Page:The Galaxy, Volume 5.djvu/345

Rh "O mercy!" howled Sir Ball—"those cars, that road, I know full well— And O I prefer—I much prefer—to be taken at once to hell!" "Don't quibble on names," Sir Public said ; and Sir Ball he gasped—"I swear! My sins are great, but my punishment is more than I can bear!"

There are waifs of bitter and shapeless fog on the barren Jersey shore; They were once that cloud of witnesses who all so roundly swore. There's a couple of foolish advocates from their foul enchantment freed; They are Morse and Marsh, and they keep them close arid wear the mourner's weed. There's a bloody-eyed visage of yellow bile that glares distort with pain, Through the rattling glass on the many that pass the jumping, joggling train; The saunterer overtaking the cars, on his patron saint doth call, And walks till he leaves them far behind; 'tis the visage of poor Sir Ball. There's a fiend who ponders a similar line for the worst that with him dwell; It is the Very Devil Himself—in sooth, he ponders well. There's a soul who bends, as Issachar bent, between two loads of wrong— New Jersey's huge monopoly and such as Ball their song; He soothes his soul with minstrels' lyres, and waits the better day; It is the good Sir Public, the gentle old man gray. There's a red-cross knight who cares not what the Boobies say or do; He basks in good Sir Public's smile; 'tis bold Sir Doubleyou. There's a noble lady fortressed now in good Sir Public's tower; The air retains the gentle songs that flow from out her bower; 'Tis the Lady Florence Percy—may her garlands never fall! God save ye, gallant gentlemen, and lovely ladies all! W.