The Downing legends : Stories in Rhyme :: :: University of Virginia Library

“But I had nary time to laugh
While any warlock stayed, or wizard;
I thrashed my harvest into chaff,
An' spelt my stent from A to Izzard.
I strowed the country right an' left
With Tophet's elders an' exhorters,
With damaged prophets, powwows cleft,
An' necromancers carved in quarters.
The very whiteoaks couldn't hold
Agin the slash of Downing's whinyard;
I ravaged all that haunted wold
As Ahab ravaged Naboth's vineyard.
I didn't leave a trunk unchopped;
The rubbidge covered several acres,
An' everywhere the wizards dropped
In urgent need of undertakers.
The hill is higher far than 'twas
Before I laid the woodland level,
An' schollards dig there teeth an' claws
As old an' ugly as the devil.

“But still, alas! I couldn't do
A Shiloh soldier's perfect duty;
I failed to run Apollos through,
An' save my little gipsy beauty,
They whipped about at lightnin' pace,

Onsartin, like a firefly's glitter,
The parson smirkin' in my face,
The lassie blushin', all a-titter.
They sparkled there, they fluttered here,
They glimpsed along from nook to cover.
Betimes they capered purty near,
An' roundabout my head would hover.
But finally there came a glare
Of fiery claws and flamy pinions,
That hustled them, I s'pose, to where
Apollyon snarls among his minions.”