J. Ashby-Sterry

“ Who can essay—
When nights are cold and skies are grey,
When clad in winterly attire,
When crooning o'er the ruddy fire—
A merry laughing roundelay?
When raw and rainy is each day,
With nothing Springlike to inspire
This hopeless, dull, catarrhic lyre—
Who can essay a Song of May?
O, MAY is the month when the madly æsthetical
Plunge deep into nonsense profoundly poetical!
They sing and they shout about sunshine and greenery,
Of beauty and blossom and song-birds and scenery:
I own that my notion of May is a hazy one,
And don't think its weather is good for the Lazy One ”

“ Mid breezes æstival, enchantingly sweet!
When hay-scented meadows with oarsmen are crowded—
Whose bright tinted blazers gay toilettes outvie—
When sunshine is hot and the sky is unclouded,
O, Henley is splendid in lovely July!
Ah me! what a revel of exquisite colours,
What costumes in pink and in white and in blue,
By smart canoistes and by pretty girl-scullers,
Are sported in randan, in skiff, and canoe! 205
What sun-shaded lasses we see out a-punting,
What fair gondoliere perchance we espy.
And house-boats and launches all blossom and bunting—
O, Henley's a picture in merry July! ”

“ One gentle voice is hushed for aye—we miss a voice so dear—
Who cheered along with evensong our path by Blankton Weir.
Amid the whirl of weary life—I hear it o'er and o'er,
That plaintive well-loved lullaby—the old weir's distant roar:
It gilds the cloud of daily toil with sunshine's fitful gleams,
It breaks upon my slumber, and I hear it in my dreams:
Like music of the good old times, it strikes upon mine ear—
If there's an air can banish care, 'tis that of Blankton Weir! ”

“ When soft summer breezes from Kensington blow,
'Tis pleasant to sit on a Chair in the Row! 42
What studies of man and of woman and horse
Here pass up and down on the tan-trodden course!
The Earl and the Duke and the Doctor are there,
The author, the actor, the great millionaire;
The first-season beauties whose roses are red,
The third-season beauties whose roses have fled!
M.P.'s, upon cobs, chatting pleasantly there,
And pets, upon ponies, with long sunny hair—
I note them all down, as they pass to and fro,
And muse in my Chair 'neath the trees in the Row! ”

“ The limber young lass in a white Tam o' Shanter,
The pouting young puss in a sailor-boy hat!
O, PANGBOURNE is pleasant in sweet Summertime,
And Streatley and Goring are worthy of rhyme:
The sunshine is hot and the breezes are still,
The River runs swift under Basildon Hill!
To lounge in a skiff is delightful to me,
I'm feeling as lazy as lazy can be ”

“ While looking on its glassy face by tell-tale Blankton Weir!
I've seen it basking 'neath the rays of summer's golden glow,
And when sweetly by the moonlight, silver ripples ebb and flow;
When Nature starts in spring-time, awakening into life;
When autumn leaves are falling, and the yellow corn is rife;
'Mid the rime and sleet of winter, all through the live-long year,
I've watched the water rushing through this tide-worn Blankton Weir. ”

“ A PANTILE POEM.
B ENEATH the Limes, 'tis passing sweet
To shelter find from noontide heat;
At Tunbridge Wells, in torrid days,
This leafy shade's beyond all praise—
A picturesque, cool, calm retreat!
I sit upon a penny seat,
And noddle time with languid beat,
The while the band brave music plays
Beneath the Limes!
I watch the tramp of many feet,
And passing friends I limply greet,
Well shielded from the solar rays;
I sit and weave some lazy lays,
When hours are bright and time is fleet—
Beneath the Limes! ”

“ Pet in short petticoats—
Truly tomboyful!
83
CANOEBIAL BLISS.
My Pegasus won't bear a bridle,
A bit, or a saddle, or shoe:
I'm doing my best to be idle,
And sing from my bass-wood canoe!
O, SUMMER is sweet, and its sky is so blue—
The days are so long, and my heart is so light,
When drifting about in my bass-wood canoe!
Where am I? No matter! It's nothing to you—
The breeze is so pleasant, the sun is so bright—
O, Summer is sweet, and its sky is so blue!
I glory in thinking there's nothing to do. ”

“ When the velvety lawn is most soft to the tread,
And ruddy fruit hangs in the leaf-covered bed—
Then the roundest, the sweetest, the best of the prime,
Will we gather together in strawberry time! 103
Joy, joy 'tis to whisper and laugh in the shade,
And pluck the ripe fruit for my hazel-eyed maid;
To watch her delight as she eagerly clips
A pink British Queen with her soft pouting lips! ”

