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87
O WHERE WILL BE.
A PARODY.
Parodies have always been considered a legitimate species of humor—and often more notable for their deviations from the original, than for their resemblances to it. Every writer with a sense of the ludicrous, has indulged in this species of literary gayety, in one way or another. Few notable poems, but have been parodied (and often by able hands) again and again.
Oh where will be the cats that yawl—one hundred years from now?And dogs that in the night-time call, “Bow-wow-wow-wow-wow-wow”?
We do not know: we only know that Time sometimes is good,
And Death may do a lot of things that language never could.
Oh where will be the fellow-man—whatever he deserves,
That whistles in the railway-car, and rasps our trembling nerves?
We do not know: we only hope that ere a century goes,
His improvised and doleful tune may reach a blesséd close.
88
By wagging up and down her jaw around the sizzling gum?
We do not know: posterity however, yet may hope
That her descendants will espouse another kind of “dope.”
And where will be the dear small boy, an hundred years to come,
Who, when his neighbor wants to sleep, exploits the festive drum?
The sweet and guileless little scamp—the innocent young rogue—
May be in lands where harps are used, and drums are not in vogue.
Oh where will be—if this be not a query brusque and raw,
In what world of the future—my dear neighbors' motherinlaw?
For in whichever one she ends her strenuous earthly race,
He wants to make some inquiries about the other place.
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