Every morn (I thought) their songs
Would a thrill of joy send through me;
And of happiness the deep
Secret they would whisper to me.
Would a thrill of joy send through me;
And of happiness the deep
Secret they would whisper to me.
Warner - World's Best Literature - v28 - Songs, Hymns, Lyrics
”
Eva L. OGDEN.
FROM (CHRISTMAS NIGHT IN THE QUARTERS)
o 'way fiddle! folks is tired o’ hearin' you a-squawkin';
Keep silence fur yo' betters! - don't you heah de banjo talkin'?
About de 'possum's tail she's gwine to lecter — ladies, listen -
About de ha'r whut isn't dar, an' why de ha'r is missin'.
! ' ?
((
»
“Dar's gwine to be a oberflow,” said Noah, lookin' solemn,-
Fur Noah tuk de Herald, an' he read de ribber column;
An' so he sot his hands to wuk a-cl’arin' timber patches,
An' 'lowed he's gwine to build a boat to beat de steamah Natchez.
Ol' Noah kep' a-nailin', an' a-chippin', an' a-sawin';
An' all the wicked neighbors kep' a-laughin' an'a-pshawin',
## p. 16692 (#392) ##########################################
16692
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
But Noah didn't min' 'em, knowin' what wuz gwine to happen;
An' forty days an' forty nights de rain it kep' a-drappin'.
Now, Noah had done catched a lot of ebry sort of beas'es :
Ob all de shows a-trabbelin', it beat 'em all to pieces!
He had a Morgan colt an' sebral head o’ Jarsey cattle -
An' druv 'em 'board de Ark as soon 's he heered de thunder rattle.
Den sech anoder fall ob rain! It come so awful hebby,
De ribber riz mmejitly, and busted troo de lebbee;
De people all wuz drownded out — 'cep' Noah an' de critters,
An' men he'd hired to work de boat, an' one to mix de bitters.
De Ark she kep' a-sailin' an' a-sailin' an' a-sailin';
De lion got his dander up, an' like to bruk de palin';
De sarpints hissed; de painters yelled, - tell whut wid all de fussin'
You c'u'd'nt hardly heah de mate a-bossin' 'roun' an'cussin'.
Now Ham, de only nigger whut wuz runnin' on de packet,
Got lonesome in de barber-shop, an' c'u'dn't stand de racket;
An' so, fur to amuse hisse'f, he steamed some wood an' bent it,
An' soon he had a banjo made — de fust dat wuz invented.
He wet de ledder, stretched it on; made bridge an' screws an' aprin,
An' fitted in a proper neck — 'twas berry long an' tap'rin';
He tuk some tin, an' twisted him a thimble fur to ring it:
An' den de mighty question riz — how wuz he gwine to string it ?
De 'possum had as fine a tail as dis dat I's a-singin';
De ha’rs so long an' thick an' strong - des fit for banjo-stringin':
Dat nigger shaved 'em off as short as washday-dinner graces;
An’sorted ob 'em by de size, from little E's to basses.
He strung her, tuned her, struck a jig — 'twuz "Nebber min' de wed-
der » —
She soun' like forty-lebben bands a-playin' all togedder.
Some went to pattin', some to dancin'; Noah called de figgers,
An' Ham he sot an' knocked de tune, de happiest ob niggers!
Now, sence dat time - it's mighty strange - dere's not de slightes'
showin'
Ob any ha'r at all upon de 'possum's tail a-growin’;
An' curi's, too, dat nigger's ways — his people nebber los' 'em —
Fur whar you finds de nigger, dar's de banjo an' de 'possum.
IRWIN RUSSELL.
## p. 16693 (#393) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16693
THE V-A-S-E
F
ROM the madding crowd they stand apart, -
The maidens four and the Work of Art:
And none might tell from sight alone
In which had Culture ripest grown, -
The Gotham Million fair to see,
The Philadelphia Pedigree,
The Boston Mind of azure hue,
Or the soulful soul from Kalamazoo;
For all loved Art in a seemly way,
With an earnest soul and a capital A.
**
*
Long they worshiped; but no one broke
The sacred stillness, until up spoke
The Western one from the nameless place,
Who blushing said, “What a lovely Vase! )
Over three faces a sad smile flew,
And they edged away from Kalamazoo.
But Gotham's haughty soul was stirred
To crush the stranger with one small word:
Deftly hiding reproof in praise,
She cries, 'Tis, indeed, a lovely Vaze! )
But brief her unworthy triumph when
The lofty one from the home of Penn,
With the consciousness of two grandpapas,
Exclaims, “It is quite a lovely Vahs! ”
And glances round with an anxious thrill,
Awaiting the word of Beacon Hill.
But the Boston maid smiles courteouslee,
And gently murmurs: “Oh, pardon me!
"I did not catch your remark, because
I was so entranced with that charming Vaws! »
Dies erit pragelida
Sinistra quum Bostonia. *
JAMES JEFFREY Roche.
* It will be a very cold day when Boston gets left.
## p. 16694 (#394) ##########################################
16694
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
THE POSTER KNIGHT TO HIS LADY
O"
H PRITHEE, swing thy casement wide
And listen, gentle maid,
While I, thy poster knight, twang forth
A poster serenade.
The dark-mauve sun has sunk to rest
Behind the square red hill;
No more the orange ostrich struts
Beside the yellow rill.
The pale-blue cows with coral eyes
Have left the sable lawn;
And all the dainty purple sheep,
They too, beloved, have gone.
Cavorting through the chocolate hedge,
No ramphorhyncus comes;
From yonder plum-tree none essay
To pluck the curly plums.
Then haste, I pray thee, loved one, haste !
Bind up that Nile-green tress;
Enhance thy beauteous angles by
Thy most composite dress.
Then forth into the Beardsley night
We'll issue hand in hand,
To plight our fin-de-siècle vows
In dreaming Poster Land.
SCHUYLER KING.
HANS BREITMANN'S PARTY
H
ANS BREITMANN gife a barty;
Dey had biano-blayin':
I felled in lofe mit a Merican Frau,
Her name vas Madilda Yane.
She hat haar as prown ash a pretzel,
Her eyes vas himmel-plue,
Und ven dey looket indo mine,
Dey shplit mine heart in two.
## p. 16695 (#395) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16695
Hans Breitmann gife a barty:
I vent dere, you'll pe pound.
I valzet mit Madilda Yane
Und vent shpinnen round und round.
De pootiest Fräulein in de house,
She vayed 'pout dwo hoondred pound,
Und efery dime she gife a shoomp
She make de vindows sound.
Hans Breitmann gife a barty:
I dells you it cost him dear.
Dey rolled in more ash seven kecks
Of foost-rate lager beer,
Und venefer dey knocks de shpicket in
De Deutschers gifes a cheer.
I dinks dat so vine a barty
Nefer coom to a het dis year.
Hans Breitmann gife a barty:
Dere all vas Souse und Brouse;
Ven de sopper comed in, de gompany
Did make demselfs to house,
Dey ate das Brot and Gensy broost,
De Bratwurst and Braten fine,
Und vash der Abendessen down
Mit four parrels of Neckarwein.
Hans Breitmann gife a barty.
We all cot troonk as bigs.
I poot mine mout to a parrel of bier,
Und emptied it oop mit a schwigs.
Und denn I gissed Madilda Yane
Und she shlog me on de kop,
Und de gompany fited mit daple lecks
Dill de coonshtable made oos shtop.
Hans Breitmann gife a barty -
Where ish dat barty now?
Where ish de lofely golden cloud
Dat float on de moundain's prow?
Where ish de himmelstrahlende Stern-
De shtar of de shpirit's light?
All goned afay mit de lager beer —
Afay in de ewigkeit'
CHARLES GODFREY LELAND.
## p. 16696 (#396) ##########################################
16696
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
THE PROTEST
A
S LONG as I'm a Protestant,
I'm bounden to protest :
Come, every German musiciant,
And fiddle me his best!
You're singing of the free old Rhine);
But I say, No, good comrades mine,–
The Rhine could be
Greatly more free,
And that I do protest.
I scarce had got my christening o'er,
Or was in breeches dressed,
But I began to shout and roar
And mightily protest.
And since that time I've never stopped,
My protestations never dropped ;
And blessed be they
Who every way
And everywhere protest.
There's one thing certain in my creed,
And schism is all the rest,-
That who's a Protestant indeed
For ever must protest.
What is the river Rhine to me?
For from its source unto the sea,
Men are not free,
Whate'er they be,
And that I do protest.
(
And every man in reason grants,
What always was confessed,
As long as we are Protestants,
We sternly must protest.
And when they sing “the free old Rhine,"
Answer them “No,” good comrades mine,-
The Rhine could be
Greatly more free,
And that you shall protest.
GEORGE HERWEGH.
(
## p. 16697 (#397) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16697
NEBUCHADNEZZAR
Yºu:
OU, Nebuchadnezzah, whoa, sah!
Whar is you tryin' to go, sah ?
I'd hab you fur to know, sah,
I's a-holdin' ob de lines.
You better stop dat prancin':
You's pawful fond ob dancin',
But I'll bet my yeah's advancin'
Dat I'll cure you ob yo' shines.
Look heah, mule! Better min' out:
Fus' t'ing you know you'll fin' out
How quick I'll w'ar dis line out
On your ugly stubbo'n back.
You needn't try to steal up
An' lif' dat precious heel up:
You's got to plow dis fiel' up,–
You has, sah, fur a fac'.
Dar, dat's de way to do it!
He's comin' right down to it;
Jes’ watch him plowin' troo it!
Dis nigger ain't no fool.
Some folks, dey would 'a' beat him:
Now dat would only heat him;
I know jes' how to treat him:
You mus' reason wid a mule.
He minds me like a nigger;
If he wuz only bigger
He'd fotch a mighty figger,-
He would, I tell you! Yes, sah!
See how he keeps a clickin'!
He's gentle as a chicken,
An' nebber thinks o' kickin'-
Whoa dar! Nebuchadnezzah!
**
*
Is dis heah me, or not me?
Or is de Debbil got me ?
Wuz dat a cannon shot me ?
Hab I laid heah more'n a week?
## p. 16698 (#398) ##########################################
16698
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Dat mule do kick amazin'!
De beast wuz sp'iled in raisin'!
By now I 'spect he's grazin'
On de oder side de creek.
IRWIN RUSSELL.
OLD ASSYRIAN
I
N THE Black Whale at Ascalon
A man drank day by day,
Till, stiff as any broom-handle,
Upon the floor he lay.
In the Black Whale at Ascalon
The landlord said, "I say,
He's drinking of my date-juice wine
Much more than he can pay! ”
In the Black Whale at Ascalon
The waiters brought the bill,
In arrow-heads on six broad tiles,
To him who thus did swill.
In the Black Whale at Ascalon
The guest cried out, “O woe!
I spent in the Lamb at Nineveh
My money long ago! ”
In the Black Whale at Ascalon,
The clock struck half-past four,
When the Nubian porter he did pitch
The stranger from the door.
In the Black Whale at Ascalon
No prophet hath renown;
And he who there would drink in peace
Must pay the money down.
JOSEF VIKTOR VON SCHEFFEL.
Translation of C. G. Leland.
