Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
(Continued from Part 13.)
There was a competition for Parodies on “Excelsior” in Truth, fourteen parodies appeared on November 11, 1880, and the following week nine more were published, each consisting of five verses. The parody with the refrain, “That Thirty-four,” which was selected as the prize winner, has already appeared in Part VI. of Parodies. A few of the others may be given here; the first evidently refers to Mr. Disraeli’s entry into political life, when he was not favorably received:—
The shades of night were falling fast,
When, through the House of Commons, passed
A youth, with curls not over nice,
Who bore as motto and device—
Excelsior!
His brow was dark, his eye beneath
Flashed from its eyelid’s dusky sheath,
And, with a nasal music, rung
The accents of his Hebrew tongue—
Excelsior!
“Thou offshoot of a withered branch!
Beware the scornful avalanche,
Which shall o’erwhelm thy speech to-night!”
A voice replied, in shame and spite,
Excelsior!
“Stay,” said the maiden Muse, “and rest
Thy weary head upon this breast;”
He either wept or winked his eye,
And said with simulated sigh,
Excelsior!
Now in life’s twilight, old and grey,
He seems to hear his rival say,
From his high place, serene and far,
“Ha, Lucifer! thou fallen star,”
Excelsior!
Gossamer.
The Workhouse.
The shades of night were falling fast
As through a London alley passed
A woman, wan, with hands of ice,
The workhouse sought, from cold and vice—
Moritura!
In happy homes she saw the light
Of household fires gleam warm and bright;
Above, the planets glittering shone,
From her pale lips escaped a groan—
Moritura!
“Try not to pass,” the porter said;
Dark lowers his visage overhead—
“No order; rules I must abide;”
And weak that weary voice replied,
Moritura!
“O stay,” a sister said, “and rest
Thy weary head upon my breast.”
A tear stood in her dull grey eye,
And still she answered with a sigh,
Moritura!
There, in the daybreak, cold and gray,
Lifeless, on workhouse steps she lay;
And from the sky, serene and far,
A voice fell, like a falling star,
Est Mortua!
Bob.
The Griffin.
The tawny folds of London fog
Fell round the lamp-lit Court of Gog.
Clarions and toasts were loud within;
A weird cry mingled with the din—
“One blunder more!”
Forth from that glorified Guildhall
A griffin reeled with easy sprawl;
Through mire and midnight, floundering west
He hooted, like a brute possessed—
“One blunder more!”
“Halt!” cried the watchmen of St. Bride,
As hastily they edged aside.
“Try Scotland Yard!” a small boy said;
The answer came, from far ahead—
“One blunder more!”
A pilgrim, under Street’s new clock,
Beheld him climb the Temple block,
A chuckle through the darkness passed—
“This blessed night we’ve crowned at last
“One blunder more!”
And when the morn broke, soft and fair,
Lifeless he stood, erect in air;
A stark and startling beast of brass,
Completing, in the Fleet-street pass
One blunder more!
Glen June.
The Country Fair.
Night was fast falling o’er the scene,
As through the crowd on village green,
There passed a youth, who once or twice
Said, as he stopped to eat an ice,
Excelsior!
“Climb not the pole,” an old man said,
“The grease will spoil your trousers, Ned;”
With upward glance the youth replied,
“The mutton at the top is tied.”
Excelsior!
“O stay,” a maiden said, and sighed,
“And take me for a donkey ride;”
He grasped the pole, and in reply,
He softly murmured with a sigh,
Excelsior
“Beware!” a withered crone cried out,
“Take care, take care what you’re about:”
Far up the pole they heard him pant,
As though his breath was rather scant,
Excelsior!
Just as he neared the prize he stopped,
Then quick as falling star he dropped,
He laid upon the ground and groaned,
Yet still in feeble accents moaned,
Excelsior!
Minnie Mum.
“Wheeling Annual” for 1885 contains many excellent parodies, relating principally, of course, to the joys and troubles of bicyclists.
What Roads!
At a recent sessions of the Uxbridge Court a gentleman pleaded guilty to riding on the footpath with a bi., and excused himself on the ground that the roads were very muddy. P.C. X. 20. proved the case, and a fine of 5s. was imposed.—Uxbridge Gazette.
