Papers from Overlook-House

For that fool Bill, and for some foolish brood?
Would Susan drink the wine that she had made?
Would all those pickles be to her betrayed?
"Shall that vain thing sit there, – a pretty pass!
Neglecting work, to simper in that glass?
Will she cut down that silk frock, good, though old,
And puff it out with pride in every fold?
And of all other insults, this the worst, —
My beating heart is ready here to burst —
She'll use my blue-edged china, – yes she will —
Oh! I could throw it piece by piece at Bill.

"I see her, proud to occupy my chair,
To pour out tea, to smile around her there,
While my false friends will praise her half-baked cake,
And Bill will chuckle o'er each piece they take.
And while his grief is lettered o'er my grave,
He'll laugh, and eat, and show himself a knave."

Hast thou on some huge cliff, with oaks around,
Heard the full terror of the thunder sound?
Hast thou at sea, all breathless heard the blast
Rolling vast waves on high whene'er it past?
Then mayst thou form some thought of her dread ire
Poured on the man to burn his soul like fire.

But soon the burst of anger all was o'er, —
And softened, she could speak of death once more.
"And Susan Price can marry whom she will,
And," – so she argued, "will not marry Bill."
One day she said, – "It is revealed to me
That ere I die, a warning there shall be."
Will looked, and saw her mind now wandered more,
As thus she spake, than it had done before.

"Yes," she exclaimed, "before I leave this scene,
Death will appear, – the warning intervene.
Death will appear in this our quiet home —
A chicken without feathers will he come."

Fame spreads the great, and fame will spread the small,
Fame gives us tears, – for laughter it will call.
Fame spreads this whim, – this foolish crazy fear, —
The neighbors laughed, and told it far and near.

There dwelt close by, a restless heedless wight —
Mischief to him was ever a delight. —
He heard the story, and his scheme prepared,
And what his brain had purposed, that he dared.

He from a rooster all his feathers tore,
– Had he been learned in the Grecian lore
Heard of the Cynic, old Diogenes,
Who, lying in his tub, in dreamy ease,
Said to the hard-brained conqueror of old time,
With heedlessness to human wants sublime,
When he inquired, "What shall for you be done?"
"All that I ask, hide not from me the sun."
He might have thought of him; and Plato's scowl,
When in the school he hurled the unfeathered fowl,
And said, ere murmuring lips reproof began,
"There, Plato, is, as you defined, a man."
But of the Greeks our wight had not a thought.
Under his arm the fowl, all plucked, was brought,
And forced to enter into Katy's door:
Who spied him wandering o'er her sanded floor.

She looked upon him, and began to weep.
Bill sat not far off on a chair asleep.

"And so," she said, "Oh death! and thou art come
To take my spirit far away from home."
Then as inspired a sudden hope to trace,
She waved the unfeathered monster from its place.
Would drive far off from her the coming ill, —
"Shoo shoo, thou death, now leave me, go to Bill."

'Twas overheard – and wide the story spread.
It reached John Jones, and to his wife he said,
In precious wrath, – "They slander thus our Kate;
Some foe devised this in malicious hate;
And you, perhaps, were one to make the lie."
Thus deeply stung, she made a fierce reply.

"She did it, I am sure," replied the wife,
"She did it, sure as I have breath and life."
"No – Katy didn't," said the man in rage.
"Yes, Katy did," she said. And so they wage
A war of words, like these upon my page.

The Indian Fairy spirit heard the din,
And first to patience strove them both to win,
Sent the cool breeze to fan the burning brow,
Volcanic fires to die by flakes of snow.
In war incessant, still the clamor rose,
Still Katy did, and didn't, and fierce blows.

At last the spirit took their souls away,
And in their cottage lay their lifeless clay;
Their bodies changed – and insects they became —