Poems (Freston)/A Conversation Heard in Hades

by Elizabeth Heléne Freston

A CONVERSATION HEARD IN HADES

DURING THE SPANISH-AMERICAN WAR

There's a very sultry country
That some scholar has named Hades,—
Why or wherefore I am frank enough
 To own I cannot tell,
Perhaps 'twas the objections
That were raised by all the ladies
To the more prosaic, less refined
 And stronger name of—Well,

I'd rather not pronounce it
But you all know its location,
And many are acquainted
 With the ruler of the same,
And you doubtless have learned something
Of the gentleman's vocation,
But for that much-needed knowledge,
 You are surely not to blame.

Well, some time ago his fireman,
Wanting to get more directions
About the sifted cinders that
 He wished to send to Spain,
Found him seated in his red room
Reading from a mighty volume,—
Then a conversation followed
 That expressed his grief and pain.

"Sire, the cinders wait your orders,
And most surely does Spain need them,
She has found that ships cannot be sailed
 By boasts and empty breath.
And if something is not shortly done
Your most obedient children
Will meet those horrid Yankees,
 And be quickly put to death."

"Yes," sighed Satan, "I must help them,
For Americans displease me!
They're a stubborn lot of fellows
 And not subject to my will,
And I fear my dear and cherished Spain
Is really in great danger,
For the Yankee guns are aiming,
 And they always shoot to kill.

To have that land wiped off the map
That knew so well to torture,
The land of trickery and pride,
 That always has been mine,
Where helpless babes and women,
Were driven to the slaughter;
Where they always practiced pleasantries,
 Directly in my line.

So, you see, I'm reading Spanish,
So that when the Dons assemble
Round my peaceful little fireside,
 My tones will be less gruff;
I've been reading German lately
And their grunts and groans and gutterals
Tax the vocal cords so greatly
 That I fear my voice is rough.

But learn Spanish friend, learn Spanish!
'Tis the language of the future,—
Here at least, although some people say
 'Twill soon die out above,
Ah!" he groaned in mental anguish,
"To lose so fair a country,
That bred the Inquisition,
 In the name of God and Love.

So give them all the aid we can,
They certainly have earned it,
And the warmest place we'll keep for Spain,
 When Yankees send her here."
And he heaved a sulphurous sigh again
And turned back to his reading,
While the listning sprite flew upward,
 For a breath of freshed air.