V/ /rM\\^ O' ri^m^ University of California • Berkeley Fran the bDok collection of BERIK^MD H. BRONSON bequeathed by him or donated by his wife MILDRED S. BRONSON CONSTlTUn O NAL CLUB : LIBRARY. M L, A. Crowquill, Del, J. lee, Sc CROWQUiLLlsCfCK ^^^- ^m\ EDITED BY — " - " ■'■ n. -i.i. - .i . j r / A NEW EDITION, WITH SEVERAL NEW BALLADS. [LLUSTRATED BY ALFKED CROWQUILL, EICHARD DOYLE AND JOHN LEECH. Wm. S. OER, and CO., AMEN CORNER, PATEENOSTER ROW. CnnttntH. Ipflttisli %aMs. PAGE THE BROKEN PITCHER 3 DON FERNANDO GOMERSALEZ : from the Spanish— OF Astley's ^ THE COURTSHIP OF OUR CID 20 w W THE FIGHT WITH THE SNAPPING TURTLE, OR THE AMERICAN ST. GEORGE :— Fytte First 29 Fytte Second 33 THE LAY OF MR. COLT : - Streak the First 38 Streak the Second 40 THE DEATH OF JABEZ DOLLAR . . . . • 45 THE ALABAMA DUEL 50 THE AMERICAN'S APOSTROPHE TO BOZ ... 55 CONTEJ^TS. f 4 ^ § BisrElliiiiBntts foallnk. THE STUDENT OF JENA ....... 63 THE LAY OF THE LEVITE . . . . . . * 68 BURSCH GROGGENBURG 70 NIGHT AND MORNING 74 THE BITER BIT . 76 THE CONVICT AND THE AUSTRALIAN LADY . . 79 THE DOLEFUL LAY OF THE HONOURABLE I. O. UWINS .82 THE KNYGHTE AND THE TAYLZEOUR'S DAUGHTER 88 THE MIDNIGHT VISIT , 94 THE LAY OF THE LOVELORN 99 MY WIFE'S COUSIN 109 THE QUEEN IN FRANCE: an ancient Scottish Ballad :— Part 1 113 Part II 119 THE MASSACRE OF THE MACPHERSON : from the Gaelic 125 THE YOUNG STOCKBROKER'S BRIDE .... 129 THE LAUREATES' TOURNEY :— Fytte the First 133 Fytte the Second 138 THE ROYAL BANQUET 142 THE BARD OF ERIN'S LAMENT 147 THE LAUREATE 149 A MIDNIGHT MEDITATION 153 MONTGOMERY : a Poem . . . . . . .157 THE DEATH OF SPACE . . . . . . .160 M MISCELLANEOUS BALLADS (continued) :- PAGE LITTLE JOHN AND THE RED FRIAR: a Lay of Sherwood:— Fytte the First 162 Fytte the Second 168 THE RHYME OF SIR LAUNCELOT BOGLE . . .176 THE LAY OF THE LOVER'S FRIEND . . . .190 FRANCESCA DA RIMINI 194 THE CADI'S DAUGHTER : a Legend of the Bosphorus . 198 EASTERN SERENADE 202 THE DEATH OF DUVAL 205 THE DIRGE OF THE DRINKER 210 DAME FREDEGONDE 213 THE DEATH OF ISHMAEL 218 PARR'S LIFE PILLS 220 TARQUIN AND THE AUGUR 222 LA MORT D' ARTHUR 224 JUPITER AND THE INDIAN ALE 225 THE LAY OF THE DOUDNEY BROTHERS . . .227 PARIS AND HELEN 230 SONG OF THE ENNUYE 233 CAROLINE 236 TO A FORGET-ME-NOT 239 THE MISHAP 241 COMFORT IN AFFLICTION 244 THE INVOCATION 246 THE HUSBAND'S PETITION 249 SONNET TO BRITAIN .253 * i f €mt, tai{ mi} kp EEii rjaii tlrBiti if pu list ; Mr\ ii^nsiM phlir, if pit list tint, tai}, CnmB, fnr pit tonm m» ^ am ^t mlm siiiig dDf 3fiistBr Cnlt, u^ % m \t mtin Ixmtl U WiWiimV tliB milii auii mnuii'niiis snug. vm^ I i CnnrB, iisto to mi| lap, m\ pu sfiKll Irm innr BnriiBiiiffrtti, tattling tor \\^t \mm\i\ mu% %^n tn tljB tost tjiB trate /it|taU ; innr i. f . Biliis tor Ijis rnetrii's gnuii, %n uwfkit Ml kU tanriB-kute& nt pniitt, f nnk toiigmgs in ttr^ ^nniiping tortb's nrnmli. CnniB, listen tn mq lags, nn& pn hIieII jiBnr f llB mingbJi mnsir nf nil mntorn terk jFtonting nlnft in snrfi pBrnlinr strnins, Ss strikB tljmMlnBS niittj Bnng m\ mm ; jFnr gnn '' taigjit-'linrpi'' f Bnnpnn sljall sing ; 31Iaranlai5 rljant a mnrB ttian Enman laij; M Inter Igttnn, Itjttnn Inlnr^r m\, tnsBBn amiirsta mrtayligsir fng, innrl mBlanrjinlij jinmagB tn tljB man : jFnr pn nntB mnrB 3Hnntgnmrrg sfiall ranB %u all tiis rapt rahiMtg nf rhgmB ; ^ankBBn'Ji Cnrkaign^ sjiallpiiB Ijis pni[ nntB, M nnr f^nnng feglanJi's p^nng trnmpt lilnm. ^^^^^ I^iomsji Inllak. ^¥m A-) ., ■u t €liB larnkBtt f itrjiBr, It was a Moorish maiden was sitting by a well, And what the maiden thought of, I cannot, cannot tell, When by there rode a valiant knight from the town of Oviedo — Alphonzo Guzman was he hight, the Count of Desparedo. '^ Oh, maiden, Moorish maiden ? why sitt'st thou by the spring ? Say, dost thou seek a lover, or any other thing ? ?)|^ 1' 1 THE BOOK OP EALLADS. Why gazest thou upon me, with eyes so large and wide, And wherefore doth the pitcher lie broken by thy side ?*' '^ I do not seek a lover, thou Christian knight so gay, Eecause an article like that hath never come my way ; And why I gaze upon you, I cannot, cannot tell. Except that in your iron hose you look uncommon swell. 'n " My pitcher it is broken, and this the reason is, — A shepherd came behind me, and tried to snatch a kiss ; I would not stand his nonsense, so ne'er a word I spoke. But scored him on the costard, and so the jug was broke. *^My uncle, the Alcayde, he waits for me at home. And will not take his tumbler until Zorayda come. I cannot bring him water — the pitcher is in pieces — And so I 'm sure to catch it, 'cos he wallops all his nieces." '' Oh, maiden, Moorish maiden ! wilt thou be ruled by me ! So wipe thine eyes and rosy lips, and give me kisses three ; And I '11 give thee my helmet, thou kind and courteous lady. To carry home the water to thy uncle, the Alcayde." He lighted down from off his steed — he tied him to a tree — He bowed him to the maiden, and took his kisses three : '^ To wrong thee, sweet Zorayda, I swear would be a sin !" He knelt him at the fountain, and he dipped his helmet in. II'' /£ THE BOOK OP BALLADS. Up rose the Moorish maiden — ^behind the knight she steals, And caught Alphonzo Guzman up tightly by the heels ; She tipped him in, and held him down beneath the bubbling water, — '^ Kow, take thou that for venturing to kiss Al Hamet's daughter !" A Christian maid is weeping in the town of Oviedo ; She waits the coming of her love, the Count of Desparedo. I pray you all in charity, that you will never tell. How he met the Moorish maiden beside the lonely well. - ...-^-C-i^^^^^ n THE BOOK OF BALLADS. u Don Eeenando Gomeesalez ! basely have they borne thee down ; Paces ten behind thy charger is thy glorions body thrown ; Tetters have they bound upon thee — iron fetters fast and sure ; Don Fernando Gomersalez, thou art cap- tive to the Moor ! mr THE BOOK OF BALLADS. Long within a sable dungeon pined that brave and noble 7| knight, jj ^ For the Saracenic warriors well they knew and feared his Ifi might ; Long he lay and long he languished on his dripping bed of stone, Till the cankered iron fetters ate their way into his bone. On the twentieth day of August — 't was the feast of false Mahound — Came the Moorish population from the neighbouring cities round ; There to hold their foul carousal, there to dance and there to sing. And to pay their yearly homage to Al-Widdicomb, the King ! First they wheeled their supple coursers, wheeled them at their utmost speed. Then they galloped by in squadrons, tossing far the light jereed; Then around the circus racing, faster than the swallow flies. Did they spurn the yellow saw-dust in the rapt spectators' eyes. THE BOOK OF BALLADS. Proudly did the Moorish monarch every passing warrior greet, As he sate enthroned above them, with the lamps beneath his feet ; ^^ Tell me, thou black-bearded Cadi ! are there any in the land, That against my janissaries dare one hour in combat stand? " 9. Then the bearded Cadi answered — " Ee not wroth, my lord, the King, If thy faithful slave shall venture to observe one little thing ; M THE BOOK OP BALLADS. Valiant, doubtless, are thy warriors, and their beards are long and hairy. And a thunderbolt in battle is each bristly janissary : ^^But I cannot, my sovereign, quite forget that fearful day. When I saw the Christian army in its terrible array ; When they charged across the footlights like a torrent down its bed. With the red cross floating o'er them, and Fernando at their head ! " Don Fernando Gomersalez ! matchless chieftain he in war, Mightier than Don Sticknejo, braver than the Cid Eavar ! IN^ot a cheek within Grenada, my King, but wan and pale is. When they hear the dreaded name of Don Fernando Go- mersalez !" 4' 1^ "Thou shalt see thy champion, Cadi! hither quick the captive bring!" Thus in wrath and deadly anger spoke Al-Widdicomb, the King : '^Ift " Paler than a maiden's forehead is the Christian's hue I ween, gM Since a year within the dungeons of Grenada he hath been ! ' THE BOOK or BALLADS. Then they brought the Gomersalez, and they led the warrior in, Weak and wasted seemed his body, and his face was pale and thin ; Eut the ancient fire was burning, unallayed, within his eye. And his step was proud and stately, and his look was stem and high. Scarcely from tumultuous cheering could the galleried crowd refrain, For they knew Don Gomersalez and his prowess in the plain ; But they feared the grizzly despot and his myrmidons in steel. So their sympathy descended in the fruitage of Seville. '* Wherefore, monarch, hast thou brought me from the dungeon dark and drear. Where these limbs of mine have wasted in confinement for a year ? Dost thou lead me forth to torture ? — Eack and pincers I defy— Is it that thy base grotesques may behold a hero die ?" '' Hold thy peace, thou Christian caitiff! and attend to what I say : Thou art called the starkest rider of the Spanish curs' array — ^T THE BOOK OF BALLADS. If thy courage be undaunted, as they say it was of yore, ^^ Thou may'st yet achieve thy freedom, — ^yet regain thy native shore. ^^ Courses three within this circus 'gainst my warriors shalt thou run. Ere yon weltering pasteboard ocean shall receive yon muslin sun; Victor — thou shalt have thy freedom ; but if stretched upon the plain, To thy dark and dreary dungeon they shall bear thee back again." '^ Give me but the armour, monarch, I have worn in many a field. Give me but my trusty helmet, give me but my dinted shield ; And my old steed, Bavieca, swiftest courser in the ring. And I rather should imagine that I 'U do the business. King!" Then they carried down the armour from the garret where it lay, ! but it was red and rusty, and the plumes were shorn away ; j^^ And they led out Bavieca, from a foul and filthy van. For the conqueror had sold him to a Moorish dogs-meat man. THE BOOK OF BALLADS. When the steed beheld his master, then he whinnied loud and free, And, in token of subjection, knelt upon each broken knee ; And a tear of walnut largeness to the warrior's eyelids rose, As he fondly picked a beanstraw from his coughing courser's d *^Many a time, Bavieca, hast thou borne me through the fray! Bear me but again as deftly through the listed ring this day; Or if thou art worn and feeble, as may well have come to pass. Time it is, my trusty charger, both of us were sent to grass ! " Then he seized his lance, and vaulting in the saddle, sate upright, Marble seemed the noble courser, iron seemed the mailed knight; And a cry of admiration burst from every Moorish lady — *^ Five to four on Don Fernando !" cried the sable-bearded Cadi. Warriors three from Alcantara burst into the listed space. Warriors three, all bred in battle, of the proud Alhambra race : THE BOOK OF BALLADS. Trumpets sounded, coursers bounded, and the foremost straight went down, Tumbling, like a sack of turnips, just before the jeering Clown. In the second chieftain galloped, and he bowed him to the King, And his saddle-girths were tightened by the Master of the Eing; Through three blazoned hoops he bounded ere the desperate fight began — Don Ternando ! bear thee bravely ! — 't is the Moor Abdor- rhoman ! Like a double streak of lightning, clashing in the sulphurous sky. Met the pair of hostile heroes, and they made the saw-dust fly; And the Moslem spear so stiffly smote on Don Fernando' s mail, That he reeled, as if in liquor, back to Bavieca's tail. m I' But he caught the mace beside him, and he griped it hard and fast. And he swung it starkly upwards as the foeman bounded past ; THE BOOK OP BALLADS. % %: And the deadly stroke descended through the skull and through the brain, As ye may have seen a poker cleave a cocoa-nut in twain. Sore astonished was the monarch, and the Moorish warriors all. Save the third bold chief, who tarried and beheld his brethren fall ; And the Clown in haste arising from the footstool where he sat, ^N'otified the first appearance of the famous Acrobat ! ! [N'ever on a single charger rides that stout and stalwart Moor, rive beneath his stride so stately bear him o'er the trembling floor ; Five Arabians, black as midnight — on their necks the rein he throws, And the outer and the inner feel the pressure of his toes. JS'ever wore that chieftain armour ; in a knot himself he ties, With his grizzly head appearing in the centre of his thighs. Till the petrified spectator asks in paralysed alarm — Where may be the warrior's body, — ^which is leg, and which is arm ? THE BOOK OP BALLADS. I? I I '^ Sound the charge !" the coursers started ; with a yell and furious vault, High in air the Moorish champion cut a wondrous somer- sault; O'er the head of Don Fernando like a tennis-ball he sprung, Caught him tightly by the girdle, and behind the crupper hung. Then his dagger Don Fernando plucked from out its jewelled sheath. And he struck the Moor so fiercely, as he grappled him beneath, 75 THE BOOK OF BALLADS. That the good Damascus weapon sunk within the folds of fat, And, as dead as Julius Caesar, dropped the Gordian Acrobat. Meanwhile fast the sun was sinking, — it had sunk beneath the sea. Ere Fernando Gromersalez smote the latter of the three ; And Al-Widdicomb, the monarch, pointed with a bitter smile, To the deeply- darkening canvas — ^blacker grew it all the while. ^' Thou hast slain my warriors, Spaniard ! but thou hast not kept thy time ; Only two had sank before thee ere I heard the curfew chime ; Back thou goest to thy dungeon, and thou may'st be wond- rous glad. That thy head is on thy shoulders for thy work to-day, my lad ! ^^ Therefore all thy boasted valour, Christian dog, of no avail is!" ^Sl Dark as midnight grew the brow of Don Fernando Gomer- salez ; — 16 THE BOOK OF BALLADS. Stiffly sate he in his saddle, grimly looked around the ring, Laid his lance within the rest, and shook his gauntlet at the Kinor. '' 0, thou foul and faithless traitor ! wouldst thou play me false again ? Welcome death and welcome torture, rather than the captive's chain ! But I give thee warning, caitiff ! Look thou sharply to thine eye — Unavenged, at least in harness, Gomersalez shall not die!" Thus he spoke, and Bavieca like an arrow forward flew, Eight and left the Moorish squadron wheeled to let the hero through ; Brightly gleamed the lance of vengeance — fiercely sped the fatal thrust — From his throne the Moorish monarch tumbled lifeless in the dust. Speed thee, speed thee, Bavieca ! speed thee faster than the wind ! , .J, Life and freedom are before thee, deadly foes give chase '*^j behind ! 17 THE BOOK OF BALLADS. Speed thee up tlie sloping spring-board ; o'er the bridge that spans the seas ; Yonder gauzy moon will light thee through the grove of canvas trees. 