THE VILLAGE PAX.
(With Deprecatory Acknowledgments to Longfellow.)
["A PEACEFUL PARISH.—It is worthy of remark that in a parish near Blandford a petition in favour of peace has been signed by every grown-up man and woman, with the exception of one farmer."—Times.]
Under the spreading olive tree
The peaceful village stands,
It's known for its tranquillitee
Throughout the neighbouring lands;
And it drinks but very weak Bohea,
Nor smokes the mildest brands.
Its hair is smooth, its patience long,
Its biceps, when you span,
You find they're more like dimples; and
You may hit them where you can,
And come off cheap with easy fame,
For it fights not any man.
Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear the humming low
Of dogs who like to bark and bite
Because their nature's so;
And their cocks they're all put out of sight,
For the bullies used to crow!
Preaching, protesting, sorrowing,
Because of Eastern foes,
Each morning sees that village dawn,
Each evening sees it doze,
O'er asses' milk and ginger-beer,
And Peter Taylor's prose.
Thanks, thanks, to you, O happy vale!
It is a cheering thought
That somewhere waits a blessed spot
For one by yells distraught,
Where bray of Jingoes reaches not,
And Drummond-Wolff is nought.