LIBRPRY OF CONGRESS 
 
 I iiiii iiiii iiiii mil iiiii iiiii iiii iiii 
 
 015 988 379 6 ^ 
 
< 
 
 ^-*-c: 
 
 :-i^ 
 
 SAII2T= SATYR? 
 
 PS' 3 3 55 
 
 — ' * .%- 
 
 -^^A*SATIRI0#POEM 
 
 ]0^ 
 
 fBYI0OM||iP^ 
 
 . Mm 
 
 For the cause that needs assistance, 
 For the wrongs that need resistance, 
 For the future in the distance, 
 For the good that men can do." 
 
 Unknown. 
 
r',.,.-;'jM i«^^- 
 

 ^1 
 Koader Pleaso Notice This Before Readinj^ Poem. 
 
 of prefuce, for tietion rend roinaucc. 
 For I'd something more, re:ul As, etc. 
 For nsoiit, re.id I don't. 
 For Thoniiii welling-, rciid Througli, etc. 
 For loftier throne, read as loftier. 
 For strong nature, rend stony nature. 
 Omit lUtle, in seeoJid line fronv bottom. 
 Second line, use (?) after great. 
 'ri)ird line, its merit, for his nieiit. 
 For feels no thrall, read feai's. etc. 
 For maid or nation, read maid or matinn. 
 For gobbled, read garbled. 
 For sonding bau, rend soiinding hag. 
 
 Send Subscriptions with Your Address to Box E, Benmngton, Mich. 
 
18S4. 
 
PREFACE, 
 
 Dear Reader : 
 
 In the following poem I have endeavor- 
 ed to hupress upon the mind of the reader the 
 utter fooUshness. tlie misplaced' confidence, as 
 it were, of that spirit which has been named 
 •'Toadyism'' — placing a mean stigma upon the 
 poor toad, Americans, of all the people in 
 the world, ought not to be "toadies". Yet are 
 we not as a nation steadily drifting into the 
 filthy slop bucket of downright toadyism ? 
 What spirit but that sends such a flock of 
 shameless snobs across the seas every season 
 ai d brings them back to bore and din the ears 
 of their more sensible countrymen with flip- 
 pant stuff about "Yurrup, culchad Yurrip," 
 rasp our sensibilities with lame French and 
 crooked Iralian, and even disgust us with poor 
 apings of the ''Hi's" and the "He's" and the 
 'Hells" of the "Hinglish;" in short, to gen- 
 erally belitttle and belabor everything Ameri- 
 can as "Haboriginal," and laud to the skies 
 everything foreign as 'evenly? With that great 
 misrepresentative of true Americanism, and 
 prince of '•Toadies," Lowell, in London 
 playing the lapdog to the English court in knee 
 breeches and laced roundabouts and a tin 
 sword, in open deflance of the plain and sen- 
 sible laws of his couacry, I blush for our repu- 
 
tation abroad. Yet this narional toadyism, or 
 beggarism.or whatever the reader may b© pleas- 
 ed to term it. is only the outgrowth of that pri- 
 vate spirit of littleness, that low form of idola- 
 try which runs after small individuals, and 
 which is even meaner and more dangerous 
 than the other. And to this spirit yield not 
 only the ignorant rabble, but even clergymen 
 and professors in our public institutions of 
 learning lend themselves not only to howl like 
 mad-men over these little goddies, but to write 
 sounding articles for the press in their praise. 
 Did they always wait for real merit in their ob- 
 jects of silly adoration, the case would at least 
 have a better look, but the vilest blackguard 
 is more apt to be their "Dagon" than the most 
 saintly and gifted, as these seldom pose as 
 idols. 
 
 Choosing this for my theme, I have cited the 
 cases of two idols, one idolized for real merit 
 and one idolized without merit. The first, as 
 will be seen, I have drawn from real life, and 
 while this case admits of much doubt as to the 
 fact of "truilty" or '"not guilty, gentlemen," 
 there is enough probability of guilt as ought 
 to teach us to withhold onr adoration from all 
 men. and that it is weakness and folly to can- 
 onize saints before they are dead. 
 
 As to the other character, SirFitz-Gnu,Ihave 
 drawn him as I know characters do exist, in 
 many insttances drawing for his acts from the 
 same repositories of information that men usu- 
 £.lly draw from, viz., observation, hi^tory, lit- 
 erature, every day life and gossip, in short 
 
everywhere I could find a piece fit for my build- 
 ing I have taken it, and leave to the reader 
 the blessed privilege of having and enjoying 
 his own opinion as to whetlier there be such an 
 individual character or not. 
 
