Part 2

Oh, amorous dove! Type of Ovidius Naso! This heart of mine Is soft as thine, Although I dare not say so!

On fire that glows With heat intense I turn the hose Of Common Sense, And out it goes At small expense! We must maintain Our fairy law; That is the main On which to draw— In that we gain A Captain Shaw.

Oh, Captain Shaw! Type of true love kept under! Could thy Brigade With cold cascade Quench my great love, I wonder!

IS LIFE A BOON

IS life a boon? If so, it must befall That Death, whene’er he call, Must call too soon. Though fourscore years he give Yet one would pray to live Another moon! What kind of plaint have I, Who perish in July? I might have had to die Perchance in June!

Is life a thorn? Then count it not a whit! Man is well done with it; Soon as he’s born He should all means essay To put the plague away; And I, war-worn, Poor captured fugitive, My life most gladly give— I might have had to live Another morn!

THE MODERN MAJOR-GENERAL

I AM the very pattern of a modern Major-Gineral, I’ve information vegetable, animal, and mineral; I know the kings of England, and I quote the fights historical, From Marathon to Waterloo, in order categorical; I’m very well acquainted, too, with matters mathematical, I understand equations, both the simple and quadratical; About binomial theorem I’m teeming with a lot o’ news, With interesting facts about the square of the hypotenuse, I’m very good at integral and differential calculus, I know the scientific names of beings animalculous. In short, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral, I am the very model of a modern Major-Gineral.

I know our mythic history—KING ARTHUR’S and SIR CARADOC’S, I answer hard acrostics, I’ve a pretty taste for paradox; I quote in elegiacs all the crimes of HELIOGABALUS, In conics I can floor peculiarities parabolous. I tell undoubted RAPHAELS from GERARD DOWS and ZOFFANIES, I know the croaking chorus from the “Frogs” of ARISTOPHANES; Then I can hum a fugue, of which I’ve heard the music’s din afore, And whistle all the airs from that confounded nonsense “Pinafore.” Then I can write a washing-bill in Babylonic cuneiform, And tell you every detail of CARACTACUS’S uniform. In short, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral, I am the very model of a modern Major-Gineral.

In fact, when I know what is meant by “mamelon” and “ravelin,” When I can tell at sight a Chassepôt rifle from a javelin, When such affairs as sorties and surprises I’m more wary at, And when I know precisely what is meant by Commissariat, When I have learnt what progress has been made in modern gunnery, When I know more of tactics than a novice in a nunnery, In short, when I’ve a smattering of elementary strategy, You’ll say a better Major-General has never sat a gee— For my military knowledge, though I’m plucky and adventury, Has only been brought down to the beginning of the century. But still in learning vegetable, animal, and mineral, I am the very model of a modern Major-Gineral!

THE HEAVY DRAGOON

IF you want a receipt for that popular mystery, Known to the world as a Heavy Dragoon, Take all the remarkable people in history, Rattle them off to a popular tune! The pluck of LORD NELSON on board of the Victory— Genius of BISMARCK devising a plan; The humour of FIELDING (which sounds contradictory)— Coolness of PAGET about to trepan— The grace of MOZART, that unparalleled musico— Wit of MACAULAY, who wrote of QUEEN ANNE— The pathos of PADDY, as rendered by BOUCICAULT— Style of the BISHOP OF SODOR AND MAN— The dash of a D’ORSAY, divested of quackery— Narrative powers of DICKENS and THACKERAY— VICTOR EMMANUEL—peak-haunting PEVERIL— THOMAS AQUINAS, and DOCTOR SACHEVERELL— TUPPER and TENNYSON—DANIEL DEFOE— ANTHONY TROLLOPE and MISTER GUIZOT! Take of these elements all that is fusible, Melt ’em all down in a pipkin or crucible, Set ’em to simmer and take off the scum, And a Heavy Dragoon is the residuum!

If you want a receipt for this soldierlike paragon, Get at the wealth of the CZAR (if you can)— The family pride of a Spaniard from Arragon— Force of MEPHISTO pronouncing a ban— A smack of LORD WATERFORD, reckless and rollicky— Swagger of RODERICK, heading his clan— The keen penetration of PADDINGTON POLLAKY— Grace of an Odalisque on a divan— The genius strategic of CÆSAR or HANNIBAL— Skill of LORD WOLSELEY in thrashing a cannibal— Flavour of HAMLET—the STRANGER, a touch of him— Little of MANFRED (but not very much of him)— Beadle of Burlington—RICHARDSON’S show— MR. MICAWBER and MADAME TUSSAUD! Take of these elements all that is fusible— Melt ’em all down in a pipkin or crucible— Set ’em to simmer and take off the scum, And a Heavy Dragoon is the residuum!

PROPER PRIDE

THE Sun, whose rays Are all ablaze With ever-living glory, Will not deny His majesty— He scorns to tell a story: He won’t exclaim, “I blush for shame, So kindly be indulgent,” But, fierce and bold, In fiery gold, He glories all effulgent!

I mean to rule the earth, As he the sky— We really know our worth, The Sun and I!

Observe his flame, That placid dame, The Moon’s Celestial Highness; There’s not a trace Upon her face Of diffidence or shyness: She borrows light That, through the night, Mankind may all acclaim her! And, truth to tell, She lights up well, So I, for one, don’t blame her!

Ah, pray make no mistake, We are not shy; We’re very wide awake, The Moon and I!

THE POLICEMAN’S LOT

WHEN a felon’s not engaged in his employment, Or maturing his felonious little plans, His capacity for innocent enjoyment Is just as great as any honest man’s. Our feelings we with difficulty smother When constabulary duty’s to be done: Ah, take one consideration with another, A policeman’s lot is not a happy one!

When the enterprising burglar isn’t burgling, When the cut-throat isn’t occupied in crime, He loves to hear the little brook a-gurgling, And listen to the merry village chime. When the coster’s finished jumping on his mother, He loves to lie a-basking in the sun: Ah, take one consideration with another, The policeman’s lot is not a happy one!

THE BAFFLED GRUMBLER

WHENE’ER I poke Sarcastic joke Replete with malice spiteful, The people vile Politely smile And vote me quite delightful! Now, when a wight Sits up all night Ill-natured jokes devising, And all his wiles Are met with smiles, It’s hard, there’s no disguising! Oh, don’t the days seem lank and long When all goes right and nothing goes wrong, And isn’t your life extremely flat With nothing whatever to grumble at!

When German bands, From music stands Play Wagner imperfectly— I bid them go— They don’t say no, But off they trot directly! The organ boys They stop their noise With readiness surprising, And grinning herds Of hurdy-gurds Retire apologising! Oh, don’t the days seem lank and long When all goes right and nothing goes wrong, And isn’t your life extremely flat With nothing whatever to grumble at!

I’ve offered gold, In sums untold, To all who’d contradict me— I’ve said I’d pay A pound a day To any one who kicked me— I’ve bribed with toys Great vulgar boys To utter something spiteful, But, bless you, no! They will be so Confoundedly politeful! In short, these aggravating lads, They tickle my tastes, they feed my fads, They give me this and they give me that, And I’ve nothing whatever to grumble at!

THE HOUSE OF PEERS

WHEN Britain really ruled the waves— (In good Queen Bess’s time) The House of Peers made no pretence To intellectual eminence, Or scholarship sublime; Yet Britain won her proudest bays In good Queen Bess’s glorious days!

When Wellington thrashed Bonaparte, As every child can tell, The House of Peers, throughout the war, Did nothing in particular, And did it very well; Yet Britain set the world ablaze In good King George’s glorious days!