Part 27 (2/2)

'Twas neatly said: ”He'll get not even a stone instead.”

The years rolled round: His humble mound Sank to the level of the ground; And men forgot That the bare spot Was like (and was) the beggar's lot.

Forgotten, too, Was t'other, who Had reared the monument to woo Inconstant Fame, Though still his name Shouted in granite just the same.

That name, I swear, They both did bear The beggar and the millionaire.

That lofty tomb, Then, honored--whom?

For argument here's ample room.

I'll not debate, But only state The scamp first claimed it at the Gate.

St. Peter, proud To serve him, bowed And showed him to the softest cloud.

DISAPPOINTMENT

The Senate woke; the Chairman's snore Was stilled, its echoes balking; The startled members dreamed no more, For Steele, who long had held the floor, Had suddenly ceased talking.

As, like Elijah, in his pride, He to his seat was pa.s.sing, ”Go up thou baldhead!” Reddy cried.

Then six fierce bears ensued and tried To sunder him for ”sa.s.sing.”

Two seized his legs, and one his head, The fourth his trunk, to munch on; The fifth preferred an arm instead; The last, with rueful visage, said: ”Pray what have _I_ for luncheon?”

Then to that disappointed bear Said Steele, serene and chipper, ”My friend, you shall not lack your share: Look in the Treasury, and there You'll find his other flipper.”

THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF THEFT

In fair Yosemite, that den of thieves Wherein the minions of the moon divide The travelers' purses, lo! the Devil grieves, His larger share as leader still denied.

El Capitan, foreseeing that _his_ reign May be disputed too, beclouds his head.

The joyous Bridal Veil is torn in twain And the crepe steamer dangles there instead.

The Vernal Fall abates her pleasant speed And hesitates to take the final plunge, For rumors reach her that another greed Awaits her in the Valley of the Sponge.

The Brothers envy the accord of mind And peace of purpose (by the good deplored As honor among Commissioners) which bind That confraternity of crime, the Board.

The Half-Dome bows its riven face to weep, But not, as formerly, because bereft: Prophetic dreams afflict him when asleep Of losing his remaining half by theft.

Ambitious knaves! has not the upper sod Enough of room for every crime that crawls But you must loot the Palaces of G.o.d And daub your filthy names upon the walls?

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