The Writings of Bret Harte standard library edition |
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THE LAMENT OF THE BALLAD-WRITER
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 | The Writings of Bret Harte |  |
378
THE LAMENT OF THE BALLAD-WRITER
Air: “Just Before the Battle, Mother”
Now the battle's over, Mother,
And your tears no longer start,
Really, it is my opinion
You and I had better part.
Farewell, Mother, if forever,
Your affection I resign,
Gone the days when just your blessing
Brought me fifty cents a line.
And your tears no longer start,
Really, it is my opinion
You and I had better part.
Farewell, Mother, if forever,
Your affection I resign,
Gone the days when just your blessing
Brought me fifty cents a line.
Farewell, O Maternal Fiction!
Thou whose far-parental sigh
Home has brought the youthful soldier,
Time and time again to die.
Farewell, Mother, you may never
In the future, peaceful years,
Bring a sob from private boxes—
Steep a dress-circle in tears.
Thou whose far-parental sigh
Home has brought the youthful soldier,
Time and time again to die.
Farewell, Mother, you may never
In the future, peaceful years,
Bring a sob from private boxes—
Steep a dress-circle in tears.
Farewell, O thou gentle sister!
Thou, who in my cunning hand,
Didst deliver pious sermons,
Mild, innocuous, and bland;
Never more from thee I'll borrow
Moral sentiments to preach,
Nor shall “morrow” rhyme with “sorrow”
In thy bitter parting speech.
Thou, who in my cunning hand,
Didst deliver pious sermons,
Mild, innocuous, and bland;
Never more from thee I'll borrow
Moral sentiments to preach,
Nor shall “morrow” rhyme with “sorrow”
In thy bitter parting speech.
Farewell, O devoted Maiden!
Thou who for the country, true,
Sacrificed not only lover
But thy Lindley Murray, too;
Incoherent was my logic,
Wild and vague thy words I fear,
Yet the pit would still encore thee,
And the galleries would cheer.
Thou who for the country, true,
Sacrificed not only lover
But thy Lindley Murray, too;
379
Wild and vague thy words I fear,
Yet the pit would still encore thee,
And the galleries would cheer.
Farewell, all ye facile phrases,
Gags and sentimental cant!
Names that took the place of ideas—
Sherman, Sheridan, and Grant;
Gone the days when schoolboy jingles
Took the place of manly talk,
When the “thought that breathed” was puffy,
And the word that burned—burnt cork.
Gags and sentimental cant!
Names that took the place of ideas—
Sherman, Sheridan, and Grant;
Gone the days when schoolboy jingles
Took the place of manly talk,
When the “thought that breathed” was puffy,
And the word that burned—burnt cork.
Just before the battle, Mother,
Then my cheapest figure told;
While the rebel stood before us,
Then my glitter looked like gold.
Now this “cruel war is over,”
All inflated thought must fall;
Mother, dear, your boy must henceforth
Write sound sense, or not at all.
Then my cheapest figure told;
While the rebel stood before us,
Then my glitter looked like gold.
Now this “cruel war is over,”
All inflated thought must fall;
Mother, dear, your boy must henceforth
Write sound sense, or not at all.
| The Writings of Bret Harte | |