The Ingoldsby Legends :: :: University of Virginia Library

It has a jocund sound,
That gleeful marriage chime,
As from the old and ivied tower,
It peals, at the early matin hour,
Its merry, merry round;
And the Spring is in its prime,
And the song-bird, on the spray,
Trills from his throat, in varied note,

An emulative lay—
It has a joyous sound!!
And the Vicar is there with his wig and his book,
And the Clerk with his grave, quasi-sanctified look,
And there stand the village maids all with their posies,
Their lilies, and daffy-down-dillies, and roses,
Dight in white,
A comely sight,
Fringing the path to the left and the right;

206

—From our nursery days we all of us know
Ne'er doth “Our Ladye's garden grow”
So fair for a “Grand Horticultural Show”
As when border'd with “pretty maids all on a row.”
And the urchins are there, escap'd from the rule
Of that “Limbo of Infants,” the National School,
Whooping, and bawling,
And squalling, and calling,
And crawling, and creeping,
And jumping, and leaping,
Bo-peeping 'midst “many a mouldering heap” in
Whose bosom their own “rude forefathers” are sleeping;
—Young rascals!—instead of lamenting and weeping,
Laughing and gay,
A gorge deployée—
Only now and then pausing—and checking their play,
To “wonder what 'tis makes the gentlefolks stay,”
Ah, well a-day!
Little deem they,
Poor ignorant dears! the bells, ringing away,
Are any thing else
Than mere parish bells,
Or that each of them, should we go into its history,
Is but a “Symbol” of some deeper mystery—
That the clappers and ropes
Are mere practical tropes
Of “trumpets” and “tongues,” and of “preachers,” and popes,
Unless Clement the fourth's worthy Chaplin, Durand, err,
See the “Rationale,” of that goosey-gander.

Gently! gently, Miss Muse!
Mind your P's and your Q's!

207

Don't be malapert—laugh, Miss, but never abuse!
Calling names, whether done to attack or to back a schism,
Is, Miss, believe me, a great piece of jack-ass-ism,
And as, on the whole,
You're a good-natured soul,
You must never enact such a pitiful rôle.
No, no, Miss, pull up, and go back to your boys
In the churchyard, who're making this hubbub and noise—
But hush! there's an end to their romping and mumming,
For voices are heard—here's the company coming!

And see!—the avenue gates unfold,
And forth they pace, that bridal train,
The grave, the gay, the young, the old,
They cross the green and grassy lane,
Bridesman, Bridesmaid, Bridegroom, Bride,
Two by two, and side by side,
Uncles, and aunts, friends tried and prov'd,
And cousins, a great many times removed.
A fairer or a gentler she,
A lovelier maid, in her degree,
Man's eye might never hope to see,
Than darling, bonnie Maud Ingoldsby,
The flow'r of that goodly company;
While whispering low, with bated voice,
Close by her side, her heart's dear choice,
Walks Fredville's hope, young Valentine Boys.
—But where, oh where,—
Is Ingoldsby's heir?
Little Jack Ingoldsby?—where, oh where?
Why he's here,—and he's there,
And he's every where—
He's there, and he's here;
In the front—in the rear,—

208

Now this side, now that side,—now far, and now near—
The Puck of the party, the darling “pet” boy,
Full of mischief, and fun, and good humour and joy;
With his laughing blue eye, and his cheek like a rose,
And his long curly locks, and his little snub nose;
In his tunic, and trousers, and cap—there he goes!
Now pinching the bridesmen,—now teazing his sister,
And telling the bridesmaids how “Valentine kiss'd her;”
The torment, the plague, the delight of them all,
See he's into the churchyard!—he's over the wall—
Gambolling, frolicking, capering away,
He's the first in the church, be the second who may!