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+The Project Gutenberg eBook, Phantasmagoria, by Lewis Carroll, Illustrated
+by Arthur B. Frost
+
+
+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: Phantasmagoria
+       and Other Poems
+
+
+Author: Lewis Carroll
+
+
+
+Release Date: March 28, 2013  [eBook #651]
+[This file was first posted on September 17, 1996]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PHANTASMAGORIA***
+
+
+Transcribed from the 1911 Macmillan and Co. edition by David Price, email
+ccx074@pglaf.org
+
+
+
+
+
+                              PHANTASMAGORIA
+                             AND OTHER POEMS
+
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+                                    BY
+                              LEWIS CARROLL
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+                           _WITH ILLUSTRATIONS_
+                                    BY
+                             ARTHUR B. FROST
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+                        MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
+                       ST. MARTIN’S STREET, LONDON
+                                   1911
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+                      RICHARD CLAY AND SONS, LIMITED
+                 BRUNSWICK STREET, STAMFORD STREET, S.E.,
+                           AND BUNGAY, SUFFOLK.
+
+                        _First published in_ 1869.
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+                        Inscribed to a dear Child:
+                     in memory of golden summer hours
+                      and whispers of a summer sea.
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+   Girt with a boyish garb for boyish task,
+      Eager she wields her spade: yet loves as well
+   Rest on the friendly knee, intent to ask
+            The tale one loves to tell.
+
+   Rude scoffer of the seething outer strife,
+      Unmeet to read her pure and simple spright,
+   Deem, if thou wilt, such hours a waste of life,
+            Empty of all delight!
+
+   Chat on, sweet Maid, and rescue from annoy
+      Hearts that by wiser talk are unbeguilded.
+   Ah, happy he who owns the tenderest joy,
+            The heart-love of a child!
+
+   Away, fond thoughts, and vex my soul no more!
+      Work claims my wakeful nights, my busy days,
+   Albeit bright memories of the sunlit shore
+            Yet haunt my dreaming gaze.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+                                PAGE
+PHANTASMAGORIA, in Seven Cantos:—
+     I.  The Trystyng              1
+    II.  Hys Fyve Rules           10
+   III.  Scarmoges                18
+    IV.  Hys Nouryture            26
+     V.  Byckerment               34
+    VI.  Dyscomfyture             44
+   VII.  Sad Souvenaunce          53
+ECHOES                            58
+A SEA DIRGE                       59
+YE CARPETTE KNYGHTE               64
+HIAWATHA’S PHOTOGRAPHING          66
+MELANCHOLETTA                     78
+A VALENTINE                       84
+THE THREE VOICES:—
+   The First Voice                87
+   The Second Voice               98
+   The Third Voice               109
+TÈMA CON VARIAZIÒNI              118
+A GAME OF FIVES                  120
+POETA FIT, NON NASCITUR          123
+SIZE AND TEARS                   131
+ATALANTA IN CAMDEN-TOWN          136
+THE LANG COORTIN’                140
+FOUR RIDDLES                     152
+FAME’S PENNY-TRUMPET             163
+
+
+
+
+PHANTASMAGORIA
+
+
+CANTO I
+The Trystyng
+
+
+   ONE winter night, at half-past nine,
+         Cold, tired, and cross, and muddy,
+   I had come home, too late to dine,
+   And supper, with cigars and wine,
+         Was waiting in the study.
+
+   There was a strangeness in the room,
+         And Something white and wavy
+   Was standing near me in the gloom—
+   _I_ took it for the carpet-broom
+         Left by that careless slavey.
+
+   But presently the Thing began
+         To shiver and to sneeze:
+   On which I said “Come, come, my man!
+   That’s a most inconsiderate plan.
+         Less noise there, if you please!”
+
+                  [Picture: The Thing standing by chair]
+
+   “I’ve caught a cold,” the Thing replies,
+         “Out there upon the landing.”
+   I turned to look in some surprise,
+   And there, before my very eyes,
+         A little Ghost was standing!
+
+   He trembled when he caught my eye,
+         And got behind a chair.
+   “How came you here,” I said, “and why?
+   I never saw a thing so shy.
+         Come out!  Don’t shiver there!”
+
+   He said “I’d gladly tell you how,
+         And also tell you why;
+   But” (here he gave a little bow)
+   “You’re in so bad a temper now,
+         You’d think it all a lie.
+
+   “And as to being in a fright,
+         Allow me to remark
+   That Ghosts have just as good a right
+   In every way, to fear the light,
+         As Men to fear the dark.”
+
+   “No plea,” said I, “can well excuse
+         Such cowardice in you:
+   For Ghosts can visit when they choose,
+   Whereas we Humans ca’n’t refuse
+         To grant the interview.”
+
+   He said “A flutter of alarm
+         Is not unnatural, is it?
+   I really feared you meant some harm:
+   But, now I see that you are calm,
+         Let me explain my visit.
+
+   “Houses are classed, I beg to state,
+         According to the number
+   Of Ghosts that they accommodate:
+   (The Tenant merely counts as _weight_,
+         With Coals and other lumber).
+
+   “This is a ‘one-ghost’ house, and you
+         When you arrived last summer,
+   May have remarked a Spectre who
+   Was doing all that Ghosts can do
+         To welcome the new-comer.
+
+   “In Villas this is always done—
+         However cheaply rented:
+   For, though of course there’s less of fun
+   When there is only room for one,
+         Ghosts have to be contented.
+
+   “That Spectre left you on the Third—
+         Since then you’ve not been haunted:
+   For, as he never sent us word,
+   ’Twas quite by accident we heard
+         That any one was wanted.
+
+   “A Spectre has first choice, by right,
+         In filling up a vacancy;
+   Then Phantom, Goblin, Elf, and Sprite—
+   If all these fail them, they invite
+         The nicest Ghoul that they can see.
+
+   “The Spectres said the place was low,
+         And that you kept bad wine:
+   So, as a Phantom had to go,
+   And I was first, of course, you know,
+         I couldn’t well decline.”
+
+   “No doubt,” said I, “they settled who
+         Was fittest to be sent
+   Yet still to choose a brat like you,
+   To haunt a man of forty-two,
+         Was no great compliment!”
+
+   “I’m not so young, Sir,” he replied,
+         “As you might think.  The fact is,
+   In caverns by the water-side,
+   And other places that I’ve tried,
+         I’ve had a lot of practice:
+
+   “But I have never taken yet
+         A strict domestic part,
+   And in my flurry I forget
+   The Five Good Rules of Etiquette
+         We have to know by heart.”
+
+   My sympathies were warming fast
+         Towards the little fellow:
+   He was so utterly aghast
+   At having found a Man at last,
+         And looked so scared and yellow.
+
+                 [Picture: In caverns by the water-side]
+
+   “At least,” I said, “I’m glad to find
+         A Ghost is not a _dumb_ thing!
+   But pray sit down: you’ll feel inclined
+   (If, like myself, you have not dined)
+         To take a snack of something:
+
+   “Though, certainly, you don’t appear
+         A thing to offer _food_ to!
+   And then I shall be glad to hear—
+   If you will say them loud and clear—
+         The Rules that you allude to.”
+
+   “Thanks!  You shall hear them by and by.
+         This _is_ a piece of luck!”
+   “What may I offer you?” said I.
+   “Well, since you _are_ so kind, I’ll try
+         A little bit of duck.
+
+   “_One_ slice!  And may I ask you for
+         Another drop of gravy?”
+   I sat and looked at him in awe,
+   For certainly I never saw
+         A thing so white and wavy.
+
+   And still he seemed to grow more white,
+         More vapoury, and wavier—
+   Seen in the dim and flickering light,
+   As he proceeded to recite
+         His “Maxims of Behaviour.”
+
+                       [Picture: The Phantom dines]
+
+
+
+CANTO II
+Hys Fyve Rules
+
+
+   “MY First—but don’t suppose,” he said,
+         “I’m setting you a riddle—
+   Is—if your Victim be in bed,
+   Don’t touch the curtains at his head,
+         But take them in the middle,
+
+   “And wave them slowly in and out,
+         While drawing them asunder;
+   And in a minute’s time, no doubt,
+   He’ll raise his head and look about
+         With eyes of wrath and wonder.
+
+   “And here you must on no pretence
+         Make the first observation.
+   Wait for the Victim to commence:
+   No Ghost of any common sense
+         Begins a conversation.
+
+   [Picture: Ghostly border] “If he should say ‘_How came you here_?’
+         (The way that _you_ began, Sir,)
+   In such a case your course is clear—
+   ‘_On the bat’s back_, _my little dear_!’
+         Is the appropriate answer.
+
+   “If after this he says no more,
+         You’d best perhaps curtail your
+   Exertions—go and shake the door,
+   And then, if he begins to snore,
+         You’ll know the thing’s a failure.
+
+   “By day, if he should be alone—
+         At home or on a walk—
+   You merely give a hollow groan,
+   To indicate the kind of tone
+         In which you mean to talk.
+
+   “But if you find him with his friends,
+         The thing is rather harder.
+   In such a case success depends
+   On picking up some candle-ends,
+         Or butter, in the larder.
+
+   “With this you make a kind of slide
+         (It answers best with suet),
+   On which you must contrive to glide,
+   And swing yourself from side to side—
+         One soon learns how to do it.
+
+             [Picture: And swing yourself from side to side]
+
+   “The Second tells us what is right
+         In ceremonious calls:—
+   ‘_First burn a blue or crimson light_’
+   (A thing I quite forgot to-night),
+         ‘_Then scratch the door or walls_.’”
+
+   I said “You’ll visit _here_ no more,
+         If you attempt the Guy.
+   I’ll have no bonfires on _my_ floor—
+   And, as for scratching at the door,
+         I’d like to see you try!”
+
+   “The Third was written to protect
+         The interests of the Victim,
+   And tells us, as I recollect,
+   _To treat him with a grave respect_,
+         _And not to contradict him_.”
+
+   “That’s plain,” said I, “as Tare and Tret,
+         To any comprehension:
+   I only wish _some_ Ghosts I’ve met
+   Would not so _constantly_ forget
+         The maxim that you mention!”
+
+   “Perhaps,” he said, “_you_ first transgressed
+         The laws of hospitality:
+   All Ghosts instinctively detest
+   The Man that fails to treat his guest
+         With proper cordiality.
+
+            [Picture: And then you’re sure to catch it . . .]
+
+   “If you address a Ghost as ‘Thing!’
+         Or strike him with a hatchet,
+   He is permitted by the King
+   To drop all _formal_ parleying—
+         And then you’re _sure_ to catch it!
+
+   “The Fourth prohibits trespassing
+         Where other Ghosts are quartered:
+   And those convicted of the thing
+   (Unless when pardoned by the King)
+         Must instantly be slaughtered.
+
+   “That simply means ‘be cut up small’:
+         Ghosts soon unite anew.
+   The process scarcely hurts at all—
+   Not more than when _you_ ’re what you call
+         ‘Cut up’ by a Review.
+
+   “The Fifth is one you may prefer
+         That I should quote entire:—
+   _The King must be addressed as_ ‘_Sir_.’
+   _This_, _from a simple courtier_,
+         _Is all the Laws require_:
+
+   “_But_, _should you wish to do the thing_
+         _With out-and-out politeness_,
+   _Accost him as_ ‘_My Goblin King_!
+   _And always use_, _in answering_,
+         _The phrase_ ‘_Your Royal Whiteness_!’
+
+   “I’m getting rather hoarse, I fear,
+         After so much reciting:
+   So, if you don’t object, my dear,
+   We’ll try a glass of bitter beer—
+         I think it looks inviting.”
+
+               [Picture: We’ll try a glass of bitter beer]
+
+
+
+CANTO III
+Scarmoges
+
+
+   “AND did you really walk,” said I,
+         “On such a wretched night?
+   I always fancied Ghosts could fly—
+   If not exactly in the sky,
+         Yet at a fairish height.”
+
+   “It’s very well,” said he, “for Kings
+         To soar above the earth:
+   But Phantoms often find that wings—
+   Like many other pleasant things—
+         Cost more than they are worth.
+
+   “Spectres of course are rich, and so
+         Can buy them from the Elves:
+   But _we_ prefer to keep below—
+   They’re stupid company, you know,
+         For any but themselves:
+
+   “For, though they claim to be exempt
+         From pride, they treat a Phantom
+   As something quite beneath contempt—
+   Just as no Turkey ever dreamt
+         Of noticing a Bantam.”
+
+                          [Picture: The phantom]
+
+   “They seem too proud,” said I, “to go
+         To houses such as mine.
+   Pray, how did they contrive to know
+   So quickly that ‘the place was low,’
+         And that I ‘kept bad wine’?”
+
+   “Inspector Kobold came to you—”
+         The little Ghost began.
+   Here I broke in—“Inspector who?
+   Inspecting Ghosts is something new!
+         Explain yourself, my man!”
+
+   “His name is Kobold,” said my guest:
+         “One of the Spectre order:
+   You’ll very often see him dressed
+   In a yellow gown, a crimson vest,
+         And a night-cap with a border.
+
+   “He tried the Brocken business first,
+         But caught a sort of chill;
+   So came to England to be nursed,
+   And here it took the form of _thirst_,
+         Which he complains of still.
+
+              [Picture: And here it took the form of thirst]
+
+   “Port-wine, he says, when rich and sound,
+         Warms his old bones like nectar:
+   And as the inns, where it is found,
+   Are his especial hunting-ground,
+         We call him the _Inn-Spectre_.”
+
+   I bore it—bore it like a man—
+         This agonizing witticism!
+   And nothing could be sweeter than
+   My temper, till the Ghost began
+         Some most provoking criticism.
+
+   “Cooks need not be indulged in waste;
+         Yet still you’d better teach them
+   Dishes should have _some sort_ of taste.
+   Pray, why are all the cruets placed
+         Where nobody can reach them?
+
+   “That man of yours will never earn
+         His living as a waiter!
+   Is that queer _thing_ supposed to burn?
+   (It’s far too dismal a concern
+         To call a Moderator).
+
+   “The duck was tender, but the peas
+         Were very much too old:
+   And just remember, if you please,
+   The _next_ time you have toasted cheese,
+         Don’t let them send it cold.
+
+   “You’d find the bread improved, I think,
+         By getting better flour:
+   And have you anything to drink
+   That looks a _little_ less like ink,
+         And isn’t _quite_ so sour?”
+
+   Then, peering round with curious eyes,
+         He muttered “Goodness gracious!”
+   And so went on to criticise—
+   “Your room’s an inconvenient size:
+         It’s neither snug nor spacious.
+
+   “That narrow window, I expect,
+         Serves but to let the dusk in—”
+   “But please,” said I, “to recollect
+   ’Twas fashioned by an architect
+         Who pinned his faith on Ruskin!”
+
+   “I don’t care who he was, Sir, or
+         On whom he pinned his faith!
+   Constructed by whatever law,
+   So poor a job I never saw,
+         As I’m a living Wraith!
+
+   “What a re-markable cigar!
+         How much are they a dozen?”
+   I growled “No matter what they are!
+   You’re getting as familiar
+         As if you were my cousin!
+
+   “Now that’s a thing _I will not stand_,
+         And so I tell you flat.”
+   “Aha,” said he, “we’re getting grand!”
+   (Taking a bottle in his hand)
+         “I’ll soon arrange for _that_!”
+
+   And here he took a careful aim,
+         And gaily cried “Here goes!”
+   I tried to dodge it as it came,
+   But somehow caught it, all the same,
+         Exactly on my nose.
+
+   And I remember nothing more
+         That I can clearly fix,
+   Till I was sitting on the floor,
+   Repeating “Two and five are four,
+         But _five and two_ are six.”
+
+   What really passed I never learned,
+         Nor guessed: I only know
+   That, when at last my sense returned,
+   The lamp, neglected, dimly burned—
+         The fire was getting low—
+
+   Through driving mists I seemed to see
+         A Thing that smirked and smiled:
+   And found that he was giving me
+   A lesson in Biography,
+         As if I were a child.
+
+
+
+CANTO IV
+Hys Nouryture
+
+
+   “OH, when I was a little Ghost,
+         A merry time had we!
+   Each seated on his favourite post,
+   We chumped and chawed the buttered toast
+         They gave us for our tea.”
+
+           [Picture: We chumped and chawed the buttered toast]
+
+   “That story is in print!” I cried.
+         “Don’t say it’s not, because
+   It’s known as well as Bradshaw’s Guide!”
+   (The Ghost uneasily replied
+         He hardly thought it was).
+
+   “It’s not in Nursery Rhymes?  And yet
+         I almost think it is—
+   ‘Three little Ghosteses’ were set
+   ‘On posteses,’ you know, and ate
+         Their ‘buttered toasteses.’
+
+   “I have the book; so if you doubt it—”
+         I turned to search the shelf.
+   “Don’t stir!” he cried.  “We’ll do without it:
+   I now remember all about it;
+         I wrote the thing myself.
+
+   “It came out in a ‘Monthly,’ or
+         At least my agent said it did:
+   Some literary swell, who saw
+   It, thought it seemed adapted for
+         The Magazine he edited.
+
+   “My father was a Brownie, Sir;
+         My mother was a Fairy.
+   The notion had occurred to her,
+   The children would be happier,
+         If they were taught to vary.
+
+   “The notion soon became a craze;
+         And, when it once began, she
+   Brought us all out in different ways—
+   One was a Pixy, two were Fays,
+         Another was a Banshee;
+
+   “The Fetch and Kelpie went to school
+         And gave a lot of trouble;
+   Next came a Poltergeist and Ghoul,
+   And then two Trolls (which broke the rule),
+         A Goblin, and a Double—
+
+   “(If that’s a snuff-box on the shelf,”
+         He added with a yawn,
+   “I’ll take a pinch)—next came an Elf,
+   And then a Phantom (that’s myself),
+         And last, a Leprechaun.
+
+   [Picture: I stood and watched them in the hall] “One day, some
+   Spectres chanced to call,
+         Dressed in the usual white:
+   I stood and watched them in the hall,
+   And couldn’t make them out at all,
+         They seemed so strange a sight.
+
+   “I wondered what on earth they were,
+         That looked all head and sack;
+   But Mother told me not to stare,
+   And then she twitched me by the hair,
+         And punched me in the back.
+
+   “Since then I’ve often wished that I
+         Had been a Spectre born.
+   But what’s the use?”  (He heaved a sigh.)
+   “_They_ are the ghost-nobility,
+         And look on _us_ with scorn.
+
+   “My phantom-life was soon begun:
+         When I was barely six,
+   I went out with an older one—
+   And just at first I thought it fun,
+         And learned a lot of tricks.
+
+   “I’ve haunted dungeons, castles, towers—
+         Wherever I was sent:
+   I’ve often sat and howled for hours,
+   Drenched to the skin with driving showers,
+         Upon a battlement.
+
+   “It’s quite old-fashioned now to groan
+         When you begin to speak:
+   This is the newest thing in tone—”
+   And here (it chilled me to the bone)
+         He gave an _awful_ squeak.
+
+   “Perhaps,” he added, “to _your_ ear
+         That sounds an easy thing?
+   Try it yourself, my little dear!
+   It took _me_ something like a year,
+         With constant practising.
+
+   “And when you’ve learned to squeak, my man,
+         And caught the double sob,
+   You’re pretty much where you began:
+   Just try and gibber if you can!
+         That’s something _like_ a job!
+
+   “_I’ve_ tried it, and can only say
+         I’m sure you couldn’t do it, e-
+   ven if you practised night and day,
+   Unless you have a turn that way,
+         And natural ingenuity.
+
+   “Shakspeare I think it is who treats
+         Of Ghosts, in days of old,
+   Who ‘gibbered in the Roman streets,’
+   Dressed, if you recollect, in sheets—
+         They must have found it cold.
+
+   “I’ve often spent ten pounds on stuff,
+         In dressing as a Double;
+   But, though it answers as a puff,
+   It never has effect enough
+         To make it worth the trouble.
+
+                    [Picture: In dressing as a Double]
+
+   “Long bills soon quenched the little thirst
+         I had for being funny.
+   The setting-up is always worst:
+   Such heaps of things you want at first,
+         One must be made of money!
+
+   “For instance, take a Haunted Tower,
+         With skull, cross-bones, and sheet;
+   Blue lights to burn (say) two an hour,
+   Condensing lens of extra power,
+         And set of chains complete:
+
+   “What with the things you have to hire—
+         The fitting on the robe—
+   And testing all the coloured fire—
+   The outfit of itself would tire
+         The patience of a Job!
+
+   “And then they’re so fastidious,
+         The Haunted-House Committee:
+   I’ve often known them make a fuss
+   Because a Ghost was French, or Russ,
+         Or even from the City!
+
+   “Some dialects are objected to—
+         For one, the _Irish_ brogue is:
+   And then, for all you have to do,
+   One pound a week they offer you,
+         And find yourself in Bogies!”
+
+
+
+CANTO V
+Byckerment
+
+
+   “DON’T they consult the ‘Victims,’ though?”
+         I said.  “They should, by rights,
+   Give them a chance—because, you know,
+   The tastes of people differ so,
+         Especially in Sprites.”
+
+   The Phantom shook his head and smiled.
+         “Consult them?  Not a bit!
+   ’Twould be a job to drive one wild,
+   To satisfy one single child—
+         There’d be no end to it!”
+
+   “Of course you can’t leave _children_ free,”
+         Said I, “to pick and choose:
+   But, in the case of men like me,
+   I think ‘Mine Host’ might fairly be
+         Allowed to state his views.”
+
+   He said “It really wouldn’t pay—
+         Folk are so full of fancies.
+   We visit for a single day,
+   And whether then we go, or stay,
+         Depends on circumstances.
+
+   “And, though we don’t consult ‘Mine Host’
+         Before the thing’s arranged,
+   Still, if he often quits his post,
+   Or is not a well-mannered Ghost,
+         Then you can have him changed.
+
+   “But if the host’s a man like you—
+         I mean a man of sense;
+   And if the house is not too new—”
+   “Why, what has _that_,” said I, “to do
+         With Ghost’s convenience?”
+
+   “A new house does not suit, you know—
+         It’s such a job to trim it:
+   But, after twenty years or so,
+   The wainscotings begin to go,
+         So twenty is the limit.”
+
+   “To trim” was not a phrase I could
+         Remember having heard:
+   “Perhaps,” I said, “you’ll be so good
+   As tell me what is understood
+         Exactly by that word?”
+
+                 [Picture: The wainscotings begin to go]
+
+   “It means the loosening all the doors,”
+         The Ghost replied, and laughed:
+   “It means the drilling holes by scores
+   In all the skirting-boards and floors,
+         To make a thorough draught.
+
+   “You’ll sometimes find that one or two
+         Are all you really need
+   To let the wind come whistling through—
+   But _here_ there’ll be a lot to do!”
+         I faintly gasped “Indeed!
+
+   “If I’d been rather later, I’ll
+         Be bound,” I added, trying
+   (Most unsuccessfully) to smile,
+   “You’d have been busy all this while,
+         Trimming and beautifying?”
+
+   “Why, no,” said he; “perhaps I should
+         Have stayed another minute—
+   But still no Ghost, that’s any good,
+   Without an introduction would
+         Have ventured to begin it.
+
+   “The proper thing, as you were late,
+         Was certainly to go:
+   But, with the roads in such a state,
+   I got the Knight-Mayor’s leave to wait
+         For half an hour or so.”
+
+   “Who’s the Knight-Mayor?” I cried.  Instead
+         Of answering my question,
+   “Well, if you don’t know _that_,” he said,
+   “Either you never go to bed,
+         Or you’ve a grand digestion!
+
+   “He goes about and sits on folk
+         That eat too much at night:
+   His duties are to pinch, and poke,
+   And squeeze them till they nearly choke.”
+         (I said “It serves them right!”)
+
+   “And folk who sup on things like these—”
+         He muttered, “eggs and bacon—
+   Lobster—and duck—and toasted cheese—
+   If they don’t get an awful squeeze,
+         I’m very much mistaken!
+
+   “He is immensely fat, and so
+         Well suits the occupation:
+   In point of fact, if you must know,
+   We used to call him years ago,
+         _The Mayor and Corporation_!
+
+                [Picture: He goes about and sits on folk]
+
+   “The day he was elected Mayor
+         I _know_ that every Sprite meant
+   To vote for _me_, but did not dare—
+   He was so frantic with despair
+         And furious with excitement.
+
+                    [Picture: He ran to tell the King]
+
+   “When it was over, for a whim,
+         He ran to tell the King;
+   And being the reverse of slim,
+   A two-mile trot was not for him
+         A very easy thing.
+
+   “So, to reward him for his run
+         (As it was baking hot,
+   And he was over twenty stone),
+   The King proceeded, half in fun,
+         To knight him on the spot.”
+
+   “’Twas a great liberty to take!”
+         (I fired up like a rocket).
+   “He did it just for punning’s sake:
+   ‘The man,’ says Johnson, ‘that would make
+         A pun, would pick a pocket!’”
+
+   “A man,” said he, “is not a King.”
+         I argued for a while,
+   And did my best to prove the thing—
+   The Phantom merely listening
+         With a contemptuous smile.
+
+   At last, when, breath and patience spent,
+         I had recourse to smoking—
+   “Your _aim_,” he said, “is excellent:
+   But—when you call it _argument_—
+         Of course you’re only joking?”
+
+                 [Picture: The phantom sitting on chair]
+
+   Stung by his cold and snaky eye,
+         I roused myself at length
+   To say “At least I do defy
+   The veriest sceptic to deny
+         That union is strength!”
+
+   “That’s true enough,” said he, “yet stay—”
+         I listened in all meekness—
+   “_Union_ is strength, I’m bound to say;
+   In fact, the thing’s as clear as day;
+         But _onions_ are a weakness.”
+
+
+
+CANTO VI
+Dyscomfyture
+
+
+   AS one who strives a hill to climb,
+         Who never climbed before:
+   Who finds it, in a little time,
+   Grow every moment less sublime,
+         And votes the thing a bore:
+
+   Yet, having once begun to try,
+         Dares not desert his quest,
+   But, climbing, ever keeps his eye
+   On one small hut against the sky
+         Wherein he hopes to rest:
+
+   Who climbs till nerve and force are spent,
+         With many a puff and pant:
+   Who still, as rises the ascent,
+   In language grows more violent,
+         Although in breath more scant:
+
+   Who, climbing, gains at length the place
+         That crowns the upward track.
+   And, entering with unsteady pace,
+   Receives a buffet in the face
+         That lands him on his back:
+
+   [Picture: Decorative border of man climbing hall] And feels himself,
+   like one in sleep,
+         Glide swiftly down again,
+   A helpless weight, from steep to steep,
+   Till, with a headlong giddy sweep,
+         He drops upon the plain—
+
+   So I, that had resolved to bring
+         Conviction to a ghost,
+   And found it quite a different thing
+   From any human arguing,
+         Yet dared not quit my post
+
+   But, keeping still the end in view
+         To which I hoped to come,
+   I strove to prove the matter true
+   By putting everything I knew
+         Into an axiom:
+
+   Commencing every single phrase
+         With ‘therefore’ or ‘because,’
+   I blindly reeled, a hundred ways,
+   About the syllogistic maze,
+         Unconscious where I was.
+
+   Quoth he “That’s regular clap-trap:
+         Don’t bluster any more.
+   Now _do_ be cool and take a nap!
+   Such a ridiculous old chap
+         Was never seen before!
+
+   “You’re like a man I used to meet,
+         Who got one day so furious
+   In arguing, the simple heat
+   Scorched both his slippers off his feet!”
+         I said “_That’s very curious_!”
+
+            [Picture: Scorched both his slippers off his feet]
+
+   “Well, it _is_ curious, I agree,
+         And sounds perhaps like fibs:
+   But still it’s true as true can be—
+   As sure as your name’s Tibbs,” said he.
+         I said “My name’s _not_ Tibbs.”
+
+   “_Not_ Tibbs!” he cried—his tone became
+         A shade or two less hearty—
+   “Why, no,” said I.  “My proper name
+   Is Tibbets—”  “Tibbets?”  “Aye, the same.”
+         “Why, then YOU’RE NOT THE PARTY!”
+
+   With that he struck the board a blow
+         That shivered half the glasses.
+   “Why couldn’t you have told me so
+   Three quarters of an hour ago,
+         You prince of all the asses?
+
+   “To walk four miles through mud and rain,
+         To spend the night in smoking,
+   And then to find that it’s in vain—
+   And I’ve to do it all again—
+         It’s really _too_ provoking!
+
+   “Don’t talk!” he cried, as I began
+         To mutter some excuse.
+   “Who can have patience with a man
+   That’s got no more discretion than
+         An idiotic goose?
+
+            [Picture: To walk four miles through mud and rain]
+
+   “To keep me waiting here, instead
+         Of telling me at once
+   That this was not the house!” he said.
+   “There, that’ll do—be off to bed!
+         Don’t gape like that, you dunce!”
+
+   “It’s very fine to throw the blame
+         On _me_ in such a fashion!
+   Why didn’t you enquire my name
+   The very minute that you came?”
+         I answered in a passion.
+
+   “Of course it worries you a bit
+         To come so far on foot—
+   But how was _I_ to blame for it?”
+   “Well, well!” said he.  “I must admit
+         That isn’t badly put.
+
+   “And certainly you’ve given me
+         The best of wine and victual—
+   Excuse my violence,” said he,
+   “But accidents like this, you see,
+         They put one out a little.
+
+   “’Twas _my_ fault after all, I find—
+         Shake hands, old Turnip-top!”
+   The name was hardly to my mind,
+   But, as no doubt he meant it kind,
+         I let the matter drop.
+
+   “Good-night, old Turnip-top, good-night!
+         When I am gone, perhaps
+   They’ll send you some inferior Sprite,
+   Who’ll keep you in a constant fright
+         And spoil your soundest naps.
+
+   “Tell him you’ll stand no sort of trick;
+         Then, if he leers and chuckles,
+   You just be handy with a stick
+   (Mind that it’s pretty hard and thick)
+         And rap him on the knuckles!
+
+   “Then carelessly remark ‘Old coon!
+         Perhaps you’re not aware
+   That, if you don’t behave, you’ll soon
+   Be chuckling to another tune—
+         And so you’d best take care!’
+
+   “That’s the right way to cure a Sprite
+         Of such like goings-on—
+   But gracious me!  It’s getting light!
+   Good-night, old Turnip-top, good-night!”
+         A nod, and he was gone.
+
+                           [Picture: The ghost]
+
+
+
+CANTO VII
+Sad Souvenaunce
+
+
+                  [Picture: Or can I have been drinking]
+
+   “WHAT’S this?” I pondered.  “Have I slept?
+         Or can I have been drinking?”
+   But soon a gentler feeling crept
+   Upon me, and I sat and wept
+         An hour or so, like winking.
+
+   “No need for Bones to hurry so!”
+         I sobbed.  “In fact, I doubt
+   If it was worth his while to go—
+   And who is Tibbs, I’d like to know,
+         To make such work about?
+
+   “If Tibbs is anything like me,
+         It’s _possible_,” I said,
+   “He won’t be over-pleased to be
+   Dropped in upon at half-past three,
+         After he’s snug in bed.
+
+   “And if Bones plagues him anyhow—
+         Squeaking and all the rest of it,
+   As he was doing here just now—
+   _I_ prophesy there’ll be a row,
+         And Tibbs will have the best of it!”
+
+              [Picture: And Tibbs will have the best of it]
+
+   Then, as my tears could never bring
+         The friendly Phantom back,
+   It seemed to me the proper thing
+   To mix another glass, and sing
+         The following Coronach.
+
+   ‘_And art thou gone_, _beloved Ghost_?
+         _Best of Familiars_!
+   _Nay then_, _farewell_, _my duckling roast_,
+   _Farewell_, _farewell_, _my tea and toast_,
+         _My meerschaum and cigars_!
+
+   _The hues of life are dull and gray_,
+         _The sweets of life insipid_,
+   _When_ thou, _my charmer_, _art away_—
+   _Old Brick_, _or rather_, _let me say_,
+         _Old Parallelepiped_!’
+
+   Instead of singing Verse the Third,
+         I ceased—abruptly, rather:
+   But, after such a splendid word
+   I felt that it would be absurd
+         To try it any farther.
+
+   So with a yawn I went my way
+         To seek the welcome downy,
+   And slept, and dreamed till break of day
+   Of Poltergeist and Fetch and Fay
+         And Leprechaun and Brownie!
+
+   For years I’ve not been visited
+         By any kind of Sprite;
+   Yet still they echo in my head,
+   Those parting words, so kindly said,
+         “Old Turnip-top, good-night!”
+
+                           [Picture: The ghost]
+
+
+
+
+ECHOES
+
+
+         LADY Clara Vere de Vere
+         Was eight years old, she said:
+   Every ringlet, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden thread.
+
+         She took her little porringer:
+         Of me she shall not win renown:
+   For the baseness of its nature shall have strength to drag her down.
+
+         “Sisters and brothers, little Maid?
+         There stands the Inspector at thy door:
+   Like a dog, he hunts for boys who know not two and two are four.”
+
+         “Kind words are more than coronets,”
+         She said, and wondering looked at me:
+   “It is the dead unhappy night, and I must hurry home to tea.”
+
+
+
+
+A SEA DIRGE
+
+
+                  [Picture: The sea, beach and children]
+
+   THERE are certain things—as, a spider, a ghost,
+      The income-tax, gout, an umbrella for three—
+   That I hate, but the thing that I hate the most
+      Is a thing they call the Sea.
+
+   Pour some salt water over the floor—
+      Ugly I’m sure you’ll allow it to be:
+   Suppose it extended a mile or more,
+      _That’s_ very like the Sea.
+
+   Beat a dog till it howls outright—
+      Cruel, but all very well for a spree:
+   Suppose that he did so day and night,
+      _That_ would be like the Sea.
+
+   I had a vision of nursery-maids;
+      Tens of thousands passed by me—
+   All leading children with wooden spades,
+      And this was by the Sea.
+
+   Who invented those spades of wood?
+      Who was it cut them out of the tree?
+   None, I think, but an idiot could—
+      Or one that loved the Sea.
+
+   It is pleasant and dreamy, no doubt, to float
+      With ‘thoughts as boundless, and souls as free’:
+   But, suppose you are very unwell in the boat,
+      How do you like the Sea?
+
+                    [Picture: And this was by the sea]
+
+   There is an insect that people avoid
+      (Whence is derived the verb ‘to flee’).
+   Where have you been by it most annoyed?
+      In lodgings by the Sea.
+
+   If you like your coffee with sand for dregs,
+      A decided hint of salt in your tea,
+   And a fishy taste in the very eggs—
+      By all means choose the Sea.
+
+   And if, with these dainties to drink and eat,
+      You prefer not a vestige of grass or tree,
+   And a chronic state of wet in your feet,
+      Then—I recommend the Sea.
+
+   For _I_ have friends who dwell by the coast—
+      Pleasant friends they are to me!
+   It is when I am with them I wonder most
+      That anyone likes the Sea.
+
+   They take me a walk: though tired and stiff,
+      To climb the heights I madly agree;
+   And, after a tumble or so from the cliff,
+      They kindly suggest the Sea.
+
+   I try the rocks, and I think it cool
+      That they laugh with such an excess of glee,
+   As I heavily slip into every pool
+      That skirts the cold cold Sea.
+
+                [Picture: As I heavily slip into every pool]
+
+
+
+
+Ye Carpette Knyghte
+
+
+   I have a horse—a ryghte good horse—
+      Ne doe Y envye those
+   Who scoure ye playne yn headye course
+      Tyll soddayne on theyre nose
+   They lyghte wyth unexpected force
+      Yt ys—a horse of clothes.
+
+   I have a saddel—“Say’st thou soe?
+      Wyth styrruppes, Knyghte, to boote?”
+   I sayde not that—I answere “Noe”—
+      Yt lacketh such, I woote:
+   Yt ys a mutton-saddel, loe!
+      Parte of ye fleecye brute.
+
+   I have a bytte—a ryghte good bytte—
+      As shall bee seene yn tyme.
+   Ye jawe of horse yt wyll not fytte;
+      Yts use ys more sublyme.
+   Fayre Syr, how deemest thou of yt?
+      Yt ys—thys bytte of rhyme.
+
+                        [Picture: I have a horse]
+
+
+
+
+HIAWATHA’S PHOTOGRAPHING
+
+
+[In an age of imitation, I can claim no special merit for this slight
+attempt at doing what is known to be so easy.  Any fairly practised
+writer, with the slightest ear for rhythm, could compose, for hours
+together, in the easy running metre of ‘The Song of Hiawatha.’  Having,
+then, distinctly stated that I challenge no attention in the following
+little poem to its merely verbal jingle, I must beg the candid reader to
+confine his criticism to its treatment of the subject.]
+
+   FROM his shoulder Hiawatha
+   Took the camera of rosewood,
+   Made of sliding, folding rosewood;
+   Neatly put it all together.
+   In its case it lay compactly,
+   Folded into nearly nothing;
+   But he opened out the hinges,
+   Pushed and pulled the joints and hinges,
+   Till it looked all squares and oblongs,
+   Like a complicated figure
+   In the Second Book of Euclid.
+
+                          [Picture: The camera]
+
+      This he perched upon a tripod—
+   Crouched beneath its dusky cover—
+   Stretched his hand, enforcing silence—
+   Said, “Be motionless, I beg you!”
+   Mystic, awful was the process.
+      All the family in order
+   Sat before him for their pictures:
+   Each in turn, as he was taken,
+   Volunteered his own suggestions,
+   His ingenious suggestions.
+      First the Governor, the Father:
+   He suggested velvet curtains
+   Looped about a massy pillar;
+   And the corner of a table,
+   Of a rosewood dining-table.
+   He would hold a scroll of something,
+   Hold it firmly in his left-hand;
+   He would keep his right-hand buried
+   (Like Napoleon) in his waistcoat;
+   He would contemplate the distance
+   With a look of pensive meaning,
+   As of ducks that die ill tempests.
+      Grand, heroic was the notion:
+   Yet the picture failed entirely:
+   Failed, because he moved a little,
+   Moved, because he couldn’t help it.
+
+                [Picture: First the Governor, the Father]
+
+      Next, his better half took courage;
+   _She_ would have her picture taken.
+   She came dressed beyond description,
+   Dressed in jewels and in satin
+   Far too gorgeous for an empress.
+   Gracefully she sat down sideways,
+   With a simper scarcely human,
+   Holding in her hand a bouquet
+   Rather larger than a cabbage.
+   All the while that she was sitting,
+   Still the lady chattered, chattered,
+   Like a monkey in the forest.
+   “Am I sitting still?” she asked him.
+   “Is my face enough in profile?
+   Shall I hold the bouquet higher?
+   Will it came into the picture?”
+   And the picture failed completely.
+
+               [Picture: Next the Son, the Stunning-Cantab]
+
+      Next the Son, the Stunning-Cantab:
+   He suggested curves of beauty,
+   Curves pervading all his figure,
+   Which the eye might follow onward,
+   Till they centered in the breast-pin,
+   Centered in the golden breast-pin.
+   He had learnt it all from Ruskin
+   (Author of ‘The Stones of Venice,’
+   ‘Seven Lamps of Architecture,’
+   ‘Modern Painters,’ and some others);
+   And perhaps he had not fully
+   Understood his author’s meaning;
+   But, whatever was the reason,
+   All was fruitless, as the picture
+   Ended in an utter failure.
+
+                [Picture: Next to him the eldest daughter]
+
+      Next to him the eldest daughter:
+   She suggested very little,
+   Only asked if he would take her
+   With her look of ‘passive beauty.’
+      Her idea of passive beauty
+   Was a squinting of the left-eye,
+   Was a drooping of the right-eye,
+   Was a smile that went up sideways
+   To the corner of the nostrils.
+      Hiawatha, when she asked him,
+   Took no notice of the question,
+   Looked as if he hadn’t heard it;
+   But, when pointedly appealed to,
+   Smiled in his peculiar manner,
+   Coughed and said it ‘didn’t matter,’
+   Bit his lip and changed the subject.
+      Nor in this was he mistaken,
+   As the picture failed completely.
+      So in turn the other sisters.
+
+               [Picture: Last, the youngest son was taken]
+
+      Last, the youngest son was taken:
+   Very rough and thick his hair was,
+   Very round and red his face was,
+   Very dusty was his jacket,
+   Very fidgety his manner.
+   And his overbearing sisters
+   Called him names he disapproved of:
+   Called him Johnny, ‘Daddy’s Darling,’
+   Called him Jacky, ‘Scrubby School-boy.’
+   And, so awful was the picture,
+   In comparison the others
+   Seemed, to one’s bewildered fancy,
+   To have partially succeeded.
+      Finally my Hiawatha
+   Tumbled all the tribe together,
+   (‘Grouped’ is not the right expression),
+   And, as happy chance would have it
+   Did at last obtain a picture
+   Where the faces all succeeded:
+   Each came out a perfect likeness.
+      Then they joined and all abused it,
+   Unrestrainedly abused it,
+   As the worst and ugliest picture
+   They could possibly have dreamed of.
+   ‘Giving one such strange expressions—
+   Sullen, stupid, pert expressions.
+   Really any one would take us
+   (Any one that did not know us)
+   For the most unpleasant people!’
+   (Hiawatha seemed to think so,
+   Seemed to think it not unlikely).
+   All together rang their voices,
+   Angry, loud, discordant voices,
+   As of dogs that howl in concert,
+   As of cats that wail in chorus.
+      But my Hiawatha’s patience,
+   His politeness and his patience,
+   Unaccountably had vanished,
+   And he left that happy party.
+   Neither did he leave them slowly,
+   With the calm deliberation,
+   The intense deliberation
+   Of a photographic artist:
+   But he left them in a hurry,
+   Left them in a mighty hurry,
+   Stating that he would not stand it,
+   Stating in emphatic language
+   What he’d be before he’d stand it.
+   Hurriedly he packed his boxes:
+   Hurriedly the porter trundled
+   On a barrow all his boxes:
+   Hurriedly he took his ticket:
+   Hurriedly the train received him:
+   Thus departed Hiawatha.
+
+                    [Picture: Thus departed Hiawatha]
+
+
+
+
+MELANCHOLETTA
+
+
+   WITH saddest music all day long
+      She soothed her secret sorrow:
+   At night she sighed “I fear ’twas wrong
+      Such cheerful words to borrow.
+   Dearest, a sweeter, sadder song
+      I’ll sing to thee to-morrow.”
+
+   I thanked her, but I could not say
+      That I was glad to hear it:
+   I left the house at break of day,
+      And did not venture near it
+   Till time, I hoped, had worn away
+      Her grief, for nought could cheer it!
+
+                      [Picture: At night she signed]
+
+   My dismal sister!  Couldst thou know
+      The wretched home thou keepest!
+   Thy brother, drowned in daily woe,
+      Is thankful when thou sleepest;
+   For if I laugh, however low,
+      When thou’rt awake, thou weepest!
+
+   I took my sister t’other day
+      (Excuse the slang expression)
+   To Sadler’s Wells to see the play
+      In hopes the new impression
+   Might in her thoughts, from grave to gay
+      Effect some slight digression.
+
+   I asked three gay young dogs from town
+      To join us in our folly,
+   Whose mirth, I thought, might serve to drown
+      My sister’s melancholy:
+   The lively Jones, the sportive Brown,
+      And Robinson the jolly.
+
+   The maid announced the meal in tones
+      That I myself had taught her,
+   Meant to allay my sister’s moans
+      Like oil on troubled water:
+   I rushed to Jones, the lively Jones,
+      And begged him to escort her.
+
+   Vainly he strove, with ready wit,
+      To joke about the weather—
+   To ventilate the last ‘_on dit_’—
+      To quote the price of leather—
+   She groaned “Here I and Sorrow sit:
+      Let us lament together!”
+
+   I urged “You’re wasting time, you know:
+      Delay will spoil the venison.”
+   “My heart is wasted with my woe!
+      There is no rest—in Venice, on
+   The Bridge of Sighs!” she quoted low
+      From Byron and from Tennyson.
+
+   I need not tell of soup and fish
+      In solemn silence swallowed,
+   The sobs that ushered in each dish,
+      And its departure followed,
+   Nor yet my suicidal wish
+      To _be_ the cheese I hollowed.
+
+   Some desperate attempts were made
+      To start a conversation;
+   “Madam,” the sportive Brown essayed,
+      “Which kind of recreation,
+   Hunting or fishing, have you made
+      Your special occupation?”
+
+   Her lips curved downwards instantly,
+      As if of india-rubber.
+   “Hounds _in full cry_ I like,” said she:
+      (Oh how I longed to snub her!)
+   “Of fish, a whale’s the one for me,
+      _It is so full of blubber_!”
+
+   The night’s performance was “King John.”
+      “It’s dull,” she wept, “and so-so!”
+   Awhile I let her tears flow on,
+      She said they soothed her woe so!
+   At length the curtain rose upon
+      ‘Bombastes Furioso.’
+
+   In vain we roared; in vain we tried
+      To rouse her into laughter:
+   Her pensive glances wandered wide
+      From orchestra to rafter—
+   “_Tier upon tier_!” she said, and sighed;
+      And silence followed after.
+
+                     [Picture: Sighing at the table]
+
+
+
+
+A VALENTINE
+
+
+[Sent to a friend who had complained that I was glad enough to see him
+when he came, but didn’t seem to miss him if he stayed away.]
+
+   And cannot pleasures, while they last,
+   Be actual unless, when past,
+   They leave us shuddering and aghast,
+         With anguish smarting?
+   And cannot friends be firm and fast,
+         And yet bear parting?
+
+   And must I then, at Friendship’s call,
+   Calmly resign the little all
+   (Trifling, I grant, it is and small)
+         I have of gladness,
+   And lend my being to the thrall
+         Of gloom and sadness?
+
+   And think you that I should be dumb,
+   And full _dolorum omnium_,
+   Excepting when _you_ choose to come
+         And share my dinner?
+   At other times be sour and glum
+         And daily thinner?
+
+   Must he then only live to weep,
+   Who’d prove his friendship true and deep
+   By day a lonely shadow creep,
+         At night-time languish,
+   Oft raising in his broken sleep
+         The moan of anguish?
+
+   The lover, if for certain days
+   His fair one be denied his gaze,
+   Sinks not in grief and wild amaze,
+         But, wiser wooer,
+   He spends the time in writing lays,
+         And posts them to her.
+
+   And if the verse flow free and fast,
+   Till even the poet is aghast,
+   A touching Valentine at last
+         The post shall carry,
+   When thirteen days are gone and past
+         Of February.
+
+   Farewell, dear friend, and when we meet,
+   In desert waste or crowded street,
+   Perhaps before this week shall fleet,
+         Perhaps to-morrow.
