The Bee's Bayonet (a Little Honey and a Little Sting)
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The Bee's Bayonet (a Little Honey and a Little Sting)
Edwin Alfred Watrous
The Bee's Bayonet (a Little Honey and a Little Sting) / Camouflage in Word Painting
PROEM
If you can find, within, a single lineTo give you pleasure, then the pleasure's mine;But if you fail and whine, or josh like Billings,You might (I say you might!) get back your shillings.But better yet! Bestow this Book of VersesOn some friend-foe you love with hate and curses,And your revenge will be attained thereafterFor, when he reads it, he will die with laughter.And, Cheerful Reader, if this work containsA soporific for your bulging brainsSo that you'll rave about it to your neighbors,I'll feel repaid for all rebuffs and labors.Though "Wisdom sometimes borrows, sometimes lends,"You'll borrow trouble lending this to friends;But earn my thanks if, when you've praised or shown it,You'll sit upon the lid and never loan it:For ev'ry copy sold, thru friends or slapbacks,Just puts Mo'lasses on my buckwheat flapjacks.And, Critic Friend, who halts Ambition's flightAnd ties the can to Aspiration's kite,Pray recollect that when you plied the penAnd had some stuff accepted now and then,Your tales, O! Henry, did not prove invitingOr else you'd be no Cynic but still writing.BEHOLD A MAN!
There stands a Man! unyielding and defiant,A master Leader, bold and self-reliant.He seeks no conquest but his lance is setAgainst the ruthless Despot's parapet.Alert and conscious of his strength, his thrustIs sure and timely, for his cause is just.Invincible, he rallies to his causeThose who love Justice and respect the laws.To skulking traitors and to spying foesHe shows no mercy, but his heart o'erflowsFor those oppressed, who live, nay! who existWhere arrogance and tyranny persist:But, tho distressed by all this human grief,He weeps not idly, but compels relief:And those he serves by act or speech or pen,One Hundred Million freemen, shout, Amen!"Safe for Democracy the world must be,And all its bondaged peoples shall be free!"So spake the Man: America thus voicedIts ultimatum, and the Earth rejoiced!Intensely human, cast from mortal clayIn Nature's mould, one epoch-making day,Behold a Man! he seems a higher sort,Refined with purest gold from God's RetortAnd filled with skill and wisdom, Heaven-sent:God bless and keep our peerless President!THE JULOGY
To those who never heard my Songs before,And those who have, and want to nevermore,This Rhapsody, with all its pithy phrases,Has passed the Censors with the highest praises.Released by favor of the Board's caprice,It takes its proper place—a masterpiece!Soft pedal, please! The Knockers are outclassed,And Genius finds its recompense at last!Whene'er I read about this war-time pelfIt makes me sick: I can't contain myself!The profits on the die-stuffs sent to FranceMake Croesus' wealth a trifling circumstance;And what the Farmers get for mules and wheatMakes fortunes hitherto quite obsolete.In by-gone days the Bards were praised and pensionedWho now are at the Front—and rarely mentioned:And all these hardships they endure while menWho write big checks, thus scandalize the pen.The Writers should throw off their yokes and collarsAnd drill their brains to cultivate the dollars.The talents they possess are strictly mentalAnd can't be utilized for food and rental.Their thoughts are capital, but who'll investIn Sonnet Stock without some interest?Or who'd take stock in Poem Plants? Alack!He who invests expects the yellowback.But here I'm talking money: what a jokeFor one to thus discourse who's always broke!Since "money talks" we'll suffer it to speak,—"I am the thing that countless millions seek;Greed's inspiration, Evil's very root,The Nemesis of those in my pursuit.Kings pay me homage, pawn their crowns to meAnd, deathless, I enslave their progeny.Men famed for noble deeds, who court my smile,Ofttimes surrender probity to guile:Who, needy, follows my uncertain path,I may elude and favor him who hath,—For I have wings, and lightning speeds my flight,—Wealthy to-day, a pauper overnight!The Ticker tells the tale from day to day:Brings joy to some, to others dire dismay."This Work is copyrighted just to showTo what low depths the Pirate Press will go.They borrow thunder from the Vulcan forge,Then draw the fire and put the smut on George.Each song or verse, it seems to me, should beDistinguished by originalityIf nothing else (the matter may be sloppy,—But that's no matter if there's ample copy)So that the Author's face could be unmaskedAnd recognized without a question asked;Or, so identify CalliopeBy strident notes of high-toned quality;Or thus detect some Poet's "fist" and