Paul Clifford — Volume 02Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
General
Paul Clifford — Volume 02
Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
Brigands and robbers -- Fiction
At his maiden's lattice he stays the rein;
How still is his courser proud
(But still as a wind when it hangs o'er the main
In the breast of the boding cloud),
With the champed bit and the archd crest,
And the eye of a listening deer,
Like valour, fretful most in rest,
Least chafed when in career.
Fit slave to a lord whom all else refuse
To save at his desperate need;
By my troth! I think one whom the world pursues
Hath a right to a gallant steed.
"Away, my beloved, I hear their feet!
I blow thee a kiss, my fair,
And I promise to bring thee, when next we meet,
A braid for thy bonny hair.
Hurrah! for the booty!--my steed, hurrah!
Thorough bush, thorough brake, go we;
And the coy moon smiles on our merry way,
Like my own love,--timidly."
The parson he rides with a jingling pouch,
How it blabs of the rifled poor!
The courtier he lolls in his gilded coach,
--How it smacks of a sinecure!
The lawyer revolves in his whirling chaise
Sweet thoughts of a mischief done;
And the lady that knoweth the card she plays
Is counting her guineas won!
"He, lady!--What, holla, ye sinless men!
My claim ye can scarce refuse;
For when honest folk live on their neighbours, then
They encroach on the robber's dues!"
The lady changed cheek like a bashful maid,
The lawyer talked wondrous fair,
The parson blasphemed, and the courtier prayed,
And the robber bore off his share.
"Hurrah! for the revel! my steed, hurrah!
Thorough bush, thorough brake, go we!
It is ever a virtue, when others pay,
To ruffle it merrily!"
Oh, there never was life like the robber's,
--so Jolly and bold and free!
And its end-why, a cheer from the crowd below,
And a leap from a leafless tree!
This very moral lay being ended, Mrs. Slopperton declared it was
excellent; though she confessed she thought the sentiments rather loose.
Perhaps the gentleman might be induced to favour them with a song of a
more refined and modern turn,--something sentimental, in short. Glancing
towards Lucy, the stranger answered that he only knew one song of the
kind Mrs. Slopperton specified, and it was so short that he could
scarcely weary her patience by granting her request.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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