I will sing a holy chant.
If the ditty sound but oddly,
'Twas a father, wise and godly,
Sang it so long ago-
Then sing as Martin Luther sang,
As Doctor Martin Luther sang:
"Who loves not wine, woman, and song,
He is a fool his whole life long!"

He, by custom patriarchal,
Loved to see the beaker sparkle;
And he thought the wine improved,
Tasted by the lips he loved-
By the kindly lips he loved.
Friends, I wish this custom pious
Duly were observèd by us,

To combine love, song, wine,
And sing as Martin Luther sang,
As Doctor Martin Luther sang:
"Who loves not wine, woman, and song,
He is a fool his whole life long!"

Who refuses this our Credo,
And who will not sing as we do,
Were he holy as John Knox,
I'd pronounce him heterodox!
I'd pronounce him heterodox,
And from out this congregation,
With a solemn commination,

Banish quick the heretic,
Who will not sing as Luther sang,
As Doctor Martin Luther sang:
"Who loves not wine, woman, and song,
He is a fool his whole life long!"

William Makepeace Thackeray [1811-1863]

THE LAY OF THE LEVITE

THERE is a sound that's dear to me,
It haunts me in my sleep;

I wake, and, if I hear it not,

I cannot choose but weep.

2024

Above the roaring of the wind,
Above the river's flow,
Methinks I hear the mystic cry
Of "Clo!-old Clo!"

The exile's song, it thrills among
The dwellings of the free;

Its sound is strange to English ears,

But 'tis not strange to me;

For it hath shook the tented field

In ages long ago,

And hosts have quailed before the cry

Of "Clo!-old Clo!"

O, lose it not! forsake it not.

And let no time efface

The memory of that solemn sound,

The watchword of our race;

For not by dark and eagle eye,
The Hebrew shall ye know,
So well as by the plaintive cry
Of "Clo!-old Clo!"

Even now, perchance, by Jordan's banks,
Or Sidon's sunny walls,

Where, dial-like, to portion time

The palm-tree's shadow falls,

The pilgrims, wending on their way,

Will linger as they go,

And listen to the distant cry

Of "Clo!-old Clo!"

William Edmondstoune Aytoun [1813-1865]

EARLY RISING

"God bless the man who first invented sleep!"
So Sancho Panza said, and so say I:
And bless him, also, that he didn't keep

His great discovery to himself; nor try
To make it as the lucky fellow might-
A close monopoly by patent-right!

Yes; bless the man who first invented sleep
(I really can't avoid the iteration);
But blast the man, with curses loud and deep,
Whate'er the rascal's name, or age, or station,
Who first invented, and went round advising,
That artificial cut-off,-Early Rising!

"Rise with the lark, and with the lark to bed,"
Observes some solemn, sentimental owl;
Maxims like these are very cheaply said:
But, ere you make yourself a fool or fowl,
Pray, just inquire about his rise and fall,
And whether larks have any beds at all!

The time for honest folks to be abed

Is in the morning, if I reason right;
And he who cannot keep his precious head
Upon his pillow till it's fairly light,
And so enjoy his forty morning winks,
Is up to knavery, or else he drinks!

Thomson, who sang about the "Seasons," said
It was a glorious thing to rise in season;
But then he said it-lying-in his bed,
At ten o'clock, A. M., -the very reason
He wrote so charmingly. The simple fact is,
His preaching wasn't sanctioned by his practice.

'Tis, doubtless, well to be sometimes awake, -
Awake to duty, and awake to truth,-
But when, alas! a nice review we take

Of our best deeds and days, we find, in sooth, The hours that leave the slightest cause to weep Are those we passed in childhood, or asleep!

'Tis beautiful to leave the world awhile

For the soft visions of the gentle night;
And free, at last, from mortal care or guile,
To live as only in the angels' sight,
In sleep's sweet realm so cozily shut in,
Where, at the worst, we only dream of sin!

So let us sleep and give the Maker praise.

I like the lad who, when his father thought To clip his morning nap by hackneyed phrase Of vagrant worm by early songster caught, Cried, "Served him right! it's not at all surprising; The worm was punished, sir, for early rising!"

John Godfrey Saxe [1816-1887]

1

EL CAPITAN-GENERAL

THERE was a captain-general who ruled in Vera Cruz,
And what we used to hear of him was always evil news:
He was a pirate on the sea-a robber on the shore,
The Señor Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador.

There was a Yankee skipper who round about did roam; His name was Stephen Folger, and Nantucket was his home: And having gone to Vera Cruz, he had been skinned full sore By the Señor Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador.

But having got away alive, though all his cash was gone, He said, "If there is vengeance, I will surely try it on! And I do wish I may be damned if I don't clear the score With Señor Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador!"

He shipped a crew of seventy men-well-armed men were they,

And sixty of them in the hold he darkly stowed away;
And, sailing back to Vera Cruz, was sighted from the shore
By the Señor Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador.

With twenty-five soldados he came on board so pleased, And said, "Maldito Yankee-again your ship is seized. How many sailors have you got?" Said Folger, "Ten-no

more,"

To the Captain Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador.

"But come into my cabin and take a glass of wine. I do suppose, as usual, I'll have to pay a fine:

T

I have got some old Madeira, and we'll talk the matter o'erMy Captain Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador."

And as over that Madeira the captain-general boozed,

It seemed to him as if his head was getting quite confused; For it happened that some morphine had travelled from "the store"

To the glass of Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador.

"What is it makes the vessel roll? What sounds are these I hear?

It seems as if the rising waves were beating on my ear!”— "Oh, it is the breaking of the surf-just that and nothing

more,

My Captain Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador!"

The governor was in a sleep which muddled all his brains; The seventy men had got his gang and put them all in chains; And when he woke the following day he could not see the shore,

For he was out on the blue water-the Don San Salvador.

"Now do you see that yard-arm- and understand the thing?"

Said Captain Folger. "For all from that yard-arm you shall swing,

Or forty thousand dollars you shall pay me from your stere, My Captain Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador."

The Capitano took a pen-the order he did sign

"O Señor Yankee! but you charge amazing high for wine!" But 'twas not till the draft was paid they let him go ashore, El Señor Don Alonzo Estaban San Salvador.

The greatest sharp some day will find another sharper wit;
It always makes the Devil laugh to see a biter bit;
It takes two Spaniards any day to come a Yankee o'er-
Even two like Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador.

Charles Godfrey Leland [1824-1903]