As true as steel, as truth is true,
Good as a sermon, keen as hate,
Full as a tick, and fixed as fate—
Sweet as the rosy morn in May,
Chaste as the moon, as snow is white,
Broad as barn doors, and new as sight—
The Dictaphone Bard
[And here is a suggestion: Did you ever try dictating your stories or articles to the dictaphone for the first draft? I would be glad to have you come down and make the experiment.—From a shorthand reporter's circular letter.]
(As "The Ballad of the Tempest" would have to issue from the dictaphone to the stenographer)
Begin each line with a capital. Indent alternate lines. Double space after each fourth line.
Not a soul would dare to sleep dash comma
It was midnight on the waters comma
And a storm was on the deep period
To be shattered by the blast comma
And to hear the rattling trumpet
Thunder colon quote capital Cut away the mast exclamation point close quote
For the stoutest held his breath comma
While the hungry sea was roaring comma
And the breakers talked with capital Death period
Each one busy with his prayers comma
Quote We are lost exclamation point close quote the captain shouted comma
As he staggered down the stairs period
As she took his icy hand colon
Quote Isn't capital God upon the ocean comma
Just the same as on the land interrogation point close quote
And we spake in better cheer comma
And we anchored safe in harbor
When the morn was shining clear period
The Comfort of Obscurity
INSPIRED BY READING MR. KIPLING'S POEMS AS PRINTED IN THE NEW YORK PAPERS
I still am unillustrious;
No papers empty purses
Printing verses
Such as mine.
No lack of fame is chronicker
Than that about my monicker;
My verse is never cabled
At a fabled
Rate per line.
Ballade of the Traffickers
Up goes the cost of our caking!
People must ever be fed;
Bakers must ever be baking.
So, though our nerves may be quaking,
Dumbly, in arrant despair,
Pay we the crowd that is taking
All that the traffic will bear.
Costlier yet to be waking!
Costly for one who is wed!
Ruinous for one who is raking!
Tradespeople, ducking and draking,
Charge you as much as they dare,
Asking, without any faking,
All that the traffic will bear.
L'ENVOI
To W. Hohenzollern, on Discontinuing The Conning Tower
As I recall, one cool October morning—
(You have The Tribune files; I think they'll show
I gave you warning).
In phrases balanced, yet replete with power,
That I should cease to pen the prose and verse
Known as The Tower.
Though stopping make the planet leaden-hearted—
Unless you stopped the well-known Schrecklichkeit
Your nation started.
My paragraphs were thewed, my rhymes were sinewed.
You paid, I judge from what ensued, no heed ...
The war continued.
Although my words were strong, and stripped of stuffing,
You, William, thought—oh, yes, you did—you thought
That I was bluffing.
You thought that, at the crux of things, I'd cower!
How little, how imperfectly you knew
The Conning Tower!
I have no fear that I shall be forgotten.
You'll miss the daily privilege to say:
"That stuff is rotten!"
Have chanced upon a lucky line to blunder,
You'll miss the precious privilege to cry:
"That bird's a wonder!"
When you have put an end to all this war stuff,
When all the world is reasonably safe,
I'll write some more stuff.
And learn you can't endure the Towerless season,
O William, I shall not be petty ... I'll
Listen to reason.
To W. Hohenzollern, on Resuming The Conning Tower
As I recall, one cool October morning—
(I have The Tribune files. They clearly show
I gave you warning.)
The world has seen a vast amount of slaughter,
And under many a Gallic bridge has flowed
A lot of water.
That when you'd put an end to all this war stuff,
And all the world was reasonably safe
I'd write some more stuff;
And learned you couldn't bear a Towerless season,
I quote: "O, I shall not be petty.... I'll
Listen to reason."
Fugaces! William, by my shoulders glistening!
I have the final laugh, for it was you
Who did the listening.
Thoughts on the Cosmos
The world is jonahed by a jinx;
That everything is sad and sour,
And life a withered hothouse flower.
Who says that All Is for the Best,
And hold in high, unhidden scorn
Who sees the Rose, nor feels the Thorn.
On Environment
Ment talk was all a lot of guff;
Place mattered not with Keats and Byron
Stuff.
Bright be the day or hung with gloom,
I'll write in Heaven or the composing-
Room.
Joyous and bright the songs I sing;
Though, gay, I can't dope out a single
Thing.
The Ballad of the Thoughtless Waiter
Who yesterday was whole.
"Why," I inquired, "hath he expired?
And why hath fled his soul?"
"All health was his, and strength;
And this is why he came to die—
If I may speak at length.
At a not unknown café,
He had a frugal meal as you
Might purchase any day.
Was only eighty cents,
And a dollar bill with a right good will
Came from his opulence.
'Twas only yesternight
That he softly said who now is dead
'Oh, keep it. 'At's a' right.'
