Petition From A Lazeretto

Sir,

From the Lazaretto's lofty cells,
Where Freedom comes not, but where Hunger dwells,
Where floors, walls, ceilings,--all of Malta stone,--
Have long replied to many a prisoner's moan;
Where, while we wake, we 're stung by many a gnat,
And, while we sleep, are robbed by many a rat,--
Your servant, who, you know, is not a stoic
(Though here one ought to be), begs your permission,
In a few lines, and somewhat less heroic
Than are these first, to send you his petition;--
Which humbly showeth;--
Here are four
As hearty men as walked the planet,
Who're running up a frightful score,
('T is now five days since we began it,)
For baked, stewed, roasted, with McAlif;
And, as we're earning nothing here,
But eating beef and drinking beer,--
We speak not now of eau de vie,
And rum, and lemon ratafia,--
We really begin to fear
That we shall all be after meeting,
On our way homeward, a "bum-bailiff,"
With his tipped staff, and civil "greeting."
Now, should our commissary set a
Bull-dog like this upon our track,
Who, on our entering Valetta,
Should seize, and hold, or drag us back;
Or, on such "livery of seisin,"
Should take us to a debtor's prison,
Our case were obviously still harder;
For there McAlif keeps no larder;--
And, what is worse, when once in there,
We fear, the whole corps sanitaire
Might deem it somewhat too erratic,
Even in ten days to give us pratique.


Fear ye the plague from such as we?
Consider, pray, from whence we've come;--
Some from Corfù, from Patras some,
And all have crossed the Ionian sea.
Some have been rambling, e'er so long,
Among the hills so famed in song,
('T is there we must have caught the power
To string our lyre thus, and to sound it.)
On Helicon we met a shower,
With a young Iris dancing round it.
Upon Cythæron's shady side
We saw Hygeia coolly seated;
Who, learning that we'd come in honest quest of her,
(Not like Actæon, for a glimpse by stealth,)
Most promptly gave us a clean bill of health,
And to our question courteously replied,
And her assurance o'er and o'er repeated,
That we should find no plague, now, to the West of her;
"Except,"--she added in an under tone,--
"It be the plague at Malta or Ancone,"
By which we understood the nymph to mean
The plague of there performing quarantine.


Since that, we've felt the breezes pass us
Fresh from the white head of Parnassus,
And, later still, the Adriatic
Has breathed upon us;--and his breath,
If it e'er bears the darts of Death,
Brings them in colds and pains rheumatic;
Or down the gulf a demon sails,
With white lips and blue finger-nails,
By mortals sometimes called an ague;--
These imps Adria sends to plague you;--
But, as to any other kind of pest,
Were't not a lazar-house, it were a jest.
Fear ye the plaque from such as we?
O, send the leech, and let him see.
We think, if any thing can banish
The fear of pest from us, poor sinners,
'T would be, when we are at our dinners,
To see how soon those dinners vanish.
Send, then, the leech,--let him examine;
We think, when he shall make report,
'Twill be agreed "by the whole court,"--
No fear of plague, but fear of famine.


O, had we but a tongue to plead our cause!
We had one once,--it is not what it was,--
There was a time when that delicious tongue,
Sweeter than Nestor's, with its fellows hung,
And in the smoke of Adrianople swung.
In Smyrna next it met our roving eye,
And the bait took;--what could we do but buy?
O, it was sweeter than "the summer south,"
Nor could we see it but with watering mouth;
In papers firm we had the purchase rolled,
And then we paid for't in the Sultan's gold.
Pleased, we looked forward to the Lazaret,
Where, if McAlif could not meet our wishes,
We knew that there was one thing we could get,
And then one thing the very prince of dishes!


This morning, as a miser to his hoard
Goes, to be sure that every thing is right,
We sought the basket where our tongue was stored,
And where we left it, safely wrapped, last night.--
The truth flashed forth;--we can no longer mask it;--
Some foe,--and doubtless thereby hangs a tail,--
Had, "while men slept," crept softly to the basket,
(How, when we all looked in, we all looked pale!)
And left no more of all our cherished treasure,
Than what consisted with the pirate's pleasure!
We had a tongue, which is not all a tongue;
Ah, little thought we, it so soon would fail us!
But yesterday, it might have stood among
The dishes dressed for Heliogabalus;
Now, none so hungry as that tongue to set to,
Of all the starvelings of a Lazaretto.
We, then, your servant, do implore,
Not for ourself, but all the four
Who help this Lazaretto farce on;--
Yes,--'t is the four we're pleading for,
To wit, three English men of war
And one poor vagrant Yankee parson;--
We say, we do beseech your grace,
Sir Frederick, in behalf of these,
Let us all quit this hungry place,
And get our dinner when and where we please.
Your deed shall live; in verse and prose we'll tell it!
And, as in duty bound, we'll ever thank ye;
Your humble servant,
Robert Napier Kellett.
The Honorable Secretary Hankey.