In Sacramento City here This wooden monument we rear In memory of Dr. May, Whose smile even Death could not allay. He's buried, Heaven alone knows where, And only the hyenas care; This May-pole merely marks the spot Where, ere the wretch began to rot, Fame's trumpet, with its brazen bray, Bawled; "Who (and why) was Dr. May?" * * * * * Dennis Spencer's mortal coil Here is laid away to spoil-- Great riparian, who said Not a stream should leave its bed. Now his soul would like a river Turned upon its parching liver. * * * * * For those this mausoleum is erected Who Stanford to the Upper House elected. Their luck is less or their promotion slower, For, dead, they were elected to the Lower. * * * * * Beneath this stone lies Reuben Lloyd, Of breath deprived, of sense devoid. The Templars' Captain-General, he So formidable seemed to be, That had he not been on his back Death ne'er had ventured to attack. * * * * * Here lies Barnes in all his glory-- Master he of oratOry. When he died the people weeping, (For they thought him only sleeping) Cried: "Although he now is quiet And his tongue is not a riot, Soon, the spell that binds him breaking, He a motion will be making. Then, alas, he'll rise and speak In support of it a week." * * * * * Rash mortal! stay thy feet and look around-- This vacant tomb as yet is holy ground; But soon, alas! Jim Fair will occupy These premises--then, holiness, good-bye! * * * * * Here Salomon's body reposes; Bring roses, ye rebels, bring roses. Set all of your drumsticks a-rolling, Discretion and Valor extrolling: Discretion--he always retreated-- And Valor--the dead he defeated. Brings roses, ye loyal, bring roses: As patriot here he re-poses. * * * * * When Waterman ended his bright career He left his wet name to history here. To carry it with him he did not care: 'Twould tantalize spirits of statesmen There. * * * * * Here lie the remains of Fred Emerson Brooks, A poet, as every one knew by his looks Who hadn't unluckily met with his books. On civic occasions he sprang to the fore With poems consisting of stanzas three score. The men whom they deafened enjoyed them the more. Of reason his fantasy knew not the check: All forms of inharmony came at his beck. The weight of his ignorance fractured his neck. In this peaceful spot, so the grave-diggers say, With pen, ink and paper they laid him away-- The Poet-elect of the Judgment Day. * * * * * George Perry here lies stiff and stark, With stone at foot and stone at head. His heart was dark, his mind was dark-- "Ignorant ass!" the people said. Not ignorant but skilled, alas, In all the secrets of his trade: He knew more ways to be an ass Than any ass that ever brayed.