|
A CRAZY bookcase, placed before | |
A low-price dealers open door; | |
Therein arrayed in broken rows | |
A ragged crew of rhyme and prose, | |
The homeless vagrants, waifs, and strays | 5 |
Whose low estate this line betrays | |
(Set forth the lesser birds to lime) | |
YOUR CHOICE AMONG THESE BOOKS 1 DIME! | |
|
Ho! dealer; for its mottos sake | |
This scarecrow from the shelf I take; | 10 |
Three starveling volumes bound in one, | |
Its covers warping in the sun. | |
Methinks it hath a musty smell, | |
I like its flavor none too well, | |
But Yoricks brain was far from dull, | 15 |
Though Hamlet pah! d, and dropped his skull. | |
|
Why, here comes rain! The sky grows dark, | |
Was that the roll of thunder? Hark! | |
The shop affords a safe retreat, | |
A chair extends its welcome seat, | 20 |
The tradesman has a civil look | |
(I ve paid, impromptu, for my book), | |
The clouds portend a sudden shower, | |
I ll read my purchase for an hour. | |
|
What have I rescued from the shelf? | 25 |
A Boswell, writing out himself! | |
For though he changes dress and name, | |
The man beneath is still the same, | |
Laughing or sad, by fits and starts, | |
One actor in a dozen parts, | 30 |
And whatsoeer the mask may be, | |
The voice assures us, This is he. | |
|
I say not this to cry him down; | |
I find my Shakespeare in his clown, | |
His rogues the selfsame parent own; | 35 |
Nay! Satan talks in Miltons tone! | |
Whereer the ocean inlet strays, | |
The salt sea wave its source betrays; | |
Whereer the queen of summer blows, | |
She tells the zephyr, I m the rose! | 40 |
|
And his is not the playwrights page; | |
His table does not ape the stage; | |
What matter if the figures seen | |
Are only shadows on a screen, | |
He finds in them his lurking thought, | 45 |
And on their lips the words he sought, | |
Like one who sits before the keys | |
And plays a tune himself to please. | |
|
And was he noted in his day? | |
Read, flattered, honored? Who shall say? | 50 |
Poor wreck of time the wave has cast | |
To find a peaceful shore at last, | |
Once glorying in thy gilded name | |
And freighted deep with hopes of fame, | |
Thy leaf is moistened with a tear, | 55 |
The first for many a long, long year! | |
|
For be it more or less of art | |
That veils the lowliest human heart | |
Where passion throbs, where friendship glows, | |
Where pitys tender tribute flows, | 60 |
Where love has lit its fragrant fire, | |
And sorrow quenched its vain desire, | |
For me the altar is divine, | |
Its flame, its ashes,all are mine! | |
|
And thou, my brother, as I look | 65 |
And see thee pictured in thy book, | |
Thy years on every page confessed | |
In shadows lengthening from the west, | |
Thy glance that wanders, as it sought | |
Some freshly opening flower of thought, | 70 |
Thy hopeful nature, light and free, | |
I start to find myself in thee! | |
|
Come, vagrant, outcast, wretch forlorn | |
In leather jerkin stained and torn, | |
Whose talk has filled my idle hour | 75 |
And made me half forget the shower, | |
I ll do at least as much for you, | |
Your coat I ll patch, your gilt renew, | |
Read youperhapssome other time. | |
Not bad, my bargain! Price one dime! | 80 |
|