AT NINE O' Clock, weáry, I lie down in béd;
At TEN O' Clock swarms of gnats búzz round my head; At ELEVEN can it búgs be that óver me creép?
At TWELVE for the tickling of fleás I can't sleep; At ONE how that bold squalling brát I could flóg! At Twó o' Clock bów-wow-wow goes the watchdog; From THREE oút every quarter hour cróws chanticleer; At FOUR down the street ráttling the Málleposte I hear; From the steeple the mátins come peáling at Fíve; At Six to the market the cárts and cars drive; At SEVEN from my fáce I 'm kept brúshing the fliés; At EIGHT I can't sleep for the sún in my eyes; At NÍNE comes a súdden tap tap to my door;
I rise in my shirt and barefoót cross the floór, Turn the key and peep oút: "Well, my good friend, what
"Please will you be shaved, Sir?" replies with a bów
A little, pert, dápper, smug fáced gentlemán
With apron and rázor and hót-water cán;
Struck with hórror I slám the door tó in his fáce.
Gentle reáder, imágine yourself in my pláce,
With a beard such as mine, and a threát to be shaved, And all the night sleepless how hád you behaved? But I did him no hárm, only slámmed the door tó - An example of patience for Christian and Jew Then dressed, breakfasted, sét out and, trávelling all day, Passed the night in the next inn much in the same way.
Walking from MEHREN to LOSHEIM, in the EIFEL (RHENISH PRUSSIA); Novem. 1-2, 1854.
OFF I gó a redcoat sóldier, old Éngland's lion cúb,
With my sérgeant and my colors and my rúb-a-dub-a-dúb; Here's my firelock, here's my bayonet, here's my leather cross-belt white,
Here's my shining black cartoúche-box - March! hált! face left and right!
There's a hundred thousand of us, counting évery mother's són,
And not one among us áll knows why the war 's begún; That's our commander's business, our business is to fight, Down with our country's énemies, and Gód defend the right.
Good bye, my pretty lássy, I 'm going from you fár; Think sometimes of your rédcoat when you hear talk of the wár;
Take hálf this bran-new sixpence for a plédge twixt you and mé,
And évery time you say your prayers, pray for our victory.
Come cóme, let's have no frétting to spoil those pretty eyes; I'd rather have one sweet smile than áll your tears and sighs.
Here's a hundred kisses for you one more for luck
And now I'm off in eárnest, good bye, my lass, good bye.
KREUZNACH in RHENISH PRUSSIA, Octob. 29, 1854.
"So this is Heaven," said I to my conductor, "Ánd I'm at lást in full and sure possession Of life etérnal; lét me look about me. Methinks, somehow, it 's nót what I expected; Nor can I say I feel that full delight, That éxtasy I had anticipated.
Perhaps the reason is, it's all so new, And I must hére, as on the Earth below, Grów by degreés accustomed and inured."
My guide replied not, but went on before me,
I following: "Are you súre we are in Heaven?"
Said Í, growing uneasy; for I saw
Neither bright ský, nor sun, nor flowers, nor trees; Heard nó birds cároling, no gurgling waters;
Far less saw angel forms, heard angel voices Singing in chórus praise to the Most High; But all was blank and desert, dim and dull, Místy, obscure and undistinguishable, Fórmless and void as if seen through thick fog Or not seen through, but only the fog seen, The fóg alone, monotonous, uniform,
Rayless, impenetrable, cheerless, dark; And all was silent as beneath the ocean
Ten thousand thousand fathom, or at the centre Of the sólid Earth; and when I strove to speak
I started, stárted when I strove to hear My guide's responses, for neither my guide Nor Í spoke húmanly, nor in a human Lánguage, for I had left my tongue on Earth, To rót with my bódy, and had become a spirit Voiceless and eárless, eyeless and etherial, And with my guide, for he too was a spirit, Conversed by consciousness without the aid Of voice or tongue or ears or signs or sounds: "If this indeéd is Heáven," said I at last
Or stróve or wished to say, "in píty bring me
Out of the waste and horrid wilderness
To where there is some light, some soúnd, some voice, Some living thing, some stir, some cheerfulness." "Spirit, thou talk'st as thou wert still in the flesh, And still hadst eyes to see, and eárs to hear, And toúch wherewith to hold communication With sólid and material substances.
What use were light here where there are no eyes? What use were sounds here where there are no ears? What use were substance where there are no bodies? Here cheerful stir or action would but harm Where every thing 's already in perfection, Already in its right, most fitting place.
Nay, sígh not, spirit; this is thy wished Heaven." "At least there is communion among spirits, Spirits knów and love each other, spirits hope, Spirits rejoice together, and together
Sing Hallelújahs to the Lord their God."
"I said that spirits sing not, when I said
Spirits have neither voices, tongues, nor ears;
And where's the room for hope, or love, or knowledge Where there's no heart, brain, ignorance or passion? With thy condúctor there 's indeed communion,
Súch as between us now, till thou 'rt installed And in complete possession; of itself
Then ceases all communion, useless grown; Ánd thou art left in thy beatitude,
Untouched, unstirred, through all eternity; Without all care, all passion, hope and fear; Nóthing to do or suffer, seek or avoid." "Then bring me, ere communion wholly ceases, Quick bring me to my mother's sainted spirit. Mainly that I might once more see my mother, Knów and embrace and to my bosom préss her, Lónged I for Heáven; quick, kind conductor, quick." "Thou hast no mother, spirit; néver hadst. Spirits engender not, nor are engendered.
She whom thou call'st thy mother, was the mother Nót of thy spíritual, but thy fleshly nature. Thou, spirit, com'st from God, and having dwelt Some few, brief seasons in the fleshly body Engéndered by the flesh thou call'st thy mother Return'st, by me condúcted, back to Heaven, Leaving behind thee in the Earth to rot The consanguineous flesh, mother and son." "Then bring me to the spirit that sometime Dwélt in that flesh which mixed with other flesh The flesh engendered which, below on Earth, So long as it lived, afforded me kind shelter." "Thou know'st not what thou ask'st, scarce spiritual spirit; Éven were communion possible in Heaven
Twixt spirits which on Earth had grown acquainted Through th' áccident of having inhabited
Related bodies, such communion were
In this case out of the question, for the spirit
Which chanced to have its dwelling in that flesh
By which the flesh in which thou dwelt'st on Earth
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