NIVERSITY OF CA RIVERSIDE LIBRARY 3 1210 01838 6258 nbet & Joel's Cap LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA RIVERSIDE /Uvr trt*^ 77 ftntier a jFool'is Cap, UNDER A FOOL'S CAP SONGS BY DANIEL HENRY, JUN. LONDON KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH AND CO. MDCCCLXXXIIII TS3S/5 CONTENTS. PACE I. KING COLE 3 II. VIOLET'S BLUE 9 III. WILLY WINKIE 13 IV. BELL HORSES 19 V. MY LADY'S GARDEN 25 VI. BURNIE BEE 31 VII. DAFFY-DOWN-DlLLY 37 VIII. COCK-A-DOODLE-DO 43 IX. HlGH-DlDDLE-DlDDLE .... 49 X. THE BEGGARS COME TO TOWN ... 55 XI. BANBURY CROSS 61 XII. BOBBY SHAFTO 67 XIII. LITTLE BLUE BETTY 71 XIV. TURN, CHEESES, TURN .... 77 XV. JUMPING JOAN 83 XVI. THE OLD WOMAN UNDER THE HILL . 89 XVII. MY LITTLE WIFE 95 vi CONTENTS. PAGE XVIII. HUMPTY-DUMPTY IOI XIX. LITTLE BOY BLUE 105 XX. MATTHEW, MARK, LUKE, AND JOHN . . in XXI. MARGERY DAW 117 XXII. CURLY-LOCKS 123 XXIII. THE OLD MAN IN LEATHER . . . 129 XXIV. BAA! BAA! BLACK SHEEP . .135 # Jp TT /~\LDEN friends, though dressed anew, ^-^ Goslings of that Dean of Mothers, Trimmed and combed, still, it is true, Olden friends, though dressed anew ; Here I dedicate to you, Oh my Sister-geese . . . and brothers ! Olden friends, though dressed anew, Goslings of that Dean of Mothers ! Cole, IU Sing Coir teas a jolly oifc soul, 21 jollij oltr soul teas fir : He rallrtr for fits pipe antr fjr called for fjts total, Sn& fjr rallrtr for fjts fitrtilrrs tfirrr. HIS day was done, and the sands had run Through the measuring glass so long, That now there was left to his setting sun, But a pipe, and a bowl, and a song. But while the wine holds out to shine, The pipe holds out to burn, Why should a wise old greybeard pine ? A fond old dreamer yearn ? So, day growing dim, he filled to the brim His pipe, and his bowl also, And bade his fiddlers three play to him The burdens of Long-ago, That their spell may lift, through the purple drift Of the smoke, and the fire of the wine, The long-dead Past in its burial-shift, Like a ghost at a wizard's sign. 6 KING COLE. Then his fiddlers three made melody So strange and potent of spell, That the darkness grew as a peopled sea With the shadows, once loved so well, And the whole vast Yore uprose once more On its world-wide phantom wings, And drifted past, to the magic lore That wept from the viol-strings. First, the battle-field, where two armies reeled, Under flashing and clashing of swords, Then, the huge grim hall, where on lifted shield, A boy-king was hailed by the Lords : The postern gate, where he used to wait, For the sweetheart oftentimes Then the darkened church where she came in state At the call of the wedding chimes. Every scene and place every form and face Which the past in its glory had used, Rolled on, in a pageant of stately pace, Before King Cole, as he mused. KING COLE. So the music sped, as the hours fell dead In the ebb of the ghostly stream, While the king sat wagging his wise white head And smiled and sighed at his dream. And there seemed to rise weird signals and cries From the serried ranks and dim, As though dumb throats and blinded eyes Were beckoning to him. At last the old sweet songs were told, The ash in the pipe turned white, The emptied beaker slipped from his hold, And the dream sank back into night. The fiddlers rose, and lay down their bows, They knew they had played their last : King Cole lay back, and his eyes were close, He had followed after the Past. II. Otolet'0 Violet's ilue Difc&Ie, Haben&er's green, ffiiSljen I am fting Si&fcle, trrtrtrle ! You sljall 6e queen. YOU shall have crown Diddle, diddle ! Jewels and gold, Damasks and lace Diddle, diddle ! Centuries old. Pages behind Diddle diddle ! Heralds before, And all the state Diddle, diddle ! Queens had of yore. But when you're queen Diddle, diddle ! And I am king, Will your eyes shine Diddle, diddle ! Will my lips sing, As they do now Diddle, diddle ! When we are still, Poor country-folk Diddle, diddle ! Plain Jack and Jill? VIOLETS BLUE. Can our hearts beat Diddle, diddle ! Our love unfold, Prisoned in pomp Diddle, diddle ! Girdled with gold ? Love thrives alone Diddle, diddle ! In open air ; Where pageants are Diddle, diddle ! Love is not there. Where skies are blue Diddle, diddle ! And fields are green, I will be king Diddle, diddle ! You shall be queen. Queen of Day-Dreams Diddle, diddle ! King of No-lands, With full-filled hearts Diddle, diddle ! And empty hands. Let others king Diddle, diddle ! And queen, who will : We're better so Diddle, diddle ! Plain Jack and Jill. III. tote BtHj> Huns tfirougf) lf)f to ton. Upstairs anti Uohmstatrs F:n fits mgfjtgoton, Capping at tfjc hnntroto, peeping at t^e locft: - Err all tfjc iabtrs gone to bed ? 