"God bless the man who first invented sleep!" So Sancho Panza said, and so say I: And bless him, also, that he did n't keep
His great discovery to himself; nor try To make it as the lucky fellow mightA close monopoly by patent-right!
Yes; bless the man who first invented sleep (I really can't avoid the iteration),
But blast the man, with curses loud and deep, Whate'er the rascal's name, or age, or station, Who first invented, and went round advising, That artificial cut-off, Early Rising!
"Rise with the lark, and with the lark to bed," Observes some solemn, sentimental owl;
Maxims like these are very cheaply said;
But, ere you make yourself a fool or fowl,
Pray just inquire about his rise and fall,
And whether larks have any beds at all!
The time for honest folks to be a-bed
Is in the morning, if I reason right;
And he who cannot keep his precious head
Upon his pillow till it's fairly light,
And so enjoy his forty morning winks,
Is up to knavery; or else he drinks!
Thomson, who sung about the "Seasons," said
It was a glorious thing to rise in season;
But then he said it-lying-in his bed,
At ten o'clock A.M.,—the very reason
He wrote so charmingly. The simple fact is,
His preaching was n't sanctioned by his practice.
"T is, doubtless, well to be sometimes awake,Awake to duty, and awake to truth,—
But when, alas! a nice review we take
Of our best deeds and days, we find, in sooth,
The hours that leave the slightest cause to weep
Are those we passed in childhood or asleep!
"T is beautiful to leave the world awhile
For the soft visions of the gentle night;
And free, at last, from mortal care or guile,
To live as only in the angels' sight,
In sleep's sweet realm so cosily shut in,
Where, at the worst, we only dream of sin!
So let us sleep, and give the Maker praise.
I like the lad who, when his father thought
To clip his morning nap by hackneyed phrase
Of vagrant worm by early songster caught,
Cried, "Served him right!-it's not at all surprising;
The worm was punished, sir, for early rising!"
Polyphemus and Ulysses
very remarkable history this is
Of one POLYPHEMUS and CAPTAIN ULYSSES:
The latter a hero accomplished and bold,
The former a knave, and a fright to behold,—
A horrid big giant who lived in a den,
And dined every day on a couple of men,
Ate a woman for breakfast, and (dreadful to see!) Had a nice little baby served up with his tea! Indeed, if there's truth in the sprightly narration Of HOMER, a poet of some reputation,
Or VIRGIL, a writer but little inferior,
And in some things, perhaps, the other's superior,-
POLYPHEMUS was truly a terrible creature,
In manners and morals, in form and in feature;
For law and religion he cared not a copper,
And, in short, led a life that was very improper:-
What made him a very remarkable guy,
Like the late MR. THOMPSON, he'd only one eye; But that was a whopper, a terrible one,—
"As large" (VIRGIL says) "as the disk of the sun!" A brilliant, but rather extravagant figure,
Which means, I suppose, that his eye was much bigger Than yours, or even the orb of your sly
Old bachelor-friend "who's a wife in his eye."
ULYSSES, the hero I mentioned before,
Was shipwrecked, one day, on the pestilent shore
Where the CYCLOPS resided, along with their chief,
POLYPHEMUS, the terrible man-eating thief,
Whose manners they copied, and laws they obeyed,
While driving their horrible cannibal trade.
With many expressions of civil regret
That ULYSSES had got so unpleasantly wet,
With many expressions of pleasure profound
That all had escaped being thoroughly drowned,
The rascal declared he was "fond of the brave,"
And invited the strangers all home to his cave.
Here the cannibal king, with as little remorse
As an omnibus feels for the death of a horse,
Seized, crushed, and devoured a brace of the Greeks,
As a Welshman would swallow a couple of leeks,
Or a Frenchman, supplied with his usual prog,
Would punish the hams of a favorite frog.
Dashed and smashed against the stones,
He broke their bodies and cracked their bones,
Minding no more their moans and groans,
Than the grinder heeds his organ's tones!
With purple gore the pavement swims,
While the giant crushes their crackling limbs,
And poor ULYSSES trembles with fright
At the horrid sound, and the horrid sight,-
Trembles lest the monster grim
Should make his "nuts and raisins" of him!
And, really, since
The man was a Prince,
It's not very odd that his Highness should wince,
(Especially after such very strong hints,)
At the cannibal's manner, as rather more free
Than his Highness at court was accustomed to see!
But the crafty Greek, to the tyrant's hurt,
(Though he did n't deserve so fine a dessert),
Took a dozen of wine from his leather trunk,
And plied the giant until he was drunk!—
Drunker than any one you or I know,
Who buys his "Rhenish" with ready rhino,—
Exceedingly drunk,-sepultus vino!
Gazing a moment upon the sleeper,
ULYSSES cried, "Let's spoil his peeper!-
'T will put him, boys, in a pretty trim,
If we can manage to douse his glim!"
So, taking a spar that was lying in sight,
They poked it into his "forward light,"
And gouged away with furious spite,
Ramming and jamming with all their might!
In vain the giant began to roar,
And even swore
That he never before
Had met, in his life, such a terrible bore:
They only plied the auger the more
And mocked his grief with a bantering cry,
"Don't talk of pain,-it's all in your eye!"
Until, alas for the wretched CYCLOPS!
He gives a groan, and out his eye pops!
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