Black Beetles in Amber. Ambrose Bierce

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Black Beetles in Amber - Ambrose Bierce

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A delusion that mariners cherished—

       That the fragrance loading the conscious gale

       Was the ghost of a rose long perished.

       I said, "I will fly from this island of woes."

       And acting on that decision,

       By that odor of rose I was led by the nose,

       For 'twas truly, ah! truly, Elysian.

       I ran, in my madness, to seek out the source

       Of the redolent river—directed

       By some supernatural, sinister force

       To a forest, dark, haunted, infected.

       And still as I threaded ('twas all in the dream

       That I dreamed I was dreaming) each turning

       There were many a scream and a sudden gleam

       Of eyes all uncannily burning!

       The leaves were all wet with a horrible dew

       That mirrored the red moon's crescent,

       And all shapes were fringed with a ghostly blue,

       Dim, wavering, phosphorescent.

       But the fragrance divine, coming strong and free,

       Led me on, though my blood was clotting,

       Till—ah, joy!—I could see, on the limbs of a tree,

       Mine enemies hanging and rotting!

       Table of Contents

      Lord, shed thy light upon his desert path,

       And gild his branded brow, that no man spill

       His forfeit life to balk thy holy will

       That spares him for the ripening of wrath.

       Already, lo! the red sign is descried,

       To trembling jurors visibly revealed:

       The prison doors obediently yield,

       The baffled hangman flings the cord aside.

       Powell, the brother's blood that marks your trail—

       Hark, how it cries against you from the ground,

       Like the far baying of the tireless hound.

       Faith! to your ear it is no nightingale.

       What signifies the date upon a stone?

       To-morrow you shall die if not to-day.

       What matter when the Avenger choose to slay

       Or soon or late the Devil gets his own.

       Thenceforth through all eternity you'll hold

       No one advantage of the later death.

       Though you had granted Ralph another breath

       Would he to-day less silent lie and cold? Earth cares not, curst assassin, when you die; You never will be readier than now. Wear, in God's name, that mark upon your brow, And keep the life you purchased with a lie!

       Table of Contents

      Death-poet Pickering sat at his desk,

       Wrapped in appropriate gloom;

       His posture was pensive and picturesque,

       Like a raven charming a tomb.

       Enter a party a-drinking the cup

       Of sorrow—and likewise of woe:

       "Some harrowing poetry, Mister, whack up,

       All wrote in the key of O.

       "For the angels has called my old woman hence

       From the strife (where she fit mighty free).

       It's a nickel a line? Cond—n the expense!

       For wealth is now little to me."

       The Bard of Mortality looked him through

       In the piercingest sort of a way:

       "It is much to me though it's little to you—

       I've taken a wife to-day." So he twisted the tail of his mental cow And made her give down her flow. The grief of that bard was long-winded, somehow— There was reams and reamses of woe. The widower man which had buried his wife Grew lily-like round each gill, For she turned in her grave and came back to life— Then he cruel ignored the bill! Then Sorrow she opened her gates a-wide, As likewise did also Woe, And the death-poet's song, as is heard inside, Is sang in the key of O.

       Table of Contents

      Boruck and Waterman upon their grills

       In Hades lay, with many a sigh and groan,

       Hotly disputing, for each swore his own

       Were clearly keener than the other's ills.

       And, truly, each had much to boast of—bone

       And sinew, muscle, tallow, nerve and skin,

       Blood in the vein and marrow in the shin,

       Teeth, eyes and other organs (for the soul

       Has all of these and even a wagging chin)

       Blazing and coruscating like a coal!

       For Lower Sacramento, you remember,

       Has trying weather, even in mid-December.

       Now this occurred in the far future. All

       Mankind had been a million ages dead,

       And each to her reward above had sped,

       Each to his punishment below—I call

      

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