No Vermonters in Hell

 

I dreamed that I went to the dungeon below,

To Hades, where tortures abound;

Said one in authority there, “Don’t you know,

Some people are notional just where they go,

So in Hell, no Vermonters are found?”

 

“Why sir, how you talk,” I exclaimed in surprise,

“A million Vermonters have died,

And though nearly all have ascended the skies,

A few, I believe, or suspect, or surmise,

Have taken a different ride.”

 

“Not so, your conclusion is wrong,” he declared:

“No people come here from Vermont;

Our traps and delusions are nicely prepared,

But never a soul from Vermont has been snared;

There’s nothing down here that they want.

 

“We hear of Vermonters through others, indeed,

Through folds from Alaska to Maine,

Of every sex, shape, size, color and creed,

That we with a basket of pennies could heed,

Who’ve come and expect to remain.

 

“All over America, save in Vermont,

We gather our fuel,” he said,

“But nothing the folks of this section can daunt-

In vain all the bait of the devil we flaunt,

All futile the snares that we spread.

 

“Against all the wiles of deception and fraud,

Suspicious and watchful they stand;

They fear not a thing but their Grandfathers’ God;

There’s much in their lives that all Hell may applaud-

They simply refuse to be damned.”