The Writings of Bret Harte standard library edition |
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THE VENDUE OF JEFFERSON DAVIS |
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 | The Writings of Bret Harte |  |
THE VENDUE OF JEFFERSON DAVIS
THE CAUSE
Of all the tyrants whose actions swell
The pages of history, and tell
How well they fought, and how brave they fell
In battle assault or siege, pell-mell,
Or blew up their foes and themselves as well,
By way of a general ridding,
Commend us to Jefferson D. who spread
On the “outer wall” a flag of red,
And called to an auction sale instead
The wretches who did his bidding.
The pages of history, and tell
How well they fought, and how brave they fell
In battle assault or siege, pell-mell,
Or blew up their foes and themselves as well,
By way of a general ridding,
Commend us to Jefferson D. who spread
On the “outer wall” a flag of red,
And called to an auction sale instead
The wretches who did his bidding.
And yet, so fickle's the human mind,
In fact or fiction you'll always find
The popular taste is most inclined
To the traitor that 's most consistent,
And the standard drama declares the fact
That he ought to die with his weapon hack't,
Or fall on his sword in the final act,
As Brutus once did in his tent.
In fact or fiction you'll always find
374
To the traitor that 's most consistent,
And the standard drama declares the fact
That he ought to die with his weapon hack't,
Or fall on his sword in the final act,
As Brutus once did in his tent.
Laugh at the principle if you will,
One feels a kind of indefinite thrill
For the hunted pirate who cowers still
O'er his magazine with an iron will
And a pistol cocked and loaded,
And knows that capture will bring the flash,
The swift upheaval, and awful crash,
The blinding smoke, and the sullen splash,
But never dreamed of selling for cash,
As certain people we know did;
Alas! that the theory and the rash
Example are both exploded.
One feels a kind of indefinite thrill
For the hunted pirate who cowers still
O'er his magazine with an iron will
And a pistol cocked and loaded,
And knows that capture will bring the flash,
The swift upheaval, and awful crash,
The blinding smoke, and the sullen splash,
But never dreamed of selling for cash,
As certain people we know did;
Alas! that the theory and the rash
Example are both exploded.
No doubt that Samson essayed to crown
In some such manner his life's renown
In that final act which they say brought down
The house on his last appearance;
Or, if further illustrations you lack,
I 've been keeping the scorpion figure back,
Who, girdled with fire, is never slack
In effecting his mortal clearance.
In some such manner his life's renown
In that final act which they say brought down
The house on his last appearance;
Or, if further illustrations you lack,
I 've been keeping the scorpion figure back,
Who, girdled with fire, is never slack
In effecting his mortal clearance.
But there are skeptical folk who doubt
If Jefferson Davis really sold out,
On the eve of his final defeat and rout,
Such trifles as pots and kettles;
Or ever his proud soul stooped so low,
While girding his loins for a final blow,
To lend himself to a Yankee show,
Whose very detail belittles,
And call the tale a canard—as near
What really is genuine and sincere
As the duck of Vaucauson might appear
To the one that digests its victuals.
If Jefferson Davis really sold out,
On the eve of his final defeat and rout,
Such trifles as pots and kettles;
Or ever his proud soul stooped so low,
While girding his loins for a final blow,
375
Whose very detail belittles,
And call the tale a canard—as near
What really is genuine and sincere
As the duck of Vaucauson might appear
To the one that digests its victuals.
But ah! the poet, whose prophet eyes
Can look through the battle-clouds that rise,
Sees not the traders who sacrifice
Such homely trifles as housewives prize,
But a symbol of something greater—
The selling out of a mansion built
On the soil where a Nation's blood is spilt,
With Fate for an auctioneer, and Guilt
Close by, an amazed spectator.
Can look through the battle-clouds that rise,
Sees not the traders who sacrifice
Such homely trifles as housewives prize,
But a symbol of something greater—
The selling out of a mansion built
On the soil where a Nation's blood is spilt,
With Fate for an auctioneer, and Guilt
Close by, an amazed spectator.
To such there comes a terrible awe,
To think that the people who gathered saw
The mighty arm of some Northern Thor
Uplifting the auction hammer,
And knocking down with each terrible blow
Some things that the catalogue did n't show,
In words that the reader will find below
Mixed up with the vendor's clamor:
To think that the people who gathered saw
The mighty arm of some Northern Thor
Uplifting the auction hammer,
And knocking down with each terrible blow
Some things that the catalogue did n't show,
In words that the reader will find below
Mixed up with the vendor's clamor:
THE SALE
“Going, gentlemen!—going, gone!
The entire furniture, slightly worn,
And the family portraits these walls adorn,
Well worthy of any man's—hanging;
And some English carpets as good as new,
A little down-trodden, but then they'll do
If you let Grant shake 'em and put 'em through
The usual beating and banging!
The entire furniture, slightly worn,
And the family portraits these walls adorn,
Well worthy of any man's—hanging;
And some English carpets as good as new,
A little down-trodden, but then they'll do
376
The usual beating and banging!
“Who bids for a genealogical tree—
A beautiful piece of embroidery,
A very first family's pedigree?
What a chance for our youthful scions!
Who bids? As the article 's useless now
I'll take—‘five dollars!’—too bad, I vow!
Well, put it in greenbacks! What name? eh, how?
Ah, beg your pardon!—‘Lord Lyons!’
A beautiful piece of embroidery,
A very first family's pedigree?
What a chance for our youthful scions!
Who bids? As the article 's useless now
I'll take—‘five dollars!’—too bad, I vow!
Well, put it in greenbacks! What name? eh, how?
Ah, beg your pardon!—‘Lord Lyons!’
“A family Bible I offer next,
Which opens itself at a certain text
About Onesimus that once vext
The church as a casus belli;
And all those passages stricken out
Which provoke research in this age of doubt:
How much?—Ah, thank you?—'t is yours, my stout
Old Cardinal—Antonelli!
Which opens itself at a certain text
About Onesimus that once vext
The church as a casus belli;
And all those passages stricken out
Which provoke research in this age of doubt:
How much?—Ah, thank you?—'t is yours, my stout
Old Cardinal—Antonelli!
“Now here 's an article one might skip,
But the lot goes together—a driver's whip,
And, barring some stains on the thong and tip,
It 's still in complete preservation:
Who bids? where 's the man who 's afraid to speak loud?
What, you, little white-coat, just back in the crowd,
With the yellow mustachios and bearing so proud!
Going, gone!—to the Austrian Legation!
But the lot goes together—a driver's whip,
And, barring some stains on the thong and tip,
It 's still in complete preservation:
Who bids? where 's the man who 's afraid to speak loud?
What, you, little white-coat, just back in the crowd,
With the yellow mustachios and bearing so proud!
Going, gone!—to the Austrian Legation!
“Going, gentlemen—going, gone!
The household gods of a man forlorn,
For the benefit of the wives that mourn,
And of children's children, yet unborn,
And of bonds that none shall sever;
The house, and all that the house contains,
The wandering ghosts and their vengeful manes,
The naked walls and their blots and stains,
And even the title that now obtains
With an U. S. Grant forever!”
The household gods of a man forlorn,
For the benefit of the wives that mourn,
And of children's children, yet unborn,
And of bonds that none shall sever;
377
The wandering ghosts and their vengeful manes,
The naked walls and their blots and stains,
And even the title that now obtains
With an U. S. Grant forever!”
| The Writings of Bret Harte | |