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Theodore Martin.

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Had she tin — or whence she came ?



So I took my trusty meerschaum.

And I took my lute likewise ;
Wandered forth, in minstrel fashion,

Underneath the lowering skies ;
Sang before each comely Wirthshaus,

Sang beside each purling stream.
That same ditty which I chanted

When Undine was my theme.
Singing, as I sang at Jena,

When the shifts were hung to dry,
^' Fair Undine ! young Undine !

Dost thou love as well as I ?"



r



Eut, alas ! in field or village.
Or beside the pebbly shore.

Did I see those glancing ankles,
And the white robe, never more ;



s^^fe



THE BOOK OF BALLADS.






And no answer came to greet me,
JS'o sweet voice to mine replied ;

But I heard the waters rippling,
And the moaning of the tide.




'The Meaning of the tied.'



X^^
M




6?



THE BOOK OF BALLADS.




€lf5 t^ nf tllE iBHttL



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Theee is a sound that's dear to me,

It haunts me in my sleep ;
I wake, and, if I hear it not,

I cannot choose but weep.
Above the roaring of the wind.

Above the river's flow,
Methinks I hear the mystic cry

Of ^'Clo!— OldClo!"



68



THE BOOK OE BALLADS.

The exile's song, it thrills among -

The dwellings of the free,
Its sound is strange to English ears,

Eut 't is not strange to me ;
For it hath shook the tented field

In ages long ago.
And hosts have quailed before the cry

Of ^^ Clo !— Old Clo ! "

Oh, lose it not ! forsake it not !

And let no time efface
The memory of that solemn sound,

The watchword of our race.
For not by dark and eagle eye

The Hebrew shall you know,
So well as by the plaintive cry

Of ^* Clo !— Old Clo!"

Even now, perchance, by Jordan's banks,

Or Sidon's sunny walls.
Where, dial-like, to portion time.

The palm-tree's shadow falls.
The pilgrims, wending on their way.

Will linger as they go.
And listen to the distant cry

Of ^^ Clo !— Old Clo ! "



69



THE BOOK OF BALLADS.



m



■>^




I



It



^duieIt (irnggBHliiirg,

ifte lliB mmmx nf Irijilbr.

" BuKSCH ! if foaming beer content ye,

Come and drink your fill ;
In our cellars there is plenty :

Himmel ! liow you swill !
That the liquor hath allurance,

"Well I understand ;
But 't is really past endurance,

When you squeeze my hand 1 "



And he heard her as if dreaming,

Heard her half in awe ;
And the meerschaum's smoke came streaming

From his open jaw :
And his pulse beat somewhat quicker

Than it did before,
And he finished off his liquor,

Staggered through the door ;

Bolted off direct to Munich,

And within the year
Underneath his German tunic

Stowed whole butts of beer.
And he drank like fifty fishes,

Drank till all was blue ;
For he felt extremely vicious —

Somewhat thirsty too.

Eut at length this dire deboshing

Drew towards an end ;
Few of all his silber-groschen

Had he left to spend.
And he knew it was not prudent

Longer to remain ;
So, with weary feet, the student

Wended home again.



^^



THE BOOK OF BALLABS.



#



I



At the tavern's well known portal,

Knocks he as before,
And a waiter, rather mortal,

Hiccups through the door, —
*^ Master's sleeping in the kitchen ;

You '11 alarm the house ;
Yesterday the Jungfrau Fritchen

Married baker Kraus !"



Like a fiery comet bristling,

Eose the young man's hair,
And, poor soul! he fell a- whistling

Out of sheer despair.
Down the gloomy street in silence,

Savage-calm he goes;
But he did no deed of vi'lence —

Only blew his nose.

Then he hired an airy garret

Kear her dwelling-place ;
Grew a beard of fiercest carrot,

I^ever washed his face ;
Sate all day beside the casement,

Sate a dreary man ;
Found in smoking such an easement

As the wretched can ;



&



73




THE BOOK OP BALLADS



Stared for hours and hours together,

Stared yet more and more ;
Till in fine and sunny weather,

At the baker's door,
Stood, in apron white and mealy.

