Thomas R. Lounsbury, ed. (1838–1915). Yale Book of American Verse. 1912.
John Godfrey Saxe 1816–1887
John Godfrey Saxe115 Polyphemus and Ulysses
A
Of one P
The latter a hero accomplished and bold,
The former a knave, and a fright to behold,—
A horrid big giant who lived in a den,
And dined every day on a couple of men,
Ate a woman for breakfast, and (dreadful to see!)
Had a nice little baby served up with his tea!
Indeed, if there’s truth in the sprightly narration
Of H
Or V
And in some things, perhaps, the other’s superior,—
P
In manners and morals, in form and in feature;
For law and religion he cared not a copper,
And, in short, led a life that was very improper:—
What made him a very remarkable guy,
Like the late M
But that was a whopper,—a terrible one,—
“As large” (V
A brilliant, but rather extravagant figure,
Which means, I suppose, that his eye was much bigger
Than yours,—or even the orb of your sly
Old bachelor-friend “who ’s a wife in his eye.”
Was shipwrecked, one day, on the pestilent shore Where the C P Whose manners they copied, and laws they obeyed, While driving their horrible cannibal trade. That U With many expressions of pleasure profound That all had escaped being thoroughly drowned, The rascal declared he was “fond of the brave,” And invited the strangers all home to his cave. As an omnibus feels for the death of a horse, Seized, crushed, and devoured a brace of the Greeks, As a Welshman would swallow a couple of leeks, Or a Frenchman, supplied with his usual prog, Would punish the hams of a favorite frog. Dashed and smashed against the stones, He broke their bodies and cracked their bones, Minding no more their moans and groans, Than the grinder heeds his organ’s tones! With purple gore the pavement swims, While the giant crushes their crackling limbs, And poor U At the horrid sound, and the horrid sight,— Trembles lest the monster grim Should make his “nuts and raisins” of him! And, really, since The man was a Prince, It ’s not very odd that his Highness should wince, (Especially after such very strong hints,) At the cannibal’s manner, as rather more free Than his Highness at court was accustomed to see! (Though he did n’t deserve so fine a dessert), Took a dozen of wine from his leather trunk, And plied the giant until he was drunk!— Drunker than any one you or I know, Who buys his “Rhenish” with ready rhino,— Exceedingly drunk,—sepultus vino! U ’T will put him, boys, in a pretty trim, If we can manage to douse his glim!” So, taking a spar that was lying in sight, They poked it into his “forward light,” And gouged away with furious spite, Ramming and jamming with all their might! And even swore That he never before Had met, in his life, such a terrible bore: They only plied the auger the more And mocked his grief with a bantering cry, “Don’t talk of pain,—it ’s all in your eye!” Until, alas for the wretched C He gives a groan, and out his eye pops! Leaving the knave, one need n’t be told, As blind as a puppy of three days old. Except that U With the rest of his crew—it ’s no matter how; While old P Which was n’t till many years after, ’t is said,— Had a grief in his heart and a hole in his head! Don’t use strong drink,—pray let me advise,— It ’s bad for the stomach, and ruins the eyes; Don’t impose upon sailors with land-lubber tricks, Or you ’ll catch it some day like a thousand of bricks!