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If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Armazindy - The Poems and Prose Sketches of James Whitcomb Riley - -Author: James Whitcomb Riley - -Release Date: October 25, 2020 [EBook #63552] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ARMAZINDY *** - - - - -Produced by Juliet Sutherland and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - - THE POEMS AND PROSE - SKETCHES OF - JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY - - ARMAZINDY - - CHARLES SCRIBNER’S - SONS NEW YORK 1917 - - Copyright, 1894, 1898, by - JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY - - ⁂ _The publication of this volume in the Homestead Edition - of the works of James Whitcomb Riley is made possible by - the courtesy of The Bowen-Merrill Company, of Indianapolis, - the original publishers of Mr. Riley’s books._ - - - - -TO HENRY EITEL - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PAGE - - ARMAZINDY - - ARMAZINDY 3 - - THE OLD TRUNDLE-BED 15 - - NATURAL PERVERSITIES 17 - - THE OLD SCHOOL-CHUM 20 - - WRITIN’ BACK TO THE HOME-FOLKS 22 - - THE BLIND GIRL 25 - - WE DEFER THINGS 28 - - THE MUSKINGUM VALLEY 29 - - FOR THIS CHRISTMAS 31 - - A POOR MAN’S WEALTH 32 - - THE LITTLE RED RIBBON 34 - - “HOW DID YOU REST, LAST NIGHT?” 35 - - A GOOD-BYE 37 - - WHEN MAIMIE MARRIED 38 - - “THIS DEAR CHILD-HEARTED WOMAN THAT IS DEAD” 40 - - TO A POET-CRITIC 41 - - AN OLD-TIMER 42 - - THE SILENT VICTORS 44 - - UP AND DOWN OLD BRANDYWINE 51 - - THREE SINGING FRIENDS 56 - - A NOON LULL 59 - - A WINDY DAY 60 - - MY HENRY 62 - - THE SONG I NEVER SING 64 - - TO EDGAR WILSON NYE 67 - - LITTLE DAVID 68 - - OUT OF THE HITHERWHERE 69 - - RABBIT IN THE CROSS-TIES 71 - - SERENADE—TO NORA 72 - - THE LITTLE WHITE HEARSE 74 - - WHAT REDRESS 76 - - DREAMER, SAY 77 - - WHEN LIDE MARRIED _HIM_ 79 - - MY BRIDE THAT IS TO BE 81 - - “RINGWORM FRANK” 85 - - AN EMPTY GLOVE 87 - - OUR OWN 89 - - MAKE-BELIEVE AND CHILD-PLAY - - _The Frog_ 93 - - “TWIGGS AND TUDENS” 95 - - DOLORES 113 - - WHEN I DO MOCK 114 - - MY MARY 115 - - _Eros_ 118 - - ORLIE WILDE 119 - - LEONAINIE 128 - - TO A JILTED SWAIN 130 - - THE VOICES 131 - - _A Barefoot Boy_ 134 - - THE YOUTHFUL PATRIOT 135 - - PONCHUS PILUT 136 - - A TWINTORETTE 139 - - SLUMBER-SONG 140 - - THE CIRCUS PARADE 141 - - FOLKS AT LONESOMEVILLE 143 - - THE THREE JOLLY HUNTERS 144 - - THE LITTLE DOG-WOGGY 146 - - CHARMS 148 - - A FEW OF THE BIRD-FAMILY 150 - - THROUGH SLEEPY-LAND 151 - - THE TRESTLE AND THE BUCK-SAW 153 - - THE KING OF OO-RINKTUM-JING 154 - - THE TOY PENNY-DOG 156 - - JARGON-JINGLE 157 - - THE GREAT EXPLORER 158 - - THE SCHOOL-BOY’S FAVORITE 159 - - ALBUMANIA 162 - - THE LITTLE MOCK-MAN 165 - - SUMMER-TIME AND WINTER-TIME 168 - - HOME-MADE RIDDLES 169 - - THE LOVELY CHILD 171 - - THE YELLOWBIRD 172 - - ENVOY 173 - - - - -ARMAZINDY - - - - -ARMAZINDY - - - Armazindy;—fambily name - _Ballenger_,—you’ll find the same, - As her Daddy answered it, - In the old War-rickords yit,— - And, like him, she’s airnt the good - Will o’ all the neighborhood.— - Name ain’t down in _History_,— - But, i jucks! it _ort_ to be! - Folks is got respec’ fer _her_— - Armazindy Ballenger!— - ’Specially the ones ’at knows - Fac’s o’ how her story goes - From the start:—Her father blowed - Up—eternally furloughed— - When the old “Sultana” bu’st, - And sich men wuz needed wusst.— - Armazindy, ’bout fourteen- - Year-old then—and thin and lean - As a killdee,—but—_my la!_— - Blamedest nerve you ever saw! - The girl’s mother’d _allus_ be’n - Sickly—wuz consumpted when - Word came ’bout her husband.—So - Folks perdicted _she’d_ soon go— - (Kind o’ grief _I_ understand, - Losin’ _my_ companion,—and - Still a widower—and still - Hinted at, like neighbers will!) - So, app’inted, as folks said, - Ballenger a-bein’ dead, - Widder, ’peared-like, gradjully, - Jes grieved after him tel _she_ - Died, nex’ Aprile wuz a year,— - And in Armazindy’s keer - Leavin’ the two twins, as well - As her pore old miz’able - Old-maid aunty ’at had be’n - Struck with palsy, and wuz then - Jes a he’pless charge on _her_— - _Armazindy Ballenger_. - - Jevver watch a primrose ’bout - Minute ’fore it blossoms out— - Kindo’ loosen-like, and blow - Up its muscles, don’t you know, - And, all suddent, bu’st and bloom - Out life-size?—Well, I persume - ’At’s the only measure I - _Kin_ size Armazindy by!— - Jes a _child_, _one_ minute,—nex’, - _Woman-grown_, in all respec’s - And intents and purposuz— - ’At’s what Armazindy wuz! - - Jes a _child_, I tell ye! Yit - She made things git up and git - Round that little farm o’ hern!— - Shouldered all the whole concern;— - Feed the stock, and milk the cows— - Run the _farm_ and run the _house_!— - _Only_ thing she didn’t do - Wuz to plough and harvest too— - But the house and childern took - Lots o’ keer—and had to look - After her old fittified - Grandaunt.—Lord! ye could’a’ cried, - Seein’ Armazindy smile, - ’Peared-like, sweeter all the while! - And I’ve heerd her laugh and say:— - “Jes afore Pap marched away, - He says, ‘I depend on _you_, - Armazindy, come what may— - You must be a Soldier, too!’” - - Neighbers, from the fust, ’ud come— - And she’d _let_ ’em help her _some_,— - “Thanky, ma’am!” and “Thanky, sir!” - But no charity fer _her_!— - “_She_ could raise the means to pay - Fer her farm-hands ever’ day - Sich wuz needed!”—And she _could_— - In cash-money jes as good - As farm-produc’s ever brung - Their perducer, _old_ er young! - So folks humored her and smiled, - And at last wuz rickonciled - Fer to let her have her own - Way about it.—But a-goin’ - Past to town, they’d stop and see - “Armazindy’s fambily,” - As they’d allus laugh and say, - And look sorry right away, - Thinkin’ of her Pap, and how - He’d indorse his “Soldier” now! - ’Course _she_ couldn’t never be - Much in _young-folks’_ company— - Plenty of _in_-vites to go, - But das’t leave the house, you know— - ’Less’n _Sund’ys_ sometimes, when - Some old _Granny_’d come and ’ten’ - Things, while Armazindy _has_ - Got away fer Church er “Class.” - Most the youngsters _liked_ her—and - ’Twuzn’t hard to understand,— - Fer, by time she wuz sixteen, - Purtier girl you never seen— - ’Ceptin’ she lacked schoolin’, ner - Couldn’t rag out stylisher— - Like some _neighber_-girls, ner thumb - On their blame’ melodium, - Whilse their pore old mothers sloshed - Round the old back-porch and washed - Their clothes fer ’em—rubbed and scrubbed - Fer girls’d ort to jes be’n clubbed! - - —And jes sich a girl wuz Jule - Reddinhouse.—_She’d_ be’n to school - At _New Thessaly_, i gum!— - Fool before, but that he’pped _some_— - ’Stablished-like more confidence - ’At she _never_ had no sense. - But she wuz a cunnin’, sly, - Meek and lowly sort o’ lie, - ’At men-folks like me and you - B’lieves jes ’cause we ortn’t to.— - Jes as purty as a snake, - And as _pizen_—mercy sake! - Well, about them times it wuz, - Young Sol Stephens th’ashed fer us; - And we sent him over to - Armazindy’s place to do - _Her_ work fer her.—And-sir! Well— - Mighty little else to tell,— - Sol he fell in love with her— - Armazindy Ballenger! - - Bless ye!—’Ll, of all the love - ’At I’ve ever yit knowed of, - That-air case o’ theirn beat all! - W’y, she _worshipped_ him!—And Sol, - ’Peared-like, could ’a’ kissed the sod - (Sayin’ is) where that girl trod! - Went to town, she did, and bought - Lot o’ things ’at neighbers thought - Mighty strange fer _her_ to buy,— - Raal chintz dress-goods—and ’way high!— - Cut long in the skyrt,—also - Gaiter-pair o’ shoes, you know; - And lace collar;—yes, and fine - Stylish hat, with ivy-vine - And red ribbons, and these-’ere - Artificial flowers and queer - Little beads and spangles, and - Oysturch-feathers round the band! - Wore ’em, Sund’ys, fer a while— - Kindo’ went to Church in style, - Sol and Armazindy!—Tel - It was noised round purty well - They wuz _promised_.—And they wuz— - Sich news travels—well it does!— - Pity ’at _that_ did!—Fer jes - That-air fac’ and nothin’ less - Must ’a’ putt it in the mind - O’ Jule Reddinhouse to find - Out some dratted way to hatch - Out _some_ plan to break the match— - ’Cause she _done_ it!—_How?_ they’s none - Knows adzac’ly _what_ she done; - _Some_ claims she writ letters to - Sol’s folks, up nigh Pleasant View - Somers—and described, you see, - “Armazindy’s fambily”— - Hintin’ “ef Sol married _her_, - He’d jes be pervidin’ fer - Them-air twins o’ hern, and old - Palsied aunt ’at couldn’t hold - Spoon to mouth, and layin’ near - Bedrid’ on to eighteen year’, - And still likely, ’pearantly, - To live out the century!” - Well—whatever plan Jule laid - Out to reach the p’int she made, - It wuz _desper’t_.—And she won, - Finully, by marryun - Sol herse’f—_e-lopin’_, too, - With him, like she _had_ to do,— - ’Cause her folks ’ud allus swore - “Jule should never marry pore!” - - This-here part the story I - Allus haf to hurry by,— - Way ’at Armazindy jes - Drapped back in her linsey dress, - And grabbed holt her loom, and shet - Her jaws square.—And ef she fret - Any ’bout it—never ’peared - Sign ’at _neighbers_ seed er heerd;— - Most folks liked her all the more— - I know _I_ did—certain-shore!— - (’Course _I’d_ knowed her _Pap_, and what - _Stock_ she come of.—Yes, and thought, - And think _yit_, no man on earth - ’S worth as much as that girl’s worth!) - - As fer Jule and Sol, they had - Their sheer!—less o’ good than bad!— - Her folks let her go.—They said, - “Spite o’ them she’d made her bed - And must sleep in it!”—But she, - ’Peared-like, didn’t sleep so free - As she ust to—ner so _late_, - Ner so _fine_, I’m here to state!— - Sol wuz pore, of course, and she - Wuzn’t ust to poverty— - Ner she didn’t ’pear to jes - ’Filiate with lonesomeness,— - ’Cause Sol _he_ wuz off and out - With his th’asher nigh about - Half the time; er, season done, - He’d be off mi-anderun - Round the country, here and there, - Swoppin’ hosses. Well, that-air - Kind o’ livin’ didn’t suit - Jule a bit!—and then, to boot, - _She_ had now the keer o’ two - Her own childern—and to do - Her own work and cookin’—yes, - And sometimes fer _hands_, I guess, - Well as fambily of her own.— - Cut her pride clean to the bone! - So how _could_ the whole thing end?— - She set down, one night, and penned - A short note, like—’at she sewed - On the childern’s blanket—blowed - Out the candle—pulled the door - To close after her—and, shore- - Footed as a cat is, clumb - In a rigg there and left home, - With a man a-drivin’ who - “Loved her ever fond and true,” - As her note went on to say, - When Sol read the thing next day. - - Raally didn’t ’pear to be - Extry waste o’ sympathy - Over Sol—pore feller!—Yit, - Sake o’ them-air little bit - O’ two _orphants_—as you might - Call ’em _then_, by law and right,— - Sol’s old friends wuz sorry, and - Tried to hold him out their hand - Same as allus: But he’d flinch— - Tel, jes ’peared-like, inch by inch, - He let _all_ holts go; and so - Took to drinkin’, don’t you know,— - Tel, to make a long tale short, - He wuz fuller than he ort - To ’a’ be’n, at work one day - ’Bout his th’asher, and give way, - Kindo’-like, and fell and ketched - In the beltin’. - ... Rid and fetched - Armazindy to him.—He - Begged me to.—But time ’at she - Reached his side, he smiled and _tried_ - To speak.—Couldn’t. So he died.... - Hands all turned and left her there - And went somers else—_some_where. - Last, she called us back—in clear - Voice as man’ll ever hear— - Clear and stiddy, ’peared to me, - As her old Pap’s ust to be.— - Give us orders what to do - ’Bout the body—he’pped us, too. - So it wuz, Sol Stephens passed - In Armazindy’s hands at last. - More’n that, she claimed ’at she - Had consent from him to be - Mother to his childern—now - ’Thout no parents anyhow. - - _Yes-sir!_ and she’s _got_ ’em, too,— - Folks saw nothin’ else ’ud do— - So they let her have _her way_— - Like she’s doin’ yit to-day! - Years now, I’ve be’n coaxin’ her— - Armazindy Ballenger— - To in-large her fambily - Jes _one_ more by takin’ _me_— - Which I’m feared she never will, - Though I’m ’lectioneerin’ still. - - - - -THE OLD TRUNDLE-BED - - - O the old trundle-bed where I slept when a boy! - What canopied king might not covet the joy? - The glory and peace of that slumber of mine, - Like a long, gracious rest in the bosom divine: - The quaint, homely couch, hidden close from the light, - But daintily drawn from its hiding at night. - O a nest of delight, from the foot to the head, - Was the queer little, dear little, old trundle-bed! - - O the old trundle-bed, where I wondering saw - The stars through the window, and listened with awe - To the sigh of the winds as they tremblingly crept - Through the trees where the robin so restlessly slept: - Where I heard the low, murmurous chirp of the wren, - And the katydid listlessly chirrup again, - Till my fancies grew faint and were drowsily led - Through the maze of the dreams of the old trundle-bed. - - O the old trundle-bed! O the old trundle-bed! - With its plump little pillow, and old-fashioned spread; - Its snowy-white sheets, and the blankets above, - Smoothed down and tucked round with the touches of - love; - The voice of my mother to lull me to sleep - With the old fairy stories my memories keep - Still fresh as the lilies that bloom o’er the head - Once bowed o’er my own in the old trundle-bed. - - - - -NATURAL PERVERSITIES - - - I am not prone to moralize - In scientific doubt - On certain facts that Nature tries - To puzzle us about,— - For I am no philosopher - Of wise elucidation, - But speak of things as they occur, - From simple observation. - - I notice _little_ things—to wit:— - I never missed a train - Because I didn’t _run_ for it; - I never knew it rain - That my umbrella wasn’t lent,— - Or, when in my possession, - The sun but wore, to all intent, - A jocular expression. - - I never knew a creditor - To dun me for a debt - But I was “cramped” or “bu’sted”; or - I never knew one yet, - When I had plenty in my purse, - To make the least invasion,— - As I, accordingly perverse, - Have courted no occasion. - - Nor do I claim to comprehend - What Nature has in view - In giving us the very friend - To trust we oughtn’t to.