PARODIES

OF THE WORKS OF

ENGLISH AND AMERICAN AUTHORS,

COLLECTED AND ANNOTATED BY

WALTER HAMILTON,

Fellow of the Royal Geographical and Royal Historical Societies;
Author of “A History of National Anthems and Patriotic Songs,” “A Memoir of George Cruikshank”
“The Poets Laureate of England,” “The Æsthetic Movement in England,” etc.

“I have here only made a Nosegay of culled Flowers, and have brought little more of my own than the band which ties them.”

VOLUME V.

CONTAINING PARODIES OF

Thomas Gray’s “Elegy in a Country Churchyard,”

AND OTHER POEMS.

WILLIAM COWPER. WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

S. T. COLERIDGE. M. G. LEWIS. LEIGH HUNT.

LORD MACAULAY.

W. M. PRAED. W. M. THACKERAY. LORD LYTTON.

P. B. Shelley. Mrs. Browning. The Ingoldsby Legends.

J. ADDISON. W. COLLINS. S. ROGERS. E. WALLER.

NATIONAL SONGS OF THE UNITED STATES.

MODERN AMERICAN POETS.

SONGS OF THE CIVIL WAR.

REEVES & TURNER, 196, STRAND, LONDON, W.C.

1888.

INTRODUCTION.

VOLUME V.

HE completion of the Fifth Volume of this collection of Parodies affords me an opportunity of acknowledging many acts of courtesy shown by gentlemen who take an interest in the subject.

They have appreciated the importance of making the collection complete, and reliable as a book of reference on Parody and Burlesque, and by the information they have sent, have assisted me to carry out my design so far as it has gone.

In some few cases the difficulty of finding the authors has prevented me from obtaining their permission to insert their poems, but in every instance due acknowledgment has been made.

No trouble has been spared to obtain every parody worth quoting, to trace every poem to its original source, and to give the Authors’ names, wherever they could be ascertained.

Without the assistance of the Authors themselves it would have been impossible to collect and verify such a mass of information, and my thanks are especially due to the following gentlemen, either for permission to reprint their parodies, or for other literary assistance in the compilation of the work: E. B. Anstee, Cuthbert Bede, (Rev. E. Bradley,) F. W. Crawford, T. F. Dillon-Croker, J. G. Dalton (of Boston, U.S.) F. B. Doveton, James Gordon, F.S.A., J. H. Ingram, J. Brodie-Innes, John Lane, Rev. H. C. Leonard, J. M. Lowry, A. W. Mackenzie, F. B. Perkins (of San Francisco, U.S.) Walter Parke, Edward Simpson, G. R. Sims, T. H. Smith, (of Chicago, U.S.) Edward Walford, M.A., C. H. Waring, and Edmund H. Yates.

Not only has their friendly aid cheered my labors, but it has encouraged me to hope for equally valuable assistance during the publication of the Sixth Volume, which will deal principally with the works of living poets, or with the poems of those who have only recently passed away.

WALTER HAMILTON,

57, Gauden Road, Clapham, S.W.

December, 1888.

THOMAS GRAY

Born in Cornhill, London, December 26, 1716.

Died in Cambridge, July 30, 1771.

The following is a list of the principal poems written by Thomas Gray, upon most of which parodies will be given:

——:o:——

The Elegy in a Country Churchyard was commenced by Gray in 1742, at the age of 34; it was then laid aside, to be taken up again after the death of his aunt, Mary Antrobus, in 1749. Stoke-Poges Churchyard, where this lady was buried, is the generally accepted scene of the poem, and there the poet was himself afterwards laid to rest.

The “Elegy” was completed at Stoke in June, 1750, a copy, in MS., was sent immediately by Gray to his friend Horace Walpole, and another to Dr. Wharton of Durham, which latter is now in the library of the British Museum. Another MS. is in the library of Pembroke College, Cambridge, but which was really the original MS. cannot be definitely ascertained, as Gray sent out several other copies to his friends. Hence the difficulty there is now in deciding upon the particular version of the “Elegy” which received the last finishing touches of the author, who was known to be most fastidious in the diction, and punctuation of his poems.

