To long conclusions many men have jumped
In logic, and the safer course they took;
By any other they would have been stumped,
Unable to argue, or to quote a book,
And quite dumbfounded, which they cannot brook;
They break no bones, and suffer no contusion,
Hiding their woful fall, by hook and crook,
In slang and gibberish, sputtering and confusion;
But that was not the way Sam came to his conclusion.
He jumped in person. Death or victory
Was his device, "and there was no mistake,"
Except his last; and then he did but die,
A blunder which the wisest men will make.
Aloft, where mighty floods the mountains break,
To stand, the target of the thousand eyes,
And down into the coil and water-quake,
To leap, like Maia's offspring, from the skies—
For this all vulgar flights he ventured to despise.
And while Niagara prolongs its thunder,
Though still the rock primeval disappears
And nations change their bounds—the theme of wonder
Shall Sam go down the cataract of long years:
And if there be sublimity in tears,
Those shall be precious which the adventurer shed
When his frail star gave way, and waked his fears,
Lest, by the ungenerous crowd it might be said,
That he was all a hoax, or that his pluck had fled.
Who would compare the maudlin Alexander,
Blubbering because he had no job in hand,
Acting the hypocrite, or else the gander,
With Sam, whose grief we all can understand?
His crying was not womanish, nor plann'd
For exhibition; but his heart o'erswelled
With its own agony, when he the grand,
Natural arrangements for a jump beheld.
And measuring the cascade, found not his courage quelled.
His last great failure set the final seal
Unto the record Time shall never tear,
While bravery has its honor—while men feel
The holy natural sympathies which are
First, last and mightiest in the bosom. Where
The tortured tides of Genesee descend,
He came—his only intimate a bear—
(We know now that he had another friend),
The martyr of renown, his wayward course to end.
The fiend that from the infernal rivers stole
Hell-drafts for man, too much tormented him;
With nerves unstrung, but steadfast of his soul,
He stood upon the salient current's brim;
His head was giddy, and his sight was dim;
And then he knew this leap would be his last—
Saw air, and earth, and water, wildly swim,
With eyes of many multitudes, dense and vast,
That stared in mockery; none a look of kindness cast.
Beat down, in the huge amphitheatre,
"I see before me the gladiator lie,"
And tier on tier, the myriads waiting there
The bow of grace without one pitying eye—
He was a slave—a captive hired to die—
Sam was born free as Caesar; and he might
The hopeless issue have refused to try;
No! with true leap, but soon with faltering flight—
"Deep in the roaring gulf, he plunged to endless night."
But, ere he leapt, he begged of those who made
Money by this dread venture, that if he
Should perish, such collection should be paid
As might be picked up from the "company"
To his Mother. This, his last request, shall be—
Tho' she who bore him ne'er his fate should know—
An iris, glittering o'er his memory—
When all the streams have worn their barriers low,
And, by the sea drunk up, forever cease to flow.
On him who chooses to jump down cataracts,
Why should the sternest moralist be severe?
Judge not the dead by prejudice—but facts,
Such as in strictest evidence appear.
Else were the laurels of all ages sere.
Give to the brave, who have passed the final goal—
The gates that ope not back—the generous tear;
And let the muse's clerk upon her scroll
In coarse, but honest verse, make up the judgment roll.
Therefore it is considered that Sam Patch
Shall never be forgot in prose or rhyme;
His name shall be a portion in the batch
Of the heroic dough, which baking Time
Kneads for consuming ages—and the chime
Of Fame's old bells, long as they truly ring,
Shall tell of him; he dived for the sublime,
And found it. Thou, who, with the eagle's wing,
Being a goose, would'st fly—dream not of such a thing!