The shades of night were falling fast,
As thro’ a local village pass’d
A youth, who rode a Rudge, once bright,
He cried, as onward sped his flight,
“What roads!”
His brow was sad, the road beneath
Resembled much dull Hounslow Heath,
And in a voice, just tinged with ire,
Cried as he still rode through the mire,
“What roads!”
In happy “pubs.” he saw the light
Of Argand burners very bright,
Said he, “I’ll stop and try a drink.”
Mine host replied with knowing wink,
“What roads!”
“Try on the path,” the landlord said,
“Our Robert’s ‘off,’ e’en gone to bed.”
“A good idea,” the youth replied,
“And one that shall be quickly tried,
“What roads!”
“Oh! stay,” the barmaid said, “and rest.”
The wheelman answered, “Pray don’t jest!”
I’ll TRY the path, it can’t be worse,
Which brings us to another verse.
What roads!
“Beware the stones that lie in heaps
“Beware the dog the farmer keeps.”
The wheelist mounted, sped away,
And hailed the light of breaking day.
What roads!
Just then, X 20, on his track,
Stopp’d short the youth’s career, alack!
In vain he pleads, “This isn’t fair!”
X 20 takes him you know where.
What roads!
There in the Court with face quite ruddy
He urges that, “The roads were muddy.”
Vain hope! The Chairman with a sob,
Murmur’d serenely, “Fined Five Bob!”
“What roads!”
W. F. Field.
Sloper.
The shades of night were falling fast,
As o’er a station platform passed
A youth, who bore, with step precise,
A paper with the strange device
Of Sloper.
His coat was torn, his hair unkempt,
His face from water long exempt,
But quick his action, sharp his eye
As loud he shouted, “Who will buy
A Sloper.”
“Stay!” said an old man, “stay, my boy,
Who ought to be your mother’s joy,
Linger a while, and give to me
(For I would wish amused to be)
A Sloper.”
“Here!” said a maiden, sad yet “swell,”
In accents like a silver bell,
“Come here, my youth, and I will try
To drown my sorrow; I will buy
A Sloper.”
And soon from every side there came
The accents of that well-known name,
Until the little urchin stands,
And there’s not in his dirty hands
A Sloper.
There in the gas-light, clearly seen,
The little boy stood “all serene;”
A smile lit up his bright blue eye,
He whistled loud, and ceased his cry
Of Sloper.
The War Blacksmith.
Under its sulphurous canopy
Old Vulcan’s smithy stands,
And Vulcan, grown a man-of-war,
Has so much on his hands,
That stocks run low, and files but show
War-orders and demands.
His Cyclops when he needed most,
Off every Cyclops ran;
For why should not a Cyclop do
As another working-man,
And take the time when trade is brisk
To insist on all he can?
So every day, and all day long
Poor Vulcan’s sweat must flow,
Toiling for Europe’s sovereigns,
And still the orders grow
For breech-loaders, and armour-plates,
Steel-shot and chilled also.
With Chassepots for the Emperor
(O’er Dreyses they’ve the pull);
With Remingtons for Austria,
And Sniders for John Bull,
Balls, Cochranes, Mountstorms, Henries,
His hands may well be full.
Meanwhile the Emperor writes to us,
And bids us be good boys:
It does one good to hear him preach,
And see how he enjoys
The shift of weights that trim the Powers
For Europe’s equipoise.
How glad he is that Prussia comes
So strong out of the row,
That Italy Venetia gains—
Viâ France, as all allow:
Proving “whatever is, is best”—
At all events, just now.
And when France sulks that East and South
Her neighbours’ power increases,
He hints, ’tis not from every smash
She can “pick up the pieces,”
While Peace is Peace, although it brings
No Savoys, and no Nices.
Some say ’tis like the voice that once
Wiled Eve in Paradise:
But it preaches so delightfully,
And gives such good advice,
Bidding France arm, because she’s sure
Of peace at any price.