## p. 16699 (#399) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16699
THE VICAR OF BRAY
IM
N GOOD King Charles's golden days,
When loyalty no harm meant,
A zealous high-churchman was I,
And so I got preferment.
To teach my flock I never missed :
Kings were by God appointed,
And lost are those who dare resist
Or touch the Lord's anointed.
And this is law that I'll maintain
Until my dying day, sir,
That whatsoever king shall reign,
Still I'll be Vicar of Bray, sir.
When royal James possessed the crown,
And popery grew in fashion,
The penal laws I hooted down,
And read the declaration:
The Church of Rome I found would fit
Full well my constitution;
And I had been a Jesuit
But for the revolution.
When William was our king declared,
To ease the nation's grievance,
With this new wind about I steered,
And swore to him allegiance:
Old principles I did revoke,
Set conscience at a distance;
Passive obedience was a joke,
A jest was non-resistance.
When royal Anne became our queen.
The Church of England's glory,
Another face of things was seen,
And I became a Tory:
Occasional conformists base,
I blamed their moderation;
And thought the Church in danger was
By such prevarication.
When George in pudding-time came o'er,
And moderate men looked big, sir,
## p. 16700 (#400) ##########################################
16 700
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
My principles I changed once more,
And so became a Whig, sir:
And this preferment I procured
From our new faith's defender;
And almost every day abjured
The Pope and the Pretender.
The illustrious house of Hanover,
And Protestant succession,
To these I do allegiance swear-
While they can keep possession;
For in my faith and loyalty
I nevermore will falter,
And George my lawful king shall be —
Until the times do alter.
And this is law that I'll maintain
Until my dying day, sir,
That whatsoever king shall reign,
Still I'll be Vicar of Bray, sir.
Author Unknonun
ST. ANTHONY'S SERMON TO THE FISHES
S":
T. ANTHONY at church
Was left in the lurch,
So he went to the ditches
And preached to the fishes;
They wriggled their tails,
In the sun glanced their scales.
The carps, with their spawn,
Are all hither drawn;
Have opened their jaws,
Eager for each clause.
No sermon beside
Had the carps so edified.
Sharp-snouted pikes,
Who keep fighting like tikes,
Now swam up harmonious
To hear St. Antonius.
No serinon beside
Had the pikes so edified.
## p. 16701 (#401) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16701
And that very odd fish,
Who loves fast-days, the cod-fish, -
The stock-fish, I mean,
At the sermon was seen.
No sermon beside
Had the cods so edified.
Good eels and sturgeon,
Which aldermen gorge on,
Went out of their way
To hear preaching that day.
No sermon beside
Had the eels so edified.
Crabs and turtles also,
Who always move slow,
Made haste from the bottom,
As if the Devil had got 'em.
No sermon beside
Had the crabs so edified.
Fish great and fish small,
Lords, lackeys, and all,
Each looked at the preacher
Like a reasonable creature:
At God's word,
They Anthony heard.
The sermon now ended,
Each turned and descended;
The pikes went on stealing,
The eels went on eeling:
Much delighted were they,
But preferred the old way.
The crabs are backsliders,
The stock-fish thick-siders,
The carps are sharp-set;
All the sermon forget:
Much delighted were they,
But preferred the old way.
Author Unknown.
## p. 16702 (#402) ##########################################
16702
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
THE THREE WARNINGS
A TALE
THE
He tree of deepest root is found
Least willing still to quit the ground;
'Twas therefore said by ancient sages,
That love of life increased with years, –
So much that in our later stages,
When pain grows sharp and sickness rages,
The greatest love of life appears.
This great affection to believe,
Which all confess but few perceive, —
If old assertions can't prevail,
Be pleased to hear a modern tale.
When sports went round and all were gay,
On Neighbor Dobson's wedding-day,
Death called aside the jocund groom
With him into another room:
And looking grave -
« You must,” says he,
« Quit
your sweet bride and come with me. ”
«With you! and quit my Susan's side!
With you! ” the hapless husband cried:
«Young as I am ? 'tis monstrous hard !
Besides, in truth, I'm not prepared;
My thoughts on other matters go:
This is my wedding-night, you know. ”
What more he urged I have not heard :
His reasons could not well be stronger;
So Death the poor delinquent spared,
And left to live a little longer.
Yet calling up a serious look –
His hour-glass trembled while he spoke –
Neighbor,” he said, “farewell! No more
Shall Death disturb your mirthful hour;
And further, to avoid all blame
Of cruelty upon my name,
To give you time for preparation,
And fit you for your future station,
Three several warnings you shall have
Before you're summoned to the grave.
Willing for once I'll quit my prey,
And grant a kind reprieve,
## p. 16703 (#403) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16703
In hopes you'll have no more to say,
But, when again I call this way,
Well pleased the world will leave. ”
To these conditions both consented,
And parted perfectly contented.
What next the hero of our tale befell,
How long he lived, how wise, how well,
How roundly he pursued his course,
And smoked his pipe and stroked his horse,
The willing Muse shall tell:
He chaffered then, he bought, he sold,
Nor once perceived his growing old,
Nor thought of Death as near;
His friends not false, his wife no shrew,
Many his gains, his children few,
He passed his hours in peace.
But while he viewed his wealth increase,
While thus along life's dusty road
The beaten track content he trod,
Old Time, whose haste no mortal spares,
Uncalled, unheeded, unawares,
Brought on his eightieth year.
And now one night in musing mood,
As all alone he sat,
The unwelcome messenger of fate
Once more before him stood.
Half killed with anger and surprise,
«So soon returned ! ) old Dobson cries.
“So soon, d'ye call it? " Death replies:
«Surely, my friend, you're but in jest!
Since I was here before
'Tis six-and-thirty years at least,
And you are now fourscore. ”
«So much the worse,” the clown rejoined:
“To spare the aged would be kind.
However, see your search be legal;
And your authority - is 't regal?
Else you are come on a fool's errand,
With but a secretary's warrant.
Besides, you promised me three warnings,
Which I have looked for nights and mornings,
## p. 16704 (#404) ##########################################
16704
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
But for that loss of time and ease
I can recover damages. ”
“I know,” cried Death, that at the best
I seldom am a welcome guest;
But don't be captious, friend, at least.
I little thought you'd still be able
To stump about your farm and stable:
Your years have run to a great length;
I wish you joy, though, of your strength. "
“Hold! ” says the farmer; “not so fast:
I have been lame these four years past. ”
“And no great wonder,” Death replies:
«However, you still keep your eyes;
And sure, to see one's loves and friends
For legs and arms would make amends. "
“Perhaps,” says Dobson, “so it might;
But latterly I've lost my sight. ”
« This is a shocking story, faith,
Yet there's some comfort still,” says Death:
“Each strives your sadness to amuse;
I warrant you hear all the news. ”
« There's none, cries he; "and if there were,
I'm grown so deaf I could not hear. ”
>
“Nay, then,” the spectre stern rejoined,
« These are unwarrantable yearnings:
If you are lame, and deaf, and blind,
You've had your three sufficient warnings.
So come along; no more we'll part,"
He said, and touched him with his dart;
And now old Dobson, turning pale,
Yields to his fate. So ends my tale.
HESTER THRALE Piozzi
THE LADYE LOVE
From "The Yearn of the Romantic)
S"
He was hardened not with knowledge of the boarding-school or
college;
She was sung at oft in language that she did not understand;
But was learned in all romancing, and in dancing, and in glancing –
Stately, fair, and tender-hearted was the Ladye of the Land.
## p. 16705 (#405) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16705
Though she dressed in shocking fashion, she inspired the deepest
passion,
And a tune upon her lutelet was a very dangerous thing;
For her smiles, were all imploring, and her sigh set all adoring,
And she strung the hearts around her like the beads upon a string.
Now, at tourneys gayly quartered, she would see her lieges slaughtered,
Till the solitary relic crawled to crown her “Beauty's Queen";
Then, from tops of balustradings, she would sigh to serenadings,
Or, with hawk or hound and suitors, she would gallop o'er the
green.
Any summer morn awaking, full of sentiment and quaking
At the ditties and the clatter of her lovers keeping guard,
She'd behold with charming satisfaction - peeping through her lat-
tice-
Scores of guitars and of gallants shattered all about her yard!
Any day she'd feel neglected if not forcibly selected
As the booty of some Baron, who would make her will his law;
Any night she'd slumber hoping to be wakened by eloping
On the pommel of the saddle of a Knight she never saw.
Then, how charmingly exciting! setting twenty knights to fighting,
And be forced to wed the victor, who would come to claim her
glove!
Or to have to sit for hours in the tallest kind of towers,
On the thinnest sort of diet, till her heart should learn to love!
They would call her cold and cruel: yet they'd fight the daily duel,
And lay vows of love eternal and despairing at her shrine;
When at last some one would win her, they would oft neglect their
dinner,
And would talk for days of dying, or of far-off Palestine!
When her Liege would go crusading, or his neighbors' lands invading,
Then from highest turret windows would she wave her lily hands:
Or, perchance, ere seeking Vandals, he would lock her safe from
scandals,
And she'd pine, from quiet convents, for her lord in Paynim lands.
Thus, a-smiling and a-sighing, and a-laughing and a-crying,
With her eyes as stars or diamonds, and her hair as silk or gold -
Never maid so sentimental, never matron half so gentle,
Never love so true and tender, as the Ladye Love of old!
GEORGE M. DAVIE.
XXVIII-1045
## p. 16706 (#406) ##########################################
16706
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
B
CAGES AND RHYMES
LESS your hearts, ye little birds,
That you woke me with your singing!
Balmily the vernal air
Greets me, from my pillow springing!
And the little birds sang on,
Undisturbed by my appearing:
True and trustful, there they sat,
With their hymns the morning cheering.
For the darlings noticed not
Snares I slyly spread around them,
Till their little feet were caught
In the threads that closely bound them.
Every morn (I thought) their songs
Would a thrill of joy send through me;
And of happiness the deep
Secret they would whisper to me.
Ah! my error soon I found;-
Say, what stillness has come o'er you?
In a golden palace lodged,
Plenteous food and drink before you!
But no answer did they give,
Pecking wildly at the wire;
And no morning serenade
Can I win for love or hire.
Many a grand and stately thought
Round my musing mind will flutter,
Which, with sweat of brow and brain
Caught in rhyme, I fain would utter.
But so stiff and dead they seemed,
With these fetters round them clinging,
Never they, you would have deemed,
From a human heart came singing.
KARL KNORTZ;
Translation of C. T. Brooks.
## p. 16707 (#407) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16707
LARKS AND NIGHTINGALES
A
LONE I sit at eventide:
The twilight glory pales,
And o'er the meadows far and wide
Chant pensive bobolinks.
(One might say nightingales! )
Song-sparrows warble on the tree,
I hear the purling brook,
And from the old “manse o'er the lea”
Flies slow the cawing crow.
(In England 'twere a rook ! )
The last faint golden beams of day
Still glow on cottage panes,
And on their lingering homeward way
Walk weary laboring men.
(Oh, would that we had swains ! )
From farm-yards, down fair rural glades
Come sounds of tinkling bells,
And songs of merry brown milkmaids,
Sweeter than oriole's.
