
+Indeed, when in 1843 it was proposed to revive the play, he expressed a
+hope that it might be allowed 'to sink into its native obscurity.' 'I did
+it,' he explained, 'in a fit of damnable good-nature long ago, for Hullah,
+who wrote some very pretty music to it. I just put down for everybody what
+everybody at the St. James's Theatre wanted to say and do, and what they
+could say and do best, and I have been most sincerely repentant ever
+since.' The novelist confessed that both the operetta and a little farce
+called _The Strange Gentleman_ (the latter written as 'a practical joke'
+for the St. James's Theatre about the same time) were done 'without the
+least consideration or regard to reputation'; he also declared that he
+'wouldn't repeat them for a thousand pounds apiece,' and devoutly wished
+these early dramatic efforts to be forgotten. _A propos_ of this, the late
+Frederick Locker-Lampson has recorded that when he asked Dickens (about a
+year before the great writer's death) whether he possessed a copy of _The
+Village Coquettes_, his reply was, 'No; and if I knew it was in my house,
+and if I could not get rid of it in any other way, I would burn the wing
+of the house where it was!'
+
+Although, perhaps, not of a high order of merit, _The Village Coquettes_
+is not without bibliographical interest, and may be regarded as a musical
+and literary curiosity. Copies of the first edition of the little play are
+now seldom met with, and whenever a perfect impression comes into the
+market it commands a good price, even as much as L10 or L12,--indeed, a
+particularly fine copy was sold at Sotheby's in 1889 for twenty-five
+pounds. In 1878 the words of the opera were reprinted in facsimile by
+Richard Bentley, for which a frontispiece was etched by F. W. Pailthorpe a
+year later.
+
+
+THE VILLAGE COQUETTES
+
+
+ROUND
+
+  Hail to the merry Autumn days, when yellow corn-fields shine,
+  Far brighter than the costly cup that holds the monarch's wine!
+  Hail to the merry harvest time, the gayest of the year,
+  The time of rich and bounteous crops, rejoicing, and good cheer!
+
+  'Tis pleasant on a fine Spring morn to see the buds expand,
+  'Tis pleasant in the Summer time to view the teeming land;
+  'Tis pleasant on a Winter's night to crouch around the blaze,--
+  But what are joys like these, my boys, to Autumn's merry days!
+
+  Then hail to merry Autumn days, when yellow corn-fields shine,
+  Far brighter than the costly cup that holds the monarch's wine!
+  And hail to merry harvest time, the gayest of the year,
+  The time of rich and bounteous crops, rejoicing, and good cheer!
+
+
+LUCY'S SONG
+
+  Love is not a feeling to pass away,
+  Like the balmy breath of a summer day;
+  It is not--it cannot be--laid aside;
+  It is not a thing to forget or hide.
+  It clings to the heart, ah, woe is me!
+  As the ivy clings to the old oak tree.
+
+  Love is not a passion of earthly mould,
+  As a thirst for honour, or fame, or gold:
+  For when all these wishes have died away,
+  The deep strong love of a brighter day,
+  Though nourished in secret, consumes the more,
+  As the slow rust eats to the iron's core.
+
+
+SQUIRE NORTON'S SONG
+
+  That very wise head, old AEsop, said,
+    The bow should be sometimes loose;
+  Keep it tight for ever, the string you sever:--
+    Let's turn his old moral to use.
+  The world forget, and let us yet,
+    The glass our spirits buoying,
+  Revel to-night in those moments bright
+    Which make life worth enjoying.
+  The cares of the day, old moralists say,
+    Are quite enough to perplex one;
+  Then drive to-day's sorrow away till to-morrow,
+    And then put it off till the next one.
+                _Chorus_--The cares of the day, etc.
+
+  Some plodding old crones, the heartless drones!
+    Appeal to my cool reflection,
+  And ask me whether such nights can ever
+    Charm sober recollection.
+  Yes, yes! I cry, I'll grieve and die,
+    When those I love forsake me;
+  But while friends so dear surround me here,
+    Let Care, if he can, o'ertake me.
+                _Chorus_--The cares of the day, etc.
+
+
+GEORGE EDMUNDS' SONG
+
+  Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, lie strewn around me here;
+  Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, how sad, how cold, how drear!
+        How like the hopes of childhood's day,
+          Thick clust'ring on the bough!
+        How like those hopes in their decay--
+          How faded are they now!
+  Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, lie strewn around me here;
+  Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, how sad, how cold, how drear!
+
+  Wither'd leaves, wither'd leaves, that fly before the gale:
+  Withered leaves, withered leaves, ye tell a mournful tale,
+        Of love once true, and friends once kind,
+          And happy moments fled:
+        Dispersed by every breath of wind,
+          Forgotten, changed, or dead!
+  Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, lie strewn around me here!
+  Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, how sad, how cold, how drear!
+
+
+ROSE'S SONG
+
+  Some folks who have grown old and sour,
+  Say love does nothing but annoy.
+  The fact is, they have had their hour,
+  So envy what they can't enjoy.
+  I like the glance--I like the sigh--
+  That does of ardent passion tell!
+  If some folks were as young as I,
+  I'm sure they'd like it quite as well.
+
+  Old maiden aunts so hate the men,
+  So well know how wives are harried,
+  It makes them sad--not jealous--when
+  They see their poor dear nieces married.
+  All men are fair and false, they know,
+  And with deep sighs they assail 'em,
+  It's so long since they tried men, though,
+  I rather think their mem'ries fail 'em.
+
+
+DUET (_Flam and Rose_)
+
+  _Flam._ 'Tis true I'm caressed by the witty,
+              The envy of all the fine beaux,
+          The pet of the court and the city,
+              But still, I'm the lover of Rose.
+
+  _Rose._ Country sweethearts, oh, how I despise!
+              And oh! how delighted I am
+          To think that I shine in the eyes
+              Of the elegant--sweet--Mr. Flam.
+
+  _Flam._ Allow me [_offers to kiss her_].
+
+  _Rose._ Pray don't be so bold, sir [_kisses her_].
+
+  _Flam._   What sweets on that honey'd lip hang!
+
+  _Rose._ Your presumption, I know, I should scold, sir,
+            But I really _can't_ scold Mr. Flam.
+
+  _Both._ Then let us be happy together,
+            Content with the world as it goes,
+          An unchangeable couple for ever,
+            Mr. Flam and his beautiful Rose.
+
+
+SQUIRE NORTON'S SONG
+
+  The child and the old man sat alone
+    In the quiet, peaceful shade
+  Of the old green boughs, that had richly grown
+    In the deep, thick forest glade.
+  It was a soft and pleasant sound,
+    That rustling of the oak;
+  And the gentle breeze played lightly round,
+    As thus the fair boy spoke:--
+
+  'Dear father, what can honour be,
+    Of which I hear men rave?
+  Field, cell and cloister, land and sea,
+    The tempest and the grave:--
+  It lives in all, 'tis sought in each,
+    'Tis never heard or seen:
+  Now tell me, father, I beseech,
+    What can this honour mean?'
+
+  'It is a name--a name, my child,--
+    It lived in other days,
+  When men were rude, their passions wild,
+    Their sport, thick battle-frays.
+  When, in armour bright, the warrior bold
+    Knelt to his lady's eyes:
+  Beneath the abbey pavement old
+    That warrior's dust now lies.
+
+  'The iron hearts of that old day
+    Have mouldered in the grave;
+  And chivalry has passed away,
+    With knights so true and brave;
+  The honour, which to them was life,
+    Throbs in no bosom now;
+  It only gilds the gambler's strife,
+    Or decks the worthless vow.'
+
+
+DUET (_The Squire and Lucy_)
+
+  _Squire._ In rich and lofty station shine,
+              Before his jealous eyes;
+            In golden splendour, lady mine,
+              This peasant youth despise.
+
+  _Lucy_ [_apart; the Squire regarding her attentively_].
+         Oh! it would be revenge indeed,
+           With scorn his glance to meet.
+         I, I, his humble pleading heed!
+           I'd spurn him from my feet.
+
+  _Squire._ With love and rage her bosom's torn,
+              And rash the choice will be;
+
+  _Lucy._ With love and rage my bosom's torn,
+            And rash the choice will be.
