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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell
+Holmes, Vol. 3, by Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes, Vol. 3
+       Medical Poems
+
+Author: Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.
+
+Release Date: September 30, 2004 [EBook #7390]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POETRY OF HOLMES, VOL. 3 ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Widger
+
+
+
+
+
+                           THE POETICAL WORKS
+
+                                  OF
+
+                          OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES
+
+                         [1893 three volume set]
+
+
+
+
+             MEDICAL POEMS
+
+
+
+     THE MORNING VISIT
+     THE TWO ARMIES
+     THE STETHOSCOPE SONG
+     EXTRACTS FROM A MEDICAL POEM
+     A POEM FOR THE MEETING OF THE AMERICAN MEDICAL ASSOCIATION
+     AT NEW YORK, MAY 5, 1853
+     A SENTIMENT
+     RIP VAN WINKLE, M. D.
+
+
+
+
+THE MORNING VISIT
+
+A sick man's chamber, though it often boast
+The grateful presence of a literal toast,
+Can hardly claim, amidst its various wealth,
+The right unchallenged to propose a health;
+Yet though its tenant is denied the feast,
+Friendship must launch his sentiment at least,
+As prisoned damsels, locked from lovers' lips,
+Toss them a kiss from off their fingers' tips.
+
+The morning visit,--not till sickness falls
+In the charmed circles of your own safe walls;
+Till fever's throb and pain's relentless rack
+Stretch you all helpless on your aching back;
+Not till you play the patient in your turn,
+The morning visit's mystery shall you learn.
+
+'T is a small matter in your neighbor's case,
+To charge your fee for showing him your face;
+You skip up-stairs, inquire, inspect, and touch,
+Prescribe, take leave, and off to twenty such.
+
+But when at length, by fate's transferred decree,
+The visitor becomes the visitee,
+Oh, then, indeed, it pulls another string;
+Your ox is gored, and that's a different thing!
+Your friend is sick: phlegmatic as a Turk,
+You write your recipe and let it work;
+Not yours to stand the shiver and the frown,
+And sometimes worse, with which your draught goes down.
+Calm as a clock your knowing hand directs,
+_Rhei, jalapae ana grana sex_,
+Or traces on some tender missive's back,
+_Scrupulos duos pulveris ipecac_;
+And leaves your patient to his qualms and gripes,
+Cool as a sportsman banging at his snipes.
+But change the time, the person, and the place,
+And be yourself "the interesting case,"
+You'll gain some knowledge which it's well to learn;
+In future practice it may serve your turn.
+Leeches, for instance,--pleasing creatures quite;
+Try them,--and bless you,--don't you find they bite?
+You raise a blister for the smallest cause,
+But be yourself the sitter whom it draws,
+And trust my statement, you will not deny
+The worst of draughtsmen is your Spanish fly!
+It's mighty easy ordering when you please,
+_Infusi sennae capiat uncias tres_;
+It's mighty different when you quackle down
+Your own three ounces of the liquid brown.
+_Pilula, pulvis_,--pleasant words enough,
+When other throats receive the shocking stuff;
+But oh, what flattery can disguise the groan
+That meets the gulp which sends it through your own!
+Be gentle, then, though Art's unsparing rules
+Give you the handling of her sharpest tools;
+Use them not rashly,--sickness is enough;
+Be always "ready," but be never "rough."
+
+Of all the ills that suffering man endures,
+The largest fraction liberal Nature cures;
+Of those remaining, 't is the smallest part
+Yields to the efforts of judicious Art;
+But simple _Kindness_, kneeling by the bed
+To shift the pillow for the sick man's head,
+Give the fresh draught to cool the lips that burn,
+Fan the hot brow, the weary frame to turn,--
+Kindness, untutored by our grave M. D.'s,
+But Nature's graduate, when she schools to please,
+Wins back more sufferers with her voice and smile
+Than all the trumpery in the druggist's pile.
+
+Once more, be quiet: coming up the stair,
+Don't be a plantigrade, a human bear,
+But, stealing softly on the silent toe,
+Reach the sick chamber ere you're heard below.
+Whatever changes there may greet your eyes,
+Let not your looks proclaim the least surprise;
+It's not your business by your face to show
+All that your patient does not want to know;
+Nay, use your optics with considerate care,
+And don't abuse your privilege to stare.
+But if your eyes may probe him overmuch,
+Beware still further how you rudely touch;
+Don't clutch his carpus in your icy fist,
+But warm your fingers ere you take the wrist.
+If the poor victim needs must be percussed,
+Don't make an anvil of his aching bust;
+(Doctors exist within a hundred miles
+Who thump a thorax as they'd hammer piles;)
+If you must listen to his doubtful chest,
+Catch the essentials, and ignore the rest.
+Spare him; the sufferer wants of you and art
+A track to steer by, not a finished chart.
+So of your questions: don't in mercy try
+To pump your patient absolutely dry;
+He's not a mollusk squirming in a dish,
+You're not Agassiz; and he's not a fish.
+
+And last, not least, in each perplexing case,
+Learn the sweet magic of a cheerful face;
+Not always smiling, but at least serene,
+When grief and anguish cloud the anxious scene.
+Each look, each movement, every word and tone,
+Should tell your patient you are all his own;
+Not the mere artist, purchased to attend,
+But the warm, ready, self-forgetting friend,
+Whose genial visit in itself combines
+The best of cordials, tonics, anodynes.
+
+Such is the _visit_ that from day to day
+Sheds o'er my chamber its benignant ray.
+I give his health, who never cared to claim
+Her babbling homage from the tongue of Fame;
+Unmoved by praise, he stands by all confest,
+The truest, noblest, wisest, kindest, best.
+
+1849.
+
+
+
+
+
+THE TWO ARMIES
+
+As Life's unending column pours,
+Two marshalled hosts are seen,--
+Two armies on the trampled shores
+That Death flows black between.
+
+One marches to the drum-beat's roll,
+The wide-mouthed clarion's bray,
+And bears upon a crimson scroll,
+"Our glory is to slay."
+
+One moves in silence by the stream,
+With sad, yet watchful eyes,
+Calm as the patient planet's gleam
+That walks the clouded skies.
+
+Along its front no sabres shine,
+No blood-red pennons wave;
+Its banner bears the single line,
+"Our duty is to save."
+
+For those no death-bed's lingering shade;
+At Honor's trumpet-call,
+With knitted brow and lifted blade
+In Glory's arms they fall.
+
+For these no clashing falchions bright,
+No stirring battle-cry;
+The bloodless stabber calls by night,--
+Each answers, "Here am I!"
+
+For those the sculptor's laurelled bust,
+The builder's marble piles,
+The anthems pealing o'er their dust
+Through long cathedral aisles.
+
+For these the blossom-sprinkled turf
+That floods the lonely graves
+When Spring rolls in her sea-green surf
+In flowery-foaming waves.
+
+Two paths lead upward from below,
+And angels wait above,
+Who count each burning life-drop's flow,
+Each falling tear of Love.
+
+Though from the Hero's bleeding breast
+Her pulses Freedom drew,
+Though the white lilies in her crest
+Sprang from that scarlet dew,--
+
+While Valor's haughty champions wait
+Till all their scars are shown,
+Love walks unchallenged through the gate,
+To sit beside the Throne.
+
+
+
+
+
+THE STETHOSCOPE SONG
+
+A PROFESSIONAL BALLAD
+
+THERE was a young man in Boston town,
+He bought him a stethoscope nice and new,
+All mounted and finished and polished down,
+With an ivory cap and a stopper too.
+
+It happened a spider within did crawl,
+And spun him a web of ample size,
+Wherein there chanced one day to fall
+A couple of very imprudent flies.
+
+The first was a bottle-fly, big and blue,
+The second was smaller, and thin and long;
+So there was a concert between the two,
+Like an octave flute and a tavern gong.
+
+Now being from Paris but recently,
+This fine young man would show his skill;
+And so they gave him, his hand to try,
+A hospital patient extremely ill.
+
+Some said that his liver was short of bile,
+And some that his heart was over size,
+While some kept arguing, all the while,
+He was crammed with tubercles up to his eyes.
