Songs and Lyrics By Joseph Skipsey. Collected and Revised |
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The Golden Bowl.
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 | Songs and Lyrics |  |
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The Golden Bowl.
1. THE BOWL.
Just let the Owl of Evil howl!
To mourners of each rank and station,
I cry, Come, troll the Golden Bowl,
And quaff with me a deep potation!
To mourners of each rank and station,
I cry, Come, troll the Golden Bowl,
And quaff with me a deep potation!
Each sparkling droplet to the soul
Will yield o'er Care a bright ovation;
Then seize and troll the Golden Bowl,
That beams—in my imagination!
Will yield o'er Care a bright ovation;
Then seize and troll the Golden Bowl,
That beams—in my imagination!
2. HAG NIGHT.
La, what a night! The hag has sworn,
In hue to prove a chimla sweeper:
And did the North not blow his horn,
No star would dare to show its peeper.
In hue to prove a chimla sweeper:
And did the North not blow his horn,
No star would dare to show its peeper.
How black her look!—(Just like the rook
That on my idol's brow appeareth,
When quite o'ercome with wrath she's dumb,
And not a blink her booby cheereth!)
That on my idol's brow appeareth,
When quite o'ercome with wrath she's dumb,
And not a blink her booby cheereth!)
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3. UNCOUTH THINGS.
“I hate outlandish things, and own
I've little liking for the sonnet;
'Tis for a lazy Muse, and one
Who hath a bumler in her bonnet.
I've little liking for the sonnet;
'Tis for a lazy Muse, and one
Who hath a bumler in her bonnet.
“'Tis a humdrum song, and tho' not long,
I'd sooner be a kitten, sooner,
And ‘Mew!’ cry ‘Mew!’ than listen to
The ordinary sonnet crooner!”
I'd sooner be a kitten, sooner,
And ‘Mew!’ cry ‘Mew!’ than listen to
The ordinary sonnet crooner!”
4. TOO TRUE.
Truth's words are oft so very true—
And always when my lips he uses,
His foes, which, let us hope, are few,
Declare he but the truth abuses.
And always when my lips he uses,
His foes, which, let us hope, are few,
Declare he but the truth abuses.
Thus when he spake of Ella's tongue,
She knew he meant the tongue of Fable;
And when of her sweet deeds he sung,—
She kick'd his shins beneath the table.
She knew he meant the tongue of Fable;
And when of her sweet deeds he sung,—
She kick'd his shins beneath the table.
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5. EXTREME KINDNESS.
When i would laugh a little at
The follies that in Life aboundeth,
What ails the saint I worship, that
She with a frown my spirit woundeth?
The follies that in Life aboundeth,
What ails the saint I worship, that
She with a frown my spirit woundeth?
Is laughter sin? ah, then full well
I see she'd here but curb my laughter,
And steep me in the heart of hell,
To save me from its lips hereafter.
I see she'd here but curb my laughter,
And steep me in the heart of hell,
To save me from its lips hereafter.
6. STEEDS AND THEIR RIDERS.
Don't spur us so: you'll ever find,
When you will ride at giddy paces,
There's always something in the wind,
At which ere long you'll twist your faces.
When you will ride at giddy paces,
There's always something in the wind,
At which ere long you'll twist your faces.
What, we're but steeds whom no one recks?
Then spur us till we're sores all over:
The sooner you have smash'd your necks,
The sooner we'll have gone to clover!
Then spur us till we're sores all over:
The sooner you have smash'd your necks,
The sooner we'll have gone to clover!
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7. THE WITCH-GLASS.
A syren, with her mirror bright,
His ear enchants; and while he listens,
His image on his dazzled sight,
A very jewel gleams and glistens.
His ear enchants; and while he listens,
His image on his dazzled sight,
A very jewel gleams and glistens.
Ah, could he peer into yon brook,
Or into any heart that knows him,
He'd find the thing that met his look
Was not the pearl the Witch-Glass shows him!