That beloved dame.
Counting out the loaves so freely,

Selling of the same.

Then like a volcano puffing.

Smoked he out his pipe ;
Sigh'd and supp'd on ducks and stuffing.

Ham and kraut and tripe ;
Went to bed, and in the morning,

Waited as before.
Still his eyes in anguish turning

To the baker's door;



Till, with apron white and mealy.

Came the lovely dame.
Counting out the loaves so freely,

Selling of the same.
So one day — the fact 's amazing ! —

On his post he died ;
And they found the body gazing

At the baker's bride.









^^.^ i-^" •^■.



THE BOOK OE BALLADS.






I



Sigjlt imir jKInrEiug,



'' Thy coffee, Tom, 's untasted.

And thy egg is very cold;
Thy cheeks are wan and wasted,

I*^ot rosy as of old.
My boy, what has come o'er ye.

You surely are not well !
Try some of that ham before ye.

And then, Tom, ring the bell ! "



" I cannot eat, my mother,

IVIy tongue is parched and bound,
And my head, somehow or other,

Is sT^dmming round and round.
In my eyes there is a fulness.

And my pulse is beating quick ;
On my brain is a weight of duLiess ;

Oh, mother, I am sick ! "



m



THE BOOK OP BALLADS.

" These long, long nights of watching

Are killing you outright ;
The evening dews are catching,

And you 're out every night.
"Why does that horrid grumbler,

Old Inkpen, work you so ?"

Tom {lene susurrans)
" My head ! Oh, that tenth tumbler !
'T was that which wrought my woe ! '




THE BOOK OJ BALLADS.



€)^i foiln 33it.



The sun is in the sky, mother, the flowers are springing

fair,
And the melody of woodland birds is stirring in the air ;
The river, smiling to the sky, glides onward to the sea.
And happiness is everywhere, oh mother, but with me !



They are going to the church, mother, — I hear the

marriage bell ;
It booms along the upland, — oh ! it haunts me like a

knell;
He leads her on his arm, mother, he cheers her faltering

step.
And closely to his side she clings, — she does, the demirep !



6r



I



They are crossing by the style, mother, where we so oft

have stood.
The style beside the shady thorn, at the comer of the

wood ;
And the boughs, that wont to murmur back the words that

won my ear,
Wave their silver blossoms o'er him, as he leads his bridal

fere.



THE BOOK OF BALLADS.



'^1

w



He will pass beside the stream, mother, where first my

hand he pressed,
Ey the meadow where, with qnivering lip, his passion he

confessed ;
And down the hedgerows where we 've strayed again and

yet again ;
But he will not think of me, mother, his broken-hearted

Jane !

He said that I was proud, mother, that I looked for rank

and gold ;
He said I did not love him, — he said my words were

cold;
He said I kept him off and on, in hopes of higher

game, —
And it may be that I did, mother ; but who has n't done

the same ?



I did not know my heart, mother, — I know it now too

late ;
I thought that I without a pang could wed som^e nobler

mate ;
But no nobler suitor sought me, — and he has taken wing.
And my heart is gone, and I am left a lone and blighted

thin or.



77




You may lay me in my bed, mother, — my head is throb-
bing sore ;

And, mother, prithee let the sheets be dnly aired before ;

And, if you 'd please, my mother dear, your poor despond-
ing child.

Draw me a pot of beer, mother, and, mother, draw it mild !



1



■^'^




' Love gone to pot.'



m



78



THE BOOK OF BALLADS.



€}}i tocirt Euii tire totraliati Xahi.

Thy skin is dark as jet, ladye,

Thy cheek is sharp and high,
And there 's a cruel leer, love.

Within thy rolling eye !
These tangled ebon tresses

^0 comb hath e'er gone through ;
And thy forehead, it is furrow' d by

The elegant tattoo !



I



I love thee, — oh, I love thee.

Thou strangely feeding maid !
Kay, lift not thus thy boomerang,

I meant not to upbraid !
Come, let me taste those yellow lips

That ne'er were tasted yet.
Save when the shipwrecked mariner

Pass'd through them for a whet.



