jj^-#.*f»';';H^..>i5,- UJuntcll HittucrGity IGibrarg i/thaca, Nem ^ork WORDSWORTH COLLECTION MADE BY CYNTHIA MORGAN ST. JOHN ITHACA. N. Y.' THE GIFT OF VICTOR EMANUEL CLASS OF 1919 1925 \^} r -^ / '^'% J ^ (Vq \ CAROLS OF COCKAYNE x<^^ '^, K Cornell University Library The original of tiiis book is in the Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/cletails/cu31924103991000 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE BY HENRY S. LEIGH. WITH NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS BY ALFRED CONCANEN AND THE LATE JOHN LEECH. LONDON: JOHN CAMDEN HOTTEN, PICCAqiLLV 1869. ^,Goi7^G 3 TO TOM HOOD, ESQ^^ THESE VERSES ARE Hetiicateli BY HIS FRIEND A N L-) W^ O R K F 1-: L L U \V, THE AUTHOR. PREFACE. O^ The following trifles have already made their appear- ance in various periodicals. The limit of their pre- tension is obvious from their individual brevity and collective title ; with few exceptions, they were intended simply as drawing-room songs. Without aspiring to the high level of the days when Praed, Bayly, Hood, Fitzgerald, Theodore Hook, and the two Smiths wrote for music, may I flatter myself that these Carols are at least equal in point of taste (if not in point of humour) to certain light and Hvely ballads that are at present popular through the medium of the music-halls ? VIU PREFACE. Some readers will probably think the name of this book suspiciously similar to that of Mr Frederick Locker's charming London Lyrics, Let me antici- pate a charge of plagiarism by observing that Mr Locker himself was kind enough to send me the suggestion for my present title. . To those gentlemen who have given me permission to republish various verses in this collection, I am sincerely obliged. H. S. L. London, October 9, 1868. CONTENTS THE TWINS, UN PAS QUI CoOtE, THE GIFT OF THE GAB, . BEHIND THE SCENES, a WITH MUSICAL SOCIETY, THINGS THAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN, THE OLYMPIC BALL, THE TWO AGES, STANZAS TO AN INTOXICATED FLY, CHIVALRY FOR THE CRADLE — 1. THE ROMAUNT OF HUMPTY-DUMPTY, 2. A LEGEND OF BANBURY-CROSS, 3. THE BALLAD OF BABYE BUNTING, A CLUMSY SERVANT, . . . . PAGE 9 II 13 16 19 22 24 27 29 32 33 34 35 CONTENTS. A NURSERY LEGEND, AN ALLEGORY, . OVER THE WATER, AN UNAPPRECIATED CRICHTON, ONLY SEVEN, SEE-SAW, A WILD HUNT, . . . A VERY COMMON CHILD, CROOKED ANSWERS — 1 . VERE DE VERE, 2. MAUD, A BEGGING LETTER, A cockney's EVENING SONG, . ROMANTIC RECOLLECTIONS, THE MAD GRANDPAPA, . SHABBY-GENTEEL, CUPID'S MAMMA, THE crusader's FAREWELL, . LAYS OF MANY LANDS — 1. COSSIMBAZAR, 2. SARAGOSSA, 3. CLAKENS, 4. VENICE, PAGE J/ 39 41 44 47 49 51 55 58 60 62 65 67 70 73 75 77 79 81 82 84 CONTENTS. XI THE SEASONS, BROKEN VOWS, . WHERE — AND OH ! WHERE ? A FIT OF THE BLUES, ROTTEN ROW, A LAST RESOURCE, WEATHERBOUND IN THE SUBURBS, MIDAS, . . . . TO A TIMID LEECH, ANACREONTIC, . A child's twilight, the house on the top of a hill, men i dislike, not quite fair, wisdom and water, . 'twas ever thus, MY SONG, BOW BELLS, THE PLOT OF A ROMANCE, THE SUBJECTS OF SONG, AN OLD CYNIC, . THE NIGHTINGALE, TO MY BRAIN, PAGE 85 87 89 91 93 95 99 lOI 103 [05 107 109 III 113 114 116 117 119 122 124 126 129 132 Xll CONTENTS. WANTED, A SINGER, ANTICIPATIONS, THE SWORD OF DAMOCLES, THE OLD WAG, . ETIQUETTE, A PLAIN ANSWER, IN A HUNDRED YEARS, EVENING, MY POLITICS, THE MISERIES OF GENIUS, A DAY FOR WISHING, THE DILIGENCE DRIVER, THE BALLAD OF THE BARYTONE, SONGS OF THE SICK ROOM — 1. COD LIVER OIL, 2. NIGHT AND MORNING, 3. GENERAL DEBILITY, . THE COMPACT, . THE VISION OF THE ALDERMAN, EVENING DRESS, WINE, .... MY ULTIMATUM, ALL ALONE, PAGE 13s 137 140 142 148 ISO 152 155 157 ^59 161 162 163 16s 169 172 175 177 179 CONTENTS. Xlll PAGE "OH NIGHTS AND SUPPERS," ETC., . . . . l8l THE WEATHER, . . . . . . 183 " ON CORPULENCE," ..... 185 THE MOONLIGHT SONATA, ..... 188 OCCASIONAL VERSES — CHATEAUX D'ESPAGNE, ..... 195 TO A CERTAIN SOMEBODY, . . . .199 THE LORD mayor's APOTHEOSIS, . . . 202 THE END OF AN OLD YEAR, .... 205 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. <^ THE TWINS. N form and feature, face and limb, I grew so like my brother That folks s^ot taking^ me for him And each for one another. It puzzled all our kith and kin, It reached an awful pitch ; For one of us was born a twin And not a soul knew which One day (to make the matter worse), Before our names were fix'd. As we were being wash'd by nurse, We got completely mix'd. B lO CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. And thus, you see, by Fate's decree, (Or rather nurse's whim), My brother John got christen'd me^ And I got christen'd him. This fatal hkeness even dogg'd My footsteps when at school. And 1 was always getting flogg'd — For John turn'd out a fool. I put this question hopelessly To every one I knew, — What would you do, if you were me. To prove that you w^xtyou? Our close resemblance turn VI the tide Of my domestic life ; For somehow my intended bride Became my brothers wife. In short, year after year the same Absurd mistakes went on ; And when I died — the neighbours came And buried brother John ! {Published unth miisic by Messrs Cramer.) II UN PAS QUI COUTE. T 'VE a genius or a talent— I perceive it pretty clearly In pursuing an ambition or in climbing up a tree — For never quite attaining, but attaining very neaidy To my aspiration's altitude, whatever it may be. Tis a faculty that haunts me with an obstinate persistence, For I felt it in my boyhood, and I feel it in my prime, — All the efforts and endeavours I have made in m\' existence Have invariably ended '' but a step from the sublime." As a boy I made a tender of my tenderest affection. In a lovely little sonnet to the fairest of the fair : (Though nothing but a youngster, I 've preserved the recollection Of her tyranny, her beauty, and the way she did her hair.) She was married, I remember, to a person in the City, — I consider d him remarkably obtrusive at the time ; So I quitted my enslaver with a lofty look of pity, For 1 felt my situation " but a step from the sublime." Being confident that Cupid was a little gay deceiver, I forgot my disappointment in a struggle after Fame ; I had caught the rage of writing as a child may catch a fever. So 1 took to makins: verses as a wav to make a name. I 2 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. When 1 publish'd a collection of my efforts as a writer — With a minimum of reason and a maximum of rhyme — 1 am proud to say that nobody could well have been politer Than the critics, for they call'd it " but a step from the sublime." 1 was laudably ambitious to extend my reputation, And 1 plann'd a pretty novel on a pretty novel plan ; I would make it independent both of sin and of '' sensation," And my villain should be pictured as a persecuted man. For your BuLWERS and your Braddons and your Collinses may grovel In an atmosphere of horror and a wilderness of crime ; Twas for ;//6' to controvert them, and I did so in a novel Which was commonly considered " but a step from the sublime." I have master'd metaphysics — I have mounted on the pinions Both of Painting and of Music — and I rather think I know Ev'ry nook and ev'ry corner of Apollo's whole dominions, From the top of Mount Parnassus down to Paternoster Row. I have had my little failures, I have had my great successes — And Parnassus, I assure you, is a weary hill to climb ; But the lowest and the meanest of my enemies confesses That he very often thinks me " but a step from the sublime." T3 THE GIFT OF THE GAB. A LECTURE ON ELOCUTION. OU have read how Demosthenes walk'd on the beach, With his mouth full of pebbles, rehears- ing a speech — Till the shell-fish and sea-gulls pro- ■iSL- nounced him a bore, i^^ And the sea met his gravest remarks ^ with a roar. In fact, if you ever learnt Greek, you '11 confess That it 's hardly the right kind of tongue to impress An intelUgent lobster or well-inform'd crab, With the deepest respect for the Gift of the Gab. 14 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. Still Eloquence gives men a wonderful power. And it often strikes me, after sitting an hour At a lecture on something I don't understand, That the Gift of the Gab is decidedly grand. Indeed, I am frec^uently heard to declare, If the Queen of the Fairies would answer my prayer, I should instantly drop on my knees to Queen Mab, Crying, Grant me, oh grant me, the Gift of the Gab. If you 'd hear the true summit of Eloquence reach'd Go to church when a charity-sermon is preached ; Where, with hands in his pockets and tears in his eyes, EvVy soft-hearted sinner contributes and cries. I think, if you look in the plate, you'll opine That the sermon you heard was uncommonly fine, And that ev'ry Oxonian and ev'ry Cantab Ought to cultivate early the Gift of the Gab. But it's after a dinner at Freemasons' Hall That the orator's talent shines brightest of all : * When his eye becomes glazed and his voice becomes thick. And he's had so much hock he can only say hie ' So the company leave him to slumber and snore Till he 's put in a hat and convey'd to the door; THE GIFT OF THE GAB. I 5 And he finds, upon reaching his home in a cab, That his wife rather shines in the Gift of the Gab. Then there 's Gab in the senate and Gab at the bar, But I fear their description would lead me too far ; And (last but not least) there is Gab on the stage, Which I couldn't exhaust if I sang for an age. But, if there are matters that puzzle you still, You may take up an Enfield and go through a drill. Which will teach you much more than a hurried confab With reeard to that art call'd the Gift of the Gab. i6 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. BEHIND THE SCENES. T ONG, long ago I had an aunt Who took me to the play : An act of kindness that I shan't Forget for many a day. I was a youngster at the time. Just verging on my teens, And fancied that it must be " prime '' To go behind the scenes, I ventured to express the same In quite a candid way, And shock'd my aunt — a sober dame, Though partial to the play. BEHIND THE SCENES. I? 'Twas just the moment when Macbeth (Whose voice resembled Kean's) Had finished planning Duncan's death, „ And rushed behind the scenes. I recollect that evening yet, And how my aunt was grieved ; And, oh ! I never shall forget The lecture I received. It threw a light upon the class Of knowledge that one gleans By being privileged to pass His time behind the scenes. The Heroine I worshipp'd then Was fifty, I should think ; My Lord the commonest of men, My Lover fond of drink. The Fairies I believed so fair Were not by any means The kind of people one would care To meet behind the scenes. I 8 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. I cannot boast that I enjoy The stage-illusion still ; 1 'm growing far too old a boy To laugh or cry at will. But 1 can cast a critic's eye On mimic kings and queens, And nothing ever makes me sigh To get behind the scenes. Ah ! shallow boastings— false regrets ! The world is but a stage Where Man, poor player, struts and frets From infancy to age ; And then leaps blindly, in a breath, The space that intervenes Between our stage-career and Death, Who lurks behind the scenes I 19 ' WITH MUSICAL SOCIETY.'"' LOOK'D for lodgings, long ago, Away from London's fogs and fusses ; A rustic Paradise, you know. Within a walk of trains or ^Dusses. I made my choice, and settled down In such a lovely situation ! — About a dozen miles from town. And very near a railway-station. Within my pastoral retreat No creditor, no care intruded ; My happiness was quite complete (The "• comforts of a home " mcluded). 20 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. I found the landlord most polite, His wife, if possible, politer ; — Their two accomplish'd daughters quite Electrified the present writer. A nicer girl than Fanny Lisle To sing a die-away duet with, (Say something in the Verdi style,) Upon my life I never met with. And yet I waver'd in my choice ; For I believe I 'm right in saying That nothing equalFd Fanny's voice, Unless it was Maria's playing. If music be the food of Love, That was the house for Cupid's diet ; Those two melodious girls, by Jove, Were never for an instant quiet. I own that Fanny's voice was sweet, I own Maria's touch was pearly ; But music 's not at all a treat For those who get it late and early. "WITH MUSICAL SOCIETY. 21 The charms that soothe a savage breast Have got a vice versa fashion Of putting folks who have the best Of tempers in an awful passion : And, when it reach'd a certain stage, I must confess I couldn't stand it. I positively swore with rage And stamped and scovvl'd like any bandit. I paid my rent on quarter-day ; Pack'd up my luggage in a hurry, And, quick as lightning, fled away To other lodgings down in Surrey. 