Partingtonian patchwork Blifkins the martyr : the domestic trials of a model husband. The modern syntax : Dr. Spooner's experiences in search of the delectable. Partington papers : strippings of the warm milk of human kindness. New and old dips from an unambitious inkstand. Humorous, eccentric, rhythmical |
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| A NEW RAPE OF THE LOCK. |
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A NEW RAPE OF THE LOCK.
1. PART I.
Sweet Madaline's hair was very fair,
Of ashen-gold hue, by which bards swear,
Whose glorious curls
Were the envy of girls—
Of kink divine and profusion rare;
And Madaline's power,
Evinced each hour,
Rested, like Samson's, in her hair.
Of ashen-gold hue, by which bards swear,
Whose glorious curls
Were the envy of girls—
Of kink divine and profusion rare;
And Madaline's power,
Evinced each hour,
Rested, like Samson's, in her hair.
In such a glory it round her lay!
Crinkled in Style's adroitest way,
Burnt with irons to make it stay,
—With amount of effort best not to say—
Its every curl, in the light astray,
Seeming a streak from the source of day,
Leading the rapt beholder,
Who saw it about her neck at play,
To deem it some amorous sunbeam's ray,
Lit on her snow-white shoulder.
Crinkled in Style's adroitest way,
Burnt with irons to make it stay,
—With amount of effort best not to say—
Its every curl, in the light astray,
Seeming a streak from the source of day,
Leading the rapt beholder,
Who saw it about her neck at play,
To deem it some amorous sunbeam's ray,
Lit on her snow-white shoulder.
Not like the curls we sometimes meet
Out there upon the public street,
To good taste oft offences,
That glisten and twist admiration to gain,
And excite the susceptible masculine train,
Till they find at last, to their shame and pain,
That they're fraud, and the whole of their object, plain—
Getting goods under false pretences.
At every feast, or dance, or fair,
In the burning blaze of the gas-light's glare,
Were seen those locks flash here and there,
Like fireflies in the summer air,
Enchanting by their glitter;
Sought for by eligible beaux,
Subject for rivalry with those
Who ached to tweak each other's nose
In the eager race to get her.
Out there upon the public street,
To good taste oft offences,
That glisten and twist admiration to gain,
And excite the susceptible masculine train,
Till they find at last, to their shame and pain,
That they're fraud, and the whole of their object, plain—
Getting goods under false pretences.
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In the burning blaze of the gas-light's glare,
Were seen those locks flash here and there,
Like fireflies in the summer air,
Enchanting by their glitter;
Sought for by eligible beaux,
Subject for rivalry with those
Who ached to tweak each other's nose
In the eager race to get her.
And her smile was bright as the curls she wore,
And equal kindness on all she'd pour,
And each fond swain
Perplexed his brain
So far as that organ might obtain,
As he watched the smile her features o'er,
If for him it any promise bore;
But all his watch was vain.
And equal kindness on all she'd pour,
And each fond swain
Perplexed his brain
So far as that organ might obtain,
As he watched the smile her features o'er,
If for him it any promise bore;
But all his watch was vain.
2. PART II.
'Twas in the glow of a festal night,
The social fires all burning bright,
The gas turned on to its utmost height,
Bathing the scene in its fullest light;
Sweet Madaline,
The pride of the scene,
The cynosure of enraptured sight
To many a would-be lover,
Sat at the board with her golden hair
In affluent ringlets about her chair,
Catching the whole of the gas-light's glare
That streamed from the jet above her.
Toasted, and flattered, and praised, and pressed,
She caught each word with a fluttering breast;
And many a youthful, manly vest
Swelled at her beauty manifest,
And pulsing hearts, 'neath the glowing test,
The potency of her charms confessed,
With rapturous feeling overblessed
If her eyes in kindness wandered;
And her golden hair a wealth possessed
That bosoms filled with as keen unrest
As any awaked by the golden west,
In auriferous dreams long pondered.
The social fires all burning bright,
The gas turned on to its utmost height,
Bathing the scene in its fullest light;
Sweet Madaline,
The pride of the scene,
The cynosure of enraptured sight
To many a would-be lover,
Sat at the board with her golden hair
In affluent ringlets about her chair,
Catching the whole of the gas-light's glare
That streamed from the jet above her.
196
She caught each word with a fluttering breast;
And many a youthful, manly vest
Swelled at her beauty manifest,
And pulsing hearts, 'neath the glowing test,
The potency of her charms confessed,
With rapturous feeling overblessed
If her eyes in kindness wandered;
And her golden hair a wealth possessed
That bosoms filled with as keen unrest
As any awaked by the golden west,
In auriferous dreams long pondered.
