قراءة كتاب Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 107, September 15, 1894
تنويه: تعرض هنا نبذة من اول ١٠ صفحات فقط من الكتاب الالكتروني، لقراءة الكتاب كاملا اضغط على الزر “اشتر الآن"
اللغة: English
الصفحة رقم: 2
class="caption">THE SEA-FAIRIES; OR, ULYSSES-PUNCHIUS AND THE MODERN SIRENS.
(A long way after the late Laureate.)
Slow strolled the weary Punchius, and saw,
Betwixt the white cliff and the whiter foam,
Sweet faces, rounded arms, and bosoms prest
To little harps of gold. And PUNCHIUS said:—
"Lo! I am lucky, after session long,
To light upon these sirens; and their song
I fear not, though I'm wary as Ulysses,
Nor do I dread their kisses,
(Seeing that far away Penelope-Judy Abides.)
Oh! hang this maudlin muck from Mudie!
I love not, I, these new, neurotic novels,
In which the wild New Woman soars—and grovels.
Emancipated females are not sirens!
There's pleasure in the peril that environs
Old-fashioned witchery.
A pretty English maiden at her stitchery,
Or a scaled mermaid, siren, or sea-fairy,
Alike have charms for me. Yet I'll be wary,
'Maidens mit nodings'—or but little—'on,'
As Breitmann hints, are dangers
For weak wayfaring strangers.
But Beauty never hurt me. Fears begone!
See how the long-tressed charmers smile and beckon!
I'll go and risk a chat with them, I reckon!"
Betwixt the white cliff and the whiter foam,
Sweet faces, rounded arms, and bosoms prest
To little harps of gold. And PUNCHIUS said:—
"Lo! I am lucky, after session long,
To light upon these sirens; and their song
I fear not, though I'm wary as Ulysses,
Nor do I dread their kisses,
(Seeing that far away Penelope-Judy Abides.)
Oh! hang this maudlin muck from Mudie!
I love not, I, these new, neurotic novels,
In which the wild New Woman soars—and grovels.
Emancipated females are not sirens!
There's pleasure in the peril that environs
Old-fashioned witchery.
A pretty English maiden at her stitchery,
Or a scaled mermaid, siren, or sea-fairy,
Alike have charms for me. Yet I'll be wary,
'Maidens mit nodings'—or but little—'on,'
As Breitmann hints, are dangers
For weak wayfaring strangers.
But Beauty never hurt me. Fears begone!
See how the long-tressed charmers smile and beckon!
I'll go and risk a chat with them, I reckon!"
And while Punch mused,
They whispering to each other as in fun,
Soft music reached the Unsurpassable One:—
They whispering to each other as in fun,
Soft music reached the Unsurpassable One:—
"Whither away, whither away, whither away? Fly no more!
Whither away from the bright white cliff and the sandy siren-haunted shore?
Back to town—which is horrible now—or to politics—the beastliest bore?
Day and night do the printers'-devils call?
Day and night do stump-orators howl and squall?
Bless 'em—and let 'em be!
Out from the city of singular sights, and smells.
Come to these saffron sands and these silvery shells,
Far from the niggers, and nursemaids, and howling swells,
Here by the high-toned sea:
O hither, come hither, and furl your sails!
Come hither to me, and to me,
Hither, come hither, and frolic and play,
(Of course, in a highly-respectable middle-aged way).
Good company we—if you do not object to our—tails.
And the least little tiny suspicion of silver scales.
We will sing to you lyrics gay,
Such as Locker, or Austin Dobson, or Lang might pen.
Oh, we know your society-singers, and now and then,
When old Father Nep's in the sulks, or amusement fails,
Or we're tired of the "merry carols" of rollicking gales
(As young Alfred Tennyson said
When just a weeny bit 'off his (poetical) head')
We study another than Davy Jones's Locker,
And read your Society Novel or Shilling Shocker!
Oh, spangles are sparkling in bight and bay!
Come down, Old Gentleman, give us your hand.
We are modern mermaids, as you may understand,
And fair, and frolic, fun-loving, and blamelessly free.
Hither, come hither, and see!"
Whither away from the bright white cliff and the sandy siren-haunted shore?
Back to town—which is horrible now—or to politics—the beastliest bore?
Day and night do the printers'-devils call?
Day and night do stump-orators howl and squall?
Bless 'em—and let 'em be!
