Page 12 - Poetry-Whimsy

Elegy on the Death
of a Country Washerwoman

“Has it ever been noticed how many wits have been clergymen?
Sidney Smith, Dean Swift, Robert Hall, and others are familiar
illustrations. Perhaps one of the wittiest men of the present day is
the Rev. Charles Tisdall, of Dublin, Ireland. He is but little known on
this side of the Atlantic, except as an exemplary divine, for his
modesty has, as yet, kept him from publishing. But in social and
literary circles abroad he is well known. We have, before us, a copy of
some verses, sent, by him, to a friend, which are capital in their way;
and they have never before appeared in print.”

(Not) in a country church-yard and (not) by Gray.

Farewell, old friend, for mem’ry ever dear,
Thy toil and labor in this world are o’er,
Let every friend to merit shed a tear,
The faithful Mulligan is now no more!

In humble cot she pass’d a useful life,
Unmindful of the world and all its ills,
A tender mother, a devoted wife,
Perfection—in her doing up of frills.

Oft have I seen her, on a Summer’s day,
Prone o’er her task, unmindful of the heat,
With sleeves tuck’d up, she’d stand and scrub away,
And then on hedges spread her work so neat.

Each closing week, at eve, she took the road,
With caps, chemises, handkerchiefs and frills,
Stockings and vests, in wicker-baskets stow’d,
Pinned to the bundles were—her little bills.

Full many a votary at Fashion’s shrine
Owed half his beauty to her starch and iron,
From gents who sport their shirts of cambric fine
To little boys with collars a la Byron.

One day I chanced to pass her cottage by,
And wondered where its occupant could be,

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