William Edmondstoune Aytoun

“ 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 colour 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. ”

“ He waxes strong upon his pangs, And potters o'er his grog; And still I say, in a playful way— "Why, you're a lucky dog!" But oh! it is the heaviest bore, Of all the bores I know, To have a friend who's lost his heart A short time ago. I really wish he'd do like me, When I was young and strong; I formed a passion every week, But never kept it long. But he has not the sportive mood That always rescued me, And 196so I would all women could Be banished o'er the sea. For 'tis the most egregious bore, Of all the bores I know, To have a friend who's lost his heart A short time ago. ”

“ In this cup of rosy wine, I drink to the decline of thy race! Thy proud career is done, thy sand is nearly run, Never more shall setting sun Gild thy face! "The pilgrim, in amaze, shall see a goodly blaze, Ere the pallid morning rays flicker up; And perchance he may espy certain corpses swinging high! What, brother! art thou dry? Fill my cup!" Dumb as death stood Launcelot, as though he heard him not, But his bosom Provan smote, and he swore: And Sir Roderick Dalgleish remarked aside to Neish, "Never sure did thirsty fish Swallow more! ”

“ Scarcely from tumultuous cheering could the galleried crowd refrain, For they knew Don Gomersalez 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! ”

“ 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 jailer 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 jailer, The jailer strokes his chin. ”

“ There, amid the bayonets bristling, and the flashing of the steel, When the household troops in squadrons round the bold field-marshals wheel, Shouldst thou see an aged warrior in a plain blue morning frock, Peering at the proud battalions o'er the margin of his stock,— Should thy throbbing heart then tell thee, that the veteran worn and grey Curbed the course of Bonaparte, rolled the thunders of Assaye— Let it tell thee, stranger, likewise, that the goodly garb he wears Started into shape and being from the DOUDNEY BROTHERS' shears! ”

“ 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 favour in thine eyes? Came no soft compunction o'er thee at the thought of pumpkin pies? Could not all our chicken fixings into silence fix thy scorn? Did not all our cakes rebuke thee, Johnny, waffle, dander, corn? ”

“ 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 thoughtst the lion was afar, but he hath burst the chain— The watchword for to-night is France—the answer St Heléne. "And didst thou deem the barren isle, or ocean waves, could bind The master of the universe—the monarch of mankind? 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 thinkst that England hates me! ”

“ Then I'd fling them bunches of garden flowers, And hyacinths plucked from the Castle bowers; And I'd challenge them all to come down to me, And I'd kiss them all till they kissèd me, Laughingly, laughingly. Oh, would not that be a merry life, Apart from care and apart from strife, With the Laureate's wine, and the Laureate's pay, And no deductions at quarter-day? ”

“ 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 armour; in a knot himself he ties, With his grizzly head appearing in the centre of his thighs, Till the petrified spectator asks, in paralysed alarm, Where may be the warrior's body,—which is leg, and which is arm? ”

“ He accompanied each blow with a cry of "Ha!" or "Ho!" And always cleft the foe To the waist. "George of Gorbals—craven lord! thou didst threat me with the cord; Come forth and brave my sword, if you dare!" But he met with no reply, and never could descry The glitter of his eye Anywhere. Ere the dawn of morning shone, all the Gorbaliers were down, Like a field of barley mown in the ear: It had done a soldier good to see how Provan stood, With Neish all bathed in blood, Panting near. ”

“ I feel a bitter craving— A dark and deep desire, That glows beneath my bosom Like coals of kindled fire. The passion of the nightingale, When singing to the rose, Is 253feebler than the agony That murders my repose! Nay, dearest! do not doubt me, Though madly thus I speak— I feel thy arms about me, Thy tresses on my cheek: I know the sweet devotion That links thy heart with mine,— I know my soul's emotion Is doubly felt by thine: And deem not that a shadow Hath fallen across my love: No, sweet, my love is shadowless, As yonder heaven above. ”

“ Flaps his hands in his tail-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! ”

“ Who 152would not be The Laureate bold, With his butt of sherry To keep him merry, And nothing to do but to pocket his gold? 'Tis I 153would be the Laureate bold! When the days are hot, and the sun is strong, I'd lounge in the gateway all the day long, With her Majesty's footmen in crimson and gold. I'd care not a pin for the waiting-lord; But I'd lie on my back on the smooth greensward With a straw in my mouth, and an open vest, And the cool wind blowing upon my breast, And I'd vacantly stare at the clear blue sky, And watch the clouds as listless as I, Lazily, lazily! ”

