Greybeards at Play: Literature and Art for Old Gentlemen

The lion drops the formal "Sir,"
And lets me call him James.

Into my ear the blushing Whale
Stammers his love. I know
Why the Rhinoceros is sad,
– Ah, child! 'twas long ago.

I am akin to all the Earth
By many a tribal sign:
The aged Pig will often wear
That sad, sweet smile of mine.

My niece, the Barnacle, has got
My piercing eyes of black;
The Elephant has got my nose,
I do not want it back.

I know the strange tale of the Slug;
The Early Sin – the Fall —
The Sleep – the Vision – and the Vow —
The Quest – the Crown – the Call.

And I have loved the Octopus,
Since we were boys together.
I love the Vulture and the Shark:
I even love the weather.

I love to bask in sunny fields,
And when that hope is vain,
I go and bask in Baker Street,
All in the pouring rain.

Come snow! where fly, by some strange law,
Hard snowballs – without noise —
Through streets untenanted, except
By good unconscious boys.

Come fog! exultant mystery —
Where, in strange darkness rolled,
The end of my own nose becomes
A lovely legend old.

Come snow, and hail, and thunderbolts,
Sleet, fire, and general fuss;
Come to my arms, come all at once —
Oh photograph me thus!

OF THE DANGERS ATTENDING ALTRUISM ON THE HIGH SEAS

Observe these Pirates bold and gay,
That sail a gory sea:
Notice their bright expression: —
The handsome one is me.

We plundered ships and harbours,
We spoiled the Spanish main;
But Nemesis watched over us,
For it began to rain.

Oh all well-meaning folk take heed!
Our Captain's fate was sore;
A more well-meaning Pirate,
Had never dripped with gore.

The rain was pouring long and loud,
The sea was drear and dim;
A little fish was floating there:
Our Captain pitied him.

"How sad," he said, and dropped a tear
Splash on the cabin roof,
"That we are dry, while he is there
Without a waterproof.

"We'll get him up on board at once;
For Science teaches me,
He will be wet if he remains
Much longer in the sea."

They fished him out; the First Mate wept,
And came with rugs and ale:
The Boatswain brought him one golosh,
And fixed it on his tail.

But yet he never loved the ship;
Against the mast he'd lean;
If spoken to, he coughed and smiled,
And blushed a pallid green.

Though plied with hardbake, beef and beer,
He showed no wish to sup:
The neatest riddles they could ask,
He always gave them up.

They seized him and court-martialled him,
In some excess of spleen,
For lack of social sympathy,
(Victoria xii. 18).