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MAID AND MISTRESS.
AN ECLOGUE.
Lady Olympia, I'm so glad you've left
The dreary villa for this pleasant home
That lies in sight of every omnibus,
And sends the winds that whistle as they pass
To vent their spite elsewhere,—so stout it is.
The dreary villa for this pleasant home
That lies in sight of every omnibus,
And sends the winds that whistle as they pass
To vent their spite elsewhere,—so stout it is.
Here, too, are men to tramp the stairs for us,
The sort of men that care for women's thanks.
Your country louts, you know, are country-bred:
No mother-feeling, stirring at the heart,
Sends them to help us at the wood or well.
The sort of men that care for women's thanks.
Your country louts, you know, are country-bred:
No mother-feeling, stirring at the heart,
Sends them to help us at the wood or well.
Then, so communicable with the shops!
The butcher comes, the baker also comes,
And at a nod the grocer's boy is here;
While from my cousin's uncle's brother's wife
I hear of neighbors, and the folks at home.
The butcher comes, the baker also comes,
And at a nod the grocer's boy is here;
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I hear of neighbors, and the folks at home.
You sigh, dear lady; for you loved your fields,
And talked of Nature, which I never learned,
Seeking the sunny corners all day long;
Or, sitting grand and graceful in the hall,
Kept still a blazing log to comfort you,
While we went shivering up the garret stairs,
Asking each night, “When will my lady move?”
And talked of Nature, which I never learned,
Seeking the sunny corners all day long;
Or, sitting grand and graceful in the hall,
Kept still a blazing log to comfort you,
While we went shivering up the garret stairs,
Asking each night, “When will my lady move?”
Ah! mistress dear, I love your service well,
And praise it with the honest bread I eat:
But you're too easy with our sort of folk;
And that great cook, the red-faced, humbugs you.
And praise it with the honest bread I eat:
But you're too easy with our sort of folk;
And that great cook, the red-faced, humbugs you.
The man too—why, his eyes will dance with mirth
When you receive his solemn tale of work,
Looking such pity for his aching joints;
He having sat beside the kitchen fire,
And munched his victuals thankless, all the day,
While we, poor womankind, have hauled the coals,
And brought the water up, with straining backs,
Till he has grown ashamed to meet our looks,
And feigned a villanous sleep to shut them out.
When you receive his solemn tale of work,
Looking such pity for his aching joints;
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And munched his victuals thankless, all the day,
While we, poor womankind, have hauled the coals,
And brought the water up, with straining backs,
Till he has grown ashamed to meet our looks,
And feigned a villanous sleep to shut them out.
Well, well, you're snug within your chamber now,
And I have company, and needful help,
And beautiful oak-chips to light your fire;
And so the winter promises to pass:
But, Dame Olympia, let me rule the cook,
And keep her cousins from the larder shelf,
All fond of her, and blest with appetite.
And I have company, and needful help,
And beautiful oak-chips to light your fire;
And so the winter promises to pass:
But, Dame Olympia, let me rule the cook,
And keep her cousins from the larder shelf,
All fond of her, and blest with appetite.
And should that louting Thomas rouse himself.
Never say, “Thomas, do not work so hard;”
For when you speak so, and I bid him wag,
He'll answer, “Did you mind my mistress' words?
I'm sitting here to help her care of me.”
Thus spake my favorite, petted by long love;
And I forgave that neighborhood of stars,
And softest quarrel 'twixt the shore and sea,
Which made my villa, where you've sat at meat
With little splendor, worthy of a queen.
Never say, “Thomas, do not work so hard;”
For when you speak so, and I bid him wag,
He'll answer, “Did you mind my mistress' words?
I'm sitting here to help her care of me.”
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And I forgave that neighborhood of stars,
And softest quarrel 'twixt the shore and sea,
Which made my villa, where you've sat at meat
With little splendor, worthy of a queen.
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