Classic Poem

Within this school a table once there stood —
It was not iron — No! 'twas rotten wood.
Four generations it on earth had seen —
A ship's old planks composed the huge machine.
Perhaps that ship in which Columbus hurl'd
Saw other stars rise on another world, —
Or that which bore, along the dark profound,
From pole to pole, the valiant Drake around. —
Tho' miracles were said long since to cease,
Three weeks — thrice seven long days — it stood in peace;
Upon the fourth, a warm debate arose,
Managed by words, and more emphatic blows;
The routed party to the table fled,
Which seemed to offer a defensive shade.
Thus, in the town, I 've seen, when rains descend,
When arched porticoes their shades extend,
Papists and gifted Quakers, Tories, Whigs,
Forget their feuds, and join to save their wigs —
Men born in India, men in Europe bred,
Commence acquaintance in a mason's shed.
Thus they ensconc'd beneath the table lay, —
With shouts the victors rush upon the prey, —
Attack'd the rampart where they shelter took.
With firing battered, and with engines shook,
It fell. The mighty ruins strew the ground.
It fell! The mountains tremble at the sound.
But to what end (say you) this trifling tale?
To tell you man as well as wood is frail;
Haste then since life can little more supply,
" Than just to look about us and to die. "