3tl|ara, Nem ^nrk — £^^ FROM THE BENNO LOEWYrLIBRARY COLLECTED BY BENNO LOEWY 1854-1919 BEQUEATHED TO CORNELL UNIVERSITY Cornell University Library PS 27S0.E78 The poems.Complete in one volume. 3 1924 022 163 061 Cornell University Library The original of tliis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924022163061 THE POEMS JOHN GODFREY SAXE COMPLETE IN ONE VOjEUME. HIOHGATE EDITION. BOSTON: HOUGHTON, OSGOOD AND COMPANY. 1878. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by TICKNOR AND FIELDS, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Distnct of Massachusetts. FORTIETH EDITION. University Press : Welch, Bigelow, & Co.| ' (Cambridge. TO WILLIAM CASSIDY, Esq., AS A SLIGHT TRIBUTE TO HIS ELEGANT SCHOLARSHIP, AMD IN GRATEFUL RECOGNITION OF HIS PERSONAL FRIENDSHIP, THIS VOLUME IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED BY THE AUTHOR. PUBLISHERS' ADVERTISEMENT. This volume comprises all of Mr. Saxe's poems hitherto published, and some fifty new pieces. The favor accorded to the separate volumes (the oldest of which has reached the extraordinary sale of thirty-three editions) induces the belief that this enlarged and complete edition of Mr. Saxe's poems will be an acceptable offering to the public. CONTENTS. POEMS. Page The Poet's License 3 Treasure in Heavbn 5 I 'm Growing Old ..* ..6 The Story of Life 7 My Castle in Spain ^ . . . 9 Spes est Vates . 10 The Gifts of the Gods , , , 11 The Old Chafel-Bell ■ . 13 Compensation ^ , 17 The Old Man's Motto * • . 18 Maximilian 20 Wishing . . 31 The Way of the World, 23 A Poet's Elegy ^ , 24 The Mourner a la Mode 26 The Expected Ship 38 The Head and the Heart ..,.,•.. 29 The Proud Miss MacBrids 30 The Masquerade 42 My Familiar 51 Love and Law 53 Rhyme of the Rail . • • 57 The Briefless Barrister 60 Little Jerry, the Miller ..••.... 63 How Cyrus laid the Cable 64 What has become .of the Gods. ..... i. 66 The Cold-Watek Man .........69 Comic Miseries 71 A Connubial Eclogue . 74 Some Pencil-Pictures . . 76 Boys «««... • .79 The Superfluous Man. ....*••« 80 viii CONTENTS. ToujouRs LES Femmes 83 Girlhood ...84 The Cockney 85 Captain Jones's Misadventure 87 MiRALDA 97 Le Jardin Mabile 103 The Beauty of Ballston .....,,. 105 When I mean to marry 108 A Reflective Retrospect log The Knowing Child 112 Ideal and Real 114 The Game of Life 116 The Puzzled Census-Taker 118 The Heart and the Liver 119 About Husbands 120 Where there's- a Will there's a Way 122 A Benedict's Appeal to a Bachelor 123 The Ghost-Player 127 "do you think he is marhied?" i29 A College Reminiscence 130 Early Rising 133 The Lady Ann • , 135 How. THE Money goes 138 Saint Jonathan 139 Song of Saratoga 142 Tale of a Dog 143 The Jolly Mariner 147 Tom Brown's Day in Gotham 150 Ye Tailvor-Man 158 The Devil of Names 159 Ye Pedagogue 164 The Stammering Wife 166 A Rhymed Epistle 167 Town and Country 170 The Family Man- 173 The Snake in the Glass 174 Ne Crede Colori 177 Clara -to Cloe 178 CLofi. TO Clara .......... 180 The Great Magician . . . -. 182 The Blarney Stone .'........ 184 Ode Ta the Prince of Wales x86 Nil Admirari . ^ ........ . 187 The Coquette ^ 189 CONTENTS. ix Carmen Ljetum 191 My Boyhood ., 195 Post-Prandial Verses 197 The Silver Wedding 199 The Old Year and the New 200 Augusta 201 Roger Bontemps 201 The King 01? Normandy 203 The Hunter and the Milkmaid 205 The Dinner ..*........ 207 Fools Incorrigible , 209 The Best op Husbands 2x0 LOVE POEMS. "Wouldn't you like to know? 213 The Lover's Vision * . 215 The Oath 216 Unrest 2x7 To my Love 218 To Lesbia 219 My SaxOn Blonde 220 Darling, tell me yes 221 Time and Love 222 Love's Calendar 224 The Lawyer's Valentine , . 225 A Reasonable PsTrtioN 226 The Chapel of Two Saints 227 The Little Maid and the Lawyer 328 Drinking Song , 229 Ego eT Echo 231 The Maiden to the Moon 233 Daisy Day 234 To A Beautiful Stranger 233 A Philosophical Query 236 Lip-Service 237 FAIRY TALES, LEGENDS, AND APOLOGUES. Father Pumpkin ; or. Always in Luck 241 The King and the Cottager- 248 The Youth and the Northwind 254 ^The Blind .Men and the Elephant =59 ' The Treasure of Gold 261 The Nobleman, the Fisherman, and the Porter , . 266 X CONTENTS. The Dervis and the King 269 The Monarch and the Marquis 27^ The Caliph and the Cripple 276 The Ugly Aunt 281 The Three Gifts 286 The Wife's Revenge 290 The Dervis and his Enemies 296 Rampsinitus and the Robbers 299 Poor Tartar 307 The Four Misfortunes 309 The Wandering Jew 312 The Three Good Days 316 The Story of Echo 318 A Case of Conscience 320 The Origin of Wine 322 The Parrot of Nevers 324 King Solomon and' the Bees. 332 The' Pious Brahmin and his Neighbors .... 335 The Romance of Nick Van Stann 338 The Fisherman and the Flounder - 340 Ho-w THE Raven became Black 345 Death and Cupiii 347 Love and Lucre 348 Wisdom and Cunning 35° The Sultan and the Owls 352 The Pin and the Needle . ; 354 Ben-Ammi and the Fairies 356 The Discontented Water-Carrier 361 The Miller and his Advisers 364 MurIllo and his Slave ' 366 SATIRES. Progress . 37* The Money-King 386 EXCERPTS FROM OCCASIONAL POEMS. El Dorado 401 The Good Time coming 40a The Power-Press. 403 The Librai^y 404 The News 405 The Editoi^'s Sanctum 406 CONTENTS. TRAVESTIES. Icarus ..., ^i, PyRAMUS and THISBE Az± The Choice of King Midas 418 Phakthon 421' Pot-YPHEMUS AND UlYSSES 424 Orpheus and Eurydice 427 Jupiter and Danae 431 Venus and Vulcan 432 Richard of Gloster 434 Othello, the Moor 440 SONNETS. Pan Immortal 447 The Beautiful 448 Bereavement 448 To MY Wife on her Birthday 449 To Spring 449 The Victim . . , . 450 To 450 To a Clam ^^x The Portrait 451 EPIGRAMS. The Explanation 4^5 Family Quarrels 45^ Teaching by Example 456 A Common Alternative, , , 4^5 A Plain Case 456 Over-Candid 457 Never too late to mend 457 An Equivocal Apology .,,.,, ... 457 On an Ill-read Lawyer 458 On a Recent Classic Controversy 458 Lucus A NON . . ■ 45S A Candid Candidate 459 Nemo repente turpissimus 459 Too Candid by Half 459 conjurgium nom conjugium • , 460 Cheap Enough 460 On an Ugly Person sitting for a Daguerreotype . • 460 xii CONTENT^, On a Famous Water- Suit 460 Kissing Casuistry • • • 461 To A Poetical Correspondent .•...>• 4^i On a Long-winded Orator ..••••• 4^* The Lost Character ...■••••• 4^2 *A Dilemma ...•■•••••• 4^2 The Three Wives 462 LATER POEMS. Hercules Spinning 4^5 Hassan and the Angel 4^7 Looking out into the Night ...•■•• 4^8 A Summer Scene ....»•.•>> 4^ How it happened ••■• 470 ExAUDi Angelus ••••> '472 Carl and I .••.•a**«*« 473 Do I Love Thee? 474 The Lover's Confession. •..•■••- 474 De Musa 475 Mothers-in-Law 477 The Poet to his Garret . « 478 Sonnets. Somewhere ••••••••••• 480 Change not Loss ••• 480 \ LA FenS^ ••••• 48X Absence .••••••••.. 481 BiENVENUB •••... 482 Aquinas and the ^ISH0P 483 NOTES 485 POEMS POEMS THE POET'S LICENSE. "T^HE Poet's License ! — Some there are -•- Who hold the false opinion 'T is but a meagre privilege Confined to Art's dominion ; The right to rhyme quite unrestrained By certain rigid fetters Which bind the colder men of prose Within the realm of letters. Ah no ! — I deem 't is something more, And something vastly higher, To which the proudest bard on earth May worthily aspire. The Poet's License ! — 't is the right, Within the rule of duty, To look on all delightful things Throughout the world of beauty. THE POET'S LICENSE. To gaze with rapture at the stars That in the skies are glowing ; To see the gems of perfect dyei That in the woods are growing, -^ And more than sage astronomer, And more than learndd florist, To read the glorious homilies Of Firmament and Forest. When Nature gives a gorgeous rose, Or yields the simplest fern, She writes this motto on the leaves, — " To whom it may concern ! " And so it is the poet comes And revels in her bowers, ' And, though another hold the. land. Is owner of the flowers. O nevermore let Ignorance With heedless iteration Repeat the phrase as meaning aught Of trivial estimation ; The Poet's License ! — 't is the fee Of earth and sky and river To him who views them royally, To have and hold forever ! TREASURE IN HEA VEN. TREASURE IN HEAVEN. Respectfully dedicated to George Peaeody, Esq. " What I spent, I had ; what I kept, I lost ; what I gave, I have 1 " Old Epitaph. I. in* VERY coin of earthly treasure -'— ' We have lavished, upon earth, For our simple worldly pleasure, May be reckoned something worth ; For the spending was not losing, Though the purchase were but small ; It has perished with the using ; We have had it, — that is all ! II. All the gold we leave behind us When we turn to dust again (Though our avarice may blind us), We have gathered quite in vain ; Since we neither can direct it. By the winds of fortune tossed. Nor in other worlds expect it ; What we hoarded, we have lost. III. But each merciful oblation — (Seed of pity wisely sown). What we gave in self-negation, W« may safely call our own ; I'M GROWING OLD. For the treasure freely given Is the treasure that we hoard, Since the angels keep in Heaven What is lent unto the Lord ! I'M GROWING OLD. MY days pass pleasantly away ; My nights are blest with sweetest sleep ; I feel no symptoms of decay ; I have no cause to mourn nor weep ; My foes are impotent and shy ; My friends are neither false nor cold,. And yet, of late, 1 often sigh, — I 'm growing old ! My growing talk of olden times. My growing thirst for early news, My growing apathy to rhymes, My growing love of easy shoes, My growing hate of crowds and noise. My growing fear of taking cold. All whisper, in the plainest voice, I 'm growing old ! I 'm growing fonder of my staff; I 'm growing dimmer in the eyes ; I 'm growing fainter in my laugh ; I 'm growing deeper in my sighs ;, I 'm growing careless of my dress ; I 'm growing frugal of my gold ; I 'm growing wise ; 1 'm growing, — yes, — I 'm growing old I THE STORY OF LIFE. I see it in my changing taste ; I see it in my changing hair ; I see it in my growing waist ; I see it in my growing heir ; A thousand signs proclaim the truth, As plain as truth was ever told, That, even in my vaunted youth, I 'm growing old ! Ah me ! — my very laurels breathe The tale in my reluctant ears. And every boon the Hours bequeath But makes me debtor to the Years ! E'en Flattery's honeyed words declare The secret she would fain withhold. And tells me in " How young you are ! " I 'm growing old ! Thanks for the years ! — whose rapid flight My sombre Muse too sadly sings ; Thanks for the gleams of golden light That tint the darkness of their wings ; The light that beams from out the sky. Those heavenly mansions to unfold Where all are blest, and none may sigh, " I 'm growing old ! " THE STORY OF LIFE. SAY, what is life ? 'T is_to be born ; A helpless Babe, to greet the light With a sharp wail, as if the morn Foretold a cloudy noon and night ; THE STORY OF LIFE. To weep, to sleep, and weep again, With sunny smiles between ; and then ? And then apace the infant grows To be a laughing, puling boy, Happy, despite his little woes, Were he but conscious of his joy ; To be, in short, from two to ten, A merry, moody Child; and then ? And then, in coat and trousers clad. To learn to say the Decalogue, And break it ; an unthinking Lad, With mirth and mischief all. agog ; A truant oft by field and fen To capture butterflies ; and then ? And then, increased in strength and size, To be, anon, a Youth full-grown ; A hero in his mother's eyes, A young Apollo in his own ; To imitate the ways of men In fashionable sins ; and then ? And then, at last, to be a Man; To fall in love ; to woo and wed ; With seething brain to scheme and plan ; To gather gold, or toil for bread ; To sue for fame with tongue or pen. And gain or lose the prize ; and then ? And then in gray and wrinkled Eld To mourn the speed of life's decline ; To praise the scenes his youth beheld, And dwell in memory of Lang-Syne ; To dream awhile with darkened ken. Then drop into his grave ; and then ? MY CASTLE IN SPAIN. MY CASTLE IN SPAIN. ' I '"HERE 's a castle in Spain, very charming to see, -•- Though built without money or toil ; Of this handsome estate I am owner in fee, And paramount lord of the soil ; And oft as I may I 'm accustomed to go And live, like a king, in my Spanish Chateau ! There 's a dame most bewitchingly rounded and ripe. Whose wishes are never absurd ; Who does n't object to my smoking a pipe, Nor insist on the ultimate word ; In short, she 's the pink of perfection, you know ; And she lives, like a queen, in my Spanish Chateau ! I 've a family too ; the delightfiilest girls, And a bevy of beautiful boys ; All quite the reverse of those juvenile churls Whose pleasure is mischief and noise ; No modern Cornelia might venture to show Such jewels as those in my Spanish Cliateau ! I have servants who seek their contentnient in mine. And always mind what they are at ; Who never embezzle the sugar and wine. And slander the innocent cat ; Neither saucy, nor careless, nor stupidly slow Are the servants who wait in my Spanish Chateau ! I have pleasant compaiiions ; most affable folk ; And each with the heart of a brother; lo SP£:S JEST VATMS. Keen wits, who enjoy an antagonist's joke, And beauties who 're fond of each other ; Such people, indeed, as you never may know, Unless you should come to my Spanish Chateau ! I have friends, whose commission for wearing the name In kindness unfailing is shown ; Who pay to another the duty they claim. And deem his successes their own ; Who joy in his gladness, and weep at his woe ; You '11 find them (where else ?) in my Spanish Chateau ! " O si sic semper !" I oftentimes say, (Though 't is idle, I know, to complain,) To think that again I must force me away From my beautiful castle in Spain ! Ah ! would that my stars had determined it so 1 might live the year round in my Spanish Chateau ! SPES EST VATES. THERE is a saying of the ancient sages : No noble human thought. However buried in the dust of ages, Can ever come to naught. With kindred faith, that knows no base dejection, Beyond the sages' scope I see, afar, the final resurrection Of every glorious hope. THE GIFTS OF THE CODS. n I see, as parcel of a new creation, The beatific hour When every bud of lofty aspiration Shall blossom into ilower. We are not mocked ; it was not in derision God made our spirits free ; The poet's dreams are but the dim prevision Of blessings that shall be, — When they who lovingly have hoped and trusted, Despite some transient fears. Shall see Life's jarring elements adjusted. And rounded into spheres ! THE GIFTS OF THE GODS. * I "'HE saying is wise, though it sounds like a jest, ^ That " The gods don't allow us to be in their debt," For though we may think we are specially blest. We are certain to pay for the favors we get ! Are Riches the boon ? Nay, be not elate ; The final account is n't settled as yet ; Old Care has a mortgage on every estate. And that 's what you pay for the wealth that you get ! Is Honor the prize ? It were easy to name What sorrows and pedis her pathway beset ; Grim Hate and Detraction accompany Fame, rind jhat t wliat you pay for the honor you get ! 2 THE GIFTS OF THE GODS. Is Learning a treasure ? How charming the pair When Talent and Culture are lovingly met ; But Labor unceasing is grievous to bear, And that 's what you pay for the learning you get ! Is Genius worth having ? There is n't a doubt ; And yet what a price on the blessing is set, — To suffer more with it than dunces without. For that 's what-you pay for the genius you get ! Is Beauty a blessing ? To have it for naught The gods never grant to their veriest pet ; Pale Envy- reminds you the jewel is bought, And that 's what you pay for the beauty you get ! But Pleasure ? Alas ! — how prolific of pain ! (Jay Pleasure is followed by gloomy Regret ; And often Repentance is one of her train. And that 's what you pay for the pleasure you get ! But surely in Friendship we all may secure An excellent gift ; never doubt it, — and yet With much to enjoy there is much to endure; And that's what we pay for the friendship we get ! But then there is Love ? — Nay, speak not too soon ; The fondest of hearts may have reason to fret ; For Fear and Bereavement attend on the boon. And that 's what we pay for the love that we get ! And thus it appears — though it sounds like a jest -^ The gods don't allow us to be in their debt ; And though we may think we are speciall)c blest,, We are certain to pay for whatever we get ! THE OLD CHAPEL-BELL. THE OLD CHAPEL-BELL. A BALLAD. WITHIN a churchyard's sacred ground, Whose fading tablets tell Where they who built the village church In solemn silence dwell, Half hidden in the earth, there lies An ancient Chapel-BeU. Broken, decayed, and covered o'er With mouldering leaves and rust ; Its very name and date concealed Beneath a cankering ci-ust ; Forgotten, — like its early friends, Who sleep in neighboring dust. Yet it was once a trusty Bell, Of most sonorous lung. And many a joyous wedding-peal, And many a knell had rung. Ere Time had cracked its brazen sides. And broke its iron tongue. And many a youthful heart had dancedji In merry Christmas-time, To hear its pleasant roundelay,- Sung out in ringing rhyme ; And many a worldly thought been checked To list its Sabbath chime. 13 14 THE OLD CHAPEL-BEtL. A youth, — a bright and happy boy, One sultry summer's day, Aweary of his bat and ball, Chanced hitherward to stray. To read a little book he had. And rest him from his play. "A soft and shady spot is this ! " The ro^y youngster cried, And sat him down, beneath a tree, That ancient Bell beside ; (But, hidden in the tangled grass, The Bell he ne'er espied.) Anon, a mist fell on his book, The letters seemed to stir. And though, full oft, his flagging sight The boy essayed to spur. The mazy page was quickly lost Beneath a cloudy blur. And while he marvelled much at this, And wondered how it came. He felt a languor creeping o'er His young and weary frame. And heard a voice, a gentle voice. That plainly spoke his name. That gentle voice that named his name Entranced him like a spell. Upon his ear so very near And suddenly it fell, Yet soft and musical, as 't were The whisper of a belL THE OLD CHAPEL-BELL. " Since last I spoke," the voice began, " Seems many a dreary year ! (Albeit, 't is only since thy birth I 've lain neglected here !) .Pray list, while I rehearse a tale Behooves thee much to hear. " Once, from yon ivied tower, I watched The villagers, around. And gave to all their joys and griefs A sympathetic sound, — But most are sleeping, now, within This consecrated ground. " I used to ring my merriest peal To hail the blushing bride ; I sadly tolled for men cut down In strength and manly pride ; And solemnly, — not mournfully, — When little children died. " But, chief, my duty was to bid The villagers repair, On each returning Sabbath mom Unto the House of Prayer, And in his own appointed place The Saviour's mercy share. " Ah ! well I mind me of a child, A gleesome, happy maid. Who came, with constant step, to church, In comely garb arrayed. And knelt her down full solemnly, And penitently prayed. 15 1 5 THE OLD CHAPEL-BELL. " And oft, when church was done, I marked That Uttle maiden near This pleasant spot, with book in hand^ As you are sitting here, — She read the Story of the Cross, And wept with grief sincere. " Years I'oUed away, — and I beheld The child to woman gi'own ; Her cheek was fairer, and her eye With brighter lustre shone ; But childhood's truth and innocence Were still the maiden's own. " I never rang a merrier peal Than when, a joyous bride. She stood beneath' the sacred porch, A noble youth beside, And plighted him her maiden troth. In maiden love and pride. " I never tolled a deeper knell. Than when, in after years. They laid her in the churchyard here, Where this low mound appears, — (The very grave, my boy, that you Are watering now with tears !) "It is thy mother ! gentle boy. That claims this tale of mine, — Thou art a flower whose fatal birth Destroyed the parent vine ! A precious flbwer art thou, my child, — Two LIVES were' GIVEN FOR THINE 1 CO MP ENS A TION. j 7 " One was thy sainted mother's, when She gave thee mortal birth ; And one thy Saviour's, when in death He shook the solid earth ; Go ! boy, and live as may befit Thy life's exceeding worth ! " The boy awoke, as from a dream, And, thoughtful, looked around, But nothing saw, save at his feet His mother's lowly mound, And by its side that ancient BeU, Half hidden in the ground ! COMPENSATION. WHEN once, in "Merrie England," A prisoner of state Stood waiting death or exile. Submissive to his fate. He made this famous answer, — " Si longa, levisj Dura, brevis; Go tell your tyrant chief. Long pains are light ones, Cruel ones are brief ! " II. Alas ! we all are culprits ; Our bodies doomed to bear l8 THE OLD MAN'S MOTTO. Discomforts and diseases, And none may 'scape his share; But God in pity orders, Si long a, levisj Dura, brevis; He grants us this rehef, Long pains are light ones, Cruel ones are brief. III. Nor less the mind must suffer Its weight of care and woe, Afflictions and bereavements Itself can only know ; But let us still remember, Si long a, levisj Dura, brevisj To moderate our grief, — Long pains are light ones. Cruel ones are brief. THE OLD MAN'S MOTTO. " (~^ IVE me a motto ! " said a youth ^-^ To one whom years had I'endered wise ; " Some pleasant thought, or weighty truth. That briefest syllables comprise ; Some word of warning or of cheer To grave upon my signet here. " And, reverend father," said the boy, " Since life, they say, is ever made THE OLD MAN'S MOTTO. 19 A mingled web of grief and joy ; Since cares may come and pleasures fade, — Pray, let the motto have a range Of meaning matching every change." " Sooth ! " said the sire, " methinks you ask A labor something over-nice, That wella finer brain might task, — What think you, lad, of this device (Older than I, — though I am gray), 'T is simple, — ' This will pass away ' ? " When wafted on by Fortune's breeze. In endless peace thou seem'st to glide. Prepare betimes for rougher seas. And check the boast of foolish pride ; Though smiling joy is thine to-day. Remember, ' This will pass away ! ' " When all the sky is draped in black. And, beaten by tempestuous gales. Thy shuddering ship seems all a-wrack. Then trim again thy tattered sails ; To grim Pespair be not a prey ; Bethink thee, ' This will pass away ! ' " Thus, O my son, be not o'er-proud. Nor yet cast down ; judge thou aright ; When skies are clear, expect the cloud ; In darkness, wait the coming light ; Whatever be thy fate to-day, Remember, ' This will pass away ! ' " MAXIMILIAN. MAXIMILIAN. NOT with a craven spirit he Submitted to the harsh decree That bade him die before his time, Cut off in manhood's golden prime, — Poor Maximilian ! And some who marked his noble mien, His dauntless heart, his soul serene. Have deemed they saw a martyr die, And chorused forth the solemn cry, " Great Maximilian ! " Alas ! Ambition was his sin ; He staked his life a throne to win ; Counted amiss the fearful cost (As chiefs have done before), — and lost ! Rash Maximilian ! 'T is not the victim's tragic fate. Nor calm endurance, makes him great ; Mere lust of empire and renown Can never claim the martyr's crown ! Brave Maximilian ! Alas ! — it fell, that, in thy aim To win a sovereign's power and fame, Thy better nature lost its force. And royal crimes disgraced thy course, King Maximilian ! WIStTING. Alas ! what ground for mercy's plea In his behalf, whose fell decree Gave soldiers unto felon's graves, And freemen to the doom of slaves, — Fierce Maximilian ? I loathe the rude, barbaric wrath That slew thee in thy vent'rous path ; But " they who take," thus saith the Lord, " Shall also perish by the sword," Doomed Maximilian ! But, when I think upon the scene, — Thy fearful fate, thy wretched queen, — And mark how bravely thou didst die, I breathe again the pitying sigh, " Poor Maximilian ! " WISHING. OF all amusements for the mind, From logic down to fishing, There is n't one that you can find So very cheap as "wishing." A very choice diversion too, If we but rightly use it, And not, as we are apt to do. Pervert it, and abuse it. I wish, — al commorv wish, indeed, — ;■ My purse were somewhat fatter, WISHING. That I might cheer the child of need, And not my pride to flatter ; That I might make Oppression reel, As only gold can make it, And break the Tyrant's rod of steel. As only gold can break it. I wish — that Sympathy and Love, And every human passion. That has its origin above, Would come and keep in fashion ; That Scorn, and Jealousy, and Hate, And every base emotion. Were buried fifty fathom deep Beneath the waves of Ocean ! I wish — that friends were always true. And motives always pure ; I wish the good were not so few, I wish the bad were fewer ; I wish that parsons ne'er forgot To heed their pious teaching ; I wish that practising was not So different from preaching ! I wish — • that modest worth might be Appraised with truth and candor ; I wish that innocence were free From treachery and slander ; I wish that men their vows would mind ; That women ne'er were rovers ; I wish that wives were always kind, And husbands always lovers ! THE WAY OF THE WORLD. 23 I wish — in fine — that Joy and Mirth, And every good Ideal, May come erewhile, throughout the earth, To be the glorious Real ; Till God shall every creature bless With his supremest blessing, And Hope be lost in Happiness, And Wishing in Possessing ! THE WAY OF THE WORLD, L A YOUTH vi^ould marry a maiden, ■^*- For fair and fond was she ; But she was rich, and he was poor, And so it might not be, A lady jiever could wear — Her mother held it fir7n — A gown that came of an India plant. Instead of an India worm ! — And so the cruel word was spoken ; And so it was two hearts were broken. II. A youth would marry a maiden, For fair and fond was she ; But he was high and she was low. And so it might not be. A man who had worn a spur. In ancient battle won. Had sent it down with great renown. To goad his future son J — 24 A POETS ELEGY. And so the cruel word was spoken ; And so it was two hearts were broken. III. A youth would marry a maiden. For fair and fond was she ; But their sires disputed about the Mass, And so it might not be. A couple of wicked kings. Three hundred years agone. Had played at a royal game of chess. And the Church had been a pawn ! - And so the cruel word was spoken ; And so it was two hearts were broken. A POET'S ELEGY. HERE rests, at last, from worldly care and strife, A gentle man-of-rhyme. Not all unknown to fame, — whose lays and life Fell short of the sublime. Yet, as his poems ('t was the critics' praise) Betrayed a careful mind, His life, with less of Hcense than his lays. To Virtue was inclined. Whate'er of Wit the kindly Muse supplied He ever strove to bend To Folly's hurt ; nor once with wanton pride Employed to pain a friend. A POETS ELEGY. 25 He loved a quip, but in his jesting vein With studious care effaced The doubtful word that threatened to profane The sacred or the chaste. He loathed the covert, diabolic jeer That conscience undermines ; No hinted sacrilege nor sceptic sneer Lurks in his laughing lines. With satire's sword to pierce the false and wrong ; A ballad to invent That bore a wholesome sermon in the song, — Such was the poet's bent In social converse, "happy as a king," When colder men refrained From daring flights, he gave his failcy wing And freedom unrestrained. And golden thoughts, at times, — a motley brood, — Came flashing from the mine ; And fools who saw him in his merry mood Accused the untasted wine. He valued friendship's favor more than faine, And paid his social dues ; He loved his Art, — but held his manly name Far dearer than his Muse. And partial friends, while gayly laughing o'er The merry lines they quote, Say with a sigh, " To us the man was more Than aught he ever wrote ! " 26 THE MOURNER A LA MODE. THE MOURNER A LA MODE. I SAW her last night at a party (The elegant party at Mead's), And looking remarkably hearty For a widow so young in her weeds ; Yet I know she was suffering sorrow Too deep for the tongue to express, — Or why had she chosen to borrow So much from the language of dress ? Her shawl was as sable as night ; And her gloves were as dark as her shawl ; And her jewels — that flashed in the light — Were black as a funeral pall ; Her robe had the hue of the rest, (How nicely it fitted her shape !) And the grief that was heaving her breast Boiled over in billows of crape ! What tears of vicarious woe, That else might have sullied her face, Were kindly permitted to flow In ripples of ebony lace ! While even her fan, in its play. Had quite a lugubrious scope. And seemed to be waving away The ghost of the angel of Hope ! Yet rich as the robes of a queen Was the sombre apparel she wore ; I 'm certain I never had seen Such a sumptuous sorrow before ; THE MOURNER A LA MODE. And I could n't help thinking the beauty, In mourning the loved and the lost, Was doing her conjugal duty Altogether regardless of cost ! One surely would say a devotion Performed at so vast an expense Betrayed an excess of emotion That was really something immense ; And yet as I viewed, at my leisure, Those tokens of tender regard, I thought : — It is scarce without measure — ■ The sorrow that goes by the yard ! Ah ! grief is a curious passion ; And yours — I am sorely afraid The very next phase of the fashion Will find it beginning to fade ; Though dark are the shadows of grief. The morning will follow the night, Half-tints will betoken rehef. Till joy shall be symboUed in white ! Ah well ! — it were idle to quarrel With Fashion, or aught she may do ; And so I conclude with a moral And metaphor — warranted new: — When measles come handsomely out, The patient is safest, they say ; And the Sorrow is mildest, no doubt, That works in a similar way ! 27 THE EXPECTED SHIP. THE EXPECTED SHIP. THUS I heard a poet say, As he sang in merry glee, " Ah ! 't will be a golden day. When my ship comes o'er the sea ! " I do know a cottage fine, As a poet's house should be, And the cottage shall be mine. When my ship comes o'er the sea ! " I do know a maiden fair, Fair, and fond, and dear to me, And we '11 be a wedded pair. When my ship comes o'er the sea 1 " And within that cottage fine, Blest as any king may be, Every pleasure shall be mine, When my ship comes o'er the sea ! "To be rich is to be great ; Love is only for the free ; Grant me patience, while I wait Till my ship comes o'er the sea ! '' Months and years have come and gone Since the poet sang to me, Yet he still keeps hoping on For the ship from o'er the sea ! THE HEAD AND THE HEART. Thus the siren voice of Hope Whispers still to you and me Of something in the future's scope, Some golden ship from o'er the sea ! Never sailor yet hath found, Looking windward or to lee, Any vessel homeward bound. Like that ship from o'er the sea ! Never comes the shining deck ; But that tiny cloud may be, Though it seems the merest speck, The promised ship from o'er the sea ! Never looms the swelling sail, But the wind is blowing free. And that may be the precious gale That brings the ship from o'er the sea ! THE HEAD AND THE HEART. T^HE head is stately, calm, and wise, -'- And bears a princely part ; And down below in secret lies The warm, impulsive heart. The lordly head that sits above. The heart that beats below, Their several office plainly prove. Their true relation show. 29 30 THE PROUD MISS MACBRIDK. The head erect, serene, and cool, Endowed with Reason's art. Was set aloft to guide and rule The throbbing, wayward heart. And from the head, as from the higher, Comes every glorious thought ; And in the heart's transforming fire All noble deeds are wrought Yet each is best when both unite To make the man complete ; What were the heat without the light ? The light, without the heat ? THE PROUD MISS MACBRIDE. A LEGEND OF GOTHAM. I. O TERRIBLY proud was Miss MacBride, ' The very personification of Pride, As she minced along in Fashion's tide, Adown Broadway, — on the proper side, — When the golden sun was setting ; There was pride in the head she carried so high. Pride in her lip, and pride in her eye, And a world of pride in the very sigh That her stately bosom was fretting ; II. A sigh that a pair of elegant feet. Sandalled in satin, should kiss the street, — THE PROUD MISS MA CB RIDE. The very same that the vulgar greet In common leather not over " neat," — For such is the common booting ; (And Christian tears may well be shed, That even among our gentlemen bred, The glorious day of Morocco is dead. And Day and Martin are raining instead, On a much inferior footing !) III. O, terribly proud was Miss MacBride, Proud of her beauty, and proud of her pride, And proud of fifty matters beside That would n't have borne dissection ; Proud of her wit, and proud of her walk, Proud of her teeth, and proud of her talk, Proud of " knowing cheese from chalk," On a very slight inspection ! IV. Proud abroad, and proud at home, Proud wherever she chanced to come, When she was glad, and when she was glum ; Proud as the head of a Saracen Over the door of a tippling shop ! — Proud as a duchess, proud as a fop, " Proud as a boy with a bran-new top," Proud beyond comparison ! It seems a singular thing to say. But her very senses led her astray Respecting all humility ; 31 32 THE PROUD MISS MACBRWE. In sooth, her dull auricular drum Could find in Humble only a "hum,'' And heard no sound of "gentle" come. In talking about gentility. VI. What Lowly meant she did n't know, For she always avoided " everything low," With care the most punctilious, And queerer still, the audible sound Of "super-silly" she never had found In the adjective supercilious ! VII. The meaning of Meek she never knew, But imagined the phrase- had something to do With "Moses," — a peddling German Jew, Who, like all hawkers the country through. Was a person of no position ; And it seemed to her exceedingly plain. If the word was really known to pertain To a vulgar German, it was n't germane To a lady of high condition ! VIII. Even her graces, — not her grace, For that was in the " vocative case," — Chilled with the touch of her icy face, Sat very stifiSy upon her ; She never confessed a favor aloud, Like one of the simple, common crowd, But coldly smiled, and faintly bowed, As who should say : "You do me proud. And do yourself an honor 1 " THE PROUD MISS MAC BRIDE. 33 IX. And yet the pride of Miss MacBride, Although it had fifty hobbies to ride, Had really no foundation ; But, like the fabrics that gossips devise, — Those single stories that often arise And grow till they reach a four-story size, — Was merely a fancy creation ] 1 I X. 'T is a curious fact as ever was known In human nature, but often shown Alike in castle and cottage, That pride, like pigs of a certain breed, Will manage to live and thrive on "feed" As poor as a pauper's pottage ! XI. That her wit should never have made her vain, Was, like her face, sufficiently plain ; And as to her musical powers. Although she sang until she was hoarse, And issued notes with a Banker's force. They were just such notes as we never indorse For any acquaintance of ours ! XII. Her birth, indeed, was uncommonly high, For Miss MacBride first opened her eye Through a skylight dim, on the light of the sky ; But pride is a curious passion, And in talking about her wealth and worth She always forgot to mention her birth, To people of rank and fashion ! 34 THE PROUD MISS MACBRIDE. XIII. Of all the notable things on earth, The queerest one is pride of birth, Among our " fierce Democracie " ! A bridge across a hundred years, Without a prop to save it from sneers, — Not even a couple of rotten Peers, — A thing for laughter, fleers, and jeers, Is American aristocracy ! XIV. English and Irish, French and Spanish, German, Italian, Dutch, and Danish, Crossing their veins until they vanish In one conglomeration ! So subtle a tangle of Blood, indeed. No modern Harvey will ever succeed In finding the circulation ! XV. Depend upon it, my snobbish friend, Your family thread you can't ascend, Without good reason to apprehend You may find it waxed at the farther end By some plebeian vocation ; Or, worse than that, your boasted Line May end in a loop of stronger twine. That plagued some worthy relation ! XVI. But Miss MacBride hath something beside Her lofty birth to nourish her pride, — For rich was the old paternal MacBride, According to public rumor ; THE FROUD MISS MACS RIDE. 35 And he lived " Up Town," in a splendid square, And kept his daughter on dainty fare, And gave her gems that were rich and rare, And the finest rings and things to wear, And feathers enough to plume her ! XVII. An honest mechanic was John MacBride, As ever an honest calling plied. Or graced an honest ditty ; For John had worked in his early day. In " Pots and Pearls," the legends say, And kept a shop with a rich array Of things in the soap and candle way, In the lower part of the city. XVIII. No rara avis was honest John, (That 's the Latin for " sable swan,") Though, in one of his fancy flashes, A wicked wag, who meant to deride. Called honest John, " Old Phcenix MacBride," " Because he rose from his ashes I " XIX. Alack ! for many ambitious beaux ! She hung their hopes upon her nose, (The figure is quite Horatian !) * Until from habit the member grew As queer a thing as ever you knew Turn up to observation ! • " Omnia suspecdeas naso." 36 THE PROUD MISS MACS RIDE. A thriving tailor begged her hand, But she gave " the fellow " to understand, By a violent manual action, She perfectly scorned the best of his clan, And reckoned the ninth of any man An exceedingly Vulgar Fraction ! XXI. Another, whose sign was a golden boot, Was mortified with a bootless suit, In a way that was quite appalling ; For though a regular sutor by trade. He was n't a suitor to suit the maid, Who cut him off with a saw, — and bade " The cobbler keep to his calling." XXII. (The Muse must let a secret out, — There is n't the faintest shadow of doubt, That folks who oftenest sneer and flout At " the dirty, low mechanicals," Are they whose sires, by pounding their knees, Or coiling their legs, or trades like these. Contrived to win their children ease From poverty's galling manacles.) XXIII. A rich tobacconist comes and sues. And, thinking the lady would scarce refuse A man of his wealth and liberal views, Began, at once, with, " If you choose, — And could you really love him — " THE PROUD MISS MACBRIDE. But the lady spoiled his speech in a huff, With an answer rough and ready enough, To let him know she was up to snuff, And altogether above him ! XXIV. A young attorney of winning grace, Was scarce allowed to " open his face," Ere Miss MacBride had closed his case With true judicial celerity ; For the lawyer was poor, and " seedy " to boot, And to say the lady discarded his stiit, Is merely a double verity. XXV. The last of those who came to court Was a lively beau of the dapper sort, " Without any visible means of support," — A crime by no means flagrant In one who wears an elegant coat. But the very point on which they vote A ragged fellow " a vagrant." XXVI. A courtly fellow was Dapper Jim, Sleek and supple, and tall and trim, And smooth of tongue as neat of limb ; And, maugre his meagre pocket. You 'd say, from the glittering tales he told, That Jim had slept in a cradle of gold, With Fortunatus to rock it ! 37 3? THE PROUD MISS MACBRIDE. XXVII. Now Dapper Jim his courtship plied (I wish the fact could be denied), With an eye to the purse of the old MacBride, And really "nothing shorter" ! For he said to himself, in his greedy lust, " Whenever he dies, — as die he must, — And yields to Heaven his vital trust. He 's very sure to ' come down with his dust,' In behalf of his only daughter.'' XXVIII. And the very magnificent Miss MacBride, Half in love and half in pride. Quite graciously relented ; And tossing her head, and turning her back, No token of proper pride to lack, To be a Bride without the " Mac," With much disdain, consented. Alas ! that people who Ve got their box Of cash beneath the best of locks, Secure from all financial shocks. Should stock their fancy with fancy stocks, And madly rush upon Wall Street rocks, Without the least apology ; Alas ! that people whose money affairs Are sound beyond all need of repairs. Should ever tempt the bulls and bears Of Mammon's fierce Zoology I THE PROUD MISS M ACER WE. 39 XXX. Old John MacBride, one fatal day, Became the unresisting prey Of Fortune's undertakers ; And staking his all on a single die, His foundered bark went high and dry Among the brokers and breakers ! XXXI. At his trade again in the very shop Where, years before, he let it drop. He follows his ancient calling, — Cheerily, too, in poverty's spite. And sleeping quite as sound at night. As when, at Fortune's giddy height. He used to wake with a dizzy fright From a dismal dream of falling. XXXII. But alas for the haughty Miss MacBride ! 'T was such a shock to her precious pride, She could n't recover, although she tried Her jaded spirits to rally ; 'T was a dreadful change in human affairs From a Place " Up Town" to a nook " Up Stairs," From an Avenue down to an Alley ! XXXIII. 'T was little condolence she had, God wot, From her " troops of friends," who had n't forgot The airs she used to borrow ; They had civil phrases enough, but yet 'T was plain to see that their " deepest regret" Was a different thing from Sorrow ! 4° THE PROUD MISS MACBRWE. XXXIV. They owned it could n't have well been worse, To go from a full to an empty purse ; To expect a reversion and get a " reverse," Was truly a dismal feature ; But it was n't strange, — they whispered, — at all ; That the Summer of pride should have its Fall, Was quite according to Nature ! And one of those chaps who make a pun, — As if it were quite legitimate fun To be blazing away at every one, With a regular double-loaded gun, — Remarked that moral transgression Always brings retributive stings To candle-makers, as well as kings : And making light of cereous things, Was a very wick-ed profession ! XXXVI. And vulgar people, the saucy churls. Inquired about " the price of Pearls," And mocked at her situation ; " She was n't ruined, — they ventured to hope, ■ Because she was poor, she need n't mope, — Few people were better off for soap. And that was a consolation ! " XXXVII. And to make her cup of woe run over, Her elegant, ardent, plighted lover Was the very first to forsake her ; 41 THE PROUD MISS MACS RIDE. He quite regretted the step, 't was true, ^ The lady had pride enough " for two," But that alone would never do To quiet the butcher and baker ! XXXVIII. And now the unhappy Miss MacBride, The merest ghost of her early pride, Bewails her lonely position ; Cramped in the very narrowest niche, Above the poor, and below the rich. Was ever a worse condition ? Because you flourish in worldly affairs. Don't be haughty, and put on airs. With insolent pride of station ! Don't be proud, and turn up your nose At poorer people in plainer clo'es. But learn, for the sake of your soul's repose. That wealth 's a bubble, that comes, — and goes ! And that all Proud Flesh, wherever it grows, Is subject to irritation ! 42 THE MASQUERADE. THE MASQUERADE. Ho/ii^aa't?, T\7* eie\eifie voav Tnixa Trep ^poveovTtov. HoM. II. xiv. 217. COUNT FELIX was a man of worth By Fashion's strictest definition, For he had money, manners, birth, And that most sUppery thing on earth Which social critics call position. II. And yet the Count was seldom gay ; The rich and noble have their crosses ; And he — as he was wont to say — Had seen some trouble in his day. And met with several serious losses. III. Among the rest, he lost his wife, A very model of a woman. With every needed virtue rife To lead a spouse a happy life, — Such wives (in France) are not uncommon. IV. The lady died, and left him sad And lone, to mourn the best of spouses ; She left him also — let me add — One child, and all the wealth she had, — The rent of half a dozen houses. THE MASQUERADE. 43 V. I cannot tarry to discuss The weeping husband's desolation ; Upon her tomb he wrote it thus : — " Felix infelicissimus ! " In very touching ostentation. VI. Indeed, the Count's behavior earned The plaudits of his strict confessor ; His weeds of woe had fairly turned From black to brown, ere he had learned To think about his wife's successor. And then, indeed, 't was but a thought ; A sort of sentimental dreaming. That came at times, and came — to naught, With all the plans so nicely wrought By matrons skilled in marriage-scheming. VIII. At last when many years had fled, And Father Time, the great physician, Had soothed his sorrow for the dead. Count Felix took it in his head To change his wearisome condition. IX. You think, perhaps, 't was quickly done ; The Count was still a man of fashion ; Wealth, title, talents, all in one. Were eloquence to win a nun. If nuns could feel a worldly passion. 44 THE MASQUERADE. X. And yet the Count might well despond Of tying soon the silken tether ; Wise, witty, handsome, faithful, fond. And twenty — not a year beyond — Are charming, — when they come together ! XL But more than that, the man required A wife to share his whims and fancies ; Admire alone what he admired ; Desire, of course, as he desired. And show it in her very glances. Long, long the would-be wooer tried To find his precious ultimatum, — All earthly charms in one fair bride ; But still in vain he sought and sighed ; He could n't manage to get at 'em. XIII. In sooth, the Count was one of those Who, seeking something superhuman, Find not the angel they would choose, And — what is more unlucky — lose Their chance to wed a charming woman. XIV. The best-matched doves in Hymen's cage Were paired in youth's romantic season ; Laugh as you will at passion's rage. The most unreasonable age Is what is called the age of reason. THE MASQUERADE. XV. In love-affairs, we all have seen, The heart is oft the best adviser ; The gray might well consult the '' green," Cool sixty learn of rash sixteen. And go away a deal the wiser.' XVI. The Count's high hopes began to fade ; His plans were not at all advancing ; When, lo ! — one day his valet made Some mention of a masquerade, — " I '11 go," said he, — '' and see the dancing." XVII. " 'T will serve my spirits to arouse ; And, faith ! — I 'm getting melancholy. 'T is not the place to seek a spouse. Where people go to break their vows, — But then 't will be extremely jolly ! " XVIII. Count Felix found the crowd immense, And, had he been a censor morum, He might have said, without offence, " Got up regardless of expense, And some — regardless of decorum." XIX. " Faith ! — all the world is here to-night ! " " Nay,'' said a merry friend demurely, " Not quite the whole, — pardon ! — not quite ; Le Demi-Monde were nearer right, And no exaggeration, surely ! " 45 46 THE MASQUERADE. XX. The revelry ('twas just begun) A stoic might have found diverting ; That is, of course, if he was one Who Hked to see a bit of fun, And fancied persiflage and flirting. XXI. But who can paint that giddy maze ? Go find the lucky man who handles A brush to catch, on gala-days, The whirUng, shooting, flashing rays Of Catharine-wheels and Roman candles ! All sorts of masks that e'er were seen ; Fantastic, comic, and satanic ; Dukes, dwarfs, and " Highnesses" (Serene), And (that 's of course) the Cyprian Queen, In gauzes few and diaphanic. XXIII. Lean Carmelites, fat Capuchins, Giants half human and half bestial ; Kings, Queens, Magicians, Harlequins, Greeks, Tartars, Turks, and Mandarins More diabolic than " Celestial." XXIV. Fair Scripture dames, — Naomi, Ruth, And Hagar, looking quite demented ; The Virtues (all — excepting Truth) And Magdalens, who were in sooth Just half of what they represented ! THE MASQUERADE. ^j XXV. Fates, Furies, Fairies, — all the best And worst of Fancy's weird creation ; Psyche and Cupid (demi-dressed) With several Vestals — by request, And solely for that one occasion. XXVI. And one, among the motley brood, He saw, who shunned the wanton dances ; A sort of demi-nun, who stood In ringlets flashing from a hood, And seemed to seek our hero's glances. XXVII. The Count, delighted with her air, Drew near, the better to behold her ; Her form was slight, her skin was fair. And maidenhood, you well might swear, Breathed from the dimples in her shoulder. XXVIII. He spoke ; she answered with a grace That showed the girl no vulgar heiress ; And, — if the features one may trace In voices, — hers betrayed a face The finest to be found in Paris ! XXIX. And then such wit ! — in repartee She shone without the least endeavor ; A beauty and a bel-esprit ! A scholar, too, — 't was plain to see, — Who ever saw a girl so clever ? ^8 THE MASQUERADE. XXX. Her taste he ventured to explore In books — the graver and the lighter - And mentioned authors by the score ; Men Dieu ! — in every sort of lore She always chose his favorite writer ! She loved the poets ; but confessed Racine beat all the others hollow ; At least, she thought his style the best — (Racine ! his Uterary test ! , Racine ! his Maximus Apollo f) XXXII. Whatever topic he might name, Their minds were strangely sympathetic ; Of courtship, marriage, fashion, fame, Their views and feelings were the same, — " Parbleu ! " he cried. " it looks prophetic ! " XXXIII. " Come, let us seek an ampler space ; This heated room — I can't abide it ! That mask, I 'm sure, is out of place. And hides the fairest, sweetest face — " Said she, " I wear the mask to hide it ! " XXXIV. The answer was extremely pat. And gave the Count a deal of pleasure : " Cest vmi.'—l did not think of that ! Come, let us go where we can chat And eat (I 'm hungry) at our leisure." THE MASQUERADE. 45 XXXV. " I 'm hungry too ! " she said, — and went, Without the least attempt to cozen, — Like ladies who refuse, relent. Debate, oppose, and then consent To — eat enough for half a dozen ! XXXVI. And so they sat them down to dine, Solus cum. sola, gay and merry ; The Count inquires the sort of wine To which his charmer may incline, — Ah J quelle merveille ! she answers, " Sherry ! " XXXVII. What will she eat ? She takes the carte, And notes the viands that she wishes ; "Pardon, Monsieur! what makes you start?" As if she knew his tastes by heart. The lady named his favorite dishes ! XXXVI ir. Was e'er such sympathy before ? The Count was really half demented ; He kissed her hand, and roundly swore He loved her perfectly ! — and, more, — He 'd wed her — if the gods consented ! XXXIX. * Monsieur is very kind," she said, " His love so lavishly bestowing On one who never thought to wed, — And least of all" — she raised her head — '"T is late, Sir Knight, I must be going ! " 3 " JO THE MASQUERADE. XL. Count Felix sighed, — and while he drew Her shawl about her, at his leisure, "What street?" he asked ; "my cab is due." « No ! — no ! " she said, " I go with you ! That is — if it may be your pleasure." XLI. Of course, there 's little need to say The Count delighted in her capture ; Away he drove, — and all the way He murmured, " Quelle feliciti !^ In very ecstasy of rapture ! XLII. Arrived at home — just where a fount Shot forth a jet of lucent water — He helped the lady to dismount ; She drops her mask — and lo ! — the Count — Sees — Dieu de del! — his only daughter ! XLIII. " Good night ! " she said, — " I 'm very well, Although you thought my health was fading ; Be good — -and I will never tell ('T was funny though) of what befell When you and I went masquerading ! " MY FAMILIAR. 51 MY FAMILIAR, " Ecce iterum Crispinus I " I. AGAIN I hear that creaking step !^ He 's rapping at the door ! — Too well I know the boding sound That ushers in a bore. I do not tremble when I meet The stoutest of my foes, But Heaven defend me from the friend Who comes — but never goes ! II. He drops into my easy-chair, And asks about the news ; He peers into my manuscript, And gives his candid views ; He tells me where he likes the line, And where he 's forced to grieve ; He takes the strangest liberties, — But never takes his leave ! III. He reads my daily paper through Before I 've seen a word ; He scans the lyric (that I wrote) And thinks it quite absurd ; He calmly smokes my last cigar, And coolly asks for more ; He opens everything he sees — Except the entry door ! 52 My FAMILIAS. IV. He talks about his fragile health, And tells me of the pains He suffers from a score of ills Of which he ne'er complains ; And how he struggled once with death To keep the fiend at bay ; On themes like those away he goes, — But never goes away ! V. He tells me of the carping words Some shallow critic wrote ; And every precious paragraph Familiarly can quote ; He thinks the writer did me wrong ; He 'd like to run him through ! He says a thousand pleasant things, — But never says, " Adieu ! " VI. Whene'er he comes, — that dreadful man, - Disguise it as I may, I know that, like an Autumn rain. He 'II last throughout the day. In vain I speak of urgent tasks ; In vain I scowl and pout ; A frown is no extinguisher, — It does not put him out 1 VII. I mean to take the knocker off. Put crape upon the door. LOVE AND LAW. 53 Or hint to John that I am gone To stay a month or more. I do not tremble when I meet The stoutest of my foes, But Heaven defend me from the friend Who never, never goes ! LOVE AND LAW. A LEGEND OF BOSTON. JACK NEWMAN was in love ; a common case With boys just verging upon manhood's prime, When every damsel with a pretty face Seems some bright creature from a purer clime, Sent by the gods to bless a country town ; A pink-cheelied angel in a muslin gown. II. Jack was in love ; and also much in doubt (As thoughtful lovers oft have been before), If it were better to be in or out, — Such pain alloyed his bliss. On reason's ^cc" "v Perhaps 't is equally a sin to get Too deep in love, in liquor, or in debt. III. The lady of his love, Miss Mary Blank (I call her so to hide her real name). Was fair and twenty, and in social rank — That is, in riches — much above her "flame"; The daughter of a person who had tin, Already won ; while Jack had his to win. 54 LOVE AND LAW. IV. Her father was a lawyer ; rather rusty In legal lore, but one who well had striven In former days to swell his "r^j angustce" To broad possessions ; and, in short, had thriven Bravely in his vocation ; though, the fact is, More by his " practices " ('t was said) than practice ! A famous man was Blank for sound advice In doubtful cases ; for example, where The point in question is extremely nice. And turns upon the section of a hair ; Or where — which seems a very common pother — Justice looks one way, and the Law another. VI. Great was his skill to make or mar a plot ; To prop, at need, a rotten reputation. Or undermine a good one ; he had got By heart the subtle science of evasion, And knew the useful art to pick a flaw Through which a rascal might escape the law. VII. Jack was his pupil ; and 't is rather queer So shrewd a counsellor did not discover, With all his cunning both of eye and ear. That this same pupil was his daughter's lover ; And — what would much have shocked his legal tutor — Was even now the girl's accepted suitor ! LOVE AND LAW. VIII. Fearing a non-suit, if the lawyer knew The case too soon, Jack kept it to himself; And, stranger still, the lady kept it too ; For well he knew the father's pride of pelf, Should e'en a bare suspicion cross his mind, Would soon abate the action they designed. For Jack was impecunious ; and Blank Had small regard for people who were poor ; Riches to him were beauty, grace, and rank : In short, the man was one of many more Who worship money-bags and those who own 'em, And think a handsome sum the suminum bonum. I 'm fond of civil words, and do not wish To be satirical ; but none despise The poor so truly as the nouveaux richej And here, no doubt, the real reason lies, That being over-proud of what they are. They 're naturally ashamed of what they were. Certain to meet the father's cold negation, Jack dare not ask him for his daughter's hand ; What should he do .' 