The Complete Works of C. S. Calverley ... With a Biographical Notice by Sir Walter J. Sendall |
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| THE POET AND THE FLY |
| I. |
| II. |
 | The Complete Works of C. S. Calverley |  |
130
THE POET AND THE FLY
I. Part I
Round the Poet, ere he slumbered,
Sang the Fly thro' hours unnumbered;
Sauntered, if he seemed to doze,
O'er the arch that was his nose,
Darting thence to re-appear
In his subtly-chambered ear:
When at last he slept right soundly,
It transfixed him so profoundly,
Caused him agony so horrid,
That he woke and smote his forehead
(It's the course that poets take
When they're trifled with) and spake:—
Sang the Fly thro' hours unnumbered;
Sauntered, if he seemed to doze,
O'er the arch that was his nose,
Darting thence to re-appear
In his subtly-chambered ear:
When at last he slept right soundly,
It transfixed him so profoundly,
Caused him agony so horrid,
That he woke and smote his forehead
(It's the course that poets take
When they're trifled with) and spake:—
“Fly! Thy brisk unmeaning buzz
Would have roused the man of Uz;
And, besides thy buzzing, I
Fancy thou'rt a stinging fly.
Fly—who'rt peering, I am certain,
At me now from yonder curtain:
Busy, curious, thirsty fly
(As thou'rt clept, I well know why)—
Cease, if only for a single
Hour, to make my being tingle!
Flee to some loved haunt of thine;
To the valleys where the kine,
Udder-deep in grasses cool,
Or the rushy-margined pool,
Strive to lash thy murmurous kin
(Vainly) from their dappled skin!
Round the steed's broad nostrils flit,
Till he foams and champs the bit,
And, reluctant to be bled,
Tosses high his lordly head.
I have seen a thing no larger
Than thyself assail a charger;
He—who unconcerned would stand
All the braying of the band,
Who disdained trombone and drum—
Quailed before that little hum.
I have seen one flaunt his feelers
'Fore the steadiest of wheelers,
And at once the beast would bound,
Kangaroo-like, off the ground.
Lithe o'er moor and marish hie,
Like thy king, the Dragon-fly;
With the burnished bee skim over
Sunlit uplands white with clover;
Or, low-brooding on the lea,
Warn the swain of storms to be!
—Need I tell thee how to act?
Do just anything in fact.
Haunt my cream ('twill make thee plump),
Filch my sugar, every lump;
Round my matin-coat keep dodging,
In my necktie find a lodging
(Only, now that I reflect, I
Rather seldom wear a necktie);
Perforate my Sunday hat;
(It's a new one—what of that?)
Honeycomb my cheese, my favourite,
Thy researches will but flavour it;
Spoil my dinner-beer, and sneak up
Basely to my evening tea-cup;
Palter with my final toddy;
But respect my face and body!
Hadst thou been a painted hornet,
Or a wasp, I might have borne it;
But a common fly or gnat!
Come, my friend, get out of that.”
Would have roused the man of Uz;
And, besides thy buzzing, I
Fancy thou'rt a stinging fly.
Fly—who'rt peering, I am certain,
At me now from yonder curtain:
Busy, curious, thirsty fly
(As thou'rt clept, I well know why)—
Cease, if only for a single
Hour, to make my being tingle!
Flee to some loved haunt of thine;
To the valleys where the kine,
Udder-deep in grasses cool,
Or the rushy-margined pool,
Strive to lash thy murmurous kin
131
Round the steed's broad nostrils flit,
Till he foams and champs the bit,
And, reluctant to be bled,
Tosses high his lordly head.
I have seen a thing no larger
Than thyself assail a charger;
He—who unconcerned would stand
All the braying of the band,
Who disdained trombone and drum—
Quailed before that little hum.
I have seen one flaunt his feelers
'Fore the steadiest of wheelers,
And at once the beast would bound,
Kangaroo-like, off the ground.
Lithe o'er moor and marish hie,
Like thy king, the Dragon-fly;
With the burnished bee skim over
Sunlit uplands white with clover;
Or, low-brooding on the lea,
Warn the swain of storms to be!
—Need I tell thee how to act?
Do just anything in fact.
Haunt my cream ('twill make thee plump),
Filch my sugar, every lump;
Round my matin-coat keep dodging,
In my necktie find a lodging
(Only, now that I reflect, I
Rather seldom wear a necktie);
Perforate my Sunday hat;
(It's a new one—what of that?)
Honeycomb my cheese, my favourite,
Thy researches will but flavour it;
132
Basely to my evening tea-cup;
Palter with my final toddy;
But respect my face and body!
