Part 1

THE BEE'S BAYONET (A LITTLE HONEY AND A LITTLE STING) --CAMOUFLAGE IN WORD PAINTING--

BY EDWIN ALFRED WATROUS _Author of "The Fooliam"_

BOSTON RICHARD G. BADGER THE GORHAM PRESS

COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY EDWIN ALFRED WATROUS

All Rights Reserved

Made in the United States of America

The Gorham Press, Boston, U.S.A.

Dedicated to

THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA CIVILIZATION'S CRUSADER.

To Thee, My Native Land, AMERICA! My heart with pride is filled: my lips exult Because Thou art my Home--my Fatherland. Beneath the Constellation of the States, Set in the firmament of fadeless blue, I bare my head and hail the Stars and Stripes, Proud Emblem of our Unity and Might. My Country calls! I give what I possess,-- All! _All_ I say! and giving thus, regret That my poor contribution to thy needs, In hours of peril when dark war-clouds loom, Is such a paltry thing When measured by the debt of gratitude I owe for LIBERTY. All that I am and have belongs to Thee. Upon thy Altar Fires, Where Freedom glows and glorifies Mankind, I consecrate My flood-tide strength, my substance--life itself! And rate not this as sacrifice That gives me pleasure to repay In this small way Thy boon and bounty, priceless LIBERTY.

CONTENTS

PROEM BEHOLD A MAN! THE JULOGY ENGLAND PREPAREDNESS THE FUGITIVE KISS NEW MEXICAN NATIONAL ANTHEM LOVE STRONGARM'S WATERLOO THE SPIRIT OF FRANCE WAR SONG OF THE SAMSONS SIX DAYS A PROTEST A PRAYER SINCE THE LITTLE ONE CAME RUN ALONG, LITTLE GIRL! A RETROSPECT THE EAGLE SCREAMS THE SERVICE STAR SOME DAY THE CRUISE OF THE SEA SERPENT AMERICA LIFE AND LOVE LIFE IN DEATH GERMANY ITALY MARY IS MERRY NO MORE I SHOT AN ARROW FIXING THE BLAME LOVE'S RECOMPENSE ADAM'S ALE RUSSIA BELGIUM OUR FRIENDS ACROSS THE STREET EPITAPHS THE CONQUEST OF THE SUN OWED TO A ROACH THE MOODS OF THE WINDS THE TOXIC TIPPET TWENTY-THIRD PSALM FRIENDSHIP PARAMOUNT PROBLEMS A REUNION THE CRUISE OF THE SQUIRREL JINGLES THE WEIGHT OF LOVE DO IT! AMENITIES "DANSER SUR UN VULCAN" AT THE BULGING UDDER TIME VAGARIES A SHATTERED ROMANCE THE MILKY WAY THE LOGOTHETE THE PRICE OF PEACE MEN HAD HORNS THEN SUB ROSA WHITMANESQUE AN APEOLOGY THE BUG WAKE, MY LOVE! FIRST PSALM NOT PEACE, BUT REVENGE! HEREDITY THE CALL OF THE HOMESTEAD DECIMAL POINTS BELLES-LETTRES SANDY, THE PIPER "BEN BOLT" EXCELSIOR HER AND HIM THE PHILOSOPHY OF LIVING THE SIXTH OF APRIL BENEATH A CLOUD THE COLUMBIAD HE'S ALL RIGHT, BUT--! NATURE'S STUDIO PICARDY AMERICA'S PRAYER EPILOGUE

PROEM

If you can find, within, a single line To give you pleasure, then the pleasure's mine; But if you fail and whine, or _josh_ like Billings, You might (I say you _might_!) get back your shillings. But better yet! Bestow this Book of Verses On some friend-foe you love with hate and curses, And your revenge will be attained thereafter For, when he reads it, he will die with laughter. And, Cheerful Reader, if this work contains A soporific for your bulging brains So that you'll _rave about it_ to your neighbors, I'll feel repaid for all rebuffs and labors. Though "Wisdom sometimes borrows, sometimes lends," You'll borrow trouble lending this to friends; But earn my thanks if, when you've praised or shown it, You'll sit upon the lid and never loan it: For ev'ry copy sold, thru friends or slapbacks, Just puts Mo'lasses on my buckwheat flapjacks. And, Critic Friend, who halts Ambition's flight And ties the can to Aspiration's kite, Pray recollect that when _you_ plied the pen And had some stuff accepted now and then, Your tales, O! Henry, did not prove inviting Or else you'd be no Cynic but still writing.

