Shapes of Clay

PSYCHOGRAPHS.

  Says Gerald Massey: 'When I write, a band
  Of souls of the departed guides my hand.'
  How strange that poems cumbering our shelves,
  Penned by immortal parts, have none themselves!

TO A PROFESSIONAL EULOGIST.

  Newman, in you two parasites combine:
  As tapeworm and as graveworm too you shine.
  When on the virtues of the quick you've dwelt,
  The pride of residence was all you felt
  (What vain vulgarian the wish ne'er knew
  To paint his lodging a flamboyant hue?)
  And when the praises of the dead you've sung,
  'Twas appetite, not truth, inspired your tongue;
  As ill-bred men when warming to their wine
  Boast of its merit though it be but brine.
  Nor gratitude incites your song, nor should—
  Even charity would shun you if she could.
  You share, 'tis true, the rich man's daily dole,
  But what you get you take by way of toll.
  Vain to resist you—vermifuge alone
  Has power to push you from your robber throne.
  When to escape you he's compelled to die
  Hey! presto!—in the twinkling of an eye
  You vanish as a tapeworm, reappear
  As graveworm and resume your curst career.
  As host no more, to satisfy your need
  He serves as dinner your unaltered greed.
  O thrifty sycophant of wealth and fame,
  Son of servility and priest of shame,
  While naught your mad ambition can abate
  To lick the spittle of the rich and great;
  While still like smoke your eulogies arise
  To soot your heroes and inflame our eyes;
  While still with holy oil, like that which ran
  Down Aaron's beard, you smear each famous man,
  I cannot choose but think it very odd
  It ne'er occurs to you to fawn on God.

FOR WOUNDS.

  O bear me, gods, to some enchanted isle
  Where woman's tears can antidote her smile.

ELECTION DAY.

  Despots effete upon tottering thrones
  Unsteadily poised upon dead men's bones,
  Walk up! walk up! the circus is free,
  And this wonderful spectacle you shall see:
  Millions of voters who mostly are fools—
  Demagogues' dupes and candidates' tools,
  Armies of uniformed mountebanks,
  And braying disciples of brainless cranks.
  Many a week they've bellowed like beeves,
  Bitterly blackguarding, lying like thieves,
  Libeling freely the quick and the dead
  And painting the New Jerusalem red.
  Tyrants monarchical—emperors, kings,
  Princes and nobles and all such things—
  Noblemen, gentlemen, step this way:
  There's nothing, the Devil excepted, to pay,
  And the freaks and curios here to be seen
  Are very uncommonly grand and serene.
  No more with vivacity they debate,
  Nor cheerfully crack the illogical pate;
  No longer, the dull understanding to aid,
  The stomach accepts the instructive blade,
  Nor the stubborn heart learns what is what
  From a revelation of rabbit-shot;
  And vilification's flames—behold!
  Burn with a bickering faint and cold.
  Magnificent spectacle!—every tongue
  Suddenly civil that yesterday rung
  (Like a clapper beating a brazen bell)