In fact, 't was so heavily laden with ore And pearls, 't was a mercy he got it to shore; And while pulling along, Still he heard, faintly sounding, the water-nymphs' song. LAY OF THE NAIADS. "Away! away! to the mountain's brow, The unearthly voices scarce had ceased their yelling, What rejoicing was there! The old housekeeper put a clean shirt down to air, That her master's was damp, And she fear'd he'd catch cold, and lumbago, and cramp; But, scorning what she did, The Knight never heeded Wet jacket, or trousers, or thought of repining, But, oh! what dismay Fill'd the tribe of Ca Sa, When they found he 'd the cash, and intended to pay! Away went "cognovits," "bills," "bonds," and "escheats," Rupert cleared off old scores, and took proper receipts. Now no more he sends out, For pots of brown stout, Or schnapps, but resolves to do henceforth without, Abjure from this hour all excess and ebriety, All riot eschew, Begin life anew, And new-cushion and hassock the family pew! Nay, to strengthen him more in this new mode of life Now, many would think that the Knight, from a nice sense And that, for a man of his breeding and quality, Confirm'd by an oath, Is not quite consistent with rigid morality; But whether the nymph was forgot, or he thought her From her essence scarce wife, but at best wife-and-water, And declined as unsuited, A bride so diluted Be this as it may, He, I'm sorry to say (For, all things consider'd, I own 't was a rum thing), "Thrice happy's the wooing That's not long a-doing!" So much time is saved in the billing and cooing- 'Twas a comely sight To behold the Knight, With his beautiful bride, dress'd all in white, And the bridemaids fair with their long lace vails, As they all walk'd up to the altar rails, While nice little boys, the incense dispensers, March'd in front with white surplices, bands, and gilt censers. With a gracious air, and a smiling look, And had read so far as to ask if to wed he meant? And coal-black cloud O'ershadow'd the church, and the party, and crowd; Still the darkness increased, till it reach'd such a pass And the thunder roar'd, As if heaven and earth were coming together; And the lightning flash'd, Of the sweet little dears In the vails, as it danced on the brass chandeliers; Though all the rest trembled, as might be expected, And endeavor'd to cheer His bride, in her ear Whisp'ring tenderly, "Pray don't be frighten'd, my dear Should it even set fire to the castle, and burn it, you're Amply insured, both for buildings and furniture." But now, from without, A trustworthy scout Wet through to the skin, Informing his master "the river was rising, And flooding the grounds in a way quite surprising." He'd no time to say more, For already the roar Of the waters was heard as they reach'd the church-door, And all might observe, by her glance fierce and stormy, What she said to the Knight, what she said to the bride, For the roof tumbled in, and the walls tumbled out, The flood kept on roaring, The billows and water-nymphs roll'd more and more in; All was clean wash'd away One only survived who could hand down the news, She was borne off, but stuck, By the greatest good luck, In an oak-tree, and there she hung, crying and screaming, Did the fishermen seek For the bodies, and poke in each cranny and creek; After aught in the church, They caught nothing but weeds, and perhaps a few perch. The Humane Society Tried a variety Of methods, and brought down, to drag for the wreck, tackles, But they only fished up the clerk's tortoise-shell spectacles. MORAL. This tale has a moral. Ye youths, oh, beware -Let no run of bad-luck, or despair for some Jewess-eyed Don't sit up much later than ten or eleven!— Be up in the morning by half after seven! Keep from flirting-nor risk, warn'd by Rupert's miscarriage, Don't prig silver dishes! And to sum up the whole, in the shortest phrase I know, LOOK AT THE CLOCK. R. HARRIS BARHAM. "Look at the Clock !" quoth Winifred Pryce, Wretch, every day you Treat her who vow'd to love and obey you?— Me in a fright! Staggering home as it 's just getting light! Winifred Pryce was tidy and clean, Her gown was a flower'd one, her petticoat green, Her buckles were bright as her milking-cans, Her hat was a beaver, and made like a man's; Her little red eyes were deep set in their socket-holes, Her gown-tail was turn'd up, and tuck'd through the pocketholes; A face like a ferret Betoken'd her spirit: To conclude, Mrs. Pryce was not over young, Had very short legs, and a very long tongue. |