+   I trust to find _your_ heart the seat
+         Of wasting sorrow.
+
+
+
+
+THE THREE VOICES
+
+
+The First Voice
+
+
+   HE trilled a carol fresh and free,
+   He laughed aloud for very glee:
+   There came a breeze from off the sea:
+
+             [Picture: There came a breeze from off the sea]
+
+   It passed athwart the glooming flat—
+   It fanned his forehead as he sat—
+   It lightly bore away his hat,
+
+   All to the feet of one who stood
+   Like maid enchanted in a wood,
+   Frowning as darkly as she could.
+
+   With huge umbrella, lank and brown,
+   Unerringly she pinned it down,
+   Right through the centre of the crown.
+
+   Then, with an aspect cold and grim,
+   Regardless of its battered rim,
+   She took it up and gave it him.
+
+   A while like one in dreams he stood,
+   Then faltered forth his gratitude
+   In words just short of being rude:
+
+   For it had lost its shape and shine,
+   And it had cost him four-and-nine,
+   And he was going out to dine.
+
+                 [Picture: Unerringly she pinned it down]
+
+   “To dine!” she sneered in acid tone.
+   “To bend thy being to a bone
+   Clothed in a radiance not its own!”
+
+   The tear-drop trickled to his chin:
+   There was a meaning in her grin
+   That made him feel on fire within.
+
+   “Term it not ‘radiance,’” said he:
+   “’Tis solid nutriment to me.
+   Dinner is Dinner: Tea is Tea.”
+
+   And she “Yea so?  Yet wherefore cease?
+   Let thy scant knowledge find increase.
+   Say ‘Men are Men, and Geese are Geese.’”
+
+   He moaned: he knew not what to say.
+   The thought “That I could get away!”
+   Strove with the thought “But I must stay.
+
+   “To dine!” she shrieked in dragon-wrath.
+   “To swallow wines all foam and froth!
+   To simper at a table-cloth!
+
+   “Say, can thy noble spirit stoop
+   To join the gormandising troup
+   Who find a solace in the soup?
+
+   “Canst thou desire or pie or puff?
+   Thy well-bred manners were enough,
+   Without such gross material stuff.”
+
+   “Yet well-bred men,” he faintly said,
+   “Are not willing to be fed:
+   Nor are they well without the bread.”
+
+   Her visage scorched him ere she spoke:
+   “There are,” she said, “a kind of folk
+   Who have no horror of a joke.
+
+   “Such wretches live: they take their share
+   Of common earth and common air:
+   We come across them here and there:
+
+   “We grant them—there is no escape—
+   A sort of semi-human shape
+   Suggestive of the man-like Ape.”
+
+   “In all such theories,” said he,
+   “One fixed exception there must be.
+   That is, the Present Company.”
+
+   Baffled, she gave a wolfish bark:
+   He, aiming blindly in the dark,
+   With random shaft had pierced the mark.
+
+   She felt that her defeat was plain,
+   Yet madly strove with might and main
+   To get the upper hand again.
+
+   Fixing her eyes upon the beach,
+   As though unconscious of his speech,
+   She said “Each gives to more than each.”
+
+   He could not answer yea or nay:
+   He faltered “Gifts may pass away.”
+   Yet knew not what he meant to say.
+
+   “If that be so,” she straight replied,
+   “Each heart with each doth coincide.
+   What boots it?  For the world is wide.”
+
+               [Picture: He faltered “Gifts may pass away”]
+
+   “The world is but a Thought,” said he:
+   “The vast unfathomable sea
+   Is but a Notion—unto me.”
+
+   And darkly fell her answer dread
+   Upon his unresisting head,
+   Like half a hundredweight of lead.
+
+   “The Good and Great must ever shun
+   That reckless and abandoned one
+   Who stoops to perpetrate a pun.
+
+   “The man that smokes—that reads the _Times_—
+   That goes to Christmas Pantomimes—
+   Is capable of _any_ crimes!”
+
+   He felt it was his turn to speak,
+   And, with a shamed and crimson cheek,
+   Moaned “This is harder than Bezique!”
+
+   But when she asked him “Wherefore so?”
+   He felt his very whiskers glow,
+   And frankly owned “I do not know.”
+
+                 [Picture: This is harder than Bezique!]
+
+   While, like broad waves of golden grain,
+   Or sunlit hues on cloistered pane,
+   His colour came and went again.
+
+   Pitying his obvious distress,
+   Yet with a tinge of bitterness,
+   She said “The More exceeds the Less.”
+
+   “A truth of such undoubted weight,”
+   He urged, “and so extreme in date,
+   It were superfluous to state.”
+
+   Roused into sudden passion, she
+   In tone of cold malignity:
+   “To others, yea: but not to thee.”
+
+   But when she saw him quail and quake,
+   And when he urged “For pity’s sake!”
+   Once more in gentle tones she spake.
+
+   “Thought in the mind doth still abide
+   That is by Intellect supplied,
+   And within that Idea doth hide:
+
+   “And he, that yearns the truth to know,
+   Still further inwardly may go,
+   And find Idea from Notion flow:
+
+   “And thus the chain, that sages sought,
+   Is to a glorious circle wrought,
+   For Notion hath its source in Thought.”
+
+   So passed they on with even pace:
+   Yet gradually one might trace
+   A shadow growing on his face.
+
+                 [Picture: A shadow growing on his face]
+
+
+
+The Second Voice
+
+
+            [Picture: They walked beside the wave-worn beach]
+
+   They walked beside the wave-worn beach;
+   Her tongue was very apt to teach,
+   And now and then he did beseech
+
+   She would abate her dulcet tone,
+   Because the talk was all her own,
+   And he was dull as any drone.
+
+   She urged “No cheese is made of chalk”:
+   And ceaseless flowed her dreary talk,
+   Tuned to the footfall of a walk.
+
+   Her voice was very full and rich,
+   And, when at length she asked him “Which?”
+   It mounted to its highest pitch.
+
+   He a bewildered answer gave,
+   Drowned in the sullen moaning wave,
+   Lost in the echoes of the cave.
+
+   He answered her he knew not what:
+   Like shaft from bow at random shot,
+   He spoke, but she regarded not.
+
+   She waited not for his reply,
+   But with a downward leaden eye
+   Went on as if he were not by
+
+   Sound argument and grave defence,
+   Strange questions raised on “Why?” and “Whence?”
+   And wildly tangled evidence.
+
+   When he, with racked and whirling brain,
+   Feebly implored her to explain,
+   She simply said it all again.
+
+   Wrenched with an agony intense,
+   He spake, neglecting Sound and Sense,
+   And careless of all consequence:
+
+   “Mind—I believe—is Essence—Ent—
+   Abstract—that is—an Accident—
+   Which we—that is to say—I meant—”
+
+   When, with quick breath and cheeks all flushed,
+   At length his speech was somewhat hushed,
+   She looked at him, and he was crushed.
+
+   It needed not her calm reply:
+   She fixed him with a stony eye,
+   And he could neither fight nor fly.
+
+   While she dissected, word by word,
+   His speech, half guessed at and half heard,
+   As might a cat a little bird.
+
+             [Picture: He spake, neglecting Sound and Sense]
+
+   Then, having wholly overthrown
+   His views, and stripped them to the bone,
+   Proceeded to unfold her own.
+
+   “Shall Man be Man?  And shall he miss
+   Of other thoughts no thought but this,
+   Harmonious dews of sober bliss?
+
+   “What boots it?  Shall his fevered eye
+   Through towering nothingness descry
+   The grisly phantom hurry by?
+
+   “And hear dumb shrieks that fill the air;
+   See mouths that gape, and eyes that stare
+   And redden in the dusky glare?
+
+   “The meadows breathing amber light,
+   The darkness toppling from the height,
+   The feathery train of granite Night?
+
+   “Shall he, grown gray among his peers,
+   Through the thick curtain of his tears
+   Catch glimpses of his earlier years,
+
+                       [Picture: Shall Man be Man?]
+
+   “And hear the sounds he knew of yore,
+   Old shufflings on the sanded floor,
+   Old knuckles tapping at the door?
+
+   “Yet still before him as he flies
+   One pallid form shall ever rise,
+   And, bodying forth in glassy eyes
+
+   “The vision of a vanished good,
+   Low peering through the tangled wood,
+   Shall freeze the current of his blood.”
+
+   Still from each fact, with skill uncouth
+   And savage rapture, like a tooth
+   She wrenched some slow reluctant truth.
+
+   Till, like a silent water-mill,
+   When summer suns have dried the rill,
+   She reached a full stop, and was still.
+
+   Dead calm succeeded to the fuss,
+   As when the loaded omnibus
+   Has reached the railway terminus:
+
+   When, for the tumult of the street,
+   Is heard the engine’s stifled beat,
+   The velvet tread of porters’ feet.
+
+   With glance that ever sought the ground,
+   She moved her lips without a sound,
+   And every now and then she frowned.
+
+   He gazed upon the sleeping sea,
+   And joyed in its tranquillity,
+   And in that silence dead, but she
+
+   To muse a little space did seem,
+   Then, like the echo of a dream,
+   Harked back upon her threadbare theme.
+
+   Still an attentive ear he lent
+   But could not fathom what she meant:
+   She was not deep, nor eloquent.
+
+   He marked the ripple on the sand:
+   The even swaying of her hand
+   Was all that he could understand.
+
+   He saw in dreams a drawing-room,
+   Where thirteen wretches sat in gloom,
+   Waiting—he thought he knew for whom:
+
+   He saw them drooping here and there,
+   Each feebly huddled on a chair,
+   In attitudes of blank despair:
+
+   Oysters were not more mute than they,
+   For all their brains were pumped away,
+   And they had nothing more to say—
+
+   Save one, who groaned “Three hours are gone!”
+   Who shrieked “We’ll wait no longer, John!
+   Tell them to set the dinner on!”
+
+   The vision passed: the ghosts were fled:
+   He saw once more that woman dread:
+   He heard once more the words she said.
+
+   He left her, and he turned aside:
+   He sat and watched the coming tide
+   Across the shores so newly dried.
+
+              [Picture: He sat and watched the coming tide]
+
+   He wondered at the waters clear,
+   The breeze that whispered in his ear,
+   The billows heaving far and near,
+
+   And why he had so long preferred
+   To hang upon her every word:
+   “In truth,” he said, “it was absurd.”
+
+                            [Picture: He sits]
+
+
+
+The Third Voice
+
+
+            [Picture: Quick tears were raining down his face]
+
+   Not long this transport held its place:
+   Within a little moment’s space
+   Quick tears were raining down his face
+
+   His heart stood still, aghast with fear;
+   A wordless voice, nor far nor near,
+   He seemed to hear and not to hear.
+
+   “Tears kindle not the doubtful spark.
+   If so, why not?  Of this remark
+   The bearings are profoundly dark.”
+
+   “Her speech,” he said, “hath caused this pain.
+   Easier I count it to explain
+   The jargon of the howling main,
+
+   “Or, stretched beside some babbling brook,
+   To con, with inexpressive look,
+   An unintelligible book.”
+
+   Low spake the voice within his head,
+   In words imagined more than said,
+   Soundless as ghost’s intended tread:
+
+   “If thou art duller than before,
+   Why quittedst thou the voice of lore?
+   Why not endure, expecting more?”
+
+   “Rather than that,” he groaned aghast,
+   “I’d writhe in depths of cavern vast,
+   Some loathly vampire’s rich repast.”
+
+                       [Picture: He groaned aghast]
+
+   “’Twere hard,” it answered, “themes immense
+   To coop within the narrow fence
+   That rings _thy_ scant intelligence.”
+
+   “Not so,” he urged, “nor once alone:
+   But there was something in her tone
+   That chilled me to the very bone.
+
+   “Her style was anything but clear,
+   And most unpleasantly severe;
+   Her epithets were very queer.
+
+   “And yet, so grand were her replies,
+   I could not choose but deem her wise;
+   I did not dare to criticise;
+
+   “Nor did I leave her, till she went
+   So deep in tangled argument
+   That all my powers of thought were spent.”
+
+   A little whisper inly slid,
+   “Yet truth is truth: you know you did.”
+   A little wink beneath the lid.
+
+   And, sickened with excess of dread,
+   Prone to the dust he bent his head,
+   And lay like one three-quarters dead
+
+   The whisper left him—like a breeze
+   Lost in the depths of leafy trees—
+   Left him by no means at his ease.
+
+   Once more he weltered in despair,
+   With hands, through denser-matted hair,
+   More tightly clenched than then they were.
+
+   When, bathed in Dawn of living red,
+   Majestic frowned the mountain head,
+   “Tell me my fault,” was all he said.
+
+   When, at high Noon, the blazing sky
+   Scorched in his head each haggard eye,
+   Then keenest rose his weary cry.
+
+   And when at Eve the unpitying sun
+   Smiled grimly on the solemn fun,
+   “Alack,” he sighed, “what _have_ I done?”
+
+                 [Picture: Tortured, unaided, and alone]
+
+   But saddest, darkest was the sight,
+   When the cold grasp of leaden Night
+   Dashed him to earth, and held him tight.
+
+   Tortured, unaided, and alone,
+   Thunders were silence to his groan,
+   Bagpipes sweet music to its tone:
+
+   “What?  Ever thus, in dismal round,
+   Shall Pain and Mystery profound
+   Pursue me like a sleepless hound,
+
+   “With crimson-dashed and eager jaws,
+   Me, still in ignorance of the cause,
+   Unknowing what I broke of laws?”
+
+   The whisper to his ear did seem
+   Like echoed flow of silent stream,
+   Or shadow of forgotten dream,
+
+   The whisper trembling in the wind:
+   “Her fate with thine was intertwined,”
+   So spake it in his inner mind:
+
+                [Picture: a scared dullard, gibbering low]
+
+   “Each orbed on each a baleful star:
+   Each proved the other’s blight and bar:
+   Each unto each were best, most far:
+
+   “Yea, each to each was worse than foe:
+   Thou, a scared dullard, gibbering low,
+   AND SHE, AN AVALANCHE OF WOE!”
+
+
+
+
+TÈMA CON VARIAZIÒNI
+
+
+[Why is it that Poetry has never yet been subjected to that process of
+Dilution which has proved so advantageous to her sister-art Music?  The
+Diluter gives us first a few notes of some well-known Air, then a dozen
+bars of his own, then a few more notes of the Air, and so on alternately:
+thus saving the listener, if not from all risk of recognising the melody
+at all, at least from the too-exciting transports which it might produce
+in a more concentrated form.  The process is termed “setting” by
+Composers, and any one, that has ever experienced the emotion of being
+unexpectedly set down in a heap of mortar, will recognise the
+truthfulness of this happy phrase.
+
+For truly, just as the genuine Epicure lingers lovingly over a morsel of
+supreme Venison—whose every fibre seems to murmur “Excelsior!”—yet
+swallows, ere returning to the toothsome dainty, great mouthfuls of
+oatmeal-porridge and winkles: and just as the perfect Connoisseur in
+Claret permits himself but one delicate sip, and then tosses off a pint
+or more of boarding-school beer: so also—
+
+   I NEVER loved a dear Gazelle—
+      _Nor anything that cost me much_:
+   _High prices profit those who sell_,
+      _But why should I be fond of such_?
+
+   To glad me with his soft black eye
+      _My son comes trotting home from school_;
+   _He’s had a fight but can’t tell why_—
+      _He always was a little fool_!
+
+   But, when he came to know me well,
+      _He kicked me out_, _her testy Sire_:
+   _And when I stained my hair_, _that Belle_
+      _Might note the change_, _and thus admire_
+
+   And love me, it was sure to dye
+      _A muddy green or staring blue_:
+   _Whilst one might trace_, _with half an eye_,
+      _The still triumphant carrot through_.
+
+
+
+
+A GAME OF FIVES
+
+
+                       [Picture: Five little girls]
+
+   FIVE little girls, of Five, Four, Three, Two, One:
+   Rolling on the hearthrug, full of tricks and fun.
+
+   Five rosy girls, in years from Ten to Six:
+   Sitting down to lessons—no more time for tricks.
+
+   Five growing girls, from Fifteen to Eleven:
+   Music, Drawing, Languages, and food enough for seven!
+
+                  [Picture: Now tell me which you mean]
+
+   Five winsome girls, from Twenty to Sixteen:
+   Each young man that calls, I say “Now tell me which you _mean_!”
+
+   Five dashing girls, the youngest Twenty-one:
+   But, if nobody proposes, what is there to be done?
+
+   Five showy girls—but Thirty is an age
+   When girls may be _engaging_, but they somehow don’t _engage_.
+
+   Five dressy girls, of Thirty-one or more:
+   So gracious to the shy young men they snubbed so much before!
+
+                                   * * * *
+
+   Five _passé_ girls—Their age?  Well, never mind!
+   We jog along together, like the rest of human kind:
+   But the quondam “careless bachelor” begins to think he knows
+   The answer to that ancient problem “how the money goes”!
+
+
+
+
+POETA FIT, NON NASCITUR
+
+
+                    [Picture: Child on old man’s knee]
+
+   “How shall I be a poet?
+      How shall I write in rhyme?
+   You told me once ‘the very wish
+      Partook of the sublime.’
+   Then tell me how!  Don’t put me off
+      With your ‘another time’!”
+
+   The old man smiled to see him,
+      To hear his sudden sally;
+   He liked the lad to speak his mind
+      Enthusiastically;
+   And thought “There’s no hum-drum in him,
+      Nor any shilly-shally.”
+
+   “And would you be a poet
+      Before you’ve been to school?
+   Ah, well!  I hardly thought you
+      So absolute a fool.
+   First learn to be spasmodic—
+      A very simple rule.
+
+   “For first you write a sentence,
+      And then you chop it small;
+   Then mix the bits, and sort them out
+      Just as they chance to fall:
+   The order of the phrases makes
+      No difference at all.
+
+   “Then, if you’d be impressive,
+      Remember what I say,
+   That abstract qualities begin
+      With capitals alway:
+   The True, the Good, the Beautiful—
+      Those are the things that pay!
+
+   “Next, when you are describing
+      A shape, or sound, or tint;
+   Don’t state the matter plainly,
+      But put it in a hint;
+   And learn to look at all things
+      With a sort of mental squint.”
+
+   “For instance, if I wished, Sir,
+      Of mutton-pies to tell,
+   Should I say ‘dreams of fleecy flocks
+      Pent in a wheaten cell’?”
+   “Why, yes,” the old man said: “that phrase
+      Would answer very well.
+
+   “Then fourthly, there are epithets
+      That suit with any word—
+   As well as Harvey’s Reading Sauce
+      With fish, or flesh, or bird—
+   Of these, ‘wild,’ ‘lonely,’ ‘weary,’ ‘strange,’
+      Are much to be preferred.”
+
+   “And will it do, O will it do
+      To take them in a lump—
+   As ‘the wild man went his weary way
+      To a strange and lonely pump’?”
+   “Nay, nay!  You must not hastily
+      To such conclusions jump.
+
+                [Picture: The wild man went his weary way]
+
+   “Such epithets, like pepper,
+      Give zest to what you write;
+   And, if you strew them sparely,
+      They whet the appetite:
+   But if you lay them on too thick,
+      You spoil the matter quite!
+
+   “Last, as to the arrangement:
+      Your reader, you should show him,
+   Must take what information he
+      Can get, and look for no im-
+   mature disclosure of the drift
+      And purpose of your poem.
+
+   “Therefore, to test his patience—
+      How much he can endure—
+   Mention no places, names, or dates,
+      And evermore be sure
+   Throughout the poem to be found
+      Consistently obscure.
+
+   “First fix upon the limit
+      To which it shall extend:
+   Then fill it up with ‘Padding’
+      (Beg some of any friend):
+   Your great SENSATION-STANZA
+      You place towards the end.”
+
+   “And what is a Sensation,
+      Grandfather, tell me, pray?
+   I think I never heard the word
+      So used before to-day:
+   Be kind enough to mention one
+      ‘_Exempli gratiâ_.’”
+
+   And the old man, looking sadly
+      Across the garden-lawn,
+   Where here and there a dew-drop
+      Yet glittered in the dawn,
+   Said “Go to the Adelphi,
+      And see the ‘Colleen Bawn.’
+
+   “The word is due to Boucicault—
+      The theory is his,
+   Where Life becomes a Spasm,
+      And History a Whiz:
+   If that is not Sensation,
+      I don’t know what it is.
+
+   “Now try your hand, ere Fancy
+      Have lost its present glow—”
+   “And then,” his grandson added,
+      “We’ll publish it, you know:
+   Green cloth—gold-lettered at the back—
+      In duodecimo!”
+
+   Then proudly smiled that old man
+      To see the eager lad
+   Rush madly for his pen and ink
+      And for his blotting-pad—
+   But, when he thought of _publishing_,
+      His face grew stern and sad.
+
+                  [Picture: His face grew stern and sad]
+
+
+
+
+SIZE AND TEARS
+
+
+                 [Picture: When on the sandy shore I sit]
+
+   WHEN on the sandy shore I sit,
+      Beside the salt sea-wave,
+   And fall into a weeping fit
+      Because I dare not shave—
+   A little whisper at my ear
+   Enquires the reason of my fear.
+
+   I answer “If that ruffian Jones
+      Should recognise me here,
+   He’d bellow out my name in tones
+      Offensive to the ear:
+   He chaffs me so on being stout
+   (A thing that always puts me out).”
+
+   Ah me!  I see him on the cliff!
+      Farewell, farewell to hope,
+   If he should look this way, and if
+      He’s got his telescope!
+   To whatsoever place I flee,
+   My odious rival follows me!
+
+   For every night, and everywhere,
+      I meet him out at dinner;
+   And when I’ve found some charming fair,
+      And vowed to die or win her,
+   The wretch (he’s thin and I am stout)
+   Is sure to come and cut me out!
+
+                   [Picture: He’s thin and I am stout]
+
+   The girls (just like them!) all agree
+      To praise J. Jones, Esquire:
+   I ask them what on earth they see
+      About him to admire?
+   They cry “He is so sleek and slim,
+   It’s quite a treat to look at him!”
+
+   They vanish in tobacco smoke,
+      Those visionary maids—
+   I feel a sharp and sudden poke
+      Between the shoulder-blades—
+   “Why, Brown, my boy!  Your growing stout!”
+   (I told you he would find me out!)
+
+   “My growth is not _your_ business, Sir!”
+      “No more it is, my boy!
+   But if it’s _yours_, as I infer,
+      Why, Brown, I give you joy!
+   A man, whose business prospers so,
+   Is just the sort of man to know!
+
+   “It’s hardly safe, though, talking here—
+      I’d best get out of reach:
+   For such a weight as yours, I fear,
+      Must shortly sink the beach!”—
+   Insult me thus because I’m stout!
+   I vow I’ll go and call him out!
+
+               [Picture: For such a weight as yours . . .]
+
+
+
+
+ATALANTA IN CAMDEN-TOWN
+
+
+            Ay, ’twas here, on this spot,
+               In that summer of yore,
+            Atalanta did not
+               Vote my presence a bore,
+   Nor reply to my tenderest talk “She had
+         heard all that nonsense before.”
+
+            She’d the brooch I had bought
+               And the necklace and sash on,
+            And her heart, as I thought,
+               Was alive to my passion;
+   And she’d done up her hair in the style that
+         the Empress had brought into fashion.
+
+            I had been to the play
+               With my pearl of a Peri—
+            But, for all I could say,
+               She declared she was weary,
+   That “the place was so crowded and hot, and
+         she couldn’t abide that Dundreary.”
+
+                      [Picture: On this spot . . .]
+
+            Then I thought “Lucky boy!
+               ’Tis for _you_ that she whimpers!”
+            And I noted with joy
+               Those sensational simpers:
+   And I said “This is scrumptious!”—a
+         phrase I had learned from the Devonshire shrimpers.
+
+            And I vowed “’Twill be said
+               I’m a fortunate fellow,
+            When the breakfast is spread,
+               When the topers are mellow,
+   When the foam of the bride-cake is white,
+         and the fierce orange-blossoms are yellow!”
+
+            O that languishing yawn!
+               O those eloquent eyes!
+            I was drunk with the dawn
+               Of a splendid surmise—
+   I was stung by a look, I was slain by a tear,
+         by a tempest of sighs.
+
+            Then I whispered “I see
+               The sweet secret thou keepest.
+            And the yearning for _ME_
+               That thou wistfully weepest!
+   And the question is ‘License or Banns?’,
+         though undoubtedly Banns are the cheapest.”
+
+            “Be my Hero,” said I,
+               “And let _me_ be Leander!”
+            But I lost her reply—
+               Something ending with “gander”—
+   For the omnibus rattled so loud that no
+         mortal could quite understand her.
+
+
+
+
+THE LANG COORTIN’
+
+
+   The ladye she stood at her lattice high,
+      Wi’ her doggie at her feet;
+   Thorough the lattice she can spy
+      The passers in the street,
+
+   “There’s one that standeth at the door,
+      And tirleth at the pin:
+   Now speak and say, my popinjay,
+      If I sall let him in.”
+
+   Then up and spake the popinjay
+      That flew abune her head:
+   “Gae let him in that tirls the pin:
+      He cometh thee to wed.”
+
+   O when he cam’ the parlour in,
+      A woeful man was he!
+   “And dinna ye ken your lover agen,
+      Sae well that loveth thee?”
+
+                         [Picture: The popinjay]
+
+   “And how wad I ken ye loved me, Sir,
+      That have been sae lang away?
+   And how wad I ken ye loved me, Sir?
+      Ye never telled me sae.”
+
+   Said—“Ladye dear,” and the salt, salt tear
+      Cam’ rinnin’ doon his cheek,
+   “I have sent the tokens of my love
+      This many and many a week.
+
+   “O didna ye get the rings, Ladye,
+      The rings o’ the gowd sae fine?
+   I wot that I have sent to thee
+      Four score, four score and nine.”
+
+   “They cam’ to me,” said that fair ladye.
+      “Wow, they were flimsie things!”
+   Said—“that chain o’ gowd, my doggie to howd,
+      It is made o’ thae self-same rings.”
+
+   “And didna ye get the locks, the locks,
+      The locks o’ my ain black hair,
+   Whilk I sent by post, whilk I sent by box,
+      Whilk I sent by the carrier?”
+
+   “They cam’ to me,” said that fair ladye;
+      “And I prithee send nae mair!”
+   Said—“that cushion sae red, for my doggie’s head,
+      It is stuffed wi’ thae locks o’ hair.”
+
+   “And didna ye get the letter, Ladye,
+      Tied wi’ a silken string,
+   Whilk I sent to thee frae the far countrie,
+      A message of love to bring?”
+
+   “It cam’ to me frae the far countrie
+      Wi’ its silken string and a’;
+   But it wasna prepaid,” said that high-born maid,
+      “Sae I gar’d them tak’ it awa’.”
+
+   “O ever alack that ye sent it back,
+      It was written sae clerkly and well!
+   Now the message it brought, and the boon that it sought,
+      I must even say it mysel’.”
+
+   Then up and spake the popinjay,
+      Sae wisely counselled he.
+   “Now say it in the proper way:
+      Gae doon upon thy knee!”
+
+   The lover he turned baith red and pale,
+      Went doon upon his knee:
+   “O Ladye, hear the waesome tale
+      That must be told to thee!
+
+   “For five lang years, and five lang years,
+      I coorted thee by looks;
+   By nods and winks, by smiles and tears,
+      As I had read in books.
+
+   “For ten lang years, O weary hours!
+      I coorted thee by signs;
+   By sending game, by sending flowers,
+      By sending Valentines.
+
+   “For five lang years, and five lang years,
+      I have dwelt in the far countrie,
+   Till that thy mind should be inclined
+      Mair tenderly to me.
+
+   “Now thirty years are gane and past,
+      I am come frae a foreign land:
+   I am come to tell thee my love at last—
+      O Ladye, gie me thy hand!”
+
+   The ladye she turned not pale nor red,
+      But she smiled a pitiful smile:
+   “Sic’ a coortin’ as yours, my man,” she said
+      “Takes a lang and a weary while!”
+
+               [Picture: And out and laughed the popinjay]
+
+   And out and laughed the popinjay,
+      A laugh of bitter scorn:
+   “A coortin’ done in sic’ a way,
+      It ought not to be borne!”
+
+   Wi’ that the doggie barked aloud,
+      And up and doon he ran,
+   And tugged and strained his chain o’ gowd,
+      All for to bite the man.
+
+   “O hush thee, gentle popinjay!
+      O hush thee, doggie dear!
+   There is a word I fain wad say,
+      It needeth he should hear!”
+
+   Aye louder screamed that ladye fair
+      To drown her doggie’s bark:
+   Ever the lover shouted mair
+      To make that ladye hark:
+
+   Shrill and more shrill the popinjay
+      Upraised his angry squall:
+   I trow the doggie’s voice that day
+      Was louder than them all!
+
+             [Picture: O hush thee, gentle gentle popinjay!]
+
+   The serving-men and serving-maids
+      Sat by the kitchen fire:
+   They heard sic’ a din the parlour within
+      As made them much admire.
+
+   Out spake the boy in buttons
+      (I ween he wasna thin),
+   “Now wha will tae the parlour gae,
+      And stay this deadlie din?”
+
+   And they have taen a kerchief,
+      Casted their kevils in,
+   For wha will tae the parlour gae,
+      And stay that deadlie din.
+
+   When on that boy the kevil fell
+      To stay the fearsome noise,
+   “Gae in,” they cried, “whate’er betide,
+      Thou prince of button-boys!”
+
+   Syne, he has taen a supple cane
+      To swinge that dog sae fat:
+   The doggie yowled, the doggie howled
+      The louder aye for that.
+
+                  [Picture: The doggie ceased his noise]
+
+   Syne, he has taen a mutton-bane—
+      The doggie ceased his noise,
+   And followed doon the kitchen stair
+      That prince of button-boys!
+
+   Then sadly spake that ladye fair,
+      Wi’ a frown upon her brow:
+   “O dearer to me is my sma’ doggie
+      Than a dozen sic’ as thou!
+
+   “Nae use, nae use for sighs and tears:
+      Nae use at all to fret:
+   Sin’ ye’ve bided sae well for thirty years,
+      Ye may bide a wee langer yet!”
+
+   Sadly, sadly he crossed the floor
+      And tirlëd at the pin:
+   Sadly went he through the door
+      Where sadly he cam’ in.
+
+   “O gin I had a popinjay
+      To fly abune my head,
+   To tell me what I ought to say,
+      I had by this been wed.
+
+   “O gin I find anither ladye,”
+      He said wi’ sighs and tears,
+   “I wot my coortin’ sall not be
+      Anither thirty years
+
+   “For gin I find a ladye gay,
+      Exactly to my taste,
+   I’ll pop the question, aye or nay,
+      In twenty years at maist.”
+
+                [Picture: Sadly went he through the door]
+
+
+
+
+FOUR RIDDLES
+
+
+[THESE consist of two Double Acrostics and two Charades.
+
+No. I. was written at the request of some young friends, who had gone to
+a ball at an Oxford Commemoration—and also as a specimen of what might be
+done by making the Double Acrostic _a connected poem_ instead of what it
+has hitherto been, a string of disjointed stanzas, on every conceivable
+subject, and about as interesting to read straight through as a page of a
+Cyclopædia.  The first two stanzas describe the two main words, and each
+subsequent stanza one of the cross “lights.”
+
+No. II. was written after seeing Miss Ellen Terry perform in the play of
+“Hamlet.”  In this case the first stanza describes the two main words.
+
+No. III. was written after seeing Miss Marion Terry perform in Mr.
+Gilbert’s play of “Pygmalion and Galatea.”  The three stanzas
+respectively describe “My First,” “My Second,” and “My Whole.”]
+
+                                      I
+
+   THERE was an ancient City, stricken down
+      With a strange frenzy, and for many a day
+   They paced from morn to eve the crowded town,
+            And danced the night away.
+
+   I asked the cause: the aged man grew sad:
+      They pointed to a building gray and tall,
+   And hoarsely answered “Step inside, my lad,
+            And then you’ll see it all.”
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+   Yet what are all such gaieties to me
+      Whose thoughts are full of indices and surds?
+
+   _x_2 + 7_x_ + 53 = 11/3
+
+   But something whispered “It will soon be done:
+      Bands cannot always play, nor ladies smile:
+   Endure with patience the distasteful fun
+            For just a little while!”
+
+   A change came o’er my Vision—it was night:
+      We clove a pathway through a frantic throng:
+   The steeds, wild-plunging, filled us with affright:
+            The chariots whirled along.
+
+   Within a marble hall a river ran—
+      A living tide, half muslin and half cloth:
+   And here one mourned a broken wreath or fan,
+            Yet swallowed down her wrath;
+
+   And here one offered to a thirsty fair
+      (His words half-drowned amid those thunders tuneful)
+   Some frozen viand (there were many there),
+            A tooth-ache in each spoonful.
+
+   There comes a happy pause, for human strength
+      Will not endure to dance without cessation;
+   And every one must reach the point at length
+            Of absolute prostration.
+
+   At such a moment ladies learn to give,
+      To partners who would urge them over-much,
+   A flat and yet decided negative—
+            Photographers love such.
+
+   There comes a welcome summons—hope revives,
+      And fading eyes grow bright, and pulses quicken:
+   Incessant pop the corks, and busy knives
+            Dispense the tongue and chicken.
+
+   Flushed with new life, the crowd flows back again:
+      And all is tangled talk and mazy motion—
+   Much like a waving field of golden grain,
+            Or a tempestuous ocean.
+
+   And thus they give the time, that Nature meant
+      For peaceful sleep and meditative snores,
+   To ceaseless din and mindless merriment
+            And waste of shoes and floors.
+
+   And One (we name him not) that flies the flowers,
+      That dreads the dances, and that shuns the salads,
+   They doom to pass in solitude the hours,
+            Writing acrostic-ballads.
+
+   How late it grows!  The hour is surely past
+      That should have warned us with its double knock?
+   The twilight wanes, and morning comes at last—
+            “Oh, Uncle, what’s o’clock?”
+
+   The Uncle gravely nods, and wisely winks.
+      It _may_ mean much, but how is one to know?
+   He opens his mouth—yet out of it, methinks,
+            No words of wisdom flow.
+
+
+
+II
+
+
+   EMPRESS of Art, for thee I twine
+      This wreath with all too slender skill.
+   Forgive my Muse each halting line,
+      And for the deed accept the will!
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+   O day of tears!  Whence comes this spectre grim,
+      Parting, like Death’s cold river, souls that love?
+   Is not he bound to thee, as thou to him,
+      By vows, unwhispered here, yet heard above?
+
+   And still it lives, that keen and heavenward flame,
+      Lives in his eye, and trembles in his tone:
+   And these wild words of fury but proclaim
+      A heart that beats for thee, for thee alone!
+
+   But all is lost: that mighty mind o’erthrown,
+      Like sweet bells jangled, piteous sight to see!
+   “Doubt that the stars are fire,” so runs his moan,
+      “Doubt Truth herself, but not my love for thee!”
+
+   A sadder vision yet: thine aged sire
+      Shaming his hoary locks with treacherous wile!
+   And dost thou now doubt Truth to be a liar?
+      And wilt thou die, that hast forgot to smile?
+
+   Nay, get thee hence!  Leave all thy winsome ways
+      And the faint fragrance of thy scattered flowers:
+   In holy silence wait the appointed days,
+      And weep away the leaden-footed hours.
+
+
+
+III.
+
+
+   THE air is bright with hues of light
+      And rich with laughter and with singing:
+   Young hearts beat high in ecstasy,
+   And banners wave, and bells are ringing:
+   But silence falls with fading day,
+   And there’s an end to mirth and play.
+            Ah, well-a-day
+
+   Rest your old bones, ye wrinkled crones!
+      The kettle sings, the firelight dances.
+   Deep be it quaffed, the magic draught
+   That fills the soul with golden fancies!
+   For Youth and Pleasance will not stay,
+   And ye are withered, worn, and gray.
+            Ah, well-a-day!
+
+   O fair cold face!  O form of grace,
+      For human passion madly yearning!
+   O weary air of dumb despair,
+   From marble won, to marble turning!
+   “Leave us not thus!” we fondly pray.
+   “We cannot let thee pass away!”
+            Ah, well-a-day!
+
+
+
+IV.
+
+
+   MY First is singular at best:
+         More plural is my Second:
+   My Third is far the pluralest—
+   So plural-plural, I protest
+         It scarcely can be reckoned!
+
+   My First is followed by a bird:
+         My Second by believers
+   In magic art: my simple Third
+   Follows, too often, hopes absurd
+         And plausible deceivers.
+
+   My First to get at wisdom tries—
+         A failure melancholy!
+   My Second men revered as wise:
+   My Third from heights of wisdom flies
+         To depths of frantic folly.
+
+   My First is ageing day by day:
+         My Second’s age is ended:
+   My Third enjoys an age, they say,
+   That never seems to fade away,
+         Through centuries extended.
+
+   My Whole?  I need a poet’s pen
+         To paint her myriad phases:
+   The monarch, and the slave, of men—
+   A mountain-summit, and a den
+         Of dark and deadly mazes—
+
+   A flashing light—a fleeting shade—
+         Beginning, end, and middle
+   Of all that human art hath made
+   Or wit devised!  Go, seek _her_ aid,
+         If you would read my riddle!
+
+
+
+
+FAME’S PENNY-TRUMPET
+
+
+[Affectionately dedicated to all “original researchers” who pant for
+“endowment.”]
+
+   BLOW, blow your trumpets till they crack,
+      Ye little men of little souls!
+   And bid them huddle at your back—
+      Gold-sucking leeches, shoals on shoals!
+
+   Fill all the air with hungry wails—
+      “Reward us, ere we think or write!
+   Without your Gold mere Knowledge fails
+      To sate the swinish appetite!”
+
+   And, where great Plato paced serene,
+      Or Newton paused with wistful eye,
+   Rush to the chace with hoofs unclean
+      And Babel-clamour of the sty
+
+   Be yours the pay: be theirs the praise:
+      We will not rob them of their due,
+   Nor vex the ghosts of other days
+      By naming them along with you.
+
+   They sought and found undying fame:
+      They toiled not for reward nor thanks:
+   Their cheeks are hot with honest shame
+      For you, the modern mountebanks!
+
+   Who preach of Justice—plead with tears
+      That Love and Mercy should abound—
+   While marking with complacent ears
+      The moaning of some tortured hound:
+
+   Who prate of Wisdom—nay, forbear,
+      Lest Wisdom turn on you in wrath,
+   Trampling, with heel that will not spare,
+      The vermin that beset her path!
+
+   Go, throng each other’s drawing-rooms,
+      Ye idols of a petty clique:
+   Strut your brief hour in borrowed plumes,
+      And make your penny-trumpets squeak.
+
+             [Picture: Go, throng each other’s drawing-rooms]
+
+   Deck your dull talk with pilfered shreds
+      Of learning from a nobler time,
+   And oil each other’s little heads
+      With mutual Flattery’s golden slime:
+
+   And when the topmost height ye gain,
+      And stand in Glory’s ether clear,
+   And grasp the prize of all your pain—
+      So many hundred pounds a year—
+
+   Then let Fame’s banner be unfurled!
+      Sing Pæans for a victory won!
+   Ye tapers, that would light the world,
+      And cast a shadow on the Sun—
+
+   Who still shall pour His rays sublime,
+      One crystal flood, from East to West,
+   When _ye_ have burned your little time
+      And feebly flickered into rest!
