 | Poetry of the Farm and Rural Life |  |
Now, man may be green, like myself, I opine,
And yet not exhibit its every sign;
But if the great showman this “species” could get,
The tide of his fortunes might flood again yet.
His figure was outre; his making-up wrong;
His body quite short, and his legs very long,
Loose-jointed and crooked; in fine he seem'd made
Of remnants, left o'er from the man-making trade.
With eyes like a frog's, near the top of his skull,
The color of pewter, and that very dull,
They fix'd upon this and on that with a stare,
His jaw dropping down with the vacantest air;
In short, he was just, both in looks and condition,
Illustrated verdure, a live definition!
His voice was a sort of asthmatical jet,
The blurt and the wheeze of a crack'd clarionet.
Imagine, O reader, the looks of the “cretur,”
While I shall attempt his narration in metre:—
And yet not exhibit its every sign;
73
The tide of his fortunes might flood again yet.
His figure was outre; his making-up wrong;
His body quite short, and his legs very long,
Loose-jointed and crooked; in fine he seem'd made
Of remnants, left o'er from the man-making trade.
With eyes like a frog's, near the top of his skull,
The color of pewter, and that very dull,
They fix'd upon this and on that with a stare,
His jaw dropping down with the vacantest air;
In short, he was just, both in looks and condition,
Illustrated verdure, a live definition!
His voice was a sort of asthmatical jet,
The blurt and the wheeze of a crack'd clarionet.
Imagine, O reader, the looks of the “cretur,”
While I shall attempt his narration in metre:—
| Poetry of the Farm and Rural Life | |