Puslapio vaizdai
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Be mine," she said, “the calm of honest eyes,
The steadfast forehead, and the constant soul,
Mine the firm heart on simple duty bent,
And mine the manly gift of self-control.

"Not in my service is the harvest won

That gilds the child of barter and of trade That steady hand, that ever-pitying touch, Not in my helping shall be thus repaid.

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But I will take you where the great have gone, And I will set your feet in honor's ways; Friends I will give, and length of crowded years,

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And crown your manhood with a nation's praise.

These will I give, and more; the poor man's home, The anguished sufferer in the clutch of pain, The camp, the field, the long, sad, waiting ward, Watch for your kindly face, nor watch in vain;

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For, as the sculptor years shall chisel deep
The lines of pity 'neath the brow of thought,

Below your whitening hair the hurt shall read

How well you learned what I my best have taught."

The busy footsteps of your toiling stand
Upon the noisy century's sharp divide,

And at your side, tonight, I see her still,

The gracious woman, strong and tender-eyed.

O stately Mistress of our sacred Art,

Changeless and beautiful and wise and brave, Full fifty years have gone since first your lips

To noblest uses pledged that forehead grave.

As round the board our merry glasses rang,
His golden-wedding chimes I heard tonight;
We know its offspring; lo, from sea to sea

His pupil children bless his living light.

What be the marriage-gifts that we can give?
What lacks he that on well-used years attends?
All that we have to give are his today,-

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Love, honor, and obedience, troops of friends.
-DR. S. Weir Mitchell.

D

Doctor Munroe

EAR Doctor, be clever, an' fling aff your beaver,

Come, bleed me an' blister me, dinna be slow; I'm sick, I'm exhausted, my prospects are

blasted,

An' a' driven heels o'er head, Doctor Munroe!" "Be patient, dear fellow, you foster your fever; Pray, what's the misfortune that troubles you so?" "O, Doctor! I'm ruin'd, I 'm ruin'd forever

My lass has forsaken me, Doctor Munroe!

"I meant to have married, an' tasted the pleasures,
The sweets, the enjoyments from wedlock that flow;
But she 's ta'en another, an' broken my measures,
An' fairly dumfounder'd me, Doctor Munroe!
I'm fool'd, I am dover'd as dead as a herring-

Good sir, you 're a man of compassion, I know;
Come, bleed me to death, then, unflinching, unerring,
Or grant me some poison, dear Doctor Munroe!"'
The Doctor he flang aff his big-coat an' beaver,

He took out his lance, an' he sharpen'd it so; No judge ever look'd more decided or graver"I've oft done the same, sir," says Dr. Munroe.

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For gamblers, rogues, jockeys, and desperate lovers, But I always make charge of a hundred, or so." The patient looked pale, and cried out in shrill quavers, The devil! do you say so, sir, Doctor Munroe?"

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"O yes, sir, I 'm sorry there 's nothing more common; I like it--it pays-but, ere that length I go,

A man that goes mad for the love of a woman
I sometimes can cure with a lecture, or so."

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Why, thank you, sir; there spoke the man and the friend too,

Death is the last reckoner with friend or with foe, The lecture, then, first, if you please, I 'll attend to; The other, of course, you know, Doctor Munroe."

The lecture is said-How severe, keen, an' cutting,
Úr love an' of wedlock, each loss an' each woe,
The patient got up-o'er the floor he went strutting,

Smiled, capered, an' shook hands with Doctor Munroe.
He dresses, an' flaunts it with Bell, Sue, an' Christy,
But freedom an' fun chooses not to forego;

He still lives a bachelor, drinks when he 's thirsty,
An' sings like a lark, an' loves Doctor Munroe !

-JAMES HOGG.

Fallopius to His Dissecting Knife
(1550)

WOW shalt thou have thy way, thou little blade,
So bright and keen; now shalt thou have thy way,
And plod no more through bodies cold as clay,
But through quick flesh, by fiery pulses swayed.
A glorious and munificent duke hath made
Thee a great gift: live convicts; and today,
Though Nature shudder, thou shalt say thy say
On Life's deep springs where God so long forbade.

Fear not lest Mercy blunt thy edge, or make
The hand that holds thee o'er the living man

With any human hesitation shake;

But thou shalt tell me why his life-blood ran

Thus in his veins; what Life is; and shalt slake The thirst of thirsts that makes my cheek so wan. -Eugene Lee-Hamilton.

B

Y chance

Doctor Bonomi

An alchymist doctor whose fortunes were down,
Shifted quarters, and set up one day in a town
In France.

He hired a house, and affixed to the door
A name that the people had never before

Seen.

The doctor was upright and stiff as a wall,
Remarkably bony, uncommonly tall,

And lean.

Now into this house from a wagon was brought,
Whilst a crowd gathered staring, a monstrous retort;
And sweating and swearing, a staggering porter
Bore in a leviathan pestle and mortar;
Then hideous syringes, alchymical fixtures,
And great podgy bottles of all-colored mixtures.
A flutter

Among the gazers, who deemed every drop
Explosive material to go off with a pop
And splutter.

Therefore the people kept back in the street

Ready to beat an immediate retreat,

Should the doctor a tendency show to be loading
The squirts, or the bottles give signs of exploding

By fizzing.

Some gazed in mute awe on his spectacles big,
Whilst others the cut of his comical wig

Were quizzing.

Unheeding, the doctor paced solemnly round
In silence that whispered of wisdom profound

And vast.

But when all his chattels were carried within

To the last,

The physician's grave features relaxed to a grin,

And he said, "That will do; I think now I have nearly all

For this little city, the needful material.”

Now round with the speed of a fire, the report

Of the squirts, the great bottles, the tubes, the retort

Flew ;

And from every quarter the inquisitive pour,

Men, and of women, of course, a great store,
And the multitude fast round the alchymist's door

Grew.

Sudden, the crier emerged with a horn,
Calling, "O yes, O yes, this blessed morn
Into our city, of doctors e 'er born

The chief

Has come, Psalmanazar Bonomi,

Physician extraordinary to the King of Dahomy.
A deeper read doctor no mortal can show me;
He's doctor of medicine of famous Louvain;
Salamanca boasts of him (Salamanca's in Spain);
And, to prove that his qualifications are thorough,
He passed at Montpelier, Bologne, Edinboro'.

In brief

This alchymist-doctor of learn'd Salamanca
(Expressive though vulgar the term) is a spanker.
Now vain the delusion of him who supposes

The doctor sets plasters, lets blood, or gives doses,

Applies leeches, pounds powders, rolls pills, spreads a blister; Far other, good people, the practice of Mister

Bonomi.

Don't dream, if you're ill, for this doctor to send,

For certainly on you he will not attend.

Whatever your malady, be well assured,

You must not seek HIM, if you want to be cured.
Should he, like a common hack doctor, go round--
He the elixir of life who has found

In Dahomy?

No! he visits not prince, noble, burgher, or peasant.
Why should he? A score

Of doctors and more

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