n .l*'sK» %-§,— -,A-^^. V-^'^IS^ GATHERED LEAVES. ;' F "< "vi-'^Ai ^ i -^iT-' fe^^ -r^'^^r'5^ =^^^ > r Ik ^<^. \^^i^. GATHERED LEAVES BEING A COLLECTION OF THE POETICAL WRITINGS OF THE LATE FRANK E. SMEDLEY. WITH A Memorial |)rcfate BY EDMUND YATES. Hkislrallons. LONDON: VIRTUE BROTHERS & CO., 1, AMEN CORNER, PATEENOSTEK BOW. '-^ 1865. .1 J !:'0 1 ■>_/ V ''^^^. % \ I'RINTED BY JAMES 8. VIBTVE, CITY ROAD. \- I ^5=»^i>5^ ^^^^2=y CONTENTS. Page " In Memoriam " -vii Maude Allinghame ; a Legend of Hertfoed- SHIRE 1 Ye Right Ancient Ballad of ye Combat of King Tideich -with ye Deagon 35 The Enchanted Net 48 A Fytte of the Blues 61 The Forfeit Handj a Legend of Beabant . . 65 The Ballad of Boeeana . 93 To A Punning Beauty 94 To Mrs. G. H. Virtue 95 Valentines 90 To MY Valentine 98 For M. S 100 A Day Dream 101 Epitaph 104 Lines for Music 105 w -•■^v m t>£Mjr'*ffc *-'^ '^.^^^ L^^L. -P^y^^z^ ^^^^ f CONTENTS. Page To 100 Lexes written to Miss Augusta Siioiit . . . 100 The Loveu's Rebuke to his Heart Ill The Heart's Reply Ill The Prayer of the Weary Heart 113 A Song 117 Loved Best 119 At Home 121 To L. K. Y 122 A Serenade 124 A Remonstrance 126 "Alone" 128 Lily Flower 130 Saint PP.re 132 A Character 134 Hope on, Hope ever! 137 Ode 139 Lebe Wohl! 144 In ^'AI^ 14G Lines written for the Bazaar for the Windsor New Free and Industrial Schools 147 vi ^^^ ^n '^tmrnmi 'S^i^. UST about this time ten years agoy the late Mr. Bogue, the publisher, of Fleet Street, begged me to call upon him, to talk over a projected magazine which he had no- tions of starting. In the course of our conversation, he told me that the new periodical would have the advantage of being illustrated by glorious George Cruikshank, that it would be called " Cruikshank" Magazine," and that its literaiy contents would be edited by Frank Smedley, '' whom of course I knew!" I was very young at that time, both in years and literature ; and I recollect feeling very much humi- liated as I confessed that I had never heard of the gentleman. "What?" said Mr. Bogue. '' I mean b i \ t li IX JIEMORIAM. V tlie author of 'Frank Fairloj^li.' " In an instant I recalled my words. Knew liini ? I knew liira thoroughly. I had hcen with him in fifty rows and scrapes at his private tutor's, then followed him on in later life where we had been members of the same hunt, and taken a few bullfinches and oxers together. I had been his confidant in his love aff'airs, had been jealous of some of his sweethearts, and had not cared one jot for others. AVe had done a little racing together, and at one time had certainly "stood in" about "nobbling" an intended Derby winner. "We were in Italy together, and mixed up with the Condottieri. I remembered an awkward afl'air in which we both were implicated, where a cloth was thrown over an English nobleman's head, while an Italian personage pointed to a conveniently adjacent canal. But all this friendship and camaraderie was on paper. I knew him only in his books ! On the living man I had never set eyes in my life. So I took a letter of introduction from Mr. Bogue, and went up to Jermyn Street, where Mr. Smedley then lived, ill the aspiring frame of mind befitting one about to cnlirt as a light free lance under a new chief. As I :^r^ ■y^T'ir ^^^^^^J^A?==== 5-*ife^- ■7^ — rode i;p in the cab, I was picturing to myself the man with whom I was about to become acquainted ; and as I now wi'ite, those thoughts recur to me exactly as they passed through my mind. I have laughed over them so often with him who was their subject, that there is no wonder at their remaining fixed on my memory. I pictured to myself a tall, strongly-built man, of about forty years of age, bald, with a fringe of hair, large breezy whiskers, strong bony hands, and general muscular development, rather "horsy" in his dress and talk and manner. I expected that his tone would be rather hrusque, and that I might probably be unable to attain his requii'cd standard of " knowingness " in matters relating to the field and the road. I sent in my letter, and I was ushered into the presence of a gentleman, whom, even in the dim light of a shaded lamp standing on the table by his elbow, I could tell to be suffering under some malformation, as he sat in his wheel-chair — a little man, with a peculiar, clever face ; piercing eyes, never moving from the person he was addressing ; a manner beginning in earnestness, and then straying into banter ; a voice beginning in harshness, and modulating into pleasantest cadence ; a i, ,■' XI s^^ -J-^. ♦J^' IN .Mi;.M(iHIAM. t luariii}! which, in its endeavour to bo thoroughly iiKUpeniUnt, scinicd k-aniTig towards repulsion, and yet wliich — spite of itself, as it seemed — was indc- tinably attractive. 1 was so astonished at finding such a difference in what I had expected, that, as I have i.in«c thought, my answers to liis short and pertinent •juestions must have been vague and unsatisfactory. At all events, I recollect that ray new acquaintance's tone l)ecame slightly sarcastic, wliich recalled me to myself ; that I endeavoured to answer him as best I could ; that his manner then changed ; and that on that, the tirst day of our acquaintance, we fonned an intimate friendship, which continued until the latest hour of his life. I tliiiik that this kindness of heart, veiled occa- sionally under an affectation of worldly-mindedness, and a little cynicism veiy badly sustained, was the ruling spirit of his life. He was never happy save when doing a kindness to some one— never pleased save when he had some little pet scheme of beneficence, which he would bring out as though he were ashamed of it ; while his quivering lips and brimming eyes belied the assumed roughness of his voice and manner. xii ! rlh. A ' ^-y^f^ .^ - - ' - ■•V^ >' -^ ^-^^7^^- nsr JJEMORTAM. He was soft-hearted to a degree ; indeed, converse witli him had a sanctifying and hallowing influence. His physical malady had kept his intercourse with the world so restricted, that while his mind was full, strong, and manly, his experiences of certain sides of life were as pure and unsullied as those of a young girl. All the impulses of his soul were deep-set, earnest, fei-vent, and generous. He had heard of the lower views of humanity held by some great men, but he had never had reason to allow their existence ; so he frankly and unhesitatingly denied it. He was himself a man "in whom was no guile," and it was very difficult indeed for him to allow its presence in any one else. "With all the masculinity of, his writings (and it is allowed that there are very few wiiters who, in certain phases of description, notably of the hunting-field and the race-course, have ever equalled, while certainly none have ever surpassed him), his mind was, to a certain degree, feminine. He had the strong likings and dislikings, petulances, love of small jokes, desire of praise, and irritation at small annoyances, which are frequently found in women; but, on the other hand, he had a magnanimity, an amount of patient ^ xiii r ^^i^^^L— . ^^^ ■/ IN MEMORIAM. IdDg-sufffi-mg, iind a courage both moral and physical, such as arc given to few men. I, the writer of this imperfect sketch, knew, I beliere, most of the secret aspirations of liis heart ; and I look back upon him as, incutally, a perfect type of the romantic knights of old — capable of a devoted, unselfish love; worshipping woman as a being worthy of all honour, and almost incapable of wrong ; dcUghting in feats of horseman- ship and daring ; of unsullied honour and unswening integrity, impatient of double-dealing ; impetuous, yet easily guided ; simple-minded, and of fervent faith. His boilily infinnities, before alluded to, prevented him ' from indulging in any of the amusements which he most fancied, shut him out from a vast amount of society, kept him a prisoner to his chair; and yet I never heard one syllable of repining escape his lips, though on more than one occasion I have heard him turn off some well-meant though badly-timed com- miseration with a light-hearted jest. Of some authors it may be said that their lives are Avrittcn in their books, but Frank Smedley's works reveal no glimpse of his actual life. Here and there 4 one finds in them sketches of his personal friends, \1V "^"^^^ IX MEMORIAM. pleasant reproductions, so kindly brought out that the originals al^vfays enjoyed them. most. Here and there one comes across bits of observation and reflection, such as his intimates have heard him utter ; but for the most part his novels are but the vent for that extraordinary fund of liigh animal spirits which, under other circumstances, would have been brought into play in adventure, in spoi-ting, in fighting the great battle of life. But in some of the minor poems scattered thi'oughout this volume the reader will find many little passages in which my poor friend evidently refers to his own afflicted condition, but never without patient resignation and fervent hope — two virtues illustrated in every action of his daily life. Springing from a good old English family, who, for the last two or three generations, have had intimate relations with Westminster School (his grandfather and his cousin were well-known masters there, and there his father had been educated), Fea^'cis Enw.tEn SiiEDLEY was born on the 4th October, 1818, at Mario w. At his birth he was a remarkably fine child ; but it pleased God to afflict him with some strange malady, which could never find a technical name, nor XV 1 >f '-Ni fc^jg^- ^—r. — ^^^r^rt^-^- - - — -. =i-^ ^.^_fiii y- -e— ^ — :^ ^^^i^^ \ IN MEMORIAM. be thoroughly accounted for by the members of the faculty, but which retarded his growth, and delayed his physical development. Under these circumstances it was considered advisable that his earliest studies should be pursued at home ; and it was not until he was fourteen years of age that he was placed under the care of a private tutor, the Eev. Charles Millett, resident at Biighton. In ^Mr. Millett's house he remained for some months ; but his health was found ^( incompatible with even the comparatively mild boy- roughness to be found at a private tutor's; and he returned home to pursue his studies under the eye of his cousin, the Ecv. E. A. Smedlcy, one of the "Westminster masters before mentioned. ^Nlien his education was completed, he more keenly than ever felt the pressure of those sad circumstances which prevented him from following one of the several callings for young men of position and education, but he accepted his lot with that cheerful resignation which never forsook him. And then, at that which was perhaps the darkest period of his life, came the J ' dawning of what may be considered its brightest and .Ip. happiest phase, his literary career. Two ladies, his .A XTl t- V --^ ' -)-* ^^ ^ - — ^ y^J^f^^F^= • J ' J ^^ _ IN MEMORIAM. cousins, one of whom has since attained a distinguished name as an authoress, had noticed that Frank Smedley had a very acute perception of the ludicrous, and that his correspondence with them was marked by power of character-reading and graphic description such as is rarely met with. As a means of employment, and of allaying that listless depression under which he at times necessarily suffered, they suggested that he should attempt to delineate some of his own experiences of life. These had been small enough ; but from them he managed to extract an entire novelty. As he himself says in his preface to "Frank Fairlegh," "while volume after volume had been devoted to * school- boy days,' and ' college- life,' the mysteries of that paradise of public-school-fearing mammas, a ' private tutor's,' yet continued unrevealed." To him fell the task of their revelation. His experiences at Mr. Millett's gave him the substratum of fact ; his brilliant fancy supplied the rest ; and the " Scenes from the Life of a Private Pupil," contributed to " Sharpe's London Magazine" (then a popular perio- dical), were so successful, that the proprietor of the miscellany suggested an extension of .the series »• xvii fm "Ni <^ ■.K^fSi ^:^ii V f— ---v r:^^^fc>,l ' -'^o S'- I % IN MEMORTAM. originally contemplated, and finally published them in a oorapkte form, under the title of "Frank Fair- legh." In the dedication of the book he thus thanks the ladies, his cousins, wno first prompted his labour: — "As it is mainly owing to your joint advice and encouragement that this talc has been cither written or laid before the public, there can be none to whom I may with greater propriety dedicate it. ^Vhen I add ^ that my satisfaction in making the slight acknowledg- ,j^ ment of the countless acts of affectionate kindness I '^ have received at your hands, is one among the many agreeable results of the advice which has eventually led me to adopt a literary career, you will not refuse to accept this assurance that you have contri- buted to the happiness of one whose sphere, both of duties and of pleasures, Providence has seen fit to limit." In the pages of the same magazine he published his second, the longest and perhaps most popular of his works, entitled, "Lewis Arundel; or, the Railroad of Life," which, although the story is somewhat drawn out and several unnecessary characters arc introduced, xriii i1,/— -A_FSr„ ■7— K? -^— Vl« i^^^-l IN MEMOKIAM. contains some bits of descriptive writing which are truly admirable. AVbile tliis story was in progress he assumed the editorial guidance of " Sharpe's Magazine," at the request of Mr. Sharpe, the then proprietor, discharging his duties gratuitously at first, until the magazine became the property of Mr. Yirtue ; and to it, besides the leading serial tale, he contributed many short sketches, and some very quaintly humorous com- ments on, and replies to, the correspondence he received in his judicial capacity. A Christmas story, called " The Fortunes of the Colville Family," was also published by Mr. Smedley about this time. " Cruikshank's Magazine," alluded to in the opening of this sketch, was a failure. I can scarcely tell why. In his best days the veteran draughtsman had