London Lyrics Part 6

The well-remember'd seat is gone, And where it stood is set a stone, A simple square: The worlding gay, or man austere, May pa.s.s the name recorded here, But we will stay to shed a tear, And breathe a prayer.

MY FIRSTBORN

"But thou that didst appear so fair To fond imagination, Dost rival in the light of day, Her delicate creation!"

WORDSWORTH.

It shall not be "Albert" nor "Arthur,"

Though both are respectable men, His name shall be that of his father, My Benjamin shorten'd to "Ben."

Yes, much as I wish for a corner In each of my relative's wills, I will not be reckon'd a fawner- That creaking of boots must be Squills.

It is clear, though his means may be narrow, This infant his age will adorn; I shall send him to Oxford from Harrow- I wonder how soon he'll be born.

A spouse thus was airing his fancies Below-'twas a labour of love- And calmly reflecting on Nancy's More practical labour above.

Yet while it so pleas'd him to ponder, Elated, at ease, and alone, That pale, patient victim up yonder Had budding delights of her own;

Sweet thoughts in their essence diviner Than dreams of ambition and pelf; A cherub, no babe will be finer, Invented and nursed by herself!

One breakfasting, dining, and teaing, With appet.i.te nought can appease, And quite a young Reasoning Being When called on to yawn and to sneeze.

What cares that heart, trusting and tender, For fame or avuncular wills; Except for the name and the gender, She is almost as tranquil as Squills.

That father, in reverie centr'd, Dumfoundered, his brain in a whirl, Heard Squills-as the creaking boots enter'd,- Announce that his Boy was-a GIRL.

THE WIDOW'S MITE

ST MARK'S GOSPEL, chap. xii. verses 42, 43, 44

The widow had but only one, A puny and decrepid son; But day and night, Though fretful oft, and weak, and small, A loving child, he was her all- The widow's mite.

The widow's might-yes! so sustain'd She battled onward, nor complain'd Though friends were fewer: And, cheerful at her daily care, A little crutch upon the stair Was music to her.

I saw her then, and now I see, Though cheerful and resign'd, still she Has sorrow'd much: She has-HE gave it tenderly- Much faith-and carefully laid by A little crutch.

ST GEORGE'S, HANOVER SQUARE

"Dans le_ bonheur_ de nos meilleurs amis nous trouvons souvent quelque chose qui ne nous plait pas entierement."

She pa.s.s'd up the aisle on the arm of her sire, A delicate lady in bridal attire, Fair emblem of virgin simplicity: Half London was there, and, my word, there were few, Who stood by the altar, or hid in a pew, But envied Lord Nigel's felicity.

O, beautiful bride, still so meek in thy splendour, So frank in thy love and its trusting surrender, Going hence thou wilt leave us the town dim!

May happiness wing to thy bosom, unsought, And Nigel, esteeming his bliss as he ought, Prove worthy thy worship, confound him!

A SKETCH IN SEVEN DIALS

Mary in her hand has sixpence, Mary starts to fetch some b.u.t.ter, Mary's pinafore is spotless, Off she goes across the gutter, Gleeful, radiant, as she thus did, Proud to be so largely trusted.

One, two, three, small steps she's taken, Blissfully away she's tripping, When good lack, and who'd a thought it, Down goes Mary, slipping, slipping; Daubs her clothes, the little s.l.u.t-her Sixpence, too, rolls in the gutter.

Never creep back so despairing, Dry those eyes, my little Mary, All of us start off in high glee, Many come back quite "contrairy"- I've mourn'd sixpences in scores too, Damag'd hopes and pinafores too.

MISS EDITH AN EXTRAVAGANZA

Miss Edith lifts the latch with care, And now she must brave the chill night air.

She has violet eyes and ruby lips, A dancing shape-and away she skips; She hies to the haunt of a hermit weird, With flaming eyes and a forky beard, A shocking wizard-who, gossips say, Has dwelt in his cavern a year to-day.

"O, ancient man! I am filled with fear, My lover has left me full a year.

'I swear to return in a year,' said he, 'Or question the man of mystery.

Your eyes are blue, and your lips are red; I swear, my love, to come back,' he said.

O, fearsome man! I pray of you, Can he prove so false whom I think so true?"

"O, daughter fair! I am sad to say That young men now and then betray: Thy lover, I wis, has thy trust betray'd, For he presently woos a witching maid: Her eyes are blue, and, I tell thee this, She has tempting lips that he fain would kiss; But courage, my child, thou mayst yet discover A clue to the heart of this worthless lover."

He mutter'd, when thus he the maid had cheer'd, A strange sound that was drown'd in the forky beard; Then all around loud thunders broke, And the cave was wrapp'd in fire and smoke, And that fearsome man has disappear'd With his flaming eyes and his forky beard; And Edith weeps in rapture sweet To find her lover at her feet!

A GLIMPSE OF GRETNA GREEN, IN THE DISTANCE

"My Kate, at the Waterloo column, To-morrow, precisely at eight; Remember, thy promise was solemn, And-thine till to-morrow, my Kate!"

That evening seem'd strangely to linger, The licence and luggage were packt, And Time, with a long and short finger, Approvingly mark'd me exact.