PETER WIMPLE’S COURTSHIP.
This poem was written when the author was a pupil of a literary institute in the State of New York, and was read at a public entertainment given by that institution, too long ago to make mention of the date desirable.
I.
Twice forty years have rolled away
Since first I saw the light of day,
And sage experience bids me say,
Without a grumble,
The youth who yields to woman’s sway,
Down hill will tumble.
II.
While in my “teens,” like some of you,
And life’s gay colours all were new,
My heart was in a constant stew
About the fair;
Though oft a learned friend and true
Said: “Pete, beware!”
III.
Love songs I scribbled when a lad,
For many a transient choice I had,
Now marching gay, now moping sad,
Time’s flight unheeded;
A switch, which cures—or kills—the mad,
Was what I needed.
IV.
My sixteenth summer drawing nigh,
I winked with an experienced eye;
At church I chanced a maid to spy,
With beauty blest,
Who made me heave a double sigh,
And spoiled my rest.
V.
The fairest form of hundreds there,
I gazed upon her graces rare,
And breathed, for once, a pithy prayer,
In earnest diction.
Some took my wild, unearthly stare
For deep conviction.
VI.
Oh, how I spent the days ensuing,
With sighs, and groans, and nothing doing
Save weaving plots for instant wooing,
And sudden marriage!
Meantime the Fates for me were brewing
A sad miscarriage.
VII.
’Twas summer, and at dawn of day,
When bird to bird gave greeting lay,
Alone I sought the meadows gay,
Or forest shade,
And there in fancy would portray
The blue-eyed maid.
VIII.
Each fragrant flower that met my view,
Each pendant drop of glittering dew,
Each little bird that warbling flew
From spray to spray,
Each bore methought, some semblance true
Of Jane Levay.
IX.
Her name I carved on fifty trees,
I breathed it to the passing breeze,
And bade the winds o’er all the seas
To bear it far;
I fancied her by fond degrees,
The morning star.
X.
My inward man I felt consume,
My cheeks waxed thin and lost their bloom;
Some prophesied an early tomb
Would hide poor Peter;
I heeded not their words of gloom,
My thoughts ran sweeter.
XI.
At length it came at gloaming hour,
Dan Cupid strove with all his power,
And sent, at once, a fiery shower
Through all my frame;
My shivering nerves could scarce endure
The scorching flame.
XII.
While thus my youthful marrow fried,
“Ye Gods,” said I, “who lovers guide,
This night my charmer must be tried,
I’ll go and see her;
I’ll make her my affianced bride,
My ever-dear.”
XIII.
In Sunday trim I soon was dressed,
My clothes, be sure, were not the best,
But people were of humbler taste
In those good days;
Girls were not pinched about the waist
By belts or stays,
XIV.
Folk then might go to church or play
In home-made suits of plain sheep-gray,
And no proud fop be heard to say
“What awkward shapes!”
Those simple times, long fled away,
Reared no such apes.
XV.
Our sweethearts spun the frocks they wore,
Before their wheels upon the floor
They stepped as lightly evermore
As belles of France
Who wander from their native shore
To skip and dance.
XVI.
Thus Eastern maids, whose vernal bloom
In Homer’s verse can ne’er consume,
Assumed the distaff and the loom,
With cheerful hands;
Their fame is like a sweet perfume
Of their own lands.
XVII.
But to our theme—too long delayed:
In Sabbath costume now arrayed,
My hat, a gift, of oat-straw braid,
My kerchief white,
I started as began to fade
The western light.
XVIII.
I found it hard my thoughts to rally,
Love’s heaven appeared a little squally,
But on the road I made no dally,—
My heart was jumping:
You would have vowed it beat to jelly,
To have heard it thumping.
XIX.
The whip-poor-will was on the wing,
And “whip-poor-Pete” he seemed to sing,
Yet what such plaguy thought could bring
To Peter Wimple?
I gave my head a manly swing,
At whim so simple.
