RIVER-FOLK
I
THE VILLAGE BARBER

The village barber, in his old straw hat,
And dancing pumps and waistcoat of piqué,
Plays sharp at cards, and on his knee-bones squat
Hears mass, and rails at old Voltaire all day.

An «old subscriber» to El Liberal
He works and sparkles like a merry glass
Of muscatel, his razor's rise and fall
Timing his gossip of what comes to pass.

With mayor and veterinary, pious folk
Who say the rosary, he speaks no joke
Of miracles by Peter Claver wrought;

A tavern champion, and a cock-pit sage,
Amid the scissors' clip, his wars he'll wage,
Sparkling like muscatel the light has caught.