Her broozled flesh and broken banes They die when they 're exposed to air, If mortal means could nick her thread, That 's carved out o' the tree of life- I'd try a shot-but whar's the mark? She might be drowned; but go she 'll not Or hanged-if cord could grip a throat O' siccan exiguity. It 's fitter far to hang the rope It draws out like a telescope; "T wad tak' a dreadfu' length o' drop To settle her annuity. Will poison do it? It has been tried, That 's just the dish she can't abide, It's needless to assail her doubts, 13 The Bible says the age o' man Threescore and ten, perchance, may be; She should hae lived afore the flood- She 's been embalmed inside and oot- Lot's wife was fresh compared to her- The water-drop wears out the rock, It's pay me here, an' pay me there, GEORGE OUTRAM. The Forging of the Anchor. COME, see the Dolphin's anchor forged; 't is at a white heat now: The bellows ceased, the flames decreased; though on the forge's brow The little flames still fitfully play through the sable mound; And fitfully you still may see the grim smiths ranking round, All clad in leathern panoply, their broad hands only bare; Some rest upon their sledges here, some work the windlass there. The windlass strains the tackle-chains, the black mound heaves below, And red and deep a hundred veins burst out at every throe; It rises, roars, rends all outright,-O Vulcan, what a glow! 'T is blinding white, 't is blasting bright, the high sun shines not so! The high sun sees not, on the earth, such fiery fearful show, The roof-ribs swarth, the candent hearth, the ruddy, lurid row Of smiths that stand, an ardent band, like men before the foe; As, quivering through his fleece of flame, the sailing mon ster slow Sinks on the anvil,-all about the faces fiery grow,— "Hurrah!" they shout, "leap out, leap out: the sledges go; bang, bang, Hurrah! the jetted lightnings are hissing high and low; The ground around; at every bound the sweltering fountains flow; And thick and loud the swinking crowd, at every stroke, pant "Ho!" Leap out, leap out, my masters; leap out and lay on load! The bulwarks down, the rudder gone, the boats stove at the chains, But courage still, brave mariners, the bower still remains, And not an inch to flinch he deigns save when ye pitch sky high, Then moves his head, as though he said, "Fear nothing, here am I!" Swing in your strokes in order, let foot and hand keep time, Your blows make music sweeter far than any steeple's chime! But while you sling your sledges, sing; and let the burden be, The Anchor is the Anvil King, and royal craftsmen we; Strike in, strike in, the sparks begin to dull their rustling red! Our hammers ring with sharper din, our work will soon be sped; Our anchor soon must change his bed of fiery rich array clay; Our anchor soon must change the lay of merry craftsmen here, For the Yeo-heave-o, and the Heave-away, and the sighing seaman's cheer; When, weighing slow, at eve they go far, far from love and home, And sobbing sweethearts, in a row, wail o'er the ocean foam. In livid and obdurate gloom, he darkens down at last. O trusted and trustworthy guard, if thou hadst life like me, What pleasures would thy toils reward beneath the deep green sea! O deep sea-diver, who might then behold such sights as thou? The hoary monsters' palaces! methinks what joy 't were now To go plumb plunging down amid the assembly of the whales, And feel the churned sea round me boil beneath their scourging tails! Then deep in tangle-woods to fight the fierce sea unicorn, And send him foiled and bellowing back, for all his ivory horn; To leave the subtle sworder-fish of bony blade forlorn; scorn; To leap down on the kraken's back, where 'mid Norwegian isles He lies, a lubber anchorage for sudden shallowed miles, O broad-armed fisher of the deep, whose sports can equal thine? The Dolphin weighs a thousand tons, that tugs thy cable line; And night by night 't is thy delight, thy glory day by day, O lodger in the sea-kings' halls, couldst thou but understand |