+
+  _Squire._ From hence she quickly must be borne,
+              Her home, her home, she'll flee.
+
+  _Lucy._ Oh! long shall I have cause to mourn
+            My home, my home, for thee!
+
+
+SESTET AND CHORUS
+
+  _Young Benson._ Turn him from the farm! From his home will you cast
+                  The old man who has tilled it for years!
+                  Ev'ry tree, ev'ry flower, is linked with the past,
+                  And a friend of his childhood appears.
+                  Turn _him_ from the farm! O'er its grassy hillside,
+                  A gay boy he once loved to range;
+                  His boyhood has fled, and its dear friends are dead,
+                  But these meadows have never known change.
+
+  _Edmunds._ Oppressor, hear me!
+
+  _Lucy._                        On my knees I implore.
+
+  _Squire._ I command it, and you will obey.
+
+  _Rose._ Rise, dear Lucy, rise; you shall not kneel before
+          The tyrant who drives us away.
+
+  _Squire._ Your sorrows are useless, your prayers are in vain:
+            I command it, and you will begone.
+            I'll hear no more.
+
+  _Edmunds._         No, they shall not beg again
+             Of a man whom I view with deep scorn.
+
+  _Flam._ Do not yield.
+
+  _Young Benson._}
+  _Squire._      }
+  _Lucy._        } Leave the farm!
+  _Rose._        }
+
+  _Edmunds._                       Your pow'r I despise.
+
+  _Squire._ And your threats, boy, I disregard too.
+
+  _Flam._ Do not yield.
+
+  _Young Benson._}
+  _Squire._      }
+  _Lucy._        } Leave the farm!
+  _Rose._        }
+
+  _Rose._                          If he leaves it, he dies.
+
+  _Edmunds._ This base act, proud man, you shall rue.
+
+  _Young Benson._ Turn him from the farm! From his home will you cast,
+                  The old man who has tilled it for years?
+                  Ev'ry tree, ev'ry flower, is linked with the past,
+                  And a friend of his childhood appears!
+
+  _Squire._ Yes, yes, leave the farm! From his home I will cast
+            The old man who has tilled it for years;
+            Though each tree and flower is linked with the past,
+            And a friend of his childhood appears.
+
+  _Chorus._
+
+  He has turned from his farm! From his home he has cast
+  The old man who has tilled it for years;
+  Though each tree and flower is linked with the past,
+  And a friend of his childhood appears.
+
+
+QUARTET
+
+  _Squire._ Hear me, when I swear that the farm is your own
+            Through all changes Fortune may make;
+            The base charge of falsehood I never have known;
+            This promise I never will break.
+
+  _Rose and_ } Hear him, when he swears that the farm is our own
+  _Lucy._    } Through all changes Fortune may make.
+
+  _Rose and_ } The base charge of falsehood he never has known;
+  _Lucy._    } This promise he never will break.
+
+  [_Enter Young Benson._]
+
+  _Young Benson._ My sister here! Lucy! begone, I command.
+
+  _Squire._ To your home I restore you again.
+
+  _Young Benson._ No boon I'll accept from that treacherous hand
+                  As the price of my fair sister's fame.
+
+  _Squire._ To your home!
+
+  _Young Benson_ [_to Lucy_]. Hence away!
+
+  _Lucy._
+                                          Brother dear, I obey.
+  _Squire._ I restore.
+
+  _Young Benson._      Hence away!
+
+  _Young Benson,_   }              Let us leave.
+  _Rose, and Lucy._ }
+
+  _Lucy._ He swears it, dear brother.
+
+  _Squire._                           I swear it.
+
+  _Young Benson._                                 Away!
+
+  _Squire._ I swear it.
+
+  _Young Benson._       You swear to deceive.
+
+  _Squire._ Hear me, when I swear that the farm is your own
+            Through all changes Fortune may make.
+
+  _Lucy and_ { Hear him, when he swears that the farm is our own
+  _Rose._    { Through all changes Fortune may make.
+
+  _Young Benson._ Hear him swear, hear him swear, that the farm is our own
+                  Through all changes Fortune may make.
+
+  _Squire._ The base charge of falsehood I never have known,
+            This promise I never will break.
+
+  _Lucy and_ { The base charge of falsehood he never has known,
+  _Rose._    { This promise he never will break.
+
+  _Young Benson._ The base charge of falsehood he often has known,
+                  This promise he surely will break.
+
+
+SQUIRE NORTON'S SONG
+
+  There's a charm in Spring, when ev'rything
+    Is bursting from the ground;
+  When pleasant show'rs bring forth the flow'rs
+    And all is life around.
+
+  In summer day, the fragrant hay
+    Most sweetly scents the breeze;
+  And all is still, save murm'ring rill,
+    Or sound of humming bees.
+
+  Old Autumn comes;--with trusty gun
+    In quest of birds we roam:
+  Unerring aim, we mark the game,
+    And proudly bear it home.
+
+  A winter's night has its delight,
+    Well warmed to bed we go:
+  A winter's day, we're blithe and gay,
+    Snipe-shooting in the snow.
+
+  A country life, without the strife
+    And noisy din of town,
+  Is all I need, I take no heed
+    Of splendour or renown.
+
+  And when I die, oh, let me lie
+    Where trees above me wave;
+  Let wild plants bloom around my tomb,
+    My quiet country grave!
+
+
+YOUNG BENSON'S SONG
+
+  My fair home is no longer mine;
+  From its roof-tree I'm driven away.
+  Alas! who will tend the old vine,
+  Which I planted in infancy's day!
+  The garden, the beautiful flowers,
+  The oak with its branches on high,
+  Dear friends of my happiest hours,
+  Among thee I long hoped to die.
+  The briar, the moss, and the bramble,
+  Along the green paths will run wild:
+  The paths where I once used to ramble,
+  An innocent, light-hearted child.
+
+
+DUET (_The Squire and Edmunds_)
+
+  _Squire._ Listen, though I do not fear you,
+            Listen to me, ere we part.
+
+  _Edmunds._ List to _you_! Yes, I will hear you.
+
+  _Squire._ Yours alone is Lucy's heart,
+            I swear it, by that Heav'n above me.
+
+  _Edmunds._ What! can I believe my ears!
+             Could I hope that she still loves me?
+
+  _Squire._ Banish all these doubts and fears,
+            If a love were e'er worth gaining,
+            If love were ever fond and true,
+            No disguise or passion feigning,
+            Such is her young love for you.
+
+  _Squire._ Listen, though I do not fear you,
+            Listen to me, ere we part.
+
+  _Edmunds._ List to you! yes, I will hear you,
+             Mine alone is her young heart.
+
+
+LUCY'S SONG
+
+    How beautiful at eventide
+  To see the twilight shadows pale,
+    Steal o'er the landscape, far and wide,
+  O'er stream and meadow, mound and dale.
+    How soft is Nature's calm repose
+  When ev'ning skies their cool dews weep:
+    The gentlest wind more gently blows,
+  As if to soothe her in her sleep!
+                The gay morn breaks,
+                  Mists roll away,
+                All Nature awakes
+                  To glorious day.
+                In my breast alone
+                  Dark shadows remain;
+                The peace it has known
+                  It can never regain.
+
+
+CHORUS
+
+  Join the dance, with step as light
+  As ev'ry heart should be to-night;
+  Music, shake the lofty dome,
+  In honour of our Harvest Home.
+
+  Join the dance, and banish care,
+  All are young, and gay, and fair;
+  Even age has youthful grown,
+  In honour of our Harvest Home.
+
+  Join the dance, bright faces beam,
+  Sweet lips smile, and dark eyes gleam;
+  All these charms have hither come,
+  In honour of our Harvest Home.
+
+  Join the dance, with step as light,
+  As ev'ry heart should be to-night;
+  Music shake the lofty dome
+  In honour of our Harvest Home.
+
+
+QUINTET
+
+      No light bound
+  Of stag or timid hare,
+      O'er the ground
+  Where startled herds repair,
+      Do we prize
+  So high, or hold so dear,
+      As the eyes
+  That light our pleasures here.
