Ballads for the Times (Now first collected,) Geraldine, A Modern Pyramid, Bartenus, A Thousand Lines, and other poems. By Martin F. Tupper. A new Edition, enlarged and revised |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. | III.— John's Rejoinder. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
 | Ballads for the Times |  |
III.— John's Rejoinder.
Buzzah for guessing—brother mine!
I guess'd we loved each other;
Huzzah! I scarce can drop a line
Without the tag of—brother;
Huzzah! for all the kind Replies
Wherewith you bless and love me,—
They thrill my heart and fill my eyes
With thanks to God above me!
I guess'd we loved each other;
Huzzah! I scarce can drop a line
Without the tag of—brother;
Huzzah! for all the kind Replies
Wherewith you bless and love me,—
They thrill my heart and fill my eyes
With thanks to God above me!
454
From East to West, from North to South,
Through all your boundless regions,
The staves that tumble from my mouth
Have stirr'd your thousand legions;
Have made the hearts of women ache,
The minds of men to flutter,
Because you felt before I spake
The words that I would utter!
Through all your boundless regions,
The staves that tumble from my mouth
Have stirr'd your thousand legions;
Have made the hearts of women ache,
The minds of men to flutter,
Because you felt before I spake
The words that I would utter!
You felt that Britain loved you still,
Your foolish fond old mother,—
And gave her,—not against your will,—
The love you cannot smother!
You felt that you, though new, are Old
As England's ancient glories,—
You throbb'd to feel your triumphs told
In all her strains and stories!
Your foolish fond old mother,—
And gave her,—not against your will,—
The love you cannot smother!
You felt that you, though new, are Old
As England's ancient glories,—
You throbb'd to feel your triumphs told
In all her strains and stories!
O yes! dear brethren o'er the sea,
Your verses, loves, and letters
Have been a mix'd account with me
Where both of us are debtors;
I owe you gratitude and praise
For gratitude and praises,
And when in thanks your heart you raise
His thanks my heart upraises!
Your verses, loves, and letters
Have been a mix'd account with me
Where both of us are debtors;
I owe you gratitude and praise
For gratitude and praises,
And when in thanks your heart you raise
His thanks my heart upraises!
Not that, good Jonathan, we try
The game of mutual scratching,—
You, Yankee true, and John Bull I
Breed fowls of purer hatching;
We tell the truth; not less nor more;
So be it kindly spoken;
For thus, no heart was e'er made sore,
No head was ever broken.
The game of mutual scratching,—
You, Yankee true, and John Bull I
Breed fowls of purer hatching;
455
So be it kindly spoken;
For thus, no heart was e'er made sore,
No head was ever broken.
When Pegasus I sit astride
I fill my saddle squarely,—
No fence so high, no ditch so wide,
But I will take it fairly;
I hate the nambypamby plan
Of lounging upon pillions,—
What I would say to one plain man
I'll sing to fifty millions!
I fill my saddle squarely,—
No fence so high, no ditch so wide,
But I will take it fairly;
I hate the nambypamby plan
Of lounging upon pillions,—
What I would say to one plain man
I'll sing to fifty millions!
No truckling tricks will do for us,
The this-and-that-way swerving;
If John is pleased to praise you thus,
It's that you're well-deserving:
But should he fawn your faults forsooth?
Such meanness—I abhor it,—
No,—since in love I speak the truth,
Come, kiss your brother for it!
The this-and-that-way swerving;
If John is pleased to praise you thus,
It's that you're well-deserving:
But should he fawn your faults forsooth?
Such meanness—I abhor it,—
No,—since in love I speak the truth,
Come, kiss your brother for it!
Now, lately, with a faithful hand
I touch'd, in love and lightness,
The one black spot upon your land,
The shadow to your brightness;
I know how hard it is to cure
That sore,—and how you rue it,—
But, Jonathan, of this I'm sure,
You'll soon and somehow—do it!
I touch'd, in love and lightness,
The one black spot upon your land,
The shadow to your brightness;
I know how hard it is to cure
That sore,—and how you rue it,—
But, Jonathan, of this I'm sure,
You'll soon and somehow—do it!
456
More haste, less speed; so speed apace,
As prudent duty bids you;
'Twill be indeed a year of grace
That of this scandal rids you:
The land of liberty and light,
The Beacon on the Waters,
Shall soon be quit of blame and blight
For Afric's sons and daughters!
As prudent duty bids you;
'Twill be indeed a year of grace
That of this scandal rids you:
The land of liberty and light,
The Beacon on the Waters,
Shall soon be quit of blame and blight
For Afric's sons and daughters!
You best know how, and why, and when;
For us, we cannot teach you;
But simply,—by the rights of Men
And Women,—we beseech you!
Take copy, brother, only here,—
By Britain's good intentions;
For all beside a conscience clear
We've got but bad inventions!
For us, we cannot teach you;
But simply,—by the rights of Men
And Women,—we beseech you!
Take copy, brother, only here,—
By Britain's good intentions;
For all beside a conscience clear
We've got but bad inventions!
Our faults were haste, and wanton waste,
Disinterested ruin!
Don Quixote stood to tilt for good,
And lo! his own undoing:
But, Jonathan, a shrewder man,
A very early riser,—
I credit you to find a plan
To manage matters wiser!
Disinterested ruin!
Don Quixote stood to tilt for good,
And lo! his own undoing:
But, Jonathan, a shrewder man,
A very early riser,—
I credit you to find a plan
To manage matters wiser!
The wise, my Jonathan, he knows
That all things here need mending;
And best of friends are always those
Who never fear offending;
O blind, and halt, and full of fault
Are men of every nation,
Then how should we, true friend, be free
From that which dims Creation?
That all things here need mending;
And best of friends are always those
Who never fear offending;
457
Are men of every nation,
Then how should we, true friend, be free
From that which dims Creation?
Never again shall we two part
In hatred or rejection,—
Nor ever meet, but either heart
Shall beat with true affection;
Our “brother banners” we will rear
For Fatherland and Sonland,
Because, Columbia near and dear,
We twain are truly one-land!
In hatred or rejection,—
Nor ever meet, but either heart
Shall beat with true affection;
Our “brother banners” we will rear
For Fatherland and Sonland,
Because, Columbia near and dear,
We twain are truly one-land!
Aye, Jonathan,—take John for this,
Your brother staunch and steady,
The very mind and man, I wis,
To like old “Rough and Ready!”
Then—cheers for Taylor,—great and wise
Because un-glory-bitten,—
And—yes, I see it in your eyes,
Nine more for Vic. and Britain!
Your brother staunch and steady,
The very mind and man, I wis,
To like old “Rough and Ready!”
Then—cheers for Taylor,—great and wise
Because un-glory-bitten,—
And—yes, I see it in your eyes,
Nine more for Vic. and Britain!
| Ballads for the Times | |