Vae Victis parody Gilles Menage Thomas Hood Faithless Nellie Gray
Vae Victis
Good people all, with one accord
lament for David Wren,
who never wanted a good word –
from those his praise did pen.
He strove all of this House to please
with manners wondrous winning;
and never followed wicked ways –
except when he was sinning.
At meals, in slacks and jackets neat,
with smile of monstrous size;
he sat up straight upon his seat –
for ladies, though, he’d rise.
His love was sought, the little wren,
by twenty birds and more;
where e’er he went they followed him
to Annesley’s shady shore.
So let us sigh, in sorrow sore,
for South House well may say;
had he but slaved in school some more,
he had not sobbed today.
14 December 1969 University of Toronto, Victoria College
Parody Gilles MENAGE - The Happy Man Oliver GOLDSMITH – Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog Thomas HOOD Faithless Nellie Gray and Sally Brown
robi3_0002_mena1_0001 19691214
Faithless Ben Simon
Ben Simon was a broker bold
who’d turned his share of crashes,
the recent slump his stumps had bowled
with shares returned to ashes.
Then as they hammered him from ‘Change,
he stammered “with a spread
I might my spread keep, not exchange
my blue bloods, in the red! ”
Head watch-dogs dogged his tracks before
he suddenly made tracks,
and headed south ahead of four
headlines in weekend tracts.
Though contracts signed seemed so well heeled, -
the heel – but yet inside a
good deal of each deal he had wheeled
were bad contacts insider!
Although he swore an open book
each trade was ‘fore bear raid,
betrayed, he soon was brought to book
and in the dock arrayed.
The moral of this tale, who knows?
Fools’ gold will e’er attract,
but details missed, or jealous foes
woe’s tales tell, ‘tis a fact.
27 July 1991
robi3_0411_mena1_0001 19910724
Parody Gilles MENAGE - The Happy Man Oliver GOLDSMITH – Elegy on the Glory of her Sex, Mrs. Blaize Thomas HOOD Faithless Nellie Gray and Sally Brown
La Palisse now I wish to touch;
Droll air! if I can strike it,
I'm sure the song will please you much;
That is, if you should like it.
La Pallisse was indeed, I grant,
Not used to any dainty
When he was born – but could not want,
As long as he had plenty.
Instructed with the greatest care,
He always was well bred,
And never used a hat to wear
But when 'twas on his head.
His temper was exceeding good,
Just of his father’s fashion;
And never quarrels broil’d his blood,
Except when in a passion.
His mind was on devotion bent;
He kept with care each high day,
And Holy Thursday always spent
The day before Good Friday.
He liked good claret very well,
I just presume to think it;
For ere its flavour he could tell
He thought it best to drink it.
Than doctors more he loved the cook,
Though food would make him gross,
And never any physic took
But when he took a dose.
O happy, happy is the swain
The ladies so adore;
For many followed in his train,
Whene’er he walk’d before.
Bright as the sun his flowing hair
In golden ringlets shone;
And no one could with him compare,
If he had been alone.
His talents I cannot rehearse,
But everyone allows,
That whatsoe’er he wrote in verse,
No one could call it prose.
His powerful logic would surprise,
Amuse, and much delight:
He proved that dimness of the eyes
Was hurtful to the sight.
They liked him much - so it appears
Most plainly - who preferred him;
And those did never want their ears
Who any time had heard him.
He was not always right, 'tis true,
And then he must be wrong;
But none had found it out, he knew,
If he had held his tongue.
He argued with precision nice,
The learnèd all declare;
And it was his decision wise,
No horse could be a mare.
He was not always right, ‘tis true,
And then he must be wrong;
But none had found it out, he knew,
If he had held his tongue.
Whene'er a tender tear he shed,
'Twas certain that he wept;
And he would lie awake in bed,
Unless, indeed, he slept.
In tilting everybody knew
His very high renown;
Yet no opponents he o'erthrew
But those that he knocked down.
At last they smote him in the head –
What hereo ever fought all?
And when they saw that he was dead,
They knew the wound was mortal.
And when at last he lost his breath,
It closed his every strife;
For that sad day that seal’d his death,
Deprived him of his life.
Gilles MENAGE 1613_1692 mena1_0001_mena1_0000
Translator Unknown sometimes in 9 verses only ‘amuse’ variation ‘amaze’
Parodied by Thomas HOOD – Ben Battle, Faithless Nellie Gray
MENAGE Gilles 1613_1692 mena1_0001_mena1_0000 PFT_JMX An Elegy The Happy Man_La Pallisse now I wish to touch
Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog
Good people all, of every sort,
Give ear unto my song;
And if you find it wondrous short,
It cannot hold you long.
In Islington there was a man
Of whom the world might say,
That still a godly race he ran—
Whene'er he went to pray.
A kind and gentle heart he had,
To comfort friends and foes;
The naked every day he clad—
When he put on his clothes.
And in that town a dog was found,
As many dogs there be,
Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound,
And curs of low degree.
This dog and man at first were friends;
But when a pique began,
The dog, to gain some private ends,
Went mad, and bit the man.
Around from all the neighbouring streets
The wond'ring neighbours ran,
And swore the dog had lost its wits
To bite so good a man.
The wound it seemed both sore and sad
To every Christian eye;
And while they swore the dog was mad,
They swore the man would die.
But soon a wonder came to light
That showed the rogues they lied, —
The man recovered of the bite,
The dog it was that died!
Oliver GOLDSMITH 1728_1774 gold1_0001_mena1_0001
Parody from the French Gilles Ménage Elegy - The Happy Man
Elegy on the Glory of her Sex Mrs Mary Blaize
Good people all, with one accord
Lament for Madam Blaize,
Who never wanted a good word, —
From those who spoke her praise.
The needy seldom passed her door,
And always found her kind;
She freely lent to all the poor, —
Who left a pledge behind.
She strove the neighbourhood to please
With manners wondrous winning;
And never followed wicked ways, —
Unless when she was sinning.
At church, in silks and satins new,
With hoop of monstrous size,
She never slumbered in her pew, —
But when she shut her eyes.
Her love was sought, I do aver,
By twenty beaux and more;
The king himself has followed her, —
When she has walked before.
