 | Lyrical Poems |  |
237
JUMPING JANET.
Rein me now thy vagrant speed,My bright-eyed girl, my sprightly Janet!
I'll pen a rhyme for thee to read,
Would these keen twinklers rest to scan it.
Thou art airy, light, elastic,
Ever moving, never stopping,
With a squirrel's deft gymnastic,
Ever springing, ever hopping.
'Tis well. Thou'rt nimble; so's a fly;
But, for woman's proper training,
Jumping Janet must apply
To her wits a little reining.
Nay, don't toss your head! 'tis fit,
If the race you will be gaining,
That your dancing blood submit,
Like the generous steed's, to training.
238
My advice you should not scoff it;
Use your ears, and not your tongue,
Janet, if you wish to profit.
Every morning when you rise,
That's my rule, my sprightly Janet,
What to do before you lies,
Clearly mark, and wisely plan it.
Every hour its business knows,
In a well-schemed day, my Janet,
Like a watch that surely goes,
Like a steady-wheeling planet.
Map your hours, and with the clock,
For the portioned work be ready;
Like a limpet to a rock,
Cleaving to your purpose steady.
Work, as workmen work, indeed;
Labour hard, and struggle stoutly,
With a wisely-tempered speed,
With an earnest heart devoutly.
Would you know the trick to charm
Pleasure from each seeming sorrow,
Grasp thy task with lusty arm,
Let the thing you do be thorough.
239
Girlish heads are full of fancies—
Iridescent froth and scum,
Bubble bright that gaily dances;
Thoughts of things that will be soon,
Handsome men, and pretty faces,
Measured mountains in the moon,
Ginghams, muslins, gimps, and laces;
Balls and concerts, promenades,
Winter wear, and summer dresses,
Foppish youths, and prudish maids,
Eagle eyes, and sable tresses;
Horrid murders, Church and State,
Metaphysics, and cosmogony,
Granite slabs, and silver plate,
Crimson curtains, old mahogany;
Strange elopements, foolish marriages,
Melting tales of love romantic,
Sudden deaths, and sad miscarriages,
Drownings in the deep Atlantic;
Stupid sermons, pious novels,
Bruits of war among the nations,
Starving Celts in smoky hovels,
Cumming on the Revelations:
240
With a gaudy gay parading,
In a giddy-whirling brain,
Find a place for masquerading.
Such, when they shall hover nigh,
Though they twinkle ne'er so brightly,
Brush them from thee like a fly,
Then buckle to thy work more tightly.
Ban the spirits with the spell
Of a pious imprecation;
Ev'n as Luther banned them well,
When he worked at his translation.
Curb the whim, thy wit elastic
To the work before thee chaining;
Thou shalt know, by stern gymnastic,
Thus the perfect woman's training.
Hour by hour, and day by day,
If thou thus shalt wisely plan it;
When your work is done, you may
Sport with grace, my sprightly Janet!
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