Ballads By William Makepeace Thackeray Part 16

OLD FRIENDS WITH NEW FACES.

THE KNIGHTLY GUERDON.*

Untrue to my Ulric I never could be, I vow by the saints and the blessed Marie, Since the desolate hour when we stood by the sh.o.r.e, And your dark galley waited to carry you o'er: My faith then I plighted, my love I confess'd, As I gave you the BATTLE-AXE marked with your crest!

When the bold barons met in my father's old hall, Was not Edith the flower of the banquet and ball?

In the festival hour, on the lips of your bride, Was there ever a smile save with THEE at my side?

Alone in my turret I loved to sit best, To blazon your BANNER and broider your crest.

The knights were a.s.sembled, the tourney was gay!

Sir Ulric rode first in the warrior-melee.

In the dire battle-hour, when the tourney was done, And you gave to another the wreath you had won!

Though I never reproached thee, cold, cold was my breast, As I thought of that BATTLE-AXE, ah! and that crest!

But away with remembrance, no more will I pine That others usurped for a time what was mine!

There's a FESTIVAL HOUR for my Ulric and me: Once more, as of old, shall he bend at my knee; Once more by the side of the knight I love best Shall I blazon his BANNER and broider his crest.

* "WAPPING OLD STAIRS.

"Your Molly has never been false," she declares, "Since the last time we parted at Wapping Old Stairs; When I said that I would continue the same, And I gave you the 'bacco-box marked with my name.

When I pa.s.sed a whole fortnight between decks with you, Did I e'er give a kiss, Tom, to one of your crew?

To be useful and kind to my Thomas I stay'd, For his trousers I washed, and his grog too I made.

"Though you promised last Sunday to walk in the Mall With Susan from Deptford and likewise with Sall, In silence I stood your unkindness to hear And only upbraided my Tom with a tear.

Why should Sall, or should Susan, than me be more prized?

For the heart that is true, Tom, should ne'er be despised; Then be constant and kind, nor your Molly forsake, Still your trousers I'll wash and your grog too I'll make."

THE ALMACK'S ADIEU.

Your f.a.n.n.y was never false-hearted, And this she protests and she vows, From the triste moment when we parted On the staircase of Devons.h.i.+re House!

I blushed when you asked me to marry, I vowed I would never forget; And at parting I gave my dear Harry A beautiful vinegarette!

We spent en province all December, And I ne'er condescended to look At Sir Charles, or the rich county member, Or even at that darling old Duke.

You were busy with dogs and with horses, Alone in my chamber I sat, And made you the nicest of purses, And the smartest black satin cravat!

At night with that vile Lady Frances (Je faisois moi tap.i.s.serie) You danced every one of the dances, And never once thought of poor me!

Mon pauvre pet.i.t coeur! what a s.h.i.+ver I felt as she danced the last set; And you gave, O mon Dieu! to revive her My beautiful vinegarette!

Return, love! away with coquetting; This flirting disgraces a man!

And ah! all the while you're forgetting The heart of your poor little Fan!

Reviens! break away from those Circes, Reviens, for a nice little chat; And I've made you the sweetest of purses, And a lovely black satin cravat!

WHEN THE GLOOM IS ON THE GLEN.

When the moonlight's on the mountain And the gloom is on the glen, At the cross beside the fountain There is one will meet thee then.

At the cross beside the fountain; Yes, the cross beside the fountain, There is one will meet thee then!

I have braved, since first we met, love, Many a danger in my course; But I never can forget, love, That dear fountain, that old cross, Where, her mantle shrouded o'er her-- For the winds were chilly then-- First I met my Leonora, When the gloom was on the glen.

Many a clime I've ranged since then, love, Many a land I've wandered o'er; But a valley like that glen, love, Half so dear I never sor!

Ne'er saw maiden fairer, coyer, Than wert thou, my true love, when In the gloaming first I saw yer, In the gloaming of the glen!

THE RED FLAG.

Where the quivering lightning flings His arrows from out the clouds, And the howling tempest sings And whistles among the shrouds, 'Tis pleasant, 'tis pleasant to ride Along the foaming brine-- Wilt be the Rover's bride?

Wilt follow him, lady mine?

Hurrah!

For the bonny, bonny brine.

Amidst the storm and rack, You shall see our galley pa.s.s, As a serpent, lithe and black, Glides through the waving gra.s.s.

As the vulture swift and dark, Down on the ring-dove flies, You shall see the Rovers bark Swoop down upon his prize.

Hurrah!

For the bonny, bonny prize.

Over her sides we dash, We gallop across her deck-- Ha! there's a ghastly gash On the merchant-captain's neck-- Well shot, well shot, old Ned!

Well struck, well struck, black James!

Our arms are red, and our foes are dead, And we leave a s.h.i.+p in flames!

Hurrah!

For the bonny, bonny flames!

DEAR JACK.

Dear Jack, this white mug that with Guinness I fill, And drink to the health of sweet Nan of the Hill, Was once Tommy Tosspot's, as jovial a sot As e'er drew a spigot, or drain'd a full pot-- In drinking all round 'twas his joy to surpa.s.s, And with all merry tipplers he swigg'd off his gla.s.s.

One morning in summer, while seated so snug, In the porch of his garden, discussing his jug, Stern Death, on a sudden, to Tom did appear, And said, "Honest Thomas, come take your last bier."

We kneaded his clay in the shape of this can, From which let us drink to the health of my Nan.