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| THERE ’s a curious clock in the city of Prague— | |
| A remarkable old astronomical clock— | |
| With a dial whose outline is that of an egg, | |
| And with figures and fingers a wonderful stock. | |
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| It announces the dawn and the death of the day, | 5 |
| Shows the phases of moons, and the changes of tides, | |
| Counts the months and the years as they vanish away, | |
| And performs quite a number of marvels besides. | |
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| At the left of the dial a skeleton stands; | |
| And aloft hangs a musical bell in the tower, | 10 |
| Which he rings, by a rope that he holds in his hands, | |
| In his punctual function of striking the hour. | |
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| And the skeleton nods, as he tugs at the rope, | |
| At an odd little figure that eyes him aghast, | |
| As a hint that the bell rings the knell of his hope, | 15 |
| And the hour that is solemnly tolled is his last. | |
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| And the effigy turns its queer features away | |
| (Much as if for a snickering fit or a sneeze), | |
| With a shrug and a shudder, that struggle to say: | |
| “Pray excuse me, but—just an hour more, if you please!” | 20 |
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| But the funniest sight, of the numerous sights | |
| Which the clock has to show to the people below, | |
| Is the Holy Apostles in tunics and tights, | |
| Who revolve in a ring, or proceed in a row. | |
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| Their appearance can hardly be counted sublime; | 25 |
| And their movements are formal, it must be allowed; | |
| But they ’re prompt, for they always appear upon time, | |
| And polite, for they bow very low to the crowd. | |
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| This machine (so reliable papers record) | |
| Was the work, from his own very clever design, | 30 |
| Of one Hanusch, who died in the year of our Lord | |
| One thousand four hundred and ninety and nine. | |
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| Did the people receive it with honor? you ask; | |
| Did it bring a reward to the builder? Ah, well! | |
| It was proper that they should have paid for the task! | 35 |
| And they did, in a way that it shocks me to tell. | |
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| For suspecting that Hanusch might grow to be vain, | |
| Or that cities around them might covet their prize, | |
| They invented a story that he was insane, | |
| And to stop him from labor, extinguished his eyes! | 40 |
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| But the cunning old artist, though dying in shame, | |
| May be sure that he labored and lived not amiss; | |
| For his clock has outlasted the foes of his fame, | |
| And the world owes him much for a lesson like this: | |
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| That a private success is a public offence, | 45 |
| That a citizen’s fame is a city’s disgrace, | |
| And that both should be shunned by a person of sense, | |
| Who would live with a whole pair of eyes in his face. | |
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