 | The poems and stories of Fitz-James O'Brien |  |
JOHNNY.
I care not how you have been blest—
No maiden ever yet possessed
A lover like my lover.
His eyes were of a dancing blue;
His chestnut hair was just the hue
That flecks the golden plover.
No maiden ever yet possessed
A lover like my lover.
His eyes were of a dancing blue;
His chestnut hair was just the hue
That flecks the golden plover.
'T was on a dreamy night in June,
When earth and heaven throbbed in tune,
That first he told his passion.
Together we were sauntering down
The lonely road that led to town,
In most romantic fashion.
When earth and heaven throbbed in tune,
That first he told his passion.
Together we were sauntering down
The lonely road that led to town,
In most romantic fashion.
He took my hand in his, and placed
His other arm about my waist;
His heart went clicky clacket.
And 'midst an incoherent flow
Of protestations deep and low,
He pressed me to—his jacket.
His other arm about my waist;
His heart went clicky clacket.
And 'midst an incoherent flow
Of protestations deep and low,
He pressed me to—his jacket.
69
I eight and twenty years had seen,
And Johnny was not quite thirteen;
Yet justice I must render:
'Mid all the swains I 've had since then—
And some of them were charming men—
I ne'er had one more tender.
And Johnny was not quite thirteen;
Yet justice I must render:
'Mid all the swains I 've had since then—
And some of them were charming men—
I ne'er had one more tender.
He swore he loved me more than life;
He 'd die if I were not his wife;
I was his only jewel;
He dreamed of me by day and night;
I was his sun, his star, his light,—
In fact, all kinds of fuel.
He 'd die if I were not his wife;
I was his only jewel;
He dreamed of me by day and night;
I was his sun, his star, his light,—
In fact, all kinds of fuel.
I dared not let him see the smile
That glimmered on my lips the while
He madly was entreating;
For worlds I would not cause to smart
The honest, manly little heart
That in his breast was beating.
That glimmered on my lips the while
He madly was entreating;
For worlds I would not cause to smart
The honest, manly little heart
That in his breast was beating.
Then he—ah! cunning little Jack—
Rehearsed a speech from Telemaque—
A fact he did not mention;
While I, with half-averted face,
Kept listening, with the utmost grace
And most profound attention.
Rehearsed a speech from Telemaque—
A fact he did not mention;
While I, with half-averted face,
Kept listening, with the utmost grace
And most profound attention.
He wished to fly to some far isle
Where summer skies forever smile,
And fruits are in profusion;
And there, away from haunts of men,
We 'd live the golden age again,
In exquisite seclusion.
Where summer skies forever smile,
And fruits are in profusion;
And there, away from haunts of men,
We 'd live the golden age again,
In exquisite seclusion.
70
The sun of love our days should gild,
And stalwart he would straightway build
A beautiful pavilion;
And we would live on deer and fish,
With grapes as much as we could wish,
And kisses by the million.
And stalwart he would straightway build
A beautiful pavilion;
And we would live on deer and fish,
With grapes as much as we could wish,
And kisses by the million.
I listened gravely to his plan—
The loving, noble little man—
So earnest and so funny;
Then hinted that to reach this haunt
Of wedded bliss, why, we might want
A little ready money.
The loving, noble little man—
So earnest and so funny;
Then hinted that to reach this haunt
Of wedded bliss, why, we might want
A little ready money.
The blow was fatal: Johnny's face
Grew solemn at a fearful pace,
And silently we parted.
I went my way: he went to bed
Revolving finance in his head,
And nearly broken-hearted.
Grew solemn at a fearful pace,
And silently we parted.
I went my way: he went to bed
Revolving finance in his head,
And nearly broken-hearted.
I need not say we did not fly
To that eternal summer sky,
So far across the water.
I hear no more of Telemaque,—
For I, in short, may say that Jack
Is married to my daughter.
To that eternal summer sky,
So far across the water.
I hear no more of Telemaque,—
For I, in short, may say that Jack
Is married to my daughter.
| The poems and stories of Fitz-James O'Brien | |