Parodies of the works of English & American authors, vol. V
General
Parodies of the works of English & American authors, vol. V
Parodies
But in I rush, with too swift a gale,
Into the ocean of my tale!
Not yet young Christabel, I ween,
Of her babe hath lighter been.
――’Tis the month of the snow and the blast,
And the days of Christmas mirth are past,
When the oak-roots heaped on the hearth blazed bright,
Casting a broad and dusky light
On the shadowy forms of the warriors old,
Who stared from the wall, most grim to behold――
On shields where the spider his tapestry weaves,
On the holly boughs and the ivy leaves,
The few green glories that still remain
To mock the storm and welcome the rain,
Brighter and livelier mid tempest and shower,
Like a hero in the battle hour!――
Brave emblems o’er the winter hearth,
They cheered our fathers’ hours of mirth!――
Twelve solar months complete and clear
The magic circle of the year!
Each (the ancient riddle saith)
Children, two times thirty, hath!
Three times ten are fair and white,
Three times ten are black as night,
Three times ten hath Hecatè,
Three times ten the God of day;
Thus spoke the old hierophant
(I saw her big breast swelling pant)
What time, I dreamed, in ghostly wise
Of Eleusinian mysteries,
For I am the hierarch
Of the mystical and dark――
And now, if rightly I do spell
Of the Lady Christabel,
She hates the three times ten so white,
And sickens in their searching light,
And woe is hers――alas! alack!
She hates the three times ten so black――
As a mastiff bitch doth bark,
I hear her moaning in the dark!――
’Tis the month of January.
Why lovely maiden, light and airy,
While the moon can scarcely glow,
Thro the plumes of falling snow,
While the moss upon the bark
Is withered all, and damp, and dark,
While cold above the stars in doubt
Look dull, and scarcely will stay out,
While the snow is heavy on beechen bower
And hides its name-sake, the snow-drop flower,
Why walk forth thus mysteriously!
Dear girl, I ask thee seriously.
Thy cheek is pale, thy locks are wild――
Ah, think, how big thou art with child!――
Tho’ the baron’s red cloak thro’ the land hath no fellow,
Thou should’st not thus venture without an umbrella!
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account