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diff --git a/14821-h/14821-h.htm b/14821-h/14821-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e86be7d --- /dev/null +++ b/14821-h/14821-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,941 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=UTF-8" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Spray of Kentucky Pine, by George Douglass Sherley</title> +<style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[*/ + <!-- + body { margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%; } + p { text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: .75em; + font-size: 100%; + text-align: justify; + font-family: serif; + margin-bottom: .75em; } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { text-align: center; } + hr { width: 50%; } + hr.full { width: 100%; } + .foot { margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 85%; } + .poem { margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left; } + .poem .stanza { margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em; } + .poem p { margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em; } + .poem p.i2 { margin-left: 1.5em; } + .poem p.i4 { margin-left: 2.5em; } + .poem p.i6 { margin-left: 3.5em; } + .poem p.i8 { margin-left: 4.5em; } + .poem p.i10 { margin-left: 5.5em; } + .poem p.i12 { margin-left: 6.5em; } + .poem p.i14 { margin-left: 7.5em; } + .poem p.i16 { margin-left: 8.5em; } + .poem p.i18 { margin-left: 9.5em; } + .poem p.i20 { margin-left: 10.5em; } + .poem p.i24 { margin-left: 12.5em; } + .quote { margin-left: 6%; margin-right: 6%; text-indent: 0em; font-size: 90%; } + .sans { font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 90%; } + center { padding: 0.8em;} + a:link {color:blue; + text-decoration:none} + link {color:blue; + text-decoration:none} + a:visited {color:blue; + text-decoration:none} + a:hover {color:red} + pre {font-size: 8pt;} +/*]]>*/ + // --> +</style> +</head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 14821 ***</div> +<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, A Spray of Kentucky Pine, by George Douglass +Sherley</h1> +<table border="0" bgcolor="ccccff" cellpadding="10"> + <tr> + <td valign="top"> + Note: + </td> + <td> + The layout of this document, including serif vs. sans-serif, + boldface, indentation and size are an accurate representation + of the typography used in the original. The author is known + for eclectic choices in this respect—this particular + work is one of the milder examples.<br /> + <br /> + Images of the original pages can be seen online at the + Kentuckiana Digital Library <a href="http://kdl.kyvl.org/"> + http://kdl.kyvl.org/</a> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +<br /> +<br /> +<hr class="full" /> + +<div style="height: 6em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<img src="images/illustr-01.png" alt="" /> + +<h1 style="text-align: left; float: right;"> +A<br /> + Spray<br /> + Of<br /> + Kentucky<br /> + Pine +</h1> + +<h2 style="clear: both;"> +—Placed At The Feet Of The Dead Poet— +<br /> +—James Whitcomb Riley— +</h2> + + +<div class="poem" style="float: right;"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> <b>By The Hand</b></p> +<p class="i4"> <b>Of the Man From</b></p> +<p class="i8"> <b>Down On The Farm—</b></p> +<p class="i12"> <b>—George Douglass Sherley</b></p> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="poem" style="clear: both;"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> <b>—On The Banks</b></p> +<p class="i4"> <b>Of Wolf Run—</b></p> +<p class="i8"> <b>—1916—</b></p> +</div> +</div> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<hr class="full" /> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<p class="quote"> +1916 <br /> +Second Edition +</p> + +<p> </p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0"><small> From Ye Olden Printe Shope—</small> </p> +<p class="i2"><small> —James M. Byrnes, Esquire—</small> </p> +<p class="i4"><small> On Ye Long Highway</small> </p> +<p class="i6"><small> Called Shorte in Ye Goodly</small> </p> +<p class="i8"><small> Towne Of Lexington Kentucky</small> </p> +</div> +</div> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<hr class="full" /> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + The Inscription Two-fold +</h2> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0"> To The Dead: </p> +<p class="i2"> Reverently Inscribed </p> +<p class="i4"> —To the Indiana-Born </p> +<p class="i8"> World-Wide Poet— </p> +<p class="i10"> —James Whitcomb Riley— </p> +</div> +</div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0002" id="h2H_4_0002"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + —This Spray Of Kentucky Pine— +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i0"> To The Living: </p> +<p