Papers from Overlook-House

And had the art to say what others say;
Thought his old saws came from a welling-spring
In his own mind – not knowing he did bring
All that so softly from his lips e'er fell,
As vapid water from his neighbor's well —
The poor dog never stole a good-sized bone,
And so the world of curs let him alone.

Not to an infant could Kate gentle be,
As to a creature, meek and kind as he.
How could she tear the vine that round her grew,
Ready to fall with every wind that blew.
The wife made battle for him with his friends;
And fighting them, she thus made good amends
For all her patience with him. Thus with care
She spread her shield, and said, attack, who dare.
Strange, how 'mid peace we make the show of war,
And shout unto the battle from afar,
And her defense at last such habit wrought
Had she assailed him, she herself had fought.

In time, ill-temper wrought upon her mind,
And illness, too, its miseries combined.
Oh! sad to read of intellect o'erthrown!
Sometimes all blank. Sometimes one train alone
Of thought, declares that reason is denied.
We hear of one who said, I must abide
Behind the door, because I am a clock.
And there he stood, and ticked. And one was shocked
To feel a rat within his stomach run.
The doctor heard: the story being done,
He wisely smiled, and said, "I soon can cure.
You need not be a rat-trap long I'm sure."
"Why how, O doctor, can you reach the rat?"
"'Tis easy: down your throat I'll send a cat."
The man at such a pill must need rebel.
And with good sense he quietly got well.

Kate had her fancies – said she soon would die,
And wasting seemed to prove her prophecy.
"Poor Will," she said, "you soon my loss will mourn,
The wife who shielded you from many a thorn;
I'm glad the pigs are killed, the sweet-meats made,
Our turnips gathered, and our butcher paid.
I'm glad I sent away to Jericho,
That lazy Bess, that tried my temper so.
I'm glad I told my mind to Jane Agree,
About that scandal that she said of me:
That I was jealous, to my apron string
Tied you – distrustful of my marriage ring.
I'm glad I told her that it was a lie,
And somewhat sorry, since it made her cry.

"And, Oh! poor Will – so helpless when alone,
What wilt thou do, dear one, when I am gone?
How would I love, a spirit round thy way,
To move, and be thy blessing every day!
To fan thy forehead, and to dry thy tears,
To nerve thy soul, and banish all thy fears.
All I can do for thee, thou patient one,
So gentle, tender, loving, all is done.
I feel so lonely, in thy loneliness.
This is, in death, my very great distress.
Some one will fill my place, ere long, I trow,
Your clothes are whole – in perfect order now.
Be sure you get a wife that is like me,
In gentle temper, and sweet sympathy.
For you, so long to gentleness allied,
Could not a bristling woman, sure, abide."

Poor Will! At first his tears fell down like rain
Most at the time when she inflicted pain,
By her unkind surmise, that he would take
Another wife – did she the world forsake.

"You are a wife," he said, "so fond, so true,
I cannot have another – none but you.
You made me what I am the people say;
Another wife might make me; what I pray?
An eight-day clock, they say, I am most like,
Wound up by you, and by you taught to strike.
Another wife might keep the time too late,
Take out the wheels, and snatch away each weight:
And I, neglected, come to a dead stop,
Like some old time-piece in a lumber shop.
But if you think, dear wife, that I must wed,
When you, at last, are numbered with the dead,
As I depend upon your good advice,
Choose you the bride. Shall it be Susan Price?"

Never had Bill so great a blunder made;
Never had demon so his cause betrayed.
Changed in her view – a villain lost to shame —
She scarced believed that he could bear his name.

She saw the future. Susan Price was there.
With hazel eyes, and curls of Auburn hair.
The rooms she swept would that vile Susan sweep?
The cup-board key would that bad Susan keep?
With those same pans would Susan cook their food,