The Home Book of Verse
Chapter 407 : I blotted out the score with tears, And paid the money down; And took the maid of thir

I blotted out the score with tears, And paid the money down; And took the maid of thirteen years Back to her mother's town.

And though the past with surges wild Fond memories may sever, The vision of that happy child Will leave my spirits never!

Rudyard Kipling [1865-1936]

FATHER WILLIAM From "Alice in Wonderland"

After Southey

"You are old, Father William," the young man said, "And your hair has become very white; And yet you incessantly stand on your head-- Do you think, at your age, it is right?"

"In my youth," Father William replied to his son, "I feared it might injure the brain; But, now that I'm perfectly sure I have none, Why, I do it again and again."

"You are old," said the youth, "as I mentioned before, And have grown most uncommonly fat; Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door-- Pray, what is the reason of that?"

"In my youth," said the sage, as he shook his gray locks, "I kept all my limbs very supple By the use of this ointment--one s.h.i.+lling the box-- Allow me to sell you a couple?"

"You are old," said the youth, "and your jaws are too weak For anything tougher than suet; Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak-- Pray, how did you manage to do it?"

"In my youth," said his father, "I took to the law, And argued each case with my wife; And the muscular strength which it gave to my jaw, Has lasted the rest of my life."

"You are old," said the youth, "one would hardly suppose That your eye was as steady as ever; Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose-- What made you so awfully clever?"

"I have answered three questions and that is enough,"

Said his father; "don't give yourself airs!

Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff?

Be off, or I'll kick you downstairs!"

Lewis Carroll [1832-1898]

THE NEW ARRIVAL After Campbell

There came to port last Sunday night The queerest little craft, Without an inch of rigging on; I looked and looked--and laughed!

It seemed so curious that she Should cross the Unknown water, And moor herself within my room-- My daughter! O, my daughter!

Yet by these presents witness all She's welcome fifty times, And comes consigned in hope and love-- And common-metre rhymes.

She has no manifest but this; No flag floats o'er the water; She's too new for the British Lloyds-- My daughter! O, my daughter!

Ring out, wild bells--and tame ones too; Ring out the lover's moon.

Ring in the little worsted socks, Ring in the bib and spoon.

Ring out the muse, ring in the nurse, Ring in the milk and water.

Away with paper, pen, and ink-- My daughter! O, my daughter!

George Was.h.i.+ngton Cable [1844-1925]

DISASTER After Moore

'Twas ever thus from childhood's hour My fondest hopes would not decay: I never loved a tree or flower Which was the first to fade away!

The garden, where I used to delve Short-frocked, still yields me pinks in plenty; The pear-tree that I climbed at twelve, I see still blossoming, at twenty.

I never nursed a dear gazelle.

But I was given a paroquet-- How I did nurse him if unwell!

He's imbecile, but lingers yet.

He's green, with an enchanting tuft; He melts me with his small black eye: He'd look inimitable stuffed, And knows it--but he will not die!

I had a kitten--I was rich In pets--but all too soon my kitten Became a full-sized cat, by which I've more than once been scratched and bitten; And when for sleep her limbs she curled One day beside her untouched plateful, And glided calmly from the world, I freely own that I was grateful.

And then I bought a dog--a queen!

Ah, Tiny, dear departing pug!

She lives, but she is past sixteen, And scarce can crawl across the rug.

I loved her beautiful and kind; Delighted in her pert Bow-wow: But now she snaps if you don't mind; 'Twere lunacy to love her now.

I used to think, should e'er mishap Betide my crumple-visaged Ti, In shape of prowling thief, or trap, Or coa.r.s.e bull-terrier--I should die.

But ah! disasters have their use; And life might e'en be too suns.h.i.+ny: Nor would I make myself a goose, If some big dog should swallow Tiny.

Charles Stuart Calverley [1831-1884]

'TWAS EVER THUS After Moore

I never reared a young gazelle, (Because, you see, I never tried); But had it known and loved me well, No doubt the creature would have died.

My rich and aged Uncle John Has known me long and loves me well But still persists in living on-- I would he were a young gazelle.

I never loved a tree or flower; But, if I had, I beg to say The blight, the wind, the sun, or shower Would soon have withered it away.

I've dearly loved my Uncle John, From childhood to the present hour, And yet he will go living on-- I would he were a tree or flower!

Henry Sambrooke Leigh [1837-1883]

A GRIEVANCE After Byron

Dear Mr. Editor: I wish to say-- If you will not be angry at my, writing it-- But I've been used, since childhood's happy day, When I have thought of something, to inditing it; I seldom think of things; and, by the way, Although this meter may not be exciting, it Enables one to be extremely terse, Which is not what one always is in verse.

I used to know a man,--such things befall The observant wayfarer through Fate's domain-- He was a man, take him for all in all, We shall not look upon his like again; I know that statement's not original; What statement is, since Shakespeare? or, since Cain, What murder? I believe 'twas Shakespeare said it, or Perhaps it may have been your Fighting Editor.

Though why an Editor should fight, or why A Fighter should abase himself to edit, Are problems far too difficult and high For me to solve with any sort of credit.