The Stewed Samaritan

Within a house of public entertainment
There sat an ebon slave close at the foot
Of a heavy chair topping a broad dais.
The man sat motionless, gazing pensive
At nothingness, yet all the while
He thought of numbers. Thus to sit
And think was, so his master averred,
One of the best things he did.
While he was so benumbed and lost
In fruitless meditation, there came,
Stepping heavily and breathing most loud,
A traveler in gay attire, who chanced to be
At this, the period of our simple tale,
The custodian, guard, manager, executor,
Captain, director and immediate chief
Of a comely and well-developed jag.
With a proprietary and assertive air
He climbed into the seat of honor,
And, with thick utterance, and, be it said,
A slack politeness, bade the Senegambian
Remove from his sandals all trace of stain
Or disfiguration. Promptly the youth obeyed,
And when his task was ended
The generous traveler laid within
The dusky palm a silver quartern,
And, with yammering utterance, asked
The simple child of Afric' far transported
To lead him to the barber's velvet seat.
Lying at ease within the odored room,
He slept in peace the while he yet received
Kindly caresses and vapory ablution.
Roused and sent forth, he viewed,
As he stepped high to pass the threshold,
The ebon youth once more contemplative
And talking to himself. " What ho! "
The liquorish pilgrim cried, " What ho!
Attend upon me! Help me to the chair! "
With mercenary speed the youth obeyed;
With honeyed words he answered all the taunts
And alcoholic cracks. Again he cleansed
The scandals, which, ere he began a second time
To cleanse, shone bright as any cuirass.
With simulated humbleness he bowed
As he received once more a silver piece;
Then, with a gentleness which well
Bespoke a tender and a helpful disposition,
He led the traveler back into the shop
And spread him on a chair.
" A shave!" huskily cried the stranger,
Then lapsed he into deep forgetfulness,
Until they shook him rudely and collected.
Now once again behold the jag-ged man,
Pallid with powder, reeking with hammamelis,
Seeking, circuitously and with serpentine
Meanderings to find the door leading to the place
Where he could have his sandals cleaned.
" Thrice welcome! " cried the ebon youth, merrily,
Boosting him, meanwhile, to the throne.
What visions filled th' Ethiopian's brain
Of pork chops, chicken, carmine neckwear
And the blood raw! With dreamy eyes
The pilgrim gazed upon the busy slave and tried,
With uncertain effort, to recall where
Or when he had seen that face before.
Thus dimly balmed in thought, he
Closed his eyes and soon thereafter drooped
And rolled most calmly to the floor below.
Now see him, under the brawny arm
Of the Celt, attending as house policeman,
Carried to where the wind blows free;
And the ebon youth, sad and regretful,
Philosophizing among the dead embers of hope,
Recalling that in this vale of disappointment
A good thing comes and seems inclined to stay
'Till Fate shows up and chases it away.