(Yes, thank you — Philomel's! )
I could sit here till me ng came,
All through the night hours dark,
Until I saw the sun's bright flame
And heard the chickadee.
(Alas! we have no lark! )
We have no leas, no larks, no rooks,
No swains, no nightingales,
No singing milkmaids (save in books):
The poet does his best
It is the rhyme that fails !
NATHAN HASKELL DOLE.
## p. 16708 (#408) ##########################################
16708
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
LAPSUS CALAMI
W"
LL there never come a season
Which shall rid us from the curse
Of a prose which knows no reason
And an unmelodious verse;
When the world shall cease to wonder
At the genius of an ass,
And a boy's eccentric blunder
Shall not bring success to pass;
When mankind shall be delivered
From the clash of magazines,
And the inkstand shall be shivered
Into countless smithereens:
When there stands a muzzled stripling,
Mute, beside a muzzled bore,-
When the Rudyards cease from kipling,
And the Haggards ride no more?
JAMES KENNETH STEPHEN.
THE CRYSTAL FOUNTAIN
CONVERSATION BETWEEN AN ANXIOUS MOTHER AND A POLICEMAN AT
THE WORLD'S EXHIBITION
“G
OOD policeman, tell me, pray,
Has my daughter passed this way?
You may know her by her bonnet,
Yellow shawl, and brooch upon it:
Far and near I've sought the girl;
I have lost her in the whirl.
Do you think she yonder goes,
Where the Crystal Fountain flows ? »
»
“Ma'am,” says he, “on this here ground,
Whatsomdever's lost is found:
Rest quite heasy in your mind, -
I your daughter soon will find !
Though she's got to forrin lands,
Hicy-burgs or Hegypt's sands,
Still, depend on 't, soon she goes
Where the Crystal Fountain flows!
## p. 16709 (#409) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16709
“Perhaps Italian h’art attracts
Her, or them there flowers in wax.
May be she has got hup-stairs
In among they. heasy-chairs,
And like Gulliver is sleeping
Where them Lillipushums 's creeping:
But she'll wake, and then she goes
Where the Crystal Fountain flows!
«Yet, good ma'am, I should explain,
She may stop a bit in Spain,
Smelling of them Porto snuffs,
Looking at the Turkish stuffs;
Or if warm, a Chiny fan,
Offered by the Tartar man,
Will refresh her as she goes
Where the Crystal Fountain flows!
«She may see the silver things,-
Little watches, chains, and rings;
Or mayhap, ma'am, she may stray
Where the monster horgans play;
Or the music of all sorts,
Great and small pianny-forts,
May detain her as she goes
Where the Crystal Fountain flows!
“Or she may have gone in hope
Of a patent henvelope
To take home,- and if she's able,
Try to see the Roman table;
Or insist on one peep more
At the sparkling Koh-hi-nore:
Then, the chance is, on she goes
Where the Crystal Fountain flows! »
“Well, policeman, certainly
You're the man to have an eye
Over such a place as this,
And to find a straying Miss!
Pray, good man, my daughter tell,
When she hears them ring the bell,
I shall find her, if she goes
Where the Crystal Fountain flows ! »
From Punch.
## p. 16710 (#410) ##########################################
16710
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
THE STRASBURG CLOCK
M
ANY and many a year ago
To say how many I scarcely dare -
Three of us stood in Strasburg streets,
In the wide and open square,
Where, quaint and old and touched with gold
Of a summer morn, at stroke of noon
The tongue of the great Cathedral tolled,
And into the church with the crowd we strolled
To see their wonder, the famous Clock.
>
Well, my love, there are clocks a many,
As big as a house, as small as a penny;
And clocks there be with voices as queer
As any that torture human ear:
Clocks that grunt, and clocks that growl,
That wheeze like a pump, and hoot like an owl,
From the coffin shape with its brooding face
That stands on the stair (you know the place),
Saying, “Click, cluck,” like an ancient hen,
A-gathering the ininutes home again,
To the kitchen knave with its wooden stutter,
Doing equal work with double splutter,
Yelping, Click, clack,” with a vulgar jerk,
As much as to say, “Just see me work! )
But of all the clocks that tell Time's bead-roll,
There are none like this in the old Cathedral;
Never a one so bids you stand
While it deals the minutes with even hand:
For clocks, like men, are better and worse,
And some you dote on, and some you curse;
And clock and man may have such a way
Of telling the truth that you can't say nay.
So in we went and stood in the crowd
To hear the old clock as it crooned aloud
With sound and symbol, the only tongue
The maker taught it while yet 'twas young.
And we saw St. Peter clasp his hands,
And the cock crow hoarsely to all the lands,
And the twelve Apostles come and go,
And the solemn Christ pass sadly and slow;
And strange that iron-legged procession,
And odd to us the whole impression,
## p. 16711 (#411) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16711
As the crowd beneath in silence pressing,
Bent to that cold mechanic blessing.
But I alone thought far in my soul
What a touch of genius was in the whole:
And felt how graceful had been the thought
Which for the signs of the months had sought,
Sweetest of symbols, Christ's chosen train;
And much I pondered, if he whose brain
Had builded this clock with labor and pain
Did only think, Twelve months there are,
And the Bible twelve will fit to a hair;
Or did he say, with a heart in tune,
Well-beloved John is the sign of June,
And changeful Peter hath April hours,
And Paul the stately, October bowers,
And sweet, or faithful, or bold, or strong,
Unto each one shall a month belong.
But beside the thought that under it lurks,
Pray, do you think clocks are saved by their works ?
Author Unknown.
TO PROWL, MY CAT
Yºu
are life's true philosopher,
An epicure of air and sun,
An egoist in sable fur,
To whom all moralists are one.
You hold your race-traditions fast,-
While others toil, you simply live;
And, based upon a stable past,
Remain a sound conservative!
You see the beauty of the world
Through eyes of unalloyed content,
And in my study chair upcurled,
Move me to pensive wonderment!
I wish I knew your trick of thought,
The perfect balance of your ways;
They seem an inspiration caught
From other laws in older days.
## p. 16712 (#412) ##########################################
16712
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Your padded footsteps prowl my room
Half in delight and half disdain;
You like this air of studious gloom
When streets without are cold with rain!
Some day, alas! you'll come to die,
And I shall lose a constant friend;
You'll take your last look at the sky,
And be a puzzle to the end!
«C. K. B. ” in London Spectator.
FOHI'S RETRIBUTION
ohi the righteous, after journeyings wide,
A wealthy woman's house at night espied,
And faint from hunger, weary, and foot-sore,
Asked if he might not rest within her door.
F"
But she was stern: “Vagrant, your way pursue;
My house was not designed for such as you :)
And, crowding him aside with cold disdain,
"No roving vagabonds I entertain. ”
Oppressed in heart, he turned his heavy feet
Where a poor woman lived across the street;
But ere he could his simple speech begin,
She met him at the gate and led him in.
C
>>
Mixing some goat's milk with her crumbs of bread,
« This is my only food, the woman said;
« But if Fohi the humble fare should bless,
There will be full enough for both, I guess. ”
Then she prepared for him a couch of straw,
And when he fell asleep, with grief she saw
He had no under-robe -a plight so sad,
She made him one from all the cloth she had.
When from their breakfast guest and hostess rise,
She begged him not her simple gift despise,
And journeying with him for a little way,
He said, “May your first work last all the day. ”
(
Arriving home, she took the linen weft,
To fold and lay aside the pieces left,
## p. 16713 (#413) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16713
When lo! it grew, till she, by working hard,
Filled up with cloth by night her house and yard!
When her rich neighbor saw this wondrous pelf,
Deeply annoyed, and vexed within herself,
She thought, although her lips could not complain,
«No such good fortune shall escape again. ”
Months after, Fohi came along once more,
When the rich woman met him at the door,
And pressed him in, and made him take a seat,
And cooked her very best for him to eat.
Then in the morning, sleep and breakfast done,
Of her fine garments gave she Fohi one,
And journeying with him for a little way,
He said, “May your first work last all the day. ”
So, turning back, but thinking all the while
Her cloth would turn into a mountainous pile,
She heard her cows, thirsting for water, low,
And said, “To fetch you drink, poor beasts, I go. ”
But as she poured into the trough her pail,
It emptied not, nor ever seemed to fail;
She kept on pouring, but it ran all day,
And drowned her cows, and swept her house away.
Her neighbors thought the highest heavens had rained,
And of the ruin to their lands complained -
Yet never ceased the source of all her. ills
Until the sun sank down behind the hills.
JOEL BENTON.
BRUCE AND THE SPIDER
FR
OR Scotland's and for freedom's right,
The Bruce his part had played,
In five successive fields of fight
Been conquered and dismayed;
Once more against the English host
His band he led, and once more lost
The meed for which he fought:
And now from battle, faint and worn,
The homeless fugitive forlorn
A hut's lone shelter sought.
## p. 16714 (#414) ##########################################
16714
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
And cheerless was that resting-place
For him who claimed a throne,-
His canopy, devoid of grace,
The rude, rough beams alone;
The heather couch his only bed, -
Yet well I ween had slumber fed
From couch of eider-down!
Through darksome night till dawn of day,
Absorbed in wakeful thoughts he lay
Of Scotland and her crown.
The sun rose brightly, and its gleam
Fell on that hapless bed,
And tinged with light each shapeless beam
Which roofed the lowly shed:
When, looking up with wistful eye,
The Bruce beheld a spider try
His filmy thread to fling
From beam to beam of that rude cot;
And well the insect's toilsome lot
Taught Scotland's future king.
Six times his gossamery thread
The wary spider threw;
In vain the filmy line was sped,
For powerless or untrue
Each aim appeared, and back recoiled
The patient insect, six times foiled,
And yet unconquered still:
And soon the Bruce, with eager eye,
Saw him prepare once more to try
His courage, strength, and skill.
One effort more, his seventh and last
The hero hailed the sign!
And on the wished-for beam hung fast
That slender silken line!
Slight as it was, his spirit caught
The more than omen, for his thought
The lesson well could trace,
Which even he who runs may read, -
That Perseverance gains its meed,
And Patience wins the race.
BERNARD BARTON.
## p. 16715 (#415) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16715
THE WANTS OF MAN
(
"Man wants but little here below,
Nor wants that little long. ”
- GOLDSMITH
“M
»
AN wants but little here below,
Nor wants that little long. ”
'Tis not with me exactly so —
But 'tis so in the song.
My wants are many, and if told,
Would muster many a score;
And were each wish a mint of gold,
I still should long for more.
What first I want is daily bread,
And canvas-backs and wine;
And all the realms of nature spread
Before me when I dine; -
Four courses scarcely can provide
My appetite to quell,
With four choice cooks from France beside,
To dress my dinner well.
What next I want, at heavy cost,
Is elegant attire:
Black sable furs for winter's frost,
And silks for summer's fire,
And cashmere shawls and Brussels lace
My bosom's front to deck;
And diamond rings my hands to grace,
And rubies for my neck.
And then I want a mansion fair,
A dwelling-house, in style,
Four stories high for wholesome air, -
A massive marble pile:
With halls for banquets and for balls,
All furnished rich and fine;
With stabled studs in fifty stalls,
* And cellars for my wine.