1 "m fairly warn'd — and not in vain ; For one resolve that I have made is — Not to be domiciled again With any musical young ladies. 2 2 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. THINGS THAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN, T N the twilight of November's Afternoons I hke to sit, ' Finding fancies in the embers Long before my lamp is lit ; Calling Memory up and linking Bygone day to distant scene ; Then, with feet on fender, thinking Of the things that might have been. Cradles, wedding-rings, and hatchments Glow alternate in the fire. Early loves and late attachments Blaze a second — and expire. With a moderate persistence One may soon contrive to glean Matters for a mock existence From the things that mii^ht have been. THINGS THAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN. 23 Handsome, amiable, and clever- With a fortune and a wife ; — So I make my start whenever I would build the fancy life. After all my bright ideal, What a gulf there is between Things that are, alas ! too real, And the things that might have been. Often thus, alone and moody, Do I act my little play — Like a ghostly Punch and Judy, Where the dolls are grave and gay — Till my lamplight comes and flashes On the phantoms I have seen. Leaving nothing but the ashes Of the thincrs that mif^ht have been. ^^^^^^ 24 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. THE OLYMPIC BALL. T 'S a classical fact very few know (If any one knows it at all), That Jove once prevailed upon Juno To issue her cards for a ball. Olympus, of course, was delighted ; The notion was charming — so new ! And the whole of the gods were invited, The whole of the goddesses too ; Including a few lucky mortals, Especially well known to fame, (For Olympus ne'er open'd its portals, Except to the crime de la creme,) At eleven the guests were arriving, All drest up remarkably grand ; At midnight Apollo came driving Full pelt, in a neat four-in-hand ! THE OLYMPIC BALL. 25 In passing Parnassus he'd popped in, And brought on the Muses inside ; Minerva soon afterwards dropp'd in, And Vulcan, escorting his bride. Lovely Venus was quite condescending, (But chroniclers freely confess. She was not in the habit of spending Extravagant sums upon dress.) The ball-room, one couldn't help feeling, Was got up regardless of cost ; And the satyrs and nymphs on the ceiling Were worthy of Etty or Frost. The band that was hir'd for the dancers (The best they could possibly get) Look'd down with disdain on the '' Lancers," And stuck to the " Court Minuet.'' Young Ganymede carried round ices. And Hebe (a pert-looking minx) Cut the pineapple up into slices. While Bacchus took charge of the drinks. Terpsichore danc'd like a feather ; In fact, the spectators agreed c 2 6 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. That she and young Zephyr together Made very good partners indeed. Then Momus began to grow witty ; The Graces obhg'd with a glee ; While Pan sang a pastoral ditty, And Neptune a song of the sea ! Minerva sat pompously boring The Muses with blue-stocking talk ; And Bacchus was put to bed snoring, Completely unable to walk. An hour before daylight was shining The prudish Diana had flown To the spot where Endymion was pining To meet her by moonlight alone. The next to depart was Apollo, Who leapt on his chariot at seven : No eye in Olympus could follow The track of his coursers through heaven ! The lamps were beginning to burn out, And sunshine was flooding the hall, When the last who thought proper to turn out Drove homeward from Jupiter's ball. 27 THE TWO AGES. T^OLKS were happy as days were long In the old Arcadian times ; When Life seem'd only a dance and song In the sweetest of all sweet climes. Our world grows bigger, and, stage by stage, As the pitiless years have rolFd, We Ve quite forgotten the Golden Age, And come to the Age of Gold. Time went by in a sheepish way Upon Thessaly's plains of yore. In the nineteenth century lambs at play Mean mutton, and nothing more. Our swains at present are far too sage To live as one liv'd of old : So they couple the crook of the Golden Age With a hook in the Age of Gold. From Corydon's reed the mountains round Heard news of his latest flame 28 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. And Tityrus made the woods resound With echoes of Daphne's name. They khidly left us a lasting gage Of their musical art, we 're told ; And the Pandean pipe of the Golden Age Brings mirth to the Age of Gold. Dwellers in huts and in marble halls — From Shepherdess up to Queen — Cared little for bonnets, and less for shawls, And nothing for crinoline. But now Simplicity 's not the rage. And it 's funny to think how cold The dress they wore in the Golden Age Would seem in the Age of Gold. Electric telegraphs, printing, gas, Tobacco, balloons, and steam, Are little events that have come to pass Since the days of that old regime. And, spite of Lemprih'e's dazzling page, I 'd give — though it might seem bold — A hundred years of the Golden Age For a year in the Age of Gold. 29 STANZAS TO AN INTOXICATED FLY. 7T'S a singular fact that whenever I order My goblet of GuiNNESS or bumper of Bass, Out of ten or a dozen that sport round the border Some fly turns a somersault into my glass. Oh I it 's not that I crrudo-e him the liquor he 's tasted, Supposing him partial to ale or to stout), But consider the time irretrievably wasted In trying to fish the small wanderer out. Ah ! believe me, fond fly, 'tis excessively sinful, This habit which knocks even bluebottles up ; ^O CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. O Just remember what Cassio, on getting a skinful, Observ'd about " evVy inordinate cup ! " Reflect on that proverb^ diminutive being, Which tells us " Enough is as good as a feast ; " And, mark me, there 's nothing more painful than seeing An insect behaving so much like a beast. Nay, in vain would you seek to escape while I 'm talking, And shake from your pinions the fast-clinging drops. It is only too clear, from your efforts at walking, That after your malt you intend to take hops. Pray, where is your home ? and oh ! how shall you get there ? And what will your wife and your family think ? Pray, how shall you venture to show the whole set there That Paterfamilias is given to drink. Oh, think of the moment when Conscience returning Shall put the brief pleasures of Bacchus to flight ; When the tongue shall be parch'd and the brow shall be burning And most of to-morrow shall taste of to-night ! For the toast shall be dry, and the tea shall be bitter, And all through your breakfast this thought shall intrude ; That a little pale brandy and Seltzer is fitter For such an occasion than animal food. STANZAS TO AN INTOXICATED FLY. 3T 1 have known, silly fly, the dehght beyond measure — The blissful sensation, prolonged and intense — The rapturous, wild, and ineffable pleasure. Of drinking at somebody else's expense. But I own — and it's not without pride that I own it — Whenever some friend in his generous way Bids me drink without paying, I simply postpone it, And pay for my liquor the whole of next day ! {Published^ with jjiusic, by Messrs Metzler and Co., Great Alaidboj^oug/i Street.) ^^^^^^T 32 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. CHIVALRY FOR THE CRADLE. No. I.— The Romaunt of Humpty-Dumpty "T^IS midnighi;, and the moonbeam sleeps Upon the garden sward : My lady in yon turret keeps Her tearful watch and ward. '' Beshrew me ! " mutters, turning pale, The stalwart seneschal ; " What's he that sitteth, clad in mail, Upon our castle wall ? " Arouse thee, friar of orders gray ; What, ho ! bring book and bell ! Ban yonder ghastly thing, 1 say ; And, look ye, ban it well. By cock and pye, the Humpty s face !" — The form turn'd quickly round ; Then totter'd from its resting-place — That night the corse was found. CHIVALRY FOR THE CRADLE.' 33 The king, with hosts of fighting men, Rode forth at break of day ; Ah ! never gleam'd the sun till then On such a proud array, fiut all that army, horse and foot, Attempted, quite in vain, Upon the castle wall to put The Humpty up again. No. 2. — A Legend of Banbury-Cross. Started my lord from a slumber and roar d, " Sirrah, go bring me my buckler and sword ! Saddle my steed ! Ere he next have a feed, r fackens, the brute will be weary indeed ; For I and my gray must be off and away To Banbury-Cross at the dawn of the day." People came dow^n unto Banbury town. In holiday doublet and holiday gown ; They muster'd in force, as a matter of course, To see an old woman ride on a white horse. Sir Thomas the May'r had been heard to declare It was likely to prove an exciting affair. 34 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. Shouts of acclaim from the multitude came, And clapping of hands for that elderly dame ; Who, as history goes, had the newest of clothes, And rings on her fingers and bells on her toes. Ting-a-ting, ting ! Ding-a-ding^ ding ! . There was never beheld such a wonderful thing. No. 3.— The Ballad of Babye Bunting. The Knight is away in the merry green wood, Where he hunts the wild rabbit and roe : He is fleet in the chase as the late Robin Hood — He is fleeter in quest of the foe. The nurse is at home in the castle, and sings To the babe that she rocks at her breast : She is crooning of love and of manifold things. And is bidding the little one rest. " Oh, slumber, my darling ! oh, slumber apace ! For thy father will shortly be here ; And the skin of some rabbit that falls in the chase Shall be thine for a tippet, my dear." 35 ^^^ A CLUMSY SERVANT. NATURE, Nature ! you're enough To put a quaker in a huiY ^ Or make a martyr grumble. Whenever somethine rich and rare — ^' On earth, at sea, or in the air r m^i^c^i>^^ '',^" Is placed in your especial care You always let it tumble. :^ 'f^y^^'^ You don't, like other folks, confine ^■^' Your fractures to the hardware line, And break the trifles t/iey break : But, scorning anything so small, You take our nights and let them fall, And in the morning, worst of all. You go and let the day break. You drop the rains of early Spring (That set the wide world blossoming) ; The s^olden beams that mellow 36 , ■ CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. Our grain towards the harvest-prime ; You drop, too, in the autumn-time, With breathings from a colder chme, The dead leaf, sere and yellow. You drop and drop ; — without a doubt You '11 go on dropping things about. Through still and stormy weather Until a day when you shall find You feel aweary of mankind, And end by making up your mind To drop us altogether. 37 A NURSERY LEGEND. H ! listen, little children, to a proper little song Of a naughty little urchin who was always doinsr wrone : He disobey'd his mammy, and he disobey^ his dad, And he disobey'd his uncle, which was very near as bad. He wouldn't learn to cypher, and he wouldn't learn to write, ' But he would \.^?iX up his copy-books to fabricate a kite ; And he used his slate and pencil in so barbarous a way, That the grinders of his governess got looser ev'ry day. At last he grew so obstinate that no one could contrive To cure him of a theory that two and two made five ; And, when they taught him how to spell, he shovv d his wicked whims By mutilating Pinnock and mislaying Watts's Hymns. 38 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. Instead of all such pretty books, (which 7;t?islimprove the mind,) He cultivated volumes of a most improper kind ; Directories and almanacks he studied on the sly, And gloated over Bradshaw's Guide when nobody was by. From such a course of reading you can easily divine The condition of his morals at the age of eight or nine. His tone of conversation kept becoming worse and worse, Till it scandalis'd his governess and horrified his nurse. He quoted bits of Bradshaw that were quite unfit to hear, And recited from the Almanack, no matter who was near : He talked of Reigate Junction and of trains both up and down, And referr'd to men who calFd themselves Jones, Robinson, and Brown. But when this naughty boy grew up he found the proverb true, That Fate one day makes people pay for all the wrong they do. He was cheated out of money by a man whose name was Brown, And got crippled in a railway smash while coming up to town. So, little boys and little girls, take warning while you can, And profit by the history of this unhappy man. Read Dr Watts and Pinnock, dears ; and when you learn to spell^ Shun Railway Guides, Directories, and Almanacks as well ! 