 | The Complete Poetical Works of Robert Buchanan |  |
I. Among the Pastures—Summer Evening Dialogue.
Bishop Pete. Bishop Joss. Stranger.BISHOP PETE.
Ah, things down here, as you observe, are getting more pernicious,
And Brigham's losing all his nerve, altho' the fix is vicious.
Jest as we've rear'd a prosperous place and fill'd our holy quivers,
The Yankee comes with dern'd long face to give us all the shivers!
And on his jaws a wicked grin prognosticates disaster,
And, jest as sure as sin is sin, he means to be the master.
‘Pack up your traps,’ I hear him cry, ‘for here there's no remainin',’
And winks with his malicious eye, and progues us out of Canaan.
BISHOP JOSS.
It ain't the Yankee that I fear, the neighbour, nor the stranger—
No, no, it's closer home, it's here, that I perceive the danger.
The wheels of State has gather'd rust, the helm wants hands to guide it,
'Tain't from without the biler'll bust, but 'cause of steam inside it;
Yet if we went falootin' less, and made less noise and flurry,
It isn't Jonathan, I guess, would hurt us in a hurry.
But there's sedition east and west, and secret revolution,
There's canker in the social breast, rot in the constitution;
And over half of us, at least, are plunged in mad vexation,
Forgetting how our race increased, our very creed's foundation.
What's our religion's strength and force, its substance, and its story?
STRANGER.
Polygamy, my friend, of course! the law of love and glory!
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Stranger, I'm with you there, indeed:—it's been the best of nusses;
Polygamy is to our creed what meat and drink to us is.
Destroy that notion any day, and all the rest is brittle,
And Mormondom dies clean away like one in want of vittle.
It's meat and drink, it's life, it's power! to heaven its breath doth win us!
It warms our vitals every hour! it's Holy Ghost within us!
Jest lay that notion on the shelf, and all life's springs are frozen!
I've half a dozen wives myself, and wish I had a dozen!
BISHOP JOSS.
If all the Elders of the State like you were sound and holy,
P. Shufflebotham, guess our fate were far less melancholy.
You air a man of blessed toil, far-shining and discerning,
A heavenly lamp well trimm'd with oil, upon the altar burning.
And yet for every one of us with equal resolution,
There's twenty samples of the Cuss, as mean as Brother Clewson.
STRANGER.
St. Abe?
BISHOP JOSS.
Yes, him—the snivelling sneak—his very name provokes me,—
Altho' my temper's milky-meek, he sours me and he chokes me.
To see him going up and down with those meek lips asunder,
Jest like a man about to drown, with lead to sink him under,
His grey hair on his shoulders shed, one leg than t'other shorter,
No end of cuteness in his head, and him— as weak as water!
BISHOP PETE.
And yet how well I can recall the time when Abe was younger—
Why not a chap among us all went for the notion stronger.
When to the mother-country he was sent to wake the sinning,
He shipp'd young lambs across the sea by flocks—he was so winning;
O but he had a lively style, describing saintly blisses!
He made the spirit pant and smile, and seek seraphic kisses!
How the bright raptures of the Saint fresh lustre seemed to borrow,
While black and awful he did paint the one-wived sinner's sorrow!
Each woman longed to be his bride, and by his side to slumber—
‘The more the blesseder!’ he cried, still adding to the number.
STRANGER.
How did the gentleman contrive to change his skin so quickly?
BISHOP JOSS.
The holy Spirit couldn't thrive because the Flesh was sickly!
Tho' day by day he did increase his flock, his soul was shallow,
His brains were only candle-grease, and wasted down like tallow.
He stoop'd a mighty heap too much, and let his household rule him,
The weakness of the man was such that any face could fool him.
Ay! made his presence cheap, no doubt, and so contempt grew quicker,—
Not measuring his notice out in smallish drams, like liquor.
His house became a troublous house, with mischief overbrimmin',
And he went creeping like a mouse among the cats of women.
Ah, womenfolk are hard to rule, their tricks is most surprising,
It's only a dern'd spoony fool goes sentimentalising!
But give 'em now and then a bit of notice and a present,
And lor, they're just like doves, that sit on one green branch, all pleasant!
But Abe's love was a queer complaint, a sort of tertian fever,
Each case he cured of thought the Saint a thorough-paced deceiver;
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That Mormonism ain't a creed where fleshly follies flourish.
BISHOP PETE.
Ah, right you air! A creed it is demandin' iron mettle!
A will that quells, as soon as riz, the biling of the kettle!
With wary eye, with manner deep, a spirit overbrimmin',
Like to a shepherd 'mong his sheep, the Saint is 'mong his women;
And unto him they do uplift their eyes in awe and wonder;
His notice is a blessed gift, his anger is blue thunder.
No n'ises vex the holy place where dwell those blessed parties;
Each missus shineth in her place, and blithe and meek her heart is!
They sow, they spin, they darn, they hem, their blessed babes they handle,
The Devil never comes to them, lit by that holy candle!
