Casey At The Bat
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- And when the dust had lifted, and men saw what had occurred,
- there was Jimmy safe at second and Flynn a-hugging third.
- So upon that stricken multitude, grim melancholy sat;
- for there seemed but little chance of Casey getting to the bat.
- Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped --
- "That ain't my style," said Casey. "Strike one!" the umpire said.
- And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,
- no stranger in the crowd could doubt t'was Casey at the bat.
- Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt.
- Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt.
- And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,
- and Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
- A straggling few got up to go in deep despair.
- The rest clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast.
- But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake;
- and the former was a hoodoo, while the latter was a cake.
- Then from five thousand throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
- it rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
- But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all.
- And Blake, the much despised, tore the cover off the ball.
- "Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered "Fraud!"
- But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed.
- The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day,
- The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play.
- And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,
- A pall-like silence fell upon the patrons of the game.
- With a smile of Christian charity, great Casey's visage shone,
- he stilled the rising tumult, he bade the game go on.
- There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place,
- there was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile lit Casey's face.
- They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
- and they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go by again.
- From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,
- like the beating of the storm waves on a stern and distant shore.
- They thought, "if only Casey could but get a whack at that.
- We'd put up even money now, with Casey at the bat."
- And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,
- and now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow.
- it pounded through on the mountain and recoiled upon the flat;
- for Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.
- He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the dun sphere flew,
- but Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said, "Strike two!"
- And, somewhere men are laughing, and little children shout,
- but there is no joy in Mudville -- mighty Casey has struck out.
- Then, while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
- defiance flashed in Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip.
- "Kill him! Kill the umpire!" shouted someone on the stand,
- and it's likely they'd have killed him had not Casey raised his hand.
- Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright.
- The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light.
- The sneer has fled from Casey's lip, the teeth are clenched in hate.
- He pounds, with cruel violence, his bat upon the plate.