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Saint Abe and His Seven Wives
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VI – LAST EPISTLE OF ST. ABE TO THE POLYGAMISTS
O Brother, Prophet of the Light! – don't let mystate distress you,While from the depths of darkest night I cry,"Farewell! God bless you!"I don't deserve a parting tear, nor even a male-diction,Too weak to fill a saintly sphere, I yield to myaffliction;Down like a cataract I shoot into the depthsbelow you,While you stand wondering and mute, my lastadieu I throw you;Commending to your blessed care my well-be-loved spouses,My debts (there's plenty and to spare to paythem), lands, and houses,My sheep, my cattle, farm and fold, yea, all bywhich I've thriven:These to be at the auction sold, and to mywidows given.Bless them! to prize them at their worth wasfar beyond my merit,Just make them think me in the earth, a poordeparted spirit.I couldn't bear to say good-bye, and see theirtears up-starting;I thought it best to pack and fly without thepain of parting!O tell Amelia, if she can, by careful educa-tion,To make her boy grow up a man of strengthand saintly station!Tell Fanny to beware of men, and say I'm stillher debtor —Tho' she cut sharpish now and then, I think itmade me better!Let Emily still her spirit fill with holy consola-tions —Seraphic soul, I hear her still a-reading "Reve-lations!"Bid Mary now to dry her tears – she's free of herchief bother;And comfort Sarah – I've my fears she's going tobe a mother;And to Tabitha give for me a tender kiss ofhealing —Guilt wrings my soul – I seem to see that well-known face appealing!And now, – before my figure fades for ever fromyour vision,Before I mingle with the shades beyond yourlight Elysian,Now, while your faces all turn pale, and youraise eyes and shiver,Let me a round unvarnish'd tale (as Shaksperesays) deliver;And let there be a warning text in my mostshameful story,When some poor sheep, perplext and vext, goesseeking too much glory.O Brigham, think of my poor fate, a scandal tobeholders,And don't again put too much weight beforeyou've tried the shoulders!Though I'd the intellectual gift, and knew therights and reasons;Though I could trade, and save, and shift,according to the seasons;Though I was thought a clever man, and was atspouting splendid, —Just think how finely I began, and see how allhas ended!In principle unto this hour I'm still a holybeing —But oh, how poorly is my power proportion'd tomy seeing!You've all the logic on your side, you're right ineach conclusion,And yet how vainly have I tried, with eagerresolution!My will was good, I felt the call, although mystrength was meagre,There wasn't one among you all to serve theLord more eager!I never tired in younger days of drawing lambsunto me,My lot was one to bless and praise, the fire offaith thrill'd through me.And you, believing I was strong, smiled on melike a father, —Said, "Blessëd be this man, though young, whothe sweet lambs doth gather! "At first it was a time full blest, and all myearthy pleasureWas gathering lambs unto my breast to cherishand to treasure;Ay, one by one, for heaven's sake, my femaleflock I found me,Until one day I did awake and heard thembleating round me,And there was sorrow in their eyes, and mutereproach and wonder,For they perceived to their surprise their Shep-herd was a blunder.O Brigham, think of it and weep, my firm andsaintly Master —The Pastor trembled at his Sheep, the Sheep despisedthe Pastor!O listen to the tale of dread, thou Light thatshines so brightly —Virtue's a horse that drops down dead if over-loaded slightly!She's all the will, she wants to go, she'd carryevery tittle;But when you see her flag and blow, just easeher of a little!One wife for me was near enough, two mighthave fixed me neatly,Three made me shake, four made me puff, fivesettled me completely, —But when the sixth came, though I still wasglad and never grumbled,I took the staggers, kick'd, went ill, and in thetraces tumbled!Ah, well may I compare my state unto a beast'sposition —Unfit to bear a saintly weight, I sank and