Volume 108 — "MUSIC HATH CHARMS."
Reading edition
A Song for a Summer Day, 1895.
(A Very Long Way after Dryden.)
["Mr. Herbert Gladstone, in reply to Mr. Aird, said he was glad to tell the hon. gentleman that he had been informed by his Royal Highness the Duke of Cambridge that arrangements were being made for a military band to play in Hyde Park on certain days in summer."—Parliamentary Report.]
I.
In harmony, in public harmony, This bit of pleasant news began. St. Stephen's underneath a heap Of burning questions lay. When Herbert raised his head His tuneful voice was heard on high, And this is what it said: That Great George Ranger could descry A chance of making a big leap To pop-u-lar-i-ty. That Music's power should have full summer sway, And the bands begin to play! With harmony, with general harmony, Around the information ran That harmony, sweet harmony, Should stay mere rumpus with its rataplan, And make Hyde Park a pleasant place to Man!
II.
What passion cannot Music raise and quell? When Herbert thumps the side-drum well The listening nursemaids well may stand around, A-wondering at that curly swell, A-worshipping the rattling sound. Less than a dook they think can hardly dwell In that drum major's toffy togs. He startles even the stray dogs! What passion cannot Music raise and quell?
III.
The brass band's loud clangour The populace charms, The kettledrum-banger The baby alarms. At the double, double, double beat Of young Gladstone's drum The Socialist spouters from back street and slum Cry, "Hark! our foes come! Way oh! We'ad better retreat!"
IV.
The shrill and sprightly flute Startles the seculurist spouts and shovers. The crowds of music-lovers Flock to its sound and leave tub-thumpers mute.
V.
Dark Anarchists proclaim Their jealous pangs and desperation, Fury, frantic indignation, Depths of spite and heights of passion. Music mars their little game.
VI.
Yes, Music's art can teach Better than savage ungrammatic speech. Young Herbert let us praise, "The dear Dook" let us love. The weary wayfarer, the wan-faced slummer, Beneath the spell of Music and the Drummer, Feel rataplans and rubadubs to raise Their souls sour spleen above.
VII.
"Orpheus could lead the savage race, And trees uprooted left their place, Sequacious of the lyre."— Precisely, Glorious John! Yet 'twere no lark To see the trees cavorting round the Park. No! Our Cecilia's aim is even higher. To soothe the savage (Socialistic) breast, Set Atheist and Anarchist at rest, And to abate the spouting-Stiggins pest Young Herbert and grey George may well aspire. The "Milingtary Dook"'s permission's given That the Park-Public's breast, be-jawed and beered, May by the power of harmony be cheered, And lifted nearer heaven!
Grand Chorus.
(By a Grateful Crowd.)
"This 'ere's the larkiest of lays! Things do begin to move! 'Erbert and Georgy let us praise, And all the powers above. We've spent a reglar pleasant 'our Music like this the Mob devour. Yah! Anerchy is all my heye. That cornet tootles scrumptiously. Go it, young Gladsting! Don't say die Dear Dook, but 'ave another try. 'Armony makes disorder fly And Music tunes hus to the sky!