The Paris Sketch Book of Mr. M. A. Titmarsh Part 29

LE GRENIER.

Je viens revoir l'asile ou ma jeunesse De la misere a subi les lecons.

J'avais vingt ans, une folle maitresse, De francs amis et l'amour des chansons Bravant le monde et les sots et les sages, Sans avenir, riche de mon printemps, Leste et joyeux je montais six etages.

Dans un grenier qu'on est bien a vingt ans!

C'est un grenier, point ne veux qu'on l'ignore.

La fut mon lit, bien chetif et bien dur; La fut ma table; et je retrouve encore Trois pieds d'un vers charbonnes sur le mur.

Apparaissez, plaisirs de mon bel age, Que d'un coup d'aile a fustiges le temps, Vingt fois pour vous j'ai mis ma montre en gage.

Dans un grenier qu'on est bien a vingt ans!

Lisette ici doit surtout apparaitre, Vive, jolie, avec un frais chapeau; Deja sa main a l'etroite fenetre Suspend son schal, en guise de rideau.

Sa robe aussi va parer ma couchette; Respecte, Amour, ses plis longs et flottans.

J'ai su depuis qui payait sa toilette.

Dans un grenier qu'on est bien a vingt ans!

A table un jour, jour de grande richesse, De mes amis les voix brillaient en choeur, Quand jusqu'ici monte un cri d'allegresse: A Marengo Bonaparte est vainqueur.

Le canon gronde; un autre chant commence; Nous celebrons tant de faits eclatans.

Les rois jamais n'envahiront la France.

Dans un grenier qu'on est bien a vingt ans!

Quittons ce toit ou ma raison s'enivre.

Oh! qu'ils sont loin ces jours si regrettes!

J'echangerais ce qu'il me reste a vivre Contre un des mois qu'ici Dieu m'a comptes, Pour rever gloire, amour, plaisir, folie, Pour depenser sa vie en peu d'instans, D'un long espoir pour la voir embellie, Dans un grenier qu'on est bien a vingt ans!

THE GARRET.

With pensive eyes the little room I view, Where, in my youth, I weathered it so long; With a wild mistress, a stanch friend or two, And a light heart still breaking into song: Making a mock of life, and all its cares, Rich in the glory of my rising sun, Lightly I vaulted up four pair of stairs, In the brave days when I was twenty-one.

Yes; 'tis a garret--let him know't who will-- There was my bed--full hard it was and small.

My table there--and I decipher still Half a lame couplet charcoaled on the wall.

Ye joys, that Time hath swept with him away, Come to mine eyes, ye dreams of love and fun; For you I p.a.w.ned my watch how many a day, In the brave days when I was twenty-one.

And see my little Jessy, first of all; She comes with pouting lips and sparkling eyes: Behold, how roguishly she pins her shawl Across the narrow cas.e.m.e.nt, curtain-wise; Now by the bed her petticoat glides down, And when did woman look the worse in none?

I have heard since who paid for many a gown, In the brave days when I was twenty-one.

One jolly evening, when my friends and I Made happy music with our songs and cheers, A shout of triumph mounted up thus high, And distant cannon opened on our ears: We rise,--we join in the triumphant strain,-- Napoleon conquers--Austerlitz is won-- Tyrants shall never tread us down again, In the brave days when I was twenty-one.

Let us begone--the place is sad and strange-- How far, far off, these happy times appear; All that I have to live I'd gladly change For one such month as I have wasted here-- To draw long dreams of beauty, love, and power, From founts of hope that never will outrun, And drink all life's quintessence in an hour, Give me the days when I was twenty-one!

ROGER-BONTEMPS.

Aux gens atrabilaires Pour exemple donne, En un temps de miseres Roger-Bontemps est ne.

Vivre obscur a sa guise, Narguer les mecontens: Eh gai! c'est la devise Du gros Roger-Bontemps.

Du chapeau de son pere Coiffe dans le grands jours, De roses ou de lierre Le rajeunir toujours; Mettre un manteau de bure, Vieil ami de vingt ans; Eh gai! c'est la parure Du gros Roger-Bontemps.

Posseder dans sa hutte Une table, un vieux lit, Des cartes, une flute, Un broc que Dieu remplit; Un portrait de maitresse, Un coffre et rien dedans; Eh gai! c'est la richesse Du gros Roger-Bontemps.

Aux enfans de la ville Montrer de pet.i.ts jeux; Etre fesseur habile De contes graveleux; Ne parler que de danse Et d'almanachs chantans; Eh gai! c'est la science Du gros Roger-Bontemps.

Faute de vins d'elite, Sabler ceux du canton: Preferer Marguerite Aux dames du grand ton: De joie et de tendresse Remplir tous ses instans; Eh gai! c'est la sagesse Du gros Roger-Bontemps.

Dire au ciel: Je me fie, Mon pere, a ta bonte; De ma philosophie Pardonne le gaite Que ma saison derniere Soit encore un printemps; Eh gai! c'est la priere Du gros Roger-Bontemps.

Vous, pauvres pleins d'envie, Vous, riches desireux, Vous, dont le char devie Apres un cours heureux; Vous, qui perdrez peut-etre Des t.i.tres eclatans, Eh gai! prenez pour maitre Le gros Roger Bontemps.

JOLLY JACK.

When fierce political debate Throughout the isle was storming, And Rads attacked the throne and state, And Tories the reforming, To calm the furious rage of each, And right the land demented, Heaven sent us Jolly Jack, to teach The way to be contented.

Jack's bed was straw, 'twas warm and soft, His chair, a three-legged stool; His broken jug was emptied oft, Yet, somehow, always full.

His mistress' portrait decked the wall, His mirror had a crack; Yet, gay and glad, though this was all His wealth, lived Jolly Jack.

To give advice to avarice, Teach pride its mean condition, And preach good sense to dull pretence, Was honest Jack's high mission.

Our simple statesman found his rule Of moral in the flagon, And held his philosophic school Beneath the "George and Dragon."

When village Solons cursed the Lords, And called the malt-tax sinful, Jack heeded not their angry words, But smiled and drank his skinful.

And when men wasted health and life, In search of rank and riches, Jack marked, aloof, the paltry strife, And wore his threadbare breeches.

"I enter not the church," he said, "But I'll not seek to rob it;"

So worthy Jack Joe Miller read, While others studied Cobbett.

His talk it was of feast and fun; His guide the Almanack; From youth to age thus gayly run The life of Jolly Jack.

And when Jack prayed, as oft he would, He humbly thanked his Maker; "I am," said he, "O Father good!

Nor Catholic nor Quaker: Give each his creed, let each proclaim His catalogue of curses; I trust in Thee, and not in them, In Thee, and in Thy mercies!

"Forgive me if, midst all Thy works, No hint I see of d.a.m.ning; And think there's faith among the Turks, And hope for e'en the Brahmin.

Harmless my mind is, and my mirth, And kindly is my laughter: I cannot see the smiling earth, And think there's h.e.l.l hereafter."

Jack died; he left no legacy, Save that his story teaches:-- Content to peevish poverty; Humility to riches.

Ye scornful great, ye envious small, Come follow in his track; We all were happier, if we all Would copy JOLLY JACK.