OUR HYMN AT morning's call The small-voiced pug dog welcomes in the sun, When evening dim Draws rounds us, then the lovely caterwaul, Oliver Wendell Holmes. "SOLDIER, REST!" A RUSSIAN sailed over the blue Black Sea Schipkadirova Ivandiszstova Sanilik Danilik Varagobhot!" A Turk was standing upon the shore Kilgekosladji Grivido Blivido Jenikodosk!" Imitation So they stood like brave men, long and well, Mischaribustchup Bulgari 375 Dulgari Sagharimainz. Robert J. Burdette. IMITATION CALM and implacable, Eying disdainfully the world beneath, Sat Humpty-Dumpty on his mural eminence In solemn state: And I relate his story In verse unfettered by the bothering restrictions of rhyme or metre, In verse (or "rhythm," as I prefer to call it) Which, consequently, is far from difficult to write. He sat. And at his feet The world passed on-the surging crowd Of men and women, passionate, turgid, dense, Keenly alert, lethargic, or obese. (Those two lines scan!) Among the rest He noted Jones; Jones with his Roman nose, His eyebrows-the left one streaked with a dash of grayAnd yellow boots. Not that Jones Has anything in particular to do with the story; But a descriptive phrase Like the above shows that the writer is A Master of Realism. Let us proceed. Suddenly from his seat Did Humpty-Dumpty slip. Vainly he clutched. Right to the foot of the wall, Right on to the horribly hard pavement that ran beneath it, Humpty-Dumpty, the unfortunate Humpty-Dumpty, Fell. And him, alas! no equine agency, Resourceful, eager, strenuous Could ever restore to the lofty eminence Which once was his. Still he lies on the very identical Spot where he fell-lies, as I said on the ground, Shamefully and conspicuously abased! Anthony C. Deane. THE MIGHTY MUST COME mighty Must! Inevitable Shall! In thee I trust. Time weaves my coronal! Go mocking Is! Go disappointing Was! That I am this Ye are the cursed cause! Yet humble second shall be first, I ween; And dead and buried be the curst Oh weak Might Be! Oh, May, Might, Could, Would, Should! How powerless ye For evil or for good! In every sense Your moods I cheerless call, Whate'er your tense Ye are imperfect, all! Ye have deceived the trust I've shown In ye! Away! The Mighty Must alone Shall be! • W. S. Gilbert. Midsummer Madness 377 MIDSUMMER MADNESS I AM a hearthrug Yes, a rug A SOLILOQUY Though I cannot describe myself as snug; For a clumsy lout, with a wooden leg, With a wooden leg, Till countless holes I'm drove in. ("Drove," I have said, and it should be "driven "; So improvidently have improvised, That they've utterly ungrammaticised Our ungrammatical grammar). Burn holes, Or make spots like moles, And my lily-white tints, as black as your hat turn, Rolls The rolls From the plate, in shoals, When they're put to warm in front of the coals; And no one with me condoles, For the butter stains on my beautiful pattern. Of that horrible man with the wooden leg. This moral spread from me, Sing it, ring it, yelp it- That is if you can help it. Unknown. 1 MAVRONE ONE OF THOSE SAD IRISH POEMS, WITH NOTES FROM Arranmore the weary miles I've come; A Shrawn that's kep' me silent, speechless, dumb, An' was it then the Shrawn of Eire,2 you'll say, For him that died the death on Carrisbool? It was not that; nor was it, by the way, The Sons of Garnim 3 blitherin' their drool; Nor was it any Crowdie of the Shee,* Or Itt, or Himm, nor wail of Barryhoo 5 For Barrywhich that stilled the tongue of me. A Shrawn is a pure Gaelic noise, something like a groan, more like a shriek, and most like a sigh of longing. 2 Eire was daughter of Carne, King of Connaught. Her lover, Murdh of the Open Hand, was captured by Greatcoat Mackintosh, King of Ulster, on the plain of Carrisbool, and made into soup. Eire's grief on this sad occasion has become proverbial. Garnim was second cousin to Manannan MacLir. His sons were always sad about something. There were twenty-two of them, and they were all unfortunate in love at the same time, just like a chorus at the opera. Blitherin' their drool" is about the same as dreeing their weird." The Shee (or "Sidhe," as I should properly spell it if you were not so ignorant) were, as everybody knows, the regular, stand-pat, organization fairies of Erin. The Crowdie was their annual convention, at which they made melancholy sounds. The Itt and Himm were the irregular, or insurgent, fairies. They never got any offices or patronage. See MacAlester, Polity of the Sidhe of West Meath, page 985. The Barryhoo is an ancient Celtic bird about the size of a Mavis, with lavender eyes and a black-crape tail. It continually mourns its mate (Barrywhich, feminine form), which has an hereditary predisposition to an early and tragic demise and invariably dies first. |