+
+      No cool breeze
+  That gently plays by night,
+      O'er calm seas,
+  Whose waters glisten bright;
+      No soft moan
+  That sighs across the lea,
+      Harvest Home,
+  Is half so sweet as thee!
+
+
+
+
+LYRIC FROM 'THE LAMPLIGHTER'
+
+A FARCE
+
+1838
+
+
+THE LAMPLIGHTER
+
+In 1838 Dickens agreed to prepare a little play for Macready, the famous
+actor, then the manager of Drury Lane Theatre. It was called _The
+Lamplighter_, and when completed the author read aloud the 'unfortunate
+little farce' (as he subsequently termed it) in the greenroom of the
+theatre. Although the play went through rehearsal, it was never presented
+before an audience, for the actors would not agree about it, and, at
+Macready's suggestion, Dickens consented to withdraw it, declaring that he
+had 'no other feeling of disappointment connected with this matter' but
+that which arose from the failure in attempting to serve his friend. The
+manuscript of the play, not in Dickens's handwriting, reposes in the
+Forster Library at the Victoria and Albert Museum, and in 1879 it was
+printed for the first time, in the form of a pamphlet, of which only two
+hundred and fifty copies were issued.
+
+When rejected by Macready as unsuitable for stage presentation, _The
+Lamplighter_ was adapted by Dickens to another purpose--that is to say,
+he converted it into a tale called _The Lamplighter's Story_, for
+publication in _The Pic-Nic Papers_, issued in 1841 for the benefit of the
+widow of Macrone, Dickens's first publisher, who died in great poverty.
+Between the farce and the story there are but slight differences. The duet
+of two verses, sung by Tom and Betsy to the air of 'The Young May-moon,'
+cannot of course be regarded as a remarkable composition, but it served
+its purpose sufficiently well, and for that reason deserves recognition.
+
+
+DUET FROM 'THE LAMPLIGHTER'
+
+AIR--'THE YOUNG MAY-MOON'
+
+  _Tom._ There comes a new moon twelve times a year.
+
+  _Betsy._ And when there is none, all is dark and drear.
+
+  _Tom._ In which I espy--
+
+  _Betsy._                 And so, too, do I--
+
+  _Both._ A resemblance to womankind very clear--
+
+  _Both._ There comes a new moon twelve times a year;
+          And when there is none, all is dark and drear.
+
+  _Tom._ In which I espy--
+
+  _Betsy._                 And so do I--
+
+  _Both._ A resemblance to womankind very clear.
+
+
+_Second Verse._
+
+  _Tom._ She changes, she's fickle, she drives men mad.
+
+  _Betsy._ She comes to bring light, and leaves them sad.
+
+  _Tom._ So restless wild--
+
+  _Betsy._                  But so sweetly wild--
+
+  _Both._ That no better companion could be had.
+
+  _Both._ There comes a new moon twelve times a year;
+          And when there is none, all is dark and drear.
+
+  _Tom._ In which I espy--
+
+  _Betsy._                 And so do I--
+
+  _Both._ A resemblance to womankind very clear.
+
+
+
+
+SONGS FROM 'THE PICKWICK PAPERS'
+
+1837
+
+
+I.--THE IVY GREEN
+
+THE IVY GREEN
+
+This famous ballad of three verses, from the sixth chapter of _Pickwick_,
+is perhaps the most acceptable of all Dickens's poetical efforts. It was
+originally set to music, at Dickens's request, by his brother-in-law,
+Henry Burnett, a professional vocalist, who, by the way, was the admitted
+prototype of Nicholas Nickleby. Mr. Burnett sang the ballad scores of
+times in the presence of literary men and artists, and it proved an
+especial favourite with Landor. 'The Ivy Green' was not written for
+_Pickwick_, Mr. Burnett assured me; but on its being so much admired the
+author said it should go into a monthly number, and it did. The most
+popular setting is undoubtedly that of Henry Russell, who has recorded
+that he received, as his fee, the magnificent sum of ten shillings! The
+ballad, in this form, went into many editions, and the sales must have
+amounted to tens of thousands.
+
+
+THE IVY GREEN
+
+  Oh, a dainty plant is the Ivy green,
+  That creepeth o'er ruins old!
+  Of right choice food are his meals, I ween,
+  In his cell so lone and cold.
+  The wall must be crumbled, the stone decayed,
+  To pleasure his dainty whim:
+  And the mouldering dust that years have made
+  Is a merry meal for him.
+      Creeping where no life is seen,
+      A rare old plant is the Ivy green.
+
+  Fast he stealeth on, though he wears no wings,
+  And a staunch old heart has he.
+  How closely he twineth, how tight he clings,
+  To his friend the huge Oak Tree!
+  And slily he traileth along the ground,
+  And his leaves he gently waves,
+  As he joyously hugs and crawleth round
+  The rich mould of dead men's graves.
+      Creeping where grim death hath been,
+      A rare old plant is the Ivy green.
+
+  Whole ages have fled and their works decayed,
+  And nations have scattered been;
+  But the stout old Ivy shall never fade,
+  From its hale and hearty green.
+  The brave old plant, in its lonely days,
+  Shall fatten upon the past:
+  For the stateliest building man can raise
+  Is the Ivy's food at last.
+      Creeping on, where time has been,
+      A rare old plant is the Ivy green.
+
+
+II.--A CHRISTMAS CAROL
+
+A CHRISTMAS CAROL
+
+The five stanzas bearing the above title will be found in the
+twenty-eighth chapter of _Pickwick_, where they are introduced as the song
+which that hospitable old soul, Mr. Wardle, sung appropriately, 'in a
+good, round, sturdy voice,' before the Pickwickians and others assembled
+on Christmas Eve at Manor Farm. The 'Carol,' shortly after its appearance
+in _Pickwick_, was set to music to the air of 'Old King Cole,' and
+published in _The Book of British Song_ (New Edition), with an
+illustration drawn by 'Alfred Crowquill'--_i.e._, A. H. Forrester.
+
+
+A CHRISTMAS CAROL
+
+  I care not for Spring; on his fickle wing
+  Let the blossoms and buds be borne:
+  He woos them amain with his treacherous rain,
+  And he scatters them ere the morn.
+  An inconstant elf, he knows not himself
+  Nor his own changing mind an hour,
+  He'll smile in your face, and, with wry grimace,
+  He'll wither your youngest flower.
+
+  Let the Summer sun to his bright home run,
+  He shall never be sought by me;
+  When he's dimmed by a cloud I can laugh aloud,
+  And care not how sulky he be!
+  For his darling child is the madness wild
+  That sports in fierce fever's train;
+  And when love is too strong, it don't last long,
+  As many have found to their pain.
+
+  A mild harvest night, by the tranquil light
+  Of the modest and gentle moon,
+  Has a far sweeter sheen, for me, I ween,
+  Than the broad and unblushing noon.
+  But every leaf awakens my grief,
+  As it lieth beneath the tree;
+  So let Autumn air be never so fair,
+  It by no means agrees with me.
+
+  But my song I troll out, for CHRISTMAS stout,
+  The hearty, the true, and the bold;
+  A bumper I drain, and with might and main
+  Give three cheers for this Christmas old!
+  We'll usher him in with a merry din
+  That shall gladden his joyous heart,
+  And we'll keep him up, while there's bite or sup,
+  And in fellowship good, we'll part.
+
+  In his fine honest pride, he scorns to hide
+  One jot of his hard-weather scars;
+  They're no disgrace, for there's much the same trace
+  On the cheeks of our bravest tars.
+  Then again I sing 'till the roof doth ring,
+  And it echoes from wall to wall--
+  To the stout old wight, fair welcome to-night,
+  As the King of the Seasons all!
+
+
+III.--GABRIEL GRUB'S SONG
+
+GABRIEL GRUB'S SONG
+
+The Sexton's melancholy dirge, in the twenty-ninth chapter of _Pickwick_,
+seems a little incongruous in a humorous work. The sentiment, however,
+thoroughly accords with the philosophic gravedigger's gruesome occupation.
