Southern Branch of the University, of California Los Angeles i. i This book is DUE on the last date stamped below I REC'D LD-lP r NfA mn GAVirtER ILLUSTRATED BY ii CrnmquHl nnit llirlmrii fmjle. W LONDON: 9 ©O 811 MB PRINTED BY FETTER, DUFF, AND PSTTEll 58 361 I _t U If 3 I i n g j j EDITED BY BOB BABLTHB. ILLUSTRATED BY ALFRED CROWQUILL AND RICHARD DOYLE. Xnnhn: WM. S. ORR AND CO. AMEN CORNER. MDCCCXLIX. $m& PBim 3? tT Tj (r ==£d - M 2 £ — &s I'^nnntj. Comr, bug my lap anti vratr tfirm if you list; jHy prnsibr public, if you list not, buy. Contf, for you ftnoto mr. I am tjr tofjo sung ©f jttistir Colt, antr I am fir tofio frametr 0f eaitioiromb tfjr fcotltr antr toontr'rous song. --. - .. wV . • . oto > B C23illis for his rountrr/s gooD. In romplrtr strrl. ail botoir ItmbrD at point. Took loDgings in tfir -napping tTurtlrs Inomb. Comr. listrn to mp laps, a nit you shall hrar » r hr nunglrD music of all moUrrn barfis $ oatmg aloft m surfi prruliar Strains, Jls strike thnnsrlbrs tmtfi rnup attlt atnajr: jfar pou "brtghUharprlJ" (Trnnpson shall sing. jBaraulai.) rbant a morr than Roman Ian ; anli Bttltort Button, ?t'.'tton tfultorr erst Mnsrrn ainiUst a mrtapbpsir fog, ftttol mrlanrbolp fiomagr to tfir man: .ifor pou onrr morr /Hontgomrrn shall rabr £n all his rapt rabslwtp of rhpmr; Xanlirrn'U (TorUaignr shall pipr its puni? ttotr. SttO cur Young tPnglanti's primp trumprl blcto. ft* '- Contents. Iptrisjl Mullahs. THE BROKEN PITCHER . DON FERNANDO GOMERSALEZ THE COURTSHIP OF OUR CID PAGE 3 6 18 Jtmmnttr Ikllafcs. THE FIGHT WITH THE SNAPPING TURTLE, OR THE AMEEICAN ST. GEORGE :— Fyttb First 27 Fytte Second 31 THE LAY OF MR. COLT:— Streak the First 33 Streak the Second 3e THE DEATH OF JABEZ DOLLAR .... 42 THE ALABAMA DUEL 46 THE AMERICAN'S APOSTROPHE TO BOZ ... 51 jllisrrllfltirnns Sallaifl. III! BTI Dl S I OF JEN \ THE LAI OP THE ii.\ I NIGHT \M> MORNING i;l I u: BIT .... THE .y- 1 1 Valiant, doubtless, are thy warriors, and their beards are long and hairy, And a thunderbolt in battle is each bristly janissary : " But I cannot, O my sovereign, quite forget that fearful day, When I saw the Christian army in its terrible array ; When they charged across the footlights, like a torrent down its bed, With the red cross floating o'er them, and Fernando at their head! " Don Fernando Gomersalez ! matchless chieftain he in war, Mightier than Don Sticknejo, braver than the Cid Bivar ! Not a cheek within Grenada, my King, but wan and pale is, When they hear the dreaded name of Don Fernando Gomer- salez ! " " Thou shalt see thy champion, Cadi ! hither quick the captive bring' ! " Thus in wrath and deadly anger spoke Al-Widdicomb the King : " Paler than a maiden's forehead is the Christian's hue I ween, Since a year within the dungeons of Grenada he hath been ! " Then they brought the Gomersalez, and they led the war- rior in, Weak and wasted seemed his body, and his face was pale and thin ; 10 THE BOOK "i BALLADS. v J in r the :i ii.-i.-iiT flre was burning, unallayed, within his • Ami his Btep was proud and stately, and bia look was stern and high. Scarcely from tumultuous cheering could the galleried crowd refrain, For they knew I ton < !<»m»rs;il»'z and hi.-* prowess in the plain; Bui they feared the grizzly deapol and his myrmidons in steel, So th.ir sympathy descended in the fruitage of Seville. ■ Wherefore, monarch, hast thou brought me from the dung-eon dark and drear, Where these limbs of mine have wasted in confinement for a year! Dosl thou lead me forth to torture I — Back and pincers I defy — Is if that thy hose grotesquos may behold a hero die " Hold thy peace, thou Christian caitiff! and attend to what I say : Thou art called the starkest rider of the Spanish curs' array— It* thy courage he undaunted, as they say it was of yore, Thou mayest yet achieve thy freedom, — yet regain thy native shore. "Cour-r- three within this circus 'gainst my warriors shalt thou run, yon weltering pasteboard ocean shall receive yon muslin sun ; ■ "2J C &Sj ' . ■■ "'"" - >rt*J THE BOOK OF BALLADS. 11 Victor — thou shalt have thy freedom ; but if stretched upon the plain, To thy dark and dreary dung-eon they shall bear thee back again." " Give me but the armour, monarch, that I wore within the field, Give me but my trusty helmet, give me but my dinted shield ; And my old steed, Bavieca, swiftest courser hi the ring, And I rather should imagine that I '11 do the business, King ! " Then they carried down the armour from the garret where it lay, ! but it was red and rusty, and the plumes were shorn away ; And they led out Bavieca, from a foul and filthy van, For the conqueror had sold him to a Moorish dogs'-meat man. ft When the steed beheld his master, then he whined loud and free, And, in token of subjection, knelt upon each broken knee; And a tear of walnut largeness to the warrior's eyehds rose, As he fondly picked a beanstraw from his coughing courser's nose. " Many a time, O Bavieca, hast thou bome me through the fray ! Bear me but again as deftly through the listed ring this day ; >Vv^i kV ^B= 2^: te*= .-■ <*Jfy ■'■. 12 THE BOOK OF BALLADS. Or if thou art worn and feeble, as may well have come to pass, Time it is, my trusty charger, both of us were Bent to grass! " Then he seized his lance, and vaulting in tin- -addle, sate up- right, Marble Beemed the noble courser, iron Beemed the mailed knight : And a cry of admiration inn.-t from every Moorish lady — "Five to four on Don Fernando!" cried the Bable-bearded ( 'adi. Warrior- three from Alcantara burst into the listed Bpaoe, Warrior.- three, all bred in battle, of the proud Alhambra race : Trumpets Bounded, coursers bounded, and the foremost straight Went down. Tumbling, like a .-ark of turnips, just before the jeering Clown. In the Becond chieftain galloped, and he bowed him to the King, And Id- Baddle-girths were tightened by the Master of the Ring; Through three blazing hoop- he bounded ere the desperate i i lt 1 1 1 tn— lion l-Yniiindol bear thee bravely! — 'i i- the Moor Abdor- rhoman ' I V V 4 1 n z°& h l Like a double streak of lightning", clashing in the sulphurous sky, Met the pair of hostile heroes, and they made the saw-dust And the Moslem spear so stiffly smote on Don Fernando's mail, That he reeled, as if in liquor, back to Bavieca's tail. But he caught the mace beside him, and he griped it hard and fast, And he swung it starkly upwards as the foeman bounded past ; And the deadly stroke descended through the skull and through the brain, As ye may have seen a poker cleave a cocoa-nut in twain. Sore astonished was the monarch, and the Moorish warriors all, Save the third bold chief, who tamed and beheld his brethren fall; And the Clown in haste arising from the footstool where he sat, Notified the first appearance of the famous Acrobat ! Never on a single charger rides that stout and stalwart Moor, Five beneath his stride so stately bear him o'er the trembling floor; Five Arabians, black as midnight— on their necks the rein he throws, And the outer and the inner feel the pressure of his toes. -~-*»c; 1 1 THE BOOK OF BALLADS. f vengeance— fiercely sped the fetal thrust- Prom his throne the Moorish monarch tumbled lifeless in the dust. Speed thee, speed thee, Bavieca! .-]»•••(! thee faster than the wind ! Life and freedom are before thee, deadly foes give chase behind! i|> the sloping spring-board; o'er the bridge that ■ •v moon will light thee through the grove of canvas THE BOOK OF BALLADS. 17 Close before thee Pampeluna spreads her painted pasteboard gate! Speed thee onward, gallant courser, speed thee with thy knightly freight — Victory ! the town receives them !— Gentle ladies, this th e tale is, Which I learned in Astley's Circus, of Fernando Gomersalez ! i] i J' ; - ; -JL w / ■ . .-r^~ fam' B Or cTnurtsljip of nur cCift. \\ ii \r :i pang of sweet emotion Thrilled the Master of the Ring, Winn he firs! beheld the lady, Through the -tabled portal spring ' Midway in his wild grimacing Stopped the piebald-visaged Clown; Ami the thunders of the audience Nearlj brought the gallery down. •3^! ^^p»» THE BOOK OF BALLADS. Donna Inez Woolfordinez ! Saw ye ever such a maid, With the feathers swaling o'er her, And her spangled rich brocade ? In her fairy hand a horsewhip. On her foot a buskin small ; So she stepped, the stately damsel, Through the scarlet grooms and all. And she beckoned for her courser, And they brought a milk-white mare ; Proud, I ween, was that Arabian, Such a gentle freight to bear : And the Master moved towards her, >C With a proud and stately walk ; And, in reverential homage, Rubbed her soles with virgin chalk. Round she flew, as Flora flying Spans the circle of the year ; And the youth of London sighing, Half forgot the ginger beer — Quite forgot the maids beside them ; As they surely well might do, When she raised to Roman candles, Shooting fireballs red and blue ! y m I 80 THE Look OT BALLADS. Swifter than the Tartar's arrow, ! liter than the lark in flight, I »n the lefl fo rt qow she bounded, \n\v she stood upon tin; tight. Like a beautiful Bacchante, Here she soars, and there she kneels ; While amid her floating- tres- l'lash two whirling- Catherine wheels ! Hark! the blare of yonder tniini See, the gates are open wide ! Room, there, room for Gomersalez, — ( romersalez in hie pride ! Rose the -bouts of exultation, Rose the cat's triumphant call, As he bounded man and courser, Over Master, Clown, and all ! Donna Inez \\ oolfordinez ! Why those blushes on thy cheek ' Doth thy trembling bosom tell thee, Be bath come thy love to seek ' Fleet thy Arab —but behind thee He hi- rushing, like a gale ; One fool on his coal black's shoulders, \ml the other on his tail ! *% &» -^-^^^-^ A^^^^--^^r-- -^jg ,^-fO <0 THE BOOK OF BALLADS. ?1 d Onward, onward, panting- maiden ! He is faint and fails — for now, By the feet he hang's suspended From his glistening saddle-bow. Down are gone both cap and feather, Lance and gonfalon are down ! Trunks, and cloak, and vest of velvet, He has flung them to the Clown. Faint and failing ! Up he vaulteth, Fresh as when he first began ; All in coat of bright vermilion, 'Quipped as Shaw the Life-guardsman, Right and left his whizzing broadsword, Like a sturdy flail, he throws ; Cutting out a path unto thee, Through imaginary foes. Woolfordinez ! speed thee onward ! He is hard upon thy track, — Paralysed is Widdicombez, Nor his whip can longer crack ; — He has flung away his broadsword, 'Tis to clasp thee to his breast. Onward ! — see he bares his bosom, Tears away his scarlet vest ; - ?%at&& .) i THE BOOK OF BALLADS. Leaps from out his aeth< r garments, And hie leathern stock unties — \- the flower of London's dustmen, Now in swift pursuit be il • Nimbly now be cuts and shuffles, i >'er the buckle, heel and b And with bands dw]>iii his pock Winks to ;ill the tlimiiL;- below ! < Inward, onward, rush the coure \\ oolfordinez, peerless girl, OVr the garters lightly bounding From her Bteed \\ ith airy \\ hirl ! t romersalez, \\ ild w ith passion, Danger— all but her— forgets; Wheresoever she flies, pursues her, ing clouds ofsonier.>rt.s ! Onward, onward, rush the coursers; Bright is < lomersalez' e; Saints | hi e, \\ oolfordinez, For bis triumph, Bure, is uigh ! Now bis courser's flanks lit- lashes, • r\ r In- shoulder flings the rein, And In- feet aloft bi Holding stoutly by the mane! f ■* ■ V € ^Sfe" 1 - — -— -<* ■v m. -IS =^J 4 p?5?* THE BOOK OF BALLADS Then, his feet once more regaining, Doffs his jacket, doffs his smalls ; And in graceful folds around him A bespangled tunic falls. Pinions from his heels are bursting, His bright locks have pinions o'er them ; And the public sees with rapture, Maia's nimble son before them. Speed thee, speed thee, Woolfordinez ! For a panting- god pursues ; And the chalk is very nearly Rubbed from thy white satin shoes ! Every bosom throbs with terror, You might hear a pin to drop ; All was hushed, save where a starting* V Cork gave out a casual pop. One smart lash across his courser, One tremendous bound and stride, And our noble Cid was standing By his Woolfordinez' side ! With a god's embrace he clasped her, Raised her in his manly arms ; And the stables' closing barriers Hid his valour, and her charms ! v. V~ ■ !r~ ^J, ft «1 s ^^ Slmmrim Saitoh. n ^ ■''^S'^— % i ■1 ; ' 1 _ • ■:-• THE BOOK OF BALLADS. 27 ]r • : V •% /igjjt mitl} tjjt Innppnig feth: or, tfic Emrriran St. (Scorgc. FYTTE FIRST. Have you heard of Philip Slingsby, Slingsby of the manly chest ; How he slew the Snapping Turtle In the regions of the West ? Every day the huge Cawana Lifted up its monstrous jaws ; And it swallowd Langton Bennett, And digested Rufus Dawes. ~. c. Riled, I ween, was Philip Slingsby, Their untimely deaths to hear: Tor one author owed him money, And the Other loved him dear. " Listen, now, sagacious Tyler, Whom the loafera all obey ; What reward will ( !dngress give me, [f I take thifl pest away .''* Then sagacious Tyler answered, •• "i on'].- the ring-tailed Bquealer! Less Than a hundred heavy dollars \\ on't be offered you, I iruess ! d a lot of wooden nutmegs In the bargain, too, we'll throw — Only you jest fix the criter— Won't you liquor, ere you go .' " Straightway leaped the valiant Slingsby Into armour of Seville, With a strong Arkansas took-pick S> rewed in every joint of steel. ■ "Come thou with me, Cullen Bryant, ( Some with me as squire. I pray ; ■:.-■ Eomer of the battle, That I go to wage to-da\ ." i THE BOOK OF BALLADS. 29 t So they went along careering With a loud and martial tramp, Till they neared the Snapping Turtle In the dreary Swindle Swamp. But when Slingsby saw the water, Somewhat pale, I ween, was he. " If I come not back, dear Bryant, Tell the tale to Melanie ! " Tell her that I died devoted, Victim to a noble task ! Ha'n't you got a drop of brandy In the bottom of your flask 1 " As he spoke, an allegator Swan across the sullen creek ; And the two Columbians started, When they heard the monster shriek : For a snout of huge dimensions Rose above the waters high, And took down the alligator, As a trout takes down a fly. " 'Tarnal death ! the Snapping Turtle ! " Thus the squire in terror cried ; But the noble Slingsby straightway Drew the tooth-pick from his side. f 1 4f> ! c '*'b «*" ^/^^fcygrt nftar^ THE BOOK 01 B \l.l. • I re thee well ! " he cried, and dashing Through the waters Btrongly swam : Meanwhile, Cullen Bryant, watchin Breathed a \ rayer and sucked a dram. Sudden from the alimy bottom Was tii-- snout agaiu apreared, With a snap aa loud as thunder, — Ami the Slingshy disappeared. Like a mighty steam-ship foundering Down the monstrous vision sank ; And the ripple, .