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 LONDON: 
 
 LONGMAN, BROAVN, GREEN, LONGMANS, & ROBERTS. 
 
 18.57. 
 
 cU 
 
 e;- 
 
 iki 
 
 '^A
 
 Contmls. 
 
 sff/ 
 
 A 
 
 Page 
 
 Introduction 
 
 Job Morbid's Pilgrimage^ Canto 1. 
 
 „ n 
 
 „ in 
 
 .. IV 
 
 Morbid Sentiment : a Burlesque Dramatic Fragment 
 
 Miscellaneous Poems ; — 
 
 My Love 
 
 D. R. M. to G. W. W 
 
 To a beautiful Songstress 
 
 Bombardier Cannon to his Sweetheart, before Sebastopol, 
 January 1855 
 
 An Appeal to Cupid 
 
 The Lament of Narcissus 
 
 The Mourner 
 
 The Birth of Affection >. 
 
 Ghulam Hyder 
 
 The Geological Pic-nic 
 
 •Mustapha's Dream of Paradise 
 
 "13 
 20 
 30 
 35 
 
 51 
 55 
 59 
 
 61 
 65 
 
 66 
 69 
 71 
 74 
 96 
 111 
 
 85S8S4
 
 IntroMittioii. 
 
 Now, gentle reader, if you tliink this book 
 
 Contains much wisdom, you are quite mistaken 
 If for its merits you would wish to look, 
 
 Then seek but one : it may your mirth awaken. 
 If you can be amused, 't is well and good ; 
 
 But this is just the proper place to mention 
 A simple fact, — that, seeking to find food 
 
 For your instruction was not my intention. 
 No ! at the time when you unbend the bow. 
 
 And cease to follow in pursuit of learning, — 
 When of that rugged chase you weary grow, 
 
 And when your mind for lighter sport is ycanmig, 
 Then take your rod and fishing-tackle out, 
 
 And on the bank of this small streamlet lying, 
 Cast in your hook : you will not kill a trout, 
 
 But you may find some small fry worth the frying. 
 Yet still I would not willingly provoke 
 
 The frigid sage's dull pedantic peeping. 
 But seek such minds as sometimes mirth invoke, 
 
 Where grave and gay are equally in keeping. 
 As it is written with this light intent. 
 
 Be not disgusted with a pun that's shocking ; 
 For if you are, for you the book's not meant, — 
 
 It will not suit the Pedant or Bluestocking.
 
 JOB MORBID'S PILGRIMAGE. 
 
 B
 
 TO 
 
 B E T S Y J A N E. 
 
 Maib of Sillbjork. 
 
 I. 
 
 O Nymph of Cloacina ! who from birth 
 Hath been the sport of some harsh mistress' will ; 
 Now doomed on aching knees to scrub the hearth, 
 Or perhaps some woefiil task more arduous still : 
 Thou whose dull life must always be uphill, 
 Where labour only ceases with the day, 
 Who never seem'st of food to have thy fill. 
 And one and sixpence is thy weekly pay, — 
 To thee my muse would sing,— oh ! listen to her lay. 
 
 II. 
 
 O Maid of Allwork ! my enraptured muse. 
 Filled with the sentiments thou dost inspire, 
 Feels in her soul she cannot yet refuse 
 To strike again for thee the mystic lyre. 
 Oh, may its chords pour forth their wonted fire 
 In flowing melody and strains divine ! 
 All that can charm a poet's fond desire 
 My muse shall place on the neglected shrine 
 Of her who makes the bed, and hath the boots to shine. 
 
 III. 
 O thou whom Dickens hath immortalized. 
 By a most noble title of address. 
 In that famed book by all the world* so prized. 
 Where Richard Swiveller names thee " Marchioness : " 
 To thee, my Marchioness, I will confess 
 Job Morbid doth a Pilgrimage design, 
 To-morrow morning, — that's to say unless 
 The weather should prove anything but fine ; 
 Therefore have breakfast laid before the clock strikes nine, 
 
 * It is presumed that all the world is used in the sense of tout le wiOTKfe.— Printer's Devii. 
 
 B 2
 
 |ob HlorMb's ^ilgrimagt. 
 
 CANTO T. 
 
 I. 
 
 Thee I invoke, Thalia, Muse divine ! 
 Oh ! leave Mount Helicon at my desire : 
 I've ordered breakfast here at half-past nine, 
 So pray be punctual, and bring tliy lyre. 
 Oh ! light my soul with pure Promethean fire, 
 So that Byronic stanzas mine may be : 
 One other favour only I require, — 
 That (having finished all the toast and tea) 
 Thou put thy habit on, and take a ride with me. 
 
 n. 
 
 Dost thou mount Pegasus with a side-saddle. 
 Or can'st sit sideways on his naked back ? 
 For 'tis not lady-like to ride a-straddle 
 Like some poor postboy on a wretched hack. 
 Oh ! if to sit him firm thou hast the knack. 
 Then quickly give to him a feed of hay, 
 So that his paces with us may not slack. 
 But he may canter gaily all the way, 
 And help us through the mud without the least delay. 
 
 B 3
 
 6 JOB morbid's pilgrimage. 
 
 in. 
 
 In " modern Babylon " there dwelt a youtli 
 Who drove the road the Muses love to stray ; 
 Compared with theirs, his carriage was uncouth, — 
 Theirs was a phaeton, his a jolting dray, — 
 Still in their wheel-tracks he would guide his way, 
 Nor care how much with mud they did bespatter, 
 So that he safely to himself could say, 
 " This is the unction which my soul doth flatter, 
 I hear my own rough wheels with their light phaeton's clatter. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Like most great men, this poet had a mother ; 
 But she and he were constantly at war : 
 She, honest woman, did, like many another, 
 Follow the occupation of a char. 
 This was enough their happiness to mar, 
 For char and poet would be sure to wrangle ; 
 Fire and water were not more ajar ; 
 Besides, when he would on the Muses dangle. 
 His mother did insist that he should turn the mangle. 
 
 V. 
 
 Job Morbid was he called, but whence ho came 
 It matters not ; suffice it then to say. 
 Filled, like Cyrene, with Apollo's flame, 
 He from a " master tailor " ran away, 
 To write trade lyrics in great Mammon's pay. 
 Thalia helped him, for t'was not in vain 
 He woo'd her fondly in a gentle lay. 
 And sought, through her, Parnassian heights to gain, 
 In his small garret home hard by St. Martin's Lane.
 
 JOB morbid's pilgrimage. 
 
 VI. 
 
 But Job was sick of lyric advertising 
 Men's hats and paletot, all at 4/9, 
 And ladies' muffs at prices more surprising, 
 Thus tempting victims to the tradesman's shrine. 
 Such narrow glories made his muse repine, 
 She fondly sighed on soaring wings to rise. 
 And float unshackled through those realms divine 
 Where boundless Fancy scornfully defies 
 Foul Mammon's subtle arts, and spurns his tempting guise. 
 
 vri. 
 
 Whilst wrapt in musing o'er such visions bright, 
 Job's swelling thoughts to Epic poets turn ; 
 He takes, like Icarus, too bold a flight, 
 Thinks in his soul Homeric flashes burn, 
 And for immortal fame his passions yearn. 
 Such thoughts Calliope perceived with ire, 
 And thus admonished him in accents stern : 
 " Thou lyric wight ! dar'st thou indeed aspire, 
 With impious hands, to drag my Epic through the mire ? " 
 
 vm. 
 
 How hard it is to reason down a scheme 
 Which youth has vainly set its heart upon : 
 Nought but Experience dispels the dream. 
 And it by ruined hopes alone is won. 
 Thus Morbid's thoughts on glowing verse would run, 
 Despite the warning of the Epic muse : 
 He scornfully resolves her steps to shun, 
 Convinced Melpomene would not refuse 
 His incense at her shrine, nor his true love abuse. 
 
 B 4
 
 8 JOB mokbid's pilgrimage. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Yes, he would sing the lofty Tragic strain, 
 The " Fate of Liberty " should be his theme, — 
 How she escaped from Despotism's chain, 
 And seemed to realise that holy dream 
 Where human sympathy reigns all supreme : 
 How she, yet panting from the hot pursuit. 
 Scared by fierce Anarchy's foul lustful gleam, 
 Flies back to former chains heart-crush'd and mute. 
 For dogs protect the lamb from the more savage brute. 
 
 X. 
 
 The grave Melpomene looked down and smiled 
 With more compassion than her sister Muse : 
 " He is indeed a weak but willing ' childc,' 
 But must some other of my sisters choose ; 
 I dread lest he my sacred rites abuse. 
 O cease to cherish, fond presumptuous elf, 
 (T' is my immortal William's verse I use,) 
 Vaulting ambition tvhich 6'erleaps itself. 
 Thy clay will only mould to very humble delf." 
 
 XI. 
 
 His Epic and high Tragic visions o'er, 
 The page of History he would adorn, 
 With England's glories in the Russian war ; 
 But Clio's solemn voice speaks thus to warn : 
 " Hist'ry must never of the truth be shoi-n. 
 With England's valour must be brought to light, 
 How heroes died, neglected and forlorn. 
 And how her armies, and gi'eat naval might. 
 Assumed their perfect form only too late to fight."
 
 JOB morbid's pilgrimage. 9 
 
 XII. 
 
 Here was the death-blow to his bokl career, 
 His spirits sank beneath this last rebuff ; 
 Then sweet Thalia whispered in his ear, 
 " Job, my good friend, I see you've had enough ; 
 Ambition's made of shocking rugged stuff. 
 In courting Tragedy, you quite appal her ; 
 You see Calliope is in a huff, 
 And Clio snubs you when you seek to call her : 
 Then take a friend's advice, and pray sing something smaller." 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Her much loved voice went thrilling to his heart. 
 " Oh Love ! thy power is indeed divine ; 
 At thy sweet presence all conceits depart. 
 Dearest Thalia, I am ever thine ; 
 Help me ! for I a Pilgrimage design. 
 To seek for inspiration and delight. 
 Now that the weather is so very fine." 
 And having packed his carpet-bag all right. 
 He thus in pensive strain pour'd out his last " good night." 
 
 " Adieu ! adieu ! St. Martin's Lane 
 
 Will soon be lost to view ; 
 The summer's sun is on the wane. 
 
 The cats on house-top mew ; 
 Yon boy who brought the beer for mc 
 
 Will soon be out of sight ; 
 And gas-light shines on all I see, — 
 
 St. Martin's Lane, " good night."
 
 10 JOB morbid's pilgrimage. 
 
 " Farewell my lofty residence ! 
 
 To-morrow morn we part ; 
 And none will know tliat I am hence 
 
 Save Betsy Jane and Smart. 
 I wish that Mrs. Smart away ; 
 
 She's constantly in view, 
 And told me, only yesterday. 
 
 Three quarters' rent was due. 
 
 " Oh ! then adieu my attic home ! 
 
 Where Fancy I invoke, 
 And through Pierian pastures roam, 
 
 Midst chimney-pots and smoke : 
 Thy sloping roof and walls so thin 
 
 My mortal limbs confine ; 
 Still room enough I've found within 
 
 For all the Muses Nine. 
 
 " Melpomene the bed would fill, 
 
 With grave majestic air, 
 Clio upon the window sill, 
 
 Euterpe on the chair ; 
 One in my glass surveyed her charms. 
 
 Four sat upon the floor ; 
 And dear Thalia in my arms. 
 
 The Muse that I adore. 
 
 " A few short hours and I must leave 
 This scene of Fancy's birth ; 
 
 And Betsy Jane, poor girl, will grieve 
 O'er my deserted hearth.
 
 JOB morbid's pilgrimage. 1 1 
 
 Farewell regrets ! no more I'll mourn, 
 
 But sit me down and sup ; 
 For I must leave at early dawn, 
 
 Ere Mrs. Smart is up. 
 
 " Come hither, hither, Betsy Jane, 
 
 Unto my voice attend : 
 I trust I shall not leave in vain 
 
 My other shirt to mend. 
 And oh ! when I from home have strayed, 
 
 On Mammon call and say, 
 For the last lyrics that I made 
 
 There's two and nine to pay." 
 
 " Oh, Mr, Morbid, do not fear ; 
 
 Of me you shan't complain ; 
 But I shall shed full many a tear 
 
 Ere you come back again." 
 " Enough, enough, my Betsy Jane, 
 
 Though now I say good bye, 
 I shall not from thee long remain. 
 
 So tears are all my eye. 
 
 " Then fare thee well, my faithful Bet ! 
 
 I'll surely think of thee. 
 To-morrow when the sun has set, 
 
 And I have had my tea. 
 This painting should not give thee pain. 
 
 For I'll return all right. 
 As scissors part to meet again. 
 
 So, Betsy Jane, ' good night.' " 
 
 END OF FIRST CANTO.
 
 12 JOB morbid's pilgrimage. 
 
 CANTO II. 
 
 I. 
 
 I STOOD in London, on its Bridge of size, 
 A steamboat and a railway on each hand ; 
 Now on the left the iron chimneys rise, 
 And to the right the railway portals stand, 
 Inviting travellers o'er sea or land ; 
 
 North, South, East, West, the huge hive sends out swarms ; 
 In sti'eams of locomotion they expand. 
 And, like Briareus with his many arms. 
 Encircle the whole earth, and Im-e her to its charms. 
 
 II. 
 
 A ceaseless din, of wheel and horse's hoof, — 
 Cabs, carts, and carriages, in endless rattle, — 
 With twelve inside and twenty on the roof, — 
 Men, women, children, donkeys, sheep, and cattle — 
 All crowd together, fighting this life's battle. 
 Steamboats for Hungerford or Gibraltar, 
 Letting oif steam with an incessant rattle. 
 Woe to the passenger whose steps should faulter. 
 Instead of Greenwich Pier, he'll find he's shipped for Malta.
 
 JOB mokbid's pilgrimage. 13 
 
 in. 
 
 Job Morbid leaned him o'er the bridge's side, 
 In moody silence watched the steamboat strife : 
 A captain swearing he should lose the tide, — 
 A frantic husband calling for his wife, — 
 A lover parting from his more than life, — 
 A nurse and baby, who behind would lag, — 
 And men called porters, for imposture rife, 
 Seize on your luggage, which away they drag, 
 And send your trunk to Rome, to Greece your carpet-bag. 
 
 IV. 
 
 How small a spark will light up Fancy's fire ! 
 How dreaming Poets catch at floating straws ! 
 Imagination will, at their desire. 
 Upset the first of Reason's standing laws. 
 And make effect far greater than its cause. 
 The steamboat Argo was enough to hasten 
 Job's fervid fancy on without a pause ; 
 And when he saw the steward with a bason. 
 He saw the Golden Fleece, the Argonauts, and Jason. 
 
 V. 
 
 He saw the Argo land on Lemnos Isle, 
 He saw the husbands murdered by their wives. 
 How Jason did Hypsipyle beguile, 
 And how the Argonauts nigh lost their lives, 
 While with fierce Cyzicus bold Jason strives ; 
 How that as love destroyed Medea's peace, 
 (When Jason at her father's court arrives). 
 She caused the dragon's watchfulness to cease, 
 That he might climb the tree, and gain the Golden Fleece.
 
 14 JOB morbid's pilgrimage. 
 
 VI. 
 
 He saw bold Jason in Creusa's arms, 
 False to Medea and his marriage ties ; 
 He saw the wife, by her foul magic charms, 
 Murder her sons before their father's eyes, 
 Whilst in a poisoned veil Creusa dies ; 
 He saw Medea with Achilles wed. 
 When to Elysium from the earth she flies. 
 To try the marriage state among the dead ; 
 He saw the Argo's beam fall down on Jason's head. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Thus lost in reverie and Fancy's maze. 
 To ages past the Pilgrim's soul would fly, 
 There revel in romance of classic days. 
 Till called to action by this sturdy cry, 
 " Now then, you stop the way, — move on, pass by." 
 He turned and saw Policeman F 15., 
 With no poetic frenzy in his eye. 
 But with that steady look, which, if once seen, 
 Suggests this solid phrase, " Now what I say I mean." 
 
 VIII. 
 
 As Avhen the foAvler strikes the soaring bird, 
 And brings it headlong to substantial earth. 
 So Morbid, struck by the policeman's word, 
 Quick in a Greenwich steamboat took a berth. 
 To view that Palace, England's pride and worth. 
 In regal halls, from every care released. 
 Great Nelson's warriors live in ease and mirth, 
 And where the veterans hold their daily feast, 
 "Monarchs have dined, and deemed their dignity increased."
 
 JOB morbid's pilgrimage. 15 
 
 IX. 
 
 " Brave son of Albion, thou shalt never lack 
 A country's gratitude, when age mature 
 Bows thy strong arm, but cannot turn thy back 
 On foe ; thou who the toils of Avar endure 
 To make thy country's freedom more secure," 
 Thus spoke Job Morbid to a veteran rough, 
 Who curtly answered, " That aint true, I'm sure ; 
 The beer they gives us is poor washy stuff, 
 The mutton's bil'd too much, the grog aint strong enough." 
 
