The Plum-Pudding Dream

I dreamed a dream on Christmas Night
Of a Hero stout and bold,
A gallant little English Lad,
Who captured a pirates' Hold;
He captured the Hold! he slew the Chief,
And loaded his Ship with gold.

He shipped the Gold, and shaped a Course
For the gory Spanish Main;
Boarded the Plate-ship, sword in teeth,
And hauled down the flag of Spain;
The proud Dons promptly walked the Plank,
As the dream cruised on again.

The dream cruised thro' a dark Forest
Whereout there came a scream:
"St. George!" the Hero cried, "St. George!"
And quick his Sword did gleam;
Six Paynims died, the Maid was saved,
Then onward went the dream.

The dream went on with Helm a-port,
Till it struck an Indian trail;
The Hero said; "I'll have their Scalps,
Sure as a ninepenny Nail";
He had their Scalps in Dead Man's gulch,
And again the dream set sail.

The dream set sail with Helm a-lee,
Till the French fleet hove in sight;
Ten thousand line-of-battle Ships
On a bowline, cleared for fight;
"I'll sink the lot," the Hero cried;
So he sank the lot all right.

And still the Hero cruised and cruised
Where Gold and Fights were rife;
With Spear and Gun, with Axe and Sword
Men sought that Hero's life;
Yet Home he came, all Scars and Fame,
And wedded the usual Wife.

On Christmas Night I dreamed that dream;
But when the Morning came
No single word of it was True,
Which was a jolly shame;
For everything that Hero did
I could have done the same!