• TABLE OF CONTENTS
HIDE
 Front Cover
 Half Title
 Title Page
 Table of Contents
 Front Matter
 Spanish ballads
 American ballads
 Miscellaneous ballads
 Back Cover
 Spine






Group Title: The Book of ballads
Title: The book of ballads
CITATION THUMBNAILS PAGE TURNER PAGE IMAGE ZOOMABLE
Full Citation
STANDARD VIEW MARC VIEW
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00002011/00001
 Material Information
Title: The book of ballads
Physical Description: <1>, 216 p. : ill. ; 20 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Martin, Theodore, 1816-1909 ( Editor )
Richardson, James H ( Engraver )
Cox, Thomas, b. ca. 1831 ( Engraver )
Clinton Hall (Firm) ( Publisher )
Publisher: Clinton Hall
Place of Publication: Redfield N.Y
Publication Date: 1852
Edition: New ed. -- with several new ballads.
 Subjects
Subject: Ballads -- 1852   ( rbgenr )
Pictorial cloth bindings (Binding) -- 1852   ( rbbin )
Bldn -- 1852
Genre: Ballads   ( rbgenr )
Pictorial cloth bindings (Binding)   ( rbbin )
poetry   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: United States -- New York -- Redfield
 Notes
Statement of Responsibility: edited by Bon Gaultier.
General Note: "With illustrations."
General Note: Illustrations engraved by Richardson & Cox.
Funding: Brittle Books Program
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00002011
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002222361
oclc - 45785148
notis - ALG2602
 Related Items
Other version: Alternate version (PALMM)
PALMM Version

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Page i
        Page ii
    Half Title
        Page iii
    Title Page
        Page iv
    Table of Contents
        Page v
        Page vi
        Page vii
        Page viii
    Front Matter
        Page 9
        Page 10
    Spanish ballads
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
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        Page 23
        Page 24
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 29
    American ballads
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
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        Page 50
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        Page 53
        Page 54
        Page 55
    Miscellaneous ballads
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
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    Back Cover
        Page 217
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    Spine
        Page 219
Full Text





BOOK OF MBLLftS.












BOOK OF BAL 0..8.
4.

EDITED BY



BON GAULTIER.


A NEW EDITION, WITH SEVERAL NEW BALLADS.


Wtito CIlustrations.


REDFIELD,
CLINTON HALL, NEW-YORK.
1852.

















CONTENTS.






jpauiuir 3llahs.
PAGI
THE BROKEN PITCHER 11
DON FERNANDO GOMERSALEZ: rRoM TH SPrAmNI--o
ASTLEY'S 14
THE COURTSHIP OF OUR CID 25


Smeriau Svallahs.

THE FIGHT WITH THE SNAPPING TURTLE, OR THE
AMERICAN ST. GEORGE:-
FYir FIRST 80
FYrTT SECOND 88
THE LAY OF MR. COLT:-
STREAK THE FIRST 87
STREAK THE SECOND 89
THE DEATH OF JABEZ DOLLAR 48
THE ALABAMA DUEL 47
THE AMERICAN'S APOSTROPHE TO BOZ 51






vi


CONTENTS.


4


istrrilaurnus allahs.
PAGE
THE STUDENT OF JENA 56
THE LAY OF THE LEVITE 60
BURSCH GROGGENBURG 62
NIGHT AND MORNING 66
THE BITER BIT 68
THE CONVICT AND THE AUSTRALIAN LADY 71
THE DOLEFUL LAY OF THE HONORABLE I. 0.
UWINS 74
THE KNYGHTE AND THE TAYLZEOUR'S DAUGHTER 79
THE MIDNIGHT VISIT 83
THE LAY OF THE LOVELORN 87
MY WIFE'S COUSIN 95
THE QUEEN IN FRANCE: AN ANCIENT SCOTTISH BALLAD:-
PART I. 99
PART II. 104
THE MASSACRE OF THE MACPHERSON: FROM THE
GAELI 109
THE YOUNG STOCKBROKER'S BRIDE 112
THE LAUREATES' TOURNEY:-
FYrTE THE FIRST 115
FYITE THE SECOND 119
THE ROYAL BANQUET 123
THE BARD OF ERIN'S LAMENT 127
THE LAUREATE 129
A MIDNIGHT MEDITATION 182
MONTGOMERY: A POEM 185
THE DEATH OF SPACE 138
LITTLE JOHN AND THE RED FRIAR: A LAY or SHER-
WOOD:-
FrITE THE FIRST 140
FYTrE THE SECOND 144
THE RHYME OF SIR LAUNCELOT BOGLE 150
THE LAY OF THE LOVER'S FRIEND 162
FRANCESCA DA RIMINI 165
THE CADI'S DAUGHTER: A LEGEND OF THE BOSPHORUS 168




CONTENTS. Vii

PAGB
MISCELLANEOUS BALLADS (ooNTrIzo):-
EASTERN SERENADE 171
THE DEATH OF DUVAL 178
THE DIRGE OF THE DRINKS 178
DAME FREDEGONDE 181
THE DEATH OF ISAAEL 185
PARR'S LIFE PILLS .. 187
TARQUIN AND THE AUGUR 189
LA MORT D'ARTHUR .. 191
JUPITER AND THE INDIAN ALE 192
THE LAY OF THE DOUDNEY BROTHERS 194
PARIS AND HELEN 197
SONG OF THE ENNUYE 200
CAROLINE .. 202
TO A FORGET-ME-NOT 205
THE MISHAP 207
COMFORT IN AFFLICTION 209
THE INVOCATION .. 211
THE HUSBAND'S PETITION 214













COME, buy my lays, and read them if you list;
My pensive public, if you list not, buy.
Come, for you know me. I am he who sung
Of Mister Colt, and I am he who framed
Of Widdicomb the mild and wondrous song.
Come, listen to my lays, and you shall hear
How Wordsworth, battling for the laureate's
wreath,
Bore to the dust the terrible Fitzball;
How N. P. Willis, for his country's good,
In complete steel, all bowie-knived at point,
Took lodgings in the Snapping Turtle's mouth.
Come, listen to my lays, and you shall hear
The mingled music of all modern bards
Floating aloft in such peculiar strains,
As strike themselves with envy and amaze;
For you bright-harped" Tennyson shall sing;
Macaulay chant a more than Roman lay;
And Bulwer Lytton, Lytton Bulwer erst,
Unseen amidst a metaphysic fog,
Bawl melancholy homage to the man:
For you once more Montgomery shall rave
In all his rapt rabidity of rhyme;
Nankeen'd Cockaigne shall pipe his puny note,
And our Young England's penny trumpet blow.
1*
















SPANISH BALLADS.




I 'Trohte Vitrlr.

IT was a Moorish maiden was sitting by a well,
And what the maiden thought of, I cannot, cannot tell,
When by there rode a valiant knight from the town of
Oviedo-
Alphonzo Guzman was he hight, the Count of Desparedo.

"Oh, maiden, Moorish maiden ? why sitt'st thou by the
spring ?
Say, dost thou seek a lover, or any other thing ?
Why gazest thou upon me, with eyes so large and
wide,
And wherefore doth the pitcher lie broken by thy
side?"

"I do not seek a lover, thou Christian knight so gay,
Because an article like that hath never come my way;
And why I gaze upon you, I cannot, cannot tell,
Except that in your iron hose you look uncommon
swell.









12 THE BOOK OF BALLADS.

" My pitcher it is broken, and this the reason is,-
A shepherd came behind me, and tried to snatch a kiss;
I would not stand his nonsense, so ne'er a word I
spoke,
But scored him on the costard, and so the jug was
broke.

"My uncle, the AlcaydB, he waits for me at home,
And will not take his tumbler until Zorayda come.
I cannot bring him water-the pitcher is in pieces-
And so I'm sure to catch it, 'cos he wallops all his
nieces."

"Oh, maiden, Moorish maiden! wilt thou be ruled
by me!
So wipe thine eyes and rosy lips, and give me kisses
three;
And I '11 give thee my helmet, thou kind and courteous
lady,
To carry home the water to thy uncle, the AlcaydB."

He lighted down from off his steed-he tied him to a
tree-
He bowed him to the maiden, and took his kisses three:
"To wrong thee, sweet Zorayda, I swear would be a
sin !"
He knelt him at the fountain, and he dipped his helmet in.

Up rose the Moorish maiden-behind the knight she
steals,
And caught Alphonzo Guzman up tightly by the heels;







THE BOOK OF BALLADS. 13

She tipped him in, and held him down beneath the bub-
bling water,-
"Now, take thou that for venturing to kiss Al Hamet's
daughter !"

A Christian maid is weeping in the town of Oviedo;
She waits the coming of her love, the Count of Desparedo.
I pray you all in charity, that you will never tell,
How he met the Moorish maiden beside the lonely well.








THE BOOK OF BALLADS.


au Arrunuw (13ommaIrlk.


FROM THE SPANISH OF ASTLEY'S.


DoN FERNANDO GOMERSALEZ basely have they borne
thee down;
Paces ten behind thy charger is thy glorious body
thrown;
Fetters have they bound upon thee-iron fetters fast
and sure;
Don Fernando Gomersalez, thou art captive to the Moor!

Long within a sable dungeon pined that brave and noble
knight,
For the Saracenic warriors well they knew and feared
his might;
Long he lay and long he languished on his dripping bed
of stone,
Till the cankered iron fetters ate their way into his bone.

On the twentieth day of August-'t was the feast of
false Mahound-
Came the Moorish population from the neighboring cities
round;


14







THE BOOK OF BALLADS. 15

There to hold their foul carousal, there to dance and
there to sing,
And to pay their yearly homage to Al-Widdicomb, the
King!

First they wheeled their supple coursers, wheeled them
at their utmost speed,
Then they galloped by in squadrons, tossing far the light
jereed;
Then around the circus racing, faster than the swallow
flies,
Did they spurn the yellow saw-dust in the rapt specta-
tors' eyes.

Proudly did the Moorish monarch every passing warrior
greet,
As he sat enthroned above them, with the lamps beneath
his feet;
"Tell me, thou black-bearded Cadi! are there any in
the land,
That against my janissaries dare one hour in combat
stand ?"

