Poems and Songs, Humorous and Satirical By Alexander Rodger |
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A LETTER TO THE EDITOR OF THE GREENOCK ADVERTISER,
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 | Poems and Songs, Humorous and Satirical |  |
37
A LETTER TO THE EDITOR OF THE GREENOCK ADVERTISER,
Requiring him to give a reason for the wonderful appearance of the “Aurora Borealis,” on Saturday night, the 13th October, 1833.
Dear Mr Editor,—I beg you'll deign,
In your next Thursday's paper, to explain
What was the reason of the streamers' light
Shining so brilliantly, the other night
Emitting all around such glorious rays,
As made the heavens seem almost in a blaze:
And from the Pole, up to the Milky Way,
Turned night into a soft imperfect day.
Now floating, one wide sea of living light;
Now one vast sheet of pure transparent white,
Moving along majestically grand;
Now wildly darting out, on every hand,
Into ten thousand bright fantastic forms
Quick as the lightnings amid tropic storms,
Or mimicking the flash of falchions bright,
When armies meet in wild tumultuous fight;
Now—but I here must stop;—my feeble quill
Cannot describe what's indescribable.—
But, Mr Editor, I beg you'll say
What was the reason of this grand display.
Say, could it be, as some wise folks suppose,
The light reflected from the Polar snows,
When, by some wild commotion in the air,
They're rudely whirled and drifted, here and there,
And, as they fly, assume each varied form,
As moved by the monarch of the storm?
Or was it, as some others think, the light,
Thrown up by countless shoals of fish at night,
Which hold their gambols in the northern deep,
When other sober fish are gone to sleep?
And that on this particular night the whales,
With joy and gladness glancing in their scales,
Had met in myriads in the northern sea,
To hold a high and joyous Jubilee,
In honour of their being freed once more
From wicked whalers who infest their shore,
Dealing destruction with their dread harpoons,
But who had left them now for eight long moons:
And while around their iceberg tables they,
In mirth and feasting, passed the time away—
Drinking most loyal, patriotic toasts,
And cursing ships that visited their coasts,
And passing compliments from side to side
In all the pompousness of whalish pride:
(For whales, like men, we're told can meet and dine,
And drink each other's healths in generous—brine;)
Or, while they gambol through the mazy dance—
Retreating now—now making an advance—
Reeling and wheeling with their partners fair—
Now setting here, now nimbly darting there,
And giving now and then a graceful snort,
By way of keeping up their gentle sport.
Say, while such scenes as these were going on,
Was't the reflection of their scales that shone
Upon the sky, and made so bright a glow?
If this was not the case, pray tell us so.
Or, was it, as some folks are pleased to say,
That Captain Ross, the time he was away,
Was busily employed, with his brave crew,
In gathering and barrelling up the dew
That falls about the Pole each summer night,
And is possessed of qualities so bright,
And lasting, too, that when the summer's done,
It serves the people there instead of sun:
And that the worthy Captain wisely thought,
If such a freight to Britain could be brought,
It soon might supersede the use of gas,
And be a benefit to every class:
That full of this idea, he, brave fellow,
Got safely shipped on board the Isabella
Two barrels of this pure ethereal stuff,
Thinking that quantity would be enough
To make a trial; and, if it succeeded,
More could be had whenever it was needed:
But that, alas! on nearing Orkney's coast,
The Isabella being tempest-tost,
Her rolling and her pitching (sad relation)
Produced among the dew a fermentation,
So strong and rapid, that, before the crew
Had time to think, the hoops asunder flew—
Out burst the dew with such a thundering sound,
'Twas heard for twenty thousand leagues around;
Up flew the light in two vast blazing streams,
Outstripping far the sun's most potent beams;
And as they rose they wide and wider spread,
Till all the sky was glowing overhead.
Now tell us, Mr Editor, (for you
Must know the truth,) if this strange tale be true,
And if it was the cause of that great light,
Which was beheld on that particular night?
In your next Thursday's paper, to explain
What was the reason of the streamers' light
Shining so brilliantly, the other night
Emitting all around such glorious rays,
As made the heavens seem almost in a blaze:
And from the Pole, up to the Milky Way,
Turned night into a soft imperfect day.