5t' note ten o'clock!" THEN when noises all are still, Lamps all burn low, Bolted doors and windows creak, Open and tiptoe, With his lanthorn and his staff, Grimly night-gowned, Like a watchman of the Night Winkie goes his round. For of all the Angel guard, Time out of mind, He it is hath had in charge All Baby-kind, 1 6 WILLY WINKIE. From the mud-lark, fast asleep On bare curbstone, To the puppet, plump and pink, Heir to the throne. So when steeple clocks have tolled Sleep-time at hand, When mammas and nurses rub Eyes full of sand : Silver rattles all are hushed, Pink lids all furled, Winkie comeslo oversee His little world. Ay ! but there is much to do For boys and girls : Wee bald heads to trim with floss, Empty mouths with pearls, Little pudding legs to mould Into human shapes ; General repairs besides : Scratches and scrapes. There is much to teach likewise To girls and boys, WILLY WINKIE. 17 How to caterwaul for pins, And crow for toys, How to clutch at pleasant beards Coming too close, How to neatly cram the mouth With fists and toes. Then reports to be received From baby friends, Litter'd all about the place In odds and ends, Rattles, rings and rag-dolls Cast on the shelves, Shoes and socks, that sulk because Left to themselves. Then if he make up his mind From what they tell, Baby, where its lines have fall'n, Isn't faring well. Presto ! Wee wee Winkie Bends o'er the bed, Picks up Baby, and away ! . . . . Some think it dead : c 1 8 WILLY WINKIE. But the sly old watchman Winkie knows best, He has made for some bleak home With no baby bless'd, There he lays his charge to sleep, And with the morn, There is much to-do about Baby, New-born. Upstairs and down, he goes In his night-gown, Till the Day comes peeping Into the town j Then he throws all shutters wide, Lets down the bars. . . . Goodnight, Watchman ! Off he flies To blow out the stars. IV. Ucll fjorsrs, Ijdl torses, O3 tat time of oaij ? ne o'clock ! Ctoo o'clock ! ! I SHALL wait by the gate To see you pass, Closely press'd, three abreast, Clanking with brass : With your smart red mail-cart Hard at your heels, Scarlet ground, fleck'd around With the Queen's seals. Up the hills, down the hills, Till the cart shrink To a fault dab of paint On the sky-brink, 22 BELL HORSES. Never stop till you drop On to the town, Bearing great news of state To Lords and Crown. And down deep in the keep Of your mail cart, There's a note that I wrote To my sweetheart. I had no words that glow, No penman's skill, And high-born maids would scorn Spelling so ill ; But what if it be stiff Of hand and thought, And ink-blots mark the spots Where kisses caught, He will read without heed Of phrases' worth, That I love him above All things on earth. BELL HORSES. 23 I must wait here, till late Past Evensong, Ere you come tearing home Days are so long ! But I '11 watch, till I catch Your bells chime clear .... If you '11 bring me something ? Won't you please, dear ? V. lljo to Uors mij ILatnj's gartren grab) ? Hoto troes mg Ha&s's garfcen groto ? 3.Bttf) silurr tells, aittr rorfele=sf)tlls. 3nU prdtij girls all in a rob. ALL fresh and fair, as the spring is fair, And wholly unconscious they are so fair, With eyes as deep as the wells of sleep, And mouths as fragrant as sweet June air. They all have crowns and all have wings, Pale silver crowns and faint green wings, And each has a wand within her hand, And raiment about her that cleaves and clings. But what have my Lady's girls to do ? What maiden toil or spinning to do ? They swing and sway the live-long day While beams and dreams shift to and fro. 28 MY LADVS GARDEN. And are so still that one forgets, So calm and restful, one forgets To think it strange they never change, Mistaking them for Margarets. But when night comes and Earth is dumb, When her face is veil'd, and her voice is dumb, The pretty girls rouse from their summer drowze, For the time of their magic toil has come. They deck themselves in their bells and shells, Their silver bells and their cockle-shells, Like pilgrim elves, they deck themselves And chaunting Runic hymns and spells, They spread their faint green wings abroad, Their wings and clinging robes abroad, And upward through the pathless blue They soar, like incense smoke, to God, Who gives them crystal dreams to hold, And snow-white hopes and thoughts to hold, And laughter spun of beams of the sun, And tears that shine like molten gold. MY LADY'S GARDEN. 29 And when their hands can hold no more, Their chaliced hands can hold no more, And when their bells, and cockle-shells, With holy gifts are brimming o'er, With swift glad wings they cleave the deep, As shafts of starlight cleave the deep, Through Space and Night they take their flight To where my Lady lies asleep ; And there, they coil above her bed, A fairy crown above her bed While from their hands, like sifted sands, Falls their harvest winnowed. And this is why my Lady grows, My own sweet Lady daily grows, In sorcery such, that at her touch, Sweet laughter blossoms and songs unclose. And this is what the pretty girls do, This is the toil appointed to do, With silver bells, and cockle-shells, Like Margarets all in a row. VI. I6urme TBee* ISurmr Crc ! Bunuc Urr ! Cell me tofirn hull sour toctJtring te? $f it 'be to=tnortoto &ag Caftc sour fringe and fly atoay. GO prepare your honey-house For the wedding feast to come, If you needs must work : I say Take your wings and fly away. Let your quest be what it will, Be it love, or labour still, Get you hence, while yet you may, Take your wings and fly away. Do you see these listless flowers Dancing through the shining hours In a gracefully rhythmic play ? Take your wings and fly away. D 34 BURN IE BEE. In their robes of gorgeous hues, From sharp reds to mellow blues, Like a ravell'd rainbow's spray ? Take your wings and fly away. With their girdled breasts of gold, And the jewels manifold Of their dancing-girl's array ? Take your wings and fly away. Fair are they beyond compare, Yet withal they are so fair, Death is not more dread than they ! Take your wings and fly away. In their wanton wealth of dyes, In their perfume-sated eyes, Strange spells sleep, and philtres stay ; Take your wings and fly away. He who ventures close to them, Though he touch but to the hem Of their garments as they sway Take your wings and fly away. BURNIE BEE. 35 He will suddenly grow fain, Fever with a nameless pain, That no physic can allay, Take your wings and fly away. All things fair will pall on him, All but their lithe stems grow dim, All but their buds pale and gray, Take your wings and fly away. And his soul fire-crown'd and shod Will go sorrowing like a God Fallen from the stars astray Take your wings and fly away. For these are the poison-flowers, Foster'd by the Demon-Powers : Art and Song, for Man's decay ! Take your wings and fly away. Those who know them, not again Shall they be as other men, Though they travail, though they pray, Take your wings and fly away. 36 BURNIE BEE. But shall bear the cursed gift, Without respite, without shift, Till they sleep beneath the clay, Take your wings and fly away. Burnie Bee ! Burnie Bee ! By your love, your bride to be, Listen to me, and obey : Take your wings and fly away. VII. s come up to toton, In Isrr green petticoat and jf Uoto gohm, FROM the far-away South, Where endless Summer sleeps endless dreams, With her eyes and hair full of loose sunbeams, And a kiss on her mouth ; And lo ! she stands in the market-place, In the broil and babble, the trouble and chase Of all trades and degrees, A poet's dream of the Bayadere With her naked arms, and slender legs bare Up to the knees. The town is dreary, the town is dead, A pall of smoke coils about its head, And the day drags by, With pinch'd wan features and sullen trudge, A hopeless day, like a worn-out drudge That is trying to die. 40 DAFFY-D WN-DILL Y. Folk pass beside her, standing there, In their daily rounds, too cheerless to care For the child of Chance, Till Daffy-down-dilly suddenly trips Her tambourine over