But now her wealth and finery fled,
Her hangers-on cut short all;
The doctors found, when she was dead, —
Her last disorder mortal.
Let us lament in sorrow sore,
For Kent Street well may say
That had she lived a twelvemonth more, —
She had not died today.
Oliver GOLDSMITH 1728_1774 gold1_0003_mena1_0001
Parody from the French Gilles Ménage Elegy - The Happy Man
Faithless Nellie Gray
Ben Battle was a soldier bold,
And used to war's alarms;
But a cannon-ball took off his legs,
So he laid down his arms.
Now as they bore him off the field,
Said he, 'Let others shoot;
For here I leave my second leg,
And the Forty-second Foot.'
The army-surgeons made him limbs:
Said he, 'They're only pegs;
But there's as wooden members quite,
As represent my legs.'
Now Ben he loved a pretty maid, -
Her name was Nelly Gray;
So he went to pay her his devours,
When he devoured his pay.
But when he called on Nelly Gray,
She made him quite a scoff;
And when she saw his wooden legs,
Began to take them off.
'O Nelly Gray! O Nelly Gray! '
Is this your love so warm?
The love that loves a scarlet coat
Should be a little more uniform.
Said she, ' I loved a soldier once,
For he was blithe and brave;
But I will never have a man
With both legs in the grave
'Before you had those timber toes
Your love I did allow;
But then, you know, you stand upon
Another footing now.'
'O Nelly Gray! O Nelly Gray!
For all your jeering speeches,
At duty's call I left my legs
In Badajos's breaches.'
'Why, then, ' said she, 'you've lost the feet
Of legs in war's alarms,
And now you cannot wear your shoes
Upon your feats of arms! '
'O false and fickle Nelly Gray!
I know why you refuse:
Though I've no feet, some other man
Is standing in my shoes.
'I wish I ne'er had seen your face;
But, now, a long farewell!
For you will be my death' – alas!
You will not be my Nell! '
Now when he went from Nelly Gray
His heart so heavy got,
And life was such a burden grown,
It made him take a knot.
So round his melancholy neck
A rope he did intwine,
And, for his second time in life,
Enlisted in the Line.
One end he tied around a beam,
And then removed his pegs;
And, as his legs were off - of course
He soon was off his legs.
And there he hung till he was dead
As any nail in town;
For, though distress had cut him up,
It could not cut him down.
A dozen men sat on his corpse,
To find out why he died, -
And they buried Ben in four cross-roads
With a stake in his inside.
Thomas Hood Parody from the French Gilles Ménage Elegy - The Happy Man and Oliver GOLDSMITH – Elegy on the Glory of her Sex, Mrs. Blaize
Faithless Sally Brown
Young Ben he was a nice young man,
A carpenter by trade;
And he fell in love with Sally Brown,
That was a lady's maid.
But as they fetched a walk one day,
They met a press-gang crew;
And Sally did faint away,
Whilst Ben he was brought to.
The Boatswain swore with wicked words,
Enough to shock a saint,
That though she did seem in a fit,
'Twas nothing but a feint.
'Come, girl, ' said he, 'hold up you head,
He'll be as good as me;
For when your swain is in our boat,
A boatswain he will be.'
So when they'd made their game of her,
And taken off her elf,
She roused, and found she only was
A coming to herself.
'And is he gone, and is he gone! '
She cried, and wept outright:
'Then I will to the water side,
And see him out of sight.'
A waterman came up to her,
'Now, young woman, ' said he,
'If you weep on so, you will make
Eye-water in the sea.'
'Alas! they've taken my beau Ben
To sail with old Benbow; '
And her woe began to run afresh,
As if she'd said Gee woe!
Says he, 'They've only taken him
To the Tender ship, you see; '
'To the Tender ship, ' cried Sally Brown,
'What a hard-ship that must be!
'Oh! would I were a mermaid now,
For then I'd follow him;
But oh! I'm not a fish-woman,
And so I cannot swim.
'Alas! I was not born beneath
The Virgin and the Scales,
So I must curse my cruel stars,
And walk about in Wales.'
Now Ben had sailed to many a place
That's underneath the world;
But in two years the ship came home,
And all her sails were furled.
But when he called on Sally Brown,
To see how she went on,
He found she'd got another Ben,
Whose Christian name was John.
'O Sally Brown, O Sally Brown,
How could you serve me so?
I've met with many a breeze before,
But never such a blow.'
Then, reading on his 'bacco box,
He heaved a bitter sigh,
And then began to eye his pipe,
And then to pipe his eye.
And then he tried to sing 'All's Well, '
But could not though he tried:
His head was turned, and so he chewed
His pigtail till he died.
His death which happened in his berth,
At forty-odd befell:
They went and told the sexton, and
The sexton toll'd the bell.
Thomas Hood 1799_1845 hood1_0005_mena1_0001 Parody Gilles MENAGE - The Happy Man Oliver GOLDSMITH – Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog
The Cold-Water Man
It was an honest fisherman,
I knew him passing well, -
And he lived by a little pond,
Within a little dell.
A grave and quiet man was he,
Who loved his book and rod, -
So even ran his line of life,
His neighbours thought it odd.
For science and for books, he said,
He never had a wish, -
No school to him was worth a fig,
Except a school of fish.
He ne’er aspired to rank or wealth,
Nor cared about a nae, -
For though much famed for fish was he,
He never fished for fame.
Let others bend their necks at sight
Of Fashion’s gilded wheels,
He ne’er had learned the art to “bob”
for anything but eels.
A cunning fisherman was he,
His angles all were right;
The smallest nibble at his bait
Was sure to prove “a bite.”
John Godfrey SAXE 1816_1887
Parody from the French Gilles Ménage Elegy - The Happy Man and Oliver GOLDSMITH – Elegy on the Glory of her Sex, Mrs. Blaize Thomas HOOD Faithless Nellie Gray and Sally Brown
Pygmalion
There was an ancient classic swell,
An interesting alien,
His kinsfolk called him “Piggy”, but
His full name was Pygmalion.
Like many a high artistic Greek,
He got his bread by chiselling;
I don’t mean running into debt
and then by moonlight mizzling.
I don’t mean billiars, cards or dice,
At which the sharper garbles
Some spooney flat – the only game
Pymalion played was marbles.