18 J/ THE BOOK OF BALLABS. I Close before thee, Pampeluna spreads her painted paste- board gate ! Speed thee onward, gallant courser, speed thee with thy knightly freight — Victory ! the town receives them ! — Grentle ladies, this the tale is. Which I learned in Astley's Circus, of Fernando Gomer- -^^^^'^ s €t[B Cnttrtelit|i nf nur €11 What a pang of sweet emotion Thrilled the Master of the Eing, When he first beheld the lady, Through the stabled portal spring ! Midway in his wild grimacing Stopped the piebald- visaged Clown ; And the thunders of the audience Nearly brought the gallery down. THE BOOK OF BALLADS. Ti^ V Donna Inez Woolfordinez ! Saw ye ever sucli a maid, With the feathers s waling o'er her, And her spangled rich brocade ? In her fairy hand a horsewhip. On her foot a buskin small ; So she stepped, the stately damsel. Through the scarlet grooms and all. And she beckoned for her courser, And they brought a milk-white mare ; Proud, I ween, was that Arabian Such a gentle freight to bear : And the Master moved towards her, With a proud and stately walk ; And, in reverential homage, Eubbed her soles with virgin chalk. Bound she flew, as Flora flying Spans the circle of the year ; And the youth of London, sighing, Half forgot the ginger beer — Quite forgot the maids beside them ; As they surely well might do. When she raised two Roman candles. Shooting fireballs red and blue 1 *^ THE BOOK OP BALLADS. Swifter than tlie Tartar's arrow, Lighter than the lark in flight, On the left foot now she bounded, I^ow she stood upon the right. Like a beantifnl Bacchante, Here she soars, and there she kneels^ While amid her floating tresses, Plash two whirling Catherine wheels I Hark ! the blare of yonder trnmpet ! See, the gates are open wide ! Eoom, there, room for Gomersalez, — Gomersalez in his pride ! Eose the shouts of exultation, Eose the cat's triumphant call. As he bounded, man and courser, Over Master, Clown, and all ! Donna Inez Woolfordinez ! "Why those blushes on thy cheek r Doth thy trembling bosom tell thee, He hath come thy love to seek ? Pleet thy Arab — ^but behind thee He is rushing like a gale ; One foot on his coal black's shoulders, And the other on his tail ! *^te 22 THE BOOK or BALLADS. Onward, onward, panting maiden ! He is faint and fails — for now, By the feet he hangs suspended Prom his glistening saddle-bow. Down are gone both cap and feather. Lance and gonfalon are down ! Trunks, and cloak, and vest of velvet, He has flung them to the Clown. Paint and failing ! Up he vaulteth, Fresh as when he first began ; All in coat of bright vermilion, 'Quipped as Shaw, the Life-guardsman, Right and left his whizzing broadsword, Like a sturdy flail, he throws ; Cutting out a path unto thee Through imaginary foes. f Woolfordinez ! speed thee onward ! He is hard upon thy track, — Paralysed is Widdicombez, ^or his whip can longer crack ;- He has flung away his broadsword, 'Tis to clasp thee to his breast. Onward ! — see he bares his bosom, Tears away his scarlet vest ; THE BOOK OF BALLADS. cr=:~rf^g^^^ Leaps from out his nether garments, And his leathern stock unties — As the flower of London's dustmen, ;N'ow in swift pursuit he flies. ]N^imhly now he cuts and shuffles^ O'er the buckle, heel and toe 1 And with hands deep in his pockets Winks to all the throng helo-w I I Onward, onward rush the coursers ; Woolfordinez, peerless girl, O'er the garters lightly bounding From her steed with airy whirl I Gamersalez, wild with passion, Danger — all but her — ^forgets ; Wheresoe'er she flies, pursues her. Casting clouds of somersets 1 t\ m ^)nward, onwajrd rush the coursers ; Bright is Gomersalez' eye ; Saints protect thee, Woolfordinez, For his triumph, sure, is nigh ! Now his courser's flanks he lashes, O'er his shoulder flings the rein* iVnd his feet aloft he tosses, Holding stoutly by the mane I ^n 2i THE EOOK OF BALLADS. Then, his feet once more regaining- Doffs his jacket, doifs his smalls ; And in graceful folds around him A bespangled tunic falls. Pinions from his heels are bursting, His bright locks have pinions o'er them ; And the public sees with rapture Maia's nimble son before them. Speed thee, speed thee, Woolfordinez ! For a panting god pursues ; And the chalk is very nearly Eubbed from thy white satin shoes ; Every bosom throbs with terror. You might hear a pin to drop ; All was hushed, save where a starting Cork gave out a casual pop. One smart lash across his courser. One tremendous bound and stride, And our noble Cid was standing Ey his Woolfordinez' side ! With a god's embrace he clasped her, Eaised her in his manly arms ; And the stables' closing barriers Hid his valour, and her charms ! 'A J .,? if ( 4 ^^ &t f %mtmm l^nllnb. J'ni s=i^J 27 ■|S^2shi_«-==-.:^r*«c.d£a!ffls -^^ J? uiitjl tjiB iHapiiiiig £urttr : ^r, ^t American St. George. FYTTE FIRST. Have you heard of Philip Slingsby, Slingsby of the manly chest ; How he slew the Snapping Turtle In the regions of the West ? Every day the huge Cawana Lifted up its monstrous jaws ; And it swallowed Langton Bennett, And digested Rufus Dawes. •^^^ ■<^^»Sii2^g^ J- -IT? .f M » THE BOOK OF BALLADS. ,r Kiled, I ween, was Philip Slingsby, Their untimely deaths to hear ; For one author owed him money, And the other loved him dear. '^ Listen now, sagacious Tyler, Whom the loafers all obey ; What reward ^\all Congress give me. If I take this pest away ?" Then sagacious Tyler answered, '^ You're the ring- tailed squealer ! Less Than a hundred heavy dollars Won't be offered you, I guess ! '^ And a lot of wooden nutmegs In the bargain, too, we'll throw — Only you jest fix the criter — Won't you liquor ere you go ?" Straightway leaped the valiant Slingsby Into armour of Seville, With a strong Arkansas toothpick Screwed in every joint of steel. " Come thou with me, Cullen Bryant, Come with me as squire, I pray ; Be the Homer of the battle That I go to wage to-day." m THE EOOK OF BALLADS. So they went along careering With a loud and martial tramp, Till they neared the Snapping Turtle In the dreary Swindle Swamp. But when Slingsby saw the water, Somewhat pale, I ween, was he. *^ If I come not back, dear Bryant, Tell the tale to Melanie ! *' Tell her that I died devoted. Victim to a noble task ! Ha'n't you got a drop of brandy In the bottom of your flask ? " As he spoke, an alligator Swam across the sullen creek ; And the two Columbians started When they heard the monster shriek : For a snout of huge dimensions Eose above the waters high. And took down the alligator. As a trout takes down a fly. " 'Tamal death! the Snapping Turtle !" Thus the squire in terror cried ; But the noble Slingsby straightway Drew the toothpick from his side. THE BOOK OF BALLADS. A-1 i Jf *' Fare thee well !" lie cried, and dashing Through the waters, strongly swam : Meanwhile CuUen Bryant, watching, Breathed a prayer and sucked a dram. Sudden from the slimy bottom Was the snout again upreared, With a snap as loud as thunder, — And the Slingsby disappeared. Like a mighty steam-ship foundering, Down the monstrous vision sank ; And the ripple, slowly rolling. Plashed and played upon the bank. Still and stiller grew the water. Hushed the canes within the brake ; There was but a kind of coughing At the bottom of the lake. Bryant wept as loud and deeply As a father for a son — '' He's a finished 'coon, is Slingsby, And the brandy's nearly done !" -^fM^r^—' ^ £ f%^ ^^ THE BOOK OF BALLADS. FYTTE SECOND. I:j;r a trance of sickening anguish, Cold, and stiff, and sore, and damp, For two days did Bryant linger By the dreary Swindle Swamp ; Always peering at the water. Always waiting for the hour. When those monstrous jaws should open As he saw them ope before. Still in vain ; — the alligators Scrambled through the marshy brake, And the vampire leeches gaily Sucked the garfish in the lake. But the Snapping Turtle never Rose for food or rose for rest, Since he lodged the steel deposit In the bottom of his chest. Only always from the bottom Yiolent sounds of coughing rolled, Just as if the huge Cawana Had a most confounded cold. J t On the bank lay CuUen Bryant, As the second moon arose ; Gouging on the sloping green sward Some imaginary foes. When the swamp began to trenible And the canes to rustle fast, As if some stupendous body Through their roots was crushing past. And the water boiled and bubbled. And in groups of twos and threes, Several alligators bounded. Smart as squirrels, up the trees. Then a hideous head was lifted, With such huge distended jaws, That they might have held Goliath Quite as well as Eufus Dawes. Paws of elephantine thickness Dragged its body from the bay, And it glared at Cullen Eryant In a most unpleasant way. Then it writhed as if in torture. And it staggered to and fro ; And its very shell was shaken, In the anguish of its throe : I u^ m ^^^ THE BOOK OE BALLADS. And its cough grew loud and louder, And its sob more husky thick ; For, indeed, it was apparent That the beast was very sick. 35 THE BOOK OE BALLADS. Till, at last, a violent vomit Shook its carcass through and through, And, as if from out a cannon, All in armour Slingsby flew. Bent and bloody was the bowie, Which he held within his grasp ; And he seemed so much exhausted That he scarce had strength to gasp — '' Gouge him, Bryant! dam ye, gouge him ! Gouge him while he's on the shore ! " And his thumbs were straightway buried Where no thumbs had pierced before. IF Eight from out their bony sockets, Did he scoop the monstrous balls ; And, with one convulsive shudder, Dead the Snapping Turtle falls ! '^^Post the tin, sagacious Tyler!" But the old experienced file. Leering first at Clay and "Webster, Answered, with a quiet smile— m 35 THE BOOK OP BALLADS. ^^ Since you dragged the 'tarnal crittur From the bottom of the ponds, Here 's the hundred dollars due you, All in Pennsylvanian Bonds /" ^ " The only Good American Securities." m I t- ft €liE Inti nf Br. Cnlt. [The story of Mr. Colt, of wMch our Lay contains merely the sequel, is this. A New York printer, of the name of Adams, had the eifrontery to call upon him one day for the payment of an account, which the independent Colt settled by cutting his creditor's head to fragments with an axe. He then packed his body in a box, sprinkling it with salt, and despatched it to a packet, bound for New Orleans. Suspicions having been excited, he was seized, and tried before Judge Kent. The trial is, perhaps, the most disgraceful upon the records of any country. The ruffian's mistress was produced in court, and examined in disgusting detail, as to her connexion with Colt, and his movements during the days and nights succeeding the murder. The head of the murdered man was bandied to and fro in the court, handed up to the jury, and commented on by witnesses and counsel ; and to crown the horrors of the whole proceeding, the wretch's own counsel, a Mr. Emmet, commencing the defence with a cool admission that his client took the life of Adams, and following it up by a detail of the whole circumstances of this most brutal murder in the first person, as though he himself had been the murderer, ended by telling the jury, that his client was " entitled to the sympathy of a jury of his country," as " a young man just entering into life, whose prospects, probably, have been pennanently blasted." Colt was found guilty ; but a variety of exceptions were taken to the charge by the judge, and after a long series of appeals, which occupied more than a year from the date of the conviction, the sentence of death was ratified by Governor Seward. The rest of Colt's story is told in our ballad.] i # STREAK THE FIRST. H- i:- ii- if- And now the sacred rite was done, and the marriage knot was tied, And Colt withdrew his blushing wife a little way aside ; ^^ Let's go," he said, ^4nto my cell, let's go alone, my dear; I fain would shelter that sweet face from the sheriff's odious leer. 38 THE BOOK OP BALLADS. )k The gaoler and the hangman, they are waiting both for me, — I cannot bear to see them wink so knowingly at thee ! Oh, how I loved thee, dearest ! They say that I am mid. That a mother dares not trust me with the weasand of her child. They say my bowie knife is keen to sliver into halves The carcass of my enemy, as butchers slay their calves. They say that I am stern of mood, because, like salted beef, I packed my quartered foeman up, and marked him ' prime tariff ; ' Because I thought to palm him on the simple -souled John BuU, And clear a small per centage on the sale at Liverpool; It may be so, I do not know — these things, perhaps, may be; But surely I have always been a gentleman to thee ! Then come, my love, into my cell, short bridal space is ours, — jSTay, sheriff, never look thy watch — I guess there's good two hours. We '11 shut the prison doors and keep the gaping world at bay. For love is long as 'tamity, though I must die to-day ! " % % THE BOOK OF BALLADS. STREAK THE SECOND. The clock is ticking onward, It nears the hour of doom, And no one yet hath entered Into that ghastly room. The gaoler and the sheriff They are walking to and fro ; And the hangman sits upon the stej^s, And smokes his pipe below. In grisly expectation The prison all is bound, And save expectoration, You cannot hear a sound. The turnkey stands and ponders. His hand upon the bolt, — ^* In twenty minutes more, I guess, 'T wiU all be up with Celt ! " But see, the door is opened ! Forth comes the weeping bride ; The courteous sheriff lifts his hat, And saunters to her side, — '^ 1 beg your pardon, Mrs. C, Eut is your husband ready ?" THE EOOK OE BALLADS. ^^I guess you'd better ask himself," Eeplied the woeful lady. The clock is ticking onward, The minutes almost run, The hangman's pipe is nearly out, 'T is on the stroke of one. At every grated window Unshaven faces glare ; There 's Puke, the judge of Tennessee, And Lynch, of Delaware ; And Batter, with the long black beard, ^^om Hartford's maids know well; And Winkinson, from Fish Kill Eeach, The pride of Kew Rochelle ; Elkanah E^utts, from Tarry Town, The gallant gouging boy; And coon-faced Bushwhack, from the hills That frown o'er modem Troy ; Young ^Tieezer, whom our "Willis loves. Because, 't is said, that he. One morning from a bookstall filched The taleof ^^Melanie;" And Skimk, who fought his country's fight Beneath the strips and stars, — All thronging at the windows stood. And gazed between the bars. M 41 THE BOOK OF BALLADS. 1 The little boys that stood behind (Young thievish imps were they !) Displayed considerable nous On that eventful day ; For bits of broken looking-glass They held aslant on high, And there a mirrored gallows-tree Met their delighted eye. -^ The clock is ticking onward ; Hark ! Hark! it striketh one ! Each felon draws a whistliag breath, ^^ Time 's up with Colt ; he 's done ! ' The sheriff looks his watch again, Then puts it in his fob, And turns him to the hangman, — " Get ready for the job." The gaoler knocketh loudly, The turnkey draws the bolt, And pleasantly the sheriff says, '' We 're waiting. Mister Colt ! " IS'o answer ? l^o ! no answer ! All 's still as death mthin ; The sheriff eyes the gaoler. The gaoler strokes his chin. * A Fact. m THE BOOK OE BALLA'DS. ^'I shouldn't wonder, Nahum, if It were as you suppose." The hangman looked unhappy, and The turnkey blew his nose. They entered. On his pallet The noble convict lay, — The bridegroom on his marriage-bed, But not in trim array. His red right hand a razor held. Fresh sharpened from the hone, And his ivory neck was severed. And gashed into the bone. 1 ri m And when the lamp is lighted In the long JSTovember days, And lads and lasses mingle At the shucking of the maize ; When pies of smoking pumpkin Upon the table stand. And bowls of black molasses Go round from hand to hand ; When slap-jacks, maple-sugared. Are hissing in the pan. And cyder, with a dash of gin, Foams in the social can ; 43 When the good man wets his whistle, And the good wife scolds the child ; And the girls exclaim convulsively, ^^ Have done, or 1 11 be riled ! '* When the loafer sitting next them Attempts a sly caress, And whispers, '^Oh! you 'j)ossum, You 've fixed my heart, I guess !" With laughter and ^dth weeping, Then shall they tell the tale. How Colt his foeman quartered. And died within the gaol. 1 Pi " The unwilling Colt.' THE BOOK OF BALLADS. f (lljB Dtntlj nf 3iilif| inllnt. [Before the following poem, which -originally appeared in " Eraser's Maga- zine," could have reached America, intelligence Avas received in this country of an affray in Congress, very nearly the counterpart of that which the Author has here imagined in jest. It was very clear, to any one who observed the state of public manners in America, that such occurrences must happen sooner or later. The Americans apparently felt the force of the satire, as the poem was widely reprinted throughout the States. It subsequently returned to this country, embodied in an American work on American manners, where it characteristically appeared as the writer's own production ; and it afterwards went the round of British newspapers, as an amusing satire by an American, of his countrymen's foibles !] The Congress met, the day was wet, Yan Buren took the chair, On either side, the statesman pride of far Kentuck was there. With moody frown, there sat Calhoun, and slowly in his cheek His quid he thrust, and slaked the dust, as Webster rose to speak. Upon that day, near gifted Clay, a youthful member sat, And like a free American upon the floor he spat ; Then turning round to Clay, he said, and wiped his manly chin, ''What kind of Locofoco 's that, as wears the painter's skin ? " 3 f THE BOOK OP BALLADS. m ^' Young man," quoth Clay, ^' avoid the way of Slick of Tennessee, Of gougers fierce, the eyes that pierce, the fiercest gouger he. He chews and spits as there he sits, and whittles at the chairs, And in his hand, for deadly strife, a bowie-knife he bears. ^^ Avoid that knife ! In frequent strife its blade, so long and thin. Has found itself a resting-place his rival's ribs within." But coward fear came never near young Jabez Dollar's heart, " Were he an alligator, I would rile him pretty smart !" Then up he rose, and cleared his nose, and looked toward the chair. He saw the stately strips and stars— our country's flag was there ! His heart beat high, w^ith savage cry upon the floor he sprang, Then raised his wrist, and shook his fist, and spoke his first harano'ue. 4f^ THE BOOK OF BALLADS, I ^^Who sold the nutmegs made of wood — ^the clocks that would n't figure ? Who grinned the bark off gum trees dark, — the everlasting nigger ? For twenty cents, ye Congress gents, through 'tarnity I '11 kick That man, I guess, though nothing less than 'coon-faced Colonel Slick ! " The colonel smiled — with frenzy wild, — his very beard waxed blue, — His shirt it could not hold him, so wrathy riled he grew ; He foams and frets, his knife he whets upon his seat below — He sharpens it on either side, and whittles at his toe,— •*0h! waken, snakes, and walk your chalks!" he cried, jlfS with ire elate ; *'" ''Darn my old mother, but I will in wild cats whip my 'J) weight ! Hjb Oh ! 