There was a particular metre much affected by this great artist and poet, of which perhaps the best example to be found is in his weird “Sister Helen,” which has been frequently parodied. It commences thus:―― “Why did you melt your waxen man, Sister Helen? To-day is the third since you began.” “The time was long, yet the time ran, Little brother.” (_O Mother, Mary Mother, Three days to-day, between Hell and Heaven!_) “But if you have done your work aright, Sister Helen, You’ll let me play, for you said I might.” “Be very still in your play to-night, Little brother.” (_O Mother, Mary Mother, Third night, to-night, between Hell and Heaven!_) “Oh, the waxen knave was plump to-day, Sister Helen; How like dead folk he has dropped away!” “Nay now, of the dead what can you say, Little brother?” (_O Mother, Mary Mother, What of the dead, between Hell and Heaven?_) * * * * * “Ah! what white thing at the door has cross’d, Sister Helen? Ah! what is this that sighs in the frost?” “A soul that’s lost as mine is lost, Little brother!” (_O Mother, Mary Mother, Lost, lost, all lost, between Hell and Heaven!_) This, and other poems by Rossetti, such as _Eden Bower_, and _Troy Town_, only revived a very old fashion――the ballad with a refrain or burden. But when once it _was_ revived so many indifferent poets attempted to utter their little insipidities in the ballad style, that the parodists soon caught the infection. One gentleman furbished up a tremendous ballad which resembled nothing so much as the cry of a costermonger, for its burden, oft repeated, was―― “Apple, and orange, and nectarine,” whilst one of the evening papers published the following satire on Rossetti’s style:―― AFTER DILETTANTE CONCETTI. “Why do you wear your hair like a man, Sister Helen? This week is the third since you began.” “I’m writing a ballad; be still if you can, Little brother, (_O Mother Carey, mother! What chickens are these between sea and heaven?_”) “But why does your figure appear so lean, Sister Helen? And why do you dress in sage sage, green?” “Children should never be heard, if seen, Little brother! (_O Mother Carey, mother! What fowls are a-wing in the stormy heaven!_”