  To her who sent me the Valentine with the cutting irony, “Don’t I look pretty in church?” these lines are respectfully inscribed. Not knowing her name, I will call her “Taters,” as she drew her elegant and tasty simile from that vegetable. The Devil was sitting one morning below, For his dark brows would knit, and he’d stamp on the ground, And flap his great wings till floating around Were the ashes and feathers. At last with an air Of resolve he threw himself back in his chair, Lit a brimstone cigar, and touched a small bell. An imp appeared, bowed, and on his face fell. “Cloven-foot,” said the D——, “what’s the news from the fire?” “My liege, the great ape has ceased to inspire The victims with terror; they fear him no more, And continually crawl from the flames to the shore.” “Well, Cloven-foot, I had most certainly thought When from Africa’s wilds that baboon you brought, He’d prove such a guard for the great Sulphur Lake The wretches would ne’er cease before him to quake. Now go up to earth, and search till you find Something uglier far, then quick seize and bind And bring it to me; and if it beats the baboon I’ll reward you. Be sure to return just as soon As ’tis possible, and above all things to choose Its hideous novelty.” The imp bowed and withdrew, And swiftly to earth on his errand he flew; But in vain did he search where the gorillas roam, Or the jungles of Bengal, the fierce tiger’s home. In vain throughout Europe he searched every place; Nowhere could he find the requisite face. Frustrated and weary, with deep despair frantic, He was skimming the waves of the tossing Atlantic. A few pinion strokes, and he stood on the shore Of the New World, and through it began to explore. But all was in vain, till he chanced to alight In a sweet little village, one smiling morn bright. Disguising himself, he attended the church, Not hoping to find the object of search, But just for the fun. As he stood with the throng That were watching the College girls marching along, He caught a slight glimpse of Miss “Tater’s” sweet face; He sprang to her side, clasped her in embrace, And as he plunged downward he said to himself, “Here’s one will compete with the African elf. And to his dark ruler his fair burden bore. As the Valentine sender came into sight The Devil himself started back with affright. “Whew! whew!” whistled he, “she’ll do, I declare! Go bring the baboon, and let them compare.” The imp disappeared, then returned with the ape, A creature most frightful in feature and shape. His head was oblong and perfectly bald, Running back from his eyes—no forehead at all; His eyeballs were white, their sockets deep red; His long, glistening teeth strung with human-flesh shred, The gore of his victims from his fingers’ ends flowed; And round his lank limbs candescent chains glowed, In front of Miss “Taters” this creature was led; He gave a look, yelled, and fainted stone dead. “By my tongs,” quoth the Devil, “she’s rather too hard For the old fellow; she’ll make a capital guard. Take her down to the fire.” The imp led the way And far down they went from the clear light of day, Down, down, till the air was all smoky and red, Till the tumult of hell seemed bursting her head; Of the tortured but echoed the jeers and the groans Of the fiends. Down, down, till they came to the lake That scorches and scalds, but never will slake The thirst of its victims. Far out on its breast It would heave them anon on the red foaming crest Of a billow, then plunge them far deeper beneath Its boiling bosom, in torture to seethe. Along the hot shore the poor creatures would crawl, To pant and to rest from their terrible thrall. From their bodies all smoking the lava would stream, While the shriveled flesh peeled from each quiv’ring limb, And their heart-piercing shrieks rose higher and higher, As the tongue of each wave licked them back in the fire. But as soon as Miss “Taters” had come where they were Every noise was hushed, not a sound could you hear. ’Twas a wonder indeed, and the wonder increased, When the billows of crimson their torture surge ceased. The victims had fainted, the fire gone down. He hurried her back to his master and said, “The fires are out, and the wretches are dead.” “What, the fires extinguished! those fires of old! Take her back! I begin e’en myself to feel cold! She’ll ruin us all with her terrible face; She’s rather hard-favored for even this place.” April, 1867. |
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