human
Can you write a poem for me in the style of Richard Marsh?
assistant
Sure, here's a poem in the style of Richard Marsh:
  Done freely into
from the German
I trust it may be much nearer perfection than the first edition,
Hail Muse etc.! Bring me Peggy,
My antient steed, now somewhat leggy;
Not him who on Parnassus green
Erst fed, and drank of Hippocrene;
But such, as to supply the trade,
At Nuremburg by scores are made.--
I mount him, and will now indite
A Bee-book for my own delight,
I'll sing of Johnny Dull: his pig,
Made by his bees exceeding big;
And of his daughter fair Christine,
And of his nephew rogue Eugene--
Of honey-robbers I will tell,
And bears, and bull-frogs, ghosts as well--
All which my readers may discover
Who con this true tale ten times over--
Or make ten other Bee Friends buy it;
For three and six I can supply it.
All hail! thou lovely month of May,
With parti-coloured flowers gay!
And hail to you, my darling Bees;
Much wealth you gain on days like these.
From morn to eve a humming sound
About the bee-house circles round.
The sentinels, in armour bright,
Keep watch and ward throughout the night;
And drive away, constrained by oath,
The mice, and toads, and Death's head moth.
At early dawn 'tis quite a treat
To see them work, they are so neat;
Some clean their house with brooms and mops,
And others empty out the slops.
The architects, by rule and line,
Their future cells with skill define;
The ever toiling workers these--
Meanwhile the Queen, she takes her ease;
Sole mother of the winged nation,
Her only work is propagation.
The egg she lays; the nurses hatch
That egg, and in the cradle watch.
The babe to swaddle, and prepare
The pap-boat, is their constant care.
All day, in regal state, the Queen
Encircled by her court is seen;
Their backs they never rudely turn:
Good manners they by instinct learn.
And when night comes she goes to bed,
And on the pillow lays her head;
Whilst by her side her faithful drone
Profoundly snores, for they are one.
They send for letters ere they rise;
For just at ten they ope their eyes.
The post office is in a flower,
Which opens at a certain hour,
Miss Crocus keeps it, fresh and fair;
The tresses of her flowing hair
They glitter like the purest gold;
And by her saffron cakes are sold.
Near is the pothouse where both grog
Is served to Bumble-Bees, and prog;
And when the Bumble-Bees get groggy,
Their intellect, like men's, is foggy.
On rose leaves they their letters write,
Here's one they either wrote or might.
"Great Queen, we hope you'll swarm to day";
"For 'is a lovely first of May."
The messenger this letter takes,
And eke a store of saffron cakes.
The Drones they neither work, nor can
Do aught but sleep on a divan;
And smoke their pipes through all the day;
Chibouks these love, and those a clay.
Such is their life--who would not be
A happy little worker Bee;
A Queen's too high for me,--a Drone,
Such laziness I let alone.
Now Johnny Dull had once a pig,--
'T was far from fat, its bones were big.
To scratch his hide with all his might
Was this poor piggie's sole delight.
Once on a time it so fell out
He in the garden roamed about:
He chanced to have an itching mood;
The bee house quite convenient stood--
His hide he scratched; the bees rushed out,
And stung him well from tail to snout--
Ugh! Ugh! Ugh! Ugh! poor piggie cried,
Feeling these daggers pierce his hide.
John Dull, who heard the awful clatter,
Said, "Bless the pig! why what's the matter?"
He came,--he saw--, his porker, that
Was erst all lean, was now all fat.
It chanced a pig-jobber that way
Was passing by; he stopped to say
"How much friend Dull for that fat pig?"
"Just ten pounds ten, for he is big"--
John Dull he found himself in luck,
And blest his bees, and in their praise
He chanted forth these jocund lays.
Fly forth, dear Bees, 'tis morn, fly forth
And cull from every fragrant flower
A honied feast.
Fly Home, dear Bees, 'tis Eve, fly home!
From North, from South, from East, from West;
Store in your cells your luscious spoil,
And sweetly rest.
The air is clear the day is warm,
John Dull sits watching for a swarm;
What's this? he thought; while I've been talking
My bees are all prepared for walking,
Staves in their hands, and on his back
Each carries his provision pack.
He strains his sight into the hole;
"They'll swarm to day--upon my soul."
