The Bee's Bayonet Part 13

Peace? My wounds cry aloud: Never! I say Till your legions are killed or driven away And my country is free: But, stay! What's that to me, Since all my own Loved Ones lie murdered to-day?

No!! _Not_ Peace, but REVENGE! Here is my gun-- Surrendered? O, No! for its work is not done: When my bayonet's sting Smites the heart of your King, And your h.e.l.l-hounds are flayed,--_then_ Peace will be _won_!

HEREDITY

I see her creeping 'long the nursery floor,-- A dainty, blue-eyed Babe, scarce old enough To realize 'tis _she_ whom I adore,-- She is a priceless diamond in the rough.

Again I see her playing with a host Of noisy, kindergarten girls and boys; She seems to me the fairest and the most Refined: a _pure gold_ girl without alloys.

And thus from stage to stage I watch the maid As she develops like the budding rose, And then, Ah me! I'm jealously afraid That she admires me less than other beaux.

And then, anon, I see her on the knee Of Willie Jones: I think she shouldn't oughter!

But then my Courtship Days come back to me-- _Just like her Ma!_ She is my only Daughter!

THE CALL OF THE HOMESTEAD

There's a dear, little spot, near my Hoosier hometown, Where the mortgage runs up as the buildings run down, That I love to return to, a restful retreat, Just to slush around there with the mud on my feet.

There's the forked, wormy apple-tree, dead to the bark, And the sickle and grindstone, brought out of the Ark; And the Shed, where I fled, with my illicit pipe, To a.s.suage stomach-aches when green apples were "ripe."

There's the collar and churn, _worn_ by Dash day by day, And the chain that prevented his running away; And the yoke for the oxen--Haw, Buck! and Gee, Bride!

And the Troth for the Squealers the hen-house beside.

There's the Dovecote, unroofed, and the sweep by the well, And the ooze in the barnyard and natural-gas smell: There's the hayrake and silo; the tin weathervane, And the two, moss-grown graves where the Old Folks were lain.

And the milk-stools are there, and the cowpath and stile; And a few hardy scarecrows remain yet awhile; And the taxes, unpaid, still appear on the book Of the County Collector, Nathaniel U. Crook.

So I keep coming back, to my old Hoosier shack, To inhale the sweet mildew of hay in the stack, And to drink from the spring where the bull-frogs abound That protect the young cowslips that grow all around.

Now the mortgage is due and the int'rest unpaid, And I can't get a cent for the place, I'm afraid; But I love to return here, at vacation time, Just to revel again in the mud and the slime.

DECIMAL POINTS

The Paleface undertook, with sword and gun, To civilize the Redskins one by one; And Lo attempted, with his bow and arrow, To sap the Paleface of his very marrow.

As fast as one, on either side, was slain Another took his place to fight again; Thus both the warring tribes said--"What's the use?"

And straightway called a halt and signed a truce.

Then Paleface planned and dug--and _well_ of course-- A pit for Lo, without resort to force; And Lo, in turn, a counter plan invented To clear the forests where the Paleface tented.

And so the Paleface, from his fullness, gave A cask of Laughing Water to each Brave; And Lo, whose giving was an artful knack, Took up the scent and sent tobacco back.

So, Time discloses how each plan availed; Which won, at last, and which, in order, failed, For now in _Peace_ the Paleface moves about, While Lo and Laughing Water _fight it out_.

He was the first to fly--Darius Green!

But Green had trouble with his _crude_ machine And failed to make a mark for lofty flying, And so he just _dropped out_ and gave up trying.

The Pickaninny to the bayou goes And caches on the bank his homespun clothes; Then headlong leaps into the pool below Where Imps of Darkness destined are to go.

An alligator sees the urchin dive And, Holy Moses! swallows him alive, Not thinking that the Afric _strength_, thus caged, Would prove his match and master when engaged: But so it did! for Fate evolved a plan To s.n.a.t.c.h the "charcoal" from the saurian; And as the latter spewed and lashed his tail, (A tale like Jonah wrestling with the whale) The lad escaped; of course he had to shout some!

