Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=498852" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Lay of St. Odille</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Odille was a maid of a dignified race; <br>Her father, Count Otto, was lord of Alsace; <br>Such an air, such a grace, <br>Such a form, such a face, <br>All agreed 'twere a fruitless endeavour to trace <br>In the Court, or within fifty miles of the place. <br>Many ladies in Strasburg were beautiful, still <br>They were beat all to sticks by the lovely Odille. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But Odille was devout, and, before she was nine, <br>Had 'experienced a call' she consider'd divine, <br>To put on the veil at St. Ermengarde's shrine.-- <br>Lords, Dukes, and Electors, and Counts Palatine <br>Came to seek her in marriage from both sides the Rhine; <br>But vain their design, <br>They are all left to pine, <br>Their oglings and smiles are all useless; in fine, <br>Not one of these gentlefolks, try as they will, <br>Can draw 'Ask my papa' from the cruel Odille. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">At length one of her suitors, a certain Count Herman, <br>A highly respectable man as a German, <br>Who smoked like a chimney, and drank like a merman, <br>Paid his court to her father, conceiving his firman <br>Would soon make her bend, <br>And induce her to lend <br>An ear to a love-tale in lieu of a sermon. <br>He gained the old Count, who said, 'Come, Mynheer, fill!-- <br>Here's luck to yourself and my daughter Odille!' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The lady Odille was quite nervous with fear <br>When a little bird whisper'd that toast in her ear; <br>She murmur'd 'Oh, dear! <br>My papa has got queer, <br>I am sadly afraid, with that nasty strong beer! <br>He's so very austere, and severe, that it's clear <br>If he gets in his 'tantrums,' I can't remain here; <br>But St. Ermengarde's convent is luckily near; <br>It were folly to stay, <br>Pour prendre congé, <br>I shall put on my bonnet, and e'en run away!' <br>-- She unlock'd the back door, and descended the hill, <br>On whose crest stood the towers of the sire of Odille. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">When he found she'd levanted, the Count of Alsace <br>At first turn'd remarkably red in the face; <br>He anathematized, with much unction and grace, <br>Every soul who came near, and consign'd the whole race <br>Of runaway girls to a very warm place. <br>With a frightful grimace <br>He gave orders for chase. <br>His vassals set off at a deuce of a pace, <br>And of all whom they met, high or low, Jack or Jill, <br>Ask'd, 'Pray, have you seen anything of Odille?'-- </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now I think I've been told,-- for I'm no sporting man,-- <br>That the 'knowing-ones' call this by far the best plan, <br>'Take the lead and then keep it!'-- that is if you can.-- <br>Odille thought so too, so she set off and ran; <br>Put her best leg before, <br>Starting at score, <br>As I said some lines since, from that little back door, <br>And not being missed until half after four, <br>Had what hunters call 'law' for a good hour and more; <br>Doing her best, <br>Without stopping to rest, <br>Like 'young Lochinvar who came out of the West,' <br>''Tis done! I am gone!-- over briar, brook, and rill! <br>They'll be sharp lads who catch me!' said young Miss Odille. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But you've all read in Æsop, or Phædrus, or Gay, <br>How a tortoise and hare ran together one day, <br>How the hare, 'making play, <br>Progress'd right slick away,' <br>As 'them tarnation chaps' the Americans say; <br>While the tortoise, whose figure is rather outré <br>For racing, crawled straight on, without let or stay, <br>Having no post-horse duty or turnpikes to pay, <br>Till ere noon's ruddy ray <br>Changed to eve's sober grey, <br>Though her form and obesity caused some delay, <br>Perseverance and patience brought up her lee-way, <br>And she chased her fleet-footed 'praycursor,' until <br>She o'ertook her at last;-- so it fared with Odille. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">For although, as I said, she ran gaily at first, <br>And show'd no inclination to pause, if she durst; <br>She at length felt opprest with the heat, and with thirst <br>Its usual attendant; nor was that the worst, <br>Her shoes went down at heel;-- at last one of them burst. <br>Now a gentleman smiles <br>At a trot of ten miles; <br>But not so the Fair; then consider the stiles, <br>And as then ladies seldom wore things with a frill <br>Round the ancle, these stiles sadly bother'd Odille. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Still, despite all the obstacles placed in her track, <br>She kept steadily on, though the terrible crack <br>In her shoe made of course her progression more slack, <br>Till she reached the Swartz Forest (in English The Black); <br>I cannot divine <br>How the boundary line <br>Was passed which is somewhere there formed by the Rhine. <br>Perhaps she'd the knack <br>To float o'er on her back. <br>Or perhaps crossed the old bridge of boats at Brisach, <br>(Which Vauban some years after secured from attack, <br>By a bastion of stone which the Germans call 'Wacke,') <br>All I know is she took not so much as a snack, <br>Till hungry and worn, feeling wretchedly ill, <br>On a mountain's brow sank down the weary Odille. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I said on its 'brow,' but I should have said 'crown,' <br>For 'twas quite on the summit, bleak, barren, and brown, <br>And so high that 'twas frightful indeed to look down <br>Upon Friburg, a place of some little renown, <br>That lay at its foot; but imagine the frown <br>That contracted her brow, when full many a clown <br>She perceived coming up from that horrid post-town. <br>They had followed her trail, <br>And now thought without fail, <br>As little boys say, to 'lay salt on her tail;' <br>While the Count, who knew no other law but his will, <br>Swore that Herman that evening should marry Odille. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Alas, for Odille; poor dear! what could she do? <br>Her father's retainers now had her in view, <br>As she found from their raising a joyous halloo; <br>While the Count, riding on at the head of his crew, <br>In their snuff-coloured doublets and breeches of blue, <br>Was huzzaing and urging them on to pursue.-- <br>What, indeed, could she do? <br>She very well knew <br>If they caught her how much she should have to go through; <br>But then -- she'd so shocking a hole in her shoe! <br>And to go further on was impossible;-- true <br>She might jump o'er the precipice; still there are few <br>In her place who could manage their courage to screw <br>Up to bidding the world such a sudden adieu: <br>Alack! how she envied the birds as they flew; <br>No Nassau balloon with its wicker canoe <br>Came to bear her from him she loathed worse than a Jew; <br>So she fell on her knees in a terrible stew, <br>Crying 'Holy St. Ermengarde! <br>Oh, from these vermin guard <br>Her whose last hope rests entirely on you! <br>Don't let papa catch me, dear Saint!-- rather kill <br>At once, sur le champ, your devoted Odille!' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Its delightful to see those who strive to oppress <br>Get baulk'd when they think themselves sure of success. <br>The Saint came to the rescue! I fairly confess <br>I don't see, as a Saint, how she well could do less <br>Than to get such a votary out of her mess. <br>Odille had scarce closed her pathetic address <br>When the rock, gaping wide as the Thames at Sheerness, <br>Closed again, and secured her within its recess, <br>In a natural grotto, <br>Which puzzled Count Otto, <br>Who could not conceive where the deuce she had got to. <br>'Twas her voice!-- but 'twas Vox et præterea Nil! <br>Nor could any one guess what was gone with Odille. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then burst from the mountain a splendour that quite <br>Eclipsed in its brilliance the finest Bude light, <br>And there stood St. Ermengarde drest all in white, <br>A palm-branch in her left hand, her beads in her right; <br>While with faces fresh gilt, and with wings burnish'd bright, <br>A great many little boys' heads took their flight <br>Above and around to a very great height, <br>And seem'd pretty lively considering their plight, <br>Since every one saw, <br>With amazement and awe, <br>They could never sit down, for they hadn't de quoi. <br>All at the sight, <br>From the knave to the knight, <br>Felt a very unpleasant sensation called fright; <br>While the Saint, looking down, <br>With a terrible frown, <br>Said, 'My Lords you are done most remarkably brown!-- <br>I am really ashamed of you both; my nerves thrill <br>At your scandalous conduct to poor dear Odille! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Come, make yourselves scarce! it is useless to stay, <br>You will gain nothing here by a longer delay. <br>'Quick! Presto! Begone!' as the conjurors say; <br>For as to the lady, I've stow'd her away <br>In this hill, in a stratum of London blue clay; <br>And I shan't, I assure you, restore her to day <br>Till you faithfully promise no more to say Nay, <br>But declare, 'If she will be a nun, why she may.' <br>For this you've my word, and I never yet broke it, <br>So put that in your pipe, my Lord Otto, and smoke it!