Robert Kirkland Kernighan

(25 April 1854 – 3 November 1926 / Ontario)

The Shantyman's Fate. - Poem by Robert Kirkland Kernighan

He came out of the woods when the spring-time came,

And all of his pockets were filled with lucre ;
And he left the pancake meals behind,

And the noisy evening games of euchre ;
And he struck for the town on the southern shore,

For his winter's work was over and ended ;
With thoughts of sport he was bubbling o'er,

And his dreams of the future were wide and splendid,

A ready-made suit of a gorgeous tint,

He placed on his muscular limbs of iron ;
When he donned a plug with a glossy glint

(The merchant said that he looked like Byron.)
They barbered him up to her Majesty's taste :

He pinned on his bosom a couple of roses ;
And now, like a lord, he is hailing a hack,

And soon on its cushions he graceful reposes.

Alas and alack ! for his nice plug hat,

Was drunk as an owl at about half-past two !
His roses, ah me ! were blind as a bat,

As the shadows of evening downward drew ;
His necktie was blazing just under his ear ;

His nice havana had burnt his coat,
His collar was limp and all damp with beer,

And the tout ensemble was full as a goat.

At midnight I saw him stretched out in the pen :
His mouth was open, his eyes were shut ;



230 THE KHAN'S CANTICLES.

When the sergeant asked him the why and the when,
He rolled himself over and said, ' Tut tut!'

In vain they examined his clothes for dust :
His pockets they searched in vain for lucre ;

He 'd better go back to the northern crust,

And stay with the pancakes, planks and euchre.


Comments about The Shantyman's Fate. by Robert Kirkland Kernighan

There is no comment submitted by members..



Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?



Poem Submitted: Friday, May 18, 2012



[Report Error]