He chiselled marble into forms
Defying competition;
And won no end of Kudos at
Each R.A. Exhibition.
One eve, he’d worked the whole day long,
And felt used up and wearied;
His subject was a Grecian Bend,
Or Lady of the Period.
Now Piggy was a lonely man,
Since he had never mated;
But always kept a celibate,
Although so celebrated.
So when he laid his chisel down
And saw his fair creation,
He said, - as critics often say –
“She lacks but animation! ”
And straightway Love and Phantasy,
Like disobedient vassals,
Heedless of Reason, in his brain
Wen building Spanish castles.
He thought it would be very nice
Each morning could he see
Presiding at his breakfast-board
Just such a Mrs. P.
He pictured her at parties, fêtes,
In pinery or grapery,
Looking as she was looking then –
Plus just a little drapery.
He bent on her a steadfast gaze
(Mesmeric ‘twas, I’m thinking)
And straight her sympathetic lids
Moved like – yes, just like – winking.
She breathed – she lived – she came to him,
And he embraced her quick;
“You are not stone! ” he fondly cried –
“You are a little brick! ”
His vision thus was realised:
Next morning he was able
To see that partner exquisite
Presiding at his table.
He ordered in no end of ‘things”,
He thought it but his duty;
Since, even for that antique age,
Too ‘unadorned’ her beauty.
And knowing well that spinsters prim
Would make her case a handle
For rude remark, he put a stop
Effectually to scandal.
For shortly in the Morning Post
This won the Monde’s regards –
“Mr. Pygmalion, R.A., -
Married Miss Stone. No cards.”
And many an artist, since that day,
Has found his sighs love-laden
Warm into animated clay
The coldest ‘marble maiden.”
Author Unknown The Hornet c.1890 PSho1_0005_mena1_0001
Parody after Gilles Ménage Elegy - The Happy Man, Oliver GOLDSMITH – Elegy on a Mad Dog, Thomas HOOD Faithless Nellie Gray
Elegy
“Great Britain makes a difficult sacrifice of principle by promising to bring the question of the recognition of the sovereignty of Ethiopia before the League of Nations”
The Times 18 April 1938
Good People all of every kind,
Unto my song give ear,
Of how the nations late combined
To make aggressors fear,
Of eight-and-fifty sheep-dogs, bound
No more to bark or bite,
And tainted wethers to impound
With full collective might.
A wolf in sheepskin was disclosed,
A lurking beast of prey.
The league his brigandage opposed,
A mouton enragé –
And more in sorrow than in ire
Put on the sanctions screw
To make the peacebreakers retire,
As they were sworn to do.
The killer ravaged, undismayed
By their coercive thrust,
The justice of his force outweighed
The forces of the just.
Their logic was confounded quite
As fact with theory vied,
The wolf recovered from the bite;
The League it was that died.
KATZIN Olga Miller 1896_1987
Parody after Gilles Ménage Elegy - The Happy Man, Oliver GOLDSMITH – Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog, Thomas HOOD Faithless Nellie Gray
To Add
BENSON Gerard 1931_20xx bens2_0004_mena1_0001 PWX_DXX Ben Barley_Ben Barley was a barman stout
FAGG Martin fagg1_0003_mena1_0001 PWX_DXX Elegy on Thomas Hood_O spare a tear for poor Tom Hood
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Faithless Nelly Gray
A Pathetic Ballad
Ben Battle was a soldier bold,
And used to war's alarms;
But a cannon-ball took off his legs,
So he laid down his arms.
Now as they bore him off the field,
Said he, 'Let others shoot;
For here I leave my second leg,
And the Forty-second Foot.'
The army-surgeons made him limbs:
Said he, 'They're only pegs;
But there's as wooden members quite,
As represent my legs.'
Now Ben he loved a pretty maid, --
Her name was Nelly Gray;
So he went to pay her his devours,
When he devoured his pay.
But when he called on Nelly Gray,
She made him quite a scoff;
And when she saw his wooden legs,
Began to take them off.
'O Nelly Gray! O Nelly Gray!'
Is this your love so warm?
The love that loves a scarlet coat
Should be a little more uniform.
Said she, ' I loved a soldier once,
For he was blithe and brave;
But I will never have a man
With both legs in the grave
'Before you had those timber toes
Your love I did allow;
But then, you know, you stand upon
Another footing now.'
'O Nelly Gray! O Nelly Gray!
For all your jeering speeches,
At duty's call I left my legs
In Badajos's breaches.'
'Why, then,' said she, 'you've lost the feet
Of legs in war's alarms,
And now you cannot wear your shoes
Upon your feats of arms!'
'O false and fickle Nelly Gray!
I know why you refuse:
Though I've no feet, some other man
Is standing in my shoes.
'I wish I ne'er had seen your face;
But, now, a long farewell!
For you will be my death' -- alas!
You will not be my Nell!'
Now when he went from Nelly Gray
His heart so heavy got,
And life was such a burden grown,
It made him take a knot.
So round his melancholy neck
A rope he did intwine,
And, for his second time in life,
Enlisted in the Line.
One end he tied around a beam,
And then removed his pegs;
And, as his legs were off -- of course
He soon was off his legs.
And there he hung till he was dead
As any nail in town;
For, though distress had cut him up,
It could not cut him down.
A dozen men sat on his corpse,
To find out why he died, --
And they buried Ben in four cross-roads
With a stake in his inside.
poem by Thomas Hood
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Faithless Sally Brown
Young Ben he was a nice young man,
A carpenter by trade;
And he fell in love with Sally Brown,
That was a lady's maid.
But as they fetch'd a walk one day,
They met a press-gang crew;
And Sally she did faint away,
Whilst Ben he was brought to.
The Boatswain swore with wicked words,
Enough to shock a saint,
That though she did seem in a fit,
'Twas nothing but a feint.
"Come, girl," said he, "hold up your head,
He'll be as good as me;
For when your swain is in our boat,
A boatswain he will be."
So when they'd made their game of her,
And taken off her elf,
She roused, and found she only was
A coming to herself.
"And is he gone, and is he gone?"
She cried, and wept outright:
"Then I will to the water side,
And see him out of sight."