+
+
+
+
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+<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en">
+<head>
+<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" />
+<title>Phantasmagoria, by Lewis Carroll</title>
+    <style type="text/css">
+/*<![CDATA[  XML blockout */
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+         margin-bottom: .75em;
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+         text-align: center;
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+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg eBook, Phantasmagoria, by Lewis Carroll, Illustrated
+by Arthur B. Frost
+
+
+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: Phantasmagoria
+       and Other Poems
+
+
+Author: Lewis Carroll
+
+
+
+Release Date: March 28, 2013  [eBook #651]
+[This file was first posted on September 17, 1996]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PHANTASMAGORIA***
+</pre>
+<p>Transcribed from the 1911 Macmillan and Co. edition by David
+Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p>
+<h1>PHANTASMAGORIA<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">AND OTHER POEMS</span></h1>
+
+<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
+<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">BY</span><br
+/>
+LEWIS CARROLL</p>
+
+<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
+<p style="text-align: center"><i>WITH ILLUSTRATIONS</i><br />
+<span class="GutSmall">BY</span><br />
+ARTHUR B. FROST</p>
+
+<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
+<p style="text-align: center">MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED<br />
+ST. MARTIN&rsquo;S STREET, LONDON<br />
+1911</p>
+
+<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
+<p style="text-align: center"><a name="pageiv"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. iv</span><span class="smcap">Richard Clay and
+Sons</span>, <span class="smcap">Limited</span><br />
+<span class="GutSmall">BRUNSWICK STREET, STAMFORD STREET,
+S.E.,</span><br />
+<span class="GutSmall">AND BUNGAY, SUFFOLK.</span></p>
+<p style="text-align: center"><i>First published in</i> 1869.</p>
+
+<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
+<p style="text-align: center"><a name="pagev"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. v</span>Inscribed to a dear Child:<br />
+in memory of golden summer hours<br />
+and whispers of a summer sea.</p>
+
+<div class="gapshortdoubleline">&nbsp;</div>
+<p class="poetry">Girt with a boyish garb for boyish task,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Eager she wields her spade: yet loves as well<br />
+Rest on the friendly knee, intent to ask<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The tale one
+loves to tell.</p>
+<p class="poetry">Rude scoffer of the seething outer strife,<br
+/>
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Unmeet to read her pure and simple spright,<br />
+Deem, if thou wilt, such hours a waste of life,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Empty of all
+delight!</p>
+<p class="poetry">Chat on, sweet Maid, and rescue from annoy<br
+/>
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Hearts that by wiser talk are unbeguilded.<br />
+Ah, happy he who owns the tenderest joy,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The heart-love
+of a child!</p>
+<p class="poetry">Away, fond thoughts, and vex my soul no
+more!<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Work claims my wakeful nights, my busy days,<br />
+Albeit bright memories of the sunlit shore<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Yet haunt my
+dreaming gaze.</p>
+<h2><a name="pagevii"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+vii</span>CONTENTS</h2>
+<table>
+<tr>
+<td colspan="2"><p>&nbsp;</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span
+class="GutSmall">PAGE</span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td colspan="3"><p><span class="smcap">Phantasmagoria</span>, in
+Seven Cantos:&mdash;</p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p style="text-align: right">I.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p>The Trystyng</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page1">1</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p style="text-align: right">II.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p>Hys Fyve Rules</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page10">10</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p style="text-align: right">III.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p>Scarmoges</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page18">18</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p style="text-align: right">IV.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p>Hys Nouryture</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page26">26</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p style="text-align: right">V.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p>Byckerment</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page34">34</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p style="text-align: right">VI.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p>Dyscomfyture</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page44">44</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p style="text-align: right">VII.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p>Sad Souvenaunce</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page53">53</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td colspan="2"><p><span class="smcap">Echoes</span></p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page58">58</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td colspan="2"><p>A <span class="smcap">Sea Dirge</span></p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page59">59</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td colspan="2"><p><span class="smcap">Ye Carpette
+Knyghte</span></p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page64">64</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td colspan="2"><p><span class="smcap">Hiawatha&rsquo;s
+Photographing</span></p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page66">66</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td colspan="2"><p><span class="smcap">Melancholetta</span></p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page78">78</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td colspan="2"><p>A <span class="smcap">Valentine</span></p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page84">84</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td colspan="2"><p><span class="smcap">The Three
+Voices</span>:&mdash;</p>
+</td>
+<td><p>&nbsp;</p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td colspan="2"><p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The First Voice</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page87">87</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td colspan="2"><p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The Second Voice</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page98">98</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td colspan="2"><p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The Third Voice</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page109">109</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td colspan="2"><p><a name="pageviii"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. viii</span><span class="smcap">T&egrave;ma Con
+Variazi&ograve;ni</span></p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page118">118</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td colspan="2"><p>A <span class="smcap">Game of Fives</span></p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page120">120</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td colspan="2"><p><span class="smcap">Poeta fit</span>, <span
+class="smcap">non nascitur</span></p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page123">123</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td colspan="2"><p><span class="smcap">Size and Tears</span></p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page131">131</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td colspan="2"><p><span class="smcap">Atalanta in
+Camden-Town</span></p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page136">136</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td colspan="2"><p><span class="smcap">The Lang
+Coortin</span>&rsquo;</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page140">140</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td colspan="2"><p><span class="smcap">Four Riddles</span></p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page152">152</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td colspan="2"><p><span class="smcap">Fame&rsquo;s
+Penny-Trumpet</span></p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page163">163</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+</table>
+<h2><a name="page1"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+1</span>PHANTASMAGORIA</h2>
+<h3>CANTO I<br />
+The Trystyng</h3>
+<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">One</span> winter night, at
+half-past nine,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Cold, tired, and cross, and
+muddy,<br />
+I had come home, too late to dine,<br />
+And supper, with cigars and wine,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Was waiting in the study.</p>
+<p class="poetry">There was a strangeness in the room,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And Something white and wavy<br />
+Was standing near me in the gloom&mdash;<br />
+<i>I</i> took it for the carpet-broom<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Left by that careless slavey.</p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page2"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+2</span>But presently the Thing began<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; To shiver and to sneeze:<br />
+On which I said &ldquo;Come, come, my man!<br />
+That&rsquo;s a most inconsiderate plan.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Less noise there, if you
+please!&rdquo;</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">
+<a href="images/p2b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"The Thing standing by chair"
+title=
+"The Thing standing by chair"
+src="images/p2s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page3"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+3</span>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve caught a cold,&rdquo; the Thing
+replies,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; &ldquo;Out there upon the
+landing.&rdquo;<br />
+I turned to look in some surprise,<br />
+And there, before my very eyes,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; A little Ghost was standing!</p>
+<p class="poetry">He trembled when he caught my eye,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And got behind a chair.<br />
+&ldquo;How came you here,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;and why?<br />
+I never saw a thing so shy.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Come out!&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t shiver
+there!&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">He said &ldquo;I&rsquo;d gladly tell you
+how,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And also tell you why;<br />
+But&rdquo; (here he gave a little bow)<br />
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;re in so bad a temper now,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; You&rsquo;d think it all a
+lie.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;And as to being in a fright,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Allow me to remark<br />
+That Ghosts have just as good a right<br />
+In every way, to fear the light,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; As Men to fear the
+dark.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page4"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+4</span>&ldquo;No plea,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;can well excuse<br
+/>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Such cowardice in you:<br />
+For Ghosts can visit when they choose,<br />
+Whereas we Humans ca&rsquo;n&rsquo;t refuse<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; To grant the interview.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">He said &ldquo;A flutter of alarm<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Is not unnatural, is it?<br />
+I really feared you meant some harm:<br />
+But, now I see that you are calm,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Let me explain my visit.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;Houses are classed, I beg to state,<br
+/>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; According to the number<br />
+Of Ghosts that they accommodate:<br />
+(The Tenant merely counts as <i>weight</i>,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; With Coals and other lumber).</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;This is a &lsquo;one-ghost&rsquo; house,
+and you<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; When you arrived last summer,<br
+/>
+May have remarked a Spectre who<br />
+Was doing all that Ghosts can do<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; To welcome the new-comer.</p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page5"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+5</span>&ldquo;In Villas this is always done&mdash;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; However cheaply rented:<br />
+For, though of course there&rsquo;s less of fun<br />
+When there is only room for one,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Ghosts have to be contented.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;That Spectre left you on the
+Third&mdash;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Since then you&rsquo;ve not been
+haunted:<br />
+For, as he never sent us word,<br />
+&rsquo;Twas quite by accident we heard<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; That any one was wanted.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;A Spectre has first choice, by right,<br
+/>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; In filling up a vacancy;<br />
+Then Phantom, Goblin, Elf, and Sprite&mdash;<br />
+If all these fail them, they invite<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The nicest Ghoul that they can
+see.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;The Spectres said the place was low,<br
+/>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And that you kept bad wine:<br />
+So, as a Phantom had to go,<br />
+And I was first, of course, you know,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; I couldn&rsquo;t well
+decline.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page6"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+6</span>&ldquo;No doubt,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;they settled
+who<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Was fittest to be sent<br />
+Yet still to choose a brat like you,<br />
+To haunt a man of forty-two,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Was no great
+compliment!&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;I&rsquo;m not so young, Sir,&rdquo; he
+replied,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; &ldquo;As you might think.&nbsp;
+The fact is,<br />
+In caverns by the water-side,<br />
+And other places that I&rsquo;ve tried,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve had a lot of
+practice:</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;But I have never taken yet<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; A strict domestic part,<br />
+And in my flurry I forget<br />
+The Five Good Rules of Etiquette<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; We have to know by
+heart.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">My sympathies were warming fast<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Towards the little fellow:<br />
+He was so utterly aghast<br />
+At having found a Man at last,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And looked so scared and
+yellow.</p>
+<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page7"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 7</span>
+<a href="images/p7b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"In caverns by the water-side"
+title=
+"In caverns by the water-side"
+src="images/p7s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page8"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+8</span>&ldquo;At least,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;I&rsquo;m glad to
+find<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; A Ghost is not a <i>dumb</i>
+thing!<br />
+But pray sit down: you&rsquo;ll feel inclined<br />
+(If, like myself, you have not dined)<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; To take a snack of something:</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;Though, certainly, you don&rsquo;t
+appear<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; A thing to offer <i>food</i>
+to!<br />
+And then I shall be glad to hear&mdash;<br />
+If you will say them loud and clear&mdash;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The Rules that you allude
+to.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;Thanks!&nbsp; You shall hear them by and
+by.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; This <i>is</i> a piece of
+luck!&rdquo;<br />
+&ldquo;What may I offer you?&rdquo; said I.<br />
+&ldquo;Well, since you <i>are</i> so kind, I&rsquo;ll try<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; A little bit of duck.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;<i>One</i> slice!&nbsp; And may I ask
+you for<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Another drop of gravy?&rdquo;<br
+/>
+I sat and looked at him in awe,<br />
+For certainly I never saw<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; A thing so white and wavy.</p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page9"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+9</span>And still he seemed to grow more white,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; More vapoury, and wavier&mdash;<br
+/>
+Seen in the dim and flickering light,<br />
+As he proceeded to recite<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; His &ldquo;Maxims of
+Behaviour.&rdquo;</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">
+<a href="images/p9b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"The Phantom dines"
+title=
+"The Phantom dines"
+src="images/p9s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<h3><a name="page10"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 10</span>CANTO
+II<br />
+Hys Fyve Rules</h3>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;<span class="smcap">My</span>
+First&mdash;but don&rsquo;t suppose,&rdquo; he said,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; &ldquo;I&rsquo;m setting you a
+riddle&mdash;<br />
+Is&mdash;if your Victim be in bed,<br />
+Don&rsquo;t touch the curtains at his head,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; But take them in the middle,</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;And wave them slowly in and out,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; While drawing them asunder;<br />
+And in a minute&rsquo;s time, no doubt,<br />
+He&rsquo;ll raise his head and look about<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; With eyes of wrath and wonder.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;And here you must on no pretence<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Make the first observation.<br />
+Wait for the Victim to commence:<br />
+No Ghost of any common sense<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Begins a conversation.</p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page11"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+11</span>
+<a href="images/p11b.jpg">
+<img class='floatleft' alt=
+"Ghostly border"
+title=
+"Ghostly border"
+src="images/p11s.jpg" />
+</a>&ldquo;If he should say &lsquo;<i>How came you
+here</i>?&rsquo;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; (The way that <i>you</i> began,
+Sir,)<br />
+In such a case your course is clear&mdash;<br />
+&lsquo;<i>On the bat&rsquo;s back</i>, <i>my little
+dear</i>!&rsquo;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Is the appropriate answer.</p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page12"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+12</span>&ldquo;If after this he says no more,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; You&rsquo;d best perhaps curtail
+your<br />
+Exertions&mdash;go and shake the door,<br />
+And then, if he begins to snore,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; You&rsquo;ll know the
+thing&rsquo;s a failure.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;By day, if he should be alone&mdash;<br
+/>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; At home or on a walk&mdash;<br />
+You merely give a hollow groan,<br />
+To indicate the kind of tone<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; In which you mean to talk.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;But if you find him with his friends,<br
+/>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The thing is rather harder.<br />
+In such a case success depends<br />
+On picking up some candle-ends,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Or butter, in the larder.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;With this you make a kind of slide<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; (It answers best with suet),<br />
+On which you must contrive to glide,<br />
+And swing yourself from side to side&mdash;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; One soon learns how to do it.</p>
+<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page13"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 13</span>
+<a href="images/p13b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"And swing yourself from side to side"
+title=
+"And swing yourself from side to side"
+src="images/p13s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page14"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+14</span>&ldquo;The Second tells us what is right<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; In ceremonious calls:&mdash;<br />
+&lsquo;<i>First burn a blue or crimson light</i>&rsquo;<br />
+(A thing I quite forgot to-night),<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; &lsquo;<i>Then scratch the door or
+walls</i>.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">I said &ldquo;You&rsquo;ll visit <i>here</i> no
+more,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; If you attempt the Guy.<br />
+I&rsquo;ll have no bonfires on <i>my</i> floor&mdash;<br />
+And, as for scratching at the door,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; I&rsquo;d like to see you
+try!&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;The Third was written to protect<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The interests of the Victim,<br />
+And tells us, as I recollect,<br />
+<i>To treat him with a grave respect</i>,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <i>And not to contradict
+him</i>.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;That&rsquo;s plain,&rdquo; said I,
+&ldquo;as Tare and Tret,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; To any comprehension:<br />
+I only wish <i>some</i> Ghosts I&rsquo;ve met<br />
+Would not so <i>constantly</i> forget<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The maxim that you
+mention!&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page15"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+15</span>&ldquo;Perhaps,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;<i>you</i> first
+transgressed<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The laws of hospitality:<br />
+All Ghosts instinctively detest<br />
+The Man that fails to treat his guest<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; With proper cordiality.</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">
+<a href="images/p15b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"And then you&rsquo;re sure to catch it . . ."
+title=
+"And then you&rsquo;re sure to catch it . . ."
+src="images/p15s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page16"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+16</span>&ldquo;If you address a Ghost as &lsquo;Thing!&rsquo;<br
+/>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Or strike him with a hatchet,<br
+/>
+He is permitted by the King<br />
+To drop all <i>formal</i> parleying&mdash;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And then you&rsquo;re <i>sure</i>
+to catch it!</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;The Fourth prohibits trespassing<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Where other Ghosts are
+quartered:<br />
+And those convicted of the thing<br />
+(Unless when pardoned by the King)<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Must instantly be slaughtered.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;That simply means &lsquo;be cut up
+small&rsquo;:<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Ghosts soon unite anew.<br />
+The process scarcely hurts at all&mdash;<br />
+Not more than when <i>you</i> &rsquo;re what you call<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; &lsquo;Cut up&rsquo; by a
+Review.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;The Fifth is one you may prefer<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; That I should quote
+entire:&mdash;<br />
+<i>The King must be addressed as</i> &lsquo;<i>Sir</i>.&rsquo;<br
+/>
+<i>This</i>, <i>from a simple courtier</i>,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <i>Is all the Laws
+require</i>:</p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page17"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+17</span>&ldquo;<i>But</i>, <i>should you wish to do the
+thing</i><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <i>With out-and-out
+politeness</i>,<br />
+<i>Accost him as</i> &lsquo;<i>My Goblin King</i>!<br />
+<i>And always use</i>, <i>in answering</i>,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <i>The phrase</i> &lsquo;<i>Your
+Royal Whiteness</i>!&rsquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;I&rsquo;m getting rather hoarse, I
+fear,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; After so much reciting:<br />
+So, if you don&rsquo;t object, my dear,<br />
+We&rsquo;ll try a glass of bitter beer&mdash;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; I think it looks
+inviting.&rdquo;</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">
+<a href="images/p17b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"We&rsquo;ll try a glass of bitter beer"
+title=
+"We&rsquo;ll try a glass of bitter beer"
+src="images/p17s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<h3><a name="page18"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 18</span>CANTO
+III<br />
+Scarmoges</h3>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;<span class="smcap">And</span> did you
+really walk,&rdquo; said I,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; &ldquo;On such a wretched
+night?<br />
+I always fancied Ghosts could fly&mdash;<br />
+If not exactly in the sky,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Yet at a fairish
+height.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;It&rsquo;s very well,&rdquo; said he,
+&ldquo;for Kings<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; To soar above the earth:<br />
+But Phantoms often find that wings&mdash;<br />
+Like many other pleasant things&mdash;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Cost more than they are worth.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;Spectres of course are rich, and so<br
+/>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Can buy them from the Elves:<br />
+But <i>we</i> prefer to keep below&mdash;<br />
+They&rsquo;re stupid company, you know,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; For any but themselves:</p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page19"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+19</span>&ldquo;For, though they claim to be exempt<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; From pride, they treat a
+Phantom<br />
+As something quite beneath contempt&mdash;<br />
+Just as no Turkey ever dreamt<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Of noticing a Bantam.&rdquo;</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">
+<a href="images/p19b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"The phantom"
+title=
+"The phantom"
+src="images/p19s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page20"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+20</span>&ldquo;They seem too proud,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;to
+go<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; To houses such as mine.<br />
+Pray, how did they contrive to know<br />
+So quickly that &lsquo;the place was low,&rsquo;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And that I &lsquo;kept bad
+wine&rsquo;?&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;Inspector Kobold came to
+you&mdash;&rdquo;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The little Ghost began.<br />
+Here I broke in&mdash;&ldquo;Inspector who?<br />
+Inspecting Ghosts is something new!<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Explain yourself, my
+man!&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;His name is Kobold,&rdquo; said my
+guest:<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; &ldquo;One of the Spectre
+order:<br />
+You&rsquo;ll very often see him dressed<br />
+In a yellow gown, a crimson vest,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And a night-cap with a border.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;He tried the Brocken business first,<br
+/>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; But caught a sort of chill;<br />
+So came to England to be nursed,<br />
+And here it took the form of <i>thirst</i>,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Which he complains of still.</p>
+<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page21"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 21</span>
+<a href="images/p21b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"And here it took the form of thirst"
+title=
+"And here it took the form of thirst"
+src="images/p21s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page22"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+22</span>&ldquo;Port-wine, he says, when rich and sound,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Warms his old bones like
+nectar:<br />
+And as the inns, where it is found,<br />
+Are his especial hunting-ground,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; We call him the
+<i>Inn-Spectre</i>.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">I bore it&mdash;bore it like a man&mdash;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; This agonizing witticism!<br />
+And nothing could be sweeter than<br />
+My temper, till the Ghost began<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Some most provoking criticism.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;Cooks need not be indulged in waste;<br
+/>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Yet still you&rsquo;d better teach
+them<br />
+Dishes should have <i>some sort</i> of taste.<br />
+Pray, why are all the cruets placed<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Where nobody can reach them?</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;That man of yours will never earn<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; His living as a waiter!<br />
+Is that queer <i>thing</i> supposed to burn?<br />
+(It&rsquo;s far too dismal a concern<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; To call a Moderator).</p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page23"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+23</span>&ldquo;The duck was tender, but the peas<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Were very much too old:<br />
+And just remember, if you please,<br />
+The <i>next</i> time you have toasted cheese,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t let them send it
+cold.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;You&rsquo;d find the bread improved, I
+think,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; By getting better flour:<br />
+And have you anything to drink<br />
+That looks a <i>little</i> less like ink,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And isn&rsquo;t <i>quite</i> so
+sour?&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">Then, peering round with curious eyes,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; He muttered &ldquo;Goodness
+gracious!&rdquo;<br />
+And so went on to criticise&mdash;<br />
+&ldquo;Your room&rsquo;s an inconvenient size:<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; It&rsquo;s neither snug nor
+spacious.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;That narrow window, I expect,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Serves but to let the dusk
+in&mdash;&rdquo;<br />
+&ldquo;But please,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;to recollect<br />
+&rsquo;Twas fashioned by an architect<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Who pinned his faith on
+Ruskin!&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page24"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+24</span>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t care who he was, Sir, or<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; On whom he pinned his faith!<br />
+Constructed by whatever law,<br />
+So poor a job I never saw,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; As I&rsquo;m a living Wraith!</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;What a re-markable cigar!<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; How much are they a
+dozen?&rdquo;<br />
+I growled &ldquo;No matter what they are!<br />
+You&rsquo;re getting as familiar<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; As if you were my cousin!</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;Now that&rsquo;s a thing <i>I will not
+stand</i>,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And so I tell you flat.&rdquo;<br
+/>
+&ldquo;Aha,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;we&rsquo;re getting
+grand!&rdquo;<br />
+(Taking a bottle in his hand)<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll soon arrange for
+<i>that</i>!&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">And here he took a careful aim,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And gaily cried &ldquo;Here
+goes!&rdquo;<br />
+I tried to dodge it as it came,<br />
+But somehow caught it, all the same,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Exactly on my nose.</p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page25"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+25</span>And I remember nothing more<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; That I can clearly fix,<br />
+Till I was sitting on the floor,<br />
+Repeating &ldquo;Two and five are four,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; But <i>five and two</i> are
+six.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">What really passed I never learned,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Nor guessed: I only know<br />
+That, when at last my sense returned,<br />
+The lamp, neglected, dimly burned&mdash;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The fire was getting
+low&mdash;</p>
+<p class="poetry">Through driving mists I seemed to see<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; A Thing that smirked and
+smiled:<br />
+And found that he was giving me<br />
+A lesson in Biography,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; As if I were a child.</p>
+<h3><a name="page26"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 26</span>CANTO
+IV<br />
+Hys Nouryture</h3>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;<span class="smcap">Oh</span>, when I
+was a little Ghost,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; A merry time had we!<br />
+Each seated on his favourite post,<br />
+We chumped and chawed the buttered toast<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; They gave us for our
+tea.&rdquo;</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">
+<a href="images/p26b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"We chumped and chawed the buttered toast"
+title=
+"We chumped and chawed the buttered toast"
+src="images/p26s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page27"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+27</span>&ldquo;That story is in print!&rdquo; I cried.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t say it&rsquo;s
+not, because<br />
+It&rsquo;s known as well as Bradshaw&rsquo;s Guide!&rdquo;<br />
+(The Ghost uneasily replied<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; He hardly thought it was).</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;It&rsquo;s not in Nursery Rhymes?&nbsp;
+And yet<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; I almost think it is&mdash;<br />
+&lsquo;Three little Ghosteses&rsquo; were set<br />
+&lsquo;On posteses,&rsquo; you know, and ate<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Their &lsquo;buttered
+toasteses.&rsquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;I have the book; so if you doubt
+it&mdash;&rdquo;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; I turned to search the shelf.<br
+/>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t stir!&rdquo; he cried.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll do without it:<br />
+I now remember all about it;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; I wrote the thing myself.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;It came out in a &lsquo;Monthly,&rsquo;
+or<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; At least my agent said it did:<br
+/>
+Some literary swell, who saw<br />
+It, thought it seemed adapted for<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The Magazine he edited.</p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page28"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+28</span>&ldquo;My father was a Brownie, Sir;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; My mother was a Fairy.<br />
+The notion had occurred to her,<br />
+The children would be happier,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; If they were taught to vary.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;The notion soon became a craze;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And, when it once began, she<br />
+Brought us all out in different ways&mdash;<br />
+One was a Pixy, two were Fays,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Another was a Banshee;</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;The Fetch and Kelpie went to school<br
+/>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And gave a lot of trouble;<br />
+Next came a Poltergeist and Ghoul,<br />
+And then two Trolls (which broke the rule),<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; A Goblin, and a Double&mdash;</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;(If that&rsquo;s a snuff-box on the
+shelf,&rdquo;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; He added with a yawn,<br />
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll take a pinch)&mdash;next came an Elf,<br />
+And then a Phantom (that&rsquo;s myself),<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And last, a Leprechaun.</p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page29"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+29</span>
+<a href="images/p29b.jpg">
+<img class='floatleft' alt=
+"I stood and watched them in the hall"
+title=
+"I stood and watched them in the hall"
+src="images/p29s.jpg" />
+</a>&ldquo;One day, some Spectres chanced to call,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Dressed in the usual white:<br />
+I stood and watched them in the hall,<br />
+And couldn&rsquo;t make them out at all,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; They seemed so strange a
+sight.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;I wondered what on earth they were,<br
+/>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; That looked all head and sack;<br
+/>
+But Mother told me not to stare,<br />
+And then she twitched me by the hair,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And punched me in the back.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;Since then I&rsquo;ve often wished that
+I<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Had been a Spectre born.<br />
+<a name="page30"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 30</span>But
+what&rsquo;s the use?&rdquo;&nbsp; (He heaved a sigh.)<br />
+&ldquo;<i>They</i> are the ghost-nobility,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And look on <i>us</i> with
+scorn.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;My phantom-life was soon begun:<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; When I was barely six,<br />
+I went out with an older one&mdash;<br />
+And just at first I thought it fun,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And learned a lot of tricks.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve haunted dungeons, castles,
+towers&mdash;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Wherever I was sent:<br />
+I&rsquo;ve often sat and howled for hours,<br />
+Drenched to the skin with driving showers,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Upon a battlement.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;It&rsquo;s quite old-fashioned now to
+groan<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; When you begin to speak:<br />
+This is the newest thing in tone&mdash;&rdquo;<br />
+And here (it chilled me to the bone)<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; He gave an <i>awful</i>
+squeak.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;Perhaps,&rdquo; he added, &ldquo;to
+<i>your</i> ear<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; That sounds an easy thing?<br />
+<a name="page31"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 31</span>Try it
+yourself, my little dear!<br />
+It took <i>me</i> something like a year,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; With constant practising.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;And when you&rsquo;ve learned to squeak,
+my man,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And caught the double sob,<br />
+You&rsquo;re pretty much where you began:<br />
+Just try and gibber if you can!<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; That&rsquo;s something <i>like</i>
+a job!</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;<i>I&rsquo;ve</i> tried it, and can only
+say<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; I&rsquo;m sure you couldn&rsquo;t
+do it, e-<br />
+ven if you practised night and day,<br />
+Unless you have a turn that way,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And natural ingenuity.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;Shakspeare I think it is who treats<br
+/>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Of Ghosts, in days of old,<br />
+Who &lsquo;gibbered in the Roman streets,&rsquo;<br />
+Dressed, if you recollect, in sheets&mdash;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; They must have found it cold.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve often spent ten pounds on
+stuff,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; In dressing as a Double;<br />
+<a name="page32"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 32</span>But,
+though it answers as a puff,<br />
+It never has effect enough<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; To make it worth the trouble.</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">
+<a href="images/p32b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"In dressing as a Double"
+title=
+"In dressing as a Double"
+src="images/p32s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;Long bills soon quenched the little
+thirst<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; I had for being funny.<br />
+The setting-up is always worst:<br />
+Such heaps of things you want at first,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; One must be made of money!</p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page33"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+33</span>&ldquo;For instance, take a Haunted Tower,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; With skull, cross-bones, and
+sheet;<br />
+Blue lights to burn (say) two an hour,<br />
+Condensing lens of extra power,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And set of chains complete:</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;What with the things you have to
+hire&mdash;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The fitting on the robe&mdash;<br
+/>
+And testing all the coloured fire&mdash;<br />
+The outfit of itself would tire<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The patience of a Job!</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;And then they&rsquo;re so fastidious,<br
+/>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The Haunted-House Committee:<br />
+I&rsquo;ve often known them make a fuss<br />
+Because a Ghost was French, or Russ,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Or even from the City!</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;Some dialects are objected to&mdash;<br
+/>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; For one, the <i>Irish</i> brogue
+is:<br />
+And then, for all you have to do,<br />
+One pound a week they offer you,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And find yourself in
+Bogies!&rdquo;</p>
+<h3><a name="page34"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 34</span>CANTO
+V<br />
+Byckerment</h3>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;<span class="smcap">Don&rsquo;t</span>
+they consult the &lsquo;Victims,&rsquo; though?&rdquo;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; I said.&nbsp; &ldquo;They should,
+by rights,<br />
+Give them a chance&mdash;because, you know,<br />
+The tastes of people differ so,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Especially in Sprites.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">The Phantom shook his head and smiled.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; &ldquo;Consult them?&nbsp; Not a
+bit!<br />
+&rsquo;Twould be a job to drive one wild,<br />
+To satisfy one single child&mdash;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; There&rsquo;d be no end to
+it!&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;Of course you can&rsquo;t leave
+<i>children</i> free,&rdquo;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Said I, &ldquo;to pick and
+choose:<br />
+But, in the case of men like me,<br />
+I think &lsquo;Mine Host&rsquo; might fairly be<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Allowed to state his
+views.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page35"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+35</span>He said &ldquo;It really wouldn&rsquo;t pay&mdash;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Folk are so full of fancies.<br />
+We visit for a single day,<br />
+And whether then we go, or stay,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Depends on circumstances.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;And, though we don&rsquo;t consult
+&lsquo;Mine Host&rsquo;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Before the thing&rsquo;s
+arranged,<br />
+Still, if he often quits his post,<br />
+Or is not a well-mannered Ghost,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Then you can have him changed.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;But if the host&rsquo;s a man like
+you&mdash;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; I mean a man of sense;<br />
+And if the house is not too new&mdash;&rdquo;<br />
+&ldquo;Why, what has <i>that</i>,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;to do<br
+/>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; With Ghost&rsquo;s
+convenience?&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;A new house does not suit, you
+know&mdash;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; It&rsquo;s such a job to trim
+it:<br />
+But, after twenty years or so,<br />
+The wainscotings begin to go,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; So twenty is the limit.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;To trim&rdquo; was not a phrase I
+could<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Remember having heard:<br />
+<a name="page36"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+36</span>&ldquo;Perhaps,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;you&rsquo;ll be so
+good<br />
+As tell me what is understood<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Exactly by that word?&rdquo;</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">
+<a href="images/p36b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"The wainscotings begin to go"
+title=
+"The wainscotings begin to go"
+src="images/p36s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;It means the loosening all the
+doors,&rdquo;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The Ghost replied, and laughed:<br
+/>
+&ldquo;It means the drilling holes by scores<br />
+In all the skirting-boards and floors,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; To make a thorough draught.</p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page37"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+37</span>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll sometimes find that one or two<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Are all you really need<br />
+To let the wind come whistling through&mdash;<br />
+But <i>here</i> there&rsquo;ll be a lot to do!&rdquo;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; I faintly gasped
+&ldquo;Indeed!</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;If I&rsquo;d been rather later,
+I&rsquo;ll<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Be bound,&rdquo; I added,
+trying<br />
+(Most unsuccessfully) to smile,<br />
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;d have been busy all this while,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Trimming and
+beautifying?&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;Why, no,&rdquo; said he; &ldquo;perhaps
+I should<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Have stayed another
+minute&mdash;<br />
+But still no Ghost, that&rsquo;s any good,<br />
+Without an introduction would<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Have ventured to begin it.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;The proper thing, as you were late,<br
+/>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Was certainly to go:<br />
+But, with the roads in such a state,<br />
+I got the Knight-Mayor&rsquo;s leave to wait<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; For half an hour or so.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page38"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+38</span>&ldquo;Who&rsquo;s the Knight-Mayor?&rdquo; I
+cried.&nbsp; Instead<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Of answering my question,<br />
+&ldquo;Well, if you don&rsquo;t know <i>that</i>,&rdquo; he
+said,<br />
+&ldquo;Either you never go to bed,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Or you&rsquo;ve a grand
+digestion!</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;He goes about and sits on folk<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; That eat too much at night:<br />
+His duties are to pinch, and poke,<br />
+And squeeze them till they nearly choke.&rdquo;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; (I said &ldquo;It serves them
+right!&rdquo;)</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;And folk who sup on things like
+these&mdash;&rdquo;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; He muttered, &ldquo;eggs and
+bacon&mdash;<br />
+Lobster&mdash;and duck&mdash;and toasted cheese&mdash;<br />
+If they don&rsquo;t get an awful squeeze,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; I&rsquo;m very much mistaken!</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;He is immensely fat, and so<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Well suits the occupation:<br />
+In point of fact, if you must know,<br />
+We used to call him years ago,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <i>The Mayor and
+Corporation</i>!</p>
+<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page39"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 39</span>
+<a href="images/p39b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"He goes about and sits on folk"
+title=
+"He goes about and sits on folk"
+src="images/p39s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page40"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+40</span>&ldquo;The day he was elected Mayor<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; I <i>know</i> that every Sprite
+meant<br />
+To vote for <i>me</i>, but did not dare&mdash;<br />
+He was so frantic with despair<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And furious with excitement.</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">
+<a href="images/p40b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"He ran to tell the King"
+title=
+"He ran to tell the King"
+src="images/p40s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;When it was over, for a whim,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; He ran to tell the King;<br />
+And being the reverse of slim,<br />
+<a name="page41"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 41</span>A two-mile
+trot was not for him<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; A very easy thing.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;So, to reward him for his run<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; (As it was baking hot,<br />
+And he was over twenty stone),<br />
+The King proceeded, half in fun,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; To knight him on the
+spot.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;&rsquo;Twas a great liberty to
+take!&rdquo;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; (I fired up like a rocket).<br />
+&ldquo;He did it just for punning&rsquo;s sake:<br />
+&lsquo;The man,&rsquo; says Johnson, &lsquo;that would make<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; A pun, would pick a
+pocket!&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;A man,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;is not a
+King.&rdquo;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; I argued for a while,<br />
+And did my best to prove the thing&mdash;<br />
+The Phantom merely listening<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; With a contemptuous smile.</p>
+<p class="poetry">At last, when, breath and patience spent,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; I had recourse to
+smoking&mdash;<br />
+&ldquo;Your <i>aim</i>,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;is excellent:<br
+/>
+<a name="page42"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+42</span>But&mdash;when you call it <i>argument</i>&mdash;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Of course you&rsquo;re only
+joking?&rdquo;</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">
+<a href="images/p42b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"The phantom sitting on chair"
+title=
+"The phantom sitting on chair"
+src="images/p42s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p class="poetry">Stung by his cold and snaky eye,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; I roused myself at length<br />
+To say &ldquo;At least I do defy<br />
+The veriest sceptic to deny<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; That union is strength!&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page43"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+43</span>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s true enough,&rdquo; said he,
+&ldquo;yet stay&mdash;&rdquo;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; I listened in all
+meekness&mdash;<br />
+&ldquo;<i>Union</i> is strength, I&rsquo;m bound to say;<br />
+In fact, the thing&rsquo;s as clear as day;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; But <i>onions</i> are a
+weakness.&rdquo;</p>
+<h3><a name="page44"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 44</span>CANTO
+VI<br />
+Dyscomfyture</h3>
+<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">As</span> one who strives a
+hill to climb,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Who never climbed before:<br />
+Who finds it, in a little time,<br />
+Grow every moment less sublime,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And votes the thing a bore:</p>
+<p class="poetry">Yet, having once begun to try,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Dares not desert his quest,<br />
+But, climbing, ever keeps his eye<br />
+On one small hut against the sky<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Wherein he hopes to rest:</p>
+<p class="poetry">Who climbs till nerve and force are spent,<br
+/>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; With many a puff and pant:<br />
+Who still, as rises the ascent,<br />
+In language grows more violent,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Although in breath more scant:</p>
+<p class="poetry">Who, climbing, gains at length the place<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; That crowns the upward track.<br
+/>
+<a name="page45"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 45</span>And,
+entering with unsteady pace,<br />
+Receives a buffet in the face<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; That lands him on his back:</p>
+<p class="poetry">
+<a href="images/p45b.jpg">
+<img class='floatleft' alt=
+"Decorative border of man climbing hall"
+title=
+"Decorative border of man climbing hall"
+src="images/p45s.jpg" />
+</a>And feels himself, like one in sleep,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Glide swiftly down again,<br />
+A helpless weight, from steep to steep,<br />
+Till, with a headlong giddy sweep,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; He drops upon the plain&mdash;</p>
+<p class="poetry">So I, that had resolved to bring<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Conviction to a ghost,<br />
+And found it quite a different thing<br />
+From any human arguing,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Yet dared not quit my post</p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page46"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+46</span>But, keeping still the end in view<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; To which I hoped to come,<br />
+I strove to prove the matter true<br />
+By putting everything I knew<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Into an axiom:</p>
+<p class="poetry">Commencing every single phrase<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; With &lsquo;therefore&rsquo; or
+&lsquo;because,&rsquo;<br />
+I blindly reeled, a hundred ways,<br />
+About the syllogistic maze,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Unconscious where I was.</p>
+<p class="poetry">Quoth he &ldquo;That&rsquo;s regular
+clap-trap:<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t bluster any more.<br
+/>
+Now <i>do</i> be cool and take a nap!<br />
+Such a ridiculous old chap<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Was never seen before!</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;You&rsquo;re like a man I used to
+meet,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Who got one day so furious<br />
+In arguing, the simple heat<br />
+Scorched both his slippers off his feet!&rdquo;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; I said &ldquo;<i>That&rsquo;s very
+curious</i>!&rdquo;</p>
+<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page47"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 47</span>
+<a href="images/p47b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"Scorched both his slippers off his feet"
+title=
+"Scorched both his slippers off his feet"
+src="images/p47s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page48"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+48</span>&ldquo;Well, it <i>is</i> curious, I agree,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And sounds perhaps like fibs:<br
+/>
+But still it&rsquo;s true as true can be&mdash;<br />
+As sure as your name&rsquo;s Tibbs,&rdquo; said he.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; I said &ldquo;My name&rsquo;s
+<i>not</i> Tibbs.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;<i>Not</i> Tibbs!&rdquo; he
+cried&mdash;his tone became<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; A shade or two less
+hearty&mdash;<br />
+&ldquo;Why, no,&rdquo; said I.&nbsp; &ldquo;My proper name<br />
+Is Tibbets&mdash;&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;Tibbets?&rdquo;&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Aye, the same.&rdquo;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; &ldquo;Why, then <span
+class="GutSmall">YOU&rsquo;RE NOT THE PARTY</span>!&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">With that he struck the board a blow<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; That shivered half the glasses.<br
+/>
+&ldquo;Why couldn&rsquo;t you have told me so<br />
+Three quarters of an hour ago,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; You prince of all the asses?</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;To walk four miles through mud and
+rain,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; To spend the night in smoking,<br
+/>
+And then to find that it&rsquo;s in vain&mdash;<br />
+And I&rsquo;ve to do it all again&mdash;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; It&rsquo;s really <i>too</i>
+provoking!</p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page49"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+49</span>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t talk!&rdquo; he cried, as I began<br
+/>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; To mutter some excuse.<br />
+&ldquo;Who can have patience with a man<br />
+<a name="page50"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+50</span>That&rsquo;s got no more discretion than<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; An idiotic goose?</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">
+<a href="images/p49b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"To walk four miles through mud and rain"
+title=
+"To walk four miles through mud and rain"
+src="images/p49s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;To keep me waiting here, instead<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Of telling me at once<br />
+That this was not the house!&rdquo; he said.<br />
+&ldquo;There, that&rsquo;ll do&mdash;be off to bed!<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t gape like that, you
+dunce!&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;It&rsquo;s very fine to throw the
+blame<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; On <i>me</i> in such a fashion!<br
+/>
+Why didn&rsquo;t you enquire my name<br />
+The very minute that you came?&rdquo;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; I answered in a passion.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;Of course it worries you a bit<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; To come so far on foot&mdash;<br
+/>
+But how was <i>I</i> to blame for it?&rdquo;<br />
+&ldquo;Well, well!&rdquo; said he.&nbsp; &ldquo;I must admit<br
+/>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; That isn&rsquo;t badly put.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;And certainly you&rsquo;ve given me<br
+/>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The best of wine and
+victual&mdash;<br />
+<a name="page51"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 51</span>Excuse my
+violence,&rdquo; said he,<br />
+&ldquo;But accidents like this, you see,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; They put one out a little.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;&rsquo;Twas <i>my</i> fault after all, I
+find&mdash;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Shake hands, old
+Turnip-top!&rdquo;<br />
+The name was hardly to my mind,<br />
+But, as no doubt he meant it kind,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; I let the matter drop.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;Good-night, old Turnip-top,
+good-night!<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; When I am gone, perhaps<br />
+They&rsquo;ll send you some inferior Sprite,<br />
+Who&rsquo;ll keep you in a constant fright<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And spoil your soundest naps.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;Tell him you&rsquo;ll stand no sort of
+trick;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Then, if he leers and chuckles,<br
+/>
+You just be handy with a stick<br />
+(Mind that it&rsquo;s pretty hard and thick)<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And rap him on the knuckles!</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;Then carelessly remark &lsquo;Old
+coon!<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Perhaps you&rsquo;re not aware<br
+/>
+<a name="page52"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 52</span>That, if
+you don&rsquo;t behave, you&rsquo;ll soon<br />
+Be chuckling to another tune&mdash;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And so you&rsquo;d best take
+care!&rsquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;That&rsquo;s the right way to cure a
+Sprite<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Of such like goings-on&mdash;<br
+/>
+But gracious me!&nbsp; It&rsquo;s getting light!<br />
+Good-night, old Turnip-top, good-night!&rdquo;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; A nod, and he was gone.</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">
+<a href="images/p52b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"The ghost"
+title=
+"The ghost"
+src="images/p52s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<h3><a name="page53"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 53</span>CANTO
+VII<br />
+Sad Souvenaunce</h3>
+<p style="text-align: center">
+<a href="images/p53b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"Or can I have been drinking"
+title=
+"Or can I have been drinking"
+src="images/p53s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;<span class="smcap">What&rsquo;s</span>
+this?&rdquo; I pondered.&nbsp; &ldquo;Have I slept?<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Or can I have been
+drinking?&rdquo;<br />
+But soon a gentler feeling crept<br />
+Upon me, and I sat and wept<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; An hour or so, like winking.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;No need for Bones to hurry so!&rdquo;<br
+/>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; I sobbed.&nbsp; &ldquo;In fact, I
+doubt<br />
+<a name="page54"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 54</span>If it was
+worth his while to go&mdash;<br />
+And who is Tibbs, I&rsquo;d like to know,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; To make such work about?</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;If Tibbs is anything like me,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; It&rsquo;s <i>possible</i>,&rdquo;
+I said,<br />
+&ldquo;He won&rsquo;t be over-pleased to be<br />
+Dropped in upon at half-past three,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; After he&rsquo;s snug in bed.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;And if Bones plagues him
+anyhow&mdash;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Squeaking and all the rest of
+it,<br />
+As he was doing here just now&mdash;<br />
+<i>I</i> prophesy there&rsquo;ll be a row,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And Tibbs will have the best of
+it!&rdquo;</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">
+<a href="images/p55b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"And Tibbs will have the best of it"
+title=
+"And Tibbs will have the best of it"
+src="images/p55s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p class="poetry">Then, as my tears could never bring<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The friendly Phantom back,<br />
+It seemed to me the proper thing<br />
+To mix another glass, and sing<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The following Coronach.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&lsquo;<i>And art thou gone</i>, <i>beloved
+Ghost</i>?<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <i>Best of Familiars</i>!<br />
+<a name="page56"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 56</span><i>Nay
+then</i>, <i>farewell</i>, <i>my duckling roast</i>,<br />
+<i>Farewell</i>, <i>farewell</i>, <i>my tea and toast</i>,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <i>My meerschaum and
+cigars</i>!</p>
+<p class="poetry"><i>The hues of life are dull and gray</i>,<br
+/>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <i>The sweets of life
+insipid</i>,<br />
+<i>When</i> thou, <i>my charmer</i>, <i>art away</i>&mdash;<br />
+<i>Old Brick</i>, <i>or rather</i>, <i>let me say</i>,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <i>Old
+Parallelepiped</i>!&rsquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">Instead of singing Verse the Third,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; I ceased&mdash;abruptly,
+rather:<br />
+But, after such a splendid word<br />
+I felt that it would be absurd<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; To try it any farther.</p>
+<p class="poetry">So with a yawn I went my way<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; To seek the welcome downy,<br />
+And slept, and dreamed till break of day<br />
+Of Poltergeist and Fetch and Fay<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And Leprechaun and Brownie!</p>
+<p class="poetry">For years I&rsquo;ve not been visited<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; By any kind of Sprite;<br />
+<a name="page57"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 57</span>Yet still
+they echo in my head,<br />
+Those parting words, so kindly said,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; &ldquo;Old Turnip-top,
+good-night!&rdquo;</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">
+<a href="images/p57b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"The ghost"
+title=
+"The ghost"
+src="images/p57s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<h2><a name="page58"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+58</span>ECHOES</h2>
+<p class="poetry">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<span
+class="smcap">Lady</span> Clara Vere de Vere<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Was eight years old, she said:<br
+/>
+Every ringlet, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden thread.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;She took
+her little porringer:<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Of me she shall not win renown:<br
+/>
+For the baseness of its nature shall have strength to drag her
+down.</p>
+<p
+class="poetry">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&ldquo;Sisters
+and brothers, little Maid?<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; There stands the Inspector at thy
+door:<br />
+Like a dog, he hunts for boys who know not two and two are
+four.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&ldquo;Kind
+words are more than coronets,&rdquo;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; She said, and wondering looked at
+me:<br />
+&ldquo;It is the dead unhappy night, and I must hurry home to
+tea.&rdquo;</p>
+<h2><a name="page59"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 59</span>A SEA
+DIRGE</h2>
+<p style="text-align: center">
+<a href="images/p59b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"The sea, beach and children"
+title=
+"The sea, beach and children"
+src="images/p59s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">There</span> are certain
+things&mdash;as, a spider, a ghost,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; The income-tax, gout, an umbrella for
+three&mdash;<br />
+That I hate, but the thing that I hate the most<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Is a thing they call the Sea.</p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page60"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+60</span>Pour some salt water over the floor&mdash;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Ugly I&rsquo;m sure you&rsquo;ll allow it to be:<br
+/>
+Suppose it extended a mile or more,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; <i>That&rsquo;s</i> very like the Sea.</p>
+<p class="poetry">Beat a dog till it howls outright&mdash;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Cruel, but all very well for a spree:<br />
+Suppose that he did so day and night,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; <i>That</i> would be like the Sea.</p>
+<p class="poetry">I had a vision of nursery-maids;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Tens of thousands passed by me&mdash;<br />
+All leading children with wooden spades,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; And this was by the Sea.</p>
+<p class="poetry">Who invented those spades of wood?<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Who was it cut them out of the tree?<br />
+None, I think, but an idiot could&mdash;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Or one that loved the Sea.</p>
+<p class="poetry">It is pleasant and dreamy, no doubt, to
+float<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; With &lsquo;thoughts as boundless, and souls as
+free&rsquo;:<br />
+But, suppose you are very unwell in the boat,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; How do you like the Sea?</p>
+<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page61"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 61</span>
+<a href="images/p61b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"And this was by the sea"
+title=
+"And this was by the sea"
+src="images/p61s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page62"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+62</span>There is an insect that people avoid<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; (Whence is derived the verb &lsquo;to
+flee&rsquo;).<br />
+Where have you been by it most annoyed?<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; In lodgings by the Sea.</p>
+<p class="poetry">If you like your coffee with sand for dregs,<br
+/>
+&nbsp;&nbsp; A decided hint of salt in your tea,<br />
+And a fishy taste in the very eggs&mdash;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; By all means choose the Sea.</p>