I want a garden and a park
My dwelling to surround;
A thousand acres (bless the mark),
With walls encompassed round,
## p. 16716 (#416) ##########################################
16716
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Where flocks may range and herds may low,
And kids and lambkins play,
And flowers and fruits commingled grow
All Eden to display.
I want, when summer's foliage falls,
And autumn strips the trees,
A house within the city's walls
For comfort and for ease;-
But here, as space is somewhat scant
And acres rather rare,
My house in town I only want
To occupy — a square.
I want a steward, butler, cooks,
A coachman, footman, grooms,
A library of well-bound books,
And picture-garnished rooms -
Correggio's (Magdalen' and Night,'
The Matron of the Chair,'
Guido's fleet coursers in their Alight,
And Claudes at least a pair.
I want a cabinet profuse
Of medals, coins, and gems;
A printing-press for private use
Of fifty thousand ems;
And plants and minerals and shells,
Worms, insects, fishes, birds,
And every beast on earth that dwells,
In solitude or herds.
I want a board of burnished plate
Of silver and of gold,
Tureens of twenty pounds in weight
With sculpture's richest mold;
Plateaus with chandeliers and lamps,
Plates, dishes all the same;
And porcelain vases with the stamps
Of Sèvres or Angoulême.
And maples of fair glossy stain
Must form my chamber doors,
And carpets of the Wilton grain
Must cover all my floors.
## p. 16717 (#417) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16717
My walls, with tapestry bedecked,
Must never be outdone;
And damask curtains must protect
Their colors from the sun.
And mirrors of the largest pane
From Venice must be brought;
And sandal-wood and bamboo-cane
For chairs and tables bought;
On all the mantelpieces, clocks
Of thrice-gilt bronze must stand,
And screens of ebony and box
Invite the stranger's hand.
I want (who does not want ? ) a wife,
Affectionate and fair;
To solace all the woes of life,
And all its joys to share;
Of temper sweet, of yielding will,
Of firm yet placid mind;
With all my faults to love me still
With sentiment refined.
And as Time's car incessant runs
And Fortune fills my store,
I want of daughters and of sons
From eight to half a score.
I want (alas! can mortal dare
Such bliss on earth to crave ? )
That all the girls be chaste and fair,
The boys all wise and brave.
And when my bosom's darling sings
With melody divine,
A pedal harp of many strings
Must with her voice combine.
A piano, exquisitely wrought,
Must open stand, apart,
That all my daughters may be taught
To win the stranger's heart.
My wife and daughters will desire
Refreshment from perfumes,
Cosmetic for the skin require
And artificial blooms.
## p. 16718 (#418) ##########################################
16718
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
The civet, fragrance shall dispense
And treasured sweets return;
Cologne revive the flagging sense,
And smoking amber burn.
And when, at night, my weary head
Begins to droop and doze,
A southern chamber holds my bed
For nature's soft repose;
With blankets, counterpanes, and sheet,
Mattress and bed of down,
And comfortables for my feet,
And pillows for my crown.
I want a warm and faithful friend
To cheer the adverse hour,
Who ne'er to flatter will descend,
Nor bend the knee to power
A friend to chide me when I'm wrong,
My inmost soul to see;
And that my friendship prove as strong
For him as his for me.
I want a kind and tender heart,
For others' wants to feel;
A soul secure from Fortune's dart,
And bosom armed with steel
To bear divine chastisement's rod;
And mingling in my plan,
Submission to the will of God
With charity to man.
I want a keen, observing eye;
An ever listening ear,
The truth through all disguise to spy,
And wisdom's voice to hear;
A tongue to speak at virtue's need,
In Heaven's sublimest strain;
And lips, the cause of man to plead,
And never plead in vain.
I want uninterrupted health
Throughout my long career;
And streams of never-failing wealth
To scatter far and near,
## p. 16719 (#419) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16719
The destitute to clothe and feed,
Free bounty to bestow,
Supply the helpless orphan's need,
And soothe the widow's woe.
I want the genius to conceive,
The talents to unfold
Designs, the vicious to retrieve,
The virtuous to uphold;
Inventive power, combining skill;
A persevering soul,
Of human hearts to mold the will
And reach from pole to pole.
I want the seals of power and place,
The ensigns of command,
Charged by the people's unbought grace,
To rule my native land:
Nor crown nor sceptre would I ask,
But from my country's will,
By day, by night, to ply the task
Her cup of bliss to fill.
I want the voice of honest praise
To follow me behind;
And to be thought in future days
The friend of human-kind:
That after ages, as they rise,
Exulting may proclaim,
In choral union to the skies,
Their blessings on my name.
-
These are the wants of mortal man;
I cannot want them long –
For life itself is but a span
And earthly bliss a song.
My last great want, absorbing all,
Is, when beneath the sod,
And summoned to my final call
The mercy of my God.
And oh! while circles in my veins
Of life the purple stream,
And yet a fragment small remains
Of nature's transient dream,
## p. 16720 (#420) ##########################################
16720
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
1
My soul, in humble hope unscared,
Forget not thou to pray,
That this thy want may be prepared
To meet the Judgment Day.
JOHN QUINCY ADAMS.
AFTER THE PLAY
M"
ID the tawdry purple and tinsel bright,
With a mimic crowd bowing low at his feet,
In crown and sceptre of gilt bedight,
And a poor robe falling in fold and pleat,
He stalks on the stage and takes a seat.
Ah well, let him prosper while he may:
The curtain's soon down, for the hours are fleet,
And the king's but a beggar after the play.
In his borrowed plumage, poor shallow cheat,
He struts the stage with a strange conceit;
But let him prosper while he may,
The king's but a beggar after the play.
BURTON EGBERT STEVENSON.
THE CLOWN'S SONG
1
“Η"
ERE I am! ” — and the house rejoices;
Forth I tumble from out the slips;
“Here I am! » — and a hundred voices
Welcome me on with laughing lips.
The master, with easy pride,
Treads the sawdust down;
Or quickens the horse's stride,
And calls for his jesting clown.
«What, ho, Mr. Merriman! - Dick,
Here's a lady that wants your place. ”
I throw them a somerset, quick,
And grin in some beauty's face.
I tumble and jump and chaff,
And fill them with wild delights;
Whatever my sorrow, I laugh
Through the summer and winter nights.
## p. 16721 (#421) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16721
I joke with the men, if I dare;
Do they strike, why I cringe and stoop;
And I ride like a bird in air,
And I jump through the blazing hoop.
Whatever they say or do,
I am ready with joke and gibe;
And whenever the jests are new,
I follow, like all my tribe.
But life is not all a jest,
Whatever the wise ones say;
For when I steal home to rest
(And I seek it at dawn of day),
If winter, there is no fire;
If summer, there is no air:
My welcome's a hungry choir
Of children, and scanty fare.
My wife is as lean a scold
As famine can make man's wife;
We are both of us sour and old
With drinking the dregs of life.
Yet why do I sigh? I wonder,
Would the Pit or the Boxes sigh,
Should I wash off my paint, and, under,
Show how a fool must die ?
Author Unknown.
THE FOOLS' WALTZ
EARER and clearer than monarch and minister,
Rabble and gabble, and hypocrites sinister,
Warriors and sages of far-away ages,
Are the Fools that flit through the historical pages.
NET
They gazed somewhat dazed through their patches and powder,
They wondered and blundered and ever laughed louder;
While crown tumbled down, and while creed flew to pieces,
Their range was the change of their daily caprices.
While savage did ravage and bigotry tortured,
They rambled or gambled, or planted an orchard.
They clicked the light heel in the strathspey and reel,
Built castles, held wassails, chased moths, and played tennis;
Broke the lance for fair France, and went masked in gay Venice.
XXVIII-1046
## p. 16722 (#422) ##########################################
16722
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
They spent as they went, and were reckless of rules,
Bade defiance to science, and scoffed at the schools,
Had their flings at their kings, and were pert to the proudest;
Must joke if they spoke, and themselves laughed the loudest;
Winking and wooing, whatever was doing,
Though storms of reforms and rebellions were brewing,
Talking and mocking the age that they grew in,
They quaffed the gay draught round the red fires of ruin.
Smiling and sneering, they fit out of hearing,
They bow themselves airily out of our pages;
No sound underground of their jesting and jeering,
The dear little Fools of the far-away ages!
Can marble rest heavy on all that gay bevy,
Who parted light-hearted, and knew no returning?
Are there ghosts full of laughter that haunt the hereafter,
Too mocking for bliss and too merry for burning ?
Remember - forget them — it never will fret them,
Who gibed at misfortune whenever she met them;
At joust and at revel cast care to the devil,
And lived all their lives on whoever would let them.
Concede them the meed that is due the departed!
Slight thinker, deep drinker, lax friend and light lover;
A tear not too tender, for they were light-hearted;
A laugh not too loud, for their laughter is over;
1
A prayer light as air for the dead and gone Fools,
Too light and too slight to be tyrants or tools!
Who with jest and with zest took the world as they found it; –
Perhaps they did best just by dancing around it!
HELEN THAYER HUTCHESON.
1
A SMILING DEMON OF NOTRE DAME
Q
.
UIET as are the quiet skies,
He watches where the city lies
Floating in vision clear or dim
Through sun or rain beneath his eyes;
Her songs, her laughter, and her cries
Hour after hour drift up to him.
## p. 16723 (#423) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16723
Her days of glory or disgrace
He watches with unchanging face;
He knows what midnight crimes are done;
What horrors under summer sun;
And souls that pass in holy death
Sweep by him on the morning's breath.
Alike to holiness and sin
He feels nor alien nor akin;
Five hundred creeping mortal years
He smiles on human joy and tears,
Man-made, immortal, scorning man;
Serene, grotesque Olympian.
ELLEN BURROUGHS.
AFTER WINGS
T'S
His was your butterfly, you see.
His fine wings made him vain ? .
The caterpillars crawl, but he
Passed them in rich disdain ?
My pretty boy says: "Let him be
Only a worm again” ?
O child, when things have learned to wear
Wings once, they must be fain
To keep them always high and fair.
Think of the creeping pain
Which even a butterfly must bear
To be a worm again!
SARAH M. B. PIATT.
CONTRASTS
S"
TRANGE, that we creatures of the petty ways,
Poor prisoners behind these fleshly bars,
Can sometimes think us thoughts with God ablaze.
Touching the fringes of the outer stars.
And stranger still that, having flown so high,
And stood unshamed in shining presences,
We can resume our smallness, nor imply
In mien or gesture what that memory is.
RICHARD BURTON.
## p. 16724 (#424) ##########################################
16724
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
DREAM-PEDDLERY
I
F THERE were dreams to sell,
What would you buy ?
Some cost a passing-bell;
Some a light sigh,
That shakes from Life's fresh crown
Only a rose-leaf down.
If there were dreams to sell,
Merry and sad to tell,
And the crier rung the beli,
What would you buy? –
-
A cottage lone and still,
With bowers nigh,
Shadowy, my woes to still,
Until I die.
Such pearl from Life's fresh crown
Fain would I shake me down.
Were dreams to have at will,
This would best heal my ill,
This would I buy. -
But there were dreams to sell,
111 didst thou buy:
Life is a dream, they tell,
W ing to die.
