r^y w v^f«» ^:5iii^ ^s£t^ m ( )lass / ^ i/O^^ / Book / f^ ^■ T^ By bequest of William Lukens Shoemaker THE COMPLETE POEMS OF W. M. THACKERAY NEW YORK WHITE, STOKES, AND ALLEN 1886 ^U1 t^ L ADVERTISEMENT. This edition of Mr. Thackeray s peents 'will be found to include all the verses thai are scattered throughout the author'' s various writings. QMX, W'. L. Shoemaker 7 S '06 CONTENTS. PAGE The Chronicle of the Drum, Part I., . . 7 The Chronicle of the Drum, Paht II., . 14 Abd-el-Kader at Toulon; or. The Caged Hawk, 23 The King of Brentford's Testament, . . 26 The White Squall. {Journey from Cornhill to Grand Caird)^ 34 Peg of Limavaddy. {The Irish Sketch-Book), 39 May- Day Ode, 44 The Ballad or Bouillabaisse, ... 49 The Mahogany Tree, 52 The Yankee Volunteers, 54 The Pen and the Album, . , . . . 56 Mrs. Katherine's Lantern, .... S9 Lucy's Birthday, . . . • . • . . . 61 The Cane-Bottom'd Chair, .... 61 PiSCATOK and PiSCATRIX, 64 The Rose upon my Balcony. {Vaniiy Fair)^ 66 RONSARD TO HIS MiSTRESS, 67 At the Church Gate. {Pendennzs), . . 68 The Age of Wisdom. {Rebecca and Rowena), . 69 Sorrows of Werther, 70 A Doe in the City, . ... . . , 71 The Last of May, ...... 7a "Ah, Bleak and Barren was the Moor." {Vaniiy Fair)^ ..,.,. 73 iv CONTENTS. PAGE Song of the Violet. ( The A dventures of Philip), 74 Fairy Days. ( The Fitz-Boodle Papers).^ . . 75 Pocahontas. {_The Virginians), .... 77 From Pocahontas. {The Virginians).^ . . 78 The Legend of St. Sophia of Kioff, , , 78 Titmarsh's Carmen Lilliense, . . . 103 Jeams of Buckley Square— A Hkligy. {Diary of C. Jeames de la Pluche), .... 107 Links upon my Sister's Portrait. {Diary of C. Jearnes de la Pluche), 109 Little Billee, m The End of the Play. {Dr. Birch and his Young Friends), 113 Vanitas Vanitatum, ii6 LOVE-SONGS MADE EASY. VJnKV Makes my Heart to Thrill and Glow? 119 The Ghazul, or Oriental Love-song : The Rocks, 121 The Merry Bard, ...... 122 The Caique, , 122 My Nora, 123 To Mary. {The Book of Snobs)^ .... 125 Serenade. {The Paris Sketch-Book), , . 125 FIFE GERMAN DITTIES. A Tragic Story, 127 The Chaplet, ....... 128 Thb King on the Tower, ..... 129 To A very old Woman 130 A Credo. {The Adventures of Philip), . , 131 CONTENTS, PAGB FOUR IMITATIONS OF BER ANGER, Lh Rov d'Yvetot J,- The King of Yvetot, 134 The Ring of I^rentfoed, .... 136 Le Grenibr, J 5 The Garret, ....... 139 Roger- BoNTEMPs, j.q Jolly Jack, * . 142 IMITA TION OF HORA CE. To HIS Serving Boy, j,- Ad MiNlSTRAM, J .- OLD FRIENDS WITH NEW FACES. The Knightly Guerdon, i^7 The Almack's Adieu, j 3 When the Gloom is on the Glen. {Sketches and Travels in London), .... 149 The Red Flag. {Sketches and Travels in London-) 150 Dear Jack. {Novels by Eminent Hands), . 151 Commanders of the Faithful. {Rebecca and Rowena), ^^^ When Moonlike ore the Hazure Seas. (Z»/- ary 0/ C. yeames de la Pluche), . . 152 King Canute. {Rebecca and Roivend), . . 153 Friar's Song. {The Paris Sketch-Book\ . 158 AtraCura. {Rebecca and Rowena), . . .159 Requiescat. {Rebecca and Rowena), . . 159 The Willow-Tree. {The Fitz-Boodle Papers), . 160 The Willow-Tree— another version. {The Fitz- Boodle Papers)^ , . , , ,163 CONTENTS, LYRA HIBERNICA. The Pimlico Pavilion, 165 The Crystal Palace, ...... i63 Molony's Lament, 173 Mr. Molony's Account of the Ball given to THE Nepaulese Ambassador by the Pe- ninsular AND Oriental Comfany, . . 176 The Battle of Limerick, .... 178 Larry O'Toole. {Novels by Eminent Hands), . 182 The Rose op Flora. {Memoirs 0/ Barry Lyn- don, Esq.), 183 The Last Irish Grievance, .... 184 THE BALLADS OF POLICEMAN X. The Wofle New Ballad of Jane Roney and Mary Brown, 186 Thh Three Christmas Waits, .... i8g Lines on a late Hospicious Ewent, . , . 194 The Ballad of Eliza Davis, . , . 198 Damages, Two Hundred Pounds, . . .20a The Knight and the Lady, .... 206 Jacod Homnium's Hoss, 208 The Speculators, 213 A Woeful New Ballad of the Protestant Conspiracy to take the Pope's Life, . 215 The Lamentable Ballad of the Foundling of Shoreditch, 219 The Organ Boy's Appeal 224 BALLADS, THE CHRONICLE OF THE DRUM. PART I. At Paris, hard by the Maine barriers, Whoever will choose to repair, Midst a dozen of wooden-legged warriors May haply fali in with old Pierre. On the sunshiny bench of a tavern He sits and he prates of old wars, And moistens his pipe of tobacco With a drink that is named after Mars. The beer makes his tongue run the quicker, And as long as his tap never fails Thus over his favorite liquor Old Peter will tell his old tales. Says he, " In my life's ninety summers Strange changes and chances I've secn,-= So here's to all gentlemen drummers That ever have thumped on a skin. * Brought up in the art military For four generations we are ; My ancestors drumm'd for King Harry, The Huguenot lad of Navarre. And as each man in life has his station According as Fortune may fix, While Conde was v/aving the baton, My grandsire was trolling the sticks. I BALLADS. ' ' Ah ! those were the days for commanders ! What glories my grandfather won, Ere bigots, and lackeys, and panders The fortunes of France had undone ! In Germany, Flanders, and Holland, — What foeman resisted us then ? No ; my grandsire was ever victorious, My grandsire and Monsieur Turenne. ** He died : and our noble battalions The jade fickle Fortune forsook ; And at Blenheim, in spite of our valiance, The victoty lay with Malbrook. The news it was brought to King Louis ; Corbleu ! how his Majesty swore When he heard they had taken my grandsire And twelve thousand gentlemen more. *' At Naraur, Ramillies, and Malplaquet Were we posted, on plain or in trench : Malbrook only need to attack it And away from him scamper'd we French. Cheer up ! 'tis no use to be glum, boys, — 'Tis written, since fighting begun. That sometimes we fight and we conquer. And sometimes we fight and we run. *' To fight and to run was our fate : Our fortune and fame had departed. And so perish'd Louis the Great, — Old, lonely, and half broken-hearted. His coffin they pelted with mud. His body they tried to lay hands on ; And so having buried King Louis They loyally served his great-grandson. " God save the beloved King Louis ! (For so he was nicknamed by some,) THE CHRONICLE OF THE DRUM. 9 And now came my father to do his King's orders and beat on the drum. My grandsire was dead, but his bones Must have shaken, I'm certain, for joy, To hear daddy drumming the English From the meadows of famed Fontenoy. " So well did he drum in that battle That the enemy show'd us their backs ; Corbleu ! it was pleasant to rattle The sticks and to follow old Saxe ! We next had Soubise as a leader. And as luck hath its changes and fits, At Rosbach, in spite of dad's drumming, 'Tis said we were beaten by Fritz. " And now daddy cross'd the Atlantic, To drum for Montcalm and his men ; Morbleu ! but it makes a man frantic To think we were beaten again ! My daddy he cross'd the wide ocean, My mother brought me on her neck, And we came in the year fifty-seven To guard the good town of Quebec. " In the year fifty-nine came the Britons, — Full well I remember the day, — They knocked at our gates for admittance, Their vessels were moor'd in our bay. Says our general, ' Drive me yon red-coats Away to the sea whence they come ! ' So we march'd against Wolfe and his bull-dogs, We marched at the sound of the drum. * ' I think I can see my poor mammy With me in her hand as she waits, And our regiment, slowly retreating, Pours back through the citadel gates. lO BALLADS. Dear mammy she looks in their faces, And asks if her husband is come ? — He is lying all cold on glacis, And will never more beat on the drum. *' Come, drink, 'tis no use to be glum, boys ! He died like a soldier in glory ; Here's a glass to the health of all drum-boys* And now I'll commence my own stoiy. Once more did we cross the salt ocean. We came in the year eighty-one ; And the wrongs of my father the drummer Were avenged by the drummer his son. " In Chesapeake Bay we were landed. In vain strove the British to pass : Rochambeau our armies commanded. Our ships they were led by De (Jrasse. Morbleu ! how 1 rattled the drumsticks The day we march'd into Yorktown ; Ten thousand of beef-eating British Their weapons we caused to lay down. * ' Then homewards returning victorious, In peace to our country we came, And weie thanked for our glorious actions By Louis, Sixteenth of the nam.e. Wliat drummer on earth could be prouder Than I, while I drumm'd at Versailles To the lovely court ladies in powder, And lappets, and long satin-tails? " The princes that day pass'd before us, Our countrymen's glory and hope ; Monsieur, who was learned in Horace, D'Artois, who could dance the tight-rope One night we kept guard for the Queen At her Majesty's opera-box, THE CHRONICLE OF THE DRUM. II While the King, that majestical monarch, Sat filing at home at his locks. "Yes, I drumm'd for the fair Antoinette, And so smiling she look'd and so tender, That our officers, privates, and drummers. All vow'd they would die to defend her. But she cared not for us honest fellows. Who fought and who bled in her wars, She sneer'd at our gallant Rochambcau, And turned Lafayette out of doors. " Ventrebleu ! then I swore a great oath, No more to such tyrants to kneel ; And so, just to keep up my drumming, One day I drumm'd down the Bastille, Ho, landlord ! a stoup of fresh wine. Come, comrades, a bumper we'll try, And drink to the year eighty-nine And the glorious fourth of July ! ' ' Then bravely our cannon it thunder 'd As onwards our patriots bore. Our enemies were but a hundred, And we twenty thousand or more. They carried the news to King Louis. He heard it as calm as you please, And, like a majestical monarch. Kept filing his locks and his keys. ' ' We show'd our republican courage. We storm'd and we broke the great gate in, And we murder'd the insolent governor For daring to keep us a-waiting. Lambesc and his squadrons stood by : They never stirr'd finger or thumb. The saucy aristocrats trembled As tlicy heard the republican drum. 1 2 BALLADS. *' Hun-ah ! what a storm was a-brewing ! The day of our vengeance was come ! Through scenes of what carnage and ruin Did [ beat on the patriot drum ! Let's driniv to the famed tenth of August : At midnight I beat the tattoo, And woke up the pikemen of Paris To follow the bold Barbaroux. " With pikes, and with shouts, and with torches March'd onwards our dusty battalions, And we girt the tall castle of Louis, A million of tatterdemalions ! We storm'd the fair gardens where tower'd The walls of his heritage splendid. Ah, shame on him, craven and coward, That had not the heart to defend it ! *' With the crown of his sires on his head. His nobles and knights by his side, At the foot of his ancestors' palace 'Twere easy, methinks, to have died. But no : when we burst through his barriers, Mid heaps of the dying and dead. In vain through the chambers we sought him— He had turn'd like a craven and fled. ' You all know the Place de la Concorde ? 'Tis hard by the Tuileries wall. Mid terraces, fountains, and statues, There rises an obelisk tall. There rises an obelisk tall. All garnish'd and gilded the base is : 'Tis surely the gayest of all Oar lx«utiful city's gay places. THE CHRONICLE OP THE DRUM. 1 3 " Around it are gardens and flowers, And the Cities of France on their thrones, Each crown'd with his circlet of flowers Sits watching this biggest of stones ! I love to go sit in the sun there, The flowers and fountains to see. And to think of the deeds that were done there In the glorious year ninety-three. " 'Twas here stood the Altar of Freedom ; And though neither marble nor gilding Was used in those days to adorn Our simple republican building, Corbleu ! but the MfeRE guillotine Cared little for splendour or show, So you gave her an axe and a beam, And a plank and a basket or so. "Awful, and proud, and erect. Here sat our republican goddess. Each morning her table we deck'd With dainty aristocrats' bodies. The people each day flocked around As she sat at her meat and her wine : 'Twas always the use of our nation To witness the sovereign dine. " Young virgins with fair golden tresses, Old silver-hair'd prelates and priests, Dukes, marquises, barons, princesses. Were splendidly served at her feasts. Ventrebleu ! but we pamper'd our ogress With the best that our nation could bring. And dainty she grew in her progress, And called for the head of a King ! ' ' She called for the blood of our King, And straight from his prison we drew him ; 14 BALLADS. And to her with shouting we led him, And took him, and bound him, and slew him. ' The Monarchs of Europe against me Have plotted a godless alliance : I'll fling them the head of King Louis,* She said, ' as my gage of defiance.* '* I see him as now, for a moment. Away from his gaolers he broke ; And stood at the foot of the scaffold. And linger'd, and fain would have spoke. ' IIo, drummer ! quick, silence yon Capet.' Says Santerre, ' with a beat of your drum.' Lustily then did I tap it, And the son of Saint Louis was dumb. PART II. The glorious days of September Saw many aristocrats fall : *Twas then that our pikes drank the blood In the beautiful breast of Lamballe, Pardi, 'twas a beautiful lady ! I seldom have look'd on her like ; And I drumm'd for a gallant procession. That march'd with her head on a pike. Let's show the pale head to the Queen, We said — she'll remember it well. She looked from the bars of her prison. And shrieked as she saw it, and fell. We set up a shout at her screaming, We laugh'd at the fright she had shown At the sight of the head of her minion- How she'd tremble to part with her own ! Tim CHRONICLE OF THE DRUM. 15 We had taken the head of King Capet, We called for the blood of his wife ; Undaunted she came to the scaffold, And bared her fair neck to the knife. As she felt the foul fingers that touch'd her. She shrank, but she deigned not to speak : She look'd with a royal disdain, And died with a blush on her cheek 1 'Twas thus that our country was saved ; So told us the safety committee, But psha ! I've the heart of a soldier, All gentleness, mercy, and pity. I loath'd to assist at such deeds, And my drum beat its loudest of tunes As we offered to justice offended I'he blood of the bloody tribunes. Away with such foul recollections ! No more of the axe and the block ; I saw the last fight of the sections, As they fell 'neath our guns at Saint Rock. Young BoMAPARTE led us that day ; When he sought the Italian frontier, I follow'd the gallant young captain, I follow'd him many a long year. We came to an army in rags, Our general was but a boy When we first saw the Austrain flags Flaunt proud in the fields of Savoy. In the glorious year ninety-six. We march'd to the banks of the Po ; I carried my drum and my sticks. And we laid the proud Austrian low. In triumph we enter'd Milan, We seized on the Mantuan keys ; l6 BALLADS. The troops of the Emperor ran, And the Pope he fell down on hb knees.' Pierre's comrades here call'd a fresh bottle, And clubbing together their wealth. They drank to the Army of Italy, And General Bonaparte's health. The drummer now bared his old breast, And show'd us a plenty of scars, Rude presents that Fortune had made him In fifty victorious wars. ' This came when I follow'd bold Kleber — 'Twas shot by a Mameluke gun ; And this from an Austrian sabre. When the field of Marengo was won. " My forehead has m.any deep furrows, But this is the deepest of all : A Brunswicker made it at Jena, Beside the fair river of Saal. This cross, 'twas the Emperor gave it ; (God bless him !) it covers a blow ; I had it at Austerlitz fight. As I beat on my drum in the snow. " 'Twas thus that we conquer'd and fought ; But wherefore continue the story ? There's never a baby in France But has heard of our chief and our glory, But has heard of our chief and our fame. His sorrows and triumphs can tell, How bravely Napoleon conquer'd, How bravely and sadly he fell. " It makes my old heart to beat higher. To think of the deeds that I saw ; I follow'd bold Ney through the fire, And charged at the side of JNIurat." THE CHRONICLE OF THE DRUM. I? And so did old Peter continue His story of twenty brave years ; His audience follow'd with comments — Rude comments of curses and tears. He told how the Prussians in vain Had died in defence of their land ; His audience laugh'd at the story, And vowed that their captain was grand ! He had fought the red English, he said, In many a battle of Spain : They cursed the red English, and prayed To meet them and fight them again. He told them how Russia was lost, Had winter not driven them back ; And his company cursed the quick frost xA.nd doubly they cursed the Cossack. He told how the stranger arrived ; They wept at the tale of disgrace ; And they long'd but for one battle more, The stain of their shame to efface. " Our country their hordes overrun, We fled to the fields of Champagne, And fought them, though twenty to one. And beat them again and again I Our warrior was conquer'd at last ; They bade him his crown to resign ; To fate and his country he yielded The rights of himself and his line. " He came, and among us he stood, Around him we press'd in a throng ; We could not regard him for weeping, Who had led us and loved us so long. * I have led you for twenty long years,' Napoleon said ere he went ; 1 8 . BALLADS. * Wherever was honor I found yon, And with you, my sons, am content ! *' ' Though Europe against me was armed, Your chiefs and my people are true ; 1 still might liave struggled with fortune, And baffled all Europe with you. '• * But France would have suffer'd the while, 'Tis best that I suffer alone ; I go to my place of exile, To write of the deeds we have done. *' * Be true to the king that they give you. We may not embrace ere we part ; But, General, reach me your hand, And press me, I pray, to your heart.* " He call'd for our battle standard ; One kiss to the eagle he gave. * Dear eagle ! ' he said, ' may this kiss Long sound in the hearts of the brave ! ' 'Twas thus that Napoleon left us ; Our people were weeping and mute, As he passed through the lines of his guard, And our drums beat the notes of salute. " I look'd when the drumming was o'er, I look'd, but our hero was gone ; We were destined to see him once more, When we fought on the Mount of St. John. The Emperor rode through our files ; 'Twas June, and a fair Sunday morn, The lines of our warriors for miles Stretch 'd wide through the Waterloo corn. THE CHRONICLE OF THE DRUM. 19 ' In thousands we stood on the plain, The red-coats were crowning the height ; ' Go scatter yon EngUsh,' he said ; ' We'll sup, lads, al Brussels to-night.' We answer'd his voice with a shout ; Our eagles were bright in the sun ; Our drums and our cannon spoke out. And the thundering battle begun. "One charge to another succeeds, Like waves that a hurricane bears ; All day do our galloping steeds Dash fierce on the enemy's squares. At noon we began the fell onset : We charged up the Englishmen's hill ; And madly we charged it at sunset-- His banners were floating there still. " — Go to ! I will tell you no more ; You know how the battle was lost. Ho ! fetch me a beaker of wine. And, comrades, I'll give you a toast. I'll give you a curse on all traitors, Who plotted our Emperor's ruin ; And a curse on those red-coated English, Whose bayonets helped our undoing. " A curse on those British assassins, Who order'd the slaughter of Ney ; A curse on Sir Hudson, who tortured The life of our hero away. A curse on all Russians— I hate them— On all Prussian and Austrian fry ; And oh 1 but I pray we may meet them» And fight them again ere I die." 