never designed a more telling picture than the "Tail of a Comet," which formed the frontispiece of the first number, nor carried one out with more elaboration of detail. But Frank Smedley did not contribute any story ; merely confined himself to Avhat is technically known as " writing up to cuts," and the rest of us were young beginners without any literary reputation. So, after the third number, " Cruikshank's Magazine" was f I ^ \\ i '^p^ IN MEMOHIAM. given up, and shortly afterwards Frank Smcdk y undcr- took another flipht, a flight at that time only undertaken hy ^^essrs. Dickens, Thackeray, Lever, and liimself — the issue of a novel in monthly parts. His story, which commenced most auspiciously, was called " Ilarry Coverdale's Courtship," and was illus- trated in tlie approved form with two steel engravings by Phiz. It was hailed with warm commendation by the t press, and promised to be its author's most complete and compact work — more, indeed, of a thorough character- novel than any he had yet attempted. I3ut illness prevented the canying out of the scheme with that vigour wliich had rharactcrised its commencement. He completed his book, but not in tlic manner he had wished. In the preface he himself says, " The conclusion of the tale has been perpetrated at a time when, on account of severe nervous headaches, the author was under strict medical orders not to write a line upon any consideration ; and it is with the fear of the doctor before his eyes that he is penning these few last words. They are not written in the forlorn hope of disarming criticism, but simply to assure those friends who have hitherto looked with an indulgent eye on his XX ^^ *^-^ IX MEMORIAM. writings, that if ' Harry Covertlale's Courtship' docs not come up to the expectations they may have formed from the perusals of his previous works, it is rather the mis- fortune than the fault of their grateful and obedient servant, the author." While his novel was in progress he had published in conjunction with me a little shilling book of nonsense verses, called " Mirth and Metre," his share of which is here reprinted, and this, with the exception of a few papers contributed out of friendship to me to the "Train," a magazine of which I was editor, was the last of his published works. His health, always delicate, declined very much ; he became a victim to intense headaches, violent and of long duration, which were caused, doubtless, by an accident which happened to him in the autumn of '56, when he was thrown from his pony-carriage, and dragged for some dis- tance along the road before the pony could be stopped ; and as, by a change in his circumstances, anything like necessity for writing had been done away with, he gave himself up, when he was free from suffering, to tranquil leisure and lettered ease. He read much, and of all kinds, and he was never happier than when, surrounded by a few old friends, he led the discussion upon books r- f f T^ — ^Ttr " ^ =s_ IN MEMORIAM. and tlieir outliors. After his father's death, -wliich happened some six years ago, he continued living with his mother at Grove Lodge, Regent's Park — a house the grounds of -nliirh are perhaps the most perfect realisation of tlic rns in nrle ever met with, where, if he chose, he could get fresh air without being wheeled out of the tranquil precincts of his garden, and where he was in the immediate neighbourhood of the Zoological Gardens, his favourite resort. But about two years since he purchased for himself a charming estate called Eccchwood, within a very short distance of Marlow, his native place ; and here he had passed the two last summers of his life, thoroughly happy, and, as we all fondly hoped, gaining strength and health. On Thursday, the 28th of April, in this current yeor, I dined with him at Grove Lodge, and thought him better and brighter than I had seen him for some lenc-th cf time. AVhcn the other guests left the dinner-table he asked mc to remain, and talked to me with the greatest spirit and interest about the work on which I was then engaged, about some horses he had bought, about his desire to get away speedily into the country and enjoy all the beauties of the coming summer — about xxii =^&W#r r^ '')f^ ^$^j T.-K^ r('-^\ IN MEMORIAM. a dozen little trifles, into all of which he entered with even more than his ordinary zest. I left him, promising to return the next week and settle an early date for visiting him at Beechwood. On Sunday morning, the 1 st of May, he was found by his servant, who came to call him, in a state of stupor, speedily followed by a succession of epileptic fits, and by Sunday evening he was dead. On Monday, the 9th of May, we laid his mortal remains in Marlow churchyard, between the church where " The kneeling hamlet drains The chalice of the grapes of God," and the river which lie loved so well. The shops in the little 'town were all closed, and though the weather was most tempestuous, the churchyard was filled with the townspeople, who had all known and esteemed the kind-hearted, cheerful spirit who had lately sojourned amongst them, whose dire malady had never soured his temper, but who always had a pleasant word and a merry jest for those who passed him as he travelled to and from the town in his wheel-chair. All peace to his a CATIIERED LEAVES. i^^ Swollen with sorrow is many a lip, Many a nose is red at tlic tip ; All the shutters are shut veiy tight, To keep out the wind and to keep out the liglit ; u y ^Vhilc a couple of mutes, "With very black suits, And extremely long faces, Have taken their places ^^r- 1 M i.^'-^ GATHERED LEAVES With an air of professional es2)rit de corps, One on each side of the great hall door. On the gravel beyond, in a wonderful state Of black velvet and feathers, a grand hearse, and eight Magnificent horses, the orders await Of a spnice undertaker, Who's come from Long Acre, To furnish a coffin, and do the polite To the corpse of Sir Reginald Allinghame, Knight. '-i The lamented deceased whose funeral arrangement I've just been describing, resembled that strange gent Who ventured to falsely imprison a great man, Yiz. the Ottoman captor of noble Lord Bateman ; For we're told in that ballad which makes our eyes water. That this terrible Turk had got one only daughter ; And although our good knight had twice seen twins arrive, a Young lady named Maude was the only survivor. So there being no entail On some horrid heir-male. And no far-away cousin or distant relation To lay claim to the lands and commence litigation, 'Tis well known through the county, by each one and all That fair ]\Iaude is the heiress of Allinghame Hall. ^1^ - -^ ^<^'.,^ J ]■ 1 OATHEKKD LEAVES. I "— "i IS I sIk- M'lis very fair to view ; Mark -Will tliat forehead's ivory hue, Tliat speaking lye, ■whose glanec of pride The silken hxslies scarce can hide, E'en when, as now, its wonted fire Is paled with weeping o'er her sire ; Those scornful lips, that part to show The pearl-like teeth in even row ; That dimpled chin, so round and fair, The clusters of her raven hair, ^.. "Whose glossy ciu'ls their shadow throw Ji O'er her smooth brow and neck of snow ; ' Tlie faultless hand, the ankle small, L The figiire more than woman tall, Ij And yet so graceful, sculptor's art Such symmetiy could ne'er impart. Observe her well, and then confess The power of female loveliness. And say, "Except a touch of ^-ice One may descry About the eye. Rousing a Caudle-ish recollection, "WTiich might perchance upon reflection Turn out a serious objection, That gal would make * a heavenly tiplice."' :1^ -— — T^ g^^ § From far and wide On cveiy side The county did many a suitor ride, Who, wishing to mai-ry, detemiined to call And propose for the heiress of Allinghame Hall. Knights who'd gather'd great fame in Stabbing, cutting, and maiming The French and their families At Blenheim and Eamilies, In promiscuous manslaughter T'other side of the water, Very eagerly sought her ; Yet, though presents they brought her, And fain would have taught her, To fancy they loved her, not one of them caught her. Maude- received them all civilly, asked them to dine, Gave them capital venison, and excellent wine, But declared, when they popp'd, that she'd really no notion They'd had serious intentions — she own'd their devotion Was excessively flattering — quite touching — in fact She was grieved at the part duty forced her to act ; Still her recent bereavement — her excellent father — (Here she took out her handkerchief) — yes, she had rather — i^-/-. %s^^ % I -:^5i«c^ .-■2! (lATlIERED LEAVES. KutlicT not (licrc she sobb'd) say a thinp; so unpleasant, Ihit she'd made up her mind not to marry at present. Might she venture to hope that she still should retain Till ir f nendship ? — to lose that "would cause her smcA pain. ^^'()uld they like to take supper? — she fear'd etiquette, A thing not to be set At defiance by one in her sad situation. Having no "Maiden Aunt," or old moral relation Of orthodox station, "Whose high reputation, And prim notoriety, Should inspire society A\'ith a very deep sense of the strictest propriety ; Such a relative -wanting, she feared, so she said, Eti(|uette must prevent her from offering a bed ; ]{ut the night was so fine, just the thing for a ride — ;Must they go ? Well, good-bye, — and here once more she sigh'd ; Tlien a last parting smile on the suitor she threw. And thus, having " let him down easy," withdrew, NN'hile the lover rode home with an indistinct notion That somehow he'd not taken much by his motion. Young Lord Dandelion, An illustrious scion, iT- f GATHERED LEAVES A green sprig of nobility, "WTiose excessive gcjntility I fain would describe if I bad but ability, — This amiable lordling, being much in the state I've described, i.e. going home at night rather late. Having got his conge (As a Frenchman -svould say) From the heiress, with whom he'd been anxious to mate, Is jogging along, in a low state of mind, When a horseman comes rapidly up from behind. And a voice in his ear Shovits in tones round and clear, " Ho, there ! stand and deliver ! your money or life ! " While some murderous weapon, a pistol or knife. Held close to his head, As these words are being said, Glitters cold in the moonlight, and fills him with dread. i (I Now I think you will own, That when riding alone On the back of a horse, be it black, white, or roan. Or chestnut, or bay, Or piebald, or grey, Or dun-brown (though a notion my memory crosses That 'tis asses are usually done brown, not horses), rr ^ A^ ^'f " m ■" ■ I !■ "— y -y^— . r? 1/^ GATHERED LEAVES. L^, WTicn on horseback, I say, in the dead of the night, Nearly dark, if not quite, In despite of the light Of the moon shining bright- ish — yes, not more than -ish, for the planet's cold rays I 'vc been told on this night ^crc unusually hazy — "With no one in sight, To the left or the right, Save a well-mounted highwayman fully intent On obtaining your money, as Dan did his rent, J{y bullying — an odd sort of annual pleasantly That " llepaler" play'd oif on the finest of peasantry; I u so awkward a fix I should certainly say, By far the best way Is to take matters easy, and quietly pay ; The alternative being that the robber may treat us To a couple of bidlets by way of quietus ; Thus applpng our brains, if perchance we have got any. In this summary mode to the study of botany, liy besprinkling the leaves, and the grass, and the flowei-s, AVith the source of our best intellectual powers. And, regardless of habeas corpus, creating A feast for the worms, which are greedily waiting Till such time as any gent Quits this frail tenement, 8 i; 's. ^^i^ --Xi ^n2^ GATHERED LEAVES. And adopting a shroud as his sole outer garment, Becomes food for worms, slugs, and all such-like var- mint. My Lord Dandelion, That illustrious scion, T^ot possessing the pluck of the bold hero Brian (Of whom Irishmen rave till one murmurs "How true Is the brute's patronymic of Brian Bore you''''), JS^either feeling inclined, Jfor having a mind To be shot by a highwayman, merely said, " Eh ? Aw — extwemely unpleasant — aw — take it, sir, pway ;" And without fui-ther parley his money resign'd. Away! away! With a joyous neigh. Bounds the highwayman's steed, like a colt at play ; And a merry laugh rings loud and clear. On the terrified drum of his tremblino; ear, "While the following words doth his lordship hear : — ' ' Unlucky, my lord ; unlucky, I know, For the money to go And the heiress say ' ]S'o,' On the self-same day, is a terrible blow. 9 m ^ «^ •'^ =^^:^^^s= OATIIKRED LEAVES. Wlicn next you visit her, pood my lord, (iivc THE uionw.vYsiAx's love to fair Mistress Maude ! " e Kt Away I away ! On liis gallant grey My Lord Dandelion, That unfortunate scion, Gallops as best he may ; And as he rides he mutters low, " Insolent fellar, how did he know?" In the stable department of Allinghamc Hall There's the devil to pay, As a body may say. And no assets forthcoming to answer the call ; For the head groom, Eoger, A knowing old codger. In a thundering rage, Which nought can assuage, Most excessively cross is With the whole stud of horses, "While he viciously swears At the fillies and mares ; He bullies the helpers, he kicks all the boys. Upsets innocent pails with superfluous noise ; Very loudly doth fret and incessantly fume, 10 ^'V ■^^'V;-^^;^ GATHERED LEAVES. And behaves, in a word, In a "way most absurd. More befitting a madman, by far, than a groom, Till at length he finds vent Por his deep discontent In the folloTving soliloquy : — " I'm blest if this is To be stood any longer ; I'll go and tell Missis ; If she don't know some dodge as '11 stop this here rig, Yy then, dash my vig, This here werry morning I jest gives her warning. If I don't I'm a Dutchman, or summut as worse is." Then, after a short obligate of curses, Just to let off the steam, Roger dons his best clothes, And seeks his young mistress his griefs to disclose. " Please your Ladyship's Honour I've come here upon a Purtiklar rum business going on in the stable, Vich, avake as I am, I ain't no how been able To get at the truth on : — the last thing each night I goes round all the 'orses to see as they're right, — And they alvays is right too, as far as I see, Cool, kviet, and clean, just as 'orses should be, — Then, fiu-st thing ev'ry morning agen I goes round, To see as the cattle is all safe and sound. 