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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/32335-8.txt b/32335-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..704e77d --- /dev/null +++ b/32335-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5360 @@ +Project Gutenberg's The Old Soldiers Story, by James Whitcomb Riley + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Old Soldiers Story + Poems and Prose Sketches + +Author: James Whitcomb Riley + +Release Date: May 11, 2010 [EBook #32335] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OLD SOLDIERS STORY *** + + + + +Produced by David Clarke, Chandra Friend and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + +Transcriber's Note: Dialect has been retained as it appears in the +original publication. + + + + +THE OLD SOLDIER'S STORY + +_Poems and Prose Sketches_ + + +JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY + + +Indianapolis + +The Bobbs-Merrill Company Publishers + +Copyright 1913, 1914, 1915 + +James Whitcomb Riley + + +Press of Braunworth & Co. Bookbinders and Printers Brooklyn, N. Y. + + + + +TO + +GEORGE THOMPSON, ESQ. + +"_Apples ben ripe in my gardayne_" + + + + +CONTENTS + + PAGE + + THE OLD SOLDIER'S STORY 1 + + SOMEP'N COMMON-LIKE 5 + + MONSIEUR LE SECRETAIRE 6 + + A PHANTOM 7 + + IN THE CORRIDOR 8 + + LOUELLA WAINIE 9 + + THE TEXT 11 + + WILLIAM BROWN 12 + + WHY 14 + + THE TOUCH OF LOVING HANDS 15 + + A TEST 16 + + A SONG FOR CHRISTMAS 17 + + SUN AND RAIN 19 + + WITH HER FACE 20 + + MY NIGHT 21 + + THE HOUR BEFORE THE DAWN 22 + + GOOD-BY, OLD YEAR 23 + + FALSE AND TRUE 24 + + A BALLAD FROM APRIL 25 + + BRUDDER SIMS 27 + + DEFORMED 28 + + FAITH 30 + + THE LOST THRILL 31 + + AT DUSK 32 + + ANOTHER RIDE FROM GHENT TO AIX 33 + + IN THE HEART OF JUNE 36 + + DREAMS 37 + + BECAUSE 42 + + TO THE CRICKET 43 + + THE OLD-FASHIONED BIBLE 44 + + UNCOMFORTED 46 + + WHAT THEY SAID 48 + + AFTER THE FROST 50 + + CHARLES H. PHILLIPS 51 + + WHEN IT RAINS 53 + + AN ASSASSIN 55 + + BEST OF ALL 56 + + BIN A-FISHIN' 57 + + UNCLE DAN'L IN TOWN OVER SUNDAY 59 + + SOLDIERS HERE TO-DAY 61 + + SHADOW AND SHINE 65 + + THAT NIGHT 66 + + AUGUST 67 + + THE GUIDE 68 + + SUTTER'S CLAIM 71 + + HER LIGHT GUITAR 73 + + WHILE CIGARETTES TO ASHES TURN 74 + + TWO SONNETS TO THE JUNE-BUG 77 + + AUTOGRAPHIC 79 + + AN IMPROMPTU ON ROLLER SKATES 80 + + WRITTEN IN BUNNER'S "AIRS FROM ARCADY" 81 + + IN THE AFTERNOON 82 + + AT MADAME MANICURE'S 84 + + A CALLER FROM BOONE 86 + + LORD BACON 98 + + MY FIRST WOMERN 99 + + AS WE READ BURNS 101 + + TO JAMES NEWTON MATTHEWS 102 + + SONG 103 + + WHEN WE THREE MEET 105 + + JOSH BILLINGS 106 + + WHICH ANE 108 + + THE EARTHQUAKE 111 + + A FALL-CRICK VIEW OF THE EARTHQUAKE 112 + + LEWIS D. HAYES 114 + + IN DAYS TO COME 116 + + LUTHER A. TODD 117 + + WHEN THE HEARSE COMES BACK 121 + + OUR OLD FRIEND NEVERFAIL 124 + + DAN O'SULLIVAN 126 + + JOHN BOYLE O'REILLY 127 + + MEREDITH NICHOLSON 129 + + GOD'S MERCY 130 + + CHRISTMAS GREETING 131 + + TO RUDYARD KIPLING 132 + + THE GUDEWIFE 133 + + TENNYSON 134 + + ROSAMOND C. BAILEY 135 + + MRS. BENJAMIN HARRISON 136 + + GEORGE A. CARR 138 + + TO ELIZABETH 139 + + TO ALMON KEEFER 140 + + TO--"THE J. W. R. LITERARY CLUB" 142 + + LITTLE MAID-O'-DREAMS 143 + + TO THE BOY WITH A COUNTRY 145 + + CLAUDE MATTHEWS 146 + + TO LESLEY 147 + + THE JUDKINS PAPERS 148 + + TO THE QUIET OBSERVER--ERASMUS WILSON 165 + + AMERICA'S THANKSGIVING 166 + + WILLIAM PINKNEY FISHBACK 168 + + JOHN CLARK RIDPATH 170 + + NEW YEAR'S NURSERY JINGLE 173 + + TO THE MOTHER 174 + + TO MY SISTER 175 + + A MOTTO 176 + + TO A POET ON HIS MARRIAGE 177 + + ART AND POETRY 178 + + HER SMILE OF CHEER AND VOICE OF SONG 179 + + OLD INDIANY 180 + + ABE MARTIN 183 + + O. HENRY 185 + + "MONA MACHREE" 186 + + WILLIAM MCKINLEY 187 + + BENJAMIN HARRISON 190 + + LEE O. HARRIS 192 + + THE HIGHEST GOOD 194 + + MY CONSCIENCE 195 + + MY BOY 197 + + THE OBJECT LESSON 198 + + + + +THE OLD SOLDIER'S STORY + +AS TOLD BEFORE THE NEW ENGLAND SOCIETY IN NEW YORK CITY + + +Since we have had no stories to-night I will venture, Mr. President, +to tell a story that I have heretofore heard at nearly all the +banquets I have ever attended. It is a story simply, and you must bear +with it kindly. It is a story as told by a friend of us all, who is +found in all parts of all countries, who is immoderately fond of a +funny story, and who, unfortunately, attempts to tell a funny story +himself--one that he has been particularly delighted with. Well, he is +not a story-teller, and especially he is not a funny story-teller. His +funny stories, indeed, are oftentimes touchingly pathetic. But to such +a story as he tells, being a good-natured man and kindly disposed, we +have to listen, because we do not want to wound his feelings by +telling him that we have heard that story a great number of times, and +that we have heard it ably told by a great number of people from the +time we were children. But, as I say, we can not hurt his feelings. We +can not stop him. We can not kill him; and so the story generally +proceeds. He selects a very old story always, and generally tells it +in about this fashion:-- + +I heerd an awful funny thing the other day--ha! ha! I don't know +whether I kin git it off er not, but, anyhow, I'll tell it to you. +Well!--le's see now how the fool-thing goes. Oh, yes!--W'y, there was +a feller one time--it was durin' the army, and this feller that I +started in to tell you about was in the war, and--ha! ha!--there was a +big fight a-goin' on, and this feller was in the fight, and it was a +big battle and bullets a-flyin' ever' which way, and bombshells +a-bu'stin', and cannon-balls a-flyin' 'round promiskus; and this +feller right in the midst of it, you know, and all excited and het up, +and chargin' away; and the fust thing you know along come a +cannon-ball and shot his head off--ha! ha! ha! Hold on here a +minute!--no sir; I'm a-gittin' ahead of my story; no, no; it didn't +shoot his _head_ off--I'm gittin' the cart before the horse there--shot +his _leg_ off; that was the way; shot his leg off; and down the poor +feller drapped, and, of course, in that condition was perfectly +he'pless, you know, but yit with presence o' mind enough to know that +he was in a dangerous condition ef somepin' wasn't done fer him right +away. So he seen a comrade a-chargin' by that he knowed, and he +hollers to him and called him by name--I disremember now what the +feller's name was.... + +Well, that's got nothin' to do with the story, anyway; he hollers to +him, he did, and says, "Hello, there," he says to him; "here, I want +you to come here and give me a lift; I got my leg shot off, and I want +you to pack me back to the rear of the battle"--where the doctors +always is, you know, during a fight--and he says, "I want you to pack +me back there where I can get med-dy-cinal attention er I'm a dead +man, fer I got my leg shot off," he says, "and I want you to pack me +back there so's the surgeons kin take keer of me." Well--the feller, +as luck would have it, ricko-nized him and run to him and throwed down +his own musket, so's he could pick him up; and he stooped down and +picked him up and kindo' half-way shouldered him and half-way helt him +betwixt his arms like, and then he turned and started back with +him--ha! ha! ha! Now, mind, the fight was still a-goin' on--and right +at the hot of the fight, and the feller, all excited, you know, like +he was, and the soldier that had his leg shot off gittin' kindo fainty +like, and his head kindo' stuck back over the feller's shoulder that +was carryin' him. And he hadn't got more'n a couple o' rods with him +when another cannon-ball come along and tuk his head off, shore +enough!--and the curioust thing about it was--ha! ha!--that the feller +was a-packin' him didn't know that he had been hit ag'in at all, and +back he went--still carryin' the deceased back--ha! ha! ha!--to where +the doctors could take keer of him--as he thought. Well, his cap'n +happened to see him, and he thought it was a ruther cur'ous +p'ceedin's--a soldier carryin' a dead body out o' the fight--don't you +see? And so he hollers at him, and he says to the soldier, the cap'n +did, he says, "Hullo, there; where you goin' with that thing?" the +cap'n said to the soldier who was a-carryin' away the feller that had +his leg shot off. Well, his head, too, by that time. So he says, +"Where you goin' with that thing?" the cap'n said to the soldier who +was a-carryin' away the feller that had his leg shot off. Well, the +soldier he stopped--kinder halted, you know, like a private soldier +will when his presidin' officer speaks to him--and he says to him, +"W'y," he says, "Cap, it's a comrade o' mine and the pore feller has +got his leg shot off, and I'm a-packin' him back to where the doctors +is; and there was nobody to he'p him, and the feller would 'a' died in +his tracks--er track ruther--if it hadn't a-been fer me, and I'm +a-packin' him back where the surgeons can take keer of him; where he +can get medical attendance--er his wife's a widder!" he says, "'cause +he's got his leg shot off!" Then _Cap'n_ says, "You blame fool you, he's +got his _head_ shot off." So then the feller slacked his grip on the +body and let it slide down to the ground, and looked at it a minute, +all puzzled, you know, and says, "W'y, he told me it was his leg!" Ha! +ha! ha! + + + + +SOMEP'N COMMON-LIKE + + + Somep'n 'at's common-like, and good + And plain, and easy understood; + Somep'n 'at folks like me and you + Kin understand, and relish, too, + And find some sermint in 'at hits + The spot, and sticks and benefits. + + We don't need nothin' extry fine; + 'Cause, take the run o' minds like mine, + And we'll go more on good horse-sense + Than all your flowery eloquence; + And we'll jedge best of honest acts + By Nature's statement of the facts. + + So when you're wantin' to express + Your misery, er happiness, + Er anything 'at's wuth the time + O' telling in plain talk er rhyme-- + Jes' sort o' let your subject run + As ef the Lord wuz listenun. + + + + +MONSIEUR LE SECRETAIRE + +[JOHN CLARK RIDPATH] + + + Mon cher Monsieur le Secretaire, + Your song flits with me everywhere; + It lights on Fancy's prow and sings + Me on divinest voyagings: + And when my ruler love would fain + Be laid upon it--high again + It mounts, and hugs itself from me + With rapturous wings--still dwindlingly-- + On!--on! till but a _ghost_ is there + Of song, Monsieur le Secretaire! + + + + +A PHANTOM + + + Little baby, you have wandered far away, + And your fairy face comes back to me to-day, + But I can not feel the strands + Of your tresses, nor the play + Of the dainty velvet-touches of your hands. + + Little baby, you were mine to hug and hold; + Now your arms cling not about me as of old-- + O my dream of rest come true, + And my richer wealth than gold, + And the surest hope of Heaven that I knew! + + O for the lisp long silent, and the tone + Of merriment once mingled with my own-- + For the laughter of your lips, + And the kisses plucked and thrown + In the lavish wastings of your finger-tips! + + Little baby, O as then, come back to me, + And be again just as you used to be, + For this phantom of you stands + All too cold and silently, + And will not kiss nor touch me with its hands. + + + + +IN THE CORRIDOR + + + Ah! at last alone, love! + Now the band may play + Till its sweetest tone, love, + Swoons and dies away! + They who most will miss us + We're not caring for-- + Who of them could kiss us + In the corridor? + + Had we only known, dear, + Ere this long delay, + Just how all alone, dear, + We might waltz away, + Then for hours, like this, love, + We are longing for, + We'd have still to kiss, love, + In the corridor! + + Nestle in my heart, love; + Hug and hold me close-- + Time will come to part, love, + Ere a fellow knows; + There! the Strauss is ended-- + Whirl across the floor: + Isn't waltzing splendid + In the corridor? + + + + +LOUELLA WAINIE + + + Louella Wainie! where are you? + Do you not hear me as I cry? + Dusk is falling; I feel the dew; + And the dark will be here by and by: + I hear no thing but the owl's hoo-hoo! + Louella Wainie! where are you? + + Hand in hand to the pasture bars + We came loitering, Lou and I, + Long ere the fireflies coaxed the stars + Out of their hiding-place on high. + O how sadly the cattle moo! + Louella Wainie! where are you? + + Laughingly we parted here-- + "I will go this way," said she, + "And you will go that way, my dear"-- + Kissing her dainty hand at me-- + And the hazels hid her from my view. + Louella Wainie! where are you? + + Is there ever a sadder thing + Than to stand on the farther brink + Of twilight, hearing the marsh-frogs sing? + Nothing could sadder be, I think! + And ah! how the night-fog chills one through. + Louella Wainie! where are you? + + Water-lilies and oozy leaves-- + Lazy bubbles that bulge and stare + Up at the moon through the gloom it weaves + Out of the willows waving there! + Is it despair I am wading through? + Louella Wainie! where are you? + + Louella Wainie, listen to me, + Listen, and send me some reply, + For so will I call unceasingly + Till death shall answer me by and by-- + Answer, and help me to find you too! + Louella Wainie! where are you? + + + + +THE TEXT + + + The text: Love thou thy fellow man! + He may have sinned;--One proof indeed, + He is thy fellow, reach thy hand + And help him in his need! + + Love thou thy fellow man. He may + Have wronged thee--then, the less excuse + Thou hast for wronging him. Obey + What he has dared refuse! + + Love thou thy fellow man--for, be + His life a light or heavy load, + No less he needs the love of thee + To help him on his road. + + + + +WILLIAM BROWN + + + "He bore the name of William Brown"-- + His name, at least, did not go down + With him that day + He went the way + Of certain death where duty lay. + + He looked his fate full in the face-- + He saw his watery resting-place + Undaunted, and + With firmer hand + Held others' hopes in sure command.-- + + The hopes of full three hundred lives-- + Aye, babes unborn, and promised wives! + "The odds are dread," + He must have said, + "Here, God, is one poor life instead." + + No time for praying overmuch-- + No time for tears, or woman's touch + Of tenderness, + Or child's caress-- + His last "God bless them!" stopped at "bless"-- + + Thus man and engine, nerved with steel, + Clasped iron hands for woe or weal, + And so went down + Where dark waves drown + All but the name of William Brown. + + + + +WHY + + + Why are they written--all these lovers' rhymes? + I catch faint perfumes of the blossoms white + That maidens drape their tresses with at night, + And, through dim smiles of beauty and the din + Of the musicians' harp and violin, + I hear, enwound and blended with the dance, + The voice whose echo is this utterance,-- + Why are they written--all these lovers' rhymes? + + Why are they written--all these lovers' rhymes? + I see but vacant windows, curtained o'er + With webs whose architects forevermore + Race up and down their slender threads to bind + The buzzing fly's wings whirless, and to wind + The living victim in his winding sheet.-- + I shudder, and with whispering lips repeat, + Why are they written--all these lovers' rhymes? + + Why are they written--all these lovers' rhymes? + What will you have for answer?--Shall I say + That he who sings the merriest roundelay + Hath neither joy nor hope?--and he who sings + The lightest, sweetest, tenderest of things + But utters moan on moan of keenest pain, + So aches his heart to ask and ask in vain, + Why are they written--all these lovers' rhymes? + + + + +THE TOUCH OF LOVING HANDS + +IMITATED + + + Light falls the rain-drop on the fallen leaf, + And light o'er harvest-plain and garnered sheaf-- + But lightlier falls the touch of loving hands. + + Light falls the dusk of mild midsummer night, + And light the first star's faltering lance of light + On glimmering lawns,--but lightlier loving hands. + + And light the feathery flake of early snows, + Or wisp of thistle-down that no wind blows, + And light the dew,--but lightlier loving hands. + + Light-falling dusk, or dew, or summer rain, + Or down of snow or thistle--all are vain,-- + Far lightlier falls the touch of loving hands. + + + + +A TEST + + + 'Twas a test I designed, in a quiet conceit + Of myself, and the thoroughly fixed and complete + Satisfaction I felt in the utter control + Of the guileless young heart of the girl of my soul. + + So--we parted. I said it were better we should-- + That she could forget me--I knew that she could; + For I never was worthy so tender a heart, + And so for her sake it were better to part. + + She averted her gaze, and she sighed and looked sad + As I held out my hand--for the ring that she had-- + With the bitterer speech that I hoped she might be + Resigned to look up and be happy with me. + + 'Twas a test, as I said--but God pity your grief, + At a moment like this when a smile of relief + Shall leap to the lips of the woman you prize, + And no mist of distress in her glorious eyes. + + + + +A SONG FOR CHRISTMAS + + + Chant me a rhyme of Christmas-- + Sing me a jovial song,-- + And though it is filled with laughter, + Let it be pure and strong. + + Let it be clear and ringing, + And though it mirthful be, + Let a low, sweet voice of pathos + Run through the melody. + + Sing of the hearts brimmed over + With the story of the day-- + Of the echo of childish voices + That will not die away.-- + + Of the blare of the tasselled bugle, + And the timeless clatter and beat + Of the drum that throbs to muster + Squadrons of scampering feet.-- + + Of the wide-eyed look of wonder, + And the gurgle of baby-glee, + As the infant hero wrestles + From the smiling father's knee. + + Sing the delights unbounded + Of the home unknown of care, + Where wealth as a guest abideth, + And want is a stranger there. + + But O let your voice fall fainter, + Till, blent with a minor tone, + You temper your song with the beauty + Of the pity Christ hath shown: + + And sing one verse for the voiceless; + And yet, ere the song be done, + A verse for the ears that hear not, + And a verse for the sightless one: + + And one for the outcast mother, + And one for the sin-defiled + And hopeless sick man dying, + And one for his starving child. + + For though it be time for singing + A merry Christmas glee, + Let a low, sweet voice of pathos + Run through the melody. + + + + +SUN AND RAIN + + + All day the sun and rain have been as friends, + Each vying with the other which shall be + Most generous in dowering earth and sea + With their glad wealth, till each, as it descends, + Is mingled with the other, where it blends + In one warm, glimmering mist that falls on me + As once God's smile fell over Galilee. + The lily-cup, filled with it, droops and bends + Like some white saint beside a sylvan shrine + In silent prayer; the roses at my feet, + Baptized with it as with a crimson wine, + Gleam radiant in grasses grown so sweet, + The blossoms lift, with tenderness divine, + Their wet eyes heavenward with these of mine. + + + + +WITH HER FACE + + + With her face between his hands! + Was it any wonder she + Stood atiptoe tremblingly? + As his lips along the strands + Of her hair went lavishing + Tides of kisses, such as swing + Love's arms to like iron bands.-- + With her face between his hands! + + And the hands--the hands that pressed + The glad face--Ah! where are they? + Folded limp, and laid away + Idly over idle breast? + He whose kisses drenched her hair, + As he caught and held her there, + In Love's alien, lost lands, + With her face between his hands? + + Was it long and long ago, + When her face was not as now, + Dim with tears? nor wan her brow + As a winter-night of snow? + Nay, anointing still the strands + Of her hair, his kisses flow + Flood-wise, as she dreaming stands, + With her face between his hands. + + + + +MY NIGHT + + + Hush! hush! list, heart of mine, and hearken low! + You do not guess how tender is the Night, + And in what faintest murmurs of delight + Her deep, dim-throated utterances flow + Across the memories of long-ago! + Hark! do your senses catch the exquisite + Staccatos of a bird that dreams he sings? + Nay, then, you hear not rightly,--'tis a blur + Of misty love-notes, laughs and whisperings + The Night pours o'er the lips that fondle her, + And that faint breeze, filled with all fragrant sighs,-- + That is her breath that quavers lover-wise-- + O blessed sweetheart, with thy swart, sweet kiss, + Baptize me, drown me in black swirls of bliss! + + + + +THE HOUR BEFORE THE DAWN + + + The hour before the dawn! + O ye who grope therein, with fear and dread + And agony of soul, be comforted, + Knowing, ere long, the darkness will be gone, + And down its dusky aisles the light be shed; + Therefore, in utter trust, fare on--fare on, + This hour before the dawn! + + + + +GOOD-BY, OLD YEAR + + + Good-by, Old Year! + Good-by! + We have been happy--you and I; + We have been glad in many ways; + And now, that you have come to die, + Remembering our happy days, + 'Tis hard to say, "Good-by-- + Good-by, Old Year! + Good-by!" + + Good-by, Old Year! + Good-by! + We have seen sorrow--you and I-- + Such hopeless sorrow, grief and care, + That now, that you have come to die, + Remembering our old despair, + 'Tis sweet to say, "Good-by-- + Good-by, Old Year! + Good-by!" + + + + +FALSE AND TRUE + + + One said: "Here is my hand to lean upon + As long as you may need it." And one said: + "Believe me true to you till I am dead." + And one, whose dainty way it was to fawn + About my face, with mellow fingers drawn + Most soothingly o'er brow and drooping head, + Sighed tremulously: "Till my breath is fled + Know I am faithful!" ... Now, all these are gone + And many like to them--and yet I make + No bitter moan above their grassy graves-- + Alas! they are not dead for me to take + Such sorry comfort!--but my heart behaves + Most graciously, since one who never spake + A vow is true to me for true love's sake. + + + + +A BALLAD FROM APRIL + + + I am dazed and bewildered with living + A life but an intricate skein + Of hopes and despairs and thanksgiving + Wound up and unravelled again-- + Till it seems, whether waking or sleeping, + I am wondering ever the while + At a something that smiles when I'm weeping, + And a something that weeps when I smile. + + And I walk through the world as one dreaming + Who knows not the night from the day, + For I look on the stars that are gleaming, + And lo, they have vanished away: + And I look on the sweet-summer daylight, + And e'en as I gaze it is fled, + And, veiled in a cold, misty, gray light, + The winter is there in its stead. + + I feel in my palms the warm fingers + Of numberless friends--and I look, + And lo, not a one of them lingers + To give back the pleasure he took; + And I lift my sad eyes to the faces + All tenderly fixed on my own, + But they wither away in grimaces + That scorn me, and leave me alone. + + And I turn to the woman that told me + Her love would live on until death-- + But her arms they no longer enfold me, + Though barely the dew of her breath + Is dry on the forehead so pallid + That droops like the weariest thing + O'er this most inharmonious ballad + That ever a sorrow may sing. + + So I'm dazed and bewildered with living + A life but an intricate skein + Of hopes and despairs and thanksgiving + Wound up and unravelled again-- + Till it seems, whether waking or sleeping, + I am wondering ever the while + At a something that smiles when I'm weeping, + And a something that weeps when I smile. + + + + +BRUDDER SIMS + + + Dah's Brudder Sims! Dast slam yo' Bible shet + An' lef' dat man alone--kase he's de boss + Ob all de preachahs ev' I come across! + Day's no twis' in dat gospil book, I bet, + Ut Brudder Sims cain't splanify, an' set + You' min' at eaze! W'at's Moses an' de Laws? + W'at's fo'ty days an' nights ut Noey toss + Aroun' de Dil-ooge?--W'at dem Chillen et + De Lo'd rain down? W'at s'prise ole Joney so + In dat whale's inna'ds?--W'at dat laddah mean + Ut Jacop see?--an' wha' dat laddah go?-- + Who clim dat laddah?--Wha' dat laddah lean?-- + An' wha' dat laddah now? "Dast chalk yo' toe + Wid Faith," sez Brudder Sims, "an' den you know!" + + + + +DEFORMED + + + Crouched at the corner of the street + She sits all day, with face too white + And hands too wasted to be sweet + In anybody's sight. + + Her form is shrunken, and a pair + Of crutches leaning at her side + Are crossed like homely hands in prayer + At quiet eventide. + + Her eyes--two lustrous, weary things-- + Have learned a look that ever aches, + Despite the ready jinglings + The passer's penny makes. + + And, noting this, I pause and muse + If any precious promise touch + This heart that has so much to lose + If dreaming overmuch-- + + And, in a vision, mistily + Her future womanhood appears,-- + A picture framed with agony + And drenched with ceaseless tears-- + + Where never lover comes to claim + The hand outheld so yearningly-- + The laughing babe that lisps her name + Is but a fantasy! + + And, brooding thus, all swift and wild + A daring fancy, strangely sweet, + Comes o'er me, that the crippled child + That crouches at my feet-- + + Has found her head a resting-place + Upon my shoulder, while my kiss + Across the pallor of her face + Leaves crimson trails of bliss. + + + + +FAITH + + + The sea was breaking at my feet, + And looking out across the tide, + Where placid waves and heaven meet, + I thought me of the Other Side. + + For on the beach on which I stood + Were wastes of sands, and wash, and roar, + Low clouds, and gloom, and solitude, + And wrecks, and ruins--nothing more. + + "O, tell me if beyond the sea + A heavenly port there is!" I cried, + And back the echoes laughingly + "There is! there is!" replied. + + + + +THE LOST THRILL + + + I grow so weary, someway, of all thing + That love and loving have vouchsafed to me, + Since now all dreamed-of sweets of ecstasy + Am I possessed of: The caress that clings-- + The lips that mix with mine with murmurings + No language may interpret, and the free, + Unfettered brood of kisses, hungrily + Feasting in swarms on honeyed blossomings + Of passion's fullest flower--For yet I miss + The essence that alone makes love divine-- + The subtle flavoring no tang of this + Weak wine of melody may here define:-- + A something found and lost in the first kiss + A lover ever poured through lips of mine. + + + + +AT DUSK + + + A something quiet and subdued + In all the faces that we meet; + A sense of rest, a solitude + O'er all the crowded street; + The very noises seem to be + Crude utterings of harmony, + And all we hear, and all we see, + Has in it something sweet. + + Thoughts come to us as from a dream + Of some long-vanished yesterday; + The voices of the children seem + Like ours, when young as they; + The hand of Charity extends + To meet Misfortune's, where it blends, + Veiled by the dusk--and oh, my friends, + Would it were dusk alway! + + + + +ANOTHER RIDE FROM GHENT TO AIX + + + We sprang for the side-holts--my gripsack and I-- + It dangled--I dangled--we both dangled by. + "Good speed!" cried mine host, as we landed at last-- + "Speed?" chuckled the watch we went lumbering past; + Behind shut the switch, and out through the rear door + I glared while we waited a half hour more. + + I had missed the express that went thundering down + Ten minutes before to my next lecture town, + And my only hope left was to catch this "wild freight," + Which the landlord remarked was "most luckily late-- + But the twenty miles distance was easily done, + If they run half as fast as they usually run!" + + Not a word to each other--we struck a snail's pace-- + Conductor and brakeman ne'er changing a place-- + Save at the next watering-tank, where they all + Got out--strolled about--cut their names on the wall, + Or listlessly loitered on down to the pile + Of sawed wood just beyond us, to doze for a while. + + 'Twas high noon at starting, but while we drew near + "Arcady" I said, "We'll not make it, I fear! + I must strike Aix by eight, and it's three o'clock now; + Let me stoke up that engine, and I'll show you how!" + At which the conductor, with patience sublime, + Smiled up from his novel with, "Plenty of time!" + + At "Trask," as we jolted stock-still as a stone, + I heard a cow bawl in a five o'clock tone; + And the steam from the saw-mill looked misty and thin, + And the snarl of the saw had been stifled within: + And a frowzy-haired boy, with a hat full of chips, + Came out and stared up with a smile on his lips. + + At "Booneville," I groaned, "Can't I telegraph on?" + No! Why? "'Cause the telegraph-man had just gone + To visit his folks in Almo"--and one heard + The sharp snap of my teeth through the throat of a word, + That I dragged for a mile and a half up the track, + And strangled it there, and came skulkingly back. + + Again we were off. It was twilight, and more, + As we rolled o'er a bridge where beneath us the roar + Of a river came up with so wooing an air + I mechanic'ly strapped myself fast in my chair + As a brakeman slid open the door for more light, + Saying: "Captain, brace up, for your town is in sight!" + + "How they'll greet me!"--and all in a moment--"chewang!" + And the train stopped again, with a bump and a bang. + What was it? "The section-hands, just in advance." + And I spit on my hands, and I rolled up my pants, + And I clumb like an imp that the fiends had let loose + Up out of the depths of that deadly caboose. + + I ran the train's length--I lept safe to the ground-- + And the legend still lives that for five miles around + They heard my voice hailing the hand-car that yanked + Me aboard at my bidding, and gallantly cranked, + As I grovelled and clung, with my eyes in eclipse, + And a rim of red foam round my rapturous lips. + + Then I cast loose my ulster--each ear-tab let fall-- + Kicked off both my shoes--let go arctics and all-- + Stood up with the boys--leaned--patted each head + As it bobbed up and down with the speed that we sped; + Clapped my hands--laughed and sang--any noise, bad or good, + Till at length into Aix we rotated and stood. + + And all I remember is friends flocking round + As I unsheathed my head from a hole in the ground; + And no voice but was praising that hand-car divine, + As I rubbed down its spokes with that lecture of mine. + Which (the citizens voted by common consent) + Was no more than its due. 'Twas the lecture they meant. + + + + +IN THE HEART OF JUNE + + + In the heart of June, love, + You and I together, + On from dawn till noon, love, + Laughing with the weather; + Blending both our souls, love, + In the selfsame tune, + Drinking all life holds, love, + In the heart of June. + + In the heart of June, love, + With its golden weather, + Underneath the moon, love, + You and I together. + Ah! how sweet to seem, love, + Drugged and half aswoon + With this luscious dream, love, + In the heart of June. + + + + +DREAMS + + "Do I sleep, do I dream, + Do I wonder and doubt-- + Are things what they seem + Or is visions about?" + + +There has always been an inclination, or desire, rather, on my part to +believe in the mystic--even as far back as stretches the gum-elastic +remembrance of my first "taffy-pullin'" given in honor of my fifth +birthday; and the ghost-stories, served by way of ghastly dessert, by +our hired girl. In fancy I again live over all the scenes of that +eventful night:-- + +The dingy kitchen, with its haunting odors of a thousand feasts and +wash-days; the old bench-legged stove, with its happy family of +skillets, stewpans and round-bellied kettles crooning and blubbering +about it. And how we children clustered round the genial hearth, with +the warm smiles dying from our faces just as the embers dimmed and +died out in the open grate, as with bated breath we listened to how +some one's grandmother had said that her first man went through a +graveyard once, one stormy night, "jest to show the neighbors that he +wasn't afeard o' nothin'," and how when he was just passing the grave +of his first wife "something kind o' big and white-like, with great +big eyes like fire, raised up from behind the headboard, and kind o' +re'ched out for him"; and how he turned and fled, "with that air white +thing after him as tight as it could jump, and a hollerin' +'wough-yough-yough!' till you could hear it furder'n you could a +bullgine," and how, at last, just as the brave and daring intruder was +clearing two graves and the fence at one despairing leap, the "white +thing," had made a grab at him with its iron claws, and had nicked him +so close his second wife was occasioned the onerous duty of affixing +another patch in his pantaloons. And in conclusion, our hired girl +went on to state that this blood-curdling incident had so wrought upon +the feelings of "the man that wasn't afeard o' nothin'," and had given +him such a distaste for that particular graveyard, that he never +visited it again, and even entered a clause in his will to the effect +that he would ever remain an unhappy corpse should his remains be +interred in said graveyard. + +I forgot my pop-corn that night; I forgot my taffy; I forgot all +earthly things; and I tossed about so feverishly in my little bed, and +withal so restlessly, that more than once my father's admonition above +the footboard of the big bed, of "Drat you! go to sleep, there!" +foreshadowed my impending doom. And once he leaned over and made a +vicious snatch at me, and holding me out at arm's length by one leg, +demanded in thunder-tones, "what in the name o' flames and flashes I +meant, anyhow!" + +I was afraid to stir a muscle from that on, in consequence of which I +at length straggled off in fitful dreams--and heavens! what dreams!--A +very long and lank, and slim and slender old woman in white knocked at +the door of my vision, and I let her in. She patted me on the +head--and oh! how cold her hands were! And they were very hard hands, +too, and very heavy--and, horror of horrors!--they were not +hands--they were claws!--they were iron!--they were like the things I +had seen the hardware man yank nails out of a keg with. I quailed and +shivered till the long and slim and slender old woman jerked my head +up and snarled spitefully, "What's the matter with you, bub," and I +said, "Nawthin'!" and she said, "Don't you dare to lie to me!" I +moaned. + +"Don't you like me?" she asked. + +I hesitated. + +"And lie if you dare!" she said--"Don't you like me?" + +"Oomh-oomh!" said I. + +"Why?" said she. + +"Cos, you're too long--and slim--an'"-- + +"Go on!" said she. + +"--And tall!" said I. + +"Ah, ha!" said she,--"and that's it, hey?" + +And then she began to grow shorter and thicker, and fatter and +squattier. + +"And how do I suit you now?" she wheezed at length, when she had +wilted down to about the size of a large loaf of bread. + +I shook more violently than ever at the fearful spectacle. + +"How do you like me now?" she yelped again,--"And don't you lie to me +neither, or I'll swaller you whole!" + +I writhed and hid my face. + +"Do you like me?" + +"No-o-oh!" I moaned. + +She made another snatch at my hair. I felt her jagged claws sink into +my very brain. I struggled and she laughed hideously. + +"You don't, hey?" + +"Yes, yes, I do. I love you!" said I. + +"You lie! You lie!" She shrieked derisively. "You know you lie!" and +as I felt the iron talons sinking and gritting in my very brain, with +one wild, despairing effort, I awoke. + +I saw the fire gleaming in the grate, and by the light it made I dimly +saw the outline of the old mantelpiece that straddled it, holding the +old clock high upon its shoulders. I was awake then, and the little +squatty woman with her iron talons was a dream! I felt an oily +gladness stealing over me, and yet I shuddered to be all alone. + +If only some one were awake, I thought, whose blessed company would +drown all recollections of that fearful dream; but I dared not stir or +make a noise. I could only hear the ticking of the clock, and my +father's sullen snore. I tried to compose my thoughts to pleasant +themes, but that telescopic old woman in white would rise up and mock +my vain appeals, until in fancy I again saw her altitudinous +proportions dwindling into that repulsive and revengeful figure with +the iron claws, and I grew restless and attempted to sit up. Heavens! +something yet held me by the hair. The chill sweat that betokens +speedy dissolution gathered on my brow. I made another effort and +arose, that deadly clutch yet fastened in my hair. Could it be +possible! The short, white woman still held me in her vengeful grasp! +I could see her white dress showing from behind either of my ears. She +still clung to me, and with one wild, unearthly cry of "Pap!" I +started round the room. + +I remember nothing further, until as the glowing morn sifted through +the maple at the window, powdering with gold the drear old room, and +baptizing with its radiance the anxious group of old home-faces +leaning over my bed, I heard my father's voice once more rasping on my +senses--"Now get the booby up, and wash that infernal wax out of his +hair!" + + + + +BECAUSE + + + Why did we meet long years of yore? + And why did we strike hands and say: + "We will be friends, and nothing more"; + Why are we musing thus to-day? + Because because was just because, + And no one knew just why it was. + + Why did I say good-by to you? + Why did I sail across the main? + Why did I love not heaven's own blue + Until I touched these shores again? + Because because was just because, + And you nor I knew why it was. + + Why are my arms about you now, + And happy tears upon your cheek? + And why my kisses on your brow? + Look up in thankfulness and speak! + Because because was just because, + And only God knew why it was. + + + + +TO THE CRICKET + + + The chiming seas may clang; and Tubal Cain + May clink his tinkling metals as he may; + Or Pan may sit and pipe his breath away; + Or Orpheus wake his most entrancing strain + Till not a note of melody remain!-- + But thou, O cricket, with thy roundelay, + Shalt laugh them all to scorn! So wilt thou, pray, + Trill me thy glad song o'er and o'er again: + I shall not weary; there is purest worth + In thy sweet prattle, since it sings the lone + Heart home again. Thy warbling hath no dearth + Of childish memories--no harsher tone + Than we might listen to in gentlest mirth, + Thou poor plebeian minstrel of the hearth. + + + + +THE OLD-FASHIONED BIBLE + + + How dear to my heart are the scenes of my childhood + That now but in mem'ry I sadly review; + The old meeting-house at the edge of the wildwood, + The rail fence and horses all tethered thereto; + The low, sloping roof, and the bell in the steeple, + The doves that came fluttering out overhead + As it solemnly gathered the God-fearing people + To hear the old Bible my grandfather read. + The old-fashioned Bible-- + The dust-covered Bible-- + The leathern-bound Bible my grandfather read. + + The blessed old volume! The face bent above it-- + As now I recall it--is gravely severe, + Though the reverent eye that droops downward to love it + Makes grander the text through the lens of a tear, + And, as down his features it trickles and glistens, + The cough of the deacon is stilled, and his head + Like a haloéd patriarch's leans as he listens + To hear the old Bible my grandfather read. + The old-fashioned Bible-- + The dust-covered Bible-- + The leathern-bound Bible my grandfather read. + + Ah! who shall look backward with scorn and derision + And scoff the old book though it uselessly lies + In the dust of the past, while this newer revision + Lisps on of a hope and a home in the skies? + Shall the voice of the Master be stifled and riven? + Shall we hear but a tithe of the words He has said, + When so long He has, listening, leaned out of Heaven + To hear the old Bible my grandfather read? + The old-fashioned Bible-- + The dust-covered Bible-- + The leathern-bound Bible my grandfather read. + + + + +UNCOMFORTED + + + Lelloine! Lelloine! Don't you hear me calling? + Calling through the night for you, and calling through the day; + Calling when the dawn is here, and when the dusk is falling-- + Calling for my Lelloine the angels lured away! + + Lelloine! I call and listen, starting from my pillow-- + In the hush of midnight, Lelloine! I cry, + And o'er the rainy window-pane I hear the weeping willow + Trail its dripping leaves like baby-fingers in reply. + + Lelloine, I miss the glimmer of your glossy tresses, + I miss the dainty velvet palms that nestled in my own; + And all my mother-soul went out in answerless caresses, + And a storm of tears and kisses when you left me here alone. + + I have prayed, O Lelloine, but Heaven will not hear me, + I can not gain one sign from Him who leads you by the hand; + And O it seems that ne'er again His mercy will come near me-- + That He will never see my need, nor ever understand. + + Won't you listen, Lelloine?--just a little leaning + O'er the walls of Paradise--lean and hear my prayer, + And interpret death to Him in all its awful meaning, + And tell Him you are lonely without your mother there. + + + + +WHAT THEY SAID + + + Whispering to themselves apart, + They who knew her said of her, + "Dying of a broken heart-- + Death her only comforter-- + For the man she loved is dead-- + She will follow soon!" they said. + + Beautiful? Ah! brush the dust + From Raphael's fairest face, + And restore it, as it must + First have smiled back from its place + On his easel as he leant + Wrapt in awe and wonderment! + + Why, to kiss the very hem + Of the mourning-weeds she wore, + Like the winds that rustled them, + I had gone the round world o'er; + And to touch her hand I swear + All things dareless I would dare! + + But unto themselves apart, + Whispering, they said of her, + "Dying of a broken heart-- + Death her only comforter-- + For the man she loved is dead-- + She will follow soon!" they said. + + So I mutely turned away, + Turned with sorrow and despair, + Yearning still from day to day + For that woman dying there, + Till at last, by longing led, + I returned to find her--dead? + + "Dead?"--I know that word would tell + Rhyming there--but in this case + "Wed" rhymes equally as well + In the very selfsame place-- + And, in fact, the latter word + Is the one she had preferred. + + Yet unto themselves apart, + Whisp'ring they had said of her-- + "Dying of a broken heart-- + Death her only comforter-- + For the man she loved is dead-- + She will follow soon!" they said. + + + + +AFTER THE FROST + + + After the frost! O the rose is dead, + And the weeds lie pied in the garden-bed, + And the peach tree's shade in the wan sunshine, + Faint as the veins in these hands of mine, + Streaks the gray of the orchard wall + Where the vine rasps loose, and the last leaves fall, + And the bare boughs writhe, and the winds are lost-- + After the frost--the frost! + + After the frost! O the weary head + And the hands and the heart are quietéd; + And the lips we loved are locked at last, + And kiss not back, though the rain falls fast + And the lashes drip, and the soul makes moan, + And on through the dead leaves walks alone + Where the bare boughs writhe and the winds are lost-- + After the frost--the frost! + + + + +CHARLES H. PHILLIPS + +OBIT NOVEMBER 5TH, 1881 + + + O friend! There is no way + To bid farewell to thee! + The words that we would say + Above thy grave to-day + Still falter and delay + And fail us utterly. + + When walking with us here, + The hand we loved to press + Was gentle, and sincere + As thy frank eyes were clear + Through every smile and tear + Of pleasure and distress. + + In years, young; yet in thought + Mature; thy spirit, free, + And fired with fervor caught + Of thy proud sire, who fought + His way to fame, and taught + Its toilsome way to thee. + + So even thou hast gained + The victory God-given-- + Yea, as our cheeks are stained + With tears, and our souls pained + And mute, thou hast attained + Thy high reward in Heaven! + + + + +WHEN IT RAINS + + + When it rains, and with the rain + Never bird has heart to sing, + And across the window-pane + Is no sunlight glimmering; + When the pitiless refrain + Brings a tremor to the lips, + Our tears are like the rain + As it drips, drips, drips-- + Like the sad, unceasing rain as it drips. + + When the light of heaven's blue + Is blurred and blotted quite, + And the dreary day to you + Is but a long twilight; + When it seems that ne'er again + Shall the sun break its eclipse, + Our tears are like the rain + As it drips, drips, drips-- + Like the endless, friendless rain as it drips. + + When it rains! weary heart, + O be of better cheer! + The leaden clouds will part, + And the morrow will be clear; + Take up your load again, + With a prayer upon your lips, + Thanking Heaven for the rain + As it drips, drips, drips-- + With the golden bow of promise as it drips. + + + + +AN ASSASSIN + + + Cat-like he creeps along where ways are dim, + From covert unto covert's secrecy; + His shadow in the moonlight shrinks from him + And crouches warily. + + He hugs strange envies to his breast, and nurses + Wild hatreds, till the murderous hand he grips + Falls, quivering with the tension of the curses + He launches from his lips. + + Drenched in his victim's blood he holds high revel; + He mocks at justice, and in all men's eyes + Insults his God--and no one but the devil + Is sorry when he dies. + + + + +BEST OF ALL + + + Of all good gifts that the Lord lets fall, + Is not silence the best of all? + + The deep, sweet hush when the song is closed, + And every sound but a voiceless ghost; + + And every sigh, as we listening leant, + A breathless quiet of vast content? + + The laughs we laughed have a purer ring + With but their memory echoing; + + And the joys we voiced, and the words we said, + Seem so dearer for being dead. + + So of all good gifts that the Lord lets fall, + Is not silence the best of all? + + + + +BIN A-FISHIN' + + + W'en de sun's gone down, un de moon is riz, + Bin a-fishin'! Bin a-fishin'! + It's I's aguine down wha' the by-o is! + Bin a-fishin' all night long! + + Chorus + + Bin a-fishin'! Bin a-fishin'! + Bin a-fishin' clean fum de dusk of night + Twell away 'long on in de mornin' light. + + Bait my hook, un I plunk her down! + Bin a-fishin'! Bin a-fishin'! + Un I lay dat catfish weigh five pound! + Bin a-fishin' all night long! + + Chorus + + Folks tells me ut a sucker won't bite, + Bin a-fishin'! Bin a-fishin'! + Yit I lif' out fo' last Chuesday night, + Bin a-fishin' all night long! + + Chorus + + Little fish nibble un de big fish come; + Bin a-fishin'! Bin a-fishin'! + "Go way, little fish! I want some!" + Bin a-fishin' all night long! + + Chorus + + Sez de bull frog, "D-runk!" sez de ole owl, "Whoo!" + Bin a-fishin'! Bin a-fishin'! + 'Spec, Mr. Nigger, dey's a-meanin' you, + Bin a-fishin' all night long! + + Chorus + + + + +UNCLE DAN'L IN TOWN OVER SUNDAY + + + I cain't git used to city ways-- + Ner never could, I' bet my hat! + Jevver know jes' whur I was raised?-- + Raised on a farm! D' ever tell you that? + Was undoubtatly, I declare! + And now, on Sunday--fun to spare + Around a farm! Why jes' to set + Up on the top three-cornered rail + Of Pap's old place, nigh La Fayette, + I'd swap my soul off, hide and tail! + You fellers in the city here, + You don't know nothin'!--S'pose to-day, + This clatterin' Sunday, you waked up + Without no jinglin'-janglin' bells, + Ner rattlin' of the milkman's cup, + Ner any swarm of screechin' birds + Like these here English swallers--S'pose + Ut you could miss all noise like those, + And git shet o' thinkin' of 'em afterwerds, + And then, in the country, wake and hear + Nothin' but silence--wake and see + Nothin' but green woods fur and near?-- + What sort o' Sunday would that be?... + Wisht I hed you home with me! + Now think! The laziest of all days-- + To git up any time--er sleep-- + Er jes' lay round and watch the haze + A-dancin' 'crost the wheat, and keep + My pipe a-goern laisurely, + And puff and whiff as pleases me-- + And ef I leave a trail of smoke + Clean through the house, no one to say, + "Wah! throw that nasty thing away; + Hev some regyard fer decency!" + To walk round barefoot, if you choose; + Er saw the fiddle--er dig some bait + And go a-fishin'--er pitch hoss shoes + Out in the shade somewhurs, and wait + For dinner-time, with an appetite + Ut folks in town cain't equal quite! + To laze around the barn and poke + Fer hens' nests--er git up a match + Betwixt the boys, and watch 'em scratch + And rassle round, and sweat and swear + And quarrel to their hearts' content; + And me a-jes' a-settin' there + A-hatchin' out more devilment! + What sort o' Sunday would that be?... + Wisht I hed you home with me! + + + + +SOLDIERS HERE TO-DAY + + +I + + Soldiers and saviours of the homes we love; + Heroes and patriots who marched away, + And who marched back, and who marched on above-- + All--all are here to-day! + + By the dear cause you fought for--you are here; + At summons of bugle, and the drum + Whose palpitating syllables were ne'er + More musical, you come! + + Here--by the stars that bloom in fields of blue, + And by the bird above with shielding wings; + And by the flag that floats out over you, + With silken beckonings-- + + Ay, here beneath its folds are gathered all + Who warred unscathed for blessings that it gave-- + Still blessed its champion, though it but fall + A shadow on his grave! + + +II + + We greet you, Victors, as in vast array + You gather from the scenes of strife and death-- + From spectral fortress walls where curls away + The cannon's latest breath. + + We greet you--from the crumbling battlements + Where once again the old flag feels the breeze + Stroke out its tattered stripes and smooth its rents + With rippling ecstasies. + + From living tombs where every hope seemed lost-- + With famine quarantined by bristling guns-- + The prison pens--the guards--the "dead-line" crossed + By--riddled skeletons! + + From furrowed plains, sown thick with bursting shells-- + From mountain gorge, and toppling crags o'erhead-- + From wards of pestilential hospitals, + And trenches of the dead. + + +III + + In fancy all are here. The night is o'er, + And through dissolving mists the morning gleams; + And clustered round their hearths we see once more + The heroes of our dreams. + + Strong, tawny faces, some, and some are fair, + And some are marked with age's latest prime, + And, seer-like, browed and aureoled with hair + As hoar as winter-time. + + The faces of fond lovers, glorified-- + The faces of the husband and the wife-- + The babe's face nestled at the mother's side, + And smiling back at life; + + A bloom of happiness in every cheek-- + A thrill of tingling joy in every vein-- + In every soul a rapture they will seek + In Heaven, and find again! + + +IV + + 'Tis not a vision only--we who pay + But the poor tribute of our praises here + Are equal sharers in the guerdon they + Purchased at price so dear. + + The angel, Peace, o'er all uplifts her hand, + Waving the olive, and with heavenly eyes + Shedding a light of love o'er sea and land + As sunshine from the skies-- + + Her figure pedestalled on Freedom's soil-- + Her sandals kissed with seas of golden grain-- + Queen of a realm of joy-requited toil + That glories in her reign. + + O blessed land of labor and reward! + O gracious Ruler, let Thy reign endure; + In pruning-hook and ploughshare beat the sword, + And reap the harvest sure! + + + + +SHADOW AND SHINE + + + Storms of the winter, and deepening snows, + When will you end? I said, + For the soul within me was numb with woes, + And my heart uncomforted. + When will you cease, O dismal days? + When will you set me free? + For the frozen world and its desolate ways + Are all unloved of me! + + I waited long, but the answer came-- + The kiss of the sunshine lay + Warm as a flame on the lips that frame + The song in my heart to-day. + Blossoms of summer-time waved in the air, + Glimmers of sun in the sea; + Fair thoughts followed me everywhere, + And the world was dear to me. + + + + +THAT NIGHT + + + You and I, and that night, with its perfume and glory!-- + The scent of the locusts--the light of the moon; + And the violin weaving the waltzers a story, + Enmeshing their feet in the weft of the tune, + Till their shadows uncertain + Reeled round on the curtain, + While under the trellis we drank in the June. + + Soaked through with the midnight the cedars were sleeping, + Their shadowy tresses outlined in the bright + Crystal, moon-smitten mists, where the fountain's heart, leaping + Forever, forever burst, full with delight; + And its lisp on my spirit + Fell faint as that near it + Whose love like a lily bloomed out in the night. + + O your love was an odorous sachet of blisses! + The breath of your fan was a breeze from Cathay! + And the rose at your throat was a nest of spilled kisses!-- + And the music!--in fancy I hear it to-day, + As I sit here, confessing + Our secret, and blessing + My rival who found us, and waltzed you away. + + + + +AUGUST + + + O mellow month and merry month, + Let me make love to you, + And follow you around the world + As knights their ladies do. + I thought your sisters beautiful, + Both May and April, too, + But April she had rainy eyes, + And May had eyes of blue. + + And June--I liked the singing + Of her lips--and liked her smile-- + But all her songs were promises + Of something, after while; + And July's face--the lights and shades + That may not long beguile + With alterations o'er the wheat + The dreamer at the stile. + + But you!--ah, you are tropical, + Your beauty is so rare; + Your eyes are clearer, deeper eyes + Than any, anywhere; + Mysterious, imperious, + Deliriously fair, + O listless Andalusian maid, + With bangles in your hair! + + + + +THE GUIDE + +IMITATED + + + We rode across the level plain-- + We--my sagacious guide and I.-- + He knew the earth--the air--the sky; + He knew when it would blow or rain, + And when the weather would be dry: + The blended blades of grass spake out + To him when Redskins were about; + The wagon tracks would tell him too, + The very day that they rolled through: + He knew their burden--whence they came-- + If any horse along were lame, + And what its owner ought to do; + He knew when it would snow; he knew, + By some strange intuition, when + The buffalo would overflow + The prairies like a flood, and then + Recede in their stampede again. + He knew all things--yea, he did know + The brand of liquor in my flask, + And many times did tilt it up, + Nor halt or hesitate one whit, + Nor pause to slip the silver cup + From off its crystal base, nor ask + Why I preferred to drink from it. + And more and more I plied him, and + Did query of him o'er and o'er, + And seek to lure from him the lore + By which the man did understand + These hidden things of sky and land: + And, wrought upon, he sudden drew + His bridle--wheeled, and caught my hand-- + Pressed it, as one that loved me true, + And bade me listen. + ................... There be few + Like tales as strange to listen to! + He told me all--How, when a child, + The Indians stole him--there he laughed-- + "They stole me, and I stole their craft!" + Then slowly winked both eyes, and smiled, + And went on ramblingly,--"And they-- + They reared me, and I ran away-- + 'Twas winter, and the weather wild; + And, caught up in the awful snows + That bury wilderness and plain, + I struggled on until I froze + My feet ere human hands again + Were reached to me in my distress,-- + And lo, since then not any rain + May fall upon me anywhere, + Nor any cyclone's cussedness + Slip up behind me unaware,-- + Nor any change of cold, or heat, + Or blow, or snow, but I do know + It's coming, days and days before;-- + I know it by my frozen feet-- + I know it by my itching heels, + And by the agony one feels + Who knows that scratching nevermore + Will bring to him the old and sweet + Relief he knew ere thus endowed + With knowledge that a certain cloud + Will burst with storm on such a day, + And when a snow will fall, and--nay, + I speak not falsely when I say + That by my tingling heels and toes + I measure time, and can disclose + The date of month--the week--and lo, + The very day and minute--yea-- + Look at your watch!--An hour ago + And twenty minutes I did say + Unto myself with bitter laugh, + 'In less than one hour and a half + Will I be drunken!' Is it so?" + + + + +SUTTER'S CLAIM + +IMITATED + + + Say! _you_ feller! _You_-- + With that spade and the pick!-- + What do you 'pose to do + On this side o' the crick? + Goin' to tackle this claim? Well, I reckon + You'll let up ag'in, purty quick! + + No bluff, understand,-- + But the same has been tried, + And the claim never panned-- + Or the fellers has lied,-- + For they tell of a dozen that tried it, + And quit it most onsatisfied. + + The luck's dead ag'in it!-- + The first man I see + That stuck a pick in it + Proved _that_ thing to me,-- + For he sort o' took down, and got homesick, + And went back whar he'd orto be! + + Then others they worked it + Some--more or less, + But finally shirked it, + In grades of distress,-- + With an eye out--a jaw or skull busted, + Or some sort o' seriousness. + + The _last_ one was plucky-- + He wasn't afeerd, + And bragged he was "lucky," + And said that "he'd heerd + A heap of bluff-talk," and swore awkard + He'd work any claim that he keered! + + Don't you strike nary lick + With that pick till I'm through; + This-here feller talked slick + And as peart-like as you! + And he says: "I'll abide here + As long as I please!" + But he didn't.... He died here-- + And I'm his disease! + + + + +HER LIGHT GUITAR + + + She twankled a tune on her light guitar-- + A low, sweet jangle of tangled sounds, + As blurred as the voices of the fairies are, + Dancing in moondawn dales and downs; + And the tinkling drip of the strange refrain + Ran over the rim of my soul like rain. + + The great blond moon in the midnight skies + Paused and poised o'er the trellis eaves, + And the stars, in the light of her upturned eyes, + Sifted their love through the rifted leaves, + Glittered and splintered in crystal mist + Down the glittering strings that her fingers kissed. + + O the melody mad! O the tinkle and thrill + Of the ecstasy of the exquisite thing! + The red rose dropped from the window-sill + And lay in a long swoon quivering; + While the dying notes of the strain divine + Rippled in glee up my spellbound spine. + + + + +WHILE CIGARETTES TO ASHES TURN + + +I + + "He smokes--and that's enough," says Ma-- + "And cigarettes, at that!" says Pa. + + "He must not call again," says she-- + "He _shall_ not call again!" says he. + + They both glare at me as before-- + Then quit the room and bang the door.-- + + While I, their wilful daughter, say, + "I guess I'll love him, anyway!" + + +II + + At twilight, in his room, alone, + His careless feet inertly thrown + + Across a chair, my fancy can + But worship this most worthless man! + + I dream what joy it is to set + His slow lips round a cigarette, + + With idle-humored whiff and puff-- + Ah! this is innocent enough! + + To mark the slender fingers raise + The waxen match's dainty blaze, + + Whose chastened light an instant glows + On drooping lids and arching nose, + + Then, in the sudden gloom, instead, + A tiny ember, dim and red, + + Blooms languidly to ripeness, then + Fades slowly, and grows ripe again. + + +III + + I lean back, in my own boudoir-- + The door is fast, the sash ajar; + + And in the dark, I smiling stare + At one wide window over there, + + Where some one, smoking, pinks the gloom, + The darling darkness of his room! + + I push my shutters wider yet, + And lo! I light a cigarette; + + And gleam for gleam, and glow for glow, + Each pulse of light a word we know, + + We talk of love that still will burn + While cigarettes to ashes turn. + + + + +TWO SONNETS TO THE JUNE-BUG + + +I + + You make me jes' a little nervouser + Than any dog-gone bug I ever see! + And you know night's the time to pester me-- + When any tetch at all 'll rub the fur + Of all my patience back'ards! You're the myrrh + And ruburb of my life! A bumblebee + Cain't hold a candle to you; and a he + Bald hornet, with a laminated spur + In his hip pocket, daresent even cheep + When you're around! And, dern ye! you have made + Me lose whole ricks and stacks and piles of sleep,-- + And many of a livelong night I've laid + And never shut an eye, hearin' you keep + Up that eternal buzzin' serenade! + + +II + + And I've got up and lit the lamp, and clum + On cheers and trunks and wash-stands and bureaus, + And all such dangerous articles as those, + And biffed at you with brooms, and never come + 'In two feet of you,--maybe skeered you some,-- + But what does that amount to when it throws + A feller out o' balance, and his nose + Gits barked ag'inst the mantel, while you hum + Fer joy around the room, and churn your head + Ag'inst the ceilin', and draw back and butt + The plasterin' loose, and drop--behind the bed, + Where never human-bein' ever putt + Harm's hand on you, er ever truthful said + He'd choked yer dern infernal wizzen shut! + + + + +AUTOGRAPHIC + +_For an Album_ + + + I feel, if aught I ought to rhyme, + I ought 'a' thought a longer time, + And ought 'a' caught a higher sense, + Of autocratic eloquence. + I ought 'a' sought each haughty Muse + That taught a thought I ought to use, + And fought and fraught, and so devised + A poem _unmonotonized_.-- + But since all this was vain, I thought + I ought to simply say,--I ought + To thank you, as I ought to do, + And ought to bow my best to you; + And ought to trust not to intrude + A rudely wrought-up gratitude, + But ought to smile, and ought to laugh, + And ought to write--an autograph. + + + + +AN IMPROMPTU ON ROLLER SKATES + + + Rumble, tumble, growl, and grate! + Skip, and trip, and gravitate! + Lunge, and plunge, and thrash the planks + With your blameless, shameless shanks: + In excruciating pain, + Stand upon your head again, + And, uncoiling kink by kink, + Kick the roof out of the rink! + + In derisive bursts of mirth, + Drop ka-whop and jar the earth! + Jolt your lungs down in your socks, + Oh! tempestuous equinox + Of dismembered legs and arms! + Strew your ways with wild alarms; + Fameward skoot and ricochet + On your glittering vertebræ! + + + + +WRITTEN IN BUNNER'S "AIRS FROM ARCADY" + + + O ever gracious Airs from Arcady! + What lack is there of any jocund thing + In glancing wit or glad imagining + Capricious fancy may not find in thee?-- + The laugh of Momus, tempered daintily + To lull the ear and lure its listening; + The whistled syllables the birds of spring + Flaunt ever at our guessings what they be; + The wood, the seashore, and the clanging town; + The pets of fashion, and the ways of such; + The _robe de chambre_, and the russet gown; + The lordling's carriage, and the pilgrim's crutch-- + From hale old Chaucer's wholesomeness, clean down + To our artistic Dobson's deftest touch! + + + + +IN THE AFTERNOON + + + You in the hammock; and I, near by, + Was trying to read, and to swing you, too; + And the green of the sward was so kind to the eye, + And the shade of the maples so cool and blue, + That often I looked from the book to you + To say as much, with a sigh. + + You in the hammock. The book we'd brought + From the parlor--to read in the open air,-- + Something of love and of Launcelot + And Guinevere, I believe, was there-- + But the afternoon, it was far more fair + Than the poem was, I thought. + + You in the hammock; and on and on + I droned and droned through the rhythmic stuff-- + But, with always a half of my vision gone + Over the top of the page--enough + To caressingly gaze at you, swathed in the fluff + Of your hair and your odorous "lawn." + + You in the hammock--and that was a year-- + Fully a year ago, I guess-- + And what do we care for their Guinevere + And her Launcelot and their lordliness!-- + You in the hammock still, and--Yes-- + Kiss me again, my dear! + + + + +AT MADAME MANICURE'S + + + Daintiest of Manicures! + What a cunning hand is yours; + And how awkward, rude and great + Mine, as you manipulate! + Wonderfully cool and calm + Are the touches of your palm + To my fingers, as they rest + In their rosy, cosey nest, + While your own, with deftest skill, + Dance and caper as they will,-- + Armed with instruments that seem + Gathered from some fairy dream-- + Tiny spears, and simitars + Such as pixy armorers + Might have made for jocund fays + To parade on holidays, + And flash round in dewy dells, + Lopping down the lily-bells; + Or in tilting, o'er the leas, + At the clumsy bumblebees, + Splintering their stings, perchance, + As the knights in old romance + Snapped the spears of foes that fought + In the jousts at Camelot! + Smiling? Dainty Manicure?-- + 'Twould delight me, but that you're + Simply smiling, as I see, + At my nails and not at me! + Haply this is why they glow + And light up and twinkle so! + + + + +A CALLER FROM BOONE + +BENJ. F. JOHNSON VISITS THE EDITOR + + +It was a dim and chill and loveless afternoon in the late fall of +eighty-three when I first saw the genial subject of this hasty sketch. +From time to time the daily paper on which I worked had been +receiving, among the general literary driftage of amateur essayists, +poets and sketch-writers, some conceits in verse that struck the +editorial head as decidedly novel; and, as they were evidently the +production of an unlettered man, and an _old_ man, and a farmer at that, +they were usually spared the waste-basket, and preserved--not for +publication, but to pass from hand to hand among the members of the +staff as simply quaint and mirth-provoking specimens of the verdancy +of both the venerable author and the Muse inspiring him. Letters as +quaint as were the poems invariably accompanied them, and the oddity +of these, in fact, had first called attention to the verses. I well +remember the general merriment of the office when the first of the old +man's letters was read aloud, and I recall, too, some of his comments +on his own verse, verbatim. In one place he said: "I make no doubt you +will find some purty _sad_ spots in my poetry, considerin'; but I hope +you will bear in mind that I am a great sufferer with rheumatizum, and +have been, off and on, sence the cold New Year's. In the main, +however," he continued, "I allus aim to write in a cheerful, +comfortin' sperit, so's ef the stuff hangs fire, and don't do no good, +it hain't a-goin' to do no harm,--and them's my honest views on +poetry." + +In another letter, evidently suspecting his poem had not appeared in +print because of its dejected tone, he said: "The poetry I herewith +send was wrote off on the finest Autumn day I ever laid eyes on! I +never felt better in my life. The morning air was as invigoratin' as +bitters with tanzy in it, and the folks at breakfast said they never +saw such a' appetite on mortal man before. Then I lit out for the +barn, and after feedin', I come back and tuck my pen and ink out on +the porch, and jest cut loose. I writ and writ till my fingers was +that cramped I couldn't hardly let go of the penholder. And the poem I +send you is the upshot of it all. Ef you don't find it cheerful enough +fer your columns, I'll have to knock under, that's all!" And that +poem, as I recall it, certainly was cheerful enough for publication, +only the "copy" was almost undecipherable, and the ink, too, so pale +and vague, it was thought best to reserve the verses, for the time, at +least, and later on revise, copy, punctuate, and then print it +sometime, as much for the joke of it as anything. But it was still +delayed, neglected, and in a week's time almost entirely forgotten. +And so it was, upon this chill and sombre afternoon I speak of that an +event occurred which most pleasantly reminded me of both the poem with +the "sad spots" in it, and the "cheerful" one, "writ out on the porch" +that glorious autumn day that poured its glory through the old man's +letter to us. + +Outside and in the sanctum the gloom was too oppressive to permit an +elevated tendency of either thought or spirit. I could do nothing but +sit listless and inert. Paper and pencil were before me, but I could +not write--I could not even think coherently, and was on the point of +rising and rushing out into the streets for a wild walk, when there +came a hesitating knock at the door. + +"Come in!" I snarled, grabbing up my pencil and assuming a frightfully +industrious air: "Come in!" I almost savagely repeated, "Come in! And +shut the door behind you!" and I dropped my lids, bent my gaze fixedly +upon the blank pages before me and began scrawling some disconnected +nothings with no head or tail or anything. + +"Sir; howdy," said a low and pleasant voice. And at once, in spite of +my perverse resolve, I looked up. I someway felt rebuked. + +The speaker was very slowly, noiselessly closing the door. I could +hardly face him when he turned around. An old man, of sixty-five, at +least, but with a face and an eye of the most cheery and wholesome +expression I had ever seen in either youth or age. Over his broad +bronzed forehead and white hair he wore a low-crowned, wide-brimmed +black felt hat, somewhat rusted now, and with the band grease-crusted, +and the binding frayed at intervals, and sagging from the threads that +held it on. An old-styled frock coat of black, dull brown in streaks, +and quite shiny about the collar and lapels. A waistcoat of no +describable material or pattern, and a clean white shirt and collar of +one piece, with a black string-tie and double bow, which would have +been entirely concealed beneath the long white beard but for its +having worked around to one side of the neck. The front outline of the +face was cleanly shaven, and the beard, growing simply from the under +chin and throat, lent the old pioneer the rather singular appearance +of having hair all over him with this luxurious growth pulled out +above his collar for mere sample. + +I arose and asked the old man to sit down, handing him a chair +decorously. + +"No--no," he said--"I'm much obleeged. I hain't come in to bother you +no more'n I can he'p. All I wanted was to know ef you got my poetry +all right. You know I take yer paper," he went on, in an explanatory +way, "and seein' you printed poetry in it once-in-a-while, I sent you +some of mine--neighbors kindo' advised me to," he added +apologetically, "and so I sent you some--two or three times I sent you +some, but I hain't never seed hide-ner-hair of it in your paper, and +as I wus in town to-day, anyhow, I jest thought I'd kindo' drap in and +git it back, ef you ain't goin' to print it--'cause I allus save up +most the things I write, aimin' sometime to git 'em all struck off in +pamphlet-form, to kindo' distribit round 'mongst the neighbors, don't +you know." + +Already I had begun to suspect my visitor's identity, and was +mechanically opening the drawer of our poetical department. + +"How was your poetry signed?" I asked. + +"Signed by my own name," he answered proudly,--"signed by my own +name,--Johnson--Benjamin F. Johnson, of Boone County--this state." + +"And is this one of them, Mr. Johnson?" I asked, unfolding a +clumsily-folded manuscript, and closely scrutinizing the verse. + +"How does she read?" said the old man eagerly, and searching in the +meantime for his spectacles. "How does she read?--Then I can tell +you!" + +"It reads," said I, studiously conning the old man's bold but bad +chirography, and tilting my chair back indolently,--"it reads like +this--the first verse does,"--and I very gravely read:-- + + "Oh! the old swimmin'-hole!" + +"Stop! Stop!" said the old man excitedly--"Stop right there! That's my +poetry, but that's not the way to read it by a long shot! Give it to +me!" and he almost snatched it from my hand. "Poetry like this ain't +no poetry at all, 'less you read it _natchurl_ and _in jes the same +sperit 'at it's writ in_, don't you understand. It's a' old man +a-talkin', rickollect, and a-feelin' kindo' sad, and yit kindo' sorto' +good, too, and I opine he wouldn't got that off with a face on him +like a' undertaker, and a voice as solemn as a cow-bell after dark! +He'd say it more like this."--And the old man adjusted his spectacles +and read:-- + + "THE OLD SWIMMIN'-HOLE" + + "Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! whare the crick so still and deep + Looked like a baby-river that was laying half asleep, + And the gurgle of the worter round the drift jest below + Sounded like the laugh of something we onc't ust to know + Before we could remember anything but the eyes + Of the angels lookin' out as we left Paradise; + But the merry days of youth is beyond our controle, + And it's hard to part ferever with the old swimmin'-hole." + +I clapped my hands in genuine applause. "Read on!" I said,--"Read on! +Read all of it!" + +The old man's face was radiant as he continued:-- + + "Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! In the happy days of yore, + When I ust to lean above it on the old sickamore, + Oh! it showed me a face in its warm sunny tide + That gazed back at me so gay and glorified, + It made me love myself, as I leaped to caress + My shadder smilin' up at me with sich tenderness. + But them days is past and gone, and old Time's tuck his toll + From the old man come back to the old swimmin'-hole. + + "Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! In the long, lazy days + When the hum-drum of school made so many run-a-ways, + How pleasant was the jurney down the old dusty lane, + Whare the tracks of our bare feet was all printed so plane + You could tell by the dent of the heel and the sole + They was lots o' fun on hands at the old swimmin'-hole. + But the lost joys is past! Let your tears in sorrow roll + Like the rain that ust to dapple up the old swimmin'-hole. + + "Thare the bullrushes growed, and the cattails so tall, + And the sunshine and shadder fell over it all; + And it mottled the worter with amber and gold + Tel the glad lillies rocked in the ripples that rolled; + And the snake-feeder's four gauzy wings fluttered by + Like the ghost of a daisy dropped out of the sky, + Or a wownded apple-blossom in the breeze's controle + As it cut acrost some orchurd to'rds the old swimmin'-hole. + + "Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! When I last saw the place, + The scenes was all changed, like the change in my face; + The bridge of the railroad now crosses the spot + Whare the old divin'-log lays sunk and fergot. + And I strayed down the banks whare the trees ust to be-- + But never again will theyr shade shelter me! + And I wisht in my sorrow I could strip to the soul, + And dive off in my grave like the old swimmin'-hole." + +My applause was long and loud. The old man's interpretation of the +poem was a positive revelation, though I was glad enough to conceal +from him my moistened eyes by looking through the scraps for other +specimens of his verse. + +"Here," said I enthusiastically, "is another one, signed 'Benj. F. +Johnson,' read me this," and I handed him the poem. + +The old man smiled and took the manuscript. "This-here one's on '_The +Hoss_,'" he said, simply clearing his throat. "They ain't so much +fancy-work about this as the other'n, but they's jest as much _fact_, +you can bet--'cause, they're no animal a-livin' 'at I love better 'an + + "THE HOSS" + + "The hoss he is a splendud beast; + He is man's friend, as heaven desined, + And, search the world from west to east, + No honester you'll ever find! + + "Some calls the hoss 'a pore dumb brute,' + And yit, like Him who died fer you, + I say, as I theyr charge refute, + 'Fergive; they know not what they do!' + + "No wiser animal makes tracks + Upon these earthly shores, and hence + Arose the axium, true as facts, + Extoled by all, as 'Good hoss-sense!' + + "The hoss is strong, and knows his stren'th,-- + You hitch him up a time er two + And lash him, and he'll go his len'th + And kick the dashboard out fer you! + + "But, treat him allus good and kind, + And never strike him with a stick, + Ner aggervate him, and you'll find + He'll never do a hostile trick. + + "A hoss whose master tends him right + And worters him with daily care, + Will do your biddin' with delight, + And act as docile as _you_ air. + + "He'll paw and prance to hear your praise, + Because he's learnt to love you well; + And, though you can't tell what he says, + He'll nicker all he wants to tell. + + "He knows you when you slam the gate + At early dawn, upon your way + Unto the barn, and snorts elate, + To git his corn, er oats, er hay. + + "He knows you, as the orphant knows + The folks that loves her like theyr own, + And raises her and 'finds' her clothes, + And 'schools' her tel a womern-grown! + + "I claim no hoss will harm a man, + Ner kick, ner run away, cavort, + Stump-suck, er balk, er 'catamaran,' + Ef you'll jest treat him as you ort. + + "But when I see the beast abused + And clubbed around as I've saw some, + I want to see his owner noosed, + And jest yanked up like Absolum! + + "Of course they's differunce in stock,-- + A hoss that has a little yeer, + And slender build, and shaller hock, + Can beat his shadder, mighty near! + + "Whilse one that's thick in neck and chist + And big in leg and full in flank, + That tries to race, I still insist + He'll have to take the second rank. + + "And I have jest laid back and laughed, + And rolled and wallered in the grass + At fairs, to see some heavy-draft + Lead out at _first_, yit come in _last_! + + "Each hoss has his appinted place,-- + The heavy hoss should plow the soil;-- + The blooded racer, he must race, + And win big wages fer his toil. + + "I never bet--ner never wrought + Upon my feller-man to bet-- + And yit, at times, I've often thought + Of my convictions with regret. + + "I bless the hoss from hoof to head-- + From head to hoof, and tale to mane!-- + I bless the hoss, as I have said, + From head to hoof, and back again! + + "I love my God the first of all, + Then Him that perished on the cross, + And next, my wife,--and then I fall + Down on my knees and love the hoss." + +Again I applauded, handing the old man still another of his poems, and +the last received. "Ah!" said he, as his gentle eyes bent on the +title; "this-here's the cheerfullest one of 'em all. This is the one +writ, as I wrote you about--on that glorious October morning two weeks +ago--I thought your paper would print this-un, shore!" + +"Oh, it _will_ print it," I said eagerly; "and it will print the other +two as well! It will print _anything_ that you may do us the honor to +offer, and we'll reward you beside just as you may see fit to +designate.