A Selection from the Works of Frederick Locker Part 4

Old letters! wipe away the tear For vows and hopes so vainly worded?

A pilgrim finds his journal here Since first his youthful loins were girded.

Yes, here are wails from Clapham Grove, How could philosophy expect us To live with Dr. Wise, and love Rice pudding and the Greek Delectus?

Explain why childhood's path is sown With moral and scholastic tin-tacks; Ere sin original was known, Did Adam groan beneath the syntax?

How strange to parley with the dead!

_Keep ye your green_, wan leaves? How many From Friendship's tree untimely shed!

And here is one as sad as any;

A ghastly bill! "I disapprove,"

And yet She help'd me to defray it-- What tokens of a Mother's love!

O, bitter thought! I can't repay it.

And here's the offer that I wrote In '33 to Lucy Diver; And here John Wylie's begging note,-- He never paid me back a stiver.

And here my feud with Major Spike, Our bet about the French Invasion; I must confess I acted like A donkey upon that occasion.

Here's news from Paternoster Row!

How mad I was when first I learnt it: They would not take my Book, and now I'd give a trifle to have burnt it.

And here a pile of notes, at last, With "love," and "dove," and "sever," "never,"-- Though hope, though pa.s.sion may be past, Their perfume is as sweet as ever.

A human heart should beat for two, Despite the scoffs of single scorners; And all the hearths I ever knew Had got a pair of chimney corners.

See here a double violet-- Two locks of hair--a deal of scandal; I'll burn what only brings regret-- Go, Betty, fetch a lighted candle.

MY NEIGHBOUR ROSE.

Though slender walls our hearths divide, No word has pa.s.sed from either side, Your days, red-lettered all, must glide Unvexed by labour: I've seen you weep, and could have wept; I've heard you sing, and may have slept; Sometimes I hear your chimneys swept, My charming neighbour!

Your pets are mine. Pray what may ail The pup, once eloquent of tail?

I wonder why your nightingale Is mute at sunset!

Your puss, demure and pensive, seems Too fat to mouse. She much esteems Yon sunny wall--and sleeps and dreams Of mice she once ate.

Our tastes agree. I doat upon Frail jars, turquoise and celadon, The "Wedding March" of Mendelssohn, And _Penseroso_.

When sorely tempted to purloin Your _pieta_ of Marc Antoine, Fair Virtue doth fair play enjoin, Fair Virtuoso!

At times an Ariel, cruel-kind, Will kiss my lips, and stir your blind, And whisper low, "She hides behind; Thou art not lonely."

The tricksy sprite did erst a.s.sist At hushed Verona's moonlight tryst; Sweet Capulet! thou wert not kissed By light winds only.

I miss the simple days of yore, When two long braids of hair you wore, And _chat botte_ was wondered o'er, In corner cosy.

But gaze not back for tales like those: 'Tis all in order, I suppose, The Bud is now a blooming ROSE,-- A rosy posy!

Indeed, farewell to bygone years; How wonderful the change appears-- For curates now and cavaliers In turn perplex you: The last are birds of feather gay, Who swear the first are birds of prey; I'd scare them all had I my way, But that might vex you.

At times I've envied, it is true, That joyous hero, twenty-two, Who sent _bouquets_ and _billets-doux_, And wore a sabre.

The rogue! how tenderly he wound His arm round one who never frowned; He loves you well. Now, is he bound To love _my_ neighbour?

The bells are ringing. As is meet, White favours fascinate the street, Sweet faces greet me, rueful-sweet 'Twixt tears and laughter: They crowd the door to see her go-- The bliss of one brings many woe-- Oh! kiss the bride, and I will throw The old shoe after.

What change in one short afternoon,-- My Charming Neighbour gone,--so soon!

Is yon pale orb her honey-moon Slow rising hither?

O lady, wan and marvellous, How often have we communed thus; Sweet memories shall dwell with us, And joy go with her!

PICCADILLY.

Piccadilly!--shops, palaces, bustle, and breeze, The whirring of wheels, and the murmur of trees, By daylight, or nightlight,--or noisy, or stilly,-- Whatever my mood is--I love Piccadilly.

Wet nights, when the gas on the pavement is streaming, And young Love is watching, and old Love is dreaming, And Beauty is whirled off to conquest, where shrilly Cremona makes nimble thy toes, Piccadilly!

Bright days, when we leisurely pace to and fro, And meet all the people we do or don't know,-- Here is jolly old Brown, and his fair daughter Lillie; --No wonder, young pilgrim, you like Piccadilly!

See yonder pair riding, how fondly they saunter!

She smiles on her poet, whose heart's in a canter: Some envy her spouse, and some covet her filly, He envies them both,--he's an a.s.s, Piccadilly!

Now were I that gay bride, with a slave at my feet, I would choose me a house in my favourite street; Yes or no--I would carry my point, w.i.l.l.y, nilly, If "no,"--pick a quarrel, if "yes,"--Piccadilly!

From Primrose balcony, long ages ago, "Old Q" sat at gaze,--who now pa.s.ses below?

A frolicsome Statesman, the Man of the Day, A laughing philosopher, gallant and gay; No hero of story more manfully trod, Full of years, full of fame, and the world at his nod, _Heu, anni fugaces_! The wise and the silly,-- Old P or old Q,--we must quit Piccadilly.

Life is chequered,--a patchwork of smiles and of frowns; We value its ups, let us muse on its downs;

There's a side that is bright, it will then turn us t'other,-- One turn, if a good one, deserves such another.

_These_ downs are delightful, _these_ ups are not hilly,-- Let us turn one more turn ere we quit Piccadilly.

THE PILGRIMS OF PALL MALL.

My little friend, so small and neat, Whom years ago I used to meet In Pall Mall daily; How cheerily you tripped away To work, it might have been to play, You tripped so gaily.

And Time trips too. This moral means You then were midway in the teens That I was crowning; We never spoke, but when I smiled At morn or eve, I know, dear Child, You were not frowning.

Each morning when we met, I think Some sentiment did us two link-- Nor joy, nor sorrow; And then at eve, experience-taught, Our hearts returned upon the thought,-- _We meet to-morrow_!

And you were poor; and how?--and why?