Volume Iv Part 48 (2/2)
How gathers thy train to the sea from the heaven!)”
”And who's Mother Carey, and what is her train, Sister Helen?
And why do you call her again and again?”
”You troublesome boy, why that's the refrain, Little brother.
(O Mother Carey, mother!
What work is toward in the startled heaven?)”
”And what's a refrain? What a curious word, Sister Helen!
Is the ballad you're writing about a sea-bird?”
”Not at all; why should it be? Don't be absurd, Little brother.
(O Mother Carey, mother!
Thy brood flies lower as lowers the heaven.)”
(A big brother speaketh:)
”The refrain you've studied a meaning had, Sister Helen!
It gave strange force to a weird ballad.
But refrains have become a ridiculous 'fad', Little brother.
And Mother Carey, mother, Has a bearing on nothing in earth or heaven.
”But the finical fas.h.i.+on has had its day, Sister Helen.
And let's try in the style of a different lay To bid it adieu in poetical way, Little brother.
So, Mother Carey, mother!
Collect your chickens and go to--heaven.”
(A pause. Then the big brother singeth, accompanying himself in a plaintive wise on the triangle:)
”Look in my face. My name is Used-to-was, I am also called Played-out and Done-to-death, And It-will-wash-no-more. Awakeneth Slowly, but sure awakening it has, The common-sense of man; and I, alas!
The ballad-burden trick, now known too well, Am turned to scorn, and grown contemptible-- A too transparent artifice to pa.s.s.
”What a cheap dodge I am! The cats who dart Tin-kettled through the streets in wild surprise a.s.sail judicious ears not otherwise; And yet no critics praise the urchin's 'art', Who to the wretched creature's caudal part Its foolish empty-jingling 'burden' ties.”
Henry Duff Traill [1842-1900]
IF After Swinburne
If life were never bitter, And love were always sweet, Then who would care to borrow A moral from to-morrow-- If Thames would always glitter, And joy would ne'er retreat, If life were never bitter, And love were always sweet!
If care were not the waiter Behind a fellow's chair, When easy-going sinners Sit down to Richmond dinners, And life's swift stream flows straighter, By Jove, it would be rare, If care were not the waiter Behind a fellow's chair.
If wit were always radiant, And wine were always iced, And bores were kicked out straightway Through a convenient gateway; Then down the year's long gradient 'Twere sad to be enticed, If wit were always radiant, And wine were always iced.
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