It was a Moorish maiden was sitting by a well,
And what the maiden thought of, I cannot, cannot tell,
When by there rode a valiant knight from the town of
Oviedo—
Alphonzo Guzman was he hight, the Count of Tololedo.

"Oh, maiden, Moorish maiden, why sitt'st thou by the
spring?
Say, dost thou seek a lover, or any other thing?
Why dost thou look upon me, with eyes so dark and wide,
And wherefore doth the pitcher lie broken by thy side?"

"I do not seek a lover, thou Christian knight so gay,
Because an article like that hath never come my way;
And why I gaze upon you, I cannot, cannot tell,
Except that in your iron hose you look uncommon swell.

"My pitcher it is broken, and this the reason is,—
A shepherd came behind me, and tried to snatch a kiss;
I would not stand his nonsense, so ne'er a word I spoke,
But scored him on the costard, and so the jug was broke.

"My uncle, the Alcaydè, he waits for me at home,
And will not take his tumbler until Zorayda come:
I cannot bring him water—the pitcher is in pieces—
And so I'm sure to catch it, 'cos he wallops all his nieces."

"Oh, maiden, Moorish maiden! wilt thou be ruled by me!
So wipe thine eyes and rosy lips, and give me kisses three;
And I'll give thee my helmet, thou kind and courteous lady,
To carry home the water to thy uncle, the Alcaydè."

He lighted down from off his steed—he tied him to a
tree—
He bent him to the maiden, and he took his kisses three;
"To wrong thee, sweet Zorayda, I swear would be a sin!"
And he knelt him at the fountain, and he dipped his
helmet in.

Up rose the Moorish maiden—behind the knight she steals,
And caught Alphonzo Guzman in a twinkling by the heels:
She tipped him in, and held him down beneath the bub-
bling water,—
"Now, take thou that for venturing to kiss Al Hamet's
daughter!"

A Christian maid is weeping in the town of Oviedo;
She waits the coming of her love, the Count of Tololedo.
I pray you all in charity, that you will never tell,
How he met the Moorish maiden beside the lonely well.

[Original Size]

[Original Size]

DON FERNANDO GOMERSALEZ

From the Spanish of Astley's.

Don Fernando Gomersalez! basely have
they borne thee down;
Paces ten behind thy charger is thy
glorious body thrown;
Fetters have they bound upon thee—iron
fetters, fast and sure;
Don Fernando Gomersalez, thou art cap-
tive to the Moor!

Long within a dingy dungeon pined that brave and noble
knight,
For the Saracenic warriors well they knew and feared his
might;
Long he lay and long he languished on his dripping bed
of stone,
Till the cankered iron fetters ate their way into his bone.

On the twentieth day of August—'twas the feast of false
Mahound—
Came the Moorish population from the neighbouring cities
round;
There to hold their foul carousal, there to dance and there
to sing,
And to pay their yearly homage to Al-Widdicomb, the
King!

First they wheeled their supple coursers, wheeled them at
their utmost speed,
Then they galloped by in squadrons, tossing far the light
jereed;
Then around the circus racing, faster than the swallow
flies,
Did they spurn the yellow sawdust in the rapt spectators'
eyes.

[Original Size]

Proudly did the Moorish monarch every passing warrior
greet,
As he sate enthroned above them, with the lamps beneath
his feet;
"Tell me, thou black-bearded Cadi! are there any in the
land,
That against my janissaries dare one hour in combat stand?"

Then the bearded Cadi answered—"Be not wroth, my lord
the King,
If thy faithful slave shall venture to observe one little thing;
Valiant, doubtless, are thy warriors, and their beards are
long and hairy,
And a thunderbolt in battle is each bristly janissary:

"But I cannot, O my sovereign, quite forget that fearful
day,
"When I saw the Christian army in its terrible array;
When they charged across the footlights like a torrent
down its bed,
With the red cross floating o'er them, and Fernando at
their head!

"Don Fernando Gomersalez! matchless chieftain he in war,
Mightier than Don Sticknejo, braver than the Cid Bivar!
Not a cheek within Grenada, O my King, but wan and
pale is,
When they hear the dreaded name of Don Fernando
Gomersalez!"

"Thou shalt see thy champion, Cadi! hither quick the
captive bring!"
Thus in wrath and deadly anger spoke Al-Widdicomb, the
King:
"Paler than a maiden's forehead is the Christian's hue, I
ween,
Since a year within the dungeons of Grenada he hath
been!"