 Should any reader know any one from whose 
 character he is led to suspect that he is the in- 
 dividual designated as Sir Fitz-Guu. in the 
 name of decent morality, give or at least loan 
 him a copy of this poem, and if he destroys it, 
 get arotherand real it to him. Enough copies 
 shall be at hand, if we have to go into a sec- 
 ond edition. 
 
 To any person or persons who may claim 
 for themselves to be aimed at or infringed upon 
 by this character, I can only say "if the coat 
 fits put it on and wear it." as it v;ill probably 
 become you, and no rental will be charged for 
 so fine a garment. As to Sir Fitz-Gnu being a 
 knight, 1 feel that I have made no attack upon 
 the noble order so brought into use. Poetry 
 depends much upon antiquity for many of its 
 charms. Thus the Indian with bis bow and his 
 spear, his moccasins and his eagle featVier, is 
 the true iLdian of fiction, and not he of the U. 
 S. blanket and musket, cow hide boots and 
 cast ofl army cap of to day. Thus I vieemed a 
 knight with a sword, &c., necessary in my 
 poem, and^where conic I so easily pick up a 
 knight "booted and spurred," answering to 
 my modernized purpose as at the market I have 
 drawn upon. True, I took a "vain carpet 
 knight," but it was such a one I sought, and I 
 think lean truthfully say the order is not over- 
 
stocked with such material and cannot suffer 
 from the theft I have made of 
 
 "A vain carpet knight 
 
 Who ill deserves their courteous care," 
 
 "An enemy in the camp." 
 
 My word for it. reader, once such an one be 
 known to the knightly order, the services of 
 the ''Chief Cook" will speedily be called into 
 requisition to hack off those spurs which the 
 kiuij; has buckled upon him. Let each encamp- 
 ment of good Sir Knights look well to its 
 forces if perad venture they harbor not the 
 very knight whose stuffed greaves and hel- 
 met and reversed shield are so ignominiously 
 gibbelted here 
 
 Hoping my effort may not be an entirely fu- 
 tile one. and that all who do me the honor to 
 peruse these lines may feel that they have re- 
 ceived the worth of their investment, I have 
 the honor to subscribe myself, 
 
 Yours humbly. 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
SAINT OR SATYR? 
 
 A SATIRIC POEM 
 
 BY COMET. 
 "A man may smile and smile 
 And be a villain." 
 
 — Shakespeare. 
 
 My boy, the time has couie at la^t, 
 
 When all your boyish weakness past, 
 
 You must, spite of the wind's fierce strife, 
 
 Launch out upon the sea of life ; 
 
 That is to say, you must herea-'ter. 
 
 Sometimes witli tears, sometimes with laughter, 
 
 Cast your own net for your own fi^^h, 
 
 And fill or eujpty your own dish. 
 
 'Tis customary to look wise, 
 
 On such occasions, and advise 
 
 Young men Just .'tarting out like you 
 
 What we ne'er did but they should do; 
 
 But that's all stuff, njoocshine and bother; 
 
 I heard the same from my good father, 
 
 And he from his. and so on back 
 
 To where old Adam flew the track. 
 
 No! spite of all that can be said. 
 
 Young shoulders vvill not bear old heads; 
 
 Life after all is but a Fchool 
 
 Where every "Frtshman" is a fool; 
 
 And not the sharpest will be wise 
 
 Till Old Experience opes his eyes 
 
 With many a thorough application 
 
 Of hazel oil and clipped vacation; 
 
 And even then you'll find it true 
 
 That half the "Soph'mores" "pony" through. 
 
6 SAINT OR SATYR, 
 
 Yet one i^hovt Jpsson I can teach 
 
 Of usefulness within your reach; 
 
 Look at thiy scraw! beneath i^y pen; 
 
 It say?, njy boy, don't WORSHIP MEN ? 
 
 Worship a vvoujan, if yo i will, 
 
 'Tis best you should, but do nor kill 
 
 Your honest self-respf ct, my son, 
 
 By ruiinin-j: after any one 
 
 Who wears a tinseled coat and buttons; 
 
 They're almost always knaves or gluttons. 
 
 Give praise where praise is justly due, 
 
 But be not of the vulgar crew 
 
 Who run and bawl, litje dumb brute cattle, 
 
 Where'er they hear the boist'rous rattle 
 
 Of gun and fife and kettle drum. 
 
 In prsise of some illustrious "Bum," 
 
 And throw their caps, and loud applaud, 
 
 As if the creature were their god. 
 
 Egad ! the chap they run so after 
 
 Repays them with his secret laughter. 
 