Then the bearded Cadi answered-" Be not wroth, my
lord, the King,
If thy faithful slave shall venture to observe one little
thing;
Valiant, doubtless, are thy warriors, and their beards
are long and hairy,
And a thunderbolt in battle is each bristly janissary:







16 THE BOOK OF BALLADS.

< But I cannot, 0 my sovereign, quite forgot that fearful
day,
When I saw the Christian army in its terrible array;
When they charged across the footlights like a torrent
down its bed,
With the red cross floating o'er them, and Fernando at
their head!

"Don Fernando Gomersalez matchless chieftain he in
war,
Mightier than Don Sticknejo, braver than the Cid
Bavar!
Not a cheek within Grenada, 0 my King, but wan and
pale is,
When they hear the dreaded name of Don Fernando
Gomersalez !"

"Thou shalt see thy champion, Cadi! hither quick the
captive bring !"
Thus in wrath and deadly anger spoke Al-Widdicomb,
the King;
"Paler than a maiden's forehead is the Christian's hue I
ween,
Since a year within the dungeons of Grenada he hath
been !"

Then they brought the Gomersalez, and they led the
warrior in,
Weak and wasted seemed his body, and his face was
pale and thin;







THE BOOK OF BALLADS. 17
But the ancient fire was burning, unallayed, within his
eye,
And his step was proud and stately, and his look was
stern and high.

Scarcely from tumultuous cheering could the galleried
crowd refrain,
For they knew Don tomersalez and his prowess in the
plain;
But they feared the grizzly despot and his myrmidons
in steel,
So their sympathy descended in the fruitage of Seville.


"Wherefore, monarch, hast thou brought me from the
dungeon dark and drear,
Where these limbs of mine have wasted in confinement
for a year ?
Dost thou lead me forth to torture ?-Rack and pincers
I defy-
Is it that thy base grotesquos may behold a hero
die?"

"Hold thy peace, thou Christian caitiff! and attend to
what I say :
Thou art called the starkest rider of the Spanish curs'
array-
If thy courage be undaunted, as they say it was of
yore,
Thou may'st yet achieve thy freedom,-yet regain thy
native shore.








18 THE BOOK OF BALLADS.

"Courses three within this circus againstt my warriors
shalt thou run,
Ere yon weltering pasteboard ocean shall receive yon
muslin sun;
Victor-thou shalt have thy freedom; but if stretched
upon the plain,
To thy dark and dreary dungeon they shall bear thee
back again." 0


"Give me but the armor, monarch, I have worn in many
a field,
Give me but a trusty helmet, give me but my dinted
shield;
And my old steed, Bavieca, swiftest courser in the
ring,
And I rather should imagine that I '11 do the business,
King !"


Then they carried down the armor from the garret where
it lay,
0! but it was red and rusty, and the plumes were shorn
away;
And they led out Bavieca, from a foul and filthy van,
For the conqueror had sold him to a Moorish dogs-meat
man.


When the steed beheld his master, then he whinned loud
and free,
And, in token of subjection, knelt upon each broken
knee;







THE BOOK OF BALLADS. 19
And a tear of walnut largeness to the warrior's eyelids
rose,
As he fondly picked a beanstraw from his coughing
courser's nose.

"Many a time, 0 Bavieca, hast thou borne me through
the fray!
Bear me but again as deftly through the listed ring this
day;
Or if thou art worn and feeble, as may well have come
to pass,
Time it is, my trusty charger, both of us were sent to
grass !"

Then he seized his lance, and vaulting in the saddle, sate
S upright,
Marble seemed the noble courser, iron seemed the
mailed knight;
And a cry of admiration burst from every Mdorish
lady-
Five to four on Don Fernando !" cried the sable-
bearded Cadi.

Warriors three from Alcantara burst into the listed space,
Warriors three, all bred in battle, of the proud Alham.
bra race:
Trumpets sounded, coursers bounded, and the foremost
straight went down,
Tumbling, like a sack of turnips, just before the jeering
Clown.








20 THE BOOK OF BALLADS.

In the second chieftain galloped, and he bowed him to
the King,
And his saddle-girths were tightened by the Master of
the Ring;
Through three blazoned hoops he bounded ere the des-
perate fight began-
Don Fernando! bear thee bravely!-'tis the Moor Ab-
dorrhoman!


Like a double streak of lightning, clashing in the sul-
phurous sky,
Met the pair of hostile heroes, and they made the saw-
dust fly;
And the Moslem spear so stiffly smote on Don Fernan-
do's mail,
That he reeled, as if in liquor, back to Bavieca's tail.


But he caught the mace beside him, and he griped it
hard and fast,
And he swung it starkly upwards as the foeman bound-
ed past;
And the deadly stroke descended through the skull and
through the brain,
As ye may have seen a poker cleave a cocoa-nut in
twain.


Sore astonished was the monarch, and the Moorish war-
riors all,
Save the third bold chief, who tarried and beheld his
brethren fall;







THI BOOK OF BALLAD. 21

And the Clown in haste arising from the footstool where
he set,
Notified the first appearance of the famous Acrobat!


Never on a single charger rides that stout and stalwart
Moor,
Five beneath his stride so stately bear him o'er the
trembling floor;
Five Arabians, black as midnight-on their necks the
rein he throws,
And the outer and the inner feel the pressure of his
toes.


Never wore that chieftain armor; in a knot himself he
ties,
With his grizzly head appearing in the centre of his
thighs.
Till the petrified spectator asks in paralyzed alarrn-
Where may be the warrior's body,-which is leg, and
which is arm?


"Sound the charge!" the coursers started; with a yell
and furious vault,
High in air the Moorish champion cut a wondrous
somersault;
O'er the head of Don Fernando like a tennis-ball he
sprung,
Caught him tightly by the girdle, and behind the crup-
per hung.








22 THE BOOK OF BALLADS.

Then his dagger Don Fernando plucked from out its
jewelled sheath,
And he struck the Moor so fiercely, as he grappled him
beneath,
That the good Damascus weapon sunk within the folds
of fat,
And, as dead as Julius Chesar, dropped the Gordian
Acrobat.


Meanwhile, fast the sun was sinking,-it had sunk be-
neath the sea,
Ere Fernando Gomersalez smote the latter of the three;
And Al-Widdicomb, the monarch, pointed with a bitter
smile,
To the deeply-darkening canvass-blacker grew it all
the while.


"Thou hast slain my warriors, Spaniard! but thou hast
not kept thy time;
Only two had sunk before thee ere I heard the curfew
chime;
Back thou goest to thy dungeon, and thou may'st be
wondrous glad,
That thy head is on thy shoulders for thy work to-day,
my lad!

"Therefore, all thy boasted valor, Christian dog, of no
avail is !"
Dark as midnight grew the brow of Don Fernando
Gomersalez;-






THE BOOK OF BALLADS. 23

Stiffly sate he in his saddle, grimly looked around the
ring,
Laid his lance within the rest, and shook his gauntlet at
the King.

O, thou foul and faithless traitor! wouldst thou play
me false again ?
Welcome death and welcome torture, rather than the
captive's chain !
But I give thee warning, caitiff! Look thou sharply to
thine eye-
Unavenged, at least in harness, Gomersalez shall not
die!"

Thus he spoke, and Bavieca like an arrow forward flew,
Right and left the Moorish squadron wheeled to let the
hero through; 0
Brightly gleamed the light of vengeance-fiercely sped
the fatal thrust-
From his throne the Moorish monarch tumbled lifeless
in the dust.

Speed thee, speed thee, Bavieca speed thee faster than
the wind !
Life and freedom are before thee, deadly foes give chase
behind !
Speed thee up the sloping spring-board; o'er the bridge
that spans the seas;
Yonder gauzy moon will light thee through the grove of
canvas trees.








24 THE BOOK OF BALLADS.

Close before thee, Pampeluna spreads her painted paste-
board gate!
Speed thee onward, gallant courser, speed thee with thy
knightly freight-
Victory! the town receives them !-Gentle ladies, this
the tale is,
Which I learned in Astley's Circus, of Fernando Gomer-
salez !






THE BOOK OF BALLADS.


(aturtstip nf nm tih.

WHAT a pang of sweet emotion
Thrilled the Master of the Ring,
When he first beheld the lady,
Through the stabled portal spring!
Midway in his wild grimacing
Stopped the piebald-visaged Clown;
And the thunders of the audience
Nearly brought the gallery down.

Donna Inez Woolfordinez!
Saw ye ever such a maid,
With the feathers swaling o'er her,
And her spangled rich brocade 1
In her fairy hand a horsewhip,
On her foot a buskin small,
So she stepped, the stately damsel,
Through the scarlet grooms and all.

And she beckoned for her courser,
And they brought a milk-white mare;
Proud. I ween, was that Arabian
Such a gentle freight to bear:
2


2b







THE BOOK OF BALLADS.


And the Master moved towards her,
With a proud and stately walk;
And, in reverential homage,
Rubbed her soles with virgin chalk.

Round she flew, as Flora flying
Spans the circle of the year;
And the youth of London sighing,
Half forgot the ginger beer-
Quite forgot the maids beside them;
As they surely well might do,
When she raised two Roman candles,
Shooting fireballs red and blue!

Swifter than the Tartar's arrow,
Lighter than the lark in flight,
On the left foot now she bounded,
Now she stood upon the right.
Like a beautiful Bacchante,
Here she soars, and there she kneels,
While amid her floating tresses,
Flash two whirling Catherine wheels !

Hark the blare of yonder trumpet!
See the gates are open wide!
Room, there, room for Gomersalez,-
Gomersalez in his pride!
Rose the shouts of exultation,
Rose the cat's triumphant call,
As he bounded; man and courser,
Over Master, Clown, and all!


26






THE BOOK OF BALLADS.


Donna Inez Woolfordinez!
Why those blushes on thy cheek
Doth thy trembling bosom tell thee,
He hath come thy love to seek ?
Fleet thy Arab-but behind thee
He is rushing like a gale;
One foot on his coal black's shoulders,
And the other on his tail!

Onward, onward, panting maiden!
He is faint and fails-for now,
By the feet he hangs suspended
From his glistening saddle-bow.
Down are gone both cap and feather,
Lance and gonfalon are down!
Trunks, and cloak, and vest of velvet,
He has flung them to the Clown.

