Part 9

A MIRAGE

WERE I thy bride, Then the whole world beside Were not too wide To hold my wealth of love— Were I thy bride! Upon thy breast My loving head would rest, As on her nest The tender turtle-dove— Were I thy bride!

This heart of mine Would be one heart with thine, And in that shrine Our happiness would dwell— Were I thy bride! And all day long Our lives should be a song: No grief, no wrong Should make my heart rebel— Were I thy bride!

The silvery flute, The melancholy lute, Were night-owl’s hoot To my low-whispered coo— Were I thy bride! The skylark’s trill Were but discordance shrill To the soft thrill Of wooing as I’d woo— Were I thy bride!

The rose’s sigh Were as a carrion’s cry To lullaby Such as I’d sing to thee— Were I thy bride! A feather’s press Were leaden heaviness To my caress. But then, unhappily, I’m not thy bride!

THE GHOSTS’ HIGH NOON

WHEN the night wind howls in the chimney cowls, and the bat in the moonlight flies, And inky clouds, like funeral shrouds, sail over the midnight skies— When the footpads quail at the night-bird’s wail, and black dogs bay the moon, Then is the spectres’ holiday—then is the ghosts’ high noon!

As the sob of the breeze sweeps over the trees, and the mists lie low on the fen, From grey tombstones are gathered the bones that once were women and men, And away they go, with a mop and a mow, to the revel that ends too soon, For cockcrow limits our holiday—the dead of the night’s high noon!

And then each ghost with his ladye-toast to their churchyard beds take flight, With a kiss, perhaps, on her lantern chaps, and a grisly grim “good night”; Till the welcome knell of the midnight bell rings forth its jolliest tune, And ushers our next high holiday—the dead of the night’s high noon!

THE HUMANE MIKADO

A MORE humane Mikado never Did in Japan exist; To nobody second, I’m certainly reckoned A true philanthropist. It is my very humane endeavour To make, to some extent, Each evil liver A running river Of harmless merriment.

My object all sublime I shall achieve in time— To let the punishment fit the crime— The punishment fit the crime; And make each prisoner pent Unwillingly represent A source of innocent merriment— Of innocent merriment!

All prosy dull society sinners, Who chatter and bleat and bore, Are sent to hear sermons From mystical Germans Who preach from ten to four: The amateur tenor, whose vocal villainies All desire to shirk, Shall, during off-hours, Exhibit his powers To Madame Tussaud’s waxwork: The lady who dyes a chemical yellow, Or stains her grey hair puce, Or pinches her figger, Is blacked like a nigger With permanent walnut juice: The idiot who, in railway carriages, Scribbles on window panes, We only suffer To ride on a buffer In Parliamentary trains.

My object all sublime I shall achieve in time— To let the punishment fit the crime— The punishment fit the crime; And make each prisoner pent Unwillingly represent A source of innocent merriment— Of innocent merriment!

The advertising quack who wearies With tales of countless cures, His teeth, I’ve enacted, Shall all be extracted By terrified amateurs: The music-hall singer attends a series Of masses and fugues and “ops” By Bach, interwoven With Spohr and Beethoven, At classical Monday Pops: The billiard sharp whom any one catches His doom’s extremely hard— He’s made to dwell In a dungeon cell On a spot that’s always barred; And there he plays extravagant matches In fitless finger-stalls, On a cloth untrue With a twisted cue, And elliptical billiard balls!

My object all sublime I shall achieve in time— To let the punishment fit the crime— The punishment fit the crime; And make each prisoner pent Unwillingly represent A source of innocent merriment, Of innocent merriment!

WILLOW WALY!

HE. PRITHEE, pretty maiden—prithee, tell me true (Hey, but I’m doleful, willow, willow waly!) Have you e’er a lover a-dangling after you? Hey, willow waly O! I would fain discover If you have a lover? Hey, willow waly O!

SHE. Gentle sir, my heart is frolicsome and free— (Hey, but he’s doleful, willow, willow waly!) Nobody I care for comes a-courting me— Hey, willow waly O! Nobody I care for Comes a-courting—therefore, Hey, willow waly O!

HE. Prithee, pretty maiden, will you marry me? (Hey, but I’m hopeful, willow, willow waly!) I may say, at once, I’m a man of propertee— Hey, willow waly O! Money, I despise it, But many people prize it, Hey, willow waly O!

SHE. Gentle sir, although to marry I design— (Hey, but he’s hopeful, willow, willow waly!) As yet I do not know you, and so I must decline. Hey, willow waly O! To other maidens go you— As yet I do not know you, Hey, willow waly O!

LIFE IS LOVELY ALL THE YEAR

WHEN the buds are blossoming, Smiling welcome to the spring, Lovers choose a wedding day— Life is love in merry May!

Spring is green—Fal lal la! Summer’s rose—Fal lal la! It is sad when Summer goes, Fal la! Autumn’s gold—Fal lal la! Winter’s grey—Fal lal la! Winter still is far away— Fal la! Leaves in Autumn fade and fall; Winter is the end of all. Spring and summer teem with glee: Spring and summer, then, for me! Fal la!

In the Spring-time seed is sown: In the Summer grass is mown: In the Autumn you may reap: Winter is the time for sleep.

Spring is hope—Fal lal la! Summer’s joy—Fal lal la! Spring and Summer never cloy, Fal la! Autumn, toil—Fal lal la! Winter, rest—Fal lal la! Winter, after all, is best— Fal la! Spring and summer pleasure you, Autumn, ay, and winter, too— Every season has its cheer; Life is lovely all the year! Fal la!

THE USHER’S CHARGE

NOW, Jurymen, hear my advice— All kinds of vulgar prejudice I pray you set aside: With stern judicial frame of mind— From bias free of every kind, This trial must be tried!