Chapter I: Preface: To the Fourth Edition

|The custom of inditing a preface is one which is perhaps more honoured in the breach than in the observance: nevertheless, I cannot allow the present opportunity to pass without returning my hearty thanks and acknowledgments to my Critics, and the Press generally, for the indulgent consideration I have received at their hands, and for the discriminating advice, of which, in revising this edition, I have gladly availed myself. Many of the minor pieces-introduced in the first instance principally as vehicles for illustrations have been omitted, and others of a somewhat less trivial character substituted.

These alterations have, to a certain extent, modified the original design of the book, as conveyed by its title; but the unexpectedly flattering reception accorded to the two most serious poems, the "Night Mail North," and the "Derby Day," (the former haying been quoted at length in nine Reviews) led me to think that the change might not be disadvantageous.

I have had on the whole but few hard knocks to complain of; certainly fewer than, considering the nature of some of the poems, I had reason to expect. For these adverse criticisms, which were no doubt the expression of the genuine opinions of their writers, I bear no grudge. As the Author of "The Season" pointedly phrases it, I could "have escaped censure only by escaping notice."

WEYBRIDGE,

20 May, 1862.

THE NIGHT MAIL NORTH

(Euston Square, 1840.)

OW then, take your seats! for Glasgow

and the North;

Chester!--Carlisle!--Holyhead,

and the wild Frith of Forth.

Clap on the steam, and sharp's

the word

"You men in scarlet cloth:--

"Are there any more passengers,

For the Night.. Mail.. to the North!"

Are there any more passengers?

Yes three-but they can't get in,

Too late, too late!-How they bellow and knock,

They might as well try to soften a rock

As the heart of that fellow in green.

For the Night Mail North? what Ho--

(No use to struggle, you can't get thro')

My young and lusty one--

Whither away from the gorgeous town?--

"For the lake and the stream and the heather brown,

"And the double-barrell'd gun!"

For the Night Mail North, I say?--

You with the eager eyes--

You with the haggard face and pale?--

'From a ruin'd hearth and a starving brood,

"A crime and a felon's gaol!"

For the Night Mail North, old man?--

Old statue of despair--

Why tug and strain at the iron gate?

"My daughter!!" Ha! too late, too late,

She is gone, you may safely swear;

She has given you the slip, d'you hear?

She has left you alone in your wrath,--

And she's off and away, with a glorious start,

To the home of her choice, with the man of her heart,

By the Night Mail North!

Wh------ish R------ush

Wh-----ish r------ush.-----

"What's all that hullabaloo?

"Keep fast the gates there-who is this

"That insists on bursting thro'?"

A desp'rate man whom none may withstand,

For look, there is something clench'd in his hand---

Tho' the bearer is ready to drop---

He waves it wildly to and fro,

And hark! how the crowd are shouting below---

"Back!"---

And back the opposing barriers go,

"A reprieve for the Cannongate murderer Ho!

"In the Queen's name---

"STOP.

"Another has confessed the crime."

Whish--rush--whish--rush---

The Guard has caught the flutt'ring sheet,

Now forward and northward! fierce and fleet,

Thro' the mist and the dark and the driving sleet,

As if life and death were in it;

'Tis a splendid race! a race against Time,---

And a thousand to one we win it.

Look at those flitting ghosts---

The white-arm'd finger posts---

If we're moving the eighth of an inch, I say,

We're going a mile a minute!

A mile a minute--for life or death---

Away, away! though it catches one's breath,

The man shall not die in his wrath:

The quivering carriages rock and reel---

Hurrah! for the rush of the grinding steel!

The thundering crank, and the mighty wheel!--

Are there any more pasengers

For the Night.. Mail.. to the North?

SONG OF IN-THE-WATER.

(By L--g--f--R.)

HEN the summer night

descended

Sleepy on the White--

Witch water;

Came a lithe and lovely

maiden,

Gazing on the silent water--

Gazing on the gleaming river--

With her azure eyes and tender,--

On the river, glancing forward,

Till the laughing waves sprang upward,

Dancing in her smile of sunshine

Curling ev'ry dimpled ripple

As they sprang into the starlight;

As they clasp'd her charm'd reflection

Glowing to their silver bosoms--

As they whisper'd, "Fairest, fairest,

"Rest upon our crystal bosoms!"

And she straightway did according:--

Down into the water stept she,

Down into the shining river,

Like a red deer in the sunset--

Like a ripe leaf in the autumn:

From her lips like roses snow-fill'd,

Came a soft and dreamy murmur.

Softer than the breath of summer.

Softer than the murmring river!

Sighs that melted as the snows melt.

Silently and sweetly melted;

Words that mingled with the crisping

Foam upon the billow resting.

From the forest shade primeval,

Piggey-Wiggey look'd out at her;

He, the very Youthful Porker--

He, the Everlasting Granter--

Gazed upon her there, and wonder'd!

With his nose out, rokey-pokey--

And his tail up, curley-wurley--

Wonder'd what on earth the row meant.

Wonder'd what the girl was up to--

What the deuce her little game was?

And she floated down the river,

Like a water-proof Ophelia--

For her crinoline sustained her!!

THE FIGHT FOR THE CHAMPIONSHIP.

By L --d M--l-- y.

TOLD BY AN ANCIENT GLADIATOR TO HIS GREAT GRANDMOTHER.

I.

ARGE Heenan of Benicia,

By ninety-nine gods he

swore,

That the bright Belt of

England

Should grace her sons

no more.

By ninety-nine he swore it,

And named the "fisting" day.--

East and west and south and north

Sir Richard Mayne rode wildly forth

His cohorts to array!

II.

East and west and south and north

The smart Detectives flew--

South and north and east and west

They watch'd the long day thro'.

West and south--east and north--

The word went flashing by,

"Look out for Sayers and Heenan,

"Policemen--mind your eye!"

III.

Sir Robert's azure heroes

Look'd out uncommon keen,

From park and plain and prairie,

From heath and upland green;

From Essex fens and fallows,

From Hampshire--dale and down--

From Sussex' hundred leagues of sand,

To Shropshire's fat and flow'ry land

And Cheshire's wild and wasted strand,

And Yorkshire's heather brown;--

And so, of course, the fight came off

A dozen miles from Town.