— - But so it is: The trusty gun - Disastrously exploded - Is always sure to be the one - We didn’t think was loaded. - - Our moaning is another’s mirth,— - And what is worse by half, - We say the funniest thing on earth - And never raise a laugh: - ’Mid friends that love us overwell, - And sparkling jests and liquor, - Our hearts somehow are liable - To melt in tears the quicker. - - We reach the wrong when most we seek - The right; in like effect, - We stay the strong and not the weak— - Do most when we neglect.— - Neglected genius—truth be said— - As wild and quick as tinder, - The more you seek to help ahead - The more you seem to hinder. - - I’ve known the least the greatest, too— - And, on the selfsame plan, - The biggest fool I ever knew - Was quite a little man: - We find we ought, and then we won’t— - We prove a thing, then doubt it,— - Know _everything_ but when we don’t - Know _anything_ about it. - - - - -THE OLD SCHOOL-CHUM - - - He puts the poem by, to say - His eyes are not themselves to-day! - - A sudden glamour o’er his sight— - A something vague, indefinite— - - An oft-recurring blur that blinds - The printed meaning of the lines, - - And leaves the mind all dusk and dim - In swimming darkness—strange to him! - - It is not childishness, I guess,— - Yet something of the tenderness - - That used to wet his lashes when - A boy seems troubling him again;— - - The old emotion, sweet and wild, - That drove him truant when a child, - - That he might hide the tears that fell - Above the lesson—“Little Nell.” - - And so it is he puts aside - The poem he has vainly tried - - To follow; and, as one who sighs - In failure, through a poor disguise - - Of smiles, he dries his tears, to say - His eyes are not themselves to-day. - - - - -WRITIN’ BACK TO THE HOME-FOLKS - - - My dear old friends—It jes beats all, - The way you write a letter - So’s ever’ _last_ line beats the _first_, - And ever’ _next_-un’s better!— - W’y, ever’ fool-thing you putt down - You make so inte_rest_in’, - A feller, readin’ of ’em all, - Can’t tell which is the _best_-un. - - It’s all so comfortin’ and good, - ’Pears-like I almost _hear_ ye - And git more sociabler, you know, - And hitch my cheer up near ye - And jes smile on ye like the sun - Acrosst the whole per-rairies - In Aprile when the thaw’s begun - And country couples marries. - - It’s all so good-old-fashioned like - To _talk_ jes like we’re _thinkin’_, - Without no hidin’ back o’ fans - And giggle-un and winkin’, - Ner sizin’ how each other’s dressed— - Like some is allus doin’,— - “_Is_ Marthy Ellen’s basque be’n _turned_ - Er shore-enough a new-un!”— - - Er “ef Steve’s city-friend hain’t jes - ‘A _lee_tle kindo’-sorto’”— - Er “wears them-air blame’ eye-glasses - Jes ’cause he hadn’t ort to?”— - And so straight on, _dad-libitum_, - Tel all of us feels, _some_way, - Jes like our “comp’ny” wuz the best - When we git up to come ’way! - - That’s why I like _old_ friends like _you_,— - Jes ’cause you’re so _abidin’_.— - Ef I wuz built to live “_fer keeps_,” - My principul residin’ - Would be amongst the folks ’at kep’ - Me allus _thinkin’_ of ’em, - And sorto’ eechin’ all the time - To tell ’em how I love ’em.— - - Sich folks, you know, I jes love so - I wouldn’t live without ’em, - Er couldn’t even drap asleep - But what I _dreamp’_ about ’em,— - And ef we minded God, I guess - We’d _all_ love one another - Jes like one famb’ly,—me and Pap - And Madaline and Mother. - - - - -THE BLIND GIRL - - - If I might see his face to-day!— - He is so happy now!—To hear - His laugh is like a roundelay— - So ringing-sweet and clear! - His step—I heard it long before - He bounded through the open door - To tell his marriage.—Ah! so kind— - So good he is!—And I—so blind! - - But thus he always came to me— - Me, first of all, he used to bring - His sorrow to—his ecstasy— - His hopes and everything; - And if I joyed with him or wept, - It was not long _the music_ slept,— - And if he sung, or if I played— - Or both,—we were the braver made. - - I grew to know and understand - His every word at every call,— - The gate-latch hinted, and his hand - In mine confessed it all: - He need not speak one word to me— - He need not sigh—I need not see,— - But just the one touch of his palm, - And I would answer—song or psalm. - - He wanted recognition—name— - He hungered so for higher things,— - The altitudes of power and fame, - And all that fortune brings: - Till, with his great heart fevered thus, - And aching as impetuous, - I almost wished sometimes that _he_ - Were blind and patient made, like me. - - But he has won!—I knew he would.— - Once in the mighty Eastern mart, - I knew his music only could - Be sung in every heart! - And when he proudly sent me this - From out the great metropolis, - I bent above the graven score - And, weeping, kissed it o’er and o’er.— - - And yet not blither sing the birds - Than this glad melody,—the tune - As sweetly wedded with the words - As flowers with middle-June; - Had he not _told_ me, I had known - It was composed of love alone— - His love for _her_.—And she can see - His happy face eternally!— - - While _I_—O God, forgive, I pray!— - Forgive me that I did so long - To look upon his face to-day!— - I know the wish was wrong.— - Yea, I am thankful that my sight - Is shielded safe from such delight:— - I can pray better, with this blur - Of blindness—both for him and her. - - - - -WE DEFER THINGS - - - We say and we say and we say, - We promise, engage and declare, - Till a year from to-morrow is yesterday, - And yesterday is—Where? - - - - -THE MUSKINGUM VALLEY - - - The Muskingum Valley!—How longin’ the gaze - A feller throws back on its long summer days, - When the smiles of its blossoms and _my_ smiles wuz one- - And-the-same, from the rise to the set o’ the sun: - Wher’ the hills sloped as soft as the dawn down to noon, - And the river run by like an old fiddle-tune, - And the hours glided past as the bubbles ’ud glide, - All so loaferin’-like, ’long the path o’ the tide. - - In the Muskingum Valley—it ’peared-like the skies - Looked lovin’ on me as my own mother’s eyes, - While the laughin’-sad song of the stream seemed to be - Like a lullaby angels was wastin’ on me— - Tel, swimmin’ the air, like the gossamer’s thread, - ’Twixt the blue underneath and the blue overhead, - My thoughts went astray in that so-to-speak realm - Wher’ Sleep bared her breast as a piller fer them. - - In the Muskingum Valley, though far, far away, - I know that the winter is bleak there to-day— - No bloom ner perfume on the brambles er trees— - Wher’ the buds ust to bloom, now the icicles freeze.— - That the grass is all hid ’long the side of the road - Wher’ the deep snow has drifted and shifted and blowed— - And I feel in my life the same changes is there,— - The frost in my heart, and the snow in my hair. - - But, Muskingum Valley! my memory sees - Not the white on the ground, but the green in the trees— - Not the froze’-over gorge, but the current, as clear - And warm as the drop that has jes trickled here; - Not the choked-up ravine, and the hills topped with snow, - But the grass and the blossoms I knowed long ago - When my little bare feet wundered down wher’ the stream - In the Muskingum Valley flowed on like a dream. - - - - -FOR THIS CHRISTMAS - - - Ye old-time stave that pealeth out - To Christmas revellers all, - At tavern-tap and wassail-bout, - And in ye banquet-hall.— - Whiles ye old burden rings again, - Add yet ye verse, as due: - “_God bless you, merry gentlemen_”— - _And gentlewomen, too!_ - - - - -A POOR MAN’S WEALTH - - - A poor man? Yes, I must confess— - No wealth of gold do I possess; - No pastures fine, with grazing kine, - Nor fields of waving grain are mine; - No foot of fat or fallow land - Where rightfully my feet may stand - The while I claim it as my own— - By deed and title, mine alone. - - Ah, poor indeed! perhaps you say— - But spare me your compassion, pray!— - When I ride not—with you—I walk - In Nature’s company, and talk - With one who will not slight or slur - The child forever dear to her— - And one who answers back, be sure, - With smile for smile, though I am poor. - - And while communing thus, I count - An inner wealth of large amount,— - The wealth of honest purpose blent - With Penury’s environment,— - The wealth of owing naught to-day - But debts that I would gladly pay, - With wealth of thanks still unexpressed - With cumulative interest.— - - A wealth of patience and content— - For all my ways improvident; - A faith still fondly exercised— - For all my plans unrealized; - A wealth of promises that still, - Howe’er I fail, I hope to fill; - A wealth of charity for those - Who pity me my ragged clothes. - - A poor man? Yes, I must confess— - No wealth of gold do I possess; - No pastures fine, with grazing kine, - Nor fields of waving grain are mine; - But ah, my friend! I’ve wealth, no end! - For millionaires might condescend - To bend the knee and envy me - This opulence of poverty. - - - - -THE LITTLE RED RIBBON - - - The little red ribbon, the ring and the rose! - The summer-time comes, and the summer-time goes— - And never a blossom in all of the land - As white as the gleam of her beckoning hand! - - The long winter months, and the glare of the snows; - The little red ribbon, the ring and the rose! - And never a glimmer of sun in the skies - As bright as the light of her glorious eyes! - - Dreams only are true; but they fade and are gone— - For her face is not here when I waken at dawn; - The little red ribbon, the ring and the rose - _Mine_ only; _hers_ only the dream and repose. - - I am weary of waiting, and weary of tears, - And my heart wearies, too, all these desolate years, - Moaning over the one only song that it knows,— - The little red ribbon, the ring and the rose! - - - - -“HOW DID YOU REST, LAST NIGHT?” - - - “How did you rest, last night?”— - I’ve heard my gran’pap say - Them words a thousand times—that’s right— - Jes them words thataway! - As punctchul-like as morning dast - To ever heave in sight - Gran’pap ’ud allus haf to ast— - “How did you rest, last night?” - - Us young-uns used to grin, - At breakfast, on the sly, - And mock the wobble of his chin - And eyebrows helt so high - And kind: “_How did you rest, last night?_” - We’d mumble and let on - Our voices trimbled, and our sight - Wuz dim, and hearin’ gone. - - ... - - Bad as I ust to be, - All I’m a-wantin’ is - As puore and ca’m a sleep fer me - And sweet a sleep as his! - And so I pray, on Jedgment Day - To wake, and with its light - See _his_ face dawn, and hear him say— - “How did you rest, last night?” - - - - -A GOOD-BYE - - - “Good-bye, my friend!” - He takes her hand— - The pressures blend: - They understand - But vaguely why, with drooping eye, - Each moans—“Good-bye!—Good-bye!” - - “Dear friend, good-bye!” - O she could smile - If she might cry - A little while!— - She says, “I _ought_ to smile—but I— - Forgive me—_There!_—Good-bye!” - - “‘Good-bye?’ Ah, no: - I hate,” says he, - “These ‘good-byes’ so!” - “And _I_,” says she, - “Detest them so—why, I should _die_ - Were this a _real_ ‘good-bye!’” - - - - -WHEN MAIMIE MARRIED - - - When Maimie married Charley Brown, - Joy took possession of the town; - The young folks swarmed in happy throngs— - They rang the bells—they carolled songs— - They carpeted the steps that led - Into the church where they were wed; - And up and down the altar-stair - They scattered roses everywhere; - When, in her orange-blossom crown, - Queen Maimie married Charley Brown. - - So beautiful she was, it seemed - Men, looking on her, dreamed they dreamed; - And he, the holy man who took - Her hand in his, so thrilled and shook. - The gargoyles round the ceiling’s rim - Looked down and leered and grinned at him, - Until he half forgot his part - Of sanctity, and felt his heart - Beat worldward through his sacred gown— - When Maimie married Charley Brown. - - The bridesmaids kissed her, left and right— - Fond mothers hugged her with delight— - Young men of twenty-seven were seen - To blush like lads of seventeen, - The while they held her hand to quote - Such sentiments as poets wrote.— - Yea, all the heads that Homage bends - Were bowed to her.—But O my friends, - _My_ hopes went up—_my_ heart went down— - When Maimie married—_Charley Brown!_ - - - - -“THIS DEAR CHILD-HEARTED WOMAN THAT IS DEAD” - - -I - - This woman, with the dear child-heart, - Ye mourn as dead, is—where and what? - With faith as artless as her Art, - I question not,— - - But dare divine, and feel, and know - Her blessedness—as hath been writ - In allegory.—Even so - I fashion it:— - - -II - - A stately figure, rapt and awed - In her new guise of Angelhood, - Still lingered, wistful—knowing God - Was very good.— - - Her thought’s fine whisper filled the pause; - And, listening, the Master smiled, - And lo! the stately angel was - —A little child. - - - - -TO A POET-CRITIC - - - Yes,—the bee sings—I confess it— - Sweet as honey—Heaven bless it!— - Yit he’d be a _sweeter_ singer - Ef he didn’t have no stinger. - - - - -AN OLD-TIMER - - - Here where the wayward stream - Is restful as a dream, - And where the banks o’erlook - A pool from out whose deeps - My pleased face upward peeps, - I cast my hook. - - Silence and sunshine blent!— - A Sabbath-like content - Of wood and wave;—a free- - Hand landscape grandly wrought - Of Summer’s brightest thought - And mastery.— - - For here form, light and shade, - And color—all are laid - With skill so rarely fine, - The eye may even see - The ripple tremblingly - Lip at the line. - - I mark the dragon-fly - Flit waveringly by - In ever-veering flight, - Till, in a hush profound, - I see him eddy round - The “cork,” and—’light! - - Ho! with the boy’s faith then - Brimming my heart again, - And knowing, soon or late, - The “nibble” yet shall roll - Its thrills along the pole, - I—breathless—wait. - - - - -THE SILENT VICTORS - -MAY 30, 1878 - - _“Dying for victory, cheer on cheer_ - _Thundered on his eager ear.”