And countless kings have into dust been humbled, Didst thou hear not the pother o'er thy head, And shook the pyramids with fear and wonder, If the tomb's secrets may not be confessed, The nature of thy private life unfold: A heart has throbbed beneath that leathern breast, And tears adown that dusty cheek have rolled; Have children climbed those knees, and kissed that face? What was thy name and station, age and race? Statue of flesh,-Immortal of the dead! Posthumous man,-who quit'st thy narrow bed, Thou wilt hear nothing till the Judgment morning, Why should this worthless tegument endure, O, let us keep the soul embalmed and pure Horace Smith [1779-1849] JOHN GRUMLIE JOHN GRUMLIE swore by the light o' the moon And the green leaves on the tree, That he could do more work in a day Than his wife could do in three. John Grumlie 2051 His wife rose up in the morning First ye maun dress your children fair, And ye maun ca' in the hens, John, O he did dress his children fair, That his wife span yesterday; And the hens all layed away. The hawket crummie loot down nae milk; He kirned, nor butter gat; And a' gade wrang, and naught gade right; He danced wi' rage, and grat; Then up he ran to the head o' the knowe She heard him as she heard him not, John Grumlie's wife cam hame at e’en, A weary wife and sad, And burst into a laughter loud, And laughed as she'd been mad: While John Grumlie swore by the light o' the moon And the green leaves on the tree, If my wife should na win a penny a day She's aye her will for me. Allan Cunningham [1784-1842] THE THE NEEDLE gay belles of fashion may boast of excelling In waltz or cotillion, at whist or quadrille; And seek admiration by vauntingly telling Of drawing, and painting, and musical skill; If Love have a potent, a magical token, Be wise, then, ye maidens, nor seek admiration Samuel Woodworth (1785-1842] MISADVENTURES AT MARGATE MR. SIMPKINSON (loquitur) I WAS in Margate last July, I walked upon the pier, Misadventures at Margate 2053 The gloom upon your youthful cheek speaks anything but joy;" Again I said, "What make you here, you little vulgar Boy?" He frowned, that little vulgar Boy, he deemed I meant to scoff, And when the little heart is big, a little "sets it off." He put his finger in his mouth, his little bosom rose,- "Hark! don't you hear, my little man?-it's striking nine," I said, "An hour when all good little boys and girls should be in bed. Run home and get your supper, else your Ma will scold,O fie! It's very wrong indeed for little boys to stand and cry!" The tear-drop in his little eye again began to spring, I have n't got no supper! and I have n't got no Ma! "My father, he is on the seas,-my mother's dead and gone! "If there's a soul will give me food, or find me in employ, By day or night, then blow me tight!" (he was a vulgar Boy;) "And now I'm here, from this here pier it is my fixed intent To jump, as Mister Levi did from off the Monument!" 'Cheer up! cheer up! my little man,-cheer up!" I kindly said, "You are a naughty boy to take such things into your head; If you should jump from off the pier, you'd surely break your legs, Perhaps your neck,—then Bogey'd have you, sure as eggs are eggs! "Come home with me, my little man, come home with me and sup! My landlady is Mrs. Jones,- -we must not keep her up,There's roast potatoes at the fire,-enough for me and you,— Come home, you little vulgar Boy,-I lodge at Number 2." I took him home to Number 2, the house beside "The Foy." But Mrs. Jones was rather cross, she made a little noise, Said I might "go to Jericho, and fetch my beer myself!" I did not go to Jericho,-I went to Mr. Cobb,— I changed a shilling (which in town the people call a Bob)It was not so much for myself as for that vulgar child,— And I said, "A pint of double X, and please to draw it mild!" When I came back I gazed about,-I gazed on stool and chair, I could not see my little friend,-because he was not there! I could not see my table-spoons.--I looked, but could not see I could not see my mackintosh,-it was not to be seen! My carpet-bag, my cruet-stand, that holds my sauce and soy, My roast potatoes!-all are gone!-and so's that vulgar Boy! |