METHUSELAH, that grand old gent, saw centuries pass by; the generations came and went, and he refused to die. No doubt among the ancient ranks the faddists drew their breath, and he was told by health board cranks just how to sidestep death. I seem to see them at his side, and hear them give advice. "Eat predigested hay," they cried, "that has been kept on ice. Sleep out of doors, in rain or gale, or you'll be on the blink; boil all the air that you inhale, and fry the things you drink. Eat less than half of what you wish, put sawdust in your bread; if you are fond of beef or fish, eat liverwurst instead." The faddists sprung their spiels and died; Methuselah shed tears, but would not take them as a guide—and lived nine hundred years. His voice across the distance calls a cheering word to me: "I ate ice cream and codfish balls, and was from sickness free. I filled myself with scrambled eggs, and steaks from slaughtered steers, and pranced around on active legs for near a thousand years." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THIRD BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 23 by THOMAS CAMPION EVE by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI THE BREAKING by MARGARET STEELE ANDERSON THE GRAVE OF COLUMBUS by JOANNA BAILLIE THE GOLDEN ODES OF PRE-ISLAMIC ARABIA: ZOHEYR by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT EPITAPH ON A FRIEND by GEORGE GORDON BYRON |