Little Oliver
by
EARL JOYCE he was a kind old party
Whom nothing ever could put out,
Though eighty-two, he still was hearty,
Excepting as regarded gout.
He had one unexampled daughter,
The LADY MINNIE-HAHA JOYCE,
Fair MINNIE-HAHA, “Laughing Water,”
So called from her melodious voice.
By Nature planned for lover-capture,
Her beauty every heart assailed;
The good old nobleman with rapture
Observed how widely she prevailed
Aloof from all the lordly flockings
Of titled swells who worshipped her,
There stood, in pumps and cotton stockings,
One humble lover–OLIVER.
He was no peer by Fortune petted,
His name recalled no bygone age;
He was no lordling coronetted–
Alas! he was a simple page!
With vain appeals he never bored her,
But stood in silent sorrow by–
He knew how fondly he adored her,
And knew, alas! how hopelessly!
Well grounded by a village tutor
In languages alive and past,
He’d say unto himself, “Knee-suitor,
Oh, do not go beyond your last!”
But though his name could boast no handle,
He could not every hope resign;
As moths will hover round a candle,
So hovered he about her shrine.
The brilliant candle dazed the moth well:
One day she sang to her Papa
The air that MARIE sings with BOTHWELL
In NEIDERMEYER’S opera.
(Therein a stable boy, it’s stated,
Devoutly loved a noble dame,
Who ardently reciprocated
His rather injudicious flame.)
And then, before the piano closing
(He listened coyly at the door),
She sang a song of her composing–
I give one verse from half a score: