And here and there a good mamma, Her squalling baby nursing, Looks on me pitying, with an "Ah, Poor fellow, how he's cursing!" For, sailor like, I storm and "blow My eyes" and "timbers shiver," That other lucky men may go, But I seem here for ever. BRASENOSE COLLEGE, Oxford. _College Rhymes_, 1870. * * * * * THE MAIDEN'S LAMENT. _After Tennyson_ (_and a long way after, too_). With many a care my life's beset, My charms are growing mellow, And I have not secured as yet An eligible fellow. I sing, I play, and through the dance I skim like any swallow; The ladies look at me askance, And say I'm vain and shallow. I chatter, chatter as I go, And some pronounce me clever. But the men that come they're awfully slow, And pop the question _never_, _never_. Pop the question never, never, Pop the question never. I gad about, and in and out My hopeless fate bewailing; And think with secret pain and doubt Of youth and beauty failing. A youth there is for whose dear sake To distant lands I'd travel; I thought he would an offer make One evening on the gravel. He spoke in accents soft and low, But word of love came never. The men that come are sure to go, And some take leave for ever, Some take leave for ever, ever, Some take leave for ever. I strive by many cunning plots, Their feelings to discover, And sometimes sweet forget-me-nots Present to backward lover; And though with costly gems from far, I deck my shining tresses, And though I sing of love and war, And sport becoming dresses, 'Tis all in vain this idle show, I'll gain their favour never. For men may come and men may go, But I'm stuck fast for ever, I'm stuck fast for ever, ever, I'm stack fast for ever. _The Harborne Parish Church Bazaar News_ (Birmingham), September 26, 1874. * * * * * Flow down, old river, to the sea, Thy tribute-muck deliver! But lake this comfort, Thames, from Me, _This shan't go on for ever!_ _Punch_, August 23, 1884. * * * * * OUR RIVER (A TENNYSONIAN IDYLL). OLD FATHER THAMES, _loq._ "'I come from haunts of coot and hern,' From 'neath green ferns I sally; But into me they quickly turn The sewage of my valley! "By fifty sewer mouths I pass-- My surface black with midges; And bubbles huge of sewage gas Float down beneath my bridges. "When first I babble o'er the lea, As crystal clear I chatter; But twenty towns soon poison me With foul organic matter. "Till last by Barking Creek I go, A thick, pestiferous river; And tides may ebb, and tides may flow, But I smell on for ever!