'tamal death I'll spoil your breath, young Dollar, and ']) your chaffing, — ^/ Look to your ribs, for here is that will tickle them without Pllx laughing!" If THE BOOK OF BALLADS. i k His knife he raised — with fury crazed, he sprang across the hall; He cut a caper in the air — he stood before them all : He never stopped to look or think if he the deed should do, But spinning sent the President, and on 57^oung Dollar flew. They met — they closed — they sunk — they rose, — in vain young Dollar strove— For, like a streak of lightning greased, the infuriate colonel drove His bowie-blade deep in his side, and to the ground they rolled, And, drenched in gore, wheeled o'er and o'er, locked in other s hold. With fury dumb — with nail and thumb — they struggled and they thrust, — The blood ran red from Dollar's side, like rain, upon the dust ; He nerved his might for one last spring, and as he sunk and died. Heft of an eye, his enemy fell groaning at his side. 3 THE BOOK OF BALLADS. Thus did lie fall within the hall of Congress, that brave youth ; The bowie-knife had quenched his life of valour and of truth ; And still among the statesmen throng at Washington they tell How nobly Dollar gouged his man — how gallantly he fell I THE BOOK OF BALLADS. " YoFNG chaps, give ear, — the case is clear. You, Silas Fixings, you Pay Mister ]N"eheniiah Dodge them dollars as you 're due. You are a bloody cheat, — you are. But spite of all your tricks, it Is not in you. Judge Lynch to do. JS'o ! nohow you can fix it ! " Thus spake Judge Lynch, as there he sat in Alabama's forum, Around he gazed with legs upraised upon the bench high o'er him ; And, as he gave this sentence stern to him who stood beneath, Still with his gleaming bowie-knife he slowly picked his teeth. It was high noon, the month was June, and sultry was the air, A cool gin-sling stood by his hand, his coat hung o'er his chair ; All naked were his manly arms, and, shaded by his hat. Like an old senator of Eome that simple Archon sat. ^' A bloody cheat ? — 'Oli, legs and feet ! " in wrath young Silas cried ; .^3 And, springing high into the air, he jerked his quid aside. — '' i^o man shall put my dander up, or with my feelings trifle, As long as Silas Fixings wears a bowie-knife and rifle." ^' If your shoes pinch," replied Judge Lynch, '' you 11 very soon have ease, I '11 give you satisfaction, squire, in any way you please ; What are your weapons ? — knife or gun ? — at both I 'm pretty spry!" ^^ Oh ! 'tamal death, you're spry, you are ?" quoth Silas ; ^^soaml!" ffi Hard by the town a forest stands, dark with the shades of time. And they have sought that forest dark at morning's early prime ; Lynch, backed by Kehemiah Dodge, and Silas with a Mend, And half the town in glee came down to see that contest's end. i :1m 4 m m 51 THE BOOK OE BALLADS. i'l/ mm s. ^^^ C r' They led their men two miles apart, they measured out the ground ; A belt of that vast wood it was, they notched the trees around ; Into the tangled brake they turned them off, and neither knew "Where he should seek his wagered foe, how get him into view. With stealthy tread, and stooping head, from tree to tree they passed. They crept beneath the crackling furze, they held their rifles fast : Hour passed on hour, the noon-day sun smote fiercely down, but yet Ko sound to the expectant crowd proclaimed that they had met. ^^^^ THE BOOK OF BALLADS. /V-1 % And now the sun was going down, when, hark ! a rifle^s crack ! Hush — hush ! another strikes the air, and all their breath drew back, — Then crashing on through bush and briar, the crowd from either side Eushed in to see whose rifle sure with blood the moss had dyed. Weary with watching up and down, brave Lynch conceived a plan, An artful dodge whereby to take at unawares his man ; He hung his hat upon a bush, and hid himself hard by. Young Silas thought he had him fast, and at the hat let %• It fell; up sprung young Silas, — he hurl'd his gun away; Lynch fixed him with his rifle from the ambush where he lay. The bullet pierced his manly breast — yet, valiant to the last. He drew his fatal bowie-knife, and up his foxtaiF cast. = The Yankee substitute for the chapeau de soie. THE BOOK OP BALLADS. With tottering steps and glazing eye he cleared the space between, And stabbed the air as, in Macbeth, still stabs the younger Kean: Erave Lynch received him with a bang that stretched him on the ground, Then sat himself serenely down till all the crowd drew round. They hailed him with triumphant cheers — in him each loafer saw The bearing bold that could uphold the majesty of law ; And, raising him aloft, they bore him homewards at his ease, — That noble judge, whose daring hand enforced his own decrees. They buried Silas Fixings in the hollow where he fell, ^, And gum-trees wave above his grave — that tree he loved \ so well ; And the 'coons sit chattering o'er him when the nights are long and damp, Eut he sleeps well in that lonely dell, the Dreary 'Possum Swamp. €kt ^mtmu's %^^m\x^^t tn ^ni [Rapidly as obli\don does its work now-a-days, the burst of amiable indigna- tion with which enlightened America received the issue of Boz's " Notes," can scarcely yet be forgotten. Not content with waging a universal rivalry in the piracy of the work, Columbia showered upon its author the riches of its own choice vocabulary of abuse ; while some of her more fiery spirits threw out playful hints as to the propriety of gouging the " strannger," and furnishing him with a permanent suit of tar and feathers, in the very improbable event of his pajdng them a second ^isit. The perusal of these animated expressions of free opinion suggested the following lines, which those who remember Boz's book, and the festivities with which he was all but hunted to death, will at once under- stand. We hope we have done justice to the bitterness and " immortal hate " of these thin-skinned sons of freedom.] Sneak across the wide Atlantic, worthless London's puling child, Better that its waves should bear thee, than the land thou hast re\iled ; Eetter in the stifling cabin, on the sofa should' st thou lie, Sickening as the fetid nigger bears the greens and bacon by- Eetter, when the midnight horrors haunt the strained and creaking ship, Thou should' st yell in vain for brandy with a fever- sodden ^'j Hp; THE BOOK OF BALLADS. When amid the deepening darkness and the lamp's expiring shade, From the bagman's berth above thee comes the bountiful cascade. Better than upon the Broadway thou should' st be at noon- day seen, Smirking like a Tracy Tupman with a Mantalini mien. With a rivulet of satin falling o'er thy puny chest, Worse than even IS'. P. Willis for an evening party dressed ! We received thee warmly — kindly — though we knew thou wert a quiz, Partly for thyself it may be, chiefly for the sake of Phiz ! Much we bore and much we suffered, listening to re- morseless spells Of that Smike's unceasing dri veilings, and these everlasting ISTells. When you talk of babes and sunshine, fields, and all that sort of thing. Each Columbian inly chuckled, as he slowly sucked his sling ; And though all our sleeves were bursting, from the many hundreds near, Not one single scornful titter rose on thy complacent ear. THE BOOK OP BALLADS. Then to show thee to the ladies, with our usual want of sense We engaged the place in Park Street at a ruinous expense ; Ev'n our own three-volumed Cooper waived his old pre- scriptive right, And deluded Dickens figured first on that eventful night. Clusters of uncoated Yorkers, vainly striving to be cool, Saw thee desperately plunging through the perils of La Poule : And their muttered exclamation drowned the tenor of the tune, — " Don't he beat all natur hollow? Don't he foot it like a 'coon?" Did we spare our brandy-cocktails, stint thee of our whisky- grogs ? Half the juleps that we gave thee would have floored a ^N'ewman JJ^oggs ; And thou took'st them in so kindly, little was there then to blame, To thy parched and panting palate sweet as mother's milk they came. Did the hams of old Yirginny find no favour in thine eyes? Came no soft compunction o'er thee at the thought of pumpkin pies ? ^^^^^ '^-zx:.^^^^rX THE BOOK OF BALLADS. Could not all our care and coddling teach thee how to draw it mild ? Eut, no matter, we deserve it. Serves us right! We spoilt the child! *! You, forsooth, must come crusading, boring us with broadest hints Of your own peculiar losses by American rejjrints. Such an impudent remonstrance never in our face was flung ; Lever stands it, so does Ainsworth ; you, I guess, may hold your tongue. Down our throats you 'd cram your projects, thick and hard as pickled salmon. That, I s'pose, you call free-trading, I pronounce it utter gammon. Ko, my lad, a "cuter vision than your own might soon have seen That a true Columbian ogle carries little that is green. Quite enough we pay, I reckon, when we stump a cent or two Por the voyages and travels of a freshman such as you. I have been at Magara, I have stood beneath the Ealls, I have marked the water twisting over its rampagious walls : THE BOOKIOF BALLADS. But ^' a holy calm sensation," one, in fact, of perfect peace, Was as much my first idea as the thought of Christmas geese. As for "old familiar faces," looking through the misty air, Surely you were strongly liquored when you saw your Chuckster there. One familiar face, however, you will very likely see. If you 11 only treat the natives to a call in Tennessee, Of a certain individual, true Columbian every inch. In a high judicial station, called by 'mancipators. Lynch. Half-an-hour of conversation with his worship in a wood Would, I strongly notion, do you an infernal deal of good. Then you 'd understand more clearly than you ever did before. Why an independent patriot freely spits upon the floor. Why he gouges when he pleases, why he whittles at the chairs, Why for swift and deadly combat still the bowie-knife he bears : — Why he sneers at the Old Country with republican disdain. And, unheedful of the negro's cry, still tighter draws his chain. All these things the judge shall teach thee of the land thou hast reviled ; Get thee o'er the wide Atlantic, worthless London's puling child ! I m^ ft it iJ "Si 60 MtHallanentis liillnhH. m t ''"^^; >^ 3? ^ I ■ 6. ih 't 6-2 w^ THE BOOK OF BALLADS. Once — 't was when I lived at Jena — At a Wirthsliaiis' door I sat ; And in pensive contemplation, Eat the sausage thick and fat ; Eat the kraut, that never sourer Tasted to my lips than here ; Smoked my pipe of strong canaster, Sipped my fifteenth jug of beer ; Gazed upon the glancing river, Gazed upon the tranquil pool. Whence the silver- voiced Undine, When the nights were calm and cool, ^1? f 1 THE BOOK OF BALLADS. As tlie Baron Fouque tells us, Kose from out her shelly grot, Casting glamour o'er the waters, Witching that enchanted spot. From the shadow which the coppice Flings across the rippling stream, Did I hear a sound of music — Was it thought or was it dream ? There, beside a pile of linen. Stretched along the daisied sward. Stood a young and blooming maiden — 'T was her thrush-like song I heard. Evermore within the eddy Did she plunge the white chemise ; And her robes were loosely gathered Rather far above her knees ; Then my breath at once forsook me. For too surely did I deem That I saw the fair Undine Standing in the glancing stream — And I felt the charm of knighthood ; And from that remembered day, Every evening to the Wirthshaus Took I my enchanted way. Shortly to relate my story. Many a week of summer long. 'm. I m & THE BOOK OF BALLADS. Came I there, when beer-o'ertaken, With my lute and with my song ; Sang in mellow-toned soprano, All my love and all my woe. Till the river-maiden answered, Lilting in the stream below : — ^' Fair Undine ! sweet Undine ! Dost thou love as I love thee : " " Love is free as running water," Was the answer made to me. Thus, in interchange seraphic, Did I woo my phantom fay, Till the nights grew long and chilly. Short and shorter grew the day ; Till at last — 't was dark and gloomy. Dull and starless was the sky, And my steps were all unsteady, For a little flushed was I, — To the well-accustomed signal IS'o response the maiden gave ; But I heard the waters washing, And the moaning of the wave. Vanished was my own Undine, All her linen, too, was ffone : 65 THE EOOK OP BALLADS. i, And I walked about, lamenting, On the river bank alone. Idiot that I was, for never Had I asked tbe maiden's name. Was it Lieschen — was it Gretchen ? Had she tin — or whence she came ? So I took my trusty meerschaum. And I took my lute likewise ; Wandered forth, in minstrel fashion, Underneath the lowering skies ; Sang before each comely Wirthshaus, Sang beside each purling stream. That same ditty which I chanted When Undine was my theme. Singing, as I sang at Jena, When the shifts were hung to dry, ^' Fair Undine ! young Undine ! Dost thou love as well as I ?" r Eut, alas ! in field or village. Or beside the pebbly shore. Did I see those glancing ankles, And the white robe, never more ; s^^fe THE BOOK OF BALLADS. And no answer came to greet me, JS'o sweet voice to mine replied ; But I heard the waters rippling, And the moaning of the tide. 'The Meaning of the tied.' X^^ M 6? THE BOOK OF BALLADS. €lf5 t^ nf tllE iBHttL m Theee is a sound that's dear to me, It haunts me in my sleep ; I wake, and, if I hear it not, I cannot choose but weep. Above the roaring of the wind. Above the river's flow, Methinks I hear the mystic cry Of ^'Clo!— OldClo!" 68 THE BOOK OE BALLADS. The exile's song, it thrills among - The dwellings of the free, Its sound is strange to English ears, Eut 't is not strange to me ; For it hath shook the tented field In ages long ago. And hosts have quailed before the cry Of ^^ Clo !— Old Clo ! " Oh, lose it not ! forsake it not ! And let no time efface The memory of that solemn sound, The watchword of our race. For not by dark and eagle eye The Hebrew shall you know, So well as by the plaintive cry Of ^* Clo !— Old Clo!" Even now, perchance, by Jordan's banks, Or Sidon's sunny walls. Where, dial-like, to portion time. The palm-tree's shadow falls. The pilgrims, wending on their way. Will linger as they go. And listen to the distant cry Of ^^ Clo !— Old Clo ! " 69 THE BOOK OF BALLADS. m ■>^ I It ^duieIt (irnggBHliiirg, ifte lliB mmmx nf Irijilbr. " BuKSCH ! if foaming beer content ye, Come and drink your fill ; In our cellars there is plenty : Himmel ! liow you swill ! That the liquor hath allurance, "Well I understand ; But 't is really past endurance, When you squeeze my hand 1 " And he heard her as if dreaming, Heard her half in awe ; And the meerschaum's smoke came streaming From his open jaw : And his pulse beat somewhat quicker Than it did before, And he finished off his liquor, Staggered through the door ; Bolted off direct to Munich, And within the year Underneath his German tunic Stowed whole butts of beer. And he drank like fifty fishes, Drank till all was blue ; For he felt extremely vicious — Somewhat thirsty too. Eut at length this dire deboshing Drew towards an end ; Few of all his silber-groschen Had he left to spend. And he knew it was not prudent Longer to remain ; So, with weary feet, the student Wended home again. ^^ THE BOOK OF BALLABS. # I At the tavern's well known portal, Knocks he as before, And a waiter, rather mortal, Hiccups through the door, — *^ Master's sleeping in the kitchen ; You '11 alarm the house ; Yesterday the Jungfrau Fritchen Married baker Kraus !" Like a fiery comet bristling, Eose the young man's hair, And, poor soul! he fell a- whistling Out of sheer despair. Down the gloomy street in silence, Savage-calm he goes; But he did no deed of vi'lence — Only blew his nose. Then he hired an airy garret Kear her dwelling-place ; Grew a beard of fiercest carrot, I^ever washed his face ; Sate all day beside the casement, Sate a dreary man ; Found in smoking such an easement As the wretched can ; & 73 THE BOOK OP BALLADS Stared for hours and hours together, Stared yet more and more ; Till in fine and sunny weather, At the baker's door, Stood, in apron white and mealy. That beloved dame. Counting out the loaves so freely, Selling of the same. Then like a volcano puffing. Smoked he out his pipe ; Sigh'd and supp'd on ducks and stuffing. Ham and kraut and tripe ; Went to bed, and in the morning, Waited as before. Still his eyes in anguish turning To the baker's door; Till, with apron white and mealy. Came the lovely dame. Counting out the loaves so freely, Selling of the same. So one day — the fact 's amazing ! — On his post he died ; And they found the body gazing At the baker's bride. ^^.