Back from your Australian trip!Punch, my CHARLES, your fist must grip.You have lighted on a timeWhen we're all chill, choke, and grime.'Twere no marvel, O great baritone,Did you find your voice had nary tone.But there's none like you can sing"To Anthea," "The Erl-King."SCHUBERT, GOUNOD, English HATTON,Equally your Fine Art's pat on.Punchcan never praiseyouscantly.À votre santé, good CHARLES SANTLEY!
Back from your Australian trip!Punch, my CHARLES, your fist must grip.You have lighted on a timeWhen we're all chill, choke, and grime.'Twere no marvel, O great baritone,Did you find your voice had nary tone.But there's none like you can sing"To Anthea," "The Erl-King."SCHUBERT, GOUNOD, English HATTON,Equally your Fine Art's pat on.Punchcan never praiseyouscantly.À votre santé, good CHARLES SANTLEY!
Back from your Australian trip!
Punch, my CHARLES, your fist must grip.
You have lighted on a time
When we're all chill, choke, and grime.
'Twere no marvel, O great baritone,
Did you find your voice had nary tone.
But there's none like you can sing
"To Anthea," "The Erl-King."
SCHUBERT, GOUNOD, English HATTON,
Equally your Fine Art's pat on.
Punchcan never praiseyouscantly.
À votre santé, good CHARLES SANTLEY!
ROUGE ET NOIR!"ROUGE ET NOIR!"
OUR SPORT AND ART EXHIBITION.OUR SPORT AND ART EXHIBITION."ON THE SCENT."
[At the Anti-Gambling Demonstration recently held in Exeter Hall, Sir RICHARD WEBSTER, the Attorney-General, said that it was supposed by many that it was impossible to enjoy athletic pursuits without becoming interested in a pecuniary sense. He should therefore like to add, not for the purpose of holding himself up as an example, that, during his entire interest in sports of all kinds, he had never made a bet.]
[At the Anti-Gambling Demonstration recently held in Exeter Hall, Sir RICHARD WEBSTER, the Attorney-General, said that it was supposed by many that it was impossible to enjoy athletic pursuits without becoming interested in a pecuniary sense. He should therefore like to add, not for the purpose of holding himself up as an example, that, during his entire interest in sports of all kinds, he had never made a bet.]
Ah! these are days when Recklessness, bereft of ready cash,Will strive to remedy the void by speculative splash;It is a salutary sight for Bankruptcy and Debt—Our good Attorney-General who never made a bet.His interest in manly sports, an interest immense,Was ne'er degraded to a mere "pecuniary sense;"His boyhood's love of marbles leaves him nothing to regret—Our good Attorney-General who never made a bet.Next, when a youth, the cricket-bat he first began to wield,And "Heads or Tails?" re-echoed for the Innings through the field.He sternly scorned to toss the coin, howe'er his friends might fret—Our good Attorney-General who never made a bet.And when, an Undergraduate, he swiftly skimmed his mile,And comrades staked with confidence on him their little pile,He'd beg them not on his account in gambling ways to get—This good Attorney-General who never made a bet.To play for money ruins whist: and seldom can his ClubPersuade him to put counters (coins for Zulus!) on the rub;Hehasbeen known for lozenges to dabble with piquet;He wasn't Chief Attorney then, nor was itquitea bet.His wise profession's ornament, he looks on all such gamesFar otherwise than RUSSELL does, than LOCKWOOD, HALL, or JAMES;For pure platonic love of play he stands, unequalled yet—Our good Attorney-General who never made a bet.St. Stephen's, too, thinks much of him; but ah! his soul it painsTo know that Speculation o'er the lobby sometimes reigns;He's chided OLD MORALITY and RANDOLPH and the set,Beseeching them on bended knees to never make a bet.We all are fond of him, in short, the Boxes with the Gods;That he's a first-rate fellow we would gladly lay the odds.But no!—himself would veto that. We must not wound our petPrecise Attorney-General who never made a bet.
Ah! these are days when Recklessness, bereft of ready cash,Will strive to remedy the void by speculative splash;It is a salutary sight for Bankruptcy and Debt—Our good Attorney-General who never made a bet.
Ah! these are days when Recklessness, bereft of ready cash,
Will strive to remedy the void by speculative splash;
It is a salutary sight for Bankruptcy and Debt—
Our good Attorney-General who never made a bet.
