UC-NRLF 
 
 iPocms. 
 
LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 CALIFORNIA 
 
Pirated Poems. 
 
To the Author. 
 
 The Publishers of this book have produced this volume 
 from an old copy found on a bookstall. They 
 have endeavoured to trace the Author but have 
 failed, and they undertake to pay the Author (who 
 ever he may be) his share of the profits if any 
 arising out of the sale of the same, from the date 
 of this publication and as long as the book shall 
 find favour with the public. The Author must prove 
 his identity to the satisfaction of the Publishers, or 
 to the satisfaction of such arbitrators as they may 
 appoint. 
 
 March \$th, 1890. 
 
TWELFTH THOUSAND. 
 
 JPiratcd Poems 
 
 A REPRINT 
 
 From an Old Book found on a Book-stall 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 HOWE & CO., 23, ST. PAUL S BUILDINGS, 
 
 PATERNOSTER Row, E.C 
 
 Leather (L imp} I/- Morocco or Persian gilt, 2/6 
 
?U7 
 
 Preface. 
 
 THIS BOOK is a reprint of a work written 
 by an American, and published by him anony 
 mously. It contains all that was in the original 
 volume except one poem, which has been 
 designedly omitted. 
 
 The poems need no recommendation on the 
 score of cleverness or merit. The first poem, 
 " Mixed," is sufficiently good to bespeak for 
 the Author the attention of the reader, who is 
 amply repaid on the next page by perusing the 
 clever parody entitled : " Broke ! Broke ! ! 
 Broke!!!" "A Philadelphia Claverhouse " 
 contains some deservedly hard hitting, and the 
 lesson contained in the last line of " In the 
 Elysian Fields" is much needed, and is not 
 
 054 
 
vi Preface. 
 
 very widely believed. Deep thoughts also are 
 not wanting; while for tenderness, as well as 
 depth of teaching, scarcely anything can sur 
 pass "Throwing Stones." The book has been 
 " pirated " on the conditions which will be 
 found opposite the Title-page, and with the 
 belief that the collection deserves to be widely 
 known for the truth it contains albeit ex 
 pressed in a somewhat careless vein. 
 
Contents. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 MIXED / i 
 
 BROKE ! BROKE ! ! BROKE 2 
 
 ONLY 3 
 
 REFORM 4 
 
 INSOMNIA ... 6 
 
 AGAIN ... : 7 
 
 PROCUL NEGOTIIS 9 
 
 A PRACTICAL QUESTION 10 
 
 ET Tu, BERGHE ! n 
 
 A MORTIFYING SUBJECT 12 
 
 MEA CULPA ^ 15 
 
 A SECOND THOUGHT / 21 
 
 FUIT ILIUM / 23 
 
 CIVIL SERVICE 26 
 
 THE LOAFER S LAMENT 29 
 
 A PHILADELPHIA CLAVERHOUSE 30 
 
 IN THE ELYSIAN FIELDS 32 
 
 To MABEL J. ... ... ... 35 
 
 EPITHALAMIUM X 33 
 
 JILTED 43 
 
 HONI SOIT Qui MAL Y PENSE 45 
 
 ALL OR NOTHING 49 
 
 His WASHERWOMAN ! 51 
 
 THROWING STONES ... J 57 
 
 TOUCHING BOTTOM 62 
 
 SNOWBOUND 65 
 
EVERYBODY S SERIES, 
 
 C-oth, 61.; Leather, Is.; Calf or Morocco, gilt, 2s. 6d. 
 
 I. EVERYBODY S BOOK OP PROVERBS. 
 II PIRATED POEMS. 
 
 Others in Preparation. 
 
Pirated Poems. 
 
 Within my earthly temple there s a crowd : 
 There s one of us that s humble, one that s proud ; 
 There s one that s broken-hearted for his sins, 
 And one who, unrepentant, sits and grins ; 
 There s one who loves his neighbour as himself, 
 And one who cares for naught but fame and pelf 
 From much corroding care I should be free, 
 If once I could determine which is Me. 
 
PIRATED POEMS. 
 
 Broke, Broke, Bioke ! 
 
 I have squandered the uttermost sou, 
 And have failed in my efforts to utter 
 
 One trivial, last I. O. U. 
 
 Oh, well for the infant in arms 
 That for ducats he need not fret ; 
 
 Oh, well for the placid corpse 
 That he s settled his final debt. 
 
 And dun after dun comes in, 
 
 Each bringing his little account ; 
 
 And oh for the touch of a five-dollar bill, 
 Or a cheque for a larger amount ! 
 
 Broke, Broke, Broke 1 
 
 My course as a student is run ; 
 Pll back to my childhood s home, and act 
 
 The role of the Prodigal Son. 
 
ONLY. 
 
 Only a small bit of paper, 
 
 With just a few dates, nothing more, 
 Which at an unfortunate moment, 
 
 Glides down from my sleeve to the floor. 
 
 Only an Argus-eyed proctor, 
 
 Who, ever upon the qui vive, 
 Picks up, with suppressed exultation, 
 
 The paper which dropped from my sleeve. 
 
 Only four months in the country, 
 
 An extra vacation, that s all ; 
 But the trade of a proctor still strikes me 
 
 As something exceedingly small. 
 
PIRATED POEMS. 
 
 Yes, I know that I once was a bummer, 
 The laziest drone of the swarm ; 
 
 P)iit I tell you I started last summer 
 The glorious work of reform. 
 
