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Tell me what find we to admire
In epaulets and scarlet coats.
And know the art of cutting throats ?
Blunt idle talons, idle beak, with
spurning of thy chain, Shatter against thy cage the wing thou
ne'er may'st spread again.
Long, sitting by their watchfires, shall Ah, gentle, tender lady mine!
the Kabyles tell the tale The winter wind blows cold and of thy dash from Ben Halifa on the shrill,
fat Metidja vale; Come, till me one more glass of wine, How thou swept'st the desert over, And give the silly fools their will.
bearing down the wild El Riff,
From eastern Beni Salah to western And what care we for war and wrack, Quad Shelif;
How kings and heroes rise and fall; Look yonder, * in his coffin black,
How thy white burnous went streamThere lies the greatest of them all !
ing, like the storm-rack o'er the
sea, To pluck him down, and keep him up, When thou rodest in the vanward of
Died many million human souls ; the Moorish chivalry ; 'Tis twelve o'clock, and time to sup,
How thy razzia was a whirlwind, thy Bid Mary heap the fire with coals.
oliset a simoom,
How thy sword-sweep was the lightHe captured many thousand guns ; ning, dealing death from out the He wrote “The Great” before his gloom !
naine ; And dying, only left his sons
Nor less quick to slay in battle than The recollection of his shame.
in peace to spare and save,
Of brave men wisest councillor, of Though more than half the world was wise councillors most brave ; his,
How the eye that flasbed destruction He died without a rood his own ; could beam gentleness and love, And borrowed from his enemies
How lion in thee mated lanıb, how Six foot of ground to lie upon,
eagle mated dove !
He fought a thousand glorious wars, Availéd not or steel or shot 'gainst And more than half the world was
that charmed life secure, his,
| Till cunning France, in last resource, And somewhere now, in yonder stars,
tossed up the golden lure ; C'an tell, mayhap, what greatness is. And the carrion buzzarıls round him 1841.
stooped, faithless, to the cast, And the wild hawk of the desert is
caught and caged at last. ABD-EL-KADER AT TOULON.
Weer, maidens of Zerifah, above the OR, THE CAGED HAWK.
laden loom ! No more, thou lithe and long-winged Scar: chieftains of Al Elmah, your
cheeks in grief and gloom ! hawk, of desert-life for thee ; No more across the sultry sands 'shalt Sons of the Beni Snazam, throw down
the useless lance, thou go swooping free :
And stoop your necks and bare your
backs to yoke and scourge of time of the Second Funeral of Napoleon,
• This ballad was written at Paris at the
'Twas not in fight they bore him down;|THE KING OF BRENTFORD'S he never cried amàn ;
TESTAMENT. He never sank his sword before the
PRINCE OF FRANGHISTAN ; The noble King of Brentford But with traitors all around him, his Was old and very sick, star upon the wane,
He summond his physicians He heard the voice of Allah, and he To wait upon him quick ; would not strive in vain. They stepp'i into their coaches
And brought their best physick. They give him what he asked them ;
from king to king he spake, They cramm'd their gracious master As one that plighted word and seal With potion and with pill ;
not knoweth how to break; They drench'd him and they bled him : “Let me pass from out my deserts, They could not cure his ill.
be't mine own choice where to go, “Go fetch,” says he, “my lawyer, I brook no fettered life to live, a cap I'd better make my will." tive and a show."
The monarch's royal mandate And they promised, and he trusted The lawyer did obey ;
them, and proud and calm he The thought of six-and-eight pence came,
Did make his heart full gay. Upon his black mare riding, girt with “What is't,” says he, “your Majesty his sword of fame.
Would wish of me to-day ! ?” Good steed, good sword, he rendered both unto the Frankish throng;
* The doctors have belabor'd me He knew them false and fickle but With potion and with pill : a Prince's word is strong.
My hours of life are counted,
O man of tape and quill!
Turned they the vessel's prow I want to make my will.
“O'er all the land of Brentford Not so: from Oran northwards the I'm lord, and eke of Kew :
white sails gleim and glance, I've three-per-cents and five-per-cents; And the wild hawk of the desert is My debts are but a few; borne away to France !
And to inherit after me
I have but children two. Where Toulon's white-walled lazaret looks southward o'er the wave,
“ Prince Thomas is my eldest son, Sits he that trusted in the word a son A sober Prince is he, of Louis gave.
And from the day we breech'd him O noble faith of noble heart! And
he's twenty-three, was the warning vain,
He never caused disquiet The text writ by the Bourbox in the To his poor Mamma or me. blurred black book of Spain ?
“At school they never flogg'd him, They have need of thee to gaze on, At college, though not fast, they have need of thee to grace
Yet his little-go and great-go The triumph of the Prince, to gild He creditably pass'il,
the pinch beck of their race. And made his year's allowance Words are but wind, conditions must For eighteen months to last.
be construed by Guizor ; Dash out thy heart, thou desert hawk, “He never owed a shilling, ere thou art made a show!