On the 12th June, 1750, Gray announced to Walpole that “a thing,” whose beginning he had seen long before, had at last got an end to it, “a merit,” he added, “that most of my writings have wanted and are like to want.” This “thing” was the “Elegy.” Walpole showed it about, copies were taken, and early in 1751 Gray received a letter from the editors of the “Magazine of Magazines” informing him that his “ingenious poem” was in the press, and begging not only his indulgence, but the honour of his correspondence. “I am not at all disposed,” wrote Gray, “to be either so indulgent or so correspondent as they desire.” Gray had not intended to publish the poem, but annoyed at the unscrupulous action of the proprietors of the “Magazine of Magazines,” he determined to forestall them if possible, and requested Walpole to get the “Elegy” printed without the author’s name, “in what form is most convenient to the printer, but on his best paper and character; he must correct the press himself, and print it without any intervals between the stanzas, because the sense is in some places continued beyond them.” Accordingly, on the 16th of February, 1751, five days after this letter was written, the first edition was printed and published by Robert Dodsley of Pall Mall. In this hasty manner, and without the author’s corrections, was issued from the press one of the most popular poems in the English language.

It also appeared in The Magazine of Magazines (London) for February, 1751, where it was introduced as having been composed “by the very ingenious Mr. Gray, of Peterhouse, Cambridge.” In this it was entitled, Stanzas written in a Country Churchyard, although it was entered in the Index as An Elegy made in a Country Churchyard. This was more modern in its orthography, and contained several variations from the authorised edition published by Dodsley.

There can be little doubt but that this pirated version of the “Elegy” was at first generally preferred to Gray’s authorised edition, in which there were some very obvious errors, due to its hasty production. Certain it is that all subsequent editions far more nearly resembled the pirated version, than that printed by Dodsley at Gray’s request.

Dodsley’s first edition was in quarto, and is now excessively rare. The following is an exact reprint of it, the original orthography and style of printing being in strict accordance with the copy now in the library of the British Museum. The only variation being that the stanzas are numbered for convenience of reference to the foot notes.

AN

ELEGY

WROTE IN A

COUNTRY CHURCH YARD.

London:

Printed for R. Dodsley, in Pall-mall; and sold by M. Cooper in Pater-noster-Row. 1751.

[Price Six-pence.]

ADVERTISEMENT.

The following Poem came into my Hands by accident, if the general Approbation with which this little Piece has been spread, may be call’d by so slight a Term as accident. It is this approbation which makes it unnecessary for me to make any Apology but to the Author: As he cannot but feel some Satisfaction in having pleas’d so many Readers already, I flatter myself he will forgive my communicating that Pleasure to many more.

THE EDITOR.

1The Curfeu tolls the Knell of parting Day,

The lowing Herd winds slowly o’er the Lea,

The Plow-man homeward plods his weary Way,

And leaves the World to Darkness, and to me.

2Now fades the glimmering Landscape on the Sight,

And all the Air a solemn Stillness holds,

Save where the Beetle wheels his droning Flight,

And drowsy Tinklings lull the distant Folds.

3Save that from yonder Ivy-mantled Tow’r,

The moping Owl does to the Moon complain

Of such, as wand’ring near her secret Bow’r,

Molest her ancient solitary Reign.

4Beneath those rugged Elms, that Yew-Tree’s shade,

Where heaves the Turf in many a mould’ring Heap,

Each in his narrow Cell for ever laid,

The rude Forefathers of the Hamlet sleep.

5The breezy Call of Incense-breathing Morn,

The Swallow twitt’ring from the Straw-built Shed,

The Cock’s shrill Clarion, or the ecchoing Horn,

No more shall wake them from their lowly Bed.