His brain swims round, his eyes feel heavy,
He sees no more the increasing levee.
His nose, as down and down it drops,
His half used pipe of 'bacca stops.--
Buzz, buzz!--Hum, hum! a joyful sound,
Echoes the teeming hive around.
All gather at the trumpet's clang
To hear their noble Queen's harangue.--
"Up children up, to swarm prepare"
"The honey thief sits stinking there."
"And we who love the scent of roses"
"Have stale tobacco in our noses."
"We toil, we sweat from early May"
"To lay up for a rainy day."
"Our cells we fill, and at the Fall"
"He sulphers us, and takes it all."
"So let us one and all deride"
"This honey thief, this Bee-i-cide."
"Up children, up! to swarm prepare"
"Whilst Master Dull sits snoring there."
"A devil he, upon my troth:"
"Buzz! buzz! Hum! Hum! The swarm is off!"
Fytte III. The Rivals.
"Nothing like soup," is still the cry
In each well ordered family;
So on Christine the duty fell
To cull the herbs they love so well;
And every morn, the charming maid
Within her father's garden strayed,
Parsley to pluck, wherewith to make
The soup, which they at noon should take.
Her father's garden marched, I ween,
With that of Mr. Richard Dean;
A school-master by trade was he,
And she esteemed him--maidenly.
But by degrees, within her soul
A softer, tenderer passion stole;
Love--full of joy and full of sorrow,
Sunshine to day, and storm to-morrow,--
Love may forget a parsley bed,
And dream of golden flowers instead.
And so the maiden stooped to cull a
Crocus, and an auricula.
These flowers, together-bound, she placed
Just half a foot above her waist.
Then sat her down beneath the shade,
And thought about him--happy maid.
Now Mr. Dull a nephew had,
A most audacious, awkward lad;
Some fifteen summers he had seen
And still was very, very green.
Christine he eyed, and with desire
He felt his little soul on fire.
With cat like pace behind the wall
He crept (he was not near as tall.)
Leapt up, and from the affrighted Miss
Ravished the much desired kiss.
"Stop little monster", and a whack
Descended on his upturned back--
(The place I cannot more define
Within the limits of a line)
--Side, I should add, but wherefore tell
What every school-boy knows so well.
That rogue Eugene skedaddled quick.
Then Richard raised the fainting maid,
And many a tender thing he said;
Her chin he chucked, his arm he placed
About her little taper waist;
Her flowers admired, and begged them too:
Christine, she knew not what to do;
But blushed assent; the flowers he took,
And thanked her with an ardent look.
"Sweets are repaid by sweets I wiss",
He said, and he too had a kiss.
"Adieu and--au revoir--" to night
Pray let us meet, my heart's delight,
Behind your father's Bee-house, when
The Church-clock shall have sounded ten.
Eugene, still smarting with the cane,
His heart on fire, with jealous pain,
O'erheard the place of assignation,
And crept out from his hidden station;
Rushed to the Bee-house, found John Dull
Asleep, and snoring like a bull.
"Wake, Uncle, wake" in startling tone
He shouted, "for your swarm is gone."
John Dull, awakened from his slumber,
Observed his stock's diminished number;
His apple trees he searched, and found
The swarm some ten feet from the ground;
Got his bee dress, his hive, and ladder;
No Bee master was ever gladder.
Mounted, and without any trip
Got all the bees within the skip--
"Well done I have them;" as he spoke
The ladder's top-most rung it broke,
Crack! Crack! and, as I hope to thrive,
The same befel the other five;
The bees rush forth and quit the hive!
John on his knees, and free from harm
Marked well the disappearing swarm.
Two boys were making pies of dirt
Close by, and playing with a squirt;
They squirted at the bees to stop 'em,
Squirted in vain; they could not drop 'em.
Old Sally met them with her mop,
And Sammy trumpeted, stop! stop!
But not a sound these flyers reached--
A Sweep upon the chimney top
Showered soot upon them, and cried "Stop!"
When they had cleared the churches roof,
Sam Dutton put his gun to proof;
John Dull came panting up behind
And could no other stopper find;
He stamped and swore and scratched his head,
"A pretty dance I have been led,"
"Confound the bees; I've got a warming"
Some way I'll find to stop their swarming;
A hive I'll build as big as two,
Sold by Mancubrian P.tt.gr.w.