--But go on--go on! Read me the poem." + +The old man's eyes were glistening as he responded with the poem +entitled + + "WHEN THE FROST IS ON THE PUNKIN" + + "When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock, + And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin' turkey-cock, + And the clackin' of the guineys, and the cluckin' of the hens, + And the rooster's hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence; + O, it's then's the times a feller is a-feelin' at his best, + With the risin' sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest, + As he leaves the house, bareheaded, and goes out to feed the stock, + When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock. + + "They's something kindo' harty-like about the atmusfere + When the heat of summer's over and the coolin' fall is here-- + Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossums on the trees, + And the mumble of the hummin'-birds and buzzin' of the bees; + But the air's so appetizin'; and the landscape through the haze + Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days + Is a pictur' that no painter has the colorin' to mock-- + When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock. + + "The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn, + And the raspin' of the tangled leaves, as golden as the morn; + The stubble in the furries--kindo' lonesome-like, but still + A-preachin' sermuns to us of the barns they growed to fill; + The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed; + The hosses in theyr stalls below--the clover overhead!-- + O, it sets my hart a-clickin' like the tickin' of a clock, + When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock! + + "Then your apples all is getherd, and the ones a feller keeps + Is poured around the celler-floor in red and yeller heaps; + And your cider-makin' 's over, and your wimmern-folks is through + With theyr mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and saussage, + too!... + I don't know how to tell it--but ef sich a thing could be + As the Angels wantin' boardin', and they'd call around on _me_-- + I'd want to 'commodate 'em--all the whole-indurin' flock-- + When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock!" + +That was enough! "Surely," thought I, "here is a diamond in the rough, +and a 'gem,' too, 'of purest ray serene'!" I caught the old man's hand +and wrung it with positive rapture; and it is needless to go further +in explanation of how the readers of our daily came to an acquaintance +through its columns with the crude, unpolished, yet most gentle genius +of Benj. F. Johnson, of Boone. + + + + +LORD BACON + +WRITTEN AS A JOKE AND ASCRIBED TO A VERY PRACTICAL BUSINESS MAN, AMOS +J. WALKER + + + Master of masters in the days of yore, + When art met insult, with no law's redress; + When Law itself insulted Righteousness, + And Ignorance thine own scholastic lore, + And thou thine own judicial office more,-- + What master living now canst love thee less, + Seeing thou didst thy greatest art repress + And leave the years its riches to restore + To us, thy long neglectors. Yield us grace + To make becoming recompense, and dawn + On us thy poet-smile; nor let us trace, + In fancy, where the old-world myths have gone, + The shade of Shakespeare, with averted face, + Withdrawn to uttermost oblivion. + + + + +MY FIRST WOMERN + + + I buried my first womern + In the spring; and in the fall + I was married to my second, + And hain't settled yit at all!-- + Fer I'm allus thinkin'--thinkin' + Of the first one's peaceful ways, + A-bilin' soap and singin' + Of the Lord's amazin' grace. + + And I'm thinkin' of her, constant, + Dyin' carpet chain and stuff, + And a-makin' up rag carpets, + When the _floor_ was good enough! + And I mind her he'p a-feedin', + And I riccollect her now + A-drappin' corn, and keepin' + Clos't behind me and the plow! + + And I'm allus thinkin' of her + Reddin' up around the house; + Er cookin' fer the farm-hands; + Er a-drivin' up the cows.-- + And there she lays out yander + By the lower medder fence, + Where the cows was barely grazin', + And they're usin' ever sence. + + And when I look acrost there-- + Say it's when the clover's ripe, + And I'm settin', in the evenin', + On the porch here, with my pipe, + And the _other'n_ hollers "Henry!"-- + W'y they ain't no sadder thing + Than to think of my first womern + And her funeral last spring + Was a year ago-- + + + + +AS WE READ BURNS + + + Who is speaking? Who has spoken? + Whose voice ceasing thus has broken + The sweet pathos of our dreams? + Sweetest bard of sweetest themes, + Pouring in each poet-heart + Some rare essence of your art + Till it seems your singing lip + Kisses every pencil tip! + Far across the unknown lands-- + Reach of heavenly isle and sea-- + How we long to touch the hands + You outhold so lovingly! + + + + +TO JAMES NEWTON MATTHEWS + +IN ANSWER TO A LETTER ON THE ANATOMY OF THE SONNET + + + Oho! ye sunny, sonnet-singin' vagrant, + Flauntin' your simmer sangs in sic a weather! + Ane maist can straik the bluebells and the heather + Keekin' aboon the snaw and bloomin' fragrant! + Whiles you, ye whustlin' brither, sic a lay grant + O' a' these janglin', wranglin' sweets thegither, + I weel maun perk my ain doon-drappin' feather + And pipe a wee: Tho' boisterous and flagrant + The winds blow whuzzle-whazzle rhymes that trickle + Fra' aff my tongue less limpid than I'd ha'e them, + I in their little music hap a mickle + O' canty praises, a' asklent to weigh them + Agen your pride, and smile to see them tickle + The warm nest o' the heart wherein I lay them. + + + + +SONG + + + O I would I had a lover! + A lover! a lover! + O I would I had a lover + With a twinkering guitar, + To come beneath my casement + Singing "There is none above her," + While I, leaning, seemed to hover + In the scent of his cigar! + + Then at morn I'd want to meet him-- + To meet him! to meet him! + O at morn I'd want to meet him, + When the mist was in the sky, + And the dew along the path I went + To casually greet him, + And to cavalierly treat him, + And regret it by and by. + + And I'd want to meet his brother-- + His brother! his brother! + O I'd want to meet his brother + At the german or the play, + To pin a rose on his lapel + And lightly press the other, + And love him like a mother-- + While he thought the other way. + + O I'd pitilessly test him! + And test him! and test him! + O I'd pitilessly test him + Far beyond his own control; + And every tantalizing lure + With which I could arrest him, + I'd loosen to molest him, + Till I tried his very soul. + + But ah, when I relented-- + Relented, relented! + But ah, when I relented + When the stars were blurred and dim, + And the moon above, with crescent grace, + Looked off as I repented, + And with rapture half demented, + All my heart went out to him! + + + + +WHEN WE THREE MEET + + + When we three meet? Ah! friend of mine + Whose verses well and flow as wine,-- + My thirsting fancy thou dost fill + With draughts delicious, sweeter still + Since tasted by those lips of thine. + + I pledge thee, through the chill sunshine + Of autumn, with a warmth divine, + Thrilled through as only I shall thrill + When we three meet. + + I pledge thee, if we fast or dine, + We yet shall loosen, line by line, + Old ballads, and the blither trill + Of our-time singers--for there will + Be with us all the Muses nine + When we three meet. + + + + +JOSH BILLINGS + +DEAD IN CALIFORNIA, OCTOBER 15, 1885 + + + Jolly-hearted old Josh Billings, + With his wisdom and his wit, + And his gravity of presence, + And the drollery of it! + Has he left us, and forever? + When so many merry years + He has only left us laughing-- + And he leaves us now in tears? + + Has he turned from his "Deer Publik," + With his slyly twinkling eyes + Now grown dim and heavy-lidded + In despite of sunny skies?-- + Yet with rugged brow uplifted, + And the long hair tossed away, + Like an old heroic lion, + With a mane of iron-gray. + + Though we lose him, still we find him + In the mirth of every lip, + And we fare through all his pages + In his glad companionship: + His voice is wed with Nature's, + Laughing in each woody nook + With the chirrup of the robin + And the chuckle of the brook. + + But the children--O the children!-- + They who leaped to his caress, + And felt his arms about them, + And his love and tenderness,-- + Where--where will they find comfort + As their tears fall like the rain, + And they swarm his face with kisses + That he answers not again? + + + + +WHICH ANE + + + Which ane, an' which ane, + An' which ane for thee?-- + Here thou hast thy vera choice, + An' which sall it be?-- + Ye hae the Holy Brither, + An' ye hae the Scholarly; + An', last, ye hae the butt o' baith-- + Which sall it be? + + Ane's oot o' Edinborough, + Wi' the Beuk an' Gown; + An' ane's cam frae Cambridge; + An' ane frae scaur an' down: + An' Deil tak the hindmaist! + Sae the test gaes roun': + An' here ye hae the lairdly twa, + An' ane frae scaur an' down. + + Yon's Melancholy-- + An' the pipes a-skirlin'-- + Gangs limp an' droopet, + Like a coof at hirlin',-- + Droopet aye his lang skirts + I' the wins unfurlin'; + Yon's Melancholy-- + An' the pipes a-skirlin'! + + Which ane, an' which ane, + An' which ane for thee?-- + Here thou hast thy vera choice, + An' which sall it be? + Ye hae the Holy Brither, + An' ye hae the Scholarly; + An', last, ye hae the butt o' baith-- + Which sall it be? + + Elbuck ye'r bag, mon! + An' pipe as ye'd burst! + Can ye gie's a waur, mon + E'en than the first?-- + Be it Meister Wisemon, + I' the classics versed, + An' a slawer gait yet + E'en than the first? + + Then gie us Merriment: + Loose him like a linnet + Teeterin' on a bloomin' spray-- + We ken him i' the minute,-- + Twinklin' is ane ee asklent, + Wi' auld Clootie in it-- + Auld Sawney Lintwhite, + We ken him i' the minute! + + An' which ane, an' which ane, + An' which ane for thee?-- + For thou shalt hae thy vera choice, + An' which sall it be?-- + Ye hae the Holy Brither, + An' ye hae the Scholarly; + A' last, ye hae the butt o' baith-- + Which sall it be? + + + + +THE EARTHQUAKE + +CHARLESTON, SEPTEMBER 1, 1886 + + + An hour ago the lulling twilight leant + Above us like a gentle nurse who slips + A slow palm o'er our eyes, in soft eclipse + Of feigned slumber of most sweet content. + The fragrant zephyrs of the tropic went + And came across the senses, like to sips + Of lovers' kisses, when upon her lips + Silence sets finger in grave merriment. + Then--sudden--did the earth moan as it slept, + And start as one in evil dreams, and toss + Its peopled arms up, as the horror crept, + And with vast breast upheaved and rent across, + Fling down the storied citadel where wept, + And still shall weep, a world above its loss. + + + + +A FALL-CRICK VIEW OF THE EARTHQUAKE + + + I kin hump my back and take the rain, + And I don't keer how she pours; + I kin keep kind o' ca'm in a thunder-storm, + No matter how loud she roars; + I hain't much skeered o' the lightnin', + Ner I hain't sich awful shakes + Afeard o' _cyclones_--but I don't want none + O' yer dad-burned old earthquakes! + + As long as my legs keeps stiddy, + And long as my head keeps plum', + And the buildin' stays in the front lot, + I still kin whistle, _some_! + But about the time the old clock + Flops off'n the mantel-shelf, + And the bureau skoots fer the kitchen, + I'm a-goin' to skoot, myself! + + Plague-take! ef you keep me stabled + While any earthquakes is around!-- + I'm jes' like the stock,--I'll beller + And break fer the open ground! + And I 'low you'd be as nervous + And in jes' about my fix, + When yer whole farm slides from in-under you, + And on'y the mor'gage sticks! + + Now cars hain't a-goin' to kill you + Ef you don't drive 'crost the track; + Crediters never'll jerk you up + Ef you go and pay 'em back; + You kin stand all moral and mundane storms + Ef you'll on'y jes' behave-- + But a' EARTHQUAKE:--Well, ef it wanted you + It 'ud husk you out o' yer grave! + + + + +LEWIS D. HAYES + +OBIT DECEMBER 28, 1886 + + + In the midmost glee of the Christmas + And the mirth of the glad New Year, + A guest has turned from the revel, + And we sit in silence here. + + The band chimes on, yet we listen + Not to the air's refrain, + But over it ever we strive to catch + The sound of his voice again;-- + + For the sound of his voice was music, + Dearer than any note + Shook from the strands of harp-strings, + Or poured from the bugle's throat.-- + + A voice of such various ranges, + His utterance rang from the height + Of every rapture, down to the sobs + Of every lost delight. + + Though he knew Man's force and his purpose, + As strong as his strongest peers, + He knew, as well, the kindly heart, + And the tenderness of tears. + + So is it the face we remember + Shall be always as a child's + That, grieved some way to the very soul, + Looks bravely up and smiles. + + O brave it shall look, as it looked its last + On the little daughter's face-- + Pictured only--against the wall, + In its old accustomed place-- + + Where the last gleam of the lamplight + Out of the midnight dim + Yielded its grace, and the earliest dawn + Gave it again to him. + + + + +IN DAYS TO COME + + + In days to come--whatever ache + Of age shall rack our bones, or quake + Our slackened thews--whatever grip + Rheumatic catch us i' the hip,-- + We, each one, for the other's sake, + Will of our very wailings make + Such quips of song as well may shake + The spasm'd corners from the lip-- + In days to come. + + Ho! ho! how our old hearts shall rake + The past up!--how our dry eyes slake + Their sight upon the dewy drip + Of juicy-ripe companionship, + And blink stars from the blind opaque-- + In days to come. + + + + +LUTHER A. TODD + +OBIT JULY 27, 1887, KANSAS CITY, MISSOURI + + + Gifted, and loved, and praised + By every friend; + Never a murmur raised + Against him, to the end! + With tireless interest + He wrought as he thought best,-- + And--lo, we bend + Where now he takes his rest! + + His heart was loyal, to + Its latest thrill, + To the home-loves he knew-- + And now forever will,-- + Mother and brother--they + The first to pass away,-- + And, lingering still, + The sister bowed to-day. + + Pure as a rose might be, + And sweet, and white, + His father's memory + Was with him day and night:-- + He spoke of him, as one + May now speak of the son,-- + Sadly and tenderly,-- + Yet as a trump had done. + + Say, then, of him: He knew + Full depths of care + And stress of pain, and you + Do him scant justice there,-- + Yet in the lifted face + Grief left not any trace, + Nor mark unfair, + To mar its manly grace. + + It was as if each day + Some new hope dawned-- + Each blessing in delay, + To him, was just beyond; + Between whiles, waiting, he + Drew pictures, cunningly-- + Fantastic--fond-- + Things that we laughed to see. + + Sometimes, as we looked on + His crayon's work, + Some angel-face would dawn + Out radiant, from the mirk + Of features old and thin, + Or jowled with double-chin, + And eyes asmirk, + And gaping mouths agrin. + + That humor in his art, + Of genius born, + Welled warmly from a heart + That could not but adorn + All things it touched with love-- + The eagle, as the dove-- + The burst of morn-- + The night--the stars above. + + Sometimes, amid the wild + Of faces queer, + A mother, with her child + Pressed warm and close to her; + This, I have thought, somehow, + The wife, with head abow, + Unreconciled, + In the great shadow now. + + * * * * * + + O you of sobbing breath, + Put by all sighs + Of anguish at his death-- + Turn--as he turned _his_ eyes, + In that last hour, unknown + In strange lands, all alone-- + Turn thine eyes toward the skies, + And, smiling, cease thy moan. + + + + +WHEN THE HEARSE COMES BACK + + + A thing 'at's 'bout as tryin' as a healthy man kin meet + Is some poor feller's funeral a-joggin' 'long the street: + The slow hearse and the hosses--slow enough, to say the least, + Fer to even tax the patience of the gentleman deceased! + The low scrunch of the gravel--and the slow grind of the wheels,-- + The low, slow go of ev'ry woe 'at ev'rybody feels! + So I ruther like the contrast when I hear the whiplash crack + A quickstep fer the hosses, + When the + Hearse + Comes + Back! + + Meet it goin' to'rds the cimet'ry, you'll want to drap yer eyes-- + But ef the plumes don't fetch you, it'll ketch you otherwise-- + You'll haf to see the caskit, though you'd ort to look away + And 'conomize and save yer sighs fer any other day! + Yer sympathizin' won't wake up the sleeper from his rest-- + Yer tears won't thaw them hands o' his 'at's froze acrost his breast! + And this is why--when airth and sky's a-gittin' blurred and black + I like the flash and hurry + When the + Hearse + Comes + Back! + + It's not 'cause I don't 'preciate it ain't no time fer jokes, + Ner 'cause I' got no common human feelin' fer the folks;-- + I've went to funerals myse'f, and tuk on some, perhaps-- + Fer my heart's 'bout as mal'able as any other chap's,-- + I've buried father, mother--but I'll haf to jes' git _you_ + To "excuse _me_," as the feller says.--The p'int I'm drivin' to + Is, simply, when we're plum broke down and all knocked out o' whack, + It he'ps to shape us up, like, + When the + Hearse + Comes + Back! + + The idy! wadin' round here over shoe-mouth deep in woe, + When they's a graded 'pike o' joy and sunshine, don't you know! + When evening strikes the pastur', cows'll pull out fer the bars + And skittish-like from out the night'll prance the happy stars: + And so when _my_ time comes to die, and I've got ary friend + 'At wants expressed my last request--I'll, mebby, rickommend + To drive slow, ef they haf to, goin' 'long the _out'ard_ track, + But I'll smile and say, "You speed 'em + When the + Hearse + Comes + Back!" + + + + +OUR OLD FRIEND NEVERFAIL + + + O it's good to ketch a relative 'at's richer and don't run + When you holler out to hold up, and'll joke and have his fun; + It's good to hear a man called bad and then find out he's not, + Er strike some chap they call lukewarm 'at's really red-hot; + It's good to know the Devil's painted jes' a leetle black, + And it's good to have most anybody pat you on the back;-- + But jes' the best thing in the world's our old friend Neverfail, + When he wags yer hand as honest as an old dog wags his tail! + + I like to strike the man I owe the same time I can pay, + And take back things I've borried, and su'prise folks thataway; + I like to find out that the man I voted fer last fall, + That didn't git elected, was a scoundrel after all; + I like the man that likes the pore and he'ps 'em when he can; + I like to meet a ragged tramp 'at's still a gentleman; + But most I like--with you, my boy--our old friend Neverfail, + When he wags yer hand as honest as an old dog wags his tail! + + + + +DAN O'SULLIVAN + + + Dan O'Sullivan: It's your + Lips have kissed "The Blarney," sure!-- + To be trillin' praise av me, + Dhrippin' shwate wid poethry!-- + Not that I'd not have ye sing-- + Don't lave off for anything-- + Jusht be aisy whilst the fit + Av me head shwells up to it! + + Dade and thrue, I'm not the man, + Whilst yer singin', loike ye can, + To cry shtop because ye've blesht + My songs more than all the resht:-- + I'll not be the b'y to ax + Any shtar to wane or wax, + Or ax any clock that's woun', + To run up inshtid av down! + + Whist yez! Dan O'Sullivan!-- + Him that made the Irishman + Mixt the birds in wid the dough, + And the dew and mistletoe + Wid the whusky in the quare + Muggs av us--and here we air, + Three parts right, and three parts wrong, + Shpiked wid beauty, wit, and song! + + + + +JOHN BOYLE O'REILLY + +SEPULTURE--BOSTON, AUGUST 13, 1890 + + + Dead? this peerless man of men-- + Patriot, Poet, Citizen!-- + Dead? and ye weep where he lies + Mute, with folded eyes! + + Courage! All his tears are done; + Mark him, dauntless, face the sun! + He hath led you.--Still, as true, + He is leading you. + + Folded eyes and folded hands + Typify divine commands + He is hearkening to, intent + Beyond wonderment. + + 'Tis promotion that has come + Thus upon him. Stricken dumb + Be your moanings dolorous! + God knows what He does. + + Rather as your chief, _aspire_!-- + Rise and seize his toppling lyre, + And sing Freedom, Home, and Love, + And the rights thereof! + + Ere in selfish grief ye sink, + Come! catch rapturous breath and think-- + Think what sweep of wing hath he, + Loosed in endless liberty. + + + + +MEREDITH NICHOLSON + + + Keats, and Kirk White, David Gray and the rest of you + Heavened and blest of you young singers gone,-- + Slender in sooth though the theme unexpressed of you, + Leave us this like of you yet to sing on! + Let your Muse mother him and your souls brother him, + Even as now, or in fancy, you do: + Still let him sing to us ever, and bring to us + Musical musings of glory and--you. + + Never a note to do evil or wrong to us-- + Beauty of melody--beauty of words,-- + Sweet and yet strong to us comes his young song to us + Rippled along to us clear as the bird's. + No fame elating him falsely, nor sating him-- + Feasting and fêting him faint of her joys, + But singing on where the laurels are waiting him, + Young yet in art, and his heart yet a boy's. + + + + +GOD'S MERCY + + + Behold, one faith endureth still-- + Let factions rail and creeds contend-- + God's mercy _was_, and _is_, and _will_ + Be with us, foe and friend. + + + + +CHRISTMAS GREETING + + + A word of Godspeed and good cheer + To all on earth--or far or near, + Or friend or foe, or thine or mine-- + In echo of the voice divine, + Heard when the Star bloomed forth and lit + The world's face, with God's smile on it. + + + + +TO RUDYARD KIPLING + + + To do some worthy deed of charity + In secret and then have it found out by + Sheer accident, held gentle Elia-- + That--that was the best thing beneath the sky! + Confirmed in part, yet somewhat differing-- + (Grant that his gracious wraith will pardon me + If impious!)--I think a better thing + Is: being found out when one strives to be. + + So, Poet and Romancer--old as young, + And wise as artless--masterful as mild,-- + If there be sweet in any song I've sung, + 'Twas savored for that palate, O my Child! + For thee the lisping of the children all-- + For thee the youthful voices of old years-- + For thee all chords untamed or musical-- + For thee the laughter, and for thee the tears. + + And thus, borne to me o'er the seas between + Thy land and mine, thy Song of certain wing + Circles above me in the "pure serene" + Of our high heaven's vast o'er-welcoming; + While, packeted with joy and thankfulness, + And fair hopes many as the stars that shine, + And bearing all love's loyal messages, + Mine own goes homing back to thee and thine. + + + + +THE GUDEWIFE + + + My gudewife--she that is tae be-- + O she sall seeme sang-sweete tae me + As her ain croon tuned wi' the chiel's + Or spinnin'-wheel's. + An' faire she'll be, an' saft, an' light, + An' muslin-bright + As her spick apron, jimpy laced + The-round her waiste.-- + Yet aye as rosy sall she bloome + Intil the roome + (The where alike baith bake an' dine) + As a full-fine + Ripe rose, lang rinset wi' the raine, + Sun-kist againe,-- + Sall seate me at her table-spread, + White as her bread.-- + Where I, sae kissen her for _grace_, + Sall see her face + Smudged, yet aye sweeter, for the bit + O' floure on it, + Whiles, witless, she sall sip wi' me + Luve's tapmaist-bubblin' ecstasy. + + + + +TENNYSON + +ENGLAND, OCTOBER 5, 1892 + + + We of the New World clasp hands with the Old + In newer fervor and with firmer hold + And nobler fellowship,-- + O Master Singer, with the finger-tip + Of Death laid thus on thy melodious lip! + + All ages thou has honored with thine art, + And ages yet unborn thou wilt be part + Of all songs pure and true! + Thine now the universal homage due + From Old and New World--ay, and still The New! + + + + +ROSAMOND C. BAILEY + + + Thou brave, good woman! Loved of every one; + Not only that in singing thou didst fill + Our thirsty hearts with sweetness, trill on trill, + Even as a wild bird singing in the sun-- + Not only that in all thy carols none + But held some tincturing of tears to thrill + Our gentler natures, and to quicken still + Our human sympathies; but thou hast won + Our equal love and reverence because + That thou wast ever mindful of the poor, + And thou wast ever faithful to thy friends. + So, loving, serving all, thy best applause + Thy requiem--the vast throng at the door + Of the old church, with mute prayers and amens. + + + + +MRS. BENJAMIN HARRISON + +WASHINGTON, OCTOBER 25, 1892 + + + Now utter calm and rest; + Hands folded o'er the breast + In peace the placidest, + All trials past; + All fever soothed--all pain + Annulled in heart and brain, + Never to vex again-- + She sleeps at last. + + She sleeps; but O most dear + And best beloved of her + Ye sleep not--nay, nor stir, + Save but to bow + The closer each to each, + With sobs and broken speech, + That all in vain beseech + Her answer now. + + And lo! we weep with you, + One grief the wide world through: + Yet with the faith she knew + We see her still, + Even as here she stood-- + All that was pure and good + And sweet in womanhood-- + God's will her will. + + + + +GEORGE A. CARR + +GREENFIELD, JULY 21, 1914 + + + O playmate of the far-away + And dear delights of Boyhood's day, + And friend and comrade true and tried + Through length of years of life beside, + I bid you thus a fond farewell + Too deep for words or tears to tell. + + But though I lose you, nevermore + To greet you at the open door, + To grasp your hand or see your smile, + I shall be thankful all the while + Because your love and loyalty + Have made a happier world for me. + + So rest you, Playmate, in that land + Still hidden from us by His hand, + Where you may know again in truth + All of the glad days of your youth-- + As when in days of endless ease + We played beneath the apple trees. + + + + +TO ELIZABETH + +OBIT JULY 8, 1893 + + + O noble, true and pure and lovable + As thine own blessed name, ELIZABETH!-- + Ay, even as its cadence lingereth + Upon the lips that speak it, so the spell + Of thy sweet memory shall ever dwell + As music in our hearts. Smiling at Death + As on some later guest that tarrieth, + Too gratefully o'erjoyed to say farewell, + Thou hast turned from us but a little space-- + We miss thy presence but a little while, + Thy voice of sympathy, thy word of cheer, + The radiant glory of thine eyes and face, + The glad midsummer morning of thy smile,-- + For still we feel and know that thou art here. + + + + +TO ALMON KEEFER + +INSCRIBED IN "TALES OF THE OCEAN" + + + This first book that I ever knew + Was read aloud to me by you! + Friend of my boyhood, therefore take + It back from me, for old times' sake-- + The selfsame "Tales" first read to me, + Under "the old sweet apple tree," + Ere I myself could read such great + Big words,--but listening all elate, + At your interpreting, until + Brain, heart, and soul were all athrill + With wonder, awe, and sheer excess + Of wildest childish happiness. + + So take the book again--forget + All else,--long years, lost hopes, regret; + Sighs for the joys we ne'er attain, + Prayers we have lifted all in vain; + Tears for the faces seen no more, + Once as the roses at the door! + Take the enchanted book--And lo, + On grassy swards of long ago, + Sprawl out again, beneath the shade + The breezy old-home orchard made, + The veriest barefoot boy indeed-- + And I will listen as you read. + + + + +TO--"THE J. W. R. LITERARY CLUB" + + + Well, it's enough to turn his head to have a feller's name + Swiped with a _Literary_ Club!--But _you're_ the ones to blame!-- + I call the World to witness that I never _agged_ ye to it + By ever writin' _Classic-like_--_because I couldn't_ do it: + I never run to "Hellicon," ner writ about "Per-nassus," + Ner ever tried to rack or ride around on old "P-_gassus_"! + When "Tuneful Nines" has cross'd my lines, the ink 'ud blot and + blur it, + And pen 'ud jest putt back fer home, and take the short way fer it! + And so, as I'm a-sayin',--when you name your Literary + In honor o' this name o' mine, it's railly nessessary-- + Whilse I'm _a-thankin'_ you and all--to _warn_ you, ef you do it, + I'll haf to jine the thing myse'f 'fore I can live up to it! + + + + +LITTLE MAID-O'-DREAMS + + + Little Maid-o'-Dreams, with your + Eery eyes so clear and pure + Gazing, where we fain would see + Into far futurity,-- + Tell us what you there behold, + In your visions manifold! + What is on beyond our sight, + Biding till the morrow's light, + Fairer than we see to-day, + As our dull eyes only may? + + Little Maid-o'-Dreams, with face + Like as in some woodland place + Lifts a lily, chaste and white, + From the shadow to the light;-- + Tell us, by your subtler glance, + What strange sorcery enchants + You as now,--here, yet afar + As the realms of moon and star?-- + Have you magic lamp and ring, + And genii for vassaling? + + Little Maid-o'-Dreams, confess + You're divine and nothing less,-- + For with mortal palms, we fear, + Yet must pet you, dreaming here-- + Yearning, too, to lift the tips + Of your fingers to our lips; + Fearful still you may rebel, + High and heav'nly oracle! + Thus, though all unmeet our kiss, + Pardon this!--and this!--and this! + + Little Maid-o'-Dreams, we call + Truce and favor, knowing all!-- + All your magic is, in truth, + Pure foresight and faith of youth-- + You're a child, yet even so, + You're a sage, in embryo-- + Prescient poet--artist--great + As your dreams anticipate.-- + Trusting God and Man, you do + Just as Heaven inspires you to. + + + + +TO THE BOY WITH A COUNTRY + +DAN WALLINGFORD + + + Dan Wallingford, my jo Dan!-- + Though but a child in years, + Your patriot spirit thrills the land + And wakens it to cheers,-- + You lift the flag--you roll the drums-- + We hear the bugle blow,-- + Till all our hearts are one with yours, + Dan Wallingford, my jo! + + + + +CLAUDE MATTHEWS + +GOVERNOR OF INDIANA + + + Steadfastly from his childhood's earliest hour-- + From simplest country life to state and power-- + His worth has known advancement,--each new height + A newer glory in his fellow's sight. + + So yet his happy fate--though mute the breath + Of thronging multitudes and thundrous cheers,-- + Faith sees him raised still higher, through our tears, + By this divine promotion of his death. + + + + +TO LESLEY + + + Burns sang of bonny Lesley + As she gaed o'er the border,-- + Gaed like vain Alexander, + To spread her conquests farther. + + I sing another Lesley, + Wee girlie, more alluring, + Who stays at home, the wise one, + Her conquests there securing. + + A queen, too, is my Lesley, + And gracious, though blood-royal, + My heart her throne, her kingdom, + And I a subject loyal. + + Long shall you reign, my Lesley, + My pet, my darling dearie, + For love, oh, little sweetheart, + Grows never old or weary. + + + + +THE JUDKINS PAPERS + + +FATHER AND SON + +Mr. Judkins' boy came home yesterday with a bottle of bugs in his +pocket, and as the quiet little fellow sat on the back porch in his +favorite position, his legs elbowed and flattened out beneath him like +a letter "W," his genial and eccentric father came suddenly upon him. + +"And what's the blame' boy up to now?" said Mr. Judkins, in an assumed +tone of querulous displeasure, as he bent over the boy from behind and +gently tweaked his ear. + +"Oh, here, mister!" said the boy, without looking up; "you thist let +up on that, will you!" + +"What you got there, I tell you!" continued the smiling Mr. Judkins, +in a still gruffer tone, relinquishing the boy's ear, and gazing down +upon the fluffy towhead with more than ordinary admiration. "What you +got there?" + +"Bugs," said the boy--"you know!" + +"Dead, are they?" said Mr. Judkins. + +"Some of 'em's dead," said the boy, carefully running a needle through +the back of a large bumblebee. "All these uns is, you kin bet! You +don't think a feller 'ud try to string a live bumblebee, I reckon?" + +"Well, no, 'Squire," said Mr. Judkins, airily, addressing the boy by +one of the dozen nicknames he had given him; "not a live bumblebee--a +real stem-winder, of course not. But what in the name o' limpin' +Lazarus air you stringin' 'em fer?" + +"Got a live snake-feeder," said the boy, ignoring the parental +inquiry. "See him down there in the bottom, 'ith all th' other uns on +top of him. Thist watch him now, an' you kin see him pant. I kin. Yes, +an' I got a beetle 'at's purt' nigh alive, too--on'y he can't pull in +his other wings. See 'em?" continued the boy, with growing enthusiasm, +twirling the big-mouthed bottle like a kaleidoscope. "Hate beetles! +'cause they allus act so big, an' make s'much fuss about theirselves, +an' don't know nothin' neither! Bet ef I had as many wings as a beetle +I wouldn't let no boy my size knock the stuffin' out o' me with no +bunch o' weeds, like I done him!" + +"Howd'ye know you wouldn't?" said Mr. Judkins, austerely, biting his +nails and winking archly to himself. + +"W'y, I know I wouldn't," said the boy, "'cause I'd keep up in the air +where I could fly, an' wouldn't come low down ut all--bumpin' around +'mongst them bushes, an' buzzin' against things, an' buttin' my brains +out a-tryin' to git thue fence cracks." + +"'Spect you'd ruther be a snake-feeder, wouldn't you, Bud?" said Mr. +Judkins suggestively. "Snake-feeders has got about enough wings to +suit you, ef you want more'n one pair, and ever' day's a picnic with a +snake-feeder, you know. Nothin' to do but jes' loaf up and down the +crick, and roost on reeds and cat-tails, er fool around a feller's +fish-line and light on the cork and bob up and down with it till she +goes clean under, don't you know?" + +"Don't want to be no snake-feeder, neither," said the boy, "'cause +they gits gobbled up, first thing they know, by these 'ere big green +bullfrogs ut they can't ever tell from the skum till they've lit right +in their mouth--and then they're goners! No, sir;" continued the boy, +drawing an extra quinine-bottle from another pocket, and holding it up +admiringly before his father's eyes: "There's the feller in there ut +I'd ruther be than have a pony!" + +"W'y, it's a nasty p'izen spider!" exclaimed Mr. Judkins, pushing back +the bottle with affected abhorrence, "and he's alive, too!" + +"You bet he's alive!" said the boy, "an' you kin bet he'll never come +to no harm while I own him!" and as the little fellow spoke his face +glowed with positive affection, and the twinkle of his eyes, as he +continued, seemed wonderfully like his father's own. "Tell you, I like +spiders! Spiders is awful fat--all but their head--and that's level, +you kin bet! Flies hain't got no business with a spider. Ef a spider +ever reaches fer a fly, he's his meat! The spider, he likes to loaf +an' lay around in the shade an' wait fer flies an' bugs an' things to +come a-foolin' round his place. He lays back in the hole in the corner +of his web, an' waits till somepin' lights on it an' nen when he hears +'em buzzin', he thist crawls out an' fixes 'em so's they can't buzz, +an' he's got the truck to do it with! I bet ef you'd unwind all the +web-stuff out of thist one little spider not bigger'n a pill, it 'ud +be long enough fer a kite-string! Onc't they wuz one in our +wood-house, an' a taterbug got stuck in his web, an' the spider worked +purt' nigh two days 'fore he got him so's he couldn't move. Nen he +couldn't eat him neither--'cause they's shells on 'em, you know, an' +the spider didn't know how to hull him. Ever' time I'd go there the +spider, he'd be a-wrappin' more stuff around th' ole bug, an' stoopin' +down like he wuz a-whisperin' to him. An' one day I went in ag'in, an' +he was a-hangin', alas an' cold in death! An' I poked him with a +splinter an' his web broke off--'spect he'd used it all up on the +wicked bug--an' it killed him; an' I buried him in a' ink-bottle an' +mashed the old bug 'ith a chip!" + +"Yes," said Judkins, in a horrified tone, turning away to conceal the +real zest and enjoyment his face must have betrayed; "yes, and some +day you'll come home p'izened, er somepin'! And I want to say right +here, my young man, ef ever you do, and it don't kill you, I'll lint +you within an inch of your life!" And as the eccentric Mr. Judkins +whirled around the corner of the porch he heard the boy murmur in his +low, absent-minded way, "Yes, you will!" + + +MR. JUDKINS' REMARKS + +Judkins stopped us in front of the post-office yesterday to say that +that boy of his was "the blamedest boy outside o' the annals o' +history!" "Talk about this boy-naturalist out here at Indianapolis," +says Judkins,--"w'y, he ain't nowhere to my boy! The little cuss don't +do nothin' either only set around and look sleepy, and dern him, he +gits off more dry things than you could print in your paper. Of late +he's been a-displayin' a sort o' weakness fer Nature, don't you know; +and he's allus got a bottle o' bugs in his pocket. He come home +yesterday evening with a blame' mud-turtle as big as an unabridged +dictionary, and turned him over in the back yard and commenced biffin' +away at him with a hammer and a cold-chisel. 'W'y, you're a-killin' +the turtle,' says I. 'Kill nothin'!' says he, 'I'm thist a-takin' the +lid off so's I can see his clock works.' Hoomh!" says Judkins: "He's a +good one!--only," he added, "I wouldn't have the _boy_ think so fer the +world!" + + +JUDKINS' BOY ON THE MUD-TURTLE + +The mud-turtle is not a beast of pray, but he dearly loves catfish +bait. If a mud-turtle gits your big toe in his mouth he will hang on +till it thunders. Then he will spit it out like he was disgusted. The +mud-turtle kin swim and keep his chin out of water ef he wants to but +he don't care ef he does sink. The turtle kin stay under water until +his next birthday, an' never crack a smile. He kin breathe like a +grown person, but he don't haf to, on'y when he is on dry land, an' +then I guess he thist does it to be soshibul. Allus when you see +bubbles a-comin' up in the swimmin' hole, you kin bet your galluses +they's a mud-turtle a-layin' down there, studyin' up some cheap way to +git his dinner. Mud-turtles never dies, on'y when they make soup out +of 'em. They is seven kinds of meat in the turtle, but I'd ruther eat +thist plain burnt liver. + + +ON FROGS + +Frogs is the people's friend, but they can't fly. Onc't they wuz +tadpoles about as big as lickerish drops, an' after while legs growed +on 'em. Oh, let us love the frog--he looks so sorry. Frogs kin swim +better'n little boys, and they don't haf to hold their nose when they +dive, neither. Onc't I had a pet frog; an' the cars run over him. It +thist squshed him. Bet he never knowed what hurt him! Onc't they wuz a +rich lady swallered one--when he wuz little, you know; an' he growed +up in her, an' it didn't kill him ut all. An' you could hear him +holler in her bosom. It was a tree-toad; and so ever' time he'd go +p-r-r-r-r- w'y, nen the grand lady she'd know it was goin' to rain, +an' make her little boy run an' putt the tub under the spout. Wasn't +that a b'utiful frog? + + +ON PIRUTS + +Piruts is reckless to a fault. They ain't afeard of nobody ner +nothin'. Ef ever you insult a pirut onc't, he'll foller you to the +grave but what he will revenge his wrongs. Piruts all looks like +pictures of "Buffalo Bill"--on'y they don't shave off the whiskers +that sticks out over the collar of their low-necked shirt. Ever' day +is a picknick fer the piruts of the high seas. They eat gunpowder an' +drink blood to make 'em savage, and then they kill people all day, an' +set up all night an' tell ghost stories an' sing songs such as mortal +ear would quail to listen to. Piruts never comes on shore on'y when +they run out of tobacker; an' then it's a cold day ef they don't land +at midnight, an' disguize theirselves an' slip up in town like a +sleuth houn', so's the Grand Jury can't git on to 'em. They don't care +fer the police any more than us people who dwells right in their +midst. Piruts makes big wages an' spends it like a king. "Come easy, +go easy," is the fatal watchword of them whose deeds is Deth. Onc't +they wuz a pirut turned out of the house an' home by his cruel parents +when he wuz but a kid, an' so he always went by that name. He was +thrust adrift without a nickel, an' sailed fer distant shores to hide +his shame fer those he loved. In the dead of night he stol'd a new +suit of the captain's clothes. An' when he growed up big enough to fit +'em, he gaily dressed hissef and went up an' paced the quarter-deck in +deep thought. He had not fergot how the captain onc't had lashed him +to the jib-boom-poop an' whipped him. That stung his proud spirit even +then; an' so the first thing he done was to slip up behind the cruel +officer an' push him over-board. Then the ship wuz his fer better er +fer worse. An' so he took command, an' hung high upon the beetling +mast the pirut flag. Then he took the Bible his old mother give him, +an' tied a darnic round it an' sunk it in the sand with a mocking +laugh. Then it wuz that he wuz ready fer the pirut's wild seafaring +life. He worked the business fer all they wuz in it fer many years, +but wuz run in ut last. An', standin' on the gallus-tree, he sung a +song which wuz all wrote off by hissef. An' then they knocked the trap +on him. An' thus the brave man died and never made a kick. In life he +wuz allus careful with his means, an' saved up vast welth, which he +dug holes and buried, an' died with the secret locked in his bosom to +this day. + + +ON HACKMENS + +Hackmens has the softest thing in the bizness. They hain't got nothin' +to do but look hump-shouldered an' chaw tobacker an' wait. Hackmens +all looks like detectives, an' keeps still, an' never even spits when +you walk past 'em. An' they're allus cold. A hackman that stands high +in the p'fession kin wear a overcoat in dog-days an' then look chilly +an' like his folks wuz all dead but the old man, an' he wuz a +drunkard. Ef a hackman would on'y be a blind fiddler he'd take in more +money than a fair-ground. Hackmens never gives nothin' away. You kin +trust a hackman when you can't trust your own mother. Some people +thinks when they hire a hack to take 'em some place that the hackman +has got some grudge ag'in' 'em--but he hain't--he's allus that way. He +loves you but he knows his place, and smothers his real feelings. In +life's giddy scenes hackmens all wears a mask; but down deep in their +heart you kin bet they are yourn till deth. Some hackmens look like +they wuz stuck up, but they hain't--it's only 'cause they got on so +much clothes. Onc't a hackman wuz stabbed by a friend of his in the +same bizness, an' when the doctors wuz seein' how bad he wuz karved +up, they found he had on five shurts. They said that wuz all that +saved his life. They said ef he'd on'y had on four shurts, he'd 'a' +been a ded man. An' the hackman hissef, when he got well, used to brag +it wuz the closetest call he ever had, an' laid fer the other hackman, +an' hit him with a car couplin' an' killed him, an' come mighty nigh +goin' to the penitenchary fer it. Influenshal friends wuz all that +saved him that time. No five shurts would 'a' done it. The mayor said +that when he let him off, an' brought down the house, an' made hissef +a strong man fer another term. Some mayors is purty slick, but a +humble hackman may sometimes turn out to be thist as smooth. The on'y +thing w'y a hackman don't show up no better is 'cause he loses so much +sleep. That's why he allus looks like he had the headache, an' didn't +care ef he did. Onc't a hackman wuz waitin' in front of a hotel one +morning an' wuz sort o' dozin' like, an' fell off his seat. An' they +run an' picked him up, an' he wuz unconshus, an' they worked with him +till 'way long in the afternoon 'fore they found out he wuz thist +asleep; an' he cussed fearful cause they waked him up, an' wondered +why people couldn't never tend to their own bizness like he did. + + +ON DUDES + +Ever'body is allus a-givin' it to Dudes. Newspapers makes fun of 'em, +an' artists makes pictures of 'em; an' the on'y ones in the wide world +that stuck on Dudes is me an' the Dudes theirse'f, an' we love an' +cherish 'em with all a parent's fond regards. An' nobody knows much +about Dudes neither, 'cause they hain't been broke out long enough yit +to tell thist what the disease is. Some say it's softinning of the +brains, an' others claim it can't be that, on the groun's they hain't +got material fer the softinning to work on, &c., &c., till even +"Sientests is puzzled," as the good book says. An' ef I wuz a-goin' to +say what ails Dudes I'd have to give it up, er pernounce it a' +aggervated case of Tyfoid blues, which is my 'onnest convictions. +That's what makes me kind o' stand in with 'em--same as ef they wuz +the under-dog. I am willing to aknolege that Dudes has their weakness, +but so has ever'thing. Even Oscar Wild, ef putt to the test; an' I +allus feel sorry fer George Washington 'cause he died 'fore he got to +see Oscar Wild. An' then another reason w'y you oughten't to jump on +to Dudes is, they don't know what's the matter with 'em any more than +us folks in whom they come in daily contack. Dudes all walks an' looks +in the face like they wuz on their way to fill an engagement with a +revolvin' lady wax-figger in some milliner-winder, an' had fergot the +number of her place of bizness. Some folks is mean enough to bitterly +a'sert that Dudes is strained in their manner an' fools from choice; +but they ain't. It's a gift--Dudes is Geenuses--that's what Dudes is! + + +ON RED HAIR + +Onc't a pore boy wuz red-hedded, an' got mad at the other boys when +they'd throw it up to him. An' when they'd laugh at his red hed, an' +ast him fer a light, er wuzn't he afeard he'd singe his cap, an' orto' +wear a tin hat, er pertend to warm their hands by him,--w'y, sometimes +the red-hedded boy'd git purty hot indeed; an' onc't he told another +boy that wuz a-bafflin' him about his red hair that ef he wuz him he'd +git a fine comb an' go to canvassin' his own hed, and then he'd be +liabul to sceer up a more livelier subjeck to talk about than red +hair. An' then the other boy says, "You're a liar" an' that got the +red-hedded boy into more trouble; fer the old man whipped him +shameful' fer breakin' up soil with the other boy. An' this here +red-hedded boy had freckles, too. An' warts. An' nobody ortn't to 'a' +jumpt on to him fer that. Ef anybody wuz a red-hedded boy they'd have +also warts an' freckles--an' thist red-hair's bad enough. Onc't +another boy told him ef he wuz him he bet he could make a big day look +sick some night. An' when the red-hedded boy says "How?" w'y, the +other boy he says "Easy enough. I'd thist march around bare-hedded in +the torch-light p'cession."--"Yes, you would," says the red-hedded +boy, an' pasted him one with a shinny club, an' got dispelled from +school 'cause he wuz so high-tempered an' impulsiv. Ef I wuz the +red-hedded boy I'd be a pirut; but he allus said he wuz goin' to be a +baker. + + +THE CROSS-EYED GIRL + +"You don't want to never tamper with a cross-eyed girl," said Mr. +Judkins, "and I'll tell you w'y: They've natur'lly got a better focus +on things than a man would ever guess--studyin' their eyes, you +understand. A man may think he's a-foolin' a cross-eyed girl simply +because she's apparently got her eyes tangled on other topics as he's +a-talkin' to her, but at the same time that girl may be a-lookin' down +the windin' stairway of the cellar of his soul with one eye, and +a-winkin' in a whisper to her own soul with the other, and her +unconscious victim jes' a-takin' it fer granted that nothin' is the +matter with the girl, only jes' cross-eyes! You see I've studied 'em," +continued Judkins, "and I'm on to one fact dead sure--and that is, +their natures is as deceivin' as their eyes is! Knowed one onc't that +had her eyes mixed up thataway--sensitive little thing she was, and +always referrin' to her 'misfortune,' as she called it, and eternally +threatenin' to have some surgeon straighten 'em out like other +folks'--and, sir, that girl so worked on my feelin's, and took such +underholts on my sympathies that, blame me, before I knowed it I +confessed to her that ef it hadn't 'a' been fer her defective eyes (I +made it 'defective') I never would have thought of lovin' her, and, +furthermore ef ever she did have 'em changed back normal, don't you +understand, she might consider our engagement at an end--I did, +honest. And that girl was so absolute cross-eyed it warped her ears, +and she used to amuse herself by watchin' 'em curl up as I'd be +a-talkin' to her, and that maddened me, 'cause I'm natur'lly of a +jealous disposition, you know, and so, at last, I jes' casually hinted +that ef she was really a-goin' to git them eyes carpentered up, w'y +she'd better git at it: and that ended it. + +"And then the blame' girl turned right around and married a fellow +that had a better pair of eyes than mine this minute! Then I struck +another cross-eyed girl--not really a legitimate case, 'cause, in +reality, she only had one off eye--the right eye, ef I don't +disremember--the other one was as square as a gouge. And that girl +was, ef any difference, a more confusin' case than the other, and +besides all that, she had some money in her own right, and warn't +a-throwin' off no big discount on one game eye. But I finally got her +interested, and I reckon something serious might 'a' come of it--but, +you see, her father was dead, and her stepmother sort o' shet down on +my comin' to the house; besides that, she had three grown uncles, and +you know how uncles is. I didn't want to marry no family, of course, +and so I slid out of the scheme, and tackled a poor girl that clerked +in a post-office. Her eyes was bad! I never did git the hang of them +eyes of hern. She had purty hair, and a complexion, I used to tell +her, which outrivalled the rose. But them eyes, you know! I didn't +really appreciate how bad they was crossed, at first. You see, it took +time. Got her to give me her picture, and I used to cipher on that, +but finally worked her off on a young friend of mine who wanted to +marry intellect--give her a good send-off to him--and she was +smart--only them eyes, you know! Why, that girl could read a postal +card, both sides at once, and smile at a personal friend through the +office window at the same time!" + + +HOMESICKNESS + +There was a more than ordinary earnestness in the tone of Mr. Judkins +as he said: "Referrin' to this thing of bein' homesick, I want to +say right here that of all diseases, afflictions er complaints, this +thing of bein' homesick takes the cookies! A man may think when he's +got a' aggrivated case of janders, er white-swellin', say, er +bone-erysipelas, that he's to be looked up to as bein' purty well +fixed in this vale of trouble and unrest, but I want to tell you, when +I want my sorrow blood-raw, don't you understand, you may give me +homesickness--straight goods, you know--and I'll git more clean, +legitimate agony out of that than you can out of either of the other +attractions--yes, er even ef you'd ring in the full combination on me! +You see, there's no way of treatin' homesickness only one--and that is +to git back home--but as that's a remedy you can't git at no drug +store, at so much per box--and ef you could, fer instance, and only +had enough ready money anyhow to cover half the cost of a full +box--and nothin' but a full box ever reached the case--w'y, it follers +that your condition still remains critical. And homesickness don't +show no favors. It's jes' as liable to strike you as me. High er low, +er rich er poor, all comes under her jurishdiction, and whenever she +once reaches fer a citizen, you can jes' bet she gits there Eli, ever' +time! + +"She don't confine herse'f to youth, ner make no specialty of little +children either, but she stalks abroad like a census-taker, and is as +conscientious. She visits the city girl clean up to Maxinkuckee, and +makes her wonder how things really is back home without her. And then +she haunts her dreams, and wakes her up at all hours of the night, and +sings old songs over fer her, and talks to her in low thrillin' tones +of a young man whose salary ain't near big enough fer two; and then +she leaves her photograph with her and comes away, and makes it lively +fer the boys on the train, the conductor, the brakeman and the +engineer. She even nests out the travellin' man, and yanks him out of +his reclinin' chair, and walks him up and down the car, and runs him +clean out of cigars and finecut, and smiles to hear him swear. Then +she gits off at little country stations and touches up the night +operator, who grumbles at his boy companion, and wishes to dernation +'six' was in, so's he could 'pound his ear.' + +"And I'll never forgit," continued Mr. Judkins, "the last case of +homesickness I had, and the cure I took fer it. 'Tain't been more'n a +week ago neither. You see my old home is a'most too many laps from +this base to make it very often, and in consequence I hadn't been +there fer five years and better, till this last trip, when I jes' +succumbed to the pressure, and th'owed up my hands and went. Seemed +like I'd 'a' died if I hadn't. And it was glorious to rack around the +old town again--things lookin' jes' the same, mighty nigh, as they was +when I was a boy, don't you know. Run acrost an old schoolmate, too, +and tuck supper at his happy little home, and then we got us a good +nickel cigar, and walked and walked, and talked and talked! Tuck me +all around, you understand, in the meller twilight--till, the first +thing you know, there stood the old schoolhouse where me and him first +learnt to chew tobacco, and all that! Well, sir! you hain't got no +idea of the feelin's that was mine! W'y, I felt like I could th'ow my +arms around the dear old buildin' and squeeze it till the cupolo would +jes' pop out of the top of the roof like the core out of a b'ile! And +I think if they ever was a' epoch in my life when I could 'a' tackled +poetry without no compunctions, as the feller says, w'y, then was the +time--shore!" + + + + +TO THE QUIET OBSERVER + +ERASMUS WILSON, AFTER HIS LONG SILENCE + + + Dear old friend of us all in need + Who know the worth of a friend indeed, + How rejoiced are we all to learn + Of your glad return. + + We who have missed your voice so long-- + Even as March might miss the song + Of the sugar-bird in the maples when + They're tapped again. + + Even as the memory of these + _Blended_ sweets,--the sap of the trees + And the song of the birds, and the old camp too, + We think of you. + + Hail to you, then, with welcomes deep + As grateful hearts may laugh or weep!-- + You give us not only the bird that sings, + But all good things. + + + + +AMERICA'S THANKSGIVING + +1900 + + + Father all bountiful, in mercy bear + With this our universal voice of prayer-- + The voice that needs must be + Upraised in thanks to Thee, + O Father, from Thy Children everywhere. + + A multitudinous voice, wherein we fain + Wouldst have Thee hear no lightest sob of pain-- + No murmur of distress, + Nor moan of loneliness, + Nor drip of tears, though soft as summer rain. + + And, Father, give us first to comprehend, + No ill can come from Thee; lean Thou and lend + Us clearer sight to see + Our boundless debt to Thee, + Since all thy deeds are blessings, in the end. + + And let us feel and know that, being Thine, + We are inheritors of hearts divine, + And hands endowed with skill, + And strength to work Thy will, + And fashion to fulfilment Thy design. + + So, let us thank Thee, with all self aside, + Nor any lingering taint of mortal pride; + As here to Thee we dare + Uplift our faltering prayer, + Lend it some fervor of the glorified. + + We thank Thee that our land is loved of Thee + The blessèd home of thrift and industry, + With ever-open door + Of welcome to the poor-- + Thy shielding hand o'er all abidingly. + + Even thus we thank Thee for the wrong that grew + Into a right that heroes battled to, + With brothers long estranged, + Once more as brothers ranged + Beneath the red and white and starry blue. + + Ay, thanks--though tremulous the thanks expressed-- + Thanks for the battle at its worst, and best-- + For all the clanging fray + Whose discord dies away + Into a pastoral song of peace and rest. + + + + +WILLIAM PINKNEY FISHBACK + + + Say first he loved the dear home-hearts, and then + He loved his honest fellow citizen-- + He loved and honored him, in any post + Of duty where he served mankind the most. + + All that he asked of him in humblest need + Was but to find him striving to succeed; + All that he asked of him in highest place + Was justice to the lowliest of his race. + + When he found these conditions, proved and tried, + He owned he marvelled, but was satisfied-- + Relaxed in vigilance enough to smile + And, with his own wit, flay himself a while. + + Often he liked real anger--as, perchance, + The summer skies like storm-clouds and the glance + Of lightning--for the clearer, purer blue + Of heaven, and the greener old earth, too. + + All easy things to do he did with care, + Knowing the very common danger there; + In noblest conquest of supreme debate + The facts are simple as the victory great. + + That which had been a task to hardiest minds + To him was as a pleasure, such as finds + The captive-truant, doomed to read throughout + The one lone book he really cares about. + + Study revived him: Howsoever dim + And deep the problem, 'twas a joy to him + To solve it wholly; and he seemed as one + Refreshed and rested as the work was done. + + And he had gathered, from all wealth of lore + That time has written, such a treasure store, + His mind held opulence--his speech the rare + Fair grace of sharing all his riches there-- + + Sharing with all, but with the greatest zest + Sharing with those who seemed the neediest: + The young he ever favored; and through these + Shall he live longest in men's memories. + + + + +JOHN CLARK RIDPATH + + + To the lorn ones who loved him first and best, + And knew his dear love at its tenderest, + We seem akin--we simplest friends who knew + His fellowship, of heart and spirit too: + + We who have known the happy summertide + Of his ingenuous nature, glorified + With the inspiring smile that ever lit + The earnest face and kindly strength of it: + + His presence, all-commanding, as his thought + Into unconscious eloquence was wrought, + Until the utterance became a spell + That awed us as a spoken miracle. + + Learning, to him, was native--was, in truth, + The earliest playmate of his lisping youth, + Likewise, throughout a life of toil and stress, + It was as laughter, health and happiness: + + And so he played with it--joyed at its call-- + Ran rioting with it, forgetting all + Delights of childhood, and of age and fame,-- + A devotee of learning, still the same! + + In fancy, even now we catch the glance + Of the rapt eye and radiant countenance, + As when his discourse, like a woodland stream, + Flowed musically on from theme to theme: + + The skies, the stars, the mountains, and the sea, + He worshipped as their high divinity-- + Nor did his reverent spirit find one thing + On earth too lowly for his worshipping. + + The weed, the rose, the wildwood or the plain, + The teeming harvest, or the blighted grain-- + All--all were fashioned beautiful and good, + As the soul saw and senses understood. + + Thus broadly based, his spacious faith and love + Enfolded all below as all above-- + Nay, ev'n if overmuch he loved mankind, + He gave his love's vast largess as designed. + + Therefore, in fondest, faithful service, he + Wrought ever bravely for humanity-- + Stood, first of heroes for the Right allied-- + Foes, even, grieving, when (for them) he died. + + This was the man we loved--are loving yet, + And still shall love while longing eyes are wet + With selfish tears that well were brushed away + Remembering his smile of yesterday.-- + + For, even as we knew him, smiling still, + Somewhere beyond all earthly ache or ill, + He waits with the old welcome--just as when + We met him smiling, we shall meet again. + + + + +NEW YEAR'S NURSERY JINGLE + + + Of all the rhymes of all the climes + Of where and when and how, + We best and most can boost and boast + The Golden Age of NOW! + + + + +TO THE MOTHER + + + The mother-hands no further toil may know; + The mother-eyes smile not on you and me; + The mother-heart is stilled, alas!--But O + The mother-love abides eternally. + + + + +TO MY SISTER + +A BELATED OFFERING FOR HER BIRTHDAY + + + These books you find three weeks behind + Your honored anniversary + Make me, I fear, to here appear + Mayhap a trifle cursory.-- + Yet while the Muse must thus refuse + The chords that fall caressfully, + She seems to stir the publisher + And dealer quite successfully. + + As to our _birthdays_--let 'em run + Until they whir and whiz! + Read Robert Louis Stevenson, + And hum these lines of his:-- + "The eternal dawn, beyond a doubt, + Shall break on hill and plain + And put all stars and candles out + Ere we be young again." + + + + +A MOTTO + + + The _Brightest_ Star's the _modestest_, + And more'n likely writes + His motto like the lightnin'-bug's-- + _Accordin' To His Lights_. + + + + +TO A POET ON HIS MARRIAGE + +MADISON CAWEIN + + + Ever and ever, on and on, + From winter dusk to April dawn, + This old enchanted world we range + From night to light--from change to change-- + Or path of burs or lily-bells, + We walk a world of miracles. + + The morning evermore must be + A newer, purer mystery-- + The dewy grasses, or the bloom + Of orchards, or the wood's perfume + Of wild sweet-williams, or the wet + Blent scent of loam and violet. + + How wondrous all the ways we fare-- + What marvels wait us, unaware!... + But yesterday, with eyes ablur + And heart that held no hope of Her, + You paced the lone path, but the true + That led to where she waited you. + + + + +ART AND POETRY + +TO HOMER C. DAVENPORT + + + "Wess," he says, and sort o' grins, + "Art and Poetry is twins. + 'F I could draw as you have drew, + Like to jes' swap pens with you." + + + + +HER SMILE OF CHEER AND VOICE OF SONG + +ANNA HARRIS RANDALL + + + Spring fails, in all its bravery of brilliant gold and green,-- + The sun, the grass, the leafing tree, and all the dazzling scene + Of dewy morning--orchard blooms, + And woodland blossoms and perfumes + With bird-songs sown between. + + Yea, since _she_ smiles not any more, so every flowery thing + Fades, and the birds seem brooding o'er her silence as they sing-- + Her smile of cheer and voice of song + Seemed so divinely to belong + To ever-joyous Spring! + + Nay, still she smiles.--Our eyes are blurred and see not through our + tears: + And still her rapturous voice is heard, though not of mortal ears:-- + Now ever doth she smile and sing + Where Heaven's unending clime of Spring + Reclaims those gifts of hers. + + + + +OLD INDIANY + +FRAGMENT + +INTENDED FOR A DINNER OF THE INDIANA SOCIETY OF CHICAGO + + + Old Indiany, 'course we know + Is first, and best, and _most_, also, + Of _all_ the States' whole forty-four:-- + She's first in ever'thing, that's shore!-- + And _best_ in ever'way as yet + Made known to man; and you kin bet + She's _most_, because she won't confess + She ever was, or will be, _less_! + And yet, fer all her proud array + Of sons, how many gits away!-- + No doubt about her bein' _great_ + But, fellers, she's a leaky State! + And them that boasts the most about + Her, them's the ones that's dribbled out. + Law! jes' to think of all you boys + 'Way over here in Illinoise + A-celebratin', like ye air, + Old Indiany, 'way back there + In the dark ages, so to speak, + A-prayin' for ye once a week + And wonderin' what's a-keepin' you + From comin', like you ort to do. + You're all a-lookin' well, and like + You wasn't "sidin' up the pike," + As the tramp-shoemaker said + When "he sacked the boss and shed + The blame town, to hunt fer one + Where they didn't work fer fun!" + Lookin' _extry_ well, I'd say, + Your old home so fur away.-- + Maybe, though, like the old jour., + Fun hain't all yer workin' fer. + So you've found a job that pays + Better than in them old days + You was on _The Weekly Press_, + Heppin' run things, more er less; + Er a-learnin' telegraph + Operatin', with a half + Notion of the tinner's trade, + Er the dusty man's that laid + Out designs on marble and + Hacked out little lambs by hand, + And chewed fine-cut as he wrought, + "Shapin' from his bitter thought" + Some squshed mutterings to say,-- + "Yes, hard work, and porer pay!" + Er you'd kind o' thought the far- + Gazin' kuss that owned a car + And took pictures in it, had + Jes' the snap you wanted--bad! + And you even wondered why + He kep' foolin' with his sky- + Light the same on shiny days + As when rainin'. ('T leaked always.) + Wondered what strange things was hid + In there when he shet the door + And smelt like a burnt drug store + Next some orchard-trees, i swan! + With whole roasted apples on! + That's why Ade is, here of late, + Buyin' in the dear old State,-- + So's to cut it up in plots + Of both town and country lots. + + + + +ABE MARTIN + + + Abe Martin!--dad-burn his old picture! + P'tends he's a Brown County fixture-- + A kind of a comical mixture + Of hoss-sense and no sense at all! + His mouth, like his pipe, 's allus goin', + And his thoughts, like his whiskers, is flowin', + And what he don't know ain't wuth knowin'-- + From Genesis clean to baseball! + + The artist, Kin Hubbard, 's so keerless + He draws Abe most eyeless and earless, + But he's never yet pictured him cheerless + Er with fun 'at he tries to conceal,-- + Whuther onto the fence er clean over + A-rootin' up ragweed er clover, + Skeert stiff at some "Rambler" er "Rover" + Er newfangled automo_beel_! + + It's a purty steep climate old Brown's in; + And the rains there his ducks nearly drowns in + The old man hisse'f wades his rounds in + As ca'm and serene, mighty nigh + As the old handsaw-hawg, er the mottled + Milch cow, er the old rooster wattled + Like the mumps had him 'most so well throttled + That it was a pleasure to die. + + But best of 'em all's the fool-breaks 'at + Abe don't see at all, and yit makes 'at + Both me and you lays back and shakes at + His comic, miraculous cracks + Which makes him--clean back of the power + Of genius itse'f in its flower-- + This Notable Man of the Hour, + Abe Martin, The Joker on Facts. + + + + +O. HENRY + +WRITTEN IN THE CHARACTER OF "SHERRARD PLUMMER" + + + O. Henry, Afrite-chef of all delight!-- + Of all delectables conglomerate + That stay the starved brain and rejuvenate + The mental man. Th' esthetic appetite-- + So long anhungered that its "in'ards" fight + And growl gutwise,--its pangs thou dost abate + And all so amiably alleviate, + Joy pats its belly as a hobo might + Who haply hath attained a cherry pie + With no burnt bottom in it, ner no seeds-- + Nothin' but crispest crust, and thickness fit, + And squshin'-juicy, and jes' mighty nigh + Too dratted drippin'-sweet fer human needs, + But fer the sosh of milk that goes with it. + + + + +"MONA MACHREE" + + "_Mona Machree, I'm the wanderin' cr'ature now, + Over the sea; + Slave of no lass, but a lover of Nature now + Careless and free._" + --T. A. Daly. + + + Mona Machree! och, the sootherin' flow of it, + Soft as the sea, + Yet, in-under the mild, moves the wild undertow of it + Tuggin' at me, + Until both the head and the heart o' me's fightin' + For breath, nigh a death all so grandly invitin' + That--barrin' your own livin' yet--I'd delight in, + Drowned in the deeps of this billowy song to you + Sung by a lover your beauty has banned, + Not alone from your love but his dear native land, + Whilst the kiss of his lips, and touch of his hand, + And his song--all belong to you, + Mona Machree! + + + + +WILLIAM McKINLEY + +CANTON, OHIO, SEPTEMBER 30, 1907 + + + He said: "It is God's way: + His will, not ours be done." + And o'er our land a shadow lay + That darkened all the sun. + The voice of jubilee + That gladdened all the air, + Fell sudden to a quavering key + Of suppliance and prayer. + + He was our chief--our guide-- + Sprung of our common Earth, + From youth's long struggle proved and tried + To manhood's highest worth: + Through toil, he knew all needs + Of all his toiling kind-- + The favored striver who succeeds-- + The one who falls behind. + + The boy's young faith he still + Retained through years mature-- + The faith to labor, hand and will, + Nor doubt the harvest sure-- + The harvest of man's love-- + A nation's joy that swells + To heights of Song, or deeps whereof + But sacred silence tells. + + To him his Country seemed + Even as a Mother, where + He rested--slept; and once he dreamed-- + As on her bosom there-- + And thrilled to hear, within + That dream of her, the call + Of bugles and the clang and din + Of war.... And o'er it all + + His rapt eyes caught the bright + Old Banner, winging wild + And beck'ning him, as to the fight ... + When--even as a child-- + He wakened--And the dream + Was real! And he leapt + As led the proud Flag through a gleam + Of tears the Mother wept. + + His was a tender hand-- + Even as a woman's is-- + And yet as fixed, in Right's command, + As this bronze hand of his: + This was the Soldier brave-- + This was the Victor fair-- + This is the Hero Heaven gave + To glory here--and There. + + + + +BENJAMIN HARRISON + +ON THE UNVEILING OF HIS MONUMENT AT INDIANAPOLIS + +OCTOBER 27, 1908 + + + As tangible a form in History + The Spirit of this man stands forth as here + He towers in deathless sculpture, high and clear + Against the bright sky of his destiny. + Sprung of our oldest, noblest ancestry, + His pride of birth, as lofty as sincere, + Held kith and kin, as Country, ever dear-- + Such was his sacred faith in you and me. + Thus, natively, from youth his work was one + Unselfish service in behalf of all-- + Home, friends, and sharers of his toil and stress; + Ay, loving all men and despising none, + And swift to answer every righteous call, + His life was one long deed of worthiness. + + The voice of Duty's faintest whisper found + Him as alert as at her battle-cry-- + When awful War's battalions thundered by, + High o'er the havoc still he heard the sound + Of mothers' prayers and pleadings all around; + And ever the despairing sob and sigh + Of stricken wives and orphan children's cry + Made all our Land thrice consecrated ground. + So rang his "Forward!" and so swept his sword-- + On!--on!--till from the fire-and-cloud once more + Our proud Flag lifted in the glad sunlight + As though the very Ensign of the Lord + Unfurled in token that the strife was o'er, + And victory--as ever--with the right. + + + + +LEE O. HARRIS + +CHRISTMAS DAY--1909 + + + O say not he is dead, + The friend we honored so; + Lift up a grateful voice instead + And say: He lives, we know-- + We know it by the light + Of his enduring love + Of honor, valor, truth, and right, + And man, and God above. + + Remember how he drew + The child-heart to his own, + And taught the parable anew, + And reaped as he had sown; + Remember with what cheer + He filled the little lives, + And stayed the sob and dried the tear + With mirth that still survives. + + All duties to his kind + It was his joy to fill; + With nature gentle and refined, + Yet dauntless soul and will, + He met the trying need + Of every troublous call, + Yet high and clear and glad indeed + He sung above it all. + + Ay, listen! Still we hear + The patriot song, the lay + Of love, the woodland note so dear-- + These will not die away. + Then say not he is dead, + The friend we honor so, + But lift a grateful voice instead + And say: He lives, we know. + + + + +THE HIGHEST GOOD + +WRITTEN FOR A HIGH-SCHOOL ANNUAL + + + To attain the highest good + Of true man and womanhood, + Simply do your honest best-- + God with joy will do the rest. + + + + +MY CONSCIENCE + + + Sometimes my Conscience says, says he, + "Don't you know me?" + And I, says I, skeered through and through, + "Of course I do. + You air a nice chap ever' way, + I'm here to say! + You make me cry--you make me pray, + And all them good things thataway-- + That is, at _night_. Where do you stay + Durin' the day?" + + And then my Conscience says, onc't more, + "You know me--shore?" + "Oh, yes," says I, a-trimblin' faint, + "You're jes' a saint! + Your ways is all so holy-right, + I love you better ever' night + You come around,--tel' plum daylight, + When you air out o' sight!" + + And then my Conscience sort o' grits + His teeth, and spits + On his two hands and grabs, of course, + Some old remorse, + And beats me with the big butt-end + O' _that_ thing--tel my clostest friend + 'Ud hardly know me. "Now," says he, + "Be keerful as you'd orto be + And _allus_ think o' me!" + + + + +MY BOY + + + You smile and you smoke your cigar, my boy; + You walk with a languid swing; + You tinkle and tune your guitar, my boy, + And you lift up your voice and sing; + The midnight moon is a friend of yours, + And a serenade your joy-- + And it's only an age like mine that cures + A trouble like yours, my boy! + + + + +THE OBJECT LESSON + + +Barely a year ago I attended the Friday afternoon exercises of a +country school. My mission there, as I remember, was to refresh my +mind with such material as might be gathered, for a "valedictory," +which, I regret to say, was to be handed down to posterity under +another signature than my own. + +There was present, among a host of visitors, a pale young man of +perhaps thirty years, with a tall head and bulging brow and a highly +intellectual pair of eyes and spectacles. He wore his hair without +roach or "part" and the smile he beamed about him was "a joy forever." +He was an educator--from the East, I think I heard it rumoured--anyway +he was introduced to the school at last, and he bowed, and smiled, and +beamed upon us all, and entertained us after the most delightfully +edifying manner imaginable. And although I may fail to reproduce the +exact substance of his remarks upon that highly important occasion, I +think I can at least present his theme in all its coherency of detail. +Addressing more particularly the primary department of the school, he +said:-- + +"As the little exercise I am about to introduce is of recent origin, +and the bright, intelligent faces of the pupils before me seem rife +with eager and expectant interest, it will be well for me, perhaps, to +offer by way of preparatory preface, a few terse words of explanation. + +"The Object Lesson is designed to fill a long-felt want, and is +destined, as I think, to revolutionize, in a great degree, the +educational systems of our land.--In my belief, the Object Lesson will +supply a want which I may safely say has heretofore left the most +egregious and palpable traces of mental confusion and intellectual +inadequacies stamped, as it were, upon the gleaming reasons of the +most learned--the highest cultured, and the most eminently gifted and +promising of our professors and scientists both at home and abroad. + +"Now this deficiency--if it may be so termed--plainly has a beginning; +and probing deeply with the bright, clean scalpel of experience we +discover that--'As the twig is bent the tree's inclined.' To remedy, +then, a deeply seated error which for so long has rankled at the very +root of educational progress throughout the land, many plausible, and +we must admit, many helpful theories have been introduced to allay the +painful errors resulting from the discrepancy of which we speak: but +until now, nothing that seemed wholly to eradicate the defect has been +discovered, and that, too, strange as it may seem, is, at last, +emanating, like the mighty river, from the simplest source, but +broadening and gathering in force and power as it flows along, until, +at last, its grand and mighty current sweeps on in majesty to the vast +illimitable ocean of--of--of--Success! Ahem! + +"And, now, little boys and girls, that we have had by implication, a +clear and comprehensive explanation of the Object Lesson and its +mission, I trust you will give me your undivided attention while I +endeavor--in my humble way--to direct your newly acquired knowledge +through the proper channel. For instance:-- + +"This little object I hold in my hand--who will designate it by its +proper name? Come, now, let us see who will be the first to answer. 'A +peanut,' says the little boy here at my right. Very good--very good! I +hold, then, in my hand, a peanut. And now who will tell me, what is +the peanut? A very simple question--who will answer? 'Something good +to eat,' says the little girl. Yes, 'something good to eat,' but would +it not be better to say simply that the peanut is an edible? I think +so, yes. The peanut, then, is--an edible--now, all together, an +edible! + +"To what kingdom does the peanut belong? The animal, vegetable, or +mineral kingdom? A very easy question. Come, let us have prompt +answers. 'The animal kingdom,' does the little boy say? Oh, no! The +peanut does not belong to the animal kingdom! Surely the little boy +must be thinking of a larger object than the peanut--the elephant, +perhaps. To what kingdom, then, does the peanut belong? The +v-v-veg--'The vegetable kingdom,' says the bright-faced little girl on +the back seat. Ah! that is better. We find then that the peanut +belongs to the--what kingdom? The 'vegetable kingdom.' Very good, very +good! + +"And now who will tell us of what the peanut is composed. Let us have +quick responses now. Time is fleeting! Of what is the peanut composed? +'The hull and the goody,' some one answers. Yes, 'the hull and the +goody' in vulgar parlance, but how much better it would be to say +simply, the shell and the kernel. Would not that sound better? Yes, I +thought you would agree with me there! + +"And now who will tell me the color of the peanut! And be careful now! +for I shouldn't like to hear you make the very stupid blunder I once +heard a little boy make in reply to the same question. Would you like +to hear what color the stupid little boy said the peanut was? You +would, eh? Well, now, how many of you would like to hear what color +the stupid little boy said the peanut was? Come now, let's have an +expression. All who would like to hear what color the stupid little +boy said the peanut was, may hold up their right hands. Very good, +very good--there, that will do. + +"Well, it was during a professional visit I was once called upon to +make to a neighboring city, where I was invited to address the +children of a free school--Hands down, now, little boy--founded for +the exclusive benefit of the little newsboys and bootblacks, who, it +seems, had not the means to defray the expenses of the commonest +educational accessories, and during an object lessen--identical with +the one before us now--for it is a favorite one of mine--I propounded +the question, what is the color of the peanut? Many answers were given +in response, but none as sufficiently succinct and apropos as I deemed +the facts demanded; and so at last I personally addressed a ragged, +but, as I then thought, a bright-eyed little fellow, when judge of my +surprise, in reply to my question what is the color of the peanut, the +little fellow, without the slightest gleam of intelligence lighting up +his face, answered, that 'if not scorched in roasting, the peanut was +a blond.' Why, I was almost tempted to join in the general merriment +his inapposite reply elicited. But I occupy your attention with +trivial things; and as I notice the time allotted to me has slipped +away, we will drop the peanut for the present. Trusting the few facts +gleaned from a topic so homely and unpromising will sink deep in your +minds, in time to bloom and blossom in the fields of future +usefulness--I--I----I thank you." + + + + +THE END + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Old Soldiers Story, by James Whitcomb Riley + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OLD SOLDIERS STORY *** + +***** This file should be named 32335-8.txt or 32335-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/2/3/3/32335/ + +Produced by David Clarke, Chandra Friend and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Old Soldiers Story + Poems and Prose Sketches + +Author: James Whitcomb Riley + +Release Date: May 11, 2010 [EBook #32335] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OLD SOLDIERS STORY *** + + + + +Produced by David Clarke, Chandra Friend and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<p class="center">Transcriber's Note: Dialect has been retained as it appears in the +original publication.