^ i-^" •^■. THE BOOK OE BALLADS. I Sigjlt imir jKInrEiug, '' Thy coffee, Tom, 's untasted. And thy egg is very cold; Thy cheeks are wan and wasted, I*^ot rosy as of old. My boy, what has come o'er ye. You surely are not well ! Try some of that ham before ye. And then, Tom, ring the bell ! " " I cannot eat, my mother, IVIy tongue is parched and bound, And my head, somehow or other, Is sT^dmming round and round. In my eyes there is a fulness. And my pulse is beating quick ; On my brain is a weight of duLiess ; Oh, mother, I am sick ! " m THE BOOK OP BALLADS. " These long, long nights of watching Are killing you outright ; The evening dews are catching, And you 're out every night. "Why does that horrid grumbler, Old Inkpen, work you so ?" Tom {lene susurrans) " My head ! Oh, that tenth tumbler ! 'T was that which wrought my woe ! ' THE BOOK OJ BALLADS. €)^i foiln 33it. The sun is in the sky, mother, the flowers are springing fair, And the melody of woodland birds is stirring in the air ; The river, smiling to the sky, glides onward to the sea. And happiness is everywhere, oh mother, but with me ! They are going to the church, mother, — I hear the marriage bell ; It booms along the upland, — oh ! it haunts me like a knell; He leads her on his arm, mother, he cheers her faltering step. And closely to his side she clings, — she does, the demirep ! 6r I They are crossing by the style, mother, where we so oft have stood. The style beside the shady thorn, at the comer of the wood ; And the boughs, that wont to murmur back the words that won my ear, Wave their silver blossoms o'er him, as he leads his bridal fere. THE BOOK OF BALLADS. '^1 w He will pass beside the stream, mother, where first my hand he pressed, Ey the meadow where, with qnivering lip, his passion he confessed ; And down the hedgerows where we 've strayed again and yet again ; But he will not think of me, mother, his broken-hearted Jane ! He said that I was proud, mother, that I looked for rank and gold ; He said I did not love him, — he said my words were cold; He said I kept him off and on, in hopes of higher game, — And it may be that I did, mother ; but who has n't done the same ? I did not know my heart, mother, — I know it now too late ; I thought that I without a pang could wed som^e nobler mate ; But no nobler suitor sought me, — and he has taken wing. And my heart is gone, and I am left a lone and blighted thin or. 77 You may lay me in my bed, mother, — my head is throb- bing sore ; And, mother, prithee let the sheets be dnly aired before ; And, if you 'd please, my mother dear, your poor despond- ing child. Draw me a pot of beer, mother, and, mother, draw it mild ! 1 ■^'^ ' Love gone to pot.' m 78 THE BOOK OF BALLADS. €}}i tocirt Euii tire totraliati Xahi. Thy skin is dark as jet, ladye, Thy cheek is sharp and high, And there 's a cruel leer, love. Within thy rolling eye ! These tangled ebon tresses ^0 comb hath e'er gone through ; And thy forehead, it is furrow' d by The elegant tattoo ! I I love thee, — oh, I love thee. Thou strangely feeding maid ! Kay, lift not thus thy boomerang, I meant not to upbraid ! Come, let me taste those yellow lips That ne'er were tasted yet. Save when the shipwrecked mariner Pass'd through them for a whet. I THE BOOK OF BALLADS. 1^ Kay, squeeze me not so tightly I Eor I am gaunt and thin, There 's little flesh to tempt thee Beneath a convict's skin. I came not to be eaten, I sought thee, love, to woo ; Besides, bethink thee, dearest. Thou 'st dined on cockatoo ! Thy father is a chieftain ; Why, that's the very thing I Within my native country I, too have been a king. Behold this branded letter. Which nothing can eiface I It is the royal emblem, The token of my race ! But rebels rose against me. And dared my power disown — You 've heard, love, of the judges r They drove me from my throne. And I have wander'd hither. Across the stormy sea. In search of glorious freedom, In search, my sweet, of thee ! THE BOOK OF BALLADS. The bush is now my empire, The knife my sceptre keen ; Come with me to the desert wild, And be my dusky queen. I cannot give thee jewels, I have nor sheep nor cow. Yet there are kangaroos, love. And colonists enow. We '11 meet the unwary settler, As whistling home he goes, And 1 11 take tribute from him, His money and his clothes. Then on his bleeding carcass Thou 'It lay thy pretty paw. And lunch upon him, roasted. Or, if you like it, raw ! Then come with me, my princess. My own Australian dear. Within this grove of gum trees, We '11 hold our bridal cheer ! Thy heart with love is beating, I feel it through my side : — Hurrah, then, for the noble pair. The Convict and his bride ! THE BOOK OF BALLADS. I .J €^t MM ta^i nf tliB Innnuralilf 3. dD. ^min. Come and Hsten, lords and ladies, To a woeful lay of mine ; He whose tailor's bill unpaid is, Let him now his ear incHne ! Let him hearken to my story, How the noblest of the land Pined long time in dreary duresse 'iN'eath a sponging bailiff's hand. I. 0. Uwins ! I. 0. Uwins ! Baron's son although thou be, Thou must pay for thy misdoings In the country of the free ! None of aU thy sire's retainers To thy rescue now may come ; And there lie some score detainers. With Abednego, the bum. THE BOOK OF BALLADS. Little reck'd he of his prison Whilst the sun was in the sky : Only when the moon was risen, Did you hear the captive's cry. For, till then, cigars and claret Lull'd him in oblivion sweet ; And he much preferr'd a garret, For his drinking, to the street. But the moonlight, pale and broken, Pain'd at soul the Baron's son; ■ For he knew, by that soft token, That the larking had begun ; — That the stout and valiant Marquis Then was leading forth his swells, Mangling some policeman's carcass. Or purloining private bells. So he sat, in grief and sorrow, Rather drunk than otherwise, Till the golden gush of morrow Dawned once more upon his eyes : Till the sponging bailiffs daughter, Lightly tapping at the door, Brought his draught of soda water. Brandy-bottom' d as before. 83 THE BOOK OP BALLADS. HI % * *^ Sweet Eebecca ! has your father, Think you, made a deal of brass ? " And she answered — ^^ Sir, I rather Should imagine that he has." TJwins then, his whiskers scratching, Leer'd upon the maiden's face. And, her hand with ardour catching. Folded her in close embrace. ^' La, Sir ! let alone — you fright me ! " Said the daughter of the Jew : '' Dearest, how those eyes delight me ! Let me love thee, darling, do ! " "■ Yat is dish ? " the Eailiff mutter'd, Eushing in with fury wild ; " Ish your muffins so veil butter' d Dat you darsh insult ma shild ? " " Honourable my intentions, Good Abednego, I swear ! And I have some small pretensions, For I am a Baron's heir. • If you '11 only clear my credit, And advance a tlioy/^ or so. She 's a peeress — I have said it : Don't you twig, Abednego ? " tf ■' The fashionable abbreviation for a thousand pounds. T.HE BOOK OF BALLADS. ^^ Datsh a very different matter," Said the Eailiif, with a leer ; '^ But you musht not cut it fatter Than ta slish will shtand, ma tear ! If you seeksh ma approbation, You musht quite give up your rigsh ; Alsho you musht join our nashun, And renounsh ta flesh of pigsh." ^.• Fast as one of Fagin's pupils, I. 0. TJwins did agree ! Little plagued with holy scruples From the starting post was he. But at times a baleful vision Eose before his trembling view, For he knew that circumcision Was expected from a Jew. I J At a meeting of the Eabbis, Held about the Whitsuntide, Was this thorough-paced Barabbas Wedded to his Hebrew bride. All his former debts compounded, From the spunging house he came, And his father's feelings wounded With reflections on the same. Sf, 85 ' . THE BOOK or BALLADS. Eut the sire his son accosted — ^^ Split my wig ! if any more Such a double-dyed apostate Shall presume to cross my door ! IN'ot a penny-piece to save ye Erom the kennel or the spout ; — Dinner, John ! the pig and gravy ! — Kick this dirty scoundrel out! '" Ih Torth rush'd I. 0. TJwins, faster Than all winking — much afraid, That the orders of the master Would be punctually obeyed : Sought his club, and then the sentence Of expulsion first he saw ; !N'o one dared to own acquaintance With a bailiif 's son-in-law. Uselessly down Bond-street strutting Did he greet his friends of yore : Such a universal cutting INTever man received before : Till at last his pride revolted — Pale, and lean, and stern he grew ; And his wife Eebecca bolted With a missionary Jew. THE BOOK OF BALLADS. Ye who read this doleful ditty, Ask ye where is Uwins now ? Wend your way through London city, Climb to Holborn's lofty brow. JS'ear the sign-post of the ^' Nigger," 'Near the baked-potato shed, You may see a ghastly figure With three hats upon his head. 1 When the evening shades are dusky. Then the phantom form draws near. And, with accents low and husky, Pours effluvium in your ear : Craving an immediate barter Of your trousers or surtout, And you know the Hebrew martyr, Once the peerless I. 0. U. M 87 THE BOOK OE BALLADS. Did you ever hear the story — Old the legend is and true — How a knyghte of fame and glory All aside his armour threw ; Spouted spear and pawned habergeon, Pledged his sword and surcoat gay, Sate down cross-legged on the shop-board, Sate and stitched the livelong day ? ^' Taylzeour ! not one single shilling Does my breeches' pocket hold : I to pay am really willing, If I only had the gold. Farmers none can I encounter, Graziers there are none to kill ; Therefore, prithee, gentle taylzeour. Bother not about thy bill." If m THE EOOK OP BALLADS. '^ Good Sir Knyghte, just once too often Have you tried that slippery trick ; Hearts like mine you cannot soften, Vainly do you ask for tick. Christmas and its bills are coming, Soon will they be showering in ; Therefore, once for all, my rum 'un, I expect you '11 post the tin. '' Mark, Sir Knyghte, that gloomy bayliife. In the palmer's amice brown ; He shall lead you unto jail, if Instantly you stump not down." Deeply swore the young crusader. But the taylzeour would not hear ; And the gloomy, bearded bayliffe Evermore kept sneaking near. I ^' I^either groat nor maravedi Have I got, my soul to bless ; And I 'd feel extremely seedy. Languishing in vile duresse. Therefore listen, ruthless taylzeour. Take my steed and armour free, Pawn them at thy Hebrew uncle's. And I '11 work the rest for thee." 89 THE BOOK OF BALLADS. Lightly leaped he on the shop-board, Lightly crooked his manly limb, Lightly drove the glancing needle Through the growing doublet's rim. Gaberdines in countless number Did the taylzeour-knyghte repair ! And the cabbage and cucumber "Were his sole and simple fare. 1 Once his weary task beguiling With a low and plaintive song, That good knyghte o'er miles of broadcloth Drove the hissing goose along ; From her lofty lattice window. Looked the taylzeour's daughter down, And she instantly discovered That her heart was not her own: I " Canst thou love me, gentle stranger? " Blushing like a rose she stood — And the knyghte at once admitted, That he rather thought he could. ^' He who weds me shall have riches, Gold, and lands, and houses free." ^' For a single pair of — s7naU-clothes, I would roam the world with thee! " 3J7 Hi THE BOOK OP BALLADS. k ft Then she flung him down the tickets — Well the knyghte their import knew — ^' Take this gold, and win thy armour From the unbelieving Jew. Though in garments mean and lowly, Thou wouldst roam the world with me, Only as a belted warrior, Stranger, will I wed with thee ! " "^W A THE BOOK OF BALLADS. 1^ At the feast of good Saint Alban, In the middle of the Spring, There was some superior jousting Ey the order of the king. * ' Valiant knyghtes ! " exclaimed the monarch, '^ You will please to understand. He who bears himself most bravely Shall obtain my daughter's hand." Well and bravely did they bear them, Bravely battled, one and all ; But the bravest in the tourney Was a warrior stout and tall. IN'one could tell his name or lineage, JN'one could meet him in the field, And a goose regardant proper Hissed along his azure shield. I " Warrior, thou hast won my daughter ! ' But the champion bowed his knee, " Princely blood may not be wasted On a simple knyghte like me. She I love is meek and lowly ; Bat her heart is high and frank ; And there must be tin forthcoming. That will do as well as rank." Slowly rose that nameless warrior, Slowly turned his steps aside, Passed the lattice where the princess Sate in beauty, sate in pride. Passed the row of noble ladies, Hied him to an humbler seat, And in silence laid the chaplet At the taylzeour's daughter's feet. I 1 I if THE BOOK OF BALLADS. €^i MM0 Mml It was the Lord of Castlereagh, he sat within his room, His arms were crossed upon his breast, his face was marked with gloom ; They said that St. Helena's Isle had rendered up its charge, That France was bristling high in arms, — the Emperor at large. THE BOOK OP BALLADS. ' Twas midnight ! all the lamps were dim, and dull as death the street, It might be that the watchman slept that night upon his beat, When, lo ! a heavy foot was heard to creak upon the stair. The door revolved upon its hinge., — Great Heaven ! — What enters there ? A little man, of stately mien, with slow and solemn stride ; His hands are crossed upon his back, his coat is opened wide: And on his vest of green he wears an eagle and a star, — Saint George ! protect us ! 't is The Mak — the thunder- bolt of war ! > Is that the famous hat that waved along Marengo's J;. ridge ? Mi Are these the spurs of Austerlitz — the boots of Lodi's bridge ? Leads he the conscript swarm again from France's hornet hive? What seeks the fell usurper here, in Britain, and alive ? 95 THE BOOK OF BALLADS. Pale grew the Lord of Castlereagh, his tongue was parched and dry, As in his brain he felt the glare of that tremendous eye; What wonder if he shrunk in fear, for who could meet the glance Of him who reared, 'mid Eussian snows, the gonfalon of France ? Prom the side-pocket of his vest, a pinch the despot took, Yet not a whit did he relax the sternness of his look, — " Thou thought' st the lion was afar, but he hath burst the chain — The watchword for to-night is France — the answer St. Helene. ''And didst thou deem the barren isles, or ocean waves, could bind The master of the universe — the monarch of mankind ? I tell thee, fool ! the world itself is all too small for me, I laugh to scorn thy bolts and bars — I burst them, and am free. '' Thou think' st that England hates me ! Mark ! — This very night my name Was thundered in its capital with tumult and acclaim ! m m Do THE BOOK OF BALLADS. They saw me, knew me, owned my power — Proud lord ! I say, beware! There be men within the Surrey side, who know to do and dare ! '' To-morrow in thy very teeth my standard will I rear — Ay, well that ashen cheek of thine may blanch and shrink with fear ! To-morrow night another town shall sink in ghastly flames ; And as I crossed the Borodin, so shall I cross the Thames ! i '^ Thou 'It seize me, wilt thou, ere the dawn ? Weak lord- ling, do thy worst ? These hands ere now have broke thy chains, thy fetters they have burst. Yet, wouldst thou know my resting-place ? Behold 't is written there ! And let thy coward myrmidons approach me if they dare!" Another pinch, another stride — he passes through the door — '^ IVas it a phantom or a man was standing on the floor ? And could that be the Emperor that moved before my eyes ? Ah, yes ! too sure it was himself, for here the paper lies ! " 97 THE BOOK OP EALLADS. "With trembling hands, Lord Castlereagh undid the mystic scroll, With glassy eye essayed to read, for fear was on his soul — What's here ? — ^ At Astley's, every night, the play of Moscow's Pall ! IS'apoleon for the thousandth time, by Mr. Gomeksal ! ' " I 4 ^^::^^S^^^^^k3^S^^^..:^ --«=«=;=*Sft?^ ^^V] THE BOOK OF BALLADS. 