Shepherdess.—With thee, poor youth, I fain would shed a tear.
Shepherd.—Maiden, with thee I’d sit and weep a year.
Both.—Wouldst thou but smile, I too would dry mine eye; Nay, let’s do both, and laugh here till we cry.
Number 4 was a specimen of the simple ditty style which leaves nothing unexplained, and never goes out of its course for the sake of a well-turned phrase.
When Jack was twelve and Jill was ten
Their mother said, “My dear children,
I want you both to take the pail
We bought last week from Mr Gale,
And fill it full of water clear,
And don’t be long away, do you hear?”
Then Master Jack and Sister Jill
Raced gaily up the Primrose Hill,
And filled the pail up to the top,
And tried not spill a single drop.
But sad to tell, just half way down
Jack tripped upon a hidden stone,
And tumbled down and cut his head
So badly that it nearly bled.
And Jill was so alarmed that she.
Let drop the pail immediately
And fell down too, and sprained her hand,
And had to go to Dr Bland
And get it looked to; while poor Jack
Was put to bed upon his back.
Number 4 regarded his performance with a certain amount of pride. He said it was after the manner of Wordsworth, and was a protest against the inflated style of most modern poetry, which seemed to have for its sole object to conceal its meaning from the reader. We had a good specimen of this kind of writing from Number 5, who wrote in blank verse, as he said, “after the German.”
I know not why—why seek to know? Is not
All life a problem? and the tiniest pulse
Beats with a throb which the remotest star
Feels in its orbit? Why ask me? Rather say
Whence these vague yearnings, whither swells this heart,
Like some wild floweret leaping at the dawn?
’Tis not for me, ’tis not for thee to tell,
But Time shall be our teacher, and his voice
Shall fall unheard, unheeded in the midst!
Still art thou doubtful? Then arise and sing
Into the Empyrean vault, while I
Drift in the vagueness of the Ambrosian night.
We none of us dared inquire of Number 5 what was the particular bearing of these masterly lines upon the history of Jack and Jill. I can picture the smile of pitying contempt with which such a preposterous question would have been met. And I observe by the figures noted at the back of this poem that it received very few marks short of the highest award.
Number 6 posed as democratic poet, who appealed to the ear of the populace in terms to which they are best accustomed.
’Twas a lovely day in August, at the top of Ludgate Hill
I met a gay young couple, and I think I see them still;
They were drinking at the fountain to cool their parching lips,
And they said to one another, looking up between their sips—
Chorus—I’d sooner have it hot, love; I’d rather have it hot;
It’s nicer with the chill off—much nicer, is it not?
They took a four-wheel growler for a drive all round the town,
And told the knowing cabby not to let his gee-gee down;
But they’d scarcely got to Fleet Street when their off-hind-wheel went
bang,
And they pitched on to the kerb-stone, while the crowd around them
sang—
Chorus—I’m glad you’ve got it hot, love; I’m pleased you’ve got
it hot;
It’s nicer with the chill off—much nicer, is it not?
Moral.
Now all you gay young couples, list to my fond appeal,
Beware of four-wheel growlers with spokes in their off-hind-wheel;
And when you go up Ludgate Hill, all on a summer day,
Don’t drink much at the fountain; or if you do, I say—
Be sure and take it hot, love; be sure and take it hot;
It’s nicer with the chill off—much nicer, is it not?