Well, be it so--these simple folk have rights,
And should be represented--and they are so--
So that whene'er we find a conscript father,
Smothering beneath an awful cloud of words,
A little luckless thimbleful of meaning,
We may conclude he is a simple member--
That is, he's one who represents the simple.
I say that we are wordy, not that I am;
We as a people, certainly are tonguey,
(I like this word,) and how became we so?
Because we have been blessed with tonguey mothers. ""Tis education forms the common mind,"
Saith Pope--and early education does so;
Much of whatever makes the future man,
The good or evil that attends his course,
Is early gathered in maternal arms.
There, with the love of freedom and of country,
By precept and example both incited,
The infant statesman learns the love of--noise;
Doomed, from his earliest moment, to the infliction
Of ceaseless dandling and eternal song,
And when tormented with incessant din
He shakes his lacerated ears, and screams,
To a still bolder and a louder key
Is swelled the nurse's overwhelming note.
Oh! 'tis delightful, this domestic music!
This mingled sweetness breathed from kindred lips! The wailing urchin's pertinacious roar,
And Job-like mother's everlasting song.
Who hath not listened to the enlivening sound,
In the thronged city, or secluded dell?
"Just as the twig is bent, the tree 's inclined."
('Tis hard to part a couplet long united,
So having used the first, I quote this line,
Resolved that, whatsoe'er may chance to follow,
The ancient pair shall rest upon one sheet.)
"Just as the twig is bent the tree 's inclined,"
Saith Pope-who treateth here of English twigs,
Twigs of John Bull, or more correctly, calves.
Now if this holdeth good of English timber,
From the cracked, crooked, and valueless condition
Of various samples cast upon our shores,
Blocks that lie every way, we may conclude,
The art and mystery of judicious twigging
Is little understood, or practised, there.
Yes, these same straggling bulls, and calfish cattle,
Incontinently dropping marvellous matter,
Which tickleth mightily the lengthy ears
Of many a well-grown kindred calf at home.
Yahooish, scattering, with abortive malice,
Dust at a people far beyond their reach;
A people marching with a giant's stride,
To giant empire—in a region, born
Of grandeur worthy of the free and brave,
Whose lowliest peasant holds in equal scorn
The throned despot, and the groveling slave.
Yet notwithstanding the laborious efforts
Of many a vile, and would-be poisonous insect
With noisome buzz, and pointless sting, to keep
The expiring flame of enmity alive;
And maugre all his multifarious failings,
Deficient wisdom, and abounding pride;
I would be neighbourly with ancient John-
He hath some points about him that I like:
Yes, thou, Old England! art a glorious land—
Nurse of a noble race! who have upheld
The torch of Freedom in a darkened world.
Nurse of a host of worthies, now no more,
But whose immortal labours shall enlighten
And charm the minds of millions yet unborn!
"Twas from thy verdant fields, o'er trackless seas,
That gallant band, our virtuous fathers, came.
Yes, we are kindred, and a kindred faith,
And kindred laws and language, should induce us
To form a league, that might indeed be Holy,
And have a holy influence on the world.
But there's a time for all things, Solomon said,
And Solomon was no fool; although, perhaps,
Like some few preachers since his day, his practice
Did not keep pace precisely with his precept:
For Solomon found, if chronicles say true,
Time to do much which might have been omitted.
There is a time for all things, and, of course,
A time for dalliance with the Aonian maids,
And a time, too, to let the maids alone.
And he who findeth perched upon his shoulders
A wrinkled forehead, clad in silver hair,
May well bethink him that the hour hath come
When he should muse on more important matter
Than the construction of a lay like this.
Reader, go home!-this may seem homely language,
But if the advice is good, reject it not,
Because it comes not in more courtly guise.
We often find the most salubrious draughts
Are not the most delightful to the palate;
And my advice shall have at least one merit,
Not over common-that of brevity.
Go home!—if idly thou hast wandered thence,
Consider well what motive drew thee forth;
And whether, if with due attention followed,
The path of duty would not lead thee back:
And doubt not thou may meet with business there,
Remembering, what will scarce be controverted,
If every home were every thing it should be,
There would be little to be done abroad.
Reader, go home !-go home to thy own bosom !
Commune with thy own heart! perhaps a stranger,
Whose nature it imports thee much to know,
Where haply thou may'st more or less discover
To do-undo-to learn-and to forget!
And in that all important field of labour,
None ever yet employed himself too soon.
But if that home is every thing it should be,If purity and peace inhabit there,
Then hope to feel, when on thy dying bed,
A pitying father's soul-supporting love,— Then hope to find, by boundless mercy led, A home eternal, in the realms above.
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