Classic Poem

as told by

Major J ACK G ENTIAN

Behind a span whose cheery pace
Accorded well with gala trim —
Each harness, in arch triumphal reared,
With festive ribbons fluttering gay;
In Bomba's Naples sallying forth
In season when the vineyards mellow,
Suddenly turning a corner round —
Ha, happy to meet you, Punchinello!

And, merrily there, in license free,
The crowd they caper, droll as he;
While, arch as any, rolled in fun,
Such tatterdemalions, many a one!

We jounced along till, just ahead,
Nor far from shrine in niche of wall,
A stoppage fell. His rug or bed
In midmost way a tumbler spread,
A posturing mountebank withall;
Who, though his stage was out of doors,
Brought down the house in jolly applause.
" Signor, " exclaims my charioteer,
Turning, and reining up, the while
Trying to touch his jaunty hat;
But here, essaying to condense
Such opposite movements into one
Failing, and letting fall his whip,
" His Excellency stops the way! "
His Excellency there, meanwhile —
Reversed in stature, legs aloft,
And hobbling jigs on hands for heels —
Gazed up with blood-shot brow that told
The tension of that nimble play —
Gazed up as martyred Peter might;
And, noting me in landeau-seat
( Milor , there he opined, no doubt)
Brisk somersetted back, and stood
Urbanely bowing, then gave place;
While, tickled at my puzzled plight,
Yet mindful that a move was due,
And knowing me a stranger there,
With one consent the people part
Yielding a passage, and with eyes
Of friendly fun, — how courteous too!
Catching an impulse from their air,
To feet I spring, my beaver doff
And broadcast wave a blithe salute.
In genial way how humorsome
What pleased responses of surprise;
From o'er the Alps, and so polite!
They clap their hands in frank acclaim
Matrons in door-ways nod and smile
From balcony roguish girls laugh out
Or kiss their fingers, rain their nosegays down.
At such a shower — laugh, clap, and flower —
My horses shy, the landeau tilts,
Distractedly the driver pulls.

But I, Jack Gentian, what reck I,
The popular hero, object sole
Of this ovation! — I aver
No viceroy, king, nor emperor,
Panjandrum Grand, conquistador —
Not Caesar's self in car aloft
Triumphal on the Sacred Way,
No, nor young Bacchus through glad Asia borne,
Pelted with grapes, exulted so
As I in hackney-landeau here
Jolting and jouncing thro' the waves
Of confluent commoners who in glee
Good natured past before my prow.