her finger-tips And begins to dance. Oh ! that dance ! the dance of the Fauns of old ! The swell and swerve, as the muscles unfold, Then the measures warm, As the limbs go mad, the pulses sting, Till the very soul spreads fiery wing, Astride the storm. About her the people come, by degrees, Uncertain at first, then ill at ease, As the spell of her spreads, Till a sunbeam strikes like a sabre-flash, And turns to fire and gold the trash Of her gypsy-shreds. And then, her witchery reigns supreme : The streets flash white, the houses gleam, While in maddening whirl, DAFFY-DO WN-DILL Y. 41 From end to end of the market-place A frenzied chorus of dance keeps pace With the dancing-girl. And it seems as though Almighty Pan Had sudden blown in the nostrils of man His fiery breath of laughter : So Daffy-down- dilly came up to town, In her green petticoat and yellow gown, And April came after. VIII. fame fias lost fjet sJjoe, master's lost fjts fcon't ftnoto total to tro. red-eyed street-lamps glow, A Like embers burning low, And ghastly dawn is breaking, thick With silence and falling snow. For miles and miles ahead, The streets, untrodden, spread, Bescatter'd as with ashes, for The Carnival is dead. Vague shadows, blurred of form, Hugg'd close, to keep them warm, With nodding heads and gait footsore, Go trudging through the storm. 46 COCK-A-DOODLE-DO. Some, bundled to the nose In furs, and some half-froze Beneath their flimsy masquing-weeds And shivering silken hose ; By twos and threes, and some In single file, they come : A broken string of motley beads, All tangled out of plumb, All sorts of crosses and kins : Monks, monkeys, mandarins, Limp pantaloons, and towzled clowns, And battered harlequins, Tame goblins, sleepy sprites, Glum ladies, rueful knights, Pale slender angels in drabbled gowns, Plump devils in ravell'd tights : All races, and creeds, and climes, All costumes, masques, and mimes, In a broil of colour, untuned and unkey'd, Like the jingle of crazy chimes. COCK-A-DOODLE-DO. 47 And, arm in arm, God wot ! The sorriest of the lot, My master, as an old Volkslied, My dame, as a Gavotte. He, smock'd in brindle pelt, Cross-thong'd at legs with felt, With leathern hood, sharp'd to a peak, And cow-bells at his belt ; And she, all lace and gilt, O'er her bodice of damask quilt, While her red-clock'd stockings hide and seek Through the slits of her velvet kilt. But alas for their quips and pranks ! Against his lagging shanks, His fiddle, widow'd of its bow, Melancholically clanks, And she drags at his sleeve, Too sleepy to perceive That, somewhere in the slush and snow, Her slipper took French leave. 48 COCK-A-DOODLE-DO. Poor Carnival ! God speed ! None mourn thee now, none heed : When Song goes dumb, and Dance grows numb, It's fasting-time indeed. IX. Cfje cat plag'fc tf|e filrttle, f>e coto jump'lr obet tlje moon, f|e little &og laugii'& Co see But^ craft, ran atoan totlfi Ifjr spoon . A 1 ND there never had been Such a mummery seen In the batter'd old circus tent, As there came then about, When the lights were put out, And the rush of the audience was spent. The full cast of the troupe, From the star to the " supe " The Clown-Dish and the Song-and-dance-Spoon, A trim hussy as Cat In jack-boots and cock'd-hat, And the red-headed maid of the Moon. 52 HIGH-DIDDLE-DIDDLE. The whole gang of them dress'd In their maddest and best, Hand in hand went careering around The professional ring Where a fire beat wing Like a monster bird struck to the ground While in stately masque, On an upended cask, Sat old Pantaloon, ruling the feast, With his arm resting on A huge black demijohn Made to hold a Norse wassail at least. And all this because, Amid " storms of applause," Little Muggins had, for the first time, Faced the dreaded lime-lights, In corselet and tights, As the " Prince " in the new pantomime. Little Muggins ? A chit Upon whom they had hit Hap-hazard, one night, on the road, HIGH-DIDDLE-DIDDLE. 