39 AN ALLEGORY. WRITTEN IN DEEP DEJECTION. NCE, in the gardens of delight, I pluck'd the fairest, fullest rose ; \ But (while I prest its petals tight Against the threshold of my nose) That loathsome centipede, Re- morse, Invaded with a stealthy tread My nasal organ, and of course Soon reached the middle of my head. That hideous tenant crawls and creeps About the chambers of my brain, He never pauses — never sleeps — Nor thinks of coming out again. 40 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. The movements of his hundred feet Are gentler than the autumn breeze ; But I dishke to feel him eat My cerebellum by degrees. With snuff, tobacco, Preston salts, And various other potent smells, I strive to fumigate the vaults In which the devastator dwells. I pull my hair out by the root — I dash my head against the door It only makes the hateful brute A trifle noisier than before. Then tell me not that Joy's bright flow'r Upon this canker d heart may bloom. Like toadstools on a time-worn tow'r, Or dandelions on a tomb. I mourn departed Hope in vain, For briny tears may naught avail ; You cannot catch tJiat bird again By dropping salt upon its tail ! 41 OVER THE WATER. T OOK always on the Surrey side For true dramatic art. The road is long — the river wide — But frequent busses start From CharinG^ Cross and Gracechurch street, (An inexpensive ride ;) So, if you want an evening's treat, O seek the Surrey side. I have been there, and still would go, As Dr Watts observes ; Although it's not a place, I know, For folks with feeble nerves. Ah me ! how many roars I 've had — How many tears I 've dried — At melodramas, good and bad, Upon the Surrey side. D 42 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. Can I forget those wicked lords, Their voices and their calves ; The things they did upon those boards, And never did by halves : The peasant, brave though lowly born, Who constantly defied Those wicked lords with utter scorn, Upon the Surrey side ? Can 1 forget those hearts of oak, Those model British tars ; Who crack'd a skull or crack'd a joke, Like true transpontine stars ; Who hornpip'd a hi T. P. Cooke, And san^ — at least thev tried — Until the pit and gallery shook, Upon the Surrey side ? But best of all I recollect That maiden in distress- So unimpeachably correct In morals and in dress — OVER THE WATER. Who, ere the curtain fell, became The low-born peasant's bride : (They nearly always end the same Upon the Surrey side.) I gape in Covent Garden's walls, I doze in Drury Lane ; I strive in the Lyceum stalls To keep awake — in vain. There's nought in the dramatic way That I can quite abide, Except the pieces that they play Upon the Surrey side. 44 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. AN UNAPPRECIATED CRICHTON, ONES has a party to-night, But there's no invitation for vie to it. People are cutting me quite ; I shall pny a few visits and see to it. True, I 've a thousand a-year. And am reckoned the pink of propriety ; As to good-looking, look licrc I Yet I never get on in Society. 'Tis not as though I were shy, Or unmanner'd, or not introducible ; Lower-bred people than I Have triumphantly gone through the crucible. AN UNAPPRECIATED CRICHTON. 45 Many get polished in time At the cost of a little anxietv ; What's my particular crime That I never get on in Society ? Dance ? — Well, I think I may say I 'm as graceful a partner as any one : Sir, I could caper away To a whistle — though simply a penny one. Sing ? — I could give you a list Of enormous extent and variety. Play ? — Let me show you my wrist ; — Yet I never get on in Society. Hearing me talk is a treat, When I take a discourse philosophic up, During the tea, or repeat Little anecdotes over my coffee-cup. If you Ve a passion for puns, I could feed you on tlicni to satiety — New and original ones ; Yet I never get on in Society. 46 . CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. Two or three glasses of wine Give a spur to good-humour and merriment ; So that, wherever I dine, I repeat the dehghtful experiment. Not that I drink till I lapse From the paths of the strictest sobriety ; Still, now and then — \N\\y^ pei'haps — Yet I never get on in Society ! 47 ONLY SEVEN. A PASTORAL STORY, AFTER WORDSWORTH, T MARVELUD why a simple child, That lightly draws its breath. Should utter groans so very wild, ' And look as pale as Death. Adopting a parental tone, I ask'd her why she cried ; The damsel answer'd, with a groan, '' I 've got a pain inside ! '' I thought it would have sent me mad Last night about eleven ;" Said I, '^ What is it makes you bad ? How many apples have you had ?'^ She answer d, " Only seven !'' " And are you sure you took no more, My little maid?" quoth I. 48 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. '' Oh ! please, sir, mother gave me four. But they were in a pie !" '' If that ^s the case," I stammer'd out, *' Of course you 've had eleven ;" The maiden answer'd, with a pout, " I ain't had more nor seven !" I wonder'd hugely what she meant. And said, " I 'm bad at riddles, But I know where little girls are sent For telling taradiddles. ^' Now, if you don't reform,'^ said I, '^ You'll never go to heaven.'^ But all in vain ; each time I try, That little idiot makes reply, " I ain't had more nor seven/' POSTSCRIPT. To borrow WORDSWORTH'S name was wrong, Or slightly misapplied ; And so I 'd better call my song, " Lines after ACHE-INSIDE." 49 SEE-SAW ICKNESS and Health have been playing a game with me, Tossing me up, like a ball, to and fro. Pleasure and Pain did exactly the same with me, Treating me merely like something to throw. " Joy took me up to the clouds for a holiday In a balloon that she happens to keep ; Then, as a damp upon rather a jolly day, Grief in a diving-bell bore me down deep. Poverty courted me early — worse luck to her ! — (Wealth would have made me a much better wife ;) Fool that I am, I was faithful and stuck to her ; She '11 clin^r to me for the rest of mv life. 50 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. As for our children, we 'd better have drown'd them all ; They, I beUeve, are the worst of our ills. Is it a wonder I often confound ihtm. all, Seeing that most of them chance to be Bills ? Hope, who was once an occasional visitor, Never drops in on us tiow for a chat. Memory calls, though, — relentless inquisitor — (Not that I feel very grateful for that.) Hope was a liar — it's no use denying it — Memory's talk is undoubtedly true : Still, I confess that I like, after trying it, Hope's conversation the best of the two. 51 A WILD HUNT. Can any one confidently say to himself that he has conversed with the identica individual, stupidest man now extant in London?" — T. Carlvle. I STARTED up and slammed the book I seized my hat and cane ; I sought the bell and summoned cook With all my might and main. My cook, she is a sober lass — Respectable, but slow : She wondered what had come to pass To set me ringing so. Said I, " My skiff is on the shore, My bark is on the sea ; And many suns may set before I can return to thee. Expect me back on Friday week ; I 'm not at home till then. Adieu, adieu ; I go to seek The Stupidest of Men ! '' 52 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. I travers'd London in my search, Careering to and fro, From Barnsbury to Brixton Church, From Notting Hill to Bow. " There's no such word as fail," said I " I '11 seek my treasure still From Brixton Church to Barnsbury, From Bow to Notting Hill ! " He went not by the penny-boat, The omnibus, or train ; One hour on shore — the next afloat — I hunted him in vain. And ever, as the days wore on In travels east and west, I marvell'd where he could \i2.Y^ gone. My own, my Stupidest, I met, of course, with many men Whose brains Were very small ; I found a party, now and then. With nearly none at all. A WILD HUNT. ;^ I spoke to some who talk'd about The weather and the crops ; To others, much the worse, no doubt. For alcohol or hops. Alas ! in ev'ry deep, you know, There is a deeper yet ; Methought that I had sunk as low As I was like to get. Say, wherefore should I deign to dive An atom deeper down ? " My Man," said I, " if still ahve. Is hiding out of town." The fret, the fever, and the fuss. Were wearing: out mv brain ; And so at last I haiPd a 'bus To take me back again. At home, securely re-install'd, I rang for Mary Ann ; She said a visitor had call'd — A '^stupid-looking man'' 54 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. 1 question'd her, and cook's replies Completely prov'd the case. She said, " I never did set eyes On such a silly face.'^ ''Thrice welcome. Destiny !'^ I cried ; " The moral that you teach : "Tis thus Man travels far and wide For things within his reach !" -55 A VERY COMMON CHILD. P.AULLEY I EFLECTIVE reader, you may go From Chelsea unto outer Bow, And back again to Chelsea, Nor grudge the labour if you meet — In lane or alley, square or street — The child whom all the children greet As Elsie — little Elsie. A pretty name, a pretty face, And pretty ways that give a grace To all she does or utters, Did Fortune at her birth bestow, When little Elsie's lot below — About a dozen years ago — , Got cast among the gutters. 56 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. The Fates, you see, have will'd it so That even folks in Rotten Row Are not without their trials ; Whilst only those that know the ways Of stony London's waifs and strays Can fancy how the seven days Pass o'er the Seven Dials. Suppose an able artizan, (A model of the " working man" So written at and lectur'd,) Amongst the fevers that infest His temporary fever-nest Should catch a deadly one — the rest Is easily conjectur'd. 'Twas hard, on father's death, I think, That Elsie's mother took to drink ; ('Twas harder yet on baby.) The reason, reader, yo^i may guess, (/ cannot find it, I confess) — Perhaps it was her loneliness ; Or love of gin, it ?n(7j/ be. A VERY COMMON CHILD. 57 So there was Elsie, all astray, And growing bigger day by day, ' But growing none the better. No other girl (in all the set That looks on Elsie as a pet) But knows at least the alphabet. And Elsie — not a letter. Well, reader, I had best be dumb About the future that may come To this forlorn she-urchin. Her days are brighter ones pro teni.^ So let her make the most of them, Amidst the labyrinths that hem Saint Giles's ugly Church in. -S^^f^^CPJ^- E 58 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. CROOKED ANSWERS. {Dedicated to the Latii^eate.) No. I. — Vere de Vere. T^HE Lady Clara V. de V. Presents her very best regards To that misguided Alfred T. (With one of her enamelled cards). Though uninclin d to give offence, The Lady Clara begs to hint That Master Alfred's common sense Deserts him utterly in print. The Lady Clara can but say, That always from the very first She snubb'd in her decisive way The hopes that silly Alfred nurs'd. CROOK KD ANSWERS. 59 The fondest words that ever fell From Lady Clara, when they met, Were " How d 'ye do ? I hope you 're well ! '' Or else " The weather 's very wet." To show a disregard for truth By penning scurrilous attacks, Appears to Lady C. in sooth Like stabbing folks behind their backs. The age of chivalry, she fears. Is gone for good, since noble dames Who irritate low sonneteers Get pelted with improper names. The Lady Clara cannot think What kind of pleasure can accrue From wasting paper, pens, and ink, On statements the reverse of true. If Master Launcelot, one fine day, (Urged on by madness or by malt,) Destroy'd himself — can Alfred say The Lady Clara was in fault ? 6o CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. * Her Ladyship needs no advice How time and money should be spent. And can't pursue at any price The plan that Alfred T. has sent. She does not in the least object To let the ''foolish yeoman " go, But wishes — let him recollect — That he should move to Jericho. No. 2.— Maud. ' Nay, I cannot come into the garden just now, Tho' it vexes me much to refuse : But I 111 list have the next set of waltzes, I vow, With Lieutenant de Boots of the Blues. I am sure you '11 be heartily pleas'd when you hear That our ball has been quite a success. As for vie — I 've been looking a monster, my dear, In that old-fashiou'd guy of a dress. You had better at once hurry home, dear, to bed ; It is getting so dreadfully late. MAUD. 6 1 You may catch the bronchitis or cold in the head If you hnger so long at our gate. Don't be obstinate, Alfy ; come, take my advice — For I know you 're in want of repose. Take a basin of gruel (you '11 find it so nice) And remember to tallow your nose. No, I tell you I can't and I shan't get away, For De Boots has implor'd me to sing. As to_y^/^ — if you like it, of course you can stay ; You were alwavs an obstinate thin:?. If you feel it a pleasure to talk to the flow'rs About ''babble and revel and wine," When you might have been snoring for two or three hours. Why, it's not the least business of mine. ,^^ 62 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. A BEGGING LETTER. Y DEAR Tomorrow, I can think Of little else to do, And so I take my pen and ink To drop a line to you. I own that I am ill at ease Respecting you to-day : Do let me have an anwer, please : R^poiidez^ s^il vous plait. I long to like you very much, But that will all depend On whether you behave ^' as such," (I mean, dear, as a friend). A BECxGING LETTER. 