The Linguistic Languor of Charles Augustus Sprague

A child of nature curiousWas Charles Augustus Sprague;He made his parents furiousBecause he was so vague:Although his age was nearly twoEleven words were all he knew,These sounded much as sounds the DutchThat’s spoken at the Hague.

A few of his errata’Tis just I should avow,He called his mother “Tata,”And “moo” he dubbed a cow,Nor was it altogether plainWhy “choo-choo” meant a railway train.He called a cat “miouw,” and thatNo purist would allow.

Within his father’s orchardThere stood, for all to see,With branches bent and tortured,An ancient apple tree:That Charles Augustus Sprague might drowseHis mother on its swaying boughsHis cradle hung, and while it swung,She sang with energy.

A sudden blow arisingOne day, the branches broke,With suddenness surprisingThe sleeping babe awoke,And crashing down to earth he fell.Ah me, that I should have to tellThe words that mild and genial childOn this occasion spoke!

His face convulsed and checqueredWith passion and with tears,He blotted out the recordOf both his speechless years:His mother stupefied, aghast,Heard Charles Augustus speak at last;He opened wide his mouth and criedThese ill conditioned sneers.

“Sapristi! Accidente!Perchance my speech is late,But, be she two or twenty,A nincompoop I hate!What idiot said that woman’s ‘plannedTo warn, to comfort, and command?’”His words I quench. Excuse my French—Je dis que tu m’embêtes!

The moral: Common clocks, we find,In silence take a sudden wind,But only heroes, as we know,In silence take a sudden blow.