A waterman came up to her,--
"Now, young woman," said he,
"If you weep on so, you will make
Eye-water in the sea."
"Alas! they've taken my beau Ben
To sail with old Benbow;"
And her woe began to run afresh,
As if she'd said Gee woe!
Says he, "They've only taken him
To the Tender ship, you see";
"The Tender-ship," cried Sally Brown
"What a hard-ship that must be!"
"O! would I were a mermaid now,
For then I'd follow him;
But Oh!--I'm not a fish-woman,
And so I cannot swim.
"Alas! I was not born beneath
The virgin and the scales,
So I must curse my cruel stars,
And walk about in Wales."
Now Ben had sail'd to many a place
That's underneath the world;
But in two years the ship came home,
And all her sails were furl'd.
But when he call'd on Sally Brown,
To see how she went on,
He found she'd got another Ben,
Whose Christian-name was John.
"O Sally Brown, O Sally Brown,
How could you serve me so?
I've met with many a breeze before,
But never such a blow":
Then reading on his 'bacco box
He heaved a bitter sigh,
And then began to eye his pipe,
And then to pipe his eye.
And then he tried to sing "All's Well,"
But could not though he tried;
His head was turn'd, and so he chew'd
His pigtail till he died.
His death, which happen'd in his berth,
At forty-odd befell:
They went and told the sexton, and
The sexton toll'd the bell.
poem by Thomas Hood
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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An Elegy On The Glory Of Her Sex, Mrs Mary Blaize
Good people all, with one accord
Lament for Madam Blaize,
Who never wanted a good word,—
From those who spoke her praise.
The needy seldom passed her door,
And always found her kind;
She freely lent to all the poor,—
Who left a pledge behind.
She strove the neighbourhood to please
With manners wondrous winning;
And never followed wicked ways,—
Unless when she was sinning.
At church, in silks and satins new,
With hoop of monstrous size,
She never slumbered in her pew,—
But when she shut her eyes.
Her love was sought, I do aver,
By twenty beaux and more;
The king himself has followed her,—
When she has walked before.
But now her wealth and finery fled,
Her hangers-on cut short all;
The doctors found, when she was dead,—
Her last disorder mortal.
Let us lament in sorrow sore,
For Kent Street well may say
That had she lived a twelvemonth more,—
She had not died today.
poem by Oliver Goldsmith
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An Elegy On The Death Of A Mad Dog
Good people all, of every sort,
Give ear unto my song;
And if you find it wondrous short,
It cannot hold you long.
In Islington there was a man
Of whom the world might say,
That still a godly race he ran—
Whene'er he went to pray.
A kind and gentle heart he had,
To comfort friends and foes;
The naked every day he clad—
When he put on his clothes.
And in that town a dog was found,
As many dogs there be,
Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound,
And curs of low degree.
This dog and man at first were friends;
But when a pique began,
The dog, to gain some private ends,
Went mad, and bit the man.
Around from all the neighbouring streets
The wond'ring neighbours ran,
And swore the dog had lost its wits
To bite so good a man.
The wound it seemed both sore and sad
To every Christian eye;
And while they swore the dog was mad,
They swore the man would die.
But soon a wonder came to light
That showed the rogues they lied,—
The man recovered of the bite,
The dog it was that died!
poem by Oliver Goldsmith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Faithless Ben Simon - Parody Gilles Menage, Thomas Hood, Faithless Nellie Gray,
Ben Simon was a broker bold
who’d turned his share of crashes,
the recent slump his stumps had bowled
with shares returned to ashes.
Then as they hammered him from ‘Change,
he stammered “with a spread
I might my spread keep, not exchange
my blue bloods, in the red! ”
Head watch-dogs dogged his tracks before
he suddenly made tracks,
and headed south ahead of four
headlines in weekend tracts.
Though contracts signed seemed so well heeled, -
the heel – but yet inside a
good deal of each deal he had wheeled
were bad contacts insider!
Although he swore an open book
each trade was ‘fore bear raid,
betrayed, he soon was brought to book
and in the dock arrayed.
The moral of this tale, who knows?
Fools’ gold will e’er attract,
but details missed, or jealous foes
woe’s tales tell, ‘tis a fact...
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Truth In Thomas Gray
Long years ago I had this dream of fame
That mine would live on as remembered name
That people would remember me and say
A legend once a legend still today.
But I think quite different now than I thought then
That I'd know fame and outlive other men
And now I know it matters none at all
Before we walk we have to learn to crawl.
And who could disagree with Thomas Gray
His elegy alive and well today
'Those paths of glory still lead to the grave'
And man to immortality still a slave.
It matters little to you when you die
Your fame that lives on you cannot enjoy
So enjoy life why worry about fame
And treat all people equal all the same.
Longfellow wrote 'It is not always May'
And the fairest rose in garden yesterday
Today it's petals scattered on the ground
And other roses blooming all around.
In my younger years just west of Millstreet Town
I yearned for fame and riches and renown
But now I see the truth in Thomas Gray
And I look at life in quite a different way.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Aunt Dorothy's Lecture
Come, go and practise—get your work—
Do something, Nelly, pray.
I hate to see you moon about
In this uncertain way!
Why do you look so vacant, child?
I fear you must be ill.
Surely you are not thinking of
That Captain Cameron still?
Ah, yes—I fear'd so! You may blush;
I blush for you, my dear;
And it is scarce a week ago
Since Gerald brought him here—
The day he fell in the hunting-field,
And his pretty horse was lamed.
O child—and with your bringing up!
You ought to be ashamed.
Last night I saw you watching him,
And you danced with him thrice;
You turn'd quite red when he spoke to you—
Such manners are not nice.
You, Nelly Gray, should not be seen
(I don't wish to be harsh)
Running wild, like the servant-girls,
For a red coat and moustache.
Not that he isn't a gentleman
From spur to shako-brim—
I know good blood when I see it—yes,
I will say that for him.
He does not swagger, nor lisp, nor flirt—
Has none of those vulgar ways;
And he does not talk like a stable-boy,
As the fashion is nowadays.
In fact, I admire him very much—
My dear, you need not fret—
I do; he's very different from
The rest of Gerald's set.
He's very handsome, certainly—
I don't mind saying so.
He reminds me a bit of your uncle, when
I met him long ago.
