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LXXVI. At this gladdening sight, she exclaimed in delight, “My Fowle is at hand to assist me! I’m positive quite I shall soon be all right, And again those dear lips will have kissed me!” LXXVII. Sir Roderick true, as he came full in view And espied his adorable lady, Like a cock loudly crew, “Im coming to you!” And a spring towards the battlements made he. LXXVIII. He’d got a siege-train (as I here should explain), And a terrible ram for to batter, Which with might and with main, plied again and again, The walls of the fortress should shatter. LXXIX. Then he shouted his war-cry,—well known in the East,—’ “Cock-a-doodle!” and brandished his pennon, Rushed on to the castle, not fearing the least, But urging his valorous men on. LXXX. The cruel Sir Marmaduke Tracy, meanwhile, Had been taking a quiet siesta, For he’d promised poor Ida, with sinister smile, That day, that he wouldn’t molest her. LXXXI. But, hearing the shock, at the foot of the rock, He came up by the maiden upon it, Of his foeman took stock, and exclaimed, “My young cock, ’Tis a daring attempt, had you won it!” LXXXII. Fowle, clambering high, could invent no reply; Says Tracy, “Though parleying you shun, Your end is so nigh, let me hope that to die You prepared ere you planned this intrusion.” LXXXIII. Then a vast mass of brickwork he moved on a ledge Just above the unfortunate lover, And with all his great strength pushed it just to the edge Of the turret, then toppled it over. LXXXIV. With a rush and a roar, it went tumbling o’er, With but little less rumble than thunder; Fowle’s chance, small before, what event can restore If that terrible mass he lies under? LXXXV. Then Sir Marmaduke bowed to the maiden quite cowed While her flesh with sheer terror was creeping, And said, “Madam so proud, it must now be allowed, There’s no catching the Tracy a-sleeping.” LXXXVI. “Come near, without dread,” he tauntingly said, “On this ledge I will make by my side room; See, your lover is dead! so we now may be wed, And I’ll make you a capital bridegroom!” LXXXVII. But she looked with disdain, for, that moment, again From the thick cloud of dust just emerging, Fowle stood forth quite plain ‘mid the wounded and slain His heroes to energy urging. LXXXVIII. “False Tracy,” he cried, “from my beautiful bride Avert your detestable gazes, Descend to my side that the fight may be tried!” Says Sir Marmaduke, “Fowle, go to blazes!” LXXXIX. Quoth he, with a sneer, and a laugh and a jeer, “Go home with your battering ram, Fowle; ’Tis perfectly clear I am better up here, So I think I shall stay where I am, Fowle!” XC. He stood, winking his eye, on that battlement high, And was turning, poor Ida to wheedle, When the maiden, so spry, clapt her hand to his thigh, And thrust up to the hilt a sharp needle. XCI. With pain did he flush—gave a jump and a rush— Lost his balance—strove hard to re-win it, When she gave him a push, and with terrible crush He was over the cliff in a minute! XCII. The sides of the hill he clutched at, until— He found that he couldn’t quite come it, So at last had his fill, and, exhausted, lay still, Having rolled to the foot from the summit. XCIII. And there did he lay, dying fast, in a way Which nobody willingly chooses; For the light of the day did his carcase display, A mass of incurable bruises. XCIV. Fowle’s soldiers stood o’er the poor man in his gore, Who groaned, “I must go to ’Old Harry;’ ’Tis a terrible bore! I shall soon be no more, And you, Fowle, the damsel will marry. XCV. “Lady Ida,” quoth he, “has been too much for me; Her will in rough fashion she teaches. One comfort will be, that Fowle, do you see, Will find that his dame ’wears the breeches’! XCVI. “I am, I confess, in the deuce of a mess, With numbers of sins to repent of: There are some you may guess, but a lot more, unless I told you, you’d never get scent of. XCVII. “I’ve had wives a full score: aye, I think twenty-four, Who at times I’d by fraud or by force court: And I own that before I sought after more I ought to have tried the Divorce Court! XCVIII. “In a dungeon down-stairs you’ll find some of the ’fairs:’ I hadn’t the heart to