'T was surely an occasion For all the wit a lover might command ; At last he chose (it seemed his only hope) That final card of Cupid, — to elope ! SS S6 LOVE AND LAW. XII. A pretty plan to please a penny-a-liner ; But far less pleasant for the leading factor, Should the fair maiden chance to be a minor (Whom the law reckons an unwilling actor), And here Jack found a rather sad obstruction, — He might be caught and punished for abduction. XIII. What could he do ? Well, — here is what he did. As a " moot-case " to Lawyer Blank he told The whole affair, save that the names were hid ; I can't help thinking it was rather bold. But' Love is partial to heroic schemes. And often proves much wiser than he seems. XIV. " The thing is safe enough, with proper care," Observed the lawyer, smiling. " Here 's your course : — Just let the lady manage the affair Throughout ; Videlicet, she gets the horse. And mounts him, unassisted, first j but mind, The woman sits before, and you, behind ! xv» "Then who is the abductor? — Just suppose A court and jury looking at the case ; What ground of action do the facts disclose ? They find a horse, — two riders, — and a rase, — And you ' Not Guilty' ; for 't is clearly true The dashing damsel ran away with you ! " XVI. ***** RHYME OF THE RAIL. 57 These social sins are often rather grave ; I give such deeds no countenance of mine ; Nor can I say the father e'er forgave ; But that was surely a propitious " sign," On vifhich (in after years) the words I saw Were, "Blank and Newman, Counsellors at Law ! " RHYME OF THE RAIL. SINGING through the forests, Rattling over ridges. Shooting under arches. Rumbling over bridges. Whizzing through the mountains. Buzzing o'er the vale, — Bless me ! this is pleasant. Riding on the Rail ! Men of different " stations '' In the eye of Fame Here are very quickly Coming to the same. High and lowly people. Birds of every feather, On a common level TraveUing together ! Gentleman in shorts, Looming very tall ; Gentleman at large. Talking very small ; 3» eg RHYME OF THE RAIL. Gentleman in tights, With a loose-ish mien ; Gentleman in gray, Looking rather green. Gentleman quite old, Asking for the news ; Gentleman in black. In a fit of blues ; Gentleman in claret, Sober as a vicar ; Gentleman in Tweed, Dreadfully in liquor ! Stranger on the right. Looking very sunny, Obviously reading Something rather funny. Now the smiles are thicker. Wonder what they mean ? Faith, he 's got the KNICKER- BOCKER Magazine ! Stranger on the left, Closing up his peepers ; Now he snores amain, Like the Seven Sleepers ; At his feet a volume Gives the explanation, How the man grew stupid From " Association " ! Ancient maiden lady Anxiously remarks, RHYME OF THE RAIL. 59 That there must be peril 'Mong so many sparks ! Roguish-looking fellow, Turning to the stranger, Says it 's his opinion She is out of danger ! Woman with her baby. Sitting vis-cl-visj Baby keeps a squalling, Woman looks at me ; Asks about the distance, Says it 's tiresome talking, Noises of the cars Are so very shocking ! Market-woman careful Of the precious casket, Knowing eggs are eggs. Tightly holds her basket ; Feeling that a smash. If it came, would surely Send her eggs to pot Rather prematurely ! Singing through the forests, Rattling over ridges, Shooting under arches, Rumbling over bridges, Whizzing through the mountains. Buzzing o'er the vale ; Bless me ! this is pleasant, Riding on the Rail 1 6o THE BRIEFLESS BARRISTER. THE BRIEFLESS BARRISTER. A BALLAD. AN Attorney was taking a turn, In shabby habiliments drest ; His coat it was shockingly worn, And the rust had invested his vest. His breeches had suiifered a breach. His linen and worsted were worse ; He had scarce a whole crown in his hat, And not half a crown in his purse. And thus as he wandered along, A cheerless and comfortless elf, He sought for relief in a song, Or complainingly talked to himself: — " Unfortunate man that I am ! I 've never a client but grief : The case is, I 've no case at all. And in brief, I Ve ne'er had a brief ! " I 've waited and waited in vain, Expecting an ' opening' to find. Where an honest young lawyer might gain Some reward for toil of his mind. " 'T is not that I 'm wanting in law, Or lack an intelligent face. That others have cases to plead, While I have to plead for a case. THE BRIEFLESS BARRISTER. 6 1 " O, how can a modest young man E'er hope for the smallest progression, — The profession 's already so full Of lawyers so full of profession ! " While thus he was strolling around, His eye accidentally fell On a very deep hole in the ground, And he sighed to himself, " It is well ! " To curb his emotions, he sat On the curbstone the space of a minute, Then cried, " Here 's an opening at last ! " And in less than a jiffy was in it ! Next morning twelve citizens came ('T was the coroner bade them attend). To the end that it might be determined How the man had determined his end ! " The man was a lawyer, I hear," Quoth the foreman who sat on the corse. " A lawyer ? Alas ! " said another, " Undoubtedly died of remorse ! " A third said, " He knew the deceased, An attorney well versed in the laws, And as to the cause of his death, 'T was no doubt for the want of a cause." The jury decided at length. After solemnly weighing the matter. That the lawyer was drownrfed, because He could not keep his head above water ! 62 LITTLE JERRY, THE MILLER. LITTLE JERRY, THE MILLER.* A BALLAD. BENEATH the hill you may see the mill Of wasting wood and crumbling stone ; The wheel is dripping and clattering still, But Jerry, the miller, is dead and gone. Year after year, early and late, Alike in summer and winter weather. He pecked the stones and calked the gate, And mill and miller grew old together. " Little Jerry ! " — 't was all the same, — They loved him well who called him so ; And whether he 'd ever another name, Nobody ever seemed to know. 'T was, " Little Jerry, come grind my rye " ; And, " Little Jerry, come grind my wheat " ; And " Little Jerry " was still the cry, From matron bold and maiden sweet. 'T was " Little Jerry " on every tongue, And so the simple truth was told ; For Jerry was little when he was young, And Jerry was little when he was old. * Perhaps it may add a trifle to the interest of this ballad to know that the description, both of the man and the mill, is quite true, " Little Jerry " — a diminutive Frenchman of remarkable strength, wit, and good-nature — was for many years my father's miller in Highgate, Ver- mont. His surname was written *' Goodheart " in the mill-books : but he often told me that our English translatioa was quite too weak, a.s the real name was spelled ** ForiSoMcceur" LITTLE JERRY, THE MILLER. 63 But what in size he chanced to lack, That Jerry made up in being strong ; 1 've seen a sack upon his back As thick as the miller, and quite as long. Always busy, and always merry, Always doing his very best, A notable wag was Little Jerry, Who uttered well his standing jest. How Jerry lived is known to fame. But how he died there 's none may know ; One autumn day the rumor came, " The brook and Jerry are very low." And then 't was whispered, mournfully, The leech had come, and he was dead ; And all the neighbors flocked to see ; " Poor Little Jerry ! " was all they said. They laid him in his earthy bed, — His miller's coat his only shroud ; " Dust to dust," the parson said, And all the people wept aloud. For he had shunned the deadly sin, And not a grain of over-toll Had ever dropped into his bin. To weigh upon his parting souL Beneath the hill there stands the mill. Of wasting wood and crumbling stone ; The wheel is dripping and clattering still. But Jerry, the miller, is dead and gone. 64 ffOW CYRUS LAID THE CABLE. HOW CYRUS LAID THE CABLE. A BALLAD. COME, listen all unto my song ; It is no silly fable ; 'T is all about the mighty cord They call the Atlantic Cable. Bold Cyrus Field he said, says he, I have a pretty notion That I can run a telegraph Across the Atlantic Ocean. Then all the people laughed, and said. They 'd like to see him do it ; He might get half-seas-over, but He never could go through it ; To carry out his foolish plan He never would be able ; He might as well go hang himself With his Atlantic Cable. But Cyrus was a valiant man, A fellow of decision ; And heeded not their mocking words, Their laughter and derision. Twice did his bravest efforts fail, And yet his mind was stable ; He wa'n't the man to break his heart Because he broke his cable. HOW CYRUS LAID THE CABLE. " Once more, my gallant boys ! " he cried ; " Three times ! — you know the fable, — (I '11 make it thirty^'' muttered he, " But I will lay the cable ! ") Once more they tried, — hurrah ! hurrah ! What means this great commotion ? The Lord be praised ! the cable 's laid Across the Atlantic Ocean ! Loud ring the bells, — for, flashing through Six hundred leagues of water. Old Mother England's benison Salutes her eldest daughter ! O'er all the land the tidings speed, And soon, in every nation. They '11 hear about the cable with Profoundest admiration ! Now long live President and Queen ; And long live gallant Cyrus ; And may his courage, faith, and zeal With emulation fire us ; And may we honor evermore The manly, bold, and stable ; And tell our sons, to make them brave, How Cyrus laid the cable ! 65 66 WHAT HAS BECOME OF THE GODS. WHAT HAS BECOME OF THE GODS. FULL often I had heard it said, As something quite uncontroverted, " The gods and goddesses are dead, And high Olympus is deserted" ; And so, while thinking of the gods, I made, one night, an exploration, (In fact or fancy, — where 's the odds ?) To get authentic information. I found — to make a true report. As if I were a sworn committee — They all had left the upper court. And settled in Manhattan city ; Where now they live, as best they may. Quite unsuspected of their neighbors, And in a humbler sort of way. Repeat their old Olympic labors. In human frames, for safe disguise. They come and go through wooden portals. And to the keen Detective's eyes Seem nothing more than common mortals ; For mortal-like they 're clad and fed. And, still to blind the sharp inspector, Eat, for ambrosia, baker's bread. And tipple — everything but nectar. Great Jove, who wore the kingly crown, And used to make Olympus rattle. As if the sky was coming down, Or all the Titans were in battle, — WHAT HAS BECOME OF THE GODS. 67 Is now a sorry playhouse wight, Content to make the grouncUings wonder, And earn some shilhngs every night. By coining cheap theatric thunder. Apollo, who in better times Was poet-laureate of th' Elysians, And, adding medicine to rhymes. Was chief among the court physicians, Now cures disease of every grade, — LuciiicCs cares and Cupid's curses, — And, still to ply his double trade, Bepuffs his pills in doggerel verses ! Minerva, famous in her day For wit and war, — though often shocking The gods by overmuch display Of what they called her azure stocking, — Now deals in books of ancient kind (Where Learning soars and Fancy grovels), And, to indulge her warlike mind, Writes very sanguinary novels. And Venus, who on Ida's seat In myrtle-groves her charms paraded, Displays her beauty in the street. And seems, indeed, a little faded ; She 's dealing in the clothing-line (If at her word you choose to take her), In Something Square you read the sign : — • " Miss Cytherea, Mantuamaker." Mars figures still as god of war, But not with spear and iron hanger, 68 WHAT HAS BECOME OF THE GODS. Erect upon the ponderous car That rolled along with fearful clangor, — Ah ! no ; of sword and spear bereft, He stands beside his bottle-holder, And plumps his right, and plants his left. And strikes directly from the shoulder. And Bacchus, reared among the vines That flourished in the fields Elysian, And ruddy with the rarest wines That ever flashed upon the vision, — A licensed liquor-dealer now. Sits pale and thin from over-dosing With whiskey, made — the deuce knows how, And brandy of his own composing. And cunning Mercury, — what d' ye think Is now the nimble rogue's condition? Of course 't was but a step, to sink From Peter Fimk to politician ; Though now he neither steals nor robs. But just secures a friend's election. And lives and thrives on little jobs Connected with the Street Inspection. Thus all the gods, in deep disguise. Go in and out of wooden portals, And, to the sharpest human eyes, Seem nothing more than common mortals. And so they live, as best they may, Quite unsuspected of their neighbors, And, in a humbler sort of way, Repeat their old Olympic labors. THE COLD-WATER MAN. THE COLD-WATER MAN. A BALLAD. T T was an honest fisherman, ■*- I knew him passing well, — And he lived by a little pond, Within a little dell. A grave and quiet man was he, Who loved his hook and rod, — So even ran his line of life, His neighbors thought it odd. For science and for books, he said He never had a wish, — No school to him was worth a fig, Except a school of fish. He ne'er aspired to rank or wealth. Nor cared about a name, — For though much famed for fish was he. He never fished for fame. Let others bend their necks at sight Of Fashion's gilded wheels, He ne'er had learned the art to " bob " For anything but eels. A cunning fisherman was he. His angles all were right ; The smallest nibble at his bait Was sure to prove " a bite" ! 69 70 THE COLD-WATER MAN. All day this fisherman would sit Upon an ancient log, And gaze into the water, like Some sedentary frog ; With all the seeming innocence, And that unconscious look, Thai other people often wear When they intend to " hook " ! To charm the fish he never spoke, — Although his voice was fine, He found the most convenient way Was just to drop a line. And many a gudgeon of the pond. If they could speak to-day, Would own, with grief, this angler had A mighty taking way. Alas ! one day this fisherman Had taken too much grog, And being but a landsman, too. He could n't keep the log. 'T was all in vain with might and main He strove to reach the shore ; Down — down he went, to feed the fish He 'd baited oft before. The jury gave their verdict that 'T was nothing else but gin Had caused the fisherman to be So sadly taken in ; COMIC MISERIES. Though one stood out upon a whim, And said the angler's slaughter, To be exact about the fact, Was, clearly, gin-and-w a/i?r / The moral of this mournful tale, To all is plain and clear, — That drinking habits bring a man Too often to his bier ; And he who scorns to " take the pledge," And keep the promise fast. May be, in spite of fate, a stiff Cold-water man at last 1 COMIC MISERIES. I. MY dear young friend, whose shining wit Sets all the room ablaze, Don't think yourself " a happy dog," For all your merry ways ; But learn to wear a sober phiz. Be stupid, if you can. It 's such a very serious thing To be a funny man ! II. You 're at an evening party, with A group of pleasant folks, — You venture quietly to crack The least of little jokes : 71 72 COMIC MISERIES. A lady does n't catch the point, And begs you to explain, — Alas for one who drops a jest And takes it up again ! III. You 're talking deep philosophy With very special force, To edify a clergyman With suitable discourse : You think you 've got him, — when he calls " A friend across the way, And begs you '11 say that funny thing You said the other day ! You drop a pretty jeu-de-mot Into a neighbor's ears, Who likes to give you credit for The clever thing he hears, And so he hawks your jest about, The old, authentic one, Just breaking off the point of it. And leaving out the pun ! By sudden change in politics, Or sadder change in Polly, You lose your love, or loaves, and fall A prey to melancholy. While everybody marvels why Your mirth is under ban, — They think your very grief " a joke," You 're such a funny man I COMIC MISERIES. VI. You follow up a stylish card That bids you come and dine, And bring along your freshest wit (To pay for musty wine) ; You 're looking very dismal, when My lady bounces in, And wonders what you 're thinking of, And why you don't begin ! VII. You 're telling to a knot of friends A fancy-tale of woes That cloud your matrimonial sky, And banish all repose, — A solemn lady overhears The story of your strife. And tells the town the pleasant news : — You quarrel with your wife ! VIII. My dear young friend, whose shining wit Sets all the room ablaze, Don't think yourself " a happy dog," For all your merry ways ; But learn to wear a sober phiz, Be stupid, if you can. It 's such a very serious thing To be a funny man ! 73 74 A CONNUBIAL ECLOGUE. A CONNUBIAL ECLOGUE. *' Arcades ambo, Et cantare pares et respondere parati." Virgil. HE. MUCH lately have I thought, my darling wife, Some simple rules might make our wedded life As pleasant always as a morn in May ; I merely name it, — what does MoUy say ? SHE. Agreed : your plan I heartily approve ; Rules would be nice, — but who shall make them, love ? Nay, do not speak ! — let this the bargain be-, One shall be made by you, and one by me, Till air are done — HE. ^^ Your plan is surely fair, In such a work 't is fitting we should share ; And now — although it matters not a pin — If you have no objection, I '11 begin. SHE. Proceed ! In making laws I 'm little versed ; And as to words, I do not mind the first; I only claim — and hold the treasure fast-^ My sex's sacred privilege, the last! HE. With all my heart. Well, dearest, to begin : — When by our cheerful hearth oiu: friends drop in, A CONNUBIAL ECLOGUE. 75 And I am talking in my brilliant style (The rest with rapture listening the while) About the war, — or anything, in short, That you 're aware is my especial forte, — Pray don't get up a circle of your own. And talk of — bonnets, in an undertone ! SHE. That 's Number One ; I '11 mind it well, if you Will do as much, my dear, by Number Two : When we attend a party or a ball, Don't leave your Molly standing by the wall, The helpless victim of the dreariest bore That ever walked upon a parlor-floor, While you — oblivious of your spouse's doom — Flirt with the girls, -^ the gayest in the room! HE. When I (although the busiest man alive) Have snatched an hour to take a pleasant drive, And say, " Remember, at precisely four You '11 find the carriage ready at the door," Don't keep me waiting half aft hour or SO, And then declare, " The clock must be too slow ! " SHE. When you (such things have happened now and then) Go to the Club with, " I '11 be back at ten," And stay till two o'clock, you need n't say, " I really Was the first to come away ; 'T is very strange how swift the time has passed : I.'m sure, my dear, the clock must be too fust J ^ 76 SOME PENCIL-PICTURES. HE. There — that will do ; what else remains to say We may consider at a future day ; I 'm getting sleepy — and — if you have done -^ SHE. Not I ! — this making rules is precious fun ; Now here 's another : — When you paint to me " That charming woman " you are sure to see, Don't — when you praise the virtues she has got — Name only those you think your wife has not ! And here 's a rule I hope you won't forget, The most important I have mentioned yet, — Pray mind it well : — Whenever you incline To bring your queer companions home to dine. Suppose, my dear, — Good Gracious ! he 's asleep ! Ah ! well, — 't is lucky good advice will keep ; And he shall have it, or, upon my life, I 've not the proper spirit of a wife ! •SOME PENCIL- PICTURES; TAKEN AT SARATOGA. ■\/"OUR novel-writers make their ladies tall; i I mean their heroines ; as if, indeed, It were a fatal failing to be small. In this, I own, we are not well agreed, -^ I like a little woman, if she 's pretty, Modest and clever, sensible and witty. SOME PENCIL-PICTURES. -j-j II. And such is she who sits beside me ; fair As her deportment ; mine is not the pen To paint the glory of her Saxon hair, And eyes of heavenly azure ! There are men Who doat on raven tresses, and are fond Of dark complexions, — I adore a blonde J III. There sits a woman of another tjfpe ; Superb in figure and of stately size ; An Amazonian beauty round and ripe As Cytherea, — with delicious eyes That laugh or languish with a shifting hue Somewhat between a hazel and a blue. IV. Across the room — to please a daintier taste — A slender damsel flits with fairy tread ; A lover's hand might span her little waist, If so inclined, — that is, if they were wed. Some youths admire those fragile forms, I 've heard ; I never saw the man, upon my word ! V. But styles of person, though they please me more, (As Nature's work) excite my wonder less Than all my curious vision may explore In moods and manners, equipage and dress ; ■ The last alone were theme enough, indeed. For more than I could write, or you would read. VI. Swift satirized mankind with little ruth. And womankind as well ; but we must own 78 SOME PENCIL-PICTURES. His words of censure oft are very truth, — For instance, where the satirist has shown How — thankless for the gifts which they have got — All strive to show the talents they — have not ! VII. Thus (it is written) Frederick the Great Cared little for the battles he had fought, But listened eagerly and all-elate To hear a courtier praise the style and thought That graced his Sonnets ; though in fact, his verse (I Ve tried to read it) couldn't well be worse ! VIII. The like absurd ambition you may note In fashionable women. Look you there ! Observe an arm which all (but she) must vote Extremely ugly, — so she keeps it bare (Lest so much beauty should escape the light) From wrist to shoulder, morning, noon, and night ! IX. Observe again (the girl who stands alone) How Pride reveals what Prudence would suppress ; A mere anatomy of skin-and-bone, — She wears, perversely, a dicollete dress ! Those tawny angles seek no friendly screen, But court the day, and glory to be seen I X. O Robert Burns ! if such a thing might be, That all by ignorance or folly blind. For once should " see themselves as others see," (As thou didst pray for hapless human kind,) What startled crowds would madly rush to hide The dearest objects of their fondest pride ! BOYS. 1^ BOYS. " "T^HE proper study of mankind is nian,"-7T 4 The most perplexing one, no doubt, is woman, The subtlest study that the mind can scan, Of all deep problems, heavenly or human ! But of all studies in the round of learning, From nature's marvels down to human toys, To minds well fitted for acute discerning, The very queerest one is that of boys I If to ask questions that would puzzle Plato, And all the schoolmen of the Middle Age, — If to make precepts worthy of old Cato, Be deemed philosophy, your boy 's a sage ! If the possession of a teeming fancy, (Although, forsooth, the younker does n't know it,) Which he can use in rarest necromancy. Be thought poetical, your boy 's a poet ! If a strong will and most courageous bearing, If to be cruel as the Roman Nero ; If all that 's chivalrous, and all that 's daring, Can make a hero, then the boy 's a hero ! But changing soon with his increasing stature, The boy is lost in manhopd's riper age. And with him goes his former triple naturp, — No longer Poet, Hero, now, nor Sage ! 8o THE SUPERFLUOUS MAN. THE SUPERFLUOUS MAN. " It is ascertained by inspection of tlie registers of many countries, that the uniform proportion of male to female births is as 21 to 20: accordingly, in respect to marriage, every 2ist man is natmrally superfluous."— Trea- tise ON Population. I LONG have been puzzled to guess, And so I have frequently said, What the reason could really be That I never have happened to wed ; But now it is perfectly clear I am under a natural ban ; The girls are already assigned, — And I 'm a superfluous man 1 Those clever statistical chaps Declare the numerical run Of women and men in the world, Is Twenty to Twenty-and-one ; And hence in the pairing, you see. Since wooing and wedding began, For every connubial score, They 've got a superfluous man ! By twenties and twenties they go. And giddily rush to their fate. For none of the number, of course, Can fail of a conjugal mate ; But while they are yielding in scores To Nature's inflexible plan, There 's never a woman for me, — For I 'm a superfluous man ! THE SUPERFLUOUS MAN. gj It is n't that I am a churl, To solitude over-inclined ; It is n't that I am at fault In morals or manners or mind ; Then what is the reason, you ask, I 'm still with the bachelor-clan ? I merely was numbered amiss, — And I 'm a superfluous man ! It is n't that I am in want Of personal beauty or grace, For many a man with a wife Is uglier far in the face ; Indeed, among elegant men I fancy myself in the van ; But what is the value of that, When I 'm a superfluous man ? Although I am fond of the girls, For aught I could ever discern The tender emotion I feel Is one that they never return ; *T is idle to quarrel with fate, For, struggle as hard as I can. They 're mated already, you know, — And I 'm a superfluous man ! No wonder I grumble at times, With women so pretty and plenty, To know that I never was born To figure as one of the Twenty ; But yet, when the average lot With critical vision I scan, I think it may be for the best Jhat I "m a superfluous man I 82 TOUJOURS LBS FBMMBS. TOUJOURS LES FEMMES. I THINK it was a Persian king Who used to say, that evermore In human life each evil thing Comes of the sex that men adore ; In brief, that nothing e'er befell To harm or grieve our hapless race^ But, if you probe the matter well, You '11 find a woman in the case ! And then the curious tale is told How, when upon a certain night A climbing youngster lost his hold. And falling from a ladder's height, Was found, alas ! next morning dead, His Majesty, with solemn face, As was his wont, demurely said, " Pray, who 's the woman in the case ? " And how a lady of his court. Who deemed the royal whim absurd, Rebuked him, while she made report Of the mischance that late occurred ; Whereat the king repUed in glee, " I 've heard the story, please your Grace, And, all the witnesses agree There was a woman in the case J "The truth, your Ladyship, is this (Nor is it marvellous at all). The chap was climbing for a kiss, And got, instead, a fatal fall TO U JOURS LES FEMMES. 83 Whene'er a man — as I have said — Falls from a ladder, or from grace, Or breaks his faith, or breaks his head, There is a woman in the case ! " For such a churlish, carping creed As that his Majesty professed, I hold him of unkingly breed, — Unless, in sooth, he spoke in jest. To me, few things have come to pass Of good event, but I can trace, — Thanks to the matron or the lass, : — Somewhere, a woman in the case. Yet once, while gayly strolling where A vast Museum still displays Its varied wealth of strange and rare, To charm, or to repel, the gaze, — I — to a lady (who denied The creed by laughing in my face) —r Took up, for once, the Persian's side About a woman in the case. Discoursing thus, we came upon A grim Egyptian mummy — dea4 Some centuries since. " 'T is Pharaoh's son — Perhaps ^who knows ? ".t^ the lady said. No ! — on the black sarcophagus A female name I stooped to trace ; Toujffurs les feinmes /— 'T is ever thus, j=r There was a woman in the case/ 84 GIRLHOOD. w GIRLHOOD. ITH rosy cheeks, and merry-dancing curls, And eyes of tender light, very beautiful are little girls, And goodly to the sight ! Here comes a group to seek my lonely bower. Ere waning Autumn dies : How like the dew-drops on a drooping flower, Are smiles from gentle eyes ! What beaming gladness lights each fairy face The while the elves advance. Now speeding swiftly in a gleesome race, Now whirling in a dance ! What heavenly pleasure o'er the spirit rolls, When all the air along Floats the sweet music of untainted souls, In bright, unsullied song ! The sacred nymphs that guard this sylvan ground May sport unseen with these. And joy to hear their ringing laugh resound Among the clustering trees ! With rosy cheeks, and merry-dancing curls, And eyes of tender light, O, very beautiful are little girls, And goodly to the sight ! THE COCKNEY. 85 THE COCKNEY. T T was in my foreign travel, -'- At a famous Flemish inn, That I met a stoutish person With a very ruddy skin ; And his hair was something sandy, And was done in knotty curls, And was parted in the middle, In the manner of a girl's. He was clad in checkered trousers, And his coat was of a sort To suggest a scanty pattern, It was bobbed so very short; And his cap was very little. Such as soldiers often use ; And he wore a pair of gaiters. And extremely heavy shoes. I addressed the man in English, And he answered in the same, Though he spoke it in a fashion That I thought a Uttle lame ; For the aspirate was missing Where the latter should have been, But where'er it was n't wanted, He was sure to put it in ! When I spoke with admiration Of St Peter's mighty dome, 80 THE COCKNEY. He remarked : " 'T is really nothing To the sights we 'ave at 'ome ! " And declared upon his honor, — Though, of course, 't was very queer, - That he doubted if the Romans 'Ad the hzxi of making beer ! When I named the Colosseum, He observed, " 'T is very fair ; I mean, ye know, it ifjqifld be, If they 'd put it in repair ; But what progress or ^improvement Can those curst /fitalians 'ope While they 're Aunder the dominion Of that blasted muff, the Pope?" Then we talked of other countries, And he said that he had heard That ^americans spoke ^inglish. But he deemed it quite ^absurd ; Yet he felt the deepest ^interest In the missionary work. And would like to know if Georgia Was in Boston or New York ! When I left the man-in-gaiters. He was grumbhng, o'er his gin, At the charges of the hostess Of that famous Flemish inn ; And he looked a very Briton, (So, methinks, I see him stiU) As he pocketed the candle That was mpntvfljjed .in the bUl ! CAPTAIN JONES'S MISAPVENTURS. 87 CAPTAIN JONES'S MISADVENTURE. CAPTAIN JONES was five-feet ten, (The height of Chesterfield's gentlemen,) With a manly breadth of shoulder ; And Captain Jones was straight and trim. With nothing about him anywise slini, And had for a leg as perfect a limb As ever astonished beholder ! II. With a calf of such a notable size, 'T would surely have taken the hi.ghest prize At any fair Fair in creation ; 'T was just the leg for a prince tp sport Who wished to stand at a Royal Court, At the head of Foreign Leg-atipn ! III. And Captain JONES had an elegant foot, 'T was just the thing for his patent boot, And could so prettily shove it, 'T was a genuine pleasure to see it repeat In the public walks the Milonian feat Of bearing the calf above it ! IV. But the Captain's -prominent personal charm Was neither his foot, n,or leg, nor arm, Nor his very distingue air ; Nor was it, although yoji 're thinking upon 't. The front pf his he.ad, but Jiis head apd fropt Of beautifklffiaJ-feJafikiarJ 88 CAPTAIN JONES'S MISADVENTURE. V. So very bright was the gloss they had, 'T would have made a rival raving mad To look at his raven curls ; Wherever he went, the Captain's hair Was certain to fix the public stare, And the constant cry was, " I declare ! " And " Did you ever ! " and "Just look there !" Among the dazzled girls. VI. Now Captain Jones was a master bold Of a merchant-ship some dozen years old, And every name could have easily told, (And never confound the " hull " and the " hold,") Throughout her inventory ; And he had travelled in foreign parts. And learned a number of foreign arts, And played the deuce with foreign hearts, As the Captain told the story. VII. He had learned to chatter the French and Spanish, To splutter the Dutch, and mutter the Danish, In a way that sounded oracular ; Had gabbled among the Portuguese, And caught the Tartar, or rather a piece Of "broken China," it was n't Chinese, Any more than his own vernacular ! VIII. How Captain Jones was wont to shine In the line of ships ! (not Ships of the Line,) How he 'd brag of the water over his wine, And of woman over the water I CAPTAIN JONES'S MISADVENTURE. 89 And then, if you credit the Captain's phrase, He was more expert in such queer ways As " doubling capes " and " putting in stays," Than any milhner's daughter ! IX. Now the Captain kept in constant pay A single Mate, as a Captain may (In a nautical, not in a naughty way, As " mates " are sometimes carried) ; But to hear him prose of the squalls that arose In the dead of the night to break his repose, Of white-caps and cradles, and such things as those, And of breezes that ended in regular blows. You 'd have sworn the Captain was married ! X. The Captain's morals were fair enough, Though a sailor's life is rather rough, By dint of the ocean's force ; And that one who makes so many, in ships, Should make, upon shore, occasional " trips," Seems quite a matter of course. XI. And Captain Jones was stiff as a post To the vulgar fry, but among the most Genteel and polished, ruled the roast. As no professional cook could boast That ever you set your eye on ; Indeed, 't was enough to make him vain, For the pretty and proud confessed his reign. And Captain Jones, in manners and mane, Was deemed a genuine lion. 90 CAPTAIN JONES'S MISADVENTURE. XII. And the Captain revelled early and late, At the balls and routs of the rich and great, And seemed the veriest child oi fetes. Though merely a minion of pleasure ; And he laughed with the girls in merry sport, And paid the mammas the civilest court, And drank their wine, whatever the sort. By the nautical rule of "Any port tt^t:,'' You may add the rest at leisure. Miss Susan Brown was a dashing girl As ever revolved in the waltz's whirl, Or twinkled a foot in the polka's twirl, By the glare of spermaceti ; And Susan's form was trim and slight, And her beautiful skin, as if in spite Of her dingy name, was exceedingly white, And her azure eyes were " sparkling and bright," And so was her favorite ditty. XIV. And Susan Buown had a score of names, Like the very voluminous Mr. James (Who got at the Font his strongest claims To be reckoned a Man of Letters) ; But thinking the task will hardly please Scholars who 've taken the higher degrees, To be set repeating their A, B, C's, I choose to reject such fetters as these. Though merely Nominal fetters. CAPTAIN JONES'S MISADVENTURE. gi The patronymical name of the maid Was so completely overlaid With a long prsenominal cover, That if each additional proper noun Was laid with additional emphasis down, Miss Susan was done imcommonly BROwrf, The moment her christ'ning was over ! XVI. And Susan was versed in modern romance, In the Modes of Murray and Modes of France. And had learned to sing and learned to dance. In a style decidedly pretty ; And Susan was versed in classical lore. In the works of Horace, and several more Whose opera now would be voted a bore By the lovers of DONIZETTI. XVII. And Susan was rich. Her provident sire Had piled the dollars up higher and higher, By dint of his personal labors, Till he reckoned at last a sufficient amount To be counted, himself, a man of account Among his affluent neighbors. XVIII. By force of careful culture alone. Old Brown's estate had rapidly grown A plum for his only daughter ; And, after all the fanciful dreams Of golden fountains and golden streams, The sweat of patient labor seems The true Pactolian water. g2 CAPTAIN JONES'S MISADVENTURE. XIX. And while your theorist worries his mind In hopes the magical stone to find, By some alchemical gammon, Practical people, by regular knocks. Are filling their " pockets full of rocks " From the golden mountain of Mammon ! XX. With charms Uke these, you may well suppose Miss Susan Brown had plenty of beaux, Breathing nothing but passion ; And twenty sought her hand to gain. And twenty sought her hand in vain. Were " cut," and did n't " come again," In the Ordinary fashion. XXI. Captain Jones, by the common voice, At length was voted the man of her choice, And she his favorite fair ; It was n't the Captain's manly face. His native sense, nor foreign grace, That took her heart froln its proper place And put it into a tenderer case. But his beautiful coal-black hair I XXII. How it is, why it is, none can tell. But all philosophers know full well, Though puzzled about the action, That of all the forces under the sun You can hardly find a stronger one Than capillary attraction. CAPTAIN JONES'S MISADVENTURE. 93 XXIII. The locks of canals are strong as rocks ; And wedlock is strong as a banker's box ; And there 's strength in the locks a Cockney cocks At innocent birds, to give himself knocks ; In the locks of safes, and those safety-locks They call the Permutation ; But of all the locks that ever were made In Nature's shops, or the shops of trade, The subtlest combination Of beauty and strength is found in those Which grace the heads of belles and beaux In every civilized nation ! XXIV. The gossips whispered it through the town, That Captain Jones loved Susan Brown ; But, speaking with due precision, The gossips' tattle was out of joint, For the lady's " blunt " was the only point That dazzled the lover's vision 1 XXV. And the Captain begged, in his smoothest tones. Miss Susan Brown to be Mistress Jones, — Flesh of his flesh and bone of his bones. Till death the union should sever ; For these are the words employed, of course, Though Death is cheated, sometimes, by Divorce, A fact which gives an equivocal force To that beautiful phrase, " forever 1" 94 CAPTAIN JONES'S MISADVENTURE. XXVI. And Susan sighed the conventional " Nay " In such a bewitching, affirmative way, The Captain perceived 't was the feminine " Ay,'' And sealed it in such commotion. That no " lip-service " that ever was paid To the ear of a god, or the cheek of a maid, Looked more Uke real devotion 1 XXVII. And Susan's Mamma made an elegant /^/^, And exhibited all the family plate, In honor of Susan's lover; For now 't was settled, another trip Over the sea in his merchant-ship, And his bachelor-ship was over. XXVIII. There was an Alderman, well to do, Who was fond of talking about vertu. And had, besides, the genuine got^t. If one might credit his telling ; And the boast was true beyond a doubt If he had only pronounced it " gout," According to English spelling ! XXIX. A crockery-merchant of great parade, Always boasting of having made His large estate in the China trade 4 Several affluent tanners ; A lawyer, whose most important " case " Was tllat *hich kept his books in place ; CAPTAIN JONES'S -MISADVENTURE. 95 His wife, a lady of rnatchless grace, Who bought her form, aiid made her face, And plainly borrowed her manners ; XXX. A druggist ; an undevout divine ; A banker, who 'd got as rich as a mine " In the cottoh trade and sugar lin'e," Along the Atlantic border ; A doctor, fumbling his golden seals 5 Ahd an undertaker close at his heels, Quite in the natural order ! xxxl. People of rank, and people of wealth, Plethoric people in delicate health, (Who fast in public, and feast by stealth,) And people slender and hearty^ Flocked in so fast, 't was plain to the eye Of any observer standing by. That party-spirit was running high, And this was the popular party 1 xxxil. To tell what griefs and woes betide The hapless world, from female pride, Were a long and dismal story ; Alas for Susan and womankind ! A sudden ambition seized her mind. In the height of her party-glory. xXxiii. To pique a group of laughing girls Who stood admiring the Captain's curls, She formed the resolution 96 CAPTAIN JONES'S MISADVENTURE. To get a lock of her lover's hair, In the gaze of the guests assembled there, By some expedient, foul or fair, Before the party's conclusion. XXXIV. " Only a lock, dear Captain ! — no more, ' A lock for memory,' I implore ! " But Jones, the gayest of quizzers. Replied, as he gave his eye a cock, " 'T is a treacherous memory needs a lock," And dodged the envious scissors. XXXV. Alas that Susan could n't refrain. In her zeal the precious lock to gain, From laying her hand on the lion's mane ! To see the cruel mocking. And hear the short, affected cough. The general titter, and chuckle, and scoff, When the Captain's Patent Wig cajne off. Was really dreadfully shocking ! XXXVI. Of Susan's swoon, the tale is told, That long before her earthly mould Regained its ghostly tenant. Her luckless, wigless, loveless lover Was on the sea, and "half-seas-over," Dreaming that some piratical rover Had carried away his Pennant'l MIRALDA. MIRALDA: A TALE OF CUBA.l I. T N Cuba, when that lovely land -*- Saw Tacon reigning in his glory, How Justice held, at his command. Her balance with an even hand — Learn while you listen to my story. II. Miralda — such her maiden name — Was poor and fair, and gay and witty, Yet in Havana not a dame In satin had a fairer fame. Or owned a face one half so pretty. For years she plied her humble trade, (To sell cigars was her vocation,) And many a gay gallant had paid More pounds to please the handsome maid Than pence to buy his soul's salvation. IV. But though the maiden, like the sun. Had smiles for every transient rover, Her smiles were all the bravest won ; Miralda gave her heart to none Save Pedro, her affianced lover ; 97 98 MIRALDA. V. Pedro, a manly youth who bore His station well as labor's vassal, The while he plied a nimble oar For passengers, from shore to shore, Between the Punta and the Castle. VI. The handsome boatman she had learned To love with fondest, truest passion ; For him she saved the gold she earned ; For him Miralda proudly spumed The doubtful suit of men of fashion. VII. Of these — a giddy, gaudy train. Strict devotees of wanton Pleasure — ■ Gay Count Almontd sought to gain Miralda's love ; but all in vain ; Her heart was still her Pedro's treasure. At last the Count, in sheer despair Of gaining aught by patient suing. Contrived — the wretch ! — • a cunning snare, By wicked force to win and wear The prize that spurned his gentler wooing. IX. One day a dashing Captain came. Before the morning sun had risen, And, bowing, begged to know her name. " Miralda." " Faith ! it is the same. Here, men, conduct the girl to orison 1 " MIRALDA. 99 X. " By whose authority ? " she said ; " The Governor's ! " " Nay, then 't is folly To question more." She dropped her head, And followed where the Captain led, O'erwhelmed with deepest melancholy. XI. The prison seems a league or more From poor Miralda's humble shanty ; Was e'er such treachery before ? The Count Almonte's at the door, To hand her down from the volant^ ! XII. " Ah ! — coward ! " cried the angry rriaid ; " This scurvy trick ! — if Tacon knew it, Your precious ' Captain,' I 'm afraid. Would miss, for once, his dress-parade ! Release me, Count, or you may rue it ! " XIII. " Nay,'' said the Count, " that may not be ; I cannot let you go at present ; I '11 lock you up awhile,'' said he ; " If you are lonely, send for me ; I '11 try to make your prison pleasant." Poor Pedro ! guess the lad's dismay — His stark astonishment at learning His lady-love had gone away, (But how or whither none could say,) And left no word about returning ! I MIRALDA. XV. The man who wrote that " Love is blind" Could ne'er have known a genuine lover ; Poor Pedro gave his anxious mind Miralda's hiding-place to find, And found it ere the day was over. XVI. Clad in a friar's garb, he hies At night to where his love is hidden, And, favored by his grave disguise. He learns that she is safe, — and flies, As he had entered, y/j^rbidden. xvir What could he do ? he ponjfiered long On every plausible suggestion ; Alas ! the rich may do/a wrong. And buy their quittance with a song, If any dare the ^eed to question ! XVIII. " Yet Rumor whispered long ago, (Although she 's very fond of lying,) ' Tacon loves justice ! ' — may be so ; Quten sabef — Let his answer show ! — I '11 go and see, — it is but trying 1 " XIX. And, faith, the boatman kept his word ; To Tacon he the tale related. Which, when the Governor had heard. With righteous wrath his breast was stirred. " Swear, boy," he said, " to what you 've stated 1 " MIRALDA. XX. He took the oath, and straight began For speedy justice to implore him : Great Tacon frowned, " Be silent, man ! " Then called the guard, — away they ran, — And soon the culprit stood before him ! XXI. Miralda too was standing near. To witness to his dark transgression ; " Know you, my lord, why you are here .'' " " Yes, Excellencia, it is clear That I must plead an indiscretion." XXII. " The uniform your servants wore In this affair, — how came they by it ? Whose sword was that your Captain bore .' The crime is grave." " Nay, I implore Your clemency, — I can't deny it." XXIII. " This damsel here, — has any stain By act of yours been put upon her ? " " No, Excellencia ; all in vain Were bribes and threats her will to gain, — I here declare it on my honor ! " XXIV. " Enough ! " the Governor replied. And added, in a voice of thunder, " Go, bring a Priest ! " What can betide ? To shrive ? to wed ? who can decide ? All stood and mused in silent wonden lOI I03 MIRALDA. XXV. The Priest was brought, — a reverend head, His hands with holy emblems laden. " Now, Holy Father, please to wed, And let the rite be quickly sped, Senor Almontd and this maiden ! " XXVI. Poor Pedro stood aghast ! With fear And deep dismay Miralda trembled ; While Count Almontd, thus to hear The words of doom that smote his ear. His sudden horror ill dissembled. XXVII. Too late ! for in that presence none Had dared a whisper of negation. The words were said, — the deed was done, - The Church had joined the two in one Ere they had breath for lamentation ! XXVIII. The Count rode off with drooping head, Cursing his fortune and his folly ; But ere a mile his steed had sped, A flash ! — and lo ! — the Count is dead ! — Slain by a murderous leaden volley I XXIX. Soon came the officer who bore The warrant of his execution. With, " Excellencia, all is o'er ; Senor Almonte is no more ; Sooth ! — 't was a fearful retribution ! " LE JARDIN MABILE. 103 XXX. " Now let the herald," Tacon said, " (That none these doings may disparage,) Proclaim Senor Almonte dead ; And that Miralda take, instead. His lands, now hers by lawful marriage ! " XXXI. And so it was the lovers came To happiness beyond their dreaming, And ever after blessed the name Of him who spared a maiden's shame. And spoiled a villain's wicked scheming. LE JARDIN MABILE. SHOULD you e'er go to France^ as of course you intend — (Though the Great Exposition is now at an end,) And in Paris should stroll — as I 'm certain you will — In the Gardens adorned with such exquisite skill To call them " Elysian " is scarcely to reach What the grammars entitle a " figure of speech," — Don't fail, ere you go, for a moment to steal A look at the spot called the Jardiii Mabile. II. 'T is a place of enchantment ! — a rural retreat Where Nature and Art in such harmony meet To form an Elysium of music and flowers. Of moss-covered grottos and fairy-like bowers, I04 LE JARDIN MABILE. Where lamps blaze in tulips, and glow-worms of gas Illumine the roses and gleam in the grass, — That, merely to see it, one cannot but feel If there 's Heaven on Earth, 't is the Jar din Malnle/ III. But wait until midnight, or, say, one o'clock, When hither by hundreds the citizens flock. And strangers unnumbered are strolling around In the serpentine walks of the beautiful ground ; Just wait, if you please, till the dance is begun, And then, at the height of the frolic and fun. Pray look where the bacchanals caper and reel, And say what you think of the Jardin Mabile / The music — the maddest that ever you heard — Strikes up from the stand, and away, at the word. The dancers revolve, — 't is the waltz, that is all ; The same you have witnessed at many a ball ; There's nothing extremely surprising in this. The motion is swift, but there 's little amiss ; You merely remark, " There is plenty of zeal In the dancers who dance in the Jardin Mabile!'" V. But see ! where the people are closing about Two brazen-browed women, — and hark to the shout, "Z« Can-can! — they're at it!" — No wonder you stare. One foot on the pavement, — now two in the air ! A Cockney, intent on this rarest of shows. Retreats from the shoe that is grazing his nose ! Good lack ! — till he dies, he '11 remember the heel That spoiled his new hat in the Jardin Mabile ! THE BEAUTY OF BALLSTON. i°S VI. There 's drinking and gaming at many a stand ; There 's feasting and flirting on every hand ; The Paphian queen, it were easy to tell, Is the Abbess, to-night, of yon anchorite cell ; And the marvelling Turk (for the Sultan is here !) Cries, '^ Allah J Meshallah ! — these Christians are queer ! Such orgies as these very plainly reveal Why they donH take their wives to the Jardin Mabile ! " VII. " A pity ! " you sigh, — and a pity it is Such revels should shame such a garden as this ; Where all that is charming in Nature and Art Serves only to sully and harden the heart. " The Devil's own hot-house ! " you musingly say. While turning in sadness and sorrow away ; Reflecting that Sin — as you potently feel — Is the thriftiest plant in the Jardin Mabile ! 1867. THE BEAUTY OF BALLSTON. AFTER PRAED.' T N Ballston — once a famous spot, -'- Ere Saratoga came in fashion — I had a transient fit of what The poets call the " tender passion" ; In short, when I was young and gay, And Fancy held the throne'of Reason, I fell in love with Julia May, The reigning beauty of the season. lo6 THE BEAUTY OF BALLSTON. Her eyes were blue, and such a pair ! No star in heaven was ever brighter ; Her skin was most divinely fair ; I never saw a shoulder whiter. And there was something in her form, {Juste en-bon-point, I think they term it,) That really was enough to warm The icy bosom of a hermit ! In sooth, she was a witching girl, And even women called her pretty, Who saw her in the waltz's whirl, Beneath the glare of spermaceti ; Or if they carped — as Candor must When wounded pride and envy rankle — 'T was only that so full a bust Should heave above so trim an ankle ! One eve, remote from festive mirth, We talked of Nature and her treasures ; I said : — "Of all the joys of earth, Pray name the sweetest of her pleasures.'' She gazed with rapture at the moon That struggled through the spreading beeches, And answered thus : — "A grove — at noon — A friend — and lots of cream and peaches ! " I spoke of trees, — the stately oak That stands the forest's royal leader ; The whispering pine ; and then I spoke Of Lebanon's imperial cedar ; The maple of our colder clime ; The elm with br^iches intermeeting, — She thought the palm must be subUme, And — dates were very luscious eating ! THE BEAUTY OF BALLS TON. I talked about the sea and sky, And spoke, with something Uke emotion, Of countless pearly gems that lie Ungathered by the sounding ocean. She smiled, and said, (was it in Jest ?) Of all the shells that Nature boasted She thought that oysters were the best, " And, dearest, don't you love 'em roasted ! " I talked of books and classic lore ; I spoke of Cooper's latest fiction. Recited melodies from Moore, And lauded Irving's charming diction ; — She sat entranced ; then raised her head. And with a smile that seemed of heaven, '' We must return," the siren said, " Or we shall lose the lunch at 'leven ! " 5 can't describe the dreadful shock, The mingled sense of love and pity, With which, next day, at ten o'clock, I started for Manhattan city ; •T was years ago, — - that sad " Good by," Yet o'er the scene fond memory lingers ; I see the crystals in her eye. And berry-stains upon her fingers ! Ah me ! of so much loveliness It had been sweet to be the winner ; I know she loved me only less — The merest fraction — than her dinner ; 'T was hard to lose so fair a prize, But then (I thought) 't were vastly harder To have before my jealous eyes A constant rival in my larder ! 107 io8 WHEN I MEAN TO MARRY. WHEN I MEAN TO MARRY. WHEN do I mean to marry ? — Well, 'T is idle to dispute with fate ; But if you choose to hear me tell, Pray listen while I fix the date. When daughters haste, with eager feet, A mother's daily toil to share ; Can make the puddings which they eat. And mend the stockings which they wear ; When maidens look upon a man As in himself what they would marry, And not as army-soldiers scan A sutler or a commissary ; When gentle ladies, who have got The offer of a lover's hand, Consent to share his earthly lot. And do not mean his lot of land ; When young mechanics are allowed To find and wed the farmers' girls Who dorUt expect to be endowed With rubies, diamonds, and pearls ; When wives, in short, shall freely give Their hearts and hands to aid their spouses, And live as they were wont to live Within their sires' one-story houses ; A REFLECTIVE RETROSPECT. Then, madam, — if I 'm not too old, — Rejoiced to quit this lonely life, I '11 brush my beaver ; eease to scold ; And look about me for a wife ! A REFLECTIVE RETROSPECT. " I ' IS twenty years, and something more, -^ Since, all athirst for useful knowledge, I took some draughts of classic lore. Drawn very mild, at rd College ; Yet I remember all that one Could wish to hold in recollection ; The boys, the joys, the noise, the fun ; But not a single Conic Section. I recollect those harsh affairs, The morning bells that gave us panics ; I recollect the formal prayers, That seemed like lessons in Mechanics ; I recollect the drowsy way In which the students listened to them, As clearly, in my wig, to-day. As when, a boy, I slumbered through them. I recollect the tutors all As freshly now, if I may say so, As any chapter I recall In Homer or Ovidius Naso. I recollect, extremely well, " Old Hugh," the mildest of fanatics ; I well remember Matthew Bell, But very faintly, Mathematics. 109 no A REFLECTIVE RETROSPECT. I recollect the prizes paid For lessons fathomed to the bottom ; (Alas that pencil-marks Should fade !) I recollect the chaps who got 'em, — The light equestrians who soared O'er every passage reckoned stony ; And took the chalks, — but never scored A single honor to the pony ! Ah me ! — what changes Time has wrought, And how predictions have miscarried ! A few have reached the goal they sought, And some are dead, and some are married 1 And some in city journals war ; And some as politicians bicker ; And some are pleading at the bar — For jury-verdicts, or for liquor 1 And some on Trade and Commerce wait ; And some in schools with dunces battle ; And some the Gospel propagate ; And some the choicest breeds of cattle ; And some are living at their ease ; And some were wrecked in " the revulsion " ; Some serve the State for handsome fees. And one, I hear, upon compulsion ! LamoNt, who, in his college days. Thought e'en a cross a moral scandal, Has left his Puritanic ways, And worships now with bell and candle ; And Mann, who mourned the negro's fate. And held the slave as most unlucky. Now holds him, at the market rate, On a plantation in Kentucky ! A REFLECTIVE RETROSPECT. m Tom Knox — who swore in such a tone It fairly might be doubted whether It really was himself alone, Or Knox and Erebus together — Has grown a very altered man, And, changing oaths for mild entreaty, Now recommends the Christian plan To savages in Otaheite ! Alas for young ambition's vow ! How envious Fate may overthrow it 1 — Poor Harvey is in Congress now. Who struggled long to be a poet ; Smith carves (quite well) memorial stones, Who tried in vain to make the law go ; Hall deals in hides ; and " Pious Jones " Is dealing faro in Chicago ! And, sadder still, the brilliant HAYS, Once honest, manly, and ambitious, Has taken latterly to ways Extremely profligate and vicious ; By slow degrees — I can't tell how — He 's reached at last the very groundsel. And in New York he figures now, A member of the Common Council ! 