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diff --git a/old/65786-0.txt b/old/65786-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 495a893..0000000 --- a/old/65786-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2262 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Dance of Dinwiddie, by Marshall Moreton - - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. 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: The Dance of Dinwiddie - - -Author: Marshall Moreton - - - -Release Date: July 7, 2021 [eBook #65786] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - - -***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DANCE OF DINWIDDIE*** - - -E-text prepared by Sonya Schermann, David E. Brown, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images -generously made available by Internet Archive (https://archive.org) - - - -Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this - file which includes the original illustrations. - See 65786-h.htm or 65786-h.zip: - (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/65786/65786-h/65786-h.htm) - or - (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/65786/65786-h.zip) - - - Images of the original pages are available through - Internet Archive. See - https://archive.org/details/danceofdinwiddie00more - - -Transcriber’s note: - - Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. - - - - - -THE DANCE OF DINWIDDIE - - -[Illustration: There the dancers had come on the evening before.] - - -[Illustration] - - -THE DANCE OF DINWIDDIE - -by - -MARSHALL MORETON - - -[Illustration] - - - - - - -Stewart & Kidd Company -Publishers Cincinnati - -Copyright, 1912, by -Marshall Moreton - - -[Illustration] - - - - -The Dance of Dinwiddie - -[Illustration] - - - A House and a barn on an acre of ground-- - And there wasn’t another of either around - Save the houses afloat that went flying apast, - For the waters had closed all around them at last. - There the dancers had come on the ev’ning before - In their high-seated wagon--a full score or more, - With fiddlers and one they called “Oracle,” who - Was a modern Sebastian Cerezo, and knew - (About dancing and things) more than any one ’round - In the house or the barn on the acre of ground. - - ’Twas at the great bend near the town of Dinwiddie - On the banks of the river Ohio, and giddy, - The gay, dizzy dance, like a far-away echo, - Seems laughing to me of a time long ago, - In the merry round waltz and the songs for the reels, - In the “Oracle’s” rhymes that were slicker than eels, - And the snug little town whence the dancers had come - On the evening before to the old country home, - Is as fresh to my mind as the tall trees around - The frame house and the barn on the acre of ground. - - There the tall trees are standing, still standing alone - Like sentinels now, and are now taller grown, - Where once was the homestead. How often I’m told - By the boatmen who traveled the river of old, - That they never can pass round the great sweeping bend - But the dance is recalled, and they think of the end - That so suddenly came to the cherished old place; - They note the tall trees as its last lingering trace-- - Their long branches waving as if in a trance - From a waltz they had caught on the night of the dance. - - There often the town folks, still curious, stray - To look o’er the place on a summery day, - Recounting the story when nearing the sight, - And some one will tell of the dance of that night, - Of the dancers who came there that evening before-- - Not thinking the river could rise any more-- - Will sing the reel songs and will point to the place - Where once stood the house on that now crumbling base - When caught in the flood on that night without warning - To the dancers within till the dawn of the morning. - - ’Twas a house of firm structure, but fashioned quite plain, - With its hallway, its rooms and a roof ’gainst the rain, - With a story below and a story above, - And the rooms were all ample and wide; but the love - For the house was of measure far more than its worth. - ’Twas the mem’ries that ever recurred for its hearth - That made it so precious. I love to recall - The long row of windows, the doorway and hall, - And fondly thought lingers--in fancy I see - The trees that seem nodding and laughing to me. - - The farm swept the valley to right and to left - For a mile to the hill where the quarry was cleft. - From the house to the hill it was level and low, - And oft in the spring-time the flood-tide would grow - Till the back-waters covered the fields at their will, - But they lay there as peaceful and placid and still - As the mountain lakes seem, then, as if in a dream, - They would gently recede as they followed the stream; - And the house and the barn that were built on a mound - Overlooked the great river and all of the ground. - - ’Twas Twilleger’s farm. It was Twilleger’s way - To give a big dance and be joyous and gay - In the early spring season. It did his soul good - To gather around him the whole neighborhood; - For Twilley (they called him) had ways of his own, - And except a few servants, he lived quite alone. - In the early spring season, when cider grows harder, - He would stock up his cellar and also his larder, - And then would invite the gay dancers to come - From out of the town to the old country home. - - For a week, ere the night of the dance, a high tide - Of water had covered the farm to the side - Of a road running out from the house to the hill. - ’Twas receding, they said--it was even and still. - Yet the sky had been sullen and surcharged with rain, - And there was an unrest at the threatening gain - Of the waters that leaped o’er the banks at the shore - To a point that was higher than known of before, - For the early spring thaw of the deep-lying snow - In the mountains augmented the high overflow. - -[Illustration: They were coming, were coming.] - - But the clear sky it left when the sun had declined - On the eve of the dance reassured every mind. - How balmy and sweet was the evening! How fair - Was the face of all nature that smiled everywhere! - Far out on the highway their voices rang clear - As the dancers were coming with song and a cheer - In their wagon that rumbled along with its load. - They were coming, were coming far down on the road, - And to meet them, away ran the great baying hound - To lead them down home to the acre of ground. - - There the dancers were welcomed by Twilley soon after, - Where they filled all the rooms with a chatter and laughter. - Their sparkling bright eyes showed their fine healthy thriving, - And joyous and mirthful, their wits were soon striving, - And many sly banters and rail’ries were given - To lovers, that were in turn back again driven, - For some of them loved to be told of their love, - Whilst others were shy and as mild as a dove, - And just as soft-cooing--to some there’s a pleasure - In hiding their love as the birds hide their treasure. - - Now most of the women who came from the town - Were sweetly suburban in manner and gown, - Though none the less merry or jauntily gay, - Whilst some were profuse in a brilliant display. - Selina! Selina was there! Were there ever - Such eyes as Selina’s? No wonder the river - Crept higher and higher to bask in the light - Of her dark, rolling eyes. No wonder that night - That the stars faded fast and from envy withdrew, - For her eyes were far brighter--they every one knew. - - Ah, the runaway laugh of Louisa still rings - Like a merry and lingering echo. It brings - Recollections of pink-glowing cheeks, and a girl - Whose fun-loving spell set the house in a whirl, - As her laughter ran riot and touched everywhere, - Till Amanda, the chaperon, with dignified air - And a fine, arching brow, was compelled to unbend - And to follow the frivolous, frolicsome trend - Of a something she knew not--she wasn’t half sure - If she laughed with Louisa or just at her laughter. - - But ’tis needless to point all their feminine graces, - Or with blund’ring endeavor to profile their faces, - For every one knows where the prodigal nature - Once lavished the rarest of all of her treasure; - Where she hung the steep hill in a moment of leisure, - And dreamed the sweet valleys with lingering pleasure; - She smiled, and the streamlets will run there forever - And yield their full measure to form the great river; - But how void were the hills and the valleys and waters, - Till she brought there the fairest of all of her daughters. - - All the beauties were there from the strath-haven town, - And some were so queenly they lacked but the crown; - And the men, while of no very special great talent, - There was yet a lieutenant with airs that were gallant. - There was also a wit who was quite proud of it, - Who teased an old bachelor--not sociable a bit, - For love so absorbed him he smiled and was mute, - While Malinda just laughed and encouraged his suit, - Till the heart of the bachelor grew light as a feather, - And he and Malinda drew closer together. - - And even the cynical Simon was won - As the chatter of dancers went merrily