Adverse events reveal the real man,
So Horace wrote, refute this truth who can.
And John Dull to its full completion wrought
The inspiration of his sudden thought.
"Room for the swarm!" This is great Nature's law,
And so he built two monstrous hives of straw.--
"Good morning neighbour" from across the fence
"Ask what your making." "Why these blessed bees,"
"I find them creatures plaguey hard to please."
"Plaguey! dont say so--they're a real pleasure,"
"I love to watch them when I have the leisure;"
"Besides each scholar knows in antient days,"
"How Maro sung his little darlings praise."
"And when the Roman legions brought alarm"
"To every inmate of his Mantuan farm,--"
"Smiling he stood, amidst his winged host;"
"The mailed warriors fled and left him at his post."
"All this I know--Beekeeping would be charming,"
"If there was never such a thing as swarming."
"But grubs my friend! your bees are sure to breed,"
"Swarms come from grubs, as corn crops come from seed."
"Grubs you must have; and when your swarming's done,"
"Two hives you'll find, where erst you had but one."
"Bother the grubs; I know a better way,"
"My patent monster hives, they are the things to pay."
Eugene would often take his lunch,
Of dry black bread a monstrous hunch,
Into a wood--ere he got through it
He wished he'd some nice honey to it--
When all at once it chanced a bee
He saw creep up a hollow tree;
Another came, then two, and three.
"Hurrah! there's honey here for me,"
Eugene exclaimed, "No more I'll eat
This nasty bread, but have a treat."--
"Honey for ever!" up he clomb
To the trees fork--the honey comb
He saw below him in the beech
Hollowed by age, beyond his reach--
His hold he missed and sad to tell
Down midst the honey combs he fell;
Into the cakes his boots went crush,
As though it were mere muddy slush.
Honey he found but every school-boy knows
He cannot eat his sweetmeats with his clothes.
Another Bee Hunter that way
One Mister Bruin chanced to stray;
A dancing Bear by trade was he,
But fond of honey--certainly!
"If I smell right here's honey comb";
He said, or thought; then upwards clomb.
Eugene below, half dead with fear,
Saw the bears hinder's drawing near,
With both hands gripped him tight and had a
Mount upwards by this living ladder;
Sure never little lad was gladder.
Meanwhile John Dull, a spying round,
The self same honey tree had found;
Up to the fork himself he reared
When Bruin's ugly mug appeared.
Augh, back he fell through utter fright;
Close to his tail did Braun alight;
And by Braun's heels Braun's parasite.
Braun seized John Dull with either claw,
Just as himself was seized before;
John pulling out his hunting knife
Cut off his tail to save his life;
Sam Dutton here did interveen,
"To shoot that grizzly bear I mean"!
But Braun was nowhere to be seen.
Early next morn came sawyers two,
And sawed the Honey tree right through;
There stuck the boots of young Eugene;
He drew them out, and licked them clean;
Such blacking ne'er before was seen!
While John Dull, from the luscious store,
Filled twenty honey pots or more.
Fytte VII. The Frog.
"The appetite with eating grows"--
This truth my little story shows.
For many a day the rogue Eugene
To John Dull's bee-hives creeps unseen;
Smokes them,--Puff!--Puff!--then boldly takes
The much desired honey cakes.
When lo! one day the angry swarm
Out on him rushed--the day was warm;
They covered him from top to toe,
Behind, before, above, below,
They buzzed, they crawled, they stung him,--Oh!
Eugene half stifled, for his nose
And mouth were covered like his clothes,
Rushed to the nearest water-pit,
And took a header into it;
Rose through the Bee-besprinkled foam,
And ran, all dripping, to his home.
Felt quite unwell! The doctor came
And to his illness gave a name.
"By aid of careful auscultation,"
"And thinking on his late natation,"
"I think, I think that I deskiver,"
"A frog within this dear boy's liver."
"I'll get him up." A bee he took,
Impaled it on a fishing-hook;
Played it within his open jaws,
A bite! and up the frog he draws;
Frog to the open window took,
And cut the line close by the hook;
Frog to the pool, rejoicing, hopped;
And plump into the water dropped.