112 THE KNOWING CHILD. THE KNOWING CHILD. " L'Infant terrible 1 " « 'A^AIS, gardes vouz, man cker," she said, And then the mother smiled ; " Speak very softly, if you please, He 's such a knowing child ! " My simple sister spoke the truth ; There is n't, I suppose, A thing on earth he should n't know But what that urchin knows ! And all he knows the younker tells In such a knowing way ; For what he knows, you may be sure, He does not fear to say. He knows he is an arrant churl. Although he looks so mild ; And — worst of all — full well he knows He is a knowing child. He knows — I Ve often told him so — I am averse to noise ; He knows his uncle is n't fond Of martial little boys ; And that, no doubt, is why he pounds His real soldier drum Beneath my window, morn and night, Until my ear is numb ! THE KNOWING CHILD. He knows my age — that dreadful boy — Exactly to a day ; He knows precisely why my locks Have not a thread of gray. He knows — anS says (what shocking talk For one so very small !) My head — without my curly scratch — - Looks like a billiard ball ! He knows that Mary's headache means She does n't wish to go ; And lets the sacred secret out Before her waiting beau ! He knows why Clara always coughs When she is asked to sing ; He knows (and blabs !) that Julia's bust Is not the real thing ! He knows about the baby too ; Though he has often heard The nurse's old, convenient tale, He don't beheve a word. And when those ante-natal caps Their future use disclose, He knows again, — the knowing imp. Just what his uncle knows ! Ah ! well ; no doubt, what Time may bring 'T is better not to see ; I know not what the changeful Fates May have in store for me ; "3 114 IDEAL AND REAL. But if within the nuptial noose My neck should be beguiled, Heaven save the house from childlessness And from a knovvdng child ! IDEAL AND REAL, IDEAL. SOME years ago, when I was young, And Mrs. Jones was Miss Delancy ; When wedlock's canopy was hung With curtains from the loom of fancy ; I used to paint my future life With most poetical precision, — My special wonder of a wife ; My happy days ; my nights Elysian. I saw a lady, rather small (A Juno was my strict abhorrence), With flaxen hair, contrived to fall In careless ringlets, a la Lawrence ; A blond complexion ; eyes that drew From autumn clouds their azure brightness ; The foot of Hebe ; arms whose hue Was perfect in its milky whiteness ! I saw a party, quite select, — There might have been a baker's dozen ; A parson, of the ruling sect ; A bridemaid, and a city cousin ; A formal speech to me and mine, (Its meaning I could scarce discover ;) IDEAL AND REAL. A taste of cake ; a sip of wine ; Some kissing — and the scene was over ! I saw a baby — one — no more ; A cherub pictured, rather faintly, Beside a pallid dame who wore A countenance extremely saintly. I saw, — but nothing could I hear. Except the softest prattle, maybe, The merest breath upon the ear, — ■ So quiet was that blessdd baby ! REAL. I see a woman, rather tall. And yet, I own, a comely lady ; Complexion — such as I must call (To be exact) a little shady ; A hand not handsome, yet confessed A generous one for love or pity ; A nimble foot, and — neatly dressed In No. 5 — extremely pretty ! I see a group of boys and girls Assembled round the knee paternal With ruddy cheeks and tangled curls. And manners not at all supernal. ■ And one has reached a manly size ; And one aspires to woman's stature ; And one is quite a recent prize. And all abound in human nature ! The boys are hard to keep in trim ; The girls are often rather trying ; "S Il6 THE GAME OF LIFE. And baby — like the cherubim — Seems very fond of steady crying ! And yet the precious little one, His mother's dear, despotic master, Is worth a thousand babies done In Parian or in alabaster ! And oft that stately dame and I, When laughing o'er our early dreaming, And marking, as the years go by. How idle was our youthful scheming. Confess the wiser Power that knew How Duty every joy enhances. And gave us blessings rich and true. And better far than all our fancies. THE GAME OF LIFE. A HOMILY. THERE 's a game much in fashion, — I think it 's called Euchre, (Though I never have played it, for pleasure or lucre,) In which, when the cards are in certain conditions. The players appear to have changed their positions, And one of them cries, in a confident tone, " I think I may venture to go it alone ! " While watching the game, 't is a whim of the bard's A moral to draw from that skirmish of cards, And to fancy he finds in the trivial strife Some excellent hints for the battle of Life ; Where — whether the prize be a ribbon or throne — The winner is he who can go it alone ! THE GAME OF LIFE. 117 When great Galileo proclaimed that the world In a regular orbit was ceaselessly whirled, And got — not a convert — for all of his pains, But only derision and prison and chains, "It moves, for all that ! " was his answering tone, For he knew, like the Earth, he could go it alone ! When Kepler, with intellect piercing afar, Discovered the laws of each planet and star. And doctors, who ought to have lauded his name, Derided his learning, and blackened his fame, " I can ■zvait I " he replied, " till the truth you shall own " ; For he felt in his heart he could go it alone ! Alas ! for the player who idly depends, In the struggle of life, upon kindred or friends ; Whatever the value of blessings like these, They can never atone for inglorious ease. Nor comfort the coward who finds, with a groan, That his crutches have left him to go it alone 1 There's something, no doubt, in the hand you may hold, Health, family, culture, wit, beauty, and gold The fortunate owner may fairly regard As, each in its way, a most excellent card ; Yet the game may be lost, with all these for your own, Unless you 've the courage to go it alone ! In battle or business, whatever the game, In law or in love, it is ever the same ; In the struggle for power, or the scramble for pelf, Let this be your motto,— Rely on yourself! For, whether the prize be a ribbon or throne, The victor is he who can go it alone 1 Ii8 THE PUZZLED CENSUS-TAKER. THE PUZZLED CENSUS-TAKER. « r"^ OT any boys ? " the Marshal said ^— ' To a lady from over the Rhine ; And the lady shook her flaxen head, And civilly answered, " Nein ! " * " Got any girls ? " the Marshal said To the lady from over the Rhine ; And again the lady shook. her head, And civilly answered, "Nein/" " But some are dead ? " the Marshal aaid To the lady from over the Rhine ; And again the lady shook her head. And civilly answered, " JVeiu / " " Husband of course ? " the Marshal said To the lady from, over the Rhine ; And again she shook her flaxen head, And civilly answered, " Netn ! " " The devil you have ! " the Marshal said To the lady from over the Rhine ; And again she shook her flaxen head. And civilly answered, "Nein!" " Now what do you mean by shaking your head, And always answering, ' Nine' ?" " Ich kann nicht Englisch ! " civilly said The lady from over the Rhine ! * Ntin, pronounced nine, is the German for "No." THE HEART AND THE LIVER. THE HEART AND THE LIVER. MUSINGS OF A DYSPEPTIC. I. SHE 's broken-hearted, I have heard, — Whate'er may be the reason ; (Such things will happen now and then In Love's tempestuous season ;) But still I marvel she should show No plainer outward token, If such a vital inward part Were very badly broken ! II. She 's broken-hearted, I am told. And so, of course, believe it ; When truth is fairly certified I modestly receive it ; But after such an accident. It surely is a blessing, It does n't in the least impair Her brilliant style of dressing I III. She 's broken-hearted : who can doubt The noisy voice of Rumor ? And yet she seems — for such a wreck — In no unhappy humor ; She sleeps (I hear) at proper hours. When other folks are dozy ; Her eyes are sparkling as of yore, And still her cheeks are rosy 1 119 ABOUT HUSBANDS. IV. She 's broken-hearted, and they say She never can recover ; And then — in not the mildest way — They blame some fickle lover ; I know she 's dying — by degrees — But, sure as I 'm a sinner, I saw her eat, the other day, A most prodigious dinner ! V. Alas ! that I, in idle rhyme, Should e'er profanely question (As I have done while musing o'er My chronic indigestion) If one should not receive the blow With blessings on the Giver, That only falls upon the heart. And kindly spares the Liver ! ABOUT HUSBANDS. " A man is, in general, better pleased when he has a good dinner upop his table, than when his wife speaks Greek." — Sam. Johnson. JOHNSON was right. I don't agree to all The solemn dogmas of the rough old stager ; But very much approve what one may call The minor morals of the " Ursa Major." Johnson was right. Although some men adore Wisdom in woman, and with learning cram her. There is n't one in ten but thinks far more Of his own grub than of his spouse's grammar. ABOUT HUSBANDS. x2\ I know it is the greatest shame in life ; But who among them (save, perhaps, myself) Returning hungry home, biit aisks his wife What beef — not books — she has upon the shelf? Though Greek and Latin be the lady's boast, They 're little valued by her loving mate ; The kind of tongue that husbands relish most Is modern, boiled, and served upon a plate. Or if, as fond ambition may command, Some home-made verse the happy matron show hith, What mortal spouse but from her dainty hand Would sooner see a pudding than a poeiln ? Young lady, — deep in love with Tom or Harry, — 'T is sad to tell you such a tale as this ; But here 's the moral of it : Do not marry ; Or, marrying, take your lover as he is, — A very man, — with something of the briite (Unless he prove a sentimental noddy), With passions strong and appetite to boot, A thirsty soul within a hungry body. A very man, — not one of nature's' clods, -r- With human failings, whether saint or sinner ; Endowed, perhaps, with genius from the gods. But apt to take his temper from his dinner. 122 WHERE THERE'S A WILL THERE'S A WAY. WHERE THERE 'S A WILL THERE 'S A WAY. " Aut viam inveniam, aut faciam.*' T T was a noble Roman, -'- In Rome's imperial day, Who heard a coward croaker. Before the Castle, say : " They 're safe in such a fortress ; There is no way to shake it !" " On — on ! " exclaimed the hero, " / Ulfind a way, or make it / " Is Fame your aspiration ? Her path is steep and high ; In vain he seeks her temple, Content to gaze and sigh : The shining throne is waiting, But he alone can take it Who says, with Roman firmness, " r II find a way, or make it ! " Is Learning your ambition ? There is no royal road ; Alike the peer and peasant Must climb to her abode : Who feels the thirst of knowledge. In Helicon may slake it. If he has still the Roman will " To find a way, or make it ! " Are Riches worth the getting ? They must be bravely sought ; A BENEDICT'S APPEAL. 123 With wishing and with fretting The boon cannot be bought : To all the prize is open, But only he can take it Who says, with Roman courage, " / HI find a way, or make it ! " In Love's impassioned warfare The tale has ever been. That victory crowns the valiant, — The brave are they who win : Though strong is Beauty's castle, A lover still may take it. Who says, with Roman daring, " / HI find a way, or make it / " A BENEDICT'S APPEAL TO A BACHELOR. " Double I double ! " — Shakespeare. I. T^EAR CHARLES, be persuaded to wed,— ^-^ For a sensible fellow like you. It 's high time to think of a bed. And muffins and coffee for two ! So have done with your doubt and delaying, — With a soul so adapted to mingle. No wonder the neighbors are saying 'T is singular you should be single ! II. Don't say that you have n't got time, — That business demands your attention, — 124 ^ BENEDICT'S APPEAL. There 's not the least reason nor rhyme In the wisest excuse you can mention. Don't tell me about " other fish," — Your duty is done when you buy 'em, — And you never will relish the dish. Unless you 've a woman to fry 'em ! III. Don't' listen to querulous stories By desperate damsels related, Who sneer at connubial glories, Becai:se they 've known couples mismated. Such people, if they had their pleasure. Because siHy bargins are made, Would deem it a rational measure To lay an embargo on trade ! IV. You may dream of poetical fame. But your wishes may chance to miscarry, — « The best way of sending one's name To posterity, Charles, is to marry 1 And here I am willing to own. After soberly thinking upon it, I 'd very much rather be known For a beautiful son, than a sonnet 1 V. To Procrastination be deaf, — (A homily sent from above,) — The scoundrel 's not only " the thief Of time," but of beauty and love 1 O delay iwt one moment to win A prize that ia truly worth winning, — A BENEDICT'S APPEAL. Celibacy, Charles, is a sin, And sadly prolific of sinning 1 VI. Then pray bid your doubting good by, And dismiss all fantastic alarms, — I '11 be sworn you 've a girl in your eye 'T is your duty to have in your arms ! Some trim little maiden of twenty, A beautiful, azure-eyed elf. With virtues and graces in plenty. And no failing but loving yourself ! VII. Don't search for " an angel " a minute ; For granting you win in the sequel, The deuce, after all, would be in it. With a union so very unequal ! The angels, it must be confessed, In this world are rather uncommon ; And allow me, dear Charles, to suggest You '11 be better content with a woman I VIII. I could furnish a bushel of reasons For choosing a conjugal mate, — It agrees with all climates and seasons, And gives you a " double estate " ! To one's parents 't is (gratefully) due, — Just think what a terrible thing 'T would have been, sir, for me and for you. If ours had forgotten the ring ! "5 t26 ^ BENEDICT'S APPEAL. IX. . Then there 's the economy — clear, By poetical algebra shown, — If your wife has a grief or a fear, One half, by the law, is your own ! And as to the joys — by division, They 're nearly quadrupled, 't is said (Though I never could see the addition Quite plain in the item of bread). X. Remember, I do not pretend There 's anything " perfect " about it. But this I '11 aver to the end. Life 's very imperfect without it. 'T is not that there 's " poetry " in it, — • As, doubtless, there may be to those Endowed with a genius to win it, — But I '11 warrant you excellent prose I XI. Then, Charles, be persuaded to wed, — For a sensible fellow like you. It 's high time to think of a bed. And muffins and coffee for two ; So have done with your doubt and delaying,- With a soul so adapted to mingle, No wonder the neighbors are saying 'T is singular you should be single ! THE GHOST-PbAYER. THE GHOST-PLAYER. A BALLAD. T^OM GOODWIN was an actor-man, •*- Old Drury's pride and boast In all the light and sprite-ly parts, Especially the Ghost. Now Tom was very fond of drink, Of almost every sort, Comparative and positive. From porter up to port. But grog, like grief, is fatal stuff For any man to sup ; For, when it fails to pull him down. It 's sure to blow him up. And so it fared with ghostly Tom, Who day by day was seen A-swelling, till (as lawyers say) He fairly lost his lean. At length the manager observed He 'd better leave his post, And said, he played the very deuce Whene'er he played the Ghost. 'T was only t' other night he saw A fellow swing his hat. And heard him cry, " By all the gods ! The Ghost is getting fat ! " 127 ,28 THE GHOST-PLAYER, 'T wduld never do, the case was plain ; His eyes he could n't shut ; Ghosts should n't make the jieople laugh. And Tom was quite a butt. Tom's actor friends said ne'er a word To cheer his drooping heart ; Though more than one was buniing up With zeal to " take his part." Tom argued very plausibly ; He said he did n't doubt That Hamlet's father drank and grew, In years, a little stout. And so, 't was natural, he said. And quite a proper plan, To have his spirit represent A portly sort of man. 'T was all in vain : the manager Said he was not in sport, And, like a gen'ral, bade poor Tom Surrender up \\\% forte. ' He 'd do perhaps in heavy parts. Might answer for a ^onk, Or porter to the elephant, To carry round his trunk ; But in the Ghost his day was past, — He 'd never do for that ; A Ghost might just as well be dead As plethoric and fat I "DO YOU THINK HE IS MARRIED V Alas ! next day poor Tom was found As stiff as any post ; For he had lost his character, And given up' the Ghost I "DO YOU THINK HE IS MARRIED?" A /T ADAM, — you are very pressing,) -'-'-'- And I can't decline the task;. With the slightest gift of guessing,, You would scarcely need to ask. Don't you see a hint of marriage In his sober-sided face ? In his rather careless carriage; And extremely rapid pace ? If he 's not committed treason. Or some wicked action done. Can you see the faintest reason Why a bachelor should run 1 Why should ^«' be in a ffurry ?' But a loving wife to greet Is a circumstance to hurry The most dignified of feet. When afar the man has spied her, If the grateful, happy elf Does not haste to be beside her, He must be beside himself! 129 130 A COLLEGE REMINISCENCE. It is but a trifle, maybe, — But observe his practised tone, When he calms your stormy baby, Just as if it were his own ! Do you think a certain meekness You have mentioned in his looks Is a chronic optic weakness That has come of reading books ? Did you ever see his vision Peering underneath a hood, Save enough for recognition, As a civil person should ? Could a Capuchin be colder When he glances, as he must, At a finely rounded shoulder, Or a proudly swelling bust ? Madam ! — think of every feature, Then deny it, if you can, He 's a fond, connubial creature. And a very married man ! A COLLEGE REMINISCENCE. ADDRESSED TO THOMAS B. THORPE, ESQ., OF NEW ORLEANS. JpvEAR TOM, have you forgot the day -'-^ When, long ago, we used to stray Among the " Haddams " ? Where, in the mucky road, a man (The road was built on Adam's plan. And not McAdam's !) A COLLEGE REMINISCENCE. Went down — down — down, one stormy night, And disappeared from human sight, All save his hat, — Which raised in sober minds a sense Of some mysterious Providence In sparing that ? I think 't will please you, Tom, to hear The man who in that night of fear Went down terrestrial, Worked out a passage like a miner. And, pricking through somewhere in China, Came up Celestial ! Ah ! those were memorable times. And worth embalming in my rhymes. When, at the summons Of chapel bell, we left our sport For lessons most uncommon short, Or shorter commons ! I mind me, Tom, you often drew Nice portraits, and exceeding true — To your intention ! The most impracticable faces Discovered unsuspected graces. By your invention. On brainless heads the finest bumps (Erected by your pencil-thumps) Were plainly seen ; Your Yankees all were very Greek, Unchosen aunts grew " choice antique," And blues turned green I 131 132 A COLLEGE REMINISCENCE. The swarthy suddenly were fziir, And yellovif changed to aubijrn hair Or sunny flax ; And people very thin and flat, Like Aldermen grew round and fat On canvas-backs ! I well remember all your art To make the best of every part, — I am certain no man Could better coax a yrinkle out, Or eleva,t^ a lowly snout, Or snub a Roman ! Young gentlemen with leaden eyes Stared wildly out on lowering skies,. Quite Corsa4r-fashion ; And greenish orbs got very blue, And linsey-Aijipplsey maidens, grew Almost Circassian ! And many an ancientijiaiden aunt As lean and lank as John O'Gaunt, Or even lanker, By art transformed and newly drest. Could boast for once as full a chest As — any banker ! Ah ! we wei^,jplfy youngsters then. But now we 're sober-sided men, H alf through life's, journey ; And you 've, turned author, Tpm, I heai^- And I —^_yov. '11. think it- very queer — Have turned attorney ! EARLY RISING. 133 Heaven bless you, Tom, in house and heart ! (That we should live so far apart Is much a pity,) And may you multiply your name, And have a very " crescent " fame, Just hke your city ! EARLY RISING. "(~^ OD bless the man who first invented sleep !" ^^ So Sancho Panza said, and so say I : And bless him, also, that he did n't keep His great discovery to himself; nor try To make it- — as the lucky fellow might — A close monopoly- by patent-right ! Yes — bless the man who first invented sleep (I really can't avoid the iteration) ; But blast the man, with curses loud and deep, Whate'er the rascal's name, or age, or station, Who first invented, and went round advising. That artificial cut-off, — Early Rising ! " Rise with the lark, and with the lark to bed," Observes some solemn, sentimental owl ; Maxims like these are very cheaply said ;. But, ere you make yourself a fool or fowl,. Pray just inquire about his rise and fall. And whether larks have any beds at all ! The time for honest folks to be abed Is in the morning, if I reason right ; 134 EARLY RISING. And he who cannot keep his precious head Upon his pillow till it 's fairly light, And so enjoy his forty morning winks, Is up to knavery ; or else — he drinks ! Thomson, who sung about the " Seasons," said It was a glorious thing to rise in season ; But then he said it — lying — in his bed. At ten o'clock, a. m., — the very reason He wrote so charmingly. The simple fact is. His preaching was n't sanctioned by his practice. 'T is, doubtless, well to be sometimes awake, — Awake to duty, and awake to truth, — But when, alas ! a nice review we take Of our best deeds and days, we find, in sooth. The hours that leave the slightest cause to weep Are those we passed in childhood or asleep ! 'T is beautiful to leave the world awhile For the soft visions of the gentle night ; And free, at last, from mortal care or guile, To live as only in the angels' sight. In sleep's sw^eet realm so cosily shut in. Where, at the worst, we only dream of sin ! So let us sleep, and give the Maker praise. I like the lad who, when his father thought To clip his morning nap by hackneyed phrase Of vagrant worm by early songster caught. Cried, " Served him right ! — it 's not at all surprising ; The worm was punished, sir, for early rising ! " THE LADY ANN. 135 THE LADY ANN. A BALLAD. « C HE '11 soon be here, the Lady Ann," »--5 The children cried in glee ; " She always comes at four o'clock, And now it 's striking three." At stroke of four the lady came, A lady passing fair ; And she sat and gazed adown the road, With a long and eager stare. " The mail ! the mail ! " the idlers cried. At sight of a coach-and-four ; " The mail ! the mail ! " and at the word. The coach was at the door. Up sprang in haste the Lady Ann, And marked with anxious eye The travellers, who, one by one, Were slowly passing by. " Alack ! alack ! " the lady cried, " He surely named to-day ; He '11 come to-morrow, then," she sighed, And, turning, strolled away. " 'T is passing odd, upon my word," The landlord now began ; '' A strange romance ! — that woman, sirs, Is called the Lady Ann. 136 THE LADY ANN^ " She dwells hard by upon the hill, The widow of Sir John, Who died abroad, come August next, Just twenty years agpne. " A hearty neighbor, sirs, was he, A bold, true-hearted man v And a fonder pair were seldom seen Than he and Lady Ann^ " They scarce had. been a twelvemonth." wed, When — ill betide the day I — ' Sir John was called, to go in haste Some hundred miles away., " Ne'er lovers, in the fairy tales A truer love couM boast ; And many were the gentle words; That came and went by post. " A month or more had passed away^ When by the post came down The joyous news that such a day Sir John would be in town., " Full gleesome was the Lady Ann To read the welcome word,, And promptly at the hour she came, To meet her wedded lord. " Alas ! alas ! he came not back ! There only came instead, A mournful, message by the post; That good Sir Jqhn.was dead !' THE LADY ANN. " One piercing shriek, and Lady Ann Had swooned upon the floor : Good sirs, it was a fearful grief That gentle lady bore ! " We raised her up ; her ebbing life Began again to dawn ; She muttered wildly to herself, — 'T was plain her wits were gone. " A strange forgetfulness came o'er Her sad, bewildered mind. And to the grief that drove her mad Her memory was blind ! " Ah ! since that hour she little wots Full twenty years are fled ! She little wots, poor Lady Ann ! Her wedded lord is dead. " But each returning day she deems The day he fixed to come ; And ever at the wonted hour She 's here to greet him home- " And when the coach is at the door, She marks with eager eye The travellers, as one by one They 're slowly passing by. "'Alack!' she cries, in plaintive tone, ' He surely named to-day ! He '11 come to-morrow, then,' she sighs, And, turning, strolls away." 137 138 ffOW THE MONEY GOES. HOW THE MONEY GOES. HOW goes the Money ? — Well, I 'm sure it is n't hard to tell ; It goes for rent, and water-rates, For bread and butter, coal and grates. Hats, caps, and carpets, hoops and hose, - And that 's the way the Money goes ! How goes the Money ? — Nay, Don't everybody know the way? It goes for bonnets, coats, and capes, Silks, satins, muslins, velvets, crapes. Shawls, ribbons, furs, and furbelows, — And that 's the way the Money goes ! How goes the Money? — Sure, I wish the ways were something fewer ; It goes for wages, taxes, debts ; It goes for presents, goes for bets. For paint, pommade, and eau de rose, — And that 's the way the Money goes ! How goes the Money ? — Now, I 've scarce begun to mention how ; It goes for laces, feathers, rings. Toys, dolls — and other baby-things. Whips, whistles, candies, bells, and bows, - And that 's the way the Money goes 1 How goes the Money ? — Come, 1 know it does n't go for rum ; SAINT JONATHAN. 139 It goes for schools and Sabbath chimes, It goes for charity — sometimes ; For missions, and such things as those, — And that 's the way the Money goes ! How goes the money ? — There ! I 'm out of patience, I declare ; It goes for plays, and diamond-pins, For public alms, and private sins. For hollow shams, and silly shows, — And that 's the way the Money goes ! SAINT JONATHAN. There's many an excellent Saint, — St. George, with his dragon and lance ; St. Patrick, so jolly and quaint ; St. Vitus, the saint of the dance ; St. Denis, the saint of the Gaul ; St. Andrew, the saint of the Scot ; But Jonathan, youngest of all. Is the mightiest saint of the lot ! He wears a most serious face. Well worthy a martyr's possessing ; But it is n't all owing to grace. But partly to thinking and guessing ; In sooth, our American Saint Has rather a secular bias, And I never have heard a complaint Of his being excessively pious ! i^o SAINT JONATHAN. He 's fond of financial improvement, And is always extremely inclined To be starting some practical movement For mending the morals and mind. Do you ask me what wonderful labors St. Jonathan ever has done To rank with his Calendar neighbors ? Just listen, a moment, to one : One day when a flash in the air Split his meeting-house fairly asunder, Quoth Jonathan, "Now — I declare — They 're dreadfully careless with thunder ! " So he fastened a rod to the steeple ; And now, when the lightning comes round, He keeps it from building and people, By running it into the ground ! Reflecting, with pleasant emotion, On the capital job he had done. Quoth Jonathan : " I have a notion Improvements have barely begun ; If nothing 's created in vain, — As ministers often inform us, — The lightning that 's wasted, 't is plain Is really something enormous ! " While ciphering over the thing. At length he discovered a plan To catch the Electrical King, And make him the servant of man ; And now, in an orderly way, He flies on the fleetest of pinions, And carries the news of the day All over his master's dominions 1 SAINT JONATHAN. 141 One morning, while taking a stroll, He heard a lugubrious cry, — Like the shriek of a suffering soul, — In a Hospital standing near by ; Anon, such a terrible groan Saluted St. Jonathan's ear. That his bosom — which was n't of stone — Was melted with pity to hear. That night he invented a charni So potent that folks who employ it> In loosing a leg or an arm. Don't suffer, but rather enjoy it I A miracle, you must allow, As good as the best of his brothers, — And blessdd St. Jonathan now Is patron of cripples and mothers I There 's many an excellent Saint, — ■ St. George, with his dragon and lance ; St. Patrick, so jolly and quaint j St. Vitus, the saint of the dance ; St. Denis, the saint of the Gaul ; St. Andrew, the saint of the Scot ; But Jonathan, youngest of all, Is the mightiest saint of the lotl 142 SONG OF SARATOGA. SONG OF SARATOGA. " "pRAY, what do they do at the Springs ?" -*- The question is easy to ask ; But to answer it fully, my dear, Were rather a serious task. And yet, in a bantering way, As the magpie or mocking-bird sings, I '11 venture a bit of a song To tell what they do at the Springs ! Imprimis, my darling, they drink The waters so sparkling and clear ; Though the flavor is none of the best, And the odor exceedingly queer ; But the fluid is mingled, you know. With wholesome medicinal things, So they drink, and they drink, and they drink,— And that 's what they do at the Springs ! Then with appetites keen as a knife, They hasten to breakfast or dine ; (The latter precisely at three ; The former from seven till nine.) Ye gods ! what a rustle and rush When the eloquent dinner-bell rings ! Then they eat, and they eat, and they eat, — And that 's what they do at the Springs ! Now they stroll in the beautiful walks, Or loll in the shade of the trees ; Where many a whisper is heard That never is told by the breeze ; TALE OF A DOG. 143 And hands are commingled with hands, Regardless of conjugal rings ; And they flirt, and they flirt, and they flirt, — And that 's what they do at the Springs ! The drawing-rooms now are ablaze, And music is shrieking away ; Terpsichore governs the hour. And Fashion was never so gay ! An arm round a tapering waist, — How closely and fondly it clings : So they waltz, and they waltz, and they waltz, — And that 's what they do at the Springs 1 In short — as it goes in the world — They eat, and they drink, and they sleep ; They talk, and they walk, and they woo ; They sigh, and they laugh, and they weep -, They read, and they ride, and they dance ; (With other unspeakable things ;) They pray, and they play, and they fay, — And that 's what they do at the Springs ! TALE OF A DOG. IN TWO PARTS. PART FIRST. I. "/'~'URSE on all curs !" I heard a cynic cijrj ^-^ A wider malediction than he thought, — For what 's a cynic ? — Had he cast his eye Within his dictionary, he had caught 144 TALE OF A DOG. This much of learniftg, — the untutored elf, -^ That he, unwittingly, had cursed himself ! II. " Beware of dogs," the great Apostle writes ; A rather brief and sharp philippic sent To the Philippians. The paragraph invites Some little question as to its intent, Among the best expositors ; but then I find they all agree that " dogs " meant men / in. Beware of men !' a m'bralist might say. And women too ; 't were but a prudent hint. Well worth observing in a general way, But having surely no conclusion in 't, (As saucy satirists are wont to rail,) All men are faithless, and all women fraiL IV. And so of dogs 't were wrong to dogmatize Without discrimination or degree ; For one may see, with half a pair of eyes. That they have characters as well as we : I hate the rascal who can walk the street Caning all canines he may chance to meet V. I had a dog that was not all a dog. For in his nature there' was something human ; Wisely he looked as arty pedagogue ; Loved funerals and weddings, like a woman ; With this (still human) weakness, I confess,. Of always judging people by their dress. TALE OF A DOG. VI. 145 He hated beggars, it was very clear, And oft was seen to drive them from the door; But that was education ; — for a year, Ere yet his puppyhood was fairly o'er, He lived with a Philanthropist, and caught His practices ; the precepts he forgot ! Which was a pity ; yet the dog, I grant, Led, on the whole, a very worthy life. To teach you industry, " Go to the ant," (I mean the insect, not your uncle's wife ;) But — though the counsel sounds a little rude - Go to the dogs, for love and gratitude. PART SECOND. vm. " Throw physic to the dogs," the poet cries ; A downright insult to the canine race ; There 's not a puppy but is far too wise To put a pill or powder in his face. Perhaps the poet merely meant to say. That physic, thrown to dogs, is thrown away, — IX. Which (as the parson gaid about the dice) Is the best throw that any man can choose ; Take, if you 're ailing, medical advice, — Minus the medicine, — which, of course, refuse. Drugging, no doubt, occasioned Homoeopathy, And all the dripping horrors of Hydropathy. 7 J 146 TALE OF A DOG. X. At all events, 't is fitting to remark, Dogs spurn at drugs ; their daily bark and whine Are not at all the musty wine and bark The doctors give to patients in decline ; And yet a dog who felt a fracture's smart Once thanked a kind chirurgeon for his art XI. I 've heard a story, and believe it true, About a dog that chanced to break his leg ; His master set it and the member grew Once more a sound and serviceable peg ; And how d' ye think the happy dog exprest The grateful feelings of his glowing breast ? XII. 'T was not in words ; the customary pay Of human debtors for a friendly act ; For dogs their thoughts can neither sing nor say E'en in " dog-latin," which (a curious fact) Is spoken only — as a classic grace — By grave Professors of the human race ! No, 't was in deed ; the very briefest tail Declared his deep emotions at his cure ; Short, but significant ; — one could not fail. From the mere wagging of his cynosure (" Surgens e /«//«"), and his ears agog. To see the fellow was a grateful dog ! THE JOLLY MARINER. 147 XIV. One day — still mindful of his late disaster — He wandered off the village to explore ; And brought another dog unto his master, Lame of a leg, as he had been before ; As who should say, " You see ! — the dog is lame : You doctored me, pray doctor him the same ! " XV. So runs the story, and you have it cheap, — Dog-cheap, as doubtless such a tale should be ; The moral, surely, is n't hard to reap : — Be prompt to listen unto mercy's plea ; The good you get, diffuse ; it will not hurt you E'en from a dog to learn a Christian virtue ! THE JOLLY MARINER. A BALLAD. IT was a jolly mariner As ever hove a log ; He wore his trousers wide and free. And always ate his prog, And blessed his eyes, in sailor-wise, And never shirked his grog. Up spoke this jolly mariner. Whilst walking up and down : — " The briny sea has pickled me, And done me very brown ; But here I goes, in these here clo'es, A-cruising in the town ! " 148 THE JOLLY MARINER. The first of all the curious things That chanced his eye to meet, As this undaunted mariner Went sailing up the street, Was, tripping with a little cane, A dandy all complete ! He stopped, — that jolly mariner, — And eyed the stranger well : — " What that may be," he said, says he, " Is more than I can tell ; But ne'er before, on sea or shore. Was such a heavy swell ! " He met a lady in her hoops. And thus she heard him hail : — " Now blow me tight ! — but there 's a sight To manage in a gale ! I never saw so small a craft With such a spread o' sail ! " Observe the craft before and aft, — She 'd make a pretty prize ! " And then in that improper way He spoke about his eyes. That mariners are wont to use In anger or surprise. He saw a plumber on a roof. Who made a mighty din : — " Shipmate, ahoy ! " the rover cried, " It makes a sailor grin To see you copper-bottoming Your upper decks with tin ! " THE JOLLY MARINER. 149 He met a yellow-bearded man, And asked about the way ; But not a word could he make out Of what the chap would say, Unless he meant to call him names, By screaming, " Nix furstay ! " Up spoke this jolly mariner. And to the man said he : — " I have n't sailed these thirty years Upon the stormy sea, To bear the shame of such a name As I have heard from thee ! " So take thou that ! " — and laid him flat : But soon the man arose, And beat the jolly mariner Across his jolly nose. Till he was fain, from very pain. To yield him to the blows. 'T was then this jolly mariner, A wretched jolly tar, Wished he was in a jolly-boat Upon the sea afar. Or riding fast, before the blast, Upon a single spar ! 'T was then this jolly mariner Returned unto his ship, And told unto the wondering crew The story of his trip. With many oaths and curses, too. Upon his wicked lip ! — 150 TOM BROWN'S DAY IN GOTHAM. As hoping — so this mariner In fearful words harangued — His timbers might be shivered, and His le'ward scuppers danged, (A double curse, and vastly worse Than being shot or hanged !) If ever he — and here again A dreadful oath he swore — If ever he, except at sea, Spoke any stranger more. Or like a son of — something — went A-cruising on the shore 1 TOM BROWN'S DAY IN GOTHAM. "Qui mores hominum tnultorum vidit et urbem.^' T 'LL tell you a story of Thomas Brown, — -'- I don't mean the poet of Shropshire town ; Nor the Scotch Professor of wide renown ; But " Honest Tom Brown " ; so called, no doubt, Because with the same Identical name, A good many fellows were roving about Of whom the sheriff might prudently swear That " honest " with them was a non-est affair ! Now Tom was a Yankee of wealth and worth, Who lived and throve by tilling the Earth ; For Tom had wrought As a farmer ought, TOM BROWN'S DAY IN GOTHAM. Who, doomed to toil by original sinning, Began — like Adam — at the beginning. He ploughed, he harrowed, and he sowed ; He drilled, he planted, and he hoed ; He dug and delved, and reaped and mowed. (I wish I could — but I can't — tell now Whether he used a subsoil-plough ; Or whether, in sooth, he had ever seen A regular reaping and raking machine.) He took most pains With the nobler grains Of higher value, and finer tissues '\5Vhich, possibly, one Inclined to a pun. Would call — like Harper — his " cereal issues ! " With wheat his lands were all ablaze ; 'T was amazing to look at his fields of maize ; And there were places That showed rye-i?i May see some pretty ankles for our pains. iy2 TOWN AND COUNTRY. CLOVERTOP. Here you may angle for the speckled trout, Play him awhile, with gentle hand, about, Then, like a sportsman, pull the fellow out ! SHILLINGSIDE. There, too, i? fis-hing quite as good, I ween. Where careless, gaping gudgeons oft are seen. Rich as yon pasture, and almost as green ! CLOVERTOP. Here you rpav see the meadow's grassy plain. Ripe, luscious fruits, and shocks of golden grain ; And view, luxuriant in a hundred fields. The gorgeous wealth that bounteous Nature yields I SHILLINGSIDE. There you may see Trade's wondrous strength and pride. Where merchant-navies throng on every side, And view, collected in Columbia's mart, Alike the wealth of Nature and of Art ! CLOVERTOP. Cease, clamorous cit ! I love these quiet nooks, Where one may sleep, or dawdle over books. Or, if he wish of gentle love to dream. May sit and muse by yonder babbling stream — SHILLINGSIDE. Dry up your babbling stream ! my Clovertop — You 're getting garrulous ; it 's time to stop. THE FAMILY MAN. 173 I love the city, and the city's smoke ; The smell of gas ; the dust of coal and coke ; The sound of bells ; the tramp of hurrying feet ; The sight of pigs and Paphians in the street ;' The jostling crowd ; the never-ceasing noise Of rattling coaches, and vociferous boys ; The cry of " Fire ! " and the exciting scene Of heroes running with their mad "mersheen " ; Nay, now I think that I could even stand The direful din of Barnum's brazen band, So much I long to see the town again ! Good by ! I 'm going by the evening train ! Don't fail to call whene'er you come to town, We '11 do the city, boy, and do it brown ; I 've really had a pleasant visit here, And mean to come again another year. THE FAMILY MAN. T ONCE was a jolly young beau, -^ And knew how to pick up a fan, But 1 've done with all that, you must know, For now I 'm a family man ! When a partner 1 ventured to take, The ladies all favored the plan ; They vowed 1 was certain to make " Such an excellent family man I " If I travel by land or by water, I have charge of some Susan or Ann ; Mrs. Brown is so sure that her daughter Is safe with a family man ! 174 THE SNAKE IN THE GLASS. The trunks apd the bandboxes round 'em With something hke horror I scan, But though I may mutter, " Confound 'em!" I smile — like a family man 1 I once was as gay as a templar, But levity 's now under ban ; Young people must have an exemplar, And I am a family man ! The club-men I meet in the city • All treat me as well as they can ; And only exclaim, "What a pity Poor Tom is a family man ! " I own I am getting quite pensive ; Ten children, from David to Dan, Is a family rather extensive ; But then — I 'm a family man ! THE SNAKE IN THE GLASS. A HOMILY. COME listen awhile to me, my lad ; Come listen to me for a spell ; Let that terrible drum For a moment be dumb, For your uncle is going to tell What befell A youth who loved liquor too well. THE SNAKE IN THE GLASS. 175 A clever young man was he, my lad ; And with beauty uncommonly blest, Ere, with brandy and wine, He began to decline, And behaved like a person possessed ; I protest The temperance plan is the best. One evening he went to a tavern, my lad ; He went to a tavern one night. And drinking too much Rum, brandy, and such, The chap got exceedingly " tight " ; And was quite What yofir aunt would entitle a fright. The fellow fell into a snooze, my lad ; 'T is a horrible slumber he takes ; He trernbles with fear. And acts very queer ; My eyes ! how he shivers and shakes When he wakes, And raves about horrid great snakes I 'T is a warning to you and to me, my lad ; A particular caution to all, — Though no one can see The vipers but he, — To hear the poor lunatic bawl : — " How they crawl ! — All over the floor and the wall ! " Next morning he took to his bed, my lad ; Next morning he took to his bed ; 176 THE SNAKE IN THE GLASS. And he never got up To dine or to sup, Though properly physicked and bled ; And I read, • Next day, the poor fellow was dead ! You 've heard of the snake in the grass, my lad ; Of the viper concealed in the grass ; But now, you must know, Man's deadliest foe Is a snake of a different class ; Alas! — 'T is the viper that lurks in the glass ! A warning to you and to me, my lad ; A very imperative call : — Of liquor keep clear ; Don't drink even beer, If you 'd shun all occasion to fall ; If at all. Pray take it uncommonly small. And if you are partial to snakes, my lad (A passion I think rather low). Don't enter, to see 'em. The Devil's Museum ! — 'T is very much better to go (That 's so !) And visit a regular show ! NE CREDE COLOR/. ijj NE CREDE COLORI: OR, TRUST NOT TO APPEARANCBS. ' I ^HE musty old maxim is wise, ■^ Although with antiquity hoary ; What an excellent homily lies In the motto, Ne crede colori ! A blustering minion of Mars Is vaunting his battles so gory ; You see some equivocal scars, And mutter, Ne crede colori f A fellow solicits your tin By telling a runaway story ; You look at his ebony skin, And think of, Ne crede colori! You gaze upon beauty that vies With the rose and the lily in glory, But certain " inscrutable dyes " Remind you, Ne crede colori / There 's possibly health in the flush That rivals the red of Aurora ; But brandy-and-water can blush, And whisper, Ne crede colori ! My story is presently done. Like the ballad of good Mother Morey ; But all imposition to shun, Remember, Ne crede colori t 178 CLARA TO CLOE. CLARA TO CLOE. AN EPISTLE FROM A CITY LADY TO A COUNTRY COUSIN. DEAR CLOE : — I 'm deeply your debtor (Though the mail was uncommonly slow) For the very agreeable letter You wrote me a fortnight ago. I know you are eagerly waiting For all that I promised to write, But my pen is unequal to stating One half that my heart would indite. The weather is terribly torrid ; And writing 's a serious task ; The new style of bonnet is horrid ; And so is the new-fashioned basque; The former — but language would fail Were its epithets doubly as strong — The latter is worn with a tail Very ugly and tediously long ! And then as to crinoline — Gracious ! If you only could see Cousin Ruth — The pictures, for once, are veracious, And editors utter the truth ! I know you will think it a pity ; And every one inakes such a sneer of it ; But there is n't a saint in the city Whose skirts are entirely clear of it I And then what a fortune of stuff To cover the skeleton over ! — 179 CLARA TO CLOE. Charles says the idea is enough To frighten a sensible lover ; And, pretending that we are to blame For every financial declension, Swears husbands must soon do the same, If wives have another " extension " ! The town is exceedingly dull, And so is the latest new farce ; The parks are uncommonly full, But beaux are deplorably scarce ; They 're gone to the " Springs " and the " Falls," To exhibit their greyhounds and graces, And recruit at — what Frederick calls — The Brandy-and-Watering Places ! Since my former epistle, which carried The news of that curious plot, — Of Miss S. who ran off — and was married ; Of Miss B. who ran off — and was not, — There is n't a whisper of scandal To keep gentle ladies in humor, And Gossip, the pleasant old vandal, Is dying for want of a rumor ! Glara. P. S. — But was n't it funny ? — Mrs. Jones, at a party last week, (The lady so proud of her money. Of whom you have oft heard me speak,) Appeared so dehghtfuUy stupid. When she spoke, through the squeak of her phthisic, Of the statue of Psyche and Cupid As " the statute of Cuppid and Physic^ ! €. i8o CLOE TO CLARA. CLOE TO CLARA. A SARATOGA LETTER. DEAR CLARA : — I wish you were he^e; The prettiest spot upon earth ! With everything charming, my dear, — Beaux, badinage, music, and mirth ! Such rows of magnificent trees. Overhanging such beautiful walks, Where lovers may stroll, if they please, And indulge in the sweetest of talks ! We go every morning, like geese, To drink at the favorite Spring ; Six tumblers of water apiece Is simply the regular thing ; For such is its wonderful virtue, Though rather unpleasant at first, No quantity ever can hurt you. Unless you should happen to burst ! And then, what a gossiping sight ! What talk about WiUiam and Harry ; How Julia was spending last night ; And why Miss Morton should marry ! Dear Clara, I 've happened to see Full many a tea-table slaughter ; But, really, scandal with tea Is nothing to scandal with water ! Apropos of the Spring — have you heard The quiz of a gentleman here CLOE TO CLARA. i8i On a pompous M. C. who averred That the name was remarkably queer ? " The Spring — to keep it from failing — With wood is encompassed about, And derives, from its permanent railing, The title of ' Congress,' no doubt ! " 'T is pleasant to guess at the reason. The genuine motive, which brings Such all-sorts of folks, in the season, To stop a few days at the Springs. Some come to partake of the waters (The sensible, old-fashioned elves) ; Some come to dispose of their daughters. And some to dispose of — themselves ! Some come to exhibit their faces To new and admiring beholders ; Some come to exhibit their graces, And some to exhibit their shoulders ; Some come to make people stare At the elegant dresses they Ve got ; Some to show what a lady may wear. And some — what a lady should not I Some come to squander their treasure. And some their funds to improve ; And some for mere love of pleasure, And some for the pleasure of love ; And some to escape from the old, And some to see what is new ; But most — it is plain to be told — Come here — because other folks do 1 i82 THE GREAT MAGICIAN. And that, I suppose, is the reason Why / am enjoying, to-day, What 's called " the height — of the season " In rather the loftiest way. Good by — for now I must stop — To Charley's command I resign, — So I 'm his for the regular hop. But ever most tenderly thine, Cloe. THE GREAT MAGICIAN. ONCE, when a lad, it was my hap To gain my mother's kind permission To go and see a foreign chap Who called himself "The Great Magician"; I recollect his wondrous skill In divers mystic conjurations. And how the fellow wrought at will The most prodigious transformations. I recollect the nervous man Within whose hat the great deceiver Broke eggs, as in a frying-pan, And took 'em smoking from the beaver I I recollect the lady's shawl Which the magician rent asunder, And then restored ; but, best of aJl, I recollect the Ribbon- Wonder 1 I mean, of course, the funny freak In which the wizard, at his pleasure. THE GREAT MAGICIAN. 183 Spins lots of ribbons from his cheek (Where he had hid 'em, at his leisure). Yard after yard, of every hue, Comes blazing out, and still the fellow Keeps spinning ribbons, red and blue. And black, and white, and green, and yellow ! I ne'er shall see another show To rank with the immortal " Potter's '' ; ' He 's dead and buried long ago, And others charm our sons and daughters ; Years — years have fled — alas ! how quick, Since I beheld the Great Magician, And yet I 've seen the Ribbon-Trick In many a curious repetition 1 Thus, when an author I have read Who much amazed the world of letters With gems his fluent pen has shed, (All nicely pilfered /rom his betters,) Presto ! — 't is done ! — and all complete, As in my youth's enraptured vision, I 've seen again the Ribbon-Feat, And thought about the Great Magician 1 So, when a sermon I have heard Made up of bits of borrowed learning, Some cheap mosaic which has stirred The wonder of the undiscerning, — Swift as a flash has memory then Recalled the ancient exhibition ; I saw the Ribbon-Trick again, And thought about the Great Magician ! 1 84 ^-^^ BLARNEY STONE. So when some flippant man-o'-jokes, Though in himself no dunce was duller, Has dazzled all the simple folks With brilliant jests of every color, — I Ve whispered thus (while fast and thick The changes flashed across my vision) : — " How well he plays the Ribbon-Trick ! By Jove ! — he beats the Great Magician ! " I ne'er shall see another show To rank with the immortal " Potter's" ; He 's dead and buried long ago, And others charm our sons and daughters ; Years — years have fled — alas ! how quick. Since I beheld the Great Magician, And yet I 've seen the Ribbon-Trick In many a curious repetition ! THE BLARNEY STONE. , I. T N Blarney Castle, on a crumbling tower, -"- There lies a stone (above your ready reach), Which to the lips imparts, 't is said, the power Of facile falsehood, and persuasive speech ; And hence, of one who talks in such a tone, The peasants say, " He 's kissed the Blarney Stone ! " II. Thus, when I see some flippant tourist swell With secrets wrested from an Emperor, — And hear him vaunt his bravery, and tell How once he snubbed a Marquis, — I infer THE BLARNEY STONE. 185 The man came back — if but the truth were known — By way of Cork, and kissed the Blarney Stone! III. So, when I hear a shallow dandy boast (In the long ear that marks a brother dunce) What precious favors ladies' lips have lost. To his advantage ; I suspect, at once, The fellow 's lying ; that .the dog alone (Enough for him !) has kissed the Blarney Stone ! IV. When some fine lady, — ready to defame An absent beauty, with as sweet a grace, — With seeming rapture greets a hated name, And lauds her rival to her wondering face ; E'en Charity herself must freely own Some women, too, have kissed the Blarney Stone ! . V. When sleek attorneys, whose seductive tongues, Smooth with the unction of a golden fee, " Breathe forth huge falsehoods from capacious lungs," * (The words are Juvenal's) 't is plain to see A lawyer's genius is n't all his own ; The specious rogue has kissed the Blarney Stone ! When the false pastor, from his fainting flock Withholds the Bread of Life — the Gospel news — To give them dainty words, lest he should shock The fragile fabric of the paying pews, — Who but must feel, the man, to Grace unknown, Has kissed, — not Calvary, — but the Blarney Stone ! * "Immensa cavi spirant raendacia foUes." i86 ODE TO THE PRINCE OF WALES. ODE TO THE PRINCE OF WALES. INVITING HIS EOYAL HIGHNESS TO A COUNTRY COTTAGE. o PRINCE of Wales 1 Unless my judgment fails, You 've found your recent travel rather dreary ; I don't expect an answer to the query, — But are n't you getting weary ? Weary of Bells, and Balls, and grand Addresses ? Weary of Military and their messes.' Weaiy of adulation and caresses ? Weary of shouts from the admiring masses ? Weary of worship from the upper classes ? Weary of horses, may'rs, and asses .'' Of course 't was kindly meant, — But don't you now repent Your good Mamma's consent That you should be, This side the sea, The " British Lion " which you represent ? Pray leave your city courtiers and their capers. And come to us : we 've no pictorial papers ; And no Reporters to distort your nose ; Or mark the awkward carriage of your toes ; Your style of sneezing, and such things as those ; Or, meaner still, in democratic spite. Measure your Royal Highness by your height ! Then come to us ! We 're not the sort of folk to make a fuss, , E'en for the President, — but then, my boy, NIL ADMIRARI. 187 We plumply promise you a special joy, To Princes rarely known, (And one you '11 never find about a throne,) To wit, the bliss of being let alone / No scientific bores. from AthenEEums ; No noisy guns, nor tedious te-deums, Shall vex your Royal Highness for a minute ; A glass of lemonade, with '' something in it," A fragrant meerschaum, with the morning news, Or sweet Virginia " fine-cut," — if you choose, — ■ These, and what else your Highness may demand Of simple luxury, shall be at hand. And at your royal service. Come ! O come where you may gain (What advertisers oft have sought in vain) " The comforts of a home " ! Come, Prince of Wales ! — we greatly need Your royal presence. Sir, — we do indeed : For why? — we have a pretty hamlet here, But then, you see, 't is equally as clear (Your Highness understands Shakespearian hints) A Hamlet is n't much without a Prince ! NIL ADMIRARI. I. WHEN Horace in Vendusian groves Was scribbling wit or sipping " Massic," Or singing those dehcious loves Which after ages reckon classic. He wrote one day — 't was no vagary — These famous words : —Nil admirari! 1 88 ^IL AD MIR ART. II. " Wonder at nothing ! " said the bard ; A kingdom's fall, a nation's rising, A lucky or a losing card. Are really not at all surprising ; However men or manners vary, Keep cool and calm ; Nil admirari ! in. If kindness meet a cold return ; If friendship prove a dear delusion ; If love, neglected, cease to burn. Or die untimely of profusion, — Such lessons vi'ell may make us wary, But need n't shock ; Nil admirari i Does disappointment follow gain ? Or wealth elude the keen pursuer ? Does pleasure end in poignant pain? Does fame disgust the lucky wooer, Or haply prove perversely chary ? 'T was ever thus ; Nil admirari ! V. Does January wed with May, Or ugliness consort with beauty ? Does Piety forget to pray ? And, heedless of connubial duty. Leave faithful Ann for wanton Mary ? 'T is the old tale ; Nil admirari ! THE COQUETTE. 189 VI. Ah ! when the happy day we reach When promisers are ne'er deceivers ; When parsons practise what they preach, And seeming saints are all believers, Then the old maxim you may vary. And say no more, Nil admirari! THE COQUETTE. A PORTRAIT. " \/'^U '''^ clever at drawing, I own,'' JL Said my beautiful cousin Lisette, As we sat by the window alone, " But say, can you paint a Coquette ? " " She 's painted already,'' quoth I ; " Nay, nay ! " said the laughing Lisette, "Now none of your joking, — but try And paint me a thorough Coquette." " Well, cousin," at once I began In the ear of the eager Lisette, " I '11 paint you as well as I can That wonderful thing, a Coquette. " She wears a most beautiful face," (" Of course ! " — said the pretty Lisette,) " And is n't deficient in grace, Or else she were not a Coquette. igo THE COQUETTE. " And then she is daintily made '' (A smile from the dainty Lisette) " By people expert in the trade Of forming a proper Coquette. " She 's the winningest ways with the beaux," (" Go on !" — said the winning Lisette,) " But there is n't a man of them knows The mind of the fickle Coquette ! " She knows how to weep and to sigh," (A sigh from the tender Lisette,) " But her weeping is a'l in my eye, — Not that of the cunning Coquette ! " In short, she 's a creature of art," (" O hush ! " — said the frowning Lisette,) " With merely the ghost of a heart, — Enough for i thorough Coquette. " And yet I could easily prove (" Now don't ! " — said the angry Lisette,) " The lady is always in love, — In love with herself, — the Coquette ! " There, — do not be angr^' ! — you know, My dear little cousin Lisette, You told me a moipent ago To paint j/o« — a thorough Coquette ! " CARMEN L^TUM. igi CARMEN L^TUM: RECITED, AFTER DINNER, BEFORE THE ALUMNI OP MIDDLE- BURY COLLEGE, AT THEIR SEMI-CENTENNIAL CELEBRA- TION, AUGUST 22, 1850. ARIGHT loving welcome, tny true-hearted Brothers, Who have come out to visit the kindest of mothers ; You may think as you will, but there is n't a doubt Alma Mater rejoices, and knows you are out ! Rejoices to see you in gratitude here, Returning to honor her fiftieth year. And while the good lady is so overcome With maternal emotion, she 's stricken quite dumb, (A thing, I must own, that 's enough to perplex A shallow observer, who thinks that the sex, Whatever may be their internal revealings. Can never be pained with unspeakable feelings,) Indulge me, dear Brothers, nor think me ill-bred, If I venture a moment to speak in her stead. I, who, though the humblest and homeliest one, Feel the natural pride of a dutiful son. And esteem it to-day the profoundest of joys, That, not less than yourselves, I am one of the boys \ First as to her health, which, I 'm sorry tc* say; Has been better, no doubt, than she finds it to-day ; Yet when you reflect she 's been somewhat neglected, She 's really as well as coiild well be expected ; And, spite of ill-treatment and premature fears. Is a hearty old lady, for one of her years. Indeed, I must tell you a bit of a tale, To show you she 's feeling remarkably hale ; ic,2 CARMEN LMTUM. How she turned up her nose, but a short time ago, At a rather good-looking importunate beau, And how she refused, with a princess-like carriage " A very respectable offer of marriage." * You see, my dear Brothers, a neighboring College Who values himself on the depth of his knowledge, With a prayer for her love, and an eye to her land, Walked up to the lady and offered his hand. For a minute or so she was all in a flutter, And had not a word she could audibly utter ; For she felt in her bosom, beyond all concealing, A kind of a — sort of a — widow-like feeling ! But recovering soon from the delicate shock. She held up her head like an old-fashioned clock. And, with proper composure, went on and defined, In suitable phrases, the state of her mind ; Said she would n't mind changing her single condition, Could she fairly expect to improve her position ; And thus, by some words of equivocal scope, Gave her lover decided " permission to hope." It were idle to talk of the billing and cooing The amorous gentleman used in his wooing ; Or how she replied to his pressing advances, His ojcular touches and ocular glances ; — 'T is enough that his courtship, by all that is known, Was quite the old story, and much like your own ! Thus the matter went on, till the lady found out, One very fine day, what the rogue was about, — That all that he wanted was merely the power * Allusion is had, in this and subsequent lines, to an unsuccessful at- tempt to unite Middlebury College with the University of Vermont. The affair is here treated with the license of a dinner poem, and with the par- tiality permitted to the occasion. CARMEN LMTUM. jgj By marital license to pocket her dower, And then to discard her in sorrow and shame, Bereaved of her home and her name and her fame. In deep indignation she turned on her heel, With such withering scorn as a lady might feel For a knave, who, in stealing her miniature case, Should take the gold setting, and leave her the face ! But soon growing calm as the breast of the deep. When the breezes are hushed that the waters may sleep, She sat in her chair, like a dignified elf. And thus, while I listened, she talked to herself: — " Nay, 't was idle to think of so foolish a plan As a match with this pert University-man, For I have n't a chick but would redden with shame At the very idea of my losing my name ; And would feel that no sorrow so heavy could come To his mother as losing her excellent home. 