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I puff and roar, and shriek and blow
Along the crowded river,

For men may scull and men may row
But I steam on for ever.

Judy, April 2, 1879.

THE SONG OF THE STEAM LAUNCH

I STEAM from snug up river lairs,

I make a sudden sally,

And spread dismay among the "pairs,' Which by the rushes dally.

On tiny craft I love to dash

(As swallow darts on midges) :

The women scream as down I crash,
And swamp them by the bridges,

Ay, helter-skelter, on I go,

Adown the crowded river,

For tide may ebb and tide may flow,
But I steam on for ever!

I drown with my shrill whistle's scream
The blackbird's piping trebles;

I churn up mud and foul the stream
Above the tide-worn pebbles.

With many a wave the punts I fret,
My wash engulphs them neatly;
I many a dainty lady wet,

And spoil her dress completely.

I clatter, splatter, as I go,

A-muck upon the river,

For tide may ebb and tide may flow,
But I steam on for ever.

I twist about, dash in and out,
T'annoy some merry party;

And here and there receive a shout

Of malediction hearty.

Yes! here and there the worm may turn,

And curse me as I travel;

But victims, as a rule, I learn,

Are far too scared to cavil,

Or check me as along I go,
Upon the crowded river,

Where tide may ebb and tide may flow,
But I steam on for ever.

I steal by lawns when all is dark,
Glide close to reedy covers,
And there cut down the tiny bark,
That bears the heedless lovers.

I start, I dart, I screech, I blare,
I belch forth coal-black vapours;

I make the angry oarsmen swear
To write to all the papers.

I murder quiet 'neath the stars;
For any mischief willing;

I cut away young yachtsmen's spars;
Treat anglers to a swilling.
The loveliest scenery I spoil,
On beauty lay embargo;

I reek with blacks and engine oil,

I carry cads for cargo.

I swill, I kill, I hoot, I snort,
A nuisance all declare me;

A river demon I disport,

Yet you've to grin and bear me !

Yes, on again I wildly go,

To curse the crowded river;

For tide may ebb and tide may flow,
But I steam on for ever!

Truth, August 11, 1881.

THE SHERBROOKE.

(Not by Tennyson.)

I COME from haunts of statesmen hard,
I make a sudden sally.
And sparkle out a life-long bard
En-thu-si-as-ti-cally.

My life has run o'er stony ways,
I've seemed all sharps and trebles;
But now I mean to wring the bays
From critics hard as pebbles.

I on my Peer's soft cushion fret,
Because my life seems fallow,
But ah! the "glowing Muse" shall yet
Show me less sour and sallow.

I steal away from Whiggish plots

To Poesy's green covers,

I try my hand at true-love knots,
I sing for happy lovers.

I rhyme with HUDIBRAS's dash
(Who fancied me all iron?)

With here a touch of CANNING's flash,
And there a tone of BYRON.

I sing Swiss glaciers, southern stars,
Australian wildernesses,

I sneer at old Colonial jars,

And Antipodean messes.

I fancy my old foes will quake,

As this new path I travel;

I think my rhymes the bards will shake,

And all the critics gravel.

Bravo, BOB LOWE! for do you know

I think this dodge is clever,

For Statesmen come and Statesmen go, But Bards live on for ever!

Punch, May 23, 1885.

Lord Sherbrooke, better known, perhaps, as Mr. Robert Lowe, had just produced a small volume of Poems, a piece of temerity on his part which is now quite forgotten and forgiven.

A LAY OF LAWN TENNIS.
(By a Lawn-Tennysonienne.)

WITH rackets poised against the foe,
We scorn the shining river;
Though other games may come and go,
Lawn Tennis lives for ever.

We roam the verdant lawn about,
Our skill seems unavailing ;
For, sometimes in and sometimes out,
'Gainst fortune we are railing.
We chatter in our eager ways,
In merry girlish trebles;

We rush for many a ball that strays
Across the pathway pebbles.

We play upon the grassy plots,

The "Court" the garden covers; We wear the blue forget-me-nots,

Like TENNYSON'S young lovers.

We skip, we slide, with many a glance,
As swift as eager swallows;

And as the gay balls bound and dance,
The ardent player follows.

We murmur when the stern net bars
The ball, we shake our tresses ;

We've played beneath the moon and stars,
As many a girl confesses.

And how to "screw" and "twist " we know,
The Service' to deliver :

',

For other games may come and go,
Lawn Tennis lives for ever

Punch, August 8, 1885.

—:0: -

PARODIES OF SONGS IN

"THE PRINCESS."