-lowly rollis Phtshed and played upon the bank. Still and stiller grew the wal Hushed the canee within the brake ; l ..■ re was but a kind of couf im of the lake. Bryant wept as loud and deeply \- s Gather for a son — •• He's a tin. m, i- Slingsby, And th>' brandy's nearly "4l ,JF36S=SS I THE BOOK OF BALLADS. FYTTE SECOND ]j\ In a trance of sickenning anguish, Cold, and stiff, and sore, and damp, For two days did Bryant linger By the dreary Swindle Swamp ; Always peering at the water, Always waiting- for the hour, When those monstrous jaws should open As he saw them ope before. Still in vain ; — the alligators Scrambled through the marshy brake, And the vampire leeches gaily Sucked the garfish in the lake. But the Snapping Turtle never Rose for food, or rose for rest, Since he lodged the steel deposit In the bottom of his chest. Only always froni the bottom Violent sounds of coughing rolled, Just as if the huge Cawana Had a most confounded cold. Till. IKiuK OF HAI.LADS. 5' On the bank lay Cullen Bryant, \ the second moon ar<> Gouging on the sloping green sward Some imaginary fix b. When the swamp began to tremble, And the canes to rustle fast, Lb it' -nine stupendous body Through their mots was crushing- past. Ami the water boiled and bubbled, And in groups of twos and threes, Several alligators bounded. Smart as squirrels, up the trees. Then a hideous head was lifted, With BUch huge distended jaws, That they mighl have held Goliath Quite as well as Rufus l)av. . Paws of elephantine thickni Dragged its body from the bay, And it glared at Cullen Bryant In a most unpleasant way. Then it writhed as if in torture, And it staggered to and fro; Lnd it- v. iv shell was shaken, In the ang-ui-h of its throe : I 1 '£*^ (' »■ ^SZi THE BOOK OF BALLADS. 35 %\i jCiit[ nf 3Br. <£nlt. [The story of Mr. Colt, of which our Lay contains merely the sequel, is this. A New York printer, of the name of Adams, had the effrontery to call upon him one day for payment of an account, which the independent Colt settled by cutting his creditor's head to fragments with an axe. He then packed his body in a box, sprinkling it with salt, and despatched it to a packet, bound for New Orleans. Suspicions having been excited, he was seized, and tried before Judge Kent. The trial is, perhaps, the most disgraceful upon the records of any country. The ruffian's mistress was produced in court, and examined in disgusting detail, as to her connexion with Colt, and his movements during the days and nights succeeding the murder. The head of the murdered man was bandied to and fro in the court, handed up to the jury, and commented on by witnesses and counsel ; and to crown the horrors of the whole proceeding, the wretch's own counsel, a Mr. Emmet, commencing the defence with a cool admission that his client took the life of Adams, and following it up by a detail of the whole circumstances of this most brutal murder in the first person, as though he himself had been the murderer, ended by telling the jury, that his client was "entitled to the sympathy of a jury of his country," as "a young man just entering into life, whose prospects, probably, have been permanently blasted." Colt was found guilty ; but a variety of exceptions were taken to the charge by the judge, and after a long series of appeals, which occupied more than a year from the date of the conviction, the sentence of death was ratified by Governor Seward. The rest of Colt's story is told in our ballad."] STREAK THE FIRST. ****** And now the sacred rite was done, and the marriage knot was tied, And Colt withdrew his blushing wife a little way aside ; " Let's go," he said " into my cell, let's go, alone, my dear ; I fain would shelter that sweet face from the sheriff's odious leer. I IMZi c 2 • THE BOOK "i BALLADS. The gaoler and the hangman, they are waiting both for me, — I cannol bear to Bee them wink bo know ingly at thee ! Oh, how I loved thee, dearesl ' Thi that I am wild, • :i mother dares not trust me with the weasand of her child, say in \ bowie knife is keen to sliver into halves Tin- i arcass of my enenrj . a- butch< i their call ■ Thej bbj that I am stern of mood, because, like salted beef, I packed my quartered foeman up, and marked him 'prime t;.ritfV I thought tn palm him on shnple-souled John Bull; Ami clear n -mull per centage on the -ale at Liverpool; It may be so, I do nut know — these things, perhaps, may !»■ : Hut surely I have always been a gentleman to thee ! Then come, my love, into my cell, .-hurt bridal space ie ours, — •nth never look thy watch — I guess there'.- --unci two hours. We'll -hut the prison doors ami keep the gaping world at bay, Mrnity. though I must die to-da; STREAK THE SECOND. I he ticking onward ards the hour of doom. Anil no one yet hath entered In - ', thai ghastly room. I 1 i I ^7 THE BOOK OF BALLADS. The gaoler and the sheriff They are walking- to and fro ; And the hangman sits upon the steps . And smokes his pipe helow. In grisly expectation The prison all is bound, And save expectoration, You cannot hear a sound. The turnkey stands and ponders, His hand upon the bolt, — " In twenty minutes more, I g-uess, 'T will all be up with Colt ! " But see, the door is opened, Forth comes the weeping' bride ; The courteous sheriff lifts his hat, And saunters to her side, — " I beg" your pardon, Mrs. C, But is your husband ready 1 " " I g-uess you'd better ask himself,** Bephed the woeful lady. The clock is ticking- onward, The minutes almost run, The hangman's pipe is nearly out, T is on the stroke of one. i % :\* tiii: hook or ballads. At every grated window I'nsliaven faces g-lare ; There's Puke, the judge of Tennessee, And Lynch, of Delaware; Ami Batter, with the long black beard, Whom Hartford's maids know well; And Winkinson, from Fish Kill Reach, The pride of New Rochelle. Elkanah Nutts, from Tarry Town, The gallant gouging boy ; \nd coonfaced Bushwhack, from the hills That frown o'er modern Troy ; Young "Wheezer, whom our Willis loves, Because, 'tis said, that he, One morning- from a bookstall filched The tale of " Melanie ; " And .Skunk, who fought his country's fight Beneath the stripes and stars, — All thronging at the windows stood, And gazed between the bars. The little boys that stood behind (Young thievish imps were they ! ) l'i -played considerable nous On that eventful day; A * i ■c^ ., Ct&* For bits of broken looking-glass They held aslant on high, And there a mirrored gallows-tree Met their delighted eye.* The clock is ticking onward ; Hark ! Hark ! it striketh one ! Each felon draws a whistling breath, " Time's up with Colt ; he's done !" The sheriff looks his watch again, Then puts it in his fob, And turns him to the hangman, — "Get ready for the job." The gaoler knocketh loudly, The turnkey draws the bolt, And pleasantly the sheriff says, "We're waiting, Mister Colt!" No answer ? No ! no answer ! All 's still as death within ; The sheriff eyes the gaoler, The gaoler strokes his chin. * A Fact. 10 Till. BOOK O] B M LADS. •• I should n't wonder, Nahum, it' It were as you sup] • The hangman Looked unhappy, and The turnkey blew his n< They entered. M^ .*-■*:. Vfm 16 THE BOOK "I 1! U.I. ADS. ' gazed, with legs upraised upon the bench before him ; And, as lie gave (his sentence stern to him who stood beneath, Still with his gleaming bowie-knife he slowly picked his teeth. \°*. >' i 1 \1 It eras high noon, the month was .lune, and sultry was the air, A cool gin-sling stood by his hand, his coat hung" o'er his chair ; All naked were his manly anus, and, shaded bj* his hat, Like an old senator of Home that Bimple Archon Bat. 31 '^s* fefc-^ rafe^ THE BOOK OF BALLADS. 47 I " A bloody cheat ? — Oh, legs and feet ?" in wrath young- Silas cried ; And, springing- high into the air, he jerked his quid aside. — " No man shall put my dander up, or with my feelings trifle, As long as Silas Fixings wears a bowie-knife and rifle." "If your shoes pinch," replied Judge Lynch, "you'll very soon have ease, I '11 give you satisfaction, squire, in any way you please ; What are your weapons ? — knife or gun 1 — at both I 'm pretty spry ! " — "OhI'tarnal death, you're spry, you are ?" quoth Silas ; "so am I !" Hard by the town a forest stands, dark with the shades of time , And they have sought that forest dark at morning's early prime ; Lynch, backed by Nehemiah Dodge, and Silas with a friend, And half the town in glee came down to see that contest's end. They led their men two mile apart, they measured out the ground; A belt of that vast wood it was, they notched the trees around ; Into the tangled brake they turned them off, and neither knew Where he should seek his wag-ered foe, how get him into view. THE HOOK OF BALLADS. v AW ; Wit li stealthy tread, and stooping head, from tree to tree they passed, They crept beneath the crackling furze, they held their rifles fasl : Bout passed on hour, the noon-day sun smote fiercely down, but yel Nil sound tn the expectant crowd proclaimed thai they had met. And now the sun was going down, when, hark ! a rifle's crack ! Hush— hu.-h ! another Btrikes the air, and all their breath drew hack, — Then crashing, on through bush and briar, the crowd from either side, Rushed in tu see whose rifle sure with hlood the sod had d\ ed. ; '! > THE BOOK OF BALLADS. 49 "Weary with watching' up and down, brave Lynch conceived a plan. An artful dodge, whereby to take at unawares his man ; He hung- his hat upon a bush, and hid himself hard by, Youns- Silas thought he had him fast, and at the hat let flv. It fell ; up sprung young Silas, — he hurl'd his gun away ; Lynch fixed him with his rifle from the ambush where he lay — The bullet pierced his manly breast — yet, valiant to the last, He drew his fatal bowie-knife, and up his foxtail* cast. With tottering steps and glazing- eye he cleared the space between, And stabbed the air as, in Macbeth, still stabs the younger Kean : Brave Lynch received him with a bang, that stretched him on the ground, Then sat himself serenely down till all the crowd drew round. They hailed him with triumphant cheers — in him each loafer saw The bearing bold that could uphold the majesty of law ; And, raising him aloft, they bore him homewards at his ease, — That noble judge, whose daring- hand enforced his own decrees. * The Yankee substitute for the chapeau de sole. ~D .£- £ ■ — 60 THE BOOK OF BALLAD8. They buried Silas Fixings in the hollow where he fell, And gum-trees wrave above his grav< — that tree he loved so \\ ell : Ami the 'coons ail chattering o'er him when the nights Long and damp, lint he sleeps well in that lonely dell, the Dreary 'Possum Swamp. It $1R U cfe-SSJISS 4\)i Jltiirrinnni iljiostrnjijie in $a ? : . [Rapidly as oblivion does its work now-a-days, the burst of amiable indigna- nation with which enlightened America received the issue of Boz's " Notes," can scarcely yet be forgotten. Not content with waging a universal rivalry in the piracy of the work, Columbia showered upon its author the riches of its own choice vocabulary of abuse; while some of her more fiery spirits threw out playful hints as to the propriety of gouging the "strannger," and furnishing him with a permanent suit of tar and feathers, in the very improbable event of his paying them a second visit. The perusal of these delightful expressions of free opinion suggested the following lines, which those who remember Boz's book, and the festivities with which he was all but hunted to death, will at once understand. We hope we have done justice to the bitterness and "immortal hate" of these ,s\ thin-skinned sons of freedom.] Sa t eak across the wide Atlantic, worthless London's puling - child, Better that its waves should bear thee, than the land thou hast reviled : Better in the stifling- cabin, on the sofa should'st thou lie, Sickening- as the fetid niggar bears the greens and bacon by. Better, when the midnight horrors haunt the strained and creaking ship, Thou should'st yell in vain for brandy with a fever-sodden lip ; When amid tbe deepening darkness and the lamp's expiring shade, From the bagman's berth above thee comes the bountiful cascade. j^fi*^u*w— m THE BOOK OF BALLADS. tter than upon the Broadway thou should'st be at noon-day Smirking like a Tracy Tupman with n Mantalini mien, With :i rivulet of satin falling o'er thy puny chest, Worse than even N. P. Willis for an i vening party dressed ! We received thee warmly— kindly — though we knew thou wert ;t quiz, Partly for thyself it may 1"-. chiefly t'"i' the sake of Phiz! Much we bore and much we suffered, listening to remorseless Bpells Of that Smike's unceasing drivellings, and these everlasting Nells. When you talk of bah is ami sunshine, fields, and all that sort of 1 1 1 i i h Columbian inly chuckled, as he slowly sucked his sling; Ami though all our sleeves were bursting, from the many hundreds near, Not one single BCOrnful titter rose on thy complacent ear. Then ti» Bhow thee to the ladies, with our usual want of sense We ■ I tie' place in Park Street at a ruinous expense; Ev'n our own three-volumed Cooper waived his old prescriptive lit, luded Dicken< figured first on that eventful night. '"i i 3 j ^Arlt.i '*%«- ?*£s :-0 IE BOOK OF BALLADS. 