Page 29 - Poetry-Whimsy

But Time brings its lesson: the ship that had pass’d
The ocean for years went under at last;
And woe for poor Sturgis, there came a bad day
For him to be casting his glances away.
While moving along with his usual leer
Directed at objects a block in the rear,
He planted his feet in a large open hole,
Which it seems was receiving a cart-load of coal,
And slipped out of sight in a moment of time,
As demons descend in a stage pantomime.

They carried him home on an improvised bed,
With three splintered ribs and a flaw in his head.
The doctors for weeks made him cry out in pain
With stitching, and probing, and setting again.—
But when he recovered quite changed was his mind
Respecting the practice of looking behind.
No more he turns round for a glimpse at a face.
Or to say a last word, as had oft been the case.
Whoever he meets or goes by in the street
To Sturgis is dead till again they shall meet.
And now, gentle reader, these lines are for you
Whenever your way through the town you pursue,
Remember the tale that in SCRIBNER you read,
And let no attraction on earth turn your head.

— Palmer Cox (Scribner’s, 1879)

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