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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/9606-8.txt b/9606-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3c31f41 --- /dev/null +++ b/9606-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4912 @@ +Project Gutenberg's A Little Book of Western Verse, by Eugene Field + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Little Book of Western Verse + +Author: Eugene Field + +Posting Date: November 25, 2011 [EBook #9606] +Release Date: January, 2006 +First Posted: October 9, 2003 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A LITTLE BOOK OF WESTERN VERSE *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland and Project Gutenberg +Distributed Proofreaders + + + + + + + + + + + + +A LITTLE BOOK OF WESTERN VERSE + +by Eugene Field + +1889 + + + + + + + +TO MARY FIELD FRENCH + + + +A dying mother gave to you + Her child a many years ago; +How in your gracious love he grew, + You know, dear, patient heart, you know. + +The mother's child you fostered then + Salutes you now and bids you take +These little children of his pen + And love them for the author's sake. + +To you I dedicate this book, + And, as you read it line by line, +Upon its faults as kindly look + As you have always looked on mine. + +Tardy the offering is and weak;-- + Yet were I happy if I knew +These children had the power to speak + My love and gratitude to you. + +E. F. + + + + +Go, little book, and if an one would speak +thee ill, let him bethink him that thou art +the child of one who loves thee well. + + + + + +EUGENE FIELD + +A MEMORY + + +When those we love have passed away; when from our lives something has +gone out; when with each successive day we miss the presence that has +become a part of ourselves, and struggle against the realization that +it is with us no more, we begin to live in the past and thank God for +the gracious boon of memory. Few of us there are who, having advanced +to middle life, have not come to look back on the travelled road of +human existence in thought of those who journeyed awhile with us, a +part of all our hopes and joyousness, the sharers of all our ambitions +and our pleasures, whose mission has been fulfilled and who have left +us with the mile-stones of years still seeming to stretch out on the +path ahead. It is then that memory comes with its soothing influence, +telling us of the happiness that was ours and comforting us with the +ever recurring thought of the pleasures of that travelled road. For it +is happiness to walk and talk with a brother for forty years, and it is +happiness to know that the surety of that brother's affection, the +knowledge of the greatness of his heart and the nobility of his mind, +are not for one memory alone but may be publicly attested for +admiration and emulation. That it has fallen to me to speak to the +world of my brother as I knew him I rejoice. I do not fear that, +speaking as a brother, I shall crowd the laurel wreaths upon him, for +to this extent he lies in peace already honored; but if I can show him +to the world, not as a poet but as a man,--if I may lead men to see +more of that goodness, sweetness, and gentleness that were in him, I +shall the more bless the memory that has survived. + +My brother was born in St. Louis in 1850. Whether the exact day was +September 2 or September 3 was a question over which he was given to +speculation, more particularly in later years, when he was accustomed to +discuss it frequently and with much earnest ness. In his youth the +anniversary was generally held to be September 2, perhaps the result of +a half-humorous remark by my father that Oliver Cromwell had died +September 3, and he could not reconcile this date to the thought that it +was an important anniversary to one of his children. Many years after, +when my uncle, Charles Kellogg Field, of Vermont, published the +genealogy of the Field family, the original date, September 3, was +restored, and from that time my brother accepted it, although with each +recurring anniversary the controversy was gravely renewed, much to the +amusement of the family and always to his own perplexity. In November, +1856, my mother died, and, at the breaking up of the family in St. +Louis, my brother and myself, the last of six children, were taken to +Amherst, Massachusetts, by our cousin, Miss Mary F. French, who took +upon herself the care and responsibility of our bringing up. How nobly +and self-sacrificingly she entered upon and discharged those duties my +brother gladly testified in the beautiful dedication of his first +published poems, "A Little Book of Western Verse," wherein he honored +the "gracious love" in which he grew, and bade her look as kindly on the +faults of his pen as she had always looked on his own. For a few years +my brother attended a private school for boys in Amherst; then, at the +age of fourteen, he was intrusted to the care of Rev. James Tufts, of +Monson, one of those noble instructors of the blessed old school who are +passing away from the arena of education in America. By Mr. Tufts he was +fitted for college, and from the enthusiasm of this old scholar he +caught perhaps the inspiration for the love of the classics which he +carried through life. In the fall of 1868 he entered Williams +College--the choice was largely accidental--and remained there one year. +My father died in the summer of 1869, and my brother chose as his +guardian Professor John William Burgess, now of Columbia University, New +York City. When Professor Burgess, later in the summer, accepted a call +to Knox College, Galesburg, Illinois, my brother accompanied him and +entered that institution, but the restlessness which was so +characteristic of him in youth asserted itself after another year and +he joined me, then in my junior year at the University of Missouri, at +Columbia. It was at this institution that he finished his education so +far as it related to prescribed study. + +Shortly after attaining his majority he went to Europe, remaining six +months in France and Italy. From this European trip have sprung the +absurd stories which have represented him as squandering thousands of +dollars in the pursuit of pleasure. Unquestionably he had the not +unnatural extravagance which accompanies youth and a most generous +disposition, for he was lavish and open-handed all through life to an +unusual degree, but at no time was he particularly given to wild +excesses, and the fact that my father's estate, which was largely +realty, had shrunk perceptibly during the panic days of 1873 was enough +to make him soon reach the limit of even moderate extravagance. At the +same time many good stories have been told illustrative of his contempt +for money, and it is eminently characteristic of his lack of the +Puritan regard for small things that one day he approached my father's +executor, Hon. M. L. Gray, of St. Louis, with a request for +seventy-five dollars. + +"But," objected this cautious and excellent man, "I gave you +seventy-five dollars only yesterday, Eugene. What did you do with that?" + +"Oh," replied my brother, with an impatient and scornful toss of the +head, "I believe I bought some postage stamps." + +Before going to Europe he had met Miss Julia Sutherland Comstock, of St. +Joseph, Missouri, the sister of a college friend, and the attachment +which was formed led to their marriage in October, 1873. Much of his +tenderest and sweetest verse was inspired by love for the woman who +became his wife, and the dedication to the "Second Book of Verse" is +hardly surpassed for depth of affection and daintiness of sentiment, +while "Lover's Lane, St. Jo.," is the very essence of loyalty, love, and +reminiscential ardor. At the time of his marriage my brother realized +the importance of going to work in earnest, and shortly before the +appointment of the wedding-day he entered upon the active duties of +journalism, which he never relinquished during life. These duties, with +the exception of the year he passed in Europe with his family in +1889-90, were confined to the West. He began as a paragrapher in St. +Louis, quickly achieving somewhat more than a merely local reputation. +For a time he was in St. Joseph, and for eighteen months following +January 1880 he lived in Kansas City, removing thence to Denver. In 1883 +he came to Chicago at the solicitation of Melville E. Stone, then editor +of the Chicago Daily News, retaining his connection with the News and +its offspring, the Record, until his death. Thus hastily have been +skimmed over the bare outlines of his life. + +The formative period of my brother's youth was passed in New England, +and to the influences which still prevail in and around her peaceful +hills and gentle streams, the influences of a sturdy stock which has +sent so many good and brave men to the West for the upbuilding of the +country and the upholding of what is best in Puritan tradition, he +gladly acknowledged he owed much that was strong and enduring. While he +gloried in the West and remained loyal to the section which gave him +birth, and in which he chose to cast his lot, he was not the less proud +of his New England blood and not the less conscious of the benefits of a +New England training. His boyhood was similar to that of other boys +brought up with the best surroundings in a Massachusetts village, where +the college atmosphere prevailed. He had his boyish pleasures and his +trials, his share of that queer mixture of nineteenth-century +worldliness and almost austere Puritanism which is yet characteristic of +many New England families. The Sabbath was a veritable day of judgment, +and in later years he spoke humorously of the terrors of those all-day +sessions in church and Sunday-school, though he never failed to +acknowledge the benefits he had derived from an enforced study of the +Bible. "If I could be grateful to New England for nothing else," he +would say, "I should bless her forevermore for pounding me with the +Bible and the spelling-book." And in proof of the earnestness of this +declaration he spent many hours in Boston a year or two ago, trying to +find "one of those spellers that temporarily made me lose my faith in +the system of the universe." + +It is easy at this day to look back three decades and note the +characteristics which appeared trivial enough then, but which, clinging +to him and developing, had a marked effect on his manhood and on the +direction of his talents. As a boy his fondness for pets amounted to a +passion, but unlike other boys he seemed to carry his pets into a higher +sphere and to give them personality. For each pet, whether dog, cat, +bird, goat, or squirrel--he had the family distrust of a horse--he not +only had a name, but it was his delight to fancy that each possessed a +peculiar dialect of human speech, and each he addressed in the humorous +manner conceived. He ignored the names in common use for domestic +animals and chose or invented those more pleasing to his exuberant +fancy. This conceit was always with him, and years afterward, when his +children took the place of his boyish pets, he gratified his whim for +strange names by ignoring those designated at the baptismal font and +substituting freakish titles of his own riotous fancy. Indeed it must +have been a tax on his imaginative powers. When in childhood he was +conducting a poultry annex to the homestead, each chicken was properly +instructed to respond to a peculiar call, and Finnikin, Minnikin, +Winnikin, Dump, Poog, Boog, seemed to recognize immediately the queer +intonations of their master with an intelligence that is not usually +accorded to chickens. With this love for animal life was developed also +that tenderness of heart which was so manifest in my brother's daily +actions. One day--he was then a good-sized boy--he came into the house, +and throwing himself on the sofa, sobbed for half an hour. One of the +chickens hatched the day before had been crushed under his foot as he +was walking in the chicken-house, and no murderer could have felt more +keenly the pangs of remorse. The other boys looked on curiously at this +exhibition of feeling, and it was indeed an unusual outburst. But it was +strongly characteristic of him through life, and nothing would so excite +his anger as cruelty to an animal, while every neglected, friendless +dog or persecuted cat always found in him a champion and a friend. + +In illustration of this humane instinct it is recalled that a few weeks +before he died a lady visiting the house found his room swarming with +flies. In response to her exclamation of astonishment he explained that +a day or two before he had seen a poor, half-frozen fly on the +window-pane outside, and he had been moved by a kindly impulse to open +the window and admit her. "And this," he added, "is what I get for it. +That ungrateful creature is, as you perceive, the grandmother of eight +thousand nine hundred and seventy-six flies!" + +That the birds that flew about his house in Buena Park knew his voice +has been demonstrated more than once. He would keep bread crumbs +scattered along the window-sill for the benefit, as he explained, of +the blue jays and the robins who were not in their usual robust health +or were too overcome by the heat to make customary exertion. If the +jays were particularly noisy he would go into the yard and expostulate +with them in a tone of friendly reproach, whereupon, the family +affirms, they would apparently apologize and fly away. Once he +maintained at considerable expense a thoroughly hopeless and useless +donkey, and it was his custom, when returning from the office at any +hour of the night, to go into the back yard and say "Poor old Don" in a +bass voice that carried a block away, whereupon old Don would lift up +his own voice with a melancholy bray of welcome that would shake the +windows and start the neighbors from their slumbers. Old Don is passing +his declining years in an "Old Kentucky home," and the robins and the +blue jays as they return with the spring will look in vain for the +friend who fed them at the window. + +The family dog at Amherst, which was immortalized many years later with +"The Bench-Legged Fyce," and which was known in his day to hundreds of +students at the college on account of his surpassing lack of beauty, +rejoiced originally in the honest name of Fido, but my brother rejected +this name as commonplace and unworthy, and straightway named him +"Dooley" on the presumption that there was something Hibernian in his +face. It was to Dooley that he wrote his first poem, a parody on "O Had +I Wings Like a Dove," a song then in great vogue. Near the head of the +village street was the home of the Emersons, a large frame house, now +standing for more than a century, and in the great yard in front stood +the magnificent elms which are the glory of the Connecticut valley. Many +times the boys, returning from school, would linger to cool off in the +shade of these glorious trees, and it was on one of these occasions that +my brother put into the mouth of Dooley his maiden effort in verse: + + O had I wings like a dove I would fly, + Away from this world of fleas; + I'd fly all round Miss Emerson's yard, + And light on Miss Emerson's trees. + +Even this startling parody, which was regarded by the boys as a +veritable stroke of genius, failed to impress the adult villagers with +the conviction that a poet was budding. Yet how much of quiet humor and +lively imagination is betrayed by these four lines. How easy it is now +to look back at the small boy and picture him sympathizing with his +little friend tormented by the heat and the pests of his kind, and +making him sigh for the rest that seemed to lurk in the rustling leaves +of the stately elms. Perhaps it was not astonishing poetry even for a +child, but was there not something in the fancy, the sentiment, and the +rhythm which bespoke far more than ordinary appreciation? Is it not this +same quality of alert and instinctive sympathy which has run through +Eugene Field's writings and touched the spring of popular affection? + +Dooley went to the dog heaven many years ago. Finnikin and Poog and Boog +and the scores of boyhood friends that followed them have passed to +their Pythagorean reward; but the boy who first found in them the +delight of companionship and the kindlings of imagination retained all +the youthful impulses which made him for nearly half a century the lover +of animal life and the gentle singer of the faithful and the good. + +Comradeship was the indispensable factor in my brother's life. It was +strong in his youth; it grew to be an imperative necessity in later +years. In the theory that it is sometimes good to be alone he had +little or no faith. Even when he was at work in his study, when it was +almost essential to thought that he should be undisturbed, he was never +quite content unless aware of the presence of human beings near at +hand, as betrayed by their voices. It is customary to think of a poet +wandering off in the great solitudes, standing alone in contemplation +of the wonderful work of nature, on the cliffs overlooking the ocean, +in the paths of the forest or on the mountain side. My brother was not +of this order. That he was primarily and essentially a poet of humanity +and not of nature does not argue that he was insensible to natural +beauty or natural grandeur. Nobody could have been more keenly +susceptible to the influences of nature in their temperamental effect, +and perhaps this may explain that he did not love nature the less but +that he prized companionship more. If nature pleased him he longed for +a friend to share his pleasure; if it appalled him he turned from it +with repugnance and fear. + +Throughout his writings may be found the most earnest appreciation of +the joyousness and loveliness of a beautiful landscape, but as he would +share it intellectually with his readers so it was a necessity that he +could not seek it alone as an actuality. In his boyhood, in the full +glory of a perfect day, he loved to ramble through the woods and +meadows, and delighted in the azure tints of the far-away Berkshire +hills; and later in life he was keen to notice and admire the soft +harmonies of landscape, but with a change in weather or with the +approach of a storm the poet would be lost in the timidity and distrust +of a child. + +Companionship with him meant cheerfulness. His horror of gloom and +darkness was almost morbid. From the tragedies of life he instinctively +shrank, and large as was his sympathy, and generous and genuine his +affection, he was often prompted to run from suffering and to betray +what must have been a constitutional terror of distress. He did not +hesitate to acknowledge this characteristic, and sought to atone for it +by writing the most tender and touching lines to those to whom he +believed he owed a gift of comfort and strength. His private letters to +friends in adversity or bereavement were beautiful in their simplicity +and honest and outspoken love, for he was not ashamed to let his friends +see how much he thought of them. And even if the emotional quality, +which asserts itself in the nervous and artistic temperament, made him +realize that he could not trust himself, that same quality gave him a +personality marvelous in its magnetism. Both as boy and man he made +friends everywhere, and that he retained them to the last speaks for the +whole-heartedness and genuineness of his nature. + +To two weaknesses he frankly confessed: that he was inclined to be +superstitious and that he was afraid of the dark. One of these he +stoutly defended, asserting that he who was not fearful in the dark was +a dull clod, utterly devoid of imagination. From his earliest childhood +my brother was a devourer of fairy tales, and he continually stored his +mind with fantastic legends, which found a vent in new shapes in his +verses and prose tales. In the ceiling of one of his dens a trap-door +led into the attic, and as this door was open he seriously contemplated +closing it, because, as he said, he fancied that queer things would come +down in the night and spirit him away. It is not to be inferred that he +thus remained in a condition of actual fear, but it is true that he was +imaginative to the degree of acute nervousness, and, like a child, +associated light with safety and darkness with the uncanny and the +supernatural. It was after all the better for his songs that it was so, +else they might not have been filled with that cheery optimism which +praised the happiness of sunlight and warmth, and sought to lift +humanity from the darkness of despondency. + +This weakness, or intellectual virtue as he pleasantly regarded it, was +perhaps rather stronger in him as a man than in his boyhood. He has +himself declared that he wrote "Seein' Things at Night" more to solace +his own feelings than to delineate the sufferings of childhood, however +aptly it may describe them. And when he put into rhythm that "any color, +so long as it's red, is the color that suits me best," he spoke not only +as a poet but as a man, for red conveyed to him the idea of warmth and +cheeriness, and seemed to express to him in color his temperamental +demand. All through his life he pandered to these feelings instead of +seeking to repress them, for to this extent there was little of the +Puritan in his nature, and as he believed that happiness comes largely +from within, so he felt that it is not un-Christian philosophy to avoid +as far as possible whatever may cloud and render less acceptable one's +own existence. + +The literary talent of my brother is not easily traceable to either +branch of the family. In fact it was tacitly accepted that he would be a +lawyer as his father and grandfather had been before him, but the +futility of this arrangement was soon manifest, and surely no man less +temperamentally equipped for the law ever lived. It has been said of the +Fields, speaking generally of the New England division, that they were +well adapted to be either musicians or actors, though the talent for +music or mimicry has been in no case carried out of private life save in +my brother's public readings. Eugene had more than a boy's share of +musical talent, but he never cultivated it, preferring to use the fine +voice with which he was endowed for recitation, of which he was always +fond. Acting was his strongest boyish passion. Even as a child he was a +wonderful mimic and thereby the delight of his playmates and the terror +of his teachers. He organized a stock company among the small boys of +the village and gave performances in the barn of one of the less +scrupulous neighbors, but whether for pins or pennies memory does not +suggest. He assigned the parts and always reserved for himself the +eccentric character and the low comedy, caring nothing for the heroic or +the sentimental. One of the plays performed was Lester Wallack's +"Rosedale" with Eugene in the dual role of the low comedian and the +heavy villain. At this time also he delighted in monologues, imitations +of eccentric types, or what Mr. Sol. Smith Russell calls "comics," a +word which always amused Eugene and which he frequently used. This +fondness for parlor readings and private theatricals he carried through +college, remaining steadfast to the "comics" until a few years ago, +when he began to give public readings, and discovered that he was +capable of higher and more effective work. It was in fact his +versatility that made him the most accomplished and the most popular +author-entertainer in America. Before he went into journalism the more +sedate of his family connections were in constant fear lest he should +adopt the profession of the actor, and he held it over them as a +good-natured threat. On one occasion, failing to get a coveted +appropriation from the executor of the estate, he said calmly to the +worthy man: "Very well. I must have money for my living expenses. If you +cannot advance it to me out of the estate I shall be compelled to go on +the stage. But as I cannot keep my own name I have decided to assume +yours, and shall have lithographs struck off at once. They will read, +'Tonight, M. L. Gray, Banjo and Specialty Artist.'" The appropriation +was immediately forthcoming. + +It is in no sense depreciatory of my brother's attainments in life to +say that he gave no evidence of precocity in his studies in childhood. +On the contrary he was somewhat slow in development, though this was due +not so much to a lack of natural ability--he learned easily and quickly +when so disposed--as to a fondness for the hundred diversions which +occupy a wide-awake boy's time. He possessed a marked talent for +caricature, and not a small part of the study hours was devoted to +amusing pictures of his teachers, his playmates, and his pets. This +habit of drawing, which was wholly without instruction, he always +preserved, and it was his honest opinion, even at the height of his +success in authorship, that he would have been much greater as a +caricaturist than as a writer. Until he was thirty years of age he wrote +a fair-sized legible hand, but about that time he adopted the +microscopic penmanship which has been so widely reproduced, using for +the purpose very fine-pointed pens. With his manuscript he took the +greatest pains, often going to infinite trouble to illuminate his +letters. Among his friends these letters are held as curiosities of +literature, hardly more for the quaint sentiments expressed than for the +queer designs in colored inks which embellished them. He was specially +fond of drawing weird elves and gnomes, and would spend an hour or two +decorating with these comical figures a letter he had written in ten +minutes. He was as fastidious with the manuscript for the office as if +it had been a specimen copy for exhibition, and it was always understood +that his manuscript should be returned to him after it had passed +through the printers' hands. In this way all the original copies of his +stories and poems have been preserved, and those which he did not give +to friends as souvenirs have been bound for his children. + +A taste for literary composition might not have passed, as doubtless it +did pass, so many years unnoticed, had he been deficient in other +talents, and had he devoted himself exclusively to writing. But as a boy +he was fond, though in a less degree than many boys, of athletic sports, +and his youthful desire for theatrical entertainments, pen caricaturing, +and dallying with his pets took up much of his time. Yet he often gave +way to a fondness for composition, and there is in the family +possession a sermon which he wrote before he was ten years of age, in +which he showed the results of those arduous Sabbath days in the old +Congregational meeting-house. And at one time, when yet very young, he +was at the head of a flourishing boys' paper, while at another, fresh +from the inspiration of a blood-curdling romance in a New York Weekly, +he prepared a series of tales of adventure which, unhappily, have not +been preserved. In his college days he was one of the associate editors +of the university magazine, and while at that time he had no serious +thought of devoting his life to literature, his talents in that +direction were freely confessed. From my father, whose studious habits +in life had made him not only eminent at the bar but profoundly +conversant with general literature, he had inherited a taste for +reading, and it was this omnivorous passion for books that led my +brother to say that his education had only begun when he fancied that it +had left off. In boyhood he contracted that fascinating but highly +injurious habit of reading in bed, which he subsequently extolled with +great fervor; and as he grew older the habit increased upon him until +he was obliged to admit that he could not enjoy literature unless he +took it horizontally. If a friend expostulated with him, advising him to +give up tobacco, reading in bed, and late hours, he said: "And what have +we left in life if we give up all our bad habits?" + +That the poetic instinct was always strong within him there has never +been room to question, but, perhaps, for the reasons before assigned, it +was tardy in making its way outward. For years his mind lay fallow and +receptive, awaiting the occasion which should develop the true +inspiration of the poet. He was accustomed to speak of himself, and too +modestly, as merely a versifier, but his own experience should have +contradicted this estimate, for his first efforts at verse were +singularly halting in mechanical construction, and he was well past his +twenty-fifth year before he gave to the world any verse worthy the name. +What might be called the "curse of comedy" was on him, and it was not +until he threw off that yoke and gave expression to the better and the +sweeter thoughts within him that, as with Bion, "the voice of song +flowed freely from the heart." It seems strange that a man who became a +master of the art of mechanism in verse should have been deficient in +this particular at a period comparatively late, but it merely +illustrates the theory of gradual development and marks the phases of +life through which, with his character of many sides, he was compelled +to pass. He was nearly thirty when he wrote "Christmas Treasures," the +first poem he deemed worthy, and very properly, of preservation, and the +publication of this tender commemoration of the death of a child opened +the springs of sentiment and love for childhood destined never to run +dry while life endured. + +In journalism he became immediately successful, not so much for +adaptability to the treadmill of that calling as for the brightness and +distinctive character of his writing. He easily established a reputation +as a humorist, and while he fairly deserved the title he often regretted +that he could not entirely shake it off. His powers of perception were +phenomenally keen, and he detected the peculiarities of people with +whom he was thrown in contact almost at a glance, while his gift of +mimicry was such that after a minute's interview he could burlesque the +victim to the life, even emphasizing the small details which had been +apparently too minute to attract the special notice of those who were +acquaintances of years' standing. This faculty he carried into his +writing, and it proved immensely valuable, for, with his quick +appreciation of the ludicrous and his power of delineating personal +peculiarities his sketches were remarkable for their resemblances even +when he was indulging apparently in the wildest flights of imagination. +It is to be regretted that much of his newspaper work, covering a period +of twenty years, was necessarily so full of purely local color that its +brilliancy could not be generally appreciated. For it is as if an artist +had painted a wondrous picture, clever enough in the general view, but +full of a significance hidden to the world. + +Equally facile was he in the way of adaptation. He could write a hoax +worthy of Poe, and one of his humors of imagination was sufficiently +subtle and successful to excite comment in Europe and America, and to +call for an explanation and denial from a distinguished Englishman. He +lived in Denver only a few weeks when he was writing verse in miners' +dialect which has been rightly placed at the head of that style of +composition. No matter where he wandered, he speedily became imbued with +the spirit of his surroundings, and his quickly and accurately gathered +impressions found vent in his pen, whether he was in "St. Martin's Lane" +in London, with "Mynheer Von Der Bloom" in Amsterdam, or on the +"Schnellest Zug" from Hanover to Leipzig. + +At the time of my brother's arrival in Chicago, in 1883--he was then in +his thirty-fourth year--he had performed an immense amount of newspaper +work, but had done little or nothing of permanent value or with any real +literary significance. But despite the fact that he had lived up to that +time in the smaller cities he had a large number of acquaintances and a +certain following in the journalistic and artistic world, of which from +the very moment of his entrance into journalism he never had been +deprived. His immense fund of good humor, his powers as a story-teller, +his admirable equipment as an entertainer, and the wholehearted way with +which he threw himself into life and the pleasures of living attracted +men to him and kept him the centre of the multitude that prized his +fascinating companionship. His fellows in journalism furthermore had +been quick to recognize his talents, and no man was more widely +"copied," as the technical expression goes. His early years in Chicago +did not differ materially from those of the previous decade, but the +enlarged scope gave greater play to his fancy and more opportunity for +his talents as a master of satire. The publication of "The Denver +Primer" and "Culture's Garland," while adding to his reputation as a +humorist, happily did not satisfy him. He was now past the age of +thirty-five, and a great psychical revolution was coming on. Though +still on the sunny side of middle life, he was wearying of the cup of +pleasure he had drunk so joyously, and was drawing away from the +multitude and toward the companionship of those who loved books and +bookish things, and who could sympathize with him in the aspirations for +the better work, the consciousness of which had dawned. It was now that +he began to apply himself diligently to the preparation for higher +effort, and it is to the credit of journalism, which has so many sins to +answer for, that in this he was encouraged beyond the usual fate of men +who become slaves to that calling. And yet, though from this time he was +privileged to be regarded one of the sweetest singers in American +literature, and incomparably the noblest bard of childhood, though the +grind of journalism was measurably taken from him, he chafed under the +conviction that he was condemned to mingle the prosaic and the practical +with the fanciful and the ideal, and that, having given hostages to +fortune, he must conform even in a measure to the requirements of a +position too lucrative to be cast aside. From this time also his +physical condition, which never had been robust, began to show the +effects of sedentary life, but the warning of a long siege of nervous +dyspepsia was suffered to pass unheeded, and for five or six years he +labored prodigiously, his mind expanding and his intellect growing more +brilliant as the vital powers decayed. + +It would seem that with the awakening of the consciousness of the better +powers within him, with the realization that he was destined for a place +in literature, my brother felt a quasi remorse for the years he fancied +he had wasted. He was too severe with himself to understand that his +comparative tardiness in arriving at the earnest, thoughtful stage of +lifework was the inexorable law of gradual development which must govern +the career of a man of his temperament, with his exuberant vitality and +his showy talents. It was a serious mistake, but it was not the less a +noble one. And now also the influences of home crept a little closer +into his heart. His family life had not been without its tragedies of +bereavement, and the death of his oldest boy in Germany had drawn him +even nearer to the children who were growing up around him. + +Much of his tenderest verse was inspired by affection for his family, +and as some great shock is often essential to the revolution in a +buoyant nature, so it seemed to require the oft-recurring tragedies of +life to draw from him all that was noblest and sweetest in his +sympathetic soul. Had the angel of death never hovered over the crib in +my brother's home, had he never known the pangs and the heart-hunger +which come when the little voice is stilled and the little chair is +empty, he could not have written the lines which voice the great cry of +humanity and the hope of reunion in immortality beyond the grave. + +The flood of appeals for platform readings from cities and towns in all +parts of the United States came too late for his physical strength and +his ambition. Earlier in life he would have delighted in this form of +travel and entertainment, but his nature had wonderfully changed, and, +strong as were the financial inducements, he was loath to leave his +family and circle of intimate friends, and the home he had just +acquired. All of the time which he allotted for recreation he devoted +to working around his grounds, in arranging and rearranging his large +library, and in the disposition of his curios. For years he had been an +indefatigable collector, and he took a boyish pleasure not only in his +souvenirs of long journeys and distinguished men and women, but in the +queer toys and trinkets of children which seemed to give him inspiration +for much that was effective in childhood verse. To the careless observer +the immense array of weird dolls and absurd toys in his working-room +meant little more than an idiosyncratic passion for the anomalous, but +those who were near to him knew what a connecting link they were between +him and the little children of whom he wrote, and how each trumpet and +drum, each "spinster doll," each little toy dog, each little tin +soldier, played its part in the poems he sent out into the world. No +writer ever made more persistent and consistent use of the material by +which he was surrounded, or put a higher literary value on the little +things which go to make up the sum of human existence. + +Of the spiritual development of my brother much might be said in +conviction and in tenderness. He was not a man who discussed religion +freely; he was associated with no religious denomination, and he +professed no creed beyond the brotherhood of mankind and the infinitude +of God's love and mercy. In childhood he had been reared in much of the +austerity of the Puritan doctrine of the relation of this life to the +hereafter, and much of the hardness and severity of Christianity, as +still interpreted in many parts of New England, was forced upon him. As +is not unusual in such cases, he rebelled against this conception of +God and God's day, even while he confessed the intellectual advantages +he had reaped from frequent compulsory communion with the Bible, and he +many times declared that his children should not be brought up to +regard religion and the Sabbath as a bugbear. What evolution was going +on in his mind at the turning point in his life who can say? Who shall +look into the silent soul of the poet and see the hope and confidence +and joy that have come from out the chaos of strife and doubt? Yet who +can read the verses, telling over and over the beautiful story of +Bethlehem, the glory of the Christ-child and the comfort that comes +from the Teacher, and doubt that in those moments he walked in the +light of the love of God? + +It is true that no man living in a Christian nation who is stirred by +poetic instinct can fail to recognize and pay homage to that story of +wonderful sweetness, the coming of the Christ-child for the redemption +of the world. It is true that in commemoration the poet may speak while +the man within is silent. But it is hardly true that he whose generous +soul responded to every principle of Christ, the Teacher, pleading for +humanity, would sing over and over that tender song of love and +sacrifice as a mere poetic inspiration. As he slept my brother's soul +was called. Who shall say that it was not summoned by that same angel +song that awakened "Little Boy Blue"? Who shall doubt that the smile of +supreme peace and rest which lingered on his face after that noble +spirit had departed spoke for the victory he had won, for the hope and +belief that had been justified, and for the happiness he had gained? + +To have been with my brother in the last year of his life, to have +seen the sweetening of a character already lovable to an unusual +degree, to know now that in his unconscious preparation for the life +beyond he was drawing closer to those he loved and who loved him, this +is the tenderest memory, the most precious heritage. Not to have seen +him in that year is never to realize the full beauty of his nature, the +complete development of his nobler self, the perfect abandonment of all +that might have been ungenerous and intemperate in one even less +conscious of the weakness of mortality. He would say when chided for +public expression of kind words to those not wholly deserving, that he +had felt the sting of harshness and ungraciousness, and never again +would he use his power to inflict suffering or wound the feelings of +man or child. Who is there to wonder, then, that the love of all went +out to him, and that the other triumphs of his life were as nothing in +comparison with the grasp he maintained on popular affection? The day +after his death a lady was purchasing flowers to send in sympathy for +the mourning family, when she was approached by a poorly-clad little +girl who timidly asked what she was going to do with so many roses. +When she replied that she intended sending them to Mr. Field, the +little one said that she wanted so much to send Mr. Field a rose, +adding pathetically that she had no money. Deeply touched by the +child's sorrowful earnestness the lady picked out a yellow rose and +gave it to her, and when the coffin was lowered to the grave a wealth +of wreaths and designs was strewn around to mark the spot, but down +below the hand of the silent poet held only a little yellow rose, the +tribute of a child who did not know him in life, but in whose heart +nestled the love his songs had awakened and the magnetism of his great +humanity had stirred. + +A few hours after his spirit had gone a crippled boy came to the house +and begged permission to go to the chamber. The wish was granted, and +the boy hobbled to the bedside. Who he was, and in what manner my +brother had befriended him, none of the family knew, but as he painfully +picked his way down stairs the tears were streaming over his face, and +the onlookers forgot their own sorrow in contemplation of his grief. +The morning of the funeral, while the family stood around the coffin, +the letter-carrier at Buena Park came into the room, and laying a bunch +of letters at the foot of the bier said reverently: "There is your last +mail, Mr. Field." Then turning with tears in his eyes, as if apologizing +for an intrusion, he added: "He was always good to me and I loved him." + +It was this affection of those in humbler life that seems to speak the +more eloquently for the beneficence and the triumph of his life's work. +No funeral could have been less ostentatious, yet none could have been +more impressive in the multitude that overflowed the church, or more +conformable to his tenacious belief in the democracy of man. People of +eminence, of wealth, of fashion, were there, but they were swallowed up +in the great congregation of those to whom we are bound by the ties of +humanity and universal brotherhood, whose tears as they passed the bier +of the dead singer were the earnest and the best tribute to him who sang +for all. What greater blessing hath man than this? What stronger +assurance can there be of happiness in that life where all is weighed +in the scale of love, and where love is triumphant and eternal? + +Sleep, my brother, in the perfect joy of an awakening to that happiness +beyond the probationary life. Sleep in the assurance that those who +loved you will always cherish the memory of that love as the tender +inspiration of your gentle spirit. Sleep and dream that the songs you +sang will still be sung when those who sing them now are sleeping with +you. Sleep and take your rest as calmly and peacefully as you slept when +your last "Good-Night" lengthened into eternity. And if the Horace you +so merrily invoked comes to you in your slumber and bids you awake to +that sweet cheer, that "fellowship that knows no end beyond the misty +Stygian sea," tell him that the time has not yet come, and that there +are those yet uncalled, to whom you have pledged the joyous meeting on +yonder shore, and who would share with you the heaven your companionship +would brighten. + + ROSWELL MARTIN FIELD. + +BUENA PARK, January, 1896. + + + + +Contents of this Little Book + + +CASEY'S TABLE D'HÔTE +OUR LADY OF THE MINE +THE CONVERSAZZHYONY +PROF. VERB DE BLAW +MARTHY'S YOUNKIT + +OLD ENGLISH LULLABY +"LOLLYBY, LOLLY, LOLLYBY" +ORKNEY LULLABY +LULLABY; BY THE SEA +CORNISH LULLABY +NORSE LULLABY +SICILIAN LULLABY +JAPANESE LULLABY +LITTLE CROODLIN DOO +DUTCH LULLABY +CHILD AND MOTHER +MEDIAEVAL EVENTIDE SONG +CHRISTMAS TREASURES +CHRISTMAS HYMN +CHRYSTMASSE OF OLDE + +OUR TWO OPINIONS +APPLE-PIE AND CHEESE +"GOOD-BY--GOD BLESS YOU!" +HI-SPY +LONG AGO + +LITTLE BOY BLUE +THE LYTTEL BOY +KRINKEN +TO A USURPER +AILSIE, MY BAIRN +SOME TIME + +MADGE: YE HOYDEN +THE DEATH OF ROBIN HOOD +TO ROBIN GOODFELLOW +YVYTOT +THE DIVINE LULLABY +IN THE FIRELIGHT +THE TWENTY-THIRD PSALM +AT THE DOOR + +THE BIBLIOMANIAC'S PRAYER +DE AMICITIIS +THE BIBLIOMANIAC'S BRIDE + +THE TRUTH ABOUT HORACE +HORACE AND LYDIA RECONCILED +HORACE III:13 ("FOUNTAIN OF BANDUSIA") +HORACE TO MELPOMENE +A CHAUCERIAN PARAPHRASE OF HORACE +HORACE TO PYRRHA +HORACE TO PHYLLIS +THE "HAPPY ISLES" OF HORACE + +LITTLE MACK +MR. DANA, OF THE NEW YORK SUN +TO A SOUBRETTE +BÉRANGER'S "BROKEN FIDDLE" +HEINE'S "WIDOW, OR DAUGHTER?" +UHLAND'S "THREE CAVALIERS" +BÉRANGER'S "MY LAST SONG PERHAPS" +HUGO'S "FLOWER TO BUTTERFLY" +BÉRANGER'S "MA VOCATION" + +THE LITTLE PEACH +A PROPER TREWE IDYLL OF CAMELOT +IN FLANDERS +OUR BIGGEST FISH + +MOTHER AND CHILD +THE WANDERER +SOLDIER, MAIDEN, AND FLOWER +THIRTY-NINE + + + + + +CASEY'S TABLE D'HÔTE + + +Oh, them days on Red Hoss Mountain, when the skies wuz fair 'nd blue, +When the money flowed like likker, 'nd the folks wuz brave 'nd true! +When the nights wuz crisp 'nd balmy, 'nd the camp wuz all astir, +With the joints all throwed wide open 'nd no sheriff to demur! +Oh, them times on Red Hoss Mountain in the Rockies fur away,-- +There's no sich place nor times like them as I kin find to-day! +What though the camp _hez_ busted? I seem to see it still +A-lyin', like it loved it, on that big 'nd warty hill; +And I feel a sort of yearnin' 'nd a chokin' in my throat +When I think of Red Hoss Mountain 'nd of Casey's tabble dote! + +Wal, yes; it's true I struck it rich, but that don't cut a show +When one is old 'nd feeble 'nd it's nigh his time to go; +The money that he's got in bonds or carries to invest +Don't figger with a codger who has lived a life out West; +Us old chaps like to set around, away from folks 'nd noise, +'Nd think about the sights we seen and things we done when boys; +The which is why _I_ love to set 'nd think of them old days +When all us Western fellers got the Colorado craze,-- +And _that_ is why I love to set around all day 'nd gloat +On thoughts of Red Hoss Mountain 'nd of Casey's tabble dote. + +This Casey wuz an Irishman,--you'd know it by his name +And by the facial features appertainin' to the same. +He'd lived in many places 'nd had done a thousand things, +From the noble art of actin' to the work of dealin' kings, +But, somehow, hadn't caught on; so, driftin' with the rest, +He drifted for a fortune to the undeveloped West, +And he come to Red Hoss Mountain when the little camp wuz new, +When the money flowed like likker, 'nd the folks wuz brave 'nd true; +And, havin' been a stewart on a Mississippi boat, +He opened up a caffy 'nd he run a tabble dote. + +The bar wuz long 'nd rangy, with a mirrer on the shelf, +'Nd a pistol, so that Casey, when required, could help himself; +Down underneath there wuz a row of bottled beer 'nd wine, +'Nd a kag of Burbun whiskey of the run of '59; +Upon the walls wuz pictures of hosses 'nd of girls,-- +Not much on dress, perhaps, but strong on records 'nd on curls! +The which had been identified with Casey in the past,-- +The hosses 'nd the girls, I mean,--and both wuz mighty fast! +But all these fine attractions wuz of precious little note +By the side of what wuz offered at Casey's tabble dote. + +There wuz half-a-dozen tables altogether in the place, +And the tax you had to pay upon your vittles wuz a case; +The boardin'-houses in the camp protested 't wuz a shame +To patronize a robber, which this Casey wuz the same! +They said a case was robbery to tax for ary meal; +But Casey tended strictly to his biz, 'nd let 'em squeal; +And presently the boardin'-houses all began to bust, +While Casey kept on sawin' wood 'nd layin' in the dust; +And oncet a tray'lin' editor from Denver City wrote +A piece back to his paper, puffin' Casey's tabble dote. + +A tabble dote is different from orderin' aller cart: +In _one_ case you git all there is, in _t' other_, only _part_! +And Casey's tabble dote began in French,--as all begin,-- +And Casey's ended with the same, which is to say, with "vin;" +But in between wuz every kind of reptile, bird, 'nd beast, +The same like you can git in high-toned restauraws down east; +'Nd windin' up wuz cake or pie, with coffee demy tass, +Or, sometimes, floatin' Ireland in a soothin' kind of sass +That left a sort of pleasant ticklin' in a feller's throat, +'Nd made him hanker after more of Casey's tabble dote. + +The very recollection of them puddin's 'nd them pies +Brings a yearnin' to my buzzum 'nd the water to my eyes; +'Nd seems like cookin' nowadays ain't what it used to be +In camp on Red Hoss Mountain in that year of '63; +But, maybe, it is better, 'nd, maybe, I'm to blame-- +I'd like to be a-livin' in the mountains jest the same-- +I'd like to live that life again when skies wuz fair 'nd blue, +When things wuz run wide open 'nd men wuz brave 'nd true; +When brawny arms the flinty ribs of Red Hoss Mountain smote +For wherewithal to pay the price of Casey's tabble dote. + +And you, O cherished brother, a-sleepin' 'way out west, +With Red Hoss Mountain huggin' you close to its lovin' breast,-- +Oh, do you dream in your last sleep of how we used to do, +Of how we worked our little claims together, me 'nd you? +Why, when I saw you last a smile wuz restin' on your face, +Like you wuz glad to sleep forever in that lonely place; +And so you wuz, 'nd I 'd be, too, if I wuz sleepin' so. +But, bein' how a brother's love ain't for the world to know, +Whenever I've this heartache 'nd this chokin' in my throat, +I lay it all to thinkin' of Casey's tabble dote. + + + + +LITTLE BOY BLUE + + +The little toy dog is covered with dust, + But sturdy and stanch he stands; +And the little toy soldier is red with rust, + And his musket molds in his hands. +Time was when the little toy dog was new + And the soldier was passing fair, +And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue + Kissed them and put them there. + +"Now, don't you go till I come," he said, + "And don't you make any noise!" +So toddling off to his trundle-bed + He dreamed of the pretty toys. +And as he was dreaming, an angel song + Awakened our Little Boy Blue,-- +Oh, the years are many, the years are long, + But the little toy friends are true. + +Ay, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand, + Each in the same old place, +Awaiting the touch of a little hand, + The smile of a little face. +And they wonder, as waiting these long years through, + In the dust of that little chair, +What has become of our Little Boy Blue + Since he kissed them and put them there. + + + + +MADGE: YE HOYDEN + + +At Madge, ye hoyden, gossips scofft, + Ffor that a romping wench was shee-- +"Now marke this rede," they bade her oft, + "Forsooken sholde your folly bee!" +But Madge, ye hoyden, laught & cried, + "Oho, oho," in girlish glee, +And noe thing mo replied. + +II + +No griffe she had nor knew no care, + But gayly rompit all daies long, +And, like ye brooke that everywhere + Goes jinking with a gladsome song, +Shee danct and songe from morn till night,-- + Her gentil harte did know no wrong, +Nor did she none despight. + +III + +Sir Tomas from his noblesse halle + Did trend his path a somer's daye, +And to ye hoyden he did call + And these ffull evill words did say: +"O wolde you weare a silken gown + And binde your haire with ribands gay? +Then come with me to town!" + +IV + +But Madge, ye hoyden, shoke her head,-- + "I'le be no lemman unto thee +For all your golde and gownes," shee said, + "ffor Robin hath bespoken mee." +Then ben Sir Tomas sore despight, + And back unto his hall went hee +With face as ashen white. + +V + +"O Robin, wilt thou wed this girl, + Whenas she is so vaine a sprite?" +So spak ffull many an envious churle + Unto that curteyse countrie wight. +But Robin did not pay no heede; + And they ben wed a somer night +& danct upon ye meade. + +VI + +Then scarse ben past a yeare & daye + Whan Robin toke unto his bed, +And long, long time therein he lay, + Nor colde not work to earn his bread; +in soche an houre, whan times ben sore, + Sr. Tomas came with haughtie tread +& knockit at ye doore. + +VII + +Saies: "Madge, ye hoyden, do you know + how that you once despighted me? +But He forgiff an you will go + my swete harte lady ffor to bee!" +But Madge, ye hoyden, heard noe more,-- + straightway upon her heele turnt shee, +& shote ye cottage doore. + +VIII + +Soe Madge, ye hoyden, did her parte + whiles that ye years did come and go; +'t was somer allwais in her harte, + tho' winter strewed her head with snowe. +She toilt and span thro' all those years + nor bid repine that it ben soe, +nor never shad noe teares. + +IX + +Whiles Robin lay within his bed, + A divell came and whispered lowe,-- +"Giff you will doe my will," he said, + "None more of sickness you shall knowe!" +Ye which gave joy to Robin's soul-- + Saies Robin: "Divell, be it soe, +an that you make me whoale!" + +X + +That day, upp rising ffrom his bed, + Quoth Robin: "I am well again!" +& backe he came as from ye dead, + & he ben mickle blithe as when +he wooed his doxy long ago; + & Madge did make ado & then +Her teares ffor joy did flowe. + +XI + +Then came that hell-born cloven thing-- + Saies: "Robin, I do claim your life, +and I hencefoorth shall be your king, + and you shall do my evill strife. +Look round about and you shall see + sr. Tomas' young and ffoolish wiffe-- +a comely dame is shee!" + +XII + +Ye divell had him in his power, + and not colde Robin say thereto: +Soe Robin from that very houre + did what that divell bade him do; +He wooed and dipt, and on a daye + Sr. Tomas' wife and Robin flewe +a many leagues away. + +XIII + +Sir Tomas ben wood wroth and swore, + And sometime strode thro' leaf & brake +and knockit at ye cottage door + and thus to Madge, ye hoyden, spake: +Saies, "I wolde have you ffor mine own, + So come with mee & bee my make, +syn tother birds ben flown." + +XIV + +But Madge, ye hoyden, bade him noe; + Saies: "Robin is my swete harte still, +And, tho' he doth despight me soe, + I mean to do him good for ill. +So goe, Sir Tomas, goe your way; + ffor whiles I bee on live I will +ffor Robin's coming pray!" + +XV + +Soe Madge, ye hoyden, kneelt & prayed + that Godde sholde send her Robin backe. +And tho' ye folke vast scoffing made, + and tho' ye worlde ben colde and blacke, +And tho', as moneths dragged away, + ye hoyden's harte ben like to crack +With griff, she still did praye. + +XVI + +Sicke of that divell's damnèd charmes, + Aback did Robin come at last, +And Madge, ye hoyden, sprad her arms + and gave a cry and held him fast; +And as she clong to him and cried, + her patient harte with joy did brast, +& Madge, ye hoyden, died. + + + + +OLD ENGLISH LULLABY + + +Hush, bonnie, dinna greit; +Moder will rocke her sweete,-- + Balow, my boy! +When that his toile ben done, +Daddie will come anone,-- +Hush thee, my lyttel one; + Balow, my boy! + +Gin thou dost sleepe, perchaunce +Fayries will come to daunce,-- + Balow, my boy! +Oft hath thy moder seene +Moonlight and mirkland queene +Daunce on thy slumbering een,-- + Balow, my boy! + +Then droned a bomblebee +Saftly this songe to thee: + "Balow, my boy!" +And a wee heather bell, +Pluckt from a fayry dell, +Chimed thee this rune hersell: + "Balow, my boy!" + +Soe, bonnie, dinna greit; +Moder doth rock her sweete,-- + Balow, my boy! +Give mee thy lyttel hand, +Moder will hold it and +Lead thee to balow land,-- + Balow, my boy! + + + + +THE BIBLIOMANIAC'S PRAYER + + +Keep me, I pray, in wisdom's way + That I may truths eternal seek; +I need protecting care to-day,-- + My purse is light, my flesh is weak. +So banish from my erring heart + All baleful appetites and hints +Of Satan's fascinating art, + Of first editions, and of prints. +Direct me in some godly walk + Which leads away from bookish strife, +That I with pious deed and talk + May extra-illustrate my life. + +But if, O Lord, it pleaseth Thee + To keep me in temptation's way, +I humbly ask that I may be + Most notably beset to-day; +Let my temptation be a book, + Which I shall purchase, hold, and keep, +Whereon when other men shall look, + They'll wail to know I got it cheap. +Oh, let it such a volume be + As in rare copperplates abounds, +Large paper, clean, and fair to see, + Uncut, unique, unknown to Lowndes. + + + + +THE LYTTEL BOY + + +Sometime there ben a lyttel boy + That wolde not renne and play, +And helpless like that little tyke + Ben allwais in the way. +"Goe, make you merrie with the rest," + His weary moder cried; +But with a frown he catcht her gown + And hong untill her side. + +That boy did love his moder well, + Which spake him faire, I ween; +He loved to stand and hold her hand + And ken her with his een; +His cosset bleated in the croft, + His toys unheeded lay,-- +He wolde not goe, but, tarrying soe, + Ben allwais in the way. + +Godde loveth children and doth gird + His throne with soche as these, +And He doth smile in plaisaunce while + They cluster at His knees; +And sometime, when He looked on earth + And watched the bairns at play, +He kenned with joy a lyttel boy + Ben allwais in the way. + +And then a moder felt her heart + How that it ben to-torne,-- +She kissed eche day till she ben gray + The shoon he used to worn; +No bairn let hold untill her gown, + Nor played upon the floore,-- +Godde's was the joy; a lyttel boy + Ben in the way no more! + + + + +THE TRUTH ABOUT HORACE + + +It is very aggravating + To hear the solemn prating +Of the fossils who are stating +That old Horace was a prude; + When we know that with the ladies +He was always raising Hades, +And with many an escapade his + Best productions are imbued. + +There's really not much harm in a + Large number of his carmina, +But these people find alarm in a + Few records of his acts; +So they'd squelch the muse caloric, +And to students sophomoric +They d present as metaphoric + What old Horace meant for facts. + +We have always thought 'em lazy; +Now we adjudge 'em crazy! +Why, Horace was a daisy + That was very much alive! +And the wisest of us know him +As his Lydia verses show him,-- +Go, read that virile poem,-- + It is No. 25. + +He was a very owl, sir, +And starting out to prowl, sir, +You bet he made Rome howl, sir, + Until he filled his date; +With a massic-laden ditty +And a classic maiden pretty +He painted up the city, + And Maecenas paid the freight! + + + + +THE DEATH OF ROBIN HOOD + + +"Give me my bow," said Robin Hood, + "An arrow give to me; +And where 't is shot mark thou that spot, + For there my grave shall be." + +Then Little John did make no sign, + And not a word he spake; +But he smiled, altho' with mickle woe + His heart was like to break. + +He raised his master in his arms, + And set him on his knee; +And Robin's eyes beheld the skies, + The shaws, the greenwood tree. + +The brook was babbling as of old, + The birds sang full and clear, +And the wild-flowers gay like a carpet lay + In the path of the timid deer. + +"O Little John," said Robin Hood, + "Meseemeth now to be +Standing with you so stanch and true + Under the greenwood tree. + +"And all around I hear the sound + Of Sherwood long ago, +And my merry men come back again,-- + You know, sweet friend, you know! + +"Now mark this arrow; where it falls, + When I am dead dig deep, +And bury me there in the greenwood where + I would forever sleep." + +He twanged his bow. Upon its course + The clothyard arrow sped, +And when it fell in yonder dell, + Brave Robin Hood was dead. + +The sheriff sleeps in a marble vault, + The king in a shroud of gold; +And upon the air with a chanted pray'r + Mingles the mock of mould. + +But the deer draw to the shady pool, + The birds sing blithe and free, +And the wild-flow'rs bloom o'er a hidden tomb + Under the greenwood tree. + + + + +"LOLLYBY, LOLLY, LOLLYBY" + + +Last night, whiles that the curfew bell ben ringing, +I heard a moder to her dearie singing + "Lollyby, lolly, lollyby." +And presently that chylde did cease hys weeping, +And on his moder's breast did fall a-sleeping, + To "lolly, lolly, lollyby." + +Faire ben the chylde unto his moder clinging, +But fairer yet the moder's gentle singing,-- + "Lollyby, lolly, lollyby." +And angels came and kisst the dearie smiling +In dreems while him hys moder ben beguiling + With "lolly, lolly, lollyby!" + +Then to my harte saies I, "Oh, that thy beating +Colde be assuaged by some swete voice repeating + 'Lollyby, lolly, lollyby;' +That like this lyttel chylde I, too, ben sleeping +With plaisaunt phantasies about me creeping, + To 'lolly, lolly, lollyby!'" + +Sometime--mayhap when curfew bells are ringing-- +A weary harte shall heare straunge voices singing, + "Lollyby, lolly, lollyby;" +Sometime, mayhap, with Chrysts love round me streaming, +I shall be lulled into eternal dreeming + With "lolly, lolly, lollyby." + + + + +HORACE AND LYDIA RECONCILED + + +HORACE + +When you were mine in auld lang syne, + And when none else your charms might ogle, + I'll not deny, + Fair nymph, that I + Was happier than a Persian mogul. + +LYDIA + +Before _she_ came--that rival flame!-- + (Was ever female creature sillier?) + In those good times, + Bepraised in rhymes, + I was more famed than Mother Ilia! + +HORACE + +Chloe of Thrace! With what a grace + Does she at song or harp employ her! +I'd gladly die + If only I + Might live forever to enjoy her! + +LYDIA + +My Sybaris so noble is + That, by the gods! I love him madly-- + That I might save + Him from the grave + I'd give my life, and give it gladly! + +HORACE + +What if ma belle from favor fell, + And I made up my mind to shake her, + Would Lydia, then, + Come back again + And to her quondam flame betake her? + +LYDIA + +My other beau should surely go, + And you alone should find me gracious; + For no one slings + Such odes and things + As does the lauriger Horatius! + + + + +OUR TWO OPINIONS + + +Us two wuz boys when we fell out,-- + Nigh to the age uv my youngest now; +Don't rec'lect what't wuz about, + Some small deeff'rence, I'll allow. +Lived next neighbors twenty years, + A-hatin' each other, me 'nd Jim,-- +He havin' _his_ opinyin uv _me_, + 'Nd _I_ havin' _my_ opinyin uv _him_. + +Grew up together 'nd would n't speak, + Courted sisters, 'nd marr'd 'em, too; +Tended same meetin'-house oncet a week, + A-hatin' each other through 'nd through! +But when Abe Linkern asked the West + F'r soldiers, we answered,--me 'nd Jim,-- +_He_ havin' _his_ opinyin uv _me_, + 'Nd _I_ havin' _my_ opinyin uv _him_. + +But down in Tennessee one night + Ther' wuz sound uv firin' fur away, +'Nd the sergeant allowed ther' 'd be a fight + With the Johnnie Rebs some time nex' day; +'Nd as I wuz thinkin' uv Lizzie 'nd home + Jim stood afore me, long 'nd slim,-- +_He_ havin' _his_ opinyin uv _me_, + 'Nd _I_ havin' _my_ opinyin uv _him_. + +Seemed like we knew there wuz goin' to be + Serious trouble f'r me 'nd him; +Us two shuck hands, did Jim 'nd me, + But never a word from me or Jim! +He went _his_ way 'nd _I_ went _mine_, + 'Nd into the battle's roar went we,-- +_I_ havin' _my_ opinyin uv Jim, + 'Nd _he_ havin' _his_ opinyin uv _me_. + +Jim never come back from the war again, + But I ha' n't forgot that last, last night +When, waitin' f'r orders, us two men + Made up 'nd shuck hands, afore the fight. +'Nd, after it all, it's soothin' to know + That here _I_ be 'nd yonder's Jim,-- +_He_ havin' _his_ opinyin uv _me_, +'Nd _I_ havin' _my_ opinyin uv _him_. + + + + +MOTHER AND CHILD + + +One night a tiny dewdrop fell + Into the bosom of a rose,-- +"Dear little one, I love thee well, + Be ever here thy sweet repose!" + +Seeing the rose with love bedight, + The envious sky frowned dark, and then +Sent forth a messenger of light + And caught the dewdrop up again. + +"Oh, give me back my heavenly child,-- + My love!" the rose in anguish cried; +Alas! the sky triumphant smiled, + And so the flower, heart-broken, died. + + + + +ORKNEY LULLABY + + +A moonbeam floateth from the skies, +Whispering, "Heigho, my dearie! +I would spin a web before your eyes,-- +A beautiful web of silver light, +Wherein is many a wondrous sight +Of a radiant garden leagues away, +Where the softly tinkling lilies sway, +And the snow-white lambkins are at play,-- + Heigho, my dearie!" + +A brownie stealeth from the vine + Singing, "Heigho, my dearie! +And will you hear this song of mine,-- +A song of the land of murk and mist +Where bideth the bud the dew hath kist? +Then let the moonbeam's web of light +Be spun before thee silvery white, +And I shall sing the livelong night,-- + Heigho, my dearie!" + +The night wind speedeth from the sea, + Murmuring, "Heigho, my dearie! +I bring a mariner's prayer for thee; +So let the moonbeam veil thine eyes, +And the brownie sing thee lullabies; +But I shall rock thee to and fro, +Kissing the brow _he_ loveth so, +And the prayer shall guard thy bed, I trow,-- + Heigho, my dearie!" + + + + +LITTLE MACK + + +This talk about the journalists that run the East is bosh, +We've got a Western editor that's little, but, O gosh! +He lives here in Mizzoora where the people are so set +In ante-bellum notions that they vote for Jackson yet; +But the paper he is running makes the rusty fossils swear,-- +The smartest, likeliest paper that is printed anywhere! +And, best of all, the paragraphs are pointed as a tack, + And that's because they emanate + From little Mack. + +In architecture he is what you'd call a chunky man, +As if he'd been constructed on the summer cottage plan; +He has a nose like Bonaparte; and round his mobile mouth +Lies all the sensuous languor of the children of the South; +His dealings with reporters who affect a weekly bust +Have given to his violet eyes a shadow of distrust; +In glorious abandon his brown hair wanders back + From the grand Websterian forehead + Of little Mack. + +No matter what the item is, if there's an item in it, +You bet your life he's on to it and nips it in a minute! +From multifarious nations, countries, monarchies, and lands, +From Afric's sunny fountains and India's coral strands, +From Greenland's icy mountains and Siloam's shady rills, +He gathers in his telegrams, and Houser pays the bills; +What though there be a dearth of news, he has a happy knack + Of scraping up a lot of scoops, + Does little Mack. + +And learning? Well he knows the folks of every tribe and age +That ever played a part upon this fleeting human stage; +His intellectual system's so extensive and so greedy +That, when it comes to records, he's a walkin' cyclopedy; +For having studied (and digested) all the books a-goin', +It stands to reason he must know about all's worth a-knowin'! +So when a politician with a record's on the track, + We're apt to hear some history + From little Mack. + +And when a fellow-journalist is broke and needs a twenty, +Who's allus ready to whack up a portion of his plenty? +Who's allus got a wallet that's as full of sordid gain +As his heart is full of kindness and his head is full of brain? +Whose bowels of compassion will in-va-ri-a-bly move +Their owner to those courtesies which plainly, surely prove +That he's the kind of person that never does go back + On a fellow that's in trouble? + Why, little Mack! + +I've heard 'em tell of Dana, and of Bonner, and of Reid, +Of Johnnie Cockerill, who, I'll own, is very smart indeed; +Yet I don't care what their renown or influence may be, +One metropolitan exchange is quite enough for me! +So keep your Danas, Bonners, Reids, your Cockerills, and the rest, +The woods is full of better men all through this woolly West; +For all that sleek, pretentious, Eastern editorial pack + We wouldn't swap the shadow of + Our little Mack! + + + + +TO ROBIN GOODFELLOW + + +I see you, Maister Bawsy-brown, + Through yonder lattice creepin'; +You come for cream and to gar me dream, + But you dinna find me sleepin'. +The moonbeam, that upon the floor + Wi' crickets ben a-jinkin', +Now steals away fra' her bonnie play-- + Wi' a rosier blie, I'm thinkin'. + +I saw you, Maister Bawsy-brown, + When the blue bells went a-ringin' +For the merrie fays o' the banks an' braes, + And I kenned your bonnie singin'; +The gowans gave you honey sweets, + And the posies on the heather +Dript draughts o' dew for the faery crew + That danct and sang together. + +But posie-bloom an' simmer-dew + And ither sweets o' faery +C'u'd na gae down wi' Bawsy-brown, + Sae nigh to Maggie's dairy! +My pantry shelves, sae clean and white, + Are set wi' cream and cheeses,-- +Gae, gin you will, an' take your fill + Of whatsoever pleases. + +Then wave your wand aboon my een + Until they close awearie, +And the night be past sae sweet and fast + Wi' dreamings o' my dearie. +But pinch the wench in yonder room, + For she's na gude nor bonnie,-- +Her shelves be dust and her pans be rust, + And she winkit at my Johnnie! + + + + +APPLE-PIE AND CHEESE + + +Full many a sinful notion + Conceived of foreign powers +Has come across the ocean + To harm this land of ours; +And heresies called fashions + Have modesty effaced, +And baleful, morbid passions + Corrupt our native taste. +O tempora! O mores! + What profanations these +That seek to dim the glories + Of apple-pie and cheese! + +I'm glad my education + Enables me to stand +Against the vile temptation + Held out on every hand; +Eschewing all the tittles + With vanity replete, +I'm loyal to the victuals + Our grandsires used to eat! +I'm glad I've got three willing boys + To hang around and tease +Their mother for the filling joys + Of apple-pie and cheese! + +Your flavored creams and ices + And your dainty angel-food +Are mighty fine devices + To regale the dainty dude; +Your terrapin and oysters, + With wine to wash 'em down, +Are just the thing for roisters + When painting of the town; +No flippant, sugared notion + Shall _my_ appetite appease, +Or bate my soul's devotion + To apple-pie and cheese! + +The pie my Julia makes me + (God bless her Yankee ways!) +On memory's pinions takes me + To dear Green Mountain days; +And seems like I see Mother + Lean on the window-sill, +A-handin' me and brother + What she knows 'll keep us still; +And these feelings are so grateful, + Says I, "Julia, if you please, +I'll take another plateful + Of that apple-pie and cheese!" + +And cheese! No alien it, sir, + That's brought across the sea,-- +No Dutch antique, nor Switzer, + Nor glutinous de Brie; +There's nothing I abhor so + As mawmets of this ilk-- +Give _me_ the harmless morceau + That's made of true-blue milk! +No matter what conditions + Dyspeptic come to feaze, +The best of all physicians + Is apple-pie and cheese! + +Though ribalds may decry 'em, + For these twin boons we stand, +Partaking thrice per diem + Of their fulness out of hand; +No enervating fashion + Shall cheat us of our right +To gratify our passion + With a mouthful at a bite! +We'll cut it square or bias, + Or any way we please, +And faith shall justify us + When we carve our pie and cheese! + +De gustibus, 't is stated, + Non disputandum est. +Which meaneth, when translated, + That all is for the best. +So let the foolish choose 'em + The vapid sweets of sin, +I will not disabuse 'em + Of the heresy they're in; +But I, when I undress me + Each night, upon my knees +Will ask the Lord to bless me + With apple-pie and cheese! + + + + +KRINKEN + + +Krinken was a little child,-- +It was summer when he smiled. +Oft the hoary sea and grim +Stretched its white arms out to him, +Calling, "Sun-child, come to me; +Let me warm my heart with thee!" +But the child heard not the sea, +Calling, yearning evermore +For the summer on the shore. + +Krinken on the beach one day +Saw a maiden Nis at play; +On the pebbly beach she played +In the summer Krinken made. +Fair, and very fair, was she, +Just a little child was he. +"Krinken," said the maiden Nis, +"Let me have a little kiss, +Just a kiss, and go with me +To the summer-lands that be +Down within the silver sea." + +Krinken was a little child-- +By the maiden Nis beguiled, +Hand in hand with her went he, +And 'twas summer in the sea. +And the hoary sea and grim +To its bosom folded him-- +Clasped and kissed the little form, +And the ocean's heart was warm. + +Now the sea calls out no more; +It is winter on the shore,-- +Winter where that little child +Made sweet summer when he smiled; +Though 'tis summer on the sea +Where with maiden Nis went he,-- +Summer, summer evermore,-- +It is winter on the shore, +Winter, winter evermore. +Of the summer on the deep +Come sweet visions in my sleep: +_His_ fair face lifts from the sea, +_His_ dear voice calls out to me,-- +These my dreams of summer be. + +Krinken was a little child, +By the maiden Nis beguiled; +Oft the hoary sea and grim +Reached its longing arms to him, +Crying, "Sun-child, come to me; +Let me warm my heart with thee!" +But the sea calls out no more; +It is winter on the shore,-- +Winter, cold and dark and wild; +Krinken was a little child,-- +It was summer when he smiled; +Down he went into the sea, +And the winter bides with me. +Just a little child was he. + + + + +BÉRANGER'S "BROKEN FIDDLE" + + +I + +There, there, poor dog, my faithful friend, + Pay you no heed unto my sorrow: +But feast to-day while yet you may,-- + Who knows but we shall starve to-morrow! + + +II + +"Give us a tune," the foemen cried, + In one of their profane caprices; +I bade them "No"--they frowned, and, lo! + They dashed this innocent in pieces! + + +III + +This fiddle was the village pride-- + The mirth of every fête enhancing; +Its wizard art set every heart + As well as every foot to dancing. + + +IV + +How well the bridegroom knew its voice, + As from its strings its song went gushing! +Nor long delayed the promised maid + Equipped for bridal, coy and blushing. + + +V + +Why, it discoursed so merrily, + It quickly banished all dejection; +And yet, when pressed, our priest confessed + I played with pious circumspection. + + +VI + +And though, in patriotic song, + It was our guide, compatriot, teacher, +I never thought the foe had wrought + His fury on the helpless creature! + + +VII + +But there, poor dog, my faithful friend, + Pay you no heed unto my sorrow; +I prithee take this paltry cake,-- + Who knows but we shall starve to-morrow! + + +VIII + +Ah, who shall lead the Sunday choir + As this old fiddle used to do it? +Can vintage come, with this voice dumb + That used to bid a welcome to it? + + +IX + +It soothed the weary hours of toil, + It brought forgetfulness to debtors; +Time and again from wretched men + It struck oppression's galling fetters. + + +X + +No man could hear its voice, and hate; + It stayed the teardrop at its portal; +With that dear thing I was a king + As never yet was monarch mortal! + + +XI + +Now has the foe--the vandal foe-- + Struck from my hands their pride and glory; +There let it lie! In vengeance, I + Shall wield another weapon, gory! + + +XII + +And if, O countrymen, I fall, + Beside our grave let this be spoken: +"No foe of France shall ever dance + Above the heart and fiddle, broken!" + + +XIII + +So come, poor dog, my faithful friend, + I prithee do not heed my sorrow, +But feast to-day while yet you may, + For we are like to starve to-morrow. + + + + +THE LITTLE PEACH + + +A little peach in the orchard grew,-- +A little peach of emerald hue; +Warmed by the sun and wet by the dew, + It grew. + +One day, passing that orchard through, +That little peach dawned on the view +Of Johnny Jones and his sister Sue-- + Them two. + +Up at that peach a club they threw-- +Down from the stem on which it grew +Fell that peach of emerald hue. + Mon Dieu! + +John took a bite and Sue a chew, +And then the trouble began to brew,-- +Trouble the doctor couldn't subdue. + Too true! + +Under the turf where the daisies grew +They planted John and his sister Sue, +And their little souls to the angels flew,-- + Boo hoo! + +What of that peach of the emerald hue, +Warmed by the sun, and wet by the dew? +Ah, well, its mission on earth is through. + Adieu! + +1880. + + + + +HORACE III. 13 + + +O fountain of Bandusia, + Whence crystal waters flow, +With garlands gay and wine I'll pay + The sacrifice I owe; +A sportive kid with budding horns + I have, whose crimson blood +Anon shall dye and sanctify + Thy cool and babbling flood. + +O fountain of Bandusia, + The dog-star's hateful spell +No evil brings unto the springs + That from thy bosom well; +Here oxen, wearied by the plough, + The roving cattle here, +Hasten in quest of certain rest + And quaff thy gracious cheer. + +O fountain of Bandusia, + Ennobled shalt thou be, +For I shall sing the joys that spring + Beneath yon ilex-tree; +Yes, fountain of Bandusia, + Posterity shall know +The cooling brooks that from thy nooks + Singing and dancing go! + + + + +THE DIVINE LULLABY + + + I hear Thy voice, dear Lord; +I hear it by the stormy sea + When winter nights are black and wild, +And when, affright, I call to Thee; + It calms my fears and whispers me, +"Sleep well, my child." + + I hear Thy voice, dear Lord, +In singing winds, in falling snow, + The curfew chimes, the midnight bell. +"Sleep well, my child," it murmurs low; +"The guardian angels come and go,-- + O child, sleep well!" + + I hear Thy voice, dear Lord, +Ay, though the singing winds be stilled, + Though hushed the tumult of the deep, +My fainting heart with anguish chilled +By Thy assuring tone is thrilled,-- + "Fear not, and sleep!" + + Speak on--speak on, dear Lord! +And when the last dread night is near, + With doubts and fears and terrors wild, +Oh, let my soul expiring hear +Only these words of heavenly cheer, + "Sleep well, my child!" + + + + +IN THE FIRELIGHT + + +The fire upon the hearth is low, + And there is stillness everywhere, + While like winged spirits, here and there, +The firelight shadows fluttering go. +And as the shadows round me creep, + A childish treble breaks the gloom, + And softly from a further room +Comes, "Now I lay me down to sleep." + +And somehow, with that little prayer + And that sweet treble in my ears, + My thoughts go back to distant years +And linger with a loved one there; +And as I hear my child's amen, + My mother's faith comes back to me,-- + Crouched at her side I seem to be, +And Mother holds my hands again. + +Oh, for an hour in that dear place! + Oh, for the peace of that dear time! + Oh, for that childish trust sublime! +Oh, for a glimpse of Mother's face! +Yet, as the shadows round me creep, + I do not seem to be alone,-- + Sweet magic of that treble tone, +And "Now I lay me down to sleep." + +1885. + + + + +HEINE'S "WIDOW OR DAUGHTER?" + + +Shall I woo the one or other? + Both attract me--more's the pity! +Pretty is the widowed mother, + And the daughter, too, is pretty. + +When I see that maiden shrinking, + By the gods I swear I'll get 'er! +But anon I fall to thinking + That the mother 'll suit me better! + +So, like any idiot ass + Hungry for the fragrant fodder, +Placed between two bales of grass, + Lo, I doubt, delay, and dodder! + + + + +CHRISTMAS TREASURES + + +I count my treasures o'er with care.