lostcondition;I lack'd the moral nerve and thew, to fill so finea station —Ah, if I'd had a head like you, and your deter-mination!Instead of going in and out, like a superiorparty,I was too soft of heart, no doubt, too open, andtoo hearty.When I began with each young sheep I was toofree and loving,Not being strong and wise and deep, I set herfeelings moving;And so, instead of noticing the gentle flock incommon,I waken'd up that mighty thing – the Spirit of aWoman.Each got to think me, don't you see, – so foolishwas the feeling, —Her own especial property, which all the restwere stealing!And, since I could not give to each the whole ofmy attention,All came to grief, and parts of speech too deli-cate to mention!Bless them! they loved me far too much, theyerred in their devotion,I lack'd the proper saintly touch, subduing mereemotion:The solemn air sent from the skies, so cold, sotranquillising,That on the female waters lies, and keeps thesame from rising,But holds them down all smooth and bright,and, if some wild wind storms 'em,Comes like a cold frost in the night, and into icetransforms 'em!And there, between ourselves, I see the diffi-culty growing,Since most men are as meek as me, too pas-sionate and glowing;They cannot in your royal way dwell like aguest from HeavenWithin this tenement of clay, which for the Soulis given;They cannot like a blessed guest come calm andstrong into it,Eating and drinking of its best, and calmlygazing thro' it.No, every mortal's not a Saint, and truly veryfew are,So weak they are, they cannot paint what holymen like you are.Instead of keeping well apart the Flesh andSpirit, brother,And making one with cunning art the nigger ofthe other,They muddle and confuse the two, they mix andtwist and mingle,So that it takes a cunning view to make outeither single.The Soul gets mingled with the Flesh beyond allseparation,The Body holds it in a mesh of animal sensa-tion;The poor bewilder'd Being, grown a thing innature double,Half light and soul, half flesh and bone, is givenup to trouble.He thinks the instinct of the clay, the glowingsof the Spirit,And when the Spirit has her say, inclines theFlesh to hear it.The slave of every passing whim, the dupe ofevery devil,Inspired by every female limb to love, and light,and revel,Impulsive, timid, weak, or strong, as Flesh orSpirit makes him,The lost one wildly moans along till mischiefovertakes him;And when the Soul has fed upon the Flesh tilllife's spring passes,Finds strength and health and comfort gone —the way of last year's grasses,And the poor Soul is doom'd to bow, in deephumiliation,Within a place that isn't now a decent habitation.No! keep the Soul and Flesh apart in piousresolution,Don't let weak flutterings of the heart lead youto my confusion!But let the Flesh be as the horse, the Spirit asthe rider,And use the snaffle first of course, and ease herup and guide her;And if she's going to resist, and won't let nonego past her,Just take the curb and give a twist, and showher you're the Master.The Flesh is but a temporal thing, and Satan'sstrength is in it,Use it, but conquer it, and bring its vice dowNevery minute!Into a woman's arms don't fall, as if you meantto stay there,Just come as if you'd made a call\ and idly foundyour way there;Don't praise her too much to her face, but keepher calm and quiet, —Most female illnesses take place thro' far toowarm a diet;Unto her give your fleshly kiss, calm, kind, andpatronising,Then – soar to your own sphere of bliss, beforeher heart gets rising!Don't fail to let her see full clear, how in yoursaintly stationThe Flesh is but your nigger here obeying yourdictation;And tho' the Flesh be e'er so warm, your Soulthe weakness smothersOf loving any female form much better than theothers!O Brigham, I can see you smile to hear theDevil preaching; —Well, I can praise your perfect style, tho' farbeyond my reaching.Forgive me, if in shame and grief I vex you withdigression,And let me come again in brief to my own darkconfession.The world of men divided is into two portions,brother,The first are Saints, so high in bliss that