More Bab Ballads Part 2

Well grounded by a village tutor In languages alive and past, He'd say unto himself, "Knee-suitor, Oh, do not go beyond your last!"

But though his name could boast no handle, He could not every hope resign; As moths will hover round a candle, So hovered he about her shrine.

The brilliant candle dazed the moth well: One day she sang to her Papa The air that MARIE sings with BOTHWELL In NEIDERMEYER'S opera.

(Therein a stable boy, it's stated, Devoutly loved a n.o.ble dame, Who ardently reciprocated His rather injudicious flame.)

And then, before the piano closing (He listened coyly at the door), She sang a song of her composing-- I give one verse from half a score:

BALLAD

Why, pretty page, art ever sighing?

Is sorrow in thy heartlet lying?

Come, set a-ringing Thy laugh entrancing, And ever singing And ever dancing.

Ever singing, Tra! la! la!

Ever dancing, Tra! la! la!

Ever singing, ever dancing, Ever singing, Tra! la! la!

He skipped for joy like little muttons, He danced like Esmeralda's kid.

(She did not mean a boy in b.u.t.tons, Although he fancied that she did.)

Poor lad! convinced he thus would win her, He wore out many pairs of soles; He danced when taking down the dinner-- He danced when bringing up the coals.

He danced and sang (however laden) With his incessant "Tra! la! la!"

Which much surprised the n.o.ble maiden, And puzzled even her Papa.

He nourished now his flame and fanned it, He even danced at work below.

The upper servants wouldn't stand it, And BOWLES the butler told him so.

At length on impulse acting blindly, His love he laid completely bare; The gentle Earl received him kindly And told the lad to take a chair.

"Oh, sir," the suitor uttered sadly, "Don't give your indignation vent; I fear you think I'm acting madly, Perhaps you think me insolent?"

The kindly Earl repelled the notion; His n.o.ble bosom heaved a sigh, His fingers trembled with emotion, A tear stood in his mild blue eye:

For, oh! the scene recalled too plainly The half-forgotten time when he, A boy of nine, had worshipped vainly A governess of forty-three!

"My boy," he said, in tone consoling, "Give up this idle fancy--do-- The song you heard my daughter trolling Did not, indeed, refer to you.

"I feel for you, poor boy, acutely; I would not wish to give you pain; Your pangs I estimate minutely,-- I, too, have loved, and loved in vain.

"But still your humble rank and station For MINNIE surely are not meet"-- He said much more in conversation Which it were needless to repeat.

Now I'm prepared to bet a guinea, Were this a mere dramatic case, The page would have eloped with MINNIE, But, no--he only left his place.

The simple Truth is my detective, With me Sensation can't abide; The Likely beats the mere Effective, And Nature is my only guide.

Ballad: Pasha Bailey Ben

A proud Pasha was BAILEY BEN, His wives were three, his tails were ten; His form was dignified, but stout, Men called him "Little Roundabout."

His Importance

Pale Pilgrims came from o'er the sea To wait on PASHA BAILEY B., All bearing presents in a crowd, For B. was poor as well as proud.

His Presents

They brought him onions strung on ropes, And cold boiled beef, and telescopes, And b.a.l.l.s of string, and shrimps, and guns, And chops, and tacks, and hats, and buns.

More of them

They brought him white kid gloves, and pails, And candlesticks, and potted quails, And capstan-bars, and scales and weights, And ornaments for empty grates.

Why I mention these

My tale is not of these--oh no!

I only mention them to show The divers gifts that divers men Brought o'er the sea to BAILEY BEN.

His Confidant

A confidant had BAILEY B., A gay Mongolian dog was he; I am not good at Turkish names, And so I call him SIMPLE JAMES.

His Confidant's Countenance

A dreadful legend you might trace In SIMPLE JAMES'S honest face, For there you read, in Nature's print, "A Scoundrel of the Deepest Tint."

His Character

A deed of blood, or fire, or flames, Was meat and drink to SIMPLE JAMES: To hide his guilt he did not plan, But owned himself a bad young man.

The Author to his Reader

And why on earth good BAILEY BEN (The wisest, n.o.blest, best of men) Made SIMPLE JAMES his right-hand man Is quite beyond my mental span.

The same, continued

But there--enough of gruesome deeds!

My heart, in thinking of them, bleeds; And so let SIMPLE JAMES take wing,-- 'Tis not of him I'm going to sing.

The Pasha's Clerk

Good PASHA BAILEY kept a clerk (For BAILEY only made his mark), His name was MATTHEW WYCOMBE COO, A man of nearly forty-two.

His Accomplishments