But comes, as sure as Christmas comes, To ca' for her annuity. I read the tables drawn wi' care For an insurance company; But tables here or tables there, She's lived ten years beyond her share, Last Yule she had a fearfu' host, I thought a kink might set me freeI led her out, 'mang snaw and frost, Wi' constant assiduity. But deil ma' care-the blast gaed by, If there's a sough o' cholera, Or typhus,-wha sae gleg as she? She buys up baths, an' drugs, an' a', In siccan superfluity! She doesna need-she 's fever proof- Ae day she fell, her arm she brak— It's cured! She handles 't like a flail- It does as weel in bits as hale But I'm a broken man mysel' Wi' her and her annuity. Her broozled flesh and broken banes They die when they 're exposed to air, If mortal means could nick her thread, That 's carved out o' the tree of life The timmer limmer dares the knife I'd try a shot-but whar's the mark? She might be drowned; but go she 'll not Or hanged-if cord could grip a throat O' siccan exiguity. It 's fitter far to hang the rope It draws out like a telescope; 'T wad tak' a dreadfu' length o' drop To settle her annuity. Will poison do it? It has been tried, But be 't in hash or fricassee, That 's just the dish she can't abide, It's needless to assail her doubts, 13 The Bible says the age o' man Threescore and ten, perchance, may be; She should hae lived afore the flood- She's some auld Pagan mummified She's been embalmed inside and oot- Lot's wife was fresh compared to her- The water-drop wears out the rock, It's pay me here, an' pay me there, GEORGE DUTRAM. The Forging of the Anchor. COME, see the Dolphin's anchor forged; 't is at a white heat now: The bellows ceased, the flames decreased; though on the forge's brow The little flames still fitfully play through the sable mound; And fitfully you still may see the grim smiths ranking round, All clad in leathern panoply, their broad hands only bare; Some rest upon their sledges here, some work the windlass there. The windlass strains the tackle-chains, the black mound heaves below, And red and deep a hundred veins burst out at every throe It rises, roars, rends all outright,-O Vulcan, what a glow! 'T is blinding white, 't is blasting bright, the high sun shines not so! The high sun sees not, on the earth, such fiery fearful show,— The roof-ribs swarth, the candent hearth, the ruddy, lurid row Of smiths that stand, an ardent band, like men before the foe; As, quivering through his fleece of flame, the sailing mon ster slow Sinks on the anvil,-all about the faces fiery grow,— "Hurrah!" they shout, "leap out, leap out: bang, bang, the sledges go; Hurrah! the jetted lightnings are hissing high and low; The ground around; at every bound the sweltering fountains flow; And thick and loud the swinking crowd, at every stroke, pant "Ho!" Leap out, leap out, my masters; leap out and lay on load! board; The bulwarks down, the rudder gone, the boats stove at the chains, But courage still, brave mariners, the bower still remains, And not an inch to flinch he deigns save when ye pitch sky high, Then moves his head, as though he said, "Fear nothing, here am I!" Swing in your strokes in order, let foot and hand keep time, Your blows make music sweeter far than any steeple's chime! But while you sling your sledges, sing; and let the burden be, The Anchor is the Anvil King, and royal craftsmen we; Strike in, strike in, the sparks begin to dull their rustling red! Our hammers ring with sharper din, our work will soon be sped; Our anchor soon must change his bed of fiery rich array clay; Our anchor soon must change the lay of merry craftsmen here, For the Yeo-heave-o, and the Heave-away, and the sighing seaman's cheer; When, weighing slow, at eve they go far, far from love and home, And sobbing sweethearts, in a row, wail o'er the ocean foam. In livid and obdurate gloom, he darkens down at last. |