11 i K i ■:^;ii^- GATHERED LEAVES. 'Twas nigh three vceks ago, or perhaps rather more, Vi-n vun nioruing, as usual, I unlocks the door — (Tho' I ought to ha' mention'd I alvays does lock it, And buttons the key in my right breeches pocket) — I opens the door, Marm, and there vas Brown Bess, Your ladyship's mare, in a horribul mess ; Keg'lar kiver'd all over vith sveat, foam, and lather, Laying do\m in her stall — sich a sight for a father ! Vhile a saddle and bridle, as hung there kvite clean ( )\er night, vas all mud and not fit to be seen ; And, to dock a long tale, since that day thrice a- week, Or four times, perhaps, more or less, so to speak, I've diskivered that thare Identical mare, Or else the black barb, — vich, perhaps you'll remember Vas brought here from over the seas last September, — In the state I describes, as if fairies or vitches Had rode 'em all night over hedges and ditches ; If this here's to go on (and I'm sure I don't know How to stop it), I tells you at vunce, I must go ; Yes, although I've lived here A good twenty-five year, I am sorry to say (for I knows what your loss is), You must get some vun else to look arter your 'orses." \'2 ^' ^v. ==r^^^^=^= :^^ ^^^ Roger's wonderful tale Seem'd of little avail, For Maude neither fainted, nor scream' d, nor tum'd pale, But she sign'd with her finger to bid him di-aw near ; And cried, " Roger, come here, I've a word for your ear ; " Then she whisper'd so low That I really don't know "WTiat it was that she said, but it seem'd apropos And germane to the matter ; For though Roger stared at her, With mouth wide asunder. Extended by wonder. Ere she ended, his rage appear' d wholly bi'ought under. Insomuch that the groom, When he quitted the room, Louted low, and exclaim'd, with a grin of delight, " Your Ladyship's Honour's a gentleman quite I " 'Tis reported, that night, at the sign of " The Goat," Roger the groom changed a £20 note. i^=="=-^=^^^J^^ — ^^ J^z ,r^ 'P^^p^ ■^^ GATIJEIIED IJ'AVES. HERE'S a stir and coufu.siou in llcdbuni town, And all tlio way up and all the way down The piincipal street, "When the neighbours meet, They do nothing but chafe, and grumble, and frown, And sputter and mutter, And sentences utter, 14 •>^ "T'^jp- 'IM3 irv -j-^,? j::i_ GATHERED LEAVES. Sucli as these — " Have you heard, The thing that's occurr'd ? His worshijD the Mayor ? Shocking affair ! Much too bad, I declare ! Fifty pounds, I've been told ! And as much more in gold. Well, the villain is bold ! Two horse pistols ! — No more ? I thought they said foui\ And so close to the town ! I say, Gaffer Brown, Do tell us about it." " Thus the matter fell out — it Was only last night that his worship the Mayoi', Master Zachary Blair, Having been at St. Alban's and sold in the fair Some fifteen head of cattle, a horse and a mare, Jogging home on his nag "With the cash in a bag, Was met by a highwayman arm'd to the teeth, With a belt full of pistols and sword in its sheath, A miu-derous villain, six feet hiah. With spur on heel and boot on thigh, And a great black beard and a wicked eye ; 15 "^ ■ — -T^ i' y GATIIKRKD LEAVliS. And ho said to bis Worship, ' My fat little friend, I will thauk you to lend Mf that nice bag of gold, •which no doubt you intend I3efore long to expend In some avrfully slow way, Or possibly low way. Which I should not approve. Come, old fellow, l)c (luick ! ' And then Master Blair heard an ominous click, Betokening the cocking ^( Of a pistol, a shocking Sound, which caused him to quake, And shiver and shake, f{, From the crown of his head to the sole of his stocking. So yielding himself with a touching submission To what he consider'd a ^•ile imposition. He handed the bag with the tin to the highway- man, who took it, and saying, in rather a dry way, ' i[any thanks, gallant sir,' gallop'd off down a by-way." 'Die town council has met, and his worship the Mayor, Master Zachary Blair, Having taken the chair. And sat in it too, which was nothing but fair, Did at once, then and there, iJ^late and declare, ic. vw --^■_'^. GATHERED LEAVES. With a dignified air, And a presence most rare, The tale we've just heard, which made all men to stare, And indignantly swear, It was too had to bear. Then after they'd fully discuss'd the aflfair, To find out the best method of setting things square, They agreed one and all the next night to repair, Upon horseback, or mare. To the highwayman's laii-. And, if he appear'd, hunt him down like a hare. Over No-Man' s-Land*'' the moon shines bright, And the furze and the fern in its liquid light Glitter and gleam of a silvery white ; The lengthen' d track which the cart-wheels make, Winds o'er the heath like a mighty snake. And silence o'er that lonely wold Doth undisputed empire hold. Save where the night-breeze fitfully Mourns like some troubled spirit's cry ; At the cross roads the old sign-post Shows dimly forth, like sheeted ghost. * The name of a lonely common near Harpenden, formerly a ^ favourite site for [irize-fights. 3 c 17 I ^^Ir^ I 'Ttf^ GATHERED LEAVES- t ¥ r 1 — ^ ^ ^ As witli AVfinl arm, cxU-ndeil still, I It points tlie road to Lcamstbrd Mill ; 111 fact it is not At all a sweet spot, A nice situation, Or charming location ; Tin- late llobins liiiuself, in despite his vocation, "Would have deem'd tliis a station Unworthy laudation, A.nd have probably term'd it " a blot on the nation." ] In a lane hard by, a "Where the hedge-rows high, \ Veil with their leafy boughs the sky. Biding their time, sits his worship the Mayor^ "Master Zachaiy Blair, liid my Lord Dandelion, Tliat illustrious scion. And Oxley the butcher, and Doughy the baker. And Chisel the joiner and cabinet-maker. And good farmer Dacre, "Who holds many an acre. And, insuper onines, bold Jonathan Blaker, i{ The famous thief-taker, Vj Who's been sent for from town as being more wide- fir » uwuktf/-, - rj 18 L£ ' - .^ ^j V r -afe^ ^ i', ^— ^ GATHERED LEAVES. (Excuse that comparative, sure 'tis no crime To sacrifice grammar to such, a nice rhyme), And np to the dodges of fellows wlio take a Delight in being born in " stone jugs," and then fake a- "way all their lives long in a manner woidd make a Live Archbishop to swear, let alone any Quaker, Wet or dry, yon can name, or a Jumper or Shaker ; And, to add to this list, Hobbs was there, so was Dobbs, With several others, all more or less snobs. Low partys, quite willing to peril their nobs In highwayman catching, and such-like odd jobs, To obtain a few shillings, which they would term bobs. 'Tisn't pleasant to wait In a fidgety state Of mind, at an hour we deem very late, When our fancies have fled Home to supper and bed. And we feel we are catching a cold in the head ; (By the way, if this ailment should ever make you ill, Drop some neat sal- volatile into your gruel, You'll be all right next day, And wUl probably say, This, by way of receipt, is a regular jewel) ; To wait, I repeat, Por a robber or cheat, I I I' ? ,-, "Ti*fgy -r ^r-;i5^«!^ m i L -3^ FATHERED LEAVES. < )ii ;i spot he's supposed to select for liis beat, When said robber wont come 's the reverse of a treat. >i) iiiouplit the butcher, and so tliought the baker, And so tliouplit the joiner and cabinet-maker, And so thoujiht all the rest except Jonathan Bluker ; To liini catching a thief in the dead of the night Presented a source of unfailing delight ; And now as he sat Peering under his hat. He looked much like a terrier watching a rat. Hark ! he hears a muffled sound ; He slips from the saddle, his eai''s to the ground. Louder and clearer, Xearer and nearer, 'Tis a horse's tramp on the soft green sward I He is moimted again : " Xow, good my Lord, Zs'^ow, master Mayor, mark well, if you can, A rider approaches, is this your man ? " Ay, mark that coal-black barb that skims, AVith flowing mane and gi-aceful limbs, As lightly onward o'er the lea As greyhound from the leash set free ; •JO p^S ^' j"^ l , -cr^h^^x^^^ i^m-^^ ^^^ GATHERED LEAVES, Observe the rider's flashing eye, His gallant front and bearing high ; His slender form, which scarce appears Fitted to manhood's riper years ; The easy grace with which at need He checks or urges on his steed ; Can this be one whose fame is spread For deeds of rapine and of dread ? My Lord Dandelion Placed his spy-glass his eye on, Stared hard at the rider, and then exclaim'd, " Well ar — 'Tis weally so dark ! but I think 'tis the fellar." While his worship the Mayor Whisper' d, " Oh, look ye there ! That purse in his girdle, d'ye see it ? — I twigg'd it ; 'Tis my purse as was prigg'd, and the willin what prigg'd it!" Hiu'rah ! huiTah ! He's off and away, Follow who can, follow who may. There's hunting and chasing And going the pace in Despite of the light, which is not good for racing. ^^(^.-C^ -T '<_/ GATHERED LEAVES. '* Hold luird! bold hard! there's somebody spilt, And entirely kilt ! " " "NVelJ, never mind, Leave liim behind," — The pace is a great deal too good to be kind. Follow, follow. O'er hill and hollow, — Faster, faster, Another disaster ! ^ His worsliip the Mayor has got stuck in a bog. r-v) And there let us leave him to spur and to flog, \i He'll know better the next time, — a stupid old dog I :^ '< Where's Hobbs?" "I don't know." " And Dobbs and the snobs? " "All used-up long ago." " My nag's almost blown ! " " And mine's got a stone In his shoe — I'm afraid it's no go. ^Hiy, I say! That rascally highwayman's getting away ! " 'Tie true. Swift as the trackless wind. The gallant barb leaves all behind ; Hackney and hunter stiU in vain Exert each nerve, each sinew strain ; 22 ^-^ tC, '^^J GATHERED LEAVES. And all in vain that motley crew Of horsemen still the chase pursue. Two by t-wo, and one by one, They lag behind — 'tis nearly done, That desperate game, that eager strife, That fearful race for death or life. Those dark trees gain'd that skii-t the moor, All danger of pursuit is o'er ; Screen'd by their shade from every eye , Escape becomes a certainty. Haste ! for with stern, relentless will One eider's ox thy traces still ! 'Tis bold Jonathan Bla- ker who sticks to his prey In this somewhat unfeeling, though business-like way. But even he, too, is beginning to find That the pace is so good he'll be soon left behind. He presses his horse on with hand and with heel. He rams in the persuaders too hard a great deal; 'Tis but labour in vain. Though he starts from the pain, bought can give that stout roadster his wind back again. * 4 "J i ^b^ y ^--^—^ ^^^^^....^. ^-.r^ ^' ' .^ S^<% r7 / GATHERED LEAVES. Now Jonathan lUaktr liad formerly been A soldier, and fought for his country and queen, Over seas, the Low Countries to wit, and while there, in Despite of good teaching, And pr;;ying and preaching, Had acquired a shocking bad habit of swear- Thus, whenever, as now. The red spot on his brow Proved him " wrathy and riled," He would not draw it mild, But would, sans apology, let out on such Occasions a torrent of very low Dutch. One can scarce feel sui^prise, then, considering the urgency Of the case, that he cried in the present emergency, " Ach donner tmd blitzen " (a taste of his lingo), "He'll escape, by " (I don't know the German for "jingo") " Tausend teufel ! stunnwetter I To think I should let a Scamp like that get away ; don't I wish now that I'd ha' Drove a brace of lead pills through the horse or the rider ; •n ^#v==— ^ ^v^c?v-J^'- .-4 J vii^v " ^ ii>s?L2rp^ 'J /__ ^^^r^^^ GATHERED LEAVES. P'r'aps there's time for it still — Mei7i auge (my eye), 'Tis the only chance left, so here goes for a try." Oh, faster spur thy flagging steed, Still faster, — fearful is thy need. Oh, heed not now his failing breath, Life lies before, behind thee death ! Warning all vainly given ! too late To shield thee from the stroke of fate. One glance the fierce pursuer threw, A pistol from his holster drew, Levell'd and fired, the echoes still Prolong the sound from wood to hill ; But ere the last vibrations die, A WOMAN'S.shriek of agony Eings out beneath that midnight sky ! VM. The household sleep soundly in Allinghame Hall, Groom, butler, and coachman, cook, footboy, and all ; The fat old housekeeper (Never was such a sleeper), After giving a snore, "Which was almost a roar, Has just turn'd in her bed and begun a fresh score ; 25 V^^ —— V OATH Ei; ED LEAVES. The butler (a sliockiug old %vinc-bibl)ing sinner), Having made some mistake after yesterday's dinner, As to where he should put a decanter of sherry, \Vent to bed rather mcriy. But perplexed in his mind, !Not being able to jS.nd A legitimate reason "Why at that time and season His eiffht-'post bed chooses, -whichever way he stirs, To present to his •\-ision a couple of testers ! 2G tr- ^-. l^rSi:. ^ ^'^^f^:^!'^;^ ti^^^^^^=^ ■M- GATHEKED LEAVES. Since which, still more completely his spiiits to damp, He'd been roused twice by nightmare and three times by cramp ! And now he di'cams some old church-bell Is mournfully tolling a dead man's knell, And he stai'ts in his sleep, and mutters, " Alas ! Man's life's brittle as glass ! There's another cork flown, and the spirit escaped ; Heigh ho ! " (here he gaped), Then, scratching his head. He sat up in bed. For that bell goes on ringing more loud than before, And he knows 'tis the bell of the great hall door. Footman tall, Footboy small, Housekeeper, butler, coachman, and all, In a singular state of extreme dishabille, Which they each of them feel Disinclined to reveal, And yet know not very well how to conceal, "With one accord rush to the old oak hall ; To unfasten the door Takes a minute or more It opens at length and discloses a sight "Which fiUs them with wonder, and sorrow, and fright. Lk e ^:^^ GATHERED LEAVES. .r^" The ruddy light of early dawn Gilds with its rays that velvet la^vn ; From every shrub and painted flower Dew-drops distil in silvery shower ; Sweet perfumes load the air ; the song Of waking bi»-ds is borne along Upon the bosom of the breeze That mui-murs through the wa\-ing trees ; The crystal brook that dances by Gleams in the sunlight merrily ; All tells of joy, and love, and life— ^ .III ?