Puck — April 17, 1878 — page 11: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

PUCK. OLD FRENCH METRES.” BY R. K. MUNKITTRICK. COME BACK, (Ronpet.) Come back, © happy dream, With pleasure flood my soul, The golden past doth seem Before me to unroll, When once we used to stroll Beside the woodland stream— Come back, oh happy dream, With pleasure floud my soul. Thine eyes most tender beam, ‘Thy kisses (on the whole) Eclipsed the luscious cream I purchased by the bowl. Come back, O happy dream, With pleasure flood my soul. “THY HAND RESTS IN MINE.” ‘Thy hand rests in mine, ‘The night's calm and clear— Ab! transport divine. My lips turn to thine, I float to Love's sphere— ‘Thy hand rests in mine. My love, I'd resign For thee all things dear— Ab! transport divine. That for thee I pine Is not very queer— Thy hand rests in mine. My arms round thee twine, ‘And heaven seems near— Ah, transport divine! My soul's steeped in wine (Or, if thou wilt, beer). ‘Thy hand rests in mine— Ah! transport divine, “SWEET X. Y. Z.” (Ronpeav.) Sweet X.Y. Z., thy features fair, Thy soft alluring golden hair, Thine eyes that amorously wink, Thy lips that wear the dainty pink Which budding summer roses wear, Are very lovely I declare; And, sweet, I'd know enchantment rare, Ff in my arms thou'dst loving sink, Sweet X. Y.Z. Thou smilest on me, yet, I swear, Thou frownest, too. I hardly dare To dream that e’er our luves we'll link. Of nonsense soft indeed I think I've said enough—don't you, ma chire, Sweet X. Y. Z,? EDITOR AND POET. (Trroter.) “Though your ode to a butterfly Is charmingly chaste and gentle,” Saith the editor with a sigh: + Though your ode to a butterfly Is good, I regret—" golden lie, He cares not a continental, Though your ode to a butterfly Is charmingly chaste and gentle. * We refer our readers for a short treatise on these “Metres” to another part of this paper. Eb. Puck. THE BALLAD OF IDEALS. (Battave.) . Fair Reader (all readers are « gentle” or “fair ”,) Though Poesy finds in my heart a warm nest, ‘And naught but the beautiful, dainty and rare Thave in my castle of dreams as a guest, Though themes unromantic my mind ne'er molest, And only what’s lovely my fancy elates, A ripple of melody wakes in my breast When I hear the sweet jingle of saucers and plates. And Painting, ob, with you there’s naught can compare: I worship Millais, Meissonier and the rest I fondly admire my sweet Lady Clare, In flowers and garments of gossamer drest; like the warm glow of a strawberry west, When a faint iris bridges the heavenly gates— But colors far richer my visions invest When I hear the sweet jingle of saucers and plates. Oh Music, dispeller of sorrow and care, Enchantress that ministers to the deprest, With soft golden rapturcs you lighten me e’er, And waft me afar to the realms of the blest; But, ab, let me say that I like you far best ‘When you wake ‘neath those soft snowy fingers of Kate's; But of transport diviner my soul seems possest, When I hear the sweet jingle of saucers and plates. Exvot., Poets, and ye who are ever in quest Of pleasure which classical appetite sates, Oh, never pretend you are shocked or distrest, ‘When you hear the sweet jingle of saucers and plates. PUCK’S COMEDY-STORIES. Vv. THE LATE LAMENTED. Adapted from the French of O. Froniky, by H. C. Burnes. [continven.} CHAMPFLEURY (remonstrant). What! For a trifle like that—for a daisy— a mere inadvertence. (Flirting with the parrot on Juuie’s finger) Chick, chick, chick! Pretty Poll—psst! Jutie. There, now—he is teasing my bird! Pray, sir, what cause of complaint have you against my poor parrot? What has he done to you? CHAMPFLEURY. My dear, it is not the parrot I complain of —-but the perch has treated me cruelly. Junie. Ah! you are going to get yourself bitten— and I shall be delighted. Bite , Fiammettal CHAMPFLEURY (refiring). But what have I done to you, Marquise, to merit this rigor? Tell me. Yesterday you pointed me out, as meet and fitting prey, to your estimable friend—the monkey—and, by the way, he has not forgotten your kindness, for I have just escaped strangling at his hands, and now, to-day, you recommend me to the tender mercies of Fiammetta. To-morrow you will probably hand me over to the dogs. In short, you want my blood—you desire that my gore should flow. And why? Not because— we will be frank about it—because of a little Lisette who troubles your mind no more than she does mine—but because I love you; because I have told youso, and because you see me here ready to tell you so once more. Junie. One thing that I do not comprehend, sir, is the cause of the visit with which you have honored me this morning. ‘There is something mysterious in it—to me, your coming here. You would scarcely take so novel and so—unwise a step, without furnishing yourself with some plausible pretext. I thought at first that you had corhe to give me some piece of important news—or something interesting. But not at all. Here you have been, for the last half-hour, standing in my light, and carrying on a con- versation, to put it gently, desultory in style, and in the highest degree—stupid. Will you kindly tell me, briefly, what it is you wish, Cuamprieury (briefly, as regiested). Nothing, Madame. Junie. Very well, then, sir..... She indicates, by an eloquent gesture; the open door. The Makquis makes a move in that direction, but checks himself, returns and gazes fixedly at the scornful queen of the boudoir. She returns the compliment. The MARQUIS resumes the conversation in a dry, precise and business- like tone. Do you think, Madame, that this kind of thing is going to continue as a permanent arrangement ? JuiiEe (ostentatiously nonchalante). What kind of thing ? Cuamprieury (with growing severity). There are many men, Madame la Marquise, who in my place would take this matter far less amiably. Juuie (axiomatically), ‘There are a great many very foolish people in the world. CHAMPFLEURY, Very well, if you choose to regard it in that light. But you will admit, perhaps, that, in view of the fact that we have been married, now, for over six months, the terms on which we are living are, to say the least, singular. ‘ULIE, 7 Iam perfectly willing to admit the fact—if it will give you any pleasure, Cuamprieury (approaching). Then... .then—oh, my dear Marquise, 1 wish you had had, this morning, the happy in- spiration with which I was blessed, and had taken, as I did, a little excursion into the country, Jute (puzzled). And why, pray? Cuasprceury (gravely). Because I am certain that there is a spirit in you, though you know it not, that would have responded to the happy beauty of the morning —a chord in your heart that would have echoed the springtime song of the birds. Yes, indeed, you may laugh, but there is far more than you think in these subtle influences. I have never suspected myself of pastoral proclivities; but I had to yield to the fa As I rode along the highway, between the long lines of blossoming trees, and looked through the boughs over the soft green fields, and felt the fresh, pure air on my cheeks, I felt--I felt..... Juri (mockingly), How? Cuampreury (recovering himself ). As I wished you could feel. For there was one grace about the morning, one charm to which my heart has long been a stranger— happiness. Everything under the bright, blue sky was joyous —not a face that I saw but wore a smile, not a peasant on the road but sung his song of love, not a girl at her cottage-door but had a ribbon in her hair and a laugh on her lips. I alone—I felt myself out of place in this paradise —I alone had no share in the joy I saw all about me. Junie. At least you had no ribbon in your hair, Cuampr.eury (unheeding the interruption). My pain was sincere, Madame la Marquise, and serious. I felt weighing on my heart the solitude through which 1 had passed, and that comicbooks.com