GRIZZLY-GRU
BY IRONQUILL
O Thoughts of the past and present,
O whither, and whence, and where,
Demanded my soul, as I scaled the height
Of the pine-clad peak in the somber night,
In the terebinthine air.
While pondering on the frailty
Of happiness, hope, and mirth,
The ascending sun with derisive scoff
Hurled its golden lances and smote me off
From the bulge of the restless earth.
Through the yellowish dawn of velvet
Where stars were so thickly strewn.
That quietly chuckled as I passed through,
I fell in the gardens of Grizzly-Gru,
On the mad, mysterious moon.
I fell on the turquoise ether,
Low down in the wondrous west,
And thence to the moon in whose yielding blue
Were hidden the gardens of Grizzly-Gru,
In the Monarchy of Unrest.
And there were the fairy gardens,
Where beautiful cherubs grew
In daintiest way and on separate stalks,
In the listed rows by the jasper walks,
Near the palace of Grizzly-Gru.
While strolling around the garden
I noticed the rows were full
Of every conceivable size and type—
Some that were buds, and some nearly ripe,
And some that were ready to pull.
In gauzy and white corolla,
Was one who had eyes of blue,
A little excuse of a baby nose,
Little pink ears, and ten little toes,
And a mouth that kept saying ah-goo.
Ah-gooing as I came near her,
She raised up her arms in glee—
Her little fat arms—and she seemed to say,
"I'm ready to go with you right away;
Don't hunt any more—take me."
I picked her off quick and kissed her,
And, hugging her to my breast,
I heard a loud yelling that pierced me through,
'Twas His Terrible Eminence, Grizzly-Gru,
Of the Monarchy of Unrest.
He had on a blood-red turban,
A picturesque lot of clothes,
With big moustaches both fierce and black,
And a ghastly saber to cut and hack,
And shoes that turned up at the toes.
Out of the gate of the garden
The cherub and I took flight,
And closely behind us the saber flew,
And back of the saber came Grizzly-Gru,
And he chased us all day till night.
I ran down the lunar crescent,
'And out on the silver horn;
I kissed the baby and held her tight,
And jumped down into the starry night,
And—I lit on the earth at morn.
He fitfully threw his saber,
It missed and went round the sun;
He followed no further, he was not rash,
But the baby held on to my coarse moustache,
And seemed to enjoy the fun.
In saving that blue-eyed baby
From the gardens of Grizzly-Gru,
I suffered a terrible shock and fright;
But the doctor believes it will be all right,
And he thinks he can pull me through.