on, - Till once he laughed loudly and ever so jolly-- - ’Twas all on account of the popular Polly. - Tim Dolor, the bashful, was quite at his ease, - And every one there seemed as easy to please, - And every face beamed with a broadening smile - That broke into ripples of laughter the while, - As the men chose their partners some time in advance - Of the fiddles that had to be tuned for the dance. - - Ah, the little sly glances that gave the love-token, - The soft-whispered words by the fond lovers spoken. - Whilst some were coquetting by way of diversion, - There were others inclined to an earnest assertion, - As around through the rooms and the halls they would ramble; - The Bold Roland Rare in a light-footed amble, - With an air of a fine condescending compassion, - Gave the latest new step that had come into fashion; - And some fell to giving and guessing new riddles - While the fumbling old fiddlers were fixing their fiddles. - - Twice, thrice, had the band leader sprung to his feet - To call for attention, while deftly he beat - On the back of his fiddle, then drew a swift bow - ’Crost its sensitive strings that the players might know - ’Twas time to begin, but a fiddle-string snapped - And put things awry every time that he rapped; - Then tuning and strumming would vie with the horn - That was screeching a monotone strange and forlorn, - While Cupid accepted the timely delay - To lead the fond lovers aside and away. - - And meanwhile the “Oracle” wrote some new rhymes - For the dances. Said he, “I write better at times. - My old rhymes were good, to be sure, some were fine, - Very fine--you could hardly find fault with a line. - On occasions like this, I write new ones,” said he, - “For everything here is inspiring to me. - I can write of the things that I see on the spot, - And the dancers will notice that when I take thought, - I just leap upon Pegasus, speed him along, - Till my fancies go rhyming and turn to a song. - - “I’m a very great poet, as every one knows. - See how dreamy I look, and how long my hair grows. - I talk in a rhythm that’s classical, too. - ’Twere a marvel to tell all the things I can do. - I can dance every jig of the day or tradition, - But while dancing alone is my greatest ambition, - I often indulge in the light recreation - Of keeping the river at just its right station, - So that floods at Dinwiddie occasion no worry-- - I have them subside when they get o’er their flurry.” - - ’Twas a story oft told, though it hardly deceived, - That the “Oracle” could--which he doubtless believed-- - Make the rising Ohio floods quickly subside - When he stretched forth his hand and commanded the tide. - ’Twas a great feat of magic, and if he seemed vain, - His pride was forgiven again and again, - For as often as flood-waters threatened the town, - It was well understood why the tide had gone down; - And for his dance-calling and mystical lore, - His neighbors yclept him the title he bore. - - All were merry that night. They proceeded to tear - Up the carpets and rugs so the floor would be bare - For quadrilles and the reels that they all loved so well; - And the lovers who danced--but there’s no use to dwell - Upon that, for all lovers are happy who dance - To the music and whirl with a dizzy side glance. - So the “Oracle” called from a platform to stand on, - And they danced to his rhymes with a heedless abandon, - While the waters were leaving an Island becrowned - With a house and a barn on an acre of ground. - - * * * * * - -(_The Oracle Calls._) - - And bend the knee in courtesy - To sweethearts and your lovers true; - Next two, with lilting gayety, - The center glide away; now you - May nimbly trip back to your place, - And balance all--the even time - Will bring you once more face to face - To listen to my “old-time” reeling rhyme. - - Come hither, pretty maid and swain, - It is your turn; tiptoe with grace - Adown the center lover’s lane; - With easy turn once more to place, - And now obeisance make to all, - And sweethearts courtesy; with rhyme - And melody, Oh, hear my call - To dance around your “Oracle” this time. - - Go flutter like the turtle bird, - Don’t try to fly--’twould be absurd. - To me there’s music in the chime - Of twinkling feet with even time. - Lieutenant Love, lead home thy dove, - (The flood is falling up above), - And have her bring an olive sprall - To prove the flood was but a waterfall. - - (O, cynic Simon, have a care; - Twice have you jostled Roland Rare - With elbows angled in the air; - It seems that Polly’s witching face - Has so beguiled you with its grace - That you have lost your time and place.) - Fly low, my turtle doves, fly low; - To right and left and form the double row. - - And bend the knee in courtesy, - (There was a sometime prophesy) - Your turn sweet bach, Malindy, too. - (And some have thought it would come true, - That floods would some day higher swell - To sweep the valley where we dwell). - Sweet bachelor, prance down the lane, - And with you bring Malindy home again. - - And balance all--the even time - Will fill the measure to my rhyme. - (But when the floods shall see my wand, - Obedient to my one command, - They’ll very soon recede, you’ll find - As heretofore they have declined) - Once more, my cooing doves, once more - Go tell your love-lorn tales as round you soar. - - * * * * * - - They danced till the “Oracle” said they were through; - If he ran out of rhymes not a soul of them knew; - No one doubted at all he could go on forever, - And ev’ry one thought he was wondrously clever; - Then some one called out for the “Old Gallantry;” - “Oh! ‘The Sweet Harry Lee,’ let us dance ‘Harry Lee,’” - Then, they ev’ry one cried, for it fit their feet neatly - To dance, while it suited their voices completely; - They sang and they danced and there was a resound - That was everywhere heard on the acre of ground. - - -(_The Sweet Harry Lee._) - - Oh, have you seen Sweet Harry Lee - With airs so light and breezy, - And such a gentle courtesy - That seems so soft and easy? - - He is so tall and straight and trim - With military talent, - And all the girls run after him, - Because he is so gallant. - - For Harry is a soldier bold, - And he’s a great defender, - But when to me his love he told, - His eyes were O, so tender. - - And Harry is so daring, too, - I’ve heard it very often, - But when he tells his love so true, - His voice will seem to soften. - - There’s none can love like Harry Lee, - And none can be so merry, - And then his pleasing gallantry, - So witching and so airy. - - Oh, have you seen sweet Harry Lee, - Who calls me “Little Fairy?” - In camp and field, he says, ’tis me - He’s coming home to marry. - - * * * * * - - Then the waltz! Ah the waltz! What ravishing pleasure - They felt in the waltz as they reveled its measure, - And how their blood surged with ecstatic sensation - As their dancing feet caught its enchanting creation - Till it bore them, as if, on a smooth gliding stream, - Enraptured away in a beautiful dream; - And the doting old bach’lor rode high on the tide - As he held up Malindy real close to his side-- - To furnish the witling whose tongue couldn’t rest, - A subject to turn to an infinite jest. - - The witling was jealous, ’twas laughingly said, - And it may have been true, for the fine posing head - Of Malinda was wise and more subtlely schemed - Than the wittiest lover has ever yet dreamed; - She could even walk lame to seem easily caught, - And many a lover who ardently sought - To o’ertake her gave up at the last in despair - When he found that her halting was only a snare, - And a month she’d been leading the witling a chase - When she tagged the old bachelor to run in the race. - - So what could he do but to fall in the lair - Of her sudden side glance or her innocent stare? - Then away ran the bachelor along with the wit, - And he nearly caught up when she halted a bit, - And it was no great wonder the witling was peeved-- - He was being outrun, as he plainly perceived. - ’Twas but nat’ral for him to give vent to his spleen, - And no one could say, but it really seemed mean - For Malindy to dance and be acting as though - She was tickled to death with a homelier beau. - - But the kindly Neoma was there and alert; - She saw the great wit with his proud feelings hurt, - And smiling, she beckoned him over her way, - Where she flattered his pride as a clever girl may, - Till he told all he knew and a score of things more, - Which Neoma, still smiling, as patiently bore; - She sympathized with him. There often is found - A sweet-tempered girl who will care for the wound - Of a lover who loses, and teach him a sanity new, - And sometimes restore his old vanity, too. - - Now Malindy had genius; she too had a smile - For all the sweet bachelor said, and the while, - She hadn’t neglected to listen as well - To every old yarn that the witling could tell, - And at the right moment she turned a side glance, - Which must have meant something, for off in a prance - It started the witling again to the chase - More hopeful than ever of winning the race; - And Malindy led off with