This is a modern-English version of The Battle of the Bays, originally written by Seaman, Owen. It has been thoroughly updated, including changes to sentence structure, words, spelling, and grammar—to ensure clarity for contemporary readers, while preserving the original spirit and nuance. If you click on a paragraph, you will see the original text that we modified, and you can toggle between the two versions.

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The Battle of the Bays.

**The Bay Battle.**

By the same Author

By the Same Author

IN CAP AND BELLS

In cap and bells

HORACE AT CAMBRIDGE

Horace at Cambridge

TILLERS OF THE SAND

SAND FARMERS

THE BATTLE
OF
THE BAYS

BY OWEN SEAMAN

JOHN LANE
THE BODLEY HEAD
LONDON & NEW YORK
1902

Copyright in the United States.
All Rights Reserved.

Eighth Edition

Eighth Edition

CONTENTS.

PAGE

The Bay Battle

1.	A Song of Renunciation	1
2.	For the Albums of Crowned Heads Only	5
3.	Marsyas in Hades	11
4.	The Rhyme of the Kipperling	15
5.	A Ballad of a Bun	22
6.	A Vigo-Street Eclogue	27
7.	An Ode to Spring in the Metropolis	37
8.	Yet	42
9.	Elegi Musarum	44

II.

To Mr. William Watson

III.

Alfred of England Abroad

IV.

Lilith Libifera

Future Arts

VI.

A New Bluebook

VII.

To a Boy Poet of the Decadence

VIII.

To Julia in Shooting Gear

IX.

The Connections of Love

Swords and Plowshares

XI.

To the Lord of Potsdam

XII.

From the Lord of Potsdam

XIII.

‘The Spacious Times’

I. THE BATTLE OF THE BAYS.

1.

A SONG OF RENUNCIATION.

(AFTER A. C. S.)

In the days of my season of salad,

In the days of my salad days,

When the down was as dew on my cheek,

When the soft down felt like dew on my cheek,

And for French I was bred on the ballad,

And for French, I grew up on the ballad,

For Greek on the writers of Greek,––

Then I sang of the rose that is ruddy,

Then I sang of the red rose,

Of ‘pleasure that winces and stings,’

Of ‘pleasure that hurts and bites,’

Of white women and wine that is bloody,

Of white women and wine that is red,

And similar things.

And similar stuff.

Of Delight that is dear as Desi-er,

Of Delight that is as dear as Desire,

And Desire that is dear as Delight;

And Desire that is as precious as Delight;

Of the fangs of the flame that is fi-er,

Of the fangs of the flame that is fire,

Of the bruises of kisses that bite;

Of the marks from kisses that sting;

Of embraces that clasp and that sever,

Of hugs that hold tight and then let go,

Of blushes that flutter and flee

Of blushes that flicker and vanish

Round the limbs of Dolores, whoever

Dolores may be.

Dolores might be.

I sang of false faith that is fleeting

I sang about false faith that doesn't last.

As froth of the swallowing seas,

Like the foam of the swallowing seas,

Time’s curse that is fatal as Keating

Time’s curse is as deadly as Keating.

Is fatal to amorous fleas;

Is deadly to lovelorn fleas;

Of the wanness of woe that is whelp of

Of the paleness of sorrow that is born from

The lust that is blind as a bat––

The desire that is completely blind––

By the help of my Muse and the help of

By the help of my Muse and the assistance of

The relative THAT.

Panatheist, bruiser and breaker

Panatheist, tough guy and disruptor

Of kings and the creatures of kings,

About kings and their people,

I shouted on Freedom to shake her

I shouted at Freedom to shake her.

Feet loose of the fetter that clings;

Feet free from the chains that bind;

Far rolling my ravenous red eye,

And lifting a mutinous lid,

And lifting a rebellious lid,

To all monarchs and matrons I said I

To all rulers and leaders, I said I

Would shock them––and did.

Would shock them—and did.

Thee I sang, and thy loves, O Thalassian,

Thee I sang, and your loves, O Thalassian,

O ‘noble and nude and antique!’

'O noble, bare, and ancient!'

Unashamed in the ‘fearless old fashion’

Unashamed in the 'bold old style'

Ere washing was done by the week;

Washing used to be done weekly;

When the ‘roses and rapture’ that girt you

When the ‘roses and rapture’ that surround you

Were visions of delicate vice,

Were visions of subtle vice,

And the ‘lilies and languors of virtue’

And the "lilies and laziness of goodness"

Not nearly so nice.

Not as nice.

O delights of the time of my teething,

Félise, Fragoletta, Yolande!

Foam-yeast of a youth in its seething

Foam-yeast of a young person in its boiling

On blasted and blithering sand!

On cursed and rambling sand!

Snake-crowned on your tresses and belted

Snake-crowned on your hair and belted

With blossoms that coil and decay,

With flowers that twist and wither,

Ye are gone; ye are lost; ye are melted

You are gone; you are lost; you have melted

Like ices in May.

Like ice cream in May.

Hushed now is the bibulous bubble

Hushed now is the boozy bubble

Of ‘lithe and lascivious’ throats;

Of ‘flexible and seductive’ throats;

Long stript and extinct is the stubble

Long stripped and gone is the stubble

Of hoary and harvested oats;

Of old and harvested oats;

From the sweets that are sour as the sorrel’s

From the sweets that are as sour as sorrel’s

The bees have abortively swarmed;

The bees have tried to swarm;

And Algernon’s earlier morals

And Algernon's previous morals

Are fairly reformed.

Are quite reformed.

I have written a loyal Armada,

I have written a faithful Armada,

And posed in a Jubilee pose;

And stood in a Jubilee pose;

I have babbled of babies and played a

I have talked about babies and played a

New tune on the turn of their toes;

New song on the tips of their toes;

Washed white from the stain of Astarte,

Washed white from the mark of Astarte,

My books any virgin may buy;

Anyone can purchase my books;

And I hear I am praised by a party

And I hear that a group is praising me.

Called Something Mackay!

Named Something Mackay!

When erased are the records, and rotten

When the records are erased and decayed

The meshes of memory’s net;

The threads of memory's net;

When the grace that forgives has forgotten

When the grace that forgives has been forgotten

The things that are good to forget;

Things that are better left forgotten;

When the trill of my juvenile trumpet

When the sound of my young trumpet

Is dead and its echoes are dead;

is dead and its echoes are gone;

Then the laurel shall lie on the crumpet

Then the laurel will rest on the crumpet.

And crown of my head!

2.

FOR THE ALBUMS OF CROWNED HEADS ONLY.

(AFTER SIR E. A.)

1. From the third Sa’dine Box of the eighth Gazelle of Ghazal.

Yá Yá! Best-Belovéd! I look to thy dimples and drink;

Yá Yá! Best-loved! I gaze at your dimples and savor it;

Tiddlihî! to thy cheek-pits and chin-pit, my Tulip, my Pink!

Tiddlihî! to your cheeks and chin, my Tulip, my Pink!

See my heart rises up like a bubble, and bursts in my throat,

See my heart rises like a bubble and pops in my throat,

And the dimples that draw it are Three, like the Men in a Boat.

And the dimples that create it are three, like the men in a boat.

Thrice Three are the Muses, and I that begat her should guess

Thrice Three are the Muses, and I who brought her into being should guess

That the Tenth is the Tēle-Ephēmera, Pride of the PRESS!

And the Graces were triplets till lately the fruitful Dîtî

And the Graces were triplets until recently when the fruitful Dîtî

Propagated a Fourth, and the infant was W. G.

Propagated a Fourth, and the baby was W. G.

From my post of Propinquity prone on my languorous knees

From my position of closeness, resting on my relaxed knees

My tears slither down like the Gum of Arabia’s trees.

My tears slide down like the gum from Arabia's trees.

“Am I drunk?” Heart-Entangler! By Hafiz, the Blender of Squish!

’Tis the camel that sits on the prayer-mat is drunk as a fish.

It’s the camel that’s sitting on the prayer mat who’s drunk as a fish.

As I hope for the future Uprising, deny it who can,

As I look forward to the future Uprising, who can deny it,

Two years I have worn the Blue Ribbon, come next Ramadan!

Chest-Preserver! thou knowest thine eyes, they alone, are my drink,

Chest-Preserver! You know your eyes, they alone are my drink,

Blue-black as the sloes of the Garden or Stephens his Ink.

Blue-black like the sloe berries in the garden or Stephen's ink.

On thy sugar-sweet liplets, my Cypress! I browse like a bee,

On your sweet little lips, my Cypress! I linger like a bee,

And am aching, as after a surfeit of Melon, for thee!

And I'm longing for you, like after overindulging in melon!

Low laid at thy feet––little feet––in the dust like a worm,

Low laid at your feet––little feet––in the dust like a worm,

Round the train of thy skirt, O my Peacock, I fitfully squirm.

Round the train of your skirt, oh my Peacock, I squirm restlessly.

By Allah! I swoon, I rotate, I am sickly of hue!

By God! I feel faint, I’m spinning, I look pale!

And the Infidel swore that Jam-Jam was a Temperance brew!

And the non-believer swore that Jam-Jam was a non-alcoholic drink!

Heart-Punisher! Surely I think it was jalapped with gin!

Heart-Punisher! I really think it was mixed with gin!

Aha! Paradise! I am passing! So be it! Amin!

Aha! Paradise! I'm on my way! So be it! Amen!

2. From a little thing by the Princess Onono Goawaī.

2. From a small piece by Princess Onono Goawaī.

The bulbul hummeth like a book

The bulbul sings like a book

Upon the pooh-pooh tree,

Upon the silly tree,

And now and then he takes a look

And every now and then, he takes a look.

At you and me,

At me and you.

At you and me.

Kuchi!

Kuchoo!

3. From the Sanskrit of Matabîlîwaijo.

Wind! a word with thee! thou goest where my Well-Preservéd lies

Wind! a word with you! you go where my Well-Preserved lies

On her bed of bonny briers keeping off the wicked flies.

On her bed of pretty thorns keeping away the annoying flies.

Thou shalt know her by th’ aroma of her bosom, which is musk,

You will recognize her by the scent of her body, which is musk,

And her ivories that glisten like an elephantine tusk.

And her teeth that shine like an elephant's tusk.

Seek her coral-guarded tympanum and whisper “Poppinjai!”

Seek her coral-guarded eardrum and whisper “Poppinjai!”

And (referring to her lover) kindly add “A-lal-lal-lai!”

And (referring to her lover) please add “A-lal-lal-lai!”

Breeze! thou knowest my condition; state it broadly, if you please,

Breeze! You know my situation; please state it plainly.

In a smattering of Indo-Turco-Perso-Japanese.

In a mix of Indo-Turco-Perso-Japanese.

Say my youth is flitting freely, and before the season goes

Say my youth is passing quickly, and before the season ends

From the garden of my Tûtsi I am fain to pluck a rose.

From my Tûtsi's garden, I'm eager to pick a rose.

Tell her I’m a wanton Sufí (what a Sufí really is

Tell her I’m a free-spirited Sufí (what a Sufí really is)

She may know, perhaps––I count it one of Allah’s mysteries).

She might know, maybe—I consider it one of Allah's mysteries.

Fly, O blessed Breeze, and hither bring me back the net result;

Fly, O blessed Breeze, and bring me back the end result;

Fly as flies the rude mosquito from Abdullah’s catapult.

Fly like a mosquito shot from Abdullah’s catapult.

Fly as flies the rusty rickshaw of the Kurumayasan,

Fly as quickly as the rusty rickshaw of the Kurumayasan,

When he scents a Hippopotam down the groves of Gulistan.

When he smells a hippopotamus down the groves of Gulistan.

Fly and cull, O cull, a section of my Pipkin’s purple tress;

Fly and gather, O gather, a part of my Pipkin’s purple hair;

Thou shalt find me drinking deeply with the Lords that rule the Mess;

You will find me drinking heavily with the Lords who govern the Mess;

Quaffing mead and mighty sodas with the Johnís, Lords of War,

Quaffing mead and strong sodas with the Johns, Lords of War,

Talking ‘jungle in the gun-room,’ underneath the deodar.

Talking 'jungle in the gun room,' under the cedar tree.

Hoo Tawâ! I go to join them; he that cometh late is curst,

Hooray! I'm going to join them; anyone who arrives late is out of luck.

For the Lords of War (by Akbar) have a most amazing thirst!

For the Lords of War (by Akbar) have an incredible thirst!

3.

MARSYAS IN HADES.

(AFTER SIR L. M.)

Next I saw

Next, I saw

A pensive gentleman of middle age,

A reflective middle-aged man,

That leaned against a Druid oak, his pipe

Pendent beneath his chin––a double one––

Pendent under his chin—a double one—

(Meaning the pipe); reluctant was his breath,

(Meaning the pipe); his breath was hesitant,

For he had mingled in the Morris dance

For he had joined in the Morris dance

And rested blown; but damsels in their teens,

And rested, exhausted; but young women in their teens,

All decorous and decorously clad,

All properly dressed and groomed,

Their very ankles hardly visible,

Their ankles barely visible,

Recalled his motions; while, for chaperon,

Recalled his movements; while, for a chaperone,

Good Mrs. Grundy up against the wall

Good Mrs. Grundy pressed against the wall

Beamed approbation.

Gave approval.

On his face I read

On his face, I saw

Signs of high sadness such as poets wear,

Signs of deep sadness that poets show,

Being divinely discontented with

Being spiritually dissatisfied with

The praise of jeunes filles. Even as I looked,

The praise of jeunes filles. Even as I watched,

He touched the portion of his pipe reserved

He touched the part of his pipe set aside

For minor poetry of solemn tone,

For light poetry with a serious tone,

Checking the humorous stops intended for

Checking the funny stops intended for

Electioneering posters and the like;

Campaign posters and similar items;

And therewithal he made the following

And with that, he made the following

Addition to his Songs Unsung, or else

His Unremarked Remarks:

His Unnoticed Comments:

“Dear Sir,” he said,

“Excuse my saying ‘Sir’ like that; it is

“Excuse me for saying ‘Sir’ like that; it is

Our way in Hades here among the damned;

Our path in Hades here among the cursed;

For you must know that some of us are damned

For you should know that some of us are doomed

Not only by faint praise but full applause

Not just by weak compliments but with loud cheers

Of simple critics. Take my case. In me

Behold the good knight Marsyas, M.A.,

Three times a candidate for Parliament,

And twice retired; a Justice of the Peace;

And retired twice; a Justice of the Peace;

Master of Arts (I said), and better known

In literary spheres as Master of

In literary circles as Master of

The Mediocre-Obvious; and read

The Obvious Mediocrity; and read

By boarding-misses in their myriads.

