Complete Fictional Works of Washington Irving (Illustrated) (253 page)
Read Complete Fictional Works of Washington Irving (Illustrated) Online
Authors: Washington Irving
WRITTEN IN THE DEEP DENE ALBU
M
JUNE 24, 1822
Published in the
Cornhill Magasine,
v. 1, May, 1860, p. 582, and also in
The Life and Letters of Washington Irving,
by Pierre M. Irving, New York: G. P. Putnam, 1862-64, volume II, pages 85-86.
Thou record of the votive throng
That fondly seek this fairy shrine,
And pay the tribute of a song
Where worth and loveliness combine —
What boots that I, a vagrant wight
From clime to clime still wandering on,
Upon thy friendly page should write —
Who’ll think of me when I am gone?
Go plough the wave, and sow the sand;
Throw seed to every wind that blows;
Along the highway strew thy hand
And fatten on the crop that grows.
For even thus the man that roams
On heedless hearts his feeling spends;
Strange tenant of a thousand homes,
And friendless, with ten thousand friends!
Yet here for once I’ll leave a trace,
To ask in aftertimes a thought;
To say that here a resting-place
My wayworn heart has fondly sought.
So the poor pilgrim heedless strays,
Unmoved, through many a region fair;
But at some shrine his tribute pays,
To tell that he has worshipped there.
TO MISS EMILY FOSTER ON HER BIRTHDA
Y
This poem was written in 1823, and published in
The Life and Letters of Washington Irving,
by Pierre M. Irving, New York: G. P. Putnam, 1862-64, volume II, pages 152-153. Contrary to the former traditional belief in the lifelong devotion of Irving to Matilda Hoffman, it is now generally accepted that he spent many years in a vain attempt to win the heart of Emily Foster.
’Twas now the freshness of the year
When fields were green and groves were gay,
When airs were soft and skies were clear,
And all things bloomed in lovely May —
Blest month, when nature in her prime
Bestows her fairest gifts on earth —
This was the time, the genial time,
She destined for her favorite’s birth.
And emblems delicate she chose,
Thy gentle virtues to bespeak —
The lily and the pale, pale rose
She faintly mingled in thy cheek.
The azure of her noontide sky
With dewy gleams of morn combining,
She took to form thy speaking eye
With heaven’s own blue serenely shining.
She bade the dawning’s transient blush,
The light and warmth of day revealing,
At times thy pallid beauty flush
With sudden glows of thought and feeling.
But oh! the innate worth refined
She treasured in thy gentle breast;
The generous gifts of heart and mind,
They best can tell who know thee best.
Bloom on — bloom on — frank nature’s child
Her favorite flower, her spotless one,
Still may she keep thee pure, unsoiled,
Still fresh, though ever shone upon.
This poem was written in 1832, and published in
The Life and Letters of Washington Irving,
by Pierre M. Irving, New York: G. P. Putnam, 1862-64, volume 4, page 406.
In eddying course when leaves began to fly,
And Autumn in her lap the stores to strew,
As ‘mid wild scenes I chanced the Muse to woo
Through glens untrod, and woods that frown’d on high,
Two sleeping nymphs with wonder mute I spy:
And lo! she’s gone — in robe of dark-green hue:
’Twas Echo, from her sister Silence flew,
For quick the hunter’s horn resounded to the sky.
In shade affrighted Silence melts away;
Not so her sister. Hark! For onward still
With far-heard step she takes her listening way,
Bounding from rock to rock, and hill to hill:
Ah! mark the merry maid in mockful play,
With thousand mimic tones, the laughing forests fill.
SON
G
This poem was found in the Album of John Howard Payne. It was written in October, 1810, and published in
The Life and Writings of John Howard Payne,
by Gabriel Harrison, Albany, N. Y.: J. Munsell, 1875, page 397.
Oh, turn, cruel, fair one! nor slight a fond youth
Who would woo thee with tenderness, fervor and truth!
Tho’ my fortune’s but small, yet stern want I’m above,
And I’ll swear that no swain is
more wealthy in love!
In a shady, white cottage, embosom’d in trees,
Where boughs, lightly waving, invite the cool breeze,
My empire I’ve fixed, — and full green is my bower,
And pure is the wild brook that runs by my door.
Oh! there let me lead thee! for there shalt thou reign,
The cottage thy palace, the grove thy domain;
With a chaplet of roses and myrtle so green
I’ll encircle thy brows, and proclaim thee my queen! — .
A green bank shall form thy imperial seat;
And the fruits of each autumn I’ll lay at thy feet;
Or on beds of sweet violets shalt thou recline;
And the tributes of spring shall thy temples entwine.
What queen could e’er boast of a tribute so fair?
Of a throne so serene? of a palace so rare?
Could reign more secure, and unrivall’d than thee?