So Vulcan all his toil and stock
Must on War’s task bestow,
And iron, good for spade and share
For sword and gun must go:
For before this the Emperor’s word
Has been a word and blow.
Then let us thank the Emperor
For the lesson he has taught,
That it is in the forge of War
The arms of Peace are wrought,
And if we haven’t breech-loaders,
Breech-loaders must be bought.
Punch, September 29, 1866.
It will be remembered that the Austrians had been completely defeated by the Prussians at Sadowa, on July 3, 1866, and that the Emperor Francis Joseph had ceded Venetia to Napoleon III., requesting his intervention with the King of Prussia to arrange the terms of peace. From that period until the outbreak of the Franco-Prussian War, Napoleon was looked upon as the arbiter of Peace or War in Europe.
Although the following parody is taken from an old Christmas annual, it is singularly à propos at the present time, when disgust is universally expressed at the costliness and uncertainty of our Legal system. Recent scandals have also greatly detracted from the confidence and respect which should be felt for the administrators of Justice:—
The Lord Chancellor. (Loq.)
“Were it once known that only right could win,
No villain then an action would begin;
Did rogues not know how equal was their chance
With honest men’s, false claims they’d not advance;
In short, were only simple justice done,
The special pleader’s course were well-nigh run.”
Song: The Lord Chancellor.
Tune: “The Village Blacksmith.”
Under a stunted black elm tree
The Q.C.’s chambers are;
Q.C., a leading silk is he,
With name known near and far;
And the practice he’s contrived to make
Is famous at the bar.
His wig is crisp, and soiled, and black—
That’s where the ink once ran—
His eye is bright, and apt to roll,
’Tis his most favourite plan;
And he looks a jury in the face
As very few men can.
Week in, week out, from ten till four,
You can hear his language flow;
You can see him hitch his gown and swing
His arm with motion slow,
Like a ranter beating the Holy Book
With a downright thumping blow!
And country people up in town
Look in at the Law-court’s door;
For they like to see the great Q.C.,
And hear his voice’s roar;
And ’tis thought a bit of luck to catch
Him standing on the floor.
He sits on Sundays in his rooms,
And “tots” up his week’s fees;
He thinks on those he hasn’t earned,
And had no right to seize:
And much it makes his heart rejoice
As he turns over these.
He thinks of verdicts he has won,
By torture and by lies;
Of verdicts lost through his default
Thoughts will unbidden rise:
Through one a widow lost her all,
He seems to hear her sighs.
Toiling—speechmaking—circuiting,
Onward through life he goes;
Each evening sees some briefs begun,
How many? goodness knows!
Something attempted, some one “done,”
He’s earned a night’s repose.
Thanks, thanks to thee, my legal friend,
For the lesson thou hast taught!
That fortune quickly comes to one
Who does what he “didn’t ought;”
And that taking fees for work not done
Is a very “happy thought.”
Finis (Beeton’s Christmas Annual, 1877.)
In a recent trial for libel brought against the son of the Lord Chief Justice, the plaintiff had to conduct his case in person, and was subjected to continual interruptions, and hostile remarks from the bench. This conduct on the part of the judge, Mr. Justice Manisty, was even more noticeable than his contemptuous treatment of the verdict of the jury, and the following parody of a Law Report (which appeared in the Pall Mall Gazette, November 25, 1884)—is really but a mild exaggeration of the actual proceedings:—
The libel case of —— versus —— was tried in the Court of ——, before Mr. Justice Manifest. The plaintiff conducted his own case; the defendant was represented by his counsel, a great legal luminary, and several of the most prominent names at the bar. The defendant is the son of a person high placed in the legal world, and is himself a barrister. The plaintiff is, vernacularly speaking, “the deuce knows who.” The alleged libel is contained in a letter written by the defendant to a widow lady (his great aunt by marriage), who wished to ally herself by marriage to the plaintiff.
The plaintiff was proceeding to open his own case, when the judge asked him why he was not properly represented by professional counsel, after the manner of a gentleman, and warned him that such an omission was likely to tell against him in the gravest manner.
Plaintiff: May it please your lordship, I am a poor man, and cannot well afford—
Mr. Justice Manifest: The question of your means is wholly irrelevant. I must request you to keep strictly to the matter in hand.
