 | The money-king and other poems |  |
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To Mrs. George P. Marsh:
A Lady endowed with the best Gifts of Nature and Culture, and adorned with all Womanly Graces,—this volume is inscribed by her Friend,
The Author.
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HOW THE LAWYERS GOT A PATRON SAINT.
A LEGEND OF BRETAGNE.
A lawyer of Brittany, once on a time,
When business was flagging at home,
Was sent as a legate to Italy's clime,
To confer with the Father at Rome.
When business was flagging at home,
Was sent as a legate to Italy's clime,
To confer with the Father at Rome.
And what was the message the minister brought?
To the Pope he preferred a complaint
That each other profession a Patron had got,
While the Lawyers had never a Saint!
To the Pope he preferred a complaint
That each other profession a Patron had got,
While the Lawyers had never a Saint!
“Very true,” said his Holiness,—smiling to find
An attorney so civil and pleasant,—
“But my very last Saint is already assigned,
And I can't make a new one at present.
An attorney so civil and pleasant,—
“But my very last Saint is already assigned,
And I can't make a new one at present.
To choose from the Bar it were fittest, I think;
Perhaps you've a man in your eye”—
And his Holiness here gave a mischievous wink
To a Cardinal sitting near by.
Perhaps you've a man in your eye”—
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To a Cardinal sitting near by.
But the lawyer replied, in a lawyer-like way,
“I know what is modest, I hope;
I didn't come hither, allow me to say,
To proffer advice to the Pope!”
“I know what is modest, I hope;
I didn't come hither, allow me to say,
To proffer advice to the Pope!”
“Very well,” said his Holiness, “then we will do
The best that may fairly be done;
It don't seem exactly the thing, it is true,
That the Law should be Saint-less alone.
The best that may fairly be done;
It don't seem exactly the thing, it is true,
That the Law should be Saint-less alone.
To treat your profession as well as I can,
And leave you no cause of complaint,
I propose, as the only quite feasible plan,
To give you a second-hand Saint.
And leave you no cause of complaint,
I propose, as the only quite feasible plan,
To give you a second-hand Saint.
To the neighboring church you will presently go,
And this is the plan I advise:—
First, say a few aves—a hundred or so—
Then, carefully bandage your eyes;
And this is the plan I advise:—
First, say a few aves—a hundred or so—
Then, carefully bandage your eyes;
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Then (saying more aves) go groping around,
And, touching one object alone,
The Saint you are seeking will quickly be found,
For the first that you touch is your own.”
And, touching one object alone,
The Saint you are seeking will quickly be found,
For the first that you touch is your own.”
The lawyer did as his Holiness said,
Without an omission or flaw;
Then, taking the bandages off from his head,
What do you think he saw?
Without an omission or flaw;
Then, taking the bandages off from his head,
What do you think he saw?
There was St. Michael (figured in paint)
Subduing the Father of Evil;
And the lawyer, exclaiming “Be thou our Saint!”
Was touching the form of the Devil!
Subduing the Father of Evil;
And the lawyer, exclaiming “Be thou our Saint!”
Was touching the form of the Devil!
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LINES ON MY THIRTY-NINTH BIRTHDAY.
Ah me!—the moments will not stay!
Another year has rolled away;
And June (the second) scores the line
That tells me I am Thirty-nine!
Another year has rolled away;
And June (the second) scores the line
That tells me I am Thirty-nine!
As thus I haste the mile-stones by,
I mark the numbers with a sigh;
And yet 'tis idle to repine
I 've come so soon to Thirty-nine!
I mark the numbers with a sigh;
And yet 'tis idle to repine
I 've come so soon to Thirty-nine!
O, few that roam this world of ours,
To feel its thorns and pluck its flowers,
Have trod a brighter path than mine
From blithe thirteen to Thirty-nine!
To feel its thorns and pluck its flowers,
Have trod a brighter path than mine
From blithe thirteen to Thirty-nine!
Health, home, and friends, (life's solid part,)
A merry laugh, a fresh, young heart,
Poetic dreams, and love divine—
Have I not these at Thirty-nine?
A merry laugh, a fresh, young heart,
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Have I not these at Thirty-nine?
O Time!—forego thy wonted spite,
And lay thy future lashes light,
And, trust me, I will not repine
At twice the count of Thirty-nine!
And lay thy future lashes light,
And, trust me, I will not repine
At twice the count of Thirty-nine!
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REVERSING THE FIGURES.
Maria, just at twenty, sworeThat no man less than six feet four
Should be her chosen one.
At thirty she is glad to fix
A spouse exactly four feet six,
As better far than none!
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