62 I '11 set you quite an easy task At which you are aicfait ; You '11 come and bring me what I ask ? Repojidez^ s'il votes plait. Be sure to recollect your purse, For be it understood Though money-matters might be worse They 're very far from good. So, if you have a little gold You care to give away — But am I growing over-bold ? Reponde::^^ s 'il votes plait. A little — just a little — fame You must contrive to bring, Because I think a poet's name Would be a pleasant thing. Perhaps, though, as I Ve scarcely got A single claim to lay To such a gift, you 'd rather not ? Repondez^ s'il votes plait. 64 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. Well, well, Tomorrow, you may strike A line through what's above : And bring me folks that I can like And folks that I can love. A warmer heart — a quicker brain — I '11 ask for, if I may : Tomorrow, shall I ask in vain ? Repondez^ s '// voiis plait. 65 A COCKNEY'S EVENING SONG. in^ADES into twilight the last golden gleam ' Thrown by the sunset on upland and stream ; Glints o'er the Serpentine — tips Notting Hill — Dies on the summit of proud Pentonville. Day brought us trouble, but Night brings us peace ; Morning brought sorrow, but Eve bids it cease. Gaslight and Gaiety, beam for a while ; Pleasure and Paraffin, lend us a smile. Temples of Mammon are voiceless again — Lonely policemen inherit Mark Lane Silent is Lothbury — quiet Cornhill — Babel of Commerce, thine echoes are still. 66 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. Far to the South — where the wanderer strays Lost among graveyards and riverward ways, Hardly a footfall and hardly a breath Comes to dispute Laurence — Pountney with Death. Westward the stream of Humanity glides ; — •Busses are proud of their dozen insides. Put up thy shutters, grim Care, for to-day — Mirth and the lamplighter hurry this way. Out on the glimmer weak Hesperus yields ! Gas for the cities and stars for the fields. Daisies and buttercups, do as ye list ; I and my friends are for music or whist. -v^2!Sl5iS^^^>- 67 ROMANTIC RECOLLECTIONS. I. HEN I lay in a cradle and suck'd a coral, I lov'd romance in my childish way ; And stories, with or without a moral, Were welcome as ever the flow'rs in May: For love of the false I learnt my spelling. And brav'd the ^^ perils of While matters of fact were most repelling, Romance was plea- sant as aught It could- -w 68 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. II. My reading took me to desert islands, And buried me deep in Arabian Nights ; Sir Walter led me amongst the Highlands, Or into the thickest of Moslem fights. I found the elder DuMAS delightful — Before the sun had eclips'd the And Harrison Ainsworth finely frightful, And Fenimore Cooper far from III. A few years later I took to reading The morbid stories of Edgar Poe — Not healthy viands for youthful feeding (And all my advisers told me so). But, healthy or not, I enjoy'd them vastly ; My feverish fancy was nightly Upon horrible crnnes and murders ghastly Which sent me terrified oflf to ROMANTIC RECOLLECTIONS. 69 IV. Well ; what with perils upon the prairies, And haunted ruins and ghosts in white, And wars with giants and gifts from fairies. At last I came to be craz'd outright. And many a time, in my nightly slumbers. Bearing a glove as a lady's I held the lists against countless numbers, After the style of the darkest V. I am chang'd at present ; the olden fever Has left my brain in a sounder state ; In common-place I 'm a firm believer. And hunt for figure and fact and date. I have lost a lot of my old afi"ection, For books on which I was wont to But still I can thrill at the recollection Of mystery, magic, and martial :?E^^ -9 — * — ^ — 9- 70 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. THE MAD GRANDPAPA. 4' 'iJruZ ISTEN, little girls and boys ; Listen, one and all ! Put away those nasty toys — Mary, hold that horrid noise- Willy, drop your ball ! Come and listen, if you can. To a bald but cTood old man, Charley, if 1 call you twice, ^-._^> I shall box your ears I Grandpapa has something nice In the shnpe of good advice For his little dears : Simple maxims for the young. Mary, iviil you hold your tongue ? THE MAD GRANDPAPA. 7 I Folks will teach you when at school — " Never tell a lie!'' Nonsense : if you're not a fool You may always break the rule, But you must be sly ; For they'll whip you, past a doubt, If they ever find you out. '' Little boys," they say, " should be Seen but never heard !" Rubbish : what can people see In an ugly brat if he Never says a word ? Talk, then, if you feel inclin'd ; Talking shows the active mind- Folks will tell you, " Children //n/s/ Do as they are bid ;" But you understand, I trust, That the rule is quite unjust To a thoughtful kid : For, if once brute force appears. How about Free-will, my dears ? 72 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. Folks say, " Children should not let Angry passions rise." Humbug ! When you 're in a pet Why on earth should you regret Blacking some one's eyes ? Children's eyes are made, in fact, Just on purpose to be black'd. I, when young, was green enough Blindly to obey All the idiotic stuff That an old pedantic muh Taught me day by day ; — And, you see — at eighty-five I 'm the bisfsrest fool alive ! ^•^^'^^^S^^^i^ 73 SHABBY-GENTEEL. ^"X THEN I last had the pleasure — one day in the City— Of seeing poor Brown, I was forcibly struck By his altered appearance, and thought, What a pity To see the old fellow so down on his luck. From the crown of a hat that was horribly seedy To shoes that were dreadfully down at the heel, He suggested a type of the poor and the needy — A sketch at full length of the shabby-genteel. There were holes in his gloves — his umbrella was cotton — His coat was a faded invisible green ; And in prominent bulbs, through the trowsers he 'd got on. The marks of his knees, or patellce^ were seen. But it seem'd above all inexpressibly painful To notice the efforts he made to conceal — By a tone partly nervous and partly disdainful — The fact of his looking so shabby-genteel. F 74 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. '' How is business ?" I ask'dhim;— " and what are you doing? To tell you the truth I decidedly had A behef that the trade he had last been pursuing (Whatever its nature) had gone to the bad. His reply was a sigh : — it was little good urging The questions afresh, for I could not but feel That he saw not a prospect of ever emerging Above the dead-level of shabby-genteel. When we parted I sunk into gloomy reflection — A state of the mind that I hate, by the way — And I gave my Brown-studies a moral direction — Though, put into poetry, morals don't pay. Here's the truth I evolved, if I quite recollect it : Frail Fortune one day, by a turn of the wheel, May despatch you or me, sir, when least w'q expect it, To march in the ranks of the shabby-genteel. jy ^"^^^K^v- 75 CUPID'S MAMMA. HE wails with Cupid at the wing- The transformation is ap- proaching ; — She gives the god, poor little thing, Some final hints by way of '' coaching." For soon the merry motley clown — Most purely practical of jokers — Will bring the pit and gallery down - With petty larcenies and pokers. No Venus— anything but tliat. Could Fancy, howsoever flighty, 76 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. Transform the mother of this brat To aught resembhng Aphrodite ? No Venus, but the daily sport Of common cares and vulgar trials ; No monarch of a Paphian court — ,Her court is in the Seven Dials. She taught young Love to play the part — To bend the bow and aim the arrows Those arms will never pierce a heart, Unless it be a Cockney sparrow's. Alas, the Truthful never wooed The Beautiful to fashion Cupid ; But, in some sympathetic mood, Perhaps the Ugly wooed the Stupid. Is Cupid nervous ? Not a bit ; Love seeks no mortal approbation. Stalls, boxes, gallery, and pit May hiss or cheer the transformation. Mamma looks anxious and afraid While parting with her young beginner, Whose little wages, weekly paid. Will pay her for a weekly dinner. 77 THE CRUSADER'S FAREWELL. » ^T T^HEN King Dick the lion-hearted, pack'd his luggage up and started, {Vide Hume and Smollett /^j-i-///^) for a trip to Palestine, Tall young men, though half unwilling to accept the offer'd shilling, Left their wives and little children, and enlisted in the line. Wot ye well that there was grieving when those tall young men were leaving ; Wot ye well that there was business being done in locks of hair ; Wot ye well that rings were broken, and presented as a token, By the noblest of the noble to the fairest of the fair. Said a soldier, on the shady side of forty, to a lady Who was buckling on his burgonet, his breastplate, and his brand ; '' By my halidom, I 'd rather, as a husband and a father, Stop at home than go crusading in that blessed Holy Land.^' 78 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. '' Yes, I know as vAtll as yon, dear, it's the proper thing to do, dear ; And I 'm not afraid of fighting, (as 1 think I said before ;) Ikit it 's not without emotion that I contemplate the notion Of a trip across the channel in a British man-of-war. '' No^ it 's not at all a question of alarm, but indigestion ; Not the lances of the Paynim, but the passage in the gale, When the awful cry of ' Steward ' from the windward and the leeward. From a hundred lips arises, when a hundred lips are pale ! " '' Yes, I know you 're very sickly," said his lady, rather quickly ; ■ But you'll take a cup of sherris or a little Malvoisie, When you get as far as Dover ; — and when once you 're half- seas over, Why you '11 find yourself as jolly as you possibly can be."' So her lord and master started, just a trifle chicken-hearted, And, it may be, just a trifle discontented with his lot ; l)Ut whether he got sick, or felt the better for the liquor That his lady reccmmcnded, this deponent sayeth not. 79 LAYS OF MANY LANDS. No I. COSSIMBAZAR. OME fleetly, come fleetly, my hookabadar, For the sound of the tam-tam is heard from afar. " Banoolah ! Banoolah ! " The Brahmins are nigh, And the depths of the jungle re-echo their cry. Pestonjcc Boinanjee'I Smite the guitar ; Join in the chorus, my hookabadar. Heed not the blast of the deadly monsoon, Nor the blue Brahmaputra that gleams in the moon. 8o CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. Stick to thy music, and oh ! let the sound Be heard with distinctness a mile or two round. Jainsetjee Jeejeebhoy ! Sweep the guitar. Join in the chorus, my hookabadar. Art thou a Buddhist, or dost thou indeed Put faith in the monstrous Mohammedan creed ? Art thou a Ghebir — a blinded Parsee ? Not that it matters an atom to me. Ctirsetjee Boinanjee ! Twang the guitar. Join in the chorus, my hookabadar. 8i No. 2. Saragossa. EPITA, my paragon, bright star of Arragon ; Listen, dear, listen ; your Cristobal sings. From my cot that lies buried a short way from Lerida Love and a dilio-ence lent me their win^^s. Swift as a falcon I flew to thy balcony. (Is it bronchitis ? I can't sing a bar.) Greet not with merriment Love's first experi- ment ; Listen, Pepita ! I 've brought my catarrh. Manuel the matador may, like a flat, adore Donna Dolores : I pity his choice, For they say that her governor lets neither lover nor • Any one else hear the sound of her voice. Brother Bartolome (stoutish Apollo) may Sigh for Sabina — you '11 pardon this cough ? — And Isabel's votary, Nunez the notary. Vainly — (That sneeze again ? Loved one, I ^m off !) 82 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE, No. 3. Clarens. AKE Leman wooes me with its crystal face — (That observation is the late Lord Byron's) And Chillon seems a damp unpleasant place — (Where Bonnivard, poor soul, got clapt in irons.) Beside me Vevey lies, romantic town, (I wish the weather were not q^uite so damp,) And, not far distant, Alpine summits frow^n — (Ah, just what I expected. That's the cramp !) CLARENS. 