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A Life's Story, In Poetry. Other Poems

Chapter 15: THE RUMSELLER'S SOLILOQUY
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About This Book

A first-person poetic memoir traces a long life from childhood into advanced age, following the speaker through apprenticeship, various manual trades, migration and settlement, home‑building, and the daily labor that sustains family life. Episodes of technological change, economic hardship, fire, illness, and bereavement punctuate the narrative while concrete details of workshops, mills, and tools underscore a craftsman’s practical perspective. The wider collection mixes tones and forms, offering satirical and reflective pieces, domestic and seasonal verses, and occasional topical poems including an argument in favor of woman's suffrage.

THE RUMSELLER'S SOLILOQUY


I had rum, and gin, and brandy
  All made of whiskey, too,
And all arranged so handy
  To tempt their thirsty view.
Oh! no they need not talk it,
  Those were happy times.
With hand in drunkard's pocket
  Hauling out the dimes.

Was I starving others?
  Then so let it be;
Those children and the mothers
  Did not belong to me.
While lying in the gutter,
  A mother's loving son,
Conscience began to mutter
  At the deed I'd done.

Then came this consolation
  Just in the nick of time;
The law of state and nation
  Had legalized the crime.
For I had got my license,
  Had paid my license fee;
So the squeemish nonsense
  Had no effect on me.

The brewers of the nation
  To the constitution go,
To save their occupation
  From the prohibition blow,
Wonder if the constitution
  Would reinstate me here;
Defend me from invasion
  While selling rum and beer.

For temperance is booming,
  My license now is dead,
And poverty is coming,
  My children cry for bread.
Gambling I've been trying
  But could not stand the test;
With all my cheat and lying
  I came out second best.

I wish I'd stuck to labor,
  Earned my bread by honest toil,
Like my hale and happy neighbor
  Who ploughs and tills the soil.
My flesh is made of lager,
  My muscles weak and lax;
I cannot turn the auger,
  Swing the hammer or the ax.

My children's cries so wounding,
  My heart with anguish torn;
My troubles so confounding,
  I wish I'd not been born.
The thread of life I'd sever
  And lay myself to rest;
But thoughts of the forever
  Send trouble to my breast.

Should I meet with retribution
  Beyond the bounds of time,
Neither law nor constitution
  Would legalize the crime.