Poetry.

Waikato Times, Volume X, Issue 691, 18 November 1876, Page 1 (Supplement)

Poetry.

DRUNKEN JOE. Poor ? Why I am wors« 1 0 what a common curse Thu thirst for gin I M — may I como in ? Theae biting winds are cold, And I am old — These rag* are thin. Trunks t Juit a bite for me and Jack, Then we'll go back And never more enter your door t Jack ia my dog, He 4-) n't drink grog. Like me, yon are. Ono!if he Got drunk like me, and had his apree, Why folks would talk aud shun U« both, of two were drunkiuateadof one. Jack barks for meat Upon the street. Boys bring bones to hear him •peak. Pardon me ! Does this roof laalc ? 1 am so rery, very dry, I may be dreaming. Do not I Hear aome thing dripping ? It ia mm ! 0 give me some ! Curse thia insatiate desire ; One drop of rum to quench thia fire ; This nameless hell that barns within, That only whisky, rum or gin Can quench ! No matter 'bout the coat ; One little drop or I am loat f Oh thank you, sir ! This drop will aavt A homeless ' tramp ' a willing slave, The desert of whose soul is suoh That only strongest drink can touch The baren place ! O give me more I Just one drop to help me o'er Your threshold. There, I'm braver now. That rum is good ! It beats all how Strong drink inspires And quenches fires ! There wat a time— but I matt not refer To those sweet sunny days that were, When I loved her. Come Jaok, Let us go back. 1 most not, must not think Of anght but drink ! My name? O, sir, they call me Joe — Dmnken Joe of Yankee Blade ! My other name is in the shade Bacauae I hate to hear it so. It is a sbama To be too poor te own a name ! Thanka ! Good day, air. Now, my dog, Let's go where I can get my grog, And drink my till. Thia shining piece Of coin be gave to me will ease My pains. So come, Jaok, come. I must have mm ! I must have rum 1 0, that I were dead, And o'er my head Some scattered leaves were lying, And winds low sighing ! It mast be sweet to slumber Seasons without number, Under the weeds and grasses, Under the sun that passes, At rest on the pillow of clay Till the terrible judgement day ; Down where the whole of tbe race is Embraced by a mother's embraces. No rich, no poor, no high, no low, No white, no black, no red, no blonde Whero all are one, and all may know The mysteries of the land beyond. Bat how will it be with ms In the life that is to be, When I am nailer the sod And with God V Will aho know ins V Bat I must not recall Tno forms that were. I faint ! I fali ! I die, oh God, mine hour is come 1 I die for want of mm ! rum ! rum !

A KHYMB OP ONE You sleep upon your mother's breast, Your race begun, A welcome, long and wished for guest. Whose qga is Quo, A baby-boy, you wonder why Yon cannot run ; You try to talk — how hard you try ! You're only Ono. Ere long you wont be such a dunoe ; You'il eat your Dan, And fly your kite, jike folk who ooon Were only One. You'll rhime, »nd woo, and fight, and joke, Perhaps you'll pun ; Suoh feats are never done by folk Before their Oae. Sqme day, to.o, yo^ w*y yonrfjoy, And < nvv none ; Yes, you, yourself, m*y ovra * boy Who isn't Ono. He'll danoe, and laugh, and croif, h,e,'H cjq As you have don«». Yoa orown a b^ppy hoi^e, tho' you Aro oqly Oae. Bat when he's grown shall yoa bt her* To share his fun, And talk of days when ho (the dear) Was hardly Oae. Dear child, 'tis your poor lot to be Mv iiutlo soa; I'm glad, though I'm old, you was, 9 Wbil« you w only tyfc.'