Plaintiff: My other reason was that I feared no member of your respected profession would be quite whole-hearted in conducting my case, in view of who the defendant is. (Groans from the members of the Bar present.)
The great legal luminary: I protest against the plaintiff’s speech as an insult to the entire profession, including your lordship.
Mr. Justice Manifest condoled warmly with the outraged feelings of the legal gentlemen present, but urged them to allow the plaintiff to proceed; as by so doing he would best reveal to the jury the manner of man he was.
Plaintiff: With the permission of the court, I will first read the letter.
The great legal luminary objected to this, as unnecessarily wounding to the feelings of the defendant’s eminent family.
Plaintiff humbly submitted to the court that unless he were allowed to produce the letter it would be difficult for the jury to decide whether it were a libel or not. Mr. Justice Manifest begged the great legal luminary to allow the letter to be read as a personal favour to himself. The great legal luminary consenting, the plaintiff read the letter, which was as follows:—“My dear Aunt,—It is with sincere regret that I see myself forced to point out to you the true character of the unprincipled scoundrel you are thinking of marrying. Should you be surprised to hear that he is a professed atheist? Should you be surprised to hear that he has been three times married already, and that one of these marriages took place while the former wife was still alive? Should you be surprised to hear that many excellent people suspect him of having made away with his last wife, though the murder has never been brought home to him? Should you be surprised to hear that he has on several occasions embezzled large sums of money? Should you be surprised to hear that he is a convicted felon? Should you be surprised to hear that he has a daughter in the workhouse?”… At this point the reading of the letter was interrupted by the great legal luminary, who said that the remainder of it had no bearing on the case.
The plaintiff said he thought he had read enough to give the court some idea of the animus of the document. He would next ask if the defendant denied having written it?
The great legal luminary said his client acknowledged having written the letter.
Mr. Justice Manifest said this was one more instance of the manly and straightforward manner in which the case for the defendant was being carried on.
The plaintiff said he had given the defendant an opening to withdraw his statements in presence of the defendant’s fa….
Mr. Justice Manifest (interrupting): “I must beg you not to mention eminent people in no way connected with the case.”
The plaintiff apologised and continued: The defendant refused either to withdraw or substantiate his charges.
Mr. Justice Manifest: Quite right too. (Loud cheering.)
The plaintiff next called witnesses to speak to his character and disprove the charges contained in the letter which the defendant acknowledged having written, and refused to withdraw.
The Rev. Lord Bishop of —— was sworn, and in answer to questions said he had known the plaintiff from a boy, and that he had always borne the highest character.
Several other reverend gentlemen, of whose congregations the plaintiff had at various times been a prominent member, were called, and deposed to the same effect—namely, that he was a man against whom there had never been a breath of even ordinary scandal. Also that he was of a most edifying piety.
Plaintiff: Would it have been possible that such facts as my having murdered my wife, embezzled money, been a convicted felon, &c., could have remained unknown to you during the time I was a member of your congregations?
The Reverend Gentlemen; “Quite impossible.” Plaintiff then produced evidence that the period during which he had sat under the various reverend gentlemen extended over his whole life, from the age of eighteen to the present day.
Mr. Justice Manifest asked the great legal luminary if he did not wish to cross-examine the witnesses.—Great legal luminary: “No, my lord, I have no questions to ask.”
Mr. Justice Manifest thanked him for so considerately saving the time of the court.
The plaintiff next called witnesses to prove that he had only been once married, that he had lived in great peace and harmony with his late wife, that she had died a natural death, that he had sincerely mourned her, that he had always supported his daughter honourably, and as well as his small means would allow.
The great legal luminary scornfully refused to cross-examine any of the witnesses.
The plaintiff then declared his case closed.
Mr. Justice Manifest: And high time too.
