First Love
A clergyman in Berkshire dwelt,
The REVEREND BERNARD POWLES,
And in his church there weekly knelt
At least a hundred souls.
There little ELLEN you might see,
The modest rustic belle;
In maidenly simplicity,
She loved her BERNARD well.
Though ELLEN wore a plain silk gown
Untrimmed with lace or fur,
Yet not a husband in the town
But wished his wife like her.
Though sterner memories might fade,
You never could forget
The child-form of that baby-maid,
The Village Violet!
A simple frightened loveliness,
Whose sacred spirit-part
Shrank timidly from worldly stress,
And nestled in your heart.
POWLES woo'd with every well-worn plan
And all the usual wiles
With which a well-schooled gentleman
A simple heart beguiles.
The hackneyed compliments that bore
World-folks like you and me,
Appeared to her as if they wore
The crown of Poesy.
His winking eyelid sang a song
Her heart could understand,
Eternity seemed scarce too long
When BERNARD squeezed her hand.
He ordered down the martial crew
Of GODFREY'S Grenadiers,
And COOTE conspired with TINNEY to
Ecstaticise her ears.
Beneath her window, veiled from eye,
They nightly took their stand;
On birthdays supplemented by
The Covent Garden band.
And little ELLEN, all alone,
Enraptured sat above,
And thought how blest she was to own
The wealth of POWLES'S love.
I often, often wonder what
Poor ELLEN saw in him;
For calculated he was NOT
To please a woman's whim.
He wasn't good, despite the air
An M.B. waistcoat gives;
Indeed, his dearest friends declare
No greater humbug lives.
No kind of virtue decked this priest,
He'd nothing to allure;
He wasn't handsome in the least, -
He wasn't even poor.
No - he was cursed with acres fat
(A Christian's direst ban),
And gold - yet, notwithstanding that,
Poor ELLEN loved the man.
As unlike BERNARD as could be
Was poor old AARON WOOD
(Disgraceful BERNARD'S curate he):
He was extremely good.
A BAYARD in his moral pluck
Without reproach or fear,
A quiet venerable duck
With fifty pounds a year.
No fault had he - no fad, except
A tendency to strum,
In mode at which you would have wept,
A dull harmonium.
He had no gold with which to hire
The minstrels who could best
Convey a notion of the fire
That raged within his breast.
And so, when COOTE and TINNEY'S Own
Had tootled all they knew,
And when the Guards, completely blown,
Exhaustedly withdrew,
And NELL began to sleepy feel,
Poor AARON then would come,
And underneath her window wheel
His plain harmonium.
He woke her every morn at two,
And having gained her ear,
In vivid colours AARON drew
The sluggard's grim career.
He warbled Apiarian praise,
And taught her in his chant
To shun the dog's pugnacious ways,
And imitate the ant.
Still NELL seemed not, how much he played,
To love him out and out,
Although the admirable maid
Respected him, no doubt.
She told him of her early vow,
And said as BERNARD'S wife
It might be hers to show him how
To rectify his life.
"You are so pure, so kind, so true,
Your goodness shines so bright,
What use would ELLEN be to you?
Believe me, you're all right."
She wished him happiness and health,
And flew on lightning wings
To BERNARD with his dangerous wealth
And all the woes it brings.
Hongree And Mahry
The sun was setting in its wonted west,
When HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores,
Met MAHRY DAUBIGNY, the Village Rose,
Under the Wizard's Oak - old trysting-place
Of those who loved in rosy Aquitaine.
They thought themselves unwatched, but they were not;
For HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores,
Found in LIEUTENANT-COLONEL JOOLES DUBOSC
A rival, envious and unscrupulous,
Who thought it not foul scorn to dodge his steps,
And listen, unperceived, to all that passed
Between the simple little Village Rose
And HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores.
A clumsy barrack-bully was DUBOSC,
Quite unfamiliar with the well-bred tact
That animates a proper gentleman
In dealing with a girl of humble rank.
You'll understand his coarseness when I say
He would have married MAHRY DAUBIGNY,
And dragged the unsophisticated girl
Into the whirl of fashionable life,
For which her singularly rustic ways,
Her breeding (moral, but extremely rude),
Her language (chaste, but ungrammatical),
Would absolutely have unfitted her.
How different to this unreflecting boor
Was HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores.
Contemporary with the incident
Related in our opening paragraph,
Was that sad war 'twixt Gallia and ourselves
That followed on the treaty signed at Troyes;
And so LIEUTENANT-COLONEL JOOLES DUBOSC
(Brave soldier, he, with all his faults of style)
And HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores,
Were sent by CHARLES of France against the lines
Of our Sixth HENRY (Fourteen twenty-nine),
To drive his legions out of Aquitaine.
When HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores,
Returned, suspecting nothing, to his camp,
After his meeting with the Village Rose,
He found inside his barrack letter-box
A note from the commanding officer,
Requiring his attendance at head-quarters.
He went, and found LIEUTENANT-COLONEL JOOLES.
"Young HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores,
This night we shall attack the English camp:
Be the 'forlorn hope' yours - you'll lead it, sir,
And lead it too with credit, I've no doubt.
As every man must certainly be killed
(For you are twenty 'gainst two thousand men),
It is not likely that you will return.
But what of that? you'll have the benefit
Of knowing that you die a soldier's death."
Obedience was young HONGREE'S strongest point,
But he imagined that he only owed
Allegiance to his MAHRY and his King.
"If MAHRY bade me lead these fated men,
I'd lead them -but I do not think she would.
If CHARLES, my King, said, 'Go, my son, and die,'
I'd go, of course - my duty would be clear.
But MAHRY is in bed asleep, I hope,
And CHARLES, my King, a hundred leagues from this.
As for LIEUTENANT-COLONEL JOOLES DUBOSC,
How know I that our monarch would approve
The order he has given me to-night?
My King I've sworn in all things to obey -
I'll only take my orders from my King!"
Thus HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores,
Interpreted the terms of his commission.
And HONGREE, who was wise as he was good,
Disguised himself that night in ample cloak,
Round flapping hat, and vizor mask of black,
And made, unnoticed, for the English camp.
He passed the unsuspecting sentinels
(Who little thought a man in this disguise
Could be a proper object of suspicion),
And ere the curfew bell had boomed "lights out,"
He found in audience Bedford's haughty Duke.
"Your Grace," he said, "start not - be not alarmed,
Although a Frenchman stands before your eyes.
I'm HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores.
My Colonel will attack your camp to-night,
And orders me to lead the hope forlorn.
Now I am sure our excellent KING CHARLES
Would not approve of this; but he's away
A hundred leagues, and rather more than that.
So, utterly devoted to my King,
Blinded by my attachment to the throne,
And having but its interest at heart,
I feel it is my duty to disclose
All schemes that emanate from COLONEL JOOLES,
If I believe that they are not the kind
Of schemes that our good monarch would approve."
"But how," said Bedford's Duke, "do you propose
That we should overthrow your Colonel's scheme?"
And HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores,
Replied at once with never-failing tact:
"Oh, sir, I know this cursed country well.
Entrust yourself and all your host to me;
I'll lead you safely by a secret path
Into the heart of COLONEL JOOLES' array,
And you can then attack them unprepared,
And slay my fellow-countrymen unarmed."
The thing was done. The DUKE of BEDFORD gave
The order, and two thousand fighting men
Crept silently into the Gallic camp,
And slew the Frenchmen as they lay asleep;
And Bedford's haughty Duke slew COLONEL JOOLES,
And gave fair MAHRY, pride of Aquitaine,
To HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores.
