Alone

IN contact, lo! the flint and steel,

By spark and flame, the thought reveal

That he the metal, she the stone,

Had cherished secretly alone.

Ambrose Bierce

Freedom

FREEDOM, as every schoolboy knows,

Once shrieked as Kosciusko fell;

On every wind, indeed, that blows

    I hear her yell.

She screams whenever monarchs meet,

And parliaments as well,

To bind the chains about her feet

    And toll her knell.

And when the sovereign people cast

The votes they cannot spell,

Upon the lung-impested blast

    Her clamors swell.

For all to whom the power's given

To sway or to compel,

Among themselves apportion heaven

    And give her hell.

Ambrose Bierce

Egotist

MEGACEPH, chosen to serve the State

In the halls of legislative debate,

One day with his credentials came

To the capitol's door and announced his name.

The doorkeeper looked, with a comical twist

Of the face, at the eminent egotist,

And said: "Go away, for we settle here

All manner of questions, knotty and queer,

And we cannot have, when the speaker demands

To know how every member stands,

A man who to all things under the sky

Assents by eternally voting 'I.'"

Ambrose Bierce

Elegy

THE cur foretells the knell of parting day;

The loafing herd wind slowly o'er the lea;

The wise man homeward plods; I only stay

To fiddle-faddle in a minor key.

Ambrose Bierce

The Key Note

I DREAMED I was dreaming one morn as I lay

In a garden with flowers teeming.

On an island I lay in a mystical bay,

In the dream I dreamed I was dreaming.

The ghost of a scent--had it followed me there

From the place where I truly was resting?

It filled like an anthem the aisles of the air,

The presence of roses attesting.

Yet I thought in the dream that I dreamed I dreamed

That the place was all barren of roses--

That it only seemed; and the place, I deemed,

Was the Isle of Bewildered Noses.

Full many a seaman had testified

How all who sailed near were enchanted,

And landed to search (and in searching died)

For the roses the Sirens had planted.

For the Sirens were dead, and the billows boomed

In the stead of their singing forever;

But the roses bloomed on the graves of the doomed,

Though man had discovered them never.

I though in my dream 'twas an idle tale,

A delusion that mariners cherished--

That the fragrance loading the conscious gale

Was a ghost of a rose long perished.

I said, "I will fly from this island of woes."

And acting on that decision,

By that odor of rose I was led by the nose,

For 'twas truly, ah! truly, Elysian.

I ran, in my madness, to seek out the source

Of the redolent river--directed

By some supernatural, sinister force

To a forest, dark, haunted, infected.

And still as I threaded ('twas all in the dream

That I dreamed I was dreaming) each turning

There were many a scream and a sudden gleam

Of eyes all uncannily burning!

The leaves were all wet with a horrible dew

That mirrored the red moon's crescent,

And all shapes were fringed with a ghostly blue,

Dim, wavering, phosphorescent.

But the fragrance divine, coming strong and free,

Led me on, though my blood was clotting,

Till--ah, joy!--I could see, on the limbs of a tree,

Mine enemies hanging and rotting!

Ambrose Bierce

Matter for Gratitude

"ESPECIALLY should we be thankful for having escaped

the ravages of the yellow scourge by which our neighbors

have been so sorely afflicted."


        --Governor Stoneman's Thanksgiving Proclamation

Be pleased, O Lord, to take a people's thanks

That Thine avenging sword has spared our ranks--

That Thou hast parted from our lips the cup

And forced our neighbors' lips to drink it up.

Father of Mercies, with a heart contrite

We thank Thee that Thou goest south to smite,

And sparest San Francisco's loins, to crack

Thy lash on Hermosillo's bleeding back--

That o'er our homes Thine awful angel spread

His wings in vain, and Guaymas weeps instead.

We praise Thee, God, that Yellow Fever here

His horrid banner has not dared to rear,

Consumption's jurisdiction to contest,

Her dagger deep in every second breast!

Catarrh and Asthma and Congestive Chill

Attest Thy bounty and perform Thy will.

These native messengers obey Thy call--

They summon singly, but they summon all.

Not, as in Mexico's impested clime,

Can Yellow Jack commit recurring crime.

We thank Thee that Thou killest all the time.

Thy tender mercies, Father, never end:

Upon all heads Thy blessings still descend,

Though their forms vary. Here the sown seeds yield

Abundant grain that whitens all the field--

There the smit corn stands barren on the plain,

Thrift reaps the straw and Famine gleans in vain.

Here the fat priest to the contented king

Points out the contrast and the people sing--

There mothers eat their offspring. Well, at least

Thou hast provided offspring for the feast.

An earthquake here rolls harmless through the land,

And Thou art good because the chimneys stand--

There templed cities sink into the sea,

And damp survivors, howling as they flee,

Skip to the hills and hold a celebration

In honor of Thy wise discrimination.

O God, forgive them all, from Stoneman down,

Thy smile who construe and expound Thy frown,

And fall with saintly grace upon their knees

To render thanks when Thou dost only sneeze.

Ambrose Bierce

The Legatee

IN fair San Francisco a good man did dwell,

And he wrote out a will, for he didn't feel well.

Said he: "It is proper, when making a gift,

To stimulate virtue by comforting thrift."

So he left all his property, legal and straight,

To "the cursedest rascal in all of the State."

But the name he refused to insert, for, said he:

"Let each man consider himself legatee."

In due course of time that philanthropist died,

And all San Francisco, and Oakland beside--

Save only the lawyers--came each with his claim,

The lawyers preferring to manage the same.

The cases were tried in Department Thirteen,

Judge Murphy presided, sedate and serene,

But couldn't quite specify, legal and straight,

The cursedest rascal in all of the State.

And so he remarked to them, little and big--

To claimants: "You skip!" and to lawyers: "You dig!"

They tumbled, tumultuous, out of his court

And left him victorious, holding the fort.

'Twas then that he said: "It is plain to my mind

This property's ownerless--how can I find

The cursedest rascal in all of the State?"

So he took it himself, which was legal and straight.

Ambrose Bierce

Adair Welcker, Poet

THE Swan of Avon died--the Swan

Of Sacramento'll soon be gone;

And when his death-song he shall coo,

Stand back, or it will kill you too.

Ambrose Bierce

On the Wedding of the Aeronaut

AERONAUT, you're fairly caught,

Despite your bubble's leaven:

Out of the skies a lady's eyes

Have brought you down to Heaven!

No more, no more you'll freely soar

Above the grass and gravel:

Henceforth you'll walk--and she will chalk

The line that you're to travel!

Ambrose Bierce

A Wreath of Immortelles

(excerpts)

JUDGE Sawyer, whom in vain the people tried

To push from power, here is laid aside.

Death only from the bench could ever start

The sluggish load of his immortal part.

        ________________

For those this mausoleum is erected

Who Stanford to the Upper House elected.

Their luck is less or their promotion slower,

For, dead, they were elected to the Lower.

        ________________

Rash mortal! stay thy feet and look around--

This vacant tomb as yet is holy ground;

But soon, alas! Jim Fair will occupy

These premises--then, holiness, good-bye!

        ________________

George Perry here lies stiff and stark,

With stone at foot and stone at head.

His heart was dark, his mind was dark--

"Ignorant ass!" the people said.

Not ignorant but skilled, alas,

In all the secrets of his trade:

He knew more ways to be an ass

Than any ass that ever brayed.

Ambrose Bierce