_Said I cveiything was rife With happiness ? — Behold that form, Like lily broken by the storm, Fall'n prostrate on the steps before The marble threshold of the door ! The well-tui-ned limbs, the noble mien, The riding-coat of Lincoln green ; The hat, whose plume of sable hue, Its shadow o'er his features threw ; Yon coal-black barb, too, panting near, All show some youthful cavalier ; AVhile, fatal evidence of strife, From a deep hurt the flood of life Proves, as its current stains the sod, How man defiles the work of God. 28 V' c i*^' -rrU/-_ s^i^^ GATHERED LEAVES. AVith eager haste the servants raise The head, and on the features gaze, Then backward start in sad surprise As that pale face they recognise. Good reason theirs, although, in sooth. They knew but half the fatal truth ; For, strange as doth the tale appear, One startling fact is all too clear. The robber, who on No-Man' s-Land "Was shot by Blaker's ruthless hand, — That highwayman of evil fame Is beauteous Maude of AUinghame ! L'EXVOI. " Well, but that's not the end ? " "Tes it is, my good friend." " Oh, I say ! That won't pay ; 'Tis a shocking bad way To leave oflp so abruptly. I wanted to hear A great many particulars : first, I'm not clear, Is the young woman killed?" "Beat rest on that head, She's completely defunct, most excessively dead. •29 m 'T.\-/ i X ^i=-i. ==^,;S2;^^ GATHERED LEAVES. Blakor's shot did the business ; she'd just strength to fly, lieach'd her home, rang the bell, and then sank do-\vn to die." " Poor girl ! really it's horrid ! However, I knew it Could eomc to no good — I felt certain she'd rue it — But pray, why in the world did the jade go to do it ? " ** 'Tis not easy to say ; but at first, I suppose. Just by way of a freak she rode out in man's clothes." "Then her taking the money?" "A mere itliosyn- crasy, As when, some years since, a young gent, being with drink crazy, Set off straight on end to the British Museum, And, having arrived there, transgress'd all the laws Of good breeding, by smashing the famed Portland Yasc ! Or the shop-lifting ladies, by dozens you see 'em, For despising the diff'rcnce 'twixt tuum and meum, Brought before the Lord Mayor every week, in the papers. Why, the chief linen-di-apcrs Have a man in their shops solely paid for revealing When they can't keep their fair hands from picking and stealing. 'Twas a mere woman's fancy, a female caprice. And you know at that time they'd no rural police." 30 .^^-^''W^ ^*^%^ ^^^^^ GATHERED LEAVES. " Hum ! it mai/ have been so. "Well, is that all about it?" " Xo ; there's more to be told, though I daresay you'll doubt it- s being true ; but the story goes on to relate, That after ^Maude's death, the old Hall and estate Were put up to auction, and Master Blair thought it Secm'd a famous investment, bid for it and boiight it, And fitted it up in extremely bad taste ; But scarce had he placed His foot o'er the threshold, — the very first night, He woke up in a fright, Being roused from his sleep by a terrible cry Of ' Fire ! ' — had only a minute to fly In his shirt, Mrs. Blair in her Well, never mind. In the dress she had on af the time : while behind Follow' d ten little blessings, who looked very winning, In ten little nightgowns of Irish linen ; They'd just time to escape, when the flames with a roar Like thunder, burst forth from each window and door ; And there, with af&-ight, They perceive by the light Maude Allinghame's sprite — Her real positive ghost — no fantastic illusion Conceived by their brains from the smoke and confusion — llv (■— = :,: ^/ ^^^ — ^ jg ^^^^_^^ '"'^^ ^^^ . ) i^- i GATHERED LEAVES. ^ With a hot flaming brand In each shadowy hand, Fh\ring up, like a fiend, in the midst of the fire, And exciting the flames to bum fiercer and higher. From what follows we learn that ghosts, spirits, and elves, Are the creatures of habit as well as ourselves ; For Maude (that is, ghost Maude), when once she had done The trick, seem'd to think it was capital fun ; And whenever the house is rebuilt, and prepared For a tenant, the rooms being all well scnibb'd and air'd, The very first night the new owner arrives Maude's implacable spirit still ever contrives Many various ways in To set it a blazing ; In this way she's done Both the Phoenix and Sun So especially brown by the fires she's lighted, That now, being invited To grant an insurance, they always say when a nice Offer is made them, 'Tis no use to persuade them. If a ghost's in the case, they won't do it at any price." 32 And now for the moral ! Imprimis, young heiresses, Don't go riding o' nights, and don't rob mayors or mayoresses ; As to robbing your suitors, allow me to say. On the face of the thing 'tis a scheme that won't pay ; Though they sigh and protest, and are dabs at love- making, You'll not find one in ten Of these charming young men Can produce on occasion a purse worth your taking. Don't refuse a good offer, but think ere you let a Chance like that slip away, that you maynH get a better. One more hint and I've done — If by pistol or gun It should e'er be your lot ("Which I hope it may not). In a row to get shot. And the doctor's assistance should all prove in vain, "^Tien you give up the ghost, don't resume it again." If you do choose to " walk " and revisit this earth To play tricks, let some method be mixed with your mirth. As to burning down houses and ruining folks, D 33 )S?7 on =^^2 GATUERED LEAVES. Anil flaring about like a Fii-c-king's dauglitcr, — Allow mc to say there's no fun in such jokes, 'Twoulil far better have been To have copied Undine, — There's no harm in a mixture of sjjirits and water / 'I 1 NUfrl I •M -iT-'^ -^rV^i^ps^ "«/" li/'J^. , femr"^ _=£ GATHERED LEAVES. YE EIGHT ANCIENT BALLAD OF YE COMBAT OF KIXG TIDRICA WITH Y^ DEAGON. I §£ ^.eroratron. EY for the march of intellect, The schoolmaster's abroa^l, And stiU the ciy is raised on high, c GATHERED LEAVES. I 1 Obey his mighty word ! Where'er we go, both high and low, Bow doAVTi before his nod ; And the sceptre may hide its jewell'd pride, For oiir scr-ptre's the birchen rod. And all " enlighten'd citizens " and " learned brothers " say. That the world was never if, ' One half so clever ^i As it is in the present day. Xow I deny This general cry ; And will proceed to tell you why I've long since come to the conclusion, 'Tis all a popular delusion. I have seen many a wild-beast show, From the day when Messrs. Pidcock and Co. Were what vulgar people call all-thc-go, To the time when society mourned for the loss (All felt it, but no one like poor Mr. Cross) ^ Of the elephant " Chuney," who went mad, 'tis said, " ^ — ^-s. ^ GATHERED LEAVES. "With, the pressure and paiu He felt in his brain From constantly bearing a truuh on his head. f And I have set eye on That magnanimous lion, Brave Wallace — oh, fye on The brutes who could hie on Fierce bull-dogs to fly on His monarchical mane ! I declare I could cry on The bare thought, as one weeps when one goes to see "Ion." And lately I've been Down to Astley's, and seen His wonderful elephants act ; what they mean By their actions, I've not the most distant idea ; "WTiy they stand on their heads, why they wag their fat tails, Are to me hidden mysteries, " very like whales," As Hamlet remarks of some cloud he is certain He perceives up aloft, whence they let down the curtain, And whither they draw up the fairies and goddesses. With their pretty pink legs and inadequate bodices. 37 MX -srA-/-- ^ — ^"^c^-^ -^ ~* m GATUERED LEAVES. Ikit of all the beasts I ever did see, ^Miethcr of low or high degree, Despite the "schoolmaster," And " going a-hcad faster," The arts and the sciences. And all their appliances, Xever an animal, chain'd or loose, As yet have I heard Titter one single word. Or so much as attempt to say *' Bo! " to a goose. But you'll see, if you read the next two or three pages. That in what people now-a-days term the dark ages, When the world was some thousand years younger or so. Beasts could talk very well ; and it wasn't thought low For a real live monarch his prowess to brag on. And bandy high words with an insolent dragon. 38 -1^ GATHEKED LEAVES EE good King Tidricli rode from Bern'^ (And a funny name had he), His charger was bay, and he took his way Under the greenwood-tree ; And ever he sang, as he rode along, " 'Tis a very fine thing To be a crown' d king, And to feel one's right arm strong." King Tidrich was clad in armour of proof (AYhatever that may be), And his helmet shone with many a stone, Inserted cunningly ; While on his shield one might behold A lion tiying To set off flying, Emblazon' d in. burnish' d gold. •iftn * King Tidrich, Dietrich, or Theoderie, the son of Thietmar, king of Bern, and the fair Odilia, daughter of Essung Jarl, was, as it were, the central hero of that well-known, popular, and interesting work, the " Book of Heroes," which relates the deeds of the champions who attached themselves to him, and the manner ia which they joined his fellowship. 39 GATHERED LEAVES. King Ticlrich was counting his money o'er, As he rode the greenwood through, When he was awai-e of a " shocking affair," And a terrible " to-do : " U Then loudly he shouted with pure delight, * ' A glorious row, I make mine avow ; I'll on, and view the fight." 40 ..-y*... ■■^■'T^Jtf^ J f^^^l^ GATHERED LEAVES. And a fearful sight it was, I ween, As ever a king tlicl see, For a dragon old, and a lion bold, Were striving "wrathfully ; But the monarch perceived from the very first- And it made him sad, For '' a reason he had " — That the lion would get the worst. "WTien the lion saw the royal Knight, These were the words he said : " mighty King, assistance bring. Or I am faii'ly sped ; For the battle has been both fierce and long ; Two days and a night Have I urged the fight. But the dragon's uu pleasantly strong." In a kind of Low Dutch did the Hon speak, I^or his stops did he neglect. But e'en in his hurry, for Lindley Murray Preserved a marked respect ; And he managed his H's according to rule : Full well I ween Must the beast have been Taught at some Public School. 41 6. TA - "ri-- zp^i{^^^^^ -'^ u - GATHERED LEAVES. Lonp; paused tlio royal laro then, f Jrave thoughts pass'd tlirouph his brain ; Of his queen thought he, and his fair countrie* He never might sec again ; He thought of his waniors, that princely band. Of Eckhart true, And Helmscbrot too, And "NVolfort's red right hand.f ]iut he thought of the lion he bore on his shield, And he mann'd his noble breast, — " 'Twixt the lion and me there is sympathy, J And a dragon I detest ; ■Xl I must not see the lion slain ; If Both kings are we, In our degree, I of the city and he of the plain." The first stroke that tlie monarch made, His weapon tasted blood ; From many a scale of the dragon's mail Pour'd forth the crimson flood. * Tidrich of Bern was also king of Aumlungaland (Italy) ; he espoused Herraud, daughter of King Drusiad, a relation of Attila. + These three champions were among the eleven heroes who accom- panied Tidrich in his memorable expedition to contend against the twelve guardians of the Garden of Koses at Worms. 42 ^^. r,-r1 .^__^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^.^(>;^^.^_^ -^^: :-c ^-^ii§^^^r^=^ J >^^ — I ;*!*. Mi ^^ ^^5^^ GATHERED LEAVES. But wlien the hero si nick again, The treacherous sword Forsook its lord, And brake in pieces twain. The dragon laid him oa her back With a triumphant air. And flung the horse her jaws across, As a greyhound would seize a hare. At a fearful pace to her rocky den. To serre as food For her young brood Away she bore them then. They were a charming family. Eleven little frights. With deep surprise in their light green eyes. And fearful appetites ; And they wagg'd their tales with extreme delight. For to dine on king Is a dainty thing "When one usually dines on Knight. Before them then the steed she threw. Saddle, and bridle, and crupper. And bade them crunch its bones for lunch, "While they saved the king for supper ; 43 ( t £ GATUEUED LEAVES. Sayinp:, she must sleep ere she could sup, For after the li^^ht "NVitli the lion and knight, She was thoroughly used-up. A lucky chance for Tidi-ich : He sought the dark cave over, And scon the King did Adelring,* That famous sword discover : " And was it here that Siegfiied died ? f That champion brave, Was this his gi-ave ? " In giicf the monarch cried. " I have ridden with him in princely hosts, I have feasted with him in hall ; Sword, you and I will do or die, But we'll avenge his fall." * They had a weakness for naming swords in those days, just as in the nineteenth centun' we delight in bestowing euphonious titles on " vill.'i residence'*," puppy dogs, and men-of-war. t Sigurd, or Siegfried, son of Sigmond, king of Netherland, is the chief hero of the Nibelungen Lay. There are various accounts of his death ; one of the least improbable supposes him to have been destroyed by a dragon. 44 L- '^^^^^= =^J^~: GATHERED LEAVES Against tlie cavern's rocky side The king essay'd The trusty blade, Till the flames gleam'd far and -wide. Up rose a youthful dragon, then. Eight pallid was his hue ; For with fear and ire he view'd the fii-e From out the rock that flew. These words he to the king did say : " If the noise thou dost make Should oiir mother awake, It is thou wilt rue the day." "Be silent, thou young viper," 'Twas thus the king replied, " Thy mother slew Siegfried the true, A hero brave and tried ; And vengeance have I vow'd to take Upon ye all. Both great and small. For that dear warrior's sake." Then he aroused the dragon old, Attacked her with his sword, And a fearful fight, with strength and might, Fought he, that noble lord. 46 % SI f t > i i^ k/ ^— = ^S^^ftpfc.