53 And had carried along, As one picks up a song, Just to lift the dead-weight off the load, Who had grown up, the child Of them all, grown up wild In a world which the big world ignores, Yet lithe-limb'd, brown of flesh, And as straight, strong, and fresh As the world the clean world, out-o'-doors. And now the new Star, Who will blaze near and far, On poster and bill through the town, In the plush and the plume Of her Prince's costume, In the pride of her fledgling renown, Drawn up to full height : In the leaping fire-light One scarlet from tiptoe to throat, Yet ashamed, in a way, For one shy hand will stray In search of the miss'd petticoat. 54 HIGH-DIDDLE-DIDDLE. Well may they rejoice, Make exceeding great noise, Drain the demijohn dry to her fame, For in years that have been, Never fairer young Queen Came to rule the cloud-realms of Boheme. X. C6e TBeggaciS come to Cotom ! >ark ! t&c frogs tto iarfe, irggars are coming to toton, romr in rags, and some in tags, a lift some in belbet goton. IN tatters and trash, with clatter and crash Of cymbals and trumpets and drums, The mad cohort of the Miracles-Court, A pageant of the slums. Filchers and tramps, cripples and scamps, The halt and the lame and the blind, A motley crew, with a comet-cue Of slatterns and brats behind. Nimble Joes in yellow hose, Blue giants and purple dwarfs, Slender lads in crimson plaids, And lassies with silver scarfs, 58 THE BEGGARS COME TO TOWN. The gypsy scold in cloth of gold As black and gnarl'd as Sin, The pretty slut with nothing but Her shift to hide her skin ; And in the core of the mad uproar Like a lily, blossoming, A beggar maid, yet one array'd Past the glory of a king, In her tatter'd cloud of a bridal shroud, And patches of white Samite, With her brown legs bare, her thick black hair, And eyes of midsummer night. No jewels deck the lithe young neck, Her brows are ungirt with gold, And yet is there not one more fair In all the king's household. Well might so be, for this is she For whom Cophetua pines, Nor finds he grace in court or chase, Nor solace in festal wines, THE BEGGARS COME TO TOWN. 59 Since first she came in beautiful shame To kneel before his throne . . . It seemed that earth held nothing worth A king save her alone. And now they come, all Beggardom In its glory gathering From far and wide, to feast the bride Elected by the king. Let dogs go bark, and simples hark ! Sing hail ! with a will and a way, For the bride they bring to her lover-king, This beggars' holiday. XI. TBanimrp Cross* ONCE on a time a fine Lady rode Into the East, when the morning glowed, With silver bells at her saddle-cloth, And her finger aflash with the ring of troth. Into the East, where the morning sings While the sea lies sunning her silver wings, And the sunbeams dance thro' Banbury town Fallen asleep on the gold sea down. Ah ! but it was a pleasure to see The ride of this Lady of high degree, Gems round her girdle, gold over her lap, And crimson cock-feathers to plume her cap. Maidens of honour, in silken attire Each pink maid shadow'd by scarlet squire Helmeted knights and velveted clowns, Heralds with trumpets and pages with crowns. 64 B ANBURY CROSS. Fair as Day, when the year is young, And blythe as the laugh on a linnet's tongue, Went she, red-rose with the joy to come, For her lord and lover is coming home ! Home from his quest to the Holy Shrine, Through the blood and fire of far Palestine, Home to the lady who longs for him With heart grown hungry and eyes grown dim. On through the opening heart of the Spring The lady went, with her plighting-ring, Till against the film of the purple hills Struck sharp old Banbury's gray bastilles. Lo ! as they rode into Banbury town, A pilgrim lay in his russet gown, Like a dog that is let to die in the street And this was the lover she rode to meet. Thro' the wax and wane of the changing years, A lady rides with wailing and tears, A rich-clad lady a lady mad Singing a song that is wondrous sad : B ANBURY CROSS. 65 " iitfcr a rorfe=f)orse to Caniurg Cross, Co see a fine Hairs * Ore on a gres fiorse, Kings on fter fingers anl> tells on l>er toes, sanU sfje s^all ^abe music to^ereber stje 0ow." XII. >l)afto's gone to 6fa : fcucfcles on fits Snrr rome 6ar& anfc marrg me, WITH his treasures won at sea, Spanish gold and Portugee, And his heart, still fast to me Pretty Bobby Shafto ! In a captain's pomp and pride, With a gold sword at his side, He'll come back to claim his bride, Pretty Bobby Shafto ! So she sang, the winter long, Till the sun came, golden-strong, And the blue-birds caught her song : All of Bobby Shafto. 