Volume Iv Part 17 (1/2)
THE CHAPERON
I take my chaperon to the play-- She thinks she's taking me.
And the gilded youth who owns the box, A proud young man is he; But how would his young heart be hurt If he could only know That not for his sweet sake I go Nor yet to see the trifling show; But to see my chaperon flirt.
Her eyes beneath her snowy hair They sparkle young as mine; There's scarce a wrinkle in her hand So delicate and fine.
And when my chaperon is seen, They come from everywhere-- The dear old boys with silvery hair, With old-time grace and old-time air, To greet their old-time queen.
They bow as my young Midas here Will never learn to bow (The dancing-masters do not teach That gracious reverence now); With voices quavering just a bit, They play their old parts through, They talk of folk who used to woo, Of hearts that broke in 'fifty-two-- Now none the worse for it.
And as those aged crickets chirp, I watch my chaperon's face, And see the dear old features take A new and tender grace; And in her happy eyes I see Her youth awakening bright, With all its hope, desire, delight-- Ah, me! I wish that I were quite As young--as young as she!
Henry Cuyler Bunner [1855-1896]
”A PITCHER OF MIGNONETTE”
A pitcher of mignonette In a tenement's highest cas.e.m.e.nt,-- Queer sort of flower-pot--yet That pitcher of mignonette Is a garden in heaven set, To the little sick child in the bas.e.m.e.nt-- The pitcher of mignonette, In the tenement's highest cas.e.m.e.nt.
Henry Cuyler Bunner [1855-1896]
OLD KING COLE
In Tilbury Town did Old King Cole A wise old age antic.i.p.ate, Desiring, with his pipe and bowl, No Khan's extravagant estate.
No crown annoyed his honest head, No fiddlers three were called or needed; For two disastrous heirs instead Made music more that ever three did.
Bereft of her with whom his life Was harmony without a flaw, He took no other for a wife, Nor sighed for any that he saw; And if he doubted his two sons, And heirs, Alexis and Evander, He might have been as doubtful once Of Robert Burns and Alexander.
Alexis, in his early youth, Began to steal--from old and young.
Likewise Evander, and the truth Was like a bad taste on his tongue.
Born thieves and liars, their affair Seemed only to be tarred with evil-- The most insufferable pair Of scamps that ever cheered the devil.
The world went on, their fame went on, And they went on--from bad to worse; Till, goaded hot with nothing done, And each accoutered with a curse, The friends of Old King Cole, by twos, And fours, and sevens, and elevens, p.r.o.nounced unalterable views Of doings that were not of Heaven's.
And having learned again whereby Their baleful zeal had come about, King Cole met many a wrathful eye So kindly that its wrath went out-- Or partly out. Say what they would, He seemed the more to court their candor, But never told what kind of good Was in Alexis and Evander.
And Old King Cole, with many a puff That haloed his urbanity, Would smoke till he had smoked enough, And listen most attentively.
He beamed as with an inward light That had the Lord's a.s.surance in it; And once a man was there all night, Expecting something every minute.
But whether from too little thought, Or too much fealty to the bowl, A dim reward was all he got For sitting up with Old King Cole.
”Though mine,” the father mused aloud, ”Are not the sons I would have chosen, Shall I, less evilly endowed, By their infirmity be frozen?
”They'll have a bad end, I'll agree, But I was never born to groan; For I can see what I can see, And I'm accordingly alone.