Some men-of-war were in especial favour. A poetical
lament by the Quebec ladies was wafted to the departing officers of H. M.
frigate Inconstant, the words by the Laureate of the period, George
W. Wicksteed, of Ottawa. This effusion includes the names of every vessel
in the fleet in italics, and of several of the officers.
THE LADIES' ADDRESS TO THE INCONSTANTS.
Written by G. W. Wicksteed.
We saw the Hastings hasting off,
And never made a fuss.
The Malabar's departure waked
No malady in us.
We were not piqued to lose the Pique;
Each lady's heart at ease is,
Altho' the Dees are on the seas,
And gone the Hercules - es.
Our parting with the Andromache
Like Hector's not at all is;
Nor are we Washingtons to seek
To capture a Cornwallis.
And no Charybdis ever caught
Our hearts in passion's whirls;
There's not a girl among us all
Has ever fished for Pearls.
The Vestals with their sacred flame
Were not the sparks we wanted;
We've looked Medeas in the face,
And yet were not enchanted.
But when our dear Inconstants go,
Our grief shall know no bounds,
The dance shall have no joy for us,
The song no merry sounds.
All dismal then shall be the waltz,
The dull quadrille as bad,
And wearily we'll hurry through
The joyless galopade.
We'll gaze upon each changeful cloud
As through the air it skims,
We'll think of fickle fortune's wheel,
And fashion's turns and whims -
Sweet emblems of Inconstancy
In each of these we'll find,
And our Inconstants constantly
We'll fondly bear in mind.
And spite of Durham's fetes and balls,
We'll pine and mourn and mope
Our long, long winter season through,
As girls without a Hope.
And when the spring shall come again,
Our hearts, to pleasure dead,
Shall sigh for spring without an S,
And wish for Pring instead.
Unless, indeed, sweet spring with Hope
Those hearts again should bless,
And bring our dear Inconstants back,
And spring without an S.
Quebec, 6th July, 1838.
(From Waifs in Verse, by G. W. Wicksteed, Q.C., Law Clerk, House of
Commons of Canada, 1878.)
To which melting address the "Inconstants," on their way to Britain,
feelingly replied. Our space allows us to insert but a few stanzas of this
poetical lament.
All language fails to tell how much
We value your address,
Or say how deeply we partake
The feelings you express.
Those Hastings are a hasty set,
And left you in a hurry;
Those Malabars are malapert,
And hot as Indian curry.
Be true, and then the breath of May
Shall fill our sails and bring
Our willing steps and eager hearts,
And Spring - and Pring - and Ring.
And each of you for one of ours
Shall change her maiden name,
And as we are all Inconstants, you
Of course will be the same.
Kamouraska, August, 1838.