THE WORRIER AND HIS WIFE.
HOME they brought her worrier, dead-
Dead as any mummy he―

So they thought, and so they said;
But his helpmate-what said she?
"Dead? I only wish he was!
He is only extra tight!
Too much liquor is the cause

Of my husbands senseless plight!

"Put him down-oh, anywhere!-
Not upon the sofa-no!

Drop him on the carpet-there!
Now I'll thank you all to go!"

One by one they slowly went ;

Then she locked and barred the door,

Then-above her worrier bent,

Frowned and smiled and crossed the floor.

From a corner back she tripped,

Knelt beside her helpless mate,

And, with scissors, clipped and clipped,
Till he had a hairless pate!

Then she rose and left him there

Left him there, and went to bed-Left him there without his hair,

With his hair around him spread!

In her bed she lay and slept,

On the floor he passed the night. In the house for weeks he keptSober-hairless-such a fright!

Not in vain was he deprived

Of his glossy locks, I trow:

With new hair new strength arrived―
He's a pledged abstainer now!

Let me lie here: no dry old brewer's sieve
Had greater need of liquor than had I ;
Now like a boiling gooseberry floats mine eye,
Let me lie here, for I would quite as lieve.
Let me lie here!

Let me lie here: the secret is revealed;
Though I could wend with thee I am not fain;
Do not, policeman, take me home again,
I dread my wife and would remain concealed,
Let me lie here!

JOHN COTTON.

[The above appeared in the Central Literary Magazine, Birmingham, 1878.]

San Francisco Free Public Library, Jan. 20, 1885. To Walter Hamilton, Esq.

Dear Sir,-I venture to interrupt you again with a transcript of a Tennyson Parody which you may not have seen. It can't have the local flavour with you which it had when first printed, in the middle of General Butler's political and oratorical campaign for the governorship of Massachusettsnot his successful one, but one of the others, about 1875. It first came out in the Springfield (Massachusetts) Republican newspaper.-Very truly yours,

(Signed) F. B. PERKINS. BUGLE SONG.

(After Tennyson—and Butler.)

THE slander falls in different halls

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THE LIGHT (BLUE) BRIGAde.

(The University Boat Race.)
HALF a length, half a length,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Thames

Rowed the Eights, onward!
"Go!" was the starter's cry,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to win-or try;
Into the valley of Thames

Rowed the Eights, onward!

Steamers to right of them,
Steamers to left of them,
Steamers each side of them,

Snorted and thundered!
Cheered at by cad and swell,
Boldly they rowed and well,
Under Barnes Railway Bridge,
On past the Ship Hotel,

Rowed the Eights, onwards.

O but the sight was fair,
Flashed the oar-blades in air,
Trying the rowlocks there,
Rowing to Mortlake, while

All the world wondered.
Plunged in the steamer smoke,
Fiercely in front they broke;
GRIFFITHS and MARSDEN;
Strong was the Oxford stroke,

Nobody blundered;
Then they rowed back, but not
As they rowed onward !
Steamers to right of them,
Steamers to left of them,
Steamers in front of them,

Snorted and thundered;
Cheered at by cad and swell,
While horse and Cockney fell,
They that had rowed so well,

Came through Barnes Railway Bridge,
Back from the Ship Hotel,
All that was left in them

Since they rowed onward!
When can their glory fade?
O, the wild spurts they made!
All the world wondered.
Honour the spurts they made,
Dark and Light Blue Brigade,
Each worth a hundred !

Fun, April 27, 1867.

THE GAS STOKERS' STRIKE.

DARK were the streets and wet;
Out went each radiant jet,
While all that passed or met

Questioned and wondered.
"Strike," was the gasmen's cry,
Their's not to reason why.
Their's to raise wages high,
Pleasure and trade defy;

Therefore the gasmen struck

Struck by the hundred.

Darkness to right of them,

Darkness to left of them,

Darkness in front of them,--
Every one blundered.

Many an oath and yell
On the fierce strikers fell;
When to the gasworks came-
Came to work swift and well,
Another Six Hundred.
Flashed all their elbows bare,
Flashed all at once in air ;

Shovelling the Wallsend there,
Filling retorts up, while

Strike-men all wondered.

Plunging in flame and smoke,
Bravely the coals they broke;
Strong was their pickaxe stroke.
Loudly the public voice

Cheering them thundered.
Then to their beef and beer
Rushed the Six Hundred.
Strikemen to right of them,
Strikemen to left of them,
Strikemen behind them,

Blasphemed and thundered. Stormed at with drunken yell, Boldly they worked and well, Rushing through flame and smoke, O'er piles of coal and coke, Saving from darkness then, Millions of Englishmen.

