River Legends; Or, Father Thames and Father Rhine
But you’ll find it no matter for laughing.
LXIII.
“You, {240}madam, when cool, your affections must school
To follow Sir Marmaduke’s pleasure;
And, Baron, you fool and cantankerous mule,
In a dungeon shall ponder at leisure.
LXIV.
“Nor think you secure that your friends will be truer
Than others have been in like cases;
Sir Guy is too poor, and I’m perfectly sure
‘Twill be long ere the Tracy he faces.
LXV.
“And the Lord Montereaux died lately, I know
(He always was rather dyspeptic);
‘Tis a good week ago since they popped him below,
Carried off by a fit epileptic.
LXVI.
“‘Tis never my bent, you must know, to relent,
And trouble you’re surely enough in,
So your aid must be lent to make Ida consent,
Unless you’re a regular muffin.
LXVII.
“Meantime, to a dungeon I’ll order you off,
Where the damp very constant and dense is;
And when crippled entirely with fever and cough,
You’ll probably come to your senses.”
LXVIII.
He spoke, and withdrew, and the baron they threw
Into dungeon both damp and unpleasant;
And left him to ponder, as well he might do,
On the change from the past to the present.
LXIX.
Still, {241}with wonderful pluck, to his orders he stuck
That his child shouldn’t marry the tyrant;
And Ida, sweet duck, though quite “down on her luck,”
Still frowned on the daring aspirant.
LXX.
Then Sir Tracy, irate, said she tempted her fate,
Declining so firmly to choose him;
For he ne’er could abate in his love for a mate,
Who he knew would be sorry to lose him.
LXXI.
Ten days he’d allow her, he swore, when much vexed,
And partially drunk on his own ale;
But each day she refused to be his, on the next
Should be wrenched from her father a toe-nail!
LXXII.
Now the baron was gouty and tender of feet,
A man, too, of delicate nurture,
And to injure him thus would be making complete
The system of underground torture.
LXXIII.
So Ida she stood on the turreted wall
On that very identical even,
And loudly for aid and assistance did call
On Roderick Fowle and on Heaven.
LXXIV.
What is it she sees through the leaves of the trees?
By Jove! ’tis a warrior’s banner,
And men, thick as bees, drawing nigh by degrees
In a most unmistakable manner.
LXXV.
She {242}views them approaching the castle so dread,
And prays they may soon overwhelm it;
For she sees they are led by a chief at their head
With a Hen, painted large, on his helmet.
LXXVI.
At this gladdening sight, she exclaimed in delight,
“My Fowle is at hand to assist me!
I’m positive quite I shall soon be all right,
And again those dear lips will have kissed me!”
LXXVII.
Sir Roderick true, as he came full in view
And espied his adorable lady,
Like a cock loudly crew, “Im coming to you!”
And a spring towards the battlements made he.
LXXVIII.
He’d got a siege-train (as I here should explain),
And a terrible ram for to batter,
Which with might and with main, plied again and again,
The walls of the fortress should shatter.
LXXIX.
Then he shouted his war-cry,--well known in the East,--’
“Cock-a-doodle!” and brandished his pennon,
Rushed on to the castle, not fearing the least,
But urging his valorous men on.
LXXX.
The cruel Sir Marmaduke Tracy, meanwhile,
Had been taking a quiet siesta,
For he’d promised poor Ida, with sinister smile,
That day, that he wouldn’t molest her.
LXXXI.
But, {243}hearing the shock, at the foot of the rock,
He came up by the maiden upon it,
Of his foeman took stock, and exclaimed, “My young cock,
‘Tis a daring attempt, had you won it!”
LXXXII.
Fowle, clambering high, could invent no reply;
Says Tracy, “Though parleying _you_ shun,
Your end is so nigh, let me hope that to die
You prepared ere you planned this intrusion.”
LXXXIII.
Then a vast mass of brickwork he moved on a ledge
Just above the unfortunate lover,
And with all his great strength pushed it just to the edge
Of the turret, then toppled it over.
LXXXIV.
With a rush and a roar, it went tumbling o’er,
With but little less rumble than thunder;
Fowle’s chance, small before, what event can restore
If that terrible mass he lies under?
LXXXV.
Then Sir Marmaduke bowed to the maiden quite cowed
While her flesh with sheer terror was creeping,
And said, “Madam so proud, it must now be allowed,
There’s no catching the Tracy a-sleeping.”
LXXXVI.
“Come near, without dread,” he tauntingly said,
“On this ledge I will make by my side room;
See, your lover is dead! so we now may be wed,
And I’ll make you a capital bridegroom!”
LXXXVII.
But {244}she looked with disdain, for, that moment, again
From the thick cloud of dust just emerging,
Fowle stood forth quite plain ‘mid the wounded and slain
His heroes to energy urging.
LXXXVIII.
“False Tracy,” he cried, “from my beautiful bride
Avert your detestable gazes,
Descend to my side that the fight may be tried!”
Says Sir Marmaduke, “Fowle, go to blazes!”
LXXXIX.
Quoth he, with a sneer, and a laugh and a jeer,
“Go home with your battering ram, Fowle;
‘Tis perfectly clear I am better up here,
So I think I shall stay where I am, Fowle!”
XC.
He stood, winking his eye, on that battlement high,
And was turning, poor Ida to wheedle,
When the maiden, so spry, clapt her hand to his thigh,
And thrust up to the hilt a sharp needle.
XCI.
With pain did he flush--gave a jump and a rush--
Lost his balance--strove hard to re-win it,
When she gave him a push, and with terrible crush
He was over the cliff in a minute!
XCII.
The sides of the hill he clutched at, until--
He found that he couldn’t quite come it,
So at last had his fill, and, exhausted, lay still,
Having rolled to the foot from the summit.
XCIII.
And {245}there did he lay, dying fast, in a way
Which nobody willingly chooses;
For the light of the day did his carcase display,
A mass of incurable bruises.
XCIV.
Fowle’s soldiers stood o’er the poor man in his gore,
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