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Poem by Francis Bret Harte North Beach (AFTER SPENSER) Lo! where the castle of bold Pfeiffer throws Its sullen shadow on the rolling tide,— No more the home where joy and wealth repose, But now where wassailers in cells abide; See yon long quay that stretches far and wide, Well known to citizens as wharf of Meiggs: There each sweet Sabbath walks in maiden pride The pensive Margaret, and brave Pat, whose legs Encased in broadcloth oft keep time with Peg's. Here cometh oft the tender nursery-maid, While in her ear her love his tale doth pour; Meantime her infant doth her charge evade, And rambleth sagely on the sandy shore, Till the sly sea-crab, low in ambush laid, Seizeth his leg and biteth him full sore. Ah me! what sounds the shuddering echoes bore When his small treble mixed with Ocean's roar! Hard by there stands an ancient hostelrie, And at its side a garden, where the bear, The stealthy catamount, and coon agree To work deceit on all who gather there; And when Augusta—that unconscious fair— With nuts and apples plieth Bruin free, Lo! the green parrot claweth her back hair, And the gray monkey grabbeth fruits that she On her gay bonnet wears, and laugheth loud in glee! Francis Bret Harte Francis Bret Harte's other poems:
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