her favorite song - And with her the witling went smiling along. - - -MALINDY’S SONG - - When I was young I often heard - There was no sign or token - By which to know a lover’s word - Would not be shortly broken. - - I feared to trust love to entwine - Without a due reflection - Around this foolish heart of mine - To ravish its affection. - - I thought ’twould rob my peace of mind - And force the tear to trickle - Upon a fading cheek to find - The love I loved was fickle. - - And yet it seemed that if I knew - A lover not ungraceful - And I could feel that he was true, - I’d surely be as faithful. - - And really, once there came a beau - Who wooed me very kindly, - But love is blind, I said, and oh! - I feared to love so blindly. - - And yet it seemed that very day - I found my heart relenting, - But he was gone, Oh, gone away! - And I was left repenting. - - So, often now there comes a day - I seem to be expecting - That love will come and come to stay, - For I have quit reflecting. - - * * * * * - - “There’s no use reflecting”--a sort of refrain - That went ’round the room and repeated again - When the dancing was over. “I’m always reflecting,” - Said Roland, quite proudly. “I think you’re expecting - That some one will love you,” laughed shy Letha Lane, - “How sad it would be if she loved you in vain!” - “I should think it were sadder,” the great witling said, - “If loving bold Roland, bold Roland she’d wed.” - With a little small wit--a supposed repartee, - Thus every one went on their own merry way. - - * * * * * - - They gathered in groups, as you’ve seen dancers do, - Discussing a well-worn gossip or two; - Louisa was telling a personal affair - Which Neoma was hearing with sisterly care. - ’Twas a subject some slyly had whispered in jest; - Louisa denied it at first, then confessed - To a folly her heart would no longer conceal, - Which most girls, though dying, would scarcely reveal-- - Confession’s a troublesome thing in our youth-- - But see how Louisa could tell the whole truth. - - -LOUISA’S STORY - - They tell I passed the store six times to-day - And just to get a glimpse of Alfred Gray. - The very idea of such a thing! - And them a going round a tattling - As though it all were true! It isn’t fair; - But let them talk, I’m sure I do not care. - Why, as I passed the store I looked away - And never even thought of Alfred Gray. - - Now let me see. ’Tis about a month or so - Since Alfred called--’tis just a month ago. - I didn’t say a word to him that night - Of what I’d heard, but acted gay and light, - And wasn’t jealous, either--not a bit, - Not the least, little tiny speck of it. - I talked and laughed, but as he went away - I said, “You’ll get a letter, Alfred Gray.” - - And that was all I said, except, of course, “Good-bye,” - But after he was gone--I don’t know why-- - I angry grew and wrote that letter then. - I told him what I thought of all the men, - And ’bout him calling on my Cousin Kate; - Said I, “It isn’t jealousy, but hate, - That prompts me now to write to you this way, - So cease your calling on me, Alfred Gray.” - - Next morn I sent the letter off to town, - And Cousin Kate, she heard how I’d gone down - And how I’d begged the postal clerk in vain - For him to give the letter back again; - Of course, it was a silly thing in me, - But then it really looked like jealousy, - And worried me to think of it that way-- - Not that I cared at all for Alfred Gray. - - And when my Cousin Kate came round to call, - She sat up straight, and prim, and proud, and tall, - But I could see a twinkle in her eye, - As after while she bluntly asked me why - I worried ’bout that letter I had sent. - ’Twas then that all the anger in me pent - Burst forth; I said in my _severest_ way, - “’Tis you who came ’twixt me and Alfred Gray.” - - Kate frowned at first, and then she laughed outright, - And said that maybe she could throw some light - Upon the mystery that troubled so. - A friend of hers she said, not long ago, - Who looked like Alfred, came to call on her-- - He looked like Alfred, only handsomer, - She laughed--and people talked--it is their way-- - They took the handsome man for Alfred Gray. - - Then Kate pretended dignity - And wounded feelings, too, and teasing me, - She said, it hurt her--what I said--and sighed, - Till both began to laugh--and then I cried, - For though I knew Kate told the truth to me, - It added still to my perplexity - If I should then attempt to tell the way - It all had come about to Alfred Gray. - - I felt so ’shamed in writing Alfred, then - And he’s so stubborn, too, like most the men, - He hasn’t written me a line as yet. - I maybe do sometimes a little fret, - And maybe, though it does seem very bold, - (You must not tell, or else I’ll know who told) - I may have passed the store six times to-day - To get a _little_ glimpse of Alfred Gray. - - * * * * * - - It had all been arranged and ’twas timed to the hour - For Amanda to dance with the old bachelor, - The chap’ron, ’twas said, had a song of her own; - She expected, of course, to have sung it alone, - And though she led off in a rather high key, - The dancers all joined her with boisterous glee, - For they slyly had conned it the evening before; - And they made it the jolliest dance on the floor, - And though she protested, it all was in vain, - They began it all over and sang it again. - - -THE CHAPERON’S SONG - - ’Tis not because I couldn’t have, - For laws! I’ve had my chances; - Nor can I say I wouldn’t have, - If some had made advances. - - But that’s the way it’s always been - In my experiences; - I never caught among the men - The proper person’s glances. - - And goodness knows, I’ve often said, - Nor would I now deny it, - ’Tis better far for one to wed - Or do her best to try it; - - But if she fails to find her mate, - Or finding, fails to bind him, - It may turn out a better fate - To never have to mind him. - - For now I’m of a certain age, - Or “old,” as you may view it; - And single still, up to this stage - I’ve never seemed to rue it. - - Still, ’twasn’t that I wouldn’t have - If some had made advances, - Nor can I say I couldn’t have, - For laws! I’ve had my chances. - - It was fine, it was jolly, and no one could tell - How it all came about that the chaperon fell; - It seemed that her hoops, near the end of the dance, - Got caught on the knob of a door by a chance, - And the knob being firm and the hoops being strong - The hoops had to stay where they didn’t belong. - The chaperon tripped and she tumbled, of course, - But was up in a trice, looking not so much worse - While the dancers all laughed but she kept on a-singing - And never looked back where the hoops were still clinging. - - It was a mistake and the chaperon knew - That she should not have sung--she apologized, too-- - There’s no one can tell what the young people think - When their elders look sidewise on folly to wink-- - ’Tis a gap in the fences that leads to the clover, - And the dignified ruling of prudence is over. - They cut up--that’s nothing, they carried it on - Till Malindy, ashamed of the things that were done, - Took the bachelor out for a short, quiet walk - And lectured him soundly on orderly talk - - And then he behaved--’tis a marvelous thing - What order from chaos a woman can bring; - But Malindy, of course, had a very wise head - And none ever knew of the thing that she said - When she took her short stroll with the bachelor. Well, - There were others to conquer, the wit had a spell, - But she mastered him quickly and put him to rout - By looking askance and pretending to pout. - ’Twas a trick of Malindy’s--the girls of Dinwiddie - All knew it, they laughed and they laughed, oh, so giddy. - - * * * * * - - Tim Dolor, the bashful, could sing very well - When once he was rid of his timorous spell; - They coaxed him and pulled him, and though he was shy, - They would not release him until he would try; - But his voice had the ring of a poor, distressed call, - And the wail of his song was pathetic to all, - For the eyes of Selina had pierced the boy’s heart; - ’Twas also her smile that had speeded the dart. - Poor Dolor was love-sick, as ev’ry one knew, - And his sad song was drowned in the tears that it drew. - - -TIM DOLOR’S SONG - - Oh! mother, mother, my poor heart - Is all but now a-breaking; - I’ve seen a girl with such an art - Of ways that were so taking. - - I thought her smiles were meant for me; - I foolishly grew bolder, - When from that hour ’twas plain to see - Her smiles were growing colder. - - I loved her so, she was so fair; - With eyes that shone so brightly, - And such a dream of golden hair - That curled and clustered lightly. - - She was so fair, I loved her so-- - I may have been too daring-- - I told her of my love, but oh! - She said she wasn’t caring. - - Oh! make my bed and make it high, - So that I there may smother - Some of these heart-aches while I lie - Among the feathers, mother. - - But mother, mother, do not cry - For this, your boy’s undoing, - If ’mong the feathers I should die - I’ll not regret my wooing. - - * * * * * - - ’Twas midnight; the tables were spread to regale, - Then followed a story, a song and some ale; - The “Oracle” sang of a magical stream - That murmured a strangely mysterious theme; - The shy Letha Lane and the bold Roland Rare - Gave a song and a dance that was passingly fair, - And so plaintive and sad was the sweet bachelor - When he sang of the valley he came from afar, - That Malindy confessed, though she couldn’t tell why, - It affected her so that she almost could cry. - - - - -THE HAPPY HOLLOW DREAM - -(_By the “Oracle.”