He had a silky, long moustache
Of just that golden shade;
And broad Greek brows, with a tint of bronze,
That Indian suns had made.
He was a soldier, too, you know—
As big and strong and tall:
He'd just come home when I saw him first
At Lady Talbot's ball.
I remember when we were introduced;
By stealth I look'd him o'er—
Such haughty, indolent, gentle eyes,
I never saw before!
I felt so strange when he look'd at me;
I cannot tell you why—
But I seem'd to feel he was mine, to keep
And love, till I should die.
'Twas very odd—in a moment, too,
Before I knew his name!
But, Nelly—O how the world was changed
And brighten'd, when he came!
I was so restless all that night;—
I did not want to see,
I felt where he moved about the room
While he was away from me.
I was jealous—I could not help it,
Although I struggled hard—
Of the other girls, whose favour'd names
Were written on his card;
They were so rich, and I was poor;
They were so grandly dress'd,
And I so dowdy; and yet, and yet,
I thought he liked me best.
The last long hour he danced with them,
And oh I miss'd him so!
And then I heard our carriage call'd,
And I knew that I must go.
A big lump rose up in my throat
That I could hardly bear;
But, passing through the vestibule,
I saw him standing there.
I knew not where he came from,
But I felt no surprise
When he look'd down from his stately height
With his grave and quiet eyes,
And held his hand for a mute good-night
That said all words could say;—
Ah, love! he made me happy then
For ever and for aye.
Well, well,—but this is nonsense;
How I am running on!—
His golden hair grew thin and grey,
And now he's dead and gone.
There, go and dress for dinner, child;
It's getting late, you see;
And—perhaps I'll ask young Cameron
If he'll come in to tea.
poem by Ada Cambridge
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Britain's Slough and Upton
Brief Synopsis:
Just prior to German air raids on Slough
in World War Two, Thames Valley was
progressing with a new industrial plan,
which could have brought distress to
the peaceful rural land...John Betjeman,
the poet, wrote rhyming words to disapprove;
what more could a disappointed Laureate do?
'Come friendly bombs and fall on Slough,
it isn't fit for humans now'. John Betjeman.
But Slough today is a pleasant town,
where every amenity can be found...
and yew trees surround the graveyard
of the Norman Church of renown.
'Twas here ~ in his own Slough garden
Sir William Hershall of astronomy fame
built the world's large telescope,
for which stargazers honour his name.
And Sir Thomas Gray, poet supreme,
wrote a most delightful theme:
I now quote the first four lines of a very
long poem from historical times:
'Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard'
The Curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
the lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea,
the plowman homeward plods his weary way
and leaves the world to darkness and to me.
Thomas Gray.
poem by Joyce Hemsley
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The Wind And The Sea
I STOOD by the shore at the death of day,
As the sun sank flaming red;
And the face of the waters that spread away
Was as gray as the face of the dead.
And I heard the cry of the wanton sea
And the moan of the wailing wind;
For love's sweet pain in his heart had he,
But the gray old sea had sinned.
The wind was young and the sea was old,
But their cries went up together;
The wind was warm and the sea was cold,
For age makes wintry weather.
So they cried aloud and they wept amain,
Till the sky grew dark to hear it;
And out of its folds crept the misty rain,
In its shroud, like a troubled spirit.
For the wind was wild with a hopeless love,
And the sea was sad at heart
At many a crime that he wot of,
Wherein he had played his part.
He thought of the gallant ships gone down
By the will of his wicked waves;
And he thought how the churchyard in the town
Held the sea-made widows' graves.
The wild wind thought of the love he had left
Afar in an Eastern land,
And he longed, as long the much bereft,
For the touch of her perfumed hand.
In his winding wail and his deep-heaved sigh
His aching grief found vent;
While the sea looked up at the bending sky
And murmured: 'I repent.'
But e'en as he spoke, a ship came by,
That bravely ploughed the main,
And a light came into the sea's green eye,
And his heart grew hard again.
Then he spoke to the wind: 'Friend, seest thou not
Yon vessel is eastward bound?
Pray speed with it to the happy spot
Where thy loved one may be found.'
And the wind rose up in a dear delight,
And after the good ship sped;
But the crafty sea by his wicked might
Kept the vessel ever ahead.
Till the wind grew fierce in his despair,
And white on the brow and lip.
He tore his garments and tore his hair,
And fell on the flying ship.
And the ship went down, for a rock was there,
And the sailless sea loomed black;
While burdened again with dole and care,
The wind came moaning back.
And still he moans from his bosom hot
Where his raging grief lies pent,
And ever when the ships come not,
The sea says: 'I repent,'
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sally G
Sowhere to the south of new york city
Lies the friendly state of tennessee,
Down in nashville toen I met a pretty
Who made a pretty big fool out of me.
And they call her sally,
Sally g, why dyou wanna do the things you do to me?
Youre my sally, sally g
Took the part that was the heart of me, sally g.
The night life took me down to printers alley,
Where sally sang a song behind a bar.
I ran my eyes across her as she sang a tangled mime,
I used to love to hear her sweet guitar.
And they call her sally,
Sally g, why dyou wanna do the things you do to me?
Youre my sally, sally g
Took the part that was the heart of me, sally g.
Me and sally took up,
Things began to look up,
Me and her were going strong.
Then she started lyin,
I could see our love was dyin.
I heard a voice say,
Move along, move along.
Well now. Im on my own again,
I wonder if she ever really understood.
I never thought to ask her what the letter g stood for,
But I know for sure it wasnt good.
And they call her sally,
Sally g, why dyou wanna do the things you do to me?
Youre my sally, sally g
Took the part that was the heart of me, sally g.
Sally g.
song performed by by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Chidioch Tichborne (1558-1586)
On September the nineteenth 1586 in London Tower
When the bloom of his young life was decaying like a flower
Dying in the cool winds of the early Fall
In words his tragic life he did recall.
Chidioch Tichborne to something beautiful to gave life
In his farewell elegy to Agnes his wife
An elegy still read and popular today
True greatness can be slow for to meet decay.
Accused as being in a failed plot to murder Elizabeth England's Queen
His best days as a poet he had not seen
Hung drawn and quartered a brutal way to die
Such a death to justice surely gives the lie.