</p> + + +<hr class="hr4" /> + +<p class="center"><b><big><span class="title">THE</span><br /> +<span class="title">OLD SOLDIER'S STORY</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Poems and Prose Sketches</i><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Indianapolis<br /> +<br /> +THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY<br /> +PUBLISHERS</big></b></p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<h5><span class="smcap">Copyright 1913, 1914, 1915</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">James Whitcomb Riley</span></h5> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<h5>PRESS OF<br /> +BRAUNWORTH & CO.<br /> +BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS<br /> +BROOKLYN, N. Y.<br /> +</h5> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p class="center"><big>TO<br /> +<br /> +GEORGE THOMPSON, ESQ.</big><br /> +<br /> +"<i>Apples ben ripe in my gardayne</i>" +</p> + + + +<hr class="hr4" /> + +<h3><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h3> + + + + +<table summary="Contents"> +<tr> +<td class="tdr" colspan="2"><small>PAGE</small></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Old Soldier's Story</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#THE_OLD_SOLDIERS_STORY">1</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> Somep'n Common-like</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#SOMEPN_COMMON-LIKE"> 5</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> Monsieur le Secretaire</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#MONSIEUR-LE-SECRETAIRE"> 6</a></td> +</tr> + <tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> A Phantom</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#A_PHANTOM"> 7</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> In the Corridor</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#IN_THE_CORRIDOR"> 8</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> Louella Wainie </span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#LOUELLA_WAINIE"> 9</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> The Text</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#THE_TEXT"> 11</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> William Brown</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#WILLIAM_BROWN"> 12</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> Why</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#WHY"> 14</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> The Touch of Loving Hands </span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#THE_TOUCH_OF_LOVING_HANDS"> 15</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> A Test</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#A_TEST"> 16</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> A Song for Christmas</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#A_SONG_FOR_CHRISTMAS"> 17</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> Sun and Rain </span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#SUN_AND_RAIN"> 19</a></td> +</tr> + <tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> With Her Face</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#WITH_HER_FACE"> 20</a></td> +</tr> + <tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> My Night</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#MY_NIGHT"> 21</a></td> +</tr> + <tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> The Hour Before the Dawn</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#THE_HOUR_BEFORE_THE_DAWN"> 22</a></td> +</tr> + <tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> Good-by, Old Year</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#GOOD-BY_OLD_YEAR"> 23</a></td> +</tr> + <tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> False and True</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#FALSE_AND_TRUE"> 24</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> A Ballad from April </span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#A_BALLAD_FROM_APRIL"> 25</a></td> +</tr> + <tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> Brudder Sims</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#BRUDDER_SIMS"> 27</a></td> +</tr> + <tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> Deformed</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#DEFORMED"> 28</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> Faith</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#FAITH"> 30</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> The Lost Thrill</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#THE_LOST_THRILL"> 31</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> At Dusk</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#AT_DUSK"> 32</a></td> +</tr> + <tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> Another Ride from Ghent to Aix</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#ANOTHER_RIDE_FROM_GHENT_TO_AIX"> 33</a></td> +</tr> + <tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> In the Heart of June</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#IN_THE_HEART_OF_JUNE"> 36</a></td> +</tr> + <tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> Dreams</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#DREAMS"> 37</a></td> +</tr> + <tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> Because </span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#BECAUSE"> 42</a></td> +</tr> + <tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> To the Cricket</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#TO_THE_CRICKET"> 43</a></td> +</tr> + <tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> The Old-fashioned Bible </span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#THE_OLD-FASHIONED_BIBLE"> 44</a></td> +</tr> + <tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> Uncomforted</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#UNCOMFORTED"> 46</a></td> +</tr> + <tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> What They Said</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#WHAT_THEY_SAID"> 48</a></td> +</tr> + <tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> After the Frost</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#AFTER_THE_FROST"> 50</a></td> +</tr> + <tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> Charles H. Phillips</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHARLES_H_PHILLIPS"> 51</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> When It Rains</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#WHEN_IT_RAINS"> 53</a></td> +</tr> + <tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> An Assassin</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#AN_ASSASSIN"> 55</a></td> +</tr> + <tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> Best of All</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#BEST_OF_ALL"> 56</a></td> +</tr> + <tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> Bin a-Fishin'</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#BIN_A-FISHIN"> 57</a></td> +</tr> + <tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> Uncle Dan'l in Town Over Sunday</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#UNCLE_DANL_IN_TOWN_OVER_SUNDAY"> 59</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> Soldiers Here To-day</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#SOLDIERS_HERE_TO-DAY"> 61</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> Shadow and Shine </span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#SHADOW_AND_SHINE"> 65</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> That Night</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#THAT_NIGHT"> 66</a></td> +</tr> + <tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> August </span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#AUGUST"> 67</a></td> +</tr> + <tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> The Guide </span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#THE_GUIDE"> 68</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> Sutter's Claim</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#SUTTERS_CLAIM"> 71</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> Her Light Guitar</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#HER_LIGHT_GUITAR"> 73</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> While Cigarettes to Ashes Turn </span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#WHILE_CIGARETTES_TO_ASHES_TURN"> 74</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> Two Sonnets to the June-bug </span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#TWO_SONNETS_TO_THE_JUNE-BUG"> 77</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> Autographic</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#AUTOGRAPHIC"> 79</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> An Impromptu on Roller Skates</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#AN_IMPROMPTU_ON_ROLLER_SKATES"> 80</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> Written in Bunner's "Airs from Arcady"</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#WRITTEN_IN_BUNNERS_AIRS_FROM_ARCADY"> 81</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> In the Afternoon </span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#IN_THE_AFTERNOON"> 82</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> At Madame Manicure's</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#AT_MADAME_MANICURES"> 84</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> A Caller from Boone</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#A_CALLER_FROM_BOONE"> 86</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> Lord Bacon </span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#LORD_BACON"> 98</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> My First Womern </span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#MY_FIRST_WOMERN"> 99</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> As We Read Burns</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#AS_WE_READ_BURNS"> 101</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> To James Newton Matthews </span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#TO_JAMES_NEWTON_MATTHEWS"> 102</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> Song </span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#SONG"> 103</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> When We Three Meet </span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#WHEN_WE_THREE_MEET"> 105</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> Josh Billings </span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#JOSH_BILLINGS"> 106</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> Which Ane</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#WHICH_ANE"> 108</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> The Earthquake</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#THE_EARTHQUAKE"> 111</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> A Fall-crick View of the Earthquake</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#A_FALL-CRICK_VIEW_OF_THE_EARTHQUAKE"> 112</a></td> +</tr> + <tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> Lewis D. Hayes</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#LEWIS_D_HAYES"> 114</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> In Days to Come </span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#IN_DAYS_TO_COME"> 116</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> Luther A. Todd</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#LUTHER_A_TODD"> 117</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> When the Hearse Comes Back </span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#WHEN_THE_HEARSE_COMES_BACK"> 121</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> Our Old Friend Neverfail </span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#OUR_OLD_FRIEND_NEVERFAIL"> 124</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> Dan O'sullivan</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#DAN_OSULLIVAN"> 126</a></td> +</tr> + <tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> John Boyle O'reilly </span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#JOHN_BOYLE_OREILLY"> 127</a></td> +</tr> + <tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> Meredith Nicholson </span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#MEREDITH_NICHOLSON"> 129</a></td> +</tr> + <tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> God's Mercy</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#GODS_MERCY"> 130</a></td> +</tr> + <tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> Christmas Greeting</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHRISTMAS_GREETING"> 131</a></td> +</tr> + <tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> To Rudyard Kipling </span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#TO_RUDYARD_KIPLING"> 132</a></td> +</tr> + <tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> The Gudewife</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#THE_GUDEWIFE"> 133</a></td> +</tr> + <tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> Tennyson </span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#TENNYSON"> 134</a></td> +</tr> + <tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> Rosamond C. Bailey </span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#ROSAMOND_C_BAILEY"> 135</a></td> +</tr> + <tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> Mrs. Benjamin Harrison </span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#MRS_BENJAMIN_HARRISON"> 136</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> George A. Carr</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#GEORGE_A_CARR"> 138</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> To Elizabeth</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#TO_ELIZABETH"> 139</a></td> +</tr> + <tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> To Almon Keefer</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#TO_ALMON_KEEFER"> 140</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> To—"The J. W. R. Literary Club"</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#TO_THE_J_W_R_LITERARY_CLUB"> 142</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> Little Maid-o'-dreams </span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#LITTLE_MAID-O-DREAMS"> 143</a></td> +</tr> + <tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> To the Boy with a Country</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#TO_THE_BOY_WITH_A_COUNTRY"> 145</a></td> +</tr> + <tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> Claude Matthews </span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CLAUDE_MATTHEWS"> 146</a></td> +</tr> + <tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> To Lesley</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#TO_LESLEY"> 147</a></td> +</tr> + <tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> The Judkins Papers</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#THE_JUDKINS_PAPERS"> 148</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> To the Quiet Observer—erasmus Wilson</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#TO_THE_QUIET_OBSERVER"> 165</a></td> +</tr> + <tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> America's Thanksgiving </span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#AMERICAS_THANKSGIVING"> 166</a></td> +</tr> + <tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> William Pinkney Fishback </span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#WILLIAM_PINKNEY_FISHBACK"> 168</a></td> +</tr> + <tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> John Clark Ridpath</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#JOHN_CLARK_RIDPATH"> 170</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> New Year's Nursery Jingle</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#NEW_YEARS_NURSERY_JINGLE"> 173</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> To the Mother</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#TO_THE_MOTHER"> 174</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> To My Sister</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#TO_MY_SISTER"> 175</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> A Motto</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#A_MOTTO"> 176</a></td> +</tr> + <tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> To a Poet on His Marriage</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#TO_A_POET_ON_HIS_MARRIAGE"> 177</a></td> +</tr> + <tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> Art and Poetry</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#ART_AND_POETRY"> 178</a></td> +</tr> + <tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> Her Smile of Cheer and Voice of Song</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#HER_SMILE_OF_CHEER_AND_VOICE_OF_SONG"> 179</a></td> +</tr> + <tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> Old Indiany</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#OLD_INDIANY"> 180</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> Abe Martin </span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#ABE_MARTIN"> 183</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> O. Henry </span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#O_HENRY"> 185</a></td> +</tr> + <tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> "Mona Machree" </span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#MONA_MACHREE"> 186</a></td> +</tr> + <tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> William Mckinley </span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#WILLIAM_McKINLEY"> 187</a></td> +</tr> + <tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> Benjamin Harrison </span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#BENJAMIN_HARRISON"> 190</a></td> +</tr> + <tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> Lee O. Harris</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#LEE_O_HARRIS"> 192</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> The Highest Good</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#THE_HIGHEST_GOOD"> 194</a></td> +</tr> + <tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> My Conscience</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#MY_CONSCIENCE"> 195</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> My Boy</span> </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#MY_BOY"> 197</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"> The Object Lesson </span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#THE_OBJECT_LESSON"> 198</a></td> +</tr> +</table> + + + + +<hr class="hr4" /> + +<h3><a name="THE_OLD_SOLDIERS_STORY" id="THE_OLD_SOLDIERS_STORY"></a>THE OLD SOLDIER'S STORY<br /> +<br /> +<small>AS TOLD BEFORE THE NEW ENGLAND SOCIETY IN NEW YORK CITY</small></h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Since</span> we have had no stories to-night I will venture, Mr. President, +to tell a story that I have heretofore heard at nearly all the +banquets I have ever attended. It is a story simply, and you must bear +with it kindly. It is a story as told by a friend of us all, who is +found in all parts of all countries, who is immoderately fond of a +funny story, and who, unfortunately, attempts to tell a funny story +himself—one that he has been particularly delighted with. Well, he is +not a story-teller, and especially he is not a funny story-teller. His +funny stories, indeed, are oftentimes touchingly pathetic. But to such +a story as he tells, being a good-natured man and kindly disposed, we +have to listen, because we do not want to wound his feelings by +telling him that we have heard that story a great number of times, and +that we have heard it ably told by a great number of people from the +time we were children. But, as I say, we can not hurt his feelings. We +can not stop him. We can not kill him; and so the story generally +proceeds. He selects a very old story always, and generally tells it +in about this fashion:—</p> + +<p>I heerd an awful funny thing the other day—ha! ha! I don't know +whether I kin git it off er not, but, anyhow, I'll tell it to you. +Well!—le's see now how the fool-thing goes. Oh, yes!—W'y, there was +a feller one time—it was durin' the army, and this feller that I +started in to tell you about was in the war, and—ha! ha!—there was a +big fight a-goin' on, and this feller was in the fight, and it was a +big battle and bullets a-flyin' ever' which way, and bombshells +a-bu'stin', and cannon-balls a-flyin' 'round promiskus; and this +feller right in the midst of it, you know, and all excited and het up, +and chargin' away; and the fust thing you know along come a +cannon-ball and shot his head off—ha! ha! ha! Hold on here a +minute!—no sir; I'm a-gittin' ahead of my story; no, no; it didn't +shoot his <i>head</i> off—I'm gittin' the cart before the horse there—shot +his <i>leg</i> off; that was the way; shot his leg off; and down the poor +feller drapped, and, of course, in that condition was perfectly +he'pless, you know, but yit with presence o' mind enough to know that +he was in a dangerous condition ef somepin' wasn't done fer him right +away. So he seen a comrade a-chargin' by that he knowed, and he +hollers to him and called him by name—I disremember now what the +feller's name was....</p> + +<p>Well, that's got nothin' to do with the story, anyway; he hollers to +him, he did, and says, "Hello, there," he says to him; "here, I want +you to come here and give me a lift; I got my leg shot off, and I want +you to pack me back to the rear of the battle"—where the doctors +always is, you know, during a fight—and he says, "I want you to pack +me back there where I can get med-dy-cinal attention er I'm a dead +man, fer I got my leg shot off," he says, "and I want you to pack me +back there so's the surgeons kin take keer of me." Well—the feller, +as luck would have it, ricko-nized him and run to him and throwed down +his own musket, so's he could pick him up; and he stooped down and +picked him up and kindo' half-way shouldered him and half-way helt him +betwixt his arms like, and then he turned and started back with +him—ha! ha! ha! Now, mind, the fight was still a-goin' on—and right +at the hot of the fight, and the feller, all excited, you know, like +he was, and the soldier that had his leg shot off gittin' kindo fainty +like, and his head kindo' stuck back over the feller's shoulder that +was carryin' him. And he hadn't got more'n a couple o' rods with him +when another cannon-ball come along and tuk his head off, shore +enough!—and the curioust thing about it was—ha! ha!—that the feller +was a-packin' him didn't know that he had been hit ag'in at all, and +back he went—still carryin' the deceased back—ha! ha! ha!—to where +the doctors could take keer of him—as he thought. Well, his cap'n +happened to see him, and he thought it was a ruther cur'ous +p'ceedin's—a soldier carryin' a dead body out o' the fight—don't you +see? And so he hollers at him, and he says to the soldier, the cap'n +did, he says, "Hullo, there; where you goin' with that thing?" the +cap'n said to the soldier who was a-carryin' away the feller that had +his leg shot off. Well, his head, too, by that time. So he says, +"Where you goin' with that thing?" the cap'n said to the soldier who +was a-carryin' away the feller that had his leg shot off. Well, the +soldier he stopped—kinder halted, you know, like a private soldier +will when his presidin' officer speaks to him—and he says to him, +"W'y," he says, "Cap, it's a comrade o' mine and the pore feller has +got his leg shot off, and I'm a-packin' him back to where the doctors +is; and there was nobody to he'p him, and the feller would 'a' died in +his tracks—er track ruther—if it hadn't a-been fer me, and I'm +a-packin' him back where the surgeons can take keer of him; where he +can get medical attendance—er his wife's a widder!" he says, "'cause +he's got his leg shot off!" Then <i>Cap'n</i> says, "You blame fool you, he's +got his <i>head</i> shot off." So then the feller slacked his grip on the +body and let it slide down to the ground, and looked at it a minute, +all puzzled, you know, and says, "W'y, he told me it was his leg!" Ha! +ha! ha!</p> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="SOMEPN_COMMON-LIKE" id="SOMEPN_COMMON-LIKE"></a>SOMEP'N COMMON-LIKE</h3> + + +<div class="block1"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Somep'n</span> 'at's common-like, and good<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And plain, and easy understood;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Somep'n 'at folks like me and you<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kin understand, and relish, too,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And find some sermint in 'at hits<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The spot, and sticks and benefits.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We don't need nothin' extry fine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Cause, take the run o' minds like mine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And we'll go more on good horse-sense<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than all your flowery eloquence;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And we'll jedge best of honest acts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By Nature's statement of the facts.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So when you're wantin' to express<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your misery, er happiness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Er anything 'at's wuth the time<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O' telling in plain talk er rhyme—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jes' sort o' let your subject run<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As ef the Lord wuz listenun.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="MONSIEUR-LE-SECRETAIRE" id="MONSIEUR-LE-SECRETAIRE"></a>MONSIEUR LE SECRETAIRE<br /> +<br /> +<small>[JOHN CLARK RIDPATH]</small></h3> + + +<div class="block"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Mon</span> cher Monsieur le Secretaire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your song flits with me everywhere;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It lights on Fancy's prow and sings<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Me on divinest voyagings:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when my ruler love would fain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be laid upon it—high again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It mounts, and hugs itself from me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With rapturous wings—still dwindlingly—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On!—on! till but a <i>ghost</i> is there<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of song, Monsieur le Secretaire!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="A_PHANTOM" id="A_PHANTOM"></a>A PHANTOM</h3> + + +<div class="block2"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Little</span> baby, you have wandered far away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And your fairy face comes back to me to-day,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But I can not feel the strands<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of your tresses, nor the play<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of the dainty velvet-touches of your hands.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Little baby, you were mine to hug and hold;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now your arms cling not about me as of old—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O my dream of rest come true,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And my richer wealth than gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the surest hope of Heaven that I knew!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O for the lisp long silent, and the tone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of merriment once mingled with my own—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For the laughter of your lips,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And the kisses plucked and thrown<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the lavish wastings of your finger-tips!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Little baby, O as then, come back to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And be again just as you used to be,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For this phantom of you stands<br /></span> +<span class="i4">All too cold and silently,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And will not kiss nor touch me with its hands.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="IN_THE_CORRIDOR" id="IN_THE_CORRIDOR"></a>IN THE CORRIDOR</h3> + + +<div class="block1"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Ah!</span> at last alone, love!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now the band may play<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till its sweetest tone, love,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Swoons and dies away!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They who most will miss us<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We're not caring for—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who of them could kiss us<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the corridor?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Had we only known, dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ere this long delay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Just how all alone, dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We might waltz away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then for hours, like this, love,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We are longing for,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We'd have still to kiss, love,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the corridor!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Nestle in my heart, love;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hug and hold me close—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Time will come to part, love,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ere a fellow knows;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There! the Strauss is ended—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whirl across the floor:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Isn't waltzing splendid<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the corridor?<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="LOUELLA_WAINIE" id="LOUELLA_WAINIE"></a>LOUELLA WAINIE</h3> + + +<div class="block3"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Louella Wainie!</span> where are you?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Do you not hear me as I cry?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dusk is falling; I feel the dew;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the dark will be here by and by:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">I hear no thing but the owl's hoo-hoo!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Louella Wainie! where are you?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Hand in hand to the pasture bars<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We came loitering, Lou and I,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Long ere the fireflies coaxed the stars<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Out of their hiding-place on high.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">O how sadly the cattle moo!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Louella Wainie! where are you?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Laughingly we parted here—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"I will go this way," said she,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"And you will go that way, my dear"—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Kissing her dainty hand at me—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And the hazels hid her from my view.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Louella Wainie! where are you?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Is there ever a sadder thing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than to stand on the farther brink<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of twilight, hearing the marsh-frogs sing?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nothing could sadder be, I think!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And ah! how the night-fog chills one through.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Louella Wainie! where are you?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Water-lilies and oozy leaves—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lazy bubbles that bulge and stare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Up at the moon through the gloom it weaves<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Out of the willows waving there!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Is it despair I am wading through?<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Louella Wainie! where are you?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Louella Wainie, listen to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Listen, and send me some reply,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For so will I call unceasingly<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Till death shall answer me by and by—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Answer, and help me to find you too!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Louella Wainie! where are you?<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="THE_TEXT" id="THE_TEXT"></a>THE TEXT</h3> + + +<div class="block"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> text: Love thou thy fellow man!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He may have sinned;—One proof indeed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He is thy fellow, reach thy hand<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And help him in his need!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Love thou thy fellow man. He may<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Have wronged thee—then, the less excuse<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou hast for wronging him. Obey<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What he has dared refuse!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Love thou thy fellow man—for, be<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His life a light or heavy load,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No less he needs the love of thee<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To help him on his road.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="WILLIAM_BROWN" id="WILLIAM_BROWN"></a>WILLIAM BROWN</h3> + + +<div class="block2"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"<span class="smcap">He</span> bore the name of William Brown"—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His name, at least, did not go down<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With him that day<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He went the way<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of certain death where duty lay.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He looked his fate full in the face—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He saw his watery resting-place<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Undaunted, and<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With firmer hand<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Held others' hopes in sure command.—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The hopes of full three hundred lives—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aye, babes unborn, and promised wives!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"The odds are dread,"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He must have said,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Here, God, is one poor life instead."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">No time for praying overmuch—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No time for tears, or woman's touch<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of tenderness,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or child's caress—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His last "God bless them!" stopped at "bless"—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thus man and engine, nerved with steel,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clasped iron hands for woe or weal,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And so went down<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where dark waves drown<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All but the name of William Brown.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="WHY" id="WHY"></a>WHY</h3> + + +<div class="block2"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Why</span> are they written—all these lovers' rhymes?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I catch faint perfumes of the blossoms white<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That maidens drape their tresses with at night,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And, through dim smiles of beauty and the din<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of the musicians' harp and violin,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I hear, enwound and blended with the dance,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The voice whose echo is this utterance,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why are they written—all these lovers' rhymes?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Why are they written—all these lovers' rhymes?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I see but vacant windows, curtained o'er<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With webs whose architects forevermore<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Race up and down their slender threads to bind<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The buzzing fly's wings whirless, and to wind<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The living victim in his winding sheet.—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I shudder, and with whispering lips repeat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why are they written—all these lovers' rhymes?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Why are they written—all these lovers' rhymes?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What will you have for answer?—Shall I say<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That he who sings the merriest roundelay<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hath neither joy nor hope?—and he who sings<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The lightest, sweetest, tenderest of things<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But utters moan on moan of keenest pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So aches his heart to ask and ask in vain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why are they written—all these lovers' rhymes?<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="THE_TOUCH_OF_LOVING_HANDS" id="THE_TOUCH_OF_LOVING_HANDS"></a>THE TOUCH OF LOVING HANDS<br /> +<br /> +<small>IMITATED</small></h3> + + +<div class="block3"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Light</span> falls the rain-drop on the fallen leaf,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And light o'er harvest-plain and garnered sheaf—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But lightlier falls the touch of loving hands.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Light falls the dusk of mild midsummer night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And light the first star's faltering lance of light<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On glimmering lawns,—but lightlier loving hands.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And light the feathery flake of early snows,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or wisp of thistle-down that no wind blows,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And light the dew,—but lightlier loving hands.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Light-falling dusk, or dew, or summer rain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or down of snow or thistle—all are vain,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Far lightlier falls the touch of loving hands.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="A_TEST" id="A_TEST"></a>A TEST</h3> + + +<div class="block2"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">'Twas</span> a test I designed, in a quiet conceit<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of myself, and the thoroughly fixed and complete<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Satisfaction I felt in the utter control<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the guileless young heart of the girl of my soul.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So—we parted. I said it were better we should—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That she could forget me—I knew that she could;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For I never was worthy so tender a heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And so for her sake it were better to part.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She averted her gaze, and she sighed and looked sad<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As I held out my hand—for the ring that she had—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the bitterer speech that I hoped she might be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Resigned to look up and be happy with me.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Twas a test, as I said—but God pity your grief,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At a moment like this when a smile of relief<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall leap to the lips of the woman you prize,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And no mist of distress in her glorious eyes.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="A_SONG_FOR_CHRISTMAS" id="A_SONG_FOR_CHRISTMAS"></a>A SONG FOR CHRISTMAS</h3> + + +<div class="block1"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Chant</span> me a rhyme of Christmas—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sing me a jovial song,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And though it is filled with laughter,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Let it be pure and strong.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Let it be clear and ringing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And though it mirthful be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let a low, sweet voice of pathos<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Run through the melody.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sing of the hearts brimmed over<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With the story of the day—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the echo of childish voices<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That will not die away.—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Of the blare of the tasselled bugle,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the timeless clatter and beat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the drum that throbs to muster<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Squadrons of scampering feet.—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Of the wide-eyed look of wonder,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the gurgle of baby-glee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the infant hero wrestles<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From the smiling father's knee.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sing the delights unbounded<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of the home unknown of care,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where wealth as a guest abideth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And want is a stranger there.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But O let your voice fall fainter,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Till, blent with a minor tone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You temper your song with the beauty<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of the pity Christ hath shown:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And sing one verse for the voiceless;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And yet, ere the song be done,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A verse for the ears that hear not,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And a verse for the sightless one:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And one for the outcast mother,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And one for the sin-defiled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hopeless sick man dying,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And one for his starving child.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For though it be time for singing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A merry Christmas glee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let a low, sweet voice of pathos<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Run through the melody.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="SUN_AND_RAIN" id="SUN_AND_RAIN"></a>SUN AND RAIN</h3> + + +<div class="block2"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">All</span> day the sun and rain have been as friends,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Each vying with the other which shall be<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Most generous in dowering earth and sea<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With their glad wealth, till each, as it descends,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is mingled with the other, where it blends<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In one warm, glimmering mist that falls on me<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As once God's smile fell over Galilee.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lily-cup, filled with it, droops and bends<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like some white saint beside a sylvan shrine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In silent prayer; the roses at my feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Baptized with it as with a crimson wine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gleam radiant in grasses grown so sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The blossoms lift, with tenderness divine,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Their wet eyes heavenward with these of mine.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="WITH_HER_FACE" id="WITH_HER_FACE"></a>WITH HER FACE</h3> + + +<div class="block1"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">With</span> her face between his hands!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was it any wonder she<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Stood atiptoe tremblingly?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As his lips along the strands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of her hair went lavishing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tides of kisses, such as swing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Love's arms to like iron bands.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With her face between his hands!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And the hands—the hands that pressed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The glad face—Ah! where are they?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Folded limp, and laid away<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Idly over idle breast?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He whose kisses drenched her hair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As he caught and held her there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In Love's alien, lost lands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With her face between his hands?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Was it long and long ago,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When her face was not as now,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dim with tears? nor wan her brow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As a winter-night of snow?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nay, anointing still the strands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of her hair, his kisses flow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flood-wise, as she dreaming stands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With her face between his hands.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="MY_NIGHT" id="MY_NIGHT"></a>MY NIGHT</h3> + + +<div class="block2"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Hush!</span> hush! list, heart of mine, and hearken low!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You do not guess how tender is the Night,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And in what faintest murmurs of delight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her deep, dim-throated utterances flow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Across the memories of long-ago!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hark! do your senses catch the exquisite<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Staccatos of a bird that dreams he sings?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nay, then, you hear not rightly,—'tis a blur<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of misty love-notes, laughs and whisperings<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Night pours o'er the lips that fondle her,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And that faint breeze, filled with all fragrant sighs,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That is her breath that quavers lover-wise—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O blessed sweetheart, with thy swart, sweet kiss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Baptize me, drown me in black swirls of bliss!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="THE_HOUR_BEFORE_THE_DAWN" id="THE_HOUR_BEFORE_THE_DAWN"></a>THE HOUR BEFORE THE DAWN</h3> + + +<div class="block"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> hour before the dawn!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O ye who grope therein, with fear and dread<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And agony of soul, be comforted,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Knowing, ere long, the darkness will be gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And down its dusky aisles the light be shed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Therefore, in utter trust, fare on—fare on,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">This hour before the dawn!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="GOOD-BY_OLD_YEAR" id="GOOD-BY_OLD_YEAR"></a>GOOD-BY, OLD YEAR</h3> + + +<div class="block1"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Good-by</span>, Old Year!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Good-by!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We have been happy—you and I;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We have been glad in many ways;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now, that you have come to die,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Remembering our happy days,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis hard to say, "Good-by—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Good-by, Old Year!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Good-by!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Good-by, Old Year!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Good-by!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We have seen sorrow—you and I—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Such hopeless sorrow, grief and care,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That now, that you have come to die,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Remembering our old despair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis sweet to say, "Good-by—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Good-by, Old Year!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Good-by!"<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="FALSE_AND_TRUE" id="FALSE_AND_TRUE"></a>FALSE AND TRUE</h3> + + +<div class="block2"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">One</span> said: "Here is my hand to lean upon<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As long as you may need it." And one said:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Believe me true to you till I am dead."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And one, whose dainty way it was to fawn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">About my face, with mellow fingers drawn<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Most soothingly o'er brow and drooping head,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sighed tremulously: "Till my breath is fled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Know I am faithful!" ... Now, all these are gone<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And many like to them—and yet I make<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No bitter moan above their grassy graves—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Alas! they are not dead for me to take<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such sorry comfort!—but my heart behaves<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Most graciously, since one who never spake<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A vow is true to me for true love's sake.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="A_BALLAD_FROM_APRIL" id="A_BALLAD_FROM_APRIL"></a>A BALLAD FROM APRIL</h3> + + +<div class="block"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">I am</span> dazed and bewildered with living<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A life but an intricate skein<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of hopes and despairs and thanksgiving<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wound up and unravelled again—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till it seems, whether waking or sleeping,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I am wondering ever the while<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At a something that smiles when I'm weeping,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And a something that weeps when I smile.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And I walk through the world as one dreaming<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who knows not the night from the day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For I look on the stars that are gleaming,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And lo, they have vanished away:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I look on the sweet-summer daylight,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And e'en as I gaze it is fled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, veiled in a cold, misty, gray light,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The winter is there in its stead.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I feel in my palms the warm fingers<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of numberless friends—and I look,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lo, not a one of them lingers<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To give back the pleasure he took;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I lift my sad eyes to the faces<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All tenderly fixed on my own,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But they wither away in grimaces<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That scorn me, and leave me alone.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And I turn to the woman that told me<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her love would live on until death—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But her arms they no longer enfold me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though barely the dew of her breath<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is dry on the forehead so pallid<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That droops like the weariest thing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er this most inharmonious ballad<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That ever a sorrow may sing.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So I'm dazed and bewildered with living<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A life but an intricate skein<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of hopes and despairs and thanksgiving<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wound up and unravelled again—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till it seems, whether waking or sleeping,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I am wondering ever the while<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At a something that smiles when I'm weeping,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And a something that weeps when I smile.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="BRUDDER_SIMS" id="BRUDDER_SIMS"></a>BRUDDER SIMS</h3> + + +<div class="block3"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Dah's</span> Brudder Sims! Dast slam yo' Bible shet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' lef' dat man alone—kase he's de boss<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ob all de preachahs ev' I come across!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Day's no twis' in dat gospil book, I bet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ut Brudder Sims cain't splanify, an' set<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You' min' at eaze! W'at's Moses an' de Laws?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">W'at's fo'ty days an' nights ut Noey toss<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aroun' de Dil-ooge?—W'at dem Chillen et<br /></span> +<span class="i2">De Lo'd rain down? W'at s'prise ole Joney so<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In dat whale's inna'ds?—W'at dat laddah mean<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ut Jacop see?—an' wha' dat laddah go?—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who clim dat laddah?—Wha' dat laddah lean?—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' wha' dat laddah now? "Dast chalk yo' toe<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wid Faith," sez Brudder Sims, "an' den you know!"<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="DEFORMED" id="DEFORMED"></a>DEFORMED</h3> + + +<div class="block1"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Crouched</span> at the corner of the street<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She sits all day, with face too white<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hands too wasted to be sweet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In anybody's sight.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Her form is shrunken, and a pair<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of crutches leaning at her side<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are crossed like homely hands in prayer<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At quiet eventide.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Her eyes—two lustrous, weary things—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Have learned a look that ever aches,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Despite the ready jinglings<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The passer's penny makes.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And, noting this, I pause and muse<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If any precious promise touch<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This heart that has so much to lose<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If dreaming overmuch—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And, in a vision, mistily<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her future womanhood appears,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A picture framed with agony<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And drenched with ceaseless tears—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Where never lover comes to claim<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The hand outheld so yearningly—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The laughing babe that lisps her name<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is but a fantasy!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And, brooding thus, all swift and wild<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A daring fancy, strangely sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Comes o'er me, that the crippled child<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That crouches at my feet—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Has found her head a resting-place<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Upon my shoulder, while my kiss<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Across the pallor of her face<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Leaves crimson trails of bliss.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="FAITH" id="FAITH"></a>FAITH</h3> + + +<div class="block"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> sea was breaking at my feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And looking out across the tide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where placid waves and heaven meet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I thought me of the Other Side.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For on the beach on which I stood<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Were wastes of sands, and wash, and roar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Low clouds, and gloom, and solitude,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And wrecks, and ruins—nothing more.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"O, tell me if beyond the sea<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A heavenly port there is!" I cried,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And back the echoes laughingly<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"There is! there is!" replied.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="THE_LOST_THRILL" id="THE_LOST_THRILL"></a>THE LOST THRILL</h3> + + +<div class="block"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">I grow</span> so weary, someway, of all thing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That love and loving have vouchsafed to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Since now all dreamed-of sweets of ecstasy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Am I possessed of: The caress that clings—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lips that mix with mine with murmurings<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No language may interpret, and the free,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Unfettered brood of kisses, hungrily<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Feasting in swarms on honeyed blossomings<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of passion's fullest flower—For yet I miss<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The essence that alone makes love divine—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The subtle flavoring no tang of this<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Weak wine of melody may here define:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A something found and lost in the first kiss<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A lover ever poured through lips of mine.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="AT_DUSK" id="AT_DUSK"></a>AT DUSK</h3> + + +<div class="block"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">A something</span> quiet and subdued<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In all the faces that we meet;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A sense of rest, a solitude<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O'er all the crowded street;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The very noises seem to be<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Crude utterings of harmony,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And all we hear, and all we see,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Has in it something sweet.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thoughts come to us as from a dream<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of some long-vanished yesterday;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The voices of the children seem<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like ours, when young as they;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The hand of Charity extends<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To meet Misfortune's, where it blends,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Veiled by the dusk—and oh, my friends,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Would it were dusk alway!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="ANOTHER_RIDE_FROM_GHENT_TO_AIX" id="ANOTHER_RIDE_FROM_GHENT_TO_AIX"></a>ANOTHER RIDE FROM GHENT TO AIX</h3> + + +<div class="block6"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">We</span> sprang for the side-holts—my gripsack and I—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It dangled—I dangled—we both dangled by.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Good speed!" cried mine host, as we landed at last—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Speed?" chuckled the watch we went lumbering past;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Behind shut the switch, and out through the rear door<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I glared while we waited a half hour more.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I had missed the express that went thundering down<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ten minutes before to my next lecture town,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And my only hope left was to catch this "wild freight,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which the landlord remarked was "most luckily late—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the twenty miles distance was easily done,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If they run half as fast as they usually run!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Not a word to each other—we struck a snail's pace—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Conductor and brakeman ne'er changing a place—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save at the next watering-tank, where they all<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Got out—strolled about—cut their names on the wall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or listlessly loitered on down to the pile<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of sawed wood just beyond us, to doze for a while.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Twas high noon at starting, but while we drew near<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Arcady" I said, "We'll not make it, I fear!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I must strike Aix by eight, and it's three o'clock now;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let me stoke up that engine, and I'll show you how!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At which the conductor, with patience sublime,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smiled up from his novel with, "Plenty of time!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">At "Trask," as we jolted stock-still as a stone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I heard a cow bawl in a five o'clock tone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the steam from the saw-mill looked misty and thin,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the snarl of the saw had been stifled within:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a frowzy-haired boy, with a hat full of chips,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Came out and stared up with a smile on his lips.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">At "Booneville," I groaned, "Can't I telegraph on?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No! Why? "'Cause the telegraph-man had just gone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To visit his folks in Almo"—and one heard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sharp snap of my teeth through the throat of a word,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That I dragged for a mile and a half up the track,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And strangled it there, and came skulkingly back.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Again we were off. It was twilight, and more,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As we rolled o'er a bridge where beneath us the roar<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of a river came up with so wooing an air<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I mechanic'ly strapped myself fast in my chair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As a brakeman slid open the door for more light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Saying: "Captain, brace up, for your town is in sight!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"How they'll greet me!"—and all in a moment—"chewang!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the train stopped again, with a bump and a bang.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What was it? "The section-hands, just in advance."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I spit on my hands, and I rolled up my pants,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I clumb like an imp that the fiends had let loose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Up out of the depths of that deadly caboose.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I ran the train's length—I lept safe to the ground—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the legend still lives that for five miles around<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They heard my voice hailing the hand-car that yanked<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Me aboard at my bidding, and gallantly cranked,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As I grovelled and clung, with my eyes in eclipse,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a rim of red foam round my rapturous lips.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then I cast loose my ulster—each ear-tab let fall—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kicked off both my shoes—let go arctics and all—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stood up with the boys—leaned—patted each head<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As it bobbed up and down with the speed that we sped;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clapped my hands—laughed and sang—any noise, bad or good,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till at length into Aix we rotated and stood.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And all I remember is friends flocking round<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As I unsheathed my head from a hole in the ground;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And no voice but was praising that hand-car divine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As I rubbed down its spokes with that lecture of mine.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which (the citizens voted by common consent)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was no more than its due. 'Twas the lecture they meant.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="IN_THE_HEART_OF_JUNE" id="IN_THE_HEART_OF_JUNE"></a>IN THE HEART OF JUNE</h3> + + +<div class="block1"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">In</span> the heart of June, love,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You and I together,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On from dawn till noon, love,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Laughing with the weather;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blending both our souls, love,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the selfsame tune,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drinking all life holds, love,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the heart of June.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In the heart of June, love,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With its golden weather,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Underneath the moon, love,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You and I together.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah! how sweet to seem, love,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Drugged and half aswoon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With this luscious dream, love,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the heart of June.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="DREAMS" id="DREAMS"></a>DREAMS</h3> + +<div class="block0"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Do I sleep, do I dream,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Do I wonder and doubt—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are things what they seem<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or is visions about?"<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + +<p><span class="smcap">There</span> has always been an inclination, or desire, rather, on my part to +believe in the mystic—even as far back as stretches the gum-elastic +remembrance of my first "taffy-pullin'" given in honor of my fifth +birthday; and the ghost-stories, served by way of ghastly dessert, by +our hired girl. In fancy I again live over all the scenes of that +eventful night:—</p> + +<p>The dingy kitchen, with its haunting odors of a thousand feasts and +wash-days; the old bench-legged stove, with its happy family of +skillets, stewpans and round-bellied kettles crooning and blubbering +about it. And how we children clustered round the genial hearth, with +the warm smiles dying from our faces just as the embers dimmed and +died out in the open grate, as with bated breath we listened to how +some one's grandmother had said that her first man went through a +graveyard once, one stormy night, "jest to show the neighbors that he +wasn't afeard o' nothin'," and how when he was just passing the grave +of his first wife "something kind o' big and white-like, with great +big eyes like fire, raised up from behind the headboard, and kind o' +re'ched out for him"; and how he turned and fled, "with that air white +thing after him as tight as it could jump, and a hollerin' +'wough-yough-yough!' till you could hear it furder'n you could a +bullgine," and how, at last, just as the brave and daring intruder was +clearing two graves and the fence at one despairing leap, the "white +thing," had made a grab at him with its iron claws, and had nicked him +so close his second wife was occasioned the onerous duty of affixing +another patch in his pantaloons. And in conclusion, our hired girl +went on to state that this blood-curdling incident had so wrought upon +the feelings of "the man that wasn't afeard o' nothin'," and had given +him such a distaste for that particular graveyard, that he never +visited it again, and even entered a clause in his will to the effect +that he would ever remain an unhappy corpse should his remains be +interred in said graveyard.</p> + +<p>I forgot my pop-corn that night; I forgot my taffy; I forgot all +earthly things; and I tossed about so feverishly in my little bed, and +withal so restlessly, that more than once my father's admonition above +the footboard of the big bed, of "Drat you! go to sleep, there!" +foreshadowed my impending doom. And once he leaned over and made a +vicious snatch at me, and holding me out at arm's length by one leg, +demanded in thunder-tones, "what in the name o' flames and flashes I +meant, anyhow!"</p> + +<p>I was afraid to stir a muscle from that on, in consequence of which I +at length straggled off in fitful dreams—and heavens! what dreams!—A +very long and lank, and slim and slender old woman in white knocked at +the door of my vision, and I let her in. She patted me on the +head—and oh! how cold her hands were! And they were very hard hands, +too, and very heavy—and, horror of horrors!—they were not +hands—they were claws!—they were iron!