Before a world of tremulous green baize,
Whose slightest motion made us leap and start,
And nudge with elbows eloquent (in ways
That boys drive expectation to the heart;
Unlike the etiquette of later days
Which misses oft its aim from too much art,)
Each other's aching ribs, in pleasure's search
We sat, three youngsters fresh from school and birch.

The curtain of the mysteries before us
Hung with a solemn sense of all it knew;
The gallery gods and chandelier flamed o'er us,
Like an Olympus glorious to the view.
We heard the frequent nectar pop, and chorus
Shrilling aloud, impatient for its due.
Time and the fiddlers, in dumb concert playing,
Seemed for our special wretchedness delaying.

Sudden the tinkling of a mystic bell
Proclaimed the preparations were complete,
And through the green baize sent a shuddering spell
That took us for the time half off our feet;
The curtain curled, and with a gradual swell
Rose. Ah! who shall say what sight did greet,
As orchestra and gallery ceased their wrangles,
To gaze on glory, gorgeousness, and spangles?

A glittering lady with a silver wand,
Which, (oh, how gracefully!) she softly sway'd
To music, with the smallest whitest hand,
Stood in the opening of an emerald glade.
Behind her, brightly grouped, a fairy band,
Each inclination of her arm obey'd,
And like a gliding lustre forth did flow,
Or like a wizard top spun on tiptoe.

Her mortal enemy, a mighty dragon,
Too base his beastly entrance to announce,
Surprised her. In one claw he clutched a flagon,
The other held her tightly by the flounce
(Threatening to leave her soon without a rag on,
In spite of our low-muttered wrath and frowns),
Then drew her quickly to his loathsome cavern,
Stored grim with evil spirits like a tavern.

But her good genius rising on a shell
As Aphrodite rose (yet far more fair),
Dissolved the power of the magician fell,
And sent him shivering down to sulphurous air.
Then all those ladies, issuing from the bell
Of many a drooping flower, enring'd her there,
Like human leaves round some angelic rose,
They linked their arms and quivered on their toes.

She gazed, and gazed direct upon us three,
With worlds of unintelligible meaning;
Above them like a silver-seen birch tree
(Horrible simile!), in beauty leaning—
Leaning towards us wistfully, while we,
All bashfulness from boyish ardour weaning,
Shadowed the pit in answer, clapping red,
Till the masks entered, and her figure fled.

Oh wondrous length of nose! Oh breadth of cheek
Whose bloom all mortal rivalry defies!
Capacity of mouth, and body sleek!
Oh hugeous head, and monstrous goggle eyes!
The tickle of late laughter sure is weak
To that which your appearance first bids rise.
Lord! how we laughed! Meantime, demeanour solemn
Marked the great pate upon the puny column.

Fair Rosamond, embowered by royal Harry,
Upon the balcony her flower-pots waters.
A broad Scotch colonel, intent to marry,
(Whose claymore each unseen opponent slaughters),
Fired with impatient love, no more can tarry,
But hopes to take by force this worst of daughters.
He scales her window stealthily on the sea-side;
Sagacious Harry wooing her on the side.

She seizes, most alert, the colonel's ladder,
And flings him off to court the willing billow,
Whereon he falls; and, like some briny bladder,
Floats, the while his men set up a hillo!
And drag him up the friendly beach, a sadder
If not a wiser Gael. Down like a willow
Hangs his proud plaid. He, with a monstrous spoon,
Snuffs his wide nose, and sneezes to the moon.

Great Harry, underneath her balcony,
Lutes to her softly a sweet serenade;
When, lo! the flower-pot that she waters free,
Falls from its perch and fixes on his head!
A right reward of naughty majesty
Caught in its trap. But what more need be said?
Clown, Harlequin, and Pantaloon in station,
Startle us all by wondrous transformation.

Ah, Clown! with what a welcome wert thou greeted,
Hailed like a hero to some lighted city.
And Pantaloon, old fool! for ever treated
Horribly ill, and looking not for pity.
Diamond-cut Harlequin, with magic heated,
Least loved, yet luckiest, as in committee
We three acknowledged when the play was over,
For he was Columbine's accepted lover.

Shall Clown for ever rest unsung of bard?
His notable profundity of pocket,
At once a garden and a poultry-yard;
Stored secretly with cracker, squib, and rocket;
Still yawning in abysm wide-barr'd,
Enough to make all tradesmen strike their docket.
For every kind of bibible and edible,
With a digestion perfectly incredible.

Choice son of Mercury, whose cool mendacity
Delighted us, delights us in perspective,
The laws are not for one of thy capacity;
Thou bidd'st defiance to the 'cute detective,
So indiscriminate in thy voracity,
Save when to grumblers giving sharp corrective,
Thy face of brass our golden age brings back again,
And sends us wandering in that dreamy track again.

Thou art not flesh and bone; no wife hast thou
Who watches shudderingly the magic leap,
With hands clasped close, and anxious furrowed brow,
Gasping to think that life should be so cheap.
No little ones sleep in thy homestead now,
Whose daily bread thy nightly risks do reap;
Else art thou such a fighter in our battle
As seldom yet heard arms and harness rattle.

In vain of thee they write the grave biography,
Telling us thou wert mortal and knew pain;
Thou livest in a world remote from geography,
Somewhere between our earth and the inane—
To the blithe adolescent's mixed cosmography
Familiar: o'er thy grave no starry wain,
When midnight whispers soft its bright wheel rolls,
Oh vernal presence to our passing souls!

So laugh, and have our love! Be'st thou, indeed,
Mortal as we, Oh whither shall we turn,
When the young flowers of life are choked with weed,
For one thing faithful in our ashy urn?
The gayest piper on our human reed,
Of him the saddest lesson must we learn?
Alas! that he should e'er belie his paint!
Humanity seems in him almost a taint.

Boyhood and Manhood have their separate clown,
And hard we find it from the first to part;
Yet tenderly to the latter, when well known,
We cling, for he is of us, and the heart
Is not beguiled by fancy. Cheer the town
For many a week, old favourite as thou art.
We owe thee much; ungrateful would not be;
And will remember thy humanity.