+<p class="poetry">And if, with these dainties to drink and
+eat,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; You prefer not a vestige of grass or tree,<br />
+And a chronic state of wet in your feet,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Then&mdash;I recommend the Sea.</p>
+<p class="poetry">For <i>I</i> have friends who dwell by the
+coast&mdash;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Pleasant friends they are to me!<br />
+It is when I am with them I wonder most<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; That anyone likes the Sea.</p>
+<p class="poetry">They take me a walk: though tired and stiff,<br
+/>
+&nbsp;&nbsp; To climb the heights I madly agree;<br />
+And, after a tumble or so from the cliff,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; They kindly suggest the Sea.</p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page63"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+63</span>I try the rocks, and I think it cool<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; That they laugh with such an excess of glee,<br />
+As I heavily slip into every pool<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; That skirts the cold cold Sea.</p>
+<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry">
+<a href="images/p63b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"As I heavily slip into every pool"
+title=
+"As I heavily slip into every pool"
+src="images/p63s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<h2><a name="page64"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 64</span>Ye
+Carpette Knyghte</h2>
+<p class="poetry">I have a horse&mdash;a ryghte good
+horse&mdash;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Ne doe Y envye those<br />
+Who scoure ye playne yn headye course<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Tyll soddayne on theyre nose<br />
+They lyghte wyth unexpected force<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Yt ys&mdash;a horse of clothes.</p>
+<p class="poetry">I have a saddel&mdash;&ldquo;Say&rsquo;st thou
+soe?<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Wyth styrruppes, Knyghte, to boote?&rdquo;<br />
+I sayde not that&mdash;I answere &ldquo;Noe&rdquo;&mdash;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Yt lacketh such, I woote:<br />
+Yt ys a mutton-saddel, loe!<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Parte of ye fleecye brute.</p>
+<p class="poetry">I have a bytte&mdash;a ryghte good
+bytte&mdash;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; As shall bee seene yn tyme.<br />
+Ye jawe of horse yt wyll not fytte;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Yts use ys more sublyme.<br />
+Fayre Syr, how deemest thou of yt?<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Yt ys&mdash;thys bytte of rhyme.</p>
+<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page65"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 65</span>
+<a href="images/p65b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"I have a horse"
+title=
+"I have a horse"
+src="images/p65s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<h2><a name="page66"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+66</span>HIAWATHA&rsquo;S PHOTOGRAPHING</h2>
+<p>[In an age of imitation, I can claim no special merit for this
+slight attempt at doing what is known to be so easy.&nbsp; Any
+fairly practised writer, with the slightest ear for rhythm, could
+compose, for hours together, in the easy running metre of
+&lsquo;The Song of Hiawatha.&rsquo;&nbsp; Having, then,
+distinctly stated that I challenge no attention in the following
+little poem to its merely verbal jingle, I must beg the candid
+reader to confine his criticism to its treatment of the
+subject.]</p>
+<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">From</span> his shoulder
+Hiawatha<br />
+Took the camera of rosewood,<br />
+Made of sliding, folding rosewood;<br />
+Neatly put it all together.<br />
+In its case it lay compactly,<br />
+Folded into nearly nothing;<br />
+<a name="page67"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 67</span>But he
+opened out the hinges,<br />
+Pushed and pulled the joints and hinges,<br />
+Till it looked all squares and oblongs,<br />
+Like a complicated figure<br />
+In the Second Book of Euclid.</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">
+<a href="images/p67b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"The camera"
+title=
+"The camera"
+src="images/p67s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p class="poetry">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;This he perched upon a
+tripod&mdash;<br />
+Crouched beneath its dusky cover&mdash;<br />
+Stretched his hand, enforcing silence&mdash;<br />
+Said, &ldquo;Be motionless, I beg you!&rdquo;<br />
+Mystic, awful was the process.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; <a name="page68"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+68</span>All the family in order<br />
+Sat before him for their pictures:<br />
+Each in turn, as he was taken,<br />
+Volunteered his own suggestions,<br />
+His ingenious suggestions.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; First the Governor, the Father:<br />
+He suggested velvet curtains<br />
+Looped about a massy pillar;<br />
+And the corner of a table,<br />
+Of a rosewood dining-table.<br />
+He would hold a scroll of something,<br />
+Hold it firmly in his left-hand;<br />
+He would keep his right-hand buried<br />
+(Like Napoleon) in his waistcoat;<br />
+He would contemplate the distance<br />
+With a look of pensive meaning,<br />
+As of ducks that die ill tempests.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Grand, heroic was the notion:<br />
+Yet the picture failed entirely:<br />
+Failed, because he moved a little,<br />
+Moved, because he couldn&rsquo;t help it.</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">
+<a href="images/p69b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"First the Governor, the Father"
+title=
+"First the Governor, the Father"
+src="images/p69s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p class="poetry">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Next, his better half took
+courage;<br />
+<i>She</i> would have her picture taken.<br />
+She came dressed beyond description,<br />
+<a name="page70"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 70</span>Dressed in
+jewels and in satin<br />
+Far too gorgeous for an empress.<br />
+Gracefully she sat down sideways,<br />
+With a simper scarcely human,<br />
+Holding in her hand a bouquet<br />
+Rather larger than a cabbage.<br />
+All the while that she was sitting,<br />
+Still the lady chattered, chattered,<br />
+Like a monkey in the forest.<br />
+&ldquo;Am I sitting still?&rdquo; she asked him.<br />
+&ldquo;Is my face enough in profile?<br />
+Shall I hold the bouquet higher?<br />
+Will it came into the picture?&rdquo;<br />
+And the picture failed completely.</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">
+<a href="images/p71b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"Next the Son, the Stunning-Cantab"
+title=
+"Next the Son, the Stunning-Cantab"
+src="images/p71s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p class="poetry">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Next the Son, the
+Stunning-Cantab:<br />
+He suggested curves of beauty,<br />
+Curves pervading all his figure,<br />
+Which the eye might follow onward,<br />
+Till they centered in the breast-pin,<br />
+Centered in the golden breast-pin.<br />
+He had learnt it all from Ruskin<br />
+(Author of &lsquo;The Stones of Venice,&rsquo;<br />
+&lsquo;Seven Lamps of Architecture,&rsquo;<br />
+&lsquo;Modern Painters,&rsquo; and some others);<br />
+<a name="page72"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 72</span>And
+perhaps he had not fully<br />
+Understood his author&rsquo;s meaning;<br />
+But, whatever was the reason,<br />
+All was fruitless, as the picture<br />
+Ended in an utter failure.</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">
+<a href="images/p73b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"Next to him the eldest daughter"
+title=
+"Next to him the eldest daughter"
+src="images/p73s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p class="poetry">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Next to him the eldest
+daughter:<br />
+She suggested very little,<br />
+Only asked if he would take her<br />
+With her look of &lsquo;passive beauty.&rsquo;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Her idea of passive beauty<br />
+Was a squinting of the left-eye,<br />
+Was a drooping of the right-eye,<br />
+Was a smile that went up sideways<br />
+To the corner of the nostrils.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Hiawatha, when she asked him,<br />
+Took no notice of the question,<br />
+Looked as if he hadn&rsquo;t heard it;<br />
+But, when pointedly appealed to,<br />
+Smiled in his peculiar manner,<br />
+Coughed and said it &lsquo;didn&rsquo;t matter,&rsquo;<br />
+Bit his lip and changed the subject.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Nor in this was he mistaken,<br />
+As the picture failed completely.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; So in turn the other sisters.</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">
+<a href="images/p75b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"Last, the youngest son was taken"
+title=
+"Last, the youngest son was taken"
+src="images/p75s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p class="poetry">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Last, the youngest son was
+taken:<br />
+Very rough and thick his hair was,<br />
+Very round and red his face was,<br />
+Very dusty was his jacket,<br />
+Very fidgety his manner.<br />
+And his overbearing sisters<br />
+Called him names he disapproved of:<br />
+Called him Johnny, &lsquo;Daddy&rsquo;s Darling,&rsquo;<br />
+Called him Jacky, &lsquo;Scrubby School-boy.&rsquo;<br />
+And, so awful was the picture,<br />
+In comparison the others<br />
+Seemed, to one&rsquo;s bewildered fancy,<br />
+To have partially succeeded.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Finally my Hiawatha<br />
+Tumbled all the tribe together,<br />
+(&lsquo;Grouped&rsquo; is not the right expression),<br />
+And, as happy chance would have it<br />
+Did at last obtain a picture<br />
+Where the faces all succeeded:<br />
+Each came out a perfect likeness.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Then they joined and all abused it,<br />
+Unrestrainedly abused it,<br />
+As the worst and ugliest picture<br />
+They could possibly have dreamed of.<br />
+&lsquo;Giving one such strange expressions&mdash;<br />
+Sullen, stupid, pert expressions.<br />
+Really any one would take us<br />
+(Any one that did not know us)<br />
+For the most unpleasant people!&rsquo;<br />
+(Hiawatha seemed to think so,<br />
+Seemed to think it not unlikely).<br />
+All together rang their voices,<br />
+Angry, loud, discordant voices,<br />
+As of dogs that howl in concert,<br />
+As of cats that wail in chorus.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; But my Hiawatha&rsquo;s patience,<br />
+His politeness and his patience,<br />
+Unaccountably had vanished,<br />
+And he left that happy party.<br />
+Neither did he leave them slowly,<br />
+With the calm deliberation,<br />
+The intense deliberation<br />
+Of a photographic artist:<br />
+But he left them in a hurry,<br />
+Left them in a mighty hurry,<br />
+Stating that he would not stand it,<br />
+Stating in emphatic language<br />
+What he&rsquo;d be before he&rsquo;d stand it.<br />
+<a name="page77"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 77</span>Hurriedly
+he packed his boxes:<br />
+Hurriedly the porter trundled<br />
+On a barrow all his boxes:<br />
+Hurriedly he took his ticket:<br />
+Hurriedly the train received him:<br />
+Thus departed Hiawatha.</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">
+<a href="images/p77b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"Thus departed Hiawatha"
+title=
+"Thus departed Hiawatha"
+src="images/p77s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<h2><a name="page78"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+78</span>MELANCHOLETTA</h2>
+<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">With</span> saddest music
+all day long<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; She soothed her secret sorrow:<br />
+At night she sighed &ldquo;I fear &rsquo;twas wrong<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Such cheerful words to borrow.<br />
+Dearest, a sweeter, sadder song<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll sing to thee to-morrow.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">I thanked her, but I could not say<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; That I was glad to hear it:<br />
+I left the house at break of day,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; And did not venture near it<br />
+Till time, I hoped, had worn away<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Her grief, for nought could cheer it!</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">
+<a href="images/p79b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"At night she signed"
+title=
+"At night she signed"
+src="images/p79s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p class="poetry">My dismal sister!&nbsp; Couldst thou know<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; The wretched home thou keepest!<br />
+<a name="page80"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 80</span>Thy
+brother, drowned in daily woe,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Is thankful when thou sleepest;<br />
+For if I laugh, however low,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; When thou&rsquo;rt awake, thou weepest!</p>
+<p class="poetry">I took my sister t&rsquo;other day<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; (Excuse the slang expression)<br />
+To Sadler&rsquo;s Wells to see the play<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; In hopes the new impression<br />
+Might in her thoughts, from grave to gay<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Effect some slight digression.</p>
+<p class="poetry">I asked three gay young dogs from town<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; To join us in our folly,<br />
+Whose mirth, I thought, might serve to drown<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; My sister&rsquo;s melancholy:<br />
+The lively Jones, the sportive Brown,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; And Robinson the jolly.</p>
+<p class="poetry">The maid announced the meal in tones<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; That I myself had taught her,<br />
+Meant to allay my sister&rsquo;s moans<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Like oil on troubled water:<br />
+<a name="page81"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 81</span>I rushed
+to Jones, the lively Jones,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; And begged him to escort her.</p>
+<p class="poetry">Vainly he strove, with ready wit,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; To joke about the weather&mdash;<br />
+To ventilate the last &lsquo;<i>on dit</i>&rsquo;&mdash;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; To quote the price of leather&mdash;<br />
+She groaned &ldquo;Here I and Sorrow sit:<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Let us lament together!&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">I urged &ldquo;You&rsquo;re wasting time, you
+know:<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Delay will spoil the venison.&rdquo;<br />
+&ldquo;My heart is wasted with my woe!<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; There is no rest&mdash;in Venice, on<br />
+The Bridge of Sighs!&rdquo; she quoted low<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; From Byron and from Tennyson.</p>
+<p class="poetry">I need not tell of soup and fish<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; In solemn silence swallowed,<br />
+The sobs that ushered in each dish,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; And its departure followed,<br />
+Nor yet my suicidal wish<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; To <i>be</i> the cheese I hollowed.</p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page82"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+82</span>Some desperate attempts were made<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; To start a conversation;<br />
+&ldquo;Madam,&rdquo; the sportive Brown essayed,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; &ldquo;Which kind of recreation,<br />
+Hunting or fishing, have you made<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Your special occupation?&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">Her lips curved downwards instantly,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; As if of india-rubber.<br />
+&ldquo;Hounds <i>in full cry</i> I like,&rdquo; said she:<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; (Oh how I longed to snub her!)<br />
+&ldquo;Of fish, a whale&rsquo;s the one for me,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; <i>It is so full of blubber</i>!&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">The night&rsquo;s performance was &ldquo;King
+John.&rdquo;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; &ldquo;It&rsquo;s dull,&rdquo; she wept, &ldquo;and
+so-so!&rdquo;<br />
+Awhile I let her tears flow on,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; She said they soothed her woe so!<br />
+At length the curtain rose upon<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; &lsquo;Bombastes Furioso.&rsquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">In vain we roared; in vain we tried<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; To rouse her into laughter:<br />
+<a name="page83"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 83</span>Her
+pensive glances wandered wide<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; From orchestra to rafter&mdash;<br />
+&ldquo;<i>Tier upon tier</i>!&rdquo; she said, and sighed;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; And silence followed after.</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">
+<a href="images/p83b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"Sighing at the table"
+title=
+"Sighing at the table"
+src="images/p83s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<h2><a name="page84"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 84</span>A
+VALENTINE</h2>
+<p>[Sent to a friend who had complained that I was glad enough to
+see him when he came, but didn&rsquo;t seem to miss him if he
+stayed away.]</p>
+<p class="poetry">And cannot pleasures, while they last,<br />
+Be actual unless, when past,<br />
+They leave us shuddering and aghast,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; With anguish smarting?<br />
+And cannot friends be firm and fast,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And yet bear parting?</p>
+<p class="poetry">And must I then, at Friendship&rsquo;s call,<br
+/>
+Calmly resign the little all<br />
+(Trifling, I grant, it is and small)<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; I have of gladness,<br />
+And lend my being to the thrall<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Of gloom and sadness?</p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page85"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+85</span>And think you that I should be dumb,<br />
+And full <i>dolorum omnium</i>,<br />
+Excepting when <i>you</i> choose to come<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And share my dinner?<br />
+At other times be sour and glum<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And daily thinner?</p>
+<p class="poetry">Must he then only live to weep,<br />
+Who&rsquo;d prove his friendship true and deep<br />
+By day a lonely shadow creep,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; At night-time languish,<br />
+Oft raising in his broken sleep<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The moan of anguish?</p>
+<p class="poetry">The lover, if for certain days<br />
+His fair one be denied his gaze,<br />
+Sinks not in grief and wild amaze,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; But, wiser wooer,<br />
+He spends the time in writing lays,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And posts them to her.</p>
+<p class="poetry">And if the verse flow free and fast,<br />
+Till even the poet is aghast,<br />
+<a name="page86"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 86</span>A touching
+Valentine at last<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The post shall carry,<br />
+When thirteen days are gone and past<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Of February.</p>
+<p class="poetry">Farewell, dear friend, and when we meet,<br />
+In desert waste or crowded street,<br />
+Perhaps before this week shall fleet,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Perhaps to-morrow.<br />
+I trust to find <i>your</i> heart the seat<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Of wasting sorrow.</p>
+<h2><a name="page87"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 87</span>THE
+THREE VOICES</h2>
+<h3>The First Voice</h3>
+<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">He</span> trilled a carol
+fresh and free,<br />
+He laughed aloud for very glee:<br />
+There came a breeze from off the sea:</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">
+<a href="images/p87b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"There came a breeze from off the sea"
+title=
+"There came a breeze from off the sea"
+src="images/p87s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page88"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+88</span>It passed athwart the glooming flat&mdash;<br />
+It fanned his forehead as he sat&mdash;<br />
+It lightly bore away his hat,</p>
+<p class="poetry">All to the feet of one who stood<br />
+Like maid enchanted in a wood,<br />
+Frowning as darkly as she could.</p>
+<p class="poetry">With huge umbrella, lank and brown,<br />
+Unerringly she pinned it down,<br />
+Right through the centre of the crown.</p>
+<p class="poetry">Then, with an aspect cold and grim,<br />
+Regardless of its battered rim,<br />
+She took it up and gave it him.</p>
+<p class="poetry">A while like one in dreams he stood,<br />
+Then faltered forth his gratitude<br />
+In words just short of being rude:</p>
+<p class="poetry">For it had lost its shape and shine,<br />
+And it had cost him four-and-nine,<br />
+And he was going out to dine.</p>
+<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page89"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 89</span>
+<a href="images/p89b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"Unerringly she pinned it down"
+title=
+"Unerringly she pinned it down"
+src="images/p89s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page90"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+90</span>&ldquo;To dine!&rdquo; she sneered in acid tone.<br />
+&ldquo;To bend thy being to a bone<br />
+Clothed in a radiance not its own!&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">The tear-drop trickled to his chin:<br />
+There was a meaning in her grin<br />
+That made him feel on fire within.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;Term it not
+&lsquo;radiance,&rsquo;&rdquo; said he:<br />
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis solid nutriment to me.<br />
+Dinner is Dinner: Tea is Tea.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">And she &ldquo;Yea so?&nbsp; Yet wherefore
+cease?<br />
+Let thy scant knowledge find increase.<br />
+Say &lsquo;Men are Men, and Geese are Geese.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">He moaned: he knew not what to say.<br />
+The thought &ldquo;That I could get away!&rdquo;<br />
+Strove with the thought &ldquo;But I must stay.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;To dine!&rdquo; she shrieked in
+dragon-wrath.<br />
+&ldquo;To swallow wines all foam and froth!<br />
+To simper at a table-cloth!</p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page91"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+91</span>&ldquo;Say, can thy noble spirit stoop<br />
+To join the gormandising troup<br />
+Who find a solace in the soup?</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;Canst thou desire or pie or puff?<br />
+Thy well-bred manners were enough,<br />
+Without such gross material stuff.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;Yet well-bred men,&rdquo; he faintly
+said,<br />
+&ldquo;Are not willing to be fed:<br />
+Nor are they well without the bread.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">Her visage scorched him ere she spoke:<br />
+&ldquo;There are,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;a kind of folk<br />
+Who have no horror of a joke.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;Such wretches live: they take their
+share<br />
+Of common earth and common air:<br />
+We come across them here and there:</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;We grant them&mdash;there is no
+escape&mdash;<br />
+A sort of semi-human shape<br />
+Suggestive of the man-like Ape.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page92"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+92</span>&ldquo;In all such theories,&rdquo; said he,<br />
+&ldquo;One fixed exception there must be.<br />
+That is, the Present Company.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">Baffled, she gave a wolfish bark:<br />
+He, aiming blindly in the dark,<br />
+With random shaft had pierced the mark.</p>
+<p class="poetry">She felt that her defeat was plain,<br />
+Yet madly strove with might and main<br />
+To get the upper hand again.</p>
+<p class="poetry">Fixing her eyes upon the beach,<br />
+As though unconscious of his speech,<br />
+She said &ldquo;Each gives to more than each.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">He could not answer yea or nay:<br />
+He faltered &ldquo;Gifts may pass away.&rdquo;<br />
+Yet knew not what he meant to say.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;If that be so,&rdquo; she straight
+replied,<br />
+&ldquo;Each heart with each doth coincide.<br />
+What boots it?&nbsp; For the world is wide.&rdquo;</p>
+<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page93"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 93</span>
+<a href="images/p93b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"He faltered &ldquo;Gifts may pass away&rdquo;"
+title=
+"He faltered &ldquo;Gifts may pass away&rdquo;"
+src="images/p93s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page94"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+94</span>&ldquo;The world is but a Thought,&rdquo; said he:<br />
+&ldquo;The vast unfathomable sea<br />
+Is but a Notion&mdash;unto me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">And darkly fell her answer dread<br />
+Upon his unresisting head,<br />
+Like half a hundredweight of lead.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;The Good and Great must ever shun<br />
+That reckless and abandoned one<br />
+Who stoops to perpetrate a pun.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;The man that smokes&mdash;that reads the
+<i>Times</i>&mdash;<br />
+That goes to Christmas Pantomimes&mdash;<br />
+Is capable of <i>any</i> crimes!&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">He felt it was his turn to speak,<br />
+And, with a shamed and crimson cheek,<br />
+Moaned &ldquo;This is harder than Bezique!&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">But when she asked him &ldquo;Wherefore
+so?&rdquo;<br />
+He felt his very whiskers glow,<br />
+And frankly owned &ldquo;I do not know.&rdquo;</p>
+<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page95"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 95</span>
+<a href="images/p95b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"This is harder than Bezique!"
+title=
+"This is harder than Bezique!"
+src="images/p95s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page96"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+96</span>While, like broad waves of golden grain,<br />
+Or sunlit hues on cloistered pane,<br />
+His colour came and went again.</p>
+<p class="poetry">Pitying his obvious distress,<br />
+Yet with a tinge of bitterness,<br />
+She said &ldquo;The More exceeds the Less.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;A truth of such undoubted
+weight,&rdquo;<br />
+He urged, &ldquo;and so extreme in date,<br />
+It were superfluous to state.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">Roused into sudden passion, she<br />
+In tone of cold malignity:<br />
+&ldquo;To others, yea: but not to thee.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">But when she saw him quail and quake,<br />
+And when he urged &ldquo;For pity&rsquo;s sake!&rdquo;<br />
+Once more in gentle tones she spake.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;Thought in the mind doth still abide<br
+/>
+That is by Intellect supplied,<br />
+And within that Idea doth hide:</p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page97"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+97</span>&ldquo;And he, that yearns the truth to know,<br />
+Still further inwardly may go,<br />
+And find Idea from Notion flow:</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;And thus the chain, that sages
+sought,<br />
+Is to a glorious circle wrought,<br />
+For Notion hath its source in Thought.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">So passed they on with even pace:<br />
+Yet gradually one might trace<br />
+A shadow growing on his face.</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">
+<a href="images/p97b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"A shadow growing on his face"
+title=
+"A shadow growing on his face"
+src="images/p97s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<h3><a name="page98"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 98</span>The
+Second Voice</h3>
+<p style="text-align: center">
+<a href="images/p98b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"They walked beside the wave-worn beach"
+title=
+"They walked beside the wave-worn beach"
+src="images/p98s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p class="poetry">They walked beside the wave-worn beach;<br />
+Her tongue was very apt to teach,<br />
+And now and then he did beseech</p>
+<p class="poetry">She would abate her dulcet tone,<br />
+Because the talk was all her own,<br />
+And he was dull as any drone.</p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page99"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+99</span>She urged &ldquo;No cheese is made of chalk&rdquo;:<br
+/>
+And ceaseless flowed her dreary talk,<br />
+Tuned to the footfall of a walk.</p>
+<p class="poetry">Her voice was very full and rich,<br />
+And, when at length she asked him &ldquo;Which?&rdquo;<br />
+It mounted to its highest pitch.</p>
+<p class="poetry">He a bewildered answer gave,<br />
+Drowned in the sullen moaning wave,<br />
+Lost in the echoes of the cave.</p>
+<p class="poetry">He answered her he knew not what:<br />
+Like shaft from bow at random shot,<br />
+He spoke, but she regarded not.</p>
+<p class="poetry">She waited not for his reply,<br />
+But with a downward leaden eye<br />
+Went on as if he were not by</p>
+<p class="poetry">Sound argument and grave defence,<br />
+Strange questions raised on &ldquo;Why?&rdquo; and
+&ldquo;Whence?&rdquo;<br />
+And wildly tangled evidence.</p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page100"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+100</span>When he, with racked and whirling brain,<br />
+Feebly implored her to explain,<br />
+She simply said it all again.</p>
+<p class="poetry">Wrenched with an agony intense,<br />
+He spake, neglecting Sound and Sense,<br />
+And careless of all consequence:</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;Mind&mdash;I believe&mdash;is
+Essence&mdash;Ent&mdash;<br />
+Abstract&mdash;that is&mdash;an Accident&mdash;<br />
+Which we&mdash;that is to say&mdash;I meant&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">When, with quick breath and cheeks all
+flushed,<br />
+At length his speech was somewhat hushed,<br />
+She looked at him, and he was crushed.</p>
+<p class="poetry">It needed not her calm reply:<br />
+She fixed him with a stony eye,<br />
+And he could neither fight nor fly.</p>
+<p class="poetry">While she dissected, word by word,<br />
+His speech, half guessed at and half heard,<br />
+As might a cat a little bird.</p>
+<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page101"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 101</span>
+<a href="images/p101b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"He spake, neglecting Sound and Sense"
+title=
+"He spake, neglecting Sound and Sense"
+src="images/p101s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page102"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+102</span>Then, having wholly overthrown<br />
+His views, and stripped them to the bone,<br />
+Proceeded to unfold her own.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;Shall Man be Man?&nbsp; And shall he
+miss<br />
+Of other thoughts no thought but this,<br />
+Harmonious dews of sober bliss?</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;What boots it?&nbsp; Shall his fevered
+eye<br />
+Through towering nothingness descry<br />
+The grisly phantom hurry by?</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;And hear dumb shrieks that fill the
+air;<br />
+See mouths that gape, and eyes that stare<br />
+And redden in the dusky glare?</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;The meadows breathing amber light,<br />
+The darkness toppling from the height,<br />
+The feathery train of granite Night?</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;Shall he, grown gray among his peers,<br
+/>
+Through the thick curtain of his tears<br />
+Catch glimpses of his earlier years,</p>
+<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page103"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 103</span>
+<a href="images/p103b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"Shall Man be Man?"
+title=
+"Shall Man be Man?"
+src="images/p103s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page104"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+104</span>&ldquo;And hear the sounds he knew of yore,<br />
+Old shufflings on the sanded floor,<br />
+Old knuckles tapping at the door?</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;Yet still before him as he flies<br />
+One pallid form shall ever rise,<br />
+And, bodying forth in glassy eyes</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;The vision of a vanished good,<br />
+Low peering through the tangled wood,<br />
+Shall freeze the current of his blood.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">Still from each fact, with skill uncouth<br />
+And savage rapture, like a tooth<br />
+She wrenched some slow reluctant truth.</p>
+<p class="poetry">Till, like a silent water-mill,<br />
+When summer suns have dried the rill,<br />
+She reached a full stop, and was still.</p>
+<p class="poetry">Dead calm succeeded to the fuss,<br />
+As when the loaded omnibus<br />
+Has reached the railway terminus:</p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page105"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+105</span>When, for the tumult of the street,<br />
+Is heard the engine&rsquo;s stifled beat,<br />
+The velvet tread of porters&rsquo; feet.</p>
+<p class="poetry">With glance that ever sought the ground,<br />
+She moved her lips without a sound,<br />
+And every now and then she frowned.</p>
+<p class="poetry">He gazed upon the sleeping sea,<br />
+And joyed in its tranquillity,<br />
+And in that silence dead, but she</p>
+<p class="poetry">To muse a little space did seem,<br />
+Then, like the echo of a dream,<br />
+Harked back upon her threadbare theme.</p>
+<p class="poetry">Still an attentive ear he lent<br />
+But could not fathom what she meant:<br />
+She was not deep, nor eloquent.</p>
+<p class="poetry">He marked the ripple on the sand:<br />
+The even swaying of her hand<br />
+Was all that he could understand.</p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page106"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+106</span>He saw in dreams a drawing-room,<br />
+Where thirteen wretches sat in gloom,<br />
+Waiting&mdash;he thought he knew for whom:</p>
+<p class="poetry">He saw them drooping here and there,<br />
+Each feebly huddled on a chair,<br />
+In attitudes of blank despair:</p>
+<p class="poetry">Oysters were not more mute than they,<br />
+For all their brains were pumped away,<br />
+And they had nothing more to say&mdash;</p>
+<p class="poetry">Save one, who groaned &ldquo;Three hours are
+gone!&rdquo;<br />
+Who shrieked &ldquo;We&rsquo;ll wait no longer, John!<br />
+Tell them to set the dinner on!&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">The vision passed: the ghosts were fled:<br />
+He saw once more that woman dread:<br />
+He heard once more the words she said.</p>
+<p class="poetry">He left her, and he turned aside:<br />
+He sat and watched the coming tide<br />
+Across the shores so newly dried.</p>
+<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page107"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 107</span>
+<a href="images/p107b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"He sat and watched the coming tide"
+title=
+"He sat and watched the coming tide"
+src="images/p107s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page108"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+108</span>He wondered at the waters clear,<br />
+The breeze that whispered in his ear,<br />
+The billows heaving far and near,</p>
+<p class="poetry">And why he had so long preferred<br />
+To hang upon her every word:<br />
+&ldquo;In truth,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;it was absurd.&rdquo;</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">
+<a href="images/p108b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"He sits"
+title=
+"He sits"
+src="images/p108s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<h3><a name="page109"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 109</span>The
+Third Voice</h3>
+<p style="text-align: center">
+<a href="images/p109b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"Quick tears were raining down his face"
+title=
+"Quick tears were raining down his face"
+src="images/p109s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p class="poetry">Not long this transport held its place:<br />
+Within a little moment&rsquo;s space<br />
+Quick tears were raining down his face</p>
+<p class="poetry">His heart stood still, aghast with fear;<br />
+A wordless voice, nor far nor near,<br />
+He seemed to hear and not to hear.</p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page110"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+110</span>&ldquo;Tears kindle not the doubtful spark.<br />
+If so, why not?&nbsp; Of this remark<br />
+The bearings are profoundly dark.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;Her speech,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;hath
+caused this pain.<br />
+Easier I count it to explain<br />
+The jargon of the howling main,</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;Or, stretched beside some babbling
+brook,<br />
+To con, with inexpressive look,<br />
+An unintelligible book.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">Low spake the voice within his head,<br />
+In words imagined more than said,<br />
+Soundless as ghost&rsquo;s intended tread:</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;If thou art duller than before,<br />
+Why quittedst thou the voice of lore?<br />
+Why not endure, expecting more?&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;Rather than that,&rdquo; he groaned
+aghast,<br />
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;d writhe in depths of cavern vast,<br />
+Some loathly vampire&rsquo;s rich repast.&rdquo;</p>
+<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page111"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 111</span>
+<a href="images/p111b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"He groaned aghast"
+title=
+"He groaned aghast"
+src="images/p111s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page112"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+112</span>&ldquo;&rsquo;Twere hard,&rdquo; it answered,
+&ldquo;themes immense<br />
+To coop within the narrow fence<br />
+That rings <i>thy</i> scant intelligence.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;Not so,&rdquo; he urged, &ldquo;nor once
+alone:<br />
+But there was something in her tone<br />
+That chilled me to the very bone.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;Her style was anything but clear,<br />
+And most unpleasantly severe;<br />
+Her epithets were very queer.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;And yet, so grand were her replies,<br
+/>
+I could not choose but deem her wise;<br />
+I did not dare to criticise;</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;Nor did I leave her, till she went<br />
+So deep in tangled argument<br />
+That all my powers of thought were spent.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">A little whisper inly slid,<br />
+&ldquo;Yet truth is truth: you know you did.&rdquo;<br />
+A little wink beneath the lid.</p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page113"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+113</span>And, sickened with excess of dread,<br />
+Prone to the dust he bent his head,<br />
+And lay like one three-quarters dead</p>
+<p class="poetry">The whisper left him&mdash;like a breeze<br />
+Lost in the depths of leafy trees&mdash;<br />
+Left him by no means at his ease.</p>
+<p class="poetry">Once more he weltered in despair,<br />
+With hands, through denser-matted hair,<br />
+More tightly clenched than then they were.</p>
+<p class="poetry">When, bathed in Dawn of living red,<br />
+Majestic frowned the mountain head,<br />
+&ldquo;Tell me my fault,&rdquo; was all he said.</p>
+<p class="poetry">When, at high Noon, the blazing sky<br />
+Scorched in his head each haggard eye,<br />
+Then keenest rose his weary cry.</p>
+<p class="poetry">And when at Eve the unpitying sun<br />
+Smiled grimly on the solemn fun,<br />
+&ldquo;Alack,&rdquo; he sighed, &ldquo;what <i>have</i> I
+done?&rdquo;</p>
+<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page114"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 114</span>
+<a href="images/p114b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"Tortured, unaided, and alone"
+title=
+"Tortured, unaided, and alone"
+src="images/p114s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page115"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+115</span>But saddest, darkest was the sight,<br />
+When the cold grasp of leaden Night<br />
+Dashed him to earth, and held him tight.</p>
+<p class="poetry">Tortured, unaided, and alone,<br />
+Thunders were silence to his groan,<br />
+Bagpipes sweet music to its tone:</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;What?&nbsp; Ever thus, in dismal
+round,<br />
+Shall Pain and Mystery profound<br />
+Pursue me like a sleepless hound,</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;With crimson-dashed and eager jaws,<br
+/>
+Me, still in ignorance of the cause,<br />
+Unknowing what I broke of laws?&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">The whisper to his ear did seem<br />
+Like echoed flow of silent stream,<br />
+Or shadow of forgotten dream,</p>
+<p class="poetry">The whisper trembling in the wind:<br />
+&ldquo;Her fate with thine was intertwined,&rdquo;<br />
+So spake it in his inner mind:</p>
+<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page116"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 116</span>
+<a href="images/p116b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"a scared dullard, gibbering low"
+title=
+"a scared dullard, gibbering low"
+src="images/p116s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page117"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+117</span>&ldquo;Each orbed on each a baleful star:<br />
+Each proved the other&rsquo;s blight and bar:<br />
+Each unto each were best, most far:</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;Yea, each to each was worse than foe:<br
+/>
+Thou, a scared dullard, gibbering low,<br />
+<span class="smcap">And she</span>, <span class="smcap">an
+avalanche of woe</span>!&rdquo;</p>
+<h2><a name="page118"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+118</span>T&Egrave;MA CON VARIAZI&Ograve;NI</h2>
+<p>[Why is it that Poetry has never yet been subjected to that
+process of Dilution which has proved so advantageous to her
+sister-art Music?&nbsp; The Diluter gives us first a few notes of
+some well-known Air, then a dozen bars of his own, then a few
+more notes of the Air, and so on alternately: thus saving the
+listener, if not from all risk of recognising the melody at all,
+at least from the too-exciting transports which it might produce
+in a more concentrated form.&nbsp; The process is termed
+&ldquo;setting&rdquo; by Composers, and any one, that has ever
+experienced the emotion of being unexpectedly set down in a heap
+of mortar, will recognise the truthfulness of this happy
+phrase.</p>
+<p>For truly, just as the genuine Epicure lingers lovingly over a
+morsel of supreme Venison&mdash;whose every fibre seems to murmur
+&ldquo;Excelsior!&rdquo;&mdash;yet swallows, ere returning to the
+toothsome dainty, great mouthfuls of oatmeal-porridge and
+winkles: and just as the perfect Connoisseur in Claret permits
+himself but one delicate sip, and then tosses off a pint or more
+of boarding-school beer: so also&mdash;</p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page119"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+119</span>I <span class="smcap">never</span> loved a dear
+Gazelle&mdash;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; <i>Nor anything that cost me much</i>:<br />
+<i>High prices profit those who sell</i>,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; <i>But why should I be fond of such</i>?</p>
+<p class="poetry">To glad me with his soft black eye<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; <i>My son comes trotting home from school</i>;<br />
+<i>He&rsquo;s had a fight but can&rsquo;t tell why</i>&mdash;<br
+/>
+&nbsp;&nbsp; <i>He always was a little fool</i>!</p>
+<p class="poetry">But, when he came to know me well,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; <i>He kicked me out</i>, <i>her testy Sire</i>:<br
+/>
+<i>And when I stained my hair</i>, <i>that Belle</i><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; <i>Might note the change</i>, <i>and thus
+admire</i></p>
+<p class="poetry">And love me, it was sure to dye<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; <i>A muddy green or staring blue</i>:<br />
+<i>Whilst one might trace</i>, <i>with half an eye</i>,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; <i>The still triumphant carrot through</i>.</p>
+<h2><a name="page120"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 120</span>A
+GAME OF FIVES</h2>
+<p style="text-align: center">
+<a href="images/p120b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"Five little girls"
+title=
+"Five little girls"
+src="images/p120s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Five</span> little girls,
+of Five, Four, Three, Two, One:<br />
+Rolling on the hearthrug, full of tricks and fun.</p>
+<p class="poetry">Five rosy girls, in years from Ten to Six:<br
+/>
+Sitting down to lessons&mdash;no more time for tricks.</p>
+<p class="poetry">Five growing girls, from Fifteen to Eleven:<br
+/>
+Music, Drawing, Languages, and food enough for seven!</p>
+<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page121"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 121</span>
+<a href="images/p121b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"Now tell me which you mean"
+title=
+"Now tell me which you mean"
+src="images/p121s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page122"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+122</span>Five winsome girls, from Twenty to Sixteen:<br />
+Each young man that calls, I say &ldquo;Now tell me which you
+<i>mean</i>!&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">Five dashing girls, the youngest Twenty-one:<br
+/>
+But, if nobody proposes, what is there to be done?</p>
+<p class="poetry">Five showy girls&mdash;but Thirty is an age<br
+/>
+When girls may be <i>engaging</i>, but they somehow don&rsquo;t
+<i>engage</i>.</p>
+<p class="poetry">Five dressy girls, of Thirty-one or more:<br />
+So gracious to the shy young men they snubbed so much before!</p>
+<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry">* * * *</p>
+<p class="poetry">Five <i>pass&eacute;</i> girls&mdash;Their
+age?&nbsp; Well, never mind!<br />
+We jog along together, like the rest of human kind:<br />
+But the quondam &ldquo;careless bachelor&rdquo; begins to think
+he knows<br />
+The answer to that ancient problem &ldquo;how the money
+goes&rdquo;!</p>
+<h2><a name="page123"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+123</span>POETA FIT, NON NASCITUR</h2>
+<p style="text-align: center">
+<a href="images/p123b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"Child on old man&rsquo;s knee"
+title=
+"Child on old man&rsquo;s knee"
+src="images/p123s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;How shall I be a poet?<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; How shall I write in rhyme?<br />
+<a name="page124"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 124</span>You told
+me once &lsquo;the very wish<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Partook of the sublime.&rsquo;<br />
+Then tell me how!&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t put me off<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; With your &lsquo;another time&rsquo;!&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">The old man smiled to see him,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; To hear his sudden sally;<br />
+He liked the lad to speak his mind<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Enthusiastically;<br />
+And thought &ldquo;There&rsquo;s no hum-drum in him,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Nor any shilly-shally.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;And would you be a poet<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Before you&rsquo;ve been to school?<br />
+Ah, well!&nbsp; I hardly thought you<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; So absolute a fool.<br />
+First learn to be spasmodic&mdash;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; A very simple rule.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;For first you write a sentence,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; And then you chop it small;<br />
+Then mix the bits, and sort them out<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Just as they chance to fall:<br />
+<a name="page125"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 125</span>The
+order of the phrases makes<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; No difference at all.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;Then, if you&rsquo;d be impressive,<br
+/>
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Remember what I say,<br />
+That abstract qualities begin<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; With capitals alway:<br />
+The True, the Good, the Beautiful&mdash;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Those are the things that pay!</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;Next, when you are describing<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; A shape, or sound, or tint;<br />
+Don&rsquo;t state the matter plainly,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; But put it in a hint;<br />
+And learn to look at all things<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; With a sort of mental squint.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;For instance, if I wished, Sir,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Of mutton-pies to tell,<br />
+Should I say &lsquo;dreams of fleecy flocks<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Pent in a wheaten cell&rsquo;?&rdquo;<br />
+&ldquo;Why, yes,&rdquo; the old man said: &ldquo;that phrase<br
+/>
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Would answer very well.</p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page126"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+126</span>&ldquo;Then fourthly, there are epithets<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; That suit with any word&mdash;<br />
+As well as Harvey&rsquo;s Reading Sauce<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; With fish, or flesh, or bird&mdash;<br />
+Of these, &lsquo;wild,&rsquo; &lsquo;lonely,&rsquo;
+&lsquo;weary,&rsquo; &lsquo;strange,&rsquo;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Are much to be preferred.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;And will it do, O will it do<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; To take them in a lump&mdash;<br />
+As &lsquo;the wild man went his weary way<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; To a strange and lonely pump&rsquo;?&rdquo;<br />
+&ldquo;Nay, nay!&nbsp; You must not hastily<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; To such conclusions jump.</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">
+<a href="images/p127b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"The wild man went his weary way"
+title=
+"The wild man went his weary way"
+src="images/p127s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;Such epithets, like pepper,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Give zest to what you write;<br />
+And, if you strew them sparely,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; They whet the appetite:<br />
+But if you lay them on too thick,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; You spoil the matter quite!</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;Last, as to the arrangement:<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Your reader, you should show him,<br />
+<a name="page128"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 128</span>Must
+take what information he<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Can get, and look for no im-<br />
+mature disclosure of the drift<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; And purpose of your poem.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;Therefore, to test his
+patience&mdash;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; How much he can endure&mdash;<br />
+Mention no places, names, or dates,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; And evermore be sure<br />
+Throughout the poem to be found<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Consistently obscure.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;First fix upon the limit<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; To which it shall extend:<br />
+Then fill it up with &lsquo;Padding&rsquo;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; (Beg some of any friend):<br />
+Your great <span class="smcap">Sensation-stanza</span><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; You place towards the end.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;And what is a Sensation,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Grandfather, tell me, pray?<br />
+I think I never heard the word<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; So used before to-day:<br />
+<a name="page129"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 129</span>Be kind
+enough to mention one<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; &lsquo;<i>Exempli
+grati&acirc;</i>.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">And the old man, looking sadly<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Across the garden-lawn,<br />
+Where here and there a dew-drop<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Yet glittered in the dawn,<br />
+Said &ldquo;Go to the Adelphi,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; And see the &lsquo;Colleen Bawn.&rsquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;The word is due to Boucicault&mdash;<br
+/>
+&nbsp;&nbsp; The theory is his,<br />
+Where Life becomes a Spasm,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; And History a Whiz:<br />
+If that is not Sensation,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t know what it is.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;Now try your hand, ere Fancy<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Have lost its present glow&mdash;&rdquo;<br />
+&ldquo;And then,&rdquo; his grandson added,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; &ldquo;We&rsquo;ll publish it, you know:<br />
+Green cloth&mdash;gold-lettered at the back&mdash;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; In duodecimo!&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page130"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+130</span>Then proudly smiled that old man<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; To see the eager lad<br />
+Rush madly for his pen and ink<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; And for his blotting-pad&mdash;<br />
+But, when he thought of <i>publishing</i>,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; His face grew stern and sad.</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">
+<a href="images/p130b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"His face grew stern and sad"
+title=
+"His face grew stern and sad"
+src="images/p130s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<h2><a name="page131"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 131</span>SIZE
+AND TEARS</h2>
+<p style="text-align: center">
+<a href="images/p131b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"When on the sandy shore I sit"
+title=
+"When on the sandy shore I sit"
+src="images/p131s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> on the sandy
+shore I sit,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Beside the salt sea-wave,<br />
+And fall into a weeping fit<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Because I dare not shave&mdash;<br />
+<a name="page132"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 132</span>A little
+whisper at my ear<br />
+Enquires the reason of my fear.</p>
+<p class="poetry">I answer &ldquo;If that ruffian Jones<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Should recognise me here,<br />
+He&rsquo;d bellow out my name in tones<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Offensive to the ear:<br />
+He chaffs me so on being stout<br />
+(A thing that always puts me out).&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">Ah me!&nbsp; I see him on the cliff!<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Farewell, farewell to hope,<br />
+If he should look this way, and if<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; He&rsquo;s got his telescope!<br />
+To whatsoever place I flee,<br />
+My odious rival follows me!</p>
+<p class="poetry">For every night, and everywhere,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; I meet him out at dinner;<br />
+And when I&rsquo;ve found some charming fair,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; And vowed to die or win her,<br />
+The wretch (he&rsquo;s thin and I am stout)<br />
+Is sure to come and cut me out!</p>
+<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page133"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 133</span>
+<a href="images/p133b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"He&rsquo;s thin and I am stout"
+title=
+"He&rsquo;s thin and I am stout"
+src="images/p133s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page134"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+134</span>The girls (just like them!) all agree<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; To praise J. Jones, Esquire:<br />
+I ask them what on earth they see<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; About him to admire?<br />
+They cry &ldquo;He is so sleek and slim,<br />
+It&rsquo;s quite a treat to look at him!&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">They vanish in tobacco smoke,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Those visionary maids&mdash;<br />
+I feel a sharp and sudden poke<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Between the shoulder-blades&mdash;<br />
+&ldquo;Why, Brown, my boy!&nbsp; Your growing stout!&rdquo;<br />
+(I told you he would find me out!)</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;My growth is not <i>your</i> business,
+Sir!&rdquo;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; &ldquo;No more it is, my boy!<br />
+But if it&rsquo;s <i>yours</i>, as I infer,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Why, Brown, I give you joy!<br />
+A man, whose business prospers so,<br />
+Is just the sort of man to know!</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;It&rsquo;s hardly safe, though, talking
+here&mdash;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; I&rsquo;d best get out of reach:<br />
+<a name="page135"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 135</span>For such
+a weight as yours, I fear,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Must shortly sink the beach!&rdquo;&mdash;<br />
+Insult me thus because I&rsquo;m stout!<br />
+I vow I&rsquo;ll go and call him out!</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">
+<a href="images/p135b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"For such a weight as yours . . ."
+title=
+"For such a weight as yours . . ."
+src="images/p135s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<h2><a name="page136"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+136</span>ATALANTA IN CAMDEN-TOWN</h2>
+<p
+class="poetry">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Ay,
+&rsquo;twas here, on this spot,<br />
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;
+In that summer of yore,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Atalanta did
+not<br />
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;
+Vote my presence a bore,<br />
+Nor reply to my tenderest talk &ldquo;She had<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; heard all that nonsense
+before.&rdquo;</p>
+<p
+class="poetry">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;She&rsquo;d
+the brooch I had bought<br />
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;
+And the necklace and sash on,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And her heart,
+as I thought,<br />
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;
+Was alive to my passion;<br />
+And she&rsquo;d done up her hair in the style that<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; the Empress had brought into
+fashion.</p>
+<p
+class="poetry">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I
+had been to the play<br />
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;
+With my pearl of a Peri&mdash;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; But, for all I
+could say,<br />
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;
+She declared she was weary,<br />
+<a name="page137"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 137</span>That
+&ldquo;the place was so crowded and hot, and<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; she couldn&rsquo;t abide that
+Dundreary.&rdquo;</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">
+<a href="images/p137b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"On this spot . . ."
+title=
+"On this spot . . ."
+src="images/p137s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p
+class="poetry">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Then
+I thought &ldquo;Lucky boy!<br />
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;
+&rsquo;Tis for <i>you</i> that she whimpers!&rdquo;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And I noted with
+joy<br />
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;
+Those sensational simpers:<br />
+And I said &ldquo;This is scrumptious!&rdquo;&mdash;a<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; phrase I had learned from the
+Devonshire shrimpers.</p>
+<p
+class="poetry">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a
+name="page138"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 138</span>And I vowed
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Twill be said<br />
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;
+I&rsquo;m a fortunate fellow,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; When the
+breakfast is spread,<br />
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;
+When the topers are mellow,<br />
+When the foam of the bride-cake is white,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; and the fierce orange-blossoms are
+yellow!&rdquo;</p>
+<p
+class="poetry">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;O
+that languishing yawn!<br />
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;
+O those eloquent eyes!<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; I was drunk with
+the dawn<br />
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;
+Of a splendid surmise&mdash;<br />
+I was stung by a look, I was slain by a tear,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; by a tempest of sighs.</p>
+<p
+class="poetry">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Then
+I whispered &ldquo;I see<br />
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;
+The sweet secret thou keepest.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And the yearning
+for <i>ME</i><br />
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;
+That thou wistfully weepest!<br />
+And the question is &lsquo;License or Banns?&rsquo;,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; though undoubtedly Banns are the
+cheapest.&rdquo;</p>
+<p
+class="poetry">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a
+name="page139"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 139</span>&ldquo;Be
+my Hero,&rdquo; said I,<br />
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;
+&ldquo;And let <i>me</i> be Leander!&rdquo;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; But I lost her
+reply&mdash;<br />
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;
+Something ending with &ldquo;gander&rdquo;&mdash;<br />
+For the omnibus rattled so loud that no<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; mortal could quite understand
+her.</p>
+<h2><a name="page140"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 140</span>THE
+LANG COORTIN&rsquo;</h2>
+<p class="poetry">The ladye she stood at her lattice high,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Wi&rsquo; her doggie at her feet;<br />
+Thorough the lattice she can spy<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; The passers in the street,</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;There&rsquo;s one that standeth at the
+door,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; And tirleth at the pin:<br />
+Now speak and say, my popinjay,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; If I sall let him in.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">Then up and spake the popinjay<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; That flew abune her head:<br />
+&ldquo;Gae let him in that tirls the pin:<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; He cometh thee to wed.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">O when he cam&rsquo; the parlour in,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; A woeful man was he!<br />
+<a name="page141"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+141</span>&ldquo;And dinna ye ken your lover agen,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Sae well that loveth thee?&rdquo;</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">
+<a href="images/p141b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"The popinjay"
+title=
+"The popinjay"
+src="images/p141s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;And how wad I ken ye loved me, Sir,<br
+/>
+&nbsp;&nbsp; That have been sae lang away?<br />
+And how wad I ken ye loved me, Sir?<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Ye never telled me sae.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">Said&mdash;&ldquo;Ladye dear,&rdquo; and the
+salt, salt tear<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Cam&rsquo; rinnin&rsquo; doon his cheek,<br />
+&ldquo;I have sent the tokens of my love<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; This many and many a week.</p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page142"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+142</span>&ldquo;O didna ye get the rings, Ladye,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; The rings o&rsquo; the gowd sae fine?<br />
+I wot that I have sent to thee<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Four score, four score and nine.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;They cam&rsquo; to me,&rdquo; said that
+fair ladye.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; &ldquo;Wow, they were flimsie things!&rdquo;<br />
+Said&mdash;&ldquo;that chain o&rsquo; gowd, my doggie to howd,<br
+/>
+&nbsp;&nbsp; It is made o&rsquo; thae self-same rings.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;And didna ye get the locks, the
+locks,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; The locks o&rsquo; my ain black hair,<br />
+<a name="page143"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 143</span>Whilk I
+sent by post, whilk I sent by box,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Whilk I sent by the carrier?&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;They cam&rsquo; to me,&rdquo; said that
+fair ladye;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; &ldquo;And I prithee send nae mair!&rdquo;<br />
+Said&mdash;&ldquo;that cushion sae red, for my doggie&rsquo;s
+head,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; It is stuffed wi&rsquo; thae locks o&rsquo;
+hair.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;And didna ye get the letter, Ladye,<br
+/>
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Tied wi&rsquo; a silken string,<br />
+Whilk I sent to thee frae the far countrie,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; A message of love to bring?&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;It cam&rsquo; to me frae the far
+countrie<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Wi&rsquo; its silken string and a&rsquo;;<br />
+But it wasna prepaid,&rdquo; said that high-born maid,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; &ldquo;Sae I gar&rsquo;d them tak&rsquo; it
+awa&rsquo;.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;O ever alack that ye sent it back,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; It was written sae clerkly and well!<br />
+Now the message it brought, and the boon that it sought,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; I must even say it mysel&rsquo;.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">Then up and spake the popinjay,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Sae wisely counselled he.<br />
+&ldquo;Now say it in the proper way:<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Gae doon upon thy knee!&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">The lover he turned baith red and pale,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Went doon upon his knee:<br />
+&ldquo;O Ladye, hear the waesome tale<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; That must be told to thee!</p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page144"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+144</span>&ldquo;For five lang years, and five lang years,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; I coorted thee by looks;<br />
+By nods and winks, by smiles and tears,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; As I had read in books.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;For ten lang years, O weary hours!<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; I coorted thee by signs;<br />
+By sending game, by sending flowers,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; By sending Valentines.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;For five lang years, and five lang
+years,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; I have dwelt in the far countrie,<br />
+Till that thy mind should be inclined<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Mair tenderly to me.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;Now thirty years are gane and past,<br
+/>
+&nbsp;&nbsp; I am come frae a foreign land:<br />
+I am come to tell thee my love at last&mdash;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; O Ladye, gie me thy hand!&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">The ladye she turned not pale nor red,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; But she smiled a pitiful smile:<br />
+&ldquo;Sic&rsquo; a coortin&rsquo; as yours, my man,&rdquo; she
+said<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; &ldquo;Takes a lang and a weary while!&rdquo;</p>
+<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page145"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 145</span>
+<a href="images/p145b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"And out and laughed the popinjay"
+title=
+"And out and laughed the popinjay"
+src="images/p145s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page146"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+146</span>And out and laughed the popinjay,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; A laugh of bitter scorn:<br />
+&ldquo;A coortin&rsquo; done in sic&rsquo; a way,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; It ought not to be borne!&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">Wi&rsquo; that the doggie barked aloud,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; And up and doon he ran,<br />
+And tugged and strained his chain o&rsquo; gowd,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; All for to bite the man.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;O hush thee, gentle popinjay!<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; O hush thee, doggie dear!<br />
+There is a word I fain wad say,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; It needeth he should hear!&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">Aye louder screamed that ladye fair<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; To drown her doggie&rsquo;s bark:<br />
+Ever the lover shouted mair<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; To make that ladye hark:</p>
+<p class="poetry">Shrill and more shrill the popinjay<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Upraised his angry squall:<br />
+I trow the doggie&rsquo;s voice that day<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Was louder than them all!</p>
+<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page147"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 147</span>
+<a href="images/p147b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"O hush thee, gentle gentle popinjay!"