styleBy I. O. U.'s unhonored yet awhile.The Pirates thus would cease perforce their trade,And Bacon would not be confused with Ade.In all my songs I do the work myself,And draw no inspiration from the Shelf.Perhaps my lines would be more read, if cribbed,But George and I, you know, have never fibbed,And what is more, I think my lines are sweeterThan those of Dante, with infernal meter;And more heroic, and not half so sadAs Homer's couplets in the Illiad;And far more musical and much prettierThan those by Tennyson or by Whittier.Each bar is known to me, its licensee,And ev'ry note has had my scrutiny:I also watch my pauses, moods and tenses,And have no words with fair amanuenses.If you could see my workshop (do not ask it!)You'd find more "carbons" in my paper-basket,More rough, unpolished diamonds there immuredThan you, Dear Reader, ever have endured.I have no Jewish blood, not e'en a strain:That's what I lack! If ever born againI'd requisition Hebrew sire and dam,Something akin, methinks, to Abraham,And take these "jewels," doomed unseen to flash,Gloss o'er their flaws, and turn them into cash.Here's where I doff my bonnet to the Jew!Tho' sore oppressed they're still the Chosen Few:A few in numbers but a mighty hostWhen reckoned by the things that count the most,—I mean achievements, won by toilsome stagesIn spite of persecutions thru the Ages.I see these Davids watching o'er their flocksIn Palestine. (To-day they watch their stocksAnd clip the coupons from their bonds, you see,Just as they sheared the lambs in Galilee.)There milk and honey in abundance viedTo keep the Simple Simons satisfied;But here to luxuries the Josephs cling,And milk the honey from most everything.Time was when you were treated with disdainBut now the tune is quite a changed refrain,And Gentiles everywhere take special painsTo pay respectful tribute to your brains!Behold your ancient hills and rugged rocks;Your fruitful valleys with their golden shocksOf Grain that, grouped around the stately dates,Seem to defy the threshing that awaits!Here olives ripen 'neath the summer skiesAnd yield rich oil,—first Standard Oil supplies;'Twas here the mighty Samson filled with aweThe Philistines and flayed them with his jaw;(No man before, or since, thus courted fame,For woman holds these records in her name.)And here wise Solomon refused the voteIn statecraft matters to the Petticoat;But when the Referendum was installedThe wise old King's objection was Recalled.And then there's David caring for his sheep,And big Goliath (rocking him to sleep).There Japheth, Shem and Ham are; Ham tabooedBy Moses in his Treatises on Food;And Jehu with his pair of chestnut coltsTrotting the highway down like thunderbolts.If Jehu reined to-day he'd swap his stableFor high-power Auto, with a foreign label,And hold the record for the Shore Road tripFrom Tyre to Sidon at a lightning clip,—And make his whiskers, driven by the breeze,Look like a storm-tossed frigate on the seas.There's Jacob dreaming, seeing more than Esau,And giving him the double-cross and hee-haw;Obtaining Esau's birthright (Silly Dupe!)For three brass spheroids and a bowl of soup.He traded for it—didn't have to buy it!'Cause Brother Hairy, glutton, wouldn't diet.But "chickens come back home to roost," forsooth,And Jacob in his dotage learned this truth,When Leah's sons, of ordinary clay,Put Rachel's Joseph in the consommé.As Financiers the palm has been bestowed,In panegyric, melody and ode,On Jacob's sons. The caravans, that passedThru burning sands, from cities far and vast,Into their land that teemed with grain and gold,Were richly laden. Thus they bought and sold,Exchanging corn and cattle, hides and honeyFor finest silks and linens, gems and money,—Until, thru bargain-insight, skill and daring,They cornered all the fabrics used for wearing,And then proceeded, with discerning lust,To hump themselves and form a Camel Trust.The Traders who had plied this Cargo RouteCould never, in their deals, get cash to bootFrom Jacob's sons. Sometimes a fleece or skin,Of little size and worth, would be thrown in,But shekels—No! And so the nomad SheikIn quest of easy picking; Turk and Greek;The wily Fellah from the distant NileWhose gaudy gewgaw "gems" reflect his guile;The sleepy Peddlers from the Land of Nod,Who still shekinah on ancestral sod;And all the Wise Men from the Eastern martsWho plan their ventures by the Astral charts,Plotted and vowed, by Imps and Endor Witches,To wrest from Jacobs Brothers all their riches.So, working now with Bulls, anon with Bears;Rigging the market to advance their waresOr to depress the House of Jacobs' shares,It looked as if the plotters might make goodAgainst the unsuspecting Brotherhood.But patiently the Brethren stood their