Dreaming a dream to prize
Is wishing ghosts to rise;
And if I had the spell
To call the buried well,
Which one would I? -
If there are ghosts to raise,
What shall I call
Out of hell's murky haze,
Heaven's blue pall ?
Eva L. OGDEN.
FROM (CHRISTMAS NIGHT IN THE QUARTERS)
o 'way fiddle! folks is tired o’ hearin' you a-squawkin';
Keep silence fur yo' betters! - don't you heah de banjo talkin'?
About de 'possum's tail she's gwine to lecter — ladies, listen -
About de ha'r whut isn't dar, an' why de ha'r is missin'.
! ' ?
((
»
“Dar's gwine to be a oberflow,” said Noah, lookin' solemn,-
Fur Noah tuk de Herald, an' he read de ribber column;
An' so he sot his hands to wuk a-cl’arin' timber patches,
An' 'lowed he's gwine to build a boat to beat de steamah Natchez.
Ol' Noah kep' a-nailin', an' a-chippin', an' a-sawin';
An' all the wicked neighbors kep' a-laughin' an'a-pshawin',
## p. 16692 (#392) ##########################################
16692
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
But Noah didn't min' 'em, knowin' what wuz gwine to happen;
An' forty days an' forty nights de rain it kep' a-drappin'.
Now, Noah had done catched a lot of ebry sort of beas'es :
Ob all de shows a-trabbelin', it beat 'em all to pieces!
He had a Morgan colt an' sebral head o’ Jarsey cattle -
An' druv 'em 'board de Ark as soon 's he heered de thunder rattle.
Den sech anoder fall ob rain! It come so awful hebby,
De ribber riz mmejitly, and busted troo de lebbee;
De people all wuz drownded out — 'cep' Noah an' de critters,
An' men he'd hired to work de boat, an' one to mix de bitters.
De Ark she kep' a-sailin' an' a-sailin' an' a-sailin';
De lion got his dander up, an' like to bruk de palin';
De sarpints hissed; de painters yelled, - tell whut wid all de fussin'
You c'u'd'nt hardly heah de mate a-bossin' 'roun' an'cussin'.
Now Ham, de only nigger whut wuz runnin' on de packet,
Got lonesome in de barber-shop, an' c'u'dn't stand de racket;
An' so, fur to amuse hisse'f, he steamed some wood an' bent it,
An' soon he had a banjo made — de fust dat wuz invented.
He wet de ledder, stretched it on; made bridge an' screws an' aprin,
An' fitted in a proper neck — 'twas berry long an' tap'rin';
He tuk some tin, an' twisted him a thimble fur to ring it:
An' den de mighty question riz — how wuz he gwine to string it ?
De 'possum had as fine a tail as dis dat I's a-singin';
De ha’rs so long an' thick an' strong - des fit for banjo-stringin':
Dat nigger shaved 'em off as short as washday-dinner graces;
An’sorted ob 'em by de size, from little E's to basses.
He strung her, tuned her, struck a jig — 'twuz "Nebber min' de wed-
der » —
She soun' like forty-lebben bands a-playin' all togedder.
Some went to pattin', some to dancin'; Noah called de figgers,
An' Ham he sot an' knocked de tune, de happiest ob niggers!
Now, sence dat time - it's mighty strange - dere's not de slightes'
showin'
Ob any ha'r at all upon de 'possum's tail a-growin’;
An' curi's, too, dat nigger's ways — his people nebber los' 'em —
Fur whar you finds de nigger, dar's de banjo an' de 'possum.
IRWIN RUSSELL.
## p. 16693 (#393) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16693
THE V-A-S-E
F
ROM the madding crowd they stand apart, -
The maidens four and the Work of Art:
And none might tell from sight alone
In which had Culture ripest grown, -
The Gotham Million fair to see,
The Philadelphia Pedigree,
The Boston Mind of azure hue,
Or the soulful soul from Kalamazoo;
For all loved Art in a seemly way,
With an earnest soul and a capital A.
**
*
Long they worshiped; but no one broke
The sacred stillness, until up spoke
The Western one from the nameless place,
Who blushing said, “What a lovely Vase! )
Over three faces a sad smile flew,
And they edged away from Kalamazoo.
But Gotham's haughty soul was stirred
To crush the stranger with one small word:
Deftly hiding reproof in praise,
She cries, 'Tis, indeed, a lovely Vaze! )
But brief her unworthy triumph when
The lofty one from the home of Penn,
With the consciousness of two grandpapas,
Exclaims, “It is quite a lovely Vahs! ”
And glances round with an anxious thrill,
Awaiting the word of Beacon Hill.
But the Boston maid smiles courteouslee,
And gently murmurs: “Oh, pardon me!
"I did not catch your remark, because
I was so entranced with that charming Vaws! »
Dies erit pragelida
Sinistra quum Bostonia. *
JAMES JEFFREY Roche.
* It will be a very cold day when Boston gets left.
## p. 16694 (#394) ##########################################
16694
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
THE POSTER KNIGHT TO HIS LADY
O"
H PRITHEE, swing thy casement wide
And listen, gentle maid,
While I, thy poster knight, twang forth
A poster serenade.
The dark-mauve sun has sunk to rest
Behind the square red hill;
No more the orange ostrich struts
Beside the yellow rill.
The pale-blue cows with coral eyes
Have left the sable lawn;
And all the dainty purple sheep,
They too, beloved, have gone.
Cavorting through the chocolate hedge,
No ramphorhyncus comes;
From yonder plum-tree none essay
To pluck the curly plums.
Then haste, I pray thee, loved one, haste !
Bind up that Nile-green tress;
Enhance thy beauteous angles by
Thy most composite dress.
Then forth into the Beardsley night
We'll issue hand in hand,
To plight our fin-de-siècle vows
In dreaming Poster Land.
SCHUYLER KING.
HANS BREITMANN'S PARTY
H
ANS BREITMANN gife a barty;
Dey had biano-blayin':
I felled in lofe mit a Merican Frau,
Her name vas Madilda Yane.
She hat haar as prown ash a pretzel,
Her eyes vas himmel-plue,
Und ven dey looket indo mine,
Dey shplit mine heart in two.
## p. 16695 (#395) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16695
Hans Breitmann gife a barty:
I vent dere, you'll pe pound.
I valzet mit Madilda Yane
Und vent shpinnen round und round.
De pootiest Fräulein in de house,
She vayed 'pout dwo hoondred pound,
Und efery dime she gife a shoomp
She make de vindows sound.
Hans Breitmann gife a barty:
I dells you it cost him dear.
Dey rolled in more ash seven kecks
Of foost-rate lager beer,
Und venefer dey knocks de shpicket in
De Deutschers gifes a cheer.
I dinks dat so vine a barty
Nefer coom to a het dis year.
Hans Breitmann gife a barty:
Dere all vas Souse und Brouse;
Ven de sopper comed in, de gompany
Did make demselfs to house,
Dey ate das Brot and Gensy broost,
De Bratwurst and Braten fine,
Und vash der Abendessen down
Mit four parrels of Neckarwein.
Hans Breitmann gife a barty.
We all cot troonk as bigs.
I poot mine mout to a parrel of bier,
Und emptied it oop mit a schwigs.
Und denn I gissed Madilda Yane
Und she shlog me on de kop,
Und de gompany fited mit daple lecks
Dill de coonshtable made oos shtop.
Hans Breitmann gife a barty -
Where ish dat barty now?
Where ish de lofely golden cloud
Dat float on de moundain's prow?
Where ish de himmelstrahlende Stern-
De shtar of de shpirit's light?
All goned afay mit de lager beer —
Afay in de ewigkeit'
CHARLES GODFREY LELAND.
## p. 16696 (#396) ##########################################
16696
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
THE PROTEST
A
S LONG as I'm a Protestant,
I'm bounden to protest :
Come, every German musiciant,
And fiddle me his best!
You're singing of the free old Rhine);
But I say, No, good comrades mine,–
The Rhine could be
Greatly more free,
And that I do protest.
I scarce had got my christening o'er,
Or was in breeches dressed,
But I began to shout and roar
And mightily protest.
And since that time I've never stopped,
My protestations never dropped ;
And blessed be they
Who every way
And everywhere protest.
There's one thing certain in my creed,
And schism is all the rest,-
That who's a Protestant indeed
For ever must protest.
What is the river Rhine to me?
For from its source unto the sea,
Men are not free,
Whate'er they be,
And that I do protest.
(
And every man in reason grants,
What always was confessed,
As long as we are Protestants,
We sternly must protest.
And when they sing “the free old Rhine,"
Answer them “No,” good comrades mine,-
The Rhine could be
Greatly more free,
And that you shall protest.
GEORGE HERWEGH.
(
## p. 16697 (#397) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16697
NEBUCHADNEZZAR
Yºu:
OU, Nebuchadnezzah, whoa, sah!
Whar is you tryin' to go, sah ?
I'd hab you fur to know, sah,
I's a-holdin' ob de lines.
You better stop dat prancin':
You's pawful fond ob dancin',
But I'll bet my yeah's advancin'
Dat I'll cure you ob yo' shines.
Look heah, mule! Better min' out:
Fus' t'ing you know you'll fin' out
How quick I'll w'ar dis line out
On your ugly stubbo'n back.
You needn't try to steal up
An' lif' dat precious heel up:
You's got to plow dis fiel' up,–
You has, sah, fur a fac'.
Dar, dat's de way to do it!
He's comin' right down to it;
Jes’ watch him plowin' troo it!
Dis nigger ain't no fool.
Some folks, dey would 'a' beat him:
Now dat would only heat him;
I know jes' how to treat him:
You mus' reason wid a mule.
He minds me like a nigger;
If he wuz only bigger
He'd fotch a mighty figger,-
He would, I tell you! Yes, sah!
See how he keeps a clickin'!
He's gentle as a chicken,
An' nebber thinks o' kickin'-
Whoa dar! Nebuchadnezzah!
**
*
Is dis heah me, or not me?
Or is de Debbil got me ?
Wuz dat a cannon shot me ?
Hab I laid heah more'n a week?
## p. 16698 (#398) ##########################################
16698
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Dat mule do kick amazin'!
De beast wuz sp'iled in raisin'!
By now I 'spect he's grazin'
On de oder side de creek.
IRWIN RUSSELL.
OLD ASSYRIAN
I
N THE Black Whale at Ascalon
A man drank day by day,
Till, stiff as any broom-handle,
Upon the floor he lay.
In the Black Whale at Ascalon
The landlord said, "I say,
He's drinking of my date-juice wine
Much more than he can pay! ”
In the Black Whale at Ascalon
The waiters brought the bill,
In arrow-heads on six broad tiles,
To him who thus did swill.
In the Black Whale at Ascalon
The guest cried out, “O woe!
I spent in the Lamb at Nineveh
My money long ago! ”
In the Black Whale at Ascalon,
The clock struck half-past four,
When the Nubian porter he did pitch
The stranger from the door.
In the Black Whale at Ascalon
No prophet hath renown;
And he who there would drink in peace
Must pay the money down.
JOSEF VIKTOR VON SCHEFFEL.
Translation of C. G. Leland.
## p. 16699 (#399) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16699
THE VICAR OF BRAY
IM
N GOOD King Charles's golden days,
When loyalty no harm meant,
A zealous high-churchman was I,
And so I got preferment.
