Lyr Add: The Death of Prince Leopold (McGonagall)

Subject: Lyr Add: THE DEATH OF PRINCE LEOPOLD (McGonagall)
From: Little Hawk
Date: 11 Oct 04 - 08:26 PM

Not a dry eye in the house on this one...

THE DEATH OF PRINCE LEOPOLD
by William McGonagall

ALAS! noble Prince Leopold, he is dead!
Who often has his lustre shed:
Especially by singing for the benefit of Esher School,
Which proves he was a wise prince. and no conceited fool.

Methinks I see him on the platform singing the Sands o' Dee,
The generous-hearted Leopold, the good and the free,
Who was manly in his actions, and beloved by his mother;
And in all the family she hasn't got such another.

He was of a delicate constitution all his life,
And he was his mother's favourite, and very kind to his wife,
And he had also a particular liking for his child,
And in his behaviour he was very mild.

Oh! noble-hearted Leopold, most beautiful to see,
Who was wont to fill your audience's hearts with glee,
With your charming songs, and lectures against strong drink:
Britain had nothing else to fear, as far as you could think

A wise prince you were, and well worthy of the name,
And to write in praise of thee I cannot refrain;
Because you were ever ready to defend that which is right,
Both pleasing and righteous in God's eye-sight.

And for the loss of such a prince the people will mourn,
But, alas! unto them he can never more return,
Because sorrow never could revive the dead again,
Therefore to weep for him is all in vain.

'Twas on Saturday the 12th of April, in the year 1884,
He was buried in the royal vault, never to rise more
Until the great and fearful judgment-day,
When the last trump shall sound to summon him awav.

When the Duchess of Albany arrived she drove through the Royal Arch,--
A little before the Seaforth Highlanders set out on the funeral march;
And she was received with every sympathetic respect,
Which none of the people present seem'd to neglect.

Then she entered the memorial chapel and stayed a short time,
And as she viewed her husband's remains it was really sublime,
While her tears fell fast on the coffin lid without delay,
Then she took one last fond look, and hurried away.

At half-past ten o'clock the Seaforth Highlanders did appear,
And every man in the detachment his medals did wear;
And they carried their side-arms by their side,
With mournful looks, but full of love and pride.

Then came the Coldstream Guards headed by their band,
Which made the scene appear imposing and grand;
Then the musicians drew up in front of the guardroom
And waited patiently to see the prince laid in the royal tomb.

First in the procession were the servants of His late Royal Highness,
And next came the servants of the Queen in deep mourning dress,
And the gentlemen of his household in deep distress,
Also General Du Pla, who accompanied the remains from Cannes.

The coffin was borne by eight Highlanders of his own regiment,
And the fellows seemed to be rather discontent
For the loss of the prince they loved most dear,
While adown their cheeks stole many a silent tear

Then behind the corpse came the Prince of Wales in field marshal uniform,
Looking very pale, dejected, careworn, and forlorn;
Then followed great magnates, all dressed in uniform,
And last, but not least, the noble Marquis of Lorne.

The scene in George's Chapel was most magnificent to behold,
The banners of the knights of the garter embroidered with gold;
Then again it was most touching and lovely to see
The Seaforth Highlanders' inscription to the Prince's memory:

It was wrought in violets, upon a background of white flowers,
And as they gazed upon it their tears fell in showers;
But the whole assembly were hushed when Her Majesty did appear,
Attired in her deepest mourning, and from her eye there fell a tear.

Her Majesty was unable to stand long, she was overcome with grief,
And when the Highlanders lowered the coffin into the tomb she felt relief;
Then the ceremony closed with singing "Lead, kindly light,"
Then the Queen withdrew in haste from the mournful sight.

Then the Seaforth Highlanders' band played "Lochaber no more,"
While the brave soldiers' hearts felt depressed and sore;
And as homeward they marched they let fall many a tear
For the loss of the virtuous Prince Leopold they loved so dear.