class="i2"> Also Lovingly Inscribed </p> +<p class="i4"> By The Man From Down </p> +<p class="i6"> On The Farm To The </p> +<p class="i8"> Dear Lady Here On The </p> +<p class="i10"> Banks Of Wolf Run </p> +<p class="i12"> —His Mother— </p> +<p class="i14"> On Grateful Commemoration </p> +<p class="i16"> Of Her Eighty-Fifth Birthday </p> +<p class="i18"> August 20, 1916 </p> +</div> +</div> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<hr class="full" /> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + The Prelude +</h2> +<h3> + —A Note Explanatory— +</h3> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> <b>With James Whitcomb Riley</b>,</p> +<p> some years ago. This Man From Down On The Farm,</p> +<p> made a Reading Tour, of—in Population—more than</p> +<p> one-half of this Imperial Republic, including</p> +<p> the Cream of the Canadian Provinces.</p> +<p> Of that Tour, at some other time, in some more</p> +<p> leisurely hour, he desires, if able, to make</p> +<p> a full and faithful Record.</p> +<p> This, is but a humble Spray of Kentucky Pine,</p> +<p> placed at the feet of the Dead Poet!</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span style="font-size:200%;">A</span><span style="font-variant: small-caps;">ccording</span> to a long established Custom,</p> +<p> the Man, in some way, in private print—</p> +<p> —for the Relative, for the Friend, for the Stranger too—</p> +<p> quietly Celebrates the various Red-Letter Days, of the</p> +<p> Dear Lady Here, On the Banks of Wolf Run—his Mother!</p> +<p> Her full Restoration, to her usual Good Health,</p> +<p> is a Source of much Joy, and the cause of much Gratitude.</p> +<p> The many Prayers made for her Recovery must have been of</p> +<p> much avail before the Great White Throne, of Infinite Mercy!</p> +<p> He is also deeply grateful, that the nearness of her</p> +<p> Eighty-Fifth Birthday, makes it possible for him,</p> +<p> to make an Inscription Two-fold, for the Dead,</p> +<p> for the Living—for the Dear Poet, for the Beloved Mother!</p> +<p> The linking of their names together, under this Spray of</p> +<p> Kentucky Pine—culled by a hand most loving—is like</p> +<p> unto finding the other half of a broken Chord, in some</p> +<p> Prelude Elusive: for James Whitcomb Riley, deeply</p> +<p> endeared himself, to the Dear Lady Here, while he and</p> +<p> her son were a long while away, on their Reading Tour.</p> +<p> Out of sheer Kindliness, out of Goodness of Heart, he often</p> +<p> wrote to her, delightful Letters of Good Cheer, filled with</p> +<p> a charming detail, with more than a trifle of over-Praise;</p> +<p> all of which, is most acceptable, to the heart of a too fond mother.</p> +<p> Recently, from his Winter Home in the South-land, he sent to</p> +<p> her, in response to one of these Farm Bubbles, a little</p> +<p> Bit of unpublished Verse, written before his hand had</p> +<p> failed him, reproduced for her—and others—in <i>fac-simile</i>.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span style="font-size:200%;">P</span><span style="font-variant: small-caps;">ray</span> deem it not, all too presumptuous, this humble</p> +<p> Spray of Kentucky Pine!</p> +<p> It serves as a Reverent Tribute to the One!</p> +<p> As a Loving Commemoration to the Other!</p> +</div> +</div> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<hr class="full" /> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + The Interlude +</h2> +<h3> + —Holding Two Telegrams And A Plea— +</h3> + +<h4> +I. +</h4> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="sans"> When the word came that</p> +<p class="sans"> James Whitcomb Riley was Dead</p> +<p class="sans"> this Telegram was sent to a near</p> +<p class="sans"> Relative an astute Man of Affairs</p> +<p class="sans"> who with the Head of a Great Publishing</p> +<p class="sans"> House—a Prime Favorite from</p> +<p class="sans"> his early Boyhood of the Poet—held</p> +<p class="sans"> his well-placed Confidence in all</p> +<p class="sans"> matters concerning the necessary</p> +<p class="sans"> material Things of Life.</p> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span style="font-size:200%;">T</span><span style="font-variant: small-caps;">he</span> mightiest Monarch of the Indiana Forest</p> +<p> lies prone upon his Native Soil!</p> +<p> This Man From Down On The Farm,</p> +<p> Reverently, sends this humble Spray of Kentucky Pine,</p> +<p> as a Symbol, ever-green, of his Lasting Love, for the Dead Poet:</p> +<p> as a Symbol, made manifest, of his deep Sympathy,</p> +<p> for You, for Yours.