Page:The Green Bag (1889–1914), Volume 04.pdf/510

 477 So he bent to his yoke, and with resolute might And wondrous dexterity fought for the right Whene'er he could choose under which flag to fight; And when he could not, as persistently quite On the side where the black is veneered with the white, To keep the true inwardness out of the light, As duty enjoins on professional wight, Who must stand by his colors, though Heaven should smite The staff with its lightning, to wither and blight, As it smote Jeroboam's rash hand. I invite The most stubborn casuist to question this right, But meanwhile should state (turning back to the plight Of our hero), his candle, while still burning bright, Though nearing the socket, went not out by night. So after a little, worn Nature betrayed Grave signs of exhaustion, and beckoned for aid

To her handmaiden, Rest, who so long had delayed Her coming, reluctant, obnoxious, afraid; For the restless night-toiler was sure to upbraid, Whenever she proffered assistance, the maid, And repulse her with scorn. Lest on him be laid The hand that withdraws not, a motion was made That his incessant toil for a season be stayed; The order was granted, — and straight dis obeyed, When, stealthy but urgent, a litigant came. That won his case ever, no matter what claim, And mockingly whispering Death was his name, Despoiled th' amazed lawyer of life and of fame! And like his lot, his brothers' : the same broken health, The early-life struggle, death brought by one's self, Fame transient, and all else the same, — but the wealth.