+
+This fine young man then up stepped he,
+And all the doctors made a pause;
+Said he, The man must die, you see,
+By the fifty-seventh of Louis's laws.
+
+But since the case is a desperate one,
+To explore his chest it may be well;
+For if he should die and it were not done,
+You know the autopsy would not tell.
+
+Then out his stethoscope he took,
+And on it placed his curious ear;
+Mon Dieu! said he, with a knowing look,
+Why, here is a sound that 's mighty queer.
+
+The bourdonnement is very clear,--
+Amphoric buzzing, as I'm alive
+Five doctors took their turn to hear;
+Amphoric buzzing, said all the five.
+
+There's empyema beyond a doubt;
+We'll plunge a trocar in his side.
+The diagnosis was made out,--
+They tapped the patient; so he died.
+
+Now such as hate new-fashioned toys
+Began to look extremely glum;
+They said that rattles were made for boys,
+And vowed that his buzzing was all a hum.
+
+There was an old lady had long been sick,
+And what was the matter none did know
+Her pulse was slow, though her tongue was quick;
+To her this knowing youth must go.
+
+So there the nice old lady sat,
+With phials and boxes all in a row;
+She asked the young doctor what he was at,
+To thump her and tumble her ruffles so.
+
+Now, when the stethoscope came out,
+The flies began to buzz and whiz
+Oh ho! the matter is clear, no doubt;
+An aneurism there plainly is.
+
+The bruit de rape and the bruit de scie
+And the bruit de diable are all combined;
+How happy Bouillaud would be,
+If he a case like this could find!
+
+Now, when the neighboring doctors found
+A case so rare had been descried,
+They every day her ribs did pound
+In squads of twenty; so she died.
+
+Then six young damsels, slight and frail,
+Received this kind young doctor's cares;
+They all were getting slim and pale,
+And short of breath on mounting stairs.
+
+They all made rhymes with "sighs" and "skies,"
+And loathed their puddings and buttered rolls,
+And dieted, much to their friends' surprise,
+On pickles and pencils and chalk and coals.
+
+So fast their little hearts did bound,
+The frightened insects buzzed the more;
+So over all their chests he found
+The rale sifflant and the rale sonore.
+
+He shook his head. There's grave disease,--
+I greatly fear you all must die;
+A slight post-mortem, if you please,
+Surviving friends would gratify.
+
+The six young damsels wept aloud,
+Which so prevailed on six young men
+That each his honest love avowed,
+Whereat they all got well again.
+
+This poor young man was all aghast;
+The price of stethoscopes came down;
+And so he was reduced at last
+To practise in a country town.
+
+The doctors being very sore,
+A stethoscope they did devise
+That had a rammer to clear the bore,
+With a knob at the end to kill the flies.
+
+Now use your ears, all you that can,
+But don't forget to mind your eyes,
+Or you may be cheated, like this young man,
+By a couple of silly, abnormal flies.
+
+
+
+
+
+EXTRACTS FROM A MEDICAL POEM
+
+THE STABILITY OF SCIENCE
+
+THE feeble sea-birds, blinded in the storms,
+On some tall lighthouse dash their little forms,
+And the rude granite scatters for their pains
+Those small deposits that were meant for brains.
+Yet the proud fabric in the morning's sun
+Stands all unconscious of the mischief done;
+Still the red beacon pours its evening rays
+For the lost pilot with as full a blaze,--
+Nay, shines, all radiance, o'er the scattered fleet
+Of gulls and boobies brainless at its feet.
+
+I tell their fate, though courtesy disclaims
+To call our kind by such ungentle names;
+Yet, if your rashness bid you vainly dare,
+Think of their doom, ye simple, and beware.
+
+See where aloft its hoary forehead rears
+The towering pride of twice a thousand years!
+Far, far below the vast incumbent pile
+Sleeps the gray rock from art's AEgean isle
+Its massive courses, circling as they rise,
+Swell from the waves to mingle with the skies;
+There every quarry lends its marble spoil,
+And clustering ages blend their common toil;
+The Greek, the Roman, reared its ancient walls,
+The silent Arab arched its mystic halls;
+In that fair niche, by countless billows laved,
+Trace the deep lines that Sydenham engraved;
+On yon broad front that breasts the changing swell,
+Mark where the ponderous sledge of Hunter fell;
+By that square buttress look where Louis stands,
+The stone yet warm from his uplifted hands;
+And say, O Science, shall thy life-blood freeze,
+When fluttering folly flaps on walls like these?
+
+
+A PORTRAIT
+
+Thoughtful in youth, but not austere in age;
+Calm, but not cold, and cheerful though a sage;
+Too true to flatter and too kind to sneer,
+And only just when seemingly severe;
+So gently blending courtesy and art
+That wisdom's lips seemed borrowing friendship's heart.
+
+Taught by the sorrows that his age had known
+In others' trials to forget his own,
+As hour by hour his lengthened day declined,
+A sweeter radiance lingered o'er his mind.
+Cold were the lips that spoke his early praise,
+And hushed the voices of his morning days,
+Yet the same accents dwelt on every tongue,
+And love renewing kept him ever young.
+
+
+A SENTIMENT
+_O Bios Bpaxus_,--life is but a song;
+_H rexvn uakpn_,--art is wondrous long;
+Yet to the wise her paths are ever fair,
+And Patience smiles, though Genius may despair.
+Give us but knowledge, though by slow degrees,
+And blend our toil with moments bright as these;
+Let Friendship's accents cheer our doubtful way,
+And Love's pure planet lend its guiding ray,--
+Our tardy Art shall wear an angel's wings,
+And life shall lengthen with the joy it brings!
+
+
+
+
+
+A POEM
+
+FOR THE MEETING OF THE AMERICAN MEDICAL ASSOCIATION
+AT NEW YORK, MAY 5, 1853
+
+I HOLD a letter in my hand,--
+A flattering letter, more's the pity,--
+By some contriving junto planned,
+And signed _per order of Committee_.
+It touches every tenderest spot,--
+My patriotic predilections,
+My well-known-something--don't ask what,--
+My poor old songs, my kind affections.
+
+They make a feast on Thursday next,
+And hope to make the feasters merry;
+They own they're something more perplexed
+For poets than for port and sherry.
+They want the men of--(word torn out);
+Our friends will come with anxious faces,
+(To see our blankets off, no doubt,
+And trot us out and show our paces.)
+
+They hint that papers by the score
+Are rather musty kind of rations,--
+They don't exactly mean a bore,
+But only trying to the patience;
+That such as--you know who I mean--
+Distinguished for their--what d' ye call 'em--
+Should bring the dews of Hippocrene
+To sprinkle on the faces solemn.
+
+--The same old story: that's the chaff
+To catch the birds that sing the ditties;
+Upon my soul, it makes me laugh
+To read these letters from Committees!
+They're all so loving and so fair,--
+All for your sake such kind compunction;
+'T would save your carriage half its wear
+To touch its wheels with such an unction!
+
+Why, who am I, to lift me here
+And beg such learned folk to listen,
+To ask a smile, or coax a tear
+Beneath these stoic lids to glisten?
+As well might some arterial thread
+Ask the whole frame to feel it gushing,
+While throbbing fierce from heel to head
+The vast aortic tide was rushing.
+
+As well some hair-like nerve might strain
+To set its special streamlet going,
+While through the myriad-channelled brain
+The burning flood of thought was flowing;
+Or trembling fibre strive to keep
+The springing haunches gathered shorter,
+While the scourged racer, leap on leap,
+Was stretching through the last hot quarter!
+
+Ah me! you take the bud that came
+Self-sown in your poor garden's borders,
+And hand it to the stately dame
+That florists breed for, all she orders.
+She thanks you,--it was kindly meant,--
+(A pale afair, not worth the keeping,)--
+Good morning; and your bud is sent
+To join the tea-leaves used for sweeping.
+
+Not always so, kind hearts and true,--
+For such I know are round me beating;
+Is not the bud I offer you,
+Fresh gathered for the hour of meeting,
+Pale though its outer leaves may be,
+Rose-red in all its inner petals?--
+Where the warm life we cannot see--
+The life of love that gave it--settles.