Executed in his twenty eight year even in those times that was young
But he did not remain as one unsung
His gift of life may have been snatched from him in his prime
But his life story and his elegy have withstood the test of time.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Powerful Pens
The pen is greater than the sword or so it’s often said.
A poet’s word still stirs the heart long after he is dead.
The 'Elegy' of Thomas Gray can still provoke a thought.
And Campbell’s 'Ullin’s Daughter' proves that anger gains you nought.
What of the tales of Highwaymen that Alfred Noyes wrote,
We all felt sorry for the man with lace bunched at his throat.
Omar Khayyam’s finger writes and having writ moves on.
But still his clever verse delights long after he has gone.
Why is it John Clare’s 'Morning' or Tennyson’s 'The Brook? .'
When found in an anthology still make us stop to look.
Its true Maysfield’s 'Sea Fever' will cause an inner ache.
In any landlocked seaman’s heart who’s seen a grey dawn break.
As Newbolt’s 'Fighting Temeraire' will always last the distance.
Likewise will Marks Poem Code for the French Resistance.
Could we forget Keats’s 'Gypsy Meg' with bed of brown heath turf,
or John Hays 'The Enchanted Shirt' so full of subtle mirth
When Wordsworth’s 'Golden Daffodils' herald in the spring.
Along with Housman’s 'Cherry Tree' it makes your spirit sing.
Whilst Thomas Hardy’s 'Darkling Thrush' when frost was spectre grey
captures for eternity a dying winters day
Kipling’s classic poem 'If' sets rules for living by.
Whereas his 'Undertakers Horse' reminds us that we die.
The beauty of the written verse out lives whoever wrote it,
So throughout the centuries' others oft will quote it.
The Poets fame will light a flame in hearts of all mankind.
When those who led great armies, long since are left behind.
So remember all who fight for right with gun and bomb and sword.
Your deeds are unrecorded until someone writes the word
The winning move.
Life is not a Tempest
Nor a Mid Summer Night's Dream.
It is not A Winter's Tale
Nor a drama to play As You Like It.
All's Well that Ends Well,
Life is a Comedy of Errors.
We have Great Expectations
We do dream of Paradise Regained.
We move our pieces Measure for Measure.
Alas! In the process Love's Labour's Lost.
We eat the Grapes of Wrath
And life seems to be War and Peace.
Sitting Under the Greenwood Tree
It is all An Enchanted Kiss
It is all A Tempered Wind,
And we forget The Elegy Written in a country church-yard.
Life is an Old Curiosity Shop,
Our past is our shadow.
Again, it is the same old story-
The Old man and the Sea,
The Higher Pragmatism,
The Lonesome Road,
And who finally wins? -
Oliver Twists or the Merchant of the Venice?
***************************************** *****************
Shakespeare -Tempest, Mid-summer Night’s dream, A winter’s Tale, As you like it, All’s well that ends well, Comedy of errors, Measure for measure, Love’s labour’s lost, Merchant of Venice-
Dickens- Great Expectations, Oliver Twist, Old curiosity shop.
Milton- Paradise Regained.
Tolstoy- War and Peace.
Steinbeck- The grapes of wrath.
Hardy- Under the greenwood tree.
Thomas Gray – Elegy written in a country church-yard.
O Henry- An enchanted kiss, A tempered wind, The higher pragmatism, The lonesome road.
Hemingway- The old man and the sea.
poem by Ravi Panamanna
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Casanova Brown
Let me tell you bout that jive type
That jive type
Casanova brown
I met him at a party
He said the sweetest things when he hit on me
Wrapped up in his arms
I was blinded by his charm and I couldnt see
Like the story of little red riding hood
The big bad wolf was up to
Up to no good, woo, no
That jive type,that jive type
Casanova brown
He hit on me and hell hit on you
That jive type,that jive type
Casanova brown
I was lonely and naive
I guess thats why I believed every word he says
It felt so good to hear
Every time he said he cared it went straight to my head
He loved me and left me
But I cant deny
His love was so doggone good
I still, I still love that guy, ooh, [oh no] hey
That jive type,that jive type
Casanova brown
He hit on me and hell hit on you, watch out
That jive type,that jive type, ooh
Casanova brown
Let me tell you bout that jive type
That jive type
Casanova brown
That jive type,that jive type,
Casanova brown
I was sittin there mindin my business
Feelin good, checkin things out
Sippin on little wine [jive type, that jive type]
Then I spotted
Super cool dude cross the room diggin on me
I tried to pretend like I didnt even see him
But he was so fine
He took my hand and started to dancin
I know he felt me fallin for him
cause he kept holdin me tighter and tighter, ooh
Sure was nice
Girl, my head was all turned around, oh
I didnt know what I was gettin into, ooh, ow
Up to no good, oh no
That jive type,that jive type
Casanova brown
That jive type,that jive type
Casanova brown
Like the story of little red riding hood
The big bad wolf was up to
Up to no good, woo, oh
That jive type,that jive type
Casanova brown
That jive type,that jive type
Casanova brown
That jive type,that jive type
Casanova brown
song performed by by Gloria Gaynor
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sally's Goodbye
Sally got up early to find what she could wear,
Then brushed her teeth and combed her hair.
She wasn’t going outside to play,
For today was a very special day.
Sally put on her favourite dress and matching headband,
In her favourite colour she looked so beautiful, just as planned.
‘Are you ready? ’ her daddy said
‘Yes Daddy I am, I’m just making my bed.’
She held her Daddy’s hand as they walked to the car
For she knew someone was watching from afar
They got in the car and drove away
Looking at the white clouds, with a touch of grey.
Everyone was there to give her a hug and kiss
She knew it was a day that no one would miss
In her matching headband and blue dress
As she walked through the doors she said god bless.
The place was decorated just like she thought
There was just enough room for the flowers she brought
Sally went up to the front of the room
And she knew that she would see her Mummy soon.
‘Here you are Mummy, I got these for you’
She was wearing her favourite colour, which was blue.
Sally placed the flowers she carried in her basket
With all the others right on top of her Mum’s casket.
Sally was 7 years old and didn’t understand
That her mummy couldn’t see her pretty blue headband
Daddy came up and placed on some flowers
He smiled, looking at Sally, ‘she’ll know they’re ours’.