By countless boarding misses.

These dote upon me. Sweetly have I sung

These are so fond of me. I have sung sweetly.

The commonplaces of philosophy

The basics of philosophy

In common parlance.

In everyday language.

You have read perhaps

You may have read

The Cymric Triads? Poetry, they say,

Excels alone by sheer simplicity

Excels on its own by simplicity

Of language, subject, and invention. Sir!

The excellence of mine lay that way too.

The excellence of mine was that way too.

But fate is partial. Heaven’s fulgour moulds

But fate is biased. The brilliance of heaven shapes

‘To happiness some, some to unhappiness!’

‘Some go towards happiness, while others move towards unhappiness!’

(Look you, the harp was Welsh that figured forth

That excellent last line.) I ask you, Sir,

That excellent last line. I ask you, Sir,

What would you? Ill content with mortal praise,

What would you do? Unhappy with human praise,

And haply somewhat overbold, I sought

And maybe a bit too bold, I sought

To be as gods be; sought, in fact, to filch

To be like gods; in reality, tried to steal

Apollo’s bays!

Apollo's bays!

Ah me! Dear me! I fain

Ah, me! Oh dear! I wish

Would use a stronger phrase, but hardly dare,

Would use a stronger phrase, but I hardly dare,

Being, whatever else, respectable.

Being respectable, among other things.

I say I tired of vulgar homage, gift

I say I'm tired of cheap flattery, gift

Of ignorance. ‘High failure overleaps

Of ignorance. ‘High failure surpasses

The bounds of low successes’ (there, again,

The limits of small successes’ (there, again,

The harp that twanged was Welsh, but with an echo

Of Browning). Godlike it must be, I thought,

Of Browning). It must be godlike, I thought,

To climb the giddy brink; to pen, for instance,

To climb the dizzy edge; to write, for example,

An Ode to the Imperial Institute,

And fall, if bound to, from a decent height.

And fall, if necessary, from a reasonable height.

I did and missed the laurel; still I go

I tried but missed the prize; still, I keep going.

On writing; what you hear just now is blank,

On writing; what you’re hearing right now is empty,

Distinctly blank, and might be measured by

Distinctly blank, and could be measured by

The kilomètre; yet I rhyme as well

The kilometer; yet I rhyme too

A little; but it takes a lot of time,

And checks the lapse of my pellucid stream

And checks the flow of my clear stream

Not all conveniently.”

Not always convenient.

Thereat he paused,

There, he paused,

And wrung the moisture from his pipe; but I,

And squeezed the moisture out of his pipe; but I,

As one that was intolerably bored,

As someone who was incredibly bored,

Took even this occasion to be gone;

Took this opportunity to leave;

And, going, marked him how he took his stile,

And as he walked, she noticed how he carried himself,

Polished the waxen tablets, and began

Polished the wax tablets and started

To make a Royal Pæan by request,

To create a Royal Pæan upon request,

Or so he said.

Or so he claims.

4.

THE RHYME OF THE KIPPERLING.

(AFTER R. K.)

[N.B.––No nautical terms or statements guaranteed.]

Away by the haunts of the Yang-tse-boo,

Where the Yuletide runs cold gin,

Where the Christmas season serves cold gin,

And the rollicking sign of the Lord Knows Who

And the lively sign of the Lord Knows Who

Sees mariners drink like sin;

Sees sailors drink excessively;

Where the Jolly Roger tips his quart

Where the Jolly Roger toasts

To the luck of the Union Jack;

To the good fortune of the Union Jack;

And some are screwed on the foreign port,

And some are attached at the foreign port,

And some on the starboard tack;––

And some on the right side;––

Ever they tell the tale anew

Ever they tell the story again

Of the chase for the kipperling swag;

About the hunt for the kipperling loot;

How the smack Tommy This and the smack Tommy That

They broached each other like a whiskey-vat,

They approached each other like a whiskey barrel,

And the Fuzzy-Wuz took the bag.

And the Fuzzy-Wuz grabbed the bag.

Now this is the law of the herring fleet that harries the northern main,

Now this is the law of the herring fleet that hunts the northern sea,

Tattooed in scars on the chests of the tars with a brand like the brand of Cain:

Tattooed in scars on the chests of the sailors with a mark like the mark of Cain:

That none may woo the sea-born shrew save such as pay their way

That no one can win over the sea-born shrew unless they can afford to do so.

With a kipperling netted at noon of night and cured ere the crack of day.

With a kipper caught at midnight and prepared before dawn.

It was the woman Sal o’ the Dune, and the men were three to one,

It was Sal from the Dune, and the men outnumbered her three to one,

Bill the Skipper and Ned the Nipper and Sam that was Son of a Gun;

Bill the Skipper, Ned the Nipper, and Sam who was Son of a Gun;

Bill was a Skipper and Ned was a Nipper and Sam was the Son of a Gun,

Bill was the Captain, Ned was the Assistant, and Sam was quite the character.

And the woman was Sal o’ the Dune, as I said, and the men were three to one.

And the woman was Sal of the Dune, as I mentioned, and the men were three to one.

There was never a light in the sky that night of the soft midsummer gales,

There was never a light in the sky that night of the gentle midsummer breezes,

But the great man-bloaters snorted low, and the young ’uns sang like whales;

But the big talkers scoffed quietly, and the younger ones sang like whales;

And out laughed Sal (like a dog-toothed wheel was the laugh that Sal laughed she):

And out laughed Sal (her laugh was like a dog-toothed wheel):

“Now who’s for a bride on the shady side of up’ards of forty-three?”

“Now who’s looking for a bride on the shady side of over forty-three?”

And Neddy he swore by butt and bend, and Billy by bend and bitt,

And Neddy swore by butt and bend, and Billy by bend and bit,

And nautical names that no man frames but your amateur nautical wit;

And sailing terms that only your amateur sailing knowledge can come up with;

And Sam said, “Shiver my topping-lifts and scuttle my foc’s’le yarn,

And Sam said, “Shake my sails and mess up my cabin stories,

And may I be curst, if I’m not in first with a kipperling slued astarn!”

And I swear, if I'm not first with a kipper sliding behind!

Now the smack Tommy This and the smack Tommy That and the Fuzzy-Wuz smack, all three,

Now the smack Tommy This, the smack Tommy That, and the Fuzzy-Wuz smack, all three,

Their captains bold, they were Bill and Ned and Sam respectivelee.

Their brave captains were Bill, Ned, and Sam, respectively.

And it’s writ in the rules that the primary schools of kippers should get off cheap

And it’s written in the rules that the primary schools of kippers should pay less.

For a two mile reach off Foulness beach when the July tide’s at neap;

For a two-mile stretch off Foulness beach when the July tide is at its lowest;

And the lawless lubbers that lust for loot and filch the yearling stock

And the reckless thieves who crave riches and steal the young livestock

They get smart raps from the coastguard chaps with their blunderbuss fixed half-cock.

They get smart responses from the coastguard guys with their guns ready but not fully loaded.

Now Bill the Skipper and Ned the Nipper could tell green cheese from blue,

Now Bill the Skipper and Ned the Nipper could tell the difference between green cheese and blue.

And Bill knew a trick and Ned knew a trick, but Sam knew a trick worth two.

And Bill knew a trick, and Ned knew a trick, but Sam knew a trick worth two.

So Bill he sneaks a corporal’s breeks and a belt of pipeclayed hide,

So Bill sneaks a corporal's pants and a belt made of polished leather,

And splices them on to the jibsail-boom like a troopship on the tide.

And attaches them to the jibsail boom like a troopship on the tide.

And likewise Ned to his masthead he runs a rag of the Queen’s,

And just like that, Ned runs up a flag of the Queen's at his masthead,

With a rusty sword and a moke on board to bray like the Horse Marines.

With a rusty sword and a donkey on board to bray like the Horse Marines.

But Sam sniffs gore and he keeps off-shore and he waits for things to stir,

But Sam smells blood and he stays at a distance, waiting for things to happen,

Then he tracks for the deep with a long fog-horn rigged up like a bowchasér.

Then he moves into the depths with a long fog horn set up like a bow chaser.

Now scarce had Ned dropped line and lead when he spots the pipeclayed hide,

Now barely had Ned dropped the line and lead when he saw the whitewashed hide,

And the corporal’s breeks on the jibsail-boom like a troopship on the tide;

And the corporal’s pants on the jibsail-boom like a troopship on the tide;

And Bill likewise, when he ups and spies the slip of a rag of the Queen’s,

And Bill too, when he gets up and sees the tiny bit of cloth from the Queen’s,

And the rusty sword, and he sniffs aboard the moke of the Horse Marines.

And the rusty sword, and he takes a whiff of the smell on the Horse Marines' donkey.

So they each luffed sail, and they each turned tail, and they whipped their wheels like mad,

So they all adjusted their sails, turned away, and revved their engines like crazy,

When the one he said “By the Lord, it’s Ned!” and the other, “It’s Bill, by Gad!”

When one guy said, “By the Lord, it’s Ned!” and the other replied, “It’s Bill, by God!”

Then about and about, and nozzle to snout, they rammed through breach and brace,

Then around and around, and nose to nose, they pushed through the gap and support,

And the splinters flew as they mostly do when a Government test takes place.

And the splinters flew like they usually do when a government test happens.

Then up stole Sam with his little ram and the nautical talk flowed free,

Then Sam got up with his little ram, and the nautical chatter flowed freely,

And in good bold type might have covered the two front sheets of the P. M. G.

And in bold print could have covered the two front pages of the P. M. G.

But the fog-horn bluff was safe enough, where all was weed and weft,

But the foghorn bluff was safe enough, where everything was tangled and woven,

And the conger-eels were a-making meals, and the pick of the tackle left

And the conger eels were preparing meals, and the best of the gear was left

Was a binnacle-lid and a leak in the bilge and the chip of a cracked sheerstrake

Was a binnacle lid, a leak in the bilge, and a chip of a cracked sheerstrake.

And the corporal’s belt and the moke’s cool pelt and a portrait of Francis Drake.

And the corporal's belt, the donkey's cool coat, and a picture of Francis Drake.

So Sam he hauls the dead men’s trawls and he booms for the harbour-bar,

So Sam pulls in the dead men’s nets and heads for the harbor entrance,

And the splitten fry are salted dry by the blink of the morning star.

And the split fish are salted dry by the light of the morning star.

And Sal o’ the Dune was wed next moon by the man that paid his way

And Sal of the Dune got married next month to the guy who covered his expenses.

With a kipperling netted at noon of night and cured ere the crack of day;

With a small fish caught at midnight and prepared before dawn;

For such is the law of the herring fleet that bloats on the northern main,

For such is the rule of the herring fleet that swells in the northern sea,

Tattooed in scars on the chests of the tars with a brand like the brand of Cain.

Tattooed with scars on the chests of the sailors, marked like the mark of Cain.

And still in the haunts of the Yang-tse-boo

And still in the places around the Yang-tse-boo

Ever they tell the tale anew

Ever they tell the story again

Of the chase for the kipperling swag;

About the hunt for the kipperling loot;

How the smack Tommy This and the smack Tommy That

They broached each other like a whiskey-vat,

They approached each other like a whiskey barrel,

And the Fuzzy-Wuz took the bag.

And the Fuzzy-Wuz grabbed the bag.

5.

A BALLAD OF A BUN.

(AFTER J. D.)

‘I am sister to the mountains now,

‘I am now one with the mountains,

And sister to the sun and moon.’

And sister of

‘Heed not belletrist jargon.’

‘Don't pay attention to belletrist jargon.’

John Davidson.

From Whitsuntide to Whitsuntide––

From Pentecost to Pentecost––

That is to say, all through the year––

In other words, throughout the whole year––

Her patient pen was occupied

Her steady pen was busy

With songs and tales of pleasant cheer.

With songs and stories of joyful cheer.

But still her talent went to waste

But still her talent was wasted.

Like flotsam on an open sea;

Like debris on an open ocean;

She never hit the public taste,

She never captured the public's taste,

Or knew the knack of Bellettrie.

Or knew the art of storytelling.

Across the sounding City’s fogs

Through the foggy city

There hurtled round her weary head

There spun around her tired mind

The thunder of the rolling logs;

The sound of the logs rolling thunderously;

“The Critics’ Carnival!” she said.

“The Critics’ Carnival!” she exclaimed.

Immortal prigs took heaven by storm,

Immortal know-it-alls took heaven by storm,

Prigs scattered largesses of praise;

Prigs spread heaps of praise;

The work of both was rather warm;

The work of both was quite warm;

“This is,” she said, “the thing that pays!”

“This is,” she said, “what pays off!”

Sharp envy turned her wine to blood––

I mean it turned her blood to wine;

I mean it turned her blood into wine;

And this resolve came like a flood––

And this determination came rushing in like a flood––

“The cake of knowledge must be mine!

“I must have the cake of knowledge!

“I am in Eve’s predicament––

“I am in Eve's situation––

I sha’n’t be happy till I’ve sinned;

I won’t be happy until I’ve done something wrong;

Away!” She lightly rose, and sent

Away!” She got up gracefully and sent

Her scruples sailing down the wind.

Her doubts drifting away in the breeze.

She did not tear her open breast,

She didn't rip open her chest,

Nor leave behind a track of gore,

Nor leave behind a trail of blood,

But carried flannel next her chest,

But she carried flannel next to her chest,

And wore the boots she always wore.

And wore the same boots she always wore.

Across the sounding City’s din

Through the noisy city's chaos

She wandered, looking indiscreet,

She walked around, seeming obvious,

And ultimately landed in

And finally arrived at

The neighbourhood of Regent Street.

Regent Street neighborhood.

She ran against a resolute

She ran against a determined

Policeman standing like a wall;

She kissed his feet and asked the route

She kissed his feet and asked for directions.

To where they held the Carnival.

To where they hosted the Carnival.

Her strange behaviour caused remark;

Her odd behavior drew attention;

They said, “Her reason has been lost;”

They said, "She's lost her mind;"

Beside her eyes the gas was dark,

Beside her eyes, the gas was black,

But that was owing to the frost.

