Part 32 (2/2)
It's aye the rabble, And I to gabble, And hey! for the tale that is never done.
”Chant, chant, chant!
To woo the reluctant vote.
I would I were dead And my say were said And my song were sung to its ultimate note.
”Stab, stab, stab!
Ah! the weapon between my teeth-- I'm sick of the flash of it; See how the slash of it Misses the foeman to mangle the sheath!
”Boom, boom, boom!
I'm beating the mammoth drum.
My nethermost tripes I blow into the pipes-- It's oh! for the honors that never come!”
'Twas the dolorous blab Of a tramping ”scab”-- 'Twas the eloquent Swift Of the marvelous gift-- The wild, weird, wonderful gift of gab!
IGNIS FATUUS
Weep, weep, each loyal partisan, For Buckley, king of hearts; A most accomplished man; a man Of parts--of foreign parts.
Long years he ruled with gentle sway, Nor grew his glory dim; And he would be with us to-day If we were but with him.
Men wondered at his going off In such a sudden way; 'Twas thought, as he had come to scoff He would remain to prey.
Since he is gone we're all agreed That he is what men call A crook: his very steps, indeed, Are bent--to Montreal.
So let our tears unhindered flow, Our sighs and groans have way: It matters not how much we Oh!-- The devil is to pay.
FROM TOP TO BOTTOM
[j.a.pan has 73,759 Buddhist priests, ”most of whom,” says a Christian missionary, ”are grossly ignorant, and many of them lead scandalous lives.”]
O Buddha, had you but foreknown The vices of your priesthood It would have made you twist and moan As any wounded beast would.
You would have d.a.m.ned the entire lot And turned a Christian, would you not?
There were no Christians, I'll allow, In your day; that would only Have brought distinction. Even now A Christian might feel lonely.
All take the name, but facts are things As stubborn as the will of kings.
The priests were ignorant and low When ridiculed by Lucian; The records, could we read, might show The same of times Confucian.
And yet the fact I can't disguise That Deacon Rankin's good and wise.
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