They took their seat and began to wait
Most guests were seated, some were late.
The minister talked of a woman so beautiful
A wife, a mother and all things wonderful.
Sally asked Daddy if she could say a word
It was the sweetest thing her Daddy had heard.
‘Of course you can, Mummy would be proud,
Just go up there and remember to speak loud.
Sally walked up the front and stood at the pew
She knew everyone could see her in her dress of blue.
With memories in her head and love in her heart
She cleared her throat and began to start.
‘Mummy was so beautiful and so kind,
When I did things wrong, she would never really mind.
Mummy was very sick, and now she’s in heaven
She missed my birthday, because today I’m seven.
I wore our favourite colour today, I hope she can see
I wore a matching headband, it’s nice, I think she’d agree.
Mummy, I will make sure that Daddy will smile
Because I know that we won’t be seeing you for a while
We miss you more each and every day
But I still see you in my own special way.
I close my eyes, and you are there
Smiling back at me with your long blonde hair.
I love you mummy, you’re the best mum to me
I know that this is the way it has to be
Every time I think of you I will smile
And I will see you in heaven, in just a little while.’
Sally sat down with a smile on her face
Daddy held her in a warm embrace.
‘I’m so proud of you’ Said Daddy with a tear in his eye
It’s not forever Daddy, it’s just a short goodbye.
Sally watched her mummy be carried away,
Her head held high she began to pray,
‘Dear god please take care of my mummy,
she will be the most beautiful angel there will ever be’
poem by Kayla Neil
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Requiem I - Parody Robert Louis STEVENSON - Requiem
Through the artificial flowers
let me slide when all my powers
have passed as pass man’s mortal hours,
and let me burn.
Spurn graven verses for my head,
spade not the body laid, instead,
as I’ll no longer look ahead
book me no urn.
© Jonathan Robin – written 2 December 1995 Parody Robert Louis STEVENSON - Requiem for alternative version see below
robi03_0795_stev02_0001 PXX_DIZ
Requiem II
From life's dark, unwholesome cage
where love frets, siege raised in rage,
set free who sad lived, glad the page
turns uniting night to day.
Crave no rave elegy to test
verse prowess, - without protest
here actor lies in heart arrest
retractions over his clay.
© Jonathan Robin – written 2 December 1995 Parody Robert Louis STEVENSON - Requiem revised 25 December 2009
robi03_0796_stev02_0001 PXX_DIZ
for previous version see below
Requiem II
In a dark, unwholesome cage
let me fret and seethe in rage,
sadly I’ve lived and glad the page
turns uniting night and day.
Rave no crude elegy to test
verse prowess, - without protest
here lies life’s actor under arrest
with a tractor over his clay.
© Jonathan Robin – Parody written 2 December 1995 Parody Robert Louis STEVENSON - Requiem
Requiem
Under the wide and starry sky
Dig the grave and let me lie:
Glad did I live and gladly die
And I laid me down with a will.
This be the verse you grave for me
Here he lies where he long’d to be
Home is the sailor, home from the sea,
And the hunter home from the hill.
Robert Louis Stevenson 1850 - 1894
Requiem
Under the free and open sky,
There let me rest, nor breathe a sigh, -
Gladly I’ve lived, and gladly I’ll lie,
Content by night and day.
Grave no rude tombstone to mark my rest;
But deep in your soul may you say with zest;
“Here is the Seeker after his Quest,
And the Actor after the Play.”
Hamish Mann 1896 – 1917 A Subaltern’s Musings: 1918
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Daddy Long-Legs and the Fly
Once Mr Daddy Long-Legs,
Dressed in brown and gray,
Walked about upon the sands
Upon a summer's day;
And there among the pebbles,
When the wind was rather cold,
He met with Mr Floppy Fly,
All dressed in blue and gold.
And as it was too soon to dine,
They drank some Periwinkle-wine,
And played an hour or two, or more,
At battlecock and shuttledore.
Said Mr Daddy Long-legs
To Mr Floppy Fly,
'Why do you never come to court?
I wish you'd tell me why.
All gold and shine, in dress so fine,
You'd quite delight the court.
Why do you never go at all?
I really think you ought!
And if you went, you'd see such sights!
Such rugs! and jugs! and candle-lights!
And more than all, the King and Queen,
One in red, and one in green!'
'O Mr Daddy Long-Legs,'
Said Mr Floppy Fly,
'It's true I never go to court,
And I will tell you why.
If I had six long legs like yours,
At once I'd go to court!
But Oh! I can't, because my legs
Are so extremely short.
And I'm afraid the King and Queen
(One in red and one in green)
Would say aloud, 'You are not fit,
You Fly, to come to court a bit.'
O Mr Daddy Long-Legs,'
Said Mr Floppy Fly,
'I wish you'd sing one little song!
One mumbian melody!
You used to sing so awful well
In former days gone by,
But now you never sing at all;
I wish you'd tell me why:
For if you would, the silvery sound
Would please the shrimps and cockles round,
And all the crabs would gladly come
To hear you sing, 'Ah, Hum di Hum!''
Said Mr Daddy Long-Legs,
'I can never sing again!
And if you wish, I'll tell you why,
Although it gives me pain.
For years I could not hum a bit,
Or sing the smallest song;
And this the dreadful reason is,
My legs are grown too long!
My six long legs, all here and there,
Oppress my bosom with despair;
And if I stand, or lie, or sit,
I cannot sing one single bit!'
So Mr Daddy Long-Legs
And Mr Floppy Fly
Sat down in silence by the sea,
And gazed upon the sky.
They said, 'This is a dreadful thing!
The world has all gone wrong,
Since one has legs too short by half,
The other much too long!
One never more can go to court,
Because his legs have grown too short;
The other cannot sing a song,
Because his legs have grown too long!'
Then Mr Daddy Long-Legs
And Mr Floppy Fly
Rushed downward to the foaming sea
With one sponge-taneous cry;
And there they found a little boat
Whose sails were pink and gray;
And off they sailed among the waves
Far, and far away.