53 Clusters of uncoated Yorkers, vainly striving- to be cool, Saw thee desperately plunging through the perils of La Poule : And their muttered exclamation drowned the tenor of the tune, — " Don't he beat all natur hollow I Don't he foot it like a 'coon ? " Did we spare our brandy-cocktads, stint thee of our whisky- grogs? Half the juleps that we gave thee would have floored a Newman Noggs ; And thou took'st them in so kindly, little was there then to blame, To thy parched and panting palate sweet as mother's milk they came. Did the hams of old Virginny find no favour in thine eyes I Came no soft compunction o'er thee at the thought of pumpkin pies ? Could not all our care and coddling teach thee how to draw it mi Id .' But, no matter, we deserve it. Serves us right ! We spoilt the child ! You, forsooth, must come crusading, boring us with broadest hints Of your own peculiar losses by American reprints. I - i „-^i-, - •C^o-'j*'^ THE BOOK til i; \l.l. \ hs. Such on impudent remonstrance never in our nice was flu tandsit, bo does Ainsworth; you, I guess, may hold your tongue, n our throats you'd cram your projects, thick and hard as pickled salmon, That, 1 s'pose, you call free-trading, I pronounce it utter gammon. No, my lad, ;i 'cuter vision than your own might soon have en That :i true Columbian ogle carries little that is green. Quite enough we pay, I reckon, when we stum]' a cent or two For the voyages and travels of a freshman such as you. 3 I have been at Niagara, 1 have stood beneath the Falls, I have marked the water twisting over if.- rampagious walls; calm sensation," one, in fact, of " perfect pei Was as much my first idea as the thought of Christmas geese. For ■■ old familiar faces," looking through the mist} air, Surely you were strongly liquored when you saw your Chuck- One familiar face, however, you will very likely [f you '11 _-^v. r 'I I) 9 i 3fii0«UatitniiJ5 36 a II a tt a , v ^ ^jWjpae ■ ...... . / • *> T^U- " THE BOOK OF BALLADS. ! (flu liithitt nf Stint. Oxce — 't was when I lived at Jena — At a Wirthshaus' door I sat ; And. in pensive contemplation, Eat the sausage thick and fat ; Eat the kraut, that never sourer Tasted to my lips than here ; Smoked my pipe of strong- canaster, Sipped my fifteenth jug of beer ; (lazed upon the glancing river, Gazed upon the tranquil pool, "Whence the silver-voiced Undine, When the nights were calm and cool, i iji CJ2 £5 ■'■ U/.S .-- ■' . f THE BOOK OF BALLADS. • 9 Ls the Baron Fouque tells us, 1 I; se IV. /in out her Bhelly grot, ••: < lasting glamour o'er the waters, Witching that enchanted Bpot. Prom the shadow which the coppice Flings across the rippling stream, Did I hear a sound of music — W as if thought or was it dream .' There, beside a pile of linen, Stretched along the daisied -ward, * d a youngand blooming maiden — 'T was her thrush-like Bong 1 heard. rmore within the eddy Did sin- plunge the white chemise; And h»T robes were loosely gathered [lather far above her knees ; Then oay breath at once forsook me, for too surely did I deem That I .-aw the fair I ndine, Standing in the glancing stream — And I felt the charm of kniprhthood : \nd from that rem. •inhered day, livery evening to the Wirthshaus Took I my enchanted way. |J,p Shortly to relate my story, Many a week of Bummer 1 » Came I there, when beer-o'ertal N ith my lute and with my song : • -• - r*&.„ sm % I THE BOOK OF BALLADS. Sang" in mellow -toned soprano, All my love and all my woe, Till the river-maiden answered, Lilting 1 in the stream below : — " Fair Undine ! sweet Undine ! Dost thou love as I love thee?"' " Love is free as running water," Was the answer made to me. Thus, in interchange seraphic, Did I woo my phantom fay, Till the nig'hts grew long and chilly, Short and shorter grew the day ; Till at last — 't was dark and gloomy, Dull and starless was the sky, And my steps were all unsteady, For a little flushed was I, — To the well-accustomed signal No response the maiden gave ; But I heard the waters washing, And the moaning of the wave. Vanished was my own Undine, All her linen, too, was gone ; And I walked about, lamenting, On the river bank alone. Idiot that I was, for never Had I asked the maiden's name. Was it Lieschen — was it Gretchen ? Had she tin — or whence she came ! Gl m V ai 'I HE L300K OF BALLADS. So I took my trusty meerschaum, bid I rook my lute likewie Wandered forth, in minstrel fashion, Underneath the lowering Bkies; Sang before each comely Wirthshaus, - mg beside each purling stream, That same dirty which I chanted When I ndine was my theme, Singing, as I sang at Jena, When the shifts were hung to dry, •• Fair Undine ! young: Undine ! • I li 31 thou love as well as I .'" Ilur. alas ! in field or village, ( >r beside the pebbly shore, Did 1 see those glancing ank \;i'l the white robe, never more; And no answer i greet me, No sweet voice to mine replied : But 1 heard the waters rippling, Ami the moaning of the tide. i h i — ,^Uc THE BOOK OF BALLADS. 63 Wr -■^A K I - ^^s/ ■ — ^-=-iUfl . ] iff $ ft (ITIjb ICnt[ of tjr* Emitr. There is a sound that 's dear to me, It haunts me in my sleep ; I wake, and, if I hear it not, I cannot choose hut weep. Above the roaring- of the wind, Above the river's flow, Methinks I hear the mystic cry Of "Clo! -Old Clo!" Ci The exile's song, it thrills among The dwellings of the free, Its sound is strange to English ears, But 't is not stranere to me ; S fM Till: BOOK OF !i ILL IDS For it hath shook the tented field In ages long ago, \i.il hosts ha ■■ quailed before the cry nr "Clo!— Old Clo!" i >h, lose it not ! forsake it not ! \n v i \! &w THE BOOK OF BALLADS. 60 A r^ gigjrt nitii Horning. ■Not be git S. Cultocr ILntton. " Thy coffee, Tom, is untasted, And thy egg' is very cold ; Thy cheeks are wan and wasted, ^sot rosy as of old. My boy, what has come o'er ye, You surely are not well ! Try some of that ham before ye, And then, Tom, ring- the bell ! " Ml i ; ' I cannot eat, my mother, My tongue is parched and bound. And my head, somehow or other, [s swimming round and round. In my eyes there is a fulness, And my pulse is beating quick ; On my brain is a weight of dulness ; Oh, mother, I am sick ! " 7n THE BOOK OF B M.I.ADS. "These long, long nights of watching \iv killing 3 on outright ; The evening dews are catching, And you 're out every night. Why does that horrid grumbler, i t]d Inkpen, work you so I " Tom \h hi susurrans) ■■ My head ! Oh, that tenth tumbler! T was that which wrought my woe!" J : m _~ ^ ■ o- nobler Buitor sought me, — and be has taken wing, And my heart is gone, and I am left a lone and blighted thing-. You may lay me in my bed, mother, — my head is throbbing sore; \nd. mother, prithee lei the sheets ho duly aired before; ^nd, if you'd plea-e. my mother dear, your poor desponding child, Draw me a pot of beer, mother, and, mother, draw it mild! I ' t , W .] *3R rv> c~. w THE BOOK OF BALLADS . v-v/Vv/N/ ■. have hecn a kinu\ Behold this branded letter, Which nothing can efla< It is the royal emblem, The token of my race! But rebels rose against a And dared my power disown— \ ou've heard, love, of the judgi They drove me from my throne. And I have wander'd hither. the stormy sea, In search of glorious freedom, In search, my *2f ->.<'-. THE BOOK OF BALLADS. 9 m The bush is now my empire, The knife my sceptre keen ; Come with me to the desert wild. And be my dusky queen. I cannot give thee jewels, I have nor sheep, nor cow, Yet there are kang-aroos, love, And colonists enow. AVe'll meet the unwary settler, As whistling- home he goes, And I'll take tribute from him, His money and his clothes. Then on his bleeding carcass Thou 'It lay thy pretty paw, And lunch upon him, roasted. Or, if you like it, raw ! Then come with me, vay princess, My own Australian dear, Within this grove of gum trees, We '11 hold our bridal cheer ! My heart with love is beating, I feel it through my side ; Hurrah, then, for the noble pair, The Convict and his bride ! *s~ 70 THE IiooK OF BALLADS. ' Or Pnlrfnl Inn, of tljr IMiniiiirniilp y. 0\ Bui in 5. Come and listen, lords and ladi To a woeful lay of mine ; Ee whose tailor's bill unpaid is, Let him now his ear incline ' Lei him hearken to my story, Hon- the noblest of the land Pined long time in dreary duress 'V;ith a sponging bailiff's hand. I. 0. Twins ! [. 0. Twins ! Baron's son, although thou be, Thou must pay for thy misdoings, In the country of the free ! None of all thy sire's retainers To thy rescue now may come ; \n>l there lie some score detainers, With Ahednego, the bum. 1 Little reck'd he of his prison, Whilst the sun was in the sky : Only when the moon was risen, Did you hear the captive's cry. For, till then, cigars and claret Lull'd him in oblivion sweet ; And he much preferr'd a garret For his drinking, to the street. But the moonlight, pale and broken, Pain'd at soul the Baron's son ; For he knew, by that soft token, That the larking had begun ; — ■ That the stout and valiant Marquis Then was leading forth his swells, Mangling some policeman's carcass, Or purloining" private bells. So he sat, in grief and sorrow, Rather drunk than otherwise, Till the golden gush of morrow Dawned once more upon his eyes : Till the sponging bailiff's daughter, Lightly tapping at the door, Brought his draught of soda water, Brandy -bottom'd, as before. CO ^^3 !• ass^a&a^a^fig^ THE BOOK OF B VLLADS. " Sweet Elebeccal has your father, Think you, made a deal of bra* And she answered — " Sir, I rather Should imagine that he hs U wins then, his whiskers scratching 1 , Leer'd upon the maiden's face, Ami her hand with ardour catching, Folded her in close embrace. J ■■ La, Sir ! let alone — vou fright me !" Said the daughter of the Jew : " Dearest, how those eyes delight me ! Let me love thee, darling-, do!" •■ Vat i- dish .'" the Bailiff mutter'd, Rushing in with fury wild; •• lab your muffins bo veil butter'd, Dat you darah insult, ma shild .'" •• Honourable my intentions, i Sood Abednego, I swear ! \nil I have some small pretensio For 1 am a Baron's heir. If you '11 only clear my credit, And advance a thou* or - >, She 's a peeress — I have said it : Do n't you twig, Ahednego?" * The fashionabli ition for a thousand p i C '£ A " Datsh a very different matter," Said the Bailiff, with a leer ; " But you niosht not cut it fatter Than ta slish will shtand, ma tear ! If you seeksh ma approbation, You mosht quite give up your rigsh ; Alsho you musht join our nashun, And renounsh ta flesh of pigsh."' Fast as one of Fagin's pupils, I. 0. Uwins did agree ! Little plagued with holy scruples From the starting-post was he. But at times a baleful vision Rose before his trembling" view, For he knew that circumcision Was expected frorn a Jew. At a meeting" of the Rabbis, Held about the Whitsuntide, Was this thorough-paced Barabbas Wedded to his Hebrew bride. All his former debts compounded, From the spunging" house he came, And his father's feelings wounded With reflections on the same. «**£? -> C r^f^' ■ THE BOOK OF BALI W>>. But the sire his boh I d — •■ Split my wig ! if any mure Such a double-dyed apostate Shall presume to cross my door ! Not a penny-piece to save ye From the kennel or the spout; — Dinner, John ! the pig and gravy ! — Kick this dirty scoundrel out!'' Forth rush'd [. 0. I wins, faster Than all winking — much afraid, Thai the orders of the master Would be punctually obeyed: Sought his club, and thru the sentence < )i' expulsion first he saw ; No one dared to own acquaintance U uli a bailiff's son-in-law. duw 11 Bond-street strutting Did he greet his friends of yore, Such a universal cutting V ver man recen ed before: Till at last his pride revolted — Pale, and lean, and stern he grew : And his wife Eti b< cca linked With a missionary Jew. ■ - o :,«T .. " THE BOOK OF BALLADS. 87 I Slowly rose that nameless warrior, Slowly turned his steps aside, Passed the lattice where the princess Sate in beauty, sate in pride. Passed the row of noble ladies, Hied him to an humbler seat, And in silence laid the chaplet At the taylzeour's daughter's feet. p \ - I III. BOOK "I Bi LLADS. r -W alir 3*!ihiql)t luoit. 1 1 was the Lord of Castlereagh, lie sat within his room, Hi.- arms were crossed upon his breast, his face was marked with [rloom ; They said thai St. Helena's [sle had rendered up its chaT That bVance was bristling up in arms, — the Emperor at large. "T was midnight ! .-ill the lamps were dim. and dull as death the It might be that the watchman slept that night upon hi.- beat; When, lol ;i heavy foot was heard to creak upon the stair, revolved upon its hinge, — Great Heaven! — What enters tin:. i£^S25=S ■ it r.s'- c A little man, of stately mien, with slow and solemn stride ; His hands are crossed upon his back, his coat is opened wide : And on his vest of gTeen he wears an eagle and a star, — Saint George! protect us! 'tis The Max — the thunderbolt of war ! Is that the famous hat that waved along Marengo's ridge I Are these the spurs of Austerlitz — the boots of Lodi's bridge I Leads he the conscript swarm again from France's hornet hive '. What seeks the fell usurper here, in Britain, and alive ? Pale grew the Lord of Castlereagh, his tongue was parched and dry, As in his brain he felt the glare of that tremendous eye ; What wonder if he shrunk in fear, for who could meet the glance Of him who reared, 'mid Russian snows, the gonfalon of France I From the side-pocket of his vest, a pinch the despot took, Yet not a whit did he relax the sternness of his look,— "Thou thought'st the lion was afar, but he hath burst the chain — The watch-word for to-night is France — the answer St. Helene. ==^S«^ 00 THE BOOK OF BALLADS. •' And ilid.-r thuu deem the barren i.-li ■.-, it ocean's waves could bind The master of the universe — the monarch of mankind I I tell thee, fool ! the world itself is all too small for me, I laugh to scorn thy bolts and bars — I burst them, and am free. i •' Thou think'st that England hates me ! Mark ! — This very night my name \\ as thundered in its capital with tumult and acclaim! They saw me, knew me, owned my power — Proud lord! I say, beware ! There be men within the Surrey side, who know to do and dare ! " To-morrow in thy very teeth my standard will I rear — Ay, well that ashen cheek of thine may blanch and shrink with fear ! To-morrow night another town shall sink in ghastly flames ; And as I crossed the Borodin, so shall I cross the Thames! ■-J " Thou 'It seize me, wilt thou, ere the dawn.' Weak lordling, do thy worst ! These hands ere now have broke thy chains, thy fetters they have burst. Yet, wouldst thou know my resting-place .' Behold, 't is written there! Atid let thy coward myrmidons approach me if they dare!" • Another pinch, another stride — he passes through the door — % " Was it a phantom or a man was standing on the floor ? And could that be the Emperor that moved before my ej T es ? Ah, yes ! too sure it was himself, for here the paper lies f" With trembling hands, Lord Castlereagh undid the mystic scroll, With glassy eye essayed to read, for fear was on his soul — " 'What's here ? — 'At Astley's, every night, the play of Mos- cow's Fall ! Napoleon, for the thousandth time, by Mr. Gomersal !" : I '«■.' 