70 BOBBY SHAFTO. Days went by, and Autumn came, Eyes grew dim, and feet went lame, But the song, it was the same, All of Bobby Shafto. Never came across the sea, Silver buckles on his knee, Bobby to his bride-to-be, Fickle Bobby Shafto ! For where midnight never dies, In the Storm- King's caves of ice, Stiff and stark, poor Bobby lies Heigho ! Bobby Shafto. XIII. Hittle 1Blue TBettp, ittttlr Slur 'Betty librtr in a lane, S>t)e soft goott ale to gentlemen. entletnen eame eberp trap, Sntr little Elue ISettg tiopp'fc A RARE old tavern, this '"' Hand and Glove," That little Blue Betty was mistress of; But rarer still than its far-famed taps Were Betty's trim ankles and dainty caps. So gentlemen came every day As much for the caps as the ale they say And call'd for their pots, and her mug to boot : If it better'd their thirst they were welcome to 't ; For Betty, with none of those foolish qualms Which come of inordinate singing of psalms, Thought kissing a practice both hearty and hale, To freshen the lips and smarten the ale. 74 LITTLE BLUE BETTY. So gallants came, by the dozen and score, To sit on the bench by the trellised door, From the full high noon till the shades grew long, With their pots of ale, and snatches of song, While little Blue Betty, in shortest of skirts, And whitest of caps, and bluest of shirts, Went hopping away, rattling pots and pence, Getting kiss'd now and then as pleased Providence. How well I remember ! I used to sit down By the door, with Byronic, elaborate frown Staring hard at her, as she whisk'd about me, Being jealous as only calf-lovers can be, Till Betty would bring me my favourite mug, Her lips all a-pucker, her shoulders a-shrug, And wheedle and coax my young vanity back, So I fancied myself the preferr'd of the pack. Ah ! the dear old times ! I turn'd out of my way, As I travell'd westward the other day, For a ramble among those boy-haunts of mine, And a friendly nod to the crazy old sign. LITTLE BLUE BETTY. 75 The inn was gone to make room, alas ! For a railroad buffet, all gilding and glass, Where sat a proper young person in pink, Selling ale which I hadn't the heart to drink. XIV. Curn, irraft, sfjr treto'tr nte nig ale, ttc fire an& toK a fine tale. r I ^HE tale of a time that is cloudless noon, JL Made sweet with the smells of the ripening June, Made tuneful with all the fresh voices of life The tale of our Honeymoon, little wife ! When we ramble alone through our dream of dreams A tale that is rhythmed with the dance of sun beams, And set to the music of thrushes and brooks, There is not such another in all fairy books. I've looked forward to this happy time many years, In bright smiling dreams, ay, and sometimes through tears, 98 MY LITTLE WIFE. Though it hasn't come yet, I am certain it will, The dear same story thou tellest me still. It may be thy story will never come true In this world, where the happenings of dreams are few; No matter ! we'll wait till we're under the sod, There are other worlds after this, thank God ! When to each the other is all in all, Let betide what will, let what can befall, There are not sorrows enough on earth To dull love's glamour, or cheapen its worth. Meanwhile, we will live, and keep telling our tale, Abiding its coming, though all else fail : For all things that man can withhold or give Must die, but our love is from God : it will live. True face ! which I never have look'd on in vain When I wanted strength to be patient again, Though thy lines grow dim, thy fresh colour dies, And twilight has come in the dear, clear eyes, MY LITTLE WIFE. 99 Come sit down beside me, and tell me once more The tale that has help'd me so often before. I am sick of waiting, and hungry to laugh : Come ! tell it once more, little photograph ! XVIII. BURN'D and bare, the sands are spread Fire implacable beats overhead, Heavens like Hell, and beneath, there lies An august head, with blind dreaming eyes. Once on a time, was lifted higher No kinglier head, from Carthage to Tyre, No loftier stature the sun look'd on, Not even Rhodes or Singing Memnon. sat on his huge calm brows, As sparrows perch'd on the pitch of a house, Tempests crouch'd at his foot, abash'd