The great legal luminary then opened the case for the defence: My lord I do not mean to waste the valuable time of the court, already so mercilessly squandered by the plaintiff. My client, acting on my advice, has considerately refused to appear in the witness-box, or to call any witnesses. I shall not soil myself by attempting to set aside any of the evidence the plaintiff has thought fit so tediously to inflict upon the patience of the court. The fact that a man is obliged to call such evidence to his personal character is, I should hope, sufficiently significant to all right-thinking and unprejudiced minds. The law of libel is happily clear and concise, and is known to all. That the position occupied by the defendant’s family could in any way influence the judgment of the court, which, monstrous as it may seem, the plaintiff has not hesitated to imply, is a supposition I need not even repudiate. My lord, I have done.
Mr. Justice Manifest: I cannot sufficiently express my admiration for the moderation with which the counsel for the defence has expressed himself, or my regret that such a case should have been brought into court at all. The jury must now consider carefully whether such a letter, written confidentially by one member of a family to another, can in any sense of the word be rightly called a libel, or whether the whole thing is not a base conspiracy to annoy a family of high position, and degrade the law. For my own part my mind is quite made up, and though I have the highest opinion of juries and their decisions, I must warn the jury that in the extremely improbable event of their disagreeing with me, I shall reserve to myself the right of setting aside their decision.
The jury, without retiring, consulted for a few moments, when the foreman said, My lord, we are unanimously agreed.
Mr. Justice Manifest: I was sure you would be; and your verdict is?
The Foreman: We find unhesitatingly for the plaintiff.
Mr. Justice Manifest (with withering sarcasm): Oh, do you? Then may I ask at what you fix the damages?
The Foreman (after a brief consultation with the other jurors): At £2,000, my lord.
Mr. Justice Manifest: I have no hesitation in overruling the decision of the jury, and have much pleasure in deciding that the court finds for the defendant with costs.
The Village Pet.
Around their panting captain
The village clubmen stand;
A presentation “pot” he bears
In his large and sinewy hand;
For he just has won the mile “cham,”
To the music of the band!
His hair is gingery, coarse, and long;
His muscles none can span,
His brow is wet with honest sweat—
He’s “put in” all he can;
He ain’t much to look at in the face,
But he’ll ride ’gainst any man!
(In the village!)
Week after week, morn, noon, and night,
You could see him rushing round
The cricket-field the club had hired
For an impromptu training-ground;
You could hear his back wheel clump and clatter,
Although with wire bound!
The loafers and cadgers of the place:
Crowd round the open gate:
They love to watch him wheeling round
Like some pursuing Fate;
To count each gasp, to cheer each spurt,
And fill with pride his pate!
He goes on Sunday to the church;
And sits among his pals:
Receiving homage from each youth,
And winking at the gals!
Makes weak attempts to “mash” ’em, and
Criticises their “fal-lals!”
He sleeps—dreams—hears his trainer’s voice
Telling him when to “stick it on!”
Remembers that he’ll ride no more
When the cold earth lays his chest upon!
Waking, he checks a deep, loud snore,
And finds his “mashes” homeward gone!
Training—perspiring—grinding:
Onward through life he goes—
Each evening sees a mile begun,
2m. 50s. sees it close!
Something attempted, something done,
Has gained a broken nose!
Experience by thee, my friend:
Thy chums, they have been taught,
Hadst thou been doomèd nées to ride
As reckless fellows ought
Then had thy Roman nose escaped
Much evil thou hast wrought!
R. C. Blow.
The Wheeling Annual for 1885.
Finis (Beeton’s Annual, 1877) contained a long parody on “Evangeline,” from which the following lines may be quoted:—
Mabel, The Made-up.
This is the Forest of St. John. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,
Bearded with moss and with lichens, have nothing to do with this Forest.
Here ’stead of pines there are lamp-posts; and ’stead of the hemlocks, post-pillars;
And as for the moss and the lichens, there’s dust and there’s slush in their places.
This is the Forest of St. John—but here are no beasts save cab-horses;
Birds, though—soiled doves as some call them—roost pretty thick in its villas.
Sooth ’tis a forest, say some, where one may find lots of “dears-talking.”
Certainly is it a tract for growing wild oats very famous!
Ye who believe in fair beauty, in beauty skin deep and enduring,
Ye who believe in the truth and the genuine charms of a woman,
List to my mournful experience gained not long since in the Forest;
List to the tale of Miss Mabel, a belle of that north-western quarter.
