The Humorous Poetry of the English Language; from Chaucer to Saxe Part 62

Softly slept the dome of Drury O'er the empyreal crest, When Alecto's sister-fury Softly slumbering sunk to rest.

Lo! from Lemnos, limping lamely, Lags the lowly Lord of Fire, Oytherea yielding tamely To the Cyclops dark and dire.

Clouds of amber, dreams of gladness, Dulcet joys and sports of youth, Soon must yield to haughty sadness, Mercy holds the vail to Truth.

See Erostratus the second Fires again Diana's fane; By the Fates from Orcus beckoned, Clouds envelop Drury Lane.

Lurid smoke and frank suspicion Hand in hand reluctant dance: While the G.o.d fulfills his mission, Chivarly, resign thy lance.

Hark! the engines blandly thunder, Fleecy clouds disheveled lie, And the firemen, mute with wonder, On the son of Saturn cry.

See the bird of Ammon sailing, Perches on the engine's peak, And, the Eagle firemen hailing, Soothes them with its bickering beak.

Juno saw, and mad with malice, Lost the prize that Paris gave; Jealousy's ensanguined chalice, Mantling pours the orient wave.

Pan beheld Patrocles dying, Nox to Niobe was turned; From Busiris Bacchus flying, Saw his Semele inurned.

Thus fell Drury's lofty glory, Leveled with the shuddering stones Mars, with tresses black and gory, Drinks the dew of pearly groans.

Hark! what soft Aeolian numbers Gem the blushes of the morn!

Break, Amphion, break your slumbers, Nature's ringlets deck the thorn.

Ha! I hear the strain erratic Dimly glance from pole to pole; Raptures sweet, and dreams ecstatic Fire my everlasting soul.

Where is Cupid's crimson motion?

Billowy ecstasy of woe, Bear me straight, meandering ocean, Where the stagnant torrents flow.

Blood in every vein is gus.h.i.+ng, Vixen vengeance lulls my heart, See, the Gorgon gang is rus.h.i.+ng!

Never, never, let us part!

WHAT IS LIFE BY "ONE OF THE FANCY."

BLACKWOOD'S MAGAZINE

And do you ask me, "What is LIFE?"

And do you ask me, "What is pleasure?"

My muse and I are not at strife, So listen, lady, to my measure:-- Listen amid thy graceful leisure, To what is LIFE, and what IS pleasure.

'Tis LIFE to see the first dawn stain With sallow light the window-pane: To dress--to wear a rough drab coat, With large pearl b.u.t.tons all afloat Upon the waves of plush: to tie A kerchief of the King-cup dye (White spotted with a small bird's-eye) Around the neck, and from the nape Let fall an easy fan-like cape: To quit the house at morning's prime, At six or so--about the time When watchmen, conscious of the day Puff out their lantern's rush-light ray; Just when the silent streets are strewn With level shadows, and the moon Takes the day's wink and walks aside To nurse a nap till eventide.

'Tis LIFE to reach the livery stable, Secure the RIBBONS and the DAY-BILL, And mount a gig that had a spring Some summer's back: and then take wing Behind (in Mr. Hamlet's tongue) A jade whose "withers are unwrung;"

Who stands erect, and yet forlorn, And from a HALF-PAY life of corn, Showing as many POINTS each way As Martial's Epigrammata, Yet who, when set a-going, goes Like one undestined to repose.

'Tis LIFE to revel down the road, And QUEER each o'erfraught chaise's load, To rave and rattle at the GATE, And shower upon the gatherer's pate d.a.m.ns by the dozens, and such speeches As well betokens one's SLANG riches: To take of Deady's bright STARK NAKED A gla.s.s or so--'tis LIFE to take it!

To see the Hurst with tents encampt on; Lurk around Lawrence's at Hampton; Join the FLASH crowd (the horse being led Into the yard, and clean'd and fed); Talk to Dav' Hudson, and Cy' Davis (The last a fighting rara avis), And, half in secret, scheme a plan For trying the hardy GAS-LIGHT-MAN.

'Tis LIFE to cross the laden ferry, With boon companions, wild and merry, And see the ring upon the Hurst With carts encircled--hear the burst At distance of the eager crowd.

Oh, it is LIFE! to see a proud And dauntless man step, full of hopes, Up to the P. C. stakes and ropes, Throw in his hat, and with a spring, Get gallantly within the ring; Eye the wide crowd, and walk awhile, Taking all cheerings with a smile: To see him skip--his well-trained form, White, glowing, muscular, and warm, All beautiful in conscious power, Relaxed and quiet, till the hour; His glossy and transparent frame, In radiant plight to strive for fame!

To look upon the clean shap'd limb In silk and flannel clothed trim; While round the waist the 'kerchief tied, Makes the flesh glow in richer pride.

'Tis more than LIFE, to watch him hold His hand forth, tremulous yet bold, Over his second's, and to clasp His rival's in a quiet grasp; To watch the n.o.ble att.i.tude He takes--the crowd in breathless mood: And then to see, with adamant start, The muscles set, and the great heart Hurl a courageous splendid light Into the eye-and then-the FIGHT!

FRAGMENTS.

[BY A FREE-LOVER.]

BLACKWOOD'S MAGAZINE, 1823

They were not married by a muttering priest, With superst.i.tious rites, and senseless words, Out-snuffled from an old worm-eaten book, In a dark corner (railed off like a sheep-pen) Of an old house, that fools do call a CHURCH!

