University of Virginia Library

I.

Hammer and tongs! What have we here?
Let us approach, but not too near.
Two men standing breast to breast,
Head erect and arching chest;
Shoulders square and hands hard clenched,
And both their faces a trifle blenched.
Their lips are set in a smile so grim,
And sturdily set each muscular limb.
Round them circles a ring of rope,
Over them hangs the heavens' blue cope.
Why do they glare at each other so?
What! you really then don't know?
This is a prize-fight, gentle sir!
This is what makes the papers stir.
Talk of your ocean telegraph!
'T is n't so great an event by half,
As when two young men lusty and tall,
With nothing between them of hate or wrongs,
Come together to batter and maul,
Come to fight till one shall fall,—
Hammer and tongs!

II.

Round about is a bestial crowd,
Heavily-jawed and beetle-browed;
Concave faces, trampled in
As if with the iron hoof of sin;
Blasphemies dripping from off their lips,
Pistols bulging behind their hips;
Hands accustomed to deal the cards,
Or strike with the cowardly knuckle-guards.
Who are these ruffianly fellows, you say,
That taint the breath of this autumn day?
These are “the Fancy,” gentle sir.
The Fancy? What are they to her?
O, 't is their fancy to look at a fight,
To see men struggle, and gouge, and bite.
Bloody noses and bunged-up eyes,—
These are the things the Fancy prize.
And so they get men, lusty and tall,
With nothing between them of hate or wrongs,
To come together to batter and maul,
To come and fight till one shall fall,—
Hammer and tongs!

III.

Grandly the autumn forests shine,
Red as the gold in an Indian mine!
A dreamy mist, a vapory smoke,
Hangs round the patches of evergreen oak.
Over the broad lake shines the sun,—
The lake that Perry battled upon,—
Striking the upland fields of maize
That glow through the soft October haze.
Nature is tracing with languid hand
Lessons of peace over lake and land.
Ay! yet this is the tranquil spot
Chosen by bully, assassin, and sot
To pit two young men, lusty and tall,
With nothing between them of hate or wrongs,
One with the other, to batter and maul,
To tussle and fight till one shall fall,—
Hammer and tongs!

IV.

Their faces are rich with a healthy hue,
Their eyes are clear, and bright, and blue;
Every muscle is clean and fine,
And their blood is pure as the purest wine.
It is a pleasure their limbs to scan,—
Splendid types of the animal man,
Splendid types of that human grace,
The noblest that God has willed to trace,
Brought to this by science and art;
Trained, and nourished, and kept apart;
Cunningly fed on the wholesomest food,
Carefully watched in every mood;
Brought to this state, so noble and proud,
To savagely tussle before a crowd,—
To dim the light of the eyes so clear,
To mash the face to a bloody smear,
To maim, deface, and kill, if they can,
The glory of all creation,—Man!
This the task of those, lusty and tall,
With nothing between them of hate or wrongs,—
To bruise and wrestle, and batter and maul,
And fight till one or the other shall fall,—
Hammer and tongs!

V.

With feet firm planted upon the sand,
Face to face at “the scratch” they stand.
Feinting first—a blow—a guard!
Then some hitting, heavy and hard.
The round fist falls with a horrible thud;
Wherever it falls comes a spout of blood!
Blow after blow, fall after fall,
For twenty minutes they tussle and maul.
The lips of the one are a gory gash,
The others are knocked to eternal smash!
The bold, bright eyes are bloody and dim,
And, staggering, shivers each stalwart limb.
Faces glowing with stupid wrath,
Hard breaths breathed through a bloody froth;
Blind and faint, they rain their blows
On cheeks like jelly and shapeless nose;
While the concave faces around the rope
Darken with panic or light with hope,
Till one fierce brute, with a terrible blow,
Lays the other poor animal low.
Are these the forms so noble and proud,
That, kinglike, towered above the crowd?
Where are the faces so healthy and fresh?
There! those illegible masses of flesh!
Thus we see men lusty and tall,
Who, with nothing between them of hate or wrongs,
Will bruise and batter, and tussle and maul,
And fight till one or the other shall fall,—
Hammer and tongs!

VI.

Trainers, backers, and betters all,—
Who teach young men to tussle and maul,
And spend their muscle, and blood, and life,
Given for good, in a loathsome strife,—
I know what the Devil will do for you,
You pistolling, bullying, cowardly crew!
He'll light up his furnaces red and blue,
And treat you all to a roast and stew;
O, he'll do you up, and he'll do you brown,
On pitchforks cleft into mighty prongs,
While chuckling fiends your agonies crown
By stirring you up and keeping you down
With hammer and tongs!