The Vagabond And Other Poems From Punch Part 5

She's a young dog and a strong dog And a tall dog and a long dog, A Danish lady of high degree, Black coat, kind eye and a stride that's free.

And out she came Like a burst of flame, And John, As he trudged and strutted St.u.r.dily on, Was blindly b.u.t.ted, And, all his dignity spent and gone, On a patch of clover Was tumbled over, His two short legs having failed to score In a sudden match against Lufra's four.

But we picked him up And we brushed him down, And he rated the pup With a dreadful frown; And then he laughed and he went and hugged her, Seized her tail in his fist and tugged her, And so, with a sister's hand to guide him, Continued his march with the dog beside him.

And soon he waggles his way upstairs-- He does it alone, though he finds it steep.

He is stripped and gowned, and he says his prayers, And he condescends To admit his friends To a levee before he goes to sleep.

He thrones it there With a battered bear And a tattered monkey to form his Court, And, having come to the end of day, Conceives that this is the time for play And every possible kind of sport.

But at last, tucked in for the hundredth time, He babbles a bit of nursery rhyme, And on the bed Droops his curly round head, Gives one long sigh of unalloyed content Over a day so well, so proudly spent, Resigned at last to listen and obey, And so begins to breathe his quiet night away.

THE SPARROW

Let others from the feathered brood Which through the garden seeks its food Pick out for a commending word Each one his own peculiar bird; Hail the plump t.i.t, or fitly sing The finch's crest and flas.h.i.+ng wing; Exalt the rook's black satin dress-coat, The thrush's speckled fancy waistcoat; Or praise the robin, meek, but sly, For breast and tail and friendly eye-- These have their place within my heart; The sparrow owns the larger part, And, for no virtues, rules in it, My reckless cheerful favourite!

Friend sparrow, let the world contemn Your ways and make a mock of them, And dub you, if it has a mind, Low, quarrelsome, and unrefined; And let it, if it will, pursue With harsh abuse the troops of you Who through the orchard and the field Their busy bills in mischief wield; Who strip the tilth and bare the tree, And make the gardener's face to be Expressive of the words he could, But must not, utter, though he would (For gardeners still, where'er they go, Whate'er they do, in weal or woe, Through every chance of life retain Their ancient Puritanic strain; Tried by the weather they control Each day their angry human soul, And, by the sparrow teased, may tear Their careworn locks, but never swear).

Let us admit--alas,'tis true-- You are not adequately few; That half your little life is spent In furious strife or argument; Still, though your wickedness must harrow All feeling souls, I love my sparrow; Still, though I oft and gravely doubt you, I really could not do without you.

Your pluck, your wit, your nonchalance, Your cheerful confidence in chance, Your darting flight, your bouts of play, Your chirp, so sociable and gay-- These, and no beauty soft or striking, Make up your pa.s.sport to my liking; And for your faults I'll still defend you, My little sparrow, and befriend you.

GELERT

Tested and staunch through many a changing year, Gelert, his master's faithful hound, lies here.

Humble in friends.h.i.+p, but in service proud, He gave to man whate'er his lot allowed; And, rich in love, on each well-trusted friend Spent all his wealth and still had more to spend.

Now, reft beyond the unfriendly Stygian tide, For these he yearns and has no wish beside.

AVE, CAESAR!

(MAY 20, 1910)

Full in the splendour of this morning hour, With tramp of men and roll of m.u.f.fled drums, In what a pomp and pageantry of power, Borne to his grave, our lord, King EDWARD, comes!

In flas.h.i.+ng gold and high magnificence, Lo, the proud cavalcade of comrade Kings, Met here to do the dead KING reverence, Its solemn tribute of affection brings.

Heralds and Pursuivants and Men-at-arms, Sultan and Paladin and Potentate, Scarred Captains who have baffled war's alarms And Courtiers glittering in their robes of state,

All in their blazoned ranks, with eyes cast down, Slow pacing in their sorrow pa.s.s along Where that which bore the sceptre and the crown Cleaves at their head the silence of the throng.

