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Shapes of Clay

by Ambrose Bierce

184 of 212 · Contents · Download EPUB

A False Prophecy

Dom Pedro, Emperor of far Brazil
  (Whence coffee comes and the three-cornered nut),
They say that you’re imperially ill,
  And threatened with paralysis. Tut-tut!
  Though Emperors are mortal, nothing but
A nimble thunderbolt could catch and kill
A man predestined to depart this life
By the assassin’s bullet, bomb or knife.

Sir, once there was a President who freed
  Ten million slaves; and once there was a Czar
Who freed five times as many serfs. Sins breed
  The means of punishment, and tyrants are
  Hurled headlong out of the triumphal car
If faster than the law allows they speed.
Lincoln and Alexander struck a rut;
You freed slaves too. Paralysis—tut-tut!

1885.

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