 While all that loud applause is given 
 
 And fools extol him nigh to heaven, 
 
 He knows himself, he's but a man, 
 
 A mere cog in the general plan ; 
 
 And that same evening at his tea. 
 
 Says to his wife "they look at me 
 
 1 d something moie than niortal man, 
 
 Ason't see, really, how they can; 
 
 But men are just like silly sheep, 
 
 One blind one falls, the rest all leap 
 
 To follow him, though each one knock 
 
 His silly brains out on the rock." 
 
 Well, now, my boy, that you may see 
 
 How little these great men can be. 
 
 What ' 'little wads" these '* big guns" shoot, 
 
A SATIRIC POEM. 
 
 How far from gods, how near to brutes 
 
 They most times are with all their glory,— 
 
 List while I tell you the life story 
 
 Of two such men, whom late I've known. 
 
 Who as "great lights" have duly shone. 
 
 One lives in Brooklyn, that great city, 
 
 A preacher too, the more's the pity. 
 
 His sermons all the world has read.' 
 
 For they are jewels, be it said, 
 
 Great thoughts in heavenly garb advanced 
 
 Held every audience entranced. 
 
 Until his flock did so adore him 
 
 They let him do their thinking for them. 
 
 The men poured out their stores of gold ' 
 
 Hiss^vleand influence to uphold; 
 
 The women, tender things and sweet, 
 
 Worked satin slippers for his feet 
 
 In numbers to supply his needs 
 
 E'en had he bee£j twin centioedes; 
 
 And one soft thing of douDtful years 
 
 Said, while she smiled though welling tears. 
 
 '•Dear Mr. B.; so good ; so pure; 
 
 The angels are not better sure, 
 
 In fact I cannot understand 
 
 How God can be a better man." 
 
 Thus servile can some natures bend. 
 
 To such vile depths some minds descend, 
 
 Forgetting God to worship men. 
 
 So went he on from high to higher; 
 
 Of fame it seemed he ought to tire; 
 
 And twenty thousand dollars scarce 
 
 Paid for his sermons and his prayers. 
 
 Seldom hath human genius won 
 
 A brighter crown and loftier throne; 
 
 He stood, the glory of the west. 
 
8 SAINT OK SAIYR, 
 
 The umpire of ihe linmaQ breast. 
 
 Nor prince, nor peasant passed that way 
 
 But stopped to hear him preach and pray, 
 
 And ever after boasted on't 
 
 As if he'd seen the very font 
 
 Of human greatness. Well, one day, 
 
 Alter iiis hair tiad grown quite gray. 
 
 And all the world got to inferring 
 
 He had no tendencies toward erring. 
 
 Oh fatal day! Oh day accursed ! 
 
 The gilded, gorgeous bubble burst ; 
 
 VVhfcit was the mavter ? Strange to tell 
 
 'Twas by a woman'^ hand he feil; 
 
 What all tiad deemed so good and grand 
 
 Was. after all, a poor WA^ak man, 
 
 Up to the same poor natural tricks 
 
 As wilder lads we nicknaiiie "bricks," 
 
 Oh, what a fall! Last night so great, 
 
 A very spiritual potentate! 
 
 This morn his glories clipped and wilting, 
 
 Crushed in the arms of Mrs. Tilton ! 
 
 Though some esteem him as a martyr 
 
 Most deem him as a gifted satyr. 
 
 And yet, my boy, his heart is better 
 
 Than half those men's who raise a clatter 
 
 And cry out "shame" f.nd "put him down!" 
 
 As if no sin they'd ever known. 
 
 One half the virtue bragged about 
 
 Is only wantonness tired out; 
 
 Save it be woman's virtue, boy; 
 
 That is indeed without alloy. 
 
 I blame him not ! he fell, 'tis true, 
 
 As, tempted less, his foes might do; 
 
 I only cire the case to show 
 
 The weakness of the best below; 
 
A SATIRIC POEM. 
 
 And teach you, Henry, if I can. 
 
