 | The Ingoldsby Lyrics |  |
254
SONGS, EPIGRAMS, Etc.
The Cavalier.
The Cavalier came riding
As the beams of the setting sun
Shed a lurid light
On the field of fight—
Of the fight that was lost and won.
As the beams of the setting sun
Shed a lurid light
On the field of fight—
Of the fight that was lost and won.
There was blood on his saddle bow,
There was blood on his bridle rein,
As the panting steed
Relaxed his speed,
At the bower of the Lady Jane.
There was blood on his bridle rein,
As the panting steed
Relaxed his speed,
At the bower of the Lady Jane.
Fair Jane look'd east, fair Jane look'd west,
As far as she could see,
And she was aware
Of a company there
Fast galloping over the lea.
As far as she could see,
And she was aware
Of a company there
Fast galloping over the lea.
“Oh, saw ye a horseman, lady?
Oh, saw ye one ride this way,
Full proud was his mien,
And his scarf was of green,
And his steed was a dapple grey?”
Oh, saw ye one ride this way,
Full proud was his mien,
And his scarf was of green,
And his steed was a dapple grey?”
255
“Oh, I saw no horseman pass,
But a dapple grey steed came by;
There was blood on his mane,
There was blood on his rein,
But no rider might I espy.
But a dapple grey steed came by;
There was blood on his mane,
There was blood on his rein,
But no rider might I espy.
“All travel-stain'd was that courser's side,
And masterless was he,
And away and away
Flew that gallant dapple grey,
Like the summer gale fleet and free.”
And masterless was he,
And away and away
Flew that gallant dapple grey,
Like the summer gale fleet and free.”
They have search'd that hall and bower,
They have search'd both wide and near,
And the maiden's heart beat high,
Though no trace could they espy
Of that war-worn cavalier.
They have search'd both wide and near,
And the maiden's heart beat high,
Though no trace could they espy
Of that war-worn cavalier.
Fair Jane look'd east, fair Jane look'd west,
No scarf of green could she see,
But she spied in the yew,
Through the coppice where it grew,
The blink of a bonny black e'e.
No scarf of green could she see,
But she spied in the yew,
Through the coppice where it grew,
The blink of a bonny black e'e.
“Now haste and away, Lord William,
Now haste and away,” she cried,
“For the bellying sail
Bends low to the gale,
And fair are both wind and tide.”
Now haste and away,” she cried,
“For the bellying sail
Bends low to the gale,
And fair are both wind and tide.”
256
Now hoist every sail to the breeze,
And boatman ply thine oar,
For a truer hearted pair
Than the maid and Cavalier
Never yet sail'd from shore.
And boatman ply thine oar,
For a truer hearted pair
Than the maid and Cavalier
Never yet sail'd from shore.
The Lord Warenne.
“What news, what news, thou little foot page,
What news, what news, come tell to me?”
“I bring you news from the Lord Warenne,
Fighting in a far countrie!”
What news, what news, come tell to me?”
“I bring you news from the Lord Warenne,
Fighting in a far countrie!”
“What news, what news, my trusty page,
What sends my noble Lord to me?”
“Oh, a chaplet fair of orient pearl,
He sendeth to his gay ladye.”
What sends my noble Lord to me?”
“Oh, a chaplet fair of orient pearl,
He sendeth to his gay ladye.”
“He wills thee wear that chaplet fair,
Fall proudly on thy bonny bree;
And he hath won a sparkling chain
Of the good red gold right valiantlie.
Fall proudly on thy bonny bree;
And he hath won a sparkling chain
Of the good red gold right valiantlie.
“Then twine it round thy snowy neck,
For love of him ayont the sea;
For the Soldan's daughter he hath ta'en,
With all her silken braverie.
For love of him ayont the sea;
For the Soldan's daughter he hath ta'en,
With all her silken braverie.
257
“Now haste, now haste, thou trusty page,
Now haste and bear me hence with glee;
And for the tidings thou dost tell
This jewel shall thy guerdon be!”
Now haste and bear me hence with glee;
And for the tidings thou dost tell
This jewel shall thy guerdon be!”
Oh, soon across the briny main
Her bark is bounding merrily,
Till the Paynim Towers reflected shine
On the dark blue wave of Galilee.
Her bark is bounding merrily,
Till the Paynim Towers reflected shine
On the dark blue wave of Galilee.
The Lord Warenne, the Lord Warenne—
Where the red-cross banner floateth free,
Oh, there thou'lt find the bold Warenne,
With all his Christian chivalry.
Where the red-cross banner floateth free,
Oh, there thou'lt find the bold Warenne,
With all his Christian chivalry.