Subject: Lyr Add: LAMENT ON THE DEATH OF WILLIE (Moore)
From: Rapparee
Date: 11 Oct 04 - 09:03 PM

Screw Prince Leopold!

Lament on the Death of Willie
By Julia A. Moore

Willie had a purple monkey climbing on a yellow stick,
And when he sucked the paint all off it made him deathly sick;
And in his latest hours he clasped that monkey in his hand,
And bade good-bye to earth and went into a better land.

Oh! no more he'll shoot his sister with his little wooden gun;
And no more he'll twist the pussy's tail and make her yowl, for fun.
The pussy's tail now stands out straight; the gun is laid aside;
The monkey doesn't jump around since little Willie died.

Subject: RE: BS: The Death of Prince Leopold
From: Little Hawk
Date: 11 Oct 04 - 09:17 PM

Ha! Ha! Ha! Great poem! McGonagall's public would have loved it. They were working class people and they detested the aristocracy that McGonagall was always slobbering over in his sycophantic fashion. If McGonagall had read "Lament on the Death of Willie", he would have done it absolutely deadpan and taken it seriously, while the audience roared with laughter and pelted him with vegetables at the curtain call.

I wonder if Julia Moore was being serious?

Subject: RE: BS: The Death of Prince Leopold
From: mack/misophist
Date: 11 Oct 04 - 09:18 PM

A request for clarification: Is it Little Hawk or McGonigall who is in violation of the Geneva Conventions? You know, the one against torturing prisoners.

Subject: RE: BS: The Death of Prince Leopold
From: Rapparee
Date: 11 Oct 04 - 09:38 PM

Yes.

I love the last verse of that poem, esp. the last line.

Subject: RE: BS: The Death of Prince Leopold
From: Rapparee
Date: 11 Oct 04 - 09:40 PM

Oh, yes. Moore was quite serious when she wrote her poems. Very much so, in fact. Her nickname was "The Sweet Singer of Michigan."

Subject: RE: BS: The Death of Prince Leopold
From: Little Hawk
Date: 11 Oct 04 - 09:41 PM

McGonagall was probably the only poet of his day who could read even solemn obituary poetry for princes and kings and reduce the audience to laughter, ribald songs, obscene catcalls, and general hell-raising. Most of his performances were given in working-class public houses where people came to eat, drink and be merry. They wanted light entertainment, humour, and popular songs, not sycophantic hymns of praise to the detested aristocracy who lorded it over them and lived in palaces while they lived in slums and slaved in sweatshops.

McGonagall was the biggest wannabe that ever tried to endear himself to the upper classes, despite his own humble origins. He also harassed his audiences regularly with prudish, turgid sermons against the evils of drink and other licentious forms of debauchery. This did not go over well in public houses, because people were there to get drunk and debauch themselves, hopefully.

McGonagall was so utterly arrogant, serious, pompous, and seemingly oblivious to all negative reaction to his "craft" that he would read manfully on in the most weighty fashion while people hurled fruits and vegetables and made every effort to ridicule him. Really quite an extraordinary situation. He continued to wave the red flag in front of the irritated (yet amused) bull that was his public, regardless. This led to riotous situations. On some occasions McGonagall was siezed bodily, struggling desperately, and carried out into the streets on the backs of the crowd, amid much ribald merriment. While performing a scene from MacBeth with a large claymore (sword) he swung it around so vigorously that the entire orchestra fled the pit, as did the first seven or so ranks of the audience at the front. With swings of the sword he viciously chopped up various vegetables thrown at the stage. He was at the time playing BOTH characters in the scene in question (probably MacBeth dueling with MacDuff or whoever it was....).

Never was a man more at odds with his audience and his own class of society, never did he provoke greater reaction, never was he more oblivious to the actual circumstances he was provoking.

