Classic Poem

O H thou great mistress of the tides,
Patron of thieves and homicides,
Absent by night, the friend of bad men,
Present by night, the friend of mad men,
Who talk to thee of love and glory,
From out their grated dormitory; —
Thou smiling queen of silent night,
Array'd in robes of silver white,
I have a message for thine ear,
Which not a mortal soul may hear;
Then list awhile, and hear me mention,
A few things well worth thine attention.
Thou regulatest, by thy motion,
Besides the rising of the occan,
The time to pull up noxious weeds,
Plant pumpkin and muskmelon seeds.
Set hop-poles and cut timber-trees,
Stick cranberry beans and brush young peas,
And gather herbs of healing virtue,
Which, healing not, may yet not hurt you;
For all such things are safest done,
Old ladies say, by time of moon.
Thy birth-day monthly is repeated,
Thy course of life as oft completed;
Yet, though the first celestial madam,
As old, at least, as father Adam,
Thou hast not faded nor grown colder,
And now art only four weeks older.
Some say that thou art made of cheese,
For folks say anything they please; —
If so, I'd like to have a slice,
To bait the traps to catch the mice.
But other folks, who build their faith on
The word of great Sanchoniathon,
Contend thou'rt not by a great dragon-deal,
As large as any common wagon-wheel,
And quite too small to cut a slice off,
To bait the traps to keep the mice off.
Philosophers, with much suavity,
Say thou hast some specific gravity.
But I am certain, dearest moon,
Thou'rt light as any air-balloon;
For hadst thou gravity, thou'd'st fall,
And striking headlong, crush us all.
Thou, gentle moon, art often pray'd to,
By many a youth, and many a maid too;
And thou should'st quickly hear their pray'r,
Lest they take cold in evening air.
The maiden, from her latticed arbor,
Surveys the distant ruffled harbor,
And deeply sighs, as, in her mind's eye,
Her lover sails right in the wind's eye;
Thinking her hopes would all be blasted,
If he should tumble from the mast-head;
And in a manner so improper,
Make some lean shark a hearty supper; —
Then prays to thee from night till morn,
That speedily he may return.
The lover, with a doleful groan,
Wanders by moonshine, all alone;
And turning to the moon his peepers,
While all the world besides are sleepers,
Sings " Tell me, moon, and tell me true,
When and where may lover woo? "
Then, void of hope, all measures tried,
Determined upon suicide;
Despairing that a love so deathless
Should thus be lost on one so faithless,
He takes his musket, loads and rams it,
With powder and with bog-grass crams it,
Then seeks some solitary meadow,
Takes aim, and fires, and shoots — his shadow.
Dear moon, thy crescent forms a model.
In many an oriental noddle,
For castles, towers, and minarets,
Pictured in Arabic gazettes; —
Which, though they seem somewhat grotesque,
Are, ne'ertheless, quite picturesque.
Thou floatest on the Turkish banner
In quite a proud and pompous manner;
And some prefer the crescent's horns,
To even England's unicorns.
Thou leadest our poor world a jaunt on,
Like a mischievous Jack-o'-Lantern,
While all the stars of heav'n's vault sing,
As thou around the earth art waltzing,
And like a top for ever twirling,
Art still about thy axis whirling; —
And riding on vectores radii ,
In length two million Roman stadii,
Dost hide the stars with occultations,
Giving the sailors great vexations.
Where's the lost Pleiad? canst thou tell?
Was it by thee obscured, it fell?
I wish when thou art off at random,
Around the zodiac driving tandem,
Thou'd'st take some notes as thou dost jog,
And make a stellar catalogue, —
With notes of other strange phenomena,
To aid the science of astronomy.
We'd make thee our official messenger,
To tell the stars of all that's passing here,
And bring us word of all the news,
Each time that thou return'st from cruise.
Tell Sol to send his chariot near here;
For winter's growing rather drear here;
And half a dozen of his rays
Are worth a deal of coal-fire blaze.
Tell Mars that Poland is in arms,
And Europe fill'd with dire alarms;
Tell him to send the Poles some bullets,
To tap the Russian soldiers' gullets.
But specially , and don't forget it,
For if you do you will regret it, —
Tell that huge comet hither sailing,
Whenever he's in reach of hailing,
To keep at a respectful distance,
And not to make the least resistance.
For should he come, like battering-ram,
To get a knock at Uncle Sam, —
As soon as e'er he comes in contact,
He'll violate the social compact; —
Tacit, 'tis true, yet understood
By all the stellar brotherhood; —
That comets should, in all their dealings,
Respect a planet's rights and feelings, —
And not usurp his old abode,
Nor break his nose, nor stop his road.
Now what I have to add, dear moon,
Is short and sweet; — I'll tell it soon.
Without a jest, and far from joking,
I do assure you 'tis provoking
To hear of an eclipse, — believe it, —
Then not be able to perceive it.
Now this is certainly admissible.
That half the eclipses are invisible,
Because of rains and cloudy weather,
And other causes put together.
You know, as well as I, of yore, folks
Thought it was wrong to stand before folks,
And flogg'd their children, to remind them,
When men were by, to stand behind them.
Then, while describing your ellipses,
I pray you to avoid eclipses;
Or, if it needs must be that one pass,
Turn to the right and let the sun pass.