I



THE BOOK OF BALLADS.



1^



Kay, squeeze me not so tightly I

Eor I am gaunt and thin,
There 's little flesh to tempt thee

Beneath a convict's skin.
I came not to be eaten,

I sought thee, love, to woo ;
Besides, bethink thee, dearest.

Thou 'st dined on cockatoo !



Thy father is a chieftain ;

Why, that's the very thing I
Within my native country

I, too have been a king.
Behold this branded letter.

Which nothing can eiface I
It is the royal emblem,

The token of my race !

But rebels rose against me.

And dared my power disown —
You 've heard, love, of the judges r

They drove me from my throne.
And I have wander'd hither.

Across the stormy sea.
In search of glorious freedom,

In search, my sweet, of thee !



THE BOOK OF BALLADS.

The bush is now my empire,

The knife my sceptre keen ;
Come with me to the desert wild,

And be my dusky queen.
I cannot give thee jewels,

I have nor sheep nor cow.
Yet there are kangaroos, love.

And colonists enow.

We '11 meet the unwary settler,

As whistling home he goes,
And 1 11 take tribute from him,

His money and his clothes.
Then on his bleeding carcass

Thou 'It lay thy pretty paw.
And lunch upon him, roasted.

Or, if you like it, raw !



Then come with me, my princess.

My own Australian dear.
Within this grove of gum trees,

We '11 hold our bridal cheer !
Thy heart with love is beating,

I feel it through my side : —
Hurrah, then, for the noble pair.

The Convict and his bride !




THE BOOK OF BALLADS.



I



.J



€^t MM ta^i nf tliB Innnuralilf
3. dD. ^min.



Come and Hsten, lords and ladies,

To a woeful lay of mine ;
He whose tailor's bill unpaid is,

Let him now his ear incHne !
Let him hearken to my story,

How the noblest of the land
Pined long time in dreary duresse

'iN'eath a sponging bailiff's hand.



I. 0. Uwins ! I. 0. Uwins !

Baron's son although thou be,
Thou must pay for thy misdoings

In the country of the free !
None of aU thy sire's retainers

To thy rescue now may come ;
And there lie some score detainers.

With Abednego, the bum.



THE BOOK OF BALLADS.

Little reck'd he of his prison

Whilst the sun was in the sky :
Only when the moon was risen,

Did you hear the captive's cry.
For, till then, cigars and claret

Lull'd him in oblivion sweet ;
And he much preferr'd a garret,

For his drinking, to the street.

But the moonlight, pale and broken,

Pain'd at soul the Baron's son;
■ For he knew, by that soft token,

That the larking had begun ; —
That the stout and valiant Marquis

Then was leading forth his swells,
Mangling some policeman's carcass.

Or purloining private bells.

So he sat, in grief and sorrow,

Rather drunk than otherwise,
Till the golden gush of morrow

Dawned once more upon his eyes :
Till the sponging bailiffs daughter,

Lightly tapping at the door,
Brought his draught of soda water.

Brandy-bottom' d as before.



83



THE BOOK OP BALLADS.



HI






%



*



*^ Sweet Eebecca ! has your father,

Think you, made a deal of brass ? "
And she answered — ^^ Sir, I rather

Should imagine that he has."
TJwins then, his whiskers scratching,

Leer'd upon the maiden's face.
And, her hand with ardour catching.

Folded her in close embrace.

^' La, Sir ! let alone — you fright me ! "

Said the daughter of the Jew :
'' Dearest, how those eyes delight me !

Let me love thee, darling, do ! "
"■ Yat is dish ? " the Eailiff mutter'd,

Eushing in with fury wild ;
" Ish your muffins so veil butter' d

Dat you darsh insult ma shild ? "

" Honourable my intentions,
Good Abednego, I swear !

And I have some small pretensions,
For I am a Baron's heir. •

If you '11 only clear my credit,
And advance a tlioy/^ or so.

She 's a peeress — I have said it :
Don't you twig, Abednego ? "



tf



■' The fashionable abbreviation for a thousand pounds.