+'The Story of the Goblins who Stole a Sexton' is one of several short
+tales (chiefly of a dismal character) introduced into _Pickwick_; they
+were doubtless written prior to the conception of _Pickwick_, each being
+probably intended for independent publication, and in a manner similar to
+the 'Boz' Sketches. For some reason these stories were not so published,
+and Dickens evidently saw a favourable opportunity of utilising his unused
+manuscripts by inserting them in _The Pickwick Papers_.
+
+
+GABRIEL GRUB'S SONG
+
+  Brave lodgings for one, brave lodgings for one,
+  A few feet of cold earth, when life is done;
+  A stone at the head, a stone at the feet,
+  A rich, juicy meal for the worms to eat;
+  Rank grass over head, and damp clay around,
+  Brave lodgings for one, these, in holy ground!
+
+
+IV.--ROMANCE
+
+ROMANCE
+
+It will be remembered that while Sam Weller and his coaching-friends
+refreshed themselves at the little public-house opposite the Insolvent
+Court in Portugal Street, Lincoln's Inn Fields, prior to Sam joining Mr.
+Pickwick in the Fleet, that faithful body-servant was persuaded to 'oblige
+the company' with a song. 'Raly, gentlemen,' said Sam, 'I'm not wery much
+in the habit o' singin' vithout the instrument; but anythin' for a quiet
+life, as the man said ven he took the sitivation at the light-house.'
+
+'With this prelude, Mr. Samuel Weller burst at once into the following
+wild and beautiful legend, which, under the impression that it is not
+generally known, we take the liberty of quoting. We would beg to call
+particular attention to the monosyllable at the end of the second and
+fourth lines, which not only enables the singer to take breath at those
+points, but greatly assists the metre.'-_The Pickwick Papers_, chapter
+xliii.
+
+At the conclusion of the performance the mottled-faced gentleman contended
+that the song was 'personal to the cloth,' and demanded the name of the
+bishop's coachman, whose cowardice he regarded as a reflection upon
+coachmen in general. Sam replied that his name was not known, as 'he
+hadn't got his card in his pocket'; whereupon the mottled-faced gentleman
+declared the statement to be untrue, stoutly maintaining that the said
+coachman did _not_ run away, but 'died game--game as pheasants,' and he
+would 'hear nothin' said to the contrairey.'
+
+Even in the vernacular (observes Mr. Percy Fitzgerald), 'this master of
+words [Charles Dickens] could be artistic; and it may fairly be asserted
+that Mr. Weller's song to the coachmen is superior to anything of the kind
+that has appeared since.' The two stanzas have been set to music, as a
+humorous part-song, by Sir Frederick Bridge, Mus. Doc., M.V.O., the
+organist of Westminster Abbey, who informs me that it was written some
+years since, to celebrate a festive gathering in honour of Dr. Turpin (!),
+Secretary of the College of Organists. 'It has had a very great success,'
+says Sir Frederick, 'and is sung much in the North of England at
+competitions of choirs. It is for men's voices. The humour of the words
+never fails to make a great hit, and I hope the music does no harm. "The
+Bishop's Coach" is set to a bit of old Plain-Chant, and I introduce a
+Fugue at the words "Sure as eggs is eggs."'
+
+
+ROMANCE
+
+I
+
+  Bold Turpin vunce, on Hounslow Heath,
+  His bold mare Bess bestrode--er;
+  Ven there he see'd the Bishop's coach
+  A-comin' along the road--er.
+  So he gallops close to the 'orse's legs,
+  And he claps his head vithin;
+  And the Bishop says, 'Sure as eggs is eggs,
+  This here's the bold Turpin!'
+
+  _Chorus_--And the Bishop says, 'Sure as eggs is eggs,
+  This here's the bold Turpin!'
+
+II
+
+  Says Turpin, 'You shall eat your words,
+  With a sarse of leaden bul-let';
+  So he puts a pistol to his mouth,
+  And he fires it down his gul-let.
+
+  The coachman, he not likin' the job,
+  Set off at a full gal-lop,
+  But Dick put a couple of balls in his nob,
+  And perwailed on him to stop.
+
+      _Chorus_ (_sarcastically_)--But Dick put a couple of balls in his
+            nob,
+        And perwailed on him to stop.
+
+
+
+
+POLITICAL SQUIBS FROM 'THE EXAMINER' 1841
+
+
+I.--THE FINE OLD ENGLISH GENTLEMAN
+
+
+POLITICAL SQUIBS FROM 'THE EXAMINER,' 1841
+
+In August 1841 Dickens contributed anonymously to _The Examiner_ (then
+edited by Forster) three political squibs, which were signed W., and were
+intended to help the Liberals in fighting their opponents. These squibs
+were entitled respectively 'The Fine Old English Gentleman (to be said or
+sung at all Conservative Dinners)'; 'The Quack Doctor's Proclamation'; and
+'Subjects for Painters (after Peter Pindar).' Concerning those
+productions, Forster says: 'I doubt if he ever enjoyed anything more than
+the power of thus taking part occasionally, unknown to outsiders, in the
+sharp conflict the press was waging at the time.' In all probability he
+contributed other political rhymes to the pages of _The Examiner_ as
+events prompted: if so, they are buried beyond easy reach of
+identification.
+
+Writing to Forster at this time, Dickens said: 'By Jove, how Radical I am
+getting! I wax stronger and stronger in the true principles every day.'...
+He would (observes Forster) sometimes even talk, in moments of sudden
+indignation at the political outlook, 'of carrying off himself and his
+household gods, like Coriolanus, to a world elsewhere.' This was the
+period of the Tory interregnum, with Sir Robert Peel at the head of
+affairs.
+
+
+THE FINE OLD ENGLISH GENTLEMAN
+
+NEW VERSION
+
+(_To be said or sung at all Conservative Dinners_)
+
+  I'll sing you a new ballad, and I'll warrant it first-rate,
+  Of the days of that old gentleman who had that old estate;
+  When they spent the public money at a bountiful old rate
+  On ev'ry mistress, pimp, and scamp, at ev'ry noble gate,
+          In the fine old English Tory times;
+          Soon may they come again!
+
+  The good old laws were garnished well with gibbets, whips, and chains,
+  With fine old English penalties, and fine old English pains,
+  With rebel heads, and seas of blood once hot in rebel veins;
+  For all these things were requisite to guard the rich old gains
+          Of the fine old English Tory times;
+          Soon may they come again!
+
+  This brave old code, like Argus, had a hundred watchful eyes,
+  And ev'ry English peasant had his good old English spies,
+  To tempt his starving discontent with fine old English lies,
+  Then call the good old Yeomanry to stop his peevish cries,
+          In the fine old English Tory times;
+          Soon may they come again!
+
+  The good old times for cutting throats that cried out in their need,
+  The good old times for hunting men who held their fathers' creed,
+  The good old times when William Pitt, as all good men agreed,
+  Came down direct from Paradise at more than railroad speed....
+          Oh the fine old English Tory times;
+          When will they come again!
+
+  In those rare days, the press was seldom known to snarl or bark,
+  But sweetly sang of men in pow'r, like any tuneful lark;
+  Grave judges, too, to all their evil deeds were in the dark;
+  And not a man in twenty score knew how to make his mark.
+          Oh the fine old English Tory times;
+          Soon may they come again!
+
+  Those were the days for taxes, and for war's infernal din;
+  For scarcity of bread, that fine old dowagers might win;
+  For shutting men of letters up, through iron bars to grin,
+  Because they didn't think the Prince was altogether thin,
+          In the fine old English Tory times;
+          Soon may they come again!
+
+  But Tolerance, though slow in flight, is strong-wing'd in the main;
+  That night must come on these fine days, in course of time was plain;
+  The pure old spirit struggled, but its struggles were in vain;
+  A nation's grip was on it, and it died in choking pain,
+          With the fine old English Tory days,
+          All of the olden time.
+
+  The bright old day now dawns again; the cry runs through the land,
+  In England there shall be dear bread--in Ireland, sword and brand;
+  And poverty, and ignorance, shall swell the rich and grand,
+  So, rally round the rulers with the gentle iron hand,
+          Of the fine old English Tory days;
+          Hail to the coming time!