But that was because of the frost.

A Decadent was dribbling by;

A Decadent was passing by;

“Lady,” he said, “you seem undone;

“Lady,” he said, “you look like you’re at a loss;

You need a panacea; try

You need a solution; try

This sample of the Bodley bun.

“It is fulfilled of precious spice,

“It is filled with precious spice,

Whereof I give the recipe;––

Here’s the recipe;––

Take common dripping, stew in vice,

And serve with vertu; taste and see!

And serve with goodness; taste and see!

“And lo! I brand you on the brow

“And look! I brand you on the forehead

As kin to Nature’s lowest germ;

As related to Nature’s simplest form;

You are sister to the microbe now,

You are now like a sister to the microbe,

And second-cousin to the worm.”

And second cousin to the worm.

He gave her of his golden store,

He gave her some of his gold.

Such hunger hovered in her look;

There was such a hunger in her gaze;

She took the bun, and asked for more,

She took the bun and asked for another one,

And went away and wrote a book.

Then they left and wrote a book.

To put the matter shortly, she

To put it simply, she

Became the topic of the town;

Was the talk of the town;

In all the lists of Bellettrie

In all the lists of literature

Her name was regularly down.

Her name was frequently noted.

“We recognise,” the critics wrote,

“We acknowledge,” the critics wrote,

“Maupassant’s verve and Heine’s wit;”

“Maupassant’s energy and Heine’s humor;”

Some even made a verbal note

Some even made a note out loud.

Of Shakespeare being out of it.

About Shakespeare being excluded from it.

The seasons went and came again;

The seasons came and went again;

At length the languid Public cried:

Finally, the exhausted public exclaimed:

“It is a sorry sort of Lane

That hardly ever turns aside.

That rarely turns away.

“We want a little change of air;

“We want a little change of scenery;

On that,” they said, “we must insist;

On that, they said, "we have to insist;

We cannot any longer bear

We can’t bear it anymore.

The seedy sex-impressionist.”

The sketchy sex artist.

Across the sounding City’s din

Amid the city's noise

This rumour smote her on the ear:

This rumor reached her:

“The publishers are going in

"The publishers are moving in"

For songs and tales of pleasant cheer!”

For songs and stories of joyful times!

“Alack!” she said, “I lost the art,

“Alas!” she said, “I lost the skill,

And left my womanhood foredone,

And left my femininity undone,

When first I trafficked in the mart

When I first traded in the marketplace

All for a mess of Bodley bun.

All for a pile of Bodley buns.

“I cannot cut my kin at will,

“I cannot just sever ties with my family whenever I want,

Or jilt the protoplastic germ;

Or ditch the protoplastic germ;

I am sister to the microbe still,

I am still the sister of the microbe,

And second-cousin to the worm!”

And second cousin to the worm!

6.

A VIGO-STREET ECLOGUE.

(AFTER THE SAME)

Mæcenas. John. George. Arthur. Grant. Richard.

MÆCENAS.

PATRON.

What ho! a merry Christmas! Pff!

What’s up! Merry Christmas! Pff!

Sharp blows the frosty blizzard’s whff!

Sharp blows the frosty blizzard’s whoosh!

Pile on more logs and let them roll,

And pass the humming wassail-bowl!

And pass the festive drink!

JOHN.

The wassail-bowl! the wind is snell!

The wassail bowl! The wind is sharp!

Drinc hael! and warm the poet’s pell!

Drinks up! and warm the poet’s skin!

MÆCENAS.

Mecenas.

Richard! say something rustic.

Richard! say something country.

RICHARD.

Lo!

Look!

The customary mistletoe,

The traditional mistletoe,

Prehensile on the apple-bough,

Hanging onto the apple branch,

Invites the usual kiss.

Invites the typical kiss.

GEORGE.

And now

Cathartic hellebore should be

A cure for imbecility.

A cure for stupidity.

GRANT.

Grant.

Now holly-berries have begun

Now holly berries have begun

To blush for Women That Have Done.

To feel embarrassed for women who have acted.

ARTHUR.

The farmer sticks his stuffy goose!

MÆCENAS.

Mecenas.

Come, come, you grow a little loose;

Come on, you're getting a bit too relaxed;

That’s Michaelmas; you must remember

That's Michaelmas; you should remember.

That Michaelmas is in September!

Michaelmas is in September!

ARTHUR.

Northward the swallow sweeps his wing.

Northward, the swallow glides on his wing.

MÆCENAS.

PATRON.

No, no! the bird arrives in spring!

No, no! The bird comes in spring!

ARTHUR.

Such knowledge fits the country clown;

Such knowledge suits the country bumpkin;

We’ve better things to note in town.

We have better things to note in town.

What’s Nature’s lore compared with women’s?

What’s Nature’s knowledge compared to women’s?

JOHN.

For this enigma go to S-m-ns;

For this mystery, go to S-m-ns;

He is the–––

He is the—

ARTHUR.

Yes, I am, I know,

Yeah, I am, I know,

The devil of a Romeo!

JOHN.

Hark! hark! the waits, the precious waits!

Hush! Hush! The musicians, the treasured musicians!

Their music beats at Heaven’s gates.

Their music pounds at Heaven's gates.

MÆCENAS.

PATRON.

What Bodley wight will sing a stave

What Bodley wight will sing a verse?

To match their strumming? I would have

The manly bass of Hobbes’s voice;

The deep, masculine tone of Hobbes's voice;

But Unwin’s house is Hobbes’s choice.

George! you’ve a baritone at need.

George! You have a baritone when needed.

GEORGE.

Alas! my famous Keynotes lead

Alas! my famous Keynotes guide

To Discords.

To Discords.

JOHN.

I’ve a little thing

I have a little thing

Of Resurrection. Shall I sing?

Of Resurrection. Should I sing?

ARTHUR.

Please do; but à propos of what?

Please do; but about what?

JOHN.

I cannot say, unless de bottes.

I can't say, unless de bottes.

[Proceeds to sing a Ballad of Resurrection.

[Starts to sing a Ballad of Resurrection.

A letter-card from my dear love!

A letter card from my beloved!

O folded page of blessed blue!

O folded page of treasured blue!

She burst her many-buttoned glove,

She ripped her buttoned glove,

And ripped the perforation through.

And tore the perforation through.

“My love, to-night, about eleven,

"My love, tonight at eleven,"

With never a priest or passing-bell,

Without a priest or a ringing bell,

We die! and meet, with luck, in Heaven,

We die! and hopefully, we meet again in Heaven,

But anyhow at least in Hell!”

But at least it’s in Hell!

Her courage very nearly failed,

She almost lost her courage,

In fact she swooned along the floor;

She actually fainted and fell to the floor;

But curiosity prevailed,

But curiosity won out,

She came again and read some more.

She showed up again and read a bit more.

“There is no way but this to choose;

“There is no choice but this;

My people fain would have us wed;

My people would really like us to get married;

But you and I have later views,

But you and I have different perspectives now,

And scorn the vulgar marriage-bed.

And scorn the shabby marriage-bed.

“Far be it from me to dictate

How best to break the mortal bond,

How can we best free ourselves from this earthly connection,

But personally I may state

But I can say

That I shall use the village pond.

That I'll use the village pond.

“Be punctual, love, and let us meet

“Be on time, love, and let’s meet

For weal or woe!

For better or worse!

This line has lost a pair of feet;

This line has lost a couple of feet;

The post is now about to go.”

The post is about to leave now.

Ay, ay, she thought, to meet were well,

Ay, ay, she thought, it would be good to meet,

But if we found each other out?

But what if we discovered each other's true selves?

You, say, in Heaven, I in Hell,

You’re in Heaven, and I’m in Hell,

Or else the other way about!

Or vice versa!

Nay, there be heavy odds, she said,

Nay, there are heavy odds, she said,

One fate shall save us both or damn;

One destiny will either save us both or doom us;

We surely shall be bracketed!

We're definitely going to be grouped!

She ceased and sent a telegram.

She stopped and sent a text.

To Guy le Preux de Balthazar––

Here followed his address, and then

This pregnant message––“Right you are!”

This meaningful message––“You got it!”

She wrote it with the office pen.

She flashed the phrase along the wires,

She sent the phrase through the wires,

Then, passing by a dagger-shop,

Then, walking past a knife shop,

Bought one and wiped it on her sire’s

Bought one and wiped it on her dad’s

Best graduated razor-strop.

Best graduated razor strop.

On second thoughts, she said, I lean

To poison; true, a knife like this

To poison; it's true, a knife like this

Looks pretty, rib and rib between,

Looks nice, rib and rib in between,

But people very often miss.

But people often miss.

She sought the chemist in his place;

She went to find the pharmacist at his store;

He sampled her with searching eye;

He examined her closely with a probing gaze;

She looked him frankly in the face,

She looked him straight in the face,

And told a wicked, wicked lie.

And told a really nasty lie.

“My hen,” she said,––“a bantam blend––

“My hen,” she said, “a bantam mix—

Has hatched a poor demented chick;

A poor, crazy chick has hatched;

To ease the gentle creature’s end

To help the gentle creature's end

I want a pint of arsenic.”

The chemist deemed the order large,

The chemist considered the order significant,

But said no thing and drew the drug;

But said nothing and took out the drug;

She seized and bore the sacred charge

She took on and carried the sacred responsibility.

Before her in a pewter mug.

In front of her was a pewter mug.

At tea she faced her fell intent;

At tea, she confronted her wicked intention;

Dressing, she lightly laughed at doom;

As she got ready, she chuckled softly at the idea of doom;

Dined with the family, and spent

The evening in the drawing-room.

The evening in the living room.

At ten the early rooster crowed;

At ten, the early rooster crowed;

Ten-thirty struck and she was gone;

It was 10:30, and she was gone;

She crossed alone the naked road;

She walked alone down the empty road;

The road had really nothing on.

The road had nothing to offer.

Her golden braids hung down her back;

Her golden braids flowed down her back;

Within her side she felt a stitch;

She felt a sharp pain in her side;

And once the moon behind the wrack

And once the moon behind the wreck

Came out and caught her in a ditch.

Came out and found her in a ditch.

Once ere she reached the trysting-pear

Once before she reached the meeting place

She broke the slumber of the rooks;

She woke the rooks from their sleep;

She wrung her hands, she tore her hair,

She twisted her hands and pulled at her hair,

And did as people do in books.

And did what people usually do in stories.

From out her cloak she fetched the drug––

From her cloak, she pulled out the drug––

“Thy health, my love, in Heaven or Hell!”

“Your health, my love, in Heaven or Hell!”

Deep to the dregs she drained the mug

Deep to the bottom, she drained the mug.

And dropped it, feeling far from well.

And dropped it, feeling really unwell.

Upon the punctual stroke her fond

Upon the timely stroke her fond

True lover kept the oath he swore;

The true lover kept the promise he made;

Plunged softly in the village pond,

Plunged gently into the village pond,

But feeling chilly swam ashore.

But feeling cold swam ashore.

Next morning in the judgment-place

Next morning in court

Two pallid prisoners were tried;

Two pale prisoners were tried;

Their guilt was plain; it was a case

Their guilt was obvious; it was a situation

Of ineffective suicide.

Of unsuccessful suicide.

Yestreen a member of the Force

Yestreen, a member of the Force

Had found a woman deadly sick,

Had found a woman seriously ill,

Lamenting, with sincere remorse,

Feeling genuine regret,

An overdose of arsenic.

An arsenic overdose.

Another heard upon his beat

Another heard on his route

One darkly muttering, “This is Hell!”

His weed was wet from head to feet;

His weed was soaked from top to bottom;

He put him in a common cell.

He put him in a regular cell.

The Justice chewed the evidence;

The judge examined the evidence;

His eyes were soft, his lips were bland;

His eyes were gentle, his lips were plain;

It was, he said, a first offence;

It was, he said, a first offense;

He merely gave a reprimand.

He just gave a warning.

“Go free, my poppets, keep the laws,

“Go free, my darlings, obey the laws,

And get ye wed at once,” said he;

“And get married right away,” he said;

The court indulged in rude applause;

The court broke into rude applause;

The usher cleared the gallery.

The usher cleared the audience.

The prison-warder, deeply stirred,

The prison guard, deeply moved,

Approached the culprits at the bar;

Went up to the people responsible at the bar;

Then haled them forth without a word

Then led them out without saying a word.

Towards the nearest Registrar.

To the nearest Registrar.

RICHARD.

John, you surpass yourself. Next week

John, you outdo yourself. Next week

Expect a flattering critique!

Expect a positive review!

JOHN.

The waits are whining in the cold

The waits are complaining in the cold.

With clavicorn and clarigold;

They play them like a crumpled horn,

The clarigold and clavicorn.

7.

AN ODE TO SPRING IN THE METROPOLIS.

(AFTER R. LE G.)

Is this the Seine?

Is this the Seine River?

And am I altogether wrong

Am I completely wrong?

About the brain,

About the mind,

Dreaming I hear the British tongue?

Dreaming, I hear the British accent?

Dear Heaven! what a rhyme!

OMG! What a rhyme!

And yet ’tis all as good

And yet it’s all just as good

As some that I have fashioned in my time,

As some that I've created in my time,

Like bud and wood;

And on the other hand you couldn’t have a more precise or neater

And on the other hand, you couldn’t have something more precise or tidier.

Metre.

Meter.

Is this, I ask, the Seine?

Is this the Seine, I ask?

And yonder sylvan lane,

And over there, the woodland lane,

Is it the Bois?

Ma foi!

Oh my!

Comme elle est chic, my Paris, my grisette!

How stylish you are, my Paris, my little working girl!

Yet may I not forget

Yet I may not forget

That London still remains the missus

That London still remains the boss.

Of this Narcissus.

No, no! ’tis not the Seine!

No, no! It's not the Seine!

It is the artificial mere

It is the fake lake

That permeates St. James’s Park.

That fills St. James’s Park.

The air is bosom-shaped and clear;

The air is clear and smooth;

And, Himmel! do I hear the lark,

And, wow! Do I hear the lark,

The good old Shelley-Wordsworth lark?

The classic Shelley-Wordsworth reference?

Even now, I prithee,

Even now, please,

Hark

Listen

Him hammer

Him hammering

On Heaven’s harmonious stithy,

On Heaven’s harmonious anvil,

Dew-drunken––like my grammar!

Dew-drunk––like my grammar!

And O the trees!