 Now disappointment fills the Pilgrim's mind, 
 The tar's ingratitude caused grief profound ; 
 80, sick of all the world (and having dined), 
 He strayed to Greenwich Pier, and quickly found 
 A London steamer that Avas homeward bound. 
 Once on the deck, to suit his mind's disease, 
 This mournful lay he from his brain unwound ; 
 For morbid sentiment flowed forth with ease, 
 As indigestion helped, from eating too much cheese. 
 
 TO THOMASINA. 
 
 No smile can move my features now, 
 (For dark misgivings crowd my brain), 
 
 As when I gazed on thy fair brow. 
 Last time we walked out in the rain.
 
 16 JOB morbid's pilgrimage. 
 
 When gingham umbrella's shade 
 
 Cast greenish shadows o'er thy face ; 
 
 When every footstep that you made, 
 Splashed in the mud with fairy grace. 
 
 Of such delights I dare not dream, 
 
 Such hopes and thoughts I must forsake ; 
 
 Though well I recollect the stream 
 
 That trickled from my " Wide-awake." 
 
 Oh ! could I to that day revert, 
 And that dear scene again discuss. 
 
 When, covered o'er with wet and dirt, 
 I put you in the omnibus ! 
 
 Although t'were joy with thee to ride, 
 Yet still I felt a settled gloom, 
 
 And when I counted twelve inside, 
 I wished the omnibus a " Brougham." 
 
 I bear within my breast of woe, 
 A heart corroded in its youth, 
 
 Which hopeless mortals only know 
 Is worse than a corroded tooth. 
 
 Ah ! why then probe my troubled mind ? 
 
 But one dark hint I'll give to thee : 
 In " pills of Holloway " you'll find 
 
 The cause of gloominess in me.
 
 JOB morbid's pilgrimage. 17 
 
 " It is not love, it is not hate," 
 
 But that deep sentimental sorrow, 
 Young ladies feel, who, supping late, 
 
 Have indigestion on the morrow. 
 
 Then, Thomasina, that I may 
 
 My sentimental soul awake, 
 ril sing that sweet romantic lay 
 
 Thou wrot'st from eating too much cake. 
 
 TirOMASINA'S L-E-Ct.* 
 
 Oh ! I would live in Arctic gloom, 
 And on some iceberg lay my head, 
 
 Or sleep where forest flowers bloom, — 
 There's no romance in feather bed. 
 
 Or, as some warrior chieftain's wife 
 I'd thread the forest's winding ways ; 
 
 In Nature's lap I'd pass my life, 
 And leave off wearing formal stays. 
 
 * It is presumed that Miss Thomasina means Elegy. To write it L — E— G 
 may be all very well under the influence of a sentimental spell, but it is very 
 bad orthography. — Printer's Devil, 
 
 O
 
 18 JOB morbid's pilgrimage. 
 
 I'd gaze upon the rushing stream, 
 
 And hear the wind tlirough tree tops rustle, 
 
 In that dark sombre land of dream 
 Where ladies never wear a bustle. 
 
 There on some flow'ry bank I'd rest, 
 And listen to the warblers' sonnets, 
 
 With flowing tresses all undressed, 
 
 And spurn those worldly-minded bonnets. 
 
 My woodland home, with moss o'erspread, 
 In plaintive song I would extol ; 
 
 With trees umbrageous o'er my head 
 Instead of patent parasol. 
 
 I'd roam through this divine retreat. 
 Where Nature every charm reveals, 
 
 With moccasins upon my feet, 
 Not boots with military heels. 
 
 There Flora spreads out all she loves, 
 
 And asks you to participate. 
 Without the risk of spoiling gloves, 
 
 Or dressing for a flower fete. 
 
 Oh ! if I lived in such a place, 
 
 I'd dress like some young Indian queen ; 
 For leaves and feathers show more grace 
 
 Tlian artificial Crinoline.
 
 JOB morbid's pilgrimage. 19 
 
 But I am doomed to live a slave. 
 
 To worldly comforts I must bow ; 
 And Nature's love, for which I crave, 
 
 Is centred in a small Bow-wow. 
 
 The faithless world has dried those springs 
 Which gushed and gurgled in my heart ; 
 
 And to my soul " Distemper " sings, 
 " Fidele and thou ere long must part," 
 
 END OF SECOND CANTO. 
 
 C 2
 
 20 JOB mokbid's pilgrimage. 
 
 CANTO TIL 
 
 I. 
 
 Who has not felt that fascinating power 
 Which leads us back to scenes of former days, 
 Whether their fruit to us be sweet or sour, 
 Or calls on memory for hate or praise ? 
 Still to the past mankind his homage pays. 
 'Twas some such subtle influence that led 
 Job Morbid eastward through the crowded ways, 
 Where gaudy shops, their plate glass radiance shed 
 O'er things, the names of which were in his Lyrics read. 
 
 II. 
 
 The Coat all outward show and devils dust, — 
 The Sable muff a Avretched cat's skin dyed, — 
 The " Albert tie " a thing of pure disgust, — 
 The Trowsers split when you would mount to ride, ■ 
 The Boots that always break out at the side, — 
 The Parasols called silk but only cotton, — 
 The Gold chains gilt their solid brass to hide, — 
 The Shirts by starving wages misbegotten, — 
 Mix in one gaudy glare, whilst all beneath is rotten.
 
 JOB morbid's pilgrimage. 21 
 
 in. 
 
 " Temples of Mammon ! Halls of outward sliow ! 
 Above, all prosperous in liglit and glaze, 
 But dark with grinding tyranny below ; 
 Oh ! how I hate your meretricious blaze. 
 And grieve for having written in your praise. 
 Oh ! now I feel I could anath'matize 
 Such grasping, grinding, crushing, cruel ways. 
 Of hoarding wealth, and making mansions rise. 
 On man's hard toil for food, and weary woman's sighs. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Ye trading whirlpools, in the sea of gain, 
 Ye muddy rivers, in your waters vile 
 How many a gentle rivulet you drain, 
 Whose pebbly course would in the sunshine smile. 
 Did not your choking mud its stream defile. 
 Such is young Ellen, gentle-hearted maid, 
 Like Ariadne left on Naxos' isle, 
 Though by her labour, not her love betrayed, 
 A wealth-deserted girl, by Mammon badly paid. 
 
 y. 
 
 " Farewell Mecrenas of my early verse ! 
 No more for thee Job Morbid strikes the lyre ; 
 No child of Fancy can thy bosom nurse, 
 Save fancy vests for flashy men's attire. 
 And fancy coats which little gents admire." — , 
 Then having quenched his eloquence in beer. 
 The Pilgrim's steps towards the West retire : 
 He passed the Poultry, where no fowls appear, 
 And walked along Cheapside, where everything is dear. 
 
 c 3
 
 22 JOB morbid's pilgrimage. 
 
 VI. 
 
 On the great Post Office the Pilgrim gazed, 
 Aiid thus soliloquised : " Oh mighty pile ! 
 Like some huge heart by England's commerce raised, 
 To keep up circulation through the isle, 
 Exciting Hope and Fear, the sigh, the tear, the smile ; 
 Within thy walls, protected by a seal. 
 Lie lovers' vows, and lawyers' letters vile, 
 The state intrigue, the tailor's dull appeal : — 
 All human thoughts and hoj)es thy letters could reveal. 
 
 vn. 
 
 " And thou, St. Paul's, rearing thy stately head, 
 In graceful elegance and gi'andeur vast, 
 A proud mausoleum o'er the mighty dead, 
 Of whom great Wellington is now the last : 
 Long may thy record tell their glories past ! 
 Thy graceful walls true genius attest ; 
 Li fairest mould and true proportions cast, 
 The ponderous masses lightly seem to rest. 
 Oh most miraculous TVreti to build so huge a nest ! " 
 
 vui. 
 
 While thus he gazed upon the structure vast. 
 Deep contemplation seized the Pilgrim bard ; 
 But for a moment only could it last : 
 Even Poetic Fancy finds it hard 
 To worship Beauty in St. Paul's Churchyard, 
 Where every new-born sentiment must die, 
 Crushed by the hawkers' callous disregard 
 For all save what they pester you to buy, 
 And where stentorian " Cads" all with each other vie.
 
 JOB morbid's pilgrimage. 23 
 
 IX. 
 
 The human tide was setting to the West ; 
 The well-known cry, " move on, " assails his ear ; 
 So Morbid's prudence told him it were best 
 Down with the stream his present course to steer, 
 Nor loiter more until the way were clear. 
 As when some boatman, driven to despair, 
 Floats with the current in its mad career, 
 So Morbid floated till he came to where 
 The mortal stream expands in broad Trafalgar Square. 
 
 Here a tall monument, scarce yet complete. 
 Though hard it is to recollect the date 
 When the first stone was settled in its seat, 
 Or the long years in a neglected state, 
 For want of money, it was doomed to wait. 
 Well may a Briton blush on being told, 
 In wealthy England, such should be the fate 
 Of Nelson's Column ; and that we have sold 
 A share in his great name for Russia's slavish gold.* 
 
 XI. 
 
 Ungrateful England ! Nelson sleeps beside 
 His waiTior brother Wellington, 'tis true ; 
 But this was done to gratify thy pride. 
 Still to his name a heavy debt is due : 
 The soldier lived, the sailor died for you. 
 
 * The Emperor of Russia subscribed 500/. towards the Nelson Muiniment. 
 
 C 4
 
 24 JOB mokbid's pilgrimage. 
 
 Unto the soldier's child England has brought her 
 Most valued gifts ; but for her sailor time 
 (Whose death in Victory ended naval slaughter), 
 Neglects his last bequest, — his only child, his daughter.* 
 
 XII, 
 
 Hail glorious Abbey of old Westminster ! 
 Thy ancient walls fixr older fancies bring, 
 Though they themselves to ages past refer, 
 When England's fourth Plantagenet was king. 
 Would I could wox-thily thy praises sing ! 
 Well might thy Abbot, in the pride of power, 
 Contempt on Wickliff and his Lollards fling. 
 For then indeed far distant was the hour 
 When that great storm should burst, which then began to lower. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Here, when the prayer ascends to Heaven's Throne^ 
 In choral hymn and organ's solemn peal, 
 Floating on waves of harmony alone. 
 What holy feelings o'er the senses steal. 
 Forcing the sinner to bow low and kneel ! 
 Here Britain shrines those names which now adorn her 
 Historic page. 'Twas Nelson's last appeal. 
 What pure ambition here to draw his mourner ! 
 Thus Morbid's train of thought led on to Poets^ Corner. 
 
 * Nelson formally bequeathed his daughter to the care of his country 
 before going into action at Trafalgar, 
 
 N.B. We accepted the victory he bequeathed us because it was very pro- 
 fitable ; but we declmed the daughter, because she might be expensive. — 
 Printers Devil.
 
 JOB mokbid's pilgrimage. 25 
 
 XIV. 
 
 The Pilgrim left the Poets' last retreat, 
 To gaze on Barry's yet unfinished pile, 
 In all its details most minutely neat. 
 Vast in its size and pretty in its style ; 
 Where zealous Commons midnight hours beguile ; 
 Here Tories, Whigs, and Radicals debate, 
 And ex-officials ministers revile : 
 Each has his panacea for the State, — 
 Reform Bill, Malt Dues, Ballot, Income Tax, Church Rate. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Here is the workshop of that grand machine, 
 The Constitution ; which, like some huge wheel. 
 Despite impediment rolls on serene : 
 The Throne the Nave, or centre of its weal, 
 To which all other parts for strength appeal ; 
 The Spokes the Lords ; the Commons form the Tire ; 
 The Felloes ministers, who join and seal 
 That wholesome system Ave so much admire. 
 Keep but the Tire sound, the wheel will work entire.* 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Fair Parks of London ! free from dust and mud, 
 The sulph'rous atmosphere is here exhaled ; 
 Here modest flowers may presume to bud. 
 No longer by its blighting kiss assailed. 
 Whene'er they venture to peep out unveiled. 
 Here gentle hearts with hope and doubt are beating. 
 Fearful their assignation may have fiiiled. 
 Till murmured sounds of love and happy greeting 
 Lift from the heart its weight, and sanctify the meeting. 
 
 * llallicr a tiresome stanza this. — P. 1).
 
 26 JOB morbid's pilgrimage. 
 
 x\ai. 
 There is a pleasure in St James's Park ; 
 Tliere is a rapture in its soft repose ; 
 There is a fountain worthy of remark ; 
 There is society which no one knows ; 
 There is an hour when the gates should close ; 
 There is a barrack for the guardsmen there ; 
 There is a Palace which its bounds enclose, 
 The stone of which seems never in repair, 
 Of a complexion bad, but painted to look fair. 
 
 XVIIl. 
 
 Still 'tis a casket which contains a gem 
 Of priceless value, England's much loved Queen, 
 A light to all who wear the diadem ; 
 Here the true form of royalty is seen, 
 Framed on a people's love, no time can wean. 
 Crowned with their love, enthroned on their hearts, 
 Free from all hostile care, she reigns serene. 
 Oh ! such Eegalia more true power imparts 
 Than standing army's might, or diplomatic arts. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Monarchs of Europe ! do ye wish to clear 
 The rocks and quicksands that beset your course ? 
 Here is the beacon light by which to steer, 
 Here the fair Pilot your most sure resource ; 
 Love has more pow'r to rule than fear or force. 
 Would ye be Despots ? still here learn the way, 
 Love is all absolute, the very source 
 Of healthful pow'r. Nursed in its warm bright ray, 
 Our happy Queen shall find no limit to her sway.
 
 JOB MOBBID'S PILGRiaiAGE. 27 
 
 XX. 
 
 The listless Pilgrim sauntered through " May Fair," 
 And caught the light from many a beaming eye : 
 He saw a youthful beauty pass him there, 
 With big-calved, powdered " Thomas " walking nigh. 
 Leading " Fidele " by a long silken tie. 
 Hereditary bondsmen ! race servile ! 
 Who would be free, from powdered hair must fly. 
 'Tis sweet to bask in Beauty's radiant smile. 
 But not in yellow coat and scarlet breeches vile. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 The sun had set, the night Avas closing fast. 
 The Pilgrim sought his attic home to gain. 
 When on the stairs young Ellen's room he passed, 
 (For she existed in St. Martin's Lane,) 
 In spell-bound attitude he did remain. 
 For through the crazy door her gentle voice 
 Fell on his ear in a melodious strain ; 
 As caged canary-birds at times rejoice, 
 So Ellen worked and sang, and these words were her choice. 
 
 ELLEN'S SONG. 
 
 Old Mammon, old Mammon, you terrible Turk, 
 How I wish I could live without doing your work 
 From morning till night I am working for thee. 
 Yet I can't save a penny to buy me some tea.
 
 28 JOB morbid's pilgrimage. 
 
 T'is lucky for me, that my fingers are nimble, 
 Althoiigli I must work with a hole in my thimble, 
 For I've made up my mind that I won't buy another, 
 Till I've paid for a pair of new shoes for dear mother. 
 
 But such very hard work is a very hard case. 
 For a girl like myself with a very good face : 
 As nobody hears me, they can't say I'm vain ; 
 But why should I say that a pretty girl's plain ? 
 
 In that sweet little bonnet, on which I so dote, 
 
 With my polka pelisse, and my stiflf petticoat, 
 
 I certainly see, when I look in the glass, 
 
 What the young men would say was a nice little lass. 
 
 But how shall I answer my lover Joe Wiggins ? 
 He wants me to go with him out to the diggins ; 
 To be called Mrs. Wiggins sounds rather uncouth. 
 But what's in a name, when dear Joe's a nice youth. 
 
 I feel I could love him if I had but the time. 
 Oh ! to think about loving is something sublime ; 
 The very thought lights up the heart with a glow. 
 For love seems with happiness always to go. 
 
 To have some one to love you, and call you his own, 
 And to know that you're not in this world all alone ! 
 Oh ! I feel that God made us for something like this. 
 And that love is the best of all earthly bliss. 
 
 When the heart is o'erflowing with joy or grief, 
 Oh think what a heavenly source of relief, 
 On a husband's dear bosom its torrent to pour, 
 And feel by his pressure he loves you the more.
 
 JOB morbid's pilgrimage. 29 
 
 Heighho ! — to the diggins I think I must go, 
 This working for Mammon is certainly slow ; 
 And though I can't work with a pick or a ladle, 
 A woman by instinct can best rock a cradle. 
 
 Then if I 've a baby, I'll christen it Nugget : 
 The sweet little soul, oh ! how fondly I'll hug it. 
 For it and dear Joe, I'll be busy all day, 
 And have some one to love me while he is away. 
 
 I ask not for pleasures, which riches supply, 
 With love I would labour for all that I buy, 
 For in love and in labour if I do my best, 
 I doubt not kind Providence will do the rest. 
 
 To the labour of love wo don't wearily go. 
 If my heart could speak out, it would tell you, dear Joe, 
 The delight of my life would be working for you. 
 Instead of old Mammon, the stingy old Jew. 
 
 END OF THIKD CANTO.
 
 30 JOB morbid's pilgrimage. 
 
 CANTO TV. 
 