Now floating, one wide sea of living light;
Now one vast sheet of pure transparent white,
Moving along majestically grand;
Now wildly darting out, on every hand,
Into ten thousand bright fantastic forms
Quick as the lightnings amid tropic storms,
Or mimicking the flash of falchions bright,
When armies meet in wild tumultuous fight;
38
Cannot describe what's indescribable.—
But, Mr Editor, I beg you'll say
What was the reason of this grand display.
Say, could it be, as some wise folks suppose,
The light reflected from the Polar snows,
When, by some wild commotion in the air,
They're rudely whirled and drifted, here and there,
And, as they fly, assume each varied form,
As moved by the monarch of the storm?
Or was it, as some others think, the light,
Thrown up by countless shoals of fish at night,
Which hold their gambols in the northern deep,
When other sober fish are gone to sleep?
And that on this particular night the whales,
With joy and gladness glancing in their scales,
Had met in myriads in the northern sea,
To hold a high and joyous Jubilee,
In honour of their being freed once more
From wicked whalers who infest their shore,
Dealing destruction with their dread harpoons,
But who had left them now for eight long moons:
And while around their iceberg tables they,
In mirth and feasting, passed the time away—
39
And cursing ships that visited their coasts,
And passing compliments from side to side
In all the pompousness of whalish pride:
(For whales, like men, we're told can meet and dine,
And drink each other's healths in generous—brine;)
Or, while they gambol through the mazy dance—
Retreating now—now making an advance—
Reeling and wheeling with their partners fair—
Now setting here, now nimbly darting there,
And giving now and then a graceful snort,
By way of keeping up their gentle sport.
Say, while such scenes as these were going on,
Was't the reflection of their scales that shone
Upon the sky, and made so bright a glow?
If this was not the case, pray tell us so.
Or, was it, as some folks are pleased to say,
That Captain Ross, the time he was away,
Was busily employed, with his brave crew,
In gathering and barrelling up the dew
That falls about the Pole each summer night,
And is possessed of qualities so bright,
And lasting, too, that when the summer's done,
It serves the people there instead of sun:
40
If such a freight to Britain could be brought,
It soon might supersede the use of gas,
And be a benefit to every class:
That full of this idea, he, brave fellow,
Got safely shipped on board the Isabella
Two barrels of this pure ethereal stuff,
Thinking that quantity would be enough
To make a trial; and, if it succeeded,
More could be had whenever it was needed:
But that, alas! on nearing Orkney's coast,
The Isabella being tempest-tost,
Her rolling and her pitching (sad relation)
Produced among the dew a fermentation,
So strong and rapid, that, before the crew
Had time to think, the hoops asunder flew—
Out burst the dew with such a thundering sound,
'Twas heard for twenty thousand leagues around;
Up flew the light in two vast blazing streams,
Outstripping far the sun's most potent beams;
And as they rose they wide and wider spread,
Till all the sky was glowing overhead.
Now tell us, Mr Editor, (for you
Must know the truth,) if this strange tale be true,
41
Which was beheld on that particular night?
But there is yet another reason given
For this great light which shone that night from heaven;
And it is said 'twas Bishop S--- who gave it:
However, as I heard it you shall have it;
But recollect, I vouch not for its truth,
And will not be amenable, forsooth.—
Well,—it is said the Reverend Pastor told
The pious bleaters of his numerous fold,
The Sunday morning after it took place,
That this light was a miracle of Grace,
Sent to convince an unbelieving world,
Which for its sins to Tophet should be hurled,
But chiefly to convince this wicked land,
That the “Beloved,” departed “Ferdinand,”
Was one of those few favourites of Heaven
To whom the glorious privilege was given
Of an apotheosis grand—sublime,
Such as had scarcely been since Peter's time:
That this was a decree of Holy Church,
Who never left her true sons in the lurch,
But still rewarded them for their good deeds,—
Especially for counting well their beads,
And paying homage to the holy saints
In heaven, now free from all unholy taints:
That Ferdinand, the time he was below,
Did still a holy zeal for these things show;
So much so that the Church had now decreed
The highest seat in heaven as his meed:
That being freed last night from Purgatory,
The well “Beloved,” on his way to glory,
Arriving safely at St. Peter's porch—
That holy Rock, on whom is built the Church,
Saluted him with a most gracious smile,
And kindly shook him by the hand the while,
Telling him his embroideries and flowers
Would be his passport to the heavenly bowers:
That Ferdinand then showed the petticoat,
Which he, on earth, had for the Virgin wrought,
And brought it here with him to be presented
To her, upon the day he should be sainted,—
(For sainting, if the Canons speak aright,
Is just the dubbing one a heavenly knight,)
Hoping he'd be acknowledged then by her,
Her well beloved, chief embroiderer:
That the Apostle took it in his hand,
Praised it, and blessed the pious Ferdinand;
And while upon the petticoat he breathed,
The holy breath so twined, and curled, and wreathed
About the flowers, that, losing earth's pale hue,
They bright and brighter every moment grew,
Till catching all the glow of heaven's rich dyes,
They shed so rich a radiance o'er the skies,
As ne'er was matched since the creation's birth,
When fresh and lovely was this new born earth,
Ere it was blasted by the crimes of men,
When all was peace and purity—and when
The morning stars together sang on high,
And shouted all the sons of God for joy.
