Verse and Worse Part 14

Attracted to the frozen river's brink, Where on a small impromptu snow-swept rink, The happy skaters darted left and right, Or circled amorously out of sight, Some self-supporting; some, like falling stars, Spread-eagling ankle-weak parabolas; I watched the human swarm, and I was 'ware A woman, disarranged, knelt on a chair.

She had cold feet on which she could not run, And piteously she thawed them in the sun.

Those feet were of a woman that alone Was kneeling; a pink liquid by her shone, Which raising to her luminous, lantern jaw, She sipped; or idly stirred it with a straw.

Upon her hat she wore a kind of fowl, An hummingbird, I ween, or else an owl.

Then turned to me. I looked the other way, Trembling; I knew the words she wished to say.

So warm her gaze the blood rushed to my head, Instinctively I knew her feet were dead.

Amorphous feet, like monumental moons, Pavement-obliterating, vast, pontoons, Superbly varnished, to the ice had come, And now, snow-kissed, frost-fettered, dangled numb.

Gently she spoke,--the while my senses whirled, Of 'largest circulations in the world'; Wildly she spoke, as babble men in dreams, Of feeling life's blood 'rushing to extremes'; But I ignored her with deliberate stare, Until the indelicate thing began to swear.

Sensations as of pins and needles rose, Apollinaris-like, in tingled toes.

She felt the hungry frost that punctured holes, Like concentrated seidlitz, in her soles.

Feebly she stept; and sudden was aware Her feet had gone,--they were no longer there,-- And from her boots was willing to be freed; She would not keep what she could never need.

Sullenly I consented, and withdrew From either heel a huge chaotic shoe; Yet for a time laboriously and slow She journeyed with her ponderous boots, as though Along with her she could not help but bear The bargelike burdens she was wont to wear.

Towards me she reeled; and 'Oh! my Uncle,' cried, 'My Uncle!' but I pushed her to one side, Then smiled upon her so she could not stay,-- (My smile can frighten motor-cars away):-- While thus I grinned, not knowing what to do, A belted beadle, in immaculate blue, Plucked at my sleeve, and shattered my romance, Wheeling on cushion tires an ambulance.

Deliberately then he laid her there, Tucked in and bore away; I did not care!

ROSEMARY

(_A Ballad of the Boudoir_)

'E'er August be turned to September, Nor Summer to Autumn as yet, My darling, you Autumn remember What Summer so sure to forget.

'Though age may extinguish the ember That glowed in our hearts when we met, Remember, my love, to remember, And I will forget to forget.

'Who knows but the winds of December May drift us asunder, my pet; And if I forget to remember, Remember, my sweet, to forget!

'My beauty will fade, as the posy You gave me that night on the stairs; My lips will not always be rosy, My head cannot give itself 'airs.

'Alas! as we both become older, Existence draws nigh to a close; So, until I've forgotten your shoulder, You must not remember my nose.

'Our days were not all sunny weather; Even so we have nought to regret,-- Ah! let us remember together, Until we forget to forget!'

PORTKNOCKIE'S PORTER

(_With apologies to Porphyria's Lover_)

The train came early in to-night, The sullen guard was soon awake, And threw my luggage down, for spite, To where the platform seemed a lake; And did his best my box to break.

When sidled up a porter; straight, He mopped the platform with a broom, And, kneeling, made the well-filled grate Blaze up within the waiting-room, And so dispelled the usual gloom.

Which done, he came and took his seat Beside me, doffed his coat, untied His bootlaces, and let his feet Peep coyly out on either side; Then called me. When no voice replied, He rolled his shirt-sleeve up, and rose, And laid his brawny biceps bare, And, where my eyebrows meet my nose, He slowly shook his fist, just there, And seized me by my yellow hair.

Then roughly asked me, had I got A head as empty as a bubble?

Bidding me sternly, did I not Desire henceforth to see things double, To give him something for his trouble.

Nor could my arguments prevail; Entreaties, threats were all in vain!