His interest in manly sports, an interest immense,Was ne'er degraded to a mere "pecuniary sense;"His boyhood's love of marbles leaves him nothing to regret—Our good Attorney-General who never made a bet.
His interest in manly sports, an interest immense,
Was ne'er degraded to a mere "pecuniary sense;"
His boyhood's love of marbles leaves him nothing to regret—
Our good Attorney-General who never made a bet.
Next, when a youth, the cricket-bat he first began to wield,And "Heads or Tails?" re-echoed for the Innings through the field.He sternly scorned to toss the coin, howe'er his friends might fret—Our good Attorney-General who never made a bet.
Next, when a youth, the cricket-bat he first began to wield,
And "Heads or Tails?" re-echoed for the Innings through the field.
He sternly scorned to toss the coin, howe'er his friends might fret—
Our good Attorney-General who never made a bet.
And when, an Undergraduate, he swiftly skimmed his mile,And comrades staked with confidence on him their little pile,He'd beg them not on his account in gambling ways to get—This good Attorney-General who never made a bet.
And when, an Undergraduate, he swiftly skimmed his mile,
And comrades staked with confidence on him their little pile,
He'd beg them not on his account in gambling ways to get—
This good Attorney-General who never made a bet.
To play for money ruins whist: and seldom can his ClubPersuade him to put counters (coins for Zulus!) on the rub;Hehasbeen known for lozenges to dabble with piquet;He wasn't Chief Attorney then, nor was itquitea bet.
To play for money ruins whist: and seldom can his Club
Persuade him to put counters (coins for Zulus!) on the rub;
Hehasbeen known for lozenges to dabble with piquet;
He wasn't Chief Attorney then, nor was itquitea bet.
His wise profession's ornament, he looks on all such gamesFar otherwise than RUSSELL does, than LOCKWOOD, HALL, or JAMES;For pure platonic love of play he stands, unequalled yet—Our good Attorney-General who never made a bet.
His wise profession's ornament, he looks on all such games
Far otherwise than RUSSELL does, than LOCKWOOD, HALL, or JAMES;
For pure platonic love of play he stands, unequalled yet—
Our good Attorney-General who never made a bet.
St. Stephen's, too, thinks much of him; but ah! his soul it painsTo know that Speculation o'er the lobby sometimes reigns;He's chided OLD MORALITY and RANDOLPH and the set,Beseeching them on bended knees to never make a bet.
St. Stephen's, too, thinks much of him; but ah! his soul it pains
To know that Speculation o'er the lobby sometimes reigns;
He's chided OLD MORALITY and RANDOLPH and the set,
Beseeching them on bended knees to never make a bet.
We all are fond of him, in short, the Boxes with the Gods;That he's a first-rate fellow we would gladly lay the odds.But no!—himself would veto that. We must not wound our petPrecise Attorney-General who never made a bet.
We all are fond of him, in short, the Boxes with the Gods;
That he's a first-rate fellow we would gladly lay the odds.
But no!—himself would veto that. We must not wound our pet
Precise Attorney-General who never made a bet.
All have heard of "a Manuscript found in a Bottle,"But here is a waif with romance yet more fraught:A newly-found treatise by old ARISTOTLEIs flotsam indeed from the Ocean of Thought.Oh, happy discoverer, lucky Museum!Not this time the foreigner scores off JOHN BULL.Teuton pundits would lift, for such luck, theirTe Deum!No SHAPIRA,Punchhopes, such a triumph to dull!May it all turn out right! Further details won't tire us.Wemayget some straight-tips from that Coptic papyrus!
All have heard of "a Manuscript found in a Bottle,"But here is a waif with romance yet more fraught:A newly-found treatise by old ARISTOTLEIs flotsam indeed from the Ocean of Thought.Oh, happy discoverer, lucky Museum!Not this time the foreigner scores off JOHN BULL.Teuton pundits would lift, for such luck, theirTe Deum!No SHAPIRA,Punchhopes, such a triumph to dull!May it all turn out right! Further details won't tire us.Wemayget some straight-tips from that Coptic papyrus!
All have heard of "a Manuscript found in a Bottle,"
But here is a waif with romance yet more fraught:
A newly-found treatise by old ARISTOTLE
Is flotsam indeed from the Ocean of Thought.
Oh, happy discoverer, lucky Museum!
Not this time the foreigner scores off JOHN BULL.
Teuton pundits would lift, for such luck, theirTe Deum!
No SHAPIRA,Punchhopes, such a triumph to dull!
