The Little Vagabond

"I sent a poem here, sir,"

Said the lady, growing fiercer,

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"And the subject which I'd chosen, you remember, sir, was 'Spring';

But, although I've scanned your paper,

Sir, by sunlight, gas, and taper,

I've discovered of that poem not a solitary thing."

She was muscular and wiry,

And her temper sure was fiery,

And I knew to pacify her I would have to-fib like fun.
So I told her ere her verses,

Which were great, had come to bless us,

We'd received just sixty-one on "Spring," of which we'd printed one.

And I added, "We've decided

That they'd better be divided

Among the years that follow-one to each succeeding Spring. So your work, I'm pleased to mention,

Will receive our best attention

In the year of nineteen-forty, when the birds begin to sing."

Parmenas Mix.

THE LITTLE VAGABOND

DEAR mother, dear mother, the Church is cold;

But the Alehouse is healthy, and pleasant, and warm. Besides, I can tell where I am used well;

The poor parsons with wind like a blown bladder swell.

But, if at the Church they would give us some ale,

And a pleasant fire our souls to regale,

We'd sing and we'd pray all the livelong day,

Nor ever once wish from the Church to stray.

Then the Parson might preach, and drink, and sing,
And we'd be as happy as birds in the spring;

And modest Dame Lurch, who is always at Church, Would not have bandy children, nor fasting, nor birch.

And God, like a father, rejoicing to see

His children as pleasant and happy as He,
Would have no more quarrel with the Devil or the barrel,
But kiss him, and give him both drink and apparel.
William Blake.

SYMPATHY

A KNIGHT and a lady once met in a grove
While each was in quest of a fugitive love;
A river ran mournfully murmuring by,
And they wept in its waters for sympathy.

"Oh, never was knight such a sorrow that bore!"
"Oh, never was maid so deserted before!"
"From life and its woes let us instantly fly,
And jump in together for company!"

They searched for an eddy that suited the deed,
But here was a bramble and there was a weed;
"How tiresome it is!" said the fair, with a sigh;
So they sat down to rest them in company.

They gazed at each other, the maid and the knight;
How fair was her form, and how goodly his height!
"One mournful embrace," sobbed the youth,
So kissing and crying kept company.

"Oh, had I but loved such an angel as you!"

Oh, had but my swain been a quarter as true!"

"To miss such perfection how blinded was I!"

Sure now they were excellent company!

ere we die!"

At length spoke the lass, 'twixt a smile and a tear, "The weather is cold for a watery bier;

When summer returns we may easily die,

Till then let us sorrow in company."

Reginald Heber.

The Religion of Hudibras

THE RELIGION OF HUDIBRAS

FOR his religion it was fit

To match his learning and his wit:
'Twas Presbyterian true blue;

For he was of that stubborn crew
Of errant saints, whom all men grant
To be the true church militant;
Such as do build their faith upon
The holy text of pike and gun;
Decide all controversies by
Infallible artillery;

And prove their doctrine orthodox,
By apostolic blows and knocks;
Call fire, and sword, and desolation,
A godly, thorough reformation,
Which always must be carried on,
And still be doing, never done;
As if religion were intended
For nothing else but to be mended:
A sect whose chief devotion lies
In odd perverse antipathies;
In falling out with that or this,
And finding somewhat still amiss;
More peevish, cross, and splenetic,
Than dog distract, or monkey sick;
That with more care keep holy-day
The wrong, than others the right way,
Compound for sins they are inclin❜d to,
By damning those they have no mind to:
Still so perverse and opposite,

As if they worshipped God for spite:
The self-same thing they will abhor
One way, and long another for:
Free-will they one way disavow,
Another, nothing else allow :
All piety consists therein
In them, in other men all sin:
Rather than fail, they will defy
That which they love most tenderly;

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Quarrel with minc'd pies and disparage
Their best and dearest friend, plum porridge,
Fat pig and goose itself oppose,

And blaspheme custard through the nose.

Samuel Butler.

HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER

O THOU wha in the heavens dost dwell,
Wha, as it pleases best Thysel,
Sends ane to Heaven, an' ten to Hell,
A' for Thy glory,

And no for onie guid or ill

They've done before Thee!

I bless and praise Thy matchless might,
When thousands Thou hast left in night,
That I am here, before Thy sight,

For gifts an' grace,

A burnin' an' a shinin' light

To a' this place.

What was I, or my generation,
That I should get sic exaltation!
I, wha deserv'd most just damnation,
For broken laws

Sax thousand years ere my creation,
Thro' Adam's cause.

When frae my mither's womb I fell,
Thou might hae plung'd me deep in Hell,
To gnash my gooms, to weep and wail
In burnin' lakes,

Whare damnèd devils roar and yell,

Chain'd to their stakes.

Yet I am here, a chosen sample,

To show Thy grace is great and ample;

I'm here a pillar o' Thy temple,

Strong as a rock,

A guide, a buckler, an example

To a' Thy flock!

Holy Willie's Prayer

But yet, O Lord! confess I must,
At times I'm fash'd wi' fleshly lust;
An' sometimes, too, in warldly trust,
Vile self gets in;

But Thou remembers we are dust,
Defil'd wi' sin.

May be Thou lets this fleshly thorn
Beset Thy servant e'en and morn,
Lest he owre proud and high should turn
That he's sae gifted:

If sae, Thy han' maun e'en be borne
Until Thou lift it.

Lord, bless Thy chosen in this place,
For here Thou has a chosen race:
But God confound their stubborn face,
An' blast their name,

Wha bring Thy elders to disgrace
An' open shame!

Lord, mind Gawn Hamilton's deserts,
He drinks, an' swears, an' plays at cartes,
Yet has sae monie takin' arts,

Wi' great and sma',

Frae God's ain priest the people's hearts
He steals awa.

An' when we chasten'd him therefore,
Thou kens how he bred sic a splore,
As set the warld in a roar

O' laughin' at us;

Curse Thou his basket and his store,
Kail an' potatoes!

Lord, hear my earnest cry and pray'r
Against the Presbyt'ry of Ayr!

Thy strong right hand, Lord, mak it bare
Upo' their heads!

Lord, visit them, an' dinna spare,

For their misdeeds!

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