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The Wit and Humor of America, Volume IX
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Год написания книги
2019
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Through the Persian Gulf, the Red
Sea and the Med-
Iterranean—he's dead;
The Ahkoond is dead!
For the Ahkoond I mourn,
Who wouldn't?
He strove to disregard the message stern,
But he Ahkoodn't.
Dead, dead, dead;
(Sorrow Swats!)
Swats wha hae wi' Ahkoond bled,
Swats whom he hath often led
Onward to a gory bed,
Or to victory,
As the case might be,
Sorrow Swats!
Tears shed,
Shed tears like water,
Your great Ahkoond is dead!
That Swats the matter!
Mourn, city of Swat!
Your great Ahkoond is not,
But lain 'mid worms to rot.
His mortal part alone, his soul was caught
(Because he was a good Ahkoond)
Up to the bosom of Mahound.
Though earthy walls his frame surround
(Forever hallowed be the ground!)
And skeptics mock the lowly mound
And say, "He's now of no Ahkoond!"
His soul is in the skies,—
The azure skies that bend above his loved
Metropolis of Swat.
He sees with larger, other eyes,
Athwart all earthly mysteries—
He knows what's Swat.
Let Swat bury the great Ahkoond
With a noise of mourning and of lamentation!
Let Swat bury the great Ahkoond
With the noise of the mourning of the
Swattish nation!
Fallen is at length
Its tower of strength,
Its sun is dimmed ere it had nooned;
Dead lies the great Ahkoond,
The great Ahkoond of Swat
Is not!
THE CONSCIENTIOUS CURATE AND THE BEAUTEOUS BALLET GIRL
BY WILLIAM RUSSELL ROSE
Young William was a curate good,
Who to himself did say:
"I cawn't denounce the stage as vile
Until I've seen a play."
He was so con-sci-en-ti-ous
That, when the play he sought,
To grasp its entire wickedness
A front row seat he bought.
'Twas in the burlesque, you know, the burlesque of "Prince Prettypate, or the Fairy Muffin Ring," and when the ballet came on, that good young curate met his fate. She, too, was in the front row, and—
She danced like this, she danced like that,
Her feet seemed everywhere;
They scarcely touched the floor at all
But twinkled in the air.
She entrechat, her fairy pas
Filled William with delight;
She whirled around, his heart did bound—
'Twas true love at first sight.
He sought her out and married her;
Of course, she left the stage,
And in his daily parish work
With William did engage.
She helped him in his parish school,
Where ragged urchins go,
And all the places on the map
She'd point out with her toe.
And when William gently remonstrated with her, she only said: "William, when I married you I gave you my hand—my feet are still my own."
She'd point like this, she'd point like that,
The scholars she'd entrance—
"This, children, is America;
And this, you see, is France.
"A highland here, an island there,
'Round which the waters roll;
And this is Pa-ta-go-ni-ah,
And this is the frozen Pole."
Young William's bishop called one day,
Sea and the Med-
Iterranean—he's dead;
The Ahkoond is dead!
For the Ahkoond I mourn,
Who wouldn't?
He strove to disregard the message stern,
But he Ahkoodn't.
Dead, dead, dead;
(Sorrow Swats!)
Swats wha hae wi' Ahkoond bled,
Swats whom he hath often led
Onward to a gory bed,
Or to victory,
As the case might be,
Sorrow Swats!
Tears shed,
Shed tears like water,
Your great Ahkoond is dead!
That Swats the matter!
Mourn, city of Swat!
Your great Ahkoond is not,
But lain 'mid worms to rot.
His mortal part alone, his soul was caught
(Because he was a good Ahkoond)
Up to the bosom of Mahound.
Though earthy walls his frame surround
(Forever hallowed be the ground!)
And skeptics mock the lowly mound
And say, "He's now of no Ahkoond!"
His soul is in the skies,—
The azure skies that bend above his loved
Metropolis of Swat.
He sees with larger, other eyes,
Athwart all earthly mysteries—
He knows what's Swat.
Let Swat bury the great Ahkoond
With a noise of mourning and of lamentation!
Let Swat bury the great Ahkoond
With the noise of the mourning of the
Swattish nation!
Fallen is at length
Its tower of strength,
Its sun is dimmed ere it had nooned;
Dead lies the great Ahkoond,
The great Ahkoond of Swat
Is not!
THE CONSCIENTIOUS CURATE AND THE BEAUTEOUS BALLET GIRL
BY WILLIAM RUSSELL ROSE
Young William was a curate good,
Who to himself did say:
"I cawn't denounce the stage as vile
Until I've seen a play."
He was so con-sci-en-ti-ous
That, when the play he sought,
To grasp its entire wickedness
A front row seat he bought.
'Twas in the burlesque, you know, the burlesque of "Prince Prettypate, or the Fairy Muffin Ring," and when the ballet came on, that good young curate met his fate. She, too, was in the front row, and—
She danced like this, she danced like that,
Her feet seemed everywhere;
They scarcely touched the floor at all
But twinkled in the air.
She entrechat, her fairy pas
Filled William with delight;
She whirled around, his heart did bound—
'Twas true love at first sight.
He sought her out and married her;
Of course, she left the stage,
And in his daily parish work
With William did engage.
She helped him in his parish school,
Where ragged urchins go,
And all the places on the map
She'd point out with her toe.
And when William gently remonstrated with her, she only said: "William, when I married you I gave you my hand—my feet are still my own."
She'd point like this, she'd point like that,
The scholars she'd entrance—
"This, children, is America;
And this, you see, is France.
"A highland here, an island there,
'Round which the waters roll;
And this is Pa-ta-go-ni-ah,
And this is the frozen Pole."
Young William's bishop called one day,
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Удивительная книга. Как никогда актуальна сегодня. Язык и стиль автора настолько тонок, лёгок и изыскан, что легко поведёт читателя в мир героев, кото...
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