== '"'^ ^'u^ GATHERED LEAVES. The dragon's fiery breath, I ween, Made hi« cuirass stout lied hot throughout : Such a sight was never seen. Despair lent strength to the monarch then ; A mighty stroke he made, Through the dragon's neck, without a check. He passed his trenchant blade. At their mother's fall, each little fright Began to yell ^\ Like an imp of hell, And nearly etunn'd the knight. He struck right and left with Adelring, That trusty sword and good, And in pieces small chopp'd each and all Of the dragon's hateful brood. King Tidrich thus at honour's call, On German Land, "With his strong right hand. Avenged bold Siegfried's fall. Now ye whose spirits thrill to hear The trumpet-voice of fame, Or love to read of warrior deed, Eemcmber Tidiieh's name ; 40 ^ GATHERED LEAVES. And mourn that the days of chivaliy Are past and o'er, And live no more, Save in their glorious memory. Yet when Prince Albert rides abroad, Our gracious Queen may feel As weU content, as if he went, Encased in plates of steel ; Relying on the new Police, Those bulwarks of the state, That on their beat, no dragons eat The Prince off his own plate ! [Should any reader wish to learn more of the various personages here mentioned, we refer him to the " Illustrations of Northern Anti- quities, from the earlier Teutonic and Scandinavian Romances," to which we are indebted for our information on the subject.] I 47 41S ^^i^ ^^^^3£S^A GATHERED LEAVES THE E^X'HANTED KET. i OULD vrc only give credit to half wo are told, There were sundry strange monsters existing of old ; I v.vl > K ^a~ As CA-inced (on the ex jiede Ilerculem plan, AVhich from merely a footstep presumes the wholeman) 48 ^~^^^f^ ^-ri'XC ""^r^Jh: ,y^-^\ By our Savans disturbing those very large bones, "Which have tum'd (for the rhyme's sake, perhaps) into stones, And have chosen to wait a Long while hid in strata, While old Time has been dining on empires and thrones. Old bones and dry bones. Leg-bones and thigh-bones, Bones of the vertebrae, bones of the tail, — Very like, only more so, the bones of a whale ; Bones that were very long, bones that were very short (They have never as yet found a real fossil merry- thought ; Perchance because mastodons, burly and big, Consider'd all funny-bones quite infra dig.) ; Skulls have they found in strange places embedded, Which, at least, prove their owners were very long- headed ; And other queer things, — which 'tis not my intention, Lest I weary your patience, at present to mention, — As I think I can prove, without further apology. What I said to be true, sans appeal to geology. That there lived in the good old days gone by Things unknown to our modem philosophy, And a giant was then no more out of the way Than a dwarf is now in the present day, E 41) 4 t^ ,'^ .1: <^ '^^7l^^^^^ y -^^^^i^S^^ GATnERED LEAVES. Sir Eppo of Epstein -was young, brave, and fair ; Dark were the curls of his clustering hair, Dark the moustache that o'ershatlow'd his lip, And his glance was as keen as the svrord at his hip ; Tho' the enemy's charge was like lightning's fierce shock, His seat was as firm as the wave-beaten rock ; And woe to the foeman, whom pride or mischance Opposed to the stroke of his conquering lance. He carved at the board, and he danced in the hall, And the ladies admired him, each one and all. \\\ a word, I should say, he appears to have been As nice a young " rit*er" as ever was seen. He could not read nor write. He could not spell his name. ^i,i^g>=» Towards being a clerk, Sir Eppo, his (f ) maik, "Was as near as ever he came, it) '^/Li-i =^P^J^ •^^ J^ GATHERED LEAVES. He had felt no vexation Prom mnltiplication ; Never puzzled was he By the rule of three ; The practice he'd had Did not drive him mad, Because it all lay Quite a different way. The Asses' Bridge, that Bridge of Sighs, Had (lucky dog !) ne'er met his eyes. In a very few words he express'd his intention Once for all to decline every Latin declension, ^Yh.en persuaded to add, by the good father Herman, That most classical tongue to his own native Gennan. And no doubt he was right in Point of fact, for a knight in Those days was supposed to like nothing but fighting ; And one who had learn'd any language that is hard Would have stood a good chance of being burn'd fur a wizard. Education being then never push'd to the verge ye Xow see it, was chiefly confined to the clergy. 'Twas a southerly wind and, a cloudy sky, For aught that I know to the contrary ; If it wasn't, it ought to have been proper/?/!, 51 x^ ^>_fe.i: r2[ ^3^-. Tn CJATHERED LEAVES. As it's certain Sir Eppo, his feather bed scorning, Thouglit tliat Homethivg proelaim'd it a fine hunting morning; So, pronouncing his bonison O'er a cold haunch of venison, He floor'd the best half, drank a gallon of beer. And set out on the Taurus to chase the wild deer. Sir Eppo he rode through the good greenwood, And his bolts flew fast and free ; l^ He knock'd over a hare, and he passed the lair (The tenant was out) of a grisly bear ; He started a wolf, and he got a snap shot At a bounding roe, but he touched it not. Which caused him to mutter a naughty word In German, which luckily nobody heard, For he said it right viciously ; And he struck his steed with his armed heel, As though horse-flesh were tougher than iron or steel, Or anything else that's unable to feel. "What is the sound that meets his ear ? Is it the plaint of some wounded deer ? Is it the wild-fowl's mournful ciy, Or the scream of yon eagle soaiing high ? =^ _r:S GATHERED LEAVES;. Or is it only the southern breeze As it sighs through the boughs of the dark pine trees ? No, Sir Eppo, be sure 'tis not any of these : And hark, again ! It comes more plain — 'Tis a woman's voice in grief or pain. Like an an'ow from the string. Like a stone that leaves the sling, Like a railroad- train with a queen inside, With directors to poke and directors to guide, Like the rush upon deck when a vessel is sinking, Like (I vow I'm hard up for a simile) winking ! In less time than by name you Jack Eobinson can call, Sir Eppo dash'd forward o'er hedge, ditch, and hollow, In a steeple-chase style I'd be sorry to follow, And found a young lady chain' d up by the ankle — Yes, chain'd up in a cool and business-like way, As if she'd been only the little dog Tray ; While, the more to secure any knight-errant' s pity. She was really and truly excessively pretty. Here was a teri'ible state of things ! Down from his saddle Sir Eppo springs, 53 ^^^>1?^ 2^5Ji v.\ OATH FRED LEAVES. As lightly as if he were furnish'd •with wings, While every plate in his armour rings. The words that he utter'd were short and few, Vixxi pretty much to the purpose too, As sternly he asked, with lowering brow, " AVho's been and done it, and where is he now?" 'Twere long to tell Each word that fell From the coral lips of that demoiselle ; lIoAvever, as far as I'm able to see, Tlie pith of the matter appear'd to be That a horrible giant, twelve feet high, Ha^-ing gazed on her charms with a covetous eye, Had storm'd their castle, murder'd papa, Ik'haved very rudely to poor dear mamma, AValk'd off with the family jewels and plate. And the tin and herself at a terrible rate ; Then by way of conclusion To all this confusion. Tied her up like a dog To a nasty great log. To induce her (the brute) to become Mrs. Gog ; That 'twas not the least use for Sir Eppo to tiy To chop off his head, or to poke out his eye, .'.4 -^^ \ '-N\ GATHERED LEAVES As he'd early in life done a bit of AcLilles (Which, far better than taking an "Old Parr's life- pill" is), Had been dipp'd in the Styx, or some equally old stream, And might now face unharm'd a battalion of Cold- stream. u But she'd thought of a scheme "Which did certainly seem Very likely to pay — no mere vision or dream : — It appears that the giant each day took a nap For an hour (the wretch !) with his head in her lap : Oh, she hated it so ! but then what could she do ? Here she paused, and Sir Eppo remark'd, " Very true ; " And that during this time one might pinch, punch, or shake him. Or do just what one pleased, but that nothing could wake him, '" While each horse and each man in the emperor's pay Would not be suflB^cient to move him away. Without magical aid, from the spot where he lay. In an old oak chest, in an up-stairs room Of poor papa's castle, was kept an heir-loom. An enchanted net, made of iron links. Which was brought from Palestine, she thinks. m^^ ^ \^- t^ .•?-■ ^Ui'-—--^ cl fr 'y-^ij ^'^ " "" GATIIEllED LEAVES. Yolcnta of Cortoiykc sat in her bower, Whitli was not an arbour Where earwigs might harbour, And availing themselves of some al fresco tea-table, Lie and kick on their backs amidst everything eatable, ]5ut the very best room in the very best tower. Yolenta Avas young and Yolenta was fair. She'd extremely pink cheeks and extremely smooth hair, And a pair of bright eyes with so roguish a glance in 'era, That the spirit of mischief and fun seem'd to dance in 'em ; And a sweet little foot and a dear little hand. And a thorough-bred air, and a look of command, As noble a lady as one in the land. Yet Yolenta had " suffer'd ;"— her little affairs Of the heart had gone roughly, a custom of theirs From time immemorial, since Helen lost Troy, And pious iEneas made Dido a toy Of the moment, then left her, a striking variety, In the unifonn course of his orthodox piety. A young gent was her first love, of biilh and condi- tion. Whose very name, Loridon, seem'd an admission " (-.8 c^-^ ^^-^. GATHERED LEAVES. He was forni'd to adore, but then what's in a name ? Had they christen'd him Jack, she'd have "loved him the same," Because — mark the reason — her Pa had been rude To his Guv'nor, which led to a family feud. So the Lord Lettelhausen called up his son Loridon, And exclaim'd, " Of all girls, to have fixed on that horrid one ! The daughter, you scamp, of the man I detest ! But I'll never consent ! if I do, I'R be — blest ! Miss Yolenta, indeed ! why, my garters and stars ! This is worse than your tricks with latch-keys and cigars ! IS^ow, be off to the wars, nor on any pretences. Show your face here again till you've come to your senses." So Malbrook se va-t-en guerre, In a state of deep despair. i' l> Then Yolenta's papa thought he'd best take a part in it, By performing the role of the tyrant and martinet, And proposed as a suitor, An old coadjutor In many a dark deed, which no one but a brute or Barbarian would perpetrate, one Baron Corteryke, Whom he coolly inform'd her she certaiidy ought to like, 69 J\ r^"^ ^ "^ ■ v^X;; / ^v^'~' ' " ' ^ 3^-^ % OATIIKRED LEAVES. ]}iit-. AvlietbcT or no, in a week's time must marry — And his Avill bcinpj tliu law, This mediaeval Bashaw I'ooh-pooh'd Ma'msclle's suggestion of wishing to tarr}-. And so, sending to Gunter, got up, like John Parry, A first-rate entertainment, and vast chaiivari ; Hut yet, after all, was unable to carry < )ut his cruel intentions, for 'twixt cup and lip Tliei'e occurr'd in this case a most notable slip ; To describe it, our metre we've stol'n, 'twill be seen, l*"rom the song of one "Jock," who's simamed Hazel- dean. 71 " The kirk was deckt at Eventide, The tapers glimmer'd fair, The Baron Coxt'iyke sought his bride, And this time she uas there I She said, ' I will,' as if a piU Had stuck within her throat. But fortune kind was still inclined To grant an antidote ; " For scarce beside the altar stone, The nuptial knot was tied. When some vile party, name unknown, Stabb'd Cort'nke in the side ! II -tT" d^t^A«===-^^^^ i GATHERED LEAVES. His anguish sore, not long he bore, Physicians wor in vain, Death did consider him and his widder, And eased him of his pain." So the lovely Yolenta was " quit for the fright," Took the name, tin, and castle (a rare widoAv's mite). And wonder'd how Loridon fared in the fight. " It was Geraldus' serving man, Ludwigus he was hight. For fair Eettyc, that damsel free. He sigh'd both day and night ; Fair Bettye at the tapestiy wrought. In Dame Yolenta' s bower; - To ease the pain of this her swain. She lack'd both will and power. * ' Dan Cupid, that misch/evous boy, Ludwig to son-ow brought ; For ogling of the fair Bettye, Him, Dame Yolenta caught ; And as in true love men are still (As well as oysters) cross' d, Ludwig, to cure his fantasy, Was in a blanket toss'd." m \ :■: 14 ■ i5^vi-rw= -H^ y ■ .=i_ ^^, GATHERED LEAVES. '■^ Hinc nice lachrymce,''^ thence all these woes! From this pitching and tossing the shindy arose ! 'Tis the voice of a herald! I hcartl him proclaim, That he carries a summons for Corleryke's dame, AVhich sets forth how that same Fair lady's to blame. For the high misdemeanour, the sin, and the shame, Of tossing a lay brother, Ludwig by name, h\ a blanket, whereby she did cut, wound, and maim. And maliciously injure, and wiKully lame. And despitcfully maltreat, deride, and make game. And confuse, and abuse, and misuse, and defame ! A monk of Saint Benedict, Which by a then edict "Was a legal offence ; so Yolenta was cited To appear, and show cause "WTiy she 'd broken the laws, At the next petty sessions, where she was in\-ited To plead in her own proper person, and wait a Decree from my Lord Lettelhausen, the pater Of poor banish'd Loridon, likewise the fratcr Of the plaintiff Geraldus, an excellent hater Of all who opposed him, a reg'lar first-rater. Full of envy and malice, a real aggravator, ^^rr>~. L^ AMio'd have charmed Doctor Johnson, that learn'd com- mentator, Had he chanced but to live a few centuries later. r The herald he stood in the castle hall, Seneschal, warder, and page, were there ; And he read his citation fair and free. In a baritone voice that went up to G, As loudly as he could bawl. And he clear'd his thi-oat, and he push'd back his hair AVith a negligent, nonchalant, jaunty air; As though he would ask of the bystanding " parties," — " Pri'thee, what do ye thiuk of me, my hearties ?" Yolenta she smiled, and Tolenta she frown' d. And her delicate foot in a pet tapp'd the ground ; And when she turn'd to the herald to greet him, The flash of her eye seem'd to say she could eat him ; Though their points curl'd up to the knees of his trews, I 'd have been sorry to stand in his shoes. Then she answer'd him shortly and sweetly, — *' You're a bold man. Sir Herald, I trow — A bold and an insolent man I ween ; A scurrilous knave, I make mine avow ; But perhaps you may find that I 'm not quite so green As your masters imagine. You've done it most featly ^^^^S^ ^e rr^ '"^ ^^^- GAXnERED LEAVES. This time I'll allow; But it struck mc just no\r, "When you entered my castle to kick up this row, You'd have fared quite as well if you'd joumey'd on farther ; I'm afraid you've, young man, put your foot in it — rather!'' Then she sign'd with her hand, and six mutes in hlack armour, As hy magic appear' d, laid their lances in rest, .'Vnd directed their points to the herald's hare breast-, - 74 "yt-/^^- =^^Jf3^^= ===^/ 5^^- _ GATHERED LEAVES. m A sight which it must be confess' d might alarm a Erave man in those very unscrupulous days, When a life, more or less, was a mere bagatelle ; And when sticking a porker, or stabbing a swell, Were alike household duties — a singular phase In those " sweet" Middle Ages, on which such depen- dence is Placed by young ladies with "Puseyite" tendencies. Howe'er this may be, Our herald felt he Had no call to assist in this felo de se ; So straight fell on his knee, And exclaim'd, "Don't you see, Xoble Countess Yolenta, this good jest at present Is a great deal too pointed and shai-p to be pleasant ? I humbly beg pardon, So pray don't be hard on A penitent coto, whose name's printed this card on." Then he handed his pasteboard, gilt type, and a border, Stamped, % )tfa.