DOI issue:
February 8, 1862
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16869#0068
Grandpapa. “ I'm afraid, Johnny, we shall not he able to get to the Bazaar to-day, while it rains thus."
Jobnny. ‘ ‘ Never mind, I ’ll tell you what; I ’ll toss you and Grandma ‘ odd man ’ with rny Half-Crown !
POEM BY VICTOR HUGO.
“ Victor Hugo has just sent a piece of poetry to the King of the Belgians, in
which he seeks the pardon of nine assassins recently condemned to death in the
province of Hainault.”—Freni h Paper.
“ Mr. Punch has been favoured with a copy of the poem, and subjoins a close
translation.”—1Mr. Punch.
°!
King, though 1 love not kings, I call thee so.
And bid thee, in a carter’s language, “ Wo ! ”
Are they not Nine
Who pine
In those uncomfortable cel's of thine ?
0, think,
Upon the brink
Of Helicon, where flowers bend o’er to drink,
Kair Virgins sit, and hand in hand explore
All that of music, science, song, or lore
The Ages give as aower
To yonder mountain bower,
Virgins, with eyes that never dull or wink.
Daughters of Memory, in Pieria born,
With fingers rosy as the morn,
And ivory shoulders, gleaming in the ray
Of the warm god of day.
They smile.
And the swift-footed Hours beguile,
With converse sweet, and laughter fresh and gay;
Till some deep organ tone,
Some awful forest moan,
Stills them to silence. Come, old man, I say /
Calliope is there.
And Clio’s golden hair,
And bright Melpomene’s young face so fair,
Euterpe, graceful, bends
Beside her radiant friends
Erato ample, and Thalia spare,
And Polyhymnia sings,
And calm Urania brings
The wisdom that informs all heavenly things.
While, sipping sweetest chicory,
The star-adorned Terpsichore
Her devv-geunned tresses to the wild wind flings.
0! Leopold,
Once young, now rather old,
Bid thy grim-visaged executioner hold
The hand that seems to beg
To pull the peg
Of that dark guillotine at which I scold.
Nine Murderers lie in yonder prison cell,
Nine Muses on Boeotia’s mountain dwell.
It is a Poet’s Plea
Which I address 1o thee,
0, let them off, accept my simple letter,
And reason, for I have not got a better. V. H.
Extract of a Letter from Paris.
There is no truth in the rumour that Erancateltj, the gast ronome,
is to be raised to the dignity of Senator, with the title of Duke op
Baguse (Ragouts)—the appointment offered and declined was that of
Sous-Prefet {Soupe Ref ait) ! !!
A WOODEN HOMCEOPATHIST.
A N ew Medical Man has appeared, a Tree Doctor. He announces a
course of treatment by which he can restore sick trees to health. But,
as we understand his process, he prescribes nothing but a course of
Bark.
Jobnny. ‘ ‘ Never mind, I ’ll tell you what; I ’ll toss you and Grandma ‘ odd man ’ with rny Half-Crown !
POEM BY VICTOR HUGO.
“ Victor Hugo has just sent a piece of poetry to the King of the Belgians, in
which he seeks the pardon of nine assassins recently condemned to death in the
province of Hainault.”—Freni h Paper.
“ Mr. Punch has been favoured with a copy of the poem, and subjoins a close
translation.”—1Mr. Punch.
°!
King, though 1 love not kings, I call thee so.
And bid thee, in a carter’s language, “ Wo ! ”
Are they not Nine
Who pine
In those uncomfortable cel's of thine ?
0, think,
Upon the brink
Of Helicon, where flowers bend o’er to drink,
Kair Virgins sit, and hand in hand explore
All that of music, science, song, or lore
The Ages give as aower
To yonder mountain bower,
Virgins, with eyes that never dull or wink.
Daughters of Memory, in Pieria born,
With fingers rosy as the morn,
And ivory shoulders, gleaming in the ray
Of the warm god of day.
They smile.
And the swift-footed Hours beguile,
With converse sweet, and laughter fresh and gay;
Till some deep organ tone,
Some awful forest moan,
Stills them to silence. Come, old man, I say /
Calliope is there.
And Clio’s golden hair,
And bright Melpomene’s young face so fair,
Euterpe, graceful, bends
Beside her radiant friends
Erato ample, and Thalia spare,
And Polyhymnia sings,
And calm Urania brings
The wisdom that informs all heavenly things.
While, sipping sweetest chicory,
The star-adorned Terpsichore
Her devv-geunned tresses to the wild wind flings.
0! Leopold,
Once young, now rather old,
Bid thy grim-visaged executioner hold
The hand that seems to beg
To pull the peg
Of that dark guillotine at which I scold.
Nine Murderers lie in yonder prison cell,
Nine Muses on Boeotia’s mountain dwell.
It is a Poet’s Plea
Which I address 1o thee,
0, let them off, accept my simple letter,
And reason, for I have not got a better. V. H.
Extract of a Letter from Paris.
There is no truth in the rumour that Erancateltj, the gast ronome,
is to be raised to the dignity of Senator, with the title of Duke op
Baguse (Ragouts)—the appointment offered and declined was that of
Sous-Prefet {Soupe Ref ait) ! !!
A WOODEN HOMCEOPATHIST.
A N ew Medical Man has appeared, a Tree Doctor. He announces a
course of treatment by which he can restore sick trees to health. But,
as we understand his process, he prescribes nothing but a course of
Bark.