Version of W.M.  Thackeray.

FORTUNE

Rap! rap!—­Is that my lass—­
Rap! rap!—­is rapping there? 
It is Fortune.  Let her pass! 
I’ll not open the door to her. 
Rap! rap!—­

All of my friends are making gay
My little room, with lips wine-wet: 
We only wait for you, Lisette! 
Fortune! you may go your way. 
Rap! rap!—­

If we might credit half her boast,
What wonders gold has in its gift! 
Well, we have twenty bottles left
And still some credit with our host. 
Rap! rap!—­

Her pearls, and rubies too, she quotes,
And mantles more than sumptuous: 
Lord! but the purple’s naught to us,—­
We’re just now taking off our coats. 
Rap! rap!—­

She treats us as the rawest youths,
With talk of genius and of fame: 
Thank calumny, alas, for shame! 
Our faith is spoiled in laurel growths. 
Rap! rap!—­

Far from our pleasures, we care not
Her highest heavens to attain;
She fills her big balloons in vain
Till we have swamped our little boat. 
Rap! rap!—­

Yet all our neighbors crowd to be
Within her ring of promises,
Ah! surely, friends! our mistresses
Will cheat us more agreeably. 
Rap! rap!—­

THE PEOPLE’S REMINISCENCES

(LES SOUVENIRS DU PEUPLE)

Ay, many a day the straw-thatched cot
Shall echo with his glory! 
The humblest shed, these fifty years,
Shall know no other story. 
There shall the idle villagers
To some old dame resort,
And beg her with those good old tales
To make their evenings short. 
“What though they say he did us harm? 
Our love this cannot dim;
Come, granny, talk of him to us;
Come, granny, talk of him.”

     “Well, children—­with a train of kings,
       Once he passed by this spot;
     ’Twas long ago; I had but just
       Begun to boil the pot. 
     On foot he climbed the hill, whereon
       I watched him on his way: 
     He wore a small three-cornered hat;
       His overcoat was gray. 
     I was half frightened till he said
       ‘Good day, my dear!’ to me.” 
     “O granny, granny, did he speak? 
       What, granny! you and he?”

     “Next year, as I, poor soul, by chance
       Through Paris strolled one day,
     I saw him taking, with his court,
       To Notre Dame his way. 
     The crowd were charmed with such a show;
       Their hearts were filled with pride: 
     ’What splendid weather for the fete! 
       Heaven favors him!’ they cried. 
     Softly he smiled, for God had given
       To his fond arms a boy.” 
     “Oh, how much joy you must have felt! 
       O granny, how much joy!”