And in a s.p.a.ce behind the pa.s.sing bier, Looking and longing for his lord in vain, A little playmate whom the KING held dear, Caesar, the terrier, tugs his silver chain!

Hail, Caesar, lonely little Caesar, hail!

Little for you the gathered Kings avail.

Little you reck, as meekly past you go, Of that solemnity of formal woe.

In the strange silence, lo, you p.r.i.c.k your ear For one loved voice, and that you shall not hear.

So when the monarchs with their bright array Of gold and steel and stars have pa.s.sed away, When, to their wonted use restored again, All things go duly in their ordered train, You shall appeal at each excluding door, Search through the rooms and every haunt explore; From lawn to lawn, from path to path pursue The well-loved form that still escapes your view.

At every tree some happy memories rise To stir your tail and animate your eyes, And at each turn, with gathering strength endued, Hope, still frustrated, must be still renewed.

How should you rest from your appointed task Till chance restore the happiness you ask, Take from your heart the burden, ease your pain, And grant you to your master's side again, Proud and content if but you could beguile His voice to flatter and his face to smile?

Caesar, the kindly days may bring relief; Swiftly they pa.s.s and dull the edge of grief.

You too, resigned at last, may school your mind To miss the comrade whom you cannot find, Never forgetting, but as one who feels The world has secrets which no skill reveals.

Henceforth, whate'er the ruthless fates may give, You shall be loved and cherished while you live.

Reft of your master, little dog forlorn, To one dear mistress you shall now be sworn, And in her queenly service you shall dwell, At rest with one who loved your master well.

And she, that gentle lady, shall control The faithful kingdom of a true dog's soul, And for the past's dear sake shall still defend Caesar, the dead KING'S humble little friend.

SOO-TI

A PEKINESE

Soo-Ti, I thank the careful fate That made you wise and obstinate, Alert, but with a proper pride, And gay, but wondrous dignified.

I praise your black and tilted nose; I praise your heart's deep love that shows In songs made up of whimpering cries And in the radiance of your eyes (And if they bulge--forgive the allusion-- Are eyes the worse for such protrusion?

The smaller eyes are, sure, the blinder, And size makes every kind eye kinder).

Next with affection's look I note The glossy levels of your coat, Where a rich black doth most prevail, Shading to beaver in your tail, And lightly fading as it reaches The tufted things you wear as breeches.

The dweller on the cus.h.i.+on purrs No less when Soo-Ti barks and stirs.

She blinks and blinks and lets you share Her bowl of milk, her fav'rite chair.

For you she hides her cruel claw And taps you with a velvet paw; And, mastered by your lordly air, For you is meek and debonair.

Even should you growl her hair stays flat: Be sure she thinks you half a cat.

But you're a Dog and know your job: Oft have I seen you hob-a-n.o.b, And grandly gracious to unbend With a Great Dane, your humble friend.

As on the lawn with him you roll, He makes your very being droll.

Yet how you set to work to flout him, To tease and gnaw and dance about him!

You risk the pressure of his paws, Plunge all you are within his jaws, And, swelling to a final rage, With pin-point teeth the fight engage, While he submits his silly size To every insult you devise.

At last, withdrawing from the fuss, You come and tell your tale to us, Bearing aloft through every room Your high tail's undefeated plume, Till, fed with triumphs, you subside, And sleep and doff your native pride, Composing in a wicker fane Those limbs that terrify the Dane.

So, Soo-Ti, I have tried to praise Yourself and all your winning ways, Content if I may guard and please My little dusky Pekinese.

THE BATH

Hang garlands on the bathroom door; Let all the pa.s.sages be spruce; For, lo, the victim comes once more, And, ah, he struggles like the deuce!

Bring soaps of many scented sorts; Let girls in pinafores attend, With John, their brother, in his shorts, To wash their dusky little friend.

Their little friend, the dusky dog, Short-legged and very obstinate, Faced like a much-offended frog, And fighting hard against his fate.