 | The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") |  |
BRANT'S TAIL.
“If Brant, our puppy, continues to grow,
What will he be in a year or so?”
That's what my little boy wanted to know.
What will he be in a year or so?”
That's what my little boy wanted to know.
476
Four months old and four feet long,
Gaunt but brawny, and broad and strong,
With a bay like the roar of a China gong.
Gaunt but brawny, and broad and strong,
With a bay like the roar of a China gong.
Four months since when he came to the place,
No promise of size could any one trace—
In length six inches, and most of him face.
No promise of size could any one trace—
In length six inches, and most of him face.
So the little boy, “wanted to know, you know,”
If at that rate he'd continue to grow;
And I answered, “Yes, for a year or so.”
If at that rate he'd continue to grow;
And I answered, “Yes, for a year or so.”
“And what is the ‘so’?” “Four months, about;
And then you'll find him strong and stout,
With his power of growth quite given out.”
And then you'll find him strong and stout,
With his power of growth quite given out.”
The little fellow, before he would sup,
Took slate and pencil and ciphered it up—
The probable growth of that wonderful pup.
Took slate and pencil and ciphered it up—
The probable growth of that wonderful pup.
He worked it out by the rule of three,
And he brought the figures straight to me,
And they seemed as plain as plain could be.
And he brought the figures straight to me,
And they seemed as plain as plain could be.
“Thirty-two feet in four months more,
And eight times that in another four,
And eight times that when the year is o'er.
And eight times that in another four,
And eight times that when the year is o'er.
“And eight times when four more have past,”
The dog might be accounted vast,
Enormous, huge, and unsurpassed.
The dog might be accounted vast,
Enormous, huge, and unsurpassed.
The boy, by calculation, found
That Brant, when sixteen months came round,
Would shade ten acres, or more, of ground.
That Brant, when sixteen months came round,
Would shade ten acres, or more, of ground.
477
And the little fellow grew scared and pale,
And vented his terror in a wail,
When he thought of three hundred yards of tail.
And vented his terror in a wail,
When he thought of three hundred yards of tail.
Then I thought to myself as I scanned the “sum,”
What a high old time, if it wasn't a hum,
In the scientific world to come.
What a high old time, if it wasn't a hum,
In the scientific world to come.
In a thousand years the tempests pluvial,
In spite of your wondrous works may move ye all,
And cover the land with a soil alluvial.
In spite of your wondrous works may move ye all,
And cover the land with a soil alluvial.
And then some student of that day's Yale,
Blasting on mountain, or digging in dale,
May come on the bones of that buried tail.
Blasting on mountain, or digging in dale,
May come on the bones of that buried tail.
And then he'll call some learned professor—
Agassiz, or Buckland, his successor—
And the greater 'll confab with the lesser.
Agassiz, or Buckland, his successor—
And the greater 'll confab with the lesser.
And then, for the palpable reason, d'ye see,
That men of science can never agree,
They'll call another to umpire be.
That men of science can never agree,
They'll call another to umpire be.
He'll come, look grave, and nothing loth
He'll listen, and then he'll make them wroth
By disagreeing a little with both.
He'll listen, and then he'll make them wroth
By disagreeing a little with both.
And one will say it's a lizard dead,
And one declare it's a snake instead,
And the last will ask them where's its head;
And one declare it's a snake instead,
And the last will ask them where's its head;
Then the men of science 'll feel go through 'em
A shock when reporters keen pursue 'em,
Twenty to each, to interview 'em.
A shock when reporters keen pursue 'em,
Twenty to each, to interview 'em.
478
And the scientific world will shake
With the pother the scientists all will make
As to whether these bones are eel or snake;
With the pother the scientists all will make
As to whether these bones are eel or snake;
And then the ink will begin to fly,
And innuendoes sharp and sly,
And each will tell the other they lie;
And innuendoes sharp and sly,
And each will tell the other they lie;
And the dailies will use—it's what they are for—
Those bitter words the weak abhor,
And they'll call the strife “The Big Bone War.”
Those bitter words the weak abhor,
And they'll call the strife “The Big Bone War.”
And all the naturalists will fail
To discover these osseous fragments frail
Are only the bones of our dog Brant's tail.
To discover these osseous fragments frail
Are only the bones of our dog Brant's tail.
| The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") | |