Thick-headed Thoughts
By Adam Lindsay Gordon
No. I
Ive something of the bull-dog in my breed,
The spaniel is developed somewhat less;
While life is in me I can fight and bleed,
But never the chastising hand caress.
You say the stroke was well intended. True.
You mention It was meant to do me good.
That may be. You deserve it. Granted, too.
Then take it kindly. No, I never could.
------
How many a resolution to amend
Is made, and broken, as the years run round!
And how can others on your word depend,
When faithless to ourselves were often found?
Ive often swore, Henceforward Ill reform,
And bid my vices, follies, all take wing.
To keep my promise, mid temptations storm,
Ive always found was quite another thing.
------
I saw a donkey going down the road
The other day; a boy was on his back,
Who on the long-eared quadruped bestowed,
With a stout cudgel, many a hearty thwack;
But lazier and lazier grew the beast,
Until he dwindled to a step so slow
That I felt sure twould take him, at the least,
Full half-an-hour one blessed mile to go.
Soliloquising on this state of things,
That mokes like me, I muttered, with a sigh;
He might go faster if hed got some wings,
But Natures made him better off than I;
For though Ive all his obstinacy, aye! all,
His sullen spirit, and his dogged ways,
Ive not one particle, however small,
Of that praiseworthy patience he displays.
No. II
A man is independent of the world,
And little recks of strife or angry brawl,
If gainst a host his banner be unfurled,
Be his heart stout, it matters not at all.
With woman tis not so; for she seems hurled
From hand to hand, as is a tennis ball.
How queer that such a difference should be
Between a human he and human she.
No. III
Tis a wicked world we live in;
Wrong in reason, wrong in rhyme;
But no matter: well not give in
While we still can come to time.
Strengths a shadow; Hope is madness,
Love, delusion; Friendship, sham;
Pleasure fades away to sadness,
None of these are worth a d--n.
There is naught on earth to please us;
All things at the crisis fail.
Friends desert us, bailiffs tease us,
(To such foes we give leg-bail).
But a stout heart still maintaining,
Quells the ills we all must meet,
And a spirit fear disdaining
Lays our troubles at our feet.
So well neer surrender tamely
To the ills that throng us fast.
If we must die, lets die gamely;
Luck may take a turn at last.