“The world is dull,” I cried
in my despair:
“Its myths and fables are no longer
fair.
“Roll back thy centuries, O Father
Time.
To Greece transport me in her golden prime.
“Give back the beautiful old Gods
again—
The sportive Nymphs, the Dryad’s
jocund train,
“Pan piping on his reeds, the Naiades,
The Sirens singing by the sleepy seas.
“Nay, show me but a Gorgon and I’ll
dare
To lift mine eyes to her peculiar hair
“(The fatal horrors of her snaky
pate,
That stiffen men into a stony state)
“And die—erecting, as
my soul goes hence,
A statue of myself, without expense.”
Straight as I spoke I heard the voice
of Fate:
“Look up, my lad, the Gorgon sisters
wait.”
Raising my eyes, I saw Medusa stand,
Stheno, Euryale, on either hand.
I gazed unpetrified and unappalled—
The girls had aged and were entirely bald!
CONTENTMENT.
Sleep fell upon my senses and I dreamed
Long years had circled since
my life had fled.
The world was different, and all things
seemed
Remote and strange, like noises
to the dead.
And one great Voice there
was; and something said:
“Posterity is speaking—rightly
deemed
Infallible:” and so I gave
attention,
Hoping Posterity my name would mention.
“Illustrious Spirit,” said
the Voice, “appear!
While we confirm eternally
thy fame,
Before our dread tribunal answer, here,
Why do no statues celebrate
thy name,
No monuments thy services
proclaim?
Why did not thy contemporaries rear
To thee some schoolhouse or memorial college?
It looks almighty queer, you must acknowledge.”
Up spake I hotly: “That is
where you err!”
But some one thundered in
my ear: “You shan’t
Be interrupting these proceedings, sir;
The question was addressed
to General Grant.”
Some other things were spoken
which I can’t
Distinctly now recall, but I infer,
By certain flushings of my cheeks and
forehead,
Posterity’s environment is torrid.
Then heard I (this was in a dream, remark)
Another Voice, clear, comfortable,
strong,
As Grant’s great shade, replying
from the dark,
Said in a tone that rang the
earth along,
And thrilled the senses of
the Judges’ throng:
“I’d rather you would question
why, in park
And street, my monuments were not erected
Than why they were.” Then,
waking, I reflected.