Then chanted his Batrachian lay
Quite in th' Artistophanic way;
"Brekekekek, coax, coax,
Coax, coax, Brekekekek."
Fytte VIII. The Ghost.
Forbidden fruit is sweet they say;
And so its gathered every day;
And should this fruit be sweet before,
Forbid it, and 'tis ten times more.
Eugene oft coveted the pot
Of honey that John Dull had got
Placed on the shelf above his head,
For safety, when he went to bed;
John slept, John snored; then ope'd his eyes
And stared about him with surprise.
"What's this I see come crawling on?"
"Sure, 'tis a strange phenomenon."
A winged beast, with tail, and claws
On his four feet, which end in paws.
With stealthy pace on on it crawled,
John turned upon his face, and bawled.
John's hair as this strange beast drew near
His night cap raised for very fear.
On its hind legs itself it reared,
As it its squalling master neared,
Nearer still nearer--till he got
The much desired honey pot.
Turns tail and runs; whilst Johnnie sits
Bolt up, divested of his wits.
A pearly drop on every hair
Hangs pendant, not from heat, but fear.
Eugene his garret sought, and there
Ate honey, like his friend the bear,
The pot he emptied mighty soon,
Using his paws instead of spoon.
The flowers which Christine culled at morn
At eve were withered, and forlorn.
And placed them in his music book;
Then put the book upon the table,
And pressed, the best that he was able.
The pressed flowers took a wondrous shape,
Which seemed the human form to ape;
And in these specimens, Christine
Ten sounded from the old church tower--
Before the last stroke of the hour,
Close by the bee-house Richard Dean,
His last new coat on, might be seen;
Christine, arrayed in all her charms,
Was there, and rushed into his arms.
"Hist! what's that sound?" alack! alack!
A thief, with crotchet at his back--
A Honey thief--ill may he thrive.
Each crept into a monster hive.
The thief peered round; "This will I take"--
"This big one will my fortune make."
Upon his back so lean, so tall--
Of his strange monture bonneted;
Held him down tight, and with a stick
Passed 'twixt his legs, secured him quick.
And Christine, what must she have felt
While Bruin round about her smelt?
Out of the hive she softly stole;
In crept the bear and through the hole
At the hive's top he poked his nose;
Christine her ready courage shows,
She through his nose ring passed a stick,
Which from the ground she happed to pick.
Poor Bruin rolled upon his back,
And grunted out alas! alack!
So after all these strange alarms,
John Dull by chance came strolling by,
His hives upset first met his eye;
He saw they both were tenanted--
Amazed he looked, then scratched his head;
Peered all around, espied Christine
Behind the bee house they were placed,
"Come here" he cried "you little chit,"
"I understand it not a bit"--
Upon their knees they both fell down,
And the whole mystery made known.
The father heard them all declare,
Then gave his blessing to the pair.
"With stores of wedded happiness."
Then came the dramatis personae;
The tall, the short, the fat, the bony.
Sam Dutton thought to get a shot,
Now Bruin could no longer trot.
But Sally interposed her mop,
And to his shooting put a stop.
The night watch came, and 'twixt them bore
The skewer'd thief to the prison door.
And came the bear leader as well,
And took poor Bruin to his cell.
Sam with his trumpet blew a rally,
And Hip, Hurrah! cried ancient Sally.
Long live both empty hives and full,
Fytte X. The Queen Bee's Fete.
The night is warm, and many a nose
Upturned, is snoring in repose;
Whilst every tree and every flower
Rejoices in that witching hour.
And o'er John Dull his garden beds,
The moon her gentle influence sheds.
'Tis May the first, the Queen bee's fete!
And she, in all her regal state,
Beneath her fairy hall of roses
With her beloved drone reposes.
She nods a sign; the bombardier
Awakes the echoes far and near.
Whilst tinkle, tinkle, clang! clang! bang!
The Court musicians' strain out-rang.
The fly he blows the shrill trompette,
The gnat the softer clarionette;
The grasshopper, a fiddler he--
The drummer is the bumble bee.--
The Willow-beetle, such a swell,
With young Sabina waltzes well;
Liz too and Kitty have their swains,
Who one and all are taking pains
To make themselves agreeable,
Each to his own peculiar belle.