they theFlesh can smother;God meant them from fair flower to flower toflutter, smiles bestowing,Tasting the sweet, leaving the sour, just hover-ing, – and going.The second are a different set, just halves ofperfect spirits,Going about in bitter fret, of uncompletedmerits,Till they discover, here or there, their other half(or woman),Then these two join, and make a Pair, and soincrease the human.The second Souls inferior are, a lower spirit-order,Born 'neath a less auspicious star, and taken bysoft sawder; —And if they do not happen here to find their fairAffinity,They come to grief and doubt and fear, and endin asininity;And if they try the blessed game of thosesuperior to them,They're very quickly brought to shame, – theirpassions so undo them.In some diviner sphere, perhaps, they'll look andgrow more holy, —Meantime they're vessels Sorrow taps and grimRemorse sucks slowly.Now, Brigham, I was made, you see, one ofthose lower creatures,Polygamy was not for me, altho' I joined itspreachers.Instead of, with a wary eye, seeking the onewho waited,And sticking to her, wet or dry, because thething was fated,I snatch'd the first whose beauty stirred my soulwith tender feeling!And then another! then a third! and so con-tinued Sealing!And duly, after many a smart, discovered,sighing faintly,I hadn't found my missing part, and wasn'tstrong and saintly!O they were far too good for me, altho' theirzeal betrayed them; —Unfortunately, don't you see, heaven for someother made them:Each would a downright blessing be, and Peacewould pitch the tent for her,If "she" could only find the "he" originallymeant for her!Well, Brother, after many years of bad domesticdiet,One morning I woke up in tears, still weary andunquiet,And (speaking figuratively) lo! beside my bedstood smilingThe Woman, young and virgin snow, but beckon-ing and beguiling.I started up, my wild eyes rolled, I knew her,and stood sighing,My thoughts throng'd up like bees of gold out ofthe smithy flying.And as she stood in brightness there, familiar,tho' a stranger,I looked at her in dumb despair, and trembledat the danger.But, Brother Brigham, don't you think theDevil could so undo me,That straight I rushed the cup to drink too lateextended to me.No, for I hesitated long, ev'n when I found sheloved me,And didn't seem to think it wrong when loveand passion moved me.O Brigham, you're a Saint above, and know notthe sensationThe ecstasy, the maddening love, the rapturousexultation,That fills a man of lower race with wonder pastall speaking,When first he finds in one sweet face the Soul hehas been seeking!When two immortal beings glow in the firstfond revealing,And their inferior natures know the luxury offeeling!But ah, I had already got a quiver-full of bless-ing,Had blundered, tho' I knew it not, six timesbeyond redressing,And surely it was time to stop, tho' still my lotwas lonely:My house was like a cobbler's shop, full, tho'with "misfits" only.And so I should have stopt, I swear, thewretchedest of creatures,Rather than put one mark of care on herbelovéd features:But that it happen'd Sister Anne (ah, now thesecret's flitted!)Was left in this great world of man unto mycare committed.Her father, Jason Jones, was dead, a man whosefaults were many,"O, be a father, Abe," he said, "to my poordaughter, Annie!"And so I promised, so she came an Orphan tothis city,And set my foolish heart in flame with mingledlove and pity;And as she prettier grew each day, and throve'neath my protection,I saw the Saints did cast her way some tokens ofaffection.O, Brigham, pray forgive me now; – envy andlove combining,I hated every saintly brow, benignantly in-clining!Sneered at their motives, mocked the cause,went wild and sorrow-laden,And saw Polygamy's vast jaws a-yawning forthe maiden.Why not, you say? Ah, yes, why not, fromyour high point of vision;But I'm of an inferior lot, beyond the lightElysian.I tore my hair, whined like a whelp, I loved herto distraction,I saw the danger, knew the help, yet trembledat the action.At last I came to you, my friend, and told mytender feeling;You said, "Your grief shall