Gallant Six Hundred.
Honour the brave and bold,
Labourers young and old;
Long shall the tale be told,
When by the gasmen "sold,"
We were left undone.

By the flame wearily,
In the smoke drearily,

On they worked cheerily.
Lighting up London.

JOSEPH VEREY.

The Hornet, December 11, 1872. (Published when the stokers of several of the London Gas Works were out on strike.)

The same journal also published another Parody of the Charge of Balaklava, by the same author, on "Clapham Junction," October 23, 1872.

THE CHARGE OF THE "LIGHT" BRIGAde. "What Ho! there, lights; lights!"

(Enter servants with a rush.) Old Play.

HALF a league, half a league,

Half a league onward;
Till in valley of Lud,

Pausing I pondered.

"Forward the Light Brigade!"
Charging my pipe, I said,
Into the valley of Lud

Rushed half-a-hundred.
"Forward the Light Brigade !"
Was there a lad delayed,
Not though the mudiarks knew
Nought could be plundered.
Their's not to reason why,
Their's but to make him buy,
"Wax" is their sole reply;
Into the valley of Lud

Rushed the half hundred.
Cabmen to right of them,
Cabmen to left of them,

Cabmen in front of them,

Holla'ed and thundered.

Stormed at by "slop" and swell,

Into the road pell-mell;

Into the jaws of Death,

Out of the paws of L,

Wary policeman L,

Rushed the half hundred.

Flashed all their ankles bare,
Flashed as they turned in air,
Tumbling in gutters there;

Dodging the bobby, while
All the world wondered.
Bold in the matter o' smoke,
Right through the mob they broke,
Mudlark and "crusher,"

Reeled from their neighbour's stroke Spattered and sundered;

Ne'er till they'd served the "bloke "
Turned the half hundred.

Cabmen to right of them,
Cabmen to left of them,

Bobbies behind them

Followed and thundered.

But though policeman L
On his proboscis fell,
They knew the road so well

Right thro' the jaws of Death,
Out of the claws of L
All that was left of him,

Slipped the half hundred.

Long thrive their simple trade,
Whatever tax be made,

May they escape any;

Honour the Light Brigade!
Honour the Charge they made!

'Twas but a ha penny.

From The Rocking of the Lilies, and other Poems, by Charles T. Druery, (Clayton & Co., London), 1882.

RECITATION.-THE CHARGE OF THE HEAVY BRIGADE AT KASSASSIN.

By a Life Guards' Officer.

HALF a league (more or less),
Half a league onward ;
All in the moon's pale light

Rode the Six Hundred.
"Forward!" cried Drury Lowe,
"Goodness knows where you'll go.
I can't see any foe."

Out into the pale moonlight

Rode the Six Hundred !
"Forward, Cavalry Brigade!"
Was there a man dismayed?
Or, so to speak, afraid?
No; not a man drew back

In all the Six Hundred,
Theirs not to make reply
(That they knew was muti-ny),
Theirs not to wonder why
No enemy was nigh,
Theirs not (just then) to die.
Out into the pale moonlight
Rode the Six Hundred !
Desert to right of them,
Desert to left of them,

Desert in front of them,

Yet on they thundered;

Whilst far above their head

Bullets by dozens sped,
Still not a trooper fled,
dropped dead,

Still not a man

As into the desert wild Rode the Six H

Hundred!

"Forward, Cavalry Brigade!"
So 'twas their leader said,
When, as the moon shone bright,
Came the dread foes in sight,
As to the left and right,

Blindly they blundered.
None at the guns would stay,
Wildly they ran away;
Whilst to their great dismay,
Up dashed, in proud array,
All the Six Hundred !
Flashed then their sabres bare,
Flashed as they turn'd in air,
Halving Egyptians there,
Slicing limbs off everywhere,

Whilst "fellahs" wondered.
Then, when of slaughter tired,
They no more blood required,
Copt or Egyptian,
When they by valour fired,

Plenty had sunder'd;
Then they rode back again,
All the Six Hundred !
Desert to right of them,
Desert to left of them,
Desert behind them,

Yet on they thundered;
Storm'd by no shot nor shell,
Nor horse nor hero fell,
Whilst those who'd sliced so well,
Came from they knew not where,
Back, whence they could not tell,
Back to their camp they came,
All the Six Hundred !
When can the glory fade
Of this wild charge they made?
Pish! what's the Light Brigade,

At which the world wondered?
They didn't all ride back
After their wild attack;
They lost one half, alack!

Silly Six Hundred !

Not so with our Brigade;

They, when their charge they'd made, Rode back to their parade

Still a Six Hundred !