Hadst thou been a painted hornet,
Or a wasp, I might have borne it;
But a common fly or gnat!
Come, my friend, get out of that.”
Dancing down, the insect here
Stung him smartly on the ear;
For a while—like some cheap earring—
Clung there, then retreated jeering.
(As men jeer, in prose or rhyme,
So may flies, in pantomime;
We discern not in their buzz
Language, but the poet does.)
Stung him smartly on the ear;
For a while—like some cheap earring—
Clung there, then retreated jeering.
(As men jeer, in prose or rhyme,
So may flies, in pantomime;
We discern not in their buzz
Language, but the poet does.)
Long he deemed him at Death's door;
Then sprang featly to the floor,
Seized his water-jug and drank its
Whole contents; hung several blankets
Round his lair and pinned them fast:
“I shall rest,” he moaned, “at last.”
But anon a ghastlier groan
To the shuddering night made known
That with blanket and with pin
He had shut the creature IN.
Then sprang featly to the floor,
Seized his water-jug and drank its
Whole contents; hung several blankets
Round his lair and pinned them fast:
“I shall rest,” he moaned, “at last.”
But anon a ghastlier groan
To the shuddering night made known
That with blanket and with pin
He had shut the creature IN.
133
II. Part II
While unto dawn succeeded day,
Unresting still the Victim lay;
The many-limbed one had its way.
Unresting still the Victim lay;
The many-limbed one had its way.
He heard the stair-clock's tranquil ticks;
When it exultingly struck six,
He gave a score or so of kicks.
When it exultingly struck six,
He gave a score or so of kicks.
“Before to-morrow's sun up-climbs,”
He feebly said, “yon leafy limes,
I'll write a letter to the ‘Times.’”
He feebly said, “yon leafy limes,
I'll write a letter to the ‘Times.’”
Haggard and wan, when noon was nigh,
He rose and flung his window high;
He heard, beneath, an old man's cry.
He rose and flung his window high;
He heard, beneath, an old man's cry.
He strove—but idly strove—to eat;
Till now, to see the potted meat
Vanish before him was a treat.
Till now, to see the potted meat
Vanish before him was a treat.
He strove to write, but strove in vain;
Dark thoughts 'gan shape them in his brain;
He listened to that old man's strain.
Dark thoughts 'gan shape them in his brain;
He listened to that old man's strain.
It rang out, maddeningly distinct;
As he gave ear to it he winked;
He dropped the pen that he had inked.
As he gave ear to it he winked;
He dropped the pen that he had inked.
(Song of Old Man below.)
“Catch-'em-alive! Gentlemen, I've
Here such a dose as no fly can survive.
House-fly, blue-bottle,
Garden-fly—what'll
Save him when once he's got this in his throttle?
Let e'en a wasp dip his nose in the mixture,
Spread on a plate, and that wasp is a fixture.
Buy, buy; give it a try;
Don't be put down by a poor little fly.
Who'll purchase any? Only a penny
Kills you them all, if it's ever so many.”
Here such a dose as no fly can survive.
134
Garden-fly—what'll
Save him when once he's got this in his throttle?
Let e'en a wasp dip his nose in the mixture,
Spread on a plate, and that wasp is a fixture.
Buy, buy; give it a try;
Don't be put down by a poor little fly.
Who'll purchase any? Only a penny
Kills you them all, if it's ever so many.”
He bought, he placed some on a plate;
I wis, he had not long to wait;
They ate it at a frightful rate.
I wis, he had not long to wait;
They ate it at a frightful rate.
But on his friend of yesternight
(He knew the animal by sight)
His baffled gaze could ne'er alight.
(He knew the animal by sight)
His baffled gaze could ne'er alight.
At last he noticed the unfeeling
Brute in a casual manner wheeling
Round an excrescence in the ceiling.
Brute in a casual manner wheeling
Round an excrescence in the ceiling.
Self-poised, it eyed the heaps of slain;
But, that it did not entertain
A thought of joining them, was plain.
But, that it did not entertain
A thought of joining them, was plain.
It winged that upper-air till ten,
The bard's retiring-hour; and then
Descending, tackled him again.
The bard's retiring-hour; and then
Descending, tackled him again.
Next morn the young man made his will;
And either shot himself at drill
Or sucked slow poison through a quill.
And either shot himself at drill
Or sucked slow poison through a quill.
135
The Thing accurst—the Vaticide—
All wiles for snaring him defied;
And at a good old age he died.
All wiles for snaring him defied;
And at a good old age he died.
This tale (I guarantee it true),
Reader, I dedicate to you.
If you can find its moral, do.
Reader, I dedicate to you.
If you can find its moral, do.
| The Complete Works of C. S. Calverley | |