—they were like the things I +had seen the hardware man yank nails out of a keg with. I quailed and +shivered till the long and slim and slender old woman jerked my head +up and snarled spitefully, "What's the matter with you, bub," and I +said, "Nawthin'!" and she said, "Don't you dare to lie to me!" I +moaned.</p> + +<p>"Don't you like me?" she asked.</p> + +<p>I hesitated.</p> + +<p>"And lie if you dare!" she said—"Don't you like me?"</p> + +<p>"Oomh-oomh!" said I.</p> + +<p>"Why?" said she.</p> + +<p>"Cos, you're too long—and slim—an'"—</p> + +<p>"Go on!" said she.</p> + +<p>"—And tall!" said I.</p> + +<p>"Ah, ha!" said she,—"and that's it, hey?"</p> + +<p>And then she began to grow shorter and thicker, and fatter and +squattier.</p> + +<p>"And how do I suit you now?" she wheezed at length, when she had +wilted down to about the size of a large loaf of bread.</p> + +<p>I shook more violently than ever at the fearful spectacle.</p> + +<p>"How do you like me now?" she yelped again,—"And don't you lie to me +neither, or I'll swaller you whole!"</p> + +<p>I writhed and hid my face.</p> + +<p>"Do you like me?"</p> + +<p>"No-o-oh!" I moaned.</p> + +<p>She made another snatch at my hair. I felt her jagged claws sink into +my very brain. I struggled and she laughed hideously.</p> + +<p>"You don't, hey?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, I do. I love you!" said I.</p> + +<p>"You lie! You lie!" She shrieked derisively. "You know you lie!" and +as I felt the iron talons sinking and gritting in my very brain, with +one wild, despairing effort, I awoke.</p> + +<p>I saw the fire gleaming in the grate, and by the light it made I dimly +saw the outline of the old mantelpiece that straddled it, holding the +old clock high upon its shoulders. I was awake then, and the little +squatty woman with her iron talons was a dream! I felt an oily +gladness stealing over me, and yet I shuddered to be all alone.</p> + +<p>If only some one were awake, I thought, whose blessed company would +drown all recollections of that fearful dream; but I dared not stir or +make a noise. I could only hear the ticking of the clock, and my +father's sullen snore. I tried to compose my thoughts to pleasant +themes, but that telescopic old woman in white would rise up and mock +my vain appeals, until in fancy I again saw her altitudinous +proportions dwindling into that repulsive and revengeful figure with +the iron claws, and I grew restless and attempted to sit up. Heavens! +something yet held me by the hair. The chill sweat that betokens +speedy dissolution gathered on my brow. I made another effort and +arose, that deadly clutch yet fastened in my hair. Could it be +possible! The short, white woman still held me in her vengeful grasp! +I could see her white dress showing from behind either of my ears. She +still clung to me, and with one wild, unearthly cry of "Pap!" I +started round the room.</p> + +<p>I remember nothing further, until as the glowing morn sifted through +the maple at the window, powdering with gold the drear old room, and +baptizing with its radiance the anxious group of old home-faces +leaning over my bed, I heard my father's voice once more rasping on my +senses—"Now get the booby up, and wash that infernal wax out of his +hair!"</p> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="BECAUSE" id="BECAUSE"></a>BECAUSE</h3> + + +<div class="block"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Why</span> did we meet long years of yore?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And why did we strike hands and say:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"We will be friends, and nothing more";<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Why are we musing thus to-day?<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Because because was just because,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And no one knew just why it was.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Why did I say good-by to you?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Why did I sail across the main?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why did I love not heaven's own blue<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Until I touched these shores again?<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Because because was just because,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And you nor I knew why it was.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Why are my arms about you now,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And happy tears upon your cheek?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And why my kisses on your brow?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Look up in thankfulness and speak!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Because because was just because,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And only God knew why it was.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="TO_THE_CRICKET" id="TO_THE_CRICKET"></a>TO THE CRICKET</h3> + + +<div class="block3"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> chiming seas may clang; and Tubal Cain<br /></span> +<span class="i2">May clink his tinkling metals as he may;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or Pan may sit and pipe his breath away;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or Orpheus wake his most entrancing strain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till not a note of melody remain!—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But thou, O cricket, with thy roundelay,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shalt laugh them all to scorn! So wilt thou, pray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Trill me thy glad song o'er and o'er again:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I shall not weary; there is purest worth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In thy sweet prattle, since it sings the lone<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Heart home again. Thy warbling hath no dearth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of childish memories—no harsher tone<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than we might listen to in gentlest mirth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou poor plebeian minstrel of the hearth.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="THE_OLD-FASHIONED_BIBLE" id="THE_OLD-FASHIONED_BIBLE"></a>THE OLD-FASHIONED BIBLE</h3> + + +<div class="block4"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">How</span> dear to my heart are the scenes of my childhood<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That now but in mem'ry I sadly review;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The old meeting-house at the edge of the wildwood,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The rail fence and horses all tethered thereto;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The low, sloping roof, and the bell in the steeple,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The doves that came fluttering out overhead<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As it solemnly gathered the God-fearing people<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To hear the old Bible my grandfather read.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The old-fashioned Bible—<br /></span> +<span class="i6">The dust-covered Bible—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The leathern-bound Bible my grandfather read.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The blessed old volume! The face bent above it—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As now I recall it—is gravely severe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though the reverent eye that droops downward to love it<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Makes grander the text through the lens of a tear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, as down his features it trickles and glistens,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The cough of the deacon is stilled, and his head<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a haloéd patriarch's leans as he listens<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To hear the old Bible my grandfather read.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The old-fashioned Bible—<br /></span> +<span class="i6">The dust-covered Bible—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The leathern-bound Bible my grandfather read.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ah! who shall look backward with scorn and derision<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And scoff the old book though it uselessly lies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the dust of the past, while this newer revision<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lisps on of a hope and a home in the skies?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall the voice of the Master be stifled and riven?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shall we hear but a tithe of the words He has said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When so long He has, listening, leaned out of Heaven<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To hear the old Bible my grandfather read?<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The old-fashioned Bible—<br /></span> +<span class="i6">The dust-covered Bible—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The leathern-bound Bible my grandfather read.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="UNCOMFORTED" id="UNCOMFORTED"></a>UNCOMFORTED</h3> + + +<div class="block7"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Lelloine!</span> Lelloine! Don't you hear me calling?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Calling through the night for you, and calling through the day;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Calling when the dawn is here, and when the dusk is falling—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Calling for my Lelloine the angels lured away!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Lelloine! I call and listen, starting from my pillow—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the hush of midnight, Lelloine! I cry,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And o'er the rainy window-pane I hear the weeping willow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Trail its dripping leaves like baby-fingers in reply.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Lelloine, I miss the glimmer of your glossy tresses,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I miss the dainty velvet palms that nestled in my own;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all my mother-soul went out in answerless caresses,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And a storm of tears and kisses when you left me here alone.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I have prayed, O Lelloine, but Heaven will not hear me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I can not gain one sign from Him who leads you by the hand;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And O it seems that ne'er again His mercy will come near me—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That He will never see my need, nor ever understand.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Won't you listen, Lelloine?—just a little leaning<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O'er the walls of Paradise—lean and hear my prayer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And interpret death to Him in all its awful meaning,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And tell Him you are lonely without your mother there.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="WHAT_THEY_SAID" id="WHAT_THEY_SAID"></a>WHAT THEY SAID</h3> + + +<div class="block1"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Whispering</span> to themselves apart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They who knew her said of her,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Dying of a broken heart—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Death her only comforter—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For the man she loved is dead—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">She will follow soon!" they said.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Beautiful? Ah! brush the dust<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From Raphael's fairest face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And restore it, as it must<br /></span> +<span class="i2">First have smiled back from its place<br /></span> +<span class="i4">On his easel as he leant<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Wrapt in awe and wonderment!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Why, to kiss the very hem<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of the mourning-weeds she wore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like the winds that rustled them,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I had gone the round world o'er;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And to touch her hand I swear<br /></span> +<span class="i4">All things dareless I would dare!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But unto themselves apart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whispering, they said of her,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Dying of a broken heart—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Death her only comforter—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For the man she loved is dead—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">She will follow soon!" they said.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So I mutely turned away,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Turned with sorrow and despair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yearning still from day to day<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For that woman dying there,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Till at last, by longing led,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">I returned to find her—dead?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Dead?"—I know that word would tell<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Rhyming there—but in this case<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Wed" rhymes equally as well<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the very selfsame place—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And, in fact, the latter word<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Is the one she had preferred.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet unto themselves apart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whisp'ring they had said of her—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Dying of a broken heart—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Death her only comforter—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For the man she loved is dead—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">She will follow soon!" they said.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="AFTER_THE_FROST" id="AFTER_THE_FROST"></a>AFTER THE FROST</h3> + + +<div class="block3"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">After</span> the frost! O the rose is dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the weeds lie pied in the garden-bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the peach tree's shade in the wan sunshine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Faint as the veins in these hands of mine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Streaks the gray of the orchard wall<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the vine rasps loose, and the last leaves fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the bare boughs writhe, and the winds are lost—<br /></span> +<span class="i6">After the frost—the frost!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">After the frost! O the weary head<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the hands and the heart are quietéd;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the lips we loved are locked at last,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And kiss not back, though the rain falls fast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the lashes drip, and the soul makes moan,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And on through the dead leaves walks alone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the bare boughs writhe and the winds are lost—<br /></span> +<span class="i6">After the frost—the frost!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="CHARLES_H_PHILLIPS" id="CHARLES_H_PHILLIPS"></a>CHARLES H. PHILLIPS<br /> +<br /> +<small>OBIT NOVEMBER 5TH, 1881</small></h3> + + +<div class="block1"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">O friend!</span> There is no way<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To bid farewell to thee!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The words that we would say<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above thy grave to-day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still falter and delay<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And fail us utterly.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When walking with us here,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The hand we loved to press<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was gentle, and sincere<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As thy frank eyes were clear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through every smile and tear<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of pleasure and distress.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In years, young; yet in thought<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Mature; thy spirit, free,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fired with fervor caught<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of thy proud sire, who fought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His way to fame, and taught<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Its toilsome way to thee.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So even thou hast gained<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The victory God-given—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yea, as our cheeks are stained<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With tears, and our souls pained<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And mute, thou hast attained<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy high reward in Heaven!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="WHEN_IT_RAINS" id="WHEN_IT_RAINS"></a>WHEN IT RAINS</h3> + + +<div class="block"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">When</span> it rains, and with the rain<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Never bird has heart to sing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And across the window-pane<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is no sunlight glimmering;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the pitiless refrain<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Brings a tremor to the lips,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our tears are like the rain<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As it drips, drips, drips—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like the sad, unceasing rain as it drips.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When the light of heaven's blue<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is blurred and blotted quite,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the dreary day to you<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is but a long twilight;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When it seems that ne'er again<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shall the sun break its eclipse,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our tears are like the rain<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As it drips, drips, drips—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like the endless, friendless rain as it drips.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When it rains! weary heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O be of better cheer!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The leaden clouds will part,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the morrow will be clear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Take up your load again,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With a prayer upon your lips,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thanking Heaven for the rain<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As it drips, drips, drips—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With the golden bow of promise as it drips.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="AN_ASSASSIN" id="AN_ASSASSIN"></a>AN ASSASSIN</h3> + + +<div class="block2"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Cat-like</span> he creeps along where ways are dim,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From covert unto covert's secrecy;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His shadow in the moonlight shrinks from him<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And crouches warily.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He hugs strange envies to his breast, and nurses<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wild hatreds, till the murderous hand he grips<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Falls, quivering with the tension of the curses<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He launches from his lips.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Drenched in his victim's blood he holds high revel;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He mocks at justice, and in all men's eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Insults his God—and no one but the devil<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is sorry when he dies.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="BEST_OF_ALL" id="BEST_OF_ALL"></a>BEST OF ALL</h3> + + +<div class="block"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Of</span> all good gifts that the Lord lets fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is not silence the best of all?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The deep, sweet hush when the song is closed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And every sound but a voiceless ghost;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And every sigh, as we listening leant,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A breathless quiet of vast content?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The laughs we laughed have a purer ring<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With but their memory echoing;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And the joys we voiced, and the words we said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seem so dearer for being dead.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So of all good gifts that the Lord lets fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is not silence the best of all?<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="BIN_A-FISHIN" id="BIN_A-FISHIN"></a>BIN A-FISHIN'</h3> + + +<div class="block"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">W'en</span> de sun's gone down, un de moon is riz,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bin a-fishin'! Bin a-fishin'!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It's I's aguine down wha' the by-o is!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bin a-fishin' all night long!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="center">Chorus<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Bin a-fishin'! Bin a-fishin'!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bin a-fishin' clean fum de dusk of night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Twell away 'long on in de mornin' light.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Bait my hook, un I plunk her down!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bin a-fishin'! Bin a-fishin'!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Un I lay dat catfish weigh five pound!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bin a-fishin' all night long!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="center">Chorus<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Folks tells me ut a sucker won't bite,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bin a-fishin'! Bin a-fishin'!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yit I lif' out fo' last Chuesday night,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bin a-fishin' all night long!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="cemter">Chorus<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Little fish nibble un de big fish come;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bin a-fishin'! Bin a-fishin'!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Go way, little fish! I want some!"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bin a-fishin' all night long!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="center">Chorus<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sez de bull frog, "D-runk!" sez de ole owl, "Whoo!"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bin a-fishin'! Bin a-fishin'!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Spec, Mr. Nigger, dey's a-meanin' you,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bin a-fishin' all night long!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="center">Chorus<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="UNCLE_DANL_IN_TOWN_OVER_SUNDAY" id="UNCLE_DANL_IN_TOWN_OVER_SUNDAY"></a>UNCLE DAN'L IN TOWN OVER SUNDAY</h3> + + +<div class="block1"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">I cain't</span> git used to city ways—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ner never could, I' bet my hat!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jevver know jes' whur I was raised?—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Raised on a farm! D' ever tell you that?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was undoubtatly, I declare!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now, on Sunday—fun to spare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Around a farm! Why jes' to set<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Up on the top three-cornered rail<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Pap's old place, nigh La Fayette,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'd swap my soul off, hide and tail!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You fellers in the city here,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You don't know nothin'!—S'pose to-day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This clatterin' Sunday, you waked up<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Without no jinglin'-janglin' bells,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ner rattlin' of the milkman's cup,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ner any swarm of screechin' birds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like these here English swallers—S'pose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ut you could miss all noise like those,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And git shet o' thinkin' of 'em afterwerds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then, in the country, wake and hear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nothin' but silence—wake and see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nothin' but green woods fur and near?—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What sort o' Sunday would that be?...<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wisht I hed you home with me!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now think! The laziest of all days—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To git up any time—er sleep—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Er jes' lay round and watch the haze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A-dancin' 'crost the wheat, and keep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My pipe a-goern laisurely,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And puff and whiff as pleases me—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ef I leave a trail of smoke<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clean through the house, no one to say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Wah! throw that nasty thing away;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hev some regyard fer decency!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To walk round barefoot, if you choose;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Er saw the fiddle—er dig some bait<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And go a-fishin'—er pitch hoss shoes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Out in the shade somewhurs, and wait<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For dinner-time, with an appetite<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ut folks in town cain't equal quite!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To laze around the barn and poke<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer hens' nests—er git up a match<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Betwixt the boys, and watch 'em scratch<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And rassle round, and sweat and swear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And quarrel to their hearts' content;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And me a-jes' a-settin' there<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A-hatchin' out more devilment!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What sort o' Sunday would that be?...<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wisht I hed you home with me!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="SOLDIERS_HERE_TO-DAY" id="SOLDIERS_HERE_TO-DAY"></a>SOLDIERS HERE TO-DAY</h3> + + +<p class="center">I</p> + +<div class="block4"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Soldiers</span> and saviours of the homes we love;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Heroes and patriots who marched away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And who marched back, and who marched on above—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">All—all are here to-day!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">By the dear cause you fought for—you are here;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At summons of bugle, and the drum<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose palpitating syllables were ne'er<br /></span> +<span class="i4">More musical, you come!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Here—by the stars that bloom in fields of blue,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And by the bird above with shielding wings;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And by the flag that floats out over you,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With silken beckonings—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ay, here beneath its folds are gathered all<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who warred unscathed for blessings that it gave—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still blessed its champion, though it but fall<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A shadow on his grave!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + +<p class="center">II</p> + +<div class="block4"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We greet you, Victors, as in vast array<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You gather from the scenes of strife and death—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From spectral fortress walls where curls away<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The cannon's latest breath.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We greet you—from the crumbling battlements<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where once again the old flag feels the breeze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stroke out its tattered stripes and smooth its rents<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With rippling ecstasies.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">From living tombs where every hope seemed lost—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With famine quarantined by bristling guns—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The prison pens—the guards—the "dead-line" crossed<br /></span> +<span class="i4">By—riddled skeletons!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">From furrowed plains, sown thick with bursting shells—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From mountain gorge, and toppling crags o'erhead—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From wards of pestilential hospitals,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And trenches of the dead.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<p class="center">III</p> + +<div class="block4"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In fancy all are here. The night is o'er,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And through dissolving mists the morning gleams;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And clustered round their hearths we see once more<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The heroes of our dreams.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Strong, tawny faces, some, and some are fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And some are marked with age's latest prime,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, seer-like, browed and aureoled with hair<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As hoar as winter-time.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The faces of fond lovers, glorified—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The faces of the husband and the wife—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The babe's face nestled at the mother's side,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And smiling back at life;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A bloom of happiness in every cheek—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A thrill of tingling joy in every vein—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In every soul a rapture they will seek<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In Heaven, and find again!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + +<p class="center">IV</p> + +<div class="block4"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Tis not a vision only—we who pay<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But the poor tribute of our praises here<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are equal sharers in the guerdon they<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Purchased at price so dear.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The angel, Peace, o'er all uplifts her hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Waving the olive, and with heavenly eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shedding a light of love o'er sea and land<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As sunshine from the skies—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Her figure pedestalled on Freedom's soil—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her sandals kissed with seas of golden grain—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Queen of a realm of joy-requited toil<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That glories in her reign.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O blessed land of labor and reward!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O gracious Ruler, let Thy reign endure;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In pruning-hook and ploughshare beat the sword,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And reap the harvest sure!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="SHADOW_AND_SHINE" id="SHADOW_AND_SHINE"></a>SHADOW AND SHINE</h3> + + +<div class="block"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Storms</span> of the winter, and deepening snows,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When will you end? I said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the soul within me was numb with woes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And my heart uncomforted.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When will you cease, O dismal days?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When will you set me free?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the frozen world and its desolate ways<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are all unloved of me!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I waited long, but the answer came—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The kiss of the sunshine lay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Warm as a flame on the lips that frame<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The song in my heart to-day.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blossoms of summer-time waved in the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Glimmers of sun in the sea;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fair thoughts followed me everywhere,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the world was dear to me.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="THAT_NIGHT" id="THAT_NIGHT"></a>THAT NIGHT</h3> + + +<div class="block6"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">You</span> and I, and that night, with its perfume and glory!—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The scent of the locusts—the light of the moon;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the violin weaving the waltzers a story,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Enmeshing their feet in the weft of the tune,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Till their shadows uncertain<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Reeled round on the curtain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While under the trellis we drank in the June.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Soaked through with the midnight the cedars were sleeping,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Their shadowy tresses outlined in the bright<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Crystal, moon-smitten mists, where the fountain's heart, leaping<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Forever, forever burst, full with delight;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And its lisp on my spirit<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Fell faint as that near it<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose love like a lily bloomed out in the night.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O your love was an odorous sachet of blisses!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The breath of your fan was a breeze from Cathay!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the rose at your throat was a nest of spilled kisses!—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the music!—in fancy I hear it to-day,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As I sit here, confessing<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Our secret, and blessing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My rival who found us, and waltzed you away.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="AUGUST" id="AUGUST"></a>AUGUST</h3> + + +<div class="block1"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">O mellow</span> month and merry month,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Let me make love to you,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And follow you around the world<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As knights their ladies do.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I thought your sisters beautiful,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Both May and April, too,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But April she had rainy eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And May had eyes of blue.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And June—I liked the singing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of her lips—and liked her smile—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But all her songs were promises<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of something, after while;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And July's face—the lights and shades<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That may not long beguile<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With alterations o'er the wheat<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The dreamer at the stile.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But you!—ah, you are tropical,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Your beauty is so rare;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your eyes are clearer, deeper eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than any, anywhere;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mysterious, imperious,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Deliriously fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O listless Andalusian maid,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With bangles in your hair!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="THE_GUIDE" id="THE_GUIDE"></a>THE GUIDE<br /> +<br /> +<small>IMITATED</small></h3> + + +<div class="block"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">We</span> rode across the level plain—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We—my sagacious guide and I.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He knew the earth—the air—the sky;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He knew when it would blow or rain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when the weather would be dry:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The blended blades of grass spake out<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To him when Redskins were about;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wagon tracks would tell him too,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The very day that they rolled through:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He knew their burden—whence they came—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If any horse along were lame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And what its owner ought to do;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He knew when it would snow; he knew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By some strange intuition, when<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The buffalo would overflow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The prairies like a flood, and then<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Recede in their stampede again.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He knew all things—yea, he did know<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The brand of liquor in my flask,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And many times did tilt it up,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor halt or hesitate one whit,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor pause to slip the silver cup<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From off its crystal base, nor ask<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why I preferred to drink from it.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And more and more I plied him, and<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Did query of him o'er and o'er,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And seek to lure from him the lore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By which the man did understand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These hidden things of sky and land:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, wrought upon, he sudden drew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His bridle—wheeled, and caught my hand—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pressed it, as one that loved me true,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bade me listen.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">. . . . . . . . . . There be few<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like tales as strange to listen to!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He told me all—How, when a child,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Indians stole him—there he laughed—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"They stole me, and I stole their craft!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then slowly winked both eyes, and smiled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And went on ramblingly,—"And they—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They reared me, and I ran away—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twas winter, and the weather wild;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, caught up in the awful snows<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That bury wilderness and plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I struggled on until I froze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My feet ere human hands again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were reached to me in my distress,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lo, since then not any rain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May fall upon me anywhere,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor any cyclone's cussedness<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slip up behind me unaware,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor any change of cold, or heat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or blow, or snow, but I do know<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It's coming, days and days before;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I know it by my frozen feet—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I know it by my itching heels,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And by the agony one feels<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who knows that scratching nevermore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will bring to him the old and sweet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Relief he knew ere thus endowed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With knowledge that a certain cloud<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will burst with storm on such a day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when a snow will fall, and—nay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I speak not falsely when I say<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That by my tingling heels and toes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I measure time, and can disclose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The date of month—the week—and lo,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The very day and minute—yea—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Look at your watch!—An hour ago<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And twenty minutes I did say<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unto myself with bitter laugh,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'In less than one hour and a half<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will I be drunken!' Is it so?"<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="SUTTERS_CLAIM" id="SUTTERS_CLAIM"></a>SUTTER'S CLAIM<br /> +<br /> +<small>IMITATED</small></h3> + + +<div class="block1"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Say!</span> <i>you</i> feller! <i>You</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With that spade and the pick!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What do you 'pose to do<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On this side o' the crick?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Goin' to tackle this claim? Well, I reckon<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You'll let up ag'in, purty quick!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">No bluff, understand,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But the same has been tried,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the claim never panned—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or the fellers has lied,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For they tell of a dozen that tried it,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And quit it most onsatisfied.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The luck's dead ag'in it!—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The first man I see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That stuck a pick in it<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Proved <i>that</i> thing to me,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For he sort o' took down, and got homesick,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And went back whar he'd orto be!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then others they worked it<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Some—more or less,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But finally shirked it,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In grades of distress,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With an eye out—a jaw or skull busted,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or some sort o' seriousness.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The <i>last</i> one was plucky—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He wasn't afeerd,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bragged he was "lucky,"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And said that "he'd heerd<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A heap of bluff-talk," and swore awkard<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He'd work any claim that he keered!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Don't you strike nary lick<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With that pick till I'm through;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This-here feller talked slick<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And as peart-like as you!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he says: "I'll abide here<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As long as I please!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But he didn't.... He died here—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And I'm his disease!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="HER_LIGHT_GUITAR" id="HER_LIGHT_GUITAR"></a>HER LIGHT GUITAR</h3> + + +<div class="block4"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">She</span> twankled a tune on her light guitar—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A low, sweet jangle of tangled sounds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As blurred as the voices of the fairies are,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dancing in moondawn dales and downs;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And the tinkling drip of the strange refrain<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Ran over the rim of my soul like rain.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The great blond moon in the midnight skies<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Paused and poised o'er the trellis eaves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the stars, in the light of her upturned eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sifted their love through the rifted leaves,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Glittered and splintered in crystal mist<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Down the glittering strings that her fingers kissed.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O the melody mad! O the tinkle and thrill<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of the ecstasy of the exquisite thing!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The red rose dropped from the window-sill<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And lay in a long swoon quivering;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">While the dying notes of the strain divine<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Rippled in glee up my spellbound spine.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="WHILE_CIGARETTES_TO_ASHES_TURN" id="WHILE_CIGARETTES_TO_ASHES_TURN"></a>WHILE CIGARETTES TO ASHES TURN</h3> + + +<p class="center">I</p> + +<div class="block"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"<span class="smcap">He</span> smokes—and that's enough," says Ma—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"And cigarettes, at that!" says Pa.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"He must not call again," says she—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"He <i>shall</i> not call again!" says he.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They both glare at me as before—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then quit the room and bang the door.—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">While I, their wilful daughter, say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"I guess I'll love him, anyway!"<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + +<p class="center">II</p> + +<div class="block"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">At twilight, in his room, alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His careless feet inertly thrown<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Across a chair, my fancy can<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But worship this most worthless man!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I dream what joy it is to set<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His slow lips round a cigarette,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With idle-humored whiff and puff—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah! this is innocent enough!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To mark the slender fingers raise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The waxen match's dainty blaze,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Whose chastened light an instant glows<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On drooping lids and arching nose,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then, in the sudden gloom, instead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A tiny ember, dim and red,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Blooms languidly to ripeness, then<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fades slowly, and grows ripe again.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + +<p class="center">III</p> + +<div class="block"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I lean back, in my own boudoir—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The door is fast, the sash ajar;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And in the dark, I smiling stare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At one wide window over there,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Where some one, smoking, pinks the gloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The darling darkness of his room!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I push my shutters wider yet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lo! I light a cigarette;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And gleam for gleam, and glow for glow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each pulse of light a word we know,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We talk of love that still will burn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While cigarettes to ashes turn.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="TWO_SONNETS_TO_THE_JUNE-BUG" id="TWO_SONNETS_TO_THE_JUNE-BUG"></a>TWO SONNETS TO THE JUNE-BUG</h3> + + +<p class="center">I</p> + +<div class="block4"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">You</span> make me jes' a little nervouser<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than any dog-gone bug I ever see!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And you know night's the time to pester me—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When any tetch at all 'll rub the fur<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of all my patience back'ards! You're the myrrh<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And ruburb of my life! A bumblebee<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Cain't hold a candle to you; and a he<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bald hornet, with a laminated spur<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In his hip pocket, daresent even cheep<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When you're around! And, dern ye! you have made<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Me lose whole ricks and stacks and piles of sleep,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And many of a livelong night I've laid<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And never shut an eye, hearin' you keep<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Up that eternal buzzin' serenade!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + +<p class="center">II</p> + +<div class="block4"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And I've got up and lit the lamp, and clum<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On cheers and trunks and wash-stands and bureaus,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And all such dangerous articles as those,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And biffed at you with brooms, and never come<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'In two feet of you,—maybe skeered you some,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But what does that amount to when it throws<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A feller out o' balance, and his nose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gits barked ag'inst the mantel, while you hum<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer joy around the room, and churn your head<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ag'inst the ceilin', and draw back and butt<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The plasterin' loose, and drop—behind the bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where never human-bein' ever putt<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Harm's hand on you, er ever truthful said<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He'd choked yer dern infernal wizzen shut!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="AUTOGRAPHIC" id="AUTOGRAPHIC"></a>AUTOGRAPHIC<br /> +<br /> +<i>For an Album</i></h3> + + +<div class="block1"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">I feel</span>, if aught I ought to rhyme,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I ought 'a' thought a longer time,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ought 'a' caught a higher sense,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of autocratic eloquence.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I ought 'a' sought each haughty Muse<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That taught a thought I ought to use,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fought and fraught, and so devised<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A poem <i>unmonotonized</i>.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But since all this was vain, I thought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I ought to simply say,—I ought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To thank you, as I ought to do,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ought to bow my best to you;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ought to trust not to intrude<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A rudely wrought-up gratitude,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But ought to smile, and ought to laugh,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ought to write—an autograph.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="AN_IMPROMPTU_ON_ROLLER_SKATES" id="AN_IMPROMPTU_ON_ROLLER_SKATES"></a>AN IMPROMPTU ON ROLLER SKATES</h3> + + +<div class="block"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Rumble</span>, tumble, growl, and grate!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Skip, and trip, and gravitate!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lunge, and plunge, and thrash the planks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With your blameless, shameless shanks:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In excruciating pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stand upon your head again,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, uncoiling kink by kink,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kick the roof out of the rink!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In derisive bursts of mirth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drop ka-whop and jar the earth!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jolt your lungs down in your socks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! tempestuous equinox<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of dismembered legs and arms!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strew your ways with wild alarms;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fameward skoot and ricochet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On your glittering vertebræ!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="WRITTEN_IN_BUNNERS_AIRS_FROM_ARCADY" id="WRITTEN_IN_BUNNERS_AIRS_FROM_ARCADY"></a>WRITTEN IN BUNNER'S "AIRS FROM ARCADY"</h3> + + +<div class="block3"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">O ever</span> gracious Airs from Arcady!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What lack is there of any jocund thing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In glancing wit or glad imagining<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Capricious fancy may not find in thee?—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The laugh of Momus, tempered daintily<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To lull the ear and lure its listening;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The whistled syllables the birds of spring<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flaunt ever at our guessings what they be;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wood, the seashore, and the clanging town;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The pets of fashion, and the ways of such;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The <i>robe de chambre</i>, and the russet gown;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The lordling's carriage, and the pilgrim's crutch—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From hale old Chaucer's wholesomeness, clean down<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To our artistic Dobson's deftest touch!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="IN_THE_AFTERNOON" id="IN_THE_AFTERNOON"></a>IN THE AFTERNOON</h3> + + +<div class="block3"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">You</span> in the hammock; and I, near by,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was trying to read, and to swing you, too;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the green of the sward was so kind to the eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the shade of the maples so cool and blue,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That often I looked from the book to you<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To say as much, with a sigh.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You in the hammock. The book we'd brought<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From the parlor—to read in the open air,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Something of love and of Launcelot<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And Guinevere, I believe, was there—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But the afternoon, it was far more fair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than the poem was, I thought.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You in the hammock; and on and on<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I droned and droned through the rhythmic stuff—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, with always a half of my vision gone<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Over the top of the page—enough<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To caressingly gaze at you, swathed in the fluff<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of your hair and your odorous "lawn."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You in the hammock—and that was a year—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fully a year ago, I guess—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And what do we care for their Guinevere<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And her Launcelot and their lordliness!—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You in the hammock still, and—Yes—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kiss me again, my dear!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="AT_MADAME_MANICURES" id="AT_MADAME_MANICURES"></a>AT MADAME MANICURE'S</h3> + + +<div class="block1"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Daintiest</span> of Manicures!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What a cunning hand is yours;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And how awkward, rude and great<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mine, as you manipulate!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wonderfully cool and calm<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are the touches of your palm<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To my fingers, as they rest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In their rosy, cosey nest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While your own, with deftest skill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dance and caper as they will,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Armed with instruments that seem<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gathered from some fairy dream—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tiny spears, and simitars<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such as pixy armorers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Might have made for jocund fays<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To parade on holidays,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And flash round in dewy dells,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lopping down the lily-bells;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or in tilting, o'er the leas,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At the clumsy bumblebees,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Splintering their stings, perchance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the knights in old romance<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Snapped the spears of foes that fought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the jousts at Camelot!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smiling? Dainty Manicure?—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twould delight me, but that you're<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Simply smiling, as I see,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At my nails and not at me!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Haply this is why they glow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And light up and twinkle so!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="A_CALLER_FROM_BOONE" id="A_CALLER_FROM_BOONE"></a>A CALLER FROM BOONE<br /> +<br /> +<small>BENJ. F. JOHNSON VISITS THE EDITOR</small></h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was a dim and chill and loveless afternoon in the late fall of +eighty-three when I first saw the genial subject of this hasty sketch. +From time to time the daily paper on which I worked had been +receiving, among the general literary driftage of amateur essayists, +poets and sketch-writers, some conceits in verse that struck the +editorial head as decidedly novel; and, as they were evidently the +production of an unlettered man, and an <i>old</i> man, and a farmer at that, +they were usually spared the waste-basket, and preserved—not for +publication, but to pass from hand to hand among the members of the +staff as simply quaint and mirth-provoking specimens of the verdancy +of both the venerable author and the Muse inspiring him. Letters as +quaint as were the poems invariably accompanied them, and the oddity +of these, in fact, had first called attention to the verses. I well +remember the general merriment of the office when the first of the old +man's letters was read aloud, and I recall, too, some of his comments +on his own verse, verbatim. In one place he said: "I make no doubt you +will find some purty <i>sad</i> spots in my poetry, considerin'; but I hope +you will bear in mind that I am a great sufferer with rheumatizum, and +have been, off and on, sence the cold New Year's. In the main, +however," he continued, "I allus aim to write in a cheerful, +comfortin' sperit, so's ef the stuff hangs fire, and don't do no good, +it hain't a-goin' to do no harm,—and them's my honest views on +poetry."</p> + +<p>In another letter, evidently suspecting his poem had not appeared in +print because of its dejected tone, he said: "The poetry I herewith +send was wrote off on the finest Autumn day I ever laid eyes on! I +never felt better in my life. The morning air was as invigoratin' as +bitters with tanzy in it, and the folks at breakfast said they never +saw such a' appetite on mortal man before. Then I lit out for the +barn, and after feedin', I come back and tuck my pen and ink out on +the porch, and jest cut loose. I writ and writ till my fingers was +that cramped I couldn't hardly let go of the penholder. And the poem I +send you is the upshot of it all. Ef you don't find it cheerful enough +fer your columns, I'll have to knock under, that's all!" And that +poem, as I recall it, certainly was cheerful enough for publication, +only the "copy" was almost undecipherable, and the ink, too, so pale +and vague, it was thought best to reserve the verses, for the time, at +least, and later on revise, copy, punctuate, and then print it +sometime, as much for the joke of it as anything. But it was still +delayed, neglected, and in a week's time almost entirely forgotten. +And so it was, upon this chill and sombre afternoon I speak of that an +event occurred which most pleasantly reminded me of both the poem with +the "sad spots" in it, and the "cheerful" one, "writ out on the porch" +that glorious autumn day that poured its glory through the old man's +letter to us.</p> + +<p>Outside and in the sanctum the gloom was too oppressive to permit an +elevated tendency of either thought or spirit. I could do nothing but +sit listless and inert. Paper and pencil were before me, but I could +not write—I could not even think coherently, and was on the point of +rising and rushing out into the streets for a wild walk, when there +came a hesitating knock at the door.</p> + +<p>"Come in!" I snarled, grabbing up my pencil and assuming a frightfully +industrious air: "Come in!" I almost savagely repeated, "Come in! And +shut the door behind you!" and I dropped my lids, bent my gaze fixedly +upon the blank pages before me and began scrawling some disconnected +nothings with no head or tail or anything.</p> + +<p>"Sir; howdy," said a low and pleasant voice. And at once, in spite of +my perverse resolve, I looked up. I someway felt rebuked.</p> + +<p>The speaker was very slowly, noiselessly closing the door. I could +hardly face him when he turned around. An old man, of sixty-five, at +least, but with a face and an eye of the most cheery and wholesome +expression I had ever seen in either youth or age. Over his broad +bronzed forehead and white hair he wore a low-crowned, wide-brimmed +black felt hat, somewhat rusted now, and with the band grease-crusted, +and the binding frayed at intervals, and sagging from the threads that +held it on. An old-styled frock coat of black, dull brown in streaks, +and quite shiny about the collar and lapels. A waistcoat of no +describable material or pattern, and a clean white shirt and collar of +one piece, with a black string-tie and double bow, which would have +been entirely concealed beneath the long white beard but for its +having worked around to one side of the neck. The front outline of the +face was cleanly shaven, and the beard, growing simply from the under +chin and throat, lent the old pioneer the rather singular appearance +of having hair all over him with this luxurious growth pulled out +above his collar for mere sample.</p> + +<p>I arose and asked the old man to sit down, handing him a chair +decorously.</p> + +<p>"No—no," he said—"I'm much obleeged. I hain't come in to bother you +no more'n I can he'p. All I wanted was to know ef you got my poetry +all right. You know I take yer paper," he went on, in an explanatory +way, "and seein' you printed poetry in it once-in-a-while, I sent you +some of mine—neighbors kindo' advised me to," he added +apologetically, "and so I sent you some—two or three times I sent you +some, but I hain't never seed hide-ner-hair of it in your paper, and +as I wus in town to-day, anyhow, I jest thought I'd kindo' drap in and +git it back, ef you ain't goin' to print it—'cause I allus save up +most the things I write, aimin' sometime to git 'em all struck off in +pamphlet-form, to kindo' distribit round 'mongst the neighbors, don't +you know."</p> + +<p>Already I had begun to suspect my visitor's identity, and was +mechanically opening the drawer of our poetical department.</p> + +<p>"How was your poetry signed?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Signed by my own name," he answered proudly,—"signed by my own +name,—Johnson—Benjamin F. Johnson, of Boone County—this state."</p> + +<p>"And is this one of them, Mr. Johnson?" I asked, unfolding a +clumsily-folded manuscript, and closely scrutinizing the verse.</p> + +<p>"How does she read?" said the old man eagerly, and searching in the +meantime for his spectacles. "How does she read?—Then I can tell +you!"</p> + +<p>"It reads," said I, studiously conning the old man's bold but bad +chirography, and tilting my chair back indolently,—"it reads like +this—the first verse does,"—and I very gravely read:—</p> + +<p class="center">"Oh! the old swimmin'-hole!"</p> + +<p>"Stop! Stop!" said the old man excitedly—"Stop right there! That's my +poetry, but that's not the way to read it by a long shot! Give it to +me!" and he almost snatched it from my hand. "Poetry like this ain't +no poetry at all, 'less you read it <i>natchurl</i> and <i>in jes the same +sperit 'at it's writ in</i>, don't you understand. It's a' old man +a-talkin', rickollect, and a-feelin' kindo' sad, and yit kindo' sorto' +good, too, and I opine he wouldn't got that off with a face on him +like a' undertaker, and a voice as solemn as a cow-bell after dark! +He'd say it more like this."—And the old man adjusted his spectacles +and read:—</p> + +<p class="center">"<b>THE OLD SWIMMIN'-HOLE</b>"</p> + +<div class="block5"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! whare the crick so still and deep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Looked like a baby-river that was laying half asleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the gurgle of the worter round the drift jest below<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sounded like the laugh of something we onc't ust to know<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before we could remember anything but the eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the angels lookin' out as we left Paradise;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the merry days of youth is beyond our controle,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And it's hard to part ferever with the old swimmin'-hole."<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>I clapped my hands in genuine applause. "Read on!" I said,—"Read on! +Read all of it!"</p> + +<p>The old man's face was radiant as he continued:—</p> + +<div class="block5"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! In the happy days of yore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When I ust to lean above it on the old sickamore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! it showed me a face in its warm sunny tide<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That gazed back at me so gay and glorified,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It made me love myself, as I leaped to caress<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My shadder smilin' up at me with sich tenderness.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But them days is past and gone, and old Time's tuck his toll<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the old man come back to the old swimmin'-hole.