Hans
Breitmann
gife a barty.
Warner - World's Best Literature - v28 - Songs, Hymns, Lyrics
I found her - as ladies are apt to be found
When the time intervening between the first sound
Of the bell and the visitor's entry is shorter
Than usual — I found — I won't say I caught - her
Intent on the pier-glass, undoubtedly meaning
To see if perhaps it didn't need cleaning.
She turned as I entered — “Why, Harry, you sinner,
I thought that you went to the Flashers' to dinner! »
“So I did," I replied: "but the dinner is swallowed,
And digested, I trust; for 'tis now nine and more:
So being relieved from that duty, I followed
Inclination, which led me, you see, to your door.
And now will your Ladyship so condescend
As just to inform me if you intend
Your beauty and graces and presence to lend
(All which, when I own, I hope no one will borrow)
To the Stuckups', whose party, you know, is to-morrow ? »
-
(
## p. 16680 (#380) ##########################################
16680
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
The fair Flora looked up with a pitiful air,
And answered quite promptly, "Why, Harry, mon cher,
I should like above all things to go with you there;
But really and truly - I've nothing to wear. ”
“Nothing to wear ? Go just as you are:
Wear the dress you have on, and you'll be by far,
I engage, the most bright and particular star
On the Stuckup horizon – ” I stopped, for her eye,
Notwithstanding this delicate onset of flattery,
Opened on me at once a most terrible battery
Of scorn and amazement. She made no reply,
But gave a slight turn to the end of her nose
(That pure Grecian feature), as much as to say,
«How absurd that any sane man should suppose
That a lady would go to a ball in the clothes,
No matter how fine, that she wears every day! ”
So I ventured again — “Wear your crimson brocade. ”
(Second turn-up of nose) “That's too dark by a shade. ” —
«Your blue silk -» «That's too heavy. ” – “Your pink
«– »
(That's too light. ”
« Wear tulle over satin. " "I can't endure white. ”
«Your rose-colored, then, the best of the batch
“I haven't a thread of point-lace to match. ”
«Your brown moire-antique –» ( Yes, and look like
Quaker. ”
“The pearl-colored » "I would, but that plaguy dressmaker
Has had it a week. ” — «Then that exquisite lilac,
In which you would melt the heart of a Shylock. ”
(Here the nose took again the same elevation) –
"I wouldn't wear that for the whole of creation. ” —
«Why not? It's my fancy, there's nothing could strike it
As more comme il faut – ” “Yes, but, dear me, that lean
Sophronia Stuckup has got one just like it;
And I won't appear dressed like a chit of sixteen. ” -
« Then that splendid purple, that sweet mazarine,
That superb point d'aiguille, that imperial green,
That zephyr-like tarlatan, that rich grenadine_»
“Not one of all which is fit to be seen,”
Said the lady, becoming excited and flushed.
“Then wear,” I exclaimed, in a tone which quite crushed
Opposition, “that gorgeous toilette which you sported
In Paris last spring, at the grand presentation,
When you quite turned the head of the head of the nation;
And by all the grand court were so very much courted. ”
a
-
## p. 16681 (#381) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16681
The end of the nose was portentously tipped up,
And both the bright eyes shot forth indignation,
As she burst upon me with the fierce exclamation,
“I have worn it three times at the least calculation,
And that and the most of my dresses are ripped up!
Here I ripped out something, perhaps rather rash
Quite innocent, though; but to use an expression
More striking than classic, it “settled my hash,”
And proved very soon the last act of our session.
“Fiddlesticks, is it, sir? I wonder the ceiling
Doesn't fall down and crush you! -oh, you men have no
feeling,
You selfish, unnatural, illiberal creatures,
Who set yourselves up as patterns and preachers.
Your silly pretense- - why, what a mere guess it is!
Pray, what do you know of a woman's necessities?
I have told you and shown you I've nothing to wear,
And it's perfectly plain you not only don't care,
But you do not believe me ” (here the nose went still
higher):
"I suppose if you dared you would call me a liar.
Our engagement is ended, sir — yes, on the spot;
You're a brute, and a monster, and I don't know what. ”
I mildly suggested the words Hottentot,
Pickpocket, and cannibal, Tartar, and thief,
As gentle expletives which might give relief:
But this only proved as spark to the powder,
And the storm I had raised came faster and louder;
It blew, and it rained, thundered, lightened, and hailed
Interjections, verbs, pronouns, till language quite failed
To express the abusive, and then its arrears
Were brought up all at once by a torrent of tears;
And my last faint, despairing attempt at an obs-
Ervation was lost in a tempest of sobs.