“ And he thought to spread his cutter's rule, All over the south countrie. "There's never a knave in the land," he said, "But shall pay his toll to me!" And Charlie Wood was a taxman good As ever stepped the ground, He levied mail, like a sturdy thief, From all the yeomen round. "Nay, stand!" quoth he, "thou shalt pay to me Seven pence from every pound!" Now word has come to Little John, As he lay upon the grass, That a Friar red was in merry Sherwood Without his leave to pass. ”

“ There the passions shall revel unfettered, And the heart never speak but in truth, And the intellect, wholly unlettered, Be bright with the freedom of youth! There the earth can rejoice in her blossoms, Unsullied by vapour or soot, And there chimpanzees and opossums Shall playfully pelt me with fruit. ”

“ There's many a knight that steps the street, Might wonder, should he chance to meet That man erect and high! When silenced was the organ, And hushed the vespers loud, The Sacristan approached the sire, And drew him from the crowd— "There's something in thy visage, On which I dare not look; And when I rang the passing bell, A tremor that I may not tell, My very vitals shook. "Who art thou, awful stranger? ”

“ Not now to sing, in sweet domestic strife That woman reigns the Angel of our life; But to proclaim the wish, with pious art, Which thrills through Britain's universal heart,— That on this brow, with native honours graced, The Laureate's chaplet should at length be placed. Fear 161not, ye maids, who love to hear me speak; Let no desponding tears bedim your cheek! No gust of envy, no malicious scorn, Hath this poor heart of mine with frenzy torn. There are who move so far above the great, Their very look disarms the glance of hate ”

“ Why this anguish in thine eye? Oh, it seems as thy heart's chord Had broken with that sigh! "Rest thee, my dear lord, I pray, Rest thee on my bosom now! And let me wipe the dews away, Are gathering on thy brow. "There, again! that fevered start! What, love! husband! is thy pain? There is a sorrow on thy heart, A weight upon thy brain! "Nay, nay, that sickly smile can ne'er Deceive affection's searching eye; 'Tis a wife's duty, love, to share Her husband's agony. "Since 248the dawn began to peep, Have I lain with stifled breath; Heard thee moaning in thy sleep, As thou wert at grips with death. ”

“ Every trouble from my bosom, Every anxious care I banish. Swiftly brushing o'er the pavement, At a furious pace I 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?— 'Tis the smoke of a cigar! Instantly into the parlour Like a maniac I haste, And I find a young Life-Guardsman, With his arm round Mary's waist. ”

“ For in my nether heart convinced I am, Philosophy's as good as any other bam. Novels three-volumed I shall write no more— Somehow or other now they will not sell; And to invent new passions is a bore— I find the Magazines pay quite as well. Translating's simple, too, as I can tell, Who've hawked at Schiller on his lyric throne, And given the astonished bard a meaning all my own. ”

“ A roughening wind was bringing in the waves With cold dull plash and plunging to the shore, And a great bank of clouds came sailing up Athwart the aspect of the gibbous moon, Leaving no glimpse save starlight, as he sank, With a short stagger, senseless on the stones. No man yet knows how long he lay in swound But long enough it was to let the rust Lick half the surface of his polished shield ”

“ Bays! which in former days have graced the brow Of some, who lived and loved, and sang and died; Leaves that were gathered on the pleasant side Of old Parnassus from Apollo's bough; With palpitating hand I take ye now, Since worthier minstrel there is none beside, And with a thrill of song half deified, I bind them proudly on my locks of snow. ”

“ Come, rest on the bosom that loves thee so well, My dove! my phingari! my gentle gazelle! Nay, tremble not, dearest! I feel thy heart throb, 'Neath the sheltering shroud of thy snowy kiebaub; Lo, there shines Muezzin, the beautiful star! Thy lover is with thee, and danger afar: Say, is it the glance of the haughty vizier, Or the bark of the distant effendi, you fear? Oh, swift 215fly the hours in the garden of bliss! And sweeter than balm of Gehenna thy kiss! Wherever I wander—wherever I roam, My spirit flies back to its beautiful home ”

“ I cannot give thee jewels, I have nor sheep nor cow, Yet there are kangaroos, love, And colonists enow. 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 084come 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 heating, I feel it through my side:— Hurrah, then, for the noble pair, The Convict and his Bride! ”

“ In beer-swilling Copenhagen I have drunk your Danesman blind, I have kept my feet in Jena, when each bursch to earth declined; Glass for glass, in fierce Jamaica, I have shared the plant- er's rum, Drunk with Highland dhuiné-wassails, till each gibbering Gael grew dumb; But a stouter, bolder drinker—one that loved his liquor more— Never yet did I encounter than our friend upon the floor! Yet the best of us are mortal, we to weakness all are heir, He has fallen who rarely staggered—let the rest of us beware! ”

“ He will understand thee, won't he?—pay thee with a lover's glances? Louder 105than 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! ”