 H 
 
 Brighton, sweet Bi-ighton, atmosphere for love ! 
 Thy fresh sea breeze bears love upon its wings ; 
 And from thy downs, in the blue vault above, 
 His song of love the soaring skylark sings, 
 Whilst from his furze-bush nest he upward springs : 
 Where riding masters live in Paradise, 
 And ladies ride, like caravans, in strings, 
 Through rain and mud, dirt, wind, snow, hail, or ice. 
 In wide-awake and hat, or bonnet more precise. 
 
 II, 
 
 Job Morbid basked him in the noontide sun. 
 Disporting thei-e in a small one-horse fly ; 
 For now the bathing season had begun. 
 And thousands on the warm beach walk or lie, 
 Whose gay bright dresses with the rainbow vie. 
 Here fair girls throw themselves in Neptune's arms, 
 But the old Sea King, being somewhat shy, 
 Sends gentle dancing waves to lave their charms. 
 Whilst he the boisterous sea and wild rude wind disarms.
 
 JOB morbid's pilgrimage. 31 
 
 ni. 
 
 The day was hot, the sea was calm and clear, 
 Romance and bathing filled the Pilgrim's mind ; 
 Like bold Leander he could now appear, 
 And many a Hero in the row boats find, 
 With which the men's machines in front are lined. 
 Like to a female coast-guard or blockade. 
 To stop all swimmers if for France inclined : 
 Bold is the unarmed man that's not afraid 
 To face those peeping eyes, 'neath parasols arrayed. 
 
 rv. 
 
 Oh ! 'tis a fair and pleasant sight to view 
 The Brighton sea beach in its jubilee ; 
 When white-winged pleasure boats their course pursue, 
 And many colours dot the deep blue sea, 
 Whose placid bosom breathes security. 
 There, in the sunshine of meridian day. 
 Young bright-eyed maidens gambol gay and free. 
 And tempt with coy steps the amorous spray, 
 Till fi'om a sparkling kiss they blushing turn away. 
 
 V. 
 
 " Sail on the water, Sir ? nice breeze to-day : 
 The schooner Skylark is the fastest boat : 
 That's her. Sir, now a getting under way, — 
 You're jist in time afore they gets afloat." 
 Thus spoke a sailor from his husky throat. 
 To tempt the Pilgrim to a pleasure sail. 
 How could he better now his time devote ? 
 So having let such eloquence prevail. 
 Soon o'er the sea he glides before a gentle gale.
 
 32 JOB morbid's pilgrimage. 
 
 VT. 
 
 Swiftly the crowded schooner sails along ; 
 The sea is smooth, the wind is fresh and fair : 
 The pleasure party form a merry throng 
 Of bright-eyed girls, and gents with greasy hair 
 (Whose bad cigars drive others to despair) ; 
 Of little boys with lumps of sugar candy, 
 Their stomachs for sea sickness to prepare ; 
 And ladies with a little basket handy, 
 Containing buns and cakes, or the more needful brandy. 
 
 vn. 
 
 Mark you that couple which the foresails hide, 
 Leaning together o'er the starboard bow ? 
 See how he gently draws her to his side : 
 That maiden listens to a lover's vow. 
 For tell-tale blushes mount into her brow. 
 Ah, happy man ! that gentle loving heart 
 With thine in unison beats fondly now ; 
 For love can quicker unity impart 
 Than the electric flash or Mesmer's subtle art. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 And watch that graceful, pretty little girl, 
 Intently peering in the deep blue sea ; 
 She revels now in grottos made of pearl. 
 Midst rainbow colour'd shells and sea nymphs free. 
 And thinks a mermaid she should like to be. 
 Ah ! jjretty girl, those graceful thoughts are seeds, 
 Which soon will blossom into flow'rs with thee. 
 And bear that fruit on which love always feeds : 
 With fairy hearts like thine, the lover best succeeds.
 
 JOB morbid's pilgrimage. 33 
 
 IX. 
 
 The schooner tacks, the wind is right a-liead : 
 The gents turn pale, cigars have lost their charms ; 
 The little mermaid wishes she were dead ; 
 The loving girl lies in a sailoi''s arms. 
 No mantling blush her cold damp forehead warms ; 
 His stomach now has more her lover's care, 
 He seeks for brandy to allay his qualms. 
 But finding only a fat sandwich there, 
 Flies to the schoonei^'s side, in sickness and desj^air. 
 
 My task is o'er, my pilgrimage is done. 
 To thee, Thalia, Morbid bids farewell. 
 Yet ere we part remember there is one 
 Whose image ever in his heart must dwell. 
 Where burns a flame, which time can never quell ; 
 Then, gentle Muse, I pray thee sing once more, 
 And cause the music of thy lyre to swell 
 In praise of Brighton and its beach-bound shore, 
 And in that one dear heart thy parting cadence pour. 
 
 The beach-bound walls of Brighton cliff 
 
 Frown o'er the wide majestic sea, 
 And from their height the pleasure skiif 
 
 Seems dancing onward bright and free : 
 Thei'c's many a heart in that gay boat, 
 
 Its cheerful brightness cannot share, 
 But wishes it were not afloat, 
 
 To suffer from the " Mai de mer ;" 
 Oh ! this bright scene were joy to me, 
 If shared in, dearest love, with thee.
 
 34 JOT5 morbtd's pilgrimage. 
 
 The wavy downs, whose surface, spread 
 
 With fragrant thyme o'er hill and vale, 
 That springs beneath your horse's tread, 
 
 And sheds its perfume on the gale ; 
 That tempts the wild exciting ride, 
 
 Which adds new fire to beaming eyes. 
 Whilst glowing blood, with lover's pride, 
 
 To Beauty's cheek impetuous flies, 
 There mantling with each rapid stride, 
 We gallop onward side by side. 
 
 Or in that hour of calm repose, 
 
 When Phoebus sinks beneath the west. 
 To watch the waters o'er him close. 
 
 And feel a dreamy soothing rest ; 
 While from the undulating sea 
 
 A gentle murmur, low and calm, 
 Whispers soft notes of love and thee. 
 
 And wraps me spell-bound in the charm ; 
 Then would I on the beach recline. 
 With thy dear gentle hand in mine. 
 
 Thus linked in love's electric chain. 
 
 And lost in blissful reverie, 
 I'd listen to the mystic strain. 
 
 Like vocal music from the sea ; 
 And trace the burden of its song 
 
 To hope, affection, truth, and love, — 
 Sweet blessings which to earth belong, 
 
 And lead to greater joys above ; 
 While through the melody I hear 
 Thy voice, to me so fondly dear.
 
 MORBID SENTIMENT. 
 
 D 2
 
 ^xnmntis ^ersoitit. 
 
 Thomasina Moribund, a hypersentimental yovng Lady. 
 Mary Mayflower, Thnmasina's Maid. 
 
 Bill Sbooner, a Man-servant (just emerged from the chrysalis strife of Poyr), in 
 love with Mary.
 
 r b t b S e 11 1 i in e n t 
 
 A BURLESQUE DKAMATIC FEAGMENX. 
 
 Enter Thomasina and Maky. 
 
 TH03IASINA. 
 
 Mary, since my canary bird was ill, 
 
 I find my heart is losing its freewill ; 
 
 It yearns for something, seems to want repose ; 
 
 But what that something is, Fate only knows : 
 
 And as this dread vacuity grows worse, 
 
 I often feel I'd like to be a nurse. 
 
 Oh! my poor aching heart Avould fain aspire 
 
 To supersede all those who nurse for hire : 
 
 Save the poor patient fx-om some " Sarah Gam])," 
 
 Or " Betsy Prig," or wretches of like stamp^ — 
 
 Wretches who, heartless, ignorant, and cruel, 
 
 Drink his port wine, drop snuff into his gruel, 
 
 Smelling of gin, half di'unk and half awake, 
 
 Give him some "embrocation " by mistake, 
 
 And rub his wounded limbs with what he ought to take 
 
 D 3
 
 38 JOB mokbid's pilgrimage. 
 
 MARY. 
 
 Of course, Miss Thomasina, as you please, 
 I can't say I've much fancy for disease. 
 A " Sarah Gamp's " a shocking, foul disgrace, 
 But why should ladies therefore take her place ? 
 Many a female, full of love and truth. 
 Lives nearly starving through laborious youth, 
 Breaks down in middle age, pines and decays, 
 And in some workhouse ends her wretched days. 
 Seek out such women, save them from despair. 
 They will be subjects worthy of your care ; 
 Train them as nurses, teach them to treat sores, 
 And surgeons won't consider them mere bores. 
 You may find hearts brimful of soft humility 
 Outside the magic circle of gentility. 
 No youthful lady's duty, I suppose, is 
 With all the wretchedness disease discloses : 
 Let others do this work; you give the money, 
 As flowers find the working bees with honey. 
 
 THOMASINA. 
 
 Oh! from your lips your mundane fancies fling 
 The heavenly nectar " sentiment " would bring : 
 Your mind still grovels in the dust of earth ; 
 No germ of Sentiment can there find birth. 
 But tell me of my bird — does it appear 
 That we must lay him on a funeral bier ? 
 Does his soft plumage droop in early death ? 
 Is that voice mute to which my care gave breath ? 
 Am I condemned these dregs of grief to swallow ? 
 Like all my other hopes, does this prove hollow ? 
 Say! must I in funeral sables moui'u ?
 
 JOB MORBID S PILGRIMAGE 39 
 
 MARY. 
 
 Yes, Dickey of the Pip is really gone. 
 
 THOMASINA. 
 
 Leave me then, Mary, for this weight of grief 
 
 Looks not to friendly solace for relief. 
 
 Yet stay awhile, perchance some spark of soul 
 
 Lives in thy heart, beyond thine own control ; 
 
 Let me then seek to fan it into flame 
 
 And brand thy heart in Sentiment's great name. 
 
 Mary, love not ; all things you love must die. 
 
 MARY. 
 
 So the song says, Miss ; that I won't deny. 
 
 THOMASINA. 
 
 There is an ardent spirit in that song. 
 
 MARY. 
 
 But " ardent spirits," Miss, are surely wrong. 
 
 THOMASINA. 
 
 Mary, I fear in this your state of mind, 
 The seeds of Sentiment no soil can find. 
 Farewell ! but mark ! if Spooner you should love, 
 He dies as sure as there are stars above. 
 
 Exit Thomasina, 
 
 MARY. 
 
 Bother this Sentiment ! its gross abuse 
 With my young lady plays the very deuce. 
 Her heart, like all our hearts, is full of love, 
 
 D 4
 
 40 JOB morbid's pilgrimage. 
 
 And was ordained to be so from above ; 
 
 But hers is restive, does not like control, 
 
 And this, she says, is Sentiment of soul. 
 
 She longs for something, but she knows not what. 
 
 She longs for love, in fact ; a happy lot. 
 
 If once directed in its proper course. 
 
 If not it runs to folly, or perhaps worse : 
 
 Its proper course is to the other sex. 
 
 Whom we 're at liberty to love and vex. 
 
 Than run such dreadful risks, I'm sure I'd sooner 
 
 Give all my love to Mr. William Spooner. 
 
 For this I know — a woman can't do wrong 
 
 To love a man who loves her very strong. 
 
 Here's Bill ! — I'll try Miss Thomasina's plan. 
 
 And make him sentimental if I can. 
 
 Enter Bill. 
 BILL. 
 
 Good morning, Mary ! why how nice you look I 
 You 're dressed as smartly as a well-bound book. 
 
 MARY. 
 
 Be quiet, Bill, I want to heave a sigh. 
 
 Heigh-ho ! — Love not, for all you love must die. 
 
 BILL. 
 
 Come Mary, none of that, — that's all my eye, 
 Or will be, if you 're going for to cry. 
 
 MAKY. 
 
 I aint a crying, stupid. O you sot I 
 That's sentimental poetry — " Love not."
 
 JOB mokbid's pilgrimage. 41 
 
 A very fashionable lady wrote it, 
 And all young ladies now delight to quote it. 
 All things you love must die, and so I tell you ; 
 But if you won't believe, I can't compel you. 
 This very dress you like so, by and bye — 
 'T is such a love — I'm sure that it will dye. 
 
 BILL. 
 
 Well, Mary, honour bright, I must confess 
 
 I'd die myself if I could be that dress. 
 
 And love you dearly, — which the dress can't do, — 
 
 If I might only stick as close to you. 
 
 SIARY. 
 
 Come, Mr. William, that was gallant spoke, 
 But I suppose you only meant to joke. 
 
 BILL, 
 
 As true as pigs is pigs, I'd risk my life 
 If I could get you, Mary, for my wife. 
 
 MAET {aside). 
 
 As true as pigs is pigs ! well, I'm content 
 
 To have a husband without Sentiment. 
 
 {Aloud) Well, Bill, although you 're not a polished man, 
 
 I'll try and love you, .^ if I tiy I can. 
 
 BILL. 
 
 Come Mary, seal the bargain with a kiss.
 
 42 MORBID SENTIMENT. 
 
 MART. 
 
 No ! No ! — I'm off to wait upon my miss.* 
 
 Bill steals a kiss. 
 That's very rude, — you should know better, — fye ! 
 You've tumbled all my collar. — There ! goodbye ! 
 
 Lets Bill kiss her, and runs off. 
 
 BILL. 
 
 There's no mistake about it — I'm in love, 
 And feel as gentle as a sucking dove. 
 This feeling 's rather spoony, I must own, 
 And very troublesome when one 's alone. 
 Talk of the " rights of women ! " If they choose 
 To make men love them, no one can refuse 
 To serve and worship them ; why, then, 
 Women can play at nine-pins with the men. 
 
 Exit Bill. 
 
 Enter Thomasina, reading " Lalla Bookh." 
 
 {Reads.) " I never nursed a dear gazelle 
 
 To glad me with its soft black eye. 
 But when it came to know me well 
 And love me, it was sure to die." 
 
 Shuts the book. 
 
 Poor gentle Hinda ! sisters now in woe, 
 Our hearts with sympathy of sorrows flow, 
 As two pure fountains, overcharged with grief. 
 Let fall their tear drops for the heart's relief : 
 
 * Mary seems to know that two negatives make an affirmative. — Printer's 
 Devil.
 
 MORBID SENTIMENT. 43 
 
 We hear afar each other's mournful rill 
 
 Make solemn music ; drop by drop they fill 
 
 To overflowing ; then with headlong force 
 
 Scatter our hopes and yearnings in their course, 
 
 Until at last, plunged in the ocean wave, 
 
 Our hopes lie buried in some coral cave. 
 
 Oh Hinda ! Zephyr hears thy mournful groan. 
 
 And my poor bosom claims it for its own ; 
 
 But still my grief is heavier far than thine, — 
 
 Thy loss was sentimental, not so mine. 
 
 Perchance some sweet romantic death befell 
 
 Thy dearly loved, thy loving fond, gazelle ; 
 
 It may have been, whilst through the woods she fled, 
 
 Diana's winged arrow struck her dead ; 
 
 Or as she killed her lover in her scorn. 
 
 As Acta3on died, so died your gentle fawn ; 
 
 But my poor ruined heart, in seeking rest 
 
 No longer finds in Sentiment a nest. 
 
 Oh wretched word to pass a loving lip — 
 
 My love, my darling, died of vulgar pip ! 
 
 Exit. 
 
 Enter Bn.L and Mart. 
 IIART. 
 
 No, Bill, you're too impatient. Go away ! 
 For years and years I will not fix the day. 
 
 BILL. 
 
 Mary ! don't be cruel, don't say so : 
 
 I've lost my appetite, I'm getting low ; 
 
 My waistcoat 's much too loose ; only look here,- 
 
 Besidcs, I 've lost all relish for the beer.
 
 44 MORBID SENTIMENT. 
 
 My heart beats quick : I find I'm short of breath, - 
 You would not surely, Mary, be my death. 
 
 MARY. 
 
 The wedding shan't take place till I am willing : 
 You men in love affairs take lots of killing. 
 
 BILL. 
 
 When you i-ead this, you'll think it rather shocking :- 
 " A man found dead and hanging by his stocking. 
 " The jury's verdict is : ' He got his gruel 
 " ' Because his sweetheart Mary was so cruel.' " 
 
 MAUY. 
 
 Stuff, Bill, you want to frighten me, I know ; 
 But if you want to hang yourself, why go. 
 rU give my Missis warning, in which case. 
 You know I can't be stopping out of place. 
 If you can't take a hint, you 're very stupid, 
 And not a victim yet to little Cupid. 
 
 Exit Maky. 
 
 BILL. 
 
 Hurra ! she 's nailed as sure as I'm a sinner. 
 Well, now I've got some appetite for dinner ; 
 But while I feel myself so light and airy, 
 I'll go and write some poetry for Mary. 
 
 Exit Bill. 
 
 Enter Thomasina, reading (from the Sicilian Bride) the Sorrows of the Heart. 
 
 THOMAsmA (reads). 
 " Thy beauty, while it thriUs my soul, 
 
 Can not dispel its gloom ; 
 But beams with a deceptive light, 
 
 Like roses on a tomb."
 
 MORBID SENTIMENT. 45 
 
 THOMASINA. 
 
 Ah me ! this poetry is quite consoling. 
 
