A Selection from the Works of Frederick Locker Part 9

The earth is still our Mother Earth-- Young shepherds still fling capers In flowery groves that ring with mirth-- Where old ones read the papers.

Romance, as tender and as true, Our Isle has never quitted: So lads and la.s.ses when they woo Are hardly to be pitied!

Oh, yes! young love is lovely yet-- With faith and honour plighted: I love to see a pair so met-- Youth--Beauty--all united.

Such dear ones may they ever wear The roses Fortune gave them: Ah, know we such a Blessed Pair?

I think we do! G.o.d SAVE THEM!

Our lot is cast on pleasant days, In not unpleasant places-- Young ladies now have pretty ways, As well as pretty faces; So never sigh for what has been, And let us cease complaining That we have loved when Our Dear Queen Victoria was reigning!

GERALDINE GREEN.

I. THE SERENADE.

Light slumber is quitting The eyelids it pressed, The fairies are flitting, Who charmed thee to rest: Where night-dews were falling Now feeds the wild bee, The starling is calling, My Darling, for thee.

The wavelets are crisper That sway the shy fern, The leaves fondly whisper, "We wait thy return."

Arise then, and hazy Distrust from thee fling, For sorrows that crazy To-morrows may bring.

A vague yearning smote us-- But wake not to weep, My bark, love, shall float us Across the still deep, To isles where the lotos, Erst lulled thee to sleep.

II. MY LIFE IS A

At Worthing an exile from Geraldine G----, How aimless, how wretched an exile is he!

Promenades are not even prunella and leather To lovers, if lovers can't foot them together.

He flies the parade, sad by ocean he stands, He traces a "Geraldine G." on the sands, Only "G!" though her loved patronymic is "Green,"-- I will not betray thee, my own Geraldine.

The fortunes of men have a time and a tide, And Fate, the old Fury, will not be denied; That name was, of course, soon wiped out by the sea,-- She jilted the exile, did Geraldine G.

They meet, but they never have spoken since that,-- He hopes she is happy--he knows she is fat; _She_ woo'd on the sh.o.r.e, now is wed in the Strand,-- And _I_--it was I wrote her name on the sand!

MRS. SMITH.

Last year I trod these fields with Di, And that's the simple reason why They now seem arid: Then Di was fair and single--how Unfair it seems on me--for now Di's fair, and married.

In bliss we roved. I scorned the song Which says that though young Love is strong The Fates are stronger: Then breezes blew a boon to men-- Then b.u.t.tercups were bright--and then This gra.s.s was longer.

That day I saw, and much esteemed Di's ankles--which the clover seemed Inclined to smother: It twitched, and soon untied (for fun) The ribbons of her shoes--first one, And then the other.

'Tis said that virgins augur some Misfortune if their shoestrings come To grief on Friday: And so did Di--and so her pride Decreed that shoestrings so untied, "Are so untidy!"

Of course I knelt--with fingers deft I tied the right, and then the left: Says Di--"This stubble Is very stupid--as I live I'm shocked--I'm quite ashamed to give You so much trouble."

For answer I was fain to sink To what most swains would say and think Were Beauty present: "Don't mention such a simple act-- A trouble? not the least. In fact It's rather pleasant."

I trust that love will never tease Poor little Di, or prove that he's A graceless rover.

She's happy now as _Mrs. Smith_-- But less polite when walking with Her chosen lover.

Heigh-ho! Although no moral clings To Di's soft eyes, and sandal strings, We've had our quarrels!-- I think that Smith is thought an a.s.s, I know that when they walk in gra.s.s She wears balmorals.

THE SKELETON IN THE CUPBOARD.

The characters of great and small Come ready made, we can't bespeak one; Their sides are many, too,--and all (Except ourselves) have got a weak one.

Some sanguine people love for life-- Some love their hobby till it flings them.-- And many love a pretty wife For love of the _eclat_ she brings them!

We all have secrets--you have one Which may not be your charming spouse's,-- We all lock up a skeleton In some grim chamber of our houses; Familiars who exhaust their days And nights in probing where our smart is, And who, excepting spiteful ways, Are quiet, confidential "parties."

We hug the phantom we detest, We rarely let it cross our portals: It is a most exacting guest,-- Now are we not afflicted mortals?

Your neighbour Gay, that joyous wight, As Dives rich, and bold as Hector, Poor Gay steals twenty times a-night, On shaking knees, to see his spectre.

Old Dives fears a pauper fate, And h.o.a.rding is his thriving pa.s.sion; Some piteous souls antic.i.p.ate A waistcoat straiter than the fas.h.i.+on.

She, childless, pines,--that lonely wife, And hidden tears are bitter shedding; And he may tremble all his life, And die,--but not of that he's dreading.

Ah me, the World! how fast it spins!

The beldams shriek, the caldron bubbles; They dance, and stir it for our sins, And we must drain it for our troubles.

We toil, we groan,--the cry for love Mounts upward from this seething city, And yet I know we have above A FATHER, infinite in pity.

When Beauty smiles, when Sorrow weeps, When sunbeams play, when shadows darken, One inmate of our dwelling keeps A ghastly carnival--but hearken!

How dry the rattle of those bones!-- The sound was not to make you start meant,-- Stand by! Your humble servant owns The Tenant of this Dark Apartment.

THE VICTORIA CROSS.

A LEGEND OF TUNBRIDGE WELLS.

She gave him a draught freshly drawn from the springlet,-- O Tunbridge, thy waters are bitter, alas!

But Love finds an ambush in dimple and ringlet,-- "Thy health, pretty maiden!"--he emptied the gla.s.s.

He saw, and he loved her, nor cared he to quit her, The oftener he came, why the longer he stayed; Indeed, though the spring was exceedingly bitter, We found him eternally pledging the maid.