Out from the city of singular sights, and smells.
Come to these saffron sands and these silvery shells,
Far from the niggers, and nursemaids, and howling swells,
Here by the high-toned sea:
O hither, come hither, and furl your sails!
Come hither to me, and to me,
Hither, come hither, and frolic and play,
(Of course, in a highly-respectable middle-aged way).
Good company we—if you do not object to our—tails.
And the least little tiny suspicion of silver scales.
We will sing to you lyrics gay,
Such as Locker, or Austin Dobson, or Lang might pen.
Oh, we know your society-singers, and now and then,
When old Father Nep's in the sulks, or amusement fails,
Or we're tired of the "merry carols" of rollicking gales
(As young Alfred Tennyson said
When just a weeny bit 'off his (poetical) head')
We study another than Davy Jones's Locker,
And read your Society Novel or Shilling Shocker!
Oh, spangles are sparkling in bight and bay!
Come down, Old Gentleman, give us your hand.
We are modern mermaids, as you may understand,
And fair, and frolic, fun-loving, and blamelessly free.
Hither, come hither, and see!"
And Punchius, waggishly winking a wary eye,
Cried, "Coming, my nautical darlings!—at least, I'll try.
Middle-aged? I'm as young as a masher of five-and-twenty!
I love pretty girls, honest fun, and the far niente.
I'm 'a young man,' but not 'from the country,' as you will find,
And if you are game for flirtation, well, I don't mind!"
And he stepped him down, and he sat by the sounding shore,
And chatted, and flirted, and laughed with the sirens four;
And he sang, as young Tennyson might have, or Uhland, the German,
This song of the Modern Merman!—
Cried, "Coming, my nautical darlings!—at least, I'll try.
Middle-aged? I'm as young as a masher of five-and-twenty!
I love pretty girls, honest fun, and the far niente.
I'm 'a young man,' but not 'from the country,' as you will find,
And if you are game for flirtation, well, I don't mind!"
And he stepped him down, and he sat by the sounding shore,
And chatted, and flirted, and laughed with the sirens four;
And he sang, as young Tennyson might have, or Uhland, the German,
This song of the Modern Merman!—
"Who would not be
A merman bold,
And sit by the sea,
With mermaids free.
And sweet converse hold
With nice nautical girls,
And toy with their curls,
And watch the gleam
Of their glistening pearls,
As they chatter, chatter
On,—well, no matter
Each with her tale
And whisks her—narrative.
(Pink skin or scale,
Charms are all comparative!)
Oh what a happy life were mine
With Beauty (though caudate) beside the brine!
With four sea-fairies beside the sea
Punch can live merrily, merrily!"
And the Mermaids pinched the Punchian cheek
(For his Caudal lecture) and made him squeak.
And he cried "Revenge!" (like Timotheus, Miss)
And a sweet revenge for a nip is a kiss.
And around the rock siren laughter rang
And that bevy of sweet sea-fairies sang:—
A merman bold,
And sit by the sea,
With mermaids free.
And sweet converse hold
With nice nautical girls,
And toy with their curls,
And watch the gleam
Of their glistening pearls,
As they chatter, chatter
On,—well, no matter
Each with her tale
And whisks her—narrative.
(Pink skin or scale,
Charms are all comparative!)
Oh what a happy life were mine
With Beauty (though caudate) beside the brine!
With four sea-fairies beside the sea
Punch can live merrily, merrily!"
And the Mermaids pinched the Punchian cheek
(For his Caudal lecture) and made him squeak.
And he cried "Revenge!" (like Timotheus, Miss)
And a sweet revenge for a nip is a kiss.
And around the rock siren laughter rang
And that bevy of sweet sea-fairies sang:—
"O the laugh-ripple breaks on the breaking wave,
And sweet are its echoes from cove and cave,
And sweet shall your welcome be,
You dear old Cove,
Whom all she-things love,
O hither, come hither and be our lord,
For merry mischiefs are we!
We kiss sweet kiss, and we speak sweet word:
O listen, listen, your eyes shall glisten.
('Tis better than being by
And sweet are its echoes from cove and cave,
And sweet shall your welcome be,
You dear old Cove,
Whom all she-things love,
O hither, come hither and be our lord,
For merry mischiefs are we!
We kiss sweet kiss, and we speak sweet word:
O listen, listen, your eyes shall glisten.
('Tis better than being by
