BEST of artists! mark for me,
On my trusty alpenstock,
All the proper things, d’ ye see,
Every mountain, every rock:
That when I go home therewith,
Friends may know that I have been
Quite as high as Albert Smith,
Or balloon of Mr. Green.
Mark it with the Righi first;
Some say that ’s an easy hill,
Yet I own the place accurst
Found me at the bottom still.
Then the Brunig, mark it strong,
Truth itself can’t take offence,
All that height I came along,
Rattling in the diligence.
Mark it with the Yungfrau next,
Very few have ventured on her;
That I did not I am vext,
For I meant it, on my honor!
From Martigny by Tête Noir,
Or the Col de Balme they pace;
I said only “au revoir,”
When I saw the kind of place:
But I saw it; therefore paint it,
Paint in letters bold and broad;
’T is a pleasant proverb, ain’t it,
That a wink ’s as good ’s a nod.
Artist, deeply now indent
Scheideck where I played the fool,
Sore and saddle-sick I went
Up and down upon a mule.
Mark the Ghemmi; all confess,
He who has ascended it
Need not talk of breathlessness,
Is for any mountain fit:
I went there and hired my guide,
With a fear I don’t conceal,
But the scheme went all aside,
For a nail ran up my heel.
Mark it lastly with Mont Blanc,
Though it made me gasp and quake,
With a kind of mortal pang,
Just to view it from the lake.
Thanks, my artist! now I go
Back to London with delight,
For my alpenstock will show
What becomes a man of might.
When I take it to my club,
Jones himself will cease to sneer;
Brown will own, the spiteful cub,
That my legs are no small beer.