With no hint of scorn or pride;
And my comrade's heart gave a sudden start
And my comrade up and died."
Rus Vs. Urbs
Regards a lovely country home,
He sighs, in words not insincere,
"I think I'd like to live out here."
"I'm Out of the Army Now"
I thought, delightedly though mutely,
"Henceforth I shall have pleasure ab-
Solutely."
Sick of the very name of fighting,
I yearned, I thought, for something more
Exciting.
My suit shall be a brave and proud one
Gay-hued my socks; and oh, my tie
A loud one!
Primrose the path I would be wending;
For me the roses of romance
Unending.
(And those of many another million)
When once again I should be a
Civilian.
(Monotony I didn't much like)
I would not miss the reveille,
And such like.
"Oh Man!"
Man hath soared to the skies;
Mountain and hill are clay to his will;
Skilful he is, and wise.
Sea to sea hath he wedded,
Canceled the chasm of space,
Given defeat to cold and heat;
Splendour is his, and grace.
An Ode in Time of Inauguration
(March 4, 1913)
I crave thy succour, ask for thine assistance
That men may cry: "Some little ode! A peach!"
O Muse, grant me the strength to go the distance!
For odes, I learn, are dithyrambs, and long;
Exalted feeling, dignity of theme
And complicated structure guide the song.
(All this from Webster's book of high esteem.)
My lucid lines, nor weight with overloading.
To Shelley, Keats, and Wordsworth and that crowd
I yield the bays for ground and lofty oding.
Mine but the task to trace a country's growth,
As evidenced by each inauguration
From Washington's to Wilson's primal oath—
In these U. S., the celebrated nation.
Or e'er I loose my fine poetic forces,
I ought, I think, to do the decent thing,
To wit: give credit to my many sources:
Barnes's "Brief History of the U. S. A.,"
Bryce, Ridpath, Scudder, Fiske, J. B. McMaster,
A book of odes, a Webster, a Roget—
The bibliography of this poetaster.
An thou dost ill, shall this be still a poor thing, but mine ode.
Right down in Wall Street, New York City,
Took his first oath. Oh, multiplex
The whimsies quaint, the comments witty
One might evolve from that! I scorn
To mock the spot where he was sworn.
He took the avouchment sempiternal
Way down in Phil-a-delph-i-a,
Where rises now the L. H. Journal.
His Farewell Speech in '96
Said: "'Ware the Trusts and all their tricks!"
March Fourth was blustery and sleety;
The French behaved in horrid ways
Until John Jay drew up a treaty.
Came the Eleventh Amendment, too,
Providing that—but why tell you?
Held all display was vain and idle;
Alone, unpanoplied, he rode;
Alone he hitched his horse's bridle.
No ball that night, and no carouse,
But back to Conrad's boarding house.
The morning of inauguration;
John Davis saw him do it; whence
Arose his "simple" reputation.
The White House, though, with Thomas J.,
Had chefs—and parties every day.
The Muse Interrupts the Odist
The Odist Replies
But why embarrass me in front of all these readers?
Was a lovely celebration.
In a suit of wool domestic
Rode he, stately and majestic,
Making it be manifest
Clothes American are best.
This has thundered through the ages.
(See our advertising pages.)
Come to the terms of James Monroe
Who framed the doctrine far too well
Known for an odist to retell.
His period of friendly dealing
Began The Era of Good Feeling.
Election was exciting—the details I shall ignore.
But his inauguration as our country's President
Was, take it from McMaster, some considerable event.
It was a brilliant function, and I think I ought to add
The Philadelphia "Ledger" said a gorgeous time was had.
That stern, intrepid warrior had little else than fighting.
A time of strife and turbulence, of politics and flurry.
But deadly dull for poem themes, so, Mawruss, I should worry!
A stately custom then decree:
Old Hickory, the veteran,
Must ride with him, the people's man,
For all the world to see.
A pleasant custom, in a way,
And yet I should have laughed
To see the Sage of Oyster Bay
On Tuesday ride with Taft.
(Pardon me this
Parenthetical halt:
That sight you'll miss,
But it isn't my fault.)
Riding a horse of alabaster,
But the weather that day was a sin and a shame,
Take it from me and John McMaster.
Only a month—and Harrison died,
And V.-P. Tyler began preside.
A far from popular prex was he,
And the next one was Polk of Tennessee.
There were two inaugural balls for him,
But the rest of his record is rather dim.
Had I the wisdom of Hegel or Kant,
Then might I sing as I'd like to of Zachary,
Then might I sing a Taylorian chant.
Oh, for the lyrical art of a Tennyson!
Oh, for the skill of Macaulay or Burke!
None of these mine; so I give him my benison,
Turning reluctantly back to my work.
To thee, what direful, awful thing occurs?