“ To witness the splendour, the shouting, the races,
At Henley Regatta in charming July!
When athletes are weary and hushed is the riot,
When launches have vanished and house-boats are gone,
When Henley once more is delightfully quiet—
'Tis soothing to muse on the "Red Lion" Lawn! 206
When the swans hold their own and the sedges scarce shiver—
As sweet summer breezes most tunefully sigh—
Let us laze at the ruddy-faced Inn by the River,
For Henley is restful in dreamy July!
207
THE MINSTREL'S RETURN. A MOORE OR LESS MELODY.
F AREWELL, O farewell to the Holiday Season! ”

“ As when we lounged in that old punt and played with rod and line?
'Tis true few fish we caught there, but the good old ale we quaffed,
As we chatted, too, and smoked there, and idled, dreamed, and laughed:
Then thought we only of to-day, of morrow had no fear,
For sorrow scarce had tinged the stream that flowed through Blankton Weir.
Those dreamy August afternoons, when in our skiff we lay,
To hear the current murmuring as slow it swirled away;
The plaintive hum of dragon-fly, the old weir's plash and roar,
While Some-one's gentle voice, too, seems whispering there once more ”

“ Liverpool Review.—"He infuses a sunshine and breeziness into his descriptions of scenes and people which make them live before us. His laziness never degenerates into languor, or his sentiment into insipidity."
Wakefield Free Press.—"The Lazy one is master of his art—he chooses all that is fair, serene, and summer-like for his subjects, and treats them with a soft colour and a musical rhythmic flow that leaves nothing to be desired." ”

“ O biting breeze!
It nips the nose and nips the trees;
It whirls with fury down the street,
It makes us flee in quick retreat,
And gives us cold and makes us sneeze!
It makes us cough and choke and wheeze,
With painful back and aching knees;
With dire discomfort 'tis replete,
O Wind of March!
Our hands we're glad enough to squeeze,
In cuffs and muffs and muffatees;
'Tis charged with blinding, cutting sleet,
It spoils our temper, chills our feet,
And brings the Doctor lots of fees—
O Wind of March! ”

“ We wander where our paths o'erspread,
With yellow russet, red and sere:
The country's looking dull and drear,
The sky is gloomy overhead.
The equinoctial gales we dread,
The summer's gone, the sunshine's fled;
We've rambled far enough this year—
'Mid Autumn Leaves!
Though fast our travel-time has sped,
On London's flags we long to tread ”

“ I haven't time to put in rhyme, nor leisure now to sing about!
163
HAYTIME.
B RIGHT is the sunshine, the breeze is quiescent—
Leaves whisper low in the Upper Thames reaches—
Blue is the sky, and the shade mighty pleasant,
Under the beeches:
Midsummer night is, they say, made for dreaming;
Better by far are the visions of daytime—
Pink and white frocks in the meadow are gleaming—
Helping in Haytime!
Sunshine, I'm told, is productive of freckles—
Sweet are the zephyrs, hay-scented and soothful—
Work is, of all things, so says Mr. Eccles,
Good for the youthful! ”

“ If it rains, as it may, in this climate capricious,
And Beauty is shod in the gruesome galosh;
While each dainty head-dress and toilette delicious
Is shrouded from view in the grim mackintosh!
We'll flee to the cheery "Athena" for shelter—
The pâté is perfect, the Giesler is dry—
And think while we gaze, undismayed, at the "pelter,"
That Henley is joyous in dripping July!
The ancient grey bridge is delightful to moon on,
For ne'er such a spot for the mooner was made ”

“ Here let me smoke, let me slumber, or slay time,
Gazing with pleasure on toilers courageous—
Working in Haytime!
Fair little faneuses in pretty pink dresses,
Merry young maidens in saucy sun-bonnets,
Dainty young damsels with hay in their tresses—
Worthy of sonnets! 164
Lazy the cattle are, red are the rowers,
Making a toil of the sweet summer playtime;
Hot are the hay-makers, weary the towers,
Thirsty in Haytime! ”

“ When wintry winds so wildly blow,
And all the meadows round are white—
'Tis merry 'neath the mistletoe!
How happy then are Fan and Flo,
With eyes a-sparkle with delight!
When Christmas fires gleam and glow,
When dainty dimples come and go,
And maidens shrink with feignëd fright—
'Tis merry 'neath the mistletoe!
A privilege 'tis then, you know,
To exercise time-honoured rite;
When Christmas fires gleam and glow
When loving lips may pout, although
With other lips they oft unite—
'Tis merry 'neath the mistletoe! 221
If Florry then should whisper "No!" ”