_) - - - There’s an unfrequented valley - In the mountain of Somally, - Where the skies so lulling seem, - That they call the “Happy Hollow,” - And you’ll find it if you follow - Up an ever-winding stream. - - There if ever you should wander, - Linger for awhile to ponder - By the subtle flowing stream, - Winding over rude or mallow, - Where it murmurs deep or shallow - Of a strange, alluring theme. - - For it springs from hidden fountains - In the distant, misty mountains, - Where it weaves a silver ream. - Then it hastens to the valley, - There to whirl and sing and dally - In a dance of crystal gleam. - - It may seem an idle fancy, - Or a scheme of Pegomancy - That was practiced long ago, - But you’ll find that unexpected, - All your being is affected - By the waters murmuring so. - - Of the fountains that they sprang from, - Of the mountains that they sang from - At an altitude so high - That they even heard the whispers - In the mornings and the vespers - Of the saints that were so nigh. - - And the waters bring the tidings, - And they tell of the abidings - Of departed souls _you_ know, - For their voices seemed to follow - Down into the Happy Hollow - Where the winding waters flow. - - Where a light that has the seeming - Of a pure benignly beaming-- - Ever there the day and night-- - Brings to you a tranquil feeling - Through its soft rays to you stealing - Of a calm, serene delight. - - Then you’ll fall to sweetly dreaming - While the mellow light is gleaming - On the ever-winding stream; - And the world will turn to smiling, - Through the strange and soft beguiling - Of the Happy Hollow Dream. - - You will hear a loved one singing, - On the waters that are bringing - To your dream-enraptured ear, - Oh! the very tones that ravished - Once your heart until it lavished - Ev’ry love to lovers dear! - - And beyond the mind’s creation, - In a pleasing presentation, - Faces to you will appear - Of departed ones you well knew, - Who will smile as if to tell you - They are ever, ever near. - - In the mountains of Somally - Where the stream winds through the valley, - And the skies so lulling seem, - There the world will turn to smiling - Through the strange and soft beguiling - Of the Happy Hollow Dream. - - * * * * * - - Where’s Letha? Where’s Letha? Now where did she go? - And what could possess her to run away so? - “’Tis like her, she’s shy, and she’s hiding somewhere, - While the bold Roland Rare is awaiting her here.” - Thus the chap’ron ran calling and searching for Letha - Till she found her at last in a hiding beneath a - Round table. “I wish I could stay here and die,” - Said Letha, “I hate to pretend that I cry.” - But she tripped to the floor with a little shy glance, - And began with bold Roland to sing and to dance. - - -THE LOVERS’ QUARREL - -(_By Roland Rare and Letha Lane._) - - _Roland_-- - Letha Lane, why! Letha Lane, - Now I beg you to explain - Why so many things you say - In that tantalizing way; - Why you sigh, - ’Tend to cry, - When no tears are in your eye. - - _Letha_-- - I could tell you, Roland Rare, - Things of which you’re well aware, - That you’d hardly care to hear; - Things that sometimes bring a tear - To my eye, - Though I try - Not to let you know I cry. - - _Roland_-- - Letha Lane, now I would fain - Know the reason you disdain - To express your thoughts at all-- - Any time I’m asked to call, - I appear, - Then I fear - You are vexed that I am near. - - _Letha_-- - Roland Rare, how can you dare - Look at me with such an air? - So it seems I called you then, - Oh! how long ago that’s been! - Not this year, - And I fear - ’Twas no other time, my dear. - - _Roland Rare! - Letha Lane!_ - { I will tell you once again, - { If you do not cease your fooling, - _Both_--{ You will find my fond love cooling, - { Though it seems you do not care, - _Letha Lane! - Roland Rare!_ - - _Roland_-- - Letha Lane, it is so plain - That your love is on the wane, - And ’tis time to say good-bye; - I shall go away and try - To forget - That we met, - Though this parting brings regret. - - _Letha_-- - Now I ask you, Roland Rare, - Do you think that it is fair - Thus to leave me as you say, - Leave me when I feel this way, - While I sigh - And I cry - With real tear-drops in my eye? - - _Roland_-- - Letha! Why now, Letha Lane! - Did you think me so insane? - Never meant a word of it; - I was fooling, too, a bit-- - Do not sigh, - Do not cry, - Why! real tears are in your eye. - - _Roland Rare! - Letha Lane!_ - { We must never quarrel again. - { If we do not cease our fooling, - _Both_--{ We will find our fond love cooling, - { Then, Oh! then, we both will care; - _Letha Lane! - Roland Rare!_ - - * * * * * - - “I’m thinking of something I never will tell,” - Came a whispering voice. “Oh, we know it as well,” - Piped a dozen small voices. “You mean about Tim?” - “Oh, every one knows ’bout the Timorous him, - They say he’s in love with Celina.” “Oh, no, - Why Tim was in love with Jeannette, don’t you know?” - “Jeannette, who was married a few weeks ago?” - “Yes, he loved her, I’m sure, for Jeannette told me so.” - “She told us the same, so we know it as well, - But we’re glad that _you_ told us. We never will tell.” - - Then they would have a song from the dolorous Tim, - And it seemed there was nothing to do but for him - To sing them a song that had broken his heart; - He never could sing it but salt tears would start - To his tender blue eyes. Tim Dolor began, - And the dancers all witnessed the tears as they ran - To his chin, where they dangled a moment, then--fell - On the floor, and the dancers all knew very well - That the words of the song were the sad solemn truth, - And every one pitied the heart-broken youth. - - -TIM DOLOR’S SONG - - While I may sing my song of woe, - Pray sympathize politely, - And if my tears should start to flow - Oh, do not treat them lightly. - - There was a time I loved a maid-- - And none of you will doubt it-- - But being shy, I was afraid - To tell the maid about it. - - I thought that she would surely know, - Or maybe she would guess it, - And seeing that I loved her so, - Would help me to confess it. - - Oh, secret love with nameless pain, - And only sighs relieving, - And now and then to hope again - To leave your bosom heaving. - - One night I thought I heard a bell; - I walked the street and listened; - The night was cold, the snow that fell - Was colder still and glistened. - - It was her wedding bell, I knew; - I did not need to guess it; - Another who had loved her, too, - Had hastened to confess it. - - I wandered out into the lane - That led up to her dwelling, - And there I stood--I think insane, - I’m sure, there was no telling. - - I saw the guests pass by in glee, - And all of them were laughing, - And every one looked back at me, - And at me seemed a-chaffing. - - They mocked at me so light and gay, - I could not seem to doubt it, - I burst in tears and turned away - And never told about it. - - It was sad to the dancers, so sad; but the traces - Of unbidden tears disappeared from their faces; - For as Dolor concluded the hound came a prowling - Right under the window and set up a howling, - Which made the sad singer forget his great trouble - And join in the laughter that bent them all double. - “It seems”, said the witling, “that hounds have reverses - And sing like some others their doggerel verses.” - Then Malindy went pouting again, and the wit - To get even, concluded _he’d_ sing for a bit. - - -THE SONG OF THE WITLING - - She pouts, but yesterday she smiled, - And since that moment I have whiled - Away the hours with hope and doubt - And see the lips that smile and pout. - - So high at times she holds her head, - I feel a certain awe or dread, - But when she smiles, I know not why, - Her head seems never held so high. - - Her brow and eyes will often frown - Until she sees how I’m cast down, - And then she’ll turn and sympathize - With placid brow and smiling eyes. - - ’Gainst pose of head and frown I cope, - For in her smile I find a hope, - And every hour I think about - And see the lips that smile and pout. - - * * * * * - - From a land so replete with a chivalric story - That even its name is a symbol of glory, - Came a bachelor unloved, but as gentle and kind - As though he were still a fond lover. His mind - Often turned to the valley from which he had come, - For throughout the wide world there was still but one home - For which his heart yearned; but he could not return; - It was but a mem’ry, the real home was gone, - And all of the warmth of a bright Southern sun - Could never revive what the war had