6For them no more the blazing Hearth shall burn,

Or busy Houswife ply her Evening-Care:

No Children run to lisp their Sire’s Return,

Or climb his Knees the envied Kiss to share.

7Oft did the Harvest to their Sickle yield,

Their Furrow oft the stubborn Glebe has broke:

How jocund did they drive their Team afield!

How bow’d the Woods beneath their sturdy Stroke!

8Let not Ambition mock their useful Toil,

Their homely Joys and Destiny obscure;

Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful Smile

The short and simple Annals of the Poor.

9The Boast of Heraldry, the Pomp of Power,

And all that Beauty, all that Wealth e’er gave,

Awaits alike th’ inevitable Hour.

The Paths of Glory lead but to the Grave.

10Forgive, ye Proud, th’ involuntary Fault

If Memory to these no Trophies raise,

Where thro’ the long-drawn Isle and fretted Vault

The pealing Anthem swells the Note of Praise.

11Can storied Urn or animated Bust

Back to its Mansion call the fleeting Breath?

Can Honour’s Voice provoke the silent Dust,

Or Flatt’ry sooth the dull cold Ear of Death?

12Perhaps in this neglected Spot is laid

Some Heart once pregnant with celestial Fire;

Hands that the Reins of Empire might have sway’d,

Or wak’d to Extacy the living Lyre.

13But Knowledge to their Eyes her ample Page

Rich with the Spoils of Time did ne’er unroll,

Chill Penury repress’d their noble Rage,

And froze the genial Current of the Soul.

14Full many a Gem of purest Ray serene,

The dark unfathom’d Caves of Ocean bear:

Full many a Flower is born to blush unseen,

And waste its Sweetness on the desart Air.

15Some village Hampden, that, with dauntless Breast

The little Tyrant of his Fields withstood,

Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest,

Some Cromwell, guiltless of his Country’s Blood.

16Th’ Applause of list’ning Senates to command,

The Threats of Pain and Ruin to despise,

To scatter Plenty o’er a smiling Land;

And read their Hist’ry in a Nation’s Eyes

17Their Lot forbad: nor circumscrib’d alone

Their growing Virtues, but their Crimes confin’d;

Forbad to wade through Slaughter to a Throne,

And shut the Gates of Mercy on Mankind,

18The struggling Pangs of conscious Truth to hide,

To quench the Blushes of ingenuous Shame,

Or heap the Shrine of Luxury and Pride

With Incense, kindled at the Muse’s Flame.

19Far from the madding Crowd’s ignoble Strife,

Their sober Wishes never learn’d to stray;

Along the cool sequester’d Vale of Life

They kept the noiseless Tenor of their Way.

20Yet ev’n these Bones from Insult to protect

Some frail Memorial still erected nigh,

With uncouth Rhimes and shapeless Sculpture deck’d,

Implores the passing Tribute of a Sigh.

21Their Name, their Years, spelt by th’ unletter’d Muse,

The Place of Fame and Elegy supply:

And many a holy Text around she strews,

That teach the rustic Moralist to die.

22For who to dumb Forgetfulness a Prey,

This pleasing anxious Being e’er resign’d,

Left the warm Precincts of the chearful Day,

Nor cast one longing ling’ring Look behind!

23On some fond Breast the parting Soul relies,

Some pious Drops the closing Eye requires;

Ev’n from the Tomb the Voice of Nature cries

Ev’n in our Ashes live their wonted Fires.

24For thee, who mindful of th’ unhonour’d Dead,

Dost in these Lines their artless Tale relate;

If chance, by lonely Contemplation led,

Some hidden Spirit shall enquire thy Fate,

25Haply some hoary-headed Swain may say,

“Oft have we seen him at the Peep of Dawn

“Brushing with hasty Steps the Dews away,

“To meet the Sun upon the upland Lawn,

26“There at the Foot of yonder nodding Beech,

“That wreathes its old fantastic Roots so high,

“His listless Length at Noontide wou’d he stretch,

“And pore upon the Brook that babbles by.

