On Taking a Fly out of a Basin of Water

This post is a comment received on my doggerel poetry. Thanks to David for posting this!

If anyone reading knows who wrote it, please let me know!

I do like to see someone having fun with not-so-bad verse…!! And thank you for liking my own attampts to open English eyes to Ronsard.

Unable to provide poetry of my own, & being unable to think where to post the following on my own blog, I thought this ‘doggerel page might be a good place to share with you & others this neglected contribution to English literature… I found it in one of those marvellous weekly magazines which the 19th century seems thronged with: in this case a magazine I’d not previously heard of, The Gleaner – issue no.14, July 30 1823. I hope you might find it a fitting companion to your own enjoyable poetry in the doggerel form!

On Taking a Fly out of a Basin of Water

In yonder vase behold that drowning fly,
Its little feet how vainly does it ply;
Its cries I hear not, tho’ it loudly cries,
And gentle hearts can feel its agonies.

Poor helpless victim! and will no one save?
Will no one snatch thee from the threat’ning wave?
Is there no friendly hand – no helper nigh?
And must thou, little struggler, die?

Thou shalt not while this hand can set thee free,
Thou shalt not die, this hand shall rescue thee;
My finger’s tip shall prove a friendly shore,
There, trembler, all thy dangers now are o’er.

Wipe thy wet wings, and banish all thy fear,
Go join thy buzzing brothers in the air;
Away it flies, resumes its harmless play,
And sweetly gambols in the golden ray.

Best wishes – David


The Boat (Doggerel)

I thought I’d do something light and fun. It’s been ages since I wrote doggerel (intentionally), so I thought, why not?

The Boat

I will ever enjoy to recall that fair day
‘Mid the birds and the bees we went out in a boat,
We pushed off from the shore with our anchors away
And the River Thames carried us far-off afloat;

How romantic the moment inspires me to shudder
Each sparkle on the sheen-like water as I rowed,
Pulling hard on my oar seeing you at the other,
Floating in a dream ‘neath Dunnings Bridge Street road;

And bobbing along to a dingaling dong
As the church in the graveyard its bell it did ring,
Gulls crowed overhead and the sparrows fled in song
Till the river we to Westminster did bring;

And just out of chance the Archbishop was there
On the banks of the Thames out in front of the Abbey,
So we asked him to wed us right then in a prayer
And the kind vicar agreed we two to marry;

Now its been forty years since we made our vows
And the old boat sank long moons ago,
But the birds and the bees are still flying in clouds
Though its winter right now and all’s covered with snow;

So hark you young lovers who down river go
To be wed by the bishop on river bank’s track,
The current is fast so be warned and know:
It’s nice going down but it’s hell all the way back!

Pierre Auguste Renoir

Pierre Auguste Renoir