 | Songs and Poems from 1819 to 1879 |  |
146
INTRODUCTION TO “MIRTH.”
“Mirth: a new humorous magazine!” Preserve us!
Another can the public really need?
It is enough to make Minerva nervous,
They seem so fast each other to succeed;
Follow, perhaps, would be the better reading,
For some, 'tis said, succeed without succeeding.
Another can the public really need?
It is enough to make Minerva nervous,
They seem so fast each other to succeed;
Follow, perhaps, would be the better reading,
For some, 'tis said, succeed without succeeding.
Well! that's the publisher's affair, not mine;
From standing in his shoes, kind stars protect us.
The editor declares the prospect fine,—
The prospect's always fine in the Prospectus!
With a strong staff, his fun at all he'll poke,
But what I have to do I find no joke.
From standing in his shoes, kind stars protect us.
The editor declares the prospect fine,—
The prospect's always fine in the Prospectus!
With a strong staff, his fun at all he'll poke,
But what I have to do I find no joke.
He has asked me to write an Ode to Mirth,
For love—at least he hasn't mentioned money.
Now, if there be a wet blanket on earth,
It's asking a poor fellow to be funny.
The wag! he knew an ode from me requesting
Would prove his own capacity for jesting.
For love—at least he hasn't mentioned money.
Now, if there be a wet blanket on earth,
It's asking a poor fellow to be funny.
The wag! he knew an ode from me requesting
Would prove his own capacity for jesting.
147
I don't refuse, I never could say No;
So, snatching up a pen in desperation,
I turn to Milton, who wrote, long ago,
“An Ode to Mirth,” which had some reputation.
It's safe to pilfer from a grand old poet,
For nowadays not one in ten would know it.
So, snatching up a pen in desperation,
I turn to Milton, who wrote, long ago,
“An Ode to Mirth,” which had some reputation.
It's safe to pilfer from a grand old poet,
For nowadays not one in ten would know it.
I'm sure I recollect a line or two
I might adapt, or as quotations give.
Yes! here is “Mirth, admit me of thy crew,”
And “Mirth, with,” no, “By thee I mean to live.”
Poh! stuff! my Muse is not at all Miltonic;
It's more akin to the (J.) Byronic.
I might adapt, or as quotations give.
Yes! here is “Mirth, admit me of thy crew,”
And “Mirth, with,” no, “By thee I mean to live.”
Poh! stuff! my Muse is not at all Miltonic;
It's more akin to the (J.) Byronic.
“An Ode,” an odious fancy of the editor's;
“Or other composition,” ugly word,
Suggestive most unpleasantly of creditors.
But stay! a thought to me has just occurred;
`Stead of an “Ode to Mirth,” suppose I should
Invoke Mirth's great, good genius, Thomas Hood.
“Or other composition,” ugly word,
Suggestive most unpleasantly of creditors.
But stay! a thought to me has just occurred;
`Stead of an “Ode to Mirth,” suppose I should
Invoke Mirth's great, good genius, Thomas Hood.
Matchless Past-Master of our craft! oh let
Me strive to pay to thee a tribute fit!
In thy imperishable coronet,
Beside the flashing diamonds of thy wit,
Shine pearls as pure as ever Pity shed
Over the poor, the suffering, and the dead.
Me strive to pay to thee a tribute fit!
In thy imperishable coronet,
Beside the flashing diamonds of thy wit,
Shine pearls as pure as ever Pity shed
Over the poor, the suffering, and the dead.
148
Best humourist! beneath thy wildest fun
The kindliest current flows of human feeling,
While splitting sides with some outrageous pun,
Into our hearts insidiously stealing;
By tropes which seem intended but to tickle us,
Extracting the sublime from the ridiculous.
The kindliest current flows of human feeling,
While splitting sides with some outrageous pun,
Into our hearts insidiously stealing;
By tropes which seem intended but to tickle us,
Extracting the sublime from the ridiculous.
Let thy pure spirit point and guide the pen
Of each contributor to England's “Mirth!”
May they be wise as well as merry men,
And show of real wit the sterling worth,
In verse or prose, didactic or dramatic—
Never a bore how'er e-pig-rammatic.
Of each contributor to England's “Mirth!”
May they be wise as well as merry men,
And show of real wit the sterling worth,
In verse or prose, didactic or dramatic—
Never a bore how'er e-pig-rammatic.
I said but now I never could refuse,
And yet I feel I daily am declining,
And soon to “Mirth” shall pay my last adieus,
To younger, brighter bards the harp resigning.
I'm over eighty. Thus associated,
I fear, dear friends, by you I'm overrated.
And yet I feel I daily am declining,
And soon to “Mirth” shall pay my last adieus,
To younger, brighter bards the harp resigning.
I'm over eighty. Thus associated,
I fear, dear friends, by you I'm overrated.
| Songs and Poems from 1819 to 1879 | |