Poetical Ingenuities and Eccentricities

by Unknown

De Leguleio.

“Jurisconsultus juvenis solus, Sat scanning his tenuem docket— Volo, quoth he, some bonus Æolus Inspiret fees to my pocket. He seized in manua sinistra ejus A tome of Noy, or Fortescue; Here’s a case, said he, terrible tedious— Fortuna veni to my rescue! Lex scripta’s nought but legal diluvium, Defluxum streams of past ages, And lawyers sit like ducks in a pluvium, Under Law’s reigning adages. Lex non scripta’s good for consciences tender, Persequi the light internal; Sed homines sæpius homage render Ad lucem that burns infernal. Effodi the said diluvium over, As do all legal beginners, Et crede vivere hence in clover, That’s sown by quarrelsome sinners. Some think the law esse hum scarabeum, And lawyers a useless evil, And Statute claim of tuum and meum Is but a device of the devil; Sed pravi homines sunt so thick that, Without restrictio legis, Esset crime plusquam one could shake stick at, By order diaboli regis. Et good men, rari gurgite vasto, Are digni the law’s assistance, Defendere se, et aid them so as to Keep nefas et vim at a distance. The lawyer’s his client’s rights’ defender, And bound laborare astute, Videre that quæquæ res agenda Dignitate et virtute. Sed ecce! a case exactly ad punctum— Id scribam, ante forget it, Negotium illud nunc perfunctum, Feliciter, I have met it. He thrust out dextræ digitos manus, His pennam ad ink ille dedit; Et scripsit,—but any homo sanus Would be nonsuit ere he could read it.” —A. B. Ely.

Chanson without Music.

BY THE PROFESSOR EMERITUS OF DEAD AND LIVING LANGUAGES.

“You bid me sing—can I forget The classic odes of days gone by— How belle Fifine and jeune Lisette Exclaimed, ‘Anacreon γερὼν ἔι?’ ‘Regardez donc,’ those ladies said— ‘You’re getting bald and wrinkled too: When Summer’s roses are all shed, Love’s nullum ite, voyez vous!’ In vain ce brave Anacreon’s cry, ‘Of love alone my banjo sings’ (Ἔρῶτα μουνον). ‘Etiam si,— Eh bien?’ replied those saucy things— ‘Go find a maid whose hair is grey, And strike your lyre—we shan’t complain; But parce nobis, s’il vous plait,— Voila Adolphe! Voila Eugene!’ Ah, jeune Lisette! ah, belle Fifine! Anacreon’s lesson all must learn: Ὃ καιρός Ὀξὺς; Spring is green, But acer Hiems waits his turn! I hear you whispering from the dust, ‘Tiens, mon cher, c’est toujours so,— The brightest blade grows dim with rust, The fairest meadow white with snow!’ You do not mean it? Not encore? Another string of play-day rhymes? You’ve heard me—nonne est?—before, Multoties,—more than twenty times; Non possum—vraiment—pas du tout, I cannot, I am loath to shirk; But who will listen if I do, My memory makes such shocking work? Γιγνώσκω. Scio. Yes, I’m told Some ancients like my rusty lay, As Grandpa Noah loved the old Red-sandstone march of Jubal’s day. I used to carol like the birds, But time my wits have quite unfixed, Et quoad verba—for my words— Ciel!—Eheu!—Whe-ew! how they’re mixed! Mehercle! Ζεὺ. Diable! how My thoughts were dressed when I was young. But tempus fugit—see them now Half clad in rags of every tongue! Ο Φιλόι, fratres, chers amis! I dare not court the youthful muse, For fear her sharp response should be— ‘Papa Anacreon, please excuse!’ Adieu! I’ve trod my annual track How long!—let others count the miles— And peddled out my rhyming pack To friends who always paid in smiles; So laissez moi! some youthful wit No doubt has wares he wants to show, And I am asking ‘let me sit’ Dum ille clamat “Δὸς ποῦ στῶ.” —Dr. Holmes, Atlantic Monthly, Nov. 1867.

During the late American Civil War, Slidell and Mason, two of the Confederate Commissioners, were taken by an admiral of the U.S. navy from a British ship, and this came near causing an issue between the two countries. Seward was the American premier at the time. This is that affair done up in a macaronic:

Slidell and Mason.

“Slidell, qui est Rerum cantor Publicarum, atque Lincoln. Vir excelsior, mitigantur— A delightful thing to think on! Blatant plebs Americanum, Quite impossible to bridle, Nihil refert, navis cana Bring back Mason atque Slidell. Scribat nunc amœne Russell; Lætus lapis claudit fiscum, Nunc finiter all this bustle— Slidell—Mason—Pax vobiscum!”

A Valentine.

“Geist und sinn mich beutzen über Vous zu dire das ich sie liebé? Das herz que vous so lightly spurn To you und sie allein will turn Unbarmherzig—pourquoir scorn Mon cœur with love and anguish torn; Croyez vous das my despair Votre bonheur can swell or faire? Schönheit kann nicht cruel sein Mefris ist kein macht divine, Then, oh then, it can’t be thine. Glaube das mine love is true, Changeless, deep wie Himmel’s blue— Que l’amour that now I swear, Zue dir ewigkeit I’ll bear Glaube das de gentle rays, Born and nourished in thy gaze, Sur mon cœur will ever dwell Comme à l’instant when they fell— Mechante! that you know full well.”