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! In the long, lazy days<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the hum-drum of school made so many run-a-ways,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How pleasant was the jurney down the old dusty lane,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whare the tracks of our bare feet was all printed so plane<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You could tell by the dent of the heel and the sole<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They was lots o' fun on hands at the old swimmin'-hole.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the lost joys is past! Let your tears in sorrow roll<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like the rain that ust to dapple up the old swimmin'-hole.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Thare the bullrushes growed, and the cattails so tall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the sunshine and shadder fell over it all;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And it mottled the worter with amber and gold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tel the glad lillies rocked in the ripples that rolled;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the snake-feeder's four gauzy wings fluttered by<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like the ghost of a daisy dropped out of the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or a wownded apple-blossom in the breeze's controle<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As it cut acrost some orchurd to'rds the old swimmin'-hole.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! When I last saw the place,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The scenes was all changed, like the change in my face;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bridge of the railroad now crosses the spot<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whare the old divin'-log lays sunk and fergot.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I strayed down the banks whare the trees ust to be—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But never again will theyr shade shelter me!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I wisht in my sorrow I could strip to the soul,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And dive off in my grave like the old swimmin'-hole."<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>My applause was long and loud. The old man's interpretation of the +poem was a positive revelation, though I was glad enough to conceal +from him my moistened eyes by looking through the scraps for other +specimens of his verse.</p> + +<p>"Here," said I enthusiastically, "is another one, signed 'Benj. F. +Johnson,' read me this," and I handed him the poem.</p> + +<p>The old man smiled and took the manuscript. "This-here one's on '<i>The +Hoss</i>,'" he said, simply clearing his throat. "They ain't so much +fancy-work about this as the other'n, but they's jest as much <i>fact</i>, +you can bet—'cause, they're no animal a-livin' 'at I love better 'an</p> + +<p class="center">"<b>THE HOSS</b>"</p> + +<div class="block"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The hoss he is a splendud beast;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He is man's friend, as heaven desined,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, search the world from west to east,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No honester you'll ever find!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Some calls the hoss 'a pore dumb brute,'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And yit, like Him who died fer you,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I say, as I theyr charge refute,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Fergive; they know not what they do!'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"No wiser animal makes tracks<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Upon these earthly shores, and hence<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Arose the axium, true as facts,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Extoled by all, as 'Good hoss-sense!'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The hoss is strong, and knows his stren'th,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You hitch him up a time er two<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lash him, and he'll go his len'th<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And kick the dashboard out fer you!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"But, treat him allus good and kind,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And never strike him with a stick,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ner aggervate him, and you'll find<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He'll never do a hostile trick.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"A hoss whose master tends him right<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And worters him with daily care,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will do your biddin' with delight,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And act as docile as <i>you</i> air.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"He'll paw and prance to hear your praise,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Because he's learnt to love you well;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, though you can't tell what he says,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He'll nicker all he wants to tell.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"He knows you when you slam the gate<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At early dawn, upon your way<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unto the barn, and snorts elate,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To git his corn, er oats, er hay.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"He knows you, as the orphant knows<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The folks that loves her like theyr own,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And raises her and 'finds' her clothes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And 'schools' her tel a womern-grown!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I claim no hoss will harm a man,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ner kick, ner run away, cavort,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stump-suck, er balk, er 'catamaran,'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ef you'll jest treat him as you ort.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"But when I see the beast abused<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And clubbed around as I've saw some,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I want to see his owner noosed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And jest yanked up like Absolum!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Of course they's differunce in stock,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A hoss that has a little yeer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And slender build, and shaller hock,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Can beat his shadder, mighty near!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Whilse one that's thick in neck and chist<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And big in leg and full in flank,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That tries to race, I still insist<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He'll have to take the second rank.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"And I have jest laid back and laughed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And rolled and wallered in the grass<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At fairs, to see some heavy-draft<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lead out at <i>first</i>, yit come in <i>last</i>!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Each hoss has his appinted place,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The heavy hoss should plow the soil;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The blooded racer, he must race,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And win big wages fer his toil.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I never bet—ner never wrought<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Upon my feller-man to bet—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yit, at times, I've often thought<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of my convictions with regret.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I bless the hoss from hoof to head—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From head to hoof, and tale to mane!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I bless the hoss, as I have said,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From head to hoof, and back again!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I love my God the first of all,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then Him that perished on the cross,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And next, my wife,—and then I fall<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Down on my knees and love the hoss."<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>Again I applauded, handing the old man still another of his poems, and +the last received. "Ah!" said he, as his gentle eyes bent on the +title; "this-here's the cheerfullest one of 'em all. This is the one +writ, as I wrote you about—on that glorious October morning two weeks +ago—I thought your paper would print this-un, shore!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, it <i>will</i> print it," I said eagerly; "and it will print the other +two as well! It will print <i>anything</i> that you may do us the honor to +offer, and we'll reward you beside just as you may see fit to +designate.—But go on—go on! Read me the poem."</p> + +<p>The old man's eyes were glistening as he responded with the poem +entitled</p> + +<p class="center">"<b>WHEN THE FROST IS ON THE PUNKIN</b>"</p> + +<div class="block6"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin' turkey-cock,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the clackin' of the guineys, and the cluckin' of the hens,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the rooster's hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O, it's then's the times a feller is a-feelin' at his best,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the risin' sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As he leaves the house, bareheaded, and goes out to feed the stock,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"They's something kindo' harty-like about the atmusfere<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the heat of summer's over and the coolin' fall is here—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossums on the trees,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the mumble of the hummin'-birds and buzzin' of the bees;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the air's so appetizin'; and the landscape through the haze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is a pictur' that no painter has the colorin' to mock—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the raspin' of the tangled leaves, as golden as the morn;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The stubble in the furries—kindo' lonesome-like, but still<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A-preachin' sermuns to us of the barns they growed to fill;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hosses in theyr stalls below—the clover overhead!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O, it sets my hart a-clickin' like the tickin' of a clock,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Then your apples all is getherd, and the ones a feller keeps<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is poured around the celler-floor in red and yeller heaps;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And your cider-makin' 's over, and your wimmern-folks is through<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With theyr mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and saussage, too!...<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I don't know how to tell it—but ef sich a thing could be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the Angels wantin' boardin', and they'd call around on <i>me</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'd want to 'commodate 'em—all the whole-indurin' flock—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock!"<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>That was enough! "Surely," thought I, "here is a diamond in the rough, +and a 'gem,' too, 'of purest ray serene'!" I caught the old man's hand +and wrung it with positive rapture; and it is needless to go further +in explanation of how the readers of our daily came to an acquaintance +through its columns with the crude, unpolished, yet most gentle genius +of Benj. F. Johnson, of Boone. +P/</p> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="LORD_BACON" id="LORD_BACON"></a>LORD BACON<br /> +<br /> +<small>WRITTEN AS A JOKE AND ASCRIBED TO A VERY PRACTICAL BUSINESS MAN, AMOS +J. WALKER</small></h3> + + +<div class="block2"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Master</span> of masters in the days of yore,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When art met insult, with no law's redress;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When Law itself insulted Righteousness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Ignorance thine own scholastic lore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thou thine own judicial office more,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What master living now canst love thee less,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Seeing thou didst thy greatest art repress<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And leave the years its riches to restore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To us, thy long neglectors. Yield us grace<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To make becoming recompense, and dawn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On us thy poet-smile; nor let us trace,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In fancy, where the old-world myths have gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shade of Shakespeare, with averted face,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Withdrawn to uttermost oblivion.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="MY_FIRST_WOMERN" id="MY_FIRST_WOMERN"></a>MY FIRST WOMERN</h3> + + +<div class="block1"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">I buried</span> my first womern<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the spring; and in the fall<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I was married to my second,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And hain't settled yit at all!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer I'm allus thinkin'—thinkin'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of the first one's peaceful ways,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A-bilin' soap and singin'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of the Lord's amazin' grace.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And I'm thinkin' of her, constant,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dyin' carpet chain and stuff,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a-makin' up rag carpets,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When the <i>floor</i> was good enough!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I mind her he'p a-feedin',<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And I riccollect her now<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A-drappin' corn, and keepin'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Clos't behind me and the plow!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And I'm allus thinkin' of her<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Reddin' up around the house;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Er cookin' fer the farm-hands;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Er a-drivin' up the cows.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And there she lays out yander<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By the lower medder fence,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the cows was barely grazin',<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And they're usin' ever sence.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And when I look acrost there—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Say it's when the clover's ripe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I'm settin', in the evenin',<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On the porch here, with my pipe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the <i>other'n</i> hollers "Henry!"—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">W'y they ain't no sadder thing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than to think of my first womern<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And her funeral last spring<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Was a year ago—<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="AS_WE_READ_BURNS" id="AS_WE_READ_BURNS"></a>AS WE READ BURNS</h3> + + +<div class="block1"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Who</span> is speaking? Who has spoken?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose voice ceasing thus has broken<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sweet pathos of our dreams?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweetest bard of sweetest themes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Pouring in each poet-heart<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Some rare essence of your art<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Till it seems your singing lip<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Kisses every pencil tip!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far across the unknown lands—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Reach of heavenly isle and sea—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How we long to touch the hands<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You outhold so lovingly!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="TO_JAMES_NEWTON_MATTHEWS" id="TO_JAMES_NEWTON_MATTHEWS"></a>TO JAMES NEWTON MATTHEWS<br /> +<br /> +<small>IN ANSWER TO A LETTER ON THE ANATOMY OF THE SONNET</small></h3> + + +<div class="block3"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Oho!</span> ye sunny, sonnet-singin' vagrant,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Flauntin' your simmer sangs in sic a weather!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ane maist can straik the bluebells and the heather<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Keekin' aboon the snaw and bloomin' fragrant!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whiles you, ye whustlin' brither, sic a lay grant<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O' a' these janglin', wranglin' sweets thegither,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I weel maun perk my ain doon-drappin' feather<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And pipe a wee: Tho' boisterous and flagrant<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The winds blow whuzzle-whazzle rhymes that trickle<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fra' aff my tongue less limpid than I'd ha'e them,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I in their little music hap a mickle<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O' canty praises, a' asklent to weigh them<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Agen your pride, and smile to see them tickle<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The warm nest o' the heart wherein I lay them.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="SONG" id="SONG"></a>SONG</h3> + + +<div class="block2"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">O I would</span> I had a lover!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A lover! a lover!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O I would I had a lover<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With a twinkering guitar,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To come beneath my casement<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Singing "There is none above her,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While I, leaning, seemed to hover<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the scent of his cigar!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then at morn I'd want to meet him—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To meet him! to meet him!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O at morn I'd want to meet him,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When the mist was in the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And the dew along the path I went<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To casually greet him,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And to cavalierly treat him,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And regret it by and by.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And I'd want to meet his brother—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His brother! his brother!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O I'd want to meet his brother<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At the german or the play,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To pin a rose on his lapel<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lightly press the other,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And love him like a mother—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While he thought the other way.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O I'd pitilessly test him!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And test him! and test him!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O I'd pitilessly test him<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Far beyond his own control;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And every tantalizing lure<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With which I could arrest him,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'd loosen to molest him,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Till I tried his very soul.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But ah, when I relented—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Relented, relented!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But ah, when I relented<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When the stars were blurred and dim,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And the moon above, with crescent grace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Looked off as I repented,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And with rapture half demented,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All my heart went out to him!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="WHEN_WE_THREE_MEET" id="WHEN_WE_THREE_MEET"></a>WHEN WE THREE MEET</h3> + + +<div class="block"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">When</span> we three meet? Ah! friend of mine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose verses well and flow as wine,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My thirsting fancy thou dost fill<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With draughts delicious, sweeter still<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since tasted by those lips of thine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I pledge thee, through the chill sunshine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of autumn, with a warmth divine,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thrilled through as only I shall thrill<br /></span> +<span class="i6">When we three meet.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I pledge thee, if we fast or dine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We yet shall loosen, line by line,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Old ballads, and the blither trill<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of our-time singers—for there will<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be with us all the Muses nine<br /></span> +<span class="i6">When we three meet.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="JOSH_BILLINGS" id="JOSH_BILLINGS"></a>JOSH BILLINGS<br /> +<br /> +<small>DEAD IN CALIFORNIA, OCTOBER 15, 1885</small></h3> + + +<div class="block1"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Jolly-hearted</span> old Josh Billings,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With his wisdom and his wit,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And his gravity of presence,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the drollery of it!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has he left us, and forever?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When so many merry years<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He has only left us laughing—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And he leaves us now in tears?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Has he turned from his "Deer Publik,"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With his slyly twinkling eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now grown dim and heavy-lidded<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In despite of sunny skies?—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet with rugged brow uplifted,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the long hair tossed away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like an old heroic lion,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With a mane of iron-gray.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Though we lose him, still we find him<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the mirth of every lip,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And we fare through all his pages<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In his glad companionship:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His voice is wed with Nature's,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Laughing in each woody nook<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the chirrup of the robin<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the chuckle of the brook.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But the children—O the children!—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They who leaped to his caress,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And felt his arms about them,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And his love and tenderness,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where—where will they find comfort<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As their tears fall like the rain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And they swarm his face with kisses<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That he answers not again?<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="WHICH_ANE" id="WHICH_ANE"></a>WHICH ANE</h3> + + +<div class="block1"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Which</span> ane, an' which ane,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' which ane for thee?—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here thou hast thy vera choice,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' which sall it be?—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye hae the Holy Brither,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' ye hae the Scholarly;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An', last, ye hae the butt o' baith—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which sall it be?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ane's oot o' Edinborough,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wi' the Beuk an' Gown;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' ane's cam frae Cambridge;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' ane frae scaur an' down:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' Deil tak the hindmaist!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sae the test gaes roun':<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' here ye hae the lairdly twa,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' ane frae scaur an' down.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yon's Melancholy—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' the pipes a-skirlin'—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gangs limp an' droopet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like a coof at hirlin',—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Droopet aye his lang skirts<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I' the wins unfurlin';<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yon's Melancholy—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' the pipes a-skirlin'!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Which ane, an' which ane,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' which ane for thee?—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here thou hast thy vera choice,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' which sall it be?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye hae the Holy Brither,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' ye hae the Scholarly;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An', last, ye hae the butt o' baith—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which sall it be?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Elbuck ye'r bag, mon!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' pipe as ye'd burst!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can ye gie's a waur, mon<br /></span> +<span class="i2">E'en than the first?—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be it Meister Wisemon,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I' the classics versed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' a slawer gait yet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">E'en than the first?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then gie us Merriment:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Loose him like a linnet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Teeterin' on a bloomin' spray—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We ken him i' the minute,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Twinklin' is ane ee asklent,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wi' auld Clootie in it—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Auld Sawney Lintwhite,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We ken him i' the minute!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">An' which ane, an' which ane,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' which ane for thee?—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For thou shalt hae thy vera choice,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' which sall it be?—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye hae the Holy Brither,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' ye hae the Scholarly;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A' last, ye hae the butt o' baith—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which sall it be?<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="THE_EARTHQUAKE" id="THE_EARTHQUAKE"></a>THE EARTHQUAKE<br /> +<br /> +<small>CHARLESTON, SEPTEMBER 1, 1886</small></h3> + + +<div class="block2"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">An</span> hour ago the lulling twilight leant<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Above us like a gentle nurse who slips<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A slow palm o'er our eyes, in soft eclipse<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of feigned slumber of most sweet content.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fragrant zephyrs of the tropic went<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And came across the senses, like to sips<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of lovers' kisses, when upon her lips<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Silence sets finger in grave merriment.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then—sudden—did the earth moan as it slept,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And start as one in evil dreams, and toss<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its peopled arms up, as the horror crept,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And with vast breast upheaved and rent across,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fling down the storied citadel where wept,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And still shall weep, a world above its loss.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="A_FALL-CRICK_VIEW_OF_THE_EARTHQUAKE" id="A_FALL-CRICK_VIEW_OF_THE_EARTHQUAKE"></a>A FALL-CRICK VIEW OF THE EARTHQUAKE</h3> + + +<div class="block"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">I kin</span> hump my back and take the rain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And I don't keer how she pours;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I kin keep kind o' ca'm in a thunder-storm,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No matter how loud she roars;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I hain't much skeered o' the lightnin',<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ner I hain't sich awful shakes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Afeard o' <i>cyclones</i>—but I don't want none<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O' yer dad-burned old earthquakes!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As long as my legs keeps stiddy,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And long as my head keeps plum',<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the buildin' stays in the front lot,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I still kin whistle, <i>some</i>!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But about the time the old clock<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Flops off'n the mantel-shelf,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the bureau skoots fer the kitchen,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I'm a-goin' to skoot, myself!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Plague-take! ef you keep me stabled<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While any earthquakes is around!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'm jes' like the stock,—I'll beller<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And break fer the open ground!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I 'low you'd be as nervous<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And in jes' about my fix,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When yer whole farm slides from in-under you,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And on'y the mor'gage sticks!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now cars hain't a-goin' to kill you<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ef you don't drive 'crost the track;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Crediters never'll jerk you up<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ef you go and pay 'em back;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You kin stand all moral and mundane storms<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ef you'll on'y jes' behave—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But a' <small>EARTHQUAKE</small>:—Well, ef it wanted you<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It 'ud husk you out o' yer grave!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="LEWIS_D_HAYES" id="LEWIS_D_HAYES"></a>LEWIS D. HAYES<br /> +<br /> +<small>OBIT DECEMBER 28, 1886</small></h3> + + +<div class="block2"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">In</span> the midmost glee of the Christmas<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the mirth of the glad New Year,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A guest has turned from the revel,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And we sit in silence here.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The band chimes on, yet we listen<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Not to the air's refrain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But over it ever we strive to catch<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The sound of his voice again;—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For the sound of his voice was music,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dearer than any note<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shook from the strands of harp-strings,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or poured from the bugle's throat.—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A voice of such various ranges,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His utterance rang from the height<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of every rapture, down to the sobs<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of every lost delight.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Though he knew Man's force and his purpose,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As strong as his strongest peers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He knew, as well, the kindly heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the tenderness of tears.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So is it the face we remember<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shall be always as a child's<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, grieved some way to the very soul,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Looks bravely up and smiles.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O brave it shall look, as it looked its last<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On the little daughter's face—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pictured only—against the wall,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In its old accustomed place—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Where the last gleam of the lamplight<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Out of the midnight dim<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yielded its grace, and the earliest dawn<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Gave it again to him.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="IN_DAYS_TO_COME" id="IN_DAYS_TO_COME"></a>IN DAYS TO COME</h3> + + +<div class="block1"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">In</span> days to come—whatever ache<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of age shall rack our bones, or quake<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Our slackened thews—whatever grip<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Rheumatic catch us i' the hip,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We, each one, for the other's sake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will of our very wailings make<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such quips of song as well may shake<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The spasm'd corners from the lip—<br /></span> +<span class="i6">In days to come.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ho! ho! how our old hearts shall rake<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The past up!—how our dry eyes slake<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Their sight upon the dewy drip<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of juicy-ripe companionship,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And blink stars from the blind opaque—<br /></span> +<span class="i6">In days to come.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="LUTHER_A_TODD" id="LUTHER_A_TODD"></a>LUTHER A. TODD<br /> +<br /> +<small>OBIT JULY 27, 1887, KANSAS CITY, MISSOURI</small></h3> + + +<div class="block1"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Gifted</span>, and loved, and praised<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By every friend;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never a murmur raised<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Against him, to the end!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With tireless interest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He wrought as he thought best,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And—lo, we bend<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where now he takes his rest!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">His heart was loyal, to<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Its latest thrill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the home-loves he knew—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And now forever will,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mother and brother—they<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The first to pass away,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And, lingering still,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sister bowed to-day.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Pure as a rose might be,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And sweet, and white,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His father's memory<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was with him day and night:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He spoke of him, as one<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May now speak of the son,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sadly and tenderly,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet as a trump had done.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Say, then, of him: He knew<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Full depths of care<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And stress of pain, and you<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Do him scant justice there,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet in the lifted face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grief left not any trace,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor mark unfair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To mar its manly grace.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It was as if each day<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Some new hope dawned—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each blessing in delay,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To him, was just beyond;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Between whiles, waiting, he<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drew pictures, cunningly—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fantastic—fond—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Things that we laughed to see.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sometimes, as we looked on<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His crayon's work,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some angel-face would dawn<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Out radiant, from the mirk<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of features old and thin,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or jowled with double-chin,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And eyes asmirk,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And gaping mouths agrin.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">That humor in his art,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of genius born,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Welled warmly from a heart<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That could not but adorn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All things it touched with love—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The eagle, as the dove—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The burst of morn—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The night—the stars above.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sometimes, amid the wild<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of faces queer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A mother, with her child<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Pressed warm and close to her;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This, I have thought, somehow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wife, with head abow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Unreconciled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the great shadow now.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0 ws">......<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O you of sobbing breath,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Put by all sighs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of anguish at his death—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Turn—as he turned <i>his</i> eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In that last hour, unknown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In strange lands, all alone—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Turn thine eyes toward the skies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, smiling, cease thy moan.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="WHEN_THE_HEARSE_COMES_BACK" id="WHEN_THE_HEARSE_COMES_BACK"></a>WHEN THE HEARSE COMES BACK</h3> + + +<div class="block7"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">A thing</span> 'at's 'bout as tryin' as a healthy man kin meet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is some poor feller's funeral a-joggin' 'long the street:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The slow hearse and the hosses—slow enough, to say the least,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer to even tax the patience of the gentleman deceased!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The low scrunch of the gravel—and the slow grind of the wheels,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The low, slow go of ev'ry woe 'at ev'rybody feels!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So I ruther like the contrast when I hear the whiplash crack<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A quickstep fer the hosses,<br /></span> +<span class="i10">When the<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Hearse<br /></span> +<span class="i14">Comes<br /></span> +<span class="i16">Back!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Meet it goin' to'rds the cimet'ry, you'll want to drap yer eyes—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But ef the plumes don't fetch you, it'll ketch you otherwise—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You'll haf to see the caskit, though you'd ort to look away<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And 'conomize and save yer sighs fer any other day!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yer sympathizin' won't wake up the sleeper from his rest—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yer tears won't thaw them hands o' his 'at's froze acrost his breast!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And this is why—when airth and sky's a-gittin' blurred and black<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I like the flash and hurry<br /></span> +<span class="i10">When the<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Hearse<br /></span> +<span class="i14">Comes<br /></span> +<span class="i16">Back!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It's not 'cause I don't 'preciate it ain't no time fer jokes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ner 'cause I' got no common human feelin' fer the folks;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I've went to funerals myse'f, and tuk on some, perhaps—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fer my heart's 'bout as mal'able as any other chap's,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I've buried father, mother—but I'll haf to jes' git <i>you</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">To "excuse <i>me</i>," as the feller says.—The p'int I'm drivin' to<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is, simply, when we're plum broke down and all knocked out o' whack,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It he'ps to shape us up, like,<br /></span> +<span class="i10">When the<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Hearse<br /></span> +<span class="i14">Comes<br /></span> +<span class="i16">Back!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The idy! wadin' round here over shoe-mouth deep in woe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When they's a graded 'pike o' joy and sunshine, don't you know!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When evening strikes the pastur', cows'll pull out fer the bars<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And skittish-like from out the night'll prance the happy stars:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And so when <i>my</i> time comes to die, and I've got ary friend<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'At wants expressed my last request—I'll, mebby, rickommend<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To drive slow, ef they haf to, goin' 'long the <i>out'ard</i> track,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I'll smile and say, "You speed 'em<br /></span> +<span class="i10">When the<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Hearse<br /></span> +<span class="i14">Comes<br /></span> +<span class="i16">Back!"<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="OUR_OLD_FRIEND_NEVERFAIL" id="OUR_OLD_FRIEND_NEVERFAIL"></a>OUR OLD FRIEND NEVERFAIL</h3> + + +<div class="block6"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">O it's</span> good to ketch a relative 'at's richer and don't run<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When you holler out to hold up, and'll joke and have his fun;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It's good to hear a man called bad and then find out he's not,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Er strike some chap they call lukewarm 'at's really red-hot;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It's good to know the Devil's painted jes' a leetle black,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And it's good to have most anybody pat you on the back;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But jes' the best thing in the world's our old friend Neverfail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When he wags yer hand as honest as an old dog wags his tail!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I like to strike the man I owe the same time I can pay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And take back things I've borried, and su'prise folks thataway;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I like to find out that the man I voted fer last fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That didn't git elected, was a scoundrel after all;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I like the man that likes the pore and he'ps 'em when he can;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I like to meet a ragged tramp 'at's still a gentleman;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But most I like—with you, my boy—our old friend Neverfail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When he wags yer hand as honest as an old dog wags his tail!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="DAN_OSULLIVAN" id="DAN_OSULLIVAN"></a>DAN O'SULLIVAN</h3> + + +<div class="block1"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Dan O'Sullivan</span>: It's your<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lips have kissed "The Blarney," sure!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To be trillin' praise av me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dhrippin' shwate wid poethry!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not that I'd not have ye sing—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Don't lave off for anything—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jusht be aisy whilst the fit<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Av me head shwells up to it!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Dade and thrue, I'm not the man,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst yer singin', loike ye can,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To cry shtop because ye've blesht<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My songs more than all the resht:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'll not be the b'y to ax<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Any shtar to wane or wax,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or ax any clock that's woun',<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To run up inshtid av down!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Whist yez! Dan O'Sullivan!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Him that made the Irishman<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mixt the birds in wid the dough,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the dew and mistletoe<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wid the whusky in the quare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Muggs av us—and here we air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Three parts right, and three parts wrong,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shpiked wid beauty, wit, and song!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="JOHN_BOYLE_OREILLY" id="JOHN_BOYLE_OREILLY"></a>JOHN BOYLE O'REILLY<br /> +<br /> +<small>SEPULTURE—BOSTON, AUGUST 13, 1890</small></h3> + + +<div class="block"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Dead?</span> this peerless man of men—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Patriot, Poet, Citizen!—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dead? and ye weep where he lies<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Mute, with folded eyes!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Courage! All his tears are done;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mark him, dauntless, face the sun!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He hath led you.—Still, as true,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">He is leading you.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Folded eyes and folded hands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Typify divine commands<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He is hearkening to, intent<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Beyond wonderment.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Tis promotion that has come<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus upon him. Stricken dumb<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Be your moanings dolorous!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">God knows what He does.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Rather as your chief, <i>aspire</i>!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rise and seize his toppling lyre,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And sing Freedom, Home, and Love,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And the rights thereof!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ere in selfish grief ye sink,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come! catch rapturous breath and think—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Think what sweep of wing hath he,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Loosed in endless liberty.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="MEREDITH_NICHOLSON" id="MEREDITH_NICHOLSON"></a>MEREDITH NICHOLSON</h3> + + +<div class="block3"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Keats</span>, and Kirk White, David Gray and the rest of you<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Heavened and blest of you young singers gone,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slender in sooth though the theme unexpressed of you,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Leave us this like of you yet to sing on!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let your Muse mother him and your souls brother him,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Even as now, or in fancy, you do:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still let him sing to us ever, and bring to us<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Musical musings of glory and—you.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Never a note to do evil or wrong to us—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beauty of melody—beauty of words,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweet and yet strong to us comes his young song to us<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Rippled along to us clear as the bird's.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No fame elating him falsely, nor sating him—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Feasting and fêting him faint of her joys,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But singing on where the laurels are waiting him,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Young yet in art, and his heart yet a boy's.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="GODS_MERCY" id="GODS_MERCY"></a>GOD'S MERCY</h3> + + +<div class="block1"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Behold</span>, one faith endureth still—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Let factions rail and creeds contend—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God's mercy <i>was</i>, and <i>is</i>, and <i>will</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Be with us, foe and friend.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="CHRISTMAS_GREETING" id="CHRISTMAS_GREETING"></a>CHRISTMAS GREETING</h3> + + +<div class="block2"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">A word</span> of Godspeed and good cheer<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To all on earth—or far or near,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or friend or foe, or thine or mine—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In echo of the voice divine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heard when the Star bloomed forth and lit<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The world's face, with God's smile on it.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="TO_RUDYARD_KIPLING" id="TO_RUDYARD_KIPLING"></a>TO RUDYARD KIPLING</h3> + + +<div class="block2"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">To do</span> some worthy deed of charity<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In secret and then have it found out by<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sheer accident, held gentle Elia—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That—that was the best thing beneath the sky!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Confirmed in part, yet somewhat differing—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">(Grant that his gracious wraith will pardon me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If impious!)—I think a better thing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is: being found out when one strives to be.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So, Poet and Romancer—old as young,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And wise as artless—masterful as mild,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If there be sweet in any song I've sung,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Twas savored for that palate, O my Child!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For thee the lisping of the children all—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For thee the youthful voices of old years—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For thee all chords untamed or musical—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For thee the laughter, and for thee the tears.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And thus, borne to me o'er the seas between<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy land and mine, thy Song of certain wing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Circles above me in the "pure serene"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of our high heaven's vast o'er-welcoming;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While, packeted with joy and thankfulness,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And fair hopes many as the stars that shine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bearing all love's loyal messages,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Mine own goes homing back to thee and thine.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="THE_GUDEWIFE" id="THE_GUDEWIFE"></a>THE GUDEWIFE</h3> + + +<div class="block1"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">My</span> gudewife—she that is tae be—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O she sall seeme sang-sweete tae me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As her ain croon tuned wi' the chiel's<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Or spinnin'-wheel's.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' faire she'll be, an' saft, an' light,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">An' muslin-bright<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As her spick apron, jimpy laced<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The-round her waiste.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet aye as rosy sall she bloome<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Intil the roome<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(The where alike baith bake an' dine)<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As a full-fine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ripe rose, lang rinset wi' the raine,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Sun-kist againe,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sall seate me at her table-spread,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">White as her bread.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where I, sae kissen her for <i>grace</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Sall see her face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smudged, yet aye sweeter, for the bit<br /></span> +<span class="i4">O' floure on it,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whiles, witless, she sall sip wi' me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Luve's tapmaist-bubblin' ecstasy.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="TENNYSON" id="TENNYSON"></a>TENNYSON<br /> +<br /> +<small>ENGLAND, OCTOBER 5, 1892</small></h3> + + +<div class="block2"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">We</span> of the New World clasp hands with the Old<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In newer fervor and with firmer hold<br /></span> +<span class="i6">And nobler fellowship,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O Master Singer, with the finger-tip<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Death laid thus on thy melodious lip!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">All ages thou has honored with thine art,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ages yet unborn thou wilt be part<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Of all songs pure and true!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thine now the universal homage due<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From Old and New World—ay, and still The New!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="ROSAMOND_C_BAILEY" id="ROSAMOND_C_BAILEY"></a>ROSAMOND C. BAILEY</h3> + + +<div class="block4"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Thou</span> brave, good woman! Loved of every one;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Not only that in singing thou didst fill<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Our thirsty hearts with sweetness, trill on trill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even as a wild bird singing in the sun—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not only that in all thy carols none<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But held some tincturing of tears to thrill<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Our gentler natures, and to quicken still<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our human sympathies; but thou hast won<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our equal love and reverence because<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That thou wast ever mindful of the poor,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And thou wast ever faithful to thy friends.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So, loving, serving all, thy best applause<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy requiem—the vast throng at the door<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of the old church, with mute prayers and amens.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="MRS_BENJAMIN_HARRISON" id="MRS_BENJAMIN_HARRISON"></a>MRS. BENJAMIN HARRISON<br /> +<br /> +<small>WASHINGTON, OCTOBER 25, 1892</small></h3> + + +<div class="block1"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Now</span> utter calm and rest;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hands folded o'er the breast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In peace the placidest,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">All trials past;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All fever soothed—all pain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Annulled in heart and brain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never to vex again—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">She sleeps at last.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She sleeps; but O most dear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And best beloved of her<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye sleep not—nay, nor stir,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Save but to bow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The closer each to each,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With sobs and broken speech,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That all in vain beseech<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Her answer now.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And lo! we weep with you,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One grief the wide world through:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet with the faith she knew<br /></span> +<span class="i4">We see her still,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even as here she stood—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All that was pure and good<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sweet in womanhood—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">God's will her will.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="GEORGE_A_CARR" id="GEORGE_A_CARR"></a>GEORGE A. CARR<br /> +<br /> +<small>GREENFIELD, JULY 21, 1914</small></h3> + + +<div class="block1"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">O playmate</span> of the far-away<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And dear delights of Boyhood's day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And friend and comrade true and tried<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through length of years of life beside,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I bid you thus a fond farewell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Too deep for words or tears to tell.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But though I lose you, nevermore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To greet you at the open door,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To grasp your hand or see your smile,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I shall be thankful all the while<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Because your love and loyalty<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have made a happier world for me.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So rest you, Playmate, in that land<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still hidden from us by His hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where you may know again in truth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All of the glad days of your youth—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As when in days of endless ease<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We played beneath the apple trees.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="TO_ELIZABETH" id="TO_ELIZABETH"></a>TO ELIZABETH<br /> +<br /> +<small>OBIT JULY 8, 1893</small></h3> + + +<div class="block3"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">O noble</span>, true and pure and lovable<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As thine own blessed name, <span class="smcap">Elizabeth</span>!—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ay, even as its cadence lingereth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the lips that speak it, so the spell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of thy sweet memory shall ever dwell<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As music in our hearts. Smiling at Death<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As on some later guest that tarrieth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Too gratefully o'erjoyed to say farewell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou hast turned from us but a little space—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We miss thy presence but a little while,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Thy voice of sympathy, thy word of cheer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The radiant glory of thine eyes and face,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The glad midsummer morning of thy smile,—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For still we feel and know that thou art here.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="TO_ALMON_KEEFER" id="TO_ALMON_KEEFER"></a>TO ALMON KEEFER<br /> +<br /> +<small>INSCRIBED IN "TALES OF THE OCEAN"</small></h3> + + +<div class="block1"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">This</span> first book that I ever knew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was read aloud to me by you!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Friend of my boyhood, therefore take<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It back from me, for old times' sake—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The selfsame "Tales" first read to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Under "the old sweet apple tree,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere I myself could read such great<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Big words,—but listening all elate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At your interpreting, until<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brain, heart, and soul were all athrill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With wonder, awe, and sheer excess<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of wildest childish happiness.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So take the book again—forget<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All else,—long years, lost hopes, regret;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sighs for the joys we ne'er attain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Prayers we have lifted all in vain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tears for the faces seen no more,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Once as the roses at the door!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Take the enchanted book—And lo,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On grassy swards of long ago,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sprawl out again, beneath the shade<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The breezy old-home orchard made,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The veriest barefoot boy indeed—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I will listen as you read.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="TO_THE_J_W_R_LITERARY_CLUB" id="TO_THE_J_W_R_LITERARY_CLUB"></a>TO—"THE J. W. R. LITERARY CLUB"</h3> + + +<div class="block7"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Well</span>, it's enough to turn his head to have a feller's name<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swiped with a <i>Literary</i> Club!—But <i>you're</i> the ones to blame!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I call the World to witness that I never <i>agged</i> ye to it<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By ever writin' <i>Classic-like</i>—<i>because I couldn't</i> do it:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I never run to "Hellicon," ner writ about "Per-nassus,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ner ever tried to rack or ride around on old "P-<i>gassus</i>"!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When "Tuneful Nines" has cross'd my lines, the ink 'ud blot and blur it,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And pen 'ud jest putt back fer home, and take the short way fer it!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And so, as I'm a-sayin',—when you name your Literary<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In honor o' this name o' mine, it's railly nessessary—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilse I'm <i>a-thankin'</i> you and all—to <i>warn</i> you, ef you do it,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'll haf to jine the thing myse'f 'fore I can live up to it!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="LITTLE_MAID-O-DREAMS" id="LITTLE_MAID-O-DREAMS"></a>LITTLE MAID-O'-DREAMS</h3> + + +<div class="block1"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Little</span> Maid-o'-Dreams, with your<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Eery eyes so clear and pure<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gazing, where we fain would see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Into far futurity,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tell us what you there behold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In your visions manifold!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What is on beyond our sight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Biding till the morrow's light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fairer than we see to-day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As our dull eyes only may?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Little Maid-o'-Dreams, with face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like as in some woodland place<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lifts a lily, chaste and white,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the shadow to the light;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tell us, by your subtler glance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What strange sorcery enchants<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You as now,—here, yet afar<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the realms of moon and star?—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have you magic lamp and ring,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And genii for vassaling?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Little Maid-o'-Dreams, confess<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You're divine and nothing less,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For with mortal palms, we fear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet must pet you, dreaming here—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yearning, too, to lift the tips<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of your fingers to our lips;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fearful still you may rebel,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">High and heav'nly oracle!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus, though all unmeet our kiss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pardon this!—and this!—and this!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Little Maid-o'-Dreams, we call<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Truce and favor, knowing all!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All your magic is, in truth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pure foresight and faith of youth—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You're a child, yet even so,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You're a sage, in embryo—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Prescient poet—artist—great<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As your dreams anticipate.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Trusting God and Man, you do<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Just as Heaven inspires you to.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="TO_THE_BOY_WITH_A_COUNTRY" id="TO_THE_BOY_WITH_A_COUNTRY"></a>TO THE BOY WITH A COUNTRY<br /> +<br /> +<small>DAN WALLINGFORD</small></h3> + + +<div class="block1"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Dan Wallingford</span>, my jo Dan!