POETIt Y.
AN EPISTLE
PROM THE VILLAGE PARSON TO THE DOCTOR.
DEAR DOCTOR,
If they tell me true, Labour has loosed his grip on you, And now, since you have done your best So long, you mean to take your• rest; And ailing men and women must In hands less tried henceforward trust. But I've a plea you can't refuse Unless your• friend's regard you'd lose. I beg and pray that you will take Just one case more, for conscience' sake, If, when you reach your mortal span, You'd die at peace with God and man And birds.—For in no other name Dare I your friendly succour claim. The case is grave, the patient dear•, So lend your sympathetic ear•. The fee ? Ah well, 'twill be a wink Of such an eye that never chink Of gold or• silver could impart One half the pleasure to your heart.
As I came in from parish rounds, And walked about our garden grounds, I passed the shed where we lay by Our logs of timber old and dry, When, startled by my step, there fell A poor round bunch of feathers !—well, Of course you'll guess (you know their ways And how they blink and quaintly gaze), It was a brown owl, brown but fair, And softer than a woman's hair, A dear, delicious, hapless thing, Bird, but, alai ! with broken wing ; And from his great eyes looked the plea, " rm badly hurt, zdease pity me." So, though you bate a motor-car, Old-fashioned grumbler that you are, (But there we're quits, for I must own That I detest a telephone,) Please harness up your two-wheeled gig And come at once.—Who cares a fig How you get here, if you can mend Our sad but fascinating friend Bid Mrs. Doctor do her part To help you instantly to start, With lint and splint and cotton-wool And silk and every other tool; And warning give that if through her One moment's short delay occur, She never need expect again A night without some grief or pain, 'Never to have her barn or house Clear of the ravening rat or mouse,
Never to hear again the sound— The clear night-music full and round—
Heard by the moon, to-whit, ta-whoo, Which Gray and Shakespeare loved and knew.
But if you hasten, if you bring Healing to this poor broken wing, Pallas herself will you requite And breathe some blessing through the night, Will turn some danger from your door And guard from taint your threshing-floor, And bring within your dreaming ken The Powers that watch o'er mortal men, To render back.for each good deed Heaven's mercy in the hour of need.
Adel. WILLIAM H. DRAPER.
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