destroy ’em; But, in spite of their prayers, if they gave themselves airs, Sent them down, in the dark to enjoy ’em. XCIX. “My soldiers are bold; they had better be told There’s nothing the fight should be won for: Their leader, though old, by a girl has been ’sold,’ And is most undeniably ’done for’!” C. He raised himself then, and bawled out to his men, “No reason, my hearties, to fight on: The crest of the Hen will float over my den— Farewell to the Lord of Glenlighton!” CI. Then he gave a great groan (as the Baron had done If they’d tortured and made him a sore nail), And his side turning on, exclaimed, “Crikey! I’m gone And was instantly “dead as a door-nail”! CII. What need to relate how they opened the gate, And admitted Sir Fowle and his forces? How he entered in state, and showed clemency great, All this a mere matter of course is. CIII. And how the fair Ida sprang into his arms; How they built up the Montmolon Tower, I Dare say you can guess; and additional charms Fowle found in her ladyship’s dowry. CIV. Glenlighton they seized; there was none to dispute: And Tracy’s broad lands fared the same, too: The place and the country their fancy did suit, So they took all the land they laid claim to. CV. Nor need it be said that ere long they were wed, These lovers, no more to be parted: Full soon the tree spread; and young children were bred; True Fowles—who were ne’er chicken-hearted. CVI. That fort on the rocks (when repaired from the knocks Received in Sir Roderick’s fighting) Made a snug little box, where, like true fighting-cocks, They live, at the hour I am writing. CVIII. Fowle’s deeds are well known—not in that land alone, But, where’er tales of valour hearts quicken, Men exclaim in loud tone to this day, “We must own Such or such man’s ‘as game as a chicken.’” CVIII. The Baron lived long; he was healthy and strong, And never ate things one had best shun; So went in “ding dong” at the sound of the gong, And was blest with a wondrous digestion. CIX. Now I’ve told all I know about Fowle and his foe, There’s no more that requires explanation: On all I’ll bestow my blessing, and so Conclude, with a bow, my narration.
As soon as the Monarch of the Rhine had finished his poetical legend (to which his companion listened with the most profound attention), he rose from his seat, and declared that he could really wait no longer, or he should be late for his appointment with those other continental rivers to which he had already alluded. Regret was plainly visible upon the countenance of Father Thames as his Brother Rhine expressed this determination, and he began to endeavour to persuade him to stay a little longer. He of the Rhine, however, seemed to be inexorable, and reminded his entertainer of the good old motto, “Welcome the coming, speed the parting guest,” which he declared that he had always held to be an exceedingly wise and proper saying.
Father Thames raised no objection to this, but at the same time observed that he also had several rivers who desired to see him, but that he had postponed their visit in order to do full justice to that of his foreign friend. The Isis and the Cam had indeed sent representatives to wait upon him, as was their annual custom, and enormous crowds of people in steamers, on barges, and on his banks had come out to witness the arrival and triumphant progress of these, which had taken place between Putney and Mortlake, and had as usual created great excitement. But other visitors he had put off, and had still more time to devote to the Rhine Monarch if he could be prevailed upon to stay. This, however, was impossible, and the two friends were about to part when Father Thames casually observed, “I hope all will go well with you, Brother Rhine, until we meet again.”
The other heaved a deep sigh. “I hope so, indeed,” he replied; “but in these days of progress who can tell what will happen next? Instead of haunted castles I have now Legislative Bodies, which are often possessed by much worse spirits than those which occupied the old ruins; instead of giants I have Ministers; and in the place of river-demons an enlightened Press; and goodness only knows what may become of me at any moment.”
