Moral Emblems

‘Discourteous tree,’ the first replied,

‘The tempest in my boughs had cried,

The hunter slumbered in my shade,

A hundred years ere you were made.’

The second smiled as he returned:

‘I shall be here when you are burned.’

So far dissension ruled the pair,

Each turned on each a frowning air,

When flickering from the bank anigh,

A flight of martens met their eye.

Sometime their course they watched; and then -

They nodded off to sleep again.

Poem: IV – THE TRAMPS

Now long enough had day endured,

Or King Apollo Palinured,

Seaward he steers his panting team,

And casts on earth his latest gleam.

But see! the Tramps with jaded eye

Their destined provinces espy.

Long through the hills their way they took,

Long camped beside the mountain brook;

’Tis over; now with rising hope

They pause upon the downward slope,

And as their aching bones they rest,

Their anxious captain scans the west.

So paused Alaric on the Alps

And ciphered up the Roman scalps.

Poem: V – THE FOOLHARDY GEOGRAPHER

The howling desert miles around,

The tinkling brook the only sound -

Wearied with all his toils and feats,

The traveller dines on potted meats;

On potted meats and princely wines,

Not wisely but too well he dines.

The brindled Tiger loud may roar,

High may the hovering Vulture soar;

Alas! regardless of them all,

Soon shall the empurpled glutton sprawl -

Soon, in the desert’s hushed repose,

Shall trumpet tidings through his nose!

Alack, unwise! that nasal song

Shall be the Ounce’s dinner-gong!

A blemish in the cut appears;

Alas! it cost both blood and tears.

The glancing graver swerved aside,

Fast flowed the artist’s vital tide!

And now the apologetic bard

Demands indulgence for his pard!

Poem: VI – THE ANGLER AND THE CLOWN

The echoing bridge you here may see,

The pouring lynn, the waving tree,

The eager angler fresh from town -

Above, the contumelious clown.

The angler plies his line and rod,

The clodpole stands with many a nod, -

With many a nod and many a grin,

He sees him cast his engine in.

‘What have you caught?’ the peasant cries.

‘Nothing as yet,’ the Fool replies.

MORAL TALES

Poem: I – ROBIN AND BEN: OR, THE PIRATE AND THE APOTHECARY

Come, lend me an attentive ear

A startling moral tale to hear,

Of Pirate Rob and Chemist Ben,

And different destinies of men.

Deep in the greenest of the vales

That nestle near the coast of Wales,

The heaving main but just in view,

Robin and Ben together grew,

Together worked and played the fool,

Together shunned the Sunday school,

And pulled each other’s youthful noses

Around the cots, among the roses.

Together but unlike they grew;

Robin was rough, and through and through

Bold, inconsiderate, and manly,

Like some historic Bruce or Stanley.