Stageland

by C. V. Godby

I know a land where it is afternoon
Sometimes, but mostly evening; where the sun
Shines not at all, but where a pasteboard moon
With incandescent eye winks feebly on
Monarch & bandit, dashing gay dragoon,
Maid in distress, gay Frenchman, stately Don,
Rage, humour, greed,
tears sandwiched into laughter
Estrangement first
& reconcilement after.

There have I met the Melancholy Dane,
Striving to fight unconquerable ill,
There have I seen the noble Moor in vain
Combat, the wild tormenting thirst to kill
What he loved best; and there amid a train
Of sprites & fairies, seen a sight that still
In a more real world is seen alas!
A fairy queen enamoured of an Ass.

There enter we on scenes of revelry
By potent aid of that magician’s wand
The blythe conductors baton waved
Tempering the wind of instrumental band on high,
To the stage lambs, whose shepherds cheerily
Threading the dance, with damsels hand in hand
Sooth the distracted heroine’s anxiety
With jödelling choruses of Lurlurliety.

There we may see the villain pause to think
On happier times, ere he had fallen so low,
And watch his arm arrested on the brink
Of dealing out the deadly coward’s blow
Full in the hero’s midriff
ere he drink
The fiery beaker
of best (stage) Bordeaux,
By hearing—Mercy! Can it be?
Just Heaven,
It is!—the village clock
striking eleven.

There modern characters with old may jostle,
Pygmalion may adore his Galatea;
There flaunt in view the works of the apostle
Of modern culture, clothing the idea
That marriage obligation is a fossil:
A comedy ensues in which you see a
Pair of Our Boys with whom things go so cross it
Comes to an attic & “inferior Dossit.”

And ever, at this period of the year,
Strange characters emerge from out the past.
Giants & Gnomes, Pixies & Elves appear
And over Innocence their spells they case
In vain!—
We know their punishment draws near
And the bright Fairy
with her wand at last
Will deal out retribution
(props erratic),
Whose penalties
are mostly acrobatic.

The villain
shall become a clown—
let’s pray
Hard knocks he may encounter
in the rally;
The meaner rogue a pantaloon—
they say
That being thumped
his duty principally
Consists of likewise in the mimic fray
Playing the part assigned
to old “Aunt Sally,”
While as a stimulant, that
seasoned joker,
The clown, revives him with
a red-hot poker.

Go to that land & laugh, ye merry crows,
Wafted away to Fancy’s bright domain,
Where humbling certainly awaits the proud
Defeat the wicked; where the villain slain
Exalts the virtuous poor with wealth endowed
And life’s dark problems seem to work out plain.
You boys!
to play the clown, remember may be
Safe, but don’t try his tricks upon the baby.

C. V. Godby.