Punch/Volume 147/Issue 3827/The Misused Talent
(A mild apostrophe to the young man next door.)
Augustus! ever prone at eve to gurgle a
Melodious distych from the music-balls,
Piping in summer from beneath a pergola,
Piping to-day behind these party-walls,
Three months ago and more, when Mars had thrust us
In doubt and dread alarm and cannons' mist,
I found one solace, for I mused, "Augustus
Will probably enlist.
Melodious distych from the music-balls,
Piping in summer from beneath a pergola,
Piping to-day behind these party-walls,
Three months ago and more, when Mars had thrust us
In doubt and dread alarm and cannons' mist,
I found one solace, for I mused, "Augustus
Will probably enlist.
"I know not what his dreams of glory may be,
I know not if his heart is full of grit,
But I do know that he disturbs the baby,
And, judging by his lungs, he must be fit;
His is the frame, or else I've never seen one,
His are the fitting years to fight and roam,
He has no ties (except that pink and green one)
To tether him to home.
I know not if his heart is full of grit,
But I do know that he disturbs the baby,
And, judging by his lungs, he must be fit;
His is the frame, or else I've never seen one,
His are the fitting years to fight and roam,
He has no ties (except that pink and green one)
To tether him to home.
"When he returns he'll possibly be sager;
If not (for glory of his long campaign)
We shall be thrilled to hear the sergeant-major
Singing the good old songs he loved again;
Bellona, too, has something of the witch in her;
It may be he will learn more tact and grace
When that mild tenor has been turned by Kitchener
Into a throaty bass."
If not (for glory of his long campaign)
We shall be thrilled to hear the sergeant-major
Singing the good old songs he loved again;
Bellona, too, has something of the witch in her;
It may be he will learn more tact and grace
When that mild tenor has been turned by Kitchener
Into a throaty bass."
Thus jestingly I dreamed. And now, Caruso,
You have not budged one inch upon the road;
While half the lads have got their khaki trousseau,
You still retain that voice and nut-like mode;
Peace holds you with the tightness of a grapnel,
And, still adhering to her ample hem,
You enfilade us with your tuney shrapnel
From 9 to 12 p.m.
You have not budged one inch upon the road;
While half the lads have got their khaki trousseau,
You still retain that voice and nut-like mode;
Peace holds you with the tightness of a grapnel,
And, still adhering to her ample hem,
You enfilade us with your tuney shrapnel
From 9 to 12 p.m.
So here's my ultimatum. Though it loosens
The kindly bonds that neighbours ought to keep,
I'll take a summons out to curb the nuisance
Unless you stop it. Can I laugh or weep
For those who fling their challenge at the blighting gale,
Who smile to hear the cannon's murderous croon,
When you go on like a confounded nightingale
Under a fat-faced moon?
The kindly bonds that neighbours ought to keep,
I'll take a summons out to curb the nuisance
Unless you stop it. Can I laugh or weep
For those who fling their challenge at the blighting gale,
Who smile to hear the cannon's murderous croon,
When you go on like a confounded nightingale
Under a fat-faced moon?
The streets are darkened now that once were ringing
Through all the lamp-lit hours with festal fuss,
And songs are changed, and so's the time for singing,
But I'd be greatly pleased to hear you, Gus,
Out in the road there, watched by Anns and Maries,
Op'ning your throttle to the mid-day light;
Fate gave it you to prove that Tipperary's
A long way off. Left-Right!
Evoe.
Through all the lamp-lit hours with festal fuss,
And songs are changed, and so's the time for singing,
But I'd be greatly pleased to hear you, Gus,
Out in the road there, watched by Anns and Maries,
Op'ning your throttle to the mid-day light;
Fate gave it you to prove that Tipperary's
A long way off. Left-Right!
Evoe.