+
+W.
+
+
+II.--THE QUACK DOCTOR'S PROCLAMATION
+
+THE QUACK DOCTOR'S PROCLAMATION
+
+TUNE--'A COBBLER THERE WAS'
+
+  An astonishing doctor has just come to town,
+  Who will do all the faculty perfectly brown:
+  He knows all diseases, their causes, and ends;
+  And he begs to appeal to his medical friends.
+                        Tol de rol:
+                        Diddle doll:
+                      Tol de rol, de dol,
+                        Diddle doll
+                      Tol de rol doll.
+
+  He's a magnetic doctor, and knows how to keep
+  The whole of a Government snoring asleep
+  To popular clamours; till popular pins
+  Are stuck in their midriffs--and then he begins
+                        Tol de rol.
+
+  He's a _clairvoyant_ subject, and readily reads
+  His countrymen's wishes, condition, and needs,
+  With many more fine things I can't tell in rhyme,
+  --And he keeps both his eyes shut the whole of the time.
+                              Tol de rol.
+
+  You mustn't expect him to talk; but you'll take
+  Most particular notice the doctor's awake,
+  Though for aught from his words or his looks that you reap, he
+  Might just as well be most confoundedly sleepy.
+                              Tol de rol.
+
+  Homoeopathy, too, he has practised for ages
+  (You'll find his prescriptions in Luke Hansard's pages),
+  Just giving his patient when maddened by pain,--
+  Of Reform the ten thousandth part of a grain.
+                              Tol de rol.
+
+  He's a med'cine for Ireland, in portable papers;
+  The infallible cure for political vapours;
+  A neat label round it his 'prentices tie--
+  'Put your trust in the Lord, and keep this powder dry!'
+                              Tol de rol.
+
+  He's a corn doctor also, of wonderful skill,
+  --No cutting, no rooting-up, purging, or pill--
+  You're merely to take, 'stead of walking or riding,
+  The sweet schoolboy exercise--innocent sliding.
+                        Tol de rol.
+
+  There's no advice gratis. If high ladies send
+  His legitimate fee, he's their soft-spoken friend.
+  At the great public counter with one hand behind him,
+  And one in his waistcoat, they're certain to find him.
+                        Tol de rol.
+
+  He has only to add he's the real Doctor Flam,
+  All others being purely fictitious and sham;
+  The house is a large one, tall, slated, and white,
+  With a lobby; and lights in the passage at night.
+                        Tol de rol:
+                        Diddle doll:
+                      Tol de rol, de dol,
+                        Diddle doll
+                      Tol de rol doll.
+
+W.
+
+
+III.--SUBJECTS FOR PAINTERS
+
+SUBJECTS FOR PAINTERS
+
+(AFTER PETER PINDAR)
+
+    To you, SIR MARTIN,[1] and your co. R.A.'s,
+    I dedicate in meek, suggestive lays,
+  Some subjects for your academic palettes;
+    Hoping, by dint of these my scanty jobs,
+    To fill with novel thoughts your teeming nobs,
+  As though I beat them in with wooden mallets.
+
+    To you, MACLISE, who Eve's fair daughters paint
+    With Nature's hand, and want the maudlin taint
+  Of the sweet Chalon school of silk and ermine:
+    To you, E. LANDSEER, who from year to year
+    Delight in beasts and birds, and dogs and deer,
+  And seldom give us any human vermin:
+    --To all who practise art, or make believe,
+    I offer subjects they may take or leave.
+
+    Great Sibthorp and his butler, in debate
+    (_Arcades ambo_) on affairs of state,
+  Not altogether 'gone,' but rather funny;
+    Cursing the Whigs for leaving in the lurch
+    Our d----d good, pleasant, gentlemanly Church,
+  Would make a picture--cheap at any money.
+
+    Or Sibthorp as the Tory Sec.--at-War,
+    Encouraging his mates with loud 'Yhor! Yhor!
+  From Treas'ry benches' most conspicuous end;
+    Or Sib.'s mustachios curling with a smile,
+    As an expectant Premier without guile
+  Calls him his honourable and gallant friend.
+
+    Or Sibthorp travelling in foreign parts,
+    Through that rich portion of our Eastern charts
+  Where lies the land of popular tradition;
+    And fairly worshipp'd by the true devout
+    In all his comings-in and goings-out,
+  Because of the old Turkish superstition.
+
+    Fame with her trumpet, blowing very hard,
+    And making earth rich with celestial lard,
+  In puffing deeds done through Lord Chamberlain Howe;
+    While some few thousand persons of small gains,
+    Who give their charities without such pains,
+  Look up, much wondering what may be the row.
+
+    Behind them Joseph Hume, who turns his pate
+    To where great Marlbro' House in princely state
+  Shelters a host of lacqueys, lords and pages,
+    And says he knows of dowagers a crowd,
+    Who, without trumpeting so very loud,
+  Would do so much, and more, for half the wages.
+
+    Limn, sirs, the highest lady in the land,
+    When Joseph Surface, fawning cap in hand,
+  Delivers in his list of patriot mortals;
+    Those gentlemen of honour, faith, and truth,
+    Who, foul-mouthed, spat upon her maiden youth,
+  And dog-like did defile her palace portals.
+
+    Paint me the Tories, full of grief and woe,
+    Weeping (to voters) over Frost and Co.,
+  Their suff'ring, erring, much-enduring brothers.
+    And in the background don't forget to pack,
+    Each grinning ghastly from its bloody sack,
+  The heads of Thistlewood, Despard, and others.
+
+    Paint, squandering the club's election gold,
+    Fierce lovers of our Constitution old,
+  Lords who're that sacred lady's greatest debtors;
+    And let the law, forbidding any voice
+    Or act of Peer to influence the choice
+  Of English people, flourish in bright letters.
+
+    Paint that same dear old lady, ill at ease,
+    Weak in her second childhood, hard to please,
+  Unknowing what she ails or what she wishes;
+    With all her Carlton nephews at the door,
+    Deaf'ning both aunt and nurses with their roar,
+  --Fighting already, for the loaves and fishes.
+
+    Leaving these hints for you to dwell upon,
+    I shall presume to offer more anon.
+
+W.
+
+
+
+
+PROLOGUE TO WESTLAND MARSTON'S PLAY 'THE PATRICIAN'S DAUGHTER'
+
+1842
+
+
+PROLOGUE TO 'THE PATRICIAN'S DAUGHTER'
+
+_The Patrician's Daughter_ was the title bestowed upon a play, in the
+tragic vein, by a then unknown writer, J. Westland Marston, it being his
+maiden effort in dramatic authorship. Dickens took great interest in the
+young man and indicated a desire to promote the welfare of his production
+by composing some introductory lines. To Macready he wrote: 'The more I
+think of Marston's play, the more sure I feel that a prologue to the
+purpose would help it materially, and almost decide the fate of any
+ticklish point on the first night. Now I have an idea (not easily
+explainable in writing, but told in five words) that would take the
+prologue out of the conventional dress of prologues, quite. Get the
+curtain up with a dash, and begin the play with a sledge-hammer blow. If,
+on consideration, you should agree with me, I will write the prologue,
+heartily.' Happily for the author, his little tragedy was the first new
+play of the season, and it thus attracted greater attention. Its initial
+representation took place at Drury Lane Theatre on December 10, 1842, and
+the fact that Dickens's dignified and vigorous lines were recited by
+Macready, the leading actor of his day, undoubtedly gave _prestige_ to
+this performance; but the play, although it made a sensation for the
+moment, did not enjoy a long run, its motive being for some reason
+misunderstood. As explained by the Editors of _The Letters of Charles
+Dickens_, it was (to a certain extent) an experiment in testing the effect
+of a tragedy of modern times and in modern dress, the novelist's Prologue
+being intended to show that there need be no incongruity between plain
+clothes of the nineteenth century and high tragedy.
+
+_The Patrician's Daughter: A Tragedy in Five Acts_, appeared in pamphlet
+form during the year prior to its being placed upon the boards. The
+Prologue was printed for the first time in the _Sunday Times_, December
+11, 1842, and then in _The Theatrical Journal and Stranger's Guide_,
+December 17, 1842. By the kind permission of Miss Hogarth, the lines are
+here reproduced from the revised and only correct version in _The Letters
+of Charles Dickens_.
