ON MY REFUSING ANGELINA A KISS UNDER THE MISLETOE
Nay, fond one, shun that misletoe,
Nor lure me 'neath its fatal bough:
Some other night 't were joy to go,
But ah! I must not, dare not now!
'Tis sad, I own, to see thy face
Thus tempt me with its giggling glee,
And feel I can not now embrace
The opportunity—and thee.
"Tis sad to think that jealousy's
Sharp scissors may our true love sever;
And that my coldness now may freeze
Thy warm affection, love, forever.
But ah! to disappoint our bliss,
A fatal hind'rance now is stuck:
'Tis not that I am loath to kiss,
But, dearest, list-I dined off duck!
ON MY FINDING ANGELINA STOP SUDDENLY IN A RAPID AFTER-SUPPER POLKA AT MRS. TOMPKINS'S BALL.
"Maiden, why that look of sadness?
Whence that dark o'erclouded brow?
What hath stilled thy bounding gladness,
Changed thy pace from fast to slow?
Is it that by impulse sudden
Childhood's hours thou paus'st to mourn?
Or hath thy cruel EDWIN trodden
Right upon thy favorite corn?
"Is it that for evenings wasted
Some remorse thou 'gin'st to feel?
Or hath that sham champagne we tasted
Turned thy polka to a reel?
Still that gloom upon each feature?
Still that sad reproachful frown?"
Angelina. "Can't you see, you clumsy creature,
All my back hair's coming down!"
"OH! WILLIAM," JAMES was heard to say
JAMES drove a hackney cabriolet:
WILLIAM, the horses of his friend,
With hay and water used to tend.
"Now, tell me, WILLIAM, can it be,
That MAYNE has issued a decree,
Severe and stern, against us, planned
Of comfort to deprive our Stand ?”
"I fear the tale is all too true,"
Said WILLIAM, "on my word I do."
"Are we restricted to the Row
And from the footpath ?" "Even so."
"Must our companions be resigned,
We to the Rank alone confined ?"
"Yes; or they apprehend the lads
Denominated Bucks and Cads."
"Dear me !" cried JAMES, "how very hard!
And are we, too, from beer debarred ?"
Said WILLIAM, "While remaining here
We also are forbidden beer."
"Nor may we breathe the fragrant weed?"
We are required to clear the ground?" "Yes: to remove them we are bound."
"These mandates should we disobey-" "They take our licenses away."
"That were unkind. How harsh our lot!" "Now is it not?"
"Thus strictly why are we pursued ?”
"It is alleged that we are rude;
The people opposite complain,
Our lips that coarse expressions stain."
"Law, how absurd!" "And then, they say
We smoke and tipple all the day,
Are oft in an excited state,
Disturbance, noise, and dirt create."
"What shocking stories people tell!
I never! Did you ever?-Well—
Bless them!" the Cabman mildly sighed.
"May they be blest!" his Friend replied.
You, who hold in grace and honor,
Hold, as one who did you kindness
When he publish'd former poems,
Sang Evangeline the noble,
Sang the golden Golden Legend,
Sang the songs the Voices utter
Crying in the night and darkness,
Sang how unto the Red Planet
Mars he gave the Night's First Watches,
Henry Wadsworth, whose adnomen
(Coming awkward, for the accents,
Into this his latest rhythm)
Write we as Protracted Fellow,
Or in Latin, Longus Comes-
Buy the Song of Hiawatha.
Should you ask me, Is the poem
Worthy of its predecessors,
Worthy of the sweet conception,
Of the manly nervous diction,
Of the phrase, concise or pliant,
Of the songs that sped the pulses,
Of the songs that gemm'd the eyelash,
Of the other works of Henry?
I should answer, I should tell you,
You may wish that you may get it—
Don't you wish that you may get it?
Should you ask me, Is it worthless,
Is it bosh and is it bunkum,
Merely facile flowing nonsense,
Easy to a practiced rhythmist,
Fit to charm a private circle,
But not worth the print and paper
David Bogue hath here expended?
I should answer, I should tell you,
You're a fool and most presumptuous.
Hath not Henry Wadsworth writ it?
Hath not Punch commanded "Buy it?"
Should you
ask me, What's its nature?
Ask me, What's the kind of poem?
Ask me in respectful language,
Touching your respectful beaver,
Kicking back your manly hind-leg,
Like to one who sees his betters;
I should answer, I should tell you,
'Tis a poem in this meter,
And embalming the traditions,
Fables, rites, and superstitions,
Legends, charms, and ceremonials
Of the various tribes of Indians,
From the land of the Ojibways,
From the land of the Dacotahs,
From the mountains, moors, and fenlands,
Where the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah,
Finds its sugar in the rushes:
From the fast-decaying nations,
Which our gentle Uncle Samuel
Is improving, very smartly,
From the face of all creation,
Off the face of all creation.
Should you ask me, By what story,
By what action, plot, or fiction,
All these matters are connected?
I should answer, I should tell you,
Go to Bogue and buy the poem,
Publish'd neatly, at one shilling,
Publish'd sweetly, at five shillings.
Should you ask me, Is there music
In the structure of the verses,
In the names and in the phrases?
Pleading that, like weaver Bottom,
You prefer your ears well tickled;
I should answer, I should tell you,
Henry's verse is very charming;
And for names-there 's Hiawatha,
Who's the hero of the poem;
Mudjeekeewis, that's the West Wind,
Hiawatha's graceless father;
There's Nokomis, there 's Wenonah-
Ladies both, of various merit;
Puggawangum, that's a war-club;
Pau-puk-keewis, he's a dandy,
"Barr'd with streaks of red and yellow; And the women and the maidens
Love the handsome Pau-puk-keewis,"
Tracing in him Punch's likeness.
Then there's lovely Minnehaha-
Pretty name with pretty meaning-
It implies the Laughing-water;
And the darling Minnehaha
Married noble Hiawatha;
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