In the Ranunculus Road, near to the underground station;
In a small villa, detached, bounded on all sides by garden;
Lived on a competence easy, Mabel, the belle I have mentioned.
Fair as to face and so slim; flawless, in sooth, was this damsel;
Rounded her bust in a manner approved of by painters and sculptors;
Golden her hair as the sunshine that, careless, got tangled amongst it;
Blue though her eyes as the ocean, jet black her brows and her lashes;
Soft was the bloom on her cheeks as the delicate blush upon peaches;
Seeing her smile, teeth and lips seemed like pearls set in pinkest of coral;
Snow in her bosom had melted, despairing to rival its whiteness;
Taper and lithe were her fingers, each with its pink pearl-shell helmet;
Lightly had Time run the wheels of his chariot over her forehead,
Never a rut had they made, for the road was like white alabaster,
All this I saw and still more, though I am not a little short-sighted,
When at a morning performance by chance I happened to meet her.
Known to the friend I was with, he in the entr’acte introduced me;
And from that moment her box became the shrine of a goddess.
Little I saw of the play, now even its name I’ve forgotten;
Little I thought of my friend, but sheltered behind a box curtain,
Kept I my lorgnette on Mabel, watching her moods and her glances.
Perfect was each of her poses as that of a painter’s lithe model;
E’en when she talked to her friends the shape of her lips seemed like poetry;
Smiles rippled over her face like sunshine upon broken water.
* * * * *
During the war between the Northern and Southern States of America many humorous works were published which were intended to expose the weaknesses, and abuses, in the policy and administrations of both sides in the struggle. Amongst these, few were more amusing, or more popular than the Orpheus C. Kerr (i.e., office-seeker) Papers, and the following chapter is quoted, as it contains imitations of the poets most popular in the States twenty odd years ago. Under the thin veil of initials the names may be traced of H. W. Longfellow, Edward Everett, J. G. Whittier, Dr. O. W. Holmes, R. W. Emerson, W. C. Bryant, G. P. Morris, N. P. Willis, T. B. Aldwick, and R. H. Stoddart.
LETTER VIII.
The Rejected “National Hymns.”
Washington, D.C., June 30th, 1861.
Immediately after mailing my last to you, I secured a short furlough, and proceeded to New York, to examine into the affairs of that venerable committee which had offered a prize of 500 dollars for the best National Hymn.
Astounding and distracting to relate, the committee announces the reception of no less than eleven hundred and fifty “anthems!”
And all these “anthems” are rejected by the venerable committee! But must they all, therefore, be lost to the world? I hope not, my boy,—I hope not. Having some acquaintance with the discriminating rag-merchant to whom they were turned over as rejected, I have procured some of the best, from which to quote for your special edification.
Imprimis, my boy, observe this
NATIONAL ANTHEM
By H. W. L——, of Cambridge.
Back in the years when Phlagstaff, the Dane, was monarch
Over the sea-ribbed land of the fleet-footed Norsemen,
Once there went forth young Ursa to gaze at the heavens—
Ursa, the noblest of all the Vikings and horsemen.
Musing, he sat in his stirrups and viewed the horizon,
Where the Aurora lapt stars in a North-polar manner,
Wildly he started—for there in the heavens before him
Fluttered and flew the original Star-Spangled Banner.
The committee have two objections to this: in the first place, it is not an “anthem” at all; secondly, it is a gross plagiarism from an old Scandinavian war-song of the primeval ages.
Next, I present a
NATIONAL ANTHEM
By the Hon. Edward E——, of Boston.
Ponderous projectiles, hurled by heavy hands,
Fell on our Liberty’s poor infant head,
Ere she a stadium had well advanced
On the great path that to her greatness led;
Her temple’s propylon was shattered;
Yet thanks to saving Grace and Washington,
Her incubus was from her bosom hurled;
And, rising like a cloud-dispelling sun,
She took the oil, with which her hair was curled,
To grease the “Hub” round which revolves the world.