41; I bljt X^ nf tjiB InDBlnru. Whetlier 't was tlie sauce at dinner, or that glass of ginger CoMEADES, yoTi may pass the rosy. With permission of ^ | the chair, aI I shall leave you for a little, for I 'd like to take the air. yi K\ beer, ii) . ^i Or these strong cheroots, I know not, but I feel a little m queer. Jrr THE BOOK OF EALLADS. Let me go. JN'ow, Chuckster, blow me, 'pon my soul, this is too bad ! "When you want me, ask the waiter, he knows where I 'm to be had. f I "Whew ! This is a great relief now ! Let me but undo my stock, Eesting here beneath the porch, my nerves will steady like a rock. In my ears I hear the singing of a lot of favourite tunes — Bless my heart, how very odd ! Why, surely there 's a brace of moons ! See ! the stars ! how bright they twinkle, winking with a frosty glare, Like my faithless cousin Amy when she drove me to despair. Oh, my cousin, spider-hearted ! Oh, my Amy ! JSTo, con- found it ! I must wear the mournful willow, — all around my hat I 've bound it. Falser than the Eank of Eancy, — frailer than a shilling glove. Puppet to a father's anger, — minion to a nabob's love ! Is it well to wish, thee happy ? Having known me, could you ever Stoop to marry half a heart, and little more than half a liver ? Happy ! Damme ! Thou shalt lower to his level day by day. Changing from the best of china to the commonest of clay. As the husband is, the wife is, — he is stomach-plagued and old; And his curry soups will make thy cheek the colour of his gold. When his feeble love is sated, he will hold thee surely then Something lower than his hookah, — something less than his cayenne. What is this r His eyes are pinky. Was 't the claret ? Oh, no, no, — Eless your soul, it was the salmon, — salmon always makes him so. Take him to thy dainty chamber — soothe him with thy lightest fancies. He will understand thee, won't he ? — pay thee with a lover's glances ? I Hi J? THE BOOK OF BALLADS. Louder than the loudest trumpet, harsh as harshest ophicleide, JS'asal respirations answer the endearments of his bride. Sweet response, delightful music ! Gaze upon thy noble charge Till the spirit fill thy bosom that inspired the meek Laffarge. Eetter thou wert dead before me, — better, better that I stood Looking on thy murdered body, like the injured Daniel Good ! Eetter, thou and I were lying, cold and timber-stiff and dead. With a pan of burning charcoal underneath our nuptial bed' Cursed be the bank of England's notes, that tempt the soul to sin! Cursed be the want of acres, — doubly cursed the want of tin! Cursed be the marriage contract, that enslaved thy soul to greed ! Cursed be the sallow lawyer, that prepared and drew the deed ! 1 ( & -^^^ THE BOOK OF BALLADS '^ I cannot do 't, my liege," lie said, '* Hae mercy on my auld gray hair ! But gin that I had got the words, I think that I might mak the air." ^^ And wha 's to mak the words, fause loon, When minstrels we have barely twa ; And Lamartine is in Paris toun. And Victor Hugo far awa r " ^' The deil may gang for Lamartine, And flie awa wi' auld Hugo, For a better minstrel than them baith Within this very toun I know. ^^0 kens my liege the gude Walter, — At hame they ca' him Bo:n- Gaultiee ? He '11 rhyme ony day wi' True Thomas, And he is in the castle here." The Prench Xing first he lauchit loud. And syne did he begin to sing ; " My e'en are auld, and my heart is cauld. Or I suld hae known the minstrels' King. " Gae take to him this ring o' gowd, And this mantle o' the silk sae fine, ' And bid him mak a maister sang For his sovereign ladye's sake and mine." m I I *' I winna take the gowden ring, JSTor yet the mantle fine : But I '11 mak the sang for my ladye's sake, And for a cup of wine." The Queen was sitting at the cards, The King ahint her back ; And aye she dealed the red honours, And aye she dealed the black ; And syne unto the dourest Prince She spak richt courteouslie : — ^''^ow will ye play. Lord Admiral, JN'ow will ye play wi' me ? " The dourest Prince he bit his lip, And his brow was black as glaur : *^ The only game that e'er I play Is the bluidy game o' war! " " And gin ye play at that, young man. It weel may cost ye sair ; Ye 'd better stick to the game at cards, Por you '11 win nae honours there ! The King he leuch, and the Queen she leuch, Till the tears ran blithely doun ; But the Admiral he raved and swore. Till they kicked him frae the room. S M THE BOOK OF BALLADS. 4j 1 The Harper came, and the Harper sang, And but they were fain ; Eor when he had snng the gude sang twice They called for it again. It was the sang o' the Field o' Gowd, In the days of auld langsyne ; When bauld King Henry crossed the seas, Wi' his brither King to dine. And aye he harped, and aye he carped, Till up the Queen she sprang — " I '11 wad a County Palatine, Gude Walter made that sang." Three days had come, three days had gane. The fourth began to fa'. When our gude Queen to the Frenchman said, *' It 's time I was awa ! ^' 0, bonny are the fields o' France, And saftly draps the rain ; But my baimies are in Windsor Tower, And greeting a' their lane. '^ Fow ye maun come to me. Sir King, As I have come to ye ; And a benison upon your heid For a' your courtesie ! mi 123 '' Ye maun come, and bring your ladye fere: Ye sail na say me no ; And ye 'se mind, we have aye a bed to spare For your wily friend Guizot." IS'ow he has ta'en her lily white hand, And put it to his lip. And he has ta'en her to the strand. And left her in her ship. '' Will ye come back, sweet bird," he cried, ^' Will ye come kindly here. When the lift is blue, and the lavrocks sing, In the spring-time o' the year ? " '' It 's I would blithely come, my Lord, To see ye in the spring ; It 's I would blithely venture back, Eut for ae little thing. ^^ It isna that the ^vinds are rude. Or that the waters rise. But I lo'e the roasted beef at hame. And no thae puddock-pies ! " m m /rnm IjjB Carlir. Fhaieshoj?- swore a feud Against the clan M'Tavish ; Marched into their land To murder and to rafish ; For he did resolve To extirpate the vipers, "With four-and-twenty men And five-and-thirty pipers. f 125 i THE BOOK OF BALLADS;, II. But when he had gone Half-way down Strath Canaan, Of his fighting tail Just three were remainin'. They were all he had, To back him in ta battle ; All the rest had gone OiF, to drive ta cattle. *'Eery coot ! " cried Fhairshon, ' ' So my clan disgraced is ; Lads, we '11 need to fight Pefore we touch the peasties. Here 's Mhic-Mac-Methusaleh Coming wi' his fassals, Gillies seventy-three, And sixty Dhuine wassails ! " IV. ^' Coot tay to you, sir ; Are not you ta Fhairshon ; Was you coming here . To visit any person ? 126 THE BOOK OF BALLADS. You are a plackguard, sir ! It is now six hundred Coot long years, and more, Since my glen was plundered. '^ Pat is tat you say ? Dare you cock your peaver ? I will teach you, sir, Fat is coot pehaviour ! You shall not exist Eor another day more; I will shoot you, sir. Or stap you with my claymore ! ' " I am fery glad To learn what you mention, Since I can prevent Any such intention." So Mhic-Mac-Methusaleh Gave some warlike howls, Trew his skhian-dhu. An' stuck it in his powels. ■^^7 ■^-'i^^J^ 127 E>^^^^^^ THE BOOK OE BALLADS. Til. In this fery way Tied ta faliant Fhairslion, Who was always thonght A superior person. Fhairshon had a son, ^Yh.o married ]S"oah's daughter, And nearly spoiled ta Flood, By trinking up ta water. Which he would have done, I at least believe it, Had ta mixture peen Only half Glenlivet. This is all my tale : Sirs, I hope 't is new t' ye ! Here 's your fery good healths. And tamn ta whusky tuty ! THE BOOK or BALLADS. (E1;b ^^nuttg Itnrklirnte's foxilt "0 SWIFTLY speed tlie gallant bark ! — I say, you mind my luggage, porter ! I do not heed yon storm-cloud dark, I go to wed old Jenkin's daughter. I go to claim my own Mariar, The fairest flower that blooms in Harwich ; My panting bosom is on fire, And all is ready for the marriage." 129 THE BOOK OF EALLADS. Thus spoke young Mivins, as lie stepped On board the ^' Eirefly," Harwich packet ; The bell rung out, the paddles swept Plish-plashing round with noisy racket. The lowering clouds young Mivins saw, But fear, he felt, was only folly ; And so he smoked a fresh cigar, Then fell to whistling— '^ IS^ix my dolly ! " ! The wind it roared ; the packet's hulk Eocked with a most unpleasant motion ; Young Mivins leant him o'er a bulk. And poured his sorrows to the ocean. Tints — blue and 3'ellow — signs of woe — Flushed, rainbow-like, his noble face in. As suddenly he rushed below, Crying, ^' Steward, steward, bring a basin ! ' On sped the bark : the howling storm The funnel's tapering smoke did blow far ; Unmoved, young Mivins' lifeless form "Was stretched upon a haircloth sofar. All night he moaned, the steamer groaned. And he w^as hourly getting fainter ; When it came bump against the pier. And there was fastened by the painter. h. THE BOOK OP BALLADS. Young Mivins rose, and blew his nose, Caught wildly at his small portmanteau ; He was unfit to lie or sit, And found it difficult to stand, too. He sought the deck, he sought the shore, He sought the lady's house like winking, And asked, low tapping at the door, " Is this the house of Mr. Jenkin ? " . A short man came — he told his name — Mivins was short — he cut him shorter, For in a fury he exclaimed, *^ Are you the man as vants my darter? Yot kim'd on you last night, young sqvire r " ^' It was the steamer, rot and scuttle her ! ^' Mayhap it vos, but our Mariar Talked off last night vith Bill the butler. *^ And so you 've kim'd a post too late." ^' It was the packet, sir, miscarried ! " ^' Yy, does you think a gal can vait As sets 'er 'art on being married ? Last night she vowed she 'd be a bride. And 'ave a spouse for vuss or better : So Eill struck in ; the knot vos tied. And now I vishes you may get her ! " 131 THE BOOK OF BALLADS. f 'I Young Miyins turned him from tlie spot, Ee wilder' d with the dreadful stroke, her Perfidy came like a shot — He was a thunderstruck stockbroker. " A curse on steam and steamers too ! By their delays I have been undone ! " He cried, as, looking very blue. He rode a bachelor to London. S ^/J 132 THE BOOK OF BALLADS. €liB IratBEte' €mxMr\. BY THE HON. T- [This and the five following Poems were among those forwarded to the Home Secretary, by the unsuccessful competitors for the Laureateship, on its becoming vacant by the death of Southey. How they came into our possession is a matter between Sir James Graham and ourselves. The result of the contest could never have been doubtful, least of all to the great poet who then succeeded to the bays. His own sonnet on the subject is full of the serene consciousness of supe- riority, which does not even admit the idea of rivalry, far less of defeat. Bays, which in former days have graced the brow Of some, who lived and loved, and sung and died ; Leaves, that were gathered on the pleasant side Of old Parnassus from Apollo's bough ; With palpitating hand I take ye now. Since worthier minstrel there is none beside. And with a thrill of song half deified, I bind them proudly on my locks of snow. There shall they bide, till he who follows next, Of whom I cannot even guess the name. Shall by Court favour, or some vain pretext Of fancied merit, desecrate the same, — And think, perchance, he wears them quite as well As the sole bard who sang of Peter Bell !] J{ FYTTE THE FIRST. ^' What news, what news, thou pilgrim gfey, what news from southern land ? How fare the bold Conservatives, how is it with Ferrand ? M THE BOOK OF BALLADS. 1 ^ * For the convenience of future commentators it may be mentioned, that the "gentle Brough" was the Monthly Nurse who attended her Majesty on the occasion of the birth of the Princess Boyal. ; . ' ^ ^ - ■ fvt' M'U-'i^*- . How does the little Prince of "Wales — how looks our lady W Queen ; , And tell me, is the gentle Brough"^' once more at Windsor wl ^^ I bring no tidings from the court, nor from St. Stephen's hall; I 've heard the thundering tramp of horse, and the trumpet's battle call ; And these old eyes have seen a fight, which England ne'er hath seen, Since fell King Eichard sobbed his soul through blood on Eosworth Green. ^' He 's dead, he 's dead, the Laureate's dead ! " 'T was thus the cry began, And straightway every garret roof gave up its minstrel man; Erom Grub Street, and from Houndsditch, and from Ear- ringdon Within, The poets all towards Whitehall poured on with eldritch din. THE BOOK OF BALLADS. Loud yelled they for Sir James the Graham: but sore afraid was he ; A hardy knight were he that might face such a minstrelsie. ''IN'ow by St. Giles of Ketherby, my patron saint, I swear, I 'd rather by a thousand crowns Lord Palmerston were here ! — ^ii '^ What is 't ye seek, ye rebel knaves, what make you there beneath ? " ^' The bays, the bays! we want the bays! we seek the laureate wreath ! We seek the butt of generous wine that cheers the sons of song : Choose thou among us all, Sir Knight — we may not tarry long ! " Loud laughed the good Sir James in scorn — " Rare jest it were, I think. But one poor butt of Xeres, and a thousand rogues to drink ! An' if it flowed with wine or beer, 't is easy to be seen That dry within the hour would be the well of Hippocrene. " Tell me, if on Parnassus' heights there grow a thousand *-™^ sheaves : Or has Apollo's laurel bush yet borne ten hundred leaves ? M i 135 THE BOOK OF BALIABS. Or if so many leaves were there, how long would they sustain The ravage and the glutton bite of such a locust train ? " ]N"o ! get ye back into your dens, take counsel for the night. And choose me out two champions to meet in deadly fight; To-morrow's dawn shall see the lists marked out in Spital- fields. And he who wins shall have the bays, and he shall die who yields ! " Down went the window with a crash, — in silence and in fear Each ragged bard looked anxiously upon his neighbour near; Then up and spake young Tennyson — "Who's here that fears for death ? 'T were better one of us should die, than England lose the wreath! " Let 's cast the lots among us now, which two shall fight to-morrow ; — Eor armour bright we '11 club our mite, and horses we can borrow. THE BOOK OF BALLADS 'Twere shame that bards of France should sneer, and German Bichters too, If none of British song might dare a deed of derring-do ! " '^The lists of Love are mine," said Moore, ^'and not the lists of Mars;" Said Hunt, ^' I seek the jars of wine, but shun the com- bat's jars ! " '^I 'm old," quoth Samuel Eogers. — '' Faith," says Camp- bell ''so am I ! " '' And I 'm in holy orders, sir ! " quoth Tom of Ingoldsby. " ^ow out upon ye, craven loons ! " cried Moxon, good at need, — '' Bide, if ye will, secure at home, and sleoj) while others bleed. I second Alfred's motion, boys, — let *s try the chance of lot; And monks shall sing, and bells shall ring, for him that goes to pot." Eight hundred minstrels slunk away — two hundred stayed to draw, — ^N'ow Heaven protect the daring wight that pulls the longest straw ! 137 THE BOOK OF BALLADS. 4y 'T is done I 't is done ! And ' who hath won r Keep silence, one and all, — The first is "William WordsAvorth hight, the second JN'ed EitzbaU ! " FYTTE THE SECOND. Oh, bright and gay hath dawned the day on lordly Spital- fields, — How flash the rays with ardent blaze from polished helms and shields ! On either side the chivalry of England throng the green. And in the middle balcony appears our gracious Queen. With iron fists, to keep the lists, two valiant knights appear. The Marquis Hal of Waterford, and stout Sir Aubrey Yere. " What ho, there, herald, blow the trump ! Let 's see who comes to claim ZEI The butt of golden Xeres, and the Laureate's honoured THE BOOK OF BALLADS. * That instant dashed into the lists, all armed from head to heel, On courser brown, with vizor down, a warrior sheathed in steel ; Then said our Queen — '^ Was ever seen so stout a knight and tall ? His name — ^his race ? " — ^^ An 't please your grace, it is the brave Fitzball. " Oft in the Melodrama line his prowess hath been shown. And well throughout the Surrey side his thirst for blood is known. But see, the other champion comes ! " — Then rung the startled air With shouts of ^^ Wordsworth, Wordsworth, ho! the bard of Hydal 's there." And lo ! upon a little steed, unmeet for such a course, Appeared the honoured veteran ; but weak seemed man and horse. Then shook their ears the sapient peers, — '' That joust will soon be done : My Lord of Brougham, I '11 back Fitzball, and give you two to one ! " 139 THE BOOK OF BALLADS. ''Done," quoth the Erougham, — "and done with you!" '']N"ow, Minstrels, are you ready ? " Exclaimed the Lord of "Waterford, — " You 'd better both sit steady. Blow, trumpets, blow the note of charge ! and forward to the fight ! " ''Amen!" said good Sir Aubrey Yere ; "Saint Schism defend the right ! " As sweeps the blast against the mast when blows the furious squall, So started at the trumpet's sound the terrible Ktzball ; His lance he bore his breast before, — Saint George protect the just. Or Wordsworth's hoary head must roll along the shameful dust! " "Who threw that calthrop r Seize the knave ! " Alas the deed is done ; Down went the steed, and o'er his head flew bright Apollo's son. "Undo his helmet! cut the lace! pour water on his head!" "It ain't no use at all, my lord; 'cos vy ? the covey's dead ! " ^;s==i=^ THE BOOK OF BALLADS. Pi Above him stood the Eydal bard — his face was full of woe, — ''N'ow there thou liest;, stiff and stark, who never feared a foe : .V braver knight, or more renowned in tourney and in hall, ^e'er brought the upper gallery down, than terrible Fitz- ball ! " They led our Wordsworth to the Queen — she crowned him with the bays, And wished him many happy years, and many quarter- days,—- And if you 'd have the story told by abler lips than mine, You 've but to call at Eydal Mount, and taste the Laureate's f THE BOOK OF BALLADS. €^t Unpl 'lonimtiBt. BY THE HON. G- The Queen, she kept higli festival in "Windsor's lordly hall, And round her sat the gartered knights, and ermined nobles all ; There drank the valiant Wellington, there fed the wary Peel, And at the bottom of the board Prince Albert carved the veal. THE BOOK OP BALLADS. " What, pantler, ho ! remove the cloth ! Ho ! cellarer, the wine, And bid the royal nurse bring in the hope of Brunswick's line ! " Then rose with one tumultuous shout the band of British peers, '' God bless her sacred Majesty ! Let 's see the little dears!" ISTow by Saint George, our patron saint, 't was a touching sight to see That iron warrior gently place the Princess on his knee ; To hear him hush her infant fears, and teach her how to gape With rosy mouth expectant for the raisin and the grape ! t They passed the wine, the sparkling wine — they filled the goblets up, Even Brougham, the cynic anchorite, smiled blandly on the cup ; And Lyndhurst, with a noble thirst, that nothing could appease, Proposed the immortal memory of King William on his ' knees. 