OZOKERIT.
(By a Long-way-after-a-Fellow-Poet.)
The shades of night were falling fast,
When through a western suburb passed
A man who bore upon his back
A placard, with this word in black—
"OZOKERIT."
His brow was dark, his eye beneath
Gleamed like a lantern o'er his teeth,
Which gnashing ceaselessly he sung
That fragment of an unknown tongue—
"OZOKERIT."
In humble homes he saw the light
Of candles—if anything less bright
Above, the glimmering gas lamps shone,
The contrast wrung from him a groan.
"OZOKERIT."
"Trust not the gas," the old man said,
"Dingy and dull the lamps o'er head—
The illumination is ill supplied,"
But loud that sandwich bearer cried,
"OZOKERIT."
"O stay," the maiden said, "or rest
Until your mystery is guessed!"
A wink obscured his cunning eye,
As still he mentioned in reply—
"OZOKERIT."
Beware the peeler, stern and staunch,
With bull's-eye pendant at his haunch.
This was the pleasant last "Good-day,"
A voice replied, some streets away,
"OZOKERIT."
At break of day, while reeled along,
Shouting their oft repeated song.
Some "Jolly Dogs," with blinking stare,
They heard a voice ring through the air,
"OZOKERIT."
The speaking, tracing by the sound,
They, sitting on a doorstep, found
A man, who bore upon his back
A placard, with that word in black,
"OZOKERIT."
There on the doorstep, cold and flat,
Puzzled by pondering he sat;
And with the hoarseness of catarrh,
He sighed, "I wonders what it are!"
"OZOKERIT."
From Fun, October 22, 1870.