Captain Billy's Whiz Bang #36 — page 40: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

38 Captain Billy's Whiz Bang The following poem “Solace” was written by a prisoner in the Nebraska State Penitentiary. His pen name (pardon the pun) is No. 6808. “I am writing a book of poems during my incarceration here and hope to find a publisher when I get out,” said No. 6808 in letter transmitting his poem to the Whiz Bang. “I wrote Solace for use in my book and I hope you like it. I have some good ones and some worse. Until I have shaken this ‘hitch’ I shall merely go by signature—No. 6808. Nod to Nicollet Avenue and say ‘hello’ to Hennepin for me.”—The Editor. I woo the witching muse of song To cheer my doleful days along, To heap my heart—that hungry thing— With music mystic chanters bring; To feed the flame of famished eyes On beauty that beyond me lies, To hide the hate that open dwells Behind these walls, within these cells. Through doubtful days of useless toil, When awesome auras around me coil; When mankind’s inhumanity Makes me the mate of misery,— Through all the wrongs to right a wrong I woo the witching muse of song. I’ve rift my soul with strokes of rhyme To sweeten sorrow “doing time”: Amid the maze of prison din— Air vile with voice of standard sin, A victim of the vermin bites In deadlock days and deadlock nights— The choice was mine to curse or sing, Or knot a noose—kick stool and swing; Yet lo! I lift the loathsome load That downs men in this dim abode. To save me from a crimson crime, I’ve rift my soul with strokes of rhyme. The nights, o_ce long and lonely here, And fraught with fitful dreams of fear Are turned to tuneful reverie On life that was, and life to be. I’ve learned to love the loneliness Of patient hours the nights possess,