Classic Poem

AN ODE .

[I F UNRECOGNIZABLE BLANKS ARE HERE SUBSTITUTED FOR REAL NAMES, IT IS SIMPLY OUT OF DEFERENCE TO THE MODESTY OF INDIVIDUALS .]

I wish I were you,
C. M. D-p-w!
Once I wished to be a king,
A Cham, or some such thing;
In my thirsting titular
I'd have even been the Tzar.
Then they spelled it with a " C, "
Now we see it with a " T; "
But it matters very little
How they spell a fellow's title,
When he's sitting on a bomb
Which may explode quite near,
And the title questioned here
He may haply read quite clear,
Next breath, in Kingdom Come.
But before this bomb device
I thought it would be nice
Just to sit upon a throne,
In a state all, all mine own,
Beneath a Russian sky
(Every other man a " Ski " ),
And say " we " instead of " I, " —
" We " to this and " we " to that
( E.g. , " We smell a rat " ), —
And then issue a fiat,
Suppressing by decree
All who did n't smell like me, —
I mean, all who 'd not agree, —
As the Tzar does on his throne,
And R-id in the Tribune.

Now, rather I 'd be you, —
Be C-un-y M. D-p-w!
In the realm where you preside
Blowing up is never tried.
There 's a deal of clubbing, true,
And some blowing off they do;
But this treat is different far
From that given to the Tzar —
On one's nerves it does n't jar.

Then at dinner-tables, too,
When the air with smoke got blue,

I 've seen sinners seize on you;
Seen the ruddy chairman rise
With a twinkle in his eyes, —
Showing plainly by his air
That he thought his joke was rare,
Haply for the first time bruited, —
To say he 'd been depewted
To call upon D-p-w —
And then look right at you.

Now I know revenge is weak,
It is nobler to be meek;
But provoked by such a tweak,
Even I 'd get up — and speak!

Yet on the whole, D-p-w,
I would rather far be you
Than any king or pope
I know — or ever hope
To know — in all Europe.

Why, even the fore-mentioned Tzar,
Wide as his foot Steppes are,
Cannot travel so far as you in your car,
And without the least danger of scath or of scar.
But if rightly I read, Mr. D-p-w,
There is trouble ahead, even for you.
There are threats in the air, ominous threats,
And I hear, here and there, rumors and bets
Of some station awaiting — at least, nominating —
" C-un-y D-p-w. "
And with " oh " and " alas, " — for I know how you pass
As a coin good and true, —
I say in my soul, Will they now find a hole —
A hollow in you?
Though current before, accepted and hugged,
When it comes to this pass will they say you are " plugged. "

As it is, all around are devoted,
Unquestioned you're quaffed to and quoted,
And even the Press never hazards a guess
That so much as a taint of wickedness,
The faintest tinge that is not true blue,
Colors D-p-w.
And watching afar the swing of your car, —
Which it seemed to me you had hitched to a star, —
I have wondered what your small vices are,
If, indeed, you had any that did n't show.
Run for an office, — then I 'll know!
For there 's nothing ever you 've said or done
That 'll not be shown to the noonday sun.
Of course you've never done anything bad,
But were you Saint P-l, or Sir Galahad,
Or even J-n P-l — but I 'll nothing add.

I will only say, — and I mean it, too, —
If you take this white bait that they offer to you,
And go in for the regular White House stew,
I shall cease to repine that your shoes are not mine.
And I 'd rather by far stand in those of the Tzar
When the canvass is through;
And I would n't be you,
C. M. D-p-w!