Shapes of Clay Part 38

Yet time to thee nor peace nor wisdom brings: In blood of citizens and blood of kings The stones of thy stability are set, And the fair fabric trembles at a threat.

THE EASTERN QUESTION.

Looking across the line, the Grecian said: "This border I will stain a Turkey red."

The Moslem smiled securely and replied: "No Greek has ever for his country dyed."

While thus each patriot guarded his frontier, The Powers stole all the country in his rear.

A GUEST.

Death, are you well? I trust you have no cough That's painful or in any way annoying-- No kidney trouble that may carry you off, Or heart disease to keep you from enjoying Your meals--and ours. 'T were very sad indeed To have to quit the busy life you lead.

You've been quite active lately for so old A person, and not very strong-appearing.

I'm apprehensive, somehow, that my bold, Bad brother gave you trouble in the spearing.

And my two friends--I fear, sir, that you ran Quite hard for them, especially the man.

I crave your pardon: 'twas no fault of mine; If you are overworked I'm sorry, very.

Come in, old man, and have a gla.s.s of wine.

What shall it be--Marsala, Port or Sherry?

What! just a mug of blood? That's funny grog To ask a friend for, eh? Well, take it, hog!

A FALSE PROPHECY.

Dom Pedro, Emperor of far Brazil (Whence coffee comes and the three-cornered nut), They say that you're imperially ill, And threatened with paralysis. Tut-tut!

Though Emperors are mortal, nothing but A nimble thunderbolt could catch and kill A man predestined to depart this life By the a.s.sa.s.sin's bullet, bomb or knife.

Sir, once there was a President who freed Ten million slaves; and once there was a Czar Who freed five times as many serfs. Sins breed The means of punishment, and tyrants are Hurled headlong out of the triumphal car If faster than the law allows they speed.

Lincoln and Alexander struck a rut; _You_ freed slaves too. Paralysis--tut-tut!

1885.

TWO TYPES.

Courageous fool!--the peril's strength unknown.

Courageous man!--so conscious of your own.

SOME ANTE-MORTEM EPITAPHS.

STEPHEN DORSEY.

Fly, heedless stranger, from this spot accurst, Where rests in Satan an offender first In point of greatness, as in point of time, Of new-school rascals who proclaim their crime.

Skilled with a frank loquacity to blab The dark arcana of each mighty grab, And famed for lying from his early youth, He sinned secure behind a veil of truth.

Some lock their lips upon their deeds; some write A d.a.m.ning record and conceal from sight; Some, with a l.u.s.t of speaking, die to quell it.

His way to keep a secret was to tell it.

STEPHEN J. FIELD.

Here sleeps one of the greatest students Of jurisprudence.

Nature endowed him with the gift Of the juristhrift.

All points of law alike he threw The dice to settle.

Those honest cubes were loaded true With railway metal.

GENERAL B.F. BUTLER.

Thy flesh to earth, thy soul to G.o.d, We gave, O gallant brother; And o'er thy grave the awkward squad Fired into one another!

Beneath this monument which rears its head.

A giant note of admiration--dead, His life extinguished like a taper's flame.

John Ericsson is lying in his fame.

Behold how ma.s.sive is the lofty shaft; How fine the product of the sculptor's craft; The gold how lavishly applied; the great Man's statue how impressive and sedate!

Think what the cost-was! It would ill become Our modesty to specify the sum; Suffice it that a fair per cent, we're giving Of what we robbed him of when he was living.

Of Corporal Tanner the head and the trunk Are here in unconsecrate ground duly sunk.

His legs in the South claim the patriot's tear, But, stranger, you needn't be blubbering here.

Jay Gould lies here. When he was newly dead He looked so natural that round his bed

The people stood, in silence all, to weep.

They thought, poor souls! that he did only sleep.

Here Ingalls, sorrowing, has laid The tools of his infernal trade-- His pen and tongue. So sharp and rude They grew--so slack in grat.i.tude, His hand was wounded as he wrote, And when he spoke he cut his throat.

Within this humble mausoleum Poor Guiteau's flesh you'll find.