Like fawning hounds by the master lash'd. Far to the edge of the desert's girth Stretch'd the shadow of him on the earth, Cowering beneath like a thing afraid : So was his fame on the vast world laid. 104 HUMPTY-DUMPTY. Nations came from far-away lands, Over the deep, and the waste of sands, Kissing the footstool his huge feet trod To hail him High, Everlasting God. Now he lies prone he is fallen ! Great Pan, God of Gods, very Lord of Man, A shapeless litter of shattered rock For newts and lizards to spit at and mock. None now come to hail his fame, His greatness is gone, forgotten his name. Motionless, changeless, unbounded, untrod The desert broods o'er the broken God. While on so much of its base that stands Worn by the tides of men's lips, and the sands, This is inscribed, in a cockney's scrawl, Last and bloodiest gibe of all : lt}umj)tB=Bumptj,) sat on a Wtall. XIX. little IBo TBltte, ii ittlr Uoy 13lur ! dome tloto up sour liorn. t)e sleep's in tlje meatroto, tfje roto's in tlje corn. 5'3 tfirrr is tfir little tog tenlring tfir sfjrrp ? un&er tlje ^agcocit faet asleep ! FAST asleep ? with the sun noon high ! While the bread-getting moments go hurrying by, Man and beast in the fields at work Does he think him alone privileged to shirk ? Tending the sheep ! why, the veriest drone Could do what little there is to be done : Even that little's too much, so it seems ! Plague on all idlers and dreamers of dreams ! Half a year's treasure, wrenched from the soil By dogged strain of unceasing toil, Wantonly wasted, trod down under heel, To pay for the sleep of a young ne'er-do-weel ! io8 LITTLE BOY BLUE. Labourer ! Labourer ! think, ere you blame How often his horn's silver melody came, Staying your courage, when courage had flagg'd, Lighting the dead heavy burden you dragg'd : Where do you think he has found them grow, These wonderful songs which have cheer'd you so ? Toil as you may, in the sweat of your brow, You will find none such, where you delve and plough. Farmer ! consider, oh ! you, who begrudge That scant broken sleep of your hard-driven drudge, All of us have not like tasks to fulfil, There are other fields than your own to till ! He is of those who have ears to hear A higher message than comes to your ear, Eyes to see, back of Nature's blind mask, The Great Face beckon to holier task. He is of them who are called from the throng, To work in the fields of immortal song, Gleaning a harvest of golden grain, Without which we labour and toil but in vain. LITTLE BOY BLUE. 109 Somewhere, whither his dreams have led Beyond the hills that purple ahead, Fields are there to be harvested in With the very bread of the soul to win. Little Boy Blue ! Go sleep out your sleep, Though the cow's in the corn, in the meadow the sheep, Better to lose a whole harvest of corn Than the tidings bom from thy lifted horn. XX. , Hufce, ana 3(ofm* PHEW ! that night ! what a night it was ! Streets like glass and the air wet gauze ; While round corners, half ice, half soot, Pounced the wind, like some vicious brute. As I pass'd, through the gusts and mists, Somewhere out of sight fell the hour : Twelve, from the chimes in the glum church-tower Of the Four Evangelists. It was late, and I was sore, Hungry, sleepy, and cross as patch, When I fancied, near the door, Some one sang the olden catch : |Bart$eto ! fHarft I ILufee, anto #ofjn ! otD do sou do ? and fijoto do sou do ? And f)oto do sou do? again. A STRANGE old man! and strangely clad! most strange his mode of greeting ! And yet I felt instinctively this was no strangers' meeting : There was a something once well known, this un known face behind, As some old tune, the words of which have fallen out of mind. He walk'd in silence at my side until we reach'd my gateway, I turn'd in, paused to nod good-bye : he gravely bow'd, and straightway Pass'd on before me to my room, threw wide the door, and took A seat which fronts the old arm-chair in my favourite chimney-nook. 132 THE OLD MAN IN LEATHER. It had been human to resent his treating me so queerly; And yet I felt nor wrath nor pique a sort of wonder merely: Where had I seen this face before ? Why should he feel at home In this, my room ? Who was the man ? Whence ? Wherefore had he come ? I