University of Virginia Library

THE KINGS' WAKE

[A SURPRISE PARTY]

Good fellows were they all
Who toward Tom King's that winter evening hied,
To give friend King a call:
With drink — they said 'twas fair — and likewise meat supplied.
When leaves nor shade nor strew the street,
And underneath unresting feet
The crunch'd crisp snow we hear,
When in high heaven the stars are hung
So bright they seem like diamonds strung
To grace the new-come Year,
We have a custom like the snow
To go a-drifting, to and fro,
Among our friends:
The when we never let them know,
But for amends
With baskets and caskets
Their tables we throng,
And bottles, with throttles
Impatient for song.
This party was of various clime:
Beshrew me, they were worthy rhyme
As any of that antique time
Your laureate sings.
Surprises may not be sublime,—
But kings are kings.
King (Tom), of royal heart was he,
And this same day from o'er the sea
Came home: is any doubt that we
Shall be well-come?
His Wife too 'd like us to make free
And feel “tu hum.”
So thought our party:—but ere they're astir
It may be well to note the kind o' folk they were.
Chief of the gang was Enoch, tall and dry,
Square-shoulder'd, hatchet-faced, lank-hair'd, and spry:
He said Vermont had raised him; others said
He was a right New-Yorker, thorough bred.
Wherever borh, a level head had he,
And spake outside his nose sonorously.
Not quite his height was Bull, but fleshier far,
And ruddy-cheek'd as Baldwin apples are,
With somewhat of a mid protuberance:
Yet was he strong and active, and could dance
With any girl, and sing in tones so sweet
Two or three bars would take you off your feet:
Well-featured, with curl'd hair of chestnut hue,
And all good in him like a chestnut too.
The third was a young German, Ernest call'd
By friends: he wore green spectacles, was bald,
And beardless, but full pleasant was his face,
With kind blue eyes his glasses did disgrace:
His figure short, much rounded, not ill-made:
Serene his look, and his demeanour staid,
And all unlike the Frenchman at his side,
Brave Monsieur Jean Belleisle, quick, lively-eyed,
And windmill-action'd when he 'gan to talk.
Three steps to Ernest's two he took in his walk,
Yet hardly kept pace with him. Behind them
Sandy McIvor came, a man of phlegm
And moods sarcastic,—but he mean'd no harm:
A hard dry-manner'd Scot, but with a warm
Leal spirit Always he was arm in arm
With Denis 'Shaughnessy, his other self,
His supplement: for Denis was an elf,
Frolicsome, careless, noisy, and o'errun
With mirth and jest and unrelenting fun,
As champagne flasks are overflow'd with froth.
Certes this boy had fun enough for both
Himself and Sawney: all with pure intent
And consciènce. He shouted as he went
And gambol'd like the Bedlamkin he was.
This was the jovial crowd that mean'd to pass
A quiet night with King, their old-time friend;
And, as the fashion bade, a grace to lend
To their intrusion, take with them their treat,
Some drink material, some odd things to eat:
Mere punkin-pies and strawberry-jam short-cake,
An oyster stew, and eke a fair clam-bake
(“Unseasonable,” but then for friendship's sake):
These their regalia. Beside these they bore
Crackers and cheese and goodies, a good store,
And fixins whereof rooster-tails are made,
Apples for Jack, and herald-like display'd
A mighty demijohn upheld on high
As if they thought to flout the temperate sky;
And from their pockets out-poked many a neck
Of bottles label'd variously. What reck
We of the labels till the corks are out?
By now the party passes, with a shout,
Through King's front gate; he, having drawn aside
His window-curtain, look'd forth and espied
His pied acquaintance hammering at his door,
Clamorous to enter. Did I say before
He had that day from a long voyage return'd?
And in his early chamber the light burn'd.
Scarcely a-bed was he when all this din
As of police or burglars breaking in,
And he must rise and don his wearied clothes
(His bettermost suit unpack'd yet, I suppose)
To welcome these invaders, and with thanks:
Welcome as sudden floods that o'er low banks
Some unexpected thaw with thankless heat
Has brought unwanted. On his naked feet
Descends he, and assists them to a light;
Then turns to put him in more gueslly plight.
So enter they. And in a little while
King and his Wife bring down a cheerful smile
To help the gas; and all the game's a-blaze.
