So passed that stout but choleric knight away;
And we, by certain wandering instincts led,
Made for a small pavilion, where we found
Viands and what not, and the thirsty flower
Of mountain knighthood gathered at the board.
And entering, here we lingered, and discussed
The what not, and the viands, and in time
Drew to the tourney, giving each his views;—
But mostly wondering what the coolies thought
To see these ladies of the Ruling Race,
'Yoked in all exercise of noble end,'
And Public Exhibition. Was it wise?
Some questioned; others, was it quite the thing?
And here indeed we left it, for the shades
Deepened, the high, swift-narrowing crest of day
Brake from the hills, and down the path we went,
Well pleased, for it was guest-night at the Club.
'FAREWELL'
'Farewell. What a subject! How sweet
It looks to the careless observer!
So simple; so easy to treat
With tenderness, mark you, and fervour.
Farewell. It's a poem; the song
Of nightingales crying and calling!'
O Reader, you're utterly wrong.
It's not. It's appalling!
And yet when she asked me to send
Some trifle of verse to remind her
Of days that had come to an end,
And one she was leaving behind her,
It looked, as we stood on the shore,
A theme so entirely delightsome
That I, like a lunatic, swore
(Quite calmly) to write some.
I've toiled with unwavering pluck;
I've struggled if ever a man did;
Infringed every postulate, stuck
At nothing,—nay, once, to be candid,
I shifted the cadence—designed
A fresh but unauthorised fare-well;
'Twas plausible, too, but I find
The thing doesn't wear well.
I know that it shouldn't be hard;
That dozens, who claim to be poets,
Could scribble off stuff by the yard
And fare very well; and I know it's
A theme that the Masters of Rhyme
Have written some excellent verse on,
Which proves, as I take it, that I'm
Not that sort of person.
But that we can leave. It remains
To state that my present appearance
Is something too awful, my brains
Are tending to wild incoherence;
My mental condition's absurd;
My thoughts are at sixes and sevens,
Inextrica—lord! what a word!
Inextri—good heavens!