THE BEE'S BAYONET

BEHOLD A MAN!

There stands a MAN! unyielding and defiant, A master LEADER, bold and self-reliant. He seeks no conquest but his lance is set Against the ruthless Despot's parapet. Alert and conscious of his strength, his thrust Is sure and timely, for his cause is just. Invincible, he rallies to his cause Those who love Justice and respect the laws. To skulking traitors and to spying foes He shows no mercy, but his heart o'erflows For those oppressed, who live, nay! who exist Where arrogance and tyranny persist: But, tho distressed by all this human grief, He weeps not idly, but _compels_ relief: And those he serves by act or speech or pen, One Hundred Million _freemen_, shout, AMEN! "Safe for Democracy the world must be, And all its bondaged peoples shall be free!" So spake the MAN: America thus voiced Its ultimatum, and the Earth rejoiced! Intensely human, cast from mortal clay In Nature's mould, one epoch-making day, Behold a MAN! he seems a higher sort, Refined with purest gold from God's Retort And filled with skill and wisdom, Heaven-sent: God bless and keep our peerless PRESIDENT!

THE JULOGY

To those who never heard my Songs before, And those _who have_, and _want to nevermore_, This Rhapsody, with all its pithy phrases, Has passed the Censors with the highest praises. Released by favor of the Board's caprice, It takes its proper place--a masterpiece! Soft pedal, please! The Knockers are outclassed, And Genius finds its recompense at last! Whene'er I read about this war-time pelf It makes me sick: I can't contain myself! The profits on the _die_-stuffs sent to France Make Croesus' wealth a trifling circumstance; And what the Farmers get for mules and wheat Makes fortunes hitherto quite obsolete. In by-gone days the Bards were praised and pensioned Who now are at the Front--and rarely mentioned: And all these hardships they endure while men _Who write big checks_, thus scandalize the pen. The Writers should throw off their yokes and collars And drill their brains to cultivate the dollars. The talents they possess are strictly mental And can't be utilized for food and rental. Their thoughts are capital, but who'll invest In Sonnet Stock without some _interest_? Or who'd take stock in Poem Plants? Alack! He who invests expects the yellowback. But here I'm talking _money_: what a joke For one to thus discourse who's always broke! Since "money talks" we'll suffer it to speak,-- "I am the thing that countless millions seek; Greed's inspiration, Evil's very root, The Nemesis of those in my pursuit. Kings pay me homage, pawn their crowns to me And, deathless, I enslave their progeny. Men famed for noble deeds, who court my smile, Ofttimes surrender probity to guile: Who, needy, follows my uncertain path, I may elude and favor him who hath,-- For I have wings, and lightning speeds my flight,-- Wealthy to-day, a pauper overnight! The Ticker tells the tale from day to day: Brings joy to some, to others dire dismay."

This Work is copyrighted just to show To what low depths the Pirate Press will go. They borrow thunder from the Vulcan forge, Then draw the fire and put the smut on George. Each song or verse, it seems to me, should be Distinguished by originality If nothing else (the matter may be sloppy,-- But that's no matter if there's ample copy) So that the Author's face could be unmasked And recognized without a question asked; Or, so identify Calliope By strident notes of high-toned quality; Or thus detect some Poet's "fist" and style By I. O. U.'s unhonored yet awhile. The Pirates thus would cease perforce their trade, And Bacon would not be confused with Ade. In all my songs I do the work myself, And draw no inspiration from the Shelf. Perhaps my lines would be more read, if cribbed, But George and I, you know, have never fibbed, And what is more, I think my lines are sweeter Than those of Dante, with infernal meter; And more heroic, and not half so sad As Homer's couplets in the _Ill_iad; And far more musical and much prettier Than those by Tennyson or by Whittier. Each bar is known to me, its licensee, And ev'ry note has had my scrutiny: I also watch my pauses, moods and tenses, And have no words with fair amanuenses. If you could see my workshop (do not ask it!) You'd find more "carbons" in my paper-basket, More rough, unpolished diamonds there immured Than you, Dear Reader, ever have endured. I have no Jewish blood, not e'en a strain: That's what I lack! If ever born again I'd requisition Hebrew sire and dam, Something akin, methinks, to Abraham, And take these "jewels," doomed unseen to flash, Gloss o'er their flaws, and turn them into cash. Here's where I doff my bonnet to the Jew! Tho' sore oppressed they're still the Chosen Few: A _few_ in numbers but a mighty host When reckoned by the things that count the most,-- I mean _achievements_, won by toilsome stages In spite of persecutions thru the Ages.