undone. - - -SWEET SHENANDOAH - -(_By the Bachelor._) - - I’m thinking of Sweet Shenandoah - That ever brings a pleasing dream - Of mountain, plain, and winding stream, - And joyous days of long ago, - On silent wings of memory, - Are coming back to me. - - I hear the daybreak braggards crow, - As oft I heard that shrill refrain - When there I yawned and slept again; - I hear the noon-day tin horn blow, - Oh, sweeter than Æolian tones, - Its welcome to the hungry zones, - Where men afield with plow and hoe, - Who hear its call, are turning home-- - Their jaded horses, flecked with foam, - Now answer with a knowing neigh-- - It all comes back to me. - - The meadows there seem ripe to mow, - So tawny, thick, and redolent - The bulky heads are downward bent. - The long, sweet day is there, and oh! - I hear the murmuring melody - Of streams that wind so merrily, - And romp and laugh as on they flow - To mingle with the greater stream, - Then lose themselves as in a dream, - And still by day and night they go - To dream and dream eternally-- - It all comes back to me. - - How often when the sun would glow, - I’ve conjured o’er some boyish theme - With lazy lollings by the stream - As past me it would babbling go, - Till, as the shadows forth would creep, - I’ve yielded to a drowsy sleep, - Unmindful that the sun was low, - When nature’s own sweet lullaby - Came soothingly to me. - - Sweet eventide of long ago, - When swallows circled near the barn - And peacocks called their false forlorn; - When over at the dusky row - Was heard the darkies’ jamboree, - In weird and unchecked rhapsody; - Far down the milky way would bow-- - ’Twas night and full of witchery - In boyhood days to me. - - I’m thinking of sweet Shenandoah - And days before the Civil Strife-- - I loved the old Virginia life, - The joyous days of long ago - When all the world to us we knew - Was there; when tears and laughter, too, - Were shared by all; if tears should flow - ’Twas common cause for sympathy; - To laugh was to intensify - The cause of laughter so. I grow - To fondly love the memory - That now comes back to me. - - * * * * * - - “Malindy, Malindy, we’re waiting for you,” - Cried the dancers, “Come sing of an old lover true, - And tell us which one of them all was the best, - Or if none of them suit who to you have confessed, - Pray tell us if some one you know of will do; - Then sing us a song of a love that is new, - And tell us if ever you mean to be wed; - Or if you intend to stay single instead-- - Malindy, Malindy, we all want to know, - Why is it you always are fooling ’round so?” - - -IN THE ANTE-DELUVIAN DAY - -(_By Malindy._) - - There once was a maid by the name of Mespay, - Who believed in the luck of a leisurely way; - At ninety, ’twas noticed (to tell the whole truth) - She yet had neglected selecting a youth, - Though many had wooed the young maiden, they say, - In the Ante-Deluvian Day. - - ’Tis a matter of record the Chinese had kept-- - At which there are none who have been so adept-- - That Jabel had journeyed some hundreds of miles - With a herd of slick cattle to win the maid’s smiles, - When she took the whole herd, but she turned him away, - In the Ante-Deluvian Day. - - Then Jubel came playing a harp made of gold, - Which he gave the fair maiden a moment to hold, - And leaving, he felt it would be a great wrong - If he then would ungallantly take it along, - Still, for one hundred years he remembered, they say, - The maid with the leisurely way. - - Then Magella presented the Mount of Tusong, - And Jaered gave the maiden the valley of Hong, - And ev’ry unmarried man sought the maid’s hand, - Until she grew rich in both cattle and land, - For she twenty years longer turned lovers away, - In the Ante-Deluvian Day. - - But when Noah appeared, and ’twas well understood - He was building an ark, as he looked for a flood, - She married him when, at one hundred and ten, - She still felt too young to be marrying then, - But she did it to prove, as the Chinese will say, - There is luck in the leisurely way. - - * * * * * - - The fiddles were heard and they turned to the dance - As though ev’ry one there had awaited the chance - To be first on the floor for the old waltz quadrille, - Which they never had danced but it brought a new thrill. - They glided and whirled with a giddy, gay swing, - Nor thought of the morrow nor what it would bring, - For midnight was only a part of the night, - While the night was all theirs till the morn’s early light; - All they cared for was there, and so why should they borrow - The shadow of thought for the coming to-morrow? - - Thus, thoughtless of danger and heedless of warning - The dancing went on till the dawn of the morning, - When in terror the dancers then found that the flood - Had surrounded the house and the barn, and they stood - On an island alone in the midst of the stream. - ’Twas as if they had waked from a long, pleasing dream - To a fate that was ugly and stern, and appalled - At impending destruction, they frantic’ly called; - Some cried for a father, and some for a brother, - And screaming they ran from one side to the other. - - And if, for a moment, their fears would subside, - Their terror returned as they watched the high tide, - For the river seemed angry that swept o’er the highways, - And madly it rushed o’er the country and byways, - As with threats of destruction it held its mane high - Like a monster that brooks no obstructions that lie - In its way, while it lashed with its tail at the shore; - Over country and highway, apast them it tore - With a swirl and a whirl as the high waves would break - To dash on the island a yellowish flake. - - Since the Red Men had named it “the beautiful river,” - No flood-tide was like it, nor yet was there ever - Such woe on the fair verdant banks at its shore, - As higher and onward the great torrent bore, - As downward and forward the avalanche tore. - ’Twas as wide as the valley from hill unto hill, - And as deep as the valley with turmoil to fill; - It bent the great oak standing upright and bold; - It swept away houses, the new with the old, - And together the hut and the mansion were rolled. - - Oh! often the “Oracle” gave his command - In a grand, sweeping wave with his lily-white hand; - But the flood only laughed at the magical wand; - And strange now to say, but the dancers did hope - That somewhere a power was in it to cope - ’Gainst the flood. They were ready to catch at a straw, - For drowning ones know neither reason nor law, - And to that which they ridiculed many a day - They anxiously turned in their fear and dismay, - Half trusting by that their destruction to stay. - - We may laugh at all creeds, and discredit tradition, - But danger discovers our blind superstition. - When our bodies are sick and we lie on our backs, - If we can not find doctors we send for the quacks; - And if one should grow worse, there is no use denying - That the priest whom he scoffed at he wants when he’s dying; - In the absence of doctors or priests or of creeds, - We then turn to conjure with magical deeds. - ’Twas the same with the dancers--they wanted to live, - And were ready to take what the faker could give. - - ’Twas a pitiful sight and a helpless appeal, - For the dancers’ dilemma was awful and real. - Though the stronger among them their fears would conceal, - Still, their actions would show the forebodings they’d feel. - There was motive enough, there was courage; in fact, - They were anxious to dare, but were helpless to act. - Ah! some would have risked there the watery grave - If assured that their sweethearts by that they could save; - The occasion, the time, and the motive were there, - Had they only known how, they were ready to dare. - - While the daring was there, still the river was wide, - And an effort to rescue seemed useless if tried; - So they talked and they planned with their heads close together; - They looked at the river and also the weather, - And the lovers were gathered real close to each other-- - For the loud-roaring river their voices would smother-- - And if still not so happy, they knew in each breast - Was a feeling far deeper than either had guessed; - But the river was wild, Oh! so wild and distracting, - ’Twas hard to tell love from hysterical acting. - - From the house to the barn and returning again, - They wandered about till they came to the lane - That led past the house, and uneasily ever, - Retracing their footsteps, they watched the wild river; - They saw the fixed marks they had set as a gauge - Disappear in the flood as it reached to that stage; - They saw a house floating apast them at last, - They heard a child scream in the house as it passed! - Amazed and bewildered, they sought ev’rywhere - To escape from the peril that threatened them there. - - But neither a boat nor a skiff was at hand - Which they felt had the strength ’gainst the waves to withstand, - Save an old, dinky john-boat, and it wasn’t fit, - Yet Dan, the bass-fiddler, went rowing in it - To see, so he said, if the john-boat would do, - When out in the current the dinky boat flew, - And the fiddler