This fine production is rather heavy for an “anthem,” and contains too much of Boston to be considered strictly national. To set such an “anthem” to music would require a Wagner; and even were it really accommodated to a tune, it could only be whistled by the populace.
We now come to a
NATIONAL ANTHEM
By John Greenleaf W——.
My native land, thy Puritanic stock
Still finds its roots firm-bound in Plymouth Rock,
And all thy sons unite in one grand wish—
To keep the virtues of Preserv-ed Fish.
Preserv-ed Fish, the Deacon stern and true,
Told our New England what her sons should do,
And should they swerve from loyalty and right,
Then the whole land were lost indeed in night.
The sectional bias of this “anthem” renders it unsuitable for use in that small margin of the world situated outside of New England. Hence the above must be rejected.
Here we have a very curious
NATIONAL ANTHEM
By Dr. Oliver Wendell H——.
A diagnosis of our hist’ry proves
Our native land a land its native loves;
Its birth a deed obstetric without peer,
Its growth a source of wonder far and near.
To love it more behold how foreign shores
Sink into nothingness beside its stores;
Hyde Park at best—though counted ultra-grand—
The “Boston Common” of Victoria’s land—
The committee must not be blamed for rejecting the above, after reading thus far; for such an “anthem” could only be sung by a college of surgeons, or a Beacon-street tea-party.
NATIONAL ANTHEM
By Ralph Waldo E——.
Source immaterial of material naught,
Focus of light infinitesimal,
Sum of all things by sleepless Nature wrought,
Of which abnormal man is decimal.
Refract, in prism immortal, from thy stars
To the stars blent incipient on our flag,
The beam translucent, neutrifying death;
And raise to immortality the rag.
This “anthem” was greatly praised by a celebrated German scholar; but the committee felt obliged to reject it on account of its too childish simplicity.
Here we have a
NATIONAL ANTHEM
By William Cullen B——.
The sun sinks softly to his evening post,
The sun swells grandly to his morning crown;
Yet not a star our flag of Heav’n has lost,
And not a sunset stripe with him goes down.
So thrones may fall; and from the dust of those,
New thrones may rise, to totter like the last;
But still our country’s nobler planet glows
While the eternal stars of Heaven are fast.
Upon finding that this did not go well to the air of “Yankee Doodle,” the committee felt justified in declining it; being furthermore prejudiced against it by a suspicion that the poet has crowded an advertisement of a paper which he edits into the first line.
Next we quote from a
NATIONAL ANTHEM
By Gen. George P. M——.
In the days that tried our fathers
Many years ago,
Our fair land achieved her freedom,
Blood-bought, you know.
Shall we not defend her ever
As we’d defend
That fair maiden, kind and tender,
Calling us friend?
Yes! Let all the echoes answer,
From hill and vale;
Yes! Let other nations, hearing,
Joy in the tale.
Our Columbia is a lady,
High-born and fair;
We have sworn allegiance to her—
Touch her who dare.
The tone of this “anthem” not being devotional enough to suit the committee, it should be printed on an edition of linen-cambric handkerchiefs, for ladies especially.
Observe this
NATIONAL ANTHEM
By N. P. W——.
One hue of our flag is taken
From the cheeks of my blushing Pet,
And its stars beat time and sparkle
Like the studs on her chemisette.
Its blue is the ocean shadow
That hides in her dreamy eyes;
It conquers all men, like her,
And still for a Union flies.
Several members of the committee being pious, it is not strange that this “anthem” has too much of the Anacreon spice to suit them.
We next peruse a
NATIONAL ANTHEM
By Thomas Bailey A——.
The little brown squirrel hops in the corn,
The cricket quaintly sings;
The emerald pigeon nods his head,
And the shad in the river springs,
The dainty sunflower hangs its head
On the shore of the summer sea;
And better far that I were dead,
If Maud did not love me.
I love the squirrel that hops in the corn,
And the cricket that quaintly sings;
And the emerald pigeon that nods his head,
And the shad that gaily springs.
I love the dainty sunflower too,
And Maud with her snowy breast;
I love them all;—but I love—I love—
I love my country best.
