Kitabı oku: «The Bab Ballads», sayfa 5

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 competition lawful—
The goblin backed the Quaint Grotesque,
The ghost the Grandly Awful.
“Now,” said the goblin, “here’s my plan—
In attitude 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 noble 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 noble 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.
 

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.
He couldn’t do good deeds without a psalm in ’em,
Although, in truth, he bore away the palm in ’em.
 
 
Enraged to find a deacon at a dance,
Or catch a curate at some mild frivolity,
He sought by open censure to enhance
Their dread of joining harmless social jollity.
Yet he enjoyed (a fact of notoriety)
The ordinary pleasures of society.
 
 
One evening, sitting at a pantomime
(Forbidden treat to those who stood in fear of him),
Roaring at jokes, sans metre, sense, or rhyme,
He turned, and saw immediately in rear of him,
His peace of mind upsetting, and annoying it,
A curate, also heartily enjoying it.
 
 
Again, ’t was Christmas Eve, and to enhance
His children’s pleasure in their harmless rollicking,
He, like a good old fellow, stood to dance;
When something checked the current of his frolicking:
That curate, with a maid he treated lover-ly,
Stood up and figured with him in the “Coverley!”
 
 
Once, yielding to an universal choice
(The company’s demand was an emphatic one,
For the old Bishop had a glorious voice),
In a quartet he joined—an operatic one.
Harmless enough, though ne’er a word of grace in it,
When, lo! that curate came and took the bass in it!
 
 
One day, when passing through a quiet street,
He stopped awhile and joined a Punch’s gathering;
And chuckled more than solemn folk think meet,
To see that gentleman his Judy lathering;
And heard, as Punch was being treated penalty,
That phantom curate laughing all hyaenally.
 
 
Now at a picnic, ’mid fair golden curls,
Bright eyes, straw hats, bottines that fit amazingly,
A croquêt-bout is planned by all the girls;
And he, consenting, speaks of croquêt praisingly;
But suddenly declines to play at all in it—
The curate fiend has come to take a ball in it!
 
 
Next, when at quiet sea-side village, freed
From cares episcopal and ties monarchical,
He grows his beard, and smokes his fragrant weed,
In manner anything but hierarchical—
He sees—and fixes an unearthly stare on it—
That curate’s face, with half a yard of hair on it!
 
 
At length he gave a charge, and spake this word:
“Vicars, your curates to enjoyment urge ye may;
To check their harmless pleasuring’s absurd;
What laymen do without reproach, my clergy may.”
He spake, and lo! at this concluding word of him,
The curate vanished—no one since has heard of him.
 

The Sensation Captain

 
No nobler captain ever trod
Than CAPTAIN PARKLEBURY TODD,
So good—so wise—so brave, he!
But still, as all his friends would own,
He had one folly—one alone—
This Captain in the Navy.
 
 
I do not think I ever knew
A man so wholly given to
Creating a sensation,
Or p’raps I should in justice say—
To what in an Adelphi play
Is known as “situation.”
 
 
He passed his time designing traps
To flurry unsuspicious chaps—
The taste was his innately;
He couldn’t walk into a room
Without ejaculating “Boom!”
Which startled ladies greatly.
 
 
He’d wear a mask and muffling cloak,
Not, you will understand, in joke,
As some assume disguises;
He did it, actuated by
A simple love of mystery
And fondness for surprises.
 
 
I need not say he loved a maid—
His eloquence threw into shade
All others who adored her.
The maid, though pleased at first, I know,
Found, after several years or so,
Her startling lover bored her.
 
 
So, when his orders came to sail,
She did not faint or scream or wail,
Or with her tears anoint him:
She shook his hand, and said “Good-bye,”
With laughter dancing in her eye—
Which seemed to disappoint him.
 
 
But ere he went aboard his boat,
He placed around her little throat
A ribbon, blue and yellow,
On which he hung a double-tooth—
A simple token this, in sooth—
’Twas all he had, poor fellow!
 
 
“I often wonder,” he would say,
When very, very far away,
“If ANGELINA wears it?
A plan has entered in my head:
I will pretend that I am dead,
And see how ANGY bears it.”
 
 
The news he made a messmate tell.
His ANGELINA bore it well,
No sign gave she of crazing;
But, steady as the Inchcape Rock,
His ANGELINA stood the shock
With fortitude amazing.
 
 
She said, “Some one I must elect
Poor ANGELINA to protect
From all who wish to harm her.
Since worthy CAPTAIN TODD is dead,
I rather feel inclined to wed
A comfortable farmer.”
 
 
A comfortable farmer came
(BASSANIO TYLER was his name),
Who had no end of treasure.
He said, “My noble gal, be mine!”
The noble gal did not decline,
But simply said, “With pleasure.”
 
 
When this was told to CAPTAIN TODD,
At first he thought it rather odd,
And felt some perturbation;
But very long he did not grieve,
He thought he could a way perceive
To such a situation!
 
