Why should we dread the Messenger of Death? Who comes as friend when sufferings beset, And gives surcease of pain with final breath So that Life leaves, rejoiced, without regret. GERMANY O, Hun, from what low beast didst thou descend? That thou shouldst have the lust to kill and rend; The bestial passion to enjoy the groans Of suffering victims, while you crunch their bones Or gouge their eyes, that mutely plead in vain For quick oblivion and ease from pain? Of ponderous cast and savage mien, what teat, With Hatred filled and Passion's fiery heat, Reared thee more wolf than man? ill-bred,--a curse To thine own kind, and to the Universe! ITALY Italians, hold! Rienzi pleads again Against the Tyrants: hold if ye be men! Let not the foe despoil your fertile lands Or wrest historic treasures from your hands! Guard well your daughters! Shield your budding sons! Lest they be maimed or murdered by the Huns. Soldiers of Italy, would ye be slaves To Teuton hordes? Behold the sacred graves Of Garibaldi and your martyred dead Who made ye Freemen! Wouldst be slaves instead? The Alpine Passes that were yours are lost; Your Northern Rivers have been reached and crossed; Hold, Romans, hold! Halt further Teuton gains, And drive their looting legions from your plains! Hold! Men of Italy! Your wall of steel Can save fair Venice from the Despot's heel: Hold! Every man! for Honor, Country, Home-- And for the Glory of Eternal Rome! MARY IS MERRY NO MORE The Lamb that accompanied Mary Without aid of cudgel or rope, Was raised by her sire Elder Berry, And washed with dioxygen soap. Its fleece, like the linen-spread table, Was snow-white: the lambkin was prized And kept from the sheep in the stable Who never were deodorized. The lamb had a yearning for knowledge, And schoolward would follow the lass Till she was admitted to college, A graduate out of his class. Then sheep-eyes were made by the teacher, And Mary was quick to decide 'Twixt him and the poor, woolly creature Who made lambentations and died. She married her Teacher,--a lesson! Dyspeptic and old, he's a fright! Her thoughts fail of fitting expression, So she lams her own kids just for spite. She looks at her spouse with deep loathing, And sighs for her dead quadruped, And wishes the "wolf in sheep's clothing"-- Her husband, were dead in his stead. Alas, lass! You've forded the ferry; Your tombstone was graven for two; The lamb, chiseled there, stands for Mary, And the _Old English_ MARY for yew. The lamb reached the end of his tether When Mary ascended on High, But surely, in spite of the wether, They'll meet in the Sweet Bye-and-Bye. I SHOT AN ARROW