Push on, brave bearer of piercing Light,
Through pestilential gloom,
Where crawls the spawn of Corruption's night!
Deal out, stout searcher, to left and right,
The cleansing strokes of doom.
That fair lithe form in that fleet frail bark
Is a comely Nemesis,
Before whose menace 'tis good to mark
The reptile dwellers in dens so dark
Driven with growl and hiss.
The saurian huge and the lizard slow,
Foul shapes of ruthless greed,
And the stealthy snake of the sudden blow,
All owl-like shrink from the Search-Light's glow,
Or fly with felon speed.
Corruption's spawn must be chased and slain,
Scourged from the wholesome earth.
It clingeth else like the curse of CAIN.
Smite, smite like flail upon garnered grain,
These things of bestial birth!
* * * * *
OLD DOGGEREL RE-DRESSED.
(_AFTER READING CERTAIN CRITICISMS ON CERTAIN NOVELISTS, CERTAIN
COMMENTS ON THOSE CRITICISMS, AND CERTAIN REJOINDERS TO THOSE
COMMENTS_.)
Little novelists have little critics,
Like little gnats, to bite 'em;
Those little critics have lesser critics,
And so _ad infinitum_!
* * * * *
LINES BY A LEWISHAM WITLER.
The PENN is mightier than the sword--
Of any Red-Rad whipster.
I _said_ he'd win--doubted _my_ word;
But I'm the O.K. tipster.
Rads roughed on me and called me "Bung;"
I've bunged them up--a corker--
At the result their heads they hung.
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