27“Hard by yon Wood, now frowning as in Scorn,

“Mutt’ring his wayward Fancies he wou’d rove;

“Now drooping, woeful-wan, like one forlorn,

“Or craz’d with Care, or cross’d in hopeless Love.

28“One Morn I miss’d him on the custom’d Hill,

“Along the Heath, and near his fav’rite Tree;

“Another came; nor yet beside the Rill,

“Nor up the Lawn, nor at the Wood was he;

29“The next with Dirges due in sad Array

“Slow thro’ the Church-way Path we saw him born.

“Approach and read (for thou can’st read) the Lay,

“Grav’d on the Stone beneath yon aged Thorn.”

THE EPITAPH.

Here rests his Head upon the Lap of Earth

A Youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown:

Fair Science frown’d not on his humble Birth,

And Melancholy mark’d him for her own.

Large was his Bounty, and his Soul sincere,

Heav’n did a Recompence as largely send:

He gave to Mis’ry all he had, a Tear:

He gain’d from Heav’n (’twas all he wish’d) a Friend.

No farther seek his Merits to disclose,

Or draw his Frailties from their dread Abode,

(There they alike in trembling Hope repose,)

The Bosom of his Father and his God.

FINIS.

1. Curfew in later editions.

The Curfeu tolls the knell of parting day.

—— squilla di lontano

Che paia ’l giorno pianger, che si muore.

Dante, Purgat. l. 8.

And pilgrim newly on his road with love

Thrills, if he hear the vesper bell from far

That seems to mourn for the expiring day.

Cary’s Translation.

2. This verse seems to have strong features of similarity with the following in Collins’s “Ode to Evening:”

“Now air is hush’d, save where the weak-ey’d bat

“With short shrill shriek flits by on leathern wing,

“Or where the beetle winds

“His small but sullen horn.”

10. Another version reads;

Nor you, ye Proud, impute to these the fault,

If Memory o’er their tomb no trophies raise.

11. Burns borrowed an idea from this verse in his epitaph on the monument to Robert Fergusson, the poet:—

No sculptured marble here, nor pompous lay,

No storied urn or animated bust.

This simple stone directs pale Scotia’s way

To pour her sorrows o’er her poet’s dust.

14. This beautiful comparison of the Gem and the Flower seems borrowed (but with added force and elegance) from Dr. Young:

“—— Such blessings Nature pours,

“O’erstock’d mankind enjoy but half her stores;

“In distant wilds, by human eyes unseen,

“She rears her flow’rs, and spreads her velvet green:

“Pure gurgling rills the lonely desert trace,

“And waste their music on the savage race.”

Universal Passion, Sat. V.

15. Mr. Edwards (author of the Canons of Criticism), who, though an old bachelor, like Mr. Gray, was far more attentive to the fair sex, endeavoured to supply what he thought a defect in this Poem, by introducing after this the two following stanzas:

Some lovely fair, whose unaffected charms

Shone with attraction to herself unknown;

Whose beauty might have blest a monarch’s arms,

And virtue cast a lustre on the throne:

That humble beauty warm’d an honest heart,

And cheer’d the labours of a faithful spouse;

That virtue form’d, for every decent part,

The healthy offspring that adorn’d their house.

18. After this verse, in Mr. Gray’s first MS. of the Poem, were the four following:—

The thoughtless world to Majesty may bow,

Exalt the brave, and idolize success;

But more to innocence their safety owe,

Than Pow’r or Genius e’er conspir’d to bless.

And thou who, mindful of th’ unhonour’d Dead,

Dost in these notes their artless tale relate,

By night and lonely contemplation led

To wander in the gloomy walks of fate:

Hark! how the sacred calm, that breathes around,

Bids every fierce tumultuous passion cease;

In still small accents whispering from the ground,

A grateful earnest of eternal peace.

No more, with reason and thyself at strife,

Give anxious cares and endless wishes room;

But through the cool sequestred vale of life

Pursue the silent tenor of thy doom.