-- <br>One hint to your vassals,-- a month at 'the Mill' <br>Shall be nuts to what they'll get who worry Odille!' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Saint disappear'd as she ended, and so <br>Did the little boys' heads, which, above and below, <br>As I told you a very few stanzas ago, <br>Had been flying about her, and jumping Jem Crow; <br>Though, without any body, or leg, foot, or toe, <br>How they managed such antics, I really don't know; <br>Be that as it may, they all 'melted like snow <br>Off a dyke,' as the Scotch say in sweet Edinbro'. <br>And there stood the Count, <br>With his men on the mount, <br>Just like 'twenty-four jackasses all on a row.' <br>What was best to be done?--' twas a sad bitter pill; <br>But gulp it he must, or else lose his Odille. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The lord of Alsace therefore alter'd his plan, <br>And said to himself, like a sensible man, <br>'I can't do as I would,-- I must do as I can;' <br>It will not do to lie under any Saint's ban, <br>For your hide, when you do, they all manage to tan; <br>So Count Herman must pick up some Betsey or Nan, <br>Instead of my girl,-- some Sue, Polly, or Fan;-- <br>If he can't get the corn he must do with the bran, <br>And make shift with the pot if he can't have the pan. <br>After words such as these <br>He went down on his knees, <br>And said, 'Blessed St. Ermengarde, just as you please-- <br>They shall build a new convent,-- I'll pay the whole bill, <br>(Taking discount,)-- its Abbess shall be my Odille!' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">There are some of my readers, I'll venture to say, <br>Who have never seen Friburg, though some of them may, <br>And others 'tis likely may go there some day. <br>Now if ever you happen to travel that way <br>I do beg and pray,--' twill your pains well repay,-- <br>That you'll take what the Cockney folks call a 'po-shay,' <br>(Though in Germany these things are more like a dray); <br>You may reach this same hill with a single relay,-- <br>And do look how the rock, <br>Through the whole of its block, <br>Is split open as though by some violent shock <br>From an earthquake, or lightning, or horrid hard knock <br>From the club-bearing fist of some jolly old cock <br>Of a Germanized giant, Thor, Woden, or Lok; <br>And see how it rears <br>Its two monstrous great ears, <br>For when once you're between them such each side appears; <br>And list to the sound of the water one hears <br>Drip, drip from the fissures, like rain-drops or tears: <br>-- Odille's, I believe,-- which have flow'd all these years; <br>-- I think they account for them so;-- but the rill <br>I'm sure is connected some way with Odille. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Moral. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now then for a moral, which always arrives <br>At the end, like the honey bees take to their hives, <br>And the more one observes it the better one thrives.-- <br>We have all heard it said in the course of our lives <br>'Needs must when a certain old gentleman drives,' <br>'Tis the same with a lady,-- if once she contrives <br>To get hold of the ribands, how vainly one strives <br>To escape from her lash, or to shake off her gyves. <br>Then let's act like Count Otto, and while one survives <br>Succumb to our She-Saints -- videlicet wives. <br>(Aside.) <br>That is if one has not a 'good bunch of fives.'-- <br>(I can't think how that last line escaped from my quill, <br>For I am sure it has nothing to do with Odille.) <br>Now young ladies to you!-- <br>Don't put on the shrew! <br>And don't be surprised if your father looks blue <br>When you're pert, and won't act as he wants you to do! <br>Be sure that you never elope;-- there are few,-- <br>Believe me you'll find what I say to be true,-- <br>Who run restive, but find as they bake they must brew, <br>And come off at the last with 'a hole in their shoe;' <br>Since not even Clapham, that sanctified ville, <br>Can produce enough Saints to save every Odille</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Richard+Harris+Barham">Richard Harris Barham</a><div class=q>
<img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share">
<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=498852" data-title="The Lay of St. Odille de Richard Harris Barham" data-description="Odille was a maid of a dignified race; 
Her father, Count Otto, was lord of Alsace; 
Such an air, such a grace, 
Such a form, such a face, 
All agreed 'twere a fruitless endeavour to trace 
In the Court, or within fifty miles of the place. 
Many l..."></div>
</div>
</div>