 | Under Green Leaves |  |
143
CRACKLETHORN.
“For as the crackling of thorns under a pot, so is the
laughter of the fool: this also is vanity.”—Ecclesiastes.
Through a great and a mighty city
I roam'd like one forlorn;
Through the city, amid the people,
In the land of Cracklethorn.
I heard the sorry jesters,—
The dismal songs they sang,
The crack of their witless laughter,
Their loud, incessant slang.
At the holiest and the highest
They launch'd the wordy dart;
They sneer'd at manly honour,
They scoff'd at woman's heart.
144
They ridiculed the truth,
Till their old men grinn'd like monkeys,
And a blight came o'er their youth.
To be great, or wise, or lofty,
Was to earn their giggling scorn.
“Come plague, and famine, or fire from Heaven,”
I said, like one forlorn,—
“Come plague, and famine, and fire from Heaven,
And fall on Cracklethorn!”
| Under Green Leaves | |