83 Before the blast are driven the flying clouds— (And I should like to blow a cloud as well) The vapours wrap the mountain-tops in shrouds — (I left my mild cheroots at the hotel.) Dotting the glassy surface of the stream, (Oh, here's a cigarette — my mind 's at ease,) The boats move silently as in a dream — (Confound it ! where on earth are my fusees I) Methinks in such a Paradise as this, (Thank goodness, there's a clodhopper in sight,) To live were ecstasy, to die were bliss. (Could you oblige me. Monsieur, with a light ?) I could live pure beneath so pure a sky — (The rain 's completely spoilt my Sunday coat,) And sink into the tomb without a sigh — (There 's the bell ringing for the /adle d hotc) 84 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. No. 4. Venice. PEED, gondolier, speed, o'er the lonely lagoon, To the distant pinzetta Where dwells my ^linetta, Lest envious Aurora surprise us too soon. Sing, gondolier, sing, with a heart full as mine — Though thy larynx be wheezy And singing 's not easy Whilst guiding a vessel so tub-like as thine. Cease, gondolier, cease ; 'twas an exquisite air — But we've reach'd the Rialto, So hand me that paletot ; And tell me, my gondolier, what is thy fare ? 85 THE SEASONS. T^HE smiling Spring is too light a thing — Too much of a child for me. No trace in her face of the ripen'd giace That a lover would love to see. Hers are the showers — but half the flowers Hang back for her sister's call. Amongst the seasons, for divers reasons, The Spring is the worst of all. I dread the Summer, the next new-comer, Because of her changeful forms : She merits my praise for her cloudless days. But my wrath for her fearful storms. There are flames in her love from the fires above, And her kisses like lava fall. Amongst the seasons, for various reasons, The Summer is worst of all. 86 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. The Autumn drear glides into a year With the moan of an injured ghost. Then shiver and fall the brown leaves all, And the woods are in rags almost. She comes and flings on blossoming things A shadow of shroud and pall. Amongst the seasons, for several reasons, The Autumn is worst of all. The Winter is good, be it understood, For scarcely a single thing : Although it is prime at the Christmas time To revel and dance and sing. ' It is full of such ills as tradesmen's bills. And its pleasures are scant and small. Amongst the seasons, for many good reasons. The W^inter is worst of all. «7 BROKEN VOWS. ROMISES are lightly spoken ; Vows on which we blindly build (Uttered only to be broken) Go for ever unfulfiU'd. Oft betray'd, but still believing — Duped again and yet again — All our hoping, all our grieving Warns us, but it warns in vain. From the cradle and the coral — From the sunny days of youth — We are taught a simple moral, Still we doubt the moral's truth. When a boy they found me rather Loth to do as I w^as bid. '' I shall buv a birch," said father — Broken vows ! He never did. Grown extravagant, when youthful. In my tailor's debt I ran : 88 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. He appear'd about as truthful In his talk as any man. Let me tell you how he sold me : " Look you, Mr What 's-Your- Name, I shall summons yoit^'' he told me — But the summons never cauie ! Through the meadows, daisy-laden, Once it was my lot to stray, Talking to a lovely maiden In a very loving way ; And I stole a kiss — another — Then another — then a lot. " Fie ! '' she said, "- I '11 tell my mother." Idle words ; she told her not. When a party who dislikes me Promises to '' punch my head,'' 'Tis an empty phrase, it strikes me. They are words too lightly said. Not since Disappointment school'd me, Have I credited the truth Of the promises that fool'd me In my green and gushing youth. 89 WHERE— AND OH! WHERE? ^71 THERE are the times when — miles away From the din and the dust of cities- Alexis left his lambs to play, And wooed some shepherdess half the day With pretty and plaintive ditties ? Where are the pastures daisy-strewn And the flocks that lived in clover ; The Zephyrs that caught the pastoral tune And carried away the notes as soon As ever the notes were over ? Where are the echoes that bore the strains Each to his nearest neighbour : G 90 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. And all the valleys and all the plains Where all the nymphs and their love-sick swains Made merry to pipe and tabor ? Where are they gone ? They are gone to sleep Where Fancy alone can find them : But Arcady's times are like the sheep That quitted the care of Little Bo-Peep, For they've left their tales behind them ! '^^^m^m^'^^^^ 91 A FIT OF THE BLUES. Y deep cerulean eyes are full of tears, And bluely burns my melancholy taper : How dimly every azure line appears To be imprinted on my bluish paper. My casement opens on the blue, blue sky, The cobalt of the dawn already lightens The outer east — and yet small joy have I That Luna fades and that Aurora briditens. Oh that the mornincr VvAu could brini^ fjr me One hour amidst the blue-bells and the heather ! — One hour of sojourn on the wide blue sea, In crystal calmness or in stormy weather! 92 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE Oh that the '^ freshness of the heart" could fall Once more upon my spirit, and could kindly Bring back again the days when hrst of all I read my Blue Beard and believed it blindly ! One cure there is for all the ills that make Existence duller than a blue-book's pages : — A strong blue-pill is just the thing to take For indigestion in the early stages. 93 ROTTEN ROW. 'THHERE'S a tempting bit of greenery — of iiis in urbc scenery — That '3 haunted by the London '' upper ten ;" Where, by exercise on horseback, an ec^uestrian may force back Little fits of tedhini vitce now and then. Oh ! the times that I have been there, and the types that I have seen there Of that gorgeous Cockney animal, the ''swell ;" And the scores of pretty riders (both patricians and outsiders) Are considerably more than I can tell. When first the warmer weather brought these people all together And the crowds began to thicken through the Row, I reclined against the railing on a sunny day, inhaling All the spirits that the breezes could bestow. 94 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. And the riders and the walkers and the thinkers and the talkers Left me lonely in the thickest of the throng. Not a touch upon my shoulder — not a nod from one beholder — As the stream of Art and Nature went along. But I brought away one image, from that fashionable scrimmage, Of a figure and a face— ah, siicli a face ! Love has photograph'd the features of that loveliest of creatures On my memory, as Love alone can trace. Did I hate the little dandy in the w^hiskers, (they were sandy,) Whose absurd salute was honoured by a smile ? Did I marvel at his rudeness in presuming on her goodness. When she evidentlv loathed him all the while ? Oh the hours that I have w^asted, the regrets that I have tasted, Since the day (it^seems a century ago) When my heart was won i?is/a?iter hy a lady in a canter, On a certain sunny day in Rotten Row ! 95 A LAST RESOURCE. r^_^ LONE on India's burning plain, Beneath a banyan tree, A mortal many hours had lain In ceaseless agony. Mosquitoes with a constant buzz Came flocking round their prize (It varies — the mosquito does — In appetite and size.) But, though it varies as to form, And varies as to thirst, In Asia, (where the nights are warm,) The small ones are the worst. 96 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. Anon their victim waved his arm To scare them from their feed ; But found, alas ! that their alarm Was very brief indeed. Then other remedies he sought, But still he sought in vain ; • Until a wild and witching thought Came flashing through his brain. At once he started bolt upright Against the banyan tree, And, in the silence of the night, '^ Now, listen all !^' said he. ^' I Ve had enough of these attacks — Enough and rather more ! " (His voice had now begun to wax Much louder than before. The hearers trembled, one and all ; Dead stillness reign'd around : You might have heard a needle fall The hush was so profound.) A LAST RESOURCE. 97 ^' When I was living far away — Across the briny deep — I laid me down one summer day To try to go to sleep ; When, lo ! as I began to see A prospect of repose. There straightway came a humble-bee Who buzz'd about my nose. '' I ever was a patient man ; I take a certain pride In suffering as best I can Whatever ills betide. But this was not a thing to bear ; So rising in my wrath, I slew the monster then and there Upon the table-cloth. '^ The moral of my tale, methinks, 'Tis needless to declare. I wish to take my forty winks : Disturb me if ye dare. 98 ' ■ CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. The first who interferes with me Imperils Hfe and hmb ; For as I did unto the bee I mean to do to Jiim /" Again he glanced upon the crew. And la'id him down to rest. Irresolute and pallid grew Their bravest and their best. * «• * * Next morning when the sunlight gleam'd Upon the earth and sea, That unmolested youth still dream'd About the humble-bee. -^^SS^P^ 99 WEATHERBOUND IN THE SUBURBS. nPHE air is damp, the skies are leaden : The ominous lull of impending rain Presses upon me, and seems to deaden Every sense but a sense of pain. Hopes of getting again to London Lapse into utter and grim despair ; Shall I do my verses or leave them ^///done ? / don't know, and I don't much care. I sit in a silence broken only Now and again by the wandering breeze, A breeze in the garden, wandering lonely, Or playing the fool with shivering trees. lOO CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. I have slept all night — should I call it sleeping ?- Out of all sound but the pattering drops Against the pane, and the wild wind keeping Revelry up in the chimney-tops. I want the hum of my working brothers — liOndon bustle and London strife — To count as one in three million others ; — How can I live away from life ? lOI MIDAS. ^^^^: N Lempriere — bewitching book — I Ve read and read the story olden, Which tells us of the king who took That fatal fancy to the golden. The monarch, by a simple touch, Transmuted anything instantcr, (Since then the times have alter'd much, And only Tempora mutantur.) His palace roof Avas raised on high By pillars bright with golden glory ; — (No modern publisher could buy One column of this classic story.) I02 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. His pamper'd pages quite cut out The pages from the " Wealth of Nations : They had gilt edges, past a doubt, And lots of Z>^r/ illustrations. But Midas very soon, they say, Knelt down and — driven to distraction — Implored the gods to take away Their awful gift of aurifaction. 'Twas hunger that induced remorse ; The king was at the point of starving. (For gilding had become, of course, The instant consequence of carving.) Do all I will, I cannot bring My faith to credit such a fable ; Although a clieqiie ^s a common thing To turn to crold when one is able. But gold, as far as I can learn, (And here the story seems a '' whopper ! ") Gets changed to silver in its turn, And silver in its turn to copper. I03 TO A TIMID LEECH. ^T AY, stcirt not from the banquet where the red wine foams for thee — Though somewhat thick to perforate this epidermis be ; 'Tis madness, when the bowl invites, to hnger at the brink ; So haste thee, haste thee, timid one. Drink, pretty creature, drink ! I tell thee, if these azure veins could boast the regal wine Of Tudors or Plantagenets, the draught should still be thine ! Though round the goblet's beaded brim plebeian bubbles wink. 'Twill cheer and not inebriate. Drink, pretty creature, drink • Perchance, reluctant being, I have placed thee wrong side up, And the lips that I am chiding have been farthest from the cup. I04 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. I have waited long and vainly, and I cannot, cannot think Thou vvouldst spurn the oft-repeated call : Drink, pretty crea- ture, drink ! While I watch'd thy patient struggles, and imagined thou wert coy, 'Twas thy tail, and not thy features, that refused the proffer'd joy. I will but turn thee tenderly — nay, never, never shrink- Now, once again the banquet calls : Drink, pretty creature drink ! -v=^^^{2iS^^::?- JOS AxNACREONTIC. (For a Cavalier Tea-Party.) ^Y, marry ! With glee I abandon the bottle ; But, mark me, not all your philo- sophers, up From quaint Master Mill to an- tique Aristotle, Shall make me turn tail on the saucer and cup. ^^>j^^^ ^^>— nj^— -5fc^- Drink, roysterers all ; and, ifegs ! /, . ^' -">...