-- + The little toy my darling knew, + A little sock of faded hue, +A little lock of golden hair. + +Long years ago this holy time, + My little one--my all to me-- + Sat robed in white upon my knee +And heard the merry Christmas chime. + +"Tell me, my little golden-head, + If Santa Claus should come to-night, + What shall he bring my baby bright,-- +What treasure for my boy?" I said. + +And then he named this little toy, + While in his round and mournful eyes + There came a look of sweet surprise, +That spake his quiet, trustful joy. + +And as he lisped his evening prayer + He asked the boon with childish grace; + Then, toddling to the chimney-place, +He hung this little stocking there. + +That night, while lengthening shadows crept, + I saw the white-winged angels come + With singing to our lowly home +And kiss my darling as he slept. + +They must have heard his little prayer, + For in the morn, with rapturous face, + He toddled to the chimney-place, +And found this little treasure there. + +They came again one Christmas-tide,-- + That angel host, so fair and white! + And singing all that glorious night, +They lured my darling from my side. + +A little sock, a little toy, + A little lock of golden hair, + The Christmas music on the air, +A watching for my baby boy! + +But if again that angel train + And golden-head come back for me, + To bear me to Eternity, +My watching will not be in vain! + +1879. + + + + +DE AMICITIIS + + + Though care and strife + Elsewhere be rife, +Upon my word I do not heed 'em; + In bed I lie + With books hard by, +And with increasing zest I read 'em. + + Propped up in bed, + So much I've read +Of musty tomes that I've a headful + Of tales and rhymes + Of ancient times, +Which, wife declares, are "simply dreadful!" + + They give me joy + Without alloy; +And isn't that what books are made for? + And yet--and yet-- + (Ah, vain regret!) +I would to God they all were paid for! + + No festooned cup + Filled foaming up +Can lure me elsewhere to confound me; + Sweeter than wine + This love of mine +For these old books I see around me! + + A plague, I say, + On maidens gay; +I'll weave no compliments to tell 'em! + Vain fool I were, + Did I prefer +Those dolls to these old friends in vellum! + + At dead of night + My chamber's bright +Not only with the gas that's burning, + But with the glow + Of long ago,-- +Of beauty back from eld returning. + + Fair women's looks + I see in books, +I see _them_, and I hear their laughter,-- + Proud, high-born maids, + Unlike the jades +Which men-folk now go chasing after! + + Herein again + Speak valiant men +Of all nativities and ages; + I hear and smile + With rapture while +I turn these musty, magic pages. + + The sword, the lance, + The morris dance, +The highland song, the greenwood ditty, + Of these I read, + Or, when the need, +My Miller grinds me grist that's gritty! + + When of such stuff + We've had enough, +Why, there be other friends to greet us; + We'll moralize + In solemn wise +With Plato or with Epictetus. + + Sneer as you may, + _I'm_ proud to say +That I, for one, am very grateful + To Heaven, that sends + These genial friends +To banish other friendships hateful! + + And when I'm done, + I'd have no son +Pounce on these treasures like a vulture; + Nay, give them half + My epitaph, +And let them share in my sepulture. + + Then, when the crack + Of doom rolls back +The marble and the earth that hide me, + I'll smuggle home + Each precious tome, +Without a fear my wife shall chide me! + + + + +OUR LADY OF THE MINE + + +The Blue Horizon wuz a mine us fellers all thought well uv, +And there befell the episode I now perpose to tell uv; +'T wuz in the year uv sixty-nine,--somewhere along in summer,-- +There hove in sight one afternoon a new and curious comer; +His name wuz Silas Pettibone,--a' artist by perfession,-- +With a kit of tools and a big mustache and a pipe in his possession. +He told us, by our leave, he 'd kind uv like to make some sketches +Uv the snowy peaks, 'nd the foamin' crick, 'nd the distant mountain + stretches; +"You're welkim, sir," sez we, although this scenery dodge seemed to us +A waste uv time where scenery wuz already sooper-_floo_-us. + +All through the summer Pettibone kep' busy at his sketchin',-- +At daybreak off for Eagle Pass, and home at nightfall, fetchin' +That everlastin' book uv his with spider-lines all through it; +Three-Fingered Hoover used to say there warn't no meanin' to it. +"Gol durn a man," sez he to him, "whose shif'less hand is sot at +A-drawin' hills that's full uv quartz that's pinin' to be got at!" +"Go on," sez Pettibone, "go on, if joshin' gratifies ye; +But one uv these fine times I'll show ye sumthin' will surprise ye!" +The which remark led us to think--although he didn't say it-- +That Pettibone wuz owin' us a gredge 'nd meant to pay it. + +One evenin' as we sat around the Restauraw de Casey, +A-singin' songs 'nd tellin' yarns the which wuz sumwhat racy, +In come that feller Pettibone, 'nd sez, "With your permission, +I'd like to put a picture I have made on exhibition." +He sot the picture on the bar 'nd drew aside its curtain, +Sayin', "I reckon you'll allow as how _that's_ art, f'r certain!" +And then we looked, with jaws agape, but nary word wuz spoken, +And f'r a likely spell the charm uv silence wuz unbroken-- +Till presently, as in a dream, remarked Three-Fingered Hoover: +"Onless I am mistaken, this is Pettibone's shef doover!" + +It wuz a face--a human face--a woman's, fair 'nd tender-- +Sot gracefully upon a neck white as a swan's, and slender; +The hair wuz kind uv sunny, 'nd the eyes wuz sort uv dreamy, +The mouth wuz half a-smilin', 'nd the cheeks wuz soft 'nd creamy; +It seemed like she wuz lookin' off into the west out yonder, +And seemed like, while she looked, we saw her eyes grow softer, fonder,-- +Like, lookin' off into the west, where mountain mists wuz fallin', +She saw the face she longed to see and heerd his voice a-callin'; +"Hooray!" we cried,--"a woman in the camp uv Blue Horizon! +Step right up, Colonel Pettibone, 'nd nominate your pizen!" + +A curious situation,--one deservin' uv your pity,-- +No human, livin', female thing this side of Denver City! +But jest a lot uv husky men that lived on sand 'nd bitters,-- +Do you wonder that that woman's face consoled the lonesome critters? +And not a one but what it served in some way to remind him +Of a mother or a sister or a sweetheart left behind him; +And some looked back on happier days, and saw the old-time faces +And heerd the dear familiar sounds in old familiar places,-- +A gracious touch of home. "Look here," sez Hoover, "ever'body +Quit thinkin' 'nd perceed at oncet to name his favorite toddy!" + +It wuzn't long afore the news had spread the country over, +And miners come a-flockin' in like honey-bees to clover; +It kind uv did 'em good, they said, to feast their hungry eyes on +That picture uv Our Lady in the camp uv Blue Horizon. +But one mean cuss from Nigger Crick passed criticisms on 'er,-- +Leastwise we overheerd him call her Pettibone's madonner, +The which we did not take to be respectful to a lady, +So we hung him in a quiet spot that wuz cool 'nd dry 'nd shady; +Which same might not have been good law, but it _wuz_ the right manoeuvre +To give the critics due respect for Pettibone's shef doover. + +Gone is the camp,--yes, years ago the Blue Horizon busted, +And every mother's son uv us got up one day 'nd dusted, +While Pettibone perceeded East with wealth in his possession, +And went to Yurrup, as I heerd, to study his perfession; +So, like as not, you'll find him now a-paintin' heads 'nd faces +At Venus, Billy Florence, and the like I-talyun places. +But no sech face he'll paint again as at old Blue Horizon, +For I'll allow no sweeter face no human soul sot eyes on; +And when the critics talk so grand uv Paris 'nd the Loover, +I say, "Oh, but you orter seen the Pettibone shef doover!" + + + + +THE WANDERER + + +Upon a mountain height, far from the sea, + I found a shell, +And to my listening ear the lonely thing +Ever a song of ocean seemed to sing, + Ever a tale of ocean seemed to tell. + +How came the shell upon that mountain height? + Ah, who can say +Whether there dropped by some too careless hand, +Or whether there cast when Ocean swept the Land, + Ere the Eternal had ordained the Day? + +Strange, was it not? Far from its native deep, + One song it sang,-- +Sang of the awful mysteries of the tide, +Sang of the misty sea, profound and wide,-- + Ever with echoes of the ocean rang. + +And as the shell upon the mountain height + Sings of the sea, +So do I ever, leagues and leagues away,-- +So do I ever, wandering where I may,-- + Sing, O my home! sing, O my home! of thee. + +1883. + + + + +TO A USURPER + + +Aha! a traitor in the camp, + A rebel strangely bold,-- +A lisping, laughing, toddling scamp, + Not more than four years old! + +To think that I, who've ruled alone + So proudly in the past, +Should be ejected from my throne + By my own son at last! + +He trots his treason to and fro, + As only babies can, +And says he'll be his mamma's beau + When he's a "gweat, big man"! + +You stingy boy! you've always had + A share in mamma's heart; +Would you begrudge your poor old dad + The tiniest little part? + +That mamma, I regret to see, + Inclines to take your part,-- +As if a dual monarchy + Should rule her gentle heart! + +But when the years of youth have sped, + The bearded man, I trow, +Will quite forget he ever said + He'd be his mamma's beau. + +Renounce your treason, little son, + Leave mamma's heart to me; +For there will come another one + To claim your loyalty. + +And when that other comes to you, + God grant her love may shine +Through all your life, as fair and true + As mamma's does through mine! + +1885. + + + + +LULLABY; BY THE SEA + + +Fair is the castle up on the hill-- + Hushaby, sweet my own! +The night is fair, and the waves are still, +And the wind is singing to you and to me +In this lowly home beside the sea-- + Hushaby, sweet my own! + +On yonder hill is store of wealth-- + Hushaby, sweet my own! +And revellers drink to a little one's health; +But you and I bide night and day +For the other love that has sailed away-- + Hushaby, sweet my own! + +See not, dear eyes, the forms that creep + Ghostlike, O my own! +Out of the mists of the murmuring deep; +Oh, see them not and make no cry +Till the angels of death have passed us by-- + Hushaby, sweet my own! + +Ah, little they reck of you and me-- + Hushaby, sweet my own! +In our lonely home beside the sea; +They seek the castle up on the hill, +And there they will do their ghostly will-- + Hushaby, O my own! + +Here by the sea a mother croons + "Hushaby, sweet my own!" +In yonder castle a mother swoons +While the angels go down to the misty deep, +Bearing a little one fast asleep-- + Hushaby, sweet my own! + + + + +SOLDIER, MAIDEN, AND FLOWER + + +"Sweetheart, take this," a soldier said, + "And bid me brave good-by; +It may befall we ne'er shall wed, + But love can never die. +Be steadfast in thy troth to me, + And then, whate'er my lot, +'My soul to God, my heart to thee,'-- + Sweetheart, forget me not!" + +The maiden took the tiny flower + And nursed it with her tears: +Lo! he who left her in that hour + Came not in after years. +Unto a hero's death he rode + 'Mid shower of fire and shot; +But in the maiden's heart abode + The flower, forget-me-not. + +And when _he_ came not with the rest + From out the years of blood, +Closely unto her widowed breast + She pressed a faded bud; +Oh, there is love and there is pain, + And there is peace, God wot,-- +And these dear three do live again + In sweet forget-me-not. + +'T is to an unmarked grave to-day + That I should love to go,-- +Whether he wore the blue or gray, + What need that we should know? +"He loved a woman," let us say, + And on that sacred spot, +To woman's love, that lives for aye, + We'll strew forget-me-not. + +1887. + + + + +HORACE TO MELPOMENE + + +Lofty and enduring is the monument I've reared,-- + Come, tempests, with your bitterness assailing; +And thou, corrosive blasts of time, by all things mortal feared, + Thy buffets and thy rage are unavailing! + +I shall not altogether die; by far my greater part + Shall mock man's common fate in realms infernal; +My works shall live as tributes to my genius and my art,-- + My works shall be my monument eternal! + +While this great Roman empire stands and gods protect our fanes, + Mankind with grateful hearts shall tell the story, +How one most lowly born upon the parched Apulian plains + First raised the native lyric muse to glory. + +Assume, revered Melpomene, the proud estate I've won, + And, with thine own dear hand the meed supplying, +Bind thou about the forehead of thy celebrated son + The Delphic laurel-wreath of fame undying! + + + + +AILSIE, MY BAIRN + + +Lie in my arms, Ailsie, my bairn,-- + Lie in my arms and dinna greit; +Long time been past syn I kenned you last, + But my harte been allwais the same, my swete. + +Ailsie, I colde not say you ill, + For out of the mist of your bitter tears, +And the prayers that rise from your bonnie eyes + Cometh a promise of oder yeres. + +I mind the time when we lost our bairn,-- + Do you ken that time? A wambling tot, +You wandered away ane simmer day, + And we hunted and called, and found you not. + +I promised God, if He'd send you back, + Alwaies to keepe and to love you, childe; +And I'm thinking again of that promise when + I see you creep out of the storm sae wild. + +You came back then as you come back now,-- + Your kirtle torn and your face all white; +And you stood outside and knockit and cried, + Just as you, dearie, did to-night. + +Oh, never a word of the cruel wrang, + That has faded your cheek and dimmed your ee; +And never a word of the fause, fause lord,-- + Only a smile and a kiss for me. + +Lie in my arms, as long, long syne, + And sleepe on my bosom, deere wounded thing,-- +I'm nae sae glee as I used to be, + Or I'd sing you the songs I used to sing. + +But Ile kemb my fingers thro' y'r haire, + And nane shall know, but you and I, +Of the love and the faith that came to us baith + When Ailsie, my bairn, came home to die. + + + + +CORNISH LULLABY + + +Out on the mountain over the town, + All night long, all night long, +The trolls go up and the trolls go down, + Bearing their packs and crooning a song; +And this is the song the hill-folk croon, +As they trudge in the light of the misty moon,-- +This is ever their dolorous tune: +"Gold, gold! ever more gold,-- + Bright red gold for dearie!" + +Deep in the hill the yeoman delves + All night long, all night long; +None but the peering, furtive elves + See his toil and hear his song; +Merrily ever the cavern rings +As merrily ever his pick he swings, +And merrily ever this song he sings: +"Gold, gold! ever more gold,-- + Bright red gold for dearie!" + +Mother is rocking thy lowly bed + All night long, all night long, +Happy to smooth thy curly head + And to hold thy hand and to sing her song; +'T is not of the hill-folk, dwarfed and old, +Nor the song of the yeoman, stanch and bold, +And the burden it beareth is not of gold; +But it's "Love, love!--nothing but love,-- + Mother's love for dearie!" + + + + +UHLAND'S "THREE CAVALIERS" + + +There were three cavaliers that went over the Rhine, +And gayly they called to the hostess for wine. +"And where is thy daughter? We would she were here,-- +Go fetch us that maiden to gladden our cheer!" + +"I'll fetch thee thy goblets full foaming," she said, +"But in yon darkened chamber the maiden lies dead." +And lo! as they stood in the doorway, the white +Of a shroud and a dead shrunken face met their sight. + +Then the first cavalier breathed a pitiful sigh, +And the throb of his heart seemed to melt in his eye, +And he cried, "Hadst thou lived, O my pretty white rose, +I ween I had loved thee and wed thee--who knows?" + +The next cavalier drew aside a small space, +And stood to the wall with his hands to his face; +And this was the heart-cry that came with his tears: +"I loved her, I loved her these many long years!" + +But the third cavalier kneeled him down in that place, +And, as it were holy, he kissed that dead face: +"I loved thee long years, and I love thee to-day, +And I'll love thee, dear maiden, forever and aye!" + + + + +A CHAUCERIAN PARAPHRASE OF HORACE + + +Syn that you, Chloe, to your moder sticken, +Maketh all ye yonge bacheloures full sicken; +Like as a lyttel deere you ben y-hiding +Whenas come lovers with theyre pityse chiding; +Sothly it ben faire to give up your moder +For to beare swete company with some oder; +Your moder ben well enow so farre shee goeth, +But that ben not farre enow, God knoweth; +Wherefore it ben sayed that foolysh ladyes +That marrye not shall leade an aype in Hadys; +But all that do with gode men wed full quickylye +When that they be on dead go to ye seints full sickerly. + + + + +NORSE LULLABY + + +The sky is dark and the hills are white +As the storm-king speeds from the north to-night, +And this is the song the storm-king sings, +As over the world his cloak he flings: + "Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep;" +He rustles his wings and gruffly sings: + "Sleep, little one, sleep." + +On yonder mountain-side a vine +Clings at the foot of a mother pine; +The tree bends over the trembling thing, +And only the vine can hear her sing: + "Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep; +What shall you fear when I am here? + Sleep, little one, sleep." + +The king may sing in his bitter flight, +The tree may croon to the vine to-night, +But the little snowflake at my breast +Liketh the song _I_ sing the best,-- + Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep; +Weary thou art, anext my heart + Sleep, little one, sleep. + + + + +BÉRANGER'S "MY LAST SONG PERHAPS" +[JANUARY, 1814] + + +When, to despoil my native France, + With flaming torch and cruel sword +And boisterous drums her foeman comes, + I curse him and his vandal horde! +Yet, what avail accrues to her, + If we assume the garb of woe? +Let's merry be,--in laughter we + May rescue somewhat from the foe! + +Ah, many a brave man trembles now. + I (coward!) show no sign of fear; +When Bacchus sends his blessing, friends, + I drown my panic in his cheer. +Come, gather round my humble board, + And let the sparkling wassail flow,-- +Chuckling to think, the while you drink, + "This much we rescue from the foe!" + +My creditors beset me so + And so environed my abode, +That I agreed, despite my need, + To settle up the debts I owed; +When suddenly there came the news + Of this invasion, as you know; +I'll pay no score; pray, lend me more,-- + I--_I_ will keep it from the foe! + +Now here's my mistress,--pretty dear!-- + Feigns terror at this martial noise, +And yet, methinks, the artful minx + Would like to meet those soldier boys! +I tell her that they're coarse and rude, + Yet feel she don't believe 'em so,-- +Well, never mind; so she be kind, + That much I rescue from the foe! + +If, brothers, hope shall have in store + For us and ours no friendly glance, +Let's rather die than raise a cry + Of welcome to the foes of France! +But, like the swan that dying sings, + Let us, O Frenchmen, singing go,-- +Then shall our cheer, when death is near, + Be so much rescued from the foe! + + + + +MR. DANA, OF THE NEW YORK SUN + + +Thar showed up out'n Denver in the spring uv '81 +A man who'd worked with Dana on the Noo York Sun. +His name wuz Cantell Whoppers, 'nd he wuz a sight ter view +Ez he walked inter the orfice 'nd inquired fer work ter do. +Thar warn't no places vacant then,--fer be it understood, +That wuz the time when talent flourished at that altitood; +But thar the stranger lingered, tellin' Raymond 'nd the rest +Uv what perdigious wonders he could do when at his best, +Till finally he stated (quite by chance) that he hed done +A heap uv work with Dana on the Noo York Sun. + +Wall, that wuz quite another thing; we owned that ary cuss +Who'd worked f'r Mr. Dana _must_ be good enough fer _us_! +And so we tuk the stranger's word 'nd nipped him while we could, +For if _we didn't_ take him we knew John Arkins _would_; +And Cooper, too, wuz mouzin' round fer enterprise 'nd brains, +Whenever them commodities blew in across the plains. +At any rate we nailed him, which made ol' Cooper swear +And Arkins tear out handfuls uv his copious curly hair; +But _we_ set back and cackled, 'nd bed a power uv fun +With our man who'd worked with Dana on the Noo York Sun. + +It made our eyes hang on our cheeks 'nd lower jaws ter drop, +Ter hear that feller tellin' how ol' Dana run his shop: +It seems that Dana wuz the biggest man you ever saw,-- +He lived on human bein's, 'nd preferred to eat 'em raw! +If he hed Democratic drugs ter take, before he took 'em, +As good old allopathic laws prescribe, he allus shook 'em. +The man that could set down 'nd write like Dany never grew, +And the sum of human knowledge wuzn't half what Dana knew; +The consequence appeared to be that nearly every one +Concurred with Mr. Dana of the Noo York Sun. + +This feller, Cantell Whoppers, never brought an item in,-- +He spent his time at Perrin's shakin' poker dice f'r gin. +Whatever the assignment, he wuz allus sure to shirk, +He wuz very long on likker and all-fired short on work! +If any other cuss had played the tricks he dared ter play, +The daisies would be bloomin' over his remains to-day; +But somehow folks respected him and stood him to the last, +Considerin' his superior connections in the past. +So, when he bilked at poker, not a sucker drew a gun +On the man who 'd worked with Dana on the Noo York Sun. + +Wall, Dana came ter Denver in the fall uv '83. +A very different party from the man we thought ter see,-- +A nice 'nd clean old gentleman, so dignerfied 'nd calm, +You bet yer life he never did no human bein' harm! +A certain hearty manner 'nd a fulness uv the vest +Betokened that his sperrits 'nd his victuals wuz the best; +His face wuz so benevolent, his smile so sweet 'nd kind, +That they seemed to be the reflex uv an honest, healthy mind; +And God had set upon his head a crown uv silver hair +In promise uv the golden crown He meaneth him to wear. +So, uv us boys that met him out'n Denver, there wuz none +But fell in love with Dana uv the Noo York Sun. + +But when he came to Denver in that fall uv '83, +His old friend Cantell Whoppers disappeared upon a spree; +The very thought uv seein' Dana worked upon him so +(They hadn't been together fer a year or two, you know), +That he borrered all the stuff he could and started on a bat, +And, strange as it may seem, we didn't see him after that. +So, when ol' Dana hove in sight, we couldn't understand +Why he didn't seem to notice that his crony wa'n't on hand; +No casual allusion, not a question, no, not one, +For the man who'd "worked with Dana on the Noo York Sun!" + +We broke it gently to him, but he didn't seem surprised, +Thar wuz no big burst uv passion as we fellers had surmised. +He said that Whoppers wuz a man he 'd never heerd about, +But he mought have carried papers on a Jarsey City route; +And then he recollected hearin' Mr. Laffan say +That he'd fired a man named Whoppers fur bein' drunk one day, +Which, with more likker _underneath_ than money _in_ his vest, +Had started on a freight-train fur the great 'nd boundin' West, +But further information or statistics he had none +Uv the man who'd "worked with Dana on the Noo York Sun." + +We dropped the matter quietly 'nd never made no fuss,-- +When we get played for suckers, why, that's a horse on us!-- +But every now 'nd then we Denver fellers have to laff +To hear some other paper boast uv havin' on its staff +A man who's "worked with Dana," 'nd then we fellers wink +And pull our hats down on our eyes 'nd set around 'nd think. +It seems like Dana couldn't be as smart as people say, +If he educates so many folks 'nd lets 'em get away; +And, as for us, in future we'll be very apt to shun +The man who "worked with Dana on the Noo York Sun." + +But bless ye, Mr. Dana! may you live a thousan' years, +To sort o' keep things lively in this vale of human tears; +An' may _I_ live a thousan', too,--a thousan' less a day, +For I shouldn't like to be on earth to hear you'd passed away. +And when it comes your time to go you'll need no Latin chaff +Nor biographic data put in your epitaph; +But one straight line of English and of truth will let folks know +The homage 'nd the gratitude 'nd reverence they owe; +You'll need no epitaph but this: "Here sleeps the man who run +That best 'nd brightest paper, the Noo York Sun." + + + + +SICILIAN LULLABY + + +Hush, little one, and fold your hands; + The sun hath set, the moon is high; +The sea is singing to the sands, + And wakeful posies are beguiled +By many a fairy lullaby: + Hush, little child, my little child! + +Dream, little one, and in your dreams + Float upward from this lowly place,-- +Float out on mellow, misty streams + To lands where bideth Mary mild, +And let her kiss thy little face, + You little child, my little child! + +Sleep, little one, and take thy rest, + With angels bending over thee,-- +Sleep sweetly on that Father's breast + Whom our dear Christ hath reconciled; +But stay not there,--come back to me, + O little child, my little child! + + + + +HORACE TO PYRRHA + + +What perfumed, posie-dizened sirrah, + With smiles for diet, +Clasps you, O fair but faithless Pyrrha, + On the quiet? +For whom do you bind up your tresses, + As spun-gold yellow,-- +Meshes that go, with your caresses, + To snare a fellow? + +How will he rail at fate capricious, + And curse you duly! +Yet now he deems your wiles delicious, + _You_ perfect, truly! +Pyrrha, your love's a treacherous ocean; + He'll soon fall in there! +Then shall I gloat on his commotion, + For _I_ have been there! + + + + +THE TWENTY-THIRD PSALM + + +My Shepherd is the Lord my God,-- + There is no want I know; +His flock He leads in verdant meads, + Where tranquil waters flow. + +He doth restore my fainting soul + With His divine caress, +And, when I stray, He points the way + To paths of righteousness. + +Yea, though I walk the vale of death, + What evil shall I fear? +Thy staff and rod are mine, O God, + And Thou, my Shepherd, near! + +Mine enemies behold the feast + Which my dear Lord hath spread; +And, lo! my cup He filleth up, + With oil anoints my head! + +Goodness and mercy shall be mine + Unto my dying day; +Then will I bide at His dear side + Forever and for aye! + + + + +THE BIBLIOMANIAC'S BRIDE + + +The women-folk are like to books,-- + Most pleasing to the eye, +Whereon if anybody looks + He feels disposed to buy. + +I hear that many are for sale,-- + Those that record no dates, +And such editions as regale + The view with colored plates. + +Of every quality and grade + And size they may be found,-- +Quite often beautifully made, + As often poorly bound. + +Now, as for me, had I my choice, + I'd choose no folio tall, +But some octavo to rejoice + My sight and heart withal,-- + +As plump and pudgy as a snipe; + Well worth her weight in gold; +Of honest, clean, conspicuous type, + And _just_ the size to hold! + +With such a volume for my wife + How should I keep and con! +How like a dream should run my life + Unto its colophon! + +Her frontispiece should be more fair + Than any colored plate; +Blooming with health, she would not care + To extra-illustrate. + +And in her pages there should be + A wealth of prose and verse, +With now and then a _jeu d'esprit_,-- + But nothing ever worse! + +Prose for me when I wished for prose, + Verse when to verse inclined,-- +Forever bringing sweet repose + To body, heart, and mind. + +Oh, I should bind this priceless prize + In bindings full and fine, +And keep her where no human eyes + Should see her charms, but mine! + +With such a fair unique as this + What happiness abounds! +Who--who could paint my rapturous bliss, + My joy unknown to Lowndes! + + + + +CHRISTMAS HYMN + + + Sing, Christmas bells! +Say to the earth this is the morn +Whereon our Saviour-King is born; + Sing to all men,--the bond, the free, +The rich, the poor, the high, the low, + The little child that sports in glee, +The aged folk that tottering go,-- + Proclaim the morn + That Christ is born, + That saveth them and saveth me! + + Sing, angel host! +Sing of the star that God has placed +Above the manger in the east; + Sing of the glories of the night, +The virgin's sweet humility, + The Babe with kingly robes bedight, +Sing to all men where'er they be + This Christmas morn; + For Christ is born, + That saveth them and saveth me! + + Sing, sons of earth! +O ransomed seed of Adam, sing! +God liveth, and we have a king! + The curse is gone, the bond are free,-- +By Bethlehem's star that brightly beamed, + By all the heavenly signs that be, +We know that Israel is redeemed; + That on this morn + The Christ is born + That saveth you and saveth me! + + Sing, O my heart! +Sing thou in rapture this dear morn +Whereon the blessed Prince is born! + And as thy songs shall be of love, +So let my deeds be charity,-- + By the dear Lord that reigns above, +By Him that died upon the tree, + By this fair morn + Whereon is born + The Christ that saveth all and me! + + + + +JAPANESE LULLABY + + +Sleep, little pigeon, and fold your wings,-- + Little blue pigeon with velvet eyes; +Sleep to the singing of mother-bird swinging-- + Swinging the nest where her little one lies. + +Away out yonder I see a star,-- + Silvery star with a tinkling song; +To the soft dew falling I hear it calling-- + Calling and tinkling the night along. + +In through the window a moonbeam comes,-- + Little gold moonbeam with misty wings; +All silently creeping, it asks, "Is he sleeping-- + Sleeping and dreaming while mother sings?" + +Up from the sea there floats the sob + Of the waves that are breaking upon the shore, +As though they were groaning in anguish, and moaning-- + Bemoaning the ship that shall come no more. + +But sleep, little pigeon, and fold your wings,-- + Little blue pigeon with mournful eyes; +Am I not singing?--see, I am swinging-- + Swinging the nest where my darling lies. + + + + +"GOOD-BY--GOD BLESS YOU!" + + +I like the Anglo-Saxon speech + With its direct revealings; +It takes a hold, and seems to reach + 'Way down into your feelings; +That some folk deem it rude, I know, + And therefore they abuse it; +But I have never found it so,-- + Before all else I choose it. +I don't object that men should air + The Gallic they have paid for, +With "Au revoir," "Adieu, ma chère," + For that's what French was made for. +But when a crony takes your hand + At parting, to address you, +He drops all foreign lingo and + He says, "Good-by--God bless you!" + +This seems to me a sacred phrase, + With reverence impassioned,-- +A thing come down from righteous days, + Quaintly but nobly fashioned; +It well becomes an honest face, + A voice that's round and cheerful; +It stays the sturdy in his place, + And soothes the weak and fearful. +Into the porches of the ears + It steals with subtle unction, +And in your heart of hearts appears + To work its gracious function; +And all day long with pleasing song + It lingers to caress you,-- +I'm sure no human heart goes wrong + That's told "Good-by--God bless you!" + +I love the words,--perhaps because, + When I was leaving Mother, +Standing at last in solemn pause + We looked at one another, +And I--I saw in Mother's eyes + The love she could not tell me,-- +A love eternal as the skies, + Whatever fate befell me; +She put her arms about my neck + And soothed the pain of leaving, +And though her heart was like to break, + She spoke no word of grieving; +She let no tear bedim her eye, + For fear _that_ might distress me, +But, kissing me, she said good-by, + And asked our God to bless me. + + + + +HORACE TO PHYLLIS + + +Come, Phyllis, I've a cask of wine + That fairly reeks with precious juices, +And in your tresses you shall twine + The loveliest flowers this vale produces. + +My cottage wears a gracious smile,-- + The altar, decked in floral glory, +Yearns for the lamb which bleats the while + As though it pined for honors gory. + +Hither our neighbors nimbly fare,-- + The boys agog, the maidens snickering; +And savory smells possess the air + As skyward kitchen flames are flickering. + +You ask what means this grand display, + This festive throng, and goodly diet? +Well, since you're bound to have your way, + I don't mind telling, on the quiet. + +'Tis April 13, as you know,-- + A day and month devote to Venus, +Whereon was born, some years ago, + My very worthy friend Maecenas. + +Nay, pay no heed to Telephus,-- + Your friends agree he doesn't love you; +The way he flirts convinces us + He really is not worthy of you! + +Aurora's son, unhappy lad! + You know the fate that overtook him? +And Pegasus a rider had-- + I say he _had_ before he shook him! + +Haec docet (as you must agree): + 'T is meet that Phyllis should discover +A wisdom in preferring me + And mittening every other lover. + +So come, O Phyllis, last and best + Of loves with which this heart's been smitten,-- +Come, sing my jealous fears to rest, + And let your songs be those _I've_ written. + + + + +CHRYSTMASSE OF OLDE + + +God rest you, Chrysten gentil men, + Wherever you may be,-- +God rest you all in fielde or hall, + Or on ye stormy sea; +For on this morn oure Chryst is born + That saveth you and me. + +Last night ye shepherds in ye east + Saw many a wondrous thing; +Ye sky last night flamed passing bright + Whiles that ye stars did sing, +And angels came to bless ye name + Of Jesus Chryst, oure Kyng. + +God rest you, Chrysten gentil men, + Faring where'er you may; +In noblesse court do thou no sport, + In tournament no playe, +In paynim lands hold thou thy hands + From bloudy works this daye. + +But thinking on ye gentil Lord + That died upon ye tree, +Let troublings cease and deeds of peace + Abound in Chrystantie; +For on this morn ye Chryst is born + That saveth you and me. + + + + +AT THE DOOR + + +I thought myself indeed secure, + So fast the door, so firm the lock; +But, lo! he toddling comes to lure + My parent ear with timorous knock. + +My heart were stone could it withstand + The sweetness of my baby's plea,-- +That timorous, baby knocking and + "Please let me in,--it's only me." + +I threw aside the unfinished book, + Regardless of its tempting charms, +And opening wide the door, I took + My laughing darling in my arms. + +Who knows but in Eternity, + I, like a truant child, shall wait +The glories of a life to be, + Beyond the Heavenly Father's gate? + +And will that Heavenly Father heed + The truant's supplicating cry, +As at the outer door I plead, + "'T is I, O Father! only I"? + +1886. + + + + +HI-SPY + + +Strange that the city thoroughfare, + Noisy and bustling all the day, +Should with the night renounce its care, + And lend itself to children's play! + +Oh, girls are girls, and boys are boys, + And have been so since Abel's birth, +And shall be so till dolls and toys + Are with the children swept from earth. + +The self-same sport that crowns the day + Of many a Syrian shepherd's son, +Beguiles the little lads at play + By night in stately Babylon. + +I hear their voices in the street, + Yet 't is so different now from then! +Come, brother! from your winding-sheet, + And let us two be boys again! + +1886. + + + + +LITTLE CROODLIN DOO + + +Ho, pretty bee, did you see my croodlin doo? + Ho, little lamb, is she jinkin' on the lea? + Ho, bonnie fairy, bring my dearie back to me-- +Got a lump o' sugar an' a posie for you, +Only bring back my wee, wee croodlin doo! + +Why, here you are, my little croodlin doo! + Looked in er cradle, but didn't find you there, + Looked f'r my wee, wee croodlin doo ever'where; +Ben kind lonesome all er day withouten you; +Where you ben, my little wee, wee croodlin doo? + +Now you go balow, my little croodlin doo; + Now you go rockaby ever so far,-- + Rockaby, rockaby, up to the star +That's winkin' an' blinkin' an' singin' to you +As you go balow, my wee, wee croodlin doo! + + + + +THE "HAPPY ISLES" OF HORACE + + +Oh, come with me to the Happy Isles + In the golden haze off yonder, +Where the song of the sun-kissed breeze beguiles, + And the ocean loves to wander. + +Fragrant the vines that mantle those hills, + Proudly the fig rejoices; +Merrily dance the virgin rills, + Blending their myriad voices. + +Our herds shall fear no evil there, + But peacefully feed and rest them; +Neither shall serpent nor prowling bear + Ever come there to molest them. + +Neither shall Eurus, wanton bold, + Nor feverish drouth distress us, +But he that compasseth heat and cold + Shall temper them both to bless us. + +There no vandal foot has trod, + And the pirate hosts that wander +Shall never profane the sacred sod + Of those beautiful Isles out yonder. + +Never a spell shall blight our vines, + Nor Sirius blaze above us, +But you and I shall drink our wines + And sing to the loved that love us. + +So come with me where Fortune smiles + And the gods invite devotion,-- +Oh, come with me to the Happy Isles + In the haze of that far-off ocean! + + + + +DUTCH LULLABY + + +Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night + Sailed off in a wooden shoe,-- +Sailed on a river of misty light + Into a sea of dew. +"Where are you going, and what do you wish?" + The old moon asked the three. +"We have come to fish for the herring-fish + That live in this beautiful sea; + Nets of silver and gold have we," + Said Wynken, + Blynken, + And Nod. + +The old moon laughed and sung a song, + As they rocked in the wooden shoe; +And the wind that sped them all night long + Ruffled the waves of dew; +The little stars were the herring-fish + That lived in the beautiful sea. +"Now cast your nets wherever you wish, + But never afeard are we!" + So cried the stars to the fishermen three, + Wynken, + Blynken, + And Nod. + +All night long their nets they threw + For the fish in the twinkling foam, +Then down from the sky came the wooden shoe, + Bringing the fishermen home; +'T was all so pretty a sail, it seemed + As if it could not be; +And some folk thought 't was a dream they'd dreamed + Of sailing that beautiful sea; + But I shall name you the fishermen three: + Wynken, + Blynken, + And Nod. + +Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes, + And Nod is a little head, +And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies + Is a wee one's trundle-bed; +So shut your eyes while Mother sings + Of wonderful sights that be, +And you shall see the beautiful things + As you rock on the misty sea + Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three,-- + Wynken, + Blynken, + And Nod. + + + + +HUGO'S "FLOWER TO BUTTERFLY" + + +Sweet, bide with me and let my love + Be an enduring tether; +Oh, wanton not from spot to spot, + But let us dwell together. + +You've come each morn to sip the sweets + With which you found me dripping, +Yet never knew it was not dew + But tears that you were sipping. + +You gambol over honey meads + Where siren bees are humming; +But mine the fate to watch and wait + For my beloved's coming. + +The sunshine that delights you now + Shall fade to darkness gloomy; +You should not fear if, biding here, + You nestled closer to me. + +So rest you, love, and be my love, + That my enraptured blooming +May fill your sight with tender light, + Your wings with sweet perfuming. + +Or, if you will not bide with me + Upon this quiet heather, +Oh, give me wing, thou beauteous thing, + That we may soar together. + + + + +A PROPER TREWE IDYLL OF CAMELOT + + +Whenas ye plaisaunt Aperille shoures have washed and purged awaye +Ye poysons and ye rheums of earth to make a merrie May, +Ye shraddy boscage of ye woods ben full of birds that syng +Right merrilie a madrigal unto ye waking spring, +Ye whiles that when ye face of earth ben washed and wiped ycleane +Her peeping posies blink and stare like they had ben her een; + +Then, wit ye well, ye harte of man ben turned to thoughts of love, +And, tho' it ben a lyon erst, it now ben like a dove! +And many a goodly damosel in innocence beguiles +Her owne trewe love with sweet discourse and divers plaisaunt wiles. +In soche a time ye noblesse liege that ben Kyng Arthure hight +Let cry a joust and tournament for evereche errant knyght, +And, lo! from distant Joyous-garde and eche adjacent spot +A company of noblesse lords fared unto Camelot, +Wherein were mighty feastings and passing merrie cheere, +And eke a deale of dismal dole, as you shall quickly heare. + +It so befell upon a daye when jousts ben had and while +Sir Launcelot did ramp around ye ring in gallaunt style, +There came an horseman shriking sore and rashing wildly home,-- +A mediaeval horseman with ye usual flecks of foame; +And he did brast into ye ring, wherein his horse did drop, +Upon ye which ye rider did with like abruptness stop, +And with fatigue and fearfulness continued in a swound +Ye space of half an hour or more before a leech was founde. +"Now tell me straight," quod Launcelot, "what varlet knyght you be, +Ere that I chine you with my sworde and cleave your harte in three!" +Then rolled that knyght his bloudy een, and answered with a groane,-- +"By worthy God that hath me made and shope ye sun and mone, +There fareth hence an evil thing whose like ben never seene, +And tho' he sayeth nony worde, he bode the ill, I ween. +So take your parting, evereche one, and gird you for ye fraye, +By all that's pure, ye Divell sure doth trend his path this way!" +Ye which he quoth and fell again into a deadly swound, +And on that spot, perchance (God wot), his bones mought yet be founde. + +Then evereche knight girt on his sworde and shield and hied him straight +To meet ye straunger sarasen hard by ye city gate; +Full sorely moaned ye damosels and tore their beautyse haire +For that they feared an hippogriff wolde come to eate them there; +But as they moaned and swounded there too numerous to relate, +Kyng Arthure and Sir Launcelot stode at ye city gate, +And at eche side and round about stode many a noblesse knyght +With helm and speare and sworde and shield and mickle valor dight. + +Anon there came a straunger, but not a gyaunt grim, +Nor yet a draggon,--but a person gangling, long, and slim; +Yclad he was in guise that ill-beseemed those knyghtly days, +And there ben nony etiquette in his uplandish ways; +His raiment was of dusty gray, and perched above his lugs +There ben the very latest style of blacke and shiny pluggs; +His nose ben like a vulture beake, his blie ben swart of hue, +And curly ben ye whiskers through ye which ye zephyrs blewe; +Of all ye een that ben yseene in countries far or nigh, +None nonywhere colde hold compare unto that straunger's eye; +It was an eye of soche a kind as never ben on sleepe, +Nor did it gleam with kindly beame, nor did not use to weepe; +But soche an eye ye widdow hath,--an hongrey eye and wan, +That spyeth for an oder chaunce whereby she may catch on; +An eye that winketh of itself, and sayeth by that winke +Ye which a maiden sholde not knowe nor never even thinke; +Which winke ben more exceeding swift nor human thought ben thunk, +And leaveth doubting if so be that winke ben really wunke; +And soch an eye ye catte-fysshe hath when that he ben on dead +And boyled a goodly time and served with capers on his head; +A rayless eye, a bead-like eye, whose famisht aspect shows +It hungereth for ye verdant banks whereon ye wild time grows; +An eye that hawketh up and down for evereche kind of game, +And, when he doth espy ye which, he tumbleth to ye same. + +Now when he kenned Sir Launcelot in armor clad, he quod, +"Another put-a-nickel-in-and-see-me-work, be god!" +But when that he was ware a man ben standing in that suit, +Ye straunger threw up both his hands, and asked him not to shoote. + +Then spake Kyng Arthure: "If soe be you mind to do no ill, +Come, enter into Camelot, and eat and drink your fill; +But say me first what you are hight, and what mought be your quest." +Ye straunger quod, "I'm five feet ten, and fare me from ye West!" +"Sir Fivefeetten," Kyng Arthure said, "I bid you welcome here; +So make you merrie as you list with plaisaunt wine and cheere; +This very night shall be a feast soche like ben never seene, +And you shall be ye honored guest of Arthure and his queene. +Now take him, good sir Maligraunce, and entertain him well +Until soche time as he becomes our guest, as I you tell." + +That night Kyng Arthure's table round with mighty care ben spread, +Ye oder knyghts sate all about, and Arthure at ye heade: +Oh, 't was a goodly spectacle to ken that noblesse liege +Dispensing hospitality from his commanding siege! +Ye pheasant and ye meate of boare, ye haunch of velvet doe, +Ye canvass hamme he them did serve, and many good things moe. +Until at last Kyng Arthure cried: "Let bring my wassail cup, +And let ye sound of joy go round,--I'm going to set 'em up! +I've pipes of Malmsey, May-wine, sack, metheglon, mead, and sherry, +Canary, Malvoisie, and Port, swete Muscadelle and perry; +Rochelle, Osey, and Romenay, Tyre, Rhenish, posset too, +With kags and pails of foaming ales of brown October brew. +To wine and beer and other cheere I pray you now despatch ye, +And for ensample, wit ye well, sweet sirs, I'm looking at ye!" + +Unto which toast of their liege lord ye oders in ye party +Did lout them low in humble wise and bid ye same drink hearty. +So then ben merrisome discourse and passing plaisaunt cheere, +And Arthure's tales of hippogriffs ben mervaillous to heare; +But stranger far than any tale told of those knyghts of old +Ben those facetious narratives ye Western straunger told. +He told them of a country many leagues beyond ye sea +Where evereche forraine nuisance but ye Chinese man ben free, +And whiles he span his monstrous yarns, ye ladies of ye court +Did deem ye listening thereunto to be right plaisaunt sport; +And whiles they listened, often he did squeeze a lily hande, +Ye which proceeding ne'er before ben done in Arthure's lande; +And often wank a sidelong wink with either roving eye, +Whereat ye ladies laughen so that they had like to die. +But of ye damosels that sat around Kyng Arthure's table +He liked not her that sometime ben ron over by ye cable, +Ye which full evil hap had harmed and marked her person so +That in a passing wittie jest he dubbeth her ye crow. + +But all ye oders of ye girls did please him passing well +And they did own him for to be a proper seeming swell; +And in especial Guinevere esteemed him wondrous faire, +Which had made Arthure and his friend, Sir Launcelot, to sware +But that they both ben so far gone with posset, wine, and beer, +They colde not see ye carrying-on, nor neither colde not heare; +For of eche liquor Arthure quafft, and so did all ye rest, +Save only and excepting that smooth straunger from the West. +When as these oders drank a toast, he let them have their fun +With divers godless mixings, but _he_ stock to willow run, +Ye which (and all that reade these words sholde profit by ye warning) +Doth never make ye head to feel like it ben swelled next morning. +Now, wit ye well, it so befell that when the night grew dim, +Ye Kyng was carried from ye hall with a howling jag on him, +Whiles Launcelot and all ye rest that to his highness toadied +Withdrew them from ye banquet-hall and sought their couches loaded. + +Now, lithe and listen, lordings all, whiles I do call it shame +That, making cheer with wine and beer, men do abuse ye same; +Though eche be well enow alone, ye mixing of ye two +Ben soche a piece of foolishness as only ejiots do. +Ye wine is plaisaunt bibbing whenas ye gentles dine, +And beer will do if one hath not ye wherewithal for wine, +But in ye drinking of ye same ye wise are never floored +By taking what ye tipplers call too big a jag on board. +Right hejeous is it for to see soche dronkonness of wine +Whereby some men are used to make themselves to be like swine; +And sorely it repenteth them, for when they wake next day +Ye fearful paynes they suffer ben soche as none mought say, +And soche ye brenning in ye throat and brasting of ye head +And soche ye taste within ye mouth like one had been on dead,--Soche +be ye foul conditions that these unhappy men +Sware they will never drink no drop of nony drinke again. +Yet all so frail and vain a thing and weak withal is man +That he goeth on an oder tear whenever that he can. +And like ye evil quatern or ye hills that skirt ye skies, +Ye jag is reproductive and jags on jags arise. + +Whenas Aurora from ye east in dewy splendor hied +King Arthure dreemed he saw a snaix and ben on fire inside, +And waking from this hejeous dreeme he sate him up in bed,-- +"What, ho! an absynthe cocktail, knave! and make it strong!" he said; +Then, looking down beside him, lo! his lady was not there-- +He called, he searched, but, Goddis wounds! he found her nonywhere; +And whiles he searched, Sir Maligraunce rashed in, wood wroth, and cried, +"Methinketh that ye straunger knyght hath snuck away my bride!" +And whiles _he_ spake a motley score of other knyghts brast in +And filled ye royall chamber with a mickle fearfull din, +For evereche one had lost his wiffe nor colde not spye ye same, +Nor colde not spye ye straunger knyght, Sir Fivefeetten of name. + +Oh, then and there was grevious lamentation all arounde, +For nony dame nor damosel in Camelot ben found,-- +Gone, like ye forest leaves that speed afore ye autumn wind. +Of all ye ladies of that court not one ben left behind +Save only that same damosel ye straunger called ye crow, +And she allowed with moche regret she ben too lame to go; +And when that she had wept full sore, to Arthure she confess'd +That Guinevere had left this word for Arthure and ye rest: +"Tell them," she quod, "we shall return to them whenas we've made +This little deal we have with ye Chicago Bourde of Trade." + + + + +BÉRANGER'S "MA VOCATION" + + +Misery is my lot, + Poverty and pain; +Ill was I begot, + Ill must I remain; +Yet the wretched days + One sweet comfort bring, +When God whispering says, + "Sing, O singer, sing!" + +Chariots rumble by, + Splashing me with mud; +Insolence see I + Fawn to royal blood; +Solace have I then + From each galling sting +In that voice again,-- + "Sing, O singer, sing!" + +Cowardly at heart, + I am forced to play +A degraded part + For its paltry pay; +Freedom is a prize + For no starving thing; +Yet that small voice cries, + "Sing, O singer, sing!" + +I _was_ young, but now, + When I'm old and gray, +Love--I know not how + Or why--hath sped away; +Still, in winter days + As in hours of spring, +_Still_ a whisper says, + "Sing, O singer, sing!" + +Ah, too well I know + Song's my only friend! +Patiently I'll go + Singing to the end; +Comrades, to your wine! + Let your glasses ring! +Lo, that voice divine + Whispers, "Sing, oh, sing!" + + + + +CHILD AND MOTHER + + +O mother-my-love, if you'll give me your hand, + And go where I ask you to wander, +I will lead you away to a beautiful land,-- + The Dreamland that's waiting out yonder. +We'll walk in a sweet posie-garden out there, + Where moonlight and starlight are streaming, +And the flowers and the birds are filling the air + With the fragrance and music of dreaming. + +There'll be no little tired-out boy to undress, + No questions or cares to perplex you, +There'll be no little bruises or bumps to caress, + Nor patching of stockings to vex you; +For I'll rock you away on a silver-dew stream + And sing you asleep when you're weary, +And no one shall know of our beautiful dream + But you and your own little dearie. + +And when I am tired I'll nestle my head + In the bosom that's soothed me so often, +And the wide-awake stars shall sing, in my stead, + A song which our dreaming shall soften. +So, Mother-my-Love, let me take your dear hand, + And away through the starlight we'll wander,-- +Away through the mist to the beautiful land,-- + The Dreamland that's waiting out yonder. + + + + +THE CONVERSAZZHYONY + + +What conversazzhyonies wuz I really did not know, +For that, you must remember, wuz a powerful spell ago; +The camp wuz new 'nd noisy, 'nd only modrit sized, +So fashionable sossiety wuz hardly crystallized. +There hadn't been no grand events to interest the men, +But a lynchin', or a inquest, or a jackpot now an' then. +The wimmin-folks wuz mighty scarce, for wimmin, ez a rool, +Don't go to Colorado much, excep' for teachin' school, +An' bein' scarce an' chipper and pretty (like as not), +The bachelors perpose, 'nd air accepted on the spot. + +Now Sorry Tom wuz owner uv the Gosh-all-Hemlock mine, +The wich allowed his better haff to dress all-fired fine; +For Sorry Tom wuz mighty proud uv her, an' she uv him, +Though _she_ wuz short an' tacky, an' _he_ wuz tall an' slim, +An' _she_ wuz edjicated, an' Sorry Tom wuz _not_, +Yet, for _her_ sake, he'd whack up every cussid cent he'd got! +Waal, jest by way uv celebratin' matrimonial joys, +She thought she'd give a conversazzhyony to the boys,-- +A peert an' likely lady, 'nd ez full uv 'cute idees +'Nd uv etiquettish notions ez a fyste is full uv fleas. + +Three-fingered Hoover kind uv kicked, an' said they might be durned +So far ez any conversazzhyony was concerned; +_He'd_ come to Red Hoss Mountain to tunnel for the ore, +An' _not_ to go to parties,--quite another kind uv bore! +But, bein' he wuz candidate for marshal uv the camp, +I rayther had the upper holts in arguin' with the scamp; +Sez I, "Three-fingered Hoover, can't ye see it is yer game +To go for all the votes ye kin an' collar uv the same?" +The wich perceivin', Hoover sez, "Waal, ef I _must_, I _must_; +So I'll frequent that conversazzhyony, ef I bust!" + +Three-fingered Hoover wuz a trump! Ez fine a man wuz he +Ez ever caused an inquest or blossomed on a tree!-- +A big, broad man, whose face bespoke a honest heart within,-- +With a bunch uv yaller whiskers appertainin' to his chin, +'Nd a fierce mustache turnt up so fur that both his ears wuz hid, +Like the picture that you always see in the "Life uv Cap'n Kidd." +His hair wuz long an' wavy an' fine as Southdown fleece,-- +Oh, it shone an' smelt like Eden when he slicked it down with grease! +I'll bet there wuzn't anywhere a man, all round, ez fine +Ez wuz Three-fingered Hoover in the spring uv '69! + +The conversazzhyony wuz a notable affair, +The bong tong deckolett 'nd en regaly bein' there; +The ranch where Sorry Tom hung out wuz fitted up immense,-- +The Denver papers called it a "palashal residence." +There wuz mountain pines an' fern an' flowers a-hangin' on the walls, +An' cheers an' hoss-hair sofies wuz a-settin' in the halls; +An' there wuz heaps uv pictures uv folks that lived down East, +Sech ez poets an' perfessers, an' last, but not the least, +Wuz a chromo uv old Fremont,--we liked that best, you bet, +For there's lots uv us old miners that is votin' for him yet! + +When Sorry Tom received the gang perlitely at the door, +He said that keerds would be allowed upon the second floor; +And then he asked us would we like a drop uv ody vee. +Connivin' at his meanin', we responded promptly, "Wee." +A conversazzhyony is a thing where people speak +The langwidge in the which they air partickulerly weak: +"I see," sez Sorry Tom, "you grasp what that 'ere lingo means." +"You bet yer boots," sez Hoover; "I've lived at Noo Orleens, +An', though I ain't no Frenchie, nor kin unto the same, +I kin parly voo, an' git there, too, like Eli, toot lee mame!" + +As speakin' French wuz not my forte,--not even oovry poo,-- +I stuck to keerds ez played by them ez did not parly voo, +An' bein' how that poker wuz my most perficient game, +I poneyed up for 20 blues an' set into the same. +Three-fingered Hoover stayed behind an' parly-vood so well +That all the kramy delly krame allowed he wuz _the_ belle. +The other candidate for marshal didn't have a show; +For, while Three-fingered Hoover parlyed, ez they said, tray bow, +Bill Goslin didn't know enough uv French to git along, +'Nd I reckon that he had what folks might call a movy tong. + +From Denver they had freighted up a real pianny-fort +Uv the warty-leg and pearl-around-the-keys-an'-kivver sort, +An', later in the evenin', Perfesser Vere de Blaw +Performed on that pianny, with considerble eclaw, +Sech high-toned opry airs ez one is apt to hear, you know, +When he rounds up down to Denver at a Emmy Abbitt show; +An' Barber Jim (a talented but ornery galoot) +Discoursed a obligatter, conny mory, on the floot, +'Till we, ez sot up-stairs indulgin' in a quiet game, +Conveyed to Barber Jim our wish to compromise the same. + +The maynoo that wuz spread that night wuz mighty hard to beat,-- +Though somewhat awkward to pernounce, it was not so to eat: +There wuz puddin's, pies, an' sandwidges, an' forty kinds uv sass, +An' floatin' Irelands, custards, tarts, an' patty dee foy grass; +An' millions uv cove oysters wuz a-settin' round in pans, +'Nd other native fruits an' things that grow out West in cans. +But I wuz all kufflummuxed when Hoover said he'd choose +"Oon peety morso, see voo play, de la cette Charlotte Rooze;" +I'd knowed Three-fingered Hoover for fifteen years or more, +'Nd I'd never heern him speak so light uv wimmin folks before! + +Bill Goslin heern him say it, 'nd uv course _he_ spread the news +Uv how Three-fingered Hoover had insulted Charlotte Rooze +At the conversazzhyony down at Sorry Tom's that night, +An' when they asked me, I allowed that Bill for once wuz right; +Although it broke my heart to see my friend go up the fluke, +We all opined his treatment uv the girl deserved rebuke. +It warn't no use for Sorry Tom to nail it for a lie,-- +When it come to sassin' wimmin, there wuz blood in every eye; +The boom for Charlotte Rooze swep' on an' took the polls by storm, +An' so Three-fingered Hoover fell a martyr to reform! + +Three-fingered Hoover said it was a terrible mistake, +An' when the votes wuz in, he cried ez if his heart would break. +We never knew who Charlotte wuz, but Goslin's brother Dick +Allowed she wuz the teacher from the camp on Roarin' Crick, +That had come to pass some foreign tongue with them uv our alite +Ez wuz at the high-toned party down at Sorry Tom's that night. +We let it drop--this matter uv the lady--there an' then, +An' we never heerd, nor wanted to, of Charlotte Rooze again, +An' the Colorado wimmin-folks, ez like ez not, don't know +How we vindicated all their sex a twenty year ago. + +For in these wondrous twenty years has come a mighty change, +An' most of them old pioneers have gone acrosst the range, +Way out into the silver land beyond the peaks uv snow,-- +The land uv rest an' sunshine, where all good miners go. +I reckon that they love to look, from out the silver haze, +Upon that God's own country where they spent sech happy days; +Upon the noble cities that have risen since they went; +Upon the camps an' ranches that are prosperous and content; +An' best uv all, upon those hills that reach into the air, +Ez if to clasp the loved ones that are waitin' over there. + + + + +PROF. VERE DE BLAW + + +Achievin' sech distinction with his moddel tabble dote +Ez to make his Red Hoss Mountain restauraw a place uv note, +Our old friend Casey innovated somewhat round the place, +In hopes he would ameliorate the sufferin's uv the race; +'Nd uv the many features Casey managed to import +The most important wuz a Steenway gran' pianny-fort, +An' bein' there wuz nobody could play upon the same, +He telegraffed to Denver, 'nd a real perfesser came,-- +The last an' crownin' glory uv the Casey restauraw +Wuz that tenderfoot musicianer, Perfesser Vere de Blaw! + +His hair wuz long an' dishybill, an' he had a yaller skin, +An' the absence uv a collar made his neck look powerful thin: +A sorry man he wuz to see, az mebby you'd surmise, +But the fire uv inspiration wuz a-blazin' in his eyes! +His name wuz Blanc, wich same is Blaw (for that's what Casey said, +An' Casey passed the French ez well ez any Frenchie bred); +But no one ever reckoned that it really wuz his name, +An' no one ever asked him how or why or whence he came,-- +Your ancient history is a thing the Coloradan hates, +An' no one asks another what his name wuz in the States! + +At evenin', when the work wuz done, an' the miners rounded up +At Casey's, to indulge in keerds or linger with the cup, +Or dally with the tabble dote in all its native glory, +Perfessor Vere de Blaw discoursed his music repertory +Upon the Steenway gran' piannyfort, the wich wuz sot +In the hallway near the kitchen (a warm but quiet spot), +An' when De Blaw's environments induced the proper pride,-- +Wich gen'rally wuz whiskey straight, with seltzer on the side,-- +He throwed his soulful bein' into opry airs 'nd things +Wich bounded to the ceilin' like he'd mesmerized the strings. + +Oh, you that live in cities where the gran' piannies grow, +An' primy donnies round up, it's little that you know +Uv the hungerin' an' the yearnin' wich us miners an' the rest +Feel for the songs we used to hear before we moved out West. +Yes, memory is a pleasant thing, but it weakens mighty quick; +It kind uv dries an' withers, like the windin' mountain crick, +That, beautiful, an' singin' songs, goes dancin' to the plains, +So long ez it is fed by snows an' watered by the rains; +But, uv that grace uv lovin' rains 'nd mountain snows bereft, +Its bleachin' rocks, like dummy ghosts, is all its memory left. + +The toons wich the perfesser would perform with sech eclaw +Would melt the toughest mountain gentleman I ever saw,-- +Sech touchin' opry music ez the Trovytory sort, +The sollum "Mizer Reery," an' the thrillin' "Keely Mort;" +Or, sometimes, from "Lee Grond Dooshess" a trifle he would play, +Or morsoze from a' opry boof, to drive dull care away; +Or, feelin' kind uv serious, he'd discourse somewhat in C,-- +The wich he called a' opus (whatever that may be); +But the toons that fetched the likker from the critics in the crowd +Wuz _not_ the high-toned ones, Perfesser Vere de Blaw allowed. + +'T wuz "Dearest May," an' "Bonnie Doon," an' the ballard uv "Ben Bolt," +Ez wuz regarded by all odds ez Vere de Blaw's best holt; +Then there wuz "Darlin' Nellie Gray," an' "Settin' on the Stile," +An' "Seein' Nellie Home," an' "Nancy Lee," 'nd "Annie Lisle," +An' "Silver Threads among the Gold," an' "The Gal that Winked at Me," +An' "Gentle Annie," "Nancy Till," an' "The Cot beside the Sea." +Your opry airs is good enough for them ez likes to pay +Their money for the truck ez can't be got no other way; +But opry to a miner is a thin an' holler thing,--The +music that he pines for is the songs he used to sing. + +One evenin' down at Casey's De Blaw wuz at his best, +With four-fingers uv old Wilier-run concealed beneath his vest; +The boys wuz settin' all around, discussin' folks an' things, +'Nd I had drawed the necessary keerds to fill on kings; +Three-fingered Hoover kind uv leaned acrosst the bar to say +If Casey'd liquidate right off, _he'd_ liquidate next day; +A sperrit uv contentment wuz a-broodin' all around +(Onlike the other sperrits wich in restauraws abound), +When, suddenly, we heerd from yonder kitchen-entry rise +A toon each ornery galoot appeared to recognize. + +Perfesser Vere de Blaw for once eschewed his opry ways, +An' the remnants uv his mind went back to earlier, happier days, +An' grappled like an' wrassled with a' old familiar air +The wich we all uv us had heern, ez you have, everywhere! +Stock still we stopped,--some in their talk uv politics an' things, +I in my unobtrusive attempt to fill on kings, +'Nd Hoover leanin' on the bar, an' Casey at the till,-- +We all stopped short an' held our breaths (ez a feller sometimes will), +An' sot there more like bumps on logs than healthy, husky men, +Ez the memories uv that old, old toon come sneakin' back again. + +You've guessed it? No, you hav n't; for it wuzn't that there song +Uv the home we'd been away from an' had hankered for so long,-- +No, sir; it wuzn't "Home, Sweet Home," though it's always heard around +Sech neighborhoods in wich the home that _is_ "sweet home" is found. +And, ez for me, I seemed to see the past come back again, +And hear the deep-drawed sigh my sister Lucy uttered when +Her mother asked her if she 'd practised her two hours that day, +Wich, if she hadn't, she must go an' do it right away! +The homestead in the States 'nd all its memories seemed to come +A-floatin' round about me with that magic lumty-tum. + +And then uprose a stranger wich had struck the camp that night; +His eyes wuz sot an' fireless, 'nd his face wuz spookish white, +'Nd he sez: "Oh, how I suffer there is nobody kin say, +Onless, like me, he's wrenched himself from home an' friends away +To seek surcease from sorrer in a fur, seclooded spot, +Only to find--alars, too late!--the wich surcease is not! +Only to find that there air things that, somehow, seem to live +For nothin' in the world but jest the misery they give! +I've travelled eighteen hundred miles, but that toon has got here first; +I'm done,--I'm blowed,--I welcome death, an' bid it do its worst!" + +Then, like a man whose mind wuz sot on yieldin' to his fate, +He waltzed up to the counter an' demanded whiskey straight, +Wich havin' got outside uv,--both the likker and the door,-- +We never seen that stranger in the bloom uv health no more! +But some months later, what the birds had left uv him wuz found +Associated with a tree, some distance from the ground; +And Husky Sam, the coroner, that set upon him, said +That two things wuz apparent, namely: first, deceast wuz dead; +And, second, previously had got involved beyond all hope +In a knotty complication with a yard or two uv rope! + + + + +MEDIAEVAL EVENTIDE SONG + + +Come hither, lyttel childe, and lie upon my breast to-night, +For yonder fares an angell yclad in raimaunt white, +And yonder sings ye angell as onely angells may, +And his songe ben of a garden that bloometh farre awaye. + +To them that have no lyttel childe Godde sometimes sendeth down +A lyttel childe that ben a lyttel lambkyn of his owne; +And if so bee they love that childe, He willeth it to staye, +But elsewise, in His mercie He taketh it awaye. + +And sometimes, though they love it, Godde yearneth for ye childe, +And sendeth angells singing, whereby it ben beguiled; +They fold their arms about ye lamb that croodleth at his play, +And beare him to ye garden that bloometh farre awaye. + +I wolde not lose ye lyttel lamb that Godde hath lent to me; +If I colde sing that angell songe, how joysome I sholde bee! +For, with mine arms about him, and my musick in his eare, +What angell songe of paradize soever sholde I feare? + +Soe come, my lyttel childe, and lie upon my breast to-night, +For yonder fares an angell yclad in raimaunt white, +And yonder sings that angell, as onely angells may, +And his songe ben of a garden that bloometh farre awaye. + + + + +MARTHY'S YOUNKIT + + +The mountain brook sung lonesomelike, and loitered on its way +Ez if it waited for a child to jine it in its play; +The wild-flowers uv the hillside bent down their heads to hear +The music uv the little feet that had somehow grown so dear; +The magpies, like winged shadders, wuz a-flutterin' to an' fro +Among the rocks an' holler stumps in the ragged gulch below; +The pines an' hemlocks tosst their boughs (like they wuz arms) and made +Soft, sollum music on the slope where he had often played; +But for these lonesome, sollum voices on the mountain-side, +There wuz no sound the summer day that Marthy's younkit died. + +We called him Marthy's younkit, for Marthy wuz the name +Uv her ez wuz his mar, the wife uv Sorry Tom,--the same +Ez taught the school-house on the hill, way back in '69, +When she marr'd Sorry Tom, wich owned the Gosh-all-Hemlock mine! +And Marthy's younkit wuz their first, wich, bein' how it meant +The first on Red Hoss Mountain, wuz truly a' event! +The miners sawed off short on work ez soon ez they got word +That Dock Devine allowed to Casey what had just occurred; +We loaded up an' whooped around until we all wuz hoarse +Salutin' the arrival, wich weighed ten pounds, uv course! + +Three years, and sech a pretty child!