am not bless'd with many friends, I have nor wife, nor daughters, Not even sunshine ever comes to cheer my bachelor quarters : A poor old bookworm left alone in my sere and yellow leaf, What have I worth the coming for, to lover, snob, or thief? Besides, this was no common face I saw in my new comer, But nobly lined : a face that read like a kingly page of Homer ; His suit was odd, yet rich withal gold-figured black shagreen, The very dress that Shakspere now, or Rabelais revels in. THE OLD MAN IN LEATHER, 133 So while I lean'd back in my chair, my puzzled fancy started In search of clues, among the dust and drift of years departed, As he sat silent, with cross'd hands, his eyes held fast to mine : Grave eyes, that held a world of love, and pity almost divine. Then from the deep beyond those eyes, that never closed or wander'd, Rose slowly his identity before me, as I ponder'd ; And though he lifted not a hand, and though he spake no word, With all my soul I knew him then, with every pulse I heard. This was the guide I followed once, in days long unremember'd, On land and sea, through solitudes and castles many chamber' d, Who taught my heart to blossom out, who taught my lips to sing, Who roused a sleeping god in me : my Prophet Poet King. 134 THE OLD MAN IN LEATHER. He told of battles waged and won by deeds of marvellous omen, Of highest homage earn'd from men, and noblest love from women Of youth's most radiant promises and wildest dreams fulfill'd, Just as a child had pictured once, just as a fool had will'd. No need was there to tell his name, no need to speak his meaning, I recognized him through the mists of ages intervening, This was the Ghost which in my dreams the Future show'd to me : Myself! that never was; alas, myself! that could not be. And now? the pity of it all ! my hopes, and dreams, and longings The Future and its righting hand, the Past and all its wrongings Have left me naked at the last before this Face of old, To read it as it were a book, a story that is told. XXIV. IBaa! IBaa! IBlacft 15aa ! ISaa ! iSIacfe Sfieep ! ffcabe gou ans toool ? gea, tljat Ijabe I : tfjree tags full : ite for tng master, one for mg frame, ne for tfie little ios to^o libes &oton t^e lane. WOOL, that never rams nor ewes Bleach'd in sunshine, washed in dews, Wool that never, for maid or man, Summer shore or Winter span. But a fleece that unseen hands Gathered in the Fairy lands, From the clouds of shadowy sheep In the starfields of the Deep ; Woven on the loom of night Into scarves of scented light, Of a woof more fair and frail Than October's frosted veil. 138 BAA! BAA! BLACK SHEEP. When the West is throbbing yet With a memory of Sunset, And coy Night attunes her lute, Blind sweet bard whose lips are mute, Then is set my time to come From my kingdom of the gloam, Bearing in my three bags full Scarves that are spun of the marvel wool, One for my master lying prone, Panting for the day's toil done, Wet with sweat that halloweth One for my master, black as Death, One for my dame, whose wan hands rest Cross'd upon her holy breast In its mother-fashion fashion bare, One for my dame, as white as Prayer ; One for my little boy, curled up tight, As a flower-bud folds at night. Silver scarf with golden seams, Arabesqued with scarlet dreams. BAA! BAA! BLACK SHEEP, v 139 And if God but will it so, In the morning when I go, I may leave my scarves Ah ! then Peace at the last will be with men. EPILOGUE. TJ7~HEN I began this loose handful of rhymes I had no other purpose than to vary Thy solemn saws and sayings centenary With fresher costumes and new pantomimes, Dear Mother Goose! that, as in olden times, So now, thou shouldst still be the bounteous fairy Who brings rich gifts of mirth a drone's vagary, As one who sets a wording to the chimes ; But as the work went on, the purpose heightened, For verses, like the wind, blow where they list // is not thou who peerest through the mist Of childish dreams, the graying years off-frightened But one a mother's face with eyes love-lighten V/, Who Tised to bend above me to be kiss'd. CHISWICK PRESS: c. WHITTINGHAM AND co., TOOKS COURT, CHANCSRY LANE. 0^-#2e <&^*~*>. o*r -&" &-^& , UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY AA 001 311 282 6