</p> +</div> +</div> + +<h4> +II. +</h4> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="sans"> This Message was wired to a most</p> +<p class="sans"> Gentle Lady who had meant</p> +<p class="sans"> so much in so many ways to</p> +<p class="sans"> James Whitcomb Riley</p> +<p class="sans"> appealing as she did to the Best</p> +<p class="sans"> to the Highest in his Nature and who</p> +<p class="sans"> was indeed a "Ministering Angel"</p> +<p class="sans"> when "Pain and Anguish" wrung</p> +<p class="sans"> his brow, racked his frail body</p> +<p class="sans"> where lingered its Tenant</p> +<p class="sans"> his Immortal Soul!</p> +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span style="font-size:200%;">T</span><span style="font-variant: small-caps;">enderly</span>, Lovingly, let the Fair Elaine cherish</p> +<p> the Shield Invincible of her Sir Launcelot!</p> +<p> Some Day—Some Glad Day—she too, will go upward</p> +<p> with the Flood, in the Dark Barge, decked with Flowers:</p> +<p> clasping in her Beautiful Hand of Gentle Service,</p> +<p> the Lily of Fidelity: floating with the Mystic</p> +<p> Tide, to meet again—at Towered Camelot—</p> +<p> —her Gallant, her Waiting Knight!</p> +<p> For Love shares with the Soul its Precious Immortality!</p> +</div> +</div> + +<h4> +III. +</h4> + +<h2> +The Plea +</h2> +<h3> +—To The Relatives To The Intimate Friends of<br /> +James Whitcomb Riley— +</h3> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><span style="font-size:200%;">L</span><span style="font-variant: small-caps;">et</span> Lockerbie Street, in its Lovely Brevity,</p> +<p> be held—if you will—as a Perpetual Reservation</p> +<p> for the Children of your Great, your Growing City,</p> +<p> holding the House, which for many years was the</p> +<p> Happy Home of the Poet, as a Sacred Shrine.</p> +<p> Let your fine Civic Building, now rising in its</p> +<p> Majesty—like the Towers of Illion—made possible</p> +<p> by his Generous Gift of the Site, made Glorious</p> +<p> by the touch of his hand, on its Great Cornerstone:</p> +<p> let it—if you will—proudly bear his Name.</p> +<p> Let either one, or both, of these Noble Things</p> +<p> be done, for the sake of his memory.</p> +<p> Let this, that, or any other form of a Memorial wait upon</p> +<p> the wisdom of your Choice: but no matter what is done;</p> +<p> how much is done; or how it is done; there is one Thing</p> +<p> which ought not to be left undone.</p> +<p> Every tender, slender needle, rising out of its</p> +<p> Globular Greenness, in this humble Spray of Kentucky Pine,</p> +<p> harbors this One Thought, this Single Plea!</p> +<p> This is the Plea:</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p style="font-size: 125%;"> <b>Let James Whitcomb Riley,</b></p> +<p> skillfully cast in Bronze, simply clad in the plain</p> +<p> blue garb of a Union Soldier Lad a Private—</p> +<p> let him stand fur all Time, in your Circle, in the Centre,</p> +<p> in the Heart of your City, the beloved City of his adoption.</p> +<p> Let him stand there, under the shadow of that</p> +<p> Mighty Shaft, the Tribute of your Grand Commonwealth,</p> +<p> to her Valiant Sons—the Soldier, the Sailor.</p> +<p> Let him stand there, on a one-piece Pedestal</p> +<p> of Indiana Stone; Simple, Massive.</p> +<p> Thereon carve his Name, the date of his Birth;</p> +<p> the date of his Death; and these Immortal words:</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i4" style="font-size: 125%;"> <b>"Well, Goodby, Jim:</b></p> +<p class="i8" style="font-size: 125%;"> <b>Take Keer of Yourse'f!"</b></p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> Read, re-read, and read again, the Poem.</p> +<p> That Poem is an American Classic!</p> +<p> It is the Epitome of Self-Sacrifice</p> +<p> for the Sake of a Vital Cause!</p> +<p> It is the one Idyl of the Middle-West!</p> +<p> It is thoroughly America!</p> +<p> It is intensely Indiana!</p> +<p> Pardon the Plea!</p> +<p> But Prepare the Way!</p> +<p> Turn the Page—read the Poem!</p> +</div> +</div> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<hr class="full" /> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + The Poem +</h2> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Old man never had much to say— </p> +<p class="i4"> 'Ceptin' to Jim.— </p> +<p class="i2"> And Jim was the wildest boy he had— </p> +<p class="i4"> And the old man jes' wrapped up in him! </p> +<p class="i2"> Never heerd him speak but once </p> +<p class="i2"> Er twice in my life,—and first time was </p> +<p class="i2"> When the army broke out, and Jim he went, </p> +<p class="i2"> The old man backin' him, fer three months; </p> +<p class="i2"> And all 'at I heerd the old man say </p> +<p class="i2"> Was jes' as we turned to start away,— </p> +<p class="i4"> "Well, good-by, Jim: </p> +<p class="i6"> Take keer of yourse'f!" </p> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> 'Peared-like, he was more satisfied </p> +<p class="i4"> Jes' <i>lookin'</i> at Jim </p> +<p class="i2"> And likin' him all to hisse'f-like, see? </p> +<p class="i4"> 'Cause he was jes' wrapped up in