This is certainly very beautiful, and sounds somewhat like Tennyson. Though it was rejected by the committee, it can never lose its value as a piece of excellent reading for children. It is calculated to fill the youthful mind with patriotism and natural history, besides touching the youthful heart with an emotion palpitating for all.
Notice the following
NATIONAL ANTHEM
By R. H. Stod——
Behold the flag! Is it not a flag?
Deny it, man, if you dare;
And midway spread, ’twixt earth and sky,
It hangs like a written prayer.
Would impious hand of foe disturb
Its memories’ holy spell,
And blight it with a dew of blood?
Ha, tr-r-aitor!! * * * It is well.
And this is the last of the rejected anthems I can quote from at present, my boy, though several hundred pounds yet remain untouched.
Yours, questioningly,
Orpheus C. Kerr.
Longfellow has borrowed the refrain of “The Old Clock on the Stairs” from a phrase of Jacques Bridaine:—
“L’éternité est une pendule, dont le balancier dit et redit sans cesse ces deux mots seulement, dans le silence des tombeaux: ‘Toujours! jamais! Jamais! toujours!’”
“And from its station in the hall
An ancient timepiece says to all,—
‘For ever—never!
Never—for ever!’
“Half-way up the stairs it stands,
And points and beckons with its hands
From its case of massive oak,
Like a monk, who, under his cloak,
Crosses himself, and sighs alas!
With sorrowful voice to all who pass,—
‘For ever—never!
Never—for ever!’”
It is somewhat remarkable that such a poet as Charles Beaudelaire, the tone of whose writings is generally far removed from that of Longfellow, should so often have borrowed sentiments and ideas from him. Thus in “L’Horloge” he has two verses distinctly reminiscent of “The Old Clock”:—
“Horloge! dieu sinistre, effrayant, impassible,
Dont le doight nous menace, et nous dit: Souviens-toi!
Les vibrantes Douleurs dans ton cœur, plein d’effroi,
Se planteront bientôt comme dans une cible.
* * * * *
“Trois mille six cents fois par heure, la seconde
Chuchote “Souviens-toi!”—Rapide avec sa voix
D’insecte, maintenant dit: Je suis autrefois,
Et j’ai pompé ta vie avec ma trompe immonde!”
Another poem in “Les Fleurs du Mal” contains not only two verses appropriated from “A Psalm of Life,” but curiously weaves in with them a verse from Gray’s “Elegy in a Country Church-yard.” This piece of patchwork is entitled—
Le Guignon.
Pour soulever un poids si lourd,
Sisyphe, il faudrait ton courage!
Bien qu’on ait du cœur à l’ouvrage,
L’Art est long, et le Temps est court.
Loin des sépultures célèbres,
Vers un cimetière isolé,
Mon cœur, comme un tambour voilé,
Va battant des marches funèbres.
—Maint joyau dort enseveli
Dans les ténèbres et l’oubli,
Bien loin des pioches et des sondes;
—Maint fleur épanche à regret
Son parfum doux comme un secret
Dans les solitudes profondes.[1]
Beaudelaire himself admits that “Le Calumet de Paix” is an imitation of Longfellow, it is, in fact, a translation of The Peace-Pipe in “The Song of Hiawatha,” and opens thus:—
“Or Gitche Manito, le Maître de la Vie,
Le Puissant, descendit dans la verte prairie,
Dans l’immense prairie aux coteaux montueux;
Et là, sur les rochers de la Rouge Carrière,
Dominant tout l’espace et baigné de lumière,
Il se tenait debout, vaste et majestueux.”
The spirit of the original poem is fairly well rendered throughout, but the exigencies of French rhyme do not admit the versification of “Hiawatha.” Whilst on the topic of paraphrases, it might be asked whether Longfellow did not borrow his line—
“Tell me not in mournful numbers,”
from
“Singet nicht in Trauertönen,”
in Goethe’s Wilhelm Meister?”
It should have been mentioned that the parody quoted on page 88, Part VI., entitled “The Close of the Season,” originally appeared in Punch, August 8, 1868, under the title, “Flight,” also, that a political parody of “The Bridge” was contained in Punch, July 8, 1865.
