Delphi Complete Works of Ambrose Bierce (Illustrated)

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Delphi Complete Works of Ambrose Bierce (Illustrated) Page 185

by Bierce, Ambrose


  Was vocal till each cur beneath

  The sun had fleshed his maiden fang

  In some one of the human gang!

  True, all the dogs whose heads were frosted

  With age had long before exhausted

  Their lawful privilege, and these

  Died of chagrin among their fleas;

  But there were pups enough at heel

  Of every human leg to deal

  Out floods of hydrophobia’s sap

  And wash that country from the map.

  A PAIR OF OPPOSITES

  A Fabulist of wide repute,

  Whose laugh was loud and wit was mute —

  Whose grammar had the grace of guess,

  And language an initial S —

  Whose tireless efforts, long sustained,

  Proved him far better brawned than brained,

  Once met a Toad. “My son,” said he,

  “‘Twould jar you to get onto me!

  You’re swell, but I’m the dandy guy

  That slings the gilt-edged lullaby.

  Dost tumble? What I’m shouting, see,

  Is, you’re the antithesis of Me.”

  “That compliment,” the Toad replied,

  “Is grateful to my foolish pride:

  It seems to mean that though I hop

  Right awkwardly I sometimes stop.”

  The gods, whom long the Fabulist

  Had plagued (the Toad had only hissed)

  Emitted loud Olympian snorts

  Of joy to hear the King of Warts

  Administer a mental pang

  To the Protagonist of Slang.

  So Jove appointed him to be

  Chief Jester by divine decree,

  And ne’er another joke made he.

  THE DEGENERATE

  Two Horses that had always chewed

  The bitter grain of servitude —

  Between their meals had ever felt

  The bit in mouth and lash on pelt —

  Once, as they drew the creaking wain,

  Saw a wild Zebra of the plain,

  Unknown to halter, stall or cage.

  Cried one: “Good Lord! this is an age

  Of miracle!”

  “Not so,” said t’other,

  “That vision is a horse-and-brother.

  Degraded as he is by sin,

  He has an equine soul within,

  Albeit Law, with stern reproof,

  Has laid on him the heavy hoof.

  Those stripes but show he’s ‘serving time’

  In punishment of some great crime.”

  The other thought an hour’s span,

  Then said: “Perhaps he stole a man.”

  THE VAIN CAT

  Remarked a Tortoise to a Cat:

  “Your speed’s a thing to marvel at!

  I saw you as you flitted by,

  And wished I were one-half so spry.”

  The Cat said, humbly: “Why, indeed

  I was not showing then my speed —

  That was a poor performance.” Then

  She said exultantly (as when

  The condor feels his bosom thrill

  Remembering Chimborazo’s hill,

  And how he soared so high above,

  It looked a valley, he a dove):

  “‘Twould fire your very carapace

  To see me with a dog in chase!”

  Its snout in any kind of swill,

  Pride, like a pig, will suck its fill.

  A SOCIALIST

  “You’re keeping me poor — I have only this egg.

  All rich men are rascals!” said Impycu Dregg.

  Couponicus Pigg said: “Your thanks, then, are due

  To me for not making a rascal of you.”

  But Impycu Dregg all the same flung his egg,

  Which burst in the wig of Couponicus Pigg.

  THE CO-DEFENDANTS

  A Jackass by a Lion chased

  Had made so admirable haste

  That his pursuer, far behind,

  Had, long before, his hope resigned

  And gone to sleep; but still poor Jack

  Pressed on, nor ventured to look back.

  “Why, what’s the matter?” cried a Steer,

  Obstructing him in his career.

  “Out of the way and let us pass!”

  Roared the still apprehensive Ass.

  “‘Us’? Why, my friend,” the Steer replied,

  “I see but you, and none beside.”

  “I’m but the foremost,” answered Jack —

  “The woods are full of us ‘way back.

  Behold, he clawed me here and here;

  See how he tore my precious ear!

  Believe me, sir, your count’s at fault —

  No one escapes that cat’s assault.”

  To let them limp along, the Steer

  Backed off in wonder and in fear.

  The Ass evanished like a flame,

  But not another donkey came.

  Then said the Steer: “I’ve saved — well done! —

  All jackasses beneath the sun,

  Rolled into one, rolled into one.”

  IN CONSEQUENCE OF APPLAUSE

  “What makes you so round?”

  Said an indolent Hound

  To a Tiger that looked

  As if he had booked

  All the pilgrims of earth

  For an inside berth.

  Said the Tiger: “I strayed

  To the edge of a glade

  Where a man on a stump,

  Sleek, handsome and plump,

  His notions expounded

  To those who surrounded

  Him there with their ears

  Erected like spears

  For the words that he flung

  From his flickering tongue.”

  “Yes, yes, my good cat,

  But what of all that?

  That statesman, I swear,

  Had enough and to spare

  Of the breezes that blow

  Out of heaven, but, O

  ‘Tis remarkably odd he

  Could blow up your body

  And make you so poddy.”