 As Freshman I swallowed my bitters, 
 And thought that I cut quite a dash ; 
 
 A Soph more, I raised endless litters 
 Of pups, and a feeble moustache ; 
 
 A Junior, how oft the Dean s letter 
 
 Made the hearts of my parents feel sore ! 
 
 I was young then, but now I know better, 
 I ll never do so any more. 
 
 Don t speak of the bliss of potation, 
 Don t tell me that lager is cheap ; 
 
 Don t hint that I need recreation, 
 Nor doubt if I get enough sleep. 
 
REFORM. 
 
 Ere I spend it, I look at each nickel 
 
 With fond, parsimonious care; 
 P rhaps you notice how Time s ruthless sickle 
 
 Has shortened the trousers I wear ! 
 
 Am I thin ? Quite correct your conjecture, 
 
 Memorial Hall is the place : 
 We breakfast upon architecture, 
 
 For luncheon we merely say grace. 
 
 While yon, sir, are placidly sleeping, 
 The sleep of the thoughtless and free, 
 
 A studious party is keeping 
 A vigil in my room : That s me. 
 
 I know that they were evanescent, 
 
 My many reforms of the past ; 
 But I feel myself certain, at present, 
 
 That this one is going to last. 
 
PIRATED POEMS. 
 
 Come, vagrant sleep, and close the lid 
 
 Upon the casket of my thought ! 
 Come, truant, come when thou art bid, 
 
 And let thyself be caught ! 
 
 For lonely is the night, and still, 
 And, save my own, no breath I hear ; 
 
 No other mind, no other will, 
 Nor heart, nor hand, is near. 
 
 Thy waywardness what prayer can move ? 
 
 Canst thou by any lure be bought ? 
 Or art thou, then, like woman s love, 
 
 That only comes unsought ? 
 
 Up ! Where s my dressing-gown ? My pipe 
 
 is here, 
 Slumber be hanged ! Now for a book and beer. 
 
AGAIN. 
 
 I wonder why my brow is burning, 
 
 Why sleep to close my lids forgets ; 
 I wonder why I have a yearning 
 
 To smoke incessant cigarettes. 
 I wonder why my thoughts will wander, 
 
 And all restraint of mine defy, 
 And why excuse the rhyme a gander 
 
 Is not more of a goose than I. 
 
 I have an indistinct imp-ession 
 
 I had these symptoms once before, 
 And dull discomfort held possession 
 
 Of the same spot that now is sore ; 
 That sometime in a past that ranges 
 
 From early whiskers up to bib-, 
 My heart was ringing just such changes 
 
 As now, against these self-same ribs. 
 
PIRATED POEMS. 
 
 I wish some philanthropic Jenner 
 
 Might vaccinate against these ills, 
 And help us keep our noiseless tenor 
 
 Of life submissive to our wills ; 
 And, ere our hearts were permeated 
 
 With sentiments too warm by half, 
 That we might be inoculated 
 
 With the mild passion of a calf. 
 
PROCUL NEGOTIIS. 
 
 I think that if I had a farm 
 
 I d be a man of sense ; 
 And if the day was bright and warm 
 
 I d sit upon the fence, 
 And calmly smoke a pensive pipe, 
 
 And think about my pigs, 
 And wonder if the corn was ripe, 
 
 And counsel Phoiiune qui digs. 
 
 And if the day was wet and cold, 
 
 I think I should admire 
 To sit and dawdle over old 
 
 Montaigne, before the fire ; 
 And pity boobies who could lie 
 
 And squabble, just for pelf, 
 And thank my lucky stars that I 
 
 Was nicely fixed myself. 
 
io PIRATED POEMS. 
 
 Darkly the humorist 
 
 Muses on fate ; 
 Ghastly experiment 
 
 Life seems to him ; 
 Subject for merriment, 
 
 Sombre and grim. 
 Is it his doom, or is t 
 
 Something he ate? 
 
ET TU, BERGHE! n 
 
 Lj 5i>ergfte 1 
 
 And art thou, Bergh, so firmly set 
 
 Against domestic strife 
 As to correct with stripes the man 
 
 Who disciplines his wife ? 
 Such action does not of thy creed 
 
 Appear the normal fruit : 
 Thou should st befriend a being who 
 
 Behaves so like a brute ! 
 
PIRATED POEMS. 
 
 Mortifying 
 
 What is to be, I do not know ; 
 
 What is, I do esteem 
 To be so undesirable 
 
 And worthless that I deem 
 There must be something good in store, 
 
 Something to keep in view 
 To reconcile us living here 
 
 For living as v\e do. 
 
 For life, Oh, life, it seems a chore ; 
 
 Its surface is so blurred 
 By storms of passion that it makes 
 
 One long to be inteired ; 
 To crcupy a tranquil spot 
 
 Some seven feet by two, 
 And just serenely lie and rot, 
 
 With nothing else to do. 
 
A MORTIFYING SUBJECT. 13 
 
 I think that when there ceased to be 
 
 Sufficient tenement 
 To hold my conscience, then I would 
 
 Begin to be content. 
 And if I should be there to see 
 
 My stomach take its leave, 
 I d gather up my mouldering shroud 
 
 And chuckle in my slejeve. 
 
 I think that when the greedy worm 
 
 Began upon my brains, 
 I d wish him luck, and hope he d get 
 
 His dinner for his pains. 
 I d warn him that they would be apt 
 
 With him to disagree, 
 For if they fed him well, twere what 
 
 They seldom did for me. 
 