“ The shimmer of her silken, sable hose,
The while her tiny feet beat faultless time,
And flash and glitter 'neath her petticoat!
And then——Ah, me! a cloud is o'er the sun,
The breeze is cold, and life has lost its charm ”

“ He believes in her smiles and puts faith in her sighs,
While he's dazzled by light from her fathomless eyes:
Ah! the dearest of voices delightfully sings
Through the weird intertwining of Cigarette Rings! 66
How sweet was her song in the bright summer-time,
When winds whispered low, 'neath the tremulous lime!
How sweet too that bunch of forget-me-nots blue—
The love he thought lasting, the words he thought true!...
Ah! the words of a woman concerning such things
Are weak and unstable as Cigarette Rings! ”

“ I N Rotten Row, 'tis nice, you know,
To see the tide of Fashion flow!
Though hopeless cynics carp and croon—
I do not care one macaroon—
But love to watch the passing show!
You'll find it anything but slow,
To laugh and chaff with those you know;
And pleasant then to sit at noon,
In Rotten Row!
When Summer breezes whisper low,
And countless riders come and go;
Beneath the trees in leafy June,
I love to sit and muse and moon—
While beauties canter to and fro—
In Rotten Row!
137
JULY.
O N Henley Bridge, in sweet July,
A gentle breeze, a cloudless sky! ”

“ Our cheeks are all blue, and our noses all ruddy are:
We've coughs, and we've colds, and we've pains most rheumatical,
Our temper is short, and our language emphatical!
There's nothing but hopeless, dull, gloomy austerity—
Now May has set in with its usual severity!
The mornings are dark, and the nights demoniacal,
We're dismal, depressed, and we're hypochondriacal!
O, May is a fraud—there's no trace of blue skies about,
The month that all poets have told lots of lies about!
Let's all stop at home, and in easy-chairs ruminate,
The curtains draw close and the lamps now illuminate ”

“ Or Bella's sweet forget-me-nots,
Miss Beatrix displease?—
I'd like to read them Doctor Watts,
Beneath the trees.
I drift and leave each dainty maid,
Still sweet and sulky in the shade,
With all their sunny laughing curls
A-flutter in the breeze:
Two nice but very naughty girls,
Beneath the trees!
I said unto myself, Ha! ha!
My dears, if I were your mama,
Most quickly I'd pack off to bed
Two naughty busy B's—
Who quarrel and make eyelids red,
Beneath the trees! ”

“ I take no heed of time:
It's much too hot for reason,
And far too warm for rhyme!
My thoughts all run together,
Regretfully I find;
They're melted by the weather,
To shapeless mass of mind!
It's much too hot for thinking,
Too sultry 'tis to chaff ”

“ With a sweet and sparkling light,
And white roses scarce look white
In her breast!
In the balmy summer time,
With gay roses in their prime,
No one deems it is a crime
Then to "spoon"!
Ah! how quick the time then sped,
Now I wonder what we said,
'Neath the roses white and red—
Once in June?
O! when summer skies were blue,
And we fancied hearts were true,
While the long day loving through—
Who'd suppose?
Our grand castles built in Spain,
Or that love could ever wane,
And its fragrance but remain,
Like the rose?
102
IN STRAWBERRY TIME.
H OT, hot glows the sunshine in laughing July. ”

“ There's bold Sparrer Gus with his blunderbuss lies hid by the Capstan Bar!
(He gives the last line with such tragic force that he frightens the Old Ladies out of their wits, and makes the Vicar nearly jump out of his chair. The C. P. then delivers the following verse with frenzied energy and marvellous rapidity. He contorts his countenance, he shakes his fist, he stamps, and he shouts.)
A howl and a yowl, as the rivals close, with a frantic force they fight;
A smash and a crash, and the pebbles fly, as they kick and scream and bite! ”

“ A pouting young puss, in the shortest of frocks—
A nice little nautical scion—
The good ship she steers, like a clever young "cox,"
Past the "Lion"!
I lazily muse and I smoke cigarettes,
While rhymes I together am stringing;
I listen and nod to the dreamy duets
The girls on the first-floor are singing.
The sunshine is hot and the summer-breeze sighs,
There's scarcely a cloudlet the sky on—
Ah! ”