+
+
+We meet from regions far away,
+Like rills from distant mountains streaming;
+The sun is on Francisco's bay,
+O'er Chesapeake the lighthouse gleaming;
+While summer girds the still bayou
+In chains of bloom, her bridal token,
+Monadnock sees the sky grow blue,
+His crystal bracelet yet unbroken.
+
+Yet Nature bears the selfsame heart
+Beneath her russet-mantled bosom
+As where, with burning lips apart,
+She breathes and white magnolias blossom;
+The selfsame founts her chalice fill
+With showery sunlight running over,
+On fiery plain and frozen hill,
+On myrtle-beds and fields of clover.
+
+I give you Home! its crossing lines
+United in one golden suture,
+And showing every day that shines
+The present growing to the future,--
+A flag that bears a hundred stars
+In one bright ring, with love for centre,
+Fenced round with white and crimson bars
+No prowling treason dares to enter!
+
+O brothers, home may be a word
+To make affection's living treasure,
+The wave an angel might have stirred,
+A stagnant pool of selfish pleasure;
+HOME! It is where the day-star springs
+And where the evening sun reposes,
+Where'er the eagle spreads his wings,
+From northern pines to southern roses!
+
+
+
+
+
+A SENTIMENT
+
+A TRIPLE health to Friendship, Science, Art,
+From heads and hands that own a common heart!
+Each in its turn the others' willing slave,
+Each in its season strong to heal and save.
+
+Friendship's blind service, in the hour of need,
+Wipes the pale face, and lets the victim bleed.
+Science must stop to reason and explain;
+ART claps his finger on the streaming vein.
+
+But Art's brief memory fails the hand at last;
+Then SCIENCE lifts the flambeau of the past.
+When both their equal impotence deplore,
+When Learning sighs, and Skill can do no more,
+The tear of FRIENDSHIP pours its heavenly balm,
+And soothes the pang no anodyne may calm
+May 1, 1855.
+
+
+
+
+
+RIP VAN WINKLE, M. D.
+
+AN AFTER-DINNER PRESCRIPTION TAKEN BY THE MASSACHUSETTS
+MEDICAL SOCIETY, AT THEIR MEETING HELD MAY 25, 1870
+
+
+CANTO FIRST
+
+OLD Rip Van Winkle had a grandson, Rip,
+Of the paternal block a genuine chip,--
+A lazy, sleepy, curious kind of chap;
+He, like his grandsire, took a mighty nap,
+Whereof the story I propose to tell
+In two brief cantos, if you listen well.
+
+The times were hard when Rip to manhood grew;
+They always will be when there's work to do.
+He tried at farming,--found it rather slow,--
+And then at teaching--what he did n't know;
+Then took to hanging round the tavern bars,
+To frequent toddies and long-nine cigars,
+Till Dame Van Winkle, out of patience, vexed
+With preaching homilies, having for their text
+A mop, a broomstick, aught that might avail
+To point a moral or adorn a tale,
+Exclaimed, "I have it! Now, then, Mr. V.
+He's good for something,--make him an M. D.!"
+
+The die was cast; the youngster was content;
+They packed his shirts and stockings, and he went.
+How hard he studied it were vain to tell;
+He drowsed through Wistar, nodded over Bell,
+Slept sound with Cooper, snored aloud on Good;
+Heard heaps of lectures,--doubtless understood,--
+A constant listener, for he did not fail
+To carve his name on every bench and rail.
+
+Months grew to years; at last he counted three,
+And Rip Van Winkle found himself M. D.
+Illustrious title! in a gilded frame
+He set the sheepskin with his Latin name,
+RIPUM VAN WINKLUM, QUEM we--SCIMUS--know
+IDONEUM ESSE--to do so and so.
+He hired an office; soon its walls displayed
+His new diploma and his stock in trade,
+A mighty arsenal to subdue disease,
+Of various names, whereof I mention these
+Lancets and bougies, great and little squirt,
+Rhubarb and Senna, Snakeroot, Thoroughwort,
+Ant. Tart., Vin. Colch., Pil. Cochiae, and Black Drop,
+Tinctures of Opium, Gentian, Henbane, Hop,
+Pulv. Ipecacuanhae, which for lack
+Of breath to utter men call Ipecac,
+Camphor and Kino, Turpentine, Tolu,
+Cubebs, "Copeevy," Vitriol,--white and blue,--
+Fennel and Flaxseed, Slippery Elm and Squill,
+And roots of Sassafras, and "Sassaf'rill,"
+Brandy,--for colics,--Pinkroot, death on worms,--
+Valerian, calmer of hysteric squirms,
+Musk, Assafoetida, the resinous gum
+Named from its odor,--well, it does smell some,--
+Jalap, that works not wisely, but too well,
+Ten pounds of Bark and six of Calomel.
+
+For outward griefs he had an ample store,
+Some twenty jars and gallipots, or more:
+_Ceratum simplex_--housewives oft compile
+The same at home, and call it "wax and ile;"
+_Unguentum resinosum_--change its name,
+The "drawing salve" of many an ancient dame;
+_Argenti Nitras_, also Spanish flies,
+Whose virtue makes the water-bladders rise--
+(Some say that spread upon a toper's skin
+They draw no water, only rum or gin);
+Leeches, sweet vermin! don't they charm the sick?
+And Sticking-plaster--how it hates to stick
+_Emplastrum Ferri_--ditto _Picis_, Pitch;
+Washes and Powders, Brimstone for the--which,
+_Scabies_ or _Psora_, is thy chosen name
+Since Hahnemann's goose-quill scratched thee into fame,
+Proved thee the source of every nameless ill,
+Whose sole specific is a moonshine pill,
+Till saucy Science, with a quiet grin,
+Held up the Acarus, crawling on a pin?
+--Mountains have labored and have brought forth mice
+The Dutchman's theory hatched a brood of--twice
+I've well-nigh said them--words unfitting quite
+For these fair precincts and for ears polite.
+
+The surest foot may chance at last to slip,
+And so at length it proved with Doctor Rip.
+One full-sized bottle stood upon the shelf,
+Which held the medicine that he took himself;
+Whate'er the reason, it must be confessed
+He filled that bottle oftener than the rest;
+What drug it held I don't presume to know--
+The gilded label said "Elixir Pro."
+
+One day the Doctor found the bottle full,
+And, being thirsty, took a vigorous pull,
+Put back the "Elixir" where 't was always found,
+And had old Dobbin saddled and brought round.
+--You know those old-time rhubarb-colored nags
+That carried Doctors and their saddle-bags;
+Sagacious beasts! they stopped at every place
+Where blinds were shut--knew every patient's case--
+Looked up and thought--The baby's in a fit--
+That won't last long--he'll soon be through with it;
+But shook their heads before the knockered door
+Where some old lady told the story o'er
+Whose endless stream of tribulation flows
+For gastric griefs and peristaltic woes.
+
+What jack-o'-lantern led him from his way,
+And where it led him, it were hard to say;
+Enough that wandering many a weary mile
+Through paths the mountain sheep trod single file,
+O'ercome by feelings such as patients know
+Who dose too freely with "Elixir Pro.,"
+He tumbl--dismounted, slightly in a heap,
+And lay, promiscuous, lapped in balmy sleep.
+
+Night followed night, and day succeeded day,
+But snoring still the slumbering Doctor lay.
+Poor Dobbin, starving, thought upon his stall,
+And straggled homeward, saddle-bags and all.
+The village people hunted all around,
+But Rip was missing,--never could be found.
+"Drownded," they guessed;--for more than half a year
+The pouts and eels did taste uncommon queer;
+Some said of apple-brandy--other some
+Found a strong flavor of New England rum.
+
+Why can't a fellow hear the fine things said
+About a fellow when a fellow's dead?
+The best of doctors--so the press declared--
+A public blessing while his life was spared,
+True to his country, bounteous to the poor,
+In all things temperate, sober, just, and pure;
+The best of husbands! echoed Mrs. Van,
+And set her cap to catch another man.