'Twas thus old Peter did conclude His chronicle with curses fit. BALLADS. He spoke the tale in accents rude, In ruder verse I copied it. Perhaps the tale a moral bears, (All tales in time to this must come,) The story of two hundred years Writ on the parchment of a drum. What Peter told with drum and stick, Is endless theme for poet's pen : Is found in endless quartos thick, Enormous books by learned men. And ever since historian writ, And ever since a bard could sing, Doth each exalt with all his wit The noble art of murdering. We love to read the glorious page, How bold Achilles killed his foe ; And Turnus, felled by Trojans' rage, Went howling to the shades below. How Godfrey led his red-cross knights, How mad Orlando slash'd and slew ; There's not a single bard that writes But doth the glorious theme renew. And while, in fashion picturesque, The poet rhymes of blood and blows, The grave historian at his desk Describes the same in classic prose. Go read the works of Reverend Coxe, You'll duly see recorded there The history of the self-same knocks Here roughly suag by Drummer Pierre, THE CHRONICLE OF THE DRUM. 2 1 Of battles fierce and warriors big, He writes in phrases dull and slow. And waves his cauliflower wig', And shouts "Saint George for Marlboro w ! " Take Doctor Soutiiey from the shelf, An LL.D., — a peaceful man ; Good Lord, how doth he plume himself Because we beat the Corsican ! From first to last his page is filled With stirring tales how blows w^-e strucko He shows how we the Frenchmen kill'd, And praises God for our good luck. Some hints, 'tis true, of politics The doctors give and statesman's art : Pierre only bangs his drum and sticks. And understands the bloody part. He cares not what the cause may be. He is not nice for wrong and right ; But show him where's the enemy, He only asks to drum and fight. They bid him fight, — perhaps he wins ; And when he tells the story o'er. The honest savage brags and grins, And only longs to fight once more. But luck rnay change, and valor fail. Our drummer, Peter, meet reverse, And witl^ a moral points his tale — The end of all such tales — a curse. Last year, my love, it was my hap Behind a grenadier to be, 22 BALLADS. And, but he v/ore a hairy cap, No taller man, methinks, than me. Prince Albert and the Queen, Clod wot, (Be blessings on the glorious pair !) Before us passed. I saw them not — I only saw a cap of hair. Your orthodox historian puts In foremost rank the soldier thus. The red-coat bully in his boots, That hides the march of men from us. lie puts them there in foremost rank, You wonder at his cap of hair : You hear his sabre's cursed clank, His spurs are jingling everywhere. Go to ! I hate him and his trade : Who bade us so to cringe and bend And all God's peaceful people made To such as him subservient ? Tell me what find we to admire In epaulets and scarlet coats — In men, because they load and fire, And know the art of cutting throats ? Ah, gentle, tender lady mine ! The winter wind blows cold and shrill Come, fill me one more glass of wine. And give the silly fools their will. And what care we for war and wrack, How kings and heroes rise and falP ABD-EL-KADER AT TOULON. 23 Look yonder,* in his coflin black There lies the greatest of them all ! To pluck him down, and keep him up, Died many million human souls. — 'Tis twelve o'clock and time to sup ; Bid Mary heap the fire with coals. He captured many thousand guns ; He wrote " The Great" before his name ; And dying, only left his sons The recollection of his shame. Though more than half the world was his. He died without a rood his own ; And borrow'd from his enemies Six foot of ground to lie upon. He fought a thousand glorious wars. And more than half the world was his, And somewhere now, in yonder stars, Can tell, mayhap, what greatness is. 1841. ABD-EL-KADER AT TOULON. OR, THE CAGED HAWK. No more, thou lithe and long-winged hawk, of desert life for thee ; No more across the sultry sands shalt thou go swooping free : * This ballad was written at Paris at the time of the Second Funeral of Napoleon. 24 BALLADS, Blunt idle talons, idle beak, with spurning- of thy chain, Shatter against thy cage the wing thou ne'er may'st spread again. Long, sitting by tlieir watchfires, shall the Ka- byles tell the tale Of thy dash from Ben Halifa on the fat Metidja vale ; How thou swept'st the desert over, bearing down the wild El Riff, From eastern Beni Salah to western Ouad Shelif ; How thy white burnous went streaming, like the storm-rack o'er the sea. When thou rodest in the vanward of the Moorish chivalry ; How thy razzia was a whirlwind, thy onset a simoom, How thy sword-sweep was the lightning, dealing death from out the gloom ! Nor less quick to slay in battle than in peace to spare and save. Of brave men wisest councillor, of wise council- lors most brave ; How the eye that flashed destruction could beam gentleness and love, V lion ir dove ! Availed not or steel or shot 'gainst that charmed life secure. Till cunning France, in last resource, tossed up the golden lure ; And the carrion buzzards round him stooped, faithless, to the cast, ABD-EL-KADER AT TOULON, 25 And the wild hawk of the desert is caught and caged at last. Weep, maidens of Zerifah, above the laden loom ! Scar, chieftains of Al Elmah, your cheeks in grief and gloom ! Sons of the Beni Snazam, throw down the useless lance, And stoop your necks and bare your backs to yoke and scourge of France ! 'Twas not in fight they bore him down ; he never cried avian ; He never sank his sword before the Prince of Franghistan ; But with traitors all around him, his star upon the wane. He heard the voice of Allah, and he would not strive in vain. They gave him what he asked them ; from king to king he spake. As one that plighted word and seal not knoweth how to break : *' Let me pass from out my deserts, be't mine own choice where to go ; I brook no fettered life to live, a captive and a show." And they promised, and he trusted them, and proud and calm he came. Upon his black mare riding, girt with his sword of fame. Good steed, good sword, he rendered both unto the Frankish throng ; He knew them false and fickle — but a Prince's word is strong. 2 6 BALLADS. How have they kept their promise ? Turned they the vessel's prow Unto Acre, Alexandria, as they have sworn e'en now ? Not so : from Oran northwards the white sails gleam and glance, And the wild hawk of the desert is borne away to France ! Where Toulon's white-walled lazaret looks south- ward o'er the wave, Sits he that trusted in the word a son of Louis gave. O noble faith of noble heart ! And was the warn- ing vain, The text writ by the Bourbon in the blurred black book of Spain ? They have need of thee to gaze on, they have need of thee to grace The triumph of the Prince, to gild the pinchbeck of their race. Words are but wind, conditions must be con- strued by Guiz.oT ; Dash out thy heart, thou desert hawk, ere thou art made a show ! THE KING OF BRENTFORD'S TESTA- MENT. The noble King of Brentford Was old and very sick, He summon'd his physicians To wait upon him quick ; KING OF BRENTFORD'S TESTAMENT. 2 J They stepp'd into their coaches And brought their best physick. They cramm'd their gracious master With potion and with pill ; They drench'd him and they bled him % They could not cure his ill, " Go fetch," says he, "my lawyer ; I'd better make my will." The monarch's royal mandate The lawyer did obey : The thought of six-and-eight-pence Did make his heart full gay. " What is't," says he, "your Majesty Would wish of me to-day ?" " The doctors have belabor'd me With potion and with pill : My hours of life are counted, man of tape and quill ! Sit down and mend a pen or two ; 1 want to make my will. "O'er all the land of Brentford I'm lord, and eke of Kew : I've three-per-cents and five-per-cents \ My debts are but a few ; And to inherit after me I have but children two. '' Prince Thomas is my eldest son ; A sober prince is he. And from the day we breech 'd him Till now — he's twenty-three — He never caused disquiet To his poor mamma or me. 28 BALLADS. " At school they never flogg'd him ; At college, though not fast, Yet his little- go and great-go He creditably pass'd, And made his year's allowance For eighteen months to last. *' He never owed a shilling, Went never drunk to bed, He has not two ideas Within his honest head — In all respects he differs From my second son, Prince Ned. " When Tom has half his income Laid by at the year's end, Poor Ned has ne'er a stiver That rightly he may spend, But sponges on a tradesman. Or borrows from a friend. ** While Tom his legal studies Most soberly pursues, Poor Ned must pass his mornings A-dawdling with the Muse : While Tom frequents his banker, Young Ned frequents the Jews. *' Ned drives about in buggies, Tom sometimes takes a 'bus ; Ah, cruel fate, v/hy made you My children differ thus ? Why make of Tom a dullard, And Ned a genius ?" " You'll cut him with a shilling,'* Exclaimed the man of wits ; KING OF BRENTFORD'S TESTAMENT. 29 " I'll leave my wealth," said Brentford, " Sir Lawyer, as befits. And portion both their fortunes Unto tlieir several wits." "Your Grace knows best," the lawyer said, " On your commands I wait." " Be silent, Sir," says Brentford, " A plague upon your prate ! Come take your pen and paper. And write as I dictate." The will as Brentford spoke it Was writ and signed and closed ; He bade the lawyer leave him. And tum'd him round and dozed ; And next week in the churchyard The good old King reposed. Tom, dressed in crape and hatband. Of mourners was the chief ; In bitter self-upraidings Poor Edward showed his grief : Tom hid his fat v/hite countenance In his pocket-handkerchief. Ned's eyes were full of weeping, He falter'd in his walk ; Tom never shed a tear. But onwards he did stalk. As pompous, black, and solemn As any catafalque. And when the bones of Brentford— That gentle king and just — \Vith bell and book and candle "\Vere duly laid in dust, 30 BALLADS. " Now, gentlemen," says Thoixuis, " Let business be discussed. *' When late our sire beloved Was taken deadly ill, Sir Lawyer, you attended him (I mean to tax your bill) ; And, as you signed and wrote it» I prithee read the will." The lawyer wiped his spectacles, And drew the parchment out ; And all the Brentford family Sat eager round about : Poor Ned was somewhat anxious, But Tom had ne'er a doubt. " My son, as I make ready To seek my last long home, Some cares I had for Neddy, But none for thee, my Tom : Sobriety and order You ne'er departed from. "Ned hath a brilliant genius, And thou a plodding brain ; On thee I think with pleasure, On him with doubt and pain." ("You see, good Ned," says Thomas, " What he thought about us twain.") " Though small was your allowance, You saved a little store ; And those who save a little Shall get a plenty more." As the lawyer read this compliment, Tom's e^'es were running o'er. KIXG OF DRENTFORD'S TESTAMENT. '* The tortoise and the hare, Tom, Set out at each his pace ; The hare it was the fleeter. The tortoise won the race ; And since the world's beginning Tliis ever was the case. " Ned's genius, blithe and singing, Steps gaily o'er the ground ; As steadily you trudge it, He clears it with a bound ; But dulness has stout legs, Tom, And wind that's wondrous sound. ** O'er fruits and flowers alike, Tom, You pass with plodding feet ; You heed not one nor t'other. But onwards go your beat ; While genius stops to loiter With all that he may meet ; * ' And ever as he wanders. Will have a pretext fine For sleeping in the morning, Or loitering to dine, Or dozing in the shade. Or basking in the shine. " Your little steady eyes, Tom, Though not so bright as those That restless round about him His flashing genius throws, Are excellently suited To look before your nose. ** Thank heaven, then, for the blinkers It placed before your eyes ; 32 BALLADS. The stupidest are strongest, The witty are not wise ; Oh, bless your good stupidity ! It is your dearest prize. " And though my lands are wide. And plenty is my gold Still better gifts from Nature, My Thomas, do you hold — A brain that's thick and heavy, A heart that's dull and cold. **Too dull to feel depression. Too hard to heed distress, Too cold to yield to passion Or silly tenderness. March on — your road is open To wealth, Tom, and success. " Ned sinneth in extravagance, And you in greedy lust." ("I' faith," says Ned, "our father Is less polite than just.") " In you, son Tom, I've confidence, But Ned I cannot trust." "Wherefore my lease and copyholds, My lands and tenements, My parks, my farms, and orchards, My houses and my rents, My Dutch stock and my Spanish stock. My five and three per cents, " I leave to you, my Thomas" — (" What, all ?" poor Edward said. " Well, well, I should have spent them, And Tom's a prudent head ") — KING OF BRENTFORD'S TESTAMENT, 33 *' I leave to you, my Thomas, — To you IN TRUST for Ned." The wrath and consternation What poet e'er could trace That at this fatal passage Came o'er Prince Tom his face ; The wonder of the company, And honest Ned's amaze ? " 'Tis surely some mistake," Good-naturedly cries Ned ; The lawyer answered gravely, '* 'Tis even as I said ; 'Twas thus his gracious Majesty Ordain'd on his death-bed. " See, here the will is witness'd, And here's his autograph." "In truth, our father's writing," Says Edward, with a laugh ; ** But thou shalt not be a loser, Tom ] We'll share it half and half." *' Alas ! my kind young gentleman, This sharing cannot be ; 'Tis written in the testament That Brentford spoke to me, ' I do forbid Prince Ned to give. Prince Tom a halfpenny. " ' He hath a store of money. But ne'er was known to lend it ; He never helped his brother ; The poor he ne'er befriended ; He hath no need of property Who knows not how to spend it. 34 BALLADS. " ' Poor Edv/ard knows but how to spend, And thrifty Tom to hoard ; Let Thomas be the steward then, And Edward be the lord ; , And as the honest laborer Is worthy his reward, '• " ' I pray Prince Ned, my second son, And my successor dear, To pay to his intendant Five hundred pounds a year ; And to think of his old father, And live and make good cheer.' " Such was old Brentford's honest testament, He did devise his moneys for the best, And lies in Brentford church in peaceful rest. Prince Edward lived, and money made and spent \ But his good sire was wrong, it is confess'd, To say his son, young Thomas, never lent. He did. Young Thomas lent at interest, And nobly took his twenty-five per cent. Long time the famous reign of Ned endured O'erChiswick, Fulham, Brentford, Putney, Kew, But of extravagance he ne'er was cured. And when both died, as mortal men will do, 'Twas commonly reported that the steward Was very much the richer of the two. THE WHITE SQUALL, On deck, beneath the av/ning, I dozing lay and yavv'ning ; It was the gray of dav/ning, Ere yet the sun arose ; THE WHITE SQUALL. 35 And above the funnel's roaring. And the fitful whids deploring, I heard the cabin snoring With universal nose. I could hear th'i passengers snorting, I envied their disporting — Vainly I was courting The pleasure of a doze ! vSo I lay, and wondered why light Came not, and watched the twilight, And the glimmer of the skylight, That shot across the deck, And the binnacle pale and steady, And the dull glimpse of the dead-eye, And the sparks in fiery eddy That whirled from the chimney neck. In our jovial floating prison There was sleep from fore to mizzen, And never a star had risen The hazy sky to speck. Strange company we harbored ; We'd a hundred Jews to larboard. Unwashed, uncombed, unbarbered — Jews black, and brown, and gray ; With terror it would seize ye. And make your souls uneasy, To see those Rabbis greasy, W' ho did nought but scratch and pray : Their dirty children puking — Their dirty saucepans cooking — Their dirty fingers hooking Their swarming fleas away. To starboard, Turks and Greeks were — Whiskered and brown their cheeks were — 36 BALLADS. Enormous wide their brecks were^ Their pipes did puff alway ; Each on his mat allotted In silence smoked and squatted, Whilst round their children trotted In pretty, pleasant play. He can't but smile who traces The smiles on those brown faces, And the pretty prattling graces Of those small heathens gay. And so the hours kept tolling, And through the ocean rolling Went the brave " Iberia" bowling Before the break of day — When A SQUALL, upon a sudden, Came o'er the waters scudding ; And the clouds began to gather, And the sea was lashed to lather, And the lowering thunder grumbled, And the lightning jumped and tumbled, And the ship, and all the ocean, Woke up in wild commotion. Then the wind set up a howling. And the poodle dog a yowling. And the cocks began a crowing, And the old cow raised a lowing. As she heard the tempest blowing ; And fowls and geese did cackle, And the cordage and the tackle Began to shriek and cackle ; And the spray dashed o'er the funnels, And down the deck in runnels ; And the rushing water soaks all. From the seamen in the fo'ksal To the stokers whose black faces THE WniTIS SQUALL. 37 Peer out of their bed places ; And the captain he was bawling, And the sailors pulling, hauling, And the quarter-deck tarpauling Was shivered in the squalling ; And the passengers awaken, Most pitifully shaken ; And the steward jumps up, and hastens For the necessary basins. Then the Greeks they groaned and quivered, And they knelt, and moaned, and shivered. As the plunging waters met them And splashed and overset them ; And they call in their emergence Upon countless saints and virgins ; And their marrowbones are bended, And they think the world is ended. And the Turkish women for'ard Were frightened and behorror'd ; And shrieking and bewildering. The mothers clutched their children ; The men sang " Allah ! Illah ! Mashallah Bismillah !" As the warring waters doused them, And splashed them and soused them, And they called upon the Prophet, And thought but little of it. Then all the fleas in Jewry Jumped up and bit like fury ; And the progeny of Jacob Did on the main-deck Vv^ake up (I wot those greasy Rabbins Would never pay for cabins) ; And each man moaned and jabbered in I lis filthy Jev/ish gaberdine, 38 BALLADS, In woe and lamentation. And howling- consternation. And the splashing water drenches Their dirty brats and wenches ; And they crawl from bales and benches In a hundred thousand stenches. This was the White Squall famous, Which latterly o'ercame us, And which all will well remember On the 28th September ; When a Prussian captain of I.ancers (Those tight-laced, whiskered prancers) Came on the deck astonished, By that wild squall admonished, And wondering cried, " Potztausend ! Wie ist der Sturm jetzt brausend !" And looked at Captain Lewis, Who calmly stood and blew his Cigar in all the bustle. And scorned the tempest's tussle. And oft we've thought thereafter How he beat the storm to laughter ; For v/ell he knew his vessel With that vain wind could wrestle ; And when a wreck we thought her, And doomed ourselves to slaughter, How gaily he fought her, And though the hubbub brought her, And as the tempest caught her, Cried, "George! some brandy-ani*- WATER !" And when, its force expended. The harmless storm was ended, And as the sunrise splendid Came blushing o'er the sea. PEG OF LIMAVADDY. 39 I thought, as day was breaking, My little girls were waking, And smiling, and making A p-ayer at home for me. 1844. TEG OF LIMAVADDY. Riding from Coleraine (Famed for lovely Kitty), Came a Cockney bound Unto Derry city ; Weary was his soul. Shivering and sad, he Bumped along the road Leads to Limavaddy. Mountains stretch'd around, Gloomy was their tinting, And the horse's hoofs Made a dismal dinting ; Wind upon the heath Howling was and piping, On the heath and bog, Black with many a snipe in. Mid the bogs of black, Silver pools were flashing, Crovv'S upon their sides Becking were and splashing^ Cockney on the car Closer folds his plaidy^ Grumbling at the road Leads to Limavaddy. 