| |
| I WISH that I could have my wish to-night, | |
| For all the fairies should assist my flight | |
| Back into the abyss of years; | |
| Till I could see the streaming light, | |
| And hear the music of the spheres | 5 |
| That sang together at the joyous birth | |
| Of that immortal mind, | |
| The noblest of his kind,— | |
| The only Shakespeare that has graced our earth. | |
| |
| Oh that I might behold | 10 |
| Those gentle sprites, by others all unseen, | |
| Queen Mab and Puck the bold, | |
| With curtseys manifold | |
| Glide round his cradle every morn and e’en; | |
| That I might see the nimble shapes that ran | 15 |
| And frisked and frolicked by his side, | |
| When school-hours ended or began, | |
| At morn or eventide; | |
| That I might see the very shoes he wore | |
| Upon the dusty street, | 20 |
| His little gown and pinafore, | |
| His satchel and his schoolboy rig complete! | |
| |
| If I could have the wish I rhyme, | |
| Then should this night and all it doth contain | |
| Be set far back upon the rim of Time, | 25 |
| And I would wildered be upon a stormy plain; | |
| The wanton waves of winter wind and storm | |
| Should beat upon my ruddy face, | |
| And on my streaming hair; | |
| And hags and witches multiform, | 30 |
| And beldames past all saintly grace, | |
| Should hover round me in the sleety air. | |
| |
| Then, hungry, cold, and frightened by these imps of sin, | |
| And breathless all with buffeting the storm, | |
| Betimes I would arrive at some old English inn, | 35 |
| Wainscoted, high, and warm. | |
| The fire should blaze in antique chimney-place; | |
| And on the high-backed settles, here and there, | |
| The village gossip and the merry laugh | |
| Should follow brimming cups of half-an’-half; | 40 |
| Before the fire, in hospitable chair, | |
| The landlord fat should bask his shining face, | |
| And slowly twirl his pewter can; | |
| And there in his consummate grace, | |
| The perfect lord of wit, | 45 |
| The immortal man, | |
| The only Shakespeare of this earth should sit. | |
| |
| There, too, that Spanish galleon of a hulk, | |
| Ben Jonson, lying at full length, | |
| Should so dispose his goodly bulk | 50 |
| That he might lie at ease upon his back, | |
| To test the tone and strength | |
| Of Boniface’s sherris-sack. | |
| |
| And there should be some compeers of these two, | |
| Rare wits and poets of the land, | 55 |
| Whom all good England knew, | |
| And who are now her dear forget-me-nots; | |
| And they should lounge on Shakespeare’s either hand, | |
| And sip their punch from queer old cans and pots. | |
| |
| Oh, then, such drollery should begin, | 60 |
| Such wit flash out, such humor run | |
| Around the fire in this old English inn, | |
| The veriest clod would be convulsed with fun; | |
| And Boniface’s merry sides would ache, | |
| And his round belly like a pudding shake. | 65 |
| |
| Never since the world began | |
| Has been such repartee; | |
| And never till the next begins | |
| Will greater things be said by man, | |
| Than this same company | 70 |
| Were wont to say so oft in those old English inns. | |
| |
| Dear artist, if you paint this picture mine, | |
| Do not forget the storm that roars | |
| Above the merry din and laughter within doors; | |
| But let some stroke divine | 75 |
| Make all within appear more rich and warm, | |
By contrast with the outer storm.
23 April, 1864. | |
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