Faint and failing Up he vaulteth,
Fresh as when he first began;
All in coat of bright vermilion,
'Quipped as Shaw, the Life-guardsman.
Right and left his whizzing broadsword,
Like a sturdy flail, he throws;
Cutting out a path unto thee
Through imaginary foes.

Woolfordinez! speed thee onward!
He is hard upon thy track,-
Paralyzed is Widdicombez,
Nor his whip can longer crack;


m







THE BOOK OF BALLADS.


He has flung away his broadsword,
'Tis to clasp thee to his breast.
Onward!-see he bares his bosom,
Tears away his scarlet vest;

Leaps from out his nether garments,
And his leather stock unties-
As the flower of London's dustmen,
Now in swift pursuit he flies.
Nimbly now he cuts and shuffles,
O'er the buckle, heel and toe!
And with hands deep in his pockets
Winks to all the throng below !

Onward, onward rush the coursers;
Woolfordinez, peerless girl,
O'er the garters lightly bounding
From her steed with airy whirl!
Gomersalez, wild with passion,
Danger-all but her-forgets;
Wheresoe'er she flies, pursues her,
Casting clouds of somersets!

Onward, onward rush the coursers;
Bright is Gomersalez' eye;
Saints protect thee, Woolfordinez,
For his triumph, sure, is nigh!
Now his courser's flanks he lashes,
O'er his shoulder flings the rein,
And his feet aloft he tosses,
Holding stoutly by the mane!


28






THE BOOK OF BALLADS.


Then his feet once more regaining,
Doffs his jacket, doffs his smalls;
And in graceful folds around him
A bespangled tunic falls.
Pinions from his heels are bursting,
His bright locks have pinions o'er them;
And the public sees with rapture
Maia's nimble son before them.

Speed thee, speed thee, Woolfordinez !
For a panting god pursues;
And the chalk is very nearly
Rubbed from thy white satin shoes;
Every bosom throbs with terror,
You might hear a pin to drop;
All was hushed, save where a starting
Cork gave out a casual pop.

One smart lash across his courser,
One tremendous bound and stride,
And our noble Cid was standing
By his Woolfordinez' side!
With a god's embrace he clasped her,
Raised her in his manly arms;
And the stables' closing barriers
Hid his valor, and her charms!


29







THE BOOK OF BALLADS.


AMERICAN BALLADS.




(6r fight mitR tw Inapping Cnrth1.

OR, THE AMERICAN ST. GEORGE.

FYTTE FIRST.

HAVE you heard of Philip Slingsby,
Slingsby of the manly chest;
How he slew the Snapping Turtle
In the regions of the West?

Every day the huge Cawana
Lifted up its monstrous jaws;
And it swallowed Langton Bennett,
And digested Rufus Dawes.

Riled, I ween, was Philip Slingsby,
Their untimely deaths to hear;
For one author owed him money,
And the other loved him dear.


80






THE BOOK OF BALLADS.


"Listen, now, sagacious Tyler,
Whom the loafers all obey;
What reward will Congress give me,
If I take this pest away ?"
Then sagacious Tyler answered,
"You're the ring-tailed squealer! Less
Than a hundred heavy dollars
Won't be offered you, I guess!
"And a lot of wooden nutmegs
In the bargain, too, we'll throw-
Only you just fix the eriter-
Won't you liquor ere you go?"

Straightway leaped the valiant Slingsby
Into armor of Seville,
With a strong Arkansas toothpick
Screwed in every joint of steel.

Come thou with me, Cullen Bryant,
Come with me as squire, I pray;
Be the Homer of the battle
That I go to wage to-day."
So they went along careering
With a loud and martial tramp,
Till they neared the Snapping Turtle
In the dreary Swindle Swamp.

But when Slingsby saw the water,
Somewhat pale, I ween, was he.
"If I come not back, dear Bryant,
Tell the tale to Melanie!


81







THE BOOK OF BALLADS.


"Tell her that I died devoted,
Victim to a noble task !
Ha'n't you got a drop of brandy
In the bottom of your flask ?"
As he spoke, an alligator
Swam across the sullen creek;
And the two Columbians started
When they heard the monster shriek:
For a snout of huge dimensions
Rose above the waters high,
And took down the alligator,
As a trout takes down a fly.
'Tarnal death! the Snapping Turtle !"
Thus the squire in terror cried;
But the noble Slingsby straightway
Drew the toothpick from his side.

"Fare thee well !" he cried, and dashing
Through the waters, strongly swam:
Meanwhile Cullen Bryant, watching,
Breathed a prayer and sucked a dram.
Sudden from the slimy bottom
Was the snout again upreared,
With a snap as loud as thunder,-
And the Slingsby disappeared.
Like a mighty steam-ship foundering,
Down the monstrous vision sank ;
And the ripple, slowly rolling,
Plashed and played upon the bank.






THE BOOK OF BALLADS.


Still and stiller grew the water,
Hushed the canes within the brake;
There was but a kind of coughing
At the bottom of the lake.

Bryant wept as loud and deeply
As a father for a son-
" He's a finished 'coon, is Slingsby,
And the brandy's nearly done!"




FYTTE SECOND.
IN a trance of sickening anguish,
Cold, and stiff, and sore and damp,
For two days did Bryant linger
By the dreary Swindle Swamp;

Always peering at the water,
Always waiting for the hour,
When those monstrous jaws should open
As he saw them ope before.

Still in vain;-the alligators
Scrambled through the marshy brake,
And the vampire leeches gaily
Sucked the garfish in the lake.

But the Snapping Turtle never
Rose for food or rose for rest,
Since he lodged the steel deposit
In the bottom of his chest.
2*


83







THE BOOK OF BALLADS.


Only always from the bottom
Violent sounds of coughing rolled,
Just as if the huge Cawana
Had a most confounded cold.

On the bank lay Cullen Bryant,
As the second moon arose;
Gouging on the sloping green sward
Some imaginary foes.

When the swamp began to tremble
And the canes to rustle fast,
As if some stupendous body
Through their roots was crushing past.

And the water boiled and bubbled,
And in groups of twos and threes,
Several alligators bounded,
Smart as squirrels up the trees.

Then a hideous head was lifted,
With such huge distended jaws,
That they might have held Goliath
Quite as well as Rufus Dawes.

Paws of elephantine thickness
Dragged its body from the bay,
And it glared at Cullen Bryant
In a most unpleasant way.

Then it writhed as if in torture,
And it staggered to and fro;
And its very shell was shaken,
In the anguish of its throe:


34





THE BOOK OF BALLADS.


And its cough grew loud and louder,
And its sob more husky thick;
For, indeed, it was apparent
That the beast was very sick.

Till at last a violent vomit
Shook its carcass through and through,
And, as if from out a cannon,
All in armor Slingsby flew.

Bent and bloody was the bowie,
Which he held within his grasp;
And he seemed so much exhausted
That he scarce had strength to gasp-

"Gouge him, Bryant! darn ye, gouge him!
Gouge him while he's on the shore!"
And his thumbs were straightway buried
Where no thumbs had pierced before.

Right from out their bony sockets,
Did he scoop the monstrous balls;
And, with one convulsive shudder,
Dead the Snapping Turtle falls!




"Post the tin, sagacious Tyler!"
But the old experienced file,
Leering first at Clay and Webster,
Answered, with a quiet smile-







THE BOOK OF BALLADS.


Since you dragged the 'tarnal crittihr
From the bottom of the ponds,
Here's the hundred dollars due you,
All in Pennsylvanian Bondi !"


"The only Good American Securities."


8e






THE BOOK OF BALLADS.


f t 3r q nf r*: Cunlt.

[THE story of Mr. Colt, of which our Lay contains merely the sequel,
is this : A New York printer, of the name of Adams, had the effron-
tery call upon him one day for the payment of an account, which
S thbindependent Colt settled by cutting his creditor's head to frag-
i'ents with an axe. He then packed his body in a box, sprinkling it
with salt, and despatched it to a packet, bound for New Orleans.
Suspicions having been excited, he was seized, and tried before Judge
Kent. The trial is, perhaps, the most disgraceful upon the records
S of any country. The ruffian's mistress was produced in court, and
examined in disgusting detail, as to her connexion with Colt, and his
movements during the days and nights succeeding the murder. The
head of the murdered man was bandied to and fro in the court, hand-
ed up to the jury, and commented on by witnesses and counsel; and
to crown the horrors of the whole proceeding, the wretch's own
counsel, a Mr. Emmet, commencing the defence with a cool admis-
sion that his client took the life of Adams, and following it up by a
detail of the whole circumstances of this most brutal murder in the
first person, as though he himself had been the murderer, ended by
telling the jury, that his client was entitled to the sympathy of a jury
of his country," as "a young man just entering into life, whose pros-
pects, probably have been permanently blasted." Colt was found guilty;
but a variety of exceptions were taken to the charge by the judge,
and after a long series of appeals, which occupied more than a year
from the date of the conviction, the sentence of death was ratified by
Governor Seward. The rest of Colt's story is told in our ballad.]

STREAK THE FIRST.
*

AND now the sacred rite was done, and the marriage
knot was tied,
And Colt withdrew his blushing wife a little way aside;






38 THE BOOK OF BALLADS.

"Let 's go," he said, into my cell, let 's go alone, my
dear;
I fain would shelter that sweet face from the sheriff's
odious leer.
The gaoler and the hangman, they are waiting both for
me,-
I cannot bear to see them wink so knowingly at thee!
Oh, how I loved thee, dearest! They say that I am
wild,
That a mother dares not trust me with the weasand of
her child,
They say my bowie knife is keen to sliver into halves
The carcass of my enemy, as butchers slay their-calves.
They say that I am stern of mood, because, like salted
beef,
I packed my quartered foreman up, and marked him
prime tariff;'
Because I thought to palm him on the simple-souled John
Bull,
And clear a small per centage on the sale at Liverpool;
It may be so, I do not know-these things, perhaps, may
be;
But surely I have always been a gentleman to thee!
Then come, my love, into my cell, short bridal space is
ours,-
Nay, sheriff, never look thy watch-I guess there's good
two hours.
We 'll shut the prison doors and keep the gaping world
at bay,
For love is long as 'tarnity, though I must die to-day !"





