THE JAFFA AND JERUSALEM RAILWAY
And then all so spry, he leapt through the eye
Of that thin cambric needle-nay, think you I'd lie
About wine-not for wine.
The landlord allowed (with a smile) he was, proud
To do the fair thing by that talented crowd
On the Rhine, generous Rhine.
So a thimble filled he as full as could be-
“Drink long and drink hearty, my jolly friends three,
Of my wine, filling wine."
THE JAFFA AND JERUSALEM RAILWAY
A TORTUOUS double iron track; a station here, a station there;
A locomotive, tender, tanks; a coach with stiff reclining chair;
Some postal cars, and baggage, too; a vestibule of patent make;
With buffers, duffers, switches, and the soughing automatic brake-
This is the Orient's novel pride, and Syria's gaudiest modern gem:
The railway scheme that is to ply 'twixt Jaffa and Jerusalem.
Beware, O sacred Mooley cow, the engine when you hear its bell; Beware, O camel, when resounds the whistle's shrill, unholy swell; And, native of that guileless land, unused to modern travel's snare, Beware the fiend that peddles books-the awful peanut-boy beware. Else, trusting in their specious arts, you may have reason to condemn
The traffic which the knavish ply 'twixt Jaffa and Jerusalem.
And when, ah, when the bonds fall due, how passing wroth will wax the state
From Nebo's mount to Nazareth will spread the cry "Repudiate"!
From Hebron to Tiberius, from Jordan's banks unto the sea,
Will rise profuse anathemas against "that monopoly!"
And F. M. B. A. shepherd-folk, with Sockless Jerry leading them,
Will swamp that corporation line 'twixt Jaffa and Jerusalem.
THE WOOING OF THE SOUTHLAND
THE Northland reared his hoary head
And spied the Southland leagues away-
"Fairest of all fair brides," he said,
"Be thou my bride, I pray!"
Whereat the Southland laughed and cried:
"I'll bide beside my native sea,
And I shall never be thy bride
Till thou com'st wooing me!"
The Northland's heart was a heart of ice,
A diamond glacier, mountain high-
Oh, love is sweet at any price,
As well know you and I!
So gayly the Northland took his heart
And cast it in the wailing sea—
"Go, thou, with all thy cunning art.
And woo my bride for me!"
For many a night and for many a day,
And over the leagues that rolled between,
The true-heart messenger sped away
To woo the Southland queen.
But the sea wailed loud, and the sea wailed long,
While ever the Northland cried in glee:
"Oh, thou shalt sing us our bridal song,
When comes my bride, O sea!"
At the foot of the Southland's golden throne
The heart of the Northland ever throbs—
For that true-heart speaks in the waves that moan,
The songs that it sings are sobs.
Ever the Southland spurns the cries
Of the messenger pleading the Northland's part;
The summer shines in the Southland's eyes-
The winter bides in her heart!
And ever unto that far-off place
Which love doth render a hallowed spot,
The Northland turneth his honest face
And wonders she cometh not.
The sea wails loud, and the sea wails long,
As the ages of waiting drift slowly by
But the sea shall sing no bridal song-
As well know you and I!
STAR of the East, that long ago
Brought wise men on their way
Where, angels singing to and fro,
The Child of Bethlehem lay-
Above that Syrian hill afar
Thou shinest out to-night, O Star!
Star of the East, the night were drear
But for the tender grace
That with thy glory comes to cheer
Earth's loneliest, darkest place;
For by that charity we see
Where there is hope for all and me.
Star of the East! show us the way
In wisdom undefiled
To seek that manger out and lay
Our gifts before the child-
To bring our hearts and offer them.
Unto our King in Bethlehem!
THERE are two phrases, you must know,
So potent (yet so small)
That wheresoe'er a man may go
He needs none else at all;
No servile guide to lead the way
Nor lackey at his heel,
If he be learned enough to say
"Comme bien" and "Wie viel."
The sleek, pomaded Parleyvoo
Will air his sweetest airs
And quote the highest rates when you
"Comme bien" for his wares;
And, though the German stolid be,
His so-called heart of steel
Becomes as soft as wax when he
Detects the words "Wie viel."
Go, search the boulevards and rues
From Havre to Marseilles-
You'll find all eloquence you use
Except "Comme bien" fails;
Or in the country auf der Rhine
Essay a business deal
And all your art is good fuhr nein
Beyond the point-"Wie viel."
It matters not what game or prey
Attracts your greedy eyes-
You must pursue the good old way
If you would win the prize;
It is to get a titled mate
All run down at the heel,
If you inquire of stock effete,
"Comme bien" or "Wie viel."
So he is wise who envieth not
A wealth of foreign speech,
Since with two phrases may be got
Whatever 's in his reach;
For Europe is a soulless shrine
In which all classes kneel
Before twin idols, deemed divine-
"Comme bien" and "Wie viel."
THERE was a certain gentleman, Ben Apfelgarten called,
Who lived way off in Germany a many years ago,
And he was very fortunate in being very bald
And so was very happy he was so.
He warbled all the day
Such songs as only they
Who are very, very circumspect and very happy may;
The people wondered why,
As the years went gliding by,
They never heard him once complain or even heave a sigh!
The women of the province fell in love with genial Ben,
Till (maybe you can fancy it) the dickens was to pay
Among the callow students and the sober-minded men—
With the women-folk a-cuttin' up that way!
Why, they gave him turbans red
To adorn his hairless head,
And knitted jaunty nightcaps to protect him when abed!
In vain the rest demurred-
Not a single chiding word
Those ladies deigned to tolerate-remonstrance was absurd!
Things finally got into such a very dreadful way
That the others (oh, how artful) formed the politic design To send him to the reichstag; so, one dull November day, They elected him a member from the Rhine!
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