XXIV.
Seven miles above--below--around-- This pest of dullness holds its sway; A ghastly life without a sound; To Peter's soul the spell is bound-- How should it ever pass away?
WILLIAM MAGINN.
THE RIME OF THE AUNCIENT WAGGONERE.
(COLERIDGE)
PART FIRST.
[Sidenote: An auncient waggonere stoppoth ane tailore going to a wedding, whereat he hath been appointed to be best manne, and to take a hand in the casting of the slippere.]
It is an auncient Waggonere, And hee stoppeth one of nine:-- 'Now wherefore dost thou grip me soe With that horny fist of thine?
[Sidenote: The waggonere in mood for chat, and admits of no excuse.]
'The bridegroom's doors are opened wide, And thither I must walke; Soe, by youre leave, I must be gone, I have noe time for talke!'
[Sidenote: The tailore seized with the ague.]
Hee holds him with his horny fist-- 'There was a wain,' quothe hee, 'Hold offe, thou raggamouffine tykke.' Eftsoones his fist dropped hee.
[Sidenote: He listeneth like a three years and a half child.]
Hee satte him downe upon a stone, With ruefulle looks of feare; And thus began this tippsye manne, The red-nosed waggonere.
[Sidenote: The appetite of the tailore whetted by the smell of cabbage.]
'The waine is fulle, the horses pulle, Merrilye did we trotte Alonge the bridge, alonge the road, A jolly crewe, I wotte;'-- And here the tailore smotte his breaste, He smelte the cabbage potte!
[Sidenote: The waggonere in talking anent Boreas, maketh bad orthographye.]
'The night was darke, like Noe's arke, Oure waggone moved alonge; The hail pour'd faste, loude roared the blaste, Yet stille we moved alonge; And sung in chorus, "Cease, loud Borus," A very charminge songe.
[Sidenote: Their mirth interrupted.]
'"Bravoe, bravissimoe," I cried, The sounde was quite elatinge; But, in a trice, upon the ice, We hearde the horses skaitinge.
[Sidenote: And the passengers exercise themselves in the pleasant art of swimminge, as doeth also their prog, to witte, great store of colde roasted beef; item, ane beef-stake pye: item, viii choppines of usquebaugh.]
'The ice was here, the ice was there, It was a dismale mattere, To see the cargoe, one by one, Flounderinge in the wattere!
'With rout and roare, we reached the shore, And never a soul did sinke; But in the rivere, gone for evere, Swum our meate and drinke.
[Sidenote: The waggonere hailethe ane goose with ane novel salutatione.]
'At lengthe we spied a goode grey goose, Thorough the snow it came; And with the butte ende of my whippe, I hailed it in Goddhis name.
'It staggered as it had been drunke, So dexterous was it hitte; Of brokene boughs we made a fire, Thomme Loncheone roasted itte.'--
[Sidenote: The tailore impatient to be gone, but is forcibly persuaded to remain.]
'Be done, thou tipsye waggonere, To the feaste I must awaye.'-- The waggonere seized him bye the coatte, And forced him there to staye, Begginge, in gentlemanlie style, Butte halfe ane hour's delaye.
PART SECOND.
[Sidenote: The waggonere's bowels yearn towards the sunne.]
'The crimson sunne was rising o'ere The verge of the horizon; Upon my worde, as faire a sunne As ever I clapped eyes onne.
[Sidenote: The passengers throwe the blame of the goose massacre on the innocent waggonere.]
'"'Twill bee ane comfortable thinge," The mutinous crewe 'gan crye; "'Twill be ane comfortable thinge, Within the jaile to lye; Ah! execrable wretche," saide they, "Thatte caused the goose to die!"
[Sidenote: The sunne sufferes ane artificial eclipse, and horror follows, the same not being mentioned in the Belfaste Almanacke.]
'The day was drawing near itte's close, The sunne was well nighe settinge; When lo! it seemed as iffe his face Was veiled with fringe-warke-nettinge.
[Sidenote: Various hypotheses on the subject, frome which the passengeres draw wronge conclusions.]
'Somme saide itte was ane apple tree, Laden with goodlye fruite, Somme swore itte was ane foreigne birde, Some said it was ane brute; Alas! it was ane bumbailiffe Riding in pursuite!
[Sidenote: Ane lovelye sound ariseth; ittes effects described.]
A hue and crye sterte uppe behind, Whilke smote our ears like thunder. Within the waggone there was drede, Astonishmente and wonder.
[Sidenote: The passengers throw somersets.]
