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Suffice it, amid that dreary swarm,
Begot in its worst delirium ;
Of the genus Megatherium !
Meanwhile the demons, filthy and foul,
As a dirge for their late con: mander ;
Springs on the grisly Salamander, Who stoutly fights, and struggles, and kicks, And tries the best of his wrestling tricks,
No paltry strife,
But for life, dear life,
Till far beyond a surgical case,
With starting eyes and black in the face, Down he tumbles as dead as bricks ! A pretty sight for his mates to view ! Those shaggy murderers looking so blue,
And for him above all,
Red-bearded and tall, With whom, at that very particular nick, There is such an unlucky crow to pick, As the one of iron that did the trick
In a recent bloody affair-
He longs for the open air ! •
Three paces, or four,
And he gains the door ; But ere he accomplishes one, The sound of a blow comes, heavy and dull, And clasping his fingers round his skull, However the deed was done,
That gave him that florid
Red gash on the forehead With a roll of the eyeballs perfectly horrid,
There's a tremulous quiver,
The last death-shiver,
Halloo ! Halloo!
They have done for two! But a heavyish job remains to do!
For yonder, sledge and shovel in hand,
A couple of Cyclops make a stand,
They faint—they choke,
Is poisoning heart, and lung, and brain,
Hulloo ! Hulloo! ..
And Hullabaloo ! There is only one more thing to doAnd seized by beak, and talon, and claw, Bony hand, and hairy paw, Yea, crooked horn, and tusky jaw, The four huge Bodies are hauld and shoven Each after each in the roaring oven!
That Eisen Hutte is standing still, Go to the Hartz whenever you will, And there it is beside a hill, And a rapid stream that turns many a mill; The self-same Forge,—you 'll know it at sightCasting upward, day and night, Flames of red, and yellow, and white !
Ay, half a mile from the mountain gorge,
But ever since that tremendous Revel,
Whatever Iron is melted therein,
As travellers know who have been to BerlinIs all as black as the Devil !
“ THE LAST MAN.”
'Twas in the year two thousand and one,
When up the heath came a jolly knave,
Good Lord ! how blithe the old beggar was!
And have a taste of my snaps !”–
Then down the rope, like a tar from the inast, I slided, and by him stood;