XX.
The waters of my own loved stream—
The Hudson—shone with silvery gleam,
And in the moon’s subduing beam
The signs of war
(Whose glory was my topmost dream)
Glittered afar.
XXI.
“Those were the times that tried men’s souls;”—
The blazing cannon’s thunder rolls
Around the hills; no church bell tolls
The soldier’s fall;
He passes to the goal of goals
In crimson pall.
XXII.
My father and my elder brother
Their martial ardour could not smother,
So, bade adieu to home and mother,
And rushed to battle;
They fought, alas! ’gainst one another,
Like men of mettle.
XXIII.
In Carleton’s ranks my father stood,
A loyal man of stubborn mood;
My brother—for his country’s good—
Led on by Green—
The routed foe with shouts pursued
And weapons keen.
XXIV.
Pardon, dear folk, this slight digression,
Too grave to stamp a gay impression;
Old men forget themselves in session
As journals tell ye:
But hearken now a full confession
Of what befel me.
XXV.
I hurried on, ’twas wearing late,
With soft caresses in my pate;
I reached my charmer’s cottage gate,
But here I halted;
My grit, like some old pewter plate,
Was tried—and melted.
XXVI.
I felt a weakness at the knee,
Large drops were running warm and free
Like rillets hasting to the sea—
Adown my cheeks,
I called on Heaven to pity me,—
He finds who seeks.
XXVII.
My prayer was answered by a strain
Which fell, like magic on my pain;
The songstress was my peerless Jane,
Her voice I knew;
The words on memory’s leaves remain
Like honey dew.
Song.
1
A little bird of plumage gay
Sat singing in a myrtle tree;
What think you did the birdie say?
What said it, love, to you and me?
2
It said be happy in the light
Of love’s young morn, when love is truth;
Be happy ere has taken flight
The witchery of dreaming youth.
3
An owlet sat at close of day
Too-hoo-ing in a linden tree;
What think you did the owlet say?
What said it, love, to you and me?
4
It said, be wise ere comes the night
Of lone repining, keep your truth,
Be wise and wed ere takes its flight
The witchery of dreaming youth.
XXVIII.
The song had ceased; again I started,
So resolute, so joyous-hearted,
No earthly power could then have thwarted
My steps from Jane;
A little laughing Cupid darted
From vein to vein.
XXIX.
Thus, marching forward to the door,
“O Jane, dear Jane,” I muttered o’er,
“For thee, my love, I’d venture more
Than did Leander
In swimming to his Hero’s shore
A fearless gander!”
XXX.
I gained the porch, one victory that,—
A moment paused, and lightly sat
My fashionable Sunday hat
Upon three hairs;
I rapped, my heart went pit-a-pat,
With all my airs.
XXXI.
I rapped, and heard a sweet “Come in,”
Don Quixote-like, I set my shin,
Resolved to dash through thick and thin
Upon adventure:
Three inches higher I raised my chin
And thus I enter.
XXXII.
We met, kind Venus! Oh! we met,
And how could I that hour forget?
Love’s glorious summer sun is set
With aged Peter,
But here its twilight lingers yet
And warms his metre.
XXXIII.
“Pardon me, Bird of Night,” said I,
“I heard you sing while passing by,
And such a voice as thine might vie
With Orpheus’ lyre,
Which charmed all things beneath the sky
At his desire.
XXXIV.
Its melody, as authors write,
Stayed listening torrents in their flight,
And shook the mountains with delight,
While round him came
Wild forest beasts (a wondrous sight!)
Subdued and tame.”
XXXV.
This precious gem of pagan lore,
I picked up somewhere weeks before,
And laid it up in secret store
With shrewd design,
To bring it forth in this amour
And make it shine.
XXXVI.
Her cheek, as fair as blow of peach,
Grew crimson at this flattering speech;
She placed a chair within my reach
And said: “Be seated,—
Where did you learn, bright youth, to preach
Your brain is heated.”
XXXVII.