THE BOOK OF BALLADS.


STREAK THE SECOND.

THE clock is ticking onward,
It nears the hour of doom,
And no one yet hath entered
Into that ghastly room.
The gaoler and the sheriff
They are walking to and fro;
And the hangman sits upon the steps,
And smokes his pipe below.
In grisly expectation
The prison all is bound,
And save expectoration,
You cannot hear a sound.
The turnkey stands and ponders,
His hand upon the bolt,-
In twenty minutes more, I guess,
'T will all be up with Colt!"
But see, the door is opened!
Forth comes the weeping bride;
The courteous sheriff lifts his hat,
And saunters to her side,-
"I beg your pardon, Mrs. C.,
But is your husband ready ?"
"I guess you'd better ask himself,"
Replied the woful lady.

The clock is ticking onward,
The minutes almost run,
The hangman's pipe is nearly out,
'T is on the stroke of one.


89







THE BOOK OF BALLADS.


At every grated window
Unshaven faces glare;
There's Puke, the judge of Tennessee,
And Lynch, of Delaware;
And Batter, with the long black beard,
Whom Hartford's maids know well;
And Winkinson, from Fish Kill Reach,
The pride of New Rochelle;
Elkanah Nutts, from Tarry Town,
The gallant gouging boy;
And coon-faced Bushwhack, from the hills
That frown o'er modern Troy;
Young Wheezer, whom our Willis loves,
Because, 't is said, that he,
One morning from a bookstall filched
The tale of Melanie;"
And Skunk, who fought his country's fight
Beneath the stripes and stars,-
All thronging at the windows stood,
And gazed between the bars.

The little boys that stood behind
(Young thievish imps were they !)
Displayed considerable nous
On that eventful day;
For bits of broken looking-glass
They held aslant on high,
And there a mirrored gallows-tree
Met their delighted eye.*


*A Fact.


40






THE BOOK OF BALLADS.


The clock is ticking onward ;
Hark! Hark! it striketh one!
Each felon draws a whistling breath,
"Time's up with Colt; he's done !"

The sheriff looks his watch again,
Then puts it in his fob,
And turns him to the hangman,-
Get ready for the job."
The gaoler knocketh loudly,
The turnkey draws the bolt.
And pleasantly the sheriff says,
"'We 're waiting, Mister Colt!"

No answer ? No! no answer !
All 's still as death within;
The sheriff eyes the gaoler,
The gaoler strokes his chin.
"I should n't wonder, Nahum, if
It were as you suppose."
The hangman looked unhappy, and
The turnkey blew his nose.

They entered. On his pallet
The noble convict lay,-
The bridegroom on his marriage bed,
But not in trim array.
His red right hand a razor held,
Fresh sharpened from the hone,
And his ivory neck was severed,
And gashed into the bone.


41.






THE BOOK OF BALLADS.


And when the lamp is lighted
In the long November days,
And lads and lasses mingle
At the shucking of the maize;
When pies of smoking pumpkin
Upon the table stand,
And bowls of black molasses
Go round from hand to hand;
When slap-jacks, maple-sugared,
Are hissing in the pan,
And cider, with a dash of gin,
Foams in the social can;
When the good man wets his whistle,
And the good wife scolds the child;
And the girls exclaim convulsively,
"Have done, or I'll be riled !"
When the loafer sitting next them
Attempts a sly caress,
And whispers, "Oh! you 'possum,
You 've fixed my heart, I guess!"
With laughter and with weeping,
Then shall they tell the tale,
How Colt his foreman quartered,
And died within the gaol.


42






THE BOOK OF BALLADS.


(T, fnt# Of 3ahi Vnllhar.
[Before the following poem, which originally appeared in Fraser's
Magazine," could have reached America, intelligence was received in
this country of an affray in Congress, very nearly the counterpart of
that which the Author has here imagined in jest. It was very clear,
to any one who observed the state of public manners in America,
that such occurrences mut happen sooner or later. The Americans
apparently felt the force of the satire, as the poem was widely re-
printed throughout the States. It subsequently returned to this
country, embodied in an American work on American manners,
where it characteristically appeared as the writer's own production;
and it afterwards went the round of British newspapers, as an amu-
sing satire by an American, of his countrymen's foibles !]

THE Congress met, the day was wet, Van Buren took
the chair,
On either side, the statesman pride of fair Kentuck was
there.
With moody frown, there sat Calhoun, and slowly in
his cheek
His quid he thrust, and slaked the dust, as Webster
rose to speak.

Upon that day, near gifted Clay, a youthful member sat,
And like a free American upon the floor he spat;
Then turning round to Clay. he said, and wiped his
manly chin,
" What kind of Locofoco's that, as wears the painter's
skin ?"


48








44 THE BOOK OF BALLADS.

"Young man," quoth Clay, "avoid the way of Slick
of Tennessee,
Of gougers fierce, the eyes that pierce, the fiercest
gouger he.
He chews and spits as there he sits,; and whittles at the
chairs,
And in his hand, for deadly strife, a bowie-knife he
bears.


"Avoid that knife! In frequent strife its blade, so long
and thin,
Has found itself a resting-place his rival's ribs within."
But coward fear came never near young Jabez Dollar's
heart,
"Were he an alligator, I would rile him pretty
smart!"


Then up he rose, and cleared his nose, and looked toward
the chair,
He saw the stately stripes and stars-our country's flag
was there!
His heart beat high, with savage cry upon the floor he
sprang,
Then raised his wrist, and shook his fist, and spoke his
first harangue.


"Who sold the nutmegs made of wood-the clocks that
wouldn't figure ?
Who grinned the bark off gum-trees dark,-the ever-
lasting nigger ?






THE BOOK OF BALLADS. 45

For twenty cents, ye Congress gents, through 'tarnity
I'll kick
That man, I guess, though nothing less than coon-faced.
Colonel Slick!"


The colonel smiled-with frenzy wild,-his very beard
waxed blue,-
His shirt it could not hold him, so wrathy riled he
grew;
He foams and frets, his knife he whets upon his seat
below-
He sharpens it on either side, and whittles at his toe,-


"Oh! waken, snakes, and walk your chalks !" he cried,
with ire elate;
" Darn my old mother, but I will in wild cats whip my
weight!
Oh! 'tarnal death I'll spoil your breath, young Dollar,
and your chaffing,-
Look to your ribs, for here is that will tickle them with-
out laughing!"


His knife he raised-with fury crazed, he sprang across
the hall;
He cut a caper in the air-he stood before them all:
He never stopped to look or think if he the deed should
do,
But spinning sent the President, and on young Dollar
flew.







46 THE BOOK OF BALLADS.

They met-they closed-they sunk-they rose,-in vain
young Dollar strove-
For, like a streak of lightning greased, the infuriate
colonel drove
His bowie blade deep in his side, and to the ground
they rolled,
And, drenched in gore, wheeled o'er and o'er, locked in
other's hold.


With fury dumb-with nail and thumb-they struggled
and they thrust,-
The blood ran red from Dollar's side, like rain, upon
the dust;
He nerved his might for one last spring, and as he sunk
and died,
Reft of an eye, his enemy fell groaning at his side.


Thus did he fall within the hall of Congress, that brave
youth;
The bowie-knife had quenched his life of valor and of
truth;
And still among the statesmen throng at Washington
they tell
How nobly Dollar gouged his man-how gallantly he
fell!






THE BOOK OF BALLADS.


je 5alnbanif Sld.

"YOUNG chaps, give ear,-the case is clear. You, Silas
Fixings, you
Pay Mister Nehemiah Dodge, them dollars as you're
due,
You are a bloody cheat,-you are. But spite of all
your tricks, it
Is not in you, Judge Lynch to do. No! no how you
can fix it !"

Thus spake Judge Lynch, as there he sat in Alabama's
forum,
Around he gazed with legs upraised upon the bench high
o'er him;
And, as he gave this sentence stern to him who stood
beneath,
Still, with his gleaming bowie-knife he slowly picked his
teeth.

It was high noon, the month was June, and sultry was
the air,
A cool gin-sling stood by his hand, his coat hung o'er
his chair;
All naked were his manly arms, and, shaded by his hat,
Like an old Senator of Rome, that simple Archon sat.


47






48 THl BOOK OF BALLADS.

"A bloody cheat ?-Oh, legs and feet !" in wrath young
Silas cried;
And, springing high into the air, he jerked his quid
aside.-
"No man shall put my dander up, or with my feelings
trifle,
As long as Silas Fixings wears a bowie-knife and rifle."


"If your shoes pinch," replied Judge Lynch, you '11
very soon have ease,
I '11 give you satisfaction, squire, in any way you
please;
Where are your weapons ?-knife or gun ?-at both I 'm
pretty spry!"
"Oh! 'tarnal death, you 're spry, you are?" quoth
Silas; "so am I!"


Hard by the town a forest stands, dark with the shades
of time,
And they have sought that forest dark at morning's
early prime;
Lynch, backed by Nehemiah Dodge, and Silas with a
friend,
And half the town in glee came down, to see that con-
test's end.


They led their men two miles apart, they measured out
the ground;
A belt of that vast wood it was, they notched the trees
around;






THE BOOK OF BALLADS. 49

Into the tangled brake they turned them off, and neither
knew
Whereae should seek his wagered foe, how get him into
view.

With stealthy tread, and stooping head, from tree to
tree they passed,
They crept beneath the crackling furze, they held their
rifles fast:
Hour passed on hour, the noon-day sun smote fiercely
down, but yet
No sound to the expectant crowd proclaimed that they
had met.

And now the sun was going down, when, hark! a rifle's
crack!
Hush-hush! another strikes the air, and all their breath
drew back,-
Then crashing on through bush and briar, the crowd from
either side
Rushed in to see whose rifle sure with blood the moss
had dyed.

Weary with watching up and down, brave Lynch con-
ceived a plan,
An artful dodge whereby to take at unawares his
man;
He hung his hat upon a bush, and hid himself
hard by,
Young Silas thought he had him fast, and at the hat
let fly.
3








THE BOOK OF BALLADS.