And oh, the trees!

Beneath their shade the hairless coot

Beneath their shade, the bald coot

Waddles at ease,

Waddles comfortably,

Hushing the magic of his gurgling beak;

Hushing the magic of his bubbling beak;

Or haply in Tree-worship leans his cheek

Or maybe he rests his cheek against a tree in worship.

Against their blind

Against their ignorance

And hoary rind,

And old crust,

Observing how the sap

Watching how the sap

Comes humming upwards from the tap-

Comes humming up from the faucet—

Root!

Thrice happy, hairless coot!

Three times happy, hairless coot!

And O the sun!

And oh, the sun!

See, see, he shakes

Look, he’s shaking

His big red hands at me in wanton fun!

His big red hands reached out to me in playful mischief!

A glorious image that! it might be Blake’s;

A glorious image that! It could be Blake's;

As in my critical capacity I took occasion to remark elsewhere,

As I've noted in my analysis before,

When heaping praise

When giving compliments

On this exceptionally happy phrase,

On this incredibly happy phrase,

Although I made it up myself.

Although I came up with it myself.

But I and Blake, we really constitute a pair,

But Blake and I really make a great duo,

Each being rather like an artless woodland elf.

Each one is similar to a simple forest fairy.

And O the stars! I cannot say

And oh, the stars! I can't say

I see a star just now,

I see a star right now,

Not at this time of day;

Not right now.

But anyhow

But anyway

The stars are all my brothers;

(This verse is shorter than the others).

O Constitution Hill!

(This verse is shorter still).

This verse is even shorter.

Ah! London, London in the Spring!

Ah! London, London in the spring!

You are, you know you are,

So full of curious sights,

So full of interesting sights,

Especially by nights.

Especially at night.

From gilded bar to gilded bar

From fancy bar to fancy bar

Youth goes his giddy whirl,

Youth spins in a daze,

His heart fulfilled of Music-Hall,

His heart full of music hall,

His arm fulfilled of girl!

His arm is full of girl!

I frankly call

I honestly call

That last effect a perfect pearl!

That last effect, a perfect pearl!

I know it’s

I know it's

Not given to many poets

To frame so fair a thing

To create something so beautiful

As this of mine, of Spring.

As this is mine, of Spring.

Indeed, the world grows Lilliput

Indeed, the world gets smaller.

All but

All except

A precious few, the heirs of utter godlihead,

A rare few, the heirs of complete divinity,

Who wear the yellow flower of blameless bodlihead!

Who wears the yellow flower of innocent beauty!

And they, with Laureates dead, look down

And they, with the deceased Laureates, look down

On smaller fry unworthy of the crown,

On smaller fish unworthy of the crown,

Mere mushroom men, puff-balls that advertise

Mere mushroom guys, puffballs that promote

And bravely think to brush the skies.

And boldly aim to reach the skies.

Great is advertisement with little men!

Moi, qui vous parle, L- G-ll--nn-,

Me, the one talking to you, L- G-ll--nn-,

Have told them so;

Told them so;

I ought to know!

I should know!

8.

YET.

(AFTER F. E. W.)

Sing me a drawing-room song, darling!

Sing me a song for the living room, sweetheart!

Sing by the sunset’s glow;

Sing in the sunset glow;

Now while the shadows are long, darling;

Now that the shadows are long, darling;

Now while the lights are low;

Now that the lights are dim;

Something so chaste and so coy, darling!

Something so innocent and so shy, darling!

Something that melts the chest;

Something that warms the heart;

Milder than even Molloy, darling!

Milder than even Molloy, babe!

Better than Bingham’s best.

Better than Bingham's finest.

Sing me a drawing-room song, darling!

Sing me a song for the living room, darling!

Sing as you sang of yore,

Sing like you did before,

Lisping of love that is strong, darling!

Lisping about love that is strong, darling!

Strong as a big barn-door;

Strong as an ox;

Let the true knight be bold, darling!

Let the true knight be brave, darling!

Let him arrive too late;

Let him show up too late;

Stick in a bower of gold, darling!

Stick in a golden shelter, sweetheart!

Stick in a golden gate.

Put in a golden gate.

Sing me a drawing-room song, darling!

Sing me a song for the living room, sweetheart!

Bear on the angels’ wings

Bear on the angels' wings

Children that know no wrong, darling!

Children who know no wrongdoing, darling!

Little cherubic things!

Little angelic beings!

Sing of their sunny hair, darling!

Get them to die in June;

Wake, if you can, on the stair, darling!

Wake up, if you can, on the stair, sweetheart!

Echoes of tiny shoon.

Echoes of tiny shoes.

Sing me a drawing-room song, darling!

Sing me a song for the living room, darling!

Sentiment may be false,

Sentiment might be misleading,

Yet it will worry along, darling!

Yet it will keep going, darling!

Set to a tum-tum valse;

Set to a lively waltz;

See that the verses are few, darling!

See that the verses are short, babe!

Keep to the rule of three;

Stick to the rule of three;

That will be better for you, darling!

That will be better for you, sweetheart!

Certainly better for me.

Definitely better for me.

9.

ELEGI MUSARUM.

(AFTER W. W.)

[To Mr. St. Loe Strachey.]

Dawn of the year that emerges, a fine and ebullient Phœnix,

Dawn of the year that rises, a vibrant and enthusiastic Phoenix,

Forth from the cinders of Self, out of the ash of the Past;

From the ashes of the past, emerging from the remnants of the self;

Year that discovers my Muse in the thick of purpureal sonnets,

Year that finds my Muse in the midst of purple sonnets,

Slating diplomacy’s sloth, blushing for ‘Abdul the d----d’;

Criticizing diplomacy's sluggishness, feeling embarrassed for ‘Abdul the d----d’;

Year that in guise of a herald declaring the close of the tourney

Year that appeared as a messenger announcing the end of the tournament

Clears the redoubtable lists hot with the Battle of Bays;

Clears the daunting records heated from the Battle of Bays;

Binds on the brows of the Tory, the highly respectable Austin,

Laurels that Phœbus of old wore on the top of his tuft;

Laurels that Phœbus used to wear on the top of his hair;

Leaving the locks of the hydra, of Bodley the numerous-headed,

Leaving the locks of the hydra, of Bodley the many-headed,

Clean as the chin of a boy, bare as a babe in a bath;

As clean as a boy's chin, as bare as a baby in a bath;

Year that––I see in the vista the principal verb of the sentence

Year that––I see in the view the main verb of the sentence

Loom as a deeply-desired bride that is late at the post––

Loom like a highly sought-after bride who is running late to the ceremony––

Year that has painfully tickled the lachrymal nerves of the Muses,

Year that has painfully teased the lachrymal nerves of the Muses,

Giving Another the gift due to Respectfully Theirs;––

Giving someone a gift out of respect for them;––

Hinc illæ lacrimæ! Ah, reader! I grossly misled you;

That’s why those tears! Ah, reader! I really misled you;

See, it was false; there is no principal verb after all!

Look, it was a lie; there isn’t any main verb after all!

His likewise is the anguish, who followed with soft serenading

His pain is the same as well, as he followed with gentle serenades.

Me as the tremulous tide tracks the meandering moon;

I am like the unsteady tide following the wandering moon;

Climbing as Romeo clomb, peradventure by help of a flower-pot,

Climbing like Romeo did, perhaps with the help of a flower pot,

Where in her balconied bower lay, inexpressibly coy,

Where in her balcony hideaway lay, incredibly shy,

Juliet, not as the others, supinely, insanely erotic,

Juliet, unlike the others, passively and wildly sensual,

Pallid and yellow of hue, very degenerate souls,

Pale and yellowish in color, very weakened souls,

Rioting round with the rapture of palpitant ichorous ardour,

Rioting with the excitement of vibrant, rapid passion,

But an immaculate maid, ‘one,’ you may say, ‘of the best’!

But a flawless maid, "one," you might say, "of the best"!

His, I repeat, is the anguish––my journalist, eulogist critic,

His, I repeat, is the anguish—my journalist, eulogist critic,

Strachey, the generous judge, Saintly unlimited Loe!

Strachey, the kind judge, Saintly unlimited Loe!

Vainly the stolid Spectator, bewildered with fabulous bow-wows,

Vainly the stolid Spectator, confused by incredible barking,

Sick with a surfeit of dog, ran me for all it was worth!

Overwhelmed by too many dogs, it exhausted me completely!

Vainly––if I may recur to a metaphor drawn from the ocean,

Vainly—if I can go back to a metaphor from the ocean,

Long (in a figure of speech) tied to the tail of the moon––

Vainly, O excellent organ! with ample and aqueous unction

Vainly, O wonderful instrument! with plenty of moist and rich oil

Once, as a rule, in a week, ‘cleansing the Earth of her stain’;

Once a week, 'cleansing the Earth of its blemish';

(Here you will possibly pardon the natural scion of poets,

(Here you will possibly forgive the natural offspring of poets,

Proud with humility’s pride, spoiling a passage from Keats)––

Proud with the pride of humility, quoting a passage from Keats)––

Vainly your voice on the ears of impregnable Laureate-makers,

Vainly your voice falls on the ears of untouchable winners,

Rang as the sinuous sea rings on a petrified coast;

Rang like the winding waves crash against a rocky shore;

Vainly your voice with a subtle and slightly indelicate largess,

Vainly your voice with a subtle and slightly inappropriate generosity,

Broke on an obdurate world hymning the advent of Me;

Came into a stubborn world singing the arrival of Me;

When from the ‘commune of air,’ from ‘the exquisite fabric of Silence,’

When from the 'community of air,' from 'the beautiful fabric of Silence,'

I, a superior orb, burst into exquisite print!

I, a magnificent sphere, burst into beautiful text!

What shall we say for your greeting, O good horticultural Alfred!

What should we say for your greeting, O kind gardener Alfred!

Royalty’s darling and pride, crown of the Salisbury Press?

The pride and joy of royalty, the crown of the Salisbury Press?

Now when the negligent Public, in search of a subject for dinner,

Now when the careless public, looking for something to talk about over dinner,

Asks for the names of your books, Lord! what a boom there will be!

Asks for the titles of your books, Lord! What a sensation that will be!

Hoarse in Penbryn are the howlings that rise for the hope of the Cymri;

Hoarse in Penbryn are the cries that rise for the hope of the Welsh;

Over her Algernon’s head Putney composes a dirge;

Over Algernon's head, Putney writes a mournful song;

Edwin anathematises politely in various lingos;

Edwin politely curses in different languages;

Davidson ruminates hard over a Ballad of Hell;

Davidson thinks deeply about a Ballad of Hell;

Fondly Le Gallienne fancies how pretty the Delphian laurels

Fondly, Le Gallienne imagines how beautiful the Delphian laurels are.

Would have appeared on his own hairy and passionate poll;

Would have shown up on his own hairy and passionate head;

I, imperturbably careless, untainted of jealousy’s jaundice,

I, effortlessly carefree, untouched by the bitterness of jealousy,

Simply regret the profane contumely done to the Muse;

Just feel sorry for the disrespect shown to the Muse;

Done to the Muse in the person of Me, her patron, that never

Licked Ministerial lips, dusted the boots of the Court!

Heckling Ministerial lips, polished the boots of the Court!

Surely I hear through the noisy and nauseous clamour of Carlton

Surely I can hear through the loud and disgusting noise of Carlton.

Sobs of the sensitive Nine heave upon Helicon’s hump!

The sensitive Nine are sobbing on Helicon’s peak!

II. TO MR. WILLIAM WATSON.

[On writing the first instalment of The Purple East, a ‘fine sonnet which it is our privilege to publish.’––Westminster Gazette, Dec. 16, 1895.]

[On writing the first installment of The Purple East, a ‘great sonnet that we are honored to publish.’––Westminster Gazette, Dec. 16, 1895.]

Dear Mr. Watson, we have heard with wonder,

Dear Mr. Watson, we have heard with amazement,

Not all unmingled with a sad regret,

Not all without a touch of sad regret,

That little penny blast of purple thunder,

That small burst of purple thunder,

You issued in the Westminster Gazette;

You published in the Westminster Gazette;

The Editor describes it as a sonnet;

The Editor calls it a sonnet;

I wish to make a few remarks upon it.

I’d like to say a few things about it.

Never, O craven England, nevermore

Never, O cowardly England, never again

Prate thou of generous effort, righteous aim!

Speak of generous effort, noble purpose!

So ran the lines, and left me very sore,

So went the lines, and left me feeling really hurt,

For you may guess my heart was hot with shame:

Because you can probably tell that I was filled with shame:

Even thus early in your ample song

Even this early in your generous song

I felt that something must be really wrong.

I felt like something must be seriously wrong.

But when I learned that our ignoble nation

But when I found out that our shameful nation

Lay sleeping like a log, and lay alone,

Lay sleeping soundly and lay alone,

Propping, according to your information,

Propping, based on your info,

Abdul the Damned on his infernal throne,

Abdul the Damned on his hellish throne,

O then I scattered to the wind my fears,

O then I scattered my fears to the wind,

And nearly went and joined the Volunteers.

And almost went and joined the Volunteers.

But just in time the thought occurred to me

But just in time, the thought came to me.

That England commonly commits her course

England often chooses its path

To men as good at heart as even we

To men who are as good-hearted as we are

And possibly much richer in resource;

And maybe a lot wealthier in resources;

That we had better mind our own affairs

That we should focus on our own business.

And leave these gentlemen to manage theirs.

And let these guys handle their own.

It further seemed a work uncommon light

It also seemed like an unusually light piece of work.

For one like you, a casual civilian,

For someone like you, an everyday person,

To order half a hemisphere to fight

And slaughter one another by the million,

And kill each other by the millions,

While you yourself, a paper Galahad,

While you, a fake Galahad,

Spilt ink for blood upon a blotting-pad.

Spilled ink for blood on a blotting pad.

The days are gone when sword and poet’s pen

The days are long gone when sword and poet’s pen

One gallant gifted hand was wont to wield;

One brave, talented hand was accustomed to wield;

When Taillefer in face of Harold’s men

When Taillefer faced Harold's troops

Rode foremost on to Senlac’s fatal field,

Rode first onto Senlac’s deadly battlefield,

And tossed his sword in air, and sang a spell

And threw his sword in the air and sang a chant.

Of Roland’s battle-song, and, singing, fell.

Of Roland’s battle song, and while singing, fell.