5^¥ 143 THE BOOK OP BALLADS. '^ What Avant we here, my gracious liege," cried good Lord Aberdeen, '^ Save gladsome song and minstrelsy to flow our cups between ? I ask not now for Goulburn's voice or Knatchbull's warbling lay, But Where's the Poet Laureate to grace our board to- day?" Loud laughed the Knight of IS'etherby, and scornfully he cried, ^^ Or art thou mad with wine. Lord Earl, or art thyself beside ? Eight hundred Bedlam bards have claimed the Laureate's vacant crown. And now like frantic Bacchanals run wild through London town ! " '^Now glory to our gracious Queen ! " a voice was heard to cry. And dark Macaulay stood before them all with frenzied eye; '^ Now glory to our gracious Queen, and all her glorious race, A boon, a boon, my sovran liege ! Give me the Laureate's place ! 'M I4i a^^-=: THE BOOK OE BALLADS. '^ 'T was I that sang the might of Eome, the glories of Kavarre ; And who could swell the fame so well of Britain's Isles afar ? The hero of a hundred fights — " Then Wellington up sprung, ^^ Ho, silence in the ranks, I say! Sit down, and hold your tongue. '^ By heaven thou shalt not twist my name into a jingling lay. Or mimic in thy puny song the thunders of Assaye ! ' T is hard that for thy lust of place in peace we cannot dine. IS^urse, take her Royal Highness here ! Sir Robert, pass the wine !" '' N'o laureate need we at our board ! " then spoke the Lord of Yaux ; '' Here's many a voice to charm the ear with minstrel song, I know. ^^^^k^. THE BOOK or BALLADS. Even I myself — " Then rose the cry — "A song^ a song from Erougham ! " He sang, — and straightway found himself alone within the room. 146 THE BOOK OF BALLADS. '^t fo^x]i nf dJritt's tmnl BY T M RE, ESQ. <^[W Oh, weep for the hours, when the little blind boy Wove round me the spells of his Paphian bower ; When I dipp'd my light wings in the nectar of joy, And soar'd in the sunshine, the moth of the hour ! From beauty to beauty, I pass'd like the wind ; JS'ow fondled the lily, now toy'd with the rose ; And the fair, that at morn had enchanted my mind, Was forsook for another ere evening's close. ... I sighed not for honour, I cared no^ for fame, I'K While Pleasure sat by me, and Lov^ was my guest ; They twined a fresh wreath for each day as it came, And the bosom of Beauty still pillow 'd my rest : And the harp of my country — neglected it slept — In hall or by greenwood unheard were its songs From Love's Sybarite dreams I aroused me, and swept Its chords to the tale of her glories and wrongs. THE BOOK OF BALLADS. But weep for the hour ! — Life's summer is past, And the snow of its winter lies cold on my brow ; And my soul, as it shrinks from each stroke of the blast. Cannot turn to a iire that glows inwardly now. '^o, its ashes are dead — and, alas ! Love or Song 1^0 charm to Life's lengthening shadows can lend, Like a cup of old wine, rich, mellow, and strong. And a seat by the fire tete-d-tete with a friend. THE BOOK OF BALLADS. f- I 1 (SllB lottriiitB. '^1 i Who would not be The Laureate bold, With his butt of sheriy To keep him merry, And nothing to do but to pocket his gold : 149 THE BOOK OF BALLADS. 'T is I would be the Laureate bold ! When the days are hot, and the sun is strong, I ! I'd lounge in the gateway all the day long, With her Majesty's footmen in crimson and gold. I 'd care not a pin for the waiting-lord ; But I 'd lie on my back on the smooth green sward, With a straw in my mouth, and an open vest. And the cool wind blowing upon my breast. And I 'd vacantly stare at the clear blue sky, And watch the clouds as listless as I, Lazily, lazily ! And I 'd pick the moss and daisies white, And chew their stalks with a nibbling bite ; And I 'd let my fancies roam abroad In search of a hint for a birth-day ode, Crazily, Crazily ! Oh, that would be the life for me. With plenty to get, and nothing to do. But to deck a pet poodle with ribbons of blue, And whistle all day to the Queen's cockatoo. Trance- somely, trance -somely. Then the chambermaids, that clean the rooms, Would come to the windows and rest on their brooms. THE BOOK OF BALLADS. With their saucy caps and their crisped hair, And they 'd toss their heads in the fragrant air^ And say to each other — ^^ Just look down there, At the nice young man, so tidy and small, Who is paid for writing on nothing at all, Handsomely, handsomeh^ ! " They would pelt me with matches and sweet pastilles. And crumpled up balls of the royal bills, Giggling and laughing, and screaming with fun, As they 'd see me start, with a leap and a run, From the broad of my back to the points of my toes, When a pellet of paper hit my nose, Teazingly, sneezingly. Then I 'd fling them bunches of garden flowers, And hyacinths plucked from the Castle bowers ; And I 'd challenge them all to come down to me. And I 'd kiss them all till they kissed me. Laughingly, laughingly. Oh, would not that be a merry life, Apart from care, and apart from strife. With the Laureate's wine, and the Laureate's pay, And no deductions at quarter-day ? THE BOOK OF BALLADS. K Oh, that would be the post for me ! With plenty to get and nothing to do But to deck a pet poodle with ribbons of blue^ And whistle a tune to the Queen's cockatoo, And scribble of verses remarkably few, And at evening empty a bottle or two, Quaffingly, quaifingly ! %' 'T is I would be The Laureate bold, With my butt of sherry To keep me merry, And nothing to do but to pocket my gold ! ] J 152 THE BOOK OF BALLADS. I a Jllihiglft 3llBMtiitimi, BY SIR E B L . Fill me once more the foaming pewter up ! Another board of oysters, ladye mine ! To-night Lucullus with himself shall sup. These mute inglorious Miltons are divine ; And as I here in slippered ease recline, Quaffing of Perkin's Entire my fill, I sigh not for the hnnph of Aganippe's rill. A nobler inspiration fires my brain. Caught from Old England's fine time-hallowed drink ; I snatch the pot again and yet again. And as the foaming fluids shrink and shrink. Fill me once more, I say, up to the brink ! This makes strong hearts — strong heads attest its charm — This nerves the might that sleeps in Britain's brawny arm ! But these remarks are neither here nor there. Where was I ? Oh, I see — old Southey 's dead ! They '11 want some bard to fill the vacant chair. And drain the annual butt — and oh, what head More fit with laurel to be garlanded THE BOOK OF BALLADS. "iiy Than this, which, curled in many a fragrant coil. Breathes of Castalia's streams, and best Macassar oil ? I know a grace is seated on my brow, Like young Apollo's with his golden beams ; There should Apollo's bays be budding now : — And in my flashing eyes the radiance beams That marks the poet in his waking dreams, When as his fancies cluster thick and thicker. He feels the trance divine of poesy and liquor. They throng around me now, those things of air, That from my fancy took their being's stamp : There Pelham sits and twirls his glossy hair. There Clifford leads his pals upon the tramp ; Their pale Zanoni, bending o'er his lamp. Roams through the starry wilderness of thought. Where all is everything, and everything is nought. Yes, I am he, who sung how Aram won The gentle ear of pensive Madeline ! How love and murder hand in hand may run. Cemented by philosophy serene, And kisses bless the spot where gore has been ! Who breathed the melting sentiment of crime. And for the assassin waked a sympathy sublime ! f THE BOOK or BALLADS. I Yes, I am he, who on the novel shed Obscure philosophy's enchanting light ! Until the public, wildered as they read, Eelieved they saw that which was not in sight- Of course 't was not for me to set them right ; Eor in my nether heart convinced I am, Philosophy's as good as any other bam. j^ovels three-volumed I shall write no more — Somehow or other now they will not sell ; And to invent new passions is a bore — I find the Magazines pay quite as well. Translating 's simple, too, as I can tell, "Who 've hawked at Schiller on his lyric throne, And given the astonished bard a meaning all my own. Moore, Campbell, Wordsworth, their best days are grassed ; Battered and broken are their early lyres. liogers, a pleasant memory of the past, Warmed his young hands at Smithfield's martyr fires. And, worth a plum, nor bays nor butt desires. But these are things would suit me to the letter. For though this Stout is good, old Sherry's greatly better. 155 THE BOOK OF BALLADS. A fico for your small poetic ravers, Your Hunts, your Tennysons, your Milnes, and these ! Shall they compete mth him who wrote ^^Maltravers," Prologue to " Alice or the Mysteries r " No ! Even now my glance prophetic sees My own high brow girt with the bays about. What ho, within there, ho ! another pint of Stout I I ^J Slvuf/ More Stout If M' /£ THE BOOK OF BALLADS. ,!f ?i!-niitgnmBn(. 1 from. 1^ Like one who, waking from a troublous dream, Pursues with force his meditative theme ; Cahn as the ocean in its halcyon still, Calm as the sunlight sleeping on the hill ; Calm as at Ephesus great Paul was seen To rend his robes in agonies serene ; Calm as the love that radiant Luther bore To all that lived behind him, and before ; Calm as meek Calvin, when, with holy smile. He sang the mass around Servetus' pile, — So once again I snatch this harp of mine, To breathe rich incense from a mystic shrine. [N'ot now to whisper to the ambient air The sounds of Satan's Universal Prayer; Not now to sing, in sweet domestic strife That woman reigns the Angel of our life ; But to proclaim the wish, with pious art, Which thrills through Britain's universal heart, — That on this brow, with native honours graced. The Laureate's chaplet should at length be placed ! m' 157 THE BOOK OF BALLADS. 7 I.. ^\) Fear not, ye maids, who love to hear me speak ; Let no desponding tears dedim your cheek ! Ko gust of envy, no malicious scorn, Hath this poor heart of mine with frenzy torn. There are who move so far above the great. Their very look disarms the glance of hate ; Their thoughts, more rich than emerald or gold, Enwrap them like the prophet's mantle's fold. Fear not for me, nor think that this our age. Blind though it be, hath yet no Archimage. I, who have bathed in bright Castalia's tide, By classic Isis and more classic Clyde ; I, who have handled, in my lofty strain, All things divine, and many things profane ; I, who have trod where seraphs fear to tread ; I, who on mountain — honey dew have fed ; 1, who undaunted broke the mystic seal. And left no page for prophets to reveal ; I, who in shade portentous Dante threw ; I who have done what Milton dared not do,— - I fear no rival for the vacant throne ; Ko mortal thunder shall eclipse my own ! 9 Let dark Macaulay chaunt his Roman lays, Let Monckton Milnes go maunder for the bays. THE BOOK OF BALLADS. Let Simmons call on great J^apoleon's shade, Let Lytton Bulwer seek liis Aram's aid, Let Wordsworth ask for help from Peter Bell, Let Campbell carol Copenhagen's knell. Let Delta warble through his Delphic groves. Let Elliot shout for pork and penny loaves, — I care not, I ! resolved to stand or fall ; One down, another on, I '11 smash them all ! Back, ye profane ! this hand alone hath power To pluck the laurel from its sacred bower ; This brow alone is privileged to wear The ancient wreath o'er hyacinthine hair ; These lips alone may quaff the sparkling wine, And make its mortal juice once more divine. Back, ye profane ! And thou, fair queen, rejoice : A nation's praise shall consecrate thy choice. Thus, then, I kneel where Spenser knelt before, On the same spot, perchance, of Windsor's floor; And take, while awe-struck millions round me stand, The hallowed wreath from great Victoria's hand. li 159 £^^^^^^ A'] I THE BOOK OF BALLADS. ^ DBEtji nf, Iprr, [Why has Satan's own Laureate never given to the world his marvellous threnody on " The Death of Space ? " Who knows where the hays might have fallen, had he forwarded that mystic manuscript to the Home Office ? If un- wonted modesty withholds it from the public eye, the public will pardon the boldness that tears from blushing obscurity the following fragments of this unique poem.] Eteknity shall raise her funeral pile In the vast dungeon of the extinguish' d sky, And, clothed in dim barbaric splendour, smile, And murmur shouts of elegiac joy. While those that dwell beyond the realms of space, And those that people all that dreary void. When old Time's endless heir hath run his race, Shall live for aye, enjoying and enjoy'd. m And 'mid the agony of unsullied bliss, Her Demogorgon's doom shall Sin bewail. The undying serpent at the spheres shall hiss. And lash the empyrean with his tail. m THE BOOK OF BALLADS. « And Hell, inflated with supernal wrath, Shall open wide her thunder-bolted jaws, And shout into the dull cold ear of Death, That he must pay his debt to Nature's laws. And when the King of Terrors breathes his last, Infinity shall creep into her shell. Cause and effect shall from their thrones be cast. And end their strife with suicidal yell. While from their ashes, burnt with pomp of Kings 'Mid incense floating to the evanished skies, [N'onentity, on circumambient wings. An everlasting Phoenix shall arise. i 161 littk SnljE ml tliB Mi /rinr. FYTTE THE FIRST. The deer may leap within the glade ; The fawns may follow free — Por Eobin is dead, and his bones are laid Beneath the greenwood tree. :z-^^m .s^ -SSrfate.