Fifty Bab Ballads Part 7

At length his brawny knees gave way, And on the carpet sinking, Upon his shapeless back he lay And kicked away like winking.

Instead of seeing in his state The finger of unswerving Fate, He laboured still To work his will, And kicked away like winking.

His friends, disgusted with him now, Away in silence wended - I hardly like to tell you how This dreadful story ended.

The shocking sequel to impart, I must employ the limner's art - If you would know, This sketch will show How his exertions ended.

MORAL.

I hate to preach--I hate to prate - - I'm no fanatic croaker, But learn contentment from the fate Of this East India broker.

He'd everything a man of taste Could ever want, except a waist; And discontent His size anent, And bootless perseverance blind, Completely wrecked the peace of mind Of this East India broker.

Ballad: THE PANTOMIME "SUPER" TO HIS MASK.

Vast empty sh.e.l.l!

Impertinent, preposterous abortion!

With vacant stare, And ragged hair, And every feature out of all proportion!

Embodiment of echoing inanity!

Excellent type of simpering insanity!

Unwieldy, clumsy nightmare of humanity!

I ring thy knell!

To-night thou diest, Beast that destroy'st my heaven-born ident.i.ty!

Nine weeks of nights, Before the lights, Swamped in thine own preposterous nonent.i.ty, I've been ill-treated, cursed, and thrashed diurnally, Credited for the smile you wear externally - I feel disposed to smash thy face, infernally, As there thou liest!

I've been thy brain: I'VE been the brain that lit thy dull concavity!

The human race Invest MY face With thine expression of unchecked depravity, Invested with a ghastly reciprocity, I'VE been responsible for thy monstrosity, I, for thy wanton, blundering ferocity - But not again!

'T is time to toll Thy knell, and that of follies pantomimical: A nine weeks' run, And thou hast done All thou canst do to make thyself inimical.

Adieu, embodiment of all inanity!

Excellent type of simpering insanity!

Unwieldy, clumsy nightmare of humanity!

Freed is thy soul!

(The Mask respondeth.)

Oh! master mine, Look thou within thee, ere again ill-using me.

Art thou aware Of nothing there Which might abuse thee, as thou art abusing me?

A brain that mourns THINE unredeemed rascality?

A soul that weeps at THY threadbare morality?

Both grieving that THEIR individuality Is merged in thine?

Ballad: THE GHOST, THE GALLANT, THE GAEL, AND THE GOBLIN.

O'er unreclaimed suburban clays Some years ago were hobblin'

An elderly ghost of easy ways, And an influential goblin.

The ghost was a sombre spectral shape, A fine old five-act fogy, The goblin imp, a lithe young ape, A fine low-comedy bogy.

And as they exercised their joints, Promoting quick digestion, They talked on several curious points, And raised this delicate question: "Which of us two is Number One - The ghostie, or the goblin?"

And o'er the point they raised in fun They fairly fell a-squabblin'.

They'd barely speak, and each, in fine, Grew more and more reflective: Each thought his own particular line By chalks the more effective.

At length they settled some one should By each of them be haunted, And so arrange that either could Exert his prowess vaunted.

"The Quaint against the Statuesque" - By compet.i.tion lawful - The goblin backed the Quaint Grotesque, The ghost the Grandly Awful.

"Now," said the goblin, "here's my plan - In att.i.tude commanding, I see a stalwart Englishman By yonder tailor's standing.

"The very fittest man on earth My influence to try on - Of gentle, p'r'aps of n.o.ble birth, And dauntless as a lion!

Now wrap yourself within your shroud - Remain in easy hearing - Observe--you'll hear him scream aloud When I begin appearing!

The imp with yell unearthly--wild - Threw off his dark enclosure: His dauntless victim looked and smiled With singular composure.

For hours he tried to daunt the youth, For days, indeed, but vainly - The stripling smiled!--to tell the truth, The stripling smiled inanely.

For weeks the goblin weird and wild, That n.o.ble stripling haunted; For weeks the stripling stood and smiled, Unmoved and all undaunted.

The sombre ghost exclaimed, "Your plan Has failed you, goblin, plainly: Now watch yon hardy Hieland man, So stalwart and ungainly.

"These are the men who chase the roe, Whose footsteps never falter, Who bring with them, where'er they go, A smack of old SIR WALTER.

Of such as he, the men sublime Who lead their troops victorious, Whose deeds go down to after-time, Enshrined in annals glorious!

"Of such as he the bard has said 'Hech thrawfu' raltie rorkie!

Wi' thecht ta' croonie clapperhead And fash' wi' unco pawkie!'

He'll faint away when I appear, Upon his native heather; Or p'r'aps he'll only scream with fear, Or p'r'aps the two together."

The spectre showed himself, alone, To do his ghostly battling, With curdling groan and dismal moan, And lots of chains a-rattling!

But no--the chiel's stout Gaelic stuff Withstood all ghostly harrying; His fingers closed upon the snuff Which upwards he was carrying.

For days that ghost declined to stir, A foggy shapeless giant - For weeks that splendid officer Stared back again defiant.

Just as the Englishman returned The goblin's vulgar staring, Just so the Scotchman boldly spurned The ghost's unmannered scaring.

For several years the ghostly twain These Britons bold have haunted, But all their efforts are in vain - Their victims stand undaunted.

This very day the imp, and ghost, Whose powers the imp derided, Stand each at his allotted post - The bet is undecided.

Ballad: THE PHANTOM CURATE. A FABLE.

A Bishop once--I will not name his see - Annoyed his clergy in the mode conventional; From pulpit shackles never set them free, And found a sin where sin was unintentional.

All pleasures ended in abuse auricular - The Bishop was so terribly particular.

Though, on the whole, a wise and upright man, He sought to make of human pleasures clearances; And form his priests on that much-lauded plan Which pays undue attention to appearances.