The days are gone when troubadours by dozens

The days are gone when troubadours by the dozens

Polished their steel and joined the stout crusade,

Shined their steel and joined the strong fight,

Strumming, in memory of pretty cousins,

Strumming, in memory of my lovely cousins,

The Girl I left behind Me, on parade;

The Girl I Left Behind Me, on display;

They often used to rattle off a ballad in

They often used to recite a ballad in

The intervals of punishing the Saladin.

Time to punish Saladin.

In later times, of course I know there’s Byron,

In later times, of course I know there's Byron,

Who by his own report could play the man;

Who by his own account could act like a real man;

I seem to see him with his Lesbian lyre on,

I think I can see him with his lyre, styled in a way that's inspired by the LGBTQ+ community,

And brandishing a useful yataghan;

And wielding a handy yataghan;

Though never going altogether strong, he

Though he never fully recovered, he

Managed at least to die at Missolonghi.

Managed to die at Missolonghi at least.

No more the trades of lute and lance are linked,

No longer are the trades of lute and lance connected,

Though doubtless under many martial bonnets

Even though there are surely many military hats

Brave heads there be that harbour the distinct

Brave people exist who hold the unique

Belief that they can manufacture sonnets;

Belief that they can create sonnets;

But on the other hand a bard is not

But on the other hand, a bard is not

Supposed to run the risk of being shot.

Expected to risk getting shot.

Then since your courage lacks a crucial test,

Then since your courage hasn't been truly tested,

And politics were never your profession,

And politics were never your job,

Dear Mr. Watson, won’t you find it best

Dear Mr. Watson, wouldn't you agree that it's best

To temper valour with a due discretion?

Should we balance bravery with proper judgment?

That so, despite the fond Spectator’s booming,

That so, despite the fond Spectator's booming,

Above your brow the bays may yet be blooming.

Above your forehead, the laurels might still be blossoming.

III. ENGLAND’S ALFRED ABROAD.

[M. Alfred Austin, poète-lauréat d’Angleterre, vient d’arriver à Nice, où il a devancé la Reine. Il était, hier, dans les jardins de Monte-Carlo. Sera-ce sous notre ciel qu’il écrira son premier poème?––Menton-Mondain.]

[M. Alfred Austin, the Poet Laureate of England, has just arrived in Nice, where he got there ahead of the Queen. Yesterday, he was in the gardens of Monte-Carlo. Will it be under our sky that he writes his first poem?––Menton-Mondain.]

Wrong? are they wrong? Of course they are,

Wrong? Are they wrong? Of course they are.

I venture to reply;

I dare to respond;

For I bore ‘my first’ (and, I hope, my worst)

For I endured 'my first' (and, I hope, my worst)

A month or so gone by;

About a month has gone by;

And I can’t repeat it under this

And I can't say it again under this

Or any other sky.

What! has the public never heard

What! Has the public never heard

In these benighted climes

In these dark times

That nascent note of my Laureate throat,

That early hint of my award-winning voice,

That fluty fitte of rhymes

That flute-like fit of rhymes

Which occupied about a half

Which took up about half

A column of the Times?

A column of the Times?

They little know what they have lost,

They hardly realize what they’ve lost,

Nor what a carnal beano

Nor what a wild party

They might have spent in the thick of Lent

They might have spent the height of Lent

If only Daniel Leno

Had sung them Jameson’s Ride and knocked

The Monaco Casino.

Monaco Casino.

Some day the croupiers’ furtive eyes

Some day the croupiers’ sly eyes

Will all be wringing wet;

Will all be soaking wet;

Even the Prince will hardly mince

Even the Prince will hardly hold back.

The language of regret

At entertaining unawares

At entertaining unaware

The famed Alhambra Pet.

The famous Alhambra Pet.

But still not quite incognito

But still not fully incognito

I mark the moving scene,

I note the changing scene,

In a tepid zone where (like my own)

In a lukewarm area where (like my own)

The palms are ever green,

The palms are always green,

And find myself reported as

A herald of the Queen.

A messenger of the Queen.

Here where aloft the heavens are blue,

Here where the sky is blue above,

And blue the seas below,

And the seas below are blue,

I roll my eye and fondly try

I roll my eyes and affectionately try

To get the rhymes to go,

To keep the rhymes smooth,

As I pace The Garden that I love,

As I walk through The Garden that I love,

Composing all I know.

Creating everything I know.

But when my poet-pinions droop,

But when my poetic wings droop,

And all the air is wan,

And all the air is dull,

I enter in to the courts of sin

I step into the courts of sin.

And put a louis on,

And put on a louis,

And hold my heart and look again,

And take my heart and look again,

And lo! the thing is gone!

And look! It's vanished!

Wrong? is it wrong? To baser crafts

Wrong? Is it wrong? To lesser crafts

Has England’s Alfred pandered,

Has England’s Alfred catered,

Who once to the sign of Phœbus’ shrine

Who once to the sign of Phoebus' shrine

With awesome gait meandered,

Strolled with an awesome gait,

And ever wrote in the cause of right

And always wrote in support of what is right.

According to his Standard?

According to his standard?

Nay! this is life! to take a turn

Nay! This is life! To take a turn

On Fortune’s captious crust;

On Fortune’s fickle edge;

To pluck the day in a human way

To seize the day in a human way

Like men of common dust;

Like ordinary guys;

But O! if England’s only bard

But oh! if England's only poet

Should absolutely bust!

Should definitely break!

A laureate never borrows on

A laureate never borrows against

His coming quarter’s pay;

This quarter’s pay;

And I mean to stop or ever I pop

And I intend to stop before I lose it.

My crown of peerless bay;

My unmatched bay crown;

So I’ll take the next rapide to Nice,

So I’ll take the next rapide train to Nice,

And the ’bus to Cimiez.

And the bus to Cimiez.

Mentone, Feb., 1896.

Mentone, Feb. 1896.

IV. LILITH LIBIFERA.

Exhumed from out the inner cirque of Hell

Exhumed from the inner circle of Hell

By kind permission of the Evil One,

With the devil's consent,

Behold her devilish presentment, done

Check out her devilish look, done

By Master Aubrey’s weird unearthly spell!

By Master Aubrey's strange, otherworldly charm!

This is that Lady known as Jezebel,

This is the lady known as Jezebel,

Or Lilith, Eden’s woman-scorpion,

Or Lilith, Eden's woman-scorpion,

Libifera, that is, that takes the bun,

Libifera, meaning, the one that takes the bun,

Borgia, Vivien, Cussed Damosel.

Borgia, Vivien, Cursed Damsel.

Hers are the bulging lips that fairly break

Hers are the full lips that almost break

The pumpkin’s heart; and hers the eyes that shame

The pumpkin's heart; and hers the eyes that embarrass

The wanton ape that culls the cocoa-nuts.

The carefree monkey that picks the coconuts.

Even such the yellow-bellied toads that slake

Even the yellow-bellied toads that quench

Nocturnally their amorous-ardent flame

Nighttime love sparks

In the wan waste of weary water-butts.

In the empty, exhausting water barrels.

V. ARS POSTERA.

[On an advertisement of A Comedy of Sighs.]

Mr. Aubrey Beer de Beers,

You’re getting quite a high renown;

You’re gaining a lot of fame;

Your Comedy of Leers, you know,

Is posted all about the town;

Is shared all over the town;

This sort of stuff I cannot puff,

This kind of stuff I can't handle,

As Boston says, it makes me ‘tired’;

As Boston says, it makes me 'exhausted';

Your Japanee-Rossetti girl

Your Japanese Rossetti girl

Is not a thing to be desired.

It’s not something to be wanted.

Mr. Aubrey Beer de Beers,

New English Art (excuse the chaff)

New English Art (forgive the fluff)

Is like the Newest Humour style,

Is like the latest humor style,

It’s not a thing at which to laugh;

It’s not something to laugh about;

But all the same, you need not maim

But still, you shouldn't hurt.

A beauty reared on Nature’s rules;

A beauty raised according to Nature’s rules;

A simple maid au naturel

A simple maid in the nude

Is worth a dozen spotted ghouls.

Is worth a dozen spotted ghosts.

Mr. Aubrey Beer de Beers,

You put strange phantoms on our walls,

You put weird shadows on our walls,

If not so daring as To-day’s,

If not as daring as today’s,

Nor quite so Hardy as St. Paul’s;

Not as tough as St. Paul’s;

Her sidelong eyes, her giddy guise,––

Her sideways glance, her playful appearance,––

Grande Dame Sans Merci she may be;

Grande Dame Sans Merci she might be;

But there is that about her throat

But there’s something about her throat

Which I myself don’t care to see.

Which I personally don’t want to see.

Mr. Aubrey Beer de Beers,

The Philistines across the way,

The Philistines over there,

They say her lips––well, never mind

They say her lips—well, forget it.

Precisely what it is they say;

Exactly what they mean;

But I have heard a drastic word

But I've heard a drastic word

That scarce is fit for dainty ears;

That is hardly suitable for delicate ears;

But then their taste is not the kind

But their taste isn't the kind

Of taste to flatter Beer de Beers.

To compliment the taste of Beer de Beers.

Bless me, Aubrey Beer de Beers,

On fair Elysian lawns apart

On beautiful Elysian lawns apart

Burd Helen of the Trojan time

Smiles at the latest mode of Art;

Laughs at the latest trend in Art;

Howe’er it be, it seems to me,

How it is, it seems to me,

It’s not important to be New;

It’s not important to be new;

New Art would better Nature’s best,

New Art would improve upon Nature’s finest,

But Nature knows a thing or two.

But Nature understands a thing or two.

Aubrey, Aubrey Beer de Beers,

Aubrey, Aubrey Beer of Beers,

Are there no models at your gate,

Are there no cars at your gate,

Live, shapely, possible and clean?

Live well, fit, and clean?

Or won’t they do to ‘decorate’?

Or will they not do it to 'decorate'?

Then by all means bestrew your scenes

Then by all means decorate your scenes

With half the lotuses that blow,

With half the lotuses that bloom,

Pothooks and fishing-lines and things,

Pothooks, fishing lines, and stuff,

But let the human woman go!

But let her be free!

VI. A NEW BLUE BOOK.

[It was hardly to be supposed that the young decadents who once rioted ... in the Yellow Book would be content to remain in obscurity after the metamorphosis of that periodical and the consequent exclusion of themselves. The Savoy, we learn, to be edited by Mr. Arthur Symons and Mr. Aubrey Beardsley, will appear early in December.––Globe.]

[It’s hard to imagine that the young rebels who once created chaos in the Yellow Book would be okay with staying in the shadows after that magazine changed and they were pushed out. The Savoy, edited by Mr. Arthur Symons and Mr. Aubrey Beardsley, is set to launch in early December.––Globe.]

‘The world’s great age begins anew,’

‘The world’s great age starts over again,’

Cold virtue’s weeds are cast;

Cold virtue's weeds are gone;

Our heads are light, our tales are blue,

Our minds are carefree, our stories are sad,

And things are moving fast;

And things are changing quickly;

And no one any longer quarrels

And no one debates anymore

With anybody else’s morals.

With anyone else's morals.

A racier journal stamps its pages

A more daring journal stamps its pages

With Beardsleys braver far;

With Beardsleys much braver;

A bolder Editor engages

A daring Editor engages

To shame the morning star,

To outshine the morning star,

On London Nights, not near so chilly,

On London Nights, not quite so cold,

Sampling a shadier Piccadilly.

Sampling a sketchier Piccadilly.

Satyr and Faun their late repose

Satyr and Faun their recent rest

Now burst like anything;

Now burst like crazy;

New Mænads, turning sprightlier toes,

New Mænads, dancing lively,

Enjoy a jauntier fling;

Enjoy a more playful fling;

With lustier lips old Pan shall play

With livelier lips, old Pan will play

Drain-pipes along the sewer’s way.

Drain pipes along the sewer.

Priapus, wrongly left for dead,

Priapus, mistakenly thought to be dead,

Is dead no more than Pan;

Silenus rises from his bed

Silenus gets out of bed

And hiccups like a man;

And hiccups like a dude;

There’s something rather chaste (between us)

There’s something pretty innocent (between us)

About Priapus and Silenus.

O cease to brew your Bodley pap

O stop making your Bodley brew

Whence all the spice is spent!

Where all the spice has gone!

The splendour of its primal tap

The beauty of its original source

Was gone when Aubrey went;

Was gone when Aubrey arrived;

Behold that subtle Sphinx prepare

Check out that subtle Sphinx prepare

Fresh liquors fit to lift your hair.

Fresh spirits ready to raise your spirits.

Another Magazine shall rise

Another Magazine will rise

And paint the palsied town,

And paint the shaky town,

Of humbler hue, of simpler size,

Of a more modest color, of a simpler size,

And sold at half a crown;

And sold for two shillings and sixpence;

Please note the pregnant brand––Savoy,

Please note the brand––Savoy,

And don’t confuse with saveloy.[*]

And don’t confuse it with saveloy.__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

FOOTNOTES:

[*]

Saveloy, a kind of sausage; French cervelas, from its containing brains.––Skeat.

Saveloy, a type of sausage; French cervelas, because it contains brains.––Skeat.

VII. TO A BOY-POET OF THE DECADENCE.

[Showing curious reversal of epigram––‘La nature l’a fait sanglier; la civilisation l’a réduit à l’état de cochon.’]

[Showing curious reversal of epigram––‘Nature made him a wild boar; civilization has reduced him to a pig.’]

But my good little man, you have made a mistake

But my good little man, you've made a mistake.

If you really are pleased to suppose

If you truly believe

That the Thames is alight with the lyrics you make;

That the Thames is shining with the lyrics you create;

We could all do the same if we chose.

We could all do the same if we wanted to.

From Solomon down, we may read, as we run,

From Solomon onward, we can read as we go,

Of the ways of a man and a maid;

About the ways of a man and a woman;

There is nothing that’s new to us under the sun,

There’s nothing new to us under the sun,

And certainly not in the shade.

And definitely not in the shade.

The erotic affairs that you fiddle aloud

The sexual relationships you talk about openly

Are as vulgar as coin of the mint;

Are as crude as the coins from the mint;

And you merely distinguish yourself from the crowd

And you just stand out from the crowd

By the fact that you put ’em in print.

Because you shared them.