_ - - CHARLES L. HOLSTEIN. - - -I - - Deep, tender, firm and true, the Nation’s heart - Throbs for her gallant heroes passed away, - Who in grim Battle’s drama played their part, - And slumber here to-day.— - - Warm hearts that beat their lives out at the shrine - Of Freedom, while our country held its breath - As brave battalions wheeled themselves in line - And marched upon their death: - - When Freedom’s Flag, its natal wounds scarce healed, - Was torn from peaceful winds and flung again - To shudder in the storm of battle-field— - The elements of men,— - - When every star that glittered was a mark - For Treason’s ball, and every rippling bar - Of red and white was sullied with the dark - And purple stain of war: - - When angry guns, like famished beasts of prey, - Were howling o’er their gory feast of lives, - And sending dismal echoes far away - To mothers, maids, and wives:— - - The mother, kneeling in the empty night, - With pleading hands uplifted for the son - Who, even as she prayed, had fought the fight— - The victory had won: - - The wife, with trembling hand that wrote to say - The babe was waiting for the sire’s caress— - The letter meeting that upon the way,— - The babe was fatherless: - - The maiden, with her lips, in fancy, pressed - Against the brow once dewy with her breath, - Now lying numb, unknown, and uncaressed - Save by the dews of death. - - -II - - What meed of tribute can the poet pay - The Soldier, but to trail the ivy-vine - Of idle rhyme above his grave to-day - In epitaph design?— - - Or wreathe with laurel-words the icy brows - That ache no longer with a dream of fame, - But, pillowed lowly in the narrow house, - Renown’d beyond the name. - - The dewy tear-drops of the night may fall, - And tender morning with her shining hand - May brush them from the grasses green and tall - That undulate the land.— - - Yet song of Peace nor din of toil and thrift, - Nor chanted honors, with the flowers we heap, - Can yield us hope the Hero’s head to lift - Out of its dreamless sleep: - - The dear old flag, whose faintest flutter flies - A stirring echo through each patriot breast, - Can never coax to life the folded eyes - That saw its wrongs redressed— - - That watched it waver when the fight was hot, - And blazed with newer courage to its aid, - Regardless of the shower of shell and shot - Through which the charge was made;— - - And when, at last, they saw it plume its wings, - Like some proud bird in stormy element, - And soar untrammelled on its wanderings, - They closed in death, content. - - -III - - O mother, you who miss the smiling face - Of that dear boy who vanished from your sight, - And left you weeping o’er the vacant place - He used to fill at night,— - - Who left you dazed, bewildered, on a day - That echoed wild huzzas, and roar of guns - That drowned the farewell words you tried to say - To incoherent ones;— - - Be glad and proud you had the life to give— - Be comforted through all the years to come,— - Your country has a longer life to live, - Your son a better home. - - O widow, weeping o’er the orphaned child, - Who only lifts his questioning eyes to send - A keener pang to grief unreconciled,— - Teach him to comprehend - - He had a father brave enough to stand - Before the fire of Treason’s blazing gun, - That, dying, he might will the rich old land - Of Freedom to his son. - - And, maiden, living on through lonely years - In fealty to love’s enduring ties,— - With strong faith gleaming through the tender tears - That gather in your eyes, - - Look up! and own, in gratefulness of prayer, - Submission to the will of Heaven’s High Host:— - I see your Angel-soldier pacing there, - Expectant at his post.— - - I see the rank and file of armies vast, - That muster under one supreme control; - I hear the trumpet sound the signal-blast— - The calling of the roll— - - The grand divisions falling into line - And forming, under voice of One alone, - Who gives command, and joins with tongue divine - The hymn that shakes the Throne. - - -IV - - And thus, in tribute to the forms that rest - In their last camping-ground, we strew the bloom - And fragrance of the flowers they loved the best, - In silence o’er the tomb. - - With reverent hands we twine the Hero’s wreath - And clasp it tenderly on stake or stone - That stands the sentinel for each beneath - Whose glory is our own. - - While in the violet that greets the sun, - We see the azure eye of some lost boy; - And in the rose the ruddy cheek of one - We kissed in childish joy,— - - Recalling, haply, when he marched away, - He laughed his loudest though his eyes were wet.— - The kiss he gave his mother’s brow that day - Is there and burning yet: - - And through the storm of grief around her tossed, - One ray of saddest comfort she may see,— - Four hundred thousand sons like hers were lost - To weeping Liberty. - - ... - - But draw aside the drapery of gloom, - And let the sunshine chase the clouds away - And gild with brighter glory every tomb - We decorate to-day: - - And in the holy silence reigning round, - While prayers of perfume bless the atmosphere, - Where loyal souls of love and faith are found, - Thank God that Peace is here! - - And let each angry impulse that may start, - Be smothered out of every loyal breast; - And, rocked within the cradle of the heart, - Let every sorrow rest. - - - - -UP AND DOWN OLD BRANDYWINE - - - Up and down old Brandywine, - In the days ’at’s past and gone— - With a dad-burn hook-and-line - And a saplin’-pole—i swawn! - I’ve had more fun, to the square - Inch, than ever _any_where! - Heaven to come can’t discount _mine_, - Up and down old Brandywine! - - Hain’t no sense in _wishin’_—yit - Wisht to goodness I _could_ jes - “Gee” the blame’ world round and git - Back to that old happiness!— - Kindo’ drive back in the shade - “The old Covered Bridge” there laid - ’Crosst the crick, and sorto’ soak - My soul over, hub and spoke! - - Honest, now!—it hain’t no _dream_ - ’At I’m wantin’,—but _the fac’s_ - As they wuz; the same old stream, - And the same old times, i jacks!— - Gimme back my bare feet—and - Stonebruise too!—And scratched and tanned!— - And let hottest dog-days shine - Up and down old Brandywine! - - In and on betwixt the trees - ’Long the banks, pour down yer noon, - Kindo’ curdled with the breeze - And the yallerhammer’s tune; - And the smokin’, chokin’ dust - O’ the turnpike at its wusst— - _Saturd’ys_, say, when it seems - Road’s jes jammed with country teams! - - Whilse the old town, fur away - ’Crosst the hazy pastur’-land, - Dozed-like in the heat o’ day - Peaceful’ as a hired hand. - Jolt the gravel th’ough the floor - O’ the ole bridge!—grind and roar - With yer blame’ percession-line— - Up and down old Brandywine! - - Souse me and my new straw hat - Off the foot-log!—what _I_ care?— - Fist shoved in the crown o’ that— - Like the old Clown ust to wear.— - Wouldn’t swop it fer a’ old - Gin-u-wine raal crown o’ gold!— - Keep yer _King_ ef you’ll gim me - Jes the boy I ust to be! - - Spill my fishin’-worms! er steal - My best “goggle-eye!”—but you - Can’t lay hands on joys I feel - Nibblin’ like they ust to do! - So, in memory, to-day - Same old ripple lips away - At my “cork” and saggin’ line, - Up and down old Brandywine! - - There the logs is, round the hill, - Where “Old Irvin” ust to lift - Out sunfish from daylight till - Dewfall—’fore he’d leave “The Drift” - And give _us_ a chance—and then - Kindo’ fish back home again, - Ketchin’ ’em jes left and right - Where _we_ hadn’t got “a bite”! - - Er, ’way windin’ out and in,— - Old path th’ough the iurnweeds - And dog-fennel to yer chin— - Then come suddent, th’ough the reeds - And cattails, smack into where - Them-air woods-hogs ust to scare - Us clean ’crosst the County-line, - Up and down old Brandywine! - - But the dim roar o’ the dam - It ’ud coax us furder still - To’rds the old race, slow and ca’m, - Slidin’ on to Huston’s mill— - Where, I ’spect, “the Freeport crowd” - Never _warmed_ to us er ’lowed - We wuz quite so overly - Welcome as we aimed to be. - - Still it ’peared-like ever’thing— - Fur away from home as _there_— - Had more _relish_-like, i jing!— - Fish in stream, er bird in air! - O them rich old bottom-lands, - Past where Cowden’s School-house stands! - Wortermelons!—_master-mine!_ - Up and down old Brandywine! - - And sich pop-paws!—Lumps o’ raw - Gold and green,—jes oozy th’ough - With ripe yallar—like you’ve saw - Custard-pie with no crust to: - And jes _gorges_ o’ wild plums - Till a feller’d suck his thumbs - Clean up to his elbows! _My!_— - _Me some more er lem me die!_ - - Up and down old Brandywine!... - Stripe me with pokeberry-juice!— - Flick me with a pizen-vine - And yell “_Yip!_” and lem me loose! - —Old now as I then wuz young, - ’F I could sing as I _have_ sung, - Song ’ud shorely ring _dee-vine_ - Up and down old Brandywine! - - - - -THREE SINGING FRIENDS - - -I - -LEE O. HARRIS - - Schoolmaster and Songmaster! Memory - Enshrines thee with an equal love, for thy - Duality of gifts,—thy pure and high - Endowments—Learning rare, and Poesy. - These were as mutual handmaids, serving thee, - Throughout all seasons of the years gone by, - With all enduring joys ’twixt earth and sky— - In turn shared nobly with thy friends and me. - Thus is it that thy clear song, ringing on, - Is endless inspiration, fresh and free - As the old Mays at verge of June sunshine; - And musical as then, at dewy dawn, - The robin hailed us, and all twinklingly - Our one path wandered under wood and vine. - - -II - -BENJAMIN S. PARKER - - Thy rapt song makes of Earth a realm of light - And shadow mystical as some dreamland - Arched with unfathomed azure—vast and grand - With splendor of the morn; or dazzling bright - With orient noon; or strewn with stars of night - Thick as the daisies blown in grasses fanned - By odorous midsummer breezes and - Showered over by all bird-songs exquisite. - This is thy voiced beatific art— - To make melodious all things below, - Calling through them, from far, diviner space, - Thy clearer hail to us.—The faltering heart - Thou cheerest; and thy fellow-mortal so - Fares onward under Heaven with lifted face. - - -III - -JAMES NEWTON MATTHEWS - - Bard of our Western world!—its prairies wide, - With edging woods, lost creeks and hidden ways; - Its isolated farms, with roundelays - Of orchard warblers heard on every side; - Its cross-road school-house, wherein still abide - Thy fondest memories,—since there thy gaze - First fell on classic verse; and thou, in praise - Of that, didst find thine own song glorified. - So singing, smite the strings and counterchange - The lucently melodious drippings of - Thy happy harp, from airs of “Tempe Vale,” - To chirp and trill of lowliest flight and range, - In praise of our To-day and home and love— - Thou meadow-lark no less than nightingale. - - - - -A NOON LULL - - - ’Possum in de ’tater-patch; - Chicken-hawk a-hangin’ - Stiddy ’bove de stable-lot, - An’ cyarpet-loom a-bangin’! - Hi! Mr. Hoppergrass, chawin’ yo’ terbacker, - Flick ye wid er buggy-whirp yer spit er little blacker! - - Niggah in de roas’in’-yeers, - Whiskers in de shuckin’; - Weasel croppin’ mighty shy, - But ole hen a-cluckin’! - —What’s got de matter er de mule-colt now? - Drapt in de turnip-hole, chasin’ f’um de cow! - - - - -A WINDY DAY - - - The dawn was a dawn of splendor, - And the blue of the morning skies - Was as placid and deep and tender - As the blue of a baby’s eyes; - The sunshine flooded the mountain, - And flashed over land and sea - Like the spray of a glittering fountain.— - But the wind—the wind—Ah me! - - Like a weird invisible spirit, - It swooped in its airy flight; - And the earth, as the stress drew near it, - Quailed as in mute affright; - The grass in the green fields quivered— - The waves of the smitten brook - Chillily shuddered and shivered, - And the reeds bowed down and shook. - - Like a sorrowful miserere - It sobbed, and it blew and blew, - Till the leaves on the trees looked weary, - And my prayers were weary, too; - And then, like the sunshine’s glimmer - That failed in the awful strain, - All the hope of my eyes grew dimmer - In a spatter of spiteful rain. - - - - -MY HENRY - - - He’s jes a great, big, awk’ard, hulkin’ - Feller,—humped, and sorto’ sulkin’- - Like, and ruther still-appearin’— - Kind-as-ef he wuzn’t keerin’ - Whether school helt out er not— - That’s my Henry, to a dot! - - Allus kindo’ liked him—whether - Childern, er growed-up together! - Fifteen year’ ago and better, - ’Fore he ever knowed a letter, - Run acrosst the little fool - In my Primer-class at school. - - When the Teacher wuzn’t lookin’, - He’d be th’owin’ wads; er crookin’ - Pins; er sprinklin’ pepper, more’n - Likely, on the stove; er borin’ - Gimlet-holes up thue his desk— - Nothin’ _that_ boy wouldn’t resk! - - But, somehow, as I was goin’ - On to say, he seemed so knowin’, - _Other_ ways, and cute and cunnin’— - Allus wuz a notion runnin’ - Thue my giddy, fool-head he - Jes had be’n cut out fer me! - - Don’t go much on _prophesyin’_, - But last night whilse I wuz fryin’ - Supper, with that man a-pitchin’ - Little Marthy round the kitchen, - Think-says-I, “Them baby’s eyes - Is my Henry’s, jes p’cise!” - - - - -THE SONG I NEVER SING - - - As when in dreams we sometimes hear - A melody so faint and fine - And musically sweet and clear, - It flavors all the atmosphere - With harmony divine,— - So, often in my waking dreams, - I hear a melody that seems - Like fairy voices whispering - To me the song I never sing. - - Sometimes when brooding o’er the years - My lavish youth has thrown away— - When all the glowing past appears - But as a mirage that my tears - Have crumbled to decay,— - I thrill to find the ache and pain - Of my remorse is stilled again, - As, forward bent and listening, - I hear the song I never sing. - - A murmuring of rhythmic words, - Adrift on tunes whose currents flow - Melodious with the trill of birds, - And far-off lowing of the herds - In lands of long ago; - And every sound the truant loves - Comes to me like the coo of doves - When first in blooming fields of Spring - I heard the song I never sing. - - The echoes of old voices, wound - In limpid streams of laughter where - The river Time runs bubble-crowned, - And giddy eddies ripple round - The lilies growing there; - Where roses, bending o’er the brink, - Drain their own kisses as they drink, - And ivies climb and twine and cling - About the song I never sing. - - An ocean-surge of sound that falls - As though a tide of heavenly art - Had tempested the gleaming halls - And crested o’er the golden walls - In showers on my heart.... - Thus—thus, with open arms and eyes - Uplifted toward the alien skies, - Forgetting every earthly thing, - I hear the song I never sing. - - O nameless lay, sing clear and strong, - Pour down thy melody divine - Till purifying floods of song - Have washed away the stains of wrong - That dim this soul of mine! - O woo me near and nearer thee, - Till my glad lips may catch the key, - And, with a voice unwavering, - Join in the song I never sing. - - - - -TO EDGAR WILSON NYE - - - O “William,”—in thy blithe companionship - What liberty is mine—what sweet release - From clamorous strife, and yet what boisterous peace! - Ho! ho! it is thy fancy’s finger-tip - That dints the dimple now, and kinks the lip - That scarce may sing, in all this glad increase - Of merriment! So, pray-thee, do not cease - To cheer me thus;—for, underneath the quip - Of thy droll sorcery, the wrangling fret - Of all distress is stilled—no syllable - Of sorrow vexeth me—no tear-drops wet - My teeming lids save those that leap to tell - Thee thou’st a guest that overweepeth, yet - Only because thou jokest overwell. - - - - -LITTLE DAVID - - - The mother of the little boy that sleeps - Has blest assurance, even as she weeps: - She knows her little boy has now no pain— - No further ache, in body, heart or brain; - All sorrow is lulled for him—all distress - Passed into utter peace and restfulness.