40 BALLADS. Through the crashing woods Autumn brawl'd and bhistered. Tossing round about Leaves the hue of mustard ; Yonder lay Lough Foyle, Which a storm was whipping, Covering with the mist Lake, and shores, and shipping. Up and dov/n the hill (Nothing could be bolder), Horse went with a raw Bleeding on his shoulder. " Where are horses changed ?" Said I to the laddy Driving on the box : "Sir, at Limavaddy." Limavaddy inn's But a humble bait-house, Where you may procure Whiskey and potatoes ; Landlord at the door Gives a smiling welcome To the shivering wights Who to this hotel come. Landlady within Sits and knits a stocking, With a wary foot Baby's cradle rocking. To the chimney nook Having found admittance. There I watch a pup Playing with two kittens ; (Playing round the fire. Which of blazing turf is. Roaring to the pot PEG OF LIMAVADDY. 4 1 Which bubbles with the murphies.) And the cradled babe Fond the mother nursed it, Singing it a song As she twists the worsted ! Up and down the stair Two more young ones patter (Twins were never seen Dirtier or fatter). Both have mottled legs, Both have snubby noses, Both have — Here the host Kindly interposes : " Sure you must be froze With the sleet and hail, sir : So will you have some punch, Or will you have some ale, sir V Presently a maid Enters with the liquor (Half a pint of ale Frothing in a beaker). Gads ! I didn't know What my beating heart meant : Hebe's self, I thought. Entered the apartment. As she came she smiled. And the smile bewitching, On my word and honor. Lighted all the kitchen ! With a curtsey neat Greeting the new comer. Lovely, smiling Peg Offers me the rummer ; But my trembling hand Up the beaker tilted. 42 BALLADS. And the glass of ale Every drop I spilt it : Spilt it every drop (Dames, who read my volumes, Pardon such a word) On my what-d'ye-call-'ems ! Witnessing the sight Of that dire disaster, Out began to laugh Missis, maid, and master ; Such a merry peal 'Specially Miss Peg's was, (As the glass of ale Tricklhig down my legs was,) That the joyful sound Of that mingling laughter Echoed in my ears Many a long day after. Such a silver peal ! In the meadows listening, You who've heard the bells Ringing to a christening ; You who ever heard Caradori pretty, Smiling like an angel. Singing " Giovinetti ;" Fancy Peggy's laugh. Sweet, and clear, and cheerful, At my pantaloons With half a pint of beer full ! When the laugh was done, Peg, the pretty hussy, Moved about the room Wonderfully busy ; PEG OF LIMAVADDY. 43 Now she looks to see If the kettle keeps hot ; Now she rubs the spoons, Now she cleans the teapot ; Now she sets the cups Trimly and secure : Now she scours a pot, And so it was I drew her. Thus it was I drew her Scouring of a kettle, (Faith ! her blushing cheeks Redden'd on the metal !) Ah ! but 'tis in vain That I try to sketch it ; The pot perhaps is like, But Peggy's face is wretched. No ! the best of lead And of india-rubber Never could depict That sweet kettle-scrubber I See her as she moves. Scarce the ground she touche In vistas bright ; And statues fair of nymph and maid, And steeds and pards and Amazons, Writhing and grappling in the bronze, In endless fight. \ To deck the glorious roof and dome. To make the Queen a canopy. The peaceful hosts of industry Their standards bear. Yon are the works of Brahmin loom ; On such a web of Persian thread The desert Arab bows his head And cries his prayer. Look yonder where the engines toil : These England's arms of conquest are, The trophies of her bloodless war : Brave v.'eapons these. Victorious over wave and soil, With these she sails, she weaves, she tills Bi/^'-ces the everlasting hills And spans the seas. THE BALLAD OF BOUILLABAISSE. 49 The engine roars upon its race, The shuttle whirrs along the woof, The people hum from floor to roof, With Babel tongue. The fountain in the basin plays, The chanting organ echoes clear, An awful chorus 'tis to hear, A wondrous song ! Swell, organ, swell your trumpet blast, March, Queen and Royal pageant, march By splendid aisle and springing arch Of this fair Hall : And see ! above the fabric vast, God's boundless heaven is bending blue, God's peaceful sunlight's beaming through. And shines o'er all. May, 1851. THE BALLAD OF BOUILLABAISSE. A STREET there is in Paris famous. For which no rhyme our language yields, Rue Neuve des Petits Champs its name is— The New Street of the little Fields. And here's an inn, not rich and splendid, But still in comfortable case ; The which in youth I oft attended, To eat a bowl of Bouillabaisse. This Bouillabaisse a noble dish is — A sort of soup or broth, or brew, Or hotchpotch of all sorts of fishes, That Greenwich never could outdo j 50 BALLADS. Green herbs, red peppers, mussels, saffron, Soles, onions, garlic, roach, and dace : All these you eat at Terre's tavern. In that one dish of Bouillabaisse. Indeed, a rich and savory stew 'tis ; And true philosophers, methinks, Who love all sorts of natural beauties, Should love good victuals and good drinkr. And Cordelier or Benedictine Might gladly, sure, his lot embrace. Nor find a fast-day too afHicting, Which served him up a Bouillabaisse. I wonder if the house still there is ? Yes, here the lamp is, as before ; The smiling red-cheeked ^cailicrc is Still opening oysters at the door. Is Terre still alive and able ? I recollect his droll grimace : He'd come and smile before your tabic. And hope you liked your Bouillabaisse. We enter — nothing's changed or older, " How's Monsieur Terre, waiter, pray?" The waiter stares and shrugs his shoulder — " Monsieur is dead this many a day." " It is the lot of saint and sinner. So honest Terre's run his race," " What will Monsieur require for dinner?" " Say, do you still cook Bouillabaisse ?" "Oh, oui, Monsieur," 's the waiter's answer " Quel vin Monsieur dfcsire-t-il ?" " Tell me a good one," — "That I can. Sir ; The Chambertin with yellow scab" THE BALLAD OF BOUILLABAISSE. 5 I " So Terre's gone," I say, and sink in My old accustom'd corner-place ; '♦ He's done with feasting and with drinking. With Burgundy and Bouillabaisse." My old accustom'd corner here is, The table still is in the nook ; _ Ah ! vanish'd many a busy year is This well-known chair since last I took. When first I saw ye, carl luoghi, I'd scarce a beard upon my face, And now a grizzled, grim old fogy, I sit and wait for Bouillabaisse. Where are you, old companions trusty Of early days here met to dine ? Come, waiter ! quick, a flagon crusty— I'll pledge them in the good old winCo The kind old voices and old faces My memory can quick retrace ; Around the board they take their places, And share the wine and Bouillabaisse. There's Jack has made a wondrous marriage j There's laughing Tom is laughing yet ; There's brave Augustus drives his carriage ; There's poor old Fred in the Gazette ; On James's head the grass is growing : Good Lord ! the world has wagged apace Since here w^e set the claret flowing. And drank, and ate the Bouillabaisse. Ah me ! how quick the days are flitting ! I mind me of a time that's gone. When here I'd sit, as now I'm sitting. In this same place— but not alone. 5 2 BALLADS. A fair young form was nestled near me, A dear, dear face looked fondly up, And sweetly spoke and smiled to cheer me — There's no one now to share my cup. I drink it as the Fates ordain it. Come, fill it, and have done with rhymes : I^ill up the lonely glass, and drain it In memory of dear old times. Welcome the wine, whate'er the seal is ; And sit you down and say your grace With thankful heart, whate'er the meal is. - — Here comes the smoking I^ouillabaisse ! THE MAHOGANY TREE. Christmas is here : Winds whistle shrill, Icy and chill, Little care we : Little we fear Weather without, Shelter about The Mahogany Tree. Once on the boughs Birds of rare plume Sang, in its bloom ; Night-birds are we : Here we carouse, Singing like them, Perched round the stem Of the jolly old tree. THE MAHOGANY TREE, 53 Here let us sport, Boys, as we sit ; Laughter and wit Flashing so free. Life is but short — When we are gone, Let them sing on Round the old tree. Evenings we knew, Happy as this ; Faces wc miss, Pleasant to sec. Kind hearts and true, Gentle and just, Peace to your dust ! We sing round the tree. Care, like a dun. Lurks at the gate : Let the dog wait ; Happy we'll be ! Drink, every one ; Pile up the coals. Fill the red bowls. Round the old tree ! Drain we the cup. — Friend, art afraid ? Spirits are laid In the Red Sea. Mantle it up ; Empty it yet ; Let us forget. Round the old tree. Sorrows, begone ! Life and its ills, 54 BALLADS. Duns and their bills, Bid we to flee. Come with the dawn, lUue-devil sprite, ].eave us to-ni,yht, Round the old tree. THE YANKEE VOLUNTEERS. " A surgeon of the United States Army says, that on inquirinpj of the captain of his company, he found that nine tenths o[ ihc men had enlisted on account of some female difficulty.'" — Morning Pa/>e7-. Ye Yankee volunteers ! It makes my bosom bleed When I your story read, Thou;:^h oft 'tis told one. So — in both hemispheres The women are untrue, And cruel in the New, As in the Old one ! What — in this company Of sixty sons of Mars, Who march'd neath Stripes and Stars, With fife and horn, Nine tenths of all we see Along the Vv^arlike line Had but one cause to join This Hope Forlorn ? Deserted from the realm Where tyrant Venus reigns, You slipp'd her wicked chains, Fled and outran her. TflE YANKEE VOLUNTEERS. 55 And now, with sword and helm, Together banded are Beneath the Stripe and Star- Embroider'd banner ! And is it so with all The warriors ranged in line, With lace bedizen 'd fine And swords gold-hilted ? Yon lusty corporal. Yon color-man who gripes The flag of Stars and Stripes-^- Has each been jilted ? Come, each man of this line. The privates strong and tall, " The pioneers and all," The fifer nimble — Lieutenant and Ensign, Captain with epaulets, And Blacky there, who beats The clanging cymbal — O cymbal-beating black, Tell us, as thou canst feel, Was it some Lucy Neal Who caused thy ruin ? O nimble fifing Jack, And drummer making din So deftly on the skin. With thy rat-tattooing--' Confess, ye volunteers, Lieutenant and Ensign, And Captain of the line, As bold as Roman — 5 6 BALLADS. Confess, ye grenadiers. However strong and tall. The Conqueror of you all Is Woman, Woman ! No corselet is so proof But through it from her bow The shafts that she can throw Will pierce and rankle. No champion e'er so tough, I5ut's in the struggle thrown, And tripp'd and trodden down By her slim ankle. Thus always it was ruled : And when a woman smiled, 'I'he strong man was a child, The sage a noodle. Alcidcs was befool'd, And silly Samson shorn, Long, long ere you were born, Poor Yankee Doodle ! THE PEN AND THE ALBUM. "I AM Miss Catherine's book," the Album speaks ; " I've lain among your tomes these many weeks ; I'm tired of their old coats and yellow cheeks. ** Quick, Pen ! and write a line with a good grace : Come ! draw me off a funny little face ; And, prithee, send me back to Chesham Place." THE PEN AND THE ALBUM. 57 PEN. "I am my master's faithful old Gold Pen ; I've served him three long years, and drawn since then Thousands of funny women and droll men. " O Album ! could I tell you all his ways And thoughts, since I am his, these thousand days, Lord, how your pretty pages I'd amaze !" ALBUM. "' His ways? his thoughts? Just whisper me a few ; Tell me a curious anecdote or two, And write 'em quickly off, good Mordan, do ■" " Since he my faithful service did engage To follow him through his queer pilgrimage I've drawn and written many a line and page. "Caricatures I scribbled have, and rhymes, And dinner-cards, and picture pantomimes, And merry little children's books at times. " I've writ the foolish fancy of his brain ; The aimless jest that, striking, hath caused pain The idle word that he'd wish back again. " I've help'd him to pen many a line for bread ; To joke, with sorrow aching in his head ; And make your laughter when his own heart bled. 50 BALLADS. " I've spoke with men of all degree and sort-— Peers of the land, and ladies of the Court ; Oh, but I've chronicled a deal of sport ! " Feasts that were ate a thousand days ago. Biddings to wine that long hath ceased to flow, Gay meetings with good fellows long laid low ; " Summons to bridal, banquet, burial, ball, Tradesmen's polite reminders of his small Account due Christmas last — I've answer'd all. " Poor Diddler's tenth petition for a half- Guinea ; Miss Bunyan's for an autograph ; So I refuse, accept, lament, or laugh, "Condole, congratulate, invite, praise, scoff, Day after day still dipping in my trough, And scribbling pages after pages off. " Day after day the labor's to be done. And sure as come the postman and the sun, The indefatigable ink must run. " Go back, my pretty little gilded tome, To a fair mistress and a pleasant home. Where soft hearts greet us whensoe'er we come ! '* Dear, friendly eyes, with constant kindness lit, However rude my verse, or poor my wit, Or sad or gay my mood, you welcome it. " Kind lady ! till my last of lines is penn'd. My master's love, grief, laughter, at an end. Whene'er I write yom- name, may I write friend ! AIRS. KATHERINE'S LANTE.RN. 59 " Not all are so that were so in past years ; Voices, familiar once, no more he hears ; Names, often writ, are blotted out in tears. "So be it : — joys will end and tears will dry — Album ! my master bids me wish good-by He'll send you to your mistress presently. " And thus with thankful heart he closes you : Blessing the happy hour when a friend he knew So gentle, and so generous, and so true. " Nor pass the words as idle phrases by ; Stranger ! I never writ a flattery, Nor sign'd the page that registcr'd a lie." MRS. KATHERINE'S LANTERN. WRITTEN IN A LADY's ALBUM. " Coming from a gloomy court, Place of Israelite resort. This old lamp I've brought with me. Madam, on its panes you'll see The initials K and E." ' ' An old lantern brought to me ? Ugly, dingy, battered, black ! " (Here a lady I suppose Turning up a pretty nose) — ' ' Pray, sir, take the old thing back. I've no taste for bric-a-brac ^ "Please to mark the letters twain" — (I'm supposed to speak again) — 6o BALLADS. " Graven on the lantern pane. Can you tell me who was she, Mistress of the flowery wreath, And the anagram beneath — The mysterious K E ? ' ' Full a hundred years are gone r Since the little beacon shone From a Venice balcony ; There, on summer nights, it hung. And her lovers came and sung To their beautiful K E. " Hush ! in the canal below Don't you hear the plash of oars Underneath the lantern's glow, And a thrilling voice begins To the sound of mandolins ? — Begins singing of amore And delire and dolore — O the ravishing tenore ! " Lady, do you know the tune ? Ah, we all of us have hummed it ! I've an old guitar has thrummed it. Under many a changing moon. Shall I try it? i?c; re MI * * What is this ? Ma foi, the fact is, That my hand is out of practice, And my poor old fiddle cracked is, And a man — I let the truth out — Who's had almost every tooth out. Cannot sing as once he sung, When he was young as you are young, When he was young and lutes were strunj. And love-lamps in the casement hung." THE CANE-BOTTOM' D CHAIR. 6 1 LUCY'S BIRTHDAY. Seventeen rose-buds in a ring-, Thick with sister flowers beset, In a fragrant coronet, Lucy's servants this day bring. Be it the birthday wreath she wears Fresh and fair, and symbolling- The young number of her years, The sweet blushes of her spring. Types of youth and love and hope ! Friendly hearts your mistress greet, Be you ever fair and sweet. And grow lovelier as you ope ! Gentle nurseling, fenced about With fond care, and guarded so. Scarce you've heard of storms without, Frosts that bite, or winds that blow ! Kindly has your life begun. And we pray that Heaven may send To our floweret a warm sun, A calm summer, a sweet end. And where'er shall be her home, May she decorate the place ; Still expanding into bloom, And developing in grace. THE CANE-BOTTOM'D CHAIR. In tattered old slippers that toast at the bars. And a ragged old jacket perfumed with cigars. Away from the world and its t(;ils and its cares, I've a snug little kingdom up four pair of stairs. 62 BALLADS. To mount to this realm is a toil, to be sure, But the fire there is bright and the air rather pure ; And the view I behold on a sunshiny day Is grand through the chimney-pots over the way. This snug little chamber is cramm'd in all nooks With worthless old knicknacks and silly old books, And foolish old odds and foolish old ends, Crack'd bargains from brokers, cheap keepsakes from friends. Old armor, prints, pictures, pipes, china (all crack'd). Old rickety tables, and chairs broken-backed ; A twopenny treasury, wondrous to see ; What matter? 'tis pleasant to you, friend, and me. No better divan need the Sultan require, Than the creaking old sofa that basks by the fire ; And 'tis wonderful, surely, what music you get From the rickety, ramshackle, wheezy spinet. That praying-rug came from a Turcoman's camp ; By Tiber once twinkled that brazen old lamp ; A Mameluke fierce yonder dagger has drawn : 'Tis a murderous knife to toast muffins upon. Long, long through the hours, and the night, and the chimes, Here we talk of old books, and old friends, and old times ; As we sit in a fog made of rich Latakie This chamber is pleasant to you, friend, and me. But of all the cheap treasures that garnish my nest. There's one that I love and I cherish the best ; THE CANE-BOTTOAPD CHAIR. ^Z For the finest of couches that's padded with hair I never would change thee, my cane-bottom'd chair. 'Tis a bandy-legg'd, high-shoulder'd, worm-eaten seat, With a creaking old back and twisted old feet ; But since the fair morning when Fanny sat there, I bless thee and love thee, old cane-bottora'd chair. If chairs have but feeling, in holding such charms A thrill must have pass'd through your wither'd old arms ! I look'd, and I long'd, and I wish'd in despair ; I wished myself turn'd to a cane-bottom'd chair. It was but a moment she sat in this place, She'd a scarf on her neck, and a smile on her face ! A smile on her face, and a rose in her hair, And she sat there, and bloora'd in my cane- bottom'd chair. And so I have valued my chair ever since, 'Like the shrine of a saint, or the throne of a prince ; Saint Fanny, my patroness sweet I declare, The queen of my heart and my cane-bottom'd chair. When the candles burn low, and the company's gone, In the silence of night as I sit here alone — I sit here alone, but we yet are a pair — My Fanny I see in my cane-bottom'd chair. 64 BALLADS. She comes from the past and revisits my room ; She looks as she then did, all beauty and bloom %o smiling and tender, so fresh and so fair, And yonder she sits in my cane-bottom'd chair. PISCATOR AND PISCATRIX. LINES WRITTEN TO AN ALBUM PKINT. As on this pictured page I look, This pretty tale of line and hook As though it were a novel-book Amuses and engages : I know them both, the boy and girl ; She is the daughter of the Earl, The lad (that has his hair in curl) My lord the County's page is. A pleasant place for such a pair ! The fields lie basking in the glare ; No breath of wind the heavy air Of lazy summer quickens. Hard by you see the castle tall ; The village nestles round the wall, As round about the hen its small Young progeny of chickens. It is too hot to pace the keep ; To climb the turret is too steep ; My lord the Earl is dozing deep. His noonday dinner over : The postern-warder is asleep (Perhaps they've bribed him not to peep) And so from out the gate they creep. And cross the fields of clover. PISCATOR AND PISCATRIX. 