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Tarporley Swan-Hopping.
November 6th, 1862.
I
When a Swan takes to singing they say she will die,But our Tarporley Swan proves that legend a lie;
145
May she swing there and sing there a thousand years more!
II
Rara avis in terris our Swan though not black,Though white her own pinions and white her own back,
Still her flock, in November full-feather'd, are seen
Resplendent in plumage of scarlet and green.
III
Heralds say she is sprung from that White Swan of yoreWhich our Sires at Blore Heath to the battlefield bore;
When, Quæsitum meritis, loyal and true,
Their swords Cheshire men for Queen Margaret drew.
IV
To and fro in her flight she has travers'd the Vale,She has lov'd on an ocean of claret to sail;
Whate'er takes her fancy she thinks it no sin,
So her dancing-days, now she's a hundred, begin.
V
You have heard in your youth of the Butterfly's Ball,How the birds and the beasts she invited them all;
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Invites all her friends to a Soirée dansante.
VI
Lest her flock at the Ball should themselves misbehave,The old Swan thus a lecture on etiquette gave:
“Though, my sons, o'er the Vale you make light of a fall,
Beware how you make a false step at the Ball.
VII
“You must all in good feather be drest for the night,Let not the Swan neck-tie be tied over-tight;
Each his partner may fan with the tip of his wing,
Patent pumps for web feet will be quite the right thing.
VIII
“Expand not your pinions, 'twere folly to try,In vain would their vastness with crinoline vie;
Let no rude neck outstretch'd o'er the table be seen,
Nor stand dabbling your bills in the supper tureen.
IX
“When you sail down the middle, or swim through a dance,147
Let your entrance, your exit no waddle disclose,
But hold all your heads up, and turn out your toes.
X
“To the counsel convey'd in these motherly wordsGive heed, and I trust you will all be good birds;
I give you my blessing and bid you begone,
So away to the Ball with you, every one.”
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