Now, many would think that the Knight, from a nice sense
Of honor, should put Lurline's name in the license,
And that, for a man of his breeding and quality,
To break faith and troth,
Confirm'd by an oath,
Is not quite consistent with rigid morality;
But whether the nymph was forgot, or he thought her
From her essence scarce wife, but at best wife-and-water
And declined as unsuited,
A bride so diluted—
Be this as it may,
He, I'm sorry to say
For, all things consider'd, I own 'twas a rum thing,
Made proposals in form to Miss Una Von—something
(Her name has escaped me), sole heiress, and niece
To a highly respectable Justice of Peace.
"Thrice happy's the wooing
That's not long a-doing!"
So much time is saved in the billing and cooing—
The ring is now bought, the white favors, and gloves,
And all the et cetera which crown people's loves;
A magnificent bride-cake comes home from the baker.
And lastly appears, from the German Long Acre,
That shaft which, the sharpest in all Cupid's quiver is,
A plumb-color'd coach, and rich Pompadour liveries,
'Twas a comely sight
To behold the Knight,
With his beautiful bride, dress'd all in white,
And the bridemaids fair with their long lace vails,
As they all walk'd up to the altar rails,
While nice little boys, the incense dispensers,
March'd in front with white surplices, bands, and gilt censers.
With a gracious air, and a smiling look,
Mess John had open'd his awful book,
And had read so far as to ask if to wed he meant?
And if "he knew any just cause or impediment?"
When from base to turret the castle shook!!!
Then came a sound of a mighty rain
Dashing against each storied pane,
The wind blew loud,
And coal-black cloud
O'ershadow'd the church, and the party, and crowd;
How it could happen they could not divine,
The morning had been so remarkably fine!
Still the darkness increased, till it reach'd such a pass
That the sextoness hasten'd to turn on the gas;
But harder it pour'd,
And the thunder roar'd,
As if heaven and earth were coming together;
None ever had witness'd such terrible weather.
Now louder it crash'd,
And the lightning flash'd,
Exciting the fears
Of the sweet little dears
In the vails, as it danced on the brass chandeliers;
The parson ran off, though a stout-hearted Saxon,
When he found that a flash had set fire to his caxon.
Though all the rest trembled, as might be expected,
Sir Rupert was perfectly cool and collected,
And endeavor'd to cheer
His bride, in her ear
Whisp'ring tenderly, "Pray don't be frighten'd, my dear
Should it even set fire to the castle, and burn it, you're
Amply insured, both for buildings and furniture."
But now, from without,
A trustworthy scout
Rush'd hurriedly in—
Wet through to the skin,
Informing his master 'the river was rising,
And flooding the grounds in a way quite surprising.'
He'd no time to say more,
For already the roar
Of the waters was heard as they reach'd the church-door,
While, high on the first wave that roll'd in, was seen,
Riding proudly, the form of the angry Lurline;
And all might observe, by her glance fierce and stormy,
She was stung by the spretoe injuria formoe.
What she said to the Knight, what she said to the bride,
What she said to the ladies who stood by her side,
What she said to the nice little boys in white clothes,
Oh, nobody mentions—for nobody knows;
For the roof tumbled in, and the walls tumbled out,
And the folks tumbled down, all confusion and rout,
The rain kept on pouring,
The flood kept on roaring,
The billows and water-nymphs roll'd more and more in
Ere the close of the day
All was clean wash'd away—
One only survived who could hand down the news,
A little old woman that open'd the pews;
She was borne off, but stuck,
By the greatest good luck,
In an oak-tree, and there she hung, crying and screaming,
And saw all the rest swallow'd up the wild stream in;
In vain, all the week,
Did the fishermen seek
For the bodies, and poke in each cranny and creek;
In vain was their search
After aught in the church,
They caught nothing but weeds, and perhaps a few perch.
The Humane Society
Tried a variety
Of methods, and brought down, to drag for the wreck, tackles
But they only fished up the clerk's tortoise-shell spectacles.
MORAL.
This tale has a moral. Ye youths, oh, beware
Of liquor, and how you run after the fair!
Shun playing at SHORTS—avoid quarrels and jars—
And don't take to smoking those nasty cigars!
—Let no run of bad-luck, or despair for some Jewess-eyed
Damsel, induce you to contemplate suicide!
Don't sit up much later than ten or eleven!—
Be up in the morning by half after seven!
Keep from flirting—nor risk, warn'd by Rupert's miscarriage,
An action for breach of a promise of marriage;—
Don't fancy odd fishes!
Don't prig silver dishes!
And to sum up the whole, in the shortest phrase I know,
BEWARE OF THE RHINE, AND TAKE CARE OF THE RHINO!