14 PIRATED POEMS. 
 
 But when I should be certain that 
 
 My scarred and battered heart 
 Was o f my corporality 
 
 Not any more a part, 
 Though I d no voice, I d rattle in 
 
 My throat with joyous tones, 
 And, with no feelings left, I \\ould 
 
 Feel happy in my bones. 
 
MEA CULPA. 15 
 
 Meet d>u?pct. 
 
 There is a thing, \\hich, in my brain 
 
 Though nightly I revolve it, 
 I cannot in the least explain, 
 
 Nor do I hope to solve it. 
 While others tread the narrow path, 
 
 In manner meek and pious, 
 Why is it that my spirit hath 
 
 So opposite a bias ? 
 
 Brought up to fear the Lord, and dread 
 
 The bottomless abysm, 
 In Waits s hymns profoundly read, 
 
 And diilled in catechism, 
 I should 1 ave been a model )outh, 
 
 The pink of all that s proper : 
 I was not ; but, to tell the truth 
 
 I did not care a copper. 
 
16 PIRATED POEMS. 
 
 I had no yearnings, when a boy, 
 
 To sport an angel s wrapper, 
 Nor heard I with tumultuous joy 
 
 The church-frequenting clapper. 
 My actions always harmonised 
 
 With my own sweet volition : 
 I always did what I devised, 
 
 But rarely asked permission. 
 
 When o er the holy book I d pore, 
 
 And read of doings pristine 
 I bad a fellow-feeling for 
 
 The put-upon Philistine. 
 King David gratified my taste, 
 
 He harped, and danced boleros ; 
 But first, the Prodigal was placed 
 
 Upon my list of heroes. 
 
ME A GULP A. 17 
 
 I went to school. To study ? No ! 
 
 I dearly loved to dally 
 And dawd e over " Ivanhoe," 
 
 "Tom Brown " and "Charles O Malley." 
 In recitation, I was used 
 
 To halt on every sentence ; 
 Repenting, seldom I produced 
 
 Fruits proper of repentance. 
 
 At college, later, I became 
 
 Familar with my Flaccus ; 
 Brought incense to the Muses flame 
 
 And sacrificed to Bacchus. 
 I flourished in an air unfraught 
 
 With sanctity s aroma ; 
 Learned many things I was not taught, * 
 
 And captured a diploma. 
 
iS PIRATED POEMS. 
 
 I am not well provided for, 
 
 I have not great [ ossessions ; 
 I do not like the legal or 
 
 Medicinal professions. 
 Were I of good repute, I might 
 
 Take orders as a deacon ; 
 But I m no bright and shining light, 
 
 But just a warning beacon] 
 
 Though often urged by friends sincere 
 
 To woo some funded houri, 
 I cannot read my title clear 
 
 To any damsel s dowry. 
 And could to wedlock I induce 
 
 An heiress, I should falter, 
 And fear that such a bridal noose 
 
 Might prove a gilded halter. 
 
MEA CULPA. 19 
 
 My tradesmen have suspicious grown ; 
 
 My friends are tired of giving ; 
 Upon the cold, cold world I m thrown 
 
 To hammer out my living. 
 I fear that work before me lies : 
 
 Indeed, I see no option, 
 Unless, perhaps, I advertise 
 
 "An orphan for adoption I" 
 
 A legacy of misspent time 
 
 Is all that I m the heir to ; 
 I cannot make my life sublime, 
 
 However much I care to. 
 And if, as now, I turn my head 
 
 In retrospect a minute, 
 Tis but to recognise my bed 
 
 Before I lie down in it. 
 
20 
 
 PIRATED POEMS. 
 
 I am the man that I have been, 
 
 And at the final summing 
 How shall I bear to see sent in 
 
 My score, one long shortcoming! 
 Unless, when all the saints exclaim, 
 
 With righteous wrath, " Peccavit ! * 
 Some mighty friend shall make His claim- 
 
 " He suffered, and amcmit!" 
 
A SECOND THOUGHT. 21 
 
 This world s the worst I ever saw ; 
 
 I d like to make it better. 
 I m going to promulgate the law, 
 And hold men to its letter : 
 Be respectable, and stand 
 
 Esteemed of Mrs. Grundy ; 
 Attend to business week-days, and 
 Read moral books on Sunday. 
 
 On Sabbath-keepers, every one, 
 
 Approvingly I smile, and 
 Frown on those who spend their Sun- 
 Days down at Coney Island : 
 
 Don t play cards, young man ; Gobang 
 
 Affords amusement ample, 
 Speak carefully, eschewing slang, 
 And set a good example. 
 
PIRATED POEMS. 
 
 The theatres, how bad they be ! 
 The players, oh, how vicious ! 
 The waltz, I shudder when I see, 
 And think it most pernicious : 
 
 Shun the wine-cup : don t be led 
 
 To drink by scoff or banter ; 
 In the cup lurk pains of head, 
 And snakes in the decanter. 
 
 Ah me ! I wonder if I m right ! 
 
 I say it s wrong to do so, 
 As though, without a soul in sight, 
 I ruled alone, like Crusoe : 
 
 Is it that I am partly wrong 
 
 And partly right, my neighbour, 
 And that we get, who toil so long, 
 Half-truths for all our labour? 
 
FUIT ILIUM. 23 
 
 <$iurru 
 
 f Jp-0~i \*J ^O ) 
 
 Were you nurtured in the purple ? 
 