him! </p> +<p class="i2"> And over and over I mind the day </p> +<p class="i2"> The old man come and stood round in the way </p> +<p class="i2"> While we was drillin', a-watchin' Jim— </p> +<p class="i2"> And down at the deepot a-heerin' him say, </p> +<p class="i4"> "Well, good-by, Jim: </p> +<p class="i6"> Take keer of yourse'f!" </p> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Never was nothin' about the <i>farm</i> </p> +<p class="i4"> Disting'ished Jim; </p> +<p class="i2"> Neighbors all ust to wonder why </p> +<p class="i4"> The old man 'peered wrapped up in him; </p> +<p class="i2"> But when Cap. Biggler he writ back </p> +<p class="i2"> 'At Jim was the bravest boy we had </p> +<p class="i2"> In the whole dern rigiment, white er black. </p> +<p class="i2"> And his fighten' good as his farmin' bad— </p> +<p class="i2"> 'At he had led, with a bullet clean </p> +<p class="i2"> Bored through his thigh, and carried the flag </p> +<p class="i2"> Through the bloodiest battle you ever seen, </p> +<p class="i2"> The old man wound up a letter to him </p> +<p class="i2"> 'At Cap. read to us, 'at said: "Tell Jim </p> +<p class="i4"> Good-by, </p> +<p class="i6"> And take keer of hisse'f!" </p> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Jim come home jes' long enough </p> +<p class="i4"> To take the whim </p> +<p class="i2"> 'At he'd like to go back in the calvery— </p> +<p class="i4"> And the old man jes' wrapped up in him! </p> +<p class="i2"> Jim 'lowed 'at he'd had sich luck afore, </p> +<p class="i2"> Guessed he'd tackle her three years more. </p> +<p class="i2"> And the old man give him a colt he'd raised, </p> +<p class="i2"> And follered him over to Camp Ben Wade, </p> +<p class="i2"> And laid around fer a week er so, </p> +<p class="i2"> Watchin' Jim on dress-parade— </p> +<p class="i2"> Tel finally he rid away, </p> +<p class="i2"> And last he heerd was the old man say, </p> +<p class="i4"> "Well, good-by, Jim: </p> +<p class="i6"> Take keer of yourse'f!" </p> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Tuk the papers, the old man did, </p> +<p class="i4"> A-watchin' fer Jim— </p> +<p class="i2"> Fully believin' he'd make his mark </p> +<p class="i4"> <i>Some</i> way—jes' wrapped up in him!— </p> +<p class="i2"> And many a time the word 'u'd come </p> +<p class="i2"> 'At stirred him up like the tap of a drum— </p> +<p class="i2"> At Petersburg, fer instunce, where </p> +<p class="i2"> Jim rid right into their cannons there, </p> +<p class="i2"> And <i>tuk</i> 'em, and p'inted 'em t'other way, </p> +<p class="i2"> And socked it home to the boys in gray, </p> +<p class="i2"> As they scooted fer timber, and on and on— </p> +<p class="i2"> Jim a lieutenant and one arm gone, </p> +<p class="i2"> And the old man's words in his mind all day,— </p> +<p class="i4"> "Well, good-by, Jim: </p> +<p class="i6"> Take keer of yourse'f!" </p> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Think of a private now, perhaps, </p> +<p class="i4"> We'll say like Jim, </p> +<p class="i2"> 'At's clumb clean up to the shoulder-straps </p> +<p class="i4"> And the old man jes' wrapped up in him! </p> +<p class="i2"> Think of him—with the war plum, through. </p> +<p class="i2"> And the glorious old Red-White-and-Blue </p> +<p class="i2"> A-laughin' the news down over Jim, </p> +<p class="i2"> And the old man bendin' over him— </p> +<p class="i2"> The surgeon turin' away with tears </p> +<p class="i2"> 'At hadn't leaked for years and years, </p> +<p class="i2"> As the hand of the dyin' boy clung to </p> +<p class="i2"> His father's, the old voice in his ears,— </p> +<p class="i4"> "Well, good-by, Jim: </p> +<p class="i6"> Take keer of yourse'f!" </p> +</div> +</div> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<hr class="full" /> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<center> +<img src="images/illustr-02.png" alt="" /> +</center> + +<h2> +The Spray of Kentucky Pine +</h2> + + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p style="font-size: 125%;"> <b>O! James Whitcomb Riley!</b> </p> +<p> This Man From Down On The Farm—one-while </p> +<p> your constant Companion, in work most </p> +<p> Congenial, all-while your Faithful Friend—rejoices. </p> +<p> and is exceeding Glad, That All Is Well With You! </p> +<p> For no one knew, better than you, </p> +<p> the Wisdom, the Beauty, of Death! </p> +<p> No one the more fully realized </p> +<p> the Folly, the Futility, of human Grief! </p> +<p> You firmly believed, that he, who follows The Christ; </p> +<p> that he, who, in all Humility, bears the Cross; that </p> +<p> he, who, in all Gratitude, wears upon his unworthy brow, </p> +<p> the imprint of the Kiss Divine!