When at length through his boozing,
And tenants refusing
Their rents, swearing "tunes were so bad they were losing,"
His steward said, "O, sir,
It's some time ago, sir,
Since aught through my hands reach'd the baker or grocer,
And the tradesmen in general are grown great complainers."
Sir Rupert the brave thus address'd his retainers:
"My friends, since the stock
Of my father's old hock
Is out, with the Kurchwasser, Barsae, Moselle,
And we're fairly reduced to the pump and the well,
I presume to suggest,
We shall all find it best
For each to shake hands with his friends ere he goes,
Mount his horse, if he has one, and—follow his nose;
As to me, I opine,
Left sans money or wine,
My best way is to throw myself into the Rhine,
Where pitying trav'lers may sigh, as they cross over,
Though he lived a roue, yet he died a philosopher."
The Knight, having bow'd out his friends thus politely.
Got into his skiff, the full moon shining brightly,
By the light of whose beam,
He soon spied on the stream
A dame, whose complexion was fair as new cream,
Pretty pink silken hose
Cover'd ankles and toes,
In other respects she was scanty of clothes;
For, so says tradition, both written and oral,
Her ONE garment was loop'd up with bunches of coral.
Full sweetly she sang to a sparkling guitar,
With silver chords stretch'd over Derbyshire spar,
And she smiled on the Knight,
Who, amazed at the sight,
Soon found his astonishment merged in delight;
But the stream by degrees
Now rose up to her knees,
Till at length it invaded her very chemise,
While the heavenly strain, as the wave seem'd to swallow her
And slowly she sank, sounded fainter and hollower;
—Jumping up in his boat
And discarding his coat,
"Here goes," cried Sir Rupert, "by jingo I'll follow her!"
Then into the water he plunged with a souse
That was heard quite distinctly by those in the house.
Down, down, forty fathom and more from the brink,
Sir Rupert the Fearless continues to sink,
And, as downward he goes,
Still the cold water flows
Through his ears, and his eyes, and his mouth, and his nose
Till the rum and the brandy he'd swallow'd since lunch
Wanted nothing but lemon to fill him with punch;
Some minutes elapsed since he enter'd the flood,
Ere his heels touch'd the bottom, and stuck in the mud.
But oh! what a sight
Met the eyes of the Knight,
When he stood in the depth of the stream bolt upright!—
A grand stalactite hall,
Like the cave of Fingal,
Rose above and about him;—great fishes and small
Came thronging around him, regardless of danger,
And seem'd all agog for a peep at the stranger,
Their figures and forms to describe, language fails—
They'd such very odd heads, and such very odd tails;
Of their genus or species a sample to gain,
You would ransack all Hungerford market in vain;
E'en the famed Mr. Myers,
Would scarcely find buyers,
Though hundreds of passengers doubtless would stop
To stare, were such monsters exposed in his shop.
But little reck'd Rupert these queer-looking brutes,
Or the efts and the newts
That crawled up his boots,
For a sight, beyond any of which I've made mention,
In a moment completely absorb'd his attention.
A huge crystal bath, which, with water far clearer
Than George Robins' filters, or Thorpe's (which are dearer),
Have ever distill'd,
To the summit was fill'd,
Lay stretch'd out before him—and every nerve thrill'd
As scores of young women
Were diving and swimming,
Till the vision a perfect quandary put him in;—
All slightly accoutred in gauzes and lawns,
They came floating about him like so many prawns.
Sir Rupert, who (barring the few peccadilloes
Alluded to), ere he lept into the billows
Possess'd irreproachable morals, began
To feel rather queer, as a modest young man;
When forth stepp'd a dame, whom he recognized soon
As the one he had seen by the light of the moon,
And lisp'd, while a soft smile attended each sentence,
"Sir Rupert, I'm happy to make your acquaintance;
My name is Lurline,
And the ladies you've seen,
All do me the honor to call me their Queen;
I'm delighted to see you, sir, down in the Rhine here
And hope you can make it convenient to dine here."
The Knight blush'd, and bow'd,
As he ogled the crowd
Of subaqueous beauties, then answer'd aloud;
"Ma'am, you do me much honor—I can not express
The delight I shall feel—if you'll pardon my dress—
May I venture to say, when a gentleman jumps
In the river at midnight for want of the 'dumps,'
He rarely puts on his knee-breeches and pumps;
If I could but have guess'd—what I sensibly feel—
Your politeness—I'd not have come en dishabille,
But have put on my SILK tights in lieu of my STEEL."
Quoth the lady, "Dear sir, no apologies, pray,
You will take our 'pot-luck' in the family way;
We can give you a dish
Of some decentish fish,
And our water's thought fairish; but here in the Rhine,
I can't say we pique ourselves much on our wine."
The Knight made a bow more profound than before,
When a Dory-faced page oped the dining-room door,
And said, bending his knee,
"Madame, on a servi!"
Rupert tender'd his arm, led Lurline to her place,
And a fat little Mer-man stood up and said grace,