1 I**- - THE BOOK 01 BALLADS. A ) ■ry much disgusted ! Since, my heart is sere and withered, and I do not care a curse, Whether worse -hall be the better, or the better l>e tin- worse. Hark! my merry comrades call me, bawling for another jorum; They would mock me in derision, should 1 thus appear before 'em. Womankind no more shall vex me. such at least as go arrayed In the most expensive satins and the newest Bills brocade. I '11 to \ i-haunted, where the gianl forest yields and liner tissue than are sold at Spitalfields. ">r to burst all chains of habit, flinging habit's -elf aside, I shall walk the tangled jungle in mankind's primeval pride; on the luscious berries and the rich cassava root, lates and lots ofguavas, clusters of forbidden fruit. W ' 1 ft sw ./.iSSSisS ~ .&• THE BOOK OF BALLADS JStj Wilt's (Dnnsin. Decked with shoes of blackest polish And with shirt as white as snow, After matutinal breakfast, To my daily desk I go; First a fond salute bestowing On my Mary's ruby lips, Which, perchance, may be rewarded With a pair of playful nips. All day long" across the ledger Still my patient pen I chive, Thinking what a feast awaits me, In my happy home at five ; In my small, one-storied Eden, Where my wife awaits my coming, And our solitary handmaid Mutton chops with care is crumbing G 2 '--.. tOO THE in ink OF BALLAD8. W hen the < lock proclaims my freedom, Then my hat 1 Beize and vanish ; Every trouble from my bosom, Every anxious care I banish. Swiftly brushing o'er the pavement, At a furious pace I go, Till I reach nr\- darling dweUinj In the wilds of Pimlico. • Mary, wife, where art thou, deare-t ' Thus I cry, while yet afar : Ah ! what scent invades my nostrils? — 'Tis the smoke of a cig-ar ! Instantly into the parlour Like a maniac 1 haste, \ud I find a young Life-Guardsman, With his arm round Mary's waist. And his other hand is playing Most familiarly with lit r- : And I think my Brussels carpit tiomewhat damaged by his spur-. ■• Fire and furies! what the blazes?"' Thus in frenzied wrath I call ; When my spouse her arms upraises, With a most astounding squall. &3f ^. . . . . ^ -^^3^gy^s^^ ^^ ^r-^ R> THE BOOK OF BALLADS. 101 " Was there ever such a monster : Ever such a wretched wife ? Ah ! how long" must I endure it : How protract this hateful life ? All day long- quite unprotected, Does he leave his wife at home ; And she cannot see her cousins, Even when they kindly come !" Then the young- Life-Guardsman, rising, Scarce vouchsafes a single word, But with look of deadly menace, Claps his hand upon his sword ; And in fear I faintly falter — " This your cousin, then he's mine ! Very glad, indeed, to see you, — Won't you stop with us, r and dine 1" Won't a ferret suck a rabbit 1 — As a thing of course he stops ; And, with most voracious swallow, Walks into my mutton chops. In the twinkling of a bed-post, Is each savoury platter clear, And he shows uncommon science In his estimate of beer. IO-» - THE BOOK OF B W.I.\DS. Il;ilf'-:iii(l-lialf goes down before him, Gurgling from the pewter pot ; \nd he moves a counter motion For a glass of something- hot. Neither chops nor beer I grudge him, Nor a moderate share of goes; lint I know not why he's always Treading upon .Alan's toes. Evermore, when, home returnin From tbe counting-house I come, Do I find the young- Life-Guardsman Smoking pipes and drinking rum. Evermore he stays to dinner, Evermore devours my meal ; For I have a wholesome horror Both of powder and of steel. Y.t I know lie 's Mary's cousin, For my only son and heir Much resembles that young- Guardsman, With tbe self-same curly hair ; But I wish he would not always Spoil my carpet with his spurs ; And I'd rather see his fingere In the fire, than touching hers. •? 1 i *n THE BOOK OF BALLADS. 103 M ancient Scottisl) fiallaU, Si ' PART I. It fell upon the August month, "When landsmen bide at hame, That our gude Queen went out to sail Upon the saut-sea faem. And she has ta'en the silk and gowd. The like was never seen ; And she has ta'en the Prince Albert, And the bauld Lord Aberdeen. " Ye'se bide at hame, Lord Wellington : Ye daurna gang wi' me : For ye hae been ance in the land o' France, And that's eneuch for ye." "Ye'se bide at hame, Sir Robert Peel, To gather the red and the white monie ; And see that my men dinna eat me up At Windsor wi' their gluttonie." lll-J THE BOOK OF BALLADS. I bey hadna railed a league, a league, — A league, but barely twa, When f.lie lift grew dark, and thewavesgrew wan. And the wind began to blaw. " wed. wed may the waters rise, In welcome o' their Queen ; What gars ye look sae white, Albert, W haf makes your e'e sae green ?" •• My heart is sick, my heid is sair, Gie me a glass o' the gude brandie, To set my foot on (he braid green Bward, I 'd gie the half o' my yearly fee. • It's 3wed to hunt the sprightly hare On the bonny slopes o' Windsor lea, But 0, it 's ill to hear the thud And pitching o' the saut, saut Bea !" \nd aye they Bailed, and aye they sailed. Till England sank behind, And over to the coast of France They drave before the wind. Then up and spak the King o' France, W as hilling- at the wine; ■ ' > wha may be the gay lad}.-. That owns that >hip sae line? ** ■':. ... _ - o w fr h % I i i THE BOOK OF BALLADS. " And wha may be that bonny lad, That looks sae pale and wan 1 I '11 wad my lands o' Picardie, That he 's nae Englishman ? " Then up and spak an auld French lord, "Was sitting beneath his knee, "It is the Queen o' braid England That's come across the sea." " And an' it be England's Queen, She's welcome here the day ; I 'd rather hae her for a friend, Than for a deadly fae. " Gae, kill the eerock in the yard, The auld sow in the stye, And bake for her the brockit calf, But and the puddock-pie ! " And he has gane until the ship, As sune as it drew near, And he has ta'en her by the hand— " Ye 're kindly welcome here! " And syne he kissed her on ae cheek, And syne upon the ither ; And he ca'ed her his sister dear, And she ca'ed him her brither. £B£ m +*• fe* MHt THE BOOK OF BALLADS. •• Light doun, light douri now, ladj T e mine, Light doun upon the sin. it ; Na< Rngliah king has trodden here This thousand years and more." •• And gin 1 lighted on your land, As light 1'u" wee! 1 may, I ) am I free to feast wi' 3 ou, And free to come and gae '" And he has sworn by the Ealy Elood, And the black stane u" 1 lumblane, That she is free to come and gae, Till twenty days are gane. ■• I 've lippened to a Frenchman's aith," Said gude Lord Aberdeen ; ul I'll never lippento it again, Sae lang's the grass is green. " Yet gae your ways, my sovereign liege, Since better may na be ; The wee bit bairns are safe at hame, By the blessing 0' Marie ! " Then doun she lighted frae the ship, lighted safe and sound ; And glad was our good Prince Albert To step upon the ground. f '. ms^ THE BOOK OF BALLADS. 107 ,. f " Is that your Queen, my Lord," she said, " That auld and buirdly dame ? I see the crown upon her heid ; But I dinna ken her name." And she has kissed the Frenchman's Queen, And eke her daughters three, And gi'en her hand to the young 1 Princess, That louted upon the knee. And she has gane to the proud castle, That's biggit beside the sea : But aye, when she thought o' the bairns at hame, The tear was in her e'e. She tried the Kin what may he your gracious will Wi' an auld, frail man like me .'" " I want a sang, harper," he said, "I want :i sangricht .-peedilie; And pin ye dinna make a sang, I'll hang ye up on the gallows tree." " I carina do't, my Uege," he said, " Hae mercy on my auld gray hair ! But gin that I had got the words, T think that J might mak the air." ■ : \nd wha's to mak the words, fause loon, When minstrelfl we huve barely twa : And Lamartine is in Paris toun, And Victor Hugo farawa .'" " The deil may gang for Lamartine, And flie awa wi' auld II i For a better minstrel than them baith Within thifi very toun I know. £vjy -=• THE BOOK OF BALLADS. Ill r " kens my liege the gude Walter, — At hame they ca' him Bo> T Gaxiltier? — He'll rhyme ony day wi' True Thomas, And he is in the castle here." The French King- first he lauchit loud, And syne did he begin to sing ;— " My e'en are auld, and my heart is cauld, Or I suld hae known the minstrels' King. " Gae take to him this ring o' gowd, And this mantle o' the silk sae fine, And bid him mak a maister sang For his sovereign ladye's sake and mine." " I winna take the gowden ring, ^*or yet the mantle fine : But I'll mak the sang for my ladye's sake, And for a cup of wine." The Queen was sitting at the cards, The King' ahint her back ; And aye she dealed the red honours, And aye she dealed the black ; And syne unto the dourest Prince She spake richt courteouslie : — " Now will ye play, Lord Admiral, Now will ye play wi' me ?" •£?;, 1 1: THE BOOK OF BALLAD8. I he dourest Prince he bit hie lip, And his brow w as black as glaur : •• The only gam< that e'er I piny I the bluidj game <>' war I" "And gin ye play at that, young- man, It wee! may cost ye .-air; Ye'd better stick to the game at cards, For you'll win nae honours there !"' The King- he leuch, and the Queen she leuch, Till the tears ran blithely doun ; JJut the Admiral he raved and swore, Till they kicked him frae the room. The Harper came, and the Harper sai And but they were fain ; For when he had sung the gude sang- twice, They called for it again. It was the sang- o' the Field o' (iowd, In the days of auld langsyne : When bauld Bong Henry crossed the seas, \\T his brither King to dine. And aye hi- harped, ami aye he carped. Till up the Queen she sprang" — "I'll wad a County Palatini . ( rude Walter made that sang." i y THE BOOK OF BALLADS. IB) vs 1 Three days had come, three days had gane, The fourth began to fa,' When our g-ude Queen to the Frenchman said. " It 's time I was awa ! " 0, bonny are the fields o' France, And saftly draps the rain ; But my bairnies are in Windsor Tower, And greeting* a' their lane. " Now ye maun come to me, Sir King, As I have come to ye ; And a benison upon your heid For a' your courtesie ! " Ye maun come, and bring your ladye fere Ye sail na say me no ; And ye'se mind, we have aye a bed to spare For your wily friend Guizot." Now he has ta'en her lily white hand, And put it to his lip, And he has ta'en her to the strand, And left her in her ship. "Will ye come back, sweet bird," he cried, " Will ye come kindly here, When the lift is blue, and the lavrocks sing, In the spring-time o' the year I" H 114 =^£2->^^^^s£b^ TIIK BOOK OF BALLADS. ■Si [t's I would blithely come, my Lord, To fee ye in the spring"; It's I would blithely venture back. But for ae little tin: ■ it isna that the winds are rude, Or tli.it the waters rise, But 1 lo'e the roasted beef at hame. And no time puddock-pies !" ! 1 1 V'. - tyi Munut nf tjjr 3iiarp]jrr5nn. Jrom tije (gaclic. Fhairshon swore a feud Against the clan M'Tavish ; Marched into their land, To murder and to rafish ; For he did resolve To extirpate the vipers, With four-and-twenty men And five-and-thirty pipers. h 2 -^z^#& "'*--. . Aft THE BOOK OF BALLADS. ii. Hut w hen he had g-oiie Balf way down Strath < lanaan, < if hi.- fighting t;iil Just three were remaini They were all he had, To back him in ta battle ; All the rest had [ I Off, to drive ta cattle. ill. "Fery g-oot !" cried Fhairsh • So my clan disgraced is; Lads, we '11 need to fight Pefore we touch the peasties. Here's Mhic-Mac-Methusaleh Coming- v. 1" his fassals, Gillies sevenly-tb \ in! sixty Dhuinewassails ! " IV. ' I oot tay to you, sir ; Are not yon ta Fhairshon ' Was you coming" here To \ i-it any person ' ^0 to> THE BOOK OF BALLADS You are a plackguard, sir ! It is now six hundred Coot long years, and more, Since my glen was plundered. " " Fat is tat you say } . Dare you cock your peaver ? I will teach you, sir, Fat is coot pehaviour ! You shall not exist For another day more ; I will shoot you, sir, Or stap you with my claymore ! " f'f- TI. C0 " I am fery glad To learn what you mention, Since I can prevent Any such intention." So Mhic-Mac-Methusaleh Gave some warlike howls, Trew his skhian-dhu, An stuck it in his powels. s^ ■» ■ II I ■ - - 118 THE BOOK OF BALLADS. ft ->■ VII. In this fery way Tied ta faliant Fhairehon, Who was always thought \ superior person. Fhairshon bad a son, Who married Noah's daughter, And nearly spoiled ta Flood, By trinking up ta water. VIII. Which he would have done, I at least believe it, Had ta mixture peen Only half Glenhvet. This is all my tale : Sirs, I hope 'tis new t' ye ! Here 's your fery good healths. And tanin ta whusky fcuty ' THE BOOK OF BALLADS. 119 €\i Anting Siarkkrnhfa %i\\t. wU " swiftly speed the gallant bark ! — I say, you mind rny lug'gag'e, porter ! I do not heed yon storm-cloud dark. I go to wed old Jenkin's daughter. I go to claim my own Maria?*, The fairest flower that blooms in Harwich ; My panting bosom is on fire, And all is ready for the marriage." 