Joseph Ashby-Sterry - The Lazy Minstrel

IN sunny girlhood's vernal life
She caused no small sensation;
But now the modest English wife
To others leaves flirtation.
She's young still, lovely, debonair,
Although sometimes her features
Are clouded by a thought of care
For those two tiny creatures.

Each tiny, toddling, mottled mite
Asserts with voice emphatic,
In lisping accents, "Mite is right" —
Their rule is autocratic:
The song becomes, that charmed mankind,
Their musical narcotic,
And baby lips, than Love, she'll find,
Are even more despotic!

Soft lullaby, when singing there,
And castles ever building —
Their destiny she'll carve in air,
Bright with maternal gilding:
Young Guy, a clever advocate —
So eloquent and able!
A powdered wig upon his pate,
A coronet for Mabel!

A DAINTY young damsel is Pearl,
Beclad in the softest of sealskin:
I'm told her papa is an Earl; —
Just watch her most gracefully twirl,
A lovely and lissom young girl,
Whose jersey is tight as an eelskin;
A dainty young damsel is Pearl,
Beclad in the softest of sealskin.

You never, I'm certain, saw such
A lithe little learner in otter!
She's ready to fall at a touch;
Behold how she's anxious to clutch
Her ebony-stick with a crutch
By which she's enabled to totter.
You never, I'm certain, saw such
A lithe little learner in otter.

Pray, who is the pretty Princess,
Who is robed in the royalest ermine?
And exquisite velveteen dress,
With bangles that ring more or less;
I'm sure you're unable to guess,
And 'tis hardly for me to determine!
Pray, who is this pretty Princess,
Who is robed in the royalest ermine?

Here comes that big baby called Bee,
Who is clad in the coat of a bunny!
A romping young rebel is she —
Her skirts only reach to her knee,
Her life's full of mischief and glee,
And a "spill" she thinks screamingly funny.
Here comes that big baby called Bee,
Who is clad in the coat of a bunny!

O, had I ten thousand a year
I'd marry Miss Mabel in sable!
A dainty, divine little dear,
She's out of my reach though she's near —
I'd woo her to-day without fear,
And wed her at once, were I able!
O, had I ten thousand a year
I'd marry Miss Mabel in sable!

And this is our sweet little Flo,
A bonny young beauty in bearskin!
How glibly she'll glide to and fro,
And sweet sunny glances bestow,
While a lovely carnational glow
Just flushes her exquisite fair skin.
And this is our sweet little Flo,
A bonny young beauty in bearskin!

DRIFTING down in the grey-green twilight,
O, the scent of the new-mown hay!
The oars drip in the mystic shy light,
O, the charm of the dying day!
While fading flecks of bright opalescence
But faintly dapple a saffron sky,
The stream flows on with superb quiescence,
The breeze is hushed to the softest sigh.
Drifting down in the sweet still weather,
O, the fragrance of fair July!
Love, my Love, when we drift together,
O, how fleetly the moments fly!

Drifting down on the dear old River,
O, the music that interweaves!
The ripples run and the sedges shiver,
O, the song of the lazy leaves!
And far-off sounds – for the night so clear is —
Awake the echoes of bygone times;
The muffled roar of the distant weir is
Cheered by the clang of the Marlow chimes.
Drifting down in the cloudless weather,
O, how short is the summer day!
Love, my Love, when we drift together,
O, how quickly we drift away!

Drifting down as the night advances,
O, the calm of the starlit skies!
Eyelids droop o'er the half-shy glances,
O, the light in those blue-grey eyes!
A winsome maiden is sweetly singing
A dreamy song in a minor key;
Her clear low voice and its tones are bringing
A mingled melody back to me.
Drifting down in the clear calm weather,
O, how sweet is the maiden's song!
Love, my Love, when we drift together,
O, how quickly we drift along!

O BRING me, O bring me, my stout mackintosh,
I care not a feather for slime or for slosh!
The sky it is leaden, the lawn sopping wet,
And sodden the balls are, and slack is the net!
I've done it before and I'll do it again,
I'll play at Lawn-Tennis in spite of the rain!

I'll don my sou'-wester, then what do I care
If weather be foul or if weather be fair?
I'll put on my furs, and I'll shorten my clothes,
I'll wear my galoshes and thick woollen hose:
I care not a pin for the storm or the flood,
I'll play at Lawn-Tennis in spite of the mud!

I laugh as the hailstones come pattering down,
I'm spattered all over from sole unto crown!
In thunder and lightning I'll play all the same —
I won't be debarred from my favourite game!
Though weak-hearted lasses may quiver and quail,
I'll play at Lawn-Tennis in spite of the hail!

In summer 'tis pleasant, but you ought to know
'Tis capital fun in the winter also:
When nets are all frozen and balls can't rebound,
When chilly the air is and snow's on the ground!
Though lazy folks shiver, and say 'tis "no go,"
I'll play at Lawn-Tennis in spite of the snow!

What pleasure can equal, what exercise vies
This winter Lawn-Tennis, with snow in your eyes?
You trip and you tumble, you glance and you glide,
You totter and stumble, you slip and you slide!
With two ancient racquets strapped fast to my feet,
I'll play at Lawn-Tennis in spite of the sleet!

In autumn, as well as in summer or spring,
In praise of Lawn-Tennis I heartily sing!
Though good at each season, and better each time,
I'm certain in winter the game's in its prime!
You doubt it? No matter! Whate'er may befall,
I'll play at Lawn-Tennis in spite of you all!

A PRETTY picture is it not,
Beneath the awning of the yacht?
A beauty of Sixteen,
She wears a trim tarpaulin hat,
So now you know the reason that
I call her Tarpauline.

A taut serge dress of Navy blue,
A boatswain's silver whistle, too,
She wears when she's afloat;
An open collar, and I wot,
A veritable sailor's knot
Around her pretty throat.

She has a glance that pleads and kills;
And 'mid her shy and snowy frills
A little foot appears;
She has the softest sunny locks,
The compass she knows how to box,
And, when it's needful – ears!

The smartest little sailor-girl,
Who'll steer or "bear a hand" or furl,
And I am told she oft
Quite longs to reef her petticoats,
And gleefully to "girl the boats,"
Or glibly go aloft!