 You cannot make a god of man,' 
 
 The tree may look most fair indeed 
 
 And seem the very thing you need ' 
 
 But when its grain you well inspect 
 
 iou re sure to tind some bad defect 
 
 JNo tree so sound in every part 
 
 But some vile worm hatli reached its heart 
 
 Another tale I'll here relate 
 
 Ot one not near so good or great. 
 A merely ordinary ass 
 
 Of whose ten talents eight were brass; 
 let who rose from a low deo-ree 
 
 To V. E. K. T., ^ 
 
 But not by merit. Would to God 
 He had some good points to appUud' 
 Appollo! in my heart inspire 
 A Hero's force, a Poet's fire ! 
 Mine be the heaven appointed task 
 One specious villain to unmask- 
 The tinseled robes, in which he'lon^ 
 Hath hid vile deeds o* blackest wroL 
 lo tear away, that all, forsooth 
 May see him in the light of truth. 
 Here I present to moral view 
 
 CiJ^\-^'''°^^ ^* Ingrates. Sir Fitz-Gnuf 
 
 With unctuous flattery to rub him 
 
 ';Our Gnu'' some fools are wont to dub him- 
 
 lor know the furies, in their wrath, 
 
 bent him a menial named McCalf 
 
 Who in a manner very calfy 
 
 Keeps Sir Fitz-Gnu supplied with ^taffv " 
 
 M^l.' ^'7k ^."l^ll ^'^^^ «^''"a.ues him Dften- 
 My boy, that "Mackerel" is a soft 'n i 
 He deems Gnu great and really thinks 
 
10 SAINT OK SAT YE, 
 
 The world shakes every time he winks. 
 
 But theu he earos his boots and breeches 
 
 Composini^ Sir Fitz-Gna's great speeches," 
 
 And e'en hyenas may be led 
 
 Of the same hand by which they're fed. 
 
 Still, how a man who claims to teach 
 
 The only route to Heaven, can reach 
 
 So low a spirirual tide, my ^on. 
 
 As after such a *'Baal" to run, 
 
 Seems rather odd. to say the least, 
 
 But, son, the "luark of the great beast" 
 
 Gets stamped sometimes on preachers' faces 
 
 As well as men's wIjo say less graces 
 
 That mark of fear, I've oftei-i thought. 
 
 Which seems so many souls to have bought- 
 
 1 own the fancy may be queer, — 
 
 Must be like this ($) I've written here. 
 
 Mow is it ''our Gnu", now silvering gray. 
 Hath hid thus far his deeds away 
 Nor met the just reward he should, 
 A felon's chains and solitude ? 
 
 The vulture hides himself from si.^ht 
 
 By plunging in excess of light; 
 
 So '-our own Gnu," hath always done, 
 
 Hath been a black spot on the sun 
 
 Which to the ordinary gaze 
 
 Is hidden in the general blaze. 
 
 His inner self all hidden lies 
 
 Behind a good Sir Knight's disguise; 
 
 As wolves oft 'scape the shepherd's crook 
 
 By skulking close among the flock. 
 
 Oft hath it been my lot to prove 
 The "mystic order's" works of love! 
 
A SATIRIC POEM. 11 
 
 And though it is not mine to kneel 
 Beneath the ' 'my-stic arch of steel" 
 My heart gives greeting of delight 
 To every good and true sir knight. 
 Wishes the order 'heaver, speed " 
 With winds appointed to her needs, 
 But hopes she soon may ''come about" 
 And cast this "wicked Jona.i" out. 
 
 Of all tlje ebon list of crimes 
 Which men are guilty of at times, 
 Though all be horrid and accursed, 
 I hold ingratitude the worst. 
 In early life *'our Gnu" was lelt 
 Of home and its sweet ties bereft; 1 
 
 Friendless and helpless left to roam, 
 A pitying stranger took him home. 
 And with true godliness beyond 
 What in most human breasts is found 
 Made him co-equal at the hearth 
 With those who he-Id their rights by birth, 
 E'en his inheritance the same 
 When to maturity he came 
 Oh, one would think a heart of stone 
 Such debt of gratitude should own ; 
 The genial influence should be felt 
 And cill its strong nature melt, 
 Yet see how this o'erwhelming debt 
 Of comm,on gi'atitude was met! 
 Years pass- a foster i^rot her dies. 
 Swift to the widow Fitz Gnu flies, 
 Bemoans their mutaal loss sa sad 
 And proffers, free, his legal aid 
 To ^et all worldly matters straight 
 And give the widow her estate. 
 
12 SAINT OK SATYK, 
 
 "Oh sister mine " Sir Fitz Gnu -ries,— 
 
 The big tears rolling from his '^yes, 
 
 Sucii tears as crocodiles are said, 
 
 In some old fable, to have shed, — 
 
 "Doubly a brother Spencer was, 
 
 By adoption and by honor's laws; 
 
 Claim all my service as your right; 
 
 Your husband was a good Sir Knight!" 
 
