At the Sign of the Sphinx

The time has come. The waiting populace Breathlessly watch him as he slowly mounts The scaffold. Though his timid, trembling steps Betoken fear, with calm and steady gaze He sees my whole above his head. So bright! So glittering! On that his eyes are fixed. Garbed all in white, a rope about his waist, My first upon his feet; silent, although He suffers agonies untold. But hark! He calls for drink. By some kind hand is passed To him a brimming tumbler, and within He sees my last and he is glad. He drinks, Then once again turns to my whole. Brave man! He fears not death, but murmurs to himself: “This only I desire, that when I die Men say I did my work and did it well.”

The scene was merry, bright and gay As I came to my first one day. Beside my last I saw a lass Dispense refreshment in a glass. She was my first. “My last,” said I, “I ’ll take a drink, for I am dry.” Smiling, as she the goblet passed, She said, “Here you my first my last.” “My whole,” said I, “ere I depart, I ’ll say that there is in my heart (Just here the word must be reversed—) A wish for your my last my first.”

My first is now before us, my second is here too; My whole is now here also,—and yet that ’s not quite true. My first is,—no, what is it? That is for you to say; And where ’s my second, tell me, yes, tell me that, I pray, And I will tell you truly, that though you look around, You cannot see my whole because it ’s nowhere to be found.

The dusky shadows deepened and the night was drawing on, A weary maiden watched my dying first, so nearly gone; She mused awhile in silence, then to herself she spake, “Ah, me, but when to-morrow dawns I know my first will break.”

The youth rode on. Like Scott’s brave knight he stayed not for my last; He lingered not, nor faltered, but pressed onward hard and fast. Alas! he took the downward course with many dangers rife; But just in time he used my last and so he saved his life.

My whole, by artists painted and by poets often sung, Thou hast across the Orient thy royal banners flung. Thy wonders and thy glories we travel miles to see, And the benighted wanderer oft sighs in vain for thee.

My first, thou ’rt beautiful. Thy noble brow, Thy curving mouth, and straight and classic nose, All, all are dear to me. And though thou hast But scanty raiment, though both arms are gone, And though some toes are missing, even thus, To those who know thee and who love thee well, Thou art a thing of beauty and a joy.

An ancient poet, famous for his lyre, With death was threatened by some wicked rogues. Courageously escaping from their clutch, He rode triumphantly upon my whole, Swiftly propelled and balanced by my last.

My first in childhood is unknown, To us ’tis by experience shown; It has a prominent position Wherever there ’s an Exhibition.

My last, though old and like to die, Perhaps possessing but one eye; Are of small value, people say, And pass them carelessly each day. D stands for them, and I have found Them often in the common pound.

My whole, men struggle to control, And with my last they meet my whole.

My first, although of use to men Is scarcely worth a stiver; But when a twin, it cannot then Be managed by a driver.

My first ’s my second and my third, A thread is wound around it; I lost it once, and on my word, ’T was by my whole I found it.

My first is a letter in juxtaposition; My second ’s a letter in Syro-Phœnician; My third is a letter in fanfaronade; My fourth is a letter in rhodomontade; My fifth is a letter in comicalness; My whole combines gain and desirableness.

My first was a hapless queen Who died one day in Spring; My first might stand before an Earl But never before a King.

My second is Erin’s luck, The end of all success; My third is a Scandinavian god Who succoured those in distress.

Scientists disagree About the immortal soul; But Evolution seems to prove We ’re descended from my whole.

My first was into prison cast, An angel made my first my last. My first was hanged; with silent tread The mourners came to view the dead. Fair Enid, so the legends say, Upon my total rode away.

My powerful first, thou standest in thy stall, Many a man is held beneath thy thrall; And men for thee will fortunes gladly spend, And yet by man thou ’rt bound and boxed and penned. He stamps upon thee, puts thee on the rack, And markest thee with stripes across thy back.

My second, goodly joys thou canst convey, Gladly we take thy round from day to day; Made of coarse clay, and often underbred, Dear to the heir, yet buried with the dead.

My whole, what honored titles thou hast borne, Designed for use, thou also dost adorn; Allowed to roam, yet kept within the bound, By thine assistance oft the lost is found.