{iiit faork furnrs^tb to orb«r. gS^^ r : - ,..-v . r-^ "^- ^^^^^gg^ GATHERED LEAVES. Yolcnta she smiled, and Yolcnta she frown'd, Then light rang her laugh "with its silvery sound. " llise, valiant De Eodon," she mockingly cried, "And hehold hy what foemen your mettle's been tried." Then each sable spearsman his vizor unclasps. And six laughing girls with bright mischievous eyes, Poke their fun at De Ilodon, who's mute with surprise And disgust, while Yolenta her riding wand gi'asps, Shai-ply switches the recreant kneeling before her. And turns to depart, — "WTien up with a start Spiings De Ilodon, and pallid with anger leans o'er her. Then hisses these words in her ear, — " Ere you smile Or rejoice in your stratagem, listen awhile. And loam that a herald discharging his duty Is sacred ; despite of your wealth, rank, and beauty. For the stroke you have dealt me your fair haxd is FORFEIT ; By the axe of the headsman, ere many days, off it Shall be hewn, and when next men to fury you goad on. Bear in mind the revenge of the herald De Rodon ! " 7 and seal (All the very best gold, and tlu' watch not mudi thicker Than a mod'rate sized turnip — no end of a ticker). And hunicd her off to the then Pentonville Model Prison, to wait, all forlorn and alone. And to " carve her name on the Newgate stone," Till this terrible somebody's pleasure was known. ^ % The unpleasant unknown was one Giles de Laval, A marshal of France, and a very great " pal " (Or paladin rather) of King Charles h Beau, (Or 'He Gro8,'' or '' le Sot," Which, I really don't know ; J5ut 'twas one of the three, for there's no nation showers Such peculiar nicknames on its " governing powers " As our trusty ally Monsieur Johnny Crapaud) ; This same Giles de Laval, then, who ruled the French host. And the roast, and the coast, made the most of his post ; Dealt just as he chose With his fiiend.s and liis foes, And was as autocratic, and nearly as fickle as. That bugbear of Europe, a certain Czar !Js^icholas — 82 '^a^ =5^^: GATHERED LEAVES. This identical Giles, for some reason he liad, Seeni'd resolved that Yolenta should "go to the bad : " (He possess'd such sharp eyes They pierced through her disguise At first sight, to her terror and shame and sui'prise), So he scolded her well, wouldn't hear her confessions, But retui-n'd her, to answer for all her transgressions, To Geraldus, in time for the next quarter sessions. Unhappy Yolenta ! Geraldus confined her In a dungeon, deep, damp, and unpleasant ; behind her Was a ring in the wall, and some rusty old chains, And there lay in one corner a skull void of brains, And a horrid leg-bone stood upright in another, Which must once have belong'd to "a man and u brother ; " Then a sturdy support, now a most " unreal mockery," A relic suggestively placed there to shock her eye, And bid her prepare for the doom that awaited her, — • For her dinner they brought her, Dry bread and cold water, Wretched food, and by no means enlivening drink (Whatever hydraulic George Cniikshank may think To the contrary), then, lest they'd not aggravated her By this treatment, enough, the brutes next disripated her -83 .■' v-3 7m^ k^j ^ ir :^ ]^fe^;^S;:^ li (iATHEREP LEAVES. J^ast agi-cculjlc illusion : a letter was given her, Sign'd and seal'd by some friendly (?) anonymous scrivener, Short, not sweet, for the missive consisted of one Line, " The Lord Zetle'/uiusen's no longer a son,'^ — Trom which pleasant alhision. She reaeh'd the conclusion. That, by some vicious dodge, which she could not dis- cover Dc Laval liad " used up " and expended her lover. i Unhappy Yolenta ! forsaken, heart-broken, ^5^ She di'ew from her bosom a cherish'd love-token ; A dark curling lock of her London's hair, Fix'd her eyes on it, shed o'er it tears of despair, Then dcvour'd it with kisses, and dropp'd on her knees. To implore with deep fei-vour that Heaven would please Pardon Loridon's sins, forgive hers, and so let hir llejoin, and remain with, one whom she loved better Far than life ; then o'ercomc by conflicting emotions, A fainting fit ended her tears and devotions. .s4 ^ -s^'^ &r ^ ^—^^ /"^-TTN C ^r^xl W'^ T>J if^ ^ ym iRi > V'^^. iJ ^>^ mj f £ fast Smu of g.lL A-PIIS'G and ya-wning, Their feather-beds scorning, All the burghers of Ghent rose betimes in the morning, For a " shocking event " Was to take place in Ghent, And the public delighted in hangings and quarterings, ^Mutilations and tortxires, and such kind of slaughterings, Just as much as an Anglican crowd in the present day. Think attending the " Manning ^\finale a pleasant day ; So extremely they bustled. Pushed, jostled, and hustled, - Climb'd up lamp-posts (there, were none!), on each rising ground Stood to view the procession, as slowly it wound Its way to the cathedi'al, where, at the high altar The condemu'd was "^jro se" To appeal', or else be Declared recusant, most contumacious, defaulter, Et cetera, et cetera, in fact, all the "bosh" That the law could devise, horrid stuff which won't wash, And yet seems to last pretty well through all ages Keeps solicitors going, and provides their clerks wages 85 1 -y- m^ -=J_! % GATHERED LEAVES. 'Twas a splendul and beautiful pageant, that same ; First a body of archers and shield-bearers came ; Then some dear little choristers, dressed all in white, AVho each carried a cliajidelle lenie, or " child's light," "Which being bless'd by the Pope, it appears to my thick head, Must, in spite of its "wick, have no longer been tvicIciiJi ; K'ext came Abbot Gcraldus, profusely ornate With mitre, and crozier, and garments of state ; Then the Herald de Rodon, in great exultation, Jlighly pleased with himself, and the whole "situa- tion;" Then a servitor, bearing A big candle, flai-ing Uji like mad, and creating a vast cloud of vapour, Or smoke (which affair was a "penitent taper"), On a silver "ZrttTsrio," a word which they say. In middle-age Latin, means simply a tray ; And after this penitent candle there came < )ur penitent heroine, looking the same, And feeling — however, I'll leave you to guess Itow the poor thing would feel in so cruel a mess. Then came something of which the description we'd best give Is, like Tennyson's rhymes, it was "sweetly sug- gestive" — 8G h^^^ -'/.ts.r^^MXSXass^^ ir- GATIIERED LEAVES. A large shield, in the centre whereof was depicted A hand lately severed, — the artist, addicted ('Twas De Eodon himself) to pre-Raphaelite rules. Had made the wrist "sanglant^^ with drops from it ,' '^i^^s^?.r 111 ^ •J Then directly behind this agreeable affair Came the city "Jack Ketch " with his horrid axe bare ! 'i, -r-^, f;K^^^ 1/^ (JATUEltED LEAVES. Theu more spearmen ; and then rush'd the crowd out of breath, AVith their eagerness all to be in at the death. Her eyes dim with despair, All dishevell'd her hair. And the fair " forfeit kaxd" with its rounded arm bare. With brow madly throbbing, and footsteps that falter, — The wretched Yolenta is led to the altar ; While De llodon proclaims, J^ By his titles and names, That the Lord Lcttclhauscn, Grand Seigneur, and Knight Of some half-dozen orders, demands as his right p The forfeited hand of the culprit Yolenta. Then Geraldus replies, ' ' By the general consent, a Demand thus in accordance with justice and law Is granted. Let Lord Lcttelhausen now draw Xear the altar, and take, by the Chui-ch's command, As his right and possession, the fokfeited hand ! " A stalwart arm is round her thrown. Fondly the forfeit hand is press'd ; !Xo more forsaken and alone. She sinks upon a manly breast. 7^^^ GATHERED LEAVES. At length the evil days are past — Her griefs, her trials, all are over, Long wept, long sought, regained at last, 'Tis Loridon, her own true lover. Whose Papa having very obligingly done The genteel thing, in dying exactly when one Would have wish'd him, by that means enabled his son To step into his shoes, just in time to diskVver a Mode of enacting the gallant deliverer ; As we've tried to rehearse For your pleasure in verse, If we've happcn'd to fail, — and too clearly you know Bear in mind that we never set up for a poet. ' ---r-A-/ rt-^ '.^S^' ^f GATHERED LEAVES. i i THE BALLAD OF BOREANA. Y brain is wearied with thy prate, Eorciina. I sit and curse my haple?s fate, Boreiina. What time the rain pours down the gutter. Still your platitudes you utter, Eoreiina. 1 unholy wishes mutter, Boreiina. Ere the night-light's flame was waning, Boreiina, "Wliilc the cats were serenading, Borciina, Sheep were bleating, oxen lowing, We heard the beasts to Smithfield going, Boreiina. You said the butcher's bill was owing, Boreiina. 90 ' K^d/o^ ■ g^^ ^^^^^^^ GATHERED LEAVES. At Cremome we two alone, Boreana, Ere my -wisdom, teeth were grown, Boreana, "While the dancers gaily hopp'd, And the brass band never stopp'd, Boreana, I to thee the question popp'd, Boreana. She stood beside the area gate, Boreana. She did it just to aggravate, Boreana. Sh^ saw me wink, she heard me swear. She recognised the scoundi-el there, Boreana. She knows a bailiff I can't bear, Boreana. The cursed writ, he push'd it through, Boreana, The area rails, and gave it you, Boreana. 1 :-l-£^ "^m^ GATHERED LEAVES. zs The infernal summons me unnerved, He from his duty never swerved, Boreiina. On thee, my bride, the writ he served, Borciina. ^ .^^» Oil ! nan'ow-minded county court, Boreiina ! 'Tis deatli to me, to them 'tis sport, Boreana. U-2 -' ttiOi a.-^n:;^ GATHERED LEAVES. Oh I stab in my most tender place, My pocket ! oh, the cieep disgrace, Boreana ! I fell down flat upon my face, Boreana. They fined me at the court next day, Boreiiua. Lock'd up, how can I get away, Boreana ? I don't perceive of hope a ray. 'Tis a true bill, but oh! I say, Boreana, How, without tin, am I to pay, Boreana ? "When turns the never-pausing mill, Boreana, I tread, I do not dare stand still, Boreana. At home, of beer thou drink' st thy fill ; I may not come to thee and swill, Boreana. I hear the rolling of the mill, Boreana. 93 ^^^^ "^^^^ OATin^RED LEAVES. '•^^ TO A TUNNING BEAUTY. )HNSON, that pompous, ponderous pedant who A dictionary wrote, which Pitt read through, Declared, I've heard, and in my memory lock it, The man who'd make a pun would pick a pocket. ]S'ow, it' the dictionarian's dictum's true, Who'll tell us wiiat a punning girl may do ? Some answering echo doth this news impart, The girl who'd make a pun would steal a heart 94 C'/-"^^-. ^%^-^^^^ -rj ^^ GATHERED LEAVES. ;s&- y^^ m m \%. TO MES. a. H. VIRTUE. HOU better half of Yirtue, gentle friend, Fairly to thee I, Fairlegh, greeting send ; Frankly I give what frankly you desire ; You thus Frank Fairlegh's autograph acquire To make assurance doubly sure, this medley Of Franks and Fairleghs thus I sign — Ot^^ ^. ."^ 95 ^^ ^^rL. "^"^^^^ =^=^ GATHERED LEAVES. VALENTINES. I. P you loves I, as I loves you, With an affection strong and true, And always as I wish you do, And promise not to grow up blue. Or write " sweet things," or " Sonnets to . . And never want a bonnet new Until your pin-money is due ; And snub each " got up " puppy who Dares to presume to flirt with you ; And sew on buttons not a few, As " Wedded Beauty " ought to do ; I'd not mind playing Edwin to Your Angelina ! What say you ? Valentine's Eve. 96 /"A! i GATHERED LEAVES. II. AYE you caught a Valentine ? Prithee, fair one, say. If not, will you, dear, be mine On this blessed day ? On this day when lads and lasses, Of themselves make precious asses, "Writing sentimental verses (Than which /think nothing worse is), Eaving about hearts of tinder (Calves' hearts roasted to a cinder), Praising up that little stupid, Fat, untailor'd idiot, Cupid ; Bowing, vowing, tearing, swearing. Lots of horrid lies, declaring All the love they do not feel Por the objects of their zeal. Of the Poet Milton, I Prize this observation, ' ' Sentiment is all my eye, Bosh and botheration ! " u m .>Tj-^ ^_.;^<^p<^ ^=^^^^ i> f i^5^ GATHERED LEAVES. TO MY VALENTINE. bg^. u^ ■r^l IS Yalentine's morn, love, ■svliich sweet little ti) birds Arc by Cupid declared to devote to their wooing, Addressing their mates in soft twittering words. And transacting a vast deal of billing and cooing. — Now if I were a bird, dear, I Icnow what I'd do, I would rise with the lark, and fly straight to your casement, "\Miere in ornithological language I'd woo, 'Till you answcr'd, "I will," and left off with "Amaze- ment;"* But not being a bird, my fond wishes alone Can fly to your presence on wings of the wind. And while coyly my amiable weakness they own. Must liint everything pretty, everything kiud. , That's the right style of business. Come, don't laugh. For young birds, tho' not old ones, are taken with chaff, • Vide end of Marriage Service. 