Lapsus Calami :: :: University of Virginia Library

Birthdays? yes, in a general way;
For the most if not for the best of men:
You were born (I suppose) on a certain day:
So was I: or perhaps in the night: what then?

Only this: or at least, if more,
You must know, not think it, and learn, not speak:
There is truth to be found on the unknown shore,
And many will find where few will seek.

For many are called and few are chosen,
And the few grow many as ages lapse:
But when will the many grow few: what dozen
Is fused into one by Time's hammer-taps?

A bare brown stone in a babbling brook:—
It was wanton to hurl it there, you say:
And the moss, which clung in the sheltered nook
(Yet the stream runs cooler), is washed away.

That begs the question: many a prater
Thinks such a suggestion a sound “stop thief!”
Which, may I ask, do you think the greater,
Sergeant-at-arms or a Robber Chief?

And if it were not so? still you doubt?
Ah! yours is a birthday indeed if so.
That were something to write a poem about,
If one thought a little. I only know.

P.S.

There's a Me Society down at Cambridge,
Where my works, cum notis variorum,
Are talked about; well, I require the same bridge
That Euclid took toll at as Asinorum:

And, as they have got through several ditties
I thought were as stiff as a brick-built wall,
I've composed the above, and a stiff one it is,
A bridge to stop asses at, once for all.

[_]

Cambridge Meteor, June, 1882.

2. The Last Ride together.

(From Her point of view.)

When I had firmly answered “No,”
And he allowed that that was so,
I really thought I should be free
For good and all from Mr B.,
And that he would soberly acquiesce:
I said that it would be discreet
That for a while we should not meet;
I promised I would always feel
A kindly interest in his weal;
I thanked him for his amorous zeal;
In short, I said all I could but “yes.”

I said what I'm accustomed to;
I acted as I always do;
I promised he should find in me
A friend,—a sister, if that might be:
But he was still dissatisfied:
He certainly was most polite;
He said exactly what was right,
He acted very properly,
Except indeed for this, that he
Insisted on inviting me
To come with him for “one more last ride.”

A little while in doubt I stood:
A ride, no doubt, would do me good:
I had a habit and a hat
Extremely well worth looking at:
The weather was distinctly fine:
My horse too wanted exercise,
And time, when one is riding, flies:
Besides it really seemed, you see,
The only way of ridding me
Of pertinacious Mr B.:
So my head I graciously incline.

I won't say much of what happened next:
I own I was extremely vexed:
Indeed I should have been aghast
If any one had seen what passed:
But nobody need ever know
That, as I leaned forward to stir the fire,
He advanced before I could well retire,
And I suddenly felt, to my great alarm,
The grasp of a warm unlicensed arm,
An embrace in which I found no charm;
I was awfully glad when he let me go.

Then we began to ride: my steed
Was rather fresh, too fresh indeed,
And at first I thought of little, save
The way to escape an early grave,
As the dust rose up on either side.
My stern companion jogged along
On a brown old cob both broad and strong:

He looked as he does when he's writing verse,
Or endeavouring not to swear and curse,
Or wondering where he has left his purse:
Indeed it was a sombre ride.

I spoke of the weather to Mr B.:
But he neither listened nor spoke to me:
I praised his horse, and I smiled the smile
Which was wont to move him once on a while;
I said I was wearing his favourite flowers:
But I wasted my words on the desert air,
For he rode with a fixed and gloomy stare:
I wonder what he was thinking about:
As I don't read verse, I sha'n't find out:
It was something subtle and deep, no doubt,
A theme to detain a man for hours.

Ah! there was the corner where Mr S.
So nearly induced me to whisper “yes”:
And here it was that the next but one
Proposed on horseback, or would have done,
Had his horse not most opportunely shied;
Which perhaps was due to the unseen flick
He received from my whip: 'twas a scurvy trick,
But I never could do with that young man:
I hope his present young woman can.
Well, I must say, never, since time began,
Did I go for a duller or longer ride.

He never smiles and he never speaks:
He might go on like this for weeks:

He rolls a slightly frenzied eye
Towards the blue and burning sky,
And the cob bounds on with tireless stride.
If we aren't at home for lunch at two
I don't know what Papa will do;
But I know full well he will say to me
“I never approved of Mr B.:
“It's the very devil that you and he
“Ride, ride together, for ever ride.”

3. Midsummer.

Persons at various times have said
That the hot dank steam of a sun-scorched day
Is a thing to thank God for: strike me dead
If I let such a falsehood lack its nay.

When Philip of Spain, or our own red Mary,
Desired to be rid of an impious man,
Did they freeze him to death? they were not so chary
Of man's worst weapon, the frying pan.

The fire, or the frying pan—well, the adage
Tells us the difference is but small,
And the fact remains that in that last bad age
When man had all torture-tricks at call,

They knew what was best and did it duly,
And broiled those most whom they loved the least.
Man, is it thou that hast proved unruly?
They are broiling thee, thou sinful beast.

Languid and frenzied, most despairing
When least's to despair at, such we grow,
When the sun's rays down on our heads, naught sparing,
Burn and blister. I'd have you know

I have strung together these sad reflections
To prove to my tutor, a stern stark man,
That my chance of a decent place in collections
Drooped and died when the heat began.

[_]

Eton Rambler, June, 1880.