Punch (16.1849)

46

PUNCH. OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

THE SONG OF THE SIRENS,

Ise old Homer has sung, in his

Odyssey,

, How that Ulysses sailed safe by
j an isle,

. Where his sharp eyes could full
many a borty see,
Flats that the Sirens had managed
to wile;

Forth in sweet, singing their melody
flinginar,

Connoisseurs bringing in shoals tc
their lair

But crafty Ulysses, as knowing what bliss is

To hear these sweet Misses, invented a way
Of enjoying the concert—like one of the wrong sort,

Who, anxious to hear, are reluctant to pay;
To seal his crew's hearing, he waxed every ear in,

And made them close steer in and venture a stare,
Where, travellers to take in, the Sirens were shaking,

And cadences making that ravished the air.

Calling " Avast! " Sir, but lashed to the mast, Sir,

In Limbo so fast, Sir, Ulysses was laid,
While the crew wwa-inated, as I have related,
Sat the weird'Sirens, with lavs like | a Trhe more that hrc Pratfd> the le*s they obey'd.

Lord Byron's ^j 'rom massacre iree> oh he heard suck a trio,

Pleasant but dangerous, filling the j , Allegro! Con brio! delicious and rare;

And he called o er the sea-liats, a sharp! You must be flats
Till they knew that in three flats 'twas singing they were!

air.

Old virtuosi, quite blase with opera,

Proof to the Crisis and Linds of that day,
Steaming that road, would call " Back her " and " Stop her," or

Take headers over, when boats wouldn't stay.
Ne'er, e'en in the Panic, was known so galvanic

A run, not for sovereigns, buc notes, which is rare,
Till this Siren rush, Sir, would put, to the blush, Sir,

From History banished, the Sirens long vanished,

From woman turn mannish, as foteigners known;
As the practice quite daily is, of Italian alias,

Wit h singers who fail as productions home-grown.
In Peru now, now Borneo, now in California,

Mankind to their concerts in thousands repair;
Once bodies they ate all, now wits they unsettle,

A Jenny Lind crush, Sir, as poets declare. Their music's from metal, and gold is their snare

S)70WXN&^>'[ VBSELES
BoVND - FO^CALYFOKNT/V

Crowding promiscuous to San Francisco is,

From Windsor to Wisconsin, victims a shoal;
With pots and with irons, seduced by the Sirens,

Cold their desirin's, the diggin's their goal.
Sacramento's the bank is where yellow-faced Yankeep,

Colonels whose rank is the bowie they bear,
In true porker fashion, their noses the wash in.

Are thrusting and thrashing, like fools at a fair.

Bufkeyes from Ohio, and merchants from Ei^
New Jersey Quakers, Down-easters from Maine ;

Planters from Illinois, sudden turn silly now,
Flat land and hillv now boring for gain;

Judges drop ermine, preachers stop sermon;

Fustified Germans their pipes fling in air,
And long-headed Brifishers, grown wild and skittish, Sirs,

Cutting the city, Sirs, start for their share.

The Irishman grabbin' the rent of his cabin,

The grave Jewish Babbin, the Scotchman so blafe,
And the eow-hided nigger, who plucks up a vigour,

To greet with a snigger his master of late—
AH. slaves of the dollar, unlettered and scholar,

Each kith, kin, and colour, are hastening there.
To this new El Dorado, where folks of each grade owe

Allegiance that's paid—oh ! as few debts were e'er.