ground,Unmindful of the rumors passed around,Or baits to tempt Cupidity thrown out,That throttle Judgment and put Sense to rout,—Until the market, unsupported, broke:Then, feigning sleep, they suddenly awokeAnd took possession of the Stock Exchange.Like beaten curs or mongrels with the mangeThe Plotters cringed. The Shorts in wild dismayTo cover ran, but Zounds! they had to payFour prices to the Brethren who controlledThe entire issue of the short stock sold.And thus the Brethren made a tidy sum,Keeping their standing in Financialdom.Keen businessmen, they sold or bought as well,But never showed anxiety to sell.So Jacob's Sons became, as was their bent,The mighty Merchants of the Orient.No goose that ever layed a golden eggWould needs have come to one of them to begFor life or respite. "Nay! Lay on, Good Goose!We'll shield thee and thy gander from abuse!"Long-headed and kind-hearted, in such casesTheir noses were not lopped to spite their faces.Too wise they were: they had too good a teacherTo make the nose too prominent a feature!While yet the goose was itching for the nestThey egged her on and Quack! she did the rest.A goose she would appear to give so muchTo those who had—but Life is ever such.But Jacob's Sons like Isaac, sturdy Oak,Made no complaint but bore their golden yolk,And, thrifty men, in many baskets storedThe golden ovals and increased their hoard.And so their nests were feathered, as we know,But cautious men they were, who didn't crow.And so we see them on the filmy screens,Matching their talents 'gainst the Philistines:And looking close, we notice that the BrothersHave bigger stacks before them than the others.And then there's Job, the Paradox, who toilsTo show good humor when beset by boils;And Jinxy Jonah, ducked and rudely whaled,Because he had no passport when he sailed.(Whene'er I see the Ocean Mammal spoutMethinks it's habit—spewing Jonah out.)Delilah's "next"! Tonsorial Adept—A cutting up while headstrong Samson slept.Shear nonsense—that man's vigor could be sappedBecause he had a haircut when he napped,Or lose his nerve, e'en at the yawning grave,Tho' just escaping by the closest shave.With Samson's case a multitude compare,For men miss greatness ofttimes by a hair.'Twas his conceit that made him lose his nerve,As long-haired, whiskered men, bereft, deserve.The facts are these: that Samson used to wearA wig with ringlets, 'cause his head was bare.One night, in playful mood, Delilah stoleUp to his cot and touched the poor old soulFor his toupee. He woke, chagrined, and fledBecause his capillary roots were dead.What transformation! Thus the Man of MightBecame a pussyfooter overnight,And went to writing verses from that minuteFinding his strength, not on his head, but in it.Of all your rulers, Roman, Jew or Fezzer,The first or most pronounced is Nebu'nezzar.(Too long this monstrous name has been derided,And so the chad, for rhythm, is elided.)"Neb" is enough, for short, and aproposOf Shadrach, Meshack and Abednego,The King waxed wroth because these three live wiresPassed thru his melting pots and furnace firesWithout a burn: remarkable endurance!Because protected by good Fire Insurance.He paid the price for arson ere he died,Was kept lit up and rightly classifiedAmong the beasts: and now that all is over'Tis safe to say he did not live in clover,But roamed the pastures, when he lost his pull,And grazed himself to death: he was some bull.Then next we come to Ruth, the Moabite:Her husband Chilion (not her!) one nightBlew out the gas, and Ruth was thus bereft;But Naomi, her Ma-in-Law, was leftTo comfort her: and jolly well she did it!For Ruth's great grief soon ceased or else she hid it.Then to Naomi's Land the two repaired,Their love enhanced by sorrows they had shared.And so the elder of the widowed twainSet out to find, for Ruth, another swain;And all her schemes, 'tis said, succeeded so asTo marry Ruth to wealthy kinsman Boaz.Unselfish? No! She was too old to wed,So Ruth agreed to give her board and bed,Trusting to Boaz not to spoil her planWho swallowed hook and line like any man.The attic room, or one just off the hall,Was where Naomi nightly had to crawl;And all her meals, unleavened bread and 'taters,Were eaten in the kitchen with the waiters,—For Boaz, when the honeymoon was spent,Tightened his purse-strings—wouldn't spend a cent!And Naomi as welcome was, I think,As hungry roaches in the kitchen sink.This is the only case,—I know no other!Where widowed wife abided husband's mother;Or, where a woman, in such circumstance,Would give her son's relict another chance.There's Baal and those exalting Gods of brass;And Balaam, Prophet: but we'll let him pass!And John the Baptist, man who lost his headTo fair Salomé, tho she cut him dead.There's Absalom the Vain, whose hair was long,Who, in the final parting, got in wrong:And Pharaoh, with chariots and fightersPursuing Moses and the Israeliters;Who, half-seas over, when the King dropped in,Punished the latter for his divers sin,And rescued on the Red Sea bar his folk,Athirst for freedom from the Ptolemy yoke.While yet the rushes bent beneath the blastOf Red Sea winds, a prodigy was cast.