was helpless and had to go, too. - They saw with alarm that his danger still grew - As the boat on an end like a bobble was toss’d, - Then plunged to a depth where it seemed to be lost. - - There breathless they stood in an agonized fear - When they saw him ride high to again disappear; - But bravely he fought with the oars at his side, - Though his efforts were futile to stem the high tide; - They saw the boat whirl in an eddy away, - Till it seemed he ceased striving in utter dismay; - Then the dancers seemed paralyzed there on the place, - And horror was stamped upon ev’ry pale face; - They heard his wild cries and it filled them with gloom, - He went from their view, and they thought to his doom. - - They stood there in terror and thought of his fate. - It redoubled the fear of their own trying state, - And the ghost of poor Dan seemed to everywhere walk - In their midst--they were dazed and unable to talk; - For many were there who in life had seen naught - Of the horrors like that which that day to them brought, - And now when they realized all that had come, - They cried, Oh! they screamed for the loved ones at home, - But their voices were drowned in the maddening roar - And their tears dimmed the view of the far distant shore. - - We shrink from imprisonment ever afar; - We fight against water, the wall, or the bar - That would keep us from freedom to do as we will; - Even lovers or comrades together are still, - Never nearly so happy when liberty’s gone; - So they brought up the wine--something had to be done-- - And all the men drank it to steady their nerve, - For Twilley had told them that wine would preserve - The courage of man where there’s danger to face, - And the women all ate, as they cried ’round the place. - - For women eat more when they feel they’re in trouble, - And men not so much, but they drink about double. - True, ’tis better in flood times to keep duly sober, - Like Noah of old did--the flood was all over - When he was so drunken--for he understood - (After being forewarned) how to handle a flood, - While the dancers lacked wisdom to know what to do, - For the strange situation was awkward and new; - But if they seemed foolish and often uncouth, - ’Twas still but the weakness and folly of youth. - - Now Twilley was thoughtful, and (not to repeat) - Though very good-natured, was also discreet; - He cautioned the men not to drink more than needed, - And, of course, he had felt his advice would be heeded, - But the men were but men, and the most were mere boys, - At that uncertain age called the “hobble-de-hoys,” - Unused to the wine, or the shame that it brings, - And quite self-important, but (innocent things) - How could they when older become very sage - If they hadn’t learned something at that early age? - - The flood was declining at noon-time that day, - And danger seemed held in abeyance away. - The clouds rolled away, and the afternoon sun - Looked down with a smile that was brim-full of fun. - The dancers held councils and hoped for the best - Till all were more tranquil and much less distressed, - And as most of the dancers were youthful in years, - And none had grown old in their hearts, so their fears - Were more transient to them than to those who were older, - While their daring, as well as their folly, was bolder. - - Day waned into night, and with no sign of rain, - They had dreaded the night, but the moon shone again - And that seemed the signal that none were to die, - So they sat down to eat with the table banked high, - And glad with the thought of the waters declining, - They forgot all their trials and soon began dining, - And all of them dallied a little with wine - (To get up a courage) and some feeling fine - Sprang up with a song and went dancing around - All over the house on the acre of ground. - - ’Twas as if they had suddenly lost all their fears, - Or had burst into laughter while still in their tears. - They capered and romped in a strange childish glee, - While Malindy was singing hilariously. - The chaperone scolded and coaxed them in vain - To heed what she said, and be decent and sane; - To remember their danger and think of poor Dan; - She cried and she screamed, but they every one ran - And left their hen-mamma so anxious and fond, - Like so many gosling, to swim in the pond. - - And what though the fiddlers felt sleepy and droned - Or even the fiddles went harsh and untoned, - So long as the drum was sufficiently jarred, - The dance was too maudlin to feel the discord, - The witling went whirling in ancient ghwazee, - But just what to call it no two could agree. - “A damsel once danced it,” the great witling said, - “When her sweet mamma wanted the great Baptist’s head.” - If he meant to be gruesome, they said he was shallow, - And as none would dance with him he danced with his shadow. - - The bold Roland Rare was possessed with a swagger - That had all the grace of a common blind stagger, - While Simon, the cynic, looked on with a sneer, - And every time Roland passed grinned with a leer. - The folly went on as it had gone before, - Till some growing thoughtful, refused to dance more; - Then directly most every one seemed of like thought, - For the wine was all gone, and the ones who had sought - The wine cup the most, had a look as if taunted - By more than the fear with which others were haunted. - - For the pleasure from wine turned to mockery soon, - And the sweetest song then had remorse in its tone. - When the spirit they found in the cup that was brought - Turned a weakling and died and their nerves were distraught. - Then their folly to them seemed as dark as a crime - Which could never be whitened by penance or time-- - Crash! ev’rywhere out of doors, crash and splash! - The drift-wood and water and yellow waves dash. - And in the room there all the women are crying, - While all the men suffer a weakness as trying. - - For their nerves were so racked by the roar of the river - That the men felt their danger more keenly than ever; - But one told a story and some tried to smile - With efforts to rally the others the while - From cowardly fearing; then some fell asleep - To awake with a start and upon the floor leap; - But Simon, the cynic, still looked with a sneer, - And ev’ry time Roland waked, grinned with a leer; - And assuming his swagger with impudent mocking, - He sang with a ribaldry meant to be shocking. - - -SIMON’S SONG - - Arrayed in fine linen, we go to a ball, - Where we banquet with friends whom we joyously meet, - And we revel down wine and the savories all - Mid flowers and the music so lang’rously sweet; - But anon, while we linger the banqueting sours - In these bothersome bodies of ours. - - Then in stupor we sleep while our spirits take flight - To places unknown in a wondering dream, - And we fall from a tower in a horrible fright, - Where we strangle and drown in a deep-rolling stream; - For our spirits may soar all alone to high towers, - But they fall with these bodies of ours. - - We have faith and a hope and some charity, too, - We trust in our preacher, or elder, or pope, - And so far as we know, ’tis the best thing to do, - But the fall shakes our faith and we all but lose hope - When we think of the grave and the worm that devours - These bothersome bodies of ours. - - Still, ’tis hard to stay drowned very long in a dream - When one is so restless in body and mind, - So we struggle and flounder from out of the stream - To awake in a cold, clammy sweat, and we find - That the trouble’s a banquet with music and flowers - In these bothersome bodies of ours. - - He sang it as though it o’erflowed with his wit, - And the dancers were glad when he got through with it. - Even danger no longer could keep them from sleep, - Which was fitful to some, whilst to others ’twas deep, - But they left not the room where in circles they grouped, - Or they lounged in the chairs, as when sleeping they drooped. - They were tired, Oh! so tired, and with all so distressed, - They slept in discomfort, but tried to find rest, - When suddenly every one woke with a fear-- - A storm was approaching, they felt it was near. - - They heard the wind moaning among the tall trees, - Then louder and swift sprang the shrill eastern breeze, - Until the house shook from the force of its sway, - And they felt the trees bend as their shadows would play; - Then the rain began falling, though lightly at first, - Till directly it seemed like a sweeping cloud-burst; - When a flash of sharp lightning had blinded the room, - A terrific loud peal like a great cannon’s boom - Came thundering above them with crashing resound - That made the house quake on the acre of ground. - - Then to every one came an alarm for their daring - And folly. In silence, with awe in their bearing, - They tiptoed to look out of window and door, - Then out in the darkness and in the down-pour - Of the rain to the edge of the water they wandered. - The river was rising! They shivered and pondered, - And they peered through the gloom for help that might come, - But it came not! it came not! They turned to the home - Through the darkness of night