  “By-and-by the man stopped,

  And his forehead he mopped,

  And his scalp — which was bald.

  Then somebody called

  For three cheers—”

  “Hully Gee!

  I’m beginning to see.”

  “And a tiger. That’s me.”

  SOME ANTE-MORTEM EPITAPHS

  CONTENTS

  A KING OF CRAFT

  STEPHEN DORSEY

  MR. JUSTICE FIELD

  GENERAL B. F. BUTLER

  REPARATION

  DISINCORPORATED

  A KIT

  DISJUNCTUS

  A TRENCHER-KNIGHT

  A VICE-PRESIDENT

  A WASTED LIFE

  A KING OF CRAFT

  Here lies Sam Chamberlain; his fatal smile

  Survives its wielder for a little while

  In nightmares of the prudent few who fled

  The Judas kisses that it heralded —

  Those all are dreamless who stood still to view

  The smile that stayed them for the stab that slew.

  Against his God his warfare now is o’er:

  His bloodless heart (no colder than before)

  No longer with a mute ambition swells

  To run a half-a-hundred little Hells.

  With ever a polite, perfidious art —

  A dove in manner and a snake in heart,

  This titmouse Machiavelli ne’er again

  Will feel the urge, the passion and the strain

  To prove it true that one may smile and smile

  And be a Chamberlain the blessed while.

  Sharp at both ends, his secret soul

  Was like a double-headed mole

  Equipped with equal nose to prod

  This way or that beneath the sod.

  Conjecture fitted to
confound

  If seen a moment out of ground —

  Its former, as its future, route

  The matter of a vain dispute,

  Save where a dunghill’s lure supplied

  Its aid the riddle to decide.

  When that occurred (his nearer nose

  Pointing the way with happier throes)

  He sought it as a bee the rose.

  And as that robber daubs its thighs

  With pollen till it cannot rise,

  So he, with glutted mind, remained

  Inert, and Christ arose and reigned.

  We raise the stone, we carve the solemn word,

  The sign of promise and the symbol grim;

  His voice and vice are in the land unheard —

  Yet all is doubtful that relates to him.

  No more he twirls his smile to work us woe;

  We saw him put a fathom under sod:

  Flung down at last — but so was Aaron’s rod.

  We hope he’s dead, but only this we know:

  He does not smile. O glory be to God!

  STEPHEN DORSEY

  Flee, heedless stranger, from this spot accurst,

  Where rests in Satan an offender first

  In point of greatness, as in point of time,

  Of new-school rascals who proclaim their crime.

  Skilled with a frank loquacity to blab

  The dark arcana of each mighty grab,

  And famed for lying from his early youth,

  He sinned secure behind a veil of truth.

  Some lock their lips upon their deeds; some write

  A damning record and conceal from sight;

  Some, with a lust of speaking, die to quell it.

  His way to keep a secret was to tell it.

  MR. JUSTICE FIELD

  Here sleeps one of the greatest students

  Of jurisprudence.

  Nature endowed him with the gift

  Of juristhrift.

  All points of law alike he threw

  The dice to settle.

  Those honest cubes were loaded true

  With railway metal.

  GENERAL B. F. BUTLER

  Thy flesh to earth, thy soul to God,

  We gave, O gallant brother;

  And o’er thy grave the awkward squad

  Fired into one another!

  REPARATION

  Beneath this monument which rears its head,

  A giant note of admiration — dead,

  His life extinguished like a taper’s flame,

  John Ericsson is lying in his fame.

  Behold how massive is the lofty shaft;

  How fine the product of the sculptor’s craft;

  The gold how lavishly applied; the great

  Man’s statue how impressive and sedate!

  Think what the cost was! It would ill become

  Our modesty to specify the sum;

  Suffice it that a fair per cent, we’re giving

  Of what we robbed him of when he was living.

  DISINCORPORATED

  Of Corporal Tanner the head and the trunk

  Are here in unconsecrate ground duly sunk.

  His legs in the South claim the patriot’s tear,

  But, stranger, you needn’t be blubbering here.

  A KIT

  Here Ingalls, sorrowing, has laid

  The tools of his infernal trade —

  His pen and tongue. So sharp they grew,

  And such destruction from them flew,

  His hand was wounded when he wrote,

  And when he spoke he cut his throat.

  DISJUNCTUS

  Within this humble mausoleum

  Poor Guiteau’s flesh you’ll find.

  His bones are kept in a museum,

  And Tillman has his mind.

  A TRENCHER-KNIGHT

  Stranger, uncover; here you have in view

  The monument of Chauncey M. Depew,

  Eater and orator, the whole world round

  For feats of tongue and tooth alike renowned.

  Dining his way to eminence, he rowed

  With knife and fork up water-ways that flowed

  From lakes of favor — pulled with all his force

  And found each river sweeter than the source.