T.HE BOOK OF BALLADS.



^^ Datsh a very different matter,"

Said the Eailiif, with a leer ;
'^ But you musht not cut it fatter

Than ta slish will shtand, ma tear !
If you seeksh ma approbation,

You musht quite give up your rigsh ;
Alsho you musht join our nashun,

And renounsh ta flesh of pigsh."



^.•



Fast as one of Fagin's pupils,

I. 0. TJwins did agree !
Little plagued with holy scruples

From the starting post was he.
But at times a baleful vision

Eose before his trembling view,
For he knew that circumcision

Was expected from a Jew.



I



J



At a meeting of the Eabbis,

Held about the Whitsuntide,
Was this thorough-paced Barabbas

Wedded to his Hebrew bride.
All his former debts compounded,

From the spunging house he came,
And his father's feelings wounded

With reflections on the same.



Sf,






85



'



.



THE BOOK or BALLADS.

Eut the sire his son accosted —

^^ Split my wig ! if any more
Such a double-dyed apostate

Shall presume to cross my door !
IN'ot a penny-piece to save ye

Erom the kennel or the spout ; —
Dinner, John ! the pig and gravy ! —

Kick this dirty scoundrel out! '"



Ih



Torth rush'd I. 0. TJwins, faster

Than all winking — much afraid,
That the orders of the master

Would be punctually obeyed :
Sought his club, and then the sentence

Of expulsion first he saw ;
!N'o one dared to own acquaintance

With a bailiif 's son-in-law.



Uselessly down Bond-street strutting

Did he greet his friends of yore :
Such a universal cutting

INTever man received before :
Till at last his pride revolted —

Pale, and lean, and stern he grew ;
And his wife Eebecca bolted

With a missionary Jew.



THE BOOK OF BALLADS.



Ye who read this doleful ditty,

Ask ye where is Uwins now ?
Wend your way through London city,

Climb to Holborn's lofty brow.
JS'ear the sign-post of the ^' Nigger,"

'Near the baked-potato shed,
You may see a ghastly figure

With three hats upon his head.



1



When the evening shades are dusky.

Then the phantom form draws near.
And, with accents low and husky,

Pours effluvium in your ear :
Craving an immediate barter

Of your trousers or surtout,
And you know the Hebrew martyr,

Once the peerless I. 0. U.




M



87



THE BOOK OE BALLADS.









Did you ever hear the story —

Old the legend is and true —
How a knyghte of fame and glory

All aside his armour threw ;
Spouted spear and pawned habergeon,

Pledged his sword and surcoat gay,
Sate down cross-legged on the shop-board,

Sate and stitched the livelong day ?

^' Taylzeour ! not one single shilling

Does my breeches' pocket hold :
I to pay am really willing,

If I only had the gold.
Farmers none can I encounter,

Graziers there are none to kill ;
Therefore, prithee, gentle taylzeour.

Bother not about thy bill."



If



m



THE EOOK OP BALLADS.



'^ Good Sir Knyghte, just once too often

Have you tried that slippery trick ;
Hearts like mine you cannot soften,

Vainly do you ask for tick.
Christmas and its bills are coming,

Soon will they be showering in ;
Therefore, once for all, my rum 'un,

I expect you '11 post the tin.

'' Mark, Sir Knyghte, that gloomy bayliife.

In the palmer's amice brown ;
He shall lead you unto jail, if

Instantly you stump not down."
Deeply swore the young crusader.

But the taylzeour would not hear ;
And the gloomy, bearded bayliffe

Evermore kept sneaking near.



I



^' I^either groat nor maravedi

Have I got, my soul to bless ;
And I 'd feel extremely seedy.

Languishing in vile duresse.
Therefore listen, ruthless taylzeour.

Take my steed and armour free,
Pawn them at thy Hebrew uncle's.

And I '11 work the rest for thee."



89



THE BOOK OF BALLADS.



Lightly leaped he on the shop-board,

Lightly crooked his manly limb,
Lightly drove the glancing needle

Through the growing doublet's rim.
Gaberdines in countless number

Did the taylzeour-knyghte repair !
And the cabbage and cucumber

"Were his sole and simple fare.



