In your obdurate soul—if a penny You care for the health of my heart, By performing your undertaking You'll succor that organ from breaking— And spare it for some new smart, As puss does a rat. Do you think it is very becoming, Dear Mat, To deny me my rights evermore And—bless you! if I begin summing Your sins they will make a long score! You never were generous, madam, If you had been Eve and I Adam You'd have given me naught but the core, And little of that. Had I been content with a Titian, A cat By Landseer, a meadow by Claude, No doubt I'd have had your permission To take it—by purchase abroad. But why should I sail o'er the ocean For Landseers and Claudes? I've a notion All's bad that the critics belaud. I wanted a Mat. Presumption's a sin, and I suffer For that: But still you did say that sometime, If I'd pay you enough (here's enougher— That's more than enough) of rhyme You'd paint me a picture. I pay you Hereby in advance; and I pray you Condone, while you can, your crime, And send me a Mat. But if you don't do it I warn you, Dear Mat, I'll raise such a clamor and cry On Parnassus the Muses will scorn you As mocker of poets and fly With bitter complaints to Apollo: 'Her spirit is proud, her heart hollow, Her beauty'—they'll hardly deny, On second thought, that!
THE WEATHER WIGHT.
The way was long, the hill was steep, My footing scarcely I could keep. The night enshrouded me in gloom, I heard the ocean's distant boom— The trampling of the surges vast Was borne upon the rising blast. 'God help the mariner,' I cried, 'Whose ship to-morrow braves the tide!' Then from the impenetrable dark A solemn voice made this remark: 'For this locality—warm, bright; Barometer unchanged; breeze light.' 'Unseen consoler-man,' I cried, 'Whoe'er you are, where'er abide, 'Thanks—but my care is somewhat less For Jack's, than for my own, distress. 'Could I but find a friendly roof, Small odds what weather were aloof. 'For he whose comfort is secure Another's woes can well endure.' 'The latch-string's out,' the voice replied, 'And so's the door—jes' step inside.' Then through the darkness I discerned A hovel, into which I turned. Groping about beneath its thatch, I struck my head and then a match. A candle by that gleam betrayed Soon lent paraffinaceous aid. A pallid, bald and thin old man I saw, who this complaint began: 'Through summer suns and winter snows I sets observin' of my toes. 'I rambles with increasin' pain The path of duty, but in vain. 'Rewards and honors pass me by— No Congress hears this raven cry!' Filled with astonishment, I spoke: 'Thou ancient raven, why this croak? 'With observation of your toes What Congress has to do, Heaven knows! 'And swallow me if e'er I knew That one could sit and ramble too!' To answer me that ancient swain Took up his parable again: 'Through winter snows and summer suns A Weather Bureau here I runs. 'I calls the turn, and can declare Jes' when she'll storm and when she'll fair.
