ASTONISHMENT

 

ASTONISHMENT - A Poem

By G.S.O.

WELL, I do declare, what a terrified stare! 

What can be the matter, I say, 
That you look so amazed, with your eyebrows upraised, 

And your master's milk running away?  

O is it the rector, policeman, or spectre? 

Or is it a lad for a spree 

Got up in full fig, and a mask as a brigand? 

Or is it an owl in the tree? 

Or is it a squeak that has whitened your cheek,

 And made your hands useless with dread? 

Or the rustle of leaves in the wind by the eaves? 

Or a rat running over your head? 

Or are you afraid of a shadow that's made 

By the moon as she peeps through a chink? 

Come, hold the pan tight, or a supperless night, 

And a flogging, will greet you, I think. 

Though he walks with a swagger, a lath for a dagger, 

Jack Brown is Jack Brown, and no more; 

A goblin is nought but a fanciful thought, 

That squeak was a mouse, or a door. 

And no one need mind the stout Constable Bind, 

If he hasn't done anything ill; 

Good boys, we are told, as a lion are bold, 

When he roams the dark waste at his will. 

To the lad full of fear the hobgoblins appear, 

But the hero they never molest; 

He laughs at white sheets and such moonshine deceits, 

For he minds but his work and his rest. 

Too busy for ghosts, for his tasks come in hosts, 

And a hundred odd jobs he must do:

Too sleepy at night to lie shaking in fright, 

When the solemn old owl says, 'To-whoo! 

Come, Bobby, look up or the kittens will sup 

All the precious milk wasting away; 

Do mind what you're at, or the thanks of the cat 

Are all you will get, boy, to-day! 

         .

Boys want all their senses for tables and tenses, 

For their games and a thousand things more; 

Your wits, Bob, they dream-don t you hear the 

white stream 

As it falls with a splash on the floor?

And here I must stare like a fool, I declare! 

Only think, Mister Hunt, what you've done! 

While the world wants a book like a soft I must 

look, 

And the milk that is running, must run! 

Yes, so it must be; then take warning by me, 

Mind you always look knowing and clever, 

Be you youngsters or men, lest some Hunt come 

again, 

And make you a greenhorn for ever!  

References:

Chatterbox 1877

ANTICIPATION

 

ANTICIPATION- A Poem

By G.S.O. 

DISTANCE (so the bard has shown us) 
Lends enchantment to the view; 

And what seems a splendid bonus, 

Sometimes is not worth a sou,

Sunny peaks prove drear and icy 

When we've scaled the rocky stair; 

Yonder isle, so green and spicy, 

Is as fatal as it's fair.

In our thoughts we may be greeting 

Friends we here shall see no more; 

As we dream their souls are flecting 

Upward, to a brighter shore.   

While his body is abiding 

In the prison-house of school 

In his spirit Jack is sliding 

On the jolly Christmas pool. 

Long before the half is over, 

Long ere May has drest the land, 

Ned is on the beach at Dover, 

Digging sluices in the sand. 

Ere the jam and flour are blended 

By his mother's loving art, 

Jones has eaten, and commended 

All his cake and currant tart! 

Meanwhile father Jones is building 

Airy castles and renown- 

Laying on the paint and gilding- 

How he will astonish Brown! 

Mary, by the fireside stitching, 

Walks the summer lanes with Phil; 

Or at church, a bride bewitching, 

Plights* her troth for good and ill. 

Rover, like his lord is gifted- 

He can eat his dinner twice; 

When it hangs on high uplifted, 

Looking oh so very nice. 

And when- mutton, beef, or bacon- 

(As his doggish tastes may run,) 

In his mouth capacious taken, 

Proves a sorry scrap of bun. 

As you eye old Rover dining 

Off the little bits that fall, 

Sweetly-tempered, unrepining, 

Be contented one and all. 

*Gives. 

References:

Chatterbox 1877