(
Well, I felt for the lady, and felt for my hat too,
Improvised on the crown of the latter a tattoo,
In lieu of expressing the feelings which lay
Quite too deep for words, as Wordsworth would say:
Then, without going through the form of a bow,
Found myself in the entry,- I hardly knew how,-
On doorstep and sidewalk, past lamp-post and square,
At home and up-stairs, in my own easy-chair;
Poked my feet into slippers, my fire into blaze,
## p. 16682 (#382) ##########################################
16682
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
And said to myself, as I lit my cigar, -
Supposing a man had the wealth of the Czar
Of the Russias to boot, for the rest of his days,
On the whole do you think he would have much to spare
If he married a woman with nothing to wear ?
WILLIAM ALLEN BUTLER.
A THRENODY
« The Ahkoond of Swat is dead. ” — London Papers of January 22d, 187
W***
HAT, what, what,
What's the news from Swat?
Sad news,
Bad news,
Comes by the cable led
Through the Indian Ocean's bed,
Through the Persian Gulf, the Red
Sea and the Med-
Iterranean – he's dead;
The Ankoond is dead!
For the Ahkoond I mourn, -
Who wouldn't?
He strove to disregard the message stern,
But he Ahkoodn't.
Dead, dead, dead:
Sorrow, Swats!
Swats wha hae wi' Ahkoond bled,
Swats wham he hath often led
Onward to a gory bed,
Or to victory,
As the case might be,
Sorrow, Swats!
Tears shed,
Shed tears like water:
Your great Ahkoond is dead!
That Swats the matter!
Mourn, city of Swat!
Your great Ahkoond is not,
## p. 16683 (#383) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16683
But laid 'mid worms to rot, -
His mortal part alone; his soul was caught
(Because he was a good Ahkoond)
Up to the bosom of Mahound.
Though earthy walls his frine surround,
(Forever hallowed be the ground ! )
And skeptics mock the lowly mound
And say "He's now of no Ahkoond ! »
His soul is in the skies –
The azure skies that bend above his loved
Metropolis of Swat.
He sees with larger, other eyes
Athwart all earthly mysteries -
He knows what's Swat.
Let Swat bury the great Ahkoond
With a noise of mourning and of lamentation!
Let Swat bury the great Ahkoond
With the noise of the mourning of the Swattish nation!
Fallen is at length
Its tower of strength;
Its sun is dimmed ere it had nooned:
Dead lies the great Ahkoond,
The great Ahkoond of Swat
Is not!
GEORGE THOMAS LANIGAN.
OLD GRIMES -
O"
LD GRIMES is dead! that good old man
We never shall see more:
He used to wear a long black coat,
All buttoned down before.
His heart was open as the day,
His feelings all were true:
His hair was some inclined to gray –
He wore it in a queue.
Whene'er he heard the voice of pain,
His breast with pity burned:
The large round head upon his cane
From ivory was turned.
## p. 16684 (#384) ##########################################
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SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Kind words he ever had for all,
He knew no base design:
His eyes were dark and rather small,
His nose was aquiline.
He lived at peace with all mankind,
In friendship he was true:
His coat had pocket-holes behind,
His pantaloons were blue.
Unharmed, the sin which earth pollutes
He passed securely o'er:
And never wore a pair of boots
For thirty years or more.
But good old Grimes is now at rest,
Nor fears misfortune's frown:
He wore a double-breasted vest -
The stripes ran up and down.
He modest merit sought to find,
And pay it its desert:
He had no malice in his mind,
No ruffles on his shirt.
His neighbors he did not abuse,
Was sociable and gay:
He wore large buckles on his shoes,
And changed them every day.
His knowledge, hid from public gaze,
He did not bring to view:
Nor make a noise town-meeting days,
As many people do.
His worldly goods he never threw
In trust to fortune's chances:
But lived (as all his brothers do)
In easy circumstances.
Thus undisturbed by anxious cares,
His peaceful moments ran:
And everybody said he was
A fine old gentleman.
ALBERT GORTON GREENE.
## p. 16685 (#385) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16685
-
NARCISSUS IN CAMDEN (1882)
(“In the course of his lecture, Mr. remarked that the most impressive
room he had yet entered in America was the one in Camden town where he
met
It contained plenty of fresh air and sunlight.
On the
table was a simple cruse of water. ”]
W*, ,
PAUMANOKIDES
Ho may this be?
This young man clad unusually, with loose locks, languorous,
glidingly toward me advancing,
Toward the ceiling of my chamber his orbic and expressive eyeballs
uprolling,
As I have seen the green-necked wild-fowl, the mallard, in the thun-
dering of the storm,
By the weedy shore of Paumanok my fish-shaped island.