65 Their lines into the brook they launch ; He lays his cloak upon a branch, To guarantee his Lady Blanche 's delicate complexion : lie takes his rapier from his haunch, That beardless doughty champion staunch \ He'd drill it through the rival's paunch That question'd his affection ! O heedless pair of sportsmen slack ! You never mark, though trout or jack, Or little foolish stickleback, Your baited snares may capture. What care has ske for line and hook ? She turns her back upon the brook, Upon her lover's eyes to look In sentimental rapture. O loving pair ! as thus I gaze Upon the girl who smiles always, The little hand that ever plays Upon the lover's shoulder ; In looking at your pretty shapes, A sort of envious wish escapes (Such as the Fox had for the Grapes) The Poet your beholder. To be brave, handsome, twenty-two ^ With nothing else on earth to do, But all day long to bill and coo : It were a pleasant calling. And had I such a partner sweet ; A tender heart for mine to beat, A gentle hand my clasp to meet ; — I'd let the world flow at my feet, And never heed its brawling. 66 BALLADS. TUB ROSE UPON MY BALCONY, The rose upon my balcony the morning air per fuming, ^yas leafless all the winter time and pining for the spring ; You ask mc why her breath is sweet, and why her cheek is blooming : It is because the sun is out and birds begin to sing. The nightingale, whose melody is through the greenwood ringing. Was silent when the boughs were bare and winds were blowing keen : And if, Mamma, you ask of me the reason of his singing, It is because the sun is out and all the leaves are green. Thus each performs his part. Mamma : the birds have found their voices, The blowing rose a flush. Mamma, her bonny cheek to dj-e ; And there's sunshine in my heart, Mamma, which wakens and rejoices. And so I sing and blush, Mamma, and that's the reason why. RONSARD TO HIS MISTRESS. 67 RONSARD TO HIS MISTRESS. 'Quand vous serez bien vieille, au soir A la chandelle, Assise aupres du feu devisant et filant, Dhez, chantant mes vers en vous esmerveillant : Ronsard me celebioit du temps que j'etois belle." Some winter nig-ht, shut snugly in Beside the fagot in the hall, I think I see you sit and spin, Surrounded by your maidens all. Old tales are told, old songs are sung, Old days come back to memoiy ; Yoa say, " When I was fair and young, A poet sang of me !" There's not a maiden in your hall. Though tired and sleepy ever so, But wakes, as you my name recall, And longs the history to know. And, as the piteous tale is said, Of lady cold and lover true, Each, musing, carries it to bed, And sighs and envies you ! *' Our lady's old and feeble now," They'll say ; " she once was fresh and fair, And yet she spurn 'd her lover's vow, And heartless left him to despair : The lover lies in silent earth. No kindly mate the lady cheers : She sits beside a lonely hearth. With threescore and ten years !" Ah ! dreary thoughts and dreams are those, But wherefore yield me to despair, 68 BALLADS. While yet the poet's bosom glows, While yet the dame is peerless fair ? Sweet lady mine ! while yet 'tis time Requite my passion and my truth, And gather in their blushing prime The roses of your youth ! AT THE CHURCH GATE. Although I enter not, Yet round about the spot Ofttimes I hover : And near the sacred gate. With longing eyes I wait, Expectant of her. The Minster bell tolls out Above the city's rout, And noise and humming : They've hushed the Minster bell : The organ 'gins to swell : She's coming, she's coming ! My lady comes at last, Timid, and stepping fast. And hastening hither. With modest eyes downcast : She comes — she's here — she's past- May Heaven go with her ! Kneel, undisturb'd, fair Saint ! Pour out your praise or plaint Meekly and duly ; THE AGE OF WISDOM. 69 I will not enter there, To sully your pure prayer With thoughts unruly. But suffer me to pace Round the forbidden place, Lingering- a minute Like outcast spirits who wait And see through heaven's gate Angels within it. THE AGE OF WISDOM. Ho, pretty page, with the dimpled chin. That never has known the barber's shear, All your wish is woman to win, This is the way that boys begin, — Wait till you come to Forty Year. Curly gold locks cover foolish brains, _ Billing and cooing is all your cheer ; Sighing and singing of midnight strains, Under Bonnybell's window panes, — ^Vait till you come to Forty Year. Forty times over let Michaelmas pass, Grizzling hair the brain doth clear — Then you know a boy is an ass. Then you know the worth of a lass, Once you have come to Forty Year. Pledge me round, I bid ye declare, AH good fellows whose beards are gray 7o BALLADS. Did not the fairest of the fair Common grow and wearisome ere Ever a month was pass'd away ? The reddest lips that ever have kissed, The brightest eyes that ever have shone, May pray and whisper, and we not list, Or look away, and never be missed, Ere yet ever a month is gone. Gillian's dead, God rest her bier, How I loved her twenty years syne ! Marian's married, but I sit here Alone and merry at Forty Year, Dipping my nose in the Gascon wine. SORROWS OF WERTHER. Werther had a love for Charlotte Such as words could never utter ; Would you know how first he met her ? She was cutting bread and butter. Charlotte was a married lady. And a moral man Vv^as Werther, And, for all the wealth of Indies, Would do nothing for to hurt her. So he sighed and pined and ogled. And his passion boiled and bubbled, Till he blew his silly brains out, And no more was by it troubled. A DOB IN THE CITY. 71 Charlotte, having seen his body Borne before her on a shutter, Like a well-conducted person, Went on cutting bread and butter. A DOE IN THE CITY. Little Kitty Lorimer, Fair, and young, and witty, What has brought your ladys'hip Rambling to the City ? All the Stags in Capel Court Saw her lightly trip it ; All the lads of Stock Exchange Twigg'd her muff and tippet. With a sweet perplexity, And a mystery pretty. Threading through Threadneedle Street, Trots the little Kitty. What was my astonishment — What was my compunction, When she reached the Offices Of the Didland Junction ! Up the Didland stairs she went, To the Didland door, Sir ; Porters, lost in wonderment, Let her pass before. Sir. " Madam," says the old chief Clerk, " Sure we can't admit ye," 7 2 BALLADS, " Vvliere's the Didland Junction deed ?' Dauntlessly says Kitty. ' ' If you doubt my honesty, Look at my receipt. Sir." Up then jumps the old chief Clerk, Smihng as he meets her. Kitty at the table sits (Whither the old Clerk leads her), " / deliver this," she says, ' ' As my act and deed. Sir." When I heard these funny words Come from lips so pretty, This, I thought, should surely be Subject for a ditty. What ! are ladies stagging it ? Sure, the more's the pity ; But I've lost my heart to her, — Naughty little Kitty. " THE LAST OF MAY. UN REPLY TO AN INVITATION DATED ON THE 1ST.) By fate's benevolont award, Should I survive the day, I'll drink a bumper with my lord Upon the last of May. That I may reach that happy time The kindly gods I pray. THE MOOR. 73 For are not ducks and peas in prime Upon the last of May ? At thirty boards, 'twixt now and then, My knife and fork shall play ; But better wine and better men I shall not meet in May. And though, good friend, with whom I dine, Your honest head is gray, A.nd, like this grizzled head of mine. Has seen its last of May ; V^et, with a heart that's ever kind, A gentle "Spirit gay, You've spring perennial in your mind. And round you make a May ! "AH, BLEAK AND BARREN WAS THE MOOR." Ah ! bleak and barren was the moor. Ah ! loud and piercing was the storm, The cottage roof was sheltered sure. The cottage hearth was bright and warm — An orphan-boy the lattice pass'd, And, as he marked its cheerful glow. Felt doubly keen the midnight blast. And doubly cold the fallen snow. They marked him as he onward press'd. With fainting heart and weary limb ; Kind voices bade him turn and rest. And g-entle faces welcomed him. 74 BALLADS. The dawn is up — the guest is gone, The cottage hearth is blazing still : Heaven pity all poor wanderers lone ! Hark to the wind upon the hill ! SONG OF THE VIOLET. A HUMBLE flower long time I pined Upon the solitary plain, And trembled at the angry wind, And shrunk before the bitter rain. And oh ! 'twas in a blessed hour A passing wanderer chanced to see, And, pitying the lonely flower, To stoop and gather me. I fear no more the tempest rude, On dreary heath no more I pine, But left my cheerless solitude, To deck the breast of Caroline. Alas ! our days are brief at best, Nor long, I fear, will mine endure. Though sheltered here upon a breast So gentle and so pure. It draws the fragrance from my leaves It robs me of my sweetest breath, And every time it falls and heaves, It warns me of my coming death. But one I knov/ would glad forego All joys of life to be as I ; An hour to rest on that sweet breast, And then, contented, die. FAIRY DAYS. 75 FAIRY DAYS. Beside the old hall-fire— upon my nurse's knee, Of happy fairy days — what tales were told to me ! 1 thought the world was once — all peopled with princesses, And my heart would beat to hear — their loves and their distresses ; And many a quiet night, — in slumber sweet and deep, The pretty fairy people — would visit me in sleep. I saw them in my dreams — come flying east and west, With wondrous fairy gifts — the new-born babe they bless'd ; One has brought a jewel — and one a crown of gold, And one has brought a curse — but she is wrinkled and old. The gentle queen turns pale — to hear those words of sin. But the king he only laughs — and bids the dance begin. The babe has grown to be — the fairest of the land, And rides the forest green — a hawk upon her hand, An ambling palfrey white — a golden robe and crown : I've seen her in my dreams — riding up and down : And heard the ogre laugh — as she fell into hi^ snare, At the little tender creature — who wept and tore her hair ! 76 BALLADS. But ever when it seemed— her need was at the sorest, A prince in shining mail — comes prancing througb the forest, A waving ostrich-plume — a buckler burnished bright ; I've seen him in my dreams — good sooth ! a gallant knight. His lips are coral red — beneath a dark mustache ; See how he waves his hand— and how his blue eyes flash ! " Come forth, thou Paynim knight !" — he shouts in accents clear. The giant and the maid — both tremble his voice to hear. Saint ]\Iary guard him well ! — he drav/s his falchion keen, The giant and the knight — arc fighting on the green. I see them in my dreams — his blade gives stroke on stroke, The giant pants and reels — and tumbles like an oak ! With v/hat a blushing grace — he falls upon his knee And takes the lady's hand — and whispers, * ' You are free I" Ah I happy childish tales — of knight and faerie ! I waiter! from my dreams — but there's ne'er a knight for m.e ; I waken from my dreams — and wish that I could be A child by the old hall-fire — upon my nurse's knee ! POCAHONTAS, ^^ POCAHONTAS. Wearied arm and broken sword Wage in vain the desperate fight : Round him press a countless horde, He is but a single knight. Hark ! a cry of triumph shrill Through the wilderness resounds, As, with twenty bleeding wounds, Sinks the warrior, fighting still. Now they heap the fatal pyre, And the torch of death they light ; Ah ! 'tis hard to die of fire ! Who v/ill shield the captive knight ? Round the stake with fiendish cry Wheel and dance the savage crowd, Cold the victim's mien, and proud, And his breast is bared to die. Who will shield the fearless heart ? Who avert the murderous blade ? From the throng, with sudden start. See there springs an Indian maid. Quick she stands before the knight : " Loose the chain, unbind the ring ; I am daughter of the king, And I claim the Indian right !" Dauntlessly aside she flings Lifted axe and thirsty knife ; Fondly to his heart she clings, And her bosum guards his life ! In the woods of Powhattan, Still 'tis told by Indian fires. How a daughter of their sires Saved the captive Englishman. 78 BALLADS. FROM POCAHONTAS. Returning from the cruel fight How pale and faint appears my knight ! He sees me anxious at his side ; " Why seek, my love, your wounds to hide? Or deem your English girl afraid To emulate the Indian maid?" Be mine my husband's grief to cheer, In peril to be ever near ; Whate'er of ill or woe betide, To bear it clinging at his side ; The poisoned stroke of fate to ward, His bosom with my own to guard : Ah ! could it spare a pang to his. It could not know a purer bliss ! 'Twould gladden as it felt the smart. And thank the hand that flung the dart ! THE LEGEND OF ST. SOPHIA OF KIOFF. AN EPIC POEM, IN TWENTY BOOKS. [The poet describes the city and spelling of Kiow, Kioff- or Kiova.] A THOUSAND years ago, or more, A city filled with burghers stout, And girt with ramparts round about, Stood on the rocky Dnieper shore. THE GREAT COSSACK EPIC, 79 In armor bright, by day and night, The sentries they paced to and fro. Well guarded and walled was this town, and called By different names, I'd have you to know ; For if you looks in the g'ography books, In those dictionaries the name it varies, And they write it off Kieff or Kioff , Kiova or Kiow. II. LIt3 buildings, public works, iind ordinances, veiigious and civil. — 'I'he poet shows how a certain priest dwelt at Kioff, a godly clergyman, and one that preaclied rare good sermons.] Thus guarded without by wall and redoubt, Kiova within was a place of renow^n, With more advantages than in those dark ages Were commonly known to belong to a town. There were places and squares, and each yeaf four fairs. And regular aldermen and regular lord mayors ; And streets, and alleys, and a bishop's palace ; And a church with clocks for the orthodox — With clocks and with spires, as religion desires; And beadles to whip the bad little boys Over their poor little corduroys. In service-time when they didiit make a noise ; And a chapter and dean, and a cathedral -green With ancient trees, underneath whose shades Wandered nice young nursery-maids. Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-ding-a-ring-ding, The bells they made a merry merry ring, From the tall tall steeple ; and all the people (Except the Jews) cam^e and filled the pews — ■ Poles, Russians and Germans, To hear the sermons 8o BALLADS. Which Hyacinth preached to those German^' and Poles For the safety of their souls. III. [How this priest was short and fat of body ; ] A worthy priest he was and a stout — You've seldom looked on such a one ; For, though he fasted thrice in a week, Yet nevertheless his skin was sleek ; His waist it spanned two yards about. And he weighed a score of stone. IV. [And like unto the author of " Plymley's Letters." ] A worthy priest for fasting and prayer And mortification most deserving, And as for preaching beyond compare : He'd exert his powers for three or four hours With greater pith than Sydney Smith Or the Reverend Edward Irving, [Of what convent he was prior, and when the convent was built.] He was the prior of Saint Sophia (A Cockney rhyme, but no better I know) — Of St. Sophia, that Church in Kiow, Built by missionaries I can't tell when ; Who by their discussions converted the Russians And made them Christian men. THE GREAT COSSACK EPIC. [Of Saint Sophia of Kioff ; and how her statue miracu- lously travelled thither. ] vSainted Sophia (so the legend vows) With special favor did regard this house ; And to uphold her converts' new devotion Her statue (needing but her legs for //cvship) Walks of itself across the German Ocean ; And of a sudden perches In this the best of churches, Whither all Kiovites come and pay it grateful worship. VII. [And how Kioff should have been a happy city ; but that] Thus with her patron-saints and pious preachers Recorded here in catalogue precise, A goodly city, worthy magistrates, You would have thought in all the Russian states The citizens the happiest of all creatures, — The town itself a perfect Paradise. VIII. [Certain wicked Cossacks did besiege it, murdering the citizens, until they agreed to pay a tribute yearly.— How they paid the tribute, and then suddenly refused it, to the wonder of the Cossack envoy.— Of a mighty gallant speech that the lord-mayor made, exhorting the burghers to pay no longer.] No, alas ! this well-built city Was in a perpetual fidget ; For the Tartars, without pity Did remorselessly besiege it. Tartars fierce, with swords and sabres, Huns and Turks, and such as these. 82 BALLADS. Envied much their peaceful neighbors By the blue Borysthenes. Down they came, these ruthless Russians, From their steppes, and woods, and fens, For to levy contributions On the peaceful citizens. Winter, Summer, Spring, and Autumn, Down they came to peaceful Kioff, Killed the burghers when they caught 'em. If their lives they would not buy off. Till the city, quite confounded By the ravages they made, Humbly with their chi2f compounded. And a yearly tribute paid. Which (because their courage lax was) They discharged while they were able : Tolerated thus the tax was, Till it grew intolerable, And the Calmuc envoy sent, As before to take their dues all, Got, to his astonishment, A unanimous refusal ! *' Men of Kioff !" thus courageous Did the stout lord-mayor harangue them., '* Wherefore pay these sneaking wages To the hectoring Russians ? hang them ! ** Hark ! I hear the awful cry of Our forefathers in their graves ; *' ' Fight, ye citizens of Kioff ! Kioff wag not made for slaves.' THE GREAT COSSACK EPIC. ^3 " All too long have ye betrayed her ; Rouse, ye men and aldermen, Send the insolent invader — Send him starving back again." IX. [Of their thanks and heroic resolves.— They dismiss the envoy, and set about drilling.— Of the city guard : viz. militia, dragoons, and bombardiers, and their commanders. — Of the majors and captains, the fortifi- cations and artillery. — Of the conduct of the actors and the clergy .—Of the ladies ; and, finally, of the tay lors.] Me Spoke and he sat down ; the people of the town. Who were fired with a brave emulation, Now rose with one accord, and voted thanks unto the lord- Mayor for his oration : The envoy they dismissed, never placing in his fist So much as a single shilling ; And all with courage fired, as his lordship he desired, At once set about their drilling. Then every city ward established a guard, Diurnal and nocturnal : Militia volunteers, light dragoons, and bombar- diers. With an alderman for colonel. There was muster and roll-calls, and repairing city walls. And filling up of fosses ; 84 BALLADS. And the captains and the majors, so gallant and courageous, A-riding- about on their hosses. To be guarded at all hours they built themselves watch-towcis, "With every tower a man on ; And surely and secure, each from out his embra- sure, Looked down the iron cannon ! A battle-song was writ for the theatre, where it Was sung with vast en6rgy And rapturous applause ; and besides, the public cause Was supported by the clergy. The pretty ladies'-maids were pinning of cock- ades, And tying on of sashes ; And dropping gentle tears, while their lovers bluster'd fierce About gun-shot and gashes ; The ladies took the hint, and all day were scrap- ing lint. As became their softer genders ; And got bandages and beds for the limbs and for the heads Of the city's brave defenders. The men, both young and old, felt resolute and bold. And panted hot for glory ; Even the tailors 'gan to brag, and embroidered on their flag, "AUT WINCERE AUT MORI." THE GREAT COSSACK EPIC. 85 [Of the Crjssack chief— his stratagem ; and the burghers' sillie victorie. — What prisoners they took, and how conceited they were of the Cossark chief— his orders ; and how lie feigned a retreat, — The warder proclayms the Cossacks' retreat, and the citie greatly rejoyces.] Seeing the city's resolute condition, The Cossack chief, too cunning to despise it, Said to liimself, " Not having ammunition Wherewith to batter the place in proper form, Some of these nights I'll carrj' it by storm, And sudden escalade it or surprise it. " Let's see, however, if the cits stand firmish." He rode up to the city gates ; for answers, Out rushed an eager troop of the town elite. And straightway did begin a gallant skirmish : The Cossack hereupon did sound retreat. Leaving the victory with the city lancers. They took two prisoners and as many horses, And the whole town grew quickly so elate With this small victory of their virgin forces. That they did deem their privates and command ers So many Csesars, Pompeys, Alexanders, Napoleons, or Fredericks the Great. And puffing with inordinate conceit They utterly despised these Cossack thieves ; And thought the ruffians easier to beat Than porters carpets think, or ushers boys. Meanwhile, a sly spectator of their joys, The Cossack captain giggled in his sleeves. " Whene'er you meet yon stupid city hogs" (He bade his troops precise this order keep). 