Nor to business a drudge, nor to faction a slave, He strove to make int'rest and freedom agree; In public employments industrious and grave, And alone with his friends, Lord! how merry was he. Now in equipage stately, now humbly on foot, Both fortunes he tried, but to neither would trust; And whirled in the round as the wheel turned about, He found riches had wings, and knew man was but dust. This verse, little polished, though mighty sincere, Sets neither his titles nor merits to view; It says that his relics collected lie here, And no mortal yet knows if this may be true. The morning past, the evening came, And found this couple just the same. They walked and ate, good folks: What then? Why, then they walked and ate again; Their moral and economy So every servant took his course, Their meal was large, their grace was short. They gave the poor the remnant meat, Of slumbering in an upper pew. So never made themselves a foe. No man's good deeds did they commend, So never raised themselves a friend. Nor barn nor house did they repair, If asked, they ne'er denied their aid; RICHARD'S THEORY OF THE MIND. Which make us either stout or wise: Your stomach makes the fabric roll Observe the various operations Of food and drink in several nations. JOHN GODFREY SAXE. HOW CYRUS LAID THE CABLE. COME, listen all unto my song It is no silly fable; 'Tis all about the mighty cord They call the Atlantic Cable. Bold Cyrus Field, he said, says he, Across the Atlantic Ocean. Then all the people laughed, and said, To carry out his foolish plan He never would be able; He might as well go hang himself But Cyrus was a valiant man, And heeded not their mocking words, O'er all the land the tidings speed, And soon, in every nation, They'll hear about the cable with Profoundest admiration! Now long live President and Queen; And may we honor evermore The manly, bold, and stable; And tell our sons, to make them brave, How Cyrus laid the cable! THE SUPERFLUOUS MAN. I LONG have been puzzled to guess, And so I have frequently said, What the reason could really be That I never have happened to But now it is perfectly clear, Those clever statistical chaps Declare the numerical run Of women and men in the world, Is twenty to twenty-and-one; And hence in the pairing, you see, Since wooing and wedding began, For every connubial score, They've got a superfluous man! By twenties and twenties they go, And giddily rush to their fate, For none of the number, of course, Can fail of a conjugal mate; But while they are yielding in scores To Nature's inflexible plan, There's never a woman for me, For I'm a superfluous man! It isn't that I am a churl, To solitude over-inclined; SONG OF SARATOGA. "PRAY, what do they do at the Springs ?" The question is easy to ask; But to answer it fully, my dear, Were rather a serious task. And yet, in a bantering way, As the magpie or mocking-bird sings, I'll venture a bit of a song To tell what they do at the Springs! Imprimis, my darling, they drink The waters so sparkling and clear; Though the flavor is none of the best, And the odor exceedingly queer; But the fluid is mingled, you know, With wholesome medicinal things, So they drink, and they drink, and they drink, And that's what they do at the Springs! Then with appetites keen as a knife, Ye gods! what a rustle and rush Then they eat, and they eat, and they eat,— And that's what they do at the Springs! |