'T is true I am weak, but my children are strong, And won't see me suffer privation or wrong ; So, away with the dream of connubial joys, I '11 stick to the homestead, and look to the boys ! " How joyous, my friends, is the cordial greeting Which gladdens the heart at a family meeting ; When brothers assemble at Friendship's old shrine To look at the present, and talk of " Lang Syne" ! Ah ! well I remember the halcyon years. Too earnest for laughter, too pleasant for tears. When life was a boon in yon classical court, Though lessons were long, and though commons were short! Ah ! well I remember those excellent men. Professors and tutors, who reigned o'er us then ; Who guided our feet over Science's bogs, 9 " 194 CARMEN LMTUM. And led us quite safe through Philosophy's fogs. ' Ah ! well I remember the President's * face, As he sat at the lecture with dignified grace, And neatly unfolded the mystical themes Of various deep metaphysical schemes, — How he brightened the path of his studious flock. As he gave them a key to that wonderful Locke j How he taught us to feel it was fatal indeed With too much reliance to lean upon Reid; That Stewart was sounder, but wrong at the last. From following his master a little too fast, — Then closed the discourse in a scholarly tone. With a clear and intelligent creed of his own. That the man had his faults it were safe to infer, — Though I really don't recollect what they were, — I barely remember this one little truth, When his case was discussed by the critical youth. The Seniors and Freshmen were sure to divide. And the former were all on the President's side I And well I remember another, whose praise Were a suitable theme for more elegant lays ; But even in numbers ungainly and rough, I must mention the name of our glorious HoUGH ! Who does not remember ? for who can forget. Tin Memory's star shall forever have set. How he sat in his place unaffected and bold. And taught us more truths than the lesson had told ? Gave a lift to " Old NOL," for the love of the right, And a slap at the Stuarts, with cordial spite ; And, quite in the teeth of conventional rules. Hurled his adjectives down upon tyrants and fools ? But, chief, he excelled in his proper vocation • Joshua Bates, D. D. MY BOYHOOD. 195 Of giving the classics a classic translation ; In Latin and Greek he was almost oracular, And, what 's more to his praise, understood the vernac- ular. O, 't was pleasant to hear him make English of Greek, Till you felt that no tongue was inherently weak ; While Horace in Latin seemed quite understated. And r^oiced like old Enoch in being translated ! And others there were — but the hour would fail, To bring them all up in historic detail ; And yet I would give, ere the moment has fled, A sigh for the absent, a tear for the dead. There 's not one of them all, where'er he may rove, In the shadows of earth, or the glories above, In the home of his birth, or in lands far away. But comes back to be kindly remembered to-day ! One little word more, and my duty is done ; — A health to our Mother, from each mother's son ! Unfading in beauty, increasing in strength, May she flourish in health through the century's length ; And next when her children come round her to boast, May Esto perpetna then be the toast ! MY BOYHOOD. AH me ! those joyous days are gone ! I little dreamt, till they were flown. How fleeting were the hours ! For, lest he break the pleasing spell. Time bears for youth a muffled bell, And hides his face in flowers ! 96 MY BOYHOOD. Ah ! well I mind me of the days, Still bright in memory's flattering rays, When all was fair and new ; When knaves were only found in books, And friends were known by friendly looks, And love was always true ! While yet of sin I scar ?Iy dreamed. And everything was what it seemed, And all too bright for choice ; When fays were wont to guard my sleep, And Crusoe still could make me weep. And Sa}ita Claus, rejoice ! When Heaven was pictured to my thought (In spite of all my mother taught Of happiness serene) A theatre of boyish plays, — One glorious round of holidays. Without a school between ! Ah me ! those joyous days are gone ; I little dreamt, till they were flown, How fleeting were the hours'. For, lest he break the pleasing spell. Time bears for youth a muffled bell, And hides his face in flowers ! POST 'PRANDIAL VERSES. igy POST-PRANDIAL VERSES. RECITED AT THE FESTIVAL OF THE PSI UPSILON FRATER- NITY, IN BOSTON, JULY 21, 1853. TAEAR Brothers, who sit at this bountiful board, ^—' With excellent viands so lavishly stored. That, in newspaper phrase, 't would undoubtedly groan. If groaning were but a convivial tone. Which it is n't, — and therefore, by sympathy led. The table, no doubt, is rejoicing instead. Dear Brothers, I rise, — and it won't be surprising If you find me, like bread, all the better for rising, — I rise to express my exceeding delight In our cordial reunion this glorious night ! Success to " Psi Upsilon ! " — Beautiful name ! — To the eye and the ear it is pleasant the same ; Many thanks to old Cadmus who made us his debtors, By inventing, one day, those capital letters Which still, from the heart, we shall know how to speak When we Ve fairly forgotten the rest of our Greek ! To be open and honest in all that you do ; To every high trust to be faithful and true ; In aught that concerns morality's scheme. To be more ambitious to be than to seemj To cultivate honor as higher in worth Than favor of fortune, or genius, or birth ; By every endeavor to render your lives As spotless and fair as your — possible wives ; To treat with respect all the innocent rules 198 POST-PRANDIAL VERSES. That keep us at peace with society's fools ; But to face every canon that e'er was designed To batter a town or beleaguer a mind, Ere you yield to the Moloch that Fashion has reared One jot of your freedom, or hair of your beard, — All this, and much more, I might venture to teach. Had I only a " call " — and a " license to preach " — But since I have not, to my modesty true, 1 '11 lay it all by — as a layman should do — And drop a few lines, tipt with Momus's flies, To angle for shiners — that lurk in your eyes ! May you ne'er get in love or in debt with a doubt As to whether or no you will ever get out ; May you ne'er have a mistress who plays the coquette, Or a neighbor who blows on a cracked clarionet ; May you learn the first Use of a lock on your door, And ne'er, like Adonis, be killed by a bore ; Shun canting and canters with resolute force ; (A " canter " is shocking, except in a horse ;) At jovial parties mind what you are at, Beware of your head and talce care of your hat, Lest you find that a favorite son of your mother Has a brick in the one and an ache in the other ; May you never, I pray, to worry your life. Have a weak-minded friend, or a strong-minded wife ; A tailor distrustful, or partner suspicious ; A dog that is rabid, or nag that is vicious ; Above all — the chief blessing the gods can impart — May you keep a clear head and a generous heart ; Remember 't is blessdd to give and forgive ; Live chiefly to love, and love while you live ; And dying, when life's little journey is done. May your last, fondest sigh, be Psi Upsilon ! THE SILVER WEDDING. rgg THE SILVER WEDDING. TO JOHN NEWMAN, D. D. " A WEDDING of Silver!— and what shall we -^ *- do ? " I said in response to my excellent spouse, Who hinted, this morning, we ought to renew, According to custom, our conjugal vows. " I would n't much mind it, now — if — and suppose — The bride were a blooming — Ah! well — on my life, I think — to be candid — (don't turn up your nose !) That every new wedding should bring a new wife ! " " And, what if it should 'i " was the laughing reply ; " Do you think, my dear John, you could ever obtain Another so fond and faithful as I, Should you purchase a wig, and go courting again ? " " Ah ! darling " — I answered — " 't is just as you say " ; And, clasping a waist rather shapely than small, I kissed the dear girl in so ardent a way You would n't have guessed we were married at all ! My wedding-day, Doctor, is also your own ! And so I send greeting to bridegroom and bride, — The latter a wife good as ever was known ; The former well worthy her homage and pride. 200 THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEW. God bless your new nuptials ! — Still happy at home, May you both grow serenely and gracefully old ; And, till the auriferous wedding shall come, Find the years that are past were as silver to gold ! September 9, 1S66. THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEW. GOOD by, Old Year ! — I can but say. Sadly I see thee passing away ; Passing away with the hopes and fears. The bliss and pain, the smiles and tears. That come to us all in all the years. Good by, Old Year ! — Little indeed Thy friendly voice we were wont to heed. Telling us, warning us every day : — " Transient mortals ! work and pray; You, like me, are passing away ! " Good by. Old Year ! — Whatever may be The sins and stains thou hast chanced to see, Consider, O Year ! to purge the same. And wash away the sin and shame. Whilst thou wert passing, Christmas came ! Good by, Old Year ! — With words of grace Leave us to him who takes thy place ; And say. Old Year, unto the New, " Kindly, carefully, carry them through, For much, I ween, they have yet to do 1 " KOGER BONTEMPS. 201 AUGUSTA. " Incedit regina I " "TTANDSOME and haughty !" — a comment that J- J- came From Ups which were never accustomed to mahce ; A girl with a presence superb as her name, And charmingly fitted for love — in a palace ! And oft I have wished (for in musing alone One's fancy is apt to be very erratic) That the lady might wear — No ! I never will own A thought so decidedly undemocratic ! — But if 't were a coronet — this I '11 aver, No duchess on earth could more gracefully wear it ; And even a democrat — thinking of her — Might surely be pardoned for wishing to share it ! ROGER BONTEMPS. IMITATED FROM siRANGER. BY way of good example To all the gloomy clan, There came into existence Good Robin Merryman. To laugh at those who grumble. And be jolly as he can, — O that 's the only system Of Robin Merryman ! 9' ROGER BONTEMPS. II. A hat so very ancient It might have covered Moses, Adorned, on great occasions, With ivy-leaves or roses ; A coat the very coarsest Since tailoring began, — O that 's the gay apparel Of Robin Merryman ! III. Within his cottage Robin With joyful eye regards A table and a bedstead, A flute, a pack of cards, A chest — with nothing in it, — An earthen wafer-can, — O these are all the riches Of Robin Merryman! IV. To teach the village children The funniest kind of plays ; To tell a clever story ; To dance on holidays ; To puzzle through the almanac ; A merry song to scan, — O that is all the learning Of Robin Merryman ! V. To drink his mug of cider. And never sigh for wine ; To look at courtly ladies. Yet think his Mag divine ; THE KING OF NORMANDY. To take the good that 's going, Content with Nature's plan, — O that is the philosophy Of Robifi Merryman ! VI. To say, " O Gracious Father ! Excuse my merry pranks ; For all thy loving-kindness I give thee hearty thanks ; And may I still be jolly Through life's remaining span," - O that 's the style of praying With Robin Merryman ! VII. Now, all ye wretched mortals Aspiring to be rich ; And ye whose gilded coaches Have tumbled in the ditch ; Leave off your silly whining, Adopt a wiser plan ; Go follow the example Of Robin Merryman 1 THE KING OF NORMANDY, (From Biranger's " Le Roi d'Yvetot") I. ■ N Normandy there reigned a king 203 I (I 've quite forgot his name), Who led a jolly sort of life, And did n't care for fame. 204 THE KING OF NORMANDY. A nightcap was his crown of state, Which Jenny placed upon his pate: Ha ! ha ! — laugh and sing : O was n't he a funny king ? II. He ate his meals, like other folk, Slept soundly and secure. And on a donkey every year He made his royal tour ; A little dog — it was his whim — Was body-guard enough for hiin. ; Ha ! ha ! — laugh and sing : O was n't he a funny king ? III. A single foible he confessed, — A tendency to drink ; But kings who heed their subjects' need, Should mind their own, I think ; And thus it was his tax he got, — For every cask an extra pot : Ha ! ha ! — laugh and sing : O was n't he a funny king ? IV. The lasses loved this worthy king ; And many a merry youth Would hail his majesty as " Sire,'' And often spoke the truth. He viewed his troops in goodly ranks, But still their cartridges were blanks. Ha ! ha ! — laugh and sing : O was n't he a funny king ? THE HUNTER AND THE MILKMAID. 205 V. He never stole his neighbors' land To magnify his realm ; But steered his little ship of state With honor at the helm ; And when at last the king was dead, No wonder all the people said : — " Ah ! ah ! — weep and sing : O was n't he a noble king ? " THE HUNTER AND THE MILKMAID. (From Beranger's " Le Chasseur et la Laitifere.") THE lark is singing her matin lay, O come with me, fair maiden, I pray ; Sweet, O sweet is the morning hour, And sweeter still is yon ivied bower ; Wreaths of roses I '11 twine for thee, O come, fair maiden, along with me ! Ah ! Sir Hunter, my mother is near; I really must n't be loitering here ! Thy mother, fair maiden, is far away, And never will listen a word we say ; I '11 sing thee a song that ladies sing In royal castles to please the king ; A wondrous song whose magical charm Will keep the singer from every harm. Fie! Sir Hunter, — a fig for your song; Good by! — for I must be going along! zo6 THE HUNTER AND THE MILKMAID. Ah ! well, — if singing will not prevail, I 'II tell thee, then, a terrible tale ; 'T is all about a Baron so bold. Huge and swart, and ugly and old, Who saw the ghost of his murdered wife, — A pleasant story, upon my life I Ah ! Sir Hunter, the story is flat ; / know one worth a dozen of that. IV. I '11 teach thee, then, a curious prayer Of wondrous power the wolf to scare. And frighten the witch that hovers nigh To blight the young with her evil eye ; O guard, fair maiden, thy beauty well, A fearful thing is her wicked spell ! O, I can read my missal, you know ; Good by ! Sir Hunter, — for I must go ! V. Nay, tarry a moment, my charming girl ; Here is a jewel of gold and pearl ; A beautiful cross it is, I ween, As ever on beauty's breast was seen : There 's nothing at all but love to pay ; Take it, and wear it, but only stay ! Ah ! Sir Hunter, what excellent taste ! I ^m not — in such — particular — haste! THE DINNER. 207 THE DINNER. FROM THE GERMAN OF GOETHE. AH ! many a guest is coming Around my table to-day ; The fish, the flesh, and the poultry Are smoking in goodly array ; The invitations were special. They say they will surely appear ; Hans ! go look at the window ; Time that the people were here ! Girls are coming by dozens. Maidens whom even their foes Never have once detected Kissing beneath the rose ; Such are the damsels invited ; They said they would surely appear ; Hans ! go look at the window ; Time that the maidens were here ! Plenty of fine young fellows Are coming to drink my health ; Civil, and moral, and modest, Spite of their titles and wealth ; The invitations were early ; They say they will surely appear ; Hans ! go look at the window ; Time that the younkers were here ! Plenty of wives are coming, Such as the ugliest spouse ^o8 THE DINNER. Never has driven a moment To think of breaking their vows ; How pleasant to see them together ; They said they would surely appear ; Hans 1 go look at the window ; Time that the women were here ! Husbands also are coming, Models of temperate lives ; Men who are blind to beauty, Save, in their excellent wives ; All were politely invited ; And say they will surely appear ; Hans ! go look at the window ; Time that the fellows were here ! Poets are also invited ; The pleasantest ever were known ; Who list to another's verses Cheerfully as to their own ; What capital dining companions ! They said they would surely appear ; Hans ! go look at the window ; Time that the poets were here ! Alas ! — with watching and waiting. The dinner is certainly spoiled ; The viands are cold in the dishes. The roast and the baked and the boiled ; Perhaps we were over-punctilious ; Our feast is a failure, I fear ! Hans ! come away from the window ; Never a one will be here I FOOLS INCORRIGIBLE. 209 FOOLS INCORRIGIBLE. FROM THE GERMAN OF GOETHE. I. ALL the old sages, however indeed They wrangle and fight in the bitterest way, In one thing, at least, are fully agreed : They wink at each other and laughingly say, For the mending of fools it is foolish to wait. Fools will befools as certain as fate j Sons of Wisdom ! make ''em your tools ; That, only that, is the use of fools / II. Merlin, the ancient, — long in his shroud, — Where I accosted him once in my youth, Unto my questioning answered aloud. Solemnly speaking this notable truth : For the mending of fools it is foolish to wait. Fools will be fools as certain as fate; Sons of Wisdom ! make 'em your tools; That, only that, is the use of fools ! III. High on the top of an Indian mound I heard it once in the passing air ; And Egypt's vaults, deep under the ground, The same old tale were echoing there : For the mending of fools it is foolish to wait. Fools will be fools as certain as fate; Sons of Wisdom ! make 'em your tools. That, only that, is the use of fools ! 2IO THE BEST OF HUSBANDS. THE BEST OF HUSBANDS. FROM THE GERMAN. OI HAVE a man as good as can be ; No woman could wish for a better than he ; Sometimes, indeed, he may chance to be wrong, But his love for me is uncommonly strong ! He has one little fault that makes me fret, He has ever less money, by far, than debt; Moreover he thrashes me now and then ; But, excepting that, he 's the best of men 1 I own he is dreadfully given to drink ; Besides, he is rather too fond, I think. Of playing at cards and dice ; but then, Excepting that, he 's the best of men ? He loves to chat with the girls, I know ('T is the way with men, — they are always so) ; But what care I for his flirting, when. Excepting that, he 's the best of men ? When soaked with rum, he is hardly poUte, But knocks the crockery left and right ; And pulls my hair, and growls again. But excepting that, he 's the best of men ! I can't but say I think he is rash To pawn my pewter, and spend the cash. But I have n't the heart to scold him, when, Excepting that, he 's the best of men ! What joy to think he is all my own ! The best of husbands that ever was known ; As good, indeed, as a man can be ; And who could wish for a better than he? LOVE POEMS. LOVE POEMS WOULDN'T YOU LIKE TO KNOW? A MADRIGAL. I. I KNOW a girl with teeth of pearl, And shoulders white as snow ; She lives, — ah ! well, I must not tell, — Would n't you like to know ? II. Her sunny hair is wondrous fair. And wavy in its flow ; Who made it less One little tress, — Would n't you like to know ? III. Her eyes are blue (celestial hue I) And dazzling in their glow ; 214 WOULDN'T YOU LIKE TO JCNOW? On whom fliey beam With melting gleam, — Would n't you like to know ? IV. Her lips are red and finely wed, Like roses ere they blow ; What lover sips Those dewy lips, — Would n't you like to know ? Her fingers are like lilies fair When lilies fairest grow ; Whose hand they press With fond caress, — Would n't you like to know ? VI. Her foot is small, and has a fall Like snowflakes on the snow ; And where it goes Beneath the rose, — Would n't you like to know ? VII. She has a name, the sweetest name That language can bestow ; 'T would break the spell If I should tell, — Would n't you like to know ? THE LOVER'S VISION. THE LOVER'S VISION. I. IN my watching, or my dreaming, Came to me a blessed vision ; Whether real or but seeming, Boots me not to make decision ; This I know — 'twas all elysian ! By me sat a maiden fairer Than the Oda's king possesses ; But I wrong her to compare her — Happy, happy whom she blesses With her kisses and caresses ! III. Golden hair, like sunlight streaming On the marble of her shoulder. That with soft and snowy gleaming Witched the eye of the beholder — Dazed me — crazed me to enfold her ! IV. Heart to heart we sat together ; (Ah ! to feel her bosom's beating !) Hand in hand in loving tether ; Lip with Up in rapture meeting. Parting but for closer greeting ! V. Oft and oft I would be dreaming. Could I bring that happy vision ! 215 2i6 THE OATH. Was it real ? or but seeming ? Boots me not to make decision ; This I know — 't was all elysian ! THE OATH. " "TAON'T forget me ! " sighing sadly, -»-^ So my darling bade farewell ; Haply deeming I would gladly Disenchant me of her spell. Ah ! the siren ! when did Beauty Ask in vain Love's simple debt ? Or whene'er did languid Duty Heed the warning, " Don't forget ! " By her eyes where love reposes ; By her wealth of golden hair ; By her cheek's ungathered roses ; By her neck divinely fair ; By her bosom, throne of blisses, Hiding from the wanton light, Pale with envy at the kisses That her bolder lips invite ; By the hours so sweetly squandered In the summer afternoons ; By the orcbard where we wandered In the sheen of harvest moons ; By the poets, new and olden. Who in pity lent us speech UNREST. 217 For the fancies, rare and golden, That our words could never reach, — By all these my oath is given. Though my soul remember not Earthly fame or hope of heaven, She shall never be forgot ! UNREST. ONE o'clock ! and still I ponder On the joys of yesterday ; Never lover weaker, fonder, Sighed the weary hours away. Ill-content with saying, singing, All its worship o'er and o'er ; Still the heart would fain be clinging Round its idol, evermore ! Half in pleasure, half in sorrow. Thinking o'er each fervent kiss, — Still I vainly strive to borrow From the Past its buried bliss. Now I hear her fondly sighing, As when late we sat alone. While the dancers' feet were flying. Ah ! the sigh is but my own ! " Thus my darling I would smother ! " In my dreaming oft I say ; Foolish lips ! that kiss each other ! Hers, alas ! are far away ! 2i8 TO MY LOVE. On my cheek I feel the billow Of her glowing bosotft beat,— ^ Ah ! 't is but the pulseless pillow ! Shall I curse, or bless the cheat? Dreaming — waking — I am weary ; Would that morning might appear ; O, 't is dreary — very dreary — Thus to love, and not be near I TO MY LOVE. " Da mi basia." — Catollos. I. IV' ISS me softly and speak to me low ; ■*-^ Malice has evetr a Vigilant ear ; What if Malice were lurking near ? Kiss Rie, dear ! tCiss me softly and speak to me low. II. Kiss me softly and speak to me low ; Envy too has a watchful ear ; What if Envy should chance to hear ? Kiss me, dear ! Kiss me softly and speak to me low. III. Kiss me softly and speak to me low ; Trust me, darling, the time is near When we may love with never a fear-, Kiss me, dear ! Kiss me softly and speak to me How^ TO LESBM^ 219 TO LESBIA. " On s*embrasse a chaque instant, Puis encore 1 " Victor Hogo. I. GIVE me kisses ! — do not stay, Counting in that careful way ; All the coins your lips cah print Never will exhaust the mint ; Kiss me, then, Every moment — and again 1 II. Give me kisses ! — do not stop, Measuring hect'ar by the drop ; Though to millions they amount. They will nevet drain the fount;; Kiss me, then, Every moment '■^ and again ! III. Give me kisses ! — all is waste Save the luxury we taste ; And for kissing — kisses live Only when we take or give ; Kiss me, then. Every moment — and again ! IV. Give live kisses l^thbQgh their WoTtfe Far exceeds the g'ertis of earthy MV SAXON BLONDE. Never pearls so rich and pure Cost so little, I am sure ; Kiss me, then, Every moment — and again ! V. Give me kisses ! — Nay, 't is true I am just as rich as you ; And for every kiss I owe, I can pay you back, you know ; Kiss me, then. Every moment — and again ! MY SAXON BLONDE. THEY say the dark-eyed maids of Spain Are passionate and fond ; But eyes of blue are tender and true ; Give me my Saxon blonde 1 An arch coquette is the bright brunette ; Blithe and merry and gay ; Her love may last till the Summer is past, But my blonde's forever and aye ! If bards of old the truth have told. The Sirens have raven hair ; But o'er the earth, since art had birth. They paint the Angels fair 1 DARLING, TELL ME YES. 221 Ah, well ! — maybe, the truth to see, A lover is over fond ; And I can't deny — nor will I try — My love is a golden blonde ! DARLING, TELL ME YES. A SONG. ONE little moment more, Maud ; One little whisper more ; I have a word to speak, Maud, I never breathed before. What can it be but love, Maud ? And do I rightly guess 'T is pleasant to your ear, Maud? darling ! tell raeyes/ II. The burden of my heart, Maud, There 's little need to tell ; There 's little need to say, Maud, 1 've loved you long and well. There 's language in a sigh, Maud, One 's meaning to express ; And yours — was it for tne, Maud .' O darling ! tell laeyes / III. My eyes have told my love, Maud ; And on my burning cheek 222 TIME AND lOVE. You 've read the tender thought, Maud, My lips refused to speak. I gave you all niy heart, Maud ; 'T is needless to confess ; And did you give me yours, Maud ? O darling ! tell vaayes/ 'T is sad to starve a love, Maud, So worshipful and true ; I know a little cot, Maud, Quite large enough for two ; And you will be my wife, Maud ? So may you ever bless. Through all your sunny life, Maud, The day you answered yes J TIME AND LOVE. AN ALI-EGOJIY. OLD Time and young Love, on a morning in May, Chanced to n;ieet by a river in halcyon weather. And, agreeing for once, ("t is a fable, you '11 say,) In the same little boat made a voyage together. Strong, steady, and patient. Time pulled at his oar, And swift o'er the water the voyagers go ; But Love — who was thinking of Pleasure on shore — Complained th^t his boatman was wretchedly slow. TIME AND LOVE. 223 But Time, the old sailor, expert at his trade, And knowing the leagues that remained to be done, Content with the regular speed that he made, Tugged away at his oar and kept steadily on. Love, always impatient of doubt or delay, - Now sighed for the aid of the favoring gales, And scolded at Time, in the sauciest way, For not having furnished the shallop with sails. But Time, as serene as a calendar saint, (Whatever the graybeard was thinking upon,) All-deaf to the voice of the younker's complaint. Tugged away at his oar and kept steadily on. Love, vexed at the heart, only clamored the more. And cried, " By the gods ! in what country or clime Was ever a lubber who handled an oar In so lazy a fashion as old Father Time ! " But Time only smiled in a cynical way, ('T is often the mode with your elderly Don,) As one who knows more than he cares to display. And still at his oar pulled steadily on. Grown calmer at last, the exuberant boy Enlivens the minutes with snatches of rhyme ; The voyage, at length, he begins to enjoy. And soon has forgotten the presence of Time I But Time, the severe, egotistical elf. Since the day that his travels he entered upon. Has ne'er for a moment forgotten himself, But tugs at his oar and keeps steadily on. 224 LOVE'S CALENDAR. Awaking once more, Love sees with a sigh That the River of Life will be presently passed, And now he breaks forth with a piteous cry, " O Time, gentle Time ! you are rowing too fast ! " But Time, well knowing that Love will be dead, Dead, — dead ! in the boat ! — ere the voyage is done, Only gives him an ominous shake of the head. While he tugs at his oar and keeps steadily on ! LOVE'S CALENDAR. TO AN ABSENT WIFE. O SINCE 'tis decreed by the envious Fates, All deaf to the clamoring heart, That the truest and fondest of conjugal mates Shall often be sighing apart ; Since the Days of our absence are many and sad, And the Hours of our meeting are few ; Ah ! what in a case so exceedingly bad, Can the deepest philosophy do ? Pray what can we do, — unfortunate elves, Unconscious of folly or crime, — But make a new Calendar up for ourselves, For the better appraisal of time ? And the Hoicrs alone shall the Calendar fill, (While Blanks show their distance apart,) Just sufficiently near to keep off the chill That else might be freezing the heart ; THE LAWYER-' S VALENTINE. 225 And each Hour shall be such a glorious hour, Its moments so precious and dear, That in breadth, and in depth, and in bliss-giving power. It may fairly be reckoned a year ! THE LAWYER'S VALENTINE. T 'M notified, fair neighbor mine, -*- By one of our profession. That this — the Term of Valentine — Is Cupid's Special Session. Permit me, therefore, to report Myself, on this occasion. Quite ready to proceed to Court, And File my Declaration. I 've an Attachment for you, too ; A legal and a strong one ; O, yield unto the Process, do ; Nor let it be a long one ! No scowling bailiff lurks behind ; He 'd be a precious noddy. Who, faiUng to Arrest the mind, Should go and Take the Body ! For though a form hke yours might throw A sculptor in distraction ; I could n't serve a Capias — no — I 'd scorn so base an Action ! TO« o A REASONABLE PETITION}. O, do hot tell taie of your youth, And turn away demurely ; For though you 're very young, in truth. You 're not an Infant surely ! The Case is everything to me ; My heart is love's own tissue ; Don't plead a Dilatory Plea ; Let '« have the General Issue ! Or, — since you 've really no Defence, Why not, this present Session, Omitting all absurd jjretenCe, Give Judgment by Confession? So shall you be my lawful wife ; And I — your faithful lover ^— Be Tenant of your heart for -Life, With no Remainder over 4 A REASONABLE PETITION. YOU say, dearest girl, yOu esteem mc. And hint of respectful Tfigard, And I 'm certain it would n't beseem me Such an Excellent gift to discard. But even the Graces, you'll own, Would lose half their be'auty apart, — And Esteem^ when she stands all iXaa&, Looks most unbecomingly tart. So grant me,^ear girl, this petition : ^^ If Esteem e'er again s'hciuld come hithfer, Just to keep her in cheerful condition. Let Love tome ih compariy with her ! THE CHAPEL OF TWO SAINTS. 227 THE CHAPEL OP TWO SAINTS. IN a famous Tuscan city Stands a chapel snug and small ; Some old penitent's oblation, Wiih a. double dedication, To St. Peter and' St. Paul To a soul so stoutly guarded What of evil could befall ? When Was eve/ plan completer Without robbery of Peter, Paying thus his due to Paul? There it was 1 saw a lady. Very round and ripe and tall ; Surely never face was sweeter Than she turned upon St. Peter, After bowing to St. Paul. Long and ardently I worshipped, — Not the Saints, nor yet their Muster, But my feminine ideal ; Mea culpa ! she was real Flesh and blood, and they were plaster J Good St. Anthony was tempted, Though a frigid old divine (Showing saints are only human), But he never saw a woman Half so beautiful as mine ! 228 THE LITTLE MAID AND THE LAWYER. Pardon then my bad behavior, (Thus upon the twain I call,) As if you were in my case, And were asking special grace Of St. Peter and St. Paul ! THE LITTLE MAID AND THE LAWYER. A SONG. THEY say, little maid, quoth Lawyer Brown, I 'm the cleverest man in all the town. Heigh-ho ! — says she, What 's that to me ? But they say, little maid, quoth Lawyer Brown, You 're the prettiest girl in all the town ! Says she. If they do. What 's that to you ? II. They say, little maid, quoth Lawyer Brown, I 'm the richest man in all the town. Heigh-ho ! — says she, What 's that to me ? But they say, little maid, quoth Lawyer Brown, You ought to be dressed in a finer gown ! Says she. If they do, What 's that to you ? They say, little maid, quoth Lawyer Brown, That Johnny Hodge is an awkward clown. DRINKING SONG. 229 Heigh-ho ! — says she, What 's that to me ? But they say, little maid, the lawyer said, That you and Johnny are going to wed 1 Says she. If we do, What 's that to you? DRINKING SONG. BY A TEETOTALER. " Ex ipso fonte bibi." — Ovid. T 'VE been drinking — I 've been drinking ' -L To intoxication's edge ; Do not chide me, — for the tipple Was n't mentioned in the pledge 1 Nay, believe me, — 't was not Brandy Wrought the roses that you see ; One may get a finer crimson From a purer eau-de-vie. No, indeed, — it was not Claret (That were something over-weak) ; There 's a vastly better vintage .For the painting of a cheek. Not Angelica — the honey By Loyola's children pressed From the Andalusian clusters Ripened in the Golden West ; 23'© DRINKING SONG. Not Madeira, Hock, nor Sheity ; No, indeed, \ is none of these Make's me giddy in the forehead, Makes me tremble in the knees. No ; 't is not the Gallic "Widow" That has turned my foolish brain, Nor the wine of any vineyard Found in Germany or Spain. Nay — 1 own it ! -^ 't ite the neCtat That a favored lover sips, (All unheeding of the dahger !) From a maiden's pulpy lips 1 This it is that I 've been drinking To intoxication's edge ; Till I marvel that the tipple Is n't mentioned in the pledge ! For the ta-ste is so enchanting 'T is impossible to see, Should it grow into a habit, What the consequence may be. Well — I '11 heed the sage's lessoti, (Pleasant ^^ though it prove in vain,) And by drinking very largely Try to sobei- me again ! EGO ET ECMO. EGO ]ET ECHO. A FANTASY. I ASKED of Echo, 't other day, (Whose words are few and often funny,) What to a novice she could say Of courtship, love, and matrimony ? Quoth Echo, plainly : " Matter-o^-mo}tey /" II. Whom should I marry ?-^^ should it be A dashing damselj gay and pert, -^ A pattern of inconstancy ; Or selfish, mercenary fliit ? Quoth Echo, sharply: "Nary flirt!" III. What if — aweary of the strife That long has lured "the dear deceiver — She promisfe to amend her life. And sin no iftb're, can t Ijelieve her? Quoth Echo, very p'r'Oin'ptiy: "Leaveher!" IV. But if some maiden with a hfeart, On me should venture to bestow it : Pray, should 1 act the wiser part To take the treasure, or forego it ? Quoth Echo, with decision : " Go it I" 231 232 ^GO ET ECHO. V. Suppose a billet-doux (in rhyme), As warm as if Catullus penned it, Declare her beauty so sublime That Cytherea's can't transcend it, — Quoth Echo, very clearly : " Send it I " VI. But what if, seemingly afraid To bind her fate in Hymen's fetter, She vow she means to die a maid, — In answer to my loving letter? Quoth Echo, rather coolly : " Let her I " VII. What if, in spite of her disdain, I find my heart entwined about With Cupid's dear delicious chain, So closely that I can't get out ? Quoth Echo, laughingly : " Get out 1 " VIII. But if some maid with beauty blest, As pure and fair as Heaven can make her, Will share my labor and my rest, Till envious Death shall overtake her ? — Quoth Echo (sotto voce) : " Take her!" THE MAIDEN TO THE MOON. 233 THE MAIDEN TO THE MOON.' r\ MOON ! did you see ^-^ My lover and me In the valley beneath the sycamore-tree ? Whatever befell, O Moon ! — don't tell — 'T was nothing amiss, you know very well ! O Moon ! — you know, A long time ago You left the sky and descended below, Of a Summer's night. By your own sweet Ught, To meet your Endymion on Latmos height. And there, O Moon ! You gave him a boon. You would n't, I 'm sure, have granted at noon ; 'T was nothing amiss. Being only the bliss Of giving — and taking — an innocent kiss ! Some churlish lout. Who was spying about, Went off and blabbed — and so it got out ; But for all the gold The sea could hold, O Moon ! — /would n't have gone and told I So, Moon ! — don't tell. Whatever befeU 234 z>A/sr £>Ay. My lover and me in the leafy dell ; He is honest and true, And, remember, too, We only behaved like your lover and you ! I DAISY DAY. A REMINISCENCE OF TRAVEL. T was in an Irish city. In the pleasant month of May, That I met the clever, pretty. Lively, lovely Daisy Day. Like myself, a transient ranger From Columbia's troubled shore, Could I deem her quite a stranger, Though we never met before ? Love of country — so despotic In our precious native land — Finds us doubly patriotic. Straying on a foreign strand ; Hence, perhaps, her friendly manner, And my pulse's quicker play, When, beneath St. Patrick's banner, I accosted Daisy Day. Bless me ! how all eyes were centred On her, when the parlor door Opened, and the lady entered - Like a queen upon the floor ! 'T was as if, that summer even, Some superlative perfume, TO A BEAUTIFUL STRANGER. 235 Wafted by the breath of Heaven, Suddenly had filled the ropm 1 Happy favorite of Nature, Hebe in her sunny face, Juno in her queenly stature, More than Juno in her grace, Eyes befitting Beauty's goddess. Mouth to steal your heart away, Bust that strained her ample boddice, — Such was charming Daisy Pay ! Well — what then ?^ Ah ! Holy Mather ! Pardon one pathetic sigh ; She 's the " partner " of another. And — I own it — so am I ! But a poet owes to Beauty More than common men can pay, And I 've done my simple duty. Singing thus ef Daisy Day ! TO A BEAUTIFUL STRANGER. A GLANCE, a smile, — I see it yet ! — A moment ere the train was starting ; How strange to tell 1 — we scarcely met. And yet I felt a pang at parting ! And you (alas ! that all the while 'T is / alone who am confessing !) What thought was lurking in your smile Is quite beyond my simple guessing. 236 ^ PHILOSOPHICAL QUERY. I only know those beaming rays Awoke in me a strange emotion, Which, basking in their warmer blaze. Perhaps might kindle to devotion. Ah ! many a heart as stanch as this, By smiling lips allured from Duty, Has sunk in Passion's dark abyss, — " Wrecked on the coral reefs of Beauty 1 " And so, 't is well the train's swift flight That bore away my charming stranger Took her — God bless her ! — out of sight. And me, as quickly, out of danger ! A PHILOSOPHICAL QUERY. T F Virtue be measured by what we resist, -*- When against Inclination we strive. You and I have been proved, we may fairly insist. The most virtuous mortals alive ! Now Virtue, we know, is the brightest of pearls, But as Pleasure is hard of evasion. Should we envy, or pity, the stoical churls Who never have known a temptation ? LIP-SERVICE. LIP-SERVICE. JULIA once and once again, In coquettish fashion, Heedless of her lover's pain. Mocked his burning passion : " Words of worship lightly fall From a courtier, surely ; Mere lip-service — that is all ! " Said the maid, demurely. II. Then his kisses fell like dew (Just where Love would choose 'em) On her mouth, — and through and through Thrilled her glowing bosom ; Till she felt — nor uttered she Whisper of negation — " Mere lip-service '' still may be Perfect adoration ! 237 FAIRY TALES, LEGENDS, AND APOLOGUES. FAIRY TALES, LEGENDS, AND APOLOGUES. FATHER PUMPKIN; OR, ALWAYS IN LUCK. AN ARABIAN TALE. I. T N Cairo once there dwelt a worthy man, -•- -Toilsome and frugal, but extremely poor; " Howe'er," he grumbled, " I may toil and plan, The wolf is ever howling at my door, While arrant rascals thrive and prosper ; hence I much misdoubt the ways of Providence. n. " Allah is Allah ; and, we all agree, Mohammed is his Prophet. Be it so ; But what .'s Mohammed ever done for me, To boil my kettle, I should like to know ? The thieves fare better, — and I much incline From this day forth to make their calling mine." III. " Dog of an Arab ! " cried his pious spouse, " So, you would steal to better your estate, And hasten Allah's vengeance ! — Shame ! arouse ! Why sit you there repining at your fate ? 242 FATHER PUMPKIN; OR, Pray to the Prophet, — sinner that you are, — ■ Then wash your face and go to the Bazaar. " Take with you pen and paper and a book, And, sitting in a corner, gravely make Some mystic scrawls ; put on a solemn look, As if you were a wise and learned sheik ; And, mark my word, the people in a trice Will come in throngs to purchase your advice." V. '"T is worth a trial, woman, I confess ; Things can't be worse," the moody Arab said ; " But then, alas ! I have no proper dress, Not e'en a turban to adorn my head." " Allah be praised ! " — Just here the woman spied A hollow pumpkin lying at her side. " See ! this will do ! " and, cutting it in twain, She placed the half upon her husband's pate ; " 'T is quaint and grave, and well befits thy brain, Most reverend master," cried the dame, elate ; " Now to thy labor hasten thee away. And thou shalt prosper from this very day ! " VII. And so, obedient to his wife's command. The anxious sheik procured a little nook In the Bazaar, where, sitting by a stand. With much grimace he pored upon his book. Peering around, at intervals, to spy A customer, if such a thing were nigh. ALWAYS IN' LUCK. 243 VIII. And soon, indeed, a customer appeared, A peasant pale and sweating with distress. " Good Father Pumpkin ! may your mighty beard " (Bowing in reverence) " be never less ! I come to crave your counsel ; for, alas I Most learned Father, I have lost my ass." IX. "Now, curse the donkey!" cried the puzzled man. Unto himself, " and curse Fatima too, Who sent me here ! for, do the best I can. And that 's the best that any one can do, I 'm sure to blunder." So, in sheer despair, He named the graveyard ; " Seek your donkey there ! " It chanced the ass that very moment grazed Within the graveyard, as the sheik had told ; And so the peasant, joyful and amazed, Gave thanks and money ; nor could he withhold His pious prayers, but, bowing to the ground, Cried, " Great is Allah 1 — for my ass is found ! " XI. " Allah is Allah ! " said the grateful sheik. Returning homeward with his precious fee ; " I much rejoice for dear Fatima's sake ; Few men, in sooth, have such a mate as she ; Most wives are bosh, or worse than bosh, but mine In wit and beauty is almost divine I " 244 FATHER PUMPKIN; OR, XII. Next day he hastened early to his post, But found some clients had arrived before ; One eager dame a skein of silk had lost ; Another money ; and a dozen more, Of either sex, were waiting to recover A fickle mistress or a truant loy^r. XIII. With solemn face the sheik replie"d to each Whate'er his whim might move his tongue to say ; And all turned out according to his speech ; And so it chanced for many a lucky day, Till " Father Pumpkirt" grew a famous seer, Whose praise had even reached the Sultan's ear. XIV. " Allah is Allah ! " cried the happy sheik.; " And nevermore, Fatima, will I doubt Mohammed is his prophet ; let us take Our ease henceforward — " Here a sudden shout Announced the Sultan's janizaries, sent, They said, to seize him, — but with kind intent; XV. " The Grand Seraglib has been robbed by knaves Of all the royal jewels ; and the Porte, To get them back again, your presence craves In Stamboul ; he will pay you richly for't, If you succeed ; if not, — why then, instead Of getting money, you will lose your hea.d." ALWA YS m LUCK. 245 3CVI. " My curse upon thee ! " cried the angry man - Untp Fatima ; '' see what thou hast done ! O woman, woman ! since the world began AH direst mischiefs underneath the sun Are woman's doing — " Here the Sultan's throng Of janizaries bade him, " Qome along i " XVII. The seer's, arrival being now proclaimed Throughput the capital, the robbers quake With very fear ; while, trembling and ashamed, In deeper terror sits the wretched sheik, Cursing Fatima for a wicked wife Whose rash ambition has betrayed his life. 3EVriL " But seven short days my sands have yet to run, - And then, ^las ! I lose myfoolish head ; These seven white beans I '11 swallow, one by one. To mark each passing day ere I am dead. Alas ! alas 1 the Sultan's hard decree 1 The sun is setting : tjk?re goes one / " said he. XIX. Just then a thief (the leader of the band Who stole the Sultan's jewels) passing by, Heard the remark, and saw the lifted hand. And ran away as fast as he could fly, To tell his comrades that, beyond a doubt, The cunning seer had fairly found him out ! 246 FATHER PUMPKIN; OR, XX. Next day another, ere the hour was dark, Passed by the casement where the sheik was seen ; His hand was lifted warningly, and hark ! " There goes a second !" (swallowing the bean.) The robber fled, amazed, and told the crew 'T was time to counsel what were best to do ! XXI. But still, — as if the faintest doubt to cure, — The following eve the robbers sent a third ; And so till six had made the matter sure, (For unto each the same event occurred), When, taking counsel, they at once agreed To seek the wizard and confess the deed ! XXII. " Most reverend Father ! " thus the chief began, " Thy thoughts are just ; thy spoken words are true ; To hide from thee surpasses mortal man ; Our evil works henceforward we eschew. For now we know that sinning never thrives ; Here, take the jewels, but O, spare our Uves ! " XXIII. " The law enjoins," the joyful sheik replied, " That bloody Death shall end the robber's days ; But, that your sudden virtue may be tried. Swear on the Koran you will mend your ways, And then depart." The robbers roundly swore, In Allah's name, that they would rob no more. AL WA YS IN L UCK. 247 XXIV. " Allah is Allah ! " cried the grateful sheik, Holding the jewels in the vizier's face. The vizier answered, " Sir, be pleased to take The casket to the Sultan." " No, your Grace," The sheik rephed, " the gems are Aere, you see ; Pray, tell the Sultan he may come to me 1 " XXV. The Sultan came, and, ravished to behold The precious jewels to his hand restored, He made the finder rich in thanks and gold, And on the instant pledged his royal word, And straight confirmed it in the Prophet's name, To grant whatever he might choose to claim ! " Sire of the Faithful ! publish a decree " (The sheik made answer) " and proclaim to all That none henceforth shall ever question me Of any matter either great or small ; I ask no more. So shall my labors cease ; My waning life I fain would spend in peace." The Sultan answered : " Be it even so ; And may your beard increase a thousand-fold ; And may your house with children overflow ! " And so the sheik, o'erwhelmed with praise and gold, Returned unto the city whence he came, Blessing Mohammed's and Fatima's name ! 248 THE KING AND THR COTTAGER. THE KING AND THE COTTAGER. A PERSIAN LEGEKD. PRAY list unto a legend The aacient poets tell ; T is of a mighty monarch In Persia once did dwell ; A mighty queer old monarch Who ruled his kingdom welL II. " I must build another palace," Observed this mighty King; " For this is getting shabby Along the southern wing ; And, really, for a monarch, It is n't quite the thing. III. " So I will have a new one, Altbough I greatly fear. To build it just to suit me. Will cost me rather dear ; And I '11 choose, God wot, another spot, Much finer than this here." IV. So he travelled o'er his kingdom A proper site to find. Where he might build a palace Exactly to his mind, THE KING AND. THE COTTAGER. 249 All with a pleasant prospect Before it, and behind. V. Not long with this endeavor The King had travelled round, Ere, tb his royal pleasure, A charming spot he found ; But an ancient widow's cabin Was standing on the ground. VI. " Ah, here," exclaimed the monarch, " Is just the proper spot. If this woman would allow me To remove her little cot." But the beldam answered plainly, She had rather he would not I . yii. " Within ^his lo](iely cottage. Great Monarch, I was born ; And only from this cottage By Death will I be torn t So spare it, in. your justice. Or spoil it in your scorn ! " Vlil. Then all the courtiers mocked her. With cruel words and jeers : — " 'T is plairi her royal master She neither loves nor fears ; We would knock her ugly hovel About her ugly ears ! 250 THE KING AND THE COTTAGER. IX. " When ever was a subject Who might the King withstand ? Or deem his spoken pleasure As less than his command ? Of course he '11 rout the beldam, And confiscate her land ! " X. But, to their deep amazement, His Majesty replied : " Good woman, never heed them. The King is on your side : Your cottage is your castle, And here you shall abide. XI. " To raze it in a moment. The power is mine, I grant ; My absolute dominion A hundred poets chant ; For being Khan of Persia, There 's nothing that I canH!" XII. ('T was in this pleasant fashion The mighty monarch spoke ; For kings have merry fancies Like other mortal folk : And none so high and mighty But loves his little joke.) THE KING AND THE COTTAGER. XIII. " But power is scarcely worthy Of honor or applause, That in its domination Contemns the widow's cause, Or perpetrates injustice By trampling on the laws. XIV. " That I have wronged the meanest No honest tongue may say : So bide you in your cottage. Good woman, while you may ; What 's yours by deed and purchase No man may take away. "And I will build beside it, For though your cot may be In such a lordly presence No fitting thing to see, If it honor not my castle. It will surely honor me ! XVI. " For so my loyal people, Who gaze upon the sight. Shall know that in oppression I do not take delight ; Nor hold a king's convenience Before a subject's right ! " 251 252 THE KING AND THE COTTAGER. XVII. Now from his spoken purpose The King departed not ; He built the royal dwelling Upon the chosen spot, And there they stood together, The palace and the cot ! XVIII. Sure such unseemly neighbors Were never seen before ; " His Majesty is doting," His silly courtiers swore ; But all true loyal subjects, They loved the King the more. XIX. Long, long he ruled his kingdom In honor and renown ; But danger ever threatens The head that wears a crown, And Fortune, tired of smiling, For once put on a frown. XX. For ever secret Envy Attends a high estate ; And ever lurking Malice Pursues the good and great ; And ever base Ambition Will end in deadly Hate ! THE KING AND THE COTTAGER. 253 XXI. And so two wicked courtiers, Who long had strove in vain, By craft and evil counsels, To mar the monarch's reign, Contrived a scheme infernal Whereby he should be slain ! xxn. But as all deeds of darkness Are wont to leave a clew Before the glaring sunlight To bring the knaves to view, That sin may be rewarded. And Satan get his due, — XXIII. To plan their wicked treason, They sought a lonely spot Behind the royal palace, Hard by the widow's cot, Who heard their machination?, And straight revealed the plot ! XXIV. " I see," exclaimed the Persian, " The just are wise alone ; AVho spares the rights of others May chance to guard his own ; The widow's humble cottage Has propped a monarch's throne !" 254 THE YOUTH AND THE NORTHWIND. THE YOUTH AND THE NORTHWIND. A TALE OF NORWAY. ONCE on a time — 't was long ago — There lived a worthy dame Who sent her son to fetch some flour, For she was old and lame. But while he loitered on the road, The Northwind chanced to stray Across the careless younker's path, And stole the flour away. " Alas ! what shall we do for bread ? " Exclaimed the weeping lad ; ^ The flour is gone ! — the flour is gone ! — And it was all we had ! " And so he sought the Northwind's cave. Beside the distant main ; " Good Mister Boreas ! " said the lad, " I want my flour again ! " " 'T was all we had to live upon, — My mother old and I ; give us back the flour again, Or we shall surely die ! " " I have it not," the Northwind growled ; " But, for your lack of bread, 1 give to you this table-cloth ; 'T will serve you well instead ; THE YOUTH AND THE NORTHWIND. 255 " For you have but to spread it out, And every costly dish Will straight appear at your command, Whatever you may wish." The lad received the magic cloth, With wonder and delight, And thanked the donor heartily, As well, indeed, he might. Returning homeward, at an inn Just half his journey through, He fain must show his table-cloth. And what the cloth could do. So while he slept, the knavish host Went slyly to his bed, And stole the cloth, — but shrewdly placed Another in its stead. Unknowing what the rogue had done, The lad went on his way. And came unto his journey's end Just at the close of day. He showed the dame his table-cloth. And told her of its power ; " Good sooth ! " he cried, " 't was well for us The Northwind stole the flour ! " " Perhaps,'' exclaimed the cautious crone, " The story may be true ; 'T is mighty little good, I ween. Your table-cloth can do 1 " 2^6 THE YOUTH AND THE NORTHWIND. And now the younker spread it forth, And tried the spell — alas ! 'T was but a common table-cloth. And nothing came to pass. Then to the Northwind, far away, He sped with might and main ; " Your table-cloth is good for naught ; I want my flour again 1 " " I have it not," the Northwind growled, " But, for your lack of bread, I give to you this little goat, 'T will serve you well instead ; " For you hayg but to tell him this : — ' Make money ! Master Bill I ' And he will give you golden coins, As many as you will ! " The lad received the magic-goat, With wonder and delight, And thanked the donor heartily, As well indeed he might Returning homeward, at the inn Just half his journey through. He fain must show his little goat. And what the goat could do. So while he slept, the knavish host Went slyly to the shed, And stole the goat, — but shrewdly placed Another in his stead. THE YOUTH AND THENORTHWIND. Unknowing what the rogue had done, The youth weat on his way, And reached his weary journey's end Just at the close of day. He showed the dame his rnagic goat, And told her of his power ; " Good sooth ! " he cried, " 't was well for us The North wind stole the flour ! " " I much misdoubt," the dame replied, " Your wondrous tale is true ; 'T is httle good, for hungry folk, Your silly goat can do ! " " Good Master Bill ! " the lad exclaimed, " Make money ! " — but, alas ! — 'T was nothing but a common goat, And nothing came to pass I Then to the Northwind, angrily, He sped with might and main ; " Your foolish goat is good for naught ; I want my flour again 1 " " I have it not," the Northwind growled, " Nor can I give you aught. Except this cudgel, — which, indeed, A magic charm has got ; " For you have but to tell it thig : ' My cudgel ! — hit away 1 ' And, till you bid it stop again, The cudgel will obey I" 257 258 THE YOUTH AND THE NORTHWIND. Returning home, he stopt at night Where he had lodged before ; And feigning to be fast asleep, He soon began to snore. And when the host would steal the staff, The sleeper muttered, " Stay, I see what you would fain be at ; Good cudgel ! — hit away ! " The cudgel thumped about his ears, Till he began to cry, " O stop the staff, for mercy's sake ! Or I shall surely die ! " But still the cudgel thumped away Until the rascal said, " I '11 give you back the cloth and goat, O spare my broken head ! " And so it was the lad reclajined His table-cloth and goat ; And, growing rich, at length became A man of famous note ; He kept his mother tenderly. And cheered her waning life ; And married — as you may suppose — A princess for a wife ; And while he lived, had ever near, To favor worthy ends, A cudgel for his enemies. And money for his friends ! THE BLIND MEN AND THE ELEPHANT. 