MY ALPENSTOCK by HENRY GLASSFORD BELL

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 Tete 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.

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