+title=
+"O hush thee, gentle gentle popinjay!"
+src="images/p147s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page148"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+148</span>The serving-men and serving-maids<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Sat by the kitchen fire:<br />
+They heard sic&rsquo; a din the parlour within<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; As made them much admire.</p>
+<p class="poetry">Out spake the boy in buttons<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; (I ween he wasna thin),<br />
+&ldquo;Now wha will tae the parlour gae,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; And stay this deadlie din?&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">And they have taen a kerchief,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Casted their kevils in,<br />
+For wha will tae the parlour gae,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; And stay that deadlie din.</p>
+<p class="poetry">When on that boy the kevil fell<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; To stay the fearsome noise,<br />
+&ldquo;Gae in,&rdquo; they cried, &ldquo;whate&rsquo;er
+betide,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Thou prince of button-boys!&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">Syne, he has taen a supple cane<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; To swinge that dog sae fat:<br />
+The doggie yowled, the doggie howled<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; The louder aye for that.</p>
+<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page149"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 149</span>
+<a href="images/p149b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"The doggie ceased his noise"
+title=
+"The doggie ceased his noise"
+src="images/p149s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page150"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+150</span>Syne, he has taen a mutton-bane&mdash;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; The doggie ceased his noise,<br />
+And followed doon the kitchen stair<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; That prince of button-boys!</p>
+<p class="poetry">Then sadly spake that ladye fair,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Wi&rsquo; a frown upon her brow:<br />
+&ldquo;O dearer to me is my sma&rsquo; doggie<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Than a dozen sic&rsquo; as thou!</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;Nae use, nae use for sighs and tears:<br
+/>
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Nae use at all to fret:<br />
+Sin&rsquo; ye&rsquo;ve bided sae well for thirty years,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Ye may bide a wee langer yet!&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">Sadly, sadly he crossed the floor<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; And tirl&euml;d at the pin:<br />
+Sadly went he through the door<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Where sadly he cam&rsquo; in.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;O gin I had a popinjay<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; To fly abune my head,<br />
+To tell me what I ought to say,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; I had by this been wed.</p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page151"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+151</span>&ldquo;O gin I find anither ladye,&rdquo;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; He said wi&rsquo; sighs and tears,<br />
+&ldquo;I wot my coortin&rsquo; sall not be<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Anither thirty years</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;For gin I find a ladye gay,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Exactly to my taste,<br />
+I&rsquo;ll pop the question, aye or nay,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; In twenty years at maist.&rdquo;</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">
+<a href="images/p151b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"Sadly went he through the door"
+title=
+"Sadly went he through the door"
+src="images/p151s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<h2><a name="page152"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 152</span>FOUR
+RIDDLES</h2>
+<p>[<span class="smcap">These</span> consist of two Double
+Acrostics and two Charades.</p>
+<p>No. I. was written at the request of some young friends, who
+had gone to a ball at an Oxford Commemoration&mdash;and also as a
+specimen of what might be done by making the Double Acrostic <i>a
+connected poem</i> instead of what it has hitherto been, a string
+of disjointed stanzas, on every conceivable subject, and about as
+interesting to read straight through as a page of a
+Cyclop&aelig;dia.&nbsp; The first two stanzas describe the two
+main words, and each subsequent stanza one of the cross
+&ldquo;lights.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>No. II. was written after seeing Miss Ellen Terry perform in
+the play of &ldquo;Hamlet.&rdquo;&nbsp; In this case the first
+stanza describes the two main words.</p>
+<p>No. III. was written after seeing Miss Marion Terry perform in
+Mr. Gilbert&rsquo;s play of &ldquo;Pygmalion and
+Galatea.&rdquo;&nbsp; The three stanzas respectively describe
+&ldquo;My First,&rdquo; &ldquo;My Second,&rdquo; and &ldquo;My
+Whole.&rdquo;]</p>
+<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry"><a
+name="page153"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 153</span>I</p>
+<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">There</span> was an ancient
+City, stricken down<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; With a strange frenzy, and for many a day<br />
+They paced from morn to eve the crowded town,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And danced the
+night away.</p>
+<p class="poetry">I asked the cause: the aged man grew sad:<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; They pointed to a building gray and tall,<br />
+And hoarsely answered &ldquo;Step inside, my lad,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And then
+you&rsquo;ll see it all.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<div class="gapshortline">&nbsp;</div>
+<p class="poetry">Yet what are all such gaieties to me<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Whose thoughts are full of indices and surds?</p>
+<p class="poetry"><i>x</i><sup>2</sup> + 7<i>x</i> + 53 =
+<sup>11</sup>/<sub>3</sub></p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page154"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+154</span>But something whispered &ldquo;It will soon be done:<br
+/>
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Bands cannot always play, nor ladies smile:<br />
+Endure with patience the distasteful fun<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; For just a
+little while!&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">A change came o&rsquo;er my Vision&mdash;it was
+night:<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; We clove a pathway through a frantic throng:<br />
+The steeds, wild-plunging, filled us with affright:<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The chariots
+whirled along.</p>
+<p class="poetry">Within a marble hall a river ran&mdash;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; A living tide, half muslin and half cloth:<br />
+And here one mourned a broken wreath or fan,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Yet swallowed
+down her wrath;</p>
+<p class="poetry">And here one offered to a thirsty fair<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; (His words half-drowned amid those thunders
+tuneful)<br />
+<a name="page155"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 155</span>Some
+frozen viand (there were many there),<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; A tooth-ache in
+each spoonful.</p>
+<p class="poetry">There comes a happy pause, for human
+strength<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Will not endure to dance without cessation;<br />
+And every one must reach the point at length<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Of absolute
+prostration.</p>
+<p class="poetry">At such a moment ladies learn to give,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; To partners who would urge them over-much,<br />
+A flat and yet decided negative&mdash;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Photographers
+love such.</p>
+<p class="poetry">There comes a welcome summons&mdash;hope
+revives,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; And fading eyes grow bright, and pulses quicken:<br
+/>
+Incessant pop the corks, and busy knives<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Dispense the
+tongue and chicken.</p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page156"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+156</span>Flushed with new life, the crowd flows back again:<br
+/>
+&nbsp;&nbsp; And all is tangled talk and mazy motion&mdash;<br />
+Much like a waving field of golden grain,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Or a tempestuous
+ocean.</p>
+<p class="poetry">And thus they give the time, that Nature
+meant<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; For peaceful sleep and meditative snores,<br />
+To ceaseless din and mindless merriment<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And waste of
+shoes and floors.</p>
+<p class="poetry">And One (we name him not) that flies the
+flowers,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; That dreads the dances, and that shuns the
+salads,<br />
+They doom to pass in solitude the hours,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Writing
+acrostic-ballads.</p>
+<p class="poetry">How late it grows!&nbsp; The hour is surely
+past<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; That should have warned us with its double knock?<br
+/>
+<a name="page157"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 157</span>The
+twilight wanes, and morning comes at last&mdash;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; &ldquo;Oh,
+Uncle, what&rsquo;s o&rsquo;clock?&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">The Uncle gravely nods, and wisely winks.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; It <i>may</i> mean much, but how is one to know?<br
+/>
+He opens his mouth&mdash;yet out of it, methinks,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; No words of
+wisdom flow.</p>
+<h3>II</h3>
+<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Empress</span> of Art, for
+thee I twine<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; This wreath with all too slender skill.<br />
+Forgive my Muse each halting line,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; And for the deed accept the will!</p>
+
+<div class="gapshortline">&nbsp;</div>
+<p class="poetry">O day of tears!&nbsp; Whence comes this spectre
+grim,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Parting, like Death&rsquo;s cold river, souls that
+love?<br />
+<a name="page158"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 158</span>Is not
+he bound to thee, as thou to him,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; By vows, unwhispered here, yet heard above?</p>
+<p class="poetry">And still it lives, that keen and heavenward
+flame,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Lives in his eye, and trembles in his tone:<br />
+And these wild words of fury but proclaim<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; A heart that beats for thee, for thee alone!</p>
+<p class="poetry">But all is lost: that mighty mind
+o&rsquo;erthrown,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Like sweet bells jangled, piteous sight to see!<br
+/>
+&ldquo;Doubt that the stars are fire,&rdquo; so runs his moan,<br
+/>
+&nbsp;&nbsp; &ldquo;Doubt Truth herself, but not my love for
+thee!&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">A sadder vision yet: thine aged sire<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Shaming his hoary locks with treacherous wile!<br />
+<a name="page159"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 159</span>And dost
+thou now doubt Truth to be a liar?<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; And wilt thou die, that hast forgot to smile?</p>
+<p class="poetry">Nay, get thee hence!&nbsp; Leave all thy
+winsome ways<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; And the faint fragrance of thy scattered flowers:<br
+/>
+In holy silence wait the appointed days,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; And weep away the leaden-footed hours.</p>
+<h3>III.</h3>
+<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> air is bright
+with hues of light<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; And rich with laughter and with singing:<br />
+Young hearts beat high in ecstasy,<br />
+And banners wave, and bells are ringing:<br />
+But silence falls with fading day,<br />
+And there&rsquo;s an end to mirth and play.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Ah,
+well-a-day</p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page160"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+160</span>Rest your old bones, ye wrinkled crones!<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; The kettle sings, the firelight dances.<br />
+Deep be it quaffed, the magic draught<br />
+That fills the soul with golden fancies!<br />
+For Youth and Pleasance will not stay,<br />
+And ye are withered, worn, and gray.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Ah,
+well-a-day!</p>
+<p class="poetry">O fair cold face!&nbsp; O form of grace,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; For human passion madly yearning!<br />
+O weary air of dumb despair,<br />
+From marble won, to marble turning!<br />
+&ldquo;Leave us not thus!&rdquo; we fondly pray.<br />
+&ldquo;We cannot let thee pass away!&rdquo;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Ah,
+well-a-day!</p>
+<h3>IV.</h3>
+<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">My</span> First is singular
+at best:<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; More plural is my Second:<br />
+My Third is far the pluralest&mdash;<br />
+So plural-plural, I protest<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; It scarcely can be reckoned!</p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page161"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+161</span>My First is followed by a bird:<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; My Second by believers<br />
+In magic art: my simple Third<br />
+Follows, too often, hopes absurd<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And plausible deceivers.</p>
+<p class="poetry">My First to get at wisdom tries&mdash;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; A failure melancholy!<br />
+My Second men revered as wise:<br />
+My Third from heights of wisdom flies<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; To depths of frantic folly.</p>
+<p class="poetry">My First is ageing day by day:<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; My Second&rsquo;s age is ended:<br
+/>
+My Third enjoys an age, they say,<br />
+That never seems to fade away,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Through centuries extended.</p>
+<p class="poetry">My Whole?&nbsp; I need a poet&rsquo;s pen<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; To paint her myriad phases:<br />
+The monarch, and the slave, of men&mdash;<br />
+A mountain-summit, and a den<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Of dark and deadly
+mazes&mdash;</p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page162"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+162</span>A flashing light&mdash;a fleeting shade&mdash;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Beginning, end, and middle<br />
+Of all that human art hath made<br />
+Or wit devised!&nbsp; Go, seek <i>her</i> aid,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; If you would read my riddle!</p>
+<h2><a name="page163"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+163</span>FAME&rsquo;S PENNY-TRUMPET</h2>
+<p>[Affectionately dedicated to all &ldquo;original
+researchers&rdquo; who pant for &ldquo;endowment.&rdquo;]</p>
+<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Blow</span>, blow your
+trumpets till they crack,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Ye little men of little souls!<br />
+And bid them huddle at your back&mdash;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Gold-sucking leeches, shoals on shoals!</p>
+<p class="poetry">Fill all the air with hungry wails&mdash;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; &ldquo;Reward us, ere we think or write!<br />
+Without your Gold mere Knowledge fails<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; To sate the swinish appetite!&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">And, where great Plato paced serene,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Or Newton paused with wistful eye,<br />
+Rush to the chace with hoofs unclean<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; And Babel-clamour of the sty</p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page164"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+164</span>Be yours the pay: be theirs the praise:<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; We will not rob them of their due,<br />
+Nor vex the ghosts of other days<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; By naming them along with you.</p>
+<p class="poetry">They sought and found undying fame:<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; They toiled not for reward nor thanks:<br />
+Their cheeks are hot with honest shame<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; For you, the modern mountebanks!</p>
+<p class="poetry">Who preach of Justice&mdash;plead with tears<br
+/>
+&nbsp;&nbsp; That Love and Mercy should abound&mdash;<br />
+While marking with complacent ears<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; The moaning of some tortured hound:</p>
+<p class="poetry">Who prate of Wisdom&mdash;nay, forbear,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Lest Wisdom turn on you in wrath,<br />
+Trampling, with heel that will not spare,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; The vermin that beset her path!</p>
+<p class="poetry">Go, throng each other&rsquo;s drawing-rooms,<br
+/>
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Ye idols of a petty clique:<br />
+Strut your brief hour in borrowed plumes,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; And make your penny-trumpets squeak.</p>
+<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page165"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 165</span>
+<a href="images/p165b.jpg">
+<img alt=
+"Go, throng each other&rsquo;s drawing-rooms"
+title=
+"Go, throng each other&rsquo;s drawing-rooms"
+src="images/p165s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p class="poetry"><a name="page166"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+166</span>Deck your dull talk with pilfered shreds<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Of learning from a nobler time,<br />
+And oil each other&rsquo;s little heads<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; With mutual Flattery&rsquo;s golden slime:</p>
+<p class="poetry">And when the topmost height ye gain,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; And stand in Glory&rsquo;s ether clear,<br />
+And grasp the prize of all your pain&mdash;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; So many hundred pounds a year&mdash;</p>
+<p class="poetry">Then let Fame&rsquo;s banner be unfurled!<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Sing P&aelig;ans for a victory won!<br />
+Ye tapers, that would light the world,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; And cast a shadow on the Sun&mdash;</p>
+<p class="poetry">Who still shall pour His rays sublime,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; One crystal flood, from East to West,<br />
+When <i>ye</i> have burned your little time<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; And feebly flickered into rest!</p>
+<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PHANTASMAGORIA***</p>
+<pre>
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Phantasmagoria and Other Poems, by Lewis Carroll
+(#5 in our series by Lewis Carroll)
+
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+
+**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971**
+
+*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!*****
+
+
+Title: Phantasmagoria and Other Poems
+
+Author: Lewis Carroll
+
+Release Date: September, 1996  [EBook #651]
+[This file was first posted on September 17, 1996]
+[Most recently updated: September 2, 2002]
+
+Edition: 10
+
+Language: English
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+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, PHANTASMAGORIA AND OTHER POEMS ***
+
+
+
+
+Transcribed from the 1911 Macmillan and Co. edition by David Price,
+email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk
+
+
+
+
+PHANTASMAGORIA AND OTHER POEMS
+
+
+
+
+PHANTASMAGORIA
+
+
+
+CANTO I--The Trystyng
+
+
+
+One winter night, at half-past nine,
+Cold, tired, and cross, and muddy,
+I had come home, too late to dine,
+And supper, with cigars and wine,
+Was waiting in the study.
+
+There was a strangeness in the room,
+And Something white and wavy
+Was standing near me in the gloom -
+_I_ took it for the carpet-broom
+Left by that careless slavey.
+
+But presently the Thing began
+To shiver and to sneeze:
+On which I said "Come, come, my man!
+That's a most inconsiderate plan.
+Less noise there, if you please!"
+
+"I've caught a cold," the Thing replies,
+"Out there upon the landing."
+I turned to look in some surprise,
+And there, before my very eyes,
+A little Ghost was standing!
+
+He trembled when he caught my eye,
+And got behind a chair.
+"How came you here," I said, "and why?
+I never saw a thing so shy.
+Come out!  Don't shiver there!"
+
+He said "I'd gladly tell you how,
+And also tell you why;
+But" (here he gave a little bow)
+"You're in so bad a temper now,
+You'd think it all a lie.
+
+"And as to being in a fright,
+Allow me to remark
+That Ghosts have just as good a right
+In every way, to fear the light,
+As Men to fear the dark."
+
+"No plea," said I, "can well excuse
+Such cowardice in you:
+For Ghosts can visit when they choose,
+Whereas we Humans ca'n't refuse
+To grant the interview."
+
+He said "A flutter of alarm
+Is not unnatural, is it?
+I really feared you meant some harm:
+But, now I see that you are calm,
+Let me explain my visit.
+
+"Houses are classed, I beg to state,
+According to the number
+Of Ghosts that they accommodate:
+(The Tenant merely counts as WEIGHT,
+With Coals and other lumber).
+
+"This is a 'one-ghost' house, and you
+When you arrived last summer,
+May have remarked a Spectre who
+Was doing all that Ghosts can do
+To welcome the new-comer.
+
+"In Villas this is always done -
+However cheaply rented:
+For, though of course there's less of fun
+When there is only room for one,
+Ghosts have to be contented.
+
+"That Spectre left you on the Third -
+Since then you've not been haunted:
+For, as he never sent us word,
+'Twas quite by accident we heard
+That any one was wanted.
+
+"A Spectre has first choice, by right,
+In filling up a vacancy;
+Then Phantom, Goblin, Elf, and Sprite -
+If all these fail them, they invite
+The nicest Ghoul that they can see.
+
+"The Spectres said the place was low,
+And that you kept bad wine:
+So, as a Phantom had to go,
+And I was first, of course, you know,
+I couldn't well decline."
+
+"No doubt," said I, "they settled who
+Was fittest to be sent
+Yet still to choose a brat like you,
+To haunt a man of forty-two,
+Was no great compliment!"
+
+"I'm not so young, Sir," he replied,
+"As you might think.  The fact is,
+In caverns by the water-side,
+And other places that I've tried,
+I've had a lot of practice:
+
+"But I have never taken yet
+A strict domestic part,
+And in my flurry I forget
+The Five Good Rules of Etiquette
+We have to know by heart."
+
+My sympathies were warming fast
+Towards the little fellow:
+He was so utterly aghast
+At having found a Man at last,
+And looked so scared and yellow.
+
+"At least," I said, "I'm glad to find
+A Ghost is not a DUMB thing!
+But pray sit down:  you'll feel inclined
+(If, like myself, you have not dined)
+To take a snack of something:
+
+"Though, certainly, you don't appear
+A thing to offer FOOD to!
+And then I shall be glad to hear -
+If you will say them loud and clear -
+The Rules that you allude to."
+
+"Thanks!  You shall hear them by and by.
+This IS a piece of luck!"
+"What may I offer you?" said I.
+"Well, since you ARE so kind, I'll try
+A little bit of duck.
+
+"ONE slice!  And may I ask you for
+Another drop of gravy?"
+I sat and looked at him in awe,
+For certainly I never saw
+A thing so white and wavy.
+
+And still he seemed to grow more white,
+More vapoury, and wavier -
+Seen in the dim and flickering light,
+As he proceeded to recite
+His "Maxims of Behaviour."
+
+
+
+CANTO II--Hys Fyve Rules
+
+
+
+"My First--but don't suppose," he said,
+"I'm setting you a riddle -
+Is--if your Victim be in bed,
+Don't touch the curtains at his head,
+But take them in the middle,
+
+"And wave them slowly in and out,
+While drawing them asunder;
+And in a minute's time, no doubt,
+He'll raise his head and look about
+With eyes of wrath and wonder.
+
+"And here you must on no pretence
+Make the first observation.
+Wait for the Victim to commence:
+No Ghost of any common sense
+Begins a conversation.
+
+"If he should say 'HOW CAME YOU HERE?'
+(The way that YOU began, Sir,)
+In such a case your course is clear -
+'ON THE BAT'S BACK, MY LITTLE DEAR!'
+Is the appropriate answer.
+
+"If after this he says no more,
+You'd best perhaps curtail your
+Exertions--go and shake the door,
+And then, if he begins to snore,
+You'll know the thing's a failure.
+
+"By day, if he should be alone -
+At home or on a walk -
+You merely give a hollow groan,
+To indicate the kind of tone
+In which you mean to talk.
+
+"But if you find him with his friends,
+The thing is rather harder.
+In such a case success depends
+On picking up some candle-ends,
+Or butter, in the larder.
+
+"With this you make a kind of slide
+(It answers best with suet),
+On which you must contrive to glide,
+And swing yourself from side to side -
+One soon learns how to do it.
+
+"The Second tells us what is right
+In ceremonious calls:-
+'FIRST BURN A BLUE OR CRIMSON LIGHT'
+(A thing I quite forgot to-night),
+'THEN SCRATCH THE DOOR OR WALLS.'"
+
+I said "You'll visit HERE no more,
+If you attempt the Guy.
+I'll have no bonfires on MY floor -
+And, as for scratching at the door,
+I'd like to see you try!"
+
+"The Third was written to protect
+The interests of the Victim,
+And tells us, as I recollect,
+TO TREAT HIM WITH A GRAVE RESPECT,
+AND NOT TO CONTRADICT HIM."
+
+"That's plain," said I, "as Tare and Tret,
+To any comprehension:
+I only wish SOME Ghosts I've met
+Would not so CONSTANTLY forget
+The maxim that you mention!"
+
+"Perhaps," he said, "YOU first transgressed
+The laws of hospitality:
+All Ghosts instinctively detest
+The Man that fails to treat his guest
+With proper cordiality.
+
+"If you address a Ghost as 'Thing!'
+Or strike him with a hatchet,
+He is permitted by the King
+To drop all FORMAL parleying -
+And then you're SURE to catch it!
+
+"The Fourth prohibits trespassing
+Where other Ghosts are quartered:
+And those convicted of the thing
+(Unless when pardoned by the King)
+Must instantly be slaughtered.
+
+"That simply means 'be cut up small':
+Ghosts soon unite anew.
+The process scarcely hurts at all -
+Not more than when YOU're what you call
+'Cut up' by a Review.
+
+"The Fifth is one you may prefer
+That I should quote entire:-
+THE KING MUST BE ADDRESSED AS 'SIR.'
+THIS, FROM A SIMPLE COURTIER,
+IS ALL THE LAWS REQUIRE:
+
+"BUT, SHOULD YOU WISH TO DO THE THING
+WITH OUT-AND-OUT POLITENESS,
+ACCOST HIM AS 'MY GOBLIN KING!
+AND ALWAYS USE, IN ANSWERING,
+THE PHRASE 'YOUR ROYAL WHITENESS!'
+
+"I'm getting rather hoarse, I fear,
+After so much reciting :
+So, if you don't object, my dear,
+We'll try a glass of bitter beer -
+I think it looks inviting."
+
+
+
+CANTO III--Scarmoges
+
+
+
+"And did you really walk," said I,
+"On such a wretched night?
+I always fancied Ghosts could fly -
+If not exactly in the sky,
+Yet at a fairish height."
+
+"It's very well," said he, "for Kings
+To soar above the earth:
+But Phantoms often find that wings -
+Like many other pleasant things -
+Cost more than they are worth.
+
+"Spectres of course are rich, and so
+Can buy them from the Elves:
+But WE prefer to keep below -
+They're stupid company, you know,
+For any but themselves:
+
+"For, though they claim to be exempt
+From pride, they treat a Phantom
+As something quite beneath contempt -
+Just as no Turkey ever dreamt
+Of noticing a Bantam."
+
+"They seem too proud," said I, "to go
+To houses such as mine.
+Pray, how did they contrive to know
+So quickly that 'the place was low,'
+And that I 'kept bad wine'?"
+
+"Inspector Kobold came to you--"
+The little Ghost began.
+Here I broke in--"Inspector who?
+Inspecting Ghosts is something new!
+Explain yourself, my man!"
+
+"His name is Kobold," said my guest:
+"One of the Spectre order:
+You'll very often see him dressed
+In a yellow gown, a crimson vest,
+And a night-cap with a border.
+
+"He tried the Brocken business first,
+But caught a sort of chill ;
+So came to England to be nursed,
+And here it took the form of THIRST,
+Which he complains of still.
+
+"Port-wine, he says, when rich and sound,
+Warms his old bones like nectar:
+And as the inns, where it is found,
+Are his especial hunting-ground,
+We call him the INN-SPECTRE."
+
+I bore it--bore it like a man -
+This agonizing witticism!
+And nothing could be sweeter than
+My temper, till the Ghost began
+Some most provoking criticism.
+
+"Cooks need not be indulged in waste;
+Yet still you'd better teach them
+Dishes should have SOME SORT of taste.
+Pray, why are all the cruets placed
+Where nobody can reach them?
+
+"That man of yours will never earn
+His living as a waiter!
+Is that queer THING supposed to burn?
+(It's far too dismal a concern
+To call a Moderator).
+
+"The duck was tender, but the peas
+Were very much too old:
+And just remember, if you please,
+The NEXT time you have toasted cheese,
+Don't let them send it cold.
+
+"You'd find the bread improved, I think,
+By getting better flour:
+And have you anything to drink
+That looks a LITTLE less like ink,
+And isn't QUITE so sour?"
+
+Then, peering round with curious eyes,
+He muttered "Goodness gracious!"
+And so went on to criticise -
+"Your room's an inconvenient size:
+It's neither snug nor spacious.
+
+"That narrow window, I expect,
+Serves but to let the dusk in--"
+"But please," said I, "to recollect
+'Twas fashioned by an architect
+Who pinned his faith on Ruskin!"
+
+"I don't care who he was, Sir, or
+On whom he pinned his faith!
+Constructed by whatever law,
+So poor a job I never saw,
+As I'm a living Wraith!
+
+"What a re-markable cigar!
+How much are they a dozen?"
+I growled "No matter what they are!
+You're getting as familiar
+As if you were my cousin!
+
+"Now that's a thing _I_ WILL NOT STAND,
+And so I tell you flat."
+"Aha," said he, "we're getting grand!"
+(Taking a bottle in his hand)
+"I'll soon arrange for THAT!"
+
+And here he took a careful aim,
+And gaily cried "Here goes!"
+I tried to dodge it as it came,
+But somehow caught it, all the same,
+Exactly on my nose.
+
+And I remember nothing more
+That I can clearly fix,
+Till I was sitting on the floor,
+Repeating "Two and five are four,
+But FIVE AND TWO are six."
+
+What really passed I never learned,
+Nor guessed:  I only know
+That, when at last my sense returned,
+The lamp, neglected, dimly burned -
+The fire was getting low -
+
+Through driving mists I seemed to see
+A Thing that smirked and smiled:
+And found that he was giving me
+A lesson in Biography,
+As if I were a child.
+
+
+
+CANTO IV--Hys Nouryture
+
+
+
+"Oh, when I was a little Ghost,
+A merry time had we!
+Each seated on his favourite post,
+We chumped and chawed the buttered toast
+They gave us for our tea."
+
+"That story is in print!" I cried.
+"Don't say it's not, because
+It's known as well as Bradshaw's Guide!"
+(The Ghost uneasily replied
+He hardly thought it was).
+
+"It's not in Nursery Rhymes?  And yet
+I almost think it is -
+'Three little Ghosteses' were set
+'On posteses,' you know, and ate
+Their 'buttered toasteses.'
+
+"I have the book; so if you doubt it--"
+I turned to search the shelf.
+"Don't stir!" he cried.  "We'll do without it:
+I now remember all about it;
+I wrote the thing myself.
+
+"It came out in a 'Monthly,' or
+At least my agent said it did:
+Some literary swell, who saw
+It, thought it seemed adapted for
+The Magazine he edited.
+
+"My father was a Brownie, Sir;
+My mother was a Fairy.
+The notion had occurred to her,
+The children would be happier,
+If they were taught to vary.
+
+"The notion soon became a craze;
+And, when it once began, she
+Brought us all out in different ways -
+One was a Pixy, two were Fays,
+Another was a Banshee;
+
+"The Fetch and Kelpie went to school
+And gave a lot of trouble;
+Next came a Poltergeist and Ghoul,
+And then two Trolls (which broke the rule),
+A Goblin, and a Double -
+
+"(If that's a snuff-box on the shelf,"
+He added with a yawn,
+"I'll take a pinch)--next came an Elf,
+And then a Phantom (that's myself),
+And last, a Leprechaun.
+
+"One day, some Spectres chanced to call,
+Dressed in the usual white:
+I stood and watched them in the hall,
+And couldn't make them out at all,
+They seemed so strange a sight.
+
+"I wondered what on earth they were,
+That looked all head and sack;
+But Mother told me not to stare,
+And then she twitched me by the hair,
+And punched me in the back.
+
+"Since then I've often wished that I
+Had been a Spectre born.
+But what's the use?"  (He heaved a sigh.)
+"THEY are the ghost-nobility,
+And look on US with scorn.
+
+"My phantom-life was soon begun:
+When I was barely six,
+I went out with an older one -
+And just at first I thought it fun,
+And learned a lot of tricks.
+
+"I've haunted dungeons, castles, towers -
+Wherever I was sent:
+I've often sat and howled for hours,
+Drenched to the skin with driving showers,
+Upon a battlement.
+
+"It's quite old-fashioned now to groan
+When you begin to speak:
+This is the newest thing in tone--"
+And here (it chilled me to the bone)
+He gave an AWFUL squeak.
+
+"Perhaps," he added, "to YOUR ear
+That sounds an easy thing?
+Try it yourself, my little dear!
+It took ME something like a year,
+With constant practising.
+
+"And when you've learned to squeak, my man,
+And caught the double sob,
+You're pretty much where you began:
+Just try and gibber if you can!
+That's something LIKE a job!
+
+"I'VE tried it, and can only say
+I'm sure you couldn't do it, e-
+ven if you practised night and day,
+Unless you have a turn that way,
+And natural ingenuity.
+
+"Shakspeare I think it is who treats
+Of Ghosts, in days of old,
+Who 'gibbered in the Roman streets,'
+Dressed, if you recollect, in sheets -
+They must have found it cold.
+
+"I've often spent ten pounds on stuff,
+In dressing as a Double;
+But, though it answers as a puff,
+It never has effect enough
+To make it worth the trouble.
+
+"Long bills soon quenched the little thirst
+I had for being funny.
+The setting-up is always worst:
+Such heaps of things you want at first,
+One must be made of money!
+
+"For instance, take a Haunted Tower,
+With skull, cross-bones, and sheet;
+Blue lights to burn (say) two an hour,
+Condensing lens of extra power,
+And set of chains complete:
+
+"What with the things you have to hire -
+The fitting on the robe -
+And testing all the coloured fire -
+The outfit of itself would tire
+The patience of a Job!
+
+"And then they're so fastidious,
+The Haunted-House Committee:
+I've often known them make a fuss
+Because a Ghost was French, or Russ,
+Or even from the City!
+
+"Some dialects are objected to -
+For one, the IRISH brogue is:
+And then, for all you have to do,
+One pound a week they offer you,
+And find yourself in Bogies!
+
+
+
+CANTO V--Byckerment
+
+
+
+"Don't they consult the 'Victims,' though?"
+I said.  "They should, by rights,
+Give them a chance--because, you know,
+The tastes of people differ so,
+Especially in Sprites."
+
+The Phantom shook his head and smiled.
+"Consult them?  Not a bit!
+'Twould be a job to drive one wild,
+To satisfy one single child -
+There'd be no end to it!"
+
+"Of course you can't leave CHILDREN free,"
+Said I, "to pick and choose:
+But, in the case of men like me,
+I think 'Mine Host' might fairly be
+Allowed to state his views."
+
+He said "It really wouldn't pay -
+Folk are so full of fancies.
+We visit for a single day,
+And whether then we go, or stay,
+Depends on circumstances.
+
+"And, though we don't consult 'Mine Host'
+Before the thing's arranged,
+Still, if he often quits his post,
+Or is not a well-mannered Ghost,
+Then you can have him changed.
+
+"But if the host's a man like you -
+I mean a man of sense;
+And if the house is not too new--"
+"Why, what has THAT," said I, "to do
+With Ghost's convenience?"
+
+"A new house does not suit, you know -
+It's such a job to trim it:
+But, after twenty years or so,
+The wainscotings begin to go,
+So twenty is the limit."
+
+"To trim" was not a phrase I could
+Remember having heard:
+"Perhaps," I said, "you'll be so good
+As tell me what is understood
+Exactly by that word?"
+
+"It means the loosening all the doors,"
+The Ghost replied, and laughed:
+"It means the drilling holes by scores
+In all the skirting-boards and floors,
+To make a thorough draught.
+
+"You'll sometimes find that one or two
+Are all you really need
+To let the wind come whistling through -
+But HERE there'll be a lot to do!"
+I faintly gasped "Indeed!
+
+"If I'd been rather later, I'll
+Be bound," I added, trying
+(Most unsuccessfully) to smile,
+"You'd have been busy all this while,
+Trimming and beautifying?"
+
+"Why, no," said he; "perhaps I should
+Have stayed another minute -
+But still no Ghost, that's any good,
+Without an introduction would
+Have ventured to begin it.
+
+"The proper thing, as you were late,
+Was certainly to go:
+But, with the roads in such a state,
+I got the Knight-Mayor's leave to wait
+For half an hour or so."
+
+"Who's the Knight-Mayor?" I cried.  Instead
+Of answering my question,
+"Well, if you don't know THAT," he said,
+"Either you never go to bed,
+Or you've a grand digestion!
+
+"He goes about and sits on folk
+That eat too much at night:
+His duties are to pinch, and poke,
+And squeeze them till they nearly choke."
+(I said "It serves them right!")
+
+"And folk who sup on things like these--"
+He muttered, "eggs and bacon -
+Lobster--and duck--and toasted cheese -
+If they don't get an awful squeeze,
+I'm very much mistaken!
+
+"He is immensely fat, and so
+Well suits the occupation:
+In point of fact, if you must know,
+We used to call him years ago,
+THE MAYOR AND CORPORATION!
+
+"The day he was elected Mayor
+I KNOW that every Sprite meant
+To vote for ME, but did not dare -
+He was so frantic with despair
+And furious with excitement.
+
+"When it was over, for a whim,
+He ran to tell the King;
+And being the reverse of slim,
+A two-mile trot was not for him
+A very easy thing.
+
+"So, to reward him for his run
+(As it was baking hot,
+And he was over twenty stone),
+The King proceeded, half in fun,
+To knight him on the spot."
+
+"'Twas a great liberty to take!"
+(I fired up like a rocket).
+"He did it just for punning's sake:
+'The man,' says Johnson, 'that would make
+A pun, would pick a pocket!'"
+
+"A man," said he, "is not a King."
+I argued for a while,
+And did my best to prove the thing -
+The Phantom merely listening
+With a contemptuous smile.
+
+At last, when, breath and patience spent,
+I had recourse to smoking -
+"Your AIM," he said, "is excellent:
+But--when you call it ARGUMENT -
+Of course you're only joking?"
+
+Stung by his cold and snaky eye,
+I roused myself at length
+To say "At least I do defy
+The veriest sceptic to deny
+That union is strength!"
+
+"That's true enough," said he, "yet stay--"
+I listened in all meekness -
+"UNION is strength, I'm bound to say;
+In fact, the thing's as clear as day;
+But ONIONS are a weakness."
+
+
+
+CANTO VI--Dyscomfyture
+
+
+
+As one who strives a hill to climb,
+Who never climbed before:
+Who finds it, in a little time,
+Grow every moment less sublime,
+And votes the thing a bore:
+
+Yet, having once begun to try,
+Dares not desert his quest,
+But, climbing, ever keeps his eye
+On one small hut against the sky
+Wherein he hopes to rest:
+
+Who climbs till nerve and force are spent,
+With many a puff and pant:
+Who still, as rises the ascent,
+In language grows more violent,
+Although in breath more scant:
+
+Who, climbing, gains at length the place
+That crowns the upward track.
+And, entering with unsteady pace,
+Receives a buffet in the face
+That lands him on his back:
+
+And feels himself, like one in sleep,
+Glide swiftly down again,
+A helpless weight, from steep to steep,
+Till, with a headlong giddy sweep,
+He drops upon the plain -
+
+So I, that had resolved to bring
+Conviction to a ghost,
+And found it quite a different thing
+From any human arguing,
+Yet dared not quit my post
+
+But, keeping still the end in view
+To which I hoped to come,
+I strove to prove the matter true
+By putting everything I knew
+Into an axiom:
+
+Commencing every single phrase
+With 'therefore' or 'because,'
+I blindly reeled, a hundred ways,
+About the syllogistic maze,
+Unconscious where I was.
+
+Quoth he "That's regular clap-trap:
+Don't bluster any more.
+Now DO be cool and take a nap!
+Such a ridiculous old chap
+Was never seen before!
+
+"You're like a man I used to meet,
+Who got one day so furious
+In arguing, the simple heat
+Scorched both his slippers off his feet!"
+I said "THAT'S VERY CURIOUS!"
+
+"Well, it IS curious, I agree,
+And sounds perhaps like fibs:
+But still it's true as true can be -
+As sure as your name's Tibbs," said he.
+I said "My name's NOT Tibbs."
+
+"NOT Tibbs!" he cried--his tone became
+A shade or two less hearty -
+"Why, no," said I.  "My proper name
+Is Tibbets--"  "Tibbets?"  "Aye, the same."
+"Why, then YOU'RE NOT THE PARTY!"
+
+With that he struck the board a blow
+That shivered half the glasses.
+"Why couldn't you have told me so
+Three quarters of an hour ago,
+You prince of all the asses?
+
+"To walk four miles through mud and rain,
+To spend the night in smoking,
+And then to find that it's in vain -
+And I've to do it all again -
+It's really TOO provoking!
+
+"Don't talk!" he cried, as I began
+To mutter some excuse.
+"Who can have patience with a man
+That's got no more discretion than
+An idiotic goose?
+
+"To keep me waiting here, instead
+Of telling me at once
+That this was not the house!" he said.
+"There, that'll do--be off to bed!
+Don't gape like that, you dunce!"
+
+"It's very fine to throw the blame
+On ME in such a fashion!
+Why didn't you enquire my name
+The very minute that you came?"
+I answered in a passion.
+
+"Of course it worries you a bit
+To come so far on foot -
+But how was _I_ to blame for it?"
+"Well, well!" said he.  "I must admit
+That isn't badly put.
+
+"And certainly you've given me
+The best of wine and victual -
+Excuse my violence," said he,
+"But accidents like this, you see,
+They put one out a little.
+
+"'Twas MY fault after all, I find -
+Shake hands, old Turnip-top!"
+The name was hardly to my mind,
+But, as no doubt he meant it kind,
+I let the matter drop.
+
+"Good-night, old Turnip-top, good-night!
+When I am gone, perhaps
+They'll send you some inferior Sprite,
+Who'll keep you in a constant fright
+And spoil your soundest naps.
+
+"Tell him you'll stand no sort of trick;
+Then, if he leers and chuckles,
+You just be handy with a stick
+(Mind that it's pretty hard and thick)
+And rap him on the knuckles!
+
+"Then carelessly remark 'Old coon!
+Perhaps you're not aware
+That, if you don't behave, you'll soon
+Be chuckling to another tune -
+And so you'd best take care!'
+
+"That's the right way to cure a Sprite
+Of such like goings-on -
+But gracious me!  It's getting light!
+Good-night, old Turnip-top, good-night!"
+A nod, and he was gone.
+
+
+
+CANTO VII--Sad Souvenaunce
+
+
+
+"What's this?" I pondered.  "Have I slept?
+Or can I have been drinking?"
+But soon a gentler feeling crept
+Upon me, and I sat and wept
+An hour or so, like winking.
+
+"No need for Bones to hurry so!"
+I sobbed.  "In fact, I doubt
+If it was worth his while to go -
+And who is Tibbs, I'd like to know,
+To make such work about?
+
+"If Tibbs is anything like me,
+It's POSSIBLE," I said,
+"He won't be over-pleased to be
+Dropped in upon at half-past three,
+After he's snug in bed.
+
+"And if Bones plagues him anyhow -
+Squeaking and all the rest of it,
+As he was doing here just now -
+_I_ prophesy there'll be a row,
+And Tibbs will have the best of it!"
+
+Then, as my tears could never bring
+The friendly Phantom back,
+It seemed to me the proper thing
+To mix another glass, and sing
+The following Coronach.
+
+'AND ART THOU GONE, BELOVED GHOST?
+BEST OF FAMILIARS!
+NAY THEN, FAREWELL, MY DUCKLING ROAST,
+FAREWELL, FAREWELL, MY TEA AND TOAST,
+MY MEERSCHAUM AND CIGARS!
+
+THE HUES OF LIFE ARE DULL AND GRAY,
+THE SWEETS OF LIFE INSIPID,
+WHEN thou, MY CHARMER, ART AWAY -
+OLD BRICK, OR RATHER, LET ME SAY,
+OLD PARALLELEPIPED!'
+
+Instead of singing Verse the Third,
+I ceased--abruptly, rather:
+But, after such a splendid word
+I felt that it would be absurd
+To try it any farther.
+
+So with a yawn I went my way
+To seek the welcome downy,
+And slept, and dreamed till break of day
+Of Poltergeist and Fetch and Fay
+And Leprechaun and Brownie!
+
+For year I've not been visited
+By any kind of Sprite;
+Yet still they echo in my head,
+Those parting words, so kindly said,
+"Old Turnip-top, good-night!"
+
+
+
+ECHOES
+
+
+
+Lady Clara Vere de Vere
+Was eight years old, she said:
+Every ringlet, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden thread.
+
+She took her little porringer:
+Of me she shall not win renown:
+For the baseness of its nature shall have strength to drag her
+down.
+
+"Sisters and brothers, little Maid?
+There stands the Inspector at thy door:
+Like a dog, he hunts for boys who know not two and two are four."
+
+"Kind words are more than coronets,"
+She said, and wondering looked at me:
+"It is the dead unhappy night, and I must hurry home to tea."
+
+
+
+A SEA DIRGE
+
+
+
+There are certain things--as, a spider, a ghost,
+The income-tax, gout, an umbrella for three -
+That I hate, but the thing that I hate the most
+Is a thing they call the Sea.
+
+Pour some salt water over the floor -
+Ugly I'm sure you'll allow it to be:
+Suppose it extended a mile or more,
+THAT'S very like the Sea.
+
+Beat a dog till it howls outright -
+Cruel, but all very well for a spree:
+Suppose that he did so day and night,
+THAT would be like the Sea.
+
+I had a vision of nursery-maids;
+Tens of thousands passed by me -
+All leading children with wooden spades,
+And this was by the Sea.
+
+Who invented those spades of wood?
+Who was it cut them out of the tree?
+None, I think, but an idiot could -
+Or one that loved the Sea.
+
+It is pleasant and dreamy, no doubt, to float
+With 'thoughts as boundless, and souls as free':
+But, suppose you are very unwell in the boat,
+How do you like the Sea?
+
+There is an insect that people avoid
+(Whence is derived the verb 'to flee').
+Where have you been by it most annoyed?
+In lodgings by the Sea.
+
+If you like your coffee with sand for dregs,
+A decided hint of salt in your tea,
+And a fishy taste in the very eggs -
+By all means choose the Sea.
+
+And if, with these dainties to drink and eat,
+You prefer not a vestige of grass or tree,
+And a chronic state of wet in your feet,
+Then--I recommend the Sea.
+
+For _I_ have friends who dwell by the coast -
+Pleasant friends they are to me!
+It is when I am with them I wonder most
+That anyone likes the Sea.
+
+They take me a walk:  though tired and stiff,
+To climb the heights I madly agree;
+And, after a tumble or so from the cliff,
+They kindly suggest the Sea.
+
+I try the rocks, and I think it cool
+That they laugh with such an excess of glee,
+As I heavily slip into every pool
+That skirts the cold cold Sea.
+
+
+
+Ye Carpette Knyghte
+
+
+
+I have a horse--a ryghte good horse -
+Ne doe Y envye those
+Who scoure ye playne yn headye course
+Tyll soddayne on theyre nose
+They lyghte wyth unexpected force
+Yt ys--a horse of clothes.
+
+I have a saddel--"Say'st thou soe?
+Wyth styrruppes, Knyghte, to boote?"
+I sayde not that--I answere "Noe" -
+Yt lacketh such, I woote:
+Yt ys a mutton-saddel, loe!
+Parte of ye fleecye brute.
+
+I have a bytte--a ryghte good bytte -
+As shall bee seene yn tyme.
+Ye jawe of horse yt wyll not fytte;
+Yts use ys more sublyme.
+Fayre Syr, how deemest thou of yt?
+Yt ys--thys bytte of rhyme.
