  THE artist was out on the stormy seas, When his vessel turned upside down, And his body was blown by the autumn breeze To the shores of a seaside town. The fisher-folk spied him miles away, And, raising a hearty cheer, They rowed the lifeboat across the bay, And shouted that help was near. The artist had sunk for the second time, He’d a shark on his starboard tack, But he looked on the boat with a look sublime, And he told them to take it back. “My bones may bleach in the mermaid’s cave, But to art will I e’er be true, And never a man my life shall save In a boat of that vulgar blue.” They found his body at break of day, It lay on the briny beach, But he soon got better and stole away To the house of a local leech. In a garret that was to spare; And when he awoke his host had fled, For the place had begun to flare. He was up in a garret against the sky, And a fire had broken out, The flames about him were broad and high, And he heard the people shout. “Oh, come to the window!” the people cried, As they bellowed a mighty cheer; “You’d better come down before you’re fried, For the fire-escape is here.” He opened the casement wide, and reeled Back through the flame and smoke— For the fire-escape the light revealed— And then to the crowd he spoke: “I’ll leap in the jaws of the flames that gape, For I’d rather be picked up dead Than save my life in a fire-escape That is painted a vulgar red.” They gathered him up with a broom and pan From the pavement where he fell, And they sent for the undertaker’s man, And they toll’d him a passing bell. They gave him a funeral plain but good, And out of the local purse They bought him a coffin of polished wood, Which they put in a pair-horse hearse. But the artist-spirit in death was strong, And it lifted the coffin-lid While the horses lazily jogged along, And out of the hearse it slid. It raised its body and yelled a curse, And it shouted and cried “Alack! I’m blest if I ride in a beastly hearse That is painted a vulgar black.” |
|