Then they brought the Gomersalez, and they led the
warrior in;
Weak and wasted seemed his body, and his face was pale
and thin;
But the ancient fire was burning, unallayed, within his eye,
And his step was proud and stately, and his look was stern
and high.

Scarcely from tumultuous cheering could the galleried
crowd refrain,
For they knew Don Gomersalez and his prowess in the
plain;
But they feared the grizzly despot and his myrmidons in
steel,
So their sympathy descended in the fruitage of Seville.

"Wherefore, monarch, hast thou brought me from the
dungeon dark and drear,
Where these limbs of mine have wasted in confinement
for a year?
Dost thou lead me forth to torture?—Rack and pincers
I defy!
Is it that thy base grotesquos may behold a hero die?"

"Hold thy peace, thou Christian caitiff, and attend to what
I say!
Thou art called the starkest rider of the Spanish cur's array:
If thy courage be undaunted, as they say it was of yore,
Thou mayst yet achieve thy freedom,—yet regain thy
native shore.

"Courses three within this circus 'gainst my warriors shalt
thou run,
Ere yon weltering pasteboard ocean shall receive yon
muslin sun;
Victor—thou shalt have thy freedom; but if stretched
upon the plain,
To thy dark and dreary dungeon they shall hale thee back
again."

"Give me but the armour, monarch, I have worn in many
a field,
Give me but my trusty helmet, give me but my dinted
shield;
And my old steed, Bavieca, swiftest courser in the ring,
And I rather should imagine that I'll do the business, King!"

Then they carried down the armour from the garret where
it lay,
O! but it was red and rusty, and the plumes were shorn
away:
And they led out Bavieca from a foul and filthy van,
For the conqueror had sold him to a Moorish dogs'-meat
man.

When the steed beheld his master, then he whinnied loud
and free,
And, in token of subjection, knelt upon each broken knee;
And a tear of walnut largeness to the warrior's eyelids
rose,
As he fondly picked a bean-straw from his coughing
courser's nose.

"Many a time, O Bavieca, hast thou borne me through
the fray!
Bear me but again as deftly through the listed ring this
day;
Or if thou art worn and feeble, as may well have come to
pass,
Time it is, my trusty charger, both of us were sent to grass!"

Then he seized his lance, and vaulting in the saddle sate
upright;
Marble seemed the noble courser, iron seemed the mailèd
knight;
And a cry of admiration burst from every Moorish lady.
"Five to four on Don Fernando!" cried the sable-bearded
Cadi.

Warriors three from Alcantara burst into the listed space,
Warriors three, all bred in battle, of the proud Alhambra
race:
Trumpets sounded, coursers bounded, and the foremost
straight went down,
Tumbling, like a sack of turnips, just before the jeering
Clown.

In the second chieftain galloped, and he bowed him to the
King,
And his saddle-girths were tightened by the Master of the
Ring;
Through three blazing hoops he bounded ere the desperate
fight began—
Don Fernando! bear thee bravely!—'tis the Moor Abdor-
rhoman!

Like a double streak of lightning, clashing in the sulphurous
sky,
Met the pair of hostile heroes, and they made the sawdust
And the Moslem spear so stiffly smote on Don Fernando's
mail,
That he reeled, as if in liquor, back to Bavieca's tail:

But he caught the mace beside him, and he griped it hard
and fast,
And he swung it starkly upwards as the foeman bounded
past;
And the deadly stroke descended through, the skull and
through the brain,
As ye may have seen a poker cleave a cocoa-nut in twain.

Sore astonished was the monarch, and the Moorish warriors
all,
Save the third bold chief, who tarried and beheld his
brethren fall;
And the Clown, in haste arising from the footstool where
he sat,
Notified the first appearance of the famous Acrobat;

Never on a single charger rides that stout and stalwart
Moor,—
Five beneath his stride so stately bear him o'er the
trembling floor;
Five Arabians, black as midnight—on their necks the rein
he throws,
And the outer and the inner feel the pressure of his toes.

Never wore that chieftain armour; in a knot himself he
ties,
With his grizzly head appearing in the centre of his
thighs,
Till the petrified spectator asks, in paralysed alarm,
Where may be the warrior's body,—which is leg, and
which is arm?

[Original Size]

"Sound the charge!" The coursers started; with a yell
and furious vault,
High in air the Moorish champion cut a wondrous somer-
sault;
O'er the head of Don Fernando like a tennis-ball he sprung,
Caught him tightly by the girdle, and behind the crupper
hung.