 Oh that I could, in truth, set down 
 
 One noble action here to crown 
 
 With something fair the blackened SRroll 
 
 The Muses force me to unroll: 
 
 This record of a human life 
 
 With every evil passion rife; 
 
 'TwOuld lighten sure my bitter task, 
 
 For then souie mercy I might ask 
 
 Of those who read, by pointing them 
 
 To meaner and more heartless men. 
 
 Alas! my knowledge fails to touch 
 
 One whom I can point out as such; 
 
 As Pharaoh's kine excelled in leanness, 
 
 So is Gnu's excellence in meanness; 
 
 Tiae truth compels me to relate 
 
 He stole the widow's whole estate; 
 
 Thus proving recreant to both 
 
 Kind nature's laws and knighthood's oath; 
 
 But knightly honor is with him, 
 
 Living or dead, as suits liis whim! 
 
 Oh, Sir Knight B., thou well diiist prove 
 
 His knightly honor and his love! 
 
 Thy bleeding nose and battered eye 
 
 To what I Speak will testify. 
 
 Thus far, my boy, I've rattled on. 
 And shown you meanness piled upon 
 
A SATIRIC POEM. 13 
 
 The meane^^t meanness. Yet this man 
 
 Stands at the head of all his clan; 
 
 A noble clan, too; for, my boy, 
 
 T point you with both pride and joy 
 
 To this, the noblest of all orders 
 
 Though this false hound be in its borders. 
 
 No order on this side the grave 
 
 But holds unknown soujp arrant kixave; 
 
 Men only see the outward part. 
 
 'Tis God alone can see tbe heart. 
 
 Jiy one of fortune's curious freaks, 
 
 Some i'l got gold and tons of "cheek,'' — 
 
 For know the gift of "cheek" is his; — 
 
 A half starved army mule has less, — 
 
 With much well tiujed prevarication 
 
 Gnu gained his present high toned station; 
 
 By which he roams from east to west, 
 
 From north to south, well fed and dressed, 
 
 On public funds, rides, dines and vvir.es. 
 
 And keeps a score of concubines. 
 
 "Some letters" that he wrote to one 
 
 Quite well to half the world are known 
 
 As "telltales" of the bestial play 
 
 In which he whiles his hours awjiy 
 
 When out from home: You'll see he's shown 
 
 His '"Symbolistic tastes" in some, 
 
 That "high respect for masonry" 
 
 Which makes him "plant each shrub and tree 
 
 In mystic order" all so pat, 
 
 "Crosees, triangleb" and all that. 
 
 His Lizzie's breasts, so soft and white, 
 
 He calls "his boys," his "heart's delight" 
 
 With other symbols low and quef^r. 
 
 Not decent to be mentioned here. 
 
14 SAINT OR SATYR, 
 
 He signed no name to them, 'tis true; — 
 
 Yoa'd just as well have signed them, Gnu. 
 
 As "circumstances alter cases," 
 
 So, sometimt^s, also, dates and peaces 
 
 Fix their Cf>ld grip upon a thing 
 
 Too fast for doubt or cavilling. 
 
 Thus when "our Gnu" writes his"soiled Dove' 
 
 Soft messages of lust and love, 
 
 Naming hiy hotel and the date. 
 
 And, furthertnore, goes on to state 
 
 Where he will be on certain days, 
 
 Whet speeches make, what moneys raise, 
 
 With assignations plainly shown. 
 
 Where "WE CAN BE ALL NIGHT ALONE" 
 
 And puDlic journals set him down 
 
 On such a day in such a town, 
 
 ]\lade such a speech, on such a mission. 
 
 And give his name and high position, 
 
 Whcit needs his name to that same letter 
 
 Beyond all doubt to flix the matter? 
 
 Look through these letters! Can you find 
 
 One tracing of the "giant mind" 
 
 His little, halting, reverend squire, 
 
 His "Sancho" whom he pays to admire 
 
 His acts, and hunt up fools to ^hout 
 
 Their "Vive le Rois" when he goes out 
 
 To take the air, or "take a drink" 
 
 And at his wickednes-^ to wink, 
 
 And write big "souvenirs" for the press. 
 
 In which two thirds of all he says 
 
 That sounds at all like inspiration 
 
 Is stolen from the Declaration 
 
 Of Independence, or some speech 
 
 That's chanced to come within his reach 
 
 Of Webster, Burke, or Henry Clay 
 
A SATIRIC POEM. 15 
 
 He's le>arned to speak in school some day, 
 
 Has given hiia credit for? Read this 
 
 Soft tart of nasty gashiness: 
 
 • Dear little witie ! It is true 
 
 I never have QUITE married you. 
 
 But that's no matter, darling, pet. 
 
 We maj be married sometime yet. 
 