This taunting stroke I ill could bear,
And answered only with a stare,
Then dropped like lead, into the chair,
And down she sat,
First having, with a courteous air,
Bestowed my hat.
XXXVIII.
Now snugly seated face to face,
Between us just three boards, a space
I might have crossed with half a pace,
But modesty
Made wide, as any gulf, that place
’Twixt bliss and me.
XXXIX.
“That song,” said she “you heard me sing,
Is nothing but a foolish thing;
My folk, the whole live-gathering,
Are gone to-night,
And music seems to make Time’s wing
Move swift and bright.”
XL.
“Now or never, do or die,
Here’s a lucky chance,” thought I,
“No bar to love, no gazer nigh
Our bliss to damp;”
While kindness streamed from Jane’s bright eye
As from a lamp.
XLI.
Her half-bared bosom rose and fell
Like placid ocean’s gentle swell;
Her glance like summer sunshine fell
Upon my heart;—
How could I else than act too well
A lover’s part?
XLII.
“Then you are solus, dearest maid,”
She laughed outright, and blushing said,
“Have you commenced the dearing trade
So soon, fair lad?”
This jeering banter, promptly paid,
’Most drove me mad.
XLIII.
Till then I deemed myself, a man,
And lord of every amorous plan,
Now through my limbs a shiver ran,—
The air grew chill;
“Your cheeks,” said she “are thin and wan
Pray, are you ill?”
XLIV.
I smothered down a heavy sigh,
And gayly made her this reply:—
“If I were ill would you deny
A cure for me?”
“O, all I could,” said she, “I’d try
To comfort thee.”
XLV.
Such kind, endearing words as these
Brought me almost upon my knees:
“I’ve got” said I, “a sad disease
Which you can cure,
And set my aching heart at ease,
Of this—be sure.”
XLVI.
A sudden change subdued her look,
The rosy blood her cheek forsook,
She rose,—her silken hood she took,
And looking in it,
Said: “Please excuse me while I look
Outside a minute.”
XLVII.
A quiet respite now I got
To stare about the room and plot;
It was a neat though humble cot
Of wooden frame;
A home, it was devoted not
To folly’s name.
XLVIII
Here stood the huge-rimmed spinning wheel,
There sat a tray of Indian meal,
And overhead, like polished steel,
A musket lay;
A dog and puss together reel
In frantic play.
XLIX.
Thus peering round with random glance,
I saw, or thought I saw, by chance,
Three seeming deities advance,
My soul alarming,
But soon they caused my feelings dance
With speeches charming.
L.
The first began: “My name is Hope;
To give thy fancy brighter scope
I come,—no longer sit and mope
With love concealed:
If thou thy bosom fully ope
The Nymph will yield.”
LI.
Then Cupid, neither blind nor lame,
With full-packed quiver smiling came;
I feared the Paphian archer’s game,
For well I knew
That all his darts were tipt with flame,
And torture too.
LII.
“Ha! Ha!” quoth he, “my foolish boy,
If you with Hymen mean to toy,
I’ll help him to some new employ.”—
From ’neath his wing
He drew his bow with look of joy,
And twanged the string.
LIII.
Next Courage spoke: “Lo! youthful guest,
I’ve come to fire thy timid breast;
What Hope and Love have just addressed
Must not prove vain;
This night thy soul must be confessed
To lovely Jane.
LIV.
That maid for whom thou’st banged the head
Of Sleep so oft upon thy bed,
Until he groaning from thee fled,
Is here alone:
Then ask her boldly will she wed
And be thine own.”
LV.
Pardon this wild Homeric flight,
And I will stoop from airy height;
’Tis truth I came to tell to-night,
And therefore ought
To paint my picture not too bright,
As I’ve been taught.
LVI.
Those shades divine had passed from view
When, with no less celestial hue,
My earthly goddess, warm and true
Returned, and then
I looked into her eyes of blue
Again—again.
LVII.
