 | English Roses |  |
LALOO.
With his trousers turned up and his nose in the air
And an amorous eye for the fond and the fair,
He was humming a song
As he drifted along
To the Devil, to whom better people repair.
By the shops and their glamour
He had idled his way,
Hardly heeding the clamour
And deaf to delay;
He had little to lose and no portion to choose
But a beggar's and need,
And no brother was nigh who could wish him God speed.
And an amorous eye for the fond and the fair,
He was humming a song
As he drifted along
To the Devil, to whom better people repair.
By the shops and their glamour
He had idled his way,
Hardly heeding the clamour
And deaf to delay;
He had little to lose and no portion to choose
But a beggar's and need,
And no brother was nigh who could wish him God speed.
Who are you, who are you,
O my pretty Laloo,
Of the cheeks so bepainted,
With an odour of musk
And the passion for dusk,
Like some angel unsainted?
Is it true, is it true,
My dear naughty Laloo,
With the blushes you borrow,
That no priest gave that name
And your bread is but shame
In the sweetness of sorrow?
O my pretty Laloo,
Of the cheeks so bepainted,
With an odour of musk
And the passion for dusk,
Like some angel unsainted?
Is it true, is it true,
My dear naughty Laloo,
With the blushes you borrow,
That no priest gave that name
And your bread is but shame
In the sweetness of sorrow?
But she flew to his whistle and asked for no word
Though with plumage all ruffled and soiled as a bird,
When it catches like fate
The clear note of a mate,
And the one chord within that lone bosom is stirred.
She was winsome and willing
And had waited for this,
Just to share her last shilling
With a curse and a kiss;
While her beer-sodden breath came betwixt him and death
In a suicide's grave,
And she loved for a week to be only his slave.
Though with plumage all ruffled and soiled as a bird,
When it catches like fate
The clear note of a mate,
And the one chord within that lone bosom is stirred.
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And had waited for this,
Just to share her last shilling
With a curse and a kiss;
While her beer-sodden breath came betwixt him and death
In a suicide's grave,
And she loved for a week to be only his slave.
It is blue, it is blue,
O my happy Laloo,
In the sky that was scornful;
And those eyes that were wet
Any night may forget,
That they ever were mournful.
Sad ado, sad ado,
Poor improper Laloo,
Would be raised in the churches;
If they heard, that this link
Was cemented with drink,
As beside them he lurches.
O my happy Laloo,
In the sky that was scornful;
And those eyes that were wet
Any night may forget,
That they ever were mournful.
Sad ado, sad ado,
Poor improper Laloo,
Would be raised in the churches;
If they heard, that this link
Was cemented with drink,
As beside them he lurches.
But they wanted recruities, and he had the will
Yet to fight for the country which paid him so ill,
And had flouted his toil
On its niggardly soil,
And might starve his weak body and then could not kill.
So he listed one morning
When subdued, as his wont,
And in martial adorning
Hurried off to the front.
If his officer led, over heaps of the dead
He would follow at heel—
Licked to shape by rude buffets, and stiffened to steel.
Yet to fight for the country which paid him so ill,
And had flouted his toil
On its niggardly soil,
And might starve his weak body and then could not kill.
So he listed one morning
When subdued, as his wont,
And in martial adorning
Hurried off to the front.
If his officer led, over heaps of the dead
He would follow at heel—
Licked to shape by rude buffets, and stiffened to steel.
Here's to you, here's to you,
O devoted Laloo;
For you sold every jewel
Or pawned half your clothes,
And with tears covered oaths—
Though the parting was cruel.
Let him woo, let him woo,
My unselfish Laloo,
Some black maid with your money;
If he faces the fight
And his courage is right,
He may taste other honey.
O devoted Laloo;
For you sold every jewel
Or pawned half your clothes,
And with tears covered oaths—
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Let him woo, let him woo,
My unselfish Laloo,
Some black maid with your money;
If he faces the fight
And his courage is right,
He may taste other honey.
For the Tsar had preached peace and the nations felt fear,
And they knew that the horror of battle was near;
Time found Tommy a man,
When the business began
And the bullets were flying and sabre met spear.
In the red dew that drenches
The young hero it makes,
He lay down in the trenches
From which none awakes;
But in beauty and rest on his glorious breast
Hid some blood-dabbled hair,
Which once brightened the brow of the fond and the fair.
And they knew that the horror of battle was near;
Time found Tommy a man,
When the business began
And the bullets were flying and sabre met spear.
In the red dew that drenches
The young hero it makes,
He lay down in the trenches
From which none awakes;
But in beauty and rest on his glorious breast
Hid some blood-dabbled hair,
Which once brightened the brow of the fond and the fair.
You will rue, you will rue,
O forgotten Laloo,
The gay lad who was started
With your purse and brave cheer
On his gallant career,
And left you broken-hearted.
But now who, but now who,
My improper Laloo,
Will be next at your spoiling?
Though the soldier sleeps best
Whom your charity drest,
Where old Egypt lies broiling.
O forgotten Laloo,
The gay lad who was started
With your purse and brave cheer
On his gallant career,
And left you broken-hearted.
But now who, but now who,
My improper Laloo,
Will be next at your spoiling?
Though the soldier sleeps best
Whom your charity drest,
Where old Egypt lies broiling.
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