DOI issue:
September 1, 1883
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17755#0120
108
PUNCH, OE THE LONDON CHAEIVAEI.
[September 1, 1883.
CHLLDE CHAPPIE'S PILGRIMAGE.
CANTO THE FOURTH.
So Chappie, inly wearied, fared along ;
Yet not insensible to all which here
Savours of jocund
health ana man-
hood strong.
In scenes of
strenuous toil
and wholesome
cheer,
Where sturdy
striplings smote
the leathern
sphere
With valiant vi-
gour, he would
take his place,
Of feelings boyish, pleasure frank and clear,
Signs were not always absent from his face,
When swift Macaulay kicked, or swiped colossal Grace.
n.
He had not “ cut ” athletics, though long days
Of dawdling had not strengthened pull or thrust
Of scull or punt-pole ; he could lounge arid gaze,
At Henley, in soft flannels ; the heart must
At time leap back to warmth, though cold mistrust
Be the “ good form” of worldlings. Chappie felt
The strong spell of the River : far from dust
And crowded bars his mood would sometimes melt,
As he iu pleasant bower midst Thames’s boskage dwelt.
iii.
And he had learned to love—we knew not why,
For this, in such as he, seemed foreign mood—
A quiet whiff in some backwater shy.
Perhaps, ’twas early memories ; wliat subdued
To tastes like these a soul so far imbued
With scorn of “ rot ” it little boots to know ;
But so it was. Yet in such solitude
Small time his chums left him to “ maunder” so,
Sentiment’s gleam died out with his cigar’s red glow.
IV.
And there were venal breasts, as hath been said,
Whereto his life was linked by stronger ties
Than mooning hours could break; long evenings sped
In orgies wild, and far beyond disguise,
Or shackle of the dull proprieties
His life from healthful ease divided more.
Talk of loose lips and play of wanton eyes
May make a Capua e’en of Thames’s shore.
Song to that silver stream a bacchant strain might pour.
1.
Roofs of the joiliest of hotels
Gleam o’er the river’s gleaming line,
"Whose silver breast bears Belles and Swells
To dinner at the day’s decline.
And Richmond Hill is thick with trees,
Like scattered stars the town-lights shine.
Sleek head reclining on my knees
Art sleepy P Soon the sparkling wine
Shall part those lips I scarce can sc e
In rosy mirth and rapturous glee.
2.
And gay-frocked girls, with bistred eyes,
And hands—“ in sixes ”—soft as flowers,
Deem yon an earthly Paradise
Above all charm of feudal towers.
Its sheeny roof, its walls of grey,
Upon whose stones the moonlight showers,
More welcome are at close of day
Than Paphian grots or vintage bowers.
Rave not of’ castles on the Rhine,
The “ Star and Garter’s ” roof be mine !
Lilla ! Those lilies,—plucked by me,—
Burden the bearer overmuch :
I know that they must withered b
Dead rubbish cast aside as such !
What can you cherish long as dear F
So many offerings meet your eye.
Eh ? What F The idiom sounds queer
From gentle lips ;—but dinner ’s nigh,
And “ Tamise ripe ” will “ lick ” the Rhine
For savoury cates and spariding wine.
4.
The River nobly shines and flows,
Its shores are sweet enchanted ground,
But all the charms its sweeps disclose
What are they in the revel’s round F
The coldest breast, might hotly bound
In the mad frolic reigning here ;
In mirth and brimming cups are drowned
Calm Nature’s voice, which sounds less clear
Where wanton eyes the stars outshine
By Thames or on the banks of Rhino.
v.
Adieu to thee, fair Thames! How long, delighted,
Sound hearts would loiter on thy watery way.
Not theirs these scenes ; passion and greed united
In such wild Saturnalia seek their prey.
Insatiate vultures, feeding day by day
On self-condemning bosoms. The last cheer
Of the wild revellers on their homeward way
Hath many echoes sinister and drear,
Haunting the hollow life for many a wasted year.
VI.
The leman woos with her bright Lamia face,
That mirror, where the ancient harpies view
Theii softened modern aspect in each trace
Its beauties yield of Art-born tint and hue.
It takes so much of manhood to look through,
With a firm mind, the lure where fools behold
Their fate ; and striplings of the Chappie crew,
Self-deemed astute and in all life-lore old,
Are swine of Circe’s herd or sheep of Lilith’s fold.
OUR FiSHiNG INDUSTRIES.
By Dumb-Crambo Junior.