+
+So ends this Canto--if it's quantum suff.,
+We'll just stop here and say we've had enough,
+And leave poor Rip to sleep for thirty years;
+I grind the organ--if you lend your ears
+To hear my second Canto, after that
+We 'll send around the monkey with the hat.
+
+
+CANTO SECOND
+
+So thirty years had passed--but not a word
+In all that time of Rip was ever heard;
+The world wagged on--it never does go back--
+The widow Van was now the widow Mac----
+France was an Empire--Andrew J. was dead,
+And Abraham L. was reigning in his stead.
+Four murderous years had passed in savage strife,
+Yet still the rebel held his bloody knife.
+
+--At last one morning--who forgets the day
+When the black cloud of war dissolved away
+The joyous tidings spread o'er land and sea,
+Rebellion done for! Grant has captured Lee!
+Up every flagstaff sprang the Stars and Stripes--
+Out rushed the Extras wild with mammoth types--
+Down went the laborer's hod, the school-boy's book--
+"Hooraw!" he cried, "the rebel army's took!"
+Ah! what a time! the folks all mad with joy
+Each fond, pale mother thinking of her boy;
+Old gray-haired fathers meeting--"Have--you--heard?"
+And then a choke--and not another word;
+Sisters all smiling--maidens, not less dear,
+In trembling poise between a smile and tear;
+Poor Bridget thinking how she 'll stuff the plums
+In that big cake for Johnny when he comes;
+Cripples afoot; rheumatics on the jump;
+Old girls so loving they could hug the pump;
+Guns going bang! from every fort and ship;
+They banged so loud at last they wakened Rip.
+
+I spare the picture, how a man appears
+Who's been asleep a score or two of years;
+You all have seen it to perfection done
+By Joe Van Wink--I mean Rip Jefferson.
+Well, so it was; old Rip at last came back,
+Claimed his old wife--the present widow Mac----
+Had his old sign regilded, and began
+To practise physic on the same old plan.
+Some weeks went by--it was not long to wait--
+And "please to call" grew frequent on the slate.
+He had, in fact, an ancient, mildewed air,
+A long gray beard, a plenteous lack of hair,--
+The musty look that always recommends
+Your good old Doctor to his ailing friends.
+--Talk of your science! after all is said
+There's nothing like a bare and shiny head;
+Age lends the graces that are sure to please;
+Folks want their Doctors mouldy, like their cheese.
+
+So Rip began to look at people's tongues
+And thump their briskets (called it "sound their lungs"),
+Brushed up his knowledge smartly as he could,
+Read in old Cullen and in Doctor Good.
+The town was healthy; for a month or two
+He gave the sexton little work to do.
+
+About the time when dog-day heats begin,
+The summer's usual maladies set in;
+With autumn evenings dysentery came,
+And dusky typhoid lit his smouldering flame;
+The blacksmith ailed, the carpenter was down,
+And half the children sickened in the town.
+The sexton's face grew shorter than before--
+The sexton's wife a brand-new bonnet wore--
+Things looked quite serious--Death had got a grip
+On old and young, in spite of Doctor Rip.
+
+And now the Squire was taken with a chill--
+Wife gave "hot-drops"--at night an Indian pill;
+Next morning, feverish--bedtime, getting worse--
+Out of his head--began to rave and curse;
+The Doctor sent for--double quick he came
+_Ant. Tart. gran. duo_, and repeat the same
+If no et cetera. Third day--nothing new;
+Percussed his thorax till 't was black and blue--
+Lung-fever threatening--something of the sort--
+Out with the lancet--let him bleed--a quart--
+Ten leeches next--then blisters to his side;
+Ten grains of calomel; just then he died.
+
+The Deacon next required the Doctor's care--
+Took cold by sitting in a draught of air--
+Pains in the back, but what the matter is
+Not quite so clear,--wife calls it "rheumatiz."
+Rubs back with flannel--gives him something hot--
+"Ah!" says the Deacon, "that goes nigh the spot."
+Next day a rigor--"Run, my little man,
+And say the Deacon sends for Doctor Van."
+The Doctor came--percussion as before,
+Thumping and banging till his ribs were sore--
+"Right side the flattest"--then more vigorous raps--
+"Fever--that's certain--pleurisy, perhaps.
+A quart of blood will ease the pain, no doubt,
+Ten leeches next will help to suck it out,
+Then clap a blister on the painful part--
+But first two grains of _Antimonium Tart_.
+Last with a dose of cleansing calomel
+Unload the portal system--(that sounds well!)"
+
+But when the selfsame remedies were tried,
+As all the village knew, the Squire had died;
+
+The neighbors hinted. "This will never do;
+He's killed the Squire--he'll kill the Deacon too."
+
+Now when a doctor's patients are perplexed,
+A consultation comes in order next--
+You know what that is? In a certain place
+Meet certain doctors to discuss a case
+And other matters, such as weather, crops,
+Potatoes, pumpkins, lager-beer, and hops.
+For what's the use?--there 's little to be said,
+Nine times in ten your man's as good as dead;
+At best a talk (the secret to disclose)
+Where three men guess and sometimes one man knows.
+
+The counsel summoned came without delay--
+Young Doctor Green and shrewd old Doctor Gray--
+They heard the story--"Bleed!" says Doctor Green,
+"That's downright murder! cut his throat, you mean
+Leeches! the reptiles! Why, for pity's sake,
+Not try an adder or a rattlesnake?
+Blisters! Why bless you, they 're against the law--
+It's rank assault and battery if they draw
+Tartrate of Antimony! shade of Luke,
+Stomachs turn pale at thought of such rebuke!
+The portal system! What's the man about?
+Unload your nonsense! Calomel's played out!
+You've been asleep--you'd better sleep away
+Till some one calls you."
+
+"Stop!" says Doctor Gray--
+"The story is you slept for thirty years;
+With brother Green, I own that it appears
+You must have slumbered most amazing sound;
+But sleep once more till thirty years come round,
+You'll find the lancet in its honored place,
+Leeches and blisters rescued from disgrace,
+Your drugs redeemed from fashion's passing scorn,
+And counted safe to give to babes unborn."
+
+Poor sleepy Rip, M. M. S. S., M. D.,
+A puzzled, serious, saddened man was he;
+Home from the Deacon's house he plodded slow
+And filled one bumper of "Elixir Pro."
+"Good-by," he faltered, "Mrs. Van, my dear!
+I'm going to sleep, but wake me once a year;
+I don't like bleaching in the frost and dew,
+I'll take the barn, if all the same to you.
+Just once a year--remember! no mistake!
+Cry, 'Rip Van Winkle! time for you to wake!'
+Watch for the week in May when laylocks blow,
+For then the Doctors meet, and I must go."
+
+Just once a year the Doctor's worthy dame
+Goes to the barn and shouts her husband's name;
+"Come, Rip Van Winkle!" (giving him a shake)
+"Rip! Rip Van Winkle! time for you to wake!
+Laylocks in blossom! 't is the month of May--
+The Doctors' meeting is this blessed day,
+And come what will, you know I heard you swear
+You'd never miss it, but be always there!"
+
+And so it is, as every year comes round
+Old Rip Van Winkle here is always found.
+You'll quickly know him by his mildewed air,
+The hayseed sprinkled through his scanty hair,
+The lichens growing on his rusty suit--
+I've seen a toadstool sprouting on his boot--
+Who says I lie? Does any man presume?--
+Toadstool? No matter--call it a mushroom.
+Where is his seat? He moves it every year;
+But look, you'll find him,--he is always here,--
+Perhaps you'll track him by a whiff you know--
+A certain flavor of "Elixir Pro."
+
+Now, then, I give you--as you seem to think
+We can give toasts without a drop to drink--
+Health to the mighty sleeper,--long live he!
+Our brother Rip, M. M. S. S., M. D.!
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell
+Holmes, Vol. 3, by Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.
+
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #7390 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/7390)
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+Project Gutenberg EBook The Poetical Works of O. W. Holmes, Volume 3.
+Medical Poems
+#17 in our series by Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.