(From common mold, perhaps, but 'tis enoughTo know that he was made of proper stuff.)And little did the Tempest wot his noiseWas silence likened to the bawling boy's.The Earth breathed on the shape and gave it speech,Or something vocally akin, a screech.Thus Moses had his coming out—and lo!He rushed into the arms of Fairy O(Daughter of Pharaoh, the mighty King)Who bore him to the Palace 'neath her wing.Fed on the Milk of Kindness to begin,With Medica Materia thrown in,He grew until appointed, by decree,To Little Egypt, Princess, the M.D.Thus Doctor Moses hung his shingle out,And soon his fame was heralded about.To doctors since, no fame like his doth cling:No Specialist: he doctored everything!He analyzed and stopped the human leak;(His patience was rewarded, so to speak)He charged his people to eschew the swine,And made the Ten Commandments seem benign.Not only as Physician did he rate,But as a Surgeon: he could amputate!He cut off Pharaoh in his pursuitAnd, by this operation, gained repute.He set his people right and made no bonesOf driving lepers from the Safety Zones;He gave them tablets for their moral healing,Knowing their pulses without even feeling.His praises now resound from every lipBecause he saved the Jews from Phar'oh's grippe.Still 'long the Nile the pink-winged curlews flockWhere Moses took his henchmen out of hock;The minions of Æolus hurtle on,Leaving a trail of foam the waves upon,—Stopping anon, where restless driftwood crushesThe lotus pads that hover near the rushes,To chant a requiem and breathe a prayerOver the spot that cradled Moses there.If modern doctors would obey the ruleOf common sense prescribed by Moses' School;If they would note our pulses and our looksInstead of feeling of our pocket-booksAnd judging circulation by the latter,We'd sometimes know, perhaps, just what's the matter.What doctor now would diagnosis makeAnd call it simple, old-time belly-ache,Charging a trifling fee to cure the pain?Ah, no! those days will not return again!No more, alas! will green-fruit cramps delight us,For colic now is styled appendicitis.By leaps and bounds have grown the "trifling fees";"Five hundred!" now, succeeds "One Dollar, please!"And germs, in league with doctors, have their stationAt vital points to force inoculation,So that our Systems pay a pretty priceFor ev'ry nostrum, ev'ry fake deviceKnown to the School of Quacks: and so we sufferImposed upon by patentee and duffer.O, for a Moses! That's our crying need—To cure Physicians of unbridled greedAnd probe, no matter where it hurts, the causeOf Doctors' strange immunity from laws.O! for an instrument—an act or sermon—Of Moses' kind—to cut the germ from German!And lead them from the Wilderness of ViceWhose hearts were warm but now have turned to ice!All these and many more increase the lustreDistinguishing this brilliant Jewish cluster.And Abraham? We save him for the last,Tho first in line, renowned Iconoclast.Of all the Israelites, the men of mark,Who else compares with this grand Patriarch?And who besides, of all the racial roots,Developed half the lusty leaves and shoots,Strong limbs and branches, virile seed? some trunk!The Ark, with all this luggage, would have sunk!And so 'twere well the Deluge didst o'erwhelmThe Earth, ere this, with Noah at the helm,Else to preserve the chosen and eliteOf Israel's line would needs have taxed a fleet.I love these ancient tribesmen who illumineThe Archives of the Past: they were so human!Their frailties were but habits of the RaceSince Father Adam set the human paceHitched up with Eve who, chafing at the bit,Did well her part or bit, in spite of it.But all their mortal weaknesses were nilCompared with virtues that their Records fill;And good or bad, or medium or fair,No Tribe excelled their morals anywhere.They freely gave their tithes, but did it payTo advertise their wealth? a give away!And so their pockets have been worn and frayedBy frequent contributions they have madeTo Charity and Church. I hope and prayThey've saved a little for a rainy day!I think they have! for Money talked,—confessedThat Hebrews were the ones he liked the best,Because they never slighted or abused him,And always were so careful how they used him.And so, O Sons of Abraham, I sayYou've come into your own and come to stay!The Promised Land is yours, but what is more,The Earth and Seas and Skies with all their store.You wandered from Judea, but why care?Because your home is here as well as there;And we would miss you just as much, I vum,As those who wait you in Capernaum;For Broadway would despair and sackcloth donIf you should leave New York for Ascalon.No more, thank God! will Infidels profaneJerusalem. For centuries the stainOf Turkish rule has laid its unclean handUpon the Altars of the Holy Land.But now the Prophet's promise is fulfilled,And Jews and Gentiles are rejoiced and thrilledAs Men of Allenby, God's Sword, restoreThe Holy City: yours forevermore.ENGLAND