Now he (the Bishop) would make bold to say,
That this was a most merciful display
Of Heaven's long-suffering with the sons of men,
To bring them back to the right way again,
Into the heart of this our holy fold,
From which their wicked fathers strayed of old;
He therefore hoped that all would warning take,
And of this gracious dispensation make
A right improvement and a proper use,
And never more to slander or traduce
The blessed memory of him, now gone
And left an earthly for a heavenly throne;
For truly the departed King of Spain
A bright example was for all who yet should reign.
Now, Mr Editor, as this display
Was noted in the Journals of the day,
As the most glorious ever seen by men,
Who scarce can hope to see the like again;
Pray tell us, for we must depend on you,
Which of these reasons is most likely to be true?”
For this great light which shone that night from heaven;
And it is said 'twas Bishop S--- who gave it:
However, as I heard it you shall have it;
But recollect, I vouch not for its truth,
And will not be amenable, forsooth.—
Well,—it is said the Reverend Pastor told
The pious bleaters of his numerous fold,
The Sunday morning after it took place,
That this light was a miracle of Grace,
Sent to convince an unbelieving world,
Which for its sins to Tophet should be hurled,
But chiefly to convince this wicked land,
That the “Beloved,” departed “Ferdinand,”
Was one of those few favourites of Heaven
To whom the glorious privilege was given
Of an apotheosis grand—sublime,
Such as had scarcely been since Peter's time:
That this was a decree of Holy Church,
Who never left her true sons in the lurch,
42
Especially for counting well their beads,
And paying homage to the holy saints
In heaven, now free from all unholy taints:
That Ferdinand, the time he was below,
Did still a holy zeal for these things show;
So much so that the Church had now decreed
The highest seat in heaven as his meed:
That being freed last night from Purgatory,
The well “Beloved,” on his way to glory,
Arriving safely at St. Peter's porch—
That holy Rock, on whom is built the Church,
Saluted him with a most gracious smile,
And kindly shook him by the hand the while,
Telling him his embroideries and flowers
Would be his passport to the heavenly bowers:
That Ferdinand then showed the petticoat,
Which he, on earth, had for the Virgin wrought,
And brought it here with him to be presented
To her, upon the day he should be sainted,—
(For sainting, if the Canons speak aright,
Is just the dubbing one a heavenly knight,)
Hoping he'd be acknowledged then by her,
Her well beloved, chief embroiderer:
43
Praised it, and blessed the pious Ferdinand;
And while upon the petticoat he breathed,
The holy breath so twined, and curled, and wreathed
About the flowers, that, losing earth's pale hue,
They bright and brighter every moment grew,
Till catching all the glow of heaven's rich dyes,
They shed so rich a radiance o'er the skies,
As ne'er was matched since the creation's birth,
When fresh and lovely was this new born earth,
Ere it was blasted by the crimes of men,
When all was peace and purity—and when
The morning stars together sang on high,
And shouted all the sons of God for joy.
Now he (the Bishop) would make bold to say,
That this was a most merciful display
Of Heaven's long-suffering with the sons of men,
To bring them back to the right way again,
Into the heart of this our holy fold,
From which their wicked fathers strayed of old;
He therefore hoped that all would warning take,
And of this gracious dispensation make
A right improvement and a proper use,
And never more to slander or traduce
44
And left an earthly for a heavenly throne;
For truly the departed King of Spain
A bright example was for all who yet should reign.
Now, Mr Editor, as this display
Was noted in the Journals of the day,
As the most glorious ever seen by men,
Who scarce can hope to see the like again;
Pray tell us, for we must depend on you,
Which of these reasons is most likely to be true?”
October 17th, 1833.
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