"BALLADE JOYEUSE."
Reading edition
(Not by Théodore de Banville.)
Though you're pent up in town While you pant for the breeze Upon moorland and down, For the whispers of trees, And the hum of the bees Winging home to the hive, Drain your cup to the lees— Aren't you glad you're alive? Though you miss the renown Yonder dolt wins with ease, And you're mocked by the clown You've a fancy to squeeze. Though your blood boil and freeze When folk say he will wive With the maid you would please— Aren't you glad you're alive? Though with pout, or with frown, Or in shrillest of keys, Madam seek a new gown, And no less will appease, While your creditors tease, Or by dozens arrive, And behave like Pawnees— Aren't you glad you're alive? Though your argosies drown In the deepest of seas, And you lose your last crown, Not to say bread and cheese; Though you cough and you wheeze Till you barely survive, At existence don't sneeze— Aren't you glad you're alive? Envoi. O my friends, paying fees, The physicians still thrive, For your motto is "spes"— Aren't you glad you're alive?
TEA AND TWADDLE.
["A somewhat mawkish sentimentalism, of which Germany is still the fountain-head in Art, and perhaps also in Letters."—Illustrated London News, in obituary notice of Professor Carl Müller of the Düsseldorf School.]
A fountain-head—of weak and tepid tea, Æsthetic catlap, "bleat"—infused Bohea! A strange Pierian Spring for the stark Teuton! God Phœbus cannot play the German flute on. Mars-Bismarck, Titan-Wagner, stalwarts these, Who would not twaddle at "Æsthetic Teas;" Heracles-Virchow is a valorous slayer, And Jovian Goethe proves a splendid stayer; But the mild, mawkish, modern German muse Olympian nectar will for "slops" refuse. Submerged in sentimentalism utter, Asked for Art-bread she proffers—Bread-and-butter!
"Heavy Marching Order" (in August).—"Shirt-sleeves and Sherbet."