86 BALLADS. " Don't stand a moment — run away, you dogs !" *Twas done ; and when they met the town bat- talions, The Cossacks, as if frightened at their valiance, Turned tail, and bolted like so many sheep. They fled, obedient to their captain's order : And now this bloodless siege a month had lasted, When, viewing the country round, the city warder (Who, like a faithful weathercock, did perch Upon the steeple of St. Sophy's church). Sudden his trumpet took, and a mighty blast he blasted. His voice it might be heard through all the streets (He was a warder wondrous strong in lung), " Victory, victory ! the foe retreats !" " The foe retreats !" each cries to each he meets ; " The foe retreats !" each in his turn repeats. Gods ! how the guns did roar, and how the joy- bells rung ! Arming in haste his gallant city lancers. The ma)^or, to learn if true the news might be, A league or two out issued with his prancers. The Cossacks (something had given their cour- age a damper) Hastened their iiight, and 'gan like mad to scam- per ; Blessed be all the saints, Kiova town was free ! XI. [The manner of ihe citie's rejoycings, and its impiety. — How the priest, Hyacinth, waited at church, and nobody came thither.] Now, puffed with pride, the mayor grew vain. Fought all his battles o'er again ; THE GREAT COSSACK EPIC. 8/ And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew the slain. 'Tis true he mig-ht amuse himself thus, And not be very mu.rderous ; For as of those who to death were done The number was exactly nG}ie, His lordship, in his soul's elation. Did take a bloodless recreation — Going home again, he did ordain A very splendid cold collation For the magistrates and the corporation ; Likewise a grand illumination For the amusement of the nation. That night \\\t theatres were free. The conduits they ran Malvoisie ; Each house that night did beam with light And sound with mirth and jolHty : But shame, O shame ! not a soul in the town. Now the city was safe and the Cossacks tiown. Ever thought of the bountiful saint by whose care The town had been rid of these terrible Turks- Said even a prayer to that patroness fair For these her wondrous works ! Lord Hyacinth waited, the meekest of priors — He waited at church with the rest of his friars ; He went there at noon and he waited till ten, Expecting in vain the lord-mayor and his men. He waited and waited from mid-day to dark ; But in vain— you might search through the whole of the church, Not a layman, alas ! to the city's disgrace. From mid-day to dark showed his "nose in the place. ^ The pew-woman, organist, beadle, and clerk, Kept away from their work, and were dancing like mad 88 BALLADS. Away in the streets with the other mad people, Not thinking to pray, but to guzzle and tipple Wherever the drink might be had. XII. [How he went forth to bid them to prayer. — How th« grooms and lackeys jeered him. — And the mayor, mayoress, and aldermen, beinj tipsie, refused to go to church.] Amidst tliis din and revelry throughout the city roaring, The silver moon rose silently, and high in heaven soaring ; Prior Hyacinth was fervently upon his knees adoring : "Toward my precious patroness this conduct sure unfair is ; I cannot think, 1 luust confess, what keeps the dignitaries And our good mayor away, unless some business them contraries." He puts his long white mantle on, and forth the prior sallies — (His pious thoughts were bent upon good deeds and not on malice): Heavens ! how the banquet lights they shone about the mayor's palace ! About the hall the scullions ran with meats both fresh and potted ; The pages came with cup and can, all for the guests allotted ; Ah, how they jeered that good fat man as up th^ stairs he trotted ! He entered in the ante-rooms v/here sat the may- or's court in ; THE GREAT COSSACK EPIC. 89 He found a pack of drunken grooms a-dicing and a-sporting- ; The horrid wine and 'bacco fumes, they set the prior a-snorting ! The prior thought he'd speak about their sins before he went hence, And lustily began to shout of sin and of repent- ance ; The rogues, they kicked the prior out before he'd done a sentence ! And having got no portion small of buffeting and tussling, At last he reached the banquet-hall, where sat the mayor a-guzzling. And by his side his lady tall dressed out in white sprig muslin. Around the table in a ring the guests were drink- ing heavy ; They drunk the church, and drunk the king, and the army and the navy ; In fact they'd toasted everything. The prior said, " God save ye !" The mayor cried, " Bring a siker cup — there's one upon the buffet ; And, Prior, have the venison up — it's capita: rechatiffe. And so, vSir Priest, you've come to sup? And pray you, how's Saint Sophy?" The prior's face quite red was grown with horror and with anger ; Pie flung the proffered goblet down — it made a hideous clangor ; And 'gan a-preaching v*'ith a frown — he was a fierce haranfjuer. 90 BALLADS, He tried the mayor and aldermen — they all set up a-jeering : He tried the common-councilmen — they too be. gan a-sneering : lie turned toward the may'ress then, and hoped to get a hearing. He knelt and seized her dinner-dress, made of the muslin snowy, " To church, to church, my sweet mistress !" he cried ; " the way I'll show ye." Alas, the lady-mayoress fell back as drunk as Chloe ! XIII. [How the prior went back .^lonp, and shut himi/T int faisois moi tapis serie) You danced every one of the dances, And never once thought of poor me ! Alonpaiivre petit ca:ti7' I what a shiver I felt as she danced the last set ; And you gave, O mon Dicu ! to revive her My beautiful vinegarette ! Return, love ! away with coquetting ; This flirting disgraces a man ! And ah ! all the while you're forgetting The heart of your poor little Fan ! Reviens ! break away from those Circes, Reviens, for a nice little chat ; And Fve made you the sweetest of purses, And a lovely black satin cravat ! WHEN THE GLOOM IS ON THE GLEN. When the moonlight's on the mountain And the gloom is on the glen, At the cross beside the fountain There is one will meet thee then. At the cross beside the fountain. Yes, the cross beside the fountain. There is one will meet thee then ! 150 OLD FRIENDS WITH NEW FACES. I have braved, since first we met, love, Many a danger in my course ; But I never can forget, love, That dear fountain, that old cross, Where, her mantle shrouded o'er her — For the winds were chilly then — First I met my Leonora, When the gloom was on the glen. Many a clime I've ranged since then, love, Many a land I've wandered o'er ; But a valley like that glen, love, Half so dear I never sor ! Ne'er saw maiden fairer, coyer, Than wert thou, my true love, when In the gloaming first I saw yer. In the gloaming of the glen ! THE RED FLAG. Where the quivering lightning flings His arrows from out the clouds. And the howHng tempest sings And whistles among the shrouds, *Tis pleasant, 'tis pleasant to ride Along the foaming brine — Wilt be the Rover's bride ? Wilt follow him, lady mine? Hurrah ! For the bonny, bonny brine. Amidst the storm and rack. You shall see our galley pass, As a serpent, lithe and black. Glides through the waving grass. DEAR JACK. 151 As the vulture, swift and dark, Down on the ring-dove flies, You shall see the Rover's bark Swoop down upon his prize. Hurrah ! For the bonny, bonny prize. Over her sides we dash. We gallop across her deck — Ha ! there's a ghastly gash On the merchant-captain's neck — Well shot, well shot, old Ned ! Well struck, well struck, black James ! Our arras are red, and our foes are dead. And we leave a ship in flames ! Hurrah ! For the bonny, bonny flames ! DEAR JACK. Dear Jack, this white mug that with Guinness I fill. And drink to the health of sweet Nan of the Hill, Was once Tommy Tosspot's, as jovial a sot As e'er drew a spigot, or drained a full pot — In drinking all round 'twas his joy to surpass. And with all merry tipplers he swigg'd off his glass. One morning in summer, while seated so snug, In the porch of his garden, discussing his jug, Stern Death on a sudden, to Tom did appear. And said, "Honest Thomas, come take your last bier." We kneaded his clay in the shape of this can, From which let us drink to the health of my Nan. 152 OLD FRIENDS WITH NEW FACES. COMMANDERS OF THE FAITHFUL. The Pope he is a happy man, His Palace is the Vatican, And there he sits and drains his can : The Pope he is a happy man. I often say when I'm at home, I'd lilce to be the Pope of Rome. And then there's Sultan Saladin, That Turkish Soldan full of sin ; He has a hundred wives at least, By which his pleasure is increased : I've often wished, I hope no sin, That I were Sultan Saladin. r>ut no, the Pope no wife may choose. And so I would not wear his shoes ; No wine may drink the proud Paynim, And so I'd rather not be him : My wife, my wine, I love, I hope, And would be neither Turk, nor Pope. WHEN MOONLIKE ORE THE HAZURE SEAS. When moonlike ore the hazure seas In soft effulgence swells. When silver jews and balmy breaze Bend down the Lily's bells ; When calm and deap, the rosy sleap Has lapt your soal in dreems, R Plangeline ! R lady mine ! Dost thou remember Jeames ? KING CANUTE. 1 53 I mark thee in the Marble All, Where England's loveliest shine — I say the fairest of them hall Is Lady Hangeline. My soul, in desolate eclipse, With recollection teems — And then I hask, with weeping lips, Dost thou remember Jeames ? A-way ! I may not tell thee hall This soughring heart endures — There is a lonely sperrit-call That Sorrow never cures ; There is a little, little Star, That still above me beams ; It is the Star of Hope —but ar ! Dost thou remember Jeames ? KING CANUTE, King Canute was weary-hearted ; he had reigned for years a score, Battling, struggling, pushing, fighting, killing much and robbing more ; And he thought upon his actions, walking by the wild sea-shore. 'Twixt the Chancellor and Bishop walked the King with steps sedate, Chamberlains and grooms came after, silversticks and goldsticks great, Chaplains, aides-de-camp, and pages, — all the officers of state. 154 OLD FRIENDS V/ITFI NEW FACES. Sliding after like his shadow, pausing when he chose to pause, If a frown his face contracted, straight the court- iers dropped their jaws ; If to laugh the King was minded, out they burst in loud hee-baws. But that day a something vexed him, that was clear to old and young : Thrice his Grace had yawned at table, when his favorite gleemen sung, Once the Queen would have consoled him, but he bade her hold her tongue. *' Something ails my gracious master," cried the Keeper of the Seal. " Sure, my lord, it is the lampreys served to din- ner, or the veal ?" " Psha !" exclaimed the angry monarch. " Keep- er, 'tis not that I feel. " 'Tis the heart, and not the dinner, fool, that doth my rest impair : Can a king be great as I am, prithee, and yet know no care ? Oh, I'm sick, and tired, and weary." — Some one cried, " The King's arm-chair !" Then towards the lackeys turning, quick my Lord the Keeper nodded. Straight the King's great chair was brought him by two footmen able-bodied ; Languidly he sank into it : it was comfortably wadded. " Leading on my fierce companions," cried he, over storm and brine. V KING CANUTE. 155 I have fought and I have conquered ! Where was glory hke to mine ?" Loudly all the courtiers echoed: "Where is glory like to thine ?" "What avail me all my kingdoms? Weary am I now and old ; Those fair sons I have begotten long to see me dead and cold ; Would I were, and quiet buried underneath the silent mould ! " Oh, remor^ the writhing serpent ! at my bo- som tears and bites ; Horrid, horrid things I look on, though I put out all the lights ; Ghosts of ghastly recollections troop about my bed at nights. " Cities burning, convents blazing, red with sac- rilegious fires ; Mothers weeping, virgins screaming vainly for their slaughtered sires." — " Such a tender conscience," cries the Bishop, "every one admires. "But for such unpleasant bygones cease, my gracious lord, to search, They're forgotten and forgiven by our Holy Mother Church ; Never, never does she leave her benefactors in the lurch. " Look ! the land is crowned with minsters, which your Grace's bounty raised ; Abbeys filled with holy men, where you and Heaven are daily praised ; 156 OLD FRIENDS WITH NEW FACES. Voif, my lord, to think of dying ? on my con- science I'm amazed !" " Nay, I feel," replied King Canute, "that my end is drawing near." " Don't say so," exclaimed the courtiers (striving each to squeeze a tear). ' ' Sure your Grace is strong and lusty, and may live this fifty year." "Live these fifty years?" the Bishop roared, with actions made to suit. " Are you mad my good Lord Keeper, thus to speak of King Canute ? Men have lived a thousand years, and sure his Majesty will do't. " Adam, Enoch, Lamech, Cainan, Mahaleel, Methusela, Lived nine hundred years apiece, and mayn't the King as well as they ?" " Fervently," exclaimed the Keeper, "Fervent- ly I trust he may." " iTt' to die?" resumed the Bishop. "lie a mortal like to t(s ? Death was not for him intended, though commu- nis omnibus : Keeper, you are irreligious for to talk and cavil thus. " With his wondrous skill in healing ne'er a doc- can compete. Loathsome lepers, if he touch them, start up clean upon their feet ; Surely he could raise the dead up, did his High- ness think it meet. KING CANUTE. 157 *' Did not once the Jewish captain stay the sun upon the hill, And, the while he slew the foemen, bid the silver moon stand still ? So, no doubt, could gracious Canute, if it were his sacred will." " Might I stay the sun above us, good Sir Bish- op ?" Canute cried ; ' ' Could I bid the silver moon to pause upon her heavenly ride ? If the moon obeys my orders, sure I can com- mand the tide, " Will the advancing waves obey me, Bishop, if I make the sign?" Said the Bishop, bowing lowly, " Land and sea, my lord, are thine." Canute turned towards the ocean — " Back !" he said, " thou foaming brine. " From the sacred shore I stand on, I command thee to retreat ; Venture not, thou stormy rebel, to approach thy master's seat : Ocean, be thou still ! I bid thee come not nearer to my feet !" But the sullen ocean answered with a louder, deeper roar, And the rapid waves drew nearer, falling sound- ing on the shore ; Back the Keeper and the Bishop, back the King and courtiers bore. And he sternly bade them never more to kneel to human clay, 158 OLD FRIENDS WITH NEW FACES. But alone to praise and worship That which earth and seas obey : And his golden crown of empire never wore he from that day. King Canute is dead and gone : Parasites exist alway. FRIAR'S SONG. Some love the matin-chimes, which tell The hour of prayer to sinner : But better far's the mid-day bell, Which speaks the hour of dinner ; For when I see a smoking fish, Or capon drown'd in gravy, Or noble haunch on silver dish, Full glad I sing my ave. My pulpit is an alehouse bench, Whereon I sit so jolly ; A smiling rosy country wench My saint and patron holy. I kiss her cheek so red and sleek, I press her ringlets wavy, And in her willing ear I speak A most religious ave. And if I'm blind, yet Heaven is kind, And holy saints forgiving ; For sure he leads a right good life Who thus admires good living. Above, they say, our flesh is air, Our blood celestial ichor : Oh, grant ! 'mid all the changes there, They may not change our liquor ! REQUIESCAT. 159 ATRA CURA. Before I lost my five poor wits, I mind me of a Romish clerk, Who sang how Care, the phantom dark. Beside the belted horseman sits. Methought I saw the grisly sprite Jump up but now behind my Knight. And though he gallop as he may, I mark that cursed monster black Still sits behind his honor's back. Tight squeezing of his heart alway. Like two black Templars sit they there, Beside one crupper, Knight and Care. No knight am I with pennoned spear, To prance upon a bold destrere : I will not have black Care prevail Upon my lon^-eared charger's tail ; For lo, I am a witless fool. And laugh at Grief and ride a mule. REQUIESCAT. Under the stone you behold, Buried, and coffined, and cold, Lieth Sir Wilfrid the Bold. Always he marched in advance. Warring in Flanders and France, Doughtly with sword and with lance. l6o OLD FRIENDS WITH NEW FACES. Famous in Saracen fight, Rode in his youth the good knight, Scattering Paynims in flight. Brian, the Templar untrue, Fairly in tourney he slew. Saw Hierusalem too. Now he is buried and gone, Lying beneath the gray stone : Where shall you find such a one ? Long time his widow deplored, Weeping the fate of her lord. Sadly cut off by the sword. When she was eased of her pain. Came the good Lord Athelstane, When her ladyship married again THE WILLOW-TREE. Know ye the willow-tree Whose gray leaves quiver, Whispering gloomily To yon pale river ? Lady, at even-tide Wander not near it : They say its branches hide A sad, lost spirit ! Once to the willow-tree A maid came fearful ; Pale seemed her cheek to be^ Her blue eye tearful. THE WILLOW-TREE, l6l Soon as she saw the tree, Her step moved fleeter ; No one was there — ah me ! No one to meet her ! Quick beat her heart to hear The far bells' chime Toll from the chapel-tower The trysting time : But the red sun went down In golden flame, And though she looked round, Yet no one came ! Presently came the night. Sadly to greet her, — Moon in her silver light. Stars in their glitter ; Then sank the moon away Under the billow. Still wept the maid alone — There by the willow ! Through the long darkness. By the stream rolling. Hour after hour went on Tolling and tolling. Long was the darkness. Lonely and stilly ; Shrill came the night-wind, Piercing and chilly. Shrill blew the morning breeze, Biting and cold, Bleak peers the gray dawn Over the wold. 1 62 OLD FRIENDS WITH NEW FACES. Bleak over moor and stream Looks the gray dawn, Gray, with dishevelled hair, Still stands the willow there — The maid is gone ! D online. Do mine ! Sing we a litany, — Si}2g for the poor ?naiden-Jiearts broken and weary Doniine, Do/nine ! Sing we a litany. Wail we and weep we a wild Miserere ! THE WILLOW-TREE. (another version.) I. Long by the willow-tree Vainly they sought her, Wild rang- the mother's screams O'er the gray water : " Where is my lovely one ? Where is my daughter ? " Rouse thee, sir constable — Rouse thee and look ; Fisherman, bring your net, Boatman your hook. Beat in the lily-beds. Dive in the brook !" THE WILLOW-TREE. 1 63 III. Vainly the constable Shouted and called her ; Vainly the fisherman Beat the green alder, Vainly he Rung the net. Never it hauled her ! IV. Mother beside the fire Sat, her nightcap in ; Father, in easy chair. Gloomily napping. When at the window-sill Came a light tapping ! V. And a pale countenance Looked through the casement. Loud beat the mother's heart Sick with amazement, And at the vision which Came to surprise her, Shrieked in an agony — "Lor! it'§ Elizar !" VI. Yes, 'twas Elizabeth — Yes, 'twas their girl ; Pale was her cheek, and her Hair out of curl. " Mother !" the loving one, Blushing, exclaimed, *' Let not your innocent Lizzy be blamed. 