98 '^-TT tSr- '-^^V GATHERED LEAVES And I'd have you to know, Miss, such chaff as I've written, Is sweet food, wherewith sundry young birds have been smitten ; And if you've the bad taste my soft lines to despise, I shall deem it a proof that you're more nice than wise ! Enclosed is a bracelet, but firmly I swear it. That she who's my Yalentine only shall wear it ; So, dear, decide, wiU you take it, or leave it ? Ah, the bracelet is yours ! by that smile I perceive it. . 1856. I M^^ i^^ I GATHERED LEAVES. FOR M. S. ,^^ DO not ask tliy love, The tender joy, the deep emotion, Of loving woman's fond devotion, I do not seek to prove. My path on earth is lonely. And ever must be, only In memoiy of days gone by. When thou didst smile, and weep, and I Grew, oh. ! so happy, in each radiant smile ; Or if the "while, A tear upon thy damask cheek lay sleeping. Then for thy sake I fell in love with weeping ;- In memory of those days of joy and sorrow. Sad thoughts, and fancies airy, Breathe thy first sigh to-morrow, For me, Maiy ! Satut Valentine's Eve, 1847. 100 i^ if^ FATHERED LEAVES. A DAY DEEAM. [IEEE are bright and happy hours In this dwelling-place of tears, Sunny gleams between the showers, Merry bii'ds and smiling flowers, Hopes that conquer fears. There are many sweets that mingle In the cup of mortal sadness ; Fairy bells that softly tingle By woodland way and forest dingle, Moving hearts to gladness. There are fairer, brighter things, Star-like gem the path of life : Sympathy that ever brings Friendship on its dove-like wings ; Faithful love till death that clings Peace, the sleep of strife. rU/ ^ /s -r^fv_A- - , r=^^_ .-:< - % "p^^^^^ GATHERED LEAVES. Tims I mused one soft spring morn, While her clear soprano ringing, The nightingale was sweetly singing From her seat in the old thorn ; Then methought that at my side Harshly thus a voice replied — "Dreamer, as you name each blessing. With your gaze upon the sky AVrapp'd in a fool's fantasy, r^ Tell me which art thou possessing ? " And at these strange words I wonder'd, But the bird was singing still. And an echo from the hill Seemed to ask me why I ponder'd. Then I answcr'd musingly, " Love, the urchin, ever roving To and fro, still passes by. Glancing with a roguish eye. Leaving me unloved, unloving. " Better so, for love," I said, ' ' Flashes like a meteor gleam ; 1(12 >^ w ' . .^ u^ GATHERED LEAVES. And realities but seem Harsher by the light it shed. " I have many a loving friend ; "With their pleasant voices near me, And their sympathy to cheer me, I will wear life to its end. " And when death has had his will Sparkling eyes for me will weep. Loyal hearts a comer keep, For our friendship's memory still," I 4 ••^- -V^ GATHERED LEAVES. ^- _, ^..P>?-7 EPITAPH. %ijW ibfiiBicdi'!! -?)■ f ERE lies Belinda ! sad her early doom ! Should perjured Cymon e'er approach her \ tomb, CL./ -^ These simple lines her tragic fate impart — " A check'd flirtation settled on her heart ! " IW i?J5Pv l>-'"«'-. GATHERED LEAVES, LINES FOR MUSIC. READ not the dark to-morrow, jS'ever weep, Waking is full of sorrow. Prithee sleep ! Sleep shall bright visions yield thee, Angel forms "With their soft wings shall shield thee From Life's storms : With their calm eyes behold thee, On thee smile. In theii' fond arms enfold thee, For a while. Then, when thine eyes unclosing Thou shalt wake, Ev'n from that soft refreshing Comfort take. Nor in life's darkest hour Yainly sigh, Prayer hath mighty power, God is nigh ! I 105 ^J,V/ =A5la6^ v.. QATDERED LEAVES. ^\r. TO XD so to-morrow being your natal day, By somebody you're owed an ode you say ; I'd be that body witli tlie greatest pleasiire, But I can't write an ode — why, even tlie measure " My spirit knows not : " then, another thing, I lack the where-with-all to say or sing — I'can't find matter. Now were I your lover A thousand tender notliings I'd discover — A'sonnet to your eyebrow — I don't doubt you Have such a feature as that same about you ; But for my life I don't believe upon it I could compose that slow affair, a sonnet. Let's try — " Hail, lovely eyebrow ! " — no. That's what I classically tenn " no go." Eyebrows won't pay ; none but a lover amorous Could on so veiy mild a theme grow clamorous. And woe betide yoitr lover ; I've my doubts That you're a little flirt, or thereabouts ; One who for years has sacrificed, sans scruples, "VNliole generations of cnamour'd pupils. 106 A =P^^^ rrrT' 1 GATBERED LEAVES. Were I tlieir tutor thus I'd wisely preach 'Gainst woman's wiles a remedy to teach : " Fond youths heware — her dangerous presence fly, To sigh for Polly were bad policy ; Whate'er your principles, Low Church or High, Avoid that error, Mary-olatry." And yet I know not, while I write a feeling Akin to what they call compunction's stealing Across me — men ere now have sought the noose Of marriage with a much less fair excuse. ^^^^^ ;107 "V^ S V / - - x - — '^ ^ -•^' ^ ■. GATDERED LEAVES. "^ . \ Perhaps you're not a flirt, or if you arc There arc worse things than flirting extant, far. The unconscious coquetry a pretty woman Displays by nature only proves her human — Just to be sweetly arch, and mildly spiteful, But makes her, entre nous, the more delightful. In short, dear Mary, let's for once be friends, And as my rudeness asks some slight amends I'll wish you on your birthday wishes tliree Health, happiness, and last not least shall be That summum honiim termed " ?m Ion parti ;" But when you've got them, and enjoy them rarely Don't quite forget your loving friend Frank Fairlegh. l(».s GATHERED LEAVES. f LINES WRITTEN TO MISS AUGUSTA SHOIiT. long for Short, and yet to long in vain, Is little short of bitter longing pain ; Too short a time I've known thee, or too long, I'm too short-sighted to tell right from wrong; •i@;>_,S?', \r^ "^1 Syj ^ ^;$ ^'^ m .-■■J &^J)\ 1 ■•m Nor can I note old Father Time's vaiiety, Enchanted in such short and sweet society ,:±i^ =i^'^ ^;!?^^ L^^ < r.ATIIERED LEAVES. T?ut when each short angelic visit's o'er The long and lazy hours progress no more. Happy the man who gives thy father's daughter A longer name (it cannot well be shorter) : He need not envy the exalted station Of Albert, husband to the Britisli nation, Around whose princely brow all honours cluster, Por though the Queen's August, yet you're Augusta ! i no -irVJ^? THE LOVER'S REBUKE TO HIS HEART. HY dost tlioii start, Thou foolish, flutt'ring heart ? She is not near ; Or if that she were here, Why need her gentle presence thus alarm thee ? She would not harm thee. When through the woodland ways My lady strays. All timid things that fly Man's company Come forth to meet her ; "With songs the wild birds greet her. Then, foolish, flutt'ring heart, it is my will That thou lie still." Ill =^& .s^ I. — I > GATHERED LEAVES. J, THE HEARTS REPLY. ASTEE," tlie heart replied, " When 'gainst thy side, Mv prison-house, I strike with "wild emotion 'Tis not with coward fear I tremble here, But an excess of anxious love's devotion. Thou say'st the presence of thy peerless dame Maketh all wild things tame ; Then grant me liberty To her to fly. Dear master, we must part, For thou hast lost thy heart ; Yet grieve not, nor with sorrow hang thy head. For if I once may rest Upon her breast, I'll gtun for thee her loving heart instead." i 112 ^ ^1^^%^ THE PRAYER OF THE WEARY HEART II give me rest ! tlie toil of life, The petty cares, the petty strife, The hourly crosses that apart Prom deeper griefs consume my heart. And leave a desolation there Akin to, if 'tis not, despair. These call for rest. i? Oh give me rest ! for youth is gone, And middle-age comes darkly on, Experience has heen hardly bought. Ambition palls, and Fame is nought ; With chary measure Faith is given, And Hope is dead, and Love's in heaven. I pant for rest. Oh give me rest ! the curse for sin Was life-long toil ; but death came in A blessing in disguise to free God's felons from their misery ; I • 113 ■V- f ^«^£=i-i -=*_ GATHERED LEAVES. Tlie prison-term of life being o'er, The "weary heart Avill ache no more, For death is rest. 1 Yes, death is I'est ; beyond the grave Dim forms their mystic pinions wave ; Repentance yet may pardon move, For angels lell, and God is love. "\V"e know in part, in part we see, " Ye hea\y-laden come to Me And I will give you rest." 1 r I 114 '.^ ■■>it-V #■ rr'P^^. _::S GATHERED LEAVES. i EEPLY. I. OWAED heart, no more repining, Cease to weep, Greatness dwelleth in resigning. Steadfast keep. Heed not though the years pass by thee ; Each bright thing that they deny thee Might have proved a curse to try thee, Dark and deep. ^ II. Woman's love in youth's bright morning, Silly heart ; Woman's love may change to scorning, May depart. Couldst thou gain aflfection's treasure, 'Tis a fond and fleeting pleasure. Cruel death hath ta'en its measure, ■ With his dart. ^^^■- '^i^ i^^^^^/^ ^^^i^' GATHERED LEAVES. 1» m. Dost thou pant for man's approving V 'Tis the sand ; "With each idle zephyr moving O'er life's strand. Write thy name ! let crowds adorn it ! Ere the waves of time pass o'er it, Some new idol shall before it Proudly stand. IV. JS'oble heart, be true, be earnest Watch and wait. Good for evil thou returnest, That is great ! Brave heart, all true honour lies In a life-long sacrifice. Stars shine clear above the skies. Conquer fate ! ISol. y^^^^^^^ "— " A SONG. EARY, weary life, "Wilt thou never cease ? Aching, aching heai't. Canst thou ne'er find peace ? Ever dost thou leave me False hope and unkind ? Still wilt thou deceive me Cruel faith and blind ? Sunshine of my spirit, Thou too soon hast fled — Wearily I wander, Youth and love are dead ; Life unloved, unloving. Darker than the grave, Death from grief removing. Death alone can save. l^t 'iP^:2rJ^C>Ni^:^ A-/- .1?- OATIIEKEI* LEAVKP. Sleep, thy drowsy pinions O'er my eyelids move, Still my throbbing pulses, Let me ckeam of love ; Give me hack the seeming Of the hopes that were ; Thus perchance may dreamin Calm awhile despair. ^1 118 '^M^^ <, .^1 ^^^& -^:5 >y- GATHERED LEAVES. LOVED BEST. i-^r-^ (V OYED best ! " As one with parch'd and burning lips, V^^k j That part to rave in fever's wild nnrest, K-g, — l^^^ GATHERED LEAVES. As sighs the captive in his dungeon pent, On the stone couch his wcaiy limbs have prest, Till life, and hope, and energy are spent, So sigh some aching hearts the words, " Loved best." As breathes the south wind o'er some happy vale, Kissing the wild flowers to their dreamless rest, And ling'ring o'er their beauties sweet and fra'l. So breathe some favour'd lips the words, " Loved best." Loved best, this earth is heaven, unloved 'tis hell ' Death tinds a refuge, and the grave gives rest : Pray for that soul when sounds its passing knell. Has pined a lifetime lor the words, "Loved best." f I 120 r,^^^^A-j^-^ r^^^ ^^^f^^^r^'^^ 5S^^^^?fc=«=: GATHERED LEAVES. AT HOME. I. HY we meet, wliy part again, God alone can tell,' All the pleasure, all tlie pain, ] In His counsels dwell. II. Friend, this life is drear and lone, And we wander to and fro. As the swallows come and go, Seeking rest, and finding none. Friend, this life is very strange. Whence we came, or where we go, We may guess, but cannot know. All seems chance and change. Friend, there is a life to come. All is order' d for the best. Aching hearts shall there find rest. May ice meet at Home ! =^^^^5^?c;^ --s_ OATIIKKKD LEAVES. TO L. Iv. V. (wnil A I'ltKSCRIPTIOX.) PASS'D by ni-lit tlnouyli tliu deserted streets; Calm stars gazed down from out the tranquil sky Pensive policemen linger'd on tlieir beats, With aspect of serene authority; *^3r^" Tliu busy hum of men no longer greets The listening car ; for all in slumber lie. Then, as the moonbeams cool'd my thro])hing brow, I thought of thee, and of my plighted vow. \2-2 ■W^ •V. ^. ^5^=^^?^ ^'np^} GATHERED LEAVES. There are wlio basely promise, and forget, Or, perjured, to the car their promise keep, But lie to the intent — a shallow set The first, the last, unprincipled but deep. Thy friend was not of these ; he would not let Falsehood profane his lips ; so ere asleep He fell, he tied his handkerchief in what Witlings might term a don't-fovget-me knot. He roused at daybreak — that is, he turu'd out Just before nine o'clock ; and like the rose, Sprinkled with heavy wet (I don't mean stout), He sought to blow, but could not ; for his nose Met with a Gordian knot, entwined aboxit In many a tortuous fold. J don't propose To fell you what he said, but, if he spoke A naughty word, it must have been in joke. 'I ; Reminded of his promise, then he sent For a prescription by one Dr. Stone, Wherein are hieroglyphics which are meant To tell us that in all mild cases one. In more severe ones two pills, miist be spent Upon the patient ; when six hours have flown. To be repeated ; and he hopes, sans scoffing, Alike they'll save yon from your cough and coffin ! I! g I GATHERED LEAVES. oi^t^C^I Ml ^.zr^>;| A SERENADE. REATHE cool on my forehead, soft breeze of the night, My brow that is throbbing, M My brow that is burning, My cheeks fever flushing, my lips quivering white ; 124 m^^'-^ Sfe^^^ ^r''S4 % -i^^^ -^:i GATHERED LEAVES. Creep close to my bosom, and nestle thee there. My heart, wilclly beating, will give thee glad greeting. To still its despair ; "Will give thee glad greeting, and welcome thy meeting, Bright spirit of air. Although on thy pinions cold death thou shouldst bear. f I love, and she loves not ; she dreams while I weep. My eyes, never closing. Obtain no reposing, But under her window their sad vigil keep. I love, and she loves not ; the tale is so old. The tale is so dreary, the ages are weary Of hearing it told ; And yet repetition, with doleful addition. Shows others enroll' d In this army of martyrs to proud hearts and cold. ^^^^^ GATHERED LEAVES. A REMONSTRANCE. IIY dost thou bless mc, dear one, "With thy love so bright and warm ? '^ I For I am a dark and a lonely thing, A ^ild bird drooping with broken wing, An oak l)y lightning shiver'd and scathed, A beetling rock by the wild waves laved,' '2^^^ <, © Cold and stern and lonely ; Pierced by the arrow, rent by the storm. Why shonldst thou glad me only With thy love so tender and warm V Why should thy smiles, sweet sunshine, Rest on my saddened brow ? The wounded eagle pines alone ; Flowers blossom not on the cold grey stone ; And the ivy that clings to the shattered oak Clings but to fall 'neath the woodman's stroke. Weary thought and carking care, Deep have they traced their furrows e'en now. Why should thy smiles, sweet sunshine, Rest on my tlu'obbin-g brow ? -=^1^ =^^^]|?