 Were you reared a pampered pet ? 
 Did a menial throng encircle 
 
 You, in waiting while you ate ? 
 When a baby had you lockets, 
 
 Silver cups and forks and spoons ? 
 Were there coins in the pockets 
 
 Of your childhood s pantaloons? 
 
 Did hereditary shekels 
 
 Make your sweethearts deem you fair,- 
 Reconcile them to your freckles 
 
 And your carrot-coloured hair ? 
 In electrifying raiment 
 
 Were you every day attired ? 
 Was the promptness of your payment 
 
 Universally admired ! 
 
24 PIRATED POEMS. 
 
 Did your father, too confiding, 
 
 Sign the paper of his friends ? 
 Did his railway stock, subsiding, 
 
 Cease to pay him dividends ! 
 Are his buildings slow in renting ? 
 
 Did his banker pilfer, slope, 
 And, absconding, leave lamenting 
 
 Creditors to live on hope? 
 
 Ere you dissipate a quarter 
 
 Do you scrutinize it twice? 
 Have you ceased to look on water 
 
 Drinking as a nauseous vice? 
 Do you wear your brother s breeches, 
 
 Though the buttons scarcely meet? 
 Does the vanity of riches 
 
 Form no part of your conceit ? 
 
FUIT ILIUM. 25 
 
 I am with you, fellow pauper ! 
 
 Let us share our scanty crust ; 
 Burst the bonds of fiscal torpor, 
 
 Go where beer is sold on trust. 
 Let us, free from res angusta, 
 
 Seek seme fair Utopian mead, 
 Where the throat is never dusty, 
 
 And tobacco grows a weed. 
 
26 PIRATED POEMS. 
 
 @iw GDemee. 
 
 On Pennsylvania Avenue 
 
 He stood and waited for a car; 
 He turned to catch a parting view 
 
 Of where the Public Buildings are. 
 He looked at them uith thoughtful eye; 
 
 He took his hat from off his head ; 
 He heaved a half-regretful sigh, 
 
 And thus he said : 
 
 " My relative, I do the bidding 
 
 Of Fate, and say to thee, Good-bye, 
 I think thee fortunate at ridding 
 
 Thyself of such a clerk as I. 
 Thy sure support, though somewhat meagre, 
 
 Hath much about it to commend ; 
 Nor am I now so passing eager 
 
 To leave so provident a friend. 
 
CIVIL SERVICE. 27 
 
 " Light was thy yoke, rould I have borne it 
 
 With tranquil mind and step sedate : 
 Why did my feeble shoulders scorn it, 
 
 And seem to crave a heavier weight ? 
 Extremely blest is his condition 
 
 Whose needs thy bounteous hands supply, 
 If he but fling away ambition, 
 
 And let the world go rushing by. 
 
 " Indocilis pauperiein pati, 
 
 I must get out of this damp spot. 
 
 Away ! Away ! Whatever fate I 
 May have in store, I fear it not. 
 
 Away from all my soul despises - 
 
 From paltry aims, from sordid cares ; 
 
 Fame, honour, love time s richest prizes- 
 Lie waiting for the man who dares. 
 
28 PIRATED POEMS. 
 
 " The man who calls no man his master, 
 
 Nor bows his head to tinsel gods ; 
 Who faces debt, disease, disaster, 
 
 And never murmurs at the odds : 
 Although his life from its beginning 
 
 Marks only fall succeeding fall, 
 Let him fight on, and trust to winning 
 
 In death the richest prize of all." 
 
 He jambed his hat down on his head ; 
 
 He turned from where the Buildings are; 
 Precipitately thence he fled, 
 
 And caught a passing car. 
 
THE LOAFER S LAMENT. 29 
 
 (Ufte feoa?er*/& feamenf. 
 
 My heated brain is burning, 
 My soul for rest is yearning, 
 Speak to me not concerning 
 
 My duties as a grind : 
 But bring the cooling tankard, 
 For which I long have hankered : 
 When at my side it s anchored 
 
 I ll consolation find. 
 
 Fair Idleness, thou devil ! 
 Thou charming sprite of evil ! 
 How in thy charms I ll revel 
 
 When my degree is won ! 
 But if to-day I woo thee, 
 To-morrow I shall rue thee, 
 With longing eyes I view thee, 
 
 While yet thy spells I shun. 
 
PIRATED POEMS. 
 
 <2/\ 
 
 To the fathers in council twas Witherspoon spoke : 
 
 " Our best beloved dogmas we cannot revoke. 
 
 God s infinite mercy let others record, 
 
 And teach men to trust in their crucified Lord : 
 
 The old superstitions let others dispel ; 
 
 I feel it my duty to go in for hell. 
 
 u Perdition is needful ; beyond any doubt 
 Hell-fire is a thing that we can t do without. 
 The bottomless pit is our very best claim ; 
 To leave it unworked were a sin and a shame : 
 We must keep it up, if we like it, or not, 
 And make it eternal, and make it red-hot. 
 
A PHILADELPHIA CLAVERHOUSE. 31 
 
 " To others the doctrine of love may be dear ; 
 I own I confide in the doctrine of fear : 
 There s nothing, I think, so effective to make 
 Our weak fellow-creatures their errors forsake, 
 As to tell them abruptly with unchanging front, 
 1 You ll be damned if you do ! You ll be damned 
 if you don t. 
 
 " Saltpetre and pitchforks with brimstone and coals 
 
 Are arguments new to rescue men s souls. 
 