— - All health that heretofore has been denied— - All happiness, all hope, and all beside - Of childish longing, now he clasps and keeps - In voiceless joy—the little boy that sleeps. - - - - -OUT OF THE HITHERWHERE - - - Out of the hitherwhere into the YON— - The land that the Lord’s love rests upon; - Where one may rely on the friends he meets, - And the smiles that greet him along the streets: - Where the mother that left you years ago - Will lift the hands that were folded so, - And put them about you, with all the love - And tenderness you are dreaming of. - - Out of the hitherwhere into the YON— - Where all of the friends of your youth have gone,— - Where the old schoolmate that laughed with you, - Will laugh again as he used to do, - Running to meet you, with such a face - As lights like a moon the wondrous place - Where God is living, and glad to live, - Since He is the Master and may forgive. - - Out of the hitherwhere into the YON!— - Stay the hopes we are leaning on— - You, Divine, with Your merciful eyes - Looking down from the far-away skies,— - Smile upon us, and reach and take - Our worn souls Home for the old home’s sake.— - And so Amen,—for our all seems gone - Out of the hitherwhere into the YON. - - - - -RABBIT IN THE CROSS-TIES - - - Rabbit in the cross-ties.— - Punch him out—quick! - Git a twister on him - With a long prong stick. - Watch him on the south side— - Watch him on the—Hi!— - There he goes! Sic him, Tige! - Yi! Yi!! Yi!!! - - - - -SERENADE—TO NORA - - - The moonlight is failin’— - The sad stars are palin’— - The black wings av night are a-dhroopin’ an’ trailin’; - The wind’s miserere - Sounds lonesome an’ dreary; - The katydid’s dumb an’ the nightingale’s weary. - - Troth, Nora! I’m wadin’ - The grass an’ paradin’ - The dews at your dure, wid my swate serenadin’, - Alone and forsaken, - Whilst you’re never wakin’ - To tell me you’re wid me an’ I am mistaken! - - Don’t think that my singin’ - It’s wrong to be flingin’ - Forninst av the dreams that the Angels are bringin’; - For if your pure spirit - Might waken and hear it, - You’d never be draamin’ the Saints could come near it! - - Then lave off your slaapin’— - The pulse av me’s laapin’ - To have the two eyes av yez down on me paapin’. - Och, Nora! It’s hopin’ - Your windy ye’ll open - And light up the night where the heart av me’s gropin’. - - - - -THE LITTLE WHITE HEARSE - - - As the little white hearse went glimmering by— - The man on the coal-cart jerked his lines, - And smutted the lid of either eye, - And turned and stared at the business signs; - And the street-car driver stopped and beat - His hands on his shoulders, and gazed up-street - Till his eye on the long track reached the sky— - As the little white hearse went glimmering by. - - As the little white hearse went glimmering by— - A stranger petted a ragged child - In the crowded walks, and she knew not why, - But he gave her a coin for the way she smiled; - And a boot-black thrilled with a pleasure strange, - As a customer put back his change - With a kindly hand and a grateful sigh, - As the little white hearse went glimmering by. - - As the little white hearse went glimmering by— - A man looked out of a window dim, - And his cheeks were wet and his heart was dry, - For a dead child even were dear to him! - And he thought of his empty life, and said:— - “Loveless alive, and loveless dead— - Nor wife nor child in earth or sky!” - As the little white hearse went glimmering by. - - - - -WHAT REDRESS - - - I pray you, do not use this thing - For vengeance; but if questioning - What wound, when dealt your humankind, - Goes deepest,—surely he will find - Who wrongs _you_, loving _him_ no less— - There’s nothing hurts like tenderness. - - - - -DREAMER, SAY - - - Dreamer, say, will you dream for me - A wild sweet dream of a foreign land, - Whose border sips of a foaming sea - With lips of coral and silver sand; - Where warm winds loll on the shady deeps, - Or lave themselves in the tearful mist - The great wild wave of the breaker weeps - O’er crags of opal and amethyst? - - Dreamer, say, will you dream a dream - Of tropic shades in the lands of shine, - Where the lily leans o’er an amber stream - That flows like a rill of wasted wine,— - Where the palm-trees, lifting their shields of green, - Parry the shafts of the Indian sun - Whose splintering vengeance falls between - The reeds below where the waters run? - - Dreamer, say, will you dream of love - That lives in a land of sweet perfume, - Where the stars drip down from the skies above - In molten spatters of bud and bloom? - Where never the weary eyes are wet, - And never a sob in the balmy air, - And only the laugh of the paroquet - Breaks the sleep of the silence there? - - - - -WHEN LIDE MARRIED _HIM_ - - - When Lide married _him_—w’y, she had to jes dee-fy - The whole popilation!—But she never bat’ an eye! - Her parents begged, and _threatened_—she must give him up—that _he_ - Wuz jes “a common drunkard!”—And he _wuz_, appearantly.— - Swore they’d chase him off the place - Ef he ever showed his face— - Long after she’d _eloped_ with him and _married_ him fer shore!— - When Lide married _him_, it wuz “_Katy, bar the door!_” - - When Lide married _him_—Well! she had to go and be - A _hired girl_ in town somewheres—while he tromped round to see - What _he_ could git that _he_ could do,—you might say, jes sawed wood - From door to door!—that’s what he done—’cause that wuz best he could! - And the strangest thing, i jing! - Wuz, he didn’t _drink_ a thing,— - But jes got down to bizness, like he someway _wanted_ to, - When Lide married _him_, like they warned her _not_ to do! - - When Lide married _him_—er, ruther, _had_ be’n married - A little up’ards of a year—some feller come and carried - That _hired girl_ away with him—a ruther _stylish_ feller - In a bran-new green spring-wagon, with the wheels striped red and yeller: - And he whispered, as they driv - To’rds the country, “_Now we’ll live!_”— - And _somepin’ else_ she _laughed_ to hear, though both her eyes wuz dim, - ’Bout “_trustin’ Love and Heav’n above_, sence Lide married _him_!” - - - - -MY BRIDE THAT IS TO BE - - - O Soul of mine, look out and see - My bride, my bride that is to be!— - Reach out with mad, impatient hands, - And draw aside futurity - As one might draw a veil aside— - And so unveil her where she stands - Madonna-like and glorified— - The queen of undiscovered lands - Of love, to where she beckons me— - My bride, my bride that is to be. - - The shadow of a willow-tree - That wavers on a garden-wall - In summer-time may never fall - In attitude as gracefully - As my fair bride that is to be;— - Nor ever Autumn’s leaves of brown - As lightly flutter to the lawn - As fall her fairy-feet upon - The path of love she loiters down.— - O’er drops of dew she walks, and yet - Not one may stain her sandal wet— - Ay, she might _dance_ upon the way - Nor crush a single drop to spray, - So airy-like she seems to me,— - My bride, my bride that is to be. - - I know not if her eyes are light - As summer skies or dark as night,— - I only know that they are dim - With mystery: In vain I peer - To make their hidden meaning clear. - While o’er their surface, like a tear - That ripples to the silken brim, - A look of longing seems to swim - All worn and weary-like to me; - And then, as suddenly, my sight - Is blinded with a smile so bright, - Through folded lids I still may see - My bride, my bride that is to be. - - Her face is like a night of June - Upon whose brow the crescent-moon - Hangs pendent in a diadem - Of stars, with envy lighting them.— - And, like a wild cascade, her hair - Floods neck and shoulder, arm and wrist, - Till only through a gleaming mist - I seem to see a Siren there, - With lips of love and melody - And open arms and heaving breast - Wherein I fling myself to rest, - The while my heart cries hopelessly - For my fair bride that is to be. - - ... - - Nay, foolish heart and blinded eyes! - My bride hath need of no disguise.— - But, rather, let her come to me - In such a form as bent above - My pillow when, in infancy, - I knew not anything but love.— - O let her come from out the lands - Of Womanhood—not fairy isles,— - And let her come with Woman’s hands - And Woman’s eyes of tears and smiles,— - With Woman’s hopefulness and grace - Of patience lighting up her face: - And let her diadem be wrought - Of kindly deed and prayerful thought, - That ever over all distress - May beam the light of cheerfulness.— - And let her feet be brave to fare - The labyrinths of doubt and care, - That, following, my own may find - The path to Heaven God designed.— - O let her come like this to me— - My bride—my bride that is to be. - - - - -“RINGWORM FRANK” - - - Jest Frank Reed’s his _real_ name—though - Boys all calls him “Ringworm Frank,” - ’Cause he allus _runs round_ so.— - No man can’t tell where to bank - _Frank_’ll be, - Next you see - Er _hear_ of him!—Drat his melts!— - That man’s allus _somers else_! - - We’re old pards.—But Frank he jest - _Can’t_ stay still!—Wuz _prosper’n’_ here, - But lit out on furder West - Somers on a ranch, last year: - Never heard - Nary a word - _How_ he liked it, tel to-day, - Got this card, reads thisaway:— - - “Dad-burn climate out here makes - Me homesick all Winter long, - And when Springtime _comes_, it takes - Two pee-wees to sing one song,— - One sings ‘_pee_,’ - And the other one ‘_wee!_’ - Stay right where you air, old pard,— - Wisht _I_ wuz this postal card!” - - - - -AN EMPTY GLOVE - - -I - - An empty glove—long withering in the grasp - Of Time’s cold palm. I lift it to my lips,— - And lo, once more I thrill beneath its clasp, - In fancy, as with odorous finger-tips - It reaches from the years that used to be - And proffers back love, life and all, to me. - - -II - - Ah! beautiful she was beyond belief: - Her face was fair and lustrous as the moon’s; - Her eyes—too large for small delight or grief,— - The smiles of them were Laughter’s afternoons; - Their tears were April showers, and their love— - All sweetest speech swoons ere it speaks thereof. - - -III - - White-fruited cocoa shown against the shell - Were not so white as was her brow below - The cloven tresses of the hair that fell - Across her neck and shoulders of nude snow; - Her cheeks—chaste pallor, with a crimson stain— - Her mouth was like a red rose rinsed with rain. - - -IV - - And this was she my fancy held as good— - As fair and lovable—in every wise - As peerless in pure worth of womanhood - As was her wondrous beauty in men’s eyes.— - Yet, all alone, I kiss this empty glove— - The poor husk of the hand I loved—and love. - - - - -OUR OWN - - - They walk here with us, hand-in-hand; - We gossip, knee-by-knee; - They tell us all that they have planned— - Of all their joys to be,— - And, laughing, leave us: And, to-day, - All desolate we cry - Across wide waves of voiceless graves— - Good-bye! Good-bye! Good-bye! - - - - -MAKE-BELIEVE AND CHILD-PLAY - - - - -_THE FROG_ - - - _Who am I but the Frog—the Frog!_ - _My realm is the dark bayou,_ - _And my throne is the muddy and moss-grown log_ - _That the poison-vine clings to—_ - _And the black-snakes slide in the slimy tide_ - _Where the ghost of the moon looks blue._ - - _What am I but a King—a King!—_ - _For the royal robes I wear—_ - _A sceptre, too, and a signet-ring,_ - _As vassals and serfs declare:_ - _And a voice, god wot, that is equalled not_ - _In the wide world anywhere!_ - - _I can talk to the Night—the Night!—_ - _Under her big black wing_ - _She tells me the tale of the world outright,_ - _And the secret of everything;_ - _For she knows you all, from the time you crawl,_ - _To the doom that death will bring._ - - _The Storm swoops down, and he blows—and blows,—_ - _While I drum on his swollen cheek,_ - _And croak in his angered eye that glows_ - _With the lurid lightning’s streak;_ - _While the rushes drown in the watery frown_ - _That his bursting passions leak._ - - _And I can see through the sky—the sky—_ - _As clear as a piece of glass;_ - _And I can tell you the how and why_ - _Of the things that come to pass—_ - _And whether the dead are there instead,_ - _Or under the graveyard grass._ - - _To your Sovereign lord all hail—all hail!