 I see the poet's eye in frenzy rolling, 
 
 Whilst from him gush the sorrows of his heiirt, 
 
 And these deep mystic words his grief impart. 
 
 What splendid metaphor ! what thrilling gloom I 
 
 Deceptive roses smiling on a tomb ! 
 
 Enter Mary. 
 
 Come hither, Mary, whilst again I make 
 
 One last attempt thy feelings to awake. 
 
 Listen attentively, and I will read 
 
 That which must cause thy callous heart to bleed : 
 
 How sweetly sorrowful the verses run — 
 
 Surely the Muses love to feed on B — n ! 
 
 MARY. 
 
 I like their taste, Miss ; buns are very nice, — 
 A plummy bun, with just a little spice. 
 
 THOIMASINA. 
 
 O Mary ! do not so distort ideas : 
 You should have shed some sympathetic tears. 
 The song is called " The Sorrows of the Heart : " 
 Its name alone should make the tear-drop start. 
 
 THOMASINA {reads). 
 
 " Thy beauty, while it thrills my soul. 
 
 Can not dispel its gloom ; 
 But beams with a deceptive light, 
 
 Like roses on a tomb. 
 And yet, by thee beguil'd, enchain'd, 
 
 I still would at its shrine.
 
 46 MORBID SENTIMENT. 
 
 To win thy love, lay down my life, 
 
 My fame, to call thee mine. 
 Then lady, while thy radiant smiles 
 
 Each stricken sense subdue, 
 
 may they, as they rend the heart, 
 
 Allay its sorrows too ! " 
 
 MAEY. 
 
 My goodness gracious! only think what fun! 
 I've got some poetry that Bill has done : 
 It sounds like yours, but William dare n't presume 
 To write to me of roses on a tomb. 
 
 Mart produces a love effusion of Bill's, and reads. 
 
 " Thy beauty, while it fills my heart, 
 "Won't fill my stomach too : 
 
 1 always lose my appetite 
 When thinking, love, of you. 
 
 And yet by thee, though tied and chained, 
 
 I still would, when I dine. 
 For thee, my love, lay down my knife 
 
 And fork to call thee mine. 
 Then, Mary, while thy lovely smiles 
 
 My appetite subdue, 
 O may thy Bill^ do what 's right. 
 
 And write a Billy-do ! " * 
 
 THOMASINA. 
 
 Mary, I fear that man has turned your head. 
 And your few sparks of Sentiment are dead : 
 Under which circumstance I doubt me whether 
 Two souls so much unlike can live together. 
 
 * It is presumed that Mr. Spooner here means " billet-doux." His ortho- 
 grapliy is more phonetic than correct. — P. D.
 
 MORBID SENTIMENT. 47 
 
 3LA.RY. 
 
 Miss Thomasina, well I tliink so too ; 
 But clid'nt like to break it first to you. 
 I could not bring myself to tell you sooner 
 That I'm engaged to marry Mr. Spooner. 
 Rather than lead a sentimental life 
 I much prefer the natural one of wife ; 
 For which I think both you and I were born : 
 Your Sentiment but takes the heart in pawn, 
 On which you borrow till it 's so much worn 
 By frequent pawning, that its value 's gone. 
 Give your spare love, dear Missis, if you can, 
 To whom it properly belongs — a man. 
 Though Mr. William Spooner 's not perfection, 
 I'm quite contented with my own selection. 
 There's nothing perfect, so I've heard it said, 
 And half a loaf is better than no bread : 
 The man I mean to marry loves me dearly, 
 And I in turn shall do the same sincerely. 
 I'm sure a woman's happiest lot in life 
 Is to be loved by him who makes her wife. 
 
 Exit Mart. 
 
 TH05HASINA. 
 
 what a bleak and dreary scene is life — 
 Of wrecked affections and of inward strife ! 
 
 1 find no soul can sympathise with mine : 
 Most mortal hearts ideal love decline. 
 Oh, I have loved not wisely but too well I 
 Cankered affections in my bosom dwell.
 
 48 MORBID SENTIMENT. 
 
 As when some mountain torrent, past control, 
 Its onward waves in vast destruction roll : 
 As when some whirlwind, bursting from the sky, 
 North, South, East, West, its winged furies fly : 
 Such are my bursting agonies of soul, 
 That rush for sympathy from Pole to Pole. 
 All my affections wrecked, and all in vain. 
 My spirit groans and weeps, and weeps and groans again. 
 Talk not of Nature's love. Away ! Away ! 
 Oh that perpetual night would banish day. 
 And thus deception, hidden from our sight, 
 Could not with wantonness affection blight ! 
 _ The gushing feelings of my heart I've moved 
 Towards creation : — for a Bee I loved ; 
 I caught the little insect on the wing, 
 And it returned my love with poisonous sting. 
 I did not want to rob it of its honey. 
 But perhaps the little wretch thought stinging funny. 
 
 base Ingratitude ! thou child of earth. 
 Fed upon fond affections from thy birth ; 
 In rapine, ruin, reckless riot reared, 
 
 How by thy venom has my heart been seared ! 
 
 1 loved the Zephyr once, and wooed his love. 
 As he came sporting through the space above : 
 1 laid my bosom bare to court his breeze. 
 
 It struck my heart, and lo ! it made me sneeze. 
 Alas ! alas ! for this my love was sold, — 
 Instead of catching love, I caught a cold. 
 Tell me not then of love returned on earth. 
 Where each affection 's strangled in its birth. 
 Once more my soul yearned for requited love, 
 Betrayed by Nature, and the breeze above.
 
 MORBID SENTIMENT. 49 
 
 With gushing heart I now the Ocean court, 
 
 And with affection on his bosom sport ; 
 
 The monster rises from his sleepy bed, 
 
 And makes me sea-sick till I'm nearly dead. 
 
 My last fond hope was centred in my bird, 
 
 Aiid this, like all the rest, is now interr'd. 
 
 Love not ! love not ! all things you love deceive ; 
 
 Do not in happiness on earth believe. 
 
 Let your affections moulder and decay, 
 
 For all that's bright on earth must pass away. 
 
 Love nothing ! and be sure that when you die. 
 
 There's not a soul on earth will breathe a sigh. 
 
 [Exit TlIOJIASINA. 
 
 £
 
 .50 MOKBID SENTIMENT. 
 
 E P I L Ct U E. 
 
 Although the merry Momus I invoke, 
 Still Morbid Sentiment's in truth no joke ; 
 'T is a disease most fatal (so we find) 
 In the young, sensitive, ideal mind : 
 Where gentle fancy teems with sweet ideas, 
 And Morbid Sentiment to it appears 
 In the alluring guise of something new. 
 Which sweet ideas could never bring to view. 
 All novelty at first for its own sake, 
 Though void of merit, will be sure to take j 
 New fashions, polkas, bonnets, all make hits, 
 And ladies soon recover from such fits. 
 But Morbid Sentiment is worse by far, — 
 It spoils the heart, and sets the mind ajar: 
 As drunkards follow sorrow in her train, 
 And all their hopes of happiness are vain : 
 As gaming fastens on some wretched men, 
 And having ruined, will not leave them then ; 
 So, Morbid Sentiment, I'm much afi*aid, is 
 Bad in effect with many sweet young ladies.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 E 2
 
 httlhntfiUB 10anns. 
 
 MY LOVE, 
 
 All men with hearts come envy me 
 
 Wliilst I describe " My Love" to thee : — 
 
 On her fair form such beauties lie, 
 
 She is the Graces' Treasury ; 
 
 Around her graceful figure lurk 
 
 The fairest gems in Nature's work ; 
 
 In her expressive eyes I see 
 
 Now pensive love, now sparkling glee ; 
 
 Into the heart her glances go 
 
 Straight as the dart from Cupid's bow. 
 
 What mortal bosom dare defy 
 
 The light that sparkles in her eye ? 
 
 Her rosy, coy, and pouting smile — 
 
 Would Plato's solemn thoughts beguile ; 
 
 The pretty blush upon her cheek 
 
 Would say — " I love "—if it could speak ; 
 
 E 3
 
 54 MY LOVE. 
 
 The pensive sighs her bosom move 
 Fan to a flame the sparks of love ; 
 And that fair bosom's gentle swell 
 Tells of a heart where love can dwell ; 
 Her flowing hair, so fair and bright, 
 That falls like streaming rays of light 
 Around her face, and seems to seek 
 To kiss the bloom upon her cheek ; 
 And then her sweet and radiant face. 
 So bright with ever-changing grace. 
 How can a heart from love forbear, 
 And see an angel's portrait there ? 
 So like the rosebud is her lip, 
 'T would tempt the honey-bee to sip. 
 Oh ! fancy, then, what perfect bliss 
 If one could only steal a kiss ; 
 Her little feet so lightly ti-ead, 
 They would not harm a violet-bed. 
 Ah Psyche ! had but Cupid seen 
 " My Love," a jealous wife you'd been. 
 Her merry laugh with music rings. 
 Like silver bells on Zephyr's wings. 
 Angelic girl ! for one like thee 
 Orpheus had left Eurydice.
 
 55 
 
 D.ll.M. TO G.W.W. 
 
 Tenby, Pembrokeshire, 185- 
 
 Dear W 
 
 'T is late, and I'm all by myself, 
 Having satisfied hunger, that cormorant elf, 
 A demand rather trying just after a journey, 
 My only companion is Hook's " Gilbert Gurney." 
 But my head and my eyes are both tired of reading, 
 And I feel, boa-constrictor-like, torpid with feeding. 
 For 'tis clear that I have not digested as yet 
 A meal I may call "mw the a la fourchette. 
 And I think you'll admit I have taken enough in, 
 Having eaten two large mutton chops and a muffin — 
 A meal rather heavy ; besides, I've a notion 
 Two chops in the stomach don't improve locomotion ; 
 So being inclined for some sedentary fun, 
 And I know you enjoy an innocent pun, 
 I certainly think that I cannot do better 
 To kill the next hour, than write you a letter. 
 
 You must know, in my travels, a conquest I made, 
 Though, in spite of my vanity, I'm much afraid 
 'Twas most on my dress that the fare lady doted. 
 (I'd a wide-awake hat, and was velveteen coated). 
 
 E 4
 
 56 D. E. M. TO G. W. W. 
 
 I call her fare lady, for, nought to disparage, 
 
 She was certainly /are in a Great Western carriage ; 
 
 But had very small claim in all other respects 
 
 To what we call fair in the opposite sex. 
 
 Her eyes appeared greenish, her features were harsh, 
 
 And her lip well endowed with incipient moustache. 
 
 To judge from her face, she's a large beef consumer. 
 
 And certainly would not look well in a Bloomer. 
 
 By-the-by, before now, I undoubtedly should 
 
 Have told you her name ; 'twas Amelia Wood. 
 
 Now I'm free to admit that a pair of fine eyes 
 
 Has a famous eifect in producing love-sighs : 
 
 But Miss Wood's soft and melting eyes always appear 
 
 The effect of indulging too often in beer. 
 
 Besides, when the heart in Love's hot furnace glows 
 
 'T is seldom it burns for a rubicund nose. 
 
 And to judge from its colour there certainly lies 
 
 More warmth in Amelia's nose than her eyes ; 
 
 Her age I should say was about thirty-nine, — 
 
 And now you 've a sketch of this charmer of mine. 
 
 Our first scene at meeting was highly romantic ; 
 
 A dark night, a lamp, and a lady half frantic ; 
 
 A porter who tried to appease her in vain, 
 
 A Post-office guard, and a Great Western train. 
 
 As I'm not a knight-errant, I thought of retreating. 
 
 But was quickly stopped short, by the following greeting : 
 
 " Is 'nt it shameful, sir ! see what a mess 
 
 " This impudent fellow has made of my dress." 
 
 (It appeared that the porter, by an unlucky tilt. 
 
 Some oil from the lamp on the lady had spilt.) 
 
 Thus appealed to, I said the directors were careless ; 
 
 That such conduct would soon make their carriages fareless.
 
 D. R. M. TO G. W. W. 57 
 
 That the company's servants were quite uncontrollable : 
 
 But despite all my efforts she was not consolable, 
 
 And to make matters worse, the rude porter exclaimed, 
 
 " A haxidental mishap, sir, aint much to be blamed ; 
 
 " Besides, bless her heart, sir, there's nothin' to spoil, 
 
 " Such a hold dress aint urt by a little train oil." 
 
 But in spite of a reason so very conclusive, 
 
 The lady insisted the man was abusive. 
 
 However, the engine beginning to snort. 
 
 Both the time and the quarrel were quickly cut short ; 
 
 She thanked me, and said I was much like her brother. 
 
 So I shut her in one coach, myself in another, 
 
 And rejoiced at heart, as the carriages started, 
 
 To think that Miss Wood and myself had now parted. 
 
 Then judge of my great disappointment and sorrow, 
 
 When on boarding the steamer at Bristol next morrow, 
 
 Behold ! on the deck of the vessel there stood 
 
 This very identical lady. Miss Wood ; 
 
 And I quickly perceived she intended to bore me. 
 
 For she rushed to salute me the moment she saw me ; 
 
 Thus proving that very old adage is good 
 
 Which says " never holla till out of the tvood." 
 
 I was perfectly savage at being so done. 
 
 And sought for revenge by attempting to pun. 
 
 I said, " My dear madam, you certainly could 
 
 Find others on board more related to Wood. 
 
 If you want an acquaintance, there's nothing that hinders 
 
 Your claiming relationship now with the cinders ; , 
 
 For cinders and ashes are always the same. 
 
 And an Ash is a wood and inherits your name. 
 
 For another relation you 've not far to go, 
 
 There's an (h)elm in the ship which is called Wood also ;
 
 58 D. R. M. TO G. W. W. 
 
 There's another on shore which is still within reach, 
 
 The one you've just left, your relation, the Beach.* 
 
 Then I thought of inflicting a cut from the Birch, 
 
 But the ship interfered with a terrible lurch, 
 
 And while seeking again for a pun on a tree, 
 
 A little siek-or-more f Wood appeared clearly to be. 
 
 You can easily fancy I was not then slow 
 
 To advise her by all means to go down below. 
 
 So she went to the cabin, and there took a peep in 
 
 The places they told her the ladies all sleep in : 
 
 A sort of dinner-tray, nine inches wide, 
 
 At the sight of which bedstead Amelia cried, 
 
 " Do you really suppose I'll submit that myself, 
 
 " At my time of life, should be put on the shelf ^ 
 
 " I never have been (she exclaimed with some scorn) 
 
 " Confined in a berth since the day I was born." 
 
 Though I could not persuade her, sea-sickness could, 
 
 And I saw nothing more of Amelia Wood. 
 
 Now I own that this letter is not very terse. 
 
 And seems to proceed in a ratio in-verse ; 
 
 For I hope that amusing, agreeable, and plain 
 
 In vein it may prove — yet may prove not in vain. 
 
 And although to amuse you has been my intent, 
 
 I suppose you'll consider it is punish-ment. 
 
 However, my wish to amuse I shall gain. 
 
 For friendship at all events I entertain, 
 
 And believe me, Dear W , I always remain, 
 
 Yours faithfully, 
 D. R. M. 
 
 Query, Beech. f Query, Sycamore. 
 
 Printer'' s Devil.
 
 6^ 
 
 TO A BEAUTIFUL SONGSTRESS. 
 
 Oh ! I now can believe how Ulysses was led 
 
 To mistrust his own wisdom when tempted by song ; 
 
 How Orpheus entranced all the shades of the dead, 
 And led captive the aged, the wise, and the strong. 
 
 Thy voice swells the heart, as the beams of the sun 
 Expand all the beauties of flowers to view. 
 
 Oh ! duU is the passion that cannot be won 
 
 When entranced in sweet melody flowing from you. 
 
 For the two sweetest gifts that fair Nature bestows 
 On the works of creation, are Beauty and Song ; 
 
 And if each be so valued, how favoured are those 
 To whom both these treasures of Nature belong. 
 
 But Nature is sparing of gifts so divine, 
 
 And seldom unites them in one living thing ; 
 
 Though the Birds of the Tropics in brilliancy shine. 
 Having Beauty, fair Nature forbids them to sing
 
 no TO A BEAUTIFUL SONGSTRESS. 
 
 Then the nightingale's plumage is sombre in hue, 
 Possessing no Beauty to dazzle the eye ; 
 
 Yet her Song all the passions of man can subdue 
 And all the bright feathers of Beauty defy. 
 
 Oh ! then Nature was bountiful when at thy birth 
 She resolved that a mortal perfection should be, 
 
 Possessing both Treasures most valued on Earth, — 
 And thus Beauty and Song were united in thee.
 
 61 
 
 BOMBADIER CANNON TO HIS SWEETHEART. 
 
 Before Sebastopol, January, 1855. 
 
 Dear Betsy, you want to know why 
 
 We to the Crimea were sent ; 
 'T was to take it from Russia, or die, 
 
 On which purpose we still are In-tent. 
 
 'T is no joke, for accepting the Staff, 
 
 We are living in mire and water ; 
 Of Rations we only get half^ 
 
 And the Russians are giving no quarter. 
 
