Each fair reputation's eternal knell; Hands no longer delivering blows, And noses, for counting, arrayed in rows. Walk up, gentlemen—nothing to pay— The Devil goes back to Hell to-day.
THE MILITIAMAN.
'O warrior with the burnished arms— With bullion cord and tassel— Pray tell me of the lurid charms Of service and the fierce alarms: The storming of the castle, The charge across the smoking field, The rifles' busy rattle— What thoughts inspire the men who wield The blade—their gallant souls how steeled And fortified in battle.' 'Nay, man of peace, seek not to know War's baleful fascination— The soldier's hunger for the foe, His dread of safety, joy to go To court annihilation. Though calling bugles blow not now, Nor drums begin to beat yet, One fear unmans me, I'll allow, And poisons all my pleasure: How If I should get my feet wet!'
'A LITERARY METHOD.'
His poems Riley says that he indites Upon an empty stomach. Heavenly Powers, Feed him throat-full: for what the beggar writes Upon his empty stomach empties ours!
A WELCOME.
Because you call yourself Knights Templar, and There's neither Knight nor Temple in the land,— Because you thus by vain pretense degrade To paltry purposes traditions grand,— Because to cheat the ignorant you say The thing that's not, elated still to sway The crass credulity of gaping fools And women by fantastical display,— Because no sacred fires did ever warm Your hearts, high knightly service to perform— A woman's breast or coffer of a man The only citadel you dare to storm,— Because while railing still at lord and peer, At pomp and fuss-and-feathers while you jeer, Each member of your order tries to graft A peacock's tail upon his barren rear,— Because that all these things are thus and so, I bid you welcome to our city. Lo! You're free to come, and free to stay, and free As soon as it shall please you, sirs—to go.
A SERENADE.
'Sas agapo sas agapo,' He sang beneath her lattice. ''Sas agapo'?' she murmured—'O, I wonder, now, what that is!' Was she less fair that she did bear So light a load of knowledge? Are loving looks got out of books, Or kisses taught in college? Of woman's lore give me no more Than how to love,—in many A tongue men brawl: she speaks them all Who says 'I love,' in any.