Around her chair
Her votaries there
Hung entranced her joy to share
In each luxurious minute;
Already had passed the season of cream,
And trifles sweet as a maiden's dream,
And small talk ran like a babbling stream,
When, a moment's hush,
A push and a rush,
And then there came a mellifluous scream,
Like the angry note of a linnet!
No one could tell the reason why,
But 'twas Madaline's cry, and Madaline's eye
That looked around on the standers-by
With the fiercest temper in it!
Her votaries there
Hung entranced her joy to share
In each luxurious minute;
Already had passed the season of cream,
And trifles sweet as a maiden's dream,
And small talk ran like a babbling stream,
When, a moment's hush,
A push and a rush,
And then there came a mellifluous scream,
Like the angry note of a linnet!
No one could tell the reason why,
But 'twas Madaline's cry, and Madaline's eye
That looked around on the standers-by
With the fiercest temper in it!
3. PART III.
“On with the dance!” and with agile feet,
The music breathing its cadence sweet,
The dancers flitted with measure meet,
The gay hours moving on pinions fleet,
With saltatory joy replete,
And Madaline,
Again serene,
Moved in the throng the regnant queen,
The blissful scene enhancing;
There were polks and waltzes, galops and reels,
And those rare movements the dancer feels,
Thrilling all through from head to heels,
That make the acme of dancing.
The music breathing its cadence sweet,
The dancers flitted with measure meet,
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With saltatory joy replete,
And Madaline,
Again serene,
Moved in the throng the regnant queen,
The blissful scene enhancing;
There were polks and waltzes, galops and reels,
And those rare movements the dancer feels,
Thrilling all through from head to heels,
That make the acme of dancing.
Again, “Choose partners!” every set
In just accordancy has met
For the gracefulest, grandest trial yet;
There are twists and twirls,
And swirls and whirls,
And glowing bright are Madaline's curls
On the happy shoulder of George Manett!
(Perhaps that wasn't the very name,
But the truth of the tale is just the same.)
About they go in the mazy dance—
Chassez! Balancez! Back! Advance!
When, just at the critical turning,
Fair Madaline seemed struck with a trance;
Her feet stood still, and with look askance,
Astonishment in her countenance,
Her eyes in their sockets burning!
In just accordancy has met
For the gracefulest, grandest trial yet;
There are twists and twirls,
And swirls and whirls,
And glowing bright are Madaline's curls
On the happy shoulder of George Manett!
(Perhaps that wasn't the very name,
But the truth of the tale is just the same.)
About they go in the mazy dance—
Chassez! Balancez! Back! Advance!
When, just at the critical turning,
Fair Madaline seemed struck with a trance;
Her feet stood still, and with look askance,
Astonishment in her countenance,
Her eyes in their sockets burning!
The dancers stopped in sore dismay;
The caller's call none would obey;
And there they stood in the light's full ray,
Looking with vacant stare,
Till Madaline her finger put on
Her wondering partner's third vest-button,
Where, gleaming like gold,
On his waistcoat's fold
Was a lock of golden hair!
The caller's call none would obey;
And there they stood in the light's full ray,
Looking with vacant stare,
Till Madaline her finger put on
Her wondering partner's third vest-button,
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On his waistcoat's fold
Was a lock of golden hair!
Like the fierce wild red man of the west,
Swinging a scalp as his valor's test,
So Manett wore on his sturdy breast
A lock of hers he loved the best,
And he vowed a vow that none of the rest
Should lift a hand to pick it;
Though how it came there he didn't know,
But Madaline the spot could show,
Where late the golden curl did grow,
That was torn by its roots from its soil of snow,
In the midst of the golden thicket.
Swinging a scalp as his valor's test,
So Manett wore on his sturdy breast
A lock of hers he loved the best,
And he vowed a vow that none of the rest
Should lift a hand to pick it;
Though how it came there he didn't know,
But Madaline the spot could show,
Where late the golden curl did grow,
That was torn by its roots from its soil of snow,
In the midst of the golden thicket.
And that was the secret of Madaline's scream,
Mingled with noise of spoons in the cream,
And waking the “spoons” from their little dream,
Coupled with glance of her eyes' fierce gleam,
That carried such a start with it;
And Manett clings to his beautiful scalp
As firm as the foot of an amorous Alp,
Determined never to part with it;
And Madaline she
Don't disagree,
Seeing he has his heart with it.
Mingled with noise of spoons in the cream,
And waking the “spoons” from their little dream,
Coupled with glance of her eyes' fierce gleam,
That carried such a start with it;
And Manett clings to his beautiful scalp
As firm as the foot of an amorous Alp,
Determined never to part with it;
And Madaline she
Don't disagree,
Seeing he has his heart with it.
| Partingtonian patchwork | |