 The men all get sick from the wet 
 
 And the hardships they have to endure ; 
 
 All the medical treatment they get 
 Is a species of cold-water cure. 
 
 Now Betsy, my darling, don't laugh 
 
 When I tell you no beer we've had yet ; 
 
 Though the rations are all half-and-half, 
 And in quarters we have heavy-wet.
 
 62 BOMBADIER CANNON TO HIS SWEEXnEART. 
 
 If at night," to avoid some spout, 
 You seek for a place that is drier, 
 
 The moment one foot is put out 
 You find you are two feet in mire. 
 
 Surely, new boots the poor soldier merits 
 When his old ones are worn into holes ; 
 
 And I'd not give a Rap for the Spirits 
 Of soldiers without any Soles. 
 
 For the boots they've sent out are too small, 
 There's scarcely a pair of them suits. 
 
 We're as well without any at all, 
 
 For it's boot-less to give us small boots. 
 
 We all are so wretchedly fed. 
 Starvation can hardly exceed it ; 
 
 Though there ought to be plenty of bread, 
 For all in the hospitals need* it. 
 
 But hard biscuit, and pork, is the fare, 
 And cabbages never are seen. 
 
 For of all that we get, I declare, 
 The coffee^s^ the only thing green. 
 
 This coffee we pound with a shot, 
 
 And is either burnt up, or just toasted ; 
 
 Though each regiment a roster has got. 
 The coffee has never been roasted. 
 
 * We presume the Bombadier means knead, — a very \ovf-bread pun. 
 Printer's Devil, 
 
 f Tlie coffee was served out in the green state and urujround.
 
 BOMBADIER CANNON TO HIS SWEETHEART. 63 
 
 Our very moustaches are damp 
 
 From the mire and water all round ; 
 There's nothing like ground in the camp, 
 
 Where even the coffee ain't ground. 
 
 "We're too weak, now, for heavy "Brown Bess," 
 And to carry young " Minnie," her daughter, 
 
 We ought to have porter at mess, 
 
 For without it we cannot sup-port{h)er. 
 
 I wish we could get better feeding, 
 
 And see what the newspapers said ; 
 And any book would (if worth reading) 
 
 As a Uniform habit be re(a)d. 
 
 In a napkin my head I am keeping. 
 
 As I injured one eye in the Sap, 
 It is good in relation to sleeping. 
 
 For a napkin's a Jdn to a nap. 
 
 Bang ! ! ! Hurra ! while I'm writing, there goes 
 A shell from the " Blue Jackets' " quarter. 
 
 There are no better fellows than those 
 For sticking like Bricks to their mortar. 
 
 'O 
 
 The enemy, having got range, 
 
 Dropped some shells in the officers' dwelling ; 
 And perhaps you will not think it strange 
 
 That a Colonel got bruised in the shelling. 
 
 But it ended without any slaughter. 
 
 And the Colonel they say is not dying ; 
 
 Though a wound that's received from a mortar 
 Must certainly be mortar-fying.* 
 
 * Mortifying orthography. — Printer's Devil.
 
 64 BOMBADIER CANNON TO HIS SWEETHEART. 
 
 Our chaplain 's the pride of his calling, 
 
 So calmly he goes on his way, 
 Where the shots from the great guns are falling, 
 
 But he's some minor canon, they say. 
 
 Minnie Rifle I love, I confess, — 
 
 You mus'n't be jealous at this ; 
 Though she's younger than " Bonny Brown Bess,' 
 
 With '■'old Bess" you're more sure of a Miss.'' 
 
 Farewell, Betsy ! I'm ordered for duty, 
 But I hope, at the end of these wars, 
 
 I shall revel in pleasure and beauty 
 
 By exchanging my own arms for yours. 
 
 When with you, in old Britain's dear land, 
 I've a cottage, and money to stock it. 
 
 At the cradle I'll lend you a hand. 
 
 For I'm now well accustomed to Rock-et.
 
 65 
 
 AN APPEAL TO CUPID. 
 
 My Love is like a wayward fawn, — 
 
 I try to catch her, lo ! she's gone. 
 
 She lures me with her magic eyes : 
 
 When I approach her, off she flies ! 
 
 This is thy doing, cruel boy ! 
 
 Why take my heart to make thy toy ? 
 
 If Venus says it shall be thine. 
 
 Give me this other heart for mine. 
 
 Oh, Cupid ! join me in the chase, 
 
 Without thy aid I lose the race. 
 
 Come, fashion thou a mystic dart 
 
 Wherewith to pierce her to the heart ! 
 
 And I will weave a wreath to bind, 
 
 In softest bond, this gentle hind. 
 
 Oh, Love ! if thou will'st make her mine, 
 
 I'll be a willing slave of thine : 
 
 Devoted, then, my life shall be 
 
 To soothe the wound she got of thee !
 
 66 
 
 THE LAMENT OF NAECISSUS. 
 
 Great Jupiter ! and thou, fair Queen of Love, 
 
 In whose soft bosom all the passions move, 
 
 Pity the anguish of a heart's despair, 
 
 Beyond all grief that mortal strength can bear. 
 
 Let the mute eloquence, as incense rise, 
 
 Of silent tears, and heart-corroding sighs : 
 
 Vain tears, alas ! and sighs that fiercely aid 
 
 To fan the flame of passion unrepaid. 
 
 Oh, ye celestial gods ! in whom I trust. 
 
 Why to a helpless mortal be unjust? 
 
 Why should a passion, only fit for Heav'n, 
 
 Unto the mortal heart of man be giv'n ? 
 
 Ah ! wretched heart ! by fate condemned to burn 
 
 With love and passion where there's no return, 
 
 Why should I worship, with unceasing pain," 
 
 And all my pure devotion be in vain. 
 
 Before an Idol which I cannot gain ? 
 
 Oh ! could I plunge in Lethe's placid stream,' 
 
 So that the anguish of my heart might seem 
 
 Dull as the mcm'ry of a long-past dream. 
 
 But I, alas ! to wasting love a prey, 
 
 Must in deep sorrow languish life away. 
 
 LI 11, 
 
 I 
 
 ]
 
 THE LAMENT OP NARCISSUS. 67 
 
 Love's gentle murmur falls not on my ear, 
 Nor answers sigh, nor mingles tear with tear ; 
 No kiss that breathes the essence of the soul, 
 And frees the spirit from the earth's control ; 
 No mutual sympathy of mind or heart, 
 No unity nor loving counterpart. 
 Oh, wond'rous passion ! most mysterious love ! 
 Soft in thy impulse as the gentle dove ; 
 But, once the passions of mankind you fill, 
 Fierce as the eagle in thy cruel will : 
 No earthly medicine, no human art. 
 Can cure the anguish of a bleeding heart : 
 In vain Ambition rears her luring head, 
 In vain docs Glory all her radiance shed ; 
 Not all the wealth of Lydia's stream can move 
 The heart when fettered in the chains of love, 
 Nor quench the fire that feeds within the veins 
 Where all-absorbing love triumphant reigns. 
 
 Such is my fate, and such my load of grief. 
 That Death alone can bring my soul relief. 
 
 Oh, ye great Gods ! in your all-ruling pow'r. 
 Change this fair body to some beauteous flow'r ! 
 
 Oh ! Anteros ! thou god of mutual love, 
 
 Aid my petition to the gods above ; 
 
 So that Hope's visions and Love's dreams may close 
 
 Mine eyes in balmy sleep and soft repose ; 
 
 Then let me die, and from this flesh's decay 
 
 Make flowers bloom upon the sun-lit day, 
 
 vShedding their fragrance and soft looks of love 
 
 As a pure incense to the gods above. 
 
 Sweet flowers ! fairest daughters of the earth, 
 
 All gods, all mortals, love ye from your birth ; 
 
 F 2
 
 68 THE LAMENT OF NARCISSUS. 
 
 Your gentle beauty seems to mortals given 
 To show the purity that reigns in heaven. 
 Oh ! what a stoiy of true love is told 
 As your fair buds their gentle leaves unfold, 
 And thus lay bare the treasures of a breast 
 Bursting with beauty, for mankind's behest : 
 Your gentle life, all perfumed sunny smiles. 
 Alone the hopeless lover's grief beguiles ; 
 And your calm death is as the parting ray 
 In the bright sunset of a summer's day. 
 Oh, fair creation of a Pow'r divine, 
 Let me embody Love in form like thine ; 
 Then, as a flow'r bedecked with modest charms, 
 Some loving nymph will take me to her arms ; 
 There let me lie, with all my love repaid, 
 On the fair bosom of a gentle maid !
 
 69 
 
 THE MOURNER 
 
 Her beautiful face in her loose hair is buried, 
 
 Her fair hands are clasp'd in the throe of despair ; 
 
 The beat of her heart is uncertain and hurried, 
 Bereft of the love she had long cherished there. 
 
 'T is the day that he died ! what a tumult of feeling 
 
 Oppresses her soul ! as the time passes by. 
 The full sense of the loss o'er her fond bosom stealing, 
 
 Bursts forth in a deep-heaving, heart-rending sigh. 
 
 And well may she mourn, for a spirit has left her 
 Whose affection was tenderness few ever knew ; 
 
 And the cold hand of Death has now sternly bereft her 
 Of love the most constant, devoted, and true. 
 
 'T was not like some shallow but sparkling streamlet. 
 Which each pretty pebble can turn from its course. 
 
 And though brilliant with sunshine its sparkles may seem lit, 
 Inconstant and fickle it flows from its source. 
 
 E 3
 
 70 THE MOURNER. 
 
 Oh no ! 't was a love like a deep flowing river, 
 Which truthful and silent flows constantly on, 
 
 With a depth and a force no obstruction can ever 
 Displace from the course 't is directed upon. 
 
 And hers was that gentle, absorbing affection, 
 
 Whose light seems through sorrow so purely to shine ; 
 
 As though it were lit by a ray of reflection 
 
 From that glorious love in the Presence Divine. 
 
 Fair mourner ! I would not intrude on thy grieving. 
 
 Time alone has the right to assuage it in part, 
 Until heavenly Hope, thy deep sorrow relieving, 
 
 Shall strike some sweet chord that lies mute in thy heart. 
 
 For Hope is the mourner's most exquisite blessing : 
 It pours its sweet balm into souls that are sad, 
 
 And the weary one, soothed by its gentle caressing, 
 Beholds a bright future in happiness clad.
 
 71 
 
 THE BIRTH OF AFFECTION. 
 
 A BEAUTIFUL maid 
 
 On hei' coucli was laid, 
 But her fancy was not at rest ; 
 
 By her blush 't would seem 
 
 That her gentle dream 
 Was of one whom her heart had blest ; 
 And her heavenly soul, as the maiden slept, 
 
 Flew away to a council the angels kept. 
 
 * ***** 
 
 Four seraphin bright. 
 Of those realms of light 
 Which the angels of bliss adorn, 
 All their glory shed 
 O'er a spirit's head, 
 For Affection had just been born. 
 Now each angel was charged with a gift to bestow, 
 Ere Affection went down to the earth below. 
 
 FIRST ANGEL. 
 
 Spirit of Love, in thee shall lie 
 The emblem of eternity ; 
 For those who true Affection love 
 Shall live again in realms above.
 
 72 THE BIRTH OF AFFECTION. 
 
 SECOND ANGEL. 
 
 I give thee power to control 
 The fickle impulse of desire, 
 
 And to infuse thy gentle soul 
 
 In hearts that burn with passion's fire 
 
 For unto earth Affection 's given 
 
 To smooth the mortal's path to heav'n. 
 
 THIRD ANGEL. 
 
 Oh, gentle spirit ! thou shalt prove 
 The holiest gift to all hearts that love ; 
 Where'er on earth thou tak'st thy way. 
 Thou shalt brighten the soul by night or day. 
 If worldly woe or vice shall dare 
 To darken the heart whilst thou art there. 
 Some soothing note thy voice shall sing. 
 And evils and sorrows will all take wing. 
 
 FOURTH ANGEL. 
 
 These blessings with which my fair compeers caress thee 
 
 Are conferred through Affection on mankind alone ; 
 Oh then, heaven-born, whilst with them I now bless thee, 
 
 The gift I bestow shall be purely thine own ; 
 For the world now before thee contains sin and sadness, 
 
 And love unrequited will wither thy kiss : 
 When the world shall have ceased, then, in joy and gladness, 
 
 Affection shall dwell with the angels of bliss.
 
 THE BIRTH OF AFFECTION. 73 
 
 CHORUS OF ANGELS. 
 
 Oh ! spirit divine, 
 All these gifts are thine 
 And in thee shall the earth be blest ; 
 The heart that is sad 
 Thy sweet voice shall glad, 
 On Affection shall true love rest ; 
 But 't is hard in a world of deception to tell 
 In what home on the earth can such purity dwell. 
 
 Oh, Seraphin fair ! 
 Give to me that care, — 
 Sang the soul of the maiden asleep ; — 
 His spirit shall rest 
 In my Ladye's breast, 
 And a watch o'er its safety I'll keep. 
 Lo ! the angels agreed, and the soul flew away 
 With its charge, to the couch where the maiden lay. 
 
 And it there took part 
 With the maiden's heart ; 
 And from its birth, until this day, 
 In the gentle breast 
 Of a maiden blest 
 Sweet Aifection has held its sway. 
 And long in this home on the earth it shall dwell, 
 To sanctify Love with its mystical spell.
 
 74 
 
 GllULAM HYDER. 
 
 In the Hai-em's secret chamber 
 
 Sat the lovely Mahadeva, — 
 
 Sat upon her heels as usual, 
 
 Working slippers for her lover, 
 
 Working for her Ghulam Hyder. 
 
 At her feet sat old Bhaonra, 
 
 Who had nursed her from her childhood. 
 
 And who loved her very dearly ; 
 
 But at present rather surly, 
 
 For the rheumatism plagued her : 
 
 Of her aches Bhaonra's thoughts were, 
 
 And the maiden's of her lover. 
 
 Many lovers she rejected, 
 
 Handsome men with large mustachios, 
 
 Handsome men with beards and whiskers ; 
 
 But she said, " I care not for them, — 
 
 Cax'e not for their handsome whiskers. 
 
 Handsome teeth, and eyes, and noses ; 
 
 Ghulam Hyder is more handsome, 
 
 Very handsome 's Ghulam Hyder." 
 
 Thus her gentle thoughts wei'c running 
 
 When she broke the silence, saying, 
 
 " Is it not to-night, Bhaonra,
 
 GHULAM HYDER. 75 
 
 "Ghularn Hyder is to seek me — 
 " Seek me at the chamber casement? 
 " Yes, but I am sure I shall not 
 " Go to meet him in the garden ; 
 " Go and catch my death of cold there, 
 " Set my other back-tooth aching, 
 " Dear Bhaonra, don't be cross now : 
 " You were once in love, you told me ; 
 " Think of that ecstatic time, when 
 "Passion slept upon thine eyelids, — 
 
 " When thy heart was like some captive's, 
 " Gentle captive bird that flutters — 
 
 " Flutters to escape from prison, 
 
 " And to fly where all its love is : 
 
 " Think of that, dear old Bhaonra, 
 
 " And let in my Ghulam Hyder." 
 
 Then her nurse Bhaonra answered, 
 
 Saying thus : " Dear Mahadeva, 
 
 " K your love should prove as mine did, 
 
 " You will very soon repent it ; 
 
 " But your father, Abdul Latif, 
 
 " Shall not give his only daughter, 
 
 " Shall not marry you his daughter, 
 
 " To that son of old Mir Kundus ; 
 
 " Vile Mir Kundus, his old vizier, 
 
 " Shall not cheat the king your father 
 
 " Out of his fair only daughter, 
 
 " If Bhaonra can prevent it." 
 
 " Dearest, kindest old Bhaonra, 
 
 " Now I knoAv that you do love me, 
 
 " Know your heart is warm towards me."
 
 76 GHULAM HYDEE. 
 
 And she flung her arms around her ; 
 And the sweet caress she gave her 
 Would have turned to liquid fire 
 All the blood of Ghulam Hyder. 
 
 From the land of the Latrones 
 Through the thunder, hail, and lightning, 
 Through the mud and over mountains, 
 Galloped onwards Ghulam Hyder : 
 Mountain torrents could not stop him, 
 Hassan his good steed would leap them — 
 Leap o'er ravines, rocks, and rivers. 
 Nought in Nature could restrain him ; 
 But the subtle art of Mankind 
 Can succeed in stopping progress 
 Far beyond the skill of Nature. 
 On a sudden, Ghulam Hyder — 
 Ghulam Hyder, brave and fearless, 
 Shot like arrow from the bowman 
 ^ Over Hassan's neck and shoulders ; 
 
 Hassan, thrown upon his haunches, 
 Would not leap a modern turnpike, 
 Lately introduced among them 
 By utilitarian England. 
 Mad with rage, and sorely dirted. 
 All his whiskers wet and drooping. 
 All his beauty smeared and grimy. 
 Thus he spoke the callous pikeman : 
 " I who care not for the foeman, — 
 " Care not for the bow or quiver, — 
 " Care not for the mountain torrent, — 
 "Care not for the rocks or ravines, —
 
 GHULAM HYDER. 77 
 
 " My brave Hassan will leap all such ; 
 
 "But these posts and rails he sees through, 
 
 " And he will not rise to clear them. 
 
