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    Outlook Odes
    Outlook Odes
    Outlook Odes
    Ebook121 pages1 hour

    Outlook Odes

    By T. W. H. (Thomas William Hodgson) Crosland

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    Read preview
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateNov 26, 2013
    Outlook Odes

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      Book preview

      Outlook Odes - T. W. H. (Thomas William Hodgson) Crosland

      The Project Gutenberg EBook of Outlook Odes, by T. W. H. Crosland

      This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with

      almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or

      re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included

      with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net

      Title: Outlook Odes

      Author: T. W. H. Crosland

      Release Date: August 14, 2011 [EBook #37085]

      Language: English

      *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OUTLOOK ODES ***

      Produced by Al Haines

      OUTLOOK

      ODES

      By T. W. H. CROSLAND

      AUTHOR OF THE UNSPEAKABLE SCOT,

      LITERARY PARABLES, THE FINER SPIRIT, &c.

      LONDON: AT THE UNICORN

      VII CECIL COURT W.C.

      MCMII

      TO

      THE LORD WINDSOR

      ONE GOOD TURN DESERVES ANOTHER

      CONTENTS

      TO THE PRIVATE MEMBER

      TO THE TRUE-BORN BRITON

            (After Peace Night.)

      TO THE CAMBRIDGE CREW

      TO DAN LENO

            (On his appearance at Sandringham.)

      TO THE POPE

      TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE JOSEPH CHAMBERLAIN

            (Touching his audience of the King.)

      TO THE TSAR

            (After Dunkirk.)

      TO DAN LENO

      TO THE POET LAUREATE

      TO THE AMERICAN INVADER

      TO THE MUDDIED OAF

      TO A PUBLISHER

      TO AN HOTEL KEEPER

      TO THE MAN WITH A GUN

      TO THE STOCK EXCHANGE

            (On its Centenary.)

      TO THE LORD MAYOR

            (November 9th.)

      TO THE MOTORIST

      TO NEXT CHRISTMAS

      TO THE TRIPPER

      TO THE GLASGOW MAGISTRATES

            (On their proposal to banish barmaids.)

      TO A BOOKSELLER

      TO THE DECEASED WIFE'S SISTER

      TO THE CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER

            (Before his retirement.)

      TO THE COMMON GOLFER

      TO MR. PIERPONT MORGAN

      TO PRINCE EDWARD OF YORK

            (On the return of the Ophir.)

      TO MME. BERNHARDT

      TO SIR WILLIAM HARCOURT

      TO THE KING'S BULLDOG

      TO THE DAILY MAIL

            (August 3, 1901.)

      TO EVERYBODY

      TO THE PRIVATE MEMBER

      My dear Sir,—

      You may think it unkind of me

      To interrupt the peaceful calm of your holiday

      With a poem about business.

      But I assure you, my dear sir,

      That I do so with the very best intentions,

      And at the call of what I consider to be duty.

      Duty, as you know, is a tremendous abstraction,

      And brings a man into all sorts of difficult corners.

      It was duty that took you into Parliament:

      Similarly it is duty that constrains me to Odes.

      When a man sees another man and pities him,

      It is the duty of the first man to let the other man know about it

      Delicately.

      I pity you, my dear Mr. Private Member,

      From the bottom of a bottomless heart.

      Many a time and oft in the course of my rambles

      Through the lobbies and liquor bars of St. Stephens

      It has been my ineffable portion to run across you—

      Silk hat, frock coat, baggy trousers, patient stare, bored expression:

      Suddenly you smile

      And crook the pregnant hinges of the back of your neck.

      Mrs. Wiggle, the three Misses Wiggle, and little Master Wiggle,

      Wife, daughters, and son of Mr. Forthree Wiggle,

      Draper, and burgess of the good old Parliamentary Division

      Of Mudsher West,

      Are up from Mudsher West,

      And they want showin' round the 'Ouse, you know.

      Round you go.

      Again: you appear in the Strangers' Lobby,

      Spectacles on nose, somebody's card in hand.

      The policeman roars out name of leading constituent.

      Leading constituent departed in a huff twenty minutes ago,

      Because he thought you were not attending to him.

      There being no answer,

      Policeman roars out name of leading constituent once more.

      Name echoes along Lords' Lobby;

      But not being there, leading constituent fails to come forward.

      You look embarrassed, turn tail, retire to your back bench,

      And feel deucedly uncomfortable for the rest of the evening.

      You would like to get away to the theatre,

      But you dare not do it:

      There are Whips about.

      You would like to go home to bed;

      You must wait the good pleasure of the course of the debate.

      You would like to stand on your hind legs

      And address the House on large matters:

      But you know in your heart

      That the House will stand absolutely nothing from you

      Bar a question or so.

      You sit, and sit, and sit through dull debate after dull debate,

      And you sigh for the hustings and the brass bands,

      And the banquets and the He's-a-jolly-good-fellow-s

      And wonder how it comes to pass

      That you, who were once set down in the Mudsher Mercury

      For a blend of Demosthenes and John Bright,

      Can never get more than twenty words off the end of your tongue

      After Mr. Speaker, Sir.

      Oh! my dear Mr. Private Member,

      Your case is indeed a sad one,

      And it is all the sadder when one comes to reflect

      That, as a general rule, you are a sincereish sort of man,

      Burning and bursting with a desire

      To do your poor suffering country

      A bit of good.

      You know that the men who have the ear of the House

      Are mere talkers;

      That they are only playing the party game,

      And that the country may go to pot for anything they care.

      And yet they make their speeches

      And get them reported at length in the papers,

      And are given places in the Cabinet,

      And go for dines-and-sleeps with the King,

      What time you grow old and grey and obese and bleary

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