“I, too,” responded Father Thames, “have trials which are almost beyond endurance. What with Water Companies, Conservancy Boards, and Embankments, I have of late years been driven nearly wild; and although they have at some places given up the fine old practice of draining into my waters everything that was foul and abominable, and thus creating a public nuisance in the shape of disagreeable and unwholesome odours, which they afterwards had the impudence to attribute to me, and associate the nuisance with my name, yet I am scurvily treated by mankind in general, and made the unwilling receptacle of dead cats and other unpleasant objects, and have my water taken from me in large quantities, when I would much rather retain it.”
“All this is very bad,” remarked the Rhine King. “Why not leave such a country and come home with me?”
“No, thank you,” drily returned Father Thames, “not even the blessings which you have enumerated as now in your possession could tempt me to take such a step. I should miss my beef and ale too much.”
“Ale!” hastily interrupted his companion. “How you continue to harp upon that beverage of yours, which, after all, cannot compare with that which I drink on mine own river. Come, good brother, before I go let me sing you one of our famous Rhine songs in honour of the immortal wine with which my banks are blessed.” And without more ado about the matter, the Rhine Monarch sang as follows in a rich and voice:—
I.
“A fig for your sherry or foaming champagne!
I’d not give a groat for the whole of your stock;
Of thirst if I hear my companions complain,
I hold out my bottle with—‘Accipe Hoc!
Accipe Hoc, Accipe Hoc!’
I hold out my bottle with—‘Accipe Hoc!’
II.
“At night your port-wine bibber drowsily nods,
And wakes hot and heavy at crowing of cock;
The liquor offer is fit for the gods,
And blesses the drinker, so—‘Accipe Hoc!
Accipe Hoc, Accipe Hoc!’
It blesses the drinker, so—‘Accipe Hoc!’
III.
“Of brandy and whisky I sing not in praise,
For feet they make stagger and heads they make rock;
But the man who is hoping to lengthen his days,
Should list to my counselling—‘Accipe Hoc!
Accipe Hoc,’ &c.
IV.
“Away with your brewing, away with your ale!
(Though such a proposal your feelings may shock;)
For all your malt liquors infallibly pale
Before my Rhine vintage, so—‘Accipe Hoc!
Accipe Hoc,’ &c.
V.
“’Tis wine that ne’er robs man of senses or wit,
But hearts can make lively and tongues can unlock;
Makes dull men for once for good company fit,
And bright ones still brighter, so—‘Accipe Hoc!
Accipe Hoc,’ &c.
VI.
“Come, fill up your glasses! the toast shall be mine,
And loud in applause on the table you’ll knock;
When I give you ‘The glorious vintage of Rhine!’
And long may each comrade sing, ‘Accipe Hoc!
Accipe Hoc, Accipe Hoc!’
Long may each comrade sing, ‘Accipe Hoc!’”
As the Monarch of the Rhine proceeded, I observed a cloud gathering over the brow of Father Thames, which grew darker when uncomplimentary allusion was made to his favourite ale, and by the time that his guest had concluded his song had deepened into a tremendous and awful frown. Scarcely was the last word out of the singer’s mouth than he burst forth in fury. “Brooks and fountains!” he exclaimed in a loud voice, “is it thus I am to be insulted upon mine own waters? and am I to sit still and be silent while these insolent foreigners extol their thin and miserable drinks at the expense of the noble beverage upon which Britons have fattened and thriven ever since they were a people? Off with thee now, then, as soon as thou listest, thou hock-swilling loon, for I cannot put up with such trash!”
The Rhine King had already risen; but at these words the greatest astonishment was depicted upon his countenance, for he had really meant no offence, so far as I could see, and for my own part I was myself astonished at the conduct of Father Thames in taking notice of such a trifle. He did so, however, and was apparently quite ready to follow up his words with corresponding actions; for, reaching out his left hand, he raised from beside him a species of instrument somewhat resembling a three-pronged fork, which I had not noticed before, and overset his tumbler with his right hand in the action. This appeared to exasperate him still more, and as his companion muttered something about the effects of too much ale being to make a man lose his temper, he appeared to get more and more angry, and made as though he would rise.