OF ALL THE MEN
Of all the men one meets about, There"s none like Jack--he"s everywhere: At church--park--auction--dinner--rout-- Go when and where you will, he"s there.
Try the West End, he"s at your back-- Meets you, like Eurus, in the East-- You"re call"d upon for "How do, Jack?"
One hundred times a day, at least.
A friend of his one evening said, As home he took his pensive way, "Upon my soul, I fear Jack"s dead-- I"ve seen him but three times to-day!"
_Thomas Moore._
ON BUTLER"S MONUMENT
While Butler, needy wretch, was yet alive, No generous patron would a dinner give.
See him, when starved to death and turn"d to dust, Presented with a monumental bust.
The poet"s fate is here in emblem shown-- He ask"d for _bread_, and he received a _stone_.
_Rev. Samuel Wesley._
A CONJUGAL CONUNDRUM
Which is of greater value, prythee, say, The Bride or Bridegroom?--must the truth be told?
Alas, it must! The Bride is given away-- The Bridegroom"s often regularly sold.
_Unknown._
VII
BURLESQUE
LOVERS AND A REFLECTION
In moss-prankt dells which the sunbeams flatter (And heaven it knoweth what that may mean; Meaning, however, is no great matter) Where woods are a-tremble with words a-tween;
Thro" G.o.d"s own heather we wonned together, I and my Willie (O love my love): I need hardly remark it was glorious weather, And flitter-bats wavered alow, above:
Boats were curtseying, rising, bowing, (Boats in that climate are so polite,) And sands were a ribbon of green endowing, And O the sun-dazzle on bark and bight!
Thro" the rare red heather we danced together (O love my Willie,) and smelt for flowers: I must mention again it was glorious weather, Rhymes are so scarce in this world of ours:
By rises that flushed with their purple favors, Thro" becks that brattled o"er gra.s.ses sheen, We walked or waded, we two young shavers, Thanking our stars we were both so green.
We journeyed in parallels, I and Willie, In fortunate parallels! b.u.t.terflies, Hid in weltering shadows of daffodilly Or Marjoram, kept making peac.o.c.k eyes:
Song-birds darted about, some inky As coal, some snowy (I ween) as curds; Or rosy as pinks, or as roses pinky-- They reck of no eerie To-come, those birds!
But they skim over bents which the mill-stream washes, Or hang in the lift "neath a white cloud"s hem; They need no parasols, no goloshes; And good Mrs. Trimmer she feedeth them.
Then we thrid G.o.d"s cowslips (as erst his heather), That endowed the wan gra.s.s with their golden blooms; And snapt--(it was perfectly charming weather)-- Our fingers at Fate and her G.o.ddess-glooms:
And Willie "gan sing--(Oh, his notes were fluty; Wafts fluttered them out to the white-winged sea)-- Something made up of rhymes that have done much duty, Rhymes (better to put it) of "ancientry":
Bowers of flowers encountered showers In William"s carol--(O love my Willie!) Then he bade sorrow borrow from blithe to-morrow I quite forget what--say a daffodilly.
A nest in a hollow, "with buds to follow,"
I think occurred next in his nimble strain; And clay that was "kneaden" of course in Eden-- A rhyme most novel I do maintain:
Mists, bones, the singer himself, love-stories, And all least furlable things got furled; Not with any design to conceal their glories, But simply and solely to rhyme with world.
O if billows and pillows and hours and flowers, And all the brave rhymes of an elder day, Could be furled together, this genial weather, And carted or carried on wafts away, Nor ever again trotted out--ah me!
How much fewer volumes of verse there"d be.
_Charles Stuart Calverley._
OUR HYMN
At morning"s call The small-voiced pug dog welcomes in the sun, And flea-bit mongrels wakening one by one, Give answer all.
When evening dim Draws rounds us, then the lovely caterwaul, Tart solo, sour duet and general squall, These are our hymn.
_Oliver Wendell Holmes._
"SOLDIER, REST!"
A Russian sailed over the blue Black Sea Just when the war was growing hot, And he shouted, "I"m Tjalikavakeree-- Karindabrolikanavandorot-- Schipkadirova-- Ivandiszstova-- Sanilik-- Danilik-- Varagobhot!"