1:20 THE BOOK OF BALLADS. Thus spoke young- Mivins, as he steppi d On board the " Firefly," Harwich packet ; The bell rung- out, the paddles swept Plish-plashing round with noisy racket. The lowering' clouds j'oung Mivins saw, But fear, he felt, was only folly ; And so he smoked a fresh cigar, Then fell to whistling—" Nix my dolly ! " The wind it roared ; the packet's hulk Rocked with a most unpleasant motion ; Young- Mivins leant him o'er a bulk, And poured his sorrows to the ocean. Tints — blue and yellow — signs of woe — Flushed, rainbow-like, his noble face in, -uddenly he rushed below, Crying, "Steward, steward, bring a basin ! : ' On sped the bark : the howling storm Tin- funnel's tapering smoke did blow far ; Inmoved, young Mivins' lifeless form Was stretched upon a haircloth sofa/'. All night he moaned, the steamer groaned, And he was hourly getting fainter; When it came bump against the pier, And there was fastened by the painter. Young" Mivins rose, and blew his nose, Caught wildly at his small portmanteau ; He was unfit to lie or sit, And found it difficult to stand, too. He sought the deck, he sought the shore, He sought the lady's house like winking, And asked, low tapping at the door, " Is this the house of Mr. Jenkin 1 " P ^ 1 j w A short man came — he told his name — Mivins was short — he cut him shorter, For in a fury he exclaimed, " Are you the man as vants my darter ? Vot kimed on you last night, young sqvire ?" " It was the steamer, rot and scuttle her ! '' " Mayhap it vos, but our Mariar Talked off last night vith Bill the butler. '• And so you've kim'd a post too late." " It was the packet, sir, miscarried !" • : Vy, does you think a gal can vait, As sets 'er 'art on being married 1 : st night she vowed she'd be a bride, And 'ave a spouse for vuss or better : So Bill struck in ; the knot vos tied, And now I vishes you may get her !" ] 22 Till-: HOOK OF BALLADS. Young - Mivins turned him from the spot, Bewildered with the dreadful stroke, her Perfidy came like a shot — He was a thunderstruck stockbroker. " A curse on steam and steamers too ! By their delays I have been undone!" Be cried, as, looking- very blue, He rode a bachelor to London. \>. €\i fnurrntrs' (Tnnrnri[. BY THE HON. T- M'A- I OS [This and the five following Poems were among those forwarded to the Home Secretary, by the unsuccessful competitors for the Laureateship, on its becoming vacant by the death of Southey. How they came into our possession is a matter between Sir James Graham and ourselves. The result of the contest could never have been doubtful, least of all to the great poet who now wears the bays. His own sonnet on the subject is full of the serene consciousness of superiority, which does not even admit the idea of rivalry, far less of defeat. Bays, which in former days have graced the brow Of some, who lived and loved, and sung and died ; Leaves, that were gathered on the pleasant side Of old Parnassus from Apollo's bough ; With palpitating hand I take ye now, Since worthier minstrel there is none beside, And with a thrill of song half deified, I bind them proudly on my locks of snow. There shall they bide, till he who follows next, Of whom I cannot even guess the name, Shall by Court favour, or some vain pretext Of fancied merit, desecrate the same, — And think, perchance, he wears them quite as well, As the sole bard who sang of Peter Bell !] FYTTE THE FIRST- " What news, what news, thou pilgrim grey, what news from southern land 1 How fare the bold Conservatives, how is it with Ferrand ? m *V% - <■ f%&~- - -^= <^g± &rt *»■ 124 THE BOOK OF BALLADS. How does the littl*- Prince of Wales — how looks our lady Queen ; \nil tell me, is the gentle Brough ' once more al Windsor Been .'" "I bring no tidings from the court, nor from St. Stephen's h;ill ; I've heard the thundering tramp of horse, and the trumpet's battle call; And these old eyes have seen ;i fight, which England ne'er hath seen, Since fell King Richard sobbed his soul through blood on Bos- worth ( rreen. "lie's dead, he's dead, the Laureate's dead ! " 'Twas thus the cry bewail, And straightway every garret roof gave up its minstrel man ; Prom Grub Street, and from Houndsditch, and from Farring- don Within, The poets all towards Whitehall poured on with eldritch din. i Loud yelled they for Sir James the Graham: but Bore afraid was he ; A hardy knight were he that mighi face such a minstrelsie. ■• Now by St. Giles of Netherby, my patron saint, I swear, I'd rather 1>\ a thousand crowns Lord Palmerston were here! — * For the convenience "i future commentators it ma; be mentioned, thai the ,: the Monthlj Nurse who attended her Majesty on the occasion of the birth of the Pri al. *»\ *, (I m "What is't ye seek, ye rebel knaves, what make you there beneath ? " " The bays, the bays ! we want the bays ! we seek the laureate wreath ! We seek the butt of generous wine that cheers the sons of song : Choose thou among us all, Sir Knight — we may not tarry long !" Loud laughed the good Sir James in scorn — " Rare jest it were, I think, But one poor butt of Xeres, and a thousand rogTies to drink ! An' if it flowed with wine or beer, 't is easy to be seen, That dry within the hour would be the well of Hippocrene. " Tell me, if on Parnassus' heights there grow a thousand sheaves : Or has Apollo's laurel bush yet borne ten hundred leaves 1 Or if so many leaves were there, how long would they sustain The ravage and the glutton bite of such a locust train 1 " No ! get ye back into your dens, take counsel for the night, And choose me out two champions to meet in deadly fight ; To-morrow's dawn shall see the lists marked out in Spitalfields, And he who wins shall have the bays, and he shall die who yields ! " Down went the window with a crash, — in silence and in fear Each ragged bard looked anxiously upon his neighbour near ; Then up and spake young Tennyson — " Who's here, that fears for death ? 'T were better one of us should die, than England lose the wreath ! 7 Glil ■GF^TZ^ 126 THE JSOOK ()!• BALLADS " Let's cast the lots among- us now, which two shall fight to-morrow; — For armour bright we '11 club our mite, and horses we can borrow. 'Twere shame that bards of France should sneer, and German Dichters too, If none of British song- would dare a deed of derring-do I" " The lists of Love are mine," said Moore, " and not the lists of Mars ; " Said Hunt, " I seek the jars of wine, but shun the combat's jars!" "I'm old," quoth Samuel Rogers. — " Faith," says Campbell, "so am I ! '' " And I'm in holy orders, sir !" quoth Tom of Ingoldsby. " >»'owoutuponye, craven loons!" cried Moxon, good at need,— " Bide, if ye will, secure at home, and sleep while others bleed. I second Alfred' s motion, boys, — let 's try the chance of lot, And monks shall sing', and bells shall ring, for him that goes to pot." Eight hundred minstrels slunk away — two hundred stayed to draw, — Now Heaven protect the daring- wight that pulls the longest Btraw ! 'Tisdone! 'tis done! And who hath won.' Keep silence, one and all, — The first is William Wordsworth bight, the second Ned 1'itzball !" 4 '"'.: rFs^; =^dR7 THE BOOK OF BALLADS. ft '. .5 FYTTE THE SECOND. Oh, bright and gay hath dawned the day on lordly Spital- fields, — How flash the rays with ardent blaze from polished helms and shields ! On either side the chivalry of England throng the green, And in the middle balcony appears our gracious Queen. With iron fists, to keep the lists, two valiant knights appear, The Marquis Hal of Waterford, and stout Sir Aubrey Vere. " What ho, there, herald, blow the trump ! Let's see who comes to claim The butt of golden Xeres, and the Laureate's honoured name !" That instant dashed into the lists, all armed from head to heel, On courser brown, with vizor down, a warrior sheathed in steel ; Then said our Queen — " Was ever seen so stout a knight and tall ? His name — his race 1 " — " An't please your grace, it is the brave Fitzball. 1 28 THE BOOK OF BALLADS. ■' < >i't in the Melodrama line hia prowess hath heen shown, And well throughout the .Surrey side his thirst for blood ie known. Ii;tt see, the other champion comes !" — Then rung the startled air With shouts of " Wordsworth, Wordsworth, ho ! the bard of Rydal's there." And lo, upon a little steed, unmeet for such a course, Appeared the honoured veteran ; hut weak seemed man andhorse. Then shook their ears the sapient peers, — " That joust will soon be done : M y Lord of Brougham, I ' 11 back Fitzball. and give you two to one ! ' ' i me," quoth the Brougham, — " and done with you !" " Now, Minstrels, are you ready f" Exclaimed the LordofWaterford, — "You'd better both sit steady. Blow, trumpets, blow the note of charge! and forward to the right!" "Amen!" said good Sir Aubrey Vere ; "Saint Schism defend the right!" '-O he blast agamst the mast, when blows the furious squall, So started at the trumpet's sound the terrible Fitzball ; Jli- lance he bore hie breast before,— Saint < reorge protect the just, ( »r Wordsworth's hoary head must roll within the shameful dust ! THE BOOK OF BALLADS. 129 " Who threw that calthrop ? Seize the knave ! " Alas, the deed is done ; Down went the steed, and o'er his head flew brig-ht Apollo's son. " Undo his helmet ! cut the lace ! pour water on his head ! " " It ain't no use at all, my lord ; 'cos vy 1 the covey's dead ! " Above him stood the Eyclal bard — his face was full of woe, — " Now there thou liest, stiff and stark, who never feared a foe : A braver knight, or more renowned in tourney and in hall, Ne'er brought the upper gallery down, than terrible Fitzball ! " They led our Wordsworth to the Queen — she crowned him with the bays, And wished him many happy years, and many quarter-days, — And if you'd have the story told by abler lips than mine, You've but to call at Rydal Mount, and taste the Laureate's wine ! \M V i:io THE BOOK <)l i:aI.I.\DS. £l]f Enpl iMiiniiirf. iiy Tin: HON G- s — s- Thb Qu< kept high festival in \\ indsor's lordly hall, And round her Bat the gartered knights, and ermined nobles all; There (hank the valiant Wellington, there fed the wary P And at the bottom of the board Prince Albert carved the veal. , ; " What, pander, ho ! remove the cloth ! Bo! cellarer, the wine, And bid the royal nurse bring in the hope of Brunswick's line ! " Then rose with one tumultuous shout the band of British pe< •• ( lod bless her Majesty ! Let's see the little dears ' Now, by Saint George, our natron saint, 'twas a touching sight to see • iron warrior gently place the Princess on bis kn To hear him hush her infanl fears, and teach her how to pipe With rosy mouth expectant for the raisin and the grape ! They passed the wine, the sparkling wine — they filled the goblets up, i :i Brougham, the cynic anchorite, smiled blandly on the cup ; r And Lyndhurst, with a noble thirst, that nothing- could appease, Proposed the immortal memory of King- William on his knees. " What want we here, my gracious liege/' cried good Lord Aberdeen, " Save gladsome song and minstrelsy to flow our cups between 1 I ask not now for Goulburn's voice or Knatchbull's warbling lay, But where's the Poet Laureate to grace our board to-day I " Loud laughed the Knight of Netherby, and scornfully he cried, " Or art thou mad with wine, Lord Earl, or art thyself beside I Eiedit hundred Bedlam bards have claimed the Laureate's vacant crown, And now like frantic Bacchanals run wild through London town ! " " Now glory to our gracious Queen !" a voice was heard to cry, And dark Macaulay stood before them all with frenzied eye ; " Now glory to our gracious Queen, and all her glorious race, A boon, a boon, my sovran liege ! Give me the Laureate's place ! " T.was I that sang the might of Rome/the glories of Navarre ; And who could swell the fame so well of Britain's Isles afar ? The hero of a hundred fights—" Then Wellington up sprung, " Ho, silence in the ranks, I say ! Sit down, and hold your tongue. 1 2 ■o ■% .H^B-r-a *^ Kzjk — ^r^iia^. + THE BOOK OF HALL. heaven thou ahalt not twist my name into a jingling lay. I Ir mimic in thy puny song the thunders of Assa; 'Tis hard that for thy lust of place in peace we cannot dine Nurse, lake her Royal Highness I Sir Robert, pass the win •• No laureate need we at our hoard!" then poke the Lord of Van • Here's many a voice to charm the ear with minstrel song 1 , I know . □ 1 myself" — Then rose the cry — " A song-, a song from Brougham !" lie sang, — and straightway found himself alone within tin- room. I Tr '%3f^ i \ ■ ts .(» (T'ljr 'Biuii nf frill's Innunt. BY T- M RE, ESQ. Oh, weep for the hours, when the little blind boy Held me thrall in the spells of his Paphian bower ; When I dipp'd my light wings in the nectar of joy, And soar'd in the sunshine, the moth of the hour ! From beauty to beauty, I pass'd like the wind ; Now fondled the hly, now toy'd with the rose ; And the fair, that at morn had enchanted my mind, Was forsook for another ere evening's close. I sighed not for honour, I cared not for fame, While Pleasure sat by me, and Love was my guest ; They twined a fresh wreath for each day as it came, And the bosom of Beauty still pillow'd my rest : And the harp of my country — neglected it slept — In hall or by greenwood unheard were its songs ; From Love's Sybarite dreams I aroused me, and swept Its chords to the tale of her glories and wrongs. But weep for the hour ! — Life's summer is past, And the snow of its winter lies cold on my brow ; And my soul, as it shrinks from each stroke of the blast. Cannot turn to a fire that glows inwardly now. No, its ashes are dead — and, alas ! Love nor Song No charm to Life's lengthening shadows can lend, Like a cup of old wine, rich, mellow, and strong, And a seat by the fire tete-a-tete with a friend. & f^fkz - :=>.-«, T- 5' 134 THE HOOK OF BALLADS. dlir iCmirrntr. ■ IiV A Who would not be The Laureate bold, With his butt of sherry To keep him merry, And nothing to do but pocket bis gold ? 