Classic Poem

SPIRIT

I'm not a judge, I own; in short,
Religion may not be my forte.
The Church of England I belong to,
But think Dissenters not far wrong too;
They're vulgar dogs; but for his creed
I hold that no man will be d — — d.
My Establishment I much respect,
Her ordinances don't neglect;
Attend at Church on Sunday once,
And in the Prayer-book am no dunce;
Baptise my babies; nay, my wife
Would be churched too once in her life
She's taken, I regret to state,
Rather a Puseyite turn of late.
To set the thing quite right, I went
At Easter to the Sacrament.
'Tis proper once a year or so
To do the civil thing and show ÔÇô
But come and listen in your turn
And you shall hear and mark and learn.

" There is no God," the wicked saith,
" And truly it's a blessing,
For what he might have done with us
It's better only guessing."

" There is no God," a youngster thinks,
" Or really, if there may be,
He surely didn't mean a man
Always to be a baby."

" There is no God, or if there is,"
The tradesman thinks, " 'twere funny
If he should take it ill in me
To make a little money."

" Whether there be," the rich man says,
" It matters very little,
For I and mine, thank somebody,
Are not in want of victual."

Some others, also, to themselves
Who scarce so much as doubt it,
Think there is none, when they are well,
And do not think about it.

But country folks who live beneath
The shadow of the steeple;
The parson and the parson's wife,
And mostly married people;

Youths green and happy in first love,
So thankful for illusion;
And men caught out in what the world
Calls guilt, in first confusion;

And almost every one when age,
Disease, or sorrows strike him,
Inclines to think there is a God,
Or something very like Him.

But eccoci! with our barchetta ,
Here at the Sant' Elisabetta.

DIPSYCHUS

Vineyards and maize, that's pleasant for sore eyes.

SPIRIT

And on the island's other side,
The place where Murray's faithful Guide
Informs us Byron used to ride.

DIPSYCHUS

These trellised vines! enchanting! Sandhills, ho!
The sea, at last the sea ÔÇô the real broad sea ÔÇô
Beautiful! and a glorious breeze upon it.

SPIRIT

Look back; one catches at this station
Lagoon and sea in combination.

DIPSYCHUS

On her still lake the city sits,
Where bark and boat about her flits,
Nor dreams, her soft siesta taking,
Of Adriatic billows breaking.
I do; and see and hear them. Come! to the sea!

SPIRIT

The wind I think is the sirocco .
Yonder, I take it, is Malmocco.
Thank you! it never was my passion
To skip o'er sand-hills in that fashion.

DIPSYCHUS

Oh, a grand surge! we'll bathe; quick, quick! undress!
Quick, quick! in, in!
We'll take the crested billows by their backs
And shake them. Quick! in, in!
And I will taste again the old joy
I gloried in so when a boy.

SPIRIT

Well; but it's not so pleasant for the feet;
We should have brought some towels and a sheet.

DIPSYCHUS

In, in! I go. Ye great winds blow,
And break, thou curly waves, upon my breast.

SPIRIT

Hm! I'm undressing. Doubtless all is well ÔÇô
I only wish these thistles were at hell.
By heaven, I'll stop before that bad yet worse is,
And take care of our watches ÔÇô and our purses.

DIPSYCHUS

Aha! come, come ÔÇô great waters, roll!
Accept me, take me, body and soul! ÔÇô
Aha!

SPIRIT

Come, no more of that stuff,
I'm sure you've stayed in long enough.

DIPSYCHUS

That's done me good. It grieves me though
I never came here long ago.

SPIRIT

Pleasant perhaps. However, no offence,
Animal spirits are not common sense.
You think perhaps I have outworn them ÔÇô
Certainly I have learnt to scorn them;
They're good enough as an assistance,
But in themselves a poor existence.
But you ÔÇô with this one bathe, no doubt,
Have solved all questions out and out.
'Tis Easter Day, and on the Lido
Lo, Christ the Lord is risen indeed, O!