^^ THE BOOK OF BALLADS. f And broken are his merry, merry men, That goodly companie ; There 's some have ta'en the northern road With Jem of ]N"etherbee. The best and bravest of the band "With Derby !N'ed are gone ; But Earlie Gray and Charlie Wood, They staid with Little John. jN^ow Little John was an outlaw proud, A prouder ye never saw ; Through ^N'ottingham and Leicester shires He thought his word was law, And he strutted through the greenwood wide, Like a pestilent jack-daw. He swore that none, but with leave of him, Should set foot on the turf so free : And he thought to spread his cutter's rule. All over the south countrie. ^' There 's never a knave in the land," he said, ^' Eut shall pay his toll to me ! " w Mi c^yj THE BOOK OF BALLADS. And Charlie Wood was a taxman good As ever stepped the ground, He levied mail, like a sturdy thief, Prom all the yeomen round. *'!N'ay, stand ! " quoth he, *^ thou shalt pay to me. Seven pence from every pound ! " IN'ow word has come to Little John, As he lay upon the grass, That a Friar red was in merry Sherwood Without his leave to pass. } *' Come hither, come hither, my little foot-page ! Ben Hawes, come tell to me, What manner of man is this burly frere Who walks the wood so free? " " My master good ! " the little page said, '' His name I wot not well. But he wears on his head a hat so red. With a monstrous scallop-shell. ' " He says he is Prior of Copmanshurst, And Bishop of London town, And he comes with a rope from oiu' father the Pope To put the outlaws down. m THE BOOK OF BALLADS. *^ I saw him ride but yester-tide "With his jolly chaplains three ; And he swears that he has an open pass From Jem of IS'etherbee ! " % J? Little John has ta'en an arrow so broad, And broke it o'er his knee ; '^ ^N'ow I may never strike doe again, But this wrong avenged shall be ! I '' And has he dared, this greasy frere, To trespass in my bound, ]N'or asked for leave from Little John To range with hawk and hound r '^ And has he dared to take a pass From Jem of JS'etherbee, Forgetting that the Sherwood shaws Pertain of right to me ? '' were he but a simple man And not a slip-shod frere ! I 'd hang him up by his own waist-rope Above yon tangled brere. THE EOOK OF BALLADS. *^ did he come alone from Jem And not from our father the Pope, I 'd bring him in to Copmanshurst, With the noose of a hempen rope ! " But since he has come from our father the Pope, And sailed across the sea, And since he has power to bind and loose, His life is safe for me ; But a heavy penance he shall do Beneath the greenwood tree ! " "0 tarry yet," quoth Charlie Wood, ^^ tarry, master mine ! It 's ill to shear a yearling hog, Or twist the wool of swine ! " It 's ill to make a bonny silk purse From the ear of a bristly boar ; It's ill to provoke a shaveling's curse. When the way lies him before. ^ ' I ' ve walked the forest for twenty years. In wet weather and dry, And never stopped a good fellawe Who had no coin to buy. M " What boots it to search a beggarman's bags When no silver groat he has ? So, master mine, I rede you well, E'en let the Friar pass ! " ^^JS'ow cease thy prate," quoth Little John, ^^ Thou japest but in vain ; An he have not a groat within his pouch We may find a silver chain. '^ But were he as bare as a new-flayed buck. As truly he may be. He shall not tread the Sherwood shaws Without the leave of me ! " Little John has taken his arrows and bow. His sword and buckler strong. And lifted up his quarter- stafl*, Was full three cloth yards long. And he has left his merry men At the trysting-tree behind. And gone into the gay greenwood. This burly frere to find. 167 THE BOOK OF BALLADS. O'er holt and hill, thro' brake and brere He took his way alone — [^Tow, Lordlings, list and you shall hear This geste of Little John. FYTTE THE SECOND. 'T is merry, 't is merry in gay greenwood, When the little birds are singing, When the buck is belling in the fern And the hare from the thicket springing ! 'T is merry to hear the waters clear As they splash in the pebbly fall ; And the ouzel whistling to his mate As he lights on the stones so small. Eut small pleasaunce took Little John In all he heard and saw ; Till he reached the cave of a hermit old Who wonned within the shaw. ^1 THE BOOK OF BALLADS. " Or a pro nobis/'' quoth Little John- His Latin was somewhat rude — " !N'oW; holy Father, hast thou seen A frere within the wood ? " By his scarlet hose, and his ruddy nose, I guess you may know him well ; And he wears on his head a hat so red, And a monstrous scallop shell." " I have served Saint Pancras," the hermit said, " In this cell for thirty year, Yet never saw I, in the forest bounds. The face of such a frere ! tf " An if ye find him, master mine. E'en take an old man's advice. And raddle him well, till he roar again, Lest ye fail to meet him twice !" " Trust me for that !" quoth Little John — ^' Trust me for that !" quoth he with a laugh, '' There never was man of woman born, That ask'd twice for the taste of my quarter- staff!" 169 THE BOOK OF BALLADS. w Then Little John, he strutted on, 'Till he came to an open bound, And he was aware of a Eed Friar Was sitting upon the ground. His shoulders they were broad and strong, And large was he of limb : Few yeomen in the north countrie Would care to mell with him. He heard the rustling of the boughs. As Little John drew near ; But never a single word he spoke. Of welcome or of cheer. I like not his looks ! thought Little John, [N'or his staff of the oaken tree. IN'ow may our Lady be my help. Else beaten I well may be ! '' What dost thou here, thou strong Friar, In Sherwood's merry round. Without the leave of Little John, To range with hawk and hound ? " ^ THE BOOK OF BALLADS. ^^ Small thought have I," quoth the E,ed Friar, ^' Of any leave, I trow. That Little John is an outlawed thief. And so, I ween, art thou ! V '' Know, I am Prior of Copmanshurst, And Eishop of London town, And I bring a rope from our father the Pope, To put the outlaws down." Then out spoke Little John in wrath, '^ I tell thee, burly frere, The Pope may do as he likes at home, Eut he sends no Eishops here ! '' IJp, and away, Eed Friar !" he said, '^ Up, and away, right speedilie ; '' An it were not for that cowl of thine, Avenged on thy body I would be !" 4, '' JN'ay, heed not that," said the Eed Friar, *' And let my cowl no hindrance be ; I warrant that I can give as good As ever I think to take from thee !" 171 THE BOOK OF BALLADS. Little John he raised his quarter- staiF, And so did the burly priest, And they fought beneath the greenwood tree, A stricken hour at least. Eut Little John was weak of fence, And his strength began to fail. Whilst the Friar's blows came thundering down, Like the strokes of a threshing flail. i '' jSTow, hold thy hand, thou stalwart friar, JN'ow rest beneath the thorn, Until I gather breath enow, Tor a blast at my bugle horn !" " I '11 hold my hand," the Priar said, '^ Since that is your propine, Eut, an you sound your bugle horn, I '11 even blow on mine !" little John he wound a blast so shrill That it rung o'er rock and linn. And Charlie Wood and his merry men all Came lightly bounding in. ==^^ \Ti THE BOOK OF BALLADS. The Friar he wound a blast so strong That it shook both bush and tree, And to his side came Witless Will And Jem of I^etherbee ; With all the worst of Eobin's band, And many a Rapparee ! Little John he wist not what to do, When he saw the others come ; So he twisted his quarter-staff between His fingers and his thumb. ** There 's some mistake, good Friar !" he said, ** There's some mistake 'twixt thee and me ; I know thou art Prior of Copmanshurst, But not beneath the greenwood tree. *^ And if you will take some other name, You shaU have ample leave to bide ; With pasture also for your Bulls, And power to range the forest wide." '' There's no mistake !" the Friar said, ^' 1 11 call myself just what I please. My doctrine is that chalk is chalk. And cheese is nothing else than cheese." w THE BOOK OF BALLADS. r *' So be it tlieii !" qnotli Little John ; ^^ But surely you will not object, If I and all my merry men Should treat you with reserved respect ? A; mm -^•ii^'^; Vi!,')l THE BOOK OF BALLADS (k I " We can't call you Prior of Copmanshurst, ^or Bishop of London town, JN'or on the grass, as you chance to pass, Can we very well kneel down. '' But you '11 send the Pope my compHments, And say, as a further hint. That, within the Sherwood bounds, you saw Little John, who is the son-in-law Of his friend, old Mat- o'- the -Mint ! " So ends this geste of Little John — God save our noble Queen ! But, Lordlings, say — Is Sherwood now What Sherwood once hath been ? 4 m :^%l.^^.^A^ ^^^^^^^^^^^^^ THE BOOK OF BALLADS. €tiE t\\\m nf lit jCuerdnt %^\h i f Bgraii nf fksgnni. By Mrs. E B B . Theee 's a pleasant place of rest, near a City of the West, Where its bravest and its best, find their grave. I \l 4 THE BOOK OF BALLADS. Below the willows weep, and their hoary branches steep In the waters still and deep, ^ot a wave ! And the old Cathedral Wall, so scathed and grey and tall, Like a priest surveying ^11, stands beyond. And the ringing of its bell, when the ringers ring it well. Makes a kind of tidal swell On the pond ! And there it was I lay, on a beauteous summer's day, "With the odour of the hay floating by ; And I heard the blackbirds sing, and the bells demurely ring. Chime by chime, ting by ting, Droppingly. Then my thoughts went wandering back on a very beaten track To the confine deep and black of the tomb, And I wondered who he was, that is laid beneath the Where the dandelion has Such a bloom. Then I straightway did espy, with my slantly sloping eye, A carved stone hard by, somewhat worn ; And I read in letters cold — lleu.Ipts.Xauncelot.pe.lialtrt, #ff . BC . race . oH. HSogik . oltr, ^lasgotD.tJornt. 1|e.fioaIs.ane»t)aIpaunt.iinpc]^te«maist.tnri{ikan.fpcf)tt. . . Here the letters failed outright, but I knew That a stout crusading lord, who had crossed the Jordan's ford. Lay there beneath the sward, Wet with dew. Time and tide they passed away, on that pleasant summer's day. And around me as I lay, all grew old : Sank the chimneys from the town, and the clouds of vapour brown 'No longer, like a crown. O'er it rolled. Sank the great Saint Eollox stalk, like a pile of dingy chalk ; Disappeared the cypress walk, and the flowers. xVnd a donjon keep arose, that might baffle any foes, "With its men-at-arms in rows. On its towers. ^. THE BOOK OF BALLADS. And the flag that flaunted there, showed the grim and grizzly bear, AYhich the Bogles always wear for their crest. And I heard the warder call, as he stood upon the wall, '' Wake ye up ! my comrades all, From your rest ! I ^^Por by the blessed rood, there's a glimpse of armour good In the deep Cowcaddens wood, o'er the stream ; And I hear the stifled hum, of a multitude that come, Though they have not beat the drum It would seem ! '^ Go teU it to my Lord, lest he wish to man the ford With partizan and sword, just beneath ; Ho, Gilkison and !N^ares ! Ho, Provan of Cowlairs ! We '11 back the bonny bears To the death ! " To the tower above the moat, like one who heedeth not, Came the bold Sir Launcelot, half undressed ; On the outer rim he stood, and peered into the wood, With his arms across him glued On his breast. THE BOOK OF BALLADS. h And he muttered ^Toe accurst! hast thou dared to seek me first ? George of Gorbals, do thy worst — for I swear, O'er thy gory corpse to ride^ ere thy sister and my bride, From my undesevered side, Thou shalt tear ! .J '^ Ho ! herald mine, Erownlee ! ride forth, I pray, and see, "Who, what, and whence is he, foe or friend ! Sir Eoderick Dalgleish, and my foster-brother ileish "With his bloodhounds in the leash, Shall attend." Perth went the herald stout, o'er the drawbridge and with- out, Then a wild and savage shout rose amain. Six arrows sped their force, and, a pale and bleeding corse. He sank from off his horse On the plain ! 01 Eack drew the bold Dalgleish, back started stalwart JN'eish, With his bloodhounds in the leash, from Erownlee. ^'Kow shame be to the sword that made thee knight and lord. Thou caitiff thrice-abhorred. Shame on thee ! THE BOOK OE BALLADS. " Ho, bowmen, bend your bows ! Discharge upon tbe foes, Forthwith no end of those heavy bolts. Three angels to the brave who finds the foe a grave. And a gallows for the slave Who revolts !" Ten days the combat lasted; but the bold defenders fasted. While the foemen, better pastied, fed their host ; You might hear the savage cheers of the hungry Gorbaliers, As at night they dressed the steers For the roast. And SirLauncelot grew thin, and Pro van's double chin Showed sundry folds of skin down beneath ; In silence and in grief found Gilkison relief, JS'or did I^eish the spellword, beef, Dare to breathe. ml To the ramparts Edith came, that fair and youthful dame. With the rosy evening flame on her face. She sighed, and looked around on the soldiers on the ground, Who but little penance found, Sajdng grace ! ^^r<|^tg^ia*^-^ 181 THE BOOK OF BALLADS. And she said unto her lord, as he leaned upon his sword, ^* One short and little word may I speak ? I cannot bear to view those eyes so ghastly blue, Or mark the sallow hue Of thy cheek ! *^ I know the rage and wrath that my furious brother hath Is less against us both than at me. Then, dearest, let me go to find among the foe An arrow from the bow, Like Erownlee ! " '* I would soil my father's name, I would lose my treasured fame, Ladye mine, should such a shame on me light : While I wear a belted brand, together still we stand, Heart to heart, hand in hand !" Said the knight. " All our chances are not lost, as your brother and his host Shall discover to their cost rather hard ! Ho, Provan ! take this key — hoist up the Malvoisie, And heap it, d' ye see, In the yard. THE BOOK OP BALLADS. ^^ Of usquebaugh and rum, you will iind I reckon some, Besides the beer and mum, extra stout ; Go straightway to your tasks, and roll me all the casks, As also range the flasks. Just without. ^^ If I know the Gorbaliers, they are sure to dip their ears In the very inmost tiers of the drink. Let them win the outer-court, and hold it for their sport, Since their time is rather short, I should think !" s With a loud triumphant yell, as the heavy drawbridge fell, Eushed the Gorbaliers peU-mell, wild as Druids ; Mad with thirst for human gore, how they threatened and they swore, Till they stumbled on the floor, O'er the fluids ! Down their weapons then they threw, and each savage soldier drew From his belt an iron screw, in his fist : George of Gorbals found it vain their excitement to restrain. And indeed was rather fain To assist. si 1 THE BOOK OF BALLADS. With a beaker in his hand, in the midst he took his stand, And silence did command, all below — ^' Ho ! Launcelot the bold, ere thy lips are icy cold. In the centre of thy hold, Pledge me now ! ^^ Art surly, brother mine ? In this cup of rosy wine, I drink to the decline of thy race ! Thy proud career is done, thy sand is nearly run, ^NTever more shall setting sun Gild thy face ! '^ The pilgrim in amaze, shall see a goodly blaze. Ere the pallid morning rays flicker up. And perchance he may espy certain corpses swinging high! What, brother ! art thou dry ? Eill my cup !" Dumb as death stood Launcelot, as though he heard him not, But his bosom Proyan smote, and he swore : And Sir Roderick Dalgleish, remarked aside to JSTeish, '' ]N"ever sure did thirsty fish Swallow more ! " 184 THE BOOK OF BALLADS. ^' Thirty casks are nearly done, yet the revel's scarce begun, It were knightly sport and fun to strike in !" '^ l^aj, tarry till they come," quoth JN'eish, ^^unto the rum — They are working at the mum, And the gin ! " Then straight there did appear to each gallant Gorbalier Twenty castles dancing near, all around, The solid earth did shake, and the stones beneath them quake. And sinuous as a snake Moved the ground. Why and wherefore they had come, seemed intricate to some, But all agreed the rum was divine. And they looked with bitter scorn on their leader highly born. Who preferred to fill his horn Up with wine ! Then said Launcelot the tall, " Bring the chargers from their stall ; Lead them straight unto the hall, down below : m i ^ THE BOOK OF BALLADS. Draw your weapons from yoiir side, fling the gates asunder wide, And together we shall ride On the foe!" i Then Provan knew full well as he leaped into his selle, That few would 'scape to tell how they fared, And Gilkison and ^ares, both mounted on their mares, Looked terrible as bears, All prepared. "With his bloodhounds in the leash, stood the iron- sine wed E'eish, And the falchion of Dalgleish glittered bright — *^ Kow, wake the trumpet's blast; and, comrades, follow fast ; Smite them down unto the last !" Cried the knight. In the cumbered yard without, there was shriek, and yell, and shout. As the warriors wheeled about, all in mail. On the miserable kerne, fell the death- strokes stiff and stern. As the deer treads down the fern. In the vale ! THE BOOK OF BALLADS. w Saint Mungo be my guide ! It was goodly in that tide To see the Bogle ride in his haste ; He accompanied each blow, with a cry of ^'IIa!"or ^^Ho!" And always cleft the foe To the waist. " George of Gorbals — craven lord! thou didst threat me with the cord, Gome forth and brave my sword, if you dare ! " Eut he met with no reply, and never could descry The glitter of his eye Anywhere. Ere the dawn of morning shone, all the Gorbaliers were down, Like a field of barley mown in the ear : It had done a soldier good, to see how Provan stood, "With JN'eish all bathed in blood. Panting near. " ISTow ply ye to your tasks — go carry down those casks. And place the empty flasks on the floor. George of Gorbals scarce will come, with trumpet and with drum. To taste our beer and rum Any more !" 