Theodore Martin.

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But that song, so wildly plaintive, palls upon my British ears.
'T will not do to pine for ever, — I am getting up in years.

Can 't I turn the honest penny, scribbling for the weekly

And in writing Sunday libels drown my private wretched-

Oh, to feel the wild pulsation that in manhood's da\\Ti I

When my days were all before me, and my years were


When I smoked my independent pipe along the Quadrant

With the many larks of London flaring up on every side.



When I went the pace so wildly, caring little what might

Coffee-milling care and sorrow, with a nose- adapted thumb. ^i*

Eelt the exquisite enjoyment, tossing nightly off, oh

heavens !
Erandy at the Cider Cellars, kidneys smoking-hot at

Evans' !

Or in the Adelphi sitting, half in rapture, half in tears,
Saw the glorious melodrama conjure up the shades of
years !

Saw Jack Sheppard, noble stripling, act his wondrous

feats again.
Snapping J^ewgate's bars of iron, like an infant's daisy


Might was right, and all the terrors which had held the

world in awe
Were despised, and prigging prospered, spite of Laurie,

spite of law.

In such scenes as these I triumphed, ere my passion's

edge was rusted.
And my cousin's cold refusal left me very much disgusted !



Since, my heart is sere and withered, and I do not care a

Whether worse shall be the better, or the better be the



Hark ! my merry comrades call me, bawling for another

jorum ;
They would mock me in derision, should I thus appear

before 'em.

Womankind no more shall vex me, such at least as go

In the most expensive satins and the newest silk brocade.

I '11 to Afric, lion-haunted, where the giant forest

Earer robes and finer tissue than are sold at Spital-


Or to burst all chains of habit, flinging habit's self aside,
1 shall walk the tangled jungle in mankind's primeval
pride ;

Feeding on the luscious berries and the rich cassava root,
Lots of dates and lots of guavas, clusters of forbidden




JSTever comes the trader thither, never o'er the purple

Sounds the oath of Eritish commerce, or the accents of



There, methinks, would be enjoyment, where no envious

rule prevents ;
Sink the steamboats ! cuss the railways ! rot, rot the

Three per Cents !

There the passions, cramped no longer, shall have space to

breathe, my cousin !
I will take some savage woman — nay, I '11 take at least a


There I'll rear my young mulattoes, as no Bond Street

brats are reared :
They shall dive for alligators, catch the wild goats by the

beard —


Whistle to the cockatoos, and mock the hairy-faced

Worship mighty Mumbo Jumbo in the Mountains of the


I myself, in far Timbuctoo, leopard's blood will daily quaff,
Eide a tiger-hunting, mounted on a thorough-bred giraffe.




Fiercely shall I shout the war-whoop, as some sullen stream
he crosses,

Startling from their noon-day slumhers iron-bound rhino-

Fool ! again the dream, the fancy ! But I know my words
are mad.

For I hold the grey barbarian lower than the Christian

I the swell — the city dandy ! I to seek such horrid
places, —

I to haunt with squalid negroes, blubber-lips, and monkey-

I to wed with Coromantees ! I, who managed — very

near —
To secure the heart and fortune of the widow Shilli-

beer !



Stuff and nonsense ! let me never fling a single chance

Maids ere now, I know, have loved me, and another

maiden mav.




^'Morning Post/' (^^Tlie Times" won't trust me)
help me, as I know you can ;

I will pen an advertisement, — that 's a never-
failing plan.

'^ Wanted — By a bard in wedlock, some young in-
teresting woman :

Looks are not so much an object, if the shiners be
forthcoming !


*' Hymen's chains the advertiser vows shall be but

silken fetters.
Please address to A. T., Chelsea. IN'.B. — You ^ /i

must pay the letters."


That 's the sort of thing to do it. !N'ow I '11 go

and taste the balmy, —
Eest thee with thy yellow nabob, spider-hearted

cousin Amy !




Decked with shoes of blackest polish,

And with shirt as white as snow,
After matutinal breakfast

To my daily desk I go ;
Pirst a fond salate bestowing

On my Mary's ruby lips,
Which, perchance, may be rewarded

With a pair of playful nips.

All day long across the ledger

Still my patient pen I drive.
Thinking what a feast awaits me

In my happy home at five ;
In my small, one- storied Eden,

"Where my wife awaits my coming.
And our solitary handmaid V

Matton chops with care is crumbing.




When the clock proclaims my freedom,

Then my hat I seize and vanish ;
Every trouble from my bosom,

Every anxions 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, w^here art thou, dearest ? "
Thus I cry, while yet afar ;

Ah ! what sc^nt invades my nostrils ? —
'T is 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.

