Reason returns, religious right redounds,
Suwarrow stops such sanguinary sounds:
Truce to thee, Turkey-triumph to thy train!
Unjust, unwise, unmerciful Ukraine!

Vanish vain victory! vanish victory vain!

Why wish we warfare? Wherefore welcome were
Xerxes, Ximenes, Xanthus, Xaviere?

Yield, yield, ye youths! ye yeomen, yield your yell!
Zeno's, Zarpatus', Zoroaster's zeal,

All, ail arouse! all against arms appeal!

ELLEN M'JONES ABERDEEN

Unknown

MACPHAIRSON ClonglockettyY ANGUS M'CLAN
Was the son of an elderly laboring man.

You've guessed him a Scotchman, shrewd reader, at sight,
And p'r'aps altogether, shrewd reader, you're right.

From the bonnie blue Forth to the lovely Deeside,
Round by Dingwall and Wrath to the mouth of the Clyde,
There wasn't a child, or woman, or man

Who could pipe with Clonglocketty Angus M'Clan.

No other could wake such detestable groans,

With reed and with chanter-with bag and with drones: All day and all night he delighted the chiels

With sniggering pibrochs and jiggety reels.

He'd clamber a mountain and squat on the ground,
And the neighboring maidens would gather around
To list to his pipes and to gaze in his cen,
Especially Ellen M'Jones Aberdeen.

All loved their M'Clan, save a Sassenach brute,
Who came to the Highlands to fish and to shoot;
He dressed himself up in a Highlander way,
Though his name it was Pattison Corby Torbay.
Torbay had incurred a good deal of expense
To make him a Scotchman in every sense;
But this is a matter, you'll readily own,
That isn't a question of tailors alone.

A Sassenach chief may be bonily built,

He may purchase a sporran, a bonnet, and kilt;
Stick a skeän in his hose-wear an acre of stripes-
But he cannot assume an affection for pipes.

Clonglocketty's pipings all night and all day
Quite frenzied poor Pattison Corby Torbay:
The girls were amused at his singular spleen,
Especially Ellen M'Jones Aberdeen.

"Macphairson Clonglocketty Angus, my lad,
With pibrochs and reels you are driving me mad.
If you really must play on that cursed affair,
My goodness! play something resembling an air."

Boiled over the blood of Macphairson M'Clan-
The Clan of Clonglocketty rose as one man:
For all were enraged at the insult, I ween!--
Especially Ellen M'Jones Aberdeen.

"Let's show," said M'Clan, "to this Sassenach loon That the bagpipes can play him a regular tune. Let's see," said M'Clan, as he thoughtfully sat,

666

'In My Cottage' is easy-I'll practice at that."

He blew at his "Cottage," and blew with a will,
For a year, seven months, and a fortnight, until
(You'll hardly believe it) M'Clan, I declare,
Elicited something resembling an air.

It was wild-it was fitful-as wild as the breeze-
It wandered about into several keys;

It was jerky, spasmodic, and harsh, I'm aware,
But still it distinctly suggested an air.

The Sassenach screamed and the Sassenach danced,
He shrieked in his agony, bellowed and pranced;
And the maidens who gathered rejoiced at the scene,
Especially Ellen M'Jones Aberdeen.

"Hech gather, hech gather, hech gather around: And fill a' yer lugs wi' the exquisite sound.

An air frae the bagpipes-beat that if ye can!
Hurrah for Clonglocketty Angus M'Clan!"

The fame of his piping spread over the land;
Respectable widows proposed for his hand,
And maidens came flocking to sit on the green,
Especially Ellen M'Jones Aberdeen.

One morning the fidgety Sassenach swore
He'd stand it no longer-he drew his claymore,
And (this was, I think, in extremely bad taste),
Divided Clonglocketty close to the waist.

Oh! loud were the wailings for Angus M'Clan,
Oh! deep was the grief for that excellent man,
The maids stood aghast at the horrible scene,
Especially Ellen M'Jones Aberdeen.

It sorrowed poor Pattison Corby Torbay
To find them "take on" in this serious way.
He pitied the poor little fluttering birds,

And solaced their souls with the following words:—

"Oh, maidens," said Pattison, touching his hat, "Don't blubber, my dears, for a fellow like that; Observe, I'm a very superior man,

A much better fellow than Angus M'Clan."

They smiled when he winked and addressed them as "dears," And they all of them vowed, as they dried up their tears,

A pleasanter gentleman never was seen—

Especially Ellen M'Jones Aberdeen.

William Schwenck Gilbert [1836–1911]

TO THE TERRESTRIAL GLOBE

BY A MISERABLE WRETCH

ROLL on, thou ball, roll on!
Through pathless realms of Space
Roll on!

What though I'm in a sorry case?

What though I cannot meet my bills?
What though I suffer toothache's ills?
What though I swallow countless pills?
Never you mind!
Roll on!

Roll on, thou ball, roll on!

Through seas of inky air

Roll on!

It's true I've got no shirts to wear;
It's true my butcher's bill is duc;
It's true my prospects all look blue—
But don't let that unsettle you!

Never you mind!

Roll on.

(It rolls on)

William Schwenck Gilbert [1836-1911]

HIS HEART WAS TRUE TO POLL

I'LL sing you a song, not very long,

But the story somewhat new,

Of William Kidd, who, whatever he did,
To his Poll was always true.

He sailed away in a gallant ship
From the port of old Bristol,

And the last words he uttered,
As his handkercher he fluttered,
Were, "My heart is true to Poll."

His heart was true to Poll,
His heart was true to Poll.
It's no matter what you do,
If your heart be only true:

And his heart was true to Poll.

'Twas a wreck. William, on shore he swam,

And looked about for an inn;

When a noble savage lady, of a color rather shady, Came up with a kind of grin:

“Oh, marry me, and a king you'll be,

And in a palace loll;

Or we'll eat you willy-nilly."

So he gave his hand, did Billy,

But his heart was true to Poll.

Away a twelvemonth sped, and a happy life he led

As the King of the Kikeryboos;

His paint was red and yellow, and he used a big umbrella,

And he wore a pair of over-shoes;

He'd corals and knives, and twenty-six wives,

Whose beauties I cannot here extol:

One day they all revolted,
So he back to Bristol bolted,

For his heart was true to Poll.

Francis Cowley Burnand [1837–1917]'

RED RIDING HOOD

MOST worthy of praise were the virtuous ways
Of Little Red Riding Hood's ma,

And no one was ever more cautious and clever
Than Little Red Riding Hood's pa.

They never misled, for they meant what they said,
And frequently said what they meant:

They were careful to show her the way she should go,
And the way that they showed her she went.

For obedience she was effusively thanked,

And for anything else she was carefully spanked.

It thus isn't strange that Red Riding Hood's range
Of virtues so steadily grew,

That soon she won prizes of various sizes,

And golden encomiums too.

As a general rule she was head of her school,

And at six was so notably smart

That they gave her a check for reciting The Wreck
Of the Hesperus wholly by heart.

And you all will applaud her the more, I am sure,
When I add that the money she gave to the poor.