Then his dagger Don Fernando plucked from out its
jewelled sheath,
And he struck the Moor so fiercely, as he grappled him
beneath,
That the good Damascus weapon sank within the folds
of fat,
And as dead as Julius Cæsar dropped the Gordian
Acrobat.

Meanwhile fast the sun was sinking—it had sunk beneath
the sea,
Ere Fernando Gomersalez smote the latter of the three;
And Al-Widdicomb, the monarch, pointed, with a bitter
smile,
To the deeply-darkening canvass;—blacker grew it all the
while.

"Thou hast slain my warriors, Spaniard! but thou hast
not kept thy time;
Only two had sunk before thee ere I heard the curfew
chime;
Back thou goest to thy dungeon, and thou mayst be
wondrous glad
That thy head is on thy shoulders for thy work to-day,
my lad!

"Therefore all thy boasted valour, Christian dog, of no
avail is!"
Dark as midnight grew the brow of Don Fernando Gomer-
salez;—
Stiffly sate he in his saddle, grimly looked around the
ring,
Laid his lance within the rest, and shook his gauntlet at
the King.

"O, thou foul and faithless traitor! wouldst thou play me
false again?
Welcome death and welcome torture, rather than the
captive's chain!
But I give thee warning, caitiff! Look thou sharply to
thine eye—
Unavenged, at least in harness, Gomersalez shall not
die!"

Thus he spoke, and Bavieca like an arrow forward flew,
Right and left the Moorish squadron wheeled to let the
hero through;
Brightly gleamed the lance of vengeance—fiercely sped
the fatal thrust—
From his throne the Moorish monarch tumbled lifeless in
the dust.

Speed thee, speed thee, Bavieca! speed thee faster than
the wind!
Life and freedom are before thee, deadly foes give chase
behind!

[Original Size]

Speed thee up the sloping spring-board; o'er the bridge
that spans the seas;
Yonder gauzy moon will light thee through the grove of
canvas trees.
Close before thee, Pampeluna spreads her painted paste-
board gate!
Speed thee onward, gallant courser, speed thee with thy
knightly freight!

Victory! The town receives them!—Gentle ladies, this
the tale is,
Which I learned in Astley's Circus, of Fernando Gomer-
salez.

[Original Size]

[Original Size]

THE COURTSHIP OF OUR CID

What a pang of sweet emotion
Thrilled the Master of the Ring,
When he first beheld the lady
Through the stabled portal spring!
Midway in his wild grimacing
Stopped the piebald-visaged Clown
And the thunders of the audience
Nearly brought the gallery down.

Donna Inez Woolfordinez!
Saw ye ever such a maid,
With the feathers swaling o'er her,
And her spangled rich brocade?
In her fairy hand a horsewhip,
On her foot a buskin small,
So she stepped, the stately damsel,
Through the scarlet grooms and all.

And she beckoned for her courser,
And they brought a milk-white mare;
Proud, I ween, was that Arabian
Such a gentle freight to bear:
And the Master moved to greet her,
With a proud and stately walk;
And, in reverential homage,
Rubbed her soles with virgin chalk.

Round she flew, as Flora flying
Spans the circle of the year;
And the youth of London, sighing,
Half forgot the ginger-beer—
Quite forgot the maids beside them;
As they surely well might do,
When she raised two Roman candles,
Shooting fireballs red and blue!
Swifter than the Tartar's arrow,

Lighter than the lark in flight,
On the left foot now she bounded,
Now she stood upon the right.
Like a beautiful Bacchante,
Here she soars, and there she kneels,
While amid her floating tresses
Flash two whirling Catherine wheels!
Hark! the blare of yonder trumpet!

See, the gates are opened wide!
Room, there, room for Gomersalez,—
Gomersalez in his pride!
Rose the shouts of exultation,
Rose the cat's triumphant call,
As he bounded, man and courser,
Over Master, Clown, and all!
Donna Inez Woolfordinez!

Why those blushes on thy cheek?
Doth thy trembling bosom tell thee,
He hath come thy love to seek?
Fleet thy Arab, but behind thee
He is rushing like a gale;
One foot on his coal-black's shoulders,
And the other on his tail!
Onward, onward, panting maiden!