When in their midst serenely walks their Master and their Mentor,
They're hush'd, as when the Prophet stalks down holy church's centre!
They touch his robe, they do not move, those blessed wives and mothers,
And, when on one he shineth love, no envy fills the others;
They know his perfect saintliness, and honour his affection—
And, if they did object, I guess he'd settle that objection!
BISHOP JOSS.
It ain't a passionate flat like Abe can manage things in your way!
They teased that most etarnal babe, till things were in a poor way.
I used to watch his thorny bed, and bust my sides with laughter.
Once give a female hoss her head you'll never stop her after.
It's one thing getting seal'd, and he was mighty fond of Sealing,
He'd all the human heat, d'ye see, without the saintly feeling.
His were the wildest set of gals that ever drove man silly,
Each full of freaks and fal-de-lals, as frisky as a filly.
One pull'd this way, and t'other that, and made his life a mockery,
They'd all the feelings of a cat scampaging 'mong the crockery.
I saw Abe growing pale and thin, and well I knew what ail'd him—
The skunk went stealing out and in, and all his spirit failed him;
And tho' the tanning-yard paid well, and he was money-making,
His saintly home was hot as Hell, and, ah! how he was baking!
Why, now and then at evening-time, when his day's work was over,
Up this here hill he used to climb and squat among the clover,
And with his fishy eye he'd glare across the Rocky Mountains,
And wish he was away up there, among the heavenly fountains!
I had an aunt, Tabitha Brooks, a virgin under fifty,
She warn't so much for pretty looks, but she was wise and thrifty:
She'd seen the vanities of life, was good at 'counts and brewin'—
Thinks I, ‘Here's just the sort of Wife to save poor Abe from ruin.’
So, after fooling many a week, and showing him she loved him,
And seeing he was shy to speak, whatever feelings moved him,
At last I took her by the hand, and led her to him straightway,
One day when we could see him stand jest close unto the gateway.
My words were to the p'int and brief: says I, ‘My brother Clewson,
There'll be an end to all your grief, if you've got resolution.
Where shall you find a house that thrives without a head that's ruling?
Here is the paragon of wives to teach those others schooling!
She'll be to you not only wife, but careful as a mother—
A little property for life is hers; you'll share it, brother.
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You're slow and nervous I perceive, but now—the ice is broken.
Here is a guardian and a guide to bless a man and grace him;’
And then I to Tabitha cried, ‘Go in, old gal—embrace him!’
STRANGER.
Why, that was acting fresh and fair;—but Abe, was he as hearty?
BISHOP JOSS.
We . . ll! Abe was never anywhere against a female party!
At first he seemed about to run, and then we might have missed him;
But Tabby was a tender one, she collar'd him and kissed him.
And round his neck she blushing hung, part holding, part caressing,
And murmur'd, with a faltering tongue, ‘O, Abe, I'll be a blessing.’
And home they walk'd one morning, he just reaching to her shoulders,
And sneaking at her skirt, while she stared straight at all beholders.
Swinging her bonnet by the strings, and setting her lips tighter,
In at his door the old gal springs, her grim eyes growing brighter;
And, Lord! there was the devil to pay, and lightning and blue thunder,
For she was going to have her way, and hold the vixens under;
They would have torn old Abe to bits, they were so anger-bitten,
But Tabby saved him from their fits, as a cat saves her kitten.
STRANGER.
It seems your patriarchal life has got its botherations,
And leads to much domestic strife and infinite vexations!
But when the ladies couldn't lodge in peace one house-roof under,
I thought that 'twas the saintly dodge to give them homes asunder?
BISHOP JOSS.
And you thought right; it is a plan by many here affected—
Never by me—I ain't the man—I'll have my will respected.
If all the women of my house can't fondly pull together,
And each as meek as any mouse, look out for stormy weather!—
No, no, I don't approve at all of humouring my women,
And building lots of boxes small for each one to grow grim in.
I teach them jealousy's a sin, and solitude's just bearish,
They nuss each other lying-in, each other's babes they cherish;
It is a family jubilee, and not a selfish pleasure,
Whenever one presents to me another infant treasure!
All ekal, all respected, each with tokens of affection,
They dwell together, soft of speech, beneath their lord's protection;
And if by any chance I mark a spark of shindy raising,
I set my heel upon that spark,—before the house gets blazing!
Now that's what Clewson should have done, but couldn't, thro' his folly,
For even when Tabby's help was won, he wasn't much more jolly.
Altho' she stopt the household fuss, and husht the awful riot,
The old contrairy stupid Cuss could not enj'y the quiet.
His house was peaceful as a church, all solemn, still, and saintly;
And yet he'd tremble at the porch, and look about him faintly;
And tho' the place was all his own, with hat in hand he'd enter,
Like one thro' public buildings shown, soft treading down the centre.
Still, things were better than before, though somewhat trouble-laden,
When one fine day unto his door there came a Yankee maiden.
‘Is Brother Clewson in?’ she says; and when she saw and knew him.