Or into any heart that knows him,
He'd find the thing that met his look
Was not the pearl the Witch-Glass shows him!
8. NOT THE BIRD.
He's not the bird I took him for—
I heard him in the distance screaming,
And tho' his voice was harsh, that hour,
I dream'd of glories, golden, gleaming!
I heard him in the distance screaming,
And tho' his voice was harsh, that hour,
I dream'd of glories, golden, gleaming!
This hour he meets my closer view;
And tho' he cuts as big a swagger,
I find a little cockatoo,
And not a peacock, in the bragger!
And tho' he cuts as big a swagger,
I find a little cockatoo,
And not a peacock, in the bragger!
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9. DAME MALICE.
Dame Malice reigns the Queen of hags;
With wink and whisper, nod and chatter,
She trots along, and never fags,
While she has scandal-seeds to scatter.
With wink and whisper, nod and chatter,
She trots along, and never fags,
While she has scandal-seeds to scatter.
Then when her seeds are poison-weeds,
That choke the corn and spoil the labours
Of king or clown, her feats to crown,
She'll dance a reelet with her neighbours!
That choke the corn and spoil the labours
Of king or clown, her feats to crown,
She'll dance a reelet with her neighbours!
10. RUMOUR.
Elf Rumour? Ay, the airy fay
That treads the air unseen by any;
From town to town her bugle's blown,
And merry are her pranks, and many.
That treads the air unseen by any;
From town to town her bugle's blown,
And merry are her pranks, and many.
Her news our ears now charm, our fears
Now stir, as with a clap of thunder,
And while we cry out, What? she'll fly,
With Laughter at her heels, and Wonder.
Now stir, as with a clap of thunder,
And while we cry out, What? she'll fly,
With Laughter at her heels, and Wonder.
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11. THE CRITICS.
I like the darling critics—like?
O, how upon their work I linger,
When they their weapons use to strike,
Not me, but some less happy singer.
O, how upon their work I linger,
When they their weapons use to strike,
Not me, but some less happy singer.
The treasure of their venom-bags
So finely on the bard's expended,
One half-forgets the little wags
Were from a scorpion-race descended!
So finely on the bard's expended,
One half-forgets the little wags
Were from a scorpion-race descended!
12. THE PETITION.
Dear critics, pray, what have I done
That thus you frown so? tell me truly?
“You've for your neck a halter spun,
In blaming of our race unduly!”
That thus you frown so? tell me truly?
“You've for your neck a halter spun,
In blaming of our race unduly!”
Don't hang me, pray!—Just praise my lay,
And I will swear the Muse but garbled
My sweet intent; and what was meant
Was not the blame the Gipsy warbled!
And I will swear the Muse but garbled
My sweet intent; and what was meant
Was not the blame the Gipsy warbled!
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13. JUST THE WAY.
Was ever wretch in such a plight?
I scramble on I know not whither!
The witches are abroad to-night;
Some wicked one has led me hither!
I scramble on I know not whither!
The witches are abroad to-night;
Some wicked one has led me hither!
“That's just like you, you'll have your cue,
And when hood-wink'd you kiss the ditches,
Your hair you tear! your Muse forswear!
And blame and ban the wicked witches!”
And when hood-wink'd you kiss the ditches,
Your hair you tear! your Muse forswear!
And blame and ban the wicked witches!”
14. JUST SO.
Just let the Owl of Evil howl!
To mourners of each rank and station,
I cry, Come, troll the Golden Bowl,
And quaff with me a deep potation!
To mourners of each rank and station,
I cry, Come, troll the Golden Bowl,
And quaff with me a deep potation!
Each sparkling droplet to the soul
Will yield o'er Care a bright ovation;
Then seize and troll the Golden Bowl,
That beams—in my imagination!
Will yield o'er Care a bright ovation;
Then seize and troll the Golden Bowl,
That beams—in my imagination!
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