 A new generation forthwith must arise, 
 
 With Beelzebub pictured before their young eyes : 
 
 They ll be brave, they ll be true, they ll be gentle 
 
 and kind, 
 Because thev have Satan for ever in mind." 
 
PIRATED POEMS. 
 
 ffte 
 
 What ! you here ? Why, old man, I never 
 
 Felt more surprise, or more delight. 
 Who would have dreamt that you would ever 
 
 Parade around in robes of white? 
 I always thought of you as dodging 
 
 The coals and fire-brands somewhere eUe ; 
 And here you are, with board and lodging, 
 
 Where not so much as butter melts. 
 
 Well, well, old man, if you can s and it 
 
 Up here, I ll never make a fuss. 
 I had forebodings that they d planned it 
 
 A little stiff for men like us. 
 The boys were much cut up about you, 
 
 You got away so very quick ; 
 And as for me, to do without you 
 
 It absolutely made me sick. 
 
IN THE ELYSIAN FIELDS. 33 
 
 I wish you could have seen us plant you, 
 
 Why, every man squeezed out a tear, 
 And just imagine us, now can t you - 
 
 The gang, and yours the only bier ! 
 Fred hammered out some bully verses ; 
 
 We had them printed in the sheet, 
 With lines funereal as hearses 
 
 Around them. Oh, it did look sweet ! 
 
 Hulloo! Is that Sir Walter Raleigh? 
 
 I wish you d point the people out : 
 I want to look at Tom Macaulay ; 
 
 Is Makepeace anywhere about? 
 Where s Socrates? Where s Sidney Carton ?- 
 
 Oh, I forgot : he was a myth. 
 If there s a thing I ve set my heart on, 
 
 It is to play with Sidney Smith. 
 
34 PIRATED POEMS. 
 
 What ? Glad I came ? I am, for certain ; 
 
 The other s a malarious hole ; 
 I always pined to draw the curtain, 
 
 And, somehow knew I had a soul. 
 The flesh, oh, wasn t it a fetter? 
 
 You d get so tired of all \ our schemes. 
 But here I think I like it better ; 
 
 Oh dear, how natural it seems ! 
 
TO MABEL. 
 
 35 
 
 Upon this anniversary 
 
 My little god-child, aged three, 
 
 These compliments I make to thee, 
 
 Quite heedless. 
 
 And that you ll throw them now away, 
 But treasure them some future day 
 Are platitudes, tl e \\hich to say 
 
 Is needless. 
 
 You small, stout damsel, mkk e moird, 
 With cropped tow-head, and manners rude, 
 And stormy spirit unsubdued 
 
 By nurses, 
 
 Where you were raised, was it in \ogue 
 To lisp that Tipperary brogue ? 
 Oh, you re a subject sweet, you rogue, 
 
 For verses. 
 
3 6 PIRATED POEMS. 
 
 Last Sunday morning, when we stayed 
 
 At home, you got yourself arrayed 
 
 In Lyman s clothes, and turned from maid 
 
 To urchin ; 
 
 And when we all laughed at you so 
 You e\ed outside the falling snow, 
 And thought your rig quite fit to go 
 
 To church in. 
 
 Play on ! play on, dear little lass ! 
 Play on till sixteen summers pass, 
 And then I ll bring a looking-glass, 
 
 And there be- 
 Fore you, on your lips, I ll show 
 The curves of small Dan Cupid s bow ; 
 And then the crop that now is " tow" 
 
 Shall "fair" be. 
 
TO MABEL. 37 
 
 And then I ll show you, loo, the charms 
 Of small firm hands and rounded arms, 
 And eyes whose flashes send alarms 
 
 Right through you ; 
 And then a half-regretful sigh 
 May break from me to think that I, 
 At forty years, can never try 
 
 To woo you. 
 
 What shall I wish you ? Free from ruth 
 To live and learn in love and truth 
 Through childhood s day and days of youth 
 
 And school s day : 
 For all the days that intervene 
 Twixt Mab at three and at nineteen 
 Are but one sombre or serene 
 
 All Fool s Day. 
 
3 8 PIRATED POEMS. 
 
 The marriage bells have rung their peal, 
 
 The wedding-march has told its story; 
 I ve seen her at the altar kneel 
 
 In all her stainless virgin glory; 
 She s bound lo honour, love, obey 
 
 Come joy or sorrow, tears or laughter. 
 1 watched her as she rode away, 
 
 And flung the lucky slipper after. 
 
 She was my first, my very first, 
 
 My earliest inamorata ; 
 And to the passion that I nursed 
 
 For her I almost was a martyr. 
 For I was young and she was fair, 
 
 And always bright, and gay, and chipper 
 And oh, she wore such pretty hair ! 
 
 Such silken stockings ! such a slipper ! 
 
EPITHALAMIUM. 39 
 
 She did not wish to make me mourn, 
 
 She was the kindest of God s creatures ; 
 But flirting was in her inborn, 
 
 Like brains and queerness in the Beechers. 
 I do not fear your heartless flirt, 
 
 Obtuse her dart and dull her probe is ; 
 But when girls do not mean to hurt, 
 
 But do, Orate tune pro nobis ! 
 
 A most romantic country place, 
 
 The moon at full, the month of August ; 
 An inland lake, across whose face 
 
 Played gentle zephyrs, ne er a raw gust ; 
 Books, boats, and horses to enjoy 
 
 The which was all our occupation, 
 A damsel and a callow boy; 
 
 There ! Now you have the situation. 
 