+
+In the preface to the second edition of the play (1842), the author thus
+acknowledges his indebtedness to Dickens for the Prologue, which, however,
+does not appear in the book: 'How shall I thank Mr. Dickens for the
+spontaneous kindness which has furnished me with so excellent a letter of
+introduction to the audience? The simplest acknowledgment is perhaps the
+best, since the least I might say would exceed _his_ estimate of the
+obligation; while the most I could say would fail to express _mine_.'
+
+
+PROLOGUE TO 'THE PATRICIAN'S DAUGHTER'
+
+(SPOKEN BY MR. MACREADY)
+
+  No tale of streaming plumes and harness bright
+  Dwells on the poet's maiden harp to-night;
+  No trumpet's clamour and no battle's fire
+  Breathes in the trembling accents of his lyre;
+  Enough for him, if in his lowly strain
+  He wakes one household echo not in vain;
+  Enough for him, if in his boldest word
+  The beating heart of MAN be dimly heard.
+
+  Its solemn music which, like strains that sigh
+  Through charmed gardens, all who hearing die;
+  Its solemn music he does not pursue
+  To distant ages out of human view;
+  Nor listen to its wild and mournful chime
+  In the dead caverns on the shore of Time;
+  But musing with a calm and steady gaze
+  Before the crackling flames of living days,
+  He hears it whisper through the busy roar
+  Of what shall be and what has been before.
+  Awake the Present! Shall no scene display
+  The tragic passion of the passing day?
+  Is it with Man, as with some meaner things,
+  That out of death his single purpose springs?
+  Can his eventful life no moral teach
+  Until he be, for aye, beyond its reach?
+  Obscurely shall he suffer, act, and fade,
+  Dubb'd noble only by the sexton's spade?
+  Awake the Present! Though the steel-clad age
+  Find life alone within its storied page,
+  Iron is worn, at heart, by many still--
+  The tyrant Custom binds the serf-like will;
+  If the sharp rack, and screw, and chain be gone,
+  These later days have tortures of their own;
+  The guiltless writhe, while Guilt is stretch'd in sleep,
+  And Virtue lies, too often, dungeon deep.
+  Awake the Present! what the Past has sown
+  Be in its harvest garner'd, reap'd, and grown!
+
+  How pride breeds pride, and wrong engenders wrong,
+  Read in the volume Truth has held so long,
+  Assured that where life's flowers freshest blow,
+  The sharpest thorns and keenest briars grow,
+  How social usage has the pow'r to change
+  Good thoughts to evil; in its highest range
+  To cramp the noble soul, and turn to ruth
+  The kindling impulse of our glorious youth,
+  Crushing the spirit in its house of clay,
+  Learn from the lessons of the present day.
+  Not light its import and not poor its mien;
+  Yourselves the actors, and your homes the scene.
+
+
+
+
+A WORD IN SEASON FROM THE 'KEEPSAKE'
+
+1844
+
+
+A WORD IN SEASON
+
+_The Keepsake_, one of the many fashionable annuals published during the
+early years of Queen Victoria's reign, had for its editor in 1844 the
+'gorgeous' Countess of Blessington, the reigning beauty who held court at
+Gore House, Kensington, where many political, artistic, and literary
+celebrities forgathered--Bulwer Lytton, Disraeli, Dickens, Ainsworth,
+D'Orsay, and the rest. Her ladyship, through her personal charm and
+natural gifts, succeeded in securing the services of eminent authors for
+the aristocratic publication; even Dickens could not resist her appeal,
+and in a letter to Forster (dated July 1843) he wrote: 'I have heard, as
+you have, from Lady Blessington, for whose behalf I have this morning
+penned the lines I send you herewith. But I have only done so to excuse
+myself, for I have not the least idea of their suiting her; and I hope she
+will send them back to you for _The Examiner_.' Lady Blessington, however,
+decided to retain the thoughtful little poem, which was referred to in
+the _London Review_ (twenty-three years later) as 'a graceful and sweet
+apologue, reminding one of the manner of Hood.' The theme of the poem,
+which Forster describes as 'a clever and pointed parable in verse,' was
+afterwards satirised in Chadband (_Bleak House_), and in the idea of
+religious conversion through the agency of 'moral pocket-handkerchiefs.'
+
+
+A WORD IN SEASON
+
+  They have a superstition in the East,
+    That ALLAH, written on a piece of paper,
+  Is better unction than can come of priest,
+    Of rolling incense, and of lighted taper:
+  Holding, that any scrap which bears that name,
+    In any characters, its front imprest on,
+  Shall help the finder through the purging flame,
+    And give his toasted feet a place to rest on.
+
+  Accordingly, they make a mighty fuss
+    With ev'ry wretched tract and fierce oration,
+  And hoard the leaves--for they are not, like us,
+    A highly civilized and thinking nation:
+  And, always stooping in the miry ways,
+    To look for matter of this earthy leaven,
+  They seldom, in their dust-exploring days,
+    Have any leisure to look up to Heaven.
+
+  So have I known a country on the earth,
+    Where darkness sat upon the living waters,
+  And brutal ignorance, and toil, and dearth
+    Were the hard portion of its sons and daughters:
+  And yet, where they who should have ope'd the door
+    Of charity and light, for all men's finding,
+  Squabbled for words upon the altar-floor,
+    And rent the Book, in struggles for the binding.
+
+  The gentlest man among these pious Turks,
+    God's living image ruthlessly defaces;
+  Their best high-churchman, with no faith in works,
+    Bowstrings the Virtues in the market-places:
+  The Christian Pariah, whom both sects curse
+    (They curse all other men, and curse each other),
+  Walks thro' the world, not very much the worse--
+    Does all the good he can, and loves his brother.
+
+
+
+
+VERSES FROM THE 'DAILY NEWS'
+
+1846
+
+
+I.--THE BRITISH LION
+
+VERSES FROM THE 'DAILY NEWS,' 1846
+
+The _Daily News_, it will be remembered, was founded in January 1846 by
+Charles Dickens, who officiated as its first editor. He soon sickened of
+the mechanical drudgery appertaining to the position, and resigned his
+editorial functions the following month. From January 21st to March 2nd he
+contributed to its columns a series of 'Travelling Sketches,' afterwards
+reprinted in volume form as _Pictures from Italy_. He also availed himself
+of the opportunity afforded him, by his association with that newspaper,
+of once more taking up the cudgels against the Tories, and, as in the case
+of the _Examiner_, his attack was conveyed through the medium of some
+doggerel verses. These were entitled 'The British Lion--A New Song, but an
+Old Story,' to be sung to the tune of 'The Great Sea-Snake.' They bore the
+signature of 'Catnach,' the famous ballad-singer, and were printed in the
+_Daily News_ of January 24, 1846.
+
+Three weeks later some verses of a totally different character appeared in
+the columns of the _Daily News_, signed in full 'Charles Dickens.' One
+Lucy Simpkins, of Bremhill (or Bremble), a parish in Wiltshire, had just
+previously addressed a night meeting of the wives of agricultural
+labourers in that county, in support of a petition for Free Trade, and her
+vigorous speech on that occasion inspired Dickens to write 'The Hymn of
+the Wiltshire Labourers,' thus offering an earnest protest against
+oppression. Concerning the 'Hymn,' a writer in a recent issue of
+_Christmas Bells_ observes: 'It breathes in every line the teaching of the
+Sermon on the Mount, the love of the All-Father, the Redemption by His
+Son, and that love to God and man on which hang all the law and the
+prophets.'
+
+
+THE BRITISH LION
+
+A NEW SONG, BUT AN OLD STORY
+
+TUNE--'THE GREAT SEA-SNAKE'
+
+  Oh, p'r'aps you may have heard, and if not, I'll sing
+    Of the British Lion free,
+  That was constantly a-going for to make a spring
+    Upon his en-e-me;
+  But who, being rather groggy at the knees,
+    Broke down, always, before;
+  And generally gave a feeble wheeze
+    Instead of a loud roar.