Catching Min’ nose on the
Bridge.
PUNCH, OE THE LONDON CHAEIVAEI.
[September 1, 1883.
CHLLDE CHAPPIE'S PILGRIMAGE.
CANTO THE FOURTH.
So Chappie, inly wearied, fared along ;
Yet not insensible to all which here
Savours of jocund
health ana man-
hood strong.
In scenes of
strenuous toil
and wholesome
cheer,
Where sturdy
striplings smote
the leathern
sphere
With valiant vi-
gour, he would
take his place,
Of feelings boyish, pleasure frank and clear,
Signs were not always absent from his face,
When swift Macaulay kicked, or swiped colossal Grace.
n.
He had not “ cut ” athletics, though long days
Of dawdling had not strengthened pull or thrust
Of scull or punt-pole ; he could lounge arid gaze,
At Henley, in soft flannels ; the heart must
At time leap back to warmth, though cold mistrust
Be the “ good form” of worldlings. Chappie felt
The strong spell of the River : far from dust
And crowded bars his mood would sometimes melt,
As he iu pleasant bower midst Thames’s boskage dwelt.
iii.
And he had learned to love—we knew not why,
For this, in such as he, seemed foreign mood—
A quiet whiff in some backwater shy.
Perhaps, ’twas early memories ; wliat subdued
To tastes like these a soul so far imbued
With scorn of “ rot ” it little boots to know ;
But so it was. Yet in such solitude
Small time his chums left him to “ maunder” so,
Sentiment’s gleam died out with his cigar’s red glow.
IV.
And there were venal breasts, as hath been said,
Whereto his life was linked by stronger ties
Than mooning hours could break; long evenings sped
In orgies wild, and far beyond disguise,
Or shackle of the dull proprieties
His life from healthful ease divided more.
Talk of loose lips and play of wanton eyes
May make a Capua e’en of Thames’s shore.
Song to that silver stream a bacchant strain might pour.
1.
Roofs of the joiliest of hotels
Gleam o’er the river’s gleaming line,
"Whose silver breast bears Belles and Swells
To dinner at the day’s decline.
And Richmond Hill is thick with trees,
Like scattered stars the town-lights shine.
Sleek head reclining on my knees
Art sleepy P Soon the sparkling wine
Shall part those lips I scarce can sc e
In rosy mirth and rapturous glee.
2.
And gay-frocked girls, with bistred eyes,
And hands—“ in sixes ”—soft as flowers,
Deem yon an earthly Paradise
Above all charm of feudal towers.
Its sheeny roof, its walls of grey,
Upon whose stones the moonlight showers,
More welcome are at close of day
Than Paphian grots or vintage bowers.
Rave not of’ castles on the Rhine,
The “ Star and Garter’s ” roof be mine !
Lilla ! Those lilies,—plucked by me,—
Burden the bearer overmuch :
I know that they must withered b
Dead rubbish cast aside as such !
What can you cherish long as dear F
So many offerings meet your eye.
Eh ? What F The idiom sounds queer
From gentle lips ;—but dinner ’s nigh,
And “ Tamise ripe ” will “ lick ” the Rhine
For savoury cates and spariding wine.
4.
The River nobly shines and flows,
Its shores are sweet enchanted ground,
But all the charms its sweeps disclose
What are they in the revel’s round F
The coldest breast, might hotly bound
In the mad frolic reigning here ;
In mirth and brimming cups are drowned
Calm Nature’s voice, which sounds less clear
Where wanton eyes the stars outshine
By Thames or on the banks of Rhino.
v.
Adieu to thee, fair Thames! How long, delighted,
Sound hearts would loiter on thy watery way.
Not theirs these scenes ; passion and greed united
In such wild Saturnalia seek their prey.
Insatiate vultures, feeding day by day
On self-condemning bosoms. The last cheer
Of the wild revellers on their homeward way
Hath many echoes sinister and drear,
Haunting the hollow life for many a wasted year.
VI.
The leman woos with her bright Lamia face,
That mirror, where the ancient harpies view
Theii softened modern aspect in each trace
Its beauties yield of Art-born tint and hue.
It takes so much of manhood to look through,
With a firm mind, the lure where fools behold
Their fate ; and striplings of the Chappie crew,
Self-deemed astute and in all life-lore old,
Are swine of Circe’s herd or sheep of Lilith’s fold.
OUR FiSHiNG INDUSTRIES.
By Dumb-Crambo Junior.
Catching Min’ nose on the
Bridge.