Part 25 (1/2)

While an inch of it remains He will noted be for brains, And at last ('twill so befall) Fit to cease to write at all.

THE FYGHTYNGE SEVENTH

It is the gallant Seventh-- It fyghteth faste and free!

G.o.d wot the where it fyghteth I ne desyre to be.

The Gonfalon it flyeth, Seeming a Flayme in Sky; The Bugel loud yblowen is, Which sayeth, Doe and dye!

And (O good Saints defende us Agaynst the Woes of Warr) Drawn Tongues are flas.h.i.+ng deadly To smyte the Foeman sore!

With divers kinds of Riddance The smoaking Earth is wet, And all aflowe to seaward goe The Torrents wide of Sweat!

The Thunder of the Captens, And eke the Shouting, mayketh Such horrid Din the Soule within The boddy of me quayketh!

Who fyghteth the bold Seventh?

What haughty Power defyes?

Their Colonel 'tis they drubben sore, And dammen too his Eyes!

INDICTED

Dear Bruner, once we had a little talk (That is to say, 'twas I did all the talking) About the manner of your moral walk: How devious the trail you made in stalking, On level ground, your law-protected game-- ”Another's Dollar” is, I think, its name.

Your crooked course more recently is not So blamable; for, truly, you have stumbled On evil days; and 'tis your luckless lot To traverse s.p.a.ces (with a spirit humbled, Contrite, dejected and divinely sad) Where, 'tis confessed, the walking's rather bad.

Jordan, the song says, is a road (I thought It was a river) that is hard to travel; And Dublin, if you'd find it, must be sought Along a highway with more rocks than gravel.

In difficulty neither can compete With that wherein you navigate your feet.

As once George Gorham said of Pixley, so I say of you: ”The prison yawns before you, The turnkey stalks behind!” Now will you go?

Or lag, and let that functionary floor you?

To change the metaphor--you seem to be Between Judge Wallace and the deep, deep sea!

OVER THE BORDER

O, justice, you have fled, to dwell In Mexico, unstrangled, Lest you should hang as high as--well, As Haman dangled.

(I know not if his cord he tw.a.n.ged, Or the King proved forgiving.

'Tis hard to think of Haman hanged, And Haymond living.)

Yes, as I said: in mortal fear To Mexico you journeyed; For you were on your trial here, And ill attorneyed.

The Law had long regarded you As an extreme offender.

Religion looked upon you, too, With thoughts untender.

The Press to you was cold as snow, For sin you'd always call so.