Poems (Eaton)/Valedictory to a Cooking Stove
VALEDICTORY.
ON PARTING WITH AN OLD COOK-STOVE.
WELL, thou and I must part, my trusty friend—"The powers that be," desirous of a change,Have ordered it, and we must bow our headsTo the stern mandate, and prepare to obey.Stand up before me—let me wash the rustOff thy neglected phiz, that thou mayest goTo thy new service cleaned and brightly shining,A certain token of good housewifery—Or else, in this fault-finding, slanderous world,Some tongue may say, (well pleased to find a cause,)"Stove soiled like this must come from careless hand,"And thus dishonor both thyself and me. And while I thus, for the last time, bestowThis oft-repeated favor, let's look backUpon the many years, whose joys and woes,And various changes, thou and I have borneIn fellowship. A faithful friend thou wert,And ever ready to assistance giveWhen I most needed help—refusing neverTo bake, to boil or fry, when called uponFor any of these duties—nay, in thatMost bustling, most important of all times,The preparation-day for company,Thy willingness did manifest itself. And if success crowned our united efforts,In shape of well-baked pies, light bread and cake,Thy black and shining visage glowed with pleasure,And e'en my face relaxed into a smile. And when unwelcome visitors did stopBefore our door, and caught us unprepared,Thine was the ear (since thou couldst tell no tales,)That listened to my scolding and complaints—And thine too was the ready sympathyTo aid me in my trouble, not regardingThe frown, or blow, or banging of the doors,With which my spite did vent itself on thee. Well-traveled art thou, it must be confessed,And something knowest of the world—or elseThy privileges have been much abused;For thou and I have been true yoke-fellowsIn many different towns and villages,And wheresoever we have pitched our tent,Thy cheerful blaze has helped to make it home.And last, though not the least of all thy favors,In these days of aspiring geniuses,When servants must be leaders, well obeyed,And former masters wear the yoke of bondage,Thou never hast rebelled—but wond'rous fact,Myself have been the mistress—thou the slave! Well, go thy ways, old friend—and worldling-likeI shall forget thy services, perchance,And join the cry, "new measures and reform." Thus showing the unsatisfied desiresOf all the human—race and how we strive,And wear our very lives away in strivingFor something far beyond what now we hold—And sometimes, not unlike the fabled dog,In vainly trying to attain the shadow,We lose and ne'er regain the precious substance.