Classic Poem

Young Hezekiah Mee fell deep in love with Ethel Murphy,
So William Dander told me on the Island last July,
We were lying snug and shady where the grass was soft and turfy,
And the Bay was boiling over, and the boats were in a fry.
Now Dander beats the old one when it comes to telling stories,
And he'll talk a month of Sundays if you let him smoke his clay;
Och! he's great about his travels, or on Ireland's ancient glories,
And you never met his equal yet when day-li'-gone is gray.

Well, Miss Ethel was an orphan, and an heiress, William started,
And as lovely as Queen Vashti, and by all accounts as proud,
But Hezekiah doted on her, not a bit downhearted,
Because he was no more to her than any in the crowd.
He wasn't too well favoured, and he wasn't very clever,
And thirty bob a week was every penny of his pay,
But with managing he spruced himself and did his best endeavour,
And joined the Linen Hall, and read the books in section K.

He came no speed at all at all in meeting with the lady,
And it's very well he didn't, for he'd just have got a snub,
But he kept on saving money and one fine and happy pay-day
He bought a brand new bicycle and joined the Richmond Club.
And after that by day and night he dreamt on tracks and training,
Till the joggling of his legs would knock the blankets all astray,
And he'd start awake and hurry, be the weather dry or raining,
To be out and on the cinder-pad before the screek of day.

He knew she wouldn't speak to him unless he could be famous,
And he never could catch up to that unless it was on wheels,
But he thought he'd learn Miss Ethel he was not an ignoramus
When he owned the champion muscles and the smartest pair of heels.
The spring of eighty-four it was he started first at racing,
At the Easter sports in April he was premier of the day;
There had been a lot of preaching that athletics were debasing,
“And I'll debase the record,” Hezekiah said, “in May.”

His form was something wonderful, his spurting led the fashion,
And nothing in Belfast could touch him one to fifty miles;
But still he was the victim of an agitating passion,
And as far away as ever from Miss Ethel Murphy's smiles.
So he notified the Club and they appointed a committee
To time him on the morning of the twenty-fourth of May,
And they gathered bright and early, at the morning prime so pretty,
With Dander's big chronometer to regulate the play.

The Lagan ran like silver in the morning sunlight shining,
And the great trees wore their greenest of the fresh and dewy spring,
The Ormeau Park is beautiful, but fair beyond divining
In the first rich life of summer ere the Mayfly takes its wing.
An even mile the race track ran, through planes and elms and beeches,
And the Captain had his ticker ready waiting Mee to mount,
When a tall, dark man came forward, and an oilcan out he reaches,
And says, “Just you try this oil here; it will help your wheels to count.”

Well, Hezekiah oiled again, ball-bearings, head and pedals,
And thanked the tall dark stranger and remounted his machine,
While the Captain looked annoyed, the way you look at one that meddles,
But gave the word and started him while interest got keen.
“Three-forty-three,” cried Dander as he closed the first lap easy,
“He needs a man to speed him,” cried the Bugler with conceit;
“He's waiting on his wind,” said one; “I noticed he was wheezy,”
But walking off, half-laughing, said the stranger, “It's the heat.”

The second mile was better; said the Captain “Three-eleven,”
As he swept down round the corner past the crowd upon the grass,
And they cheered him loud and hearty at the third “Two-fifty-seven,”
And they saw his teeth set steady as they gave him room to pass.
The fourth one finished “Fifty-two,” and gathering round the ticker,
They wondered as they watched him spurting down the long, straight track,
To lose him at the turn among the trees, till quick and quicker,
And humming like a bee among the bushes, he came back.

“Two-forty-one,” they yelled and screeched, as on he went still faster;
“He'll whack the record hollow if he's only fit to stay.”
Some cautious fellows muttered they were feared of a disaster,
“His wheel might buckle under him; the rubber might give way.”
But the sixth mile reeled below him, and the record went to pieces
As the seventh one was finished with a cheer that tore the air;
“Two-twenty-eight and game for more. Each lap the pace increases.”
Said the Captain, “Mr. Bugler, you can speed him if you care.”

The eighth and ninth went higher, and the tenth just touched two minutes;
Then even William Dander thought they'd pretty near enough,
And the whole lot got that quiet they could hear a pair of linnets
That were singing right behind them, and the Captain tore his cuff,
But on went Hezekiah, never slacking, never minding,
But whizzing round the corners sharp at forty-five degrees,
Till they noticed at the thirteenth lap, as harder he came grinding,
A sort of steam behind him on the light May morning breeze.

A mist like thin tobacco reek, uncanny and mysterious,
And his eye was fiery flaming as he passed them once again,
“We must stop him,” then said Dander; “Yes,” the Captain said, “It's serious;
It looks like he was melting since he finished off the ten.”
But he flew ahead still faster at a rate beyond all telling;
They heard the spokes revolving with a gruesome sort of scream,
As sweeping, whirling past them, some terrific force impelling,
He turned the eighteenth corner in a drifting cloud of steam.

But when he came the next time there was nothing of the vapour,
The crying noise the spokes had made had faded clean away,
His face seemed half-transparent with a look of tissue paper,
And his flannels looked like gossamer or cobweb silver grey.
But his eyes kept burning, burning, though he seemed so light and airy,
As he did the mile a minute and went by them like a flash;
And then the Bugler fainted, as it seems, to be contrary,
And falling on two bicycles, upset them with a crash.

'Twas somehow then they lost him with the fainting and the flurry,
Some said he took the Lagan Village, some the Ormeau Gate;
But they got the Bugler better and went homeward in a hurry,
And agreed to keep it quiet, and they never ride out late.
Yet the queerest thing about it all was what they heard at dinner;
That morning, very suddenly, Miss Ethel Murphy died.
And Dander says it makes him creep and feel a bigger sinner
To think of what he saw of Hezekiah's phantom ride.