--his mother's counterpart! +Three years, an' sech a holt ez he had got on every heart! +A peert an' likely little tyke with hair ez red ez gold, +A-laughin', toddlin' everywhere,--'nd only three years old! +Up yonder, sometimes, to the store, an' sometimes down the hill +He kited (boys is boys, you know,--you couldn't keep him still!) +An' there he'd play beside the brook where purpul wild-flowers grew, +An' the mountain pines an' hemlocks a kindly shadder threw, +An' sung soft, sollum toons to him, while in the gulch below +The magpies, like strange sperrits, went flutterin' to an' fro. + +Three years, an' then the fever come,--it wuzn't right, you know, +With all us old ones in the camp, for that little child to go; +It's right the old should die, but that a harmless little child +Should miss the joy uv life an' love,--that can't be reconciled! +That's what we thought that summer day, an' that is what we said +Ez we looked upon the piteous face uv Marthy's younkit dead. +But for his mother's sobbin', the house wuz very still, +An' Sorry Tom wuz lookin', through the winder, down the hill, +To the patch beneath the hemlocks where his darlin' used to play, +An' the mountain brook sung lonesomelike an' loitered on its way. + +A preacher come from Roarin' Crick to comfort 'em an' pray, +'Nd all the camp wuz present at the obsequies next day; +A female teacher staged it twenty miles to sing a hymn, +An' we jined her in the chorus,--big, husky men an' grim +Sung "Jesus, Lover uv my Soul," an' then the preacher prayed, +An' preacht a sermon on the death uv that fair blossom laid +Among them other flowers he loved,--wich sermon set sech weight +On sinners bein' always heeled against the future state, +That, though it had been fashionable to swear a perfec' streak, +There warn't no swearin' in the camp for pretty nigh a week! + +Last thing uv all, four strappin' men took up the little load +An' bore it tenderly along the windin', rocky road, +To where the coroner had dug a grave beside the brook, +In sight uv Marthy's winder, where the same could set an' look +An' wonder if his cradle in that green patch, long an' wide, +Wuz ez soothin' ez the cradle that wuz empty at her side; +An' wonder if the mournful songs the pines wuz singin' then +Wuz ez tender ez the lullabies she'd never sing again, +'Nd if the bosom of the earth in wich he lay at rest +Wuz half ez lovin' 'nd ez warm ez wuz his mother's breast. + +The camp is gone; but Red Hoss Mountain rears its kindly head, +An' looks down, sort uv tenderly, upon its cherished dead; +'Nd I reckon that, through all the years, that little boy wich died +Sleeps sweetly an' contentedly upon the mountain-side; +That the wild-flowers uv the summer-time bend down their heads to hear +The footfall uv a little friend they know not slumbers near; +That the magpies on the sollum rocks strange flutterin' shadders make, +An' the pines an' hemlocks wonder that the sleeper doesn't wake; +That the mountain brook sings lonesomelike an' loiters on its way +Ez if it waited for a child to jine it in its play. + + + + +IN FLANDERS + + +Through sleet and fogs to the saline bogs + Where the herring fish meanders, +An army sped, and then, 't is said, + Swore terribly in Flanders: + "--------!" + "--------!" +A hideous store of oaths they swore, + Did the army over in Flanders! + +At this distant day we're unable to say + What so aroused their danders; +But it's doubtless the case, to their lasting disgrace, + That the army swore in Flanders: + "--------!" + "--------!" +And many more such oaths they swore, + Did that impious horde in Flanders! + +Some folks contend that these oaths without end + Began among the commanders, +That, taking this cue, the subordinates, too, + Swore terribly in Flanders: + Twas "------------!" + "--------" + +Why, the air was blue with the hullaballoo + Of those wicked men in Flanders! + +But some suppose that the trouble arose + With a certain Corporal Sanders, +Who sought to abuse the wooden shoes + That the natives wore in Flanders. + Saying: "--------!" + "--------" + +What marvel then, that the other men + Felt encouraged to swear in Flanders! +At any rate, as I grieve to state, + Since these soldiers vented their danders +Conjectures obtain that for language profane + There is no such place as Flanders. + "--------" + "--------" + +This is the kind of talk you'll find + If ever you go to Flanders. +How wretched is he, wherever he be, + That unto this habit panders! +And how glad am I that my interests lie + In Chicago, and not in Flanders! + "----------------!" + "----------------!" + +Would never go down in this circumspect town +However it might in Flanders. + + + + +OUR BIGGEST FISH + + +When in the halcyon days of old, I was a little tyke, +I used to fish in pickerel ponds for minnows and the like; +And oh, the bitter sadness with which my soul was fraught +When I rambled home at nightfall with the puny string I'd caught! +And, oh, the indignation and the valor I'd display +When I claimed that all the biggest fish I'd caught had got away! + +Sometimes it was the rusty hooks, sometimes the fragile lines, +And many times the treacherous reeds would foil my just designs; +But whether hooks or lines or reeds were actually to blame, +I kept right on at losing all the monsters just the same-- +I never lost a _little_ fish--yes, I am free to say +It always was the _biggest_ fish I caught that got away. + +And so it was, when later on, I felt ambition pass +From callow minnow joys to nobler greed for pike and bass; +I found it quite convenient, when the beauties wouldn't bite +And I returned all bootless from the watery chase at night, +To feign a cheery aspect and recount in accents gay +How the biggest fish that I had caught had somehow got away. + +And really, fish look bigger than they are before they are before they're + caught-- +When the pole is bent into a bow and the slender line is taut, +When a fellow feels his heart rise up like a doughnut in his throat +And he lunges in a frenzy up and down the leaky boat! +Oh, you who've been a-fishing will indorse me when I say +That it always _is_ the biggest fish you catch that gets away! + +'T 'is even so in other things--yes, in our greedy eyes +The biggest boon is some elusive, never-captured prize; +We angle for the honors and the sweets of human life-- +Like fishermen we brave the seas that roll in endless strife; + +And then at last, when all is done and we are spent and gray, +We own the biggest fish we've caught are those that got away. + +I would not have it otherwise; 't is better there should be +Much bigger fish than I have caught a-swimming in the sea; +For now some worthier one than I may angle for that game-- +May by his arts entice, entrap, and comprehend the same; +Which, having done, perchance he'll bless the man who's proud to say +That the biggest fish he ever caught were those that got away. + + + + +THIRTY-NINE + + +O hapless day! O wretched day! + I hoped you'd pass me by-- +Alas, the years have sneaked away + And all is changed but I! +Had I the power, I would remand + You to a gloom condign, +But here you've crept upon me and + I--I am thirty-nine! + +Now, were I thirty-five, I could + Assume a flippant guise; +Or, were I forty years, I should + Undoubtedly look wise; +For forty years are said to bring + Sedateness superfine; +But thirty-nine don't mean a thing-- + _À bas_ with thirty-nine! + +You healthy, hulking girls and boys,-- + What makes you grow so fast? +Oh, I'll survive your lusty noise-- + I'm tough and bound to last! +No, no--I'm old and withered too-- + I feel my powers decline +(Yet none believes this can be true + Of one at thirty-nine). + +And you, dear girl with velvet eyes, + I wonder what you mean +Through all our keen anxieties + By keeping sweet sixteen. +With your dear love to warm my heart, + Wretch were I to repine; +I was but jesting at the start-- + I'm glad I'm thirty-nine! + +So, little children, roar and race + As blithely as you can, +And, sweetheart, let your tender grace + Exalt the Day and Man; +For then these factors (I'll engage) + All subtly shall combine +To make both juvenile and sage + The one who's thirty-nine! + +Yes, after all, I'm free to say + I would much rather be +Standing as I do stand to-day, + 'Twixt devil and deep sea; +For though my face be dark with care + Or with a grimace shine, +Each haply falls unto my share, + For I am thirty-nine! + +'Tis passing meet to make good cheer + And lord it like a king, +Since only once we catch the year + That doesn't mean a thing. +O happy day! O gracious day! + I pledge thee in this wine-- +Come, let us journey on our way + A year, good Thirty-Nine! + +Sept. 2, 1889. + + + + +YVYTOT + + +_Where wail the waters in their flaw +A spectre wanders to and fro, + And evermore that ghostly shore +Bemoans the heir of Yvytot_. + +_Sometimes, when, like a fleecy pall, +The mists upon the waters fall, + Across the main float shadows twain +That do not heed the spectre's call_. + +The king his son of Yvytot +Stood once and saw the waters go + Boiling around with hissing sound +The sullen phantom rocks below. + +And suddenly he saw a face +Lift from that black and seething place-- + Lift up and gaze in mute amaze +And tenderly a little space, + +A mighty cry of love made he-- +No answering word to him gave she, + But looked, and then sunk back again +Into the dark and depthless sea. + +And ever afterward that face, +That he beheld such little space, + Like wraith would rise within his eyes +And in his heart find biding place. + +So oft from castle hall he crept +Where mid the rocks grim shadows slept, + And where the mist reached down and kissed +The waters as they wailed and wept. + +The king it was of Yvytot +That vaunted, many years ago, + There was no coast his valiant host +Had not subdued with spear and bow. + +For once to him the sea-king cried: +"In safety all thy ships shall ride + An thou but swear thy princely heir +Shall take my daughter to his bride. + +"And lo, these winds that rove the sea +Unto our pact shall witness be, + And of the oath which binds us both +Shall be the judge 'twixt me and thee!" + +Then swore the king of Yvytot +Unto the sea-king years ago, + And with great cheer for many a year +His ships went harrying to and fro. + +Unto this mighty king his throne +Was born a prince, and one alone-- + Fairer than he in form and blee +And knightly grace was never known. + +But once he saw a maiden face +Lift from a haunted ocean place-- + Lift up and gaze in mute amaze +And tenderly a little space. + +Wroth was the king of Yvytot, +For that his son would never go + Sailing the sea, but liefer be +Where wailed the waters in their flow, + +Where winds in clamorous anger swept, +Where to and fro grim shadows crept, + And where the mist reached down and kissed +The waters as they wailed and wept. + +So sped the years, till came a day +The haughty king was old and gray, + And in his hold were spoils untold +That he had wrenched from Norroway. + +Then once again the sea-king cried: +"Thy ships have harried far and wide; + My part is done--now let thy son +Require my daughter to his bride!" + +Loud laughed the king of Yvytot, +And by his soul he bade him no-- + "I heed no more what oath I swore, +For I was mad to bargain so!" + +Then spake the sea-king in his wrath: +"Thy ships lie broken in my path! + Go now and wring thy hands, false king! +Nor ship nor heir thy kingdom hath! + +"And thou shalt wander evermore +All up and down this ghostly shore, + And call in vain upon the twain +That keep what oath a dastard swore!" + +The king his son of Yvytot +Stood even then where to and fro + The breakers swelled--and there beheld +A maiden face lift from below. + +"Be thou or truth or dream," he cried, +"Or spirit of the restless tide, + It booteth not to me, God wot! +But I would have thee to my bride." + +Then spake the maiden: "Come with me +Unto a palace in the sea, + For there my sire in kingly ire +Requires thy king his oath of thee!" + +Gayly he fared him down the sands +And took the maiden's outstretched hands; + And so went they upon their way +To do the sea-king his commands. + +The winds went riding to and fro +And scourged the waves that crouched below, + And bade them sing to a childless king +The bridal song of Yvytot. + +So fell the curse upon that shore, +And hopeless wailing evermore + Was the righteous dole of the craven soul +That heeded not what oath he swore. + +An hundred ships went down that day +All off the coast of Norroway, + And the ruthless sea made mighty glee +Over the spoil that drifting lay. + +The winds went calling far and wide +To the dead that tossed in the mocking tide: + "Come forth, ye slaves! from your fleeting graves +And drink a health to your prince his bride!" + +_Where wail the waters in their flow +A spectre wanders to and fro, + But nevermore that ghostly shore +Shall claim the heir of Yvytot_. + +_Sometimes, when, like a fleecy pall, +The mists upon the waters fall, + Across the main flit shadows twain +That do not heed the spectre's call_. + + + + +LONG AGO + + +I once knew all the birds that came + And nested in our orchard trees; +For every flower I had a name-- + My friends were woodchucks, toads, and bees; +I knew where thrived in yonder glen + What plants would soothe a stone-bruised toe-- +Oh, I was very learned then; + But that was very long ago! + +I knew the spot upon the hill + Where checkerberries could be found, +I knew the rushes near the mill + Where pickerel lay that weighed a pound! +I knew the wood,--the very tree + Where lived the poaching, saucy crow, +And all the woods and crows knew me-- + But that was very long ago. + +And pining for the joys of youth, + I tread the old familiar spot +Only to learn this solemn truth: + I have forgotten, am forgot. +Yet here's this youngster at my knee + Knows all the things I used to know; +To think I once was wise as he-- + But that was very long ago. + +I know it's folly to complain + Of whatsoe'er the Fates decree; +Yet were not wishes all in vain, + I tell you what my wish should be: +I'd wish to be a boy again, + Back with the friends I used to know; +For I was, oh! so happy then-- + But that was very long ago! + + + + +TO A SOUBRETTE + + +'Tis years, soubrette, since last we met; + And yet--ah, yet, how swift and tender +My thoughts go back in time's dull track + To you, sweet pink of female gender! +I shall not say--though others may-- + That time all human joy enhances; +But the same old thrill comes to me still + With memories of your songs and dances. + +Soubrettish ways these latter days + Invite my praise, but never get it; +I still am true to yours and you-- + My record's made, I'll not upset it! +The pranks they play, the things they say-- + I'd blush to put the like on paper, +And I'll avow they don't know how + To dance, so awkwardly they caper! + +I used to sit down in the pit + And see you flit like elf or fairy +Across the stage, and I'll engage + No moonbeam sprite was half so airy; +Lo, everywhere about me there + Were rivals reeking with pomatum, +And if, perchance, they caught your glance + In song or dance, how did I hate 'em! + +At half-past ten came rapture--then + Of all those men was I most happy, +For bottled beer and royal cheer + And têtes-à-têtes were on the tapis. +Do you forget, my fair soubrette, + Those suppers at the Cafe Rector,-- +The cosey nook where we partook + Of sweeter cheer than fabled nectar? + +Oh, happy days, when youth's wild ways + Knew every phase of harmless folly! +Oh, blissful nights, whose fierce delights + Defied gaunt-featured Melancholy! +Gone are they all beyond recall, + And I--a shade, a mere reflection-- +Am forced to feed my spirit's greed + Upon the husks of retrospection! + +And lo! to-night, the phantom light, + That, as a sprite, flits on the fender, +Reveals a face whose girlish grace + Brings back the feeling, warm and tender; +And, all the while, the old-time smile + Plays on my visage, grim and wrinkled,-- +As though, soubrette, your footfalls yet + Upon my rusty heart-strings tinkled! + + + + +SOME TIME + + +Last night, my darling, as you slept, + I thought I heard you sigh, +And to your little crib I crept, + And watched a space thereby; +And then I stooped and kissed your brow, + For oh! I love you so-- +You are too young to know it now, + But some time you shall know! + +Some time when, in a darkened place + Where others come to weep, +Your eyes shall look upon a face + Calm in eternal sleep, +The voiceless lips, the wrinkled brow, + The patient smile shall show-- +You are too young to know it now, + But some time you may know! + +Look backward, then, into the years, + And see me here to-night-- +See, O my darling! how my tears + Are falling as I write; +And feel once more upon your brow + The kiss of long ago-- +You are too young to know it now, + But some time you shall know. + + + + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's A Little Book of Western Verse, by Eugene Field + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A LITTLE BOOK OF WESTERN VERSE *** + +***** This file should be named 9606-8.txt or 9606-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/9/6/0/9606/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland and Project Gutenberg +Distributed Proofreaders + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/9606-8.zip b/9606-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..57ba361 --- /dev/null +++ b/9606-8.zip diff --git a/9606.txt b/9606.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e5edba6 --- /dev/null +++ b/9606.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4912 @@ +Project Gutenberg's A Little Book of Western Verse, by Eugene Field + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Little Book of Western Verse + +Author: Eugene Field + +Posting Date: November 25, 2011 [EBook #9606] +Release Date: January, 2006 +First Posted: October 9, 2003 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A LITTLE BOOK OF WESTERN VERSE *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland and Project Gutenberg +Distributed Proofreaders + + + + + + + + + + + + +A LITTLE BOOK OF WESTERN VERSE + +by Eugene Field + +1889 + + + + + + + +TO MARY FIELD FRENCH + + + +A dying mother gave to you + Her child a many years ago; +How in your gracious love he grew, + You know, dear, patient heart, you know. + +The mother's child you fostered then + Salutes you now and bids you take +These little children of his pen + And love them for the author's sake. + +To you I dedicate this book, + And, as you read it line by line, +Upon its faults as kindly look + As you have always looked on mine. + +Tardy the offering is and weak;-- + Yet were I happy if I knew +These children had the power to speak + My love and gratitude to you. + +E. F. + + + + +Go, little book, and if an one would speak +thee ill, let him bethink him that thou art +the child of one who loves thee well. + + + + + +EUGENE FIELD + +A MEMORY + + +When those we love have passed away; when from our lives something has +gone out; when with each successive day we miss the presence that has +become a part of ourselves, and struggle against the realization that +it is with us no more, we begin to live in the past and thank God for +the gracious boon of memory. Few of us there are who, having advanced +to middle life, have not come to look back on the travelled road of +human existence in thought of those who journeyed awhile with us, a +part of all our hopes and joyousness, the sharers of all our ambitions +and our pleasures, whose mission has been fulfilled and who have left +us with the mile-stones of years still seeming to stretch out on the +path ahead. It is then that memory comes with its soothing influence, +telling us of the happiness that was ours and comforting us with the +ever recurring thought of the pleasures of that travelled road. For it +is happiness to walk and talk with a brother for forty years, and it is +happiness to know that the surety of that brother's affection, the +knowledge of the greatness of his heart and the nobility of his mind, +are not for one memory alone but may be publicly attested for +admiration and emulation. That it has fallen to me to speak to the +world of my brother as I knew him I rejoice. I do not fear that, +speaking as a brother, I shall crowd the laurel wreaths upon him, for +to this extent he lies in peace already honored; but if I can show him +to the world, not as a poet but as a man,--if I may lead men to see +more of that goodness, sweetness, and gentleness that were in him, I +shall the more bless the memory that has survived. + +My brother was born in St. Louis in 1850. Whether the exact day was +September 2 or September 3 was a question over which he was given to +speculation, more particularly in later years, when he was accustomed to +discuss it frequently and with much earnest ness. In his youth the +anniversary was generally held to be September 2, perhaps the result of +a half-humorous remark by my father that Oliver Cromwell had died +September 3, and he could not reconcile this date to the thought that it +was an important anniversary to one of his children. Many years after, +when my uncle, Charles Kellogg Field, of Vermont, published the +genealogy of the Field family, the original date, September 3, was +restored, and from that time my brother accepted it, although with each +recurring anniversary the controversy was gravely renewed, much to the +amusement of the family and always to his own perplexity. In November, +1856, my mother died, and, at the breaking up of the family in St. +Louis, my brother and myself, the last of six children, were taken to +Amherst, Massachusetts, by our cousin, Miss Mary F. French, who took +upon herself the care and responsibility of our bringing up. How nobly +and self-sacrificingly she entered upon and discharged those duties my +brother gladly testified in the beautiful dedication of his first +published poems, "A Little Book of Western Verse," wherein he honored +the "gracious love" in which he grew, and bade her look as kindly on the +faults of his pen as she had always looked on his own. For a few years +my brother attended a private school for boys in Amherst; then, at the +age of fourteen, he was intrusted to the care of Rev. James Tufts, of +Monson, one of those noble instructors of the blessed old school who are +passing away from the arena of education in America. By Mr. Tufts he was +fitted for college, and from the enthusiasm of this old scholar he +caught perhaps the inspiration for the love of the classics which he +carried through life. In the fall of 1868 he entered Williams +College--the choice was largely accidental--and remained there one year. +My father died in the summer of 1869, and my brother chose as his +guardian Professor John William Burgess, now of Columbia University, New +York City. When Professor Burgess, later in the summer, accepted a call +to Knox College, Galesburg, Illinois, my brother accompanied him and +entered that institution, but the restlessness which was so +characteristic of him in youth asserted itself after another year and +he joined me, then in my junior year at the University of Missouri, at +Columbia. It was at this institution that he finished his education so +far as it related to prescribed study. + +Shortly after attaining his majority he went to Europe, remaining six +months in France and Italy. From this European trip have sprung the +absurd stories which have represented him as squandering thousands of +dollars in the pursuit of pleasure. Unquestionably he had the not +unnatural extravagance which accompanies youth and a most generous +disposition, for he was lavish and open-handed all through life to an +unusual degree, but at no time was he particularly given to wild +excesses, and the fact that my father's estate, which was largely +realty, had shrunk perceptibly during the panic days of 1873 was enough +to make him soon reach the limit of even moderate extravagance. At the +same time many good stories have been told illustrative of his contempt +for money, and it is eminently characteristic of his lack of the +Puritan regard for small things that one day he approached my father's +executor, Hon. M. L. Gray, of St. Louis, with a request for +seventy-five dollars. + +"But," objected this cautious and excellent man, "I gave you +seventy-five dollars only yesterday, Eugene. What did you do with that?" + +"Oh," replied my brother, with an impatient and scornful toss of the +head, "I believe I bought some postage stamps." + +Before going to Europe he had met Miss Julia Sutherland Comstock, of St. +Joseph, Missouri, the sister of a college friend, and the attachment +which was formed led to their marriage in October, 1873. Much of his +tenderest and sweetest verse was inspired by love for the woman who +became his wife, and the dedication to the "Second Book of Verse" is +hardly surpassed for depth of affection and daintiness of sentiment, +while "Lover's Lane, St. Jo.," is the very essence of loyalty, love, and +reminiscential ardor. At the time of his marriage my brother realized +the importance of going to work in earnest, and shortly before the +appointment of the wedding-day he entered upon the active duties of +journalism, which he never relinquished during life. These duties, with +the exception of the year he passed in Europe with his family in +1889-90, were confined to the West. He began as a paragrapher in St. +Louis, quickly achieving somewhat more than a merely local reputation. +For a time he was in St. Joseph, and for eighteen months following +January 1880 he lived in Kansas City, removing thence to Denver. In 1883 +he came to Chicago at the solicitation of Melville E. Stone, then editor +of the Chicago Daily News, retaining his connection with the News and +its offspring, the Record, until his death. Thus hastily have been +skimmed over the bare outlines of his life. + +The formative period of my brother's youth was passed in New England, +and to the influences which still prevail in and around her peaceful +hills and gentle streams, the influences of a sturdy stock which has +sent so many good and brave men to the West for the upbuilding of the +country and the upholding of what is best in Puritan tradition, he +gladly acknowledged he owed much that was strong and enduring. While he +gloried in the West and remained loyal to the section which gave him +birth, and in which he chose to cast his lot, he was not the less proud +of his New England blood and not the less conscious of the benefits of a +New England training. His boyhood was similar to that of other boys +brought up with the best surroundings in a Massachusetts village, where +the college atmosphere prevailed. He had his boyish pleasures and his +trials, his share of that queer mixture of nineteenth-century +worldliness and almost austere Puritanism which is yet characteristic of +many New England families. The Sabbath was a veritable day of judgment, +and in later years he spoke humorously of the terrors of those all-day +sessions in church and Sunday-school, though he never failed to +acknowledge the benefits he had derived from an enforced study of the +Bible. "If I could be grateful to New England for nothing else," he +would say, "I should bless her forevermore for pounding me with the +Bible and the spelling-book." And in proof of the earnestness of this +declaration he spent many hours in Boston a year or two ago, trying to +find "one of those spellers that temporarily made me lose my faith in +the system of the universe." + +It is easy at this day to look back three decades and note the +characteristics which appeared trivial enough then, but which, clinging +to him and developing, had a marked effect on his manhood and on the +direction of his talents. As a boy his fondness for pets amounted to a +passion, but unlike other boys he seemed to carry his pets into a higher +sphere and to give them personality. For each pet, whether dog, cat, +bird, goat, or squirrel--he had the family distrust of a horse--he not +only had a name, but it was his delight to fancy that each possessed a +peculiar dialect of human speech, and each he addressed in the humorous +manner conceived. He ignored the names in common use for domestic +animals and chose or invented those more pleasing to his exuberant +fancy. This conceit was always with him, and years afterward, when his +children took the place of his boyish pets, he gratified his whim for +strange names by ignoring those designated at the baptismal font and +substituting freakish titles of his own riotous fancy. Indeed it must +have been a tax on his imaginative powers. When in childhood he was +conducting a poultry annex to the homestead, each chicken was properly +instructed to respond to a peculiar call, and Finnikin, Minnikin, +Winnikin, Dump, Poog, Boog, seemed to recognize immediately the queer +intonations of their master with an intelligence that is not usually +accorded to chickens. With this love for animal life was developed also +that tenderness of heart which was so manifest in my brother's daily +actions. One day--he was then a good-sized boy--he came into the house, +and throwing himself on the sofa, sobbed for half an hour. One of the +chickens hatched the day before had been crushed under his foot as he +was walking in the chicken-house, and no murderer could have felt more +keenly the pangs of remorse. The other boys looked on curiously at this +exhibition of feeling, and it was indeed an unusual outburst. But it was +strongly characteristic of him through life, and nothing would so excite +his anger as cruelty to an animal, while every neglected, friendless +dog or persecuted cat always found in him a champion and a friend. + +In illustration of this humane instinct it is recalled that a few weeks +before he died a lady visiting the house found his room swarming with +flies. In response to her exclamation of astonishment he explained that +a day or two before he had seen a poor, half-frozen fly on the +window-pane outside, and he had been moved by a kindly impulse to open +the window and admit her. "And this," he added, "is what I get for it. +That ungrateful creature is, as you perceive, the grandmother of eight +thousand nine hundred and seventy-six flies!" + +That the birds that flew about his house in Buena Park knew his voice +has been demonstrated more than once. He would keep bread crumbs +scattered along the window-sill for the benefit, as he explained, of +the blue jays and the robins who were not in their usual robust health +or were too overcome by the heat to make customary exertion. If the +jays were particularly noisy he would go into the yard and expostulate +with them in a tone of friendly reproach, whereupon, the family +affirms, they would apparently apologize and fly away. Once he +maintained at considerable expense a thoroughly hopeless and useless +donkey, and it was his custom, when returning from the office at any +hour of the night, to go into the back yard and say "Poor old Don" in a +bass voice that carried a block away, whereupon old Don would lift up +his own voice with a melancholy bray of welcome that would shake the +windows and start the neighbors from their slumbers. Old Don is passing +his declining years in an "Old Kentucky home," and the robins and the +blue jays as they return with the spring will look in vain for the +friend who fed them at the window. + +The family dog at Amherst, which was immortalized many years later with +"The Bench-Legged Fyce," and which was known in his day to hundreds of +students at the college on account of his surpassing lack of beauty, +rejoiced originally in the honest name of Fido, but my brother rejected +this name as commonplace and unworthy, and straightway named him +"Dooley" on the presumption that there was something Hibernian in his +face. It was to Dooley that he wrote his first poem, a parody on "O Had +I Wings Like a Dove," a song then in great vogue. Near the head of the +village street was the home of the Emersons, a large frame house, now +standing for more than a century, and in the great yard in front stood +the magnificent elms which are the glory of the Connecticut valley. Many +times the boys, returning from school, would linger to cool off in the +shade of these glorious trees, and it was on one of these occasions that +my brother put into the mouth of Dooley his maiden effort in verse: + + O had I wings like a dove I would fly, + Away from this world of fleas; + I'd fly all round Miss Emerson's yard, + And light on Miss Emerson's trees. + +Even this startling parody, which was regarded by the boys as a +veritable stroke of genius, failed to impress the adult villagers with +the conviction that a poet was budding. Yet how much of quiet humor and +lively imagination is betrayed by these four lines. How easy it is now +to look back at the small boy and picture him sympathizing with his +little friend tormented by the heat and the pests of his kind, and +making him sigh for the rest that seemed to lurk in the rustling leaves +of the stately elms. Perhaps it was not astonishing poetry even for a +child, but was there not something in the fancy, the sentiment, and the +rhythm which bespoke far more than ordinary appreciation? Is it not this +same quality of alert and instinctive sympathy which has run through +Eugene Field's writings and touched the spring of popular affection? + +Dooley went to the dog heaven many years ago. Finnikin and Poog and Boog +and the scores of boyhood friends that followed them have passed to +their Pythagorean reward; but the boy who first found in them the +delight of companionship and the kindlings of imagination retained all +the youthful impulses which made him for nearly half a century the lover +of animal life and the gentle singer of the faithful and the good. + +Comradeship was the indispensable factor in my brother's life. It was +strong in his youth; it grew to be an imperative necessity in later +years. In the theory that it is sometimes good to be alone he had +little or no faith. Even when he was at work in his study, when it was +almost essential to thought that he should be undisturbed, he was never +quite content unless aware of the presence of human beings near at +hand, as betrayed by their voices. It is customary to think of a poet +wandering off in the great solitudes, standing alone in contemplation +of the wonderful work of nature, on the cliffs overlooking the ocean, +in the paths of the forest or on the mountain side. My brother was not +of this order. That he was primarily and essentially a poet of humanity +and not of nature does not argue that he was insensible to natural +beauty or natural grandeur. Nobody could have been more keenly +susceptible to the influences of nature in their temperamental effect, +and perhaps this may explain that he did not love nature the less but +that he prized companionship more. If nature pleased him he longed for +a friend to share his pleasure; if it appalled him he turned from it +with repugnance and fear. + +Throughout his writings may be found the most earnest appreciation of +the joyousness and loveliness of a beautiful landscape, but as he would +share it intellectually with his readers so it was a necessity that he +could not seek it alone as an actuality. In his boyhood, in the full +glory of a perfect day, he loved to ramble through the woods and +meadows, and delighted in the azure tints of the far-away Berkshire +hills; and later in life he was keen to notice and admire the soft +harmonies of landscape, but with a change in weather or with the +approach of a storm the poet would be lost in the timidity and distrust +of a child. + +Companionship with him meant cheerfulness. His horror of gloom and +darkness was almost morbid. From the tragedies of life he instinctively +shrank, and large as was his sympathy, and generous and genuine his +affection, he was often prompted to run from suffering and to betray +what must have been a constitutional terror of distress. He did not +hesitate to acknowledge this characteristic, and sought to atone for it +by writing the most tender and touching lines to those to whom he +believed he owed a gift of comfort and strength. His private letters to +friends in adversity or bereavement were beautiful in their simplicity +and honest and outspoken love, for he was not ashamed to let his friends +see how much he thought of them. And even if the emotional quality, +which asserts itself in the nervous and artistic temperament, made him +realize that he could not trust himself, that same quality gave him a +personality marvelous in its magnetism. Both as boy and man he made +friends everywhere, and that he retained them to the last speaks for the +whole-heartedness and genuineness of his nature. + +To two weaknesses he frankly confessed: that he was inclined to be +superstitious and that he was afraid of the dark. One of these he +stoutly defended, asserting that he who was not fearful in the dark was +a dull clod, utterly devoid of imagination. From his earliest childhood +my brother was a devourer of fairy tales, and he continually stored his +mind with fantastic legends, which found a vent in new shapes in his +verses and prose tales. In the ceiling of one of his dens a trap-door +led into the attic, and as this door was open he seriously contemplated +closing it, because, as he said, he fancied that queer things would come +down in the night and spirit him away. It is not to be inferred that he +thus remained in a condition of actual fear, but it is true that he was +imaginative to the degree of acute nervousness, and, like a child, +associated light with safety and darkness with the uncanny and the +supernatural. It was after all the better for his songs that it was so, +else they might not have been filled with that cheery optimism which +praised the happiness of sunlight and warmth, and sought to lift +humanity from the darkness of despondency. + +This weakness, or intellectual virtue as he pleasantly regarded it, was +perhaps rather stronger in him as a man than in his boyhood. He has +himself declared that he wrote "Seein' Things at Night" more to solace +his own feelings than to delineate the sufferings of childhood, however +aptly it may describe them. And when he put into rhythm that "any color, +so long as it's red, is the color that suits me best," he spoke not only +as a poet but as a man, for red conveyed to him the idea of warmth and +cheeriness, and seemed to express to him in color his temperamental +demand. All through his life he pandered to these feelings instead of +seeking to repress them, for to this extent there was little of the +Puritan in his nature, and as he believed that happiness comes largely +from within, so he felt that it is not un-Christian philosophy to avoid +as far as possible whatever may cloud and render less acceptable one's +own existence. + +The literary talent of my brother is not easily traceable to either +branch of the family. In fact it was tacitly accepted that he would be a +lawyer as his father and grandfather had been before him, but the +futility of this arrangement was soon manifest, and surely no man less +temperamentally equipped for the law ever lived. It has been said of the +Fields, speaking generally of the New England division, that they were +well adapted to be either musicians or actors, though the talent for +music or mimicry has been in no case carried out of private life save in +my brother's public readings. Eugene had more than a boy's share of +musical talent, but he never cultivated it, preferring to use the fine +voice with which he was endowed for recitation, of which he was always +fond. Acting was his strongest boyish passion. Even as a child he was a +wonderful mimic and thereby the delight of his playmates and the terror +of his teachers. He organized a stock company among the small boys of +the village and gave performances in the barn of one of the less +scrupulous neighbors, but whether for pins or pennies memory does not +suggest. He assigned the parts and always reserved for himself the +eccentric character and the low comedy, caring nothing for the heroic or +the sentimental. One of the plays performed was Lester Wallack's +"Rosedale" with Eugene in the dual role of the low comedian and the +heavy villain. At this time also he delighted in monologues, imitations +of eccentric types, or what Mr. Sol. Smith Russell calls "comics," a +word which always amused Eugene and which he frequently used. This +fondness for parlor readings and private theatricals he carried through +college, remaining steadfast to the "comics" until a few years ago, +when he began to give public readings, and discovered that he was +capable of higher and more effective work. It was in fact his +versatility that made him the most accomplished and the most popular +author-entertainer in America. Before he went into journalism the more +sedate of his family connections were in constant fear lest he should +adopt the profession of the actor, and he held it over them as a +good-natured threat. On one occasion, failing to get a coveted +appropriation from the executor of the estate, he said calmly to the +worthy man: "Very well. I must have money for my living expenses. If you +cannot advance it to me out of the estate I shall be compelled to go on +the stage. But as I cannot keep my own name I have decided to assume +yours, and shall have lithographs struck off at once. They will read, +'Tonight, M. L. Gray, Banjo and Specialty Artist.'" The appropriation +was immediately forthcoming. + +It is in no sense depreciatory of my brother's attainments in life to +say that he gave no evidence of precocity in his studies in childhood. +On the contrary he was somewhat slow in development, though this was due +not so much to a lack of natural ability--he learned easily and quickly +when so disposed--as to a fondness for the hundred diversions which +occupy a wide-awake boy's time. He possessed a marked talent for +caricature, and not a small part of the study hours was devoted to +amusing pictures of his teachers, his playmates, and his pets. This +habit of drawing, which was wholly without instruction, he always +preserved, and it was his honest opinion, even at the height of his +success in authorship, that he would have been much greater as a +caricaturist than as a writer. Until he was thirty years of age he wrote +a fair-sized legible hand, but about that time he adopted the +microscopic penmanship which has been so widely reproduced, using for +the purpose very fine-pointed pens. With his manuscript he took the +greatest pains, often going to infinite trouble to illuminate his +letters. Among his friends these letters are held as curiosities of +literature, hardly more for the quaint sentiments expressed than for the +queer designs in colored inks which embellished them. He was specially +fond of drawing weird elves and gnomes, and would spend an hour or two +decorating with these comical figures a letter he had written in ten +minutes. He was as fastidious with the manuscript for the office as if +it had been a specimen copy for exhibition, and it was always understood +that his manuscript should be returned to him after it had passed +through the printers' hands. In this way all the original copies of his +stories and poems have been preserved, and those which he did not give +to friends as souvenirs have been bound for his children. + +A taste for literary composition might not have passed, as doubtless it +did pass, so many years unnoticed, had he been deficient in other +talents, and had he devoted himself exclusively to writing. But as a boy +he was fond, though in a less degree than many boys, of athletic sports, +and his youthful desire for theatrical entertainments, pen caricaturing, +and dallying with his pets took up much of his time. Yet he often gave +way to a fondness for composition, and there is in the family +possession a sermon which he wrote before he was ten years of age, in +which he showed the results of those arduous Sabbath days in the old +Congregational meeting-house. And at one time, when yet very young, he +was at the head of a flourishing boys' paper, while at another, fresh +from the inspiration of a blood-curdling romance in a New York Weekly, +he prepared a series of tales of adventure which, unhappily, have not +been preserved. In his college days he was one of the associate editors +of the university magazine, and while at that time he had no serious +thought of devoting his life to literature, his talents in that +direction were freely confessed. From my father, whose studious habits +in life had made him not only eminent at the bar but profoundly +conversant with general literature, he had inherited a taste for +reading, and it was this omnivorous passion for books that led my +brother to say that his education had only begun when he fancied that it +had left off. In boyhood he contracted that fascinating but highly +injurious habit of reading in bed, which he subsequently extolled with +great fervor; and as he grew older the habit increased upon him until +he was obliged to admit that he could not enjoy literature unless he +took it horizontally. If a friend expostulated with him, advising him to +give up tobacco, reading in bed, and late hours, he said: "And what have +we left in life if we give up all our bad habits?" + +That the poetic instinct was always strong within him there has never +been room to question, but, perhaps, for the reasons before assigned, it +was tardy in making its way outward. For years his mind lay fallow and +receptive, awaiting the occasion which should develop the true +inspiration of the poet. He was accustomed to speak of himself, and too +modestly, as merely a versifier, but his own experience should have +contradicted this estimate, for his first efforts at verse were +singularly halting in mechanical construction, and he was well past his +twenty-fifth year before he gave to the world any verse worthy the name. +What might be called the "curse of comedy" was on him, and it was not +until he threw off that yoke and gave expression to the better and the +sweeter thoughts within him that, as with Bion, "the voice of song +flowed freely from the heart." It seems strange that a man who became a +master of the art of mechanism in verse should have been deficient in +this particular at a period comparatively late, but it merely +illustrates the theory of gradual development and marks the phases of +life through which, with his character of many sides, he was compelled +to pass. He was nearly thirty when he wrote "Christmas Treasures," the +first poem he deemed worthy, and very properly, of preservation, and the +publication of this tender commemoration of the death of a child opened +the springs of sentiment and love for childhood destined never to run +dry while life endured. + +In journalism he became immediately successful, not so much for +adaptability to the treadmill of that calling as for the brightness and +distinctive character of his writing. He easily established a reputation +as a humorist, and while he fairly deserved the title he often regretted +that he could not entirely shake it off. His powers of perception were +phenomenally keen, and he detected the peculiarities of people with +whom he was thrown in contact almost at a glance, while his gift of +mimicry was such that after a minute's interview he could burlesque the +victim to the life, even emphasizing the small details which had been +apparently too minute to attract the special notice of those who were +acquaintances of years' standing. This faculty he carried into his +writing, and it proved immensely valuable, for, with his quick +appreciation of the ludicrous and his power of delineating personal +peculiarities his sketches were remarkable for their resemblances even +when he was indulging apparently in the wildest flights of imagination. +It is to be regretted that much of his newspaper work, covering a period +of twenty years, was necessarily so full of purely local color that its +brilliancy could not be generally appreciated. For it is as if an artist +had painted a wondrous picture, clever enough in the general view, but +full of a significance hidden to the world. + +Equally facile was he in the way of adaptation. He could write a hoax +worthy of Poe, and one of his humors of imagination was sufficiently +subtle and successful to excite comment in Europe and America, and to +call for an explanation and denial from a distinguished Englishman. He +lived in Denver only a few weeks when he was writing verse in miners' +dialect which has been rightly placed at the head of that style of +composition. No matter where he wandered, he speedily became imbued with +the spirit of his surroundings, and his quickly and accurately gathered +impressions found vent in his pen, whether he was in "St. Martin's Lane" +in London, with "Mynheer Von Der Bloom" in Amsterdam, or on the +"Schnellest Zug" from Hanover to Leipzig. + +At the time of my brother's arrival in Chicago, in 1883--he was then in +his thirty-fourth year--he had performed an immense amount of newspaper +work, but had done little or nothing of permanent value or with any real +literary significance. But despite the fact that he had lived up to that +time in the smaller cities he had a large number of acquaintances and a +certain following in the journalistic and artistic world, of which from +the very moment of his entrance into journalism he never had been +deprived. His immense fund of good humor, his powers as a story-teller, +his admirable equipment as an entertainer, and the wholehearted way with +which he threw himself into life and the pleasures of living attracted +men to him and kept him the centre of the multitude that prized his +fascinating companionship. His fellows in journalism furthermore had +been quick to recognize his talents, and no man was more widely +"copied," as the technical expression goes. His early years in Chicago +did not differ materially from those of the previous decade, but the +enlarged scope gave greater play to his fancy and more opportunity for +his talents as a master of satire. The publication of "The Denver +Primer" and "Culture's Garland," while adding to his reputation as a +humorist, happily did not satisfy him. He was now past the age of +thirty-five, and a great psychical revolution was coming on. Though +still on the sunny side of middle life, he was wearying of the cup of +pleasure he had drunk so joyously, and was drawing away from the +multitude and toward the companionship of those who loved books and +bookish things, and who could sympathize with him in the aspirations for +the better work, the consciousness of which had dawned. It was now that +he began to apply himself diligently to the preparation for higher +effort, and it is to the credit of journalism, which has so many sins to +answer for, that in this he was encouraged beyond the usual fate of men +who become slaves to that calling. And yet, though from this time he was +privileged to be regarded one of the sweetest singers in American +literature, and incomparably the noblest bard of childhood, though the +grind of journalism was measurably taken from him, he chafed under the +conviction that he was condemned to mingle the prosaic and the practical +with the fanciful and the ideal, and that, having given hostages to +fortune, he must conform even in a measure to the requirements of a +position too lucrative to be cast aside. From this time also his +physical condition, which never had been robust, began to show the +effects of sedentary life, but the warning of a long siege of nervous +dyspepsia was suffered to pass unheeded, and for five or six years he +labored prodigiously, his mind expanding and his intellect growing more +brilliant as the vital powers decayed. + +It would seem that with the awakening of the consciousness of the better +powers within him, with the realization that he was destined for a place +in literature, my brother felt a quasi remorse for the years he fancied +he had wasted. He was too severe with himself to understand that his +comparative tardiness in arriving at the earnest, thoughtful stage of +lifework was the inexorable law of gradual development which must govern +the career of a man of his temperament, with his exuberant vitality and +his showy talents. It was a serious mistake, but it was not the less a +noble one. And now also the influences of home crept a little closer +into his heart. His family life had not been without its tragedies of +bereavement, and the death of his oldest boy in Germany had drawn him +even nearer to the children who were growing up around him. + +Much of his tenderest verse was inspired by affection for his family, +and as some great shock is often essential to the revolution in a +buoyant nature, so it seemed to require the oft-recurring tragedies of +life to draw from him all that was noblest and sweetest in his +sympathetic soul. Had the angel of death never hovered over the crib in +my brother's home, had he never known the pangs and the heart-hunger +which come when the little voice is stilled and the little chair is +empty, he could not have written the lines which voice the great cry of +humanity and the hope of reunion in immortality beyond the grave. + +The flood of appeals for platform readings from cities and towns in all +parts of the United States came too late for his physical strength and +his ambition. Earlier in life he would have delighted in this form of +travel and entertainment, but his nature had wonderfully changed, and, +strong as were the financial inducements, he was loath to leave his +family and circle of intimate friends, and the home he had just +acquired. All of the time which he allotted for recreation he devoted +to working around his grounds, in arranging and rearranging his large +library, and in the disposition of his curios. For years he had been an +indefatigable collector, and he took a boyish pleasure not only in his +souvenirs of long journeys and distinguished men and women, but in the +queer toys and trinkets of children which seemed to give him inspiration +for much that was effective in childhood verse. To the careless observer +the immense array of weird dolls and absurd toys in his working-room +meant little more than an idiosyncratic passion for the anomalous, but +those who were near to him knew what a connecting link they were between +him and the little children of whom he wrote, and how each trumpet and +drum, each "spinster doll," each little toy dog, each little tin +soldier, played its part in the poems he sent out into the world. No +writer ever made more persistent and consistent use of the material by +which he was surrounded, or put a higher literary value on the little +things which go to make up the sum of human existence. + +Of the spiritual development of my brother much might be said in +conviction and in tenderness. He was not a man who discussed religion +freely; he was associated with no religious denomination, and he +professed no creed beyond the brotherhood of mankind and the infinitude +of God's love and mercy. In childhood he had been reared in much of the +austerity of the Puritan doctrine of the relation of this life to the +hereafter, and much of the hardness and severity of Christianity, as +still interpreted in many parts of New England, was forced upon him. As +is not unusual in such cases, he rebelled against this conception of +God and God's day, even while he confessed the intellectual advantages +he had reaped from frequent compulsory communion with the Bible, and he +many times declared that his children should not be brought up to +regard religion and the Sabbath as a bugbear. What evolution was going +on in his mind at the turning point in his life who can say? Who shall +look into the silent soul of the poet and see the hope and confidence +and joy that have come from out the chaos of strife and doubt? Yet who +can read the verses, telling over and over the beautiful story of +Bethlehem, the glory of the Christ-child and the comfort that comes +from the Teacher, and doubt that in those moments he walked in the +light of the love of God? + +It is true that no man living in a Christian nation who is stirred by +poetic instinct can fail to recognize and pay homage to that story of +wonderful sweetness, the coming of the Christ-child for the redemption +of the world. It is true that in commemoration the poet may speak while +the man within is silent. But it is hardly true that he whose generous +soul responded to every principle of Christ, the Teacher, pleading for +humanity, would sing over and over that tender song of love and +sacrifice as a mere poetic inspiration. As he slept my brother's soul +was called. Who shall say that it was not summoned by that same angel +song that awakened "Little Boy Blue"? Who shall doubt that the smile of +supreme peace and rest which lingered on his face after that noble +spirit had departed spoke for the victory he had won, for the hope and +belief that had been justified, and for the happiness he had gained? + +To have been with my brother in the last year of his life, to have +seen the sweetening of a character already lovable to an unusual +degree, to know now that in his unconscious preparation for the life +beyond he was drawing closer to those he loved and who loved him, this +is the tenderest memory, the most precious heritage. Not to have seen +him in that year is never to realize the full beauty of his nature, the +complete development of his nobler self, the perfect abandonment of all +that might have been ungenerous and intemperate in one even less +conscious of the weakness of mortality. He would say when chided for +public expression of kind words to those not wholly deserving, that he +had felt the sting of harshness and ungraciousness, and never again +would he use his power to inflict suffering or wound the feelings of +man or child. Who is there to wonder, then, that the love of all went +out to him, and that the other triumphs of his life were as nothing in +comparison with the grasp he maintained on popular affection? The day +after his death a lady was purchasing flowers to send in sympathy for +the mourning family, when she was approached by a poorly-clad little +girl who timidly asked what she was going to do with so many roses. +When she replied that she intended sending them to Mr. Field, the +little one said that she wanted so much to send Mr. Field a rose, +adding pathetically that she had no money. Deeply touched by the +child's sorrowful earnestness the lady picked out a yellow rose and +gave it to her, and when the coffin was lowered to the grave a wealth +of wreaths and designs was strewn around to mark the spot, but down +below the hand of the silent poet held only a little yellow rose, the +tribute of a child who did not know him in life, but in whose heart +nestled the love his songs had awakened and the magnetism of his great +humanity had stirred. + +A few hours after his spirit had gone a crippled boy came to the house +and begged permission to go to the chamber. The wish was granted, and +the boy hobbled to the bedside. Who he was, and in what manner my +brother had befriended him, none of the family knew, but as he painfully +picked his way down stairs the tears were streaming over his face, and +the onlookers forgot their own sorrow in contemplation of his grief. +The morning of the funeral, while the family stood around the coffin, +the letter-carrier at Buena Park came into the room, and laying a bunch +of letters at the foot of the bier said reverently: "There is your last +mail, Mr. Field." Then turning with tears in his eyes, as if apologizing +for an intrusion, he added: "He was always good to me and I loved him." + +It was this affection of those in humbler life that seems to speak the +more eloquently for the beneficence and the triumph of his life's work. +No funeral could have been less ostentatious, yet none could have been +more impressive in the multitude that overflowed the church, or more +conformable to his tenacious belief in the democracy of man. People of +eminence, of wealth, of fashion, were there, but they were swallowed up +in the great congregation of those to whom we are bound by the ties of +humanity and universal brotherhood, whose tears as they passed the bier +of the dead singer were the earnest and the best tribute to him who sang +for all. What greater blessing hath man than this? What stronger +assurance can there be of happiness in that life where all is weighed +in the scale of love, and where love is triumphant and eternal? + +Sleep, my brother, in the perfect joy of an awakening to that happiness +beyond the probationary life. Sleep in the assurance that those who +loved you will always cherish the memory of that love as the tender +inspiration of your gentle spirit. Sleep and dream that the songs you +sang will still be sung when those who sing them now are sleeping with +you. Sleep and take your rest as calmly and peacefully as you slept when +your last "Good-Night" lengthened into eternity. And if the Horace you +so merrily invoked comes to you in your slumber and bids you awake to +that sweet cheer, that "fellowship that knows no end beyond the misty +Stygian sea," tell him that the time has not yet come, and that there +are those yet uncalled, to whom you have pledged the joyous meeting on +yonder shore, and who would share with you the heaven your companionship +would brighten. + + ROSWELL MARTIN FIELD. + +BUENA PARK, January, 1896. + + + + +Contents of this Little Book + + +CASEY'S TABLE D'HOTE +OUR LADY OF THE MINE +THE CONVERSAZZHYONY +PROF. VERB DE BLAW +MARTHY'S YOUNKIT + +OLD ENGLISH LULLABY +"LOLLYBY, LOLLY, LOLLYBY" +ORKNEY LULLABY +LULLABY; BY THE SEA +CORNISH LULLABY +NORSE LULLABY +SICILIAN LULLABY +JAPANESE LULLABY +LITTLE CROODLIN DOO +DUTCH LULLABY +CHILD AND MOTHER +MEDIAEVAL EVENTIDE SONG +CHRISTMAS TREASURES +CHRISTMAS HYMN +CHRYSTMASSE OF OLDE + +OUR TWO OPINIONS +APPLE-PIE AND CHEESE +"GOOD-BY--GOD BLESS YOU!" +HI-SPY +LONG AGO + +LITTLE BOY BLUE +THE LYTTEL BOY +KRINKEN +TO A USURPER +AILSIE, MY BAIRN +SOME TIME + +MADGE: YE HOYDEN +THE DEATH OF ROBIN HOOD +TO ROBIN GOODFELLOW +YVYTOT +THE DIVINE LULLABY +IN THE FIRELIGHT +THE TWENTY-THIRD PSALM +AT THE DOOR + +THE BIBLIOMANIAC'S PRAYER +DE AMICITIIS +THE BIBLIOMANIAC'S BRIDE + +THE TRUTH ABOUT HORACE +HORACE AND LYDIA RECONCILED +HORACE III:13 ("FOUNTAIN OF BANDUSIA") +HORACE TO MELPOMENE +A CHAUCERIAN PARAPHRASE OF HORACE +HORACE TO PYRRHA +HORACE TO PHYLLIS +THE "HAPPY ISLES" OF HORACE + +LITTLE MACK +MR. DANA, OF THE NEW YORK SUN +TO A SOUBRETTE +BERANGER'S "BROKEN FIDDLE" +HEINE'S "WIDOW, OR DAUGHTER?" +UHLAND'S "THREE CAVALIERS" +BERANGER'S "MY LAST SONG PERHAPS" +HUGO'S "FLOWER TO BUTTERFLY" +BERANGER'S "MA VOCATION" + +THE LITTLE PEACH +A PROPER TREWE IDYLL OF CAMELOT +IN FLANDERS +OUR BIGGEST FISH + +MOTHER AND CHILD +THE WANDERER +SOLDIER, MAIDEN, AND FLOWER +THIRTY-NINE + + + + + +CASEY'S TABLE D'HOTE + + +Oh, them days on Red Hoss Mountain, when the skies wuz fair 'nd blue, +When the money flowed like likker, 'nd the folks wuz brave 'nd true! +When the nights wuz crisp 'nd balmy, 'nd the camp wuz all astir, +With the joints all throwed wide open 'nd no sheriff to demur! +Oh, them times on Red Hoss Mountain in the Rockies fur away,-- +There's no sich place nor times like them as I kin find to-day! +What though the camp _hez_ busted? I seem to see it still +A-lyin', like it loved it, on that big 'nd warty hill; +And I feel a sort of yearnin' 'nd a chokin' in my throat +When I think of Red Hoss Mountain 'nd of Casey's tabble dote! + +Wal, yes; it's true I struck it rich, but that don't cut a show +When one is old 'nd feeble 'nd it's nigh his time to go; +The money that he's got in bonds or carries to invest +Don't figger with a codger who has lived a life out West; +Us old chaps like to set around, away from folks 'nd noise, +'Nd think about the sights we seen and things we done when boys; +The which is why _I_ love to set 'nd think of them old days +When all us Western fellers got the Colorado craze,-- +And _that_ is why I love to set around all day 'nd gloat +On thoughts of Red Hoss Mountain 'nd of Casey's tabble dote. + +This Casey wuz an Irishman,--you'd know it by his name +And by the facial features appertainin' to the same. +He'd lived in many places 'nd had done a thousand things, +From the noble art of actin' to the work of dealin' kings, +But, somehow, hadn't caught on; so, driftin' with the rest, +He drifted for a fortune to the undeveloped West, +And he come to Red Hoss Mountain when the little camp wuz new, +When the money flowed like likker, 'nd the folks wuz brave 'nd true; +And, havin' been a stewart on a Mississippi boat, +He opened up a caffy 'nd he run a tabble dote. + +The bar wuz long 'nd rangy, with a mirrer on the shelf, +'Nd a pistol, so that Casey, when required, could help himself; +Down underneath there wuz a row of bottled beer 'nd wine, +'Nd a kag of Burbun whiskey of the run of '59; +Upon the walls wuz pictures of hosses 'nd of girls,-- +Not much on dress, perhaps, but strong on records 'nd on curls! +The which had been identified with Casey in the past,-- +The hosses 'nd the girls, I mean,--and both wuz mighty fast! +But all these fine attractions wuz of precious little note +By the side of what wuz offered at Casey's tabble dote. + +There wuz half-a-dozen tables altogether in the place, +And the tax you had to pay upon your vittles wuz a case; +The boardin'-houses in the camp protested 't wuz a shame +To patronize a robber, which this Casey wuz the same! +They said a case was robbery to tax for ary meal; +But Casey tended strictly to his biz, 'nd let 'em squeal; +And presently the boardin'-houses all began to bust, +While Casey kept on sawin' wood 'nd layin' in the dust; +And oncet a tray'lin' editor from Denver City wrote +A piece back to his paper, puffin' Casey's tabble dote. + +A tabble dote is different from orderin' aller cart: +In _one_ case you git all there is, in _t' other_, only _part_! +And Casey's tabble dote began in French,--as all begin,-- +And Casey's ended with the same, which is to say, with "vin;" +But in between wuz every kind of reptile, bird, 'nd beast, +The same like you can git in high-toned restauraws down east; +'Nd windin' up wuz cake or pie, with coffee demy tass, +Or, sometimes, floatin' Ireland in a soothin' kind of sass +That left a sort of pleasant ticklin' in a feller's throat, +'Nd made him hanker after more of Casey's tabble dote. + +The very recollection of them puddin's 'nd them pies +Brings a yearnin' to my buzzum 'nd the water to my eyes; +'Nd seems like cookin' nowadays ain't what it used to be +In camp on Red Hoss Mountain in that year of '63; +But, maybe, it is better, 'nd, maybe, I'm to blame-- +I'd like to be a-livin' in the mountains jest the same-- +I'd like to live that life again when skies wuz fair 'nd blue, +When things wuz run wide open 'nd men wuz brave 'nd true; +When brawny arms the flinty ribs of Red Hoss Mountain smote +For wherewithal to pay the price of Casey's tabble dote. + +And you, O cherished brother, a-sleepin' 'way out west, +With Red Hoss Mountain huggin' you close to its lovin' breast,-- +Oh, do you dream in your last sleep of how we used to do, +Of how we worked our little claims together, me 'nd you? +Why, when I saw you last a smile wuz restin' on your face, +Like you wuz glad to sleep forever in that lonely place; +And so you wuz, 'nd I 'd be, too, if I wuz sleepin' so. +But, bein' how a brother's love ain't for the world to know, +Whenever I've this heartache 'nd this chokin' in my throat, +I lay it all to thinkin' of Casey's tabble dote. + + + + +LITTLE BOY BLUE + + +The little toy dog is covered with dust, + But sturdy and stanch he stands; +And the little toy soldier is red with rust, + And his musket molds in his hands. +Time was when the little toy dog was new + And the soldier was passing fair, +And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue + Kissed them and put them there. + +"Now, don't you go till I come," he said, + "And don't you make any noise!" +So toddling off to his trundle-bed + He dreamed of the pretty toys. +And as he was dreaming, an angel song + Awakened our Little Boy Blue,-- +Oh, the years are many, the years are long, + But the little toy friends are true. + +Ay, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand, + Each in the same old place, +Awaiting the touch of a little hand, + The smile of a little face. +And they wonder, as waiting these long years through, + In the dust of that little chair, +What has become of our Little Boy Blue + Since he kissed them and put them there. + + + + +MADGE: YE HOYDEN + + +At Madge, ye hoyden, gossips scofft, + Ffor that a romping wench was shee-- +"Now marke this rede," they bade her oft, + "Forsooken sholde your folly bee!" +But Madge, ye hoyden, laught & cried, + "Oho, oho," in girlish glee, +And noe thing mo replied. + +II + +No griffe she had nor knew no care, + But gayly rompit all daies long, +And, like ye brooke that everywhere + Goes jinking with a gladsome song, +Shee danct and songe from morn till night,-- + Her gentil harte did know no wrong, +Nor did she none despight. + +III + +Sir Tomas from his noblesse halle + Did trend his path a somer's daye, +And to ye hoyden he did call + And these ffull evill words did say: +"O wolde you weare a silken gown + And binde your haire with ribands gay? +Then come with me to town!" + +IV + +But Madge, ye hoyden, shoke her head,-- + "I'le be no lemman unto thee +For all your golde and gownes," shee said, + "ffor Robin hath bespoken mee." +Then ben Sir Tomas sore despight, + And back unto his hall went hee +With face as ashen white. + +V + +"O Robin, wilt thou wed this girl, + Whenas she is so vaine a sprite?" +So spak ffull many an envious churle + Unto that curteyse countrie wight. +But Robin did not pay no heede; + And they ben wed a somer night +& danct upon ye meade. + +VI + +Then scarse ben past a yeare & daye + Whan Robin toke unto his bed, +And long, long time therein he lay, + Nor colde not work to earn his bread; +in soche an houre, whan times ben sore, + Sr. Tomas came with haughtie tread +& knockit at ye doore. + +VII + +Saies: "Madge, ye hoyden, do you know + how that you once despighted me? +But He forgiff an you will go + my swete harte lady ffor to bee!" +But Madge, ye hoyden, heard noe more,-- + straightway upon her heele turnt shee, +& shote ye cottage doore. + +VIII + +Soe Madge, ye hoyden, did her parte + whiles that ye years did come and go; +'t was somer allwais in her harte, + tho' winter strewed her head with snowe. +She toilt and span thro' all those years + nor bid repine that it ben soe, +nor never shad noe teares. + +IX + +Whiles Robin lay within his bed, + A divell came and whispered lowe,-- +"Giff you will doe my will," he said, + "None more of sickness you shall knowe!" +Ye which gave joy to Robin's soul-- + Saies Robin: "Divell, be it soe, +an that you make me whoale!" + +X + +That day, upp rising ffrom his bed, + Quoth Robin: "I am well again!" +& backe he came as from ye dead, + & he ben mickle blithe as when +he wooed his doxy long ago; + & Madge did make ado & then +Her teares ffor joy did flowe. + +XI + +Then came that hell-born cloven thing-- + Saies: "Robin, I do claim your life, +and I hencefoorth shall be your king, + and you shall do my evill strife. +Look round about and you shall see + sr. Tomas' young and ffoolish wiffe-- +a comely dame is shee!" + +XII + +Ye divell had him in his power, + and not colde Robin say thereto: +Soe Robin from that very houre + did what that divell bade him do; +He wooed and dipt, and on a daye + Sr. Tomas' wife and Robin flewe +a many leagues away. + +XIII + +Sir Tomas ben wood wroth and swore, + And sometime strode thro' leaf & brake +and knockit at ye cottage door + and thus to Madge, ye hoyden, spake: +Saies, "I wolde have you ffor mine own, + So come with mee & bee my make, +syn tother birds ben flown." + +XIV + +But Madge, ye hoyden, bade him noe; + Saies: "Robin is my swete harte still, +And, tho' he doth despight me soe, + I mean to do him good for ill. +So goe, Sir Tomas, goe your way; + ffor whiles I bee on live I will +ffor Robin's coming pray!" + +XV + +Soe Madge, ye hoyden, kneelt & prayed + that Godde sholde send her Robin backe. +And tho' ye folke vast scoffing made, + and tho' ye worlde ben colde and blacke, +And tho', as moneths dragged away, + ye hoyden's harte ben like to crack +With griff, she still did praye. + +XVI + +Sicke of that divell's damned charmes, + Aback did Robin come at last, +And Madge, ye hoyden, sprad her arms + and gave a cry and held him fast; +And as she clong to him and cried, + her patient harte with joy did brast, +& Madge, ye hoyden, died. + + + + +OLD ENGLISH LULLABY + + +Hush, bonnie, dinna greit; +Moder will rocke her sweete,-- + Balow, my boy! +When that his toile ben done, +Daddie will come anone,-- +Hush thee, my lyttel one; + Balow, my boy! + +Gin thou dost sleepe, perchaunce +Fayries will come to daunce,-- + Balow, my boy! +Oft hath thy moder seene +Moonlight and mirkland queene +Daunce on thy slumbering een,-- + Balow, my boy! + +Then droned a bomblebee +Saftly this songe to thee: + "Balow, my boy!" +And a wee heather bell, +Pluckt from a fayry dell, +Chimed thee this rune hersell: + "Balow, my boy!" + +Soe, bonnie, dinna greit; +Moder doth rock her sweete,-- + Balow, my boy! +Give mee thy lyttel hand, +Moder will hold it and +Lead thee to balow land,-- + Balow, my boy! + + + + +THE BIBLIOMANIAC'S PRAYER + + +Keep me, I pray, in wisdom's way + That I may truths eternal seek; +I need protecting care to-day,-- + My purse is light, my flesh is weak. +So banish from my erring heart + All baleful appetites and hints +Of Satan's fascinating art, + Of first editions, and of prints. +Direct me in some godly walk + Which leads away from bookish strife, +That I with pious deed and talk + May extra-illustrate my life. + +But if, O Lord, it pleaseth Thee + To keep me in temptation's way, +I humbly ask that I may be + Most notably beset to-day; +Let my temptation be a book, + Which I shall purchase, hold, and keep, +Whereon when other men shall look, + They'll wail to know I got it cheap. +Oh, let it such a volume be + As in rare copperplates abounds, +Large paper, clean, and fair to see, + Uncut, unique, unknown to Lowndes. + + + + +THE LYTTEL BOY + + +Sometime there ben a lyttel boy + That wolde not renne and play, +And helpless like that little tyke + Ben allwais in the way. +"Goe, make you merrie with the rest," + His weary moder cried; +But with a frown he catcht her gown + And hong untill her side. + +That boy did love his moder well, + Which spake him faire, I ween; +He loved to stand and hold her hand + And ken her with his een; +His cosset bleated in the croft, + His toys unheeded lay,-- +He wolde not goe, but, tarrying soe, + Ben allwais in the way. + +Godde loveth children and doth gird + His throne with soche as these, +And He doth smile in plaisaunce while + They cluster at His knees; +And sometime, when He looked on earth + And watched the bairns at play, +He kenned with joy a lyttel boy + Ben allwais in the way. + +And then a moder felt her heart + How that it ben to-torne,-- +She kissed eche day till she ben gray + The shoon he used to worn; +No bairn let hold untill her gown, + Nor played upon the floore,-- +Godde's was the joy; a lyttel boy + Ben in the way no more! + + + + +THE TRUTH ABOUT HORACE + + +It is very aggravating + To hear the solemn prating +Of the fossils who are stating +That old Horace was a prude; + When we know that with the ladies +He was always raising Hades, +And with many an escapade his + Best productions are imbued. + +There's really not much harm in a + Large number of his carmina, +But these people find alarm in a + Few records of his acts; +So they'd squelch the muse caloric, +And to students sophomoric +They d present as metaphoric + What old Horace meant for facts. + +We have always thought 'em lazy; +Now we adjudge 'em crazy! +Why, Horace was a daisy + That was very much alive! +And the wisest of us know him +As his Lydia verses show him,-- +Go, read that virile poem,-- + It is No. 25. + +He was a very owl, sir, +And starting out to prowl, sir, +You bet he made Rome howl, sir, + Until he filled his date; +With a massic-laden ditty +And a classic maiden pretty +He painted up the city, + And Maecenas paid the freight! + + + + +THE DEATH OF ROBIN HOOD + + +"Give me my bow," said Robin Hood, + "An arrow give to me; +And where 't is shot mark thou that spot, + For there my grave shall be." + +Then Little John did make no sign, + And not a word he spake; +But he smiled, altho' with mickle woe + His heart was like to break. + +He raised his master in his arms, + And set him on his knee; +And Robin's eyes beheld the skies, + The shaws, the greenwood tree. + +The brook was babbling as of old, + The birds sang full and clear, +And the wild-flowers gay like a carpet lay + In the path of the timid deer. + +"O Little John," said Robin Hood, + "Meseemeth now to be +Standing with you so stanch and true + Under the greenwood tree. + +"And all around I hear the sound + Of Sherwood long ago, +And my merry men come back again,-- + You know, sweet friend, you know! + +"Now mark this arrow; where it falls, + When I am dead dig deep, +And bury me there in the greenwood where + I would forever sleep." + +He twanged his bow. Upon its course + The clothyard arrow sped, +And when it fell in yonder dell, + Brave Robin Hood was dead. + +The sheriff sleeps in a marble vault, + The king in a shroud of gold; +And upon the air with a chanted pray'r + Mingles the mock of mould. + +But the deer draw to the shady pool, + The birds sing blithe and free, +And the wild-flow'rs bloom o'er a hidden tomb + Under the greenwood tree. + + + + +"LOLLYBY, LOLLY, LOLLYBY" + + +Last night, whiles that the curfew bell ben ringing, +I heard a moder to her dearie singing + "Lollyby, lolly, lollyby." +And presently that chylde did cease hys weeping, +And on his moder's breast did fall a-sleeping, + To "lolly, lolly, lollyby." + +Faire ben the chylde unto his moder clinging, +But fairer yet the moder's gentle singing,-- + "Lollyby, lolly, lollyby." +And angels came and kisst the dearie smiling +In dreems while him hys moder ben beguiling + With "lolly, lolly, lollyby!" + +Then to my harte saies I, "Oh, that thy beating +Colde be assuaged by some swete voice repeating + 'Lollyby, lolly, lollyby;' +That like this lyttel chylde I, too, ben sleeping +With plaisaunt phantasies about me creeping, + To 'lolly, lolly, lollyby!'" + +Sometime--mayhap when curfew bells are ringing-- +A weary harte shall heare straunge voices singing, + "Lollyby, lolly, lollyby;" +Sometime, mayhap, with Chrysts love round me streaming, +I shall be lulled into eternal dreeming + With "lolly, lolly, lollyby." + + + + +HORACE AND LYDIA RECONCILED + + +HORACE + +When you were mine in auld lang syne, + And when none else your charms might ogle, + I'll not deny, + Fair nymph, that I + Was happier than a Persian mogul. + +LYDIA + +Before _she_ came--that rival flame!