40 PIRATED POKMS. 
 
 We rode together miles and miles ; 
 
 My pupil she, and I her Chiron. 
 At home I revelled in her smiles, 
 
 And read her extracts out of Byron. 
 We roamed by moonlight, chose our stars, 
 
 (I thought it most authentic billing), 
 Explored the woods, climbed over bars, 
 
 Smoked cigarettes, and broke a shilling. 
 
 An infinitely blissful week 
 
 Went by in this Arcadian fashion : 
 I hesitated long to speak, 
 
 But ultimately breathed my passion. 
 She said her heart was not her own ; 
 
 She said she d love me like a sister ; 
 She cried a little (not alone) ; 
 
 I told her not to fret, and kissed her 
 
EPITHALAMIUM. 41 
 
 I lost some sleep, some pounds in weight, 
 
 A deal of time, and all my spirits ; 
 And much how much I dare not state 
 
 I mused upon that damsel s merits. 
 I tortured my unhappy soul ; 
 
 I wished I never should recover ; 
 I hoped her marriage-bells might toll 
 
 A requiem for her faithful lover. 
 
 And now she s married ; now she wears 
 
 A wedding-ring upon her finger : 
 And I although it odd appears 
 
 Still in the flesh I seem to linger. 
 Lo, there my swallow-tail, and here 
 
 Lies by my side a weeding favour ; 
 Beside it stands a mug of beer ; 
 
 I taste it, how divine its flavour ! 
 
42 PIRATED POEMS. 
 
 I saw her in her bridal dress, 
 
 Stand pure an i lovely at the altar ; 
 I heard her firm response that " Yes " 
 
 Without a quiver or a falter. 
 And here I sit and drink to her 
 
 Long life and happiness, God bless her ! 
 Now fill again! No heel-taps, sir! 
 
 Here s to success to her successor. 
 
JILTED. 43 
 
 Stay me with flagons, . . . for I am sick of love. 
 
 Cant. ii. 5. 
 
 To seem gay and youthful I m trying, 
 But my heart is as old as the hills, 
 
 And I feel that those panics are lying 
 Who tell me that grief never kills. 
 
 My story has oft been related ; 
 
 I fit in an old, old groove, 
 Since never, as some one has stated, 
 
 The course of true love ran smooth. 
 
 Susceptible, young, and romantic, 
 I thought her an angel of light ; 
 
 And still, save when grief makes me frantic, 
 I firmly believe I was right. 
 
44 PIRATED POEMS. 
 
 An angel she was, but the healing 
 She bore on her wings was a part 
 
 Of the means that she used for annealing 
 Another young man s broken heart. 
 
 And that s why I say, " Bring on flagons, 
 And place them convenient for me ! " 
 
 Tis not that I wish to see dragons 
 And snakes, as we do in " D. T." 
 
 No, No : tis because I would quiet 
 This sorrow to which I am linked ; 
 
 While fancy, unshackled, runs riot, 
 And memories grow indistinct. 
 
 Let me cherish once more the delusion 
 That giils are as true as they seem, 
 
 And, during my mental confusion, 
 Imagine it all was a dream. 
 
HONI SOIT QUI MAL Y PENSE. 45 
 
 l>oif Qui Maf 
 
 It was my happy lot to meet, 
 
 Upon a late occasion, 
 While seeking of the summer s heat 
 
 Agreeable evasion, 
 By visiting at a resort 
 
 Of fashion, where, no matter, 
 A maid whom there were none to court, 
 
 And very few to flatter. 
 
 Her head had not the graceful poise 
 
 Of Aphrodite s statue ; 
 Her hair reminded you of boys, 
 
 Her nose was pointed at you. 
 A Derby hat. the self-same sort 
 
 The fashionable male owes 
 Money for, she used to sport, 
 
 As angels do their haloes. 
 
46 PIRATED POEMS. 
 
 She seldom walked in silk attire, 
 
 But commonly in flannels, 
 Nor yet in oils did she aspire 
 
 To figure on a panel : 
 Because she coul 1 not help but see 
 
 She was not tall nor slender ; 
 Nor did she deem her curves to be 
 
 Superlatively tender. 
 
 Some prudish dames did her abuse 
 
 With censure fierce and scathing-, 
 Because she, happening- to lose 
 
 Her stocking while in bathing, 
 Deemed such a loss of little note, 
 
 And made no fu-s about it ; 
 But tied the stocking round her throat, 
 
 And reappeared without it. 
 
HONI SOIT QUI MAL Y PENSE. 47 
 
 I do not think that for the pelf 
 
 Of eligible boobies, 
 Or for the chance to deck herself 
 
 With diamonds and rubies, 
 Or for her standing in the books 
 
 Of prim and proper ladies, 
 Or for their disapproving looks 
 
 She cared a hoot from Hades. 
 
 Though competent to hold her tongue, 
 
 When circumstance demanded 
 Speech, she was, for one so \oiing 
 
 Astonishingly candid. 
 She sang the cheerfullest of songs 
 
 Which, surg by her, were funny ; 
 And never brooded on her \\rongs, 
 
 Or hoarded up her money. 
 
48 PIRATED POEMS. 
 
 Tis true, this careless damsel s fame 
 
 At last grew rather shady, 
 But if the man disposed to name 
 
 Her fast, or not a lady, 
 Permits his strictures to be aired 
 
 Where I can overhaul him, 
 The present writer is prepared 
 
 To strict account to call him. 
 