187 THE BOOK OF BALLADS. So they plied them to their tasks, and they carried down '^^ the casks, And replaced the empty flasks on the floor ; But pallid for a week was the cellar-master's cheek, For he swore he heard a shriek Through the door. When the merry Christmas came, and the Yule-log lent its flame To the face of squire and dame in the hall. The cellarer went down to tap October brown, Which was rather of renown 'Mongst them all. He placed the spigot low, and gave the cask a blow. But his liquor would not flow through the pin. ^^ Sure, 'tis sweet as honeysuckles ! " so he rapped it with his knuckles. But a sound, as if of buckles. Clashed within. ^' Bring a hatchet, varlets, here ! " and they cleft the cask 3t of beer : rjl What a spectacle of fear met their sight ! 188 THE BOOK OF BALLADS. There George of Gorbals lay, scull and bones all blanched and grey, In the arms he bore the day Of theii^ht! I have sung this ancient tale, not, I trust, without avail, Though the moral ye may fail to perceive, Sir Launcelot is dust, and his gallant sword is rust, And now, I thinly, I must Take my leave ! Vll it IS'J THE BOOK OF BALLADS. I €^ t^ nf tljB tnn'^ Mnk [Air—" The days we went a gipsying." I WOULD all womankind were dead, Or banished o'er the sea ; Por they have been a bitter plague These last six Aveeks to me : THE BOOK OE BALLADS. It is not that I ' m touclied myself, For that I do not fear ; ISTo female face hath shown me grace For many a bygone year. But 't is the most infernal bore, Of all the bores I know, To have a friend who 's lost his heart A short time a^^o. m «' Whene'er we steam it to Black wall. Or down to Greenwich run, To quaff the pleasant cider cup, And feed on fish and fun ; Or climb the slopes of Eichmond Hill, To catch a breath of air : Then, for my sins, he straight begins To rave about his fair. Oh, 'tis the most tremendous bore. Of all the bores I know, To have a Mend who 's lost his heart A short time ago. J In vain you pour into his ear Your own confiding grief ; In vain you claim his sympathy, In vain you ask relief ; r '11 THE BOOK OF BALLADS. In vain you try to rouse him by Joke, repartee, or quiz ; His sole reply 's a burning sigh, And ^' What a mind it is ! " Lord ! it is the greatest bore, Of all the bores I know. To have a friend who 's lost his heart A short time ago. I 've heard her thoroughly described A hundred times, I 'm sure ; And all the while I 've tried to smile. And patiently endure ; He waxes strong upon his pangs, And potters o'er his grog ; And still I say, in a playful way — *' Why you 're a lucky dog ! " But oh ! it is the heaviest bore, Of all the bores I know, To have a friend who's lost his heart A short time ago. I really wish he 'd do like me When I was young and strong ; I formed a passion every week. But never kept it long. m w I ^-^^^^ THE BOOK OF BALLADS. But he has not the sportive mood That always rescued me, And so I would all women could Be banished o'er the sea. For 't is the most egregious bore, Of all the bores I know, To have a friend who 's lost his heart A short time ago. ! TO BON GAULTIER. Arol'mext.— An impassioned pupil of Leigh Hunt, having met Bon Gaultier at a Fancy Ball, declares the destructive consequences thus.] Didst thou not praise me, Gaultier, at the ball, Ripe lips, trim boddice, and a waist so small, With clipsome lightness, dwindling ever less, Eeneath the robe of pea-y greeniness r Dost thou remember, when with stately prance. Our heads went crosswise in the country dance ; THE BOOK OF BALLADS. How soft, warm fingers, tipp'd like buds of balm, Trembled within the squeezing of thy palm ; And how a cheek grew flush'd and peachy-wise At the frank lifting of thy cordial eyes ? Ah, me! that night there was one gentle thing, Who, like a dove, with its scarce -feather d wing, riutter'd at the approach of thy quaint swaggering ! There 's wont to be, at conscious times like these, An aifectation of a bright-eyed ease,— A crispy-cheekiness, if so I dare Describe the swaling of a jaunty air ; And thus, when swirling from the waltz's wheel. You craved my hand to grace the next quadrille, That smiling voice, although it made me start, Boil'd in the meek o'erlifting of my heart ; And, picking at my flowers, I said with free And usual tone, '' Oh yes, sir, certainly ! " f Like one that swoons, 'twixt sweet amaze and fear, I heard the music burning in my ear. And felt I cared not, so thou wert with me, If Gurth or Wamba were our vis-a-vis. So, when a taU Knight Templar ringing came. And took his place against us with his dame. 'h *:) W THE BOOK OF BALLADS. I neither turned away, nor bashful shrunk Prom the stern survey of the soldier-monk, Though rather more than full three-quarters drunk ; Eut threading through the figure, first in rule, I paused to see thee plunge into La Poule. Ah, what a sight was that ? Not prurient Mars, Pointing his toe through ten celestial bars — Not young Apollo, beamily array 'd In tripsome guise for Juno's masquerade — Not smartest Hermes, with his pinion girth. Jerking with freaks and snatches down to earth, Look'd half so bold, so beautiful, and strong. As thou, when pranking thro' the glittering throng ! How the calm'd ladies look'd with eyes of love On thy trim velvet doublet laced above ; The hem of gold, that, like a wavy river, Plowed down into thy back with glancing shiver ! So bare was thy fine throat, and curls of black So lightsomely dropp'd on thy lordly back, So crisply swaled the feather in thy bonnet, So glanced thy thigh, and spanning palm upon it. That my weak soul took instant flight to thee, Lost in the fondest gush of that sweet witchery ! But when the dance was o'er, and arm in arm, (The full heart beating 'gainst the elbow warm,) f 196 THE BOOK OF BALLADS. We pass'd into the great refreshment hall, Where the heap'd cheese-cakes and the comfits small Lay, like a hive of sunbeams, brought to burn Around the margin of the negus urn ; When my poor quivering hand you finger' d twice, And, with enquiring accents, whisper' d ^'Ice, Water, or cream ? " T could no more dissemble, But dropp'd upon the couch all in a tremble. A swimming faintness misted o'er my brain, The corks seem'd starting from the brisk champagne, The custards fell untouch' d upon the floor, Thine eyes met mine. That night we danced no more ! I t -SI M 197 THE BOOK OF BALLADS. - ii In him the honour of " The Eoad " is centred, And all the hero's fire into his bosom enter'd. His was the transport — ^his the exultation Of Eome's great generals, when from afar, IJp to the Capitol, in the ovation, They bore with them, in the triumphal car, Eich gold and gems, the spoils of foreign war. lo Triumphe ! They forgot their clay. E'en so Duval who rode in glory on his way. His laced cravat, his kids of purest yellow, The many-tinted nosegay in his hand. His large black eyes, so fiery, yet so mellow, Like the old vintages of Spanish land. Locks clustering o'er a brow of high command, Subdue all hearts ; and, as up Holborn's steep Toils the slow car of death, e'en cruel butchers weep. t He saw it, but he heeded not. His story. He knew, was graven on the page of Time. Tyburn to him was as a field of glory, "Where he must stoop to death his head sublime, Hymn'd in full many an elegiac rhyme. He left his deeds behind him, and his name — • For he, like Caesar, had lived long enough for fame. f. 4 r THE BOOK OF BALLADS. He quail'd not, save when, as he raised the chalice, — St. Giles's bowl, — fill'd with the mildest ale. To pledge the crowd, on her — his beauteous Alice — His eye alighted, and his cheek grew pale. • She, whose sweet breath was like the spicy gale. She, whom he fondly deem'd his own dear girl. Stood with a tall dragoon, drinking long draughts of purl. He bit his lip — it quiver' d but a moment — Then pass'd his hand across his flushing brows : He could have spared so forcible a comment Upon the constancy of woman's vows. One short, sharp pang his hero-soul allows ; But in the bowl he drowned the stinging pain. And on his pilgrim-course went calmly forth again. A princely group of England's noble daughters Stood in a balcony suflused with grief. Diffusing fragrance round them, of strong waters, And waving many a snowy handkerchief. Then glow'd the prince of highwayman and thief! His soul was touch' d with a seraphic gleam : — That woman could be false was but a mocking dream. THE BOOK OF BALLADS. And now, his bright career of triumph ended, His chariot stood beneath the triple tree. The law's grim finisher to its boughs ascended. And fix'd the hempen bandages, while he Eow'd to the throng, then bade the car go free. The car roU'd on, and left him dangling there. Like famed Mahommed's tomb, uphung midway in air. W As droops the cup of the surcharged lily Beneath the buffets of the surly storm. Or the soft petals of the daffodilly, "When Sirius is uncomfortably warm. So drooped his head upon his manly form. While floated in the breeze his tresses brown. He hung the stated time, and then they cut him down. With soft and tender care the trainbands bore him. Just as they found him, nightcap, rope, and all. And placed this neat though plain inscription o'er him. Among the otomies in Surgeon's Hall : ^' These are the Bones of the eej^own'd Duval ! " There still they tell us, from their glassy case. He was the last, the best of all that noble race ! THE BOOK OF BALLADS. 'O i % €ljB SirgE nf tjiB irinkfr. I BY W- A , ESQ. J %' Beothees, spare awhile your liquor, lay your final tumbler down ; He has dropp'd — that star of honour — on the field of his renown ! Raise the wail, but raise it softly, lowly bending on your knees. If you find it more convenient, you may hiccup if you please. Sons of Pantagruel, gently let your hip-hurraing sink, Ee your manly accents clouded, half with sorrow, half with drink ! Lightly to the sofa pillow lift his head from ofi* the floor ; See, how calm he sleeps, unconscious as the deadest nail in door! Widely o'er the earth I 've wander'd; where the drink most freely fiow'd, I have ever reel'd the foremost, foremost to the beaker strode. I 210 THE BOOK OF BALLADS. I^I^SiB^^^fi ^i / Deep in shady Cider Cellars I have dream'd o'er heavy wet, By the fountains of Damascus I have quaff 'd the rich sherbet, Eegal Montepulciano drained beneath its native rock, On Johannis' sunny mountain frequent hiccup' d o'er my hock; I have bathed in butts of Xeres deeper than did e'er Mon- soon, Sangaree'd with bearded Tartars in the Mountains of the Moon ; In beer-swilling Copenhagen I have drunk your Danesman blind, I have kept my feet in Jena, when each bursch to earth declined ; Glass for glass, in fierce Jamaica, I have shared the planter's rum, Drank with Highland dhuinie-wassels, till each gibbering Gael grew dumb; But a stouter, bolder drinker — one that loved his liquor more — JN^ever yet did I encounter than our friend upon the floor ! Yet the best of us are mortal, we to weakness all are heir. He has fallen, who rarely staggered — let the rest of us beware ! r n m THE BOOK OP BALLADS. We shall leave him, as we found him, — flying where his manhood fell, 'Mong the trophies of the revel, for he took his tipple well. Eetter 't were we loosed his neckcloth, laid his throat and bosom bare, Pulled his Hobies off, and turn'd his toes to taste the breezy air. Throw the sofa cover o'er him, dim the flaring of the gas. Calmly, calmly let him slumber, and, as by the bar we pass, "We shall bid that thoughtful waiter place beside him, near and handy, Large supplies of soda water, tumbler's bottomed well with brandy. So when waking, he shall drain them, with that deathless thirst of his. Clinging to the hand that smote him, like a good 'un as he is! 212 f ^^ THE BOOK OP BALLADS. r SaiKB /rikgnnh. Whek folks, with headstrong passion blind, To play the fool make up their mind, They 're sure to come with phrases nice, And modest air, for your advice. But, as a truth unfailing make it. They ask, but never mean to take it. 'T is not advice they want, in fact. But confirmation in their act. I^ow mark what did, in such a case, A worthy priest who knew the race. A dame more buxsome, blithe and free. Than Fredegonde you scarce would see. So smart her dress, so trim her shape, Ne'er hostess offer' d juice of grape, Could for her trade wish better sign ; Her looks gave flavour to her wine. I 213 THE BOOK OF BALLADS. And each guest feels it, as lie sips, Smack of the ruby of her lips. A smile for all, a welcome glad, — A jovial coaxing way she had ; And, — what was more her fate than blame,— A niQe months' widow was our dame. Eut toil was hard, for trade was good, And gallants sometimes will be rude. '^ And what can a lone woman do ? The nights are long, and eerie too. ^ow, Guillot there 's a likely man. jS'one better draws or taps a can ; He 's just the man, I think, to suit, If I could bring my courage to 't." With thoughts like these her mind is cross' d : The dame, they say, who doubts is lost. ^' Eut then the risk ? I '11 beg a slice Of Eather Eauhn's good advice." Prankt in her best, with looks demure. She seeks the priest ; and, to be sure. Asks if he thinks she ought to wed : '' "With such a business on my head, I 'm worried off my legs with care. And need some help to keep things square. THE^ BOOK or BALLADS. I 've thouglit of Giiillot, truth to tell ! He 's steady, knows his business well. What do you think ? " When thus he met her : ^^ Oh, take him, dear, you can't do better ! " '' But then the danger, my good pastor. If of the man I i^ake the master. There is no trusting to these men." ^^ Well, well, my dear, don't have him then ! " ^' But help I must have, there 's the curse. I may go farther and fare worse." '' Why, take him then ! " '' But if he should Turn out a thankless ne'er-do-good, — In drink and riot waste my all, And rout me out of house and hall ? " '* Don't have him, then ! But I 've a plan To clear your doubts, if any can. The bells a peal are ringing, — hark ! Go straight, and what they tell you mark. If they say * Yes ! ' wed, and be blest — If *!N'o,' why — do as you think best." %■ The bells rung out a triple bob : Oh, how our widow's heart did throb. As thus she heard their burden go, '* Marry, mar-marry, mar-Guillot ! " ^ll THE BOOK or BALLADS. Eells were not then left to hang idle : A week, — and they rang for her hridal. Eut, woe the while, they might as well Have rung the poor dame's parting knell. The rosy dimples left her cheek, She lost her beauties plump and sleek ; Eor Guillot oftener kicked than kiss'd And back'd his orders with his fist. Proving by deeds as well as words, That servants make the worst of lords. t She seeks the priest, her ire to wreak, And speaks as angry women speak. With tiger looks, and bosom swelling. Cursing the hour she took his telling. To all, his calm reply w^as this, — '' I fear you 've read the bells amiss. If they have led you wrong in aught. Your wish, not they, inspired the thought. Just go, and mark well what they sa5^" Off trudged the dame upon her waj^. And sure enough their chime went so, — *' Don't have that knave, that knave Guillot ! " THE BOOK OF BALLADS. ^^ Too true," she cried, *' there 's not a doubt : What could my ears have been about ! " She had forgot, that, as fools think, The bell is ever sure to clink. 51 ^' ^^' 217 THE BOOK OF BALLADS. ^t Stittlj nf SsjiinnjL [This and the six following poems are examples of that new achievement of modern song — which, blending the tittle with the dulce, symbolises at once the practical and spiritual characteristics of the age, — and is called familiarly " the puff poetical."] Died the Jew ? ^^ The Hebrew died. On the pavement cold he lay, Around him closed the living tide ; The butcher's cad set down his tray : The pot-boy from the Dragon Green jN'o longer for his pewter calls ; The JS'ereid rushes in between, i^or more her ^Pine live mackerel!' bawls.' { Died the Jew ? ''The Hebrew died. They raised him gently from the stone. They flung his coat and neckcloth wide — But linen had that Hebrew none. They raised the pile of hats that pressed His noble head, his locks of snow ; Eut, ah, that head, upon his breast. Sank down with an expiring ' Clo ! ' 6ll In 8 vols, imperial 8vo, cloth lettered, Price £5 12s. THE PICTOEIAL HISTOEY OF ENGLAND: Being a History of the People, as well as of the Kingdom. By GEORGE L. CRAIK and CHARLES MACFARLANE. With many Hundred Woodcuts, and One Hundred and Four Portraits Engraved on Steel. In royal 4to, cloth, Price 31s. 6d. ; half-bound russia, or morocco, 35s. A DESCRIPTIVE ATLAS OF ASTEOXOMY, AND OF PHYSICAL AND POLITICAL GEOGRAPHY. Comprised in Seventy-five Maps ; with Letterpress, Descriptive of the Physical Features and Statistics of the several Countries. By the Rev. T. MILNER, M.A. Author of the "Gallery of Nature," &c. In imperial 4to, cloth, Price 31s. 6d., ; half-bound russia, or morocco, 35s. THE ATEAS OE POLITICAL GEOGRAPHY. 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