+      Right toor rol, loor rol, fee faw fum,
+        The British Lion bold!
+      That was always a-going for to do great things,
+        And was always being 'sold!'
+
+  He was carried about, in a carawan,
+    And was show'd in country parts,
+  And they said, 'Walk up! Be in time! He can
+    Eat Corn-Law Leagues like tarts!'
+  And his showmen, shouting there and then,
+    To puff him didn't fail,
+  And they said, as they peep'd into his den,
+    'Oh, don't he wag his tail!'
+
+  Now, the principal keeper of this poor old beast,
+    WAN HUMBUG was his name,
+  Would once ev'ry day stir him up--at least--
+    And wasn't that a Game!
+  For he hadn't a tooth, and he hadn't a claw,
+    In that 'Struggle' so 'Sublime';
+  And, however sharp they touch'd him on the raw,
+    He couldn't come up to time.
+
+  And this, you will observe, was the reason why
+    WAN HUMBUG, on weak grounds,
+  Was forced to make believe that he heard his cry
+    In all unlikely sounds.
+  So, there wasn't a bleat from an Essex Calf,
+    Or a Duke, or a Lordling slim;
+  But he said, with a wery triumphant laugh,
+    'I'm blest if that ain't him.'
+
+  At length, wery bald in his mane and tail,
+    The British Lion growed:
+  He pined, and declined, and he satisfied
+    The last debt which he owed.
+  And when they came to examine the skin,
+    It was a wonder sore,
+  To find that the an-i-mal within
+    Was nothing but a Boar!
+      Right toor rol, loor rol, fee faw fum,
+        The British Lion bold!
+      That was always a-going for to do great things,
+        And was always being 'sold!'
+
+CATNACH.
+
+
+II. THE HYMN OF THE WILTSHIRE LABOURERS
+
+THE HYMN OF THE WILTSHIRE LABOURERS
+
+'Don't you all think that we have a great need to Cry to our God to put it
+in the hearts of our greassous Queen and her Members of Parlerment to
+grant us free bread!'
+
+LUCY SIMPKINS, _at Bremhill_.
+
+  Oh GOD, who by Thy Prophet's hand
+    Didst smite the rocky brake,
+  Whence water came, at Thy command,
+    Thy people's thirst to slake;
+  Strike, now, upon this granite wall,
+    Stern, obdurate, and high;
+  And let some drops of pity fall
+    For us who starve and die!
+
+  The GOD, who took a little child,
+    And set him in the midst,
+  And promised him His mercy mild,
+    As, by Thy Son, Thou didst:
+  Look down upon our children dear,
+    So gaunt, so cold, so spare,
+  And let their images appear
+    Where Lords and Gentry are!
+
+  Oh GOD, teach them to feel how we,
+    When our poor infants droop,
+  Are weakened in our trust in Thee,
+    And how our spirits stoop;
+  For, in Thy rest, so bright and fair,
+    All tears and sorrows sleep:
+  And their young looks, so full of care,
+  Would make Thine Angels weep!
+
+  The GOD, who with His finger drew
+    The Judgment coming on,
+  Write, for these men, what must ensue,
+    Ere many years be gone!
+  Oh GOD, whose bow is in the sky,
+    Let them not brave and dare,
+  Until they look (too late) on high,
+    And see an Arrow there!
+
+  Oh GOD, remind them! In the bread
+    They break upon the knee,
+  These sacred words may yet be read,
+    'In memory of Me!'
+  Oh GOD, remind them of His sweet
+    Compassion for the poor,
+  And how He gave them Bread to eat,
+    And went from door to door!
+
+CHARLES DICKENS.
+
+
+
+
+NEW SONG LINES ADDRESSED TO MARK LEMON
+
+1849
+
+
+NEW SONG
+
+Dickens, like Silas Wegg, would sometimes 'drop into poetry' when writing
+to intimate friends, as, for example, in a letter to Maclise, the artist,
+which began with a parody of Byron's lines to Thomas Moore--
+
+  'My foot is in the house,
+    My bath is on the sea,
+  And, before I take a souse,
+    Here's a single note to thee.'
+
+A more remarkable instance of his propensity to indulge in parody of this
+kind is to be found in a letter addressed to Mark Lemon in the spring of
+1849. The novelist was then enjoying a holiday with his wife and daughters
+at Brighton, whence he wrote to Lemon (who had been ill), pressing him to
+pay them a visit. After commanding him to 'get a clean pocket-handkerchief
+ready for the close of "Copperfield" No. 3--"simple and quiet, but very
+natural and touching"--_Evening Bore_,' Dickens invites his friend in
+lines headed 'New Song,' and signed 'T. Sparkler,' the effusion also
+bearing the signatures of other members of the family party--Catherine
+Dickens, Annie Leech, Georgina Hogarth, Mary Dickens, Katie Dickens, and
+John Leech.
+
+
+NEW SONG
+
+TUNE--'LESBIA HATH A BEAMING EYE'
+
+I
+
+  Lemon is a little hipped,
+  And this is Lemon's true position--
+  He is not pale, he's not white-lipped,
+  Yet wants a little fresh condition.
+  Sweeter 'tis to gaze upon
+  Old Ocean's rising, falling billers,
+  Than on the Houses every one
+  That form the street called Saint Anne's Willers!
+      Oh my Lemon, round and fat,
+      Oh my bright, my right, my tight 'un,
+      Think a little what you're at--
+      Don't stay at home, but come to Brighton!
+
+II
+
+  Lemon has a coat of frieze,
+  But all so seldom Lemon wears it,
+  That it is a prey to fleas,
+  And ev'ry moth that's hungry, tears it.
+  Oh, that coat's the coat for me,
+  That braves the railway sparks and breezes,
+  Leaving ev'ry engine free
+  To smoke it, till its owner sneezes!
+      Then my Lemon, round and fat,
+      L., my bright, my right, my tight 'un,
+      Think a little what you're at--
+      On Tuesday first, come down to Brighton!
+
+T. SPARKLER.
+
+
+
+
+WILKIE COLLINS'S PLAY 'THE LIGHTHOUSE'
+
+1855
+
+
+I.--THE PROLOGUE
+
+
+'THE LIGHTHOUSE'
+
+Wilkie Collins composed two powerful dramas for representation at
+Dickens's residence, Tavistock House, a portion of which had been already
+adapted for private theatricals, the rooms so converted being described in
+the bills as 'The Smallest Theatre in the World.' The first of these plays
+was called _The Lighthouse_, and the initial performance took place on
+June 19, 1855. Dickens not only wrote the Prologue and 'The Song of the
+Wreck,' but signally distinguished himself by enacting the part of Aaron
+Gurnock, a lighthouse-keeper, his clever impersonation recalling Frederick
+Lemaitre, the only actor he ever tried to take as a model.
+
+With regard to 'The Song of the Wreck,' Dickens evidently intended to
+bestow upon it a different title, for, in a letter addressed to Wilkie
+Collins during the preparation of the play, he said: 'I have written a
+little ballad for Mary--"The Story of the Ship's Carpenter and the Little
+Boy, in the Shipwreck."' The song was rendered by his eldest daughter,
+Mary (who assumed the role of Phoebe in the play); it was set to the
+music composed by George Linley for Miss Charlotte Young's pretty ballad,
+'Little Nell,' of which Dickens became very fond, and which his daughter
+had been in the habit of singing to him constantly since her childhood.
+Dr. A. W. Ward, Master of Peter-house, Cambridge University, refers to
+'The Song of the Wreck' as 'a most successful effort in Cowper's
+manner.'
+
+
+THE PROLOGUE
+
+(_Slow music all the time; unseen speaker; curtain down._)
+
+  A story of those rocks where doom'd ships come
+  To cast them wreck'd upon the steps of home,
+  Where solitary men, the long year through--
+  The wind their music and the brine their view--
+  Warn mariners to shun the beacon-light;
+  A story of those rocks is here to-night.
+  Eddystone Lighthouse!
+
+  (_Exterior view discovered._)
+
+                            In its ancient form,
+  Ere he who built it wish'd for the great storm
+  That shiver'd it to nothing,[2] once again
+  Behold outgleaming on the angry main!