Sit down, young man!
I do not know you, but I love you with burning intensity,
I am he that loves the young men, whosoever and wheresoever they
are or may be hereafter, or may have been any time in
the past,
Loves the eye-glassed literat, loves also and probably more the vender
of clams, raucous-throated, monotonous-chanting,
Loves the Elevated Railroad employé of Mannahatta, my city;
I suppress the rest of the list of the persons I love, solely because I
love you,
Sit down élève, I receive you!
NARCISSUS
O clarion, from whose brazen throat
Strange sounds across the sea are blown,
Where England, girt as with a moat,
A strong sea-lion, sits alone!
A pilgrim from that white-cliffed shore,
What joy, large flower of Western land!
To seek thy democratic door,
With eager hand to clasp thy hand!
PAUMANOKIDES
Right you are!
Take then the electric pressure of these fingers, O my comrade!
I do not doubt you are the one I was waiting for, as I loafed here
enjoying my soul,
Let us two under all and any circumstances stick together from this
out!
## p. 16686 (#386) ##########################################
16686
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
NARCISSUS
Seeing that isle of which I spake but late
By ignorant demagogues is held in fee,
The grand Greek limbs of young Democracy
Beckoned me thence to this ideal State,
Where maiden fields of life Hellenic wait
For one who in clear culture walks apart
(Avoiding all rude clamors of the mart
That mar his calm) to sow the seeds of great
Growths yet to be — the love of sacred Art,
And Beauty, of this breast queen consecrate,
Whose throne mean Science seeks to violate;
The flawless artist's lunacy serene,
His purely passionate and perfect hate
And noble scorn of all things Philistine.
PAUMANOKIDES
Hold up there, Camerado!
Beauty is all very good as far as it goes, and Art, the perpetuator of
Beauty, is all very good as far as it goes, but you can
tell your folks,
Your folks in London, or in Dublin, or in Rome, or where the Arno
flows, or where Seine flows,
Your folks in the picture-galleries, admiring the Raphaels, the Tinto-
rettos, the Rubenses, Vandykes, Correggios, Murillos, An-
gelicos of the world,
(I know them all, they have effused to me, I have wrung them out,
I have abandoned them, I have got beyond them) –
NARCISSUS
[aside, with tenderness]
Ah, Burne-Jones!
PAUMANOKIDES
Tell them that I am considerably more than Beauty!
I, representing the bone and muscle and cartilage and adipose tissue
and pluck of the Sierras, of California, of the double Car-
olinas, of the Granite State, and the Narragansett Bay
State, and the Wooden Nutmeg State!
I, screaming with the scream of the bald-headed bird the eagle in the
primitive woods of America my country, in the hundred
and sixth year of these States!
## p. 16687 (#387) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16687
Dear son, I have learned the secret of the Universe,
I learned it from my original bonne, the white-capped ocean,
I learned it from the Ninth-Month Equinoctial, from the redwood
tree, and the Civil War, and the hermit-thrush, and the
telephone, and the Corliss engine,
The secret of the Universe is not Beauty, dear son, nor is it Art the
perpetuator of Beauty.
The secret of the Universe is to admire one's self.
Camerado, you hear me!
NARCISSUS
Ah, I too, loitering on an eve of June
Where one wan narciss leaned above a pool,
While overhead Queen Dian rose too soon,
And through the Tyrian clematis the cool
Night airs came wandering wearily,- I too,
Beholding that pale power, beheld life's key at last, and knew
That love of one's fair self were but indeed
Just worship of pure Beauty; and I gave
One sweet, sad sigh, then bade my fond eyes feed
Upon the mirrored treasure of the wave,
Like that lithe beauteous boy in Tempe's vale,
Whom hapless Echo loved — thou knowest the Heliconian tale!
And while heaven's harmony in lake and gold
Changed to a faint nocturne of silvern-gray,
Like rising sea-mists from my spirit rolled
The grievous vapors of this Age of Clay,
Beholding Beauty's re-arisen shrine,
And the white glory of this precious loveliness of mine!
PAUMANOKIDES
I catch on, my Comrade! -
You allow that your aim is similar to mine, after all is said and done.
Well, there is not much similarity of style, and I recommend my
style to you.
Go gaze upon the native rock-piles of Mannahatta, my city,
Formless, reckless,
Marked with the emerald miracle of moss, tufted with the unutter-
able wonder of the exquisite green grass,
Giving pasture to the spry and fearless-footed quadruped, the goat,
Also patched by the heaven-ambitious citizens with the yellow hand-
bill, the advertisement of patent soaps, the glaring and
varicolored circus poster:
## p. 16688 (#388) ##########################################
16688
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Mine too, for reasons, such arrays;
Such my unfettered verse, scorning the delicatesse of dilettantes,
Try it, I'll stake you my ultimate dollar you'll like it.