And his other hand is playing
Most familiarly with hers ;

And I think my Brussels carpet
Somewhat damaged by his spurs.

^' Eire and furies ! what the blazes r "
Thus in frenzied wrath I call ;

When my spouse her arms upraises.
With a most astounding squall.



'^ Was there ever such a monster :

Ever such a wretched wife ?
Ah ! how long must I endure it :

How protract this hateful life ?
All day long quite unprotected,

Does he leave his wife at home ;
And she cannot see her cousins,

Even when they kindly come ! "

Then the young Life-Guardsman, rising,

Scarce vouchsafes a single word.
But with look of deadly menace,

Claps his hand upon his sword ;
And in fear I faintly falter —

*^ This your cousin, then he 's mine I
Very glad, indeed, to see you, —

"Won't you stop with us, and dine ? "


Won't a ferret suck a rabbit ? —

As a thing of course he stops ;
And, with most voracious swallow

Walks into my mutton chops.
In the twinkling of a bed-post.

Is each savoury platter clear,
And he shows uncommon science

In his estimate of beer.



Half-and-half goes down before him,

Gurgling from the pewter pot ;
An:i he moves a counter motion

For a glass of something hot.
J^either chops nor beer I grudge him,

I^or a moderate share of goes ;
But I know not" why he 's always

Treading upon Mary's toes.



Evermore, when, home returning.

From the counting-house I come.
Do I find the young Life- Guardsman

Smoking pipes and drinking rum.
Evennore he stays to dinner.

Evermore devours my meal ;
Eor I have a wholesome horror

Both of powder and of steel.

Yet I know he 's JTary's cousin.

For my only son and heir
Much resembles that young Guardsman,

With the self-same curly hair ;
But I wish he would not always

Spoil my carpet with his spurs ;
And I 'd rather see his lingers

In the fire, than touching hers.



5ln Snrijnt IrntiislT SaliaL

It fell upon the August montli,
"When landsmen bide at hame,

That our gude Queen went out to sail
Upon the saut-sea faem.



And she has ta'en the silk and gowd,

The like was never seen ;
And she has ta'en the Prince Albert,

And the bauld Lord Aberdeen.

'* Ye'se bide at hame, Lord Wellington :

Ye daurna gang wi' me :
Por ye hae been ance in the land o' France,

And that's eneuch for ye."

'^ Ye'se bide at hame, Sir Eobert Peel,

To gather the red and the white monie ;

And see that my men dinna eat me up
At Windsor wi' their gluttonie."

Theyhadna sailed a league, a league, —

A league, but barely twa.
When the lift grew dark, and the waves grew wan ,

And the wind began to blaw.

'^ weel, weel may the waters rise.

In welcome o' their Queen ;
What gars ye look sae white, Albert ?

What makes your e'e sae green ? "

'^ My heart is sick, my held is sair :
Gie me a glass o' the gude brandie :

To set my foot on the braid green sward,
I 'd gie the half o' mj yearly fee.



^' It 's sweet to liunt the spriglitly hare
On the bonny slopes o' "Windsor lea,

But 0, it 's ill to bear the thud

And pitching o' the saut, saut sea ! "

And aye they sailed, and aye they sailed.

Till England sank behind,
And over to the coast of France

They drave before the wind.

Then up and spak the King o' France,

Was birling at the wine ;
^' wha may be the gay ladye,

That owns that ship sae fine?

" And wha may be that bonny lad,
That looks sae pale and wan ?

I '11 wad my lands o' Picardie
That he's nae Englishman."

Then up and spak an auld French lord.
Was sitting beneath his knee,

^' It is the Queen o' braid England
That's come across the sea."

'' And an it be England's Queen,
She's welcome here the day ;

I 'd rather hae her for a friend
Than for a deadly fae.

^\ \







^' Gae, kill the eerock in the yard,

The auld sow in the stye,
And bake for her the brockit calf,

But and the puddock-pie I "

And he has gane until the ship,

As sune as it drew near,
And he has ta'en her by the hand —

" Ye 're kindly welcome here ! ''

And syne he kissed her on ae cheek.

And syne upon the ither ;
And he ca'ed her his sister dear.

And she ca'ed him her brither.

^' Light doun, light doun now, ladye mine,

Light doun upon the shore ;
l^ae English king has trodden here

This thousand years and more."

*' And gin I lighted on your land.

As light fu' weel I may,
am I free to feast wi' you.

And free to come and gae ? "

And he has sworn by the Haly Eood,
And the black stane o' Dumblane,

That she is free to come and gae
Till twenty days are gane.