+
+
+
+HIAWATHA'S PHOTOGRAPHING
+
+
+
+[In an age of imitation, I can claim no special merit for this
+slight attempt at doing what is known to be so easy.  Any fairly
+practised writer, with the slightest ear for rhythm, could compose,
+for hours together, in the easy running metre of 'The Song of
+Hiawatha.'  Having, then, distinctly stated that I challenge no
+attention in the following little poem to its merely verbal jingle,
+I must beg the candid reader to confine his criticism to its
+treatment of the subject.]
+
+
+From his shoulder Hiawatha
+Took the camera of rosewood,
+Made of sliding, folding rosewood;
+Neatly put it all together.
+In its case it lay compactly,
+Folded into nearly nothing;
+
+But he opened out the hinges,
+Pushed and pulled the joints and hinges,
+Till it looked all squares and oblongs,
+Like a complicated figure
+In the Second Book of Euclid.
+
+This he perched upon a tripod -
+Crouched beneath its dusky cover -
+Stretched his hand, enforcing silence -
+Said, "Be motionless, I beg you!"
+Mystic, awful was the process.
+
+All the family in order
+Sat before him for their pictures:
+Each in turn, as he was taken,
+Volunteered his own suggestions,
+His ingenious suggestions.
+
+First the Governor, the Father:
+He suggested velvet curtains
+Looped about a massy pillar;
+And the corner of a table,
+Of a rosewood dining-table.
+He would hold a scroll of something,
+Hold it firmly in his left-hand;
+He would keep his right-hand buried
+(Like Napoleon) in his waistcoat;
+He would contemplate the distance
+With a look of pensive meaning,
+As of ducks that die ill tempests.
+
+Grand, heroic was the notion:
+Yet the picture failed entirely:
+Failed, because he moved a little,
+Moved, because he couldn't help it.
+
+Next, his better half took courage;
+SHE would have her picture taken.
+She came dressed beyond description,
+Dressed in jewels and in satin
+Far too gorgeous for an empress.
+Gracefully she sat down sideways,
+With a simper scarcely human,
+Holding in her hand a bouquet
+Rather larger than a cabbage.
+All the while that she was sitting,
+Still the lady chattered, chattered,
+Like a monkey in the forest.
+"Am I sitting still?" she asked him.
+"Is my face enough in profile?
+Shall I hold the bouquet higher?
+Will it came into the picture?"
+And the picture failed completely.
+
+Next the Son, the Stunning-Cantab:
+He suggested curves of beauty,
+Curves pervading all his figure,
+Which the eye might follow onward,
+Till they centered in the breast-pin,
+Centered in the golden breast-pin.
+He had learnt it all from Ruskin
+(Author of 'The Stones of Venice,'
+'Seven Lamps of Architecture,'
+'Modern Painters,' and some others);
+And perhaps he had not fully
+Understood his author's meaning;
+But, whatever was the reason,
+All was fruitless, as the picture
+Ended in an utter failure.
+
+Next to him the eldest daughter:
+She suggested very little,
+Only asked if he would take her
+With her look of 'passive beauty.'
+
+Her idea of passive beauty
+Was a squinting of the left-eye,
+Was a drooping of the right-eye,
+Was a smile that went up sideways
+To the corner of the nostrils.
+
+Hiawatha, when she asked him,
+Took no notice of the question,
+Looked as if he hadn't heard it;
+But, when pointedly appealed to,
+Smiled in his peculiar manner,
+Coughed and said it 'didn't matter,'
+Bit his lip and changed the subject.
+
+Nor in this was he mistaken,
+As the picture failed completely.
+
+So in turn the other sisters.
+
+Last, the youngest son was taken:
+Very rough and thick his hair was,
+Very round and red his face was,
+Very dusty was his jacket,
+Very fidgety his manner.
+And his overbearing sisters
+Called him names he disapproved of:
+Called him Johnny, 'Daddy's Darling,'
+Called him Jacky, 'Scrubby School-boy.'
+And, so awful was the picture,
+In comparison the others
+Seemed, to one's bewildered fancy,
+To have partially succeeded.
+
+Finally my Hiawatha
+Tumbled all the tribe together,
+('Grouped' is not the right expression),
+And, as happy chance would have it
+Did at last obtain a picture
+Where the faces all succeeded:
+Each came out a perfect likeness.
+
+Then they joined and all abused it,
+Unrestrainedly abused it,
+As the worst and ugliest picture
+They could possibly have dreamed of.
+'Giving one such strange expressions -
+Sullen, stupid, pert expressions.
+Really any one would take us
+(Any one that did not know us)
+For the most unpleasant people!'
+(Hiawatha seemed to think so,
+Seemed to think it not unlikely).
+All together rang their voices,
+Angry, loud, discordant voices,
+As of dogs that howl in concert,
+As of cats that wail in chorus.
+
+But my Hiawatha's patience,
+His politeness and his patience,
+Unaccountably had vanished,
+And he left that happy party.
+Neither did he leave them slowly,
+With the calm deliberation,
+The intense deliberation
+Of a photographic artist:
+But he left them in a hurry,
+Left them in a mighty hurry,
+Stating that he would not stand it,
+Stating in emphatic language
+What he'd be before he'd stand it.
+Hurriedly he packed his boxes:
+Hurriedly the porter trundled
+On a barrow all his boxes:
+Hurriedly he took his ticket:
+Hurriedly the train received him:
+Thus departed Hiawatha.
+
+
+
+MELANCHOLETTA
+
+
+
+With saddest music all day long
+She soothed her secret sorrow:
+At night she sighed "I fear 'twas wrong
+Such cheerful words to borrow.
+Dearest, a sweeter, sadder song
+I'll sing to thee to-morrow."
+
+I thanked her, but I could not say
+That I was glad to hear it:
+I left the house at break of day,
+And did not venture near it
+Till time, I hoped, had worn away
+Her grief, for nought could cheer it!
+
+My dismal sister!  Couldst thou know
+The wretched home thou keepest!
+Thy brother, drowned in daily woe,
+Is thankful when thou sleepest;
+For if I laugh, however low,
+When thou'rt awake, thou weepest!
+
+I took my sister t'other day
+(Excuse the slang expression)
+To Sadler's Wells to see the play
+In hopes the new impression
+Might in her thoughts, from grave to gay
+Effect some slight digression.
+
+I asked three gay young dogs from town
+To join us in our folly,
+Whose mirth, I thought, might serve to drown
+My sister's melancholy:
+The lively Jones, the sportive Brown,
+And Robinson the jolly.
+
+The maid announced the meal in tones
+That I myself had taught her,
+Meant to allay my sister's moans
+Like oil on troubled water:
+I rushed to Jones, the lively Jones,
+And begged him to escort her.
+
+Vainly he strove, with ready wit,
+To joke about the weather -
+To ventilate the last 'ON DIT' -
+To quote the price of leather -
+She groaned "Here I and Sorrow sit:
+Let us lament together!"
+
+I urged "You're wasting time, you know:
+Delay will spoil the venison."
+"My heart is wasted with my woe!
+There is no rest--in Venice, on
+The Bridge of Sighs!" she quoted low
+From Byron and from Tennyson.
+
+I need not tell of soup and fish
+In solemn silence swallowed,
+The sobs that ushered in each dish,
+And its departure followed,
+Nor yet my suicidal wish
+To BE the cheese I hollowed.
+
+Some desperate attempts were made
+To start a conversation;
+"Madam," the sportive Brown essayed,
+"Which kind of recreation,
+Hunting or fishing, have you made
+Your special occupation?"
+
+Her lips curved downwards instantly,
+As if of india-rubber.
+"Hounds IN FULL CRY I like," said she:
+(Oh how I longed to snub her!)
+"Of fish, a whale's the one for me,
+IT IS SO FULL OF BLUBBER!"
+
+The night's performance was "King John."
+"It's dull," she wept, "and so-so!"
+Awhile I let her tears flow on,
+She said they soothed her woe so!
+At length the curtain rose upon
+'Bombastes Furioso.'
+
+In vain we roared; in vain we tried
+To rouse her into laughter:
+Her pensive glances wandered wide
+From orchestra to rafter -
+"TIER UPON TIER!" she said, and sighed;
+And silence followed after.
+
+
+
+A VALENTINE
+
+
+
+[Sent to a friend who had complained that I was glad enough to see
+him when he came, but didn't seem to miss him if he stayed away.]
+
+
+And cannot pleasures, while they last,
+Be actual unless, when past,
+They leave us shuddering and aghast,
+With anguish smarting?
+And cannot friends be firm and fast,
+And yet bear parting?
+
+And must I then, at Friendship's call,
+Calmly resign the little all
+(Trifling, I grant, it is and small)
+I have of gladness,
+And lend my being to the thrall
+Of gloom and sadness?
+
+And think you that I should be dumb,
+And full dolorum omnium,
+Excepting when YOU choose to come
+And share my dinner?
+At other times be sour and glum
+And daily thinner?
+
+Must he then only live to weep,
+Who'd prove his friendship true and deep
+By day a lonely shadow creep,
+At night-time languish,
+Oft raising in his broken sleep
+The moan of anguish?
+
+The lover, if for certain days
+His fair one be denied his gaze,
+Sinks not in grief and wild amaze,
+But, wiser wooer,
+He spends the time in writing lays,
+And posts them to her.
+
+And if the verse flow free and fast,
+Till even the poet is aghast,
+A touching Valentine at last
+The post shall carry,
+When thirteen days are gone and past
+Of February.
+
+Farewell, dear friend, and when we meet,
+In desert waste or crowded street,
+Perhaps before this week shall fleet,
+Perhaps to-morrow.
+I trust to find YOUR heart the seat
+Of wasting sorrow.
+
+
+
+THE THREE VOICES
+
+
+
+The First Voice
+
+
+He trilled a carol fresh and free,
+He laughed aloud for very glee:
+There came a breeze from off the sea:
+
+It passed athwart the glooming flat -
+It fanned his forehead as he sat -
+It lightly bore away his hat,
+
+All to the feet of one who stood
+Like maid enchanted in a wood,
+Frowning as darkly as she could.
+
+With huge umbrella, lank and brown,
+Unerringly she pinned it down,
+Right through the centre of the crown.
+
+Then, with an aspect cold and grim,
+Regardless of its battered rim,
+She took it up and gave it him.
+
+A while like one in dreams he stood,
+Then faltered forth his gratitude
+In words just short of being rude:
+
+For it had lost its shape and shine,
+And it had cost him four-and-nine,
+And he was going out to dine.
+
+"To dine!" she sneered in acid tone.
+"To bend thy being to a bone
+Clothed in a radiance not its own!"
+
+The tear-drop trickled to his chin:
+There was a meaning in her grin
+That made him feel on fire within.
+
+"Term it not 'radiance,'" said he:
+"'Tis solid nutriment to me.
+Dinner is Dinner:  Tea is Tea."
+
+And she "Yea so?  Yet wherefore cease?
+Let thy scant knowledge find increase.
+Say 'Men are Men, and Geese are Geese.'"
+
+He moaned:  he knew not what to say.
+The thought "That I could get away!"
+Strove with the thought "But I must stay.
+
+"To dine!" she shrieked in dragon-wrath.
+"To swallow wines all foam and froth!
+To simper at a table-cloth!
+
+"Say, can thy noble spirit stoop
+To join the gormandising troup
+Who find a solace in the soup?
+
+"Canst thou desire or pie or puff?
+Thy well-bred manners were enough,
+Without such gross material stuff."
+
+"Yet well-bred men," he faintly said,
+"Are not willing to be fed:
+Nor are they well without the bread."
+
+Her visage scorched him ere she spoke:
+"There are," she said, "a kind of folk
+Who have no horror of a joke.
+
+"Such wretches live:  they take their share
+Of common earth and common air:
+We come across them here and there:
+
+"We grant them--there is no escape -
+A sort of semi-human shape
+Suggestive of the man-like Ape."
+
+"In all such theories," said he,
+"One fixed exception there must be.
+That is, the Present Company."
+
+Baffled, she gave a wolfish bark:
+He, aiming blindly in the dark,
+With random shaft had pierced the mark.
+
+She felt that her defeat was plain,
+Yet madly strove with might and main
+To get the upper hand again.
+
+Fixing her eyes upon the beach,
+As though unconscious of his speech,
+She said "Each gives to more than each."
+
+He could not answer yea or nay:
+He faltered "Gifts may pass away."
+Yet knew not what he meant to say.
+
+"If that be so," she straight replied,
+"Each heart with each doth coincide.
+What boots it?  For the world is wide."
+
+"The world is but a Thought," said he:
+"The vast unfathomable sea
+Is but a Notion--unto me."
+
+And darkly fell her answer dread
+Upon his unresisting head,
+Like half a hundredweight of lead.
+
+"The Good and Great must ever shun
+That reckless and abandoned one
+Who stoops to perpetrate a pun.
+
+"The man that smokes--that reads the Times -
+That goes to Christmas Pantomimes -
+Is capable of ANY crimes!"
+
+He felt it was his turn to speak,
+And, with a shamed and crimson cheek,
+Moaned "This is harder than Bezique!"
+
+But when she asked him "Wherefore so?"
+He felt his very whiskers glow,
+And frankly owned "I do not know."
+
+While, like broad waves of golden grain,
+Or sunlit hues on cloistered pane,
+His colour came and went again.
+
+Pitying his obvious distress,
+Yet with a tinge of bitterness,
+She said "The More exceeds the Less."
+
+"A truth of such undoubted weight,"
+He urged, "and so extreme in date,
+It were superfluous to state."
+
+Roused into sudden passion, she
+In tone of cold malignity:
+"To others, yea:  but not to thee."
+
+But when she saw him quail and quake,
+And when he urged "For pity's sake!"
+Once more in gentle tones she spake.
+
+"Thought in the mind doth still abide
+That is by Intellect supplied,
+And within that Idea doth hide:
+
+"And he, that yearns the truth to know,
+Still further inwardly may go,
+And find Idea from Notion flow:
+
+"And thus the chain, that sages sought,
+Is to a glorious circle wrought,
+For Notion hath its source in Thought."
+
+So passed they on with even pace:
+Yet gradually one might trace
+A shadow growing on his face.
+
+
+The Second Voice
+
+
+They walked beside the wave-worn beach;
+Her tongue was very apt to teach,
+And now and then he did beseech
+
+She would abate her dulcet tone,
+Because the talk was all her own,
+And he was dull as any drone.
+
+She urged "No cheese is made of chalk":
+And ceaseless flowed her dreary talk,
+Tuned to the footfall of a walk.
+
+Her voice was very full and rich,
+And, when at length she asked him "Which?"
+It mounted to its highest pitch.
+
+He a bewildered answer gave,
+Drowned in the sullen moaning wave,
+Lost in the echoes of the cave.
+
+He answered her he knew not what:
+Like shaft from bow at random shot,
+He spoke, but she regarded not.
+
+She waited not for his reply,
+But with a downward leaden eye
+Went on as if he were not by
+
+Sound argument and grave defence,
+Strange questions raised on "Why?" and "Whence?"
+And wildly tangled evidence.
+
+When he, with racked and whirling brain,
+Feebly implored her to explain,
+She simply said it all again.
+
+Wrenched with an agony intense,
+He spake, neglecting Sound and Sense,
+And careless of all consequence:
+
+"Mind--I believe--is Essence--Ent -
+Abstract--that is--an Accident -
+Which we--that is to say--I meant--"
+
+When, with quick breath and cheeks all flushed,
+At length his speech was somewhat hushed,
+She looked at him, and he was crushed.
+
+It needed not her calm reply:
+She fixed him with a stony eye,
+And he could neither fight nor fly.
+
+While she dissected, word by word,
+His speech, half guessed at and half heard,
+As might a cat a little bird.
+
+Then, having wholly overthrown
+His views, and stripped them to the bone,
+Proceeded to unfold her own.
+
+"Shall Man be Man?  And shall he miss
+Of other thoughts no thought but this,
+Harmonious dews of sober bliss?
+
+"What boots it?  Shall his fevered eye
+Through towering nothingness descry
+The grisly phantom hurry by?
+
+"And hear dumb shrieks that fill the air;
+See mouths that gape, and eyes that stare
+And redden in the dusky glare?
+
+"The meadows breathing amber light,
+The darkness toppling from the height,
+The feathery train of granite Night?
+
+"Shall he, grown gray among his peers,
+Through the thick curtain of his tears
+Catch glimpses of his earlier years,
+
+"And hear the sounds he knew of yore,
+Old shufflings on the sanded floor,
+Old knuckles tapping at the door?
+
+"Yet still before him as he flies
+One pallid form shall ever rise,
+And, bodying forth in glassy eyes
+
+"The vision of a vanished good,
+Low peering through the tangled wood,
+Shall freeze the current of his blood."
+
+Still from each fact, with skill uncouth
+And savage rapture, like a tooth
+She wrenched some slow reluctant truth.
+
+Till, like a silent water-mill,
+When summer suns have dried the rill,
+She reached a full stop, and was still.
+
+Dead calm succeeded to the fuss,
+As when the loaded omnibus
+Has reached the railway terminus:
+
+When, for the tumult of the street,
+Is heard the engine's stifled beat,
+The velvet tread of porters' feet.
+
+With glance that ever sought the ground,
+She moved her lips without a sound,
+And every now and then she frowned.
+
+He gazed upon the sleeping sea,
+And joyed in its tranquillity,
+And in that silence dead, but she
+
+To muse a little space did seem,
+Then, like the echo of a dream,
+Harked back upon her threadbare theme.
+
+Still an attentive ear he lent
+But could not fathom what she meant:
+She was not deep, nor eloquent.
+
+He marked the ripple on the sand:
+The even swaying of her hand
+Was all that he could understand.
+
+He saw in dreams a drawing-room,
+Where thirteen wretches sat in gloom,
+Waiting--he thought he knew for whom:
+
+He saw them drooping here and there,
+Each feebly huddled on a chair,
+In attitudes of blank despair:
+
+Oysters were not more mute than they,
+For all their brains were pumped away,
+And they had nothing more to say -
+
+Save one, who groaned "Three hours are gone!"
+Who shrieked "We'll wait no longer, John!
+Tell them to set the dinner on!"
+
+The vision passed:  the ghosts were fled:
+He saw once more that woman dread:
+He heard once more the words she said.
+
+He left her, and he turned aside:
+He sat and watched the coming tide
+Across the shores so newly dried.
+
+He wondered at the waters clear,
+The breeze that whispered in his ear,
+The billows heaving far and near,
+
+And why he had so long preferred
+To hang upon her every word:
+"In truth," he said, "it was absurd."
+
+
+The Third Voice
+
+
+Not long this transport held its place:
+Within a little moment's space
+Quick tears were raining down his face
+
+His heart stood still, aghast with fear;
+A wordless voice, nor far nor near,
+He seemed to hear and not to hear.
+
+"Tears kindle not the doubtful spark.
+If so, why not?  Of this remark
+The bearings are profoundly dark."
+
+"Her speech," he said, "hath caused this pain.
+Easier I count it to explain
+The jargon of the howling main,
+
+"Or, stretched beside some babbling brook,
+To con, with inexpressive look,
+An unintelligible book."
+
+Low spake the voice within his head,
+In words imagined more than said,
+Soundless as ghost's intended tread:
+
+"If thou art duller than before,
+Why quittedst thou the voice of lore?
+Why not endure, expecting more?"
+
+"Rather than that," he groaned aghast,
+"I'd writhe in depths of cavern vast,
+Some loathly vampire's rich repast."
+
+"'Twere hard," it answered, "themes immense
+To coop within the narrow fence
+That rings THY scant intelligence."
+
+"Not so," he urged, "nor once alone:
+But there was something in her tone
+That chilled me to the very bone.
+
+"Her style was anything but clear,
+And most unpleasantly severe;
+Her epithets were very queer.
+
+"And yet, so grand were her replies,
+I could not choose but deem her wise;
+I did not dare to criticise;
+
+"Nor did I leave her, till she went
+So deep in tangled argument
+That all my powers of thought were spent."
+
+A little whisper inly slid,
+"Yet truth is truth:  you know you did."
+A little wink beneath the lid.
+
+And, sickened with excess of dread,
+Prone to the dust he bent his head,
+And lay like one three-quarters dead
+
+The whisper left him--like a breeze
+Lost in the depths of leafy trees -
+Left him by no means at his ease.
+
+Once more he weltered in despair,
+With hands, through denser-matted hair,
+More tightly clenched than then they were.
+
+When, bathed in Dawn of living red,
+Majestic frowned the mountain head,
+"Tell me my fault," was all he said.
+
+When, at high Noon, the blazing sky
+Scorched in his head each haggard eye,
+Then keenest rose his weary cry.
+
+And when at Eve the unpitying sun
+Smiled grimly on the solemn fun,
+"Alack," he sighed, "what HAVE I done?"
+
+But saddest, darkest was the sight,
+When the cold grasp of leaden Night
+Dashed him to earth, and held him tight.
+
+Tortured, unaided, and alone,
+Thunders were silence to his groan,
+Bagpipes sweet music to its tone:
+
+"What?  Ever thus, in dismal round,
+Shall Pain and Mystery profound
+Pursue me like a sleepless hound,
+
+"With crimson-dashed and eager jaws,
+Me, still in ignorance of the cause,
+Unknowing what I broke of laws?"
+
+The whisper to his ear did seem
+Like echoed flow of silent stream,
+Or shadow of forgotten dream,
+
+The whisper trembling in the wind:
+"Her fate with thine was intertwined,"
+So spake it in his inner mind:
+
+"Each orbed on each a baleful star:
+Each proved the other's blight and bar:
+Each unto each were best, most far:
+
+"Yea, each to each was worse than foe:
+Thou, a scared dullard, gibbering low,
+AND SHE, AN AVALANCHE OF WOE!"
+
+
+
+TEMA CON VARIAZIONI
+
+
+
+[Why is it that Poetry has never yet been subjected to that process
+of Dilution which has proved so advantageous to her sister-art
+Music?  The Diluter gives us first a few notes of some well-known
+Air, then a dozen bars of his own, then a few more notes of the
+Air, and so on alternately:  thus saving the listener, if not from
+all risk of recognising the melody at all, at least from the too-
+exciting transports which it might produce in a more concentrated
+form.  The process is termed "setting" by Composers, and any one,
+that has ever experienced the emotion of being unexpectedly set
+down in a heap of mortar, will recognise the truthfulness of this
+happy phrase.
+
+For truly, just as the genuine Epicure lingers lovingly over a
+morsel of supreme Venison--whose every fibre seems to murmur
+"Excelsior!"--yet swallows, ere returning to the toothsome dainty,
+great mouthfuls of oatmeal-porridge and winkles:  and just as the
+perfect Connoisseur in Claret permits himself but one delicate sip,
+and then tosses off a pint or more of boarding-school beer:  so
+also -
+
+
+I never loved a dear Gazelle -
+NOR ANYTHING THAT COST ME MUCH:
+HIGH PRICES PROFIT THOSE WHO SELL,
+BUT WHY SHOULD I BE FOND OF SUCH?
+
+To glad me with his soft black eye
+MY SON COMES TROTTING HOME FROM SCHOOL;
+HE'S HAD A FIGHT BUT CAN'T TELL WHY -
+HE ALWAYS WAS A LITTLE FOOL!
+
+But, when he came to know me well,
+HE KICKED ME OUT, HER TESTY SIRE:
+AND WHEN I STAINED MY HAIR, THAT BELLE
+MIGHT NOTE THE CHANGE, AND THUS ADMIRE
+
+And love me, it was sure to dye
+A MUDDY GREEN OR STARING BLUE:
+WHILST ONE MIGHT TRACE, WITH HALF AN EYE,
+THE STILL TRIUMPHANT CARROT THROUGH.
+
+
+
+A GAME OF FIVES
+
+
+
+Five little girls, of Five, Four, Three, Two, One:
+Rolling on the hearthrug, full of tricks and fun.
+
+Five rosy girls, in years from Ten to Six:
+Sitting down to lessons--no more time for tricks.
+
+Five growing girls, from Fifteen to Eleven:
+Music, Drawing, Languages, and food enough for seven!
+
+Five winsome girls, from Twenty to Sixteen:
+Each young man that calls, I say "Now tell me which you MEAN!"
+
+Five dashing girls, the youngest Twenty-one:
+But, if nobody proposes, what is there to be done?
+
+Five showy girls--but Thirty is an age
+When girls may be ENGAGING, but they somehow don't ENGAGE.
+
+Five dressy girls, of Thirty-one or more:
+So gracious to the shy young men they snubbed so much before!
+
+* * * *
+
+Five passe girls--Their age?  Well, never mind!
+We jog along together, like the rest of human kind:
+But the quondam "careless bachelor" begins to think he knows
+The answer to that ancient problem "how the money goes"!
+
+
+
+POETA FIT, NON NASCITUR
+
+
+
+"How shall I be a poet?
+How shall I write in rhyme?
+You told me once 'the very wish
+Partook of the sublime.'
+Then tell me how!  Don't put me off
+With your 'another time'!"
+
+The old man smiled to see him,
+To hear his sudden sally;
+He liked the lad to speak his mind
+Enthusiastically;
+And thought "There's no hum-drum in him,
+Nor any shilly-shally."
+
+"And would you be a poet
+Before you've been to school?
+Ah, well!  I hardly thought you
+So absolute a fool.
+First learn to be spasmodic -
+A very simple rule.
+
+"For first you write a sentence,
+And then you chop it small;
+Then mix the bits, and sort them out
+Just as they chance to fall:
+The order of the phrases makes
+No difference at all.
+
+'Then, if you'd be impressive,
+Remember what I say,
+That abstract qualities begin
+With capitals alway:
+The True, the Good, the Beautiful -
+Those are the things that pay!
+
+"Next, when you are describing
+A shape, or sound, or tint;
+Don't state the matter plainly,
+But put it in a hint;
+And learn to look at all things
+With a sort of mental squint."
+
+"For instance, if I wished, Sir,
+Of mutton-pies to tell,
+Should I say 'dreams of fleecy flocks
+Pent in a wheaten cell'?"
+"Why, yes," the old man said:  "that phrase
+Would answer very well.
+
+"Then fourthly, there are epithets
+That suit with any word -
+As well as Harvey's Reading Sauce
+With fish, or flesh, or bird -
+Of these, 'wild,' 'lonely,' 'weary,' 'strange,'
+Are much to be preferred."
+
+"And will it do, O will it do
+To take them in a lump -
+As 'the wild man went his weary way
+To a strange and lonely pump'?"
+"Nay, nay!  You must not hastily
+To such conclusions jump.
+
+"Such epithets, like pepper,
+Give zest to what you write;
+And, if you strew them sparely,
+They whet the appetite:
+But if you lay them on too thick,
+You spoil the matter quite!
+
+"Last, as to the arrangement:
+Your reader, you should show him,
+Must take what information he
+Can get, and look for no im-
+mature disclosure of the drift
+And purpose of your poem.
+
+"Therefore, to test his patience -
+How much he can endure -
+Mention no places, names, or dates,
+And evermore be sure
+Throughout the poem to be found
+Consistently obscure.
+
+"First fix upon the limit
+To which it shall extend:
+Then fill it up with 'Padding'
+(Beg some of any friend):
+Your great SENSATION-STANZA
+You place towards the end."
+
+"And what is a Sensation,
+Grandfather, tell me, pray?
+I think I never heard the word
+So used before to-day:
+Be kind enough to mention one
+'Exempli gratia.'"
+
+And the old man, looking sadly
+Across the garden-lawn,
+Where here and there a dew-drop
+Yet glittered in the dawn,
+Said "Go to the Adelphi,
+And see the 'Colleen Bawn.'
+
+'The word is due to Boucicault -
+The theory is his,
+Where Life becomes a Spasm,
+And History a Whiz:
+If that is not Sensation,
+I don't know what it is.
+
+"Now try your hand, ere Fancy
+Have lost its present glow--"
+"And then," his grandson added,
+"We'll publish it, you know:
+Green cloth--gold-lettered at the back -
+In duodecimo!"
+
+Then proudly smiled that old man
+To see the eager lad
+Rush madly for his pen and ink
+And for his blotting-pad -
+But, when he thought of PUBLISHING,
+His face grew stern and sad.
+
+
+
+SIZE AND TEARS
+
+
+
+When on the sandy shore I sit,
+Beside the salt sea-wave,
+And fall into a weeping fit
+Because I dare not shave -
+A little whisper at my ear
+Enquires the reason of my fear.
+
+I answer "If that ruffian Jones
+Should recognise me here,
+He'd bellow out my name in tones
+Offensive to the ear:
+He chaffs me so on being stout
+(A thing that always puts me out)."
+
+Ah me!  I see him on the cliff!
+Farewell, farewell to hope,
+If he should look this way, and if
+He's got his telescope!
+To whatsoever place I flee,
+My odious rival follows me!
+
+For every night, and everywhere,
+I meet him out at dinner;
+And when I've found some charming fair,
+And vowed to die or win her,
+The wretch (he's thin and I am stout)
+Is sure to come and cut me out!
+
+The girls (just like them!) all agree
+To praise J. Jones, Esquire:
+I ask them what on earth they see
+About him to admire?
+They cry "He is so sleek and slim,
+It's quite a treat to look at him!"
+
+They vanish in tobacco smoke,
+Those visionary maids -
+I feel a sharp and sudden poke
+Between the shoulder-blades -
+"Why, Brown, my boy!  Your growing stout!"
+(I told you he would find me out!)
+
+"My growth is not YOUR business, Sir!"
+"No more it is, my boy!
+But if it's YOURS, as I infer,
+Why, Brown, I give you joy!
+A man, whose business prospers so,
+Is just the sort of man to know!
+
+"It's hardly safe, though, talking here -
+I'd best get out of reach:
+For such a weight as yours, I fear,
+Must shortly sink the beach!" -
+Insult me thus because I'm stout!
+I vow I'll go and call him out!
+
+
+
+ATALANTA IN CAMDEN-TOWN
+
+
+
+Ay, 'twas here, on this spot,
+In that summer of yore,
+Atalanta did not
+Vote my presence a bore,
+Nor reply to my tenderest talk "She had
+heard all that nonsense before."
+
+She'd the brooch I had bought
+And the necklace and sash on,
+And her heart, as I thought,
+Was alive to my passion;
+And she'd done up her hair in the style that
+the Empress had brought into fashion.
+
+I had been to the play
+With my pearl of a Peri -
+But, for all I could say,
+She declared she was weary,
+That "the place was so crowded and hot, and
+she couldn't abide that Dundreary."
+
+Then I thought "Lucky boy!
+'Tis for YOU that she whimpers!"
+And I noted with joy
+Those sensational simpers:
+And I said "This is scrumptious!"--a
+phrase I had learned from the Devonshire shrimpers.
+
+And I vowed "'Twill be said
+I'm a fortunate fellow,
+When the breakfast is spread,
+When the topers are mellow,
+When the foam of the bride-cake is white,
+and the fierce orange-blossoms are yellow!"
+
+O that languishing yawn!
+O those eloquent eyes!
+I was drunk with the dawn
+Of a splendid surmise -
+I was stung by a look, I was slain by a tear,
+by a tempest of sighs.
+
+Then I whispered "I see
+The sweet secret thou keepest.
+And the yearning for ME
+That thou wistfully weepest!
+And the question is 'License or Banns?',
+though undoubtedly Banns are the cheapest."
+
+"Be my Hero," said I,
+"And let ME be Leander!"
+But I lost her reply -
+Something ending with "gander" -
+For the omnibus rattled so loud that no
+mortal could quite understand her.
+
+
+
+THE LANG COORTIN'
+
+
+
+The ladye she stood at her lattice high,
+Wi' her doggie at her feet;
+Thorough the lattice she can spy
+The passers in the street,
+
+"There's one that standeth at the door,
+And tirleth at the pin:
+Now speak and say, my popinjay,
+If I sall let him in."
+
+Then up and spake the popinjay
+That flew abune her head:
+"Gae let him in that tirls the pin:
+He cometh thee to wed."
+
+O when he cam' the parlour in,
+A woeful man was he!
+"And dinna ye ken your lover agen,
+Sae well that loveth thee?"
+
+"And how wad I ken ye loved me, Sir,
+That have been sae lang away?
+And how wad I ken ye loved me, Sir?
+Ye never telled me sae."
+
+Said--"Ladye dear," and the salt, salt tear
+Cam' rinnin' doon his cheek,
+"I have sent the tokens of my love
+This many and many a week.
+
+"O didna ye get the rings, Ladye,
+The rings o' the gowd sae fine?
+I wot that I have sent to thee
+Four score, four score and nine."
+
+"They cam' to me," said that fair ladye.
+"Wow, they were flimsie things!"
+Said--"that chain o' gowd, my doggie to howd,
+It is made o' thae self-same rings."
+
+"And didna ye get the locks, the locks,
+The locks o' my ain black hair,
+Whilk I sent by post, whilk I sent by box,
+Whilk I sent by the carrier?"
+
+"They cam' to me," said that fair ladye;
+"And I prithee send nae mair!"
+Said--"that cushion sae red, for my doggie's head,
+It is stuffed wi' thae locks o' hair."
+
+"And didna ye get the letter, Ladye,
+Tied wi' a silken string,
+Whilk I sent to thee frae the far countrie,
+A message of love to bring?"
+
+"It cam' to me frae the far countrie
+Wi' its silken string and a';
+But it wasna prepaid," said that high-born maid,
+"Sae I gar'd them tak' it awa'."
+
+"O ever alack that ye sent it back,
+It was written sae clerkly and well!
+Now the message it brought, and the boon that it sought,
+I must even say it mysel'."
+
+Then up and spake the popinjay,
+Sae wisely counselled he.
+"Now say it in the proper way:
+Gae doon upon thy knee!"
+
+The lover he turned baith red and pale,
+Went doon upon his knee:
+"O Ladye, hear the waesome tale
+That must be told to thee!
+
+"For five lang years, and five lang years,
+I coorted thee by looks;
+By nods and winks, by smiles and tears,
+As I had read in books.
+
+"For ten lang years, O weary hours!
+I coorted thee by signs;
+By sending game, by sending flowers,
+By sending Valentines.
+
+"For five lang years, and five lang years,
+I have dwelt in the far countrie,
+Till that thy mind should be inclined
+Mair tenderly to me.
+
+"Now thirty years are gane and past,
+I am come frae a foreign land:
+I am come to tell thee my love at last -
+O Ladye, gie me thy hand!"
+
+The ladye she turned not pale nor red,
+But she smiled a pitiful smile:
+"Sic' a coortin' as yours, my man," she said
+"Takes a lang and a weary while!"
+
+And out and laughed the popinjay,
+A laugh of bitter scorn:
+"A coortin' done in sic' a way,
+It ought not to be borne!"
+
+Wi' that the doggie barked aloud,
+And up and doon he ran,
+And tugged and strained his chain o' gowd,
+All for to bite the man.
+
+"O hush thee, gentle popinjay!
+O hush thee, doggie dear!
+There is a word I fain wad say,
+It needeth he should hear!"
+
+Aye louder screamed that ladye fair
+To drown her doggie's bark:
+Ever the lover shouted mair
+To make that ladye hark:
+
+Shrill and more shrill the popinjay
+Upraised his angry squall:
+I trow the doggie's voice that day
+Was louder than them all!
+
+The serving-men and serving-maids
+Sat by the kitchen fire:
+They heard sic' a din the parlour within
+As made them much admire.
+
+Out spake the boy in buttons
+(I ween he wasna thin),
+"Now wha will tae the parlour gae,
+And stay this deadlie din?"
+
+And they have taen a kerchief,
+Casted their kevils in,
+For wha will tae the parlour gae,
+And stay that deadlie din.
+
+When on that boy the kevil fell
+To stay the fearsome noise,
+"Gae in," they cried, "whate'er betide,
+Thou prince of button-boys!"
+
+Syne, he has taen a supple cane
+To swinge that dog sae fat:
+The doggie yowled, the doggie howled
+The louder aye for that.
+
+Syne, he has taen a mutton-bane -
+The doggie ceased his noise,
+And followed doon the kitchen stair
+That prince of button-boys!
+
+Then sadly spake that ladye fair,
+Wi' a frown upon her brow:
+"O dearer to me is my sma' doggie
+Than a dozen sic' as thou!
+
+"Nae use, nae use for sighs and tears:
+Nae use at all to fret:
+Sin' ye've bided sae well for thirty years,
+Ye may bide a wee langer yet!"
+
+Sadly, sadly he crossed the floor
+And tirled at the pin:
+Sadly went he through the door
+Where sadly he cam' in.
+
+"O gin I had a popinjay
+To fly abune my head,
+To tell me what I ought to say,
+I had by this been wed.
+
+"O gin I find anither ladye,"
+He said wi' sighs and tears,
+"I wot my coortin' sall not be
+Anither thirty years
+
+"For gin I find a ladye gay,
+Exactly to my taste,
+I'll pop the question, aye or nay,
+In twenty years at maist."
+
+
+
+FOUR RIDDLES
+
+
+
+[These consist of two Double Acrostics and two Charades.
+
+No. I. was written at the request of some young friends, who had
+gone to a ball at an Oxford Commemoration--and also as a specimen
+of what might be done by making the Double Acrostic A CONNECTED
+POEM instead of what it has hitherto been, a string of disjointed
+stanzas, on every conceivable subject, and about as interesting to
+read straight through as a page of a Cyclopaedia.  The first two
+stanzas describe the two main words, and each subsequent stanza one
+of the cross "lights."
+
+No. II. was written after seeing Miss Ellen Terry perform in the
+play of "Hamlet."  In this case the first stanza describes the two
+main words.
+
+No. III. was written after seeing Miss Marion Terry perform in Mr.
+Gilbert's play of "Pygmalion and Galatea."  The three stanzas
+respectively describe "My First," "My Second," and "My Whole."]
+
+
+I
+
+There was an ancient City, stricken down
+With a strange frenzy, and for many a day
+They paced from morn to eve the crowded town,
+And danced the night away.
+
+I asked the cause:  the aged man grew sad:
+They pointed to a building gray and tall,
+And hoarsely answered "Step inside, my lad,
+And then you'll see it all."
+
+* * * *
+
+Yet what are all such gaieties to me
+Whose thoughts are full of indices and surds?
+
+x*x + 7x + 53 = 11/3
+
+But something whispered "It will soon be done:
+Bands cannot always play, nor ladies smile:
+Endure with patience the distasteful fun
+For just a little while!"
+
+A change came o'er my Vision--it was night:
+We clove a pathway through a frantic throng:
+The steeds, wild-plunging, filled us with affright:
+The chariots whirled along.
+
+Within a marble hall a river ran -
+A living tide, half muslin and half cloth:
+And here one mourned a broken wreath or fan,
+Yet swallowed down her wrath;
+
+And here one offered to a thirsty fair
+(His words half-drowned amid those thunders tuneful)
+Some frozen viand (there were many there),
+A tooth-ache in each spoonful.
+
+There comes a happy pause, for human strength
+Will not endure to dance without cessation;
+And every one must reach the point at length
+Of absolute prostration.
+
+At such a moment ladies learn to give,
+To partners who would urge them over-much,
+A flat and yet decided negative -
+Photographers love such.
+
+There comes a welcome summons--hope revives,
+And fading eyes grow bright, and pulses quicken:
+Incessant pop the corks, and busy knives
+Dispense the tongue and chicken.
+
+Flushed with new life, the crowd flows back again:
+And all is tangled talk and mazy motion -
+Much like a waving field of golden grain,
+Or a tempestuous ocean.
+
+And thus they give the time, that Nature meant
+For peaceful sleep and meditative snores,
+To ceaseless din and mindless merriment
+And waste of shoes and floors.
+
+And One (we name him not) that flies the flowers,
+That dreads the dances, and that shuns the salads,
+They doom to pass in solitude the hours,
+Writing acrostic-ballads.
+
+How late it grows!  The hour is surely past
+That should have warned us with its double knock?
+The twilight wanes, and morning comes at last -
+"Oh, Uncle, what's o'clock?"
+
+The Uncle gravely nods, and wisely winks.
+It MAY mean much, but how is one to know?
+He opens his mouth--yet out of it, methinks,
+No words of wisdom flow.
+
+
+II
+
+
+Empress of Art, for thee I twine
+This wreath with all too slender skill.
+Forgive my Muse each halting line,
+And for the deed accept the will!
+
+* * * *
+
+O day of tears!  Whence comes this spectre grim,
+Parting, like Death's cold river, souls that love?
+Is not he bound to thee, as thou to him,
+By vows, unwhispered here, yet heard above?
+
+And still it lives, that keen and heavenward flame,
+Lives in his eye, and trembles in his tone:
+And these wild words of fury but proclaim
+A heart that beats for thee, for thee alone!
+
+But all is lost:  that mighty mind o'erthrown,
+Like sweet bells jangled, piteous sight to see!
+"Doubt that the stars are fire," so runs his moan,
+"Doubt Truth herself, but not my love for thee!"
+
+A sadder vision yet:  thine aged sire
+Shaming his hoary locks with treacherous wile!
+And dost thou now doubt Truth to be a liar?
+And wilt thou die, that hast forgot to smile?
+
+Nay, get thee hence!  Leave all thy winsome ways
+And the faint fragrance of thy scattered flowers:
+In holy silence wait the appointed days,
+And weep away the leaden-footed hours.
+
+
+III.
+
+
+The air is bright with hues of light
+And rich with laughter and with singing:
+Young hearts beat high in ecstasy,
+And banners wave, and bells are ringing:
+But silence falls with fading day,
+And there's an end to mirth and play.
+Ah, well-a-day
+
+Rest your old bones, ye wrinkled crones!
+The kettle sings, the firelight dances.
+Deep be it quaffed, the magic draught
+That fills the soul with golden fancies!
+For Youth and Pleasance will not stay,
+And ye are withered, worn, and gray.
+Ah, well-a-day!
+
+O fair cold face!  O form of grace,
+For human passion madly yearning!
+O weary air of dumb despair,
+From marble won, to marble turning!
+"Leave us not thus!" we fondly pray.
+"We cannot let thee pass away!"
+Ah, well-a-day!
+
+
+IV.
+
+
+My First is singular at best:
+More plural is my Second:
+My Third is far the pluralest -
+So plural-plural, I protest
+It scarcely can be reckoned!
+
+My First is followed by a bird:
+My Second by believers
+In magic art:  my simple Third
+Follows, too often, hopes absurd
+And plausible deceivers.
+
+My First to get at wisdom tries -
+A failure melancholy!
+My Second men revered as wise:
+My Third from heights of wisdom flies
+To depths of frantic folly.
+
+My First is ageing day by day:
+My Second's age is ended:
+My Third enjoys an age, they say,
+That never seems to fade away,
+Through centuries extended.
+
+My Whole?  I need a poet's pen
+To paint her myriad phases:
+The monarch, and the slave, of men -
+A mountain-summit, and a den
+Of dark and deadly mazes -
+
+A flashing light--a fleeting shade -
+Beginning, end, and middle
+Of all that human art hath made
+Or wit devised!  Go, seek HER aid,
+If you would read my riddle!
+
+
+
+FAME'S PENNY-TRUMPET
+
+
+
+[Affectionately dedicated to all "original researchers" who pant
+for "endowment."]
+
+
+Blow, blow your trumpets till they crack,
+Ye little men of little souls!
+And bid them huddle at your back -
+Gold-sucking leeches, shoals on shoals!
+
+Fill all the air with hungry wails -
+"Reward us, ere we think or write!
+Without your Gold mere Knowledge fails
+To sate the swinish appetite!"
+
+And, where great Plato paced serene,
+Or Newton paused with wistful eye,
+Rush to the chace with hoofs unclean
+And Babel-clamour of the sty
+
+Be yours the pay:  be theirs the praise:
+We will not rob them of their due,
+Nor vex the ghosts of other days
+By naming them along with you.
+
+They sought and found undying fame:
+They toiled not for reward nor thanks:
+Their cheeks are hot with honest shame
+For you, the modern mountebanks!
+
+Who preach of Justice--plead with tears
+That Love and Mercy should abound -
+While marking with complacent ears
+The moaning of some tortured hound:
+
+Who prate of Wisdom--nay, forbear,
+Lest Wisdom turn on you in wrath,
+Trampling, with heel that will not spare,
+The vermin that beset her path!
+
+Go, throng each other's drawing-rooms,
+Ye idols of a petty clique:
+Strut your brief hour in borrowed plumes,
+And make your penny-trumpets squeak.
+
+Deck your dull talk with pilfered shreds
+Of learning from a nobler time,
+And oil each other's little heads
+With mutual Flattery's golden slime:
+
+And when the topmost height ye gain,
+And stand in Glory's ether clear,
+And grasp the prize of all your pain -
+So many hundred pounds a year -
+
+Then let Fame's banner be unfurled!
+Sing Paeans for a victory won!
+Ye tapers, that would light the world,
+And cast a shadow on the Sun -
+
+Who still shall pour His rays sublime,
+One crystal flood, from East to West,
+When YE have burned your little time
+And feebly flickered into rest!