+
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+
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+Title: The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes, Volume 3.
+       Medical Poems
+
+Author: Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.
+
+Release Date: January, 2005 [Etext #7390]
+[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
+[Most recently updated: April 22, 2003]
+
+Edition: 10
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+
+
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POETRY OF O. W. HOLMES, V3 ***
+
+
+
+This eBook was produced by David Widger  [widger@cecomet.net]
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                           THE POETICAL WORKS
+
+                                  OF
+
+                         OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES
+
+
+                                 1893
+                       (Printed in three volumes)
+
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS:
+
+     THE MORNING VISIT
+     THE TWO ARMIES
+     THE STETHOSCOPE SONG
+     EXTRACTS FROM A MEDICAL POEM
+     A POEM FOR THE MEETING OF THE AMERICAN MEDICAL ASSOCIATION
+     AT NEW YORK, MAY 5, 1853
+     A SENTIMENT
+     RIP VAN WINKLE, M. D.
+
+
+
+
+
+             MEDICAL POEMS
+
+
+
+
+THE MORNING VISIT
+
+A sick man's chamber, though it often boast
+The grateful presence of a literal toast,
+Can hardly claim, amidst its various wealth,
+The right unchallenged to propose a health;
+Yet though its tenant is denied the feast,
+Friendship must launch his sentiment at least,
+As prisoned damsels, locked from lovers' lips,
+Toss them a kiss from off their fingers' tips.
+
+The morning visit,--not till sickness falls
+In the charmed circles of your own safe walls;
+Till fever's throb and pain's relentless rack
+Stretch you all helpless on your aching back;
+Not till you play the patient in your turn,
+The morning visit's mystery shall you learn.
+
+'T is a small matter in your neighbor's case,
+To charge your fee for showing him your face;
+You skip up-stairs, inquire, inspect, and touch,
+Prescribe, take leave, and off to twenty such.
+
+But when at length, by fate's transferred decree,
+The visitor becomes the visitee,
+Oh, then, indeed, it pulls another string;
+Your ox is gored, and that's a different thing!
+Your friend is sick: phlegmatic as a Turk,
+You write your recipe and let it work;
+Not yours to stand the shiver and the frown,
+And sometimes worse, with which your draught goes down.
+Calm as a clock your knowing hand directs,
+/Rhei, jalapae ana grana sex/,
+Or traces on some tender missive's back,
+/Scrupulos duos pulveris ipecac/;
+And leaves your patient to his qualms and gripes,
+Cool as a sportsman banging at his snipes.
+But change the time, the person, and the place,
+And be yourself "the interesting case,"
+You'll gain some knowledge which it's well to learn;
+In future practice it may serve your turn.
+Leeches, for instance,--pleasing creatures quite;
+Try them,--and bless you,--don't you find they bite?
+You raise a blister for the smallest cause,
+But be yourself the sitter whom it draws,
+And trust my statement, you will not deny
+The worst of draughtsmen is your Spanish fly!
+It's mighty easy ordering when you please,
+/Infusi sennae capiat uncias tres/;
+It's mighty different when you quackle down
+Your own three ounces of the liquid brown.
+/Pilula, pulvis/,--pleasant words enough,
+When other throats receive the shocking stuff;
+But oh, what flattery can disguise the groan
+That meets the gulp which sends it through your own!
+Be gentle, then, though Art's unsparing rules
+Give you the handling of her sharpest tools;
+Use them not rashly,--sickness is enough;
+Be always "ready," but be never "rough."
+
+Of all the ills that suffering man endures,
+The largest fraction liberal Nature cures;
+Of those remaining, 't is the smallest part
+Yields to the efforts of judicious Art;
+But simple _Kindness_, kneeling by the bed
+To shift the pillow for the sick man's head,
+Give the fresh draught to cool the lips that burn,
+Fan the hot brow, the weary frame to turn,--
+Kindness, untutored by our grave M. D.'s,
+But Nature's graduate, when she schools to please,
+Wins back more sufferers with her voice and smile
+Than all the trumpery in the druggist's pile.
+
+Once more, be quiet: coming up the stair,
+Don't be a plantigrade, a human bear,
+But, stealing softly on the silent toe,
+Reach the sick chamber ere you're heard below.
+Whatever changes there may greet your eyes,
+Let not your looks proclaim the least surprise;
+It's not your business by your face to show
+All that your patient does not want to know;
+Nay, use your optics with considerate care,
+And don't abuse your privilege to stare.
+But if your eyes may probe him overmuch,
+Beware still further how you rudely touch;
+Don't clutch his carpus in your icy fist,
+But warm your fingers ere you take the wrist.
+If the poor victim needs must be percussed,
+Don't make an anvil of his aching bust;
+(Doctors exist within a hundred miles
+Who thump a thorax as they'd hammer piles;)
+If you must listen to his doubtful chest,
+Catch the essentials, and ignore the rest.
+Spare him; the sufferer wants of you and art
+A track to steer by, not a finished chart.
+So of your questions: don't in mercy try
+To pump your patient absolutely dry;
+He's not a mollusk squirming in a dish,
+You're not Agassiz; and he's not a fish.
+
+And last, not least, in each perplexing case,
+Learn the sweet magic of a cheerful face;
+Not always smiling, but at least serene,
+When grief and anguish cloud the anxious scene.
+Each look, each movement, every word and tone,
+Should tell your patient you are all his own;
+Not the mere artist, purchased to attend,
+But the warm, ready, self-forgetting friend,
+Whose genial visit in itself combines
+The best of cordials, tonics, anodynes.
+
+Such is the _visit_ that from day to day
+Sheds o'er my chamber its benignant ray.
+I give his health, who never cared to claim
+Her babbling homage from the tongue of Fame;
+Unmoved by praise, he stands by all confest,
+The truest, noblest, wisest, kindest, best.
+
+1849.
+
+
+
+
+
+THE TWO ARMIES
+
+As Life's unending column pours,
+Two marshalled hosts are seen,--
+Two armies on the trampled shores
+That Death flows black between.
+
+One marches to the drum-beat's roll,
+The wide-mouthed clarion's bray,
+And bears upon a crimson scroll,
+"Our glory is to slay."
+
+One moves in silence by the stream,
+With sad, yet watchful eyes,
+Calm as the patient planet's gleam
+That walks the clouded skies.
+
+Along its front no sabres shine,
+No blood-red pennons wave;
+Its banner bears the single line,
+"Our duty is to save."
+
+For those no death-bed's lingering shade;
+At Honor's trumpet-call,
+With knitted brow and lifted blade
+In Glory's arms they fall.
+
+For these no clashing falchions bright,
+No stirring battle-cry;
+The bloodless stabber calls by night,--
+Each answers, "Here am I!"
+
+For those the sculptor's laurelled bust,
+The builder's marble piles,
+The anthems pealing o'er their dust
+Through long cathedral aisles.
+
+For these the blossom-sprinkled turf
+That floods the lonely graves
+When Spring rolls in her sea-green surf
+In flowery-foaming waves.
+
+Two paths lead upward from below,
+And angels wait above,
+Who count each burning life-drop's flow,
+Each falling tear of Love.
+
+Though from the Hero's bleeding breast
+Her pulses Freedom drew,
+Though the white lilies in her crest
+Sprang from that scarlet dew,--
+
+While Valor's haughty champions wait
+Till all their scars are shown,
+Love walks unchallenged through the gate,
+To sit beside the Throne
+
+
+
+
+
+THE STETHOSCOPE SONG
+
+A PROFESSIONAL BALLAD
+
+THERE was a young man in Boston town,
+He bought him a stethoscope nice and new,
+All mounted and finished and polished down,
+With an ivory cap and a stopper too.
+
+It happened a spider within did crawl,
+And spun him a web of ample size,
+Wherein there chanced one day to fall
+A couple of very imprudent flies.
+
+The first was a bottle-fly, big and blue,
+The second was smaller, and thin and long;
+So there was a concert between the two,
+Like an octave flute and a tavern gong.
+
+Now being from Paris but recently,
+This fine young man would show his skill;
+And so they gave him, his hand to try,
+A hospital patient extremely ill.