May it all turn out right! Further details won't tire us.
Wemayget some straight-tips from that Coptic papyrus!
Well, I begins to agree with them as says, and says it too as if they ment it, that noboddy can reelly tell what is reel grand injiyment till they trys it, and trys it farely, and gives it a good chance. I remembers how I used to try and like Crikkit, when I was much yunger than I am now, and stuck to it in spite of several black eyes when I stood pint, and shouts of, "Now then, Butter-Fingers!" when I stood leg, till a serten werry fast Bowler sent me away from the wicket with two black and blew legs, and then I guv it up. I guv up Foot Ball for simler reesuns, and have never attemted not nothink in the Hathlettick line ewer since, my sumwat rapid increase in size and wait a hading me in that wise resolooshun.
But sumhow it appened, dooring the hawful whether we has all bin a shivering threw for this long time, that I found my atenshun direckted to the strange fack that, whilst amost ewerybody was busily engaged in a cussin and swarin at the bitter cold and the dirty slippery sno, ewerybody else seemed to be injying of theirselves like wun-a-clock. Now it so appened that when waiting one day upon the young swell I have before spoken of, at the "Grand 'Otel," he was jined by another swell, who told him what a glorius day's skating he had been avin in Hide Park! and how he ment to go agen to-morrer, "if the luvly frost wood but continue!"
So my cureosety was naterally egsited, and nex day off I gos to Hide Park, and there I seed the xplanation of what had serprised me so much. For there was hunderds and hunderds of not only spectably drest Gents, but also of reel-looking Ladys, a skatin away like fun, and a larfing away and injying theirselves jest as if it had bin a nice Summer's day. Presently I append to find myself a standing jest by a nice respectabel looking man, with a nice, cumferal-looking chair, and seweral pares of Skates; and presently he says to me, quite permiscus-like, "They all seems to be a injying theirselves, don't they, Sir?" which they most suttenly did; and then he says to me, says he, "Do you skate, Sir?" to which my natral pride made me reply, "Not much!" "Will you have a pair on. Sir," says he, "jest for a trial?" "Is there any fear of a axident?" says I. "Oh no. Sir," says he, "not if you follers my hinstrucshuns." So I acshally sets myself down in his chair, and lets him put me on a pair of Skates! The first differculty was, how to get up, which I found as I coudn't manage at all without his asistance; for, strange to say, both of my feet insisted on going quite contrary ways. Howewer, by grarsping on him quite tite round his waste, I at last manidged to go along three or four slides, and then I returned to the chair, and sat down again; and he was kind enuff to compliment me, and to say that he thort I was a gitting on fust-rate, and, if I woud only cum ewery day for about a week or so, he had no dowt but he shood see me a skating a figger of hate like the best on 'em!
Hencouraged by his truthfool remarks, I at larst wentured to let go of him and try a few slides by myself, and shood no dowt have suckseeded hadmerably, but my bootifal stick to which I was a trustin to elp me from falling, slided rite away from me in a most unnatral manner, and down I came on my onerabel seat, with such a smasher as seemed to shake all my foreteen stun into a cocked-hat, to speak, hallegorically, and there I lay, elpless and opeless, and wundring how on airth I shood ever get up again. But my trusty frend and guide was soon at my side, as the Poet says, but all his united force, with that of too boys who came to his assistance, and larfed all the wile, as rude boys will, coud not get me on my feet agen 'till my too skates was taken off, and I agen found myself onterror fermeron my friend's chair. It took me longer to recover myself than I shood have thort posserbel, but at larst I was enabled to crawl away, but not 'till my frend had supplied me with jest a nice nip of brandy, which he said he kept andy in case of any such surprisin axidents as had appened to me.
So what with paying for the use of the skates, and the use of the Brandy, and the use of the too boys, and the use of a handsum Cab to take me to the "Grand," that was rayther a deer ten minutes skating, and as it was reelly and trewly my fust attemt at that poplar and xciting passtime, I think I may safely affirm—as I have alreddy done to my better harf—whose langwidge, when I related my hadwentur, is scarcely worth repeating, as it was most certenly not complementary—that it shall be my larst. ROBERT.
REMINISCENCES OF SPORT IN THE SNOW.REMINISCENCES OF SPORT IN THE SNOW.