+  Within it are three men; to these repair
+  In our frail bark of Fancy, swift as air!
+  They are but shadows, as the rower grim
+  Took none but shadows in his boat with him.
+
+  So be _ye_ shades, and, for a little space,
+  The real world a dream without a trace.
+  Return is easy. It will have ye back
+  Too soon to the old beaten dusty track;
+  For but one hour forget it. Billows, rise;
+  Blow winds, fall rain, be black, ye midnight skies;
+  And you who watch the light, arise! arise!
+
+  (_Exterior view rises and discovers the scene._)
+
+
+II.--THE SONG OF THE WRECK
+
+THE SONG OF THE WRECK
+
+I
+
+  The wind blew high, the waters raved,
+    A ship drove on the land,
+  A hundred human creatures saved
+    Kneel'd down upon the sand.
+  Three-score were drown'd, three-score were thrown
+    Upon the black rocks wild,
+  And thus among them, left alone,
+    They found one helpless child.
+
+II
+
+  A seaman rough, to shipwreck bred,
+    Stood out from all the rest,
+  And gently laid the lonely head
+    Upon his honest breast.
+  And travelling o'er the desert wide
+    It was a solemn joy,
+  To see them, ever side by side,
+    The sailor and the boy.
+
+III
+
+  In famine, sickness, hunger, thirst,
+    The two were still but one,
+  Until the strong man droop'd the first
+    And felt his labours done.
+  Then to a trusty friend he spake,
+    'Across the desert wide,
+  O take this poor boy for my sake!'
+    And kiss'd the child and died.
+
+IV
+
+  Toiling along in weary plight
+    Through heavy jungle, mire,
+  These two came later every night
+    To warm them at the fire.
+  Until the captain said one day,
+    'O seaman good and kind,
+  To save thyself now come away,
+    And leave the boy behind!'
+
+V
+
+  The child was slumbering near the blaze:
+    'O captain, let him rest
+  Until it sinks, when God's own ways
+    Shall teach us what is best!'
+  They watch'd the whiten'd ashy heap,
+    They touch'd the child in vain;
+  They did not leave him there asleep,
+    He never woke again.
+
+
+
+
+PROLOGUE TO WILKIE COLLINS'S PLAY 'THE FROZEN DEEP'
+
+1856
+
+
+'THE FROZEN DEEP'
+
+The second drama written by Wilkie Collins for the Tavistock House Theatre
+was first acted there in January 1857, and subsequently at the Gallery of
+Illustration in the presence of Queen Victoria and the Royal Family. As in
+the case of _The Lighthouse_, the play had the advantage of a Prologue in
+rhyme by Charles Dickens, who again electrified his audiences by
+marvellous acting, the character of Richard Wardour (a young naval
+officer) being selected by him for representation.
+
+The Prologue was recited at Tavistock House by John Forster, and at the
+public performances of the play by Dickens himself.
+
+It is not generally known that a by no means inconsiderable portion of the
+drama was composed by Dickens, as testified by the original manuscripts of
+the play and of the prompt-book, which contain numerous additions and
+corrections in his handwriting. These manuscripts, by the way, realised
+L300 at Sotheby's in 1890.
+
+The main idea of _A Tale of Two Cities_ was conceived by Dickens when
+performing in _The Frozen Deep_. 'A strong desire was upon me then,' he
+writes in the preface to the story, 'to embody it in my own person; and I
+traced out in my fancy the state of mind of which it would necessitate the
+presentation to an observant spectator, with particular care and interest.
+As the idea became familiar to me, it gradually shaped itself into its
+present form. Throughout its execution, it has had complete possession of
+me: I have so far verified what is done and suffered in these pages, as
+that I have certainly done and suffered it all myself.'
+
+
+PROLOGUE TO 'THE FROZEN DEEP'
+
+(_Curtain rises; mists and darkness; soft music throughout._)
+
+  One savage footprint on the lonely shore
+  Where one man listen'd to the surge's roar,
+  Not all the winds that stir the mighty sea
+  Can ever ruffle in the memory.
+  If such its interest and thrall, O then
+  Pause on the footprints of heroic men,
+  Making a garden of the desert wide
+  Where Parry conquer'd death and Franklin died.
+
+  To that white region where the Lost lie low,
+  Wrapt in their mantles of eternal snow,--
+  Unvisited by change, nothing to mock
+  Those statues sculptured in the icy rock,
+  We pray your company; that hearts as true
+  (Though nothings of the air) may live for you;
+  Nor only yet that on our little glass
+  A faint reflection of those wilds may pass,
+  But that the secrets of the vast Profound
+  Within us, an exploring hand may sound,
+  Testing the region of the ice-bound soul,
+  Seeking the passage at its northern pole,
+  Softening the horrors of its wintry sleep,
+  Melting the surface of that 'Frozen Deep.'
+
+  Vanish, ye mists! But ere this gloom departs,
+  And to the union of three sister arts
+  We give a winter evening, good to know
+  That in the charms of such another show,
+  That in the fiction of a friendly play,
+  The Arctic sailors, too, put gloom away,
+  Forgot their long night, saw no starry dome,
+  Hail'd the warm sun, and were again at Home.
+
+  Vanish, ye mists! Not yet do we repair
+  To the still country of the piercing air;
+  But seek, before we cross the troubled seas,
+  An English hearth and Devon's waving trees.
+
+
+
+
+A CHILD'S HYMN FROM 'THE WRECK OF THE GOLDEN MARY'
+
+1856
+
+
+A CHILD'S HYMN
+
+The Christmas number of _Household Words_ for 1856 is especially
+noteworthy as containing the Hymn of five verses which Dickens contributed
+to the second chapter. This made a highly favourable impression, and a
+certain clergyman, the Rev. R. H. Davies, was induced to express to the
+editor of _Household Words_ his gratitude to the author of these lines for
+having thus conveyed to innumerable readers such true religious
+sentiments. In acknowledging the receipt of the letter, Dickens observed
+that such a mark of approval was none the less gratifying to him because
+he was himself the author of the Hymn. 'There cannot be many men, I
+believe,' he added, 'who have a more humble veneration for the New
+Testament, or a more profound conviction of its all-sufficiency, than I
+have. If I am ever (as you tell me I am) mistaken on this subject, it is
+because I discountenance all obtrusive professions of and tradings in
+religion, as one of the main causes why real Christianity has been
+retarded in this world; and because my observation of life induces me to
+hold in unspeakable dread and horror those unseemly squabbles about the
+letter which drive the spirit out of hundreds of thousands.'--_Vide_
+Forster's _Life of Charles Dickens_, Book XI. iii.
+
+
+A CHILD'S HYMN
+
+  Hear my prayer, O! Heavenly Father,
+    Ere I lay me down to sleep;
+  Bid Thy Angels, pure and holy,
+    Round my bed their vigil keep.
+
+  My sins are heavy, but Thy mercy
+    Far outweighs them every one;
+  Down before Thy Cross I cast them,
+    Trusting in Thy help alone.
+
+  Keep me through this night of peril
+    Underneath its boundless shade;
+  Take me to Thy rest, I pray Thee,
+    When my pilgrimage is made.
+
+  None shall measure out Thy patience
+    By the span of human thought;
+  None shall bound the tender mercies
+    Which Thy Holy Son has bought.
+
+  Pardon all my past transgressions,
+    Give me strength for days to come;
+  Guide and guard me with Thy blessing
+    Till Thy Angels bid me home.
+
+
+Edinburgh: Printed by T. and A. CONSTABLE
+
+
+
+
+Footnotes:
+
+[1] Sir Martin Archer Shee, P.R.A.
+
+[2] When Winstanley had brought his work to completion, he is said to have
+expressed himself so satisfied as to its strength, that he only wished he
+might be there in the fiercest storm that ever blew. His wish was
+gratified, and, contrary to his expectations, both he and the building
+were swept completely away by a furious tempest which burst along the
+coast in November 1703.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Poems and Verses of Charles Dickens, by
+Charles Dickens
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS, VERSES OF CHARLES DICKENS ***
+
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