and the chill of the air, - They groped to the house in an utter despair. - - A cry of distress from without reached their ears, - Then louder it grew, and with strange, haunting fears, - They trembled and listened to hear it again, - When above the loud roar and the storm and the rain, - Like a wail of the lost came the heart-rending cry. - Some fainted; some stood with a wide-staring eye - And ran from the room on a rescue to start, - Whilst others sprang up with a fast beating heart, - When the crying grew faint, like a nightmare it pass’d, - But it left with the dancers the shadow it cast. - - The storm was abating, the rainfall had ceased, - The terrible roar for a time had decreased, - The dancers were thoughtful and quiet at last, - And hopeful, perhaps, that the worst had now passed, - When, horrors! Again came a cry of despair, - Then louder and longer it hung in the air; - “Oh, some one is drowning,” they screamed as they flew - Through the hall and the doorway--so sure it was true-- - And there in the darkness, with no moon to see by, - They found the hound howling most piteously. - - That ominous sound was to them the death token; - They returned to the house, and without a word spoken - (Their feelings too awed for a word or a tear), - To sit there in silence and tremble in fear, - Till some one spoke softly of Dan and his fate; - Then Malindy grew nervous--the strain was too great-- - She rose to her feet with an uncertain totter, - And weaving around till the bachelor caught her, - “How awful!” she sighed, as she fell in a swoon, - “To hear a hound howling without any moon!” - - There then was confusion--the table knocked over - And likewise the chairs--but the bachelor lover - Held fast to Malindy, as all lovers should; - Malindy lay quiet--but that’s understood-- - The witling ran errands and acted real nice, - While Neoma was rubbing, and all gave advice, - Or all save the Cynic, who grinned ’round the place, - Till Malindy came to, when she hid her sweet face - In the bachelor’s arms, where they left her alone, - “Come away,” cried the Cynic, “at last she is won.” - - There was no more dancing throughout the dark night, - So intently they longed for the coming of light, - For danger and darkness are frightfully mated - When danger approaches where darkness has waited. - They heard the wild river loud laughing and jeering! - It mocked at their fears while it ever was nearing; - Then they huddled in groups, as do creatures when caged, - When they heard the mad monster that roared and raged-- - He was coming, was coming, they knew by the sound, - He would sweep the house off of the acre of ground. - - At daybreak the water was high in the barn. - They moved all the horses and cattle and corn - Near the house, and there likewise they stacked up the hay. - Thus the morning hours passed with forebodings away, - With many reproaches and bitter complaints, - That none came to rescue--and two or three faints. - If in darkness they’d longed for the coming of light, - (While regretting their folly, they’d thought of their plight), - Still the danger seemed greater that noon-day had brought, - As even that came with a new peril fraught. - - For the river still rose and the horses and cattle - Stood in water to knees; ’twas in earnest a battle - For life, for the whole of the great bulk of hay - That the dancers had stacked had now floated away, - And the corn had all gone, leaving nothing to eat-- - It was hard for the cattle to stand on their feet. - Some one cried, “O! look yonder--the barn is afloat!” - And sullen and black like a water-soaked boat, - They saw it sink low to its roof in the tide - Where the great hound had clambered in safety to ride. - -[Illustration: - - They saw it sink low to its roof in the tide-- - Where the great hound had climbed in safety to ride.] - - For the current was swift and the wagon had gone - That the dancers had come in as others had done - From the lot; now away swam a cow, then another-- - The cattle and horses all went. “’Tis no bother - For horses and cattle to swim for the shore,” - The “Oracle” said, as he tore off a door; - And he would have jumped headlong with door in the flood, - But the men held him fast while the women all stood - There and screamed till a panicky feeling went ’round - To all that was left of the acre of ground. - - They heard a shrill whistle, and help seemed at hand, - For around the great bend came the steamer _Renand_; - Their hearts filled with hope; to their eyes came the tear - That sprang from their joy as the steamer came near. - With frantic wild gestures, they signaled the boat; - She was coming their way, they with rapture could note. - Then another shrill whistle--a strange, startled scream. - She turned from her course and she fled down the stream - As though their loud yelling had filled her with fear-- - Apast them she sped like a frightened white deer. - - Ah! the tears of the sweet, pretty dancers would call - For a saint or dare-devil to rescue them all. - They could look to the hill to see daring men steer - With effort to reach them, and once they came near, - But were carried away by the rush of the tide. - And often again was it desperately tried - By many who valiantly fought with the wave, - And risked their own life, hoping others to save, - While ev’ry frail dancer stood near to the river, - Despairing at each unsuccessful endeavor. - - The “Oracle” said, “Could I swim like Leander - Of Hellespont fame, I would take one and land her - On shore, then return for another, and so on, - Until every fair dancer around here was gone; - For having the courage and vigor and vim, - I wish in my heart that I knew how to swim. - But there’s no use to worry, or climb a steep hill - Till a person comes to it--you’ve heard of that--still - If I only could swim, I could quickly go through it, - Should the river still rise--I may anyway do it.” - - Then he called on Peneus, he thought it was best, - As he’d often approached him when sorely distressed; - He was sure that Peneus would listen to him; - He would have him turn trouble, though hope was so dim, - To a travesty there on the acre of ground; - But the river god nowhere it seemed could be found, - (He may have been busy with some other care), - And they got no reply to the “Oracle’s” prayer; - Then the “Oracle” said he would try his own scheme; - So he stretched forth his hand and commanded the stream: - - O, wayward stream! - Return and to thy channel keep, - Where thou hast droned in drowsy sleep - For full a century of years, - And have our love without our fears. - - How have we loved thee, O, great stream! - And thou hast been to us a theme - As pleasing as the sweetest dream, - Why do you turn with sullen hate, - All swollen in your drunken sate? - - Relent! Relent! - Abate the currents that have bent - Thy body so enormously. - O, backward to thy channel flow - And stay thy riot and its woe. - - But the flood was too big for one man to assuage; - It continued to rise and to roar and to rage; - It had gotten a start, and it now seemed too late - For the great dancing master to check or abate. - He realized that he had been in the wrong - To neglect to attend to the flood for so long. - “At first I had seemed to enjoy it,” he said, - “But, like dancing, the fiddler will have to be paid; - Still, ’tis better,” said he, “not to let our hearts worry, - For the flood will subside when it gets o’er its flurry.” - - Some complained that he’d uselessly raised their hope high, - Then the “Oracle” said he would save them or die. - He proposed that he build them a raft out of logs, - And he worked for a while, but his fine dancing togs - Got bedraggled--he’d fallen asprawl in the flood, - Where he floundered around in the water and mud, - Till they grappled him out. Oh! it seemed such a shame! - He looked at his raiment, he spoke of his fame; - He declared he just knew he looked worse than the hound - That had gone with the barn from the acre of ground. - - Then ev’ry one felt they had lost their last chance, - Whilst the “Oracle” stood like a man in a trance-- - He had lost his fine book of dance-calls, with its verses, - Morose from his losses, in silence or curses, - He lamented the folly of building the raft, - For misfortune had struck with a swift, heavy shaft, - And his proud spirit broke when he saw that the flood - Had bespattered his coat with the yellow clay mud. - ’Twas a humiliation, deserving compassion-- - Most people lose heart when they go out of fashion. - - So Simon, to comfort him, said, “Do not worry; - The flood will subside when it gets o’er its flurry.” - “And your rhymes,” said the wit, “They were mostly old rhymes; - They were fine, to be sure, but ’tis better at times - To write something new; on occasions like these - One should write on the spot of the thing that he sees.” - “For shame!” cried Neoma. She led him away - To help the poor “Oracle” scrub off the clay; - She rubbed him and scrubbed him and wheedled him ’round, - Till he said he was glad that he didn’t get drowned. - - Now the house became flooded, and to the