'T is I would be the Laureate bold ! When the days are hot, and the sun is stron I M lounge in the irateway all the day long, With her Majesty's footmen in crimson and gold. 1 'd care not a pin for the waiting-lord ; Hut I'd lie on im\ back en the smooth, green sward, With a straw in my mouth, and an open \c>t r And the cool wind blowing upon my breast, And I 'd vacantly Stare at the clear blue Bky, And watch the clouds as listless a- '. Lazily, lazih ! And I 'd jjick the moss and daisies white, And chew their stalks with a nibbling- bite ; And I 'd let my fancies roam abroad In search of a hint for a birth-day ode, Crazily, Crazily ! I Oh, that would be the life for me, With plenty to get, and nothing- to do, But to deck a pet poodle with ribbons of blue, And whistle all day to the Queen's cockatoo, Trance- somely, trance-somely, Then the chambermaids, that clean the rooms, "Would come to the windows and rest on their brooms, With their saucy caps and their crisped hair, And they 'd toss their heads in the fragrant air, And say to each other — " Just look down there, At the nice young- man, so tidy and small, Who is paid for writing' on nothing- at all, Handsomely, handsomely ! " They would pelt me with matches and sweet pastilles, And crumpled up balls of the royal bills, Giggling- and laughing", and screaming" with fun, As they'd see me start, with a leap and a run, - MjfiC* s >3W= ! THE BOOK OF BALLADS. Prom the broad of my luck to the points of my toes. \\ hen a pellel of paper liit my nose, Teasinglj . Bneezingly. Then I'd fling them bunches of garden flowers, And byacinths plucked from tie bowers ; And I "d challenge them all to come down to me. And I'd kiss them all till they kissed me, Laughingly, laughingly. Oh, would not that be a merry life, Apart from care, and apart from -trife, With th<- Laureate's wine, and the Laureate's pj And no deductions at quarter-da^ .' Oh, that would be the post for me ! With plenty to g I and nothing to do Bui to deck a pet poodle with ribbons of blue, And whistle a tunc to the Queen's cockatoo, And scribble of verses remarkably iv\\\ And at evening empty a bottle or two, Quaffingly, quaffingly ! I - I would be The Laureate bold, With ni\ butt of .-berry, To keep me merry, \nd nothing to do but to pocket my gold ! ? ■ V = r - —* - rfter. i$> THE BOOK OF BALLADS. 137 BY SIR E B L . Fill me once more the foaming- pewter up ! Another board of oysters, ladye mine ! To-night Lucullus with himself shall sup. These mute inglorious Miltons are divine ; And as I here in slippered ease recline, Quaffing of Perkins's Entire my fill, I sigh not for the lymph of Aganippe's rill. A nobler inspiration fires my brain, Caught from Old England's fine time-hallowed drink ; I snatch the pot again and yet again, And as the foaming fluids shrink and shrink, Fill me once more, I say, up to the brink ! This makes strong hearts— strong heads attest its charm — This nerves the might that sleeps in Britain's brawny arm ! But these remarks are neither here nor there. Where was I ? Oh, I see— old Southey's dead ! They'll want some bard to fill the vacant chair, And drain the annual butt— and oh, what head More fit with laurel to be garlanded Than this, which, curled in many a fragrant coil, Breathes of Castalia's streams, and best Macassar oil I • 138 - THE BOOK OF BALLADS. I know a grace is Beated on my brow, Like young Apollo's with his golden beams ; There should Apollo's bays be budding dow : — \;nl in my flashing eyes the radiance beams, That marks the poet in his waking dreams, When as bis ■ luster thick and thicker, Ih' ft.- 1.- Is thf trance divine of poesy and liquor. i They throng around me now, those things of air, That from my fancy took their being's stamp : There IVlham sits and twirls his glossy hair, There Clifford leads his pals upon the tramp; There pale Zanoni, bending o'er his lamp, Eoams through the starry wilderni ss of thought, Where all is everything, and everything is nought. Yes, I am he, who sung how Aram won The gentle ear of pensive -Madeline ! How love and murder hand in hand may run, Cemented by philosophy serene, And kisses bless the spot where gore has been! Who breathed the melting sentiment of crime, \nd for the assassin waked a sympathy sublime! 9 ''j Fes, I am he, who on the novel shed Obscure philosophy's enchanting light ! Until the public, wildered as they read, fc I Believed they saw that which was not in sight — Of course 't was not for me to set them right ; For in my nether heart convinced I am, Philosophy's as good as any other bam. Novels three-volumed I shall write no more — Somehow or other now they will not sell ; And to invent new passions is a bore — I find the Magazines pay quite as well. Translating 's simple, too, as I can tell, "Who've hawked at Schiller on his lyric throne, And given the astonished bard a meaning all my own. Moore, Campbell, Wordsworth, their best days are grassed ; Battered and broken are their early lyres. Rogers, a pleasant memory of the past, Warmed his young hands at Smithfield's martyr fires, And, worth a plum, nor bays nor butt desires. But these are things would suit me to the letter, For though this Stout is g'ood, old Sherry's greatly better. A fico for your small poetic ravers, Your Hunts, your Tennysons, your Milnes, and these ! Shall they compete with him who wrote " Maltravers," Prologue to " Alice or the Mysteries ?" No ! Even now my glance prophetic sees My own high brow girt with the bays about. AVhat ho, within there, ho ! another pint of Stout ! rS's- ii-i i ■ T* Zxz^i ■ k&= ; -• - tm . a . 14H THE BOOK OF BALLADS. jtlnittgniiirrtj. a Dorm. Like one who, waking from :i troublous dream, Pursues with force his meditative theme ; < 'aim as the ocean in its halcj on still, Calm as the sunlight sleeping on the hill ; Calm as at Ephesus great Paul was seen To rend his rohes in agonies serene ; Calm as the love that radiant Luther boi To all that lived behind him, and before ; Calm as meek Calvin, when, with holy smile, He sang the mass around Servetus' pile, — 3o once again I snatch this harp of mine, To breathe rich incense from a mystic shrine. Not now to whisper to the ambienl air The sounds of Satan's Universal Prayer; >'ot now tn sing, in sweet domestic strife That woman reigns the Angel of our life; But to proclaim the wish with pious art, \\ hich thrills through Britain's universal heart, — That on this brow, with native honours graced, The Laureate's chaplet should at length be placed ! sriw n the same spot, perchance, of Windsor's floor; And take, while awe-struck millions round me stand, The hallowed wreath from great Victoria's hand. THE BOOK OF BALLADS. '(i'ljp toil] nf &$ut. [Why has Satan's own Laureate never given to the world his niarveiious threnody on "The Death of Space?" Who knows where the bays might have fallen, had he forwarded that mystic manuscript to the Home Office ? If unwonted modesty withholds it from the public eye, the public will pardon the boldness that tears from blushing obscurity the following fragments of this unique poem.] Eternity shall raise her funeral pile In the vast dung-eon of the extinguish' d sky, And, clothed in dim barbaric splendour, smile, And murmur shouts of elegiac joy. While those that dwell beyond the realms of space, And those that people all that dreary void, When old Time's endless heir hath run his race, Shall live for aye, enjoying and enjoy'd. And 'mid the agony of unsullied bliss, Her Demo^orgon's doom shall Sin bewail, The undying serpent at the spheres shall liiss, And lash the empyrean with his tail. $#■= -;r^' 6*5! 1 ti THE BOOK OF BALLADS. And Hell, inflated with supernal wrath, Shall open wide her thunder-bolted jaws, \nd shout into the dull cold ear of Death, That he must pay his debt to Nature's laws. And when the King of Terrors breathes hi.- I Inlinity shall creep into her shell, ause and effect -hall from their thrones be ca- Vnd end their strife with suicidal yell. While from their ashi s, burnt with pomp of Ki 'Mid incense floating to the evanished si Nonentity, on circumambient win, \n everlasting Phoenix shall ari c • W&&* *«fc V 3 • .4 t)lj THE BOOK OF BALLADS. 14o €tpe Xiuj nf tjj? Xntm'a fxini. [Air— "The days we went a gipsying."] I mould all womankind were dead, Or banished o'er the sea ; For they have been a bitter plague These last six weeks to me : It is not that I 'm touched myself, For that I do not fear ; No female face hath shown me grace For many a bygone year. But 'tis the most infernal bore, Of all the bores I know, To have a friend who's lost his heart A short time ago. I Whene ' er we steam it to Blackwall, Or down to Greenwich run, To quaff the pleasant cider cup, And feed on fish and fun ; Or climb the slopes of Richmond Hill, To catch a breath of air : ■ <•■:/- ' ----- - i-i(i Tin: BOOK or it \ ii \h-. Then, for my .-ins, lie straight begins To rave about his fair. Oh, 'tis the most tremendous bore, Of all the bores I know . I'm have a friend who's lost his heart A short time ago. In \ain you pour into hi^ ear Your own confiding- grief ; In vain you claim bis s\ mpathy, In vain you ask relief; In vain you fiy to rouse him by Joke, repartee, or quiz ; His sole reply 's a burning sig-h, And ■• What a mind it is!" < » Lord ! it is the greatest bore, • if all tin- bores I know, To have a friend who 's lost his heart A short time ago. 've heard her thoroughly described An hundred times, I 'm sure ; And all the while 1 've tried to 3mil( . And patiently endure ; lie waxes strong upon bis pai And potters o 'er his gr< I And still I say, in a playful way — " Why, you 're a lucky dog- ! " But oh, it is the heaviest bore, Of all the bores I know, To have a friend who ' s lost his heart A short time ago. I really wish he 'd do like me When I was young- and strong ; I formed a passion every week, But never kept it long. But he has not the sportive mood That always rescued me, And so I would all women could Be banished o'er the sea. For 't is the most egregious bore, Of all the bores I know, To have a friend who 's lost his heart A short time ago. j -J 1 16 THE Hook OF BALLADS. ^rnntrsrn I)n llimttii. TO BON CAULTIER. [Argoiext.— An impassioned pupil of Leigh Until, having nut Hon Gaultier at a Fane; Ball, declares the destructive consequences thus.] Didst thou not praise me, (hmltier, at the ball, Ripe lips, trim boddice, and :i waist so small, \\ "itli clip-nine lightness, dwindling ever less, Beneath the robe of pea-y greeninese I Dost thou remember, when with stately prance, Our heads went crosswise in the country dance; How soft, warm fingers, tipp'd like buds of balm, Trembled within the squeezing of th] palm ; ' if THE BOOK OF BALLADS. And how a cheek grew flush'd and peachy-wise, At the frank lifting- of thy cordial eyes ? Ah, me ! that night there was one gentle thing, Who, like a dove, with its scarce-feather'd wing, Flutter'd at the approach of thy quaint swaggering ! There's wont to be, at conscious times like these, An affectation of a bright-eyed ease, — A crispy -cheekiness, if so I dare Describe the swaling of a jaunty air ; And thus, when swirling from the waltz's wheel, You craved my hand to grace the next quadrille, That smiling voice, although it made me start, Boil'd in the meek o'erlifting of my heart ; And, picking at my flowers, I said with free And usual tone, " Oh, yes, sir, certainly ! " Like one that swoons, 'twixt sweet amaze and fear, I heard the music burning in my ear, And felt I cared not, so thou wert with me, If Gurth or Wamba were our vis-a-vis. So, when a tall Knight Templar ringing came, And took his place against us with his dame, I neither turn'd away, nor bashful shrunk From the stern survey of the soldier-monk, Though rather more than full three-quarters drunk ; ■£- 1, 150 THE J:ook OF BALLADS. Bui threading through the figure, first in rule, 1 paused to see thee plunge into La l'oule. All, what a Bight was that .' Nol prurient Mars, Pointing his toe through ten celestial wars — Not young Apollo, beamily array'd In tripsome guise for Juno's masquerade — Not smartest Hermes, with his pinion girth, Jerking with freaks and snatches down to earth. Look'd half so bold, so beautiful, and strong, A- thou, when pranking- tin o' the glittering throng! How the calm'd ladies look'd with eve- of love < in thy trim velvet doublet laced abo* e ; The hem of gold, that like a wavy river, Flowed down into thy hack with glancing shiver! So bare was thy fine throat, and curls of black So lightsomely dropp'd in thy lordly hack, So crisply swaled the feather in thy bonnet, glanced thy thigh, and spanning palm upon it, That my weak soul took instant flight to thee, in the fondest gush of that sweet witchery! - i But when the dance was o'er, and arm in arm, (The full heart beating 'gainst the elbow warm.) We pass'd into the great n freshment hall, Where the heap'd cheese-cakes and the comfits small — -.- A ====3^ THE BOOK OF BALLADS l.jl Lay, like a hive of sunbeams, brought to burn Around the margin of the negus urn ; When my poor quivering hand you tinger'd twice, And, with enquiring accents, whisper'd, " Ice, Water, or cream?" I could no more dissemble, But dropp'd upon the couch all in a tremble. A swimming faintness misted o 'er my brain, The corks seem'd starting from the brisk champagne, The custards fell untouch' d upon the floor, Thine eyes met mine. That night we danced no more ! ■A T &: 1 52 THE HOOK 01' ISA 1. 1. ADS. } iTJK Cflii'a Dnngjjtrr. 2 iugcno" of tfir 13ospi)oru5. Ihiw beauteous is the atar of night \\ ithin the eastern skies, Like tlic twinkling glance of the Toorkman's glance, Or the antelope's azure eyes! A lamp of love in the heaven above, That star is fondly streaming; And the gay kiosk and the shadowy mosque In the Golden Born are gleaming. 3 -;' . Young Leila sits in her jasmine bower, And she hears the bulbul sing-, As it thrills its throat to the first full note, That anthems the flowery spring*. She gazes still, as a maiden will, On that beauteous eastern star : You might see the throb of her bosom's sob Beneath the white cymar ! She thinks of him, who is far away, — Her own brave Galiongee, — Where the billows foam and the breezes roam. On the wild Carpathian sea. She thinks of the oath, that bound them both Beside the stormy water ; And the words of love, that in Athens' grove He spake to the Cadi's daughter. " My Selim ! " thus the maiden said, " Though severed thus we be, By the raging deep and the mountain's steep. My soul still yearns to thee. Th} r form so dear is mirrored here In my heart's pellucid well, As the rose looks up to Phingari's orb, Or the moth to the gay gazelle ! - 1 54 - 'II! I! BOOK OF BALLADS. *& • I think of the time, when the Kaftan's crime Our love's young joys o'ertook, And thy name .