164 OLD FRIENDS WITH NEW FACES. VII. " Yesterday, going to aunt Jones's to tea, Mother, dear mother, I>' Forgot the door-key ! And as the night was cold, And the way steep, Mrs. Jones kept me to Breakfast and sleep." VIII. Whether her Pa and Ma Fully believed her. That we shall never know. Stern they received her ; And for the work of that Cruel, though short, night, Sent her to bed without Tea for a fortnight. IX. Moral. Hey diddle diddlety. Cat and the Fiddlety, Maidens of England, take caution hy she! Let love and suicide Never tempt you aside. And always retnember to take the door-key. LYRA HIBERNICA. THE POEMS OF THE MOLONY OF K I LB ALL YMOLONY, THE PIMLICO PAVILION. Ye pathrons of janius, Minerva and Vanius, Who sit on Parnassus, that mountain of snow, Descind from your station and make observation Of the Prince's pavilion in sweet Pimlico. This garden, by jakurs, is forty poor acres, (The garner he tould me, and sure ought to know ;) And yet greatly bigger, in size and in figure. Than the Phanix itself, seems the Park Pimlico. O 'tis there that the spoort is, when the Queen and the Coort is Walking magnanimous all of a row. Forgetful what state is among the pataties And the pineapple gardens of sweet Pimlico. There in blossoms odorous the birds sing a chorus Of " God save the Queen" as they hop to and fro ; l66 LYRA HJBERNICA. And you sit on the binches and hark to the finches. Singing melodious in sweet PimUco. There shuiting their phanthasies, they pluck poly- anthuses That round in the gardens resplindently grow, Wid roses and jessimins, and other sweet speci- mins, Would charm bould Linnayus in sweet Pimlico. You see when you inther, and stand in the cin- ther, Where the roses, and necturns, and collyflow- ers blow, A hill so tremindous, it tops the top-windows Of the elegant houses of famed Pimlico. And when you've ascinded that precipice splindid You see on its summit a wondtherful show — A lovely Swish building, all painting and gilding, The famous Pavilion of sweet Pimlico. Prince Albert, of Flandthers, that Prince of Com- mandthers, (On whom my best blessings hereby I bestow,) With goold and vermilion has decked that Pavil- ion, Where the Queen may take tay in her sweet Pimlico. There's lines from John Milton the chamber all gilt on, And pictures beneath them that's shaped like a bow ; I was greatly astounded to think that that Round- head Should find an admission to famed Pimlico. THE PIMLTCO PAVILION. 167 lovely's each fresco, and most picturesque O ; And while round the chamber astonished I go, 1 think Dan Maclise's it baits all the pieces Surrounding the cottage of famed Pimlico. Eastlake has the chimney, (a good one to limn he,) And a vargin he paints with a sarpent below ; V.'hile bulls, pigs, and panthers, and other en- chanthers. Are painted by Landseer in sweet Pimlico. And nature smiles opposite. Stanfield he copies it ; O'er Claude or Poussang sure 'tis he that may crow : But Sir Ross's best faiture is small miniature — He shouldn't paint fresqoes in famed Pimlico. There's Leslie and Uwins has rather small doings ; There's Dyce, as brave masther as England can show ; And the flowers and the sthrawberries, sure he no dauber is. That painted the panels of famed Pimlico. In the pictures from Walther Scott, never a fault there's got. Sure the marble's as natural as thrue Scaglio ; And the Chamber Pompayen is sweet to take tay in, And ait butther'd muffins in sweet Pimlico. There's landscapes by Gruner, both solar and lunar, Them two little Doyles, too, deserve a bravo ; Wid de piece by young Townsend, (for janius abounds in't ;) And that's why he's shuited to paint Pimlico. l68 LYRA HIBERNICA. That picture of Severn's is worthy of revcr'nce But some I won't mintion is rather so so ; For sweet philosophy, or crumpets and coffee, O Where's a Pavilion like sweet Pimlico ? O to praise this Pavilion would puzzle Quintilian, Daymosthenes, Brougham, or young Cicero ; So, heavenly Goddess, d'ye pardon my modesty. And silence, my lyre ! about sweet Pimlico. THE CRYSTAL PALACE. With janial foire Transfuse me loyre. Ye sacred nymphs of Pindus, The whoile I sing That wondthrous thing. The Palace made o' windows ! Say, Paxton, truth. Thou wondthrous youth, What sthroke of art celistial, What power was lint You to invint This combineetion cristial. O would before That Thomas Moore, Likewoise the late Lord Boyron, Thim aigles sthrong Of godlike song, Cast oi on that cast oiron ! And saw thim walls. And glittering halls, Thim rising slendther columns THE CRYSTAL PALACE, 1 69 Which I, poor pote, Could not denote, No, not in twinty vollums. My Muse's words Is like the bird's That roosts beneath the panes there ; Her wings she spoils 'Gainst them bright toiles, And cracks her silly brains there. This Palace tall, This Cristial Hall, Which Imperors might covet, Stands in High Park Like Noah's Ark, A rainbow bint above it. The towers and fanes. In other scaynes. The fame of this will undo, Saint Paul's big doom, Saint Payther's Room, And Dublin's proud Rotundo. 'Tis here that roams, As well becomes Her dignitee and stations, Victoria Great, And houlds in state The Congress of the Nations. Her subjects pours From distant shores. Her Injians and Canajians ; And also we. Her kingdoms three, Attind with our allagiancc. lyo LYRA IIIBERNICA. Here come likewise Her bould allies, Both Asian and Europian ; From East and West They send their best To fill her Coornucopean. I seen (thank Grace !) This wondthrous place (His Noble Honor xMisther H. Cole it was That gave the pass, And let me see what is there). With conscious proide I stud insoide And look'd the W^orld's Great Fair in, Until me sight \Vas dazzled quite. And couldn't see for staring. There's holy saints And window paints. By Maydiayval Pugin : Alhamborough Jones Did paint the tones Of yellow and gambouge in. There's fountains there And crosses fair ; There's water-gods with urrns : There's organs three, To play d'ye see ? ** God save the Queen," by turrns. There's statues bright Of marble white. Of silver, and of copper ; THE CRYSTAL PALACE. 171 And some in zinc, And some, I think, That isn't over proper. There's staym ingynes, That stands in lines. Enormous and amazing. That squeal and snort Like whales in sport, Or elephants a-grazing. There's carts and gigs. And pins for pigs, There s dibblers and there's harrows. And ploughs like toys For little boys. And ilegant wheelbarrows. For thim genteels Who ride on wheels, There's plenty to indulge 'em : There's droskys snug From Paytersbug, And vayhycles from Bulgium. There's cabs on stands And shandthry danns ; There's waggons from New York here ; There's Lapland sleighs Have cross'd the seas, And jaunting cyars from Cork here. Amazed I pass From glass to glass, Deloighted I survey 'em ; Fresh wondthers grows Before me nose In this sublime Musayum ! 172 LYRA HIBERNICA, Look, here's a fan From far Japan, A sabre from Damasco : There's shawls je get PVom far Thibet, And cotton prints from Glasgowo There's German flutes, Marocky boots, And Naples macaronies ; Bohaymia Has sent Bohay ; Polonia her polonies. There's granite flints That's quite imminse. There's sacks of coals and fuels. There's swords and guns, And soap in tuns. And gingerbread and jewels. There's taypots there. And cannons rare ; There's cofiins fill'd with roses ; There's canvas tints. Teeth insthrumints, And shuits of clothes by Moses, There's lashins more Of things in store. But thim I don't remimber ; Nor could disclose Did I compose From May time to Novimber ! Ah, Judy thru ! With eyes so blue. That you were here to view it ! MOLONY'S LAMENT. 1 73 And could I screw But tu pound tu, *Tis I would thrait you to it ! So let us raise Victoria's praise, And Albert's proud condition, That takes his ayse As he surveys This Cristial Exhibition. MOLONY'S LAMENT. Tim, did you hear of thim Saxons, And read what the peepers report ? They're goan to recal the Liftinant, And shut up the Castle and Coort ! Our desolate counthry of Oireland They're bint, the blagyards, to desthroy, And now having murdthered our counthry, They're goin to kill the Viceroy, Dear boy ; 'Twas he was our proide and our joy i And will we no longer behould him, Surrounding his carriage in throngs. As he waves his cocked-hat from the windies, And smiles to his bould aid-de-congs ? 1 liked for to see the young haroes. All shoining with sthripes and with stars, A horsing about in the Phaynix, And winking the girls in the cyars, Like Mars, A smokin' their poipes and cigyars. 174 LYRA HI BERN I C A. Dear Mitchell exoiled to Bermudies, Your beautiful oilids you'll ope, And there'll be an abondance of croyin' From O'Brine at the Keep of Good Hope, When they read of this news in the peepers, Acrass the Atlantical wave, That the last of the Oirish Liftinints Of the oisland of Seents has tuck lave. God save The Queen — she should betther behave. And what's to become of poor Dame Sthreet, And who'll ait the puffs and the tarts, Whin the Coort of imparial splindor From Doblin's sad city departs ? And who'll have the fiddlers and pipers. When the deuce of a Coort there remains ? And where'U be the bucks and the ladies. To hire the Coort-shuits and the thrains ? In sthrains. It's thus that ould Erin complains 1 There's Counsellor Flanag-an's leedy, 'Twas she in the Coort didn't fail, And she wanted a plinty of popplin, For her dthress, and her flounce, and her tail ; She bought it of Misthress O' Grady, Eight shillings a yard tabinet, But now that the Coort is concluded, The divvle a yard will she get ; I bet, Bedad, that she wears the ould set There's Surgeon O'Toole and Miss Leary, They'd daylings at Madam O'Riggs' ; Each year at the dthrawing-room sayson, They mounted the neatest of v\ igs. MOLONY'S LAMENT. 175 When Spring, with its buds and its daisies, Comes out in her beauty and bloom, Thim tu'll never think of new jasies, Because there is is no dthrawing-room, For whom They'd choose the expense to ashume. There's Alderman Toad and his lady, 'Twas they gave the Clart and the Poort, And the poineapples, turbots, and lobsters. To feast the Lord Liftinint's Coort. But now that the quality's goin, I warnt that the aiting will stop, And you'll get at the Alderman's teeble The devil a bite or a dthrop, Or chop ; And the butcher may shut up his shop. Yes, the grooms and the ushers are goin, And his Lordship, the dear honest man, And the Duchess, his eemiable leedy, And Corry, the bould Connellan, And little Lord Hyde and the childthren, And the Chewter and Governess tu ; And the servants are packing their boxes, — Oh, murther, but what shall I due Without you ? O Meery, with ois of the blue ! 176 LYRA HI BERN IC A. MR. MOLONY'S ACCOUNT OF THE BALL GIVEN TO THE NEPAULKSE AMBASSADOR BY THE PENIN- SULAR AND ORIENTAL COMPANY. O WILL ye choose to hear the news, Beclad I cannot pass it o'er ; I'll tell you all about the Ball To the Naypaulase Ambassador. Begor ! this fete all balls does bate At which I've worn a pump, and I Must here relate the splendthor great Of th' Oriental Company. These men of sinsc dispoised expinse, To fete these black Achilleses. " We'll show the blacks," says they, "Almack's," "And take the rooms at Willis's." With flags and shawls, for these Nepauls, They hung the rooms of Willis up. And decked the walls, and stairs, and halls. With roses aTid with lilies up. And Jullien's band it tuck its stand So sweetly in the middle there, And soft bassoons played heavenly chunes. And violins did fiddle there. And when the Coort was tired of spoort, I'd lave you, boys, to think there was A nate buffet before them set, Where lashins of good dhrink there was. At ten before the ball-room door, His moighty Excellency was, He smoiled and bowed to all the crowd. So gorgeous and immense he was. ACCOUNT OF THE BALL. 1 77 His dusky shuit, sublime and mute, Into the door-way follovved him ; And O the noise of the blackguard boys, As they hurrood and hollowed him ! The noble Chair * stud at the stair, And bade the dthrums to thump ; and he Did thus evince, to that Black Prince, The welcome of his Company. O fair the girls, and rich the curls, And bright the oys you saw there, was ; And fixed each oye, ye there could spoi, On Gineral Jung Bahawther, was ! This Gineral great then tuck his sate, With all the other ginerals, (Bedad his troat, his belt, his coat. All bleezed with precious minerals ;) And as he there, with princely air Recloinin on his cushion was, All round about his royal chair The squeezin and the pushin was. O Pat, such girls, such Jukes, and Earls, Such fashion and nobilitee ! Just think of Tim, and fancy him Amidst the hoigh gentilitee ! There was Lord De L'Huys, and the Portygeese Ministher and his lady there. And I reckonised, with much surprise, Our messmate, Bob O'Grady, there ; * James Matheson, Esq., to whom, and the Board of Directors of the Peninsular and Oriental Company, I, Timotheus Molony, late stoker on board the " Iberia," the '' Lady Mary Wood," the " Tagus," and the Oriental steim^hips, humbly dedicate this production of my grate- ful muse. 178 LVJ?A HIBERNICA. There was Bareness Brunow, that looked likejuno, And Baroness Rehausen there, And Countess Roullier, that looked peculiar Well, in her robe^. of gauze in there. There was Lord Crowhurst (I knew him first, When only Mr. Tips he was). And Mick O'Toole, the great big fool, That after supper tipsy was. There was Lord Fingall, and his ladies all, And Lords Killeen and Dufferin, And Paddy Fife, with his fat wife ; 1 wondther how he could stuff her in. There was Lord Belfast, that by me past, And seemed to ask how should / go there ? And the Widow Macrae, and Lord A. Hay, And the Marchioness of Sligo there. Yes. Jukes, and Earls, and diamonds, and pearls. And pretty girls, was spoorting there ; And some beside (the rogues !) I spied. Behind the windies, coorting there. Oh, there's one I know, bedad, would show As beautiful as any there, And I'd like to hear the pipers blow. And shake a fut with Fanny there ! THE BATTLE OF LIMERICK. Ye Genii of the nation, Who look with veneration. And Ireland's desolation onsaysingly deplore Ye sons of General Jackson, Who thrample on the Saxon, Attend to the thransaction upon Shannon shore. THE BATTLE OF LIMERICK. 179 When William, Duke of Schumbug, A tyrant and a humbug, With cannon and with thunder on our city bore, Our fortitude and valhance Insthructed his battalions To rispict the galliant Irish upon Shannon shore. Since that capitulation. No city in this nation So grand a reputation could boast before. As Limerick prodigious. That stands with quays and bridges And the ships up to the windies of the Shannon shore. A chief of ancient line, 'Tis William Smith O'Brine Reprisints this darling Limerick, this ten years or more : O the Saxons can't endure To see him on the flure. And thrimble at the Cicero from Shannon shore ! This valliant son of Mars Had been to visit Par's, . ^ That land of Revolution, that grows the tricolor , And to welcome his returrn From pilgrimages furreri We invited him to tay on the Shannon shore. Then we summoned to our board Young Meagher of the sword ; 'Tis he will sheathe that battle-axe in Saxon gore , And Mitchil of Belfast We bade to our repast, To dthrink a dish of coffee on the Shannon shore. l8o LmA HIBERNICA. Conveniently to hould These patriots so bould, We tuck the opportunity of Tim Doolan's store : And with ornamints and banners (As becomes gintale good manners) We made the loveliest tay-room upon Shannon shore. 'Twould binifit your sowls To see the buttherd rowls, The sugar-tongs and sangwidges and craim gal- yore. And the muffins and the crumpets, And the band of harps and thrumpets, To celebrate the sworry upon Shannon shore. Sure the Tmperor of Eohay Would be proud to dthrink the tay That Misthress Biddy Rooney for O'Brine did pour ; And since the days of Strongbow, There never was such Congo — Mitchil dthrank six quarts of it — by Shannon shore. But Clarndon and Corry Connellan beheld this sworry With rage and imulation in their black hearts' core ; And they hired a gang of ruffins To interrupt the muffins And the fragrance of the Congo on the Shannon shore. When full of tay and cake, O'Brine began to spake ; But juice a one could hear him, for a sudden roar Of a ragamuffin rout Began to yell and shout, And frighten the propriety of Shannon shore. THE BATTLE OF LIMERICK. l8l As Smith O'Brine harangued. They batthered and they banged : _ Tim Doolan's doors and u'indies down they tore , They smashed the lovely wmdies (Hunosh ; And if you've no neetive Professor to taych me, I scawurn to be learned by the Saxon M'Cosh. There's Wiseman and Ciiume, and His Grace the Lord Primate, That sinds round the box, and the world will subscribe : *Tis they'll build a College that's fit for our cli- mate. And taych me the saycrets I burn to imboibe ! 'Tis there as a Student of Science I'll enther. Fair Fountain of Knowledge, of Joy, and Contint ! Saint Pathrick's sweet Statue shall stand in the centher, And wink his dear oi every day daring Lint. And good Doctor Newman, that praycher unwary, 'Tis he shall preside the Academee School, And quit the gay robe of St. Philip of Neri, To wield the soft rpd of Sr. Lawrence O'TOOLE ! THE BALLADS OF POLICEMAN X, THE WOFLE NEW BALLAD OF JANE RONEY AND MARY BROWN." An igstrawnary tail I vill tell you this veek — I stood in the Court of A'Beckett the Beak, Vcre Mrs. Jane Roney, a vidow, I see, Who charged Mary Brown with a robbin of she. This Mary was pore and in misery once. And she came to Mrs. Roney it's more than twelve monce. She adn't got no bed, nor no dinner nor no tea, And kind Mrs. Roney gave Mary all three. Mrs. Roney kep Mary for ever so many veeks, (Her conduct disgusted the best of all Beax,) She kep her for nothink, as kind as could be, Never thinkin that this Mary was a traitor to she. "Mrs. Roney, O Mrs. Roney, I feel very ill ; Will you just step to the Doctor's for to fetch me a pill?" "That I will, my pore Mary," Mrs. Roney says she ; And she goes off to the Doctor's as quickly as may be. JANE RONEY AND MARY BROWN. 1 87 No sooner on this message Mrs. Roney was sped, Than hup gits vicked Mary, and jumps out a bed; She hopens all the trunks without never a key — She bustes all the boxes, and vith them makes free. Mrs. Roney's best linning, gownds, petticoats, and close, Her children's little coats and things, her boots, and her hose. She packed them, and she stole 'em, and avay vith them did flee. Mrs. Roney's situation — you may think vat it vould be ! Of Mary, ungrateful, who had served her this vay, Mrs. Roney heard nothink for a long year and a day. Till last Thursday, in Lambeth, ven whom should she see But this Mary, as had acted so ungrateful to she? She was leaning on the helbo of a worthy young man. They were going to be married, and were walkin hand in hand ; And the Church bells was a ringing for Mary and he. And the parson was ready, and a waitin for his fee. When up comes Mrs. Roney, and faces Mary Brown, Who trembles, and castes her eyes upon the ground. 