NARCISSUS
(gracefully waiving the point]
Haply in the far, the orient future, in the dawn we herald like the
birds,
Men shall read the legend of our meeting, linger o'er the music of
our words:
Haply coming poets shall compare me then to Milton in his lovely
youth,
Sitting in the cell of Galileo, learning at his elder's lips the truth.
Haply they shall liken these dear moments, safely held in History's
amber clear,
Unto Dante's converse bland with Virgil, on the margin of that
gloomy mere!
PAUMANOKIDES
Do not be deceived, dear son;
Amid the choruses of the morn of progress, roaring, hilarious, those
names will be heard no longer.
Galileo was admirable once, Milton was admirable,
Dante the 1-talian was a cute man in his way,
But he was not the maker of poems, the Answerer,
I Paumanokides am the maker of poems, the Answerer!
And I calculate to chant as long as the earth revolves,
To an interminable audience of haughty, effusive, copious, gritty, and
chipper Americanos!
NARCISSUS
What more is left to say or do?
Our minds have met; our hands must part.
I go to plant in pastures new
The love of Beauty and of Art.
I'll shortly start.
One town is rather small for two
Like me and you!
PAUMANOKIDES
So long!
HELEN GRAY CONE.
## p. 16689 (#389) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16689
RHYME OF THE RAIL
S'
INGING through the forests,
Rattling over ridges,
Shooting under arches,
Rumbling over bridges,
Whizzing through the mountains,
Buzzing o'er the vale,
Bless me! this is pleasant,
Riding on the Rail!
Men of different stations »
In the eye of fame,
Here are very quickly
Coming to the same.
High and lowly people,
Birds of every feather,
On a common level
Traveling together!
Gentlemen in shorts,
Looming very tall;
Gentlemen at large,
Talking very small;
Gentlemen in tights,
With a loose-ish mien;
Gentlemen in gray,
Looking rather green;
Gentlemen quite old,
Asking for the news;
Gentlemen in black,
In a fit of blues;
Gentlemen in claret,
Sober as a vicar;
Gentlemen in Tweed,
Dreadfully in liquor !
Stranger on the right,
Looking very sunny,
Obviously reading
Something rather funny:
Now the smiles grow thicker,--
Wonder what they mean?
Faith, he's got the Knicker-
Bocker Magazine!
XXVIII-1044
## p. 16690 (#390) ##########################################
16690
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Stranger on the left,
Closing up his peepers, -
Now he snores amain,
Like the Seven Sleepers;
At his feet a volume
Gives the explanation,
How the man grew stupid
· From "Association”!
.
Ancient maiden lady
Anxiously remarks
That there must be peril
'Mong so many sparks:
Roguish-looking fellow,
Turning to a stranger,
Says it's his opinion
She is out of danger!
Woman with her baby,
Sitting vis-à-vis:
Baby keeps a-squalling,
Woman looks at me;
Asks about the distance,
Says it's tiresome talking,
Noises of the cars
Are so very shocking!
Market-woman careful
Of the precious casket,
Knowing eggs are eggs,
Tightly holds her basket;
Feeling that a smash,
If it came, would surely
Send her eggs to pot
Rather prematurely!
Singing through the forests,
Rattling over ridges,
Shooting under arches,
Rumbling over bridges,
Whizzing through the mountains,
Buzzing o'er the vale,-
Bless me! this is pleasant,
Riding on the Rail!
JOHN GODFREY SAXE.
## p. 16691 (#391) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16691
THE SEA
SP
He was rich and of high degree;
A poor and unknown artist he.
« Paint me,” she said, “a view of the sea. ”
So he painted the sea as it looked the day
That Aphrodite arose from its spray;
And it broke, as she gazed on its face the while,
Into its countless-dimpled smile.
“What a poky, stupid picture! ” said she:
"I don't believe he can paint the sea! »
Then he painted a raging, tossing sea,
Storming, with fierce and sudden shock,
A towering, mighty fastness-rock;-
In its sides, above those leaping crests,
The thronging sea-birds built their nests.
“What a disagreeable daub! ” said she:
Why, it isn't anything like the sea! ”
(
Then he painted a stretch of hot brown sand,
With a big hotel on either hand,
And a handsome pavilion for the band;
Not a sign of water to be seen,
Except one faint little streak of green.
“What a perfectly exquisite picture! ” said she:
“It's the very image of the sea! ”
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!
