The Poets and Poetry of Cecil County, Maryland. Various

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ Some dressed the vine, some plow’d the ocean’s wave;

       Some wrote, were orators, or teachers grave.

      They were Republicans, in fact;

       The Persians might have called them “black

       Republicans;” they never lacked

       The power to beat a foeman back.

       Thermopylæ, so famed in Grecian story

       Is but another name for martial glory.

      A busy hive to work or fight,

       Like our New England bold and strong;

       A little frantic for the right,

       As sternly set against the wrong;

       And when for right they drew the sword, we know,

       Stopped not to count the number of the foe.

      To me it is a painful sight

       To see a nation great and good

       Reduced to such a sorry plight,

       And courtiers crawl where freemen stood,

       And king and priests combine to seize the spoil,

       While widows weep and beggar’d yeomen toil.

      The philosophic mind might dwell

       Upon this subject for an age:

       The philanthropic heart might swell

       Till tears as ink would wet the page;

       The mystery, a myst’ry will remain—

       The learning of the learned cannot explain.

      The Persians were a gaudy race,

       Much giv’n to dress and grand display;

       I’m grieved to note this is the case

       With other people at this day;

       And folks are judged of from outside attractions,

       Instead of from good sense and genteel actions.

      The dame in question was a type

       Of all her class; handsome and rich

       And proud, of course, and flashing like

       A starry constellation, which

       She was, in fact a moving mass of light

       From jewels which outshone the stars at night.

      The tale is somewhat out of joint—

       I’m not much given to complain;

       ’Tis in a most essential point

       A blank; I’ve read it oft in vain

       To find one syllable about her size,

       The color of her hair, or of her eyes.

      Or whether she was short or tall,

       Or if she sung or play’d with grace,

       If she wore hoops or waterfall

       I cannot find a single trace

       Of proof; and as I like to be precise,

       My disappointment equals my surprise.

      This Persian belle; (confound the belle)

       Excuse me, please; I won’t be rude;

       She’s in my way, so I can’t tell

       My tale, so much does she intrude;

       I wish I knew her age, and whether she

       Was single, married, or engaged to be.

      These are important facts to know,

       I wonder how they slipped the pen

       Of him who wrote the story, so

       I wonder at the taste of men

       Who wrote for future ages thus to spoil

       A tale to save time, paper, ink or oil.

      Our Persian lady, as I said,

       Decked out in costly jewels rare,

       A visit to a Grecian made—

       A lady of great worth, and fair

       To look upon, of great domestic merit

       Which from a noble race she did inherit.

      Puffed up with vanity and pride,

       The Persian flashing like a gem,

       Displayed her brilliants, glittering wide;

       The Grecian coldly looked at them:

       “Have you no jewelry at all, to wear?

       Your dress and person look so poor and bare.”

      She called her children to her side,

       Seven stalwart sons of martial mien;

       “These are my jewels,” she replied,

       “I’m richer far than you, I ween:

       These are the glory and the strength of Greece,

       Which all the gems on earth would not increase,”

      Let others shine in diamonds bright,

       Or hoard their greenbacks, bonds or gold,

       You have your jewels in your sight,

       And hearing, like the matron old;

       And should they still continue to increase,

       You’ll beat the model mother of old Greece.

      Then hail Columbia, happy land!

       While California yields her ore,

       May you increase your jewel band,

       By adding every year one more;

       And when you’re asked your jewels to display.

       Point to your score of sons saying “these are they.”

The Market-Man’s License,

       СКАЧАТЬ