Or could boast of a subject more faithful than me?
These verses, found in the Album of John Howard Payne, were written by Irving after hearing a sermon in which the preacher unconsciously referred to some incidents of the previous night. Irving, with several companions, including a Mr. Morris Ogden, had dined at Dyde’s Tavern, New York. On the way home Mr. Ogden ran off with the sign of Cheesbrough & Co. The poem was published in
The Life and Writings of John Howard Payne,
by Gabriel Harrison, Albany, N. Y.: J. Munsell, 187S, page 398.
As Morris once stroll’d into Trinity church,
He quickly discovered he’d got in a lurch;
For, as soon as the minister eyes on him set,
“S’blood, Morris,” says he, “but I’ll give you a sweat.”
Down, down, down, Derry Down!
“This scapegrace, my breth’ren, who keeps such late hours,
“And Broadway from the Park to the Battery scours,
“Must not fancy, from me, he his wickedness hides,
“Since they know up aloft when he frolics at Dyde’s.” —
Down, down, down, Derry Down!
Then he talk’d very much ‘bout the “SIGNS of
the Times,”
And that
pulling them down,
was the vilest of crimes!
He that
pulls down a sign
should be laid fast in fetters.
Since ’tis plain that he hastens —
the downfall of letters!
Down, down, down, Derry Down!
In defense, Morris urg’d — tho’ he frolic’d at night,
Yet, according to Scripture, he acted but right;
For
at night
he improved his time like the devil,
As very well knowing “the days,” sir, “are evil.”
Down, down, down, Derry Down!
With respect to the sign, no defense need be made —
As he wish’d but to give
Mr. Cheesbrough
his trade —
So not caring just then the good folks to arouse —
He wisely
took down,
sir,
the name of the house!
Down, down, down, Derry Down!
Far be it from him, sir, the peace to molest —
He meant, on the contrary, all for the best: —
And tho’ he had shoulder’d the sign in his fun,
He was sure he had given
the firm a good run!
Down, down, down, Derry Down!
Included in
Notes and Journal of Travel in Europe,
New York: The Grolier Club, 1921, appearing on page 25 of volume 3. Reprinted here by permission of The Grolier Club.
Oh liberty thou goddess heavenly bright
Profuse of bliss & pregnant with delight
Eternal pleasures in thy presence reign
And smiling plenty leads thy wanton train
Thou makest the gloomy face of nature gay
Givst beauty to the sun & pleasure to the day
Included in
Notes and Journal of Travel in Europe,
New York: The Grolier Club, 1921, appearing on page 32 of volume 3. Reprinted here by permission of The Grolier Club.
In solemn silence a majestic band
Heroes & gods & Roman consuls stand
Stern tyrants whom their cruelties renown
And emperors in Parian Marble frown.
While the bright dames to whom they humbly sued
Still shew the charms that their proud hearts subdued.
THE LAY OF THE SUNNYSIDE DUCK
S
Published in
From Pinafores to Politics,
by Mrs. J. Borden Harriman, New York: Henry Holt and Company, 1923, pages 22-23. Reprinted here by permission of the publisher.
By Sunnyside bower runs a little Indian Brook,
As wild as wild can be;
It flows down from hills where Indians lived of old
To the mighty Tappan Sea.
And this little brook supplies a goodly little pond
Where the Sunnyside ducks do play,
Snowy white little ducks with topknots on their heads
And merry little ducks are they.
And high up the hill stands fair Jaffray Hall
Where a mighty chief doth dwell
And this little Indian brook flows through his lands
And its own little rugged dell.
And the Laird of Jaffray arose in his might
And he said to his wife one day,
“This little Indian brook, is an idle little brook
And shall no longer have its way.
No longer shall it run down to Sunnyside pond
Nor eke to the Tappan Sea.
I’ll stop it, with a dam, and pump it up hill with a ram
And make it work for a living,” said he.
“It shall run in pipes about our garden and lawn
Making jets and fountains clear.
It shall run upstairs and downstairs of Jaffray Hall,
And into your bathroom, my dear.”
Then the Sunnyside ducks they quaked with fear
And dolefully they did cry,
“Oh Laird of Jaffray spare our little brook,
Or we shall be left high and dry!”
But soon it appeared that this brave little brook
Defied the Laird of Jaffray’s skill;
For though he dammed the little brook, and rammed the little brook
The little brook still ran down hill.
Then the Sunnyside ducks again plucked up heart,
And got over their quanda —
ry,
And the little brook still runs on to Sunnyside pond
And the mighty Tappan Sea!
Published in
Washington Irving, Esquire,
by George S. Heilman, New York: A. A. Knopf, 1925, pages 45-46. Reprinted by permission of the author.