 " I in haste seek Mahadeva, — 
 
 " Seek the soul of all that's fairest, — 
 
 " Instantly your gateway open." 
 
 " Veiy sorry, can't obleege you, — 
 
 Can't until you pay the tollage." 
 
 Thus replied the callous pikeman. 
 
 Ghulam Hyder had no money — 
 
 He would scorn to carry money, 
 
 But he gave his rings and jewels, 
 
 Ai:d the pikeman passed him onward. 
 
 On he rushed, and soon arrived at 
 
 Abdul Latif's palace-garden. 
 
 To the wall he fastened Hassan — 
 
 Hassan lame, and very weary. 
 
 Lame fi*om having kicked his shoes off. 
 
 Now with breathless panting struggles 
 
 Ghulam Hyder mounts the outwork, 
 
 Strides the wall that bounds the garden : 
 
 But again man's subtle science 
 
 Strewed its thorns across his pathway ; 
 
 Dragon's teeth are mild compared with 
 
 Broken bottles stuck in mortar. 
 
 And they wounded him most sorely. 
 
 What cared he ? all wounds were welcome 
 
 Caused by love for Mahadeva ; 
 
 But the wound he felt most keenly, — 
 
 Worst, unkindest cut of all, — was, 
 
 As he slid the other side down, 
 
 These jjlass-bottles toi'e his breeches.
 
 78 GHULAM HYDEE. 
 
 Now he crept, like subtle tiger, 
 
 Through the brushwood and the bushes, 
 
 By the rain and darkness blinded. 
 
 On he crept with cautious footsteps, 
 
 Till he crashed and tumbled headlong 
 
 Through a glass-frame, where beneath him 
 
 Cucumbers grew in a hot-bed. 
 
 " Who goes there ? " he heard, and started 
 
 Like the wild ass from its cover. 
 
 Bang ! the rifle-ball flew faster ; 
 
 Bang ! ! again it whistled past him. 
 
 Bang ! ! Bang ! ! ! twice he felt it strike him. 
 
 On he rushed, no deer more agile, — 
 
 On he rushed, pursuit defying. 
 
 Till all sounds were lost in distance. 
 
 And the Harem rose before him — 
 
 Harem walls, where Mahadeva 
 
 Watched and trembled for her lover. 
 
 Ghulam Hyder, faint and weary. 
 
 On a flower-pot was seated. 
 
 To examine where his wounds were — 
 
 Where the rifle-balls had struck him. 
 
 Fortune favours love and valour : 
 
 They had passed through both his stockings, • 
 
 Both his stockings they had passed through, 
 
 But his legs had not been wounded. 
 
 Much refreshed by this assurance. 
 
 Now he thought of Mahadeva, 
 
 And prepared to serenade her. 
 
 As the night was very rainy, 
 
 And the garden-path a gutter,
 
 GHULAM HTDER. 79 
 
 Ghulam Hyder took his seat up, — 
 Turned it with its up-side downwards, — 
 Turned it with its bottom upwards, — 
 On it stood to keep his feet dry ; 
 (Over shoes had not extended 
 To the land of the Latrones). 
 Then he coughed and hemmed a little. 
 Cleared his tenor voice for singing. 
 And then warbled sotto voce 
 For the ear of Mahadeva. 
 
 " Mahadeva ! fairest flower ! 
 
 " Doth thy gentle heart not stir thee ? 
 
 " Doth not some mysterious warning 
 
 " Whisper that thy love is near thee ? 
 
 " Yes, I feel thou art not far off. 
 
 " Oh ! my heart is wildly beating, 
 
 "Wildly conscious thou art near me ; 
 
 " Though the Harem wall divides us, 
 
 " Still the fragrance of thy breathing 
 
 " Seems to fill the air around me ; 
 
 " Though the night in darkness hide thee 
 
 " Still my leaping heart, impatient, 
 
 " Feels that subtle, mad attraction, 
 
 " Mystic proof of mutual loving. 
 
 " O beloved ! now admit me, 
 
 " Or my heart will burst with passion : 
 
 " Nothing now can cure its tumult 
 
 " But to kiss thy fair, calm forehead ; 
 
 " Mingle with thy deep, pure loving. 
 
 " As the mountain torrent mingles 
 " With the placid lake in calmness."
 
 80 GHULAM HYDER. 
 
 " Shut your mouth, you stupid blockhead ! 
 " Do you wish the guards to hear you ? 
 " If they do so, you '11 be lucky 
 " Should they only cut your ears off. 
 " But you men are always prating, 
 " And, at best, are base deceivers. 
 " Come, put on this pair of slippers ; 
 " Tie these trowsers round your ankles ; 
 " Wrap this Cashmere shawl about you ; 
 " Hang this veil before your whiskers : 
 " Should they see so tall a woman, 
 " You will pass for Himalaya : " 
 Thus addressed him old Bhaonra. 
 
 On they went, with stealthy footsteps, 
 Ghulam Hyder rather awkward ; 
 For, though very wide the trowsers, 
 They wei*e short for Ghulam Hyder : 
 Round his waist he could not tie them. 
 Therefore he was forced to hold them. 
 But, as vile ill-luck would have it, 
 Ghulam Hyder's nose was tickled 
 By the veil that hung before it : 
 Thoughtless, heedless, very careless, 
 Ghulam Hyder put his hands up 
 To rub off the nasal itching ; 
 And the muslin trowsers, dropping. 
 Got entangled with his slippers. 
 " Who goes there ? " the guard demanded ; 
 But Bhaonra quickly answered, 
 " Himalaya 's dropt her slipper."
 
 GHULAM HYDER. 81 
 
 •' All well ! pass on, old Bhaonra : 
 
 " Good night, lanky Himalaya ! " 
 
 Was the answer of the soldier. 
 
 Now, in safety, old Bhaonra 
 
 Grumbled thus to Ghulam Hyder: — 
 
 " Well, I see this love will give to 
 
 " Old Mirkundus — vile old villain — 
 
 " An excuse to cut my head off." 
 
 " If he does, I swear profoundly 
 
 " He shall lose his own next minute," 
 
 Said the gallant Ghulam Hyder. 
 
 " Very like a lover's reason : 
 
 " Will his vile head fit my shoulders ? 
 
 " Come ! go in to Mahedeva, 
 
 " She will listen to your nonsense." 
 
 In the Harem's deep recesses 
 Sat the shrinking Mahadeva, — 
 Shrinking like a timid fawn there 
 As she heard her lover's footsteps : 
 But her heart was very happy, 
 Though it fluttered quite uncertain, 
 Filled with hope, and fear, and loving : 
 And she trembled with a feeling 
 Only felt by youthful passion 
 In a gentle maiden's bosom, 
 Waiting to receive her lover. 
 To his breast bold Ghulam Hyder 
 Pressed her swelling heart with rapture, 
 Showered kisses on her forehead, 
 Gazed beneath her silken eyelash. 
 Spoke of love to last for ever. 
 
 G
 
 82 GHULAM HYDER. 
 
 But his words were incoherent 
 
 To her happy mind bewildered, 
 
 Till he said, in clearer accents : 
 
 " Fly with me, sweet Mahadeva, — 
 
 " Fly, to where our mountain passes 
 
 " Bid defiance to pursuers. 
 
 "Fly with me ! — my bold steed, Hassan, 
 
 " Proud to bear so sweet a burden, 
 
 " Shall surpass the wind in swiftness." 
 
 All in tears, sweet Mahadeva 
 
 Raised her eyes to his, imploring, 
 
 And in broken accents faltered : 
 
 " Dearest ! do not press my flying. 
 
 " Oh ! my heart can not refuse you, 
 
 " But tVill break to leave my father, 
 
 " For I love him very dearly, 
 
 " And I feel he loves me also ; 
 
 " Oh I how hard that love and duty 
 
 " Should so seldom go together. 
 
 " But I shrink, I have not courage, 
 
 " Yet for thee I will dare all things, — 
 
 " I will die for Ghulam Hyder." 
 
 " No, you won't though, Mahadeva," 
 
 Interrupted old Bhaonra ; 
 
 " Leave the matter all to me, love, 
 
 " For I see your stupid lover 
 
 " Has not sense enough to manage. 
 
 " Pretty joke, indeed ! to ask you 
 
 " On his horse to mount behind him, 
 
 " Very pretty and romantic ! 
 
 " But his common sense should teach him 
 
 " It would bump both love and life out.
 
 GIIULAM HYDER. 83 
 
 " If he'll do as I shall tell him, 
 
 " Be no longer rash and foolish, 
 
 " Be no longer self-sufficient, 
 
 " We may, p'rhaps, with prudence manage 
 
 " Your wild father, Abdul Latif ; 
 
 " For I know he loves you dearly." 
 
 "I will " (broke in Ghulam Hyder) 
 
 " Be your everlasting debtor, 
 
 " I will " "Peace ! don't interrupt me, 
 
 " Keep that stuff for Mahadeva ; 
 
 " Only hold your tongue and listen. 
 
 " Mahadeva, you must feign that 
 
 " You have lost the pow'r of speaking : 
 
 " This, no doubt, will seem most cruel 
 
 " To exact from any woman ; 
 
 " But, as we must use deception, 
 
 " I am sure that any other 
 
 " You could never keep in secret, 
 
 " For that vile Mirkundus would soon 
 
 " Worm it from you indirectly. 
 
 " All that you will have to do, then, 
 
 " When Mirkundus or your father 
 
 " Comes to ask you any questions, 
 
 " Is to shake your head in sorrow. 
 
 " This is all I now shall tell you, 
 
 " For least said is soonest mended. 
 
 " Ghulam Hyder, you be off now, 
 
 "You must act as I shall tell you." 
 
 In divan within his palace. 
 Sat the tyrant Abdul Latif, — 
 Sat upon a mat of jewels, 
 
 o 2
 
 84 GHULAM HYDER. 
 
 Fiercely twirling his mustacliios, 
 And his eyes with anger flashing, 
 And his beard with rage distended, 
 Eage fi'om every pore was oozing, 
 And his face turned upside downwards. 
 At his feet stood old Mirkundus, 
 Calm, and grave, and very sober, 
 No expression in his features. 
 Motionless and slowly breathing ; 
 Only once he turned his head round, 
 Turned his head round very slowly, 
 To make sure he still retained it, — 
 Then he bent it sloAvly forward. 
 And his eyes with dim opaqueness 
 Watched intently Abdul Latif 
 As the elephantine caution 
 Watches ev'ry tiger movement. 
 
 " What dirt is this we are eating ? 
 
 " Still our daughter Mahadeva 
 
 " Cannot speak ; and we have cut off 
 
 " All the heads of our physicians, 
 
 " Rather say our dogs and asses. 
 
 " By the sacred beard, Mirkundus, 
 
 " If I do not hear her speaking 
 
 " By to-morrow's noon, O vizier, 
 
 " Let thy face be very blackened ; 
 
 " By our salt, and by your own soul, 
 
 " We will cut your mother's head off, 
 
 " Cut off yours, your wives', and daughters', 
 
 " All your sons', and all your brothers' ; 
 
 " All the graves of all your fathers
 
 GHULAM HYDEK. 85 
 
 " Dogs and asses shall defile them. 
 
 " Speak, O man ! for much we fear that 
 
 " Your vile son has been the cause of 
 
 " All this ill to Mahadeva. 
 
 " By your death we truly swear now, 
 
 " He shall never be her husband. 
 
 " Have you sent to let the world know, 
 
 " He who cures our Mahadeva 
 
 " Shall receive her hand in marriage, 
 
 " And be heir to all our greatness ? " 
 
 " Great and mighty Abdul Latif, 
 
 " May thy shadow never lessen ! 
 
 " I, thy servant, am as nothing 
 
 " But a vile dog in thy presence. 
 
 " If an ass dare bray before you, 
 
 " If a dog dare make suggestion, 
 
 " I would humbly hint that silence 
 
 " Is a blessing in a woman : 
 
 " As unto the lock the key is, 
 
 " So is silence to a woman, 
 
 " They should always go together. 
 
 " But, O King ! as you commanded, 
 
 " I have sought throughout the world for 
 
 " Some physician, sage and skilful, 
 
 " Who shall cure the King's fair daughter, 
 
 " Cure the Princess Mahadeva : 
 
 " And I hear most wondrous rumour 
 
 " Of the skill and of the science 
 
 " Of a young and handsome doctor 
 
 " From the land of the Latrones ; " 
 
 Humbly answered old Mirkundus. 
 
 " By our beard ! we also heard of 
 
 G 3
 
 86 GHULAM HYDER. 
 
 " This same young and handsome doctor, 
 
 " From her nurse, the old Bhaonra, 
 
 " When we last saw Mahadeva, 
 
 " And your lucky star, O vizier, 
 
 " Has befriended you this moment ; 
 
 " For if you had kept this secret 
 
 " At the bottom of your stomach, 
 
 " We had cut your old grey heatl off. 
 
 " Have you brought this doctor to us ? " 
 
 " See, O King, the man before you." 
 
 " Well ! what say you, young physician ' 
 
 " Can you cure our only daughter, 
 
 " Cure our daughter, Madaheva ? 
 
 "If you can, then you shall have her, 
 
 " And we'll make you our successor. 
 
 " Should you fail, this is your sentence : 
 
 " We will first pull all your teeth out, 
 
 " One by one we'll cut your toes off, 
 
 " Cut your fingers and your ears off, 
 
 " Cut off both your hands and eyelids, 
 
 " Slit your nose straight down the middle, 
 
 " Break your ribs, your knees, and ankles, 
 
 " Hang you by your heels a fortnight, 
 
 " Boil you slowly in a caldron, 
 
 " Give your body to our tigers. 
 
 " Say ! if you accept our offer ? 
 
 " Say ! where you have learned your science ? " 
 
 " Yes, O King ! I do accept it, 
 
 " For without fair Mahadeva 
 
 "I can find no joy in living ; 
 
 " I can find no death so cruel 
 
 " As love's slow consuming furnace.
 
 GHULAM HYDER. 
 
 " All my science I have learned in 
 
 " That far-famed and distant kingdom, 
 
 " Where ten thousand patent medicines 
 
 " Each can cure all mortal ailings : 
 
 " Land of powders, salves, and plasters, 
 
 " Land of pills, and precious ointments, 
 
 " Land of homoeopathic globules, 
 
 " Land of diagnostic science, 
 
 " Land of hydropathic wonders, 
 
 " Land of Daffy's child's elixir, 
 
 " Land of pills, called Widow Welsh's. 
 
 " 1 will cure your royal daughter, 
 
 " Cure the Princess Mahadcva. 
 
 " Lead me to her private chamber, 
 
 " I can only cure in private." 
 
 Who shall tell the joy and transport 
 In the Harem's secret chamber, 
 Where the faithful old Bhaonra 
 Brought the loving pair together. 
 
 Soon a loud and joyful rumour 
 That the Princess Mahadeva 
 Had recovered from her dumbness. 
 Reached the ears of Abdul Latif ; 
 He with frantic joy excited. 
 Seized the beard of old Mirkundus, 
 And pluck'd out a goodly handful, 
 For he loved her very dearly. 
 Old Mirkundus, calm and placid, 
 Bore this action without winking ; 
 But spoke thus to Abdul Latif: — 
 
 87
 
 88 GHULAM HYDEE. 
 
 "Mighty King, great Abdul Latif, 
 
 " May that dog and ass, your vizier, 
 
 " Now bring forth, and lay before you 
 
 " That with which his mind doth labour ?" 
 
 Then the King replied thus, saying : — 
 
 " Quickly have thy head delivered ; 
 
 " For our heart is light with gladness, 
 
 " And we seek for some amusement. 
 
 " Say thy word — then quickly order 
 
 " Two young maidens for our tigers, 
 
 " That their blood may make them savage ; 
 
 " For we wish to see them combat." 
 
 " I, thy slave, would merely mention 
 
 " That the handsome young physician 
 
 " Spoke of love for your fair daughter, — 
 
 " For the Princess Mahadeva. 
 
 " Perhaps the King some dirt is eating." 
 
 " What news is this ? — we will prove him : 
 
 " Send and bring this doctor hither ; 
 
 " If he at our beard is laughino:, — 
 
 " Laughing at our beard and whiskers, 
 
 " He shall wish he had a jackass, — 
 
 "Had a jackass for his father, 
 
 " And had never had a mother." 
 
 Soon before the mighty despot 
 
 Stood the handsome Ghulam Hyder — 
 
 Stood the young and handsome doctor — 
 
 Mahadeva's feigned physician. 
 
 And the tyi-ant thus addressed him : — 
 
 " Man, we know that thou art honest : 
 
 " Very pleasant arc thy features —
 
 GHULAM HYDER. 89 
 
 " Very pleasant to our fancy ; 
 
 " And we think that we should like you 
 
 " For our Mahadeva's husband, 
 
 " As we doubt not you have cured her, 
 
 " But Mirkundus, our old vizier, 
 
 " Seems to have suspicion of thee : 
 
 " Therefore, thou must clear this matter — 
 
 " Clear the doubts of our old vizier : 
 
 " And to one of your deep science — 
 
 " Science, from that land of wonders, 
 
 " Land of cures by patent medicines, 
 
 " This will be an easy matter. 
 