^s=^=^^==^.^=^^32^ GATHERED LEAVES. n ALONE." TILL o'er the trackless sea of life My bark toils -wearily alone ; Alone I stem the wild waves' strife, And hear the sad wind's plaintive moan. r Far from each shore of calm content, From sunny islands of delight, Alone my cheerless course is bent, No sun by day, no star by night. Alone I watch the drifting cloud. And list the sea-bird's boding cry ; Alone, like ghost in circling shroud, I view the pale foam gliding by. Alone, dark thoughts assail my breast, Wild wishes, sad rcgi'cts, which tear The heartstrings with a fierce unrest That mocks the calmness of despair. 128 L^ l^/>=-^- ,.'2?;?^^ GATHERED LEAVES. Regrets ! alas, regrets are vain ; Tumultuous longings all pass by ; If wish be left me, 'tis again To rest on one loved heart — and die. 5 ill v^,«c?^g^i|^ p^^3^^ GAT II EI? ED LEAVES. J^^C I r ^ 4 ^^iT^' LILY FLOAVER. RUSTIXG hearts are oft betray'd, Shady bower, treach'rous bower, Fickle youth and silly maid, Heedless Lily Flower. He was comely and tall to view, Keen of eye, but of heart untrue ; That, alas ! she little knew, Simple Lily Flower. Eglantine and heartsease gi-ew Round the shady bower. Spring was young, and he seem'd true, Happy Lily Flower. Summer blossoms soon have past ; Bending 'neath the autumn blast, Dost thou guess the truth at last. Drooping Lily Flower ? i;jo ^'S^tx- =^:^L GATHERED LEAVES Hangs the cold, relentless snow On the leafless bower. Man's false love brings woman's woe, Fading Lily Flower. No loving hand was there to save, Heav'n has ta'en the life it gave. Lay her in her early grave, Weep for Lily Flower. ^^ S^^^i=^ s^SJ^^J GATHERED LEAVES. SAINT PERE. LOYE thee not, and yet relief Gladdens my soul, when thou art near, And all dear things seem still more dear, And sorrow loses half its grief. 1 1 do not love thee, yet 'tis sweet To tell thee all my inner life, And how I strive or fail in strife. And sit disciple at thy feet. Thou art so strong where I am weak ; And when perchance my narrower mind Meets cruel deed with word unkind, Thou teachest gentler phrase to speak. I do not love thee, yet thy smile »Sheds such sweet sunshine o'er my heart, I can but sit and weep apart, "When shadows cloud thy brow awhile. i 1."; -X- -.^/ ^y^^^fr. / }y ■^ GATHERED LEAVES. I love thee not with human love, When passion with its fierce unrest Gladdens or rends the throbbing breast, And weary earth seems heaven above. As dying saint, we part adore Part mourn, and still would gladly give A thousand lives to bid him live, So love I thee, nor less nor more. i January, 1862. -^^ ^^ — --^--^ < GATHERED LEAVES li A CHAlLiCTER. JOllY good eyes which are train'd to express Things inexpressible, what I can't guess ; Sleuth rather Avidc, but a rare one tor chattering Smart observations and compliments flattering ; Hair black by candle-light, seen in the day, Enfre nous, it is slightly " chenhillcd" with grey. .A-, GATHERED LEAVES. Something red for a headdress the dark locks enclosing, Quite original, neat, picturesque, and imposing. Gown, the simple white muslin of sweet seventeen. Most outrageously hustled with stiff crinoline. Short sleeves and long body, made, dear me. Oh fye ! Most excessively low where it ought to he high. Impertinent shoulders, hy way of variety, Protruded, denuded, defying propriety. As a last forlorn hope of some marrying " spec " She now strives, like a race-horse, to win hj a nech. Then she sings tragic songs up to concert pitch taught, With expression all horrow'd, and feeling all bought, She sighs forth the woes of some desolate maid With a heart smash' d to bits, and affections betray' d, And she flirts most tremendously fast when she can. Which is every time she addresses a man. " Is that you, Mr. D ? Lor ! I am so surprised ! Where's my "poor little rosebud you told me you prized? Lost ! I'll never forgive you, you promised to save it. Is that a forget-me-not ? Yes, you may have it. Don't lose that ! Must you go ? Well, I hope I shall see You to-morrow. Ah! How do you do, Mr. B." Thus reversing the proverb, she thinks it's the thing To possess, flirting double, two heatix to her string. 135 n^ r?|5^^ -i-^ GATUERED LEAVES. i^52£' She's a capital memory, talks of the stage In the year '28, when Sontag was the rage, AVliich unwise retrospection quite makes one think (ought I To conceal the idea ?) that she's not far from forty. l.GO &^^^ ^: m ^ If HOPE ON, HOPE EVER! HEIIE are who deem it best, To make of love a jest, A. pleasant sport on Valentine's fair morning ; But to such triilers I Would gravely thus reply. Take heed lest careless loving call forth scorning. Cs) »!' Then to my lady fair Will I my love declare, Ever in warmest and in briefest measure ; As men the casket mould. Of brightest, purest gold. Which shall contain their rarest, costliest treasure. Dear one, if you and I, Loving, could live and die. This darksome earth would be as fair as heaven ; But lonely tears and woe Are our sad lot below. Until repented sins shall be forgiven. i;37 pr- l?-3 ^>-'. — isUj^— '^ - ■■ - V'^S AJ ^'" ' ■ i "- i n ~ , " v,> 3^ GATHERED LEAVES. Over each beauteous thing Yet the dark sliadows cling, Shades that descend from sinning and from sorrow ; But wlien the niglit is past, Dawn shall appear at last, Bright with the glory of the long to-morrow. i;i^ ^r^epOa^^^^^ ^^^^ - " y=>^v.^^^^= J ^^. 's'r^' \ .-. ODE. EEMIXGr the rhymer's art was mine, Thou badst me write a valentine, And gavest me as fair a theme As e'er inspired poet's dream ; Saying, my guerdon rare shoukl be A bright and sunny smile from thee ; And I that dear reward to win Would fain at once the task begin. \ll Despite the raven voice of fate, "Which tells of twelve long months to wait. E'er time again on circling wing. Saint Valentine's fair morn shall bring — Astute Minerva ! goddess high ! Deign to assist thy votary ; Come to my aid, and bring with thee Thine handmaid, ingenuity ; And help me with some cunning wile To cheat old Time, and win "the smile." Thanks, for the bright idea, 'Tis said her natal day draws near. 131) W s '-S ^ ^-ir f^ ^p ^'f^- --' ^ =- - — - -g3^- GATIIERED LEAVES. Might not a birtlitlay ode obtain The recompense I pant to gain ? 'Tis a fair scheme, and bohlly I Eesolve at once the chance to try ; For still the proverb true wc trace, "Faint heart ne'er won fair lady's gi-ace." Wait a bit, not so fast, 'tis a lioriible plague ; But I'm free to confess "What perhaps you Avon't guess, (For in one who writes verses ^ No ignorance worse is), ^ My ideas of an ode are excessively vague : 'Tis true I've read loads Of Horace's odes. There's the first, which no doubt at the time had a great run, In which he " soft sawders " Maecenas his patron, And tolls him he springs From a race of old kings. Then there's " Olim jam satis," Which nought very great is ; And another to Lydia, Where he calls her " candidior Nives," which epithet doubtless you know Refers to her skin, and means " whiter than snow." 140 ^^i^^f— — ^=«^ GATHERED LEAA''ES. But these odes are all Latin, and Latin won't do To send to a lady, unless " she's a blue ; " AVhich, thank goodness, you're not, for there's nothing more shocking Than that pedant in petticoats terni'd a blue stocking. One who stuffs down your throat without any apology A succession of horrors all ending in " ology." Or, by way of variety, Favoiu's society. With her private opinion respecting broad gauges. The potato disease, or the low rate of wages : No, depend on it, blue Is a hose that won't do. The best test that young ladies can choose for their hose. And their minds, and their ribbons, is " couleur de rose." But stay, I'm forgetting my ode all this time. It behoves me to alter the style of my rhyme, And rejecting the comic, attempt the sublime. Hail to the happy hour that gave thee birth ! AVhcn first on earth Those beaming eyes so eloquently bright . Beheld the light ! m ^ s «"sA ^i GATHERED LEAVES 'f Gaily spring flowers blossom'd on that day, Young gladsome birds the budding sprays among Burst forth in festal song, And deemed it May. Hail to the day that marks thy Avomanhood ! All wishes good Attend thee, and preserve thee as thou art. True of heart ; And innocent and happy, for thy years 1^ Have yet been few ; and still perchance to thee Seems it, cai-th cannot be A vale of tears. Tjj Long may it be, e'er sorrow's ebon wing * It's shadows fling O'er that fair face, or quench that sunny smile In tears the while. T5ut if some tears must fall, may it be given, "When still the troubled spirit finds relief Tor cvciy grief From Heaven ! There, I'm sure that's enougl Of such serious stufi", I can't write any more, 'Tis no end of a bore. MT 142 ;i^^A^"^;srx — :;^^v>v.i^^=.^ . J .^ ^_ GATHERED LEAVES I suppose that's an ode, if it's not I can't tell What it is ; but no doubt it will do just as well. Thus, I think, I may reckon my labours are done. And lay claim to " the smile " as a prize fairly won. So, fair lady, you'd better get ready for granting one, And, Carina, take care it's a very enchanting one I But should you prove false, or refuse to bestow it, You may (mark my words, for I wish you to know it), Find some other to flirt with, and get a new poet ! 14.5 J3 i^ i> ■h^£^ =/:;^^€^ _^___£V^Vt^' i/^ OATIIERED LEAVES. % LEBE WOHL ! EBE wohl, ach: Icbe wohl ! "Words of grief too often spoken : Dear sister of my inmost soul, "NVitli tearful eyes and hearts half broken I Yet 'twas not thus we parted, no ! One pressure of the heart, one sigh, One glance from half averted eye. Was all the sign that spoke our woe. Yet ever as some pai-ting knell Rings on mine ear that word farewell. Lehe wohl, ach ! Icbe wohl I Weary leagues of distance sever. Angry waves between us roll. Parting now may prove for ever. But should it be so, still to me, When half my soul is from me reft, One source of happiness is left. Of bygone hours the memory — Even farewell no gloom can cast O'er bright reflections of the past. v^^i^^^^=f=^ ;^^ GATHERED LEAVES. Lebe -svolil, ach ! lebe wohl ! Say, dost thou ever think upon The happy moments that we stole (Too brief, perchance for ever gone), Wlien midst the gay and careless throng, Apart "we spake of holy things, High thoughts and bright imaginings, Flowers strewn the path of life along. Farewell was then no word of sorrow, "VVe parted, but to meet to-morrow. Lebe wohl, ach ! lebe wohl ! For months, for years, or till at last For us the funeral bell may toll. To say another spul has pass'd. ' Then if our faith be not in vain, I^or vain th' inspiring hope that Heaven To prayer and penitence is given, My sister, we may meet again "Where love eternal rests alone. And farewell is a word unknown vl I H." ^^ ■ ^y. -,-.^-...*.^ ^fe- V b5--wl2 f =^^^?s?c^ GATHERED LEAVES. A^^'^—f^A IN VAIN ? HAVE lived and loved in vain ! " True, as far as tliis life goes. — Have I lived and loved in vain ? God, who knows the future, knows. Is there then a life to come ? Shall again the " dry bones " live ? One alone can call us home, God the giver, let Him give. i I, f 140 >if-l -^^^^^V^ LINES WRITTEN FOR THE BAZAAR FOR THE Min^s.oT ^ciu Jfrn mxh |ni)it$tniil Btlmls. INGr a song of sixpence, a pocket full of rve I " We quote a nursery lyric, and we're going to tell you why. We are about to sing a song, and sing for money, too ; But "lye" will not oicr pockets fill, nor yet will ** sixpence do." "We want good Queen Victoria's head, with its bright golden hair, Emboss'd upon a golden coin, as fits a gem so rare : Nor can the brain of wit or sage a better change suggest, For Sovereign such as England boasts, than that wliich we request. In letters six we'll briefly state what may our object be — To teach poor children A B C, we want your £ s. d. Small brats who through the streets run wild, and lisp the tongue vehicular, Term'd slang, we'll send to infant schools, to shout out "Perpendicular," ./^i^^7 ^s^m^ v — ^ — p i^s^=^ i .^i. m GATHERED LEAVES. As they point their little fingers to the rafters overliead, And to mumnir "Horizontal" when they lie them down in bed. Then older boys shall know the joys of adding and subtracting, And " rule of three " less puzzling be when business is transacting. Or if wc get our "Buttons" through a course of " xuigar fracfio7Js,^' Our crockery may suffer less from his untaught exac- tions. Tlien at our hands the softer sex shall due attention claim, Each little child shall curtsey if wc only breathe her name; The elder girls being taught to wash and iron, bake and boil, Stiff starch we'll wear, and praise hard fare, first pro- ducts of their toil. To sew her "Edwin's" buttons on we'll teach each "Angelina," And rustic swains will thus be kept much better fed and cleaner. Therefore, good friends, the more you give to help our good intentions. The better we can carry out our notable inventions ; 148 mM^^ [ ^^^=>^'^g — : "^SP^- '2r But even if with all your aid Ave can't reform society, "We should on the old crab-stock, man, engraft a new variety. If we should teach some simple child the narrow path to tread. Boldly to brave the fight of life, and rest its weary head ^Tiere true rest only can be found, you not in vain have given Your gold or silver mite towards the treasury of Heaven. Feane; Faielegh. TIIE EKl). .-^y -r-^cJ.; =s. <.Cv< 1 LO.NDOX : PRIXTEl) BY JAMES S. 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