O, Mighty Atlas, thou hast borne the loadOf hapless peoples smarting from the goadOf Tyranny, until thy giant strengthSeems overtaxed and doomed to break at length.Unless thy vim endures with steadfast force;Unless thy Ship of State keeps on its course;Unless thou gird thy loins and stand astride,Colossus-like, the struggles that betide—While all the Furies strive, the Turk and Hun,To sap thy power—undo what thou hast done—Of what avail will all thy efforts beAgainst the tottering walls of Tyranny?And to what purpose will have lived thy menWho won imposing fame with sword or pen?And what, I pray, will all thy thousands slainAvail thy Empire if they've died in vain?PREPAREDNESS
The Ostrich has his wings, but not for flight;He flies on foot when danger is in sight;His mate lays eggs upon the desert reachesAnd "sands" them over when the leopard screeches.The eggs, thus mounded, fall an easy preyTo feline foragers who slink that way.The Ostrich, thus, guards not his nest: insteadHe hides, in burning sands, his shameless headAnd lets his monoplane and rudder beStripped of their plumage by an enemy.Ostriches should CarryTheir Eggs in a BasketAnd use their FeathersFor Dusting over the Desert.The Squirrel is quite a different kind of fowl:He works while others sleep, the sly old owl!And stores up food, against the rainy day,In secret nooks, from forest thieves away.When winter comes, or when besieged by foes,Securely housed he feasts and thumbs his noseAnd ridicules starvation: he's immune!While others, shiftless, sing another tune.The Squirrel, you see, is much misfortune sparedIn times of stress because he is prepared.Improvident NutsShould Tear a LeafFrom the Squirrel's Diary.A Heifer on the Railroad Crossing stoodChewing Contentment's Cud, as heifers should,—When, rushing madly, "late again," there cameThe Noonday Mail. The Heifer was to blameFor choosing her position, I would say,Because the Engine had the Right of Whey.The Cow was unprepared! Her switching tailFailed signally to flag the Noonday Mail.But why keep beefing over milk that's spilled?She heeded not the sign and thus was killed.Heifers with UnprotectedFlanks should not InviteRear-guard Actions.The Busy Bee improves the shining hoursAnd gathers honey from the fragrant flowers.When Winter comes, forsaking field and rill,He hivernates, but lives in clover still.While Famine stalks without, his Home, Sweet HomeIs stored with tempting food from floor to dome.He never lacks, nor has to buy, but cellsHis surplus food gleaned from the flower-fringed dells.A thrifty fellow is the Busy BeeAnd fortified against Emergency.A Bee's EarsContain no WaxAnd he Saves his CombingsAgainst the Baldness of Old Age.The Mule is well equipped but lacks the mind;His strategy is in his heels, behind.If pointed wrong, his practice is not dreaded,But kick he will, no matter how he's headed.With foresight lacking, hindsight to the fore,He'll be just simple Mule forevermore;Without the range or sight he'll blaze awayAnd thwart his purpose with his brazen bray.If well-directed effort were his cultNo fortress could withstand his catapult.A Mule should ConserveHis Ammunition andNot Shoot-off his Mouth.The Burglar, have you noticed? never troublesTo look for petty loot in obscure hovels.He packs his kit and steals adown the roadTo Gaspard Moneybags' renowned abode.He knows the house-plan ("inside" dope, no doubt)And when he's in, old Moneybags is out.But Jimmy does not dent the window-sash;He enters thru the door and gets the cash.Prepared? Well, yes! He knew just where to look,For Nora hung the key upon the hook.Team-work isThe HandmaidenOf Efficiency.It pays to be Prepared, you see, and soThe Snail in Armored Car goes safe, tho' slow;And Alligators in their Coats of MailWithstand assaults where those, defenceless, fail.The Tortoise totes his Caripace aroundAnd dwells in safety where his foes abound;While Wasps, with poisoned javelins, defendSuccessfully their offspring to the end.A Sheep with ramparts has no thought of fear,But guards his buttress when his foes appear,And any Skunk can frighten and harassAn Army with Asphyxiating Gas.Авторизация