PERFECT POETRY.

POLITICAL ECONOMY OF THE GIPSIES.

SONS of witchcraft ! tribe of thieves !
Whom the villager believes
To deal with Satan,
Tell us your customs and your rules : —
Whence came ye to this land of fools
On whom ye fatten !

" Whence do we come?
Whence comes the swallow?
Where does our home lie ?
Try to follow
The wild birds flight,

Speeding from winters rude approach ;
Such homes is ours.
Who dare encroach
Upon our right ?

Prince we have none, nor gipsy throne,
Nor magistrate nor priest we own,
Nor tax nor claim ;
Blithesome we wander, reckless, free ;
And happy two days out of three ;
Who'll say the same ?

Away with church-enactments dismal !
We have no liturgy baptismal
When we are born ;
Save the dance under greenwood tree,
And the glad sound of revelry
With pipe and horn.

At our first entrance on this globe,
Where Falsehood walks in varied robe,
Caprice, and whims,
—Sophist and bigot, heed ye this!—
The swathing bands of prejudice
Bound not our limbs.

Well do we ken the vulgar mind,
Ever to Truth and candour blind,
But led by Cunning ;
What rogue can tolerate a brother ?
Gipsies contend with priests, each other
In tricks outrunning.

Your "towered cities" please us not ;
But give us some secluded spot,
Far from the millions ;
Far from the busy haunts of men,
Rise for the night, in shady glen,
Our dark pavilions.

Soon we are off ; for we can see
Nor pleasure nor philosophy
In fix-ed dwelling ;
Ours is a life, the life of clowns,
Or drones who vegetate in towns,
Far, far excelling.

Paddock and park-fence and inclosure,
We scale with ease and composure ;
'Tis quite delightful !
Such is our empire's mystic charm,
We are the owners of each farm,
More than the rightful.

Great is the folly of the wise,
If on relations he relies,
Or trusts in men ;
" Welcome!" they say, to babes born newly,
But when your life is eked out duly,
" Good evening !" then.

None among us seek to elude,
By empty boast of brotherhood,
Or false affection ;
Give, when we die, our souls to God,
Our body to the grassy sod,
Or "for dissection."

Your noblemen may talk of vassals,
Proud of their trappings and their tassels,
But never heed them ;
Ours is the life of perfect bliss
Freedom is man's best joy, and this
Is PERFECT FREEDOM !''

(From BERANGER, in Fraser's Magazine.)

 

 Sydney Gazette and New South Wales Advertiser (NSW : 1803 - 1842), Saturday 15 August 1835, page 4