 Your darling, welcome, dear, sweet letter 
 
 Of yesterday made me feel Dettei ; 
 
 But this one that you've sent to-day! 
 
 I don't know, dear pet, what to say : 
 
 I feel so curious and sad; 
 
 in fact 1 feel almighty bad ; 
 
 Now comes a regular damper, dear ; 
 
 You say you cannot meet me here. 
 
 Your "naughtv boy's" head's in a whirl — 
 
 He wants to meet his ''little girl." 
 
 If I could only see you now 
 
 I could relieve my mind somehcw; 
 
 1 want to say so much to-day; 
 
 I've got so much, my dear, to say. 
 
 As eye meets eye and mind with mind 
 
 Is sympathizingly inclined. 
 
 Soul kisses soul in sweet embrace; 
 
 Be at the next appointed place. 
 
 Everything there will be ail right, 
 
 And we can be alone all night. 
 
 God bless my Lizzie! recollect 
 
 I love you pet! now don't neglect 
 
 Our next appointment. Kiss byeby! — 
 
 How bad I'm feeling! Oh my eye! 
 
 How insecure all earthly joysl 
 
 I wan't to see "my lit:tle boys!'' 
 
 Yes, darling, and my "little girlie" too. 
 
 Again, kiss, hug, good, bye! adieu!" 
 
16 SAINT OR SAT YE, 
 
 There 1 in that effort, boy, you see 
 This (?) great man's real abiiiry. 
 His merit gives, I th-nk, just claiiu 
 To write down Plagiarist to iiis name. 
 
 Cursed be the man, however high 
 
 His soeial rank, who will deny 
 
 The lineage tliroiigh which he came. 
 
 And brand his native land with shame! 
 
 Trust no such man! a traitor knave, 
 
 A wretch, an ingrate, and a slave; 
 
 His loyalty to any cause 
 
 Or any land or any laws, 
 
 Is but assumed: The slightest reason 
 
 With him will ue excuse for treason. 
 
 The ties of friendship, home, or love, 
 
 His soul owns nor: his pulses move 
 
 To the dull sluggish chant of self ;- 
 
 His gods are passion, pride and pelf; 
 
 fti nothmg noble, true, or bold; 
 
 He'd sell his mother's soui for gold ! 
 
 Oh, land of mighty heroes past, 
 
 Whose lofty fame shall ever last! 
 
 Land of the Poet, Martyr, Sage, 
 
 Whose words shall ring through every age! 
 
 Oh, Isle that gave a Fingal birth, 
 
 And with an Emmet graced the earth, 
 
 Although at present overcast 
 
 With shadows far too black to last 
 
 Green Erin, jewel of the sea. 
 
 What heart but looks with pride to thee! 
 
 Oh Sir Fitz Gnu. thou did'st full well 
 
 Thy name to change, thy birthright sell . 
 
 Erin content resigns the claim. 
 
 Blood gave her to thee as a shame. 
 
A SATIRIC POEM. 17 
 
 My boy, my hair is getting white, 
 
 I've toiled by day and thought by night. 
 
 My palms are hardened with the scars 
 
 Of steady labor's hard fought wars. 
 
 Yet Utile have 1 laid away 
 
 To serve me 'gainst a ''rainy day." 
 
 The few slim comforts I enjoy 
 
 Are very slim indeed, my boy; 
 
 I sit in humbleness and dust 
 
 And, toothless, gum cold penary's crust, 
 
 And when ''times get a little close" 
 
 "Down to the grindstone" comes my nose. 
 
 But though I've tastes above my station, 
 
 And sometimes sigh for recreation, 
 
 For watch, turnout, new clothes, silk hat 
 
 Books, desks, cigars and all of that, 
 
 Still with a conscience soft and clear 
 
 I rock aloBg from year to year, 
 
 Thankful if out of what I have 
 
 I now and then can sixpence save, 
 
 And fun and comfort find in living 
 
 Forgetting much and more forgiving, 
 
 Making my eyes much misery save 
 
 By magnifying that I have. 
 
 These old, patched clothes are worn, but warm^ 
 
 Antiquity lends them a charm; 
 
 In this clay pipe, that cost a cent. 
 
 I find both comfort and content; 
 
 I smoke, and dream my old stumps gripe 
 
 An amber-stemmed, real meerschaum pipe. 
 
 Plated with gold upon the top. 
 
 Engraved — "Presented" — there I stopl 
 
 My pipe is out, my vision flown , 
 
 I'm sitting there absorbed and lone, 
 
18 SAINT OR SATYR, 
 
 And to the hearth I turn about 
 And softly knock the ashes out. 
 
