Black Beetles in Amber - читать онлайн бесплатно полную версию книги . Страница 141

THE LAST MAN

I dreamed that Gabriel took his hornOn Resurrection's fateful morn,And lighting upon Laurel HillBlew long, blew loud, blew high and shrill.The houses compassing the groundRattled their windows at the sound.But no one rose. "Alas!" said he,"What lazy bones these mortals be!"Again he plied the horn, againDeflating both his lungs in vain;Then stood astonished and chagrinedAt raising nothing but the wind.At last he caught the tranquil eyeOf an observer standing by—Last of mankind, not doomed to die.To him thus Gabriel: "Sir, I prayThis mystery you'll clear away.Why do I sound my note in vain?Why spring they not from out the plain?Where's Luning, Blythe and Michael Reese,Magee, who ran the Golden Fleece?Where's Asa Fisk? Jim Phelan, whoWas thought to know a thing or twoOf land which rose but never sank?Where's Con O'Conor of the Bank,And all who consecrated landsOf old by laying on of hands?I ask of them because their worthWas known in all they wished—the earth.Brisk boomers once, alert and wise,Why don't they rise, why don't they rise?"The man replied: "Reburied longWith others of the shrouded throngIn San Mateo—carted thereAnd dumped promiscuous, anywhere,In holes and trenches—all misfits—Mixed up with one another's bits:One's back-bone with another's shin,A third one's skull with a fourth one's grin—Your eye was never, never fixedUpon a company so mixed!Go now among them there and blow:'Twill be as good as any showTo see them, when they hear the tones,Compiling one another's bones!But here 'tis vain to sound and wait:Naught rises here but real estate.I own it all and shan't disgorge.Don't know me? I am Henry George."