Sometimes I dip my pen and find the bottle full of fire, The salamanders flying forth I cannot but admire. It's Etna, or Vesuvius, if those big things were small, And then 'tis but itself again, and does not smoke at all. And so my blood grows cold. I say, "The bottle held but ink, And, if you thought it otherwise, the worser for your think." And then, just as I throw my scribbled paper on the floor, The bottle says, "Fe, fi, fo, fum," and steams and shouts some more. O sad deceiving ink, as bad as liquor in its way-- All demons of a bottle size have pranced from you to-day, And seized my pen for hobby-horse as witches ride a broom, And left a trail of brimstone words and blots and gobs of gloom. And yet when I am extra good and say my prayers at night, And mind my ma, and do the chores, and speak to folks polite, My bottle spreads a rainbow-mist, and from the vapor fine Ten thousand troops from fairyland come riding in a line. I've seen them on their chargers race around my study chair, They opened wide the window and rode forth upon the air. The army widened as it went, and into myriads grew, O how the lances shimmered, how the silvery trumpets blew! When Gassy Thompson Struck it Rich He paid a Swede twelve bits an hour Just to invent a fancy style To spread the celebration paint So it would show at least a mile. Some things they did I will not tell. They're not quite proper for a rhyme. But I WILL say Yim Yonson Swede Did sure invent a sunflower time. One thing they did that I can tell And not offend the ladies here:-- They took a goat to Simp's Saloon And made it take a bath in beer. That ENTERprise took MANagement. They broke a wash-tub in the fray. But mister goat was bathed all right And bar-keep Simp was, too, they say. They wore girls' pink straw hats to church And clucked like hens. They surely did. They bought two HOtel frying pans And in them down the mountain slid. They went to Denver in good clothes, And kept Burt's grill-room wide awake, And cut about like jumping-jacks, And ordered seven-dollar steak. They had the waiters whirling round Just sweeping up the smear and smash. They tried to buy the State-house flag. They showed the Janitor the cash. And old Dan Tucker on a toot, Or John Paul Jones before the breeze, Or Indians eating fat fried dog, Were not as happy babes as these. One morn, in hills near Cripple-creek With cheerful swears the two awoke. The Swede had twenty cents, all right. But Gassy Thompson was clean broke. Rhymes for Gloriana I. The Doll upon the Topmost Bough This doll upon the topmost bough, This playmate-gift, in Christmas dress, Was taken down and brought to me One sleety night most comfortless.