-- + (Was ever female creature sillier?) + In those good times, + Bepraised in rhymes, + I was more famed than Mother Ilia! + +HORACE + +Chloe of Thrace! With what a grace + Does she at song or harp employ her! +I'd gladly die + If only I + Might live forever to enjoy her! + +LYDIA + +My Sybaris so noble is + That, by the gods! I love him madly-- + That I might save + Him from the grave + I'd give my life, and give it gladly! + +HORACE + +What if ma belle from favor fell, + And I made up my mind to shake her, + Would Lydia, then, + Come back again + And to her quondam flame betake her? + +LYDIA + +My other beau should surely go, + And you alone should find me gracious; + For no one slings + Such odes and things + As does the lauriger Horatius! + + + + +OUR TWO OPINIONS + + +Us two wuz boys when we fell out,-- + Nigh to the age uv my youngest now; +Don't rec'lect what't wuz about, + Some small deeff'rence, I'll allow. +Lived next neighbors twenty years, + A-hatin' each other, me 'nd Jim,-- +He havin' _his_ opinyin uv _me_, + 'Nd _I_ havin' _my_ opinyin uv _him_. + +Grew up together 'nd would n't speak, + Courted sisters, 'nd marr'd 'em, too; +Tended same meetin'-house oncet a week, + A-hatin' each other through 'nd through! +But when Abe Linkern asked the West + F'r soldiers, we answered,--me 'nd Jim,-- +_He_ havin' _his_ opinyin uv _me_, + 'Nd _I_ havin' _my_ opinyin uv _him_. + +But down in Tennessee one night + Ther' wuz sound uv firin' fur away, +'Nd the sergeant allowed ther' 'd be a fight + With the Johnnie Rebs some time nex' day; +'Nd as I wuz thinkin' uv Lizzie 'nd home + Jim stood afore me, long 'nd slim,-- +_He_ havin' _his_ opinyin uv _me_, + 'Nd _I_ havin' _my_ opinyin uv _him_. + +Seemed like we knew there wuz goin' to be + Serious trouble f'r me 'nd him; +Us two shuck hands, did Jim 'nd me, + But never a word from me or Jim! +He went _his_ way 'nd _I_ went _mine_, + 'Nd into the battle's roar went we,-- +_I_ havin' _my_ opinyin uv Jim, + 'Nd _he_ havin' _his_ opinyin uv _me_. + +Jim never come back from the war again, + But I ha' n't forgot that last, last night +When, waitin' f'r orders, us two men + Made up 'nd shuck hands, afore the fight. +'Nd, after it all, it's soothin' to know + That here _I_ be 'nd yonder's Jim,-- +_He_ havin' _his_ opinyin uv _me_, +'Nd _I_ havin' _my_ opinyin uv _him_. + + + + +MOTHER AND CHILD + + +One night a tiny dewdrop fell + Into the bosom of a rose,-- +"Dear little one, I love thee well, + Be ever here thy sweet repose!" + +Seeing the rose with love bedight, + The envious sky frowned dark, and then +Sent forth a messenger of light + And caught the dewdrop up again. + +"Oh, give me back my heavenly child,-- + My love!" the rose in anguish cried; +Alas! the sky triumphant smiled, + And so the flower, heart-broken, died. + + + + +ORKNEY LULLABY + + +A moonbeam floateth from the skies, +Whispering, "Heigho, my dearie! +I would spin a web before your eyes,-- +A beautiful web of silver light, +Wherein is many a wondrous sight +Of a radiant garden leagues away, +Where the softly tinkling lilies sway, +And the snow-white lambkins are at play,-- + Heigho, my dearie!" + +A brownie stealeth from the vine + Singing, "Heigho, my dearie! +And will you hear this song of mine,-- +A song of the land of murk and mist +Where bideth the bud the dew hath kist? +Then let the moonbeam's web of light +Be spun before thee silvery white, +And I shall sing the livelong night,-- + Heigho, my dearie!" + +The night wind speedeth from the sea, + Murmuring, "Heigho, my dearie! +I bring a mariner's prayer for thee; +So let the moonbeam veil thine eyes, +And the brownie sing thee lullabies; +But I shall rock thee to and fro, +Kissing the brow _he_ loveth so, +And the prayer shall guard thy bed, I trow,-- + Heigho, my dearie!" + + + + +LITTLE MACK + + +This talk about the journalists that run the East is bosh, +We've got a Western editor that's little, but, O gosh! +He lives here in Mizzoora where the people are so set +In ante-bellum notions that they vote for Jackson yet; +But the paper he is running makes the rusty fossils swear,-- +The smartest, likeliest paper that is printed anywhere! +And, best of all, the paragraphs are pointed as a tack, + And that's because they emanate + From little Mack. + +In architecture he is what you'd call a chunky man, +As if he'd been constructed on the summer cottage plan; +He has a nose like Bonaparte; and round his mobile mouth +Lies all the sensuous languor of the children of the South; +His dealings with reporters who affect a weekly bust +Have given to his violet eyes a shadow of distrust; +In glorious abandon his brown hair wanders back + From the grand Websterian forehead + Of little Mack. + +No matter what the item is, if there's an item in it, +You bet your life he's on to it and nips it in a minute! +From multifarious nations, countries, monarchies, and lands, +From Afric's sunny fountains and India's coral strands, +From Greenland's icy mountains and Siloam's shady rills, +He gathers in his telegrams, and Houser pays the bills; +What though there be a dearth of news, he has a happy knack + Of scraping up a lot of scoops, + Does little Mack. + +And learning? Well he knows the folks of every tribe and age +That ever played a part upon this fleeting human stage; +His intellectual system's so extensive and so greedy +That, when it comes to records, he's a walkin' cyclopedy; +For having studied (and digested) all the books a-goin', +It stands to reason he must know about all's worth a-knowin'! +So when a politician with a record's on the track, + We're apt to hear some history + From little Mack. + +And when a fellow-journalist is broke and needs a twenty, +Who's allus ready to whack up a portion of his plenty? +Who's allus got a wallet that's as full of sordid gain +As his heart is full of kindness and his head is full of brain? +Whose bowels of compassion will in-va-ri-a-bly move +Their owner to those courtesies which plainly, surely prove +That he's the kind of person that never does go back + On a fellow that's in trouble? + Why, little Mack! + +I've heard 'em tell of Dana, and of Bonner, and of Reid, +Of Johnnie Cockerill, who, I'll own, is very smart indeed; +Yet I don't care what their renown or influence may be, +One metropolitan exchange is quite enough for me! +So keep your Danas, Bonners, Reids, your Cockerills, and the rest, +The woods is full of better men all through this woolly West; +For all that sleek, pretentious, Eastern editorial pack + We wouldn't swap the shadow of + Our little Mack! + + + + +TO ROBIN GOODFELLOW + + +I see you, Maister Bawsy-brown, + Through yonder lattice creepin'; +You come for cream and to gar me dream, + But you dinna find me sleepin'. +The moonbeam, that upon the floor + Wi' crickets ben a-jinkin', +Now steals away fra' her bonnie play-- + Wi' a rosier blie, I'm thinkin'. + +I saw you, Maister Bawsy-brown, + When the blue bells went a-ringin' +For the merrie fays o' the banks an' braes, + And I kenned your bonnie singin'; +The gowans gave you honey sweets, + And the posies on the heather +Dript draughts o' dew for the faery crew + That danct and sang together. + +But posie-bloom an' simmer-dew + And ither sweets o' faery +C'u'd na gae down wi' Bawsy-brown, + Sae nigh to Maggie's dairy! +My pantry shelves, sae clean and white, + Are set wi' cream and cheeses,-- +Gae, gin you will, an' take your fill + Of whatsoever pleases. + +Then wave your wand aboon my een + Until they close awearie, +And the night be past sae sweet and fast + Wi' dreamings o' my dearie. +But pinch the wench in yonder room, + For she's na gude nor bonnie,-- +Her shelves be dust and her pans be rust, + And she winkit at my Johnnie! + + + + +APPLE-PIE AND CHEESE + + +Full many a sinful notion + Conceived of foreign powers +Has come across the ocean + To harm this land of ours; +And heresies called fashions + Have modesty effaced, +And baleful, morbid passions + Corrupt our native taste. +O tempora! O mores! + What profanations these +That seek to dim the glories + Of apple-pie and cheese! + +I'm glad my education + Enables me to stand +Against the vile temptation + Held out on every hand; +Eschewing all the tittles + With vanity replete, +I'm loyal to the victuals + Our grandsires used to eat! +I'm glad I've got three willing boys + To hang around and tease +Their mother for the filling joys + Of apple-pie and cheese! + +Your flavored creams and ices + And your dainty angel-food +Are mighty fine devices + To regale the dainty dude; +Your terrapin and oysters, + With wine to wash 'em down, +Are just the thing for roisters + When painting of the town; +No flippant, sugared notion + Shall _my_ appetite appease, +Or bate my soul's devotion + To apple-pie and cheese! + +The pie my Julia makes me + (God bless her Yankee ways!) +On memory's pinions takes me + To dear Green Mountain days; +And seems like I see Mother + Lean on the window-sill, +A-handin' me and brother + What she knows 'll keep us still; +And these feelings are so grateful, + Says I, "Julia, if you please, +I'll take another plateful + Of that apple-pie and cheese!" + +And cheese! No alien it, sir, + That's brought across the sea,-- +No Dutch antique, nor Switzer, + Nor glutinous de Brie; +There's nothing I abhor so + As mawmets of this ilk-- +Give _me_ the harmless morceau + That's made of true-blue milk! +No matter what conditions + Dyspeptic come to feaze, +The best of all physicians + Is apple-pie and cheese! + +Though ribalds may decry 'em, + For these twin boons we stand, +Partaking thrice per diem + Of their fulness out of hand; +No enervating fashion + Shall cheat us of our right +To gratify our passion + With a mouthful at a bite! +We'll cut it square or bias, + Or any way we please, +And faith shall justify us + When we carve our pie and cheese! + +De gustibus, 't is stated, + Non disputandum est. +Which meaneth, when translated, + That all is for the best. +So let the foolish choose 'em + The vapid sweets of sin, +I will not disabuse 'em + Of the heresy they're in; +But I, when I undress me + Each night, upon my knees +Will ask the Lord to bless me + With apple-pie and cheese! + + + + +KRINKEN + + +Krinken was a little child,-- +It was summer when he smiled. +Oft the hoary sea and grim +Stretched its white arms out to him, +Calling, "Sun-child, come to me; +Let me warm my heart with thee!" +But the child heard not the sea, +Calling, yearning evermore +For the summer on the shore. + +Krinken on the beach one day +Saw a maiden Nis at play; +On the pebbly beach she played +In the summer Krinken made. +Fair, and very fair, was she, +Just a little child was he. +"Krinken," said the maiden Nis, +"Let me have a little kiss, +Just a kiss, and go with me +To the summer-lands that be +Down within the silver sea." + +Krinken was a little child-- +By the maiden Nis beguiled, +Hand in hand with her went he, +And 'twas summer in the sea. +And the hoary sea and grim +To its bosom folded him-- +Clasped and kissed the little form, +And the ocean's heart was warm. + +Now the sea calls out no more; +It is winter on the shore,-- +Winter where that little child +Made sweet summer when he smiled; +Though 'tis summer on the sea +Where with maiden Nis went he,-- +Summer, summer evermore,-- +It is winter on the shore, +Winter, winter evermore. +Of the summer on the deep +Come sweet visions in my sleep: +_His_ fair face lifts from the sea, +_His_ dear voice calls out to me,-- +These my dreams of summer be. + +Krinken was a little child, +By the maiden Nis beguiled; +Oft the hoary sea and grim +Reached its longing arms to him, +Crying, "Sun-child, come to me; +Let me warm my heart with thee!" +But the sea calls out no more; +It is winter on the shore,-- +Winter, cold and dark and wild; +Krinken was a little child,-- +It was summer when he smiled; +Down he went into the sea, +And the winter bides with me. +Just a little child was he. + + + + +BERANGER'S "BROKEN FIDDLE" + + +I + +There, there, poor dog, my faithful friend, + Pay you no heed unto my sorrow: +But feast to-day while yet you may,-- + Who knows but we shall starve to-morrow! + + +II + +"Give us a tune," the foemen cried, + In one of their profane caprices; +I bade them "No"--they frowned, and, lo! + They dashed this innocent in pieces! + + +III + +This fiddle was the village pride-- + The mirth of every fete enhancing; +Its wizard art set every heart + As well as every foot to dancing. + + +IV + +How well the bridegroom knew its voice, + As from its strings its song went gushing! +Nor long delayed the promised maid + Equipped for bridal, coy and blushing. + + +V + +Why, it discoursed so merrily, + It quickly banished all dejection; +And yet, when pressed, our priest confessed + I played with pious circumspection. + + +VI + +And though, in patriotic song, + It was our guide, compatriot, teacher, +I never thought the foe had wrought + His fury on the helpless creature! + + +VII + +But there, poor dog, my faithful friend, + Pay you no heed unto my sorrow; +I prithee take this paltry cake,-- + Who knows but we shall starve to-morrow! + + +VIII + +Ah, who shall lead the Sunday choir + As this old fiddle used to do it? +Can vintage come, with this voice dumb + That used to bid a welcome to it? + + +IX + +It soothed the weary hours of toil, + It brought forgetfulness to debtors; +Time and again from wretched men + It struck oppression's galling fetters. + + +X + +No man could hear its voice, and hate; + It stayed the teardrop at its portal; +With that dear thing I was a king + As never yet was monarch mortal! + + +XI + +Now has the foe--the vandal foe-- + Struck from my hands their pride and glory; +There let it lie! In vengeance, I + Shall wield another weapon, gory! + + +XII + +And if, O countrymen, I fall, + Beside our grave let this be spoken: +"No foe of France shall ever dance + Above the heart and fiddle, broken!" + + +XIII + +So come, poor dog, my faithful friend, + I prithee do not heed my sorrow, +But feast to-day while yet you may, + For we are like to starve to-morrow. + + + + +THE LITTLE PEACH + + +A little peach in the orchard grew,-- +A little peach of emerald hue; +Warmed by the sun and wet by the dew, + It grew. + +One day, passing that orchard through, +That little peach dawned on the view +Of Johnny Jones and his sister Sue-- + Them two. + +Up at that peach a club they threw-- +Down from the stem on which it grew +Fell that peach of emerald hue. + Mon Dieu! + +John took a bite and Sue a chew, +And then the trouble began to brew,-- +Trouble the doctor couldn't subdue. + Too true! + +Under the turf where the daisies grew +They planted John and his sister Sue, +And their little souls to the angels flew,-- + Boo hoo! + +What of that peach of the emerald hue, +Warmed by the sun, and wet by the dew? +Ah, well, its mission on earth is through. + Adieu! + +1880. + + + + +HORACE III. 13 + + +O fountain of Bandusia, + Whence crystal waters flow, +With garlands gay and wine I'll pay + The sacrifice I owe; +A sportive kid with budding horns + I have, whose crimson blood +Anon shall dye and sanctify + Thy cool and babbling flood. + +O fountain of Bandusia, + The dog-star's hateful spell +No evil brings unto the springs + That from thy bosom well; +Here oxen, wearied by the plough, + The roving cattle here, +Hasten in quest of certain rest + And quaff thy gracious cheer. + +O fountain of Bandusia, + Ennobled shalt thou be, +For I shall sing the joys that spring + Beneath yon ilex-tree; +Yes, fountain of Bandusia, + Posterity shall know +The cooling brooks that from thy nooks + Singing and dancing go! + + + + +THE DIVINE LULLABY + + + I hear Thy voice, dear Lord; +I hear it by the stormy sea + When winter nights are black and wild, +And when, affright, I call to Thee; + It calms my fears and whispers me, +"Sleep well, my child." + + I hear Thy voice, dear Lord, +In singing winds, in falling snow, + The curfew chimes, the midnight bell. +"Sleep well, my child," it murmurs low; +"The guardian angels come and go,-- + O child, sleep well!" + + I hear Thy voice, dear Lord, +Ay, though the singing winds be stilled, + Though hushed the tumult of the deep, +My fainting heart with anguish chilled +By Thy assuring tone is thrilled,-- + "Fear not, and sleep!" + + Speak on--speak on, dear Lord! +And when the last dread night is near, + With doubts and fears and terrors wild, +Oh, let my soul expiring hear +Only these words of heavenly cheer, + "Sleep well, my child!" + + + + +IN THE FIRELIGHT + + +The fire upon the hearth is low, + And there is stillness everywhere, + While like winged spirits, here and there, +The firelight shadows fluttering go. +And as the shadows round me creep, + A childish treble breaks the gloom, + And softly from a further room +Comes, "Now I lay me down to sleep." + +And somehow, with that little prayer + And that sweet treble in my ears, + My thoughts go back to distant years +And linger with a loved one there; +And as I hear my child's amen, + My mother's faith comes back to me,-- + Crouched at her side I seem to be, +And Mother holds my hands again. + +Oh, for an hour in that dear place! + Oh, for the peace of that dear time! + Oh, for that childish trust sublime! +Oh, for a glimpse of Mother's face! +Yet, as the shadows round me creep, + I do not seem to be alone,-- + Sweet magic of that treble tone, +And "Now I lay me down to sleep." + +1885. + + + + +HEINE'S "WIDOW OR DAUGHTER?" + + +Shall I woo the one or other? + Both attract me--more's the pity! +Pretty is the widowed mother, + And the daughter, too, is pretty. + +When I see that maiden shrinking, + By the gods I swear I'll get 'er! +But anon I fall to thinking + That the mother 'll suit me better! + +So, like any idiot ass + Hungry for the fragrant fodder, +Placed between two bales of grass, + Lo, I doubt, delay, and dodder! + + + + +CHRISTMAS TREASURES + + +I count my treasures o'er with care.-- + The little toy my darling knew, + A little sock of faded hue, +A little lock of golden hair. + +Long years ago this holy time, + My little one--my all to me-- + Sat robed in white upon my knee +And heard the merry Christmas chime. + +"Tell me, my little golden-head, + If Santa Claus should come to-night, + What shall he bring my baby bright,-- +What treasure for my boy?" I said. + +And then he named this little toy, + While in his round and mournful eyes + There came a look of sweet surprise, +That spake his quiet, trustful joy. + +And as he lisped his evening prayer + He asked the boon with childish grace; + Then, toddling to the chimney-place, +He hung this little stocking there. + +That night, while lengthening shadows crept, + I saw the white-winged angels come + With singing to our lowly home +And kiss my darling as he slept. + +They must have heard his little prayer, + For in the morn, with rapturous face, + He toddled to the chimney-place, +And found this little treasure there. + +They came again one Christmas-tide,-- + That angel host, so fair and white! + And singing all that glorious night, +They lured my darling from my side. + +A little sock, a little toy, + A little lock of golden hair, + The Christmas music on the air, +A watching for my baby boy! + +But if again that angel train + And golden-head come back for me, + To bear me to Eternity, +My watching will not be in vain! + +1879. + + + + +DE AMICITIIS + + + Though care and strife + Elsewhere be rife, +Upon my word I do not heed 'em; + In bed I lie + With books hard by, +And with increasing zest I read 'em. + + Propped up in bed, + So much I've read +Of musty tomes that I've a headful + Of tales and rhymes + Of ancient times, +Which, wife declares, are "simply dreadful!" + + They give me joy + Without alloy; +And isn't that what books are made for? + And yet--and yet-- + (Ah, vain regret!) +I would to God they all were paid for! + + No festooned cup + Filled foaming up +Can lure me elsewhere to confound me; + Sweeter than wine + This love of mine +For these old books I see around me! + + A plague, I say, + On maidens gay; +I'll weave no compliments to tell 'em! + Vain fool I were, + Did I prefer +Those dolls to these old friends in vellum! + + At dead of night + My chamber's bright +Not only with the gas that's burning, + But with the glow + Of long ago,-- +Of beauty back from eld returning. + + Fair women's looks + I see in books, +I see _them_, and I hear their laughter,-- + Proud, high-born maids, + Unlike the jades +Which men-folk now go chasing after! + + Herein again + Speak valiant men +Of all nativities and ages; + I hear and smile + With rapture while +I turn these musty, magic pages. + + The sword, the lance, + The morris dance, +The highland song, the greenwood ditty, + Of these I read, + Or, when the need, +My Miller grinds me grist that's gritty! + + When of such stuff + We've had enough, +Why, there be other friends to greet us; + We'll moralize + In solemn wise +With Plato or with Epictetus. + + Sneer as you may, + _I'm_ proud to say +That I, for one, am very grateful + To Heaven, that sends + These genial friends +To banish other friendships hateful! + + And when I'm done, + I'd have no son +Pounce on these treasures like a vulture; + Nay, give them half + My epitaph, +And let them share in my sepulture. + + Then, when the crack + Of doom rolls back +The marble and the earth that hide me, + I'll smuggle home + Each precious tome, +Without a fear my wife shall chide me! + + + + +OUR LADY OF THE MINE + + +The Blue Horizon wuz a mine us fellers all thought well uv, +And there befell the episode I now perpose to tell uv; +'T wuz in the year uv sixty-nine,--somewhere along in summer,-- +There hove in sight one afternoon a new and curious comer; +His name wuz Silas Pettibone,--a' artist by perfession,-- +With a kit of tools and a big mustache and a pipe in his possession. +He told us, by our leave, he 'd kind uv like to make some sketches +Uv the snowy peaks, 'nd the foamin' crick, 'nd the distant mountain + stretches; +"You're welkim, sir," sez we, although this scenery dodge seemed to us +A waste uv time where scenery wuz already sooper-_floo_-us. + +All through the summer Pettibone kep' busy at his sketchin',-- +At daybreak off for Eagle Pass, and home at nightfall, fetchin' +That everlastin' book uv his with spider-lines all through it; +Three-Fingered Hoover used to say there warn't no meanin' to it. +"Gol durn a man," sez he to him, "whose shif'less hand is sot at +A-drawin' hills that's full uv quartz that's pinin' to be got at!" +"Go on," sez Pettibone, "go on, if joshin' gratifies ye; +But one uv these fine times I'll show ye sumthin' will surprise ye!" +The which remark led us to think--although he didn't say it-- +That Pettibone wuz owin' us a gredge 'nd meant to pay it. + +One evenin' as we sat around the Restauraw de Casey, +A-singin' songs 'nd tellin' yarns the which wuz sumwhat racy, +In come that feller Pettibone, 'nd sez, "With your permission, +I'd like to put a picture I have made on exhibition." +He sot the picture on the bar 'nd drew aside its curtain, +Sayin', "I reckon you'll allow as how _that's_ art, f'r certain!" +And then we looked, with jaws agape, but nary word wuz spoken, +And f'r a likely spell the charm uv silence wuz unbroken-- +Till presently, as in a dream, remarked Three-Fingered Hoover: +"Onless I am mistaken, this is Pettibone's shef doover!" + +It wuz a face--a human face--a woman's, fair 'nd tender-- +Sot gracefully upon a neck white as a swan's, and slender; +The hair wuz kind uv sunny, 'nd the eyes wuz sort uv dreamy, +The mouth wuz half a-smilin', 'nd the cheeks wuz soft 'nd creamy; +It seemed like she wuz lookin' off into the west out yonder, +And seemed like, while she looked, we saw her eyes grow softer, fonder,-- +Like, lookin' off into the west, where mountain mists wuz fallin', +She saw the face she longed to see and heerd his voice a-callin'; +"Hooray!" we cried,--"a woman in the camp uv Blue Horizon! +Step right up, Colonel Pettibone, 'nd nominate your pizen!" + +A curious situation,--one deservin' uv your pity,-- +No human, livin', female thing this side of Denver City! +But jest a lot uv husky men that lived on sand 'nd bitters,-- +Do you wonder that that woman's face consoled the lonesome critters? +And not a one but what it served in some way to remind him +Of a mother or a sister or a sweetheart left behind him; +And some looked back on happier days, and saw the old-time faces +And heerd the dear familiar sounds in old familiar places,-- +A gracious touch of home. "Look here," sez Hoover, "ever'body +Quit thinkin' 'nd perceed at oncet to name his favorite toddy!" + +It wuzn't long afore the news had spread the country over, +And miners come a-flockin' in like honey-bees to clover; +It kind uv did 'em good, they said, to feast their hungry eyes on +That picture uv Our Lady in the camp uv Blue Horizon. +But one mean cuss from Nigger Crick passed criticisms on 'er,-- +Leastwise we overheerd him call her Pettibone's madonner, +The which we did not take to be respectful to a lady, +So we hung him in a quiet spot that wuz cool 'nd dry 'nd shady; +Which same might not have been good law, but it _wuz_ the right manoeuvre +To give the critics due respect for Pettibone's shef doover. + +Gone is the camp,--yes, years ago the Blue Horizon busted, +And every mother's son uv us got up one day 'nd dusted, +While Pettibone perceeded East with wealth in his possession, +And went to Yurrup, as I heerd, to study his perfession; +So, like as not, you'll find him now a-paintin' heads 'nd faces +At Venus, Billy Florence, and the like I-talyun places. +But no sech face he'll paint again as at old Blue Horizon, +For I'll allow no sweeter face no human soul sot eyes on; +And when the critics talk so grand uv Paris 'nd the Loover, +I say, "Oh, but you orter seen the Pettibone shef doover!" + + + + +THE WANDERER + + +Upon a mountain height, far from the sea, + I found a shell, +And to my listening ear the lonely thing +Ever a song of ocean seemed to sing, + Ever a tale of ocean seemed to tell. + +How came the shell upon that mountain height? + Ah, who can say +Whether there dropped by some too careless hand, +Or whether there cast when Ocean swept the Land, + Ere the Eternal had ordained the Day? + +Strange, was it not? Far from its native deep, + One song it sang,-- +Sang of the awful mysteries of the tide, +Sang of the misty sea, profound and wide,-- + Ever with echoes of the ocean rang. + +And as the shell upon the mountain height + Sings of the sea, +So do I ever, leagues and leagues away,-- +So do I ever, wandering where I may,-- + Sing, O my home! sing, O my home! of thee. + +1883. + + + + +TO A USURPER + + +Aha! a traitor in the camp, + A rebel strangely bold,-- +A lisping, laughing, toddling scamp, + Not more than four years old! + +To think that I, who've ruled alone + So proudly in the past, +Should be ejected from my throne + By my own son at last! + +He trots his treason to and fro, + As only babies can, +And says he'll be his mamma's beau + When he's a "gweat, big man"! + +You stingy boy! you've always had + A share in mamma's heart; +Would you begrudge your poor old dad + The tiniest little part? + +That mamma, I regret to see, + Inclines to take your part,-- +As if a dual monarchy + Should rule her gentle heart! + +But when the years of youth have sped, + The bearded man, I trow, +Will quite forget he ever said + He'd be his mamma's beau. + +Renounce your treason, little son, + Leave mamma's heart to me; +For there will come another one + To claim your loyalty. + +And when that other comes to you, + God grant her love may shine +Through all your life, as fair and true + As mamma's does through mine! + +1885. + + + + +LULLABY; BY THE SEA + + +Fair is the castle up on the hill-- + Hushaby, sweet my own! +The night is fair, and the waves are still, +And the wind is singing to you and to me +In this lowly home beside the sea-- + Hushaby, sweet my own! + +On yonder hill is store of wealth-- + Hushaby, sweet my own! +And revellers drink to a little one's health; +But you and I bide night and day +For the other love that has sailed away-- + Hushaby, sweet my own! + +See not, dear eyes, the forms that creep + Ghostlike, O my own! +Out of the mists of the murmuring deep; +Oh, see them not and make no cry +Till the angels of death have passed us by-- + Hushaby, sweet my own! + +Ah, little they reck of you and me-- + Hushaby, sweet my own! +In our lonely home beside the sea; +They seek the castle up on the hill, +And there they will do their ghostly will-- + Hushaby, O my own! + +Here by the sea a mother croons + "Hushaby, sweet my own!" +In yonder castle a mother swoons +While the angels go down to the misty deep, +Bearing a little one fast asleep-- + Hushaby, sweet my own! + + + + +SOLDIER, MAIDEN, AND FLOWER + + +"Sweetheart, take this," a soldier said, + "And bid me brave good-by; +It may befall we ne'er shall wed, + But love can never die. +Be steadfast in thy troth to me, + And then, whate'er my lot, +'My soul to God, my heart to thee,'-- + Sweetheart, forget me not!" + +The maiden took the tiny flower + And nursed it with her tears: +Lo! he who left her in that hour + Came not in after years. +Unto a hero's death he rode + 'Mid shower of fire and shot; +But in the maiden's heart abode + The flower, forget-me-not. + +And when _he_ came not with the rest + From out the years of blood, +Closely unto her widowed breast + She pressed a faded bud; +Oh, there is love and there is pain, + And there is peace, God wot,-- +And these dear three do live again + In sweet forget-me-not. + +'T is to an unmarked grave to-day + That I should love to go,-- +Whether he wore the blue or gray, + What need that we should know? +"He loved a woman," let us say, + And on that sacred spot, +To woman's love, that lives for aye, + We'll strew forget-me-not. + +1887. + + + + +HORACE TO MELPOMENE + + +Lofty and enduring is the monument I've reared,-- + Come, tempests, with your bitterness assailing; +And thou, corrosive blasts of time, by all things mortal feared, + Thy buffets and thy rage are unavailing! + +I shall not altogether die; by far my greater part + Shall mock man's common fate in realms infernal; +My works shall live as tributes to my genius and my art,-- + My works shall be my monument eternal! + +While this great Roman empire stands and gods protect our fanes, + Mankind with grateful hearts shall tell the story, +How one most lowly born upon the parched Apulian plains + First raised the native lyric muse to glory. + +Assume, revered Melpomene, the proud estate I've won, + And, with thine own dear hand the meed supplying, +Bind thou about the forehead of thy celebrated son + The Delphic laurel-wreath of fame undying! + + + + +AILSIE, MY BAIRN + + +Lie in my arms, Ailsie, my bairn,-- + Lie in my arms and dinna greit; +Long time been past syn I kenned you last, + But my harte been allwais the same, my swete. + +Ailsie, I colde not say you ill, + For out of the mist of your bitter tears, +And the prayers that rise from your bonnie eyes + Cometh a promise of oder yeres. + +I mind the time when we lost our bairn,-- + Do you ken that time? A wambling tot, +You wandered away ane simmer day, + And we hunted and called, and found you not. + +I promised God, if He'd send you back, + Alwaies to keepe and to love you, childe; +And I'm thinking again of that promise when + I see you creep out of the storm sae wild. + +You came back then as you come back now,-- + Your kirtle torn and your face all white; +And you stood outside and knockit and cried, + Just as you, dearie, did to-night. + +Oh, never a word of the cruel wrang, + That has faded your cheek and dimmed your ee; +And never a word of the fause, fause lord,-- + Only a smile and a kiss for me. + +Lie in my arms, as long, long syne, + And sleepe on my bosom, deere wounded thing,-- +I'm nae sae glee as I used to be, + Or I'd sing you the songs I used to sing. + +But Ile kemb my fingers thro' y'r haire, + And nane shall know, but you and I, +Of the love and the faith that came to us baith + When Ailsie, my bairn, came home to die. + + + + +CORNISH LULLABY + + +Out on the mountain over the town, + All night long, all night long, +The trolls go up and the trolls go down, + Bearing their packs and crooning a song; +And this is the song the hill-folk croon, +As they trudge in the light of the misty moon,-- +This is ever their dolorous tune: +"Gold, gold! ever more gold,-- + Bright red gold for dearie!" + +Deep in the hill the yeoman delves + All night long, all night long; +None but the peering, furtive elves + See his toil and hear his song; +Merrily ever the cavern rings +As merrily ever his pick he swings, +And merrily ever this song he sings: +"Gold, gold! ever more gold,-- + Bright red gold for dearie!" + +Mother is rocking thy lowly bed + All night long, all night long, +Happy to smooth thy curly head + And to hold thy hand and to sing her song; +'T is not of the hill-folk, dwarfed and old, +Nor the song of the yeoman, stanch and bold, +And the burden it beareth is not of gold; +But it's "Love, love!--nothing but love,-- + Mother's love for dearie!" + + + + +UHLAND'S "THREE CAVALIERS" + + +There were three cavaliers that went over the Rhine, +And gayly they called to the hostess for wine. +"And where is thy daughter? We would she were here,-- +Go fetch us that maiden to gladden our cheer!" + +"I'll fetch thee thy goblets full foaming," she said, +"But in yon darkened chamber the maiden lies dead." +And lo! as they stood in the doorway, the white +Of a shroud and a dead shrunken face met their sight. + +Then the first cavalier breathed a pitiful sigh, +And the throb of his heart seemed to melt in his eye, +And he cried, "Hadst thou lived, O my pretty white rose, +I ween I had loved thee and wed thee--who knows?" + +The next cavalier drew aside a small space, +And stood to the wall with his hands to his face; +And this was the heart-cry that came with his tears: +"I loved her, I loved her these many long years!" + +But the third cavalier kneeled him down in that place, +And, as it were holy, he kissed that dead face: +"I loved thee long years, and I love thee to-day, +And I'll love thee, dear maiden, forever and aye!" + + + + +A CHAUCERIAN PARAPHRASE OF HORACE + + +Syn that you, Chloe, to your moder sticken, +Maketh all ye yonge bacheloures full sicken; +Like as a lyttel deere you ben y-hiding +Whenas come lovers with theyre pityse chiding; +Sothly it ben faire to give up your moder +For to beare swete company with some oder; +Your moder ben well enow so farre shee goeth, +But that ben not farre enow, God knoweth; +Wherefore it ben sayed that foolysh ladyes +That marrye not shall leade an aype in Hadys; +But all that do with gode men wed full quickylye +When that they be on dead go to ye seints full sickerly. + + + + +NORSE LULLABY + + +The sky is dark and the hills are white +As the storm-king speeds from the north to-night, +And this is the song the storm-king sings, +As over the world his cloak he flings: + "Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep;" +He rustles his wings and gruffly sings: + "Sleep, little one, sleep." + +On yonder mountain-side a vine +Clings at the foot of a mother pine; +The tree bends over the trembling thing, +And only the vine can hear her sing: + "Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep; +What shall you fear when I am here? + Sleep, little one, sleep." + +The king may sing in his bitter flight, +The tree may croon to the vine to-night, +But the little snowflake at my breast +Liketh the song _I_ sing the best,-- + Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep; +Weary thou art, anext my heart + Sleep, little one, sleep. + + + + +BERANGER'S "MY LAST SONG PERHAPS" +[JANUARY, 1814] + + +When, to despoil my native France, + With flaming torch and cruel sword +And boisterous drums her foeman comes, + I curse him and his vandal horde! +Yet, what avail accrues to her, + If we assume the garb of woe? +Let's merry be,--in laughter we + May rescue somewhat from the foe! + +Ah, many a brave man trembles now. + I (coward!) show no sign of fear; +When Bacchus sends his blessing, friends, + I drown my panic in his cheer. +Come, gather round my humble board, + And let the sparkling wassail flow,-- +Chuckling to think, the while you drink, + "This much we rescue from the foe!" + +My creditors beset me so + And so environed my abode, +That I agreed, despite my need, + To settle up the debts I owed; +When suddenly there came the news + Of this invasion, as you know; +I'll pay no score; pray, lend me more,-- + I--_I_ will keep it from the foe! + +Now here's my mistress,--pretty dear!-- + Feigns terror at this martial noise, +And yet, methinks, the artful minx + Would like to meet those soldier boys! +I tell her that they're coarse and rude, + Yet feel she don't believe 'em so,-- +Well, never mind; so she be kind, + That much I rescue from the foe! + +If, brothers, hope shall have in store + For us and ours no friendly glance, +Let's rather die than raise a cry + Of welcome to the foes of France! +But, like the swan that dying sings, + Let us, O Frenchmen, singing go,-- +Then shall our cheer, when death is near, + Be so much rescued from the foe! + + + + +MR. DANA, OF THE NEW YORK SUN + + +Thar showed up out'n Denver in the spring uv '81 +A man who'd worked with Dana on the Noo York Sun. +His name wuz Cantell Whoppers, 'nd he wuz a sight ter view +Ez he walked inter the orfice 'nd inquired fer work ter do. +Thar warn't no places vacant then,--fer be it understood, +That wuz the time when talent flourished at that altitood; +But thar the stranger lingered, tellin' Raymond 'nd the rest +Uv what perdigious wonders he could do when at his best, +Till finally he stated (quite by chance) that he hed done +A heap uv work with Dana on the Noo York Sun. + +Wall, that wuz quite another thing; we owned that ary cuss +Who'd worked f'r Mr. Dana _must_ be good enough fer _us_! +And so we tuk the stranger's word 'nd nipped him while we could, +For if _we didn't_ take him we knew John Arkins _would_; +And Cooper, too, wuz mouzin' round fer enterprise 'nd brains, +Whenever them commodities blew in across the plains. +At any rate we nailed him, which made ol' Cooper swear +And Arkins tear out handfuls uv his copious curly hair; +But _we_ set back and cackled, 'nd bed a power uv fun +With our man who'd worked with Dana on the Noo York Sun. + +It made our eyes hang on our cheeks 'nd lower jaws ter drop, +Ter hear that feller tellin' how ol' Dana run his shop: +It seems that Dana wuz the biggest man you ever saw,-- +He lived on human bein's, 'nd preferred to eat 'em raw! +If he hed Democratic drugs ter take, before he took 'em, +As good old allopathic laws prescribe, he allus shook 'em. +The man that could set down 'nd write like Dany never grew, +And the sum of human knowledge wuzn't half what Dana knew; +The consequence appeared to be that nearly every one +Concurred with Mr. Dana of the Noo York Sun. + +This feller, Cantell Whoppers, never brought an item in,-- +He spent his time at Perrin's shakin' poker dice f'r gin. +Whatever the assignment, he wuz allus sure to shirk, +He wuz very long on likker and all-fired short on work! +If any other cuss had played the tricks he dared ter play, +The daisies would be bloomin' over his remains to-day; +But somehow folks respected him and stood him to the last, +Considerin' his superior connections in the past. +So, when he bilked at poker, not a sucker drew a gun +On the man who 'd worked with Dana on the Noo York Sun. + +Wall, Dana came ter Denver in the fall uv '83. +A very different party from the man we thought ter see,-- +A nice 'nd clean old gentleman, so dignerfied 'nd calm, +You bet yer life he never did no human bein' harm! +A certain hearty manner 'nd a fulness uv the vest +Betokened that his sperrits 'nd his victuals wuz the best; +His face wuz so benevolent, his smile so sweet 'nd kind, +That they seemed to be the reflex uv an honest, healthy mind; +And God had set upon his head a crown uv silver hair +In promise uv the golden crown He meaneth him to wear. +So, uv us boys that met him out'n Denver, there wuz none +But fell in love with Dana uv the Noo York Sun. + +But when he came to Denver in that fall uv '83, +His old friend Cantell Whoppers disappeared upon a spree; +The very thought uv seein' Dana worked upon him so +(They hadn't been together fer a year or two, you know), +That he borrered all the stuff he could and started on a bat, +And, strange as it may seem, we didn't see him after that. +So, when ol' Dana hove in sight, we couldn't understand +Why he didn't seem to notice that his crony wa'n't on hand; +No casual allusion, not a question, no, not one, +For the man who'd "worked with Dana on the Noo York Sun!" + +We broke it gently to him, but he didn't seem surprised, +Thar wuz no big burst uv passion as we fellers had surmised. +He said that Whoppers wuz a man he 'd never heerd about, +But he mought have carried papers on a Jarsey City route; +And then he recollected hearin' Mr. Laffan say +That he'd fired a man named Whoppers fur bein' drunk one day, +Which, with more likker _underneath_ than money _in_ his vest, +Had started on a freight-train fur the great 'nd boundin' West, +But further information or statistics he had none +Uv the man who'd "worked with Dana on the Noo York Sun." + +We dropped the matter quietly 'nd never made no fuss,-- +When we get played for suckers, why, that's a horse on us!-- +But every now 'nd then we Denver fellers have to laff +To hear some other paper boast uv havin' on its staff +A man who's "worked with Dana," 'nd then we fellers wink +And pull our hats down on our eyes 'nd set around 'nd think. +It seems like Dana couldn't be as smart as people say, +If he educates so many folks 'nd lets 'em get away; +And, as for us, in future we'll be very apt to shun +The man who "worked with Dana on the Noo York Sun." + +But bless ye, Mr. Dana! may you live a thousan' years, +To sort o' keep things lively in this vale of human tears; +An' may _I_ live a thousan', too,--a thousan' less a day, +For I shouldn't like to be on earth to hear you'd passed away. +And when it comes your time to go you'll need no Latin chaff +Nor biographic data put in your epitaph; +But one straight line of English and of truth will let folks know +The homage 'nd the gratitude 'nd reverence they owe; +You'll need no epitaph but this: "Here sleeps the man who run +That best 'nd brightest paper, the Noo York Sun." + + + + +SICILIAN LULLABY + + +Hush, little one, and fold your hands; + The sun hath set, the moon is high; +The sea is singing to the sands, + And wakeful posies are beguiled +By many a fairy lullaby: + Hush, little child, my little child! + +Dream, little one, and in your dreams + Float upward from this lowly place,-- +Float out on mellow, misty streams + To lands where bideth Mary mild, +And let her kiss thy little face, + You little child, my little child! + +Sleep, little one, and take thy rest, + With angels bending over thee,-- +Sleep sweetly on that Father's breast + Whom our dear Christ hath reconciled; +But stay not there,--come back to me, + O little child, my little child! + + + + +HORACE TO PYRRHA + + +What perfumed, posie-dizened sirrah, + With smiles for diet, +Clasps you, O fair but faithless Pyrrha, + On the quiet? +For whom do you bind up your tresses, + As spun-gold yellow,-- +Meshes that go, with your caresses, + To snare a fellow? + +How will he rail at fate capricious, + And curse you duly! +Yet now he deems your wiles delicious, + _You_ perfect, truly! +Pyrrha, your love's a treacherous ocean; + He'll soon fall in there! +Then shall I gloat on his commotion, + For _I_ have been there! + + + + +THE TWENTY-THIRD PSALM + + +My Shepherd is the Lord my God,-- + There is no want I know; +His flock He leads in verdant meads, + Where tranquil waters flow. + +He doth restore my fainting soul + With His divine caress, +And, when I stray, He points the way + To paths of righteousness. + +Yea, though I walk the vale of death, + What evil shall I fear? +Thy staff and rod are mine, O God, + And Thou, my Shepherd, near! + +Mine enemies behold the feast + Which my dear Lord hath spread; +And, lo! my cup He filleth up, + With oil anoints my head! + +Goodness and mercy shall be mine + Unto my dying day; +Then will I bide at His dear side + Forever and for aye! + + + + +THE BIBLIOMANIAC'S BRIDE + + +The women-folk are like to books,-- + Most pleasing to the eye, +Whereon if anybody looks + He feels disposed to buy. + +I hear that many are for sale,-- + Those that record no dates, +And such editions as regale + The view with colored plates. + +Of every quality and grade + And size they may be found,-- +Quite often beautifully made, + As often poorly bound. + +Now, as for me, had I my choice, + I'd choose no folio tall, +But some octavo to rejoice + My sight and heart withal,-- + +As plump and pudgy as a snipe; + Well worth her weight in gold; +Of honest, clean, conspicuous type, + And _just_ the size to hold! + +With such a volume for my wife + How should I keep and con! +How like a dream should run my life + Unto its colophon! + +Her frontispiece should be more fair + Than any colored plate; +Blooming with health, she would not care + To extra-illustrate. + +And in her pages there should be + A wealth of prose and verse, +With now and then a _jeu d'esprit_,-- + But nothing ever worse! + +Prose for me when I wished for prose, + Verse when to verse inclined,-- +Forever bringing sweet repose + To body, heart, and mind. + +Oh, I should bind this priceless prize + In bindings full and fine, +And keep her where no human eyes + Should see her charms, but mine! + +With such a fair unique as this + What happiness abounds! +Who--who could paint my rapturous bliss, + My joy unknown to Lowndes! + + + + +CHRISTMAS HYMN + + + Sing, Christmas bells! +Say to the earth this is the morn +Whereon our Saviour-King is born; + Sing to all men,--the bond, the free, +The rich, the poor, the high, the low, + The little child that sports in glee, +The aged folk that tottering go,-- + Proclaim the morn + That Christ is born, + That saveth them and saveth me! + + Sing, angel host! +Sing of the star that God has placed +Above the manger in the east; + Sing of the glories of the night, +The virgin's sweet humility, + The Babe with kingly robes bedight, +Sing to all men where'er they be + This Christmas morn; + For Christ is born, + That saveth them and saveth me! + + Sing, sons of earth! +O ransomed seed of Adam, sing! +God liveth, and we have a king! + The curse is gone, the bond are free,-- +By Bethlehem's star that brightly beamed, + By all the heavenly signs that be, +We know that Israel is redeemed; + That on this morn + The Christ is born + That saveth you and saveth me! + + Sing, O my heart! +Sing thou in rapture this dear morn +Whereon the blessed Prince is born! + And as thy songs shall be of love, +So let my deeds be charity,-- + By the dear Lord that reigns above, +By Him that died upon the tree, + By this fair morn + Whereon is born + The Christ that saveth all and me! + + + + +JAPANESE LULLABY + + +Sleep, little pigeon, and fold your wings,-- + Little blue pigeon with velvet eyes; +Sleep to the singing of mother-bird swinging-- + Swinging the nest where her little one lies. + +Away out yonder I see a star,-- + Silvery star with a tinkling song; +To the soft dew falling I hear it calling-- + Calling and tinkling the night along. + +In through the window a moonbeam comes,-- + Little gold moonbeam with misty wings; +All silently creeping, it asks, "Is he sleeping-- + Sleeping and dreaming while mother sings?" + +Up from the sea there floats the sob + Of the waves that are breaking upon the shore, +As though they were groaning in anguish, and moaning-- + Bemoaning the ship that shall come no more. + +But sleep, little pigeon, and fold your wings,-- + Little blue pigeon with mournful eyes; +Am I not singing?--see, I am swinging-- + Swinging the nest where my darling lies. + + + + +"GOOD-BY--GOD BLESS YOU!" + + +I like the Anglo-Saxon speech + With its direct revealings; +It takes a hold, and seems to reach + 'Way down into your feelings; +That some folk deem it rude, I know, + And therefore they abuse it; +But I have never found it so,-- + Before all else I choose it. +I don't object that men should air + The Gallic they have paid for, +With "Au revoir," "Adieu, ma chere," + For that's what French was made for. +But when a crony takes your hand + At parting, to address you, +He drops all foreign lingo and + He says, "Good-by--God bless you!" + +This seems to me a sacred phrase, + With reverence impassioned,-- +A thing come down from righteous days, + Quaintly but nobly fashioned; +It well becomes an honest face, + A voice that's round and cheerful; +It stays the sturdy in his place, + And soothes the weak and fearful. +Into the porches of the ears + It steals with subtle unction, +And in your heart of hearts appears + To work its gracious function; +And all day long with pleasing song + It lingers to caress you,-- +I'm sure no human heart goes wrong + That's told "Good-by--God bless you!" + +I love the words,--perhaps because, + When I was leaving Mother, +Standing at last in solemn pause + We looked at one another, +And I--I saw in Mother's eyes + The love she could not tell me,-- +A love eternal as the skies, + Whatever fate befell me; +She put her arms about my neck + And soothed the pain of leaving, +And though her heart was like to break, + She spoke no word of grieving; +She let no tear bedim her eye, + For fear _that_ might distress me, +But, kissing me, she said good-by, + And asked our God to bless me. + + + + +HORACE TO PHYLLIS + + +Come, Phyllis, I've a cask of wine + That fairly reeks with precious juices, +And in your tresses you shall twine + The loveliest flowers this vale produces. + +My cottage wears a gracious smile,-- + The altar, decked in floral glory, +Yearns for the lamb which bleats the while + As though it pined for honors gory. + +Hither our neighbors nimbly fare,-- + The boys agog, the maidens snickering; +And savory smells possess the air + As skyward kitchen flames are flickering. + +You ask what means this grand display, + This festive throng, and goodly diet? +Well, since you're bound to have your way, + I don't mind telling, on the quiet. + +'Tis April 13, as you know,-- + A day and month devote to Venus, +Whereon was born, some years ago, + My very worthy friend Maecenas. + +Nay, pay no heed to Telephus,-- + Your friends agree he doesn't love you; +The way he flirts convinces us + He really is not worthy of you! + +Aurora's son, unhappy lad! + You know the fate that overtook him? +And Pegasus a rider had-- + I say he _had_ before he shook him! + +Haec docet (as you must agree): + 'T is meet that Phyllis should discover +A wisdom in preferring me + And mittening every other lover. + +So come, O Phyllis, last and best + Of loves with which this heart's been smitten,-- +Come, sing my jealous fears to rest, + And let your songs be those _I've_ written. + + + + +CHRYSTMASSE OF OLDE + + +God rest you, Chrysten gentil men, + Wherever you may be,-- +God rest you all in fielde or hall, + Or on ye stormy sea; +For on this morn oure Chryst is born + That saveth you and me. + +Last night ye shepherds in ye east + Saw many a wondrous thing; +Ye sky last night flamed passing bright + Whiles that ye stars did sing, +And angels came to bless ye name + Of Jesus Chryst, oure Kyng. + +God rest you, Chrysten gentil men, + Faring where'er you may; +In noblesse court do thou no sport, + In tournament no playe, +In paynim lands hold thou thy hands + From bloudy works this daye. + +But thinking on ye gentil Lord + That died upon ye tree, +Let troublings cease and deeds of peace + Abound in Chrystantie; +For on this morn ye Chryst is born + That saveth you and me. + + + + +AT THE DOOR + + +I thought myself indeed secure, + So fast the door, so firm the lock; +But, lo! he toddling comes to lure + My parent ear with timorous knock. + +My heart were stone could it withstand + The sweetness of my baby's plea,-- +That timorous, baby knocking and + "Please let me in,--it's only me." + +I threw aside the unfinished book, + Regardless of its tempting charms, +And opening wide the door, I took + My laughing darling in my arms. + +Who knows but in Eternity, + I, like a truant child, shall wait +The glories of a life to be, + Beyond the Heavenly Father's gate? + +And will that Heavenly Father heed + The truant's supplicating cry, +As at the outer door I plead, + "'T is I, O Father! only I"? + +1886. + + + + +HI-SPY + + +Strange that the city thoroughfare, + Noisy and bustling all the day, +Should with the night renounce its care, + And lend itself to children's play! + +Oh, girls are girls, and boys are boys, + And have been so since Abel's birth, +And shall be so till dolls and toys + Are with the children swept from earth. + +The self-same sport that crowns the day + Of many a Syrian shepherd's son, +Beguiles the little lads at play + By night in stately Babylon. + +I hear their voices in the street, + Yet 't is so different now from then! +Come, brother! from your winding-sheet, + And let us two be boys again! + +1886. + + + + +LITTLE CROODLIN DOO + + +Ho, pretty bee, did you see my croodlin doo? + Ho, little lamb, is she jinkin' on the lea? + Ho, bonnie fairy, bring my dearie back to me-- +Got a lump o' sugar an' a posie for you, +Only bring back my wee, wee croodlin doo! + +Why, here you are, my little croodlin doo! + Looked in er cradle, but didn't find you there, + Looked f'r my wee, wee croodlin doo ever'where; +Ben kind lonesome all er day withouten you; +Where you ben, my little wee, wee croodlin doo? + +Now you go balow, my little croodlin doo; + Now you go rockaby ever so far,-- + Rockaby, rockaby, up to the star +That's winkin' an' blinkin' an' singin' to you +As you go balow, my wee, wee croodlin doo! + + + + +THE "HAPPY ISLES" OF HORACE + + +Oh, come with me to the Happy Isles + In the golden haze off yonder, +Where the song of the sun-kissed breeze beguiles, + And the ocean loves to wander. + +Fragrant the vines that mantle those hills, + Proudly the fig rejoices; +Merrily dance the virgin rills, + Blending their myriad voices. + +Our herds shall fear no evil there, + But peacefully feed and rest them; +Neither shall serpent nor prowling bear + Ever come there to molest them. + +Neither shall Eurus, wanton bold, + Nor feverish drouth distress us, +But he that compasseth heat and cold + Shall temper them both to bless us. + +There no vandal foot has trod, + And the pirate hosts that wander +Shall never profane the sacred sod + Of those beautiful Isles out yonder. + +Never a spell shall blight our vines, + Nor Sirius blaze above us, +But you and I shall drink our wines + And sing to the loved that love us. + +So come with me where Fortune smiles + And the gods invite devotion,-- +Oh, come with me to the Happy Isles + In the haze of that far-off ocean! + + + + +DUTCH LULLABY + + +Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night + Sailed off in a wooden shoe,-- +Sailed on a river of misty light + Into a sea of dew. +"Where are you going, and what do you wish?" + The old moon asked the three. +"We have come to fish for the herring-fish + That live in this beautiful sea; + Nets of silver and gold have we," + Said Wynken, + Blynken, + And Nod. + +The old moon laughed and sung a song, + As they rocked in the wooden shoe; +And the wind that sped them all night long + Ruffled the waves of dew; +The little stars were the herring-fish + That lived in the beautiful sea. +"Now cast your nets wherever you wish, + But never afeard are we!" + So cried the stars to the fishermen three, + Wynken, + Blynken, + And Nod. + +All night long their nets they threw + For the fish in the twinkling foam, +Then down from the sky came the wooden shoe, + Bringing the fishermen home; +'T was all so pretty a sail, it seemed + As if it could not be; +And some folk thought 't was a dream they'd dreamed + Of sailing that beautiful sea; + But I shall name you the fishermen three: + Wynken, + Blynken, + And Nod. + +Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes, + And Nod is a little head, +And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies + Is a wee one's trundle-bed; +So shut your eyes while Mother sings + Of wonderful sights that be, +And you shall see the beautiful things + As you rock on the misty sea + Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three,-- + Wynken, + Blynken, + And Nod. + + + + +HUGO'S "FLOWER TO BUTTERFLY" + + +Sweet, bide with me and let my love + Be an enduring tether; +Oh, wanton not from spot to spot, + But let us dwell together. + +You've come each morn to sip the sweets + With which you found me dripping, +Yet never knew it was not dew + But tears that you were sipping. + +You gambol over honey meads + Where siren bees are humming; +But mine the fate to watch and wait + For my beloved's coming. + +The sunshine that delights you now + Shall fade to darkness gloomy; +You should not fear if, biding here, + You nestled closer to me. + +So rest you, love, and be my love, + That my enraptured blooming +May fill your sight with tender light, + Your wings with sweet perfuming. + +Or, if you will not bide with me + Upon this quiet heather, +Oh, give me wing, thou beauteous thing, + That we may soar together. + + + + +A PROPER TREWE IDYLL OF CAMELOT + + +Whenas ye plaisaunt Aperille shoures have washed and purged awaye +Ye poysons and ye rheums of earth to make a merrie May, +Ye shraddy boscage of ye woods ben full of birds that syng +Right merrilie a madrigal unto ye waking spring, +Ye whiles that when ye face of earth ben washed and wiped ycleane +Her peeping posies blink and stare like they had ben her een; + +Then, wit ye well, ye harte of man ben turned to thoughts of love, +And, tho' it ben a lyon erst, it now ben like a dove! +And many a goodly damosel in innocence beguiles +Her owne trewe love with sweet discourse and divers plaisaunt wiles. +In soche a time ye noblesse liege that ben Kyng Arthure hight +Let cry a joust and tournament for evereche errant knyght, +And, lo! from distant Joyous-garde and eche adjacent spot +A company of noblesse lords fared unto Camelot, +Wherein were mighty feastings and passing merrie cheere, +And eke a deale of dismal dole, as you shall quickly heare. + +It so befell upon a daye when jousts ben had and while +Sir Launcelot did ramp around ye ring in gallaunt style, +There came an horseman shriking sore and rashing wildly home,-- +A mediaeval horseman with ye usual flecks of foame; +And he did brast into ye ring, wherein his horse did drop, +Upon ye which ye rider did with like abruptness stop, +And with fatigue and fearfulness continued in a swound +Ye space of half an hour or more before a leech was founde. +"Now tell me straight," quod Launcelot, "what varlet knyght you be, +Ere that I chine you with my sworde and cleave your harte in three!" +Then rolled that knyght his bloudy een, and answered with a groane,-- +"By worthy God that hath me made and shope ye sun and mone, +There fareth hence an evil thing whose like ben never seene, +And tho' he sayeth nony worde, he bode the ill, I ween. +So take your parting, evereche one, and gird you for ye fraye, +By all that's pure, ye Divell sure doth trend his path this way!" +Ye which he quoth and fell again into a deadly swound, +And on that spot, perchance (God wot), his bones mought yet be founde. + +Then evereche knight girt on his sworde and shield and hied him straight +To meet ye straunger sarasen hard by ye city gate; +Full sorely moaned ye damosels and tore their beautyse haire +For that they feared an hippogriff wolde come to eate them there; +But as they moaned and swounded there too numerous to relate, +Kyng Arthure and Sir Launcelot stode at ye city gate, +And at eche side and round about stode many a noblesse knyght +With helm and speare and sworde and shield and mickle valor dight. + +Anon there came a straunger, but not a gyaunt grim, +Nor yet a draggon,--but a person gangling, long, and slim; +Yclad he was in guise that ill-beseemed those knyghtly days, +And there ben nony etiquette in his uplandish ways; +His raiment was of dusty gray, and perched above his lugs +There ben the very latest style of blacke and shiny pluggs; +His nose ben like a vulture beake, his blie ben swart of hue, +And curly ben ye whiskers through ye which ye zephyrs blewe; +Of all ye een that ben yseene in countries far or nigh, +None nonywhere colde hold compare unto that straunger's eye; +It was an eye of soche a kind as never ben on sleepe, +Nor did it gleam with kindly beame, nor did not use to weepe; +But soche an eye ye widdow hath,--an hongrey eye and wan, +That spyeth for an oder chaunce whereby she may catch on; +An eye that winketh of itself, and sayeth by that winke +Ye which a maiden sholde not knowe nor never even thinke; +Which winke ben more exceeding swift nor human thought ben thunk, +And leaveth doubting if so be that winke ben really wunke; +And soch an eye ye catte-fysshe hath when that he ben on dead +And boyled a goodly time and served with capers on his head; +A rayless eye, a bead-like eye, whose famisht aspect shows +It hungereth for ye verdant banks whereon ye wild time grows; +An eye that hawketh up and down for evereche kind of game, +And, when he doth espy ye which, he tumbleth to ye same. + +Now when he kenned Sir Launcelot in armor clad, he quod, +"Another put-a-nickel-in-and-see-me-work, be god!" +But when that he was ware a man ben standing in that suit, +Ye straunger threw up both his hands, and asked him not to shoote. + +Then spake Kyng Arthure: "If soe be you mind to do no ill, +Come, enter into Camelot, and eat and drink your fill; +But say me first what you are hight, and what mought be your quest." +Ye straunger quod, "I'm five feet ten, and fare me from ye West!" +"Sir Fivefeetten," Kyng Arthure said, "I bid you welcome here; +So make you merrie as you list with plaisaunt wine and cheere; +This very night shall be a feast soche like ben never seene, +And you shall be ye honored guest of Arthure and his queene. +Now take him, good sir Maligraunce, and entertain him well +Until soche time as he becomes our guest, as I you tell." + +That night Kyng Arthure's table round with mighty care ben spread, +Ye oder knyghts sate all about, and Arthure at ye heade: +Oh, 't was a goodly spectacle to ken that noblesse liege +Dispensing hospitality from his commanding siege! +Ye pheasant and ye meate of boare, ye haunch of velvet doe, +Ye canvass hamme he them did serve, and many good things moe. +Until at last Kyng Arthure cried: "Let bring my wassail cup, +And let ye sound of joy go round,--I'm going to set 'em up! +I've pipes of Malmsey, May-wine, sack, metheglon, mead, and sherry, +Canary, Malvoisie, and Port, swete Muscadelle and perry; +Rochelle, Osey, and Romenay, Tyre, Rhenish, posset too, +With kags and pails of foaming ales of brown October brew. +To wine and beer and other cheere I pray you now despatch ye, +And for ensample, wit ye well, sweet sirs, I'm looking at ye!" + +Unto which toast of their liege lord ye oders in ye party +Did lout them low in humble wise and bid ye same drink hearty. +So then ben merrisome discourse and passing plaisaunt cheere, +And Arthure's tales of hippogriffs ben mervaillous to heare; +But stranger far than any tale told of those knyghts of old +Ben those facetious narratives ye Western straunger told. +He told them of a country many leagues beyond ye sea +Where evereche forraine nuisance but ye Chinese man ben free, +And whiles he span his monstrous yarns, ye ladies of ye court +Did deem ye listening thereunto to be right plaisaunt sport; +And whiles they listened, often he did squeeze a lily hande, +Ye which proceeding ne'er before ben done in Arthure's lande; +And often wank a sidelong wink with either roving eye, +Whereat ye ladies laughen so that they had like to die. +But of ye damosels that sat around Kyng Arthure's table +He liked not her that sometime ben ron over by ye cable, +Ye which full evil hap had harmed and marked her person so +That in a passing wittie jest he dubbeth her ye crow. + +But all ye oders of ye girls did please him passing well +And they did own him for to be a proper seeming swell; +And in especial Guinevere esteemed him wondrous faire, +Which had made Arthure and his friend, Sir Launcelot, to sware +But that they both ben so far gone with posset, wine, and beer, +They colde not see ye carrying-on, nor neither colde not heare; +For of eche liquor Arthure quafft, and so did all ye rest, +Save only and excepting that smooth straunger from the West. +When as these oders drank a toast, he let them have their fun +With divers godless mixings, but _he_ stock to willow run, +Ye which (and all that reade these words sholde profit by ye warning) +Doth never make ye head to feel like it ben swelled next morning. +Now, wit ye well, it so befell that when the night grew dim, +Ye Kyng was carried from ye hall with a howling jag on him, +Whiles Launcelot and all ye rest that to his highness toadied +Withdrew them from ye banquet-hall and sought their couches loaded. + +Now, lithe and listen, lordings all, whiles I do call it shame +That, making cheer with wine and beer, men do abuse ye same; +Though eche be well enow alone, ye mixing of ye two +Ben soche a piece of foolishness as only ejiots do. +Ye wine is plaisaunt bibbing whenas ye gentles dine, +And beer will do if one hath not ye wherewithal for wine, +But in ye drinking of ye same ye wise are never floored +By taking what ye tipplers call too big a jag on board. +Right hejeous is it for to see soche dronkonness of wine +Whereby some men are used to make themselves to be like swine; +And sorely it repenteth them, for when they wake next day +Ye fearful paynes they suffer ben soche as none mought say, +And soche ye brenning in ye throat and brasting of ye head +And soche ye taste within ye mouth like one had been on dead,--Soche +be ye foul conditions that these unhappy men +Sware they will never drink no drop of nony drinke again. +Yet all so frail and vain a thing and weak withal is man +That he goeth on an oder tear whenever that he can. +And like ye evil quatern or ye hills that skirt ye skies, +Ye jag is reproductive and jags on jags arise. + +Whenas Aurora from ye east in dewy splendor hied +King Arthure dreemed he saw a snaix and ben on fire inside, +And waking from this hejeous dreeme he sate him up in bed,-- +"What, ho! an absynthe cocktail, knave! and make it strong!" he said; +Then, looking down beside him, lo! his lady was not there-- +He called, he searched, but, Goddis wounds! he found her nonywhere; +And whiles he searched, Sir Maligraunce rashed in, wood wroth, and cried, +"Methinketh that ye straunger knyght hath snuck away my bride!" +And whiles _he_ spake a motley score of other knyghts brast in +And filled ye royall chamber with a mickle fearfull din, +For evereche one had lost his wiffe nor colde not spye ye same, +Nor colde not spye ye straunger knyght, Sir Fivefeetten of name. + +Oh, then and there was grevious lamentation all arounde, +For nony dame nor damosel in Camelot ben found,-- +Gone, like ye forest leaves that speed afore ye autumn wind. +Of all ye ladies of that court not one ben left behind +Save only that same damosel ye straunger called ye crow, +And she allowed with moche regret she ben too lame to go; +And when that she had wept full sore, to Arthure she confess'd +That Guinevere had left this word for Arthure and ye rest: +"Tell them," she quod, "we shall return to them whenas we've made +This little deal we have with ye Chicago Bourde of Trade." + + + + +BERANGER'S "MA VOCATION" + + +Misery is my lot, + Poverty and pain; +Ill was I begot, + Ill must I remain; +Yet the wretched days + One sweet comfort bring, +When God whispering says, + "Sing, O singer, sing!" + +Chariots rumble by, + Splashing me with mud; +Insolence see I + Fawn to royal blood; +Solace have I then + From each galling sting +In that voice again,-- + "Sing, O singer, sing!" + +Cowardly at heart, + I am forced to play +A degraded part + For its paltry pay; +Freedom is a prize + For no starving thing; +Yet that small voice cries, + "Sing, O singer, sing!" + +I _was_ young, but now, + When I'm old and gray, +Love--I know not how + Or why--hath sped away; +Still, in winter days + As in hours of spring, +_Still_ a whisper says, + "Sing, O singer, sing!" + +Ah, too well I know + Song's my only friend! +Patiently I'll go + Singing to the end; +Comrades, to your wine! + Let your glasses ring! +Lo, that voice divine + Whispers, "Sing, oh, sing!" + + + + +CHILD AND MOTHER + + +O mother-my-love, if you'll give me your hand, + And go where I ask you to wander, +I will lead you away to a beautiful land,-- + The Dreamland that's waiting out yonder. +We'll walk in a sweet posie-garden out there, + Where moonlight and starlight are streaming, +And the flowers and the birds are filling the air + With the fragrance and music of dreaming. + +There'll be no little tired-out boy to undress, + No questions or cares to perplex you, +There'll be no little bruises or bumps to caress, + Nor patching of stockings to vex you; +For I'll rock you away on a silver-dew stream + And sing you asleep when you're weary, +And no one shall know of our beautiful dream + But you and your own little dearie. + +And when I am tired I'll nestle my head + In the bosom that's soothed me so often, +And the wide-awake stars shall sing, in my stead, + A song which our dreaming shall soften. +So, Mother-my-Love, let me take your dear hand, + And away through the starlight we'll wander,-- +Away through the mist to the beautiful land,-- + The Dreamland that's waiting out yonder. + + + + +THE CONVERSAZZHYONY + + +What conversazzhyonies wuz I really did not know, +For that, you must remember, wuz a powerful spell ago; +The camp wuz new 'nd noisy, 'nd only modrit sized, +So fashionable sossiety wuz hardly crystallized. +There hadn't been no grand events to interest the men, +But a lynchin', or a inquest, or a jackpot now an' then. +The wimmin-folks wuz mighty scarce, for wimmin, ez a rool, +Don't go to Colorado much, excep' for teachin' school, +An' bein' scarce an' chipper and pretty (like as not), +The bachelors perpose, 'nd air accepted on the spot. + +Now Sorry Tom wuz owner uv the Gosh-all-Hemlock mine, +The wich allowed his better haff to dress all-fired fine; +For Sorry Tom wuz mighty proud uv her, an' she uv him, +Though _she_ wuz short an' tacky, an' _he_ wuz tall an' slim, +An' _she_ wuz edjicated, an' Sorry Tom wuz _not_, +Yet, for _her_ sake, he'd whack up every cussid cent he'd got! +Waal, jest by way uv celebratin' matrimonial joys, +She thought she'd give a conversazzhyony to the boys,-- +A peert an' likely lady, 'nd ez full uv 'cute idees +'Nd uv etiquettish notions ez a fyste is full uv fleas. + +Three-fingered Hoover kind uv kicked, an' said they might be durned +So far ez any conversazzhyony was concerned; +_He'd_ come to Red Hoss Mountain to tunnel for the ore, +An' _not_ to go to parties,--quite another kind uv bore! +But, bein' he wuz candidate for marshal uv the camp, +I rayther had the upper holts in arguin' with the scamp; +Sez I, "Three-fingered Hoover, can't ye see it is yer game +To go for all the votes ye kin an' collar uv the same?" +The wich perceivin', Hoover sez, "Waal, ef I _must_, I _must_; +So I'll frequent that conversazzhyony, ef I bust!" + +Three-fingered Hoover wuz a trump! Ez fine a man wuz he +Ez ever caused an inquest or blossomed on a tree!