have an end – this isa case for Sealing;And since you have deserved so well, and madeno heinous blunder,Why, brother Abraham, take the gel, but mindyou keep her under."Well! then I went to Sister Anne, my inmostheart unclothing,Told her my feelings like a man, concealingnext to nothing,Explain'd the various characters of those I hadalready,The various tricks and freaks and stirs peculiarto each lady,And, finally, when all was clear, and hopeseem'd to forsake me,"There! it's a wretched chance, my dear – youleave me, or you take me."Well, Sister Annie look'd at me, her inmostheart revealing(Women are very weak, you see, inferior, full offeeling),Then, thro' her tears outshining bright, "I'llnever never leave you!"O Abe," she said, "my love, my light, whyshould I pain or grieve you?I do not love the way of life you have so sadlychosen,I'd rather be a single wife than one in half adozen;But now you cannot change your plan, tho'health and spirit perish,And I shall never see a man but you to love andcherish.Take me, I'm yours, and O, my dear, don'tthink I miss your merit,I'll try to help a little here your true and lovingspirit.""Reflect, my love," I said, "once more," withbursting heart, half crying,"Two of the girls cut very sore, and most ofthem are trying!"And then that' gentle-hearted maid kissed meand bent above me,"O Abe," she said, "don't be afraid, – I'll try tomake them love me!"Ah well! I scarcely stopt to ask myself, till allwas over,How precious tough would be her task whomade those dear souls love her!But I was seal'd to Sister Anne, and straight-way to my wonderA series of events began which showed me allmy blunder.Brother, don't blame the souls who erred thro'their excess of feeling —So angrily their hearts were stirred by my lastact of sealing;But in a moment they forgot the quarrels they'dbeen wrapt in,And leagued together in one lot, with Tabby forthe Captain.Their little tiffs were laid aside, and all com-bined together,Preparing for the gentle Bride the blackest sortof weather.It wasn't feeling made them flout poor Annie inthat fashion,It wasn't love turn'd inside out, it wasn't jealouspassion,It wasn't that they cared for me, or any otherparty,Their hearts and sentiments were free, their ap-petites were hearty.But when the pretty smiling face came blossom-ing and blooming,Like sunshine in a shady place the fam'ly Vaultilluming,It naturally made them grim to see its sunnycolour,While like a row of tapers dim by daylight, theygrew duller.She tried her best to make them kind, shecoaxed and served them dumbly,She watch'd them with a willing mind, deferredto them most humbly;Tried hard to pick herself a friend, but found herarts rejected,And fail'd entirely in her end, as one mighthave expected.But, Brother, tho' I'm loathe to add one word tocriminate them,I think their conduct was too bad, – it almostmade me hate them.Ah me, the many nagging ways of women areamazing,Their cleverness solicits praise, their cruelty iscrazing!And Sister Annie hadn't been a single day theirneighbour,Before a baby could have seen her life would bea labour.But bless her little loving heart, it kept itssorrow hidden,And if the tears began to start, suppressed thesame unbidden.She tried to smile, and smiled her best, till Ithought sorrow silly,And kept in her own garden nest, and lit it likea lily.O I should waste your time for days with talklike this at present,If I described her thousand ways of makingthings look pleasant!But, bless you, 'twere as well to try, whenthunder's at its dire work,To clear the air, and light the sky, by penny-worths of firework.These gentle ways to hide her woe and makemy life a blessing,Just made the after darkness grow more gloomyand depressing.Taunts, mocks, and jeers, coldness and sneers,insult and trouble daily,A thousand stabs that brought the tears, allthese she cover'd gaily;But when her fond eyes fell on me, the light oflove to borrow,And Sister Anne began to see I knew her secretsorrow,All of a sudden like a mask the loving cheatforsook her,And reckon I had all my task, for illness over-took her.She