—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though but a child in years,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your patriot spirit thrills the land<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And wakens it to cheers,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You lift the flag—you roll the drums—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We hear the bugle blow,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till all our hearts are one with yours,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dan Wallingford, my jo!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="CLAUDE_MATTHEWS" id="CLAUDE_MATTHEWS"></a>CLAUDE MATTHEWS<br /> +<br /> +<small>GOVERNOR OF INDIANA</small></h3> + + +<div class="block4"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Steadfastly</span> from his childhood's earliest hour—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From simplest country life to state and power—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His worth has known advancement,—each new height<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A newer glory in his fellow's sight.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So yet his happy fate—though mute the breath<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of thronging multitudes and thundrous cheers,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Faith sees him raised still higher, through our tears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By this divine promotion of his death.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="TO_LESLEY" id="TO_LESLEY"></a>TO LESLEY</h3> + + +<div class="block1"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Burns</span> sang of bonny Lesley<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As she gaed o'er the border,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gaed like vain Alexander,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To spread her conquests farther.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I sing another Lesley,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wee girlie, more alluring,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who stays at home, the wise one,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her conquests there securing.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A queen, too, is my Lesley,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And gracious, though blood-royal,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My heart her throne, her kingdom,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And I a subject loyal.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Long shall you reign, my Lesley,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My pet, my darling dearie,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For love, oh, little sweetheart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Grows never old or weary.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="THE_JUDKINS_PAPERS" id="THE_JUDKINS_PAPERS"></a>THE JUDKINS PAPERS</h3> + +<p class="center"><b>FATHER AND SON</b></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Judkins'</span> boy came home yesterday with a bottle of bugs in his +pocket, and as the quiet little fellow sat on the back porch in his +favorite position, his legs elbowed and flattened out beneath him like +a letter "W," his genial and eccentric father came suddenly upon him.</p> + +<p>"And what's the blame' boy up to now?" said Mr. Judkins, in an assumed +tone of querulous displeasure, as he bent over the boy from behind and +gently tweaked his ear.</p> + +<p>"Oh, here, mister!" said the boy, without looking up; "you thist let +up on that, will you!"</p> + +<p>"What you got there, I tell you!" continued the smiling Mr. Judkins, +in a still gruffer tone, relinquishing the boy's ear, and gazing down +upon the fluffy towhead with more than ordinary admiration. "What you +got there?"</p> + +<p>"Bugs," said the boy—"you know!"</p> + +<p>"Dead, are they?" said Mr. Judkins.</p> + +<p>"Some of 'em's dead," said the boy, carefully running a needle through +the back of a large bumblebee. "All these uns is, you kin bet! You +don't think a feller 'ud try to string a live bumblebee, I reckon?"</p> + +<p>"Well, no, 'Squire," said Mr. Judkins, airily, addressing the boy by +one of the dozen nicknames he had given him; "not a live bumblebee—a +real stem-winder, of course not. But what in the name o' limpin' +Lazarus air you stringin' 'em fer?"</p> + +<p>"Got a live snake-feeder," said the boy, ignoring the parental +inquiry. "See him down there in the bottom, 'ith all th' other uns on +top of him. Thist watch him now, an' you kin see him pant. I kin. Yes, +an' I got a beetle 'at's purt' nigh alive, too—on'y he can't pull in +his other wings. See 'em?" continued the boy, with growing enthusiasm, +twirling the big-mouthed bottle like a kaleidoscope. "Hate beetles! +'cause they allus act so big, an' make s'much fuss about theirselves, +an' don't know nothin' neither! Bet ef I had as many wings as a beetle +I wouldn't let no boy my size knock the stuffin' out o' me with no +bunch o' weeds, like I done him!"</p> + +<p>"Howd'ye know you wouldn't?" said Mr. Judkins, austerely, biting his +nails and winking archly to himself.</p> + +<p>"W'y, I know I wouldn't," said the boy, "'cause I'd keep up in the air +where I could fly, an' wouldn't come low down ut all—bumpin' around +'mongst them bushes, an' buzzin' against things, an' buttin' my brains +out a-tryin' to git thue fence cracks."</p> + +<p>"'Spect you'd ruther be a snake-feeder, wouldn't you, Bud?" said Mr. +Judkins suggestively. "Snake-feeders has got about enough wings to +suit you, ef you want more'n one pair, and ever' day's a picnic with a +snake-feeder, you know. Nothin' to do but jes' loaf up and down the +crick, and roost on reeds and cat-tails, er fool around a feller's +fish-line and light on the cork and bob up and down with it till she +goes clean under, don't you know?"</p> + +<p>"Don't want to be no snake-feeder, neither," said the boy, "'cause +they gits gobbled up, first thing they know, by these 'ere big green +bullfrogs ut they can't ever tell from the skum till they've lit right +in their mouth—and then they're goners! No, sir;" continued the boy, +drawing an extra quinine-bottle from another pocket, and holding it up +admiringly before his father's eyes: "There's the feller in there ut +I'd ruther be than have a pony!"</p> + +<p>"W'y, it's a nasty p'izen spider!" exclaimed Mr. Judkins, pushing back +the bottle with affected abhorrence, "and he's alive, too!"</p> + +<p>"You bet he's alive!" said the boy, "an' you kin bet he'll never come +to no harm while I own him!" and as the little fellow spoke his face +glowed with positive affection, and the twinkle of his eyes, as he +continued, seemed wonderfully like his father's own. "Tell you, I like +spiders! Spiders is awful fat—all but their head—and that's level, +you kin bet! Flies hain't got no business with a spider. Ef a spider +ever reaches fer a fly, he's his meat! The spider, he likes to loaf +an' lay around in the shade an' wait fer flies an' bugs an' things to +come a-foolin' round his place. He lays back in the hole in the corner +of his web, an' waits till somepin' lights on it an' nen when he hears +'em buzzin', he thist crawls out an' fixes 'em so's they can't buzz, +an' he's got the truck to do it with! I bet ef you'd unwind all the +web-stuff out of thist one little spider not bigger'n a pill, it 'ud +be long enough fer a kite-string! Onc't they wuz one in our +wood-house, an' a taterbug got stuck in his web, an' the spider worked +purt' nigh two days 'fore he got him so's he couldn't move. Nen he +couldn't eat him neither—'cause they's shells on 'em, you know, an' +the spider didn't know how to hull him. Ever' time I'd go there the +spider, he'd be a-wrappin' more stuff around th' ole bug, an' stoopin' +down like he wuz a-whisperin' to him. An' one day I went in ag'in, an' +he was a-hangin', alas an' cold in death! An' I poked him with a +splinter an' his web broke off—'spect he'd used it all up on the +wicked bug—an' it killed him; an' I buried him in a' ink-bottle an' +mashed the old bug 'ith a chip!"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Judkins, in a horrified tone, turning away to conceal the +real zest and enjoyment his face must have betrayed; "yes, and some +day you'll come home p'izened, er somepin'! And I want to say right +here, my young man, ef ever you do, and it don't kill you, I'll lint +you within an inch of your life!" And as the eccentric Mr. Judkins +whirled around the corner of the porch he heard the boy murmur in his +low, absent-minded way, "Yes, you will!"</p> + + +<p class="center"><b>MR. JUDKINS' REMARKS</b></p> + +<p>Judkins stopped us in front of the post-office yesterday to say that +that boy of his was "the blamedest boy outside o' the annals o' +history!" "Talk about this boy-naturalist out here at Indianapolis," +says Judkins,—"w'y, he ain't nowhere to my boy! The little cuss don't +do nothin' either only set around and look sleepy, and dern him, he +gits off more dry things than you could print in your paper. Of late +he's been a-displayin' a sort o' weakness fer Nature, don't you know; +and he's allus got a bottle o' bugs in his pocket. He come home +yesterday evening with a blame' mud-turtle as big as an unabridged +dictionary, and turned him over in the back yard and commenced biffin' +away at him with a hammer and a cold-chisel. 'W'y, you're a-killin' +the turtle,' says I. 'Kill nothin'!' says he, 'I'm thist a-takin' the +lid off so's I can see his clock works.' Hoomh!" says Judkins: "He's a +good one!—only," he added, "I wouldn't have the <i>boy</i> think so fer the +world!"</p> + + +<p class="center"><b>JUDKINS' BOY ON THE MUD-TURTLE</b></p> + +<p>The mud-turtle is not a beast of pray, but he dearly loves catfish +bait. If a mud-turtle gits your big toe in his mouth he will hang on +till it thunders. Then he will spit it out like he was disgusted. The +mud-turtle kin swim and keep his chin out of water ef he wants to but +he don't care ef he does sink. The turtle kin stay under water until +his next birthday, an' never crack a smile. He kin breathe like a +grown person, but he don't haf to, on'y when he is on dry land, an' +then I guess he thist does it to be soshibul. Allus when you see +bubbles a-comin' up in the swimmin' hole, you kin bet your galluses +they's a mud-turtle a-layin' down there, studyin' up some cheap way to +git his dinner. Mud-turtles never dies, on'y when they make soup out +of 'em. They is seven kinds of meat in the turtle, but I'd ruther eat +thist plain burnt liver.</p> + + +<p class="center"><b>ON FROGS</b></p> + +<p>Frogs is the people's friend, but they can't fly. Onc't they wuz +tadpoles about as big as lickerish drops, an' after while legs growed +on 'em. Oh, let us love the frog—he looks so sorry. Frogs kin swim +better'n little boys, and they don't haf to hold their nose when they +dive, neither. Onc't I had a pet frog; an' the cars run over him. It +thist squshed him. Bet he never knowed what hurt him! Onc't they wuz a +rich lady swallered one—when he wuz little, you know; an' he growed +up in her, an' it didn't kill him ut all. An' you could hear him +holler in her bosom. It was a tree-toad; and so ever' time he'd go +p-r-r-r-r- w'y, nen the grand lady she'd know it was goin' to rain, +an' make her little boy run an' putt the tub under the spout. Wasn't +that a b'utiful frog?</p> + + +<p class="center"><b>ON PIRUTS</b></p> + +<p>Piruts is reckless to a fault. They ain't afeard of nobody ner +nothin'. Ef ever you insult a pirut onc't, he'll foller you to the +grave but what he will revenge his wrongs. Piruts all looks like +pictures of "Buffalo Bill"—on'y they don't shave off the whiskers +that sticks out over the collar of their low-necked shirt. Ever' day +is a picknick fer the piruts of the high seas. They eat gunpowder an' +drink blood to make 'em savage, and then they kill people all day, an' +set up all night an' tell ghost stories an' sing songs such as mortal +ear would quail to listen to. Piruts never comes on shore on'y when +they run out of tobacker; an' then it's a cold day ef they don't land +at midnight, an' disguize theirselves an' slip up in town like a +sleuth houn', so's the Grand Jury can't git on to 'em. They don't care +fer the police any more than us people who dwells right in their +midst. Piruts makes big wages an' spends it like a king. "Come easy, +go easy," is the fatal watchword of them whose deeds is Deth. Onc't +they wuz a pirut turned out of the house an' home by his cruel parents +when he wuz but a kid, an' so he always went by that name. He was +thrust adrift without a nickel, an' sailed fer distant shores to hide +his shame fer those he loved. In the dead of night he stol'd a new +suit of the captain's clothes. An' when he growed up big enough to fit +'em, he gaily dressed hissef and went up an' paced the quarter-deck in +deep thought. He had not fergot how the captain onc't had lashed him +to the jib-boom-poop an' whipped him. That stung his proud spirit even +then; an' so the first thing he done was to slip up behind the cruel +officer an' push him over-board. Then the ship wuz his fer better er +fer worse. An' so he took command, an' hung high upon the beetling +mast the pirut flag. Then he took the Bible his old mother give him, +an' tied a darnic round it an' sunk it in the sand with a mocking +laugh. Then it wuz that he wuz ready fer the pirut's wild seafaring +life. He worked the business fer all they wuz in it fer many years, +but wuz run in ut last. An', standin' on the gallus-tree, he sung a +song which wuz all wrote off by hissef. An' then they knocked the trap +on him. An' thus the brave man died and never made a kick. In life he +wuz allus careful with his means, an' saved up vast welth, which he +dug holes and buried, an' died with the secret locked in his bosom to +this day.</p> + + +<p class="center"><b>ON HACKMENS</b></p> + +<p>Hackmens has the softest thing in the bizness. They hain't got nothin' +to do but look hump-shouldered an' chaw tobacker an' wait. Hackmens +all looks like detectives, an' keeps still, an' never even spits when +you walk past 'em. An' they're allus cold. A hackman that stands high +in the p'fession kin wear a overcoat in dog-days an' then look chilly +an' like his folks wuz all dead but the old man, an' he wuz a +drunkard. Ef a hackman would on'y be a blind fiddler he'd take in more +money than a fair-ground. Hackmens never gives nothin' away. You kin +trust a hackman when you can't trust your own mother. Some people +thinks when they hire a hack to take 'em some place that the hackman +has got some grudge ag'in' 'em—but he hain't—he's allus that way. He +loves you but he knows his place, and smothers his real feelings. In +life's giddy scenes hackmens all wears a mask; but down deep in their +heart you kin bet they are yourn till deth. Some hackmens look like +they wuz stuck up, but they hain't—it's only 'cause they got on so +much clothes. Onc't a hackman wuz stabbed by a friend of his in the +same bizness, an' when the doctors wuz seein' how bad he wuz karved +up, they found he had on five shurts. They said that wuz all that +saved his life. They said ef he'd on'y had on four shurts, he'd 'a' +been a ded man. An' the hackman hissef, when he got well, used to brag +it wuz the closetest call he ever had, an' laid fer the other hackman, +an' hit him with a car couplin' an' killed him, an' come mighty nigh +goin' to the penitenchary fer it. Influenshal friends wuz all that +saved him that time. No five shurts would 'a' done it. The mayor said +that when he let him off, an' brought down the house, an' made hissef +a strong man fer another term. Some mayors is purty slick, but a +humble hackman may sometimes turn out to be thist as smooth. The on'y +thing w'y a hackman don't show up no better is 'cause he loses so much +sleep. That's why he allus looks like he had the headache, an' didn't +care ef he did. Onc't a hackman wuz waitin' in front of a hotel one +morning an' wuz sort o' dozin' like, an' fell off his seat. An' they +run an' picked him up, an' he wuz unconshus, an' they worked with him +till 'way long in the afternoon 'fore they found out he wuz thist +asleep; an' he cussed fearful cause they waked him up, an' wondered +why people couldn't never tend to their own bizness like he did.</p> + + +<p class="center"><b>ON DUDES</b></p> + +<p>Ever'body is allus a-givin' it to Dudes. Newspapers makes fun of 'em, +an' artists makes pictures of 'em; an' the on'y ones in the wide world +that stuck on Dudes is me an' the Dudes theirse'f, an' we love an' +cherish 'em with all a parent's fond regards. An' nobody knows much +about Dudes neither, 'cause they hain't been broke out long enough yit +to tell thist what the disease is. Some say it's softinning of the +brains, an' others claim it can't be that, on the groun's they hain't +got material fer the softinning to work on, &c., &c., till even +"Sientests is puzzled," as the good book says. An' ef I wuz a-goin' to +say what ails Dudes I'd have to give it up, er pernounce it a' +aggervated case of Tyfoid blues, which is my 'onnest convictions. +That's what makes me kind o' stand in with 'em—same as ef they wuz +the under-dog. I am willing to aknolege that Dudes has their weakness, +but so has ever'thing. Even Oscar Wild, ef putt to the test; an' I +allus feel sorry fer George Washington 'cause he died 'fore he got to +see Oscar Wild. An' then another reason w'y you oughten't to jump on +to Dudes is, they don't know what's the matter with 'em any more than +us folks in whom they come in daily contack. Dudes all walks an' looks +in the face like they wuz on their way to fill an engagement with a +revolvin' lady wax-figger in some milliner-winder, an' had fergot the +number of her place of bizness. Some folks is mean enough to bitterly +a'sert that Dudes is strained in their manner an' fools from choice; +but they ain't. It's a gift—Dudes is Geenuses—that's what Dudes is!</p> + + +<p class="center"><b>ON RED HAIR</b></p> + +<p>Onc't a pore boy wuz red-hedded, an' got mad at the other boys when +they'd throw it up to him. An' when they'd laugh at his red hed, an' +ast him fer a light, er wuzn't he afeard he'd singe his cap, an' orto' +wear a tin hat, er pertend to warm their hands by him,—w'y, sometimes +the red-hedded boy'd git purty hot indeed; an' onc't he told another +boy that wuz a-bafflin' him about his red hair that ef he wuz him he'd +git a fine comb an' go to canvassin' his own hed, and then he'd be +liabul to sceer up a more livelier subjeck to talk about than red +hair. An' then the other boy says, "You're a liar" an' that got the +red-hedded boy into more trouble; fer the old man whipped him +shameful' fer breakin' up soil with the other boy. An' this here +red-hedded boy had freckles, too. An' warts. An' nobody ortn't to 'a' +jumpt on to him fer that. Ef anybody wuz a red-hedded boy they'd have +also warts an' freckles—an' thist red-hair's bad enough. Onc't +another boy told him ef he wuz him he bet he could make a big day look +sick some night. An' when the red-hedded boy says "How?" w'y, the +other boy he says "Easy enough. I'd thist march around bare-hedded in +the torch-light p'cession."—"Yes, you would," says the red-hedded +boy, an' pasted him one with a shinny club, an' got dispelled from +school 'cause he wuz so high-tempered an' impulsiv. Ef I wuz the +red-hedded boy I'd be a pirut; but he allus said he wuz goin' to be a +baker.</p> + + +<p class="center"><b>THE CROSS-EYED GIRL</b></p> + +<p>"You don't want to never tamper with a cross-eyed girl," said Mr. +Judkins, "and I'll tell you w'y: They've natur'lly got a better focus +on things than a man would ever guess—studyin' their eyes, you +understand. A man may think he's a-foolin' a cross-eyed girl simply +because she's apparently got her eyes tangled on other topics as he's +a-talkin' to her, but at the same time that girl may be a-lookin' down +the windin' stairway of the cellar of his soul with one eye, and +a-winkin' in a whisper to her own soul with the other, and her +unconscious victim jes' a-takin' it fer granted that nothin' is the +matter with the girl, only jes' cross-eyes! You see I've studied 'em," +continued Judkins, "and I'm on to one fact dead sure—and that is, +their natures is as deceivin' as their eyes is! Knowed one onc't that +had her eyes mixed up thataway—sensitive little thing she was, and +always referrin' to her 'misfortune,' as she called it, and eternally +threatenin' to have some surgeon straighten 'em out like other +folks'—and, sir, that girl so worked on my feelin's, and took such +underholts on my sympathies that, blame me, before I knowed it I +confessed to her that ef it hadn't 'a' been fer her defective eyes (I +made it 'defective') I never would have thought of lovin' her, and, +furthermore ef ever she did have 'em changed back normal, don't you +understand, she might consider our engagement at an end—I did, +honest. And that girl was so absolute cross-eyed it warped her ears, +and she used to amuse herself by watchin' 'em curl up as I'd be +a-talkin' to her, and that maddened me, 'cause I'm natur'lly of a +jealous disposition, you know, and so, at last, I jes' casually hinted +that ef she was really a-goin' to git them eyes carpentered up, w'y +she'd better git at it: and that ended it.</p> + +<p>"And then the blame' girl turned right around and married a fellow +that had a better pair of eyes than mine this minute! Then I struck +another cross-eyed girl—not really a legitimate case, 'cause, in +reality, she only had one off eye—the right eye, ef I don't +disremember—the other one was as square as a gouge. And that girl +was, ef any difference, a more confusin' case than the other, and +besides all that, she had some money in her own right, and warn't +a-throwin' off no big discount on one game eye. But I finally got her +interested, and I reckon something serious might 'a' come of it—but, +you see, her father was dead, and her stepmother sort o' shet down on +my comin' to the house; besides that, she had three grown uncles, and +you know how uncles is. I didn't want to marry no family, of course, +and so I slid out of the scheme, and tackled a poor girl that clerked +in a post-office. Her eyes was bad! I never did git the hang of them +eyes of hern. She had purty hair, and a complexion, I used to tell +her, which outrivalled the rose. But them eyes, you know! I didn't +really appreciate how bad they was crossed, at first. You see, it took +time. Got her to give me her picture, and I used to cipher on that, +but finally worked her off on a young friend of mine who wanted to +marry intellect—give her a good send-off to him—and she was +smart—only them eyes, you know! Why, that girl could read a postal +card, both sides at once, and smile at a personal friend through the +office window at the same time!"</p> + + +<p class="center"><b>HOMESICKNESS</b></p> + +<p>There was a more than ordinary earnestness in the tone of Mr. Judkins +as he said: "Referrin' to this thing of bein' homesick, I want to +say right here that of all diseases, afflictions er complaints, this +thing of bein' homesick takes the cookies! A man may think when he's +got a' aggrivated case of janders, er white-swellin', say, er +bone-erysipelas, that he's to be looked up to as bein' purty well +fixed in this vale of trouble and unrest, but I want to tell you, when +I want my sorrow blood-raw, don't you understand, you may give me +homesickness—straight goods, you know—and I'll git more clean, +legitimate agony out of that than you can out of either of the other +attractions—yes, er even ef you'd ring in the full combination on me! +You see, there's no way of treatin' homesickness only one—and that is +to git back home—but as that's a remedy you can't git at no drug +store, at so much per box—and ef you could, fer instance, and only +had enough ready money anyhow to cover half the cost of a full +box—and nothin' but a full box ever reached the case—w'y, it follers +that your condition still remains critical. And homesickness don't +show no favors. It's jes' as liable to strike you as me. High er low, +er rich er poor, all comes under her jurishdiction, and whenever she +once reaches fer a citizen, you can jes' bet she gits there Eli, ever' +time!</p> + +<p>"She don't confine herse'f to youth, ner make no specialty of little +children either, but she stalks abroad like a census-taker, and is as +conscientious. She visits the city girl clean up to Maxinkuckee, and +makes her wonder how things really is back home without her. And then +she haunts her dreams, and wakes her up at all hours of the night, and +sings old songs over fer her, and talks to her in low thrillin' tones +of a young man whose salary ain't near big enough fer two; and then +she leaves her photograph with her and comes away, and makes it lively +fer the boys on the train, the conductor, the brakeman and the +engineer. She even nests out the travellin' man, and yanks him out of +his reclinin' chair, and walks him up and down the car, and runs him +clean out of cigars and finecut, and smiles to hear him swear. Then +she gits off at little country stations and touches up the night +operator, who grumbles at his boy companion, and wishes to dernation +'six' was in, so's he could 'pound his ear.'</p> + +<p>"And I'll never forgit," continued Mr. Judkins, "the last case of +homesickness I had, and the cure I took fer it. 'Tain't been more'n a +week ago neither. You see my old home is a'most too many laps from +this base to make it very often, and in consequence I hadn't been +there fer five years and better, till this last trip, when I jes' +succumbed to the pressure, and th'owed up my hands and went. Seemed +like I'd 'a' died if I hadn't. And it was glorious to rack around the +old town again—things lookin' jes' the same, mighty nigh, as they was +when I was a boy, don't you know. Run acrost an old schoolmate, too, +and tuck supper at his happy little home, and then we got us a good +nickel cigar, and walked and walked, and talked and talked! Tuck me +all around, you understand, in the meller twilight—till, the first +thing you know, there stood the old schoolhouse where me and him first +learnt to chew tobacco, and all that! Well, sir! you hain't got no +idea of the feelin's that was mine! W'y, I felt like I could th'ow my +arms around the dear old buildin' and squeeze it till the cupolo would +jes' pop out of the top of the roof like the core out of a b'ile! And +I think if they ever was a' epoch in my life when I could 'a' tackled +poetry without no compunctions, as the feller says, w'y, then was the +time—shore!"</p> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="TO_THE_QUIET_OBSERVER" id="TO_THE_QUIET_OBSERVER"></a>TO THE QUIET OBSERVER<br /> +<br /> +<small>ERASMUS WILSON, AFTER HIS LONG SILENCE</small></h3> + + +<div class="block2"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Dear</span> old friend of us all in need<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who know the worth of a friend indeed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How rejoiced are we all to learn<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Of your glad return.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We who have missed your voice so long—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even as March might miss the song<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of the sugar-bird in the maples when<br /></span> +<span class="i6">They're tapped again.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Even as the memory of these<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Blended</i> sweets,—the sap of the trees<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the song of the birds, and the old camp too,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">We think of you.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Hail to you, then, with welcomes deep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As grateful hearts may laugh or weep!—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You give us not only the bird that sings,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">But all good things.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="AMERICAS_THANKSGIVING" id="AMERICAS_THANKSGIVING"></a>AMERICA'S THANKSGIVING<br /> +<br /> +900</h3> + + +<div class="block3"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Father</span> all bountiful, in mercy bear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With this our universal voice of prayer—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The voice that needs must be<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Upraised in thanks to Thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O Father, from Thy Children everywhere.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A multitudinous voice, wherein we fain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wouldst have Thee hear no lightest sob of pain—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">No murmur of distress,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Nor moan of loneliness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor drip of tears, though soft as summer rain.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And, Father, give us first to comprehend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No ill can come from Thee; lean Thou and lend<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Us clearer sight to see<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Our boundless debt to Thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since all thy deeds are blessings, in the end.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And let us feel and know that, being Thine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We are inheritors of hearts divine,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And hands endowed with skill,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And strength to work Thy will,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fashion to fulfilment Thy design.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So, let us thank Thee, with all self aside,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor any lingering taint of mortal pride;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As here to Thee we dare<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Uplift our faltering prayer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lend it some fervor of the glorified.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We thank Thee that our land is loved of Thee<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The blessèd home of thrift and industry,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With ever-open door<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of welcome to the poor—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy shielding hand o'er all abidingly.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Even thus we thank Thee for the wrong that grew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Into a right that heroes battled to,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With brothers long estranged,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Once more as brothers ranged<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the red and white and starry blue.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ay, thanks—though tremulous the thanks expressed—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thanks for the battle at its worst, and best—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For all the clanging fray<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Whose discord dies away<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Into a pastoral song of peace and rest.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="WILLIAM_PINKNEY_FISHBACK" id="WILLIAM_PINKNEY_FISHBACK"></a>WILLIAM PINKNEY FISHBACK</h3> + + +<div class="block2"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Say</span> first he loved the dear home-hearts, and then<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He loved his honest fellow citizen—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He loved and honored him, in any post<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of duty where he served mankind the most.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">All that he asked of him in humblest need<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was but to find him striving to succeed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All that he asked of him in highest place<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was justice to the lowliest of his race.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When he found these conditions, proved and tried,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He owned he marvelled, but was satisfied—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Relaxed in vigilance enough to smile<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, with his own wit, flay himself a while.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Often he liked real anger—as, perchance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The summer skies like storm-clouds and the glance<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of lightning—for the clearer, purer blue<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of heaven, and the greener old earth, too.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">All easy things to do he did with care,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Knowing the very common danger there;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In noblest conquest of supreme debate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The facts are simple as the victory great.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">That which had been a task to hardiest minds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To him was as a pleasure, such as finds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The captive-truant, doomed to read throughout<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The one lone book he really cares about.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Study revived him: Howsoever dim<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And deep the problem, 'twas a joy to him<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To solve it wholly; and he seemed as one<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Refreshed and rested as the work was done.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And he had gathered, from all wealth of lore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That time has written, such a treasure store,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His mind held opulence—his speech the rare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fair grace of sharing all his riches there—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sharing with all, but with the greatest zest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sharing with those who seemed the neediest:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The young he ever favored; and through these<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall he live longest in men's memories.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="JOHN_CLARK_RIDPATH" id="JOHN_CLARK_RIDPATH"></a>JOHN CLARK RIDPATH</h3> + + +<div class="block"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">To</span> the lorn ones who loved him first and best,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And knew his dear love at its tenderest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We seem akin—we simplest friends who knew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His fellowship, of heart and spirit too:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We who have known the happy summertide<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of his ingenuous nature, glorified<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the inspiring smile that ever lit<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The earnest face and kindly strength of it:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">His presence, all-commanding, as his thought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Into unconscious eloquence was wrought,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Until the utterance became a spell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That awed us as a spoken miracle.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Learning, to him, was native—was, in truth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The earliest playmate of his lisping youth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Likewise, throughout a life of toil and stress,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It was as laughter, health and happiness:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And so he played with it—joyed at its call—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ran rioting with it, forgetting all<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Delights of childhood, and of age and fame,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A devotee of learning, still the same!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In fancy, even now we catch the glance<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the rapt eye and radiant countenance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As when his discourse, like a woodland stream,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flowed musically on from theme to theme:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The skies, the stars, the mountains, and the sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He worshipped as their high divinity—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor did his reverent spirit find one thing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On earth too lowly for his worshipping.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The weed, the rose, the wildwood or the plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The teeming harvest, or the blighted grain—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All—all were fashioned beautiful and good,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the soul saw and senses understood.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thus broadly based, his spacious faith and love<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Enfolded all below as all above—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nay, ev'n if overmuch he loved mankind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He gave his love's vast largess as designed.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Therefore, in fondest, faithful service, he<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wrought ever bravely for humanity—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stood, first of heroes for the Right allied—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Foes, even, grieving, when (for them) he died.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">This was the man we loved—are loving yet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And still shall love while longing eyes are wet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With selfish tears that well were brushed away<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Remembering his smile of yesterday.—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For, even as we knew him, smiling still,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Somewhere beyond all earthly ache or ill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He waits with the old welcome—just as when<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We met him smiling, we shall meet again.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="NEW_YEARS_NURSERY_JINGLE" id="NEW_YEARS_NURSERY_JINGLE"></a>NEW YEAR'S NURSERY JINGLE</h3> + + +<div class="block1"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Of</span> all the rhymes of all the climes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of where and when and how,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We best and most can boost and boast<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Golden Age of NOW!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="TO_THE_MOTHER" id="TO_THE_MOTHER"></a>TO THE MOTHER</h3> + + +<div class="block"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> mother-hands no further toil may know;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The mother-eyes smile not on you and me;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mother-heart is stilled, alas!—But O<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The mother-love abides eternally.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="TO_MY_SISTER" id="TO_MY_SISTER"></a>TO MY SISTER<br /> +<br /> +<small>A BELATED OFFERING FOR HER BIRTHDAY</small></h3> + + +<div class="block1"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">These</span> books you find three weeks behind<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Your honored anniversary<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Make me, I fear, to here appear<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Mayhap a trifle cursory.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet while the Muse must thus refuse<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The chords that fall caressfully,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She seems to stir the publisher<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And dealer quite successfully.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As to our <i>birthdays</i>—let 'em run<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Until they whir and whiz!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Read Robert Louis Stevenson,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And hum these lines of his:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"The eternal dawn, beyond a doubt,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shall break on hill and plain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And put all stars and candles out<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ere we be young again."<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="A_MOTTO" id="A_MOTTO"></a>A MOTTO</h3> + +<div class="block1"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> <i>Brightest</i> Star's the <i>modestest</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And more'n likely writes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His motto like the lightnin'-bug's—<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Accordin' To His Lights</i>.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="TO_A_POET_ON_HIS_MARRIAGE" id="TO_A_POET_ON_HIS_MARRIAGE"></a>TO A POET ON HIS MARRIAGE<br /> +<br /> +<small>MADISON CAWEIN</small></h3> + +<div class="block2"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Ever</span> and ever, on and on,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From winter dusk to April dawn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This old enchanted world we range<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From night to light—from change to change—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or path of burs or lily-bells,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We walk a world of miracles.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The morning evermore must be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A newer, purer mystery—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dewy grasses, or the bloom<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of orchards, or the wood's perfume<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of wild sweet-williams, or the wet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blent scent of loam and violet.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How wondrous all the ways we fare—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What marvels wait us, unaware!...<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But yesterday, with eyes ablur<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And heart that held no hope of Her,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You paced the lone path, but the true<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That led to where she waited you.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="ART_AND_POETRY" id="ART_AND_POETRY"></a>ART AND POETRY<br /> +<br /> +<small>TO HOMER C. DAVENPORT</small></h3> + +<div class="block1"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"<span class="smcap">Wess</span>," he says, and sort o' grins,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Art and Poetry is twins.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'F I could draw as you have drew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like to jes' swap pens with you."<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="HER_SMILE_OF_CHEER_AND_VOICE_OF_SONG" id="HER_SMILE_OF_CHEER_AND_VOICE_OF_SONG"></a>HER SMILE OF CHEER AND VOICE OF SONG<br /> +<br /> +<small>ANNA HARRIS RANDALL</small></h3> + +<div class="block7"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Spring</span> fails, in all its bravery of brilliant gold and green,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sun, the grass, the leafing tree, and all the dazzling scene<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of dewy morning—orchard blooms,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And woodland blossoms and perfumes<br /></span> +<span class="i6">With bird-songs sown between.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yea, since <i>she</i> smiles not any more, so every flowery thing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fades, and the birds seem brooding o'er her silence as they sing—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Her smile of cheer and voice of song<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Seemed so divinely to belong<br /></span> +<span class="i6">To ever-joyous Spring!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Nay, still she smiles.—Our eyes are blurred and see not through our tears:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And still her rapturous voice is heard, though not of mortal ears:—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Now ever doth she smile and sing<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Where Heaven's unending clime of Spring<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Reclaims those gifts of hers.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="OLD_INDIANY" id="OLD_INDIANY"></a>OLD INDIANY<br /> +<br /> +<small>FRAGMENT</small><br /> +<br /> +<small>INTENDED FOR A DINNER OF THE INDIANA SOCIETY OF CHICAGO</small></h3> + +<div class="block1"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Old</span> Indiany, 'course we know<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is first, and best, and <i>most</i>, also,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of <i>all</i> the States' whole forty-four:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She's first in ever'thing, that's shore!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And <i>best</i> in ever'way as yet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Made known to man; and you kin bet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She's <i>most</i>, because she won't confess<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She ever was, or will be, <i>less</i>!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yet, fer all her proud array<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of sons, how many gits away!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No doubt about her bein' <i>great</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, fellers, she's a leaky State!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And them that boasts the most about<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her, them's the ones that's dribbled out.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Law! jes' to think of all you boys<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Way over here in Illinoise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A-celebratin', like ye air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old Indiany, 'way back there<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the dark ages, so to speak,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A-prayin' for ye once a week<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wonderin' what's a-keepin' you<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From comin', like you ort to do.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You're all a-lookin' well, and like<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You wasn't "sidin' up the pike,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the tramp-shoemaker said<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When "he sacked the boss and shed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The blame town, to hunt fer one<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where they didn't work fer fun!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lookin' <i>extry</i> well, I'd say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your old home so fur away.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Maybe, though, like the old jour.,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fun hain't all yer workin' fer.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So you've found a job that pays<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Better than in them old days<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You was on <i>The Weekly Press</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heppin' run things, more er less;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Er a-learnin' telegraph<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Operatin', with a half<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Notion of the tinner's trade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Er the dusty man's that laid<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Out designs on marble and<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hacked out little lambs by hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And chewed fine-cut as he wrought,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Shapin' from his bitter thought"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some squshed mutterings to say,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Yes, hard work, and porer pay!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Er you'd kind o' thought the far-<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gazin' kuss that owned a car<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And took pictures in it, had<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jes' the snap you wanted—bad!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And you even wondered why<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He kep' foolin' with his sky-<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Light the same on shiny days<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As when rainin'. ('T leaked always.)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wondered what strange things was hid<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In there when he shet the door<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And smelt like a burnt drug store<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Next some orchard-trees, i swan!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With whole roasted apples on!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That's why Ade is, here of late,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Buyin' in the dear old State,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So's to cut it up in plots<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of both town and country lots.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="ABE_MARTIN" id="ABE_MARTIN"></a>ABE MARTIN</h3> + +<div class="block"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Abe Martin!</span>—dad-burn his old picture!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">P'tends he's a Brown County fixture—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A kind of a comical mixture<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of hoss-sense and no sense at all!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His mouth, like his pipe, 's allus goin',<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And his thoughts, like his whiskers, is flowin',<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And what he don't know ain't wuth knowin'—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">From Genesis clean to baseball!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The artist, Kin Hubbard, 's so keerless<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He draws Abe most eyeless and earless,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But he's never yet pictured him cheerless<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Er with fun 'at he tries to conceal,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whuther onto the fence er clean over<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A-rootin' up ragweed er clover,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Skeert stiff at some "Rambler" er "Rover"<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Er newfangled automo<i>beel</i>!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It's a purty steep climate old Brown's in;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the rains there his ducks nearly drowns in<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The old man hisse'f wades his rounds in<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As ca'm and serene, mighty nigh<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the old handsaw-hawg, er the mottled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Milch cow, er the old rooster wattled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like the mumps had him 'most so well throttled<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That it was a pleasure to die.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But best of 'em all's the fool-breaks 'at<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Abe don't see at all, and yit makes 'at<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Both me and you lays back and shakes at<br /></span> +<span class="i4">His comic, miraculous cracks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which makes him—clean back of the power<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of genius itse'f in its flower—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This Notable Man of the Hour,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Abe Martin, The Joker on Facts.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="O_HENRY" id="O_HENRY"></a>O. HENRY<br /> +<br /> +<small>WRITTEN IN THE CHARACTER OF "SHERRARD PLUMMER"</small></h3> + +<div class="block2"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">O. Henry</span>, Afrite-chef of all delight!—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of all delectables conglomerate<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That stay the starved brain and rejuvenate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mental man. Th' esthetic appetite—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So long anhungered that its "in'ards" fight<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And growl gutwise,—its pangs thou dost abate<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And all so amiably alleviate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Joy pats its belly as a hobo might<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who haply hath attained a cherry pie<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With no burnt bottom in it, ner no seeds—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Nothin' but crispest crust, and thickness fit,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And squshin'-juicy, and jes' mighty nigh<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Too dratted drippin'-sweet fer human needs,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">But fer the sosh of milk that goes with it.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="MONA_MACHREE" id="MONA_MACHREE"></a>"MONA MACHREE"</h3> + +<div class="block3"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"<i>Mona Machree, I'm the wanderin' cr'ature now,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i10"><i>Over the sea;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Slave of no lass, but a lover of Nature now</i><br /></span> +<span class="i10"><i>Careless and free.</i>"<br /></span> +<span class="i0 right">—T. A. Daly.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<div class="block3"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Mona Machree!</span> och, the sootherin' flow of it,<br /></span> +<span class="i10">Soft as the sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet, in-under the mild, moves the wild undertow of it<br /></span> +<span class="i10">Tuggin' at me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Until both the head and the heart o' me's fightin'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For breath, nigh a death all so grandly invitin'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That—barrin' your own livin' yet—I'd delight in,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drowned in the deeps of this billowy song to you<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sung by a lover your beauty has banned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not alone from your love but his dear native land,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst the kiss of his lips, and touch of his hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And his song—all belong to you,<br /></span> +<span class="i10">Mona Machree!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="WILLIAM_McKINLEY" id="WILLIAM_McKINLEY"></a>WILLIAM McKINLEY<br /> +<br /> +<small>CANTON, OHIO, SEPTEMBER 30, 1907</small></h3> + +<div class="block"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">He</span> said: "It is God's way:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His will, not ours be done."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And o'er our land a shadow lay<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That darkened all the sun.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The voice of jubilee<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That gladdened all the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fell sudden to a quavering key<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of suppliance and prayer.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He was our chief—our guide—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sprung of our common Earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From youth's long struggle proved and tried<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To manhood's highest worth:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through toil, he knew all needs<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of all his toiling kind—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The favored striver who succeeds—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The one who falls behind.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The boy's young faith he still<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Retained through years mature—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The faith to labor, hand and will,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor doubt the harvest sure—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The harvest of man's love—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A nation's joy that swells<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To heights of Song, or deeps whereof<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But sacred silence tells.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To him his Country seemed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Even as a Mother, where<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He rested—slept; and once he dreamed—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As on her bosom there—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thrilled to hear, within<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That dream of her, the call<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of bugles and the clang and din<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of war.... And o'er it all<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">His rapt eyes caught the bright<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Old Banner, winging wild<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And beck'ning him, as to the fight ...<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When—even as a child—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He wakened—And the dream<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was real! And he leapt<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As led the proud Flag through a gleam<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of tears the Mother wept.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">His was a tender hand—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Even as a woman's is—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yet as fixed, in Right's command,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As this bronze hand of his:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This was the Soldier brave—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">This was the Victor fair—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This is the Hero Heaven gave<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To glory here—and There.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="BENJAMIN_HARRISON" id="BENJAMIN_HARRISON"></a>BENJAMIN HARRISON<br /> +<br /> +<small>ON THE UNVEILING OF HIS MONUMENT AT INDIANAPOLIS +OCTOBER 27, 1908</small></h3> + +<div class="block4"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">As</span> tangible a form in History<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Spirit of this man stands forth as here<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He towers in deathless sculpture, high and clear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Against the bright sky of his destiny.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sprung of our oldest, noblest ancestry,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His pride of birth, as lofty as sincere,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Held kith and kin, as Country, ever dear—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such was his sacred faith in you and me.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus, natively, from youth his work was one<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Unselfish service in behalf of all—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Home, friends, and sharers of his toil and stress;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ay, loving all men and despising none,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And swift to answer every righteous call,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">His life was one long deed of worthiness.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The voice of Duty's faintest whisper found<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Him as alert as at her battle-cry—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When awful War's battalions thundered by,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">High o'er the havoc still he heard the sound<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of mothers' prayers and pleadings all around;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And ever the despairing sob and sigh<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of stricken wives and orphan children's cry<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Made all our Land thrice consecrated ground.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So rang his "Forward!" and so swept his sword—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On!—on!—till from the fire-and-cloud once more<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Our proud Flag lifted in the glad sunlight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As though the very Ensign of the Lord<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Unfurled in token that the strife was o'er,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And victory—as ever—with the right.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="LEE_O_HARRIS" id="LEE_O_HARRIS"></a>LEE O. HARRIS<br /> +<br /> +<small>CHRISTMAS DAY—1909</small></h3> + +<div class="block1"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">O say</span> not he is dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The friend we honored so;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lift up a grateful voice instead<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And say: He lives, we know—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We know it by the light<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of his enduring love<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of honor, valor, truth, and right,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And man, and God above.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Remember how he drew<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The child-heart to his own,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And taught the parable anew,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And reaped as he had sown;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Remember with what cheer<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He filled the little lives,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And stayed the sob and dried the tear<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With mirth that still survives.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">All duties to his kind<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It was his joy to fill;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With nature gentle and refined,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet dauntless soul and will,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He met the trying need<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of every troublous call,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet high and clear and glad indeed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He sung above it all.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ay, listen! Still we hear<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The patriot song, the lay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of love, the woodland note so dear—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">These will not die away.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then say not he is dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The friend we honor so,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But lift a grateful voice instead<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And say: He lives, we know.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="THE_HIGHEST_GOOD" id="THE_HIGHEST_GOOD"></a>THE HIGHEST GOOD<br /> +<br /> +<small>WRITTEN FOR A HIGH-SCHOOL ANNUAL</small></h3> + +<div class="block1"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">To</span> attain the highest good<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of true man and womanhood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Simply do your honest best—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God with joy will do the rest.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="MY_CONSCIENCE" id="MY_CONSCIENCE"></a>MY CONSCIENCE</h3> + +<div class="block"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Sometimes</span> my Conscience says, says he,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Don't you know me?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I, says I, skeered through and through,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Of course I do.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You air a nice chap ever' way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'm here to say!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You make me cry—you make me pray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all them good things thataway—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That is, at <i>night</i>. Where do you stay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Durin' the day?"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And then my Conscience says, onc't more,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"You know me—shore?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Oh, yes," says I, a-trimblin' faint,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"You're jes' a saint!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your ways is all so holy-right,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I love you better ever' night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You come around,—tel' plum daylight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When you air out o' sight!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And then my Conscience sort o' grits<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His teeth, and spits<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On his two hands and grabs, of course,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some old remorse,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And beats me with the big butt-end<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O' <i>that</i> thing—tel my clostest friend<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Ud hardly know me. "Now," says he,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Be keerful as you'd orto be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And <i>allus</i> think o' me!"<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="MY_BOY" id="MY_BOY"></a>MY BOY</h3> + +<div class="block"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">You</span> smile and you smoke your cigar, my boy;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You walk with a languid swing;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You tinkle and tune your guitar, my boy,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And you lift up your voice and sing;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The midnight moon is a friend of yours,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And a serenade your joy—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And it's only an age like mine that cures<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A trouble like yours, my boy!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="THE_OBJECT_LESSON" id="THE_OBJECT_LESSON"></a>THE OBJECT LESSON</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Barely</span> a year ago I attended the Friday afternoon exercises of a +country school. My mission there, as I remember, was to refresh my +mind with such material as might be gathered, for a "valedictory," +which, I regret to say, was to be handed down to posterity under +another signature than my own.</p> + +<p>There was present, among a host of visitors, a pale young man of +perhaps thirty years, with a tall head and bulging brow and a highly +intellectual pair of eyes and spectacles. He wore his hair without +roach or "part" and the smile he beamed about him was "a joy forever." +He was an educator—from the East, I think I heard it rumoured—anyway +he was introduced to the school at last, and he bowed, and smiled, and +beamed upon us all, and entertained us after the most delightfully +edifying manner imaginable. And although I may fail to reproduce the +exact substance of his remarks upon that highly important occasion, I +think I can at least present his theme in all its coherency of detail. +Addressing more particularly the primary department of the school, he +said:—</p> + +<p>"As the little exercise I am about to introduce is of recent origin, +and the bright, intelligent faces of the pupils before me seem rife +with eager and expectant interest, it will be well for me, perhaps, to +offer by way of preparatory preface, a few terse words of explanation.</p> + +<p>"The Object Lesson is designed to fill a long-felt want, and is +destined, as I think, to revolutionize, in a great degree, the +educational systems of our land.—In my belief, the Object Lesson will +supply a want which I may safely say has heretofore left the most +egregious and palpable traces of mental confusion and intellectual +inadequacies stamped, as it were, upon the gleaming reasons of the +most learned—the highest cultured, and the most eminently gifted and +promising of our professors and scientists both at home and abroad.</p> + +<p>"Now this deficiency—if it may be so termed—plainly has a beginning; +and probing deeply with the bright, clean scalpel of experience we +discover that—'As the twig is bent the tree's inclined.' To remedy, +then, a deeply seated error which for so long has rankled at the very +root of educational progress throughout the land, many plausible, and +we must admit, many helpful theories have been introduced to allay the +painful errors resulting from the discrepancy of which we speak: but +until now, nothing that seemed wholly to eradicate the defect has been +discovered, and that, too, strange as it may seem, is, at last, +emanating, like the mighty river, from the simplest source, but +broadening and gathering in force and power as it flows along, until, +at last, its grand and mighty current sweeps on in majesty to the vast +illimitable ocean of—of—of—Success! Ahem!</p> + +<p>"And, now, little boys and girls, that we have had by implication, a +clear and comprehensive explanation of the Object Lesson and its +mission, I trust you will give me your undivided attention while I +endeavor—in my humble way—to direct your newly acquired knowledge +through the proper channel. For instance:—</p> + +<p>"This little object I hold in my hand—who will designate it by its +proper name? Come, now, let us see who will be the first to answer. 'A +peanut,' says the little boy here at my right. Very good—very good! I +hold, then, in my hand, a peanut. And now who will tell me, what is +the peanut? A very simple question—who will answer? 'Something good +to eat,' says the little girl. Yes, 'something good to eat,' but would +it not be better to say simply that the peanut is an edible? I think +so, yes. The peanut, then, is—an edible—now, all together, an +edible!</p> + +<p>"To what kingdom does the peanut belong? The animal, vegetable, or +mineral kingdom? A very easy question. Come, let us have prompt +answers. 'The animal kingdom,' does the little boy say? Oh, no! The +peanut does not belong to the animal kingdom! Surely the little boy +must be thinking of a larger object than the peanut—the elephant, +perhaps. To what kingdom, then, does the peanut belong? The +v-v-veg—'The vegetable kingdom,' says the bright-faced little girl on +the back seat. Ah! that is better. We find then that the peanut +belongs to the—what kingdom? The 'vegetable kingdom.' Very good, very +good!</p> + +<p>"And now who will tell us of what the peanut is composed. Let us have +quick responses now. Time is fleeting! Of what is the peanut composed? +'The hull and the goody,' some one answers. Yes, 'the hull and the +goody' in vulgar parlance, but how much better it would be to say +simply, the shell and the kernel. Would not that sound better? Yes, I +thought you would agree with me there!</p> + +<p>"And now who will tell me the color of the peanut! And be careful now! +for I shouldn't like to hear you make the very stupid blunder I once +heard a little boy make in reply to the same question. Would you like +to hear what color the stupid little boy said the peanut was? You +would, eh? Well, now, how many of you would like to hear what color +the stupid little boy said the peanut was? Come now, let's have an +expression. All who would like to hear what color the stupid little +boy said the peanut was, may hold up their right hands. Very good, +very good—there, that will do.</p> + +<p>"Well, it was during a professional visit I was once called upon to +make to a neighboring city, where I was invited to address the +children of a free school—Hands down, now, little boy—founded for +the exclusive benefit of the little newsboys and bootblacks, who, it +seems, had not the means to defray the expenses of the commonest +educational accessories, and during an object lessen—identical with +the one before us now—for it is a favorite one of mine—I propounded +the question, what is the color of the peanut? Many answers were given +in response, but none as sufficiently succinct and apropos as I deemed +the facts demanded; and so at last I personally addressed a ragged, +but, as I then thought, a bright-eyed little fellow, when judge of my +surprise, in reply to my question what is the color of the peanut, the +little fellow, without the slightest gleam of intelligence lighting up +his face, answered, that 'if not scorched in roasting, the peanut was +a blond.' Why, I was almost tempted to join in the general merriment +his inapposite reply elicited. But I occupy your attention with +trivial things; and as I notice the time allotted to me has slipped +away, we will drop the peanut for the present. Trusting the few facts +gleaned from a topic so homely and unpromising will sink deep in your +minds, in time to bloom and blossom in the fields of future +usefulness—I—I——I thank you."