He is faint, and fails, for now
By the feet he hangs suspended
From his glistening saddle-bow.
Down are gone both cap and feather,
Lance and gonfalon are down!
Trunks, and cloak, and vest of velvet,
He has flung them to the Clown,
Faint and failing! Up he vaulteth,
Fresh as when he first began;
All in coat of bright vermilion,
'Quipped as Shaw, the Lifeguardsman;
Eight and left his whizzing broadsword,
Like a sturdy flail, he throws;
Cutting out a path unto thee
Through imaginary foes.

Woolfordinez! speed thee onward!
He is hard upon thy track,—
Paralysed is Widdicombez,
Nor his whip can longer crack;
He has flung away his broadsword,
'Tis to clasp thee to his breast.
Onward!—see, he bares his bosom,
Tears away his scarlet vest;
Leaps from out his nether garments,
And his leathern stock unties—
As the flower of London's dustmen,
Now in swift pursuit he flies.

Nimbly now he cuts and shuffles,
O'er the buckle, heel and toe!
Flaps his hands in his tail-pockets,
Winks to all the throng below!

Onward, onward rush the coursers;
Woolfordinez, peerless girl,
O'er the garters lightly bounding
From her steed with airy whirl!
Gomersalez, wild with passion,
Danger—all but her—forgets;
Wheresoe'er she flies, pursues her,
Casting clouds of somersets!

Onward, onward rush the coursers;
Bright is Gomersalez' eye;
Saints protect thee, Woolfordinez,
For his triumph sure is nigh:
Now his courser's flanks he lashes,
O'er his shoulder flings the rein,
And his feet aloft he tosses,
Holding stoutly by the mane!

Then, his feet once more regaining,
Doffs his jacket, doffs his smalls,
And in graceful folds around him
A bespangled tunic falls.
Pinions from his heels are bursting,
His bright locks have pinions o'er them;
And the public see with rapture
Maia's nimble son before them.

Speed thee, speed thee, Woolfordinez!
For a panting god pursues;
And the chalk is very nearly
Rubbed from thy White satin shoes;
Every bosom throbs with terror,
You might hear a pin to drop;
All is hushed, save where a starting
Cork gives out a casual pop.

One smart lash across his courser,
One tremendous bound and stride,
And our noble Cid was standing
By his Woolfordinez' side!
With a god's embrace he clasped her,
Raised her in his manly arms;
And the stables' closing barriers
Hid his valour, and her charms!

[Original Size]

AMERICAN BALLADS

THE FIGHT WITH THE SNAPPING TURTLE

FYTTE FIRST

Have you heard of Philip Slingsby,
Slingsby of the manly chest;
How he slew the Snapping Turtle
In the regions of the 'West?

Every day the huge Cawana
Lifted up its monstrous jaws;
And it swallowed Langton Bennett,
And digested Rufus Dawes.

Riled, I ween, was Philip Slingsby,
Their untimely deaths to hear;
For one author owed him money,
And the other loved him dear.

"Listen now, sagacious Tyler,
Whom the loafers all obey;
What reward will Congress give me,
If I take this pest away?"

Then sagacious Tyler answered,
"You're the ring-tailed squealer! Less
Than a hundred heavy dollars
Won't be offered you, I guess!

"And a lot of wooden nutmegs
In the bargain, too, we'll throw—
Only you just fix the critter.
Won't you liquor ere you go?"

Straightway leaped the valiant Slingsby
Into armour of Seville,
With a strong Arkansas toothpick
Screwed in every joint of steel.

"Come thou with me, Cullen Bryant,
Come with me, as squire, I pray;
Be the Homer of the battle
Which I go to wage to-day."

So they went along careering
With a loud and martial tramp,
Till they neared the Snapping Turtle
In the dreary Swindle Swamp.

But when Slingsby saw the water,
Somewhat pale, I ween, was he.
"If I come not back, dear Bryant,
Tell the tale to Melanie!

"Tell her that I died devoted,
Victim to a noble task!
Han't you got a drop of brandy
In the bottom of your flask?"

As he spoke, an alligator
Swam across the sullen creek;
And the two Columbians started,
When they heard the monster shriek;

For a snout of huge dimensions
Rose above the waters high,
And took down the alligator,
As a trout takes down a fly.

"'Tarnal death! the Snapping Turtle!"
Thus the squire in terror cried;
But the noble Slingsby straightway
Drew the toothpick from his side.

"Fare thee well!" he cried, and dashing
Through the waters, strongly swam:
Meanwhile, Cullen Bryant, watching,
Breathed a prayer and sucked a dram.