ALL OR NOTHING. 49 
 
 or Roffting. 
 
 Happy the man whose far remove 
 
 From business and the giddy throng 
 Fits him in the paternal groove 
 
 Unquestioning to glide along ; 
 Apart from struggle and from strife, 
 
 Content to live by labour s fruits, 
 And wander down the vale of life 
 
 In gingham shirt and cowhide boots. 
 
 He too is blest who, from within, 
 
 By strong and lasting impulse stirred, 
 Faces the turmoil and the din 
 
 Of rushing life ; whom hope deferred 
 But more incites ; who ever strives, 
 
 And wants, and works, and waits, until 
 The multitude of other lives 
 
 Pay glorious tribute to his will. 
 
50 PIRATED POEMS. 
 
 But he who, greedy of renown, 
 
 Is too tenacious of his ease, 
 Alas, for him ! Nor busy town 
 
 Nor country with his mode agrees. 
 Eager to reap, but loath to sow, 
 
 He longs monstrari digito ; 
 And looking on with envious eyes 
 
 Lives restless, and obscurely dies. 
 
HIS WASHERWOMAN. 51 
 
 " My laundress ! my laundress ! she causes me 
 distress, 
 
 And woe, and anguish infinite, and endless bitter 
 ness." 
 
 Tvvas thus, with fingers in his hair, exclaimed 
 the Muse s scion, 
 
 And gazed upon the night was fair Arcturus 
 and Orion. 
 
 "Her bill she has sent in to me. What shall my 
 cares dispel ? 
 
 For how to pay the small account I cannot, can 
 not tell. 
 
 " My laundress ! my laundress ! When first for 
 
 me she washed, 
 My brow was smooth, my eye was clear, my 
 
 soul was unabashed ; 
 And when she came to get my clothes my 
 
 manner was urbane, 
 
52 PIRATED POEMS. 
 
 And I looked up and smiled, and asked if it 
 
 were going to rain ; 
 And she with all humility her eyes to mine would 
 
 raise, 
 Then, glancing at the clouds, would murmur, 
 
 Yes, sor, av ye plize ! 
 
 " My laundress ! my laundress ! Her ways are 
 
 altered now, t 
 And when she comes for clothes, she comes 
 
 with scorn upon her brow ; 
 With eyes downcast upon my book, I sit absorbed 
 
 and still, 
 Until she says, Young man, I d loike the money 
 
 fur me bill : 
 Me childer has no shoes to wear, me rint is 
 
 overdue, 
 Pay up, young man, and I 11 not be a troublin 
 
 of you ! 
 
HIS WASHERWOMAN. 53 
 
 " My laundress ! my laundress ! She sends a 
 
 shadowy boy 
 To watch me mornings while I sleep, and damp 
 
 my rising joy ; 
 And when I wake from tranquil dreams and 
 
 innocent repose, 
 That small gossoon beside my bed is sitting on 
 
 my clothes. 
 He only says, Miss Grady d loike the mor.ey, 
 
 sor, to-day. 
 I, speechless, turn toward the wall ; he, silent, 
 
 goes away. 
 
 " I ll go and see my laundress, and speak the 
 
 truth unmasked ; 
 I ll tell her how impossible a favour she has 
 
 asked ; 
 I ll say that I am penniless, and if I put up 
 
 spout 
 
54 PIRATED POEMS. 
 
 As much of my effects as I could get along 
 
 without, 
 The sum that I would realise upon them would 
 
 amount 
 To only one poor third of what is due to her 
 
 account. 
 
 "I ll say I sometimes contemplate absconding 
 
 from the place, 
 But that I m not a scoundrel scamp, like 
 
 Thackeray s Deuceace ; 
 And though I cannot pay her bill, I will not run 
 
 away ; 
 And then I ll listen patiently to what she has to 
 
 say; 
 
 And when vituperation has taken off the edge 
 Of her just wrath, I ll speak, and thus I ll put 
 
 myself in pledge : 
 
HIS WASHERWOMAN. 55 
 
 " I ll say, You have a daughter ; I know she is 
 
 not fair, 
 
 Bat never for mere looks did I particularly care. 
 I often have remarked her, as, when the day was 
 
 fine, 
 She went with sprightly grace to hang my clothes 
 
 upon the line ; 
 And oft have I addressed her, and, though her 
 
 speech was curt, 
 I learned to love her, as she fixed a clothes-pin 
 
 on my shirt ! 
 
 " I 11 cultivate your daughter ; I 11 woo her with 
 
 an art 
 That shall not fail to quickly make impression 
 
 on her heart ; 
 And when her young affections with subtlety I ve 
 
 won, 
 
56 PIRATED POEMS. 
 
 I trust that you, dear madam, will receive me as 
 
 your son. 
 The duties that devolve on me I ll never try to 
 
 shirk, 
 And what I cannot pay in cash you shall receive 
 
 in work. 5 " 
 
IIROWING STONES. 57 
 
 " I love my child, " the actress wrote ; 
 
 " My duty is to guide 
 The child I bore, and in my arms 
 
 The child I love shall hide : 
 Shall hide from missiles cast at me. 
 
 Because I have so odd 
 A conscience that I choose to rear 
 
 The child I took from God." 
 
 There is a sin from which us all 
 
 May gracious Heaven guard ; 
 Which is its own worst punishment, 
 
 Itself its sole reward ; 
 And of it social law has said 
 
 To man, " If sin you must, 
 Go, then ; and come again, but leave 
 
 The woman in the dust !" 
 
