Ballads By William Makepeace Thackeray Part 7

"His ways? his thoughts? Just whisper me a few; Tell me a curious anecdote or two, And write 'em quickly off, good Mordan, do!"

PEN.

"Since he my faithful service did engage To follow him through his queer pilgrimage, I've drawn and written many a line and page.

"Caricatures I scribbled have, and rhymes, And dinner-cards, and picture pantomimes; And merry little children's books at times.

"I've writ the foolish fancy of his brain; The aimless jest that, striking, hath caused pain; The idle word that he'd wish back again.

"I've help'd him to pen many a line for bread; To joke with sorrow aching in his head; And make your laughter when his own heart bled.

"I've spoke with men of all degree and sort-- Peers of the land, and ladies of the Court; Oh, but I've chronicled a deal of sport!

"Feasts that were ate a thousand days ago, Biddings to wine that long hath ceased to flow, Gay meetings with good fellows long laid low;

"Summons to bridal, banquet, burial, ball, Tradesman's polite reminders of his small Account due Christmas last--I've answered all.

"Poor Diddler's tenth pet.i.tion for a half- Guinea; Miss Bunyan's for an autograph; So I refuse, accept, lament, or laugh,

"Condole, congratulate, invite, praise, scoff.

Day after day still dipping in my trough, And scribbling pages after pages off.

"Day after day the labor's to be done, And sure as comes the postman and the sun, The indefatigable ink must run.

"Go back, my pretty little gilded tome, To a fair mistress and a pleasant home, Where soft hearts greet us whensoe'er we come!

"Dear, friendly eyes, with constant kindness lit, However rude my verse, or poor my wit, Or sad or gay my mood, you welcome it.

"Kind lady! till my last of lines is penn'd, My master's love, grief, laughter, at an end, Whene'er I write your name, may I write friend!

"Not all are so that were so in past years; Voices, familiar once, no more he hears; Names, often writ, are blotted out in tears.

"So be it:--joys will end and tears will dry-- Alb.u.m! my master bids me wish good-by, He'll send you to your mistress presently.

"And thus with thankful heart he closes you; Blessing the happy hour when a friend he knew So gentle, and so generous, and so true.

"Nor pa.s.s the words as idle phrases by; Stranger! I never writ a flattery, Nor sign'd the page that register'd a lie."

MRS. KATHERINE'S LANTERN.

WRITTEN IN A LADY'S ALb.u.m.

"Coming from a gloomy court, Place of Israelite resort, This old lamp I've brought with me.

Madam, on its panes you'll see The initials K and E."

"An old lantern brought to me?

Ugly, dingy, battered, black!"

(Here a lady I suppose Turning up a pretty nose)-- "Pray, sir, take the old thing back.

I've no taste for bricabrac."

"Please to mark the letters twain--"

(I'm supposed to speak again)-- "Graven on the lantern pane.

Can you tell me who was she, Mistress of the flowery wreath, And the anagram beneath-- The mysterious K E?

"Full a hundred years are gone Since the little beacon shone From a Venice balcony: There, on summer nights, it hung, And her Lovers came and sung To their beautiful K E.

"Hus.h.!.+ in the ca.n.a.l below Don't you hear the plash of oars Underneath the lantern's glow, And a thrilling voice begins To the sound of mandolins?

Begins singing of amore And delire and dolore-- O the ravis.h.i.+ng tenore!

"Lady, do you know the tune?

Ah, we all of us have hummed it!

I've an old guitar has thrummed it, Under many a changing moon.

Shall I try it? Do Re MI . .

What is this? Ma foi, the fact is, That my hand is out of practice, And my poor old fiddle cracked is, And a man--I let the truth out,-- Who's had almost every tooth out, Cannot sing as once he sung, When he was young as you are young, When he was young and lutes were strung, And love-lamps in the cas.e.m.e.nt hung."

LUCY'S BIRTHDAY.

Seventeen rosebuds in a ring, Thick with sister flowers beset, In a fragrant coronet, Lucy's servants this day bring.

Be it the birthday wreath she wears Fresh and fair, and symbolling The young number of her years, The sweet blushes of her spring.

Types of youth and love and hope!

Friendly hearts your mistress greet, Be you ever fair and sweet, And grow lovelier as you ope!

Gentle nursling, fenced about With fond care, and guarded so, Scarce you've heard of storms without, Frosts that bite or winds that blow!

Kindly has your life begun, And we pray that heaven may send To our floweret a warm sun, A calm summer, a sweet end.

And where'er shall be her home, May she decorate the place; Still expanding into bloom, And developing in grace.

THE CANE-BOTTOM'D CHAIR.

In tattered old slippers that toast at the bars, And a ragged old jacket perfumed with cigars, Away from the world and its toils and its cares, I've a snug little kingdom up four pair of stairs.

To mount to this realm is a toil, to be sure, But the fire there is bright and the air rather pure; And the view I behold on a suns.h.i.+ny day Is grand through the chimney-pots over the way.