Sudden from the slimy bottom
Was the snout again upreared,
With a snap as loud as thunder,—
And the Slingsby disappeared.

Like a mighty steam-ship foundering,
Down the monstrous vision sank;
And the ripple, slowly rolling,
Plashed and played upon the bank.

Still and stiller grew the water,
Hushed the canes within the brake;
There was but a kind of coughing
At the bottom of the lake.

Bryant wept as loud and deeply
As a father for a son—
"He's a finished 'coon, is Slingsby,
And the brandy's nearly done!"

FYTTE SECOND.

In a trance of sickening anguish,
Cold and stiff, and sore and damp,
For two days did Bryant linger
By the dreary Swindle Swamp;

Always peering at the water,
Always waiting for the hour
When those monstrous jaws should open
As he saw them ope before..

Still in vain;—the alligators
Scrambled through the marshy brake,
And the vampire leeches gaily
Sucked the garfish in the lake.

But the Snapping Turtle never
Rose for food or rose for rest,
Since he lodged the steel deposit
In the bottom of his chest.

Only always from the bottom
Sounds of frequent coughing rolled,
Just as if the huge Cawana
Had a most confounded cold.

On the bank lay Cullen Bryant,
As the second moon arose,
Gouging on the sloping greensward
Some imaginary foes;

When the swamp began to tremble,
And the canes to rustle fast,
As though some stupendous body
Through their roots were crushing past.

And the waters boiled and bubbled,
And, in groups of twos and threes,
Several alligators bounded,
Smart as squirrels, up the trees.

Then a hideous head was lifted,
With such huge distended jaws,
That they might have held Goliath
Quite as well as Rufus Dawes.

Paws of elephantine thickness
Dragged its body from the bay,
And it glared at Cullen Bryant
In a most unpleasant way.

Then it writhed as if in torture,
And it staggered to and fro;
And its very shell was shaken
In the anguish of its throe:

And its cough grew loud and louder,
And its sob more husky thick!
For, indeed, it was apparent
That the beast was very sick.

[Original Size]

Till, at last, a spasmy vomit
Shook its carcass through and through,
And as if from out a cannon,
All in armour Slingsby flew.

Bent and bloody was the bowie
Which he held within his grasp;
And he seemed so much exhausted
That he scarce had strength to gasp—

"Gouge him, Bryant! darn ye, gouge him!
Gouge him while he's on the shore!"
Bryant's thumbs were straightway buried
Where no thumbs had pierced before.

Right from out their bony sockets
Did he scoop the monstrous balls;
And, with one convulsive shudder,
Dead the Snapping Turtle falls!

****

"Post the tin, sagacious Tyler!"
But the old experienced file,
Leering first at Clay and Webster,
Answered, with a quiet smile—

"Since you dragged the 'tarnal crittur
From the bottom of the ponds,
Here's the hundred dollars due you,
All in Pennsylvanian Bonds!"

[Original Size]

THE LAY OF MR COLT.

[The story of Mr Colt, of which our Lay contains merely the sequel, is this: A New York printer, of the name of Adams, had the effrontery to call upon him one day for payment of an account, which the independent Colt settled by cutting his creditor's head to fragments with an axe. He then packed his body in a box, sprinkling it with salt, and despatched it to a packet bound for New Orleans. Suspicions having been excited, he was seized and tried before Judge Kent. The trial is, perhaps, the most disgraceful upon the records of any country. The ruffian's mistress was produced in court, and examined, in disgusting detail, as to her connection with Colt, and his movements during the days and nights succeeding the murder. The head of the murdered man was bandied to and fro in the court, handed up to the jury, and commented on by witnesses and counsel; and to crown the horrors of the whole proceeding, the wretch's own counsel, a Mr Emmet, commencing the defence with a cool admission that his client took the life of Adams, and following it up by a de-tail of the whole circumstances of this most brutal-murder in the first person, as though he himself had been the murderer, ended by telling the jury, that his client was "entitled to the sympathy of a jury of his country," as "a young man just entering into life, whose prospects, probably, have been permanently blasted." Colt was found guilty; but a variety of exceptions were taken to the charge by the judge, and after a long series of appeals, which occupied more than a year from the date of conviction, the sentence of death was ratified by Governor Seward. The rest of Colt's story is told in our ballad.]

STREAK THE FIRST.

