« PředchozíPokračovat »
WAS growin' dark so terrible fasht,
Be jabbers !"
Be jabbers !"
Be jabbers !"
“Whisht a bit," said an owld man, whose hair was white As the shnow that fell down on that miserable night ; “Shure ye'll fall in the wather, me bit of a lad, Fur the night is so dark and the walkin' is bad ” Bedad ! he'd not lisht to a word that was said, But he'd go to the top, if he went on his head,
Be jabbers ! A bright, buxom young girl, such as likes to be kissed, Axed him wouldn'he stop, and how could he resist ? So shnapping his fingers and winking his eye, While shmiling upon her, he made this reply“ Faith, I meant to kape on till I got to the top, But, as yer shwate self axed me, I may as well shtop,
Be jabbers !" He shtopped all night and he shtopped all dayAnd ye mustn't be axin whin he did go away ; Fur wouldn't he be a bastely gossoon To be lavin his darlint in the swate honeymoon ? Whin the owld man has praties enough and to spare, Shure he might as well shtay if he's comfortable, there Be jabbers !
"HE heart of man, walk it which way it will,
Sequestered or frequented, smooth or rough, Down the deep valley amongst tinkling flocks, Or 'mid the clang of trumpets and the march Of clattering ordnance, still must have its halt,
Its hour of truce, its instant of repose,
SPARROW caught upon a tree
The plumpest fly; all, all unheeded Were struggles, cries, and agony,
As for his life the victim pleaded. “Nay," quoth the sparrow,
you must die, For you are not so strong as I." A hawk surprised him at his meal
And in a trice poor Sparrow spitted ; In vain he gasped his last appeal :
“What crime, Sir Hawk, have I committed ?" “Peace," quoth the captor ; "you must die, For you are not so strong as I.”
Down swooped an eagle, who had spied
With grim delight the state of matters ; “Release me, king," the victim cried,
“ You tear my very flesh to tatters." “Nay," quoth the eagle, "you must die, For you are not so strong as I." A bullet whistled at the word,
And struck him ere his feast was ended; “Ah, tyrant !” shrieked the dying bird,
“To murder him who ne'er offended !" “Oh," quoth the sportsman, "you must die, For you are not so strong as I."
Or do they, blended in a gracious breath,
Pervade the atmosphere of common life, Softening the terror of the doom of death,
Lulling the fret and fever of the strise ? Who knows, who knows ? Our darlings from us glide;
Imploring clasp and passionate prayer are vain ; Our trust betrayed, missed aim, or shattered pride,
The great dumb river sweeps them to the main. And yet, for something every gift is given,
Through age on age, so priest and poet saith, Cling fast, fond hands; look up, true eyes to heaven; Through dusk and doubt hold to the saving faith!
Are they stored up in some great solemn bank,
Where time holds for eternity the key?
May sleep, enshrined beneath the sleeping sea ?
7 be Fire-Fiend.
IN the deepest dearth of midnight, while the sad and
solemn swell Still was floating, faintly echoed from the Forest chapel
bellFainting, falteringly floating o'er the sable waves of air That were through the midnight rolling, chafcd and
billowy with the tollingIn my chamber I lay dreaming by the firelight's fitful
gleaming, And my dreams were dreams foreshadowed on a heart
How I revel on the prairie! How I roar among the
pines! How I laugh when from the village o'er the snow the
red flame shines, And I hear the shrieks of terror, with a life in every
breath! How I scream with lambent laughter as I hurl each crackling rafter
[higher! Down the fell abyss of fire, until higher! higher! Leap the high priests of my altar in their merry dance Seemed to gibe and grin this phantom when in terror I
fore-doomed to care !
awoke, And my slumberous eyelids straining, as I staggered to
the floor, Still in that dread vision seeming, turned my gaze
toward the gleaming Hearth, and—there!-oh, God! I saw it! and from out
its flaming jaw it Spat a ceaseless, seething, hissing, bubbling, gurgling
stream of gore!
"I am monarch of the fire! I am vassal-king of death! World-encircling, with the shadow of its doom upon
my breath! With the symbol of hereafter flaming from my fatal
face! I command the eternal fire! Higher! higher! higher!
higher! Leap my ministering demons, like phantasmagoric
lemans Hugging universal nature in their hideous embrace!" Then a somber silence shut me in a solemn, shrouded
sleep, And I slumbered, like an infant in the “Cradle of the
Deep,” Till the belfry in the forest quivered with the matin
stroke, And the martins, from the edges of its lichen-lidded
ledges, Shimmered through the russet arches where the light in
torn files marches, Like a routed army struggling through the serried ranks
Speechless, struck with stony silence, frozen to the
floor I stood, Till methought the brain was hissing with that hissing,
bubbling blood: Till I felt my life-stream oozing, oozing from those
lambent lips: Till the demon seemed to name me: then a wondrous
calm o'ercame me, And my brow grew cold and dewy, with a death damp
stiff and gluey, And I fell back on my pillow in apparent soul eclipse!
Then, as in death's seeming shadow, in the icy pall of
fear I lay stricken, came a hoarse and hideous murmur to
Through my ivy casement filtered in a tremulous note From the tall and stately linden where a robin swelled
his throat: Querulous, quaker-crested robin, calling quaintly for
his mate! Then I started up, unbidden, from my slumber night
mare ridden, With the memory of that dire demon in my central fire, On my eye's interior mirror like the shadow of a fate! As the last long lingering echo of the midnight's mys
tic chimeLifting through the sable billows to the thither shore of
timeLeaving on the starless silence not a token nor a trace, In a quivering sigh departed; from my couch in fear I
started: Started to my feet in terror, for my dreams phantasmal
Came a murmur like the murmur of assassins in their
sleep: Muttering, “Higher! higher! higher! I am demon of
the fire! I am arch-fiend of the fire! and each blazing roof's my
pyre, And my sweetest incense is the blood and tears my vic
Ah! the fiendish fire had smoldered to a white and
formless heap And no knot of oak was flaming as it flamed upon my sleep;
[shone, But around its very center where the demon's face had Forked shadows seemed to linger, pointing as with a
spectral finger To a Bible, massive golden, on a table carved and
oldenAnd I bowed and said, "All power is of God, of God alone."
-C. D Gardette,
Painted in the fitful fire, a frightful, fiendish, flaming
On the red hearth's reddest center, from a blazing knot