And the Alps shall be ranked with the asses And if leaving me, though, unshattered- And the train that I ride in is scattered And gush of bright gore, not in vain Thus I roam through the universe vasty, And gird against all that is good; Although I to the heights might attain : Fun. October 12, 1867. MY LADY CHAMPAGNE. WAYWARD, Soft, luscious, and tender, Graceful of figure and slender, Decked with a golden crown's splendour- Brilliantly sparkling and creaming, Bubbling and seething and springing, Solace and soother of pain, Proud in the depth of deep scorning, Rosy as soft clouds at dawning, Kisses seductive in greeting, Our Lady Champagne. Frothy, light, bubbly and beady, Life to the overworked brain; Beer for the humble and needy, Wine for the wealthy and greedyOur Lady Champagne ! Judy. May 26, 1880. THE SOUTHERN CROSS. A Frustration. FOUR stars on Night's brow, or Night's bosom, Or Night without either may do some, Four stars-to continue inditing, Oh glories not gilded but golden, Oh four which are double of twa in! Mosquitos again! You alone I can anchor my eye on, The poet should ever be placid. Oh vex not his soul or his skin! Lucid orbs!-that last sting very sore is; It has given me uncommon dolores- Not quite what the shape of a cross is- Confound your infernal probescis, Queen-lights of the heights of high heaven, Oh me, here are seventy times seven Mosquitos again. Oh horns of a mighty trapezium ! Oh bright is the light of magnesium !— Shock keen as the stroke of the leven! There! stick in your pitiless brad-awl, Oh silent and pure constellation, They're at it again! Oh imps that provoke to mad laughter, Winged fiends that are fed from my brow, One of the cleverest parodies on Swinburne was written by the late Mr. Tom Hood, the younger, on the above named poem, and first appeared in Fun, whence it has frequently been copied without proper acknowledgment. The parody will be better appreciated after reading a few stanzas of the original which, as will be observed, is written in a difficult and very uncommon metre : IF love were what the rose is, If I were what the words are, And love were like the tune, With double sound and single Delight our lips would mingle, If you were April's lady, And I were lord in May, We'd throw with leaves for hours And draw for days with flowers, Till day like night were shady, And night were bright like day; If you were April's lady, And I were lord in May. If you were queen of pleasure, And I were king of pain, We'd hunt down love together, Pluck out his flying-feather, And teach his feet a measure, And find his mouth a rein; If you were queen of pleasure, And I were king of pain. A CATCH. A. C. SWINBURNE. (By a Mimic of Modern Melody.) IF you were queen of bloaters, To catch our heedless joles; If you were LADY MILE-END, If you were chill November, If you were cook to Venus To keep the patter clean; If you were cook to Venus And I were J. 19. If you were but a jingle, And I were but a rhyme; We'd keep this up for ever, Nor think it very clever, IF life were never bitter, And love were always sweet, And love were always sweet! If care were not the waiter When easy-going sinners Sit down to Richmond dinners, And life's swift stream flows straighter By Jove, it would be rare, If care were not the waiter If wit were always radiant, And wine were always iced, And bores were kicked out straightway Through a convenient gateway; Then down the year's long gradient 'Twere sad to be enticed, If wit were always radiant, And wine were always iced. Your promise once extorted, If you were at the polling, And powerful to soothe, If you should vote against me, And I were standing by, I might be forced to fell you, And then should simply tell you That having so incensed me You ought to mind your eye; If you should vote against me, And I were standing by. If I were not elected, And you would keep alive, You oughtn't to come nigh me, But shun, avoid, and fly me, And go about protected (For vide stanza 5). If I were not elected, And you would keep alive. If you were not a voter, Nor I a candidate, I would not give a penny, To know your views (if any), I can't enunciate, If you were not a voter, Nor I a candidate. If you were what your nose is, And colds come in the head- If I were what your words are, We ne'er should dwell together; If you were "call to-morrow," And all unsettled still If you were "call to-morrow." |