Went never drunk to bed,
He has not two ideas
Ned's eyes were full of weeping, Within his honest head
He falter'd in his walk ;
Tom never shed a tear,
As pompous, black, and solemn, " When Tom has half his income As any catafalque.
Laid by at the year's end, Poor Ned has ne'er a stiver
And when the bones of Brentford That rightly he may spend,
That gentle king and just But sponges on a tradesmian,
With bell and book and candle Or borrows from a friend,
Were duly laid in dust,
• Now, gentlemen,” says Thomas, “While Tom his legal studies
“Let business be discussed.
Was taken deadly ill,
Sir Lawyer, you attended him Young Ned frequents the Jews.
(I mean to tax your bill);
And, as you signed and wrote it, “ Ned drives about in buggies,
I prithee read the will."
The lawyer wiped his spectacles,
And drew the parchment out; Why make of Tom a dullard, And Ned a genius?”
And all the Brentford family
Sat eager round about :
Poor Ned was somewhat anxious, “ You'll cut him with a shilling,".
But Tom had ne'er a doubt. Exclaimed the man of wits : “I'll leave my wealth," said Brentford, “Sir Lawyer, as befits ;
My son, as I make ready And portion both their fortunes
To seek my last long home, Unto their several wits."
Some cares I had for Neddy,
But none for thee, my Tom : “Your Grace knows best,” the lawyer Sobriety and order
You ne'er departed from. “On your commands I wait." “ Be silent, Sir,” says Brentford,
“Ned hath a brilliant genius, “ A plague upon your prate !
And thou a plodding brain ; Come take your pen and paper,
On thee I think with pleasure, And write as I dictate.
Ou him with doubt and pain."
(“ You see, good Ned," says Thomas, The will as Brentford spoke it
What he thought about us twain.") Was writ and signed and closed ; He bade the lawyer leave him, “Though small was your allowance,
And turn'd him round and dozed ; You saved a little store ; Anil next week in the churchyard And those who save a little The good old King reposed.
Shall get a plenty more."
As the lawyer read this compliment, Ton, dressed in crape and hatband, Tom's eyes were running o'er.
Of mourners was the chief ; In bitter self-upbraidings
“The tortoise and the hare, Tom, Poor Edward showed his grief : Set out, at each his pace; Tom hid his fat white countenance The hare it was the fleeter, In his pocket-handkerchief.
The tortoise won the race;
And since the world's beginning (" l' faith," says Ned, our father This ever was the case.
Is less polite than just.")
"In you, son Tom, I've confidence, "Ved's genius, blithe and singing, But Ned I cannot trust.
Steps gayly o'er the ground; As steadily you trudge it
“Wherefore my lease and copyholds, He clears it with a bound;
My lands and tenements, But dulness has stout legs, Tom, My parks, my farms, and orchards, And wind that's wondrous sound. My houses and my rents,
My Ďutch stock and my Spanish stock, "O'er fruits and flowers alike, Tom, My five and three per cents,
You pass with plodding feet; You heed not one nor t'other
“I leave to you, my Thomas ”. But onwards go your heat,
(“What, all ?" poor Edward said. While genius stops to loiter
"Well, well, I should have spent then, With all that he may meet;
Aud Tom's a prudent heaul")
“I leave to you, my Thomas, "And ever as he wanders,
To you IN TRUST for Ned."
The wrath and consternation
What poet e'er could trace Or dozing in the slide,
That at this fatal passage Or bashing in the shine.
Came o'er Prince Toin his face;
The wonder of the company, “Your little steady eyes, Tom,
And honest Ned's amaze!
“ 'Tis surely some mistake," His fishing genius throws,
Good-naturedly cries Ned; Are excellently suited
The lawyer answered gravely, To look before your nose.
"'Tis even as I said ;
'Twas thus his gracious Majesty “Thank heaven, then, for the blinkers
Ordain'd on his death-bed.
"See, here the will is witness'd, Oh, bless your good stupidity,
And here's his autograph.”
"In truth, our father's writing," It is your dearest prize!
Says Edward, with a laugh ;
* But thou shalt not be a loser, Tom, “And though my lands are wide,
We'll share it half and half.'
“Alas! my kind young gentleman, A brain that's thick and heavy, This sharing cannot be ; ' A heart that's dull and cold. 'Tis written in the testament
That Brentford spoke to me, "Too dull to feel depression,
'I do forbid Prince Ned to give Too hard to heed distress,
Prince Tom a halfpenny.
" "He hath a store of money, March on — your road is open
But ne'er was known to lend it; To wealth, Tor, and success. He never help'ıl his brother ;
The poor he ne'er befriended ; “Ned sinneth in extravagance,
He hath no need of property And you in greedy lust.”
Who knows not how to spend it.