__ while I utter The praises of tea, let the burden resound. Let those who prefer it have plain bread and butter ; For vie, lads, I warrant the toast shall go round. Chorits. — Let those, &c. H [o6 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. Dull knaves who delight in the worship of BACCHUS May jeer at our joys in their pestilent way. Pert fools that love Sherris perchance may attack us ; What boots it, my bully boys ? Drink and be gay. Adzooks, let the braggarts go sleep in the gutter ; Carouse ye, so long as Bohea can be found ; Let those who prefer it have plain bread and butter ; For ine^ lads, I warrant the toast shall go round. Chorus. — Let those, &c. Odsbodikins ! Tea is the soul and the sinew Of all the gay gallants that fight for the king ; Long, long on the throne may our monarch continue, To laugh at the French and bid rebels go swing. Drink, drink to our flag, boys ; for ages shall flutter In glory and honour that standard renown'd. Let those who prefer it have plain bread and butter ; For vie, lads, I warrant the toast shall go round. Chorus, — Let those, ^z. T07 .\ CHILD^S TWILIGHT Child. « T^HE sun drops down in the deep, deep west As a ball sinks into a cup ; And the moon springs rapidly up from rest As a Jack-in-the-box leaps up. Now falls the shadow and comes the dark, And the face of the world is hid ; Like the men and the beasts in a Noah's ark When they slumber beneath its lid. So softly — slowly — the silence creeps Over earth and all earthly things, That it leaves Mankind like a doll that sleeps, With nothing to touch the springs. 108 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. Mother. Ah! Avould that never the stars might shine- Like Heaven's kaleidoscopesT- Upon hds less innocent, love, than thine Less innocent joys and hopes. ?^^^CA3r?r^'' ^45 A PLAIN ANSWER (TO A CIVIL QUESTION.) "O RIGHT creature of impulse, you bid me be gay. I would gladly adopt the suggestion, But candour compels me sincerely to say That I don't like the tone of your ques- tion. In a voice that recalls the soft murmur of bees, And in syllables sweet as their honey, You say " Mamma wishes to know, if you please, When you mean to begin to be funny V^ To-night, giddy child, when I entered the room My inducement, believe me, was only A hope that the wine-cup and dance might illume For one evening a life that is lonely. 146 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. In this region of pleasure my clouded career May be thought for a time pretty sunny ; I '11 join in the valse or the banquet, my dear, But I cannot be^^in to be funnv. Go, tell your Mamma that the sun may arise On a day when my cares shall have left me ; When Time shall once more have brought back, as he flies. All the hopes of which Time has bereft me. Yes, the day may arrive that shall see me content With my share of health, talent, and money : Tlien^ fitly to hail that auspicious event, I will try to begin to be funny ! 147 IN A HUNDRED YEARS. A N extra smile or a burst of tears — A fine to-day or a dull to-morrow — A taste more joy or a drop more sorrow- All the same in a hundred years. A thousand hopes or a thousand fears — A lifetime sad or a lifetime wasted — A cup drained empty or left untasted — All the same in a hundred years. If things were thus, as one often hears, I 'd seize the pleasure, I 'd leave the sorrow Enjoy to-day and defy to-morrow — All the same in a hundred years. 148 CAROLS OF COCKAVNE. EVENING. E birds, beneath your little wings Go hide your little heads ; For oh ! the pleasantest of things On earth are feather-beds. Go, seek your pens, my little sheep, (And slumber while ye may ;) My own will rob me of my sleep Until the purple day. Shine on above the chimney-pots, O placid Evening Star : While gazing at you a la Watts, '' I wonder what you are." EVENING. 149 You rose on Eden, happy place ! And still your smiles relieve The woes and wants of Adam's race, Delightful Star of Eve. The nightingales are all about — Their song is everywhere — Their notes are lovely (though they 're out So often in the air), The zephyr, dancing through the tops Of ash and poplar, weaves Low melodies, and scarcely stops To murmur, " By your leaves !" Night steeps the passions of the day In quiet, peace, and love. Pale Dian, in her tranquil way, Kicks up a shine above. Oh, I could bless the hour that brings All deep and dear dehght, Unless I had a lot of things To polish off to-night. 150 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. MY POLITICS. ^T 7HEN I look at our present condition, And gather the state of the realm From the names that adorn Opposition And those of our men at the helm ; I acknowledge that, after perusing My Telegraphy Standard^ and Star^ 'Tis a task not a little confusing To find what my politics are. By an ultra-Conservative journal I 'm told that we 're all to give thanks For a Ministry quite as paternal As any from Liberal ranks. MY POLITICS. 151 By the next, in as urgent a manner, I 'm warn'd against going so far As to mount the Conservative banner. Whatever my pohtics are. It is easy to draw my deduction — The papers explain at a glance, That the Tories are all for obstruction — The Liberals all for advance. But, in spite of the Press and its drilling, If I live to the age of old Parr, I shall never be able or willing To say what my politics are. 152 CAR(JLS OF COCKAYNE. THE MISERIES OF GENIUS. IS thine to share, O lady fair, The throng's ignoble strife — The rout, the ball, the banquet- hall, And Fashion's empty life. Be thine the wiles and hollow smiles That Wealth to Beauty pays, But envy not the poet's lot In our prosaic days. O lady bright, the sleepless night — The vigil of despair, And, worse than all, the critic's gall Are not for thee to bear. The town's elite is at thy feet, And Folly lisps thy praise ; THE MISERIES OF GENIUS. I 53 Oh, envy not the poet's lot In our prosaic days. Mine eyes are blue — Byronic hue ! — I turn my collar down ; Methinks I wear the longest hair Of any bard in town. Yet, bitter fact, my looks attract The public's mocking gaze : Oh, envy not the poet's lot In our prosaic days. I cannot find one lofty mind, One publisher of sense ; And so my rhymes are oftentimes Brought out at viy expense. I could not sell — I know it well- Ten copies of my lays ; Oh, envy not the poet's lot In our prosaic days. Ah, lady mine, dost seek to twine A coronal of song ? 154 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. Trust him who knows what heavy woes To poesy belong. Forget the fame that gilds the name Of one who wins the bays ; And envy not the poet's lot In our prosaic days. ^55 A DAY FOR WISHING. C-'X'^ CANNOT mind my wheel to- day — The weather is as hot as blazes ; I wish that I could get away To anywhere you like, and play Among the buttercups and daisies. I wish I had a silly book (Most easily fulfilFd of wishes) To read beside a crystal brook — Or else a rod, a line, a hook, And lots of gentles for the fishes. 15^ CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. I wish that I were lying, prone And idle, where the trees are shady Contemplative and quite alone, Or talking in an undertone To some beloved and lovely lady. But, though I feel to-day a call For reading silly books, or fishing, Or idling where the trees are tall, Or making love — yet, most of all, I wish I knew the good of wishing. ^-s^^S^dj^^'^^- 157 THE DILIGENCE DRIVER. "pABLO PUIG is a family man, A Catholic staunch and a Catalan. Her Majesty's mails he hath to drive : His oaths are many, his horses five. Alerte^ caballitos ! Master is he of a clumsy craft. Cranky forward and cranky aft ; A thing of a weird and ogglesome kind, Cab in the front and 'bus behind. Alei'te^ caballitos I Yet Pablo Puig in his inmost soul Is fond of his calling, upon the whole ; Many might think it infra di^^^ But there 's little of pride in Pablo Puig. Alerte^ caballitos I 15^ CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. His visage is dark, his garb grotesque, And he wears a touch of the picturesque, A certain chic which possibly springs From his horror of soap and of such-hke things. A lerte^ caballitos I To him there is little or no romance In the mountain border of Spain and France ; But how he would wonder and stare, poor man, At a moment's view of a Pickford's van. Alerte^ caballitos .' c>c^^X(»>^o- 159 THE BALLAD OF THE BARYTONE. ^ A -AX SIMPLE barytone am I — A thing of light and joy ; And peacefully my days go by As when I was a boy. Of Rank and Fame let worldlings dream, They have no charms for me : Far, far above them I esteem My own — my upper G. Oh music ! sure thou dost belong To soft Italia's clime, Where Life and Love and sunny Song Seem ever in their prime. l6o CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. The feebler ballads of the North Are much too cold for me ; ^Tis not for these I summon forth My own — my upper G. I love the Bacchanalian strain In which Parisians deal ; And that which dark-eyed sons of Spain Attempt in Old Castille. No matter from what favoured spot The melody may be ; Provided it transcendeth not My own — my upper G. It greets me in my festal hours. It brings my gloom relief; It sprinkles life Avith loveliest flowers And plucks the sting from grief. I 'd smile at poverty and pain ; I 'd \velcome death with glee — If till the last I might retain My own — my upper G 1 i6i SONGS OF THE SICK ROOM. No. I. Cod Liver Oil. /^~~\N the bleak shore of Norway, I Ve lately been told. Large numbers of cod-fish are found, And the animals^ livers are afterwards sold At so many '' pfennigs " per pound ; From which is extracted, with infinite toil, A villainous fluid called cod-liver oil ! Now, I don't mind a powder, a pill, or a draught — Though I mingle the former with jam — And many 's the mixture I Ve cheerfully quaff'd, And the pill I have gulp'd like a lamb. But then I envelop my pills in tin-foil, And I can't do the same with my cod-liver oil ! I 62 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. In the course of my lifetime I Ve swallovv'd enough To have floated a ship of the hne, And it ^s purely the fault of this horrible stuff That I Ve ceased to enjoy ginger wine. For how can you wonder to see me recoil From a liquor I mix^d with my cod-liver oil ? There are few deeds of daring from which I should quail- There are few things I ^d tremble to do — But there 's one kind of tonic that makes me turn pale, And quite spoils my appetite, too ; But, you see, just at present, I 've got none to spoil — So I don't mind alluding to cod-liver oil ! No. 2: Night and Morning. They brought to my couch (I had not slept a wink. For brooding all night on my ills) A neat-looking bottle of something to drink, And a neat-looking box full of pills. GENERAL DEBILITY. 1 63 A neat-looking label attracted my sight, The neck of the bottle adorning, Saying, " Please to take two of the pills every night And a sixth of the draught in the morning/' After slowly perusing these words once or twice, In a deeply contemplative way, I exclaim'd, what a volume of useful advice Does this one little sentence convey ! My friends, though to-day may seem cloudless and bright, Neglect not to-morrow's dark warning ; And oh ! while you're taking the pills of to-night, Forget not the draught in the morning ! No. 3. General Debility. My cheeks are pale, mine eyes are weak, I 've cramp in every joint ; My jaws are toothless, and my beak Is fractured — near the point. 164 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. In youth, by falling from a tree, I broke my boyish spine ; And never yet did mortal see Such hideous legs as mine. In early life my skull was cracked, By tumbling down a drain, And ever since my head is rack'd With agonising pain. But though misfortunes thickly come, This thought consoles my mind — If I had not been deaf and dumb, Perhaps I should be blind. ^65 THE COMPACT. DARK German legend survives to this day, Which relates to a Gottingen student, Who came by his talent for music, they say, At a much higher price than was prudent, rd rather not mention thebargain he made, — But his playing was reckoned so clever As even to put Doctor Liszt m the shade. And extinguish Herr Thalberg for ever. My hero was anxious his rivals should see How completely he beat them all hollow ; So he sent round his cards for aesthetics and tea, With some meerschaums and music to follow. ;i66 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. Then round his respected mahogany met All the wisdom of Gottingen city ; And History mentions that one of the set {Not a German) was decently witty. Of course the disputing and noise was immense, As is always the case with deep thinkers ; But I hear that the tea showed its excellent sense, By agreeing with most of its drinkers. Then the music began, and the guests open'd fire, With fugues, and sonatas, and such-like ; Which are things that we Englishmen don't much admire, Though they 're just what the Germans and Dutch like. Our hero stepp'd forth, and his countenance shone With that mixture of stern resolution And graceful reserve that a martyr puts on. When he walks to his own execution. He turn'd back his cuffs and he put back his hair, And, after these grave preparations, Sat down and perform'd an original air. With a dozen superb variations. THE COMPACT. 