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.”