Phantasmagoria, and other poems, by Lewis Carroll

Atalanta in Camden-Town

Ay, ’twas here, on this spot,

In that summer of yore,

Atalanta did not

Vote my presence a bore,

Nor reply to my tenderest talk “She had

heard all that nonsense before.”

She’d the brooch I had bought

And the necklace and sash on,

And her heart, as I thought,

Was alive to my passion;

And she’d done up her hair in the style that

the Empress had brought into fashion.

I had been to the play

With my pearl of a Peri —

But, for all I could say,

She declared she was weary,

That “the place was so crowded and hot, and

she couldn’t abide that Dundreary.”

Then I thought “Lucky boy!

’Tis for YOU that she whimpers!”

And I noted with joy

Those sensational simpers:

And I said “This is scrumptious!” — a

phrase I had learned from the Devonshire shrimpers.

And I vowed “’Twill be said

I’m a fortunate fellow,

When the breakfast is spread,

When the topers are mellow,

When the foam of the bride-cake is white,

and the fierce orange-blossoms are yellow!”

O that languishing yawn!

O those eloquent eyes!

I was drunk with the dawn

Of a splendid surmise —

I was stung by a look, I was slain by a tear,

by a tempest of sighs.

Then I whispered “I see

The sweet secret thou keepest.

And the yearning for ME

That thou wistfully weepest!

And the question is ‘License or Banns?’,

though undoubtedly Banns are the cheapest.”

“Be my Hero,” said I,

“And let ME be Leander!”

But I lost her reply —

Something ending with “gander” —

For the omnibus rattled so loud that no

mortal could quite understand her.

THE LANG COORTIN’

The ladye she stood at her lattice high,

Wi’ her doggie at her feet;

Thorough the lattice she can spy

The passers in the street,

“There’s one that standeth at the door,

And tirleth at the pin:

Now speak and say, my popinjay,

If I sall let him in.”

Then up and spake the popinjay

That flew abune her head:

“Gae let him in that tirls the pin:

He cometh thee to wed.”

O when he cam’ the parlour in,

A woeful man was he!

“And dinna ye ken your lover agen,

Sae well that loveth thee?”

“And how wad I ken ye loved me, Sir,

That have been sae lang away?

And how wad I ken ye loved me, Sir?

Ye never telled me sae.”

Said — “Ladye dear,” and the salt, salt tear

Cam’ rinnin’ doon his cheek,

“I have sent the tokens of my love

This many and many a week.

“O didna ye get the rings, Ladye,

The rings o’ the gowd sae fine?

I wot that I have sent to thee

Four score, four score and nine.”

“They cam’ to me,” said that fair ladye.

“Wow, they were flimsie things!”

Said — “that chain o’ gowd, my doggie to howd,

It is made o’ thae self-same rings.”

“And didna ye get the locks, the locks,

The locks o’ my ain black hair,

Whilk I sent by post, whilk I sent by box,

Whilk I sent by the carrier?”

“They cam’ to me,” said that fair ladye;

“And I prithee send nae mair!”

Said — “that cushion sae red, for my doggie’s head,

It is stuffed wi’ thae locks o’ hair.”

“And didna ye get the letter, Ladye,

Tied wi’ a silken string,

Whilk I sent to thee frae the far countrie,

A message of love to bring?”

“It cam’ to me frae the far countrie

Wi’ its silken string and a’;

But it wasna prepaid,” said that high-born maid,

“Sae I gar’d them tak’ it awa’.”

“O ever alack that ye sent it back,

It was written sae clerkly and well!

Now the message it brought, and the boon that it sought,

I must even say it mysel’.”

Then up and spake the popinjay,

Sae wisely counselled he.

“Now say it in the proper way:

Gae doon upon thy knee!”

The lover he turned baith red and pale,

Went doon upon his knee:

“O Ladye, hear the waesome tale

That must be told to thee!

“For five lang years, and five lang years,

I coorted thee by looks;

By nods and winks, by smiles and tears,

As I had read in books.

“For ten lang years, O weary hours!

I coorted thee by signs;

By sending game, by sending flowers,

By sending Valentines.

“For five lang years, and five lang years,

I have dwelt in the far countrie,

Till that thy mind should be inclined

Mair tenderly to me.

“Now thirty years are gane and past,

I am come frae a foreign land:

I am come to tell thee my love at last —

O Ladye, gie me thy hand!”

The ladye she turned not pale nor red,

But she smiled a pitiful smile:

“Sic’ a coortin’ as yours, my man,” she said

“Takes a lang and a weary while!”

And out and laughed the popinjay,

A laugh of bitter scorn:

“A coortin’ done in sic’ a way,

It ought not to be borne!”

Wi’ that the doggie barked aloud,

And up and doon he ran,

And tugged and strained his chain o’ gowd,

All for to bite the man.

“O hush thee, gentle popinjay!

O hush thee, doggie dear!

There is a word I fain wad say,

It needeth he should hear!”

Aye louder screamed that ladye fair

To drown her doggie’s bark:

Ever the lover shouted mair

To make that ladye hark:

Shrill and more shrill the popinjay

Upraised his angry squall:

I trow the doggie’s voice that day

Was louder than them all!

The serving-men and serving-maids

Sat by the kitchen fire:

They heard sic’ a din the parlour within

As made them much admire.

Out spake the boy in buttons

(I ween he wasna thin),

“Now wha will tae the parlour gae,

And stay this deadlie din?”

And they have taen a kerchief,

Casted their kevils in,

For wha will tae the parlour gae,

And stay that deadlie din.

When on that boy the kevil fell

To stay the fearsome noise,

“Gae in,” they cried, “whate’er betide,

Thou prince of button-boys!”

Syne, he has taen a supple cane

To swinge that dog sae fat:

The doggie yowled, the doggie howled

The louder aye for that.

Syne, he has taen a mutton-bane —

The doggie ceased his noise,

And followed doon the kitchen stair

That prince of button-boys!

Then sadly spake that ladye fair,

Wi’ a frown upon her brow:

“O dearer to me is my sma’ doggie

Than a dozen sic’ as thou!

“Nae use, nae use for sighs and tears:

Nae use at all to fret:

Sin’ ye’ve bided sae well for thirty years,

Ye may bide a wee langer yet!”

Sadly, sadly he crossed the floor

And tirled at the pin:

Sadly went he through the door

Where sadly he cam’ in.

“O gin I had a popinjay

To fly abune my head,

To tell me what I ought to say,

I had by this been wed.

“O gin I find anither ladye,”

He said wi’ sighs and tears,

“I wot my coortin’ sall not be

Anither thirty years

“For gin I find a ladye gay,

Exactly to my taste,

I’ll pop the question, aye or nay,

In twenty years at maist.”

http://ebooks.adelaide.edu.au/c/carroll/lewis/phantasmagoria/chapter13.html

Last updated Saturday, March 1, 2014 at 20:37