1



Once his weary task beguiling

With a low and plaintive song,
That good knyghte o'er miles of broadcloth

Drove the hissing goose along ;
From her lofty lattice window.

Looked the taylzeour's daughter down,
And she instantly discovered

That her heart was not her own:



I



" Canst thou love me, gentle stranger? "

Blushing like a rose she stood —
And the knyghte at once admitted,

That he rather thought he could.
^' He who weds me shall have riches,

Gold, and lands, and houses free."
^' For a single pair of — s7naU-clothes,

I would roam the world with thee! "



3J7
Hi



THE BOOK OP BALLADS.



k



ft



Then she flung him down the tickets —

Well the knyghte their import knew —
^' Take this gold, and win thy armour

From the unbelieving Jew.
Though in garments mean and lowly,

Thou wouldst roam the world with me,
Only as a belted warrior,

Stranger, will I wed with thee ! "




"^W



A



THE BOOK OF BALLADS.



1^



At the feast of good Saint Alban,

In the middle of the Spring,
There was some superior jousting

Ey the order of the king.
* ' Valiant knyghtes ! " exclaimed the monarch,

'^ You will please to understand.
He who bears himself most bravely

Shall obtain my daughter's hand."



Well and bravely did they bear them,

Bravely battled, one and all ;
But the bravest in the tourney

Was a warrior stout and tall.
IN'one could tell his name or lineage,

JN'one could meet him in the field,
And a goose regardant proper

Hissed along his azure shield.



I



" Warrior, thou hast won my daughter ! '

But the champion bowed his knee,
" Princely blood may not be wasted

On a simple knyghte like me.
She I love is meek and lowly ;

Bat her heart is high and frank ;
And there must be tin forthcoming.

That will do as well as rank."



Slowly rose that nameless warrior,

Slowly turned his steps aside,
Passed the lattice where the princess

Sate in beauty, sate in pride.
Passed the row of noble ladies,

Hied him to an humbler seat,
And in silence laid the chaplet

At the taylzeour's daughter's feet.



I



1
I




if






THE BOOK OF BALLADS.







€^i MM0 Mml



It was the Lord of Castlereagh, he sat within his room,
His arms were crossed upon his breast, his face was

marked with gloom ;
They said that St. Helena's Isle had rendered up its

charge,
That France was bristling high in arms, — the Emperor at

large.



THE BOOK OP BALLADS.



' Twas midnight ! all the lamps were dim, and dull as

death the street,
It might be that the watchman slept that night upon his

beat,
When, lo ! a heavy foot was heard to creak upon the

stair.
The door revolved upon its hinge., — Great Heaven ! — What

enters there ?



A little man, of stately mien, with slow and solemn
stride ;

His hands are crossed upon his back, his coat is opened
wide:

And on his vest of green he wears an eagle and a
star, —

Saint George ! protect us ! 't is The Mak — the thunder-
bolt of war !



>



Is that the famous hat that waved along Marengo's J;.

ridge ? Mi

Are these the spurs of Austerlitz — the boots of Lodi's

bridge ?
Leads he the conscript swarm again from France's hornet

hive?
What seeks the fell usurper here, in Britain, and alive ?



95



THE BOOK OF BALLADS.

Pale grew the Lord of Castlereagh, his tongue was parched

and dry,
As in his brain he felt the glare of that tremendous eye;
What wonder if he shrunk in fear, for who could meet the

glance
Of him who reared, 'mid Eussian snows, the gonfalon of

France ?

Prom the side-pocket of his vest, a pinch the despot

took,
Yet not a whit did he relax the sternness of his look, —
" Thou thought' st the lion was afar, but he hath burst the

chain —
The watchword for to-night is France — the answer St.

Helene.

''And didst thou deem the barren isles, 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 think' st that England hates me ! Mark ! — This very

night my name
Was thundered in its capital with tumult and acclaim !



m



m



Do



THE BOOK OF BALLADS.