 " Vizier ! order here before us 
 
 " All the sick men in our army, 
 
 " All the soldiers that are ailing — 
 
 " And this doctor hei-e shall cure them, — 
 
 " Cure them all in fifteen minutes : 
 
 " See, we are not hard upon you," 
 
 Who shall tell the fear and anguish 
 
 In the heart of Mahadeva — 
 
 In poor Mahadeva's bosom 
 
 At the peril of her lover ? 
 
 As some fair and gentle flower 
 
 Shrinks before the hail and thunder, — 
 
 Bows before the summer hail-storm, 
 
 Seems in tears dissolved and dying 
 
 In its helpless, gentle beauty : 
 
 So the maiden, bowed, and drooping — 
 
 All her beauty wet with tear-drops — 
 
 Large tears rolling fi-om her eyelash 
 
 As the rain-drops from the moss-x'ose.
 
 90 GHULABI KYDER. 
 
 So, like some fair, fragile flower 
 
 Struck to earth by sudden tempest, 
 
 Lay the gentle Mahadeva. 
 
 Old Bhaonra sought to soothe her 
 
 With such words as love could dictate : 
 
 Saying, — " Cheer up, Mahadeva, 
 
 " All is not yet lost, believe me : 
 
 " Hope and love are yet before you — 
 
 " You will yet be happy, dearest." 
 
 But her own kind heart misgave her. 
 
 For she knew how vain and hopeless 
 
 Was the task of Ghulam Hyder. 
 
 Through her tears poor Mahadeva 
 
 Fondly gazed on old Bhaonra — 
 
 Fondly kissed the aged woman. 
 
 And in sobbing words addressed her : — 
 
 " Dearest nurse ! I know your kind heart 
 
 " Now, like mine, with grief is darkened ; 
 
 " But I feel a gleam of sunshine 
 
 " Through the thick gloom now upon me : 
 
 " 'T is the warmth of your kind loving 
 
 " Keeps my stricken heart from freezing ! 
 
 " Oh ! what else to love is left me ? 
 
 " For, if my proud father kill him, 
 
 " Then my love he will kill also ; 
 
 " For a secret impulse tells me 
 
 " I can never after love him. 
 
 " Oh, then ! what a blight would life be 
 
 " But for thee, dear, kind Bhaonra ! 
 
 " Oh, Bhaonra ! much I fear this 
 
 "Dreadful fate is as a judgment 
 
 " Sent to punish our deception.
 
 GHULAM HYDER. 91 
 
 " If SO, surely thus to punisli 
 
 " Must atone for our transgression, 
 
 " And tliat in those realms hereafter 
 
 " We shall meet where mutual loving 
 
 " Is immortal and for ever : 
 
 " This bright hope, and thy dear kindness, 
 
 " Shall support my weak existence 
 
 " Till I go to life eternal." 
 
 But 'tis time to draw the curtain 
 
 O'er this scene of gentle sorrow. 
 
 And return to Ghulam Hyder. 
 
 Now, in full divan assembled. 
 Sat the King with all his courtiers,— 
 All his courtiers standing round him 
 Some had lost their eyes and noses, 
 Some had lost their toes and fingers. 
 Each could boast of one eye only, 
 Save the crafty old Mirkundus, 
 Who had kept himself entire. 
 And who gave an inward chuckle 
 At the number of the answers 
 As he called the sick-list over. 
 
 " Now stand forth, our brave physician, 
 
 " Show your skill and cure these soldiers,^ — 
 
 " Cure them all in fifteen minutes," 
 
 Said the King, in high good humour ; 
 
 For he rather liked the doctor, 
 
 And he wished to prove him clever.
 
 92 GHULAM HYDEE. 
 
 Then stood forth bold Ghulam Hyder, 
 
 Nothing daunted, nothing downcast, 
 
 Passed his hand across his forehead, 
 
 And thus answered Abdul Latif : — 
 
 " Mighty King ! I am thy servant, 
 
 " And shall fully do thy bidding : 
 
 " I will soon cure all your soldiers, 
 
 " As I cured your I'oyal daughter. 
 
 " But, as I have told your highness, 
 
 " I can only cure in private : 
 
 " If it be your royal pleasure, 
 
 " Order me a private chamber, 
 
 "Where, alone with these your soldiers — 
 
 " All alone with these, my patients, — 
 
 " I can exercise my science." 
 
 " As you wish," said Abdul Latif ; 
 
 " Take them to the nearest room, then, 
 
 " There to try thy skill, O doctor ! 
 
 " We will wait in full divan here 
 
 " Till you send them back recovered. 
 
 " Send them back here, one by one, then, 
 
 " So that we may ask each soldier 
 
 " Whether you have really cured him." 
 
 When he found himself in private 
 With his patients, Ghulam Hyder 
 Locked the door, and thus proceeded : 
 Round the chimney he arranged them, — 
 All his patients round the chimney ; 
 Then a raging fire he built up. 
 Piling on the flaming fuel 
 Till it glowed with heat so fiercely
 
 GHULAM HYDER. 93 
 
 They could scarcely stand before it, — 
 
 Scarcely could they look upon it, 
 
 For the heat was very scorching. 
 
 Then he solemnly addressed them : — 
 
 " O, my friends, great Abdul Latif 
 
 " Has commanded I shall cure you ; 
 
 " You and I must all obey him, 
 
 " His commands are as our life-blood. 
 
 " But it is no easy matter 
 
 " Thus to cure so many patients, — 
 
 " Cure them with so short a treatment, — 
 
 " Cure them all in fifteen minutes. 
 
 " And there is one only method, — 
 
 " Only one, by which to cure you : 
 
 " I must choose that one among you 
 
 " Who shall be most ill and sickly ; 
 
 " I must throw him on the furnace ; 
 
 " I must burn him into ashes ; 
 
 " And to quickly cure the others, 
 
 " I must take his powdered ashes, — 
 
 " I must give to each a spoonful : 
 
 " True, the cure is very active, 
 
 "But I know it is most certain, — 
 
 " And the King ! — we must obey him." 
 
 At these awful words, the patients 
 Looked intently at each other — 
 Looked to find the one most sickly : 
 But not one in all the number. 
 Though extremely ill, was willing 
 To confess himself the most sick. 
 And be burnt to make the ashes.
 
 94 GHULAM HYDER. 
 
 Then the doctor thus addressed them — 
 Thus addressed the first he came to : — 
 " You look very pale and weakly ; 
 " I believe you are the most ill, 
 " And should burn to make the ashes." 
 " I ! oh no ! " exclaimed the patient ; 
 " You, I'm sure, are quite mistaken, 
 " For I feel quite well this moment ; 
 " Never in my life felt better." 
 " What ! you rascal, do you say so ! 
 " How then dare you come in hither, 
 " And pretend that you were ailing ! 
 " Go then to the King this instant — 
 " Tell him that you have no illness ; 
 " And take care you don't displease me, 
 " Or the King shall know, you villain, 
 " How you grossly have deceived him. 
 " Better to be burnt to ashes 
 " Than to lose your life by flaying." 
 Saying thus, the door he opened, 
 And turned out the frightened soldier. 
 
 Abdul Latif still sat waiting, 
 When he saw the room-door open, 
 And a patient walking to him 
 Fell in prostrate form before him, 
 Knocked his forehead on the pavement. 
 " Well, O man ! now quickly answer, — 
 " Has our friend the doctor cured you ? " 
 " O King ! may you live for ever ! 
 " He has cured this dog thy servant." 
 Now came out another patient,
 
 GHULAM HYDER. 95 
 
 And he also gave for answer — 
 " O King ! may you live for ever ! 
 " He has cured this dog thy servant." 
 Three ! four ! five ! they all soon followed ; 
 All had made the self-same answer ; 
 None would say that he was ailing, 
 And be burnt to make the ashes. 
 
 Lo! brave Ghulam Hyder triumphed, 
 And obtained fair Mahadeva. 
 If you wish to find the story 
 Of their loves and of their wedding ; 
 Of their little Ghulam Hyders, 
 Of their little Mahadevas, — 
 Ghulam Hyders bold and valiant, 
 Mahadevas fair and gentle ; 
 Would you find it, you must seek it 
 In that casket full of treasures. 
 Full of treasures quite cxhaustlos.s — 
 Your own rich and fertile fancy.
 
 96 
 
 THE GEOLOGICAL PIC-NIO. 
 
 Mrs. Maytronly's carriage had been at the door 
 
 I should say it was fully an hour or more. 
 
 It was carefully loaded behind and before, 
 
 And the hamper containing the luncheon secure ; 
 
 But still it was waiting What could it be for ? 
 
 At last Mr. Maytronly lustily swore 
 
 (That he ever should swear I sincerely deplore), 
 
 " This keeping the carriage I will not endure ; 
 
 " I suppose it's their curls 
 
 " That are keeping those gii'ls ; 
 " And we're waiting while Ellen some ringlet twirls. 
 *' I really do wish you would make them come down." 
 Mrs. Maytronly, seeing a symptom of frown, 
 
 And fearing that state 
 
 Which all of us hate 
 Should ruffle the temper and mind of her mate. 
 To the young ladies' dressing-room went away straight. 
 " Come, girls, make haste down, it is really so late, 
 " And your father is quite in a fidgety state." 
 " We' re coming, mamma, if a moment you'll wait. 
 " Dear me, it is late ! Oh! I'm quite in a flurry ; 
 " And one 's never becoming when dressed in a hurry.
 
 THE GEOLOGICAL PIC-NIC. 97 
 
 " Do tell me, dear Kate, 
 
 " Is my bonnet on straight ? 
 " And my hair all behind — is it smooth in the plait ? " 
 " Oh, yes, it's quite charming — one cannot say No." 
 " Stay ! stop ! dearest Ellen, pray do not yet go ; 
 " There's the bow in your hair. I really don't know, 
 " But I think that one riband is hanging too low. 
 " There ! it's now very nice — stop ! your petticoats show, 
 " Peeping under the flounces two inches or so." 
 " Was anything ever so very provoking ? 
 " But tell me, dear Kate, are you sure your're not joking ?" 
 
 " Well, you need not now stop ; 
 
 " I don't think they will drop ; 
 " If they do you can easily run in a shop." 
 
 " Now, Kate, if you please, 
 
 " Don't be such a tease ; 
 " Where we're going you know there will only be trees." 
 
 " Dear ! you've got Avhat you dread, 
 
 " For your face is so red ! 
 " And your bonnet I'm sure will fall off from your head." 
 Fair reader, I think I can hear you declare 
 (For I flatter myself you are " one of the Fair ") 
 " What scandalous impudence ! how could he dare 
 " Repeat what he heard, with so saucy an air, 
 " In the young ladies' room to ! What right had he there ? 
 " I only wish / had been one of the pair ; 
 " I'd have told the rude scribbler 'twas not his affair, 
 " And advised him to take himself quickly elsewhere." 
 
 I confess I have err'd. 
 
 And I give you my word 
 I'll not mention a syllable more that I heard ; 
 
 H
 
 98 THE GEOLOGICAL PIC-NIC. 
 
 But now that the carriage has driven away, 
 I think that I should not much longer delay 
 To tell you the cause of their being so gay. 
 Mrs, Maytronly 's giving a pic-nic to-day, 
 The expenses of which Mr. M. is to pay. 
 But the primary cause 
 Is the great Samuel Daws, 
 Geologic Professor and Doctor of Laws. 
 But I find I have here, for consistency's sake, 
 A short private family statement to make : 
 Before Cupid's game 
 Set his heart in a flame, 
 And the lady became 
 Mr. Maytronly's dame, 
 A Miss Daws was her name, 
 The sister to Samuel, well known to fame. 
 She was tired of the Miss — oh no ! quite the reverse — 
 Still she thought she would change it "for better, for worse;" 
 And that mystical process, the charm of this life, 
 Changed her name, and herself into Maytronly's wife. 
 The Professor 's their guest ; 
 For at her kind request, 
 He's come down to their house from his studies to rest. 
 Now, his sister had earnestly tried to impress 
 How much it would add to her pic-nic's success 
 If she could induce him to give an address 
 On the subject the Doctor was known to profess ; 
 But all she could do, he would not acquiesce, 
 And to Ellen and Kate she was forced to confess 
 His refusal had caused her the greatest distress. 
 But Beauty prevails 
 Where argument fails, 
 When its feminine powers are tried upon males.
 
 THE GEOLOGICAL PIC-NIC. 99 
 
 So his two pretty nieces, on conquest intent^ 
 Soon kissed from their uncle a smiling consent ; 
 
 And, to crown their success, 
 
 Each would have a new dress, 
 And at once for the milliner sent an express. 
 
 Mrs. Maytronly's spirits were highly elate : 
 
 The Doctor would such a " sensation " create ; 
 
 Indeed, as the Yankees say, " He was first-rate." 
 
 And to prove this a fact, I need only relate 
 
 In comparing of bones he'd a talent so great 
 
 That when dining ('t'is said), he could actually state, 
 
 From the ivory handle he saw near his plate, 
 
 Not only the elephant's age and his weight, 
 
 But the size of the female he had for his mate. 
 
 But let us contrive 
 
 To see them arrive, 
 For they 're now, I should say, at the end of their drive. 
 We are rather too late, for the party has met, 
 And the ladies, I fear, are beginning to fret, 
 For the clouds overhead some suspicion beget 
 That their pretty new bonnets may spoil in the wet : 
 Pray be not alarmed ! for it will not rain yet ; 
 But givers of picnics are sure to regret 
 If champagne or umbrellas they chance to forget. 
 
 But the sun, to his praise. 
 
 Now burst forth in a blaze. 
 No doubt the dear feminine spirits to raise. 
 
 Then, with hammer in liand, 
 
 They turn over the sand, 
 
 And give to the rocks 
 
 Such dear little knocks 
 
 H 2
 
 100 THE GEOLOGICAL PIC-NIC 
 
 That one wishes his head 
 
 Had been placed there instead : 
 
 And in every hole 
 
 They find something like coal ; 
 
 Then they solemnly talk 
 
 On the nature of chalk i 
 
 " You only require 
 
 " To burn it with fire ; 
 
 " In a very short time 
 
 " It will turn into lime ; 
 
 " Then, with dirt and some water, 
 
 " That will turn into mortar ; 
 
 " And it 's mortar that sticks 
 
 " Fast together the bricks." 
 
 Then they hold a discourse 
 
 On some bone of a horse : 
 
 It belongs, they assure us, 
 
 To a Pleiosaurus. 
 
 Such a harvest they reap 
 
 From this science so deep, 
 
 That they take all the stones 
 
 For Preadamite bones 
 And a dead donkey's skull an Iguanodon owns. 
 Into boulders and rocks they now cease to inquire, 
 For at breaking of stones even science will tire ; 
 'Tis a practice I think very few will admire, 
 And the process will make even ladies perspire ; 
 So that rest and refreshment they're forced to desire ; 
 And some faint one a glass of champagne will require, 
 Which no masculine mortal would dare to deny her ; 
 So all on the "Hamper" consent to retire.
 
 THE GEOLOGICAL riC-NTC. 101 
 
 Then by twos and threes, 
 
 And quite at their ease, 
 They seat themselves laughingly under the trees. 
 But hark ! some one 's singing : I've heard her before. 
 And I'm sorry to say she's considered a bore. 
 For she'll certainly sing " Casta Diva " I'm sure. 
 She's a spinster well up in deep musical lore, 
 And when at the Opera reads from the score : 
 The prevailing light style she's been heard to deplore, 
 And a taste for Beethoven intends to restore ; 
 But she says, " ' Casta Diva' I almost adore, 
 " It so sweetly illustrates a fatal ' amour ; ' 
 " Grisi sings it with judgment and skill, to be sure, 
 " But her figure 's too stout, and her pathos demure." 
 Her adipose form is by no means mature, 
 And her pathos between a deep sigh and a snore. 
 
 But if you'll believe her, 
 
 Had Pollio the deceiver 
 
 Heard her sing " Casta Diva," 
 Adelgisa could never have caused him to leave her. 
 
 Now these marvellous tones, 
 
 Between sighings and groans, 
 Proceed from the lips of Miss Skynanbone Jones. 
 She has other perfections on which I must dwell : 
 She's a poet and " potichomanist" as well. 
 In this " high art " on glass she is known to excel. 
 And she sticks the bed-furniture patterns so well. 
 That dealers in " virtu " declare they would sell • 
 As Sevres China or mugs ; for no mortal could tell 
 The glass from the crockery until it fell, 
 And by breaking asunder, destroyed the spell. 
 
 H 3
 
 102 THE GEOLOGICAL PIC-NIC. 
 
 She has sent eight or nine, 
 
 Peculiarly fine, 
 To Marlborough House, for the " School of Design," 
 Her lyrics are likewise uncommonly nice, 
 The language is always so pure and concise ; 
 She has sent me some copies, I think, once or twice, 
 One sample of which I daresay will suffice. 
 