The Stag-Beetle, that beau precise,
Regales his partner with an ice.
The Moon, upon the Apple Tree,
Surveys, well pleased, the revelry.
Two cockchafers soon quit the dance;
They cannot bear the piercing glance
Of their fair partners--see them set
Within a private cabinet.
They smoke, they sing, they drink until
Their little polished paunch they fill.
Their homes they cannot find--alas!
They tumble backward on the grass.
"To whit" "To whoo" policeman Owl,
The wisest of all feathered fowl,
Hoots out; "why here's a precious go,"
"Drunk and incapable, ho! ho!"
"So come along, I know you well;"--
He said, and drove them to his cell.
Were they discharged? No, never more,
That cell it was an abattoir.
The owl supped on the elder Brother,
And for his breakfast ate the other.
So you, who think a dance divine,
Mind--never take excess of wine.
The Evening star went flicker--flick--
Over the bedroom candlestick;
And round its silver radiance shed
To light the sleepy moon to bed.
I've done--I doff my riding gear,
And order Pegasus--HIS BEER.
Notes on Buzz-a-Buzz,
certain obscure poet called Byron, whose works are now well nigh
forgotten, made use of it.
experience goes, I may regretfully say,
Quando ullam inveniam parem.
I have, alas, grown stout; and it requires a strong cob to carry
Godfathers, alas! _abierunt ad plures_; their successors give no
such gifts to their Godchildren.
PARNASSUS GREEN.--Not at all the same sort of place as Paddington
writers, those most dolorous of all funny men. Parnassus Green
stands, from the necessity of rhyme, for Green Parnassus.
HIPPOCRENE.--The first horse drinking fountain, and produced,
merchant princes, and is hard up for a subject. The most approved
Parnassus, and drink of Hippocrene in the morn. Persius has it,
"Non fonte labra prolui caballino,
Nec in bicipiti somniasse Parnasso
Memini, ut repente sic poeta prodirem."
No more have I; and perhaps some of my readers may say that I
FYTTE I.--_Page 1-7._--The fun of this first Fytte will be "real
nuts" to every Bee-master. The whole economy of a Hive is viewed
from a human stand-point. The sentinels watching with their own
stings in their hands as lances; the early labours of the chamber
the wood cuts.
"PIG IN THE GARDEN STRAYED AROUND."--_Page 8._--A very improper
place for Pig to take his constitutional walk. The wicket gate
which leads to your Hives should be always properly secured, or
early chapters of Maryatt's Mr. Midshipman Easy.
"WAS ERST ALL LEAN, WAS NOW ALL FAT."--_Page 10._--The alteration
would not be satisfactory to the Bacon Curer when he puts his
flitches in salt, still less to the cook, when frying a rasher.
"FLY FORTH, DEAR BEE, 'TIS MORN, FLY FORTH."--_Page 11._--I shall
Composition, if they will set this original Bee song. The prelude
Inestimable reward!
treated of in the forthcoming second edition of "My Bee Book."
Bee-master. See a most stunning article on his Bee-Book in the
Commenas utriusque linquoe" say I.
"CULL A CROCUS AND AN AURICULA."--_Page 17._--The last word was
and made a triplet,
"Flowers which her Richard loved particular,"
but I had compassion on the ears of my readers.
I well remember, when an Eton boy, walking in the playing fields
with a late revered and beloved prelate, then a Fellow of Eton,
whose memory is dear to every Etonian who knew him, as that of a
kind friend and finished scholar,--such as alas! seem extinct in
these degenerate days. He was living in a picturesque old house,
"The Warf," now destroyed, that his two sons, then at Eton, might
their French governess, accompanied us in this well-remembered
little lower down."
veritable Guy Mr. Dull looks in his defensive armour! A simpler
and equally efficient dress may be made of a black net bag,
large enough to be drawn over a straw or felt hat, with a brim
sufficiently wide to keep the net away from the prominent organ,
the nose, and long enough to be buttoned into the Bee-master's
coat. A couple of elastic bands round the wrists will prevent the
stings. Should he be stung, nevertheless, in spite of all
pain, and the swelling, except in certain places, as the eye or
encased in, and fingers stiffened by, thick woollen gloves, as
recommended by some.
generation, and know their own business, at least they think so,
better than we men can teach it them. Our objects, however, are
slightly different. Their's to propagate and preserve their
species: ours to secure the maximum amount of honey in any given
locality. I have known a swarm sent forth from a _Ruche a l'air
to the number of 9, 11, or 13, in a strong box, and each is both
require at half a guinea, for which they pay double or treble in
hive on this principle, but with certain modifications, which may
mention, made arrangements for supplying Ligurian Queens of the
greatest purity.
