THE SETTLER'S VERSION OF EXCELSIOR.
The shades of night were a coming down swift,
Upidee, Upida.
The snow was heapin' up, drift on drift,
Upidee, Upida.
Through a Yankee village a youth did go,
Carrying a flag with this motto—
"Upidee, Upida."
On his high forehead curled copious hair,
He'd a Roman nose, and complexion fair,
A bright blue eye, with an auburn lash,
And he ever kep' a shoutin' thro' his moustache,
Upidee, Upida!
About half-past nine, as he kep' gettin' upper
He saw a lot of families a sitting down to supper;
He eyed those slippery rocks, he eyed 'em very keen
And he fled as he cried, and he cried as he was fleein'—
"Upidee, Upida."
"Oh take care," cried an old man, "stop;
It's blowing gales up there on top;
You'll be blown right off the other side,"
But the humorous stranger still replied,
"Upidee, Upida."
"Beware the branch of the sycamore tree,
And rolling stones, if any you see;"
Just then the farmer went to bed,
And a singular voice replied overhead,
"Upidee, Upida."
"Oh, stay!" the maiden said, "and rest,
Your weary head upon this breast."
On his Roman nose a tear-drop come,
As he ever kep' a shoutin' as he upward clum,
"Upidee, Upida!"
About a quarter to six in the next forenoon
A man accidentally going up too soon
Heard repeated above him, as much as twice,
Those very same words, in a very weak voice,
"Upidee, Upida."
The very same man about a quarter to seven
(He was slow a-gettin' up, the road being uneven),
Found buried up there, among the snow and ice,
That youth with the banner with the strange device,
"Upidee, Upida."
He was dead, defunct, beyond any doubt,
The lamp of his life was quite gone out,
On the dreary hill-side the youth was a layin',
There was no more use for him to be sayin',
"Upidee, Upida!"
The shades of night were falling fast,
As through the streets of London passed
A party with a packet nice,
On which was seen the strange device—
Exitium.
"Hi, stay!" the Bobby cried, "you man."
Says he, "You'll catch me if you can."
Three rapid strides, and he was gone;
From Bobby's lips escaped a groan—
Exitium.
At break of day, as in a fright,
The Bobbies came from left and right,
Each murmured, starting in a scare;
A crash resounded through the air—
Exitium.
There in the twilight cold and grey—
In ruins stately buildings lay,
And o'er the land the news is spread:
"Another Fenian escapade!"
Exitium.
Scraps, 14 May, 1884.
Use not the coke, the old man said,
The stove must be by small coal fed.
The heap of slack is deep and wide,
But still their saucy voices cried,
Don't bother us!
Printer's Devil, Northampton, 1884.