To teach my flock I never missed :
Kings were by God appointed,
And lost are those who dare resist
Or touch the Lord's anointed.
And this is law that I'll maintain
Until my dying day, sir,
That whatsoever king shall reign,
Still I'll be Vicar of Bray, sir.
When royal James possessed the crown,
And popery grew in fashion,
The penal laws I hooted down,
And read the declaration:
The Church of Rome I found would fit
Full well my constitution;
And I had been a Jesuit
But for the revolution.
When William was our king declared,
To ease the nation's grievance,
With this new wind about I steered,
And swore to him allegiance:
Old principles I did revoke,
Set conscience at a distance;
Passive obedience was a joke,
A jest was non-resistance.
When royal Anne became our queen.
The Church of England's glory,
Another face of things was seen,
And I became a Tory:
Occasional conformists base,
I blamed their moderation;
And thought the Church in danger was
By such prevarication.
When George in pudding-time came o'er,
And moderate men looked big, sir,
## p. 16700 (#400) ##########################################
16 700
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
My principles I changed once more,
And so became a Whig, sir:
And this preferment I procured
From our new faith's defender;
And almost every day abjured
The Pope and the Pretender.
The illustrious house of Hanover,
And Protestant succession,
To these I do allegiance swear-
While they can keep possession;
For in my faith and loyalty
I nevermore will falter,
And George my lawful king shall be —
Until the times do alter.
And this is law that I'll maintain
Until my dying day, sir,
That whatsoever king shall reign,
Still I'll be Vicar of Bray, sir.
Author Unknonun
ST. ANTHONY'S SERMON TO THE FISHES
S":
T. ANTHONY at church
Was left in the lurch,
So he went to the ditches
And preached to the fishes;
They wriggled their tails,
In the sun glanced their scales.
The carps, with their spawn,
Are all hither drawn;
Have opened their jaws,
Eager for each clause.
No sermon beside
Had the carps so edified.
Sharp-snouted pikes,
Who keep fighting like tikes,
Now swam up harmonious
To hear St. Antonius.
No serinon beside
Had the pikes so edified.
## p. 16701 (#401) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16701
And that very odd fish,
Who loves fast-days, the cod-fish, -
The stock-fish, I mean,
At the sermon was seen.
No sermon beside
Had the cods so edified.
Good eels and sturgeon,
Which aldermen gorge on,
Went out of their way
To hear preaching that day.
No sermon beside
Had the eels so edified.
Crabs and turtles also,
Who always move slow,
Made haste from the bottom,
As if the Devil had got 'em.
No sermon beside
Had the crabs so edified.
Fish great and fish small,
Lords, lackeys, and all,
Each looked at the preacher
Like a reasonable creature:
At God's word,
They Anthony heard.
The sermon now ended,
Each turned and descended;
The pikes went on stealing,
The eels went on eeling:
Much delighted were they,
But preferred the old way.
The crabs are backsliders,
The stock-fish thick-siders,
The carps are sharp-set;
All the sermon forget:
Much delighted were they,
But preferred the old way.
Author Unknown.
## p. 16702 (#402) ##########################################
16702
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
THE THREE WARNINGS
A TALE
THE
He tree of deepest root is found
Least willing still to quit the ground;
'Twas therefore said by ancient sages,
That love of life increased with years, –
So much that in our later stages,
When pain grows sharp and sickness rages,
The greatest love of life appears.
This great affection to believe,
Which all confess but few perceive, —
If old assertions can't prevail,
Be pleased to hear a modern tale.
When sports went round and all were gay,
On Neighbor Dobson's wedding-day,
Death called aside the jocund groom
With him into another room:
And looking grave -
« You must,” says he,
« Quit
your sweet bride and come with me. ”
«With you! and quit my Susan's side!
With you! ” the hapless husband cried:
«Young as I am ? 'tis monstrous hard !
Besides, in truth, I'm not prepared;
My thoughts on other matters go:
This is my wedding-night, you know. ”
What more he urged I have not heard :
His reasons could not well be stronger;
So Death the poor delinquent spared,
And left to live a little longer.
Yet calling up a serious look –
His hour-glass trembled while he spoke –
Neighbor,” he said, “farewell! No more
Shall Death disturb your mirthful hour;
And further, to avoid all blame
Of cruelty upon my name,
To give you time for preparation,
And fit you for your future station,
Three several warnings you shall have
Before you're summoned to the grave.
Willing for once I'll quit my prey,
And grant a kind reprieve,
## p. 16703 (#403) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16703
In hopes you'll have no more to say,
But, when again I call this way,
Well pleased the world will leave. ”
To these conditions both consented,
And parted perfectly contented.
What next the hero of our tale befell,
How long he lived, how wise, how well,
How roundly he pursued his course,
And smoked his pipe and stroked his horse,
The willing Muse shall tell:
He chaffered then, he bought, he sold,
Nor once perceived his growing old,
Nor thought of Death as near;
His friends not false, his wife no shrew,
Many his gains, his children few,
He passed his hours in peace.
But while he viewed his wealth increase,
While thus along life's dusty road
The beaten track content he trod,
Old Time, whose haste no mortal spares,
Uncalled, unheeded, unawares,
Brought on his eightieth year.
And now one night in musing mood,
As all alone he sat,
The unwelcome messenger of fate
Once more before him stood.
Half killed with anger and surprise,
«So soon returned ! ) old Dobson cries.
“So soon, d'ye call it? " Death replies:
«Surely, my friend, you're but in jest!
Since I was here before
'Tis six-and-thirty years at least,
And you are now fourscore. ”
«So much the worse,” the clown rejoined:
“To spare the aged would be kind.
However, see your search be legal;
And your authority - is 't regal?
Else you are come on a fool's errand,
With but a secretary's warrant.
Besides, you promised me three warnings,
Which I have looked for nights and mornings,
## p. 16704 (#404) ##########################################
16704
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
But for that loss of time and ease
I can recover damages. ”
“I know,” cried Death, that at the best
I seldom am a welcome guest;
But don't be captious, friend, at least.
I little thought you'd still be able
To stump about your farm and stable:
Your years have run to a great length;
I wish you joy, though, of your strength. "
“Hold! ” says the farmer; “not so fast:
I have been lame these four years past. ”
“And no great wonder,” Death replies:
«However, you still keep your eyes;
And sure, to see one's loves and friends
For legs and arms would make amends. "
“Perhaps,” says Dobson, “so it might;
But latterly I've lost my sight. ”
« This is a shocking story, faith,
Yet there's some comfort still,” says Death:
“Each strives your sadness to amuse;
I warrant you hear all the news. ”
« There's none, cries he; "and if there were,
I'm grown so deaf I could not hear. ”
>
“Nay, then,” the spectre stern rejoined,
« These are unwarrantable yearnings:
If you are lame, and deaf, and blind,
You've had your three sufficient warnings.
So come along; no more we'll part,"
He said, and touched him with his dart;
And now old Dobson, turning pale,
Yields to his fate. So ends my tale.
HESTER THRALE Piozzi
THE LADYE LOVE
From "The Yearn of the Romantic)
S"
He was hardened not with knowledge of the boarding-school or
college;
She was sung at oft in language that she did not understand;
But was learned in all romancing, and in dancing, and in glancing –
Stately, fair, and tender-hearted was the Ladye of the Land.
## p. 16705 (#405) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16705
Though she dressed in shocking fashion, she inspired the deepest
passion,
And a tune upon her lutelet was a very dangerous thing;
For her smiles, were all imploring, and her sigh set all adoring,
And she strung the hearts around her like the beads upon a string.
Now, at tourneys gayly quartered, she would see her lieges slaughtered,
Till the solitary relic crawled to crown her “Beauty's Queen";
Then, from tops of balustradings, she would sigh to serenadings,
Or, with hawk or hound and suitors, she would gallop o'er the
green.
Any summer morn awaking, full of sentiment and quaking
At the ditties and the clatter of her lovers keeping guard,
She'd behold with charming satisfaction - peeping through her lat-
tice-
Scores of guitars and of gallants shattered all about her yard!
Any day she'd feel neglected if not forcibly selected
As the booty of some Baron, who would make her will his law;
Any night she'd slumber hoping to be wakened by eloping
On the pommel of the saddle of a Knight she never saw.
Then, how charmingly exciting! setting twenty knights to fighting,
And be forced to wed the victor, who would come to claim her
glove!
Or to have to sit for hours in the tallest kind of towers,
On the thinnest sort of diet, till her heart should learn to love!
They would call her cold and cruel: yet they'd fight the daily duel,
And lay vows of love eternal and despairing at her shrine;
When at last some one would win her, they would oft neglect their
dinner,
And would talk for days of dying, or of far-off Palestine!
When her Liege would go crusading, or his neighbors' lands invading,
Then from highest turret windows would she wave her lily hands:
Or, perchance, ere seeking Vandals, he would lock her safe from
scandals,
And she'd pine, from quiet convents, for her lord in Paynim lands.
Thus, a-smiling and a-sighing, and a-laughing and a-crying,
With her eyes as stars or diamonds, and her hair as silk or gold -
Never maid so sentimental, never matron half so gentle,
Never love so true and tender, as the Ladye Love of old!
GEORGE M. DAVIE.
XXVIII-1045
## p. 16706 (#406) ##########################################
16706
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
B
CAGES AND RHYMES
LESS your hearts, ye little birds,
That you woke me with your singing!
Balmily the vernal air
Greets me, from my pillow springing!
And the little birds sang on,
Undisturbed by my appearing:
True and trustful, there they sat,
With their hymns the morning cheering.
For the darlings noticed not
Snares I slyly spread around them,
Till their little feet were caught
In the threads that closely bound them.
Every morn (I thought) their songs
Would a thrill of joy send through me;
And of happiness the deep
Secret they would whisper to me.
Ah! my error soon I found;-
Say, what stillness has come o'er you?
In a golden palace lodged,
Plenteous food and drink before you!
But no answer did they give,
Pecking wildly at the wire;
And no morning serenade
Can I win for love or hire.
Many a grand and stately thought
Round my musing mind will flutter,
Which, with sweat of brow and brain
Caught in rhyme, I fain would utter.
But so stiff and dead they seemed,
With these fetters round them clinging,
Never they, you would have deemed,
From a human heart came singing.
KARL KNORTZ;
Translation of C. T. Brooks.
## p. 16707 (#407) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16707
LARKS AND NIGHTINGALES
A
LONE I sit at eventide:
The twilight glory pales,
And o'er the meadows far and wide
Chant pensive bobolinks.
(One might say nightingales! )
Song-sparrows warble on the tree,
I hear the purling brook,
And from the old “manse o'er the lea”
Flies slow the cawing crow.
(In England 'twere a rook ! )
The last faint golden beams of day
Still glow on cottage panes,
And on their lingering homeward way
Walk weary laboring men.
(Oh, would that we had swains ! )
From farm-yards, down fair rural glades
Come sounds of tinkling bells,
And songs of merry brown milkmaids,
Sweeter than oriole's.
(Yes, thank you — Philomel's! )
I could sit here till me ng came,
All through the night hours dark,
Until I saw the sun's bright flame
And heard the chickadee.
