Complete Poetical Works by Bret Harte Part 37

"Which my name is Bowers, and my crust was busted Falling down a shaft in Calaveras County; But I'd take it kindly if you'd send the pieces Home to old Missouri!"

* See notes at end.

THE BALLAD OF MR. COOKE

(LEGEND OF THE CLIFF HOUSE, SAN FRANCISCO)

Where the st.u.r.dy ocean breeze Drives the spray of roaring seas, That the Cliff House balconies Overlook: There, in spite of rain that balked, With his sandals duly chalked, Once upon a tight-rope walked Mr. Cooke.

But the jester's lightsome mien, And his spangles and his sheen, All had vanished when the scene He forsook.

Yet in some delusive hope, In some vague desire to cope, ONE still came to view the rope Walked by Cooke.

Amid Beauty's bright array, On that strange eventful day, Partly hidden from the spray, In a nook, Stood Florinda Vere de Vere; Who, with wind-disheveled hair, And a rapt, distracted air, Gazed on Cooke.

Then she turned, and quickly cried To her lover at her side, While her form with love and pride Wildly shook: "Clifford Snook! oh, hear me now!

Here I break each plighted vow; There's but one to whom I bow, And that's Cooke!"

Haughtily that young man spoke: "I descend from n.o.ble folk; 'Seven Oaks,' and then 'Se'nnoak,'

Lastly 'Snook,'

Is the way my name I trace.

Shall a youth of n.o.ble race In affairs of love give place To a Cooke?"

"Clifford Snook, I know thy claim To that lineage and name, And I think I've read the same In Horne Tooke; But I swear, by all divine, Never, never, to be thine, Till thou canst upon yon line Walk like Cooke."

Though to that gymnastic feat He no closer might compete Than to strike a BALANCE-sheet In a book; Yet thenceforward from that day He his figure would display In some wild athletic way, After Cooke.

On some household eminence, On a clothes-line or a fence, Over ditches, drains, and thence O'er a brook, He, by high ambition led, Ever walked and balanced, Till the people, wondering, said, "How like Cooke!"

Step by step did he proceed, Nerved by valor, not by greed, And at last the crowning deed Undertook.

Misty was the midnight air, And the cliff was bleak and bare, When he came to do and dare, Just like Cooke.

Through the darkness, o'er the flow, Stretched the line where he should go, Straight across as flies the crow Or the rook.

One wild glance around he cast; Then he faced the ocean blast, And he strode the cable last Touched by Cooke.

Vainly roared the angry seas, Vainly blew the ocean breeze; But, alas! the walker's knees Had a crook; And before he reached the rock Did they both together knock, And he stumbled with a shock-- Unlike Cooke!

Downward dropping in the dark, Like an arrow to its mark, Or a fish-pole when a shark Bites the hook, Dropped the pole he could not save, Dropped the walker, and the wave Swift engulfed the rival brave Of J. Cooke!

Came a roar across the sea Of sea-lions in their glee, In a tongue remarkably Like Chinook; And the maddened sea-gull seemed Still to utter, as he screamed, "Perish thus the wretch who deemed Himself Cooke!"

But on misty moonlit nights Comes a skeleton in tights, Walks once more the giddy heights He mistook; And unseen to mortal eyes, Purged of grosser earthly ties, Now at last in spirit guise Outdoes Cooke.

Still the st.u.r.dy ocean breeze Sweeps the spray of roaring seas, Where the Cliff House balconies Overlook; And the maidens in their prime, Reading of this mournful rhyme, Weep where, in the olden time, Walked J. Cooke.

THE BALLAD OF THE EMEU

Oh, say, have you seen at the Willows so green-- So charming and rurally true-- A singular bird, with a manner absurd, Which they call the Australian Emeu?

Have you Ever seen this Australian Emeu?

It trots all around with its head on the ground, Or erects it quite out of your view; And the ladies all cry, when its figure they spy, "Oh! what a sweet pretty Emeu!

Oh! do Just look at that lovely Emeu!"

One day to this spot, when the weather was hot, Came Matilda Hortense Fortescue; And beside her there came a youth of high name,-- Augustus Florell Montague: The two Both loved that wild, foreign Emeu.

With two loaves of bread then they fed it, instead Of the flesh of the white c.o.c.katoo, Which once was its food in that wild neighborhood Where ranges the sweet Kangaroo, That too Is game for the famous Emeu!

Old saws and gimlets but its appet.i.te whets, Like the world-famous bark of Peru; There's nothing so hard that the bird will discard, And nothing its taste will eschew That you Can give that long-legged Emeu!

The time slipped away in this innocent play, When up jumped the bold Montague: "Where's that specimen pin that I gayly did win In raffle, and gave unto you, Fortescue?"

No word spoke the guilty Emeu!

"Quick! tell me his name whom thou gavest that same, Ere these hands in thy blood I imbrue!"

"Nay, dearest," she cried, as she clung to his side, "I'm innocent as that Emeu!"

"Adieu!"

He replied, "Miss M. H. Fortescue!"

Down she dropped at his feet, all as white as a sheet, As wildly he fled from her view; He thought 'twas her sin,--for he knew not the pin Had been gobbled up by the Emeu; All through The voracity of that Emeu!

MRS. JUDGE JENKINS

(BEING THE ONLY GENUINE SEQUEL TO "MAUD MULLER")

Maud Muller all that summer day Raked the meadow sweet with hay;

Yet, looking down the distant lane, She hoped the Judge would come again.

But when he came, with smile and bow, Maud only blushed, and stammered, "Ha-ow?"

And spoke of her "pa," and wondered whether He'd give consent they should wed together.

Old Muller burst in tears, and then Begged that the Judge would lend him "ten;"

For trade was dull, and wages low, And the "c.r.a.ps," this year, were somewhat slow.

And ere the languid summer died, Sweet Maud became the Judge's bride.

But on the day that they were mated, Maud's brother Bob was intoxicated;