You’re a ’prentice, my boy, in the primitive stage,

You’re an apprentice, my boy, in the early stage,

And you itch, like a boy, to confess:

And you feel the urge, like a kid, to spill the beans:

When you know a bit more of the arts of the age

When you understand a bit more about the arts of the time

You will probably talk a bit less.

You’ll likely chat a little less.

For your dull little vices we don’t care a fig,

For your boring little vices, we don't care at all,

It is this that we deeply deplore;

We deeply deplore this;

You were cast for a common or usual pig,

You were chosen for a typical pig,

But you play the invincible bore.

But you act like an unshakeable bore.

VIII. TO JULIA IN SHOOTING TOGS

and a Herrickose vein.

Whenas to shoot my Julia goes,

When it’s time to take a shot at my Julia,

Then, then, (methinks) how bravely shows

Then, then, (I think) how wonderfully it appears

That rare arrangement of her clothes!

That unusual way she arranged her clothes!

So shod as when the Huntress Maid

So dressed as when the Huntress Girl

With thumping buskin bruised the glade,

With heavy boots pounding the clearing,

She moveth, making earth afraid.

She moves, scaring the earth.

Against the sting of random chaff

Against the sting of random debris

Her leathern gaiters circle half

Her leather gaiters circle half

The arduous crescent of her calf.

The difficult curve of her calf.

Unto th’ occasion timely fit,

To the timely occasion,

My love’s attire doth show her wit,

My love’s outfit shows her intelligence,

And of her legs a little bit.

And a little bit of her legs.

Sorely it sticketh in my throat,

Sorely it sticks in my throat,

She having nowhere to bestow’t,

She had nowhere to put it,

To name the absent petticoat.

To name the missing petticoat.

In lieu whereof a wanton pair

In place of that, a reckless couple

Of knickerbockers she doth wear,

She wears knickerbockers,

Full windy and with space to spare.

Enlargéd by the bellying breeze,

Enlarged by the swelling breeze,

Lord! how they playfully do ease

Lord! how playfully they make things easier

The urgent knocking of her knees!

Lengthways curtailéd to her taste

Lengthways cut to her taste

A tunic circumvents her waist,

A tunic wraps around her waist,

And soothly it is passing chaste.

And truly, it is very pure.

Upon her head she hath a gear

Upon her head, she has a piece of gear.

Even such as wights of ruddy cheer

Even beings with a rosy complexion

Do use in stalking of the deer.

Do use it for stalking deer.

Haply her truant tresses mock

Maybe her wayward hair mocks

Some coronal of shapelier block,

To wit, the bounding billy-cock.

To wit, the bounding beanie.

Withal she hath a loaded gun,

With that, she has a loaded gun,

Whereat the pheasants, as they run,

Where the pheasants, as they run,

Do make a fair diversión.

Have a fun time.

For very awe, if so she shoots,

For sheer amazement, if that's how she aims,

My hair upriseth from the roots,

My hair stands up from the roots,

And lo! I tremble in my boots!

And look! I’m shaking in my boots!

IX. THE LINKS OF LOVE.

My heart is like a driver-club,

My heart is like a golf club,

That heaves the pellet hard and straight,

That throws the ball hard and straight,

That carries every let and rub,

That carries every obstacle and friction,

The whole performance really great;

The whole performance was really great;

My heart is like a bulger-head,

That whiffles on the wily tee,

That dances on the clever tee,

Because my love has kindly said

She’ll halve the round of life with me.

She'll share half of life's journey with me.

My heart is also like a cleek,

My heart is also like a hook,

Resembling most the mashie sort,

Most similar to the mashie,

That spanks the object, so to speak,

That hits the target, so to speak,

Across the sandy bar to port;

Across the sandy bank to the left;

And hers is like a putting-green,

And hers is like a putting green,

The haven where I boast to be,

The place where I proudly say I am,

For she assures me she is keen

For she tells me she is eager

To halve the round of life with me.

To share half of life's journey with me.

Raise me a bunker, if you can,

Raise me a shelter, if you can,

That beetles o’er a deadly ditch,

That crawls over a dangerous ditch,

Where any but the bogey-man

Where anyone but the bogeyman

Is practically bound to pitch;

Is almost guaranteed to pitch;

Plant me beneath a hedge of thorn,

Plant me under a thorny hedge,

Or up a figurative tree,

Or stuck up a tree,

What matter, when my love has sworn

What does it matter, when my love has sworn

To halve the round of life with me?

Want to share the journey of life with me?

X. SWORDS AND PLOUGHSHARES.

Part I. Fast and Furious.

Spontaneous Us!

Go for it!

O my Camarados! I have no delicatesse as a diplomat, but I go blind on Libertad!

O my friends! I have no finesse as a diplomat, but I am completely devoted to freedom!

Give me the flap-flap of the soaring Eagle’s pinions!

Give me the sound of the soaring eagle's wings!

Give me the tail of the British lion tied in a knot inextricable, not to be solved anyhow!

Give me the tail of the British lion tied in a knot that can't be untangled, no matter what!

Give me a standing army (I say ‘give me,’ because just at present we want one badly, armies being often useful in time of war).

Give me a standing army (I say 'give me' because right now we really need one; armies are often useful during wartime).

I see our superb fleet (I take it that we are to have a superb fleet built almost immediately);

I see our amazing fleet (I assume we’re going to have an incredible fleet built really soon);

I observe the crews prospectively; they are constituted of various nationalities, not necessarily American;

I watch the crews ahead of time; they are made up of different nationalities, not just American;

I see them sling the slug and chew the plug;

I watch them throw the slug and chew the plug;

I hear the drum begin to hum;

I hear the drum start to hum;

Both the above rhymes are purely accidental and contrary to my principles.

Both of the rhymes above are purely coincidental and go against my principles.

We shall wipe the floor of the mill-pond with the scalps of able-bodied British tars!

We'll wipe the floor of the mill pond with the scalps of strong British sailors!

I see Professor Edison about to arrange for us a torpedo-hose on wheels, likewise an infernal electro-semaphore;

I see Professor Edison getting ready to set up a wheeled torpedo hose for us, and also a wicked electro-semaphore;

I see Henry Irving dead-sick and declining to play Corporal Brewster;

I see Henry Irving seriously ill and refusing to play Corporal Brewster;

Cornell, I yell! I yell Cornell!

Cornell, I shout! I shout Cornell!

I note the Manhattan boss leaving his dry-goods store and investing in a small Gatling-gun and a ten-cent banner;

I see the Manhattan boss leaving his dry goods store and investing in a small Gatling gun and a ten-cent banner;

I further note the Identity evolved out of forty-four spacious and thoughtful States;

I also point out that the Identity developed from forty-four broad and reflective States;

I note Canada as shortly to be merged in that Identity; similarly Van Diemen’s Land, Gibraltar and Stratford-on-Avon;

I see Canada soon becoming part of that identity, just like Van Diemen's Land, Gibraltar, and Stratford-upon-Avon;

Briefly, I see Creation whipped!

I see Creation being whipped!

O ye Colonels! I am with you (I too am a Colonel and on the pension-list);

O you Colonels! I'm with you (I'm also a Colonel and on the pension list);

I drink to the lot of you; to Colonels Cleveland, Hitt, Vanderbilt, Chauncey M. Depew, O’Donovan Rossa and the late Colonel Monroe;

I raise my glass to all of you: to Colonels Cleveland, Hitt, Vanderbilt, Chauncey M. Depew, O’Donovan Rossa, and the late Colonel Monroe;

I drink an egg-flip, a morning-caress, an eye-opener, a maiden-bosom, a vermuth-cocktail, three sherry-cobblers and a gin-sling!

I have an eggnog, a morning pick-me-up, a wake-up drink, a young love, a vermouth cocktail, three sherry cobblers, and a gin sling!

Good old Eagle!

Nostalgic Eagle!

Part II. Painful Intermission.

[Allowing time for the fall of American securities to the extent of some odd hundred millions sterling; also for the Day of Rest.]

[Allowing time for the drop in American securities by a few hundred million pounds; also for the Day of Rest.]

Part III. Gentle Andante.

Who breathed a word of war?

Who said anything about war?

Why, surely we are men and Plymouth brothers!

Why, of course we are men and Plymouth brothers!

Pray, what in thunder should we cut each other’s

Pray, what on earth should we cut each other’s

Carotids for?

Carotids for what?

Merciful powers forefend!

God forbid!

For we by gold-edged bonds are bound alway,

For we are always bound by golden ties,

Besides a lot of things that never pay

A dividend!

A payout!

Christmas! we cry thee Ave!

Christmas! we say Hail!

At such a time, when hearts with love are filled,

At a time like this, when hearts are full of love,

It seems inopportune for us to build

It seems like a bad time for us to build.

The needful navy.

The necessary navy.

In fact in many a church

In many churches, in fact,

Uprise the prayer and supplicating psalm

Uplift the prayer and heartfelt song

That Heaven would keep our spreading Eagle calm

That Heaven would keep our soaring Eagle calm

Upon his perch.

On his perch.

Goodwill and peace and plenty!

Goodwill, peace, and abundance!

Our leading congregations here agree

Our top congregations here agree

To vote for this arrangement, nemine

To vote for this arrangement, no one

Contradicente.

Contradictory.

Greatly be they extolléd

Greatly they are praised

Who occupied the tabernacle-chair

Who occupied the tabernacle chair

And put it to the meeting then and there

And bring it up at the meeting right then and there.

And passed it solid!

And nailed it!

That print has also played

That print has also been influential

A useful part that sent an invitation

A helpful section that sent out an invitation

To Redmond to relieve the situation

To Redmond to ease the situation

(Answer prepaid).

(Answer paid in advance).

Say, Sirs, and shall we sever?

So, gentlemen, shall we part ways?

And mar the fair exchange of fatted steers,

And ruin the good trade of well-fed cattle,

Chicago pig, and eligible peers?

Chicago pig and eligible peers?

No! never, never!

No way! Never!

Shall gore be made to flow?

Should blood be allowed to flow?

Like kindred Sohrabs shall we knock our Rustums,

Like brother Sohrabs, we'll face our Rustums,

And blast our beautiful McKinley customs?

And ruin our beautiful McKinley traditions?

Lord love us! no!

Oh my gosh! No!

Then, burst the sundering bar!

Then, break the barrier!

Our punctured pockets yearn across the ocean;

Our empty pockets long for what’s across the ocean;

Till now we never had the faintest notion

Till now we never had the slightest idea

How dear you are!

You mean so much to me!

O love of other years!

O love from the past!

Wall Street, aweary for her broken bliss,

Wall Street, tired from her shattered happiness,

Waits like a loving crocodile to kiss

Waits like a caring crocodile to kiss

Again with tears!

Once again with tears!

XI. TO THE LORD OF POTSDAM.

[On sending a certain telegram.]

[On sending a specific message.]

Majestic Monarch! whom the other gods,

For fear of their immediate removal,

Because they were scared of being taken away right away,

Consulting hourly, seek your awful nod’s

Consulting hourly, seek your terrible approval’s

Approval;

Lift but your little finger up to strike,

Lift just your little finger to strike,

And lo! ‘the massy earth is riven’ (Shelley),

And look! "the solid earth is split" (Shelley),

The habitable globe is shaken like

The habitable world is shaken like

A jelly.

By your express permission for the last

By your clear permission for the last

Eight years the sun has regularly risen;

For eight years, the sun has consistently risen;

And editors, that questioned this, have passed

And editors who questioned this have passed.

To prison.

To jail.

In Art you simply have to say, “I shall!”

In art, all you have to do is say, "I will!"

Beethoven’s fame is rendered transitory;

Beethoven’s fame is temporary;

And Titian cloys beside your clever all-

And Titian annoys next to your clever all-

-egory.

We hailed you Admiral: your eagle sight

We called you Admiral: your sharp eyesight

Foresaw Her Majesty’s benign intentions;

Knew Her Majesty's kind intentions;

A uniform was ready of the right

Dimensions.

Your wardrobe shines with all the shapes and shades,

Your wardrobe stands out with all the styles and colors,

That genius can fix in fancy suitings;

That genius can create in stylish fabrics;

For levées, false alarums, full parades

For levees, false alarms, full parades

And shootings.

But save the habit marks the man of gore

But saving the habit defines the man of blood.

Your spurs are yet to win, my callow Kaiser!

Your spurs still haven't won, my inexperienced Kaiser!

Of fighting in the field you know no more

Of fighting in the field, you know no more

Than I, Sir!

Not me, Sir!

When Grandpapa was thanking God with hymns

When Granddad was praising God with songs

For gallant Frenchmen dying in the ditches,

For brave Frenchmen dying in the trenches,

Your nurse had barely braced your little limbs

Your nurse had just barely supported your small arms and legs.

In breeches.

In pants.

And doubtless, where he roosts beside his bock,

And no doubt, where he perches next to his drink,

The Game Old Bird that played the leading fiddle

The Game Old Bird that took the lead

Smiles grimly as he hears your perky cock-

Smiles grimly as he hears your cheerful cock-

-a-diddle.

Be well advised, my youthful friend, abjure

Be well advised, my young friend, avoid

These tricks that smack of Cleon and the tanners;

These tricks that remind you of Cleon and the tanners;

And let the Dutch instruct a German Boor

And let the Dutch teach a German fool.

In manners.

In behavior.

Nor were you meant to solve the nations’ knots,

Nor were you meant to untangle the nations’ problems,

Or be the Earth’s Protector, willy-nilly;

Or be the Earth's Protector, whether you like it or not;

You only make yourself and royal Pots-

You only make yourself and royal pots

-dam silly.

-damn silly.

Our racing yachts are not at present dressed

Our racing yachts aren't currently set up.

In bravery of bunting to amuse you,

In the courage of decoration to entertain you,

Nor can the licence of an honoured guest

Nor can the license of a respected guest

Excuse you.

Excuse me.

But if your words are more than wanton play

But if your words are more than just playful banter

And you would like to meet the old sea-rover,

And you want to meet the old sea adventurer,

Name any course from Delagoa Bay

Name any route from Delagoa Bay.

To Dover.

Meanwhile observe a proper reticence;

Meanwhile, maintain proper discretion;

We ask no more; there never was a rumour

We don't ask for anything more; there was never a rumor

Of asking Hohenzollerns for a sense

Of humour!

Of humor!