+
+
+
+
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+<a href="#startoftext">Phantasmagoria and Other Poems, by Lewis Carroll</a>
+</h2>
+<pre>
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+*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!*****
+
+
+Title: Phantasmagoria and Other Poems
+
+Author: Lewis Carroll
+
+Release Date: September, 1996  [EBook #651]
+[This file was first posted on September 17, 1996]
+[Most recently updated: September 2, 2002]
+
+Edition: 10
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+</pre>
+<p>
+<a name="startoftext"></a>
+Transcribed from the 1911 Macmillan and Co. edition by David Price,
+email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+PHANTASMAGORIA AND OTHER POEMS<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+PHANTASMAGORIA<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+CANTO I - The Trystyng<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+One winter night, at half-past nine,<br>
+Cold, tired, and cross, and muddy,<br>
+I had come home, too late to dine,<br>
+And supper, with cigars and wine,<br>
+Was waiting in the study.<br>
+<br>
+There was a strangeness in the room,<br>
+And Something white and wavy<br>
+Was standing near me in the gloom -<br>
+<i>I</i> took it for the carpet-broom<br>
+Left by that careless slavey.<br>
+<br>
+But presently the Thing began<br>
+To shiver and to sneeze:<br>
+On which I said &ldquo;Come, come, my man!<br>
+That&rsquo;s a most inconsiderate plan.<br>
+Less noise there, if you please!&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve caught a cold,&rdquo; the Thing replies,<br>
+&ldquo;Out there upon the landing.&rdquo;<br>
+I turned to look in some surprise,<br>
+And there, before my very eyes,<br>
+A little Ghost was standing!<br>
+<br>
+He trembled when he caught my eye,<br>
+And got behind a chair.<br>
+&ldquo;How came you here,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;and why?<br>
+I never saw a thing so shy.<br>
+Come out!&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t shiver there!&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+He said &ldquo;I&rsquo;d gladly tell you how,<br>
+And also tell you why;<br>
+But&rdquo; (here he gave a little bow)<br>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;re in so bad a temper now,<br>
+You&rsquo;d think it all a lie.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;And as to being in a fright,<br>
+Allow me to remark<br>
+That Ghosts have just as good a right<br>
+In every way, to fear the light,<br>
+As Men to fear the dark.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;No plea,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;can well excuse<br>
+Such cowardice in you:<br>
+For Ghosts can visit when they choose,<br>
+Whereas we Humans ca&rsquo;n&rsquo;t refuse<br>
+To grant the interview.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+He said &ldquo;A flutter of alarm<br>
+Is not unnatural, is it?<br>
+I really feared you meant some harm:<br>
+But, now I see that you are calm,<br>
+Let me explain my visit.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Houses are classed, I beg to state,<br>
+According to the number<br>
+Of Ghosts that they accommodate:<br>
+(The Tenant merely counts as <i>weight,<br>
+</i>With Coals and other lumber).<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;This is a &lsquo;one-ghost&rsquo; house, and you<br>
+When you arrived last summer,<br>
+May have remarked a Spectre who<br>
+Was doing all that Ghosts can do<br>
+To welcome the new-comer.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;In Villas this is always done -<br>
+However cheaply rented:<br>
+For, though of course there&rsquo;s less of fun<br>
+When there is only room for one,<br>
+Ghosts have to be contented.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;That Spectre left you on the Third -<br>
+Since then you&rsquo;ve not been haunted:<br>
+For, as he never sent us word,<br>
+&rsquo;Twas quite by accident we heard<br>
+That any one was wanted.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;A Spectre has first choice, by right,<br>
+In filling up a vacancy;<br>
+Then Phantom, Goblin, Elf, and Sprite -<br>
+If all these fail them, they invite<br>
+The nicest Ghoul that they can see.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;The Spectres said the place was low,<br>
+And that you kept bad wine:<br>
+So, as a Phantom had to go,<br>
+And I was first, of course, you know,<br>
+I couldn&rsquo;t well decline.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;No doubt,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;they settled who<br>
+Was fittest to be sent<br>
+Yet still to choose a brat like you,<br>
+To haunt a man of forty-two,<br>
+Was no great compliment!&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m not so young, Sir,&rdquo; he replied,<br>
+&ldquo;As you might think.&nbsp; The fact is,<br>
+In caverns by the water-side,<br>
+And other places that I&rsquo;ve tried,<br>
+I&rsquo;ve had a lot of practice:<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;But I have never taken yet<br>
+A strict domestic part,<br>
+And in my flurry I forget<br>
+The Five Good Rules of Etiquette<br>
+We have to know by heart.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+My sympathies were warming fast<br>
+Towards the little fellow:<br>
+He was so utterly aghast<br>
+At having found a Man at last,<br>
+And looked so scared and yellow.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;At least,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;I&rsquo;m glad to find<br>
+A Ghost is not a <i>dumb</i> thing!<br>
+But pray sit down: you&rsquo;ll feel inclined<br>
+(If, like myself, you have not dined)<br>
+To take a snack of something:<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Though, certainly, you don&rsquo;t appear<br>
+A thing to offer <i>food</i> to!<br>
+And then I shall be glad to hear -<br>
+If you will say them loud and clear -<br>
+The Rules that you allude to.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Thanks!&nbsp; You shall hear them by and by.<br>
+This <i>is</i> a piece of luck!&rdquo;<br>
+&ldquo;What may I offer you?&rdquo; said I.<br>
+&ldquo;Well, since you <i>are</i> so kind, I&rsquo;ll try<br>
+A little bit of duck.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;<i>One</i> slice!&nbsp; And may I ask you for<br>
+Another drop of gravy?&rdquo;<br>
+I sat and looked at him in awe,<br>
+For certainly I never saw<br>
+A thing so white and wavy.<br>
+<br>
+And still he seemed to grow more white,<br>
+More vapoury, and wavier -<br>
+Seen in the dim and flickering light,<br>
+As he proceeded to recite<br>
+His &ldquo;Maxims of Behaviour.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+CANTO II - Hys Fyve Rules<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;My First - but don&rsquo;t suppose,&rdquo; he said,<br>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m setting you a riddle -<br>
+Is - if your Victim be in bed,<br>
+Don&rsquo;t touch the curtains at his head,<br>
+But take them in the middle,<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;And wave them slowly in and out,<br>
+While drawing them asunder;<br>
+And in a minute&rsquo;s time, no doubt,<br>
+He&rsquo;ll raise his head and look about<br>
+With eyes of wrath and wonder.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;And here you must on no pretence<br>
+Make the first observation.<br>
+Wait for the Victim to commence:<br>
+No Ghost of any common sense<br>
+Begins a conversation.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;If he should say &lsquo;<i>How came you here</i>?&rsquo;<br>
+(The way that <i>you</i> began, Sir,)<br>
+In such a case your course is clear -<br>
+&lsquo;<i>On the bat&rsquo;s back, my little dear</i>!&rsquo;<br>
+Is the appropriate answer.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;If after this he says no more,<br>
+You&rsquo;d best perhaps curtail your<br>
+Exertions - go and shake the door,<br>
+And then, if he begins to snore,<br>
+You&rsquo;ll know the thing&rsquo;s a failure.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;By day, if he should be alone -<br>
+At home or on a walk -<br>
+You merely give a hollow groan,<br>
+To indicate the kind of tone<br>
+In which you mean to talk.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;But if you find him with his friends,<br>
+The thing is rather harder.<br>
+In such a case success depends<br>
+On picking up some candle-ends,<br>
+Or butter, in the larder.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;With this you make a kind of slide<br>
+(It answers best with suet),<br>
+On which you must contrive to glide,<br>
+And swing yourself from side to side -<br>
+One soon learns how to do it.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;The Second tells us what is right<br>
+In ceremonious calls:-<br>
+&lsquo;<i>First burn a blue or crimson light</i>&rsquo;<br>
+(A thing I quite forgot to-night),<br>
+&lsquo;<i>Then scratch the door or walls</i>.&rsquo;&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+I said &ldquo;You&rsquo;ll visit <i>here</i> no more,<br>
+If you attempt the Guy.<br>
+I&rsquo;ll have no bonfires on <i>my</i> floor -<br>
+And, as for scratching at the door,<br>
+I&rsquo;d like to see you try!&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;The Third was written to protect<br>
+The interests of the Victim,<br>
+And tells us, as I recollect,<br>
+<i>To treat him with a grave respect,<br>
+And not to contradict him</i>.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s plain,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;as Tare and Tret,<br>
+To any comprehension:<br>
+I only wish <i>some</i> Ghosts I&rsquo;ve met<br>
+Would not so <i>constantly</i> forget<br>
+The maxim that you mention!&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Perhaps,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;<i>you</i> first transgressed<br>
+The laws of hospitality:<br>
+All Ghosts instinctively detest<br>
+The Man that fails to treat his guest<br>
+With proper cordiality.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;If you address a Ghost as &lsquo;Thing!&rsquo;<br>
+Or strike him with a hatchet,<br>
+He is permitted by the King<br>
+To drop all <i>formal</i> parleying -<br>
+And then you&rsquo;re <i>sure</i> to catch it!<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;The Fourth prohibits trespassing<br>
+Where other Ghosts are quartered:<br>
+And those convicted of the thing<br>
+(Unless when pardoned by the King)<br>
+Must instantly be slaughtered.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;That simply means &lsquo;be cut up small&rsquo;:<br>
+Ghosts soon unite anew.<br>
+The process scarcely hurts at all -<br>
+Not more than when <i>you</i>&rsquo;re what you call<br>
+&lsquo;Cut up&rsquo; by a Review.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;The Fifth is one you may prefer<br>
+That I should quote entire:-<br>
+<i>The King must be addressed as</i> &lsquo;<i>Sir</i>.&rsquo;<br>
+<i>This, from a simple courtier,<br>
+Is all the Laws require:<br>
+<br>
+</i>&ldquo;<i>But, should you wish to do the thing<br>
+With out-and-out politeness,<br>
+Accost him as</i> &lsquo;<i>My Goblin King</i>!<br>
+<i>And always use, in answering,<br>
+The phrase</i> &lsquo;<i>Your Royal Whiteness</i>!&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m getting rather hoarse, I fear,<br>
+After so much reciting :<br>
+So, if you don&rsquo;t object, my dear,<br>
+We&rsquo;ll try a glass of bitter beer -<br>
+I think it looks inviting.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+CANTO III - Scarmoges<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;And did you really walk,&rdquo; said I,<br>
+&ldquo;On such a wretched night?<br>
+I always fancied Ghosts could fly -<br>
+If not exactly in the sky,<br>
+Yet at a fairish height.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s very well,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;for Kings<br>
+To soar above the earth:<br>
+But Phantoms often find that wings -<br>
+Like many other pleasant things -<br>
+Cost more than they are worth.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Spectres of course are rich, and so<br>
+Can buy them from the Elves:<br>
+But <i>we</i> prefer to keep below -<br>
+They&rsquo;re stupid company, you know,<br>
+For any but themselves:<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;For, though they claim to be exempt<br>
+From pride, they treat a Phantom<br>
+As something quite beneath contempt -<br>
+Just as no Turkey ever dreamt<br>
+Of noticing a Bantam.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;They seem too proud,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;to go<br>
+To houses such as mine.<br>
+Pray, how did they contrive to know<br>
+So quickly that &lsquo;the place was low,&rsquo;<br>
+And that I &lsquo;kept bad wine&rsquo;?&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Inspector Kobold came to you - &rdquo;<br>
+The little Ghost began.<br>
+Here I broke in - &ldquo;Inspector who?<br>
+Inspecting Ghosts is something new!<br>
+Explain yourself, my man!&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;His name is Kobold,&rdquo; said my guest:<br>
+&ldquo;One of the Spectre order:<br>
+You&rsquo;ll very often see him dressed<br>
+In a yellow gown, a crimson vest,<br>
+And a night-cap with a border.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;He tried the Brocken business first,<br>
+But caught a sort of chill ;<br>
+So came to England to be nursed,<br>
+And here it took the form of <i>thirst</i>,<br>
+Which he complains of still.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Port-wine, he says, when rich and sound,<br>
+Warms his old bones like nectar:<br>
+And as the inns, where it is found,<br>
+Are his especial hunting-ground,<br>
+We call him the <i>Inn-Spectre</i>.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+I bore it - bore it like a man -<br>
+This agonizing witticism!<br>
+And nothing could be sweeter than<br>
+My temper, till the Ghost began<br>
+Some most provoking criticism.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Cooks need not be indulged in waste;<br>
+Yet still you&rsquo;d better teach them<br>
+Dishes should have <i>some sort</i> of taste.<br>
+Pray, why are all the cruets placed<br>
+Where nobody can reach them?<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;That man of yours will never earn<br>
+His living as a waiter!<br>
+Is that queer <i>thing</i> supposed to burn?<br>
+(It&rsquo;s far too dismal a concern<br>
+To call a Moderator).<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;The duck was tender, but the peas<br>
+Were very much too old:<br>
+And just remember, if you please,<br>
+The <i>next</i> time you have toasted cheese,<br>
+Don&rsquo;t let them send it cold.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;d find the bread improved, I think,<br>
+By getting better flour:<br>
+And have you anything to drink<br>
+That looks a <i>little</i> less like ink,<br>
+And isn&rsquo;t <i>quite</i> so sour?&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+Then, peering round with curious eyes,<br>
+He muttered &ldquo;Goodness gracious!&rdquo;<br>
+And so went on to criticise -<br>
+&ldquo;Your room&rsquo;s an inconvenient size:<br>
+It&rsquo;s neither snug nor spacious.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;That narrow window, I expect,<br>
+Serves but to let the dusk in - &rdquo;<br>
+&ldquo;But please,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;to recollect<br>
+&rsquo;Twas fashioned by an architect<br>
+Who pinned his faith on Ruskin!&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t care who he was, Sir, or<br>
+On whom he pinned his faith!<br>
+Constructed by whatever law,<br>
+So poor a job I never saw,<br>
+As I&rsquo;m a living Wraith!<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;What a re-markable cigar!<br>
+How much are they a dozen?&rdquo;<br>
+I growled &ldquo;No matter what they are!<br>
+You&rsquo;re getting as familiar<br>
+As if you were my cousin!<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Now that&rsquo;s a thing <i>I will not stand,<br>
+</i>And so I tell you flat.&rdquo;<br>
+&ldquo;Aha,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;we&rsquo;re getting grand!&rdquo;<br>
+(Taking a bottle in his hand)<br>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll soon arrange for <i>that</i>!&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+And here he took a careful aim,<br>
+And gaily cried &ldquo;Here goes!&rdquo;<br>
+I tried to dodge it as it came,<br>
+But somehow caught it, all the same,<br>
+Exactly on my nose.<br>
+<br>
+And I remember nothing more<br>
+That I can clearly fix,<br>
+Till I was sitting on the floor,<br>
+Repeating &ldquo;Two and five are four,<br>
+But <i>five and two</i> are six.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+What really passed I never learned,<br>
+Nor guessed: I only know<br>
+That, when at last my sense returned,<br>
+The lamp, neglected, dimly burned -<br>
+The fire was getting low -<br>
+<br>
+Through driving mists I seemed to see<br>
+A Thing that smirked and smiled:<br>
+And found that he was giving me<br>
+A lesson in Biography,<br>
+As if I were a child.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+CANTO IV - Hys Nouryture<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Oh, when I was a little Ghost,<br>
+A merry time had we!<br>
+Each seated on his favourite post,<br>
+We chumped and chawed the buttered toast<br>
+They gave us for our tea.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;That story is in print!&rdquo; I cried.<br>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t say it&rsquo;s not, because<br>
+It&rsquo;s known as well as Bradshaw&rsquo;s Guide!&rdquo;<br>
+(The Ghost uneasily replied<br>
+He hardly thought it was).<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s not in Nursery Rhymes?&nbsp; And yet<br>
+I almost think it is -<br>
+&lsquo;Three little Ghosteses&rsquo; were set<br>
+&lsquo;On posteses,&rsquo; you know, and ate<br>
+Their &lsquo;buttered toasteses.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;I have the book; so if you doubt it - &rdquo;<br>
+I turned to search the shelf.<br>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t stir!&rdquo; he cried.&nbsp; &ldquo;We&rsquo;ll do
+without it:<br>
+I now remember all about it;<br>
+I wrote the thing myself.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;It came out in a &lsquo;Monthly,&rsquo; or<br>
+At least my agent said it did:<br>
+Some literary swell, who saw<br>
+It, thought it seemed adapted for<br>
+The Magazine he edited.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;My father was a Brownie, Sir;<br>
+My mother was a Fairy.<br>
+The notion had occurred to her,<br>
+The children would be happier,<br>
+If they were taught to vary.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;The notion soon became a craze;<br>
+And, when it once began, she<br>
+Brought us all out in different ways -<br>
+One was a Pixy, two were Fays,<br>
+Another was a Banshee;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;The Fetch and Kelpie went to school<br>
+And gave a lot of trouble;<br>
+Next came a Poltergeist and Ghoul,<br>
+And then two Trolls (which broke the rule),<br>
+A Goblin, and a Double -<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;(If that&rsquo;s a snuff-box on the shelf,&rdquo;<br>
+He added with a yawn,<br>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll take a pinch) - next came an Elf,<br>
+And then a Phantom (that&rsquo;s myself),<br>
+And last, a Leprechaun.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;One day, some Spectres chanced to call,<br>
+Dressed in the usual white:<br>
+I stood and watched them in the hall,<br>
+And couldn&rsquo;t make them out at all,<br>
+They seemed so strange a sight.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;I wondered what on earth they were,<br>
+That looked all head and sack;<br>
+But Mother told me not to stare,<br>
+And then she twitched me by the hair,<br>
+And punched me in the back.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Since then I&rsquo;ve often wished that I<br>
+Had been a Spectre born.<br>
+But what&rsquo;s the use?&rdquo;&nbsp; (He heaved a sigh.)<br>
+&ldquo;<i>They</i> are the ghost-nobility,<br>
+And look on <i>us</i> with scorn.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;My phantom-life was soon begun:<br>
+When I was barely six,<br>
+I went out with an older one -<br>
+And just at first I thought it fun,<br>
+And learned a lot of tricks.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve haunted dungeons, castles, towers -<br>
+Wherever I was sent:<br>
+I&rsquo;ve often sat and howled for hours,<br>
+Drenched to the skin with driving showers,<br>
+Upon a battlement.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s quite old-fashioned now to groan<br>
+When you begin to speak:<br>
+This is the newest thing in tone - &rdquo;<br>
+And here (it chilled me to the bone)<br>
+He gave an <i>awful</i> squeak.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Perhaps,&rdquo; he added, &ldquo;to <i>your</i> ear<br>
+That sounds an easy thing?<br>
+Try it yourself, my little dear!<br>
+It took <i>me</i> something like a year,<br>
+With constant practising.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;And when you&rsquo;ve learned to squeak, my man,<br>
+And caught the double sob,<br>
+You&rsquo;re pretty much where you began:<br>
+Just try and gibber if you can!<br>
+That&rsquo;s something <i>like</i> a job!<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;<i>I&rsquo;ve</i> tried it, and can only say<br>
+I&rsquo;m sure you couldn&rsquo;t do it, e-<br>
+ven if you practised night and day,<br>
+Unless you have a turn that way,<br>
+And natural ingenuity.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Shakspeare I think it is who treats<br>
+Of Ghosts, in days of old,<br>
+Who &lsquo;gibbered in the Roman streets,&rsquo;<br>
+Dressed, if you recollect, in sheets -<br>
+They must have found it cold.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve often spent ten pounds on stuff,<br>
+In dressing as a Double;<br>
+But, though it answers as a puff,<br>
+It never has effect enough<br>
+To make it worth the trouble.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Long bills soon quenched the little thirst<br>
+I had for being funny.<br>
+The setting-up is always worst:<br>
+Such heaps of things you want at first,<br>
+One must be made of money!<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;For instance, take a Haunted Tower,<br>
+With skull, cross-bones, and sheet;<br>
+Blue lights to burn (say) two an hour,<br>
+Condensing lens of extra power,<br>
+And set of chains complete:<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;What with the things you have to hire -<br>
+The fitting on the robe -<br>
+And testing all the coloured fire -<br>
+The outfit of itself would tire<br>
+The patience of a Job!<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;And then they&rsquo;re so fastidious,<br>
+The Haunted-House Committee:<br>
+I&rsquo;ve often known them make a fuss<br>
+Because a Ghost was French, or Russ,<br>
+Or even from the City!<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Some dialects are objected to -<br>
+For one, the <i>Irish</i> brogue is:<br>
+And then, for all you have to do,<br>
+One pound a week they offer you,<br>
+And find yourself in Bogies!<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+CANTO V - Byckerment<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t they consult the &lsquo;Victims,&rsquo; though?&rdquo;<br>
+I said.&nbsp; &ldquo;They should, by rights,<br>
+Give them a chance - because, you know,<br>
+The tastes of people differ so,<br>
+Especially in Sprites.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+The Phantom shook his head and smiled.<br>
+&ldquo;Consult them?&nbsp; Not a bit!<br>
+&lsquo;Twould be a job to drive one wild,<br>
+To satisfy one single child -<br>
+There&rsquo;d be no end to it!&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Of course you can&rsquo;t leave <i>children</i> free,&rdquo;<br>
+Said I, &ldquo;to pick and choose:<br>
+But, in the case of men like me,<br>
+I think &lsquo;Mine Host&rsquo; might fairly be<br>
+Allowed to state his views.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+He said &ldquo;It really wouldn&rsquo;t pay -<br>
+Folk are so full of fancies.<br>
+We visit for a single day,<br>
+And whether then we go, or stay,<br>
+Depends on circumstances.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;And, though we don&rsquo;t consult &lsquo;Mine Host&rsquo;<br>
+Before the thing&rsquo;s arranged,<br>
+Still, if he often quits his post,<br>
+Or is not a well-mannered Ghost,<br>
+Then you can have him changed.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;But if the host&rsquo;s a man like you -<br>
+I mean a man of sense;<br>
+And if the house is not too new - &rdquo;<br>
+&ldquo;Why, what has <i>that</i>,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;to do<br>
+With Ghost&rsquo;s convenience?&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;A new house does not suit, you know -<br>
+It&rsquo;s such a job to trim it:<br>
+But, after twenty years or so,<br>
+The wainscotings begin to go,<br>
+So twenty is the limit.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;To trim&rdquo; was not a phrase I could<br>
+Remember having heard:<br>
+&ldquo;Perhaps,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;you&rsquo;ll be so good<br>
+As tell me what is understood<br>
+Exactly by that word?&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;It means the loosening all the doors,&rdquo;<br>
+The Ghost replied, and laughed:<br>
+&ldquo;It means the drilling holes by scores<br>
+In all the skirting-boards and floors,<br>
+To make a thorough draught.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll sometimes find that one or two<br>
+Are all you really need<br>
+To let the wind come whistling through -<br>
+But <i>here</i> there&rsquo;ll be a lot to do!&rdquo;<br>
+I faintly gasped &ldquo;Indeed!<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;If I&rsquo;d been rather later, I&rsquo;ll<br>
+Be bound,&rdquo; I added, trying<br>
+(Most unsuccessfully) to smile,<br>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;d have been busy all this while,<br>
+Trimming and beautifying?&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Why, no,&rdquo; said he; &ldquo;perhaps I should<br>
+Have stayed another minute -<br>
+But still no Ghost, that&rsquo;s any good,<br>
+Without an introduction would<br>
+Have ventured to begin it.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;The proper thing, as you were late,<br>
+Was certainly to go:<br>
+But, with the roads in such a state,<br>
+I got the Knight-Mayor&rsquo;s leave to wait<br>
+For half an hour or so.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Who&rsquo;s the Knight-Mayor?&rdquo; I cried.&nbsp; Instead<br>
+Of answering my question,<br>
+&ldquo;Well, if you don&rsquo;t know <i>that</i>,&rdquo; he said,<br>
+&ldquo;Either you never go to bed,<br>
+Or you&rsquo;ve a grand digestion!<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;He goes about and sits on folk<br>
+That eat too much at night:<br>
+His duties are to pinch, and poke,<br>
+And squeeze them till they nearly choke.&rdquo;<br>
+(I said &ldquo;It serves them right!&rdquo;)<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;And folk who sup on things like these - &rdquo;<br>
+He muttered, &ldquo;eggs and bacon -<br>
+Lobster - and duck - and toasted cheese -<br>
+If they don&rsquo;t get an awful squeeze,<br>
+I&rsquo;m very much mistaken!<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;He is immensely fat, and so<br>
+Well suits the occupation:<br>
+In point of fact, if you must know,<br>
+We used to call him years ago,<br>
+<i>The Mayor and Corporation!<br>
+<br>
+</i>&ldquo;The day he was elected Mayor<br>
+I <i>know</i> that every Sprite meant<br>
+To vote for <i>me</i>, but did not dare -<br>
+He was so frantic with despair<br>
+And furious with excitement.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;When it was over, for a whim,<br>
+He ran to tell the King;<br>
+And being the reverse of slim,<br>
+A two-mile trot was not for him<br>
+A very easy thing.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;So, to reward him for his run<br>
+(As it was baking hot,<br>
+And he was over twenty stone),<br>
+The King proceeded, half in fun,<br>
+To knight him on the spot.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Twas a great liberty to take!&rdquo;<br>
+(I fired up like a rocket).<br>
+&ldquo;He did it just for punning&rsquo;s sake:<br>
+&lsquo;The man,&rsquo; says Johnson, &lsquo;that would make<br>
+A pun, would pick a pocket!&rsquo;&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;A man,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;is not a King.&rdquo;<br>
+I argued for a while,<br>
+And did my best to prove the thing -<br>
+The Phantom merely listening<br>
+With a contemptuous smile.<br>
+<br>
+At last, when, breath and patience spent,<br>
+I had recourse to smoking -<br>
+&ldquo;Your <i>aim</i>,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;is excellent:<br>
+But - when you call it <i>argument</i> -<br>
+Of course you&rsquo;re only joking?&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+Stung by his cold and snaky eye,<br>
+I roused myself at length<br>
+To say &ldquo;At least I do defy<br>
+The veriest sceptic to deny<br>
+That union is strength!&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s true enough,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;yet stay - &rdquo;<br>
+I listened in all meekness -<br>
+&ldquo;<i>Union</i> is strength, I&rsquo;m bound to say;<br>
+In fact, the thing&rsquo;s as clear as day;<br>
+But <i>onions</i> are a weakness.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+CANTO VI - Dyscomfyture<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+As one who strives a hill to climb,<br>
+Who never climbed before:<br>
+Who finds it, in a little time,<br>
+Grow every moment less sublime,<br>
+And votes the thing a bore:<br>
+<br>
+Yet, having once begun to try,<br>
+Dares not desert his quest,<br>
+But, climbing, ever keeps his eye<br>
+On one small hut against the sky<br>
+Wherein he hopes to rest:<br>
+<br>
+Who climbs till nerve and force are spent,<br>
+With many a puff and pant:<br>
+Who still, as rises the ascent,<br>
+In language grows more violent,<br>
+Although in breath more scant:<br>
+<br>
+Who, climbing, gains at length the place<br>
+That crowns the upward track.<br>
+And, entering with unsteady pace,<br>
+Receives a buffet in the face<br>
+That lands him on his back:<br>
+<br>
+And feels himself, like one in sleep,<br>
+Glide swiftly down again,<br>
+A helpless weight, from steep to steep,<br>
+Till, with a headlong giddy sweep,<br>
+He drops upon the plain -<br>
+<br>
+So I, that had resolved to bring<br>
+Conviction to a ghost,<br>
+And found it quite a different thing<br>
+From any human arguing,<br>
+Yet dared not quit my post<br>
+<br>
+But, keeping still the end in view<br>
+To which I hoped to come,<br>
+I strove to prove the matter true<br>
+By putting everything I knew<br>
+Into an axiom:<br>
+<br>
+Commencing every single phrase<br>
+With &lsquo;therefore&rsquo; or &lsquo;because,&rsquo;<br>
+I blindly reeled, a hundred ways,<br>
+About the syllogistic maze,<br>
+Unconscious where I was.<br>
+<br>
+Quoth he &ldquo;That&rsquo;s regular clap-trap:<br>
+Don&rsquo;t bluster any more.<br>
+Now <i>do</i> be cool and take a nap!<br>
+Such a ridiculous old chap<br>
+Was never seen before!<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;re like a man I used to meet,<br>
+Who got one day so furious<br>
+In arguing, the simple heat<br>
+Scorched both his slippers off his feet!&rdquo;<br>
+I said &ldquo;<i>That&rsquo;s very curious</i>!&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Well, it <i>is</i> curious, I agree,<br>
+And sounds perhaps like fibs:<br>
+But still it&rsquo;s true as true can be -<br>
+As sure as your name&rsquo;s Tibbs,&rdquo; said he.<br>
+I said &ldquo;My name&rsquo;s <i>not</i> Tibbs.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;<i>Not</i> Tibbs!&rdquo; he cried - his tone became<br>
+A shade or two less hearty -<br>
+&ldquo;Why, no,&rdquo; said I.&nbsp; &ldquo;My proper name<br>
+Is Tibbets - &rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;Tibbets?&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;Aye,
+the same.&rdquo;<br>
+&ldquo;Why, then YOU&rsquo;RE NOT THE PARTY!&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+With that he struck the board a blow<br>
+That shivered half the glasses.<br>
+&ldquo;Why couldn&rsquo;t you have told me so<br>
+Three quarters of an hour ago,<br>
+You prince of all the asses?<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;To walk four miles through mud and rain,<br>
+To spend the night in smoking,<br>
+And then to find that it&rsquo;s in vain -<br>
+And I&rsquo;ve to do it all again -<br>
+It&rsquo;s really <i>too</i> provoking!<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t talk!&rdquo; he cried, as I began<br>
+To mutter some excuse.<br>
+&ldquo;Who can have patience with a man<br>
+That&rsquo;s got no more discretion than<br>
+An idiotic goose?<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;To keep me waiting here, instead<br>
+Of telling me at once<br>
+That this was not the house!&rdquo; he said.<br>
+&ldquo;There, that&rsquo;ll do - be off to bed!<br>
+Don&rsquo;t gape like that, you dunce!&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s very fine to throw the blame<br>
+On <i>me</i> in such a fashion!<br>
+Why didn&rsquo;t you enquire my name<br>
+The very minute that you came?&rdquo;<br>
+I answered in a passion.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Of course it worries you a bit<br>
+To come so far on foot -<br>
+But how was <i>I</i> to blame for it?&rdquo;<br>
+&ldquo;Well, well!&rdquo; said he.&nbsp; &ldquo;I must admit<br>
+That isn&rsquo;t badly put.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;And certainly you&rsquo;ve given me<br>
+The best of wine and victual -<br>
+Excuse my violence,&rdquo; said he,<br>
+&ldquo;But accidents like this, you see,<br>
+They put one out a little.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Twas <i>my</i> fault after all, I find -<br>
+Shake hands, old Turnip-top!&rdquo;<br>
+The name was hardly to my mind,<br>
+But, as no doubt he meant it kind,<br>
+I let the matter drop.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Good-night, old Turnip-top, good-night!<br>
+When I am gone, perhaps<br>
+They&rsquo;ll send you some inferior Sprite,<br>
+Who&rsquo;ll keep you in a constant fright<br>
+And spoil your soundest naps.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Tell him you&rsquo;ll stand no sort of trick;<br>
+Then, if he leers and chuckles,<br>
+You just be handy with a stick<br>
+(Mind that it&rsquo;s pretty hard and thick)<br>
+And rap him on the knuckles!<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Then carelessly remark &lsquo;Old coon!<br>
+Perhaps you&rsquo;re not aware<br>
+That, if you don&rsquo;t behave, you&rsquo;ll soon<br>
+Be chuckling to another tune -<br>
+And so you&rsquo;d best take care!&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s the right way to cure a Sprite<br>
+Of such like goings-on -<br>
+But gracious me!&nbsp; It&rsquo;s getting light!<br>
+Good-night, old Turnip-top, good-night!&rdquo;<br>
+A nod, and he was gone.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+CANTO VII - Sad Souvenaunce<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;What&rsquo;s this?&rdquo; I pondered.&nbsp; &ldquo;Have I slept?<br>
+Or can I have been drinking?&rdquo;<br>
+But soon a gentler feeling crept<br>
+Upon me, and I sat and wept<br>
+An hour or so, like winking.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;No need for Bones to hurry so!&rdquo;<br>
+I sobbed.&nbsp; &ldquo;In fact, I doubt<br>
+If it was worth his while to go -<br>
+And who is Tibbs, I&rsquo;d like to know,<br>
+To make such work about?<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;If Tibbs is anything like me,<br>
+It&rsquo;s <i>possible</i>,&rdquo; I said,<br>
+&ldquo;He won&rsquo;t be over-pleased to be<br>
+Dropped in upon at half-past three,<br>
+After he&rsquo;s snug in bed.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;And if Bones plagues him anyhow -<br>
+Squeaking and all the rest of it,<br>
+As he was doing here just now -<br>
+<i>I</i> prophesy there&rsquo;ll be a row,<br>
+And Tibbs will have the best of it!&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+Then, as my tears could never bring<br>
+The friendly Phantom back,<br>
+It seemed to me the proper thing<br>
+To mix another glass, and sing<br>
+The following Coronach.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;<i>And art thou gone, beloved Ghost</i>?<br>
+<i>Best of Familiars!<br>
+Nay then, farewell, my duckling roast,<br>
+Farewell, farewell, my tea and toast,<br>
+My meerschaum and cigars</i>!<br>
+<br>
+<i>The hues of life are dull and gray,<br>
+The sweets of life insipid,<br>
+When</i> thou, <i>my charmer, art away</i> -<br>
+<i>Old Brick, or rather, let me say,<br>
+Old Parallelepiped</i>!&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+Instead of singing Verse the Third,<br>
+I ceased - abruptly, rather:<br>
+But, after such a splendid word<br>
+I felt that it would be absurd<br>
+To try it any farther.<br>
+<br>
+So with a yawn I went my way<br>
+To seek the welcome downy,<br>
+And slept, and dreamed till break of day<br>
+Of Poltergeist and Fetch and Fay<br>
+And Leprechaun and Brownie!<br>
+<br>
+For year I&rsquo;ve not been visited<br>
+By any kind of Sprite;<br>
+Yet still they echo in my head,<br>
+Those parting words, so kindly said,<br>
+&ldquo;Old Turnip-top, good-night!&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+ECHOES<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+Lady Clara Vere de Vere<br>
+Was eight years old, she said:<br>
+Every ringlet, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden thread.<br>
+<br>
+She took her little porringer:<br>
+Of me she shall not win renown:<br>
+For the baseness of its nature shall have strength to drag her down.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Sisters and brothers, little Maid?<br>
+There stands the Inspector at thy door:<br>
+Like a dog, he hunts for boys who know not two and two are four.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Kind words are more than coronets,&rdquo;<br>
+She said, and wondering looked at me:<br>
+&ldquo;It is the dead unhappy night, and I must hurry home to tea.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+A SEA DIRGE<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+There are certain things - as, a spider, a ghost,<br>
+The income-tax, gout, an umbrella for three -<br>
+That I hate, but the thing that I hate the most<br>
+Is a thing they call the Sea.<br>
+<br>
+Pour some salt water over the floor -<br>
+Ugly I&rsquo;m sure you&rsquo;ll allow it to be:<br>
+Suppose it extended a mile or more,<br>
+<i>That&rsquo;s</i> very like the Sea.<br>
+<br>
+Beat a dog till it howls outright -<br>
+Cruel, but all very well for a spree:<br>
+Suppose that he did so day and night,<br>
+<i>That</i> would be like the Sea.<br>
+<br>
+I had a vision of nursery-maids;<br>
+Tens of thousands passed by me -<br>
+All leading children with wooden spades,<br>
+And this was by the Sea.<br>
+<br>
+Who invented those spades of wood?<br>
+Who was it cut them out of the tree?<br>
+None, I think, but an idiot could -<br>
+Or one that loved the Sea.<br>
+<br>
+It is pleasant and dreamy, no doubt, to float<br>
+With &lsquo;thoughts as boundless, and souls as free&rsquo;:<br>
+But, suppose you are very unwell in the boat,<br>
+How do you like the Sea?<br>
+<br>
+There is an insect that people avoid<br>
+(Whence is derived the verb &lsquo;to flee&rsquo;).<br>
+Where have you been by it most annoyed?<br>
+In lodgings by the Sea.<br>
+<br>
+If you like your coffee with sand for dregs,<br>
+A decided hint of salt in your tea,<br>
+And a fishy taste in the very eggs -<br>
+By all means choose the Sea.<br>
+<br>
+And if, with these dainties to drink and eat,<br>
+You prefer not a vestige of grass or tree,<br>
+And a chronic state of wet in your feet,<br>
+Then - I recommend the Sea.<br>
+<br>
+For <i>I</i> have friends who dwell by the coast -<br>
+Pleasant friends they are to me!<br>
+It is when I am with them I wonder most<br>
+That anyone likes the Sea.<br>
+<br>
+They take me a walk: though tired and stiff,<br>
+To climb the heights I madly agree;<br>
+And, after a tumble or so from the cliff,<br>
+They kindly suggest the Sea.<br>
+<br>
+I try the rocks, and I think it cool<br>
+That they laugh with such an excess of glee,<br>
+As I heavily slip into every pool<br>
+That skirts the cold cold Sea.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+Ye Carpette Knyghte<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+I have a horse - a ryghte good horse -<br>
+Ne doe Y envye those<br>
+Who scoure ye playne yn headye course<br>
+Tyll soddayne on theyre nose<br>
+They lyghte wyth unexpected force<br>
+Yt ys - a horse of clothes.<br>
+<br>
+I have a saddel - &ldquo;Say&rsquo;st thou soe?<br>
+Wyth styrruppes, Knyghte, to boote?&rdquo;<br>
+I sayde not that - I answere &ldquo;Noe&rdquo; -<br>
+Yt lacketh such, I woote:<br>
+Yt ys a mutton-saddel, loe!<br>
+Parte of ye fleecye brute.<br>
+<br>
+I have a bytte - a ryghte good bytte -<br>
+As shall bee seene yn tyme.<br>
+Ye jawe of horse yt wyll not fytte;<br>
+Yts use ys more sublyme.<br>
+Fayre Syr, how deemest thou of yt?<br>
+Yt ys - thys bytte of rhyme.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+HIAWATHA&rsquo;S PHOTOGRAPHING<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+[In an age of imitation, I can claim no special merit for this slight
+attempt at doing what is known to be so easy.&nbsp; Any fairly practised
+writer, with the slightest ear for rhythm, could compose, for hours
+together, in the easy running metre of &lsquo;The Song of Hiawatha.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+Having, then, distinctly stated that I challenge no attention in the
+following little poem to its merely verbal jingle, I must beg the candid
+reader to confine his criticism to its treatment of the subject.]<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+From his shoulder Hiawatha<br>
+Took the camera of rosewood,<br>
+Made of sliding, folding rosewood;<br>
+Neatly put it all together.<br>
+In its case it lay compactly,<br>
+Folded into nearly nothing;<br>
+<br>
+But he opened out the hinges,<br>
+Pushed and pulled the joints and hinges,<br>
+Till it looked all squares and oblongs,<br>
+Like a complicated figure<br>
+In the Second Book of Euclid.<br>
+<br>
+This he perched upon a tripod -<br>
+Crouched beneath its dusky cover -<br>
+Stretched his hand, enforcing silence -<br>
+Said, &ldquo;Be motionless, I beg you!&rdquo;<br>
+Mystic, awful was the process.<br>
+<br>
+All the family in order<br>
+Sat before him for their pictures:<br>
+Each in turn, as he was taken,<br>
+Volunteered his own suggestions,<br>
+His ingenious suggestions.<br>
+<br>
+First the Governor, the Father:<br>
+He suggested velvet curtains<br>
+Looped about a massy pillar;<br>
+And the corner of a table,<br>
+Of a rosewood dining-table.<br>
+He would hold a scroll of something,<br>
+Hold it firmly in his left-hand;<br>
+He would keep his right-hand buried<br>
+(Like Napoleon) in his waistcoat;<br>
+He would contemplate the distance<br>
+With a look of pensive meaning,<br>
+As of ducks that die ill tempests.<br>
+<br>
+Grand, heroic was the notion:<br>
+Yet the picture failed entirely:<br>
+Failed, because he moved a little,<br>
+Moved, because he couldn&rsquo;t help it.<br>
+<br>
+Next, his better half took courage;<br>
+<i>She</i> would have her picture taken.<br>
+She came dressed beyond description,<br>
+Dressed in jewels and in satin<br>
+Far too gorgeous for an empress.<br>
+Gracefully she sat down sideways,<br>
+With a simper scarcely human,<br>
+Holding in her hand a bouquet<br>
+Rather larger than a cabbage.<br>
+All the while that she was sitting,<br>
+Still the lady chattered, chattered,<br>
+Like a monkey in the forest.<br>
+&ldquo;Am I sitting still?&rdquo; she asked him.<br>
+&ldquo;Is my face enough in profile?<br>
+Shall I hold the bouquet higher?<br>
+Will it came into the picture?&rdquo;<br>
+And the picture failed completely.<br>
+<br>
+Next the Son, the Stunning-Cantab:<br>
+He suggested curves of beauty,<br>
+Curves pervading all his figure,<br>
+Which the eye might follow onward,<br>
+Till they centered in the breast-pin,<br>
+Centered in the golden breast-pin.<br>
+He had learnt it all from Ruskin<br>
+(Author of &lsquo;The Stones of Venice,&rsquo;<br>
+&lsquo;Seven Lamps of Architecture,&rsquo;<br>
+&lsquo;Modern Painters,&rsquo; and some others);<br>
+And perhaps he had not fully<br>
+Understood his author&rsquo;s meaning;<br>
+But, whatever was the reason,<br>
+All was fruitless, as the picture<br>
+Ended in an utter failure.<br>
+<br>
+Next to him the eldest daughter:<br>
+She suggested very little,<br>
+Only asked if he would take her<br>
+With her look of &lsquo;passive beauty.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+Her idea of passive beauty<br>
+Was a squinting of the left-eye,<br>
+Was a drooping of the right-eye,<br>
+Was a smile that went up sideways<br>
+To the corner of the nostrils.<br>
+<br>
+Hiawatha, when she asked him,<br>
+Took no notice of the question,<br>
+Looked as if he hadn&rsquo;t heard it;<br>
+But, when pointedly appealed to,<br>
+Smiled in his peculiar manner,<br>
+Coughed and said it &lsquo;didn&rsquo;t matter,&rsquo;<br>
+Bit his lip and changed the subject.<br>
+<br>
+Nor in this was he mistaken,<br>
+As the picture failed completely.<br>
+<br>
+So in turn the other sisters.<br>
+<br>
+Last, the youngest son was taken:<br>
+Very rough and thick his hair was,<br>
+Very round and red his face was,<br>
+Very dusty was his jacket,<br>
+Very fidgety his manner.<br>
+And his overbearing sisters<br>
+Called him names he disapproved of:<br>
+Called him Johnny, &lsquo;Daddy&rsquo;s Darling,&rsquo;<br>
+Called him Jacky, &lsquo;Scrubby School-boy.&rsquo;<br>
+And, so awful was the picture,<br>
+In comparison the others<br>
+Seemed, to one&rsquo;s bewildered fancy,<br>
+To have partially succeeded.<br>
+<br>
+Finally my Hiawatha<br>
+Tumbled all the tribe together,<br>
+(&lsquo;Grouped&rsquo; is not the right expression),<br>
+And, as happy chance would have it<br>
+Did at last obtain a picture<br>
+Where the faces all succeeded:<br>
+Each came out a perfect likeness.<br>
+<br>
+Then they joined and all abused it,<br>
+Unrestrainedly abused it,<br>
+As the worst and ugliest picture<br>
+They could possibly have dreamed of.<br>
+&lsquo;Giving one such strange expressions -<br>
+Sullen, stupid, pert expressions.<br>
+Really any one would take us<br>
+(Any one that did not know us)<br>
+For the most unpleasant people!&rsquo;<br>
+(Hiawatha seemed to think so,<br>
+Seemed to think it not unlikely).<br>
+All together rang their voices,<br>
+Angry, loud, discordant voices,<br>
+As of dogs that howl in concert,<br>
+As of cats that wail in chorus.<br>
+<br>
+But my Hiawatha&rsquo;s patience,<br>
+His politeness and his patience,<br>
+Unaccountably had vanished,<br>
+And he left that happy party.<br>
+Neither did he leave them slowly,<br>
+With the calm deliberation,<br>
+The intense deliberation<br>
+Of a photographic artist:<br>
+But he left them in a hurry,<br>
+Left them in a mighty hurry,<br>
+Stating that he would not stand it,<br>
+Stating in emphatic language<br>
+What he&rsquo;d be before he&rsquo;d stand it.<br>
+Hurriedly he packed his boxes:<br>
+Hurriedly the porter trundled<br>
+On a barrow all his boxes:<br>
+Hurriedly he took his ticket:<br>
+Hurriedly the train received him:<br>
+Thus departed Hiawatha.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+MELANCHOLETTA<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+With saddest music all day long<br>
+She soothed her secret sorrow:<br>
+At night she sighed &ldquo;I fear &rsquo;twas wrong<br>
+Such cheerful words to borrow.<br>
+Dearest, a sweeter, sadder song<br>
+I&rsquo;ll sing to thee to-morrow.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+I thanked her, but I could not say<br>
+That I was glad to hear it:<br>
+I left the house at break of day,<br>
+And did not venture near it<br>
+Till time, I hoped, had worn away<br>
+Her grief, for nought could cheer it!<br>
+<br>
+My dismal sister!&nbsp; Couldst thou know<br>
+The wretched home thou keepest!<br>
+Thy brother, drowned in daily woe,<br>
+Is thankful when thou sleepest;<br>
+For if I laugh, however low,<br>
+When thou&rsquo;rt awake, thou weepest!<br>
+<br>
+I took my sister t&rsquo;other day<br>
+(Excuse the slang expression)<br>
+To Sadler&rsquo;s Wells to see the play<br>
+In hopes the new impression<br>
+Might in her thoughts, from grave to gay<br>
+Effect some slight digression.<br>
+<br>
+I asked three gay young dogs from town<br>
+To join us in our folly,<br>
+Whose mirth, I thought, might serve to drown<br>
+My sister&rsquo;s melancholy:<br>
+The lively Jones, the sportive Brown,<br>
+And Robinson the jolly.<br>
+<br>
+The maid announced the meal in tones<br>
+That I myself had taught her,<br>
+Meant to allay my sister&rsquo;s moans<br>
+Like oil on troubled water:<br>
+I rushed to Jones, the lively Jones,<br>
+And begged him to escort her.<br>
+<br>
+Vainly he strove, with ready wit,<br>
+To joke about the weather -<br>
+To ventilate the last &lsquo;<i>on dit</i>&rsquo; -<br>
+To quote the price of leather -<br>
+She groaned &ldquo;Here I and Sorrow sit:<br>
+Let us lament together!&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+I urged &ldquo;You&rsquo;re wasting time, you know:<br>
+Delay will spoil the venison.&rdquo;<br>
+&ldquo;My heart is wasted with my woe!<br>
+There is no rest - in Venice, on<br>
+The Bridge of Sighs!&rdquo; she quoted low<br>
+From Byron and from Tennyson.<br>
