Tales of the Wonder Club Volume I Part 42

"Come, come, Helen, that's all nonsense," said the doctor, "I've heard your voice before now warbling away when you thought no one was listening to you."

"Ay, ay," said our host, "you are right, sir, she _can_ sing when she likes as pretty a little song as ever you'd wish to hear, though I say it, that shouldn't."

"Come, Helen, don't be shy, sing away my girl," said Hardcase.

"Let us make a bargain, Helen," said McGuilp. "If _you_ will sing a song, _I_ will. There, you cannot refuse."

The girl's face brightened up as she stole a glance at our artist, and thus urged, began in a clear and sweet voice the following ditty:--

THE NIGHTINGALE.

The nightingale sang to her love the rose, One night when the moon was shining, The earth was hushed in still repose, But a heart with love was pining.

Two lovers through the misty air, Beneath the trees were strolling, A gallant and a lady fair, A bell in the distance tolling.

"Beloved, hear'st thou that distant wail, That sad and mournful knelling?"

"Sweetheart, 'tis but the nightingale, That her tale of love is telling."

"No, no, 'tis not the nightingale, I feel a dire foreboding, The night spreads o'er her dusky veil, Our joys of love corroding."

"Nay, loved one; banish idle fears, The moon is bright and beaming, Seek not to drown thy joy in tears, When thy star above is gleaming."

"See here this flower," (he plucked a rose), "How beautious is its blossom.

Wear this for me, for it but grows, To deck thy snow white bosom."

Then out and shrieked the nightingale, "Oh spare, oh spare, my lover.

Too late!" she cries, with dismal wail, Beneath the greenwood cover.

"Ah me!" outshrieked that bird of night, "My love is gone for ever, But vengeance waits thee, cruel knight; Thou from thy love shalt sever."

Too true, alas! the night bird's curse, For 'neath the trees did hover, An envious wight with arquebus, T'await his rival lover.

Scarce had the gloomy prophecy Died on his ears unheeding, When the foe a poisoned shaft let fly, And the knight fell pale and bleeding.

A lady mourns her love deceased, Her eyes in death are rolling, The distant tolling knell had ceased, But again the knell is tolling.

"Thank you, Helen, thank you; very well sung," said several voices at once.

"It is a fanciful and mournful ditty," said Parna.s.sus, "but the tune is good."

"It is, indeed, somewhat melancholy," said McGuilp. "Have you no other, Helen?"

"I did but bargain for one," said the girl, smiling.

"True," said McGuilp, "and now you want to hear one from me, eh?"

"Precisely so," said Mr. Oldstone. "Keep him to his word, Helen. Don't let him shirk off."

"Now, Mr. McGuilp," said several voices at once, "we are all waiting."

"Well, gentlemen," began the painter, "if you will permit me to retire----"

"Retire!--Oh, nonsense!" exclaimed Oldstone, Crucible, and others simultaneously. "Why you never mean to back out after having----"

"No, gentlemen, nothing of the sort, I a.s.sure you," said our artist, "I was only going to ask leave of the company to retire a moment to my chamber to bring down an article indispensable to the song I am about to sing."

"I believe he is going to sing in costume," said Mr. Blackdeed, "and that he is going in search of some 'property.'"

"No, nor that either," said the painter. "The song I shall sing to you this evening, gentlemen, is an ode that I composed myself to a skull which I found among some ancient ruins in Rome, and out of which I have made a drinking cup. As this is a drinking song, in which the cup is often alluded to, it will be necessary that the goblet itself be present."

"By all means," said several members.

"Let us see the precious relic," said the antiquary. "These things are quite in my line."

"And mine too," said the doctor.

Our artist left the apartment and returned with the relic, which he placed in the centre of the table for all to admire.

"There, Helen," said he, "that cup was once a man's head, who laughed, sang, and told stories, too, I've no doubt, like the best of us."

"And you use it to drink out of!" exclaimed the girl, in extreme disgust. "What a horrible idea."

Mr. Oldstone put on his spectacles and bent over the table attentively to examine it. Dr. Bleedem took it up, tapped it, looked at it all over, and declared that it was different in form to the skulls of the present day, observing that it was evidently of great antiquity, as the enamel had worn away. The bone, he said, was of great thickness.

The object of general curiosity was handed round the table from one to the other. At length Mr. Blackdeed took it up, and striking into a Hamlet-like att.i.tude, quoted at full length the well-known pa.s.sage:

"'Alas! poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio; a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy,' etc., etc."

Applause followed the quotation.

"The song! the song!" cried others, impatiently.

"Composed by himself; mark that, gentlemen," said Mr. Parna.s.sus. "A brother poet! Hear, hear!"

The company then drew themselves eagerly round the table, while our artist filled the human goblet to the brim, and after taking a sip from it, stood up, and holding it aloft, sang in a clear rich voice the following words:--

LINES TO A SKULL.

Stern relic of a bygone age, What changes hast thou seen ere now?

Wert thou a warrior or a sage, And did the laurel deck thy brow?

Wert of Imperial Caesar's line, Or poet inspired with art divine?

Whate'er thou wert in days of old, Whate'er the deeds they sing of thee, Though ne'er so great and manifold, Thy crown as a cup shall serve for me.

Here from they soul's deep-vaulted shrine, Quaff I the blood of thy native vine.

And while it braces every nerve, Hail! to Bacchus and Venus, too, The G.o.ds that thou wert wont to serve, In days of yore, to me be true, As I lie 'neath the shade of the cl.u.s.tering vine, Merrily quaffing the red, red wine.