They tell me thou art cold, my sweet—A fact that scarcely odd is.Gales half so cruel never beatAgainst poor human bodies.Cupid's attire is far too lightTo weather Thirty Fahrenheit.How can a glow the soul entrance,When frostbite nips the finger,And blushes quit the countenanceTo nigh the nostril linger!Warmth were a miracle, in sightAnd grip of Thirty Fahrenheit.Chill! chill tome, my Paradise!!I'll not complain or curse on.One cannot well be otherwiseTo any mortal person.Mere icebergs ambulant, we fightFerocious Thirty Fahrenheit.Cold art thou? Not so cold as I—Nought living could be colder.I'm far too cold to sob or sigh,Still less in passion smoulder.I'm turning fast to something quiteAs numb as Thirty Fahrenheit.
They tell me thou art cold, my sweet—A fact that scarcely odd is.Gales half so cruel never beatAgainst poor human bodies.Cupid's attire is far too lightTo weather Thirty Fahrenheit.
They tell me thou art cold, my sweet—
A fact that scarcely odd is.
Gales half so cruel never beat
Against poor human bodies.
Cupid's attire is far too light
To weather Thirty Fahrenheit.
How can a glow the soul entrance,When frostbite nips the finger,And blushes quit the countenanceTo nigh the nostril linger!Warmth were a miracle, in sightAnd grip of Thirty Fahrenheit.
How can a glow the soul entrance,
When frostbite nips the finger,
And blushes quit the countenance
To nigh the nostril linger!
Warmth were a miracle, in sight
And grip of Thirty Fahrenheit.
Chill! chill tome, my Paradise!!I'll not complain or curse on.One cannot well be otherwiseTo any mortal person.Mere icebergs ambulant, we fightFerocious Thirty Fahrenheit.
Chill! chill tome, my Paradise!!
I'll not complain or curse on.
One cannot well be otherwise
To any mortal person.
Mere icebergs ambulant, we fight
Ferocious Thirty Fahrenheit.
Cold art thou? Not so cold as I—Nought living could be colder.I'm far too cold to sob or sigh,Still less in passion smoulder.I'm turning fast to something quiteAs numb as Thirty Fahrenheit.
Cold art thou? Not so cold as I—
Nought living could be colder.
I'm far too cold to sob or sigh,
Still less in passion smoulder.
I'm turning fast to something quite
As numb as Thirty Fahrenheit.
INFORMATION REQUIRED.—"Sir, I see a Volume advertised entitled,Unspoken Sermons. I should be glad to know where these are preached, as that's the place for yours truly, ONE WHO SNORES."
NEW BOOK OF IRISH LIFE.—The Bedad's Sons. By the Author of the tale of Indian Life,The Begum's Daughters.
THE DELIGHTS OF TRIAL BY JURY.THE DELIGHTS OF TRIAL BY JURY.THESE GENTLEMEN ARE EXPECTED TO BE IN A JUDICIAL FRAME OF MIND AFTER HANGING ABOUT THE PRECINCTS OF THE COURT FOR SEVERAL DAYS, UNDER PENALTY OF A HEAVY FINE, WHILE THEIR PRIVATE BUSINESS IN THE CITY AND ELSEWHERE IS GOING TO THE DOGS. (WHY SHOULD NOT HALF-PAY OFFICERS DO THE WORK, AND RELIEVE BUSY MEN?)
House of Commons, Thursday, January 22.—Both Houses met to-day after Christmas Recess. No QUEEN's Speech; no moving and seconding of Address; no Royal Commission and procession of SPEAKER to Lords. All seems strange, and spirits generally a little depressed. Only ROBERT FOWLER rises superior to circumstances of hour. Blustering about the Lobby "like Boreas," says CAUSTON.
King Yah! Yah!King Yah! Yah!
"Only not so rude," says HARRY LAWSON, jealous for the reputation of Metropolitan Members, even though some sit on the Benches opposite. With folded hands thrust behind coat-tails, rollicking stride, thunderous voice, and blooming countenance, Sir ROBERT positively pervades the Lobby. Personally receives POPE HENNESSY; shakes hands with everybody; and finally halting for a moment under the electric-lit archway leading into House, presents interesting and attractive picture of the Glorified Alderman.