I see these Davids watching o'er their flocks In Palestine. (To-day they watch their stocks And clip the coupons from their bonds, you see, Just as they sheared the lambs in Galilee.) _There_ milk and honey in abundance vied To keep the Simple Simons satisfied; But _here_ to luxuries the Josephs cling, And milk the honey from most everything. Time was when you were treated with disdain But now the tune is quite a changed refrain, And Gentiles everywhere take special pains To pay respectful tribute to your brains! Behold your ancient hills and rugged rocks; Your fruitful valleys with their golden shocks Of Grain that, grouped around the stately dates, Seem to defy the _threshing_ that awaits! Here olives ripen 'neath the summer skies And yield rich oil,--first Standard Oil supplies; 'Twas here the mighty Samson filled with awe The Philistines and flayed them with his jaw; (No man before, or since, thus courted fame, For woman holds these records in _her_ name.) And here wise Solomon refused the vote In statecraft matters to the Petticoat; But when the Referendum was installed The wise old King's objection was Recalled. And then there's David caring for his sheep, And big Goliath (_rocking_ him to sleep). There Japheth, Shem and Ham are; Ham tabooed By Moses in his Treatises on Food; And Jehu with his pair of chestnut colts Trotting the highway down like thunderbolts. If Jehu _reined_ to-day he'd swap his stable For high-power Auto, with a foreign label, And hold the record for the Shore Road trip From Tyre to Sidon at a lightning clip,-- And make his whiskers, driven by the breeze, Look like a storm-tossed frigate on the seas. There's Jacob dreaming, seeing more than Esau, And giving him the double-cross and hee-haw; Obtaining Esau's birthright (Silly Dupe!) For three brass spheroids and a bowl of soup. He traded for it--didn't have to buy it! 'Cause Brother Hairy, glutton, wouldn't diet. But "chickens come back home to roost," forsooth, And Jacob in his dotage learned this truth, When Leah's sons, of ordinary clay, Put Rachel's Joseph in the consommé.

As Financiers the palm has been bestowed, In panegyric, melody and ode, On Jacob's sons. The caravans, that passed Thru burning sands, from cities far and vast, Into their land that teemed with grain and gold, Were richly laden. Thus they bought and sold, Exchanging corn and cattle, hides and honey For finest silks and linens, gems and money,-- Until, thru bargain-insight, skill and daring, They cornered all the fabrics used for wearing, And then proceeded, with discerning lust, To hump themselves and form a Camel Trust. The Traders who had plied this Cargo Route Could never, in their deals, get cash to boot From Jacob's sons. Sometimes a fleece or skin, Of little size and worth, would be thrown in, But shekels--No! And so the nomad Sheik In quest of easy picking; Turk and Greek; The wily Fellah from the distant Nile Whose gaudy gewgaw "gems" reflect his guile; The sleepy Peddlers from the Land of Nod, Who still shekinah on ancestral sod; And all the Wise Men from the Eastern marts Who plan their ventures by the Astral charts, Plotted and vowed, by Imps and Endor Witches, To wrest from Jacobs Brothers all their riches. So, working now with Bulls, anon with Bears; Rigging the market to advance their wares Or to depress the House of Jacobs' shares, It looked as if the plotters might make good Against the unsuspecting Brotherhood. But patiently the Brethren stood their ground, Unmindful of the rumors passed around, Or baits to tempt Cupidity thrown out, That throttle Judgment and put Sense to rout,-- Until the market, unsupported, broke: Then, feigning sleep, they suddenly awoke And took possession of the Stock Exchange. Like beaten curs or mongrels with the mange The Plotters cringed. The _Shorts_ in wild dismay To cover ran, but Zounds! they had to pay Four prices to the Brethren who controlled The entire issue of the short stock sold. And thus the Brethren made a tidy sum, Keeping their standing in Financialdom. Keen businessmen, they sold or bought as well, But never showed _anxiety_ to sell.