The silken tent, within—without,
Is richly dight and rare to see;
And a lady fair reclineth there,
Beneath a gorgeous canopie.
Is richly dight and rare to see;
And a lady fair reclineth there,
Beneath a gorgeous canopie.
Her raven locks are darkly bright;
All darkly bright is her sparkling e'e,
But her neck is white as the cygnet's down,
The false Warenne is at her knee!
All darkly bright is her sparkling e'e,
But her neck is white as the cygnet's down,
The false Warenne is at her knee!
Oh! then a single wail is heard—
A wail as sad as sad may be,
And a female form all prostrate lies
Before that goodly companie!
A wail as sad as sad may be,
And a female form all prostrate lies
Before that goodly companie!
258
A chaplet fair entwines the hair,
The spoils of farthest Arabie;
But ne'er a pearl in the snowy round
Is half so pale as the bonny bree!
The spoils of farthest Arabie;
But ne'er a pearl in the snowy round
Is half so pale as the bonny bree!
Rich, sparkling links of the good red gold,
Entwine that neck of ivorie;
But the death-cold chain, which none may loose,
Hath bound the lovely Rosalie.
Entwine that neck of ivorie;
But the death-cold chain, which none may loose,
Hath bound the lovely Rosalie.
On the Death of a Daughter.
'Tis o'er—in that long sigh she past—
The enfranchised spirit soars at last!
And now I gaze with tearless eye
On what to view was agony.
The enfranchised spirit soars at last!
And now I gaze with tearless eye
On what to view was agony.
That panting heart is tranquil now,
And heavenly calm that ruffled brow;
And those pale lips, which feebly strove
To force one parting smile of love,
Retain it yet—soft, placid, mild,
As when it graced my living child.
And heavenly calm that ruffled brow;
And those pale lips, which feebly strove
To force one parting smile of love,
Retain it yet—soft, placid, mild,
As when it graced my living child.
259
Oh! I have watched with fondest care
To see my opening floweret blow,
And felt the joy which parents share,
The pride which fathers only know.
To see my opening floweret blow,
And felt the joy which parents share,
The pride which fathers only know.
And I have sat the long, long night,
And marked that tender flower decay;
Not torn abruptly from the sight,
But slowly, sadly, waste away.
And marked that tender flower decay;
Not torn abruptly from the sight,
But slowly, sadly, waste away.
The spoiler came, yet paused, as though
So meek a victim checked his arm,
Half gave and half withheld the blow,
As forced to strike, yet loth to harm.
So meek a victim checked his arm,
Half gave and half withheld the blow,
As forced to strike, yet loth to harm.
We saw that fair cheek's fading bloom
The ceaseless canker-worm consume,
And gazed on hopelessly;
Till the mute suffering pictured there
Wrung from a father's lip a prayer—
O God! the prayer his child might die!
Ay, from his lip—the rebel heart
E'en then refused to bear its part.
The ceaseless canker-worm consume,
And gazed on hopelessly;
Till the mute suffering pictured there
Wrung from a father's lip a prayer—
O God! the prayer his child might die!
Ay, from his lip—the rebel heart
E'en then refused to bear its part.
But the sad conflict's past—'tis o'er;
That gentle bosom throbs no more!
The spirit's freed;—through realms of light
Faith's eagle glance pursues her flight
That gentle bosom throbs no more!
The spirit's freed;—through realms of light
Faith's eagle glance pursues her flight
260
To other worlds, to happier skies—
Hope dries the tear which sorrow weepeth;
No mortal sound the voice which cries,
“The damsel is not dead, but sleepeth.”
Hope dries the tear which sorrow weepeth;
No mortal sound the voice which cries,
“The damsel is not dead, but sleepeth.”
Too Late.
Too late! though flow'rets round me blow,
And clearing skies shine bright and fair;
Their genial warmth avails not now—
Thou art not here the beam to share.
And clearing skies shine bright and fair;
Their genial warmth avails not now—
Thou art not here the beam to share.
Thro' many a dark and dreary day,
We journey'd on 'midst grief and gloom;
And now at length the cheering ray
Breaks forth, it only gilds thy tomb.
We journey'd on 'midst grief and gloom;
And now at length the cheering ray
Breaks forth, it only gilds thy tomb.
Our days of hope and youth are past,
Our short-lived joys for ever flown;
And now when Fortune smiles at last,
She finds me cheerless, chilled—alone!
Our short-lived joys for ever flown;
And now when Fortune smiles at last,
She finds me cheerless, chilled—alone!
Ah! no; too late the boon is given,
Alike the frowns and smiles of Fate;
The broken heart by sorrow riv'n,
But murmurs now, “Too late! Too late!”