1 67 When he fancied his audience was growing more warm. And the interest rapidly height'ning, He treated the room to an improvised storm, With abundance of thunder and hghtning. It seemed as if peal after peal rent the sky, With a rumbling sepulchral and hollow ; And fierce lurid flashes pour'd forth from on high, With a speed that no mortal could follow. Of course such a state of affairs could not last, And the player at length made his mind up, By a whirlwind of octaves played furious and fast, To bring the display to a wind-up. He finished his piece and looked modestly round, Expecting loud cheers and eiicorijig ; — Imagine his utter disgust when he found Every soul in the company snoring. He summoned his tempter in fury, they say, And accused him of treacherous dealings. In selling him powers that were quite thrown away. Amongst wretches who hadn't got feelings. 1 68 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. '' Well, I own/' said the Fiend, " they are not well-behaved. But you 're certainly one of the flat sort If you fancy that Christians who hope to be saved Would be partial to music of that sort P' 169 THE VISION OF THE ALDERMAN. N Alderman sat at his festive board, Quaffing the blood-red wine, And many a Bacchanal stave outpour'd In praise of the fruitful vine. Turtle and salmon and Strasbourg pie, Pippins and cheese were there ; And the bibulous Alderman winked his eye, For the sherris was old and rare. But a cloud came over his gaze eftsoons, And his wicked old orbs grew dim ; Then drink turned each of the silver spoons To a couple of spoons for him. He bow^d his head on the festive board, By the gaslight's dazzling gleam : He bow'd his head and he slept and snored. And he dream'd a fearful dream. M 170 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. For, carried away on the wings of Sleep, His spirit was onward borne, Till he saw vast holiday crowds in Chepe On a Ninth November morn. Guns were booming and bells ding-dong'd, Ethiop minstrels played ; And still, wherever the burghers throng'd. Brisk jongleurs drove their trade. Scarlet Sheriffs, the City^s pride, With a portly presence filFd The whole of the courtyard just outside The hall of their ancient Guild. And, in front of the central gateway there. A marvellous chariot rolFd, (Like gingerbread at a country-fair 'Twas covered with blazing gold.) And a being array'd in pomp and pride Was brought to the big stone gate ; And they begged that being to mount and ride In that elegant coach of state. THE VISION OF THE ALDERMAN. 171 But, oh ! he was fat, so ghastly fat Was that being of pomp and pride, That, in spite of many attempts thereat, He cotddrit be pushed inside. That being was press'd, but pressed in vain, Till the drops bedew'd his cheek ; The gilded vehicle rock'd again. And the springs began to creak. The slumbering alderman groan'd a groan. For in vision he seem'd to trace Some horrible semblance to his own^ In that being^s purple face. And " Oh !" he cried, as he started up ; ' " Sooner than come to that^ Farewell for ever the baneful cup And the noxious turtle fat !" — They carried him up the winding-stair ; They laid him upon the bed ; And they left him, sleeping the sleep of care, With an ache in his nightcapp'd head. J72 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. EVENING DRESS. I ( 1 XJ^ LIKE to spend an evening out In music and in mirth ; I think a party is about The finest fun on earth : And if I rarely patronise The gay and giddy throng, 'Tis not, my friend, that I despise The revel, dance, and song : But I 've a dread I can't express Of going out in Evening Dress. I 'm partial to the British stage ; And — spite of its decline — The Drama, from a tender age, Has been a love of mine. EVENING DRESS. I 73 You ask me why I seldom go, And why I always sit In one distinct, unvaried row — (The second of the pit) ; ^Tis not because it costs me less, But all along of Evening Dress. I hate the habits which denote The slave to Fashion's rule ; I hate the black, unwieldy coat Which makes one look a fool. I execrate the Gibus hat (Collapsing wdth a spring). The shiny boots, the white cravat, And nearly everything That 's worn by dandies who profess To be an fait in Evening Dress. My braces break — a button goes — My razor gives a slip, And cuts me either on my nose Or else upon my lip ; 174 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. Or, while I 'm cabbing to the place, A lot of mud or dirt Gets plaster'd either on my face, Or else upon my shirt. In fact, I always make a mess Of that confounded Evening Dress. ^^-C-'to^AJ^-*-- W5 G WINE. A Scientific Drinking Song. O, bring me the goblet that maddens my soul : Where the sulphate of copper lurks deep in the bowl ; Where the saccharine matter tastes richly intense, And the brain-turning alcohol threatens the sense. Deleterious acids, I laugh ye to scorn, For one alkali kills ye, when taken at morn ; And I know that a towel tied wet round my brow, May demolish the headache that hangs o'er me now. No matter what vintage — no matter what name — To the brave Bacchanalian all wines are the same : For the best of Champagne and the mildest of Cape Are alike manufactured from juice of the grape. 176 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. What matters it whether the North or the wS'outh May have yielded its blood for the epicure^s mouth ? What matters it whether the East or the West May have sent the rich fluid that gladdens this breast ? Amidst Burgundy's hills or the plains of Bordeaux Mav the national fruit lonfi; continue to s^row. May the art of fermenting improve day by day, And the vatting take place in its usual way. And, oh ! may the heads of our State persevere In their efforts to crush the rude stimulant, Beer, By providing Great Britain the means to import A superior claret at ninepence a quart ! .**S^V''>*"UX ^77 MY ULTIMATUM. HO speaks to me of '' giving up/' Or thinks about despairing ? Who says the bitter in his cup Is bitter past the bearing? For me^ I feel the thing to do (Let Fate be hard or tender) Is — hkc La Garde at Waterloo — To die and not surrender. What struggles I myself ha\e had ; Escapes how very narrow ! My first affray was with a lad Who bore a bow and arrow. lyS CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. If I should ever meet again That young and old offender, 1 see my course before me plain — To die and not surrender. In youth I ran a race to snatch A laurel from Apollo, Whom very few contrive to catch Though very many follow. \mid the throng in search of song — With bards of either gender — E'en yet I pant and limp along, To die and not surrender. I strove with Plutus day and night, But left the field in dudgeon ; And now I wage a fiercer fight With Tempus, old curmudgeon. Go on. Destroyer ; yoic destroy, But Art shall be the mender. " Gray hair ?'' I '11 get a wig, old boy, Or dye and not surrender ! 179 ALL ALONE. A Lay of the Morte Saison. A /r Y Brown has gone away to Greece, My Robinson to Rome ; My Jones was off to-day for Nice, And I am still at home. One friend is on the Tiber, Another on the Rhone, The third a ^(^^r/^-imbiber — And I am all alone. The Row is dull as dull can be ; Deserted is the Drive ; The glass that stood at eighty-three Stands now at sixty-five. The summer days are over ; The town, ah, me ! has flown Throus:h Dover or to clover — 'i=> And I am all alone. l8o CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. I hate the mention of Lucerne, Of Baden and the Rhine ; I hate the Oberland of Berne, And Alp and Apennine. I hate the wilds of Norway, As here I sit and moan — With none to cross my doorway — For I am all alone. Brick streets do not a prison make, Nor hollow squares a cell ; And so for Memory^s pleasant sake, I '11 bear my sorrows well. My lyre may lose the gladness That mark'd its former tone ; But, oh ! respect my sadness — For I am all alone. ■fS>€J>jrry i8i " OH NIGHTS AND SUPPERS/^ ETC. ATE grant us again such a meeting Of music, and wisdom, and wit — Where Mirth may make sure of a greeting. And Care of a notice to quit. With our long and yet fast-flying nights, And with six clever dogs for a quorum — We still may revive the delights Of our Nodes ccena^que deonnu. Long nights, to be long recollected ; Short nights, can I shortly forget, How punning went mad, and infected The soberest brains in our set ;- - t82 carols of COCKAYNE. How the quips and the cranks running round Put a stopper to mental decorum ; — How Laughter was monarch, and crown'd At our Nodes coenoeqiie deorum ? Not always in lightness, however, Our nights and our suppers were spent ; — At times we could cease to be clever, Could speak with a nobler intent. And an eloquence fresh from the heart (Not unworthy the Senate or Forum) Bore often a prominent part In our Nodes coenoeqtie deo7'U7n. Our circle was rarely completed Without one musician at least. So Melody came to be treated As welcomest fare at the feast. From the breathings of Ital/s lyre Up to fugues a la mode Ge?'ma/io?'u?ny We 'd plenty to hear and admire At our Nodes ca'7ia'que deontm. i83 THE WEATHER. T HAVE my share of common sense. But no imagination : I never made the least pretence To shine in conversation. I dare not stray in any way An inch beyond my tether ; And, when I Ve nothing else to say, I talk about the weather. When Mary Ann and I go out I long to play the lover, But what on earth to talk about I never can discover. I blush to say I often show The whitest kind of feather, And stammer out, " Look here, you know — Let 's talk about the weather.'^ 184 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. I Ve run a bill at Mr Snip's For articles of raiment ; He always has upon his lips A hint about its payment. Whenever Mr Snip and I Are left alone together, You can't imagine how I try To talk about the weather. I go to parties now^ and then, But never find it answer : I 'm forced to mix among the men Because I 'm not a dancer. I merely put on evening dress — White kid and patent leather — On purpose that I may express My thoughts about the weather. «)xr> ^85 '^ON CORPULENCE. HE town's in a panic, from peer to me- chanic, Since Banting has issued his Tract for the Ti7?ies ; That queer publication made such a sensation, That corpulence now seems the greatest of crimes. Folks fancy good feeding a proof of ill breeding. And stick to low diet through thick and through thin. Till they find that their best coats, and trousers, and waistcoats. Are perfectly " done for/' if not " taken in/' N I 86 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. Each day it grows harder to find a good larder, And lean diners-out will, of course, suffer most ; P^or those who are thinnish won't care to diminish What little they Ve got for the sake of the host. But the House of Correction will grant them protection, (Supposing Society starves them outright,) Where pickers and stealers and such evil dealers Are feasted like aldermen morning and night. Sincerely I pity our friends in the City, And Mansion- House banquets cut short in their prime, Where, 'mid roses and myrtle, the love of mock-turtle " Now melts into sorrow, now maddens to crime.'* If I were a sheriff, I 'd never be terrified Into adopting this Barmecide tone ; For I 'd throw up my station in f/iei'r corporation Before they induced me to part with ;;y/ own ! If you wish to grow thinner, diminish your dinner. And take to light claret instead of pale ale ; Look down with an utter contempt upon butter, And never touch bread till it's toasted — or stale. " ON CORPULENCE.'' iS] You must sacrifice gaily six hours or so daily To muscular exercise, outdoor and in ; While a very small number devoted to slumber Will make a man healthy, and wealthy, and ////;/ / 1 88 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. THE MOONLIGHT SONATA. (By a Musical Maniac.) FIRST MOVEMENT. T AZILY, cloudlets, over the Moon, (Veiling little, if aught ye veil) Vapours across the starlight strewn, vSail for ever, if tlius ye sail. Idle breezes out of the West, Let them linger in phantom forms. Night, be still as an infant's rest ; Banish the darkness, chain the storms. THE MOONLIGHT SONATA. 