Returned he to the twice-told tale Of how, from out the midnight train, He bore my luggage through the rain.

I fixed him with my cold grey eye, But all in vain; at last I knew That porter hated me; (though why I cannot understand, can you?) And what on earth was I to do!

Next moment, though I still perspire To think of it, I quickly found A thing to do; and on the fire I pushed him backwards with a bound, And piled the coal up all around.

Cremated him. No pain he felt.

As a shut coop that holds a hen, I oped the register and smelt An odour as of burnt quill-pen.

My laughter bubbled over then.

I seized him lightly, with the tongs About his waist; and through the door I bore him, burning with my wrongs, And laid him on the line. What's more, The down express was due at four.

The mark is on the metals still, A gruesome stain, I must confess, And, when I pa.s.s, it makes me ill To note the somewhat painful mess Concocted by the down express.

Portknockie's porter; so he died.

The date of inquest is deferred.

'Tis thought a case of suicide; And he who might have seen or heard,-- The guard,--has never said a word.

THE BALLAD OF THE LITTLE JINGLANDER

'WHEN THE MOTHER COUNTRY CALLS!'

(_With apologies to all concerned_)

_North and South and East and West, the message travels fast!

East and West and North and South, the bugles blare and blast!

North and West and East and South, the battle-cry grows plain!

West and South and North and East, it echoes back again!_

For the East is calling Westwards, and the North is speaking South, There's a threat on ev'ry curling lip, an oath in ev'ry mouth; 'Tis the shadow of an Empire o'er the Universe that falls, And the winds of Heaven wonder when the Mother-country calls!

Now the call is carried coastwise, from Calay to Bungapore, From the sunny South Pacific to the North Atlantic sh.o.r.e; Gathers volume in its footsteps and grows grander as it goes, From Jeboom to Pongawongo, where the Rumtumpootra flows.

The 'native-born' he sits alert beneath a deodar, He sharpens up his 'c.u.mmerbund' and loads his 'khitmagar,'

His 'ekkah' stands untasted, as he girds upon his brow The 'syce' his father gave him, saying 'unkah punkah jow!'

_Come forth, you babu jemadar, No lackh of pice we bring, Bid the ferash comb your moustashe, And join the great White King!_

And Westward, where 'Our Lady of the Sunshine' (not 'the Snows') Delights to herd the caribou, and where the chipmunk grows, The 'habitant' he sits amid a grove of maple trees, He decorates his shanty and he polishes his 'skis.'

And see! Through ranch or lumber-camp, where'er the news shall go, The daughters cease to gather fruit, the sons to shovel snow!

They love the dear old Mother-land that they have never seen, The Empire that they advertise as 'vaster than has been'!

_Come forth, you mild militiaman, To conquer or to fail, Who is it helps the Lion's whelps Untwist the Lion's tail?_

The pride of race, the pride of place, and bond of blood they feel, The Indies indicate it and New Zealand shows new zeal.

The daughters in their Mother's house are mistress in their own; They are her heirs, her flesh is theirs, and they would share her bone!

Lo! Greater Britain stretches out her hands across the sea; Australia forgets her impecuniositee; On Afric's sh.o.r.e the wily Boer is ready now to fight, For the Khaki and the rooinek, for the Empire and the Right!

_Come forth, you valiant volunteer, Come forth to do or die, You give a hand to Mother, and She'll help you by and by!_

Upon her score of distant sh.o.r.es the sun is always bright; (And always in her empire, too, it must somewhere be night!) Her birthplace is the Ocean, where her pennon braves the breeze; Her motto, 'What is ours we'll hold (and what is not we'll seize!)'

Her rule is strong, her purse is long, her sons are stern and true, With iron hands she holds her lands (and other people's too).

She sees her chance and cries 'Advance,' while others stand and gape, Her oxengoads shall claim the roads from Cairo to the Cape.

_Come out, you big black Fuzzy-Wuz, You've got to take your share; We'll make you sweat till you forget You broke a British Square!_

_North and South and East and West, the message travels fast!