(Alas! we have no lark! )
We have no leas, no larks, no rooks,
No swains, no nightingales,
No singing milkmaids (save in books):
The poet does his best
It is the rhyme that fails !
NATHAN HASKELL DOLE.
## p. 16708 (#408) ##########################################
16708
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
LAPSUS CALAMI
W"
LL there never come a season
Which shall rid us from the curse
Of a prose which knows no reason
And an unmelodious verse;
When the world shall cease to wonder
At the genius of an ass,
And a boy's eccentric blunder
Shall not bring success to pass;
When mankind shall be delivered
From the clash of magazines,
And the inkstand shall be shivered
Into countless smithereens:
When there stands a muzzled stripling,
Mute, beside a muzzled bore,-
When the Rudyards cease from kipling,
And the Haggards ride no more?
JAMES KENNETH STEPHEN.
THE CRYSTAL FOUNTAIN
CONVERSATION BETWEEN AN ANXIOUS MOTHER AND A POLICEMAN AT
THE WORLD'S EXHIBITION
“G
OOD policeman, tell me, pray,
Has my daughter passed this way?
You may know her by her bonnet,
Yellow shawl, and brooch upon it:
Far and near I've sought the girl;
I have lost her in the whirl.
Do you think she yonder goes,
Where the Crystal Fountain flows ? »
»
“Ma'am,” says he, “on this here ground,
Whatsomdever's lost is found:
Rest quite heasy in your mind, -
I your daughter soon will find !
Though she's got to forrin lands,
Hicy-burgs or Hegypt's sands,
Still, depend on 't, soon she goes
Where the Crystal Fountain flows!
## p. 16709 (#409) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16709
“Perhaps Italian h’art attracts
Her, or them there flowers in wax.
May be she has got hup-stairs
In among they. heasy-chairs,
And like Gulliver is sleeping
Where them Lillipushums 's creeping:
But she'll wake, and then she goes
Where the Crystal Fountain flows!
«Yet, good ma'am, I should explain,
She may stop a bit in Spain,
Smelling of them Porto snuffs,
Looking at the Turkish stuffs;
Or if warm, a Chiny fan,
Offered by the Tartar man,
Will refresh her as she goes
Where the Crystal Fountain flows!
«She may see the silver things,-
Little watches, chains, and rings;
Or mayhap, ma'am, she may stray
Where the monster horgans play;
Or the music of all sorts,
Great and small pianny-forts,
May detain her as she goes
Where the Crystal Fountain flows!
“Or she may have gone in hope
Of a patent henvelope
To take home,- and if she's able,
Try to see the Roman table;
Or insist on one peep more
At the sparkling Koh-hi-nore:
Then, the chance is, on she goes
Where the Crystal Fountain flows! »
“Well, policeman, certainly
You're the man to have an eye
Over such a place as this,
And to find a straying Miss!
Pray, good man, my daughter tell,
When she hears them ring the bell,
I shall find her, if she goes
Where the Crystal Fountain flows ! »
From Punch.
## p. 16710 (#410) ##########################################
16710
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
THE STRASBURG CLOCK
M
ANY and many a year ago
To say how many I scarcely dare -
Three of us stood in Strasburg streets,
In the wide and open square,
Where, quaint and old and touched with gold
Of a summer morn, at stroke of noon
The tongue of the great Cathedral tolled,
And into the church with the crowd we strolled
To see their wonder, the famous Clock.
>
Well, my love, there are clocks a many,
As big as a house, as small as a penny;
And clocks there be with voices as queer
As any that torture human ear:
Clocks that grunt, and clocks that growl,
That wheeze like a pump, and hoot like an owl,
From the coffin shape with its brooding face
That stands on the stair (you know the place),
Saying, “Click, cluck,” like an ancient hen,
A-gathering the ininutes home again,
To the kitchen knave with its wooden stutter,
Doing equal work with double splutter,
Yelping, Click, clack,” with a vulgar jerk,
As much as to say, “Just see me work! )
But of all the clocks that tell Time's bead-roll,
There are none like this in the old Cathedral;
Never a one so bids you stand
While it deals the minutes with even hand:
For clocks, like men, are better and worse,
And some you dote on, and some you curse;
And clock and man may have such a way
Of telling the truth that you can't say nay.
So in we went and stood in the crowd
To hear the old clock as it crooned aloud
With sound and symbol, the only tongue
The maker taught it while yet 'twas young.
And we saw St. Peter clasp his hands,
And the cock crow hoarsely to all the lands,
And the twelve Apostles come and go,
And the solemn Christ pass sadly and slow;
And strange that iron-legged procession,
And odd to us the whole impression,
## p. 16711 (#411) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16711
As the crowd beneath in silence pressing,
Bent to that cold mechanic blessing.
But I alone thought far in my soul
What a touch of genius was in the whole:
And felt how graceful had been the thought
Which for the signs of the months had sought,
Sweetest of symbols, Christ's chosen train;
And much I pondered, if he whose brain
Had builded this clock with labor and pain
Did only think, Twelve months there are,
And the Bible twelve will fit to a hair;
Or did he say, with a heart in tune,
Well-beloved John is the sign of June,
And changeful Peter hath April hours,
And Paul the stately, October bowers,
And sweet, or faithful, or bold, or strong,
Unto each one shall a month belong.
But beside the thought that under it lurks,
Pray, do you think clocks are saved by their works ?
Author Unknown.
TO PROWL, MY CAT
Yºu
are life's true philosopher,
An epicure of air and sun,
An egoist in sable fur,
To whom all moralists are one.
You hold your race-traditions fast,-
While others toil, you simply live;
And, based upon a stable past,
Remain a sound conservative!
You see the beauty of the world
Through eyes of unalloyed content,
And in my study chair upcurled,
Move me to pensive wonderment!
I wish I knew your trick of thought,
The perfect balance of your ways;
They seem an inspiration caught
From other laws in older days.
## p. 16712 (#412) ##########################################
16712
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Your padded footsteps prowl my room
Half in delight and half disdain;
You like this air of studious gloom
When streets without are cold with rain!
Some day, alas! you'll come to die,
And I shall lose a constant friend;
You'll take your last look at the sky,
And be a puzzle to the end!
«C. K. B. ” in London Spectator.
FOHI'S RETRIBUTION
ohi the righteous, after journeyings wide,
A wealthy woman's house at night espied,
And faint from hunger, weary, and foot-sore,
Asked if he might not rest within her door.
F"
But she was stern: “Vagrant, your way pursue;
My house was not designed for such as you :)
And, crowding him aside with cold disdain,
"No roving vagabonds I entertain. ”
Oppressed in heart, he turned his heavy feet
Where a poor woman lived across the street;
But ere he could his simple speech begin,
She met him at the gate and led him in.
C
>>
Mixing some goat's milk with her crumbs of bread,
« This is my only food, the woman said;
« But if Fohi the humble fare should bless,
There will be full enough for both, I guess. ”
Then she prepared for him a couch of straw,
And when he fell asleep, with grief she saw
He had no under-robe -a plight so sad,
She made him one from all the cloth she had.
When from their breakfast guest and hostess rise,
She begged him not her simple gift despise,
And journeying with him for a little way,
He said, “May your first work last all the day. ”
(
Arriving home, she took the linen weft,
To fold and lay aside the pieces left,
## p. 16713 (#413) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16713
When lo! it grew, till she, by working hard,
Filled up with cloth by night her house and yard!
When her rich neighbor saw this wondrous pelf,
Deeply annoyed, and vexed within herself,
She thought, although her lips could not complain,
«No such good fortune shall escape again. ”
Months after, Fohi came along once more,
When the rich woman met him at the door,
And pressed him in, and made him take a seat,
And cooked her very best for him to eat.
Then in the morning, sleep and breakfast done,
Of her fine garments gave she Fohi one,
And journeying with him for a little way,
He said, “May your first work last all the day. ”
So, turning back, but thinking all the while
Her cloth would turn into a mountainous pile,
She heard her cows, thirsting for water, low,
And said, “To fetch you drink, poor beasts, I go. ”
But as she poured into the trough her pail,
It emptied not, nor ever seemed to fail;
She kept on pouring, but it ran all day,
And drowned her cows, and swept her house away.
Her neighbors thought the highest heavens had rained,
And of the ruin to their lands complained -
Yet never ceased the source of all her. ills
Until the sun sank down behind the hills.
JOEL BENTON.
BRUCE AND THE SPIDER
FR
OR Scotland's and for freedom's right,
The Bruce his part had played,
In five successive fields of fight
Been conquered and dismayed;
Once more against the English host
His band he led, and once more lost
The meed for which he fought:
And now from battle, faint and worn,
The homeless fugitive forlorn
A hut's lone shelter sought.
## p. 16714 (#414) ##########################################
16714
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
And cheerless was that resting-place
For him who claimed a throne,-
His canopy, devoid of grace,
The rude, rough beams alone;
The heather couch his only bed, -
Yet well I ween had slumber fed
From couch of eider-down!
Through darksome night till dawn of day,
Absorbed in wakeful thoughts he lay
Of Scotland and her crown.
The sun rose brightly, and its gleam
Fell on that hapless bed,
And tinged with light each shapeless beam
Which roofed the lowly shed:
When, looking up with wistful eye,
The Bruce beheld a spider try
His filmy thread to fling
From beam to beam of that rude cot;
And well the insect's toilsome lot
Taught Scotland's future king.
Six times his gossamery thread
The wary spider threw;
In vain the filmy line was sped,
For powerless or untrue
Each aim appeared, and back recoiled
The patient insect, six times foiled,
And yet unconquered still:
And soon the Bruce, with eager eye,
Saw him prepare once more to try
His courage, strength, and skill.
One effort more, his seventh and last
The hero hailed the sign!
And on the wished-for beam hung fast
That slender silken line!
Slight as it was, his spirit caught
The more than omen, for his thought
The lesson well could trace,
Which even he who runs may read, -
That Perseverance gains its meed,
And Patience wins the race.
BERNARD BARTON.
## p. 16715 (#415) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16715
THE WANTS OF MAN
(
"Man wants but little here below,
Nor wants that little long. ”
- GOLDSMITH
“M
»
AN wants but little here below,
Nor wants that little long. ”
'Tis not with me exactly so —
But 'tis so in the song.
My wants are many, and if told,
Would muster many a score;
And were each wish a mint of gold,
I still should long for more.
What first I want is daily bread,
And canvas-backs and wine;
And all the realms of nature spread
Before me when I dine; -
Four courses scarcely can provide
My appetite to quell,
With four choice cooks from France beside,
To dress my dinner well.
What next I want, at heavy cost,
Is elegant attire:
Black sable furs for winter's frost,
And silks for summer's fire,
And cashmere shawls and Brussels lace
My bosom's front to deck;
And diamond rings my hands to grace,
And rubies for my neck.
And then I want a mansion fair,
A dwelling-house, in style,
Four stories high for wholesome air, -
A massive marble pile:
With halls for banquets and for balls,
All furnished rich and fine;
With stabled studs in fifty stalls,
* And cellars for my wine.
I want a garden and a park
My dwelling to surround;
A thousand acres (bless the mark),
With walls encompassed round,
## p. 16716 (#416) ##########################################
16716
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Where flocks may range and herds may low,
And kids and lambkins play,
And flowers and fruits commingled grow
All Eden to display.