+<br>
+I need not tell of soup and fish<br>
+In solemn silence swallowed,<br>
+The sobs that ushered in each dish,<br>
+And its departure followed,<br>
+Nor yet my suicidal wish<br>
+To <i>be</i> the cheese I hollowed.<br>
+<br>
+Some desperate attempts were made<br>
+To start a conversation;<br>
+&ldquo;Madam,&rdquo; the sportive Brown essayed,<br>
+&ldquo;Which kind of recreation,<br>
+Hunting or fishing, have you made<br>
+Your special occupation?&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+Her lips curved downwards instantly,<br>
+As if of india-rubber.<br>
+&ldquo;Hounds <i>in full cry</i> I like,&rdquo; said she:<br>
+(Oh how I longed to snub her!)<br>
+&ldquo;Of fish, a whale&rsquo;s the one for me,<br>
+<i>It is so full of blubber</i>!&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+The night&rsquo;s performance was &ldquo;King John.&rdquo;<br>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s dull,&rdquo; she wept, &ldquo;and so-so!&rdquo;<br>
+Awhile I let her tears flow on,<br>
+She said they soothed her woe so!<br>
+At length the curtain rose upon<br>
+&lsquo;Bombastes Furioso.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+In vain we roared; in vain we tried<br>
+To rouse her into laughter:<br>
+Her pensive glances wandered wide<br>
+From orchestra to rafter -<br>
+&ldquo;<i>Tier upon tier</i>!&rdquo; she said, and sighed;<br>
+And silence followed after.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+A VALENTINE<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+[Sent to a friend who had complained that I was glad enough to see him
+when he came, but didn&rsquo;t seem to miss him if he stayed away.]<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+And cannot pleasures, while they last,<br>
+Be actual unless, when past,<br>
+They leave us shuddering and aghast,<br>
+With anguish smarting?<br>
+And cannot friends be firm and fast,<br>
+And yet bear parting?<br>
+<br>
+And must I then, at Friendship&rsquo;s call,<br>
+Calmly resign the little all<br>
+(Trifling, I grant, it is and small)<br>
+I have of gladness,<br>
+And lend my being to the thrall<br>
+Of gloom and sadness?<br>
+<br>
+And think you that I should be dumb,<br>
+And full <i>dolorum omnium,<br>
+</i>Excepting when <i>you</i> choose to come<br>
+And share my dinner?<br>
+At other times be sour and glum<br>
+And daily thinner?<br>
+<br>
+Must he then only live to weep,<br>
+Who&rsquo;d prove his friendship true and deep<br>
+By day a lonely shadow creep,<br>
+At night-time languish,<br>
+Oft raising in his broken sleep<br>
+The moan of anguish?<br>
+<br>
+The lover, if for certain days<br>
+His fair one be denied his gaze,<br>
+Sinks not in grief and wild amaze,<br>
+But, wiser wooer,<br>
+He spends the time in writing lays,<br>
+And posts them to her.<br>
+<br>
+And if the verse flow free and fast,<br>
+Till even the poet is aghast,<br>
+A touching Valentine at last<br>
+The post shall carry,<br>
+When thirteen days are gone and past<br>
+Of February.<br>
+<br>
+Farewell, dear friend, and when we meet,<br>
+In desert waste or crowded street,<br>
+Perhaps before this week shall fleet,<br>
+Perhaps to-morrow.<br>
+I trust to find <i>your</i> heart the seat<br>
+Of wasting sorrow.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+THE THREE VOICES<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+The First Voice<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+He trilled a carol fresh and free,<br>
+He laughed aloud for very glee:<br>
+There came a breeze from off the sea:<br>
+<br>
+It passed athwart the glooming flat -<br>
+It fanned his forehead as he sat -<br>
+It lightly bore away his hat,<br>
+<br>
+All to the feet of one who stood<br>
+Like maid enchanted in a wood,<br>
+Frowning as darkly as she could.<br>
+<br>
+With huge umbrella, lank and brown,<br>
+Unerringly she pinned it down,<br>
+Right through the centre of the crown.<br>
+<br>
+Then, with an aspect cold and grim,<br>
+Regardless of its battered rim,<br>
+She took it up and gave it him.<br>
+<br>
+A while like one in dreams he stood,<br>
+Then faltered forth his gratitude<br>
+In words just short of being rude:<br>
+<br>
+For it had lost its shape and shine,<br>
+And it had cost him four-and-nine,<br>
+And he was going out to dine.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;To dine!&rdquo; she sneered in acid tone.<br>
+&ldquo;To bend thy being to a bone<br>
+Clothed in a radiance not its own!&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+The tear-drop trickled to his chin:<br>
+There was a meaning in her grin<br>
+That made him feel on fire within.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Term it not &lsquo;radiance,&rsquo;&rdquo; said he:<br>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis solid nutriment to me.<br>
+Dinner is Dinner: Tea is Tea.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+And she &ldquo;Yea so?&nbsp; Yet wherefore cease?<br>
+Let thy scant knowledge find increase.<br>
+Say &lsquo;Men are Men, and Geese are Geese.&rsquo;&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+He moaned: he knew not what to say.<br>
+The thought &ldquo;That I could get away!&rdquo;<br>
+Strove with the thought &ldquo;But I must stay.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;To dine!&rdquo; she shrieked in dragon-wrath.<br>
+&ldquo;To swallow wines all foam and froth!<br>
+To simper at a table-cloth!<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Say, can thy noble spirit stoop<br>
+To join the gormandising troup<br>
+Who find a solace in the soup?<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Canst thou desire or pie or puff?<br>
+Thy well-bred manners were enough,<br>
+Without such gross material stuff.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Yet well-bred men,&rdquo; he faintly said,<br>
+&ldquo;Are not willing to be fed:<br>
+Nor are they well without the bread.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+Her visage scorched him ere she spoke:<br>
+&ldquo;There are,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;a kind of folk<br>
+Who have no horror of a joke.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Such wretches live: they take their share<br>
+Of common earth and common air:<br>
+We come across them here and there:<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;We grant them - there is no escape -<br>
+A sort of semi-human shape<br>
+Suggestive of the man-like Ape.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;In all such theories,&rdquo; said he,<br>
+&ldquo;One fixed exception there must be.<br>
+That is, the Present Company.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+Baffled, she gave a wolfish bark:<br>
+He, aiming blindly in the dark,<br>
+With random shaft had pierced the mark.<br>
+<br>
+She felt that her defeat was plain,<br>
+Yet madly strove with might and main<br>
+To get the upper hand again.<br>
+<br>
+Fixing her eyes upon the beach,<br>
+As though unconscious of his speech,<br>
+She said &ldquo;Each gives to more than each.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+He could not answer yea or nay:<br>
+He faltered &ldquo;Gifts may pass away.&rdquo;<br>
+Yet knew not what he meant to say.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;If that be so,&rdquo; she straight replied,<br>
+&ldquo;Each heart with each doth coincide.<br>
+What boots it?&nbsp; For the world is wide.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;The world is but a Thought,&rdquo; said he:<br>
+&ldquo;The vast unfathomable sea<br>
+Is but a Notion - unto me.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+And darkly fell her answer dread<br>
+Upon his unresisting head,<br>
+Like half a hundredweight of lead.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;The Good and Great must ever shun<br>
+That reckless and abandoned one<br>
+Who stoops to perpetrate a pun.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;The man that smokes - that reads the <i>Times</i> -<br>
+That goes to Christmas Pantomimes -<br>
+Is capable of <i>any</i> crimes!&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+He felt it was his turn to speak,<br>
+And, with a shamed and crimson cheek,<br>
+Moaned &ldquo;This is harder than Bezique!&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+But when she asked him &ldquo;Wherefore so?&rdquo;<br>
+He felt his very whiskers glow,<br>
+And frankly owned &ldquo;I do not know.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+While, like broad waves of golden grain,<br>
+Or sunlit hues on cloistered pane,<br>
+His colour came and went again.<br>
+<br>
+Pitying his obvious distress,<br>
+Yet with a tinge of bitterness,<br>
+She said &ldquo;The More exceeds the Less.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;A truth of such undoubted weight,&rdquo;<br>
+He urged, &ldquo;and so extreme in date,<br>
+It were superfluous to state.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+Roused into sudden passion, she<br>
+In tone of cold malignity:<br>
+&ldquo;To others, yea: but not to thee.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+But when she saw him quail and quake,<br>
+And when he urged &ldquo;For pity&rsquo;s sake!&rdquo;<br>
+Once more in gentle tones she spake.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Thought in the mind doth still abide<br>
+That is by Intellect supplied,<br>
+And within that Idea doth hide:<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;And he, that yearns the truth to know,<br>
+Still further inwardly may go,<br>
+And find Idea from Notion flow:<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;And thus the chain, that sages sought,<br>
+Is to a glorious circle wrought,<br>
+For Notion hath its source in Thought.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+So passed they on with even pace:<br>
+Yet gradually one might trace<br>
+A shadow growing on his face.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+The Second Voice<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+They walked beside the wave-worn beach;<br>
+Her tongue was very apt to teach,<br>
+And now and then he did beseech<br>
+<br>
+She would abate her dulcet tone,<br>
+Because the talk was all her own,<br>
+And he was dull as any drone.<br>
+<br>
+She urged &ldquo;No cheese is made of chalk&rdquo;:<br>
+And ceaseless flowed her dreary talk,<br>
+Tuned to the footfall of a walk.<br>
+<br>
+Her voice was very full and rich,<br>
+And, when at length she asked him &ldquo;Which?&rdquo;<br>
+It mounted to its highest pitch.<br>
+<br>
+He a bewildered answer gave,<br>
+Drowned in the sullen moaning wave,<br>
+Lost in the echoes of the cave.<br>
+<br>
+He answered her he knew not what:<br>
+Like shaft from bow at random shot,<br>
+He spoke, but she regarded not.<br>
+<br>
+She waited not for his reply,<br>
+But with a downward leaden eye<br>
+Went on as if he were not by<br>
+<br>
+Sound argument and grave defence,<br>
+Strange questions raised on &ldquo;Why?&rdquo; and &ldquo;Whence?&rdquo;<br>
+And wildly tangled evidence.<br>
+<br>
+When he, with racked and whirling brain,<br>
+Feebly implored her to explain,<br>
+She simply said it all again.<br>
+<br>
+Wrenched with an agony intense,<br>
+He spake, neglecting Sound and Sense,<br>
+And careless of all consequence:<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Mind - I believe - is Essence - Ent -<br>
+Abstract - that is - an Accident -<br>
+Which we - that is to say - I meant - &rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+When, with quick breath and cheeks all flushed,<br>
+At length his speech was somewhat hushed,<br>
+She looked at him, and he was crushed.<br>
+<br>
+It needed not her calm reply:<br>
+She fixed him with a stony eye,<br>
+And he could neither fight nor fly.<br>
+<br>
+While she dissected, word by word,<br>
+His speech, half guessed at and half heard,<br>
+As might a cat a little bird.<br>
+<br>
+Then, having wholly overthrown<br>
+His views, and stripped them to the bone,<br>
+Proceeded to unfold her own.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Shall Man be Man?&nbsp; And shall he miss<br>
+Of other thoughts no thought but this,<br>
+Harmonious dews of sober bliss?<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;What boots it?&nbsp; Shall his fevered eye<br>
+Through towering nothingness descry<br>
+The grisly phantom hurry by?<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;And hear dumb shrieks that fill the air;<br>
+See mouths that gape, and eyes that stare<br>
+And redden in the dusky glare?<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;The meadows breathing amber light,<br>
+The darkness toppling from the height,<br>
+The feathery train of granite Night?<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Shall he, grown gray among his peers,<br>
+Through the thick curtain of his tears<br>
+Catch glimpses of his earlier years,<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;And hear the sounds he knew of yore,<br>
+Old shufflings on the sanded floor,<br>
+Old knuckles tapping at the door?<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Yet still before him as he flies<br>
+One pallid form shall ever rise,<br>
+And, bodying forth in glassy eyes<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;The vision of a vanished good,<br>
+Low peering through the tangled wood,<br>
+Shall freeze the current of his blood.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+Still from each fact, with skill uncouth<br>
+And savage rapture, like a tooth<br>
+She wrenched some slow reluctant truth.<br>
+<br>
+Till, like a silent water-mill,<br>
+When summer suns have dried the rill,<br>
+She reached a full stop, and was still.<br>
+<br>
+Dead calm succeeded to the fuss,<br>
+As when the loaded omnibus<br>
+Has reached the railway terminus:<br>
+<br>
+When, for the tumult of the street,<br>
+Is heard the engine&rsquo;s stifled beat,<br>
+The velvet tread of porters&rsquo; feet.<br>
+<br>
+With glance that ever sought the ground,<br>
+She moved her lips without a sound,<br>
+And every now and then she frowned.<br>
+<br>
+He gazed upon the sleeping sea,<br>
+And joyed in its tranquillity,<br>
+And in that silence dead, but she<br>
+<br>
+To muse a little space did seem,<br>
+Then, like the echo of a dream,<br>
+Harked back upon her threadbare theme.<br>
+<br>
+Still an attentive ear he lent<br>
+But could not fathom what she meant:<br>
+She was not deep, nor eloquent.<br>
+<br>
+He marked the ripple on the sand:<br>
+The even swaying of her hand<br>
+Was all that he could understand.<br>
+<br>
+He saw in dreams a drawing-room,<br>
+Where thirteen wretches sat in gloom,<br>
+Waiting - he thought he knew for whom:<br>
+<br>
+He saw them drooping here and there,<br>
+Each feebly huddled on a chair,<br>
+In attitudes of blank despair:<br>
+<br>
+Oysters were not more mute than they,<br>
+For all their brains were pumped away,<br>
+And they had nothing more to say -<br>
+<br>
+Save one, who groaned &ldquo;Three hours are gone!&rdquo;<br>
+Who shrieked &ldquo;We&rsquo;ll wait no longer, John!<br>
+Tell them to set the dinner on!&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+The vision passed: the ghosts were fled:<br>
+He saw once more that woman dread:<br>
+He heard once more the words she said.<br>
+<br>
+He left her, and he turned aside:<br>
+He sat and watched the coming tide<br>
+Across the shores so newly dried.<br>
+<br>
+He wondered at the waters clear,<br>
+The breeze that whispered in his ear,<br>
+The billows heaving far and near,<br>
+<br>
+And why he had so long preferred<br>
+To hang upon her every word:<br>
+&ldquo;In truth,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;it was absurd.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+The Third Voice<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+Not long this transport held its place:<br>
+Within a little moment&rsquo;s space<br>
+Quick tears were raining down his face<br>
+<br>
+His heart stood still, aghast with fear;<br>
+A wordless voice, nor far nor near,<br>
+He seemed to hear and not to hear.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Tears kindle not the doubtful spark.<br>
+If so, why not?&nbsp; Of this remark<br>
+The bearings are profoundly dark.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Her speech,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;hath caused this pain.<br>
+Easier I count it to explain<br>
+The jargon of the howling main,<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Or, stretched beside some babbling brook,<br>
+To con, with inexpressive look,<br>
+An unintelligible book.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+Low spake the voice within his head,<br>
+In words imagined more than said,<br>
+Soundless as ghost&rsquo;s intended tread:<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;If thou art duller than before,<br>
+Why quittedst thou the voice of lore?<br>
+Why not endure, expecting more?&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Rather than that,&rdquo; he groaned aghast,<br>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;d writhe in depths of cavern vast,<br>
+Some loathly vampire&rsquo;s rich repast.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;Twere hard,&rdquo; it answered, &ldquo;themes immense<br>
+To coop within the narrow fence<br>
+That rings <i>thy</i> scant intelligence.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Not so,&rdquo; he urged, &ldquo;nor once alone:<br>
+But there was something in her tone<br>
+That chilled me to the very bone.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Her style was anything but clear,<br>
+And most unpleasantly severe;<br>
+Her epithets were very queer.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;And yet, so grand were her replies,<br>
+I could not choose but deem her wise;<br>
+I did not dare to criticise;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Nor did I leave her, till she went<br>
+So deep in tangled argument<br>
+That all my powers of thought were spent.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+A little whisper inly slid,<br>
+&ldquo;Yet truth is truth: you know you did.&rdquo;<br>
+A little wink beneath the lid.<br>
+<br>
+And, sickened with excess of dread,<br>
+Prone to the dust he bent his head,<br>
+And lay like one three-quarters dead<br>
+<br>
+The whisper left him - like a breeze<br>
+Lost in the depths of leafy trees -<br>
+Left him by no means at his ease.<br>
+<br>
+Once more he weltered in despair,<br>
+With hands, through denser-matted hair,<br>
+More tightly clenched than then they were.<br>
+<br>
+When, bathed in Dawn of living red,<br>
+Majestic frowned the mountain head,<br>
+&ldquo;Tell me my fault,&rdquo; was all he said.<br>
+<br>
+When, at high Noon, the blazing sky<br>
+Scorched in his head each haggard eye,<br>
+Then keenest rose his weary cry.<br>
+<br>
+And when at Eve the unpitying sun<br>
+Smiled grimly on the solemn fun,<br>
+&ldquo;Alack,&rdquo; he sighed, &ldquo;what <i>have</i> I done?&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+But saddest, darkest was the sight,<br>
+When the cold grasp of leaden Night<br>
+Dashed him to earth, and held him tight.<br>
+<br>
+Tortured, unaided, and alone,<br>
+Thunders were silence to his groan,<br>
+Bagpipes sweet music to its tone:<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;What?&nbsp; Ever thus, in dismal round,<br>
+Shall Pain and Mystery profound<br>
+Pursue me like a sleepless hound,<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;With crimson-dashed and eager jaws,<br>
+Me, still in ignorance of the cause,<br>
+Unknowing what I broke of laws?&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+The whisper to his ear did seem<br>
+Like echoed flow of silent stream,<br>
+Or shadow of forgotten dream,<br>
+<br>
+The whisper trembling in the wind:<br>
+&ldquo;Her fate with thine was intertwined,&rdquo;<br>
+So spake it in his inner mind:<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Each orbed on each a baleful star:<br>
+Each proved the other&rsquo;s blight and bar:<br>
+Each unto each were best, most far:<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Yea, each to each was worse than foe:<br>
+Thou, a scared dullard, gibbering low,<br>
+AND SHE, AN AVALANCHE OF WOE!&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+T&Egrave;MA CON VARIAZI&Ograve;NI<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+[Why is it that Poetry has never yet been subjected to that process
+of Dilution which has proved so advantageous to her sister-art Music?&nbsp;
+The Diluter gives us first a few notes of some well-known Air, then
+a dozen bars of his own, then a few more notes of the Air, and so on
+alternately: thus saving the listener, if not from all risk of recognising
+the melody at all, at least from the too-exciting transports which it
+might produce in a more concentrated form.&nbsp; The process is termed
+&ldquo;setting&rdquo; by Composers, and any one, that has ever experienced
+the emotion of being unexpectedly set down in a heap of mortar, will
+recognise the truthfulness of this happy phrase.<br>
+<br>
+For truly, just as the genuine Epicure lingers lovingly over a morsel
+of supreme Venison - whose every fibre seems to murmur &ldquo;Excelsior!&rdquo;
+- yet swallows, ere returning to the toothsome dainty, great mouthfuls
+of oatmeal-porridge and winkles: and just as the perfect Connoisseur
+in Claret permits himself but one delicate sip, and then tosses off
+a pint or more of boarding-school beer: so also -<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+I never loved a dear Gazelle -<br>
+<i>Nor anything that cost me much:<br>
+High prices profit those who sell,<br>
+But why should I be fond of such?<br>
+<br>
+</i>To glad me with his soft black eye<br>
+<i>My son comes trotting home from school;<br>
+He&rsquo;s had a fight but can&rsquo;t tell why -<br>
+He always was a little fool!<br>
+<br>
+</i>But, when he came to know me well,<br>
+<i>He kicked me out, her testy Sire:<br>
+And when I stained my hair, that Belle<br>
+Might note the change, and thus admire<br>
+<br>
+</i>And love me, it was sure to dye<br>
+<i>A muddy green or staring blue:<br>
+Whilst one might trace, with half an eye,<br>
+The still triumphant carrot through.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+</i>A GAME OF FIVES<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+Five little girls, of Five, Four, Three, Two, One:<br>
+Rolling on the hearthrug, full of tricks and fun.<br>
+<br>
+Five rosy girls, in years from Ten to Six:<br>
+Sitting down to lessons - no more time for tricks.<br>
+<br>
+Five growing girls, from Fifteen to Eleven:<br>
+Music, Drawing, Languages, and food enough for seven!<br>
+<br>
+Five winsome girls, from Twenty to Sixteen:<br>
+Each young man that calls, I say &ldquo;Now tell me which you <i>mean</i>!&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+Five dashing girls, the youngest Twenty-one:<br>
+But, if nobody proposes, what is there to be done?<br>
+<br>
+Five showy girls - but Thirty is an age<br>
+When girls may be <i>engaging</i>, but they somehow don&rsquo;t <i>engage.<br>
+<br>
+</i>Five dressy girls, of Thirty-one or more:<br>
+So gracious to the shy young men they snubbed so much before!<br>
+<br>
+* * * *<br>
+<br>
+Five<i> pass&eacute;</i> girls - Their age?&nbsp; Well, never mind!<br>
+We jog along together, like the rest of human kind:<br>
+But the quondam &ldquo;careless bachelor&rdquo; begins to think he knows<br>
+The answer to that ancient problem &ldquo;how the money goes&rdquo;!<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+POETA FIT, NON NASCITUR<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;How shall I be a poet?<br>
+How shall I write in rhyme?<br>
+You told me once &lsquo;the very wish<br>
+Partook of the sublime.&rsquo;<br>
+Then tell me how!&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t put me off<br>
+With your &lsquo;another time&rsquo;!&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+The old man smiled to see him,<br>
+To hear his sudden sally;<br>
+He liked the lad to speak his mind<br>
+Enthusiastically;<br>
+And thought &ldquo;There&rsquo;s no hum-drum in him,<br>
+Nor any shilly-shally.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;And would you be a poet<br>
+Before you&rsquo;ve been to school?<br>
+Ah, well!&nbsp; I hardly thought you<br>
+So absolute a fool.<br>
+First learn to be spasmodic -<br>
+A very simple rule.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;For first you write a sentence,<br>
+And then you chop it small;<br>
+Then mix the bits, and sort them out<br>
+Just as they chance to fall:<br>
+The order of the phrases makes<br>
+No difference at all.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Then, if you&rsquo;d be impressive,<br>
+Remember what I say,<br>
+That abstract qualities begin<br>
+With capitals alway:<br>
+The True, the Good, the Beautiful -<br>
+Those are the things that pay!<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Next, when you are describing<br>
+A shape, or sound, or tint;<br>
+Don&rsquo;t state the matter plainly,<br>
+But put it in a hint;<br>
+And learn to look at all things<br>
+With a sort of mental squint.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;For instance, if I wished, Sir,<br>
+Of mutton-pies to tell,<br>
+Should I say &lsquo;dreams of fleecy flocks<br>
+Pent in a wheaten cell&rsquo;?&rdquo;<br>
+&ldquo;Why, yes,&rdquo; the old man said: &ldquo;that phrase<br>
+Would answer very well.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Then fourthly, there are epithets<br>
+That suit with any word -<br>
+As well as Harvey&rsquo;s Reading Sauce<br>
+With fish, or flesh, or bird -<br>
+Of these, &lsquo;wild,&rsquo; &lsquo;lonely,&rsquo; &lsquo;weary,&rsquo;
+&lsquo;strange,&rsquo;<br>
+Are much to be preferred.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;And will it do, O will it do<br>
+To take them in a lump -<br>
+As &lsquo;the wild man went his weary way<br>
+To a strange and lonely pump&rsquo;?&rdquo;<br>
+&ldquo;Nay, nay!&nbsp; You must not hastily<br>
+To such conclusions jump.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Such epithets, like pepper,<br>
+Give zest to what you write;<br>
+And, if you strew them sparely,<br>
+They whet the appetite:<br>
+But if you lay them on too thick,<br>
+You spoil the matter quite!<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Last, as to the arrangement:<br>
+Your reader, you should show him,<br>
+Must take what information he<br>
+Can get, and look for no im-<br>
+mature disclosure of the drift<br>
+And purpose of your poem.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Therefore, to test his patience -<br>
+How much he can endure -<br>
+Mention no places, names, or dates,<br>
+And evermore be sure<br>
+Throughout the poem to be found<br>
+Consistently obscure.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;First fix upon the limit<br>
+To which it shall extend:<br>
+Then fill it up with &lsquo;Padding&rsquo;<br>
+(Beg some of any friend):<br>
+Your great SENSATION-STANZA<br>
+You place towards the end.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;And what is a Sensation,<br>
+Grandfather, tell me, pray?<br>
+I think I never heard the word<br>
+So used before to-day:<br>
+Be kind enough to mention one<br>
+&lsquo;<i>Exempli grati&acirc;</i>.&rsquo;&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+And the old man, looking sadly<br>
+Across the garden-lawn,<br>
+Where here and there a dew-drop<br>
+Yet glittered in the dawn,<br>
+Said &ldquo;Go to the Adelphi,<br>
+And see the &lsquo;Colleen Bawn.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;The word is due to Boucicault -<br>
+The theory is his,<br>
+Where Life becomes a Spasm,<br>
+And History a Whiz:<br>
+If that is not Sensation,<br>
+I don&rsquo;t know what it is.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Now try your hand, ere Fancy<br>
+Have lost its present glow - &rdquo;<br>
+&ldquo;And then,&rdquo; his grandson added,<br>
+&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll publish it, you know:<br>
+Green cloth - gold-lettered at the back -<br>
+In duodecimo!&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+Then proudly smiled that old man<br>
+To see the eager lad<br>
+Rush madly for his pen and ink<br>
+And for his blotting-pad -<br>
+But, when he thought of <i>publishing,<br>
+</i>His face grew stern and sad.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+SIZE AND TEARS<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+When on the sandy shore I sit,<br>
+Beside the salt sea-wave,<br>
+And fall into a weeping fit<br>
+Because I dare not shave -<br>
+A little whisper at my ear<br>
+Enquires the reason of my fear.<br>
+<br>
+I answer &ldquo;If that ruffian Jones<br>
+Should recognise me here,<br>
+He&rsquo;d bellow out my name in tones<br>
+Offensive to the ear:<br>
+He chaffs me so on being stout<br>
+(A thing that always puts me out).&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+Ah me!&nbsp; I see him on the cliff!<br>
+Farewell, farewell to hope,<br>
+If he should look this way, and if<br>
+He&rsquo;s got his telescope!<br>
+To whatsoever place I flee,<br>
+My odious rival follows me!<br>
+<br>
+For every night, and everywhere,<br>
+I meet him out at dinner;<br>
+And when I&rsquo;ve found some charming fair,<br>
+And vowed to die or win her,<br>
+The wretch (he&rsquo;s thin and I am stout)<br>
+Is sure to come and cut me out!<br>
+<br>
+The girls (just like them!) all agree<br>
+To praise J. Jones, Esquire:<br>
+I ask them what on earth they see<br>
+About him to admire?<br>
+They cry &ldquo;He is so sleek and slim,<br>
+It&rsquo;s quite a treat to look at him!&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+They vanish in tobacco smoke,<br>
+Those visionary maids -<br>
+I feel a sharp and sudden poke<br>
+Between the shoulder-blades -<br>
+&ldquo;Why, Brown, my boy!&nbsp; Your growing stout!&rdquo;<br>
+(I told you he would find me out!)<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;My growth is not <i>your</i> business, Sir!&rdquo;<br>
+&ldquo;No more it is, my boy!<br>
+But if it&rsquo;s <i>yours</i>, as I infer,<br>
+Why, Brown, I give you joy!<br>
+A man, whose business prospers so,<br>
+Is just the sort of man to know!<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s hardly safe, though, talking here -<br>
+I&rsquo;d best get out of reach:<br>
+For such a weight as yours, I fear,<br>
+Must shortly sink the beach!&rdquo; -<br>
+Insult me thus because I&rsquo;m stout!<br>
+I vow I&rsquo;ll go and call him out!<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+ATALANTA IN CAMDEN-TOWN<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+Ay, &rsquo;twas here, on this spot,<br>
+In that summer of yore,<br>
+Atalanta did not<br>
+Vote my presence a bore,<br>
+Nor reply to my tenderest talk &ldquo;She had<br>
+heard all that nonsense before.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+She&rsquo;d the brooch I had bought<br>
+And the necklace and sash on,<br>
+And her heart, as I thought,<br>
+Was alive to my passion;<br>
+And she&rsquo;d done up her hair in the style that<br>
+the Empress had brought into fashion.<br>
+<br>
+I had been to the play<br>
+With my pearl of a Peri -<br>
+But, for all I could say,<br>
+She declared she was weary,<br>
+That &ldquo;the place was so crowded and hot, and<br>
+she couldn&rsquo;t abide that Dundreary.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+Then I thought &ldquo;Lucky boy!<br>
+&rsquo;Tis for <i>you</i> that she whimpers!&rdquo;<br>
+And I noted with joy<br>
+Those sensational simpers:<br>
+And I said &ldquo;This is scrumptious!&rdquo; - a<br>
+phrase I had learned from the Devonshire shrimpers.<br>
+<br>
+And I vowed &ldquo;&rsquo;Twill be said<br>
+I&rsquo;m a fortunate fellow,<br>
+When the breakfast is spread,<br>
+When the topers are mellow,<br>
+When the foam of the bride-cake is white,<br>
+and the fierce orange-blossoms are yellow!&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+O that languishing yawn!<br>
+O those eloquent eyes!<br>
+I was drunk with the dawn<br>
+Of a splendid surmise -<br>
+I was stung by a look, I was slain by a tear,<br>
+by a tempest of sighs.<br>
+<br>
+Then I whispered &ldquo;I see<br>
+The sweet secret thou keepest.<br>
+And the yearning for <i>ME<br>
+</i>That thou wistfully weepest!<br>
+And the question is &lsquo;License or Banns?&rsquo;,<br>
+though undoubtedly Banns are the cheapest.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Be my Hero,&rdquo; said I,<br>
+&ldquo;And let <i>me</i> be Leander!&rdquo;<br>
+But I lost her reply -<br>
+Something ending with &ldquo;gander&rdquo; -<br>
+For the omnibus rattled so loud that no<br>
+mortal could quite understand her.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+THE LANG COORTIN&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+The ladye she stood at her lattice high,<br>
+Wi&rsquo; her doggie at her feet;<br>
+Thorough the lattice she can spy<br>
+The passers in the street,<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s one that standeth at the door,<br>
+And tirleth at the pin:<br>
+Now speak and say, my popinjay,<br>
+If I sall let him in.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+Then up and spake the popinjay<br>
+That flew abune her head:<br>
+&ldquo;Gae let him in that tirls the pin:<br>
+He cometh thee to wed.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+O when he cam&rsquo; the parlour in,<br>
+A woeful man was he!<br>
+&ldquo;And dinna ye ken your lover agen,<br>
+Sae well that loveth thee?&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;And how wad I ken ye loved me, Sir,<br>
+That have been sae lang away?<br>
+And how wad I ken ye loved me, Sir?<br>
+Ye never telled me sae.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+Said - &ldquo;Ladye dear,&rdquo; and the salt, salt tear<br>
+Cam&rsquo; rinnin&rsquo; doon his cheek,<br>
+&ldquo;I have sent the tokens of my love<br>
+This many and many a week.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;O didna ye get the rings, Ladye,<br>
+The rings o&rsquo; the gowd sae fine?<br>
+I wot that I have sent to thee<br>
+Four score, four score and nine.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;They cam&rsquo; to me,&rdquo; said that fair ladye.<br>
+&ldquo;Wow, they were flimsie things!&rdquo;<br>
+Said - &ldquo;that chain o&rsquo; gowd, my doggie to howd,<br>
+It is made o&rsquo; thae self-same rings.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;And didna ye get the locks, the locks,<br>
+The locks o&rsquo; my ain black hair,<br>
+Whilk I sent by post, whilk I sent by box,<br>
+Whilk I sent by the carrier?&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;They cam&rsquo; to me,&rdquo; said that fair ladye;<br>
+&ldquo;And I prithee send nae mair!&rdquo;<br>
+Said - &ldquo;that cushion sae red, for my doggie&rsquo;s head,<br>
+It is stuffed wi&rsquo; thae locks o&rsquo; hair.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;And didna ye get the letter, Ladye,<br>
+Tied wi&rsquo; a silken string,<br>
+Whilk I sent to thee frae the far countrie,<br>
+A message of love to bring?&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;It cam&rsquo; to me frae the far countrie<br>
+Wi&rsquo; its silken string and a&rsquo;;<br>
+But it wasna prepaid,&rdquo; said that high-born maid,<br>
+&ldquo;Sae I gar&rsquo;d them tak&rsquo; it awa&rsquo;.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;O ever alack that ye sent it back,<br>
+It was written sae clerkly and well!<br>
+Now the message it brought, and the boon that it sought,<br>
+I must even say it mysel&rsquo;.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+Then up and spake the popinjay,<br>
+Sae wisely counselled he.<br>
+&ldquo;Now say it in the proper way:<br>
+Gae doon upon thy knee!&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+The lover he turned baith red and pale,<br>
+Went doon upon his knee:<br>
+&ldquo;O Ladye, hear the waesome tale<br>
+That must be told to thee!<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;For five lang years, and five lang years,<br>
+I coorted thee by looks;<br>
+By nods and winks, by smiles and tears,<br>
+As I had read in books.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;For ten lang years, O weary hours!<br>
+I coorted thee by signs;<br>
+By sending game, by sending flowers,<br>
+By sending Valentines.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;For five lang years, and five lang years,<br>
+I have dwelt in the far countrie,<br>
+Till that thy mind should be inclined<br>
+Mair tenderly to me.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Now thirty years are gane and past,<br>
+I am come frae a foreign land:<br>
+I am come to tell thee my love at last -<br>
+O Ladye, gie me thy hand!&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+The ladye she turned not pale nor red,<br>
+But she smiled a pitiful smile:<br>
+&ldquo;Sic&rsquo; a coortin&rsquo; as yours, my man,&rdquo; she said<br>
+&ldquo;Takes a lang and a weary while!&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+And out and laughed the popinjay,<br>
+A laugh of bitter scorn:<br>
+&ldquo;A coortin&rsquo; done in sic&rsquo; a way,<br>
+It ought not to be borne!&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+Wi&rsquo; that the doggie barked aloud,<br>
+And up and doon he ran,<br>
+And tugged and strained his chain o&rsquo; gowd,<br>
+All for to bite the man.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;O hush thee, gentle popinjay!<br>
+O hush thee, doggie dear!<br>
+There is a word I fain wad say,<br>
+It needeth he should hear!&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+Aye louder screamed that ladye fair<br>
+To drown her doggie&rsquo;s bark:<br>
+Ever the lover shouted mair<br>
+To make that ladye hark:<br>
+<br>
+Shrill and more shrill the popinjay<br>
+Upraised his angry squall:<br>
+I trow the doggie&rsquo;s voice that day<br>
+Was louder than them all!<br>
+<br>
+The serving-men and serving-maids<br>
+Sat by the kitchen fire:<br>
+They heard sic&rsquo; a din the parlour within<br>
+As made them much admire.<br>
+<br>
+Out spake the boy in buttons<br>
+(I ween he wasna thin),<br>
+&ldquo;Now wha will tae the parlour gae,<br>
+And stay this deadlie din?&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+And they have taen a kerchief,<br>
+Casted their kevils in,<br>
+For wha will tae the parlour gae,<br>
+And stay that deadlie din.<br>
+<br>
+When on that boy the kevil fell<br>
+To stay the fearsome noise,<br>
+&ldquo;Gae in,&rdquo; they cried, &ldquo;whate&rsquo;er betide,<br>
+Thou prince of button-boys!&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+Syne, he has taen a supple cane<br>
+To swinge that dog sae fat:<br>
+The doggie yowled, the doggie howled<br>
+The louder aye for that.<br>
+<br>
+Syne, he has taen a mutton-bane -<br>
+The doggie ceased his noise,<br>
+And followed doon the kitchen stair<br>
+That prince of button-boys!<br>
+<br>
+Then sadly spake that ladye fair,<br>
+Wi&rsquo; a frown upon her brow:<br>
+&ldquo;O dearer to me is my sma&rsquo; doggie<br>
+Than a dozen sic&rsquo; as thou!<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Nae use, nae use for sighs and tears:<br>
+Nae use at all to fret:<br>
+Sin&rsquo; ye&rsquo;ve bided sae well for thirty years,<br>
+Ye may bide a wee langer yet!&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+Sadly, sadly he crossed the floor<br>
+And tirl&euml;d at the pin:<br>
+Sadly went he through the door<br>
+Where sadly he cam&rsquo; in.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;O gin I had a popinjay<br>
+To fly abune my head,<br>
+To tell me what I ought to say,<br>
+I had by this been wed.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;O gin I find anither ladye,&rdquo;<br>
+He said wi&rsquo; sighs and tears,<br>
+&ldquo;I wot my coortin&rsquo; sall not be<br>
+Anither thirty years<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;For gin I find a ladye gay,<br>
+Exactly to my taste,<br>
+I&rsquo;ll pop the question, aye or nay,<br>
+In twenty years at maist.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+FOUR RIDDLES<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+[These consist of two Double Acrostics and two Charades.<br>
+<br>
+No. I. was written at the request of some young friends, who had gone
+to a ball at an Oxford Commemoration - and also as a specimen of what
+might be done by making the Double Acrostic <i>a connected</i> <i>poem</i>
+instead of what it has hitherto been, a string of disjointed stanzas,
+on every conceivable subject, and about as interesting to read straight
+through as a page of a Cyclopaedia.&nbsp; The first two stanzas describe
+the two main words, and each subsequent stanza one of the cross &ldquo;lights.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+No. II. was written after seeing Miss Ellen Terry perform in the play
+of &ldquo;Hamlet.&rdquo;&nbsp; In this case the first stanza describes
+the two main words.<br>
+<br>
+No. III. was written after seeing Miss Marion Terry perform in Mr. Gilbert&rsquo;s
+play of &ldquo;Pygmalion and Galatea.&rdquo;&nbsp; The three stanzas
+respectively describe &ldquo;My First,&rdquo; &ldquo;My Second,&rdquo;
+and &ldquo;My Whole.&rdquo;]<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+I<br>
+<br>
+There was an ancient City, stricken down<br>
+With a strange frenzy, and for many a day<br>
+They paced from morn to eve the crowded town,<br>
+And danced the night away.<br>
+<br>
+I asked the cause: the aged man grew sad:<br>
+They pointed to a building gray and tall,<br>
+And hoarsely answered &ldquo;Step inside, my lad,<br>
+And then you&rsquo;ll see it all.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+* * * *<br>
+<br>
+Yet what are all such gaieties to me<br>
+Whose thoughts are full of indices and surds?<br>
+<br>
+x*x + 7x <i>+</i> 53 = 11/3<br>
+<br>
+But something whispered &ldquo;It will soon be done:<br>
+Bands cannot always play, nor ladies smile:<br>
+Endure with patience the distasteful fun<br>
+For just a little while!&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+A change came o&rsquo;er my Vision - it was night:<br>
+We clove a pathway through a frantic throng:<br>
+The steeds, wild-plunging, filled us with affright:<br>
+The chariots whirled along.<br>
+<br>
+Within a marble hall a river ran -<br>
+A living tide, half muslin and half cloth:<br>
+And here one mourned a broken wreath or fan,<br>
+Yet swallowed down her wrath;<br>
+<br>
+And here one offered to a thirsty fair<br>
+(His words half-drowned amid those thunders tuneful)<br>
+Some frozen viand (there were many there),<br>
+A tooth-ache in each spoonful.<br>
+<br>
+There comes a happy pause, for human strength<br>
+Will not endure to dance without cessation;<br>
+And every one must reach the point at length<br>
+Of absolute prostration.<br>
+<br>
+At such a moment ladies learn to give,<br>
+To partners who would urge them over-much,<br>
+A flat and yet decided negative -<br>
+Photographers love such.<br>
+<br>
+There comes a welcome summons - hope revives,<br>
+And fading eyes grow bright, and pulses quicken:<br>
+Incessant pop the corks, and busy knives<br>
+Dispense the tongue and chicken.<br>
+<br>
+Flushed with new life, the crowd flows back again:<br>
+And all is tangled talk and mazy motion -<br>
+Much like a waving field of golden grain,<br>
+Or a tempestuous ocean.<br>
+<br>
+And thus they give the time, that Nature meant<br>
+For peaceful sleep and meditative snores,<br>
+To ceaseless din and mindless merriment<br>
+And waste of shoes and floors.<br>
+<br>
+And One (we name him not) that flies the flowers,<br>
+That dreads the dances, and that shuns the salads,<br>
+They doom to pass in solitude the hours,<br>
+Writing acrostic-ballads.<br>
+<br>
+How late it grows!&nbsp; The hour is surely past<br>
+That should have warned us with its double knock?<br>
+The twilight wanes, and morning comes at last -<br>
+&ldquo;Oh, Uncle, what&rsquo;s o&rsquo;clock?&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+The Uncle gravely nods, and wisely winks.<br>
+It <i>may</i> mean much, but how is one to know?<br>
+He opens his mouth - yet out of it, methinks,<br>
+No words of wisdom flow.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+II<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+Empress of Art, for thee I twine<br>
+This wreath with all too slender skill.<br>
+Forgive my Muse each halting line,<br>
+And for the deed accept the will!<br>
+<br>
+* * * *<br>
+<br>
+O day of tears!&nbsp; Whence comes this spectre grim,<br>
+Parting, like Death&rsquo;s cold river, souls that love?<br>
+Is not he bound to thee, as thou to him,<br>
+By vows, unwhispered here, yet heard above?<br>
+<br>
+And still it lives, that keen and heavenward flame,<br>
+Lives in his eye, and trembles in his tone:<br>
+And these wild words of fury but proclaim<br>
+A heart that beats for thee, for thee alone!<br>
+<br>
+But all is lost: that mighty mind o&rsquo;erthrown,<br>
+Like sweet bells jangled, piteous sight to see!<br>
+&ldquo;Doubt that the stars are fire,&rdquo; so runs his moan,<br>
+&ldquo;Doubt Truth herself, but not my love for thee!&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+A sadder vision yet: thine aged sire<br>
+Shaming his hoary locks with treacherous wile!<br>
+And dost thou now doubt Truth to be a liar?<br>
+And wilt thou die, that hast forgot to smile?<br>
+<br>
+Nay, get thee hence!&nbsp; Leave all thy winsome ways<br>
+And the faint fragrance of thy scattered flowers:<br>
+In holy silence wait the appointed days,<br>
+And weep away the leaden-footed hours.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+III.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+The air is bright with hues of light<br>
+And rich with laughter and with singing:<br>
+Young hearts beat high in ecstasy,<br>
+And banners wave, and bells are ringing:<br>
+But silence falls with fading day,<br>
+And there&rsquo;s an end to mirth and play.<br>
+Ah, well-a-day<br>
+<br>
+Rest your old bones, ye wrinkled crones!<br>
+The kettle sings, the firelight dances.<br>
+Deep be it quaffed, the magic draught<br>
+That fills the soul with golden fancies!<br>
+For Youth and Pleasance will not stay,<br>
+And ye are withered, worn, and gray.<br>
+Ah, well-a-day!<br>
+<br>
+O fair cold face!&nbsp; O form of grace,<br>
+For human passion madly yearning!<br>
+O weary air of dumb despair,<br>
+From marble won, to marble turning!<br>
+&ldquo;Leave us not thus!&rdquo; we fondly pray.<br>
+&ldquo;We cannot let thee pass away!&rdquo;<br>
+Ah, well-a-day!<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+IV.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+My First is singular at best:<br>
+More plural is my Second:<br>
+My Third is far the pluralest -<br>
+So plural-plural, I protest<br>
+It scarcely can be reckoned!<br>
+<br>
+My First is followed by a bird:<br>
+My Second by believers<br>
+In magic art: my simple Third<br>
+Follows, too often, hopes absurd<br>
+And plausible deceivers.<br>
+<br>
+My First to get at wisdom tries -<br>
+A failure melancholy!<br>
+My Second men revered as wise:<br>
+My Third from heights of wisdom flies<br>
+To depths of frantic folly.<br>
+<br>
+My First is ageing day by day:<br>
+My Second&rsquo;s age is ended:<br>
+My Third enjoys an age, they say,<br>
+That never seems to fade away,<br>
+Through centuries extended.<br>
+<br>
+My Whole?&nbsp; I need a poet&rsquo;s pen<br>
+To paint her myriad phases:<br>
+The monarch, and the slave, of men -<br>
+A mountain-summit, and a den<br>
+Of dark and deadly mazes -<br>
+<br>
+A flashing light - a fleeting shade -<br>
+Beginning, end, and middle<br>
+Of all that human art hath made<br>
+Or wit devised!&nbsp; Go, seek <i>her</i> aid,<br>
+If you would read my riddle!<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+FAME&rsquo;S PENNY-TRUMPET<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+[Affectionately dedicated to all &ldquo;original researchers&rdquo;
+who pant for &ldquo;endowment.&rdquo;]<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+Blow, blow your trumpets till they crack,<br>
+Ye little men of little souls!<br>
+And bid them huddle at your back -<br>
+Gold-sucking leeches, shoals on shoals!<br>
+<br>
+Fill all the air with hungry wails -<br>
+&ldquo;Reward us, ere we think or write!<br>
+Without your Gold mere Knowledge fails<br>
+To sate the swinish appetite!&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+And, where great Plato paced serene,<br>
+Or Newton paused with wistful eye,<br>
+Rush to the chace with hoofs unclean<br>
+And Babel-clamour of the sty<br>
+<br>
+Be yours the pay: be theirs the praise:<br>
+We will not rob them of their due,<br>
+Nor vex the ghosts of other days<br>
+By naming them along with you.<br>
+<br>
+They sought and found undying fame:<br>
+They toiled not for reward nor thanks:<br>
+Their cheeks are hot with honest shame<br>
+For you, the modern mountebanks!<br>
+<br>
+Who preach of Justice - plead with tears<br>
+That Love and Mercy should abound -<br>
+While marking with complacent ears<br>
+The moaning of some tortured hound:<br>
+<br>
+Who prate of Wisdom - nay, forbear,<br>
+Lest Wisdom turn on you in wrath,<br>
+Trampling, with heel that will not spare,<br>
+The vermin that beset her path!<br>
+<br>
+Go, throng each other&rsquo;s drawing-rooms,<br>
+Ye idols of a petty clique:<br>
+Strut your brief hour in borrowed plumes,<br>
+And make your penny-trumpets squeak.<br>
+<br>
+Deck your dull talk with pilfered shreds<br>
+Of learning from a nobler time,<br>
+And oil each other&rsquo;s little heads<br>
+With mutual Flattery&rsquo;s golden slime:<br>
+<br>
+And when the topmost height ye gain,<br>
+And stand in Glory&rsquo;s ether clear,<br>
+And grasp the prize of all your pain -<br>
+So many hundred pounds a year -<br>
+<br>
+Then let Fame&rsquo;s banner be unfurled!<br>
+Sing Paeans for a victory won!<br>
+Ye tapers, that would light the world,<br>
+And cast a shadow on the Sun -<br>
+<br>
+Who still shall pour His rays sublime,<br>
+One crystal flood, from East to West,<br>
+When <i>ye</i> have burned your little time<br>
+And feebly flickered into rest!<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, PHANTASMAGORIA AND OTHER POEMS ***<br>
+<pre>
+
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