Though in itself thy name hath nought of wit,
Yet—and this doth confound me to admit
When I do hear it, I do smile; nay, more—
I laugh, I scream, I cachinnate, I roar
As Wearied Business Men do shake with glee
At mimes that say "Dubuque" or "Kankakee";
As basement-brows that laugh at New Rochelle;
As lackwits laugh when actors mention Hell.
Perhaps—it may be so—I am not sure—
Perhaps it is that thou wast so obscure,
And that one seldom hears a single word of thee;
I know a lot of girls that never heard of thee.
Hence did I smile, perhaps.... How very near
The careless laughing to the thoughtful tear!
O Fillmore, let me sheathe my mocking pen.
God rest thee! I'll not laugh at thee again!
There wasn't a soul had the slightest objection.
I have also been told, by some caustical wit,
That no one said nay when he wanted to quit.
Yet Franklin Pierce, forgotten man,
I celebrate your fame.
I'm doing just the best I can
To keep alive your name,
Though as a President, F. P.,
You didn't do as much for me.
I might recite. I'll say that he was
The only White House bachelor—
The only one, that's what J. B. was.
For he was a bachelor—
For he might have been a bigamist,
A Mormon, a polygamist,
And had thirty wives or more;
But this be his memorial:
He was ever unuxorial,
And remained a bachelor—
He re-mai-ai-ai-ai-ai-ai-ai-ai-ai-ai-ained a bachelor.
As if all words of mine in praise of him
Were as the veriest dolt that saw the sun;
And God had spoken him and said to him:
"I bid you tell me what you think of it."
And he should answer: "Oh, the sun is nice."
So sadly fitted I to speak in praise
Of Lincoln.
We bought Alaska and we laid the great Atlantic cable;
And then there came eight years of Grant; thereafter four of Hayes;
And in his time the parties fell on fierce and parlous days;
And Garfield came, and Arthur too, and Congress shoes were worn,
And Brooklyn Bridge was built, and I, your gifted bard, was born.
Followed an era of Cleveland again.
Came then McKinley and—light me a pipe—
Hey, there, composing room, get some new type!
I sing him now as I have sung before.
How fluently his name comes off my pen!
O Theodore!
Energy tireless, eternal,
Fixed and particular star,
Theodore, Teddy, the Colonel.
Hater of grafters and crooks!
Theodore, Teddy, the Colonel,
Writer and lover of books,
Forceful, adroit, and expressive,
Writer and lover of books,
Nevertheless a Progressive.
Often asserting the trite;
Nevertheless a Progressive;
Errant, but generally right.
Stubborn, and no one can force you.
Errant, but generally right—
Yet, on the whole, I indorse you.
Fixed and particular star,
Yet, on the whole, I indorse you,
Bless you and keep you, T. R.!
The day that William Howard Taft upon the chair was seated.
The four long years that followed—ah, that I should make a rime of it!
For Mr. Taft assures me that he had an awful time of it.
And yet meseems he did his best; and as we bid good-bye,
I'll add he did a better job than you'd have done—or I.
New prexy of our well-known land.
May what we merit, and no less,
Descend to give us happiness!
May what we merit, and no more,
Descend on us in measured store!
Give us but peace when we shall earn
The right to such a rich return!
Give us but plenty when we show
That we deserve to have it so!
What the Copy Desk Might Have Done to:
("Annabel Lee")
SOUL BRIDE ODDLY DEAD
IN QUEER DEATH PACT
High-Born Kinsman Abducts
Girl from Poet-Lover—Flu
Said to Be Cause of Death—Grand
Jury to Probe
Annabel L. Poe, of 1834-1/2 3rd Av., the beautiful young fiancee of Edmund Allyn Poe, a magazine writer from the South, was found dead early this morning on the beach off E. 8th St.
Poe seemed prostrated and, questioned by the police, said that one of her aristocratic relatives had taken her to the "seashore," but that the cold winds had given her "flu," from which she never "rallied."
Detectives at work on the case believe, they say, that there was a suicide compact between the Poes and that Poe also intended to do away with himself.
He refused to leave the spot where the woman's body had been found.
("Curfew Must Not Ring To-night")
GIRL, HUMAN BELL-CLAPPER,
SAVES DOOMED LOVER'S LIFE
BRAVE ACT Of "BESSIE" SMITH
HALTS CURFEW FROM RINGING
AND MELTS CROMWELL'S HEART
(By Cable to The Courier)
HUDDERSFIELD, KENT, ENGLAND.—Jan. 15.—Swinging far out above the city, "Bessie" Smith, the young and beautiful fiancée of Basil Underwood, a prisoner incarcerated in the town jail, saved his life to-night.
The woman went to "Jack" Hemingway, sexton of the First M. E. Church, and asked him to refrain from ringing the curfew bell last night, as Underwood's execution had been set for the hour when the bell was to ring. Hemingway refused, alleging it to be his duty to ring the bell.