Scotch Members take possession of Commons to-night. LORD ADVOCATE brings in Bill, providing new machinery for private legislation; the Scotch Members with one accord fall upon proposal, and tear it to ribbons. Meanwhile other Members troop off to Lords, where spectacle is provided which beats the pantomimes into fits. Two new Peers to take their seats; procession formed in back room outside; enters from below Bar. First comes Black Rod, with nothing black about him; then Garter King-at-Arms, a herculean personage, fully five feet high, with a dangerous gleam in his eye, and the Royal Arms of England quartered in scarlet and blue and gold on his manly back. Behind, in red cloaks slashed with ermine, the new Baron and his escort of two brother Peers. There being no room for them to advance in due procession, they fall into single file, make their way to the Woolsack, where sits that pink of chivalry, that mould of fashion, that perfection of form, the LORD HIGH CHANCELLOR.
New Peer drops on one knee, presents bundle of paper to LORD CHANCELLOR. L.C., coyly turning his head on one side, gingerly takes roll, hands it to Attendant. New Peer gets up; procession bundles back to table; here Gentleman in wig and gown gabbles something from long document. New Peer writes his name in a book (probably promising subscription towards expenses of performance.) Garter King-at-Arms getting to the front trots off with comically short strides for so great a dignity; New Peer and escort follow, Black Rod solemnly bringing up rear. Garter King makes for Cross Benches by the door; passes along one, the rest following, as if playing game of Follow-my-leader. Garter King suddenly making off to the right, walks up Gangway to row of empty Benches. Stops at the topmost row but one, and passes along. New Peer wants to follow him. Garter King prods him in chest with small stick, and tells him to go on to the Bench above. This he does, with escort. Meanwhile, Black Rod left out in the cold. Garter King motions to three Peers to be seated; tells them to put on their cocked-hats; counts ten; nods to them; they rise to feet, uplift cocked-hats in direction of LORD CHANCELLOR on Woolsack. He raises his in return of salute. Three Peers sit down again. Garter King counts ten; nods; up they get again, salute LORD CHANCELLOR; sit down once more. "One—two—three—four—ten," Garter King mumbles to himself. Once more they rise; salute LORD CHANCELLOR; then Garter King leading the way, they march back to Woolsack.
Garter King now introduces new Member to LORD CHANCELLOR. L.C. starts as if he had never seen him before; then extends righthand; New Peer shakes it, procession reformed, walks out behind Bar. A few minutes later, another comes in, all the business done over again. Impressive, but a little monotonous, and as soon as possible after its conclusion Noble Lords go home.
Business done.—In Commons, Private Bill Legislation Bill read a Second Time.
Friday.—WM. O'BRIEN, standing with tear-stained face on pier at Boulogne waving wet handkerchief across the main, has drawn away JUSTIN McCARTHY, who can't be back till Monday. PARNELL was to have come down to-day, and, making believe to be still Leader of United Irishmen, asked OLD MORALITY to set aside day for discussion of his Motion on operation of Crimes Act. BRER FOX accordingly looked in shortly after SPEAKER took the Chair.
Dr. Channing in the Pulpit.Dr. Channing in the Pulpit.
"Seen BRER RABBIT anywhere about, TOBY?" he asked.
So I up and told him about McCARTHY's new journey to Boulogne.
"Oh, indeed," said BRER FOX; "if that's the case, I think I won't trouble House to-night. Got an engagement elsewhere; think I'll go and keep it. Not used to hanging about here, as you know; awful bore to me; but as long as BRER RABBIT comes here, I must be on spot to vindicate my position. So I'll say ta-ta. No—never mind ringing for fire-escape; can walk down the steps to-day."
Thus there being no Irish Leader on the premises, and hardly any Irish Members, had a rare chance for attending to British business. CHANNING brought on question of working Overtime on the Railways; moved Resolution invoking interference of Board of Trade. Question a little awkward for Government. Couldn't afford to offend Railway Directors, yet wouldn't do to flout numerous body of working-men, chiefly voters. Proposed to shelve business by appointment of Select Committee. Opposition not going to let them off so easily. Debate kept up all night, winding up with critical Division; Government majority only 17.
"And this," said OLD MORALITY, with injured look, "after PLUNKET's brilliant oration on the time-tables of the London and North-Western Railway Company! If he'd only illustrated it with magic-lantern, things would have gone differently." But he was obstinate; said there would be difficulty in arranging the slides, and so rejected proposal.
Business done.—CHANNING's Resolution about Overtime on Railways negatived by 141 Votes against 124.