-- +A big, broad man, whose face bespoke a honest heart within,-- +With a bunch uv yaller whiskers appertainin' to his chin, +'Nd a fierce mustache turnt up so fur that both his ears wuz hid, +Like the picture that you always see in the "Life uv Cap'n Kidd." +His hair wuz long an' wavy an' fine as Southdown fleece,-- +Oh, it shone an' smelt like Eden when he slicked it down with grease! +I'll bet there wuzn't anywhere a man, all round, ez fine +Ez wuz Three-fingered Hoover in the spring uv '69! + +The conversazzhyony wuz a notable affair, +The bong tong deckolett 'nd en regaly bein' there; +The ranch where Sorry Tom hung out wuz fitted up immense,-- +The Denver papers called it a "palashal residence." +There wuz mountain pines an' fern an' flowers a-hangin' on the walls, +An' cheers an' hoss-hair sofies wuz a-settin' in the halls; +An' there wuz heaps uv pictures uv folks that lived down East, +Sech ez poets an' perfessers, an' last, but not the least, +Wuz a chromo uv old Fremont,--we liked that best, you bet, +For there's lots uv us old miners that is votin' for him yet! + +When Sorry Tom received the gang perlitely at the door, +He said that keerds would be allowed upon the second floor; +And then he asked us would we like a drop uv ody vee. +Connivin' at his meanin', we responded promptly, "Wee." +A conversazzhyony is a thing where people speak +The langwidge in the which they air partickulerly weak: +"I see," sez Sorry Tom, "you grasp what that 'ere lingo means." +"You bet yer boots," sez Hoover; "I've lived at Noo Orleens, +An', though I ain't no Frenchie, nor kin unto the same, +I kin parly voo, an' git there, too, like Eli, toot lee mame!" + +As speakin' French wuz not my forte,--not even oovry poo,-- +I stuck to keerds ez played by them ez did not parly voo, +An' bein' how that poker wuz my most perficient game, +I poneyed up for 20 blues an' set into the same. +Three-fingered Hoover stayed behind an' parly-vood so well +That all the kramy delly krame allowed he wuz _the_ belle. +The other candidate for marshal didn't have a show; +For, while Three-fingered Hoover parlyed, ez they said, tray bow, +Bill Goslin didn't know enough uv French to git along, +'Nd I reckon that he had what folks might call a movy tong. + +From Denver they had freighted up a real pianny-fort +Uv the warty-leg and pearl-around-the-keys-an'-kivver sort, +An', later in the evenin', Perfesser Vere de Blaw +Performed on that pianny, with considerble eclaw, +Sech high-toned opry airs ez one is apt to hear, you know, +When he rounds up down to Denver at a Emmy Abbitt show; +An' Barber Jim (a talented but ornery galoot) +Discoursed a obligatter, conny mory, on the floot, +'Till we, ez sot up-stairs indulgin' in a quiet game, +Conveyed to Barber Jim our wish to compromise the same. + +The maynoo that wuz spread that night wuz mighty hard to beat,-- +Though somewhat awkward to pernounce, it was not so to eat: +There wuz puddin's, pies, an' sandwidges, an' forty kinds uv sass, +An' floatin' Irelands, custards, tarts, an' patty dee foy grass; +An' millions uv cove oysters wuz a-settin' round in pans, +'Nd other native fruits an' things that grow out West in cans. +But I wuz all kufflummuxed when Hoover said he'd choose +"Oon peety morso, see voo play, de la cette Charlotte Rooze;" +I'd knowed Three-fingered Hoover for fifteen years or more, +'Nd I'd never heern him speak so light uv wimmin folks before! + +Bill Goslin heern him say it, 'nd uv course _he_ spread the news +Uv how Three-fingered Hoover had insulted Charlotte Rooze +At the conversazzhyony down at Sorry Tom's that night, +An' when they asked me, I allowed that Bill for once wuz right; +Although it broke my heart to see my friend go up the fluke, +We all opined his treatment uv the girl deserved rebuke. +It warn't no use for Sorry Tom to nail it for a lie,-- +When it come to sassin' wimmin, there wuz blood in every eye; +The boom for Charlotte Rooze swep' on an' took the polls by storm, +An' so Three-fingered Hoover fell a martyr to reform! + +Three-fingered Hoover said it was a terrible mistake, +An' when the votes wuz in, he cried ez if his heart would break. +We never knew who Charlotte wuz, but Goslin's brother Dick +Allowed she wuz the teacher from the camp on Roarin' Crick, +That had come to pass some foreign tongue with them uv our alite +Ez wuz at the high-toned party down at Sorry Tom's that night. +We let it drop--this matter uv the lady--there an' then, +An' we never heerd, nor wanted to, of Charlotte Rooze again, +An' the Colorado wimmin-folks, ez like ez not, don't know +How we vindicated all their sex a twenty year ago. + +For in these wondrous twenty years has come a mighty change, +An' most of them old pioneers have gone acrosst the range, +Way out into the silver land beyond the peaks uv snow,-- +The land uv rest an' sunshine, where all good miners go. +I reckon that they love to look, from out the silver haze, +Upon that God's own country where they spent sech happy days; +Upon the noble cities that have risen since they went; +Upon the camps an' ranches that are prosperous and content; +An' best uv all, upon those hills that reach into the air, +Ez if to clasp the loved ones that are waitin' over there. + + + + +PROF. VERE DE BLAW + + +Achievin' sech distinction with his moddel tabble dote +Ez to make his Red Hoss Mountain restauraw a place uv note, +Our old friend Casey innovated somewhat round the place, +In hopes he would ameliorate the sufferin's uv the race; +'Nd uv the many features Casey managed to import +The most important wuz a Steenway gran' pianny-fort, +An' bein' there wuz nobody could play upon the same, +He telegraffed to Denver, 'nd a real perfesser came,-- +The last an' crownin' glory uv the Casey restauraw +Wuz that tenderfoot musicianer, Perfesser Vere de Blaw! + +His hair wuz long an' dishybill, an' he had a yaller skin, +An' the absence uv a collar made his neck look powerful thin: +A sorry man he wuz to see, az mebby you'd surmise, +But the fire uv inspiration wuz a-blazin' in his eyes! +His name wuz Blanc, wich same is Blaw (for that's what Casey said, +An' Casey passed the French ez well ez any Frenchie bred); +But no one ever reckoned that it really wuz his name, +An' no one ever asked him how or why or whence he came,-- +Your ancient history is a thing the Coloradan hates, +An' no one asks another what his name wuz in the States! + +At evenin', when the work wuz done, an' the miners rounded up +At Casey's, to indulge in keerds or linger with the cup, +Or dally with the tabble dote in all its native glory, +Perfessor Vere de Blaw discoursed his music repertory +Upon the Steenway gran' piannyfort, the wich wuz sot +In the hallway near the kitchen (a warm but quiet spot), +An' when De Blaw's environments induced the proper pride,-- +Wich gen'rally wuz whiskey straight, with seltzer on the side,-- +He throwed his soulful bein' into opry airs 'nd things +Wich bounded to the ceilin' like he'd mesmerized the strings. + +Oh, you that live in cities where the gran' piannies grow, +An' primy donnies round up, it's little that you know +Uv the hungerin' an' the yearnin' wich us miners an' the rest +Feel for the songs we used to hear before we moved out West. +Yes, memory is a pleasant thing, but it weakens mighty quick; +It kind uv dries an' withers, like the windin' mountain crick, +That, beautiful, an' singin' songs, goes dancin' to the plains, +So long ez it is fed by snows an' watered by the rains; +But, uv that grace uv lovin' rains 'nd mountain snows bereft, +Its bleachin' rocks, like dummy ghosts, is all its memory left. + +The toons wich the perfesser would perform with sech eclaw +Would melt the toughest mountain gentleman I ever saw,-- +Sech touchin' opry music ez the Trovytory sort, +The sollum "Mizer Reery," an' the thrillin' "Keely Mort;" +Or, sometimes, from "Lee Grond Dooshess" a trifle he would play, +Or morsoze from a' opry boof, to drive dull care away; +Or, feelin' kind uv serious, he'd discourse somewhat in C,-- +The wich he called a' opus (whatever that may be); +But the toons that fetched the likker from the critics in the crowd +Wuz _not_ the high-toned ones, Perfesser Vere de Blaw allowed. + +'T wuz "Dearest May," an' "Bonnie Doon," an' the ballard uv "Ben Bolt," +Ez wuz regarded by all odds ez Vere de Blaw's best holt; +Then there wuz "Darlin' Nellie Gray," an' "Settin' on the Stile," +An' "Seein' Nellie Home," an' "Nancy Lee," 'nd "Annie Lisle," +An' "Silver Threads among the Gold," an' "The Gal that Winked at Me," +An' "Gentle Annie," "Nancy Till," an' "The Cot beside the Sea." +Your opry airs is good enough for them ez likes to pay +Their money for the truck ez can't be got no other way; +But opry to a miner is a thin an' holler thing,--The +music that he pines for is the songs he used to sing. + +One evenin' down at Casey's De Blaw wuz at his best, +With four-fingers uv old Wilier-run concealed beneath his vest; +The boys wuz settin' all around, discussin' folks an' things, +'Nd I had drawed the necessary keerds to fill on kings; +Three-fingered Hoover kind uv leaned acrosst the bar to say +If Casey'd liquidate right off, _he'd_ liquidate next day; +A sperrit uv contentment wuz a-broodin' all around +(Onlike the other sperrits wich in restauraws abound), +When, suddenly, we heerd from yonder kitchen-entry rise +A toon each ornery galoot appeared to recognize. + +Perfesser Vere de Blaw for once eschewed his opry ways, +An' the remnants uv his mind went back to earlier, happier days, +An' grappled like an' wrassled with a' old familiar air +The wich we all uv us had heern, ez you have, everywhere! +Stock still we stopped,--some in their talk uv politics an' things, +I in my unobtrusive attempt to fill on kings, +'Nd Hoover leanin' on the bar, an' Casey at the till,-- +We all stopped short an' held our breaths (ez a feller sometimes will), +An' sot there more like bumps on logs than healthy, husky men, +Ez the memories uv that old, old toon come sneakin' back again. + +You've guessed it? No, you hav n't; for it wuzn't that there song +Uv the home we'd been away from an' had hankered for so long,-- +No, sir; it wuzn't "Home, Sweet Home," though it's always heard around +Sech neighborhoods in wich the home that _is_ "sweet home" is found. +And, ez for me, I seemed to see the past come back again, +And hear the deep-drawed sigh my sister Lucy uttered when +Her mother asked her if she 'd practised her two hours that day, +Wich, if she hadn't, she must go an' do it right away! +The homestead in the States 'nd all its memories seemed to come +A-floatin' round about me with that magic lumty-tum. + +And then uprose a stranger wich had struck the camp that night; +His eyes wuz sot an' fireless, 'nd his face wuz spookish white, +'Nd he sez: "Oh, how I suffer there is nobody kin say, +Onless, like me, he's wrenched himself from home an' friends away +To seek surcease from sorrer in a fur, seclooded spot, +Only to find--alars, too late!--the wich surcease is not! +Only to find that there air things that, somehow, seem to live +For nothin' in the world but jest the misery they give! +I've travelled eighteen hundred miles, but that toon has got here first; +I'm done,--I'm blowed,--I welcome death, an' bid it do its worst!" + +Then, like a man whose mind wuz sot on yieldin' to his fate, +He waltzed up to the counter an' demanded whiskey straight, +Wich havin' got outside uv,--both the likker and the door,-- +We never seen that stranger in the bloom uv health no more! +But some months later, what the birds had left uv him wuz found +Associated with a tree, some distance from the ground; +And Husky Sam, the coroner, that set upon him, said +That two things wuz apparent, namely: first, deceast wuz dead; +And, second, previously had got involved beyond all hope +In a knotty complication with a yard or two uv rope! + + + + +MEDIAEVAL EVENTIDE SONG + + +Come hither, lyttel childe, and lie upon my breast to-night, +For yonder fares an angell yclad in raimaunt white, +And yonder sings ye angell as onely angells may, +And his songe ben of a garden that bloometh farre awaye. + +To them that have no lyttel childe Godde sometimes sendeth down +A lyttel childe that ben a lyttel lambkyn of his owne; +And if so bee they love that childe, He willeth it to staye, +But elsewise, in His mercie He taketh it awaye. + +And sometimes, though they love it, Godde yearneth for ye childe, +And sendeth angells singing, whereby it ben beguiled; +They fold their arms about ye lamb that croodleth at his play, +And beare him to ye garden that bloometh farre awaye. + +I wolde not lose ye lyttel lamb that Godde hath lent to me; +If I colde sing that angell songe, how joysome I sholde bee! +For, with mine arms about him, and my musick in his eare, +What angell songe of paradize soever sholde I feare? + +Soe come, my lyttel childe, and lie upon my breast to-night, +For yonder fares an angell yclad in raimaunt white, +And yonder sings that angell, as onely angells may, +And his songe ben of a garden that bloometh farre awaye. + + + + +MARTHY'S YOUNKIT + + +The mountain brook sung lonesomelike, and loitered on its way +Ez if it waited for a child to jine it in its play; +The wild-flowers uv the hillside bent down their heads to hear +The music uv the little feet that had somehow grown so dear; +The magpies, like winged shadders, wuz a-flutterin' to an' fro +Among the rocks an' holler stumps in the ragged gulch below; +The pines an' hemlocks tosst their boughs (like they wuz arms) and made +Soft, sollum music on the slope where he had often played; +But for these lonesome, sollum voices on the mountain-side, +There wuz no sound the summer day that Marthy's younkit died. + +We called him Marthy's younkit, for Marthy wuz the name +Uv her ez wuz his mar, the wife uv Sorry Tom,--the same +Ez taught the school-house on the hill, way back in '69, +When she marr'd Sorry Tom, wich owned the Gosh-all-Hemlock mine! +And Marthy's younkit wuz their first, wich, bein' how it meant +The first on Red Hoss Mountain, wuz truly a' event! +The miners sawed off short on work ez soon ez they got word +That Dock Devine allowed to Casey what had just occurred; +We loaded up an' whooped around until we all wuz hoarse +Salutin' the arrival, wich weighed ten pounds, uv course! + +Three years, and sech a pretty child!--his mother's counterpart! +Three years, an' sech a holt ez he had got on every heart! +A peert an' likely little tyke with hair ez red ez gold, +A-laughin', toddlin' everywhere,--'nd only three years old! +Up yonder, sometimes, to the store, an' sometimes down the hill +He kited (boys is boys, you know,--you couldn't keep him still!) +An' there he'd play beside the brook where purpul wild-flowers grew, +An' the mountain pines an' hemlocks a kindly shadder threw, +An' sung soft, sollum toons to him, while in the gulch below +The magpies, like strange sperrits, went flutterin' to an' fro. + +Three years, an' then the fever come,--it wuzn't right, you know, +With all us old ones in the camp, for that little child to go; +It's right the old should die, but that a harmless little child +Should miss the joy uv life an' love,--that can't be reconciled! +That's what we thought that summer day, an' that is what we said +Ez we looked upon the piteous face uv Marthy's younkit dead. +But for his mother's sobbin', the house wuz very still, +An' Sorry Tom wuz lookin', through the winder, down the hill, +To the patch beneath the hemlocks where his darlin' used to play, +An' the mountain brook sung lonesomelike an' loitered on its way. + +A preacher come from Roarin' Crick to comfort 'em an' pray, +'Nd all the camp wuz present at the obsequies next day; +A female teacher staged it twenty miles to sing a hymn, +An' we jined her in the chorus,--big, husky men an' grim +Sung "Jesus, Lover uv my Soul," an' then the preacher prayed, +An' preacht a sermon on the death uv that fair blossom laid +Among them other flowers he loved,--wich sermon set sech weight +On sinners bein' always heeled against the future state, +That, though it had been fashionable to swear a perfec' streak, +There warn't no swearin' in the camp for pretty nigh a week! + +Last thing uv all, four strappin' men took up the little load +An' bore it tenderly along the windin', rocky road, +To where the coroner had dug a grave beside the brook, +In sight uv Marthy's winder, where the same could set an' look +An' wonder if his cradle in that green patch, long an' wide, +Wuz ez soothin' ez the cradle that wuz empty at her side; +An' wonder if the mournful songs the pines wuz singin' then +Wuz ez tender ez the lullabies she'd never sing again, +'Nd if the bosom of the earth in wich he lay at rest +Wuz half ez lovin' 'nd ez warm ez wuz his mother's breast. + +The camp is gone; but Red Hoss Mountain rears its kindly head, +An' looks down, sort uv tenderly, upon its cherished dead; +'Nd I reckon that, through all the years, that little boy wich died +Sleeps sweetly an' contentedly upon the mountain-side; +That the wild-flowers uv the summer-time bend down their heads to hear +The footfall uv a little friend they know not slumbers near; +That the magpies on the sollum rocks strange flutterin' shadders make, +An' the pines an' hemlocks wonder that the sleeper doesn't wake; +That the mountain brook sings lonesomelike an' loiters on its way +Ez if it waited for a child to jine it in its play. + + + + +IN FLANDERS + + +Through sleet and fogs to the saline bogs + Where the herring fish meanders, +An army sped, and then, 't is said, + Swore terribly in Flanders: + "--------!" + "--------!" +A hideous store of oaths they swore, + Did the army over in Flanders! + +At this distant day we're unable to say + What so aroused their danders; +But it's doubtless the case, to their lasting disgrace, + That the army swore in Flanders: + "--------!" + "--------!" +And many more such oaths they swore, + Did that impious horde in Flanders! + +Some folks contend that these oaths without end + Began among the commanders, +That, taking this cue, the subordinates, too, + Swore terribly in Flanders: + Twas "------------!" + "--------" + +Why, the air was blue with the hullaballoo + Of those wicked men in Flanders! + +But some suppose that the trouble arose + With a certain Corporal Sanders, +Who sought to abuse the wooden shoes + That the natives wore in Flanders. + Saying: "--------!" + "--------" + +What marvel then, that the other men + Felt encouraged to swear in Flanders! +At any rate, as I grieve to state, + Since these soldiers vented their danders +Conjectures obtain that for language profane + There is no such place as Flanders. + "--------" + "--------" + +This is the kind of talk you'll find + If ever you go to Flanders. +How wretched is he, wherever he be, + That unto this habit panders! +And how glad am I that my interests lie + In Chicago, and not in Flanders! + "----------------!" + "----------------!" + +Would never go down in this circumspect town +However it might in Flanders. + + + + +OUR BIGGEST FISH + + +When in the halcyon days of old, I was a little tyke, +I used to fish in pickerel ponds for minnows and the like; +And oh, the bitter sadness with which my soul was fraught +When I rambled home at nightfall with the puny string I'd caught! +And, oh, the indignation and the valor I'd display +When I claimed that all the biggest fish I'd caught had got away! + +Sometimes it was the rusty hooks, sometimes the fragile lines, +And many times the treacherous reeds would foil my just designs; +But whether hooks or lines or reeds were actually to blame, +I kept right on at losing all the monsters just the same-- +I never lost a _little_ fish--yes, I am free to say +It always was the _biggest_ fish I caught that got away. + +And so it was, when later on, I felt ambition pass +From callow minnow joys to nobler greed for pike and bass; +I found it quite convenient, when the beauties wouldn't bite +And I returned all bootless from the watery chase at night, +To feign a cheery aspect and recount in accents gay +How the biggest fish that I had caught had somehow got away. + +And really, fish look bigger than they are before they are before they're + caught-- +When the pole is bent into a bow and the slender line is taut, +When a fellow feels his heart rise up like a doughnut in his throat +And he lunges in a frenzy up and down the leaky boat! +Oh, you who've been a-fishing will indorse me when I say +That it always _is_ the biggest fish you catch that gets away! + +'T 'is even so in other things--yes, in our greedy eyes +The biggest boon is some elusive, never-captured prize; +We angle for the honors and the sweets of human life-- +Like fishermen we brave the seas that roll in endless strife; + +And then at last, when all is done and we are spent and gray, +We own the biggest fish we've caught are those that got away. + +I would not have it otherwise; 't is better there should be +Much bigger fish than I have caught a-swimming in the sea; +For now some worthier one than I may angle for that game-- +May by his arts entice, entrap, and comprehend the same; +Which, having done, perchance he'll bless the man who's proud to say +That the biggest fish he ever caught were those that got away. + + + + +THIRTY-NINE + + +O hapless day! O wretched day! + I hoped you'd pass me by-- +Alas, the years have sneaked away + And all is changed but I! +Had I the power, I would remand + You to a gloom condign, +But here you've crept upon me and + I--I am thirty-nine! + +Now, were I thirty-five, I could + Assume a flippant guise; +Or, were I forty years, I should + Undoubtedly look wise; +For forty years are said to bring + Sedateness superfine; +But thirty-nine don't mean a thing-- + _A bas_ with thirty-nine! + +You healthy, hulking girls and boys,-- + What makes you grow so fast? +Oh, I'll survive your lusty noise-- + I'm tough and bound to last! +No, no--I'm old and withered too-- + I feel my powers decline +(Yet none believes this can be true + Of one at thirty-nine). + +And you, dear girl with velvet eyes, + I wonder what you mean +Through all our keen anxieties + By keeping sweet sixteen. +With your dear love to warm my heart, + Wretch were I to repine; +I was but jesting at the start-- + I'm glad I'm thirty-nine! + +So, little children, roar and race + As blithely as you can, +And, sweetheart, let your tender grace + Exalt the Day and Man; +For then these factors (I'll engage) + All subtly shall combine +To make both juvenile and sage + The one who's thirty-nine! + +Yes, after all, I'm free to say + I would much rather be +Standing as I do stand to-day, + 'Twixt devil and deep sea; +For though my face be dark with care + Or with a grimace shine, +Each haply falls unto my share, + For I am thirty-nine! + +'Tis passing meet to make good cheer + And lord it like a king, +Since only once we catch the year + That doesn't mean a thing. +O happy day! O gracious day! + I pledge thee in this wine-- +Come, let us journey on our way + A year, good Thirty-Nine! + +Sept. 2, 1889. + + + + +YVYTOT + + +_Where wail the waters in their flaw +A spectre wanders to and fro, + And evermore that ghostly shore +Bemoans the heir of Yvytot_. + +_Sometimes, when, like a fleecy pall, +The mists upon the waters fall, + Across the main float shadows twain +That do not heed the spectre's call_. + +The king his son of Yvytot +Stood once and saw the waters go + Boiling around with hissing sound +The sullen phantom rocks below. + +And suddenly he saw a face +Lift from that black and seething place-- + Lift up and gaze in mute amaze +And tenderly a little space, + +A mighty cry of love made he-- +No answering word to him gave she, + But looked, and then sunk back again +Into the dark and depthless sea. + +And ever afterward that face, +That he beheld such little space, + Like wraith would rise within his eyes +And in his heart find biding place. + +So oft from castle hall he crept +Where mid the rocks grim shadows slept, + And where the mist reached down and kissed +The waters as they wailed and wept. + +The king it was of Yvytot +That vaunted, many years ago, + There was no coast his valiant host +Had not subdued with spear and bow. + +For once to him the sea-king cried: +"In safety all thy ships shall ride + An thou but swear thy princely heir +Shall take my daughter to his bride. + +"And lo, these winds that rove the sea +Unto our pact shall witness be, + And of the oath which binds us both +Shall be the judge 'twixt me and thee!" + +Then swore the king of Yvytot +Unto the sea-king years ago, + And with great cheer for many a year +His ships went harrying to and fro. + +Unto this mighty king his throne +Was born a prince, and one alone-- + Fairer than he in form and blee +And knightly grace was never known. + +But once he saw a maiden face +Lift from a haunted ocean place-- + Lift up and gaze in mute amaze +And tenderly a little space. + +Wroth was the king of Yvytot, +For that his son would never go + Sailing the sea, but liefer be +Where wailed the waters in their flow, + +Where winds in clamorous anger swept, +Where to and fro grim shadows crept, + And where the mist reached down and kissed +The waters as they wailed and wept. + +So sped the years, till came a day +The haughty king was old and gray, + And in his hold were spoils untold +That he had wrenched from Norroway. + +Then once again the sea-king cried: +"Thy ships have harried far and wide; + My part is done--now let thy son +Require my daughter to his bride!" + +Loud laughed the king of Yvytot, +And by his soul he bade him no-- + "I heed no more what oath I swore, +For I was mad to bargain so!" + +Then spake the sea-king in his wrath: +"Thy ships lie broken in my path! + Go now and wring thy hands, false king! +Nor ship nor heir thy kingdom hath! + +"And thou shalt wander evermore +All up and down this ghostly shore, + And call in vain upon the twain +That keep what oath a dastard swore!" + +The king his son of Yvytot +Stood even then where to and fro + The breakers swelled--and there beheld +A maiden face lift from below. + +"Be thou or truth or dream," he cried, +"Or spirit of the restless tide, + It booteth not to me, God wot! +But I would have thee to my bride." + +Then spake the maiden: "Come with me +Unto a palace in the sea, + For there my sire in kingly ire +Requires thy king his oath of thee!" + +Gayly he fared him down the sands +And took the maiden's outstretched hands; + And so went they upon their way +To do the sea-king his commands. + +The winds went riding to and fro +And scourged the waves that crouched below, + And bade them sing to a childless king +The bridal song of Yvytot. + +So fell the curse upon that shore, +And hopeless wailing evermore + Was the righteous dole of the craven soul +That heeded not what oath he swore. + +An hundred ships went down that day +All off the coast of Norroway, + And the ruthless sea made mighty glee +Over the spoil that drifting lay. + +The winds went calling far and wide +To the dead that tossed in the mocking tide: + "Come forth, ye slaves! from your fleeting graves +And drink a health to your prince his bride!" + +_Where wail the waters in their flow +A spectre wanders to and fro, + But nevermore that ghostly shore +Shall claim the heir of Yvytot_. + +_Sometimes, when, like a fleecy pall, +The mists upon the waters fall, + Across the main flit shadows twain +That do not heed the spectre's call_. + + + + +LONG AGO + + +I once knew all the birds that came + And nested in our orchard trees; +For every flower I had a name-- + My friends were woodchucks, toads, and bees; +I knew where thrived in yonder glen + What plants would soothe a stone-bruised toe-- +Oh, I was very learned then; + But that was very long ago! + +I knew the spot upon the hill + Where checkerberries could be found, +I knew the rushes near the mill + Where pickerel lay that weighed a pound! +I knew the wood,--the very tree + Where lived the poaching, saucy crow, +And all the woods and crows knew me-- + But that was very long ago. + +And pining for the joys of youth, + I tread the old familiar spot +Only to learn this solemn truth: + I have forgotten, am forgot. +Yet here's this youngster at my knee + Knows all the things I used to know; +To think I once was wise as he-- + But that was very long ago. + +I know it's folly to complain + Of whatsoe'er the Fates decree; +Yet were not wishes all in vain, + I tell you what my wish should be: +I'd wish to be a boy again, + Back with the friends I used to know; +For I was, oh! so happy then-- + But that was very long ago! + + + + +TO A SOUBRETTE + + +'Tis years, soubrette, since last we met; + And yet--ah, yet, how swift and tender +My thoughts go back in time's dull track + To you, sweet pink of female gender! +I shall not say--though others may-- + That time all human joy enhances; +But the same old thrill comes to me still + With memories of your songs and dances. + +Soubrettish ways these latter days + Invite my praise, but never get it; +I still am true to yours and you-- + My record's made, I'll not upset it! +The pranks they play, the things they say-- + I'd blush to put the like on paper, +And I'll avow they don't know how + To dance, so awkwardly they caper! + +I used to sit down in the pit + And see you flit like elf or fairy +Across the stage, and I'll engage + No moonbeam sprite was half so airy; +Lo, everywhere about me there + Were rivals reeking with pomatum, +And if, perchance, they caught your glance + In song or dance, how did I hate 'em! + +At half-past ten came rapture--then + Of all those men was I most happy, +For bottled beer and royal cheer + And tetes-a-tetes were on the tapis. +Do you forget, my fair soubrette, + Those suppers at the Cafe Rector,-- +The cosey nook where we partook + Of sweeter cheer than fabled nectar? + +Oh, happy days, when youth's wild ways + Knew every phase of harmless folly! +Oh, blissful nights, whose fierce delights + Defied gaunt-featured Melancholy! +Gone are they all beyond recall, + And I--a shade, a mere reflection-- +Am forced to feed my spirit's greed + Upon the husks of retrospection! + +And lo! to-night, the phantom light, + That, as a sprite, flits on the fender, +Reveals a face whose girlish grace + Brings back the feeling, warm and tender; +And, all the while, the old-time smile + Plays on my visage, grim and wrinkled,-- +As though, soubrette, your footfalls yet + Upon my rusty heart-strings tinkled! + + + + +SOME TIME + + +Last night, my darling, as you slept, + I thought I heard you sigh, +And to your little crib I crept, + And watched a space thereby; +And then I stooped and kissed your brow, + For oh! I love you so-- +You are too young to know it now, + But some time you shall know! + +Some time when, in a darkened place + Where others come to weep, +Your eyes shall look upon a face + Calm in eternal sleep, +The voiceless lips, the wrinkled brow, + The patient smile shall show-- +You are too young to know it now, + But some time you may know! + +Look backward, then, into the years, + And see me here to-night-- +See, O my darling! how my tears + Are falling as I write; +And feel once more upon your brow + The kiss of long ago-- +You are too young to know it now, + But some time you shall know. + + + + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's A Little Book of Western Verse, by Eugene Field + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A LITTLE BOOK OF WESTERN VERSE *** + +***** This file should be named 9606.txt or 9606.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/9/6/0/9606/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland and Project Gutenberg +Distributed Proofreaders + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: A Little Book of Western Verse + +Author: Eugene Field + +Release Date: January, 2006 [EBook #9606] +[This file was first posted on October 9, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: US-ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, A LITTLE BOOK OF WESTERN VERSE *** + + + + +E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland and Project Gutenberg Distributed +Proofreaders + + + + + + + +A LITTLE BOOK OF WESTERN VERSE + +by Eugene Field + +1889 + + + + + + + +TO MARY FIELD FRENCH + + + +A dying mother gave to you + Her child a many years ago; +How in your gracious love he grew, + You know, dear, patient heart, you know. + +The mother's child you fostered then + Salutes you now and bids you take +These little children of his pen + And love them for the author's sake. + +To you I dedicate this book, + And, as you read it line by line, +Upon its faults as kindly look + As you have always looked on mine. + +Tardy the offering is and weak;-- + Yet were I happy if I knew +These children had the power to speak + My love and gratitude to you. + +E. F. + + + + +Go, little book, and if an one would speak +thee ill, let him bethink him that thou art +the child of one who loves thee well. + + + + + +EUGENE FIELD + +A MEMORY + + +When those we love have passed away; when from our lives something has +gone out; when with each successive day we miss the presence that has +become a part of ourselves, and struggle against the realization that +it is with us no more, we begin to live in the past and thank God for +the gracious boon of memory. Few of us there are who, having advanced +to middle life, have not come to look back on the travelled road of +human existence in thought of those who journeyed awhile with us, a +part of all our hopes and joyousness, the sharers of all our ambitions +and our pleasures, whose mission has been fulfilled and who have left +us with the mile-stones of years still seeming to stretch out on the +path ahead. It is then that memory comes with its soothing influence, +telling us of the happiness that was ours and comforting us with the +ever recurring thought of the pleasures of that travelled road. For it +is happiness to walk and talk with a brother for forty years, and it is +happiness to know that the surety of that brother's affection, the +knowledge of the greatness of his heart and the nobility of his mind, +are not for one memory alone but may be publicly attested for +admiration and emulation. That it has fallen to me to speak to the +world of my brother as I knew him I rejoice. I do not fear that, +speaking as a brother, I shall crowd the laurel wreaths upon him, for +to this extent he lies in peace already honored; but if I can show him +to the world, not as a poet but as a man,--if I may lead men to see +more of that goodness, sweetness, and gentleness that were in him, I +shall the more bless the memory that has survived. + +My brother was born in St. Louis in 1850. Whether the exact day was +September 2 or September 3 was a question over which he was given to +speculation, more particularly in later years, when he was accustomed to +discuss it frequently and with much earnest ness. In his youth the +anniversary was generally held to be September 2, perhaps the result of +a half-humorous remark by my father that Oliver Cromwell had died +September 3, and he could not reconcile this date to the thought that it +was an important anniversary to one of his children. Many years after, +when my uncle, Charles Kellogg Field, of Vermont, published the +genealogy of the Field family, the original date, September 3, was +restored, and from that time my brother accepted it, although with each +recurring anniversary the controversy was gravely renewed, much to the +amusement of the family and always to his own perplexity. In November, +1856, my mother died, and, at the breaking up of the family in St. +Louis, my brother and myself, the last of six children, were taken to +Amherst, Massachusetts, by our cousin, Miss Mary F. French, who took +upon herself the care and responsibility of our bringing up. How nobly +and self-sacrificingly she entered upon and discharged those duties my +brother gladly testified in the beautiful dedication of his first +published poems, "A Little Book of Western Verse," wherein he honored +the "gracious love" in which he grew, and bade her look as kindly on the +faults of his pen as she had always looked on his own. For a few years +my brother attended a private school for boys in Amherst; then, at the +age of fourteen, he was intrusted to the care of Rev. James Tufts, of +Monson, one of those noble instructors of the blessed old school who are +passing away from the arena of education in America. By Mr. Tufts he was +fitted for college, and from the enthusiasm of this old scholar he +caught perhaps the inspiration for the love of the classics which he +carried through life. In the fall of 1868 he entered Williams +College--the choice was largely accidental--and remained there one year. +My father died in the summer of 1869, and my brother chose as his +guardian Professor John William Burgess, now of Columbia University, New +York City. When Professor Burgess, later in the summer, accepted a call +to Knox College, Galesburg, Illinois, my brother accompanied him and +entered that institution, but the restlessness which was so +characteristic of him in youth asserted itself after another year and +he joined me, then in my junior year at the University of Missouri, at +Columbia. It was at this institution that he finished his education so +far as it related to prescribed study. + +Shortly after attaining his majority he went to Europe, remaining six +months in France and Italy. From this European trip have sprung the +absurd stories which have represented him as squandering thousands of +dollars in the pursuit of pleasure. Unquestionably he had the not +unnatural extravagance which accompanies youth and a most generous +disposition, for he was lavish and open-handed all through life to an +unusual degree, but at no time was he particularly given to wild +excesses, and the fact that my father's estate, which was largely +realty, had shrunk perceptibly during the panic days of 1873 was enough +to make him soon reach the limit of even moderate extravagance. At the +same time many good stories have been told illustrative of his contempt +for money, and it is eminently characteristic of his lack of the +Puritan regard for small things that one day he approached my father's +executor, Hon. M. L. Gray, of St. Louis, with a request for +seventy-five dollars. + +"But," objected this cautious and excellent man, "I gave you +seventy-five dollars only yesterday, Eugene. What did you do with that?" + +"Oh," replied my brother, with an impatient and scornful toss of the +head, "I believe I bought some postage stamps." + +Before going to Europe he had met Miss Julia Sutherland Comstock, of St. +Joseph, Missouri, the sister of a college friend, and the attachment +which was formed led to their marriage in October, 1873. Much of his +tenderest and sweetest verse was inspired by love for the woman who +became his wife, and the dedication to the "Second Book of Verse" is +hardly surpassed for depth of affection and daintiness of sentiment, +while "Lover's Lane, St. Jo.," is the very essence of loyalty, love, and +reminiscential ardor. At the time of his marriage my brother realized +the importance of going to work in earnest, and shortly before the +appointment of the wedding-day he entered upon the active duties of +journalism, which he never relinquished during life. These duties, with +the exception of the year he passed in Europe with his family in +1889-90, were confined to the West. He began as a paragrapher in St. +Louis, quickly achieving somewhat more than a merely local reputation. +For a time he was in St. Joseph, and for eighteen months following +January 1880 he lived in Kansas City, removing thence to Denver. In 1883 +he came to Chicago at the solicitation of Melville E. Stone, then editor +of the Chicago Daily News, retaining his connection with the News and +its offspring, the Record, until his death. Thus hastily have been +skimmed over the bare outlines of his life. + +The formative period of my brother's youth was passed in New England, +and to the influences which still prevail in and around her peaceful +hills and gentle streams, the influences of a sturdy stock which has +sent so many good and brave men to the West for the upbuilding of the +country and the upholding of what is best in Puritan tradition, he +gladly acknowledged he owed much that was strong and enduring. While he +gloried in the West and remained loyal to the section which gave him +birth, and in which he chose to cast his lot, he was not the less proud +of his New England blood and not the less conscious of the benefits of a +New England training. His boyhood was similar to that of other boys +brought up with the best surroundings in a Massachusetts village, where +the college atmosphere prevailed. He had his boyish pleasures and his +trials, his share of that queer mixture of nineteenth-century +worldliness and almost austere Puritanism which is yet characteristic of +many New England families. The Sabbath was a veritable day of judgment, +and in later years he spoke humorously of the terrors of those all-day +sessions in church and Sunday-school, though he never failed to +acknowledge the benefits he had derived from an enforced study of the +Bible. "If I could be grateful to New England for nothing else," he +would say, "I should bless her forevermore for pounding me with the +Bible and the spelling-book." And in proof of the earnestness of this +declaration he spent many hours in Boston a year or two ago, trying to +find "one of those spellers that temporarily made me lose my faith in +the system of the universe." + +It is easy at this day to look back three decades and note the +characteristics which appeared trivial enough then, but which, clinging +to him and developing, had a marked effect on his manhood and on the +direction of his talents. As a boy his fondness for pets amounted to a +passion, but unlike other boys he seemed to carry his pets into a higher +sphere and to give them personality. For each pet, whether dog, cat, +bird, goat, or squirrel--he had the family distrust of a horse--he not +only had a name, but it was his delight to fancy that each possessed a +peculiar dialect of human speech, and each he addressed in the humorous +manner conceived. He ignored the names in common use for domestic +animals and chose or invented those more pleasing to his exuberant +fancy. This conceit was always with him, and years afterward, when his +children took the place of his boyish pets, he gratified his whim for +strange names by ignoring those designated at the baptismal font and +substituting freakish titles of his own riotous fancy. Indeed it must +have been a tax on his imaginative powers. When in childhood he was +conducting a poultry annex to the homestead, each chicken was properly +instructed to respond to a peculiar call, and Finnikin, Minnikin, +Winnikin, Dump, Poog, Boog, seemed to recognize immediately the queer +intonations of their master with an intelligence that is not usually +accorded to chickens. With this love for animal life was developed also +that tenderness of heart which was so manifest in my brother's daily +actions. One day--he was then a good-sized boy--he came into the house, +and throwing himself on the sofa, sobbed for half an hour. One of the +chickens hatched the day before had been crushed under his foot as he +was walking in the chicken-house, and no murderer could have felt more +keenly the pangs of remorse. The other boys looked on curiously at this +exhibition of feeling, and it was indeed an unusual outburst. But it was +strongly characteristic of him through life, and nothing would so excite +his anger as cruelty to an animal, while every neglected, friendless +dog or persecuted cat always found in him a champion and a friend. + +In illustration of this humane instinct it is recalled that a few weeks +before he died a lady visiting the house found his room swarming with +flies. In response to her exclamation of astonishment he explained that +a day or two before he had seen a poor, half-frozen fly on the +window-pane outside, and he had been moved by a kindly impulse to open +the window and admit her. "And this," he added, "is what I get for it. +That ungrateful creature is, as you perceive, the grandmother of eight +thousand nine hundred and seventy-six flies!" + +That the birds that flew about his house in Buena Park knew his voice +has been demonstrated more than once. He would keep bread crumbs +scattered along the window-sill for the benefit, as he explained, of +the blue jays and the robins who were not in their usual robust health +or were too overcome by the heat to make customary exertion. If the +jays were particularly noisy he would go into the yard and expostulate +with them in a tone of friendly reproach, whereupon, the family +affirms, they would apparently apologize and fly away. Once he +maintained at considerable expense a thoroughly hopeless and useless +donkey, and it was his custom, when returning from the office at any +hour of the night, to go into the back yard and say "Poor old Don" in a +bass voice that carried a block away, whereupon old Don would lift up +his own voice with a melancholy bray of welcome that would shake the +windows and start the neighbors from their slumbers. Old Don is passing +his declining years in an "Old Kentucky home," and the robins and the +blue jays as they return with the spring will look in vain for the +friend who fed them at the window. + +The family dog at Amherst, which was immortalized many years later with +"The Bench-Legged Fyce," and which was known in his day to hundreds of +students at the college on account of his surpassing lack of beauty, +rejoiced originally in the honest name of Fido, but my brother rejected +this name as commonplace and unworthy, and straightway named him +"Dooley" on the presumption that there was something Hibernian in his +face. It was to Dooley that he wrote his first poem, a parody on "O Had +I Wings Like a Dove," a song then in great vogue. Near the head of the +village street was the home of the Emersons, a large frame house, now +standing for more than a century, and in the great yard in front stood +the magnificent elms which are the glory of the Connecticut valley. Many +times the boys, returning from school, would linger to cool off in the +shade of these glorious trees, and it was on one of these occasions that +my brother put into the mouth of Dooley his maiden effort in verse: + + O had I wings like a dove I would fly, + Away from this world of fleas; + I'd fly all round Miss Emerson's yard, + And light on Miss Emerson's trees. + +Even this startling parody, which was regarded by the boys as a +veritable stroke of genius, failed to impress the adult villagers with +the conviction that a poet was budding. Yet how much of quiet humor and +lively imagination is betrayed by these four lines. How easy it is now +to look back at the small boy and picture him sympathizing with his +little friend tormented by the heat and the pests of his kind, and +making him sigh for the rest that seemed to lurk in the rustling leaves +of the stately elms. Perhaps it was not astonishing poetry even for a +child, but was there not something in the fancy, the sentiment, and the +rhythm which bespoke far more than ordinary appreciation? Is it not this +same quality of alert and instinctive sympathy which has run through +Eugene Field's writings and touched the spring of popular affection? + +Dooley went to the dog heaven many years ago. Finnikin and Poog and Boog +and the scores of boyhood friends that followed them have passed to +their Pythagorean reward; but the boy who first found in them the +delight of companionship and the kindlings of imagination retained all +the youthful impulses which made him for nearly half a century the lover +of animal life and the gentle singer of the faithful and the good. + +Comradeship was the indispensable factor in my brother's life. It was +strong in his youth; it grew to be an imperative necessity in later +years. In the theory that it is sometimes good to be alone he had +little or no faith. Even when he was at work in his study, when it was +almost essential to thought that he should be undisturbed, he was never +quite content unless aware of the presence of human beings near at +hand, as betrayed by their voices. It is customary to think of a poet +wandering off in the great solitudes, standing alone in contemplation +of the wonderful work of nature, on the cliffs overlooking the ocean, +in the paths of the forest or on the mountain side. My brother was not +of this order. That he was primarily and essentially a poet of humanity +and not of nature does not argue that he was insensible to natural +beauty or natural grandeur. Nobody could have been more keenly +susceptible to the influences of nature in their temperamental effect, +and perhaps this may explain that he did not love nature the less but +that he prized companionship more. If nature pleased him he longed for +a friend to share his pleasure; if it appalled him he turned from it +with repugnance and fear. + +Throughout his writings may be found the most earnest appreciation of +the joyousness and loveliness of a beautiful landscape, but as he would +share it intellectually with his readers so it was a necessity that he +could not seek it alone as an actuality. In his boyhood, in the full +glory of a perfect day, he loved to ramble through the woods and +meadows, and delighted in the azure tints of the far-away Berkshire +hills; and later in life he was keen to notice and admire the soft +harmonies of landscape, but with a change in weather or with the +approach of a storm the poet would be lost in the timidity and distrust +of a child. + +Companionship with him meant cheerfulness. His horror of gloom and +darkness was almost morbid. From the tragedies of life he instinctively +shrank, and large as was his sympathy, and generous and genuine his +affection, he was often prompted to run from suffering and to betray +what must have been a constitutional terror of distress. He did not +hesitate to acknowledge this characteristic, and sought to atone for it +by writing the most tender and touching lines to those to whom he +believed he owed a gift of comfort and strength. His private letters to +friends in adversity or bereavement were beautiful in their simplicity +and honest and outspoken love, for he was not ashamed to let his friends +see how much he thought of them. And even if the emotional quality, +which asserts itself in the nervous and artistic temperament, made him +realize that he could not trust himself, that same quality gave him a +personality marvelous in its magnetism. Both as boy and man he made +friends everywhere, and that he retained them to the last speaks for the +whole-heartedness and genuineness of his nature. + +To two weaknesses he frankly confessed: that he was inclined to be +superstitious and that he was afraid of the dark. One of these he +stoutly defended, asserting that he who was not fearful in the dark was +a dull clod, utterly devoid of imagination. From his earliest childhood +my brother was a devourer of fairy tales, and he continually stored his +mind with fantastic legends, which found a vent in new shapes in his +verses and prose tales. In the ceiling of one of his dens a trap-door +led into the attic, and as this door was open he seriously contemplated +closing it, because, as he said, he fancied that queer things would come +down in the night and spirit him away. It is not to be inferred that he +thus remained in a condition of actual fear, but it is true that he was +imaginative to the degree of acute nervousness, and, like a child, +associated light with safety and darkness with the uncanny and the +supernatural. It was after all the better for his songs that it was so, +else they might not have been filled with that cheery optimism which +praised the happiness of sunlight and warmth, and sought to lift +humanity from the darkness of despondency. + +This weakness, or intellectual virtue as he pleasantly regarded it, was +perhaps rather stronger in him as a man than in his boyhood. He has +himself declared that he wrote "Seein' Things at Night" more to solace +his own feelings than to delineate the sufferings of childhood, however +aptly it may describe them. And when he put into rhythm that "any color, +so long as it's red, is the color that suits me best," he spoke not only +as a poet but as a man, for red conveyed to him the idea of warmth and +cheeriness, and seemed to express to him in color his temperamental +demand. All through his life he pandered to these feelings instead of +seeking to repress them, for to this extent there was little of the +Puritan in his nature, and as he believed that happiness comes largely +from within, so he felt that it is not un-Christian philosophy to avoid +as far as possible whatever may cloud and render less acceptable one's +own existence. + +The literary talent of my brother is not easily traceable to either +branch of the family. In fact it was tacitly accepted that he would be a +lawyer as his father and grandfather had been before him, but the +futility of this arrangement was soon manifest, and surely no man less +temperamentally equipped for the law ever lived. It has been said of the +Fields, speaking generally of the New England division, that they were +well adapted to be either musicians or actors, though the talent for +music or mimicry has been in no case carried out of private life save in +my brother's public readings. Eugene had more than a boy's share of +musical talent, but he never cultivated it, preferring to use the fine +voice with which he was endowed for recitation, of which he was always +fond. Acting was his strongest boyish passion. Even as a child he was a +wonderful mimic and thereby the delight of his playmates and the terror +of his teachers. He organized a stock company among the small boys of +the village and gave performances in the barn of one of the less +scrupulous neighbors, but whether for pins or pennies memory does not +suggest. He assigned the parts and always reserved for himself the +eccentric character and the low comedy, caring nothing for the heroic or +the sentimental. One of the plays performed was Lester Wallack's +"Rosedale" with Eugene in the dual role of the low comedian and the +heavy villain. At this time also he delighted in monologues, imitations +of eccentric types, or what Mr. Sol. Smith Russell calls "comics," a +word which always amused Eugene and which he frequently used. This +fondness for parlor readings and private theatricals he carried through +college, remaining steadfast to the "comics" until a few years ago, +when he began to give public readings, and discovered that he was +capable of higher and more effective work. It was in fact his +versatility that made him the most accomplished and the most popular +author-entertainer in America. Before he went into journalism the more +sedate of his family connections were in constant fear lest he should +adopt the profession of the actor, and he held it over them as a +good-natured threat. On one occasion, failing to get a coveted +appropriation from the executor of the estate, he said calmly to the +worthy man: "Very well. I must have money for my living expenses. If you +cannot advance it to me out of the estate I shall be compelled to go on +the stage. But as I cannot keep my own name I have decided to assume +yours, and shall have lithographs struck off at once. They will read, +'Tonight, M. L. Gray, Banjo and Specialty Artist.'" The appropriation +was immediately forthcoming. + +It is in no sense depreciatory of my brother's attainments in life to +say that he gave no evidence of precocity in his studies in childhood. +On the contrary he was somewhat slow in development, though this was due +not so much to a lack of natural ability--he learned easily and quickly +when so disposed--as to a fondness for the hundred diversions which +occupy a wide-awake boy's time. He possessed a marked talent for +caricature, and not a small part of the study hours was devoted to +amusing pictures of his teachers, his playmates, and his pets. This +habit of drawing, which was wholly without instruction, he always +preserved, and it was his honest opinion, even at the height of his +success in authorship, that he would have been much greater as a +caricaturist than as a writer. Until he was thirty years of age he wrote +a fair-sized legible hand, but about that time he adopted the +microscopic penmanship which has been so widely reproduced, using for +the purpose very fine-pointed pens. With his manuscript he took the +greatest pains, often going to infinite trouble to illuminate his +letters. Among his friends these letters are held as curiosities of +literature, hardly more for the quaint sentiments expressed than for the +queer designs in colored inks which embellished them. He was specially +fond of drawing weird elves and gnomes, and would spend an hour or two +decorating with these comical figures a letter he had written in ten +minutes. He was as fastidious with the manuscript for the office as if +it had been a specimen copy for exhibition, and it was always understood +that his manuscript should be returned to him after it had passed +through the printers' hands. In this way all the original copies of his +stories and poems have been preserved, and those which he did not give +to friends as souvenirs have been bound for his children. + +A taste for literary composition might not have passed, as doubtless it +did pass, so many years unnoticed, had he been deficient in other +talents, and had he devoted himself exclusively to writing. But as a boy +he was fond, though in a less degree than many boys, of athletic sports, +and his youthful desire for theatrical entertainments, pen caricaturing, +and dallying with his pets took up much of his time. Yet he often gave +way to a fondness for composition, and there is in the family +possession a sermon which he wrote before he was ten years of age, in +which he showed the results of those arduous Sabbath days in the old +Congregational meeting-house. And at one time, when yet very young, he +was at the head of a flourishing boys' paper, while at another, fresh +from the inspiration of a blood-curdling romance in a New York Weekly, +he prepared a series of tales of adventure which, unhappily, have not +been preserved. In his college days he was one of the associate editors +of the university magazine, and while at that time he had no serious +thought of devoting his life to literature, his talents in that +direction were freely confessed. From my father, whose studious habits +in life had made him not only eminent at the bar but profoundly +conversant with general literature, he had inherited a taste for +reading, and it was this omnivorous passion for books that led my +brother to say that his education had only begun when he fancied that it +had left off. In boyhood he contracted that fascinating but highly +injurious habit of reading in bed, which he subsequently extolled with +great fervor; and as he grew older the habit increased upon him until +he was obliged to admit that he could not enjoy literature unless he +took it horizontally. If a friend expostulated with him, advising him to +give up tobacco, reading in bed, and late hours, he said: "And what have +we left in life if we give up all our bad habits?" + +That the poetic instinct was always strong within him there has never +been room to question, but, perhaps, for the reasons before assigned, it +was tardy in making its way outward. For years his mind lay fallow and +receptive, awaiting the occasion which should develop the true +inspiration of the poet. He was accustomed to speak of himself, and too +modestly, as merely a versifier, but his own experience should have +contradicted this estimate, for his first efforts at verse were +singularly halting in mechanical construction, and he was well past his +twenty-fifth year before he gave to the world any verse worthy the name. +What might be called the "curse of comedy" was on him, and it was not +until he threw off that yoke and gave expression to the better and the +sweeter thoughts within him that, as with Bion, "the voice of song +flowed freely from the heart." It seems strange that a man who became a +master of the art of mechanism in verse should have been deficient in +this particular at a period comparatively late, but it merely +illustrates the theory of gradual development and marks the phases of +life through which, with his character of many sides, he was compelled +to pass. He was nearly thirty when he wrote "Christmas Treasures," the +first poem he deemed worthy, and very properly, of preservation, and the +publication of this tender commemoration of the death of a child opened +the springs of sentiment and love for childhood destined never to run +dry while life endured. + +In journalism he became immediately successful, not so much for +adaptability to the treadmill of that calling as for the brightness and +distinctive character of his writing. He easily established a reputation +as a humorist, and while he fairly deserved the title he often regretted +that he could not entirely shake it off. His powers of perception were +phenomenally keen, and he detected the peculiarities of people with +whom he was thrown in contact almost at a glance, while his gift of +mimicry was such that after a minute's interview he could burlesque the +victim to the life, even emphasizing the small details which had been +apparently too minute to attract the special notice of those who were +acquaintances of years' standing. This faculty he carried into his +writing, and it proved immensely valuable, for, with his quick +appreciation of the ludicrous and his power of delineating personal +peculiarities his sketches were remarkable for their resemblances even +when he was indulging apparently in the wildest flights of imagination. +It is to be regretted that much of his newspaper work, covering a period +of twenty years, was necessarily so full of purely local color that its +brilliancy could not be generally appreciated. For it is as if an artist +had painted a wondrous picture, clever enough in the general view, but +full of a significance hidden to the world. + +Equally facile was he in the way of adaptation. He could write a hoax +worthy of Poe, and one of his humors of imagination was sufficiently +subtle and successful to excite comment in Europe and America, and to +call for an explanation and denial from a distinguished Englishman. He +lived in Denver only a few weeks when he was writing verse in miners' +dialect which has been rightly placed at the head of that style of +composition. No matter where he wandered, he speedily became imbued with +the spirit of his surroundings, and his quickly and accurately gathered +impressions found vent in his pen, whether he was in "St. Martin's Lane" +in London, with "Mynheer Von Der Bloom" in Amsterdam, or on the +"Schnellest Zug" from Hanover to Leipzig. + +At the time of my brother's arrival in Chicago, in 1883--he was then in +his thirty-fourth year--he had performed an immense amount of newspaper +work, but had done little or nothing of permanent value or with any real +literary significance. But despite the fact that he had lived up to that +time in the smaller cities he had a large number of acquaintances and a +certain following in the journalistic and artistic world, of which from +the very moment of his entrance into journalism he never had been +deprived. His immense fund of good humor, his powers as a story-teller, +his admirable equipment as an entertainer, and the wholehearted way with +which he threw himself into life and the pleasures of living attracted +men to him and kept him the centre of the multitude that prized his +fascinating companionship. His fellows in journalism furthermore had +been quick to recognize his talents, and no man was more widely +"copied," as the technical expression goes. His early years in Chicago +did not differ materially from those of the previous decade, but the +enlarged scope gave greater play to his fancy and more opportunity for +his talents as a master of satire. The publication of "The Denver +Primer" and "Culture's Garland," while adding to his reputation as a +humorist, happily did not satisfy him. He was now past the age of +thirty-five, and a great psychical revolution was coming on. Though +still on the sunny side of middle life, he was wearying of the cup of +pleasure he had drunk so joyously, and was drawing away from the +multitude and toward the companionship of those who loved books and +bookish things, and who could sympathize with him in the aspirations for +the better work, the consciousness of which had dawned. It was now that +he began to apply himself diligently to the preparation for higher +effort, and it is to the credit of journalism, which has so many sins to +answer for, that in this he was encouraged beyond the usual fate of men +who become slaves to that calling. And yet, though from this time he was +privileged to be regarded one of the sweetest singers in American +literature, and incomparably the noblest bard of childhood, though the +grind of journalism was measurably taken from him, he chafed under the +conviction that he was condemned to mingle the prosaic and the practical +with the fanciful and the ideal, and that, having given hostages to +fortune, he must conform even in a measure to the requirements of a +position too lucrative to be cast aside. From this time also his +physical condition, which never had been robust, began to show the +effects of sedentary life, but the warning of a long siege of nervous +dyspepsia was suffered to pass unheeded, and for five or six years he +labored prodigiously, his mind expanding and his intellect growing more +brilliant as the vital powers decayed. + +It would seem that with the awakening of the consciousness of the better +powers within him, with the realization that he was destined for a place +in literature, my brother felt a quasi remorse for the years he fancied +he had wasted. He was too severe with himself to understand that his +comparative tardiness in arriving at the earnest, thoughtful stage of +lifework was the inexorable law of gradual development which must govern +the career of a man of his temperament, with his exuberant vitality and +his showy talents. It was a serious mistake, but it was not the less a +noble one. And now also the influences of home crept a little closer +into his heart. His family life had not been without its tragedies of +bereavement, and the death of his oldest boy in Germany had drawn him +even nearer to the children who were growing up around him. + +Much of his tenderest verse was inspired by affection for his family, +and as some great shock is often essential to the revolution in a +buoyant nature, so it seemed to require the oft-recurring tragedies of +life to draw from him all that was noblest and sweetest in his +sympathetic soul. Had the angel of death never hovered over the crib in +my brother's home, had he never known the pangs and the heart-hunger +which come when the little voice is stilled and the little chair is +empty, he could not have written the lines which voice the great cry of +humanity and the hope of reunion in immortality beyond the grave. + +The flood of appeals for platform readings from cities and towns in all +parts of the United States came too late for his physical strength and +his ambition. Earlier in life he would have delighted in this form of +travel and entertainment, but his nature had wonderfully changed, and, +strong as were the financial inducements, he was loath to leave his +family and circle of intimate friends, and the home he had just +acquired. All of the time which he allotted for recreation he devoted +to working around his grounds, in arranging and rearranging his large +library, and in the disposition of his curios. For years he had been an +indefatigable collector, and he took a boyish pleasure not only in his +souvenirs of long journeys and distinguished men and women, but in the +queer toys and trinkets of children which seemed to give him inspiration +for much that was effective in childhood verse. To the careless observer +the immense array of weird dolls and absurd toys in his working-room +meant little more than an idiosyncratic passion for the anomalous, but +those who were near to him knew what a connecting link they were between +him and the little children of whom he wrote, and how each trumpet and +drum, each "spinster doll," each little toy dog, each little tin +soldier, played its part in the poems he sent out into the world. No +writer ever made more persistent and consistent use of the material by +which he was surrounded, or put a higher literary value on the little +things which go to make up the sum of human existence. + +Of the spiritual development of my brother much might be said in +conviction and in tenderness. He was not a man who discussed religion +freely; he was associated with no religious denomination, and he +professed no creed beyond the brotherhood of mankind and the infinitude +of God's love and mercy. In childhood he had been reared in much of the +austerity of the Puritan doctrine of the relation of this life to the +hereafter, and much of the hardness and severity of Christianity, as +still interpreted in many parts of New England, was forced upon him. As +is not unusual in such cases, he rebelled against this conception of +God and God's day, even while he confessed the intellectual advantages +he had reaped from frequent compulsory communion with the Bible, and he +many times declared that his children should not be brought up to +regard religion and the Sabbath as a bugbear. What evolution was going +on in his mind at the turning point in his life who can say? Who shall +look into the silent soul of the poet and see the hope and confidence +and joy that have come from out the chaos of strife and doubt? Yet who +can read the verses, telling over and over the beautiful story of +Bethlehem, the glory of the Christ-child and the comfort that comes +from the Teacher, and doubt that in those moments he walked in the +light of the love of God? + +It is true that no man living in a Christian nation who is stirred by +poetic instinct can fail to recognize and pay homage to that story of +wonderful sweetness, the coming of the Christ-child for the redemption +of the world. It is true that in commemoration the poet may speak while +the man within is silent. But it is hardly true that he whose generous +soul responded to every principle of Christ, the Teacher, pleading for +humanity, would sing over and over that tender song of love and +sacrifice as a mere