 
“I’ll not reveal myself,” said he,
“Till they are both in the Ecclesiastical arena;
Then suddenly I will appear,
And paralysing them with fear,
Demand my ANGELINA!”
 
 
At length arrived the wedding day;
Accoutred in the usual way
Appeared the bridal body;
The worthy clergyman began,
When in the gallant Captain ran
And cried, “Behold your TODDY!”
 
 
The bridegroom, p’raps, was terrified,
And also possibly the bride—
The bridesmaids were affrighted;
But ANGELINA, noble soul,
Contrived her feelings to control,
And really seemed delighted.
 
 
“My bride!” said gallant CAPTAIN TODD,
“She’s mine, uninteresting clod!
My own, my darling charmer!”
“Oh dear,” said she, “you’re just too late—
I’m married to, I beg to state,
This comfortable farmer!”
 
 
“Indeed,” the farmer said, “she’s mine:
You’ve been and cut it far too fine!”
“I see,” said TODD, “I’m beaten.”
And so he went to sea once more,
“Sensation” he for aye forswore,
And married on her native shore
A lady whom he’d met before—
A lovely Otaheitan.
 

Tempora Mutantur

 
Letters, letters, letters, letters!
Some that please and some that bore,
Some that threaten prison fetters
(Metaphorically, fetters
Such as bind insolvent debtors)—
Invitations by the score.
 
 
One from COGSON, WILES, and RAILER,
My attorneys, off the Strand;
One from COPPERBLOCK, my tailor—
My unreasonable tailor—
One in FLAGG’S disgusting hand.
 
 
One from EPHRAIM and MOSES,
Wanting coin without a doubt,
I should like to pull their noses—
Their uncompromising noses;
One from ALICE with the roses—
Ah, I know what that’s about !
 
 
Time was when I waited, waited
For the missives that she wrote,
Humble postmen execrated—
Loudly, deeply execrated—
When I heard I wasn’t fated
To be gladdened with a note!
 
 
Time was when I’d not have bartered
Of her little pen a dip
For a peerage duly gartered—
For a peerage starred and gartered—
With a palace-office chartered,
Or a Secretaryship.
 
 
But the time for that is over,
And I wish we’d never met.
I’m afraid I’ve proved a rover—
I’m afraid a heartless rover—
Quarters in a place like Dover
Tend to make a man forget.
 
 
Bills for carriages and horses,
Bills for wine and light cigar,
Matters that concern the Forces—
News that may affect the Forces—
News affecting my resources,
Much more interesting are!
 
 
And the tiny little paper,
With the words that seem to run
From her little fingers taper
(They are very small and taper),
By the tailor and the draper
Are in interest outdone.
 
 
And unopened it’s remaining!
I can read her gentle hope—
Her entreaties, uncomplaining
(She was always uncomplaining),
Her devotion never waning—
Through the little envelope!
 

At A Pantomime.  By A Bilious One

 
An Actor sits in doubtful gloom,
His stock-in-trade unfurled,
In a damp funereal dressing-room
In the Theatre Royal, World.
 
 
He comes to town at Christmas-time,
And braves its icy breath,
To play in that favourite pantomime,
Harlequin Life and Death.
 
 
A hoary flowing wig his weird
Unearthly cranium caps,
He hangs a long benevolent beard
On a pair of empty chaps.
 
 
To smooth his ghastly features down
The actor’s art he cribs,—
A long and a flowing padded gown.
Bedecks his rattling ribs.
 
 
He cries, “Go on—begin, begin!
Turn on the light of lime—
I’m dressed for jolly Old Christmas, in
A favourite pantomime!”
 
 
The curtain’s up—the stage all black—
Time and the year nigh sped—
Time as an advertising quack—
The Old Year nearly dead.
 
 
The wand of Time is waved, and lo!
Revealed Old Christmas stands,
And little children chuckle and crow,
And laugh and clap their hands.
 
 
The cruel old scoundrel brightens up
At the death of the Olden Year,
And he waves a gorgeous golden cup,
And bids the world good cheer.
 
 
The little ones hail the festive King,—
No thought can make them sad.
Their laughter comes with a sounding ring,
They clap and crow like mad!
 
 
They only see in the humbug old
A holiday every year,
And handsome gifts, and joys untold,
And unaccustomed cheer.
 
 
The old ones, palsied, blear, and hoar,
Their breasts in anguish beat—
They’ve seen him seventy times before,
How well they know the cheat!
 
 
They’ve seen that ghastly pantomime,
They’ve felt its blighting breath,
They know that rollicking Christmas-time
Meant Cold and Want and Death,—
 
 
Starvation—Poor Law Union fare—
And deadly cramps and chills,
And illness—illness everywhere,
And crime, and Christmas bills.
 
 
They know Old Christmas well, I ween,
Those men of ripened age;
They’ve often, often, often seen
That Actor off the stage!
 
 
They see in his gay rotundity
A clumsy stuffed-out dress—
They see in the cup he waves on high
A tinselled emptiness.
 