Sir,—As the recognised organ of the legal profession, will you permit me to address you? It is common knowledge that within the last few days the Right Honourable Sir JAMES HANNEN has been raised to a dignity greater than that he has been able to claim for the last eighteen years, when he has sat as President of the Probate, Divorce, and Admiralty Division of the High Court of Justice. On leaving the Court in which so many of us were known to him, he was kind enough to say, "Those eighteen years had been eighteen years of happiness to him, chiefly arising from the advantage he had had in having before him habitually practising in that Court Barristers who had felt that their part was just as important as his in the administration of Justice, and who had assisted him enormously. Without their assistance, his task would have been an arduous one, whereas it had been, as he had said, an agreeable one." As I personally have had the honour of appearing before his Lordship for many years, I think that it is only right that I should make some acknowledgment of this kind recognition of my services.
It is quite true that I have felt, as Sir JAMES HANNEN suggests, that my part (humble as it may have been) has been just as important as his in the administration of Justice. But it is gratifying to me beyond measure to learn that my invariable custom of bowing to his Lordship on the commencement and conclusion of each day's forensic duties—which has been the limit of my "habitual practice" in the Probate Division—should "have assisted him enormously." I can only say that, thanks to his unvarying kindness and courtesy, my daily recognition of his greetings from the Bench, instead of being an arduous task, has ever been an agreeable one. I have the honour to remain, Sir, your very obedient servant,
(Signed)
A. BRIEFLESS, JUNIOR.
Pump-Handle Court, January 24, 1891.
"PRO-DIGIOUS!"—In last Sunday'sObserverwe read that at St. Petersburg Madame MELBA, asJuliette, "was recalled thirty-one times before the proscenium." The italics are ours, rather! If this sort of thing is to be repeated during the Opera season here, and each gifted singer is recalled in proportion to his or her merits, the audience will not get away till the following morning.Juliettemust have said, on the above-mentioned occasion, "Parting is such sweet sorrow, That I could say 'good-night' until to-morrow." And the usual chorus of operatichabituéswill be, "We won't go home till morning. Till daylight doth appear!" withrefrain, "For—she (or he)'s a jolly good singer," &c.,ad infinitum, or "ad infi-next-nightum."
O Queen of Cities, with a crown of woe,Scarred by the ruin of two thousand years,By fraud and by barbarian force laid low,Buried in dust, and watered with the tearsOf unregarded bondmen, toiling on,Crushed in the shadow of their Parthenon;The Frieze of the Parthenon.Mother of heroes, Athens, nought availedThe Macedonian's triumph, or the chainOf Rome; the conquering Osmanli failed,His myriad hosts have trampled thee in vain.They for thy deathless body raised the pyre,And held the torch, but Heaven forbade the fire.Then didst thou rise, and, shattering thy bands,Burst in war's thunder on the Muslim horde,Who shrank appalled before thee, while thy handsWielded again the imperishable sword,The sword that smote the Persian when he came,Countless as sand, thy virgin might to tame.Mother of freemen, Athens, thou art free,Free as the spirits of thy mighty dead;And Freedom's northern daughter calls to thee,"How shall I help thee, sister? Raise thy head,O Athens, say what can I give thee now,I who am free, to deck thy marble brow?"
O Queen of Cities, with a crown of woe,Scarred by the ruin of two thousand years,By fraud and by barbarian force laid low,Buried in dust, and watered with the tearsOf unregarded bondmen, toiling on,Crushed in the shadow of their Parthenon;
O Queen of Cities, with a crown of woe,
Scarred by the ruin of two thousand years,
By fraud and by barbarian force laid low,
Buried in dust, and watered with the tears
Of unregarded bondmen, toiling on,
Crushed in the shadow of their Parthenon;
The Frieze of the Parthenon.
Mother of heroes, Athens, nought availedThe Macedonian's triumph, or the chainOf Rome; the conquering Osmanli failed,His myriad hosts have trampled thee in vain.They for thy deathless body raised the pyre,And held the torch, but Heaven forbade the fire.
Mother of heroes, Athens, nought availed
The Macedonian's triumph, or the chain
Of Rome; the conquering Osmanli failed,
His myriad hosts have trampled thee in vain.
They for thy deathless body raised the pyre,
And held the torch, but Heaven forbade the fire.
Then didst thou rise, and, shattering thy bands,Burst in war's thunder on the Muslim horde,Who shrank appalled before thee, while thy handsWielded again the imperishable sword,The sword that smote the Persian when he came,Countless as sand, thy virgin might to tame.