"At this point of the programme the prompter announced that the Egyptian Honours would be distributed, on which there at once came such a rain of stars, crosses, medals, K.C.B.'s, &c., from the "flies," that the gallant veterans on the stage were glad to put up their umbrellas to guard their skulls from fracture."

Truth Christmas Number, 1882.

The Porcupine (Liverpool) published a parody on July 11, 1885, entitled "The Charge of the Fire Brigade," but it was of purely local interest, and destitute of humour, or any other literary merit.

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Welcome her myriads of horses so fleet,
Welcome her thundering cheers of the street,
Welcome her champagne, cooling and sweet,—
Scatter the bank-notes under her feet.
Burst poor book-makers into sad tears,
'Tis victory, and the Frenchman's cheers!
Welcome her, welcome her, winnings of ours!
Mather and Russell, don't bustle there,
Fluttering, sputtering, chattering so!
Like rivulets let your gold-dust flow.
Pencils of gold in the suns' rays flare
Put down your marks and to wit aspire,
We feel the breeze, but we do not care.
Flash, ye ladies, in champagne's fire,
You shall have gloves, and by her desire,
"Stradella!"

Frenchman's mare, from over the way,
If thou would'st go, yet thou must stay,
Or such a bore you then would be!
Oh, joy to the "gentry," if you should win,
No matter the "people" who lose their tin.
Epsonians, Ascotians, Chesterians, we
Goths, or Rodes, or whatever we be,

We are all of us French in our welcome of thee,
Stradella."

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P.S.-Frenchman's mare from over the sea,
66 Stradella!"

Since these ere lines I'd been and done,
An English horse has been and won;
And all my prophecy is void,

For I forgot that "Asteroid."

From Lays of the Turf, by Rose Grey. London, G. H. Nichols, 1863.

·:0:

IN TENNYSONIAM.

"We have had the following Stanzas forwarded us, with the signature of "A**** d T • nn ***n." Can they be from the Laureate? We have our doubts. And yet there is a wild, mystical, logical, sentimental, and general obscurity of expression throughout the lines which inclines us to think (from their internal evidence) that they could have proceeded from no other pen than the author of In Memoriam.'"

WE seek to know, and knowing seek;
We seek, we know ; and ev'ry sense
Is trembling with the great Intense
And vibrating to what we speak.

We ask too much, we seek too oft,
We know enough, and should no more:
And yet we skim through Fancy's lore
And look to earth, and not aloft.

A something comes from out the gloom;

I know it not, nor seek to know:

I only see it swell and grow,

And more than this would not presume.

Meseems, a circling void I fill,

And I, unchanged where all is change;
It seems unreal; I own it strange,
Yet nurse the thoughts I cannot kill.

I hear the oceans surging tide
Raise quiring on its carol-tune;
I watch the golden-sickled-mcon,
And clearer voices call beside.

O Sea! whose ancient ripples lie

On red-ribbed sands where sea-weeds shone ; O Moon! whose golden-sickles gone :

O Voices all! like ye I die!

From "The Month," by Albert Smith and John Leech. December, 1851.

:0:

THE BATTLE OF THE REVIEWS.

"The sonnet written by Mr. Tennyson as an introduction to the Nineteenth Century has excited universal attention and admiration. Some people, however, are understood to have complained that they cannot exactly penetrate the meaning which the poet wishes to convey. But this is entirely their own fault, as, if they had studied the whole history of the secession from the Contemporary, they would fully appreciate the charm, and the appropriateness of the Laureates' verses."

"For the benefit of these, Mr. Tennyson, with his customary kindness, has forwarded to us the following lines, which our readers will at once perceive to be an explanation of his sonnet, as clear as the latter is beautiful :"

OF old the murmurs of the Delphian shrine,
The dry leaves fluttering in the Sibyl's cave,
The mystic lights that shone upon the gems
Of Israel's pontiff, and all prophecy
Were for the few, not for the common herd.
I, who have spoken to my co-mates stanch
Foregather'd by our mast, have spoken words,
'Here in this roaring moon of daffodil

And crocus, which to them are clear as light,
Though dark as night to them that stand without.
Not dark to us. for we have trod the heights
'Of hoar high-templed faith ;' and we do know,
For we have traversed them with fearless keel,
The Seas of Death and sunless gulfs of Doubt,'
And we may win a 'golden harbour' yet.
But since we know well all that we do know,
The cunning plannings of our busy brains,
And e'en the meanings of the words we frame,
Let it content all men that stand without
That we do know exactly what we mean;
Nor let them rashly for their private ends
Construct interpretations of our speech.

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