AUGUSTA WEBSTER - FREDERICK LOCKER 465 Go see. Lys. Master, she stirr'd. Lys. Yes. Myr. 'T was but my breath, my boy, Myr. Throw the curtains back. That mov'd that straying gossamer of her Put out those lights. Now sing until I hair. sleep. [Exeunt Servants. [To the Servants.] Come, lift her gently, No dirges, boy; that song Klydone lov'd, , lay her on the bed. Philomel and the aloe flower, sing that. So. Lys. [Sings.] Olymn. [Without.] Both ! oh, both ! Joy that's half too keen and true A Servant. Hark! 'Twas a fall. Makes us tears. [Exeunt some Servants. Oh the sweetness of the tears ! Myr. Where is Olymnios ? If such joy at hand appears, Snatch it, give thine all for it : Joy that is so exquisite, Lost, comes not new. (One blossom for a hundred years.) Myr. Yes ? Serv. He died and fell. Grief that's fond, and dies not soon, Myr. When sorrow swells these iron Makes delight. pent hearts they break. Oh the pain of the delight ! Go, all of you. Keep stillness, wake me not. If thy grief be Love's aright, I have room beside thee, love. [Lies down Tend it close and let it grow : on the bed.] Go now, my friends. Grief so tender not to know Lysis, not thou. Sit where I do not see thee. Loses Love's boon. Send hence that music, and thou, sing me (Sweet Philomel sings all the night.) asleep. Myr. [Drowsily.] Fair dreams, Klydone. Is it moonlight yet? Waken me at dawn. (Sleeps. She childless pines, that lonely wife, And secret tears are bitter shedding ; Hector may tremble all his life, And die, but not of that he 's dreading. We all have secrets : you have one spouse's ; We all lock up a skeleton is, Are “silent, unassuming parties.” We hug this phantom we detest, Rarely we let it cross our portals ; It is a most exacting guest : Now, are we not afflicted mortals ? Your neighbor Gay, that jovial wight, As Dives rich, and brave as Hector,Poor Gay steals twenty times a night, On shaking knees, to see his spectre. Old Dives fears a pauper fate, So hoarding is his ruling passion : Some gloomy souls anticipate A waistcoat straiter than the fashion ! Ah me, the World ! — how fast it spins ! The beldams dance, the caldron bubbles ; They shriek, they stir it for our sins, And we must drain it for our troubles. We toil, we groan ; the cry for love Mounts up from this poor seething city, A FATHER infinite in pity. darken, Its ghastly carnival; but hearken! meant : The Tenant of this Dark Apartment. Hobert Barnabas Brough MY LORD TOMNODDY In very queer places he spends his life ; There's talk of some children by nobody's My Lord Tomnoddy's the son of an Earl ; wife His hair is straight, but his whiskers curl : But we must n't look close into what is His Lordship's forehead is far from wide, done But there 's plenty of room for the brains By the Earl of Fitzdotterel's eldest son. inside. He writes his name with indifferent ease, My Lord Tomnoddy must settle down He's rather uncertain about the “d's ;' There's a vacant seat in the family town! But what does it matter, if three or one, ('Tis time he should sow his eccentric To the Earl of Fitzdotterel's eldest son ? oats) He has n't the wit to apply for votes : My Lord Tomnoddy to college went; He cannot e'en learn his election speech, Much time he lost, much money he spent; Three phrases he speaks, a mistake in each ! Rules, and windows, and heads, he broke- And then breaks down — but the borough Authorities wink'd young men will joke ! He never peep'd inside of a book : For the Earl of Fitzdotterel's eldest son. In two years' time a degree he took, And the newspapers vaunted the honors My Lord Tomnoddy prefers the Guards, (The House is a bore) so, it's on the cards ! By the Earl of Fitzdotterel's eldest son. My Lord's a Lieutenant at twenty-three, A Captain at twenty-six is he : My Lord Tomnoddy came out in the world : never drew sword, except on drill; Waists were tighten'd and ringlets curld. The tricks of parade he has learnt but ill ; Virgins languish’d, and matrons smild - A full-blown Colonel at thirty-one 'T is true, his Lordship is rather wild ; Is the Earl of Fitzdotterel's eldest son ! is won won My Lord Tomnoddy is thirty-four ; Office he'll hold, and patronage sway ; Fortunes and lives he will vote away ; And what are his qualifications ? - ONE ! He's the Earl of Fitzdotterel's eldest son. Charles Stuart Calberley COMPANIONS A TALE OF A GRANDFATHER I KNOW not of what we ponder'd Or made pretty pretence to talk, Tow'rd the pool by the lime-tree walk, While the dew fell in showers from the passion flowers And the blush-rose bent on her stalk. has gone, When nobody knew, from the public view To prowl by a misty pond ? Whether anything pass'd at all, — That beat under that shelt'ring shawl,(If shawl she had on, which I doubt), – Yes, gone from me past recall. Was I haply the lady's suitor ? Or her uncle ? I can't make out; Ask your governess, dears, or tutor. For myself, I 'm in hopeless doubt As to why we were there, who on earth we were, And what this is all about. I cannot recall her figure : Was it regal as Juno's own ? Or only a trifle bigger Than the elves who surround the throne Of the Faëry Queen, and are seen, I ween, By mortals in dreams alone ? BALLAD PART I THE auld wife sat at her ivied door, (Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese) A thing she had frequently done before ; And her spectacles lay on her apron'd knees. What her eyes were like I know not : Perhaps they were blurr'd with tears ; And perhaps in yon skies there glow not (On the contrary) clearer spheres. No! as to her eyes I am just as wise As you or the cat, my dears. I Or as straight as a beadle's wand ? And shadowy round the pond. In mine, was it plump or spare ? Nay, children, you have me there ! I'd heard Or oppressively bland and fond ? Or why did we twain abscond, The piper he pip'd on the hill-top high, (Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese) Till the cow said, “I die, and the goose asked “Why ? ” And the dog said nothing, but search'd for fleas. The farmer he strode through the square farmyard ; (Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese) His last brew of ale was a trifle hard, The connection of which with the plot one sees. The farmer's daughter hath frank blue eyes; (Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese) |
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