Tho england’s sons are kind
Their hearts burn warm & true
Yet english hearts you’ll find
Can beat in foreign bosoms too
The good remittance freely rides
And woos the favouring gale
That lightly curls the glassy tides
And fills the swelling sail.
Sigh not Eliza the you leave
England’s shores behind
For other shores may prove as fair
And other climes as kind.
Fair virtue’s plant is not confined
In english soil to keep
Kind heaven convey’d its radiant seed
Across the atlantic deep
Then may you find a happy home
Each stranger prove a friend
Peace be your lot where’er you go
& Joy your steps attend.
A considerable proportion of
Abu Hassan
is in verse, including dialogue, soliloquies, and songs. Inasmuch as this material is extensive in its entirety and yet much consists merely of scattered lines or short dialogues, it is impracticable to reprint it in full. The longer versified portions only are included here. The page references are all to the 1924 edition published by the Bibliophile Society (the only edition which has appeared). The extracts are reprinted by the Society’s kind permission.
[From pages 32 and 33]
I’ll give a fête champêtre,
With song and dance first rate, Sir;
The foremost place shall my little wife have,
A chaplet gay her brow adorning,
And smiling like a bright May morning,
The empress of the feast appear.
Ho! Slaves there! — bring wine,
Then scatter roses in,
And with her purple lip (sweet)
Shall first Fatima sip (it).
So! Set the goblet here! —
Now dearest, to our welfare —
And that it long may tell fair,
Drink I this goblet clear.
Today’s the time for singing,
Therefore the guitars bring in, —
Quick! quick! and do not stay,
Though piping, singing, laughing,
And jolly goblets quaffing
We while dull life away.
Oh Fatima, my dearest,
Who to me so tender art,
Love devoting, joys delighting,
Care no more my bosom fills.
Around now my darling to light moving measure;
Come dancing with bright eyes all sparkling with pleasure.
Fine! Bravo! — Surpassing! She trips now more near
And shyly she gives a sweet kiss to her dear —
Though should our project founder —
Why, what cares she or I?
[From pages 48 and 49]
DUETTO
Abu Hassan
Never shalt thou sigh and languish,
Thou belov’d and faithful heart,
But this breast shall share thy anguish,
Seeking comfort to impart.
Fatima
Tears, love, are like dew from heaven
Under which affection blooms,
And the guardians of the flowers —
Faithfulness and constancy.
[From pages 50 and 51]
ARIA
The nightingale ne’er grieves her
When from her cage set free
Once more among the blossoms
She sports from tree to tree.
One glance towards the window
Where her late prison hangs,
Then loud she pours her rapture
And fills the grove with joy.
She flaps her little pinions
And far aloft doth soar
Through heav’n’s unclouded regions,
Glad to be free once more.
But, Abu Hassan, without thee
No pleasure have I ever;
Thou dearest, thou inspirest me;
From thee I’d never sever.
I feel myself most blest and free
When in thy gentle power,
And in this tender slavery
I’d spend my latest hour.
[From pages 54 and 55]
Omar
(Draws a pacquet of papers out of his bosom)
Mark this mighty mass of papers —
Bills of tailors, butchers, bakers,
Pastry cooks and mantau-makers, —
All these papers now are mine.
Fatima
Ah, thou givest me the vapours!
Will our fate then never brighten, —
Seek no more my soul to frighten,
Saying all these bills are thine.
[From pages 61, 62 and 63]
Fatima
I seek and seek the room all over.
Where, where is the provoking key?
Abu Hassan
Who knows but that some hidden lover
May here in snug concealment be!
Omar
(Appearing at the grated opening over the door)
Oh dear! now will he soon discover
That I am here, then woe to me!
Abu Hassan
Yes, were I e’er so cold of spirit
Yet would I feel suspicion here.
Fatima
Trust me, your doubts I do not merit.
I feel a conscience pure and clear.
Omar
Oh dear! — I’ve lost all heart and spirit;
My knees together knock through fear.
Fatima and Abu Hassan
The rogue is now with terror quaking
And sees of hope no flutt’ring ray.
He’ll never here again come raking
If he this once can get away.
Omar
My limbs are all with terror quaking;
I see of hope no flutt’ring ray;
Oh Allah! I give up all raking, —
Let me but this once get away.
Abu Hassan
In yonder closet
There is a rival.
From me concealed;
Give me the key then
That I may seize him,
That I may squeeze him
Soon as his cowardly
Face is revealed.
Fatima
( after a pause)
Sudden reflection
Is in my bosom
Just now awak’d.
You have the key, love,
From out the key hole
With you, I’ll wager,
Taken away.
Abu Hassan
If thou dost linger
I will break open
Bar, bolt and door.
Fatima
Every corner
Have I examin’d,
But the vile key, dear,
On word and honour
Can I —