1 88 BALLADS OF POLICEMAN X. She calls a jolly pleaseman, it happens to be me : I charge this young woman, Mr. Pleaseman, says she. " Mrs. Roney, o, Mrs. Roney, o, do let me go. I acted most ungrateful I own, and I know, But the marriage bell is a ringin, and the ring you may see, And this young man is a waitin," says Mary says she. " I don't care three fardens for the parson and dark. And the bell may keep ringin from noonday to dark. Mary Brown, Mary Brown, you must come along with me ; And I think this young man is lucky to be free." So, in spite of the tears which bejew'd Mary's cheek, I took that young gurl to A'Beckett the Beak , That exlent Justice demanded her plea — But never a sullable said Mary said she. On account of her conduck so base and so vile, That wicked young gurl is committed for trilc, And if she's transpav/ted beyond the salt sea. It's a proper reward for such willians as she. Now you young gurls of Southwark for Mary who veep. From pickin and stealin your ands you must keep. Or it may be my dooty, as it was Thursday vcck, To pull you all hup to A'Beckett the Beak. THE THREE CHRISTMAS WAITS. 1 89 THE THREE CHRISTMAS WAITS. My name is Pleaceman X ; Last night I was in bed, A dream did me perplex, Which came into my Edd. I dreamed I sor three Waits A playing of their tune, At Pimlico Palace gates, All underneath the moon. One puffed a hold French horn, And one a hold Banjo, And one chap seedy and torn A Hirish pipe did blow. They sadly piped and played, Dexcribing of their fates ; And this was what they said. Those three pore Christmas waits :- " When this black year began, This Eighteen-forty-eight, I was a great great man. And king both vise and great. And Munseer Guizot by me did show As Minister of State. *' But Febuwerry came, And brought a rabble rout. And me and my good dame And children did turn out, And us, in spite of all our right, Sent to the right about. " I left my native ground, I left my kin and kith, I left my royal crownd, Vich I couldn't travel vith, IQO BALLADS OF POLICEMAN X. And without a pound came to English ground In the name of Mr. Smith. " Like any anchorite I've lived since I came here, I've kep myself quite quite, I've drank the small small beer. And the vater, you see, disagrees vith me And all my famly dear. " O Tweeleries so dear, O darling Pally Royl, Vas it to finish here That I did trouble and toyl ? That all my plans should break in my ands. And should on me recoil ? *' My state I fenced about Vith baynicks and vith guns ; My gals I portioned hout, Rich vives I got my sons ; varn't it crule to lose my rule. My money and lands at once ? " And so, vid arp and woice. Both troubled and shagreened, 1 bid you to rejoice, glorious England's Queend ! And never have to veep, like pore Louis-Phileep Because you out are cleaned. *' O Prins, so brave and stout, 1 stand before your gate ; Pray send a trifle hout To me, your pore old Vait ; For nothink could be vuss than it's been along vith us In this year Forty-eight." THE THREE CHRISTMAS WAITS. 191 " Ven this bad year began," The next man said, saysee, " I vas a Journeyman, A tayloi- black and free. And my wife went out and chaired about, And my name's the bold Cuffee. *' The Queen and Halbert both I swore I would confound, I took a hawfle hoath To drag them to the ground ; And sevral more v/ith me they swore Aginst the British Crownd. " Aginst her Pleaceman all We said we'd try our strenth ; Her scarlick soldiers tall We vow'd we'd lay full lenth : And out we came, in Freedom's name, Last Ayprii was the tenth. " Three 'undred thousand snobs Came out to stop the vay, Vith sticks vith iron knobs, Or else we'd gained the day.^ The harmy quite kept out of sight. And so ve vent avay. " Next day the Pleacemen came — Rewenge it was their plann — And from my good old dame They took her tailor-mann : And the hard hard beak did me bespeak To Newgit in the Wann. " In that etrocious Cort The Jewry did agree ; 192 BALLADS OF POLICEMAN X. The Judge did me transport, To go beyond the sea : And so for life, from his dear w ife They took poor old Cuffee. " O Halbert, Appy Prince ? With children round your knees, Ingraving ansuni Prints, And taking hoff your hease ; O think of me, the old Cuffee, Beyond the solt solt seas ! " Although I'm hold and black, My hanguish is most great ; Great Prince, O call me back, And I vili be your Vait ! And never no move vill break the Lor, As I did in 'Forty-eight," The tailer thus did close (A pore old blackymore rogue), When a dismal gent uprose. And spoke with H Irish brogue : " I'm Smith O'Prine, of Royal Line Descended from Rory Ogue. " When great O'Connle died. That man whom all did trust, That man whom Henglish pride Beheld with such disgust. Then Erin free fixed ej^es on me. And swoar I should be fust. •' ' The glorious Hirish Crown,' Says she, ' it shall be thine : Long time, it's wery well known Vou kep it in your line ; That diadem of hemerald gem Is yours, my Smith O'Brine, THE THREE CHRISTMAS WAITS. 193 *' ' Too long^ the Saxon churl Our land encumbered hath ; Arise, my Prince, my Earl, And brush them from thy path : Rise, mighty Smith, and sveep 'em vith The besom of your wrath.' " Then in my might I rose, My country I surveyed, I saw it filled with foes, I viewed them undismayed ; . ' Ha, ha !' says I, ' the harvest's high, I'll reap it with my blade.' " My warriors I enrolled. They rallied round their lord ; And cheafs in council old I summond to the board — Wise Doheny and Duffy bold, And Meagher of the Sword. " I stood on Slievenamaun, They came with pikes and bills ; They gathered in the dawn, Like mist upon the hills, And rushed adown the mountain side Like twenty thousand rills. " Their fortress we assail ; Hurroo ! my boys, hurroo ! The bloody Saxons quail To hear the wild shaloo : Strike, and prevail, proud Innesfail, O'Brine aboo, aboo ! *' Our people they defied ; They shot at 'em like savages, Their bloody guns they plied With sanguinary ravages : 194 BALLADS OF POLICEMAN X. Hide, blushing- Glory, hide That day among the cabbages ! ** And so no more I'll say, But ask your Mussy great, And humbly sing- and pray, Your Majesty's poor Wait : Your Smith O'Brine in 'Forty-nine Will blush for 'Forty -eight." LINES ON A LATE IIOSPICIOUS EWENT.* BY A GENTLEMAN OF THE FOOT-GUARDS (BLUE). I PACED upon my beat With steady step and slow, All huppandownd of Ranelagh Street ; Ran'lagh St. Pimlico. While marching huppandownd Upon that fair May morn, Beold the booming cannings sound, A royal child is born ! The Ministers of State Then presenly I sor. They gallops to the Pallis gate, In carridges and for. With anxious looks intent, Before the gate they stop, There comes the good Lord President, And there the Archbishopp. * The birth of Prince Arthur. LINES ON A HOSPICIOUS EV/ENT, 1 95 Lord John he next elights ; And who conies here in haste ? 'Tis the ero of one underd fights, The caudle for to taste. Then Mrs. Lily, the nuss, Towards them steps with joy ; Says the brave old Duke, ' ' Come tell to us, Is it a gal or a boy ?" Says Mrs. L. to the Duke, " Your Grace, it is a Prince," And at that nuss's bold rebuke He did both laugh and wince. He vews with pleasant look This pooty flower of May, Then says the wenerable Duke, " Egad, it's my buthday," By memory backards borne, Peraps his thoughts did stray To that old place where he was born Upon the first of May. Perhaps he did recall The ancient towers of Trim ; And County Meath and Dangan Hall They did rewisit him. I phansy of him so His good old thoughts employin' ; Fourscore years and one ago Beside the flowin' Boyne. His father praps he sees, Most musicle of Lords, 196 BALLADS OF POLICEMAN X. A playing maddrigles and glees Upon the Arpsicords. Jest phansy this old Ero Upon his mother's knee ! Did ever lady in this land Ave greater sons than she ! And I shouldn be surprize While this was in his mind. If a drop there twinkled in his eyes Of unfamiliar brind. To Hapsly Ouse next day Drives up a Broosh and for, A gracious prince sits in that Shay (I mention him with Her !) They ring upon the bell, The Porter shows his Ed, (He fought at Vaterloo as veil, And vears a Veskit red). To see that carriage come, The people round it press : " And is the galliant Duke at ome?" "Your Royal Ighness, yes." He stepps from out the Broosh And in the gate is gone ; And X, although the people push, Says wery kind, " Move hon." The Royal Prince unto The galliant Duke did say, " Dear Duke, my little son and you Was born the self-same day. LINES ON A HOSPICIOUS EWENT, 1 97 ' ' The Lady of the land, My wife and Sovring dear, It is by her horgust command I wait upon you here. " That lady is as well As. can expected be ; And to your Grace she bid me tel This gracious message free. " That offspring of our race, Whom yesterday you see, To show our honor for your Grace, Prince Arthur he shall be. " That name it rhymes to fame ; All Europe knows the sound : And I couldn't find a better name If you'd give me twenty pound. " King Arthur had his knights That girt his table round, But you have won a hundred fights, Will match 'em, I'll be bound. " You fought with Bonypart, And likewise Tippoo Saib ; I name you then with all my heart The Godsire of this babe." That Prince his leave was took, His hinterview was done. So let us give the good old Duke Good luck of his god-son, And wish him years of joy In this our time of vSchism, 1 BALLADS OF POLICEMAN X. And hope he'll hear the royal boy His little catechism. And my pooty little Prince That's come our arts to cheer. Let me my loyal powers ewince A welcomin of you ere. And the Poit-Laureat's crownd, I think, in some respex, Egstremely shootable might be found For honest Pleaseman X. THE BALLAD OF ELIZA DAVIS. Galliant gents and lovely ladies, List a tail vich late befel, Vich I heard it, bein on duty, At the Pleace Hoffice, Clerkenwell. Praps you know the Fondling Chapel, Vere the little children sings : (Lor ! I likes to hear on Sundies Them there pooty little things !) In this street there lived a housemaid, If you parti cklarly ask me where — Vy, it vas at four-and-tventy Guilford Street, by Brunsvick Square. Vich her name was Eliza Davis, And she went to fetch the beer : In the street she met a party As was quite surprized to sec her. THE BALLAD OF ELIZA DAVIS. 199 Vich he vas a British Sailor, For to judge him by his look : Tarry jacket, canvas trowsies, lla-la Mr. T. P. Cooke. Presently this Mann accostes Of this hinnocent young gal— " Pray," saysee, " excuse my freedom, You're so like my Sister Sal ! '* You're so like my Sister Sally, Both in valk and face and size, Miss, that— dang my old lee scuppers, It brings tears into my heyes ! " I'm a mate on board a wessel, I'm a sailor bold and true ; Shiver up my poor old timbers, Let me be a mate for you ! " What's your name, my beauty, tell me ;" And she faintly hansers, " Lore, Sir, my name's Eliza Davis, And I live at tventy-four." ilofttimes came this British seaman, l^his deluded gal to meet ; And at tventy-four was welcome, Tventy-four in Guilford Street. And Eliza told her Master (Kinder they than Misuses are), How in marridge he had ast her, Like a galliant British Tar. And he brought his landlady vith him, (Vicli was all his hartful plan), 200 BALLADS OF POLICEMAN X. And she told how Charley Thompson Reely vas a good young man : And how she herself had lived in Many years of union sweet Vith a gent she met promiskous, Valkin in the public street. And Eliza listened to them. And she thought that soon their bands Vould be published at the Fondlin, Hand the clergyman jine their ands. And he ast about the lodgers, (Vich her master let some rooms), Likevise vere they kep their things, and Vere her master kep his spoons. Hand this vicked Charley Thompson Came on Sundy veek to see her ; And he sent Eliza Davis Hout to fetch a pint of beer. Hand while pore Eliza vent to P^tch the beer, dewoid of sin, This etrocious Charley Thompson Let his wile accomplish hin. To the lodgers, their apartments, This abandingd female goes, Prigs their shirts and umberellas ; Prigs their boots, and hats, and clothes. Vile the scoundrle Charley Thompson, Lest his wictim should escape, Hocust her vith rum and vater. Like a fiend m huming shape. THE BALLAD OF ELIZA DA VIS. 20 1 But a hi was fixed upon 'em Vich these raskles little sore ; Namely, Mr. Hide, the landlord Of the house at tventy-four. He was valkin in his garden, Just afore he vent to sup ; And on looking up he sor the Lodgers' vinders lighted up. Hup the stairs the landlord tumbled ; Something's going wrong, he said ; And he caught the vicked voman Underneath the lodger's bed. And he called a brother Pleaseman, Vich was passing on his beat, Like a true and galliant feller. Hup and down in Guilford Street. And that Pleaseman able-bodied Took this voman to the cell ; To the cell vere she was quodded, In the Close of Clerkenwell. And though vicked Charley Thompson Boulted like a miscrant base, Presently another Pleaseman Took him to the self-same place. And this precious pair of raskles Tuesday last came up for doom ; By the beak they was committed, Vich his name was Mr. Combe. Has for poor Eliza Davis, Simple gurl of tventy-four, 202 BALLADS OF POLICEMAN X, She, I ope, vill never listen In the streets to sailors moar. But if she must ave a sweet-art, (Vich most every gurl expex,) Let her take a jolly pleaseman ; Vich his name peraps is — X. DAMAGES, TWO HUNDRED POUNDS. SrECiAL Jurymen of England ! who admire your country's laws, And proclaim a British Jury worthy of the realm's applause ; Gayly compliment each other at the issue of a cause Which was tried at Guildford 'sizes this day week as ever was. Unto that august tribunal comes a gentleman in grief, (Special was the British Jury, and the Judge, the Baron Chief,) Comes a British man and husband — asking of the law relief. For his wife was stolen from him — he'd have ven- geance on the thief. Yes, his wife, the blessed treasure with the which his life was crowned, Wickedly was ravished from him by a hypocrite profound. And he comes before twelve Britons, men for sense and truth renowned, DAMAGES, TWO HUNDRED POUNDS. 203 To award him for his damage twenty hundred sterling pound. He by counsel and attorney there at Guildford does appear, Asking damage of the villian who seduced his lady dear : But I can't help asking, though the lady's guilt was all too clear. And though guilty the defendant, wasn't the plaintiff rather queer ? First the lady's mother spoke, and said she'd seen her daughter cry But a fortnight after marriage : early times for piping eye. Six months after, things were worse, and the piping eye was black. And this gallant British husband caned his wife upon the back. Three months after they were married, husband pushed her to the door, Told her to be off and leave him, for he wanted her no more, As she would not go, why he went : thrice he left his lady dear ; Left her too without a penny, for more than a quarter of a year. Mrs. Frances Duncan knew the parties very well indeed. She had seen him pull his lady's nose and make her lip to bleed ; If he chanced to sit at home not a single word he said ■• Once she saw him throw the cover of a dish at his lady's head. 204 BALLADS OF POLICEMAN X. Sarah Green, another witness, clear did to the jury note How she saw this honest fellow seize his lady by the throat, How he cursed her and abused her, beating her into a fit. Till the pitying next-door neighbors crossed the wall and witnessed it. Next door to this injured Briton Mr. Owers a butcher dwelt ; Mrs. Ower's foolish heart toward this erring dame did melt ; (Not that she had erred as yet, crime was not de- veloped in her), But being left without a penny, Mrs. Owers sup- plied her dinner — God be merciful to Mrs. Owers, who was merciful to this sinner ! Caroline Naylor was their servant, said they led a wretched life, Saw this most distinguished Briton fling a teacup at his wife ; He went out to balls and pleasures, and never once, in ten months* space, Sat with his wife or spoke her kindly. This was the defendant's case. Pollock, C. B., charged the Jury ; said the wom- an's guilt was clear ; That was not the point, however, which the Jury came to hear ; But the damage to determine which, as it should true appear. This most tender-hearted husband, who so used his ladv dear — • DAMAGES, TWO HUNDRED POUNDS. 205 Beat her, kicked her, caned her, cursed her, left her starving, year by year. Flung- her from him, parted from her, wrung her neck, and boxed her ear — What the reasonable damage this afflicted man could claim By the loss of the afifections of this guilty grace- less dame ? Then the honest British Twelve, to each other turning round, Laid their clever heads together with a wisdom most profound : And toward his Lordship looking, spoke the fore- man wise and sound ; — " My Lord, we find for this here plaintiff, damages two hundred pound." So, God bless the Special Jury ! pride and joy of English grovmd. And the happy land of England, where true jus- tice does abound ! British jurymen and husbands, let us hail this verdict proper : If a British wife offends you, Britons, you've a right to whop her. Though you promised to protect her, though you promised to defend her. You are welcome to neglect her : to the devil you may send her : You may strike her, curse, abuse her ; so declares our law renowned ; And if after this you lose her, — why, you're paid two hundred pound. 2o6 BALLADS OF POLICEMAN X. THE KNIGHT AND THE LADY. There's in the Vest a city pleasant To vich King- Bladud gev his name, And in that city there's a Crescent Vere dwelt a noble knight of fame. Although that gallant knight is oldish, Although Sir John as grey, grey air, H age has not made his busum coldish, His Art still beats tewodds the Fair ! 'Twas two years sins, this knight so splendid, Peraps fateagued with Bath's routines. To Paris towne his phootsteps bended In sutch of gayer folks and scans. His and was free, his means was easy, A nobler, finer gent than he Ne'er drove about the Shons-Eleesy, Or paced the Roo de Rivolee. A brougham and pair Sir John prowided, In which abroad he loved to ride ; But ar ! he most of all enjyed it. When some one helse was sittin' inside ! That " some one helse" a lovely dame was. Dear ladies, you will heasy tell — Countess Grabrowski her sweet name was, A noble title, ard to spell. This faymus Countess ad a daughter Of lovely form and tender art ; A nobleman in marridge sought her, By name the Baron of Saint Bart. THE KNIGHT AND THE LADY. 207 Their pashn touched the noble Sir John, It was so pewer and profound ; Ladv Grabrowski he did urge on With Hyming's wreeth their loves to crownd. - O come to Bath, to Lansdowne Crescent," ■ Says kind Sir John, " and live %vith me ; The living there's uncommon pleasant— I'm sure you'll find the hair agree. - O come to Bath, my fair Grabrowski, And bring your charming girl sezee ; - The Barring here shall have the ouse-key. Vith breakfast, dinner, lunch, and tea. - And when they've passed an appy winter, Their opes and loves no more we 11 bar , The marridge-vow they'll enter inter. And I at church will be their 1 ar. To Bath they went to Lansdowne Crescent, Where good Sir John he did provide No end of teas and balls incessant And hosses both to drive and ride. He was so Ospitably busy When Miss was late, he d make so bold Upstairs to call out, " Missy, Missy Come down, the coffy's getting cold ! But O ! 