259 THE BLIND MEN AND THE ELEPHANT. A HINDOO FABLE. T T was six men of Indostan -^ To learning much inclined, Who went to see the Elephant (Though all of them were blind), That each by observation Might satisfy his mind. II. The First approached the Elephant, And happening to fall Against his broad and sturdy side, At once began to bawl : " God bless me ! — but the Elephant Is very like a wall ! " III. The Second, feeling of the tusk, Cried : " Ho ! — what have we here So very round and smooth and sharp ? To me 't is mighty clear This wonder of an Elephant Is very like a spear ! " IV. The Third approached the animal, And happening to take The squirming trunk within his hands, Thus boldly up and spake : 26q the BLIND- MEN AND THE ELEPHANT^ ^ I see," quoth he, " the Elephant Is very like a snake ! " V. The Fourth reached out his eager hand, And felt about the knee. " What most this wondrous beast is like _ Is mighty plain," quoth he ; " 'T is clear enough the Elephant Is very like a tree ! " VI. The Fifth, who chanced to touch the ear, Said : " E'en the blindest man Can tell what this resembles most ; Defiy the fact who can. This marvel of an Elephant Is very like a fan ! " VII. The Sixth no sooner had begun About the beast to grope, Than, seizing on the swinging tail That fell within his scope, " I see," quoth he, " the Elephant Is very like a rope ! " YIII. And so these men of Indostan Disputed loud and long, Each in his own opinion Exceeding stiff and strong, Though each was partly in the right, And all were in the wrong ! •' THE TREASURE OF GOLD. ifii MORAL. So, oft in theologic wars The disputants, I ween. Rail on in utter ignorance Of what each other mean, And prate about an Elephant Not one 0/ them has seen ! THE TREASURE OF GOLD. A LEGEND OF ITALY. I. A BEAUTIFUL story, my aarlirigs, ■^^- Thougli exceedingly quaint and old, Is a t9,le I have read in Italian, Entitled, The Treasure of Gold. li. There Uved -near the town of Bologna ■ A widow of virtuous fame, Alone witli her only daughter, — Madonna LuCREZiA" by name. in. A lady whom changing fortune Had numbered among the poor; And she kept an inn by the wayside, ' For the use of peasant and boor. IV. One ,day at the door of the tavern Three roving banditti appeared, And one was a wily Venetian, To guess by his curious beard. 262 THE TREASURE OF GOLD. V. And he spoke to the waiting hostess In phrases exceedingly fine, And sat himself down with his fellows, And called for a flagon of wine. VI. At length, after deeply discoursing ' In voices suspiciously low, The travellers rose from the table, And made preparation to go. " Madonna ! " — up spoke the Venetian, — " Pray do us the kindness to hold Awhile, for our better convenience. This snug little treasure of gold." VIII. " Indeed," said the smiling LuCREZiA, "You 're welcome to leave it, — but stay ; I have never a lock in my hovel. And the bag may be stolen away. IX. " Besides," said the woman, " consider. There 's no one the fact to attest ; In pledge for so precious a treasure You have only my word, at the best" X. " In faith 1 " said the civil Venetian, " We have n't a morsel of fear ; But to guard against awkward mischances, Let the matter in writing appear." THE TREASURE OF GOLD. 263 XI. And this was a part of the writing She gave the banditti to hold : " Not to one, nor to two, but to all Will I render the treasure of gold." Now the robbers were scarcely departed, When the cunning Venetian came back, With, " Madam, — allow me the favor Of putting my Steal to the sack." XIII. But the moment, she gave him the treasure, A horseman rode up, and behold ! While the woman went out to attend him. The villain ran off with the gold 1 XIV. " Alas ! " cried the widow, in anguish, — " Alas for my daughter forlorn ; I would we had perished together. The day Giannetta was born ! " XV. In sooth, she had reason for sorrow, Although it were idle to weep, — She was sued in the court of Bologna For the money she promised to keep. XVI. " Now go, Giannetta," she faltered, " To one that is versed in the laws ; But stop at the shrine of the Virgin, And beg her to favor our cause." 264 ^-^^ TREASURE OF COLD. XVII. Alas ! for Madonna LUCREZIA I In vain Giannetta applied To each lawyer of note in the city ; They were all on the opposite side 1 XVIII. At last, as the sorrowing maiden, Sat pondering her misery over, And breathing a prayer to the Virgin, She thought of Lorenzo, her lover ; XIX. A student well read in the statutes. According to common report, But one who, from modest aversion, Had never appeared in the court. XX. " I '11 try 1 " said the faithful Lorenzo, After hearing her narrative through, ' " And for strengtli in the hour of trial, I '11 think, Giannetta, of you 1 " XXI. Next morning the judges assembled; The claimants' attorneys were heard, And gave a most plausible version Of how the transaction occurred ; XXII. Then showed, by the widow's confession. She had taken the money to hold. And proved that, though often requested, She failed to surrender the gold[> THE TREASURE OF GOLD. 263 XXIII. The judges seemed fairly impatient To utter the fatal decree, When, lo ! the young student LORENZO Stands up, and commences a plea : — " Your Honors ! — I speak for the widow ; Some words have been (carelessly) said Concerning a written agreement, — I ask that the writing be read 1 " XXV. " Of course," said the Court, "it is proper The writing appear in the case ; The sense of a written agreement May give it a diiferent face." XXVI. " Observe," said the student, " the bargain To which we are willing to hold, — * Not to one, nor to two, but to all, Will I render the treasure of gold ! ' XXVII. " We stand by the writing, your Honors, And candidly ask of you whether These fellows can sue for their money Till they come and demand it together ? " xxvm. And so it was presently settled, For so did the judges decide ; And great was the joy of the widow, And great was her daughter's pride. 266 THE NOBLEMAN, THE FISHERMAN, XXIX. And fast grew the fame of Lorenzo, For making so clever a plea, Till never in all Bologna Was lawyer so wealthy as he. XXX. And he married his own Giannetta, As the story is pleasingly told ; And such were the bane and the blessing That came of the Treasure of Gold ! THE NOBLEMAN, THE FISHERMAN, AND THE PORTER. AN ITALIAN LEGEND. I. T T was a famous nobleman -*- Who flourished in the East, And once, upon a holiday, He made a goodly feast. And summoned in of kith and kin A hundred at the least. II. Now while they sat in social chat Discoursing frank and free. In came the steward, vifith a bow, " A mari below," said he, " Has got, my lord, the finest fish That ever swam the sea ! " AND THE PORTER. 267 III. " Indeed ! " exclaimed the nobleman, " Then buy it in a trice ; The finest fish that ever swam Must needs be very nice ; Go, buy it of the fisherman, And never mind the price." IV. "And so I would," the steward said, " But, faith, he would n't hear A word of money for his fish, (Was ever man so queer ?) But said he thought a hundred stripes Could not be counted dear ! " V. " Go bring him here," my lord repUed ; " The man I fain would see ; A merry wag, by your report, This fisherman must be ! " " Go bring him here ! Go bring him here ! * Cried all the company. VI. The steward did as he was bid, When thus my lord began : " For this fine fish what may you wish ? I '11 buy it, if I can." " One hundred lashes on my back ! " Exclaimed the fisherman. VII. " Now, by the rood ! but this is good," The laughing lord replied > 268 NOBLEMAN, FISHERMAN, AND PORTER. " Well, let the fellow have his way ; Go, call a groom ! " he cried ; " But let the payment he demands Be modestly applied." VIII. He bared his back and took the lash As it were merry play ; But at the fiftieth stroke, he said, " Good master groom, I pray Desist a moment, if you please ; I have a word to say. IX. " I have a partner in the case, — The fellow standing there ; Pray take the jacket off his back, And let him have his share ; That one of us should take the whole Were surely hardly fair ! " X. " A partner ? " cried the nobleman, " Who can the fellow mean ? " " I mean,'' replied the fisherman, With countenance serene, " Your porter there ! — the biggest knave That ever yet was seen 1 XI. " The rogue who stopped me at the gate, And would n't let me in Until I swore to give him half Of all my fish should win ; / 'w« got my share / — Pray let, my lord, His payment now begin 1 " THE DERVIS AND THE KING. 269 XII. " What you propose," my lord replied, "Is nothing more than fair ; Here, groom, — lay on a hundred stripes, And mind you do not spare ; The scurvy dog shall never say He did n't get his share ! " XIII. Then all that goodly company, They laughed with might and main, The while beneath the stinging lash The porter writhed in pain. " So fare all villains," quoth my lord, " Who seek dishonest gain ! " XIV. Then, turning to the fisherman, Who still was standing near. He filled his hand with golden coins. Some twenty sequins clear. And bade him come and take the like On each succeeding year. THE DERVIS AND THE KING. A TURKISH TALE. A PIOUS Dervis, once upon a time. Of all his sect the wisest and the best, Journeyed, on foot, through many a foreign clime. To serve his Master in some holy quest. 270 THE DERVIS AND THE KING. And so it chanced that on a certain day, While plodding wearily along the road, He saw before him, near the pubUc way. The house wherein the Tartar King abode. Musing the while on some absorbing thought That quite engrossed the pious pilgrim's mind. The palace seemed — just what the Dervis sought — A Caravansary of the better kind. Entering the palace by an open door. Straight to the gallery the Dervis goes. Lays down his meagre wallet on the floor, And spreads his blanket for a night's repose. It chanced the King, soon after, passing by. Observed the man, and with an angry air, As one who sees a robber or a spy. Bade him avow what business brought him there. " My business here," the Dervis meekly said, "Is but to rest, as any traveller might ; In this good tavern I have made my bed. And here I mean to tarry for the night." " A Caravansary — eh ? " the King exclaimed (His visage mantling with a royal grin), " Now look around you, man, and be ashamed ! How C07ild you take my palace for an inn ? " " Sire ! " said the Dervis (seeing his mistake), " I purpose presently to answer this ; But grant me, first, the hberty to make Some brief inquiries, if 't is not amiss. THE MONARCH AND THE MARQUIS. 27 1 " Pray tell me, Sire, who first resided here ? " "My ancestors, — as the tradition goes." ", Who next ? " " My father, — that is very clear." " Who next ? " " Myself, — as everybody knows." " And who — Heaven grant you many years to reign — Will occupy the house when you have done?" " Why,'' said the monarch — " that is very plain — Of course 't will be the Prince, my only son ! " "Sire," said the Dervis, gravely, "I protest, — Whate'er the building you may choose to call, — A house that knows so many a transient guest, Is but a Caravansary, after all ! " THE MONARCH AND THE MARQUIS. AN ORIENTAL LEGEND. I. IT was a merry monarch Who ruled a distant land. And ever, for his pastime, Some new device he planned, And once, to all his servants, He gave this queer command. Quoth he : " To every stranger Who coBies unto my court Let a fried fish be given, And of the finest sort ; 272 THE MONARCH AND THE MARQUIS. Then mark the man's behavior. And bring me due report. III. " If, when the man has eaten The fish unto the bone. The glutton turns it over, — Then, by my royal throne. For this, his misdemeanor, The gallows shall atone ! " IV. Now when this regal mandate. According to report. Had slain a score of strangers. To serve the monarch's sport, It chanced a gay young Marquis Came to the royal court. V. His majesty received him As suited with his state. But when he sat at dinner. The fish was on the plate ; Alas ! he turns it over, Unconscious of his fate. VI. Then, to his dire amazement, Three guardsmen, standing nigh. Conveyed him straight to prison. And plainly told him why, — ■ And how, in retribution, That he was doomed to die 1 THE MONARCH AND THE MARQUIS. 273 VII. The Marquis, filled with sorrow, Implored the monarch's ruth, Whereat the King relented, (A gracious deed, in sooth !) And granted these conditions. In pity of his youth : — VIII. That for three days the culprit Should have the King's reprieve ; Also, to name three wishes The prisoner had leave, — One each succeeding morning, — The which he should receive. IX. " Thanks ! " said the grateful Marquis, " His Majesty is kind ; And, first, to wed his daughter Is what I have in mind ; Go, bid him fetch a parson The holy tie to bind." X. Now when the merry monarch This bold demand had heard, With grief and indignation His royal breast was stirred ; But he had pledged his honor, And so he kept his word. 274 THE MONARCH AND THE MARQUIS. XI. Now, if the first petition He reckoned rather bold, What was the King's amazement To hear the second told, — To wit, the monarch's treasure Of silver and of gold ! To beg the culprit's mercy This mighty King was fain ; But pleading and remonstrance Were uttered all in vain ; And so he gave the treasure It cost him years to. gain. XIII. Sure ne'er was mortal monarch In such dismay as he ! He woke next morning early And went himself to see What, in the name of wonder. The third demand would be I XIV. " I ask," replied the Marquis, (" My third and final wish), That you should call the servants Who served the fatal dish. And have the eyes extinguished That saw me turn the fish." THE MONARCH AND THE MARQUIS. 275 XV. " Good ! " said the monarch gayly, With obvious delight, " What you demand, Sir Marquis, Is reasonable — quite ; That they should pay this forfeit Is notMng more than right. XVI. " How was it, — Mr. Chamberlain ?" But he at once denied That he had seen the culprit Turn up the other side ; " It must have been the Steward," The Chamberlain replied. XVII. " Indeed 1 " exclaimed the Steward, "It surely was n't I ! It must have been the Butler " — Who quickly made reply, " It must have been the guardsmen,, Unless the fellows lie ! " XVIII. But they, in turn, protested. With plausible surprise, (And dreadful imprecations, If they were telling lies !) That nothing of the matter Had come before their eyes ! 276 THE CALIPH AND THE CRIPPLE. XIX. " Good Father," said the Princess, " I pray you ponder this," (And here she gave the monarch A reverential kiss,) " My husband must be guiWess, If none saw aught amiss ! " XX. The monarch frowned a little. And gravely shook his head : " Your Marquis should be punished ; Well, — let him live," he said, " For though he cheats the gallows, The man, at least, is wed ! " THE CALIPH AND THE CRIPPLE. AN ARABIAN TALE. THE Caliph, Ben Akas, whose surname was "Wise," From the wisdom and wit he displayed. One morning rode forth in a merchant's disguise To see how his laws were obeyed. While riding along, in a leisurely way, A beggar came up to his side. And said, " In the name of the Prophet, I pray You '11 give a poor cripple a ride." Ben Akas, amazed at the mendicant's prayer, Asked where he was wishing to go. " I 'm going," he said, " to the neighboring fair ; But my crutches are wretchedly slow." THE CALIPH AND THE CRIPPLE. 277 " Get up ! " said the Caliph ; " a saddle like this Is hardly sufficient for two ; And yet, by the Prophet ! — 't were greatly amiss To snub a poor cripple like you ! " The beggar got up, and together they rode Till they came to the neighboring town, When, hard by the house where the Cadi abode, He bade his companion get down. " Nay, get daytn yourself .'" was the fellow's reply, Without the least shame or remorse. " Indeed ! " said the Caliph, " and pray tell me why ? " Quoth the beggar, " To give me the horse ! " You -know very well that the nag is my own ; And if you resort to the laws. You do not imagine your story alone Sufficient to carry the cause ? " The Cadi is reckoned the wisest of men, And, looking at you and at me, After hearing us both, 't is an hundred to ten The cripple will get the decree." " Very well ! " said Ben Akas, — astonished to hear The impudent fellow's discourse, — " If the Cadi is wise, there is little to fear But I soon shall recover my horse." " Agreed ! " said the beggar ; " whate'er the decree. The verdict shall find me content." " As to that," said the other, " we '11 presently see." And so to the Cadi they went. 278 THE CALIPH AND THE CRIPPLE. It chanced that a cause was engrossing the Cadi, Where a woman occasioned the strife ; And both parties claimed the identical lady As being his own lawful wife. The one was a peasant ; a scholar the other ; And each made a speech in his turn ; But, what was a very particular pother, The woman refused to be sworn. " Enough for the present ! " the Cadi declared, " Come back in the morning," said he ; " And now " (to Ben Akas) " the Court is prepared To hear what your grievance may be ! " Ben Akas no sooner the truth had narrated, When the beggar as coolly replies : " I swear, by the Prophet ! the fellow has stated A parcel of impudent lies ! " I was coming tO' market, and when I descried A man by the wayside alone; Looking weary and faint, why, 1 gave him a ride ; Now he swears that the horse is his own ! " " Very well," said the Judge, " let us go to the stable, And each shall select in his turn." Ben Akas went first, and was easily able His favorite steed to discern. The cripple went next ; though the stable was full. The true one was instantly shown. " Your Honor," said he, " did you think me so dull That I could n't distinguish my own ? " THE CALIPH AND THE CRIPPLE. 279 Next morning the Cadi came into the court, And sat himself down at his ease ; And thither the suitors and people resort To list to the Judge's decrees. First calling the scholar, who sued for his spouse. His Honor thus settled the doubt : " The woman is yours ; take her home to your house^ And don't let her often go out." Then calling before him Ben Akas, whose cause Stood next in the calendar's course, He said : " By the Prophet's inflexible laws, Let the merchant recover his horse 1 " And as for the beggar,. I further decide His villany fairly has earned A good hundred lashes well laid on his hide ;, Meshallah ! The court is adjourned ! " Ben Akas that night sougjit the Cadi's abode,, And said : " 'T is the Caliph you see ! Though hither, indeed, as a merchant I rode,, I am Abou Ben Akas to tliee ! " The Cadi, abashed, made the lowest of bows. And, kissing his majesty's hand. Cried : " Great is the honor you do to my house ; I wait for your royal command ! " " I fain would possess," was the CaHph's reply, " Your wisdom ; so tell me, I pray, How your Honor discovered, where; justice might lie In the causes decided to-day." 28o THE CALIPH AND THE CRIPPLE. " Why, as to the woman," the Cadi replied, " It was easily settled, I think ; Just taking the lady a moment aside, I said, ' Fill my standish with ink.' " And quick, at the order, the bottle was taken, With a dainty and dexterous hold ; The standish was washed ; the fluid was shaken ; New cotton put in for the old — " " I see ! " said the Caliph ; " the story is pleasant ; Of course it was easy to tell The scholar swore truly, — the spouse of a peasant Could never have done it so well. " And now for the horse ? " " That was harder, I own. For, mark you, the beggarly elf (However the rascal may chance to have known) Knew the palfrey as well as yourself ! " But the truth was apparent, the moment I learned What the animal thought of the two ; The impudent cripple he savagely spurned, But was plainly delighted with you ! " Ben Akas sat musing and silent awhile, As one whom devotion employs ; Then, raising his head with a heavenly smile, He said, in a reverent voice : — " Sure Allah is good and abundant in grace ! Thy wisdom is greater than mine ; I would that the CaUph might rule in his place As well as thou servest in thine 1 " THE UGLY AUNT. 281 THE UGLY AUNT.' A NORWEGIAN TALE. I. T T was a little maiden -*- Lived long and long ago, (Though when it was, and where it was, I 'm sure I do not know,) And her face was all the fortune This maiden had to show. II. And yet, — what many people Will think extremely rare In one who, like this maiden, Ne'er knew a mother's care, — The neighbors all asserted That she was good as fair. III. " Alack ! " exclaimed the damsel, While bitter tears she shed, " I 'm little skilled to labor, And yet I must be fed ; I fain by daily service Would earn my daily bread." IV. And so she sought a palace. Where dwelt a mighty queen, And when the royal lady The little maid had seen, 282 f^E UGLY AUNT. She loved her for her beauty, Despite her lowly mien. V. Not long she served her majesty Ere jealousy arose (Because she was the favorite, As you may well suppose). And all the other servants Became her bitter foes. VI. And so these false companions, In envy of her face, Contrived a wicked stratagem To bring her to disgrace, And fill her soul with sorrow. And rob her of her place. VII. They told her royal majesty (Most arrant liars they !) That often, in their gossiping, They 'd heard the maiden say That she could spin a pound of flax All in a single day ! VIII. " Indeed ! " exclaimed her majesty, " I 'm fond of spinning, too ; So come, my little maiden, And make your boasting true : Or else your foolish vanity You presently may rue ! " THE UGLY AUNT. 283 IX. Alas ! the hapless damsel Was now afflicted sore, No mother e'er had taught her In such ingenious lore ; A spinning-wheel, in all her life, She ne'er had seen before 1 But fearing much to tell the queen How she had been belied, She tried to spin upon the wheel, And still in vain she tried ; And so — 't was all that she could do - She sat her down and cried. XI. Now while she thus laments her fate In sorrow deep and wild, A beldam stands before her view, And says, in accents mild : " What ails thee now, my pretty one. Say, what 's the matter, child "i " XTI, Soon as she heard the piteous case, " Cheer up ! " the beldam said, " I '11 spin for thee the pound of fla:^ And thou shalt go to bed, If only thou wilt call me ' aunt,' The day that thou art wed ! " 284 1'HE UGLY AUNT. XIII. The maiden promised true and fair, And when the day was done, The queen went in to see the task. And found it fairly spun. Quoth she, " I love thee passing well. And thou shalt wed my son ! XIV. " For one who spins so well as thee (In sooth ! 't is wondrous fine !) With beauty, too, so very rare. And goodness such as thine, Should be the daughter of a queen, ^\nd I will have thee mine ! " XV. Now when the wedding-day had come, And, decked in royal pride, Around the smoking table sat The bridegroom and the bride, With all the royal kinsfolk. And many guests beside. In came a beldam, with a frisk ; Was ever dame so bold ? Or one so lean and wrinkled, So ugly and so old. Or with a nose so very long And shocking to behold ? THE UGLY AUNT. XVII. Now while they sat in wonderment This curious dame to see, She said unto the Princess, As bold as bold could be : " Good morrow, gentle lady ! " " Good morrow, Aunt! " quoth she, XVIII. The Prince with gay demeanor, But with an inward groan. Then bade her sit at table. And said, in friendly tone, "If you 're my bride's relation. Why then, you are my own ! " XIX. When dinner now was ended. As you may well suppose, The Prince still thought about his Aunt, And still his wonder rose Where could the ugly beldam Have got so long a nose ! XX. At last he plainly asked her, Before that merry throng. And she as plainly answered (Nor deemed his freedom wrong) ; " 'T was spinning, in my girlhood, That made my nose so long 1 " 285 286 THE THREE GIFTS. XXI. " Indeed ! " exclaimed his Highness, And then and there he swore : " Though spinning made me husband To her whom I adore, Lest she should spoil her beauty. Why, she shall spin no more I " THE THREE GIFTS. A TALE OF NORTH GERMANY. ' I ■"HREE gentlemen mounted their horses one day, -^ And far in the country they rode, Till they came to a cottage, that stood by the way, Where an honest old weaver abode. This honest old weaver was wretchedly poor. Yet he never was surly nor sad ; He welcomed the travellers into his door. And gave them the best that he had. They ate and they drank, till the weaver began To fear that they never would cease ; But when they had finished, they gave to the man A hundred gold guineas apiece. Then the gentlemen mounted their horses again, And, bidding the weaver " Good night," Went dashing away over valley and plain, And were presently lost to his sight. THE THREE GIFTS. 287 Sure never was weaver so happy before, And never seemed guineas so bright ; He counted the pieces a hundred times o'er, With more than a miser's delight. Then snug in some rags he hid them away, As if he had got them by stealth, — Lest his meddlesome wife, who was absent tha,t day. Should know of his wonderful wealth. Soon after, a travelling rag-dealer came. The rags in the bundle were sold, And with them (the woman was little to blame) The three hundred guineas of gold. When a calendar year had vanished and fled. The gentlemen came as before. " Now how does it happen," they moodily said, " We find you so wretchedly poor ? " " Alas ! " said the weaver, " this many a day The money is missing, in sooth ; In a bundle of rags it was hidden away, ('Fore God ! I am teUing the truth.) " But once, in my absence, a rag-dealer came, The rags in the bundle were sold. And with them (the woman was surely to blame)^ The three hundred guineas of gold." " It was foolishly done," the gentlemen swore ; " Now, prithee, be careful of these." And they gave him again, the same as before, A hundred gold guineas apiece. 288 THE THREE GIFTS. Then the gentlemen mounted their horses again, And, bidding the weaver " Good night," Went dashing away over valley and plain, And were presently lost to his sight " r faith," said the weaver, " no wonder they chid ; But now I am wiser, I trust." So the three hundred guineas he carefully hid Far down in a barrel of dust. But soon, in his absence, a dustman came, The dust in the barrel was sold ; And with it (the woman was little to blame) The three hundred guineas of gold. When a calendar year had vanished and fled, The gentlemen came as before. " Now how does it happen," they angrily said, " We find you so wretchedly poor ? " " Was ever, he cried, " so luckless a wight ? As surely as Heaven is just, The money I hid from my spouse's sight Far down in a barrel of dust ; " But when I was absent the dustman came, The dust in the barrel was sold. And with it (the woman was surely to blame) The three hundred guineas of gold." " Take that for your folly ! " the gentlemen said ; " Was ever so silly a wight .■■ " And they tossed on the table a lump of lead, And were presently out of his sight. THE THREE GIFTS. 289 " 'T is plain," said the weaver, " they meant to flout, And little I marvel ; alas ! — My wife is a fool ; and there is n't a doubt That I am an arrant ass ! " While thus he was musing in sorrow and shame, And wishing that he were dead. Into his cottage, a fisherman came To borrow a lump of lead. " Ah ! here," he cried, " is the thing I wish To mend my broken net ; Will you give it me for the finest fish That I this day may get ? " " With all my heart ! " the weaver replies ; And so the fisherman brought That night a fish of wondrous size, — The finest that he had caught. He opened the fish, when lo and behold I He found a precious stone ; A diamond large as the lead he sold, And bright as the morning sun ! For a thousand guineas the stone he sold (It was worth a hundred more). And never, 't is said, in bliss or gold, Was weaver so rich before ! But often — to keep her sway, no doubt, As a genuine woman must — The wife would say, " /brought it about By selling the rags and dust I " 290 THE WIFE'S REVENGE. THE WIFE'S REVENGE. FROM THE SPANISH. I. "/"^NCE on a time" there flourished in Madrid ^-^ A painter, clever, and the pet of Fame, Don Jos^, — but the rest were better hid ; So please accept the simple Christian name, — Only, to keep nvy verse from being prosy, Pray mind your Spanish, and pronounce it, Hozy ! II. Don Jos6, — who, it seems, had lately won Much praise and cash, — to crown a lucky week, Resolved for once to have a little fun. To ease him of his easel, — so to speak, — And so, in honor of his limning labors. He gave a party to his artist-neighbors. III. A strange affair ; for not a woman came To grace the table ; e'en the painter's spouse, Donna Casilda, a most worthy dame, Was, rather roughly, told to quit the house, And go and gossip, for the evening, down Among her cousins in the lower town. The lady went ; but presently came back. For mirth or mischief, with a jolly cousin, And sought a closet, where an ample crack Revealed the revellers, sitting, by the dozen, THE WIFE'S REVENGE. 291 Discussing wine and — Art? — No, "women folks!" In senseless satire and indecent jokes. V. " Women ? " said Jos6, " what do women know Of poetry or painting ? " (" Hear him talk ! " Whispered the hst'ners.) " When did woman show A ray of genius in the higher walk Of either ? No ; to them the gods impart Arts, — quite enough, — but deuce a bit of Art ! " VI. ("Wretch ! " cried the ladies.) "Yes," said Jos^, " take Away from women love-intrigues and all The cheap disguises they are wont to make To hide their spots, — they 'd sing extremely small 1 " (" Fool ! " said his spouse, " we '11 settle, by and by. Who sings the smallest, villain ! — you or I ! ") VII. To make the matter worse, the jovial guests Were duly mindful not to be exceeded In coarse allusions and unsavory jests, But — following Josd — talked, of course, as he did ; I 've been, myself, to many a bachelor-party. And found them, mainly, less refined than hearty. ¥im The party over, full of inward ire, Casilda plotted, silently and long, Some fitting vengeance. Women seldom tire In their resentments, whether right or wrong : In classic authors we are often warned There 's naught so savage as a " woman scorned." 292 THE WIFE'S REVENGE. IX. Besides, Casilda, be it known, had much Of what the French applaud, — and not amiss, - As savoir-faire (I do not know the Dutch) ; The hteral Germans call it Mutterwiss, The Ya.nkees £:um^iion, and the Grecians nous, — ■ A useful thing to have about the house. At length the lady hit upon a plan Worthy of Hermes for its deep disguise ; She got a carpenter, — a trusty man, — To make a door, and of a certain size, With curious carvings and heraldic bands, And bade him wait her ladyship's commands. XI. Then falling sick, — as gentle ladies know The ready art, unless romances lie, — She groaned aloud, and bade Don Josd go. And quickly, too, — - or she should surely die, — And fetch her nurse, — a woman who abode Some three miles distant by the nearest road. XII. With many a frown and many a bitter curse He heard the summons. 'T was a pretty hour. He said, to go a-gadding for a nurse ! At twelve at night ! — and in a drenching shower/ He 'd never go, — unless the devil sent, — And then Don ]os6 took his hat and went 1 THE WIFE'S REVENGE. 293 XIII. A long, long hour he paced the dirty street Where dwelt the nurse, but could n't find the place ; For he had lost the number ; and his feet. Though clad in leather, made a bootless chase ; He fain had questioned some one ; all in vain, — The very thieves were fearful of the rain ! Returning homeward from his weary tramp, He reached his house, — or where his house should be ; When, by the glimmer of the entry-lamp, Don Josd saw — and marvelled much to see — An ancient, strange, and most fantastic door, The like whereof he 'd never seen before ! " Now, by Our Lady ! — this is mighty queer I " Cried Josd, — staring at the graven wood, — " I know my dwelling stands exactly here ; At least, I 'm certain here is where it stood Two hours ago, when (here he gave a curse) Donna Casilda sent me for the nurse. I know the houses upon either side ; There stands the dwelling of the undertaker ; Here my good friend Morena lived and died ; And here 's the shop of old Trappal, the baker ; And yet, as sure as iron is n't brass, ''Tis not iny door, or I 'm a precious ass ! 294 THE WIFE'S REVENGE. XVII. " However, I will knock " ; and so he did, And called, " Casilda ! " loud enough to rouse The very dullest watchman in Madrid ; But woke, instead, the porter of the house, Who rudely asked him. Where he got his beer ? And bade him, " Go ! — there 's no Casilda here ! " XVIII. Don Josd crossed himself in dire dismay,' Lest he had lost his reason, or his sight ; At least 't was certain he had lost his way ; And, hoping sleep might set the matter right. He sought and found the dwelling of a friend W^ho lived in town, — quite at the other end. XIX. Next morning Jos6, rising with the sun. Returned, once more, to seek the missing house ; And there it stood, as it had always done, And there stood also his indignant spouse With half her city cousins at her back, Waiting to put poor Josd on the rack. XX. "A charming husband, j'o?^.''" the dame began, " To leave your spouse in peril of her life. For tavern revellers ! — You 're a pretty man, Thus to desert your lawful, wedded wife. And spend your nights — O villain ! — don't explain, I '11 be revenged if there is law in Spain 1 " THE WIFE'S REVENGE. 295 XXI. " Nay, Madam, hear me ! — just a single word — " And then he told her of his fruitless search To find the beldam ; and of what occurred, — How his own house had left him in the lurch / Here such a stream of scorn came pouring in, Don Josd's voice was smothered in the diij. XXII. " Nay," said Casilda, "that will never do ; Your own confession plainly puts you down ! Say you were tipsy (it were nothing new). And spent the night carousing through the town With other topers ; that may be received ; But, faith ! your tale will never be believed ! " XXIII. Crazed with the clamor of the noisy crew All singing chorus to the injured dame, Say, what the deuce could poor Don Jos^ do? — He prayed for pardon, and confessed his shame ; And gave no dinners, in his future life, Without remembering to invite his wife ! 296 THE DERVIS AND HIS ENEMIES. THE DERVIS AND HIS ENEMIES. A TURKISH LEGEND. NEAR Babylon, in ancient times, There dwelt a humble, pious Dervis Who lived on alms, and spent his days In exhortation, prayer, and praise, — Devoted to the Prophet's service. To him, one day, a neighbor sent A gift extremely rare and pleasant, — A fatted ox of goodly size ; Whereat the grateful Dervis cries, " AUah be praised for this fine present 1 " III. So large a gift were hard to hide ; Nor was he careful to conceal it ; Indeed, a thief had chanced to spy The ox as he was passing by. And so resolved to go and steal it IV. Now while he sought, with this intent. The owner's humble habitation. He met a stranger near the place, Who seemed — to judge him by his face — A person of his own vocation. THE DERVIS AND HIS ENEMIES. V. And so the thief, as one who knew What to a brother-rogue was owing, Politely bade the man " Good day," And asked him, in a friendly way, His name, and whither he was going. VI. The stranger bowed, and gruffly said : " My name is Satan, at your service ! And I am going. Sir, to kill A man who lives near yonder hill, — A fellow called the ' Holy Dervis. VII. " I hate him as a mortal foe ; For, spite of me and Nature's bias, There 's scarce a knave in all these parts But this vile Dervis, by his arts. Has made him honest, chaste, and pious ! " " Sir, I am yours ! " the thief replied ; " I scorn to live by honest labor ; And even now I 'm on my way To steal an ox received to-day By this same Dervis from a neighbor." IX. " I 'm glad to see you,'' said the fiend, " You seem, indeed, a younger brother ; And, faith ! in such a case as this, It certainly were much amiss If we should fail to aid each other ! " 13* 297 298 THE DERVIS AND HJS ENEMIES. X. While thus discoursing, sooth to say, Each knave had formed the resolution (Lest aught occur to mar his plan) To be himself the foremost man To put his scheme in execution. XI. " For, said the thief unto himself, " Before his work is half completed, The Dervis, murdered where he lies. Will rouse the neighbors with his cries, And so my plan will be defeated ! " XII. " If he goes first," the other thought, His cursed ox may chance to bellow ; Or else, in breaking through the door, He '11 wake the Dervis with the roar. And I shaU fail to kill the fellow !" XIII, So when they reached the hermit's house, The devil whispered, quite demurely, " While I go in, you stand without ; My job despatched, — we '11 go about The other business more securely." XIV. " Nay," said the robber, " I protest I don't at all approve the measure ; This seems to me the better plan : Just wait till I have robbed the man. Then you may kill him at your leisure." RAMPSINITUS AND THE ROBBERS. XV. Now when, at last, they both refused To yield the point in controversy, To such a height the quarrel rose, From words and threats they came to blows, And beat each other without mercy ! XVI. Perceiving that the devil's strokes Surpassed his own in weight and number, The thief — before he took to flight — Cried, " Murder ! — help ! " with all his might, And roused the Dervis from his slumber. XVII. "Thieves!- — thieves!" cried Satan — going off (To figure at some tavern-revel). And so — by this fraternal strife — The Dervis saved his ox and life, Despite the robber and the devil ! RAMPSINITUS AND THE ROBBERS. AN EGYPTIAN TALE. IN charming old Herodotus, If you were college-bred, The Tale of Rampsinitus You may, perchance, have read ; If not, 't is little matter, — You may read it here instead. 299 300 RAMPSINJTUS AND THE ROBBERS. This Rampsinitus was a king Who lived in days of old, And, finding that his treasury- Was quite too small to hold His jewels and his money-bags Of silver and of gold, He built a secret chamber, With this intent alone, (That is, he got an architect And caused it to be done,) A most substantial structure Of mortar and of stone. A very solid building It appeared to every eye, Except the master-mason's. Who plainly could espy One stone that fitted loosely When the masonry was dry. A dozen years had vanished, When, in the common way, The architect was summoned His final debt to pay ; And thus unto his children The dying man did say : — " Come hither now, my darling sons, Come, list my children twain, I have a little secret I am going to explain ; 'T is a comfort, now I 'm dying. That I have n't lived in vain." RAMPSINITUS AND THE ROBBERS. 301 And then he plainly told them Of the trick that he had done ; How in the royal chamber He had put a sliding stone, — " You '11 find it near the bottom, On the side that 's next the sun. " Now I feel that I am going ; Swift ebbs the vital tide ; No longer in this wicked world My spirit may abide." And so this worthy gentleman Turned up his toes and died ! It was n't long before the sons Improved the father's hint. And searched the secret chamber To discover what was in 't ; And found, by self-promotion. They were " Masters of the Mint!" At length King Rampsinitus Perceived, as well he might, His caskets and his money-bags Were getting rather light ; " And yet," quoth he, " my bolts and bars Are all exactly right ! I wonder how the cunning dog Has managed to get in ; However, it is clear enough, I 'm losing lots of tin ; 1 11 try the virtue of a trap Before the largest bin!" 302 RAMPSINITUS AND THE ROBBERS. In came the thief that very night, And soon the other chap, Who waited at the opening. On hearing something snap. Went in and found his brother A-sitting in the trap I " You see me in a pretty fix ! " The gallant fellow said ; " 'T is better, now, that one should die Than two of us be dead, — Lest both should be detected, Cut off my foolish head ! " " Indeed," replied the other, " Such a cut were hardly kind, And to obey your order, I am truly disinclined ; But, as you 're the elder brother, I suppose I ought to mind." So, with his iron hanger He severed, at a slap. The noddle of the victim. Which he carried through the gap, And left the bleeding body A-sitting in the trap. His majesty's amazement Of course was very great. On entering the chamber That held his cash and plate, To find the robber's body Without a bit of pate 1 ^.AMPSINITUS AND THE ROBBERS. 303 To solve the mighty mystery- Was now his whole intent ; A.nd everywhere, to find the head, His officers were sent ; But every man cg.me again No wiser than he went. At last he set a dozen men The mystery to trace ; And bade them watch the body In a very pubUc place, And note what signs of sorrow They might see in any face. The robber, guessing what it meant, Was naturally shy ; And, though he mingled in the crowd. Took care to '* mind his eye," For fear his brother's body-guard His sorrow should espy. ' I '11 cheat 'em yet ! " the fellow said ; And so that very night, He planned a cunning stratagem To get the soldiers *' tight" ; And steal away his brother's trunk Before the morning light. ile got a dozen asses, And put upon their backs \s many loads as donkeys Of wine in leather-sacks ; Then set the bags a-leaking From a dozen little cracks. 304 RAMPSINITUS AND THE ROBBERS. Then going where the soldiers Were keeping watch and ward, The fellows saw the leaking wine With covetous regard, And straightway fell a-drinking, And drank extremely hard. The owner stormed and scolded With well-affected spunk. But still they kept a-drinking Till all of them were drunk ; And so it was the robber Stole off his brother's trunk ! Now when King Rampsinitus Had heard the latest news, 'T is said his royal Majesty Expressed his royal views In language such as gentlemen Are seldom known to use. Now when a year had vanished, He formed another plan To catch the chap who 'd stolen The mutilated man; And summoning the Princess, His Majesty began : — " My daughter, hold a masquerade, And offer — as in fun — Five kisses (in your chamber) To every mother's son Who '11 tell the shrewdest mischief That he has ever done.' 'AMPSINITUS AND THE ROBBERS. 305 ' If you chance to find the robber By the trick that I have planned, Remenmber, on the instant, To seize him by the hand, Then await such further orders As your father may command." The Princess made the party, Without the least dissent, r' was a general invitation, And everybody went, — The robber with the others, Though he guessed the king's intent. Now when the cunning robber Was questioned, like the rest. He said : " Your Royal Highness, I solemnly protest 3f all my subtle rogueries, I scarce know which is best ; ' But I venture the opinion, 'T was a rather pretty job, iVhen, having with my hanger Cut off my brother's nob, [ managed from the soldiers His headless trunk to rob 1 " \nd now the frightened Princess Gave a very heavy groan, "or, to her consternation. The cunning thief had flown, \.nd left the hand she grappled Still lying in her own ! 3o6 RAMPSINITUS AND THE ROBBERS. (For he a hand had borrowed, 'T is needful to be said, From the body of a gentleman That recently was dead. And that he gave the Princess The moment that he fled !) Then good King Rampsinitus Incontinently swore That this paragon of robbers He would persecute no more ; For such a clever rascal Had never lived before 1 And in that goodly company, His Majesty declared That if the thief would show himself His person should be spared. And with his only daughter In marriage should be paired ! And when King Rampsinitus Had run his mortal lease, He left them in his testament Just half a crown apiece ; May every modest merit Thus flourish and increase 1 POOR TARTAR. POOR TARTAR. A HUNGARIAN LEGEND. I. 'HERE 's trouble in Hungary, now, dlas ! There 's trouble on every hand 1 For thac terrible man, The Tartar Khan, avaging over the land 1 II. is riding forth with his ugly men, rob and ravish and slay ; For deeds like those. You may well suppose, : quite in the Tartar-way. III. i now he comes, that terrible chief, a mansion grand and old ; And he peers about Within and without, 1 what do his eyes behold ? IV, liousand cattle in fold and field, 1 sheep all over the plain ; And noble steeds Of rarest breeds, 1 beautiful crops of grain. 307 3o8 POOR TARTAR. V. But finer still is the hoarded wealth That his ravished eyes behold ; In silver plate Of wondrous weight, And jewels of pearl and gold I VI. A nobleman owns this fine estate ; And when the robber he sees, 'T is not very queer He quakes with fear, And trembles a bit in the knees 1 VII. He quakes in fear of his precious life, And, scarce suppressing a groan, " Good Tartar,'' says he, " Whatever you see Be pleased to reckon your own ! " VIII. The Khan looked round in a leisurely way As one who is puzzled to choose ; When, cocking his ear, He chanced to hear The creak of feminine shoes ! IX. The Tartar smiled a villanous smile, When, hke a lily in bloom, A lady fair With golden hair Came ghding into the room. THE FOUR MISFORTUNES. 309 X. ; robber stared with amorous eyes ; s ever so winning a face ? And long he gazed As one amazed see such beauty and grace. XI. loment more, and the lawless man 1 seized his struggling prey, Without remorse, And — taking horse — bore the lady away 1 XII. ow Heaven be praised ! " the nobleman cried, 3r many a mercy to me ! I bow me still Unto his will, — ^ pity the Tartar! " said he. HE FOUR MISFORTUNES. A HEBREW TALE. I. )US Rabbi, forced by heathen hate 3 quit the boundaries of his native land, ;d abroad, submissive to his fate, gh pathless woods and wastes of burning sand. ir. t ass, to bear him in his flight, , to guard him from the robber's stealth, 3IO THE FOUR MISFORTUNES. A lamp, by which to read the law at night, — Was all the pilgrim's store of worldly wealth. III. At set of sun he reached a httle town, And asked for shelter and a crumb of food ; But every face repelled him with a frown, And so he sought a lodging in the wood. IV. " 'T is very hard," the weary traveller said, " And most inhospitable, I protest, To send me fasting to this forest bed ; But God is good, and means it for the best ! " V. He lit his lamp to read the sacred law. Before he spread his mantle for the night ; But the wind rising with a sudden flaw. He read no more, — the gust put out the light VI. " 'T is strange," he said, " \ is very strange, indeed, That ere I lay me down to take my rest, A chapter of the law I may not read, — But God is good, and all is for the best." VII. With these consoling words the Rabbi tries To sleep, — his head reposing on a log, — But, ere he fairly shut his drowsy eyes, A wolf came up and killed his faithful dog. THE FOUR MISFORTUNES. 31 1 VIII. It new calamity is this ? " he cried 5 !y honest dog — a friend who stood the test I others failed — lies murdered at my side ! 11, — God is good and means it for the best." IX. e had the -Rabbi spoken, when, alas ! — if, at once, to crown his wretched lot, igry lion pounced upon the ass, d killed the faithful donkey on the spot. X. ! ! — alas ! " the weeping Rabbi said, Misfortune haunts me like a hateful guest ; 3g is gone, and now my ass is dead, — 11, — God is good, and all is for the best I " XI. wn of day, imploring heavenly grace, ;e more he sought the town ; but all in vain ; id of robbers had despoiled the place, I all the churlish citizens were slaiii ! XII. ' God be praised ! " the grateful Rabbi cried, 1 had tarried in the town to rest, with these poor villagers, had died, — e, God is good, and all is for the best I XIII. not the wanton wind put out my lamp, which the sacred law I would have read, 312 THE WANDERING JEW. The light had shown the robbers to my camp, And here the villains would have left me dead ! XIV. " Had not my faithful animals been slain, Their noise, no doubt, had drawn the robbers ne; And so their master, it is very plain, Instead of them, had fallen murdered here ! XV. "Full well I see that this hath happened so To put my faith and patience to the test ; Thanks to His name ! for now I surely know That God is good, and all is for the best ! " THE WANDERING JEW.' A BALLAD. c 'OME Ust, my dear. And you shall hear About the wonderful Wandering Jew, Who night and day, The legends say. Is taking a journey he never gets through. What is his name, Or whence he came, Or whither the weary wanderer goes ; Or why he should stray In this singular way. Many have marvelled, but nobody knows. THE WANDERING JEW. 313 Though oft, indeed, (As you may read mcient histories quaint and true,) A man is seen ■ Of haggard mien om people call the Wandering Jew. Once in Brabant, With garments scant, i shoeless feet, a stranger appeared ; His step was slow. And white as snow re his waving locks and flowing beard. His cheek was spare. His head was bare ; 1 little he recked of heat or cold ; Misfortune's trace Was in his face, 1 he seemed at least a century old. " Now, goodman, bide," The people cried, le night with us, — it were surely best ; The wind is cold, And thou art old, I sorely needest shelter and rest ! " " Thanks ! thanks ! " said he, " It may not be ,t I should tarry the night with you ; I cannot stay ; I must away, I — alas ! am the Wandering Jew ! " 14 314 THE WANDERING JEW. " We oft have read," The people said, " Thou bearest ever a nameless woe ; Now, prithee tell How it befell That thou art always wandering so ? " " The time would fail To tell my tale, And yet a little, ere I depart, Would I relate About my fate, For some — perhaps — may lay it to heart " When but a youth (And such, in sooth. Are ever of giddy and wanton mood), With tearless eye I saw pass by The Saviour bearing the hateful rood. " And when he stooped, And, groaning, drooped And staggered and fell beneath the weight, I cursed his name. And cried, ' For shame ! Move on, blasphemer, and meet thy fate ! ' "He raised his head. And, smiling, said : ' Move on thyself ! In sorrow and pain, When I am gone Shalt thou move on. Nor rest thy foot till I come again ! ' THE WANDERING JEW. 315 " Alas ! the time That saw my crime, — ' was more than a thousand years ago !) And since that hour Some inward power IS kept me wandering to and fro. " I fain would die That I might lie ith those who sleep in the silent tomb ; But not for me Is rest, — till He all come to end my dreadful doom. " The pestilence That hurries hence thousand souls in a single night Brings me no death Upon its breath, t passes by in its wayward flight. " The storm that wrecks A hundred decks, d drowns the shuddering, shrieking crew Still leaves afloat The fragile boat at bears the life of the Wandering Jew. " But I must away ; I cannot stay ; r further suffer a monjent's loss ; Heed well the word That ye have heard, — r spurn the Saviour who bore the Ci;oss ^ " 3i6 THE THREE GOOD DAYS. THE THREE GOOD DAYS. A LEGEND OF ITALY. IN Casena dwelt a widow ; Worldly fortune she had none ; Nor a single near relation Save her silly, idle son. Little heeded he her counsel When she bade him stir about, — Ever yawning, dozing, sleeping. Like a good-for-nothing lout. Oft and oft his mother told him (Dame Lucetta was her name), " Rise, Lucello ! — (so she called him), Get thee out, — for very shame ! " See ! the sun is high in Heaven ! Quit, my boy, your lazy bed ; Go and seek some honest labor ; So good days shall crown your head." Much the foolish fellow marvelled What "good days " might chance to be ; When, at last, the lad determined He would even go and see 1 So, next morning, lo ! — the sluggard, Rising lazily and late, Sauntered forth, and on, and onward, Till he reached the city gate. THE THREE GOOD DAYS. Here Lucello, tired with walking In the sultry summer heat, Straightway Ijiid him down to slumber Right across the trodden street ! Now it chanced three wicked robbers, Coming from the secret place Where their stolen wealth was buried, Met the stranger face to face. And the first, as he was passing, Seeing some one in the way (For he stumbled on the sleeper), Bade him civilly, " Good day ! " "There is one!'" Lucello answered, Minding what the dame had said How " good days," for good behavior, ■ Were to crown his lucky head. But the robber, conscience-smitten Touching the unlawful pelf. Deemed the words the lad had spoken Plainly pointed to himself ! Soon another robber, passing. His " Good day " was fain to give ; " Here is luck ! " exclaimed Lucello, " That 's the second ! — as I live ! " Trembling, now the rogues awaited The arrival of the third, When again " Good day " was given, Which with joy LUCELLO heard. 317 3i8 THE STORY OF ECHO. " Number three ! by all that 's lucky ! " Cried the boy, with keen delight ; " My good days are quickly coming ; Faith ! the dame was in the right ! " Whereupon the robbers, guessing That the lad was well aware Of the treasure they had hidden, Straightway offered him a share ; Which he joyfully accepted, And in triumph carried home, And with rapture told his mother. How his lucky days had come ! THE STORY OF ECHO. A BEAUTIFUL maiden was Echo, ■^*- As classical history tells, A favorite nymph of Diana, who dwelt among forests and dells. Now Echo was very loquacious. And though she was silly and young, It seems that she never was weary Of plying her voluble tongue. And, I 'm sorry to say in addition, Besides her impertinent clack. She had, upon every occasion, A habit of answering back. THE STORY OF ECHO. Though even the wisest of matrons In grave conversation was heard, Miss Echo forever insisted On having the ultimate word. A fault so exceedingly hateful, That yuno (whom Echo betrayed While the Goddess was hearing the laabble) Determined to punish the maid. Said she : " In reward of your folly, Henceforward in vain you will try To talk in the manner of others ; At best, you can only reply ! " A terrible punishment truly For one of so lively a turn. And it brought the poor maiden to ruin ; The way you shall presently learn. For, meeting the handsome Narcissus, And wishing his favor to gain, Full often she tried to address him. But always endeavored in vain. And when, as it finally happened. He spoke to the damsel one day. Her answers seemed only to mock hiin. And drove him in anger away. Ah ! sad was the fate of poor Echo Was ever so hapless a maid ? She wasted away in her sorrow Until she was wholly decayed. 319 ,2o ^ CASE OF CONSCIENCE. But her voice is still living immortal, — The same you have frequently heard, In your rambles in valleys and forests. Repeating your ultimate word I A CASE OF CONSCIENCE. TWO College Professors, — I won't give their names (Call one of them Jacob, the other one James), — Two College Professors, who ne'er in their lives Had wandered before from the care of their wives. One day in vacation, when lectures were through, And teachers and students had nothing to do, Took it into their noddles to go to the Races, To look at the nags, and examine their paces. And find out the meaning of " bolting " and " baiting," And the (clearly preposterous) practice of " waiting," And " laying long odds," and the other queer capers Which cram the reports that appear in the papers ; And whether a " stake " is the same as a post ? And how far a " heat " may resemble a roast ? And whether a "hedge," in the language of sport. Is much like the plain agricultural sort ? And if " making a book " is a thing which requires A practical printer ? — and who are the buyers ? — Such matters as these, — very proper to know, — And no thought of betting, — induced them to go To the Annual Races, which then were in force (Horse-racing, in fact, is a matter of course. Apart from the pun) in a neighboring town ; And so, as I said, the Professors went down. A CASE OF CONSCIENCE. 321 r was the finest that ever was known ; losphere just of that temperate tone pleases the Spirit of (man and) the Times, )0ssible, quite, to describe in my rhymes, ck has been put in a capital plight lart dash of rain on the previous night, things " went off " — save some of the horses — y as crickets or Kansas divorces ! at the ground, it is easy to guess rthy Professors' dismay and distress le queer things which expanded their eyes mention their ears) to a wonderful size 1 ey stared at the men who were playing at poker, )lded the chap with the " sly little joker " ; ; boy who had " something uncommonly nice," he offered to sell at a very high price, — le that did n't seem over-refined, arly was not of the Sunday-school kind. , and much more, — but your patience will fail, I desist, and go on with my tale. rthy Professors no sooner had found en-shilling) seats in the circular ground, iked at the horses, — when, presently, came to know what was the Favorite's name ; w stood the betting, — quite plainly revealing irrepressible horse-race-y feeling s born in the bone, and is apt to come out horough-bred coursers are snorting about ! )fessors, in fact, — I am grieved to report, — ■ery first match entered into the sport, ; (with each other) their money away — 322 THE ORIGIN OF WINE. Just Fifty apiece — on the Brown and the Bay/ And shouted as loud as they ever could bellow, " Hurrah for the filly ! " and " Go it, old fellow ! " And, " Stick to your business ! " and " Rattle your pegs ! " — Like a jolly old brace of professional " Legs ! " The race being over, quoth Jacob, " I see My wager is forfeit ; to that I agree. The Fifty is yours, by the technical rules Observed, I am told, by these horse-racing fools ; But then, as a Christian, — I 'm sorry to say it, — My Conscience, you know, won't allow me to pay it ! " "No matter," quoth fames, " I can hardly refuse To accord with your sound theological views : A tardy repentance is better than none ; I must tell you, however, 't ynz&your horse that won ! But of course you won't think of demanding the pelf, For / have a conscience as well as yourself 1 " THE ORIGIN OF WINE. A GERMAN LEGEND. Respectfully dedicated to O. M. Tinkham, Esq. I. 