189 Hush, my spirit, be calm as Night ; Sorrow is calm, but it is not peace. Heralds of tempest, over the light. Storm-clouds hurry and will not cease. Eyes are dim that were bright and blue, Hands were warm that are long since cold ; Both lie under the shading yew. Both lie under the churchyard mould. SECOND MOVEMENT. The Elves ! the tiny tricksy Elves ! They love to treat their dainty selves, To dancing in the night-time. 'Tis twelve o'clock — the fairv hour ; For hark ! the sounds from yonder tow'r Inform me that's the ricrht time. Here comes the laughing, rabble rout ; See, see — they frisk around, about, In every kind of antic. * 190 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. And there's the king — the queen — the court The clergy, and the common sort — All absolutely frantic. My goodness gracious, here's a game ! I 'm so delighted that 1 came To brood upon my sorrow. A melancholy muff I \'e been ; But, after this delightful scene, I '11 come again to-morrow. LAST MOVEMENT. Hurricane signals gather apace Thickly over the pale moon's face ; Masses of blackness looming forth, South'ard and eastward, w^est and north Wild wind veering, ever and aye, Over the compass — over the sky. Mutter of thunder, lurid gleams, Rain that clashes in cleluLie-streams. THE MOONLIGHT SONATA. igi Over the wheat-fields, over the stiles, Two-and-a-quarter of English miles. Boots that cannot exclude the wet ; Clothes the thinnest that cash can get. Far away, in the homely cot. Stands my gingham — the best I 've got. Never so much as a Macintosh ; Never a cape, or an odd galosh ! {Chord ill the viijior, FF,) (55li25CS})^^ OCCASIONAL VERSES. 195 CHATEAUX D'ESPAGNE. (A Reminiscence of " David Garrick'' and "the Castle OF Andalusia.") /^NCE upon an evening weary, shortly after Lord Dundreary With his quaint and curious hum- our set the town in such a roar, With my shilling I stood rapping — ^only very gently tapping — For the man in charge was napping — at the money-taker's door. It was Mr Buckstone's playhouse, where I linger'd at the door ; Paid half price and nothing more. 196 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. Most distinctly 1 remember, it was just about September — Though it might have been in August, or it might have been before — Dreadfully I fear'd the morrow. Vainly had I sought to borrow ; For (I own it to my sorrow) I was miserably poor. And the heart is heavy laden when one 's miserably poor ; (I have been so once before.) I was doubtful and uncertain, at the rising of the curtain, If the piece would prove a novelty, or one I 'd seen before ; For a band of robbers drinking in a gloomy cave, and clinking With their glasses on the table, I had witnessed o'er and o'er : Since the half-forgotten period of my innocence was o'er ; Twenty years ago or more. Presently my doubt grew stronger. I could stand the thing no longer ; '' Miss," said I, " or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore. Pardon my apparent rudeness. Would you kindly have the goodness To inform me if this drama is from GauFs enlightened shore?" For I know that plays are often brought us from the Gallic shore ; Adaptations — nothing more I CHATEAUX D ESPAGNE. 1 97 So I put the question lowly : and my neighbour answer'd slowly, " It's a British drama wholly, written quite in days of yore. 'Tis an Andalusian story of a castle old and hoary, And the music is delicious, though the dialogue be poor !" (And I could not help agreeing that the dialogue u^as poor ; Very flat, and nothing more.) But at last a lady entered, and my interest grew centered In her figure, and her features, and the costume that she wore. And the slightest sound she utter'd was like music ; so I mutter'd To my neighbour, " Glance a minute at your play-bill, I implore. Who's that rare and radiant maiden ? Tell, oh, tell me ! I implore." Quoth my neighbour, " Nelly Moore !" Then I ask'd in quite a tremble — it was useless to dissemble— " Miss, or Madam, do not trifle with my feelings any more ; Tell me who, then, was the maiden, that appeared so sorrow laden In the room of David Garrick, with a bust above the door?" (With a bust of Julius Caesar up above the study door.) Quoth my neighbour, " Nelly Moore." * * I Ve her photograph from Lacy's ; that delicious little face is Smiling on me as I ^m sitting (in a draught from yonder door). 198 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. And often in the nightfalls, when a precious little light falls From the wretched tallow candles on my gloomy second-floor. (For I have not got the gaslight on my gloomy second-floor. Comes an echo, " Nelly Moore !" -^■t-^^^L^JJ^-*- 199 TO A CERTAIN SOMEBODY. (Dedicated to Miss E. Farren, late of the Olympic Theatre.) A LL hail,my Best and Bellingham Olympic brother-bards ! I am sorry that the critics have been down upon ye lately. Permit me to present ye both my very best regards, And to tell ye that 1 count myself indebted to ye greatly. I will enter to your credit all the talent ye may claim ; For the sake, my Best and Bellingham, of Little What's-her- name. 200 CAROLS OF COCKAYNE. 1 have yielded, 1 confess it, quite a dozen times before To the fatal fascinations of the darlings of the Drama. I have idolised my WiLTON, I have loved my Nelly Moore ; And I see a host of others in a sort of panorama, Reaching downwards to MiSS Thingamy — an evanescent flame. Whom I sacrificed a month ago for Little What 's-her-name. The man who takes the money for my shillingsworth of pit Has an aggravating habit of alluding to the weather ; And I never fail to notice, from the corner where I sit, That the feminine attendants take to whispering together. The fiddlers in the orchestra do very much the same ; For they know that I 'm the worshipper of Little What 's-her- name. I met her, quite promiscuous, a week or two ago ; To see her was to recognise — young Love ^s a pretty tutor — She was affably conversing with a man I didnt know ; But I fancied, in my jealousy, 'twas probably her suitor. It 7night have been a relative ; but was it not a shame That I couldn't breathe my sentiments to Little What's-her- name ? TO A CERTAIN SOMEBODY. 20I I should like to make a tender of my heart and of my hand, (For it strikes me that at present I have nothing else to proffer ;) But since I 've neither intellect nor money at command, She would probably insult me by declining such an offer. It 's not so much the intellect — if Fortune, fickle dame. Would grant me only opulence and Little What 's-her-name. Will she read this emanation of a long-endured despair With a particle of pity or an atom of emotion ? Will she linger for a moment o'er the verses that declare All the fondness and the fulness of a Nobody's devotion ? I should seek no other honour — I should ask no higher fame Than a corner in the memory of Little What 's-her-name. ~-^^." we could not in the present instance pick out all ^Me-srs. Larwood and Hot- ten s plums, because the pood thinjrs are so numerous as to defy the most whole- sale depredation.'' — fl erie w of thr c. columns. BULL AND MOUTH. fAn^Gl St., St Martin"s-le-Grand, circa 120\) -^,^'^- T^^early lOO most curious illustrations on wood are given, showing the various old signs which were formerly hung from taverns and other houses. The frontispiece represents the famous sign of " The Man loaded with Mischief," in the colours of the original painting said to have been executed by Hogarth. Notice. — " Large-paper Edition," with Seventy-Two extra Illustrations (nut given in the small edition), showing Old London in the days when Signboards hung from almost every house. In 4to, half -morocco neat, 30s. *.,'• Only a small number printed on extra fine paper with wide marciins for the lover of fine books. The Parks of London. Their History and Asso- ciations from the Earliest Times. By Jacob Larwood. With Illus- trations BY THE Author. [In the Press. AN EXTRAORDINARY BOOK. Hotten's Edition of " Contes Drolatiques " (Droll Tales collected from the Abbeys of Loraine). Par Balzac. With Four Hundred and Twenty-live Marvellous, Extravagant, and Fan- tastic Woodcuts by Gustave Dore. Beautifully printed, thick 8vo, half morocco, Roxburghe, 12s. 6d. *^.* The most sinpulnr designs ever attempted bv any artist Th's book is a fund of amuseme.it. So crammed is it with pictures that even the contents are adorned with thirtj-three illustrations. Direct aiypUcatioii must he wade to Mr. Hotten for this worh. John Camden Hottcyi, 74 and 75, Piccadilly , W. VERY IMPORTANT NEW BOOKS, MOST AMUSi:NrG NEW BOOK. Caricature History of the Georges (House of Hanover). Very entertaining^ book of 640 pages, witli 400 Pictures, Caricatures, Squibs, Broadsides, Window Pictures. By T. Wiught, P.S.A. 7s. 6d. *^\..,^' Companion Volume to "History of Signboards." EevicAved in almost every English journal with bigliest approbation. '•A set of caricatures such as we have in Mr. Wright's voUmie brings the surface of the age hefoie us -svith a vividness tliat no prose writer, e\eii of the highest power, culd eniuhUe. Macauhiy's most brilliant sentence is weak by tlie side of the little woodcut from Gillray wich gives us Burke and Fox." — Saturday liecitw. " A more amusing work of its kind never issued from the press." — Art Journal. *'This is one of the most agreeable and interesting books of the season." — Publk Opinion. "It seems superfluous to say that this is an entertaining book. It is indeed one of the most entertaining books we have read for a long time. It is history teaching by caricature. Tlieie is hardly an event of notn, hardly a personage of mark, hardly a .social wliimsey wortli a moment's notice, Avhich is not satirised and illu^trated in these jjages. We have here the caricaturists from Hogarth to Gillraj', and from Gillray to Cruikshank." — Morning Star. " It is emphatically one of the liveliest of books, as also one of the most interesting. It has the twofold merit of being at once amusing and edifying. The GOO odd pages avhich make up tlio goodly volume are doubly enhanced by some 400 illustrations, of which a dozen aie full-page engravings." — Morning Post. "Mr. Thomas Wright is so ripe a scholar, and is so rich in historical reminiscences, that he cannot fail to make an interesting book on any subject he undertakes to illustrate, lie has achieved a success on the present occasion."— i-'/CAi'. Notice. — Large-paper Edition. 4to, only 100 printed, on extra tine pax)or, wide margins for the lovers of choice books, with extra Portraits, half -morocco (a capital book to illustrate), 30s. Romance of the Rod : an Anecdotal History of tiie Birch in Ancient and Modern Times. With some quaint illustrations. Crown 8vo, handsomely printed. [_In preparation. John Camden Hotten, 74 and 75, Piccadilly, W. 7 VERY IMPORTANT NEW BOOKS. MR. SWINBURNE'S NEW BOOK. *.^.* "4 wonderful lilerary performance."' — ^' Sjolendonr of style and majestic beauty of diction never surpassed^ — WILLI Ail BLAKE: A Critical Essay. With facsimile Paintings, coloured by hand, from the original drawings painted by Thick 8vo, pp. 350, 1 6s. with a sense of Blake and his wile. " An extraordi- nary work : vio- lent, extravagant, perverse, calcu- lated to startle, to shock, and to alarm many readers, but abounding in beauty, and cha- racterised by intel- lectual fjrasp. . . . . His power of word - painting is often truly won- derful— sometimes, it must be ad- mitted, in excess, but always full of matter, form, and colour, and instinct vitality." — Baily NeivSj Feb. 12, 1868. "It is in every wav worthy of Mr. Swinburne's high fani3. In no prose worlr can be found Bassages of keener poetry or more tinished grace, or more impressive harmony. Strong, vigorous, and musical, the style sweeps on like a river." — Sunday Times, Jan. 12, 1868. Mr. Swinburne's New Poem. — A Song of Italy. Fcap. 8vo, toned paper, cloth, price 3s. 6d. *^* The Aihcncrnm remarks of this poem — '' Seldom has such a chant been heard so full of glow, Btreng'th, and colour/' Mr. Swinburne's Poems and Ballads. Third Edition. Price 93. Mr. Swinburne's Notes on his Poems, and on the Reviews whicb have ajDpeared upon them, is now ready, price is. Mr. Swinburne's Atalanta in Calydon. New Edition, fcap. 8vo, price 6s. Mr. Swinburne's Chastelard. A Tragedy. New Edition. Price 7s. Mr. Swinburne's Queen Mother and I&osamond. New Edition, fcap. 8vo, price 5s. Mr. Swinburne's Bothwell. A NEW POEM [In preparoMon. John Camden Rotten, 74 and 75, Piccadilhj, W. i Mr 7H^