With a quick step Miss Smith bounded forward, sprang within the old church door, left the old man threading slowly paths which previously he had trodden, and mounted up to the tower. Climbing the dusty ladder in the dark, she is said to have whispered:
"Curfew is not to ring this evening."
Seizing the heavy tongue of the bell, as it was about to move, she swung far out suspended in mid-air, oscillating, thus preventing the bell from ringing. Hemingway's deafness prevented him from hearing the bell ring, but as he had been deaf for 20 years, he attributed no importance to the silence.
As Miss Smith descended, she met Oliver Cromwell, the well-known lord protector, who had condemned Underwood to death. Hearing her story and noting her hands, bruised and torn, he said in part: "Go, your lover lives. Curfew shall not ring this evening."
("The Ballad of the Tempest")
TOT'S FEW WORDS
KEEP 117 SOULS
FROM DIRE PANIC
Babe's Query to Parent Saves
Storm-Flayed Ship's Passengers
Crowded in Cabin
FEARFUL THING IN WINTER
BOSTON, MASS, Jan. 17—Cheered by the faith of little "Jennie" Carpenter, the 7-year-old daughter of Capt. B. L. Carpenter, of a steamer whose name could not be learned, 117 passengers on board were brought through panic early this morning while the storm was at its height, to shore.
George H. Nebich, one of the passengers, told the following story to a COURIER reporter:
"About midnight we were crowded in the cabin, afraid to sleep on account of the storm. All were praying, as Capt. Carpenter, staggering down the stairs, cried: 'We are lost!' It was then that little 'Jennie,' his daughter, took him by his hand and asked him whether he did not believe in divine omnipresence. All the passengers kissed the little 'girlie' whose faith had so inspirited us."
The steamer, it was said at the office of the company owning her, would leave as usual to-night for Portland.
("Plain Language from Truthful James")
AH SIN, FAMED TONG MAN,
BESTS BARD AT CARD TILT
"Celestial" Gambler, Feigning Ignorance
of Euchre, Tricks Francis Bret Harte and
"Bill" Nye into Heavy Losses—Solons
to Probe Ochre Peril
SAN FRANCISCO, Aug. 3.—Francis B. Harte and E. W. Nye, a pair of local magazine writers, lost what is believed to be a large sum of money in a game of euchre played near the Bar-M mine this afternoon.
There had been, Harte alleged, a three-handed game of euchre participated in by Nye, a Chinaman named Ah Sin and himself. The Chinaman, Harte asserted, did not understand the game, but, Harte declared, smiled as he sat by the table with what Harte termed was a "smile that was childlike and bland."
Harte said that his feelings were shocked by the chicanery of Nye, but that the hands held by Ah Sin were unusual. Nye, maddened by the Chinaman's trickery, rushed at him, 24 packs of cards spilling from the tong-man's long sleeves. On his taper nails was found some wax.
The "Mongolian," Harte said, is peculiar.
Harte and Nye are thought to have lost a vast sum of money, as they are wealthy authors.
The legislature, it is said, will investigate the question of the menace to American card-players by the so-called Yellow peril.
("Excelsior")
DOG FINDS LAD
DEAD IN DRIFT
Unidentified Body of Young Traveler
Found by Faithful Hound Near
Small Alpine Village—White
Mantle His Snowy Shroud
ST. BERNARD, Sept. 12.—Early this morning a dog belonging to the St. Bernard Monastery discovered the body of a young man, half buried in the snow.
In his hand was clutched a flag with the word "Excelsior" printed on it.
It is thought that he passed through the village last night, bearing the banner, and that a young woman had offered him shelter, which he refused, having answered "Excelsior."
The police are working on the case.
("The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers")
PILGRIM DADS
LAND ON MASS.
COAST TOWN
Intrepid Band of Britons, Seeking
Faith's Pure Shrine, Reach
Rock-Bound Coast, Singing
Amid Storm
PROVINCETOWN, MASS, Dec. 21—Poking her nose through the fog, the ship Mayflower, of Southampton, Jones, Master, limped into port to-night.
On board were men with hoary hair and women with fearless eyes, 109 in all.
Asked why they had made the journey, they alleged that religious freedom was the goal they sought here.
The Mayflower carried a cargo of antique furniture.
Among those on board were William Bradford, M. Standish, Jno. Alden, Peregrine White, John Carver and others.
Steps are being taken to organize a society of Mayflower Descendants.
("The Bridge Of Sighs")
KINLESS YOUNG
WOMAN, WEARY,
TAKES OWN LIFE
Body of Girl Found in River
Tells Pitiful Story of
Homelessness and Lack of
Charity
LONDON, March 16.—The body of a young woman, her garments clinging like cerements, was found in the river late this afternoon.
In the entire city she had no home. There are, according to the police, no relatives.
The woman was young and slender and had auburn hair.
No cause has been assigned for the act.