—the Kiss of Forgiveness </p> +<p> Complete—you firmly believed, that he ought to be </p> +<p> brave enough, strong enough, to meet the Call, </p> +<p> whensoever, wheresoever, it may chance to come. </p> +<p> You firmly believed that the Call always </p> +<p> comes at the Right Moment: that Incompletion </p> +<p> Here, finds its Completement There: that every </p> +<p> human Life holds—like the Palace of Aladdin—its </p> +<p> unfinished Window: that the finite mind, </p> +<p> hampered by its mortality, is a clog to any </p> +<p> Completion, to any Earthly Perfection. </p> +<p> Therefore, feeling, believing, as you did Here, </p> +<p> now knowing, as you must <i>know</i> There, </p> +<p> this Man rejoices, and is exceeding Glad, </p> +<p> That All Is Well With You! </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p style="font-size: 125%;"> <b>O! James Whitcomb Riley</b> </p> +<p> Your Nature-on the surface—was </p> +<p> Simple, Honest, Open, Direct. </p> +<p> It was all of that but—it was More! </p> +<p> It was deeper than Tears! </p> +<p> It was wider than Laughter! </p> +<p> It was more profound, more subtle, </p> +<p> than either your spoken Word. </p> +<p> or, your written, your printed Thought. </p> +<p> You were infinitely better than the </p> +<p> Very Best that you ever did! </p> +<p> High Praise, but True! </p> +<p> Your nature was strangely Complex: </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i4"> There was the Man! </p> +<p class="i6"> There was the Poet! </p> +<p class="i8"> There was the Mystic! </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> The Man could be known—and was—of all men. </p> +<p> The Poet could be read—as he was—and he understood. </p> +<p> He could Sing—as he did—Songs </p> +<p> which caught the Hearts of the </p> +<p> People—from the Cradle to the Grave! </p> +<p> The Mystic! </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p style="font-size: 125%;"> <b>O! James Whitcomb Riley</b>! </p> +<p> That Mystic Element in your Nature! </p> +<p> It was held under a Strong Curb: </p> +<p> It was constantly held in Check: </p> +<p> But it was never Overcome! </p> +<p> It was a Mood—not a Madness. </p> +<p> It seldom made an Outward Sign. </p> +<p> Then, it was brief, spasmodic, eratic. </p> +<p> It was known to but few, even of those </p> +<p> who came with you, in constant contact. </p> +<p> To this Man, that Mystic Element in your Nature, </p> +<p> made a most wonderful Appeal, deep, strong. </p> +<p> To him, it was the <i>real</i> <b>James Whitcomb Riley</b>! </p> +<p> You were a Mystic, but never a Reformer. </p> +<p> You cheerfully rendered unto Ceasar all things </p> +<p> that were his just due. </p> +<p> You had no desire to overturn Natural Law, </p> +<p> Human Regulation. </p> +<p> You accepted, without question, the Established </p> +<p> Order of Things. </p> +<p> But so strong was this touch of the Mystic </p> +<p> that, it you had desired, you could have, </p> +<p> quickly, thickly, populated some far off Smiling Isle, </p> +<p> of the Fair Summer Seas, with a Band of </p> +<p> Cultured Men, of Cultured Women, ready, </p> +<p> eager, to follow you—that Mystic You! into </p> +<p> the Creation of a New Cult, of a New Religion! </p> +<p> In your Poems there is but a trickle of the Mystic </p> +<p> —a flash a dash—as the falling of a Star! </p> +<p> That Edgar Allen Poe Episode, is the Answer. </p> +<p> You were unduly humiliated by that Incident— </p> +<p> —and it was but as Nothing </p> +<p> But your Super-Sensitiveness, made you Suffer! </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p style="font-size: 125%;"> <b>O! James Whitcomb Riley</b>! </p> +<p> Death, hath yet other Compensations! </p> +<p> It has placed you Beyond the Cloy of Fulsome Praise: </p> +<p> Beyond the Sting of Cruel Blame: the One, </p> +<p> may not help You the Other, cannot hurt You! </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p style="font-size: 125%;"> <b>O! James Whitcomb Riley!</b> </p> +<p> Once, when under the Spell of a Mystic Mood, </p> +<p> you sought—as you had often sought before—that </p> +<p> Wise Wizard of White River. </p> +<p> He met you, when you came into that Peaceful </p> +<p> Indiana Valley—where dwells this Wizard—by the </p> +<p> Flowing Fountain of those Healing Waters. </p> +<p> He knew your need; he spoke no unnecessary word; </p> +<p> he quickly set his place in order, and was ready </p> +<p> to go with you—anywhere. </p> +<p> There had been, on your arrival, a clamor to have </p> +<p> you Read that afternoon—but the Wizard </p> +<p> quietly slipped you away. </p> +<p> Out into the Open you drove, in an old Barouche, </p> +<p> behind a Pair of Good Horses. </p> +<p> It was a long Drive; it was a beautiful Drive. </p> +<p> It was driven in Silence. </p> +<p> After several hours—the spell was still upon you—a </p> +<p> sharp turn brought you to the Banks of White River; </p> +<p> and there—under a Clump of the Sycamore, of the </p> +<p> Willow, in a deep, Shady