The Kenosha telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1860-1888, 1880-07-23
FAHREsT MORTAL, LOVELY JOAN.

Just when the doxol'gy was sung,
And saints stood still, with heads low hung,
While walls and vauited arches rung
With Father Smiths beseeching tongue
Just then across the aisle there sprung
A tony youth, and proudly flung
Himself beside his future bride,
Whose lovely little arm he grasped
Before she'd said word, or gasped
A breath of approbationl
So dark and cloudy was the night
The waning moon lost all her light,
While not star appeared in sight
To tell the youth which street was right;
And his betrothed spoke not word,
Nor even acted like she heard
The words he said, but onward sped.
AS should fond, prospective groom,
He strove to ease her silent gloom
With strains of alteration.
he heayed sad, sepulchral moan
That ended in a loving groan,
Then these words spake in frenzied tone:
= Oh, fairest mortal, lovely Joan
(Than whom more charming none are known
In any land where birds have flown;
On any sea where sails are blown;
Meath any sky where stars e'er shone;
Mid tropic sands or icy zone),
With thee I'd rather dwell alone,
With naught to eat save crust and bone
Than without thee to live and own
A crown, a scepter, and throne"
She heaved sigh and wiped her eye,
Which made our youthful hero feel
That all his earthly woe, or veal
Was near its termination.
In those tear-dimmed, angelic eyes
Methinks, cen now, I see arise
The pearly gates of Paradise,
Thror oh which thnrn Olidpc and swiftly flies
AS lightning through the starlit skies.
A turtle dove, which bears, my love,
Within it's pure and graceful beak,
Words that none but angels speak
Save thee, their near relation
"a When behold those golden curls
(And sure they'd charm great men like Earls)
know thou'rt not as other girls;
This dimpled chin, that classic nose
What fragrant music when it blows y;
Those cheeks which blush cen like the rose
That in the choicest bower grows
So oft and oft have / caressed-
And still more oft, thou knowst, I've pressed
Those inger-tips and velvet lips!
TITS joy supernal, bliss most sweet,
To bow before thee and thy feet,
And take an observation!
"My very heart with rapture thrills
Whene'er I think how, freed from ills
Of this sad life, by you, my wife"
Before the wife " was half pronounced
The fair one turned and at him bounced
This fierce ejaculation:
"Hold! hold you yellow-headed brute!
Hold hold, say, you frog-eyed newt!
l swan rs half a mind to shoot
A great brick-bat clur through yer hat!
And now, you ugly blue-nosed wretch,
Yer'd better git, or shur I'll fetch
Handouts of wool from off yer head
And scratch yer chin as blue as lead 1!
You son of old Tarnation ~
Soon sticks and stones flew thick and fast
AS hailstones in a summer blast,
And, though he lodged them as they passed,
There came an awful rock at last
Which struck tree, square at him glanced,
And laid him motionless- -entranced
He threw away his ear, and danced.
Then, fire and birthstone how he pranced
And raved and tore and almost swore
He'd never, 'cept insane, or blind,
Attempt to escort womankind
SO vile with degradation
You've heard, now, boys, my story through,
SO listen nova word to you
Whenever your Joan from church you'd take,
Before you've made the final break,
In darkest night, or midday bright,
pray you to right sharply look
Which is your Joan, and which the cook
Of Afric emigration!
,BIoN, ILL. WALTER CoLYER.