But sinners still laugh at his talk of the New Jerusalem-ha-ha, te-he! And biting their thumbs at the doughty Don-John— This parson of high degree— They think of the streets of a village they know, Where horses still sink to the knee, Contrasting its muck with the pavement of gold That's laid in the other citee. They think of the sign that still swings, uneffaced By winds from the salt, salt sea, Which tells where he trafficked in tipple, of yore— Don Dunkleton Johnny, D. D. Didymus Dunkleton Doty Don John Still plays on his fiddle—D. D., His lambkins still bleat in full psalmody sweet, And the devil still pitches the key. Communing with Nature. One evening I sat on a heavenward hill, The winds were asleep and all nature was still, Wee children came round me to play at my knee, As my mind floated rudderless over the sea. I put out one hand to caress them, but held With the other my nose, for these cherubim smelled. I cast a few glances upon the old sun; He was red in the face from the race he had run, But he seemed to be doing, for aught I could see, Quite well without any assistance from me. And so I directed my wandering eye Around to the opposite side of the sky, And the rapture that ever with ecstasy thrills Through the heart as the moon rises bright from the hills, Would in this case have been most exceedingly rare, Except for the fact that the moon was not there. But the stars looked right lovingly down in the sea, And, by Jupiter, Venus was winking at me! The gas in the city was flaring up bright, Montgomery Street was resplendent with light; But I did not exactly appear to advance A sentiment proper to that circumstance. So it only remains to explain to the town That a rainstorm came up before I could come down. As the boots I had on were uncommonly thin My fancy leaked out as the water leaked in. Though dampened my ardour, though slackened my strain, I'll 'strike the wild lyre' who sings the sweet rain! Conservatism and Progress. Old Zephyr, dawdling in the West, Looked down upon the sea, Which slept unfretted at his feet, And balanced on its breast a fleet That seemed almost to be Suspended in the middle air, As if a magnet held it there, Eternally at rest. Then, one by one, the ships released Their folded sails, and strove Against the empty calm to press North, South, or West, or East, In vain; the subtle nothingness Was impotent to move. Ten Zephyr laughed aloud to see:— 'No vessel moves except by me, And, heigh-ho! I shall sleep.' But lo! from out the troubled North A tempest strode impatient forth, And trampled white the deep; The sloping ships flew glad away, Laving their heated sides in spray. The West then turned him red with wrath, And to the North he shouted: 'Hold there! How dare you cross my path, As now you are about it?' The North replied with laboured breath— His speed no moment slowing:— 'My friend, you'll never have a path, Unless you take to blowing.' Inter Arma Silent Leges. (An Election Incident.) About the polls the freedmen drew, To vote the freemen down; And merrily their caps up-flew As Grant rode through the town. From votes to staves they next did turn, And beat the freemen down; Full bravely did their valour burn As Grant rode through the town. Then staves for muskets they forsook, And shot the freemen down; Right royally their banners shook As Grant rode through the town. Hail, final triumph of our cause! Hail, chief of mute renown! Grim Magistrate of Silent Laws, A-riding freedom down!