I want, when summer's foliage falls,
And autumn strips the trees,
A house within the city's walls
For comfort and for ease;-
But here, as space is somewhat scant
And acres rather rare,
My house in town I only want
To occupy — a square.
I want a steward, butler, cooks,
A coachman, footman, grooms,
A library of well-bound books,
And picture-garnished rooms -
Correggio's (Magdalen' and Night,'
The Matron of the Chair,'
Guido's fleet coursers in their Alight,
And Claudes at least a pair.
I want a cabinet profuse
Of medals, coins, and gems;
A printing-press for private use
Of fifty thousand ems;
And plants and minerals and shells,
Worms, insects, fishes, birds,
And every beast on earth that dwells,
In solitude or herds.
I want a board of burnished plate
Of silver and of gold,
Tureens of twenty pounds in weight
With sculpture's richest mold;
Plateaus with chandeliers and lamps,
Plates, dishes all the same;
And porcelain vases with the stamps
Of Sèvres or Angoulême.
And maples of fair glossy stain
Must form my chamber doors,
And carpets of the Wilton grain
Must cover all my floors.
## p. 16717 (#417) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16717
My walls, with tapestry bedecked,
Must never be outdone;
And damask curtains must protect
Their colors from the sun.
And mirrors of the largest pane
From Venice must be brought;
And sandal-wood and bamboo-cane
For chairs and tables bought;
On all the mantelpieces, clocks
Of thrice-gilt bronze must stand,
And screens of ebony and box
Invite the stranger's hand.
I want (who does not want ? ) a wife,
Affectionate and fair;
To solace all the woes of life,
And all its joys to share;
Of temper sweet, of yielding will,
Of firm yet placid mind;
With all my faults to love me still
With sentiment refined.
And as Time's car incessant runs
And Fortune fills my store,
I want of daughters and of sons
From eight to half a score.
I want (alas! can mortal dare
Such bliss on earth to crave ? )
That all the girls be chaste and fair,
The boys all wise and brave.
And when my bosom's darling sings
With melody divine,
A pedal harp of many strings
Must with her voice combine.
A piano, exquisitely wrought,
Must open stand, apart,
That all my daughters may be taught
To win the stranger's heart.
My wife and daughters will desire
Refreshment from perfumes,
Cosmetic for the skin require
And artificial blooms.
## p. 16718 (#418) ##########################################
16718
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
The civet, fragrance shall dispense
And treasured sweets return;
Cologne revive the flagging sense,
And smoking amber burn.
And when, at night, my weary head
Begins to droop and doze,
A southern chamber holds my bed
For nature's soft repose;
With blankets, counterpanes, and sheet,
Mattress and bed of down,
And comfortables for my feet,
And pillows for my crown.
I want a warm and faithful friend
To cheer the adverse hour,
Who ne'er to flatter will descend,
Nor bend the knee to power
A friend to chide me when I'm wrong,
My inmost soul to see;
And that my friendship prove as strong
For him as his for me.
I want a kind and tender heart,
For others' wants to feel;
A soul secure from Fortune's dart,
And bosom armed with steel
To bear divine chastisement's rod;
And mingling in my plan,
Submission to the will of God
With charity to man.
I want a keen, observing eye;
An ever listening ear,
The truth through all disguise to spy,
And wisdom's voice to hear;
A tongue to speak at virtue's need,
In Heaven's sublimest strain;
And lips, the cause of man to plead,
And never plead in vain.
I want uninterrupted health
Throughout my long career;
And streams of never-failing wealth
To scatter far and near,
## p. 16719 (#419) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16719
The destitute to clothe and feed,
Free bounty to bestow,
Supply the helpless orphan's need,
And soothe the widow's woe.
I want the genius to conceive,
The talents to unfold
Designs, the vicious to retrieve,
The virtuous to uphold;
Inventive power, combining skill;
A persevering soul,
Of human hearts to mold the will
And reach from pole to pole.
I want the seals of power and place,
The ensigns of command,
Charged by the people's unbought grace,
To rule my native land:
Nor crown nor sceptre would I ask,
But from my country's will,
By day, by night, to ply the task
Her cup of bliss to fill.
I want the voice of honest praise
To follow me behind;
And to be thought in future days
The friend of human-kind:
That after ages, as they rise,
Exulting may proclaim,
In choral union to the skies,
Their blessings on my name.
-
These are the wants of mortal man;
I cannot want them long –
For life itself is but a span
And earthly bliss a song.
My last great want, absorbing all,
Is, when beneath the sod,
And summoned to my final call
The mercy of my God.
And oh! while circles in my veins
Of life the purple stream,
And yet a fragment small remains
Of nature's transient dream,
## p. 16720 (#420) ##########################################
16720
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
1
My soul, in humble hope unscared,
Forget not thou to pray,
That this thy want may be prepared
To meet the Judgment Day.
JOHN QUINCY ADAMS.
AFTER THE PLAY
M"
ID the tawdry purple and tinsel bright,
With a mimic crowd bowing low at his feet,
In crown and sceptre of gilt bedight,
And a poor robe falling in fold and pleat,
He stalks on the stage and takes a seat.
Ah well, let him prosper while he may:
The curtain's soon down, for the hours are fleet,
And the king's but a beggar after the play.
In his borrowed plumage, poor shallow cheat,
He struts the stage with a strange conceit;
But let him prosper while he may,
The king's but a beggar after the play.
BURTON EGBERT STEVENSON.
THE CLOWN'S SONG
1
“Η"
ERE I am! ” — and the house rejoices;
Forth I tumble from out the slips;
“Here I am! » — and a hundred voices
Welcome me on with laughing lips.
The master, with easy pride,
Treads the sawdust down;
Or quickens the horse's stride,
And calls for his jesting clown.
«What, ho, Mr. Merriman! - Dick,
Here's a lady that wants your place. ”
I throw them a somerset, quick,
And grin in some beauty's face.
I tumble and jump and chaff,
And fill them with wild delights;
Whatever my sorrow, I laugh
Through the summer and winter nights.
## p. 16721 (#421) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16721
I joke with the men, if I dare;
Do they strike, why I cringe and stoop;
And I ride like a bird in air,
And I jump through the blazing hoop.
Whatever they say or do,
I am ready with joke and gibe;
And whenever the jests are new,
I follow, like all my tribe.
But life is not all a jest,
Whatever the wise ones say;
For when I steal home to rest
(And I seek it at dawn of day),
If winter, there is no fire;
If summer, there is no air:
My welcome's a hungry choir
Of children, and scanty fare.
My wife is as lean a scold
As famine can make man's wife;
We are both of us sour and old
With drinking the dregs of life.
Yet why do I sigh? I wonder,
Would the Pit or the Boxes sigh,
Should I wash off my paint, and, under,
Show how a fool must die ?
Author Unknown.
THE FOOLS' WALTZ
EARER and clearer than monarch and minister,
Rabble and gabble, and hypocrites sinister,
Warriors and sages of far-away ages,
Are the Fools that flit through the historical pages.
NET
They gazed somewhat dazed through their patches and powder,
They wondered and blundered and ever laughed louder;
While crown tumbled down, and while creed flew to pieces,
Their range was the change of their daily caprices.
While savage did ravage and bigotry tortured,
They rambled or gambled, or planted an orchard.
They clicked the light heel in the strathspey and reel,
Built castles, held wassails, chased moths, and played tennis;
Broke the lance for fair France, and went masked in gay Venice.
XXVIII-1046
## p. 16722 (#422) ##########################################
16722
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
They spent as they went, and were reckless of rules,
Bade defiance to science, and scoffed at the schools,
Had their flings at their kings, and were pert to the proudest;
Must joke if they spoke, and themselves laughed the loudest;
Winking and wooing, whatever was doing,
Though storms of reforms and rebellions were brewing,
Talking and mocking the age that they grew in,
They quaffed the gay draught round the red fires of ruin.
Smiling and sneering, they fit out of hearing,
They bow themselves airily out of our pages;
No sound underground of their jesting and jeering,
The dear little Fools of the far-away ages!
Can marble rest heavy on all that gay bevy,
Who parted light-hearted, and knew no returning?
Are there ghosts full of laughter that haunt the hereafter,
Too mocking for bliss and too merry for burning ?
Remember - forget them — it never will fret them,
Who gibed at misfortune whenever she met them;
At joust and at revel cast care to the devil,
And lived all their lives on whoever would let them.
Concede them the meed that is due the departed!
Slight thinker, deep drinker, lax friend and light lover;
A tear not too tender, for they were light-hearted;
A laugh not too loud, for their laughter is over;
1
A prayer light as air for the dead and gone Fools,
Too light and too slight to be tyrants or tools!
Who with jest and with zest took the world as they found it; –
Perhaps they did best just by dancing around it!
HELEN THAYER HUTCHESON.
1
A SMILING DEMON OF NOTRE DAME
Q
.
UIET as are the quiet skies,
He watches where the city lies
Floating in vision clear or dim
Through sun or rain beneath his eyes;
Her songs, her laughter, and her cries
Hour after hour drift up to him.
## p. 16723 (#423) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16723
Her days of glory or disgrace
He watches with unchanging face;
He knows what midnight crimes are done;
What horrors under summer sun;
And souls that pass in holy death
Sweep by him on the morning's breath.
Alike to holiness and sin
He feels nor alien nor akin;
Five hundred creeping mortal years
He smiles on human joy and tears,
Man-made, immortal, scorning man;
Serene, grotesque Olympian.
ELLEN BURROUGHS.
AFTER WINGS
T'S
His was your butterfly, you see.
His fine wings made him vain ? .
The caterpillars crawl, but he
Passed them in rich disdain ?
My pretty boy says: "Let him be
Only a worm again” ?
O child, when things have learned to wear
Wings once, they must be fain
To keep them always high and fair.
Think of the creeping pain
Which even a butterfly must bear
To be a worm again!
SARAH M. B. PIATT.
CONTRASTS
S"
TRANGE, that we creatures of the petty ways,
Poor prisoners behind these fleshly bars,
Can sometimes think us thoughts with God ablaze.
Touching the fringes of the outer stars.
And stranger still that, having flown so high,
And stood unshamed in shining presences,
We can resume our smallness, nor imply
In mien or gesture what that memory is.
RICHARD BURTON.
## p. 16724 (#424) ##########################################
16724
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
DREAM-PEDDLERY
I
F THERE were dreams to sell,
What would you buy ?
Some cost a passing-bell;
Some a light sigh,
That shakes from Life's fresh crown
Only a rose-leaf down.
If there were dreams to sell,
Merry and sad to tell,
And the crier rung the beli,
What would you buy? –
-
A cottage lone and still,
With bowers nigh,
Shadowy, my woes to still,
Until I die.
Such pearl from Life's fresh crown
Fain would I shake me down.
Were dreams to have at will,
This would best heal my ill,
This would I buy. -
But there were dreams to sell,
111 didst thou buy:
Life is a dream, they tell,
W ing to die.
Dreaming a dream to prize
Is wishing ghosts to rise;
And if I had the spell
To call the buried well,
Which one would I? -
If there are ghosts to raise,
What shall I call
Out of hell's murky haze,
Heaven's blue pall ?