" I 've lippened to a Prenclinian's aith,"

Said gude Lord Aberdeen ;
" But I '11 never lippen to it again

Sae lang 's the grass is green.

" Yet gae your ways, my sovereign liege,

Since better may na be ;
The wee bit bairns are safe at hame,

Ey the blessing o' Marie ! "

Then doun she lighted frae the ship,

She lighted safe and sound ;
And glad was our good Prince Albert

To step upon the ground.

''Is that your Queen, my Lord," she said,

" That auld and buirdly dame ?
I see the crown upon her held ;

But I dinna ken her name."

And she has kissed the Frenchman's Queen,

And eke her daughters three.
And gi'en her hand to the young Princess

That louted upon the knee.

And she' has gane to the proud castle,

That 's biggit beside the sea :
But aye, when she thought o' the bairns at hame,

The tear was in her e'e.


She gied Ihe King the Cheshire cheese,

But and the porter fine ;
And he gied her the pnddock-pies,

Eut and the hlude-red wine.

Then up and spak the dourest prince,

An admiral was he ;
'' Let 's keep the Queen o' England here,

Sin' better may na be !

^' mony is the dainty king

That we hae trappit here ;
And mony is the English yerl

That's in our dungeons drear ! "

'' You lee, you lee, ye graceless loon,

Sae loud 's I hear ye lee !
There never yet was Englishman

That came to skaith by me.

'' Gae out, gae out, ye fause traitor !

Gae out until the street ;
It !s shame that Kings and Queens should sit

Wi' sic a knave at meat ! "

Then up and raise the young Erench lord.

In wrath and hie disdain —
'^ ye may sit, and ye may eat

Your puddock-pies alane !


^^ But were I in my ain gude ship,

And sailing wi' the wind,
And did I meet wi' auld JN'apier,

I 'd tell him o' my mind."

then the Queen leuch loud and lang,
And her colour went and came ;

*^ Gin ye met wi' Charlie on the sea
Ye 'd wish yersell at hame ! "

And aye they birlit at the wine.

And drank right merrilie,
Till the auld cock crawed in the castle-yard,

And the abbey bell struck three.

The Queen she gaed until her bed,

And Prince Albert likewise ;
And the last word that gay ladye said

Was — ^^ thae puddock-pies ! "


The sun was high within the lift
Afore the Trench King raise ;

And syne he louped intil his sark.
And warslit on his claes.




" Gae up, gae np, my little foot-page,

Gae up until the toun ;
And gin ye meet wi' the auld harper,

Be sure ye bring him doun."

And he has met wi' the auld harper ;

but his e'en were red;
And the bizzing o' a swarm o' bees

Was singing in his heid.

" Alack ! alack ! " the harper said,
^^That this should e'er hae been !

I daurna gang before my liege,
For I was fou yestreen."

^^It 's ye maun come, ye auld harper :

Ye daurna tarry lang ;
The King is just dementit-like

For wanting o' a sang."

And when he came to the King's chamber

He loutit on his knee,
^^ what may be your gracious will

Wi' an auld frail man like me ? "

"I want a sang, harper," he said,
'^ I want a sang richt speedilie ;

And gin ye dinna make a sang,

I '11 hang ye up on the gallows tree."





'^ I cannot do 't, my liege," lie said,
'* Hae mercy on my auld gray hair !

But gin that I had got the words,
I think that I might mak the air."

^^ And wha 's to mak the words, fause loon,
When minstrels we have barely twa ;

And Lamartine is in Paris toun.
And Victor Hugo far awa r "

^' The deil may gang for Lamartine,

And flie awa wi' auld Hugo,
For a better minstrel than them baith

Within this very toun I know.

^^0 kens my liege the gude Walter, —
At hame they ca' him Bo:n- Gaultiee ?

He '11 rhyme ony day wi' True Thomas,
And he is in the castle here."

The Prench Xing first he lauchit loud.
And syne did he begin to sing ;

" My e'en are auld, and my heart is cauld.
Or I suld hae known the minstrels' King.

" Gae take to him this ring o' gowd,
And this mantle o' the silk sae fine, '

And bid him mak a maister sang

For his sovereign ladye's sake and mine."




*' I winna take the gowden ring,

JSTor yet the mantle fine :
But I '11 mak the sang for my ladye's sake,

And for a cup of wine."

The Queen was sitting at the cards,

The King ahint her back ;
And aye she dealed the red honours,

And aye she dealed the black ;

And syne unto the dourest Prince
She spak richt courteouslie : —

^''^ow will ye play. Lord Admiral,
JN'ow will ye play wi' me ? "

The dourest Prince he bit his lip,
And his brow was black as glaur :

*^ The only game that e'er I play
Is the bluidy game o' war! "

" And gin ye play at that, young man.

