52
The true ape style of life resumed its sway,
O’er boughs and vines they wreathed their wood gymnastic;
The foot so long in boots benumbed and strained,
Once more it quick prehensile touch regained;
To unperverted ape-grins jowls grew plastic;
In perfect discords all the wood went squealing,
And shewed its grinning teeth from floor to ceiling,
Nay, tails were luted on with gum or mastic
To prove them perfect apes in form and feeling.
If one resumed his human rôle, forgetful
Of self-respect, and like a dandy swaggered,
Blinked crafty eyes of advocate, or haggard
Smiled the thin sickly smile of poet fretful,
A nasty pinch or sharp reproof at any rate
Would warn him such things smacked of the degenerate.
Nay, they surpassed what Apery’s creed demands,
And only ate with feet and walked with hands.
How softly when late dusk their sports abated,
Up to the neck with figs and durians sated,
Beneath the star-wrought vault of heaven’s clear bowers,
On odorous boughs of trees wrought o’er with flowers,
Filled with some strange delight they sank to rest,
Oh! Mother Nature! on thy kindly breast.
But on the morrow all jumped up confounded,
Cries, blares of trump and dizzying drums resounded;
And when they first peered down in dread and wonder,
Flashed ghastly on their sight, in that bright morning,
Close coiled around like some bronze anaconda
The chain of deadly Mars in silent warning.
Where’er they sped with pupils fear-distended
That band of uniforms so variegated,
Casques, sabres, pikes and muskets also wended,