-till Hunts in the plaintive notes Of my silver-toned chibouque. Thy hand is red with the hlood it has shed, Thy soul it is heavy laden ; Yet come, my Giaour, to thy Leila's bower, Oh, come to thy Turkish maiden ! " A light step trod on the dewy sod, And a voice was in her ear, And an arm embraced young- Leila's waist — "Beloved! I am here!" Like the phantom form that rules the storm, Appeared the pirate lover, \nd his fiery eye was like Zatanai, As he fondly bent above her. ••Speak, Leila, speak ! for my light caique Elides proudly in yonder bay, 1 have come from my rest to her I love best, To carry thee, love, away. The breast of thy lover shall shield thee and cover My own jemscheed from harm; Think Vt thou I fear the dark vizier, Or the mufti's vengeful arm .' it r f \) ■ I dffll ■ i % \y": " Then droop not, love, nor turn away From this rude hand of mine ! " And Leila looked in her lover's eyes, And murmured — " I am thine ! " But a gloomy man with a yataghan Stole through the acacia blossoms, And the thrust he made with his £>'leaminud with a tall dragoon, drinking- long draughts of jiurl. He bit his lip — it quiver'd but a moment — Then pass'd his hand across his flushing brows : He could have spared so forcible a comment Upon t: incy of woman's vi. One -hurt, sharp pang his hero-soul alta But in the bowl he drown'd the stinging pain, And nil his pilgrim-course went calmly forth again. , H A princely group of England's noble dau$-■- THE BOOK OF BALLADS And now, his bright career of triumph ended, His chariot stood beneath the triple tree. The law's gTim finisher to its boughs ascended, And fix'd the hempen bandages, while he Bow'd to the throng-, then bade the car go free. The car roll'd on, and left him dangling there, Like famed Mohammed's tomb, uphung midway in air. As droops the cup of the surcharged lily Beneath the buffets of the surly storm, Or the soft petals of the daffodilly, When Sirius is uncomfortably warm, So droop'd his head upon his manly form, While floated in the breeze his tresses brown. He hung the stated time, and then they cut him down. With soft and tender care the trainbands bore him, Just as they found him, nightcap, rope, and all, And placed this neat though plain inscription o'er him, Among the otomies in Surgeon's Hall : "These are the Boxes of the eexowx'd Duval!" There still they tell us, from their glassy case, He was the last, the best of all that noble race ! k 2 1(>4 THE Hook OF BALLADS. Or Sirgi nf tijr IPriiikrr. BV W E A , ESQ Brothebs, spare awhile your liquor, lay your final tumbler down : He has dropp'd — that star of honour — on the field of his renown ! Raise the wail, but raise it softly, lowly bending on your kn. If you find it more convenient, you may hiccup if you please. Sons of Pantag-ruel, gently let your hip-hurraing sink, Be your manly accents clouded, half with sorrow, half with drink ! Lightly to the sofa pillow lift his head from off the floor; See, how calm he sleeps, unconscious as the deadest nail in door ! Widely o'er the earth I've wanderd; where the drink most freely flow'd, I have ever reel'd the foremost, foremost to the beaker strode. Deep in Bhady ' !ider Cellars I have dream'd o'er heavy wet, By the fountains of Damascus I have quaff'd the rich sherbet, 1 Montepulciano drained beneath its native rock, On Johannis' sunny mountain frequent hiccup'd o'er my hock ; I have bathed in butts of Xeres deeper than did e'er Monsoon, Sangaree'd with bearded Tartars in the Mountains of the Moon; 3 THE BOOK OF BALLADS. 165 % R In beer-swilling Copenhagen I have drunk your Danesman blind, I have kept my feet in Jena, when each bursch to earth de- clined ; Glass for glass, in fierce Jamaica I have shared the planter's rum, Drank with Highland dhuinie-wassels, till each gibbering Gael grew dumb ; But a stouter, bolder drinker— one that loved his liquor more — Never yet did I encounter than our friend upon the floor ! Yet the best of us are mortal, we to weakness all are heir, He bas fallen, who rarely stagger' d — let the rest of us beware ! We shall leave him, as we found him,— lying where his man- hood fell, ' Mong the trophies of the revel, for he took his tipple well. Better 't were we loosed his neckloth, laid his throat and bosom bare, Pulled his Hobies off, and turn'd his toes to taste the breezy air. Throw the sofa cover o'er him, dim the flaring of the gas, Calmly, calmly let him slumber, and, as by the bar we pass, "We shall bid that thoughtful waiter place beside him, near and handy, Large supplies of soda water, tumblers bottom'd well with brandy, So when wakin°\ he shall drain them, with that deathless thirst of his, Clinging to the hand that smote him, hke a good 'un as he is ! I ■ .--■~s; arv^= ~ sm 166 THE liooK OF BALLADS. ID n in r .frrhgnnilr. fl U iu:\ folks, with headstrong passion blind, To play the fool moke up their mind, They're sure to come with phrases nice, And modest air, for your advice. But, as a truth unfailing make it. They ask, but never mean to taki T is not advice they want, in fa But confirmation in their act. Now mark what did, in such a c: A worthy priest who knew the race. A dame more buxom, blithe, and free, Than Fredegonde you scarce would So -mart her dress, BO trim her shape, - offered juice of grape, Could for her trade wish better Bign : Her ave flavour to her wi And each guest feels it, as he sips, Smack of the ruby of her lip-. \ smile for all, a welcome glad, — A jovial coaxing way she had : m n^t •*>-—, 5 And, — what was more her fate than blame, — A nine months' widow was our dame. But tod was hard, for trade was good, And gallants sometimes will be rude. " And what can a lone woman do ? The nights are long-, and eerie too. Now, Guillot there 's a likely man. None better draws or taps a can ; He 's just the man, I think, to suit, If I could bring my courage to 't." With thoughts like these her mind is cross'd : The dame, they say, who doubts is lost. " But then the risk 1 I '11 beg a slice Of Father Raulin's good advice." w Prankt in her best, with looks demure, She seeks the priest ; and, to be sure, Asks if he thinks she ought to wed : " With such a business on my head, I 'm worried off my legs with care, And need some help to keep things square. I 've thought of Guillot, truth to tell ! He 's steady, knows his business well. What do you think?" When thus he met her " Oh, take him, dear, you can't do better ! " THK HOOK OF BALLADS. if f ' " But then the danger, my good pastor, If of the man I make the master. There is no trusting to these men." " Well, well, my dear, don't have him, then ! : " But help I must have, there 's the curse. I may go farther and fare worse." " Why, take him then ! " " But if he should Turn out a thankless ne'er-do-good, — In drink and riot waste my all, And rout me out of house and hall ? " " Don't have him, then ! But I 've a plan To clear your doubts, if any can. The bells a peal are ringing, — hark ! Go straight, and what they tell you mark. If they say ' Yes ! ' wed, and be blest — If • No,' why — do as you think best." The bells rung out a triple bob : < Mi, how our widow's heart did throb, As thus she heard their burden go, " Marry, mar-marry, mar-Guillot ! " Bells were not then left to hang idle : A week, — and they rang for her bridal. But, woe the while, they might as well Have rung the poor dame's parting knell. a I The rosy dimples left her cheek, She lost her beauties plump and sleek ; For Guillot oftener kick'd than kiss'd, And back'd his orders with his fist, Proving by deeds as well as words, That servants make the worst of lords. She seeks the priest, her ire to wreak, And speaks as angry women speak, With tig'er looks, and bosom swelling', Cursing- the hour she took his telling-. To all, his calm reply was this, — "I fear you've read the bells amiss. If they have led you wrong- in aught, Your wish, not they, inspired the thought. Just go, and mark well what they say." Off trudged the dame upon her way, And sure enough their chime went so, — " Don't have that knave, that knave Guillot ! " "Too true," she cried, " there 's not a doubt What could my ears have been about ! " She had forgot, that, as fools think, The bell is ever sure to clink. ===^g^7 "or more her ' Fine live mackerel ! ' bawls." I Died the Jew I '•' The Hebrew died. They raised him gently from the stone, They flung his coat and neckcloth wide — But linen had that Hebrew none. They raised the pile of hats that pressed His noble head, his locks of snow ; But, ah. that head, upon his breast, S;iiik down with an expiring ■ f ',, ' " Died the Jew ? " The Hebrew died, Struck with overwhelming- qualms. From the flavour spreading 1 wide Of some fine Virginia Hams. Would you know the fatal spot, Fatal to that child of sin ? These fine-flavoured hams are bought At .30, Bishopsgate Within!" % h ~if » 17 J &£?* THE BOOK OF BALLADS. fart's lifr pis. I " T w is in the town of Lubeck, A hundred years ago, An old man walk'd into the church, With beard as white as snow ; Yet were his cheeks not wrinkled, Nor dim his eag'le ej e : There 'e many a knight that steps the street, Might wonder, should he chance to meet That man erect and high ! h When silenced was the orgun, And hush'd the vespers loud, The Sacristan approached the sire, And drew him from the crowd— " There 's something in thy visage, On which I dare not look, And when I rang the passing bell, A tremor that I may not tell, My very vitals shook. ' 11 ^.. 174 THE BOOK OF HALLADS. f i tapin nnit tljr Jltigur. Gixgehly is good King Tarquin shaving, Gently glides the razor o'er his chin, Near him stands a grim Haruspex raving, And with nasal whine he pitches in Church Extension hint-. Till the monarch squints. Snicks his cheek, and swears — a deadly sin ! \t "Jove confound thee, thou bare-legg'd impostor! From my dressing-table get thee gone ! Dost thou think my flesh is double Glo'ster .' There again ! That cut was to the bone ! Get ye from my sight ; I '11 believe you 're right, When my razor cuts the sharping hone ! " Thus spoke Tarquin, with a deal of dryn Hut the Augur, eager for his fees, Answered—" Try it, your Imperial Highness, Press a little harder, if you please. 4 <%*£ -^^fi THE BOOK OF BALLADS. i There ! The deed is done ! " Through the solid stone Went the steel as glibly as through cheese. So the Augur touch'd the tin of Tarquin, Who suspected some celestial aid ; But he wronged the blameless Gods ; for hearken ! Ere the monarch's bet was rashly laid, With his searching eye Did the priest espy Rodgers's name engraved upon the blade. i ■ ffly wqgts In 3*!nrt FJtrilmr NOT II Y ALFRED T i:\NYSOX. Slowly, as one who bears a mortal hurt, Through which the fountain of his life runs dry, Crept good King- Arthur down unto the lake. A roughening wind was bringing in the waves With cold, dull plash and plunging to the shore, And a great bank of clouds came sailing up Athwart the aspect of the gibbous moon, Leaving no glimpse save starlight, as h^ sank, With a short stagger, senseless on the stone.-. No man yet knows how long he lay in swound ; Hut long enough it was to let the rust Lick half the surface of his polished shield ; For it was made bv far inferior hands Than forged his helm, hie breastplate, and his g-reaves, Whereon no canker lighted, for they bore The magic stamp of Mbchi's Silvbb Stebl. tai ■O \- 11 'Jupiter nnii tjjr Sttuint! ?tlr. "Take away this clammy nectar ! " Said the king' of gods and men ; " Never at Olympus' table Let that trash be served again. Ho, Lyceus, thou, the beery ! Quick — invent some other drink ; Or in a brace of shakes, thou standest On Cocytus' sulphury brink ! " Terror shook the limbs of Bacchus. Paly grew his pimpled nose, JEII 17s Jr £ THE linnk OF B W.LADS. \inl already in his rearward Felt he Jove's tremendous toes ; When a bright idea struck him — " Dash my thyrsus ! I '11 be bail — For you never were in India — That you know not Ilonnsoxs Ale !" " Bring- it ! " ; (ivioth the Cloud-compeller; And the wine-god brought the beer — " Port and Claret are like water To the noble stuff that's here !" \jk1 Saturniue drank and nodded, Winking with his lightning eyes; And amidst the constellations Did the star of Hodgson rise ! t -/; THE BOOK OF BALLADS. ${rt Xfttf nf tljr Dmihq 3&rntjjjr0. Coats at five-and-forty shillings ! trousers ten-and-six a pair ! Summer waistcoats, three a sovereign, light and comfortable wear : Taglionis, black or coloured, Chesterfield and velveteen ! The old English shooting-jacket, — doeskins, such as ne'er were seen ! Army cloaks and riding-habits, Alberts at a trifling cost ! Do you want an annual contract 1 Write to Dotjdneys' by the post. Doudney Brothers ! Doudkey Brothers ! Not the men that drive the van, Plastered o'er with advertisements, heralding some paltry plan, How, by base mechanic measure, and by pinching of their backs, Slim attorneys' clerks may manage to retrieve their Income-tax ; But the old established business— where the best of clothes are At the very lowest prices— Fleet-street, Number Ninety-seven ! Would'st thou know the works of Doudxey? Hie thee to the thronged Arcade, To the Park upon a Sunday, to the terrible Parade. THE HooK OF BALLADS. W There, amid the bayonets bristling, and the flashing of the Bteel, When the household troops in squadrons round the bold licld- marshals wheel, Should'st thou see an aged warrior in a plain blue morning frock, Peering- at the proud battalion o'er the margin of his stock, — Should thy throbbing heart then tell thee, that the veteran worn and grey Curbed the course of Bonaparte, rolled the thunders of Assaye — Let it tell thee, strang-er, likewise, that the goodly garb he wars, Started into shape and being from the Doidnet Bbothbbs' Seek thou next the rooms of Willis — mark, where IVOrsay's Count is bending, the trousers' undulation from his graceful hip descendii. Hath the earth another trouser so compact and love-coin pe Hi Thou canst find it, stranger, only, if thou seek'st the Doi db dwelling ! Hark, from Windsor's royal palace, what sweet voice enchants the ear? • Goodness, what a lovely waistcoat? Oh, who made it. \lbert, dear I 'T is the very prettiest pattern ! You must get a dozen other- !" And the Prince, in rapture, answers — "'Tis the work of DounsEY Broth ebs ! " i i £s%y * THE BOOK OF BALLADS. 