+
+Some said that his liver was short of bile,
+And some that his heart was over size,
+While some kept arguing, all the while,
+He was crammed with tubercles up to his eyes.
+
+This fine young man then up stepped he,
+And all the doctors made a pause;
+Said he, The man must die, you see,
+By the fifty-seventh of Louis's laws.
+
+But since the case is a desperate one,
+To explore his chest it may be well;
+For if he should die and it were not done,
+You know the autopsy would not tell.
+
+Then out his stethoscope he took,
+And on it placed his curious ear;
+Mon Dieu! said he, with a knowing look,
+Why, here is a sound that 's mighty queer
+
+The bourdonnement is very clear,--
+Amphoric buzzing, as I'm alive
+Five doctors took their turn to hear;
+Amphoric buzzing, said all the five.
+
+There's empyema beyond a doubt;
+We'll plunge a trocar in his side.
+The diagnosis was made out,--
+They tapped the patient; so he died.
+
+Now such as hate new-fashioned toys
+Began to look extremely glum;
+They said that rattles were made for boys,
+And vowed that his buzzing was all a hum.
+
+There was an old lady had long been sick,
+And what was the matter none did know
+Her pulse was slow, though her tongue was quick;
+To her this knowing youth must go.
+
+So there the nice old lady sat,
+With phials and boxes all in a row;
+She asked the young doctor what he was at,
+To thump her and tumble her ruffles so.
+
+Now, when the stethoscope came out,
+The flies began to buzz and whiz
+Oh ho I the matter is clear, no doubt;
+An aneurism there plainly is.
+
+The bruit de rape and the bruit de scie
+And the bruit de diable are all combined;
+How happy Bouillaud would be,
+If he a case like this could find!
+
+Now, when the neighboring doctors found
+A case so rare had been descried,
+They every day her ribs did pound
+In squads of twenty; so she died.
+
+Then six young damsels, slight and frail,
+Received this kind young doctor's cares;
+They all were getting slim and pale,
+And short of breath on mounting stairs.
+
+They all made rhymes with "sighs" and "skies,"
+And loathed their puddings and buttered rolls,
+And dieted, much to their friends' surprise,
+On pickles and pencils and chalk and coals.
+
+So fast their little hearts did bound,
+The frightened insects buzzed the more;
+So over all their chests he found
+The rale sifflant and the rale sonore.
+
+He shook his head. There's grave disease,--
+I greatly fear you all must die;
+A slight post-mortem, if you please,
+Surviving friends would gratify.
+
+The six young damsels wept aloud,
+Which so prevailed on six young men
+That each his honest love avowed,
+Whereat they all got well again.
+
+This poor young man was all aghast;
+The price of stethoscopes came down;
+And so he was reduced at last
+To practise in a country town.
+
+The doctors being very sore,
+A stethoscope they did devise
+That had a rammer to clear the bore,
+With a knob at the end to kill the flies.
+
+Now use your ears, all you that can,
+But don't forget to mind your eyes,
+Or you may be cheated, like this young man,
+By a couple of silly, abnormal flies.
+
+
+
+
+
+EXTRACTS FROM A MEDICAL POEM
+
+THE STABILITY OF SCIENCE
+
+THE feeble sea-birds, blinded in the storms,
+On some tall lighthouse dash their little forms,
+And the rude granite scatters for their pains
+Those small deposits that were meant for brains.
+Yet the proud fabric in the morning's sun
+Stands all unconscious of the mischief done;
+Still the red beacon pours its evening rays
+For the lost pilot with as full a blaze,--
+Nay, shines, all radiance, o'er the scattered fleet
+Of gulls and boobies brainless at its feet.
+
+I tell their fate, though courtesy disclaims
+To call our kind by such ungentle names;
+Yet, if your rashness bid you vainly dare,
+Think of their doom, ye simple, and beware
+
+See where aloft its hoary forehead rears
+The towering pride of twice a thousand years!
+Far, far below the vast incumbent pile
+Sleeps the gray rock from art's AEgean isle
+Its massive courses, circling as they rise,
+Swell from the waves to mingle with the skies;
+There every quarry lends its marble spoil,
+And clustering ages blend their common toil;
+The Greek, the Roman, reared its ancient walls,
+The silent Arab arched its mystic halls;
+In that fair niche, by countless billows laved,
+Trace the deep lines that Sydenham engraved;
+On yon broad front that breasts the changing swell,
+Mark where the ponderous sledge of Hunter fell;
+By that square buttress look where Louis stands,
+The stone yet warm from his uplifted hands;
+And say, O Science, shall thy life-blood freeze,
+When fluttering folly flaps on walls like these?
+
+
+A PORTRAIT
+
+Thoughtful in youth, but not austere in age;
+Calm, but not cold, and cheerful though a sage;
+Too true to flatter and too kind to sneer,
+And only just when seemingly severe;
+So gently blending courtesy and art
+That wisdom's lips seemed borrowing friendship's heart.
+
+Taught by the sorrows that his age had known
+In others' trials to forget his own,
+As hour by hour his lengthened day declined,
+A sweeter radiance lingered o'er his mind.
+Cold were the lips that spoke his early praise,
+And hushed the voices of his morning days,
+Yet the same accents dwelt on every tongue,
+And love renewing kept him ever young.
+
+
+A SENTIMENT
+/O Bios Bpaxus/,--life is but a song;
+/H rexvn uakpn/,--art is wondrous long;
+Yet to the wise her paths are ever fair,
+And Patience smiles, though Genius may despair.
+Give us but knowledge, though by slow degrees,
+And blend our toil with moments bright as these;
+Let Friendship's accents cheer our doubtful way,
+And Love's pure planet lend its guiding ray,--
+Our tardy Art shall wear an angel's wings,
+And life shall lengthen with the joy it brings I
+
+
+
+
+
+A POEM
+
+FOR THE MEETING OF THE AMERICAN MEDICAL ASSOCIATION
+AT NEW YORK, MAY 5, 1853
+
+I HOLD a letter in my hand,--
+A flattering letter, more's the pity,--
+By some contriving junto planned,
+And signed _per order of Committee_.
+It touches every tenderest spot,--
+My patriotic predilections,
+My well-known-something-don't ask what,--
+My poor old songs, my kind affections.
+
+They make a feast on Thursday next,
+And hope to make the feasters merry;
+They own they're something more perplexed
+For poets than for port and sherry.
+They want the men of--(word torn out);
+Our friends will come with anxious faces,
+(To see our blankets off, no doubt,
+And trot us out and show our paces.)
+
+They hint that papers by the score
+Are rather musty kind of rations,--
+They don't exactly mean a bore,
+But only trying to the patience;
+That such as--you know who I mean--
+Distinguished for their--what d' ye call 'em--
+Should bring the dews of Hippocrene
+To sprinkle on the faces solemn.
+
+--The same old story: that's the chaff
+To catch the birds that sing the ditties;
+Upon my soul, it makes me laugh
+To read these letters from Committees!
+They're all so loving and so fair,--
+All for your sake such kind compunction;
+'T would save your carriage half its wear
+To touch its wheels with such an unction!
+
+Why, who am I, to lift me here
+And beg such learned folk to listen,
+To ask a smile, or coax a tear
+Beneath these stoic lids to glisten?
+As well might some arterial thread
+Ask the whole frame to feel it gushing,
+While throbbing fierce from heel to head
+The vast aortic tide was rushing.
+
+As well some hair-like nerve might strain
+To set its special streamlet going,
+While through the myriad-channelled brain
+The burning flood of thought was flowing;
+Or trembling fibre strive to keep
+The springing haunches gathered shorter,
+While the scourged racer, leap on leap,
+Was stretching through the last hot quarter!
+
+Ah me! you take the bud that came
+Self-sown in your poor garden's borders,
+And hand it to the stately dame
+That florists breed for, all she orders.
+She thanks you,--it was kindly meant,--
+(A pale afair, not worth the keeping,)--
+Good morning; and your bud is sent
+To join the tea-leaves used for sweeping.