'V/'E friends of good cheer, I pray you give ear ; ■*■ I sing of old Noah who planted the vine ; But first, if you please, our thirst to appease. Let 's drink to his health in a bumper of wine I THE ORIGIN ^F WINE. 323 II. ;n the Deluge was o'er, and good Father Noah It moping one day in the shade of a tree, ^ngel came near, and thinlcing it queer, lid : " Tell me, I pray, what the matter may be." III. ! Noah : " I 'm curst with a horrible thirst ; > painful, indeed, I am ready to sink ; ve plenty to eat, there 's no lack of meat ; at, sir, on my honor, I Ve nothing to drink 1 " IV. e, on every side," the Angel replied, There is water enough both in river and rill, - fever to slake, — not to mention the lake, id many a fountain that flows from the hill." Noah : " I know the waters still flow, It the Deluge has ruined the fluid for drink ; lany bad men were soaked in it then, le water now tastes of the sinners, I think." VI. :an't be denied," the Angel repHed, There is something of reason in what you have said ; ; the water is bad, it is fitting you had good wholesome tipple to drink in its stead." VII. I flying away, the very next day le Angel came back with a handful of seeds ; taught the good man the properest plan planting, and hoeing, and kiUing the weeds. 224 "^^^^ PARROT OF NEVERS. VIII. Ah ! what color and shape ! 't is the beautiful grape ; In clusters of purple they hang from the vine ; And these being pressed, — it is easily guessed, Old Noah thenceforward drank nothing but wine. So, a cup ere we part to the man of our heart, Old Noah, the primitive grower of wine ; And one brimming cup (nay, fill it quite up) To the Angel who gave him the seed of the vine ! THE PARROT OF NEVERS. ONCE on a time there flourished in Nevers, Within a nunnery of godly note, A famous parrot, so exceeding fair In the deep lustre of his emerald coat. They called him Ver-Vert, — syllables that mean In English much the same as Double Green. In youth transplanted from an Indian strand, For his soul's health with Christian folks to dwell, His morals yet were pure, his manners bland ; Gay, handsome, brilliant, and, the truth to tell, Pert and loquacious, as became his age ; In short, well worthy of his holy cage. THE PARROT OF NEVERS. 325 III. ir to the sisters for his winning ways Vas gay Ver-Vert ; they kept him ever near, \ kindly taught him many a holy phrase, Enforced with titbits from their daily cheer, 1 loved him better — they would oft declare — m any one, except their darling Mere ! IV. ! ne'er was parrot happier than he ; .nd happy was the lucky girl of whom asked — according as his whim might be — 'he privilege at eve to share her room, ere, perched upon the relics, he would sleep ough the long night in slumber calm and deep. ength, what joy to see ! — the bird had grown, ifith good example, thoughtful and devout, said his prayers in such a nasal tone, [is piety was quite beyond a doubt ; 1 some declared that soon, with proper teaching, 'd rival the Superior at preaching ! VI. ,ny laughed to see his solemn ways, 1 curt rebuke, " Orate ! " * he replied ; 1 when his zeal provoked a shower of praise, Deo sit laus/"-^ the humble novice cried; 1 many said they did n't mind confessing " Pax sit tecum ! " J brought a special blessing. * Pray I t Peace be with you. t Praise be to God. 326 THE PARROT OF NEVERS. VII. Such wondrous talents, though awhile concealed, Could not be kept in secrecy forever ; Some babbling nun the precious truth revealed, And all the town must see a bird so clever ; Until at last so wide the wonder grew, 'T was fairly bruited all the country through. VIII. And so it fell, by most unlucky chance, A distant city of the parrot heard ; The story reached some sister-nuns at Nantz, Who fain themselves would see this precious bird Whose zeal and learning had sufficed to draw On blest Nevers such honor and ddat. IX. What could they do ? — well, here is what they did, To the good Abbess presently there went A friendly note, in which the writers bid A thousand blessings hasten their descent Upon her honored house, — and would she please To grant a favor asked upon their knees ? 'T was only this, that she would deign to lend For a brief space that charming parroquet ; They hoped the bold request might not offend Her ladyship, but then they fain would get Such proof as only he could well advance To silence certain sceptic nuns of Nantz. THE PARROT OF NEVERS. 327 XI. e letter came to hand, and such a storm Df pious wrath was never heard before ; e mildest sister waxed exceeding warm, — ■ Perdre Ver- Vert ! O del / plutdt la mart ! " ey all broke forth in one terrific cry, lat ? — lose their darling ? — they would rather die ! XII. t, on reflection, it was reckoned best To take the matter into grave debate, d put the question fairly to the test Which seemed, indeed, a nice affair of state), they should lend their precious pet or not ; d so they held a session, long and hot. xiii; e sisters all with one accord express Their disapproval in a noisy " No ! " 2 graver dame — who loved the parrot less — Declared, Perhaps 't were best to let him go ; fusal was ungracious, and, indeed, ugly quarrel might suffice to breed. XIV. n was the claipor of the younger set ; Just fifteen days and not a moment more " imma decided) " we will lend our pet ; )f course his absence we shall all deplore, : then, remember, he is only lent ■ two short weeks," — and off the parrot went 1 328 THE PARROT OF NEVERS. XV. In the same bark that bore the bird away Were several Gascons and a vulgar nurse, Besides two Cyprian ladies ; sooth to say, Ver- Vert's companions could n't have been worse. Small profit such a youth might hope to gain From wretches so licentious and profane. XVI. Their manners struck him as extremely queer ; Such oaths and curses he had never heard And now in volleys stunned his saintly ear ; Although he did n't understand a word, Their conversation seemed improper, very, To one brought up within a monastery. xvil. For his, remember, was a Christian tongue Unskilled in aught save pious prose or verse By his good sisters daily said or sung ; And now to hear the Gascons and the nurse Go on in such a roaring, ribald way. He knew not what to think, nor what to say. XVIII. And so he mused in silence ; till at last The nurse reproached him for a sullen fool, And poured upon him a terrific blast Of questions, such as, where he 'd been to school .'' And was he used to travelling about 1 And did his mother know that he was out ? THE PARROT OF NEVERS. 329 XIX. ve Maria ! " * said the parrot, — vexed y so much banter into sudden speech, — ereat all laughed to hear the holy text, nd cried, " By Jove ! the chap is going to preach !" )me," they exclaimed, "let 's have a song instead." mtate Domino ! " t the parrot said. XX. his reply they laughed so loud and long hat poor Ver-Vert was fairly stricken dumb, ain they teased him for a merry song ; bashed by ridicule and quite o'ercome h virulent abuse, the wretched bird two whole days refused to speak a word ! XXI. nwhile he listened to their vile discourse I deep disgust ; but still the stranger thought ~ ir slang surpassed in freedom, pith, and force ne purer language which the missal taught, seemed, besides, an easier tongue to speak n prayer-book Latin or monastic Greek. liort, to tell the melancholy truth, ;fore the boat had reached its destined shore vho embarked a pure, ingenuous youth, ad grown a profligate, and cursed and swore 1 dreadful oaths as e'en the Gascons heard 1 shame, and said, " The Devil 's in the bird !" * Hail Mary. t Let us sing unto the Lord. 330 THE PARROT OF NEVERS. At length, the vessel has arrived in port, And half the sisterhood are waiting there To greet their guest, and safely to escort To their own house the wonderful Ver-Vert, — The precious parrot whom their fancies paint Crowned with a halo like a very saint ! XXIV. Great was the clamor when their eyes beheld The charming stranger in the emerald coat ; "Ver-Vert indeed ! '.' — his very hue compelled A shout of praise that reached the highest note. "And then such eyes ! — and such a graceful walk! And soon, — what rapture ! — we shall hear him talk ! " XXV. At length, the Abbess in a nasal chant (Intended, doubtless, for a pretty speech). Showered him with thanks that he had deigned to grant His worthy presence there, and to beseech His benediction in such gracious terms As might befit the sinfulest of worms. XXVI. Alas for youthful piety ! the bird, Still thinking o'er the lessons latest learned. For a full minute answered not a word. And then, as if to show how much he spurned The early teachings of his holy school. He merely muttered, " Curse the silly fool 1" THE PARROT OF NEVERS. 331 ; lady, startled at the queer remark, !ould not but think that she had heard amiss ; i so began to speak again, — but hark ! Vhat diabolic dialect is this ? — h language for a saint was most improper, :h word an oath, and every oath a whopper ! XXVIII. arbleti / " " Morbleu ! " and every azure curse "o pious people strictly disallowed, luding others that were vastly worse, 'ame rattling forth on the astonished crowd inch a storm, that one might well compare ; dreadful volley to a feu d'at/er/ XXIX. Dod aghast in horror and dismay ; le cried, "For shame! is that the way they teach pupils at Nevers f " Some ran away, iding the welkin with a piercing screech ; stopt their ears for modesty ; and some igh shocked) stood waiting something worse to ef, the dame, replete with holy rage Deing thus insulted and disgraced, jp the hateful parrot in his cage, I sent him back with all convenient haste his indignant note ; "In time to come ;ased to keep your precious prize at home ! " 332 KING SOLOMON AND THE BEES. XXXI. When to Nevers the wicked wanderer came, All were delighted at his quick return ; But who can paint their sorrow and their shame When the sad truth the gentle sisters learn. That he who left them, chanting pious verses, Now greets his friends with horrid oaths and curses ! XXXII. 'T is said that after many bitter days In wholesome solitude and penance passed, Ver-Vert grew meek, reformed his wicked ways, And died a hopeful penitent at last. The moral of my story is n't deep, — " Young folks, beware what company you keep ! " KING SOLOMON AND THE BEES. A TALE OF THE TALMUD. WHEN Solomon was reigning in his glory. Unto his throne the Queen of Sheba came, (So in the Talmud you may read the story) Drawn by the magic of the monarch's fame, To see the splendors of his court ; and bring Some fitting tribute to the mighty king. II. Nor this alone ; much had her Highness heard What flowers of learning graced the royal speech ; KING SOLOMON AND THE BEES. 333 jems of wisdom dropped with every word ; t wholesome lessons he was wont to teach ising proverbs ; and she wished, in sooth, )w if Rumor spoke the simple truth. 5, the queen had heard (which piqued her most) ■ through the deepest riddles he could spy ; 11 the curious arts that women boast e quite transparent to his piercing eye ; I the queen had come — a royal guest — the sage's cunning to the test. IV. raight she held before the monarch's view, ther hand, a radiant wreath of flowers ; le, bedecked with every charming hue, newly culled from Nature's choicest bowers ; her, no less fair in every part, le rare product of divinest Art V. h is the true, and which the false ? " she said, t Solomon was silent. All-amazed, rondering courtier shook his puzzled head, e at the garlands long the monarch gazed, who sees a miracle, — and fain, ■y rapture, ne'er would speak again. VI. h is the true ?" once more the woman asked ; ied at the fond amazement of the king. 334 KING SOLOMON AND THE BEES. " So wise a head should not be hardly tasked, Most learned Liege, with such a trivial thing ! " But still the sage was silent ; it was plain A deepening doubt perplexed the royal brain. While thus he pondered, presently he sees, Hard by the casement, — so the story goes, — A little band of busy, bustling bees. Hunting for honey in a withered rose. The monarch smiled, and raised his royal head ; " Open the window ! " — that was all he said. The window opened at the king's command ; Within the room the eager insects flew. And sought the flowers in Sheba's dexter hand I And so the king and all the courtiers knew That wreath was Nature's ; and the baffled queen Returned to tell the wonders she had seen. IX. My story teaches (every tale should bear A fitting moral) that the wise may find In trifles light as atoms in the air. Some useful lesson to enrich the mind ; Some truth designed to profit or to please, — As Israel's king learned wisdom from the bees 1 THE BRAHMIN AND HIS^ NEIGHBORS. 335 THE PIOUS BRAHMIN AND HIS NEIGH- BORS. A HINDOO FABLE. A PIOUS Brahmin made a VOW -^*- Upon a certain day To sacrifice a fatted sheep ; And so, his vow to pay, One morning to the market-place The Brahmin took his way. It chanced three cunning neighbors, Three rogues of brazen brow. Had formed the wicked purpose (My tale will tell you how). To cheat the pious Brahmin, And profit by his vow. The leader of these cunning knaves Went forth upon the road. And bearing on his shoulders What seemed a heavy load, He met the pious Brahmin Not far from his abode. " What have you there .-' " the Brahmin, said. " Indeed," the man replies, " I have the finest, fattest sheep, And of the largest size ; A sheep well worthy to be slain. In solemn sacrifice I " 336 THE PIOUS BRAHMIN And then the rogue laid down his load, And from a bag drew forth A scurvy dog ! " See there ! " he cried, " The finest sheep on earth ! And you shall have him, if you will. For less than he is worth ! " " Wretch ! " cried the pious Brahmin, " To call a beast so mean A goodly sheep ! 'T is but a dog Accursdd and unclean ; The foulest, leanest, lamest cur That ever yet was seen ! " Just then the second rogue came up. " What luck ! " he said, " to find So soon a sheep in flesh and fleece Exactly to my mind ! " " A sheep ? " exclaimed the Brahmin, " Then I am surely bUnd ! " " You must be very blind indeed. Or fond of telling lies. To say the beast is not a sheep ! " The cunning rogue replies ; " Go get a leech to mend your tongue. Or else to mend your eyes ! " Now while these men disputed thus, The other rogue drew near, ■ And all agreed this honest man Should make the matter clear. " O stranger ! " cried the Brahmin, " What creature have we here ? " AND HIS NEIGHBORS. 337 " A goodly sheep ! " the stranger said. " Alas ! " the Brahmin cried, " A moment since I would have sworn This honest fellow lied ; But now I know it is a sheep, Since thus you all decide ! " And so it was the cunning knaves Prevailed in their device ; The pious Brahmin bought the dog, Nor higgled at the price. ".'T will make," he said, " unto the gods A pleasing sacrifice ! " But ill betide the fatal hour His filthy blood was shed ; It brought no benison, alas ! Upon the Brahmin's head ; The gods were angry at the deed, And sent a curse instead ! The meaning of this pleasant tale Is very plainly shown ; The man is sure to fall, at last. Who does n't stand alone ; Don't trust to other people's eyes, But learn to mind your own 1 338 THE ROMANCE OF NICK VAN STANN. THE ROMANCE OF NICK VAN STANN.' I CAN NOT vouch my tale is true, Nor swear, indeed, 't is wholly new ; But true or false, or new or old, I think you '11 find it fairly told. A Frenchman, who had ne'er before Set foot upon a foreign shore. Weary of home, resolved to go And see what Holland had to show. He did n't know a word of Dutch, But that could hardly grieve him much ; He thought, — as Frenchmen always do, — That all the world could parley-voo ! At length our eager tourist stands Within the famous Netherlands, And, strolUng gayly here and there In search of something rich or rare, A lordly mansion greets his eyes. " How beautiful ! " the Frenchman cries, And, bowing to the man who sate In livery at the garden-gate ; " Pray, Mr. Porter, if you please, Whose very charming grounds are these ? And — pardon me — be pleased to tell Who in this splendid house may dwell ? " To which, in Dutch, the puzzled man Replied what seemed like " Nick Van Stann." * " Thanks ! " said the Gaul, " the owner's taste Is equally superb and chaste ; * lA kan nUi versiaati, — I don't understand. THE ROMANCE OF NICK VAN STANN So fine a house, upon my word, Not even Paris can afford. With statues, too, in every niche. Of course, Monsieur Van Statin is rich. And Hves, I warrant, Hke a king, — Ah ! wealth must be a charming thing ! " In Amsterdam the Frenchman meets A thousand wonders in the streets ; But most he marvels to behold A lady dressed in silk and gold. Gazing with rapture at the dame, He begs to know the lady's name, And hears — to raise his wonder more — The very words he heard before ! ■ " Mercie /^' he cries, "well, on my life. Milord has got a charming wife ; 'T is plain to see, this Nick Van Stann Must be a very happy man ! " Next day, our tourist chanced to pop His head within a lottery-shop. And there he saw, with staring eyes, The drawing of the Mammoth Prize. " Ten MilHons ! — 'T is a pretty sum ; I wish I had as much at home ! I 'd like to know, as I 'm a sinner. What lucky fellow is the winner ? " Conceive our traveller's amaze To hear again the hackneyed phrase ! " What ! No ? — not Nick Van Stanti again ? Faith ! he 's the luckiest of men ! You may be sure we don't advance So rapidly as that in France. A house, the finest in the land ; 339 340 THE FISHERMAN AND THE FLOUNDER. A lovely garden, nicely planned ; A perfect angel of a wife, And gold enough to last a life, — There never yet was mortal man So blest as Monsieur Nick Van Sta7tnl" Next day the Frenchman clianced to meet A pompous: funeral in the street, And asking one who stood near by What nobleman had pleased to die ? Was stunned to hear the old reply ! The Frenchman sighed and shook his head. " Mojt Dieu ! poor Nick Van Stann is dead ! With such a house, and such a wife, It must be hard Jo part with life ; And then, to lose that Mammoth Prize — He wins, and — pop ! — the winner dies ! Ah ! well, his blessings came so fast, I greatly feared they could n't last ; And thus, we see, the sword of Fate Cuts down alike the small and great 1 " THE FISHERMAN AND THE FLOUNDER. A GERMAN FAIRY TALE. A FISHERMAN, poor as poor can be, Who lived in a hovel beside the sea, Was fishing one day, when " Lo ! " he cries, " I 've caught a flounder of wondrous size ! As fine a flounder as one could wish ! " " O no ! you have n't I " exclaimed the fish ; THE FISHERMAN AND THE FLOUNDER. 341 " In spite of my scaly skin," he said, " I am not a fish, but a Prince instead ; Condemned to suffer this watery woe ; So I beg, good man, you will let me go ! " The fisherman, frightened at what he heard, Let the flounder go with never a word Except " Good by ! I 'd rather eschew Than cook a flounder who talks Uke you ! " His hovel now the fisherman sought. And told his wife of the fish he caught. And how his luck was all in vain, For he let the flounder off again ! " And did you ask for nothing ? — alack ! " The woman cried : " Go presently back, And tell the Prince of our wretched lot, And ask him to give us a finer cot ! " To mind his wife he was something loth, But he feared the woman when she was wroth And so he went to the ocean-side, And thus the fisherman loudly cried : " O good flounder in the sea. Hither quickly come to me ; For Pauline, my loving dame, Wants queer things I fear to name." Whereat the flounder, swimming near. Said, " Why, O why, am I summoned here ? " And the trembling fisherman answered thus : " My dame is always making a fuss ; A cosey hovel is hers and mine, But she fain would have a cottage fine ! " " Go home," said the fish, " this very minute ; The cottage is hers ; you '11 find her in it ! " He hied him home in haste, and lo ! The fisherman found it even so. 342 THE FISHERMAN AND THE FLOUNDER. " How happy," he cried, " we now shall be ! " But the woman answered, " We shall see ! " When a month was past, the woman sighed For a larger house. " Now go," she cried, " And tell the flounder ('t is my command) 1 want a mansion large and grand ! " To mind the dame he was truly loth. But he feared the woman when she was wroth ; So he went again to the ocean-side, And loudly thus the fisherman cried : " O good flounder in the sea, Hither quickly come to me ; For Pauline, my loving dame, Wants queer things I fear to name." Whereat the flounder, swimming near. Said, " Why again am I summoned here t " And the trembling fisherman answered thus : " My wife is always making a fuss ; She deems our cottage much too small ; She wants a mansion large and tall." " Go home," said the fish, " this very mintite ; The mansion is there, — you 'U find her in it ! " He hied him home in haste, and lo ! The fisherman found it even so ! And he cried, " How happy we shall be ! " But the woman answered, " We shall see ! " When a week was past, the woman sighed For a castle grand. " Now go," she cried, " And tell the flounder that he must give Your wife a palace wherein to live." To mind the dame he was greatly loth. But he feared the woman when she was wroth ; So he went again to the ocean-side. And softly thus the fisherman cried : 'HE FISHERMAN AND THE FLOUNDER. 343 " O good flounder in the sea, Hither quickly come to me ; For Pauline, my loving dame. Wants queer things I fear to name ! " Whereat the flounder, swimming near. Said, " Why again am I summoned here ? " And the trembling fisherman answered thus : " My dame is always making a fuss ; She deems our mansion poorly planned ; She wants a palace great and grand ! " " Go home," said the fish, " this very minute ; The palace is there, — you '11 find her in it ! " He hied him home in haste, and, lo! Thefisherman found it even so, And he cried, " How happy we shall be!" But the woman answered, "We shall see!" When a day was past, with growing pride, For regal power the woman sighed ; And she bade the fisherman tell the fish To reign as a king was now her wish. To mind the dame he was sadly loth. But he feared the woman when she was wroth. So he went again to the ocean-side. And softly thus the fisherman cried : " O good flounder in the sea. Hither quickly come to me ; For Pauline, my loving dame, Wants queer things I fear to name." Whereat the flounder, swimming near. Said, " Why again am I summoned here ? " And the trembling fisherman answered thus : " My dame is always making a fuss ; She has got a palace great and grand. And now she asks for royal command ! " " Go home ! " said the fish, " at the palace gate 344 THE FISHERMAN AND THE FLOUNDER. You '11 find her a king in royal state ! " He hied him home in haste, and, lo ! The fisherman found it even so. " Good faith," said he, " 't is a charming thing To be, like you, a sovereign king ! With a golden crown upon your brow, I 'm sure you '11 be contented now ! " " Not I, indeed," the woman said, " A triple crown would grace my head ; And I am worthy, I humbly hope, — Go tell the flounder to make me Pope ! " "A Pope? my dear, — it cannot be done! The Church, you know, allows but one." " Nay, none of your nonsense, man," said she, "A Pope, — a Pope I am bound to be ! The Prince will find it an easy thing To make a pope as to make a king ! " To mind the dame he was sorely loth, But he feared the woman when she was wroth, So he went again to the ocean-side. And thus the fisherman faintly cried : " O good flounder in the sea. Hither quickly come to me. For Pauline, my loving dame. Wants queer things I fear to name 1 " Whereat the flounder, swimming near. Said, " Why again am I summoned here ? " " Alack, alack ! " the fisherman said, " Whatever has turned the woman's head, She is ill-content with royal scope, And now, good luck ! she would fain be Pope ! " " Go home ! " the flounder gruffly cried, " And see the end of foolish pride ; You '11 find her in her hovel again, And there, till death, shall she remain ! " HOW THE RAVEN BECAME BLACK. 345 OW THE RAVEN BECAME BLACK THERE 's a clever classic story, Such as poets used to write, (You may find the tale in Ovid,) That the Raven once was white. White as yonder swan a-sailing At this moment in the moat, Till the bird, for misbehavior. Lost, one day, his snowy coat. ' " Raven-white " was once the saying, Till an accident, alack ! Spoiled its meaning, and thereafter It was changed to " Raven-black." Shall I tell you how it happened That the change was brought about ? List the story of Coronis, And you '11 find the secret out. Young Coronis, fairest maiden Of ThessaUa's girlish train, Whom Apollo loved and courted, Loved and courted not in vain, Farted with another lover (So at least the story goes) And was wont to meet him slyly, Underneath the blushing rose. 346 ffOW THE RAVEN BECAME BLACK. Whereupon the bird of Phcebus, Who their meetings chanced to view, Went in haste unto his master, Went and told him all he knew ; Told him how his dear Coronis, False and faithless as could be, Plainly loved another fellow, — If he doubted, come and see ! Whereupon Apollo, angry Thus to find himself betrayed, With his silver bow-and-arrow Went and shot the wretched maid ! Now when he perceived her dying, He was stricken to the heart. And to stop her moital bleeding. Tried his famous healing art 1 But in vain ; the god of Physic Had no anfidote ; alack ! He who took her off so deftly Could n't bring the maiden back ! Angry with himself, Apollo, Yet more angry with his bird. For a moment stood in silence, — Impotent to speak a word. Then he turned upon the Raven, • " Wanton babbler ! see thy fate 1 Messenger of mine no longer, Go to Hades with thy prate ! DEATH AND CUPID. " Weary Pluto with thy tattle ! Hither, monster, come not back ; And — to match thy disposition — Henceforth be thy plumage black ! " MORAL. When you 're tempted to make mischief, It is wisest to refuse ; People are not apt to fancy Bearers of unwelcome news. SECOND MORAL. Something of the pitcfl you handle, On your fingers will remain ; As the Raven's tale of darkness Gave the bird a lasting stain I DEATH AND CUfltD-. AN ALLEGORY. AH! — who but oft hath marvelled why -*- The gods who rule above Ihould e'er permit the young to die, The old to fall in love ! i.h ! — why should hapless human kind Be punished out of season ? 'ray listen, and perhaps you '11 find My rhyme may give the reason. 347 348 LOVE AND LUCRE. Death, strolling out one summer's day, Met Cupid, with his sparrows ; And, bantering in a merry way, Proposed a change of arrows. "Agreed!" quoth CuPID, "I foresee The queerest game of errors ; For you the King of Hearts will be ! And I '11 be King of Terrors ! » And so 't was done ; — alas the day That multiplied their arts ! — Each from the other bore away A portion of hisniarts ! — • And that explains the reason why. Despite the gods above. The young are often doomed to die ; The old to fall in love ! LOVE AND LUCRE. AN ALLEGORY. LOVE and LUCRE met one day, In chill November. weather, And so, to while the time away, They held discourse together. Love at first was rather shy, As thinking there was danger In venturing so very nigh The haughty-looking stranger. LOVE AND LUCRE. But Lucre managed to employ Behavior so potential, That, in jt trice, the bashful boy- Grew bold and confidential. " I hear," quoth LUCRE, bowing low, " With all your hearts and honey, You sometimes suffer ■ — is it so ? — For lack of ready money.'' Love owned that he was poor in aught Except in golden fancies. And ne'er as yet had given a thought To mending his finances ; " Besides, I 've heard " — so Love went on, The other's hint improving — " That -gold, however sought or won, Is not a friend to loving." " An arrant lie ! — as you shall see, — Full long ago invented, By knaves who know not you nor me, To tickle the demented." And Lucre waved his wand, and lo ! By magical expansion. Love saw his little hovel grow Into a stately mansion ! And where, before, he used to sup Untended in his cottage, And grumble o'er the earthen cup That held his meagre pottage, — 349 35° WISDOM AND CUNNING. Now, smoking viands crown his board, And many a flowing chalice ; His larder was with plenty stored, And beauty filled the palace 1 And I.ovE, though rather lean at first, And tinged with melancholy. On generous wines and puddings nursed, Grew very stout and jolly 1 Yet, mindful of his early friend, He never turns detractor, But prays that blessings may attend His worthy benefactor ; And when his friends are gay above Their evening whist or euchre. And drink a brimming health to LovE, He drinks " Success to Lucre ! " WISDOM AND CUNNING. AN ALLEGORY. AS Wisdom one evening was taking a stroll. Quite out of her usual road, She came to a hut, at the foot of a knoll. Where Selfishness had his abode. In this dismal retreat, — which, within and without, Was the shabbiest ever was known, — In a fashion befitting so scurvy a lout, The miser was living alone. WISDOM AND CUNNING. She knocked at the door with a maidenly rap, To inquire concerning the way ; For in strolhng about, by an awkward mishap. Miss Wisdom had wandered astray. The occupant growled, for the insolent churl Suspected some beggarly kin ; But, getting.a peep at the beautiful girl, He civilly bade her, " Come in ! " Alas for the damsel ! — was ever before A maid in so wretched a plight ? For Sefishness cruelly bolted the door, And forced her to wed him outright ! That a couple so mated soon came to be foes. Of course it is easy to see ; For natures so opposite, every one knows. Could never a moment agree. And so it befell that the lady at last, By pleading deception and force. From the infamous marriage that bound her so fast, Procured an eternal divorce. But ere 't was decreed, — it is proper to say, — A serious mischief was done ; For it happened one morning, — bad luck to the day ! The lady gave birth to a son. An ill-looking urchin as ever was born (As Ctmning the fellow is known), Whom even his mother regarded with scorn, And never was willing to own. 351 3S2 THE SULTAN AND THE OWLS. A slight look of Wisdom, he bears in his face, Procures him a deal of respect With people too little discerning to trace The vices which others detect. For, ever his motives are sordid and vile, And ever his methods are mean ; And thus, in despite of his treacherous smile, The mind of the father is seen ! THE SULTAN AND THE OWLS. AN ARABIAN TALE. ' I ■'HE Sultan, Mahmoud, in his early reign, -'- By bootless foreign wars reduced the nation. Till half his faithful followers were slain. And all the land was filled with desolation. II. The sultan's Vizier, saddened at the heart To see at every turn some new disaster. Essayed in vain, by counsel and by art. To stay the folly of his royal master. III. The Vizier, deeply versed in legal lore, — In state affairs the Sultan's chief reliance, — ■ Had found, besides, some leisure to explore In learned boojcs the mysteries of science. THE SULTAN AND THE OWLS. 353 IV. )ther matters of the graver sort, snew to judge men's fancies by their features ; nderstood, according to report, hidden language of the feathered creatures. V. easant evening, on an aged tree ; while within a wood the twain were walking), Lilian and the Vizer chanced to see lir of solemn owls engaged in talking. VI. altan asked : " What is it that they say ? " fain would know what the debate portended ; izier answered : " Sire, excuse me, pray, ir your Highness would be much offended." VII. " said the Sultan, " whatsoe'er it be ;e heralds of Minerva may be saying, ; it. Vizier, faithfully to me ; -e 's no offence, except in not obeying." VIII. ," said the other, " these sagacious fowl* s met, 't would seem, at the appointed hour, their children's wedding ; and the owls at this moment talking of the dower. IX. "ather of the daughter, speaking free, : 'What are your conditions? please to state 'em!' 354 THE PIN AND THE NEEDLE. ' Well, twenty ruined villages,' quoth he (The father of the son) ; 'and that 's my ultimatum!^ X. " ' Done ! ' says the other, ' only understand I 'd say two hundred quite as soon as twenty ; Thanks to good Mahmoud ! white ke rules the land We shall have ruined villages in plenty ! ' " XI. 'T is said the Sultan, stricken with remorse, Restored the land reduced by war and pillage, And ruled so wisely in his future course That not an owl could find a ruined village. THE PIN AND THE NEEDLE. AN APOLOGUE. A PIN and Needle in a basket lay, • Exempt from household labors ; And so they fell a-quarrelling one day, Like other idle neighbors. II. " Pray, what 's the use ? " the saucy Pin exclaimed, " Of such as you ? you noddy ! Before fine ladies you must be ashamed To show your headless body 1 " 355 THE PIN AND THE NEEDLE. HI. " Who cares about your brazen little head ? I hold it in derision ; 'T is good for naught," the Needle sharply said, " Without an eye for vision ! " IV. " Tut ! " said the other, piqued at this reply, " What profit do you find it. When any thread, unless you mind your eye. Can in a moment blind it ! " V. " If," said the Needle, " what you say were true, I 'U leave it to the Thimble, If I am not as bright again as you, And twenty times as nimble 1 " VI. " Grant," said the Pin, " you speak the simple truth, Beyond the sUghtest cavil, You '11 die so much the sooner, — in your youth, Worn out with toil and travel ! " VII. " Fie ! " said the Needle, " to my Fate I trust ; I scorn to be a laggard. And five and die — like you — consumed with rust, Misshapen, old, and haggard ! " VIII. Unhappy boaster ! for it came to pass The Needle scarce had spoken, When she was taken by an awkward lass. And in the eye was broken ! 35 6 BEN-AMMI AND THE I-AIRIES. IX. Whereat the Pin (which meets the damsel's view) Around the neck is threaded, And after many struggles to get through, Is suddenly beheaded ! X. " Well, here we are ! " the Needle humbly said ; No more a haughty scorner Of the poor Pin who shared her lowly bed, — A dust-heap in the corner ! XI. " Yes,'' said the other, thinking of the past, " I wish in better season We might have learned the lesson which at last Has brought us both to reason ! " XII. " Friend ! " said the Needle, " we are much like men, - Scornful in sunny weather ; And only mindful they are brothers when They 're in the dirt together ! " BEN-AMMI AND THE FAIRIES. A RABBINICAL TALE. ONCE on a time a stranger came At midnight to a wealthy man, — Rabbi Ben-ammi was his name, — And thus his salutation ran : BEN-AMMI AND THE FAIRIES. 357 " Rabbi ! I have i. child at home Who on the morrow's early light Is eight days old, — and thou must come And celebrate the sacred rite." Now this Ben-ammi, be it known, Though few indeed were rich as he, With growing wealth, alas ! had grown A miser to the last degree. And yet he held, it should be told, His office in such pure regard, With all his sordid lust of gold, He served the poor without reward. So at the word Ben-ammi rose. And when the sacred Law was read, Forth in the night the Rabbi goes. To follow where the stranger led. The night was dark, and, sooth to say, The road they trod was rough indeed ; Yet on and on they took their way. Where'er the stranger chose to lead. At last they reached, towards the dawn, A rock so huge ^(within a wood) A hundred steeds could not have drawn The mighty stone from where it stood ! Now mark the wonder that occurred : The stranger touched it with his hand, Spoke to himself some mystic word, And straight it moved from off the land 1 358 BEN-AMMI AND THE FAIRIES. And now the wondering Rabbi found The earth was open for a space, With steps that led beneath the ground, As if to some mysterious place. Descending these with prudent care, And going far and farther down. They reached an open country, where They found, at length, a peopled town. Among the houses, large and small. There stood a palace vast and grand, And here, within a spacious hall. Were fairy-folks on every hand. Now going where the woman lay Whose child the sacred rite required. The stranger bade Ben-ammi stay. And, bowing, silently retired. " Rabbi, pray listen ! " said the dame ; " These people here whom thou hast seen Thou knowest not except by name, — The fairy race of Mazakeen / " They are not human like ourselves (For I, indeed, was once of earth). But queer, uncouth, uncanny elves, Who find in mischief all their mirth. " And yet they have religions too ; All kinds of creeds, like folks above ; And he who rules them is a Jew, — My husband whom I dearly love. BEN-AMM2 AND THE FAIRIES. " And hence it was he made so bold To bring thee hither in the night, That for oiir babe, now eight days old, Thou mayst perform the holy rite. " Ife stole me from the earth away ; Of this I do not now complain : But listen well to what I say, If thou wouldst e'er return again. " Beware ! taste neither food nor drink Whilst thou art here, on any plea, Or in a moment thou wilt sink Thy manly form to — what you see ! " The king returning with his siezie, The holy rite was duly done, And all sat down to drink and eat In merry glee, — save only one. Ben-ammi (fearing the abuse The dame had borne) did not partake Of bread or wine, but made excuse Of three days' fast for conscience' sake. Whereat the king was moved to say, " How then shall I reward thy task ? " " Let me return to earth this day ! " Ben-ammi said ; " 't is all I ask 1 " " Nay ! " answered he ; and led him forth 'Mid heaps of gems and golden ore. " I would return this day to earth," Ben-ammi said ; " I ask no more ! " 359 360 BEN-AMMI AND THE FAIRIES. Entering another room, he sees (And marvels much, we may suppose) Along the walls, a thousand keys In bunches, hung in rusty rows ! While gazing at each brazen line, Ben-ammi cries, with startled tone :■ " This bunch so much resembles mine That I should take them for my own ! " " Thou sayest well," the king replied ; " They are thine own ; 't is here I hold The keys of men who basely hide, And do not use, their gathered gold. " Here, take the keys ! — henceforth thy heart Will melt in pity for the poor ; And all thou givest will impart A double blessing on thy store. " Now, wouldst thou go, first, shut thine eyes,'' Then waves his hand ton'ards the dome ; Up and away Ben-ammi flies. And quickly finds himself at home J And from that day Ben-ammi knew The use of wealth, and understood (While more and more his riches grew) The blessdd art of doing good 1 THE DISCONTENTED WA TER-CARRIER. 361 THE DISCONTENTED WATER-CARRIER. A TURKISH TALE. I. " ' I ""HERE goes the Vizier and his gaudy train 1 ^ While I, poor Hassan, indigent and old, Must carry water ; well, I can't explain Why one wears rags, another cloth of gold. II. " The single diamond that bedecks his sword Would set me up a gentleman for life ; And now, God bless me ! I cannot afford A pair of scarlet trousers for my wife ! " With half the money that his servants waste Each day in knickknacks, it is very clear My family might live like kings, and taste Roast kid for dinner fifty times a year. IV.- " It may be just ; I don't affirm 't is not ; Allah is Allah ! and knows what is best ; But if, for mine, I had the Vizier's lot, 'T would please me vastly better, I protest I " So murmured Hassan, vext within himself To see the Vizier riding proudly by ; When suddenly a httle fairy elf Appeared before him with a twinkling eye. 16 362 THE DISCONTENTED WATER-CARRIER. VI. " Peace ! " said tlie Fairy ; " ere thy speech begun I knew to what thy present thoughts inchne ; Choose any gift thou wilt (but only one), And, by my kingdom, it shall soon be thine ! " VII. Poor Hassan, filled with joy, at once began : " I fain would have — " but paused before the word Escaped his mouth ; or, sooth to say, the man Had named the jewel on the Vizier's sword ! VIII. What next he thought to choose was all the gold That filled the Calif's coffers ; then he thought Of Bagdad's riches ; then the wealth untold Of all the earth, — so fast his fancy wrought ! Such various wishes thronged his teeming brain, He pondered long, until the Fairy's voice Showed some impatience, and the man was fain From very fear to hasten in his choice. X. But halting still when at the point to tell His final wish, the Fairy kindly told (To aid his choosing) of a hidden well Filled to the brim with jewels and with gold. XI. And then she led him to a secret grot, Where, underneath a stone, the treasure lies, Removed the slab that sealed the sacred spot. And showed the riches to his wondering eyes. THE DISCONTENTED WATER-CARRIER. 363 XII. " Take what you will of this exhaustless store ; But, mark you, if you pause to dine or sup, Your work is finished ; you can have no more ; The stone will move and close the coffer up." XIII. Charmed with the sight that met his dazzled gaze. He stood enrapt ; then turned to thank the fay For so much bounty ; but, to his amaze, The nimble sprite unseen had fled away. XIV. Whate'er three ample water-skins could hold Was soon his own ; but this contents him not ; Unnumbered coins of silver and of gold Invite his spade, and chain him to the spot XV. " Another hour of digging will suffice," Quoth Hassan, delving with increasing greed. " Well, by the Prophet, here is something nice 1 Rubies and diamonds ! this is wealth indeed 1 " And so he dug (remembering the hint The Fairy gave him) till his busy spade Had piled a mound so vast, the Calif's mint Could scarce have matched the glittering heap he made. XVII. And yet he toils, as greedy as before. " A little more ! " said Hassan, " ere the sun Sinks in the west, — some fifty shovels more. And this day's work, a brave one ! will be done ! " 3^4 THE MILLER AND HIS ADVISERS. XVIII. Poor Hassan ! heedless of the fading day, He wrought at night as he had wrought at noon ; Weary and faint, but impotent to stay His eager hand beneath the rising moon, XIX. " A little more ! " the miser said, " and I ■ Will make an end." He raised his weary hand To delve again ; then dropt it with a sigh, — So weak and worn that he could hardly stand. XX, Fatal Ambition ! from his golden bed He tries in vain to reach the giddy height ; The shining heap comes tumbling on his head, And shuts poor Hassan in eternal night ! THE MILLER AND HIS ADVISERS. AN APOLOGUE. OF all the fables quaint and old By jEsop or by Phoedrus told, For wit or wisdom none surpass That of The Miller and his Ass ; Which shrewd Malherbe of modern France Invented, — meaning to advance This wholesome truth, for old and youngs (Here rendered in our EngHsh tongue), That one — however cheap the price — May take too much of " good advice." A Miller, who had thrived so well That he had got an ass to sell, THE MILLER and HIS ADVISERS. 365 Set forth, one morning, for the fair. Attended by his youthful heir, While, trudging on with solemn mien, The precious donkey walked between. At length they meet upon the way Some fellows, less polite than gay. Who laugh, as if they 'd split their sides, That neither son nor father rides. The hint Sttffices ; in a crack The boy bestrides the donkey's back, When, presently, three merchants came Along the road, who all exclaim : " Get off, you lout ! you selfish clod 1 To let your aged father plod On foot, while you the ass bestride ; Dismount, and let your father ride ! " The Miller does as they desire, Down comes the son, up gets the sire, And so they go until they meet A group of darnsels in the street. Who, all in chorus, scream and shout : " For shame ! that one so big and stout Should ride at ease without a care About his young 'and tender heir ! " " Gad ! " says the Miller, " their advice Seems mainly wise " ; and in a trice (Though Jack esteems it hardly kind) He bids the lad get up behind. Alas ! the world is hard to suit ; The Miller now is called a brute By all he meets upon the road Who mark the donkey's double load. In sooth, the Miller and his heir Were quite as much as he Could bear. 366 MURILLO AND HIS SLAVE. And so, at length, the careful twain Took up the weary ass amain. And, to the mirth of all beholders, Bore off the beast upon their shoulders ! Alas ! for all the weight they bore, They still were censured, as before ; The captious rabble followed after With sneers, and jests, and shouts of laughter. " The biggest ass," one fellow said, " Is clearly not the quadruped !" Another mockingly advised To have a pet so highly prized Kept in the parlor from the cold, Or, for a breastpin, set in gold ! Stunned with the clamor of their mirth. He drops the donkey to the earth. " Zooks ! they are right," he sighs ; " alas ! 'Tis clear enough I ain.dca. ass ! As stupid as this shaggy brute. Essaying thus all minds to suit ; Egad ! despite each meddling elf, I '11 try henceforth to please myself ! " MURILLO AND HIS SLAVE. A LEGEND OF SPAIN. " T 1 ^HOSE work is this ? " Murillo said, * » The while he bent his eager gaze Upon a sketch (a Virgin's head) The filled the painter with amaze. Of all his pupils, — not a few, — MarveUing, 't would seem, no less than he ; MURILLO AND HIS SLAVE. 367 Each answered that he nothing knew As touching whose the sketch might be. This much appeared, and nothing more : The piece was painted in the night " And yet, by Jove ! " Murillo swore, " He has no cause to fear the Hght ! " 'T is something crude, and lacks, I own. That finer finish time will teach ; But genius here is plainly shown, And art beyond the common reach. " Sebastian ! " (turning to his slave,) " Who keeps this room when I 'm in bed ? " " 'T is 1, Senor." " Now, mark you, knave ! Keep better watch I " the master said ; " For if this painter comes again. And you, while dozing, let him slip, Excuses will be all in vain, — Remember ! — you shall feel the whip ! " Now vyhile Sebastian slept, he dreamed That, to his dazzled vision, came The Blessed Lady — so she seemed — And crowned him with the wreath of Fame ! Whereat the startled slave awoke. And at his picture wrought away, So rapt, that ere the spell was broke The dark was fading into day. "My Beautiful ! " the artist cried ; " Thank God ! — I have not lived in vain ! " Hark ! — 'T is Murillo at his side ! The man has grown a slave again ! 368 MURILLO AND HIS SLAVE. " Who is your master ? — answer me ! " " 'T is you," replied the faltering lad, " Nay, 't is not that, I mean," said he ; " Tell me, what teacher have you had ? " " Yourself, Senor ! — when you have taught These gentlemen, I too have heard The daily lesson, and have sought To treasure every golden word." " What say you, boys ? " Murillo cried> Smiling in sign of fond regard, " Is this a case — pray you decide — For punishment, or for reward ? " " Reward, Senor ! " they all exclaimed, And each proposed some costly toy ; But still, whatever gift was named, Sebastian showed no gleam of joy. Whereat one said : " He 's kind to-day ; Ask him your Freedom." With a groan The boy fell on his knees : " Nay, nay ! My father's freedom ! — not my own 1 " "Take both!" the Painter cried. "Henceforth A slave no more, — be thou my son 1 Thy Art had failed, with all its worth. Of what thy Heart this day has won ! " l'envoi. The traveller, loitering in Seville, And gazing at each pictured saint, May see Murillo's genius still ; And learn how well his son could paint 1 SATIRES, i6» SATIRES PROGRESS. A SATIRE. N this, our happy and " progressive " age, When all ahke ambitious cares engage ; len beardless boys to sudden sages grow, d " Miss " her nurse abandons for a beau ; len for their dogmas Non-Resistants fight, len dunces lecture, and when dandies write ; len matrons, seized with oratorio pangs, 'e happy birth to masculine harangues, d spinsters, trembling for the nation's fate, gleet their stockings to preserve the state ; ten critic-wits their brazen lustre shed golden authors whom they never read, th parrot praise of " Roman grandeur " speak, i in bad English eulogize the Greek ; — len facts like these no reprehension bring, y not, uncensured, an Attorney sing ? iooth he may ; and though " unborn " to climb nassus' heights, and " build the lofty rhyme," )ugh Flaccus fret, and warningly advise Lt " middling verses gods and men despise," 372 PHOGRESS. Yet will he sing, to Yankee license true, In spite of Horace and " Minerva " too ! My theme is Progress, — never-tiring theme Of prosing dulness, and poetic dream ; Beloved of Optimists, who still protest Whatever happens, happens for the best ; Who prate of " evil " as a thing unknown, A fancied color, or 4 seeming tone, A vague chimera cherished by the dull. The empty product of an emptier skull. Expert logicians they! — to show at will, By ill philosophy, that naught is ill ! Should some sly rogue, the city's constant curse, Deplete your pocket and relieve your purse, Or if, approaching with ill-omened tread. Some bolder burglar break your house and head, Hold, friend, thy rage ! nay, let the rascal flee ; No evil has been done the world, or thee: Here comes Philosophy will make it plain Thy seeming loss is universal gain ! " Thy heap of gold was clearly grown too great, — 'T were best the poor should share thy large estate ; While misers gather, that the knaves should steal, Is most conducive to the genercil weal ; Thus thieves the wrongs of avarice efface. And stand the friends and stewards of the race ; Thus every moral ill but serves, in fact, Some other equal ill to counteract." Sublime Philosophy I — benignant light ! Which sees in every pair of wrongs, a right ; Which finds no evil or in sin or pain. And proves that decalogues are writ in vain ! PROGRESS. 373 Hail, mighty Progress ! — loftiest we find Thy stalking strides in science of the mind. What boots it now that Locke was learned and wise? What boots it now that men have ears and eyes ? " Pure Reason " in their stead now hears and sees, And walks apart in stately scorn of these ; Laughs at "experience," spurns " induction " hence, Scouting " the senses," and transcending sense. No more shall flippant ignorance inquire, " If German breasts may feel poetic fire," Nor German dulness write ten folios full. To show, for once, that Dutchmen are not dull.' For here Philosophy, acute, refined. Sings all the marvels of the human mind In strains so passing " dainty sweet " to hear, That e'en the nursery turns a ravished ear ! Here Wit and Fancy in scholastic bowers Twine beauteous wreaths of metaphysic flowers ; Here Speculation pours her dazzling light, Here grand Invention wings a daring flight. And soars ambitious to the lofty moon, Whence, haply, freighted with some precious boon, Some old " Philosophy " in fog incased, Or new " Religion "for the changing taste. She straight descends to Learning's blest abodes, Just simultaneous with the Paris modes ! Here Plato's dogmas eloquently speak, Not as of yore, in grand and graceful Greek, But (quite beyond the dreaming sage's hope Of future glory in his fancy's scope), Translated down, as by some wizard touch, Find " immortality " in good high Dutch 1 Happy the youth, in (his our goldtn age, 374 PROGRESS. Condemned no more to con the prosy page Of Locke and Bacon, antiquated fools, Now justly banished from our moral schools. By easier modes philosophy is taught, Than through the medium of laborious thought Imagination kindly serves instead, And saves the pupil many an aching head. Room for the sages ! — hither comes a throng Of blooming Platos trippingly along. In dress how fitted to beguile the fair ! What intellectual, stately heads — of hair ! Hark to the Oracle ! — to Wisdom's tone Breathed in a fragrant zephyr oT Cologne. That boy in gloves, the leader of the van. Talks of the " outer " and the " inner man,"- And knits his girlish brow in stout resolve Some mountain-sized "idea" to "evolve." Delusive toil ! — thus in their infant days. When children mimic manly deeds in plays, Long will they sit, and eager " bob for whale " Within the ocean of a water-pail ! The next, whose looks unluckily reveal The ears portentous that his locks conceal. Prates of the " orbs " with such a knowing frown, You deem he puffs some lithographic town In Western wilds, where yet unbroken ranks Of thrifty beavers build unchartered " banks," And prowling panthers occupy the lots Adorned with churches on the paper plots ! But ah ! what suffering harp is this we hear? What jarring sounds invade the wounded ear ? Who o'er the lyre a hand spasmodic flings. And grinds harsh discord from the tortured strings ? PJiOGHESS. 375 The Sacred Muses, at the sound dismayed, Retreat disordered to their native shade, And Phcebus hastens to his high abode, And Orpheus frowns to hear an " Orphic ode " I Talk not, ye jockeys, of the wondrous speed That marks your Northern or your Southern steed ; See Progress fly o'er Education's course ! Not far-famed Derby owns a fleeter horse ! On rare Improvement's " short and easy " road. How swift her flight to Learning's blest abode ! In other times — 't was many years ago — The scholar's course was toilsome, rough, and slow, The fair Humanities were sought in tears, And came, the trophy of laborious years. I\/'ow Learning's shrine each idle youth may seek, And, spending there a shilling and a week, (At lightest cost of study, cash, and lungs,) Come back, like Rumor, with a hundred tongues I What boots such progress, when the golden load From heedless haste is lost upon the road ? When each great science, to the student's pace, Stands like the wicket in a hurdle race. Which to o'erleap is all the courser's mind, And all his glory that 't is left behind ! Nor less, O Progress, are thy newest rules Enforced and honored in the " Ladies' Schools " ; Where Education, in its nobler sense. Gives place to Learning's shallowest pretence ; Where hapless maids, in spite of wish or taste. On vain "accomphshments" their moments waste ; By cruel parents here condemned to wrench 376 FROGRESS. • Their tender throats in mispronouncing French; Here doomed to force, by unrelenting knocks. Reluctant music from a tortured box ; Here taught, in inky shades and rigid lines, To perpetrate equivocal " designs " ; " Drawings " that prove their title plainly true, By showing nature " drawn," and " quartered " tool In ancient times, I 've heard my grandam teU, Young maids were taught to read, and write, and spell ; (Neglected arts ! once learned by rigid rales. As prirne essentials in the " common schools " ;) Well taught beside in many a useful art To mend the manners and improve the heart ; Nor yet unskilled to turn the busy wheels To ply the shuttle, and to twirl the reel. Could thrifty tasks with cheerful grace pursue. Themselves " accomplished," and their duties too. Of tonguesy each maiden had but one, 't is said, (Enough, 't was thought, to serve a lady's head,) But that was English, — great and glorious tongue That Chatham spoke, and Milton, SHAKESPtifRE, sung ! Let thoughts too idle to be fitly dressed In sturdy Saxon be in French eiBpressed ; Let lovers breathe Italian, — like, in sooth, Its singers, soft, emasculate, and smooth ; But for a tongue whose ample powers embrace Beauty and fol-ce, sublimity and grace. Ornate or plain, harmonious, yet strong. And formed alike for eloquence and song. Give me the English, — aptest tongue to paiht A sage or dunce, a villain or a saint, To spur the slothful, counsel the distressed. To lash the oppressor, and to soothe the oppressed, PROGRESS. 