XII. FROM THE LORD OF POTSDAM.

We, William, Kaiser, planted on Our throne

We, William, Kaiser, seated on our throne

By heaven’s grace, but chiefly by Our own,

By heaven's grace, but mostly by our own,

Do deign to speak. Then let the earth be dumb,

Do take a moment to speak. Then let the earth be silent,

And other nations cease their senseless hum!

And other nations stop their pointless noise!

Seldom, if ever, does a chance arise

Hardly ever does an opportunity come up

For Us to pose before Our people’s eyes;

For us to present ourselves in front of our people's eyes;

But this is one of them, this natal day

But this is one of them, this birthday.

Whereon Our Ancient and Imperial sway,

Where our ancient and imperial authority,

Which to the battle’s death-defying trump

Which to the battle’s fearless triumph

Welded the States in one confounded lump,

Welded the States into one messed-up whole,

(As many tasty meats are blent within

(As many tasty meats are blended within

The German sausage’s encircling skin)

The German sausage’s casing

By Our decree is twenty-five precisely,

By our decree, it is exactly twenty-five.

And, under Us (and God) still doing nicely.

And, with us (and God) things are still going well.

Therefore ye Princelings, Plenipotentates,

Therefore you Princelings, Plenipotentates,

And Representatives of various States,

And representatives from various states,

A cool Imperial pint your Kaiser drains,

A cold Imperial pint your Kaiser drinks,

Both to Our ‘more immediate’ domains,

Both to Our 'more immediate' domains,

And to Our lands, Our isles beyond the sea,

And to our lands, our islands beyond the sea,

Our World-embracing Greater Germany!

Our all-encompassing Greater Germany!

Let loose the breathings of Our Royal Band,

Let the sounds of Our Royal Band be heard,

We give a rouse––hoch! hoch!––to Helgoland!

We give a cheer––hoch! hoch!––to Helgoland!

[Kaiserliche Kapelle plays: O Helgoland! mein Helgoland! Air––Die Wacht am Rhein.]

[Kaiserliche Kapelle plays: O Helgoland! my Helgoland! Air––Die Wacht am Rhein.]

William, Kaiser, continues:––

There are that languish on this festal day

There are those who suffer on this festive day.

Damned and impounded for lèse-majesté;

We, William, in Our plentitude of grace,

We, William, in Our full grace,

Propose to pardon every hundredth case;

Propose to forgive every hundredth case;

And though their sentence was no more than just

And even though their punishment was nothing more than fair

We offer each a copy of Our bust,

We each receive a copy of our bust,

With option of a fine; but, be it known,

With the choice of a fine; but, just so you know,

Whoso again shall deem his life his own,

Whosoever thinks his life belongs to him again,

Or find in Ours the faintest flaw or fleck,

Or find in us the slightest flaw or speck,

God helping, We will hang him by the neck.

God willing, we will hang him by the neck.

Yea, he shall surely curse his impious star

Yeah, he will definitely curse his wicked fate.

That dares to question Who or where We are!

That dares to question who we are or where we are!

Worship your Cæsar, and (C.V.) your God;

Worship your Caesar, and (C.V.) your God;

Who spares the child may haply spoil the rod.

Who spares the child might end up ruining the discipline.

Many Our uniforms, but We are one,

We have many uniforms, but we are one,

And one Our empire over which the sun,

And one Our empire where the sun,

Careering on his cloud-compulsive way,

Rushing on his cloud-compulsive path,

Sets once, but never more than once, a day.

The seas are Ours: world-wide upon the oceans

The seas are ours: worldwide across the oceans

Our fleet commands the liveliest emotions;

Our fleet evokes the strongest feelings;

Go where you will, you find Our German manners

Go wherever you want, you’ll find our German manners.

Prevailing under other people’s banners;

Following others' leads;

Go where you will, you cannot but remark

Go wherever you want, you can't help but notice

The cheap, but never nasty, German clerk;

The inexpensive yet always polite German clerk;

Observe Our exports; do you ever see

Things made as they are made in Germany?

Things made the way they are made in Germany?

Always at home on Earth’s remotest shores

Always at home on Earth’s farthest shores

E.g., among Our loved, low-German Boers,

E.g., among our beloved, low-German farmers,

Freely Our folk expectorate, and there

Freely, our people spit, and there

Our German bands inflame the balmy air;

Our German bands fill the warm air with excitement;

Likewise again Our passionate bassoons

Likewise, our passionate bassoons again

Tickle the niggers of the Cameroons;

Tickle the blacks of the Cameroons;

Or others over whom Our Eagle flaps

Or others under the wings of Our Eagle

In places not at present on the maps.

In places that aren't on the maps right now.

One more Imperial pint! your Kaiser drinks

One more Imperial pint! your Emperor drinks

To German intercourse with missing links!

To German connections with missing links!

Let loose the breathings of Our Royal Band,

Let free the sounds of Our Royal Band,

We give––hoch! hoch!––Our glorious Hinterland!

We celebrate––cheers! cheers!––Our glorious Hinterland!

[Kaiserliche Kapelle plays: O Hinterland! mein Hinterland! (Air as before); during which William, Kaiser, resumes his throne.]

[Empire Chapel plays: O Hinterland! my Hinterland! (Air as before); during which William, Emperor, resumes his throne.]

XIII. ‘THE SPACIOUS TIMES.’

[On Drake’s return from his filibustering expedition of 1580 the Queen went on board his ship at Deptford, and after partaking of a banquet conferred on him the honour of knighthood, at the same time declaring herself mightily pleased with all that he had done.]

[On Drake’s return from his privateering expedition of 1580, the Queen boarded his ship at Deptford, and after enjoying a banquet, she honored him with knighthood, while also expressing her great pleasure with everything he had accomplished.]

I wish that I had flourished then,

I wish I had thrived back then,

When ruffs and raids were in the fashion,

When ruffs and raids were all the rage,

When Shakespeare’s art and Raleigh’s pen

When Shakespeare's talent and Raleigh's writing

Encouraged patriotic passion;

Sparked patriotic passion;

For though I draw my happy breath

For even though I take my happy breaths

Beneath a Queen as good and gracious,

Under a queen who is kind and generous,

The times of Great Elizabeth

The era of Great Elizabeth

Were more conveniently spacious.

Were more spacious.

Large-hearted age of cakes and ale!

Generous time of parties and good food!

When, undeterred by nice conditions,

When, unbothered by nice weather,

Good Master Drake would lightly sail

Good Master Drake would sail smoothly

On little privateer commissions;

On small privateer missions;

Careering round with sword and flame

Careening around with sword and fire

And no pretence of polished manners,

And no facade of refined behavior,

He planted out in England’s name

He was sent out in England’s name.

A most refreshing lot of banners.

A really refreshing bunch of banners.

Blest era, when the reckless tar,

Blissful time, when the daring sailor,

Elated by a sense of duty,

Driven by a strong sense of responsibility,

Feared not to face his country’s Bar

Feared to face his country's Bar

But freely helped himself to booty;

But took what he wanted.

Returning home with bulging hold

Returning home with a full hold

The Queen would meet him, much excited,

The Queen was excited to meet him,

Pronounce him worth his weight in gold

Pronounce him worth his weight in gold.

And promptly have the hero knighted.

And immediately have the hero given a knighthood.

No Extra Special, piping hot,

No extra special, steaming hot,

Broke out in unexpected Pyrrhics;

No Poet Laureate on the spot

No Poet Laureate present

Composed apologetic lyrics;

Transpiring slowly by-and-by,

Taking its time.

The act was voted one of loyalty;

The act was voted as a sign of loyalty;

The nation winked the other eye,

The nation turned a blind eye,

And pocketed the usual royalty.

Ere Reuter yet had found his range,

Ere Reuter had found his range,

These trifles done across the ocean

These small things done across the ocean

Produced upon the Stock Exchange

Produced on the Stock Exchange

No preternatural emotion;

No supernatural emotion;

Not yet the Kaiserlich I AM

Not yet the Imperial I AM

Made wingéd words and then repented;

Spoke airy words and then regretted it;

He wrote as yet no telegram,

He hasn't sent a telegram yet,

Nor was, in fact, himself invented.

He wasn’t really invented, after all.

No Justice Hawkins gauged the fault

No Justice Hawkins assessed the blame.

Of irresponsible incursions;

Of reckless intrusions;

The early Hawkins, gallant salt,

The early Hawkins, brave sailor,

Knew well the charm of such diversions;

Understood the appeal of such activities;

Men never saw that moving sight

Men never witnessed that moving scene.

When legal luminaries muster,

When legal experts gather,

And very solemnly indict

And very seriously charge

A well-conducted filibuster.

A successful filibuster.

No Member had the hardy nerve

No member had the bold courage

To criticise our depredations

To criticize our damage

As unadapted to preserve

As unchanged to preserve

The perfect comity of nations;

The ideal harmony of nations;

No High Commissioner would doubt

No High Commissioner would question

If brigandage was quite judicial;

If banditry were really lawful;

Indeed we mostly did without

We mostly managed without it.

This rather eminent Official.

This prominent official.

No Ministry would care a rap

No Ministry would care at all.

For theoretic arbitration;

For theoretical arbitration;

They simply modified the map

They just updated the map.

To meet the latest annexation;

And so without appeal to law,

And so without going to the law,

Or other needless waste of tissue,

Or any other unnecessary waste of resources,

The Lion, where he put his paw,

The Lion, where he placed his paw,

Remained and propagated issue.

Ongoing and spreading issue.

To-day we wax exceeding fat

Today we are getting really fat

On lands our roving fathers raided;

On the lands our wandering ancestors invaded;

And blush with holy horror at

And feel a shiver of fear and embarrassment at

Their lawless sons who do as they did;

Their rebellious sons who act just like they did;

No doubt the age improves a lot,

No doubt the times are getting better,

It grows more honest, more veracious;

It becomes more truthful, more genuine;

But, as I said, the times are not

But, as I said, the times aren't

Quite so conveniently spacious.

Very conveniently spacious.

NOTE

To the Editors of The World and The National Observer, and to the Proprietors of Punch, I wish to express my thanks for their courtesy in permitting me to republish these verses.

To the Editors of The World and The National Observer, and to the Proprietors of Punch, I want to thank you for allowing me to republish these verses.

O. S.

The Battle of the Bays.

The Bay Battle.

Eighth Edition.

Price 3s. 6d. net. Fcap. 8vo. Price $1.25.

Eighth Edition.

Price £3.50 net. Fcap. 8vo. Price $1.25.

SOME PRESS OPINIONS.

PRESS OPINIONS.

“The new ‘Rejected Addresses’ of Mr. Owen Seaman are quite worthy to be ranked with the classic volumes of Horace and James.... The thing is done as well as it could be.... This little volume is merum sal.”––The Spectator.
“The new ‘Rejected Addresses’ by Mr. Owen Seaman is definitely worthy of comparison to the classic works of Horace and James.... It's done as well as it could be.... This little book is pure gold.”––The Spectator.

“Mr. Kipling has never been so nimbly caught before, for Mr. Seaman has the art to reproduce his flute-notes as well as his big drum.... Several of the miscellaneous pieces are among the very best humourous poetry of this generation. We have laughed at nothing lately more than at ‘Ars Postera,’ at ‘A New Blue Book,’ at ‘To a Boy-Poet of the Decadence,’ and at ‘To Julia in Shooting Togs.’ But, after all, Mr. Seaman’s masterpiece up to date is certainly ‘To the Lord of Potsdam.’ ... This will live, or we are greatly mistaken, among the most effective examples of historical satire-lyric.”––The Saturday Review.
“Mr. Kipling has never been caught off guard like this before, because Mr. Seaman has the talent to mimic his flute notes as well as his big drum.... Several of the various pieces are among the very best humorous poetry of this generation. We haven’t laughed at anything as much lately as we have at ‘Ars Postera,’ ‘A New Blue Book,’ ‘To a Boy-Poet of the Decadence,’ and ‘To Julia in Shooting Togs.’ But, so far, Mr. Seaman’s standout piece is definitely ‘To the Lord of Potsdam.’ ... This will endure, or we’re seriously mistaken, as one of the most powerful examples of historical satire-lyric.”––The Saturday Review.

“It is certainly remarkable, in our dearth of great poetry, how good of its sort the satiric verse of our day is––so good, in fact, that nothing but the best will serve, and even the best, like Mr. Seaman’s, which in the day when Sir George Trevelyan was a wit would have taken people’s breath away, is apt to be treated as mere journalism.... But really it is the most characteristic expression of our time, using the accustomed forms of verse to point the neatest criticisms and the slyest of epigrams.... Mr. Seaman’s humourous imitation of Mr. Swinburne, Sir Edwin Arnold, Sir Lewis Morris, Mr. Kipling, and the rest, is in every case very funny.”––St. James’s Gazette.
“It’s pretty remarkable, given our lack of great poetry, how good the satirical verse of today is—so good, in fact, that only the best will do, and even that, like Mr. Seaman’s work, which would have wowed people in the time when Sir George Trevelyan was considered witty, tends to be dismissed as just journalism.... But honestly, it’s the most typical expression of our time, using conventional forms of verse to deliver sharp criticisms and clever epigrams.... Mr. Seaman’s humorous takes on Mr. Swinburne, Sir Edwin Arnold, Sir Lewis Morris, Mr. Kipling, and others are genuinely funny every time.”––St. James’s Gazette.

“The book abounds in excellent fooling and really wholesome satire, the ingenuity and felicity of verse and expression giving it likewise a high artistic value.... Quips and cranks of audacious wit, strokes of a humour always sane and healthy, waylay the reader incessantly, and leave him no peace for laughter.”––The Westminster Gazette.
“The book is packed with clever jokes and great satire, with the creativity and beauty of its verse and expression giving it significant artistic value. Its clever and bold humor, combined with a healthy sense of wit, constantly surprises the reader and leaves them wanting more laughter.”––The Westminster Gazette.

“Mr. Seaman must be tired of being compared to Calverley and J. K. S., but he is of their company, and, what is more, on their level. ‘The Battle of the Bays’ ... bristles with points; it is brilliant, ... and it has that easy conversational flow which is the one absolutely necessary characteristic of good humourous poetry.... One charm of writing such as Mr. Seaman’s is that it makes us feel quite obliged to poets whom we have never admired for being so good to parody.”––Pall Mall Gazette.
“Mr. Seaman must be tired of being compared to Calverley and J. K. S., but he belongs in their league, and what’s more, on their level. ‘The Battle of the Bays’... is full of sharp points; it’s brilliant,... and it has that easy, conversational tone that is essential for good humorous poetry.... One appealing feature of writing like Mr. Seaman’s is that it makes us feel grateful to poets we’ve never liked for being so easy to parody.”––Pall Mall Gazette.