took to bed, grew sad and thin, seem'd likea spirit flying,Smiled thro' her tears when I went in, but whenI left fell crying;And as she languish'd in her bed, as weak andwan as water,I thought of what her father said, "Take care ofmy dear daughter!"Then I look'd round with secret eye upon hermany Sisters,And close at hand I saw them lie, ready for use– like blisters;They seemed with secret looks of glee, to keeptheir wifely station;They set their lips and sneer'd at me, andwatch'd the situation.O Brother, I can scarce express the agony ofthose moments,1 fear your perfect saintliness, and dread yourcutting comments!I prayed, I wept, I moan'd, I cried, I anguish'dnight and morrow,I watch'd and waited, sleepless-eyed, besidethat bed of sorrow.At last I knew, in those dark days of sorrowand disaster,Mine wasn't soil where you could raise a Saintup, or a Pastor;In spite of careful watering, and tilling nightand morning,The weeds of vanity would spring without aword of warning.I was and ever must subsist, labell'd on everyfeature,A wretched poor Monogamist, a most inferiorcreature —Just half a soul, and half a mind, a blunder andabortion,Not finish'd half till I could find the othermissing portion!And gazing on that missing part which I at lasthad found out,I murmur'd with a burning heart, scarce strongto get the sound out,"If from the greedy clutch of Fate I save thischief of treasures,I will no longer hesitate, but take decided mea-sures!A poor monogamist like me can not love half adozen,Better by far, then, set them free! and take theWife I've chosen!Their love for me, of course, is small, a veryshadowy tittle,They will not miss my face at all, or miss it verylittle.I can't undo what I have done, by my forlornembraces,And call the brightness of the sun again intotheir faces;But I can save one spirit true, confiding andunthinking,From slowly curdling to a shrew or into swine-dom sinking."These were my bitter words of woe, my fearswere so distressing,Not that I would reflect – O no! – on any livingblessing.Thus, Brother, I resolved, and when she rose,still frail and sighing,I kept my word like better men, and bolted, —and I'm flying.Into oblivion I haste, and leave the world be-hind me,Afar unto the starless waste, where not a soulshall find me.I send my love, and Sister Anne joins cordially,agreeingI never was the sort of man for your high stateof being;Such as I am, she takes me, though; and afteryears of trying,From Eden hand in hand we go, like our firstparents flying;And like the bright sword that did chase thefirst of sires and mothers,Shines dear Tabitha's flaming face, surroundedby the others:Shining it threatens there on high, above thegates of heaven,And faster at the sight we fly, in naked shame,forth-driven.Nothing of all my worldly store I take, 'twouldbe improper,I go a pilgrim, strong and poor, without a singlecopper.Unto my Widows I outreach my property com-pletely.There's modest competence for each, if it ismanaged neatly.That, Brother, is a labour left to your sagaciouskeeping; —Comfort them, comfort the bereft! I'm good asdead and sleeping!A fallen star, a shooting light, a portent and anomen,A moment passing on the sight, thereafter seenby no men!I go, with backward-looking face, and spiritrent asunder.O may you prosper in your place, for you're ashining wonder!So strong, so sweet, so mild, so good! – byHeaven's dispensation,Made Husband to a multitude and Father to anation!May all the saintly life ensures increase andmake you stronger!Humbly and penitently yours,A. Clewson (Saint no longer).THK FARM IN THE VALLEY – SUNSET