So overjoyed was he at such an _outcome_.

When Aaron Burr decided to invite His hated rival to a pistol fight, He knew, of course, because his aim was wicked, That his opponent, in advance, was licked.

And thus the scheme of Providence began To canonize the Hamiltonian.

Had Mary tied her lambkin in the barn, There might have been a different kind of yarn.

She could have said "I leave you" with the bull, Or "I'll return anon," and pulled the wool;

The lamb could have replied--"What's all this for?

I'll meet you, Mary, in the abattoir!"

But No! They had to make the sheep the goat And tie a siren bell around his throat, And make him go to school. "Kids," as a rule, Would rather _much_ be killed than go to school.

Had Nero played on burning Rome the hose Instead of fiddling while the blazes rose, He might have been, in Fame's Retort, a hero, Firemano Primo Volunteero Nero.

But quite another part this Caesar played, The part of Arson in red robes arrayed.

He watched the fire, in all its flares and phases, Quite unconcerned, but fiddled on like blazes.

But Nero didn't finish what he started Because, while Rome still burned, his E string parted.

Tho Julius Caesar's Wars our lives inspire This Caesar wouldn't even fight a fire; Nor would he lead the Roman Legions, tho He was reputed skillful with the bow; Perhaps the smoke-screen from the burning city Was planned to hide the discords of his ditty; And when at last this King is placed on trial, This verdict will prevail,--his work was viol.

Had Antony been less a Marc and kept His armor on while Cleopatra slept, He might have been a Conqueror of note Instead of Captor of a Petticoat; And, traitor to his country, judged to be A Soldier less than Slave to Lingerie.

Some Commentators--and I blush with shame-- Contend that "Cle" and Sheba were the same: If this contention's true, as I surmise, It follows that King Solomon was wise; And so was Sheba when she left his regions By camel-carriage for the Roman Legions,-- Leaving the King, with all his wives and breeders, To pine for her among the stately cedars.

I'm not quite sure, but who's the bigger dunce?

The King? Or Marc, who got in wrong _but once_?

The oldtime Reader taught us self-reliance (But this refers to school-days--not to Science!) And pointed out, in no uncertain style, Examples we should follow or revile.

Old Rover, for example, was to me The highest standard of true loyalty.

He used to hang around the playground gate And there for Bones, his Master, sit and wait, Though Bones, poor dunce, each day when school was over, Was kept and spanked, but waited still old Rover.

The Reader states that Rover, too, was fleet, And never knew the anguish of de feet; And had a face so honest, ear so quick, That he could steal a bone and dodge a stick.

That's all the Reader says, but I believe He grew too diabetic to retrieve, And so was cast aside--the poor old brute!

Because the mange affected his hirsute; Was driven from the confines of his birth Because not prized: Great Scott! a Kennelworth: And so, a rover still, thus doomed to flea Far from his home and consanguinity; But, cast adrift in sinking bark, O, Setter!

Than wienerwursts or sausages is better!

There was a time when Henry Clay awoke To see his fame and name go up in smoke.

His reputation only went this far, That he was featured as a choice cigar.

Before that day, when his renown was ripe, He also was distinguished as a pipe.

Eliminating all attempts at joking, He was thus honored then, and still is smo-King.

Had Eve, a woman of unusual birth, Who had the love of ev'ry man on earth, Been given what the modern wife receives, Fine frocks and hats instead of wreaths and leaves; A mansion, bank-account and car or carriage, Hers would have been the first ideal marriage.

But selfish Adam took her to a cavern (Our present bridal parties seek a tavern.) And made her wash and sew and hem and haw With fitting meekness 'cause his word was law.

First Lady of the Land, she should have had 'em-- All creature comforts but the stingy Adam.