It fell; up sprung young Silas,-he hurled his gun away;
Lynch fixed him with his rifle from the ambush where
he lay.
The bullet pierced his manly breast-yet, valiant to the
last,
He drew his fatal bowie-knife, and up his foxtail* cast.

With tottering steps and glazing eye he cleared the space
between,
And stabbed the air as, in Macbeth, still stabs the
younger Kean;
Brave Lynch received him with a bang that stretched
him on the ground,
Then sat himself serenely down till all the crowd drew
round.

They hailed him with triumphant cheers-in him each
loafer saw
The bearing bold that could uphold the majesty of law;
And, raising him aloft, they bore him homewards at his
ease,-
That noble judge, whose daring hand enforced his own
decrees.

They buried Silas Fixings in the hollow where he fell,
And gum-trees wave above his grave-that tree he loved
so well;
And the 'coons sit chattering o'er him when the nights
are long and damp,
But he sleeps well in that lonely dell, the Dreary
'Possum Swamp.
The Yankee substitute for the chapeau de soie.


50







THE BOOK OF BALLADS.


51


14f Lmrrian'fs anstruie tho 3la.

[Rapidly as oblivion dees its work now-a-days, the burst of amiable
indignation with which enlightened America received the issue of
Boz's "Notes," can scarcely yet be forgotten. Not content with wa-
ging a universal rivalry in the piracy of the work, Columbia showered
upon its author the riches of its own choice vocabulary of abuse;
while some of her more fiery spirits threw out playful hints as to the
propriety of gouging the strangerr" and furnishing him with a per-
manent suit of tar and feathers, in the very improbable event of his
paying them a second visit. The perusal of these animated expres-
sions of free opinion suggested the following lines, which those who
remember Boz's book, and the festivities with which he was all but
hunted to death, will at once understand. We hope we have done
justice to the bitterness and immortal hate" of these thin-skinned
sons of freedom.]

SNEAK across the wide Atlantic, worthless London's
puling child,
Better that its waves should bear thee, than the land
thou hast reviled;
Better in the stifling cabin, on the sofa should'st thou
lie,
Sickening as the fetid nigger bears the greens and bacon
by.
Better, when the midnight horrors haunt the strained
and creaking ship,
Thou should'st yell in vain for brandy with a fever-
sodden lip;







52 THE BOOK OF BALLADS.

When amid the deepening darkness and the lamp's
expiring shade,
From the bagman's berth above thee comes the boun-
tiful cascade.
Better than upon the Broadway thou should'st be at
noon-day seen,
Smirking like a Tracy Tupman with a Mantalini mien,
With a rivulet of satin falling o'er thy puny chest,
Worse than even N. P. Willis for an evening party
dressed!

We received thee warmly-kindly-though we knew
thou wert a quiz,
Partly for thyself it may be, chiefly for the sake of
Phiz!
Much we bore and much we suffered, listening to
remorseless spells
Of that Smike's unceasing drivellings, and these ever-
lasting Nells.
When you talk of babes and sunshine, fields, and all
that sort of thing,
Each Columbian inly chuckled, as he slowly sucked his
sling;
And though all our sleeves were bursting, from the
many hundreds near,
Not one single scornful titter rose on thy complacent ear.

Then to show thee to the ladies, with our usual want of
sense
We engaged the place in Park Street at a ruinous
expense;






THE BOOK OF BALLADS. 58

Ev'n our own three-volumed Cooper waived his old pre-
scriptive right,
And deluded Dickens figured first on that eventful
night.
Clusters of uncoated Yorkers, vainly striving to be cool,
Saw thee desperately plunging through the perils of La
Poule;
And their muttered exclamation drowned the tenor of
the tune,-
Don't he beat all natur hollow? Don't he foot it like
a coon ?"

Did we spare our brandy-cocktails, stint thee of our
whisky-grogs ?
Half the juleps that we gave thee would have floored a
Newman Noggs;
And thou took'st them in so kindly, little was there then
to blame,
To thy parched and panting palate sweet as mother's
milk they came.
Did the hams of old Virginny find no favor in thine
eves?
Came no soft compunction o'er thee at the thought of
pumpkin pies ?
Could not all our care and coddling teach thee how to
draw it mild ?
But, no matter, we deserve it. Serves us right! We
spoilt tJe child!

You, forsooth, must come crusading, boring us with
broadest hints
Of your own peculiar losses by American reprints.







54 THE BOOK OF BALLADS.

Such an impudent remonstrance never in our face was
flung;
Lever stands it, so does Ainsworth; you, I guess, may
hold your tongue.
Down our throats you'd cram your projects, thick and
hard as pickled salmon,
That, I s'pose, you call free-trading, I pronounce it utter
gammon.
No, my lad, a cuter vision than your own might soon
have seen,
That a true Columbian ogle carries little that is green.
Quite enough we pay, I reckon, when we stump a cent
or two
For the voyages and travels of a freshman such as you.

I have been at Niagara, I have stood beneath the
Falls,
I have marked the water twisting over its rampagious
walls;
But "a holy calm sensation," one, in fact, of perfect
peace,
Was as much my first idea as the thought of Christmas
geese.
As for "old familiar faces," looking through the misty
air,
Surely you were strongly liquored when you saw your
Chuckster there.
One familiar face, however, you will very likely see,
If you'll only treat the natives to a call in Tennessee,
Of a certain individual, true Columbian every inch,
In a high judicial station, called by 'mancipators, Lynch.






THE BOOK OF BALLADS. 55

Half-an-hour of conversation with his worship in a wood
Would, 1 strongly notion, do you an infernal deal of
good.
Then you'd understand more clearly than you ever did
before,
Why an independent patriot freely spits upon the floor,
Why he gouges when he pleases, why he whittles at the
chairs,
Why for swift and deadly combat still the bowie-knife
he bears:-
Why he sneers at the Old Country with republican
disdain,
And, unheedful of the negro's cry, still tighter draws his
chain.
All these things the judge shall teach thee of the land
thou hast reviled; *
Get thee o'er the wide Atlantic, worthless London's
puling child!






THE BOOK OF BALLADS.


MISCELLANEOUS BALLADS.





6t taknut nf 3m.
ONCE,-'t was when I lived at Jena,-
At a Wirthshaus' door I sat;
And in pensive contemplation,
Eat the sausage thick and fat;
Eat the kraut, that never sourer
Tasted to my lips than here;
Smoked my pipe of strong canaster,
Sipped my fifteenth jug of beer;
Gazed upon the glancing river,
Gazed upon the tranquil pool,
Whence the silver-voiced Undine,
When the nights were calm and cool,
As the Baron Fouque tells us,
Rose from out her shelly grot,
Casting glamor o'er the waters,
Witching that enchanted spot.
From the shadow which the coppice
Flings across the rippling stream,


56






THE BOOK OF BALLADS.


Did I hear a sound of music-
Was it thought or was it dream?
There, beside a pile of linen,
Stretched along the daised sward,
Stood a young and blooming maiden-
'T was her thrush-like song I heard,
Evermore within the eddy
Did she plunge the white chemise;
And her robes were loosely gathered
Rather far above her knees;
Then my breath at once forsook me,
For too surely did I deem
That I saw the fair Undine
Standing in the glancing stream-
And I felt the charm of knighthood;
And from that remembered day,
Every evening to the Wirthshaus
Took I my enchanted way.
Shortly to relate my story,
Many a week of summer long,
Came I there, when beer-o'ertaken,
With my lute and with my song;
Sang in mellow-toned soprano,
All my love and all my wo,
Till the river-maiden answered,
Lilting in the stream below:-
"Fair Undine! sweet Undine!
Dost thou love as I love thee ?"
"Love is free as running water,"
Was the answer made to me.
3*


57







THE BOOK OF BALLADS.


Thus, in interchange seraphic,
Did I woo my phantom fay,
Till the nights grew long and chilly,
Short and shorter grew the day;
Till at last-'t was dark and gloomy,
Dull and starless was the sky,
And my steps were all unsteady,
For a little flushed was I,-
To the well accustomed signal
No response the maiden gave;
But I heard the waters washing,
And the moaning of the wave.

Vanished was my own Undine,
All her linen, too, was gone;
And I walked about, lamenting,
On the river bank alone.

Idiot that I was, for never
Had I asked the maiden's name.
Was it Lieschen-was it Gretchen ?
Had she tin-or whence she came?

So I took my trusty meerschaum,
And I took my lute likewise;
Wandered forth in minstrel fashion,
Underneath the lowering skies;
Sang before each comely Wirthshaus,
Sang beside each purling stream,
That same ditty which I chanted
When Undine was my theme,


58






THE BOOK OF BALLADS.


Singing, as I sang at Jena,
When the shifts were hung to dry,
"Fair Undine! young Undine!
Dost thou love as well as I I"

But, alas! in field or village,
Or beside the pebbly shore,
Did I see those glancing ankles,
And the white robe nevermore;
And no answer came to greet me,
No sweetvoice to mine replied;
But I heard the waters rippling,
And the moaning of the tide.


"The moaning of the TIED."


59






THE BO)OK OF BALLADS.


l!r EIn of tet jmtitr*

THERE is a sound that's dejr to me,
It haunts me in my sleep; 4
I wake, and, if I hear it not,
I cannot choose but weep.
Above the roaring of the wind,
Above the river's flow,
Methinks I hear the mystic cry
Of Clo !-Old Clo !"

The exile's song, it thrills among
The dwellings of the free,
Its sound is strange to English ears,
But 't is not strange to me;
For it hath shook the tented field
In ages long ago,
And hosts have quailed before the cry
Of "Clo!-Old Clo !"

Oh, lose it not! forsake it not!
And let no time efface
The memory of that solemn sound,
The watchword of our race.


60






THE BOOK OF BALLADS. 61

For not by dark and eagle eye
The Hebrew shall you know,
So well as by the plaintive cry
Of "G Clo!-Old Clo !"

Even now, perchance, by Jordan's banks,
Or Sidon's sunny walls,
Where, dial-like, to portion tig
The palm-tree's shadow falls,
The pilgriU' wending on their way,
Will lingW as they go, k
And listen to the distant cry
Of "L Clo!-Old Clo!"