Alike the frowns and smiles of Fate;
The broken heart by sorrow riv'n,
But murmurs now, “Too late! Too late!”
261
A Glee
Sung at the opening dinner of the Garrick Club, November, 1831.
Let poets of superior parts
Consign to deathless fame,
The larceny of the Knave of Hearts,
Who spoiled his Royal Dame.
Consign to deathless fame,
The larceny of the Knave of Hearts,
Who spoiled his Royal Dame.
Alack! my timid muse would quail
Before such thievish cubs,
But plumes a joyous wing to hail
Thy birth, fair Queen of Clubs!
Before such thievish cubs,
But plumes a joyous wing to hail
Thy birth, fair Queen of Clubs!
Ballad.
They say that I am silent, and my silence they condemn,
For O! although they talk to me, I never talk to them!
I heed not what they think, although I know 'tis thought by some
That I am dumb or deaf, but O! I'm neither deaf nor dumb!
For O! although they talk to me, I never talk to them!
I heed not what they think, although I know 'tis thought by some
That I am dumb or deaf, but O! I'm neither deaf nor dumb!
262
They say I'm looking sick and pale; and well indeed they may;
They tell me, too, that I am sad; I'm anything but gay!
They smile—but O! the more they smile, the more, alas! I sigh;
And when they strive to make me laugh, I turn me round and cry!
They tell me, too, that I am sad; I'm anything but gay!
They smile—but O! the more they smile, the more, alas! I sigh;
And when they strive to make me laugh, I turn me round and cry!
They bid me sing the song I sung, as I have sung before,
The song I sung no more I sing—my singing days are o'er!
They bid me play the fiddle too—my fiddle it is mute!
Nor can I, as I used to do, blow tunes upon the flute!
The song I sung no more I sing—my singing days are o'er!
They bid me play the fiddle too—my fiddle it is mute!
Nor can I, as I used to do, blow tunes upon the flute!
The feeling fain would soothe my woe, the heartless say I sham;
The ribald mock my grief, and call me—Sentimental Sam!
The ribald mock my grief, and call me—Sentimental Sam!
They cannot guess what 'tis I want—there's few indeed that can:
I want—
I want—
I want to be a butterfly, and flutter round a fan!
I want—
I want—
I want to be a butterfly, and flutter round a fan!
263
The Demolished Farce,
OR, WHO IS THE AUTHOR?
O no! we'll never mention him!
We won't upon our word!
“Decorum” now forbids to name
An unsuccessful Bard;
From Drury Lane we'll toddle to
Our “office” with regret,
And if they ask us, “Who's been dish'd?”
We'll say that “We forget.”
We won't upon our word!
“Decorum” now forbids to name
An unsuccessful Bard;
From Drury Lane we'll toddle to
Our “office” with regret,
And if they ask us, “Who's been dish'd?”
We'll say that “We forget.”
We'll bid him now forsake “the scene,”
And try his ancient strain;
He'd better “be a butterfly”
Than write a farce again;
'Tis true that he can troll a song,
Or tender cansonette;
But if you ask us, “What beside?”
Why really, we forget.
And try his ancient strain;
He'd better “be a butterfly”
Than write a farce again;
'Tis true that he can troll a song,
Or tender cansonette;
But if you ask us, “What beside?”
Why really, we forget.
And O! there are so many now,
Who write good Come-dy,—
There's Mister Planché, Mister Peake,
And Poole, who wrote “Paul Pry.”
Moncrief and Mister Buckstone join
To make a funny set,
With some half-dozen jokers more,
Whose names we quite forget.
Who write good Come-dy,—
There's Mister Planché, Mister Peake,
And Poole, who wrote “Paul Pry.”
264
To make a funny set,
With some half-dozen jokers more,
Whose names we quite forget.
They tell us he has got behind
A bran new five-act play;
They say that it is devilish droll—
We heed not what they say;
Perchance, indeed, 'twill struggle on
A night or two, but yet,
If 'tis no better than his farce,
The two you'll soon forget!
A bran new five-act play;
They say that it is devilish droll—
We heed not what they say;
Perchance, indeed, 'twill struggle on
A night or two, but yet,
If 'tis no better than his farce,
The two you'll soon forget!
T. H. Bayleaf.
Epitaph
ON A CELEBRATED DOCTOR OF LAWS.
A patriot lies beneath this mould,Through every country scouring;
And when his fatal knell was toll'd,
We heard the Bell of Bow-ring.
265
Epitaph on Myself
[_]
To the Editor of “The Globe and Traveller.”
Sir,—I enclose you a small specimen of auto-epitaph-ography
which, as a “puer ingenui vultus ingenuique pudoris,” I fear
the partiality of my friends, who may conceive the memorial
inadequate to my merits, may hereafter be tempted to suppress.