Still the saintly City stands,Wondrous work oF busy hands;Still the lonely City thrives,Rich in worldly goods and wives,And with thrust-out jaw and setTeeth, the Yankee threatens yet —Half admiring and half riled,Oft by bigger schemes beguiled,Turning off his curious stareTo communities elsewhere.Always with unquiet eyeWatching Utah on the sly.Long the City of the PlainLeft its image on my brain:White kiosks and gardens brightRising in a golden light;Busy figures everywhereBustling bee-like in the glare;And from dovecots in green places,Peep'd out weary women's faces,Flushing faint to a thin cryFrom the nursery hard by.And the City in my thoughtSlept fantastically wrought,Till the whole began to seemLike a curious Eastern dream,Like the pictures strange we scanIn the tales Arabian:Tales of magic art and sleight,Cities rising in a night,And of women richly clad,Dark-eyed, melancholy, sad,Ever with a glance uncertain,Trembling at the purple curtain,Lest behind the black slave standWith the bowstring in his handHappy tales, within whose heartFounts of weeping eyes upstart,Told, to save her pretty head,By Scheherazad in bed!All had faded and grown faint,Save the figure of the SaintWho that memorable nightLeft the Children of the Light,Flying o'er the lonely plainFrom his lofty sphere of painOft his gentle face would flitO'er my mind and puzzle it,Ever waking up meanwhileSomething of a merry smile,Whose quick light illumined meDuring many a reverie,When I puffed my weed alone.Faint and strange the face had grown,Tho' for five long years or soI had watched it come and go,When, on busy thoughts intent,I into New England went,And one evening, riding slowBy a River that I know,(Gentle stream! I hide thy name,Far too modest thou for fame!)I beheld the landscape swimIn the autumn hazes dim,And from out the neighbouring dalesHeard the thumping of the flails.All was hush'd; afar away(As a novelist would say)SUNSET IN NEW ENGLAND
Sank the mighty orb of day,Staring with a hazy glowOn the purple plain below,Where (like burning embers shedFrom the sunset's glowing bed,Dying out or burning bright,Every leaf a blaze of light)Ran the maple swamps ablaze;Everywhere amid the haze,Floating strangely in the air,Farms and homesteads gather'd fair;And the River rippled slowThro' the marshes green and low,Spreading oft as smooth as glassAs it fringed the meadow grass,Making 'mong the misty fieldsPools like golden gleaming shields.Thus I walked my steed along,Humming a low scrap of song,Watching with an idle eyeWhite clouds in the dreamy skySailing with me in slow pomp.In the bright flush of the swamp,While his dogs bark'd in the wood,Gun in hand the sportsman stood;And beside me, wading deep,Stood the angler half asleep,Figure black against the gleamOf the bright pools of the stream;Now and then a wherry brownWith the current drifted downSunset-ward, and as it wentMade an oar-splash indolent;While with solitary sound,Deepening the silence round,In a voice of mysteryFaintly cried the chickadee-Suddenly the River's armRounded, and a lonely FarmStood before me blazing redTo the bright blaze overhead;In the homesteads at its side,Cattle lowed and voices cried,And from out the shadows darkCame a mastiff's measured bark.Fair and fat stood the abodeOn the path by which I rode,And a mighty orchard, strownStill with apple-leaves wind-blown,Raised its branches gnarl'd and bareBlack against the sunset air,And with greensward deep and dim,Wander'd to the River's brim.Close beside the orchard walkLinger'd one in quiet talkWith a man in workman's gear.As my horse's feet drew near,The labourer nodded rough "good-day,"Turned his back and loung'd away.Then the first, a plump and fatYeoman in a broad straw hat,Stood alone in thought intent,Watching while the other went,And amid the sunlight redPaused, with hand held to his head.In a moment, like a wordLong forgotten until heard,Like a buried sentimentBorn again to some stray scent,Like a sound to which the brainGives familiar refrain,Something in the gesture broughtThings forgotten to my thought;Memory, as I watched the sight.Flashed from eager light to lightRemember'd and remember'd not,Half familiar, half forgot.Stood the figure, till at last,Bending eyes on his, I passed,Gazed again, as loth to go,Drew the rein, stopt short, and soRested, looking back; when he,The object of my scrutiny,Smiled and nodded, saying, "Yes!Stare your fill, young man! I guessYou'll know me if we meet again!"In a moment all my brainWas illumined at the tone,All was vivid that had grownFaint and dim, and straight I knew; him,Holding