poetic inspiration. As he slept my brother's soul +was called. Who shall say that it was not summoned by that same angel +song that awakened "Little Boy Blue"? Who shall doubt that the smile of +supreme peace and rest which lingered on his face after that noble +spirit had departed spoke for the victory he had won, for the hope and +belief that had been justified, and for the happiness he had gained? + +To have been with my brother in the last year of his life, to have +seen the sweetening of a character already lovable to an unusual +degree, to know now that in his unconscious preparation for the life +beyond he was drawing closer to those he loved and who loved him, this +is the tenderest memory, the most precious heritage. Not to have seen +him in that year is never to realize the full beauty of his nature, the +complete development of his nobler self, the perfect abandonment of all +that might have been ungenerous and intemperate in one even less +conscious of the weakness of mortality. He would say when chided for +public expression of kind words to those not wholly deserving, that he +had felt the sting of harshness and ungraciousness, and never again +would he use his power to inflict suffering or wound the feelings of +man or child. Who is there to wonder, then, that the love of all went +out to him, and that the other triumphs of his life were as nothing in +comparison with the grasp he maintained on popular affection? The day +after his death a lady was purchasing flowers to send in sympathy for +the mourning family, when she was approached by a poorly-clad little +girl who timidly asked what she was going to do with so many roses. +When she replied that she intended sending them to Mr. Field, the +little one said that she wanted so much to send Mr. Field a rose, +adding pathetically that she had no money. Deeply touched by the +child's sorrowful earnestness the lady picked out a yellow rose and +gave it to her, and when the coffin was lowered to the grave a wealth +of wreaths and designs was strewn around to mark the spot, but down +below the hand of the silent poet held only a little yellow rose, the +tribute of a child who did not know him in life, but in whose heart +nestled the love his songs had awakened and the magnetism of his great +humanity had stirred. + +A few hours after his spirit had gone a crippled boy came to the house +and begged permission to go to the chamber. The wish was granted, and +the boy hobbled to the bedside. Who he was, and in what manner my +brother had befriended him, none of the family knew, but as he painfully +picked his way down stairs the tears were streaming over his face, and +the onlookers forgot their own sorrow in contemplation of his grief. +The morning of the funeral, while the family stood around the coffin, +the letter-carrier at Buena Park came into the room, and laying a bunch +of letters at the foot of the bier said reverently: "There is your last +mail, Mr. Field." Then turning with tears in his eyes, as if apologizing +for an intrusion, he added: "He was always good to me and I loved him." + +It was this affection of those in humbler life that seems to speak the +more eloquently for the beneficence and the triumph of his life's work. +No funeral could have been less ostentatious, yet none could have been +more impressive in the multitude that overflowed the church, or more +conformable to his tenacious belief in the democracy of man. People of +eminence, of wealth, of fashion, were there, but they were swallowed up +in the great congregation of those to whom we are bound by the ties of +humanity and universal brotherhood, whose tears as they passed the bier +of the dead singer were the earnest and the best tribute to him who sang +for all. What greater blessing hath man than this? What stronger +assurance can there be of happiness in that life where all is weighed +in the scale of love, and where love is triumphant and eternal? + +Sleep, my brother, in the perfect joy of an awakening to that happiness +beyond the probationary life. Sleep in the assurance that those who +loved you will always cherish the memory of that love as the tender +inspiration of your gentle spirit. Sleep and dream that the songs you +sang will still be sung when those who sing them now are sleeping with +you. Sleep and take your rest as calmly and peacefully as you slept when +your last "Good-Night" lengthened into eternity. And if the Horace you +so merrily invoked comes to you in your slumber and bids you awake to +that sweet cheer, that "fellowship that knows no end beyond the misty +Stygian sea," tell him that the time has not yet come, and that there +are those yet uncalled, to whom you have pledged the joyous meeting on +yonder shore, and who would share with you the heaven your companionship +would brighten. + + ROSWELL MARTIN FIELD. + +BUENA PARK, January, 1896. + + + + +Contents of this Little Book + + +CASEY'S TABLE D'HOTE +OUR LADY OF THE MINE +THE CONVERSAZZHYONY +PROF. VERB DE BLAW +MARTHY'S YOUNKIT + +OLD ENGLISH LULLABY +"LOLLYBY, LOLLY, LOLLYBY" +ORKNEY LULLABY +LULLABY; BY THE SEA +CORNISH LULLABY +NORSE LULLABY +SICILIAN LULLABY +JAPANESE LULLABY +LITTLE CROODLIN DOO +DUTCH LULLABY +CHILD AND MOTHER +MEDIAEVAL EVENTIDE SONG +CHRISTMAS TREASURES +CHRISTMAS HYMN +CHRYSTMASSE OF OLDE + +OUR TWO OPINIONS +APPLE-PIE AND CHEESE +"GOOD-BY--GOD BLESS YOU!" +HI-SPY +LONG AGO + +LITTLE BOY BLUE +THE LYTTEL BOY +KRINKEN +TO A USURPER +AILSIE, MY BAIRN +SOME TIME + +MADGE: YE HOYDEN +THE DEATH OF ROBIN HOOD +TO ROBIN GOODFELLOW +YVYTOT +THE DIVINE LULLABY +IN THE FIRELIGHT +THE TWENTY-THIRD PSALM +AT THE DOOR + +THE BIBLIOMANIAC'S PRAYER +DE AMICITIIS +THE BIBLIOMANIAC'S BRIDE + +THE TRUTH ABOUT HORACE +HORACE AND LYDIA RECONCILED +HORACE III:13 ("FOUNTAIN OF BANDUSIA") +HORACE TO MELPOMENE +A CHAUCERIAN PARAPHRASE OF HORACE +HORACE TO PYRRHA +HORACE TO PHYLLIS +THE "HAPPY ISLES" OF HORACE + +LITTLE MACK +MR. DANA, OF THE NEW YORK SUN +TO A SOUBRETTE +BERANGER'S "BROKEN FIDDLE" +HEINE'S "WIDOW, OR DAUGHTER?" +UHLAND'S "THREE CAVALIERS" +BERANGER'S "MY LAST SONG PERHAPS" +HUGO'S "FLOWER TO BUTTERFLY" +BERANGER'S "MA VOCATION" + +THE LITTLE PEACH +A PROPER TREWE IDYLL OF CAMELOT +IN FLANDERS +OUR BIGGEST FISH + +MOTHER AND CHILD +THE WANDERER +SOLDIER, MAIDEN, AND FLOWER +THIRTY-NINE + + + + + +CASEY'S TABLE D'HOTE + + +Oh, them days on Red Hoss Mountain, when the skies wuz fair 'nd blue, +When the money flowed like likker, 'nd the folks wuz brave 'nd true! +When the nights wuz crisp 'nd balmy, 'nd the camp wuz all astir, +With the joints all throwed wide open 'nd no sheriff to demur! +Oh, them times on Red Hoss Mountain in the Rockies fur away,-- +There's no sich place nor times like them as I kin find to-day! +What though the camp _hez_ busted? I seem to see it still +A-lyin', like it loved it, on that big 'nd warty hill; +And I feel a sort of yearnin' 'nd a chokin' in my throat +When I think of Red Hoss Mountain 'nd of Casey's tabble dote! + +Wal, yes; it's true I struck it rich, but that don't cut a show +When one is old 'nd feeble 'nd it's nigh his time to go; +The money that he's got in bonds or carries to invest +Don't figger with a codger who has lived a life out West; +Us old chaps like to set around, away from folks 'nd noise, +'Nd think about the sights we seen and things we done when boys; +The which is why _I_ love to set 'nd think of them old days +When all us Western fellers got the Colorado craze,-- +And _that_ is why I love to set around all day 'nd gloat +On thoughts of Red Hoss Mountain 'nd of Casey's tabble dote. + +This Casey wuz an Irishman,--you'd know it by his name +And by the facial features appertainin' to the same. +He'd lived in many places 'nd had done a thousand things, +From the noble art of actin' to the work of dealin' kings, +But, somehow, hadn't caught on; so, driftin' with the rest, +He drifted for a fortune to the undeveloped West, +And he come to Red Hoss Mountain when the little camp wuz new, +When the money flowed like likker, 'nd the folks wuz brave 'nd true; +And, havin' been a stewart on a Mississippi boat, +He opened up a caffy 'nd he run a tabble dote. + +The bar wuz long 'nd rangy, with a mirrer on the shelf, +'Nd a pistol, so that Casey, when required, could help himself; +Down underneath there wuz a row of bottled beer 'nd wine, +'Nd a kag of Burbun whiskey of the run of '59; +Upon the walls wuz pictures of hosses 'nd of girls,-- +Not much on dress, perhaps, but strong on records 'nd on curls! +The which had been identified with Casey in the past,-- +The hosses 'nd the girls, I mean,--and both wuz mighty fast! +But all these fine attractions wuz of precious little note +By the side of what wuz offered at Casey's tabble dote. + +There wuz half-a-dozen tables altogether in the place, +And the tax you had to pay upon your vittles wuz a case; +The boardin'-houses in the camp protested 't wuz a shame +To patronize a robber, which this Casey wuz the same! +They said a case was robbery to tax for ary meal; +But Casey tended strictly to his biz, 'nd let 'em squeal; +And presently the boardin'-houses all began to bust, +While Casey kept on sawin' wood 'nd layin' in the dust; +And oncet a tray'lin' editor from Denver City wrote +A piece back to his paper, puffin' Casey's tabble dote. + +A tabble dote is different from orderin' aller cart: +In _one_ case you git all there is, in _t' other_, only _part_! +And Casey's tabble dote began in French,--as all begin,-- +And Casey's ended with the same, which is to say, with "vin;" +But in between wuz every kind of reptile, bird, 'nd beast, +The same like you can git in high-toned restauraws down east; +'Nd windin' up wuz cake or pie, with coffee demy tass, +Or, sometimes, floatin' Ireland in a soothin' kind of sass +That left a sort of pleasant ticklin' in a feller's throat, +'Nd made him hanker after more of Casey's tabble dote. + +The very recollection of them puddin's 'nd them pies +Brings a yearnin' to my buzzum 'nd the water to my eyes; +'Nd seems like cookin' nowadays ain't what it used to be +In camp on Red Hoss Mountain in that year of '63; +But, maybe, it is better, 'nd, maybe, I'm to blame-- +I'd like to be a-livin' in the mountains jest the same-- +I'd like to live that life again when skies wuz fair 'nd blue, +When things wuz run wide open 'nd men wuz brave 'nd true; +When brawny arms the flinty ribs of Red Hoss Mountain smote +For wherewithal to pay the price of Casey's tabble dote. + +And you, O cherished brother, a-sleepin' 'way out west, +With Red Hoss Mountain huggin' you close to its lovin' breast,-- +Oh, do you dream in your last sleep of how we used to do, +Of how we worked our little claims together, me 'nd you? +Why, when I saw you last a smile wuz restin' on your face, +Like you wuz glad to sleep forever in that lonely place; +And so you wuz, 'nd I 'd be, too, if I wuz sleepin' so. +But, bein' how a brother's love ain't for the world to know, +Whenever I've this heartache 'nd this chokin' in my throat, +I lay it all to thinkin' of Casey's tabble dote. + + + + +LITTLE BOY BLUE + + +The little toy dog is covered with dust, + But sturdy and stanch he stands; +And the little toy soldier is red with rust, + And his musket molds in his hands. +Time was when the little toy dog was new + And the soldier was passing fair, +And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue + Kissed them and put them there. + +"Now, don't you go till I come," he said, + "And don't you make any noise!" +So toddling off to his trundle-bed + He dreamed of the pretty toys. +And as he was dreaming, an angel song + Awakened our Little Boy Blue,-- +Oh, the years are many, the years are long, + But the little toy friends are true. + +Ay, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand, + Each in the same old place, +Awaiting the touch of a little hand, + The smile of a little face. +And they wonder, as waiting these long years through, + In the dust of that little chair, +What has become of our Little Boy Blue + Since he kissed them and put them there. + + + + +MADGE: YE HOYDEN + + +At Madge, ye hoyden, gossips scofft, + Ffor that a romping wench was shee-- +"Now marke this rede," they bade her oft, + "Forsooken sholde your folly bee!" +But Madge, ye hoyden, laught & cried, + "Oho, oho," in girlish glee, +And noe thing mo replied. + +II + +No griffe she had nor knew no care, + But gayly rompit all daies long, +And, like ye brooke that everywhere + Goes jinking with a gladsome song, +Shee danct and songe from morn till night,-- + Her gentil harte did know no wrong, +Nor did she none despight. + +III + +Sir Tomas from his noblesse halle + Did trend his path a somer's daye, +And to ye hoyden he did call + And these ffull evill words did say: +"O wolde you weare a silken gown + And binde your haire with ribands gay? +Then come with me to town!" + +IV + +But Madge, ye hoyden, shoke her head,-- + "I'le be no lemman unto thee +For all your golde and gownes," shee said, + "ffor Robin hath bespoken mee." +Then ben Sir Tomas sore despight, + And back unto his hall went hee +With face as ashen white. + +V + +"O Robin, wilt thou wed this girl, + Whenas she is so vaine a sprite?" +So spak ffull many an envious churle + Unto that curteyse countrie wight. +But Robin did not pay no heede; + And they ben wed a somer night +& danct upon ye meade. + +VI + +Then scarse ben past a yeare & daye + Whan Robin toke unto his bed, +And long, long time therein he lay, + Nor colde not work to earn his bread; +in soche an houre, whan times ben sore, + Sr. Tomas came with haughtie tread +& knockit at ye doore. + +VII + +Saies: "Madge, ye hoyden, do you know + how that you once despighted me? +But He forgiff an you will go + my swete harte lady ffor to bee!" +But Madge, ye hoyden, heard noe more,-- + straightway upon her heele turnt shee, +& shote ye cottage doore. + +VIII + +Soe Madge, ye hoyden, did her parte + whiles that ye years did come and go; +'t was somer allwais in her harte, + tho' winter strewed her head with snowe. +She toilt and span thro' all those years + nor bid repine that it ben soe, +nor never shad noe teares. + +IX + +Whiles Robin lay within his bed, + A divell came and whispered lowe,-- +"Giff you will doe my will," he said, + "None more of sickness you shall knowe!" +Ye which gave joy to Robin's soul-- + Saies Robin: "Divell, be it soe, +an that you make me whoale!" + +X + +That day, upp rising ffrom his bed, + Quoth Robin: "I am well again!" +& backe he came as from ye dead, + & he ben mickle blithe as when +he wooed his doxy long ago; + & Madge did make ado & then +Her teares ffor joy did flowe. + +XI + +Then came that hell-born cloven thing-- + Saies: "Robin, I do claim your life, +and I hencefoorth shall be your king, + and you shall do my evill strife. +Look round about and you shall see + sr. Tomas' young and ffoolish wiffe-- +a comely dame is shee!" + +XII + +Ye divell had him in his power, + and not colde Robin say thereto: +Soe Robin from that very houre + did what that divell bade him do; +He wooed and dipt, and on a daye + Sr. Tomas' wife and Robin flewe +a many leagues away. + +XIII + +Sir Tomas ben wood wroth and swore, + And sometime strode thro' leaf & brake +and knockit at ye cottage door + and thus to Madge, ye hoyden, spake: +Saies, "I wolde have you ffor mine own, + So come with mee & bee my make, +syn tother birds ben flown." + +XIV + +But Madge, ye hoyden, bade him noe; + Saies: "Robin is my swete harte still, +And, tho' he doth despight me soe, + I mean to do him good for ill. +So goe, Sir Tomas, goe your way; + ffor whiles I bee on live I will +ffor Robin's coming pray!" + +XV + +Soe Madge, ye hoyden, kneelt & prayed + that Godde sholde send her Robin backe. +And tho' ye folke vast scoffing made, + and tho' ye worlde ben colde and blacke, +And tho', as moneths dragged away, + ye hoyden's harte ben like to crack +With griff, she still did praye. + +XVI + +Sicke of that divell's damned charmes, + Aback did Robin come at last, +And Madge, ye hoyden, sprad her arms + and gave a cry and held him fast; +And as she clong to him and cried, + her patient harte with joy did brast, +& Madge, ye hoyden, died. + + + + +OLD ENGLISH LULLABY + + +Hush, bonnie, dinna greit; +Moder will rocke her sweete,-- + Balow, my boy! +When that his toile ben done, +Daddie will come anone,-- +Hush thee, my lyttel one; + Balow, my boy! + +Gin thou dost sleepe, perchaunce +Fayries will come to daunce,-- + Balow, my boy! +Oft hath thy moder seene +Moonlight and mirkland queene +Daunce on thy slumbering een,-- + Balow, my boy! + +Then droned a bomblebee +Saftly this songe to thee: + "Balow, my boy!" +And a wee heather bell, +Pluckt from a fayry dell, +Chimed thee this rune hersell: + "Balow, my boy!" + +Soe, bonnie, dinna greit; +Moder doth rock her sweete,-- + Balow, my boy! +Give mee thy lyttel hand, +Moder will hold it and +Lead thee to balow land,-- + Balow, my boy! + + + + +THE BIBLIOMANIAC'S PRAYER + + +Keep me, I pray, in wisdom's way + That I may truths eternal seek; +I need protecting care to-day,-- + My purse is light, my flesh is weak. +So banish from my erring heart + All baleful appetites and hints +Of Satan's fascinating art, + Of first editions, and of prints. +Direct me in some godly walk + Which leads away from bookish strife, +That I with pious deed and talk + May extra-illustrate my life. + +But if, O Lord, it pleaseth Thee + To keep me in temptation's way, +I humbly ask that I may be + Most notably beset to-day; +Let my temptation be a book, + Which I shall purchase, hold, and keep, +Whereon when other men shall look, + They'll wail to know I got it cheap. +Oh, let it such a volume be + As in rare copperplates abounds, +Large paper, clean, and fair to see, + Uncut, unique, unknown to Lowndes. + + + + +THE LYTTEL BOY + + +Sometime there ben a lyttel boy + That wolde not renne and play, +And helpless like that little tyke + Ben allwais in the way. +"Goe, make you merrie with the rest," + His weary moder cried; +But with a frown he catcht her gown + And hong untill her side. + +That boy did love his moder well, + Which spake him faire, I ween; +He loved to stand and hold her hand + And ken her with his een; +His cosset bleated in the croft, + His toys unheeded lay,-- +He wolde not goe, but, tarrying soe, + Ben allwais in the way. + +Godde loveth children and doth gird + His throne with soche as these, +And He doth smile in plaisaunce while + They cluster at His knees; +And sometime, when He looked on earth + And watched the bairns at play, +He kenned with joy a lyttel boy + Ben allwais in the way. + +And then a moder felt her heart + How that it ben to-torne,-- +She kissed eche day till she ben gray + The shoon he used to worn; +No bairn let hold untill her gown, + Nor played upon the floore,-- +Godde's was the joy; a lyttel boy + Ben in the way no more! + + + + +THE TRUTH ABOUT HORACE + + +It is very aggravating + To hear the solemn prating +Of the fossils who are stating +That old Horace was a prude; + When we know that with the ladies +He was always raising Hades, +And with many an escapade his + Best productions are imbued. + +There's really not much harm in a + Large number of his carmina, +But these people find alarm in a + Few records of his acts; +So they'd squelch the muse caloric, +And to students sophomoric +They d present as metaphoric + What old Horace meant for facts. + +We have always thought 'em lazy; +Now we adjudge 'em crazy! +Why, Horace was a daisy + That was very much alive! +And the wisest of us know him +As his Lydia verses show him,-- +Go, read that virile poem,-- + It is No. 25. + +He was a very owl, sir, +And starting out to prowl, sir, +You bet he made Rome howl, sir, + Until he filled his date; +With a massic-laden ditty +And a classic maiden pretty +He painted up the city, + And Maecenas paid the freight! + + + + +THE DEATH OF ROBIN HOOD + + +"Give me my bow," said Robin Hood, + "An arrow give to me; +And where 't is shot mark thou that spot, + For there my grave shall be." + +Then Little John did make no sign, + And not a word he spake; +But he smiled, altho' with mickle woe + His heart was like to break. + +He raised his master in his arms, + And set him on his knee; +And Robin's eyes beheld the skies, + The shaws, the greenwood tree. + +The brook was babbling as of old, + The birds sang full and clear, +And the wild-flowers gay like a carpet lay + In the path of the timid deer. + +"O Little John," said Robin Hood, + "Meseemeth now to be +Standing with you so stanch and true + Under the greenwood tree. + +"And all around I hear the sound + Of Sherwood long ago, +And my merry men come back again,-- + You know, sweet friend, you know! + +"Now mark this arrow; where it falls, + When I am dead dig deep, +And bury me there in the greenwood where + I would forever sleep." + +He twanged his bow. Upon its course + The clothyard arrow sped, +And when it fell in yonder dell, + Brave Robin Hood was dead. + +The sheriff sleeps in a marble vault, + The king in a shroud of gold; +And upon the air with a chanted pray'r + Mingles the mock of mould. + +But the deer draw to the shady pool, + The birds sing blithe and free, +And the wild-flow'rs bloom o'er a hidden tomb + Under the greenwood tree. + + + + +"LOLLYBY, LOLLY, LOLLYBY" + + +Last night, whiles that the curfew bell ben ringing, +I heard a moder to her dearie singing + "Lollyby, lolly, lollyby." +And presently that chylde did cease hys weeping, +And on his moder's breast did fall a-sleeping, + To "lolly, lolly, lollyby." + +Faire ben the chylde unto his moder clinging, +But fairer yet the moder's gentle singing,-- + "Lollyby, lolly, lollyby." +And angels came and kisst the dearie smiling +In dreems while him hys moder ben beguiling + With "lolly, lolly, lollyby!" + +Then to my harte saies I, "Oh, that thy beating +Colde be assuaged by some swete voice repeating + 'Lollyby, lolly, lollyby;' +That like this lyttel chylde I, too, ben sleeping +With plaisaunt phantasies about me creeping, + To 'lolly, lolly, lollyby!'" + +Sometime--mayhap when curfew bells are ringing-- +A weary harte shall heare straunge voices singing, + "Lollyby, lolly, lollyby;" +Sometime, mayhap, with Chrysts love round me streaming, +I shall be lulled into eternal dreeming + With "lolly, lolly, lollyby." + + + + +HORACE AND LYDIA RECONCILED + + +HORACE + +When you were mine in auld lang syne, + And when none else your charms might ogle, + I'll not deny, + Fair nymph, that I + Was happier than a Persian mogul. + +LYDIA + +Before _she_ came--that rival flame!-- + (Was ever female creature sillier?) + In those good times, + Bepraised in rhymes, + I was more famed than Mother Ilia! + +HORACE + +Chloe of Thrace! With what a grace + Does she at song or harp employ her! +I'd gladly die + If only I + Might live forever to enjoy her! + +LYDIA + +My Sybaris so noble is + That, by the gods! I love him madly-- + That I might save + Him from the grave + I'd give my life, and give it gladly! + +HORACE + +What if ma belle from favor fell, + And I made up my mind to shake her, + Would Lydia, then, + Come back again + And to her quondam flame betake her? + +LYDIA + +My other beau should surely go, + And you alone should find me gracious; + For no one slings + Such odes and things + As does the lauriger Horatius! + + + + +OUR TWO OPINIONS + + +Us two wuz boys when we fell out,-- + Nigh to the age uv my youngest now; +Don't rec'lect what't wuz about, + Some small deeff'rence, I'll allow. +Lived next neighbors twenty years, + A-hatin' each other, me 'nd Jim,-- +He havin' _his_ opinyin uv _me_, + 'Nd _I_ havin' _my_ opinyin uv _him_. + +Grew up together 'nd would n't speak, + Courted sisters, 'nd marr'd 'em, too; +Tended same meetin'-house oncet a week, + A-hatin' each other through 'nd through! +But when Abe Linkern asked the West + F'r soldiers, we answered,--me 'nd Jim,-- +_He_ havin' _his_ opinyin uv _me_, + 'Nd _I_ havin' _my_ opinyin uv _him_. + +But down in Tennessee one night + Ther' wuz sound uv firin' fur away, +'Nd the sergeant allowed ther' 'd be a fight + With the Johnnie Rebs some time nex' day; +'Nd as I wuz thinkin' uv Lizzie 'nd home + Jim stood afore me, long 'nd slim,-- +_He_ havin' _his_ opinyin uv _me_, + 'Nd _I_ havin' _my_ opinyin uv _him_. + +Seemed like we knew there wuz goin' to be + Serious trouble f'r me 'nd him; +Us two shuck hands, did Jim 'nd me, + But never a word from me or Jim! +He went _his_ way 'nd _I_ went _mine_, + 'Nd into the battle's roar went we,-- +_I_ havin' _my_ opinyin uv Jim, + 'Nd _he_ havin' _his_ opinyin uv _me_. + +Jim never come back from the war again, + But I ha' n't forgot that last, last night +When, waitin' f'r orders, us two men + Made up 'nd shuck hands, afore the fight. +'Nd, after it all, it's soothin' to know + That here _I_ be 'nd yonder's Jim,-- +_He_ havin' _his_ opinyin uv _me_, +'Nd _I_ havin' _my_ opinyin uv _him_. + + + + +MOTHER AND CHILD + + +One night a tiny dewdrop fell + Into the bosom of a rose,-- +"Dear little one, I love thee well, + Be ever here thy sweet repose!" + +Seeing the rose with love bedight, + The envious sky frowned dark, and then +Sent forth a messenger of light + And caught the dewdrop up again. + +"Oh, give me back my heavenly child,-- + My love!" the rose in anguish cried; +Alas! the sky triumphant smiled, + And so the flower, heart-broken, died. + + + + +ORKNEY LULLABY + + +A moonbeam floateth from the skies, +Whispering, "Heigho, my dearie! +I would spin a web before your eyes,-- +A beautiful web of silver light, +Wherein is many a wondrous sight +Of a radiant garden leagues away, +Where the softly tinkling lilies sway, +And the snow-white lambkins are at play,-- + Heigho, my dearie!" + +A brownie stealeth from the vine + Singing, "Heigho, my dearie! +And will you hear this song of mine,-- +A song of the land of murk and mist +Where bideth the bud the dew hath kist? +Then let the moonbeam's web of light +Be spun before thee silvery white, +And I shall sing the livelong night,-- + Heigho, my dearie!" + +The night wind speedeth from the sea, + Murmuring, "Heigho, my dearie! +I bring a mariner's prayer for thee; +So let the moonbeam veil thine eyes, +And the brownie sing thee lullabies; +But I shall rock thee to and fro, +Kissing the brow _he_ loveth so, +And the prayer shall guard thy bed, I trow,-- + Heigho, my dearie!" + + + + +LITTLE MACK + + +This talk about the journalists that run the East is bosh, +We've got a Western editor that's little, but, O gosh! +He lives here in Mizzoora where the people are so set +In ante-bellum notions that they vote for Jackson yet; +But the paper he is running makes the rusty fossils swear,-- +The smartest, likeliest paper that is printed anywhere! +And, best of all, the paragraphs are pointed as a tack, + And that's because they emanate + From little Mack. + +In architecture he is what you'd call a chunky man, +As if he'd been constructed on the summer cottage plan; +He has a nose like Bonaparte; and round his mobile mouth +Lies all the sensuous languor of the children of the South; +His dealings with reporters who affect a weekly bust +Have given to his violet eyes a shadow of distrust; +In glorious abandon his brown hair wanders back + From the grand Websterian forehead + Of little Mack. + +No matter what the item is, if there's an item in it, +You bet your life he's on to it and nips it in a minute! +From multifarious nations, countries, monarchies, and lands, +From Afric's sunny fountains and India's coral strands, +From Greenland's icy mountains and Siloam's shady rills, +He gathers in his telegrams, and Houser pays the bills; +What though there be a dearth of news, he has a happy knack + Of scraping up a lot of scoops, + Does little Mack. + +And learning? Well he knows the folks of every tribe and age +That ever played a part upon this fleeting human stage; +His intellectual system's so extensive and so greedy +That, when it comes to records, he's a walkin' cyclopedy; +For having studied (and digested) all the books a-goin', +It stands to reason he must know about all's worth a-knowin'! +So when a politician with a record's on the track, + We're apt to hear some history + From little Mack. + +And when a fellow-journalist is broke and needs a twenty, +Who's allus ready to whack up a portion of his plenty? +Who's allus got a wallet that's as full of sordid gain +As his heart is full of kindness and his head is full of brain? +Whose bowels of compassion will in-va-ri-a-bly move +Their owner to those courtesies which plainly, surely prove +That he's the kind of person that never does go back + On a fellow that's in trouble? + Why, little Mack! + +I've heard 'em tell of Dana, and of Bonner, and of Reid, +Of Johnnie Cockerill, who, I'll own, is very smart indeed; +Yet I don't care what their renown or influence may be, +One metropolitan exchange is quite enough for me! +So keep your Danas, Bonners, Reids, your Cockerills, and the rest, +The woods is full of better men all through this woolly West; +For all that sleek, pretentious, Eastern editorial pack + We wouldn't swap the shadow of + Our little Mack! + + + + +TO ROBIN GOODFELLOW + + +I see you, Maister Bawsy-brown, + Through yonder lattice creepin'; +You come for cream and to gar me dream, + But you dinna find me sleepin'. +The moonbeam, that upon the floor + Wi' crickets ben a-jinkin', +Now steals away fra' her bonnie play-- + Wi' a rosier blie, I'm thinkin'. + +I saw you, Maister Bawsy-brown, + When the blue bells went a-ringin' +For the merrie fays o' the banks an' braes, + And I kenned your bonnie singin'; +The gowans gave you honey sweets, + And the posies on the heather +Dript draughts o' dew for the faery crew + That danct and sang together. + +But posie-bloom an' simmer-dew + And ither sweets o' faery +C'u'd na gae down wi' Bawsy-brown, + Sae nigh to Maggie's dairy! +My pantry shelves, sae clean and white, + Are set wi' cream and cheeses,-- +Gae, gin you will, an' take your fill + Of whatsoever pleases. + +Then wave your wand aboon my een + Until they close awearie, +And the night be past sae sweet and fast + Wi' dreamings o' my dearie. +But pinch the wench in yonder room, + For she's na gude nor bonnie,-- +Her shelves be dust and her pans be rust, + And she winkit at my Johnnie! + + + + +APPLE-PIE AND CHEESE + + +Full many a sinful notion + Conceived of foreign powers +Has come across the ocean + To harm this land of ours; +And heresies called fashions + Have modesty effaced, +And baleful, morbid passions + Corrupt our native taste. +O tempora! O mores! + What profanations these +That seek to dim the glories + Of apple-pie and cheese! + +I'm glad my education + Enables me to stand +Against the vile temptation + Held out on every hand; +Eschewing all the tittles + With vanity replete, +I'm loyal to the victuals + Our grandsires used to eat! +I'm glad I've got three willing boys + To hang around and tease +Their mother for the filling joys + Of apple-pie and cheese! + +Your flavored creams and ices + And your dainty angel-food +Are mighty fine devices + To regale the dainty dude; +Your terrapin and oysters, + With wine to wash 'em down, +Are just the thing for roisters + When painting of the town; +No flippant, sugared notion + Shall _my_ appetite appease, +Or bate my soul's devotion + To apple-pie and cheese! + +The pie my Julia makes me + (God bless her Yankee ways!) +On memory's pinions takes me + To dear Green Mountain days; +And seems like I see Mother + Lean on the window-sill, +A-handin' me and brother + What she knows 'll keep us still; +And these feelings are so grateful, + Says I, "Julia, if you please, +I'll take another plateful + Of that apple-pie and cheese!" + +And cheese! No alien it, sir, + That's brought across the sea,-- +No Dutch antique, nor Switzer, + Nor glutinous de Brie; +There's nothing I abhor so + As mawmets of this ilk-- +Give _me_ the harmless morceau + That's made of true-blue milk! +No matter what conditions + Dyspeptic come to feaze, +The best of all physicians + Is apple-pie and cheese! + +Though ribalds may decry 'em, + For these twin boons we stand, +Partaking thrice per diem + Of their fulness out of hand; +No enervating fashion + Shall cheat us of our right +To gratify our passion + With a mouthful at a bite! +We'll cut it square or bias, + Or any way we please, +And faith shall justify us + When we carve our pie and cheese! + +De gustibus, 't is stated, + Non disputandum est. +Which meaneth, when translated, + That all is for the best. +So let the foolish choose 'em + The vapid sweets of sin, +I will not disabuse 'em + Of the heresy they're in; +But I, when I undress me + Each night, upon my knees +Will ask the Lord to bless me + With apple-pie and cheese! + + + + +KRINKEN + + +Krinken was a little child,-- +It was summer when he smiled. +Oft the hoary sea and grim +Stretched its white arms out to him, +Calling, "Sun-child, come to me; +Let me warm my heart with thee!" +But the child heard not the sea, +Calling, yearning evermore +For the summer on the shore. + +Krinken on the beach one day +Saw a maiden Nis at play; +On the pebbly beach she played +In the summer Krinken made. +Fair, and very fair, was she, +Just a little child was he. +"Krinken," said the maiden Nis, +"Let me have a little kiss, +Just a kiss, and go with me +To the summer-lands that be +Down within the silver sea." + +Krinken was a little child-- +By the maiden Nis beguiled, +Hand in hand with her went he, +And 'twas summer in the sea. +And the hoary sea and grim +To its bosom folded him-- +Clasped and kissed the little form, +And the ocean's heart was warm. + +Now the sea calls out no more; +It is winter on the shore,-- +Winter where that little child +Made sweet summer when he smiled; +Though 'tis summer on the sea +Where with maiden Nis went he,-- +Summer, summer evermore,-- +It is winter on the shore, +Winter, winter evermore. +Of the summer on the deep +Come sweet visions in my sleep: +_His_ fair face lifts from the sea, +_His_ dear voice calls out to me,-- +These my dreams of summer be. + +Krinken was a little child, +By the maiden Nis beguiled; +Oft the hoary sea and grim +Reached its longing arms to him, +Crying, "Sun-child, come to me; +Let me warm my heart with thee!" +But the sea calls out no more; +It is winter on the shore,-- +Winter, cold and dark and wild; +Krinken was a little child,-- +It was summer when he smiled; +Down he went into the sea, +And the winter bides with me. +Just a little child was he. + + + + +BERANGER'S "BROKEN FIDDLE" + + +I + +There, there, poor dog, my faithful friend, + Pay you no heed unto my sorrow: +But feast to-day while yet you may,-- + Who knows but we shall starve to-morrow! + + +II + +"Give us a tune," the foemen cried, + In one of their profane caprices; +I bade them "No"--they frowned, and, lo! + They dashed this innocent in pieces! + + +III + +This fiddle was the village pride-- + The mirth of every fete enhancing; +Its wizard art set every heart + As well as every foot to dancing. + + +IV + +How well the bridegroom knew its voice, + As from its strings its song went gushing! +Nor long delayed the promised maid + Equipped for bridal, coy and blushing. + + +V + +Why, it discoursed so merrily, + It quickly banished all dejection; +And yet, when pressed, our priest confessed + I played with pious circumspection. + + +VI + +And though, in patriotic song, + It was our guide, compatriot, teacher, +I never thought the foe had wrought + His fury on the helpless creature! + + +VII + +But there, poor dog, my faithful friend, + Pay you no heed unto my sorrow; +I prithee take this paltry cake,-- + Who knows but we shall starve to-morrow! + + +VIII + +Ah, who shall lead the Sunday choir + As this old fiddle used to do it? +Can vintage come, with this voice dumb + That used to bid a welcome to it? + + +IX + +It soothed the weary hours of toil, + It brought forgetfulness to debtors; +Time and again from wretched men + It struck oppression's galling fetters. + + +X + +No man could hear its voice, and hate; + It stayed the teardrop at its portal; +With that dear thing I was a king + As never yet was monarch mortal! + + +XI + +Now has the foe--the vandal foe-- + Struck from my hands their pride and glory; +There let it lie! In vengeance, I + Shall wield another weapon, gory! + + +XII + +And if, O countrymen, I fall, + Beside our grave let this be spoken: +"No foe of France shall ever dance + Above the heart and fiddle, broken!" + + +XIII + +So come, poor dog, my faithful friend, + I prithee do not heed my sorrow, +But feast to-day while yet you may, + For we are like to starve to-morrow. + + + + +THE LITTLE PEACH + + +A little peach in the orchard grew,-- +A little peach of emerald hue; +Warmed by the sun and wet by the dew, + It grew. + +One day, passing that orchard through, +That little peach dawned on the view +Of Johnny Jones and his sister Sue-- + Them two. + +Up at that peach a club they threw-- +Down from the stem on which it grew +Fell that peach of emerald hue. + Mon Dieu! + +John took a bite and Sue a chew, +And then the trouble began to brew,-- +Trouble the doctor couldn't subdue. + Too true! + +Under the turf where the daisies grew +They planted John and his sister Sue, +And their little souls to the angels flew,-- + Boo hoo! + +What of that peach of the emerald hue, +Warmed by the sun, and wet by the dew? +Ah, well, its mission on earth is through. + Adieu! + +1880. + + + + +HORACE III. 13 + + +O fountain of Bandusia, + Whence crystal waters flow, +With garlands gay and wine I'll pay + The sacrifice I owe; +A sportive kid with budding horns + I have, whose crimson blood +Anon shall dye and sanctify + Thy cool and babbling flood. + +O fountain of Bandusia, + The dog-star's hateful spell +No evil brings unto the springs + That from thy bosom well; +Here oxen, wearied by the plough, + The roving cattle here, +Hasten in quest of certain rest + And quaff thy gracious cheer. + +O fountain of Bandusia, + Ennobled shalt thou be, +For I shall sing the joys that spring + Beneath yon ilex-tree; +Yes, fountain of Bandusia, + Posterity shall know +The cooling brooks that from thy nooks + Singing and dancing go! + + + + +THE DIVINE LULLABY + + + I hear Thy voice, dear Lord; +I hear it by the stormy sea + When winter nights are black and wild, +And when, affright, I call to Thee; + It calms my fears and whispers me, +"Sleep well, my child." + + I hear Thy voice, dear Lord, +In singing winds, in falling snow, + The curfew chimes, the midnight bell. +"Sleep well, my child," it murmurs low; +"The guardian angels come and go,-- + O child, sleep well!" + + I hear Thy voice, dear Lord, +Ay, though the singing winds be stilled, + Though hushed the tumult of the deep, +My fainting heart with anguish chilled +By Thy assuring tone is thrilled,-- + "Fear not, and sleep!" + + Speak on--speak on, dear Lord! +And when the last dread night is near, + With doubts and fears and terrors wild, +Oh, let my soul expiring hear +Only these words of heavenly cheer, + "Sleep well, my child!" + + + + +IN THE FIRELIGHT + + +The fire upon the hearth is low, + And there is stillness everywhere, + While like winged spirits, here and there, +The firelight shadows fluttering go. +And as the shadows round me creep, + A childish treble breaks the gloom, + And softly from a further room +Comes, "Now I lay me down to sleep." + +And somehow, with that little prayer + And that sweet treble in my ears, + My thoughts go back to distant years +And linger with a loved one there; +And as I hear my child's amen, + My mother's faith comes back to me,-- + Crouched at her side I seem to be, +And Mother holds my hands again. + +Oh, for an hour in that dear place! + Oh, for the peace of that dear time! + Oh, for that childish trust sublime! +Oh, for a glimpse of Mother's face! +Yet, as the shadows round me creep, + I do not seem to be alone,-- + Sweet magic of that treble tone, +And "Now I lay me down to sleep." + +1885. + + + + +HEINE'S "WIDOW OR DAUGHTER?" + + +Shall I woo the one or other? + Both attract me--more's the pity! +Pretty is the widowed mother, + And the daughter, too, is pretty. + +When I see that maiden shrinking, + By the gods I swear I'll get 'er! +But anon I fall to thinking + That the mother 'll suit me better! + +So, like any idiot ass + Hungry for the fragrant fodder, +Placed between two bales of grass, + Lo, I doubt, delay, and dodder! + + + + +CHRISTMAS TREASURES + + +I count my treasures o'er with care.-- + The little toy my darling knew, + A little sock of faded hue, +A little lock of golden hair. + +Long years ago this holy time, + My little one--my all to me-- + Sat robed in white upon my knee +And heard the merry Christmas chime. + +"Tell me, my little golden-head, + If Santa Claus should come to-night, + What shall he bring my baby bright,-- +What treasure for my boy?" I said. + +And then he named this little toy, + While in his round and mournful eyes + There came a look of sweet surprise, +That spake his quiet, trustful joy. + +And as he lisped his evening prayer + He asked the boon with childish grace; + Then, toddling to the chimney-place, +He hung this little stocking there. + +That night, while lengthening shadows crept, + I saw the white-winged angels come + With singing to our lowly home +And kiss my darling as he slept. + +They must have heard his little prayer, + For in the morn, with rapturous face, + He toddled to the chimney-place, +And found this little treasure there. + +They came again one Christmas-tide,-- + That angel host, so fair and white! + And singing all that glorious night, +They lured my darling from my side. + +A little sock, a little toy, + A little lock of golden hair, + The Christmas music on the air, +A watching for my baby boy! + +But if again that angel train + And golden-head come back for me, + To bear me to Eternity, +My watching will not be in vain! + +1879. + + + + +DE AMICITIIS + + + Though care and strife + Elsewhere be rife, +Upon my word I do not heed 'em; + In bed I lie + With books hard by, +And with increasing zest I read 'em. + + Propped up in bed, + So much I've read +Of musty tomes that I've a headful + Of tales and rhymes + Of ancient times, +Which, wife declares, are "simply dreadful!" + + They give me joy + Without alloy; +And isn't that what books are made for? + And yet--and yet-- + (Ah, vain regret!) +I would to God they all were paid for! + + No festooned cup + Filled foaming up +Can lure me elsewhere to confound me; + Sweeter than wine + This love of mine +For these old books I see around me! + + A plague, I say, + On maidens gay; +I'll weave no compliments to tell 'em! + Vain fool I were, + Did I prefer +Those dolls to these old friends in vellum! + + At dead of night + My chamber's bright +Not only with the gas that's burning, + But with the glow + Of long ago,-- +Of beauty back from eld returning. + + Fair women's looks + I see in books, +I see _them_, and I hear their laughter,-- + Proud, high-born maids, + Unlike the jades +Which men-folk now go chasing after! + + Herein again + Speak valiant men +Of all nativities and ages; + I hear and smile + With rapture while +I turn these musty, magic pages. + + The sword, the lance, + The morris dance, +The highland song, the greenwood ditty, + Of these I read, + Or, when the need, +My Miller grinds me grist that's gritty! + + When of such stuff + We've had enough, +Why, there be other friends to greet us; + We'll moralize + In solemn wise +With Plato or with Epictetus. + + Sneer as you may, + _I'm_ proud to say +That I, for one, am very grateful + To Heaven, that sends + These genial friends +To banish other friendships hateful! + + And when I'm done, + I'd have no son +Pounce on these treasures like a vulture; + Nay, give them half + My epitaph, +And let them share in my sepulture. + + Then, when the crack + Of doom rolls back +The marble and the earth that hide me, + I'll smuggle home + Each precious tome, +Without a fear my wife shall chide me! + + + + +OUR LADY OF THE MINE + + +The Blue Horizon wuz a mine us fellers all thought well uv, +And there befell the episode I now perpose to tell uv; +'T wuz in the year uv sixty-nine,--somewhere along in summer,-- +There hove in sight one afternoon a new and curious comer; +His name wuz Silas Pettibone,--a' artist by perfession,-- +With a kit of tools and a big mustache and a pipe in his possession. +He told us, by our leave, he 'd kind uv like to make some sketches +Uv the snowy peaks, 'nd the foamin' crick, 'nd the distant mountain + stretches; +"You're welkim, sir," sez we, although this scenery dodge seemed to us +A waste uv time where scenery wuz already sooper-_floo_-us. + +All through the summer Pettibone kep' busy at his sketchin',-- +At daybreak off for Eagle Pass, and home at nightfall, fetchin' +That everlastin' book uv his with spider-lines all through it; +Three-Fingered Hoover used to say there warn't no meanin' to it. +"Gol durn a man," sez he to him, "whose shif'less hand is sot at +A-drawin' hills that's full uv quartz that's pinin' to be got at!" +"Go on," sez Pettibone, "go on, if joshin' gratifies ye; +But one uv these fine times I'll show ye sumthin' will surprise ye!" +The which remark led us to think--although he didn't say it-- +That Pettibone wuz owin' us a gredge 'nd meant to pay it. + +One evenin' as we sat around the Restauraw de Casey, +A-singin' songs 'nd tellin' yarns the which wuz sumwhat racy, +In come that feller Pettibone, 'nd sez, "With your permission, +I'd like to put a picture I have made on exhibition." +He sot the picture on the bar 'nd drew aside its curtain, +Sayin', "I reckon you'll allow as how _that's_ art, f'r certain!" +And then we looked, with jaws agape, but nary word wuz spoken, +And f'r a likely spell the charm uv silence wuz unbroken-- +Till presently, as in a dream, remarked Three-Fingered Hoover: +"Onless I am mistaken, this is Pettibone's shef doover!" + +It wuz a face--a human face--a woman's, fair 'nd tender-- +Sot gracefully upon a neck white as a swan's, and slender; +The hair wuz kind uv sunny, 'nd the eyes wuz sort uv dreamy, +The mouth wuz half a-smilin', 'nd the cheeks wuz soft 'nd creamy; +It seemed like she wuz lookin' off into the west out yonder, +And seemed like, while she looked, we saw her eyes grow softer, fonder,-- +Like, lookin' off into the west, where mountain mists wuz fallin', +She saw the face she longed to see and heerd his voice a-callin'; +"Hooray!" we cried,--"a woman in the camp uv Blue Horizon! +Step right up, Colonel Pettibone, 'nd nominate your pizen!" + +A curious situation,--one deservin' uv your pity,-- +No human, livin', female thing this side of Denver City! +But jest a lot uv husky men that lived on sand 'nd bitters,-- +Do you wonder that that woman's face consoled the lonesome critters? +And not a one but what it served in some way to remind him +Of a mother or a sister or a sweetheart left behind him; +And some looked back on happier days, and saw the old-time faces +And heerd the dear familiar sounds in old familiar places,-- +A gracious touch of home. "Look here," sez Hoover, "ever'body +Quit thinkin' 'nd perceed at oncet to name his favorite toddy!" + +It wuzn't long afore the news had spread the country over, +And miners come a-flockin' in like honey-bees to clover; +It kind uv did 'em good, they said, to feast their hungry eyes on +That picture uv Our Lady in the camp uv Blue Horizon. +But one mean cuss from Nigger Crick passed criticisms on 'er,-- +Leastwise we overheerd him call her Pettibone's madonner, +The which we did not take to be respectful to a lady, +So we hung him in a quiet spot that wuz cool 'nd dry 'nd shady; +Which same might not have been good law, but it _wuz_ the right manoeuvre +To give the critics due respect for Pettibone's shef doover. + +Gone is the camp,--yes, years ago the Blue Horizon busted, +And every mother's son uv us got up one day 'nd dusted, +While Pettibone perceeded East with wealth in his possession, +And went to Yurrup, as I heerd, to study his perfession; +So, like as not, you'll find him now a-paintin' heads 'nd faces +At Venus, Billy Florence, and the like I-talyun places. +But no sech face he'll paint again as at old Blue Horizon, +For I'll allow no sweeter face no human soul sot eyes on; +And when the critics talk so grand uv Paris 'nd the Loover, +I say, "Oh, but you orter seen the Pettibone shef doover!" + + + + +THE WANDERER + + +Upon a mountain height, far from the sea, + I found a shell, +And to my listening ear the lonely thing +Ever a song of ocean seemed to sing, + Ever a tale of ocean seemed to tell. + +How came the shell upon that mountain height? + Ah, who can say +Whether there dropped by some too careless hand, +Or whether there cast when Ocean swept the Land, + Ere the Eternal had ordained the Day? + +Strange, was it not? Far from its native deep, + One song it sang,-- +Sang of the awful mysteries of the tide, +Sang of the misty sea, profound and wide,-- + Ever with echoes of the ocean rang. + +And as the shell upon the mountain height + Sings of the sea, +So do I ever, leagues and leagues away,-- +So do I ever, wandering where I may,-- + Sing, O my home! sing, O my home! of thee. + +1883. + + + + +TO A USURPER + + +Aha! a traitor in the camp, + A rebel strangely bold,-- +A lisping, laughing, toddling scamp, + Not more than four years old! + +To think that I, who've ruled alone + So proudly in the past, +Should be ejected from my throne + By my own son at last! + +He trots his treason to and fro, + As only babies can, +And says he'll be his mamma's beau + When he's a "gweat, big man"! + +You stingy boy! you've always had + A share in mamma's heart; +Would you begrudge your poor old dad + The tiniest little part? + +That mamma, I regret to see, + Inclines to take your part,-- +As if a dual monarchy + Should rule her gentle heart! + +But when the years of youth have sped, + The bearded man, I trow, +Will quite forget he ever said + He'd be his mamma's beau. + +Renounce your treason, little son, + Leave mamma's heart to me; +For there will come another one + To claim your loyalty. + +And when that other comes to you, + God grant her love may shine +Through all your life, as fair and true + As mamma's does through mine! + +1885. + + + + +LULLABY; BY THE SEA + + +Fair is the castle up on the hill-- + Hushaby, sweet my own! +The night is fair, and the waves are still, +And the wind is singing to you and to me +In this lowly home beside the sea-- + Hushaby, sweet my own! + +On yonder hill is store of wealth-- + Hushaby, sweet my own! +And revellers drink to a little one's health; +But you and I bide night and day +For the other love that has sailed away-- + Hushaby, sweet my own! + +See not, dear eyes, the forms that creep + Ghostlike, O my own! +Out of the mists of the murmuring deep; +Oh, see them not and make no cry +Till the angels of death have passed us by-- + Hushaby, sweet my own! + +Ah, little they reck of you and me-- + Hushaby, sweet my own! +In our lonely home beside the sea; +They seek the castle up on the hill, +And there they will do their ghostly will-- + Hushaby, O my own! + +Here by the sea a mother croons + "Hushaby, sweet my own!" +In yonder castle a mother swoons +While the angels go down to the misty deep, +Bearing a little one fast asleep-- + Hushaby, sweet my own! + + + + +SOLDIER, MAIDEN, AND FLOWER + + +"Sweetheart, take this," a soldier said, + "And bid me brave good-by; +It may befall we ne'er shall wed, + But love can never die. +Be steadfast in thy troth to me, + And then, whate'er my lot, +'My soul to God, my heart to thee,'-- + Sweetheart, forget me not!" + +The maiden took the tiny flower + And nursed it with her tears: +Lo! he who left her in that hour + Came not in after years. +Unto a hero's death he rode + 'Mid shower of fire and shot; +But in the maiden's heart abode + The flower, forget-me-not. + +And when _he_ came not with the rest + From out the years of blood, +Closely unto her widowed breast + She pressed a faded bud; +Oh, there is love and there is pain, + And there is peace, God wot,-- +And these dear three do live again + In sweet forget-me-not. + +'T is to an unmarked grave to-day + That I should love to go,-- +Whether he wore the blue or gray, + What need that we should know? +"He loved a woman," let us say, + And on that sacred spot, +To woman's love, that lives for aye, + We'll strew forget-me-not. + +1887. + + + + +HORACE TO MELPOMENE + + +Lofty and enduring is the monument I've reared,-- + Come, tempests, with your bitterness assailing; +And thou, corrosive blasts of time, by all things mortal feared, + Thy buffets and thy rage are unavailing! + +I shall not altogether die; by far my greater part + Shall mock man's common fate in realms infernal; +My works shall live as tributes to my genius and my art,-- + My works shall be my monument eternal! + +While this great Roman empire stands and gods protect our fanes, + Mankind with grateful hearts shall tell the story, +How one most lowly born upon the parched Apulian plains + First raised the native lyric muse to glory. + +Assume, revered Melpomene, the proud estate I've won, + And, with thine own dear hand the meed supplying, +Bind thou about the forehead of thy celebrated son + The Delphic laurel-wreath of fame undying! + + + + +AILSIE, MY BAIRN + + +Lie in my arms, Ailsie, my bairn,-- + Lie in my arms and dinna greit; +Long time been past syn I kenned you last, + But my harte been allwais the same, my swete. + +Ailsie, I colde not say you ill, + For out of the mist of your bitter tears, +And the prayers that rise from your bonnie eyes + Cometh a promise of oder yeres. + +I mind the time when we lost our bairn,-- + Do you ken that time? A wambling tot, +You wandered away ane simmer day, + And we hunted and called, and found you not. + +I promised God, if He'd send you back, + Alwaies to keepe and to love you, childe; +And I'm thinking again of that promise when + I see you creep out of the storm sae wild. + +You came back then as you come back now,-- + Your kirtle torn and your face all white; +And you stood outside and knockit and cried, + Just as you, dearie, did to-night. + +Oh, never a word of the cruel wrang, + That has faded your cheek and dimmed your ee; +And never a word of the fause, fause lord,-- + Only a smile and a kiss for me. + +Lie in my arms, as long, long syne, + And sleepe on my bosom, deere wounded thing,-- +I'm nae sae glee as I used to be, + Or I'd sing you the songs I used to sing. + +But Ile kemb my fingers thro' y'r haire, + And nane shall know, but you and I, +Of the love and the faith that came to us baith + When Ailsie, my bairn, came home to die. + + + + +CORNISH LULLABY + + +Out on the mountain over the town, + All night long, all night long, +The trolls go up and the trolls go down, + Bearing their packs and crooning a song; +And this is the song the hill-folk croon, +As they trudge in the light of the misty moon,-- +This is ever their dolorous tune: +"Gold, gold! ever more gold,-- + Bright red gold for dearie!" + +Deep in the hill the yeoman delves + All night long, all night long; +None but the peering, furtive elves + See his toil and hear his song; +Merrily ever the cavern rings +As merrily ever his pick he swings, +And merrily ever this song he sings: +"Gold, gold! ever more gold,-- + Bright red gold for dearie!" + +Mother is rocking thy lowly bed + All night long, all night long, +Happy to smooth thy curly head + And to hold thy hand and to sing her song; +'T is not of the hill-folk, dwarfed and old, +Nor the song of the yeoman, stanch and bold, +And the burden it beareth is not of gold; +But it's "Love, love!--nothing but love,-- + Mother's love for dearie!" + + + + +UHLAND'S "THREE CAVALIERS" + + +There were three cavaliers that went over the Rhine, +And gayly they called to the hostess for wine. +"And where is thy daughter? We would she were here,-- +Go fetch us that maiden to gladden our cheer!" + +"I'll fetch thee thy goblets full foaming," she said, +"But in yon darkened chamber the maiden lies dead." +And lo! as they stood in the doorway, the white +Of a shroud and a dead shrunken face met their sight. + +Then the first cavalier breathed a pitiful sigh, +And the throb of his heart seemed to melt in his eye, +And he cried, "Hadst thou lived, O my pretty white rose, +I ween I had loved thee and wed thee--who knows?" + +The next cavalier drew aside a small space, +And stood to the wall with his hands to his face; +And this was the heart-cry that came with his tears: +"I loved her, I loved her these many long years!" + +But the third cavalier kneeled him down in that place, +And, as it were holy, he kissed that dead face: +"I loved thee long years, and I love thee to-day, +And I'll love thee, dear maiden, forever and aye!" + + + + +A CHAUCERIAN PARAPHRASE OF HORACE + + +Syn that you, Chloe, to your moder sticken, +Maketh all ye yonge bacheloures full sicken; +Like as a lyttel deere you ben y-hiding +Whenas come lovers with theyre pityse chiding; +Sothly it ben faire to give up your moder +For to beare swete company with some oder; +Your moder ben well enow so farre shee goeth, +But that ben not farre enow, God knoweth; +Wherefore it ben sayed that foolysh ladyes +That marrye not shall leade an aype in Hadys; +But all that do with gode men wed full quickylye +When that they be on dead go to ye seints full sickerly. + + + + +NORSE LULLABY + + +The sky is dark and the hills are white +As the storm-king speeds from the north to-night, +And this is the song the storm-king sings, +As over the world his cloak he flings: + "Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep;" +He rustles his wings and gruffly sings: + "Sleep, little one, sleep." + +On yonder mountain-side a vine +Clings at the foot of a mother pine; +The tree bends over the trembling thing, +And only the vine can hear her sing: + "Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep; +What shall you fear when I am here? + Sleep, little one, sleep." + +The king may sing in his bitter flight, +The tree may croon to the vine to-night, +But the little snowflake at my breast +Liketh the song _I_ sing the best,-- + Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep; +Weary thou art, anext my heart + Sleep, little one, sleep. + + + + +BERANGER'S "MY LAST SONG PERHAPS" +[JANUARY, 1814] + + +When, to despoil my native France, + With flaming torch and cruel sword +And boisterous drums her foeman comes, + I curse him and his vandal horde! +Yet, what avail accrues to her, + If we assume the garb of woe? +Let's merry be,--in laughter we + May rescue somewhat from the foe! + +Ah, many a brave man trembles now. + I (coward!) show no sign of fear; +When Bacchus sends his blessing, friends, + I drown my panic in his cheer. +Come, gather round my humble board, + And let the sparkling wassail flow,-- +Chuckling to think, the while you drink, + "This much we rescue from the foe!" + +My creditors beset me so + And so environed my abode, +That I agreed, despite my need, + To settle up the debts I owed; +When suddenly there came the news + Of this invasion, as you know; +I'll pay no score; pray, lend me more,-- + I--_I_ will keep it from the foe! + +Now here's my mistress,--pretty dear!-- + Feigns terror at this martial noise, +And yet, methinks, the artful minx + Would like to meet those soldier boys! +I tell her that they're coarse and rude, + Yet feel she don't believe 'em so,-- +Well, never mind; so she be kind, + That much I rescue from the foe! + +If, brothers, hope shall have in store + For us and ours no friendly glance, +Let's rather die than raise a cry + Of welcome to the foes of France! +But, like the swan that dying sings, + Let us, O Frenchmen, singing go,-- +Then shall our cheer, when death is near, + Be so much rescued from the foe! + + + + +MR. DANA, OF THE NEW YORK SUN + + +Thar showed up out'n Denver in the spring uv '81 +A man who'd worked with Dana on the Noo York Sun. +His name wuz Cantell Whoppers, 'nd he wuz a sight ter view +Ez he walked inter the orfice 'nd inquired fer work ter do. +Thar warn't no places vacant then,--fer be it understood, +That wuz the time when talent flourished at that altitood; +But thar the stranger lingered, tellin' Raymond 'nd the rest +Uv what perdigious wonders he could do when at his best, +Till finally he stated (quite by chance) that he hed done +A heap uv work with Dana on the Noo York Sun. + +Wall, that wuz quite another thing; we owned that ary cuss +Who'd worked f'r Mr. Dana _must_ be good enough fer _us_! +And so we tuk the stranger's word 'nd nipped him while we could, +For if _we didn't_ take him we knew John Arkins _would_; +And Cooper, too, wuz mouzin' round fer enterprise 'nd brains, +Whenever them commodities blew in across the plains. +At any rate we nailed him, which made ol' Cooper swear +And Arkins tear out handfuls uv his copious curly hair; +But _we_ set back and cackled, 'nd bed a power uv fun +With our man who'd worked with Dana on the Noo York Sun. + +It made our eyes hang on our cheeks 'nd lower jaws ter drop, +Ter hear that feller tellin' how ol' Dana run his shop: +It seems that Dana wuz the biggest man you ever saw,-- +He lived on human bein's, 'nd preferred to eat 'em raw! +If he hed Democratic drugs ter take, before he took 'em, +As good old allopathic laws prescribe, he allus shook 'em. +The man that could set down 'nd write like Dany never grew, +And the sum of human knowledge wuzn't half what Dana knew; +The consequence appeared to be that nearly every one +Concurred with Mr. Dana of the Noo York Sun. + +This feller, Cantell Whoppers, never brought an item in,-- +He spent his time at Perrin's shakin' poker dice f'r gin. +Whatever the assignment, he wuz allus sure to shirk, +He wuz very long on likker and all-fired short on work! +If any other cuss had played the tricks he dared ter play, +The daisies would be bloomin' over his remains to-day; +But somehow folks respected him and stood him to the last, +Considerin' his superior connections in the past. +So, when he bilked at poker, not a sucker drew a gun +On the man who 'd worked with Dana on the Noo York Sun. + +Wall, Dana came ter Denver in the fall uv '83. +A very different party from the man we thought ter see,-- +A nice 'nd clean old gentleman, so dignerfied 'nd calm, +You bet yer life he never did no human bein' harm! +A certain hearty manner 'nd a fulness uv the vest +Betokened that his sperrits 'nd his victuals wuz the best; +His face wuz so benevolent, his smile so sweet 'nd kind, +That they seemed to be the reflex uv an honest, healthy mind; +And God had set upon his head a crown uv silver hair +In promise uv the golden crown He meaneth him to wear. +So, uv us boys that met him out'n Denver, there wuz none +But fell in love with Dana uv the Noo York Sun. + +But when he came to Denver in that fall uv '83, +His old friend Cantell Whoppers disappeared upon a spree; +The very thought uv seein' Dana worked upon him so +(They hadn't been together fer a year or two, you know), +That he borrered all the stuff he could and started on a bat, +And, strange as it may seem, we didn't see him after that. +So, when ol' Dana hove in sight, we couldn't understand +Why he didn't seem to notice that his crony wa'n't on hand; +No casual allusion, not a question, no, not one, +For the man who'd "worked with Dana on the Noo York Sun!" + +We broke it gently to him, but he didn't seem surprised, +Thar wuz no big burst uv passion as we fellers had surmised. +He said that Whoppers wuz a man he 'd never heerd about, +But he mought have carried papers on a Jarsey City route; +And then he recollected hearin' Mr. Laffan say +That he'd fired a man named Whoppers fur bein' drunk one day, +Which, with more likker _underneath_ than money _in_ his vest, +Had started on a freight-train fur the great 'nd boundin' West, +But further information or statistics he had none +Uv the man who'd "worked with Dana on the Noo York Sun." + +We dropped the matter quietly 'nd never made no fuss,-- +When we get played for suckers, why, that's a horse on us!-- +But every now 'nd then we Denver fellers have to laff +To hear some other paper boast uv havin' on its staff +A man who's "worked with Dana," 'nd then we fellers wink +And pull our hats down on our eyes 'nd set around 'nd think. +It seems like Dana couldn't be as smart as people say, +If he educates so many folks 'nd lets 'em get away; +And, as for us, in future we'll be very apt to shun +The man who "worked with Dana on the Noo York Sun." + +But bless ye, Mr. Dana! may you live a thousan' years, +To sort o' keep things lively in this vale of human tears; +An' may _I_ live a thousan', too,--a thousan' less a day, +For I shouldn't like to be on earth to hear you'd passed away. +And when it comes your time to go you'll need no Latin chaff +Nor biographic data put in your epitaph; +But one straight line of English and of truth will let folks know +The homage 'nd the gratitude 'nd reverence they owe; +You'll need no epitaph but this: "Here sleeps the man who run +That best 'nd brightest paper, the Noo York Sun." + + + + +SICILIAN LULLABY + + +Hush, little one, and fold your hands; + The sun hath set, the moon is high; +The sea is singing to the sands, + And wakeful posies are beguiled +By many a fairy lullaby: + Hush, little child, my little child! + +Dream, little one, and in your dreams + Float upward from this lowly place,-- +Float out on mellow, misty streams + To lands where bideth Mary mild, +And let her kiss thy little face, + You little child, my little child! + +Sleep, little one, and take thy rest, + With angels bending over thee,-- +Sleep sweetly on that Father's breast + Whom our dear Christ hath reconciled; +But stay not there,--come back to me, + O little child, my little child! + + + + +HORACE TO PYRRHA + + +What perfumed, posie-dizened sirrah, + With smiles for diet, +Clasps you, O fair but faithless Pyrrha, + On the quiet? +For whom do you bind up your tresses, + As spun-gold yellow,-- +Meshes that go, with your caresses, + To snare a fellow? + +How will he rail at fate capricious, + And curse you duly! +Yet now he deems your wiles delicious, + _You_ perfect, truly! +Pyrrha, your love's a treacherous ocean; + He'll soon fall in there! +Then shall I gloat on his commotion, + For _I_ have been there! + + + + +THE TWENTY-THIRD PSALM + + +My Shepherd is the Lord my God,-- + There is no want I know; +His flock He leads in verdant meads, + Where tranquil waters flow. + +He doth restore my fainting soul + With His divine caress, +And, when I stray, He points the way + To paths of righteousness. + +Yea, though I walk the vale of death, + What evil shall I fear? +Thy staff and rod are mine, O God, + And Thou, my Shepherd, near! + +Mine enemies behold the feast + Which my dear Lord hath spread; +And, lo! my cup He filleth up, + With oil anoints my head! + +Goodness and mercy shall be mine + Unto my dying day; +Then will I bide at His dear side + Forever and for aye! + + + + +THE BIBLIOMANIAC'S BRIDE + + +The women-folk are like to books,-- + Most pleasing to the eye, +Whereon if anybody looks + He feels disposed to buy. + +I hear that many are for sale,-- + Those that record no dates, +And such editions as regale + The view with colored plates. + +Of every quality and grade + And size they may be found,-- +Quite often beautifully made, + As often poorly bound. + +Now, as for me, had I my choice, + I'd choose no folio tall, +But some octavo to rejoice + My sight and heart withal,-- + +As plump and pudgy as a snipe; + Well worth her weight in gold; +Of honest, clean, conspicuous type, + And _just_ the size to hold! + +With such a volume for my wife + How should I keep and con! +How like a dream should run my life + Unto its colophon! + +Her frontispiece should be more fair + Than any colored plate; +Blooming with health, she would not care + To extra-illustrate. + +And in her pages there should be + A wealth of prose and verse, +With now and then a _jeu d'esprit_,-- + But nothing ever worse! + +Prose for me when I wished for prose, + Verse when to verse inclined,-- +Forever bringing sweet repose + To body, heart, and mind. + +Oh, I should bind this priceless prize + In bindings full and fine, +And keep her where no human eyes + Should see her charms, but mine! + +With such a fair unique as this + What happiness abounds! +Who--who could paint my rapturous bliss, + My joy unknown to Lowndes! + + + + +CHRISTMAS HYMN + + + Sing, Christmas bells! +Say to the earth this is the morn +Whereon our Saviour-King is born; + Sing to all men,--the bond, the free, +The rich, the poor, the high, the low, + The little child that sports in glee, +The aged folk that tottering go,-- + Proclaim the morn + That Christ is born, + That saveth them and saveth me! + + Sing, angel host! +Sing of the star that God has placed +Above the manger in the east; + Sing of the glories of the night, +The virgin's sweet humility, + The Babe with kingly robes bedight, +Sing to all men where'er they be + This Christmas morn; + For Christ is born, + That saveth them and saveth me! + + Sing, sons of earth! +O ransomed seed of Adam, sing! +God liveth, and we have a king! + The curse is gone, the bond are free,-- +By Bethlehem's star that brightly beamed, + By all the heavenly signs that be, +We know that Israel is redeemed; + That on this morn + The Christ is born + That saveth you and saveth me! + + Sing, O my heart! +Sing thou in rapture this dear morn +Whereon the blessed Prince is born! + And as thy songs shall be of love, +So let my deeds be charity,-- + By the dear Lord that reigns above, +By Him that died upon the tree, + By this fair morn + Whereon is born + The Christ that saveth all and me! + + + + +JAPANESE LULLABY + + +Sleep, little pigeon, and fold your wings,-- + Little blue pigeon with velvet eyes; +Sleep to the singing of mother-bird swinging-- + Swinging the nest where her little one lies. + +Away out yonder I see a star,-- + Silvery star with a tinkling song; +To the soft dew falling I hear it calling-- + Calling and tinkling the night along. + +In through the window a moonbeam comes,-- + Little gold moonbeam with misty wings; +All silently creeping, it asks, "Is he sleeping-- + Sleeping and dreaming while mother sings?" + +Up from the sea there floats the sob + Of the waves that are breaking upon the shore, +As though they were groaning in anguish, and moaning-- + Bemoaning the ship that shall come no more. + +But sleep, little pigeon, and fold your wings,-- + Little blue pigeon with mournful eyes; +Am I not singing?