And now the sacred rite was done, and the marriage-knot
was tied,
And Colt withdrew his blushing wife a little way aside;
"Let's go," he said, "into my cell; let's go alone, my dear;
I fain would shelter that sweet face from the sheriff's
odious leer.

The jailer and the hangmen, they are waiting both for
me,—
I cannot bear to see them wink so knowingly at thee!
Oh, how I loved thee, dearest! They say that I am
wild,
That a mother dares not trust me with the weasand of
her child;

They say my bowie-knife is keen to sliver into halves
The carcass of my enemy, as butchers slay their calves.
They say that I am stern of mood, because, like salted
beef,
I packed my quartered foeman up, and marked him 'prime
tariff;'

Because I thought to palm him on the simple-souled John
Bull,
And clear a small percentage on the sale at Liverpool;
It may be so, I do not know—these things, perhaps,
may be;
But surely I have always been a gentleman to thee!

Then come, my love, into my cell, short bridal space is
ours,—
Nay, sheriff, never look thy watch—I guess there's good
two hours.
We'll shut the prison doors and keep the gaping world
at bay,
For love is long as 'tarnity, though I must die to-day!"

STREAK THE SECOND.

The clock is ticking onward,
It nears the hour of doom,
And no one yet hath entered
Into that ghastly room.

The jailer and the sheriff,
They are walking to and fro:
And the hangman sits upon the steps,
And smokes his pipe below.

In grisly expectation
The prison all is bound,
And, save expectoration,
You cannot hear a sound.

The turnkey stands and ponders,—,
His hand upon the bolt,—
"In twenty minutes more, I guess,
'Twill all be up with Colt!"

But see, the door is opened!
Forth comes the weeping bride;
The courteous sheriff lifts his hat,
And saunters to her side,—

"I beg your pardon, Mrs C.,
But is your husband ready?"
"I guess you'd better ask himself,"
Replied the woeful lady.

The clock is ticking onward,
The minutes almost run,
The hangman's pipe is nearly out,
'Tis on the stroke of one.

At every grated window,
Unshaven faces glare;
There's Puke, the judge of Tennessee,
And Lynch, of Delaware;

And Batter, with the long black beard,
Whom Hartford's maids know well;
And Winkinson, from Fish Kill Reach,
The pride of New Rochelle;

Elkanah Nutts, from Tarry Town,
The gallant gouging boy;
And 'coon-faced Bushwhack, from the hills
That frown o'er modern Troy;

Young Julep, whom our Willis loves,
Because, 'tis said, that he
One morning from a bookstall filched
The tale of "Melanie;"

And Skunk, who fought his country's fight
Beneath the stripes and stars,—
All thronging at the windows stood,
And gazed between the bars.

The little hoys that stood behind
(Young thievish imps were they!)
Displayed considerable nous On that eventful day;

For bits of broken looking-glass
They held aslant on high,
And there a mirrored gallows-tree
Met their delighted eye. *

* A fact.

The clock is ticking onward;
Hark! Hark! it striketh one!
Each felon draws a whistling breath,
"Time's up with Colt! he's done

The sheriff looks his watch again,
Then puts it in his fob,
And turns him to the hangman,—
"Get ready for the job."

The jailer knocketh loudly,
The turnkey draws the bolt,
And pleasantly the sheriff says,
"We're waiting, Mister Colt!"

No answer! no! no answer!
All's still as death within;
The sheriff eyes the jailer,
The jailer strokes his chin.

"I shouldn't wonder, Nahum, if
It were as you suppose."
The hangman looked unhappy, and
The turnkey blew his nose.

They entered. On his pallet
The noble convict lay,—
The bridegroom on his marriage-bed,
But not in trim array.

His red right hand a razor held,
Fresh sharpened from the hone,
And his ivory neck was severed,
And gashed into the bone.

****

And when the lamp is lighted
In the long November days,
And lads and lasses mingle
At the shucking of the maize;

When pies of smoking pumpkin
Upon the table stand,
And bowls of black molasses
Go round from hand to hand;

When slap-jacks, maple-sugared,
Are hissing in the pan,
And cider, with a dash of gin,
Foams in the social can;

When the goodman wets his whistle,
And the goodwife scolds the child;
And the girls exclaim convulsively,
"Have done, or I'll be riled!"

When the loafer sitting next them
Attempts a sly caress,
And whispers, "O! you 'possum,
You've fixed my heart, I guess!"

With laughter and with weeping,
Then shall they tell the tale,
How Colt his foeman quartered,
And died within the jail.