181 fum nnil Jstlin. As the youthful Paris presses Helen to his ivory breast, Sporting with her golden tresses, Close and ever closer pressed, He said : " So let me quaff the nectar, Which thy lips of ruby yield; Glory I can leave to Hector, Gathered in the tented field. " Let me ever gaze upon thee, Look into thine eyes so deep ; With a daring hand I won thee, With a faithful heart I '11 keep. k " Oh, my Helen, thou bright wonder, Who was ever like to thee I Jove would lay aside his thunder, So he might be blest like me. f :)l cfcgCfJP*" 182 THE HOOK OF BALLADS. •• Bow mine eyes bo fondly linger On thy soft and pearly skin ; Scan each round and rosy finger, Drinking draughts of beauty in ! "Tell me. whence thy beauty, fairest ! Whence thy check's enchanting bloom .' Whence the rosy hue thou wean Breathing round thee rich perfume ?" Thus lie spoke, with heart that panted. Clasped her fondly to his side, Gazed on her with look enchanted. While his Helen thus replied : ■• Be qo discord, love, between us, If I not the secret tell ! 'T was a gift 1 had of Venus, — Venus, who hath loved me well. "And she told me as she gave it, ' Let not e'er the charm be known, i >'■;• thy person freely lave it, ' inly when thou art alone.' " 'T is enclosed in yonder casket — Here behold its golden h 9N 8%%j? .-»=-— .'v.-C' rv 1 But its name — love, do not ask it, Tell't I may not, even to thee !" Long with vow and kiss he plied her, Still the secret did she keep, Till at length he sank beside her, Seemed as he had dropped to sleep. Soon was Helen laid in slumber, When her Paris, rising- slow, Did his fair neck disencumber From her rounded arms of snow : Then her heedless fingers oping, Takes the key and steals away. To the ebon table groping, Where the wondrous casket lay ; Eagerly the lid uncloses, Sees within it, laid aslope, Pear's Liquid Bloom of Roses, Cakes of his Transparent Soap ! *<3@ ? I I S^fcG= Is I B£ 3>&^i5^ T1IK BOOK OF BALLADS. finig of t It r iL : iiiiui[r. I'm weary, and sick, and disgusted With Britain's mechanical din; Where I'm much too well known to he trusted, Ami plaguily pestered for tin ; Where love has two eyes for your hanker. And one chilly glance fo 3elf; Where souls ran afford t<> be franker, But when they're well garnished with pelf. I i I 'm -ick of the whole race of po< Emasculate, missy, and fine ; They brew their small-beer, and don't know its Distinction from full-bodied wine. I 'm sick of the prosers, that house up At drowsy St. Stephen's, ain't you ! I want some Btrong spirits to rouse up \ good revolution or two ! an ete ' * hi A' A THE BOOK OF BALLADS. I 'm sick of a land, where each morrow Repeats the dull tale of to-day, Where you can't even find a new sorrow, To chase your stale pleasures away. I 'm sick of blue-stockings horrific, Steam, railroads, gas, scrip, and consols ; So I'll off where the golden Pacific Round islands of paradise rolls. There the passions shall revel unfettered And the heart never speak but in truth, And the intellect, wholly unlettered, Be bright with the freedom of youth ; There the earth can rejoice in her blossoms Unsullied by vapour or soot, And there chimpanzees and opossums Shall playfully pelt me with fruit. There I '11 sit with my dark Orianas, In groves by the murmuring sea, And they'll give, as I suck the bananas, Their kisses, nor ask them from me. They '11 never torment me for sonnets, Xor bore me to death with their own; They '11 ask not for shawls nor for bonnets, For milliners there are unknown. I -t.;. '-"^ •a jg y-r- . . ■ i*<; THE Hook or BALLADS. There mj coach shall be earth's freshesl flowers, My curtains the night and the stars, Ami my spirit shall gather new pow< I Ihcramped by convi ntional bars. Love for love, truth for truth ever givinj My days shall be manfully sped ; 1 shall know that I'm loved while I'm living \nd be wept by fond eye- when I 'in dead ' A < - . l 1 i € nrnlinr. Lightsome, brightsome, cousin mine ! Easy, breezy Caroline ! With thy locks all raven-shaded, From thy merry brow up-braided, And thine eyes of laughter full, Brig-htsome cousin mine ! Thou in chains of love hast bound me- Wherefore dost thou flit around me, Laughter-loving- Caroline ? 8 When I fain would go to sleep In my easy chair, Wherefore on my slumbers creep — Wherefore start me from repose, Tickling of my hooked nose, Pulling- of ray hair 1 Wherefore, then, if thou dost love me, So to words of anger move me, Corking- of this face of mine, Tricksv cousin Caroline ? <^%j Tffii j» ' ~ m 188 THE BOOK OF BALLADS. ■ ! \\ hen a sudden sound I hear. Much my nervous system suffers, Shaking through and through, — Cousin Caroline, I fear, T was no other, now, but you Put gunpowder in the snuffers, Springing such a mine ! STes, it was your tricksy self, Wicked-tricked, little elf, Naughty cousin Caroline! Pins she sticks into my shoulder, Places needles in my chair, And, when I begin to .-cold her, Tosses hack her combed hair With so saucy-vexed an air, That the pitying- beholder Cannol brook that 1 should scold her Then again she comes, and bolder, Blacks anew this face of mine, Artful cousin Caroline ! Would she only say she'd love me, Winsome tmsome Caroline, I nto such excess 't would move me, Teazing, pleasing, cousin mine : | ■:y THE BOOK OF BALLADS. That she might the live-long- day Undermine the snuffer tray, Tickle still my hooked nose, Startle me from calm repose With her pretty persecution ; Throw the tongs against my shins, Hun me through and through with pins, Like a pierced cushion ; Would she only say she 'd love me, Darning needles should not move me ; But reclining back, I 'd say, " Dearest ! there 's the snuffer tray ; Pinch, pinch those legs of mine ! Cork me, cousin Caroline ! " 189 lb r» 1!)() =££= Till: BOOK or BALLADS. Though withered now, thou ar( to me The minister of gentle thought,— And I could weep to gaze on thee, Love's faded pledge — Forget-me-not! Thou speak'st of hours when I was young, And happiness arose unsought, When she, the whispering woods among, (lave me thy hloom — Forget-me-not ! . &o ii /nriirt- jllr-ji'nt. jFotinD fn mn tmponuin of iLo&r Toltrns. Sweet flower, that with thy soft blui Didst once look up in shady spot, To whisper to the passer-by Those tender words — Forget-me-not ! } That rapturous hour with that dear maid From memory's page no time shall blot, \\ hen, yielding to my kiss, she said, " ' Mi, Theodore — Forget-me-not ! " fr w< -v C-, THE BOOK OF BALLADS. 191 Alas, for love ! alas, for truth ! Ala3, for man's uncertain lot ! Alas, for all the hopes of youth That fade like thee — Forget-me-not ! Alas ! for that one image fair, With all my brightest dreams inwrought ! That walks beside me everywhere, Still whispering — Forget-me-not ! Oh, memory ! thou art but a sigh For friendships dead and loves forgot ; And many a cold and altered eye, That once did say — Forget-me-not ! And I must bow me to thy laws, For — odd although it may be thought — ) I can't tell who the deuce it was That gave me this Forget-me-not ! \\ 9k n. •• 192 *'»*- tin: hook of ballads. .-. * §\l 31! is Imp. •• Wm art thou weeping, sister .' Why is thy cheek bo pale ' Look up, dear Jane, and tell me What is it thou dost ail .' •• I know thy will is froward, Thy feeling's warm and keen, And that that Augustus Boward For weeks h-.\> not been seen. ' \ THE BOOK OF BALLADS. 193 ' " I know how much you loved him ; But I know thou dost not weep For him ; — for though his passion be, His purse is noways deep. " Then tell me why those teardrops ; What means this woful mood 1 Say, has the tax-collector Been calling, and been rude ? " Or has that hateful grocer, The slave ! been here to-day ? Of course he had, by morrow's noon, A heavy bill to pay ! " Come, on thy brother's bosom Unburden all thy woes ; Look up, look up, sweet sister ; There, dearest, blow your nose." m " Oh, John, 't is not the grocer, Nor his account ; although How ever he is to be paid, I really do not know. M -». Cj II THE !!(»()K OF BALLADS " 'T is not the tax-collector ; Though by his fell command, They've seized our old paternal clock, And new umbrella-stand. "Nor that Augustus Howard, Whom I despise almost, — But the soot's come down the chimney, John, And fairly spoiled the roast !" I ix - ', THE BOOK OF BALLADS. 195 f. i (tumfnrt in Mirthu. " Wherefore starts my bosom's lord 1 Why this anguish in thine eye ? Oh, it seems as thy heart's cord Had broken with that sigh ! " Rest thee, my dear lord, I pray, Rest thee on my bosom now ! And let me wipe the dews away, Are gathering- on thy brow. " There, again ! that fevered start ! What, love ! husband ! is thy pain 1 There is a sorrow on thy heart, A weight upon thy brain ! " Nay, nay, that sickly smile can ne'er Deceive affection's searching eye ; 'T is a wife's duty, love, to share Her husband's agony. I )tm\ <$/s '-'." cv. vte ■ JtmI 1— ; 196 - THE BOOK OF BALLADS. '• Since the dawn began to peep, Have I lain with stifled breath ; Heard thee moaning- in tby sleep, As thou wert at grips with death. " Oh, what joy it was to see My gentle lord once more awake ! Tell me, what is amiss with thee ? Speak, or my heart will break !" " Mary, thou angel of my life, Thou ever good and kind ; 'T is not, believe me, my dear wife, The anguish of the mind ! " It is not in my bosom, dear, >>'o, nor my brain, in sooth ; But, Mary, oh, I feel it here, Here in my wisdom tooth ! " Then give, — oh, first best antidote, — Sweet partner of my bed ! Give me thy flannel petticoat To wrap around my head I" i\~ i» * il fl - , r — , — -. THE BOOK OF BALLADS. 197 '<% 3 mm a lion. " Brother, thou art very weary, And thine eye is sunk and dim, And thy neckcloth's tie is crumpled, And thy collar out of trim ; There is dust upon thy visage, — Think not, Charles, I would hurt ye. When I say that, altogether, You appear extremely dirty. f s & " Frown not, brother, now, but hie thee To thy chamber's distant room ; Drown the odours of the ledger With the lavender's perfume. Brush the mud from off thy trowsers, O'er the china basin kneel, Lave thy brows in water softened With the soap of Old Castile. 198 'III E BOOK OF BALLADS. *4E •• Smooth the locks that o'er thy forehead Now in loose disorder Btray ; Pare thy nails, and from thy whiskers Cut those ragged points away. Let no more thy calculations Thy bewildered brain b» Life has other hopes than Cocker's, Other joys than tare and tret. " Haste thee, for I ordered dinner, Waiting to the very last, Twenty minutes after seven, And 't is now the quarter p: 'T ie .1 dinner which I.ucullus Would have wept with joy to see, ' in* . might wake the soul of Curtis From Death's drowsy atrophy. "There is soup of real turtle, Turbot, and the dainty sole; \ml the mottled roe of lnl.-r Blushes through the butter bowl. Then- the lordly haunch of mutton, Tender as the mountain gra Waits to mix its ruddy juices With the girdling caper-sauce. Ii • =s^ THE BOOK OF BALLADS. 199 " There a stag-, whose branching- forehead Spoke him monarch of the herds, He whose flight was o'er the heather, Swift as through the air the bird's, Yields for thee a dish of cutlets ; And the haunch that wont to dash O'er the roaring- mountain torrent, Smokes in most delicious hash. "There, besides, are amber jellies Floating- like a g-olden dream ; Ging-er from the far Bermudas, Dishes of Italian cream ; And a princely apple-dumpling-, Which my own fan- fingers wrought, Shall unfold its nectared treasures To thy lips all smoking hot. "Ha! I see thy brow is clearing, Lustre flashes from thine eyes ; To thy lips I see the moisture Of anticipation rise. Hark ! the dinner bell is sounding !" " Only wait one moment, Jane : I'll be dressed, and down, before you Can get up the iced champagne !" g&* =i^^ '^kgi ■s-.. «*fe 200 THE BOOK OF BALLADS. • dljr tolnuti'3 ^rtition. ( Some hither, my heart's darling, Come, sit upon my kn. And listen, while I whisper A boon I ask of thee. You need not pull my whiskers So amorously, my dove ; T is something quite apart from The g-entle cares of love. i / I feel a bitter craving — A dark and deep desire, That glows beneath my bi Like coals of kindled fire. ■ T f n. The passion of the nightingale, When singing to the rose, Is feebler than the agony That murders my repose ! Nay, dearest ! do not doubt me, Though madly thus I speak — I feel thy arms about me, Thy tresses on my cheek : I know the sweet devotion That links thy heart with mine, — I know my soul's emotion Is doubly felt by thine : And deem not that a shadow Hath fallen across my love : No, sweet, my love is shadowless, As yonder heaven above. These little taper fingers — Ah, Jane ! how white they be ! Can well supply the cruel want That almost maddens me. Thou wilt not sure deny me My first and fond request ; I pray thee, by the memory Of all we cherish best — ? I I "All -^s?*^ 202 THE BOOK OF BALLADS. •rfj-l ■w By all the dear remembrance Of those delicious days, When, hand in hand, we wandered Along the summer braes ; By all we felt, unspoken, When 'neath the early moon, We sat beside the rivulet, In the leafy month of June ; And by the broken whisper That fell upon my ear, More sweet than angel-music, When first I woo'd thee, dear ! By that great vow which bound thee For ever to my side, And by the ring that made thee My darling and my bride ! Thou wilt not fail nor falter, But bend thee to the task — A BOILED SHEEP'S-HEAD OX Su.MiAl Is all the boon I ask ! 1 i THE BOOK OF BALLADS. •203 ft f I 1 u'l ft :: Initiut tn Britain. BY THE D- -OF W Halt! Shoulder arms ! Recover! As you were ! Right wheel ! Eyes left ! Attention ! Stand at ease ! Britain ! my country ! Words like these Have made thy name a terror and a fear To all the nations. Witness Ebro's banks, Assaye, Toulouse, Nivelle, and Waterloo, Where the grim despot muttered— Sauve qui pent! And Ps T ey fled darkling. — Silence in the ranks! Inspired by these, amidst the iron crash Of armies in the centre of his troop The soldier stands — unmovable, not rash — ■ Until the forces of the foemen droop ; Then knocks the Frenchmen to eternal smash, Pounding them into mummy. Shoulder, hoop ! a m\ -.-.>, \ I :c Ki. 9. UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 315 V «7 iRNIi UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY AA 000 376 267 1