Shapes of Clay Part 30

DISCRETION.

SHE:

I'm told that men have sometimes got Too confidential, and Have said to one another what They--well, you understand.

I hope I don't offend you, sweet, But are you sure that _you're_ discreet?

HE:

'Tis true, sometimes my friends in wine Their conquests _do_ recall, But none can truly say that mine Are known to him at all.

I never, never talk you o'er-- In truth, I never get the floor.

AN EXILE.

'Tis the census enumerator A-singing all forlorn: It's ho! for the tall potater, And ho! for the cl.u.s.tered corn.

The whiffle-tree bends in the breeze and the fine Large eggs are a-ripening on the vine.

"Some there must be to till the soil And the widow's weeds keep down.

I wasn't cut out for rural toil But they _won't_ let me live in town!

They 're not so many by two or three, As they think, but ah! they 're too many for me."

Thus the census man, bowed down with care, Warbled his wood-note high.

There was blood on his brow and blood in his hair, But he had no blood in his eye.

THE DIVISION SUPERINTENDENT.

Baffled he stands upon the track-- The automatic switches clack.

Where'er he turns his solemn eyes The interlocking signals rise.

The trains, before his visage pale, Glide smoothly by, nor leave the rail.

No splinter-spitted victim he Hears uttering the note high C.

In sorrow deep he hangs his head, A-weary--would that he were dead.

Now suddenly his spirits rise-- A great thought kindles in his eyes.

Hope, like a headlight's vivid glare, Splendors the path of his despair.

His genius s.h.i.+nes, the clouds roll back-- "I'll place obstructions on the track!"

PSYCHOGRAPHS.

Says Gerald Ma.s.sey: "When I write, a band Of souls of the departed guides my hand."

How strange that poems c.u.mbering our shelves, Penned by immortal parts, have none themselves!

TO A PROFESSIONAL EULOGIST.

Newman, in you two parasites combine: As tapeworm and as graveworm too you s.h.i.+ne.

When on the virtues of the quick you've dwelt, The pride of residence was all you felt (What vain vulgarian the wish ne'er knew To paint his lodging a flamboyant hue?) And when the praises of the dead you've sung, 'Twas appet.i.te, not truth, inspired your tongue; As ill-bred men when warming to their wine Boast of its merit though it be but brine.

Nor grat.i.tude incites your song, nor should-- Even charity would shun you if she could.

You share, 'tis true, the rich man's daily dole, But what you get you take by way of toll.

Vain to resist you--vermifuge alone Has power to push you from your robber throne.

When to escape you he's compelled to die Hey! presto!--in the twinkling of an eye You vanish as a tapeworm, reappear As graveworm and resume your curst career.

As host no more, to satisfy your need He serves as dinner your unaltered greed.

O thrifty sycophant of wealth and fame, Son of servility and priest of shame, While naught your mad ambition can abate To lick the spittle of the rich and great; While still like smoke your eulogies arise To soot your heroes and inflame our eyes; While still with holy oil, like that which ran Down Aaron's beard, you smear each famous man, I cannot choose but think it very odd It ne'er occurs to you to fawn on G.o.d.

FOR WOUNDS.

O bear me, G.o.ds, to some enchanted isle Where woman's tears can antidote her smile.

ELECTION DAY.

Despots effete upon tottering thrones Unsteadily poised upon dead men's bones, Walk up! walk up! the circus is free, And this wonderful spectacle you shall see: Millions of voters who mostly are fools-- Demagogues' dupes and candidates' tools, Armies of uniformed mountebanks, And braying disciples of brainless cranks.

Many a week they've bellowed like beeves, Bitterly blackguarding, lying like thieves, Libeling freely the quick and the dead And painting the New Jerusalem red.

Tyrants monarchical--emperors, kings, Princes and n.o.bles and all such things-- n.o.blemen, gentlemen, step this way: There's nothing, the Devil excepted, to pay, And the freaks and curios here to be seen Are very uncommonly grand and serene.

No more with vivacity they debate, Nor cheerfully crack the illogical pate; No longer, the dull understanding to aid, The stomach accepts the instructive blade, Nor the stubborn heart learns what is what From a revelation of rabbit-shot; And vilification's flames--behold!

Burn with a bickering faint and cold.

Magnificent spectacle!--every tongue Suddenly civil that yesterday rung (Like a clapper beating a brazen bell) Each fair reputation's eternal knell; Hands no longer delivering blows, And noses, for counting, arrayed in rows.

Walk up, gentlemen--nothing to pay-- The Devil goes back to h.e.l.l to-day.