THE BALLAD OF THE OYSTERMAN It was a tall young oysterman lived by the river-side, It was the pensive oysterman that saw a lovely maid, Then up arose the oysterman, and to himself said he, "I guess I'll leave the skiff at home, for fear that folks should see; I read it in the story-book, that, for to kiss his dear, Leander swam the Hellespont, and I will swim this here." And he has leaped into the waves, and crossed the shining stream, And he has clambered up the bank, all in the moonlight gleam; Oh, there are kisses sweet as dew, and words as soft as rain But they have heard her father's step, and in he leaps again! Out spoke the ancient fisherman: “Oh, what was that, my daughter?" 66 'Twas nothing but a pebble, sir, I threw into the water." And what is that, pray tell me, love, that paddles off so fast?" "It's nothing but a porpoise, sir, that's been a-swimming past.' Out spoke the ancient fisherman: "Now, bring me my harpoon! I'll get into my fishing-boat, and fix the fellow soon." Down fell that pretty innocent, as falls a snow-white lamb; Her hair drooped round her pallid cheeks, like seaweed on a clam. Alas for those two loving ones! she waked not from her swound, And he was taken with the cramp, and in the waves was drowned; But Fate has metamorphosed them, in pity of their woe, And now they keep an oyster shop for mermaids down below. Oliver Wendell Holmes ONLY SEVEN A PASTORAL STORY AFTER WORDSWORTH I marvell'd why a simple child, Adopting a parental tone, I ask'd her why she cried; The damsel answered with a groan, "I thought it would have sent me mad Said I, "What is it makes you bad?" "And are you sure you took no more, "Oh, please, sir, mother gave me four, "If that's the case," I stammer'd out, I wonder'd hugely what she meant, But I know where little girls are sent "Now, if you won't reform," said I, "I ain't had more nor seven!" POSTSCRIPT To borrow Wordsworth's name was wrong, Or slightly misapplied; And so I'd better call my song, I reside at Table Mountain, and my name is Truthful James; I am not up to small deceit, or any sinful games; And I'll tell in simple language what I know about the row That broke up our Society upon the Stanislow. But first I would remark, that it is not a proper plan To lay for that same member for to "put a head" on him. Now, nothing could be finer or more beautiful to see Till Brown of Calaveras brought a lot of fossil bones Then Brown he read a paper, and he reconstructed there, From those same bones, an animal that was extremely rare, And Jones then asked the chair for a suspension of the rules, Till he could prove that those same bones was one of his lost mules. Then Brown he smiled a bitter smile, and said he was at fault; It seemed he had been trespassing on Jones's family vault: Now, I hold it is not decent for a scientific gent Then Abner Dean of Angel's raised a point of order when A chunk of old red sandstone took him in the abdomen, And he smiled a kind of sickly smile, and curled up on the floor, And the subsequent proceedings interested him no more. For, in less time than I write it, every member did engage Till the skull of an old mammoth caved the head of Thompson in. And this is all I have to say of these improper games, And I've told in simple language what I know about the row That broke up our Society upon the Stanislow. AN ACTOR Bret Harte A shabby fellow chanced one day to meet Garrick, of whom our nation justly brags; Good sir, I do not recollect your face," Quoth Garrick. "No?" replied the man of rags; "The boards of Drury you and I have trod Full many a time together, I am sure.” 66 'When?" with an oath, cried Garrick, "for, by G-d, I never saw that face of yours before! What characters, I pray, Did you and I together play?" "Lord!" quoth the fellow, "think not that I mockWhen you played Hamlet, sir, I played the cock!" John Wolcot ("Peter Pindar") THE BITER BIT The sun is in the sky, mother, the flowers are springing fair, And the melody of woodland birds is stirring in the air; The river, smiling to the sky, glides onward to the sea, And happiness is everywhere, O mother, but with me! They are going to the church, mother, I hear the mar riage bell; It booms along the upland, -oh, it haunts me like a knell; He leads her on his arm, mother, he cheers her faltering step, And closely to his side she clings, she does, the demirep! They are crossing by the stile, mother, where we so oft have stood, The stile beside the shady thorn, at the corner of the wood; And the boughs, that wont to murmur back the words that won my ear, Wave their silver branches o'er him, as he leads his bridal fere. He will pass beside the stream, mother, where first my hand he press'd, By the meadow where, with quivering lip, his passion he confess'd; And down the hedgerows where we've stray'd again and yet again; And he will not think of me, mother, his broken-hearted Jane! |