You are currently browsing the tag archive for the ‘ball’ tag.

Today we take a brief branch away from our usual folkore and fairy tales and have a look at three poems from the book WHEN HEARTS ARE TRUMPS.  The verse in this volume were  selected from works that had appeared in various periodicals, LIFE, TRUTH, TOWN TOPICS, VOGUE, and MUNSEY’S MAGAZINE during the five years 1893-1898 and whose editors kindly gave Tom Hall permission to republish them. So popular was this collection of poetry, that it had at least six editions. Read on and enjoy……….

 

THE OLD-FASHIONED GIRL.

 

There’s an old-fashioned girl in an old fashioned street,

Dressed in old-fashioned clothes from her head to her feet;

And she spends all her time in the old-fashioned way

Of caring for poor people’s children all day.

She never has been to cotillon1 or ball,

And she knows not the styles of the Spring or the Fall;

Two hundred a year will suffice for her needs,

And an old-fashioned Bible is all that she reads.

And she has an old-fashioned heart that is true

To a fellow who died in an old coat of blue,

With its buttons all brass,—who is waiting above

For the woman who loved him with old-fashioned love.

 

1 The Cotillion was a popular 18th and 19th century dance in the French Courts that preceded the Quadrille style of dancing.

 

– – – – – – –

A RHYMING REVERIE.

 

It was a dainty lady’s glove;

A souvenir to rhyme with love.

It was the memory of a kiss,

So called to make it rhyme with bliss.

There was a month at Mt. Desert,

Synonymous and rhymes with flirt.

A pretty girl and lots of style,

Which rhymes with happy for a while.

There came a rival old and bold,

To make him rhyme with gold and sold.

A broken heart there had to be.

Alas, the rhyme just fitted me.

 

– – – – – – –

 

VANITY FAIR.

 

Oh, whence, oh, where

Is Vanity Fair?

I want to be seen with the somebodies there.

I’ve money and beauty and college-bred brains;

Though my ‘scutcheon’s not spotless, who’ll mind a few stains?

To caper I wish in the chorus of style,

And wed an aristocrat after a while

So please tell me truly, and please tell me fair,

Just how many miles it’s from Madison Square.

It’s here, it’s there,

Is Vanity Fair.

It’s not like a labyrinth, not like a lair.

It’s North and it’s South, and it’s East and it’s West;

You can see it, oh, anywhere, quite at its best.

Dame Fashion is queen, Ready Money is king,

You can join it, provided you don’t know a thing.

It’s miles over here, and it’s miles over there;

And it’s not seven inches from Madison Square.

 

– – – – – – –

 

From WHEN HEARTS ARE TRUMPS compiled by Tom Hall

ISBN: 978-1-907256-55-4

URL: http://www.abelapublishing.com/cg_what.html

Click on the URL for more info, a table of contents and to order in USD or GBP.

 

A percentage of the profits will be donated to The BRITISH HEART FOUNDATION.

 

When Hearts are Trumps a book of love poems

 

 

 

There were two lasses, daughters of one mother, and as they came from the fair, they saw a right bonny young man stand at the house-door before them. They never saw such a bonny man before. He had gold on his cap, gold on his finger, gold on his neck, a red gold watch-chain — eh! but he had brass. He had a golden ball in each hand. He gave a ball to each lass, and she was to keep it, and if she lost it, she was to be hanged. One of the lasses, ’twas the youngest, lost her ball. I’ll tell thee how. She was by a park paling, and she was tossing her ball, and it went up, and up, and up, till it went fair over the paling; and when she climbed up to look, the ball ran along the green grass, and it went right forward to the door of the house, and the ball went in and she saw it no more.

 

So she was taken away to be hanged by the neck till she was dead because she’d lost her ball.

 

But she had a sweetheart, and he said he would go and get the ball. So he went to the park gate, but ’twas shut; so he climbed the hedge, and when he got to the top of the hedge, an old woman rose up out of the dyke before him, and said, if he wanted to get the ball, he must sleep three nights in the house. He said he would.

 

Then he went into the house, and looked for the ball, but could not find it. Night came on and he heard bogles move in the courtyard; so he looked out o’ the window, and the yard was full of them.

 

Presently he heard steps coming upstairs. He hid behind the door, and was as still as a mouse. Then in came a big giant five times as tall as he, and the giant looked round but did not see the lad, so he went to the window and bowed to look out; and as he bowed on his elbows to see the bogles in the yard, the lad stepped behind him, and with one blow of his sword he cut him in twain, so that the top part of him fell in the yard, and the bottom part stood looking out of the window.

 

There was a great cry from the bogles when they saw half the giant come tumbling down to them, and they called out, ‘There comes half our master; give us the other half.’

 

So the lad said, ‘It’s no use of thee, thou pair of legs, standing alone at the window, as thou hast no eye to see with, so go join thy brother’; and he cast the lower part of the giant after the top part. Now when the bogles had gotten all the giant they were quiet.

 

Next night the lad was at the house again, and now a second giant came in at the door, and as he came in the lad cut him in twain, but the legs walked on to the chimney and went up it. ‘Go, get thee after thy legs,’ said the lad to the head, and he cast the head up the chimney, too.

 

The third night the lad got into bed, and he heard the bogles striving under the bed, and they had the ball there, and they were casting it to and fro.

 

Now one of them has his leg thrust out from under the bed, so the lad brings his sword down and cuts it off. Then another thrusts his arm out at other side of the bed, and the lad cuts that off. So at last he had maimed them all, and they all went crying and wailing off, and forgot the ball, but he took it from under the bed, and went to seek his true-love.

 

Now the lass was taken to York to be hanged; she was brought out on the scaffold, and the hangman said, ‘Now, lass, thou must hang by the neck till thou be’st dead.’ But she cried out:

 

‘Stop, stop, I think I see my mother coming!
O mother, hast brought my golden ball
And come to set me free?’

 

‘I’ve neither brought thy golden ball
Nor come to set thee free,
But I have come to see thee hung
Upon this gallows-tree.’

 

Then the hangman said, ‘Now, lass, say thy prayers, for thou must die.’ But she said:

 

‘Stop, stop, I think I see my father coming!
O father, hast brought my golden ball
And come to set me free?’

 

‘I’ve neither brought thy golden ball
Nor come to set thee free,
But I have come to see thee hung
Upon this gallows-tree.’

 

Then the hangman said, ‘Hast thee done thy prayers? Now, lass, put thy head into the noose.’

 

But she answered, ‘Stop, stop, I think I see my brother coming!’ And again she sang, and then she thought she saw her sister coming, then her uncle, then her aunt, then her cousin; but after this the hangman said, ‘I will stop no longer; thou’rt making game of me. Thou must be hung at once.’

 

But now she saw her sweetheart coming through the crowd, and he held over his head in the air her own golden ball; so she said:

 

‘Stop, stop, I see my sweetheart coming!
Sweetheart, hast brought my golden ball
And come to set me free?’

 

‘Aye, I have brought thy golden ball
And come to set thee free,
I have not come to see thee hung
Upon this gallows-tree.’

 

And he took her home, and they lived happy ever after.

—————————

From More English Fairy Tales

ISBN: 978-1-907256-09-7

URL: http://www.abelapublishing.com/cg_meft.html