HONEY CAKES.--The French use the word _Gateaux_. I wish the name
"Honey Cakes" were universally adopted by Bee-masters. It would
supply a meaning which the word "comb" does not at all. A honey
comb may be as dry as dust, whilst the "honey cake" places before
store within. Perfectly sealed honey cakes may be kept without
swarm of Bees, who by remaining perfectly still did not receive a
results. Since I wrote the above, a story has appeared in the
newspapers, and is, I fear a true one, as names, dates and places
the management of bees. Any person who has this idiosyncrasy had
better give bees a wide berth.
"discover" and "liver" would not rhyme.
Is the refrain of the well-known chorus in the Frogs of
Aristophanes. Any one with an accurate ear, who has been so happy
spring tide, sacred to love and melody, must have felt how
accurately the great Comic Poet noted down their song. I do not
believe that in the two thousand years which have elapsed since
little tent in a grass meadow, close to Lord Napier's snug house.
their reedy habitations, sang "Brekekekex, Coax, Coax," whilst
above the water, and in and out of the dark shadows of the trees,
during which time I had been hard at work in England, and "no
holiday had seen," so by that time I needed one. Not a hundred
yards from the glorious Cathedral, behind the Alcazar, the old
respectively nine and ten, Incarnacion (the last c pronounced th)
and at the same time the air was resonant with the sweet song of
the Nightingale. I pride myself on knowing somewhat of the
contest at the time. It is quite in the way of one of Virgil's
Philomela were contending for the prize. It is too long to insert
Frog and Nightingale;" an Apologue, price 6d. But the sum of the
whole matter is this: I do not believe, "pace Darwinii nostri
dicatur," that natural selection, and conjugal preference has had
trust may last my time unchanged, whilst on the evidence of
Aristophanes' chorus we know that Bull Frogs, then, as now, sang
"Brekekekex, Coax, Coax," _and that song only_.
THE HONEY POT.--_Page 47-52._--This Fytte, comical as it is in
itself, is particularly valuable as instructing the untravelled
feather-bed piled above, which either stifles you in summer, or
still young and active, and then you will appreciate his
contortions.
"A HONEY THIEF, ILL MAY HE THRIVE."--_Page 55._--Every Bee keeper
the night after it has been plundered. Light Hives upset, and
from below, whilst the bottom board itself is strongly bolted to
the stand. This will indeed protect a hive from anything but a
readers will doubtless remember, as I confess to have done when
penning the above line, the opening of Southey's Thalaba, and the
same with a certainty of failure before our eyes. We verse makers
_Corbies nae pike out corbies e'en_. But we convey--_conveys_ the
This mode of removing a captive would have suited that extinct
species of our protective force, that of the Dogberry and Verges
order, and may be recommended to our new police as more merciful,
mode of "running a man in;" especially as they generally get hold
captive to conceal his features from the tail of little boys and
idle quidnuncs, specially if he were carried like our honey thief
The last Chapter is like the first, written in the style of the
Butterfly's Ball and the Grasshopper's feast, and is, it seems to
translation it is on the concluding lines:
"The evening star went flicker--flick--
Over the bedroom candlestick;
And round its silver radiance shed
To light the sleepy moon to bed."
Baierische Bier is infinitely superior to any Hippocrene. But no
drink in the world can hold a candle to genuine "Wienische Bier,"
Coecubum." I say put up, for the wine that now goes by the name
of Falernian is detestable. I suppose, however, that two thousand
wind up, was, when hard worked, very fond of a quart of good ale,
The reader is asked to excuse the following errors, excusable--as
Page 35 should be--
"But every sweet-toothed school-boy knows,
He can't eat honey with his toes."
Page 36, for _hinder's_ read _hinders_.
Page 70, for _Ap le Tree_ read _Apple Tree_.