The following lines have been kindly sent us by Professor E. H. Palmer, who wrote them after a cruise on a friend’s yacht, and are an abortive attempt to get up a knowledge of nautical terms. The Shipwreck. “Upon the poop the captain stands,
As starboard as may be;
And pipes on deck the topsail hands
To reef the top-sail-gallant strands
Across the briny sea.
‘Ho! splice the anchor under-weigh!’
The captain loudly cried;
‘Ho! lubbers brave, belay! belay!
For we must luff for Falmouth Bay
Before to-morrow’s tide.’
The good ship was a racing yawl,
A spare-rigged schooner sloop,
Athwart the bows the taffrails all
In grummets gay appeared to fall,
To deck the mainsail poop.
But ere they made the Foreland Light,
And Deal was left behind;
The wind it blew great gales that night,
And blew the doughty captain tight,
Full three sheets in the wind.
And right across the tiller head
The horse it ran apace,
Whereon a traveller hitched and sped
Along the jib and vanishÉd
To heave the trysail brace.
What ship could live in such a sea!
What vessel bear the shock?
‘Ho! starboard port your helm-a-lee!
Ho! reef the maintop-gallant-tree,
With many a running block!’
And right upon the Scilly Isles
The ship had run aground;
When lo! the stalwart Captain Giles
Mounts up upon the gaff and smiles,
And slews the compass round.
‘Saved! saved!’ with joy the sailors cry,
And scandalise the skiff;
As taut and hoisted high and dry
They see the ship unstoppered lie
Upon the sea-girt cliff.
And since that day in Falmouth Bay,
As herring-fishers trawl,
The younkers hear the boatswains say
How Captain Giles that awful day
Preserved the sinking yawl.” | Mr. Charles G. Leland sends the following, with the remark that he thinks the lines “the finest and daintiest nonsense” he ever read: “Thy heart is like some icy lake,
On whose cold brink I stand;
Oh, buckle on my spirit’s skate,
And lead, thou living saint, the way
To where the ice is thin—
That it may break beneath my feet
And let a lover in!” | A short time ago in the new series of Household Words, a prize was offered for the writing of Nonsense Verses of eight lines. Of the lines sent in by the competitors we give three specimens: “How many strive to force a way
Where none can go save those who pay,
To verdant plains of soft delight
The homage of the silent night,
When countless stars from pole to pole
Around the earth unceasing roll
In roseate shadow’s silvery hue,
Shine forth and gild the morning dew.”
—Arym. | “And must we really part for good,
But meet again here where we’ve stood?
No more delightful trysting-place,
We’ve watched sweet Nature’s smiling face.
No more the landscape’s lovely brow,
Exchange our mutual breathing vow.
Then should the twilight draw around
No loving interchange of sound.”
—Culver. | “Less for renown than innate love,
These to my wish must recreant prove;
Nor whilst an impulse here remain,
Can ever hope the soul to gain;
For memory scanning all the past,
Relaxes her firm bonds at last,
And gives to candour all the grace
The heart can in its temple trace.”
—Dum Spiro Spero. | The curious style of some versifiers has been well imitated in the following Ballad of the Period. “An auld wife sat at her ivied door
(Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese);
A thing she had frequently done before;
And her knitting reposed on her aproned knees.
The piper he piped on the hill-top high
(Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese);
Till the cow said, ‘I die,’ and the goose said, ‘Why?’
And the dog said nothing but searched for fleas.
The farmer’s daughter hath soft brown hair
(Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese);
And I’ve met a ballad, I can’t tell where,
Which mainly consisted of lines like these.” | W. S. Gilbert has some verses which are true nonsense, of which this is one: “Sing for the garish eye,
When moonless brandlings cling!
Let the froddering crooner cry,
And the braddled sapster sing.
For never and never again,
Will the tottering beechlings play,
For bratticed wrackers are singing aloud,
And the throngers croon in May!” | Mr. Lewis Carroll’s “Hunting of the Snark”[10] is a very curious little book, full of the most delicate fun and queer nonsense, with delightful illustrations. It gives an account of how a Bellman, Boots, Barrister, Broker, Billiard-marker, Banker, Beaver, Baker, and Butcher go a-hunting after a mythical Beast called a “Snark.” It is difficult to detach a passage for quotation, but the following few lines will show how the “Quest of the Snark” was purposed to be carried on: “To seek it with thimbles, to seek it with care:
To pursue it with forks and hope;
To threaten its life with a railway share;
To charm it with smiles and soap!
For the Snark’s a peculiar creature, that won’t
Be caught in a commonplace way;
Do all that you know, and try all that you don’t:
Not a chance must be wasted to-day!” | The verses which follow are from the “Comic Latin Grammar,” and if they are not nonsense they show at least how thin the partition line is between true nonsense verse and many of those pieces which were wont to be known by the name of Album Verses: Lines by a Fond Lover. “Lovely maid, with rapture swelling,
Should these pages meet thine eye,
Clouds of absence soft dispelling;—
Vacant memory heaves a sigh.
As the rose, with fragrance weeping,
Trembles to the tuneful wave,
So my heart shall twine unsleeping,
Till it canopies the grave.
Though another’s smile’s requited,
Envious fate my doom should be;
Joy for ever disunited,
Think, ah! think, at times on me!
Oft, amid the spicy gloaming,
Where the brakes their songs instil,
Fond affection silent roaming,
Loves to linger by the rill—
There, when echo’s voice consoling,
Hears the nightingale complain,
Gentle sighs my lips controlling,
Bind my soul in beauty’s chain.
Oft in slumber’s deep recesses,
I thy mirror’d image see;
Fancy mocks the vain caresses
I would lavish like a bee!
But how vain is glittering sadness!
Hark, I hear distraction’s knell!
Torture gilds my heart with madness!
Now for ever fare thee well!” |
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