I caught their cry as I came along,
And I hurried to find you and teach you the song.
Oh, the heart is the harp, and love is the breeze,
And the song is ever what love may please.
THE PENDULUM
[In Edgar Allan Poe’s story, ‘The Pit and the Pendulum,’ the victim is bound hand and foot, face upturned to a huge, knife-edged pendulum which swings back and forth across his body, the blade dropping closer to his heart at each swing.]
Bound hand and foot in the pit I lie,
And the wall about me is strong and high;
Stronger and higher it grows each day,
With maximum labour and minimum pay;
And there is no ladder whereon to climb
To a fairer world and a brighter time.
There is no ladder, there is no rope,
But the devil of greed has given a hope.
He swings before me the pendulum—Vice;
I know its purpose and know its price,
And the world’s good people all know it, too,
And much they chatter and little they do.
I have sent up my cry to the hosts of men
Over and over and over again:
But should I cry once to the devil, ah, he
Would hurry to answer and set me free.
For Virtue to Virtue must ever call thrice,
But once brings an answer when Virtue calls Vice.
Bound hand and foot in the pit I lie
While the pendulum swings and the days go by.
AN OLD-FASHIONED TYPE
For ‘Mabel Brown’ I never cared
(My rightful name by birth),
But when the name of Smith I shared,
I seemed to own the earth,
(I wrote it without ‘y’ or ‘e’—
Plain ‘Mrs. Jack Smith’ suited me.)
My happiest hour, as I look back
On times of great content,
Was when folks called me ‘Mrs. Jack,’
Though ‘Mrs. Smith’ was meant.
It was the pleasure of my life
To hear them say: ‘That’s Jack Smith’s wife.’
One day I joined a club. They said
That I must speak or write.
So I did both. I wrote and read
A speech one fateful night.
It made a hit, but proved, alack,
A death blow to poor ‘Mrs. Jack.’