When Prometheus stole the flame, Did he know what with it came? Did he see the fire up-steal, Rise, and take its midnight meal? Did he view the palace wall Stumble 'mid the smoke and fall? Did he see some cherished home Feed a fiery ocean's foam? Did he hear the war-alarms Of a nation called to arms, And behold men, in their ire, Murdering men with bolts of fire? Did some miscreant cross his sight, Bent on booty or on spite, Stealing steps into the dark, With the incendiary spark? Did there, faint and haggard, rise Ghosts before his startled eyes, Godly men of scathless name, Felled for fuel to the flame; In a short-lived earthly hell Thrown, for voicing heaven too well? If he knew that glittering thing Would to Earth such curses bring, Then his sufferings may have been Edged with poison from within. [_From Farmer Harrington's Calendar._] MARCH 20, 18--. Somehow, the fire I saw not long ago Has subsequently chased me, high and low; Runs back and forth betwixt my head and heart, And shows no disposition to depart. And so I've wandered 'round (too much, perhaps), And got acquainted with the fireman chaps, And planted good cigars where they would seem Inclined to grow up helpful to my scheme. (I never smoke; but, travelling near and far, There's few things help one like a good cigar; When safe between a neighbor's teeth 'tis hung, It oils his ways and loosens up his tongue. I get more from cigars, before it's through, Than all the fellows that I give them to. Perhaps they should not smoke; but, if they will, My method helps their families foot the bill.) Not long ago a sturdy fireman lad, Who smoked up every last cigar I had, Unrolled the following story to my view, Which I believe (conditionally) true: "FLASH:" THE FIREMAN'S STORY. "Flash" was a white-foot sorrel, an' run on Number Three: Not much stable manners--an average horse to see; Notional in his methods--strong in loves an' hates; Not very much respected, or popular 'mongst his mates; Dull an' moody an' sleepy, an' "off" on quiet days; Full o' turbulent, sour looks, an' small, sarcastic ways; Scowled an' bit at his partner, an' banged the stable floor-- With other means intended to designate life a bore. [Illustration: "HE BEGGED THAT HORSE'S PARDON UPON HIS BENDED KNEES."] But when, be't day or night time, he heard the alarm-bell ring, He'd rush for his place in the harness with a regular tiger spring; An' watch, with nervous shivers, the clasp of buckle an' band, Until 'twas plainly evident he'd like to lend a hand. An' when the word was given, away he would rush an' tear, As if a thousand witches was rumplin' up his hair, An' craze the other horses with his magnetic charm, Till every hoof-beat sounded a regular fire-alarm!