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Then in a voice all thick and wild, exclaim'd that gal unlucky,
‘O Sir, I'm Jason Jones's child—he's dead —stabb'd in Kentucky!
And father's gone, and O I've come to you across the mountains.’
And then the little one was dumb, and Abe's eyes gushed like fountains. . . .
He took that gal into his place, and kept her as his daughter—
Ah, mischief to her wheedling face and the bad wind that brought her!
BISHOP PETE.
I knew that Jones;—used to faloot about Emancipation—
It made your very toe-nails shoot to hear his declamation.
And when he'd made all bosoms swell with wonder at his vigour,
He'd get so drunk he couldn't tell a white man from a nigger!
Was six foot high, thin, grim, and pale,— his troubles can't be spoken—
Tarred, feathered, ridden on a rail, left beaten, bruised, and broken;
But nothing made his tongue keep still, or stopt his games improper,
Till, after many an awkward spill, he came the final cropper.
BISHOP JOSS.
. . . That gal was fourteen years of age, and sly with all her meekness;
It put the fam'ly in a rage, for well they knew Abe's weakness.
But Abe (a cuss, as I have said, that any fool might sit on)
Was stubborn as an ass's head, when once he took the fit on!
And, once he fixed the gal to take, in spite of their vexation,
Not all the rows on earth would break his firm determination.
He took the naggings as they came, he bowed his head quite quiet,
Still mild he was and sad and tame, and ate the peppery diet;
But tho' he seemed so crush'd to be, when this or that one blew up,
He stuck to Jones's Legacy and school'd her till she grew up.
Well! there! the thing was said and done, and so far who could blame him?
But O he was a crafty one, and sorrow couldn't shame him!
That gal grew up, and at eighteen was prettier far and neater—
There were not many to be seen about these parts to beat her;
Peart, brisk, bright-eyed, all trim and tight, like kittens fond of playing,
A most uncommon pleasant sight at pic-nic or at praying,
Then it became, as you'll infer, a simple public duty,
To cherish and look after her, considering her beauty;
And several Saints most great and blest now offer'd their protection,
And I myself among the rest felt something of affection.
But O the selfishness of Abe, all things it beats and passes!
As greedy as a two-year babe a-grasping at molasses!
When once those Shepherds of the flock began to smile and beckon,
He screamed like any fighting cock, and raised his comb, I reckon!
First one was floor'd, then number two, she wouldn't look at any;
Then my turn came, although I knew the maiden's faults were many.
‘My brother Abe,’ says I, ‘I come untoe your house at present
To offer sister Anne a home which she will find most pleasant.
You know I am a saintly man, and all my ways are lawful’—
And in a minute he began abusing me most awful.
‘Begone,’ he said, ‘you're like the rest,— wolves, wolves with greedy clutches!
Poor little lamb, but in my breast I'll shield her from your touches!’
‘Come, come,’ says I, ‘a gal can't stay a child like that for ever,
You'll hev to seal the gal some day;’ but Abe cried fiercely, ‘Never!’
Says I, ‘Perhaps it's in your view yourself this lamb to gather?’
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You get along, I know your line, it's crushing, bullying, wearing,
You'll never seal a child of mine, so go, and don't stand staring!’
This was the man once mild in phiz as any farthing candle—
A hedgehog now, his quills all riz, whom no one dared to handle!
But O I little guessed his deal, nor tried to circumvent it,
I never thought he'd dare to seal another; but he meant it!
Yes, managed Brigham on the sly, for fear his plans miscarried,
And long before we'd time to cry, the two were sealed and married.
BISHOP PETE.
Well, you've your consolation now—he's punish'd clean, I'm thinking,
He's ten times deeper in the slough, up to his neck and sinking.
There's vinegar in Abe's pale face enough to sour a barrel,
Goes crawling up and down the place, neglecting his apparel,
Seems to have lost all heart and soul, has fits of absence shocking—
His home is like a rabbit's hole when weasels come a-knocking.
And now and then, to put it plain, while falling daily sicker,
I think he tries to float his pain by copious goes of liquor.
BISHOP JOSS.
Yes, that's the end of selfishness, it leads to long vexation—
No man can pity Abe, I guess, who knows his situation;
And, Stranger, if this man you meet, don't take him for a sample,
Although he speaks you fair and sweet, he's set a vile example.
Because you see him ill at ease, at home, and never hearty,
Don't think these air the tokens, please, of a real saintly party!
No, he's a failure, he's a sham, a scandal to our nation,
Not fit to lead a single lamb, unworthy of his station;
No! if you want a Saint to see, who rules lambs when he's got 'em,
Just cock your weather-eye at me, or Brother Shufflebotham.
We don't go croaking east and west, afraid of women's faces,
We bless and we air truly blest in our domestic places;
We air religious, holy men, happy our folds to gather,
Each is a loyal citizen, also a husband— rather.
But now with talk you're dry and hot, and weary with your ride here,
Jest come and see my fam'ly lot,—they're waiting tea inside here.
| The Complete Poetical Works of Robert Buchanan | |