Sonnet to a Clam

     Dum tacent clamant

INGLORIOUS friend! most confident I am

Thy life is one of very little ease;

Albeit men mock thee with their similes

And prate of being "happy as a clam!"

What though thy shell protects thy fragile head

From the sharp bailiffs of the briny sea?

Thy valves are, sure, no safety-valves to thee,

While rakes are free to desecrate thy bed,

And bear thee off--as foemen take their spoil--

Far from thy friends and family to roam;

Forced, like a Hessian, from thy native home,

To meet destruction in a foreign broil!

Though thou art tender yet thy humble bard

Declares, O clam! thy case is shocking hard!

John Godfrey Saxe

Early Rising"

"GOD bless the man who first invented sleep!"

  So Sancho Panza said, and so say I:

And bless him, also, that he didn't keep

  His great discovery to himself; nor try

To make it--as the lucky fellow might--

A close monopoly by patent-right!

Yes; bless the man who first invented sleep

  (I really can't avoid the iteration);

But blast the man, with curses loud and deep,

  Whate'er the rascal's name, or age, or station,

Who first invented, and went round advising,

That artificial cut-off,--Early Rising!

"Rise with the lark, and with the lark to bed,"

  Observes some solemn, sentimental owl;

Maxims like these are very cheaply said;

  But, ere you make yourself a fool or fowl,

Pray just inquire about his rise and fall,

And whether larks have any beds at all!

The time for honest folks to be abed

  Is in the morning if I reason right;

And he who cannot keep his precious head

  Upon his pillow till it's fairly light,

And so enjoy his forty morning winks,

Is up to knavery; or else--he drinks!

Thomson, who sung about the "Seasons," said

  It was a glorious thing to rise in season;

But then he said it--lying--in his bed,

  At ten o'clock, A. M.,--the very reason

He wrote so charmingly. The simple fact is,

His preaching wasn't sanctioned by his practice.

'Tis, doubtless, well to be sometimes awake,--

  Awake to duty, and awake to truth,--

But when, alas! a nice review we take

  Of our best deeds and days, we find, in sooth,

The hours that leave the slightest cause to weep

Are those we passed in childhood or asleep!

'T is beautiful to leave the world awhile

  For the soft visions of the gentle night;

And free, at last, from mortal care or guile,

  To live as only in the angels' sight,

In sleep's sweet realm so cosily shut in,

Where, at the worst, we only dream of sin!

So let us sleep, and give the Maker praise.

  I like the lad who, when his father thought

To clip his morning nap by hackneyed phrase

  Of vagrant worm by early songster caught,

Cried, "Served him right!--it's not at all surprising;

The worm was punished, sir, for early rising!"

John Godfrey Saxe

How Cyrus Laid the Cable

          A Ballad

COME, listen all unto my song;

  It is no silly fable;

'T is all about the mighty cord

  They call the Atlantic Cable.

Bold Cyrus Field he said, says he,

  I have a pretty notion

That I can run a telegraph

  Across the Atlantic Ocean.

Then all the people laughed, and said,

  They'd like to see him do it;

He might get half-seas-over, but

  He never could go through it.

To carry out his foolish plan

  He never would be able;

He might as well go hang himself

  With his Atlantic Cable.

But Cyrus was a valiant man,

  A fellow of decision;

And heeded not their mocking words,

  Their laughter and derision.

Twice did his bravest efforts fail,

  And yet his mind was stable;

He wa'n't the man to break his heart

  Because he broke his cable.

"Once more, my gallant boys!" he cried:

  "Three times!--you know the fable,--

(I'll make it thirty," muttered he,

  "But I will lay the cable!")

Once more they tried,--hurrah! hurrah!

  What means this great commotion?

The Lord be praised! the cable's laid

  Across the Atlantic Ocean!

Loud ring the bells,--for, flashing through

  Six hundred leagues of water,

Old Mother England's benison

  Salutes her eldest daughter!

O'er all the land the tidings speed,

  And soon, in every nation,

They'll hear about the cable with

  Profoundest admiration!

Now, long live President and Queen;

  And long live gallant Cyrus;

And may his courage, faith, and zeal

  With emulation fire us;

And may we honor evermore

  The manly, bold, and stable;

And tell our sons, to make them brave,

  How Cyrus laid the cable!

John Godfrey Saxe

Rhyme of the Rail

SINGING through the forests,

  Rattling over ridges,

Shooting under arches,

  Rumbling over bridges,

Whizzing through the mountains,

  Buzzing o'er the vale,--

Bless me! this is pleasant,

  Riding on the Rail!

Men of different "stations"

  In the eye of Fame

Here are very quickly

  Coming to the same.

High and lowly people,

  Birds of every feather,

On a common level

  Traveling together!

Gentleman in shorts,

  Looming very tall;

Gentleman at large,

  Talking very small;

Gentleman in tights,

  With a loose-ish mien;

Gentleman in gray,

  Looking rather green.

Gentleman quite old,

  Asking for the news;

Gentleman in black,

  In a fit of blues;

Gentleman in claret,

  Sober as a vicar;

Gentleman in Tweed,

  Dreadfully in liquor!

Stranger on the right,

  Looking very sunny,

Obviously reading

  Something rather funny.

Now the smiles are thicker,

  Wonder what they mean?

Faith, he's got the KNICKER-

  BOCKER Magazine!

Stranger on the left,

  Closing up his peepers;

Now he snores amain,

  Like the Seven Sleepers;

At his feet a volume

  Gives the explanation,

How the man grew stupid

  From "Association"!

Ancient maiden lady

  Anxiously remarks,

That there must be peril

  'Mong so many sparks!

Roguish-looking fellow,

  Turning to the stranger,

Says it's his opinion

  She is out of danger!

Woman with her baby,

  Sitting vis-a-vis;

Baby keeps a squalling;

  Woman looks at me;

Asks about the distance,

  Says it's tiresome talking,

Noises of the cars

  Are so very shocking!

Market-woman careful

  Of the precious casket,

Knowing eggs are eggs,

  Tightly holds her basket;

Feeling that a smash,

  If it came, would surely

Sent her eggs to pot

  Rather prematurely!

Singing through the forests,

  Rattling over ridges,

Shooting under arches,

  Rumbling over bridges,

Whizzing through the mountains,

  Buzzing o'er the vale,--

Bless me! this is pleasant,

  Riding on the Rail!

John Godfrey Saxe

Index to poems in the collection by John Godfrey Saxe