Rhymes with reason and without

I'm not inclined to swear the tale is true
I here indite in affluence of rhyme;
Nor be precise in stating where or who,
Or be particular in fixing time.

Enough for me there on a time befell,
'T was said, an incident of teeming note,
Which gossips o'er their tea would love to tell;
And mirthfulness did that same tale promote.

A Sunday in the melting, burning June
Gave earth a sun that tried the people sore,—
The organ-pipes with sweating drowned the tune
That struggled through their apertures to pour.

The church-bell, to its calling true, did toll,—
Tolled till the tollman could n't keep awake;
And if its notes were bank-notes, every soul
A most usurious toll that day did take.

229

The people gathered gravely in their pews,
Gravely as was their wont on such a day;
Yet quite divergent were their various views,—
The elders looked to heaven, youth t' other way.

And heard they still the bell's dull toll and toll,
The neighbors wishing that its tongue were dumb;
And heard they still the dismal organ dole
Its airs—the atmosphere of kingdom come.

And still the parson came not on the scene,
Though long the hour had passed at which he ought;
Grave men looked round with a most meaning mien,
And all were wide awake with wakened thought.

The deacon placed his forehead in his palm,
As if the matter he would take in hand,
Then, rising with a Christian temper calm,
He hemmed aloud, attention to command:

“I go, my friends,” the good man spake, “to bring
Some tidings sure of him we love so dear;
It surely cannot be a trivial thing
To keep him from these courts, the case is clear.”

Then wandered Deacon Jones from forth the church,
And to the parsonage he went away,
Leaving the congregation in the lurch,
To everything but prayerfulness a prey.

230

Imagination drew the hoof and tail
And horns of demons with an aspect dire,
Who doubtless dared his reverence to assail
For striving to throw water on their fire;

Or, taking to himself some siren's form,
Old Smut had lured him from his calling high;—
They knew his heart susceptible and warm;
They knew the tempter he would never fly.

And there they steamed upon that Sabbath day;
Though temperate men, yet every man was hot,
Determined to the church to be a stay,—
Like Lady Macbeth, could n't “out the spot;”

And where was he, the good man and the right,
Who “waiting saints” were anxious should appear?
Alas! good Deacon Jones, he found him tight
And fast within an upper chamber drear.

So upward did his heavenly fancy rise,
His study graced his dwelling's topmost height;
Two pair of stairs would not his need suffice,
His aspiration took another flight.

And there good Deacon Jones the parson found,
Breathing the breezes through a skylight dim;
He heard the bell's toll echoing all around,
But sad the story that it told to him.

231

A shrewish wife had turned on him the key,
And left him there in solitude to pout;
Like Sterne's caged starling, prisoned close was he,
Sighing, most dismally, “I can't get out.”.

[OMITTED]

In order meet they all did homeward part,
As they the tale of trouble soon did hear;
So sad the parson took the thing to heart,
He left the parish ere another year.

University of Virginia Library

THE DISAPPOINTED FLOCK; OR, THE SHEPHERD IMPOUNDED.

A caution to peaceful people, with termagant wives, not to leave the key on the outside of the door; and to flighty parsons, not to get so high that they can't jump down.