Second Book of Verse Part 6

For we together by and by Would join that heavenly host; She's earned a rest as well as I,"

Says I to Dibdin's ghost.

THE HAWTHORNE CHILDREN.

THE Hawthorne children, seven in all, Are famous friends of mine; And with what pleasure I recall How, years ago, one gloomy fall I took a tedious railway line, And journeyed by slow stages down Unto that soporiferous town (Albeit one worth seeing) Where Hildegarde, John, Henry, Fred, And Beatrix and Gwendolen, And she that was the baby then,-- These famous seven, as aforesaid, Lived, moved, and had their being.

The Hawthorne children gave me such A welcome by the sea That the eight of us were soon in touch, And, though their mother marvelled much, Happy as larks were we.

Egad, I was a boy again With Henry, John, and Gwendolen; And oh the funny capers I cut with Hildegarde and Fred!

And oh the pranks we children played; And oh the deafening noise we made-- 'Twould shock my family if they read About it in the papers!

The Hawthorne children all were smart: The girls, as I recall, Had comprehended every art Appealing to the head and heart; The boys were gifted, all.

'Twas Hildegarde who showed me how To hitch a horse and milk a cow And cook the best of suppers; With Beatrix upon the sands I sprinted daily, and was beat; 'Twas Henry trained me to the feat Of walking round upon my hands Instead of on my uppers.

The Hawthorne children liked me best Of evenings, after tea, For then, by general request, I spun them yarns about the West,-- Yarns all involving Me!

I represented how I'd slain The bison on his native plain; And divers tales of wonder I told of how I'd fought and bled In Indian scrimmages galore, Till Mrs. Hawthorne quoth, "No more,"

And packed her darlings off to bed, To dream of blood and thunder.

They must have changed a deal since then; The misses, tall and fair, And those three handsome, l.u.s.ty men,-- Would they be girls and boys again, Were I to happen there, Down in that spot beside the sea Where we made such tumultuous glee That dull autumnal weather?

Ah, me! the years go swiftly by; And yet how fondly I recall The week when we were children all, Dear Hawthorne children, you and I, Just eight of us together!

THE BOTTLE AND THE BIRD.

ONCE on a time a friend of mine prevailed on me to go To see the dazzling splendors of a sinful ballet show; And after we had revelled in the saltatory sights, We sought a neighboring _cafe_ for more tangible delights.

When I demanded of my friend what viands he preferred, He quoth: "A large cold bottle, and a small hot bird!"

Fool that I was, I did not know what anguish hidden lies Within the morceau that allures the nostrils and the eyes!

There is a glorious candor in an honest quart of wine, A certain inspiration which I cannot well define!

How it bubbles, how it sparkles, how its gurgling seems to say: "Come! on a tide of rapture let me float your soul away!"

But the crispy, steaming mouthful that is spread upon your plate,-- How it discounts human sapience and satirizes fate!

You wouldn't think a thing so small could cause the pains and aches That certainly accrue to him that of that thing partakes; To me, at least, (a guileless wight!) it never once occurred What horror was encompa.s.sed in that small hot bird.

Oh, what a head I had on me when I awoke next day, And what a firm conviction of intestinal decay!

What seas of mineral water and of bromide I applied To quench those fierce volcanic fires that rioted inside!

And oh the thousand solemn, awful vows I plighted then Never to tax my system with a small hot bird again!

The doctor seemed to doubt that birds could worry people so, But, bless him! since I ate the bird, I guess I ought to know!

The acidous condition of my stomach, so he said, Bespoke a vinous irritant that amplified my head, And, ergo, the causation of the thing, as he inferred, Was the large cold bottle,--_not_ the small hot bird.

Of course I know it wasn't, and I'm sure you'll say I'm right If ever it has been your wont to train around at night.

How sweet is retrospection when one's heart is bathed in wine, And before its balmy breath how do the ills of life decline!

How the gracious juices drown what griefs would vex a mortal breast, And float the flattered soul into the port of dreamless rest!

But you, O noxious, pygmy bird! whether it be you fly, Or paddle in the stagnant pools that sweltering festering lie,-- I curse you and your evil kind for that you do me wrong, Engendering poisons that corrupt my petted muse of song; Go, get thee hence! and never more discomfit me and mine,-- I fain would barter all thy brood for one sweet draught of wine!

So hither come, O sportive youth! when fades the telltale day,-- Come hither, with your fillets and your wreaths of posies gay; We shall unloose the fragrant seas of seething, frothing wine Which now the cobwebbed gla.s.s and envious wire and corks confine, And midst the pleasing revelry the praises shall be heard Of the large cold bottle,--_not_ the small hot bird!

AN ECLOGUE FROM VIRGIL.

[The exile Melibus finds t.i.tyrus in possession of his own farm, restored to him by the Emperor Augustus, and a conversation ensues. The poem is in praise of Augustus, peace, and pastoral life.]

MELIBUS.

t.i.tyrus, all in the shade of the wide-spreading beech-tree reclining, Sweet is that music you've made on your pipe that is oaten and slender; Exiles from home, you beguile our hearts from their hopeless repining, As you sing Amaryllis the while in pastorals tuneful and tender.

t.i.tYRUS.

A G.o.d--yes, a G.o.d, I declare--vouchsafes me these pleasant conditions, And often I gayly repair with a tender white lamb to his altar; He gives me the leisure to play my greatly admired compositions, While my heifers go browsing all day, unhampered of bell and of halter.

MELIBUS.

I do not begrudge you repose; I simply admit I'm confounded To find you unscathed of the woes of pillage and tumult and battle.

To exile and hardship devote, and by merciless enemies hounded, I drag at this wretched old goat and coax on my famishing cattle.

Oh, often the omens presaged the horrors which now overwhelm me-- But, come, if not elsewise engaged, who _is_ this good deity, tell me!

t.i.tYRUS (reminiscently).

The city--the city called Rome, with my head full of herding and tillage, I used to compare with my home, these pastures wherein you now wander; But I didn't take long to find out that the city surpa.s.ses the village As the cypress surpa.s.ses the sprout that thrives in the thicket out yonder.

MELIBUS.

Tell me, good gossip, I pray, what led you to visit the city?

t.i.tYRUS.

Liberty! which on a day regarded my lot with compa.s.sion; My age and distresses, forsooth, compelled that proud mistress to pity, That had snubbed the attentions of youth in most reprehensible fashion.

Oh, happy, thrice happy, the day when the cold Galatea forsook me; And equally happy, I say, the hour when that other girl took me!

MELIBUS (slyly, as if addressing the damsel).

So now, Amaryllis, the truth of your ill-disguised grief I discover!