Ere merriment or anger o'er amazement could prevail; He cut the string that held the stone on that canary's tail. Freed from the weight, that member made a gesture of delight, Then rose until its rigid length was horizontal quite. With lifted head and level ears along his withers laid, Jack sighed, refilled his lungs and then—to put it mildly—brayed! He brayed until the stones were stirred in circumjacent hills, And sleeping women rose and fled, in divers kinds of frills. 'T is said that awful bugle-blast—to make the story brief— Wafted William Perry Peters through the window, like a leaf! Such is the tale. If anything additional occurred 'Tis not set down, though, truly, I remember to have heard That a gentleman named Peters, now residing at Soquel, A considerable distance from the town of Muscatel, Is opposed to education, and to rhetoric, as well.
TO MY LAUNDRESS.
Saponacea, wert thou not so fair I'd curse thee for thy multitude of sins— For sending home my clothes all full of pins— A shirt occasionally that's a snare And a delusion, got, the Lord knows where, The Lord knows why—a sock whose outs and ins None know, nor where it ends nor where begins, And fewer cuffs than ought to be my share. But when I mark thy lilies how they grow, And the red roses of thy ripening charms, I bless the lovelight in thy dark eyes dreaming. I'll never pay thee, but I'd gladly go Into the magic circle of thine arms, Supple and fragrant from repeated steaming.
FAME.
One thousand years I slept beneath the sod, My sleep in 1901 beginning, Then, by the action of some scurvy god Who happened then to recollect my sinning, I was revived and given another inning. On breaking from my grave I saw a crowd— A formless multitude of men and women, Gathered about a ruin. Clamors loud I heard, and curses deep enough to swim in; And, pointing at me, one said: 'Let's put him in.' Then each turned on me with an evil look, As in my ragged shroud I stood and shook. 'Nay, good Posterity,' I cried, 'forbear! If that's a jail I fain would be remaining Outside, for truly I should little care To catch my death of cold. I'm just regaining The life lost long ago by my disdaining To take precautions against draughts like those That, haply, penetrate that cracked and splitting Old structure.' Then an aged wight arose From a chair of state in which he had been sitting, And with preliminary coughing, spitting And wheezing, said: ''T is not a jail, we're sure, Whate'er it may have been when it was newer. ''T was found two centuries ago, o'ergrown With brush and ivy, all undoored, ungated; And in restoring it we found a stone Set here and there in the dilapidated And crumbling frieze, inscribed, in antiquated Big characters, with certain uncouth names, Which we conclude were borne of old by awful Rapscallions guilty of all sinful games— Vagrants engaged in purposes unlawful, And orators less sensible than jawful. So each ten years we add to the long row A name, the most unworthy that we know.' 'But why,' I asked, 'put me in?' He replied: 'You look it'—and the judgment pained me greatly; Right gladly would I then and there have died, But that I'd risen from the grave so lately. But on examining that solemn, stately Old ruin I remarked: 'My friend, you err— The truth of this is just what I expected. This building in its time made quite a stir. I lived (was famous, too) when 't was erected. The names here first inscribed were much respected. This is the Hall of Fame, or I'm a stork, And this goat pasture once was called New York.'
