@3Where Spuyten Duyvil's waves environ Manhattan's stern and rock-bound shore With fume and flame of molten iron A foundry's chimneys blaze and roar. Upon a northward promontory The "House of Blazes" stands in pride -- A tavern famed in local story, Where grimy furnace-men abide. Now, one of these, in proud elation, Despatched a letter o'er the foam. And bitter grief and consternation That missive caused in Patrick's home! "Och! Mother av the Saints in glory!" The wail arose as Nora read: "Sure, Pathrick's gone to purgathory! He niver wrote that he was dead! "'Me job is ahl I c'uld desire,' Sez he, 'though somewhat warrm I feel Wid heapin' coal to feed the fire An' makin' pies av red-hot steel. "'The boss is jist the kind that plazes, And ahl me mates is mighty civil. I'm dwellin' in the House av Blazes, And right forninst the Spittin' Divil!'"@1 |