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"Three wise men of Gotham

Went to sea in a bowl:

If the bowl had been stronger,

My song had been longer."

Mysteriously suggestive! A vague hint,

Yet a rare touch of most effective art,

That of the bowl, and all the voyagers in't,

Tells nothing, save the fact that they did

start.

There ending suddenly, with subtle craft,

The story stands—as 'twere a broken

shafts—'

More eloquent in mute signification,

Than lengthened detail, or precise relation.

So perfect in its very non-achieving,

That, of a truth, I cannot help believing

A rash attempt at paraphrasing it

May prove a blunder, rather than a hit.

Still, I must wish the venerable soul

Had been explicit as regards the bowl

Was it, perhaps, a railroad speculation?

Or a big ship to carry all creation,

That, by some kink of its machinery,

Failed, in the end, to carry even three?

Or other fond, erroneous calculation

Of splendid schemes that died disastrously?

It must have been of Gotham manufacture;

Though strangely weak, and liable to frac-

ture.

Yet—pause a moment—strangely, did I

say?

Scarcely, since, after all, it was but clay;—

The stuff Hope takes to build her brittle

boat,

And therein sets the wisest men afloat.

Truly, a bark would need be somewhat

stronger,

To make the halting history much longer.

Doubtless, the good Dame did but gener-

alize,—

Took a broad glance at human enterprise,

And earthly expectation, and so drew,

In pithy lines, a parable most true,—

Kindly to warn us ere we sail away,

With life's great venture, in an ark of

clay,

Where shivered fragments all around be-

token,

How even the "golden bowl" at last lies

broken!