 But, all doubt to disperse. 
 
 Read this note in " blank verse," 
 Which she uses for letters, because it's " so terse : " — 
 " Sir, — as I learn you strike the sacred lyre, 
 " And drink deep draughts of the Pierian spring, 
 " My kindred spirit yearningly would seek 
 " That sweet communion of heart and soul 
 " Which ancient Sappho felt. I would desire 
 " We lave together in the Muses' spring, 
 " That, by some joint elfort, we may raise, 
 " In tuneful unity, that mystic strain 
 " By which great Orpheus stopp'd Ixion's wheel, 
 " And made the stone of Sisyphus stand still, 
 " When in deep hell he sought Eurydice. 
 " I, who can exercise that wondrous art 
 " With such perfection and adhesive skill 
 " That paste and scissars give to paper 'Nothings 
 " 'A local habitation and a name :' 
 " Potichomanie ! — may thy name euphonious 
 " Pass to posterity as ' household words,' 
 " And with thy type, 'the willow-pattern plate,' 
 " Prove the Penatis of domestic bliss ; — 
 " I, who have drawn from fair Euterpe's breasts 
 " Deep draughts of music ; — I, whose voice might vie 
 " With any songstress from Italia's shore,
 
 THE GEOLOGICAL PIC-NIC. 103 
 
 " But that the shrinking modesty of merit 
 
 " Keeps me secluded from the public gaze ; — 
 
 " Well may I sing, with Avon's glorious swan, 
 
 " 'Better leave undone, than by our deed acquire 
 
 " ' Too high a fame :' still would I venture now 
 
 " To draw poetic sympathy from you 
 
 " Towards a new-born effort of my Muse — 
 
 " Such as the tender Erato inspires. 
 
 " And may the Muses strike some gentle chord 
 
 " Whose soft responsive tone shall make thy heart 
 
 " Vibrate in unison with — 
 
 Skynanbone. 
 
 " THE DEATH OF SAPPHO. 
 
 " Fair Sappho despairing 
 At Phaon not caring 
 
 The least for her love, 
 Up Leucas is going, 
 Intent upon throwing 
 
 Herself from above. 
 
 " With resolute will, how 
 She's climbing the hill now. 
 
 And quite out of breath : 
 Oh, then, base deceiver, 
 Why don't you relieve her, 
 
 And save her from death ? 
 n 4
 
 104 THE GEOLOGICAL PIC-NIC. 
 
 " Oh, surely, no cold heart 
 Could take such a bold part 
 
 As plunge in the sea : 
 To a flame that's so cruel 
 Who added the fuel ? 
 
 False Phaon, 'twas thee I 
 
 " With arms now extendina;, 
 Headlong she's descending 
 
 Right into the deep : 
 Whilst Phaon, not heeding 
 This dire proceeding 
 
 Lies buried in sleep. 
 
 ** The sea nymphs were dozing, 
 In grottos reposing. 
 
 And dreaming of love. 
 When Sappho came falling, 
 With splash quite appalling, 
 
 Straight down from above. 
 
 " False Phaon invoking. 
 The sea water choking, 
 
 She dies in the brine. 
 And thus her love ended 
 Excessively splendid — 
 
 Uncommonly fine — 
 
 Skynanbone." 
 
 But this Skynanbone episode I must now close, 
 And return to the company — that is, to those 
 Who to hear the Professor are seated in rows. 
 Where many a bright eye with merriment glows,
 
 THE GEOLOGICAL PIC-NIC. 105 
 
 As the Doctor awaking up out of a doze, 
 By taking snuff, coughing, and blowing his nose, — 
 Also drinking a glass of pale ale, — now arose, 
 And commenced geological truths to disclose. 
 
 But the ladies entreat 
 
 He won't stand on his feet, 
 So the hamper is brought him by way of a seat. 
 
 THE LECTURE. 
 
 " Dear friends and visitors, I crave attention. 
 
 With your permission, while some facts I mention. 
 
 By which I hope to demonstrate to you 
 
 All that geologists assert is true. 
 
 Though they themselves are puzzled to explain 
 
 The various theories which they maintain ; 
 
 Therefore I enter on no easy task. 
 
 And must your patience and indulgence ask : 
 
 Their strongest argument to me appears 
 
 To count as nothing sev'ral million years ; 
 
 For some such time are creatures under change 
 
 To come within ' Organic Fossil' range. 
 
 What length of years they have not clearly shown ; 
 
 But many millions make a ' fossil bone.' 
 
 Like most abstruse philosophers, we see 
 Learned geologists can disagree : 
 The theory ' Catastrophists ' supply 
 The * Uniformitarians ' deny. 
 Having thus prefaced, I will now proceed 
 To give some explanation of that creed,
 
 106 THE GEOLOGICAL PIC-NIC. 
 
 By which the ' Transinutationist' arranges 
 
 The cause and progress of ' organic changes.' 
 
 Lamark the Transmutationist declares 
 
 ' Organic changes ' are but those repairs 
 
 Or alterations Nature makes to suit 
 
 The expanding ' sentiment ' in man and brute ; 
 
 For men and brutes at first were all the same, 
 
 From 'petits corps gelatineux' they came. 
 
 This pliant substance formed the lowest class, 
 
 Which, by its ' sentiment interieur ' could pass 
 
 Through all the intermediate forms of being, 
 
 Which led to feet and noses, smelling, taste, and seeing. 
 
 Amongst these creatures I'ose a ruling race. 
 
 Which passed all others at a rapid pace. 
 
 To this more active of the pulpy throng, 
 
 Ladies and gentlemen, you all belong. 
 
 Of lower animals he Vikewise says 
 
 (Speaking of their peculiar forms and ways), 
 
 Not from the forms in which they are contrived 
 
 Can their peculiar habits be derived ; 
 
 But they, and their progenitors before them, 
 
 By loanting organs found their bodies bore them. 
 
 Not to assist an animal that swims. 
 
 Were web-feet added to the lower limbs ; 
 
 But this appendage was an after-thought 
 
 By the said animal's experience bought. 
 
 If a frog (wooing having fixed to go. 
 
 Whether his mother had said yes, or no) 
 
 Seeks surreptitiously an old frog's daughter. 
 
 Like bold Leander, he must cross the water : 
 
 And as he swims, by stretching out his toes, 
 
 He finds he faster through the water goes.
 
 THE GEOLOGICAL PIC-NIC. 107 
 
 So otters, beavers, water-fowl, and frogs. 
 
 Those swimming tenants of the streams and bogs. 
 
 From their own 'sentiment' first formed the notion 
 
 That web-feet would accelerate their motion ; 
 
 And that they had, by spreading out each toe. 
 
 Forced the web-membrane to extend and grow. 
 
 Creative Nature did not seek to deck 
 
 The graceful giraffe with a long, thin neck ; 
 
 But, in the midst of Africa, he found 
 
 Nothing as food upon the arid ground ; 
 
 But, with a lengthened neck, he could with ease 
 
 Strip the soft foliage from the lofty trees ; 
 
 Therefore, he sought the highest food to eat, 
 
 And stretched himself, in time, to twenty feet : 
 
 To stretch so much, some million years were wanted — 
 
 Time by geologists is always granted — 
 
 And this same process may in Time avail 
 
 To form a back-bone to the pulpy snail. 
 
 Some million years of 'sentiment' in bed 
 
 May give the oyster a more perfect head ; 
 
 And then by epicures it may be feared 
 
 He'll add mustachios to his ugly beard. 
 
 Such is the ' French School ; ' but yet some deplore 
 
 (With proper pride, and French ' esprit de coiys ') 
 
 To think the origin of man so base : 
 
 ' Polyp ! la souche de sa grande noble race.' 
 
 So seems to think Omalius D'Halloy, 
 
 Who says our species always did enjoy 
 
 Supreme dictatorship in the creation 
 
 Through all varieties of ' Transmutation.' 
 
 He thinks wise men have lived upon the earth 
 
 When grew those plants which gave to coals their birth ;
 
 108 THE GEOLOGICAL PIC-NIC. 
 
 And in the ' Carboniferous Formation,' 
 
 He finds, by some most subtle computation. 
 
 That men had lungs, by which they breathed most placid 
 
 An atmosphere of dense ' carbonic acid.' 
 
 Indeed, so dense, it would sufiicient be 
 
 ' Pour fair e mourir les hommes (Taujourd'huV 
 
 With this opinion we might all agree, 
 
 Could we discover their exuviae ; 
 
 Or could some fossil rib or tooth be seen 
 
 By our fam'd modern Saurian Frankensteen. 
 
 Then Mr. Hawkins would soon place before us 
 
 A model of the Patriarchosaurus" 
 
 Just then Catherine squealed, 
 " There's a bull in the field ! " 
 Which at once to the company's terror appealed. 
 At this horrible sight 
 The whole party took flight. 
 In a general scamper 
 Away from the hamper. 
 Kate, out of breath quite, 
 Screamed aloud in her fright : 
 She was sure she'd been tost, 
 For her bonnet she'd lost ; 
 True ! as Ellen had said, 
 It had dropped from her head ! 
 Tlien poor Ellen's despair, 
 Being held by the hair, 
 For her curls, in the scramble. 
 Had caught in a bramble, 
 Which seemed to remind her 
 The bull was behind her.
 
 THE GEOLOGICAL PIC-NIC. 109 
 
 Now, Miss Jones, in a flurry, 
 Slipped down in her hurry, 
 And besmear'd all her dress. 
 What a terrible mess ! 
 Then in climbing a hedge. 
 She got fixed like a wedge. 
 And her stockings all torn 
 By a blackberry thorn. 
 In this dishabille state 
 She was left to her fate ; 
 To sing "Casta Diva" 
 Would not now relieve her : 
 In the hedge she remained, 
 Like " Andromeda " chained. 
 But the Doctor was last. 
 For he could not run fast ; 
 And scarce knew, in his di'ead, 
 If he stood on his head : 
 In his hurry to fly. 
 Put his foot in a pie, 
 Which caused him to fall 
 An undignified sprawl. 
 With his knees in a custard. 
 And his nose in some mustard, 
 Which got awfully smeared 
 On his face and his beard ; 
 And, as you may suppose. 
 Its effect on his nose 
 Caused a vehement sneezing, 
 Which sensation, though pleasing, 
 Made a sad interference 
 With his facial appearance.
 
 110 THE GEOLOGICAL PIC-NIC. 
 
 But again on his feet, 
 Making good his retreat, 
 And not seeing Kate's bonnet, 
 Put his great foot upon it ; 
 Then, with effort immense. 
 Makes a jump at the fence ; 
 And with utter dismay, 
 In alighting half way. 
 Fell, with sundry groans, 
 Midst the briars and stones. 
 And got fixed by the side of Miss Skynanbone Jones.
 
 Ill 
 
 MUSTAPHA'S DREAM OF PARADISE. 
 
 I iniAGiNED I lay in a bower of roses, 
 
 Where the sun's subdued rays only languidly shone, 
 At that sweet dreamy time when all nature reposes, 
 
 Save the sparkling stream flowing smilingly on. 
 
 When the soft perfumed breezes the senses are steeping 
 With murmuring sounds in delicious repose, 
 
 And a thrill of delight through the warm blood is creeping, 
 While slowly the eyelids in ecstacy close. 
 
 It was then that I saw from the distance advancing 
 A group of fair maidens of exquisite grace ; 
 
 Some sgaig to the lute, while some others came dancing, 
 And love seemed to beam from each beautiful face. 
 
 Round the singers those dancing were gracefully wheeling, 
 Keeping time to the heavenly notes of the song ; 
 
 And their movements a light wavy action revealing, 
 Caused the group to appear as if floating along.
 
 112 mustapha's dream of paradise. 
 
 I now could perceive they were weaving with flowers 
 Four beautiful wreaths of such delicate hue, 
 
 That surely they'd culled from their sweet-scented bowers 
 The loveliest blossoms that Paradise grew. 
 
 They came to the spot where entranced I was viewing 
 
 The radiant look of this beautiful band ; 
 When its bright black-eyed leader, the music subduing, 
 
 Moved forward and placed the sweet wreaths at my hand. 
 
 O ! what melody breathes as her beautiful fingers 
 Seemed to kiss from the lute a voluptuous refrain ; 
 
 And whilst in the air the soft cadence still lingers. 
 Her soul-moving voice sings this passionate strain. 
 
 " Welcome, Faithful, to thy rest ! 
 Here thou art for ever blest. 
 In perpetual bliss enjoy 
 Deep delights that never cloy : 
 Fruit reserved for such as thee 
 Eat from off the Tuba tree.* 
 In its shade while you recline 
 Every thought and wish is thine : 
 Soothed to sleep by murmuring streams, 
 Rapture visits all thy dreams. • 
 
 Now for evermore is thine 
 Joys that flow from luscious wine : 
 You may now the wine-cup drain 
 Free from every after-pain. 
 
 * Tuba, or the Tree of Happiness, in the Mohammedan Paradise.
 
 mustapha's dream of paradise. 113 
 
 In thy beatific state 
 
 Wine can not inebriate : 
 
 Safely may its liquid fire 
 
 Fill tliy veins with warm desire. 
 
 Endless time can never fail 
 
 All thy Senses to regale. 
 
 Taste will always be more sweet 
 
 With each morsel that you eat : 
 
 Sight has endless visions new 
 
 Through the pure ethereal blue : 
 
 Scents for thee all flowers distil, 
 
 Floating through the air they fill : 
 
 Hearing's ravished by the thrill 
 
 Of the song of Israfil : * 
 
 Touch has here ecstatic bliss 
 
 In the black-eyed houri's kiss. 
 
 This the dearest, sweetest prize, 
 
 Now is spread before thine eyes : 
 
 Of the lovely maids you see 
 
 Fourf thy youthful brides shall be. 
 
 Take the wreaths that we have wove — 
 
 One for each of those you love — 
 
 Place it on her brow you choose. 
 
 None can here thy wish refuse ; 
 
 For this crown at once decides 
 
 Those you seek to make your brides. 
 
 Thousands;!: more on thee shall wait 
 
 In the humble, servile state ; 
 
 '* Israfil, the most melodious of the angels. 
 \ A Mohammedan is limited to four wives. 
 
 J " The Tcry meanest in paradise will have 80,000 servants." — Salk. 
 
 I
 
 114 mustapiia's dream of paradise. 
 
 But these four shall reign supreme 
 O'er thy love, and in thy dream ; 
 On thy bliss alone intent, 
 They shall every wish prevent. 
 When, entranced in sweet repose, 
 Languid love thine eyelids close, 
 They shall rock thy soul to rest 
 On a gently-heaving breast : 
 And that age may not destroy 
 Youthful passion's sweetest joy. 
 We now precious water bring 
 From the sacred Tasnim* spring. 
 Which, when drank, shall cause to flow 
 Through thy veins a healthful glow 
 With a sentiment for love 
 Such as wine can never move. 
 While this water you shall drink 
 Youth to age can never sink : 
 Youth and Love this spring provides 
 For thee, and thy Houri Brides." 
 
 She ceased ; and my soul with the melody filling 
 
 Through memory sought the loved strains to repeat ; 
 
 And whilst thus entranced, all my senses were thrilling, 
 Two maidens, advancing, bowed down at my feet. 
 
 They were clad in loose robes of ethereal lightness, 
 Like thin, fleecy clouds thrown over their charms. 
 
 And with diamond bracelets, whose pure liquid brightness 
 Absorbed the soft hue of their beautiful arms. 
 
 * A wonderful fountain in the Mohammedan Paradise.
 
 mustapha's dream of paradise. 115 
 
 One carried a chalice, and gracefully kneeling, 
 
 Presented the water of Tasnim it bore, 
 Then sang, in a voice of most exquisite feeling, 
 
 " Oh, drink of this spring and be young evermore ! " 
 
 The other approached with the same sweet devotion, 
 And handed me fruit on the Tuba-tree grown ; 
 
 Then raising her voice, sang with gentle emotion, 
 " Oh, eat ! and for evermore Love is thine own." 
 
 Oh ! who can describe the sweet vision before me ? 
 
 How tell of the heavenly beauty and form 
 Of those dear graceful maids who now seemed to adore me 
 
 With sweet looks of passion, soft, tender, and warm ! 
 
 The one was a dark-hair'd and flashing-eyed Beauty, 
 Whose form was o'erspread with a warm tinted glow — 
 
 With whom passionate love was a soul-stirring duty 
 On which every action and thought to bestow. 
 
 The other was fair, with long bright golden tresses, 
 And large, beaming eyes of cleai*, deep, liquid blue, 
 
 Where the sweet charm of modesty passion suppresses. 
 Still the Spirit of Love will shine ardently through. 
 
 Oh ! who can imagine the rush of sensation 
 
 That flew through my veins as each pulse beat its stroke ; 
 I grasped at the wreaths to complete this ovation : 
 
 The action disturbed me, — alas ! I awoke.
 
 116 mustapha's dream op paradise. 
 
 And though through my mind all these raptures are gleammg, 
 One, one ! — only one ! — of them all I now prize ; 
 And of that beloved hope, though awake, I am dreaming, — 
 'Tis the beautiful maid with the liquid blue eyes. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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