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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=348542" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>My Cousin From Pall Mall</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">There’s nothing so exasperates a true Australian youth,<br>Whatever be his rank in life, be he cultured or uncouth,<br>As the manner of a London swell. Now it chanced, the other day,<br>That one came out, consigned to me—a cousin, by the way.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">As he landed from the steamer at the somewhat dirty pier,<br>He took my hand; and lispingly remarked, ‘How very queer!<br>I’m glad, of course, to see you—but you must admit this place,<br>With all its mixed surroundings, is a national disgrace.’</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I defended not that dirty pier, not a word escaped my lips;<br>I pointed not—though well I might—to the huge three-masted ships;<br>For, although with patriotic pride my soul was all aglow,<br>I remembered Trollope’s parting words, ‘Victorians do not blow.’</div><div style="margin:10px 0">On the morrow through the city we sauntered, arm in arm;<br>I strove to do the cicerone—my style was grand and calm.<br>I showed him all the lions—but I noted with despair<br>His smile, his drawl, his eye-glass, and his supercilious air.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">As we strolled along that crowded street, where Fashion holds proud sway,<br>He deigned to glance at every thing, but not one word did say;<br>I really thought he was impressed by its well-deserved renown<br>Till he drawled, ‘Not bad—not bad at all—for a provincial town.’</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Just as he spoke there chanced to pass a most bewitching girl,<br>And I said, ‘Dear cousin, is she not fit bride for any earl?’<br>He glanced, with upraised eyebrows and a patronizing smile,<br>Then lisped, ‘She’s pretty, not a doubt, but what a want of style!’</div><div style="margin:10px 0">We paused a moment just before a spacious House of Prayer;<br>Said he, ‘Dear me! Good gracious! What’s this ugly brick affair—<br>A second-rate gin-palace?’ ‘Cease, cease,’ I said; ‘you must—<br>O spare me,’— here my sobs burst forth, I was humbled to the dust.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But, unmindful of my agonies, in the slowest of slow drawls,<br>He lisped away for hours of the Abbey and St. Paul’s,<br>Till those grand historic names had for me a hateful sound,<br>And I wished the noble piles themselves were levelled to the ground,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My young bright life seemed blasted, my hopes were dead and gone,<br>No blighted lover ever felt so gloomy and forlorn;<br>I’d reached the suicidal stage—and the reason of it all,<br>This supercilious London swell, his eye-glass and his drawl.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But, though hidden, still there’s present, in out darkest hour of woe,<br>A sense of respite and relief, although we may not know<br>The way that gracious Providence will choose to right the wrong,<br>So I forthwith ceased my bitter tears—I suffered and was strong.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then we strolled into the Club, where he again commenced to speak,<br>But I interrupted saying, ‘Let us leave town for a week.<br>I see that Melbourne bores you—nay, nay, I know it’s true;<br>Let us wander ’midst the gum-trees, and observe the kangaroo.’</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My words were soft and gentle, and none could have discerned<br>How, beneath my calm demeanour, volcanic fury burned.<br>And my cousin straight consented, as his wine he slowly sipped,<br>To see the gay Marsupial and the gloomy Eucalypt.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah! who has ever journeyed on a glorious summer night<br>Through the weird Australian bush-land without feeling of delight?<br>The dense untrodden forest, in the moonlight coldly pale,<br>Brings before our wondering eyes again the scenes of fairy tale.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">No sound is heard, save where one treads upon the lonely track;<br>We lose our dull grey manhood, and to early youth go back—<br>To scenes and days long passed away, and seem again to greet<br>Our youthful dreams, so rudely crushed like the grass beneath our feet.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">’Twas such a night we wandered forth; we never spoke a word<br>(I was too full of thought for speech—to him no thought occurred)<br>When, gazing from the silent earth to the star-lit silent sky,<br>My cousin in amazement dropped his eye-glass from his eye.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">At last, I thought his soul was moved by the grandeur of the scene<br>(As the most prosaic Colonist’s I’m certain would have been),<br>Till he replaced his eye-glass, and remarked—‘This may be well,<br>But one who’s civilized prefers the pavement of Pall Mall.’</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I swerved not from that moment from my purpose foul and grim;<br>I never deigned to speak one word, nor even glanced at him;<br>But suddenly I seized his throat,…he gave one dreadful groan,<br>And I, who had gone forth with him, that night returned alone.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Arthur+Patchett+Martin">Arthur Patchett Martin</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=348542" data-title="My Cousin From Pall Mall de Arthur Patchett Martin" data-description="There’s nothing so exasperates a true Australian youth,
Whatever be his rank in life, be he cultured or uncouth,
As the manner of a London swell. Now it chanced, the other day,
That one came out, consigned to me—a cousin, by the way.

As he la..."></div>
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