Golden Numbers Part 53

Of all the ships upon the blue, No ship contained a better crew Than that of worthy Captain Reece, Commanding of _The Mantelpiece_.

He was adored by all his men, For worthy Captain Reece, R. N., Did all that lay within him to Promote the comfort of his crew.

If ever they were dull or sad, Their captain danced to them like mad, Or told, to make the time pa.s.s by, Droll legends of his infancy.

A feather-bed had every man, Warm slippers and hot-water can, Brown Windsor from the captain's store, A valet, too, to every four.

Did they with thirst in summer burn, Lo, seltzogenes at every turn, And on all very sultry days Cream ices handed round on trays.

Then currant wine and ginger-pops Stood handily on all the "tops;"

And also, with amus.e.m.e.nt rife, A "Zoetrope, or Wheel of Life."

New volumes came across the sea From Mister Mudie's libraree; The _Times_ and _Sat.u.r.day Review_ Beguiled the leisure of the crew.

Kind-hearted Captain Reece, R. N., Was quite devoted to his men; In point of fact, good Captain Reece Beatified _The Mantelpiece_.

One summer eve, at half-past ten, He said (addressing all his men): "Come, tell me, please, what I can do To please and gratify my crew.

"By any reasonable plan I'll make you happy if I can; My own convenience count as _nil_: It is my duty, and I will."

Then up and answered William Lee (The kindly captain's c.o.xswain he, A nervous, shy, low-spoken man), He cleared his throat and thus began:

"You have a daughter, Captain Reece, Ten female cousins and a niece, A ma, if what I'm told is true, Six sisters, and an aunt or two.

"Now, somehow, sir, it seems to me, More friendly like we all should be, If you united of 'em to Unmarried members of the crew.

"If you'd ameliorate our life, Let each select from them a wife; And as for nervous me, old pal, Give me your own enchanting gal!"

Good Captain Reece, that worthy man, Debated on his c.o.xswain's plan: "I quite agree," he said, "O Bill; It is my duty, and I will.

"My daughter, that enchanting gurl, Has just been promised to an Earl, And all my other familee To peers of various degree.

"But what are dukes and viscounts to The happiness of all my crew?

The word I gave you I'll fulfil; It is my duty, and I will.

"As you desire it shall befall, I'll settle thousands on you all, And I shall be, despite my h.o.a.rd, The only bachelor on board."

The boatswain of _The Mantelpiece_, He blushed and spoke to Captain Reece: "I beg your honour's leave," he said; "If you would wish to go and wed,

"I have a widowed mother who Would be the very thing for you-- She long has loved you from afar; She washes for you, Captain R."

The Captain saw the dame that day-- Addressed her in his playful way-- "And did it want a wedding ring?

It was a tempting ickle sing!

"Well, well, the chaplain I will seek, We'll all be married this day week At yonder church upon the hill; It is my duty, and I will!"

The sisters, cousins, aunts, and niece, And widowed ma of Captain Reece, Attended there as they were bid; It was their duty, and they did.

WILLIAM SCHWENCK GILBERT.

_The Cataract of Lodore_

"How does the Water Come down at Lodore?"

My little boy ask'd me Thus, once on a time; And moreover he task'd me To tell him in rhyme.

Anon at the word, There first came one daughter, And then came another, To second and third The request of their brother, And to hear how the Water Comes down at Lodore, With its rush and its roar, As many a time They had seen it before.

So I told them in rhyme, For of rhymes I had store; And 'twas in my vocation For their recreation That so I should sing; Because I was Laureate To them and the King.

From its sources which well In the Tarn on the fell; From its fountains In the mountains, Its rills and its gills; Through moss and through brake, It runs and it creeps For awhile, till it sleeps In its own little Lake.

And thence at departing, Awakening and starting, It runs through the reeds, And away it proceeds, Through meadow and glade, In sun and in shade, And through the wood-shelter, Among crags in its flurry, Helter-skelter, Hurry-scurry.

Here it comes sparkling, And there it lies darkling; Now smoking and frothing Its tumult and wrath in, Till in this rapid race On which it is bent, It reaches the place Of its steep descent.

The Cataract strong Then plunges along, Striking and raging As if a war waging Its caverns and rocks among; Rising and leaping, Sinking and creeping, Swelling and sweeping, Showering and springing, Flying and flinging, Writhing and ringing, Eddying and whisking, Spouting and frisking, Turning and twisting, Around and around With endless rebound: Smiting and fighting, A sight to delight in; Confounding, astounding, Dizzying and deafening the ear with its sound.

Collecting, projecting, Receding and speeding, And shocking and rocking, And darting and parting, And threading and spreading, And whizzing and hissing, And dripping and skipping, And hitting and splitting, And shining and twining, And rattling and battling, And shaking and quaking, And pouring and roaring, And waving and raving, And tossing and crossing, And flowing and going, And running and stunning, And foaming and roaming, And dinning and spinning, And dropping and hopping, And working and jerking, And guggling and struggling, And heaving and cleaving, And moaning and groaning; And glittering and frittering, And gathering and feathering, And whitening and brightening, And quivering and shivering, And hurrying and skurrying, And thundering and floundering;

Dividing and gliding and sliding, And falling and brawling and sprawling, And driving and riving and striving, And sprinkling and twinkling and wrinkling, And sounding and bounding and rounding, And bubbling and troubling and doubling, And grumbling and rumbling and tumbling, And clattering and battering and shattering;

Retreating and beating and meeting and sheeting, Delaying and straying and playing and spraying, Advancing and prancing and glancing and dancing, Recoiling, turmoiling and toiling and boiling, And gleaming and streaming and steaming and beaming, And rushing and flushing and brushing and gushing, And flapping and rapping and clapping and slapping, And curling and whirling and purling and twirling, And thumping and plumping and b.u.mping and jumping, And dashing and flashing and splashing and clashing; And so never ending, but always descending, Sounds and motions forever and ever are blending, All at once and all o'er, with a mighty uproar, And this way the Water comes down at Lodore.

ROBERT SOUTHEY.

_The Enchanted Shirt_

The king was sick. His cheek was red, And his eye was clear and bright; He ate and drank with kingly zest, And peacefully snored at night.

But he said he was sick, and a king should know, And the doctors came by the score.

They did not cure him. He cut off their heads, And sent to the schools for more.

At last two famous doctors came, And one was as poor as a rat,-- He had pa.s.sed his life in studious toil, And never found time to grow fat.

The other had never looked in a book; His patients gave him no trouble: If they recovered, they paid him well; If they died, their heirs paid double.

Together they looked at the royal tongue, As the king on his couch reclined; In succession they thumped his august chest, But no trace of disease could find.

The old Sage said, "You're as sound as a nut."

"Hang him up," roared the king in a gale-- In a ten-knot gale of royal rage; The other leech grew a shade pale;

But he pensively rubbed his sagacious nose, And thus his prescription ran-- _The king will be well, if he sleeps one night In the shirt of a Happy Man._

Wide o'er the realm the couriers rode, And fast their horses ran, And many they saw, and to many they spoke, But they found no Happy Man.

They found poor men who would fain be rich, And rich who thought they were poor; And men who twisted their waists in stays, And women who short hose wore.

At last they came to a village gate, A beggar lay whistling there; He whistled, and sang, and laughed, and rolled On the gra.s.s, in the soft June air.