277 To lend fantastic Humor freest scope To marshal all his laughter-moving troop, Give Pathos power, and Fancy lightest wings, And Wit his merriest whims atid keenest stings ! The march of Progress let the Muse explore In pseudo-science and empiric lore. O sacred Science ! how art thou profaned. When shallow quacks and vagrants, unrestrained, Flaunt in thy robes, and vagabonds are known To brawl thy name, who never wrote their own ; When crazy theorists their addled schemes (Unseemly product of dyspeptic dreams) Impute to thee F — as courtesans of yore Their spurious bantUngs left at Mars's door; When each projector of a patent pill, Or happy founder of a coffee-mill. Invokes thine aid to celebrate his wares. And crown with gold his philanthropic cares ; Thus Islam's hawkers piously proclaim Their figs and pippins in the Prophet's name 1 Some sage Physician, studious to advance The art of healing, and its praise enhance, By observation " scientific " finds (What else were hidden from inferior minds) Tliat Water 's useful in a thousand ways. To cherish health, and lengthen out our days ; A mighty solvent in its simple scope, And quite " specific " with Castilian soap ! The doctor's labors let the thoughtless scorn, See ! a new " science " to the world is born ; " Disease is dirt ! all pain the patient feels Is but the soiUng of the vital wheels ; 378 PROGRESS. To wash away all particles impure, And cleanse the system, plainly is to cure!" Thus shouts the doctor, eloquent, and proud To teach his " science " to the gaping crowd ; Like " Father Mathew," eager to allure Afflicted mortals to his " water-cure " 1 'T is thus that modern " sciences '' are made, By bold assumption, puffing, and parade. Take three stale " truths " ; a dozen " facts,'' assumed ; Two known " effects," and fifty more presumed ; " Affinities " a score, to sense unknown. And, just as " lucus, non lucendo " shown, Add but a name of pompous Anglo-Greek, And only jiot impossible to speak. The work is done ; a " science " stands confest, And countless welcomes greet the queenly guest. In closest girdle, O reluctant Muse, In scantiest skirts, and lightest-stepping shoes,*" Prepare to follow Fashion's gay advance. And thread the mazes of her motley dance ; And, marking well each momentary hue, And transient form, that meets the wondering view, In kindred colors, gentle Muse, essay Her Protean phases fitly to portray. To-day, she slowly drags a cumbrous trail, And " Ton " rejoices in its length of tail ; To-morrow, changing her capricious sport. She trims her flounces just as much too short ; To-day, right jauntily, a hat she wears That scarce affords a shelter to her ears ; To-morrow, haply, searching long in vain, You spy her features down a Leghorn lane ; PROGRESS. To-day, she glides along with queenly grace, To-morrow, ambles in a mincing pace. To-day, erect, she loves a martial air. And envious train-bands emulate the fair ; To-morrow, changing as her whim may serve, " She stoops to conquer" in a " Grecian curve."" To-day, with careful negligence arrayed In scanty folds, of woven zephyrs made. She moves like Dian in her woody bowers, Or Flora floating o'er a bed of flowers ; To-morrow, laden with a motley freight. Of startling bulk and formidable weight. She waddles forth, ambitious to amaze The vulgar crowd, who giggle as they gaze ! Despotic Fashion ! potent is her sway, Whom half the world full loyally obey ; Kings bow submissive to her stern decrees, And proud Republics bend their necks and knees ; Where'er we turn the attentive eye, is seen The worshipped presence of the modish queefi ; In Dress, Philosophy, ReUgion, Art, Whate'er employs the head, or hand, or heart. Is some fine lady quite o'ercome with woes, From an unyielding pimple on her nose, — Some unaccustomed " buzzing in her ears," Or other marvel to alarm her fears ? Fashion, with skill and judgment ever nice, At once advises " medical advice " ; Then names her doctor, who, arrived in haste, Proceeds accordant with the laws of taste. If real ills afflict the modish dame. Her blind idolatry is still the same ; 379 380 PJiOGRESS. Less grievous far, she deems it, to endure Genteel malpractice, than a vulgar cure. If, spite of gilded pills and golden fees. Her dear dyspepsia grows a dire disease, And Doctor DAPPER proves a shallow rogue, The world must own that both were much in vogue ! What impious mockery, when, with soulless art, Fashion, intrusive, seeks to rule the heart ! Directs how grief may tastefully be borne ; Instructs Bereavement just how long to mourn ; Shows Sorrow how by nice degrees to fade. And marks its measure in a ribbon's shade ! More impious still, when, through her wanton laws, She desecrates Religion's sacred cause ; Shows how " the narrow road " is easiest trod. And how, genteelest, worms may worship God ; How sacred rites may bear a worldly grace, And self-abasement wear a haughty face ; How sinners, long in Folly's mazes whirled. With pomp and splendor may " renounce the world " ; How, " with all Saints hereafter to appear," Yet quite escape the vulgar portion here ! Imperial Fashion ! her impartial care Things most momentous, and most trivial, share. Now crushing conscience (her invet'rate foe), And now a waist, and now, perchance, a toe ; At once for pistols and " the Polka '' votes, And shapes alike our characters and coats ; The gravest question which the world divides. And lightest riddle, in a breath decides : " If wrong may not, by circumstance, be right," — " If black cravats be more genteel than white," — PROGRESS. 281 ■' If by her ' bishop,' or her ' grace,' alone, A genuine lady, or a church, is known '' ; — Problems like these she solves with graceful air, At once a casuist and a connoisseur ! Does some sleek knave, whom magic money-bags Have raised above his fellow-knaves in rags, Some willing minion of unblushing Vice, Who boasts that " Virtue ever has her price," — Does he, unpitying, blast thy sister's fame, Or doom thy daughter to undying shame, To bow her head beneath the eye of scorn, '\nd droop and wither in her maiden morn ? Fashion "regrets," declares "'twas very wrong," \nd, quite dejected, hums an opera song ! [mpartial friend ! your cause to her appealed, ifourself and foe she summons to the field, iVhere Honor carefully the case observes, \nd nicely weighs it in a scale of nerves ! Despotic rite ! whose fierce vindictive reign Boasts, unrebuked, its countless victims slain, kVhile Christian rulers, recreant, support The pagan honors of thy bloody court, \nd " Freedom's champions " spurn their hallowed trust, Sneel at thy nod, and basely lick the dust ! Degraded Congress ! once the honored scene Df patriot deeds ; where men of solemn mien, n virtue strong, in understanding clear, Sarnest, though courteous, and, though smooth, sincere. To gravest counsels lent the teeming hours, ^nd gave their country all their mighty powers. But times are changed ; a rude, degenerate race Jsurp the seats, and shame the sacred place. 382 PROGJiESS. Here plotting demagogues with zeal defend The " people's rights," — to gain some private end ; Here Southern youths, on Folly's surges tost, Their fathers' wisdom eloquently boast ; (So dowerless spinsteis proudly number o'er The costly jewels that their grandams wore.) Here would-be Tullys pompously parade Their tumid tropes for simple " Buncombe " made," Full on the chair the chilling torrent shower. And work their word-pumps through the allotted hour. Deluded " Buncombe ! " while, with honest praise, She notes each grand and patriotic phrase, And, much rejoicing in her hopeful son, Deems all her own the laurels he has won, She little dreams how brother members fled, And left the house as vacant as his head ! Here rural Chathams, eager to attest The '' growing greatness of the mighty West," To make the plainest proposition clear. Crack Priscian's head, and Mr. Speaker's ear ; Then, closing up in one terrific shout. Pour all their " wild-cats " furiously out ! Here lawless boors with ruffian bullies vie. Who last shall give the rude, insulting " he," While " Order ! order ! " loud the chairman calls, And echoing " Order ! " eveiy member bawls ; Till rising high in rancorous debate. And higher still in fierce envenomed hate," Retorted blows the scene of riot crown. And big Lycurgus knocks the lesser down ! Ye honest dames in frequent proverbs named, For finest fish and foulest English famed, Whose matchless tongues, 't is said, were never heard PROGJiESS. To speak a flattering or a feeble word, — Here all your choice invective ye might urge Our lawless Solons fittingly to scourge ; Here, in congenial company, might rail Till, quite worn out, your creaking voices fail, — Unless, indeed, for once compelled to yield In wordy strife, ye vanquished quit the field ! Hail, Social Progress ! each new moon is rife With some new theory of social life. Some matchless scheme ingeniously designed From half their miseries to free mankind ; On human wrongs triumphant war to wage, And bring anew the glorious golden age. " Association " is the magic word From many a social " priest and prophet " heard, " Attractive Labor " is the angel given, To render earth a sublunary Heaven ! " Attractive Labor ! " ring the changes round. And labor grows attractive in the sound ; And many a youthful mind, where haply lurk Unwelcomed fancies at the name of " work," Sees pleasant pastime in its longing view Of " toil made easy " and " attractive " too, And, fancy-rapt, with joyful ardor, turns Delightful grindstones and seductive churns ! " Men are not bad," these social sages preach ; " Men are not what their actions seem to teach ; No moral ill is natural or fixed, — Men only err by being badly mixed ! " To them the world a huge plum-pudding seems, Made up of richest viands, fruits, and creams. Which of all choice ingredients partook, And then was ruined by a blundering cook ! 383 384 PROGRESS. Inventive France ! what wonder-working schemes Astound the world whene'er a Frenchman dreams. What fine-spun theories, — ingenious, new, Sublime, stupendous, everything but true ! One little favor, O " Imperial France " ! Still teach the world to cook, to dress, to dance ; Let, if thou wilt, thy boots and barbers roam, But keep thy morals and thy creeds at home ! O might the Muse prolong her flowing rhyme, (Too closely cramped by unrelenting Time, Whose dreadful scythe swings heedlessly along. And, missing speeches, clips the thread of song,) How would she strive, in fitting verse, to sing The wondrous Progress of the Printing King ! Bibles and Novels, Treatises and Songs, Lectures on " Rights," and Strictures upon Wrongs ; Verse in all metres. Travels in all climes. Rhymes without reason, Sonnets without rhymes ; " Translations from the French," so vilely done, The wheat escaping leaves the chaff alone ; Memoirs, where dunces sturdily essay To cheat Obliviori of her certain prey ; Critiques, where pedants vauntingly expose Unlicensed verses, in unlawful prose ; Lampoons, whose authors strive in vain to throw Their headless arrows from a nerveless bow ; Poems by youths, who, crossing Nature's will. Harangue the landscape they were born to till ; Huge tomes of Law, that lead by rugged routes Through ancient dogmas down to modern doubts ; Where Judges oft, with well-affected ease. Give learned reasons for absurd decrees, Or, more ingenious still, contrive to found Some just decision on fallacious ground, PROGRESS. 385 Or blirik the point, and, haply, in its place, Moot and decide some hypothetic case ; Smart Epigrams, all sadly out of joint. And pointless, — save the " exclamation point," Which stands in state, with vacant wonder fraught, The pompous tombstone of son\e pauper thought ; Ingenious systems based on doubtful facts, " Tracts for the Times," and most untimely tracts ; Polemic Pamphlets, Literary Toys, And Easy Lessons for uneasy boys ; Hebdomadal Gazettes, and Daily News, Gay Magazines, and Quarterly Reviews ; — Small portion these, of all the vast array Of darkened leaves that cloud each passing day, And pour their tide unceasingly along, A gathering, swelling, overwhelming throng ! Cease, O my Muse, nor, indiscreet, prolong To epic length thy unambitious song. Good friends, be gentle to a maiden Muse, Her errors pardon, and her faults excuse. Not uninvited to her task she came," To sue for favor, not to seek for fame. Be this, at least, her just though humble praise : No stale excuses heralded her lays. No singer's trick, — conveniently to bring A sudden cough, when importuned to sing ; " No deprecating phrases, learned by rote, — ■' " She 'd quite forgot," or " never knew a note," — But to her task, with ready zeal, addressed Her earnest care, and aimed to do her best ; Strove to be just in each satiric word. To doubtful wit undoubted truth preferred. To please and profit equally has aimed, Nor been ill-natured even when she blamed. 17 386 THE MONEY-KING. THE MONEY-KING. A POEM DELIVERED BEFORE THE PHI BETA KAPPA SOCIETY OF YALE COLLEGE, 1 854. A S landsmen, sitting in luxurious ease, -^^- Talk of the dangers of the stormy seas ; As fireside travellers, with portentous mien, Tell tales of countries they have never seen ; As parlor-soldiers, graced with fancy-scars, Rehearse their bravery in imagined wars ; As arrant dunces have been known to sit In grave discourse of wisdom and of wit ; As paupers, gathered in congenial flocks, Babble of banks, insurances, and stocks ; As each is oftenest eloquent of what He hates or covets, but possesses not ; — As cowards talk of pluck ; misers, of waste ; Scoundrels, of honor; country clowns, of taste; — I sing of Money ! — no ignoble theme. But loftier far than poetasters dream. Whose fancies, soaring to their native moon, Rise like a bubble or a gay balloon, Whose orb aspiring takes a heavenward flight, Just in proportion as it 's thin and light ! Kings must have Poets. From the earhest times, Monarchs have loved celebrity in rhymes ; From good King Robert, who, \n Petrarch's days, Taught to mankind the proper use of bays. And, singling out the prince of Sonneteers, Twined wreaths of laurel round his blushing ears ; THE MONEY-KING. 387 Down to the Queen, who, to her chosen bard, In annual token of her kind regard, Sends not alone the old poetic greens. But, like a woman and the best of queens. Adds to the leaves, to keep them fresh and fine, The wholesome moisture of a pipe of wine ! — So may her minstrel, crowned with royal bays, Alternate praise her pipe and pipe her praise ! E'en let him chant his smooth, euphonious lays : A loftier theme my humbler Muse essays ; A mightier monarch be it hers to sing. And claim her laurel from the Money-King ! Great was King Alfred ; and if history state His actions truly, good as well as great. Great was the Norman ; he whose martial hordes Taught law and order to the Saxon lords. With gentler thoughts their rugged minds imbued, And raised the nation whom he first subdued. Great was King Bess ! — I see the critic smile. As though the Muse mistook her proper style ; But to her purpose she will stoutly cling. The royal maid was " every inch a King " ! Great was Napoleon, — and I would that fate Might prove his namesake-nephew half as great ; Meanwhile this hint I venture to advance : — What France admires is good enough for France ! Great princes were they all ; but greater far Than English King, or"mighty Russian Czar, Or Pope of Rome, or haughty Queen of Spain, Baron of Germany, or Royal Dane, Or Gallic Emperor, or Persian Khan, Or any other merely mortal man. Is the great monarch that my Muse would sing, 388 THE MONEY-KING. That mighty potentate, the Money-King ! His kingdom vast extends o'er every land, And nations bow before his high command; The weakest tremble, and his power obey. The strongest honor, and confess his sway. He rules the Rulers ! — e'en the tyrant Czar Asks his permission ere he goes to war ; The Turk, submissive to his royal might. By his decree has gracious leave to fight ; Whilst e'en Britannia makes her humblest bow Before her Barings, not her Barons now. Or on the Rothschild suppliantly calls (Her affluent " uncle " with the golden balls), Begs of the Jew that he will kindly spare Enough to put her trident in repair. And pawns her diamonds, while she humbly craves The Money- King's consent to "rule the waves!" He wears no crown upon his royal head. But many millions in his purse, instead ; He keeps no halls of state ; but holds his court In dingy rooms where greed and thrift resort ; In iron chests his wondrous wealth he hoards ; Banks are his parlors ; brokers are his lords. Bonds, bills, and mortgages, his favorite books, Gold is his food, and coiners are his cooks ; Ledgers his records ; stock reports his news ; Merchants hisyeomen, and his bondsmen Jews ; Kings are his subjects, gamblers are his knaves, Spendthrifts his fools, and misers are his slaves I The good, the bad, his golden favor prize. The high, the low, the simple, and the wise, The young, the old, the stately, and the gay, — All bow obedient to his royal sway 1 THE MONEY-KING. See where, afar, the bright Pacific shore Gleams in the sun with sands of shining ore. His last, great empire rises to the view. And shames the wealth of India and Peru ! Here, throned within his gorgeous "golden gate," He wields his sceptre o'er the rising State ; Surveys his conquest with a joyful eye, Nor for a greater heaves a single sigh ! Here, quite beyond the classic poet's dream, Pactolus runs in every winding stream ; The mountain cliffs the glittering ore enfold, And every reed that rustles whispers, " gold ! " If to his sceptre some dishonor clings, Why should we marvel ? — 't is the fate of kings ! Their power too oft perverted by abuse. Their manners cruel, or their morals loose, The best at times have wandered far astray From simple Virtue's unseductive way ; And few, of all, at once could make pretence To royal robes and rustic innocence I He builds the house where Christian people pray, And rears a bagnio just across the way ; Pays to the priest his stinted annual fee ; Rewards the lawyer for his venal plea ; Sends an apostle to the heathen's aid ; And cheats the Choctaws, for the good of trade ; Lifts by her heels an Ellsler to renown, Or, bribing "Jenny," brings an angel down ! He builds the Theatres, and gambling Halls, Lloyds and Almacks, St. Peter's and St. Paul's ; Sin's gay retreats, and Fashion's gilded rooms. Hotels and Factories, Palaces and Tombs ; 389 39° THE MONEY-KING. Bids Commerce spread her wings to every gale ; Bends to the breeze the pirate's bloody sail ; Helps Science seek new worlds among the stars ; Profanes our own with mercenary wars ; The friend of wrong, the equal friend of right, Oft may we bless and oft deplore his might, As buoyant hope or darkening fears prevail. And good or evil turns the moral scale. All fitting honor I would fain accord. Whene'er he builds a temple to the Lord ; But much I grieve he often spends his pelf. As it were raised in honor of himself ; Or, what were worse, and more profanely odd, A place to worship some Egyptian god ! I wish his favorite architects were graced With sounder judgment, and a Christian taste. Immortal Wren ! what fierce, convulsive shocks Would jar thy bones within their leaden box, Couldst thou but look across the briny spray. And see some churches of the present day ! — The lofty dome pf consecrated bricks. Where all the '' orders " in disorder mix, To form a temple whose incongruous frame Confounds design and puts the Arts to shame ! Where " styles " discordant on the vision jar. Where Greek and Roman are again at war. And, as of old, the unrelenting Goth Comes down at last and overwhelms them both"! Once on a time I heard a parson say (Talking of churches in a sprightly way). That there was more Religion in the walls Of towering " Trinity," or grand " St. Paul's,'' THE MONEY-KING. Than one coilld find, upon the strictest search, In half the saints within the Christian Church ! A layman sitting at the parson's side To this new dogma thus at once repKed : " If, as you say, Religion has her home In the mere walls that form the sacred dome, It seems to me the very plainest case, To climb the'steeple were a growth in grace ; And he to whom the pious strength were given To reach the highest were the nearest Heaven I I thought the answer just ; and yet 't is clear A solemn aspect, grand and yet severe, Becomes the house of God. 'T is hard to say Who from the proper mark are most astray, — They who erect, for holy Christian rites, A gay Pagoda with its tinsel lights. Or they who offer to the God of Love A gorgeous Temple of the pagan Jove ! Immortal Homer and Tassoni sing What vast results from trivial causes spring ; How naughty Helen by her stolen joy Brought woe and ruin to unhappy Troy ; How, for a bucket, rash Bologna sold More blood and tears than twenty such could hold ! Thy power, O Money, shows results as strange As aught revealed in History's widest range ; Thy smallest coin of shining silver shows More potent magic than a conjurer knows ! In olden times, — if classic poets say The simple truth, as poets do to-day, — When Charon's boat conveyed a spirit o'er The Lethean water to the Hadean shore, The fare was just a penny, — not too great. 391 392 THE MONEY-KING. The moderate, regular, Stygian statute rate. Now, for a shilling*, he will cross the stream, (His paddles whirling to the force of steam !) And bring, obedient to some wizard power. Back to the Earth more spirits in an hour. Than Brooklyn's famous ferry could convey. Or thine, Hoboken, in the longest day ! Time was when men bereaved of vital breath Were calm and silent in the realms of Death ; When mortals dead and decently inurned Were heard no more ; no traveller returned, Who once had crossed the dark Plutonian strand, To whisper secrets of the spirit-land, — Save when perchance some sad, unquiet soul Among the tombs might wander on parole, — A weU-bred ghost, at night's bewitching noon. Returned to catch some glimpses of the moon, Wrapt in a mantle of unearthly white, (The only ''rapping of an ancient sprite !) Stalked round in silence till the break of day. Then from the Earth passed unperceived away ! Now all is changed : the musty maxim fails, And dead men do repeat the queerest tales ! Alas, that here, as in the books, we see The travellers clash, the doctors disagree ! Alas, that all, the further they explore, For all their search are but confused the more I Ye great departed ! — men of mighty mark, — Bacon and Newton, Adams, Adam Clarke, Edwards and Whitefield, Franklin, Robert Hall, Calhoun, Clay, Channing, Daniel Webster, — all Ye great quit-tenants of this earthly ball, — If in your new abodes ye cannot rest, But must return, O, grant us this request : THE MONEY-KING. 3^3 ^ome with a noble and celestial air, "o prove your title to the names ye bear ! Hve some clear token of your heavenly birth ; Vrite as good English as ye wrote on Earth ! Ihow not to all, in ranting prose and verse, "he spirit's progress is from bad to worse ; ind, what were once superfluous to advise, )on't tell, I beg you, such egregious lies ! — )r if perchance your agents are to blame, )on't let them trifle with your honest fame ; ,et chairs and tables rest, and *' rap " instead, ly, " knock " your shppery " Mediums " on the head ! Vhat direful woes the hapless man attend, Vho in the means see life's supremest end ; 'he wretched, miser, — money's sordid slave, — lis only joy to gather and to save. 'or this he wakes at morning's early light, 'oils through the day, and ponders in the night ; or this, — to swell his heap of tarnished gold, — weats in the sun, and shivers in the cold, Lnd suffers more from hunger every day 'han the starved beggar whom he spurns away. )eath comes erewhile to end his worldly strife ; i''ith all his saving he must lose his life ! erchance the Doctor might protract his breath, nd stay the dreadful messenger of death ; ut none is there to comfort or advise ; 7 would cost a dollar ! — so the miser dies. Sad is the sight when Money's power controls 1 wedlock's chains the fate of human souls, rom mine to mint, curst is the coin that parts 1 helpless grief two loving human hearts ; 394 THE MONEY-KING. Or joins in discord, jealousy, and hate, A sordid suitor to a loathing mate ! I waive the case, the barren case, of those Who have no hearts to cherish or to lose ; Whose wedded state is but a bargain made In due accordance with the laws of trade : When the prim parson joins their willing hands, To marry City lots to Western lands, Or in connubial ecstasy to mix Cash and " collateral," ten-per-cents with six, And in the "patent safe " of Hymeft locks Impassioned dollars with enamored stocks, Laugh if you will, — and who can well refrain ? — But waste no tears, nor pangs of pitying pain ; Hearts such as these may play the queerest pranks, But never break, — except with breaking banks ! Yet, let me hint, a thousand maxims prove Plutiis may be the truest friend to Love. " Love in a cottage " cosily may dwell, But much prefers to have it furnished well ! A parlor ample, and a kitchen snug, A handsome carpet, an embroidered rug, A well-stored pantry, and a tidy maid, A blazing hearth, a cooling window-shade, Though merely mortal, money-purchased things, Have wondrous power to clip Love's errant wings ! " Love in a cottage " is n't just the same When wind and water strive to quench his flame ; Too oft it breeds the sharpest discontent. That puzzling question, " How to pay the rent " ; A smoky chimney may alone suffice To dim the radiance of the fondest eyes ; A northern blast, beyond the slightest doubt, THE MONEY-KING. 395 May fairly blow the torch of Hymen out ; And I have heard a worthy matron hold (As one who knew the truth of what she told), Love once was drowned, though reckoned waterproof, By the mere dripping of a leaky roof ! Full many a wise philosopher has tried Mankind in fitting orders to divide ; And by their forms, their fashions, and their face, To group, assort, and classify the race. One would distinguish people by their books ; Another, quaintly, solely by their cooks ; And one, who graced the philosophic bench. Found these three classes, — '' women, men, and French!^ The best remains, of all that I have known, ■A broad distinction, brilliant, and my own, — Of all mankind, I classify the lot : — Those who have Money, and those who have not I Think'st thou the line a poet's fiction ? — then Go look abroad upon the ways of men ! Go ask the banker, with his golden seals ; Go ask the borrower, cringing at his heels ; Go ask the maid, who, emulous of woe. Discards the worthier for the wealthier beau ; Go ask the Parson, when a higher prize Points with the salary where his duty lies ; Go ask the Lawyer, who, in legal smoke, Stands, like a stoker, redolent of " Coke," And swings his arms to emphasize a plea Made doubly ardent by a golden fee ; Go ask the Doctor, who has kindly sped Old Croesus, dying on a damask bed, While his poor neighbor — wonderful to tell — 396 THE MONEY-KING. Was left to Nature, suffered, and got well ! Go ask the belle, in high patrician pride. Who spurns the maiden nurtured at her side. Her youth's loved playmate at the village-school, Ere changing fortune taught the rigid rule Which marks the loftier from the lowlier lot, — Those who have money from those who have not ! Of. all the ills that owe their baneful rise To wealth o'ergrown, the most despotic vice Is Circean Luxury ; prolific dame Of mental impotence, and moral shame, And all the cankering evils that debase The human form, and dwarf the human race. See yon strange figure, and a moment scan That slenderest sample of the genus man I Mark, as he ambles, those precarious pegs Which by their motion must be deemed his legs ! He has a head, — one may be sure of that By just observing that he wears a hat ; That he has arms is logically plain From his wide coat-sleeves and his pendant cane ; A tongue as well, — the inference is fair. Since, on occasion, he can lisp and swear. You ask his use ? — that 's not so very clear, Unless to spend five thousand pounds a year In modish vices which his soul adores. Drink, dress, and gaming, horses, hounds, and scores Of other follies which I can't rehearse, Dear to himself and dearer to his purse. No product he of Fortune's fickle dice, The due result of Luxury and Vice, Three generations have sufficed to bring THE MONEY-KING. 397 That narrow-chested, pale, enervate thing Down from a tnan, — for, marvel as you will. His huge great-grandsire fought on Bunker Hill ! Bore, without gloves, a musket through the war ; Came back adorned with many a noble scar ; Labored and prospered at a thriving rate, And, dying, left his heir a snug estate, — Which grew apace upon his busy hands, Stocks, ships, and factories, tenements and lands, All here at last, — the money and the race, — The latter ending in that foolish face ; The former wandering, far beyond his aim. Back to the rough plebeians whence it came ! Enough of censure ; let my humble lays Employ one moment in congenial praise. Let other pens with pious ardor paint The selfish virtues of the cloistered saint ; In lettered marble let the stranger read Of him who, dying, did a worthy deed. And left to charity the cherished store Which, to his sorrow, he could hoard no more. I venerate the nobler man who gives His generous dollars while the donor lives ; Gives with a heart as liberal as the palms That to the needy spread his honored alms ; Gives with a head whose yet unclouded light To worthiest objects points the giver's sight ; Gives with a hand still potent to enforce His well-aimed bounty, and direct its course ; — Such is the giver who must stand confest In giving glorious, and supremely blest 1 One such as this the captious world could find In noble Perkins, angel of the blind ; 398 THE MONEY-KING. One such as this in princely Lawrence shone, Ere heavenly kindred claimed him for their own ! To me the boon may gracious Heaven assign, -^ No cringing suppliant at Mammon's shrine. Nor slave of Poverty, — with joy to share The happy mean expressed in Agur's prayer : — A house (my own) to keep me safe and warm, A shade in sunshine, and a shield in storm ; A generous board, and fitting raiment, clear Of debts and duns throughout the circling year ; Silver and gold, in moderate store, that I May purchase joys that only these can buy ; Some gems of art, a cultured mind to please, Books, pictures, statues, literary ease. That " Time is Money " prudent Franklin shows In rhyming couplets, and sententious prose. O, had he taught the world, in prose and rhyme, The higher truth that Money may be Time ! And showed the people, in his pleasant ways, The art of coining dollars into days ! Days for improvement, days for social life, Days for your God, your children, and your wife ; Some days for pleasure, and an hour to spend In genial converse with an honest friend. Such days be mine ! — and grant me. Heaven, but this, With blooming health, man's highest earthly bliss, — And I will read, without a sigh or frown. The startling news that stocks are going down ; Hear without envy that a stranger hoards Or spends more treasure than a mint affords ; See my next neighbor pluck a golden plum. Calm and content within my cottage-home ; Take for myself what honest thrift may bring, And for his kindness, bless the Money- King I EXCERPTS FROM OCCASIONAL POEMS. EXCERPTS FROM OCCASIONAL POEMS. EL DORADO. T ET others, dazzled by the shining ore, -L— Delve in the dirt to gather golden store. Let others, patient of the menial toil And daily suffering, seek the precious spoil ; No hero I, in such a cause to brave Hunger and pain, the robber and the grave. I '11 work, instead, exempt from hate and harm, The fruitful "placers " of my mountain-farm, Where the bright ploughshare opens richest veins,- From whence shall issue countless golden grains, Which in the fulness of the year shall come. In bounteous sheaves, to bless my harvest-home 1 But, haply, good may come of mining yet : 'T will help to pay the nation's foreign debt ; 'T will further liberal arts ; plate rings and pins, Gild books and coaches, mirrors, signs, and sins ; 'T will cheapen pens and pencils, and perchance May give us honest dealing for Finance ! (That magic art, unknown to darker times When fraud and falsehood were reputed crimes, Whose curious laws with nice precision teach 402 THE GOOD TIME COMING. How whole estates are made from parts of speech ; How lying rags for honest coin shall pass, And foreign gold he paid in native brass !) 'T will save, perhaps, each deep-indebted State From all temptation to " repudiate," Till Time restore our precious credit lost. And hush the wail of Peter Plymley's ghost ! " THE GOOD TIME COMING. "\ It JHILE drones and dreaming optimists protest, V V « xhe worst is well, and all is for the best " ; And sturdy croakers chant the counter song. That " man grows worse, and everything is wrong " ; Truth, as of old, still loves a golden mean, And shuns extremes to walk erect between ! The world improves ; with slow, unequal pace, "The Good Time's coming " to our.hapless race. The general tide beneath the refluent surge Rolls on, resistless, to its destined verge ! Unfriendly hills no longer interpose " As stubborn walls to geographic foes, Nor envious streams run only to divide The hearts of brethren ranged on either side. Promethean Science, with untiring eye Searching the mysteries of the earth and sky ; And cunning Art, with strong and plastic hand To work the marvels Science may command ; And broad-winged Commerce, swift to carry o'er Earth's countless blessings to her farthest shore, — These, and no German nor Genevan sage, These are the great reformers of the age 1 THE POWER-PRESS. 403 See Art, exultant in her stately car, On Nature's Titans wage triumphant war ! While e'en the Lightnings by her wondrous skiU Are tamed for heralds of her sovereign will ! Old Ocean's breast a new invader feels, And heaves in vain to clog her iron wheels ; In vain the Forests marshal all their force, And Mountains rise to stay her onward course : From out her path each bold opposer hurled, She throws her girdle round a captive world 1 THE POWER-PRESS. STRANGE is the sound when first the notes begin Where human voices blend with Vulcan's din ; The click, the clank, the clangor, and the sound Of rattling rollers in their rapid round ; The whizzing belt, the sharp metallic jar, Like clashing spears in fierce chivalric war ; The whispering birth of myriad flying leaves, Gathered, anon, in countless motley sheaves, Then scattered far, as on the winged wind, The mortal nurture of th' immortal mind ! 404 THE LIBRARY. THE LIBRARY. TT ERE, e'en the sturdy democrat may find, ■*- -L Nor scorn their rank, the nobles of the mind ; While kings may learn, nor blush at being shown, How Learning's patents abrogate their own. A goodly company and fair to see ; Royal plebeians ; earls of low degree ; Beggars whose wealth enriches every clime ; Princes who scarce can boast a mental dime ; Crowd here together like the quaint array Of jostling neighbors on a market day. Homer and Milton, — can we call them blind? — Of godlike sight, the vision of the mind ; Shakespeare, who calmly looked creation through, " Exhausted worlds, and then imagined new " ; Plato the sage, so thoughtful and serene, - He seems a prophet by his heavenly mien ; Shrewd Socrates, whose philosophic power Xantippe proved in many a trying hour ; And Aristophanes, whose humor run In vain endeavor to be-" cloud " the sun ; " Majestic iEschylus, whose glowing page Holds half the grandeur of the Athenian stage ; Pindar, whose odes, replete with heavenly fire, Proclaim the master of the Grecian lyre ; Anacreon, famed for many a luscious line Devote to Venus and the god of wine. I love vast libraries ; yet there is a doubt If one be better with them or without, — Unless he use them wisely, and, indeed, THE NEWS. 405 Knows the high art of what and how to read. At Learning's fountain it is sweet to drink, But 't is a nobler privilege to think ; And oft, from books apart, the thirsting mind May make the nectar which it cannot find. 'T is well to borrow from the good and great ; 'T is wise to learn ; 't is godlike to create 1 THE NEWS. THE News, indeed ! — pray do you call it news When shallow noddles publish shallow views ? Pray, is it news that turnips should be bred As large and hollow as the owner's head ? News, that a clerk should rob his master's hoard, Whose meagre salary scarcely pays his board .'' News, that two knaves, their, spurious frien(Jship o'er, Should tell the truths which they concealed before ? News, that a maniac, weary of his life. Should end his sorrows with a rope or knife ? News, that a wife should violate the vows That bind her, loveless, to a tyrant spouse ? News, that a daughter cheats paternal rule. And weds a scoundrel to escape a fool.? — The news, indeed ! — Such matters are as old As sin and folly, rust and must and mould ! 4o6 THE EDITOR'S SANCTUM. THE EDITOR'S SANCTUM. SCENE, — a third story in a dismal court, Where weary printers just at eight resort ; A dingy door that with a rattle shuts ; Heaps of " Exchanges," much adorned with " cuts '' ; Pens, paste, and paper on the table strewed ; Books, to be read when they have been reviewed ; Pamphlets and tracts so very dull indeed That only they who wrote them e'er will read ; Nine letters, touching themes of every sort, And one with money, — just a shilling short, — Lie scattered round upon a common level. Persons — the Editor ; enter, now, the Devil : — " Please, sir, since this 'ere article was wrote. There 's later news perhaps you 'd like to quote : The Rebels storming with, prodigious force, ' Sumter has fallen ! ' " " Set it up, of course.'' " And, sir, that murder 's done — there 's only left One larceny." " Pray don't omit the theft." " And, sir, about the mob — the matter 's fat " — " The mob "i — that 's wrong — pray just distribute that" Exit the imp of Faust, and enter now A fierce subscriber with a scowling brow. " Sir, curse your paper ! — send the thing to — " Well, The place he names were impolite to tell ; Enough to know the hero of the Press Cries : " Thomas, change the gentleman's address 1 We '11 send the paper, if the post will let it. Where the subscriber will be sure to get it ! " Who would not be an Editor ? — To write The magic " we " of such enormous might ; THE EDITOR'S SANCTUM. 407 To be so great beyond the common span It takes the plural to express the man ; And yet, alas, it happens oftentimes A unit serves to number all his dimes I But don't despise him ; there may chance to be An earthquake lurking in his simple "we" ! In the close precincts of a dusty room That owes few losses to the lazy broom, There sits the man ; you do not know his name, Brown, Jones, or Johnson, • — it is all the same, — Scribbling away at what perchance may seem An idler's musing, or a dreamer's dream ; His pen runs rambling, like a straying steed ; The "we" he writes seems very "wee" indeed ; But mark the change ; behold the wondrous power Wrought by the Press in one eventful hour ; To-night, 't is harmless as a maiden's rhymes ; To-morrow, thunder in the London Times ! The ministry dissolves that held for years ; Her Grace, the Duchess, is dissolved in tears ; The Rothschilds quail ; the church, the army, quakes ; The very kingdom to its centre shakes ; The Corn Laws fall ; the price of bread comes down, — Thanks to the "we" of Johnson, Jones, or Brown! TRAVESTIES. TRAVESTIES, ICARUS. ALL modern themes of poesy are spun so very fine, That now the most ainusing muse, e gratia, such as mine, Is often forced to-cut the thread that strings our recent rhymes. And try the stronger staple of the good old classic times. II. There lived and flourished long ago, in famous Athens town. One Dadahis, a carpenter of genius and renown ; ('T was he who with an auger taught mechanics how to bore, — An art which the philosophers monopolized before.) III. His only son was Icartis, a most precocious lad. The pride of Mrs. Daedalus, the image of his dad ; And while he yet was in his teens such progress he had made, He 'd got above his father's size, and much'above his trade. 412 ICARUS. IV. Now Dadabis, the carpenter, had made a pair of wings, Contrived of wood and feathers and a cunning set of springs, By means of which the wearer could ascend to any height, And sail about among the clouds as easy as a kite ! " O father," said young Icarus, " how I should like to fly! And go like you where all is blue along the upper sky ; How very charming it would be above the moon to climb. And scamper through the Zodiac, and have a high old time ! VI. " O would n't it be jolly, though, — to stop at all the inns ; To take a luncheon at ' The Crab,' and tipple at ' The Twins ' ; And, just for fun and fancy, while careering through the air. To kiss the Virgin, tease the Ram, and bait the biggest Bear? VII. " O father, please to let me go ! " was still the urchin's cry; " I '11 be extremely careful, sir, and won't go very high ; if this little pleasure-trip you only will allow, 1 promise to be back again in time to fetch the cow ! " ICARUS. 413 VIII. "You 're rather young," said Dcedalus, "to tempt the upper air ; But take the wings, and mind your eye with very special care ; And keep at least a thousand miles below the nearest star; Young lads, when out upon a lark, are apt to go too far ! " IX. He took the wings — that foolish boy — without the least dismay (His father stuck 'em on with wax) and so he soared away ; Up, up he rises, like a bird, and not a moment stops Until he 's fairly out of sight beyond the mountain- tops ! X. And still he flies — away — away ; it seems the merest fun ; No marvel he is getting bold, and aiming at the sun ; No marvel he forgets his sire ; it is n't very odd That one so far above the earth should think himself a god! XI. Already, in his silly pride, he 's gone too far aloft ; The heat "begins to scorch his wings ; the wax is wax- ing soft ; Down — down he goes ! — Alas ! — next day poor Icarus was found Afloat upon the .(Egean Sea, extremely damp and drowned 1 414 P VRAM US AND THJSBE. L'ENVOI. The moral of this mournful tale is plain enough to all: — Don't get above your proper sphere, or you may chance to fall ; Remember, too, that borrowed plumes are most uncer- tain things ; And never try to scale the sky with other people's wines ! PYRAMUS AND THISBE. ' I 'HIS tragical tale, which, they say, is a true one, -*- Is old, but the manner is wholly a new one. One Ovid, a writer of some reputation, Has told it before in a tedious narration ; In- a style, to be sure, of remarkable fulness. But which nobody reads on account of its dulness. Young Peter Pyramus, — / call him Peter, Not for the sake of the rhyme or metre. But merely to make the name completer, — For Peter lived in the olden times, And in one of the worst of Pagan climes That flourish now in classical fame. Long before Either noble or boor Had such a thing as a Christian name, — Young Peter then was a nice young beau As any young lady would wish to know ; In years, 1 ween. He was rather green, That is to say, he was just eighteen, — PYRAMUS AND THISBE. 415 A trifle too short, and a shaving too lean, But " a nice young man " as ever was seen, And fit to dance with a May-day queen ! Now Peter loved a beautiful girl As ever ensnared the heart of an earl In the magical trap of an auburn curl, — A little Miss Thisbe who Hved next door, (They slept in fact on the very same floor. With a wall between them, and nothing more, -^ Those, double dwellings were common 01 yore,) And they loved each other, the legends -iay, In that very beautiful, bountiful way. That every young maid, And every young blade, Are wont to do before they grow staid, And learn to love by the laws of trade. But alack-a-day for the girl and boy, A little impediment checked their joy, And gave them, a while, the deepest annoy. For some good reason, which history cloaks. The match did n't happen to please the old folks ! So Thisbe's father and PETER'S mother Began the young couple to worry and bother. And tried their innocent passions to smother By keeping the lovers from seeing each other ! But who ever heard Of a marriage deterred. Or even deferred, By any contrivance so very absurd As scolding the boy, and caging his bird ? Now Peter, who was n't discouraged at all By obstacles such as the timid appall, 41 6 PYRAMUS AND THISBE. Contrived to discover a hole in the vi'all, Wliicli was n't so thick But removing a brick Made a passage, — though rather provokingly small. Through this little chink the lover could greet her, And secrecy made their courting the sweeter, While Peter kissed Thisbe, and Thisbe kissed Pe- ter, — For kisses, like folks with diminutive souls. Will manage to creep through the smallest of hp].es ! 'T was here that the lovers, intent upon love, Laid a nice little plot To meet at a spot Near a mulberry-tree in a neighboring grove ; For the plan was all laid By the youth and the maid, (Whose hearts, it would seem, were uncommonly bold ones,) To run off and get married in spite of the old ones. In the shadows of evening, as still as a mouse^ The beautiful maiden slipt out of the house, The mulberry-tree impatient to find. While Peter, the vigilant matrons to blind, Strolled leisurely out some minutes behind. While waiting alone by the trysting tree, A terrible lion As e'er you set eye on Came roaring along quite horrid to see. And caused the young maiden in terror to flee, (A lion 's a creature whose regular trade is Blood, — and " a terrible thing among ladies,") And losing her veil as she ran from the wood, The monster bedabbled it over with blood. PYRAMUS AND TfflSBM. 417 Now Peter arriving, and seeing the veil All covered o'er And reeking with gore, Turned all of a sudden exceedingly pale, And sat himself down to weep and to wail, — For, soon as he saw the garment, poor Peter Made up his mind, in very short metre, That Thisbe was dead, and the lion had eat her I So breathing a prayer, He determined to share The fate of his darhng, " the loved and the lost, " And fell on his dagger, and gave up the ghost ! Now Thisbe returning, and viewing her beau, Lying dead by the veil (which she happened to know), She guessed, in a moment, the cause of his erring, And seizing the knife Which had taken his life, In less than a jiffy was dead as a herring I MORAL. Young gentlemen ! pray recollect, if you please, Not to make assignations near mulberry-trees ; Should your mistress be missing, it shows a weak he^d To be- stabbing yourself till you know she is dead. Young ladies ! you should n't go strolling about When your anxious mammas don't know you are out, And remember that accidents often befall From kissing young fellows through holes in the wall ! 41 8 THE CHOICE OF KING MIDAS. THE CHOICE OF KING MIDAS. TjV'ING MIDAS, prince of Phrygia, several thousand -•-^ years ago, Was a very worthy monarch, as the classic annals show ; You may read 'em at your leisure, when you have a mind to doze. In the finest Latin verses, or in- choice Hellenic prose. Now this notable old monarch, King of Phrygia, as aforesaid (Of whose royal state and character there might be vastly more said). Though he occupied a palace, kept a very open door. And had still a ready welcome for the stranger and the poor. Now it chanced that old Silenus, who, it seems, had lost his way. Following Bacchus through the forest, in the pleasant month of May (Which was n't very singular, for at the present day The followers of Bacchus very often go astray). Came at last to good King MiDAS, who received him in his court. Gave him comfortable lodgings, and — to cut the matter short — With as much consideration treated weary old Silenus, As if the entertainment were for Mercury or Venus. THE CHOICE OF KING MIDAS. 419 Now when Bacchus heard the story, he proceeded to the king, And says he : " By old Silenus you have done the hand- some thing ; He 's my much-respected tutor, who has taught me how to read, And I 'm sure your royal kindness should receive its proper meed ; "So I grant you full permission to select your own re- ward. Choose a gift to suit your fancy, — something worthy of a lord ! " "Bully Bacche /" cried the monarch, " if I do riot make too bold. Let whatever I may handle be transmuted into gold ! " Midas, sitting down to dinner, sees the answer to his wish. For the turbot on the platter turns into a golden fish ! And the bread between his fingers is no longer wheaten bread. But the slice he tries to swallow is a wedge of gold instead ! And the roast he takes for mutton fills his mouth with golden meat. Very tempting to the vision, but extremely hard to eat ; And the liquor in his goblet, very rare, select, and old, Down the monarch's thirsty throttle runs a stream of liquid gold ! 420 THE CHOICE OF KING MIDAS. Quite disgusted with his dining, he betalies him to his bed; But, alas ! the golden pillow does n't rest his weary- head! Nor does all the gold around him soothe the monarch's tender skin ; Golden sheets, to sleepy mortals, might as well be sheets of tin ! Now poor Midas, straight repenting of his rash and foolish choice. Went to Bacchus, and assured him, in a very plaintive voice. That his golden gift was working in a manner most un- pleasant, — And the god, in sheer compassion, took away the fatal present. MORAL. By this mythologic story we are very plainly told, That, though gold may have its uses, there are better things than gold ; That a man may sell his freedom to procure the shin- ing pelf : And that Avarice, though it prosper, still contrives to cheat itself ! PBAETSON. 421 PHAETHON; OR, THE Amateur coachman. "pvAN PHAETHON — so the histories run — ^-^ Was a jolly young chap, and a son of the SUN, — Or rather of Phcebus ; but as to his mother. Genealogists make a deuce of a pother. Some going for one, and some for another. For myself, I must say, as a careful explorer. This roaring young blade was the son of Aurora ! Now old Father Phcebus, ere railways begun To elevate f«nds and depreciate fun, Drove a very fast coach by the name of " THE SUN " ; Running, they say, ^ Trips every day (On Sundays and all, in a heathenish way), All lighted up with a famous array Of lanterns that shone with a brilliant display, And dashing along like a gentleman's " shay," With never a fare, and nothing to pay ! Now PHAiiTHON begged of his doting old fathbr To grant him a favor, and this the rather. Since some one had hinted, the youth to annoy, That he was n't by any means Phcebus's boy ! Intending, the rascally son of a gun, To darken the brow of the son of the SuN ! " By the terrible Styx ! " said the angry sire, While his eyes flashed volumes of fury and fire, " To prove your reviler an infamous liar, I swear I will grant you whate'er you desire ! " " Tten i>y my hfead," 422 PHAETHON. The youngster said, " I '11 mount the coach when the horses are fed ! — For there 's nothuig I 'd choose, as I 'm alive, Like a seat on the box, and a dashing drive ! " " Nay, PHAETHON, don't, — I beg you won't, — Just stop a moment and think upon 't ! " " You 're quite too young," continued the sage, " To tend a coach at your tender age ! Besides, you see, 'T will really be Your first appearance on any stage ! Desist, my child. The cattle are wild. And when their mettle is thoroughly ' riled,' Depend upon 't the coach '11 be ' spiled,' — They 're not the fellows to draw it mild ! Desist, I say, You '11 rue the day, — So mind, and don't be foolish, Pha ! " But the youth was proud, And swore aloud, 'T was just the thing to astonish the crowd, — He 'd have the horses and would n't be cowed ! In vain the boy was cautioned at large. He called for the chargers, unheeding the charge, And vowed that any young fellow of force Could manage a dozen coursers, of course ! Now Phcebus felt exceedingly sorry He had given his word in such a hurrj'. But having sworn by the Styx, no doubt He was in for it now, and could n't back out. So calling Phaethon up in a trice. He gave the youth a bit of advice : — "■Parce stimulis, utere hrisJ PHAETHON. 423 (A ' stage direction,' of which the core is, Don't use the whip, — they 're ticklish things, — But, whatever you do, hold on to the strings !) Remember the rule of the Jehu-tribe is, Medio tutissimus ibis, (As the Judge remarked to a rowdy Scotchman, Who was going to quod between two watchmen !) So mind your eye, and spare your goad, Be shy of the stones, and keep in the road ! " Now PhaKthon, perched in the coachman's place^ Drove off the steeds at a furious pace, Fast as coursers running a race, Or bounding along in a steeple-chase ! Of whip and shout there was no lack, " Crack — whack — Whack — crack," Resounded along the horses' back ! Frightened beneath the stinging lash, Cutting their flanks in many a gash, On, on they sped as swift as a flash. Through thick and thin away they dash, (Such rapid driving is always rash !) When all at once, with a dreadful crash. The whole " establishment " went to smash ! And PhaEthon, he. As all agree. Off the coach was suddenly hurled. Into a puddle, and out of the world ! MORAL. Don't rashly take to dangerous courses, — Nor set it down in your table of forces. That any one man equals any four horses ' 18* 424 POLYPHEMUS AND ULYSSES. Don't swear by the Styx ! — It 's one of Old Nick's Diabolical tricks To get people into a regular " fix," And hold 'em there as fast as bricks I POLYPHEMUS AND ULYSSES AVERY remarkable history this is Of one Polyphemus and Captain Ulysses ; The latter a hero, accomplished and bold, The former a knave, and a fright to behold, — A horrid big giant who lived in a den, And dined every day on a coupls of men. Ate a woman for breakfast, and (dreadful to see !) Had a nice little baby served up with his tea ! Indeed, if there 's truth in the sprightly narration Of Homer, a poet of some reputation, Or Virgil, a writer but little inferior, And in some things, perhaps, the other's superior, — Polyphemus was truly a terrible creature. In manners and morals, in form and in feature ; For law and religion he cared not a copper. And, in short, led a life that was very improper : — What made him a very remarkable guy. Like the late Mr. Thompson, he 'd only one eye ; But tliat was a whopper, — a terrible one, — " As large " (Virgil says) " as the disk of the sun ! " A brilliant, but rather extravagant figure. Which means, I suppose, that his eye was much bigger Than yours, — or even the orb of your sly Old bachelor-friend who 's " a wife in his eye." POLYPHEMUS AND ULYSSES. 425 Ulysses, the hero I mentioned before, Was shifjwrecked, one day, on the pestilent shore Where the Cyclops resided, along with their claief, Polyphemus, the terrible man-eating thief. Whose manners they copied, and laws they obeyed, While driving their horrible cannibal trade. With many expressions of civil regret That U-LYSSES had got so unpleasantly wet. With many expressions of pleasure profound That all had escaped being thoroughly drowned, The rascal declared he was " fond of the brave," And invited the strangers all home to his cave. Here the cannibal king, with as httle remorse As an omnibus feels for the death of a horse. Seized, crushed, and devoured a brace of the Greeks, As a Welshman would swallow a couple of leeks. Or a Frenchman, supplied with his usual prog. Would punish the hams of a favorite frog. Dashed and smashed against the stoneSj He broke their bodies and cracked their bones, Minding no more their moans and groans. Than the grinder heeds his organ's tones ! With purple gore the pavement swims. While the. giant crushes their crackling limbs, And poor ULYSSES trembles with fright At the horrid sound, and the horrid sight, — Trembles lest the monster grim Should make his " nuts and raisins " of him ! And, really, since The man was a Prince, It 's not very odd that his Highness should wince (Especially after .such very strong hints). 426 POLYPHEMUS AND ULYSSES. At the cannibal's manner, as rather more free Than his Highness at court was accustomed to see ! But the crafty Greek, to the tyrant's hurt (Though he did n't deserve so fine a dessert). Took a dozen of wine from his leather trunk, And plied the giant until he was drunk ! — Drunker than any one you or / know. Who buys his " Rhenish " with ready rhino, — Exceedingly drunk, — sepultus vino .' Gazing a moment upon the sleeper, Ulysses cried : " Let 's spoil his peeper ! — 'T will put him, my boys, in a pretty trim, If we can manage to douse his glim ! " So, taking a spar that was lying in sight, They poked it into his " forward light," And gouged away with furious spite, Ramming and jamming with all their might 1 In vain the giant began to roar, And even swore That he never before Had met, in his life, such a terrible hore. They only plied the auger the more And mocked his grief with a bantering cry, " Don't babble of pain, — it 'j- all in your eye i ' Until, alas for the wretched Cyclops ! He gives a groan, and out his eye pops ! Leaving the knave, one need n't be told. As blind as a puppy of three days old. The rest of the tale I can't tell now, — Except that ULYSSES got out of the row, ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE. 427 With the rest of his crew, — it 's no matter how ; While old Polyphemus, until he was dead, — Which was n't till many years after, 't is said, — Had a grief in his heart and a hole in his head ! MORAL. Don't use strong drink, — pray let me advise, — It 's bad for the stomach, and ruins the eyes ; Don't impose upon sailors with land-lubber tricks. Or you '11 catch it some day like a thousand of bricks ! ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE. SIR ORPHEUS, whom the poets have sung In every metre and every tongue. Was, you may remember, a famous musician, — At least for a youth in his pagan condition, — For historians tell he played on his shell From morning till night, so remarkably well That his music created a regular spell On trees and stones in forest and dell ! What sort of an instrument his could be Is really more than is known to me, -^ For none of the books have told, d' ye see ! It 's very certain those heathen " swells " Knew nothing at all of oyster-shells. And it's clear Sir Orpheus never could own a Shell like those they make in Cremona ; But whatever it was, to " move the stones " It must have shelled out some powerful tones, And entitled the player to rank in my rhyme As the very Vieuxtemps of the very old time 1 ^28 ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE. But alas for the joys of this mutable life ! Sir Orpheus lost his beautiful wife, — Eurydice, — who vanished one day Froffl Earth, in a very unpleasant way ! It chanced, as near as I can determine, Through one of those vertebi'ated vermin That lie in the grass so prettily curled, Waiting to " snake " you out of the world ! And the poets tell she went to — well — A place where Greeks and Romans dwell After they burst their mortal shell ; A region that in the deepest shade is. And known by the classical name of Hades, — A different place from the terrible furnace Of Tartarus, down below Avernus. Now, having a heart uncommonly stout, Sir Orpheus did n't go whining about, Nor marry another, ■as you would, no doubt, But made up his mind to fiddle her out ! But near the gate he had to wait. For there in state old Cerberus sate. A three-headed dog, as cruel as Fate, Guarding the entrance early and late ; A beast so sagacious, and very voracious, So uncommonly sharp and extremely rapacious, That it really may be doubted whether He 'd have his match, should a common tether Unite three aldermen's heads together ! But Orpheus, not in the least afraid, Tuned up his shell, and quickly essayed What could be done with a serenade. In short, so charming an air he played, ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE. 429 He quite succeeded in overreaching The cunning cur, by musical teaching, And put him to sleep as fast as preaching ! And now our musical champion, Orpheus, Having given the janitor over to' Morpheus, Went groping around among the ladies Who throng the dismal halls of Hades, Calling aloud To the shady crowd, In a voice as shrill as a martial fife, " O, tell me where in hell is my wife ! " (A natural question, 't is very plain. Although it may sound a little profane.) "Eurydice! Eit-ryd-i-ceV^ He cried as loud as loud could be, — (A singular sound, and funny withal, In a place where nobody rides at all !) " Eurydice ! — Eurydice ! O, come, my dear, along with me ! " And then he played so remarkably fine, That it really might be called divine, — For who can show. On earth or below, Such wonderful feats in the musical line ? E'en Tantalus ceased from trying to sip The cup that flies from his arid lip ; Ixion, too, the magic could feel, And, for a moment, blocked his wheel ; Poor Sisyphus, doomed to tumble and toss The notable stone that gathers no moss, Let go his burden, and turned to hear The charming sounds that ravished his ear ; 43° ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE. And even the Furies, — those terrible shrews Whom no one before could ever amuse, — Those strong-bodied ladies with strong-minded views Whom even the Devil would doubtless refuse, Were his majesty only permitted to choose, — Each felt for a moment her nature desert her. And wept like a girl o'er the " Sorrows of Werter." And still Sir Orpheus chanted his song, Sweet and clear and strong and long, " Eurydice ! — Eurydice ! " He cried as loud as loud could be ; And Echo, taking up the word, Kept it up till the lady heard. And came with joy to meet her lord. And he led her along the infernal route, Until he had got her almost out, When, suddenly turning his head about (To take a peep at his wife, no doubt), He gave a groan, For the lady was gone, And had left him standing there all alone ! For by an oath the gods had bound Sir Orpheus not to look around Till he was clear of the sacred ground, If he 'd have Eurydice safe and sound ; For the moment he did an act so rash His wife would vanish as quick as a flash 1 MORAL. Young women ! beware, for goodness' sake, Of every sort of " sarpent snake" ; Remember the rogue is apt to deceive, And played the deuce with grandmother Eve ! JUPITER AND DANAE. 431 Young men ! it 's a critical thing to go Exactly right with a lady in tow ; But when you are in the proper track, Just go ahead, and never look back I JUPITER AND DANAE: OR, HOW TO WIN A WOMAN. T MPERIAL Jove, who, with wonderful art, -^ Was one of those suitors that always prevail, Once made an assault on so flinty a heart. That he feared for a while he was destined to faiL A beautiful maiden. Miss Danae by name, The Olympian lover endeavored to win ; But she peeped from the casement whenever he came. Exclaiming, " You 're handsome, but cannot come in!" With sweet adulation he tickled her ear ; But still at her window she quietly sat. And said, though his speeches were pleasant to hear. She 'd always been used to such homage as that ! Then he spoke, in a fervid and rapturous strain. Of a bosom consuming with burning desire ; But his eloquent pleading was wholly in vain, — She thought it imprudent to meddle witb fire ! Then he begged her in mercy to pity his case. And spoke of his dreadfully painful condition ; But the lady replied, with a sorrowful face, She was only a maiden, and not a physician ! 432 VENUS AND VULCAN. In vain with these cunning- conventional snares, To win her the gallant Lothario strove ; In spite of his smiles, and his tears, and his prayers, She could n't, she would n't, be courted by Jove ! At last he contrived, — so the story is told, — By some means or other, one evening, to pour Plump into her apron a shower of gold; Which opened her heart — and unbolted her door 1 MORAL. Hence suitors may learn that in matters of love 'T is idle in manners or merit to trust ; The only sure way is to imitate Jove, — Just open your purse, and come down with the dust. VENUS AND VULCAN: OR, THE MYSTERY EXPLAINED. WHEN the peerless Aphrodite Fii-st appeared among her kin, What a flutter of excitement All the goddesses were in ! How the gods, in deep amazement, Bowed before the Queen of Beauty, And in loyal adoration Proffered each his humble duty ! Phoebus, first, to greet her coming, Met her with a grand oration ; Mars, who ne'er before had trembled, Showed the plainest trepidation 1 VENUS AND " VULCAN. Hermes fairly lost his cunning, Gazing at the new Elysian ; Plutus quite forgot his rnoney In the rapture of his vision ! Even Jove wis deeply smitten (So the Grecian poets tell us), And, as might have been expected, Juno was extremely jealous ! Staid Minerva thought her silly ; Chaste Diana called her vain ; But not one of all the ladies Dared to say that she was " plain" I Surely such a throng of lovers Never mortal yet could boast ; Everywhere throughout Olympus " Charming Venus ! " was the toast ! Even Vulcan, lame and ugly, Paid the dame his awkward court ; But the goddess, in derision, Turned his passion into sport ; Laughed aloud at all his pleading ; Bade him wash his visage sooty, And go wooing with the Harpies, What had he to do with Beauty ? Well — how fared it with the goddess ? Sure, the haughty queen of love, Choosing one to suit her fancy. Married Phoebus, Mars, or Jove ? 19 BB 433 434 RICHARD OF GLOSTER. No ! — at last — as often happens To coquettes of Jower station — Venus found herself neglected. With a damaged reputation ; And esteeming any husband More desirable than none, She was glad to marry Vulcan As the best that could be done I l'envoi. Hence you learn the real reason, Which your wonder oft arouses. Why so many handsome women Have such very ugly spouses ! RICHARD OF GLOSTER. A TRAVESTY. PERHAPS, my dear boy, you may never have heard Of that wicked old monarch, King Richard the Third, — Whose actions were often extremely absurd ; And who led such a sad life, Such a wanton and mad life ; Indeed, I may say, such a wretchedly bad life, I suppose I am perfectly safe in declaring, There was ne'er such a monster of infamous daring ; In all sorts of crime he was wholly unsparing ; In pride and ambition was quite beyond bearing ; And had a bad habit of cursing and swearing. RICHARD OF GLOSTER. 435 I must own, my dear boy, I have more than suspected The King's education was rather neglected ; And that aXyour school with any two " Dicks " Whom your excellent teacher diurnally pricks In his neat little tables, in order to fix Each pupil's progression with numeral nicks. Master Richard Y. Gloster would often have heard His standing recorded as " Richard — the third'. " But whatever of learning his Majesty had, 'T is clear the King's English was shockingly bad. At the slightest pretence Of disloyal offence, His anger exceeded all reason or sense ; And, having no need to foster or nurse it, he Would open his wrath, then, as if to disperse it, he Would scatter his curses like College degrees ; And, quite at his ease, Conferred his " d-d's," As plenty and cheap as a young University ! And yet Richard's tongue was remarkable smooth ; Could utter'a lie quite as easy as truth (Another bad habit he got in his youth) ; And had, on occasion, a powerful battery Of plausible phrases and eloquent flattery. Which gave him, my boy, in that barbarous day (Things, are different now, I am happy to say). Over feminine hearts a most perilous sway. The women, in spite of an odious hump Which he wore on his back, all thought him a trump : And just when he 'd played them the scurviest trick. They 'd swear in their hearts that this crooked old stick, — This treacherous, dangerous, dissolute Dick, 436 RICHARD OF GLOSTER. For honor and virtue beat Cato all hollow ; And in figure and face was another Apollo ! He murdered their brothers, And fathers and mothers : And, worse than all that, he slaughtered by dozens His own royal uncles and nephews and cousins ; And then, in the cunningest sort of orations, In smooth conversations. And flattering ovations. Made love to the principal female relations ! 'T was very improper, my boy, you must know, ' For the son of a King to behave himself so ; And you '11 scarcely believe what the chronicles show Of his wonderful wooings. And infamous doings ; But here 's an exploit that he certainly did do, — Killed his own cousin NED, As he slept in his bed, And married, next day, the disconsolate widow ! I don't understand how such ogres arise. But beginning, perhaps, with things little in size, Such as torturing beetles and bluebottle-flies, Or scattering snuff in a poodle-dog's eyes, — King Richard had grown so wantonly cruel, He minded a murder no more than a duel ; He 'd indulge, on the slightest pretence or occasion, In his favorite amusement of Decapitation, Until " Off with his head ! " It is credibly said. From his Majesty's mouth came as easy and pat As from an old constable, " Off with his hat ! " RICHARD OF GLOSTER. 437 One really shivers, And fairly quivers, To think of the treatment of Grey and Rivers And Hastings and Vaughn and other good livers. All suddenly sent, at the tap of a drum. From the Kingdom of England to Kingdom-Come ! Of Buckingham doomed to a tragical end For being the tyrant's particular friend ; Of Clarence who died, it is mournful to think, Of wine that he was n't permitted to drink ! And the beautiful babies of royal blood, Two little White Roses both nipt in the bud ! And silly Queen Anne, — what sorrow it cost her (And served her right !) for daring to foster The impudent suit of this Richard of Gloster ; Who, instead of conferring a royal gratuity, A dower, or even a decent Anne-\M.y, Just gave her a portion of — something or other That made her as quiet as Pharaoh's mother ! Ah Richard ! you 're going it quite too fast ; Your doom is slow, but it 's coming at last ; Your bloody crown Will topple down. And you '11 be done uncommonly brown ! Your foes are thick. My daring Dick, And Richmond, a prince, and a regular brick, Is after you now with a very sharp stick ! On Bosworth field the armies to-night Are pitching their tents in each other's sight ; And to-morrow ! to-morrow! they 're going to fight ! And now King Richard has gone to bed ; 438 RICHARD OF GLOSTER. But e'en in his sleep He cannot keep The past or the future out of his head. In his deep remorse Each mangled corse Of all he had slain, — or, what was w.orse, Their ghosts, — came up in terrible force, And greeted his ear with unpleasant discourse, Until, with a scream, He woke from his dream, And shouted aloud for " another horse 1 " Perhaps you may think, my little dear, King Richard's request was rather queer ; But I 'II presently make it exceedingly clear : — The royal sleeper was overfed ! I mean to say that, against his habit, He 'd eaten Welsh-rabbit With very bad whiskey on going to bed. /'ve had the Night-Mare with horrible force, And much prefer a different horse ! But see ! the murky night is gone ! The Morn is up, and the Fight is on ! The Knights are engaging, the warfare is waging, On the right, on the left, the battle is raging ; King Richard is down ! Will he save his crown ? There 's a crack in it now ! — he 's beginning to bleed ! Aha ! King Richard has lost his steed ! (At a moment like this 't is a terrible need !) He shouts aloud with thundering force, And offers a very high price for a horse, But it 's all in vain, — the battle is done, — RICHARD OF GLOSTER. 439 The day is lost ! — and the day is won ! — And Richmond is King ! and Richard 's a corse I MORAL. Remember, my boy, that moral enormities Are apt to attend corporeal deformities. Whatever you have, or whatever you lack, Beware of getting a croolc in your back ; And, while you 're about it, I 'd very much rather You 'd grow tall and superb, i. e. copy your father! Don't learn to be cruel, pray let me advise, By torturing beetles and bluebottle-flies, Or scattering snuff in a poodle-dog's eyes. If you ever should marry, remember to wed A handsome, plump, modest, sweet-spoken, well-bred. And sensible maiden of twenty, — instead Of a widow whose husband is recently dead ! If you 'd shun in your naps those horrible Incubi, Beware what you eat, and be careful what drink you buy ; Or else you may see, in your sleep's perturbations, Some old and uncommonly ugly relations. Who '11 be very apt to disturb your nutations By unpleasant allusions and rude observations 1 440 OTHELLO, THE MOOJi. OTHELLO, THE MOOR. ROMANCES of late are so wretchedly poor, Here goes for the old one : — Othello, the Moor ; A warrior of note, and by no means a boor, Though the skin on his face Was as black as the ace Of spades ; or (a simile nearer the case) Say, black as the Deuce ; or black as a brace Of very black cats in a very dark place ! That 's the German idea ; But how he could be a Regular negro don't seem very clear ; For Horace, you know, A great while ago. Put a sentiment forth which we all must agree to : " Hie niger estj hunc tu, Rotnane, caveio ! " (A nigger 's a rascal that o'ne ought to see to.) I rather, in sooth, Think it nearer the truth To take the opinion of young Mr. Booth, Who makes his Othello A grim-looking fellow Of a color compounded of lamp-black and yellow. Now Captain Othello, a true son of Mars, The foe being vanquished, returned from the wars, All covered with ribbons, and garters, and stars, Not to mention a score of magnificent scars ; And calling, one day, In a neighborly way, On Signor Brabantio, — one of the men Who figured in Venice as Senator then, — OTHELLO, THE MOOR. 441 Was invited to tell Of all that befell Himself and his friends while campaigning so well, From the time of his boyhood till now he was grown The greatest of Captains that Venice had known. As a neighbor should do, He ran it quite through, (I would n't be bail it was all of it true) Recounting, with ardor, such trophies and glories, Among Ottoman rebels and Cyprian tories. Not omitting a parcel of cock-and-bull stories, — That he quite won the heart of the Senator's daughter, Who, like most of the sex, had a passion for slaughter ; And was wondrously bold In battles, — as told By brilliant romancers, who picture in gold What, in its own hue, you 'd be shocked to behold. Now Captain Othello, who never had known a Young lady so lovely as " Fair Desdemona," Not even his patroness, Madam Bellona, — Was delighted, one day. At hearing her say, Of all men in the world he 'd the charmingest way Of talking to women ; and if any one should, (Tho' she did n't imagine that any one would, — For where, to be sure, was another who could f) But if — and suppose — a lover came to her. And told her his story, 't would certainly woo her. With so lucid a hint. The dickens were in 't. If he could n't have read her as easy as print ; And thus came of course, ^ but as to the rest, — The billing and cooing I leave to be guessed, — > 442 OTHELLO, THE MOOR. And how, when their passion was fairly confessed, They sent for a parson to render thera " blest," — Although it was done, I am sorry to say, • In what Mrs. P. — had it happened to-day — Would be likely to call a clam-destiny way ! I cannot recount One half the amount Of curses that burst from his cardiac fount When Signer Brabantio learned that the Moor Had married his daughter ; "How dared he to woo her ? The sooty-skinned knave, — thus to blight and undo her? With what villanous potions the scoundrelly sinner Must have poisoned her senses in order to win her ! " And more of the same, — But my language is lame. E'en a fishwoman's tongue were decidedly tame A tithe of the epithets even to name, Compounded of scorn and derision and hate. Which Signor Brabantio poured on the pate Of the beautiful girl's nigritudinous mate ! I cannot delay To speak of the way The matter was settled ; suffice it to say 'T was exactly the same as you see in a play, Where the lady persuades her affectionate sire, That the fault was her own, — which softens his ire, And, though for a season extremely annoyed. At last he approves — what he cannot avoid ! Philosophers tell us A mind like Othello's — Strong, manly, and brave — is n't apt to be jealous ; But now, you must know, The Moor had a foe, OTHELLO, THE MOOR. 443 lago, by name, who concealed with a show Of honest behavior the wickedest heart That Satan e'er filled with his treacherous art, And who, as a friend. Was accustomed to lend His gifts to the most diaboUcal end, To wit, the destruction of Captain Othello : Desdemona, his wife, and an excellent fellow, One Cassio, a soldier, — too apt to get mellow, — But as honest a man as ever broke bread, A bottle of wine, or an Ottoman head. 'T is a very long story, And would certainly bore ye. Being not very brilliant with grandeur or glory, How the wicked lago contrived to abuse The gallant Othello respecting his views Of his fair lady's honor ; Reflecting upon her In damnable hints, and by fragments of news About palming and presents, himself had invented, Until the poor husband was fairly demented. And railed at his wife, like a cowardly varlet. And gave her an epithet, — rhyming with scarlet. And prated of Cassio with virulent spleen, And called for a handkerchief some one had seen, And wanted to know -what the deuce it could mean ? And — to state the case honestly — really acted In the manner that women call " raving-distracted ! " It is sad to record How her lunatic lord Spurned all explanation the dame could afford, And still kept repeating the odious word. 444 OTHELLO, THE MOOR. So false, and so foul to a virtuous ear, That I could n't be tempted to mention it here. 'T is sadder to tell Of the crime that befell, When, moved, it would seem, by the demons of hell, He seized a knife, And, Icissing his wife, Extinguished the light of her innocent life ; And how, also, before the poor body was cool. He found he had acted as villany's tool. And died exclaiming, " O fool ! fool! FOOL ! " MORAL. Young ladies ! -r^ beware of hasty connections ; And don't marry suitors with swarthy complexions ; For though they may chance to be capital fellows, Depend upon it, they 're apt to be jealous ! Young gentlemen ! pray recollect, if you can, To give a wide berth to a meddlesome man ; And horsewhip the knave who would poison your life By breeding distrust between you and your wife ! S O N N ETSo SONNETS, PAN IMMORTAL. "\ ^ 7"H0 weeps the death of Pan ? Pan is not dead, * '' But loves the shepherds still ; * still leads the fauns In merry dances o'er the grassy lawns, To his own pipes ; as erst in Greece he led The sylvan games, what time the god pursued The beauteous Dryopfe. The Naiads still Haunt the green marge of every mountain riU ; The Dryads sport in every leafy wood ; Pan cannot die till Nature's self decease ! Full oft the reverent worshipper descries His ruddy face and mischief-glancing eyes Beneath the branches of old forest-trees That tower remote from steps of worldly men, Or hears his laugh far echoing down the glen I • Pan curat oves, oviumque magistros. — Virgil, 448 SONNETS. THE BEAUTIFUL. TO STELLA. A LL things of beauty are not theirs alone -^~^ Who hold the fee ; but unto him no less Who can enjoy, than unto them who own, Are sweetest uses given to possess. For Heaven is bountiful ; and suffers none To make monopoly of aught that 's fair ; The breath of violets is not for one, Nor loveliness of women ; all may share Who can discern ; and He who made the law, " Thou shalt not covet ! " gave the subtile power By which, unsinning, I may freely draw Beauty and fragrance from each perfect flower That decks the wayside, or adorns the lea. Or in my neighbor's garden blooms for me ! BEREAVEMENT. TVJ AY, weep not, dearest, though the child be dead ; ■'■ ^ He lives again in Heaven's unclouded life, With other angels that have early fled From these dark scenes of sorrow, sin, and strife. Nay, weep not, dearest, though thy yearning love Would fondly keep for earth its fairest flowers, And e'en deny to brighter realms above The few that deck this dreary world of ours : Though much it seems a wonder and a woe That one so loved should be so early lost, And hallowed tears may unforbidden flow To mourn the blossom that we cherished most. Yet all is well ; God's good design I see. That where our treasure is, our hearts may be. SOIfNETS. 449 TO MY WIFE ON HER BIRTHDAY. WHAT ! ty years ? — I never could have guessed it By any token writ upon your brow, Or other test of Time, — had you not now, Just to surprise me, foohshly confessed it. Well, on your word, of course, I must receive it ; Although (to say the truth) it is, indeed. As proselytes sometimes accept a creed, While in their hearts they really don't believe it ! While all around is changed, no change appears, My darling Sophie, to these eyes of mine. In aught of thee that I have deemed divine. To mark the number of the vanished years, — The kindly years that on that face of thine Have spent their life, and, " dying, made no sign / " TO SPRING. " r~\ VER PURPUREUM !"— Violet-colored Spring ^-^ Perhaps, good poet, in your vernal days The simple truth might justify the phrase ; But now, dear Virgil, there is no such thing ! Perhaps, indeed, in your Italian clime. Where o'er the year, if fair report be true, I^our seasons roll, instead of barely two, There still may be a verdant vernal time ; But here, on these our chilly Northern shores, Where April gleams with January's snows, — Not e'en a violet buds ; and nothing " blows," Save blustering Boreas, — dreariest of bores. O ver purpureum ! where the Spring discloses Her brightest purple on our lips and noses ! 45° SONNETS. THE VICTIM. A GALLIC bard the touching tale has told How once — the customary dower to save —^ A sordid sire his only daughter gave To a rich suitor, ugly, base, and old. The mother too (such mothers there have been) With equal pleasure heard the formal vow, " With all my worldly goods 1 thee endow," And gave the bargain an approving grin. Then, to the girl, who stood with drooping head, The pallid image of a wretch forlorn. Mourning the hapless hour when she was born, The Priest said, " Agnes, wilt thou this man wed ? " " Of this my marriage, holy man," said she, " Thou art the first to say a word to me ! " TO THINE is an ever-changing beauty ; now With that proud look, so lofty yet serene In its high majesty, thou seem'st a queen, With all her diamonds blazing on her brow ! Anon I see — as gentler thoughts arise And mould thy features in their sweet control — The pure, white ray that lights a maiden's soul, And struggles outward through her drooping eyes. Anon they flash ; and now a golden light Bursts o'er thy beauty, like the Orient's glow, Bathing thy shoulders' and thy bosom's snow, And all the woman beams upon my sight ! I kneel unto the queen, like knight of yore ; The maid I love ; the woman I adore 1 SONNETS. 4^1 TO A CLAM. Dum tacent clam?mt. TNGLORIOUS friend ! most confident I am -'- Thy life is one of very little ease ; Albeit men mock thee with their similes And prate of being " happy as a clam " ! What though thy shell protects thy fragile head From the sharp bailiffs of the briny sea? Thy valves are, sure, no safety-valves to thee. While rakes are free to desecrate thy bed, And bear thee off, — as foemen take their spoil, — Far from thy friends and family to roam ; Forced, like a Hessian, from thy native home. To meet destruction in a foreign broil ! Though thou art tender, yet thy humble bard Declares, O clam ! thy case is shocking hard ! THE PORTRAIT. A PRETTY picture hangs before my view ; The face, in little, of a Southern dame. To me unknown (though not unknown to fame) Save by the lines the cunning limner drew. So grandly Grecian is the lady's head, I took her for Minerva in disguise ; But when I marked the winning lips and eyes, I thought of Aphrodite, in her stead ; And then I kissed her calm, unanswering mouth (The picture 's mine) as any lover might, In the deep fervor of a nuptial night, And envied him who, in the " Sunny South," Calls her his own whose shadow can impart Such very sunshine to a Northern heart 1 EPIGRAMS EPIGRAMS THE EXPLANATION. CHARLES, discoursing rather freely Of the unimportant part Which (he said) our clever women Play in Science and in Art, " Ah ! — the sex you undervalue " ; Cried his lovely cousin Jane. " No, indeed ! " responded Charley, " Pray allow me to explain ; Such a paragon is woman. That, you see, it must be true She is always vastly better Than the best that she can do ! " FAMILY QUARRELS. " A FOOL," said Jeanette, " is a creature I hate ! " -^~*- " But hating," quoth John, " is immoral ; Besides, my dear girl, it 's a terrible fate To be found in a family quarrel ! " 456 EPIGRAMS. TEACHING BY EXAMPLE. " \A7^'^'^ '^ '^^ 'Poet's License,' say?" ' » Asked rose-lipped Anna of a poet. " Now give me an example, pray, . That when I see one I may kiiow it." Quick as a flash he plants a kiss Where perfect kisses always fall. " Nay, sir ! what liberty is this ? " " The Poefs License, — that is all ! " A COMMON ALTERNATIVE. " O AY, what 's to be done with this window, dear •^ Jack ? The cold rushes through it at every crack." Quoth John : " I know little of carpenter-craft. But I think, my dear wife, you will have to go through The very same process that other folks do, — That is, you must list or submit to the draught ! " A PLAIN CASE. WHEN Tutor Thompson goes to bed, That very moment, it is said. The cautious man puts out the light. And draws the curtain snug and tight. You marvel much why this should be. But when his spouse you chance to see, What seemed before a puzzling case Is plain as — Mrs. Thompson's face ! EPIGRAMS. 457 OVER-CANDID. "D OUNCING Bess, discoursing free, -'-' Owned, with wondrous meekness, Just one fault (what could it be ?) One peculiar weakness ; She in candor must confess Nature failed to send her Woman's usual tenderness Toward the other gender. Foolish Bessie ! — thus to tell ; Had she not confessed it, Not a man who knows her well Ever would have guessed it ! NEVER TOO LATE TO MEND. " XT ERE, wife," said Will, " I pray you devote ■*- -'- Just half a minute to mend this coat, Which a nail has chanced to rend." " 'T is ten o'clock ! " said his drowsy mate. " I know," said Will, " it is rather late ; But 't is ' never too late to mend ' 1 " AN EQUIVOCAL APOLOGY. QUOTH Madam Bas-bleu, " I hear you have said Intellectual women are always your dread j Now tell me, dear sir, is it true ? " " Why, yes,'' answered Tom, " very likely I may Have made the remark, in a jocular way ; But then, on my honor, I did n't mean you ! " 45 8 EPIGRAMS. ON AN ILL-READ LAWYER. AN idle attorney besought a brother For something to read, — some novel or other, That was really fresh and new. " Take Chitty !" replied his legal friend, " There is n't a book that I could lend Would prove more novel to you ! " ON A RECENT CLASSIC CONTROVERSY. NAY, marvel not to see these scholars fight, In brave disdain of certain scath and scar ; 'T is but the genuine old Hellenic spite, — " When Greek meets Greek, then comes the tug of war ! " ANOTHER. Quoth David to Daniel, " Why is it these scholars Abuse one another vifhenever they speak ? " Quoth Daniel to David, " It nat'rally foUers Folks come to hard words if they meddle with Greek!" LUCUS A NON. "V/'OU '11 oft find in books, rather ancient than recent, -*■ A gap in the page marked with " cetera destini" By which you may commonly take it for granted The passage is wanting without being wanted ; And may borrow, besides, a. significant hint That desuni means simply not decent to print ! EPIGRAMS. 4^p A CANDID CANDIDATE." WHEN John was contending (though sure to be beat) In the annual race for the Governor's seat, And a crusty old fellow remarked, to his face. He was clearly too young for so lofty a place, — " Perhaps so," said John ; " but consider a minute ; The objection will cease by the time I am in it ! " NEMO REPENTE TURPISSIMUS. BOB SAWYER to a man of law Repeating once the Roman saw, " Nemo repente — " and the rest. Was answered thus : " Well, I protest, However classic your quotation, I do not see the application." " 'T is plain enough," responded Sawyer : " It takes three years to make a lawyer ! " TOO CANDID BY HALF. AS Tom and his wife were discoursing one day Of their several faults, in a bantering way, Said she : " Though my wit you disparage, I 'm sure, my dear husband, our friends will attest This much, at the least, that xa^ judgment is best." Quoth Tom, " So they said at our marriage ! " 46o EPIGRAMS. CONJURGIUM NON CONJ.UGIUM. DICK leads, it is known, with his vixenish wife, In spite of their vows, such a turbulent life, The social relation of Dick and his mate Should surely be written The Conju>>'gal State ! CHEAP ENOUGH. THEY 've a saying in Italy, pointed and terse, That a pretty girl's smiles are the tears of the purse ; " What matter ? " says Charley. " Can diamonds be cheap .'' Let lovers be happy, though purses should weep ! " ON AN UGLY PERSON SITTING FOR A DAGUERREOTYPE. HERE Nature in her glass — the wanton elf — Sits gravely making faces at herself ; And, while she scans each clumsy feature o'er. Repeats the blunders that she made before ! ON A FAMOUS WATER-SUIT. TV /r Y wonder is really boundless, IVl That among the queer cases we try, A land-case should often be groundless, And a water-case always be Jry ! EPIGRAMS. KISSING CASUISTRY. ■\ 1 7H'EN Sarah Jane, the moral Miss, V V Declares 't is" very wrong to kiss, I '11 bet a shilling I see through it ; The datnsel, fairly understood, Feels just as any Chri'StiaW should-, — She 'd rather suffer wrong than do it ! TO A POETICAL CORRESPONDENT. ROSE hints she is n't one of those Who haive the gift of writing prose ; But^poetry is ime autre chose. And quite an easy thing to Rose ! As if an artist should decline. For lack of skill, to paint a sign, But, try him. in the landscape X\as, You '11 find his genius quite divine I ON A LONG-WINDED ORATOR. THREE Parts, compose a propet speech (So wise Quintilian's ma'xims teach), But LoQUAX never can get through. In his orations, more than two. He does n't stick at the " Beginning " ; His " Middle" comes as sure as sinning; Indeed, the whole one might commend, Could he contrive to make an ^^ End!" 461 462 EPIGRAMS. THE LOST CHARACTER. JULIA is much concerned, God wot, For the good name — she has n't got ; So mortgagors are often known To guard the soil they deem their own ; As if, forsooth, they did n't know The land was forfeit long ago ! A DILEMMA, ""Vl 7HENEVER I marry," says masculine Ann, • * "I must really insist upon wedding a man ! " But what if the man (for men aire but human) Should be equally nice about wedding a woman f THE THREE WIVES. A JUBILATION. "\ yr Y First was a lady whose dominant passion IVl \Yas thorough devotion to parties and fashion; My Second, regardless of conjugal duty, Was only the worse for her wonderful beauty ; My Third was a vixen in temper and life, Without one essential to make a good wife. Jubilate ! at last in my freedom I revel. For I 'm clear of the World, and the Flesh, and tlie Devil! LATER POEMS, (^ LATER POEMS. HERCULES SPINNING. T) OND slave to Omphal&, -*-' The haughty Lydiaa queen, Fond slave to Omphalfe, The beauteous Lydian queen, Lo ! Hercules is seen Spinning, spinning like a maid. While aside his club is laid, And the hero boasts no more All his doughty deeds of yore, But with sad, submissive mien Spinning, spinniti'g still is- seieir, Bond slave to Omphal^, Fond slave to Omphal^, The haughty Lydian queen. II. Shame ! that for a Teaman's whim, He, so stout of heart and limb, Must his nature so abuse Thus his mighty arm to use, — 466 HERCULES SPINNING. Not the manly mace to whirl, But a tiny spindle twirl, Spinning, spinning like a girl, With a soft, submissive mien, Bond slave to Oraphalfe, Fond slave to Omphalfe, The haughty Lydian queen. III. Fond slave to Omphal&, — Bond slave no more ; Love has loosed whom Tyranny Basely bound before ! The distaff now is cast aside. And, leaning on his club in pride, Lo ! Hercules is seen. In majesty serene, A hero sitting by his bride. Fair Omphal^, his queen ! IV. Whatever mortals crave, So rule the gods above That manly Strength is Beauty's slave, And Beauty yields to Love. HASSAN AND THE ANGEL. 467 HASSAN AND THE ANGEL. npHE Calif Hassan, — so the tale is told, — -*- In honors opulent and rich in gold, One New Year's Day sat in a palm-tree's shade, And, on a stone that lay beside him, made An inventory, — naming one by one His benefactions ; all that he had done Throughout the year ; and thus the items ran : " Five bags of gold for mosques in Ispahan ; For caravans to Mecca, seven more ; For amulets to pious people, four ; Three for the Ramazan ; and two to pay The holy dervishes, who thrice a day In prayer besought the safety of my soul ; Item, one loaf of bread, a weekly dole To a poor widow with a sickly child." The Calif read the reckoning o'er, and smiled With conscious pleasure at the vast amount, When, lo ! a hand sweeps over the account ! With sudden anger, Hassan looked around, And saw an angel standing on the ground, With wings of gold, and robe of purest white. " I am God's messenger, — employed to write Within this book the pious deeds of men ; I have revised thy reckoning, — look again ! " So to the man the angel spake aloud, Then slowly vanished in a rosy cloud. The Calif, looking, saw upon the stone The final item standing there alone 1 468 LOOKING OUT INTO THE NIGHT. LOOKING OUT INTO THE NIGHT. LOOKING out into the night, I behold in space afar Yonder beaming', blazing star ; And I marvel- at the might Of the Giver of the rays, And I worship as I gaze, Looking out into the night- Looking out into the night, I espy two lovers near, And their happy words I hear, While their solemn troth they plight ; And I bless the loving twain. Half in pleasure, half in pain, — Looking out into the night. Looking out into the night, Eo ! — a woman passing byi Glancing round with anxious eye. Tearful, fearful of the hght ; And I think what might have been But for treachery and sin, — Looking out into the night Looking out into the night, I behold a distant sail Roughly beaten by the gale Till it vanishes from sight ; And I ponder on the strife Of our fleeting human life,. — Looking out into the night A SUMMER SCENE. Looking' out into the night, I bethink me of the rest And the rapture of the blest In the land where all is light ; Sitting on the heavenly shore, Weepribg never, — nevermore " Looking: oat into the night ! * A SUMMER SCENE. T SAW you, lately, at an hour ^ To lovers reckoned dear For tender trysts ; and this is what I chanced to see and hear : You sat beneath the Summer moon, A friend on either hand. And one applauded your discourse, And one — cotfldl undeiistaliid'. You quoted gems of poesy By mighty masters wrought ; And one remarked the pleasanil rhyme, And one, the golden thougjht. Your smi'les (how equally bestowed !) Upon the list'ners fell ; And one was fain to praise youir eyes, And one, to read them: weU, You jested in a: merry vein. And, (toasc^en;^ plkyedi the diM^ 469 470 ffOTV IT HAPPENED. And one was moved to brave retort, And one, in silence, smiled. You spoke of angel-life above That evermore endures ; And one looked up, with lifted hands, And one — was kissing yours ! And then you laughed the ringing laugh That shows a spirit glad ; And one, thereat, was very gay, And one was something sad. And did you guess (ah ! need I ask ?) While thus they sat with you, That one was but a light gallant, And one a lover true ? HOW IT HAPPENED. "AH! we love each other well, ■'-^ Better far than words can tell," Said my charmer, " but in vain Are my efforts to explain How it happened ! Tell me now, Dearest, of the why and how ! Since the fact we cannot doubt. Tell me how it came about." Well, my darling, I will try To explain the how and why, (Speaking for myself — not you j That, of course, I cannot do.) now IT BAPPENED. Not your brilliant mind alone Could have thus enthralled my own ; Not the charm of every grace Beaming from your sunny face ; Not your voice — though music be Less melodious to me ; Not your kisses — sweeter far Than the drops of Hybla are ; None of these, from each apart, Could have so enchained my heart •, Nay, not e'en the wondrous whole Could have fixed my wayward soul ; Had not love — your love — prevailed, All the rest had surely failed ! There ! you have the reason, dear ; Is the explanation clear ? Ah ! I own it seems but weak ; Half the why is yet to seek ; Only this I surely know, Never woman witched me so ! Happy let my charmer be, Since her eyes in mine may see Flashes of the hidden fire (Half devotion, half desire), And her ears may hear the sighs That from yearning love arise. Whispering, in the fondest tone, " Take me ! I am all your own ! " 471 472 EX AUDI ANGELUS. EXAUDI ANGELUS. HEAR thou my prayer, O angel kind! Who brought my gladdened eyes to see Him whom so long I yearned to find, And gave hisdear heart all' to me ; O, guard him well, that I may prove Blest in my lover and my love. And keep thou her whose fearful breast Still trembles for its new-found joy, (Knowing, ah me ! but little rest !) Lest envious maids or gods destroy This wondrous happiness — that seems Too bright for aught save angel dreams. O, bless us twain ! — and kindly teach- ;' And safely guard each hallowed name From blighting hint or blasting speech To make our cheeks all red for shame, That blush not for the love they bear' In thy pure presence, aiigei fair. And while, with lips that closer cling In dread to part, we say " Farewell ! " Keep thou this love a holy thing That in us evermore may dwell, By circling hearth or sundering sea, Where'er our thankful hearts may be ! CARL AND I. 473 CARL AND I. T T E calls me beautiful ; and I -•- ^ Ask of my glass the reason why ; Alack for me ! And yet though little there I see, I must be beautiful, I trow, When such as he can deem me so. He calls me brilliant ; all in vain I strive the wonder to explain ; Alack for me ! And yet, whate'er my fancy be, Some spark of wit therein must glow When such as he can think it so. He calls me noble ; and I turn My soul within my soul to learn ; Alack for me ! I am not proud, of what I see ; And yet some goodness there must grow, When such as he can find it so. He calls me lovely ; and I try To seek the specious reason why ; Alack for me ! And yet though vain my question be; I must be lovely — well I know — When such as he can love me so 1 474 THE LOVER'S CONFESSION. DO I LOVE THEE? A SONG. DO I love thee ? Ask the bee If she loves the flowery lea Where the honeysuckle blows And the fragrant clover grows ? As she answers, Yes or No, Darling ! take my answer so. Do I love thee ? Ask the bird When her matin song is heard, If she loves the sky so fair, Fleecy cloud and liquid air ? As she answers, Yes or No, Darling ! take my answer so. Do I love thee ? Ask the flower If she loves the vernal shower, Or the kisses of the sun. Or the dew, when day is done ? As she answers. Yes or No, Darling ! take my answer so. THE LOVER'S CONFESSION. "/^OME, name my fault!" I said, "that I ^^ — May mend it." So I made reply To Laura, — darling of my heart, — Whom long, in vain, by every art DE MUSA. I tried to force to franker speech. " Do tell me plainly, I beseech, For my soul's sake, that while I live I may repent and Heaven forgive ! " " 'T is worldUness / " at last she said, And, blushing, drooped her lovely head, As if she feared I might infer She meant forgetfulness of her ! " And is that all? " I answered. « Well, I own the world's enchanting spell ; The fault is one I cannot hide ; But ah ! 't is not for you to chide ; Still, dearest, let me worldly be, Since j/ou are ' all the world ' to me ! " 475 D E MUSA. " AA/^^^'^^ ^ poem — solemn — earnest — • • Worthy of your muse ! " Ah ! when loving lips command me, How can I refuse ? But the subject ! — that 's the pother — What am I to choose ? War ? The theme is something hackneyed ; Since old Homer's time, Half the minstrels — large and little — Have been making rhyme With intent to prove that murder (Wholesale) is sublime ! Love? A most delicious topic ; But how many score, 476 DS. MUSA. Nay, how many thousand poets Deal in Cupid's lore, From Anacreon to Catullus, Not to mention Moore. Grief ? Ah ! little joy has Sorrow In the mimic art ; Can the lyre's melodious moaning Ease the mourner's smart. Though the strings were very fibres Of the player's heart ? Nature, — posies, Woods and waters > Everlastinl; tliemes, — Can the poets, in the rapture Of their finest dreams. Paint the lily of the valley Fairer than she seems ? Metaphysics ? Quite in fashion, — But Apollo's curse Blasts the syllogistic rhymer ;. Why should I rehearse Kant in cantos, — or old Plater- Torture into verse ? Humor, satire, fun and fancy, Wit with wisdom blent, — These — to give my Muse amusement - Heaven has kindly lent ; Let her live and die a-laughing ; I shall be content ! MOTHERS-IN-LAW. 477 MOTHERS-IN-LAW. T F you ever should marry, (said Major McGarth, -'- While smoking a pipe by my bachelor-hearthj ^ If you ever should wed, — and I would n't employ A word to prevent it, my broth of a boy, — Remember that wedlock 's a company where The parties, quite often, are more than a pair ; 'T is a lott'ry Ln which you are certain to draw A wife, and, most likely, z. mother-in-law ! What the latter may be all conjecture defies : She is never a blank ; she is seldom a prize ; Sometimes she is silly ; sometimes she is bold ; Sometimes — rather worse ! — she's a virulent scold. You dreamed of an angel to gladden your home. And with her — God help you ! — a harpy has come ; You fished for a wife without failing or flaw, And find you have netted — a mother>-in-law I " Dear Anna," she says, " as you clearly may see, Has always been used to depending on me ; Poor child ! — though the gentlest that ever was known — She could never be trusted a moment alone ; Such sensitive nerves, and such delicate lungs!" Cries the stoutest of dames with the longest of tongues. " Like mother — like child ; you remember the saw ; I 'm weakly myself," says your mother-in-law ! But your mother-in-law, you discover erelong, Though feeble in body, in temper is strong ; 478 THE POET TO HIS GARRET. And so you surrender — what else can you do ? She governs your wife, and your servants, and you ; And calls you a savage, — the coarsest of brutes, — For trampling the carpet with mud on your boots ; And vows she committed a stupid "fox-paw " In rashly becoming your mother-in-law ! And so (said the Major) pray, let me advise The carefullest use of your ears and your eyes ; And, ceteris paribus, take you a maid (Of widows, my boy, I am something afraid !) Who gives you — the darling ! — her hand and her love, With a sigh for her " dear sainted mother above ! " From which the conclusion you safely may draw, She will never appear as your mother-in-law ! THE POET TO HIS GARRET. (FROM E]6rANGER.) ' I ■'HRICE welcome the place where at twenty I -*■ sought A nest for myself and my darling grisette ; Where I learned the queer lessons that Poverty taught. And with friendship and love banished care and regret. 'T was here that we managed our social affairs. Unheeding what dunces or sages might say ; How lightly I bounded up six pair o' stairs ! Ah ! life in a garret at twenty is gay ! 'T was only a garret ! — the table stood here ; And there a flock-bed, — 't was the best we could get ; THE POET TO HIS GARRET. 479 And here on the plaster in charcoal appear Three lines of a poem — unfinished as yet. " Come back to me, Pleasures ! " 1 eagerly shout ; " To keep you alive in my juvenile day How oft my repeater was ' put up the spout ! ' " Ah ! life in a garret at twenty is gay ! My laughing Lisette ! would she only come back ; In her jaunty straw bonnet how charming was she! Full well I remember her dexterous knack Of hanging her shawl where the curtain should be ; Love ! kiss her silk gown with your fondest caress ; You know where she got it, I venture to say ; I never was certain who paid for the dress ; Ah ! Ufe in a garret at twenty is gay ! One notable day in those glorious years, As we sat in the midst of our feasting and fun, A shout from the people saluted our ears, " Napoleon is victor ! — Marengo is won ! " A new song of triumph at once we essayed. While cannon were blazing and booming away, " The free soil of France kings shall never invade ! " Ah ! life in a garret at twenty is gay ! Away ! — I must go lest my reason should reel ; For one of those days I would cheerfully give, With the pulses of youth that no longer I feel, All the lingering years I am destined to live ; The love, hope, and joy that at twenty I had, To have them condensed in one glorious day. Like those that I spent when a light-hearted lad I Ah ! life in a garret at twenty is gay 1 48o SONNETS. SONNETS. SOMEWHERE. SOMEWHERE — somewhere a happy clime there is, A land that knows not unavailing woes, Where all the clashing elements of this Discordant scene are hushed in deep repose. Somewhere — somewhere (ah me, that land to win !) Is some bright realm, beyond the farthest main, Where trees of Knowledge bear no fruit of sin, The buds of Pleasure blossom not in pain. Somewhere — somewhere an end of mortal strife With our immortal yearnings ; nevermore The outer warring with the inner life Till both are wretched. Ah, that happy shore ! Where shines for aye the soul's refulgent sun, And life is love, and love and joy are one ! CHANGE NOT LOSS. T DEEM to love and lose by love's decay -*- In either breast, or Fate's unkindly cross, Is not, perforce, irreparable loss Unto the larger. There may come a day, Changing for precious gold Affection's dross. When the great heart that sorely sighed to say " Farewell ! " unto the late-departed guest (The transient tenant of an idle breast) 48 1 SONMETS. Shall, through the open portal, welcome there A worthier than he who barred the place Against the loitering lord, whose regal face And princely step proclaim the lawful heir Arrived — ah, happy day ! — to fill the throne By royal right divine his very own ! A LA PENSEE. COME to me, dearest ! O, I cannot bear These barren words of worship that to each The other utters ! In the finer speech Of soft caresses let our souls declare Their opulence of love ; for while instead We linger prattling, kind Occasion slips, 'Leaving to pensive sighs the pallid lips That else for pleasure had been ruby red. Thanks ! darling, thanks ! Ah, happier than a king In all beatitude of royal bliss Is he whose mouth (again ! O perfect kiss !) May thus unto thine own with rapture cling ; For very joy of love content to live Unquestioning if Love have more to give ! ABSENCE. ABSENT from thee, beloved, I am pent In utter solitude, where'er I be ; My wonted pleasures give me small content Wanting the highest, — to be shared by thee. 482 SONNETS. Reading, — I deem I misemploy my eyes, Save in the sweet perusal of thine own ; Talking, — I mind me, with enamored sighs. What finer use my moving lips have known When (as some kind orchestral instrument Takes up the note the singer failed to reach) Uncounted kisses rapturously lent The finished meaning to my halting speech ; Remembering this, I fondly yearn for thee, And cry, " O Time ! haste ! bring my love to me ! " BIENVENUE. THRICE welcome day that ends the weary night Of love in absence. Hush, my throbbing heart ! I hear her step, — she comes ! Who now can paj;t The happy twain whose soul and sense unite ? O, can it be ? Is this no mocking dream ? Nay, by these clasping hands, that fervent kiss, (Love's sweetest token !) and by this, and this, I know thee for my own. Ah ! now I deem The gods grow envious of an earthly bliss That dims Elysian raptures, and I seem More blest than blest Endymion ; for he Saw not his love, while I, with doting eyes, O joy ineffable ! do gaze on thee, Whose circling arms enclose my Paradise ! SONN'ETS. 483 AQUINAS AND THE BISHOP. TN CREASE of worldly wealth is not alway ■^ With growth in grace in manifest accord ; So quaint Aquinas hinted to my lord The bishop, when, upon a certain day. Surprised while counting o'er his ample hoard Of shining ducats in a coffer stored, The prelate said, " The time, you see, has gone When dear old Mother Church was forced to say, {Acts second/) ' Gold and silver have I none / ' " " Ah ! " quoth Aquinas, shrewdly, " so I find ; But that, your Grace, was in the purer age. The very same, be pleased to bear in mind. When with her foes brave battle she could wage, And say to sordid Satan, ' Get behind ! ' " NOTES, ? NOTES. KoTE I. Page 97. The tale of " Miralda " is based on a, popular legend, of which an excellent prose version may be found in Ballou's History of Cuba. Note 2, Page loj. This piece is an imitation of a poem by Praed, entitled " My Partner." There are two other pieces in this collection, which, in deference to certain critics, I ought to mention as imitations of the same author. There is, indeed, a, resem- blance, in the form of the stanza and in the antithetic style of treatment, to several poems of Praed ; but as both the metre and the method are of ancient date, and are fairly the property of whomsoever may employ them, no further ac- knowledgment seems necessary than that which'is contained in this note. The same remark will apply to " The Proud Miss MacBride," which is written in the measure, and {len^o intervallo) after the manner, of Hood's incomparable " Golden Legend." Note 3. Page 183. "Potter, the Great Magician," — a clever conjurer of a former generation, — is still vividly remembered by many people in New Hampshire and Vermont. 488 NOTES. Note 4. Page 233. The first stanza of this poem I must credit to a fragment of an anonymous German song, which I found afloat in some newspaper. The remaining stanzas are built upon the sug- gestion of the first. Note 5. Page 281. If my version of "The Ugly Aunt" is more simple in plot than the prose story in the " Norske Folke-eventer," it certainly gains something in refinement by the variation. Note 6. Page 304. I 'm aware this dainty version Is n't quite the thing to go forth For the Grecian's " mggenesthai," " £/ oikematos" and so forth ; But propriety 's a virtue I 'm always bound to show forth. Note 7. Page 312. The tradition of the Wandering Jew is very old and popu- lar in every countiy of Europe, and is the theme of many ro- mances in prose and verse. The old Spanish writers make the narrative as diabolical and revolting as possible ; while the French and Flemish authors soften the legend (as in the present ballad) into a pathetic story of sin, suffering, and genuine repentance. Note 8. Page 338. This story is found in many modem languages. In the present version, the traveller is a Frenchman in Holland ; in another, he is an Englishman in France ; and in a third, a Welshman in some foreign country. The Welsh story (a poem, of which an anonymous correspondent has sent me a translation) is perhaps the best ; though it is impossible to say which is the oldest. NOTES. 485 Note 9. Page 373. " To show, for once, that Dutchmen are not dull. " Pfcre Bouhours seriously asked "if a German could be a hel esprit" This concise question was answered by Kra- mer, in a ponderous work entitled Vindicice nomhiis Cer- manicce. Note 10. Page 378. "/?e closest girdle, O reliictant Muse, In scantiest skirts, and lightest stepping-shoes. " Imitated from the opening couplet of Holmes's "Terpsi- chore, " — "In narrowest girdle, reluctant Muse, In closest frock, and Cinderella shoes," Note ii. Page 379. " ' S/ie stoops to co7iquer ' in a ' Grecian curve.' " Terence, who wrote comedies a little more than two thou- sand years ago, thus alludes to this and a kindred custom then prevalent among the Roman girls : — " Virgines, quas matres student Demissis humeris esse, vincto corpore, ut graciles fiant." The sense of the passage may be given in English, with sufficient accuracy, thus : — Maidens, whom fond, matenial care has graced With stooping shoulders, and a cinctured waist. Note 12. Page 382. " Their tumid tropes for simple '■Buncombe' made." Many readers, who have heard about "making speeches for Buncombe," may not be aware that the phrase originated as 490 NOTES. follows : A member of Congress from the county of Bun- combe, North Carolina, while pronouncing a magniloquent set-speech, was internipted by a remark from the chair, that "the seats were quite vacant." " Never mind, never mind," replied the orator, " I 'm talking for Buncombe ! " Note 13. Page 382. " 757/ rising higli in rancorous debate. And higher still in fierce, envenomed hate." " Sed jurgia prima sonare Incipiunt animis ardentibus ; hsec tuba rixae ; Dein clamore pari concurritur, et vice teli Ssevit nuda manus." — Juv. Sat. xv. Note 14. Page 385. ' ' Not uninvited to her task she came. " This poem was written at the instance of the Associated Alumni of Middlebury College, and spoken before that Society, July 22, 1846. Note 15. Page 385. " No singer's trick, — conveniently to bring A sudden cough when importuned to sing.'" The capriciousness of musical folk, here alluded to. Is by no means peculiar to our times. A little before the Chris- tian era, Horace had occasion to scold the Roman singers for the same fault : — "Omnibus hoc vitium est cantoribus, inter amicos, Ut nunquam inducant animum cantare rogati ; Injussi nunquam desistant." — Sat. iii. NOTES. 491 Note 16. Page 402. " And hush the wail of Peter Plymlefs ghost." .ev. Sydney Smith, the English author and wit, lately de- ed, who, having speculated in Pennsylvania Bonds to the lage of his estate, berated "the rascally repudiators" with :h spirit, and lamented his losses in many excellent jests. Note 17. Page 402. " Unfriendly hills no longer interpose As stubborn walls to geographic foes. Nor envious streams run only to divide ' The hearts of brethren ranged on either side" " Lands intersected by a narrow frith Abhor each other. Mountains interposed Make enemies of nations, who had else Like kindred drops been mingled into one." Cowper. Note 18. Page 404. ^'■Aristophanes, whose humor run In vain endeavor to be-^ cloud' the sun." Ln allusion to the comedy of "The Clouds," written in cule of Socrates. Note 19. Page 459. In anecdote of the gubernatorial canvass in Vermont in year 1859. Let those laugh who — lose ! Clambridge : Electrotype^ and Printed by Welch, Bigelow, & Co. m ^^' ■ ■ h ' 1. ,u.. h;;m I ! 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