Page:A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields.djvu/101

70 The dead afloat. This grinds a woolly head, And that a foot; some others swallow down Strips of black flesh; when all have been devoured, They joyous dance around the vessel's sides, And look at me with great and glassy eyes Protruding from their fronts, as if they wished To thank me for their breakfast.'—Here Van Kock, Sighing, cut short his words. 'How soften down The evil, doctor? let me ask you that. How stop this progress of mortality?' 'Many are lost,' the doctor gravely said, 'By their own fault. It is their dirty smell That has corrupted the salubrious air Of this good ship; and many more are dead Of melancholy, and because they felt Quite weary of their lives and longed to die. A little air, and exercise, and play, And music and the dance might be enough To heal the evil or to lessen it.' 'Good counsel! cried Van Kock; 'my surgeon friend, You are as wise as Aristotle's self, Great Alexander's teacher,—yes, you are! The President of the Society at Delft For tulip culture and perfectionment Is very able,—yea, a man of men, But half your wit he has not. Quick, oh quick! Music—that is it—music and a ball For all the blacks upon the clean-scrubbed deck! This shall I have, and then let those beware Who are not well amused, or shun the dance. We shall rejoice their bosoms with the whip, Prompt to persuade where milder measures fail.'