  Like rats, obscure beneath a kitchen floor,

  Gnawing and rising till obscure no more,

  He ate his way to eminence, and Fame

  Inscribes in gravy his immortal name.

  A trencher-knight, he, mounte’d on his belly,

  So spurred his charger that its sides were jelly.

  Grown desperate at last, it reared and threw him,

  And Indigestion, overtaking, slew him.

  A VICE-PRESIDENT

  Here the remains of Schuyler Colfax lie;

  Born, all the world knows when, and God knows why.

  In’71 he filled the public eye,

  In ‘72 he bade the world good-bye;

  In God’s good time, with a protesting sigh,

  He came to life just long enough to die.

  A WASTED LIFE

  Of Morgan here lies the unspirited clay,

  Who secrets of Masonry swore to betray.

  He joined the great Order and studied with zeal

  The awful arcana he meant to reveal.

  At last in chagrin by his own hand he fell —

  There was nothing to learn, there was nothing to tell.

  The Masons are said to have killed him. Not so —

  Even a secret so foul, they’re compelled to forego.

  THE SCRAP HEAP

  CONTENTS

  POESY

  HOSPITALITY

  MAGNANIMITY

  UNDERSTATED

  AN ATTORNEY-GENERAL

  FINANCIAL NEWS

  ASPIRATION

  DEMOCRACY

  AN ENEMY TO LAW AND ORDER

  FORESIGHT

  A FAIR DIVISION

  A LACKING FACTOR

  THE POLITICIAN

  ELIHU ROOT

  AN ERROR

  VANISHED AT COCK-CROW

  WOMAN

  A PARTISAN’S PROTEST

  A BEQUEST TO MUSIC

  ONEIROMANCY

  JULY FOURTH

  A PARADOX

  REEDIFIED

  A BULLETIN

  AN INSCRIPTION

  AN ERRONEOUS ASSUMPTION

  A CONSTRUCTOR

  GOD COMPLIES

  IN ARTICULO MORTIS

  THE DISCOVERERS

  UNEXPOUNDED

  THE EASTERN QUESTION

  TWO TYPES

  TO A CRITIC OF TENNYSON

  COOPERATION

  HUMILITY

  STRAINED RELATIONS

  EXONERATION

  AFTER PORTSMOUTH

  A VOICE FROM PEKIN

  A PIOUS RITE

  JUSTICE

  AT THE BEACH

  AN INFRACTION OF THE RULES

  CONVERSELY

  A WARNING

  PSYCHOGRAPHS

  FOR WOUNDS

  A LITERARY METHOD

  BACK TO NATURE

  RUDOLPH BLOCK

  BOYCOTT

  TO HER

  CREATION

  REBUKE

  PRAYER

  THE LONG FEAR

  AN INSPIRED PERFORMANCE

  POESY

  Successive bards pursue Ambition’s fire

  That shines, Oblivion, above thy mire.

  The latest mounts his predecessor’s trunk,

  And sinks his brother ere himself is sunk.

  So die in gloriously Fame’s elite,

  But dams of dunces keep the line complete.

  HOSPITALITY

  Why ask me, Gastrogogue, to dine,

  (Unless to praise your rascal wine)

  Yet never ask some luckless sinner

  Who needs, as I do not, a dinner?

  MAGNANIMITY

  “To the will of the people we loyally bow!”

  T
hat’s the minority shibboleth now.

  O — noble antagonists, answer me flat —

  What would you do if you didn’t do that?

  UNDERSTATED

  “I’m sorry I married,” says Upton Sinclair:

  “The conjugal status is awful! —

  The devil’s device, a delusion and snare.”

  Worse, far worse than that — it is lawful I

  AN ATTORNEY-GENERAL

  Philander Knox! — I know him by the sound;

  His sleep, unlike his learning, is profound.

  No dreams of duty mar his loud repose,

  Nor strain the cobwebs tethering his nose,

  Which, roaring ever like the solemn sea,

  Proclaims to all the world that this is he.

  In thought a tortoise but in act a hare,

  Slow to decide and impotent to dare,

  Yet no important crisis he ignores,

  But sleeps upon it, and for action — snores.

  FINANCIAL NEWS

  Says Rockefeller: “Money is not tight,”

  And, faith, I’m thinking that the man is right.

  If it were not, at least in morals, loose

  He hardly could command it for his use.

  ASPIRATION

  No man can truthfully say that he would not like to be President. — William C. Whitney.

  Lo! the wild rabbit, happy in the pride

  Of qualities to meaner beasts denied,

  Surveys the ass with reverence and fear,

  Adoring his superior length of ear,

  And says: “No living creature, lean or fat,

  But wishes in his heart to be like That!”

  DEMOCRACY

  Let slaves and subjects with extolling psalms

  Before their sovereign execute salaams;

  The freeman scorns one idol to adore —

  Tom, Dick, and Harry and himself are four.

 

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