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Just from the sentry's tramp
I sit in the shadow of apple-boughs,
'Tis just three months and eke a day,
From the door of the homestead the mother looks forth,
I wrote my name upon the sand,
This verdant field that smiles to Heaven
Friar Anselmo (God's grace may he win!)
My Charlie has gone to the war,
Underneath protected branches, from the highway just aloof;
Yet look at the thousands whose every day prayer,
"What else do we live for in this world beside?"
What else do they live for? They live but for this;
"What else do they live for in this world beside?"
Now heaven in mercy be kind to the wretch,
Now heaven in mercy be kind to the wretches
"To-morrow!" who'll warrant to-morrow we'll see?
And now by your leave I will try to expound it,
'Twas on Lake Erie's broad expanse
Throw open wide your golden gates,
King Cotton looks from his window
"Dear Charlie," breathed a soldier,
A violet grew by the river-side,
Now Merdle this day having toss'd with his horns
Florence wears an added grace,
Some turkey? why yes--the least mite will suffice;
She Discourseth of Nothing to Eat and the Cost thereof.
But he's an old fogy, you may know by this sign--
But you are not eating, and I fear that the fish,
But this is concocted by rules so complete;
A pudding! why yes, as I live, too, it's plum;
So while we are eating the fruits of the vine,
No matter how costly or flimsy her dresses,
Now Colonel, to husband you need not be winking,
'If wishes were horses'--I've heard when a girl--
Though Houris are handsome, though lovely the place--
With prices outrageous they charge now for meat,
Come, John, Jane, and Susan, the soup take away,
"Now Merdle--now Colonel--I know you are waiting.
"Impatient--oh yes--just the way with you men!
I have a beautiful castle,
By the Author of "Nothing to Wear"
Though famine prevails not at all in the city;
To Egypt's king, who ruled beside
"Phoebe! Phoebe! Where is the chit?
The case, too, was urgent, for there stood a sinner,
Thirty years have come and gone,
An old frog lived in a dismal swamp,
In the far-off Polar seas,
It is the year's high noon,
One autumn day, when hedges yet were green,
I am glad that you have come,
Now soup, if you like made of beef very nice,
Mrs. Merdle Describes the Sufferings of Dyspepsia and its Remedy.
While waiting debating I stated before,
One golden summer day,
Now Merdle, en passant, I had known for a score
But what "lady patron" as queen holds the sway;
Oh! Kitty Malone--Mrs. Merdle 'tis now--
"A Victory! --a victory!"
The point I advance, if it need confirmation,
In the hushed hours of night, when the air quite still,
And what do you eat in the mess there compounded?
Another expounder of life's thorny mazes
When the clouds in the Western sky