A CHAPTER OF FROISSART.

(GRANDPAPA LOQUITUR.)

You don't know Froissart now, young folks.

This age, I think, prefers recitals

Of high-spiced crime, with "slang" for jokes,

And startling titles;

But, in my time, when still some few

Loved "old Montaigne," and praised Pope's _Homer_

(Nay, thought to style him "poet" too,

Were scarce misnomer),

Sir John was less ignored. Indeed,

I can re-call how Some-one present

(Who spoils her grandson, Frank!) would read

And find him pleasant;

For,--by this copy,--hangs a Tale.

Long since, in an old house in Surrey,

Where men knew more of "morning ale"

Than "Lindley Murray,"

In a dim-lighted, whip-hung hall,

'Neath Hogarth's "Midnight Conversation,"

It stood; and oft 'twixt spring and fall,

With fond elation,

I turned the brown old leaves. For there

All through one hopeful happy summer,

At such a page (I well knew where),

Some secret comer,

Whom I can picture, 'Trix, like you

(Though scarcely such a colt unbroken),

Would sometimes place for private view

A certain token;--

A rose-leaf meaning "Garden Wall,"

An ivy-leaf for "Orchard corner,"

A thorn to say "Don't come at all,"--

Unwelcome warner!--

Not that, in truth, our friends gainsaid;

But then Romance required dissembling,

(Ann Radcliffe taught us that!) which bred

Some genuine trembling;

Though, as a rule, all used to end

In such kind confidential parley

As may to you kind Fortune send,

You long-legged Charlie,

When your time comes. How years slip on!

We had our crosses like our betters;

Fate sometimes looked askance upon

Those floral letters;

And once, for three long days disdained,

The dust upon the folio settled;

For some-one, in the right, was pained,

And some-one nettled,

That sure was in the wrong, but spake

Of fixed intent and purpose stony

To serve King George, enlist and make

Minced-meat of "Boney,"

Who yet survived--ten years at least.

And so, when she I mean came hither,

One day that need for letters ceased,

She brought this with her!

Here is the leaf-stained Chapter:--_How

The English King laid Siege to Calais_;

I think Gran. knows it even now,--

Go ask her, Alice.

Collected Poems in Two Volumes, Vol. II · 第 26 / 132 题