Pool, an Eddy, undisturbed </p> +<p> by the current of the broad, shallow Stream—a </p> +<p> Batch of Boys, swimming, chattering, diving. </p> +<p> "Stop" you said to the driver; "Come here" you called to the Lads. </p> +<p> They came trooping, dripping, out of the Pool. </p> +<p> A change came over you; flinging off your coat, </p> +<p> your hat, you arose to your feet. </p> +<p> There they stood before you, naked, unabashed, curious. </p> +<p> A complacent smile, flickered across the bearded </p> +<p> face of the Wise Wizard. He must have known! </p> +<p> He must have timed your arrival at that particular </p> +<p> spot, at that particular moment. </p> +<p> But even the Wizard could not have known what was to follow. </p> +<p> Without a word of explanation, you gave them, that </p> +<p> crowd of naked Boys—gave it, as you had never </p> +<p> given it before, doubtless, as you never </p> +<p> gave it again—your </p> +</div> +</div> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + "Old Swimmin' Hole" +</h2> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="sans"> <span style="font-size: 200%;">O</span><span style="font-variant: small-caps;">h</span>! the old swimmin' hole! whare the crick so still and deep </p> +<p class="sans"> Looked like a baby-river that was laying half asleep, </p> +<p class="sans"> And the gurgle of the worter round the drift jest below </p> +<p class="sans"> Sounded like the laugh of something we onc't ust to know </p> +<p class="sans"> Before we could remember anything but the eyes </p> +<p class="sans"> Of the angels lookin' out as we left Paradise; </p> +<p class="sans"> But the merry days of youth is beyond our controle, </p> +<p class="sans"> And its hard to part ferever with the old swimmin'-hole. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="sans"> Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! In the happy days of yore, </p> +<p class="sans"> When I ust to lean above it on the old sickamore. </p> +<p class="sans"> Oh! it showed me a face in its warm sunny tide </p> +<p class="sans"> That gazed back at me so gay and glorified, </p> +<p class="sans"> It made me love myself, as I leaped to caress </p> +<p class="sans"> My shadder smilin' up at me with sich tenderness. </p> +<p class="sans"> But them days is past and gone, and old Time's tuck his toll </p> +<p class="sans"> From the old man come back to the old swimmin'-hole. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="sans"> Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! In the long, lazy days </p> +<p class="sans"> When the humdrum of school made so many run-a-ways. </p> +<p class="sans"> How plesant was the jurney down the old dusty lane, </p> +<p class="sans"> Whare the tracks of our bare feet was all printed so plane </p> +<p class="sans"> You could tell by the dent of the heel and the sole </p> +<p class="sans"> They was lot o' fun on hands at the old swimmin'-hole. </p> +<p class="sans"> But the lost joys is past! Let your tears in sorrow roll </p> +<p class="sans"> Like the rain that ust to dapple up the old swimmin'-hole. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="sans"> Thare the bullrushes growed, and the cattails so tall, </p> +<p class="sans"> And the sunshine and shadder fell over it all; </p> +<p class="sans"> And it mottled the worter with amber and gold </p> +<p class="sans"> Tel the glad lilies rocked in the ripples that rolled; </p> +<p class="sans"> And the snake-feeder's four gauzy wings fluttered by </p> +<p class="sans"> Like the ghost of a daisy dropped out of the sky, </p> +<p class="sans"> Or a wownded apple-blossom in the breeze's controle </p> +<p class="sans"> As it cut acrost some orchurd to'rds the old swimmin'-hole. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="sans"> Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! When I last saw the place, </p> +<p class="sans"> The scenes was all changed, like the change in my face; </p> +<p class="sans"> The bridge of the railroad now crosses the spot </p> +<p class="sans"> Whare the old divin'-log lays sunk and fergot. </p> +<p class="sans"> And I stray down the banks whare the trees ust to be— </p> +<p class="sans"> But never again will theyr shade shelter me! </p> +<p class="sans"> And I wish in my sorrow I could strip to the soul. </p> +<p class="sans"> And dive off in my grave like the old swimmin'-hole. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Their little jaws dropped! </p> +<p class="i4"> Their little eyes distended! </p> +<p class="i6"> Their little ears stood erect! </p> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> They fairly bristled with an intense attention. </p> +<p> You said the last word, of the last line. </p> +<p> Then—absolute, unbroken—Silence! </p> +<p> Finally—but without another word—you reached </p> +<p> down, patted the youngest one on his wet curly Locks. </p> +<p> The Wizard whispered to the driver "Go." </p> +<p> As the team, in a brisk trot, started away. </p> +<p> you, still standing, coatless, hatless, waved your </p> +<p> hand—in that quick little jerky fashion peculiar </p> +<p> to you—to those little naked Urchins. </p> +<p> With a mighty Shout, they ran back to the Pool, </p> +<p> and gave a rapid-firing Exhibition of the Single </p> +<p> Dive; the Double Dive; and one—a dare-devil—the Triple Dive! </p> +<p> What a Memory, what a Priceless Memory, you must </p> +<p> have given those Boys of Martinsville, that Ideal </p> +<p> Summer Afternoon, in the Long While Ago! </p> +<p> Martinsville! To you of Blessed Memory! </p> +<p> For the sake of an early, enduring, Friendship, </p> +<p> did you not encrust one Jap Miller of </p> +<p> Martinsville with no mean verse? </p> +<p> And did it not run something like this? </p> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="sans"> Jap Miller down at Martinsville's the blamedest feller yit! </p> +<p class="sans"> When <i>he</i> starts in a-talkin' other folks is apt to quit!— </p> +<p class="sans"> 'Pears like that mouth o' his'n wuzn't made fer nothin' else </p> +<p class="sans"> But jes' to argify 'em down and gether in their pelts: </p> +<p class="sans"> He'll talk you down on tariff; er he'll talk you down on tax. </p> +<p class="sans"> And prove the pore man pays 'em all and them's about the fac's! </p> +<p class="sans"> Religen, law, er politics, prize-fightin', er base-ball </p> +<p class="sans"> Jes' tetch Jap up a little and he'll post you 'bout 'em all. </p> +</div> +<hr /> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="sans"> W'y, that-air blame Jap Miller, with his keen sircastic fun, </p> +<p class="sans"> Has got more friends than ary candidate 'at ever run! </p> +<p class="sans"> Don't matter what <i>his</i> views is, when he states the same to you, </p> +<p class="sans"> They allus coincide with your'n, the same as two and two: </p> +<p class="sans"> You <i>can't</i> take issue with him—er, at least, they haint no sense </p> +<p class="sans"> In startin' in to down him, so you better not commence.— </p> +<p class="sans"> The best way's jes' to listen, like your humble servant does. </p> +<p class="sans"> And jes' concede Jap Miller is the best man ever wuz! </p> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> <span style="font-size: 200%;">O</span><span style="font-variant: small-caps;">n</span> the drive back to the little Station, you were</p> +<p> the Man, the Poet, but not the Mystic!</p> +<p> You delighted the Wizard with your genial</p> +<p> flow of Verse, of Story.</p> +<p> When the watchful Wizard, smuggled you aboard</p> +<p> your train—with privacy unbroken you, like</p> +<p> King Saul, returned to your People, refreshed in body,</p> +<p> restored in mind; for had not the Wizard done for you,</p> +<p> as David did for Saul, for had not he brought Peace</p> +<p> to your no longer Troubled Soul?</p> +<p> Did he not say to you, in parting, "All Is Well With You?"</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p style="font-size: 125%;"> <b>O! James Whitcomb Riley!</b></p> +<p> It is late in the Afternoon, of a Perfect Summer Day.</p> +<p> This Man From Down On The Farm,</p> +<p> is standing on the Banks Of Wolf Run.</p> +<p> He is thinking of You!</p> +<p> Joyfully, not Regretfully!</p> +<p> A Pastoral Scene stretches before him—</p> +<p> a Scene of much Beauty!</p> +<p> The Cattle stand, not "knee-deep in June"</p> +<p> but well into the pure rippling Waters of an August</p> +<p> Wolf Run, under the dense shade overhead, where</p> +<p> arching branches inter-lock, casting a net-work</p> +<p> of shifting Shadows on the bosom of the Peaceful</p> +<p> Waters, which seem to murmer, as they</p> +<p> flow, your Name—Joyfully, not Mournfully!</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i8" style="font-size: 125%;"> <b>James Whitcomb Riley!</b></p> +<p class="i12" style="font-size: 125%;"> <b>James Whitcomb Riley!</b></p> +<p class="i16" style="font-size: 125%;"> <b>James Whitcomb Riley!</b></p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> Smiling, undulating, across the Creek,</p> +<p> a Blue Grass Meadow gently rolls away,</p> +<p> toward the White, the Winding Pike:</p> +<p> Each blade of Blue Grass—Joyfully,</p> +<p> not Tearfully—seems to whisper your Name:</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i8" style="font-size: 125%;"> <b>James Whitcomb Riley!</b></p> +<p class="i12" style="font-size: 125%;"> <b>James Whitcomb Riley!</b></p> +<p class="i16" style="font-size: 125%;"> <b>James Whitcomb Riley!</b></p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> <span style="font-size: 200%;">B</span><span style="font-variant: small-caps;">ut</span> Hark! The belated Song of a Mocking Bird—</p> +<p> its Vesper Song—to its enraptured Mate!