Page 47 - Poetry-Books

The Curse (A Warning to Editors)

With stately mien,
Above the noise and traffic of the town,
The office of the “Phoenix” Magazine
Looked proudly down.

And day by day
A Bard—a needy Bard of visage lean—
Besieged, with many a sweet and soulful lay,
That magazine.

But all in vain!
Larger and larger swelled the mournful ranks
Of those that bore inscribed these words of bane,
“Returned with thanks.”

Yet patiently
And long that magazine’s neglect he bore,
Until, at length, there came a time when he
Could bear no more.

In fierce despair
He sought that magazine’s abode. Hard by,
Upon the curb he stood. A baleful glare
Was in his eye.

Then forth he burst
Into strange words. It was a sight, I ween,
To make the stoutest tremble: for he CURSED
That magazine!

It did not fall,
That tall and stately pile. As common men
View such things, there were no “results” at all;
At least, not then.

But mark the end.
Ere ten short years that haughty journal’s pride
To fate and evil times was forced to bend.
In brief, it died!

~ 45 ~