The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes Part 16

The bruit de rape and the bruit de scie And the bruit de diable are all combined; How happy Bouillaud would be, If he a case like this could find!

Now, when the neighboring doctors found A case so rare had been descried, They every day her ribs did pound In squads of twenty; so she died.

Then six young damsels, slight and frail, Received this kind young doctor's cares; They all were getting slim and pale, And short of breath on mounting stairs.

They all made rhymes with "sighs" and "skies,"

And loathed their puddings and b.u.t.tered rolls, And dieted, much to their friends' surprise, On pickles and pencils and chalk and coals.

So fast their little hearts did bound, The frightened insects buzzed the more; So over all their chests he found The rale sifflant and the rale sonore.

He shook his head. There's grave disease,-- I greatly fear you all must die; A slight post-mortem, if you please, Surviving friends would gratify.

The six young damsels wept aloud, Which so prevailed on six young men That each his honest love avowed, Whereat they all got well again.

This poor young man was all aghast; The price of stethoscopes came down; And so he was reduced at last To practise in a country town.

The doctors being very sore, A stethoscope they did devise That had a rammer to clear the bore, With a k.n.o.b at the end to kill the flies.

Now use your ears, all you that can, But don't forget to mind your eyes, Or you may be cheated, like this young man, By a couple of silly, abnormal flies.

EXTRACTS FROM A MEDICAL POEM

THE STABILITY OF SCIENCE

THE feeble sea-birds, blinded in the storms, On some tall lighthouse dash their little forms, And the rude granite scatters for their pains Those small deposits that were meant for brains.

Yet the proud fabric in the morning's sun Stands all unconscious of the mischief done; Still the red beacon pours its evening rays For the lost pilot with as full a blaze,-- Nay, s.h.i.+nes, all radiance, o'er the scattered fleet Of gulls and b.o.o.bies brainless at its feet.

I tell their fate, though courtesy disclaims To call our kind by such ungentle names; Yet, if your rashness bid you vainly dare, Think of their doom, ye simple, and beware.

See where aloft its h.o.a.ry forehead rears The towering pride of twice a thousand years!

Far, far below the vast inc.u.mbent pile Sleeps the gray rock from art's AEgean isle Its ma.s.sive courses, circling as they rise, Swell from the waves to mingle with the skies; There every quarry lends its marble spoil, And cl.u.s.tering ages blend their common toil; The Greek, the Roman, reared its ancient walls, The silent Arab arched its mystic halls; In that fair niche, by countless billows laved, Trace the deep lines that Sydenham engraved; On yon broad front that b.r.e.a.s.t.s the changing swell, Mark where the ponderous sledge of Hunter fell; By that square b.u.t.tress look where Louis stands, The stone yet warm from his uplifted hands; And say, O Science, shall thy life-blood freeze, When fluttering folly flaps on walls like these?

A PORTRAIT

Thoughtful in youth, but not austere in age; Calm, but not cold, and cheerful though a sage; Too true to flatter and too kind to sneer, And only just when seemingly severe; So gently blending courtesy and art That wisdom's lips seemed borrowing friends.h.i.+p's heart.

Taught by the sorrows that his age had known In others' trials to forget his own, As hour by hour his lengthened day declined, A sweeter radiance lingered o'er his mind.

Cold were the lips that spoke his early praise, And hushed the voices of his morning days, Yet the same accents dwelt on every tongue, And love renewing kept him ever young.

A SENTIMENT _O Bios Bpaxus_,--life is but a song; _H rexvn uakpn_,--art is wondrous long; Yet to the wise her paths are ever fair, And Patience smiles, though Genius may despair.

Give us but knowledge, though by slow degrees, And blend our toil with moments bright as these; Let Friends.h.i.+p's accents cheer our doubtful way, And Love's pure planet lend its guiding ray,-- Our tardy Art shall wear an angel's wings, And life shall lengthen with the joy it brings!

A POEM

FOR THE MEETING OF THE AMERICAN MEDICAL a.s.sOCIATION AT NEW YORK, MAY 5, 1853

I HOLD a letter in my hand,-- A flattering letter, more's the pity,-- By some contriving junto planned, And signed _per order of Committee_.

It touches every tenderest spot,-- My patriotic predilections, My well-known-something--don't ask what,-- My poor old songs, my kind affections.

They make a feast on Thursday next, And hope to make the feasters merry; They own they're something more perplexed For poets than for port and sherry.

They want the men of--(word torn out); Our friends will come with anxious faces, (To see our blankets off, no doubt, And trot us out and show our paces.)

They hint that papers by the score Are rather musty kind of rations,-- They don't exactly mean a bore, But only trying to the patience; That such as--you know who I mean-- Distinguished for their--what d' ye call 'em-- Should bring the dews of Hippocrene To sprinkle on the faces solemn.

--The same old story: that's the chaff To catch the birds that sing the ditties; Upon my soul, it makes me laugh To read these letters from Committees!

They're all so loving and so fair,-- All for your sake such kind compunction; 'T would save your carriage half its wear To touch its wheels with such an unction!

Why, who am I, to lift me here And beg such learned folk to listen, To ask a smile, or coax a tear Beneath these stoic lids to glisten?

As well might some arterial thread Ask the whole frame to feel it gus.h.i.+ng, While throbbing fierce from heel to head The vast aortic tide was rus.h.i.+ng.

As well some hair-like nerve might strain To set its special streamlet going, While through the myriad-channelled brain The burning flood of thought was flowing; Or trembling fibre strive to keep The springing haunches gathered shorter, While the scourged racer, leap on leap, Was stretching through the last hot quarter!

Ah me! you take the bud that came Self-sown in your poor garden's borders, And hand it to the stately dame That florists breed for, all she orders.

She thanks you,--it was kindly meant,-- (A pale afair, not worth the keeping,)-- Good morning; and your bud is sent To join the tea-leaves used for sweeping.

Not always so, kind hearts and true,-- For such I know are round me beating; Is not the bud I offer you, Fresh gathered for the hour of meeting, Pale though its outer leaves may be, Rose-red in all its inner petals?-- Where the warm life we cannot see-- The life of love that gave it--settles.

We meet from regions far away, Like rills from distant mountains streaming; The sun is on Francisco's bay, O'er Chesapeake the lighthouse gleaming; While summer girds the still bayou In chains of bloom, her bridal token, Monadnock sees the sky grow blue, His crystal bracelet yet unbroken.

Yet Nature bears the selfsame heart Beneath her russet-mantled bosom As where, with burning lips apart, She breathes and white magnolias blossom; The selfsame founts her chalice fill With showery sunlight running over, On fiery plain and frozen hill, On myrtle-beds and fields of clover.

I give you Home! its crossing lines United in one golden suture, And showing every day that s.h.i.+nes The present growing to the future,-- A flag that bears a hundred stars In one bright ring, with love for centre, Fenced round with white and crimson bars No prowling treason dares to enter!

O brothers, home may be a word To make affection's living treasure, The wave an angel might have stirred, A stagnant pool of selfish pleasure; HOME! It is where the day-star springs And where the evening sun reposes, Where'er the eagle spreads his wings, From northern pines to southern roses!

A SENTIMENT

A TRIPLE health to Friends.h.i.+p, Science, Art, From heads and hands that own a common heart!

Each in its turn the others' willing slave, Each in its season strong to heal and save.

Friends.h.i.+p's blind service, in the hour of need, Wipes the pale face, and lets the victim bleed.

Science must stop to reason and explain; ART claps his finger on the streaming vein.