Then didst thou rise, and, shattering thy bands,
Burst in war's thunder on the Muslim horde,
Who shrank appalled before thee, while thy hands
Wielded again the imperishable sword,
The sword that smote the Persian when he came,
Countless as sand, thy virgin might to tame.
Mother of freemen, Athens, thou art free,Free as the spirits of thy mighty dead;And Freedom's northern daughter calls to thee,"How shall I help thee, sister? Raise thy head,O Athens, say what can I give thee now,I who am free, to deck thy marble brow?"
Mother of freemen, Athens, thou art free,
Free as the spirits of thy mighty dead;
And Freedom's northern daughter calls to thee,
"How shall I help thee, sister? Raise thy head,
O Athens, say what can I give thee now,
I who am free, to deck thy marble brow?"
Shot-dinted, but defiant of decay,Stand my gaunt columns in a tragic line,The shattered relics of a glorious day,Mute guardians of the lost Athena's shrine.The flame of hope, that faded to despairEre Hellas burst her chains, is imaged there.Yet one there was who came to her for gain,Ere yet the years of her despair were run;And with harsh zeal defaced the ruined faneFull in the blazing light of Hellas' sun.Spoiling my home with sacrilegious hand,He bore his captives to a foreign land.Ilissus mourns his tutelary god,Theseus in some far city doth recline:Lost is the Horse of Night that erstwhile trodMy hall; the god-like shapes that once were mineCall to me, "Mother save us ere we die,Far from thy arms beneath a sunless sky."How shall I answer? for my arms are fainTo clasp them fast upon the rock-bound steep,Their ancient home. Shall Athens yearn in vain,And all in vain must woful Hellas weep?Must the indignant shade of PHIDIAS mournFor his dear city, free but how forlorn?How shall I answer? Nay, I turn to thee,England, and pray thee, from thy northern throneStep down and hearken, give them back to me,O generous sister, give me back mine own.Thy jewelled forehead needs no alien gemTorn from a hapless sister's diadem.
Shot-dinted, but defiant of decay,Stand my gaunt columns in a tragic line,The shattered relics of a glorious day,Mute guardians of the lost Athena's shrine.The flame of hope, that faded to despairEre Hellas burst her chains, is imaged there.
Shot-dinted, but defiant of decay,
Stand my gaunt columns in a tragic line,
The shattered relics of a glorious day,
Mute guardians of the lost Athena's shrine.
The flame of hope, that faded to despair
Ere Hellas burst her chains, is imaged there.
Yet one there was who came to her for gain,Ere yet the years of her despair were run;And with harsh zeal defaced the ruined faneFull in the blazing light of Hellas' sun.Spoiling my home with sacrilegious hand,He bore his captives to a foreign land.
Yet one there was who came to her for gain,
Ere yet the years of her despair were run;
And with harsh zeal defaced the ruined fane
Full in the blazing light of Hellas' sun.
Spoiling my home with sacrilegious hand,
He bore his captives to a foreign land.
Ilissus mourns his tutelary god,Theseus in some far city doth recline:Lost is the Horse of Night that erstwhile trodMy hall; the god-like shapes that once were mineCall to me, "Mother save us ere we die,Far from thy arms beneath a sunless sky."
Ilissus mourns his tutelary god,
Theseus in some far city doth recline:
Lost is the Horse of Night that erstwhile trod
My hall; the god-like shapes that once were mine
Call to me, "Mother save us ere we die,
Far from thy arms beneath a sunless sky."
How shall I answer? for my arms are fainTo clasp them fast upon the rock-bound steep,Their ancient home. Shall Athens yearn in vain,And all in vain must woful Hellas weep?Must the indignant shade of PHIDIAS mournFor his dear city, free but how forlorn?
How shall I answer? for my arms are fain
To clasp them fast upon the rock-bound steep,
Their ancient home. Shall Athens yearn in vain,
And all in vain must woful Hellas weep?
Must the indignant shade of PHIDIAS mourn
For his dear city, free but how forlorn?
How shall I answer? Nay, I turn to thee,England, and pray thee, from thy northern throneStep down and hearken, give them back to me,O generous sister, give me back mine own.Thy jewelled forehead needs no alien gemTorn from a hapless sister's diadem.
How shall I answer? Nay, I turn to thee,
England, and pray thee, from thy northern throne
Step down and hearken, give them back to me,
O generous sister, give me back mine own.
Thy jewelled forehead needs no alien gem
Torn from a hapless sister's diadem.
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