THE BOOK OF BALLADS.


Jauvtrl (roggfboh .


AFTER THE MANNER OF SCHILLER.


BURSCH if foaming beer content ye,
Come and drink your fill;
In our cellars there is plenty;
Himmel! how you swill!
That the liquor hath allurance,
Well I understand;
But 't is really past endurance,
When you squeeze my hand !"

And he heard her as if dreaming,
Heard her half in awe;
And the meerschaum's smoke came streaming
From his open jaw:
And his pulse beat somewhat quicker
Than it did before,
And he finished off his liquor,
Staggered through the door;





THE BOOK OF BALLADS.


Bolted off direct to Munich,
And within the year
Underneath his German tunic
Stowed whole butts of beer.
And he drank like fifty fishes,
Drank till all was blue;
For he felt extremely vicious-
Somewhat thirsty too.

But at length this dire deboshing
9 Drew towards an end;
Few of all his silber-groschen
Had he left to spend.
And he knew it was not prudent
Longer to remain;
So, with weary feet, the student
Wended home again.

At the tavern's well known portal,
Knocks he as before,
And a waiter, rather mortal,
Hiccups through the door,-
"Masters 's sleeping in the kitchen;
You '11 alarm the house;
Yesterday the Jungfrau Fritchen
Married baker Kraus!"

Like a fiery comet bristling,
Rose the young man's hair,
And, poor soul! he fell a-whistling,
Out of sheer despair.


63




THE BQOK OF BALLADS.


Down the gloomy street in silence,
Savage-calm he goes;
But he did no deed of vi'lence-
Only blew his nose.

Then he hired an airy garret
Near her d\w.lling-place;
Grew a beard of fiercest carrot,
Never washed his face;
Sate all day beside the casement,
Sate a dreary man;
Found in smoking such an easement
As the wretched can;

Stared for hours and hours together,
Stared yet more and more;
Till in fine and sunny weather,
At the baker's door,
Stood, in apron white and mealy,
That beloved dame,
Counting out the loaves so freely,
Selling of the same.

Then like a volcano puffing,
Smoked he out his pipe;
Sigh'd and supp'd on ducks and stuffing,
Ham, arnd kraut, and tripe;
Went to bed, and in the morning,
Waited as before,
Still his eyes in anguish turning
To the baker's door;


64





THE BOOK OF BALLADS. 65

Till, with apron white and mealy,
Came the lovely dame,
Counting out the loaves so freely,
Selling of the same.
So, one day-the fact 's amazing !-
On his post he died;
And they found the body gazing
At the baker's bride.




THE BOOK OF BALLADS.


Jligjt nnA 31!nrning.


NOT BY SIR E. BULWER LYTTON.


THY coffee, Tom, 's untasted,
And thy egg is very cold;
Thy cheeks are wan and wasted,
Not rosy as of old.
My boy what has come o'er ye,
You surely are not well!
Try some of that ham before ye,
And then, Tom, ring the bell !"


"I cannot eat, my mother,
My tongue is parched and bound,
And my head somehow or other,
Is swimming round and round.
In my eyes there is a fulness,
And my pulse is beating quick;
On my brain is a weight of dulness;
Oh, mother, I am sick!"


66





THE BOOK OF BALLADS. 87

"These long, long nights of watching
Are killing you outright;
The evening dews are catching,
And you 're out every night.
Why does that horrid grumbler,
Old Inkpen, work you so ?"
TOM (lene susurrans)
" My head Oh, that tenth tumbler !
'T was that wihch wrought my wo!"




THE BOOK OF BALLADS.


L,4t aViter Tit.

THE sun is in the sky, mother, the flowers are springing
fair,
And the melody of woodland birds is stirring in the
air;
The river, smiling to the sky, glides onward to the
sea,
And happiness is everywhere, oh mother, but with
me!


They are going to the church, mother,-I hear the
marriage bell;
It booms along the upland,-oh! it haunts me like a
knell;
HIe leads her on his arm, mother, he cheers her faltering
step,
And closely to his side she clings,-she does, the
demirep!


They are crossing by the stile, mother, where we so oft
have stood,
The stile beside the shady thorn, at the corner of the
wood ;


68





THE BOOK OF BALLADS. 69

And the boughs, that wont to murmur back the words
that won my ear,
Wave their silver branches o'er him, as he leads his
bridal fere.

He will pass beside the stream, mother, where first my
hand he pressed,
By the meadow where, with quivering lip, his passion
he confessed;
And down the hedgerows where we 've strayed again
and yet again; ;
But he will not think of me, mother, his broken-hearted
Jane!

He said that I was proud, mother, that I looked for rank
and gold,
He said I did not love him,-he said my words were
cold;
He said I kept him off and on, in hopes of higher
game,-
And it may be that I did, mother; but who has n't done
S the same ?


I did not know my heart, mother,-I know it now too
late;
I thought that I without a pang could wed some nobler
mate;
But no nobler suitor sought me,-and he has taken
wing,
And my heart is gone, and I am left a lone and blighted
thing.




70 THE BOOK OF BALLADS.

You may lay me in my bed, mother,-my head is
throbbing sore;
And, mother, prithee, let the sheets be duly aired
before;
And, if you'd please, my mother dear, your poor des-
ponding child,
Draw me a pot of beer, mother, and, mother, draw it
mild!






-C'



i h;i ;! ~ 7


SLove gone to pot.





THE BOOK OF BALLADS.


( 6t nuirt au tl; unstralian 3hq.

THY skin is dark as jet, ladye,
Thy cheek is sharp and high,
And there's a cruel leer, love,
Within thy rolling eye!
These tangled ebon tresses
No comb hath e'er gone through;
And thy forehead it is furrowed by
The elegant tattoo!


I love thee,--oh, I love thee,
Thou strangely feeding maid!
Nay, lift not thus thy boomerang,
I meant not to upbraid!
Come, let me taste those yellow lips
That ne'er were tasted yet,
Save when the shipwrecked mariner
Pass'd through them for a whet.


Nay, squeeze me not so tightly!
For I am gaunt and thin,
There's little flesh to tempt thee
Beneath a convict's skin.


71





TIHE BOOK OF BALLADS.


I came not to be eaten,
I sought thee, love, to woo;
Besides, bethink thee, dearest,
Thou 'st dined on cockatoo !

Thy father is a chieftain;
Why that's the very thing!
Within my native country
I, too, have been a king.
Behold this branded letter,
Which nothing can efface!
It is the royal emblem,
The token of my race!

But rebels rose against me,
And dared my power disown-
You've heard, love, of the judges ?
They drove me from my throne.
And I have wandered hither,
Across the stormy sea,
In search of glorious freedom,
In search, my sweet, of thee!

The bush is now my empire,
The knife my sceptre keen;
Come with me to the desert wild,
And be my dusky queen.
I cannot give thee jewels,
I have nor sheep nor cow,
Yet there are kangaroos, love,
And colonists enow.


72





THE BOOK OF BALLADS. '8

We'll meet the unwary settler,
As whistling home he goes,
And I'll take tribute from him,
His money and his clothes.
Then on his bleeding carcass
Thou'lt lay thy pretty paw,
And lunch upon him roasted,
Or, if you like it, raw!

Then come with me, my princess,
My own Australian dear,
Within this grove of gum trees,
We'll hold our bridal cheer!
Thy heart with love is beating,
I feel it through my side:--
Hurrah, then, for the noble pair,
The Convict and his bride!

4




THE BOOK OF BALLADS.


Cl ut Bnirful aqg nf tji Vnnnhk 1n, d!ainein

COME and listen, lords and ladies,
To a woful lay of mine;
He whose tailor's bill unpaid is,
Let him now his ear incline!
Let him hearken to my story,
How the noblest of the land
Pined long time in dreary duresse
'Neath a sponging bailiff's hand.

I. O. Uwins! I. 0. Uwins!
Baron's son although thou be,
Thou must pay for thy misdoings
In the country of the free !
None of all thy sire's retainers
To thy rescue now may come;
And there lie some score detainers,
With Abednego, the bum.

Little reck'd he of his prison
Whilst the sun was in the sky:
Only when the moon was risen,
Did you hear the captive's cry;


74





THE BOOK OF BALLADS.


For, till then, cigars and claret
Lull'd him in oblivion sweet;
And he much preferred a garret,
For his drinking, to the street.

But the moonlight, pale and broken,
Pain'd at soul the Baron's son;
For he knew, by that soft token,
That the larking had begun;-
That the stout and valiant Marquis
Then was leading forth his swells,
Mangling some policeman's carcass,
Or purloining private bells.

So he sat, in grief and sorrow,
Rather drunk than otherwise,
Till the golden gush of morrow
Dawned once more upon his eyes:
Till the sponging bailiffs daughter,
Lightly tapping at the door,
Brought his draught of soda water,
Brandy-bottom'd as before.

"Sweet Rebecca! has your father,
Think you, made a deal of brass ?"
And she answered-" Sir, I rather
Should imagine that he has."
Uwins then, his whiskers scratching,
Leer'd upon the maiden's face,
And, her hand with ardor catching,
Folded her in close embrace.




THE BOOK OF BALLADS.


"La, Sir! let alone-you fright me!"
Said the daughter of the Jew:
Dearest, how those eyes delight me!
Let me love thee, darling, do "
"Vat is dish?" the Bailiff mutter'd,
Rushing in with fury wild;
"Ish your muffins so vell butter'd
Dat you darsh insult ma shild? "

"Honorable my intentions,
Good Abednego, I swear!
And I have some small pretensions,
For I am a Baron's heir.
If you'll only clear my credit,
And advance a thou* or so,
She's a peeress-I have said it:
Don't you twig, Abednego "

"Datsh a very different matter,"
Said the Bailiff, with a leer;
But you musht not cut it fatter
Than ta slish will stand, ma tear!
If you seeksh ma approbation,
You musht quite give up your rigsh;
Alsho you must join our nashun,
And renounsh ta flesh ofpigsh."

Fast as one of Fagin's pupils,
I. O. Uwins did agree!
Little plagued with holy scruples
From the starting post was he.
SThe fashionable abbreviation for a thousand pounds.