 
Those aged men so lean and wan,
They’ve seen it all before,
They know they’ll see the charlatan
But twice or three times more.
 
 
And so they bear with dance and song,
And crimson foil and green,
They wearily sit, and grimly long
For the Transformation Scene.
 

King Borria Bungalee Boo

 
KING BORRIA BUNGALEE BOO
Was a man-eating African swell;
His sigh was a hullaballoo,
His whisper a horrible yell—
A horrible, horrible yell!
 
 
Four subjects, and all of them male,
To BORRIA doubled the knee,
They were once on a far larger scale,
But he’d eaten the balance, you see
(“Scale” and “balance” is punning, you see).
 
 
There was haughty PISH-TUSH-POOH-BAH,
There was lumbering DOODLE-DUM-DEY,
Despairing ALACK-A-DEY-AH,
And good little TOOTLE-TUM-TEH—
Exemplary TOOTLE-TUM-TEH.
 
 
One day there was grief in the crew,
For they hadn’t a morsel of meat,
And BORRIA BUNGALEE BOO
Was dying for something to eat—
“Come, provide me with something to eat!
 
 
“ALACK-A-DEY, famished I feel;
Oh, good little TOOTLE-TUM-TEH,
Where on earth shall I look for a meal?
For I haven’t no dinner to-day!—
Not a morsel of dinner to-day!
 
 
“Dear TOOTLE-TUM, what shall we do?
Come, get us a meal, or, in truth,
If you don’t, we shall have to eat you,
Oh, adorable friend of our youth!
Thou beloved little friend of our youth!”
 
 
And he answered, “Oh, BUNGALEE BOO,
For a moment I hope you will wait,—
TIPPY-WIPPITY TOL-THE-ROL-LOO
Is the Queen of a neighbouring state—
A remarkably neighbouring state.
 
 
“TIPPY-WIPPITY TOL-THE-ROL-LOO,
She would pickle deliciously cold—
And her four pretty Amazons, too,
Are enticing, and not very old—
Twenty-seven is not very old.
 
 
“There is neat little TITTY-FOL-LEH,
There is rollicking TRAL-THE-RAL-LAH,
There is jocular WAGGETY-WEH,
There is musical DOH-REH-MI-FAH—
There’s the nightingale DOH-REH-MI-FAH!”
 
 
So the forces of BUNGALEE BOO
Marched forth in a terrible row,
And the ladies who fought for QUEEN LOO
Prepared to encounter the foe—
This dreadful, insatiate foe!
 
 
But they sharpened no weapons at all,
And they poisoned no arrows—not they!
They made ready to conquer or fall
In a totally different way—
An entirely different way.
 
 
With a crimson and pearly-white dye
They endeavoured to make themselves fair,
With black they encircled each eye,
And with yellow they painted their hair
(It was wool, but they thought it was hair).
 
 
And the forces they met in the field:-
And the men of KING BORRIA said,
“Amazonians, immediately yield!”
And their arrows they drew to the head—
Yes, drew them right up to the head.
 
 
But jocular WAGGETY-WEH
Ogled DOODLE-DUM-DEY (which was wrong),
And neat little TITTY-FOL-LEH
Said, “TOOTLE-TUM, you go along!
You naughty old dear, go along!”
 
 
And rollicking TRAL-THE-RAL-LAH
Tapped ALACK-A-DEY-AH with her fan;
And musical DOH-REH-MI-FAH
Said, “PISH, go away, you bad man!
Go away, you delightful young man!”
 
 
And the Amazons simpered and sighed,
And they ogled, and giggled, and flushed,
And they opened their pretty eyes wide,
And they chuckled, and flirted, and blushed
(At least, if they could, they’d have blushed).
 
 
But haughty PISH-TUSH-POOH-BAH
Said, “ALACK-A-DEY, what does this mean?”
And despairing ALACK-A-DEY-AH
Said, “They think us uncommonly green!
Ha! ha! most uncommonly green!”
 
 
Even blundering DOODLE-DUM-DEY
Was insensible quite to their leers,
And said good little TOOTLE-TUM-TEH,
“It’s your blood we desire, pretty dears—
We have come for our dinners, my dears!”
 
 
And the Queen of the Amazons fell
To BORRIA BUNGALEE BOO,—
In a mouthful he gulped, with a yell,
TIPPY-WIPPITY TOL-THE-ROL-LOO—
The pretty QUEEN TOL-THE-ROL-LOO.
 
 
And neat little TITTY-FOL-LEH
Was eaten by PISH-POOH-BAH,
And light-hearted WAGGETY-WEH
By dismal ALACK-A-DEY-AH—
Despairing ALACK-A-DEY-AH.
 
 
And rollicking TRAL-THE-RAL-LAH
Was eaten by DOODLE-DUM-DEY,
And musical DOH-REH-MI-FAH
By good little TOOTLE-DUM-TEH—
Exemplary TOOTLE-TUM-TEH!