“Mr. Owen Seaman has a very neat talent for parody.... The ‘Ballad of a Bun’ is exceedingly funny, and ought to make even Mr. John Davidson laugh.... All the imitations are good.”––The Times.
“Mr. Owen Seaman has a great talent for parody.... The ‘Ballad of a Bun’ is incredibly funny and should even make Mr. John Davidson laugh.... All the imitations are spot on.”––The Times.

“His versatility and bright and ready wit are conspicuous in all his work. As a parodist he is second to none, not even to Mr. Calverley, if we may take the word of the reviewers.... Mr. Seaman cracks the whip with consummate skill, and applies it with such naughty precision, that even his victims must find it difficult to withhold their admiration.”––The National Observer.
“His versatility and quick wit stand out in all of his work. As a parodist, he’s unmatched, not even by Mr. Calverley, if we can trust the reviewers.... Mr. Seaman expertly wields his whip and applies it with such naughty precision, that even his victims must find it hard to hide their admiration.”––The National Observer.

BY THE SAME AUTHOR.

By the Same Author.

Horace at Cambridge

Horace in Cambridge

New and Revised Edition.
Price 3s. 6d. net. Fcap. 8vo. Price $1.25.

New and Revised Edition.
Price £3.50 net. Fcap. 8vo. Price $1.25.

“To every university man ... this book will be a rare treat. But in virtue of its humour, its extreme and felicitous dexterity of workmanship both in rhyme and metre ... it will appeal to a far wider public.”––Punch.
“Every university student will find this book especially enjoyable. Its humor and impressive craftsmanship in both rhyme and meter will appeal to a much wider audience.” ––Punch.

“We very cordially recommend Mr. Seaman’s book ... to all who are likely to care for verse which is not unworthy to be ranked with the efforts of Calverley the immortal.”––The World.
“We highly recommend Mr. Seaman’s book to anyone who appreciates poetry that proudly stands alongside the works of the timeless Calverley.” ––The World.

“Mr. Seaman manages his ingenious metres with unfailing skill.”––The Athenæum.
“Mr. Seaman expertly manages his clever meter without fail.” ––The Athenæum.

“A genial cynic with a genuine smack of Bon Gaultier.”––St. James’s Gazette.
“A friendly cynic with a true touch of Bon Gaultier.” ––St. James’s Gazette.

“The humour is bright and spontaneous.”––The Times.
“The humor is energetic and spontaneous.” ––The Times.

“Mr. Seaman’s book is never slipshod; it has the neatness, the precision, the sparkle of its Latin namesake.”––The Spectator.
“Mr. Seaman’s book is always well-crafted; it has the neatness, precision, and sparkle of its Latin counterpart.” ––The Spectator.

Tillers of the Sand

Sand Farmers

Smith, Elder & Co., London. 3s. 6d.

Smith, Elder & Co., London. £3.30.

“In the political sphere Mr. Seaman is at present without a rival.”––The Globe.
“In the political scene, Mr. Seaman currently has no rivals.”––The Globe.

“Taken as a whole, we are much mistaken if any better volume of political verse has made its appearance since the days of the Rolliad and the Anti-Jacobin.”––The World.
“Overall, we’re completely mistaken if any better collection of political poetry has been published since the days of the Rolliad and the Anti-Jacobin.”––The World.

“The best of the satirists on the other side is Mr. Owen Seaman, who has touched off some of the weaknesses of the late government with very happy and caustic humour.”––The Spectator.
“The best satirist from the opposing side is Mr. Owen Seaman, who has cleverly highlighted some of the flaws of the recent government with sharp humor.”––The Spectator.

“Mr. Seaman is own brother to Calverley, and in modern times there has been nothing so good of its sort as ‘Tillers of the Sand.’... Mr. Seaman proves himself so brilliant a jester that it needs must be he takes the jester’s privilege of offending no one.”––The Speaker.
“Mr. Seaman is Calverley's own brother, and lately, there hasn’t been anything as good as ‘Tillers of the Sand.’... Mr. Seaman shows that he’s such a brilliant joker that he deserves the jester’s privilege of not offending anyone.”––The Speaker.

“One of the most accomplished writers of occasional verse to-day.”––Bookman.
“One of the most successful writers of occasional verse today.”––Bookman.

“It is all so good that passages are hard to choose.”––Scotsman.
Scotsman.
“The author’s rare quality––a capacity for satirizing one’s political opponents with a wit that leaves no wound.”––Mr. James Payn in The Illustrated London News.
“The author has a rare talent—a gift for mocking their political opponents with a cleverness that doesn’t harm.” —Mr. James Payn in The Illustrated London News.

“Brilliant and inimitable.”––Chicago Daily News.
“Brilliant and one-of-a-kind.”––Chicago Daily News.

In Cap and Bells

Fifth Edition.
Price 3s. 6d. net. Fcap. 8vo. Price $1.25.

Fifth Edition.
Price £3.50 net. Fcap. 8vo. Price $1.25.

“Here is no shouting, no banging of the bauble. The form of phrase, the inflexion of voice, the dancing light of humour, make up the motley which is the true jester’s ‘only wear’; and under his flashes of merriment is a sober, sound philosophy. This, after all, is the only kind of humour that lasts ... it is easy to appreciate, difficult to acquire; and Mr. Owen Seaman, having acquired it with all the felicity of good humour and art, stands practically alone among the humourists of the hour.... His technical quality seems to strengthen with every new volume.”––Mr. Arthur Waugh in The St. James’ Gazette.
“There’s no shouting or ringing of bells. The choice of words, the tone, and the clever humor blend together to create the vibrant essence of the true jester’s ‘only wear’; and beneath his comedic flair lies a profound philosophy. This is, after all, the type of humor that truly lasts... it’s easy to enjoy but tough to master; and Mr. Owen Seaman, who possesses it with the charm of good humor and skill, stands almost alone among today’s humorists.... His technical quality seems to get better with each new book.”––Mr. Arthur Waugh in The St. James’ Gazette.

“Clean laughter, and scholarly wit; polished metre, and humorous phrase––these are to me the essential characteristics for which I am invariably glad to read Mr. Owen Seaman.”––Mr. Theodore Cook in Literature.
“Genuine laughter and intelligent humor; smooth flow and witty phrases––these are, for me, the key features that make reading Mr. Owen Seaman such a pleasure.”––Mr. Theodore Cook in Literature.

“The brilliant author of ‘Cap and Bells’ assumes, before the eyes of a later generation, the mantle of Crawley, and does the same sort of work more felicitously still.”––The Speaker.
“The talented author of ‘Cap and Bells’ takes on the role of Crawley for a new generation and does an even better job.”––The Speaker.

“At the end of the volume Mr. Seaman gives agreeable evidence that, in the domain of memorial and complimentary verse, he has the knack of combining felicity of phrase with a wholesome avoidance alike of adulation and excess. The ‘In Memoriam’ lines to Lewis Carroll, with the graceful reference to Sir John Tenniel, are particularly happy.”––The Spectator.
“By the end of the book, Mr. Seaman demonstrates that, in the field of memorial and tribute poetry, he has a gift for combining beautiful language with a commendable restraint from flattery and excess. The ‘In Memoriam’ lines to Lewis Carroll, with their elegant reference to Sir John Tenniel, are especially well-crafted.”––The Spectator.

“Calverley had not, or did not show in his verses, Mr. Seaman’s critical acuteness and depth.... As a critic in the form of parody, Mr. Seaman is without a rival.... Of his serious poems an ode to Queen Wilhelmina is a very graceful accomplishment of a difficult task.”––Mr. G. S. Street in The Pall Mall Magazine.
“Calverley didn’t have Mr. Seaman’s sharpness and depth in his poetry. As a critic who uses parody, Mr. Seaman has no rival. Among his serious poems, his ode to Queen Wilhelmina is a beautifully accomplished feat in a difficult task.”––Mr. G. S. Street in The Pall Mall Magazine.

“Mr. Seaman is what we may call a critic of mannerisms, and a very keen critic to boot. His is a useful, not a merely destructive, function. He is no wanton debaser of the poetic currency. One might rather call him a touchstone of true merit in poetry.”––Daily Chronicle.
“Mr. Seaman is what we would call a critic of mannerisms, and he is a very keen critic at that. His role is constructive rather than merely destructive. He doesn’t recklessly undermine the value of poetry. Instead, he serves as a benchmark for true quality in poetry.”––Daily Chronicle.

“A new volume from the pen of Mr. Owen Seaman must needs be welcome. He is the most accomplished versifier among all our jesters.”––The Globe.
“A new book by Mr. Owen Seaman is certainly welcome. He is the most talented poet among all our comedians.”––The Globe.

“The parodies in Mr. Seaman’s new volume are wonderful examples of this difficult art; the Stephen Phillips, the Alfred Austin, the Watts-Dunton, and the George Meredith are faultless.”––Academy.
“The parodies in Mr. Seaman’s new collection are excellent examples of this challenging art; the ones of Stephen Phillips, Alfred Austin, Watts-Dunton, and George Meredith are spot on.”––Academy.

“Mr. Owen Seaman has already made his reputation as, perhaps, the surest modern poet to make you laugh, and the nature of his new collection of copies of verse cannot be better described than by saying that it is well worthy of his hand.... The book is heartsome and delightful all through.”––The Scotsman.
“Mr. Owen Seaman has already proven himself to be one of the most dependable modern poets who can make you laugh, and the essence of his new collection of poems can only be described as truly deserving of his talent.... The book is delightful and enjoyable throughout.”––The Scotsman.

“The present vogue of Mr. Owen Seaman’s delightful parodies is very great.”––Liverpool Courier.
“The current trend of Mr. Owen Seaman’s charming parodies is quite popular.”––Liverpool Courier.

JOHN LANE: The Bodley Head, London & New York.

Transcriber Notes

Typographical inconsistencies have been changed and are highlighted and listed below.

Hyphenation standardized and is also listed below.

Hyphenation has been standardized and is also listed below.

Archaic and variable spelling is preserved.

Archaic and inconsistent spelling is kept.

Author’s punctuation style is preserved, including some hyphenated words that are integral to a poem.

Author’s punctuation style is preserved, including some hyphenated words that are essential to a poem.

Transcriber Changes

Transcriber Updates

The following changes were made to the original text:

Page 22: Was ’bellettrist’ (‘Heed not belletrist jargon.’)

__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__: Was ’belletrist’ (‘Ignore belletrist jargon.’)

Page 45: Was ’lachrimal’ (Year that has painfully tickled the lachrymal nerves of the Muses)

Page 45: Was 'lachrimal' (A year that has painfully poked the tear nerves of the Muses)

Page 84: Added semi-colon after ’Pyrrhics’ (Broke out in unexpected Pyrrhics;)

Page 84: Added semi-colon after 'Pyrrhics' (Broke out in unexpected Pyrrhics;)

Page 88: Was ’applys’ and ’precison’ (Mr. Seaman cracks the whip with consummate skill, and applies it with such naughty precision, that even his victims must find it difficult to withhold their admiration.)

Page 88: Was ‘applys’ and ‘precision’ (Mr. Seaman cracks the whip with expert skill, and applies it with such cheeky precision, that even his victims must find it hard to contain their admiration.)

Page 89: Changed to single quotes (in modern times there has been nothing so good of its sort as ‘Tillers of the Sand.’)

Page 89: Changed to single quotes (in recent times, there hasn’t been anything quite like ‘Tillers of the Sand.’)

Advertisements: Changed to single quotes (the dancing light of humour, make up the motley which is the true jester’s ‘only wear’; and under his flashes of merriment is a sober, sound philosophy.)

Advertisements: Changed to single quotes (the lively spark of humor creates the colorful outfit that is the true jester’s ‘only wear’; and beneath his bursts of joy lies a serious, solid philosophy.)

Advertisements: Was ’Arthuh’ (His technical quality seems to strengthen with every new volume.”––Mr. Arthur Waugh in The St. James’ Gazette.)

Advertisements: Was 'Arthur' (His technical quality seems to improve with each new volume.”––Mr. Arthur Waugh in The St. James’ Gazette.)

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THE BATTLE OF THE BAYS

CONTENTS.

I. THE BATTLE OF THE BAYS.

1.A SONG OF RENUNCIATION.

(AFTER A. C. S.)

2.FOR THE ALBUMS OF CROWNED HEADS ONLY.

(AFTER SIR E. A.)

3.MARSYAS IN HADES.

(AFTER SIR L. M.)

4.THE RHYME OF THE KIPPERLING.

(AFTER R. K.)

5.A BALLAD OF A BUN.

(AFTER J. D.)

6.A VIGO-STREET ECLOGUE.

(AFTER THE SAME)

7.AN ODE TO SPRING IN THE METROPOLIS.

(AFTER R. LE G.)

8.YET.

(AFTER F. E. W.)

9.ELEGI MUSARUM.

(AFTER W. W.)

II. TO MR. WILLIAM WATSON.

III. ENGLAND’S ALFRED ABROAD.

IV. LILITH LIBIFERA.

V. ARS POSTERA.

VI. A NEW BLUE BOOK.

VII. TO A BOY-POET OF THE DECADENCE.

VIII. TO JULIA IN SHOOTING TOGSand a Herrickose vein.

IX. THE LINKS OF LOVE.

X. SWORDS AND PLOUGHSHARES.

Part I. Fast and Furious.

Part II. Painful Intermission.

Part III. Gentle Andante.

XI. TO THE LORD OF POTSDAM.

XII. FROM THE LORD OF POTSDAM.

XIII. ‘THE SPACIOUS TIMES.’

NOTE

THE BATTLE
OF
THE BAYS

1.

A SONG OF RENUNCIATION.

2.

FOR THE ALBUMS OF CROWNED HEADS ONLY.

3.

MARSYAS IN HADES.

4.

THE RHYME OF THE KIPPERLING.

5.

A BALLAD OF A BUN.

6.

A VIGO-STREET ECLOGUE.

7.

AN ODE TO SPRING IN THE METROPOLIS.

8.

YET.

9.

ELEGI MUSARUM.

VIII. TO JULIA IN SHOOTING TOGS

and a Herrickose vein.