Then at his instigation
(A pretty fancy this)
Their daily pay and ration
He’d take in change for his;
They brought it to him weekly,
And he without a groan,
Would take it from them meekly
And give them all his own!
Though not exactly knighted
As knights, of course, should be,
Yet no one so delighted
In harmless chivalry.
If peasant girl or ladye
Beneath misfortunes sank,
Whate’er distinctions made he,
They were not those of rank.
No maiden young and comely
Who wanted good advice
(However poor or homely)
Need ask him for it twice.
He’d wipe away the blindness
That comes of teary dew;
His sympathetic kindness
No sort of limit knew.
He always hated dealing
With men who schemed or planned;
A person harsh—unfeeling—
The Colonel could not stand.
He hated cold, suspecting,
Official men in blue,
Who pass their lives detecting
The crimes that others do.
For men who’d shoot a sparrow,
Or immolate a worm
Beneath a farmer’s harrow,
He could not find a term.
Humanely, ay, and knightly
He dealt with such an one;
He took and tied him tightly,
And blew him from a gun.
The earth has armies plenty,
And semi-warlike bands,
I’m certain there are twenty
In European lands;
But, oh! in no direction
You’d find one to compare
In brotherly affection
With that of Colonel Flare.
LOST MR. BLAKE
Mr. Blake was a regular out-and-out hardened sinner,
Who was quite out of the pale of Christianity, so to speak,
He was in the habit of smoking a long pipe and drinking a glass of grog on a Sunday after dinner,
And seldom thought of going to church more than twice or—if Good Friday or Christmas Day happened to come in it—three times a week.
He was quite indifferent as to the particular kinds of dresses
That the clergyman wore at church where he used to go to pray,
And whatever he did in the way of relieving a chap’s distresses,
He always did in a nasty, sneaking, underhanded, hole-and-corner sort of way.
I have known him indulge in profane, ungentlemanly emphatics,
When the Protestant Church has been divided on the subject of the proper width of a chasuble’s hem;
I have even known him to sneer at albs—and as for dalmatics,
Words can’t convey an idea of the contempt he expressed for them.