They sailed across the silent main
And reached the great Gromboolian plain;
And there they play for evermore
At battlecock and shuttledore.
poem by Edward Lear
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sigh On, Sad Heart, for Love's Eclipse
Sigh on, sad heart, for Love's eclipse
And Beauty's fairest queen,
Though 'tis not for my peasant lips
To soil her name between:
A king might lay his sceptre down,
But I am poor and nought,
The brow should wear a golden crown
That wears her in its thought.
The diamonds glancing in her hair,
Whose sudden beams surprise,
Might bid such humble hopes beware
The glancing of her eyes;
Yet looking once, I look'd too long,
And if my love is sin,
Death follows on the heels of wrong,
And kills the crime within.
Her dress seem'd wove of lily leaves,
It was so pure and fine,
O lofty wears, and lowly weaves,—
But hodden-gray is mine;
And homely hose must step apart,
Where garter'd princes stand,
But may he wear my love at heart
That wins her lily hand!
Alas! there's far from russet frieze
To silks and satin gowns,
But I doubt if God made like degrees
In courtly hearts and clowns.
My father wrong'd a maiden's mirth,
And brought her cheeks to blame,
And all that's lordly of my birth
Is my reproach and shame!
'Tis vain to weep,—'tis vain to sigh,
'Tis vain, this idle speech,
For where her happy pearls do lie,
My tears may never reach;
Yet when I'm gone, e'en lofty pride
May say, of what has been,
His love was nobly born and died,
Though all the rest was mean!
My speech is rude,—but speech is weak
Such love as mine to tell,
Yet had I words, I dare not speak,
So, Lady, fare thee well;
I will not wish thy better state
Was one of low degree,
But I must weep that partial fate
Made such a churl of me.
poem by Thomas Hood
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cloudburst
Words by:
Music by:
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I was blue and I was always wearing a frown
, because my gal had turned me down.
Then we met and you can bet I knew from the first,
you were my love,
and that's when the old gray cloudburst.
My heart really flew,
the day you caught my eye.
I hope that we two will never say "Good-bye."
Clouds of gray have silver linings when they reverse.
I found your love and that's when the old gray cloudburst.
Hey, baby.....
I'm gonna tell you 'bout your lovin'
and your kissn' and your huggin'
and your sweet turtle-dovin' pretty baby.
I won't be satisfied til I hear 'em play,
"Here comes the bride."
Listen to me baby and I don't mean maybe.
Listen to my story,
it's terrifficly true.
I gotta find a way of telling you that I really go for you.
I hope you really believe me baby 'cause I certainly do.
'Cause you're thrillin' me, you're really,
really thrilling when you tell me that you probably got a kind of crush on me,
That moves me, grooves me.
How divine can one woman be?
Well little darlin',
you got me fallin'.
You got me goofy and gay.
I'm gonna get carried away.
Just think, you're gonna be mine someday.
Oh, let's spin a little,
park a little, stop a little,
spark a little,
live a little,
love a little,
maybe turtle-dove a little baby.
Every time you hold me so near,
nobody loves me like you, dear.
Let's stop a little, squeeze a little,
probably maybe tease a little,
try a little, sigh a little,
maybe have to cry a little bit,
'cause to tell you the truth,
I'm gonna love you and that's it.
'Cause I love you baby,
love you baby,
love you baby,
love you baby,
with all my heart.
Oooh, listen to me while I say I let
a lotta little ladies get away
Because I know,
I know pretty baby, I know,
I know, pretty baby,
I know you're the one, yes you're the one.
I knew when I met you what a break it was to get you.
When it's cloudy and gray and that's the worst.
How do you cause the cloud to burst?
You got to find a lover,
find a lover, find a lover, find a lover.
If it's silvery under clouds of gray.
How do you chase the clouds away?
You gotta find a little girl
and make her love you a lot.
Don't ever leave unless you flip your
lid and really want to ruin the plot.
Sounds easy does it?
Light as a breeze thru the trees.
Boy, how pleasant was it?
Pleasant as one summer day, boy.
It's so wonderful,
what a love can do.
Look at what love has done for you.
Hey, I'm a lucky lover, lucky lover,
I got the love you should discover.
I was blue and I was always wearing a frown,
because my gal had turned me down.
Then we met and you can bet I knew from the first,
You were my love,
and that's when the old gray cloudburst.
Take a look at me.
Boy take another look,
take another look,
take another look,
Take another good, long, look at me.
Love opened my eyes and now I see,
Clouds of gray have silver linings when they reverse.
I found your love,
and that's when the old, gray, cloudburst.
That's when the old, gray, cloud burst!
song performed by by Barry Manilow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Requiem II - Parody Robert Louis STEVENSON - Requiem
Requiem II
From life's dark, unwholesome cage
where love frets, siege raised in rage,
set free who sad lived, glad the page
turns uniting night to day.
Crave no rave elegy to test
verse prowess, - without protest
here actor lies in heart arrest
retractions over his clay.
revised 25 December 2009
robi03_0796_stev02_0001 PXX_DIZ
for previous version see below
Requiem II
In a dark, unwholesome cage
let me fret and seethe in rage,
sadly I’ve lived and glad the page
turns uniting night and day.
Rave no crude elegy to test
verse prowess, - without protest
here lies life’s actor under arrest
with a tractor over his clay.
Requiem I
Through the artificial flowers
let me slide when all my powers
have passed as pass man’s mortal hours,
and let me burn.
Spurn graven verses for my head,
spade not the body laid, instead,
as I’ll no longer look ahead
book me no urn.
© Jonathan Robin – Parody written 2 December 1995 Parody Robert Louis STEVENSON - Requiem
Requiem
Under the wide and starry sky
Dig the grave and let me lie:
Glad did I live and gladly die
And I laid me down with a will.
This be the verse you grave for me
Here he lies where he long’d to be
Home is the sailor, home from the sea,
And the hunter home from the hill.
Robert Louis Stevenson 1850 - 1894
Requiem
Under the free and open sky,
There let me rest, nor breathe a sigh, -
Gladly I’ve lived, and gladly I’ll lie,
Content by night and day.
Grave no rude tombstone to mark my rest;
But deep in your soul may you say with zest;
“Here is the Seeker after his Quest,
And the Actor after the Play.”
Hamish Mann 1896 – 1917 A Subaltern’s Musings: 1918
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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