58 PIRATED POEMS. 
 
 Ah ! who can know, save Him All wise 
 
 Who watches from above, 
 The awful hazard women dare 
 
 To run for men they love ? 
 Or tell how many a craven heart, 
 
 To shield his own bad name, 
 Has caused a woman s trustful love 
 
 To bring her lasting shame? 
 
 To her who, when the dream has passed, 
 
 Finds herself left alone 
 And in her crushed repentant heart 
 
 A yearning to atone 
 Heaven, more merciful than man, 
 
 Who erst upon her smiled, 
 By love to win her to itself 
 
 May send a little child. 
 
THROWING STONES. 59 
 
 Then, if the lonely mother s heart 
 
 Accepts the gracious gift, 
 And if the charge she dared to take 
 
 She does not dare to shift ; 
 Shall we, untempted and untried, 
 
 To ease and virtue born, 
 Visit upon her shrinking head 
 
 Our unrelenting scorn ? 
 
 We, who have all our lives been taught 
 
 Truths other men have learned, 
 And walked by what celestial light 
 
 In other bosoms burned ; 
 We, whose sublimest duty is 
 
 To do as we are bid, 
 How shall we judge a soul from which 
 
 The face of God is hid ? 
 
60 PIRATED POEMS.. 
 
 Know you the loneliness of heart 
 
 That courts release from Death ? 
 That makes it burdensome to draw 
 
 Each slow, successive breath ? 
 That longs for human sympathy, 
 
 Until, when hope is lost, 
 A respite from its agony 
 
 It buys at any cost ? 
 
 Of erring human nature we 
 
 Are born each with his share : 
 We all are vain ; we all are weak, 
 
 And quick to fly from care ; 
 And if we keep our footing, 
 
 Or seem to rise at all, 
 Twere well for us with charity 
 
 To look on those who fall. 
 
THROWING STONES. 61 
 
 And if our hands are strengthened, 
 
 And if our lips can speak, 
 Twere well if with them we might help 
 
 Our brothers who are weak ; 
 And well if we remember 
 
 God s love is never grudged 
 And never sit in judgment, 
 
 If we would not be judged. 
 
62 PIRATED POEMS. 
 
 Jouefting S^oiTom. 
 
 I think that I have somewhere read 
 About a man, whose foolish head, 
 By mischievous intention led, 
 
 A sprite 
 
 Had with an ass s visage decked, 
 That all who met him might detect 
 His intellectual defect 
 
 At sight. 
 
 The trite remark of man and book, 
 That many men are men in look, 
 But donkeys really, thus the spook 
 
 Reversed. 
 
 The victim of the imp s design 
 Had such a head as yours or mine, 
 Although his did look asinine 
 
 At first. 
 
TOUCHING BOTTOM. 63 
 
 But Love I think the story ran 
 Was proof against the fairy s plan, 
 Discerning, through the mask, the man, 
 
 Perhaps ; 
 
 Or is it true that women try 
 But very faintly to descry 
 Long ears on heads that occupy 
 
 Their laps ? 
 
 I know a youth whose fancy gropes 
 For head-gear finer than the Pope s ; 
 So him his bright and treacherous hopes 
 
 Delude. 
 
 But in the mirror of his fears 
 When this too sanguine person peers, 
 Alas ! behold the jackass ears 
 
 Protrude ! 
 
64 PIRATED POEMS. 
 
 To him it happens now and then, 
 That over products of his pen 
 He cackles, as o er eggs the hen 
 
 Who lays, 
 
 To find that to another s ear 
 His cherished sentiments appear, 
 Not utterances strong and clear, 
 
 But brays. 
 
 Titania mine, if I could find 
 You ever to my follies blind, 
 Such deep content would rule my mind 
 
 Within, 
 
 That, even though myself aware 
 Of pointed ears adorned with hair, 
 I do not think that I should care 
 
 A pin. 
 
SNOWBOUND. 65 
 
 Inocofjounc}. 
 
 A Law Office ; two briefless ones. A clock strikes, 
 JAMES : 
 
 One, two, three, four. It s four o clock ; 
 There comes the postman round the block 
 And in a jiff we ll hear his knock 
 
 Most pleasant. 
 
 Inform me, Thomas, will he bring 
 To you, deserving no such thing, 
 Letters from her whose praises ring 
 
 Incessant? 
 
 THOMAS : 
 
 Friend of my bosom, James, refrain 
 From putting questions fraught with pain 
 And seeking facts I had not fain 
 
 Imparted. 
 
 The said official on this stretch 
 Will not, in my opinion, fetch 
 Such documents to me, a wretch 
 
 Downhearted. 
 
66 PIRATED POEMS. 
 
 JAMES : 
 
 Nay; but I prithee, Thomas, tell 
 
 To me, thy friend, who loves thee well, 
 
 What cause there is for such a fell 
 
 Deprival. 
 
 Why is it that the message fails? 
 Have broken ties, or twisted rails, 
 Or storm, or snow, delayed the mail s 
 
 Arrival ! 
 
 THOMAS : 
 
 Thou art, O James, a friend indeed 
 To probe my wound and make it bleed : 
 To know of my affairs thy greed 
 
 Has no bounds. 
 
 The reason why you have not guessed ; 
 If storm there were, t was in her breast ; 
 For there my letter, unexpressed, 
 
 Lies snowbound. 
 
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