“It is,” said she, “a lovely night,
And though my folk are not in sight,
They soon will be, if all is right,
For ’tis the hour.”
Now was the time for Love to light
On Fortune’s flower.
LVIII.
Her fragrant breath my passion fanned,
I burned to kiss—or press her hand,
But feared to try—you understand,—
Lest I should rue it,
Till Love upon a sudden planned
How I might do it.
LIX.
I told her I had learned an art
Consoling to a maiden’s heart:
“You’ve got,” said I, “a little chart
Which I can read,
And from its dainty lines impart
What you should heed.
LX.
Can tell how soon you’ll be a bride,
How many beaux you have denied,
How many heirs you’ll raise to pride
Their native land:
All this, and more I can decide
Within your hand.”
LXI.
“Palmology your art they style,”
Replied the girl with sceptic smile,
“I know you think but to beguile
My simple pate;
But there’s my homely hand awhile,
Now read my fate.”
LXII.
I sprang enraptured from my seat
To grasp the prize, and play the cheat,
I seized it—Oh! the electric heat
That shook me now!
I heard our hearts like drumsticks beat
Strange row-da-dow.
LXIII.
I lost my gay design of flattery,
My ravished eyes grew somewhat watery,
Her face was Love’s galvanic battery,
Her arms the poles,
So Peter’s heart was blown to tatters, ye
Pitying souls!
LXIV.
Close by the nymph I trembling stood,
And all her heaven of beauty viewed;
My lips to hers I rashly glued—
But on the spot,
In this voluptuous attitude
Poor Pete is caught!
LXV.
Back flies the door, the family all
Rush with a noise into the hall,
Led by a figure grim and tall,
With whip in hand:
“You daring rogue,” I heard him bawl,
“What’s this I find?”
LXVI.
As drops the fox the fluttering hen,
When dogs and boys and armed men
At once attack him in the pen,
With furious din,
So I now dropped the blushing Jane,
And hung my chin.
LXVII.
But, oh! the man who bore the whip
Began to stamp, and swear, and rip,
And laid the lash upon my hip
So cutting sore,
I gave a three-yard Yankee skip,
And gained the door.
LXVIII.
Outside I got, but close behind
My foe pursued with speed of wind,
His sounding thong with crimson lined
My smarting back,
And peeled from off my shanks the rind
At every crack.
LXIX.
I roared, and yelled, and danced a-head,
Invoking powers of sacred dread,
Till by superior speed I fled
His lash unkind:
But Oh! my hat—must it be said?—
Was left behind!
LXX.
Homeward I drove, bare-headed, lame,
Smarting with love, and stripes, and shame—
Oh! such a medley-mongrel-flame
As this, ye fair!
Made Peter curse your sacred name,
And bang the air.
LXXI.
I thought of drowning, poison, shooting.
My hopes, like routed ranks retreating,
Left me the crust of sorrow eating,
Till dawn of day,
When sons of Mars their drums were beating
Not far away.
LXXII.
I heard the clash of bayonets ring—
I ran—I flew on glory’s wing
To serve my country, not my king,
Nor served in vain;
Our deeds the future bards will sing
In epic strain.
LXXIII.
To Jane Levay I bade adieu,
And ere to manhood’s years I grew
The tidings o’er the country flew
That Jane was married;
So overboard my hopes I threw,
And single tarried.
LXXIV.
Now, when I draw my pension fee
I view it with an eye of glee,
And think: “My courtship, ’tis to thee
I owe this guerdon:”
Then if I take a fortnight’s spree,
I beg your pardon.
LXXV.
My tale is told; and if my skill
Has charmed away one earthly ill,
Has made one aged bosom thrill,
Let cynics frown,
The few who know my follies will
Not write them down.
LXXVI.
For you, my boys, with ardent eyes,
Whose nightly dreams and daily sighs
Are urged by beauty’s maddening dyes
And glossy curls,
Till older—mark me!—I advise,
Keep from the girls.