Volume Iii Part 2 (1/2)
Javel, or Devil, or how shall we call thee?
Thine the night voices of joy and of weeping, The whisper awake, and the vision when sleeping: The bloated kings of the earth shall brood On princedoms and provinces bought with blood, Shall slubber, and snore, and to-morrow's breath Shall order the muster and march of death: The trumpets shall sound, and the gonfalons flee, And thousands of souls step home to thee.
Speed thee, speed thee, &c.
The warrior shall dream of battle begun, Of field-day and foray, and foeman undone; Of provinces sacked, and warrior store, Of hurry and havoc, and hampers of ore; Of captive maidens for joys abundant, And ransom vast when these grow redundant.
Hurray! for the foray. Fiends ride forth a souling, For the dogs of havock are yelping and yowling.
Speed thee, speed thee, &c.
Make the bedesman's dream With treasure to teem; To-day and to-morrow He has but one aim, And 'tis still the same, and 'tis still the same.
But well thou knowest the sot's demerit, His richness of flesh, and his poorness of spirit; And well thy images thou canst frame, On canvas of pride, with pencil of flame: A broad demesne is a view of glory, For praying a soul from purgatory: And, O let the dame be fervent and fair, Amorous, and righteous, and husband beware!
For there's a confession so often repeated, The eyes are enlightened, the life-blood is heated.
His.h.!.+--Hus.h.!.+--soft foot and silence, The sons of the abbot are lords of the Highlands.
Thou canst make lubbard and lighthead agree, Wallow a while, and come home to thee.
Speed thee, speed thee, &c.
Where goest thou next, by hamlet or sh.o.r.e, When kings, when warriors, and priests are o'er?
These for thee have the most to do, And these are the men must be looked unto.
On courtier deign not to look down, Who swells at a smile, and faints at a frown.
With n.o.ble maid stay not to parle, But give her one glance of the golden arle.
Then, oh, there's a creature thou needs must see, Upright, and saintly, and stern is she!
'Tis the old maid, with visage demure, With cat on her lap, and dogs on the floor.
Master, she'll prove a match for thee, With her psalter, and crosier, and Ave Mari.
Move her with things above and below, Tickle her and teaze her from lip to toe; Should all prove vain, and nothing can move; If dead to ambition, and cold to love, One pa.s.sion still success will crown, A glorious energy all thine own!
'Tis envy; a die that never can fail With children, matron, or maiden stale.
Shew them in dreams from night to day A happy mother, and offspring gay; Show them the maiden in youthful prime, Followed and wooed, improving her time; And their hearts will sicken with envy and spleen, A leperous jaundice of yellow and green: And though frightened for h.e.l.l to a boundless degree, They'll singe their dry perriwigs yet with thee.
Speed thee, speed thee, &c.
Where goest thou next? Where wilt thou hie thee?
Still there is rubbish enough to try thee.
Whisper the matron of lordly fame, There's a greater than she in splendor and name; And her bosom shall swell with the grievous load, And torrents of slander shall volley abroad, Imbued with venom and bitter despair: O sweet are the sounds to the Prince of the Air!
Reach the proud yeoman a bang with a spear, And the tippling burgess a yerk on the ear; Put fees in the eye of the poisoning leech, And give the dull peasant a kick on the breech: As for the flush maiden, the rosy elf, You may pa.s.s her by, she will dream of herself.
But that all may be gain, and nothing loss, Keep eye on the men with the cowl and the cross; Then shall the world go swimming before thee, In a full tide of liberty, licence, and glory!
Speed thee, speed thee, &c.
Hail, patriot spirit! thy labours be blest!
For of all great reformers thyself wert the first; Thou wert the first, with discernment strong, To perceive that all rights divine were wrong; And long hast thou spent thy sovereign breath, In heaven above and in earth beneath, And roared it from thy burning throne, The glory of independence alone; Proclaiming to all, with fervor and irony, That kingly dominion's all humbug and tyranny; And whoso listeth may be free, For freedom, full freedom's the word with thee!
That life has its pleasures--the rest is a sham, And all that comes after a flim and a flam!
Speed thee! Speed thee!
Liberty lead thee!