+
+Not always so, kind hearts and true,--
+For such I know are round me beating;
+Is not the bud I offer you,
+Fresh gathered for the hour of meeting,
+Pale though its outer leaves may be,
+Rose-red in all its inner petals?--
+Where the warm life we cannot see--
+The life of love that gave it--settles.
+
+
+We meet from regions far away,
+Like rills from distant mountains streaming;
+The sun is on Francisco's bay,
+O'er Chesapeake the lighthouse gleaming;
+While summer girds the still bayou
+In chains of bloom, her bridal token,
+Monadnock sees the sky grow blue,
+His crystal bracelet yet unbroken.
+
+Yet Nature bears the selfsame heart
+Beneath her russet-mantled bosom
+As where, with burning lips apart,
+She breathes and white magnolias blossom;
+The selfsame founts her chalice fill
+With showery sunlight running over,
+On fiery plain and frozen hill,
+On myrtle-beds and fields of clover.
+
+I give you Home! its crossing lines
+United in one golden suture,
+And showing every day that shines
+The present growing to the future,--
+A flag that bears a hundred stars
+In one bright ring, with love for centre,
+Fenced round with white and crimson bars
+No prowling treason dares to enter!
+
+O brothers, home may be a word
+To make affection's living treasure,
+The wave an angel might have stirred,
+A stagnant pool of selfish pleasure;
+HOME! It is where the day-star springs
+And where the evening sun reposes,
+Where'er the eagle spreads his wings,
+From northern pines to southern roses!
+
+
+
+
+
+A SENTIMENT
+
+A TRIPLE health to Friendship, Science, Art,
+From heads and hands that own a common heart!
+Each in its turn the others' willing slave,
+Each in its season strong to heal and save.
+
+Friendship's blind service, in the hour of need,
+Wipes the pale face, and lets the victim bleed.
+Science must stop to reason and explain;
+ART claps his finger on the streaming vein.
+
+But Art's brief memory fails the hand at last;
+Then SCIENCE lifts the flambeau of the past.
+When both their equal impotence deplore,
+When Learning sighs, and Skill can do no more,
+The tear of FRIENDSHIP pours its heavenly balm,
+And soothes the pang no anodyne may calm
+May 1, 1855.
+
+
+
+
+
+RIP VAN WINKLE, M. D.
+
+AN AFTER-DINNER PRESCRIPTION TAKEN BY THE MASSACHUSETTS
+MEDICAL SOCIETY, AT THEIR MEETING HELD MAY 25, 1870
+
+
+CANTO FIRST
+
+OLD Rip Van Winkle had a grandson, Rip,
+Of the paternal block a genuine chip,--
+A lazy, sleepy, curious kind of chap;
+He, like his grandsire, took a mighty nap,
+Whereof the story I propose to tell
+In two brief cantos, if you listen well.
+
+The times were hard when Rip to manhood grew;
+They always will be when there's work to do.
+He tried at farming,--found it rather slow,--
+And then at teaching--what he did n't know;
+Then took to hanging round the tavern bars,
+To frequent toddies and long-nine cigars,
+Till Dame Van Winkle, out of patience, vexed
+With preaching homilies, having for their text
+A mop, a broomstick, aught that might avail
+To point a moral or adorn a tale,
+Exclaimed, "I have it! Now, then, Mr. V.
+He's good for something,--make him an M. D.!"
+
+The die was cast; the youngster was content;
+They packed his shirts and stockings, and he went.
+How hard he studied it were vain to tell;
+He drowsed through Wistar, nodded over Bell,
+Slept sound with Cooper, snored aloud on Good;
+Heard heaps of lectures,--doubtless understood,--
+A constant listener, for he did not fail
+To carve his name on every bench and rail.
+
+Months grew to years; at last he counted three,
+And Rip Van Winkle found himself M. D.
+Illustrious title! in a gilded frame
+He set the sheepskin with his Latin name,
+RIPUM VAN WINKLUM, QUEM we--SCIMUS--know
+IDONEUM ESSE--to do so and so.
+He hired an office; soon its walls displayed
+His new diploma and his stock in trade,
+A mighty arsenal to subdue disease,
+Of various names, whereof I mention these
+Lancets and bougies, great and little squirt,
+Rhubarb and Senna, Snakeroot, Thoroughwort,
+Ant. Tart., Vin. Colch., Pil. Cochiae, and Black Drop,
+Tinctures of Opium, Gentian, Henbane, Hop,
+Pulv. Ipecacuanhae, which for lack
+Of breath to utter men call Ipecac,
+Camphor and Kino, Turpentine, Tolu,
+Cubebs, "Copeevy," Vitriol,--white and blue,--
+Fennel and Flaxseed, Slippery Elm and Squill,
+And roots of Sassafras, and "Sassaf'rill,"
+Brandy,--for colics,--Pinkroot, death on worms,--
+Valerian, calmer of hysteric squirms,
+Musk, Assafoetida, the resinous gum
+Named from its odor,--well, it does smell some,--
+Jalap, that works not wisely, but too well,
+Ten pounds of Bark and six of Calomel.
+
+For outward griefs he had an ample store,
+Some twenty jars and gallipots, or more:
+/Ceratum simplex/--housewives oft compile
+The same at home, and call it "wax and ile;"
+/Unguentum resinosum/--change its name,
+The "drawing salve" of many an ancient dame;
+/Argenti Nitras/, also Spanish flies,
+Whose virtue makes the water-bladders rise--
+(Some say that spread upon a toper's skin
+They draw no water, only rum or gin);
+Leeches, sweet vermin! don't they charm the sick?
+And Sticking-plaster--how it hates to stick
+/Emplastrum Ferri/--ditto /Picis/, Pitch;
+Washes and Powders, Brimstone for the--which,
+/Scabies/ or /Psora/, is thy chosen name
+Since Hahnemann's goose-quill scratched thee into fame,
+Proved thee the source of every nameless ill,
+Whose sole specific is a moonshine pill,
+Till saucy Science, with a quiet grin,
+Held up the Acarus, crawling on a pin?
+--Mountains have labored and have brought forth mice
+The Dutchman's theory hatched a brood of--twice
+I've well-nigh said them--words unfitting quite
+For these fair precincts and for ears polite.
+
+The surest foot may chance at last to slip,
+And so at length it proved with Doctor Rip.
+One full-sized bottle stood upon the shelf,
+Which held the medicine that he took himself;
+Whate'er the reason, it must be confessed
+He filled that bottle oftener than the rest;
+What drug it held I don't presume to know--
+The gilded label said "Elixir Pro."
+
+One day the Doctor found the bottle full,
+And, being thirsty, took a vigorous pull,
+Put back the "Elixir" where 't was always found,
+And had old Dobbin saddled and brought round.
+--You know those old-time rhubarb-colored nags
+That carried Doctors and their saddle-bags;
+Sagacious beasts! they stopped at every place
+Where blinds were shut--knew every patient's case--
+Looked up and thought--The baby's in a fit--
+That won't last long--he'll soon be through with it;
+But shook their heads before the knockered door
+Where some old lady told the story o'er
+Whose endless stream of tribulation flows
+For gastric griefs and peristaltic woes.
+
+What jack-o'-lantern led him from his way,
+And where it led him, it were hard to say;
+Enough that wandering many a weary mile
+Through paths the mountain sheep trod single file,
+O'ercome by feelings such as patients know
+Who dose too freely with "Elixir Pro.,"
+He tumbl--dismounted, slightly in a heap,
+And lay, promiscuous, lapped in balmy sleep.
+
+Night followed night, and day succeeded day,
+But snoring still the slumbering Doctor lay.
+Poor Dobbin, starving, thought upon his stall,
+And straggled homeward, saddle-bags and all.
+The village people hunted all around,
+But Rip was missing,--never could be found.
+"Drownded," they guessed;--for more than half a year
+The pouts and eels did taste uncommon queer;
+Some said of apple-brandy--other some
+Found a strong flavor of New England rum.
+
+Why can't a fellow hear the fine things said
+About a fellow when a fellow's dead?