I prefer, therefore, seeing it in my lifetime, and am
Yours for the nonce,
Modestus.
[_]
To the Editor of “The Globe and Traveller.” Sir,—I enclose you a small specimen of auto-epitaph-ography which, as a “puer ingenui vultus ingenuique pudoris,” I fear the partiality of my friends, who may conceive the memorial inadequate to my merits, may hereafter be tempted to suppress. I prefer, therefore, seeing it in my lifetime, and am Yours for the nonce, Modestus.
Traveller, pause!—the gentle youth
Whose honour'd ashes rest below,
Had wisdom, virtue, valour, truth,
And all a patriot's fervent glow.
Whose honour'd ashes rest below,
Had wisdom, virtue, valour, truth,
And all a patriot's fervent glow.
A form so fine, so pure a mind,
Earth ne'er again may hope to see;
He moved, in short, a thing design'd
To show men what a man should be.
Earth ne'er again may hope to see;
He moved, in short, a thing design'd
To show men what a man should be.
Trav'ler, pass—nor vainly scan
Fate's dark decree, which hence withdrew
So wise, so good, so great a man,
And left so sad a scamp as you.
Fate's dark decree, which hence withdrew
So wise, so good, so great a man,
And left so sad a scamp as you.
266
Martial, Lib. 12, Epig. 94.
(IMITATED.)
You ask me, friend Jack, if from humble estate,By some strange freak of fortune, I chance to grow great,
How my mind with my newly-raised rank would accord,
And what sort of a man I should be as a Lord?
The question's an odd one—I know not, not I,
What change might take place, nor scarce how to reply.
Could you tell through your own mind what fancies might pass,
Were you once grown a Lion instead of an Ass?
267
Extempore Translation
[_]
The following lines were written by an eminent legal wag some time since in court, on one of his brethren of the long robe. We venture on an extempore translation:
Causidicus mendaxque, loquaxque, procaxque, rapaxque,
Exceptoque sagax omne quod exit in ax.
Mendax, in setting forth his plea,
Loquax, in chattering to a jury,
Procax, in browbeating a fury;
Rapax, in grasping at his fees,
Save Sagax, any ax you please;
But for opinion, sound and plain,
Alas! his clients ax in vain.
268
The Torrent.
[1829.]
Daddy Newport at Brookes's John Cam Hobhouse meeting,
Discoors'd him awhile on the last Thatch'd-House meeting:
“Och! Hobby, my darling, O'Connell's the man!
Faith, for spaking and blarney there's nothing like Dan!
His eloquence mystifies, bothers, confounds,
Rushing on like a torrent that, bursting its bounds,
Spreads wide and resistless, bears all things before”—
Sam Rogers here, suddenly ceasing to snore,
Peep'd out from the corner where slumber he shamm'd,
And cried, “Then his eloquence ought to be damm'd!”
269
On the Windows of King's College Remaining Boarded.
LOQUITUR DISCIPULUS ESURIENS.
Professors, in your plan there seems
A something not quite right,
'Tis queer to cherish learning's beams
By shutting out the light.
A something not quite right,
'Tis queer to cherish learning's beams
By shutting out the light.
While thus we see your windows block'd,
If nobody complains;
Yet everybody must be shock'd
To see you don't take pains.
If nobody complains;
Yet everybody must be shock'd
To see you don't take pains.
270
And tell me why should bodily
Succumb to mental meat?
Or why should ητα, βητα, πι,
Be all the pie we eat?
Succumb to mental meat?
Or why should ητα, βητα, πι,
Be all the pie we eat?
No Helluo librorum I—
No literary glutton—
Would veal with Virgil like to try,
With metaphysics, mutton.
No literary glutton—
Would veal with Virgil like to try,
With metaphysics, mutton.
Leave us no longer in the lurch,
With Romans, Greeks, and Hindoos;
But give us beef as well as birch,
And board us—not your windows.
With Romans, Greeks, and Hindoos;
But give us beef as well as birch,
And board us—not your windows.
271
An Archæological Hint to the Curators of Canterbury Cathedral.
From the droppings of dicky-birds, fann'd by a breeze, aSpontaneous combustion occurr'd once at Pisa;
Beware then, grave guardians of old Durovernum,
Lest cock robins build in your cloisters and burn 'em.
272
Epigram on a Dull Book.
For turning grave things to farce Prior assertsThat a ladle once stuck in an old woman's skirts.
My Muse then may surely esteem it a boon
If in hers there sticks only—a bit of a spoon.
| The Ingoldsby Lyrics | |