'One after one, the rascalls rann, And from the carre did jump; One after one, one after one, They felle with heavy thump.
'Six miles ane houre theye offe did scoure, Like shippes on ane stormye ocean, Theire garments flappinge in the winde, With ane shorte uneasy motion.
[Sidenote: The waggonere complimenteth the bumbailiffe with ane Mendoza.]
'Their bodies with their legs did flye, Theye fled with feare and glyffe; Why star'st thoue soe?--With one goode blow, I felled the bumbailiffe!'
PART THIRD.
[Sidenote: The tailore meeteth Corporal Feare.]
'I feare thee, auncient waggonere, I feare thy hornye fiste, For itte is stained with goose's gore, And bailiffe's blood, I wist.
'I fear to gette ane fisticuffe From thy leathern knuckles brown'; With that the tailore strove to ryse-- The waggonere thrusts him down.
'Thou craven, if thou mov'st a limbe, I'll give thee cause for feare;' And thus went on that tipsye man, The red-billed waggonere.
[Sidenote: The bailiffe complaineth of considerable derangement of his animal economye.]
The bumbailiffe so beautiful Declared itte was no joke, For, to his knowledge, both his legs And fifteen ribbes were broke.
[Sidenote: Policemen with their lanthornes pursue the waggonere.]
'The lighte was gone, the nighte came on, Ane hundrede lantherns' sheen Glimmerred upon the kinge's highwaye-- Ane lovelye sighte, I ween.
'"Is it he," quoth one, "is this the manne? I'll laye the rascalle stiffe;"-- With cruel stroke the beak he broke Of the harmless bumbailiffe.
[Sidenote: Steppeth twenty feete in imitatione of the Admirable Crichtovn.]
'The threatening of the saucye rogue No more I coulde abide; Advancing forthe my goode right legge Three paces and a stride, I sent my lefte foot dexterously Seven inches thro' his side.
[Sidenote: Complaineth of foul play and falleth down in ane trance.]
'Up came the seconde from the vanne; We had scarcely fought a round, When someone smote me from behinde, And I fell down in a swound:
[Sidenote: One acteth the parte of Job's comfortere.]
'And when my head began to clear, I heard the yemering crew-- Quoth one, "this man hath penance done, And penance more shall do."'
PART FOURTH.
[Sidenote: The waggonere maketh ane shrewd observation.]
'O Freedom is a glorious thing!-- And, tailore, by the by, I'd rather in a halter swing, Than in a dungeon lie.
[Sidenote: The waggonere tickleth the spleen of the jailer, who daunces ane Fandango.]
'The jailere came to bring me foode, Forget it will I never, How he turned up the white o' his eye When I stuck him in the liver.
[Sidenote: Rejoicethe in the fragrance of the aire.]
'His threade of life was snapt: once more I reached the open streete; The people sung out "Gardyloo" As I ran down the streete. Methought the blessed air of heaven Never smelte so sweete.
[Sidenote: Dreadeth Shoan Dhu, the corporal of the guarde.]
'Once more upon the broad highwaye, I walked with feare and drede; And every fifteen steppes I tooke I turned about my heade, For feare the corporal of the guarde Might close behind me trede!
'Behold, upon the western wave Setteth the broad bright sunne; So I must onward, as I have Full fifteen miles to runne;--
[Sidenote: The waggonere taketh leave of the tailore, to whome ane small accidente happeneth. Whereupon followeth the morale very proper to be had in minde by all members of the Dilettanti Society when they come over the bridge at these houres. Wherefore let them take heed and not lay blame where it lyeth nott.]
'And should the bailiffes hither come To aske whilke way I've gone, Tell them I took the othere road,' Said hee, and trotted onne.
The tailore rushed into the roome, O'erturning three or foure; Fractured his skulle against the walle, And worde spake never more!!
MORALE.
Such is the fate of foolish men, The danger all may see, Of those, who list to waggonere, And keepe bad companye.
TO A BOTTLE OF OLD PORT.
(MOORE)
When he who adores thee has left but the dregs Of such famous old stingo behind, Oh! say will he bluster and weep? No, 'ifegs! He'll seek for some more of the kind. He'll laugh and though doctors perhaps may condemn-- Thy tide shall efface the decree, For many can witness, though subject to phlegm, He has always been faithful to thee!
With thee were the dreams of his earliest love, Every rap in his pocket was thine, And his very last prayer, every morning, by Jove! Was to finish the evening in wine. How blest are the tipplers whose heads can outlive The effects of four bottles of thee, But the next dearest blessing that heaven can give, Is to stagger home muzzy from three!
