’This is my tale, heard twenty years ago
From Uncle Reuben, as the logs burned low,
Touching the walls and ceiling with that bloom
That makes a rose’s calyx of a room. 
I could not give his language, wherethrough ran
The gamy flavor of the bookless man 620
Who shapes a word before the fancy cools,
As lonely Crusoe improvised his tools. 
I liked the tale,—­’twas like so many told
By Rutebeuf and his Brother Trouveres bold;
Nor were the hearers much unlike to theirs,
Men unsophisticate, rude-nerved as bears. 
Ezra is gone and his large-hearted kind,
The landlords of the hospitable mind;
Good Warriner of Springfield was the last;
An inn is now a vision of the past; 630
One yet-surviving host my mind recalls,—­
You’ll find him if you go to Trenton Falls.’

THE ORIGIN OF DIDACTIC POETRY

When wise Minerva still was young
  And just the least romantic,
Soon after from Jove’s head she flung
  That preternatural antic,
’Tis said, to keep from idleness
  Or flirting, those twin curses,
She spent her leisure, more or less,
  In writing po——­, no, verses.

How nice they were! to rhyme with far
  A kind star did not tarry;
The metre, too, was regular
  As schoolboy’s dot and carry;
And full they were of pious plums,
  So extra-super-moral,—­
For sucking Virtue’s tender gums
  Most tooth-enticing coral.

A clean, fair copy she prepares,
  Makes sure of moods and tenses,
With her own hand,—­for prudence spares
  A man-(or woman-)-uensis;
Complete, and tied with ribbons proud,
  She hinted soon how cosy a
Treat it would be to read them loud
  After next day’s Ambrosia.

The Gods thought not it would amuse
  So much as Homer’s Odyssees,
But could not very well refuse
  The properest of Goddesses;
So all sat round in attitudes
  Of various dejection,
As with a hem! the queen of prudes
  Began her grave prelection.

At the first pause Zeus said, ’Well sung!—­
  I mean—­ask Phoebus,—­he knows.’ 
Says Phoebus, ’Zounds! a wolf’s among
  Admetus’s merinos! 
Fine! very fine! but I must go;
  They stand in need of me there;
Excuse me!’ snatched his stick, and so
  Plunged down the gladdened ether.

With the next gap, Mars said, ’For me
  Don’t wait,—­naught could be finer,
But I’m engaged at half past three,—­
  A fight in Asia Minor!’
Then Venus lisped, ’I’m sorely tried,
  These duty-calls are vip’rous;
But I must go; I have a bride
  To see about in Cyprus.’

Then Bacchus,—­’I must say good-by,
  Although my peace it jeopards;
I meet a man at four, to try
  A well-broke pair of leopards.’ 
His words woke Hermes.  ‘Ah!’ he said,
  ‘I so love moral theses!’
Then winked at Hebe, who turned red,
  And smoothed her apron’s creases.