So Jacob's Sons became, as was their bent, The mighty Merchants of the Orient. No goose that ever layed a golden egg Would needs have come to one of them to beg For life or respite. "Nay! Lay on, Good Goose! We'll shield thee and thy gander from abuse!" Long-headed and kind-hearted, in such cases Their noses were not lopped to spite their faces. Too wise they were: they had too good a teacher To make the nose too prominent a feature! While yet the goose was itching for the nest They egged her on and Quack! she did the rest. A goose she would appear to give so much To those who had--but Life is ever such. But Jacob's Sons like Isaac, sturdy Oak, Made no complaint but bore their golden yolk, And, thrifty men, in many baskets stored The golden ovals and increased their hoard. And so their nests were feathered, as we know, But cautious men they were, who didn't crow. And so we see them on the filmy screens, Matching their talents 'gainst the Philistines: And looking close, we notice that the Brothers Have bigger _stacks_ before them than the others.

And then there's Job, the Paradox, who toils To show good humor when beset by boils; And Jinxy Jonah, ducked and rudely whaled, Because he had no passport when he sailed. (Whene'er I see the Ocean Mammal spout Methinks it's habit--_spewing Jonah out_.) Delilah's "next"! Tonsorial Adept-- A cutting up while headstrong Samson slept. Shear nonsense--that man's vigor could be sapped Because he had a haircut when he napped, Or lose his nerve, e'en at the yawning grave, Tho' just escaping by the closest shave. With Samson's case a multitude compare, For men miss greatness ofttimes by a hair. 'Twas his conceit that made him lose his nerve, As long-haired, whiskered men, bereft, deserve. The facts are these: that Samson used to wear A wig with ringlets, 'cause his head was bare. One night, in playful mood, Delilah stole Up to his cot and touched the poor old soul For his toupee. He woke, chagrined, and fled Because his capillary roots were dead. What transformation! Thus the Man of Might Became a pussyfooter overnight, And went to writing verses from that minute Finding his strength, not _on_ his head, but in it.

Of all your rulers, Roman, Jew or Fezzer, The first or most pronounced is Nebu'nezzar. (_Too long_ this monstrous name has been derided, And so the _chad_, for rhythm, is elided.) "Neb" is enough, for short, and apropos Of Shadrach, Meshack and Abednego, The King waxed wroth because these three live wires Passed thru his melting pots and furnace fires Without a burn: remarkable endurance! Because protected by good Fire Insurance. He paid the price for arson ere he died, Was kept lit up and rightly classified Among the beasts: and now that all is over 'Tis safe to say he did not live in clover, But roamed the pastures, when he lost his pull, And grazed himself to death: he was _some_ bull.

Then next we come to Ruth, the Moabite: Her husband Chilion (not her!) one night Blew out the gas, and Ruth was thus bereft; But Naomi, her Ma-in-Law, was left To comfort her: and jolly well she did it! For Ruth's great grief soon ceased or else she hid it. Then to Naomi's Land the two repaired, Their love enhanced by sorrows they had shared. And so the elder of the widowed twain Set out to find, for Ruth, another swain; And all her schemes, 'tis said, succeeded so as To marry Ruth to wealthy kinsman Boaz. Unselfish? No! _She_ was too old to wed, So Ruth agreed to give her board and bed, Trusting to Boaz not to spoil her plan Who swallowed hook and line like any man. The attic room, or one just off the hall, Was where Naomi nightly had to crawl; And all her meals, unleavened bread and 'taters, Were eaten in the kitchen with the waiters,-- For Boaz, when the honeymoon was spent, Tightened his purse-strings--wouldn't spend a cent! And Naomi as welcome was, I think, As hungry roaches in the kitchen sink. This is the only case,--I know no other! Where widowed wife abided husband's mother; Or, where a woman, in such circumstance, Would give her son's relict another chance.