It weel may cost ye sair ;
Ye 'd better stick to the game at cards,

Por you '11 win nae honours there !

The King he leuch, and the Queen she leuch,
Till the tears ran blithely doun ;

But the Admiral he raved and swore.
Till they kicked him frae the room.






The Harper came, and the Harper sang,

And but they were fain ;
Eor when he had snng the gude sang twice

They called for it again.

It was the sang o' the Field o' Gowd,

In the days of auld langsyne ;
When bauld King Henry crossed the seas,

Wi' his brither King to dine.

And aye he harped, and aye he carped,
Till up the Queen she sprang —

" I '11 wad a County Palatine,
Gude Walter made that sang."

Three days had come, three days had gane.

The fourth began to fa'.
When our gude Queen to the Frenchman said,

*' It 's time I was awa !

^' 0, bonny are the fields o' France,

And saftly draps the rain ;
But my baimies are in Windsor Tower,

And greeting a' their lane.

'^ Fow ye maun come to me. Sir King,

As I have come to ye ;
And a benison upon your heid

For a' your courtesie !



'' Ye maun come, and bring your ladye fere:

Ye sail na say me no ;
And ye 'se mind, we have aye a bed to spare

For your wily friend Guizot."

IS'ow he has ta'en her lily white hand,

And put it to his lip.
And he has ta'en her to the strand.

And left her in her ship.

'' Will ye come back, sweet bird," he cried,

^' Will ye come kindly here.
When the lift is blue, and the lavrocks sing,

In the spring-time o' the year ? "

'' It 's I would blithely come, my Lord,

To see ye in the spring ;
It 's I would blithely venture back,

Eut for ae little thing.

^^ It isna that the ^vinds are rude.

Or that the waters rise.
But I lo'e the roasted beef at hame.

And no thae puddock-pies ! "



/rnm IjjB Carlir.

Fhaieshoj?- swore a feud

Against the clan M'Tavish ;
Marched into their land

To murder and to rafish ;
For he did resolve

To extirpate the vipers,
"With four-and-twenty men

And five-and-thirty pipers.






But when he had gone

Half-way down Strath Canaan,
Of his fighting tail

Just three were remainin'.
They were all he had,

To back him in ta battle ;
All the rest had gone

OiF, to drive ta cattle.

*'Eery coot ! " cried Fhairshon,

' ' So my clan disgraced is ;
Lads, we '11 need to fight

Pefore we touch the peasties.
Here 's Mhic-Mac-Methusaleh

Coming wi' his fassals,
Gillies seventy-three,

And sixty Dhuine wassails ! "


^' Coot tay to you, sir ;

Are not you ta Fhairshon ;
Was you coming here .

To visit any person ?



You are a plackguard, sir !

It is now six hundred
Coot long years, and more,

Since my glen was plundered.

'^ Pat is tat you say ?

Dare you cock your peaver ?
I will teach you, sir,

Fat is coot pehaviour !
You shall not exist

Eor another day more;
I will shoot you, sir.

Or stap you with my claymore ! '

" I am fery glad

To learn what you mention,
Since I can prevent

Any such intention."
So Mhic-Mac-Methusaleh

Gave some warlike howls,
Trew his skhian-dhu.

An' stuck it in his powels.







In this fery way

Tied ta faliant Fhairslion,
Who was always thonght

A superior person.
Fhairshon had a son,

^Yh.o married ]S"oah's daughter,
And nearly spoiled ta Flood,

By trinking up ta water.

Which he would have done,

I at least believe it,
Had ta mixture peen

Only half Glenlivet.
This is all my tale :

Sirs, I hope 't is new t' ye !
Here 's your fery good healths.

And tamn ta whusky tuty !


(E1;b ^^nuttg Itnrklirnte's foxilt

"0 SWIFTLY speed tlie gallant bark ! —

I say, you mind my luggage, porter !
I do not heed yon storm-cloud dark,

I go to wed old Jenkin's daughter.
I go to claim my own Mariar,

The fairest flower that blooms in Harwich ;
My panting bosom is on fire,

And all is ready for the marriage."



Thus spoke young Mivins, as lie stepped

On board the ^' Eirefly," Harwich packet ;
The bell rung out, the paddles swept

Plish-plashing round with noisy racket.
The lowering clouds young Mivins saw,

But fear, he felt, was only folly ;
And so he smoked a fresh cigar,

Then fell to whistling— '^ IS^ix my dolly ! "


The wind it roared ; the packet's hulk

Eocked with a most unpleasant motion ;
Young Mivins leant him o'er a bulk.