</p> + + +<h4><br /><br />THE END</h4> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Old Soldiers Story, by James Whitcomb Riley + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OLD SOLDIERS STORY *** + +***** This file should be named 32335-h.htm or 32335-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/2/3/3/32335/ + +Produced by David Clarke, Chandra Friend and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Old Soldiers Story + Poems and Prose Sketches + +Author: James Whitcomb Riley + +Release Date: May 11, 2010 [EBook #32335] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OLD SOLDIERS STORY *** + + + + +Produced by David Clarke, Chandra Friend and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + +Transcriber's Note: Dialect has been retained as it appears in the +original publication. + + + + +THE OLD SOLDIER'S STORY + +_Poems and Prose Sketches_ + + +JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY + + +Indianapolis + +The Bobbs-Merrill Company Publishers + +Copyright 1913, 1914, 1915 + +James Whitcomb Riley + + +Press of Braunworth & Co. Bookbinders and Printers Brooklyn, N. Y. + + + + +TO + +GEORGE THOMPSON, ESQ. + +"_Apples ben ripe in my gardayne_" + + + + +CONTENTS + + PAGE + + THE OLD SOLDIER'S STORY 1 + + SOMEP'N COMMON-LIKE 5 + + MONSIEUR LE SECRETAIRE 6 + + A PHANTOM 7 + + IN THE CORRIDOR 8 + + LOUELLA WAINIE 9 + + THE TEXT 11 + + WILLIAM BROWN 12 + + WHY 14 + + THE TOUCH OF LOVING HANDS 15 + + A TEST 16 + + A SONG FOR CHRISTMAS 17 + + SUN AND RAIN 19 + + WITH HER FACE 20 + + MY NIGHT 21 + + THE HOUR BEFORE THE DAWN 22 + + GOOD-BY, OLD YEAR 23 + + FALSE AND TRUE 24 + + A BALLAD FROM APRIL 25 + + BRUDDER SIMS 27 + + DEFORMED 28 + + FAITH 30 + + THE LOST THRILL 31 + + AT DUSK 32 + + ANOTHER RIDE FROM GHENT TO AIX 33 + + IN THE HEART OF JUNE 36 + + DREAMS 37 + + BECAUSE 42 + + TO THE CRICKET 43 + + THE OLD-FASHIONED BIBLE 44 + + UNCOMFORTED 46 + + WHAT THEY SAID 48 + + AFTER THE FROST 50 + + CHARLES H. PHILLIPS 51 + + WHEN IT RAINS 53 + + AN ASSASSIN 55 + + BEST OF ALL 56 + + BIN A-FISHIN' 57 + + UNCLE DAN'L IN TOWN OVER SUNDAY 59 + + SOLDIERS HERE TO-DAY 61 + + SHADOW AND SHINE 65 + + THAT NIGHT 66 + + AUGUST 67 + + THE GUIDE 68 + + SUTTER'S CLAIM 71 + + HER LIGHT GUITAR 73 + + WHILE CIGARETTES TO ASHES TURN 74 + + TWO SONNETS TO THE JUNE-BUG 77 + + AUTOGRAPHIC 79 + + AN IMPROMPTU ON ROLLER SKATES 80 + + WRITTEN IN BUNNER'S "AIRS FROM ARCADY" 81 + + IN THE AFTERNOON 82 + + AT MADAME MANICURE'S 84 + + A CALLER FROM BOONE 86 + + LORD BACON 98 + + MY FIRST WOMERN 99 + + AS WE READ BURNS 101 + + TO JAMES NEWTON MATTHEWS 102 + + SONG 103 + + WHEN WE THREE MEET 105 + + JOSH BILLINGS 106 + + WHICH ANE 108 + + THE EARTHQUAKE 111 + + A FALL-CRICK VIEW OF THE EARTHQUAKE 112 + + LEWIS D. HAYES 114 + + IN DAYS TO COME 116 + + LUTHER A. TODD 117 + + WHEN THE HEARSE COMES BACK 121 + + OUR OLD FRIEND NEVERFAIL 124 + + DAN O'SULLIVAN 126 + + JOHN BOYLE O'REILLY 127 + + MEREDITH NICHOLSON 129 + + GOD'S MERCY 130 + + CHRISTMAS GREETING 131 + + TO RUDYARD KIPLING 132 + + THE GUDEWIFE 133 + + TENNYSON 134 + + ROSAMOND C. BAILEY 135 + + MRS. BENJAMIN HARRISON 136 + + GEORGE A. CARR 138 + + TO ELIZABETH 139 + + TO ALMON KEEFER 140 + + TO--"THE J. W. R. LITERARY CLUB" 142 + + LITTLE MAID-O'-DREAMS 143 + + TO THE BOY WITH A COUNTRY 145 + + CLAUDE MATTHEWS 146 + + TO LESLEY 147 + + THE JUDKINS PAPERS 148 + + TO THE QUIET OBSERVER--ERASMUS WILSON 165 + + AMERICA'S THANKSGIVING 166 + + WILLIAM PINKNEY FISHBACK 168 + + JOHN CLARK RIDPATH 170 + + NEW YEAR'S NURSERY JINGLE 173 + + TO THE MOTHER 174 + + TO MY SISTER 175 + + A MOTTO 176 + + TO A POET ON HIS MARRIAGE 177 + + ART AND POETRY 178 + + HER SMILE OF CHEER AND VOICE OF SONG 179 + + OLD INDIANY 180 + + ABE MARTIN 183 + + O. HENRY 185 + + "MONA MACHREE" 186 + + WILLIAM MCKINLEY 187 + + BENJAMIN HARRISON 190 + + LEE O. HARRIS 192 + + THE HIGHEST GOOD 194 + + MY CONSCIENCE 195 + + MY BOY 197 + + THE OBJECT LESSON 198 + + + + +THE OLD SOLDIER'S STORY + +AS TOLD BEFORE THE NEW ENGLAND SOCIETY IN NEW YORK CITY + + +Since we have had no stories to-night I will venture, Mr. President, +to tell a story that I have heretofore heard at nearly all the +banquets I have ever attended. It is a story simply, and you must bear +with it kindly. It is a story as told by a friend of us all, who is +found in all parts of all countries, who is immoderately fond of a +funny story, and who, unfortunately, attempts to tell a funny story +himself--one that he has been particularly delighted with. Well, he is +not a story-teller, and especially he is not a funny story-teller. His +funny stories, indeed, are oftentimes touchingly pathetic. But to such +a story as he tells, being a good-natured man and kindly disposed, we +have to listen, because we do not want to wound his feelings by +telling him that we have heard that story a great number of times, and +that we have heard it ably told by a great number of people from the +time we were children. But, as I say, we can not hurt his feelings. We +can not stop him. We can not kill him; and so the story generally +proceeds. He selects a very old story always, and generally tells it +in about this fashion:-- + +I heerd an awful funny thing the other day--ha! ha! I don't know +whether I kin git it off er not, but, anyhow, I'll tell it to you. +Well!--le's see now how the fool-thing goes. Oh, yes!--W'y, there was +a feller one time--it was durin' the army, and this feller that I +started in to tell you about was in the war, and--ha! ha!--there was a +big fight a-goin' on, and this feller was in the fight, and it was a +big battle and bullets a-flyin' ever' which way, and bombshells +a-bu'stin', and cannon-balls a-flyin' 'round promiskus; and this +feller right in the midst of it, you know, and all excited and het up, +and chargin' away; and the fust thing you know along come a +cannon-ball and shot his head off--ha! ha! ha! Hold on here a +minute!--no sir; I'm a-gittin' ahead of my story; no, no; it didn't +shoot his _head_ off--I'm gittin' the cart before the horse there--shot +his _leg_ off; that was the way; shot his leg off; and down the poor +feller drapped, and, of course, in that condition was perfectly +he'pless, you know, but yit with presence o' mind enough to know that +he was in a dangerous condition ef somepin' wasn't done fer him right +away. So he seen a comrade a-chargin' by that he knowed, and he +hollers to him and called him by name--I disremember now what the +feller's name was.... + +Well, that's got nothin' to do with the story, anyway; he hollers to +him, he did, and says, "Hello, there," he says to him; "here, I want +you to come here and give me a lift; I got my leg shot off, and I want +you to pack me back to the rear of the battle"--where the doctors +always is, you know, during a fight--and he says, "I want you to pack +me back there where I can get med-dy-cinal attention er I'm a dead +man, fer I got my leg shot off," he says, "and I want you to pack me +back there so's the surgeons kin take keer of me." Well--the feller, +as luck would have it, ricko-nized him and run to him and throwed down +his own musket, so's he could pick him up; and he stooped down and +picked him up and kindo' half-way shouldered him and half-way helt him +betwixt his arms like, and then he turned and started back with +him--ha! ha! ha! Now, mind, the fight was still a-goin' on--and right +at the hot of the fight, and the feller, all excited, you know, like +he was, and the soldier that had his leg shot off gittin' kindo fainty +like, and his head kindo' stuck back over the feller's shoulder that +was carryin' him. And he hadn't got more'n a couple o' rods with him +when another cannon-ball come along and tuk his head off, shore +enough!--and the curioust thing about it was--ha! ha!--that the feller +was a-packin' him didn't know that he had been hit ag'in at all, and +back he went--still carryin' the deceased back--ha! ha! ha!--to where +the doctors could take keer of him--as he thought. Well, his cap'n +happened to see him, and he thought it was a ruther cur'ous +p'ceedin's--a soldier carryin' a dead body out o' the fight--don't you +see? And so he hollers at him, and he says to the soldier, the cap'n +did, he says, "Hullo, there; where you goin' with that thing?" the +cap'n said to the soldier who was a-carryin' away the feller that had +his leg shot off. Well, his head, too, by that time. So he says, +"Where you goin' with that thing?" the cap'n said to the soldier who +was a-carryin' away the feller that had his leg shot off. Well, the +soldier he stopped--kinder halted, you know, like a private soldier +will when his presidin' officer speaks to him--and he says to him, +"W'y," he says, "Cap, it's a comrade o' mine and the pore feller has +got his leg shot off, and I'm a-packin' him back to where the doctors +is; and there was nobody to he'p him, and the feller would 'a' died in +his tracks--er track ruther--if it hadn't a-been fer me, and I'm +a-packin' him back where the surgeons can take keer of him; where he +can get medical attendance--er his wife's a widder!" he says, "'cause +he's got his leg shot off!" Then _Cap'n_ says, "You blame fool you, he's +got his _head_ shot off." So then the feller slacked his grip on the +body and let it slide down to the ground, and looked at it a minute, +all puzzled, you know, and says, "W'y, he told me it was his leg!" Ha! +ha! ha! + + + + +SOMEP'N COMMON-LIKE + + + Somep'n 'at's common-like, and good + And plain, and easy understood; + Somep'n 'at folks like me and you + Kin understand, and relish, too, + And find some sermint in 'at hits + The spot, and sticks and benefits. + + We don't need nothin' extry fine; + 'Cause, take the run o' minds like mine, + And we'll go more on good horse-sense + Than all your flowery eloquence; + And we'll jedge best of honest acts + By Nature's statement of the facts. + + So when you're wantin' to express + Your misery, er happiness, + Er anything 'at's wuth the time + O' telling in plain talk er rhyme-- + Jes' sort o' let your subject run + As ef the Lord wuz listenun. + + + + +MONSIEUR LE SECRETAIRE + +[JOHN CLARK RIDPATH] + + + Mon cher Monsieur le Secretaire, + Your song flits with me everywhere; + It lights on Fancy's prow and sings + Me on divinest voyagings: + And when my ruler love would fain + Be laid upon it--high again + It mounts, and hugs itself from me + With rapturous wings--still dwindlingly-- + On!--on! till but a _ghost_ is there + Of song, Monsieur le Secretaire! + + + + +A PHANTOM + + + Little baby, you have wandered far away, + And your fairy face comes back to me to-day, + But I can not feel the strands + Of your tresses, nor the play + Of the dainty velvet-touches of your hands. + + Little baby, you were mine to hug and hold; + Now your arms cling not about me as of old-- + O my dream of rest come true, + And my richer wealth than gold, + And the surest hope of Heaven that I knew! + + O for the lisp long silent, and the tone + Of merriment once mingled with my own-- + For the laughter of your lips, + And the kisses plucked and thrown + In the lavish wastings of your finger-tips! + + Little baby, O as then, come back to me, + And be again just as you used to be, + For this phantom of you stands + All too cold and silently, + And will not kiss nor touch me with its hands. + + + + +IN THE CORRIDOR + + + Ah! at last alone, love! + Now the band may play + Till its sweetest tone, love, + Swoons and dies away! + They who most will miss us + We're not caring for-- + Who of them could kiss us + In the corridor? + + Had we only known, dear, + Ere this long delay, + Just how all alone, dear, + We might waltz away, + Then for hours, like this, love, + We are longing for, + We'd have still to kiss, love, + In the corridor! + + Nestle in my heart, love; + Hug and hold me close-- + Time will come to part, love, + Ere a fellow knows; + There! the Strauss is ended-- + Whirl across the floor: + Isn't waltzing splendid + In the corridor? + + + + +LOUELLA WAINIE + + + Louella Wainie! where are you? + Do you not hear me as I cry? + Dusk is falling; I feel the dew; + And the dark will be here by and by: + I hear no thing but the owl's hoo-hoo! + Louella Wainie! where are you? + + Hand in hand to the pasture bars + We came loitering, Lou and I, + Long ere the fireflies coaxed the stars + Out of their hiding-place on high. + O how sadly the cattle moo! + Louella Wainie! where are you? + + Laughingly we parted here-- + "I will go this way," said she, + "And you will go that way, my dear"-- + Kissing her dainty hand at me-- + And the hazels hid her from my view. + Louella Wainie! where are you? + + Is there ever a sadder thing + Than to stand on the farther brink + Of twilight, hearing the marsh-frogs sing? + Nothing could sadder be, I think! + And ah! how the night-fog chills one through. + Louella Wainie! where are you? + + Water-lilies and oozy leaves-- + Lazy bubbles that bulge and stare + Up at the moon through the gloom it weaves + Out of the willows waving there! + Is it despair I am wading through? + Louella Wainie! where are you? + + Louella Wainie, listen to me, + Listen, and send me some reply, + For so will I call unceasingly + Till death shall answer me by and by-- + Answer, and help me to find you too! + Louella Wainie! where are you? + + + + +THE TEXT + + + The text: Love thou thy fellow man! + He may have sinned;--One proof indeed, + He is thy fellow, reach thy hand + And help him in his need! + + Love thou thy fellow man. He may + Have wronged thee--then, the less excuse + Thou hast for wronging him. Obey + What he has dared refuse! + + Love thou thy fellow man--for, be + His life a light or heavy load, + No less he needs the love of thee + To help him on his road. + + + + +WILLIAM BROWN + + + "He bore the name of William Brown"-- + His name, at least, did not go down + With him that day + He went the way + Of certain death where duty lay. + + He looked his fate full in the face-- + He saw his watery resting-place + Undaunted, and + With firmer hand + Held others' hopes in sure command.-- + + The hopes of full three hundred lives-- + Aye, babes unborn, and promised wives! + "The odds are dread," + He must have said, + "Here, God, is one poor life instead." + + No time for praying overmuch-- + No time for tears, or woman's touch + Of tenderness, + Or child's caress-- + His last "God bless them!" stopped at "bless"-- + + Thus man and engine, nerved with steel, + Clasped iron hands for woe or weal, + And so went down + Where dark waves drown + All but the name of William Brown. + + + + +WHY + + + Why are they written--all these lovers' rhymes? + I catch faint perfumes of the blossoms white + That maidens drape their tresses with at night, + And, through dim smiles of beauty and the din + Of the musicians' harp and violin, + I hear, enwound and blended with the dance, + The voice whose echo is this utterance,-- + Why are they written--all these lovers' rhymes? + + Why are they written--all these lovers' rhymes? + I see but vacant windows, curtained o'er + With webs whose architects forevermore + Race up and down their slender threads to bind + The buzzing fly's wings whirless, and to wind + The living victim in his winding sheet.-- + I shudder, and with whispering lips repeat, + Why are they written--all these lovers' rhymes? + + Why are they written--all these lovers' rhymes? + What will you have for answer?--Shall I say + That he who sings the merriest roundelay + Hath neither joy nor hope?--and he who sings + The lightest, sweetest, tenderest of things + But utters moan on moan of keenest pain, + So aches his heart to ask and ask in vain, + Why are they written--all these lovers' rhymes? + + + + +THE TOUCH OF LOVING HANDS + +IMITATED + + + Light falls the rain-drop on the fallen leaf, + And light o'er harvest-plain and garnered sheaf-- + But lightlier falls the touch of loving hands. + + Light falls the dusk of mild midsummer night, + And light the first star's faltering lance of light + On glimmering lawns,--but lightlier loving hands. + + And light the feathery flake of early snows, + Or wisp of thistle-down that no wind blows, + And light the dew,--but lightlier loving hands. + + Light-falling dusk, or dew, or summer rain, + Or down of snow or thistle--all are vain,-- + Far lightlier falls the touch of loving hands. + + + + +A TEST + + + 'Twas a test I designed, in a quiet conceit + Of myself, and the thoroughly fixed and complete + Satisfaction I felt in the utter control + Of the guileless young heart of the girl of my soul. + + So--we parted. I said it were better we should-- + That she could forget me--I knew that she could; + For I never was worthy so tender a heart, + And so for her sake it were better to part. + + She averted her gaze, and she sighed and looked sad + As I held out my hand--for the ring that she had-- + With the bitterer speech that I hoped she might be + Resigned to look up and be happy with me. + + 'Twas a test, as I said--but God pity your grief, + At a moment like this when a smile of relief + Shall leap to the lips of the woman you prize, + And no mist of distress in her glorious eyes. + + + + +A SONG FOR CHRISTMAS + + + Chant me a rhyme of Christmas-- + Sing me a jovial song,-- + And though it is filled with laughter, + Let it be pure and strong. + + Let it be clear and ringing, + And though it mirthful be, + Let a low, sweet voice of pathos + Run through the melody. + + Sing of the hearts brimmed over + With the story of the day-- + Of the echo of childish voices + That will not die away.-- + + Of the blare of the tasselled bugle, + And the timeless clatter and beat + Of the drum that throbs to muster + Squadrons of scampering feet.-- + + Of the wide-eyed look of wonder, + And the gurgle of baby-glee, + As the infant hero wrestles + From the smiling father's knee. + + Sing the delights unbounded + Of the home unknown of care, + Where wealth as a guest abideth, + And want is a stranger there. + + But O let your voice fall fainter, + Till, blent with a minor tone, + You temper your song with the beauty + Of the pity Christ hath shown: + + And sing one verse for the voiceless; + And yet, ere the song be done, + A verse for the ears that hear not, + And a verse for the sightless one: + + And one for the outcast mother, + And one for the sin-defiled + And hopeless sick man dying, + And one for his starving child. + + For though it be time for singing + A merry Christmas glee, + Let a low, sweet voice of pathos + Run through the melody. + + + + +SUN AND RAIN + + + All day the sun and rain have been as friends, + Each vying with the other which shall be + Most generous in dowering earth and sea + With their glad wealth, till each, as it descends, + Is mingled with the other, where it blends + In one warm, glimmering mist that falls on me + As once God's smile fell over Galilee. + The lily-cup, filled with it, droops and bends + Like some white saint beside a sylvan shrine + In silent prayer; the roses at my feet, + Baptized with it as with a crimson wine, + Gleam radiant in grasses grown so sweet, + The blossoms lift, with tenderness divine, + Their wet eyes heavenward with these of mine. + + + + +WITH HER FACE + + + With her face between his hands! + Was it any wonder she + Stood atiptoe tremblingly? + As his lips along the strands + Of her hair went lavishing + Tides of kisses, such as swing + Love's arms to like iron bands.-- + With her face between his hands! + + And the hands--the hands that pressed + The glad face--Ah! where are they? + Folded limp, and laid away + Idly over idle breast? + He whose kisses drenched her hair, + As he caught and held her there, + In Love's alien, lost lands, + With her face between his hands? + + Was it long and long ago, + When her face was not as now, + Dim with tears? nor wan her brow + As a winter-night of snow? + Nay, anointing still the strands + Of her hair, his kisses flow + Flood-wise, as she dreaming stands, + With her face between his hands. + + + + +MY NIGHT + + + Hush! hush! list, heart of mine, and hearken low! + You do not guess how tender is the Night, + And in what faintest murmurs of delight + Her deep, dim-throated utterances flow + Across the memories of long-ago! + Hark! do your senses catch the exquisite + Staccatos of a bird that dreams he sings? + Nay, then, you hear not rightly,--'tis a blur + Of misty love-notes, laughs and whisperings + The Night pours o'er the lips that fondle her, + And that faint breeze, filled with all fragrant sighs,-- + That is her breath that quavers lover-wise-- + O blessed sweetheart, with thy swart, sweet kiss, + Baptize me, drown me in black swirls of bliss! + + + + +THE HOUR BEFORE THE DAWN + + + The hour before the dawn! + O ye who grope therein, with fear and dread + And agony of soul, be comforted, + Knowing, ere long, the darkness will be gone, + And down its dusky aisles the light be shed; + Therefore, in utter trust, fare on--fare on, + This hour before the dawn! + + + + +GOOD-BY, OLD YEAR + + + Good-by, Old Year! + Good-by! + We have been happy--you and I; + We have been glad in many ways; + And now, that you have come to die, + Remembering our happy days, + 'Tis hard to say, "Good-by-- + Good-by, Old Year! + Good-by!" + + Good-by, Old Year! + Good-by! + We have seen sorrow--you and I-- + Such hopeless sorrow, grief and care, + That now, that you have come to die, + Remembering our old despair, + 'Tis sweet to say, "Good-by-- + Good-by, Old Year! + Good-by!" + + + + +FALSE AND TRUE + + + One said: "Here is my hand to lean upon + As long as you may need it." And one said: + "Believe me true to you till I am dead." + And one, whose dainty way it was to fawn + About my face, with mellow fingers drawn + Most soothingly o'er brow and drooping head, + Sighed tremulously: "Till my breath is fled + Know I am faithful!" ... Now, all these are gone + And many like to them--and yet I make + No bitter moan above their grassy graves-- + Alas! they are not dead for me to take + Such sorry comfort!--but my heart behaves + Most graciously, since one who never spake + A vow is true to me for true love's sake. + + + + +A BALLAD FROM APRIL + + + I am dazed and bewildered with living + A life but an intricate skein + Of hopes and despairs and thanksgiving + Wound up and unravelled again-- + Till it seems, whether waking or sleeping, + I am wondering ever the while + At a something that smiles when I'm weeping, + And a something that weeps when I smile. + + And I walk through the world as one dreaming + Who knows not the night from the day, + For I look on the stars that are gleaming, + And lo, they have vanished away: + And I look on the sweet-summer daylight, + And e'en as I gaze it is fled, + And, veiled in a cold, misty, gray light, + The winter is there in its stead. + + I feel in my palms the warm fingers + Of numberless friends--and I look, + And lo, not a one of them lingers + To give back the pleasure he took; + And I lift my sad eyes to the faces + All tenderly fixed on my own, + But they wither away in grimaces + That scorn me, and leave me alone. + + And I turn to the woman that told me + Her love would live on until death-- + But her arms they no longer enfold me, + Though barely the dew of her breath + Is dry on the forehead so pallid + That droops like the weariest thing + O'er this most inharmonious ballad + That ever a sorrow may sing. + + So I'm dazed and bewildered with living + A life but an intricate skein + Of hopes and despairs and thanksgiving + Wound up and unravelled again-- + Till it seems, whether waking or sleeping, + I am wondering ever the while + At a something that smiles when I'm weeping, + And a something that weeps when I smile. + + + + +BRUDDER SIMS + + + Dah's Brudder Sims! Dast slam yo' Bible shet + An' lef' dat man alone--kase he's de boss + Ob all de preachahs ev' I come across! + Day's no twis' in dat gospil book, I bet, + Ut Brudder Sims cain't splanify, an' set + You' min' at eaze! W'at's Moses an' de Laws? + W'at's fo'ty days an' nights ut Noey toss + Aroun' de Dil-ooge?--W'at dem Chillen et + De Lo'd rain down? W'at s'prise ole Joney so + In dat whale's inna'ds?--W'at dat laddah mean + Ut Jacop see?--an' wha' dat laddah go?-- + Who clim dat laddah?--Wha' dat laddah lean?-- + An' wha' dat laddah now? "Dast chalk yo' toe + Wid Faith," sez Brudder Sims, "an' den you know!" + + + + +DEFORMED + + + Crouched at the corner of the street + She sits all day, with face too white + And hands too wasted to be sweet + In anybody's sight. + + Her form is shrunken, and a pair + Of crutches leaning at her side + Are crossed like homely hands in prayer + At quiet eventide. + + Her eyes--two lustrous, weary things-- + Have learned a look that ever aches, + Despite the ready jinglings + The passer's penny makes. + + And, noting this, I pause and muse + If any precious promise touch + This heart that has so much to lose + If dreaming overmuch-- + + And, in a vision, mistily + Her future womanhood appears,-- + A picture framed with agony + And drenched with ceaseless tears-- + + Where never lover comes to claim + The hand outheld so yearningly-- + The laughing babe that lisps her name + Is but a fantasy! + + And, brooding thus, all swift and wild + A daring fancy, strangely sweet, + Comes o'er me, that the crippled child + That crouches at my feet-- + + Has found her head a resting-place + Upon my shoulder, while my kiss + Across the pallor of her face + Leaves crimson trails of bliss. + + + + +FAITH + + + The sea was breaking at my feet, + And looking out across the tide, + Where placid waves and heaven meet, + I thought me of the Other Side. + + For on the beach on which I stood + Were wastes of sands, and wash, and roar, + Low clouds, and gloom, and solitude, + And wrecks, and ruins--nothing more. + + "O, tell me if beyond the sea + A heavenly port there is!" I cried, + And back the echoes laughingly + "There is! there is!" replied. + + + + +THE LOST THRILL + + + I grow so weary, someway, of all thing + That love and loving have vouchsafed to me, + Since now all dreamed-of sweets of ecstasy + Am I possessed of: The caress that clings-- + The lips that mix with mine with murmurings + No language may interpret, and the free, + Unfettered brood of kisses, hungrily + Feasting in swarms on honeyed blossomings + Of passion's fullest flower--For yet I miss + The essence that alone makes love divine-- + The subtle flavoring no tang of this + Weak wine of melody may here define:-- + A something found and lost in the first kiss + A lover ever poured through lips of mine. + + + + +AT DUSK + + + A something quiet and subdued + In all the faces that we meet; + A sense of rest, a solitude + O'er all the crowded street; + The very noises seem to be + Crude utterings of harmony, + And all we hear, and all we see, + Has in it something sweet. + + Thoughts come to us as from a dream + Of some long-vanished yesterday; + The voices of the children seem + Like ours, when young as they; + The hand of Charity extends + To meet Misfortune's, where it blends, + Veiled by the dusk--and oh, my friends, + Would it were dusk alway! + + + + +ANOTHER RIDE FROM GHENT TO AIX + + + We sprang for the side-holts--my gripsack and I-- + It dangled--I dangled--we both dangled by. + "Good speed!" cried mine host, as we landed at last-- + "Speed?" chuckled the watch we went lumbering past; + Behind shut the switch, and out through the rear door + I glared while we waited a half hour more. + + I had missed the express that went thundering down + Ten minutes before to my next lecture town, + And my only hope left was to catch this "wild freight," + Which the landlord remarked was "most luckily late-- + But the twenty miles distance was easily done, + If they run half as fast as they usually run!" + + Not a word to each other--we struck a snail's pace-- + Conductor and brakeman ne'er changing a place-- + Save at the next watering-tank, where they all + Got out--strolled about--cut their names on the wall, + Or listlessly loitered on down to the pile + Of sawed wood just beyond us, to doze for a while. + + 'Twas high noon at starting, but while we drew near + "Arcady" I said, "We'll not make it, I fear! + I must strike Aix by eight, and it's three o'clock now; + Let me stoke up that engine, and I'll show you how!" + At which the conductor, with patience sublime, + Smiled up from his novel with, "Plenty of time!" + + At "Trask," as we jolted stock-still as a stone, + I heard a cow bawl in a five o'clock tone; + And the steam from the saw-mill looked misty and thin, + And the snarl of the saw had been stifled within: + And a frowzy-haired boy, with a hat full of chips, + Came out and stared up with a smile on his lips. + + At "Booneville," I groaned, "Can't I telegraph on?" + No! Why? "'Cause the telegraph-man had just gone + To visit his folks in Almo"--and one heard + The sharp snap of my teeth through the throat of a word, + That I dragged for a mile and a half up the track, + And strangled it there, and came skulkingly back. + + Again we were off. It was twilight, and more, + As we rolled o'er a bridge where beneath us the roar + Of a river came up with so wooing an air + I mechanic'ly strapped myself fast in my chair + As a brakeman slid open the door for more light, + Saying: "Captain, brace up, for your town is in sight!" + + "How they'll greet me!"--and all in a moment--"chewang!" + And the train stopped again, with a bump and a bang. + What was it? "The section-hands, just in advance." + And I spit on my hands, and I rolled up my pants, + And I clumb like an imp that the fiends had let loose + Up out of the depths of that deadly caboose. + + I ran the train's length--I lept safe to the ground-- + And the legend still lives that for five miles around + They heard my voice hailing the hand-car that yanked + Me aboard at my bidding, and gallantly cranked, + As I grovelled and clung, with my eyes in eclipse, + And a rim of red foam round my rapturous lips. + + Then I cast loose my ulster--each ear-tab let fall-- + Kicked off both my shoes--let go arctics and all-- + Stood up with the boys--leaned--patted each head + As it bobbed up and down with the speed that we sped; + Clapped my hands--laughed and sang--any noise, bad or good, + Till at length into Aix we rotated and stood. + + And all I remember is friends flocking round + As I unsheathed my head from a hole in the ground; + And no voice but was praising that hand-car divine, + As I rubbed down its spokes with that lecture of mine. + Which (the citizens voted by common consent) + Was no more than its due. 'Twas the lecture they meant. + + + + +IN THE HEART OF JUNE + + + In the heart of June, love, + You and I together, + On from dawn till noon, love, + Laughing with the weather; + Blending both our souls, love, + In the selfsame tune, + Drinking all life holds, love, + In the heart of June. + + In the heart of June, love, + With its golden weather, + Underneath the moon, love, + You and I together. + Ah! how sweet to seem, love, + Drugged and half aswoon + With this luscious dream, love, + In the heart of June. + + + + +DREAMS + + "Do I sleep, do I dream, + Do I wonder and doubt-- + Are things what they seem + Or is visions about?" + + +There has always been an inclination, or desire, rather, on my part to +believe in the mystic--even as far back as stretches the gum-elastic +remembrance of my first "taffy-pullin'" given in honor of my fifth +birthday; and the ghost-stories, served by way of ghastly dessert, by +our hired girl. In fancy I again live over all the scenes of that +eventful night:-- + +The dingy kitchen, with its haunting odors of a thousand feasts and +wash-days; the old bench-legged stove, with its happy family of +skillets, stewpans and round-bellied kettles crooning and blubbering +about it. And how we children clustered round the genial hearth, with +the warm smiles dying from our faces just as the embers dimmed and +died out in the open grate, as with bated breath we listened to how +some one's grandmother had said that her first man went through a +graveyard once, one stormy night, "jest to show the neighbors that he +wasn't afeard o' nothin'," and how when he was just passing the grave +of his first wife "something kind o' big and white-like, with great +big eyes like fire, raised up from behind the headboard, and kind o' +re'ched out for him"; and how he turned and fled, "with that air white +thing after him as tight as it could jump, and a hollerin' +'wough-yough-yough!' till you could hear it furder'n you could a +bullgine," and how, at last, just as the brave and daring intruder was +clearing two graves and the fence at one despairing leap, the "white +thing," had made a grab at him with its iron claws, and had nicked him +so close his second wife was occasioned the onerous duty of affixing +another patch in his pantaloons. And in conclusion, our hired girl +went on to state that this blood-curdling incident had so wrought upon +the feelings of "the man that wasn't afeard o' nothin'," and had given +him such a distaste for that particular graveyard, that he never +visited it again, and even entered a clause in his will to the effect +that he would ever remain an unhappy corpse should his remains be +interred in said graveyard. + +I forgot my pop-corn that night; I forgot my taffy; I forgot all +earthly things; and I tossed about so feverishly in my little bed, and +withal so restlessly, that more than once my father's admonition above +the footboard of the big bed, of "Drat you! go to sleep, there!" +foreshadowed my impending doom. And once he leaned over and made a +vicious snatch at me, and holding me out at arm's length by one leg, +demanded in thunder-tones, "what in the name o' flames and flashes I +meant, anyhow!" + +I was afraid to stir a muscle from that on, in consequence of which I +at length straggled off in fitful dreams--and heavens! what dreams!--A +very long and lank, and slim and slender old woman in white knocked at +the door of my vision, and I let her in. She patted me on the +head--and oh! how cold her hands were! And they were very hard hands, +too, and very heavy--and, horror of horrors!--they were not +hands--they were claws!--they were iron!--they were like the things I +had seen the hardware man yank nails out of a keg with. I quailed and +shivered till the long and slim and slender old woman jerked my head +up and snarled spitefully, "What's the matter with you, bub," and I +said, "Nawthin'!" and she said, "Don't you dare to lie to me!" I +moaned. + +"Don't you like me?" she asked. + +I hesitated. + +"And lie if you dare!" she said--"Don't you like me?" + +"Oomh-oomh!" said I. + +"Why?" said she. + +"Cos, you're too long--and slim--an'"-- + +"Go on!" said she. + +"--And tall!" said I. + +"Ah, ha!" said she,--"and that's it, hey?" + +And then she began to grow shorter and thicker, and fatter and +squattier. + +"And how do I suit you now?" she wheezed at length, when she had +wilted down to about the size of a large loaf of bread. + +I shook more violently than ever at the fearful spectacle. + +"How do you like me now?" she yelped again,--"And don't you lie to me +neither, or I'll swaller you whole!" + +I writhed and hid my face. + +"Do you like me?" + +"No-o-oh!" I moaned. + +She made another snatch at my hair. I felt her jagged claws sink into +my very brain. I struggled and she laughed hideously. + +"You don't, hey?" + +"Yes, yes, I do. I love you!" said I. + +"You lie! You lie!" She shrieked derisively. "You know you lie!" and +as I felt the iron talons sinking and gritting in my very brain, with +one wild, despairing effort, I awoke. + +I saw the fire gleaming in the grate, and by the light it made I dimly +saw the outline of the old mantelpiece that straddled it, holding the +old clock high upon its shoulders. I was awake then, and the little +squatty woman with her iron talons was a dream! I felt an oily +gladness stealing over me, and yet I shuddered to be all alone. + +If only some one were awake, I thought, whose blessed company would +drown all recollections of that fearful dream; but I dared not stir or +make a noise. I could only hear the ticking of the clock, and my +father's sullen snore. I tried to compose my thoughts to pleasant +themes, but that telescopic old woman in white would rise up and mock +my vain appeals, until in fancy I again saw her altitudinous +proportions dwindling into that repulsive and revengeful figure with +the iron claws, and I grew restless and attempted to sit up. Heavens! +something yet held me by the hair. The chill sweat that betokens +speedy dissolution gathered on my brow. I made another effort and +arose, that deadly clutch yet fastened in my hair. Could it be +possible! The short, white woman still held me in her vengeful grasp! +I could see her white dress showing from behind either of my ears. She +still clung to me, and with one wild, unearthly cry of "Pap!" I +started round the room. + +I remember nothing further, until as the glowing morn sifted through +the maple at the window, powdering with gold the drear old room, and +baptizing with its radiance the anxious group of old home-faces +leaning over my bed, I heard my father's voice once more rasping on my +senses--"Now get the booby up, and wash that infernal wax out of his +hair!" + + + + +BECAUSE + + + Why did we meet long years of yore? + And why did we strike hands and say: + "We will be friends, and nothing more"; + Why are we musing thus to-day? + Because because was just because, + And no one knew just why it was. + + Why did I say good-by to you? + Why did I sail across the main? + Why did I love not heaven's own blue + Until I touched these shores again? + Because because was just because, + And you nor I knew why it was. + + Why are my arms about you now, + And happy tears upon your cheek? + And why my kisses on your brow? + Look up in thankfulness and speak! + Because because was just because, + And only God knew why it was. + + + + +TO THE CRICKET + + + The chiming seas may clang; and Tubal Cain + May clink his tinkling metals as he may; + Or Pan may sit and pipe his breath away; + Or Orpheus wake his most entrancing strain + Till not a note of melody remain!-- + But thou, O cricket, with thy roundelay, + Shalt laugh them all to scorn! So wilt thou, pray, + Trill me thy glad song o'er and o'er again: + I shall not weary; there is purest worth + In thy sweet prattle, since it sings the lone + Heart home again. Thy warbling hath no dearth + Of childish memories--no harsher tone + Than we might listen to in gentlest mirth, + Thou poor plebeian minstrel of the hearth. + + + + +THE OLD-FASHIONED BIBLE + + + How dear to my heart are the scenes of my childhood + That now but in mem'ry I sadly review; + The old meeting-house at the edge of the wildwood, + The rail fence and horses all tethered thereto; + The low, sloping roof, and the bell in the steeple, + The doves that came fluttering out overhead + As it solemnly gathered the God-fearing people + To hear the old Bible my grandfather read. + The old-fashioned Bible-- + The dust-covered Bible-- + The leathern-bound Bible my grandfather read. + + The blessed old volume! The face bent above it-- + As now I recall it--is gravely severe, + Though the reverent eye that droops downward to love it + Makes grander the text through the lens of a tear, + And, as down his features it trickles and glistens, + The cough of the deacon is stilled, and his head + Like a haloed patriarch's leans as he listens + To hear the old Bible my grandfather read. + The old-fashioned Bible-- + The dust-covered Bible-- + The leathern-bound Bible my grandfather read. + + Ah! who shall look backward with scorn and derision + And scoff the old book though it uselessly lies + In the dust of the past, while this newer revision + Lisps on of a hope and a home in the skies? + Shall the voice of the Master be stifled and riven? + Shall we hear but a tithe of the words He has said, + When so long He has, listening, leaned out of Heaven + To hear the old Bible my grandfather read? + The old-fashioned Bible-- + The dust-covered Bible-- + The leathern-bound Bible my grandfather read. + + + + +UNCOMFORTED + + + Lelloine! Lelloine! Don't you hear me calling? + Calling through the night for you, and calling through the day; + Calling when the dawn is here, and when the dusk is falling-- + Calling for my Lelloine the angels lured away! + + Lelloine! I call and listen, starting from my pillow-- + In the hush of midnight, Lelloine! I cry, + And o'er the rainy window-pane I hear the weeping willow + Trail its dripping leaves like baby-fingers in reply. + + Lelloine, I miss the glimmer of your glossy tresses, + I miss the dainty velvet palms that nestled in my own; + And all my mother-soul went out in answerless caresses, + And a storm of tears and kisses when you left me here alone. + + I have prayed, O Lelloine, but Heaven will not hear me, + I can not gain one sign from Him who leads you by the hand; + And O it seems that ne'er again His mercy will come near me-- + That He will never see my need, nor ever understand. + + Won't you listen, Lelloine?--just a little leaning + O'er the walls of Paradise--lean and hear my prayer, + And interpret death to Him in all its awful meaning, + And tell Him you are lonely without your mother there. + + + + +WHAT THEY SAID + + + Whispering to themselves apart, + They who knew her said of her, + "Dying of a broken heart-- + Death her only comforter-- + For the man she loved is dead-- + She will follow soon!" they said. + + Beautiful? Ah! brush the dust + From Raphael's fairest face, + And restore it, as it must + First have smiled back from its place + On his easel as he leant + Wrapt in awe and wonderment! + + Why, to kiss the very hem + Of the mourning-weeds she wore, + Like the winds that rustled them, + I had gone the round world o'er; + And to touch her hand I swear + All things dareless I would dare! + + But unto themselves apart, + Whispering, they said of her, + "Dying of a broken heart-- + Death her only comforter-- + For the man she loved is dead-- + She will follow soon!" they said. + + So I mutely turned away, + Turned with sorrow and despair, + Yearning still from day to day + For that woman dying there, + Till at last, by longing led, + I returned to find her--dead? + + "Dead?"--I know that word would tell + Rhyming there--but in this case + "Wed" rhymes equally as well + In the very selfsame place-- + And, in fact, the latter word + Is the one she had preferred. + + Yet unto themselves apart, + Whisp'ring they had said of her-- + "Dying of a broken heart-- + Death her only comforter-- + For the man she loved is dead-- + She will follow soon!" they said. + + + + +AFTER THE FROST + + + After the frost! O the rose is dead, + And the weeds lie pied in the garden-bed, + And the peach tree's shade in the wan sunshine, + Faint as the veins in these hands of mine, + Streaks the gray of the orchard wall + Where the vine rasps loose, and the last leaves fall, + And the bare boughs writhe, and the winds are lost-- + After the frost--the frost! + + After the frost! O the weary head + And the hands and the heart are quieted; + And the lips we loved are locked at last, + And kiss not back, though the rain falls fast + And the lashes drip, and the soul makes moan, + And on through the dead leaves walks alone + Where the bare boughs writhe and the winds are lost-- + After the frost--the frost! + + + + +CHARLES H. PHILLIPS + +OBIT NOVEMBER 5TH, 1881 + + + O friend! There is no way + To bid farewell to thee! + The words that we would say + Above thy grave to-day + Still falter and delay + And fail us utterly. + + When walking with us here, + The hand we loved to press + Was gentle, and sincere + As thy frank eyes were clear + Through every smile and tear + Of pleasure and distress. + + In years, young; yet in thought + Mature; thy spirit, free, + And fired with fervor caught + Of thy proud sire, who fought + His way to fame, and taught + Its toilsome way to thee. + + So even thou hast gained + The victory God-given-- + Yea, as our cheeks are stained + With tears, and our souls pained + And mute, thou hast attained + Thy high reward in Heaven! + + + + +WHEN IT RAINS + + + When it rains, and with the rain + Never bird has heart to sing, + And across the window-pane + Is no sunlight glimmering; + When the pitiless refrain + Brings a tremor to the lips, + Our tears are like the rain + As it drips, drips, drips-- + Like the sad, unceasing rain as it drips. + + When the light of heaven's blue + Is blurred and blotted quite, + And the dreary day to you + Is but a long twilight; + When it seems that ne'er again + Shall the sun break its eclipse, + Our tears are like the rain + As it drips, drips, drips-- + Like the endless, friendless rain as it drips. + + When it rains! weary heart, + O be of better cheer! + The leaden clouds will part, + And the morrow will be clear; + Take up your load again, + With a prayer upon your lips, + Thanking Heaven for the rain + As it drips, drips, drips-- + With the golden bow of promise as it drips. + + + + +AN ASSASSIN + + + Cat-like he creeps along where ways are dim, + From covert unto covert's secrecy; + His shadow in the moonlight shrinks from him + And crouches warily. + + He hugs strange envies to his breast, and nurses + Wild hatreds, till the murderous hand he grips + Falls, quivering with the tension of the curses + He launches from his lips. + + Drenched in his victim's blood he holds high revel; + He mocks at justice, and in all men's eyes + Insults his God--and no one but the devil + Is sorry when he dies. + + + + +BEST OF ALL + + + Of all good gifts that the Lord lets fall, + Is not silence the best of all? + + The deep, sweet hush when the song is closed, + And every sound but a voiceless ghost; + + And every sigh, as we listening leant, + A breathless quiet of vast content? + + The laughs we laughed have a purer ring + With but their memory echoing; + + And the joys we voiced, and the words we said, + Seem so dearer for being dead. + + So of all good gifts that the Lord lets fall, + Is not silence the best of all? + + + + +BIN A-FISHIN' + + + W'en de sun's gone down, un de moon is riz, + Bin a-fishin'! Bin a-fishin'! + It's I's aguine down wha' the by-o is! + Bin a-fishin' all night long! + + Chorus + + Bin a-fishin'! Bin a-fishin'! + Bin a-fishin' clean fum de dusk of night + Twell away 'long on in de mornin' light. + + Bait my hook, un I plunk her down! + Bin a-fishin'! Bin a-fishin'! + Un I lay dat catfish weigh five pound! + Bin a-fishin' all night long! + + Chorus + + Folks tells me ut a sucker won't bite, + Bin a-fishin'! Bin a-fishin'! + Yit I lif' out fo' last Chuesday night, + Bin a-fishin' all night long! + + Chorus + + Little fish nibble un de big fish come; + Bin a-fishin'! Bin a-fishin'! + "Go way, little fish! I want some!" + Bin a-fishin' all night long! + + Chorus + + Sez de bull frog, "D-runk!" sez de ole owl, "Whoo!" + Bin a-fishin'! Bin a-fishin'! + 'Spec, Mr. Nigger, dey's a-meanin' you, + Bin a-fishin' all night long! + + Chorus + + + + +UNCLE DAN'L IN TOWN OVER SUNDAY + + + I cain't git used to city ways-- + Ner never could, I' bet my hat! + Jevver know jes' whur I was raised?-- + Raised on a farm! D' ever tell you that? + Was undoubtatly, I declare! + And now, on Sunday--fun to spare + Around a farm! Why jes' to set + Up on the top three-cornered rail + Of Pap's old place, nigh La Fayette, + I'd swap my soul off, hide and tail! + You fellers in the city here, + You don't know nothin'!--S'pose to-day, + This clatterin' Sunday, you waked up + Without no jinglin'-janglin' bells, + Ner rattlin' of the milkman's cup, + Ner any swarm of screechin' birds + Like these here English swallers--S'pose + Ut you could miss all noise like those, + And git shet o' thinkin' of 'em afterwerds, + And then, in the country, wake and hear + Nothin' but silence--wake and see + Nothin' but green woods fur and near?-- + What sort o' Sunday would that be?... + Wisht I hed you home with me! + Now think! The laziest of all days-- + To git up any time--er sleep-- + Er jes' lay round and watch the haze + A-dancin' 'crost the wheat, and keep + My pipe a-goern laisurely, + And puff and whiff as pleases me-- + And ef I leave a trail of smoke + Clean through the house, no one to say, + "Wah! throw that nasty thing away; + Hev some regyard fer decency!" + To walk round barefoot, if you choose; + Er saw the fiddle--er dig some bait + And go a-fishin'--er pitch hoss shoes + Out in the shade somewhurs, and wait + For dinner-time, with an appetite + Ut folks in town cain't equal quite! + To laze around the barn and poke + Fer hens' nests--er git up a match + Betwixt the boys, and watch 'em scratch + And rassle round, and sweat and swear + And quarrel to their hearts' content; + And me a-jes' a-settin' there + A-hatchin' out more devilment! + What sort o' Sunday would that be?... + Wisht I hed you home with me! + + + + +SOLDIERS HERE TO-DAY + + +I + + Soldiers and saviours of the homes we love; + Heroes and patriots who marched away, + And who marched back, and who marched on above-- + All--all are here to-day! + + By the dear cause you fought for--you are here; + At summons of bugle, and the drum + Whose palpitating syllables were ne'er + More musical, you come! + + Here--by the stars that bloom in fields of blue, + And by the bird above with shielding wings; + And by the flag that floats out over you, + With silken beckonings-- + + Ay, here beneath its folds are gathered all + Who warred unscathed for blessings that it gave-- + Still blessed its champion, though it but fall + A shadow on his grave! + + +II + + We greet you, Victors, as in vast array + You gather from the scenes of strife and death-- + From spectral fortress walls where curls away + The cannon's latest breath. + + We greet you--from the crumbling battlements + Where once again the old flag feels the breeze + Stroke out its tattered stripes and smooth its rents + With rippling ecstasies. + + From living tombs where every hope seemed lost-- + With famine quarantined by bristling guns-- + The prison pens--the guards--the "dead-line" crossed + By--riddled skeletons! + + From furrowed plains, sown thick with bursting shells-- + From mountain gorge, and toppling crags o'erhead-- + From wards of pestilential hospitals, + And trenches of the dead. + + +III + + In fancy all are here. The night is o'er, + And through dissolving mists the morning gleams; + And clustered round their hearths we see once more + The heroes of our dreams. + + Strong, tawny faces, some, and some are fair, + And some are marked with age's latest prime, + And, seer-like, browed and aureoled with hair + As hoar as winter-time. + + The faces of fond lovers, glorified-- + The faces of the husband and the wife-- + The babe's face nestled at the mother's side, + And smiling back at life; + + A bloom of happiness in every cheek-- + A thrill of tingling joy in every vein-- + In every soul a rapture they will seek + In Heaven, and find again! + + +IV + + 'Tis not a vision only--we who pay + But the poor tribute of our praises here + Are equal sharers in the guerdon they + Purchased at price so dear. + + The angel, Peace, o'er all uplifts her hand, + Waving the olive, and with heavenly eyes + Shedding a light of love o'er sea and land + As sunshine from the skies-- + + Her figure pedestalled on Freedom's soil-- + Her sandals kissed with seas of golden grain-- + Queen of a realm of joy-requited toil + That glories in her reign. + + O blessed land of labor and reward! + O gracious Ruler, let Thy reign endure; + In pruning-hook and ploughshare beat the sword, + And reap the harvest sure! + + + + +SHADOW AND SHINE + + + Storms of the winter, and deepening snows, + When will you end? I said, + For the soul within me was numb with woes, + And my heart uncomforted. + When will you cease, O dismal days? + When will you set me free? + For the frozen world and its desolate ways + Are all unloved of me! + + I waited long, but the answer came-- + The kiss of the sunshine lay + Warm as a flame on the lips that frame + The song in my heart to-day. + Blossoms of summer-time waved in the air, + Glimmers of sun in the sea; + Fair thoughts followed me everywhere, + And the world was dear to me. + + + + +THAT NIGHT + + + You and I, and that night, with its perfume and glory!-- + The scent of the locusts--the light of the moon; + And the violin weaving the waltzers a story, + Enmeshing their feet in the weft of the tune, + Till their shadows uncertain + Reeled round on the curtain, + While under the trellis we drank in the June. + + Soaked through with the midnight the cedars were sleeping, + Their shadowy tresses outlined in the bright + Crystal, moon-smitten mists, where the fountain's heart, leaping + Forever, forever burst, full with delight; + And its lisp on my spirit + Fell faint as that near it + Whose love like a lily bloomed out in the night. + + O your love was an odorous sachet of blisses! + The breath of your fan was a breeze from Cathay! + And the rose at your throat was a nest of spilled kisses!-- + And the music!--in fancy I hear it to-day, + As I sit here, confessing + Our secret, and blessing + My rival who found us, and waltzed you away. + + + + +AUGUST + + + O mellow month and merry month, + Let me make love to you, + And follow you around the world + As knights their ladies do. + I thought your sisters beautiful, + Both May and April, too, + But April she had rainy eyes, + And May had eyes of blue. + + And June--I liked the singing + Of her lips--and liked her smile-- + But all her songs were promises + Of something, after while; + And July's face--the lights and shades + That may not long beguile + With alterations o'er the wheat + The dreamer at the stile. + + But you!--ah, you are tropical, + Your beauty is so rare; + Your eyes are clearer, deeper eyes + Than any, anywhere; + Mysterious, imperious, + Deliriously fair, + O listless Andalusian maid, + With bangles in your hair! + + + + +THE GUIDE + +IMITATED + + + We rode across the level plain-- + We--my sagacious guide and I.-- + He knew the earth--the air--the sky; + He knew when it would blow or rain, + And when the weather would be dry: + The blended blades of grass spake out + To him when Redskins were about; + The wagon tracks would tell him too, + The very day that they rolled through: + He knew their burden--whence they came-- + If any horse along were lame, + And what its owner ought to do; + He knew when it would snow; he knew, + By some strange intuition, when + The buffalo would overflow + The prairies like a flood, and then + Recede in their stampede again. + He knew all things--yea, he did know + The brand of liquor in my flask, + And many times did tilt it up, + Nor halt or hesitate one whit, + Nor pause to slip the silver cup + From off its crystal base, nor ask + Why I preferred to drink from it. + And more and more I plied him, and + Did query of him o'er and o'er, + And seek to lure from him the lore + By which the man did understand + These hidden things of sky and land: + And, wrought upon, he sudden drew + His bridle--wheeled, and caught my hand-- + Pressed it, as one that loved me true, + And bade me listen. + ................... There be few + Like tales as strange to listen to! + He told me all--How, when a child, + The Indians stole him--there he laughed-- + "They stole me, and I stole their craft!" + Then slowly winked both eyes, and smiled, + And went on ramblingly,--"And they-- + They reared me, and I ran away-- + 'Twas winter, and the weather wild; + And, caught up in the awful snows + That bury wilderness and plain, + I struggled on until I froze + My feet ere human hands again + Were reached to me in my distress,-- + And lo, since then not any rain + May fall upon me anywhere, + Nor any cyclone's cussedness + Slip up behind me unaware,-- + Nor any change of cold, or heat, + Or blow, or snow, but I do know + It's coming, days and days before;-- + I know it by my frozen feet-- + I know it by my itching heels, + And by the agony one feels + Who knows that scratching nevermore + Will bring to him the old and sweet + Relief he knew ere thus endowed + With knowledge that a certain cloud + Will burst with storm on such a day, + And when a snow will fall, and--nay, + I speak not falsely when I say + That by my tingling heels and toes + I measure time, and can disclose + The date of month--the week--and lo, + The very day and minute--yea-- + Look at your watch!--An hour ago + And twenty minutes I did say + Unto myself with bitter laugh, + 'In less than one hour and a half + Will I be drunken!' Is it so?" + + + + +SUTTER'S CLAIM + +IMITATED + + + Say! _you_ feller! _You_-- + With that spade and the pick!-- + What do you 'pose to do + On this side o' the crick? + Goin' to tackle this claim? Well, I reckon + You'll let up ag'in, purty quick! + + No bluff, understand,-- + But the same has been tried, + And the claim never panned-- + Or the fellers has lied,-- + For they tell of a dozen that tried it, + And quit it most onsatisfied. + + The luck's dead ag'in it!-- + The first man I see + That stuck a pick in it + Proved _that_ thing to me,-- + For he sort o' took down, and got homesick, + And went back whar he'd orto be! + + Then others they worked it + Some--more or less, + But finally shirked it, + In grades of distress,-- + With an eye out--a jaw or skull busted, + Or some sort o' seriousness. + + The _last_ one was plucky-- + He wasn't afeerd, + And bragged he was "lucky," + And said that "he'd heerd + A heap of bluff-talk," and swore awkard + He'd work any claim that he keered! + + Don't you strike nary lick + With that pick till I'm through; + This-here feller talked slick + And as peart-like as you! + And he says: "I'll abide here + As long as I please!" + But he didn't.... He died here-- + And I'm his disease! + + + + +HER LIGHT GUITAR + + + She twankled a tune on her light guitar-- + A low, sweet jangle of tangled sounds, + As blurred as the voices of the fairies are, + Dancing in moondawn dales and downs; + And the tinkling drip of the strange refrain + Ran over the rim of my soul like rain. + + The great blond moon in the midnight skies + Paused and poised o'er the trellis eaves, + And the stars, in the light of her upturned eyes, + Sifted their love through the rifted leaves, + Glittered and splintered in crystal mist + Down the glittering strings that her fingers kissed. + + O the melody mad! O the tinkle and thrill + Of the ecstasy of the exquisite thing! + The red rose dropped from the window-sill + And lay in a long swoon quivering; + While the dying notes of the strain divine + Rippled in glee up my spellbound spine. + + + + +WHILE CIGARETTES TO ASHES TURN + + +I + + "He smokes--and that's enough," says Ma-- + "And cigarettes, at that!" says Pa. + + "He must not call again," says she-- + "He _shall_ not call again!" says he. + + They both glare at me as before-- + Then quit the room and bang the door.-- + + While I, their wilful daughter, say, + "I guess I'll love him, anyway!" + + +II + + At twilight, in his room, alone, + His careless feet inertly thrown + + Across a chair, my fancy can + But worship this most worthless man! + + I dream what joy it is to set + His slow lips round a cigarette, + + With idle-humored whiff and puff-- + Ah! this is innocent enough! + + To mark the slender fingers raise + The waxen match's dainty blaze, + + Whose chastened light an instant glows + On drooping lids and arching nose, + + Then, in the sudden gloom, instead, + A tiny ember, dim and red, + + Blooms languidly to ripeness, then + Fades slowly, and grows ripe again. + + +III + + I lean back, in my own boudoir-- + The door is fast, the sash ajar; + + And in the dark, I smiling stare + At one wide window over there, + + Where some one, smoking, pinks the gloom, + The darling darkness of his room! + + I push my shutters wider yet, + And lo! I light a cigarette; + + And gleam for gleam, and glow for glow, + Each pulse of light a word we know, + + We talk of love that still will burn + While cigarettes to ashes turn. + + + + +TWO SONNETS TO THE JUNE-BUG + + +I + + You make me jes' a little nervouser + Than any dog-gone bug I ever see! + And you know night's the time to pester me-- + When any tetch at all 'll rub the fur + Of all my patience back'ards! You're the myrrh + And ruburb of my life! A bumblebee + Cain't hold a candle to you; and a he + Bald hornet, with a laminated spur + In his hip pocket, daresent even cheep + When you're around! And, dern ye! you have made + Me lose whole ricks and stacks and piles of sleep,-- + And many of a livelong night I've laid + And never shut an eye, hearin' you keep + Up that eternal buzzin' serenade! + + +II + + And I've got up and lit the lamp, and clum + On cheers and trunks and wash-stands and bureaus, + And all such dangerous articles as those, + And biffed at you with brooms, and never come + 'In two feet of you,--maybe skeered you some,-- + But what does that amount to when it throws + A feller out o' balance, and his nose + Gits barked ag'inst the mantel, while you hum + Fer joy around the room, and churn your head + Ag'inst the ceilin', and draw back and butt + The plasterin' loose, and drop--behind the bed, + Where never human-bein' ever putt + Harm's hand on you, er ever truthful said + He'd choked yer dern infernal wizzen shut! + + + + +AUTOGRAPHIC + +_For an Album_ + + + I feel, if aught I ought to rhyme, + I ought 'a' thought a longer time, + And ought 'a' caught a higher sense, + Of autocratic eloquence. + I ought 'a' sought each haughty Muse + That taught a thought I ought to use, + And fought and fraught, and so devised + A poem _unmonotonized_.-- + But since all this was vain, I thought + I ought to simply say,--I ought + To thank you, as I ought to do, + And ought to bow my best to you; + And ought to trust not to intrude + A rudely wrought-up gratitude, + But ought to smile, and ought to laugh, + And ought to write--an autograph. + + + + +AN IMPROMPTU ON ROLLER SKATES + + + Rumble, tumble, growl, and grate! + Skip, and trip, and gravitate! + Lunge, and plunge, and thrash the planks + With your blameless, shameless shanks: + In excruciating pain, + Stand upon your head again, + And, uncoiling kink by kink, + Kick the roof out of the rink! + + In derisive bursts of mirth, + Drop ka-whop and jar the earth! + Jolt your lungs down in your socks, + Oh! tempestuous equinox + Of dismembered legs and arms! + Strew your ways with wild alarms; + Fameward skoot and ricochet + On your glittering vertebrae! + + + + +WRITTEN IN BUNNER'S "AIRS FROM ARCADY" + + + O ever gracious Airs from Arcady! + What lack is there of any jocund thing + In glancing wit or glad imagining + Capricious fancy may not find in thee?-- + The laugh of Momus, tempered daintily + To lull the ear and lure its listening; + The whistled syllables the birds of spring + Flaunt ever at our guessings what they be; + The wood, the seashore, and the clanging town; + The pets of fashion, and the ways of such; + The _robe de chambre_, and the russet gown; + The lordling's carriage, and the pilgrim's crutch-- + From hale old Chaucer's wholesomeness, clean down + To our artistic Dobson's deftest touch! + + + + +IN THE AFTERNOON + + + You in the hammock; and I, near by, + Was trying to read, and to swing you, too; + And the green of the sward was so kind to the eye, + And the shade of the maples so cool and blue, + That often I looked from the book to you + To say as much, with a sigh. + + You in the hammock. The book we'd brought + From the parlor--to read in the open air,-- + Something of love and of Launcelot + And Guinevere, I believe, was there-- + But the afternoon, it was far more fair + Than the poem was, I thought. + + You in the hammock; and on and on + I droned and droned through the rhythmic stuff-- + But, with always a half of my vision gone + Over the top of the page--enough + To caressingly gaze at you, swathed in the fluff + Of your hair and your odorous "lawn." + + You in the hammock--and that was a year-- + Fully a year ago, I guess-- + And what do we care for their Guinevere + And her Launcelot and their lordliness!-- + You in the hammock still, and--Yes-- + Kiss me again, my dear! + + + + +AT MADAME MANICURE'S + + + Daintiest of Manicures! + What a cunning hand is yours; + And how awkward, rude and great + Mine, as you manipulate! + Wonderfully cool and calm + Are the touches of your palm + To my fingers, as they rest + In their rosy, cosey nest, + While your own, with deftest skill, + Dance and caper as they will,-- + Armed with instruments that seem + Gathered from some fairy dream-- + Tiny spears, and simitars + Such as pixy armorers + Might have made for jocund fays + To parade on holidays, + And flash round in dewy dells, + Lopping down the lily-bells; + Or in tilting, o'er the leas, + At the clumsy bumblebees, + Splintering their stings, perchance, + As the knights in old romance + Snapped the spears of foes that fought + In the jousts at Camelot! + Smiling? Dainty Manicure?-- + 'Twould delight me, but that you're + Simply smiling, as I see, + At my nails and not at me! + Haply this is why they glow + And light up and twinkle so! + + + + +A CALLER FROM BOONE + +BENJ. F. JOHNSON VISITS THE EDITOR + + +It was a dim and chill and loveless afternoon in the late fall of +eighty-three when I first saw the genial subject of this hasty sketch. +From time to time the daily paper on which I worked had been +receiving, among the general literary driftage of amateur essayists, +poets and sketch-writers, some conceits in verse that struck the +editorial head as decidedly novel; and, as they were evidently the +production of an unlettered man, and an _old_ man, and a farmer at that, +they were usually spared the waste-basket, and preserved--not for +publication, but to pass from hand to hand among the members of the +staff as simply quaint and mirth-provoking specimens of the verdancy +of both the venerable author and the Muse inspiring him. Letters as +quaint as were the poems invariably accompanied them, and the oddity +of these, in fact, had first called attention to the verses. I well +remember the general merriment of the office when the first of the old +man's letters was read aloud, and I recall, too, some of his comments +on his own verse, verbatim. In one place he said: "I make no doubt you +will find some purty _sad_ spots in my poetry, considerin'; but I hope +you will bear in mind that I am a great sufferer with rheumatizum, and +have been, off and on, sence the cold New Year's. In the main, +however," he continued, "I allus aim to write in a cheerful, +comfortin' sperit, so's ef the stuff hangs fire, and don't do no good, +it hain't a-goin' to do no harm,--and them's my honest views on +poetry." + +In another letter, evidently suspecting his poem had not appeared in +print because of its dejected tone, he said: "The poetry I herewith +send was wrote off on the finest Autumn day I ever laid eyes on! I +never felt better in my life. The morning air was as invigoratin' as +bitters with tanzy in it, and the folks at breakfast said they never +saw such a' appetite on mortal man before. Then I lit out for the +barn, and after feedin', I come back and tuck my pen and ink out on +the porch, and jest cut loose. I writ and writ till my fingers was +that cramped I couldn't hardly let go of the penholder. And the poem I +send you is the upshot of it all. Ef you don't find it cheerful enough +fer your columns, I'll have to knock under, that's all!" And that +poem, as I recall it, certainly was cheerful enough for publication, +only the "copy" was almost undecipherable, and the ink, too, so pale +and vague, it was thought best to reserve the verses, for the time, at +least, and later on revise, copy, punctuate, and then print it +sometime, as much for the joke of it as anything. But it was still +delayed, neglected, and in a week's time almost entirely forgotten. +And so it was, upon this chill and sombre afternoon I speak of that an +event occurred which most pleasantly reminded me of both the poem with +the "sad spots" in it, and the "cheerful" one, "writ out on the porch" +that glorious autumn day that poured its glory through the old man's +letter to us. + +Outside and in the sanctum the gloom was too oppressive to permit an +elevated tendency of either thought or spirit. I could do nothing but +sit listless and inert. Paper and pencil were before me, but I could +not write--I could not even think coherently, and was on the point of +rising and rushing out into the streets for a wild walk, when there +came a hesitating knock at the door. + +"Come in!" I snarled, grabbing up my pencil and assuming a frightfully +industrious air: "Come in!" I almost savagely repeated, "Come in! And +shut the door behind you!" and I dropped my lids, bent my gaze fixedly +upon the blank pages before me and began scrawling some disconnected +nothings with no head or tail or anything. + +"Sir; howdy," said a low and pleasant voice. And at once, in spite of +my perverse resolve, I looked up. I someway felt rebuked. + +The speaker was very slowly, noiselessly closing the door. I could +hardly face him when he turned around. An old man, of sixty-five, at +least, but with a face and an eye of the most cheery and wholesome +expression I had ever seen in either youth or age. Over his broad +bronzed forehead and white hair he wore a low-crowned, wide-brimmed +black felt hat, somewhat rusted now, and with the band grease-crusted, +and the binding frayed at intervals, and sagging from the threads that +held it on. An old-styled frock coat of black, dull brown in streaks, +and quite shiny about the collar and lapels. A waistcoat of no +describable material or pattern, and a clean white shirt and collar of +one piece, with a black string-tie and double bow, which would have +been entirely concealed beneath the long white beard but for its +having worked around to one side of the neck. The front outline of the +face was cleanly shaven, and the beard, growing simply from the under +chin and throat, lent the old pioneer the rather singular appearance +of having hair all over him with this luxurious growth pulled out +above his collar for mere sample. + +I arose and asked the old man to sit down, handing him a chair +decorously. + +"No--no," he said--"I'm much obleeged. I hain't come in to bother you +no more'n I can he'p. All I wanted was to know ef you got my poetry +all right. You know I take yer paper," he went on, in an explanatory +way, "and seein' you printed poetry in it once-in-a-while, I sent you +some of mine--neighbors kindo' advised me to," he added +apologetically, "and so I sent you some--two or three times I sent you +some, but I hain't never seed hide-ner-hair of it in your paper, and +as I wus in town to-day, anyhow, I jest thought I'd kindo' drap in and +git it back, ef you ain't goin' to print it--'cause I allus save up +most the things I write, aimin' sometime to git 'em all struck off in +pamphlet-form, to kindo' distribit round 'mongst the neighbors, don't +you know." + +Already I had begun to suspect my visitor's identity, and was +mechanically opening the drawer of our poetical department. + +"How was your poetry signed?" I asked. + +"Signed by my own name," he answered proudly,--"signed by my own +name,--Johnson--Benjamin F. Johnson, of Boone County--this state." + +"And is this one of them, Mr. Johnson?" I asked, unfolding a +clumsily-folded manuscript, and closely scrutinizing the verse. + +"How does she read?" said the old man eagerly, and searching in the +meantime for his spectacles. "How does she read?--Then I can tell +you!" + +"It reads," said I, studiously conning the old man's bold but bad +chirography, and tilting my chair back indolently,--"it reads like +this--the first verse does,"--and I very gravely read:-- + + "Oh! the old swimmin'-hole!" + +"Stop! Stop!" said the old man excitedly--"Stop right there! That's my +poetry, but that's not the way to read it by a long shot! Give it to +me!" and he almost snatched it from my hand. "Poetry like this ain't +no poetry at all, 'less you read it _natchurl_ and _in jes the same +sperit 'at it's writ in_, don't you understand. It's a' old man +a-talkin', rickollect, and a-feelin' kindo' sad, and yit kindo' sorto' +good, too, and I opine he wouldn't got that off with a face on him +like a' undertaker, and a voice as solemn as a cow-bell after dark! +He'd say it more like this."--And the old man adjusted his spectacles +and read:-- + + "THE OLD SWIMMIN'-HOLE" + + "Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! whare the crick so still and deep + Looked like a baby-river that was laying half asleep, + And the gurgle of the worter round the drift jest below + Sounded like the laugh of something we onc't ust to know + Before we could remember anything but the eyes + Of the angels lookin' out as we left Paradise; + But the merry days of youth is beyond our controle, + And it's hard to part ferever with the old swimmin'-hole." + +I clapped my hands in genuine applause. "Read on!" I said,--"Read on! +Read all of it!" + +The old man's face was radiant as he continued:-- + + "Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! In the happy days of yore, + When I ust to lean above it on the old sickamore, + Oh! it showed me a face in its warm sunny tide + That gazed back at me so gay and glorified, + It made me love myself, as I leaped to caress + My shadder smilin' up at me with sich tenderness. + But them days is past and gone, and old Time's tuck his toll + From the old man come back to the old swimmin'-hole. + + "Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! In the long, lazy days + When the hum-drum of school made so many run-a-ways, + How pleasant was the jurney down the old dusty lane, + Whare the tracks of our bare feet was all printed so plane + You could tell by the dent of the heel and the sole + They was lots o' fun on hands at the old swimmin'-hole. + But the lost joys is past! Let your tears in sorrow roll + Like the rain that ust to dapple up the old swimmin'-hole. + + "Thare the bullrushes growed, and the cattails so tall, + And the sunshine and shadder fell over it all; + And it mottled the worter with amber and gold + Tel the glad lillies rocked in the ripples that rolled; + And the snake-feeder's four gauzy wings fluttered by + Like the ghost of a daisy dropped out of the sky, + Or a wownded apple-blossom in the breeze's controle + As it cut acrost some orchurd to'rds the old swimmin'-hole. + + "Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! When I last saw the place, + The scenes was all changed, like the change in my face; + The bridge of the railroad now crosses the spot + Whare the old divin'-log lays sunk and fergot. + And I strayed down the banks whare the trees ust to be-- + But never again will theyr shade shelter me! + And I wisht in my sorrow I could strip to the soul, + And dive off in my grave like the old swimmin'-hole." + +My applause was long and loud. The old man's interpretation of the +poem was a positive revelation, though I was glad enough to conceal +from him my moistened eyes by looking through the scraps for other +specimens of his verse. + +"Here," said I enthusiastically, "is another one, signed 'Benj. F. +Johnson,' read me this," and I handed him the poem. + +The old man smiled and took the manuscript. "This-here one's on '_The +Hoss_,'" he said, simply clearing his throat. "They ain't so much +fancy-work about this as the other'n, but they's jest as much _fact_, +you can bet--'cause, they're no animal a-livin' 'at I love better 'an + + "THE HOSS" + + "The hoss he is a splendud beast; + He is man's friend, as heaven desined, + And, search the world from west to east, + No honester you'll ever find! + + "Some calls the hoss 'a pore dumb brute,' + And yit, like Him who died fer you, + I say, as I theyr charge refute, + 'Fergive; they know not what they do!' + + "No wiser animal makes tracks + Upon these earthly shores, and hence + Arose the axium, true as facts, + Extoled by all, as 'Good hoss-sense!' + + "The hoss is strong, and knows his stren'th,-- + You hitch him up a time er two + And lash him, and he'll go his len'th + And kick the dashboard out fer you! + + "But, treat him allus good and kind, + And never strike him with a stick, + Ner aggervate him, and you'll find + He'll never do a hostile trick. + + "A hoss whose master tends him right + And worters him with daily care, + Will do your biddin' with delight, + And act as docile as _you_ air. + + "He'll paw and prance to hear your praise, + Because he's learnt to love you well; + And, though you can't tell what he says, + He'll nicker all he wants to tell. + + "He knows you when you slam the gate + At early dawn, upon your way + Unto the barn, and snorts elate, + To git his corn, er oats, er hay. + + "He knows you, as the orphant knows + The folks that loves her like theyr own, + And raises her and 'finds' her clothes, + And 'schools' her tel a womern-grown! + + "I claim no hoss will harm a man, + Ner kick, ner run away, cavort, + Stump-suck, er balk, er 'catamaran,' + Ef you'll jest treat him as you ort. + + "But when I see the beast abused + And clubbed around as I've saw some, + I want to see his owner noosed, + And jest yanked up like Absolum! + + "Of course they's differunce in stock,-- + A hoss that has a little yeer, + And slender build, and shaller hock, + Can beat his shadder, mighty near! + + "Whilse one that's thick in neck and chist + And big in leg and full in flank, + That tries to race, I still insist + He'll have to take the second rank. + + "And I have jest laid back and laughed, + And rolled and wallered in the grass + At fairs, to see some heavy-draft + Lead out at _first_, yit come in _last_! + + "Each hoss has his appinted place,-- + The heavy hoss should plow the soil;-- + The blooded racer, he must race, + And win big wages fer his toil. + + "I never bet--ner never wrought + Upon my feller-man to bet-- + And yit, at times, I've often thought + Of my convictions with regret. + + "I bless the hoss from hoof to head-- + From head to hoof, and tale to mane!-- + I bless the hoss, as I have said, + From head to hoof, and back again! + + "I love my God the first of all, + Then Him that perished on the cross, + And next, my wife,--and then I fall + Down on my knees and love the hoss." + +Again I applauded, handing the old man still another of his poems, and +the last received. "Ah!" said he, as his gentle eyes bent on the +title; "this-here's the cheerfullest one of 'em all. This is the one +writ, as I wrote you about--on that glorious October morning two weeks +ago--I thought your paper would print this-un, shore!" + +"Oh, it _will_ print it," I said eagerly; "and it will print the other +two as well! It will print _anything_ that you may do us the honor to +offer, and we'll reward you beside just as you may see fit to +designate.--But go on--go on! Read me the poem." + +The old man's eyes were glistening as he responded with the poem +entitled + + "WHEN THE FROST IS ON THE PUNKIN" + + "When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock, + And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin' turkey-cock, + And the clackin' of the guineys, and the cluckin' of the hens, + And the rooster's hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence; + O, it's then's the times a feller is a-feelin' at his best, + With the risin' sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest, + As he leaves the house, bareheaded, and goes out to feed the stock, + When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock. + + "They's something kindo' harty-like about the atmusfere + When the heat of summer's over and the coolin' fall is here-- + Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossums on the trees, + And the mumble of the hummin'-birds and buzzin' of the bees; + But the air's so appetizin'; and the landscape through the haze + Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days + Is a pictur' that no painter has the colorin' to mock-- + When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock. + + "The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn, + And the raspin' of the tangled leaves, as golden as the morn; + The stubble in the furries--kindo' lonesome-like, but still + A-preachin' sermuns to us of the barns they growed to fill; + The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed; + The hosses in theyr stalls below--the clover overhead!