The Wonderful One Hoss SHay.

The Wonderful One Hoss SHay.
OLIVER WENDELL HOMES.
490.2

Have you heard of the wonderful one hoss shay,
That was built in such a logical way
It ran a hundred years to a day,
And then of a sudden, it-ah, but stay-
I’ll tell you what happened without delay,
Scaring the parson into fits,
Frightening people out of their wits-
Have you ever heard of that, I say?

Seventeen hundred and fifty five.
Georgeus Secunds was then alive:
Snuffy old drone from the German hive.
That was the year when Lisbon town
Saw the earth open and gulp her down,
And Braddock’s army was done so brown,
Left without a scalp to its crown.
It was on the terrible earthquake day
That the deacon finished the one hoss shay.

Now, in building of chaises. I tell you what,
There is always somewhere a weakest spot-
In hub, tire, felloe, in spring or thill,
In panel, or crossbar, or floor, or sill;
In screw, bolt, thorough brace-lurking still,
Find it somewhere you must and will;
Above er below, or within or without,
And that’s the reason, beyond a doubt,
A chaise breaks down and doesn’t wear out.

But the deacon swore (as deacons do,
With an “I dew vum” or an “I tell you,”)
He would build one shay to beat the taown
‘N’ the kounty ‘n’ all the kentry raoun’;
It should be so built that it couldn’t break daown;
“Fur,” sald the deacon, “‘t’s mighty plain
That the weakes place mus’ stan’ the strain;
‘N’ the way t’ fix it, uz I remain, is only jest
T make that place uz strong uz the rest.”

So the deacon inquired of the village folk
Where he could find the strongest oak,
That couldn’t be split, nor bent, nor broke; T
hat was for spokes and floor and sills;
He sent for lancewood to make the thills:
The crossbars were ash, from the straighest trees;
The panels of whitewood, that cuts like cheeso
But lasts like iron for things like these;
The hubs of logs from the “settler’s ellum,”
Last of its timber-they couldn’t sell ’em-
Never an ax had seen their chips,
And the wedges flew from between their lips.
Their blunt ends frizzled like celery tips;
Step and prop iron, bolt and screw.
Spring, Ure, axle, and inchpin, too,
Steel of the finest, bright and blue;
Thorough brace bison skin, thick and wide,
Boot, top, dasher, from tough old hide
Found in the pit when the tanner died,
That was the way he “put her through.”
“There,” said the deacon, “now she’ll deu!”
Do, I tell you, I rather guese
She was a wonder, and nothing lese:
Colts grew horses, beards turned gray,
Deacon and denconess dropped away,
Children and gran children-where were they?
But there stood the stout old one hoss ahay
As fresh as on Lisbon earthquake day.

Eighteen hundred-It came and found
The deacom’s masterpiece strong and sound-
Eighteen hundred Increased by ten-
“Hahnsum kerridge,” they called it then.
Eighteen hundred and twenty came;
Running as usual, much the same.
Thirty and forty at last arrive,
And then came fifty and fifty-five.