And here the Poem was originally intended to conclude, before the happy idea of the hoary-headed Swain, &c. suggested itself to him.

23.

Ev’n in our ashes live their wonted fires.

Ch’i veggio nel pensier, dolce mio fuoco,

Fredda una lingua, et due begli occhi chiusi

Rimaner doppo noi pien di faville.

Petrarch, Son. 169.

25. In the M.S. copy of the Elegy bequeathed by Gray to his friend Mason which is now in the possession of Sir William Fraser, Bart., the last two lines of this stanza read:—

With hasty footsteps brush the dews away

On the high brow of yonder hanging lawn.

After this stanza in the same manuscript there was the following:—

Him have we seen the greenwood side along,

While o’er the heath we hied, our labour’s done,

Oft as the woodlark pip’d her farewell song,

With wistful eyes pursue the setting sun.

“I rather wonder (says Mr. Mason) that he rejected this stanza, as it completes the account of his whole day; whereas, this Evening scene being omitted, we have only his Morning walk, and his Noontide repose.”

29. Before the Epitaph, Mr. Gray originally inserted a very beautiful stanza, which was printed in some of the first editions, but afterwards omitted, because he thought that it was too long a parenthesis in this place. The lines however are, in themselves, exquisitely fine, and demand preservation.

There scatter’d oft, the earliest of the Year,

By Hands unseen are show’rs of Violets found;

The Redbreast loves to build and warble there,

And little Footsteps lightly print the ground.

To some readers they may appear to be an imitation of the following in Collins’s “Dirge in Cymbeline:”

“The female fays shall haunt the green,

“And dress thy grave with pearly dew;

“The redbreast oft, at evening hours,

“Shall kindly lend his little aid,

“With hoary moss and gather’d flow’rs,

“To deck the ground where thou art laid.”

Notwithstanding the want of originality in some detached passages of this “Elegy,” and the obvious truisms of many of its ideas, it is doubtless the finest poem of its kind in the language, not even excepting the beautiful, and perhaps more pathetic, “Elegy on the Death of Sir John Moore.” The best proof of its popularity is to be found in the immense number of Parodies, Imitations, and Translations to which it has given rise. In dealing with the Parodies the chief difficulty has been to decide which were worthy of preservation. To reprint all the Parodies, in full, is out of the question, yet the omission of any important or noteworthy example would destroy the utility of this Collection as a work of reference, especially in the eyes of the numerous admirers of Thomas Gray.

To readers not having access to either of our great public libraries it is the earlier parodies which are the most difficult to refer to, these will therefore be inserted complete, though it must be admitted that the first half dozen will be found rather heavy reading.

These will be followed by selections from the most amusing modern parodies, and a few of the best imitations and translations.

The earliest parody I can trace of Gray’s “Elegy” is one entitled—

AN
EVENING CONTEMPLATION
IN A
COLLEGE.
Being a Parody on the
ELEGY
IN
A COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD.
By another Gentleman of Cambridge.
London:
Printed for R. and J. Dodsley in Pall-mall; and Sold
by M. Cooper in Pater-noster Row. 1753.
[Price Sixpence.]

ADVERTISEMENT.

The Author of the excellent Poem on which the following Parody is built, it is hop’d will forgive this innocent Play upon it; which a sincere admiration of its beauties invited the Parodist to attempt: and if it should be thought there is any merit in this Imitation, it must be attributed in a great measure to his working after so fine an Original.

An Evening Contemplation in a College.

The Curfew tolls the hour of closing gates;

With jarring sound the porter turns the key,

Then in his dreary mansion slumb’ring waits,

And slowly, sternly quits it—tho’ for me.

Now shine the spires beneath the paly moon,

And thro’ the cloyster Peace and Silence reign;

Save where some fidler scrapes a drowsy tune,

Or copious bowls inspire a jovial strain:

Save that in yonder cobweb-mantled room,