 Sir Fitz-Gnu's hands a- e soft and white, 
 
 His fingers gleam with jewels bright, 
 
 Fine raiment every day he wears. 
 
 And sumptuous as a nabob fares. 
 
 Fine diamonds glitter on his breast, 5 
 
 His feet on spl«^ndid carpets rest; 
 
 From walls all tapestried with art 
 
 That cost a fortune at the start, 
 
 Full many a picture gazes down 
 
 By which great masters gained renown. 
 
 Yet he's not happy ! in his lace 
 
 Lines of unhappiues-* I trace. 
 
 His slumbers bring him dreams of fright, 
 
 While mine bring visions soft and light. 
 
 My boy, this lesson take to heart: 
 
 I'm happy ! Why ? I got my start 
 
 By plain, square, honest, upright dealing. 
 
 While Grnu, my boy, got his by stealing, 
 
 'Tis true he did not raid a bank, 
 
 Or stop a train like reckless Frank 
 
 And Jessie James ; he did not dare. 
 
 Sheer cowardice made him forbear 
 
 Such deeds as that. I'll tell you, though. 
 
 What kind of robbing he did do : 
 
 He worked in as administrator 
 
 To good estates and stole the greater. 
 
 Aye far the greater part, my son, 
 
 Of all he got his hands upon. 
 
 With peering, ferret eyes he glides 
 
 Through the still rooms where grief abides; 
 
 With smiles, intended to be winning. 
 
A SATIKIC POEM. 19 
 
 Gnu always smiles when he is sinning, 
 
 From which we must the inference take 
 
 He's always smiling when awake. 
 
 Naught there is sacred from his greed — 
 
 He'd take the last poor loaf of bread. 
 
 The time scratched, thin-worn band of gold 
 
 That doth such sacred memories hold , — 
 
 The wedding ring that mother wore 
 
 When at the altar rail she swore 
 
 The whispered oath that placed her heart 
 
 In bonds which only death might part, — 
 
 Drop^ in his fob. That dear old book 
 
 That somehow almost seems to look 
 
 As father dii, so oft his hand 
 
 Hath placed it there upon the stand, 
 
 With rererent touch its leaves turned o'er, 
 
 And taught us from its sacred lore, 
 
 He takes with sacrilegious grasp, 
 
 And muraiurs "Solid silver clasps"! 
 
 Thus, like a human moth he roams 
 
 From cellar to the highest rooms, 
 
 Till absolutely nothing's left. 
 
 And then with perjury hides the theft. 
 
 In works like this he feels no thrall! 
 
 He even stole a whole stone wall 
 
 In open day from a poor maid 
 
 He'd sworn as guardian to aid, 
 
 With all the rest of her estate, 
 
 Leaving her stripped and desolate. 
 
 The very earliest of bis dealings 
 
 Was one enormous job of stealings 1 
 
 His county, deeming him a man 
 
 Worthy the trust, gave to his hand 
 
 The keeping of its public treasure ; 
 
 And here Gnu gained the first full measure 
 
20 SAINT OR SATYR, 
 
 Of his now wide extended borders, 
 By duplicating county orders. 
 
 My boy, I'll stop! Should I thus run 
 
 His misdeeds over one by one, 
 
 I fear I never should get done. 
 
 I might go on to show you what 
 
 Domestic breaches he has wrought; 
 
 How he has stolen away the hearts 
 
 Of weak-brained wives with his low arts, 
 
 And after leading them astray, 
 
 Get them divorces for their pay; 
 
 How the false hypocrite has stood 
 
 And prayed before the multitude. 
 
 For 'mong his offices, not least. 
 
 My boy, is that of ''grand high priest." 
 
 Yes. son, just such a priest as those 
 
 Who made our Savior all his foes; 
 
 Such priests as form the lower tier 
 
 Of hell's black pavement too, I fear. 
 
 With high drawn sword he makes pretence 
 
 Of "shielding maiden innocence." 
 
 Mere wind! That blade so fiercely drawn 
 
 Would diop at once should danger dawn. 
 
 I recollect full well, my boy. 
 
 When trait'rous hands sought to destroy 
 
 Our common country and the drum 
 
 Shouted "to arms! quick heroes! come!" 
 
 And from each valley, plain and hill 
 
 Rang the sharp answer "yes! we will!" 
 
 And wives were buckling good broadswords 
 
 With hasty hands upon their lords, 
 
 And whispering with buted breath 
 
 "Come back with victory or death!" 
 
 And to the impatient come, come, come. 
 