There's Baal and those exalting Gods of brass; And Balaam, Prophet: but we'll let him pass! And John the Baptist, man who lost his head To fair Salomé, tho she cut him dead. There's Absalom the Vain, whose hair was long, Who, in the final parting, got in wrong: And Pharaoh, with chariots and fighters Pursuing Moses and the Israeliters; Who, half-seas over, when the King dropped in, Punished the latter for his divers sin, And rescued on the Red Sea bar his folk, Athirst for freedom from the Ptolemy yoke.

While yet the rushes bent beneath the blast Of Red Sea winds, a prodigy was cast. (From common _mold_, perhaps, but 'tis enough To know that he was made of proper stuff.) And little did the Tempest wot his noise Was silence likened to the bawling boy's. The Earth breathed on the shape and gave it speech, Or something vocally akin, a screech. Thus Moses had his coming out--and lo! He rushed into the arms of Fairy O (Daughter of Pharaoh, the mighty King) Who bore him to the Palace 'neath her wing. Fed on the Milk of Kindness to begin, With Medica Materia thrown in, He grew until appointed, by decree, To Little Egypt, Princess, the M.D. Thus Doctor Moses hung his shingle out, And soon his fame was heralded about. To doctors since, no fame like his doth cling: No Specialist: he doctored everything! He analyzed and stopped the human leak; (His patience was rewarded, so to speak) He charged his people to eschew the swine, And made the Ten Commandments seem benign. Not only as Physician did he rate, But as a Surgeon: he could amputate! He cut off Pharaoh in his pursuit And, by this operation, gained repute. He set his people right and made no bones Of driving lepers from the Safety Zones; He gave them tablets for their moral healing, Knowing their pulses without even feeling. His praises now resound from every lip Because he saved the Jews from Phar'oh's grippe. Still 'long the Nile the pink-winged curlews flock Where Moses took his henchmen out of hock; The minions of Æolus hurtle on, Leaving a trail of foam the waves upon,-- Stopping anon, where restless driftwood crushes The lotus pads that hover near the rushes, To chant a requiem and breathe a prayer Over the spot that cradled Moses there. If modern doctors would obey the rule Of common sense prescribed by Moses' School; If they would note our pulses and our looks Instead of feeling of our pocket-books And judging circulation by the latter, We'd sometimes know, perhaps, just what's the matter. What doctor now would diagnosis make And call it simple, old-time belly-ache, Charging a trifling fee to cure the pain? Ah, no! those days will not return again! No more, alas! will green-fruit cramps delight us, For colic now is styled appendicitis. By leaps and bounds have grown the "trifling fees"; "Five hundred!" now, succeeds "One Dollar, please!" And germs, in league with doctors, have their station At vital points to force inoculation, So that our Systems pay a pretty price For ev'ry nostrum, ev'ry fake device Known to the School of Quacks: and so we suffer Imposed upon by patentee and duffer. O, for a Moses! That's our crying need-- To cure Physicians of unbridled greed And probe, no matter where it hurts, the cause Of Doctors' strange immunity from laws. O! for an instrument--an act or sermon-- Of Moses' kind--to cut the germ from German! And lead them from the Wilderness of Vice Whose hearts were warm but now have turned to ice!

All these and many more increase the lustre Distinguishing this brilliant Jewish cluster. And Abraham? We save him for the last, Tho first in line, renowned Iconoclast. Of all the Israelites, the men of mark, Who else compares with this grand Patriarch? And who besides, of all the racial roots, Developed half the lusty leaves and shoots, Strong limbs and branches, virile seed? _some_ trunk! The Ark, with all this luggage, would have sunk! And so 'twere well the Deluge didst o'erwhelm The Earth, ere this, with Noah at the helm, Else to preserve the chosen and elite Of Israel's line would needs have taxed a fleet.

I love these ancient tribesmen who illumine The Archives of the Past: they were so human! Their frailties were but habits of the Race Since Father Adam set the human pace Hitched up with Eve who, chafing at the bit, Did well her part or bit, in spite of it. But all their mortal weaknesses were nil Compared with virtues that their Records fill; And good or bad, or medium or fair, No Tribe excelled their morals anywhere. They freely gave their tithes, but did it pay To advertise their wealth? a give away! And so their pockets have been worn and frayed By frequent contributions they have made To Charity and Church. I hope and pray They've saved a little for a rainy day! I think they have! for Money talked,--confessed That Hebrews were the ones he liked the best, Because they never slighted or abused him, And always were so careful how they used him.