'tis sadd to think such bounties Should meet with such return as this , O Barring of Saint Bart, O Countess Grabrowski, and O cruel Miss ! He married you at Bath's fair Habby, Saint Bart he treated like a son— And wasn't it uncommon shabby To do what you have went and done «o8 BALLADS OF POLICEMAN X. My trembling And amost refewses To write the charge which Sir John swore, Of which the Countess he ecuses, Her daughter and her son-in-lore. My Mews quite blushes as she sings of The fatle charge which now I quote : He says Miss took his two best rings off, And pawned 'em for a tenpun note. " Is this the child of honest parince, To make away with folks' best things ? Is this, pray, like the wives of Barrins, To go and prig a gentleman's rings ? " Thus thought Sir John, by anger wrought on, And to rewengc his injured cause. He brought them hup to Mr. Broughton, Last Vensday veek as ever waws. If guiltless, how she have been slandered ! If guilty, wengeance will not fail : Meanwhile the lady is remanded And gcv three hundred pouns in bail. JACOB HOMNIUM'S HOSS. A NEW PALLICE COURT CHAUNT. One sees in Viteall Yard, Vere pleacemen do resort, A wenerable hinstitute, 'Tis called the Pallis Court. A gent as got his i on it, 1 think 'twill make some sport. JACOB HOMNIUM'S HOSS. 209 The natur of this Court My hindignation riles : A few fat legal spiders Here set & spin their viles ; To rob the town theyr privlege is, In a hayrea of twelve miles. The Judge of this year Court Is a mellitary beak, He knows no more of Lor Than praps he does of Greek, And prowides hisself a deputy Because he cannot speak. Four counsel in this Court — Misnamed of Justice — sits ; These lawyers owes their places to There money, not their wits ; And there's six attornies under themj As here their living gits. These lawyers, six and four, Was a living at their ease, A sendin of their writs abowt, And droring in the fees. When their erose a cirkimstance As is like to make a breeze. It now is some monce since A gent both good and trew Possest an ansum oss vith vich He didn know what to do ; Peraps he did not like the oss, Peraps he was a scru. This gentleman his oss At Tattersall's did lodge ; 2IO BALLADS OF POLICEMAN X. There came a wulgar oss-dealer. This gentleman's name did fodge, And took the oss from Tattersall's : Wasn that a artful dodge ? One day this gentleman's groom This willain did spy out, A mounted on this oss A ridin him about ; " Get out of that there oss, you rogue," Speaks up the groom so stout. The thief was cruel wex'd To find himself so pinn'd ; The oss began to whinny, The honest groom he grinn'd ; And the raskle thief got off the oss And cut avay like vind. And phansy with what joy The master did regard His dearly bluvd lost oss again Trot in the stable yard ! Who was this master good Of whomb I makes these rhymes ? His name is Jacob Homnium, Exquire ■ And if /'d committed crimes. Good Lord ! I wouldn't ave that mann Attack me in the Times I Now shortly after the groomb His master's oss did take up, There came a livery-man This gentleman to wake up ; And he handed in a little bill. Which hangered Mr. Jacob. JACOB HOMNIUM'S HOSS. 211 For two pound seventeen This livery-man epiied, For the keep of Mr. Jacob's oss, Which the thief had took to ride. " Do you see any think green in me ?" Mr. Jacob Homnium cried. ' ' Because a raskle chews My oss away to robb, And goes tick at your Mews For seven-and-fifty bobb, Shall / be call'd to pay ?— It is A iniquitious Jobb." Thus Mr. Jacob cut The conwasation short : The livery-man went ome, Detummingd to ave sport, And summingsd Jacob Homnium, Exquire, Into the Pallis Court. Pore Jacob went to Court, A Counsel for to fix, And choose a barrister out of the four, An attorney of the six : And there he sor these men of Lor, And watch'd 'em at their tricks. The dreadful day of trile In the pallis Court did come ; The lawyers said their say, The judge look'd wery glum, And then the British Jury cast Pore Jacob Hom-ni-um. O a weary day was that For Jacob to go through ; 212 BALLADS OF POLICEMAN X. The debt was two seventeen (Which he no mor owed than you), And then there was the plaintives costs, Eleven pound six and two. And then there was his own, Wliich the hiwyers they did lix At a wery moderit figgar Of ten pound one and six. Now Evins bless the PalHs Court, And all its bold ver-dicks ! I cannot settingly tell If Jacob swaw and cust. At aving for to pay this sumb ; But 1 should think he must. And av drawn a cheque for £i^ t\s. 8d, With most igstrerae disgust. O Pallis Court, you move My pitty most profound. A most cmusing sport You thought it I'll be bound. To saddle hup a three-pound debt With two and-twenty pound. Good sport it is to you To grind the honest pore, To pay their just or unjust debts With eight hundred per cent for Lor ; Make haste and get your costes in, They will not last much mor ! Come down from that tribewn. Thou shameless and Unjust ; Thou Swindle, picking pockets in The name of Truth august : THE SPECULATORS. 213 Come down, thou hoary Blasphemy, For die thou shalt and must. And go it, Jacob Homnium, And ply your iron pen, And rise up, Sir John Jervis, And shut me up that den ; That sty for fattening lawyers m On the bones of honest men. Pleaceman X. THE SPECULATORS. The night was stormy and dark. The town was shut up in sleep: Only those were abroad who were out on a lark. Or those who'd no beds to keep. I pass'd through the lonely street. The wind did sing and blow ; I could hear the policeman s feet Clapping to and fro. There stood a potato-man In the midst of all the wet ; He stood with his 'tato-can in tne lonely Haymarket. Two gents of dismal mien. And dank and greasy rags. Came out of a shop for gm, Swag- gering over the flags : Swaggering over the stones. These shabby bucks did walk ; And I went and followed those seedy ones. And listened to their talk. 214 BALLADS OF POLICEMAN X. Was I sober or awake ? Could I believe my ears ? Those dismal beggars spake Of nothing but railroad shares. I wondered more and more ; Says one — " Good friend of mine, How many shares have you wrote for, In the Diddlesex Junction line ?" " I wrote for twenty," says Jim, "But they wouldn't give me one ;" His comrade straight rebuked him For the folly he had done : " O Jim, you are unawares Of the ways of this bad town ; / always write for five hvmdred shares, And then they put mc down." " And yet you got no shares," Says Jim, " for all your boast;" "I would have wrote," says Jack, "but where Was the penny to pay the post ?" " I lost, for I couldn't pay That first instal- ment up ; But here's 'taters smoking hot — I say, Let's stop, my boy, and sup." And at this simple feast The while they did regale, I drew each ragged capitalist Down on my left thumb-nail. Their talk did me perplex. All night I tumbled and tost. And thought of railroad specs. And how money was won and lost. " Bless railroads everywhere," I said, " and the world's advance ; Bless every railroad share In Italy, Ireland, France ; For never a beggar need now despair, And every rogue has a chance." A WOEFUL NEW BALLAD. 215 A WOEFUL NEW BALLAD OF THE PROTESTANT CONSPIRACY TO TAKE THE POPE'S LIFE. (by a gentleman who has been on the spot.) Come all ye Christian people, unto my tale give ear, 'Tis about a base consperracy, as quickly shall appear ; 'Twill make your hair to bristle up, and your eyes to start and glow, When of this dread consperracy you honest folks shall know. The news of this consperracy and villianous attempt, I read it in a newspaper, from Italy it was sent : It was sent from lovely Italy, where the olives they do grow. And our Holy Father lives, yes, yes, while his name it is No no. And 'tis there our English noblemen goes that is Puseyites no longer. Because they finds the ancient faith both better is and stronger. And 'tis there I knelt beside my lord when he kiss'd the Pope his toe. And hung his neck with chains at Saint Peter's Vinculo, And 'tis there the splendid churches is, and the fountains playing grand. And the palace of Prince Torlonia, likewise the Vatican : 2l6 BALLADS OF POLICEMAN X. And there's the stairs where the bagpipe-men and the piffararys blow. And it's there I drove my lady and lord in the Park of Pincio. And 'tis there our splendid churches is in all their pride and glory. Saint Peter's famous Basilisk and Saint Mary's Maggiory ; And them benighted Prodestants, on Sunday they must go Outside the town to the preaching-shop by the gate of Popolo. Now in this town of famous Room, as I dessay you have heard, There is scarcely any gentleman as hasn't got a beard. And ever since the world began it was ordained so, That there should always barbers be wheresumever beards do grow. And as it always has been so since the world it did begin, The Pope, our Holy Potentate, has a beard upon his chin ; And every morning regular when cocks begin to crow. There comes a certing party to wait on Pope Pio. There comes a certing gintleman with razicr, soap, and lather, A shaving most respectfully the Pope, our Holy Father. And now the dread consperracy I'll quickly to you show, Which them sanguinary Prodestants did form against Nunc. A WOEFUL NEW BALLAD. 217 Them sanguinary Prodestants, which I abore and hate, A.ssembled in the preaching-shop by the Flaminian gate; And they took counsel with their selves to deal a deadly blow Against our gentle Father, the Holy Pope Vio. Exhibiting a wickedness which I never heerd or read of ; What do you think them Prodestants wished ? to cut the good Pope's head off ! And to the kind Pope's Air-dresser the Prodestant Clark did go, And proposed him to decapitate the innocent PlO. " What hevercan be easier," said this Clerk — this Man of Sin, " When you are called to hoperate on His Iloli- ness's chin. Than just to give the razier a little slip — just so ?— And there's an end, dear barber, of innocent Pio !" This wicked conversation it chanced was overerd By an Italian lady ; she heard it every word : Which by birth she was a Marchioness, in service forced to go With the parson of the preaching-shop at the gate of Popolo, When the lady heard the news, as duty did obleege. As fast as her legs could cany her she ran to the Poleege. " O Polegia," says she (for they pronounts it so), " They're going for to massvkcr our Holy P<3FE Pio. 215 BALLADS OP POLICEMAN X. '* The ebomminable Englishmen, the Parsing and his Clark, His Holiness's Air-dresser devised it in the dark ! And I would recommend you in prison for to throw These villians would esassinate the Holy Pope Pio! " And for saving of His Holiness and his trebble crownd 1 humbly hope your Worships will give me a few pound ; r>ecause I was a Marchioness many years ago, lief ore I came to service at the gate of Popolo." That sackreligious Air-dresser, the Parson and his man, Wouldn't though ask'd continyally, own their wicked plan — And so the kind Authoraties let those villians go That was plotting of the murder of the good Pio NONO. Now isn't this safishnt proof, ye gentlemen at home, How wicked is them Prodestants, and how good our Pope at Rome ; So let us drink confusion to Lord John and Lord Minto, And a health unto His Eminence, and good Poi NONO. THE FOUNDLING OF SHOREDITCH. 219 THE LAMENTABLE BALLAD OF THE FOUNDLING OF SHOREDITCH. Come all ye Christian people, and listen to my tail, It is all about a doctor was travelling by the rail, By the Heastern Counties' Railway (vich the shares I don't desire), From Ixworth town in Suffolk, vich his name did not transpire. A travelling from Bury this Doctor was employed With a gentleman, a friend of his, vich his name was Captain Loyd, And on reaching Marks Tey Station, that is next beyond Colchest- er, a lady entered in to them most elegantly dressed. She entered into the Carriage all with a tottering step. And a pooty little Bayby upon her bussum slep ; The gentlemen received her with kindness and siwillaty, Pitying this lady for her illness and debillaty. She had a fust-class ticket, this lovely lady said ; Because it was so lonesome she took a secknd instead. Better to travel by secknd class, than sit alone in the fust, And the pooty little Baby upon her breast she nust. A seein of her cryin, and shiverin and pail. To her spoke this surging, the Ero of my tail ; 2 20 BALLADS OF POLICEMAN X. Saysee you look unwell, Ma'am, I'll elp you if I can, And you may tell your case to me, for I'm a meddicle man. " Thank you, Sir," the lady said, " I only look so pale, Because I ain't accustora'd to travelling on the Rale ; I shall be better presnly, when I've ad some rest :" And that pooty little Baby she squeeged it to her breast. vSo in conwersation the journey they beguiled, Capting Loyd and the meddicle man, and the lady and the child. Till the warious stations along the line was passed, For even the Heastern Counties' trains must come in at last. When at Shoreditch tumminus at lenth stopped the train. This kind meddicle gentleman proposed his aid again. *' Thank you, Sir," the lady said, " for your kyind- ness dear ; My carridge and my osses isprobibbly come here. " Will you old this baby, please, vilst I step and see ?" The Doctor was a famly man : " That I will," says he. Then the little child she kist, kist it very gently, Vich was sucking his little fist, sleeping inno- cently. THE FOUNDLING OF SHOREDITCH. 22 1 With a sigh from her art, as though she would have bust it, Then she gave the Doctor the child — wery kind he nust it : Hup then the lady jumped hoff the bench she sat from, Tumbled down the carridge steps and ran along the platform. V'^ile hall the other passengers vent upon their vays, The Capting and the Doctor sat there in a maze ; Some vent in a liomminibus, some vent in a Cabby, The Capting and the Doctor vaited vith the babby. There they sat looking queer, for an hour or more, But their fellef passinger neather on 'em sore : Never, never back again did that lady come To that pooty sleeping Hinfnt a suckin of his Thum ! What could this pore Doctor do, bein treated thus. When the darling Baby woke, cryin for its nuss ? Off he drove to a female friend, vich she was both kind and mild, And igsplained to her the circumstance of this year little child. That kind lady took the child instantly in her lap. And made it very comfortable by giving it some pap ; And when she took its close off, what d'you think she found ? A couple of ten pun notes sewn up, in its little gownd ! 222 BALLADS OF POLICEMAN X. Also in its little close was a note which did conwey. That this little baby's parents lived in a hand- some way And for its Ileaducation they reglarly would pay, And sirtingly like gentlefolks would claim the child one day, If the Christian people who'd charge of it would say, Per adwertisement in The Times ^ where the baby lay. Pity of this bayby many people took, It had such pooty ways and such a pooty look ; And there came a lady forrard (I wish that I could see Any kind lady as would do as much for me ; And I wish with all my art, some night in my night gownd, I could find a note stitched for ten or twenty pound) — There came a lady forrard, that most honorable did say, She'd adopt this little baby, which her parents cast away. While the Doctor pondered on this hoffer fair, Comes a letter from Devonshire, from a party there, Hordering the Doctor, at its Mar's desire, To send the little Infant back to Devonshire. Lost in apoplexity, this pore meddicle man, Like a sensable gentleman, to the Justice ran ; Which his name was Mr. Hammill, a honorable beak, That takes his seat in Worship Street four times a week. THE FOUNDLING OF SHOREDITCH. 223 "O Justice!" says the Doctor, " instrugt me what to do. I've come up from the country, to throw myself on you ; My patients have no doctor to tend them in their ills, . , „ (There they are in Suffolk without their draff ts and pills !) "I've come up from the country, to know how I'll dispose Of this pore little baby, and the twenty pun note. and the close, And I want to go back to Suffolk, dear Justice, if you please, . And my patients wants their Doctor, and their Doctor wants his feez." Up spoke Mr. Hammill, sittin at his desk, " This year application does me much perplesk ; What I do ad wise you, is to leave this babby In the Parish where it was left by its mother shabby." The Doctor from his Worship sadly did depart— He might have left the baby, but he hadn't got the heart To go for to leave that Hinnocent, has the laws allows. To the tender mussies of the Union House. Mother, who left this little one on a stranger's knee, Think how cruel you have been, and how good was he ! Think if you've been guilty, innocent was she : And do not take unkindly this little word of me : Heaven be merciful to us all, sinners as we be ! 2 24 BALLADS OF POLICEMAN X. THE ORGAN-BOY'S APPEAL. " Westminster Police Court. — Policeman X broiij;lit a paper of doggerel verses to the Magistrate, which had been thrust into his hand^, X said, by an ItaHan boy, who ran away immediately afterward. •'The Magistrath, after perusine the lines, looked hard at X, and said he did not think tliey were wiitieu by an Italian. " X, blushing, said he thought the paper read in Court last week, and which frightened so the old gentlt*- man to whom it was addressed, was also not of Italian origin." O SiGNOR Broderip, vou are a wickid ole man, You wexis us little horgin-boys whenever you can : How dare you talk of Justice, and go for to seek To pussicute us horgin-boys, you senguinary Beek? Though you set in Vestminster surrounded by your crushers, Harrogint and habsolute like the Hortacrat of hall the Rushers, Yet there is a better vurld I'd have you for to know. Likewise a place vere the henimies of horgin-boys will go. O you vickid Herod without any pity ! London vithout horgin-boys vood be a dismal city. Sweet Saint Cicily who first taught horgin- pipes to blow Soften the heart of this Magistrit that haggery- wates us so ! Good Italian gentlemen, fatherly and kind. Brings us over to London here our horgins for to grind ; THE ORGAN-BOY'S APPEAL. 225 Sends us out vith little vitc mice and guinea-pigs also A popping of the Veasel and a Jumpin of Jim Crow. And as us young horgin-boys is grateful in our turn We gives to these kind gentlemen hall the money we earn, Because that they vood vop us as wery wel we know Unless we brought our burnings back to them a*, loves us so. O Mr. Broderip ! wery much I'm surprise, Ven you take your valks abroad where can be your eyes? If a Beak had a heart then you'd compryend Us pore little horgin-boys was the poor man's friend. Don't you see the shildren in the droring-rooma Clapping of their little ands when they year oui toons ? On their mothers' bussums don't you see the babbies crow And down to us dear horgin-boys lots of apencc throw ? Don't you see the ousemaids (pooty Follies and Maries), Ven ve bring our urdigurdis, smiling from the hairies ? Then they come out vith a slice o' cole puddn or a bit o' bacon or so And give it us young horgin-boys for lunch afore we go. 2 26 BALLADS OF POLICEMAN X. Have you ever seen the Hirish children sport When our velcome music-box brings sunshine in the Court ? To these little paupers who can never pay Surely all good horgin-boys, for God's love, will play. Has for those proud gentlemen, like a serting B— k (Vich I von't be pussonal and therefore vil not speak), That flings their parler-vinders hup ven ve begin to play And cusses us and swears at us in such a wiolent way, Instedd of their abewsing and calling hout Poleece Let em send out John to us vith sixpence or a shillin apiece. Then like good young horgin-boys avay from there we'll go. Blessing sweet Saint Cicily that taught our pipes to blow. FINIS. UNIFOBM IM STTLE AWD PRJCB, IN WHITE, STOKES, & ALLEN'S SERIES 09 DAINTILY BOUND POETrCAL WORKS, AR5: GEORGE ELIOrS POEMS. THE SPANISH GYPSY, CHARLOTTE BRONTE'S POEMS, THOMAS GRAY'S POEMS, W. M. THACKERAY'S POEMS, GOETHE'S FAUST, HEINE'S BOOK OF SONGS, LONDON RHYMES, fy FredeHcJi /^^Xgr, LONDON LYRICS, ^y Frederick Locker. THE GOLDEN TREASURY, by F, T. Fal^rave. CHARLES DICKENS' POEMS. LUCILE, by Owen Mer^itk. Each one volume, idmo, on fine laid paper wide margins. ( Others in preparation. ^ Limp parchment-paper, . . , $1.09 Cloth, nevvcolors, novel design ingold, i.cx> Half calf, new colors, . . , 2.00 Limp calf, in box, .... 3.00 Tree-calf, new colors, . . » 3-50 Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. Neutralizing agent: IVIagnesium Oxide Treatment Date: May 2009 PreservationTechnologies A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 111 Thomson Park Drive Cranberry Township, PA 16066 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS i HIP mil m mil mil iiiii mil mil mil mil mi mi p^^^^^^ 014 548 480 7 4