The Bee's Bayonet (a Little Honey and a Little Sting)

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 snatch 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 líckéd.
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 Cæsar 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 Cæsar's Wars our lives inspire
This Cæsar 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,