There remains a slight, obscure possibility that McGonagall was one of the greatest deadpan humourists in history...and knew exactly what was going on...but if so, he never gave away the game.

Subject: RE: BS: The Death of Prince Leopold
From: Little Hawk
Date: 11 Oct 04 - 09:46 PM

And if Julia Moore was serious, I say again: she should have married McGonagall. They would have made a devastating combination, and could have played out Shakespearian scenes together all over the English-speaking world.

Subject: Lyr Add: TO MY FRIENDS AND CRITICS
From: Rapparee
Date: 12 Oct 04 - 08:53 AM

TO MY FRIENDS AND CRITICS
             by You-Know-Who

    Come all you friends and critics,
          And listen to my song,
    A word I will say to you,
          It will not take me long,
    The people talks about me,
          They've nothing else to do
    But to criticise their neighbors,
          And they have me now in view.

    Perhaps they talk for meanness,
          And perhaps it is in jest,
    If they leave out their freeness
          It would suit me now the best,
    To keep the good old maxim
          I find it hard to do,
    That is to do to others
          As you wish them do to you.

    Perhaps you've read the papers
          Containing my interview;
    I hope you kind good people
          Will not believe it true.
    Some Editors of the papers
          They thought it would be wise
    To write a column about me,
          So they filled it up with lies.

    The papers have ridiculed me
          A year and a half or more.
    Such slander as the interview
          I never read before.
    Some reporters and editors
          Are versed in telling lies.
    Others it seems are willing
          To let industry rise.

    The people of good judgment
          Will read the papers through,
    And not rely on its truth
          Without a candid view.
    My first attempt at literature
          Is the "Sweet Singer" by name,
    I wrote that book without a thought
          Of the future, or of fame.

    Dear Friends, I write for money,
          With a kind heart and hand,
    I wish to make no Enemies
          Throughout my native land.
    Kind friends, now I close my rhyme,
          And lay my pen aside,
    Between me and my critics
          I leave you to decide.

Subject: RE: BS: The Death of Prince Leopold
From: GUEST,skipy
Date: 12 Oct 04 - 10:32 AM

William's middle name was "Topaz".

Just had to share that!

Skipy

Subject: RE: BS: The Death of Prince Leopold
From: Little Hawk
Date: 12 Oct 04 - 12:47 PM

Yes. An extraordinary life demands an extraordinary middle name.

Subject: RE: BS: The Death of Prince Leopold
From: Rapparee
Date: 12 Oct 04 - 01:04 PM

I have searched in vain* to find the meaning for The Divine Julia's middle initial. I have several ideas, but I doubt that they are accurate. However, here is an appreciation (such as it is) of her work.
----------
The following paragraphs are the editors' comment introducing selections from Julia Moore in The Stuffed Owl: An Anthology of Bad Verse , ed. D. B. Wyndham Lewis and Charles Lee (London, 1930; repr. New York: Capricorn Books, 1963).


Julia Moore (1847-1920)

THE death ten years ago, at an advanced age, of JULIA MOORE, the Sweet Singer of Michigan, passed almost unnoticed in the American Press, which had welcomed her poems in 1876 with such jubilation. Mrs. Moore, a farmer's wife, lived all her life among those spacious rolling pastures (where men are Men) of which a later native poet has well sung:

"That's why I wish again
That I was in Michigan,
Down on the farm."

Her first volume, The Sweet Singer of Michigan Salutes the Public, afterwards known as The Sentimental Song Book, was rapturously received, especially by Bill Nye and by Mark Twain, who admitted much later that it had given him joy for twenty years; and the appreciations of these and fifty other critics, which the poet accepted as genuine, did much to make her book a best-seller and send it into three editions. By 1878, when A Few Choice Words to the Public, with New and Original Poems, by Julia A. Moore appeared, her vogue had waned, and she published no more verse. In her preface to this volume she says of its predecessor: "Although some of the newspapers speak against it, its sale has steadily progressed. Thanks to the Editors that has spoken in favor of my writings; may they ever be successful. The Editors that has spoken in a scandalous manner, have went beyond reason. . . ." And she adds, defending herself against these evil men, that "Literary is a work very difficult to do," and that poetry from the heart has more power than poetry from the head. " If all books could be read as I am sure you love to read this one," she says elsewhere, "there might be less ignorance and crime in the world, and I would be well paid for the valuable time I have spent in doing good to mankind." A recent editor, Mr. Walter Blair of the University of Chicago, justly observes that it is high time for Posterity to pay its debt to Julia Moore.