out my hand unto him,Smiled, and called him by his name.Wondering, hearing me exclaim.Abraham Clewson (for'twas he)Came more close and gazed at me,As he gazed, a merry grinBrighten'd down from eyes to chin:In a moment he, too, knew me,Reaching out his hand unto me,Crying "Track'd, by all that's blueWho'd have thought of seeing you?Then, in double quicker timeThan it takes to make the rhyme,Abe, with face of welcome bright,Made me from my steed alight;Call'd a boy, and bade him leadThe beast away to bed and feed;And, with hand upon my arm,Led me off into the Farm,Where, amid a dwelling-placeFresh and bright as her own face,With a gleam of shining wareFor a background everywhere,Free as any summer breeze,With a bunch of huswife's keysAt her girdle, sweet and mildSister Annie blush'd and smiled, —While two tiny laughing girls,Peeping at me through their curls,Hid their sweet shamefacëdnessIn the skirts of Annie's dress.That same night the Saint and ISat and talked of times gone by,Smoked our pipes and drank our grogBy the slowly smouldering log,While the clock's hand slowly creptTo midnight, and the household slept"Happy?" Abe said with a smile,"Yes, in my inferior style,Meek and humble, not like themIn the New Jerusalem."Here his hand, as if astray,For a moment found its wayTo his forehead, as he said,"Reckon they believe I'm dead?Ah, that life of sanctityNever was the life for me.Couldn't stand it wet nor dry,Hated to see women cry;Couldn't bear to be the causeOf tiffs and squalls and endless jawsAlways felt amid the stirJest a whited sepulchre;And I did the best I couldWhen I ran away for good.Yet, for many a night, you know(Annie, too, would tell you so),Couldn't sleep a single wink,Couldn't eat, and couldn't drink,Being kind of conscience-cleftFor those poor creatures I had left,Not till I got news from there,And I found their fate was fair,Could I set to work, or findAny comfort in my mind.Well (here Abe smiled quietly),Guess they didn't groan for me!Fanny and Amelia gotSealed to Brigham on the spot;Emmy soon consoled herselfIn the arms of Brother Delf;And poor Mary one fine dayPacked her traps and tript awayDown to Fresco with Fred Bates,A young player from the States:While Sarah,'twas the wisest plan,Pick'd herself a single man —A young joiner fresh come downOut of Texas to the town —And he took her with her baby,And they're doing well as maybe.'"Here the Saint with quiet smile,Sipping at his grog the while,Paused as if his tale was o'er,Held his tongue and said no more."Good," I said, "but have you done?You have spoke of all save one —All your Widows, so bereft,Are most comfortably left,But of one alone you saidNothing. Is the lady dead?"Then the good man's features brokeInto brightness as I spoke,And with loud guffaw cried he,"What, Tabitha? Dead! Not she.All alone and doing splendid —Jest you guess, now, how she's ended!Give it up? This very weekI heard she's at Oneida Creek,All alone and doing hearty,Down with Brother Noyes's party.Tried the Shakers first, they say,Tired of them and went away,Testing with a deal of botherThis community and t'other,Till she to Oneida flitted,And with trouble got admitted.Bless you, she's a shining lamp,Tho' I used her like a scamp,And she's great in expositionOf the Free Love folk's condition,Vowing, tho' she found it late,Tis the only happy state…"As for me," added the speaker,"I'm lower in the scale, and weaker;Polygamy's beyond my merits,Shakerism wears the spirits,And as for Free Love, why you see(Here the Saint wink'd wickedly)With my whim it might have hungOnce, when I was spry and young;But poor Annie's love aloneKeeps my mind in proper tone,And tho' my spirit mayn't be strong,I'm lively – as the day is long."As he spoke with half a yawn,Half a smile, I saw the dawnCreeping faint into the gloomOf the quickly-chilling room.On the hearth the wood-log lay,With one last expiring ray;Draining off his glass of grog,Clewson rose and kick'd the log;As it crumbled into ashes,Watched the last expiring flashes,Gave another yawn and said,"Well! I guess it's time for bed!"THE END
