The Book of Humorous Verse Part 30

I married her, guileless lamb I was; I'd have died for her sweet sake.

How could I have known that my Angeline Had been a Human Snake?

Ah, we had been wed but a week or two When I found her quite a wreck: Her limbs were tied in a double bow-knot At the back of her swan-like neck.

No curse there sprang to my pallid lips, Nor did I reproach her then; I calmly untied my bonny bride And straightened her out again.

_Refrain_

My Angeline! My Angeline!

Why didst disturb my mind serene?

My well-beloved circus queen, My Human Snake, my Angeline!

At night I'd wake at the midnight hour, With a weird and haunted feeling, And there she'd be, in her _robe de nuit_, A-walking upon the ceiling.

She said she was being "the human fly,"

And she'd lift me up from beneath By a section slight of my garb of night, Which she held in her pearly teeth.

For the sweet, sweet sake of the Human Snake I'd have stood this conduct shady; But she skipped in the end with an old, old friend, An eminent bearded lady.

But, oh, at night, when my slumber's light, Regret comes o'er me stealing; For I miss the sound of those little feet, As they pattered along the ceiling.

_Refrain_

My Angeline! My Angeline!

Why didst disturb my mind serene?

My well-beloved circus queen, My Human Snake, my Angeline!

_Harry B. Smith._

NORA'S VOW

Hear what Highland Nora said,-- "The Earlie's son I will not wed, Should all the race of nature die, And none be left but he and I.

For all the gold, for all the gear, And all the lands both far and near, That ever valour lost or won, I would not wed the Earlie's son."

"A maiden's vows," old Callum spoke, "Are lightly made and lightly broke, The heather on the mountain's height Begins to bloom in purple light; The frost-wind soon shall sweep away That l.u.s.tre deep from glen and brae; Yet Nora, ere its bloom be gone, May blithely wed the Earlie's son."

"The swan," she said, "the lake's clear breast May barter for the eagle's nest; The Awe's fierce stream may backward turn, Ben-Cruaichan fall, and crush Kilchurn; Our kilted clans, when blood is high, Before their foes may turn and fly; But I, were all these marvels done, Would never wed the Earlie's son."

Still in the water-lily's shade Her wonted nest the wild swan made; Ben-Cruaichan stands as fast as ever, Still downward foams the Awe's fierce river; To shun the clash of foeman's steel, No Highland brogue has turn'd the heel; But Nora's heart is lost and won, --She's wedded to the Earlie's son!

_Sir Walter Scott._

HUSBAND AND HEATHEN

O'er the men of Ethiopia she would pour her cornucopia, And shower wealth and plenty on the people of j.a.pan, Send down jelly cake and candies to the Indians of the Andes, And a cargo of plum pudding to the men of Hindoostan; And she said she loved 'em so, Bushman, Finn, and Eskimo.

If she had the wings of eagles to their succour she would fly Loaded down with jam and jelly, Succotash and vermicelli, Prunes, pomegranates, plums and pudding, peaches, pineapples, and pie.

She would fly with speedy succour to the natives of Molucca With whole loads of quail and salmon, and with tons of frica.s.see And give cake in fullest measure To the men of Australasia And all the Archipelagoes that dot the southern sea; And the Anthropophagi, All their lives deprived of pie, She would satiate and satisfy with custards, cream, and mince; And those miserable Australians And the Borrioboolighalians, She would gorge with choicest jelly, raspberry, currant, grape, and quince.

But like old war-time hardtackers, her poor husband lived on crackers, Bought at wholesale from a baker, eaten from the mantelshelf; If the men of Madagascar, And the natives of Alaska, Had enough to sate their hunger, let him look out for himself.

And his coat had but one tail And he used a s.h.i.+ngle nail To fasten up his galluses when he went out to his work; And she used to spend his money To buy sugar-plums and honey For the Terra del Fuegian and the Turcoman and Turk.

_Sam Walter Foss._

THE LOST PLEIAD

'Twas a pretty little maiden In a garden gray and old, Where the apple trees were laden With the magic fruit of gold; But she strayed beyond the portal Of the garden of the Sun, And she flirted with a mortal, Which she oughtn't to have done!

For a giant was her father and a G.o.ddess was her mother, She was Merope or Sterope--the one or else the other; And the man was not the equal, though presentable and rich, Of Merope or Sterope--I don't remember which!

Now the giant's daughters seven, She among them, if you please, Were translated to the heaven As the starry Pleiades!

But amid their constellation One alone was always dark, For she shrank from observation Or censorious remark.

She had yielded to a mortal when he came to flirt and flatter.

She was Merope or Sterope--the former or the latter; So the planets all ignored her, and the comets wouldn't call On Merope or Sterope--I am not sure at all!

But the Dog-star, brightly s.h.i.+ning In the hottest of July, Saw the pretty Pleiad pining In the shadow of the sky, And he courted her and kissed her Till she kindled into light; And the Pleiads' erring sister Was the lady of the night!

So her former indiscretion as a fault was never reckoned, To Merope or Sterope--the first or else the second, And you'll never see so rigidly respectable a dame As Merope or Sterope--I can't recall her name!

_Arthur Reed Ropes._

THE NEW CHURCH ORGAN

They've got a brand-new organ, Sue, For all their fuss and search; They've done just as they said they'd do, And fetched it into church.

They're bound the critter shall be seen, And on the preacher's right They've hoisted up their new machine In everybody's sight.

They've got a chorister and choir, Ag'in' _my_ voice and vote; For it was never _my_ desire To praise the Lord by note.

I've been a sister good an' true For five-an'-thirty year; I've done what seemed my part to do, An' prayed my duty clear; I've sung the hymns both slow and quick, Just as the preacher read, And twice, when Deacon Tubbs was sick, I took the fork an' led; And now, their bold, new-fangled ways Is comin' all about; And I, right in my latter days, Am fairly crowded out!

To-day the preacher, good old dear, With tears all in his eyes, Read, "I can read my t.i.tle clear To mansions in the skies."

I al'ays liked that blessed hymn-- I s'pose I al'ays will-- It somehow gratifies _my_ whim, In good old Ortonville; But when that choir got up to sing, I couldn't catch a word; They sung the most dog-gondest thing A body ever heard!

Some worldly chaps was standin' near; An' when I see them grin, I bid farewell to every fear, And boldly waded in.

I thought I'd chase their tune along, An' tried with all my might; But though my voice was good an' strong, I couldn't steer it right.

When they was high, then I was low, An' also contrawise; An' I too fast, or they too slow, To "mansions in the skies."

An' after every verse, you know They play a little tune; I didn't understand, and so I started in too soon.

I pitched it pretty middlin' high, I fetched a l.u.s.ty tone, But oh, alas! I found that I Was singin' there alone!