The Sweet Singer's verse is concerned to a large extent with total abstinence and violent death -- the great Chicago fire, the railway disaster of Ashtabula, the Civil War, the yellow fever epidemic in the South. She sings death by drowning, by smallpox, by fits, accidents by lightning-stroke and sleigh. "Julia is worse than a Gatling gun," wrote Bill Nye; "I have counted twenty-one killed and nine wounded, in the small volume she has given to the public." She also greatly relishes normal infant mortality, especially in cases where the little victim possesses blue eyes and curling golden hair; but in her celebrations of the centenary of American independence she strikes the sterner Kipling note more than once. Observe that our first specimen is a tonic antidote to the dithyrambs of T. Baker and Poet Close, and that the study of Byron is illuminated by the generous sympathy (Byron's bad character notwithstanding) of one misjudged poet for another.
----------

*I must have looked in at least two places.

Subject: RE: BS: The Death of Prince Leopold
From: Chris Green
Date: 12 Oct 04 - 03:50 PM

Maybe it's worth starting a thread on crap poets? Christina Rosetti gets my vote. The text of "In the Bleak Midwinter" is undoubtedly the most trite and downright cack piece of doggerel I've ever heard taken seriously!

Subject: RE: BS: The Death of Prince Leopold
From: Little Hawk
Date: 12 Oct 04 - 07:18 PM

Really? I must look that up. Thanks for the tip.

Subject: Lyr Add: IN THE BLEAK MIDWINTER (Rosetti)
From: Little Hawk
Date: 12 Oct 04 - 07:28 PM

In The Bleak Midwinter (by Christina Georgina Rosetti)

In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter, long ago.

Our God, heaven cannot hold Him, nor earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall flee away when He comes to reign.
In the bleak midwinter a stable place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ.

Enough for Him, Whom cherubim, worship night and day,
Breastful of milk, and a mangerful of hay;
Enough for Him, Whom angels fall before,
The ox and ass and camel which adore.

Angels and archangels may have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim thronged the air;
But His mother only, in her maiden bliss,
Worshipped the beloved with a kiss.

What can I give Him, poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;
If I were a Wise Man, I would do my part;
Yet what I can I give Him: give my heart.


******
Rossetti came from a well known literary and artistic family. Her father, Gabriele Rossetti, in political exile in England, was a professor of Italian at King's College in London. Her brothers Dante Gabriel and William Michael were among the founders of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, which gave birth to the 19th Century English art movement of the same name. The Pre-Raphaelites, for whom Christina was a frequent model, also included Edward Burne-Jones, William Holman Hunt, Ford Madox Brown, John Everett Millais, William Morris, John Ruskin and James McNeill Whistler. Her family friends included Charles Dodgson (better known by his pseudonym Lewis Carroll), author of Alice in Wonderland.

Rossetti published three books of poetry (mostly religious), and four books of devotions.

Subject: RE: BS: The Death of Prince Leopold
From: Chris Green
Date: 13 Oct 04 - 12:31 PM

We used to have a variation on the last stanza which referred to our school cook, who kept mispronouncing the name of a well-known Italian dish.

What can I give them, poor as I am?
If I thought they'd eat it, I would give them spam
Lumpy spuds and pork fat with cauliflower cheese
I know what I'll give them - spaghetti bolog-neeze!