A SATIRIC POEM. 21 
 
 Of the shrill trump and deep voiced drum, 
 Like some vast tidal wave that sweeps 
 In all the fury of the deeps 
 Across the wild and rocky shore 
 That ne'er knew ocean's power before, 
 These heroes rushed with ardor high, 
 To danger, death and victory, — 
 This boasting, dastard carpet knight 
 Stood trembllcg and refused to fight. 
 And he who, recreant, will neglect 
 His country's call, will not protect 
 Or maid or nation in her need 
 If aught of danger's in the deed. 
 Put up Sir Gnu, put up thy sword — 
 We know the metal of its lord ; 
 Let but a lap-dog bark behind 
 Thy Bravery's heels and it will find 
 Both wings and speed t'outstrip the wind. 
 Oh what a wretched hack art thou 
 To wave thy sword as chou dost now. 
 And roar and rant and talk so brave 
 Now we have peace, thou coward slave! 
 When fighting was, yoa made pretensions 
 Of "SERVING god" by getting pensions 
 For soldiers' widows; there, you said, 
 The country most required your aid. 
 And many a widow mourns to-day 
 The money that was thrown away 
 In fees and charges paid thee. Gnu, 
 Which left her something in your due 
 After you'd gobbled up the whole 
 Sum due her on the pension roll! 
 Thou sonding bag of windy breath, 
 Put up thy sword into its sheath! 
 
22 SAINT OR SATYR, 
 
 Its blushes, could it know thee well, 
 Would light thy downward path feo hell. 
 
 Now hear his speeches! slobbering o'er 
 
 With pompous boasts and mystic lore. 
 
 His "the high call with generous deed 
 
 To succor widows in their nee"d 
 
 The innocence of maids protect. 
 
 And shield the orphan from neglect." 
 
 Uow does he till such sacred trust? — 
 
 He tramps the widow's claim in dust! 
 
 False balance sheets page after page. 
 
 Give hiiii the orphan's heritage. 
 
 He wins the maiden's simple trust 
 
 To feed his burning, filthy lust! 
 
 Ah ! his protectorate and love 
 
 Are worse then falcons give the doye, 
 
 The symbols of thy mystic lore, 
 
 Filled as they are to running o'er 
 
 AVith truthful teachiBgs, Gnu, should be 
 
 Full of stern warnings unto thee; 
 
 The "SKUiiL AND CROSSBONES," — can it be 
 
 Thou knowest not what they say to thee; 
 
 "Memento mori"! Tremble, Gnu! 
 
 Nature's great debt will soon be due! 
 
 That sword presented at the heart 
 
 Should make thee from thy slumbers start, 
 
 And force the moisture to thy skin 
 
 In beads of blood ! Oh, man of sin, 
 
 Oh, wretched man, hast thou forgot 
 
 The '-ALLSEEING EYE" that sleepeth not 
 
 Sees erery act, notes every thought? 
 
 Oh, sure thy gains are dearly bought! 
 
 Thy worldly honors and possessions, 
 
 Seized as they are, by high transgressions, 
 
A SATIRIC POEM. 23 
 
 Will work thee only shame and woe 
 In that great day when thou must go. 
 The same as ordinary mortals. 
 The way that leads through death's black portals 
 With naked heart and empty hand 
 Before the judge of all to stand - 
 On thiit same naked heart each deed 
 So plainly writ that all may read. 
 Oh, not in vain, have widows knelt; 
 The orphan's sufferings God hath felt; 
 The ruined wjaideu's cry of fear, 
 Shame and de.-'pair^^hath reached his ear; 
 His BALANCE SHEETS are all correct — 
 No item there will he neglect. 
 Time rapid flies! Oh think, Sir Gnu, 
 How will thou meet the account there due? 
 
 My son, I think 'tis in your mind 
 
 To say "Who worship men are blind." 
 
 *'Yes?" Well, 'tis very true they are! 
 
 Blinder than blind Bartimeus far. 
 
 Yet oft, like him, they hear the word 
 
 By which their seeing is restored; 
 
 And then they learn with shamed surprise 
 
 Their SAINTS ARE satyrs in disguise. 
 
 My boy, I'm done, I say again, 
 
 I will not longer vex my brain 
 
 To cite the deeds of such a knave, 
 
 A pigmy, tyrant and a slave. 
 
 See what I've done! Great shade of Nero! 
 
 I've writ a tale WITHOUT A HERO; 
 
 I'm just another Quixote! Why? 
 
 He charged a windmill! So hare I. 
 
 THB END. 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 015 988 379 6 •