top floor - They were driven. In eddies the flood-waters tore - Around through the hall and the parlor below - Till it burst through the windows to vent its o’erflow. - The tuneful piano went waltzing around - With the tables for partners or what else it found, - Till, dizzy at times, it would bump on the wall, - When its vibrating strings gave a discordant brawl - As if in abandon it turned debauchée - To sicken their heart with its sad revelry. - - They saw as they looked from the windows above - The bric-a-brac leaving, with emblems of love, - An album, the old family Bible, and all - Of Twilley’s fine pictures that hung on the wall. - They saw them pass out of the windows below, - Both single and double they filed in a row - Out into the world on the turbulent wave - To swim or to find there a watery grave; - And last came that motto, the “God Bless Our Home,” - Went floating away on the yellowish foam. - - That grieved the poor Twilley. He didn’t care much - For pictures and albums or Bibles and such, - But that “God Bless Our Home” was the pride of his heart; - He always had thought it a piece of fine art; - He had spent a whole Sunday in placing the shells, - And had worked on it two or three days at odd spells-- - Smash! “Great Heavens!” asked Simon, “What can that all be?” - “Oh, nothing,” said Twilley, “except a huge tree - That is raking its length ’gainst the house as it passes - To break a few more of the front window glasses.” - - Day and night they had kept the tired vigil while waiting, - And hoping the waters would soon be abating; - But nearer and nearer the high waters rose - A space at a time as a risin’ flood grows; - And if they were hungry, they thought not of that; - If they wanted for sleep, still, they wide-awake sat. - They feared that some madness would seize them while there, - For they felt a great dreading of something so dire - That menaced and seemed like the haunting of fate, - And frowned with a visage as ugly as hate. - - The threats of the weak brought alarm to the stronger, - For to some the suspense was unbearable longer, - And a murmur was heard of a way that was brief, - To end all in a plunge that would bring a relief; - From the tense agony and the painful delay - Of a hope against hope through the night and the day; - For although it is true, there is hope while there’s breath, - Still some rush to death while the end _is_ but death, - As though anguish of thought finds its only surcease - To yield quickly to death and its certain release. - -[Illustration: - - Lord, help us and save us; we ask for no crown, - But we do want the house till the flood shall go down.] - - For it seemed there were few who had thought from the first - That the flood would go on till it came to the worst: - The Cynic sat anxious, with face blanching white, - His tremors betraying the state of his fright; - The wit, who had jabbered his thin airy gibes, - Now turned him to whining in whimpering dribes; - And minus the old-time bravado he wore, - Was the “Oracle” nervously pacing the floor. - They were all much alike as they thought of their fate, - But they counseled each other to stay there and wait. - - In the room where they danced on the evening before - The water was slushing above the hall door. - It had followed them there as they moved up above, - Persistently followed--they felt the house move! - Their hearts then stood still, and the “Oracle” said, - “Let us pray;” so the dancers knelt down while he prayed, - As only a helpless, dependent one can. - He ended his prayer in the way he began-- - “Lord help us and save us! We asked for no crown, - But we do want the house till the flood should go down.” - - His praying seemed awkward to some, it is true, - But the most of them thought that perhaps it would do, - For the house was still standing when prayer was through, - Still, they heard the house creaking--’twas leaning some, too-- - Then a yellow wave came with a swell, and it made - The house groan as it turned half around, but it stayed - For a moment to get its true bearings just right, - Then it plunged till the top floor alone was in sight, - And swiftly it sped as it whirled down the stream, - Sans captain or pilot, sans rudder or steam. - - And once the house tilted when bumping ground - Till very far listed, but righted around; - Then the smashing of timbers that made their hearts ache, - And the strained and warped floors that seemed ready to break - Made them shudder and fly when the waters would swirl - As ever and ever they sped in a whirl, - And the world seemed unsteady with nothing to stay - While the hills flew in circles a distance away, - And they all but gave up to the fate that had frowned - As they went with the house from the acre of ground. - - They were dumb. Not a soul but had ceased to complain; - They felt they were doomed, and to struggle was vain. - Some covered their faces and muffled their ears; - Some trembled and shook as with palsy from fears. - Like children they clung to each other and waited - In terror and silence, as if they were fated, - Or looked at each other wild-eyed and in wonder, - And hurdling together were thrown asunder - By the surging and swirling of onrushing water, - And were pent up and helpless as lambs for the slaughter. - - Then the dark moment passed and a hope came again; - It came like the smile of the sun through the rain, - For the current had turned and toward the south veering, - They could see, with a joy, that the hills they were nearing; - And the house was now slowing as onward it bore, - While people came running to meet them on shore, - As nearer and nearer the house-boat had veered, - Where were all of the town folks who heard and had feared - They were lost, and among them the care-worn mothers, - The anxious old fathers and sisters and brothers. - - Then out from the shore came the same dinky “John” - That the trusting old fiddler had rode away on, - And strange though it seemed, there was Dan in the boat - That had weathered the storms and was still there afloat. - Then the cheers of the dancers rang out to the shore, - And ev’ry eye swam with the tears that it bore. - The “Oracle” suddenly came to life, too, - As often ’tis found where there’s hope people do; - He shouted and waved with the wildest delight, - When the recognized forms of his friends came in sight. - - He cried, “Oh, we’ve all had a lark of a time! - We’ve been up to Twilley’s to dance to my rhyme, - And water-bound there since we left the old town, - We have danced day and night, and the most the way down; - We grew tired of the place, and we thought we’d come home. - All the dancers are with us--they wanted to come. - As the stream was rough swimming and too deep to wade, - We concluded to come on the trip the house made. - How’s the folks at Dinwiddie? There’s no use to worry, - The flood will subside when it gets o’er its flurry.” - - Though the moments had seemed to the dancers so frightened, - Like so many hours, yet their hearts were so lightened - With hope, that they took the bed-slats and rowed on - With a strange, nervous strength that seemed hardly their own, - After all of the trials through which they had gone, - And the dauntless bass-fiddler rowed swiftly the “John,” - To help them to land near the dancers’ own town, - Where some cried, and some danced with the crowds that came down, - And many gave thanks with a quivering lip-- - They were safe! They were safe! from the perilous trip. - - There the house that the dancers had come in was moored, - Where the tale of its marvelous venture still lured - The thousands long after the flood had declined, - Till piece-meal from vandals and weather combined, - It fell to decay, or was carried away. - ’Twas a favorite pastime on any fine day - For the thoughtless to waltz through the house with a song - And leaving to carry a relic along, - Until nothing was left of the house that withstood - The perils that came with the eighty-four flood. - - The tall trees are standing, still standing alone, - Where they whisper each other the nights they have known, - And if they seem lonely without the old house, - Yet the birds in the evenings go there to carouse. - There they chatter and sing in their merriest lay, - And, like dancers, choose partners in much the same way; - And the boatmen will tell how they sometimes have heard - There the singing of songs--not the notes of a bird-- - As though festive, gay spirits still hovered around, - Late, late in the night on the acre of ground. - -[Illustration] - - - - - * * * * * * - - - - -Transcriber’s note: - - Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. - - Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized. - - - -***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DANCE OF DINWIDDIE*** - - -******* This file should be named 65786-0.txt or 65786-0.zip ******* - - -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: -http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/6/5/7/8/65786 - - -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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