THE LAST LAMP OF THE ALLEY.
(MOORE)
The last lamp of the alley Is burning alone! All its brilliant companions Are shivered and gone. No lamp of her kindred, No burner is nigh, To rival her glimmer, Or light to supply.
I'll not leave thee, thou lone one! To vanish in smoke; As the bright ones are shattered, Thou too shalt be broke: Thus kindly I scatter Thy globe o'er the street; Where the watch in his rambles Thy fragments shall meet.
Then home will I stagger, As well as I may; By the light of my nose sure I'll find out the way. When thy blaze is extinguished, Thy brilliancy gone, Oh! my beak shall illumine The alley alone.
THE GALIONGEE.
A FRAGMENT OF A TURKISH TALE.
(BYRON)
The Pacha sat in his divan, With silver-sheathed ataghan; And called to him a Galiongee, Come lately from the Euxine Sea To Stamboul; chains were on his feet, And fetters on his hands were seen, Because he was a Nazarene: When, duly making reverence meet, With haughty glance on that divan, And curling lip, he thus began:
'By broad Phingari's silver light, When sailing at the noon of night, Bismillah! whom did we descry But dark corsairs, who, bent on spoil, Athwart the deep sea ever toil! We knew their blood-red flags on high: The Capitan he called, belike, With gesture proud, to bid us strike, And told his Sonbachis to spare Of not one scalp a single hair, Though garbs of green showed Emirs there! It boots not, Pacha, to relate What souls were sent to Eblis throne, How Azrael's arrows scattered fate, How wild, wet, wearied, and alone, When all my crew were drench'd in blood, Or floated lifeless on the flood, I fought unawed, nor e'er thought I To shout "Amaun!" the craven's cry-- I took my handkerchief to wipe My burning brow, and then I took, With placid hand, my long chibouque, That is to say, my Turkish pipe, And having clapp'd it in my cheek Disdaining e'er a word to speak, I shouted to the pirate, "Now, You've fairly beat me, I allow,"' &c.
JOHN KEATS.
STANZAS ON CHARLES ARMITAGE BROWN.
(SPENSER)
He is to weet a melancholy carle: Thin in the waist, with bushy head of hair, As hath the seeded thistle when in parle It holds the Zephyr, ere it sendeth fair Its light balloons into the summer air; Therto his beard had not begun to bloom, No brush had touch'd his chin, or razor sheer; No care had touch'd his cheek with mortal doom, But new he was and bright as scarf from Persian loom.
Ne cared he for wine, or half and half, Ne cared he for fish or flesh or fowl, And sauces held he worthless as the chaff; He 'sdeigned the swine-head at the wassail-bowl; Ne with lewd ribbalds sat he cheek by jowl; Ne with sly Lemans in the scorner's chair; But after water-brooks this Pilgrim's soul Panted, and all his food was woodland air Though he would oft-times feast on gilliflowers rare.
The slang of cities in no wise he knew, _Tipping the wink_ to him was heathen Greek; He sipp'd no olden Tom or ruin blue, Or nantz or cherry-brandy drank full meek By many a damsel hoarse and rouge of cheek; Nor did he know each aged watchman's beat, Nor in obscured purlieus would he seek For curlèd Jewesses, with ankles neat, Who as they walk abroad make tinkling with their feet.
ON OXFORD.
(WORDSWORTH)
The Gothic looks solemn, The plain Doric column Supports an old Bishop and Crosier; The mouldering arch, Shaded o'er by a larch Stands next door to Wilson the Hosier.
Vicè--that is, by turns,-- O'er pale faces mourns The black tassell'd trencher and common hat; The Chantry boy sings, The Steeple-bell rings, And as for the Chancellor--_dominat_.
There are plenty of trees, And plenty of ease, And plenty of fat deer for Parsons; And when it is venison, Short is the benison,-- Then each on a leg or thigh fastens.
HARTLEY COLERIDGE.
HE LIVED AMIDST TH' UNTRODDEN WAYS.
(WORDSWORTH)
He lived amidst th' untrodden ways To Rydal Lake that lead; A bard whom there were none to praise, And very few to read.
Behind a cloud his mystic sense, Deep hidden, who can spy? Bright as the night when not a star Is shining in the sky.
Unread his works--his 'Milk White Doe' With dust is dark and dim; It's still in Longman's shop, and oh! The difference to him!
JOHN HAMILTON REYNOLDS.
PETER BELL: A LYRICAL BALLAD.
(WORDSWORTH)
I do affirm that I am the REAL SIMON PURE.--_Bold Stroke for a Wife._