Pagina-afbeeldingen
PDF
ePub

poems, The Times, published in Boston in 1849, has passed through forty editions.

Saxe is one of our best humorous poets. In some respects he resembles Hood, "being remarkably quick in seeing the ludicrous side of things, and very felicitous in the use of puns and other oddities of speech."

At present he resides in Brooklyn, N. Y.

The Dapple Mare.

NCE on a time," as ancient tales declare,
There lived a farmer in a quiet dell

In Massachusetts, but exactly where,

Or when, is really more than I can tell-
Except that, quite above the public bounty,
He lived within his means, and Bristol county.

By patient labor and unceasing care,

He earned, and so enjoyed, his daily bread;

Contented always with his frugal fare,

Ambition to be rich ne'er vexed his head;
And thus unknown to envy, want, or wealth,
He flourished long in comfort, peace and health.

The gentle partner of his humble lot,

The joy and jewel of his wedded life, Discharged the duties of his peaceful cot

Like a true woman and a faithful wife;

Her mind improved by thought and useful reading, Kind words and gentle manners showed her breeding.

Grown old at last, the farmer called his son,

The youngest, (and the favorite, I suppose,) And said "I long have thought, my darling John, "Tis time to bring my labors to a close;

So now to toil I mean to bid adieu,

And deed, my son, the homestead farm to you."

The boy embraced the boon with vast delight,

And promised, while their precious lives remained, He'd till and tend the farm from morn till night, And see his parents handsomely maintained; God help him, he would never fail to love, nor Do aught to grieve his generous old gov'nor!

The farmer said "Well, let us now proceed,

(You know there's always danger in delays,) And get 'Squire Robinson to write the deed;

Come-where's my staff? we'll soon be on the way."

But John replied with tender, filial care,

"You're old and weak-I'll catch the Dapple Mare."

The mare was saddled, and the old man got on,

The boy on foot trudged cheerfully along, The while, to cheer his sire, the dutious son

Beguiled the weary way with talk and song. Arrived at length, they found the 'Squire at home, And quickly told him wherefore they had come.

The deed was writ in proper form of law,

With many a "foresaid," "therefore," "and the same," And made throughout without mistake or flaw,

To show that John had now a legal claim To all his father's land-conveyed, given, sold, Quit-claimed, et cetera-to have and hold.

Their business done, they left the lawyer's door,
Happier, perhaps, than when they entered there;

And started off as they had done before

The son on foot, the father on the mare.
But ere the twain a single mile had gone
A brilliant thought occurred to Master John.

Alas for truth!-alas for filial duty!

Alas! that Satan in the shape of pride, (His most bewitching form save that of beauty,) Whispered the lad: "My boy, you ought to ride!" "Get off!" exclaimed the younker, "tisn't fair

That you should always ride the Dapple Mare."

[ocr errors]

The son was lusty, and the sire was old,

And so, with many an oath and many a frown,
The hapless farmer did as he was told,-

The man got off the steed, the boy got on,
And rode away as fast as she could trot,
And left his sire to trudge it home on foot!

That night, while seated round the kitchen fire,
The household sat, cheerful as if no word
Or deed provoked the injured father's ire,

Or aught to make him sad had e'er occurred—
Thus spoke he to his son: "We quite forgot,
I think, t' include the little turnip lot!

"I'm very sure, my son, it wouldn't hurt it,"
Calmly observed the meditative sire,

"To take the deed, my lad, and just insert it.'
Here the old man inserts it-in the fire!
Then cries aloud with most triumphant air:

"Who now, my son, shall ride the Dapple Mare!"

Rhyme of the Rail.

INGING through the forests,

Rattling over ridges,

Shooting under arches,

Rumbling over bridges,

Whizzing through the mountains,
Buzzing o'er the vale,
Bless me! this is pleasant,
Riding on the rail!

Men of different stations,
In the eye of Fame,
Here are very quickly
Coming to the same;
High and lowly people,
Birds of every feather,
On a common level,

Traveling together!

Gentlemen in shorts,

Looming very tall;

Gentlemen at large,

Talking very small;

Gentlemen in tights,

With a loose-ish mien;

Gentlemen in gray,

Looking rather green!

.

« VorigeDoorgaan »