[Illustration: 056]

THE DEATH OF JABEZ DOLLAR

[Before the following poem, which originally appeared in 'Fraser's Magazine,' could have reached America, intelligence was received in this country of an affray in Congress, very nearly the counterpart of that which the Author has here imagined in jest. It was very clear, to any one who observed the state of public manners in America, that such occurrences must happen, sooner or later. The Americans apparently felt the force of the satire, as the poem was widely reprinted throughout the States. It subsequently returned to this country, embodied in an American work on American manners, where it characteristically appeared as the writer's own production; and it afterwards went the round of British newspapers, as an amusing satire, by an American, of his countrymen's foibles!]

The Congress met, the day was wet, Van Buren took the
chair;
On either side, the statesman pride of far Kentuck was
there.
With moody frown, there sat Calhoun, and slowly in his
cheek
His quid he thrust, and slaked the dust, as Webster rose
to speak.

Upon that day, near gifted Clay, a youthful member sat,
And like a free American upon the floor he spat;
Then turning round to Clay, He said, and wiped his manly
chin,
"What kind of Locofoco's that, as wears the painter's
skin?"

"Young man," quoth Clay, "avoid the way of Slick of
Tennessee;
Of gougers fierce, the eyes that pierce, the fiercest gouger
he;
He chews and spits, as there he sits, and whittles at the
chairs,
And in his hand, for deadly strife, a bowie-knife he
bears.

"Avoid that knife. In frequent strife its blade, so long
and thin,
Has found itself a resting-place his rivals' ribs within."
But coward fear came never near young Jabez Dollar's
heart,—
"Were he an alligator, I would rile him pretty smart!"

Then up he rose, and cleared his nose, and looked toward
the chair;
He saw the stately stripes and stars,—our country's flag
was there!
His heart beat high, with eldritch cry upon the floor he
sprang,
Then raised his wrist, and shook his fist, and spoke his
first harangue.

"Who sold the nutmegs made of wood—the clocks that
wouldn't figure?
Who grinned the bark off gum-trees dark—the everlasting
nigger?
For twenty cents, ye Congress gents, through 'tarnity I'll
kick
That man, I guess, though nothing less than 'coon-faced
Colonel Slick!"

The Colonel smiled—with frenzy wild,—his very beard
waxed blue,—
His shirt it could not hold him, so wrathy riled he grew;
He foams and frets, his knife he whets upon his seat
below—
He sharpens it on either side, and whittles at his toe,—

"Oh! waken snakes, and walk your chalks!" he cried,
with ire elate;
"Darn my old mother, but I will in wild cats whip my
weight!
Oh! 'tarnal death, I'll spoil your breath, young Dollar, and
your chaffing,—
Look to your ribs, for here is that will tickle them without
laughing!"

His knife he raised—with, fury crazed, he sprang across
the hall;
He cut a caper in the air—he stood before them all:
He never stopped to look or think if he the deed should
do,
But spinning sent the President, and on young Dollar
flew.

They met—they closed—they sank—they rose,—in vain
young Dollar strove—
For, like a streak of lightning greased, the infuriate Colonel
drove
His bowie-blade deep in his side, and to the ground they
rolled,
And, drenched in gore, wheeled o'er and o'er, locked in
each other's hold.

With fury dumb—with nail and thumb—they struggled
and they thrust,—
The blood ran red from Dollar's side, like rain, upon the
dust;
He nerved his might for one last spring, and as he sank
and died,
Reft of an eye, his enemy fell groaning by his side.

Thus did he fall within the hall of Congress, that brave
youth;
The bowie-knife has quenched his life of valour and of
truth;
And still among the statesmen throng at Washington they
tell
How nobly Dollar gouged his man—how gallantly he fell.

The Book of Ballads / Eleventh Edition, 1870

THE BOOK OF BALLADS

By Various

Edited by BON GAULTIER

Illustrated by DOYLE, LEECH, CROMQUILL

Eleventh Edition1870

THE BROKEN PITCHER

DON FERNANDO GOMERSALEZ

THE COURTSHIP OF OUR CID

AMERICAN BALLADS

THE FIGHT WITH THE SNAPPING TURTLE

FYTTE FIRST

FYTTE SECOND.

THE LAY OF MR COLT.

STREAK THE FIRST.

STREAK THE SECOND.

THE DEATH OF JABEZ DOLLAR

Eleventh Edition
1870