 | The collected works of Ambrose Bierce |  |
224
THE NEW ENOCH ARDEN
Enoch Arden was an able
Seaman; hear of his mishap—
Not in wild mendacious fable,
As 'twas told by t'other chap;
Seaman; hear of his mishap—
Not in wild mendacious fable,
As 'twas told by t'other chap;
For I hold it is a youthful
Indiscretion to tell lies,
And the writer that is truthful
Has the reader that is wise.
Indiscretion to tell lies,
And the writer that is truthful
Has the reader that is wise.
Enoch Arden, able seaman,
On an isle was cast away,
And before he was a free man
Time had touched him up with gray.
On an isle was cast away,
And before he was a free man
Time had touched him up with gray.
Long he searched the far horizon,
Seated on a mountain top;
Vessel ne'er he set his eyes on
That would undertake to stop.
Seated on a mountain top;
Vessel ne'er he set his eyes on
That would undertake to stop.
Seeing that his sight was growing
Dim and dimmer day by day,
Enoch said he must be going.
So he rose and went away—
Dim and dimmer day by day,
225
So he rose and went away—
Went away and so continued
Till he lost his lonely isle:
Mr. Arden was so sinewed
He could row for many a mile.
Till he lost his lonely isle:
Mr. Arden was so sinewed
He could row for many a mile.
Compass he had not, nor sextant,
To direct him o'er the sea:
Ere 'twas known that he was extant,
At his boyhood's home was he.
To direct him o'er the sea:
Ere 'twas known that he was extant,
At his boyhood's home was he.
When he saw the hills and hollows
And the streets he could but know,
He gave utterance as follows
To the sentiments below:
And the streets he could but know,
He gave utterance as follows
To the sentiments below:
“Blast my tarry toplights! (shiver,
Too, my timbers) but, I say,
W'at a larruk to diskiver
That I've lost my blessed way!
Too, my timbers) but, I say,
W'at a larruk to diskiver
That I've lost my blessed way!
“W'at, alas, would be my bloomin'
Fate if Philip now I see,
Which I lammed?—or my old 'oman,
Which has frequent basted me?”
Fate if Philip now I see,
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Which has frequent basted me?”
All the landscape swam around him
At the thought of such a lot:
In a swoon his Annie found him
And conveyed him to her cot.
At the thought of such a lot:
In a swoon his Annie found him
And conveyed him to her cot.
'Twas the very house, the garden,
Where their honeymoon was passed:
'Twas the place where Mrs. Arden
Would have mourned him to the last.
Where their honeymoon was passed:
'Twas the place where Mrs. Arden
Would have mourned him to the last.
Ah, what grief she'd known without him!
Now what tears of joy she shed!
Enoch Arden looked about him:
“Shanghaied!”—that was all he said.
Now what tears of joy she shed!
Enoch Arden looked about him:
“Shanghaied!”—that was all he said.
| The collected works of Ambrose Bierce | |