PUSSYFOOT SCRATCHINGS.

Otago Daily Times, Issue 19616, 21 October 1925, Page 5

PUSSYFOOT SCRATCHINGS.

THOMAS BRACKEN. Poet and journalist, Thomas Bracken was bom in Ireland, December 21, 1843, and died in Dunedin, February 16, 1898. His literary career has been described as “without parallel in the Dominion.” He was a striking example of a man of brilliant qualities gripped by a craving which led him to write the following moving condemnation of strong drink. THE VILEST FIEND OF ALL. “Oh. thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name to be known by, lot us call thee devil.” —(Quotation from Shakespeare’s drama “Othello.’ ) False spirit! Take thy fiendish shape— Thy name is demon, and not wine: Durst thou cling to the purple grape. Durst thou seek shelter ’neath the vine? Nay, cling unto thy patron —Death, And hide thee ’noath his blackest pall. Throughout Creation’# length and breadth Thou art the vilest fiend of all. What are thy crimes? Go, ask the grave. That, yawning, waits it# lifeless clod— Thy murdered serf, thy poisoned slave, A type, once. of the living God. The shrieks within the maniac’s cell. The chain clinks ’yond the prison’s wall. The wails and groans of millions, tell Thou art the vilest fiend of all. What are thy crimes? Yon soulless thing Was once God’s imago, pure and fair; Yea. fiend, as witnesses I’ll bring Lust, hatred, murder, and despair To prove thy guilt! Tire fiercest flame That burns below when sinners fall, Is fed bv thee; remorse and shame Proclaim thee, vilest fiend of all. " W Tl hat are thy crimes? Thy counsel's plea Is this: Thou’rt good, and we should prize Heaven’s gifts: but I do view in thee A cruel devil in disguise. Before thee, peace and comfort fly, Replaced by senseless feud and brawl— Near thee, truth, love, and honour die— Thou art the vilest fiend of all. Oh, God of justice! God of right! Why is the world so full of woe? Wliy are souls withered by tin's Wight? Is this the working of Thy foe — Tim rebel sire of sin and crime--Who makes TTiy likeness, man, his thrall’ O. Father! shield our new-born clime From this, the vilest fiend of all. (Published by Arrangement.)