-- + O, it sets my hart a-clickin' like the tickin' of a clock, + When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock! + + "Then your apples all is getherd, and the ones a feller keeps + Is poured around the celler-floor in red and yeller heaps; + And your cider-makin' 's over, and your wimmern-folks is through + With theyr mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and saussage, + too!... + I don't know how to tell it--but ef sich a thing could be + As the Angels wantin' boardin', and they'd call around on _me_-- + I'd want to 'commodate 'em--all the whole-indurin' flock-- + When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock!" + +That was enough! "Surely," thought I, "here is a diamond in the rough, +and a 'gem,' too, 'of purest ray serene'!" I caught the old man's hand +and wrung it with positive rapture; and it is needless to go further +in explanation of how the readers of our daily came to an acquaintance +through its columns with the crude, unpolished, yet most gentle genius +of Benj. F. Johnson, of Boone. + + + + +LORD BACON + +WRITTEN AS A JOKE AND ASCRIBED TO A VERY PRACTICAL BUSINESS MAN, AMOS +J. WALKER + + + Master of masters in the days of yore, + When art met insult, with no law's redress; + When Law itself insulted Righteousness, + And Ignorance thine own scholastic lore, + And thou thine own judicial office more,-- + What master living now canst love thee less, + Seeing thou didst thy greatest art repress + And leave the years its riches to restore + To us, thy long neglectors. Yield us grace + To make becoming recompense, and dawn + On us thy poet-smile; nor let us trace, + In fancy, where the old-world myths have gone, + The shade of Shakespeare, with averted face, + Withdrawn to uttermost oblivion. + + + + +MY FIRST WOMERN + + + I buried my first womern + In the spring; and in the fall + I was married to my second, + And hain't settled yit at all!-- + Fer I'm allus thinkin'--thinkin' + Of the first one's peaceful ways, + A-bilin' soap and singin' + Of the Lord's amazin' grace. + + And I'm thinkin' of her, constant, + Dyin' carpet chain and stuff, + And a-makin' up rag carpets, + When the _floor_ was good enough! + And I mind her he'p a-feedin', + And I riccollect her now + A-drappin' corn, and keepin' + Clos't behind me and the plow! + + And I'm allus thinkin' of her + Reddin' up around the house; + Er cookin' fer the farm-hands; + Er a-drivin' up the cows.-- + And there she lays out yander + By the lower medder fence, + Where the cows was barely grazin', + And they're usin' ever sence. + + And when I look acrost there-- + Say it's when the clover's ripe, + And I'm settin', in the evenin', + On the porch here, with my pipe, + And the _other'n_ hollers "Henry!"-- + W'y they ain't no sadder thing + Than to think of my first womern + And her funeral last spring + Was a year ago-- + + + + +AS WE READ BURNS + + + Who is speaking? Who has spoken? + Whose voice ceasing thus has broken + The sweet pathos of our dreams? + Sweetest bard of sweetest themes, + Pouring in each poet-heart + Some rare essence of your art + Till it seems your singing lip + Kisses every pencil tip! + Far across the unknown lands-- + Reach of heavenly isle and sea-- + How we long to touch the hands + You outhold so lovingly! + + + + +TO JAMES NEWTON MATTHEWS + +IN ANSWER TO A LETTER ON THE ANATOMY OF THE SONNET + + + Oho! ye sunny, sonnet-singin' vagrant, + Flauntin' your simmer sangs in sic a weather! + Ane maist can straik the bluebells and the heather + Keekin' aboon the snaw and bloomin' fragrant! + Whiles you, ye whustlin' brither, sic a lay grant + O' a' these janglin', wranglin' sweets thegither, + I weel maun perk my ain doon-drappin' feather + And pipe a wee: Tho' boisterous and flagrant + The winds blow whuzzle-whazzle rhymes that trickle + Fra' aff my tongue less limpid than I'd ha'e them, + I in their little music hap a mickle + O' canty praises, a' asklent to weigh them + Agen your pride, and smile to see them tickle + The warm nest o' the heart wherein I lay them. + + + + +SONG + + + O I would I had a lover! + A lover! a lover! + O I would I had a lover + With a twinkering guitar, + To come beneath my casement + Singing "There is none above her," + While I, leaning, seemed to hover + In the scent of his cigar! + + Then at morn I'd want to meet him-- + To meet him! to meet him! + O at morn I'd want to meet him, + When the mist was in the sky, + And the dew along the path I went + To casually greet him, + And to cavalierly treat him, + And regret it by and by. + + And I'd want to meet his brother-- + His brother! his brother! + O I'd want to meet his brother + At the german or the play, + To pin a rose on his lapel + And lightly press the other, + And love him like a mother-- + While he thought the other way. + + O I'd pitilessly test him! + And test him! and test him! + O I'd pitilessly test him + Far beyond his own control; + And every tantalizing lure + With which I could arrest him, + I'd loosen to molest him, + Till I tried his very soul. + + But ah, when I relented-- + Relented, relented! + But ah, when I relented + When the stars were blurred and dim, + And the moon above, with crescent grace, + Looked off as I repented, + And with rapture half demented, + All my heart went out to him! + + + + +WHEN WE THREE MEET + + + When we three meet? Ah! friend of mine + Whose verses well and flow as wine,-- + My thirsting fancy thou dost fill + With draughts delicious, sweeter still + Since tasted by those lips of thine. + + I pledge thee, through the chill sunshine + Of autumn, with a warmth divine, + Thrilled through as only I shall thrill + When we three meet. + + I pledge thee, if we fast or dine, + We yet shall loosen, line by line, + Old ballads, and the blither trill + Of our-time singers--for there will + Be with us all the Muses nine + When we three meet. + + + + +JOSH BILLINGS + +DEAD IN CALIFORNIA, OCTOBER 15, 1885 + + + Jolly-hearted old Josh Billings, + With his wisdom and his wit, + And his gravity of presence, + And the drollery of it! + Has he left us, and forever? + When so many merry years + He has only left us laughing-- + And he leaves us now in tears? + + Has he turned from his "Deer Publik," + With his slyly twinkling eyes + Now grown dim and heavy-lidded + In despite of sunny skies?-- + Yet with rugged brow uplifted, + And the long hair tossed away, + Like an old heroic lion, + With a mane of iron-gray. + + Though we lose him, still we find him + In the mirth of every lip, + And we fare through all his pages + In his glad companionship: + His voice is wed with Nature's, + Laughing in each woody nook + With the chirrup of the robin + And the chuckle of the brook. + + But the children--O the children!-- + They who leaped to his caress, + And felt his arms about them, + And his love and tenderness,-- + Where--where will they find comfort + As their tears fall like the rain, + And they swarm his face with kisses + That he answers not again? + + + + +WHICH ANE + + + Which ane, an' which ane, + An' which ane for thee?-- + Here thou hast thy vera choice, + An' which sall it be?-- + Ye hae the Holy Brither, + An' ye hae the Scholarly; + An', last, ye hae the butt o' baith-- + Which sall it be? + + Ane's oot o' Edinborough, + Wi' the Beuk an' Gown; + An' ane's cam frae Cambridge; + An' ane frae scaur an' down: + An' Deil tak the hindmaist! + Sae the test gaes roun': + An' here ye hae the lairdly twa, + An' ane frae scaur an' down. + + Yon's Melancholy-- + An' the pipes a-skirlin'-- + Gangs limp an' droopet, + Like a coof at hirlin',-- + Droopet aye his lang skirts + I' the wins unfurlin'; + Yon's Melancholy-- + An' the pipes a-skirlin'! + + Which ane, an' which ane, + An' which ane for thee?-- + Here thou hast thy vera choice, + An' which sall it be? + Ye hae the Holy Brither, + An' ye hae the Scholarly; + An', last, ye hae the butt o' baith-- + Which sall it be? + + Elbuck ye'r bag, mon! + An' pipe as ye'd burst! + Can ye gie's a waur, mon + E'en than the first?-- + Be it Meister Wisemon, + I' the classics versed, + An' a slawer gait yet + E'en than the first? + + Then gie us Merriment: + Loose him like a linnet + Teeterin' on a bloomin' spray-- + We ken him i' the minute,-- + Twinklin' is ane ee asklent, + Wi' auld Clootie in it-- + Auld Sawney Lintwhite, + We ken him i' the minute! + + An' which ane, an' which ane, + An' which ane for thee?-- + For thou shalt hae thy vera choice, + An' which sall it be?-- + Ye hae the Holy Brither, + An' ye hae the Scholarly; + A' last, ye hae the butt o' baith-- + Which sall it be? + + + + +THE EARTHQUAKE + +CHARLESTON, SEPTEMBER 1, 1886 + + + An hour ago the lulling twilight leant + Above us like a gentle nurse who slips + A slow palm o'er our eyes, in soft eclipse + Of feigned slumber of most sweet content. + The fragrant zephyrs of the tropic went + And came across the senses, like to sips + Of lovers' kisses, when upon her lips + Silence sets finger in grave merriment. + Then--sudden--did the earth moan as it slept, + And start as one in evil dreams, and toss + Its peopled arms up, as the horror crept, + And with vast breast upheaved and rent across, + Fling down the storied citadel where wept, + And still shall weep, a world above its loss. + + + + +A FALL-CRICK VIEW OF THE EARTHQUAKE + + + I kin hump my back and take the rain, + And I don't keer how she pours; + I kin keep kind o' ca'm in a thunder-storm, + No matter how loud she roars; + I hain't much skeered o' the lightnin', + Ner I hain't sich awful shakes + Afeard o' _cyclones_--but I don't want none + O' yer dad-burned old earthquakes! + + As long as my legs keeps stiddy, + And long as my head keeps plum', + And the buildin' stays in the front lot, + I still kin whistle, _some_! + But about the time the old clock + Flops off'n the mantel-shelf, + And the bureau skoots fer the kitchen, + I'm a-goin' to skoot, myself! + + Plague-take! ef you keep me stabled + While any earthquakes is around!-- + I'm jes' like the stock,--I'll beller + And break fer the open ground! + And I 'low you'd be as nervous + And in jes' about my fix, + When yer whole farm slides from in-under you, + And on'y the mor'gage sticks! + + Now cars hain't a-goin' to kill you + Ef you don't drive 'crost the track; + Crediters never'll jerk you up + Ef you go and pay 'em back; + You kin stand all moral and mundane storms + Ef you'll on'y jes' behave-- + But a' EARTHQUAKE:--Well, ef it wanted you + It 'ud husk you out o' yer grave! + + + + +LEWIS D. HAYES + +OBIT DECEMBER 28, 1886 + + + In the midmost glee of the Christmas + And the mirth of the glad New Year, + A guest has turned from the revel, + And we sit in silence here. + + The band chimes on, yet we listen + Not to the air's refrain, + But over it ever we strive to catch + The sound of his voice again;-- + + For the sound of his voice was music, + Dearer than any note + Shook from the strands of harp-strings, + Or poured from the bugle's throat.-- + + A voice of such various ranges, + His utterance rang from the height + Of every rapture, down to the sobs + Of every lost delight. + + Though he knew Man's force and his purpose, + As strong as his strongest peers, + He knew, as well, the kindly heart, + And the tenderness of tears. + + So is it the face we remember + Shall be always as a child's + That, grieved some way to the very soul, + Looks bravely up and smiles. + + O brave it shall look, as it looked its last + On the little daughter's face-- + Pictured only--against the wall, + In its old accustomed place-- + + Where the last gleam of the lamplight + Out of the midnight dim + Yielded its grace, and the earliest dawn + Gave it again to him. + + + + +IN DAYS TO COME + + + In days to come--whatever ache + Of age shall rack our bones, or quake + Our slackened thews--whatever grip + Rheumatic catch us i' the hip,-- + We, each one, for the other's sake, + Will of our very wailings make + Such quips of song as well may shake + The spasm'd corners from the lip-- + In days to come. + + Ho! ho! how our old hearts shall rake + The past up!--how our dry eyes slake + Their sight upon the dewy drip + Of juicy-ripe companionship, + And blink stars from the blind opaque-- + In days to come. + + + + +LUTHER A. TODD + +OBIT JULY 27, 1887, KANSAS CITY, MISSOURI + + + Gifted, and loved, and praised + By every friend; + Never a murmur raised + Against him, to the end! + With tireless interest + He wrought as he thought best,-- + And--lo, we bend + Where now he takes his rest! + + His heart was loyal, to + Its latest thrill, + To the home-loves he knew-- + And now forever will,-- + Mother and brother--they + The first to pass away,-- + And, lingering still, + The sister bowed to-day. + + Pure as a rose might be, + And sweet, and white, + His father's memory + Was with him day and night:-- + He spoke of him, as one + May now speak of the son,-- + Sadly and tenderly,-- + Yet as a trump had done. + + Say, then, of him: He knew + Full depths of care + And stress of pain, and you + Do him scant justice there,-- + Yet in the lifted face + Grief left not any trace, + Nor mark unfair, + To mar its manly grace. + + It was as if each day + Some new hope dawned-- + Each blessing in delay, + To him, was just beyond; + Between whiles, waiting, he + Drew pictures, cunningly-- + Fantastic--fond-- + Things that we laughed to see. + + Sometimes, as we looked on + His crayon's work, + Some angel-face would dawn + Out radiant, from the mirk + Of features old and thin, + Or jowled with double-chin, + And eyes asmirk, + And gaping mouths agrin. + + That humor in his art, + Of genius born, + Welled warmly from a heart + That could not but adorn + All things it touched with love-- + The eagle, as the dove-- + The burst of morn-- + The night--the stars above. + + Sometimes, amid the wild + Of faces queer, + A mother, with her child + Pressed warm and close to her; + This, I have thought, somehow, + The wife, with head abow, + Unreconciled, + In the great shadow now. + + * * * * * + + O you of sobbing breath, + Put by all sighs + Of anguish at his death-- + Turn--as he turned _his_ eyes, + In that last hour, unknown + In strange lands, all alone-- + Turn thine eyes toward the skies, + And, smiling, cease thy moan. + + + + +WHEN THE HEARSE COMES BACK + + + A thing 'at's 'bout as tryin' as a healthy man kin meet + Is some poor feller's funeral a-joggin' 'long the street: + The slow hearse and the hosses--slow enough, to say the least, + Fer to even tax the patience of the gentleman deceased! + The low scrunch of the gravel--and the slow grind of the wheels,-- + The low, slow go of ev'ry woe 'at ev'rybody feels! + So I ruther like the contrast when I hear the whiplash crack + A quickstep fer the hosses, + When the + Hearse + Comes + Back! + + Meet it goin' to'rds the cimet'ry, you'll want to drap yer eyes-- + But ef the plumes don't fetch you, it'll ketch you otherwise-- + You'll haf to see the caskit, though you'd ort to look away + And 'conomize and save yer sighs fer any other day! + Yer sympathizin' won't wake up the sleeper from his rest-- + Yer tears won't thaw them hands o' his 'at's froze acrost his breast! + And this is why--when airth and sky's a-gittin' blurred and black + I like the flash and hurry + When the + Hearse + Comes + Back! + + It's not 'cause I don't 'preciate it ain't no time fer jokes, + Ner 'cause I' got no common human feelin' fer the folks;-- + I've went to funerals myse'f, and tuk on some, perhaps-- + Fer my heart's 'bout as mal'able as any other chap's,-- + I've buried father, mother--but I'll haf to jes' git _you_ + To "excuse _me_," as the feller says.--The p'int I'm drivin' to + Is, simply, when we're plum broke down and all knocked out o' whack, + It he'ps to shape us up, like, + When the + Hearse + Comes + Back! + + The idy! wadin' round here over shoe-mouth deep in woe, + When they's a graded 'pike o' joy and sunshine, don't you know! + When evening strikes the pastur', cows'll pull out fer the bars + And skittish-like from out the night'll prance the happy stars: + And so when _my_ time comes to die, and I've got ary friend + 'At wants expressed my last request--I'll, mebby, rickommend + To drive slow, ef they haf to, goin' 'long the _out'ard_ track, + But I'll smile and say, "You speed 'em + When the + Hearse + Comes + Back!" + + + + +OUR OLD FRIEND NEVERFAIL + + + O it's good to ketch a relative 'at's richer and don't run + When you holler out to hold up, and'll joke and have his fun; + It's good to hear a man called bad and then find out he's not, + Er strike some chap they call lukewarm 'at's really red-hot; + It's good to know the Devil's painted jes' a leetle black, + And it's good to have most anybody pat you on the back;-- + But jes' the best thing in the world's our old friend Neverfail, + When he wags yer hand as honest as an old dog wags his tail! + + I like to strike the man I owe the same time I can pay, + And take back things I've borried, and su'prise folks thataway; + I like to find out that the man I voted fer last fall, + That didn't git elected, was a scoundrel after all; + I like the man that likes the pore and he'ps 'em when he can; + I like to meet a ragged tramp 'at's still a gentleman; + But most I like--with you, my boy--our old friend Neverfail, + When he wags yer hand as honest as an old dog wags his tail! + + + + +DAN O'SULLIVAN + + + Dan O'Sullivan: It's your + Lips have kissed "The Blarney," sure!-- + To be trillin' praise av me, + Dhrippin' shwate wid poethry!-- + Not that I'd not have ye sing-- + Don't lave off for anything-- + Jusht be aisy whilst the fit + Av me head shwells up to it! + + Dade and thrue, I'm not the man, + Whilst yer singin', loike ye can, + To cry shtop because ye've blesht + My songs more than all the resht:-- + I'll not be the b'y to ax + Any shtar to wane or wax, + Or ax any clock that's woun', + To run up inshtid av down! + + Whist yez! Dan O'Sullivan!-- + Him that made the Irishman + Mixt the birds in wid the dough, + And the dew and mistletoe + Wid the whusky in the quare + Muggs av us--and here we air, + Three parts right, and three parts wrong, + Shpiked wid beauty, wit, and song! + + + + +JOHN BOYLE O'REILLY + +SEPULTURE--BOSTON, AUGUST 13, 1890 + + + Dead? this peerless man of men-- + Patriot, Poet, Citizen!-- + Dead? and ye weep where he lies + Mute, with folded eyes! + + Courage! All his tears are done; + Mark him, dauntless, face the sun! + He hath led you.--Still, as true, + He is leading you. + + Folded eyes and folded hands + Typify divine commands + He is hearkening to, intent + Beyond wonderment. + + 'Tis promotion that has come + Thus upon him. Stricken dumb + Be your moanings dolorous! + God knows what He does. + + Rather as your chief, _aspire_!-- + Rise and seize his toppling lyre, + And sing Freedom, Home, and Love, + And the rights thereof! + + Ere in selfish grief ye sink, + Come! catch rapturous breath and think-- + Think what sweep of wing hath he, + Loosed in endless liberty. + + + + +MEREDITH NICHOLSON + + + Keats, and Kirk White, David Gray and the rest of you + Heavened and blest of you young singers gone,-- + Slender in sooth though the theme unexpressed of you, + Leave us this like of you yet to sing on! + Let your Muse mother him and your souls brother him, + Even as now, or in fancy, you do: + Still let him sing to us ever, and bring to us + Musical musings of glory and--you. + + Never a note to do evil or wrong to us-- + Beauty of melody--beauty of words,-- + Sweet and yet strong to us comes his young song to us + Rippled along to us clear as the bird's. + No fame elating him falsely, nor sating him-- + Feasting and feting him faint of her joys, + But singing on where the laurels are waiting him, + Young yet in art, and his heart yet a boy's. + + + + +GOD'S MERCY + + + Behold, one faith endureth still-- + Let factions rail and creeds contend-- + God's mercy _was_, and _is_, and _will_ + Be with us, foe and friend. + + + + +CHRISTMAS GREETING + + + A word of Godspeed and good cheer + To all on earth--or far or near, + Or friend or foe, or thine or mine-- + In echo of the voice divine, + Heard when the Star bloomed forth and lit + The world's face, with God's smile on it. + + + + +TO RUDYARD KIPLING + + + To do some worthy deed of charity + In secret and then have it found out by + Sheer accident, held gentle Elia-- + That--that was the best thing beneath the sky! + Confirmed in part, yet somewhat differing-- + (Grant that his gracious wraith will pardon me + If impious!)--I think a better thing + Is: being found out when one strives to be. + + So, Poet and Romancer--old as young, + And wise as artless--masterful as mild,-- + If there be sweet in any song I've sung, + 'Twas savored for that palate, O my Child! + For thee the lisping of the children all-- + For thee the youthful voices of old years-- + For thee all chords untamed or musical-- + For thee the laughter, and for thee the tears. + + And thus, borne to me o'er the seas between + Thy land and mine, thy Song of certain wing + Circles above me in the "pure serene" + Of our high heaven's vast o'er-welcoming; + While, packeted with joy and thankfulness, + And fair hopes many as the stars that shine, + And bearing all love's loyal messages, + Mine own goes homing back to thee and thine. + + + + +THE GUDEWIFE + + + My gudewife--she that is tae be-- + O she sall seeme sang-sweete tae me + As her ain croon tuned wi' the chiel's + Or spinnin'-wheel's. + An' faire she'll be, an' saft, an' light, + An' muslin-bright + As her spick apron, jimpy laced + The-round her waiste.-- + Yet aye as rosy sall she bloome + Intil the roome + (The where alike baith bake an' dine) + As a full-fine + Ripe rose, lang rinset wi' the raine, + Sun-kist againe,-- + Sall seate me at her table-spread, + White as her bread.-- + Where I, sae kissen her for _grace_, + Sall see her face + Smudged, yet aye sweeter, for the bit + O' floure on it, + Whiles, witless, she sall sip wi' me + Luve's tapmaist-bubblin' ecstasy. + + + + +TENNYSON + +ENGLAND, OCTOBER 5, 1892 + + + We of the New World clasp hands with the Old + In newer fervor and with firmer hold + And nobler fellowship,-- + O Master Singer, with the finger-tip + Of Death laid thus on thy melodious lip! + + All ages thou has honored with thine art, + And ages yet unborn thou wilt be part + Of all songs pure and true! + Thine now the universal homage due + From Old and New World--ay, and still The New! + + + + +ROSAMOND C. BAILEY + + + Thou brave, good woman! Loved of every one; + Not only that in singing thou didst fill + Our thirsty hearts with sweetness, trill on trill, + Even as a wild bird singing in the sun-- + Not only that in all thy carols none + But held some tincturing of tears to thrill + Our gentler natures, and to quicken still + Our human sympathies; but thou hast won + Our equal love and reverence because + That thou wast ever mindful of the poor, + And thou wast ever faithful to thy friends. + So, loving, serving all, thy best applause + Thy requiem--the vast throng at the door + Of the old church, with mute prayers and amens. + + + + +MRS. BENJAMIN HARRISON + +WASHINGTON, OCTOBER 25, 1892 + + + Now utter calm and rest; + Hands folded o'er the breast + In peace the placidest, + All trials past; + All fever soothed--all pain + Annulled in heart and brain, + Never to vex again-- + She sleeps at last. + + She sleeps; but O most dear + And best beloved of her + Ye sleep not--nay, nor stir, + Save but to bow + The closer each to each, + With sobs and broken speech, + That all in vain beseech + Her answer now. + + And lo! we weep with you, + One grief the wide world through: + Yet with the faith she knew + We see her still, + Even as here she stood-- + All that was pure and good + And sweet in womanhood-- + God's will her will. + + + + +GEORGE A. CARR + +GREENFIELD, JULY 21, 1914 + + + O playmate of the far-away + And dear delights of Boyhood's day, + And friend and comrade true and tried + Through length of years of life beside, + I bid you thus a fond farewell + Too deep for words or tears to tell. + + But though I lose you, nevermore + To greet you at the open door, + To grasp your hand or see your smile, + I shall be thankful all the while + Because your love and loyalty + Have made a happier world for me. + + So rest you, Playmate, in that land + Still hidden from us by His hand, + Where you may know again in truth + All of the glad days of your youth-- + As when in days of endless ease + We played beneath the apple trees. + + + + +TO ELIZABETH + +OBIT JULY 8, 1893 + + + O noble, true and pure and lovable + As thine own blessed name, ELIZABETH!-- + Ay, even as its cadence lingereth + Upon the lips that speak it, so the spell + Of thy sweet memory shall ever dwell + As music in our hearts. Smiling at Death + As on some later guest that tarrieth, + Too gratefully o'erjoyed to say farewell, + Thou hast turned from us but a little space-- + We miss thy presence but a little while, + Thy voice of sympathy, thy word of cheer, + The radiant glory of thine eyes and face, + The glad midsummer morning of thy smile,-- + For still we feel and know that thou art here. + + + + +TO ALMON KEEFER + +INSCRIBED IN "TALES OF THE OCEAN" + + + This first book that I ever knew + Was read aloud to me by you! + Friend of my boyhood, therefore take + It back from me, for old times' sake-- + The selfsame "Tales" first read to me, + Under "the old sweet apple tree," + Ere I myself could read such great + Big words,--but listening all elate, + At your interpreting, until + Brain, heart, and soul were all athrill + With wonder, awe, and sheer excess + Of wildest childish happiness. + + So take the book again--forget + All else,--long years, lost hopes, regret; + Sighs for the joys we ne'er attain, + Prayers we have lifted all in vain; + Tears for the faces seen no more, + Once as the roses at the door! + Take the enchanted book--And lo, + On grassy swards of long ago, + Sprawl out again, beneath the shade + The breezy old-home orchard made, + The veriest barefoot boy indeed-- + And I will listen as you read. + + + + +TO--"THE J. W. R. LITERARY CLUB" + + + Well, it's enough to turn his head to have a feller's name + Swiped with a _Literary_ Club!--But _you're_ the ones to blame!-- + I call the World to witness that I never _agged_ ye to it + By ever writin' _Classic-like_--_because I couldn't_ do it: + I never run to "Hellicon," ner writ about "Per-nassus," + Ner ever tried to rack or ride around on old "P-_gassus_"! + When "Tuneful Nines" has cross'd my lines, the ink 'ud blot and + blur it, + And pen 'ud jest putt back fer home, and take the short way fer it! + And so, as I'm a-sayin',--when you name your Literary + In honor o' this name o' mine, it's railly nessessary-- + Whilse I'm _a-thankin'_ you and all--to _warn_ you, ef you do it, + I'll haf to jine the thing myse'f 'fore I can live up to it! + + + + +LITTLE MAID-O'-DREAMS + + + Little Maid-o'-Dreams, with your + Eery eyes so clear and pure + Gazing, where we fain would see + Into far futurity,-- + Tell us what you there behold, + In your visions manifold! + What is on beyond our sight, + Biding till the morrow's light, + Fairer than we see to-day, + As our dull eyes only may? + + Little Maid-o'-Dreams, with face + Like as in some woodland place + Lifts a lily, chaste and white, + From the shadow to the light;-- + Tell us, by your subtler glance, + What strange sorcery enchants + You as now,--here, yet afar + As the realms of moon and star?-- + Have you magic lamp and ring, + And genii for vassaling? + + Little Maid-o'-Dreams, confess + You're divine and nothing less,-- + For with mortal palms, we fear, + Yet must pet you, dreaming here-- + Yearning, too, to lift the tips + Of your fingers to our lips; + Fearful still you may rebel, + High and heav'nly oracle! + Thus, though all unmeet our kiss, + Pardon this!--and this!--and this! + + Little Maid-o'-Dreams, we call + Truce and favor, knowing all!-- + All your magic is, in truth, + Pure foresight and faith of youth-- + You're a child, yet even so, + You're a sage, in embryo-- + Prescient poet--artist--great + As your dreams anticipate.-- + Trusting God and Man, you do + Just as Heaven inspires you to. + + + + +TO THE BOY WITH A COUNTRY + +DAN WALLINGFORD + + + Dan Wallingford, my jo Dan!-- + Though but a child in years, + Your patriot spirit thrills the land + And wakens it to cheers,-- + You lift the flag--you roll the drums-- + We hear the bugle blow,-- + Till all our hearts are one with yours, + Dan Wallingford, my jo! + + + + +CLAUDE MATTHEWS + +GOVERNOR OF INDIANA + + + Steadfastly from his childhood's earliest hour-- + From simplest country life to state and power-- + His worth has known advancement,--each new height + A newer glory in his fellow's sight. + + So yet his happy fate--though mute the breath + Of thronging multitudes and thundrous cheers,-- + Faith sees him raised still higher, through our tears, + By this divine promotion of his death. + + + + +TO LESLEY + + + Burns sang of bonny Lesley + As she gaed o'er the border,-- + Gaed like vain Alexander, + To spread her conquests farther. + + I sing another Lesley, + Wee girlie, more alluring, + Who stays at home, the wise one, + Her conquests there securing. + + A queen, too, is my Lesley, + And gracious, though blood-royal, + My heart her throne, her kingdom, + And I a subject loyal. + + Long shall you reign, my Lesley, + My pet, my darling dearie, + For love, oh, little sweetheart, + Grows never old or weary. + + + + +THE JUDKINS PAPERS + + +FATHER AND SON + +Mr. Judkins' boy came home yesterday with a bottle of bugs in his +pocket, and as the quiet little fellow sat on the back porch in his +favorite position, his legs elbowed and flattened out beneath him like +a letter "W," his genial and eccentric father came suddenly upon him. + +"And what's the blame' boy up to now?" said Mr. Judkins, in an assumed +tone of querulous displeasure, as he bent over the boy from behind and +gently tweaked his ear. + +"Oh, here, mister!" said the boy, without looking up; "you thist let +up on that, will you!" + +"What you got there, I tell you!" continued the smiling Mr. Judkins, +in a still gruffer tone, relinquishing the boy's ear, and gazing down +upon the fluffy towhead with more than ordinary admiration. "What you +got there?" + +"Bugs," said the boy--"you know!" + +"Dead, are they?" said Mr. Judkins. + +"Some of 'em's dead," said the boy, carefully running a needle through +the back of a large bumblebee. "All these uns is, you kin bet! You +don't think a feller 'ud try to string a live bumblebee, I reckon?" + +"Well, no, 'Squire," said Mr. Judkins, airily, addressing the boy by +one of the dozen nicknames he had given him; "not a live bumblebee--a +real stem-winder, of course not. But what in the name o' limpin' +Lazarus air you stringin' 'em fer?" + +"Got a live snake-feeder," said the boy, ignoring the parental +inquiry. "See him down there in the bottom, 'ith all th' other uns on +top of him. Thist watch him now, an' you kin see him pant. I kin. Yes, +an' I got a beetle 'at's purt' nigh alive, too--on'y he can't pull in +his other wings. See 'em?" continued the boy, with growing enthusiasm, +twirling the big-mouthed bottle like a kaleidoscope. "Hate beetles! +'cause they allus act so big, an' make s'much fuss about theirselves, +an' don't know nothin' neither! Bet ef I had as many wings as a beetle +I wouldn't let no boy my size knock the stuffin' out o' me with no +bunch o' weeds, like I done him!" + +"Howd'ye know you wouldn't?" said Mr. Judkins, austerely, biting his +nails and winking archly to himself. + +"W'y, I know I wouldn't," said the boy, "'cause I'd keep up in the air +where I could fly, an' wouldn't come low down ut all--bumpin' around +'mongst them bushes, an' buzzin' against things, an' buttin' my brains +out a-tryin' to git thue fence cracks." + +"'Spect you'd ruther be a snake-feeder, wouldn't you, Bud?" said Mr. +Judkins suggestively. "Snake-feeders has got about enough wings to +suit you, ef you want more'n one pair, and ever' day's a picnic with a +snake-feeder, you know. Nothin' to do but jes' loaf up and down the +crick, and roost on reeds and cat-tails, er fool around a feller's +fish-line and light on the cork and bob up and down with it till she +goes clean under, don't you know?" + +"Don't want to be no snake-feeder, neither," said the boy, "'cause +they gits gobbled up, first thing they know, by these 'ere big green +bullfrogs ut they can't ever tell from the skum till they've lit right +in their mouth--and then they're goners! No, sir;" continued the boy, +drawing an extra quinine-bottle from another pocket, and holding it up +admiringly before his father's eyes: "There's the feller in there ut +I'd ruther be than have a pony!" + +"W'y, it's a nasty p'izen spider!" exclaimed Mr. Judkins, pushing back +the bottle with affected abhorrence, "and he's alive, too!" + +"You bet he's alive!" said the boy, "an' you kin bet he'll never come +to no harm while I own him!" and as the little fellow spoke his face +glowed with positive affection, and the twinkle of his eyes, as he +continued, seemed wonderfully like his father's own. "Tell you, I like +spiders! Spiders is awful fat--all but their head--and that's level, +you kin bet! Flies hain't got no business with a spider. Ef a spider +ever reaches fer a fly, he's his meat! The spider, he likes to loaf +an' lay around in the shade an' wait fer flies an' bugs an' things to +come a-foolin' round his place. He lays back in the hole in the corner +of his web, an' waits till somepin' lights on it an' nen when he hears +'em buzzin', he thist crawls out an' fixes 'em so's they can't buzz, +an' he's got the truck to do it with! I bet ef you'd unwind all the +web-stuff out of thist one little spider not bigger'n a pill, it 'ud +be long enough fer a kite-string! Onc't they wuz one in our +wood-house, an' a taterbug got stuck in his web, an' the spider worked +purt' nigh two days 'fore he got him so's he couldn't move. Nen he +couldn't eat him neither--'cause they's shells on 'em, you know, an' +the spider didn't know how to hull him. Ever' time I'd go there the +spider, he'd be a-wrappin' more stuff around th' ole bug, an' stoopin' +down like he wuz a-whisperin' to him. An' one day I went in ag'in, an' +he was a-hangin', alas an' cold in death! An' I poked him with a +splinter an' his web broke off--'spect he'd used it all up on the +wicked bug--an' it killed him; an' I buried him in a' ink-bottle an' +mashed the old bug 'ith a chip!" + +"Yes," said Judkins, in a horrified tone, turning away to conceal the +real zest and enjoyment his face must have betrayed; "yes, and some +day you'll come home p'izened, er somepin'! And I want to say right +here, my young man, ef ever you do, and it don't kill you, I'll lint +you within an inch of your life!" And as the eccentric Mr. Judkins +whirled around the corner of the porch he heard the boy murmur in his +low, absent-minded way, "Yes, you will!" + + +MR. JUDKINS' REMARKS + +Judkins stopped us in front of the post-office yesterday to say that +that boy of his was "the blamedest boy outside o' the annals o' +history!" "Talk about this boy-naturalist out here at Indianapolis," +says Judkins,--"w'y, he ain't nowhere to my boy! The little cuss don't +do nothin' either only set around and look sleepy, and dern him, he +gits off more dry things than you could print in your paper. Of late +he's been a-displayin' a sort o' weakness fer Nature, don't you know; +and he's allus got a bottle o' bugs in his pocket. He come home +yesterday evening with a blame' mud-turtle as big as an unabridged +dictionary, and turned him over in the back yard and commenced biffin' +away at him with a hammer and a cold-chisel. 'W'y, you're a-killin' +the turtle,' says I. 'Kill nothin'!' says he, 'I'm thist a-takin' the +lid off so's I can see his clock works.' Hoomh!" says Judkins: "He's a +good one!--only," he added, "I wouldn't have the _boy_ think so fer the +world!" + + +JUDKINS' BOY ON THE MUD-TURTLE + +The mud-turtle is not a beast of pray, but he dearly loves catfish +bait. If a mud-turtle gits your big toe in his mouth he will hang on +till it thunders. Then he will spit it out like he was disgusted. The +mud-turtle kin swim and keep his chin out of water ef he wants to but +he don't care ef he does sink. The turtle kin stay under water until +his next birthday, an' never crack a smile. He kin breathe like a +grown person, but he don't haf to, on'y when he is on dry land, an' +then I guess he thist does it to be soshibul. Allus when you see +bubbles a-comin' up in the swimmin' hole, you kin bet your galluses +they's a mud-turtle a-layin' down there, studyin' up some cheap way to +git his dinner. Mud-turtles never dies, on'y when they make soup out +of 'em. They is seven kinds of meat in the turtle, but I'd ruther eat +thist plain burnt liver. + + +ON FROGS + +Frogs is the people's friend, but they can't fly. Onc't they wuz +tadpoles about as big as lickerish drops, an' after while legs growed +on 'em. Oh, let us love the frog--he looks so sorry. Frogs kin swim +better'n little boys, and they don't haf to hold their nose when they +dive, neither. Onc't I had a pet frog; an' the cars run over him. It +thist squshed him. Bet he never knowed what hurt him! Onc't they wuz a +rich lady swallered one--when he wuz little, you know; an' he growed +up in her, an' it didn't kill him ut all. An' you could hear him +holler in her bosom. It was a tree-toad; and so ever' time he'd go +p-r-r-r-r- w'y, nen the grand lady she'd know it was goin' to rain, +an' make her little boy run an' putt the tub under the spout. Wasn't +that a b'utiful frog? + + +ON PIRUTS + +Piruts is reckless to a fault. They ain't afeard of nobody ner +nothin'. Ef ever you insult a pirut onc't, he'll foller you to the +grave but what he will revenge his wrongs. Piruts all looks like +pictures of "Buffalo Bill"--on'y they don't shave off the whiskers +that sticks out over the collar of their low-necked shirt. Ever' day +is a picknick fer the piruts of the high seas. They eat gunpowder an' +drink blood to make 'em savage, and then they kill people all day, an' +set up all night an' tell ghost stories an' sing songs such as mortal +ear would quail to listen to. Piruts never comes on shore on'y when +they run out of tobacker; an' then it's a cold day ef they don't land +at midnight, an' disguize theirselves an' slip up in town like a +sleuth houn', so's the Grand Jury can't git on to 'em. They don't care +fer the police any more than us people who dwells right in their +midst. Piruts makes big wages an' spends it like a king. "Come easy, +go easy," is the fatal watchword of them whose deeds is Deth. Onc't +they wuz a pirut turned out of the house an' home by his cruel parents +when he wuz but a kid, an' so he always went by that name. He was +thrust adrift without a nickel, an' sailed fer distant shores to hide +his shame fer those he loved. In the dead of night he stol'd a new +suit of the captain's clothes. An' when he growed up big enough to fit +'em, he gaily dressed hissef and went up an' paced the quarter-deck in +deep thought. He had not fergot how the captain onc't had lashed him +to the jib-boom-poop an' whipped him. That stung his proud spirit even +then; an' so the first thing he done was to slip up behind the cruel +officer an' push him over-board. Then the ship wuz his fer better er +fer worse. An' so he took command, an' hung high upon the beetling +mast the pirut flag. Then he took the Bible his old mother give him, +an' tied a darnic round it an' sunk it in the sand with a mocking +laugh. Then it wuz that he wuz ready fer the pirut's wild seafaring +life. He worked the business fer all they wuz in it fer many years, +but wuz run in ut last. An', standin' on the gallus-tree, he sung a +song which wuz all wrote off by hissef. An' then they knocked the trap +on him. An' thus the brave man died and never made a kick. In life he +wuz allus careful with his means, an' saved up vast welth, which he +dug holes and buried, an' died with the secret locked in his bosom to +this day. + + +ON HACKMENS + +Hackmens has the softest thing in the bizness. They hain't got nothin' +to do but look hump-shouldered an' chaw tobacker an' wait. Hackmens +all looks like detectives, an' keeps still, an' never even spits when +you walk past 'em. An' they're allus cold. A hackman that stands high +in the p'fession kin wear a overcoat in dog-days an' then look chilly +an' like his folks wuz all dead but the old man, an' he wuz a +drunkard. Ef a hackman would on'y be a blind fiddler he'd take in more +money than a fair-ground. Hackmens never gives nothin' away. You kin +trust a hackman when you can't trust your own mother. Some people +thinks when they hire a hack to take 'em some place that the hackman +has got some grudge ag'in' 'em--but he hain't--he's allus that way. He +loves you but he knows his place, and smothers his real feelings. In +life's giddy scenes hackmens all wears a mask; but down deep in their +heart you kin bet they are yourn till deth. Some hackmens look like +they wuz stuck up, but they hain't--it's only 'cause they got on so +much clothes. Onc't a hackman wuz stabbed by a friend of his in the +same bizness, an' when the doctors wuz seein' how bad he wuz karved +up, they found he had on five shurts. They said that wuz all that +saved his life. They said ef he'd on'y had on four shurts, he'd 'a' +been a ded man. An' the hackman hissef, when he got well, used to brag +it wuz the closetest call he ever had, an' laid fer the other hackman, +an' hit him with a car couplin' an' killed him, an' come mighty nigh +goin' to the penitenchary fer it. Influenshal friends wuz all that +saved him that time. No five shurts would 'a' done it. The mayor said +that when he let him off, an' brought down the house, an' made hissef +a strong man fer another term. Some mayors is purty slick, but a +humble hackman may sometimes turn out to be thist as smooth. The on'y +thing w'y a hackman don't show up no better is 'cause he loses so much +sleep. That's why he allus looks like he had the headache, an' didn't +care ef he did. Onc't a hackman wuz waitin' in front of a hotel one +morning an' wuz sort o' dozin' like, an' fell off his seat. An' they +run an' picked him up, an' he wuz unconshus, an' they worked with him +till 'way long in the afternoon 'fore they found out he wuz thist +asleep; an' he cussed fearful cause they waked him up, an' wondered +why people couldn't never tend to their own bizness like he did. + + +ON DUDES + +Ever'body is allus a-givin' it to Dudes. Newspapers makes fun of 'em, +an' artists makes pictures of 'em; an' the on'y ones in the wide world +that stuck on Dudes is me an' the Dudes theirse'f, an' we love an' +cherish 'em with all a parent's fond regards. An' nobody knows much +about Dudes neither, 'cause they hain't been broke out long enough yit +to tell thist what the disease is. Some say it's softinning of the +brains, an' others claim it can't be that, on the groun's they hain't +got material fer the softinning to work on, &c., &c., till even +"Sientests is puzzled," as the good book says. An' ef I wuz a-goin' to +say what ails Dudes I'd have to give it up, er pernounce it a' +aggervated case of Tyfoid blues, which is my 'onnest convictions. +That's what makes me kind o' stand in with 'em--same as ef they wuz +the under-dog. I am willing to aknolege that Dudes has their weakness, +but so has ever'thing. Even Oscar Wild, ef putt to the test; an' I +allus feel sorry fer George Washington 'cause he died 'fore he got to +see Oscar Wild. An' then another reason w'y you oughten't to jump on +to Dudes is, they don't know what's the matter with 'em any more than +us folks in whom they come in daily contack. Dudes all walks an' looks +in the face like they wuz on their way to fill an engagement with a +revolvin' lady wax-figger in some milliner-winder, an' had fergot the +number of her place of bizness. Some folks is mean enough to bitterly +a'sert that Dudes is strained in their manner an' fools from choice; +but they ain't. It's a gift--Dudes is Geenuses--that's what Dudes is! + + +ON RED HAIR + +Onc't a pore boy wuz red-hedded, an' got mad at the other boys when +they'd throw it up to him. An' when they'd laugh at his red hed, an' +ast him fer a light, er wuzn't he afeard he'd singe his cap, an' orto' +wear a tin hat, er pertend to warm their hands by him,--w'y, sometimes +the red-hedded boy'd git purty hot indeed; an' onc't he told another +boy that wuz a-bafflin' him about his red hair that ef he wuz him he'd +git a fine comb an' go to canvassin' his own hed, and then he'd be +liabul to sceer up a more livelier subjeck to talk about than red +hair. An' then the other boy says, "You're a liar" an' that got the +red-hedded boy into more trouble; fer the old man whipped him +shameful' fer breakin' up soil with the other boy. An' this here +red-hedded boy had freckles, too. An' warts. An' nobody ortn't to 'a' +jumpt on to him fer that. Ef anybody wuz a red-hedded boy they'd have +also warts an' freckles--an' thist red-hair's bad enough. Onc't +another boy told him ef he wuz him he bet he could make a big day look +sick some night. An' when the red-hedded boy says "How?" w'y, the +other boy he says "Easy enough. I'd thist march around bare-hedded in +the torch-light p'cession."--"Yes, you would," says the red-hedded +boy, an' pasted him one with a shinny club, an' got dispelled from +school 'cause he wuz so high-tempered an' impulsiv. Ef I wuz the +red-hedded boy I'd be a pirut; but he allus said he wuz goin' to be a +baker. + + +THE CROSS-EYED GIRL + +"You don't want to never tamper with a cross-eyed girl," said Mr. +Judkins, "and I'll tell you w'y: They've natur'lly got a better focus +on things than a man would ever guess--studyin' their eyes, you +understand. A man may think he's a-foolin' a cross-eyed girl simply +because she's apparently got her eyes tangled on other topics as he's +a-talkin' to her, but at the same time that girl may be a-lookin' down +the windin' stairway of the cellar of his soul with one eye, and +a-winkin' in a whisper to her own soul with the other, and her +unconscious victim jes' a-takin' it fer granted that nothin' is the +matter with the girl, only jes' cross-eyes! You see I've studied 'em," +continued Judkins, "and I'm on to one fact dead sure--and that is, +their natures is as deceivin' as their eyes is! Knowed one onc't that +had her eyes mixed up thataway--sensitive little thing she was, and +always referrin' to her 'misfortune,' as she called it, and eternally +threatenin' to have some surgeon straighten 'em out like other +folks'--and, sir, that girl so worked on my feelin's, and took such +underholts on my sympathies that, blame me, before I knowed it I +confessed to her that ef it hadn't 'a' been fer her defective eyes (I +made it 'defective') I never would have thought of lovin' her, and, +furthermore ef ever she did have 'em changed back normal, don't you +understand, she might consider our engagement at an end--I did, +honest. And that girl was so absolute cross-eyed it warped her ears, +and she used to amuse herself by watchin' 'em curl up as I'd be +a-talkin' to her, and that maddened me, 'cause I'm natur'lly of a +jealous disposition, you know, and so, at last, I jes' casually hinted +that ef she was really a-goin' to git them eyes carpentered up, w'y +she'd better git at it: and that ended it. + +"And then the blame' girl turned right around and married a fellow +that had a better pair of eyes than mine this minute! Then I struck +another cross-eyed girl--not really a legitimate case, 'cause, in +reality, she only had one off eye--the right eye, ef I don't +disremember--the other one was as square as a gouge. And that girl +was, ef any difference, a more confusin' case than the other, and +besides all that, she had some money in her own right, and warn't +a-throwin' off no big discount on one game eye. But I finally got her +interested, and I reckon something serious might 'a' come of it--but, +you see, her father was dead, and her stepmother sort o' shet down on +my comin' to the house; besides that, she had three grown uncles, and +you know how uncles is. I didn't want to marry no family, of course, +and so I slid out of the scheme, and tackled a poor girl that clerked +in a post-office. Her eyes was bad! I never did git the hang of them +eyes of hern. She had purty hair, and a complexion, I used to tell +her, which outrivalled the rose. But them eyes, you know! I didn't +really appreciate how bad they was crossed, at first. You see, it took +time. Got her to give me her picture, and I used to cipher on that, +but finally worked her off on a young friend of mine who wanted to +marry intellect--give her a good send-off to him--and she was +smart--only them eyes, you know! Why, that girl could read a postal +card, both sides at once, and smile at a personal friend through the +office window at the same time!" + + +HOMESICKNESS + +There was a more than ordinary earnestness in the tone of Mr. Judkins +as he said: "Referrin' to this thing of bein' homesick, I want to +say right here that of all diseases, afflictions er complaints, this +thing of bein' homesick takes the cookies! A man may think when he's +got a' aggrivated case of janders, er white-swellin', say, er +bone-erysipelas, that he's to be looked up to as bein' purty well +fixed in this vale of trouble and unrest, but I want to tell you, when +I want my sorrow blood-raw, don't you understand, you may give me +homesickness--straight goods, you know--and I'll git more clean, +legitimate agony out of that than you can out of either of the other +attractions--yes, er even ef you'd ring in the full combination on me! +You see, there's no way of treatin' homesickness only one--and that is +to git back home--but as that's a remedy you can't git at no drug +store, at so much per box--and ef you could, fer instance, and only +had enough ready money anyhow to cover half the cost of a full +box--and nothin' but a full box ever reached the case--w'y, it follers +that your condition still remains critical. And homesickness don't +show no favors. It's jes' as liable to strike you as me. High er low, +er rich er poor, all comes under her jurishdiction, and whenever she +once reaches fer a citizen, you can jes' bet she gits there Eli, ever' +time! + +"She don't confine herse'f to youth, ner make no specialty of little +children either, but she stalks abroad like a census-taker, and is as +conscientious. She visits the city girl clean up to Maxinkuckee, and +makes her wonder how things really is back home without her. And then +she haunts her dreams, and wakes her up at all hours of the night, and +sings old songs over fer her, and talks to her in low thrillin' tones +of a young man whose salary ain't near big enough fer two; and then +she leaves her photograph with her and comes away, and makes it lively +fer the boys on the train, the conductor, the brakeman and the +engineer. She even nests out the travellin' man, and yanks him out of +his reclinin' chair, and walks him up and down the car, and runs him +clean out of cigars and finecut, and smiles to hear him swear. Then +she gits off at little country stations and touches up the night +operator, who grumbles at his boy companion, and wishes to dernation +'six' was in, so's he could 'pound his ear.' + +"And I'll never forgit," continued Mr. Judkins, "the last case of +homesickness I had, and the cure I took fer it. 'Tain't been more'n a +week ago neither. You see my old home is a'most too many laps from +this base to make it very often, and in consequence I hadn't been +there fer five years and better, till this last trip, when I jes' +succumbed to the pressure, and th'owed up my hands and went. Seemed +like I'd 'a' died if I hadn't. And it was glorious to rack around the +old town again--things lookin' jes' the same, mighty nigh, as they was +when I was a boy, don't you know. Run acrost an old schoolmate, too, +and tuck supper at his happy little home, and then we got us a good +nickel cigar, and walked and walked, and talked and talked! Tuck me +all around, you understand, in the meller twilight--till, the first +thing you know, there stood the old schoolhouse where me and him first +learnt to chew tobacco, and all that! Well, sir! you hain't got no +idea of the feelin's that was mine! W'y, I felt like I could th'ow my +arms around the dear old buildin' and squeeze it till the cupolo would +jes' pop out of the top of the roof like the core out of a b'ile! And +I think if they ever was a' epoch in my life when I could 'a' tackled +poetry without no compunctions, as the feller says, w'y, then was the +time--shore!" + + + + +TO THE QUIET OBSERVER + +ERASMUS WILSON, AFTER HIS LONG SILENCE + + + Dear old friend of us all in need + Who know the worth of a friend indeed, + How rejoiced are we all to learn + Of your glad return. + + We who have missed your voice so long-- + Even as March might miss the song + Of the sugar-bird in the maples when + They're tapped again. + + Even as the memory of these + _Blended_ sweets,--the sap of the trees + And the song of the birds, and the old camp too, + We think of you. + + Hail to you, then, with welcomes deep + As grateful hearts may laugh or weep!-- + You give us not only the bird that sings, + But all good things. + + + + +AMERICA'S THANKSGIVING + +1900 + + + Father all bountiful, in mercy bear + With this our universal voice of prayer-- + The voice that needs must be + Upraised in thanks to Thee, + O Father, from Thy Children everywhere. + + A multitudinous voice, wherein we fain + Wouldst have Thee hear no lightest sob of pain-- + No murmur of distress, + Nor moan of loneliness, + Nor drip of tears, though soft as summer rain. + + And, Father, give us first to comprehend, + No ill can come from Thee; lean Thou and lend + Us clearer sight to see + Our boundless debt to Thee, + Since all thy deeds are blessings, in the end. + + And let us feel and know that, being Thine, + We are inheritors of hearts divine, + And hands endowed with skill, + And strength to work Thy will, + And fashion to fulfilment Thy design. + + So, let us thank Thee, with all self aside, + Nor any lingering taint of mortal pride; + As here to Thee we dare + Uplift our faltering prayer, + Lend it some fervor of the glorified. + + We thank Thee that our land is loved of Thee + The blessed home of thrift and industry, + With ever-open door + Of welcome to the poor-- + Thy shielding hand o'er all abidingly. + + Even thus we thank Thee for the wrong that grew + Into a right that heroes battled to, + With brothers long estranged, + Once more as brothers ranged + Beneath the red and white and starry blue. + + Ay, thanks--though tremulous the thanks expressed-- + Thanks for the battle at its worst, and best-- + For all the clanging fray + Whose discord dies away + Into a pastoral song of peace and rest. + + + + +WILLIAM PINKNEY FISHBACK + + + Say first he loved the dear home-hearts, and then + He loved his honest fellow citizen-- + He loved and honored him, in any post + Of duty where he served mankind the most. + + All that he asked of him in humblest need + Was but to find him striving to succeed; + All that he asked of him in highest place + Was justice to the lowliest of his race. + + When he found these conditions, proved and tried, + He owned he marvelled, but was satisfied-- + Relaxed in vigilance enough to smile + And, with his own wit, flay himself a while. + + Often he liked real anger--as, perchance, + The summer skies like storm-clouds and the glance + Of lightning--for the clearer, purer blue + Of heaven, and the greener old earth, too. + + All easy things to do he did with care, + Knowing the very common danger there; + In noblest conquest of supreme debate + The facts are simple as the victory great. + + That which had been a task to hardiest minds + To him was as a pleasure, such as finds + The captive-truant, doomed to read throughout + The one lone book he really cares about. + + Study revived him: Howsoever dim + And deep the problem, 'twas a joy to him + To solve it wholly; and he seemed as one + Refreshed and rested as the work was done. + + And he had gathered, from all wealth of lore + That time has written, such a treasure store, + His mind held opulence--his speech the rare + Fair grace of sharing all his riches there-- + + Sharing with all, but with the greatest zest + Sharing with those who seemed the neediest: + The young he ever favored; and through these + Shall he live longest in men's memories. + + + + +JOHN CLARK RIDPATH + + + To the lorn ones who loved him first and best, + And knew his dear love at its tenderest, + We seem akin--we simplest friends who knew + His fellowship, of heart and spirit too: + + We who have known the happy summertide + Of his ingenuous nature, glorified + With the inspiring smile that ever lit + The earnest face and kindly strength of it: + + His presence, all-commanding, as his thought + Into unconscious eloquence was wrought, + Until the utterance became a spell + That awed us as a spoken miracle. + + Learning, to him, was native--was, in truth, + The earliest playmate of his lisping youth, + Likewise, throughout a life of toil and stress, + It was as laughter, health and happiness: + + And so he played with it--joyed at its call-- + Ran rioting with it, forgetting all + Delights of childhood, and of age and fame,-- + A devotee of learning, still the same! + + In fancy, even now we catch the glance + Of the rapt eye and radiant countenance, + As when his discourse, like a woodland stream, + Flowed musically on from theme to theme: + + The skies, the stars, the mountains, and the sea, + He worshipped as their high divinity-- + Nor did his reverent spirit find one thing + On earth too lowly for his worshipping. + + The weed, the rose, the wildwood or the plain, + The teeming harvest, or the blighted grain-- + All--all were fashioned beautiful and good, + As the soul saw and senses understood. + + Thus broadly based, his spacious faith and love + Enfolded all below as all above-- + Nay, ev'n if overmuch he loved mankind, + He gave his love's vast largess as designed. + + Therefore, in fondest, faithful service, he + Wrought ever bravely for humanity-- + Stood, first of heroes for the Right allied-- + Foes, even, grieving, when (for them) he died. + + This was the man we loved--are loving yet, + And still shall love while longing eyes are wet + With selfish tears that well were brushed away + Remembering his smile of yesterday.-- + + For, even as we knew him, smiling still, + Somewhere beyond all earthly ache or ill, + He waits with the old welcome--just as when + We met him smiling, we shall meet again. + + + + +NEW YEAR'S NURSERY JINGLE + + + Of all the rhymes of all the climes + Of where and when and how, + We best and most can boost and boast + The Golden Age of NOW! + + + + +TO THE MOTHER + + + The mother-hands no further toil may know; + The mother-eyes smile not on you and me; + The mother-heart is stilled, alas!--But O + The mother-love abides eternally. + + + + +TO MY SISTER + +A BELATED OFFERING FOR HER BIRTHDAY + + + These books you find three weeks behind + Your honored anniversary + Make me, I fear, to here appear + Mayhap a trifle cursory.-- + Yet while the Muse must thus refuse + The chords that fall caressfully, + She seems to stir the publisher + And dealer quite successfully. + + As to our _birthdays_--let 'em run + Until they whir and whiz! + Read Robert Louis Stevenson, + And hum these lines of his:-- + "The eternal dawn, beyond a doubt, + Shall break on hill and plain + And put all stars and candles out + Ere we be young again." + + + + +A MOTTO + + + The _Brightest_ Star's the _modestest_, + And more'n likely writes + His motto like the lightnin'-bug's-- + _Accordin' To His Lights_. + + + + +TO A POET ON HIS MARRIAGE + +MADISON CAWEIN + + + Ever and ever, on and on, + From winter dusk to April dawn, + This old enchanted world we range + From night to light--from change to change-- + Or path of burs or lily-bells, + We walk a world of miracles. + + The morning evermore must be + A newer, purer mystery-- + The dewy grasses, or the bloom + Of orchards, or the wood's perfume + Of wild sweet-williams, or the wet + Blent scent of loam and violet. + + How wondrous all the ways we fare-- + What marvels wait us, unaware!... + But yesterday, with eyes ablur + And heart that held no hope of Her, + You paced the lone path, but the true + That led to where she waited you. + + + + +ART AND POETRY + +TO HOMER C. DAVENPORT + + + "Wess," he says, and sort o' grins, + "Art and Poetry is twins. + 'F I could draw as you have drew, + Like to jes' swap pens with you." + + + + +HER SMILE OF CHEER AND VOICE OF SONG + +ANNA HARRIS RANDALL + + + Spring fails, in all its bravery of brilliant gold and green,-- + The sun, the grass, the leafing tree, and all the dazzling scene + Of dewy morning--orchard blooms, + And woodland blossoms and perfumes + With bird-songs sown between. + + Yea, since _she_ smiles not any more, so every flowery thing + Fades, and the birds seem brooding o'er her silence as they sing-- + Her smile of cheer and voice of song + Seemed so divinely to belong + To ever-joyous Spring! + + Nay, still she smiles.--Our eyes are blurred and see not through our + tears: + And still her rapturous voice is heard, though not of mortal ears:-- + Now ever doth she smile and sing + Where Heaven's unending clime of Spring + Reclaims those gifts of hers. + + + + +OLD INDIANY + +FRAGMENT + +INTENDED FOR A DINNER OF THE INDIANA SOCIETY OF CHICAGO + + + Old Indiany, 'course we know + Is first, and best, and _most_, also, + Of _all_ the States' whole forty-four:-- + She's first in ever'thing, that's shore!-- + And _best_ in ever'way as yet + Made known to man; and you kin bet + She's _most_, because she won't confess + She ever was, or will be, _less_! + And yet, fer all her proud array + Of sons, how many gits away!-- + No doubt about her bein' _great_ + But, fellers, she's a leaky State! + And them that boasts the most about + Her, them's the ones that's dribbled out. + Law! jes' to think of all you boys + 'Way over here in Illinoise + A-celebratin', like ye air, + Old Indiany, 'way back there + In the dark ages, so to speak, + A-prayin' for ye once a week + And wonderin' what's a-keepin' you + From comin', like you ort to do. + You're all a-lookin' well, and like + You wasn't "sidin' up the pike," + As the tramp-shoemaker said + When "he sacked the boss and shed + The blame town, to hunt fer one + Where they didn't work fer fun!" + Lookin' _extry_ well, I'd say, + Your old home so fur away.-- + Maybe, though, like the old jour., + Fun hain't all yer workin' fer. + So you've found a job that pays + Better than in them old days + You was on _The Weekly Press_, + Heppin' run things, more er less; + Er a-learnin' telegraph + Operatin', with a half + Notion of the tinner's trade, + Er the dusty man's that laid + Out designs on marble and + Hacked out little lambs by hand, + And chewed fine-cut as he wrought, + "Shapin' from his bitter thought" + Some squshed mutterings to say,-- + "Yes, hard work, and porer pay!" + Er you'd kind o' thought the far- + Gazin' kuss that owned a car + And took pictures in it, had + Jes' the snap you wanted--bad! + And you even wondered why + He kep' foolin' with his sky- + Light the same on shiny days + As when rainin'. ('T leaked always.) + Wondered what strange things was hid + In there when he shet the door + And smelt like a burnt drug store + Next some orchard-trees, i swan! + With whole roasted apples on! + That's why Ade is, here of late, + Buyin' in the dear old State,-- + So's to cut it up in plots + Of both town and country lots. + + + + +ABE MARTIN + + + Abe Martin!--dad-burn his old picture! + P'tends he's a Brown County fixture-- + A kind of a comical mixture + Of hoss-sense and no sense at all! + His mouth, like his pipe, 's allus goin', + And his thoughts, like his whiskers, is flowin', + And what he don't know ain't wuth knowin'-- + From Genesis clean to baseball! + + The artist, Kin Hubbard, 's so keerless + He draws Abe most eyeless and earless, + But he's never yet pictured him cheerless + Er with fun 'at he tries to conceal,-- + Whuther onto the fence er clean over + A-rootin' up ragweed er clover, + Skeert stiff at some "Rambler" er "Rover" + Er newfangled automo_beel_! + + It's a purty steep climate old Brown's in; + And the rains there his ducks nearly drowns in + The old man hisse'f wades his rounds in + As ca'm and serene, mighty nigh + As the old handsaw-hawg, er the mottled + Milch cow, er the old rooster wattled + Like the mumps had him 'most so well throttled + That it was a pleasure to die. + + But best of 'em all's the fool-breaks 'at + Abe don't see at all, and yit makes 'at + Both me and you lays back and shakes at + His comic, miraculous cracks + Which makes him--clean back of the power + Of genius itse'f in its flower-- + This Notable Man of the Hour, + Abe Martin, The Joker on Facts. + + + + +O. HENRY + +WRITTEN IN THE CHARACTER OF "SHERRARD PLUMMER" + + + O. Henry, Afrite-chef of all delight!-- + Of all delectables conglomerate + That stay the starved brain and rejuvenate + The mental man. Th' esthetic appetite-- + So long anhungered that its "in'ards" fight + And growl gutwise,--its pangs thou dost abate + And all so amiably alleviate, + Joy pats its belly as a hobo might + Who haply hath attained a cherry pie + With no burnt bottom in it, ner no seeds-- + Nothin' but crispest crust, and thickness fit, + And squshin'-juicy, and jes' mighty nigh + Too dratted drippin'-sweet fer human needs, + But fer the sosh of milk that goes with it. + + + + +"MONA MACHREE" + + "_Mona Machree, I'm the wanderin' cr'ature now, + Over the sea; + Slave of no lass, but a lover of Nature now + Careless and free._" + --T. A. Daly. + + + Mona Machree! och, the sootherin' flow of it, + Soft as the sea, + Yet, in-under the mild, moves the wild undertow of it + Tuggin' at me, + Until both the head and the heart o' me's fightin' + For breath, nigh a death all so grandly invitin' + That--barrin' your own livin' yet--I'd delight in, + Drowned in the deeps of this billowy song to you + Sung by a lover your beauty has banned, + Not alone from your love but his dear native land, + Whilst the kiss of his lips, and touch of his hand, + And his song--all belong to you, + Mona Machree! + + + + +WILLIAM McKINLEY + +CANTON, OHIO, SEPTEMBER 30, 1907 + + + He said: "It is God's way: + His will, not ours be done." + And o'er our land a shadow lay + That darkened all the sun. + The voice of jubilee + That gladdened all the air, + Fell sudden to a quavering key + Of suppliance and prayer. + + He was our chief--our guide-- + Sprung of our common Earth, + From youth's long struggle proved and tried + To manhood's highest worth: + Through toil, he knew all needs + Of all his toiling kind-- + The favored striver who succeeds-- + The one who falls behind. + + The boy's young faith he still + Retained through years mature-- + The faith to labor, hand and will, + Nor doubt the harvest sure-- + The harvest of man's love-- + A nation's joy that swells + To heights of Song, or deeps whereof + But sacred silence tells. + + To him his Country seemed + Even as a Mother, where + He rested--slept; and once he dreamed-- + As on her bosom there-- + And thrilled to hear, within + That dream of her, the call + Of bugles and the clang and din + Of war.... And o'er it all + + His rapt eyes caught the bright + Old Banner, winging wild + And beck'ning him, as to the fight ... + When--even as a child-- + He wakened--And the dream + Was real! And he leapt + As led the proud Flag through a gleam + Of tears the Mother wept. + + His was a tender hand-- + Even as a woman's is-- + And yet as fixed, in Right's command, + As this bronze hand of his: + This was the Soldier brave-- + This was the Victor fair-- + This is the Hero Heaven gave + To glory here--and There. + + + + +BENJAMIN HARRISON + +ON THE UNVEILING OF HIS MONUMENT AT INDIANAPOLIS + +OCTOBER 27, 1908 + + + As tangible a form in History + The Spirit of this man stands forth as here + He towers in deathless sculpture, high and clear + Against the bright sky of his destiny. + Sprung of our oldest, noblest ancestry, + His pride of birth, as lofty as sincere, + Held kith and kin, as Country, ever dear-- + Such was his sacred faith in you and me. + Thus, natively, from youth his work was one + Unselfish service in behalf of all-- + Home, friends, and sharers of his toil and stress; + Ay, loving all men and despising none, + And swift to answer every righteous call, + His life was one long deed of worthiness. + + The voice of Duty's faintest whisper found + Him as alert as at her battle-cry-- + When awful War's battalions thundered by, + High o'er the havoc still he heard the sound + Of mothers' prayers and pleadings all around; + And ever the despairing sob and sigh + Of stricken wives and orphan children's cry + Made all our Land thrice consecrated ground. + So rang his "Forward!" and so swept his sword-- + On!--on!--till from the fire-and-cloud once more + Our proud Flag lifted in the glad sunlight + As though the very Ensign of the Lord + Unfurled in token that the strife was o'er, + And victory--as ever--with the right. + + + + +LEE O. HARRIS + +CHRISTMAS DAY--1909 + + + O say not he is dead, + The friend we honored so; + Lift up a grateful voice instead + And say: He lives, we know-- + We know it by the light + Of his enduring love + Of honor, valor, truth, and right, + And man, and God above. + + Remember how he drew + The child-heart to his own, + And taught the parable anew, + And reaped as he had sown; + Remember with what cheer + He filled the little lives, + And stayed the sob and dried the tear + With mirth that still survives. + + All duties to his kind + It was his joy to fill; + With nature gentle and refined, + Yet dauntless soul and will, + He met the trying need + Of every troublous call, + Yet high and clear and glad indeed + He sung above it all. + + Ay, listen! Still we hear + The patriot song, the lay + Of love, the woodland note so dear-- + These will not die away. + Then say not he is dead, + The friend we honor so, + But lift a grateful voice instead + And say: He lives, we know. + + + + +THE HIGHEST GOOD + +WRITTEN FOR A HIGH-SCHOOL ANNUAL + + + To attain the highest good + Of true man and womanhood, + Simply do your honest best-- + God with joy will do the rest. + + + + +MY CONSCIENCE + + + Sometimes my Conscience says, says he, + "Don't you know me?" + And I, says I, skeered through and through, + "Of course I do. + You air a nice chap ever' way, + I'm here to say! + You make me cry--you make me pray, + And all them good things thataway-- + That is, at _night_. Where do you stay + Durin' the day?" + + And then my Conscience says, onc't more, + "You know me--shore?" + "Oh, yes," says I, a-trimblin' faint, + "You're jes' a saint! + Your ways is all so holy-right, + I love you better ever' night + You come around,--tel' plum daylight, + When you air out o' sight!" + + And then my Conscience sort o' grits + His teeth, and spits + On his two hands and grabs, of course, + Some old remorse, + And beats me with the big butt-end + O' _that_ thing--tel my clostest friend + 'Ud hardly know me. "Now," says he, + "Be keerful as you'd orto be + And _allus_ think o' me!" + + + + +MY BOY + + + You smile and you smoke your cigar, my boy; + You walk with a languid swing; + You tinkle and tune your guitar, my boy, + And you lift up your voice and sing; + The midnight moon is a friend of yours, + And a serenade your joy-- + And it's only an age like mine that cures + A trouble like yours, my boy! + + + + +THE OBJECT LESSON + + +Barely a year ago I attended the Friday afternoon exercises of a +country school. My mission there, as I remember, was to refresh my +mind with such material as might be gathered, for a "valedictory," +which, I regret to say, was to be handed down to posterity under +another signature than my own. + +There was present, among a host of visitors, a pale young man of +perhaps thirty years, with a tall head and bulging brow and a highly +intellectual pair of eyes and spectacles. He wore his hair without +roach or "part" and the smile he beamed about him was "a joy forever." +He was an educator--from the East, I think I heard it rumoured--anyway +he was introduced to the school at last, and he bowed, and smiled, and +beamed upon us all, and entertained us after the most delightfully +edifying manner imaginable. And although I may fail to reproduce the +exact substance of his remarks upon that highly important occasion, I +think I can at least present his theme in all its coherency of detail. +Addressing more particularly the primary department of the school, he +said:-- + +"As the little exercise I am about to introduce is of recent origin, +and the bright, intelligent faces of the pupils before me seem rife +with eager and expectant interest, it will be well for me, perhaps, to +offer by way of preparatory preface, a few terse words of explanation. + +"The Object Lesson is designed to fill a long-felt want, and is +destined, as I think, to revolutionize, in a great degree, the +educational systems of our land.--In my belief, the Object Lesson will +supply a want which I may safely say has heretofore left the most +egregious and palpable traces of mental confusion and intellectual +inadequacies stamped, as it were, upon the gleaming reasons of the +most learned--the highest cultured, and the most eminently gifted and +promising of our professors and scientists both at home and abroad. + +"Now this deficiency--if it may be so termed--plainly has a beginning; +and probing deeply with the bright, clean scalpel of experience we +discover that--'As the twig is bent the tree's inclined.' To remedy, +then, a deeply seated error which for so long has rankled at the very +root of educational progress throughout the land, many plausible, and +we must admit, many helpful theories have been introduced to allay the +painful errors resulting from the discrepancy of which we speak: but +until now, nothing that seemed wholly to eradicate the defect has been +discovered, and that, too, strange as it may seem, is, at last, +emanating, like the mighty river, from the simplest source, but +broadening and gathering in force and power as it flows along, until, +at last, its grand and mighty current sweeps on in majesty to the vast +illimitable ocean of--of--of--Success! Ahem! + +"And, now, little boys and girls, that we have had by implication, a +clear and comprehensive explanation of the Object Lesson and its +mission, I trust you will give me your undivided attention while I +endeavor--in my humble way--to direct your newly acquired knowledge +through the proper channel. For instance:-- + +"This little object I hold in my hand--who will designate it by its +proper name? Come, now, let us see who will be the first to answer. 'A +peanut,' says the little boy here at my right. Very good--very good! I +hold, then, in my hand, a peanut. And now who will tell me, what is +the peanut? A very simple question--who will answer? 'Something good +to eat,' says the little girl. Yes, 'something good to eat,' but would +it not be better to say simply that the peanut is an edible? I think +so, yes. The peanut, then, is--an edible--now, all together, an +edible! + +"To what kingdom does the peanut belong? The animal, vegetable, or +mineral kingdom? A very easy question. Come, let us have prompt +answers. 'The animal kingdom,' does the little boy say? Oh, no! The +peanut does not belong to the animal kingdom! Surely the little boy +must be thinking of a larger object than the peanut--the elephant, +perhaps. To what kingdom, then, does the peanut belong? The +v-v-veg--'The vegetable kingdom,' says the bright-faced little girl on +the back seat. Ah! that is better. We find then that the peanut +belongs to the--what kingdom? The 'vegetable kingdom.' Very good, very +good! + +"And now who will tell us of what the peanut is composed. Let us have +quick responses now. Time is fleeting! Of what is the peanut composed? +'The hull and the goody,' some one answers. Yes, 'the hull and the +goody' in vulgar parlance, but how much better it would be to say +simply, the shell and the kernel. Would not that sound better? Yes, I +thought you would agree with me there! + +"And now who will tell me the color of the peanut! And be careful now! +for I shouldn't like to hear you make the very stupid blunder I once +heard a little boy make in reply to the same question. Would you like +to hear what color the stupid little boy said the peanut was? You +would, eh? Well, now, how many of you would like to hear what color +the stupid little boy said the peanut was? Come now, let's have an +expression. All who would like to hear what color the stupid little +boy said the peanut was, may hold up their right hands. Very good, +very good--there, that will do. + +"Well, it was during a professional visit I was once called upon to +make to a neighboring city, where I was invited to address the +children of a free school--Hands down, now, little boy--founded for +the exclusive benefit of the little newsboys and bootblacks, who, it +seems, had not the means to defray the expenses of the commonest +educational accessories, and during an object lessen--identical with +the one before us now--for it is a favorite one of mine--I propounded +the question, what is the color of the peanut? Many answers were given +in response, but none as sufficiently succinct and apropos as I deemed +the facts demanded; and so at last I personally addressed a ragged, +but, as I then thought, a bright-eyed little fellow, when judge of my +surprise, in reply to my question what is the color of the peanut, the +little fellow, without the slightest gleam of intelligence lighting up +his face, answered, that 'if not scorched in roasting, the peanut was +a blond.' Why, I was almost tempted to join in the general merriment +his inapposite reply elicited. But I occupy your attention with +trivial things; and as I notice the time allotted to me has slipped +away, we will drop the peanut for the present. Trusting the few facts +gleaned from a topic so homely and unpromising will sink deep in your +minds, in time to bloom and blossom in the fields of future +usefulness--I--I----I thank you." + + + + +THE END + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Old Soldiers Story, by James Whitcomb Riley + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OLD SOLDIERS STORY *** + +***** This file should be named 32335.txt or 32335.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/2/3/3/32335/ + +Produced by David Clarke, Chandra Friend and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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