—_ - _To your Prince on his throne so grim!_ - _Let the moon swing low, and the high stars trail_ - _Their heads in the dust to him;_ - _And the wide world sing: Long live the King,_ - _And grace to his royal whim!_ - - - - -“TWIGGS AND TUDENS” - - -If my old school-chum and room-mate John Skinner is alive to-day—and -no doubt he _is_ alive, and quite so, being, when last heard from, the -very alert and effective Train Dispatcher at Butler, Indiana,—he will -not have forgotten a certain night in early June (the 8th) of 1870, -in “Old Number ’Leven” of the Dunbar House, Greenfield, when he and I -sat the long night through, getting ready a famous issue of our old -school-paper, “The Criterion.” And he will remember, too, the queer -old man who occupied, but that one night, the room just opposite our -own, Number 13. For reasons wholly aside from any superstitious dread -connected with the numerals, 13 was not a desirable room; its locality -was alien to all accommodations, and its comforts, like its furnishings, -were extremely meagre. In fact, it was the room usually assigned to the -tramp-printer, who, in those days, was an institution; or again, it was -the local habitation of the oft-recurring transient customer who was too -incapacitated to select a room himself when he retired—or rather, when he -was personally retired by “the hostler,” as the gentlemanly night-clerk -of that era was habitually designated. - -As both Skinner and myself—between fitful terms of school—had -respectively served as “printer’s devil” in the two rival newspaper -offices of the town, it was natural for us to find a ready interest -in anything pertaining to the newspaper business; and so it was, -perhaps, that we had been selected, by our own approval and that of our -fellow-students of The Graded Schools, to fill the rather exalted office -of editing “The Criterion.” Certain it is that the rather abrupt rise -from the lowly duties of the “roller” to the editorial management of a -paper of our own (even if issued in handwriting) we accepted as a natural -right; and, vested in our new power of office, we were largely “shaping -the whisper of the throne” about our way. - -And upon this particular evening it was, as John and I had fairly squared -ourselves for the work of the night, that we heard the clatter and -shuffle of feet on the side-stairs, and, an instant later, the hostler -establishing some poor unfortunate in 13, just across the hall. - -“Listen!” said John, as we heard an old man’s voice through the open -transom of our door,—“listen at that!” - -It was an utterance peculiarly refined, in language as well as -intonation. A low, mild, rather apologetic voice, gently assuring the -hostler that “everything was very snug and comfortable indeed—so far as -the _compartment_ was concerned—but would not the _attendant_ kindly -supply a better light, together with pen-and-ink—and just a sheet or two -of paper,—if he would be so very good as to find a pardon for so very -troublesome a guest.” - -“Hain’t no writin’-paper,” said the hostler, briefly,—“and the big lamps -is all in use. These fellers here in ’Leven might let you have some paper -and—Hain’t _you_ got a lead-pencil?” - -“Oh, no matter!” came the impatient yet kindly answer of the old -voice—“no matter at all, my good fellow!—Good night—good night!” - -We waited till the sullen, clumpy footsteps down the hall and stair had -died away. - -Then Skinner, with a handful of foolscap, opened our door; and, with -an indorsing smile from me, crossed the hall and tapped at 13—was -admitted—entered, and very quietly closed the door behind him, evidently -that I might not be disturbed. - -I wrote on in silence for quite a time. It was, in fact, a full half-hour -before John had returned,—and with a face and eye absolutely blazing with -delight. - -“An old printer,” whispered John, answering my look,—“and we’re in -luck:—He’s a _genius_, ’y God! and an Englishman, and knows Dickens -_personally_—used to write races with him, and’s got a manuscript of his -in his ‘portmanteau,’ as he calls an old oil-cloth knapsack with one lung -clean gone. Excuse this extra light.—Old man’s lamp’s like a sore eye, -and he’s going to touch up the Dickens sketch for _us_! _Hear?_—_For -us_—for ‘The Criterion.’ Says he can’t sleep—he’s in distress—has -a presentiment—some dear friend is dying—or dead now—and he must -write—_write_!” - -This is, in briefest outline, the curious history of the subjoined -sketch, especially curious for the reason that the following morning’s -cablegram announced that the great novelist, Charles Dickens, had been -stricken suddenly and seriously the night previous. On the day of this -announcement—even as “The Criterion” was being read to perfunctorily -interested visitors of The Greenfield Graded Schools—came the further -announcement of Mr. Dickens’s death. The old printer’s manuscript, here -reproduced, is, as originally, captioned— - - -TWIGGS AND TUDENS - -“Now who’d want a more cosier little home than me and Tude’s got here?” -asked Mr. Twiggs, as his twinkling eyes swept caressingly around the -cheery little room in which he, alone, stood one chill December evening -as the great St. Paul’s was drawling six. - -“This ain’t no princely hall with all its gorgeous paraphanaly, as the -play-bills says; but it’s what I calls a’ ‘interior,’ which for meller -comfort and cheerful surroundin’s ain’t to be ekalled by no other -‘flat’ on the boundless, never-endin’ stage of this existence!” And -as the exuberant Mr. Twiggs rendered this observation, he felt called -upon to smile and bow most graciously to an invisible audience, whose -wild approval he in turn interpreted by an enthusiastic clapping of his -hands and the cry of “Ongcore!” in a dozen different keys—this strange -acclamation being made the more grotesque by a great green parrot perched -upon the mantel, which, in a voice less musical than penetrating, chimed -in with “Hooray for Twiggs and Tudens!” a very great number of times. - -“Tude’s a queer girl,” said Mr. Twiggs, subsiding into a reflective calm, -broken only by the puffing of his pipe, and the occasional articulation -of a thought, as it loitered through his mind. “Tude’s a queer girl!—a -werry queer girl!” repeated Mr. Twiggs, pausing again, with a long whiff -at his pipe, and marking the graceful swoop the smoke made as it dipped -and disappeared up the wide, black-throated chimney; and then, as though -dropping into confidence with the great fat kettle on the coals, that -steamed and bubbled with some inner paroxysm, he added, “And queer and -nothink short, is the lines for Tude, eh? - -“Now s’posin’,” he continued, leaning forward and speaking in a tone -whose careful intonation might have suggested a more than ordinary depth -of wisdom and sagacity,—“s’posin’ a pore chap like me, as ain’t no -property only this-’ere ‘little crooked house,’ as Tude calls it, and -some o’ the properties I ’andles at the Drury—as I was a-sayin’,—s’posin’ -now a’ old rough chap like me was jest to tell her all about herself, and -who she is and all, and not no kith or kin o’ mine, let alone a daughter, -as _she_ thinks—What do you reckon now ’ud be the upshot, eh?” And as Mr. -Twiggs propounded this mysterious query he jabbed the poker prankishly -in the short-ribs of the grate, at which the pot, as though humoring a -joke it failed to comprehend wholly, set up a chuckling of such asthmatic -violence that its smothered cachinnations tilted its copper lid till Mr. -Twiggs was obliged to dash a cup of water in its face. - -“And Tude’s a-comin’ of a’ age, too,” continued Mr. Twiggs, “when a more -tenderer pertecter than a father, so to speak, wouldn’t be out o’ keepin’ -with the nat’ral order o’ things, seein’ as how she’s sorto’ startin’ -for herself-like now. And it’s a question in my mind, if it ain’t my -bounden duty as her father—or ruther, who has been a father to her all -her life—to kindo’ tell her jest how things is, and all—and how _I_ am, -and everythink,—and how I feel as though I ort’o stand by her, as I allus -have, and allus _have_ had her welfare in view, and kindo’ feel as how I -allus—ort’o kindo’—ort’o kindo’”—and here Mr. Twiggs’s voice fell into -silence so abruptly that the drowsy parrot started from its trance-like -quiet and cried “Ortokindo! Ortokindo!” with such a strength of seeming -mockery that it was brushed violently to the floor by the angry hand of -Mr. Twiggs and went backing awkwardly beneath the table. - -“Blow me,” said Mr. Twiggs, “if the knowin’ impidence of that-’ere bird -ain’t astonishin’!” And then, after a serious controversy with the -draught of his pipe, he went on with his deliberations. - -“Lor! it were jest scrumptious to see Tude in ‘The Iron Chest’ last -night! Now, I ain’t no actur myself,—I’ve been on, of course, a thousand -times as ‘fillin’,’ ‘sogers’ and ‘peasants’ and the like, where I never -had no lines, on’y in the ‘choruses’; but if I don’t know nothin’ but -‘All hail!—All hail!’ I’ve had the experience of bein’ under the baleful -hinfluence of the hoppery-glass, and I’m free to say it air a ticklish -position and no mistake. But _Tude_! w’y, bless you, she warn’t the -first bit flustered, was she? ’Peared-like she jest felt perfectly at -home-like—like her mother afore her! And I’m dashed if I didn’t feel the -cold chills a-creepin’ and a-crawlin’ when she was a-singin’ ‘Down by the -river there grows a green willer and a-weepin’ all night with the bank -for her piller’; and when she come to the part about wantin’ to be buried -there ’while the winds was a-blowin’ close by the stream where her tears -was a-flowin’, and over her corpse to keep the green willers growin’,’ -I’m d—d if I didn’t blubber right out!” And as the highly sympathetic Mr. -Twiggs delivered this acknowledgment, he stroked the inner corners of his -eyes, and rubbed his thumb and finger on his trousers. - -“It were a tryin’ thing, though,” he went on, his mellow features -settling into a look not at all in keeping with his shiny complexion—“it -were a tryin’ thing, and it _air_ a tryin’ thing to see them lovely arms -o’ hern a-twinin’ so lovin’-like around that-’ere Stanley’s neck and -a-kissin’ of him—as she’s obleeged to do, of course—as the ‘properties’ -of the play demands; but I’m blowed if she wouldn’t do it quite so -nat’ral-like I’d feel easier. Blow me!” he broke off savagely, starting -up and flinging his pipe in the ashes, “I’m about a-comin’ to the -conclusion I ain’t got no more courage’n a blasted school-boy! Here I am -old enough to be her father—mighty nigh it—and yet I’m actually afeard to -speak up and tell her jest how things is, and all, and how I feel like -I—like I—ort’o—ort’o—” - -“_Ortokindo! Ortokindo!_” shrieked the parrot, clinging in a reversed -position to the under-round of a chair.—“_Ortokindo! Ortokindo! Tude’s -come home!—Tude’s come home!_” And as though in happy proof of this -latter assertion, the gentle Mr. Twiggs found his chubby neck encircled -by a pair of rosy arms, and felt upon his cheek the sudden pressure of -a pair of lips that thrilled his old heart to the core. And then the -noisy bird dropped from its perch and marched pompously from its place of -concealment, trailing its rusty wings and shrieking, “Tude’s come home!” -at the top of its brazen voice. - -“Shet up!” screamed Mr. Twiggs, with a pretended gust of rage, kicking -lamely at the feathered oracle; “I’ll ‘Tude’s-come-home’ ye! W’y, a -feller can’t hear his _ears_ for your infernal squawkin’!” And then, -turning toward the serious eyes that peered rebukingly into his own, his -voice fell gentle as a woman’s: “Well, there, Tudens, I beg parding; -I do indeed. Don’t look at me thataway. I know I’m a great, rough, -good-for—”But a warm, swift kiss cut short the utterance; and as the girl -drew back, still holding the bright old face between her tender palms, he -said simply, “You’re a queer girl, Tudens; a queer girl.” - -“Ha! am I?” said the girl, in quite evident heroics and quotation, -starting back with a theatrical flourish and falling into a fantastic -attitude.—“‘Troth, I am sorry for it; me poor father’s heart is bursting -with gratichude, and he would fain ease it by pouring out his thanks to -his benefactor.’” - -“Werry good! Werry good, indeed!” said Mr. Twiggs, gazing wistfully upon -the graceful figure of the girl. “You’re a-growin’ more wonderful’ clever -in your ‘presence’ every day, Tude. You don’t think o’ nothink else but -your actin’, do ye, now?” And, as Mr. Twiggs concluded his observations, -a something very like a sigh came faltering from his lips. - -“Why, listen there! Ah-ha!” laughed Tude, clapping her hands and -dancing gayly around his chair.—“Why, you old melancholy Dane, you! -are you actually _sighing_?” Then, dropping into a tragic air of deep -contrition, she continued: “‘But, believe me, I would not question you, -but to console you, Wilford. I would scorn to pry into any one’s grief, -much more yours, Wilford, to satisfy a busy curiosity.’” - -“Oh, don’t, Tude; don’t _rehearse_ like that at me!—I can’t a-bear it.” -And the serious Mr. Twiggs held out his hand as though warding off a -blow. At this appeal the girl’s demeanor changed to one of tenderest -solicitude. - -“Why, Pop’m,” she said, laying her hand on his shoulder, “I did not -mean to vex you—forgive me. I was only trying to be happy, as I ought, -although my own heart is this very minute heavy—very heavy—very.—No, no; -I don’t mean that—but, Father, Father, I have not been dutiful.” - -“W’y, yes, you have,” broke in Mr. Twiggs, smothering the heavy -exclamation in his handkerchief. “You ain’t been ondutiful, nor nothink -else. You’re jest all and everythink that heart could wish. It’s all -my own fault, Tudens; it’s all my fault. You see, I git to thinkin’ -sometimes like I was a-goin’ to _lose_ you; and now that you are a-comin’ -on in years, and gittin’ such a fine start, and all, and position and -everythink.