Who groaned, “I must go to ‘Old Harry;’
‘Tis a terrible bore! I shall soon be no more,
And you, Fowle, the damsel will marry.
XCV.
“Lady Ida,” quoth he, “has been too much for me;
Her will in rough fashion she teaches.
One comfort will be, that Fowle, do you see,
Will find that his dame ‘wears the breeches’!
XCVI.
“I am, I confess, in the deuce of a mess,
With numbers of sins to repent of:
There are some you may guess, but a lot more, unless
I told you, you’d never get scent of.
XCVII.
“I’ve had wives a full score: aye, I think twenty-four,
Who at times I’d by fraud or by force court:
And I own that before I sought after more
I ought to have tried the Divorce Court!
XCVIII.
“In a dungeon down-stairs you’ll find some of the ‘fairs:’
I hadn’t the heart to destroy ‘em;
But, in spite of their prayers, if they gave themselves airs,
Sent them down, in the dark to enjoy ‘em.
XCIX.
“My {246}soldiers are bold; they had better be told
There’s nothing the fight should be won for:
Their leader, though old, by a girl has been ‘sold,’
And is most undeniably ‘done for’!”
C.
He raised himself then, and bawled out to his men,
“No reason, my hearties, to fight on:
The crest of the Hen will float over my den--
Farewell to the Lord of Glenlighton!”
CI.
Then he gave a great groan (as the Baron had done
If they’d tortured and made him a sore nail),
And his side turning on, exclaimed, “Crikey! I’m gone
And was instantly “dead as a door-nail”!
CII.
What need to relate how they opened the gate,
And admitted Sir Fowle and his forces?
How he entered in state, and showed clemency great,
All this a mere matter of course is.
CIII.
And how the fair Ida sprang into his arms;
How they built up the Montmolon Tower, I
Dare say you can guess; and additional charms
Fowle found in her ladyship’s dowry.
CIV.
Glenlighton they seized; there was none to dispute:
And Tracy’s broad lands fared the same, too:
The place and the country their fancy did suit,
So they took all the land they laid claim to.
CV.
Nor {247}need it be said that ere long they were wed,
These lovers, no more to be parted:
Full soon the tree spread; and young children were bred;
True _Fowles_--who were ne’er _chicken-hearted_.
CVI.
That fort on the rocks (when repaired from the knocks
Received in Sir Roderick’s fighting)
Made a snug little box, where, like true fighting-cocks,
They live, at the hour I am writing.
CVIII.
Fowle’s deeds are well known--not in _that_ land alone,
But, where’er tales of valour hearts quicken,
Men exclaim in loud tone to this day, “We must own
Such or such man’s ‘_as game as a chicken_.’”
CVIII.
The Baron lived long; he was healthy and strong,
And never ate things one had best shun;
So went in “ding dong” at the sound of the gong,
And was blest with a wondrous digestion.
CIX.
Now I’ve told all I know about Fowle and his foe,
There’s no more that requires explanation:
On all I’ll bestow my blessing, and so
Conclude, with a bow, my narration.
As soon as the Monarch of the Rhine had finished his poetical legend (to
which his companion listened with the most profound attention), he rose
from his seat, and declared {248}that he could really wait no longer,
or he should be late for his appointment with those other continental
rivers to which he had already alluded. Regret was plainly visible upon
the countenance of Father Thames as his Brother Rhine expressed this
determination, and he began to endeavour to persuade him to stay a
little longer. He of the Rhine, however, seemed to be inexorable, and
reminded his entertainer of the good old motto, “Welcome the coming,
speed the parting guest,” which he declared that he had always held to
be an exceedingly wise and proper saying.
Father Thames raised no objection to this, but at the same time observed
that he also had several rivers who desired to see him, but that he had
postponed their visit in order to do full justice to that of his foreign
friend. The Isis and the Cam had indeed sent representatives to wait
upon him, as was their annual custom, and enormous crowds of people
in steamers, on barges, and on his banks had come out to witness the
arrival and triumphant progress of these, which had taken place between
Putney and Mortlake, and had as usual created great excitement. But
other visitors he had put off, and had still more time to devote to the
Rhine Monarch if he could be prevailed upon to stay. This, however, was
impossible, and the two friends were about to part when Father Thames
casually observed, “I hope all will go well with you, Brother Rhine,
until we meet again.”
The other heaved a deep sigh. “I hope so, indeed,” he replied; “but in
these days of progress who can tell what will happen next? Instead of
haunted castles I have now Legislative Bodies, which are often possessed
by much worse spirits than those which occupied the old {249}ruins;
instead of giants I have Ministers; and in the place of river-demons an
enlightened Press; and goodness only knows what may become of me at any
moment.”
“I, too,” responded Father Thames, “have trials which are almost
beyond endurance. What with Water Companies, Conservancy Boards, and
Embankments, I have of late years been driven nearly wild; and although
they have at some places given up the fine old practice of draining into
my waters everything that was foul and abominable, and thus creating
a public nuisance in the shape of disagreeable and unwholesome odours,
which they afterwards had the impudence to attribute to me, and
associate the nuisance with my name, yet I am scurvily treated by
mankind in general, and made the unwilling receptacle of dead cats
and other unpleasant objects, and have my water taken from me in large
quantities, when I would much rather retain it.”
“All this is very bad,” remarked the Rhine King. “Why not leave such a
country and come home with me?”