</p> +<p> This, the Glad Song:</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p style="font-size: 125%;"> <b>To You James Whitcomb Riley!</b></p> +<p> The World was full of Roses!</p> +<p> Every Rose held hidden, within its Tremulous Heart, a</p> +<p> Slender Crystal Chalice of Perfumed Dew, which,</p> +<p> overflowing, spilled its Prodigal Sweetness,</p> +<p> onto the Earth, into the Air,</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p style="font-size: 125%;"> <b>For You James Whitcomb Riley!</b></p> +<p> —For You, and for All Humanity!</p> +<p> And this, the Joyful Refrain:</p> +<p> —Joy, without Regret!</p> +<p class="i4"> Joy, without Mourning!</p> +<p class="i8"> Joy, without Tears!—</p> +<p> —A Refrain which readily, willingly,</p> +<p> finds Grateful Echo in the Heart of</p> +<p> This Man From Down On The Farm!</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i4"> <b>O! James Whitcomb Riley!</b></p> +<p class="i8"> <b>All Is Well With You!</b></p> +<p class="i12"> <b>All Is Well With You!</b></p> +<p class="i16"> <b>O! James Whitcomb Riley!</b></p> +<p class="i20"> <b>All Is Well With You!</b></p> +<p class="i24"> <b>O! James Whitcomb Riley!</b></p> +</div> +</div> + + +<img src="images/illustr-03.png" alt="" style="float:right;" /> + +<div style="height: 4em; clear: both;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<hr class="full" /> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + Postlude +</h2> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> —Which ought to have been The Prelude to</p> +<p> this Spray of Kentucky Pine.</p> +<p> Because it was written, published, a little more than a year</p> +<p> before the Death of the Poet.</p> +<p> Therefore, it was a Tribute to him, <i>Living!</i></p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p> <span style="font-size: 200%;">A</span> Promethean Poet was there. He had touched the</p> +<p> Heavenly flame; he had lasted the Waters of</p> +<p> Inspiration: he had drained the Crystal Cup of Fancy,</p> +<p> finding therein neither Lees nor Dregs, which</p> +<p> bite the tongue, stifle the song, of lesser Men; he had</p> +<p> reverently kissed the coy hand of Fame, when she had</p> +<p> crowned his Worthy Brow, with her Wreath Immortal!</p> +<p> His Poems, homely, simple, sweet—springing from the lap of</p> +<p> Nature—had spread, like wild-fire of the Forest,</p> +<p> into the Four Quarters of the Globe.</p> +<p> He came from the Land, across the River, where, in</p> +<p> these latter days, the People quit the planting of the Potato,</p> +<p> to pen a Poem: pause in the cultivation of the Corn, to</p> +<p> compose a Novel. Some of it is good, very good; Some</p> +<p> of it is bad, very bad: but all of it produces</p> +<p> a princely Revenue far in excess of any return</p> +<p> from either the Potato or the Corn.</p> +<p> Long before the avalanche-like advent of this State-</p> +<p> wide Literary Madness, the Star of this Poet had risen—</p> +<p> risen before, and still shines beyond, and above them all.</p> +<p> The hand which wrote "Goodbye, Jim"—not classical</p> +<p> in either Greek or Roman sense, yet a great</p> +<p> American Classic—with its pungent odor of Blue Jeans, with</p> +<p> its clean, sweet, clear-cut, fine smell, of its native soil—</p> +<p> that hand may never again hold the Pen; the man</p> +<p> himself, may crumble—God forbid!—back into the Dust—</p> +<p> that "Little Dust of Harm"—out of which he came;</p> +<p> but his Poems will not, cannot die.</p> +<p> When those other Writers will have been forgotten;</p> +<p> when even the gifted Maker of "Ben Hur" will be, but</p> +<p> as an empty name; even then, this Poet,</p> +<p> and his Poems, will cleave to the Mind, cling to the</p> +<p> Heart, of countless Generations, not yet born!</p> +</div> +</div> + +<center> +<img src="images/illustr-04.png" alt="Whatever Is--is Best" /> +</center> +<h2>Whatever Is—Is Best</h2> + + +<div style="height: 6em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 14821 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/14821-h/images/illustr-01.png b/14821-h/images/illustr-01.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..b0aad76 --- /dev/null +++ b/14821-h/images/illustr-01.png diff --git a/14821-h/images/illustr-02.png b/14821-h/images/illustr-02.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..4eabf51 --- /dev/null +++ b/14821-h/images/illustr-02.png diff --git a/14821-h/images/illustr-03.png b/14821-h/images/illustr-03.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..6850b3c --- /dev/null +++ b/14821-h/images/illustr-03.png diff --git a/14821-h/images/illustr-04.png b/14821-h/images/illustr-04.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..3ed674d --- /dev/null +++ b/14821-h/images/illustr-04.png |