—Yes-sir! _position_, ’cause everybody likes you, Tudens. You -know that; and I’m that proud of you and all, and that selfish, that -it’s onpossible I could ever, ever give you up;—never, never, _ever_ give -you up!” And Mr. Twiggs again stifled his voice in his handkerchief and -blew his nose with prolonged violence. - -It may have been the melancholy ticking of the clock, as it grated on the -silence following, it may have been the gathering darkness of the room, -or the plaintive sighing of the rising wind without, that caused the girl -to shudder as she stooped to kiss the kind old face bent forward in the -shadows, and turned with feigned gayety to the simple task of arranging -supper. But when, a few minutes later, she announced that Twiggs and -Tudens’s tea was waiting, the two smilingly sat down, Mr. Twiggs -remarking that if he only knew a blessing, he’d ask it upon that occasion -most certainly. - -“—For on’y look at these-’ere ’am and eggs,” he said, admiringly: “I’d -like to know if the Queen herself could cook ’em to a nicer turn, or -serve ’em up more tantaliz’in’er to the palate. And this-’ere soup,—or -whatever it is, is rich as gravy; and these boughten rolls ain’t a bad -thing either, split in two and toasted as you do ’em, air they, Tude?” -And as Mr. Twiggs glanced inquiringly at his companion, he found her -staring vacantly at her plate. “I was jest a-sayin’, Tudens—” he went on, -pretending to blow his tea and glancing cautiously across his saucer. - -“Yes, Pop’m, I heard you;—we really _ought_ to have a blessing, by all -means.” - -Mr. Twiggs put down his tea without tasting it. “Tudens,” he said, after -a long pause, in which he carefully buttered a piece of toast for the -second time,—“Tudens, I’m ’most afeard you didn’t grasp that last remark -of mine: I was a-sayin’—” - -“Well—” said Tudens, attentively. - -“I was a-sayin’,” said Mr. Twiggs, averting his face and staring -stoically at his toast—“I was a-sayin’ that you was a-gittin’ now to be -quite a young woman.” - -“Oh, so you were,” said Tudens, with charming naïveté. - -“Well,” said Mr. Twiggs, repentantly, but with a humorous twinkle, “if I -wasn’t a-sayin’ of it, I was _a-thinkin’_ it.”—And then, running along -hurriedly, “And I’ve been a-thinkin’ it for days and days—ever sence -you left the ‘balley’ and went in ‘chambermaids,’ and last in leadin’ -rôles. Maybe _you_ ain’t noticed it, but I’ve had my eyes on you from the -‘flies’ and the ‘wings’; and jest betwixt us, Tudens, and not for me as -ort to know better, and does know better, to go a-flatterin’, at my time -o’—or to go a-flatterin’ anybody, as I said, after you’re a-gittin’ to -be a young woman—and what’s more, a werry _’andsome_ young woman!” - -“_Why, Pop’m!_” exclaimed Tudens, blushing. - -“Yes, you are, Tudens, and I mean it, every word of it; and as I was -a-goin’ on to say, I’ve been a-watchin’ of you, and a-layin’ off a long -time jest to tell you summat that will make your eyes open wider ’an -that! What I mean,” said Mr. Twiggs, coughing vehemently and pushing his -chair back from the table—“what I mean is, you’ll soon be old enough to -be a-settin’ up for yourself-like, and a-marry’—W’y, Tudens, what _ails_ -you?” The girl had risen to her feet, and, with a face dead white and -lips all tremulous, stood clinging to her chair for support. “What ails -you, Tudens?” repeated Mr. Twiggs, rising to his feet and gazing on her -with a curious expression of alarm and tenderness. - -“Nothing serious, dear Pop’m,” said Tudens, with a flighty little -laugh,—“only it just flashed on me all at once that I’d clean forgotten -poor ‘Dick’s’ supper.” And as she turned abruptly to the parrot, cooing -and clucking to him playfully,—up, up from some hitherto undreamed-of -depth within the yearning heart of Mr. Twiggs mutely welled the old -utterance, “Tude’s a queer girl!” - -“Whatever made you think of such a thing, Father?” called Tudens, -gayly; and then, without waiting for an answer, went on cooing to the -parrot,—“Hey, old dicky-bird! do _you_ think Tudens is a handsome young -woman? and do _you_ think Tudens is old enough to marry, eh?” This query -delivered, she broke into a fit of merriment which so wrought upon the -susceptibilities of the bird that he was heard repeatedly to declare and -affirm, in most positive and unequivocal terms, that Tude had actually -come home. - -“Yes—_sir_, Tudens!” broke in Mr. Twiggs at last, lighting a fresh -churchwarden and settling into his old position at the grate; “have your -laugh out over it now, but it’s a werry serious fact, for all that.” - -“I know it, Father,” said the girl, recovering her gravity, turning her -large eyes lovingly upon him and speaking very tenderly. “I know it—oh, I -know it; and many, many times when I have thought of it, and then again -of your old kindly faith; all the warm wealth of your love; and our old -home here, and all the happiness it ever held for me and you alike—oh, I -have tried hard—indeed, indeed I have—to put all other thought away and -live for you alone! But, Pop’m! dear old Pop’m—”And even as the great -strong breast made shelter for her own, the woman’s heart within her -flowed away in mists of gracious tears. - -“Couldn’t live without old Pop’m, could her?” half cried and laughed -the happy Mr. Twiggs, tangling his clumsy fingers in the long dark hair -that fell across his arm, and bending till his glad face touched her -own.—“Couldn’t live without old Pop’m?” - -“Never! never!” sobbed the girl, lifting her brimming eyes and -gazing in the kind old face. “Oh, may I always live with you, Pop’m? -Always?—Forever?—” - -“—And a day!” said Mr. Twiggs, emphatically. - -“Even after I’m—” and she hid her face again. - -“Even after—_what_, Tudens?” - -“After I’m—after I’m—married?” murmured Tudens, with a longing pressure. - -“Nothink short!” said Mr. Twiggs;—“perwidin’,” he added, releasing one -hand and smoothing back his scanty hair—“perwidin’, of course, that your -man is a’ honest, straitforrerd feller, as ain’t no lordly notions nor -nothink o’ that sort.” - -“Nor rich?” - -“Well, I ain’t so p’ticklar about his bein’ _pore_, adzackly.—Say a -feller as works for his livin’, and knows how to ’usband his earnin’s -thrifty-like, and allus ’as a hextry crown or two laid up against a rainy -day—and a good perwider, of course,” said Mr. Twiggs, with a comfortable -glance around the room.—“’Ll blow me if I didn’t see a face there -a-peerin’ in the winder!” - -“Oh, no, you didn’t,” said the girl, without raising her head. “Go -on—‘and a good provider—’” - -“—A good perwider,” continued Mr. Twiggs; “and a feller, of course, as -has a’ eye out for the substantials of this life, and ain’t afeard o’ -work—that’s the idear! that’s the idear!” said Mr. Twiggs, by way of -sweeping conclusion. - -“And that’s all old Pop’m asks, after all?” queried the girl, with her -radiant face wistful as his own. - -“W’y, certainly!” said Mr. Twiggs, with heartiness. “Ain’t that all and -everythink to make home happy?”—catching her face between his great brown -hands and kissing her triumphantly. - -“Hooray for Twiggs-and Twiggs-and Twiggs-and—” cootered the drowsy bird, -disjointedly. - -The girl had risen.—“And you’ll forgive me for marrying such a man?” - -“Won’t I?” said Mr. Twiggs, with a rapturous twinkle. - -As he spoke, she flung her arms about his neck and pressed her lips -close, close against his cheek, her own glad face now fronting the little -window.... She heard the clicking of the latch, the opening of the door, -and the step of the intruder ere she loosed her hold. - -“God bless you, Pop’m, and forgive me!—This is my husband.” - -The newcomer, Mr. Stanley, reached and grasped the hand of Mr. Twiggs, -eagerly, fervidly, albeit the face he looked on then will haunt him to -the hour of his death.—Yet haply, some day, when the Master takes the -selfsame hand within his own and whispers, “Tude’s come home,” the old -smile will return. - - - - -DOLORES - - - Lithe-armed, and with satin-soft shoulders - As white as the cream-crested wave; - With a gaze dazing every beholder’s, - She holds every gazer a slave: - Her hair, a fair haze, is outfloated - And flared in the air like a flame; - Bare-breasted, bare-browed and bare-throated— - Too smooth for the soothliest name. - - She wiles you with wine, and wrings for you - Ripe juices of citron and grape; - She lifts up her lute and sings for you - Till the soul of you seeks no escape; - And you revel and reel with mad laughter, - And fall at her feet, at her beck, - And the scar of her sandal thereafter - You wear like a gyve round your neck. - - - - -WHEN I DO MOCK - - - When I do mock the blackness of the night - With my despair—outweep the very dews - And wash my wan cheeks stark of all delight, - Denying every counsel of dear use - In mine embittered state; with infinite - Perversity, mine eyes drink in no sight - Of pleasance that nor moon nor stars refuse - In silver largess and gold twinklings bright;— - I question me what mannered brain is mine - That it doth trick me of the very food - It panteth for—the very meat and wine - That yet should plump my starved soul with good - And comfortable plethora of ease, - That I might drowse away such rhymes as these. - - - - -MY MARY - - - My Mary, O my Mary! - The simmer skies are blue: - The dawnin’ brings the dazzle, - An’ the gloamin’ brings the dew,— - The mirk o’ nicht the glory - O’ the moon, an’ kindles, too, - The stars that shift aboon the lift.— - But naething brings me you! - - Where is it, O my Mary, - Ye are biding a’ the while? - I ha’ wended by your window— - I ha’ waited by the stile, - An’ up an’ down the river - I ha’ won for mony a mile, - Yet never found, adrift or drown’d, - Your lang-belated smile. - - Is it forgot, my Mary, - How glad we used to be?— - The simmer-time when bonny bloomed - The auld trysting-tree,— - How there I carved the name for you, - An’ you the name for me; - An’ the gloamin’ kenned it only - When we kissed sae tenderly. - - Speek ance to me, my Mary!— - But whisper in my ear - As light as ony sleeper’s breath, - An’ a’ my soul will hear; - My heart shall stap its beating, - An’ the soughing atmosphere - Be hushed the while I leaning smile - An’ listen to you, dear! - - My Mary, O my Mary! - The blossoms bring the bees; - The sunshine brings the blossoms, - An’ the leaves on a’ the trees; - The simmer brings the sunshine - An’ the fragrance o’ the breeze,— - But O wi’out you, Mary, - I care naething for these! - - We were sae happy, Mary! - O think how ance we said— - Wad ane o’ us gae fickle, - Or are o’ us lie dead,— - To feel anither’s kisses - We wad feign the auld instead, - An’ ken the ither’s footsteps - In the green grass owerhead. - - My Mary, O my Mary! - Are ye dochter o’ the air, - That ye vanish aye before me - As I follow everywhere?— - Or is it ye are only - But a mortal, wan wi’ care, - Sin’ I search through a’ the kirkyird - An’ I dinna find ye there? - - - - -_EROS_ - - - _The storm of love has burst at last_ - _Full on me: All the world, before,_ - _Was like an alien, unknown shore_ - _Along whose verge I laughing passed.—_ - _But now—I laugh not any more,—_ - _Bowed with a silence vast in weight_ - _As that which falls on one who stands_ - _For the first time on ocean sands,_ - _Seeing and feeling all the great_ - _Awe of the waves as they wash the lands_ - _And billow and wallow and undulate._ - - - - -ORLIE WILDE - - - A goddess, with a siren’s grace,— - A sun-haired girl on a craggy place - Above a bay where fish-boats lay - Drifting about like birds of prey. - - Wrought was she of a painter’s dream,— - Wise only as are artists wise, - My artist-friend, Rolf Herschkelhiem, - With deep sad eyes of oversize, - And face of melancholy guise. - - I pressed him that he tell to me - This masterpiece’s history. - He turned—_re_turned—and thus beguiled - Me with the tale of Orlie Wilde:— - - “We artists live ideally: - We breed our firmest facts of air; - We make our own reality— - We dream a thing and it is so. - The fairest scenes we ever see - Are mirages of memory; - The sweetest thoughts we ever know - We plagiarize from Long Ago: - And as the girl on canvas there - Is marvellously rare and fair, - ’Tis only inasmuch as she - Is dumb and may not speak to me!” - He tapped me with his mahlstick—then - The picture,—and went on again: - - “Orlie Wilde, the fisher’s child— - I see her yet, as fair and mild - As ever nursling summer day - Dreamed on the bosom of the bay: - For I was twenty then, and went - Alone and long-haired—all content - With promises of sounding name - And fantasies of future fame, - And thoughts that now my mind discards - As editor a fledgling bard’s. - - “At evening once I chanced to go, - With pencil and portfolio, - Adown the street of silver sand - That winds beneath this craggy land, - To make a sketch of some old scurf - Of driftage, nosing through the surf - A splintered mast, with knarl and strand - Of rigging-rope and tattered threads - Of flag and streamer and of sail - That fluttered idly in the gale - Or whipped themselves to sadder shreds. - The while I wrought, half listlessly, - On my dismantled subject, came - A sea-bird, settling on the same - With plaintive moan, as though that he - Had lost his mate upon the sea; - And—with my melancholy trend— - It brought dim dreams half understood— - It wrought upon my morbid mood,— - I thought of my own voyagings - That had no end—that have no end.— - And, like the sea-bird, I made moan - That I was loveless and alone. - And when at last with weary wings - It went upon its wanderings, - With upturned face I watched its flight - Until this picture met my sight: - A goddess, with a siren’s grace,— - A sun-haired girl on a craggy place - Above a bay where fish-boats lay - Drifting about like birds of prey. - - “In airy poise she, gazing, stood - A matchless form of womanhood, - That brought a thought that if for me - Such eyes had sought across the sea, - I could have swum the widest tide - That ever mariner defied, - And, at the shore, could on have gone - To that high crag she stood upon, - To there entreat and say, ‘My Sweet, - Behold thy servant at thy feet.’ - And to my soul I said: ‘Above, - There stands the idol of thy love!’ - - “In this rapt, awed, ecstatic state - I gazed—till lo! I was aware - A fisherman had joined her there— - A weary man, with halting gait, - Who toiled beneath a basket’s weight: - Her father, as I guessed, for she - Had run to meet him gleefully - And ta’en his burden to herself, - That perched upon her shoulder’s shelf - So lightly that she, tripping, neared - A jutting crag and disappeared; - But left the echo of a song - That thrills me yet, and will as long - As I have being!... - - ... “Evenings came - And went,—but each the same—the same: - She watched above, and even so - I stood there watching from below; - Till, grown so bold at last, I sung,— - (What matter now the theme thereof!)— - It brought an answer from her tongue— - Faint as the murmur of a dove, - Yet all the more the song of love.... - - “I turned and looked upon the bay, - With palm to forehead—eyes a-blur - In the sea’s smile—meant but for her!— - I saw the fish-boats far away - In misty distance, lightly drawn - In chalk-dots on the horizon— - Looked back at her, long, wistfully,— - And, pushing off an empty skiff, - I beckoned her to quit the cliff - And yield me her rare company - Upon a little pleasure-cruise.— - She stood, as loathful to refuse, - To muse for full a moment’s time,— - Then answered back in pantomime - ‘She feared some danger from the sea - Were she discovered thus with me.’ - I motioned then to ask her if - I might not join her on the cliff; - And back again, with graceful wave - Of lifted arm, she answer gave - ‘She feared some danger from the sea.’ - - “Impatient, piqued, impetuous, I - Sprang in the boat, and flung ‘Good-bye’ - From pouted mouth with angry hand, - And madly pulled away from land - With lusty stroke, despite that she - Held out her hands entreatingly: - And when far out, with covert eye - I shoreward glanced, I saw her fly - In reckless haste adown the crag, - Her hair a-flutter like a flag - Of gold that danced across the strand - In little mists of silver sand. - All curious I, pausing, tried - To fancy what it all implied,— - When suddenly I found my feet - Were wet; and, underneath the seat - On which I sat, I heard the sound - Of gurgling waters, and I found - The boat aleak alarmingly.... - I turned and looked upon the sea, - Whose every wave seemed mocking me; - I saw the fishers’ sails once more— - In dimmer distance than before; - I saw the sea-bird wheeling by, - With foolish wish that _I_ could fly: - I thought of firm earth, home and friends— - I thought of everything that tends - To drive a man to frenzy and - To wholly lose his own command; - I thought of all my waywardness— - Thought of a mother’s deep distress; - Of youthful follies yet unpurged— - Sins, as the seas, about me surged— - Thought of the printer’s ready pen - To-morrow drowning me again;— - A million things without a name— - I thought of everything but—Fame.... - - “A memory yet is in my mind, - So keenly clear and sharp-defined, - I picture every phase and line - Of life and death, and neither mine,— - While some fair seraph, golden-haired, - Bends over me,—with white arms bared, - That strongly plait themselves about - My drowning weight and lift me out— - With joy too great for words to state - Or tongue to dare articulate! - - “And this seraphic ocean-child - And heroine was Orlie Wilde: - And thus it was I came to hear - Her voice’s music in my ear— - Ay, thus it was Fate paved the way - That I walk desolate to-day!” ... - - The artist paused and bowed his face - Within his palms a little space, - While reverently on his form - I bent my gaze and marked a storm - That shook his frame as wrathfully - As some typhoon of agony, - And fraught with sobs—the more profound - For that peculiar laughing sound - We hear when strong men weep.... I leant - With warmest sympathy—I bent - To stroke with soothing hand his brow, - He murmuring—“’Tis over now!— - And shall I tie the silken thread - Of my frail romance?” “Yes,” I said.— - He faintly smiled; and then, with brow - In kneading palm, as one in dread— - His tasselled cap pushed from his head;— - “‘Her voice’s music,’ I repeat,” - He said,—“’twas sweet—O passing sweet!— - Though she herself, in uttering - Its melody, proved not the thing - Of loveliness my dreams made meet - For me—there, yearning, at her feet— - Prone at her feet—a worshipper,— - For lo! she spake a tongue,” moaned he, - “Unknown to me;—unknown to me - As mine to her—as mine to her.” - - - - -LEONAINIE - - - Leonainie—Angels named her; - And they took the light - Of the laughing stars and framed her - In a smile of white; - And they made her hair of gloomy - Midnight, and her eyes of bloomy - Moonshine, and they brought her to me - In the solemn night.— - - In a solemn night of summer, - When my heart of gloom - Blossomed up to greet the comer - Like a rose in bloom; - All forebodings that distressed me - I forgot as Joy caressed me— - (_Lying_ Joy! that caught and pressed me - In the arms of doom!) - - Only spake the little lisper - In the Angel-tongue; - Yet I, listening, heard her whisper,— - “Songs are only sung - Here below that they may grieve you— - Tales but told you to deceive you,— - So must Leonainie leave you - While her love is young.” - - Then God smiled and it was morning. - Matchless and supreme - Heaven’s glory seemed adorning - Earth with its esteem: - Every heart but mine seemed gifted - With the voice of prayer, and lifted - Where my Leonainie drifted - From me like a dream. - - - - -TO A JILTED SWAIN - - - Get thee back neglected friends; - And repay, as each one lends, - Tithes of shallow-sounding glee - Or keen-ringing raillery: - Get thee from lone vigils; be - But in jocund company, - Where is laughter and acclaim - Boisterous above the name.— - Get where sulking husbands sip - Ale-house cheer, with pipe at lip; - And where Mol the barmaid saith - Curst is she that marrieth. - - - - -THE VOICES - - - Down in the night I hear them: - The Voices—unknown—unguessed,— - That whisper, and lisp, and murmur, - And will not let me rest.— - - Voices that seem to question, - In unknown words, of me, - Of fabulous ventures, and hopes and dreams - Of this and the World to be. - - Voices of mirth and music, - As in sumptuous homes; and sounds - Of mourning, as of gathering friends - In country burial-grounds. - - Cadence of maiden voices— - Their lovers’ blent with these; - And of little children singing, - As under orchard trees. - - And often, up from the chaos - Of my deepest dreams, I hear - Sounds of their phantom laughter - Filling the atmosphere: - - They call to me from the darkness; - They cry to me from the gloom, - Till I start sometimes from my pillow - And peer through the haunted room; - - When the face of the moon at the window - Wears a pallor like my own, - And seems to be listening with me - To the low, mysterious tone,— - - The low, mysterious clamor - Of voices that seem to be - Striving in vain to whisper - Of secret things to me;— - - Of a something dread to be warned of; - Of a rapture yet withheld; - Or hints of the marvellous beauty - Of songs unsyllabled. - - But ever and ever the meaning - Falters and fails and dies, - And only the silence quavers - With the sorrow of my sighs. - - And I answer:—O Voices, ye may not - Make me to understand - Till my own voice, mingling with you, - Laughs in the Shadow-land. - - - - -_A BAREFOOT BOY_ - - - _A barefoot boy! I mark him at his play—_ - _For May is here once more, and so is he,—_ - _His dusty trousers, rolled half to the knee,_ - _And his bare ankles grimy, too, as they:_ - _Cross-hatchings of the nettle, in array_ - _Of feverish stripes, hint vividly to me_ - _Of woody pathways winding endlessly_ - _Along the creek, where even yesterday_ - _He plunged his shrinking body—gasped and shook—_ - _Yet called the water “warm,” with never lack_ - _Of joy. And so, half enviously I look_ - _Upon this graceless barefoot and his track,—_ - _His toe stubbed—ay, his big toe-nail knocked back_ - _Like unto the clasp of an old pocket-book._ - - - - -THE YOUTHFUL PATRIOT - - - O what did the little boy do - ’At nobody wanted him to? - Didn’t do nothin’ but romp an’ run, - An’ whoop an’ holler an’ bang his gun - An’ bu’st fire-crackers, an’ ist have fun— - An’ _’at’s_ all the little boy done! - - - - -PONCHUS PILUT - - - Ponchus Pilut _ust_ to be - Ist a _Slave_, an’ now he’s _free_. - Slaves wuz on’y ist before - The War wuz—an’ _ain’t_ no more. - - He works on our place fer us,— - An’ comes here—_sometimes_ he does. - He shocks corn an’ shucks it.—An’ - He makes hominy “by han’!”— - - Wunst he bringed us some, one trip, - Tied up in a piller-slip: - Pa says, when Ma cooked it, “MY! - This-here’s gooder’n you _buy_!” - - Ponchus _pats_ fer me an’ sings; - An’ he says _funny_ things! - Ponchus calls a dish a “_deesh_”— - Yes, an’ _he_ calls fishes “_feesh_”! - - When Ma want him eat wiv us - He says, “’Skuse me—’deed you mus’!— - Ponchus know’ good manners, Miss.— - He ain’ eat wher’ White-folks is!” - - ’Lindy takes _his_ dinner out - Wher’ he’s workin’—roun’ about.— - Wunst he et his dinner spread - In our ole wheelborry-bed. - - _Ponchus Pilut_ says “_’at’s_ not - His _right_ name,—an’ done fergot - What his _sho’-’nuff_ name is now— - An’ don’ matter none _no_how!” - - Yes, an’ Ponchus he’ps Pa, too, - When our _butcherin’s_ to do, - An’ scalds hogs—an’ says, “Take care - ’Bout it, er you’ll _set the hair_!” - - Yes, an’ out in our back-yard - He he’ps ’Lindy rendur lard; - An’, wite in the fire there, he - Roast’ a pigtail wunst fer me.— - - An’ ist nen th’ole tavurn-bell - Rung, down-town, an’ he says, “Well!— - Hear dat! _Lan’ o’ Caanan_, Son, - Ain’t dat bell say ‘_Pigtail done!_’ - - —‘_Pigtail done!_ - _Go call Son!—_ - _Tell dat_ - _Chile dat_ - _Pigtail done!_’” - - - - -A TWINTORETTE - - - Ho! my little maiden - With the glossy tresses, - Come thou and dance with me - A measure all divine; - Let my breast be laden - With but thy caresses— - Come thou and glancingly - Mate thy face with mine. - - Thou shalt trill a rondel, - While my lips are purling - Some dainty twitterings - Sweeter than the birds’; - And, with arms that fondle - Each as we go twirling, - We will kiss, with titterings, - Lisps and loving words. - - - - -SLUMBER-SONG - - - Sleep, little one! The Twilight folds her gloom - Full tenderly about the drowsy Day, - And all his tinselled hours of light and bloom - Like toys are laid away. - - Sleep! sleep! The noon-sky’s airy cloud of white - Has deepened wide o’er all the azure plain; - And, trailing through the leaves, the skirts of Night - Are wet with dews as rain. - - But rest thou sweetly, smiling in thy dreams, - With round fists tossed like roses o’er thy head, - And thy tranc’d lips and eyelids kissed with gleams - Of rapture perfected. - - - - -THE CIRCUS PARADE - - - The Circus!—The Circus!—The throb of the drums, - And the blare of the horns, as the Band-wagon comes; - The clash and the clang of the cymbals that beat, - As the glittering pageant winds down the long street! - - In the Circus parade there is glory clean down - From the first spangled horse to the mule of the Clown, - With the gleam and the glint and the glamour and glare - Of the days of enchantment all glimmering there! - - And there are the banners of silvery fold - Caressing the winds with their fringes of gold, - And their high-lifted standards, with spear-tips aglow, - And the helmeted knights that go riding below. - - There’s the Chariot, wrought of some marvellous shell - The Sea gave to Neptune, first washing it well - With its fabulous waters of gold, till it gleams - Like the galleon rare of an Argonaut’s dreams. - - And the Elephant, too, (with his undulant stride - That rocks the high throne of a king in his pride,) - That in jungles of India shook from his flanks - The tigers that leapt from the Jujubee-banks. - - Here’s the long, ever-changing, mysterious line - Of the Cages, with hints of their glories divine - From the barred little windows, cut high in the rear, - Where the close-hidden animals’ noses appear. - - Here’s the Pyramid-car, with its splendor and flash, - And the Goddess on high, in a hot-scarlet sash - And a pen-wiper skirt!—O the rarest of sights - Is this “Queen of the Air” in cerulean tights! - - Then the far-away clash of the cymbals, and then - The swoon of the tune ere it wakens again - With the capering tones of the gallant cornet - That go dancing away in a mad minuet. - - The Circus!—The Circus!—The throb of the drums, - And the blare of the horns, as the Band-wagon comes; - The clash and the clang of the cymbals that beat, - As the glittering pageant winds down the long street. - - - - -FOLKS AT LONESOMEVILLE - - - Pore-folks lives at Lonesomeville— - Lawzy! but they’re pore! - Houses with no winders in, - And hardly any door: - Chimbly all tore down, and no - Smoke in that at all— - Ist a stovepipe through a hole - In the kitchen-wall! - - Pump ’at’s got no handle on; - And no woodshed—And, _wooh!_— - Mighty cold there, choppin’ wood, - Like pore-folks has to do!— - Winter-time, and snow and sleet - Ist fairly fit to kill!