“No, thank you,” drily returned Father Thames, “not even the blessings
which you have enumerated as now in your possession could tempt me to
take such a step. I should miss my beef and ale too much.”
“Ale!” hastily interrupted his companion. “How you continue to harp upon
that beverage of yours, which, after all, cannot compare with that which
I drink on mine own river. Come, good brother, before I go let me sing
you one of our famous Rhine songs in honour of the immortal wine with
which my banks are blessed.” And without more ado about the matter, the
Rhine {250}Monarch sang as follows in a rich and voice:--
I.
“A fig for your sherry or foaming champagne!
I’d not give a groat for the whole of your stock;
Of thirst if I hear my companions complain,
I hold out my bottle with--‘Accipe Hoc!
Accipe Hoc, Accipe Hoc!’
I hold out my bottle with--‘Accipe Hoc!’
II.
“At night your port-wine bibber drowsily nods,
And wakes hot and heavy at crowing of cock;
The liquor offer is fit for the gods,
And blesses the drinker, so--‘Accipe Hoc!
Accipe Hoc, Accipe Hoc!’
It blesses the drinker, so--‘Accipe Hoc!’
III.
“Of brandy and whisky I sing not in praise,
For feet they make stagger and heads they make rock;
But the man who is hoping to lengthen his days,
Should list to my counselling--‘Accipe Hoc!
Accipe Hoc,’ &c.
IV.
“Away with your brewing, away with your ale!
(Though such a proposal your feelings may shock;)
For all your malt liquors infallibly pale
Before my Rhine vintage, so--‘Accipe Hoc!
Accipe Hoc,’ &c.
V.
“‘Tis wine that ne’er robs man of senses or wit,
But hearts can make lively and tongues can unlock;
Makes dull men for once for good company fit,
And bright ones still brighter, so--‘Accipe Hoc!
Accipe Hoc,’ &c.
VI.
“Come, fill up your glasses! the toast shall be mine,
And loud in applause on the table you’ll knock;
When I give you ‘The glorious vintage of Rhine!’
And long may each comrade sing, ‘Accipe Hoc!
Accipe Hoc, Accipe Hoc!’
Long may each comrade sing, ‘Accipe Hoc!’”
As {251}the Monarch of the Rhine proceeded, I observed a cloud gathering
over the brow of Father Thames, which grew darker when uncomplimentary
allusion was made to his favourite ale, and by the time that his guest
had concluded his song had deepened into a tremendous and awful frown.
Scarcely was the last word out of the singer’s mouth than he burst forth
in fury. “Brooks and fountains!” he exclaimed in a loud voice, “is it
thus I am to be insulted upon mine own waters? and am I to sit still and
be silent while these insolent foreigners extol their thin and miserable
drinks at the expense of the noble beverage upon which Britons have
fattened and thriven ever since they were a people? Off with thee now,
then, as soon as thou listest, thou hock-swilling loon, for I cannot put
up with such trash!”
The Rhine King had already risen; but at these words the greatest
astonishment was depicted upon his countenance, for he had really
meant no offence, so far as I could see, and for my own part I was
myself astonished at the conduct of Father Thames in taking notice of
such a trifle. He did so, however, and was apparently quite ready to
follow up his words with corresponding actions; for, reaching out his
left hand, he raised from beside him a species of instrument somewhat
resembling a three-pronged fork, which I had not noticed before,
and overset his tumbler with his right hand in the action. {252}This
appeared to exasperate him still more, and as his companion muttered
something about the effects of too much ale being to make a man lose his
temper, he appeared to get more and more angry, and made as though he
would rise.
[Illustration: 271]
Upon this the Monarch of the Rhine tarried no longer, but made a sudden
bolt of it, carrying a couple of curiously shaped spears in his left
hand, and leading in his right his attendant eagle, tied with a string
which was fastened to a collar round its neck. In this undignified
manner the Rhine King rushed off the island, and I was so thoroughly
ashamed at the rude and inhospitable conduct of my native river that I
anxiously started forward to stop the stranger king’s flight, to offer
apologies, and, if possible, to set matters right between the two. In so
doing, however, something struck my hat from my head, and with the shock
I awoke, and sat up amazed. There, indeed, was {253}the dear old river
flowing on and on at my feet; there was the island, and upon it were the
reeds and willows as usual, but the River Monarchs were nowhere to be
seen. They had passed away like a dream, and no doubt I should be
told that all I had seen and heard was only the results of a visit to
dreamland during my nap that afternoon.
It was getting dark, and I could only just see the stately shape of
Windsor Castle rearing itself above the town in the distance, whilst, to
the left, the buildings of my beloved Eton appeared to be shadows
fading away in the fast-approaching darkness of night. “Absit omen!” I
exclaimed as I sprang to my feet. “The glory of Eton shall never fail
whilst England is England; and, least of all, shall the love of her sons
for the dear old college ever fade or lessen whilst life endures. I,
at least, will be a boy as long as I live in my love for Eton and Eton
boys, and to their approval will I submit the legends which I have heard
here to-day.”
Filled with these thoughts, I hurried home as fast as I could, and wrote
down from memory what I had heard and seen, resolving, if possible,
to obtain some further information from the same sources if ever the
opportunity should again present itself.
THE END.
End of Project Gutenberg’s River Legends, by E. H. Knatchbull-Hugessen