And poured his sorrows to the ocean.
Tints — blue and 3'ellow — signs of woe —

Flushed, rainbow-like, his noble face in.
As suddenly he rushed below,

Crying, ^' Steward, steward, bring a basin ! '

On sped the bark : the howling storm

The funnel's tapering smoke did blow far ;
Unmoved, young Mivins' lifeless form

"Was stretched upon a haircloth sofar.
All night he moaned, the steamer groaned.

And he w^as hourly getting fainter ;
When it came bump against the pier.

And there was fastened by the painter.



Young Mivins rose, and blew his nose,

Caught wildly at his small portmanteau ;
He was unfit to lie or sit,

And found it difficult to stand, too.
He sought the deck, he sought the shore,

He sought the lady's house like winking,
And asked, low tapping at the door,

" Is this the house of Mr. Jenkin ? "

. A short man came — he told his name —

Mivins was short — he cut him shorter,
For in a fury he exclaimed,

*^ Are you the man as vants my darter?
Yot kim'd on you last night, young sqvire r "

^' It was the steamer, rot and scuttle her !
^' Mayhap it vos, but our Mariar

Talked off last night vith Bill the butler.

*^ And so you 've kim'd a post too late."

^' It was the packet, sir, miscarried ! "
^' Yy, does you think a gal can vait

As sets 'er 'art on being married ?
Last night she vowed she 'd be a bride.

And 'ave a spouse for vuss or better :
So Eill struck in ; the knot vos tied.

And now I vishes you may get her ! "





Young Miyins turned him from tlie spot,

Ee wilder' d with the dreadful stroke, her
Perfidy came like a shot —

He was a thunderstruck stockbroker.
" A curse on steam and steamers too !

By their delays I have been undone ! "
He cried, as, looking very blue.

He rode a bachelor to London.





€liB IratBEte' €mxMr\.


[This and the five following Poems were among those forwarded to the Home
Secretary, by the unsuccessful competitors for the Laureateship, on its becoming
vacant by the death of Southey. How they came into our possession is a matter
between Sir James Graham and ourselves. The result of the contest could never
have been doubtful, least of all to the great poet who then succeeded to the bays.
His own sonnet on the subject is full of the serene consciousness of supe-
riority, which does not even admit the idea of rivalry, far less of defeat.

Bays, which in former days have graced the brow
Of some, who lived and loved, and sung 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.

There shall they bide, till he who follows next,
Of whom I cannot even guess the name.

Shall by Court favour, or some vain pretext
Of fancied merit, desecrate the same, —

And think, perchance, he wears them quite as well

As the sole bard who sang of Peter Bell !]



^' What news, what news, thou pilgrim gfey, what news

from southern land ?
How fare the bold Conservatives, how is it with Ferrand ?



1 ^

* For the convenience of future commentators it may be mentioned, that the
"gentle Brough" was the Monthly Nurse who attended her Majesty on the
occasion of the birth of the Princess Boyal. ; . ' ^ ^

- ■ fvt' M'U-'i^*- .

How does the little Prince of "Wales — how looks our lady W

Queen ; ,

And tell me, is the gentle Brough"^' once more at Windsor wl

^^ I bring no tidings from the court, nor from St. Stephen's

I 've heard the thundering tramp of horse, and the trumpet's

battle call ;
And these old eyes have seen a fight, which England ne'er

hath seen,
Since fell King Eichard sobbed his soul through blood on

Eosworth Green.

^' He 's dead, he 's dead, the Laureate's dead ! " 'T was thus

the cry began,
And straightway every garret roof gave up its minstrel

Erom Grub Street, and from Houndsditch, and from Ear-

ringdon Within,
The poets all towards Whitehall poured on with eldritch



Loud yelled they for Sir James the Graham: but sore

afraid was he ;
A hardy knight were he that might face such a minstrelsie.
''IN'ow by St. Giles of Ketherby, my patron saint, I swear,
I 'd rather by a thousand crowns Lord Palmerston were

here ! —


'^ What is 't ye seek, ye rebel knaves, what make you

there beneath ? "
^' The bays, the bays! we want the bays! we seek the

laureate wreath !
We seek the butt of generous wine that cheers the sons of

song :
Choose thou among us all, Sir Knight — we may not tarry

long ! "

Loud laughed the good Sir James in scorn — " Rare jest it

were, I think.
But one poor butt of Xeres, and a thousand rogues to

drink !
An' if it flowed with wine or beer, 't is easy to be seen

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