They saw me, knew me, owned my power — Proud lord ! I

say, beware!
There be men within the Surrey side, who know to do

and dare !

'' To-morrow in thy very teeth my standard will I rear —
Ay, well that ashen cheek of thine may blanch and shrink

with fear !
To-morrow night another town shall sink in ghastly

flames ;
And as I crossed the Borodin, so shall I cross the

Thames !



i



'^ Thou 'It seize me, wilt thou, ere the dawn ? Weak lord-
ling, do thy worst ?

These hands ere now have broke thy chains, thy fetters
they have burst.

Yet, wouldst thou know my resting-place ? Behold 't is
written there !

And let thy coward myrmidons approach me if they dare!"

Another pinch, another stride — he passes through the

door —
'^ IVas it a phantom or a man was standing on the floor ?
And could that be the Emperor that moved before my eyes ?
Ah, yes ! too sure it was himself, for here the paper lies ! "



97




THE BOOK OP EALLADS.



"With trembling hands, Lord Castlereagh undid the mystic

scroll,
With glassy eye essayed to read, for fear was on his soul —
What's here ? — ^ At Astley's, every night, the play of

Moscow's Pall !
IS'apoleon for the thousandth time, by Mr. Gomeksal ! ' "



I



4




^^::^^S^^^^^k3^S^^^..:^



- «=«=;=*Sft?^



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THE BOOK OF BALLADS.



41;



I




bljt X^ nf tjiB InDBlnru.



Whetlier 't was tlie sauce at dinner, or that glass of ginger



CoMEADES, yoTi may pass the rosy. With permission of ^ |

the chair, aI

I shall leave you for a little, for I 'd like to take the air. yi



K\ beer,

ii) . ^i

Or these strong cheroots, I know not, but I feel a little



m



queer.



Jrr



THE BOOK OF EALLADS.



Let me go. JN'ow, Chuckster, blow me, 'pon my soul, this

is too bad !
"When you want me, ask the waiter, he knows where I 'm

to be had.



f

I



"Whew ! This is a great relief now ! Let me but undo my

stock,
Eesting here beneath the porch, my nerves will steady

like a rock.

In my ears I hear the singing of a lot of favourite tunes —
Bless my heart, how very odd ! Why, surely there 's a
brace of moons !



See ! the stars ! how bright they twinkle, winking with a

frosty glare,
Like my faithless cousin Amy when she drove me to

despair.

Oh, my cousin, spider-hearted ! Oh, my Amy ! JSTo, con-
found it !

I must wear the mournful willow, — all around my hat
I 've bound it.

Falser than the Eank of Eancy, — frailer than a shilling

glove.
Puppet to a father's anger, — minion to a nabob's love !





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.

What is this r His eyes are pinky. Was 't the claret ?

Oh, no, no, —
Eless your soul, it was the salmon, — salmon always makes

him so.



Take him to thy dainty chamber — soothe him with thy

lightest fancies.
He will understand thee, won't he ? — pay thee with a

lover's glances ?







I

Hi



J?



THE BOOK OF BALLADS.



Louder than the loudest trumpet, harsh as harshest

ophicleide,
JS'asal 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.

Eetter thou wert dead before me, — better, better that I

stood
Looking on thy murdered body, like the injured Daniel

Good !

Eetter, thou and I were lying, cold and timber-stiff and

dead.
With a pan of burning charcoal underneath our nuptial bed'

Cursed be the bank of England's notes, that tempt the soul

to sin!
Cursed be the want of acres, — doubly cursed the want of

tin!

Cursed be the marriage contract, that enslaved thy soul to

greed !
Cursed be the sallow lawyer, that prepared and drew the

deed !



1



(<f



m



S



THE BOOK OF BALLADS.



Cursed be his foul apprentice, who the loathsome fees did

earn !
Cursed be the clerk and parson, — cursed be the whole
concern !



Oh, 't is well that I should bluster, — much I 'm like to

make of that ;
Better comfort have I found in singing ^^ All Around my


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Online LibraryTheodore MartinThe book of ballads → online text (page 3 of 9)