  The spirit that held him down H E was one of the middle age men I wot,A troubadour bedight, Who lost himself, in a lonely wood, An exceptional sort of night, For the moon, was only beginning to wax, And the clouds, were muggy, and black, And there wasn't much chance, of finding his way, To the trail, of the beaten track. But troubadours, were stout and strong, Of tough, and stubborn, stuff, And took the rough, with the sleek, and smooth, The smooth, with the rusty rough, So up thro' the drift, of the hummocky ruck, Of the clouds, he searched for a star, To serenade, with the thringumy-thrang, Of the thrum, of his new guitar. The glint of one, thro' a galloping cloud, He caught, and he screwed his wire, And gave a twist, to its patent head, And toned the catgut higher. Then flung the cape of his cloak aside, And in an Æsthetic strain, He pitched his voice, to the concert key, And twanged on the strings amain. illustration But having expressed himself in song, With a quivering verse or two, His favourite string gave out, with a bang, And stopped his impromptu. He muttered a satire upon that string, And sat on a bank, close by, When he heard the trip of a female foot, And lisp of a female sigh! She was one of the guardians, of the piece Of ground, that was round him there, An ariel spirit in azure blue, And fluffs of auburn hair, That framed a very attractive face, Of cream, and strawberry pink, And she greeted the troubadour bedight, With a captivating wink! "O troubadour, what brings you here, So lone and sad?" said she, Just throw your guitar across your back, And wander away with me. I'll show you the fairy dells, of mine, All tricked around with sheen, Of glittering gold, and sparkling gems, With electric lights between. illustration "I'm a single woman, and never was once In love, with a man, till this!" And then she stooped to his quivering lip, Imprinting a dainty kiss. "Why don't you get up out of that?" she cried, And make no longer stay. But a spirit within, still held him down, In a magical sort of way. "O troubadour, you're a suitable man, To live in the woods with me, We'll dance to the charms of elphin song, Down under the greenwood tree." And she coaxed him again, with a dainty kiss, "Oh, sweetheart, come, be gay!" But a spirit within, still held him down, In a magical sort of way. "I hope, that you don't imagine," said she, "That I am a frivolous flirt, I'm the woman, that's new, the fashion to-day, With rational trunks, for skirt, I can ride, on a bicycle, made for two, Or 'tec out the sins of town," But all he could do, was give her a grin, From the spirit that held him down! He'd have given the world, to get up out of that, But a tantalising sprite, Had taken possession of him, you see, In the early part of the night. The fact of it is, that he couldn't get up, If she gave him a kingly crown, And all he could do, was give her a grin, From the spirit, that held him down! Twas woe! to see an attractive maid, So slurred, by a knightly bard, A misery this, for her plaint of love, To be grinned at, snubbed, and marred! Yet ever again, did she give him a kiss, And a lingering, coaxing smile, But the spirit within, still held him down, In a magical sort of style! "O come get up out of that!" she cried, And gave his collar a shake, With a kick in the ribs, that bustled him up, And startled him wide awake! And her raiment shrunk to the belted blue, Of a burly man, said he, "Yer out very late, in a dress like that, So track it along with me." "Get up out of that," the constable cried, "And don't make no delay," But the spirit within, still held him down, In a magical sort of way. The spirit within, still held him down, But the constable bent his back, And hooshed him up, and carried him off, At once to the beaten track. illustration The troubadour, came into the dock Next day, in a crowded court, And the rig of his garb, to the modern herd, Was a source of evil sport. But the modern beak had no romance, And the sum of a couple of crown, He fined the unfortunate troubadour, For the spirit that held him down! |
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