Phantasmagoria and Other Poems | Page 7

beneath its dusky cover -

Stretched his hand, enforcing silence -
Said, "Be motionless, I beg
you!"
Mystic, awful was the process.
All the family in order
Sat before him for their pictures:
Each in
turn, as he was taken,
Volunteered his own suggestions,
His
ingenious suggestions.
First the Governor, the Father:
He suggested velvet curtains
Looped
about a massy pillar;
And the corner of a table,
Of a rosewood
dining-table.
He would hold a scroll of something,
Hold it firmly in
his left-hand;
He would keep his right-hand buried
(Like Napoleon)
in his waistcoat;
He would contemplate the distance
With a look of
pensive meaning,
As of ducks that die ill tempests.
Grand, heroic was the notion:
Yet the picture failed entirely:
Failed,
because he moved a little,
Moved, because he couldn't help it.
Next, his better half took courage;
SHE would have her picture taken.

She came dressed beyond description,
Dressed in jewels and in
satin
Far too gorgeous for an empress.
Gracefully she sat down
sideways,
With a simper scarcely human,
Holding in her hand a
bouquet
Rather larger than a cabbage.
All the while that she was
sitting,
Still the lady chattered, chattered,
Like a monkey in the
forest.
"Am I sitting still?" she asked him.
"Is my face enough in
profile?
Shall I hold the bouquet higher?
Will it came into the
picture?"

And the picture failed completely.
Next the Son, the Stunning-Cantab:
He suggested curves of beauty,

Curves pervading all his figure,
Which the eye might follow onward,

Till they centered in the breast-pin,
Centered in the golden

breast-pin.
He had learnt it all from Ruskin
(Author of 'The Stones
of Venice,'
'Seven Lamps of Architecture,'
'Modern Painters,' and
some others);
And perhaps he had not fully
Understood his author's
meaning;
But, whatever was the reason,
All was fruitless, as the
picture
Ended in an utter failure.
Next to him the eldest daughter:
She suggested very little,
Only
asked if he would take her
With her look of 'passive beauty.'
Her idea of passive beauty
Was a squinting of the left-eye,
Was a
drooping of the right-eye,
Was a smile that went up sideways
To
the corner of the nostrils.
Hiawatha, when she asked him,
Took no notice of the question,

Looked as if he hadn't heard it;
But, when pointedly appealed to,

Smiled in his peculiar manner,
Coughed and said it 'didn't matter,'

Bit his lip and changed the subject.
Nor in this was he mistaken,
As the picture failed completely.
So in turn the other sisters.
Last, the youngest son was taken:
Very rough and thick his hair was,

Very round and red his face was,
Very dusty was his jacket,
Very
fidgety his manner.
And his overbearing sisters
Called him names
he disapproved of:
Called him Johnny, 'Daddy's Darling,'
Called
him Jacky, 'Scrubby School-boy.'
And, so awful was the picture,
In
comparison the others
Seemed, to one's bewildered fancy,
To have
partially succeeded.
Finally my Hiawatha
Tumbled all the tribe together,
('Grouped' is
not the right expression),
And, as happy chance would have it
Did
at last obtain a picture

Where the faces all succeeded:
Each came
out a perfect likeness.

Then they joined and all abused it,
Unrestrainedly abused it,
As the
worst and ugliest picture
They could possibly have dreamed of.

'Giving one such strange expressions -
Sullen, stupid, pert
expressions.
Really any one would take us
(Any one that did not
know us)
For the most unpleasant people!'
(Hiawatha seemed to
think so,
Seemed to think it not unlikely).
All together rang their
voices,
Angry, loud, discordant voices,
As of dogs that howl in
concert,
As of cats that wail in chorus.
But my Hiawatha's patience,
His politeness and his patience,

Unaccountably had vanished,
And he left that happy party.
Neither
did he leave them slowly,
With the calm deliberation,
The intense
deliberation
Of a photographic artist:
But he left them in a hurry,

Left them in a mighty hurry,
Stating that he would not stand it,

Stating in emphatic language
What he'd be before he'd stand it.

Hurriedly he packed his boxes:
Hurriedly the porter trundled
On a
barrow all his boxes:
Hurriedly he took his ticket:
Hurriedly the
train received him:
Thus departed Hiawatha.
MELANCHOLETTA
With saddest music all day long
She soothed her secret sorrow:
At
night she sighed "I fear 'twas wrong
Such cheerful words to borrow.

Dearest, a sweeter, sadder song
I'll sing to thee to-morrow."
I thanked her, but I could not say
That I was glad to hear it:
I left
the house at break of day,
And did not venture near it
Till time, I
hoped, had worn away

Her grief, for nought could cheer it!
My dismal sister! Couldst thou know
The wretched home thou
keepest!
Thy brother, drowned in daily woe,
Is thankful when thou
sleepest;
For if I laugh, however low,
When thou'rt awake, thou
weepest!

I took my sister t'other day
(Excuse the slang expression)
To
Sadler's Wells to see the play
In hopes the new impression
Might in
her thoughts, from grave to gay
Effect some slight digression.
I asked three gay young dogs from town
To join us in our folly,

Whose mirth, I thought, might serve to drown
My sister's melancholy:

The lively Jones, the sportive Brown,
And Robinson the jolly.
The maid announced the meal in tones
That I myself had taught her,

Meant to allay my sister's moans
Like oil on troubled water:
I
rushed to Jones, the lively Jones,
And begged him to escort her.
Vainly he strove, with ready wit,
To joke about the weather -
To
ventilate the last 'ON DIT' -
To quote the price of leather -
She