+The best of doctors--so the press declared--
+A public blessing while his life was spared,
+True to his country, bounteous to the poor,
+In all things temperate, sober, just, and pure;
+The best of husbands! echoed Mrs. Van,
+And set her cap to catch another man.
+
+So ends this Canto--if it's quantum suff.,
+We'll just stop here and say we've had enough,
+And leave poor Rip to sleep for thirty years;
+I grind the organ--if you lend your ears
+To hear my second Canto, after that
+We 'll send around the monkey with the hat.
+
+
+CANTO SECOND
+
+So thirty years had passed--but not a word
+In all that time of Rip was ever heard;
+The world wagged on--it never does go back--
+The widow Van was now the widow Mac----
+France was an Empire--Andrew J. was dead,
+And Abraham L. was reigning in his stead.
+Four murderous years had passed in savage strife,
+Yet still the rebel held his bloody knife.
+
+--At last one morning--who forgets the day
+When the black cloud of war dissolved away
+The joyous tidings spread o'er land and sea,
+Rebellion done for! Grant has captured Lee!
+Up every flagstaff sprang the Stars and Stripes--
+Out rushed the Extras wild with mammoth types--
+Down went the laborer's hod, the school-boy's book--
+"Hooraw!" he cried, "the rebel army's took!"
+Ah! what a time! the folks all mad with joy
+Each fond, pale mother thinking of her boy;
+Old gray-haired fathers meeting--"Have--you--heard?"
+And then a choke--and not another word;
+Sisters all smiling--maidens, not less dear,
+In trembling poise between a smile and tear;
+Poor Bridget thinking how she 'll stuff the plums
+In that big cake for Johnny when he comes;
+Cripples afoot; rheumatics on the jump;
+Old girls so loving they could hug the pump;
+Guns going bang! from every fort and ship;
+They banged so loud at last they wakened Rip.
+
+I spare the picture, how a man appears
+Who's been asleep a score or two of years;
+You all have seen it to perfection done
+By Joe Van Wink--I mean Rip Jefferson.
+Well, so it was; old Rip at last came back,
+Claimed his old wife--the present widow Mac----
+Had his old sign regilded, and began
+To practise physic on the same old plan.
+Some weeks went by--it was not long to wait--
+And "please to call" grew frequent on the slate.
+He had, in fact, an ancient, mildewed air,
+A long gray beard, a plenteous lack of hair,--
+The musty look that always recommends
+Your good old Doctor to his ailing friends.
+--Talk of your science! after all is said
+There's nothing like a bare and shiny head;
+Age lends the graces that are sure to please;
+Folks want their Doctors mouldy, like their cheese.
+
+So Rip began to look at people's tongues
+And thump their briskets (called it "sound their lungs"),
+Brushed up his knowledge smartly as he could,
+Read in old Cullen and in Doctor Good.
+The town was healthy; for a month or two
+He gave the sexton little work to do.
+
+About the time when dog-day heats begin,
+The summer's usual maladies set in;
+With autumn evenings dysentery came,
+And dusky typhoid lit his smouldering flame;
+The blacksmith ailed, the carpenter was down,
+And half the children sickened in the town.
+The sexton's face grew shorter than before--
+The sexton's wife a brand-new bonnet wore--
+Things looked quite serious--Death had got a grip
+On old and young, in spite of Doctor Rip.
+
+And now the Squire was taken with a chill--
+Wife gave "hot-drops"--at night an Indian pill;
+Next morning, feverish--bedtime, getting worse--
+Out of his head--began to rave and curse;
+The Doctor sent for--double quick he came
+/Ant. Tart. gran. duo/, and repeat the same
+If no et cetera. Third day--nothing new;
+Percussed his thorax till 't was black and blue--
+Lung-fever threatening--something of the sort--
+Out with the lancet--let him bleed--a quart--
+Ten leeches next--then blisters to his side;
+Ten grains of calomel; just then he died.
+
+The Deacon next required the Doctor's care--
+Took cold by sitting in a draught of air--
+Pains in the back, but what the matter is
+Not quite so clear,--wife calls it "rheumatiz."
+Rubs back with flannel--gives him something hot--
+"Ah!" says the Deacon, "that goes nigh the spot."
+Next day a rigor--"Run, my little man,
+And say the Deacon sends for Doctor Van."
+The Doctor came--percussion as before,
+Thumping and banging till his ribs were sore--
+"Right side the flattest"--then more vigorous raps--
+"Fever--that's certain--pleurisy, perhaps.
+A quart of blood will ease the pain, no doubt,
+Ten leeches next will help to suck it out,
+Then clap a blister on the painful part--
+But first two grains of /Antimonium Tart/.
+Last with a dose of cleansing calomel
+Unload the portal system--(that sounds well!)"
+
+But when the selfsame remedies were tried,
+As all the village knew, the Squire had died;
+
+The neighbors hinted. "This will never do;
+He's killed the Squire--he'll kill the Deacon too."
+
+Now when a doctor's patients are perplexed,
+A consultation comes in order next--
+You know what that is? In a certain place
+Meet certain doctors to discuss a case
+And other matters, such as weather, crops,
+Potatoes, pumpkins, lager-beer, and hops.
+For what's the use?--there 's little to be said,
+Nine times in ten your man's as good as dead;
+At best a talk (the secret to disclose)
+Where three men guess and sometimes one man knows.
+
+The counsel summoned came without delay--
+Young Doctor Green and shrewd old Doctor Gray--
+They heard the story--"Bleed!" says Doctor Green,
+"That's downright murder! cut his throat, you mean
+Leeches! the reptiles! Why, for pity's sake,
+Not try an adder or a rattlesnake?
+Blisters! Why bless you, they 're against the law--
+It's rank assault and battery if they draw
+Tartrate of Antimony! shade of Luke,
+Stomachs turn pale at thought of such rebuke!
+The portal system! What's the man about?
+Unload your nonsense! Calomel's played out!
+You've been asleep--you'd better sleep away
+Till some one calls you."
+
+"Stop!" says Doctor Gray--
+"The story is you slept for thirty years;
+With brother Green, I own that it appears
+You must have slumbered most amazing sound;
+But sleep once more till thirty years come round,
+You'll find the lancet in its honored place,
+Leeches and blisters rescued from disgrace,
+Your drugs redeemed from fashion's passing scorn,
+And counted safe to give to babes unborn."
+
+Poor sleepy Rip, M. M. S. S., M. D.,
+A puzzled, serious, saddened man was he;
+Home from the Deacon's house he plodded slow
+And filled one bumper of "Elixir Pro."
+"Good-by," he faltered, "Mrs. Van, my dear!
+I'm going to sleep, but wake me once a year;
+I don't like bleaching in the frost and dew,
+I'll take the barn, if all the same to you.
+Just once a year--remember! no mistake!
+Cry, 'Rip Van Winkle! time for you to wake!'
+Watch for the week in May when laylocks blow,
+For then the Doctors meet, and I must go."
+
+Just once a year the Doctor's worthy dame
+Goes to the barn and shouts her husband's name;
+"Come, Rip Van Winkle!" (giving him a shake)
+"Rip! Rip Van Winkle! time for you to wake!
+Laylocks in blossom! 't is the month of May--
+The Doctors' meeting is this blessed day,
+And come what will, you know I heard you swear
+You'd never miss it, but be always there!"
+
+And so it is, as every year comes round
+Old Rip Van Winkle here is always found.
+You'll quickly know him by his mildewed air,
+The hayseed sprinkled through his scanty hair,
+The lichens growing on his rusty suit--
+I've seen a toadstool sprouting on his boot--
+Who says I lie? Does any man presume?--
+Toadstool? No matter--call it a mushroom.
+Where is his seat? He moves it every year;
+But look, you'll find him,--he is always here,--
+Perhaps you'll track him by a whiff you know--
+A certain flavor of "Elixir Pro."
+
+Now, then, I give you--as you seem to think
+We can give toasts without a drop to drink--
+Health to the mighty sleeper,--long live he!
+Our brother Rip, M. M. S. S., M. D.!
+
+
+
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POETRY OF O. W. HOLMES, V3 ***
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