A Merciful Governor

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A Merciful Governor

Standing within the triple wall of Hell,

And flattening his nose against a grate

Behind whose brazen bars he’d had to dwell

A thousand million ages to that date,

Stoneman bewailed his melancholy fate,

And his big tear-drops, boiling as they fell,

Had worn between his feet, the record mentions,

A deep depression in the “good intentions.”

Imperfectly by memory taught how⁠—

For prayer in Hell is a lost art⁠—he prayed,

Uplifting his incinerated brow

And flaming hands in supplication’s aid.

“O grant,” he cried, “my torment may be stayed⁠—

In mercy, some short breathing spell allow!

If one good deed I did before my ghosting,

Spare me and give Delmas a double roasting.”

Breathing a holy harmony in Hell,

Down through the appalling clamors of the place,

Charming them all to willing concord, fell

A Voice ineffable and full of grace:

“Because of all the law-defying race

One single malefactor of the cell

Thou didst deny a pardon, thy petition

Gains thee ten thousand years of intermission.”

Back from their fastenings began to shoot

The rusted bolts; with dreadful roar, the gate

Laboriously turned; and, black with soot,

The extinguished spirit passed that awful strait,

And as he legged it into space, elate,

Muttered: “Yes, I remember that galoot⁠—

I’d signed his pardon, ready to allot it,

But stuck it in my desk and quite forgot it.”