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A Satire Anthology
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Год написания книги
2017
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And laugh’d aloud. Each sight and sound
To him was joy too deep for tears;
He sat him on the beach, and bound
A blue bandana round his ears;
And thought how, posted near his door,
His own green door on Camden Hill,
Two bands at least, most likely more,
Were mingling at their own sweet will
Verdi with Vance. And at the thought
He laugh’d again, and softly drew
That Morning Herald that he’d bought
Forth from his breast, and read it through.
Charles Stuart Calverley.
ALL-SAINTS
IN a church which is furnish’d with mullion and gable,
With altar and reredos, with gargoyle and groin,
The penitents’ dresses are sealskin and sable,
The odour of sanctity’s eau-de-Cologne.
But only could Lucifer, flying from Hades,
Gaze down on this crowd with its panniers and paints,
He would say, as he look’d at the lords and the ladies,
“Oh, where is All-Sinners’, if this is All-Saints’?”
Edmund Yates.
FAME’S PENNY TRUMPET
Affectionately dedicated to all “original researchers” who pant for “endowment.”
BLOW, blow your trumpets till they crack,
Ye little men of little souls!
And bid them huddle at your back,
Gold-sucking leeches, shoals on shoals!
Fill all the air with hungry wails —
“Reward us, ere we think or write!
Without your gold mere knowledge fails
To sate the swinish appetite!”
And, where great Plato paced serene,
Or Newton paused with wistful eye,
Rush to the chase with hoofs unclean,
And Babel-clamour of the sky!
Be yours the pay, be theirs the praise;
We will not rob them of their due,
Nor vex the ghosts of other days
By naming them along with you.
They sought and found undying fame;
They toiled not for reward nor thanks;
Their cheeks are hot with honest shame
For you, the modern mountebanks,
Who preach of justice, plead with tears
That love and mercy should abound,
While marking with complacent ears
The moaning of some tortured hound;
Who prate of wisdom – nay, forbear,
Lest Wisdom turn on you in wrath,
Trampling, with heel that will not spare,
The vermin that beset her path!
Go, throng each other’s drawing-rooms,
Ye idols of a petty clique;
Strut your brief hour in borrowed plumes,
And make your penny trumpets squeak;
Deck your dull talk with pilfered shreds
Of learning from a nobler time,
And oil each other’s little heads
With mutual flattery’s golden slime;
And when the topmost height ye gain,
And stand in glory’s ether clear,
And grasp the prize of all your pain —
So many hundred pounds a year —
Then let Fame’s banner be unfurled!
Sing pæans for a victory won!
Ye tapers, that would light the world,
And cast a shadow on the Sun;
Who still shall pour his rays sublime,
One crystal flood, from east to west,
When ye have burned your little time,
And feebly flickered into rest!
Lewis Carroll.
THE DIAMOND WEDDING
O LOVE! Love! Love! What times were those,
Long ere the age of belles and beaux,
And Brussels lace and silken hose,
When, in the green Arcadian close,
To him was joy too deep for tears;
He sat him on the beach, and bound
A blue bandana round his ears;
And thought how, posted near his door,
His own green door on Camden Hill,
Two bands at least, most likely more,
Were mingling at their own sweet will
Verdi with Vance. And at the thought
He laugh’d again, and softly drew
That Morning Herald that he’d bought
Forth from his breast, and read it through.
Charles Stuart Calverley.
ALL-SAINTS
IN a church which is furnish’d with mullion and gable,
With altar and reredos, with gargoyle and groin,
The penitents’ dresses are sealskin and sable,
The odour of sanctity’s eau-de-Cologne.
But only could Lucifer, flying from Hades,
Gaze down on this crowd with its panniers and paints,
He would say, as he look’d at the lords and the ladies,
“Oh, where is All-Sinners’, if this is All-Saints’?”
Edmund Yates.
FAME’S PENNY TRUMPET
Affectionately dedicated to all “original researchers” who pant for “endowment.”
BLOW, blow your trumpets till they crack,
Ye little men of little souls!
And bid them huddle at your back,
Gold-sucking leeches, shoals on shoals!
Fill all the air with hungry wails —
“Reward us, ere we think or write!
Without your gold mere knowledge fails
To sate the swinish appetite!”
And, where great Plato paced serene,
Or Newton paused with wistful eye,
Rush to the chase with hoofs unclean,
And Babel-clamour of the sky!
Be yours the pay, be theirs the praise;
We will not rob them of their due,
Nor vex the ghosts of other days
By naming them along with you.
They sought and found undying fame;
They toiled not for reward nor thanks;
Their cheeks are hot with honest shame
For you, the modern mountebanks,
Who preach of justice, plead with tears
That love and mercy should abound,
While marking with complacent ears
The moaning of some tortured hound;
Who prate of wisdom – nay, forbear,
Lest Wisdom turn on you in wrath,
Trampling, with heel that will not spare,
The vermin that beset her path!
Go, throng each other’s drawing-rooms,
Ye idols of a petty clique;
Strut your brief hour in borrowed plumes,
And make your penny trumpets squeak;
Deck your dull talk with pilfered shreds
Of learning from a nobler time,
And oil each other’s little heads
With mutual flattery’s golden slime;
And when the topmost height ye gain,
And stand in glory’s ether clear,
And grasp the prize of all your pain —
So many hundred pounds a year —
Then let Fame’s banner be unfurled!
Sing pæans for a victory won!
Ye tapers, that would light the world,
And cast a shadow on the Sun;
Who still shall pour his rays sublime,
One crystal flood, from east to west,
When ye have burned your little time,
And feebly flickered into rest!
Lewis Carroll.
THE DIAMOND WEDDING
O LOVE! Love! Love! What times were those,
Long ere the age of belles and beaux,
And Brussels lace and silken hose,
When, in the green Arcadian close,
Другие электронные книги автора Carolyn Wells
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