76





THE BOOK OF BALLADS.


But at times a baleful vision
Rose before his trembling view,
For he knew that circumcision
Was expected from a Jew.

At a meeting of the Rabbis
Held about the Whitsuntide,
Was this thorough-paced Barabbas
Wedded to his Hebrew bride.
All his former debts compounded,
From the spunging house he came,
And his father's feelings wounded
With reflections on the same.

But the sire his son accosted-
"Split my wig if any more
Such a double-dyed apostate
Shall presume to cross my door!
Not a penny-piece to save ye
From the kennel or the spout;-
Dinner, John! the pig and gravy !-
Kick this dirty scoundrel out!"

Forth rush'd I. O. Uwins faster
Than all winking-much afraid,
That the orders of the master
Would be punctually obeyed:
Sought his club, and then the sentence
Of expulsion first he saw;
No one dared to own acquaintance
With a bailiff's son-in-law.


77





THE BOOK OF BALLADS.


Uselessly down Bond-street strutting
Did he greet his friends of yore :
Such a universal cutting
Never man received before:
Till at last his pride revolted-
Pale, and lean, and stern he grew;
And his wife Rebecca bolted
With a missionary Jew.

Ye who read this doleful ditty,
Ask ye where is Uwins now ?
Wend your way through London city,
Climb to Holborn's lofty brow.
Near the sign-post of the Nigger,"
Near the baked-potato shed,
You may see a ghastly figure
With three hats upon his head.

When the evening shades are dusky,
Then the phantom form draws near,
And, with accents low and husky,
Pours effluvium in your ear:
Craving an immediate barter
Of your trousers or surtout,
And you know the Hebrew martyr,
Once the peerless I. O. U.


78





THE BOOK OF BALLADS.


"4 Ruigltt nuh t^ (aqlent's h ngitn ,

DID you ever hear the story-
Old the legend is and true-
How a knyghte of fame and glory
All aside his armor threw;
Spouted spear and pawned habergeon,
Pledged his sword and surcoat gay,
Sate down cross-legged on the shop-board
Sate and stitched the livelong day ?

"Taylzeour! not one single shilling
Does my breeches' pocket hold:
I to pay am really willing,
If I only had the gold.
Farmers none can I encounter,
Graziers there are none to kill;
Therefore, prithee, gentle taylzeour,
Bother not about thy bill."

"Good Sir Knyghte, just once too often
Have you tried that slippery trick;
Hearts like mine you cannot soften,
Vainly do you ask for tick.


79





THE BOOK OF BALLADS.


Christmas and its bills are coming,
Soon will they be showering in;
Therefore, once for all, my rum 'un,
I expect you '11 post the tin.

"Mark, Sir Knyghte, that gloomy bayliffe,
In the palmer's amice brown;
He shall lead you unto jail, if
Instantly you stump not down."
Deeply swore the young crusader,
But the taylzeour would not hear;
And the gloomy bearded bayliffe
Evermore kept sneaking near.

"Neither groat nor maravedi
Have I got my soul to bless;
And I feel extremely seedy,
Languishing in vile duress.
Therefore listen, ruthless taylzeour,
Take my steed and armor fiee,
Pawn them at thy Hebrew uncle's,
And I'll work the rest for thee."

Lightly leaped he on the shop-board,
Lightly crooked his manly limb,
Lightly drove the glancing needle
Through the growing doublet's rim.
Gaberdines in countless number
Did the taylzeour-knyghte repair!
And the cabbage and cucumber
Were his sole and simple fare.


80





THE BOOK OF BALLADS.


Once his weary task beguiling
With a low and plaintive song,
That good knyghte o'er miles of broadcloth
Drove the hissing goose along;
From her lofty lattice window,
Looked the taylzeour's daughter down,
And she instantly discovered
That her heart was not her own.

"Canst thou love me, gentle stranger ?"
Blushing like a rose she stood-
And the knyghte at once admitted,
That he rather thought he could.
" He who weds me shall have riches,
Gold, and lands, and houses free."
" For a single pair of-small clothes,
I would roam the world with thee !"

Then she flung him down the tickets-
Well the knyghte their import knew-
"Take this gold, and win thy armor,
From the unbelieving Jew.
Though in garments mean and lowly,
Thou wouldst roam the world with me,
Only as a belted warrior,
Stranger, will I wed with thee!"

At the feast of good Saint Alban,
In the middle of the Spring,
There was some superior jousting
By the order of the king.
4*


81





THE BOOK OF BALLADS.


"Valiant knyghtes!" exclaimed the monarch,
"You will please to understand,
He who bears himself most bravely,
Shall obtain my daughter's hand."

Well and bravely did they bear them,
Bravely battled, one and all;
But the bravest in the tourney
Was a warrior stout and tall.
None could tell his name or lineage,
None could meet him in the field,
And a goose regardant proper
Hissed along his azure shield.

"Warrior, thou hast won my daughter !"
But the champion bowed his knee,
"Princely blood may not be wasted
On a simple knyghte like me.
She I love is meek and lowly;
But her heart is high and frank;
And there must be tin forthcoming,
That will do as well as rank."

Slowly rose that nameless warrior,
Slowly turned his steps aside,
Passed the lattice where the princess
Sate in beauty, sate in pride.
Passed the row of noble ladies,
Hied him to an humbler seat,
And in silence laid the chaplet
At the taylzeour's daughter's feet.


82





THEi BOOK OF BALLADS.


'y V-ihigjt Visit.

IT was the Lord of Castlereagh, he sat within his room,
His arms were crossed upon his breast, his face was
marked with gloom;
They said that St. Helena's Isle had rendered up its
charge,
That France was bristling high in arms,-the Emperor
at large.

'Twas midnight! all the lamps were dim, and dull as
death the street,
It might be that the watchman slept that night upon his
beat,
When, lo! a heavy foot was heard to creak upon the
stair,
The door revolved upon its hinge,-Great Heaven!-
What enters there ?

A little man, of stately mien, with slow and solemn
stride;
His hands are crossed upon his back, his coat is opened
wide:


83





84 THE DOOK OF BALLADS.

And on his vest of green he wears an eagle and a
star,-
Saint George! protect us! 't is THLE M1AN-the thunder-
bolt of war !

Is that the famous hat that waved along Marengo's
ridge ?
Are these the spurs of Austerlitz-the boots of Lodi's
bridge ?
Leads he the conscript swarm again from France's hornet
hive?
What seeks the fell usurper here, in Britain, and alive?

Pale grew the Lord of Castlereagh, his tongue was
parched and dry,
As in his brain he felt the glare of that tremendous eye;
What wonder if he shrunk in fear, for who could meet
the glance
Of him who reared, 'mid Russian snows, the gonfalon
of France ?

From the side-pocket of his vest, a pinch the despot
took,
Yet not a whit did he relax the sternness of his look,-
"Thou thought'st the lion was afar, but he hath burst
the chain-
The watchword for to-night is France-the answer, St.


' And didst thou deem the barren isle, or ocean waves,
could bind
The master of the universe-the monarch of mankind ?





THE BOOK OF BALLADS~


I tell thee, fool! the world itself is all too small for me,
I laugh to scorn thy bolts and bars-I burst them, and
am free.

"Thou think'st that England hates me! Mark!-This
very night my name
Was thundered in its capital with tumult and acclaim !
They saw me, knew me, owned my power-Proud lord!
I say, beware!
There be men within the Surrey side, who know to do
and dare!

"To-morrow, in thy very teeth, my standard will I rear-
Ay, well that ashen cheek of thine may blanch and
shrink with fear!
To-morrow night another town shall sink in ghastly
flames;
And as I crossed the Borodin, so shall I cross the
Thames!

"Thou 'lt seize me, wilt thou, ere the dawn? Weak
lordling, do thy worst?
These hands ere now have broke thy chains, thy fetters
they have burst.
Yet, wouldst thou know my resting-place ? Behold 't is
written there!
And let thy coward myrmidons approach me if they
dare !"

Another pinch, another stride-he passes through the
door-
Was it a phantom or a man was standing on the floor?


85








80 THE BOOK OF BALLADS.

And could that be the Emperor that moved before my
eyes?
Ah, yes! too sure it was himself, for here the paper
lies!"

With trembling hands, Lord Castlereagh undid the mys-
tic scroll,
With glassy eye essayed to read, for fear was on his
soul-
What's here?-' At Astley's, every night, the play of
Moscow's FALL !
NAPOLEON for the thousandth time, by Mr. GJMERSAL !"





THE BOOK OF BALLADS.


'lit n oUf tI uonnrlnnr.

COMRADES, yOU may pass the rosy. With permission
of the chair,
I shall leave you for a little, for I'd like to take the air.

Whether 't was the sauce at dinner, or that glass of gin-
ger beer,
Or these strong cheroots, I know not, but I feel a little
queer.

Let me go. Now, Chuckster, blow me, 'pon my soul,
this is too bad!
When you want me, ask the waiter, he knows where
I'm to be had.

Whew This is a great relief now Let me but undo
my stock,
Resting here beneath the porch, my nerves will steady
like a rock.

In my ears I hear the singing of a lot of favorite tunes-
Bless my heart, how very odd! Why, surely there's a
brace of moons!


87





88 THE BOOK OF BALLADS.

See the stars! how bright they twinkle, winking with
a frosty glare,
Like my faithless cousin Amy when she drove me to
despair.

O, my cousin, spider-hearted! Oh, my Amy! No,
confound it!
I must wear the mournful willow,-all around my hat
I've bound it.

Falser than the Bank of Fancy,-frailer than a shilling
glove,
Puppet to a father's anger,-minion to a nabob's love!

Is it well to wish thee happy ? Having known me,
could you ever
Stoop to marry half a heart, and little more than half a
liver ?

Happy Damme! Thou shalt lower to his level day
by day,
Changing .from the best of China to the commonest of
clay.

As the husband is, the wife is,-he is stomach-plagued
and old;
And his curry soups will make thy cheek the color of
his gold.

When his feeble love is sated, he will hold thee surely
then
Something lower than his hookah,-something less than
his cayenne.





THE BOOK OF BALLADS. 89

What is this ? His eyes are pinky. Was't the claret ?
Oh, no, no,-
Bless your soul, it was the salmon,-salmon always
makes him so.

