 | Our Holiday Among The Hills |  |
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III. PART III.—SATIRES.
BONES.
The type is common: there's at least a scoreThat look on life as a rare piece of fun
And all its business a burlesque, for one
That sits and thinks the matter gravely o'er.
You bear with this—you bear it, and deplore;
But when in private life you cannot shun
Nor stop the laughing misery, once begun
—'Tis past all bearing, and the man's a bore!
He comes, and straight, up-curls the labial sheath,
Revealing all his dentistry within,
As if the man were God-made for his teeth
And not to show them were the fatal sin!
Is there no power above (there's none beneath)
To legislate a close time for the grin?
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NIL NISI MENDACIA!
They laud him in the city: seated hereIn sober contemplation, God forbid
That I should seek to hale what He has hid
From the dead bosom on that lowly bier.
—Yet I will dare to speak and be sincere:
His life like a smooth-flowing current slid
And wound through loamy flats; dozing, he did
The easy duty of his narrow sphere.
—But now they deify him?—That's the wine
The soups and savoury suppers that he gave:
You may be Divus too, if you incline;
—Give banquets while you live, and, when you “cave,”
Broadnose will snuffle platitudes divine,
And Goatlegs dance devoutly on your grave.
IN SEVEN YEARS.
Seven years ago—only seven years agoHe sat beside me in the Lecture-room
In all the grace of literary bloom,
And spake of what the next seven years would show.
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The Drama was played out: he would assume
Some strange new form, all radiance and perfume,
And sling his fancies o'er creation so!
—I stumbled on him near a farm to-day,
Straws in his hair and hog-wash on his sleeves;
Loud was his voice, dew-lapped his throat, and—Hay!
Damn you, the stirks are in among the sheaves!
Amused, but startled more, I turned away
And left him to his bullocks and his beeves.
KINGS BY DIVINE RIGHT.
Not these are kings—not these!
Though girt with gold each brow,
And courtiers on their supple knees
Before them bow!
Though girt with gold each brow,
And courtiers on their supple knees
Before them bow!
Though couriers at the gate
Await their sealed commands,
To bear the fiat of their fate
To distant lands!
Await their sealed commands,
To bear the fiat of their fate
To distant lands!
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Though idle throats bray out
Their vivats where they pass,
And helmets compass them about
With blaze of brass!
Their vivats where they pass,
And helmets compass them about
With blaze of brass!
Load them with gem and jew'l
And pearl and purple fine
—Not these, not these the kings that rule
By right divine!
And pearl and purple fine
—Not these, not these the kings that rule
By right divine!
What! chosen by the dice
Of fate—the fault of birth,
Is he, this vicious rake, the vice
Of God on earth?
Of fate—the fault of birth,
Is he, this vicious rake, the vice
Of God on earth?
Or tyrants and their tools
—Does Heaven their crimes ordain?
By sufferance of their fellow-fools
The puppets reign!
—Does Heaven their crimes ordain?
By sufferance of their fellow-fools
The puppets reign!
Who, then, are those that reign
O'er this terraqueous ball
From East to West and back again,
Owning it all?
O'er this terraqueous ball
From East to West and back again,
Owning it all?
The Potentates of Thought,
Of Language and of Lay—
Milton and Shakespeare, Schiller, Scott,
And such as they!
Of Language and of Lay—
Milton and Shakespeare, Schiller, Scott,
And such as they!
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And of the kingly guild
Are all who feel the flame
Of genius—famed or unfulfilled
Their dawning fame!
Are all who feel the flame
Of genius—famed or unfulfilled
Their dawning fame!
Unmarked they come and go,
Of outward splendour shorn;
Yet kings are they without their show,
And princes born!
Of outward splendour shorn;
Yet kings are they without their show,
And princes born!
Through woods they wander, and
On lonely hillsides sit,
Too surely conscious of command
To blazon it!
On lonely hillsides sit,
Too surely conscious of command
To blazon it!
Yet far as sky is curled
Or lightnings flash their fire,
They are the kings that rule the world
By God's desire!
Or lightnings flash their fire,
They are the kings that rule the world
By God's desire!
And over all the earth
Their deathless couriers ride—
Passion and pathos, scorn and mirth,
And love and pride!
Their deathless couriers ride—
Passion and pathos, scorn and mirth,
And love and pride!
By these they gently sway,
Enlighten, charm, and bless;
By these they devastate, and slay,
Free and redress!
Enlighten, charm, and bless;
By these they devastate, and slay,
Free and redress!
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Sceptre nor sword they need,
Nor sense-convincing sign:
They are the kings that rule indeed
By right divine!
Nor sense-convincing sign:
They are the kings that rule indeed
By right divine!
CHRISTOPHER SLY: HIS POLITICAL SENTIMENTS.
The Peers! With what complacency they standOn heights englorified with golden fire!
Look up, you tinker!—look up, and admire,
And let your grovelling soul with pride expand!
These are the guardians of your native land—
“And they possess it too!” But that's their hire
For guarding it: all bravery would expire
Unless rewarded with a liberal hand:
Their fathers bled for it—“Get out! you lie!
Mine fled for it, he did, at Waterloo!”
And they are long descended—“So am I;
My dad came over with the Conqueror too;
And what d'ye do for me? for Christopher Sly?
—Gimme a pot of ale, for Godsake do!”
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