Bull first gave tongue: Why, this is like old days.
I said we could not come too soon. Leastways,
Chimed Enoch, Nary one of us could wait.
Too soon? said Denis: shure it's most too late.
But pardon, Gentles! I have left too long
Our hostess standing these wild men among.
A jolly dame King's Better-half, though young:
With a sweet mouth and a sweet saucy tongue.
Well could she meet the wags at any hour.
She came in blooming, fresh as the may-flower,
No one had thought that she could be so quick;
And, leaning on her husband as a stick,
Gave greeting to each unexpected guest,
To each her hand, with proffer of the best.
The flre was not yet out; would they but sit
And wait a while. More silent King; but lit
A spill for all in turn. Not fluent of speech
Was he, but of most things within his reach
Could give account: a fidgety small man,
Restless, although 'twas said he never ran,—
His gait as suited one whose thoughts were wise:
He saw no gain in hurried exercise.
Wrizled his face was, his jaw lean; so thin
His body too, there was no room for sin
If any had suspected him of it.
But they who knew th' inside knew there was wit
With guilelessness beneath that wrinkled crust.
He was a man you might both love and trust:
(Might is a wrong word here, I would say must).
Grave as he was he could accept a joke;
And gravely smiled when Bull the night-hours woke,
As 'bacco-laureate for the present time,
With hasty snatch like this of Moorish rhyme.
I know by the smoke all so gracefully curl'd
Round the mouth o' the meerschaum that Lone Jack is lit,
And I say, if there's peace to be found in the world
With a chimney that smokes, this is it! this is it!
And here, if the wine may have leave to come forth
We mad devils have brought into this blissful sphere,
We would pledge to our Host truest service and love,
And the same to our Hostess most charming and dear.
With leave, Tom! (Bull went on to say) I will move
(As he uncork'd the Clicquot) we start fair with this.
And I think you will own, if good wine's to be had,
Here it is! here it is!
And now, the snow-white damask spread,
The viands in fit order placed,
With Enoch at the table's head,
Tom at his right, the left side graced
By Madam — “next his heart”
(So Denis for his part
Apostrophising as the rest took seats),
They pass'd around the dainty meats,
The sandwiches of chaff and wine.
Admit the chaff is not cut fine:
Say badinage! when hearts are young
Some waggery's allow'd: the tongue
Serves as salt-cellar. While I prate
These chafferers empty every plate;
And having fully bribed their throats
Prepare for warbling. Take we notes!
Of course Bull must lay down the law.
The Scot remonstrates: Hoot awa!
Let me begin!
A hieland laddie I was born:
A' laaland laws I haud in scorn—
Denis breaks in—
Och! I was born in Liverpool,
And I hate the English laws,
For me father was an Irishman:
Shure I've the plinty cause.
Then Bull, half wroth, with look to make a pause,
Be hangd t' ye both! we'll have no politics.
Choose other singing! Denis! do you mix!
Perhaps Miss Belle will favour us the first
With her sweet voice? Whereat a general burst,
Applause! Miss Belle bow'd gracefully at this.
How came she of the party? I shall miss
Her song to tell. A winsome lassie she,
Like yet unlike her sister Queen: some see
No likeness, Belle being little, as yet slim:
If scant of fun, without caprice or whim,
And all straight-forward as an arrow is:
A maiden many have to love, I wis.—
Unhesitating, although used to sing,
She trill'd unquaveringly a pretty thing
Of love — a man's love-song: it is the way
Young virgins teach shy bachelors what to say.
That over, praised, Bull clear'd his ample throat,
And stuck his thumbs in sleeve-holes of his coat,
And closed his eyes, and lay back in his chair,
And gave as his opinion Jane was fair
But cruel, and his heart was breaking fast,
Nigh sixteen stone. And when that woe was past
Enoch, all asking, led a college chaunt sublime
(Writ by the Sage of Concord in the days
Of studious youth and more poetic haze):
How the Bull-Frog and the Squirrel
Had a quarrel, both one time.
'Twas a mountain of a bull-frog (quite an Og
Of Bashan, said our Englishman): the mess
Was Squirrel he was riled to be thought less
Than this mud-mounting bully of a frog.
But here's the strain:—
Bull-Frog and Squirrel, turn and turn again.
Chorus
— In among the sedges,
On the edges
Where the bull-frogs doze.

