And, O, so bewitching the thoughts he advanced,
That I clung to his ankles, attentive, entranced!
A DAMPENED ARDOR
The Chinatown at Bakersfield
Was blazing bright and high;
The flames to water would not yield,
Though torrents drenched the sky
And drowned the ground for miles around--
The houses were so dry.
Then rose an aged preacher man
Whom all did much admire,
Who said: "To force on you my plan
I truly don't aspire,
But streams, it seems, might quench these beams
If turned upon the fire."
The fireman said: "This hoary wight
His folly dares to thrust
On _us_! 'Twere well he felt our might--
Nay, he shall feel our must!"
With jet of wet and small regret
They laid that old man's dust.
ADAIR WELCKER, POET
The Swan of Avon died--the Swan
Of Sacramento'll soon be gone;
And when his death-song he shall coo,
Stand back, or it will kill you too.
TO A WORD-WARRIOR
Frank Pixley, you, who kiss the hand
That strove to cut the country's throat,
Cannot forgive the hands that smote
Applauding in a distant land,--
Applauding carelessly, as one
The weaker willing to befriend
Until the quarrel's at an end,
Then learn by whom it was begun.
When North was pitted against South
Non-combatants on either side
In calculating fury vied,
And fought their foes by word of mouth.
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