— - Hope to goodness _Santy Claus_ - Goes to Lonesomeville! - - - - -THE THREE JOLLY HUNTERS - - - O there were three jolly hunters; - And a-hunting they did go, - With a spaniel-dog, and a pointer-dog, - And a setter-dog also. - Looky there! - - And they hunted and they hal-looed; - And the first thing they did find - Was a dingling-dangling hornet’s-nest - A-swinging in the wind. - Looky there! - - And the first one said—“What is it?” - Said the next, “We’ll punch and see”: - And the next one said, a mile from there, - “I wish we’d let it be!” - Looky there! - - And they hunted and they hal-looed; - And the next thing they did raise - Was a bobbin’ bunny cottontail - That vanished from their gaze. - Looky there! - - One said it was a hot base-ball, - Zipped through the brambly thatch, - But the others said ’twas a note by post, - Or a telegraph-dispatch. - Looky there! - - So they hunted and they hal-looed; - And the next thing they did sight - Was a great big bulldog chasing them, - And a farmer, hollerin’ “Skite!” - Looky there! - - And the first one said, “Hi-jinktum!” - And the next, “Hi-jinktum-jee!” - And the last one said, “Them very words - Had just occurred to me!” - Looky there! - - - - -THE LITTLE DOG-WOGGY - - - A Little Dog-Woggy - Once walked round the World: - So he shut up his house; and, forgetting - His two puppy-children - Locked in there, he curled - Up his tail in pink bombazine netting, - And set out - To walk round - The World. - - He walked to Chicago, - And heard of the Fair— - Walked on to New York, where he _never_,— - In fact, he discovered - That many folks there - Thought less of Chicago than ever, - As he musing- - Ly walked round - The World. - - He walked on to Boston, - And round Bunker Hill, - Bow-wowed, but no citizen heerd him— - Till he ordered his baggage - And called for his bill, - And then, bless their souls! how they cheered him, - As he gladly - Walked on round - The World. - - He walked and walked on - For a year and a day— - Dropped down at his own door and panted, - Till a teamster came driving - Along the highway - And told him that house there was ha’nted - By the two starve- - Dest pups in - The World. - - - - -CHARMS - - -I - -FOR CORNS AND THINGS - - Prune your corn in the gray of the morn - With a blade that’s shaved the dead, - And barefoot go and hide it so - The rain will rust it red: - Dip your foot in the dew and put - A print of it on the floor, - And stew the fat of a brindle cat, - And say this o’er and o’er:— - Corny! morny! blady! dead! - Gory! sory! rusty! red! - Footsy! putsy! floory! stew! - Fatsy! catsy! - Mew! - Mew! - Come grease my corn - In the gray of the morn! - Mew! Mew! Mew! - - -II - -TO REMOVE FRECKLES—SCOTCH ONES - - Gae the mirkest night an’ stan’ - ’Twixt twa graves, ane either han’; - Wi’ the right han’ fumblin’ ken - Wha the deid mon’s name’s ance be’n,— - Wi’ the ither han’ sae read - Wha’s neist neebor o’ the deid; - An it be or wife or lass, - Smoor tha twa han’s i’ the grass, - Weshin’ either wi’ the ither, - Then tha faice wi’ baith thegither; - Syne ye’ll seeket at cockcraw— - Ilka freeckle’s gang awa! - - - - -A FEW OF THE BIRD-FAMILY - - - The Old Bob-white, and Chipbird; - The Flicker, and Chewink, - And little hopty-skip bird - Along the river-brink. - - The Blackbird, and Snowbird, - The Chicken-hawk, and Crane; - The glossy old black Crow-bird, - And Buzzard down the lane. - - The Yellowbird, and Redbird, - The Tomtit, and the Cat; - The Thrush, and that Red_head_-bird - The rests all pickin’ at! - - The Jay-bird, and the Bluebird, - The Sapsuck, and the Wren— - The Cockadoodle-doo-bird, - And our old Settin’-hen! - - - - -THROUGH SLEEPY-LAND - - - Where do you go when you go to sleep, - Little Boy! Little Boy! where? - ’Way—’way in where’s Little Bo-Peep, - And Little Boy Blue, and the Cows and Sheep - A-wandering ’way in there—in there— - A-wandering ’way in there! - - And what do you see when lost in dreams, - Little Boy, ’way in there? - Firefly-glimmers and glow-worm gleams, - And silvery, low, slow-sliding streams, - And mermaids, smiling out—’way in where - They’re a-hiding—’way in there! - - Where do you go when the Fairies call, - Little Boy! Little Boy! where? - Wade through the dews of the grasses tall, - Hearing the weir and the waterfall - And the Wee Folk—’way in there—in there— - And the Kelpies—’way in there! - - And what do you do when you wake at dawn, - Little Boy! Little Boy! what? - Hug my Mommy and kiss her on - Her smiling eyelids, sweet and wan, - And tell her everything I’ve forgot, - A-wandering ’way in there—in there— - Through the blind-world ’way in there! - - - - -THE TRESTLE AND THE BUCK-SAW - - - The Trestle and the Buck-Saw - Went out a-walking once, - And staid away and staid away - For days and weeks and months: - And when they got back home again, - Of all that had occurred, - The neighbors said the gossips said - They never said a word. - - - - -THE KING OF OO-RINKTUM-JING - - - Dainty Baby Austin! - Your Daddy’s gone to Boston - To see the King - Of Oo-Rinktum-Jing - And the whale he rode acrost on! - - Boston Town’s a city: - But O it’s such a pity!— - They’ll greet the King - Of Oo-Rinktum-Jing - With never a nursery ditty! - - But me and you and Mother - Can stay with Baby-brother, - And sing of the King - Of Oo-Rinktum-Jing - And laugh at one another! - - So what cares Baby Austin - If Daddy _has_ gone to Boston - To see the King - Of Oo-Rinktum-Jing - And the whale he rode acrost on? - - - - -THE TOY PENNY-DOG - - - Ma put my Penny-Dog - Safe on the shelf, - An’ left no one home but him, - Me an’ myself; - So I clumbed a big chair - I pushed to the wall— - But the Toy Penny-Dog - Ain’t there at all! - I went back to Dolly— - An’ _she_ ’uz gone too, - An’ little Switch ’uz layin’ there;— - An’ Ma says “_Boo!_”— - An’ there she wuz a-peepin’ - Through the front-room door: - An’ I ain’t goin’ to be a bad - Little girl no more! - - - - -JARGON-JINGLE - - - Tawdery!—faddery! Feathers and fuss! - Mummery!—flummery! wusser and wuss! - All o’ Humanity—Vanity Fair!— - Heaven for nothin’, and—nobody there! - - - - -THE GREAT EXPLORER - - - He sailed o’er the weltery watery miles - For a tabular year-and-a-day, - To the kindless, kinkable Cannibal Isles - He sailed and he sailed away! - He captured a loon in a wild lagoon, - And a yak that weeps and smiles, - And a bustard-bird, and a blue baboon, - In the kindless Cannibal Isles - And wilds - Of the kinkable Cannibal Isles. - - He swiped in bats with his butterfly-net, - In the kinkable Cannibal Isles, - And got short-waisted and over-het - In the haunts of the crocodiles; - And nine or ten little Pygmy Men - Of the quaintest shapes and styles - He shipped back home to his old Aunt Jenn, - From the kindless Cannibal Isles - And wilds - Of the kinkable Cannibal Isles. - - - - -THE SCHOOL-BOY’S FAVORITE - - _“Over the river and through the wood_ - _Now Grandmother’s cap I spy:_ - _Hurrah for the fun!—Is the pudding done?_ - _Hurrah for the pumpkin-pie!”_ - - SCHOOL READER. - - - Fer any boy ’at’s little as me, - Er any little girl, - That-un’s the goodest poetry-piece - In any book in the worl’! - An’ ef grown-peoples wuz little ag’in - I bet they’d say so, too, - Ef _they’d_ go see _their_ ole Gran’ma, - Like our Pa lets _us_ do! - - _Over the river an’ through the wood_ - _Now Gran’mother’s cap I spy:_ - _Hurrah fer the fun!—Is the puddin’ done?—_ - _Hurrah fer the punkin-pie!_ - - An’ ’ll tell you _why_ ’at’s the goodest piece:— - ’Cause it’s ist like _we_ go - To _our_ Gran’ma’s, a-visitun there, - When our Pa he says so; - An’ Ma she fixes my little cape-coat - An’ little fuzz-cap; an’ Pa - He tucks me away—an’ yells “_Hoo-ray!_”— - An’ whacks Ole Gray, an’ drives the sleigh - Fastest you ever saw! - - _Over the river an’ through the wood_ - _Now Gran’mother’s cap I spy:_ - _Hurrah fer the fun!—Is the puddin’ done?—_ - _Hurrah fer the punkin-pie!_ - - An’ Pa ist snuggles me ’tween his knees— - An’ I he’p hold the lines, - An’ peek out over the buffalo-robe;— - An’ the wind ist _blows_!—an’ the snow ist _snows_!— - An’ the sun ist shines! an’ shines!— - An’ th’ ole horse tosses his head an’ coughs - The frost back in our face.— - An’ I ruther go to my Gran’ma’s - Than any other place! - - _Over the river an’ through the wood_ - _Now Gran’mother’s cap I spy:_ - _Hurrah fer the fun!—Is the puddin’ done?—_ - _Hurrah fer the punkin-pie!_ - - An’ all the peoples they is in town - Watches us whizzin’ past - To go a-visitun _our_ Gran’ma’s, - Like we all went there last;— - But _they_ can’t go, like ist _our_ folks - An’ Johnny an’ Lotty, an’ three - Er four neighber-childerns, an’ Rober-ut Volney, - An’ Charley an’ Maggy an’ me! - - _Over the river an’ through the wood_ - _Now Gran’mother’s cap I spy:_ - _Hurrah fer the fun!—Is the puddin’ done?—_ - _Hurrah fer the punkin-pie!_ - - - - -ALBUMANIA - - _Some certain misty yet tenable signs_ - _Of the oracular Raggedy Man,_ - _Happily found in these fugitive lines_ - _Culled from the album of ’Lizabuth Ann._ - - -FRIENDSHIP - - O Friendship, when I muse on you, - As thoughtful minds, O Friendship, do, - I muse, O Friendship, o’er and o’er, - O Friendship—as I said before. - - -LIFE - - “What is Life?” If the _Dead_ might say, - ’Spect they’d answer, under breath, - Sorry-like yet a-laughin’:—A - Poor pale yesterday of Death! - - -LIFE’S HAPPIEST HOURS - - Best, I guess, - Was the old “_Recess_.”— - ’Way back there’s where I’d love to be— - Shet of each lesson and hateful rule, - When the whole round World was as sweet to me - As the big ripe apple I brung to School. - - -MARION-COUNTY MAN HOMESICK ABROAD - - I, who had hobnobbed with the shades of kings, - And canvassed grasses from old masters’ graves, - And in cathedrals stood and looked at things - In niches, crypts and naves;— - My heavy heart was sagging with its woe, - Nor Hope to prop it up, nor Promise, nor - One woman’s hands—and O I wanted so - To be felt sorry for! - - -BIRDY! BIRDY! - - The Redbreast loves the blooming bough— - The Bluebird loves it same as he;— - And as they sit and sing there now, - So do I sing to thee— - Only, dear heart, unlike the birds, - I do not climb a tree - To sing— - I do not climb a tree. - - - When o’er this page, in happy years to come, - Thou jokest on these lines and on my name, - Doubt not my love and say, “Though he lies dumb, - He’s lying, just the same!” - - - - -THE LITTLE MOCK-MAN - - - The Little Mock-man on the Stairs— - He mocks the lady’s horse ’at rares - At bi-sickles an’ things,— - He mocks the mens ’at rides ’em, too; - An’ mocks the Movers, drivin’ through. - An’ hollers, “Here’s the way _you_ do - With them-air hitchin’-strings!” - “Ho! ho!” he’ll say, - Ole Settlers’ Day, - When they’re all jogglin’ by,— - “You look like _this_,” - He’ll say, an’ twis’ - His mouth an’ squint his eye - An’ ’tend-like _he_ wuz beat the bass - Drum at both ends—an’ toots an’ blares - Ole dinner-horn an’ puffs his face— - The Little Mock-man on the Stairs! - - The Little Mock-man on the Stairs - Mocks all the peoples all he cares - ’At passes up an’ down! - He mocks the chickens round the door, - An’ mocks the girl ’at scrubs the floor, - An’ mocks the rich, an’ mocks the pore, - An’ ever’thing in town! - “Ho! ho!” says he, - To you er me; - An’ ef we turns an’ looks, - He’s all cross-eyed - An’ mouth all wide - Like Giunts is, in books.— - “Ho! ho!” he yells, “look here at _me_,” - An’ rolls his fat eyes roun’ an’ glares,— - “_You_ look like _this_!” he says, says he— - The Little Mock-man on the Stairs! - - _The Little Mock—_ - _The Little Mock—_ - _The Little Mock-man on the Stairs,_ - _He mocks the music-box an’ clock,_ - _An’ roller-sofy an’ the chairs;_ - _He mocks his Pa, an’ specs he wears;_ - _He mocks the man ’at picks the pears_ - _An’ plums an’ peaches on the shares;_ - _He mocks the monkeys an’ the bears_ - _On picture-bills, an’ rips an’ tears_ - _’Em down,—an’ mocks ist all he cares,_ - _An’ EVER’body EVER’wheres!_ - - - - -SUMMER-TIME AND WINTER-TIME - - - In the golden noon-shine, - Or in the pink of dawn; - In the silver moonshine, - Or when the moon is gone; - Open eyes, or drowsy lids, - ’Wake or ’most asleep, - I can hear the katydids,— - “Cheep! Cheep! Cheep!” - - Only in the winter-time - Do they ever stop, - In the chip-and-splinter-time, - When the backlogs pop,— - Then it is, the kettle-lids, - While the sparkles leap, - Lisp like the katydids,— - “Cheep! Cheep! Cheep!” - - - - -HOME-MADE RIDDLES—ALL BUT THE ANSWERS - - -I - - No one ever saw it - Till I dug it from the ground; - I found it when I lost it, - And lost it when I found: - I washed it, and dressed it, - And buried it once more— - Dug it up, and loved it then - Better than before. - I was paid for finding it— - I don’t know why or how,— - But I lost, found, and kept it, - And haven’t got it now. - - -II - - Sometimes it’s all alone— - Sometimes in a crowd; - It says a thousand bright things, - But never talks aloud. - Everybody loves it, - And likes to have it call, - But if you shouldn’t happen to, - It wouldn’t care at all. - First you see or hear of it, - It’s a-singing,—then - You may look and listen, - But it never sings again. - - - - -THE LOVELY CHILD - - - Lilies are both pure and fair, - Growing ’midst the roses there— - Roses, too, both red and pink, - Are quite beautiful, I think. - - But of all bright blossoms—best— - Purest—fairest—loveliest,— - Could there be a sweeter thing - Than a primrose, blossoming? - - - - -THE YELLOWBIRD - - - Hey! my little Yellowbird, - What you doing there? - Like a flashing sun-ray, - Flitting everywhere: - Dangling down the tall weeds - And the hollyhocks, - And the lordly sunflowers - Along the garden-walks. - - Ho! my gallant Golden-bill, - Pecking ’mongst the weeds, - You must have for breakfast - Golden flower-seeds: - Won’t you tell a little fellow - What you have for _tea_?— - ’Spect a peck o’ yellow, mellow - Pippin on the tree. - - - - -ENVOY - - - When but a little boy, it seemed - My dearest rapture ran - In fancy ever, when I dreamed - I was a man—a man! - - Now—sad perversity!—my theme - Of rarest, purest joy - Is when, in fancy blest, I dream - I am a little boy. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Armazindy, by James Whitcomb Riley - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ARMAZINDY *** - -***** This file should be named 63552-0.txt or 63552-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/3/5/5/63552/ - -Produced by Juliet Sutherland and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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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