London lyrics by Frederick Locker Lampson: With introduction and notes by Austin Dobson |
 |
AT HURLINGHAM |
 | London lyrics |  |
37
AT HURLINGHAM
This was dear Willy's brief despatch,
A curt and yet a cordial summons;—
“Do come! I'm in to-morrow's match,
And see us whip the Faithful Commons.”
We trundled out behind the bays,
Through miles and miles of brick and garden;
Mamma was drest in mauve and maize,—
She let me wear my Dolly Varden.
A curt and yet a cordial summons;—
“Do come! I'm in to-morrow's match,
And see us whip the Faithful Commons.”
We trundled out behind the bays,
Through miles and miles of brick and garden;
Mamma was drest in mauve and maize,—
She let me wear my Dolly Varden.
A charming scene, and lively too;
The paddock's full, the band is playing
Boulotte's song in Barbe bleue;
And what are all these people saying?
They flirt! they bet! There's Linda Reeves
Too lovely! I'd give worlds to borrow
Her yellow rose with russet leaves!—
I'll wear a yellow rose to-morrow!
The paddock's full, the band is playing
Boulotte's song in Barbe bleue;
And what are all these people saying?
They flirt! they bet! There's Linda Reeves
Too lovely! I'd give worlds to borrow
Her yellow rose with russet leaves!—
I'll wear a yellow rose to-morrow!
38
And there are May and Algy Meade;
How proud she looks on her promotion!
The ring must be amused indeed,
And edified by such devotion!
I wonder if she ever guessed!—
I wonder if he'll call on Friday!—
I often wonder which is best!—
I only hope my hair is tidy!
How proud she looks on her promotion!
The ring must be amused indeed,
And edified by such devotion!
I wonder if she ever guessed!—
I wonder if he'll call on Friday!—
I often wonder which is best!—
I only hope my hair is tidy!
Some girls repine, and some rejoice,
And some get bored, but I'm contented
To make my destiny my choice,
I'll never dream that I've repented.
There's something sad in loved and cross'd,
For all the fond, fond hope that rings it:
There's something sweet in “Loved and Lost”;
And oh, how sweetly Alfred sings it!
And some get bored, but I'm contented
To make my destiny my choice,
I'll never dream that I've repented.
There's something sad in loved and cross'd,
For all the fond, fond hope that rings it:
There's something sweet in “Loved and Lost”;
And oh, how sweetly Alfred sings it!
I'll own I'm bored with handicaps!
Bluerocks! (they always are “bluerock”-ing!)—
With May, a little bit, perhaps,—
And yon Faust's teufelshund is shocking!
Bang . . bang . . ! That's Willy! There's his bird,
Blithely it cleaves the skies above me!
He's miss'd all ten! He's too absurd!—
I hope he'll always, always love me!
Bluerocks! (they always are “bluerock”-ing!)—
With May, a little bit, perhaps,—
And yon Faust's teufelshund is shocking!
Bang . . bang . . ! That's Willy! There's his bird,
Blithely it cleaves the skies above me!
39
I hope he'll always, always love me!
We've lost! To tea, then back to town;
The crowd is laughing, eating, drinking:
The Moon's eternal eyes look down,—
Of what can yon pale Moon be thinking?
Oh, but for some good fairy's wand!
This Pigeoncide is worse than silly,
But still I'm very, very fond
Of Hurlingham, and tea,—and Willy.
The crowd is laughing, eating, drinking:
The Moon's eternal eyes look down,—
Of what can yon pale Moon be thinking?
Oh, but for some good fairy's wand!
This Pigeoncide is worse than silly,
But still I'm very, very fond
Of Hurlingham, and tea,—and Willy.
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