Take him to thy dainty chamber-soothe him with thy
lightest fancies,
lie will understand thee, won't he ?-pay thee with a
lover's glances ?

Louder than the loudest trumpet, harsh as harshest
ophicleide,
Nasal respirations answer the endearments of his bride.

Sweet response, delightful music! Gaze upon thy noble
charge
Till the spirit fill thy bosom that inspired the meek
Laffarge.

Better thou wert dead before me,-better, better that I
stood
Looking on thy murdered body, like the injured Daniel
Good!

Better, thou and I were lying, cold and timber-stiff and
dead,
With a pan of burning charcoal underneath our nuptial
bed!

Cursed be the bank of England's notes, that tempt the
soul to sin!
Cursed be the want of acres,-doubly cursed the want
of tin !





90 THE BOOK OF BALLADS.

Cursed be the marriage contract, that enslaved thy soul
to greed!
Cursed be the sallow lawyer, that prepared and drew
the deed!

Cursed be his foul apprentice, who the loathsome fees
did earn!
Cursed be the clerk and parson,-cursed be the whole
concern!




Oh, 't is well that I should bluster,-much I'm like to
make of that;
Better comfort have I found in singing All Around my
Hat."

But that song, so wildly plaintive, palls upon my British
ears.
'T will not do to pine for ever,-I am getting up in
years.

Can't I turn the honest penny, scribbling for the weekly
press,
And in writing Sunday libels drown my private wretch-
edness ?

Oh, to feel the wild pulsation that in manhood's dawn I
knew,
When my days were all before me, and my years were
twenty-two.





THE BOOK OF BALLADS. 91

When I smoked my independent pipe along the Quad.
rant wide,
With the many larks of London flaring up on every
side.

When I went the pace so wildly, caring little what might
come,
Coffee-milling care and sorrow, with a nose-adapted
thumb.

Felt the exquisite enjoyment, tossing nightly off, oh
heavens!
Brandy at the Cider Cellars, kidneys smoking-hot at
Evans'!

Or in the Adelphi sitting, half in rapture, half in tears,
Saw the glorious melo-drama conjure up the shades of
years!

Saw Jack Sheppard, noble stripling, act his wondrous
feats again,
Snapping Newgate's bars of iron, like an infant's daisy
chain.

Might was right, and all the terrors which had held the
world in awe
Were despised, and prigging prospered, spite of Laurie,
spite of law.

In such scenes as these I triumphed, ere my passion's
edge was rusted,
And my cousin's cold refusal left me very much dis-
gusted !





92 THE BOOK OF BALLADS.

Since, my heart is sere and withered, and I do not care
a curse
Whether worse shall be the better, or the better be the
worse.

Hark my merry comrades call me, bawling for another
jorum;
They would mock me in derision, should I thus appear
before 'em.

Womankind no more shall vex me, such at least, as go
arrayed
In the most expensive satins, and the newest silk brocade.

I 'll to Afric, lion-haunted, where the giant forest yields
Rarer robes and finer tissue than are sold at Spital-
fields.

Or to burst all chains of habit, flinging habit's self
aside,
I shall walk the tangled jungle in mankind's primeval
pride;

Feeding on the luscious berries and the rich cassava
root,
Lots of dates and lots of guavas, clusters of forbidden
fruit.

Never comes the trader thither, never o'er the purple
main
Sounds the oath of British commerce, or the accents of
Cockaigne.





THE BOOK OF BALLADS. 98

There, methinks, would be enjoyment, where no envirous
rule prevents;
Sink the steamboats! cuss the railways! rot, 0 rot the
Three per Cents!

There the passions, cramped no longer, shall have space
to breathe, my cousin!
I will take some savage woman-nay, I '11 take at least
a dozen.

There I 'll rear my young mulattoes, as no Bond Street
brats are reared:
They shall dive for aligators, catch the wild goats by the
beard-

Whistle to the cockatoos, and mock the hairy-faced
baboon,
Worship mighty Mumbo Jumbo in the Mountains of
the Moon.

I myself, in far Timbuctoo, leopard's blood will daily
quaff,
Ride a tiger-hunting, mounted on a thorough-bred giraffe.

Fiercely shall I shout the war-whoop, as some sullen
stream he crosses,
Startling from their noon-day slumbers, iron-bound rhino-
ceroses.

Fool! again the dream, the fancy! But I know my
words are mad,
For I hold the grey barbarian lower than the Christian
-cad.





94 THE BOOK OF BALLADS.

I the swell-the city dandy! I to seek such horrid
places,-
I to haunt with squalid negroes, blubber-lips, and mon-
key faces.

I to wed with Coromantees! 1, who managed-very
near-
To secure the heart and fortune of the widow Shilli-
beer!

Stuff and nonsense! let me never fling a single chance
away,
Maids ere now, I know, have loved me, and another
maiden may.

" Morning Post," (" The Times" won't trust me) help
me, as I know you can;
I will pen an advertisement,-that 's a never-failing
plan.

" WANTED-By a bard in wedlock, some young inter-
esting woman:
Looks are not so much an object, if the shiners be forth-
coming !

" Hymen's chains, the advertiser vows, shall be but silken
fetters,
Please address to A. T., Chelsea. N. B.-You must pay
the letters."

That 's the sort of thing to do it. Now I '11 go and
taste the balmy,-
Rest thee with thy yellow nabob, spider-hearted cousin
Amy!





THE ,BOOK OF BALLADS.


,3q w sifr'o fnUiu.

DECKED with shoes of blackest polish,
And with shirt as white as snow,
After matutinal breakfast
To my daily desk I go;
First a fond salute bestowing
On my Mary's ruby lips,
Which, perchance, may be rewarded
With a pair of playful nips.

All day long across the ledger
Still my patient pen I drive,
Thinking what a feast awaits me
In my happy home at five;
In my small, one-storied Eden,
Where my wife awaits my coming,
And our solitary handmaid
Mutton chops with care is crumbing.

When the clock proclaims my freedom,
Then my hat I seize and vanish;
Every trouble from my bosom,
Every anxious care I banish.





THE BOOK OF BALLADS.


Swiftly brushing o'er the pavement,
At a furious pace 1 go,
Till I reach my darling dwelling
In the wilds of Pimlico.

"Mary, wife, where art thou, dearest ?"
Thus I cry, while yet afar;
Ah! what scent invades my nostrils?-
'T is the smoke of a cigar!
Instantly into the parlor
Like a maniac I haste,
And I find a young Life-Guardsman,
With his arm round Mary's waist.

And his other hand is playing
Most familiarly with hers;
And I think my Brussels carpet
Somewhat damaged by his spurs.
S"Fire and furies! what the blazes ?"
Thus in frenzied wrath I call;
When my spouse her arms upraises,
With a most astounding squall.

"Was there ever such a monster:
Ever such a wretched wife?
Ah! how long must I endure it:
How protract this hateful life ?
All day long quite unprotected,
Does he leave his wife at home;
And she cannot see her cousins,
Even when they kindly come!"


1 i j# J kjd ,A". __ _11L


96





THE BOOK OF BALLADS.


Then the young Life-Guardsman, rising,
Scarce vouchsafes a single word,
But with look of deadly menace,
Claps his hand upon his sword;
And in fear I faintly falter-
This your cousin, then he 's mine!
Very glad, indeed, to see you,-
Won't you stop with us, and dine ?"

Won't a ferret suck a rabbit ?-
As a thing of course he stops;
And, with most voracious swallow
Walks into my mutton chops.
In the twinkling of a bed-post,
Is each savoury platter clear,
And he shows uncommon science
In his estimate of beer.

Half-and-half goes down before him,
Gurgling from the pewter-pot;
And he moves a counter motion
For a glass of something hot.
Neither chops nor beer I grudge him,
Nor a moderate share of goes;
But I know not why he's always
Treading upon Mary's toes.

Evermore, when home returning,
From the counting house I come,
Do I find the young Life-Guardsman
Smoking pipes and drinking rum.
5





98 THE BOOK OF BALLADS.

Evermore he stays to dinner,
Evermore devours my meal;
For I have a wholesome horror
Both of powder and of steel.

Yet I know he 's Mary's cousin,
For my only son and heir
Much resembles that young Guardsman,
With the self-same curly hair;
But I wish he would not always
Spoil my carpet with his spurs;
And I 'd rather see his fingers
In the fire, than touching hers.





THE BOOK OF BALLADS.


'thy Onrrn in Iranrr.

AN ANCIENT SCOTTISH BALLAD.


PART I.
IT fell upon the August month,
When landsmen bide at hame,
That our gude Queen went out to sail
Upon the saut-sea faem.

And she has ta'en the silk and gowd,
The like was never seen;
And she has ta'en the Prince Albert,
And the bauld Lord Aberdeen.

"Ye'se bide at hame, Lord Wellington:
Ye daurna gang wi' me:
For ye hae been ance in the land o' France,
And that 's eneuch for ye."

"Ye'se bide at hame, Sir Robert Peel,
To gather the red and the white monie;
And see that my men dinna eat me up.
At Windsor wi' their gluttonie."


99






THE BOOK OF BALLADS.


They hadna sailed a league, a league,-
A league, but barely twa,
When the lift grew dark, and the waves grew wan,
SAnd the wind began to blaw.

"O weel, weel may the waters rise,
In welcome o' their Queen;
What gars ye look sae white, Albert ?
What makes your e'e sae green ?"

"My heart is sick, my heid is sair:
Gie me a glass o' gude brandie:
To set my foot on the braid green sward.
I 'd gie the half o' my yearly fee.

"It 's sweet to hunt the sprightly hare
On the bonny slopes o' Windsor lea,
But O, it 's ill to bear the thud
And pitching o' the saut, saut sea!"

And aye they sailed, and aye they sailed,
Till England sank behind,
And over to the coast of France
They drave before the wind.

Then up and spak the King o' France,
Was birling at the wine;
"0 wha may be the gay ladye
That owns that ship sae fine ?

"And wha may be that bonny lad,
That looks sae pale and wan ?
I '11 wad my lands o' Picardie
That he 's nae Englishman."


100




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