Text: Anonymous, “The Voices of the Pit,” Portland Transcript (Portland, ME, vol. XIII, no. 4, May 12, 1849, p. 8, col. 1

BY A POE-ETICAL GENT.

All day I had been “drinking,” and as midnight' chimes were chinking,

From the dirty tavern slinking, — off I started, homeward bound.

Staggering through the muddy ditches, (for it rained like twenty witches —

And 'twas darker, too, than pitch is —) I at last a shelter found.

 

Snug I lay within my “quarters,” glad to 'scape the mud and water,

Which had daubed me o'er with mortar, as I staggered through rain;

But, O, horrid and appalling! soon I found that I was falling!

Loud for succor I kept calling, but my cries were all in vain.

 

Stifled grunts and hideous growlings, o'er my head incessant rolling,

All the while that I was fulling, fill'd my breast with feelings dire; —

Still I swiftly kept descending, till I lost all thoughts of landing,

But at last I “brought up standing,” in the pit of smoke and fire!

 

There his Majesty Satanic grimly sat, with form gigantic,

Gazing on the fearful panic which my presence did create

'Mong his household's youthful members, who were wakened from their slumbers,

When I tumbled in the embers, and so loudly cursed my fate.

 

Sudden from his seat upspringing, while the PIT with yells was ringing,

His huge arms around me flinging, close to him form he clasped!

As my pluck was rather tender, this completely raised my “dander,”

And, amid the roar of thunder, tightly to his beard I grasped!

 

Lightning from his eyes was gleaming, and O! SUCH a horrid screaming! —

I awoke me — I'd been dreaming! — after all I had not fell!

Then I wildly gazed around me, at the place where I had found me;

Yet the scene did much confound me — where I was I could not tell.

 

But I saw a hideous creature — narrowly scanned each feature,

Could this be the awful screecher that I saw amid the smoke?

Oh! protect me, shade of Gunter! 'TWAS A NASTY SHE GRUNTER!

With a score or squeakers 'round her, whose sweet slumbers I had broke.

 

Softly from my “quarters” sneaking, without one “good evening” speaking,

I left the young “varmints” squeaking, and their dirty mansion quit.

But since then I've left my “bitters,” for they tore me into flitters,

And I fear the “tarnal critters,” and THE VOICES OF THE PIT.