Chorus
— In among the sedges,
The green edges.
Who the bull-frog's Phut?

Chorus
— In among the sedges,
On the edges
Of a China plate.

Chorus
— 'Mid the dirty sedges
On the edges
Of the Bull-Frog's hole.

Chorus
— In among the sedges,
All their edges
Bow'd to him of course.

Chorus
— Down among the sedges,
On the ledges
Where the Bull-Frog's mouth is shut.

Needs not be said, at every pause in this
Glasses get emptied, while the refill'd kiss,
Lip against lip, as custom stands with friends.
The punch was excellent. A good punch lends
A fillip to enjoyment. Let them hunch
Teetotal shoulders! Tea, well put in punch,
Helps temperance, corrects the spirituous part,
And cheer'd by it gives warmth unto the heart.
Try tea with lemon-juice! a little bit
Of sugar added: there's no harm in it.
Good lemon aids the tea. Nor is there wrong
In some stomachic, taken not too strong.
But pass the punch! We wait another song.
Our hostess call'd the German forth:
She knew that he had quires of worth.
He blush'd, but said he vould sing den
(The air it vos by Beethoven)
A German Lied, perhaps vould please,
Translated by an English pen.
They vould not mind his qs and ps.
It's nae so hamely, to my mind,
As our ain sangs. Ye ken that one
Of Bonnie Poll, a screed of Burns.
So Sandy, off fu' yet some turns;
And scarcely waiting for his wind,
Ere they had ask'd he had begun.

Dermot's Uproar.

The Frenchman's turn came next. Pardòn!
His hand to ze fair dames he keess,
And he vould sing a small chanson
He turn himself to Eenglish, Meess!
The song, he said, came à-propos,
For Meess had tell him that she know
French of de Beranger, and he
Was proud of taste with hers agree.
Belle smiled, but bravely bit her lips.
Jean kiss'd again his finger-tips;
Then sang, in English beyond quarrel,
How Charles the Seventh loved Agnes Sorel.
One guest, yet undescribed, sat Belle beside:
A gentle youth, mustached and tender-eyed,
Of nice behaviour, in his Sunday's best.
How came he there we will not make iuquest
At present. Ere the plausive echoes died,
Was it a blush Belle sought to hide
That made her turn away?
Or something in those youthful eyes
That met her own sweet thought,
Whereat she started as with shamed surprise?
That start the Sister caught,
And at her word the gentle youngster brought
And sang as a true lover ought

A Roundelay.

to query by Sandy.
Was chorus.
Who shall count the drinks were had
While mad mirth grew more and more as
Momus steep'd the moments' noses
In the mixture that disposes
Even Sorrow to be glad:
Softer Sorrow!
On the morrow
Sick as Pharoah's Court of Moses.
Fairer fate my Muse discloses,
Lifting of our night the blanket:
No wet Banquo at this banquet;
King's friends' scullery at the least
Brought no death's head to our Feast;
Death was not in pot or pottle.
Shade of Southey (name is Cottle)
Reinspire me, that the end may be
Applied to this high theme with fit full dignity!
Help, Apollo! for the Hours
Are bowling off and, by the Powers,
Night's watchman from his misty towers
Is hurrying down.
Kirke White's the last two lines: I would claim but my own.
Thou too, Goddess, fancy free,
In heaven clep'd Mnemosynè!
Memory, with the slender waist
And back-turn'd visage, hither haste!
Whether without weight of wage
Thou porèst o'er some antique page,
Some palimpset whose record
Might suffice for thy reward;
Whether thy late thoughts explore
The prehistoric Cushite shore,
Haply looking for some lost
Berosian bricabrac; or, tost
Back from the sharp Sierras' flanks
To muddy Mississipian banks,
Thou seekest amid ancient mounds
For the earlier river bounds;
Or circlest the unwirèd world
For forty minutes; or with curl'd
And radiant head bow'd to thy knees
Dream'st of the far Symplegades:
Goddess excellently bright!
Thou that makèst day of night!
Goddess memorably wise!
Help the tale of our Surprise!
Benevolent Goddess! plume thy swiftest wing;
Attend this fond complaint, and prompt more words to sing.
Sandy! you do not drink, said Denis. Dry
And sandy's the same thing — was his reply.
I'll tak' a mere sup just to moist my mou',
Syne croon my verse again. I'm no that fu'
But I'll sing brawly, and the sabject's guid,
And present Comp'ny! ye'll no ca' me rude
For singing out o' turns.
I'm like the burns,
Aye tuneful. So he hugs
Conceit with both arms tightly to his breast,
(His glass got leave of rest)
And flings ane ither Scotch sang i' their lugs.