THEIR altar was the flowery lap of earth-- The starry empyrean their vast temple-- Their book each other's eyes--and Love himself Parson, and Clerk, and Father to the bride!-- Holy espousals! whereat wept with joy The spirit of the universe.--In sooth There was a sort of drizzling rain that day, For I remember (having left at home My parapluie, a name than UMBRELLA, Far more expressive) that I stood for shelter Under an entry not twelve paces off (It might be ten) from Sheriff Waithman's shop For half an hour or more, and there I mused (Mine eyes upon the running kennel fixed, That hurried as a het'rogenous ma.s.s To the common sewer, it's dark reservoir), I mused upon the running stream of LIFE!

But that's not much to the purpose--I was telling Of these most pure espousals.--Innocent pair!

Ye were not shackled by the vulgar chains About the yielding mind of credulous youth, Wound by the nurse and priest--YOUR energies, Your unsophisticated impulses, Taught ye to soar above their "settled rules Of Vice and Virtue." Fairest creature! He Whom the world called thy husband, was in truth Unworthy of thee.-A dull plodding wretch!

With whose ign.o.ble nature thy free spirit Held no communion.--'T was well done, fair creature!

T' a.s.sert the independence of a mind Created-generated I would say-- Free as "that chartered libertine, the air."

Joy to thy chosen partner! blest exchange!

Work of mysterious sympathy I that drew Your kindred souls by * * * *

There fled the n.o.blest spirit--The most pure, Most sublimated essence that ere dwelt In earthly tabernacle. Gone thou art, Exhaled, dissolved, diffused, commingled now Into and with the all-absorbing frame Of Nature, the great mother. Ev'n in life, While still, pent-up in flesh, and skin, and bones, My thoughts and feelings like electric flame Shot through the solid ma.s.s, toward the source, And blended with the general elements, When thy young star o'er life's horizon hung Far from it's zenith yet low lagging clouds (Vapors of earth) obscured its heaven-born rays-- Dull joys of prejudice and superst.i.tion And vulgar decencies begirt thee round; And thou didst wear awhile th' unholy bonds Of "holy matrimony!" and didst vail Awhile thy lofty spirit to the cheat.-- But reason came-and firm philosophy, And mild philanthropy, and pointed out The shame it was-the crying, crus.h.i.+ng shame, To curb within a little paltry pale The love that over all created things Should be diffusive as the atmosphere.

Then did thy boundless tenderness expand Over all s.p.a.ce--all animated things And things inanimate. Thou hadst a heart, A ready tear for all.--The dying whale, Stranded and gasping--ripped up for his blubber By Man the Tyrant.--The small sucking pig Slain for his riot.--The down-trampled flower Crushed by his cruel foot.--ALL, EACH, and ALL Shared in thy boundless sympathies, and then-- (SUBLIME perfection of perfected LOVE) Then didst thou spurn the whimp'ring wailing thing That dared to call THEE "husband," and to claim, As her just right, support and love from THEE-- Then didst thou * * * *

THE CONFESSION.

BLACKWOOD'S MAGAZINE

There's somewhat on my breast father, There's somewhat on my breast!

The live-long day I sigh, father, At night I can not rest; I can not take my rest, father, Though I would fain do so, A weary weight oppresseth me-- The weary weight of woe!

'Tis not the lack of gold, father Nor lack of worldly gear; My lands are broad and fair to see, My friends are kind and dear; My kin are leal and true, father, They mourn to see my grief, But oh! 'tis not a kinsman's hand Can give my heart relief!

'Tis not that Janet's false, father, 'Tis not that she's unkind; Though busy flatterers swarm around, I know her constant mind.

'Tis not her coldness, father, That chills my laboring breast-- Its that confounded cuc.u.mber I've ate, and can't digest.

THE MILLING-MATCH BETWEEN ENTELLUS AND DARES.

TRANSLATED FROM THE FIFTH BOOK OF THE AENEID, BY ONE OF THE FANCY.

THOMAS MOORE.

With daddles [Footnote: Hands.] high upraised, and n.o.b held back, In awful prescience of the impending THWACK, Both KIDDIES [Footnote: Fellows, usually YOUNG fellows.] stood--and with prelusive SPAR, And light manoeuv'ring, kindled up the war!

The One, in bloom of youth--a LIGHT-WEIGHT BLADE-- The Other, vast, gigantic, as if made, Express, by Nature for the hammering trade; But aged, slow, with stiff limbs, tottering much, And lungs, that lack'd the BELLOWS-MENDER'S touch.

Yet, sprightly TO THE SCRATCH both BUFFERS came, While RIBBERS rung from each resounding frame, And divers DIGS, and many a ponderous PELT, Were on their broad BREAD-BASKETS heard and felt With roving aim, but aim that rarely miss'd, Round LUGS and OGLES [Footnote: Ears and Eyes.] flew the frequent fist; While showers of FACERS told so deadly well, That the crush'd jaw-bones crackled as they fell!

But firmly stood ENTELLUS--and still bright, Though bent by age, with all THE FANCY'S light, STOPP'D with a skill, and RALLIED with a fire The Immortal FANCY could alone inspire!

While DARES, s.h.i.+FTING round, with looks of thought, An opening to the COVE'S huge carcase sought (Like General PRESTON, in that awful hour, When on ONE leg he hopp'd to--take the Tower!) And here, and there, explored with active FIN [Footnote: Arm.]

And skillful FEINT, some guardless pa.s.s to win, And prove a BORING guest when once LET IN.

And now ENTELLUS, with an eye that plann'd PUNIs.h.i.+NG deeds, high raised his heavy hand, But, ere the SLEDGE came down, young DARES spied His shadow o'er his brow, and slipp'd aside-- So nimbly slipp'd, that the vain n.o.bBER pa.s.s'd Through empty air; and He, so high, so vast, Who dealt the stroke, came thundering to the ground Not B--CK--GH--M himself, with bulkier sound, Uprooted from the field of Whiggish glories, Fell SOUSE, of late, among the astonish'd Tories!