--see, I am swinging-- + Swinging the nest where my darling lies. + + + + +"GOOD-BY--GOD BLESS YOU!" + + +I like the Anglo-Saxon speech + With its direct revealings; +It takes a hold, and seems to reach + 'Way down into your feelings; +That some folk deem it rude, I know, + And therefore they abuse it; +But I have never found it so,-- + Before all else I choose it. +I don't object that men should air + The Gallic they have paid for, +With "Au revoir," "Adieu, ma chere," + For that's what French was made for. +But when a crony takes your hand + At parting, to address you, +He drops all foreign lingo and + He says, "Good-by--God bless you!" + +This seems to me a sacred phrase, + With reverence impassioned,-- +A thing come down from righteous days, + Quaintly but nobly fashioned; +It well becomes an honest face, + A voice that's round and cheerful; +It stays the sturdy in his place, + And soothes the weak and fearful. +Into the porches of the ears + It steals with subtle unction, +And in your heart of hearts appears + To work its gracious function; +And all day long with pleasing song + It lingers to caress you,-- +I'm sure no human heart goes wrong + That's told "Good-by--God bless you!" + +I love the words,--perhaps because, + When I was leaving Mother, +Standing at last in solemn pause + We looked at one another, +And I--I saw in Mother's eyes + The love she could not tell me,-- +A love eternal as the skies, + Whatever fate befell me; +She put her arms about my neck + And soothed the pain of leaving, +And though her heart was like to break, + She spoke no word of grieving; +She let no tear bedim her eye, + For fear _that_ might distress me, +But, kissing me, she said good-by, + And asked our God to bless me. + + + + +HORACE TO PHYLLIS + + +Come, Phyllis, I've a cask of wine + That fairly reeks with precious juices, +And in your tresses you shall twine + The loveliest flowers this vale produces. + +My cottage wears a gracious smile,-- + The altar, decked in floral glory, +Yearns for the lamb which bleats the while + As though it pined for honors gory. + +Hither our neighbors nimbly fare,-- + The boys agog, the maidens snickering; +And savory smells possess the air + As skyward kitchen flames are flickering. + +You ask what means this grand display, + This festive throng, and goodly diet? +Well, since you're bound to have your way, + I don't mind telling, on the quiet. + +'Tis April 13, as you know,-- + A day and month devote to Venus, +Whereon was born, some years ago, + My very worthy friend Maecenas. + +Nay, pay no heed to Telephus,-- + Your friends agree he doesn't love you; +The way he flirts convinces us + He really is not worthy of you! + +Aurora's son, unhappy lad! + You know the fate that overtook him? +And Pegasus a rider had-- + I say he _had_ before he shook him! + +Haec docet (as you must agree): + 'T is meet that Phyllis should discover +A wisdom in preferring me + And mittening every other lover. + +So come, O Phyllis, last and best + Of loves with which this heart's been smitten,-- +Come, sing my jealous fears to rest, + And let your songs be those _I've_ written. + + + + +CHRYSTMASSE OF OLDE + + +God rest you, Chrysten gentil men, + Wherever you may be,-- +God rest you all in fielde or hall, + Or on ye stormy sea; +For on this morn oure Chryst is born + That saveth you and me. + +Last night ye shepherds in ye east + Saw many a wondrous thing; +Ye sky last night flamed passing bright + Whiles that ye stars did sing, +And angels came to bless ye name + Of Jesus Chryst, oure Kyng. + +God rest you, Chrysten gentil men, + Faring where'er you may; +In noblesse court do thou no sport, + In tournament no playe, +In paynim lands hold thou thy hands + From bloudy works this daye. + +But thinking on ye gentil Lord + That died upon ye tree, +Let troublings cease and deeds of peace + Abound in Chrystantie; +For on this morn ye Chryst is born + That saveth you and me. + + + + +AT THE DOOR + + +I thought myself indeed secure, + So fast the door, so firm the lock; +But, lo! he toddling comes to lure + My parent ear with timorous knock. + +My heart were stone could it withstand + The sweetness of my baby's plea,-- +That timorous, baby knocking and + "Please let me in,--it's only me." + +I threw aside the unfinished book, + Regardless of its tempting charms, +And opening wide the door, I took + My laughing darling in my arms. + +Who knows but in Eternity, + I, like a truant child, shall wait +The glories of a life to be, + Beyond the Heavenly Father's gate? + +And will that Heavenly Father heed + The truant's supplicating cry, +As at the outer door I plead, + "'T is I, O Father! only I"? + +1886. + + + + +HI-SPY + + +Strange that the city thoroughfare, + Noisy and bustling all the day, +Should with the night renounce its care, + And lend itself to children's play! + +Oh, girls are girls, and boys are boys, + And have been so since Abel's birth, +And shall be so till dolls and toys + Are with the children swept from earth. + +The self-same sport that crowns the day + Of many a Syrian shepherd's son, +Beguiles the little lads at play + By night in stately Babylon. + +I hear their voices in the street, + Yet 't is so different now from then! +Come, brother! from your winding-sheet, + And let us two be boys again! + +1886. + + + + +LITTLE CROODLIN DOO + + +Ho, pretty bee, did you see my croodlin doo? + Ho, little lamb, is she jinkin' on the lea? + Ho, bonnie fairy, bring my dearie back to me-- +Got a lump o' sugar an' a posie for you, +Only bring back my wee, wee croodlin doo! + +Why, here you are, my little croodlin doo! + Looked in er cradle, but didn't find you there, + Looked f'r my wee, wee croodlin doo ever'where; +Ben kind lonesome all er day withouten you; +Where you ben, my little wee, wee croodlin doo? + +Now you go balow, my little croodlin doo; + Now you go rockaby ever so far,-- + Rockaby, rockaby, up to the star +That's winkin' an' blinkin' an' singin' to you +As you go balow, my wee, wee croodlin doo! + + + + +THE "HAPPY ISLES" OF HORACE + + +Oh, come with me to the Happy Isles + In the golden haze off yonder, +Where the song of the sun-kissed breeze beguiles, + And the ocean loves to wander. + +Fragrant the vines that mantle those hills, + Proudly the fig rejoices; +Merrily dance the virgin rills, + Blending their myriad voices. + +Our herds shall fear no evil there, + But peacefully feed and rest them; +Neither shall serpent nor prowling bear + Ever come there to molest them. + +Neither shall Eurus, wanton bold, + Nor feverish drouth distress us, +But he that compasseth heat and cold + Shall temper them both to bless us. + +There no vandal foot has trod, + And the pirate hosts that wander +Shall never profane the sacred sod + Of those beautiful Isles out yonder. + +Never a spell shall blight our vines, + Nor Sirius blaze above us, +But you and I shall drink our wines + And sing to the loved that love us. + +So come with me where Fortune smiles + And the gods invite devotion,-- +Oh, come with me to the Happy Isles + In the haze of that far-off ocean! + + + + +DUTCH LULLABY + + +Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night + Sailed off in a wooden shoe,-- +Sailed on a river of misty light + Into a sea of dew. +"Where are you going, and what do you wish?" + The old moon asked the three. +"We have come to fish for the herring-fish + That live in this beautiful sea; + Nets of silver and gold have we," + Said Wynken, + Blynken, + And Nod. + +The old moon laughed and sung a song, + As they rocked in the wooden shoe; +And the wind that sped them all night long + Ruffled the waves of dew; +The little stars were the herring-fish + That lived in the beautiful sea. +"Now cast your nets wherever you wish, + But never afeard are we!" + So cried the stars to the fishermen three, + Wynken, + Blynken, + And Nod. + +All night long their nets they threw + For the fish in the twinkling foam, +Then down from the sky came the wooden shoe, + Bringing the fishermen home; +'T was all so pretty a sail, it seemed + As if it could not be; +And some folk thought 't was a dream they'd dreamed + Of sailing that beautiful sea; + But I shall name you the fishermen three: + Wynken, + Blynken, + And Nod. + +Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes, + And Nod is a little head, +And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies + Is a wee one's trundle-bed; +So shut your eyes while Mother sings + Of wonderful sights that be, +And you shall see the beautiful things + As you rock on the misty sea + Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three,-- + Wynken, + Blynken, + And Nod. + + + + +HUGO'S "FLOWER TO BUTTERFLY" + + +Sweet, bide with me and let my love + Be an enduring tether; +Oh, wanton not from spot to spot, + But let us dwell together. + +You've come each morn to sip the sweets + With which you found me dripping, +Yet never knew it was not dew + But tears that you were sipping. + +You gambol over honey meads + Where siren bees are humming; +But mine the fate to watch and wait + For my beloved's coming. + +The sunshine that delights you now + Shall fade to darkness gloomy; +You should not fear if, biding here, + You nestled closer to me. + +So rest you, love, and be my love, + That my enraptured blooming +May fill your sight with tender light, + Your wings with sweet perfuming. + +Or, if you will not bide with me + Upon this quiet heather, +Oh, give me wing, thou beauteous thing, + That we may soar together. + + + + +A PROPER TREWE IDYLL OF CAMELOT + + +Whenas ye plaisaunt Aperille shoures have washed and purged awaye +Ye poysons and ye rheums of earth to make a merrie May, +Ye shraddy boscage of ye woods ben full of birds that syng +Right merrilie a madrigal unto ye waking spring, +Ye whiles that when ye face of earth ben washed and wiped ycleane +Her peeping posies blink and stare like they had ben her een; + +Then, wit ye well, ye harte of man ben turned to thoughts of love, +And, tho' it ben a lyon erst, it now ben like a dove! +And many a goodly damosel in innocence beguiles +Her owne trewe love with sweet discourse and divers plaisaunt wiles. +In soche a time ye noblesse liege that ben Kyng Arthure hight +Let cry a joust and tournament for evereche errant knyght, +And, lo! from distant Joyous-garde and eche adjacent spot +A company of noblesse lords fared unto Camelot, +Wherein were mighty feastings and passing merrie cheere, +And eke a deale of dismal dole, as you shall quickly heare. + +It so befell upon a daye when jousts ben had and while +Sir Launcelot did ramp around ye ring in gallaunt style, +There came an horseman shriking sore and rashing wildly home,-- +A mediaeval horseman with ye usual flecks of foame; +And he did brast into ye ring, wherein his horse did drop, +Upon ye which ye rider did with like abruptness stop, +And with fatigue and fearfulness continued in a swound +Ye space of half an hour or more before a leech was founde. +"Now tell me straight," quod Launcelot, "what varlet knyght you be, +Ere that I chine you with my sworde and cleave your harte in three!" +Then rolled that knyght his bloudy een, and answered with a groane,-- +"By worthy God that hath me made and shope ye sun and mone, +There fareth hence an evil thing whose like ben never seene, +And tho' he sayeth nony worde, he bode the ill, I ween. +So take your parting, evereche one, and gird you for ye fraye, +By all that's pure, ye Divell sure doth trend his path this way!" +Ye which he quoth and fell again into a deadly swound, +And on that spot, perchance (God wot), his bones mought yet be founde. + +Then evereche knight girt on his sworde and shield and hied him straight +To meet ye straunger sarasen hard by ye city gate; +Full sorely moaned ye damosels and tore their beautyse haire +For that they feared an hippogriff wolde come to eate them there; +But as they moaned and swounded there too numerous to relate, +Kyng Arthure and Sir Launcelot stode at ye city gate, +And at eche side and round about stode many a noblesse knyght +With helm and speare and sworde and shield and mickle valor dight. + +Anon there came a straunger, but not a gyaunt grim, +Nor yet a draggon,--but a person gangling, long, and slim; +Yclad he was in guise that ill-beseemed those knyghtly days, +And there ben nony etiquette in his uplandish ways; +His raiment was of dusty gray, and perched above his lugs +There ben the very latest style of blacke and shiny pluggs; +His nose ben like a vulture beake, his blie ben swart of hue, +And curly ben ye whiskers through ye which ye zephyrs blewe; +Of all ye een that ben yseene in countries far or nigh, +None nonywhere colde hold compare unto that straunger's eye; +It was an eye of soche a kind as never ben on sleepe, +Nor did it gleam with kindly beame, nor did not use to weepe; +But soche an eye ye widdow hath,--an hongrey eye and wan, +That spyeth for an oder chaunce whereby she may catch on; +An eye that winketh of itself, and sayeth by that winke +Ye which a maiden sholde not knowe nor never even thinke; +Which winke ben more exceeding swift nor human thought ben thunk, +And leaveth doubting if so be that winke ben really wunke; +And soch an eye ye catte-fysshe hath when that he ben on dead +And boyled a goodly time and served with capers on his head; +A rayless eye, a bead-like eye, whose famisht aspect shows +It hungereth for ye verdant banks whereon ye wild time grows; +An eye that hawketh up and down for evereche kind of game, +And, when he doth espy ye which, he tumbleth to ye same. + +Now when he kenned Sir Launcelot in armor clad, he quod, +"Another put-a-nickel-in-and-see-me-work, be god!" +But when that he was ware a man ben standing in that suit, +Ye straunger threw up both his hands, and asked him not to shoote. + +Then spake Kyng Arthure: "If soe be you mind to do no ill, +Come, enter into Camelot, and eat and drink your fill; +But say me first what you are hight, and what mought be your quest." +Ye straunger quod, "I'm five feet ten, and fare me from ye West!" +"Sir Fivefeetten," Kyng Arthure said, "I bid you welcome here; +So make you merrie as you list with plaisaunt wine and cheere; +This very night shall be a feast soche like ben never seene, +And you shall be ye honored guest of Arthure and his queene. +Now take him, good sir Maligraunce, and entertain him well +Until soche time as he becomes our guest, as I you tell." + +That night Kyng Arthure's table round with mighty care ben spread, +Ye oder knyghts sate all about, and Arthure at ye heade: +Oh, 't was a goodly spectacle to ken that noblesse liege +Dispensing hospitality from his commanding siege! +Ye pheasant and ye meate of boare, ye haunch of velvet doe, +Ye canvass hamme he them did serve, and many good things moe. +Until at last Kyng Arthure cried: "Let bring my wassail cup, +And let ye sound of joy go round,--I'm going to set 'em up! +I've pipes of Malmsey, May-wine, sack, metheglon, mead, and sherry, +Canary, Malvoisie, and Port, swete Muscadelle and perry; +Rochelle, Osey, and Romenay, Tyre, Rhenish, posset too, +With kags and pails of foaming ales of brown October brew. +To wine and beer and other cheere I pray you now despatch ye, +And for ensample, wit ye well, sweet sirs, I'm looking at ye!" + +Unto which toast of their liege lord ye oders in ye party +Did lout them low in humble wise and bid ye same drink hearty. +So then ben merrisome discourse and passing plaisaunt cheere, +And Arthure's tales of hippogriffs ben mervaillous to heare; +But stranger far than any tale told of those knyghts of old +Ben those facetious narratives ye Western straunger told. +He told them of a country many leagues beyond ye sea +Where evereche forraine nuisance but ye Chinese man ben free, +And whiles he span his monstrous yarns, ye ladies of ye court +Did deem ye listening thereunto to be right plaisaunt sport; +And whiles they listened, often he did squeeze a lily hande, +Ye which proceeding ne'er before ben done in Arthure's lande; +And often wank a sidelong wink with either roving eye, +Whereat ye ladies laughen so that they had like to die. +But of ye damosels that sat around Kyng Arthure's table +He liked not her that sometime ben ron over by ye cable, +Ye which full evil hap had harmed and marked her person so +That in a passing wittie jest he dubbeth her ye crow. + +But all ye oders of ye girls did please him passing well +And they did own him for to be a proper seeming swell; +And in especial Guinevere esteemed him wondrous faire, +Which had made Arthure and his friend, Sir Launcelot, to sware +But that they both ben so far gone with posset, wine, and beer, +They colde not see ye carrying-on, nor neither colde not heare; +For of eche liquor Arthure quafft, and so did all ye rest, +Save only and excepting that smooth straunger from the West. +When as these oders drank a toast, he let them have their fun +With divers godless mixings, but _he_ stock to willow run, +Ye which (and all that reade these words sholde profit by ye warning) +Doth never make ye head to feel like it ben swelled next morning. +Now, wit ye well, it so befell that when the night grew dim, +Ye Kyng was carried from ye hall with a howling jag on him, +Whiles Launcelot and all ye rest that to his highness toadied +Withdrew them from ye banquet-hall and sought their couches loaded. + +Now, lithe and listen, lordings all, whiles I do call it shame +That, making cheer with wine and beer, men do abuse ye same; +Though eche be well enow alone, ye mixing of ye two +Ben soche a piece of foolishness as only ejiots do. +Ye wine is plaisaunt bibbing whenas ye gentles dine, +And beer will do if one hath not ye wherewithal for wine, +But in ye drinking of ye same ye wise are never floored +By taking what ye tipplers call too big a jag on board. +Right hejeous is it for to see soche dronkonness of wine +Whereby some men are used to make themselves to be like swine; +And sorely it repenteth them, for when they wake next day +Ye fearful paynes they suffer ben soche as none mought say, +And soche ye brenning in ye throat and brasting of ye head +And soche ye taste within ye mouth like one had been on dead,--Soche +be ye foul conditions that these unhappy men +Sware they will never drink no drop of nony drinke again. +Yet all so frail and vain a thing and weak withal is man +That he goeth on an oder tear whenever that he can. +And like ye evil quatern or ye hills that skirt ye skies, +Ye jag is reproductive and jags on jags arise. + +Whenas Aurora from ye east in dewy splendor hied +King Arthure dreemed he saw a snaix and ben on fire inside, +And waking from this hejeous dreeme he sate him up in bed,-- +"What, ho! an absynthe cocktail, knave! and make it strong!" he said; +Then, looking down beside him, lo! his lady was not there-- +He called, he searched, but, Goddis wounds! he found her nonywhere; +And whiles he searched, Sir Maligraunce rashed in, wood wroth, and cried, +"Methinketh that ye straunger knyght hath snuck away my bride!" +And whiles _he_ spake a motley score of other knyghts brast in +And filled ye royall chamber with a mickle fearfull din, +For evereche one had lost his wiffe nor colde not spye ye same, +Nor colde not spye ye straunger knyght, Sir Fivefeetten of name. + +Oh, then and there was grevious lamentation all arounde, +For nony dame nor damosel in Camelot ben found,-- +Gone, like ye forest leaves that speed afore ye autumn wind. +Of all ye ladies of that court not one ben left behind +Save only that same damosel ye straunger called ye crow, +And she allowed with moche regret she ben too lame to go; +And when that she had wept full sore, to Arthure she confess'd +That Guinevere had left this word for Arthure and ye rest: +"Tell them," she quod, "we shall return to them whenas we've made +This little deal we have with ye Chicago Bourde of Trade." + + + + +BERANGER'S "MA VOCATION" + + +Misery is my lot, + Poverty and pain; +Ill was I begot, + Ill must I remain; +Yet the wretched days + One sweet comfort bring, +When God whispering says, + "Sing, O singer, sing!" + +Chariots rumble by, + Splashing me with mud; +Insolence see I + Fawn to royal blood; +Solace have I then + From each galling sting +In that voice again,-- + "Sing, O singer, sing!" + +Cowardly at heart, + I am forced to play +A degraded part + For its paltry pay; +Freedom is a prize + For no starving thing; +Yet that small voice cries, + "Sing, O singer, sing!" + +I _was_ young, but now, + When I'm old and gray, +Love--I know not how + Or why--hath sped away; +Still, in winter days + As in hours of spring, +_Still_ a whisper says, + "Sing, O singer, sing!" + +Ah, too well I know + Song's my only friend! +Patiently I'll go + Singing to the end; +Comrades, to your wine! + Let your glasses ring! +Lo, that voice divine + Whispers, "Sing, oh, sing!" + + + + +CHILD AND MOTHER + + +O mother-my-love, if you'll give me your hand, + And go where I ask you to wander, +I will lead you away to a beautiful land,-- + The Dreamland that's waiting out yonder. +We'll walk in a sweet posie-garden out there, + Where moonlight and starlight are streaming, +And the flowers and the birds are filling the air + With the fragrance and music of dreaming. + +There'll be no little tired-out boy to undress, + No questions or cares to perplex you, +There'll be no little bruises or bumps to caress, + Nor patching of stockings to vex you; +For I'll rock you away on a silver-dew stream + And sing you asleep when you're weary, +And no one shall know of our beautiful dream + But you and your own little dearie. + +And when I am tired I'll nestle my head + In the bosom that's soothed me so often, +And the wide-awake stars shall sing, in my stead, + A song which our dreaming shall soften. +So, Mother-my-Love, let me take your dear hand, + And away through the starlight we'll wander,-- +Away through the mist to the beautiful land,-- + The Dreamland that's waiting out yonder. + + + + +THE CONVERSAZZHYONY + + +What conversazzhyonies wuz I really did not know, +For that, you must remember, wuz a powerful spell ago; +The camp wuz new 'nd noisy, 'nd only modrit sized, +So fashionable sossiety wuz hardly crystallized. +There hadn't been no grand events to interest the men, +But a lynchin', or a inquest, or a jackpot now an' then. +The wimmin-folks wuz mighty scarce, for wimmin, ez a rool, +Don't go to Colorado much, excep' for teachin' school, +An' bein' scarce an' chipper and pretty (like as not), +The bachelors perpose, 'nd air accepted on the spot. + +Now Sorry Tom wuz owner uv the Gosh-all-Hemlock mine, +The wich allowed his better haff to dress all-fired fine; +For Sorry Tom wuz mighty proud uv her, an' she uv him, +Though _she_ wuz short an' tacky, an' _he_ wuz tall an' slim, +An' _she_ wuz edjicated, an' Sorry Tom wuz _not_, +Yet, for _her_ sake, he'd whack up every cussid cent he'd got! +Waal, jest by way uv celebratin' matrimonial joys, +She thought she'd give a conversazzhyony to the boys,-- +A peert an' likely lady, 'nd ez full uv 'cute idees +'Nd uv etiquettish notions ez a fyste is full uv fleas. + +Three-fingered Hoover kind uv kicked, an' said they might be durned +So far ez any conversazzhyony was concerned; +_He'd_ come to Red Hoss Mountain to tunnel for the ore, +An' _not_ to go to parties,--quite another kind uv bore! +But, bein' he wuz candidate for marshal uv the camp, +I rayther had the upper holts in arguin' with the scamp; +Sez I, "Three-fingered Hoover, can't ye see it is yer game +To go for all the votes ye kin an' collar uv the same?" +The wich perceivin', Hoover sez, "Waal, ef I _must_, I _must_; +So I'll frequent that conversazzhyony, ef I bust!" + +Three-fingered Hoover wuz a trump! Ez fine a man wuz he +Ez ever caused an inquest or blossomed on a tree!-- +A big, broad man, whose face bespoke a honest heart within,-- +With a bunch uv yaller whiskers appertainin' to his chin, +'Nd a fierce mustache turnt up so fur that both his ears wuz hid, +Like the picture that you always see in the "Life uv Cap'n Kidd." +His hair wuz long an' wavy an' fine as Southdown fleece,-- +Oh, it shone an' smelt like Eden when he slicked it down with grease! +I'll bet there wuzn't anywhere a man, all round, ez fine +Ez wuz Three-fingered Hoover in the spring uv '69! + +The conversazzhyony wuz a notable affair, +The bong tong deckolett 'nd en regaly bein' there; +The ranch where Sorry Tom hung out wuz fitted up immense,-- +The Denver papers called it a "palashal residence." +There wuz mountain pines an' fern an' flowers a-hangin' on the walls, +An' cheers an' hoss-hair sofies wuz a-settin' in the halls; +An' there wuz heaps uv pictures uv folks that lived down East, +Sech ez poets an' perfessers, an' last, but not the least, +Wuz a chromo uv old Fremont,--we liked that best, you bet, +For there's lots uv us old miners that is votin' for him yet! + +When Sorry Tom received the gang perlitely at the door, +He said that keerds would be allowed upon the second floor; +And then he asked us would we like a drop uv ody vee. +Connivin' at his meanin', we responded promptly, "Wee." +A conversazzhyony is a thing where people speak +The langwidge in the which they air partickulerly weak: +"I see," sez Sorry Tom, "you grasp what that 'ere lingo means." +"You bet yer boots," sez Hoover; "I've lived at Noo Orleens, +An', though I ain't no Frenchie, nor kin unto the same, +I kin parly voo, an' git there, too, like Eli, toot lee mame!" + +As speakin' French wuz not my forte,--not even oovry poo,-- +I stuck to keerds ez played by them ez did not parly voo, +An' bein' how that poker wuz my most perficient game, +I poneyed up for 20 blues an' set into the same. +Three-fingered Hoover stayed behind an' parly-vood so well +That all the kramy delly krame allowed he wuz _the_ belle. +The other candidate for marshal didn't have a show; +For, while Three-fingered Hoover parlyed, ez they said, tray bow, +Bill Goslin didn't know enough uv French to git along, +'Nd I reckon that he had what folks might call a movy tong. + +From Denver they had freighted up a real pianny-fort +Uv the warty-leg and pearl-around-the-keys-an'-kivver sort, +An', later in the evenin', Perfesser Vere de Blaw +Performed on that pianny, with considerble eclaw, +Sech high-toned opry airs ez one is apt to hear, you know, +When he rounds up down to Denver at a Emmy Abbitt show; +An' Barber Jim (a talented but ornery galoot) +Discoursed a obligatter, conny mory, on the floot, +'Till we, ez sot up-stairs indulgin' in a quiet game, +Conveyed to Barber Jim our wish to compromise the same. + +The maynoo that wuz spread that night wuz mighty hard to beat,-- +Though somewhat awkward to pernounce, it was not so to eat: +There wuz puddin's, pies, an' sandwidges, an' forty kinds uv sass, +An' floatin' Irelands, custards, tarts, an' patty dee foy grass; +An' millions uv cove oysters wuz a-settin' round in pans, +'Nd other native fruits an' things that grow out West in cans. +But I wuz all kufflummuxed when Hoover said he'd choose +"Oon peety morso, see voo play, de la cette Charlotte Rooze;" +I'd knowed Three-fingered Hoover for fifteen years or more, +'Nd I'd never heern him speak so light uv wimmin folks before! + +Bill Goslin heern him say it, 'nd uv course _he_ spread the news +Uv how Three-fingered Hoover had insulted Charlotte Rooze +At the conversazzhyony down at Sorry Tom's that night, +An' when they asked me, I allowed that Bill for once wuz right; +Although it broke my heart to see my friend go up the fluke, +We all opined his treatment uv the girl deserved rebuke. +It warn't no use for Sorry Tom to nail it for a lie,-- +When it come to sassin' wimmin, there wuz blood in every eye; +The boom for Charlotte Rooze swep' on an' took the polls by storm, +An' so Three-fingered Hoover fell a martyr to reform! + +Three-fingered Hoover said it was a terrible mistake, +An' when the votes wuz in, he cried ez if his heart would break. +We never knew who Charlotte wuz, but Goslin's brother Dick +Allowed she wuz the teacher from the camp on Roarin' Crick, +That had come to pass some foreign tongue with them uv our alite +Ez wuz at the high-toned party down at Sorry Tom's that night. +We let it drop--this matter uv the lady--there an' then, +An' we never heerd, nor wanted to, of Charlotte Rooze again, +An' the Colorado wimmin-folks, ez like ez not, don't know +How we vindicated all their sex a twenty year ago. + +For in these wondrous twenty years has come a mighty change, +An' most of them old pioneers have gone acrosst the range, +Way out into the silver land beyond the peaks uv snow,-- +The land uv rest an' sunshine, where all good miners go. +I reckon that they love to look, from out the silver haze, +Upon that God's own country where they spent sech happy days; +Upon the noble cities that have risen since they went; +Upon the camps an' ranches that are prosperous and content; +An' best uv all, upon those hills that reach into the air, +Ez if to clasp the loved ones that are waitin' over there. + + + + +PROF. VERE DE BLAW + + +Achievin' sech distinction with his moddel tabble dote +Ez to make his Red Hoss Mountain restauraw a place uv note, +Our old friend Casey innovated somewhat round the place, +In hopes he would ameliorate the sufferin's uv the race; +'Nd uv the many features Casey managed to import +The most important wuz a Steenway gran' pianny-fort, +An' bein' there wuz nobody could play upon the same, +He telegraffed to Denver, 'nd a real perfesser came,-- +The last an' crownin' glory uv the Casey restauraw +Wuz that tenderfoot musicianer, Perfesser Vere de Blaw! + +His hair wuz long an' dishybill, an' he had a yaller skin, +An' the absence uv a collar made his neck look powerful thin: +A sorry man he wuz to see, az mebby you'd surmise, +But the fire uv inspiration wuz a-blazin' in his eyes! +His name wuz Blanc, wich same is Blaw (for that's what Casey said, +An' Casey passed the French ez well ez any Frenchie bred); +But no one ever reckoned that it really wuz his name, +An' no one ever asked him how or why or whence he came,-- +Your ancient history is a thing the Coloradan hates, +An' no one asks another what his name wuz in the States! + +At evenin', when the work wuz done, an' the miners rounded up +At Casey's, to indulge in keerds or linger with the cup, +Or dally with the tabble dote in all its native glory, +Perfessor Vere de Blaw discoursed his music repertory +Upon the Steenway gran' piannyfort, the wich wuz sot +In the hallway near the kitchen (a warm but quiet spot), +An' when De Blaw's environments induced the proper pride,-- +Wich gen'rally wuz whiskey straight, with seltzer on the side,-- +He throwed his soulful bein' into opry airs 'nd things +Wich bounded to the ceilin' like he'd mesmerized the strings. + +Oh, you that live in cities where the gran' piannies grow, +An' primy donnies round up, it's little that you know +Uv the hungerin' an' the yearnin' wich us miners an' the rest +Feel for the songs we used to hear before we moved out West. +Yes, memory is a pleasant thing, but it weakens mighty quick; +It kind uv dries an' withers, like the windin' mountain crick, +That, beautiful, an' singin' songs, goes dancin' to the plains, +So long ez it is fed by snows an' watered by the rains; +But, uv that grace uv lovin' rains 'nd mountain snows bereft, +Its bleachin' rocks, like dummy ghosts, is all its memory left. + +The toons wich the perfesser would perform with sech eclaw +Would melt the toughest mountain gentleman I ever saw,-- +Sech touchin' opry music ez the Trovytory sort, +The sollum "Mizer Reery," an' the thrillin' "Keely Mort;" +Or, sometimes, from "Lee Grond Dooshess" a trifle he would play, +Or morsoze from a' opry boof, to drive dull care away; +Or, feelin' kind uv serious, he'd discourse somewhat in C,-- +The wich he called a' opus (whatever that may be); +But the toons that fetched the likker from the critics in the crowd +Wuz _not_ the high-toned ones, Perfesser Vere de Blaw allowed. + +'T wuz "Dearest May," an' "Bonnie Doon," an' the ballard uv "Ben Bolt," +Ez wuz regarded by all odds ez Vere de Blaw's best holt; +Then there wuz "Darlin' Nellie Gray," an' "Settin' on the Stile," +An' "Seein' Nellie Home," an' "Nancy Lee," 'nd "Annie Lisle," +An' "Silver Threads among the Gold," an' "The Gal that Winked at Me," +An' "Gentle Annie," "Nancy Till," an' "The Cot beside the Sea." +Your opry airs is good enough for them ez likes to pay +Their money for the truck ez can't be got no other way; +But opry to a miner is a thin an' holler thing,--The +music that he pines for is the songs he used to sing. + +One evenin' down at Casey's De Blaw wuz at his best, +With four-fingers uv old Wilier-run concealed beneath his vest; +The boys wuz settin' all around, discussin' folks an' things, +'Nd I had drawed the necessary keerds to fill on kings; +Three-fingered Hoover kind uv leaned acrosst the bar to say +If Casey'd liquidate right off, _he'd_ liquidate next day; +A sperrit uv contentment wuz a-broodin' all around +(Onlike the other sperrits wich in restauraws abound), +When, suddenly, we heerd from yonder kitchen-entry rise +A toon each ornery galoot appeared to recognize. + +Perfesser Vere de Blaw for once eschewed his opry ways, +An' the remnants uv his mind went back to earlier, happier days, +An' grappled like an' wrassled with a' old familiar air +The wich we all uv us had heern, ez you have, everywhere! +Stock still we stopped,--some in their talk uv politics an' things, +I in my unobtrusive attempt to fill on kings, +'Nd Hoover leanin' on the bar, an' Casey at the till,-- +We all stopped short an' held our breaths (ez a feller sometimes will), +An' sot there more like bumps on logs than healthy, husky men, +Ez the memories uv that old, old toon come sneakin' back again. + +You've guessed it? No, you hav n't; for it wuzn't that there song +Uv the home we'd been away from an' had hankered for so long,-- +No, sir; it wuzn't "Home, Sweet Home," though it's always heard around +Sech neighborhoods in wich the home that _is_ "sweet home" is found. +And, ez for me, I seemed to see the past come back again, +And hear the deep-drawed sigh my sister Lucy uttered when +Her mother asked her if she 'd practised her two hours that day, +Wich, if she hadn't, she must go an' do it right away! +The homestead in the States 'nd all its memories seemed to come +A-floatin' round about me with that magic lumty-tum. + +And then uprose a stranger wich had struck the camp that night; +His eyes wuz sot an' fireless, 'nd his face wuz spookish white, +'Nd he sez: "Oh, how I suffer there is nobody kin say, +Onless, like me, he's wrenched himself from home an' friends away +To seek surcease from sorrer in a fur, seclooded spot, +Only to find--alars, too late!--the wich surcease is not! +Only to find that there air things that, somehow, seem to live +For nothin' in the world but jest the misery they give! +I've travelled eighteen hundred miles, but that toon has got here first; +I'm done,--I'm blowed,--I welcome death, an' bid it do its worst!" + +Then, like a man whose mind wuz sot on yieldin' to his fate, +He waltzed up to the counter an' demanded whiskey straight, +Wich havin' got outside uv,--both the likker and the door,-- +We never seen that stranger in the bloom uv health no more! +But some months later, what the birds had left uv him wuz found +Associated with a tree, some distance from the ground; +And Husky Sam, the coroner, that set upon him, said +That two things wuz apparent, namely: first, deceast wuz dead; +And, second, previously had got involved beyond all hope +In a knotty complication with a yard or two uv rope! + + + + +MEDIAEVAL EVENTIDE SONG + + +Come hither, lyttel childe, and lie upon my breast to-night, +For yonder fares an angell yclad in raimaunt white, +And yonder sings ye angell as onely angells may, +And his songe ben of a garden that bloometh farre awaye. + +To them that have no lyttel childe Godde sometimes sendeth down +A lyttel childe that ben a lyttel lambkyn of his owne; +And if so bee they love that childe, He willeth it to staye, +But elsewise, in His mercie He taketh it awaye. + +And sometimes, though they love it, Godde yearneth for ye childe, +And sendeth angells singing, whereby it ben beguiled; +They fold their arms about ye lamb that croodleth at his play, +And beare him to ye garden that bloometh farre awaye. + +I wolde not lose ye lyttel lamb that Godde hath lent to me; +If I colde sing that angell songe, how joysome I sholde bee! +For, with mine arms about him, and my musick in his eare, +What angell songe of paradize soever sholde I feare? + +Soe come, my lyttel childe, and lie upon my breast to-night, +For yonder fares an angell yclad in raimaunt white, +And yonder sings that angell, as onely angells may, +And his songe ben of a garden that bloometh farre awaye. + + + + +MARTHY'S YOUNKIT + + +The mountain brook sung lonesomelike, and loitered on its way +Ez if it waited for a child to jine it in its play; +The wild-flowers uv the hillside bent down their heads to hear +The music uv the little feet that had somehow grown so dear; +The magpies, like winged shadders, wuz a-flutterin' to an' fro +Among the rocks an' holler stumps in the ragged gulch below; +The pines an' hemlocks tosst their boughs (like they wuz arms) and made +Soft, sollum music on the slope where he had often played; +But for these lonesome, sollum voices on the mountain-side, +There wuz no sound the summer day that Marthy's younkit died. + +We called him Marthy's younkit, for Marthy wuz the name +Uv her ez wuz his mar, the wife uv Sorry Tom,--the same +Ez taught the school-house on the hill, way back in '69, +When she marr'd Sorry Tom, wich owned the Gosh-all-Hemlock mine! +And Marthy's younkit wuz their first, wich, bein' how it meant +The first on Red Hoss Mountain, wuz truly a' event! +The miners sawed off short on work ez soon ez they got word +That Dock Devine allowed to Casey what had just occurred; +We loaded up an' whooped around until we all wuz hoarse +Salutin' the arrival, wich weighed ten pounds, uv course! + +Three years, and sech a pretty child!--his mother's counterpart! +Three years, an' sech a holt ez he had got on every heart! +A peert an' likely little tyke with hair ez red ez gold, +A-laughin', toddlin' everywhere,--'nd only three years old! +Up yonder, sometimes, to the store, an' sometimes down the hill +He kited (boys is boys, you know,--you couldn't keep him still!) +An' there he'd play beside the brook where purpul wild-flowers grew, +An' the mountain pines an' hemlocks a kindly shadder threw, +An' sung soft, sollum toons to him, while in the gulch below +The magpies, like strange sperrits, went flutterin' to an' fro. + +Three years, an' then the fever come,--it wuzn't right, you know, +With all us old ones in the camp, for that little child to go; +It's right the old should die, but that a harmless little child +Should miss the joy uv life an' love,--that can't be reconciled! +That's what we thought that summer day, an' that is what we said +Ez we looked upon the piteous face uv Marthy's younkit dead. +But for his mother's sobbin', the house wuz very still, +An' Sorry Tom wuz lookin', through the winder, down the hill, +To the patch beneath the hemlocks where his darlin' used to play, +An' the mountain brook sung lonesomelike an' loitered on its way. + +A preacher come from Roarin' Crick to comfort 'em an' pray, +'Nd all the camp wuz present at the obsequies next day; +A female teacher staged it twenty miles to sing a hymn, +An' we jined her in the chorus,--big, husky men an' grim +Sung "Jesus, Lover uv my Soul," an' then the preacher prayed, +An' preacht a sermon on the death uv that fair blossom laid +Among them other flowers he loved,--wich sermon set sech weight +On sinners bein' always heeled against the future state, +That, though it had been fashionable to swear a perfec' streak, +There warn't no swearin' in the camp for pretty nigh a week! + +Last thing uv all, four strappin' men took up the little load +An' bore it tenderly along the windin', rocky road, +To where the coroner had dug a grave beside the brook, +In sight uv Marthy's winder, where the same could set an' look +An' wonder if his cradle in that green patch, long an' wide, +Wuz ez soothin' ez the cradle that wuz empty at her side; +An' wonder if the mournful songs the pines wuz singin' then +Wuz ez tender ez the lullabies she'd never sing again, +'Nd if the bosom of the earth in wich he lay at rest +Wuz half ez lovin' 'nd ez warm ez wuz his mother's breast. + +The camp is gone; but Red Hoss Mountain rears its kindly head, +An' looks down, sort uv tenderly, upon its cherished dead; +'Nd I reckon that, through all the years, that little boy wich died +Sleeps sweetly an' contentedly upon the mountain-side; +That the wild-flowers uv the summer-time bend down their heads to hear +The footfall uv a little friend they know not slumbers near; +That the magpies on the sollum rocks strange flutterin' shadders make, +An' the pines an' hemlocks wonder that the sleeper doesn't wake; +That the mountain brook sings lonesomelike an' loiters on its way +Ez if it waited for a child to jine it in its play. + + + + +IN FLANDERS + + +Through sleet and fogs to the saline bogs + Where the herring fish meanders, +An army sped, and then, 't is said, + Swore terribly in Flanders: + "--------!" + "--------!" +A hideous store of oaths they swore, + Did the army over in Flanders! + +At this distant day we're unable to say + What so aroused their danders; +But it's doubtless the case, to their lasting disgrace, + That the army swore in Flanders: + "--------!" + "--------!" +And many more such oaths they swore, + Did that impious horde in Flanders! + +Some folks contend that these oaths without end + Began among the commanders, +That, taking this cue, the subordinates, too, + Swore terribly in Flanders: + Twas "------------!" + "--------" + +Why, the air was blue with the hullaballoo + Of those wicked men in Flanders! + +But some suppose that the trouble arose + With a certain Corporal Sanders, +Who sought to abuse the wooden shoes + That the natives wore in Flanders. + Saying: "--------!" + "--------" + +What marvel then, that the other men + Felt encouraged to swear in Flanders! +At any rate, as I grieve to state, + Since these soldiers vented their danders +Conjectures obtain that for language profane + There is no such place as Flanders. + "--------" + "--------" + +This is the kind of talk you'll find + If ever you go to Flanders. +How wretched is he, wherever he be, + That unto this habit panders! +And how glad am I that my interests lie + In Chicago, and not in Flanders! + "----------------!" + "----------------!" + +Would never go down in this circumspect town +However it might in Flanders. + + + + +OUR BIGGEST FISH + + +When in the halcyon days of old, I was a little tyke, +I used to fish in pickerel ponds for minnows and the like; +And oh, the bitter sadness with which my soul was fraught +When I rambled home at nightfall with the puny string I'd caught! +And, oh, the indignation and the valor I'd display +When I claimed that all the biggest fish I'd caught had got away! + +Sometimes it was the rusty hooks, sometimes the fragile lines, +And many times the treacherous reeds would foil my just designs; +But whether hooks or lines or reeds were actually to blame, +I kept right on at losing all the monsters just the same-- +I never lost a _little_ fish--yes, I am free to say +It always was the _biggest_ fish I caught that got away. + +And so it was, when later on, I felt ambition pass +From callow minnow joys to nobler greed for pike and bass; +I found it quite convenient, when the beauties wouldn't bite +And I returned all bootless from the watery chase at night, +To feign a cheery aspect and recount in accents gay +How the biggest fish that I had caught had somehow got away. + +And really, fish look bigger than they are before they are before they're + caught-- +When the pole is bent into a bow and the slender line is taut, +When a fellow feels his heart rise up like a doughnut in his throat +And he lunges in a frenzy up and down the leaky boat! +Oh, you who've been a-fishing will indorse me when I say +That it always _is_ the biggest fish you catch that gets away! + +'T 'is even so in other things--yes, in our greedy eyes +The biggest boon is some elusive, never-captured prize; +We angle for the honors and the sweets of human life-- +Like fishermen we brave the seas that roll in endless strife; + +And then at last, when all is done and we are spent and gray, +We own the biggest fish we've caught are those that got away. + +I would not have it otherwise; 't is better there should be +Much bigger fish than I have caught a-swimming in the sea; +For now some worthier one than I may angle for that game-- +May by his arts entice, entrap, and comprehend the same; +Which, having done, perchance he'll bless the man who's proud to say +That the biggest fish he ever caught were those that got away. + + + + +THIRTY-NINE + + +O hapless day! O wretched day! + I hoped you'd pass me by-- +Alas, the years have sneaked away + And all is changed but I! +Had I the power, I would remand + You to a gloom condign, +But here you've crept upon me and + I--I am thirty-nine! + +Now, were I thirty-five, I could + Assume a flippant guise; +Or, were I forty years, I should + Undoubtedly look wise; +For forty years are said to bring + Sedateness superfine; +But thirty-nine don't mean a thing-- + _A bas_ with thirty-nine! + +You healthy, hulking girls and boys,-- + What makes you grow so fast? +Oh, I'll survive your lusty noise-- + I'm tough and bound to last! +No, no--I'm old and withered too-- + I feel my powers decline +(Yet none believes this can be true + Of one at thirty-nine). + +And you, dear girl with velvet eyes, + I wonder what you mean +Through all our keen anxieties + By keeping sweet sixteen. +With your dear love to warm my heart, + Wretch were I to repine; +I was but jesting at the start-- + I'm glad I'm thirty-nine! + +So, little children, roar and race + As blithely as you can, +And, sweetheart, let your tender grace + Exalt the Day and Man; +For then these factors (I'll engage) + All subtly shall combine +To make both juvenile and sage + The one who's thirty-nine! + +Yes, after all, I'm free to say + I would much rather be +Standing as I do stand to-day, + 'Twixt devil and deep sea; +For though my face be dark with care + Or with a grimace shine, +Each haply falls unto my share, + For I am thirty-nine! + +'Tis passing meet to make good cheer + And lord it like a king, +Since only once we catch the year + That doesn't mean a thing. +O happy day! O gracious day! + I pledge thee in this wine-- +Come, let us journey on our way + A year, good Thirty-Nine! + +Sept. 2, 1889. + + + + +YVYTOT + + +_Where wail the waters in their flaw +A spectre wanders to and fro, + And evermore that ghostly shore +Bemoans the heir of Yvytot_. + +_Sometimes, when, like a fleecy pall, +The mists upon the waters fall, + Across the main float shadows twain +That do not heed the spectre's call_. + +The king his son of Yvytot +Stood once and saw the waters go + Boiling around with hissing sound +The sullen phantom rocks below. + +And suddenly he saw a face +Lift from that black and seething place-- + Lift up and gaze in mute amaze +And tenderly a little space, + +A mighty cry of love made he-- +No answering word to him gave she, + But looked, and then sunk back again +Into the dark and depthless sea. + +And ever afterward that face, +That he beheld such little space, + Like wraith would rise within his eyes +And in his heart find biding place. + +So oft from castle hall he crept +Where mid the rocks grim shadows slept, + And where the mist reached down and kissed +The waters as they wailed and wept. + +The king it was of Yvytot +That vaunted, many years ago, + There was no coast his valiant host +Had not subdued with spear and bow. + +For once to him the sea-king cried: +"In safety all thy ships shall ride + An thou but swear thy princely heir +Shall take my daughter to his bride. + +"And lo, these winds that rove the sea +Unto our pact shall witness be, + And of the oath which binds us both +Shall be the judge 'twixt me and thee!" + +Then swore the king of Yvytot +Unto the sea-king years ago, + And with great cheer for many a year +His ships went harrying to and fro. + +Unto this mighty king his throne +Was born a prince, and one alone-- + Fairer than he in form and blee +And knightly grace was never known. + +But once he saw a maiden face +Lift from a haunted ocean place-- + Lift up and gaze in mute amaze +And tenderly a little space. + +Wroth was the king of Yvytot, +For that his son would never go + Sailing the sea, but liefer be +Where wailed the waters in their flow, + +Where winds in clamorous anger swept, +Where to and fro grim shadows crept, + And where the mist reached down and kissed +The waters as they wailed and wept. + +So sped the years, till came a day +The haughty king was old and gray, + And in his hold were spoils untold +That he had wrenched from Norroway. + +Then once again the sea-king cried: +"Thy ships have harried far and wide; + My part is done--now let thy son +Require my daughter to his bride!" + +Loud laughed the king of Yvytot, +And by his soul he bade him no-- + "I heed no more what oath I swore, +For I was mad to bargain so!" + +Then spake the sea-king in his wrath: +"Thy ships lie broken in my path! + Go now and wring thy hands, false king! +Nor ship nor heir thy kingdom hath! + +"And thou shalt wander evermore +All up and down this ghostly shore, + And call in vain upon the twain +That keep what oath a dastard swore!" + +The king his son of Yvytot +Stood even then where to and fro + The breakers swelled--and there beheld +A maiden face lift from below. + +"Be thou or truth or dream," he cried, +"Or spirit of the restless tide, + It booteth not to me, God wot! +But I would have thee to my bride." + +Then spake the maiden: "Come with me +Unto a palace in the sea, + For there my sire in kingly ire +Requires thy king his oath of thee!" + +Gayly he fared him down the sands +And took the maiden's outstretched hands; + And so went they upon their way +To do the sea-king his commands. + +The winds went riding to and fro +And scourged the waves that crouched below, + And bade them sing to a childless king +The bridal song of Yvytot. + +So fell the curse upon that shore, +And hopeless wailing evermore + Was the righteous dole of the craven soul +That heeded not what oath he swore. + +An hundred ships went down that day +All off the coast of Norroway, + And the ruthless sea made mighty glee +Over the spoil that drifting lay. + +The winds went calling far and wide +To the dead that tossed in the mocking tide: + "Come forth, ye slaves! from your fleeting graves +And drink a health to your prince his bride!" + +_Where wail the waters in their flow +A spectre wanders to and fro, + But nevermore that ghostly shore +Shall claim the heir of Yvytot_. + +_Sometimes, when, like a fleecy pall, +The mists upon the waters fall, + Across the main flit shadows twain +That do not heed the spectre's call_. + + + + +LONG AGO + + +I once knew all the birds that came + And nested in our orchard trees; +For every flower I had a name-- + My friends were woodchucks, toads, and bees; +I knew where thrived in yonder glen + What plants would soothe a stone-bruised toe-- +Oh, I was very learned then; + But that was very long ago! + +I knew the spot upon the hill + Where checkerberries could be found, +I knew the rushes near the mill + Where pickerel lay that weighed a pound! +I knew the wood,--the very tree + Where lived the poaching, saucy crow, +And all the woods and crows knew me-- + But that was very long ago. + +And pining for the joys of youth, + I tread the old familiar spot +Only to learn this solemn truth: + I have forgotten, am forgot. +Yet here's this youngster at my knee + Knows all the things I used to know; +To think I once was wise as he-- + But that was very long ago. + +I know it's folly to complain + Of whatsoe'er the Fates decree; +Yet were not wishes all in vain, + I tell you what my wish should be: +I'd wish to be a boy again, + Back with the friends I used to know; +For I was, oh! so happy then-- + But that was very long ago! + + + + +TO A SOUBRETTE + + +'Tis years, soubrette, since last we met; + And yet--ah, yet, how swift and tender +My thoughts go back in time's dull track + To you, sweet pink of female gender! +I shall not say--though others may-- + That time all human joy enhances; +But the same old thrill comes to me still + With memories of your songs and dances. + +Soubrettish ways these latter days + Invite my praise, but never get it; +I still am true to yours and you-- + My record's made, I'll not upset it! +The pranks they play, the things they say-- + I'd blush to put the like on paper, +And I'll avow they don't know how + To dance, so awkwardly they caper! + +I used to sit down in the pit + And see you flit like elf or fairy +Across the stage, and I'll engage + No moonbeam sprite was half so airy; +Lo, everywhere about me there + Were rivals reeking with pomatum, +And if, perchance, they caught your glance + In song or dance, how did I hate 'em! + +At half-past ten came rapture--then + Of all those men was I most happy, +For bottled beer and royal cheer + And tetes-a-tetes were on the tapis. +Do you forget, my fair soubrette, + Those suppers at the Cafe Rector,-- +The cosey nook where we partook + Of sweeter cheer than fabled nectar? + +Oh, happy days, when youth's wild ways + Knew every phase of harmless folly! +Oh, blissful nights, whose fierce delights + Defied gaunt-featured Melancholy! +Gone are they all beyond recall, + And I--a shade, a mere reflection-- +Am forced to feed my spirit's greed + Upon the husks of retrospection! + +And lo! to-night, the phantom light, + That, as a sprite, flits on the fender, +Reveals a face whose girlish grace + Brings back the feeling, warm and tender; +And, all the while, the old-time smile + Plays on my visage, grim and wrinkled,-- +As though, soubrette, your footfalls yet + Upon my rusty heart-strings tinkled! + + + + +SOME TIME + + +Last night, my darling, as you slept, + I thought I heard you sigh, +And to your little crib I crept, + And watched a space thereby; +And then I stooped and kissed your brow, + For oh! I love you so-- +You are too young to know it now, + But some time you shall know! + +Some time when, in a darkened place + Where others come to weep, +Your eyes shall look upon a face + Calm in eternal sleep, +The voiceless lips, the wrinkled brow, + The patient smile shall show-- +You are too young to know it now, + But some time you may know! + +Look backward, then, into the years, + And see me here to-night-- +See, O my darling! how my tears + Are falling as I write; +And feel once more upon your brow + The kiss of long ago-- +You are too young to know it now, + But some time you shall know. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, A LITTLE BOOK OF WESTERN VERSE *** + +This file should be named 7lbwv10.txt or 7lbwv10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, 7lbwv11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, 7lbwv10a.txt + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: A Little Book of Western Verse + +Author: Eugene Field + +Release Date: January, 2006 [EBook #9606] +[This file was first posted on October 9, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, A LITTLE BOOK OF WESTERN VERSE *** + + + + +E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland and Project Gutenberg Distributed +Proofreaders + + + + + + + +A LITTLE BOOK OF WESTERN VERSE + +by Eugene Field + +1889 + + + + + + + +TO MARY FIELD FRENCH + + + +A dying mother gave to you + Her child a many years ago; +How in your gracious love he grew, + You know, dear, patient heart, you know. + +The mother's child you fostered then + Salutes you now and bids you take +These little children of his pen + And love them for the author's sake. + +To you I dedicate this book, + And, as you read it line by line, +Upon its faults as kindly look + As you have always looked on mine. + +Tardy the offering is and weak;-- + Yet were I happy if I knew +These children had the power to speak + My love and gratitude to you. + +E. F. + + + + +Go, little book, and if an one would speak +thee ill, let him bethink him that thou art +the child of one who loves thee well. + + + + + +EUGENE FIELD + +A MEMORY + + +When those we love have passed away; when from our lives something has +gone out; when with each successive day we miss the presence that has +become a part of ourselves, and struggle against the realization that +it is with us no more, we begin to live in the past and thank God for +the gracious boon of memory. Few of us there are who, having advanced +to middle life, have not come to look back on the travelled road of +human existence in thought of those who journeyed awhile with us, a +part of all our hopes and joyousness, the sharers of all our ambitions +and our pleasures, whose mission has been fulfilled and who have left +us with the mile-stones of years still seeming to stretch out on the +path ahead. It is then that memory comes with its soothing influence, +telling us of the happiness that was ours and comforting us with the +ever recurring thought of the pleasures of that travelled road. For it +is happiness to walk and talk with a brother for forty years, and it is +happiness to know that the surety of that brother's affection, the +knowledge of the greatness of his heart and the nobility of his mind, +are not for one memory alone but may be publicly attested for +admiration and emulation. That it has fallen to me to speak to the +world of my brother as I knew him I rejoice. I do not fear that, +speaking as a brother, I shall crowd the laurel wreaths upon him, for +to this extent he lies in peace already honored; but if I can show him +to the world, not as a poet but as a man,--if I may lead men to see +more of that goodness, sweetness, and gentleness that were in him, I +shall the more bless the memory that has survived. + +My brother was born in St. Louis in 1850. Whether the exact day was +September 2 or September 3 was a question over which he was given to +speculation, more particularly in later years, when he was accustomed to +discuss it frequently and with much earnest ness. In his youth the +anniversary was generally held to be September 2, perhaps the result of +a half-humorous remark by my father that Oliver Cromwell had died +September 3, and he could not reconcile this date to the thought that it +was an important anniversary to one of his children. Many years after, +when my uncle, Charles Kellogg Field, of Vermont, published the +genealogy of the Field family, the original date, September 3, was +restored, and from that time my brother accepted it, although with each +recurring anniversary the controversy was gravely renewed, much to the +amusement of the family and always to his own perplexity. In November, +1856, my mother died, and, at the breaking up of the family in St. +Louis, my brother and myself, the last of six children, were taken to +Amherst, Massachusetts, by our cousin, Miss Mary F. French, who took +upon herself the care and responsibility of our bringing up. How nobly +and self-sacrificingly she entered upon and discharged those duties my +brother gladly testified in the beautiful dedication of his first +published poems, "A Little Book of Western Verse," wherein he honored +the "gracious love" in which he grew, and bade her look as kindly on the +faults of his pen as she had always looked on his own. For a few years +my brother attended a private school for boys in Amherst; then, at the +age of fourteen, he was intrusted to the care of Rev. James Tufts, of +Monson, one of those noble instructors of the blessed old school who are +passing away from the arena of education in America. By Mr. Tufts he was +fitted for college, and from the enthusiasm of this old scholar he +caught perhaps the inspiration for the love of the classics which he +carried through life. In the fall of 1868 he entered Williams +College--the choice was largely accidental--and remained there one year. +My father died in the summer of 1869, and my brother chose as his +guardian Professor John William Burgess, now of Columbia University, New +York City. When Professor Burgess, later in the summer, accepted a call +to Knox College, Galesburg, Illinois, my brother accompanied him and +entered that institution, but the restlessness which was so +characteristic of him in youth asserted itself after another year and +he joined me, then in my junior year at the University of Missouri, at +Columbia. It was at this institution that he finished his education so +far as it related to prescribed study. + +Shortly after attaining his majority he went to Europe, remaining six +months in France and Italy. From this European trip have sprung the +absurd stories which have represented him as squandering thousands of +dollars in the pursuit of pleasure. Unquestionably he had the not +unnatural extravagance which accompanies youth and a most generous +disposition, for he was lavish and open-handed all through life to an +unusual degree, but at no time was he particularly given to wild +excesses, and the fact that my father's estate, which was largely +realty, had shrunk perceptibly during the panic days of 1873 was enough +to make him soon reach the limit of even moderate extravagance. At the +same time many good stories have been told illustrative of his contempt +for money, and it is eminently characteristic of his lack of the +Puritan regard for small things that one day he approached my father's +executor, Hon. M. L. Gray, of St. Louis, with a request for +seventy-five dollars. + +"But," objected this cautious and excellent man, "I gave you +seventy-five dollars only yesterday, Eugene. What did you do with that?" + +"Oh," replied my brother, with an impatient and scornful toss of the +head, "I believe I bought some postage stamps." + +Before going to Europe he had met Miss Julia Sutherland Comstock, of St. +Joseph, Missouri, the sister of a college friend, and the attachment +which was formed led to their marriage in October, 1873. Much of his +tenderest and sweetest verse was inspired by love for the woman who +became his wife, and the dedication to the "Second Book of Verse" is +hardly surpassed for depth of affection and daintiness of sentiment, +while "Lover's Lane, St. Jo.," is the very essence of loyalty, love, and +reminiscential ardor. At the time of his marriage my brother realized +the importance of going to work in earnest, and shortly before the +appointment of the wedding-day he entered upon the active duties of +journalism, which he never relinquished during life. These duties, with +the exception of the year he passed in Europe with his family in +1889-90, were confined to the West. He began as a paragrapher in St. +Louis, quickly achieving somewhat more than a merely local reputation. +For a time he was in St. Joseph, and for eighteen months following +January 1880 he lived in Kansas City, removing thence to Denver. In 1883 +he came to Chicago at the solicitation of Melville E. Stone, then editor +of the Chicago Daily News, retaining his connection with the News and +its offspring, the Record, until his death. Thus hastily have been +skimmed over the bare outlines of his life. + +The formative period of my brother's youth was passed in New England, +and to the influences which still prevail in and around her peaceful +hills and gentle streams, the influences of a sturdy stock which has +sent so many good and brave men to the West for the upbuilding of the +country and the upholding of what is best in Puritan tradition, he +gladly acknowledged he owed much that was strong and enduring. While he +gloried in the West and remained loyal to the section which gave him +birth, and in which he chose to cast his lot, he was not the less proud +of his New England blood and not the less conscious of the benefits of a +New England training. His boyhood was similar to that of other boys +brought up with the best surroundings in a Massachusetts village, where +the college atmosphere prevailed. He had his boyish pleasures and his +trials, his share of that queer mixture of nineteenth-century +worldliness and almost austere Puritanism which is yet characteristic of +many New England families. The Sabbath was a veritable day of judgment, +and in later years he spoke humorously of the terrors of those all-day +sessions in church and Sunday-school, though he never failed to +acknowledge the benefits he had derived from an enforced study of the +Bible. "If I could be grateful to New England for nothing else," he +would say, "I should bless her forevermore for pounding me with the +Bible and the spelling-book." And in proof of the earnestness of this +declaration he spent many hours in Boston a year or two ago, trying to +find "one of those spellers that temporarily made me lose my faith in +the system of the universe." + +It is easy at this day to look back three decades and note the +characteristics which appeared trivial enough then, but which, clinging +to him and developing, had a marked effect on his manhood and on the +direction of his talents. As a boy his fondness for pets amounted to a +passion, but unlike other boys he seemed to carry his pets into a higher +sphere and to give them personality. For each pet, whether dog, cat, +bird, goat, or squirrel--he had the family distrust of a horse--he not +only had a name, but it was his delight to fancy that each possessed a +peculiar dialect of human speech, and each he addressed in the humorous +manner conceived. He ignored the names in common use for domestic +animals and chose or invented those more pleasing to his exuberant +fancy. This conceit was always with him, and years afterward, when his +children took the place of his boyish pets, he gratified his whim for +strange names by ignoring those designated at the baptismal font and +substituting freakish titles of his own riotous fancy. Indeed it must +have been a tax on his imaginative powers. When in childhood he was +conducting a poultry annex to the homestead, each chicken was properly +instructed to respond to a peculiar call, and Finnikin, Minnikin, +Winnikin, Dump, Poog, Boog, seemed to recognize immediately the queer +intonations of their master with an intelligence that is not usually +accorded to chickens. With this love for animal life was developed also +that tenderness of heart which was so manifest in my brother's daily +actions. One day--he was then a good-sized boy--he came into the house, +and throwing himself on the sofa, sobbed for half an hour. One of the +chickens hatched the day before had been crushed under his foot as he +was walking in the chicken-house, and no murderer could have felt more +keenly the pangs of remorse. The other boys looked on curiously at this +exhibition of feeling, and it was indeed an unusual outburst. But it was +strongly characteristic of him through life, and nothing would so excite +his anger as cruelty to an animal, while every neglected, friendless +dog or persecuted cat always found in him a champion and a friend. + +In illustration of this humane instinct it is recalled that a few weeks +before he died a lady visiting the house found his room swarming with +flies. In response to her exclamation of astonishment he explained that +a day or two before he had seen a poor, half-frozen fly on the +window-pane outside, and he had been moved by a kindly impulse to open +the window and admit her. "And this," he added, "is what I get for it. +That ungrateful creature is, as you perceive, the grandmother of eight +thousand nine hundred and seventy-six flies!" + +That the birds that flew about his house in Buena Park knew his voice +has been demonstrated more than once. He would keep bread crumbs +scattered along the window-sill for the benefit, as he explained, of +the blue jays and the robins who were not in their usual robust health +or were too overcome by the heat to make customary exertion. If the +jays were particularly noisy he would go into the yard and expostulate +with them in a tone of friendly reproach, whereupon, the family +affirms, they would apparently apologize and fly away. Once he +maintained at considerable expense a thoroughly hopeless and useless +donkey, and it was his custom, when returning from the office at any +hour of the night, to go into the back yard and say "Poor old Don" in a +bass voice that carried a block away, whereupon old Don would lift up +his own voice with a melancholy bray of welcome that would shake the +windows and start the neighbors from their slumbers. Old Don is passing +his declining years in an "Old Kentucky home," and the robins and the +blue jays as they return with the spring will look in vain for the +friend who fed them at the window. + +The family dog at Amherst, which was immortalized many years later with +"The Bench-Legged Fyce," and which was known in his day to hundreds of +students at the college on account of his surpassing lack of beauty, +rejoiced originally in the honest name of Fido, but my brother rejected +this name as commonplace and unworthy, and straightway named him +"Dooley" on the presumption that there was something Hibernian in his +face. It was to Dooley that he wrote his first poem, a parody on "O Had +I Wings Like a Dove," a song then in great vogue. Near the head of the +village street was the home of the Emersons, a large frame house, now +standing for more than a century, and in the great yard in front stood +the magnificent elms which are the glory of the Connecticut valley. Many +times the boys, returning from school, would linger to cool off in the +shade of these glorious trees, and it was on one of these occasions that +my brother put into the mouth of Dooley his maiden effort in verse: + + O had I wings like a dove I would fly, + Away from this world of fleas; + I'd fly all round Miss Emerson's yard, + And light on Miss Emerson's trees. + +Even this startling parody, which was regarded by the boys as a +veritable stroke of genius, failed to impress the adult villagers with +the conviction that a poet was budding. Yet how much of quiet humor and +lively imagination is betrayed by these four lines. How easy it is now +to look back at the small boy and picture him sympathizing with his +little friend tormented by the heat and the pests of his kind, and +making him sigh for the rest that seemed to lurk in the rustling leaves +of the stately elms. Perhaps it was not astonishing poetry even for a +child, but was there not something in the fancy, the sentiment, and the +rhythm which bespoke far more than ordinary appreciation? Is it not this +same quality of alert and instinctive sympathy which has run through +Eugene Field's writings and touched the spring of popular affection? + +Dooley went to the dog heaven many years ago. Finnikin and Poog and Boog +and the scores of boyhood friends that followed them have passed to +their Pythagorean reward; but the boy who first found in them the +delight of companionship and the kindlings of imagination retained all +the youthful impulses which made him for nearly half a century the lover +of animal life and the gentle singer of the faithful and the good. + +Comradeship was the indispensable factor in my brother's life. It was +strong in his youth; it grew to be an imperative necessity in later +years. In the theory that it is sometimes good to be alone he had +little or no faith. Even when he was at work in his study, when it was +almost essential to thought that he should be undisturbed, he was never +quite content unless aware of the presence of human beings near at +hand, as betrayed by their voices. It is customary to think of a poet +wandering off in the great solitudes, standing alone in contemplation +of the wonderful work of nature, on the cliffs overlooking the ocean, +in the paths of the forest or on the mountain side. My brother was not +of this order. That he was primarily and essentially a poet of humanity +and not of nature does not argue that he was insensible to natural +beauty or natural grandeur. Nobody could have been more keenly +susceptible to the influences of nature in their temperamental effect, +and perhaps this may explain that he did not love nature the less but +that he prized companionship more. If nature pleased him he longed for +a friend to share his pleasure; if it appalled him he turned from it +with repugnance and fear. + +Throughout his writings may be found the most earnest appreciation of +the joyousness and loveliness of a beautiful landscape, but as he would +share it intellectually with his readers so it was a necessity that he +could not seek it alone as an actuality. In his boyhood, in the full +glory of a perfect day, he loved to ramble through the woods and +meadows, and delighted in the azure tints of the far-away Berkshire +hills; and later in life he was keen to notice and admire the soft +harmonies of landscape, but with a change in weather or with the +approach of a storm the poet would be lost in the timidity and distrust +of a child. + +Companionship with him meant cheerfulness. His horror of gloom and +darkness was almost morbid. From the tragedies of life he instinctively +shrank, and large as was his sympathy, and generous and genuine his +affection, he was often prompted to run from suffering and to betray +what must have been a constitutional terror of distress. He did not +hesitate to acknowledge this characteristic, and sought to atone for it +by writing the most tender and touching lines to those to whom he +believed he owed a gift of comfort and strength. His private letters to +friends in adversity or bereavement were beautiful in their simplicity +and honest and outspoken love, for he was not ashamed to let his friends +see how much he thought of them. And even if the emotional quality, +which asserts itself in the nervous and artistic temperament, made him +realize that he could not trust himself, that same quality gave him a +personality marvelous in its magnetism. Both as boy and man he made +friends everywhere, and that he retained them to the last speaks for the +whole-heartedness and genuineness of his nature. + +To two weaknesses he frankly confessed: that he was inclined to be +superstitious and that he was afraid of the dark. One of these he +stoutly defended, asserting that he who was not fearful in the dark was +a dull clod, utterly devoid of imagination. From his earliest childhood +my brother was a devourer of fairy tales, and he continually stored his +mind with fantastic legends, which found a vent in new shapes in his +verses and prose tales. In the ceiling of one of his dens a trap-door +led into the attic, and as this door was open he seriously contemplated +closing it, because, as he said, he fancied that queer things would come +down in the night and spirit him away. It is not to be inferred that he +thus remained in a condition of actual fear, but it is true that he was +imaginative to the degree of acute nervousness, and, like a child, +associated light with safety and darkness with the uncanny and the +supernatural. It was after all the better for his songs that it was so, +else they might not have been filled with that cheery optimism which +praised the happiness of sunlight and warmth, and sought to lift +humanity from the darkness of despondency. + +This weakness, or intellectual virtue as he pleasantly regarded it, was +perhaps rather stronger in him as a man than in his boyhood. He has +himself declared that he wrote "Seein' Things at Night" more to solace +his own feelings than to delineate the sufferings of childhood, however +aptly it may describe them. And when he put into rhythm that "any color, +so long as it's red, is the color that suits me best," he spoke not only +as a poet but as a man, for red conveyed to him the idea of warmth and +cheeriness, and seemed to express to him in color his temperamental +demand. All through his life he pandered to these feelings instead of +seeking to repress them, for to this extent there was little of the +Puritan in his nature, and as he believed that happiness comes largely +from within, so he felt that it is not un-Christian philosophy to avoid +as far as possible whatever may cloud and render less acceptable one's +own existence. + +The literary talent of my brother is not easily traceable to either +branch of the family. In fact it was tacitly accepted that he would be a +lawyer as his father and grandfather had been before him, but the +futility of this arrangement was soon manifest, and surely no man less +temperamentally equipped for the law ever lived. It has been said of the +Fields, speaking generally of the New England division, that they were +well adapted to be either musicians or actors, though the talent for +music or mimicry has been in no case carried out of private life save in +my brother's public readings. Eugene had more than a boy's share of +musical talent, but he never cultivated it, preferring to use the fine +voice with which he was endowed for recitation, of which he was always +fond. Acting was his strongest boyish passion. Even as a child he was a +wonderful mimic and thereby the delight of his playmates and the terror +of his teachers. He organized a stock company among the small boys of +the village and gave performances in the barn of one of the less +scrupulous neighbors, but whether for pins or pennies memory does not +suggest. He assigned the parts and always reserved for himself the +eccentric character and the low comedy, caring nothing for the heroic or +the sentimental. One of the plays performed was Lester Wallack's +"Rosedale" with Eugene in the dual role of the low comedian and the +heavy villain. At this time also he delighted in monologues, imitations +of eccentric types, or what Mr. Sol. Smith Russell calls "comics," a +word which always amused Eugene and which he frequently used. This +fondness for parlor readings and private theatricals he carried through +college, remaining steadfast to the "comics" until a few years ago, +when he began to give public readings, and discovered that he was +capable of higher and more effective work. It was in fact his +versatility that made him the most accomplished and the most popular +author-entertainer in America. Before he went into journalism the more +sedate of his family connections were in constant fear lest he should +adopt the profession of the actor, and he held it over them as a +good-natured threat. On one occasion, failing to get a coveted +appropriation from the executor of the estate, he said calmly to the +worthy man: "Very well. I must have money for my living expenses. If you +cannot advance it to me out of the estate I shall be compelled to go on +the stage. But as I cannot keep my own name I have decided to assume +yours, and shall have lithographs struck off at once. They will read, +'Tonight, M. L. Gray, Banjo and Specialty Artist.'" The appropriation +was immediately forthcoming. + +It is in no sense depreciatory of my brother's attainments in life to +say that he gave no evidence of precocity in his studies in childhood. +On the contrary he was somewhat slow in development, though this was due +not so much to a lack of natural ability--he learned easily and quickly +when so disposed--as to a fondness for the hundred diversions which +occupy a wide-awake boy's time. He possessed a marked talent for +caricature, and not a small part of the study hours was devoted to +amusing pictures of his teachers, his playmates, and his pets. This +habit of drawing, which was wholly without instruction, he always +preserved, and it was his honest opinion, even at the height of his +success in authorship, that he would have been much greater as a +caricaturist than as a writer. Until he was thirty years of age he wrote +a fair-sized legible hand, but about that time he adopted the +microscopic penmanship which has been so widely reproduced, using for +the purpose very fine-pointed pens. With his manuscript he took the +greatest pains, often going to infinite trouble to illuminate his +letters. Among his friends these letters are held as curiosities of +literature, hardly more for the quaint sentiments expressed than for the +queer designs in colored inks which embellished them. He was specially +fond of drawing weird elves and gnomes, and would spend an hour or two +decorating with these comical figures a letter he had written in ten +minutes. He was as fastidious with the manuscript for the office as if +it had been a specimen copy for exhibition, and it was always understood +that his manuscript should be returned to him after it had passed +through the printers' hands. In this way all the original copies of his +stories and poems have been preserved, and those which he did not give +to friends as souvenirs have been bound for his children. + +A taste for literary composition might not have passed, as doubtless it +did pass, so many years unnoticed, had he been deficient in other +talents, and had he devoted himself exclusively to writing. But as a boy +he was fond, though in a less degree than many boys, of athletic sports, +and his youthful desire for theatrical entertainments, pen caricaturing, +and dallying with his pets took up much of his time. Yet he often gave +way to a fondness for composition, and there is in the family +possession a sermon which he wrote before he was ten years of age, in +which he showed the results of those arduous Sabbath days in the old +Congregational meeting-house. And at one time, when yet very young, he +was at the head of a flourishing boys' paper, while at another, fresh +from the inspiration of a blood-curdling romance in a New York Weekly, +he prepared a series of tales of adventure which, unhappily, have not +been preserved. In his college days he was one of the associate editors +of the university magazine, and while at that time he had no serious +thought of devoting his life to literature, his talents in that +direction were freely confessed. From my father, whose studious habits +in life had made him not only eminent at the bar but profoundly +conversant with general literature, he had inherited a taste for +reading, and it was this omnivorous passion for books that led my +brother to say that his education had only begun when he fancied that it +had left off. In boyhood he contracted that fascinating but highly +injurious habit of reading in bed, which he subsequently extolled with +great fervor; and as he grew older the habit increased upon him until +he was obliged to admit that he could not enjoy literature unless he +took it horizontally. If a friend expostulated with him, advising him to +give up tobacco, reading in bed, and late hours, he said: "And what have +we left in life if we give up all our bad habits?" + +That the poetic instinct was always strong within him there has never +been room to question, but, perhaps, for the reasons before assigned, it +was tardy in making its way outward. For years his mind lay fallow and +receptive, awaiting the occasion which should develop the true +inspiration of the poet. He was accustomed to speak of himself, and too +modestly, as merely a versifier, but his own experience should have +contradicted this estimate, for his first efforts at verse were +singularly halting in mechanical construction, and he was well past his +twenty-fifth year before he gave to the world any verse worthy the name. +What might be called the "curse of comedy" was on him, and it was not +until he threw off that yoke and gave expression to the better and the +sweeter thoughts within him that, as with Bion, "the voice of song +flowed freely from the heart." It seems strange that a man who became a +master of the art of mechanism in verse should have been deficient in +this particular at a period comparatively late, but it merely +illustrates the theory of gradual development and marks the phases of +life through which, with his character of many sides, he was compelled +to pass. He was nearly thirty when he wrote "Christmas Treasures," the +first poem he deemed worthy, and very properly, of preservation, and the +publication of this tender commemoration of the death of a child opened +the springs of sentiment and love for childhood destined never to run +dry while life endured. + +In journalism he became immediately successful, not so much for +adaptability to the treadmill of that calling as for the brightness and +distinctive character of his writing. He easily established a reputation +as a humorist, and while he fairly deserved the title he often regretted +that he could not entirely shake it off. His powers of perception were +phenomenally keen, and he detected the peculiarities of people with +whom he was thrown in contact almost at a glance, while his gift of +mimicry was such that after a minute's interview he could burlesque the +victim to the life, even emphasizing the small details which had been +apparently too minute to attract the special notice of those who were +acquaintances of years' standing. This faculty he carried into his +writing, and it proved immensely valuable, for, with his quick +appreciation of the ludicrous and his power of delineating personal +peculiarities his sketches were remarkable for their resemblances even +when he was indulging apparently in the wildest flights of imagination. +It is to be regretted that much of his newspaper work, covering a period +of twenty years, was necessarily so full of purely local color that its +brilliancy could not be generally appreciated. For it is as if an artist +had painted a wondrous picture, clever enough in the general view, but +full of a significance hidden to the world. + +Equally facile was he in the way of adaptation. He could write a hoax +worthy of Poe, and one of his humors of imagination was sufficiently +subtle and successful to excite comment in Europe and America, and to +call for an explanation and denial from a distinguished Englishman. He +lived in Denver only a few weeks when he was writing verse in miners' +dialect which has been rightly placed at the head of that style of +composition. No matter where he wandered, he speedily became imbued with +the spirit of his surroundings, and his quickly and accurately gathered +impressions found vent in his pen, whether he was in "St. Martin's Lane" +in London, with "Mynheer Von Der Bloom" in Amsterdam, or on the +"Schnellest Zug" from Hanover to Leipzig. + +At the time of my brother's arrival in Chicago, in 1883--he was then in +his thirty-fourth year--he had performed an immense amount of newspaper +work, but had done little or nothing of permanent value or with any real +literary significance. But despite the fact that he had lived up to that +time in the smaller cities he had a large number of acquaintances and a +certain following in the journalistic and artistic world, of which from +the very moment of his entrance into journalism he never had been +deprived. His immense fund of good humor, his powers as a story-teller, +his admirable equipment as an entertainer, and the wholehearted way with +which he threw himself into life and the pleasures of living attracted +men to him and kept him the centre of the multitude that prized his +fascinating companionship. His fellows in journalism furthermore had +been quick to recognize his talents, and no man was more widely +"copied," as the technical expression goes. His early years in Chicago +did not differ materially from those of the previous decade, but the +enlarged scope gave greater play to his fancy and more opportunity for +his talents as a master of satire. The publication of "The Denver +Primer" and "Culture's Garland," while adding to his reputation as a +humorist, happily did not satisfy him. He was now past the age of +thirty-five, and a great psychical revolution was coming on. Though +still on the sunny side of middle life, he was wearying of the cup of +pleasure he had drunk so joyously, and was drawing away from the +multitude and toward the companionship of those who loved books and +bookish things, and who could sympathize with him in the aspirations for +the better work, the consciousness of which had dawned. It was now that +he began to apply himself diligently to the preparation for higher +effort, and it is to the credit of journalism, which has so many sins to +answer for, that in this he was encouraged beyond the usual fate of men +who become slaves to that calling. And yet, though from this time he was +privileged to be regarded one of the sweetest singers in American +literature, and incomparably the noblest bard of childhood, though the +grind of journalism was measurably taken from him, he chafed under the +conviction that he was condemned to mingle the prosaic and the practical +with the fanciful and the ideal, and that, having given hostages to +fortune, he must conform even in a measure to the requirements of a +position too lucrative to be cast aside. From this time also his +physical condition, which never had been robust, began to show the +effects of sedentary life, but the warning of a long siege of nervous +dyspepsia was suffered to pass unheeded, and for five or six years he +labored prodigiously, his mind expanding and his intellect growing more +brilliant as the vital powers decayed. + +It would seem that with the awakening of the consciousness of the better +powers within him, with the realization that he was destined for a place +in literature, my brother felt a quasi remorse for the years he fancied +he had wasted. He was too severe with himself to understand that his +comparative tardiness in arriving at the earnest, thoughtful stage of +lifework was the inexorable law of gradual development which must govern +the career of a man of his temperament, with his exuberant vitality and +his showy talents. It was a serious mistake, but it was not the less a +noble one. And now also the influences of home crept a little closer +into his heart. His family life had not been without its tragedies of +bereavement, and the death of his oldest boy in Germany had drawn him +even nearer to the children who were growing up around him. + +Much of his tenderest verse was inspired by affection for his family, +and as some great shock is often essential to the revolution in a +buoyant nature, so it seemed to require the oft-recurring tragedies of +life to draw from him all that was noblest and sweetest in his +sympathetic soul. Had the angel of death never hovered over the crib in +my brother's home, had he never known the pangs and the heart-hunger +which come when the little voice is stilled and the little chair is +empty, he could not have written the lines which voice the great cry of +humanity and the hope of reunion in immortality beyond the grave. + +The flood of appeals for platform readings from cities and towns in all +parts of the United States came too late for his physical strength and +his ambition. Earlier in life he would have delighted in this form of +travel and entertainment, but his nature had wonderfully changed, and, +strong as were the financial inducements, he was loath to leave his +family and circle of intimate friends, and the home he had just +acquired. All of the time which he allotted for recreation he devoted +to working around his grounds, in arranging and rearranging his large +library, and in the disposition of his curios. For years he had been an +indefatigable collector, and he took a boyish pleasure not only in his +souvenirs of long journeys and distinguished men and women, but in the +queer toys and trinkets of children which seemed to give him inspiration +for much that was effective in childhood verse. To the careless observer +the immense array of weird dolls and absurd toys in his working-room +meant little more than an idiosyncratic passion for the anomalous, but +those who were near to him knew what a connecting link they were between +him and the little children of whom he wrote, and how each trumpet and +drum, each "spinster doll," each little toy dog, each little tin +soldier, played its part in the poems he sent out into the world. No +writer ever made more persistent and consistent use of the material by +which he was surrounded, or put a higher literary value on the little +things which go to make up the sum of human existence. + +Of the spiritual development of my brother much might be said in +conviction and in tenderness. He was not a man who discussed religion +freely; he was associated with no religious denomination, and he +professed no creed beyond the brotherhood of mankind and the infinitude +of God's love and mercy. In childhood he had been reared in much of the +austerity of the Puritan doctrine of the relation of this life to the +hereafter, and much of the hardness and severity of Christianity, as +still interpreted in many parts of New England, was forced upon him. As +is not unusual in such cases, he rebelled against this conception of +God and God's day, even while he confessed the intellectual advantages +he had reaped from frequent compulsory communion with the Bible, and he +many times declared that his children should not be brought up to +regard religion and the Sabbath as a bugbear. What evolution was going +on in his mind at the turning point in his life who can say? Who shall +look into the silent soul of the poet and see the hope and confidence +and joy that have come from out the chaos of strife and doubt? Yet who +can read the verses, telling over and over the beautiful story of +Bethlehem, the glory of the Christ-child and the comfort that comes +from the Teacher, and doubt that in those moments he walked in the +light of the love of God? + +It is true that no man living in a Christian nation who is stirred by +poetic instinct can fail to recognize and pay homage to that story of +wonderful sweetness, the coming of the Christ-child for the redemption +of the world. It is true that in commemoration the poet may speak while +the man within is silent. But it is hardly true that he whose generous +soul responded to every principle of Christ, the Teacher, pleading for +humanity, would sing over and over that tender song of love and +sacrifice as a mere poetic inspiration. As he slept my brother's soul +was called. Who shall say that it was not summoned by that same angel +song that awakened "Little Boy Blue"? Who shall doubt that the smile of +supreme peace and rest which lingered on his face after that noble +spirit had departed spoke for the victory he had won, for the hope and +belief that had been justified, and for the happiness he had gained? + +To have been with my brother in the last year of his life, to have +seen the sweetening of a character already lovable to an unusual +degree, to know now that in his unconscious preparation for the life +beyond he was drawing closer to those he loved and who loved him, this +is the tenderest memory, the most precious heritage. Not to have seen +him in that year is never to realize the full beauty of his nature, the +complete development of his nobler self, the perfect abandonment of all +that might have been ungenerous and intemperate in one even less +conscious of the weakness of mortality. He would say when chided for +public expression of kind words to those not wholly deserving, that he +had felt the sting of harshness and ungraciousness, and never again +would he use his power to inflict suffering or wound the feelings of +man or child. Who is there to wonder, then, that the love of all went +out to him, and that the other triumphs of his life were as nothing in +comparison with the grasp he maintained on popular affection? The day +after his death a lady was purchasing flowers to send in sympathy for +the mourning family, when she was approached by a poorly-clad little +girl who timidly asked what she was going to do with so many roses. +When she replied that she intended sending them to Mr. Field, the +little one said that she wanted so much to send Mr. Field a rose, +adding pathetically that she had no money. Deeply touched by the +child's sorrowful earnestness the lady picked out a yellow rose and +gave it to her, and when the coffin was lowered to the grave a wealth +of wreaths and designs was strewn around to mark the spot, but down +below the hand of the silent poet held only a little yellow rose, the +tribute of a child who did not know him in life, but in whose heart +nestled the love his songs had awakened and the magnetism of his great +humanity had stirred. + +A few hours after his spirit had gone a crippled boy came to the house +and begged permission to go to the chamber. The wish was granted, and +the boy hobbled to the bedside. Who he was, and in what manner my +brother had befriended him, none of the family knew, but as he painfully +picked his way down stairs the tears were streaming over his face, and +the onlookers forgot their own sorrow in contemplation of his grief. +The morning of the funeral, while the family stood around the coffin, +the letter-carrier at Buena Park came into the room, and laying a bunch +of letters at the foot of the bier said reverently: "There is your last +mail, Mr. Field." Then turning with tears in his eyes, as if apologizing +for an intrusion, he added: "He was always good to me and I loved him." + +It was this affection of those in humbler life that seems to speak the +more eloquently for the beneficence and the triumph of his life's work. +No funeral could have been less ostentatious, yet none could have been +more impressive in the multitude that overflowed the church, or more +conformable to his tenacious belief in the democracy of man. People of +eminence, of wealth, of fashion, were there, but they were swallowed up +in the great congregation of those to whom we are bound by the ties of +humanity and universal brotherhood, whose tears as they passed the bier +of the dead singer were the earnest and the best tribute to him who sang +for all. What greater blessing hath man than this? What stronger +assurance can there be of happiness in that life where all is weighed +in the scale of love, and where love is triumphant and eternal? + +Sleep, my brother, in the perfect joy of an awakening to that happiness +beyond the probationary life. Sleep in the assurance that those who +loved you will always cherish the memory of that love as the tender +inspiration of your gentle spirit. Sleep and dream that the songs you +sang will still be sung when those who sing them now are sleeping with +you. Sleep and take your rest as calmly and peacefully as you slept when +your last "Good-Night" lengthened into eternity. And if the Horace you +so merrily invoked comes to you in your slumber and bids you awake to +that sweet cheer, that "fellowship that knows no end beyond the misty +Stygian sea," tell him that the time has not yet come, and that there +are those yet uncalled, to whom you have pledged the joyous meeting on +yonder shore, and who would share with you the heaven your companionship +would brighten. + + ROSWELL MARTIN FIELD. + +BUENA PARK, January, 1896. + + + + +Contents of this Little Book + + +CASEY'S TABLE D'HÔTE +OUR LADY OF THE MINE +THE CONVERSAZZHYONY +PROF. VERB DE BLAW +MARTHY'S YOUNKIT + +OLD ENGLISH LULLABY +"LOLLYBY, LOLLY, LOLLYBY" +ORKNEY LULLABY +LULLABY; BY THE SEA +CORNISH LULLABY +NORSE LULLABY +SICILIAN LULLABY +JAPANESE LULLABY +LITTLE CROODLIN DOO +DUTCH LULLABY +CHILD AND MOTHER +MEDIAEVAL EVENTIDE SONG +CHRISTMAS TREASURES +CHRISTMAS HYMN +CHRYSTMASSE OF OLDE + +OUR TWO OPINIONS +APPLE-PIE AND CHEESE +"GOOD-BY--GOD BLESS YOU!" +HI-SPY +LONG AGO + +LITTLE BOY BLUE +THE LYTTEL BOY +KRINKEN +TO A USURPER +AILSIE, MY BAIRN +SOME TIME + +MADGE: YE HOYDEN +THE DEATH OF ROBIN HOOD +TO ROBIN GOODFELLOW +YVYTOT +THE DIVINE LULLABY +IN THE FIRELIGHT +THE TWENTY-THIRD PSALM +AT THE DOOR + +THE BIBLIOMANIAC'S PRAYER +DE AMICITIIS +THE BIBLIOMANIAC'S BRIDE + +THE TRUTH ABOUT HORACE +HORACE AND LYDIA RECONCILED +HORACE III:13 ("FOUNTAIN OF BANDUSIA") +HORACE TO MELPOMENE +A CHAUCERIAN PARAPHRASE OF HORACE +HORACE TO PYRRHA +HORACE TO PHYLLIS +THE "HAPPY ISLES" OF HORACE + +LITTLE MACK +MR. DANA, OF THE NEW YORK SUN +TO A SOUBRETTE +BÉRANGER'S "BROKEN FIDDLE" +HEINE'S "WIDOW, OR DAUGHTER?" +UHLAND'S "THREE CAVALIERS" +BÉRANGER'S "MY LAST SONG PERHAPS" +HUGO'S "FLOWER TO BUTTERFLY" +BÉRANGER'S "MA VOCATION" + +THE LITTLE PEACH +A PROPER TREWE IDYLL OF CAMELOT +IN FLANDERS +OUR BIGGEST FISH + +MOTHER AND CHILD +THE WANDERER +SOLDIER, MAIDEN, AND FLOWER +THIRTY-NINE + + + + + +CASEY'S TABLE D'HÔTE + + +Oh, them days on Red Hoss Mountain, when the skies wuz fair 'nd blue, +When the money flowed like likker, 'nd the folks wuz brave 'nd true! +When the nights wuz crisp 'nd balmy, 'nd the camp wuz all astir, +With the joints all throwed wide open 'nd no sheriff to demur! +Oh, them times on Red Hoss Mountain in the Rockies fur away,-- +There's no sich place nor times like them as I kin find to-day! +What though the camp _hez_ busted? I seem to see it still +A-lyin', like it loved it, on that big 'nd warty hill; +And I feel a sort of yearnin' 'nd a chokin' in my throat +When I think of Red Hoss Mountain 'nd of Casey's tabble dote! + +Wal, yes; it's true I struck it rich, but that don't cut a show +When one is old 'nd feeble 'nd it's nigh his time to go; +The money that he's got in bonds or carries to invest +Don't figger with a codger who has lived a life out West; +Us old chaps like to set around, away from folks 'nd noise, +'Nd think about the sights we seen and things we done when boys; +The which is why _I_ love to set 'nd think of them old days +When all us Western fellers got the Colorado craze,-- +And _that_ is why I love to set around all day 'nd gloat +On thoughts of Red Hoss Mountain 'nd of Casey's tabble dote. + +This Casey wuz an Irishman,--you'd know it by his name +And by the facial features appertainin' to the same. +He'd lived in many places 'nd had done a thousand things, +From the noble art of actin' to the work of dealin' kings, +But, somehow, hadn't caught on; so, driftin' with the rest, +He drifted for a fortune to the undeveloped West, +And he come to Red Hoss Mountain when the little camp wuz new, +When the money flowed like likker, 'nd the folks wuz brave 'nd true; +And, havin' been a stewart on a Mississippi boat, +He opened up a caffy 'nd he run a tabble dote. + +The bar wuz long 'nd rangy, with a mirrer on the shelf, +'Nd a pistol, so that Casey, when required, could help himself; +Down underneath there wuz a row of bottled beer 'nd wine, +'Nd a kag of Burbun whiskey of the run of '59; +Upon the walls wuz pictures of hosses 'nd of girls,-- +Not much on dress, perhaps, but strong on records 'nd on curls! +The which had been identified with Casey in the past,-- +The hosses 'nd the girls, I mean,--and both wuz mighty fast! +But all these fine attractions wuz of precious little note +By the side of what wuz offered at Casey's tabble dote. + +There wuz half-a-dozen tables altogether in the place, +And the tax you had to pay upon your vittles wuz a case; +The boardin'-houses in the camp protested 't wuz a shame +To patronize a robber, which this Casey wuz the same! +They said a case was robbery to tax for ary meal; +But Casey tended strictly to his biz, 'nd let 'em squeal; +And presently the boardin'-houses all began to bust, +While Casey kept on sawin' wood 'nd layin' in the dust; +And oncet a tray'lin' editor from Denver City wrote +A piece back to his paper, puffin' Casey's tabble dote. + +A tabble dote is different from orderin' aller cart: +In _one_ case you git all there is, in _t' other_, only _part_! +And Casey's tabble dote began in French,--as all begin,-- +And Casey's ended with the same, which is to say, with "vin;" +But in between wuz every kind of reptile, bird, 'nd beast, +The same like you can git in high-toned restauraws down east; +'Nd windin' up wuz cake or pie, with coffee demy tass, +Or, sometimes, floatin' Ireland in a soothin' kind of sass +That left a sort of pleasant ticklin' in a feller's throat, +'Nd made him hanker after more of Casey's tabble dote. + +The very recollection of them puddin's 'nd them pies +Brings a yearnin' to my buzzum 'nd the water to my eyes; +'Nd seems like cookin' nowadays ain't what it used to be +In camp on Red Hoss Mountain in that year of '63; +But, maybe, it is better, 'nd, maybe, I'm to blame-- +I'd like to be a-livin' in the mountains jest the same-- +I'd like to live that life again when skies wuz fair 'nd blue, +When things wuz run wide open 'nd men wuz brave 'nd true; +When brawny arms the flinty ribs of Red Hoss Mountain smote +For wherewithal to pay the price of Casey's tabble dote. + +And you, O cherished brother, a-sleepin' 'way out west, +With Red Hoss Mountain huggin' you close to its lovin' breast,-- +Oh, do you dream in your last sleep of how we used to do, +Of how we worked our little claims together, me 'nd you? +Why, when I saw you last a smile wuz restin' on your face, +Like you wuz glad to sleep forever in that lonely place; +And so you wuz, 'nd I 'd be, too, if I wuz sleepin' so. +But, bein' how a brother's love ain't for the world to know, +Whenever I've this heartache 'nd this chokin' in my throat, +I lay it all to thinkin' of Casey's tabble dote. + + + + +LITTLE BOY BLUE + + +The little toy dog is covered with dust, + But sturdy and stanch he stands; +And the little toy soldier is red with rust, + And his musket molds in his hands. +Time was when the little toy dog was new + And the soldier was passing fair, +And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue + Kissed them and put them there. + +"Now, don't you go till I come," he said, + "And don't you make any noise!" +So toddling off to his trundle-bed + He dreamed of the pretty toys. +And as he was dreaming, an angel song + Awakened our Little Boy Blue,-- +Oh, the years are many, the years are long, + But the little toy friends are true. + +Ay, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand, + Each in the same old place, +Awaiting the touch of a little hand, + The smile of a little face. +And they wonder, as waiting these long years through, + In the dust of that little chair, +What has become of our Little Boy Blue + Since he kissed them and put them there. + + + + +MADGE: YE HOYDEN + + +At Madge, ye hoyden, gossips scofft, + Ffor that a romping wench was shee-- +"Now marke this rede," they bade her oft, + "Forsooken sholde your folly bee!" +But Madge, ye hoyden, laught & cried, + "Oho, oho," in girlish glee, +And noe thing mo replied. + +II + +No griffe she had nor knew no care, + But gayly rompit all daies long, +And, like ye brooke that everywhere + Goes jinking with a gladsome song, +Shee danct and songe from morn till night,-- + Her gentil harte did know no wrong, +Nor did she none despight. + +III + +Sir Tomas from his noblesse halle + Did trend his path a somer's daye, +And to ye hoyden he did call + And these ffull evill words did say: +"O wolde you weare a silken gown + And binde your haire with ribands gay? +Then come with me to town!" + +IV + +But Madge, ye hoyden, shoke her head,-- + "I'le be no lemman unto thee +For all your golde and gownes," shee said, + "ffor Robin hath bespoken mee." +Then ben Sir Tomas sore despight, + And back unto his hall went hee +With face as ashen white. + +V + +"O Robin, wilt thou wed this girl, + Whenas she is so vaine a sprite?" +So spak ffull many an envious churle + Unto that curteyse countrie wight. +But Robin did not pay no heede; + And they ben wed a somer night +& danct upon ye meade. + +VI + +Then scarse ben past a yeare & daye + Whan Robin toke unto his bed, +And long, long time therein he lay, + Nor colde not work to earn his bread; +in soche an houre, whan times ben sore, + Sr. Tomas came with haughtie tread +& knockit at ye doore. + +VII + +Saies: "Madge, ye hoyden, do you know + how that you once despighted me? +But He forgiff an you will go + my swete harte lady ffor to bee!" +But Madge, ye hoyden, heard noe more,-- + straightway upon her heele turnt shee, +& shote ye cottage doore. + +VIII + +Soe Madge, ye hoyden, did her parte + whiles that ye years did come and go; +'t was somer allwais in her harte, + tho' winter strewed her head with snowe. +She toilt and span thro' all those years + nor bid repine that it ben soe, +nor never shad noe teares. + +IX + +Whiles Robin lay within his bed, + A divell came and whispered lowe,-- +"Giff you will doe my will," he said, + "None more of sickness you shall knowe!" +Ye which gave joy to Robin's soul-- + Saies Robin: "Divell, be it soe, +an that you make me whoale!" + +X + +That day, upp rising ffrom his bed, + Quoth Robin: "I am well again!" +& backe he came as from ye dead, + & he ben mickle blithe as when +he wooed his doxy long ago; + & Madge did make ado & then +Her teares ffor joy did flowe. + +XI + +Then came that hell-born cloven thing-- + Saies: "Robin, I do claim your life, +and I hencefoorth shall be your king, + and you shall do my evill strife. +Look round about and you shall see + sr. Tomas' young and ffoolish wiffe-- +a comely dame is shee!" + +XII + +Ye divell had him in his power, + and not colde Robin say thereto: +Soe Robin from that very houre + did what that divell bade him do; +He wooed and dipt, and on a daye + Sr. Tomas' wife and Robin flewe +a many leagues away. + +XIII + +Sir Tomas ben wood wroth and swore, + And sometime strode thro' leaf & brake +and knockit at ye cottage door + and thus to Madge, ye hoyden, spake: +Saies, "I wolde have you ffor mine own, + So come with mee & bee my make, +syn tother birds ben flown." + +XIV + +But Madge, ye hoyden, bade him noe; + Saies: "Robin is my swete harte still, +And, tho' he doth despight me soe, + I mean to do him good for ill. +So goe, Sir Tomas, goe your way; + ffor whiles I bee on live I will +ffor Robin's coming pray!" + +XV + +Soe Madge, ye hoyden, kneelt & prayed + that Godde sholde send her Robin backe. +And tho' ye folke vast scoffing made, + and tho' ye worlde ben colde and blacke, +And tho', as moneths dragged away, + ye hoyden's harte ben like to crack +With griff, she still did praye. + +XVI + +Sicke of that divell's damnèd charmes, + Aback did Robin come at last, +And Madge, ye hoyden, sprad her arms + and gave a cry and held him fast; +And as she clong to him and cried, + her patient harte with joy did brast, +& Madge, ye hoyden, died. + + + + +OLD ENGLISH LULLABY + + +Hush, bonnie, dinna greit; +Moder will rocke her sweete,-- + Balow, my boy! +When that his toile ben done, +Daddie will come anone,-- +Hush thee, my lyttel one; + Balow, my boy! + +Gin thou dost sleepe, perchaunce +Fayries will come to daunce,-- + Balow, my boy! +Oft hath thy moder seene +Moonlight and mirkland queene +Daunce on thy slumbering een,-- + Balow, my boy! + +Then droned a bomblebee +Saftly this songe to thee: + "Balow, my boy!" +And a wee heather bell, +Pluckt from a fayry dell, +Chimed thee this rune hersell: + "Balow, my boy!" + +Soe, bonnie, dinna greit; +Moder doth rock her sweete,-- + Balow, my boy! +Give mee thy lyttel hand, +Moder will hold it and +Lead thee to balow land,-- + Balow, my boy! + + + + +THE BIBLIOMANIAC'S PRAYER + + +Keep me, I pray, in wisdom's way + That I may truths eternal seek; +I need protecting care to-day,-- + My purse is light, my flesh is weak. +So banish from my erring heart + All baleful appetites and hints +Of Satan's fascinating art, + Of first editions, and of prints. +Direct me in some godly walk + Which leads away from bookish strife, +That I with pious deed and talk + May extra-illustrate my life. + +But if, O Lord, it pleaseth Thee + To keep me in temptation's way, +I humbly ask that I may be + Most notably beset to-day; +Let my temptation be a book, + Which I shall purchase, hold, and keep, +Whereon when other men shall look, + They'll wail to know I got it cheap. +Oh, let it such a volume be + As in rare copperplates abounds, +Large paper, clean, and fair to see, + Uncut, unique, unknown to Lowndes. + + + + +THE LYTTEL BOY + + +Sometime there ben a lyttel boy + That wolde not renne and play, +And helpless like that little tyke + Ben allwais in the way. +"Goe, make you merrie with the rest," + His weary moder cried; +But with a frown he catcht her gown + And hong untill her side. + +That boy did love his moder well, + Which spake him faire, I ween; +He loved to stand and hold her hand + And ken her with his een; +His cosset bleated in the croft, + His toys unheeded lay,-- +He wolde not goe, but, tarrying soe, + Ben allwais in the way. + +Godde loveth children and doth gird + His throne with soche as these, +And He doth smile in plaisaunce while + They cluster at His knees; +And sometime, when He looked on earth + And watched the bairns at play, +He kenned with joy a lyttel boy + Ben allwais in the way. + +And then a moder felt her heart + How that it ben to-torne,-- +She kissed eche day till she ben gray + The shoon he used to worn; +No bairn let hold untill her gown, + Nor played upon the floore,-- +Godde's was the joy; a lyttel boy + Ben in the way no more! + + + + +THE TRUTH ABOUT HORACE + + +It is very aggravating + To hear the solemn prating +Of the fossils who are stating +That old Horace was a prude; + When we know that with the ladies +He was always raising Hades, +And with many an escapade his + Best productions are imbued. + +There's really not much harm in a + Large number of his carmina, +But these people find alarm in a + Few records of his acts; +So they'd squelch the muse caloric, +And to students sophomoric +They d present as metaphoric + What old Horace meant for facts. + +We have always thought 'em lazy; +Now we adjudge 'em crazy! +Why, Horace was a daisy + That was very much alive! +And the wisest of us know him +As his Lydia verses show him,-- +Go, read that virile poem,-- + It is No. 25. + +He was a very owl, sir, +And starting out to prowl, sir, +You bet he made Rome howl, sir, + Until he filled his date; +With a massic-laden ditty +And a classic maiden pretty +He painted up the city, + And Maecenas paid the freight! + + + + +THE DEATH OF ROBIN HOOD + + +"Give me my bow," said Robin Hood, + "An arrow give to me; +And where 't is shot mark thou that spot, + For there my grave shall be." + +Then Little John did make no sign, + And not a word he spake; +But he smiled, altho' with mickle woe + His heart was like to break. + +He raised his master in his arms, + And set him on his knee; +And Robin's eyes beheld the skies, + The shaws, the greenwood tree. + +The brook was babbling as of old, + The birds sang full and clear, +And the wild-flowers gay like a carpet lay + In the path of the timid deer. + +"O Little John," said Robin Hood, + "Meseemeth now to be +Standing with you so stanch and true + Under the greenwood tree. + +"And all around I hear the sound + Of Sherwood long ago, +And my merry men come back again,-- + You know, sweet friend, you know! + +"Now mark this arrow; where it falls, + When I am dead dig deep, +And bury me there in the greenwood where + I would forever sleep." + +He twanged his bow. Upon its course + The clothyard arrow sped, +And when it fell in yonder dell, + Brave Robin Hood was dead. + +The sheriff sleeps in a marble vault, + The king in a shroud of gold; +And upon the air with a chanted pray'r + Mingles the mock of mould. + +But the deer draw to the shady pool, + The birds sing blithe and free, +And the wild-flow'rs bloom o'er a hidden tomb + Under the greenwood tree. + + + + +"LOLLYBY, LOLLY, LOLLYBY" + + +Last night, whiles that the curfew bell ben ringing, +I heard a moder to her dearie singing + "Lollyby, lolly, lollyby." +And presently that chylde did cease hys weeping, +And on his moder's breast did fall a-sleeping, + To "lolly, lolly, lollyby." + +Faire ben the chylde unto his moder clinging, +But fairer yet the moder's gentle singing,-- + "Lollyby, lolly, lollyby." +And angels came and kisst the dearie smiling +In dreems while him hys moder ben beguiling + With "lolly, lolly, lollyby!" + +Then to my harte saies I, "Oh, that thy beating +Colde be assuaged by some swete voice repeating + 'Lollyby, lolly, lollyby;' +That like this lyttel chylde I, too, ben sleeping +With plaisaunt phantasies about me creeping, + To 'lolly, lolly, lollyby!'" + +Sometime--mayhap when curfew bells are ringing-- +A weary harte shall heare straunge voices singing, + "Lollyby, lolly, lollyby;" +Sometime, mayhap, with Chrysts love round me streaming, +I shall be lulled into eternal dreeming + With "lolly, lolly, lollyby." + + + + +HORACE AND LYDIA RECONCILED + + +HORACE + +When you were mine in auld lang syne, + And when none else your charms might ogle, + I'll not deny, + Fair nymph, that I + Was happier than a Persian mogul. + +LYDIA + +Before _she_ came--that rival flame!-- + (Was ever female creature sillier?) + In those good times, + Bepraised in rhymes, + I was more famed than Mother Ilia! + +HORACE + +Chloe of Thrace! With what a grace + Does she at song or harp employ her! +I'd gladly die + If only I + Might live forever to enjoy her! + +LYDIA + +My Sybaris so noble is + That, by the gods! I love him madly-- + That I might save + Him from the grave + I'd give my life, and give it gladly! + +HORACE + +What if ma belle from favor fell, + And I made up my mind to shake her, + Would Lydia, then, + Come back again + And to her quondam flame betake her? + +LYDIA + +My other beau should surely go, + And you alone should find me gracious; + For no one slings + Such odes and things + As does the lauriger Horatius! + + + + +OUR TWO OPINIONS + + +Us two wuz boys when we fell out,-- + Nigh to the age uv my youngest now; +Don't rec'lect what't wuz about, + Some small deeff'rence, I'll allow. +Lived next neighbors twenty years, + A-hatin' each other, me 'nd Jim,-- +He havin' _his_ opinyin uv _me_, + 'Nd _I_ havin' _my_ opinyin uv _him_. + +Grew up together 'nd would n't speak, + Courted sisters, 'nd marr'd 'em, too; +Tended same meetin'-house oncet a week, + A-hatin' each other through 'nd through! +But when Abe Linkern asked the West + F'r soldiers, we answered,--me 'nd Jim,-- +_He_ havin' _his_ opinyin uv _me_, + 'Nd _I_ havin' _my_ opinyin uv _him_. + +But down in Tennessee one night + Ther' wuz sound uv firin' fur away, +'Nd the sergeant allowed ther' 'd be a fight + With the Johnnie Rebs some time nex' day; +'Nd as I wuz thinkin' uv Lizzie 'nd home + Jim stood afore me, long 'nd slim,-- +_He_ havin' _his_ opinyin uv _me_, + 'Nd _I_ havin' _my_ opinyin uv _him_. + +Seemed like we knew there wuz goin' to be + Serious trouble f'r me 'nd him; +Us two shuck hands, did Jim 'nd me, + But never a word from me or Jim! +He went _his_ way 'nd _I_ went _mine_, + 'Nd into the battle's roar went we,-- +_I_ havin' _my_ opinyin uv Jim, + 'Nd _he_ havin' _his_ opinyin uv _me_. + +Jim never come back from the war again, + But I ha' n't forgot that last, last night +When, waitin' f'r orders, us two men + Made up 'nd shuck hands, afore the fight. +'Nd, after it all, it's soothin' to know + That here _I_ be 'nd yonder's Jim,-- +_He_ havin' _his_ opinyin uv _me_, +'Nd _I_ havin' _my_ opinyin uv _him_. + + + + +MOTHER AND CHILD + + +One night a tiny dewdrop fell + Into the bosom of a rose,-- +"Dear little one, I love thee well, + Be ever here thy sweet repose!" + +Seeing the rose with love bedight, + The envious sky frowned dark, and then +Sent forth a messenger of light + And caught the dewdrop up again. + +"Oh, give me back my heavenly child,-- + My love!" the rose in anguish cried; +Alas! the sky triumphant smiled, + And so the flower, heart-broken, died. + + + + +ORKNEY LULLABY + + +A moonbeam floateth from the skies, +Whispering, "Heigho, my dearie! +I would spin a web before your eyes,-- +A beautiful web of silver light, +Wherein is many a wondrous sight +Of a radiant garden leagues away, +Where the softly tinkling lilies sway, +And the snow-white lambkins are at play,-- + Heigho, my dearie!" + +A brownie stealeth from the vine + Singing, "Heigho, my dearie! +And will you hear this song of mine,-- +A song of the land of murk and mist +Where bideth the bud the dew hath kist? +Then let the moonbeam's web of light +Be spun before thee silvery white, +And I shall sing the livelong night,-- + Heigho, my dearie!" + +The night wind speedeth from the sea, + Murmuring, "Heigho, my dearie! +I bring a mariner's prayer for thee; +So let the moonbeam veil thine eyes, +And the brownie sing thee lullabies; +But I shall rock thee to and fro, +Kissing the brow _he_ loveth so, +And the prayer shall guard thy bed, I trow,-- + Heigho, my dearie!" + + + + +LITTLE MACK + + +This talk about the journalists that run the East is bosh, +We've got a Western editor that's little, but, O gosh! +He lives here in Mizzoora where the people are so set +In ante-bellum notions that they vote for Jackson yet; +But the paper he is running makes the rusty fossils swear,-- +The smartest, likeliest paper that is printed anywhere! +And, best of all, the paragraphs are pointed as a tack, + And that's because they emanate + From little Mack. + +In architecture he is what you'd call a chunky man, +As if he'd been constructed on the summer cottage plan; +He has a nose like Bonaparte; and round his mobile mouth +Lies all the sensuous languor of the children of the South; +His dealings with reporters who affect a weekly bust +Have given to his violet eyes a shadow of distrust; +In glorious abandon his brown hair wanders back + From the grand Websterian forehead + Of little Mack. + +No matter what the item is, if there's an item in it, +You bet your life he's on to it and nips it in a minute! +From multifarious nations, countries, monarchies, and lands, +From Afric's sunny fountains and India's coral strands, +From Greenland's icy mountains and Siloam's shady rills, +He gathers in his telegrams, and Houser pays the bills; +What though there be a dearth of news, he has a happy knack + Of scraping up a lot of scoops, + Does little Mack. + +And learning? Well he knows the folks of every tribe and age +That ever played a part upon this fleeting human stage; +His intellectual system's so extensive and so greedy +That, when it comes to records, he's a walkin' cyclopedy; +For having studied (and digested) all the books a-goin', +It stands to reason he must know about all's worth a-knowin'! +So when a politician with a record's on the track, + We're apt to hear some history + From little Mack. + +And when a fellow-journalist is broke and needs a twenty, +Who's allus ready to whack up a portion of his plenty? +Who's allus got a wallet that's as full of sordid gain +As his heart is full of kindness and his head is full of brain? +Whose bowels of compassion will in-va-ri-a-bly move +Their owner to those courtesies which plainly, surely prove +That he's the kind of person that never does go back + On a fellow that's in trouble? + Why, little Mack! + +I've heard 'em tell of Dana, and of Bonner, and of Reid, +Of Johnnie Cockerill, who, I'll own, is very smart indeed; +Yet I don't care what their renown or influence may be, +One metropolitan exchange is quite enough for me! +So keep your Danas, Bonners, Reids, your Cockerills, and the rest, +The woods is full of better men all through this woolly West; +For all that sleek, pretentious, Eastern editorial pack + We wouldn't swap the shadow of + Our little Mack! + + + + +TO ROBIN GOODFELLOW + + +I see you, Maister Bawsy-brown, + Through yonder lattice creepin'; +You come for cream and to gar me dream, + But you dinna find me sleepin'. +The moonbeam, that upon the floor + Wi' crickets ben a-jinkin', +Now steals away fra' her bonnie play-- + Wi' a rosier blie, I'm thinkin'. + +I saw you, Maister Bawsy-brown, + When the blue bells went a-ringin' +For the merrie fays o' the banks an' braes, + And I kenned your bonnie singin'; +The gowans gave you honey sweets, + And the posies on the heather +Dript draughts o' dew for the faery crew + That danct and sang together. + +But posie-bloom an' simmer-dew + And ither sweets o' faery +C'u'd na gae down wi' Bawsy-brown, + Sae nigh to Maggie's dairy! +My pantry shelves, sae clean and white, + Are set wi' cream and cheeses,-- +Gae, gin you will, an' take your fill + Of whatsoever pleases. + +Then wave your wand aboon my een + Until they close awearie, +And the night be past sae sweet and fast + Wi' dreamings o' my dearie. +But pinch the wench in yonder room, + For she's na gude nor bonnie,-- +Her shelves be dust and her pans be rust, + And she winkit at my Johnnie! + + + + +APPLE-PIE AND CHEESE + + +Full many a sinful notion + Conceived of foreign powers +Has come across the ocean + To harm this land of ours; +And heresies called fashions + Have modesty effaced, +And baleful, morbid passions + Corrupt our native taste. +O tempora! O mores! + What profanations these +That seek to dim the glories + Of apple-pie and cheese! + +I'm glad my education + Enables me to stand +Against the vile temptation + Held out on every hand; +Eschewing all the tittles + With vanity replete, +I'm loyal to the victuals + Our grandsires used to eat! +I'm glad I've got three willing boys + To hang around and tease +Their mother for the filling joys + Of apple-pie and cheese! + +Your flavored creams and ices + And your dainty angel-food +Are mighty fine devices + To regale the dainty dude; +Your terrapin and oysters, + With wine to wash 'em down, +Are just the thing for roisters + When painting of the town; +No flippant, sugared notion + Shall _my_ appetite appease, +Or bate my soul's devotion + To apple-pie and cheese! + +The pie my Julia makes me + (God bless her Yankee ways!) +On memory's pinions takes me + To dear Green Mountain days; +And seems like I see Mother + Lean on the window-sill, +A-handin' me and brother + What she knows 'll keep us still; +And these feelings are so grateful, + Says I, "Julia, if you please, +I'll take another plateful + Of that apple-pie and cheese!" + +And cheese! No alien it, sir, + That's brought across the sea,-- +No Dutch antique, nor Switzer, + Nor glutinous de Brie; +There's nothing I abhor so + As mawmets of this ilk-- +Give _me_ the harmless morceau + That's made of true-blue milk! +No matter what conditions + Dyspeptic come to feaze, +The best of all physicians + Is apple-pie and cheese! + +Though ribalds may decry 'em, + For these twin boons we stand, +Partaking thrice per diem + Of their fulness out of hand; +No enervating fashion + Shall cheat us of our right +To gratify our passion + With a mouthful at a bite! +We'll cut it square or bias, + Or any way we please, +And faith shall justify us + When we carve our pie and cheese! + +De gustibus, 't is stated, + Non disputandum est. +Which meaneth, when translated, + That all is for the best. +So let the foolish choose 'em + The vapid sweets of sin, +I will not disabuse 'em + Of the heresy they're in; +But I, when I undress me + Each night, upon my knees +Will ask the Lord to bless me + With apple-pie and cheese! + + + + +KRINKEN + + +Krinken was a little child,-- +It was summer when he smiled. +Oft the hoary sea and grim +Stretched its white arms out to him, +Calling, "Sun-child, come to me; +Let me warm my heart with thee!" +But the child heard not the sea, +Calling, yearning evermore +For the summer on the shore. + +Krinken on the beach one day +Saw a maiden Nis at play; +On the pebbly beach she played +In the summer Krinken made. +Fair, and very fair, was she, +Just a little child was he. +"Krinken," said the maiden Nis, +"Let me have a little kiss, +Just a kiss, and go with me +To the summer-lands that be +Down within the silver sea." + +Krinken was a little child-- +By the maiden Nis beguiled, +Hand in hand with her went he, +And 'twas summer in the sea. +And the hoary sea and grim +To its bosom folded him-- +Clasped and kissed the little form, +And the ocean's heart was warm. + +Now the sea calls out no more; +It is winter on the shore,-- +Winter where that little child +Made sweet summer when he smiled; +Though 'tis summer on the sea +Where with maiden Nis went he,-- +Summer, summer evermore,-- +It is winter on the shore, +Winter, winter evermore. +Of the summer on the deep +Come sweet visions in my sleep: +_His_ fair face lifts from the sea, +_His_ dear voice calls out to me,-- +These my dreams of summer be. + +Krinken was a little child, +By the maiden Nis beguiled; +Oft the hoary sea and grim +Reached its longing arms to him, +Crying, "Sun-child, come to me; +Let me warm my heart with thee!" +But the sea calls out no more; +It is winter on the shore,-- +Winter, cold and dark and wild; +Krinken was a little child,-- +It was summer when he smiled; +Down he went into the sea, +And the winter bides with me. +Just a little child was he. + + + + +BÉRANGER'S "BROKEN FIDDLE" + + +I + +There, there, poor dog, my faithful friend, + Pay you no heed unto my sorrow: +But feast to-day while yet you may,-- + Who knows but we shall starve to-morrow! + + +II + +"Give us a tune," the foemen cried, + In one of their profane caprices; +I bade them "No"--they frowned, and, lo! + They dashed this innocent in pieces! + + +III + +This fiddle was the village pride-- + The mirth of every fête enhancing; +Its wizard art set every heart + As well as every foot to dancing. + + +IV + +How well the bridegroom knew its voice, + As from its strings its song went gushing! +Nor long delayed the promised maid + Equipped for bridal, coy and blushing. + + +V + +Why, it discoursed so merrily, + It quickly banished all dejection; +And yet, when pressed, our priest confessed + I played with pious circumspection. + + +VI + +And though, in patriotic song, + It was our guide, compatriot, teacher, +I never thought the foe had wrought + His fury on the helpless creature! + + +VII + +But there, poor dog, my faithful friend, + Pay you no heed unto my sorrow; +I prithee take this paltry cake,-- + Who knows but we shall starve to-morrow! + + +VIII + +Ah, who shall lead the Sunday choir + As this old fiddle used to do it? +Can vintage come, with this voice dumb + That used to bid a welcome to it? + + +IX + +It soothed the weary hours of toil, + It brought forgetfulness to debtors; +Time and again from wretched men + It struck oppression's galling fetters. + + +X + +No man could hear its voice, and hate; + It stayed the teardrop at its portal; +With that dear thing I was a king + As never yet was monarch mortal! + + +XI + +Now has the foe--the vandal foe-- + Struck from my hands their pride and glory; +There let it lie! In vengeance, I + Shall wield another weapon, gory! + + +XII + +And if, O countrymen, I fall, + Beside our grave let this be spoken: +"No foe of France shall ever dance + Above the heart and fiddle, broken!" + + +XIII + +So come, poor dog, my faithful friend, + I prithee do not heed my sorrow, +But feast to-day while yet you may, + For we are like to starve to-morrow. + + + + +THE LITTLE PEACH + + +A little peach in the orchard grew,-- +A little peach of emerald hue; +Warmed by the sun and wet by the dew, + It grew. + +One day, passing that orchard through, +That little peach dawned on the view +Of Johnny Jones and his sister Sue-- + Them two. + +Up at that peach a club they threw-- +Down from the stem on which it grew +Fell that peach of emerald hue. + Mon Dieu! + +John took a bite and Sue a chew, +And then the trouble began to brew,-- +Trouble the doctor couldn't subdue. + Too true! + +Under the turf where the daisies grew +They planted John and his sister Sue, +And their little souls to the angels flew,-- + Boo hoo! + +What of that peach of the emerald hue, +Warmed by the sun, and wet by the dew? +Ah, well, its mission on earth is through. + Adieu! + +1880. + + + + +HORACE III. 13 + + +O fountain of Bandusia, + Whence crystal waters flow, +With garlands gay and wine I'll pay + The sacrifice I owe; +A sportive kid with budding horns + I have, whose crimson blood +Anon shall dye and sanctify + Thy cool and babbling flood. + +O fountain of Bandusia, + The dog-star's hateful spell +No evil brings unto the springs + That from thy bosom well; +Here oxen, wearied by the plough, + The roving cattle here, +Hasten in quest of certain rest + And quaff thy gracious cheer. + +O fountain of Bandusia, + Ennobled shalt thou be, +For I shall sing the joys that spring + Beneath yon ilex-tree; +Yes, fountain of Bandusia, + Posterity shall know +The cooling brooks that from thy nooks + Singing and dancing go! + + + + +THE DIVINE LULLABY + + + I hear Thy voice, dear Lord; +I hear it by the stormy sea + When winter nights are black and wild, +And when, affright, I call to Thee; + It calms my fears and whispers me, +"Sleep well, my child." + + I hear Thy voice, dear Lord, +In singing winds, in falling snow, + The curfew chimes, the midnight bell. +"Sleep well, my child," it murmurs low; +"The guardian angels come and go,-- + O child, sleep well!" + + I hear Thy voice, dear Lord, +Ay, though the singing winds be stilled, + Though hushed the tumult of the deep, +My fainting heart with anguish chilled +By Thy assuring tone is thrilled,-- + "Fear not, and sleep!" + + Speak on--speak on, dear Lord! +And when the last dread night is near, + With doubts and fears and terrors wild, +Oh, let my soul expiring hear +Only these words of heavenly cheer, + "Sleep well, my child!" + + + + +IN THE FIRELIGHT + + +The fire upon the hearth is low, + And there is stillness everywhere, + While like winged spirits, here and there, +The firelight shadows fluttering go. +And as the shadows round me creep, + A childish treble breaks the gloom, + And softly from a further room +Comes, "Now I lay me down to sleep." + +And somehow, with that little prayer + And that sweet treble in my ears, + My thoughts go back to distant years +And linger with a loved one there; +And as I hear my child's amen, + My mother's faith comes back to me,-- + Crouched at her side I seem to be, +And Mother holds my hands again. + +Oh, for an hour in that dear place! + Oh, for the peace of that dear time! + Oh, for that childish trust sublime! +Oh, for a glimpse of Mother's face! +Yet, as the shadows round me creep, + I do not seem to be alone,-- + Sweet magic of that treble tone, +And "Now I lay me down to sleep." + +1885. + + + + +HEINE'S "WIDOW OR DAUGHTER?" + + +Shall I woo the one or other? + Both attract me--more's the pity! +Pretty is the widowed mother, + And the daughter, too, is pretty. + +When I see that maiden shrinking, + By the gods I swear I'll get 'er! +But anon I fall to thinking + That the mother 'll suit me better! + +So, like any idiot ass + Hungry for the fragrant fodder, +Placed between two bales of grass, + Lo, I doubt, delay, and dodder! + + + + +CHRISTMAS TREASURES + + +I count my treasures o'er with care.-- + The little toy my darling knew, + A little sock of faded hue, +A little lock of golden hair. + +Long years ago this holy time, + My little one--my all to me-- + Sat robed in white upon my knee +And heard the merry Christmas chime. + +"Tell me, my little golden-head, + If Santa Claus should come to-night, + What shall he bring my baby bright,-- +What treasure for my boy?" I said. + +And then he named this little toy, + While in his round and mournful eyes + There came a look of sweet surprise, +That spake his quiet, trustful joy. + +And as he lisped his evening prayer + He asked the boon with childish grace; + Then, toddling to the chimney-place, +He hung this little stocking there. + +That night, while lengthening shadows crept, + I saw the white-winged angels come + With singing to our lowly home +And kiss my darling as he slept. + +They must have heard his little prayer, + For in the morn, with rapturous face, + He toddled to the chimney-place, +And found this little treasure there. + +They came again one Christmas-tide,-- + That angel host, so fair and white! + And singing all that glorious night, +They lured my darling from my side. + +A little sock, a little toy, + A little lock of golden hair, + The Christmas music on the air, +A watching for my baby boy! + +But if again that angel train + And golden-head come back for me, + To bear me to Eternity, +My watching will not be in vain! + +1879. + + + + +DE AMICITIIS + + + Though care and strife + Elsewhere be rife, +Upon my word I do not heed 'em; + In bed I lie + With books hard by, +And with increasing zest I read 'em. + + Propped up in bed, + So much I've read +Of musty tomes that I've a headful + Of tales and rhymes + Of ancient times, +Which, wife declares, are "simply dreadful!" + + They give me joy + Without alloy; +And isn't that what books are made for? + And yet--and yet-- + (Ah, vain regret!) +I would to God they all were paid for! + + No festooned cup + Filled foaming up +Can lure me elsewhere to confound me; + Sweeter than wine + This love of mine +For these old books I see around me! + + A plague, I say, + On maidens gay; +I'll weave no compliments to tell 'em! + Vain fool I were, + Did I prefer +Those dolls to these old friends in vellum! + + At dead of night + My chamber's bright +Not only with the gas that's burning, + But with the glow + Of long ago,-- +Of beauty back from eld returning. + + Fair women's looks + I see in books, +I see _them_, and I hear their laughter,-- + Proud, high-born maids, + Unlike the jades +Which men-folk now go chasing after! + + Herein again + Speak valiant men +Of all nativities and ages; + I hear and smile + With rapture while +I turn these musty, magic pages. + + The sword, the lance, + The morris dance, +The highland song, the greenwood ditty, + Of these I read, + Or, when the need, +My Miller grinds me grist that's gritty! + + When of such stuff + We've had enough, +Why, there be other friends to greet us; + We'll moralize + In solemn wise +With Plato or with Epictetus. + + Sneer as you may, + _I'm_ proud to say +That I, for one, am very grateful + To Heaven, that sends + These genial friends +To banish other friendships hateful! + + And when I'm done, + I'd have no son +Pounce on these treasures like a vulture; + Nay, give them half + My epitaph, +And let them share in my sepulture. + + Then, when the crack + Of doom rolls back +The marble and the earth that hide me, + I'll smuggle home + Each precious tome, +Without a fear my wife shall chide me! + + + + +OUR LADY OF THE MINE + + +The Blue Horizon wuz a mine us fellers all thought well uv, +And there befell the episode I now perpose to tell uv; +'T wuz in the year uv sixty-nine,--somewhere along in summer,-- +There hove in sight one afternoon a new and curious comer; +His name wuz Silas Pettibone,--a' artist by perfession,-- +With a kit of tools and a big mustache and a pipe in his possession. +He told us, by our leave, he 'd kind uv like to make some sketches +Uv the snowy peaks, 'nd the foamin' crick, 'nd the distant mountain + stretches; +"You're welkim, sir," sez we, although this scenery dodge seemed to us +A waste uv time where scenery wuz already sooper-_floo_-us. + +All through the summer Pettibone kep' busy at his sketchin',-- +At daybreak off for Eagle Pass, and home at nightfall, fetchin' +That everlastin' book uv his with spider-lines all through it; +Three-Fingered Hoover used to say there warn't no meanin' to it. +"Gol durn a man," sez he to him, "whose shif'less hand is sot at +A-drawin' hills that's full uv quartz that's pinin' to be got at!" +"Go on," sez Pettibone, "go on, if joshin' gratifies ye; +But one uv these fine times I'll show ye sumthin' will surprise ye!" +The which remark led us to think--although he didn't say it-- +That Pettibone wuz owin' us a gredge 'nd meant to pay it. + +One evenin' as we sat around the Restauraw de Casey, +A-singin' songs 'nd tellin' yarns the which wuz sumwhat racy, +In come that feller Pettibone, 'nd sez, "With your permission, +I'd like to put a picture I have made on exhibition." +He sot the picture on the bar 'nd drew aside its curtain, +Sayin', "I reckon you'll allow as how _that's_ art, f'r certain!" +And then we looked, with jaws agape, but nary word wuz spoken, +And f'r a likely spell the charm uv silence wuz unbroken-- +Till presently, as in a dream, remarked Three-Fingered Hoover: +"Onless I am mistaken, this is Pettibone's shef doover!" + +It wuz a face--a human face--a woman's, fair 'nd tender-- +Sot gracefully upon a neck white as a swan's, and slender; +The hair wuz kind uv sunny, 'nd the eyes wuz sort uv dreamy, +The mouth wuz half a-smilin', 'nd the cheeks wuz soft 'nd creamy; +It seemed like she wuz lookin' off into the west out yonder, +And seemed like, while she looked, we saw her eyes grow softer, fonder,-- +Like, lookin' off into the west, where mountain mists wuz fallin', +She saw the face she longed to see and heerd his voice a-callin'; +"Hooray!" we cried,--"a woman in the camp uv Blue Horizon! +Step right up, Colonel Pettibone, 'nd nominate your pizen!" + +A curious situation,--one deservin' uv your pity,-- +No human, livin', female thing this side of Denver City! +But jest a lot uv husky men that lived on sand 'nd bitters,-- +Do you wonder that that woman's face consoled the lonesome critters? +And not a one but what it served in some way to remind him +Of a mother or a sister or a sweetheart left behind him; +And some looked back on happier days, and saw the old-time faces +And heerd the dear familiar sounds in old familiar places,-- +A gracious touch of home. "Look here," sez Hoover, "ever'body +Quit thinkin' 'nd perceed at oncet to name his favorite toddy!" + +It wuzn't long afore the news had spread the country over, +And miners come a-flockin' in like honey-bees to clover; +It kind uv did 'em good, they said, to feast their hungry eyes on +That picture uv Our Lady in the camp uv Blue Horizon. +But one mean cuss from Nigger Crick passed criticisms on 'er,-- +Leastwise we overheerd him call her Pettibone's madonner, +The which we did not take to be respectful to a lady, +So we hung him in a quiet spot that wuz cool 'nd dry 'nd shady; +Which same might not have been good law, but it _wuz_ the right manoeuvre +To give the critics due respect for Pettibone's shef doover. + +Gone is the camp,--yes, years ago the Blue Horizon busted, +And every mother's son uv us got up one day 'nd dusted, +While Pettibone perceeded East with wealth in his possession, +And went to Yurrup, as I heerd, to study his perfession; +So, like as not, you'll find him now a-paintin' heads 'nd faces +At Venus, Billy Florence, and the like I-talyun places. +But no sech face he'll paint again as at old Blue Horizon, +For I'll allow no sweeter face no human soul sot eyes on; +And when the critics talk so grand uv Paris 'nd the Loover, +I say, "Oh, but you orter seen the Pettibone shef doover!" + + + + +THE WANDERER + + +Upon a mountain height, far from the sea, + I found a shell, +And to my listening ear the lonely thing +Ever a song of ocean seemed to sing, + Ever a tale of ocean seemed to tell. + +How came the shell upon that mountain height? + Ah, who can say +Whether there dropped by some too careless hand, +Or whether there cast when Ocean swept the Land, + Ere the Eternal had ordained the Day? + +Strange, was it not? Far from its native deep, + One song it sang,-- +Sang of the awful mysteries of the tide, +Sang of the misty sea, profound and wide,-- + Ever with echoes of the ocean rang. + +And as the shell upon the mountain height + Sings of the sea, +So do I ever, leagues and leagues away,-- +So do I ever, wandering where I may,-- + Sing, O my home! sing, O my home! of thee. + +1883. + + + + +TO A USURPER + + +Aha! a traitor in the camp, + A rebel strangely bold,-- +A lisping, laughing, toddling scamp, + Not more than four years old! + +To think that I, who've ruled alone + So proudly in the past, +Should be ejected from my throne + By my own son at last! + +He trots his treason to and fro, + As only babies can, +And says he'll be his mamma's beau + When he's a "gweat, big man"! + +You stingy boy! you've always had + A share in mamma's heart; +Would you begrudge your poor old dad + The tiniest little part? + +That mamma, I regret to see, + Inclines to take your part,-- +As if a dual monarchy + Should rule her gentle heart! + +But when the years of youth have sped, + The bearded man, I trow, +Will quite forget he ever said + He'd be his mamma's beau. + +Renounce your treason, little son, + Leave mamma's heart to me; +For there will come another one + To claim your loyalty. + +And when that other comes to you, + God grant her love may shine +Through all your life, as fair and true + As mamma's does through mine! + +1885. + + + + +LULLABY; BY THE SEA + + +Fair is the castle up on the hill-- + Hushaby, sweet my own! +The night is fair, and the waves are still, +And the wind is singing to you and to me +In this lowly home beside the sea-- + Hushaby, sweet my own! + +On yonder hill is store of wealth-- + Hushaby, sweet my own! +And revellers drink to a little one's health; +But you and I bide night and day +For the other love that has sailed away-- + Hushaby, sweet my own! + +See not, dear eyes, the forms that creep + Ghostlike, O my own! +Out of the mists of the murmuring deep; +Oh, see them not and make no cry +Till the angels of death have passed us by-- + Hushaby, sweet my own! + +Ah, little they reck of you and me-- + Hushaby, sweet my own! +In our lonely home beside the sea; +They seek the castle up on the hill, +And there they will do their ghostly will-- + Hushaby, O my own! + +Here by the sea a mother croons + "Hushaby, sweet my own!" +In yonder castle a mother swoons +While the angels go down to the misty deep, +Bearing a little one fast asleep-- + Hushaby, sweet my own! + + + + +SOLDIER, MAIDEN, AND FLOWER + + +"Sweetheart, take this," a soldier said, + "And bid me brave good-by; +It may befall we ne'er shall wed, + But love can never die. +Be steadfast in thy troth to me, + And then, whate'er my lot, +'My soul to God, my heart to thee,'-- + Sweetheart, forget me not!" + +The maiden took the tiny flower + And nursed it with her tears: +Lo! he who left her in that hour + Came not in after years. +Unto a hero's death he rode + 'Mid shower of fire and shot; +But in the maiden's heart abode + The flower, forget-me-not. + +And when _he_ came not with the rest + From out the years of blood, +Closely unto her widowed breast + She pressed a faded bud; +Oh, there is love and there is pain, + And there is peace, God wot,-- +And these dear three do live again + In sweet forget-me-not. + +'T is to an unmarked grave to-day + That I should love to go,-- +Whether he wore the blue or gray, + What need that we should know? +"He loved a woman," let us say, + And on that sacred spot, +To woman's love, that lives for aye, + We'll strew forget-me-not. + +1887. + + + + +HORACE TO MELPOMENE + + +Lofty and enduring is the monument I've reared,-- + Come, tempests, with your bitterness assailing; +And thou, corrosive blasts of time, by all things mortal feared, + Thy buffets and thy rage are unavailing! + +I shall not altogether die; by far my greater part + Shall mock man's common fate in realms infernal; +My works shall live as tributes to my genius and my art,-- + My works shall be my monument eternal! + +While this great Roman empire stands and gods protect our fanes, + Mankind with grateful hearts shall tell the story, +How one most lowly born upon the parched Apulian plains + First raised the native lyric muse to glory. + +Assume, revered Melpomene, the proud estate I've won, + And, with thine own dear hand the meed supplying, +Bind thou about the forehead of thy celebrated son + The Delphic laurel-wreath of fame undying! + + + + +AILSIE, MY BAIRN + + +Lie in my arms, Ailsie, my bairn,-- + Lie in my arms and dinna greit; +Long time been past syn I kenned you last, + But my harte been allwais the same, my swete. + +Ailsie, I colde not say you ill, + For out of the mist of your bitter tears, +And the prayers that rise from your bonnie eyes + Cometh a promise of oder yeres. + +I mind the time when we lost our bairn,-- + Do you ken that time? A wambling tot, +You wandered away ane simmer day, + And we hunted and called, and found you not. + +I promised God, if He'd send you back, + Alwaies to keepe and to love you, childe; +And I'm thinking again of that promise when + I see you creep out of the storm sae wild. + +You came back then as you come back now,-- + Your kirtle torn and your face all white; +And you stood outside and knockit and cried, + Just as you, dearie, did to-night. + +Oh, never a word of the cruel wrang, + That has faded your cheek and dimmed your ee; +And never a word of the fause, fause lord,-- + Only a smile and a kiss for me. + +Lie in my arms, as long, long syne, + And sleepe on my bosom, deere wounded thing,-- +I'm nae sae glee as I used to be, + Or I'd sing you the songs I used to sing. + +But Ile kemb my fingers thro' y'r haire, + And nane shall know, but you and I, +Of the love and the faith that came to us baith + When Ailsie, my bairn, came home to die. + + + + +CORNISH LULLABY + + +Out on the mountain over the town, + All night long, all night long, +The trolls go up and the trolls go down, + Bearing their packs and crooning a song; +And this is the song the hill-folk croon, +As they trudge in the light of the misty moon,-- +This is ever their dolorous tune: +"Gold, gold! ever more gold,-- + Bright red gold for dearie!" + +Deep in the hill the yeoman delves + All night long, all night long; +None but the peering, furtive elves + See his toil and hear his song; +Merrily ever the cavern rings +As merrily ever his pick he swings, +And merrily ever this song he sings: +"Gold, gold! ever more gold,-- + Bright red gold for dearie!" + +Mother is rocking thy lowly bed + All night long, all night long, +Happy to smooth thy curly head + And to hold thy hand and to sing her song; +'T is not of the hill-folk, dwarfed and old, +Nor the song of the yeoman, stanch and bold, +And the burden it beareth is not of gold; +But it's "Love, love!--nothing but love,-- + Mother's love for dearie!" + + + + +UHLAND'S "THREE CAVALIERS" + + +There were three cavaliers that went over the Rhine, +And gayly they called to the hostess for wine. +"And where is thy daughter? We would she were here,-- +Go fetch us that maiden to gladden our cheer!" + +"I'll fetch thee thy goblets full foaming," she said, +"But in yon darkened chamber the maiden lies dead." +And lo! as they stood in the doorway, the white +Of a shroud and a dead shrunken face met their sight. + +Then the first cavalier breathed a pitiful sigh, +And the throb of his heart seemed to melt in his eye, +And he cried, "Hadst thou lived, O my pretty white rose, +I ween I had loved thee and wed thee--who knows?" + +The next cavalier drew aside a small space, +And stood to the wall with his hands to his face; +And this was the heart-cry that came with his tears: +"I loved her, I loved her these many long years!" + +But the third cavalier kneeled him down in that place, +And, as it were holy, he kissed that dead face: +"I loved thee long years, and I love thee to-day, +And I'll love thee, dear maiden, forever and aye!" + + + + +A CHAUCERIAN PARAPHRASE OF HORACE + + +Syn that you, Chloe, to your moder sticken, +Maketh all ye yonge bacheloures full sicken; +Like as a lyttel deere you ben y-hiding +Whenas come lovers with theyre pityse chiding; +Sothly it ben faire to give up your moder +For to beare swete company with some oder; +Your moder ben well enow so farre shee goeth, +But that ben not farre enow, God knoweth; +Wherefore it ben sayed that foolysh ladyes +That marrye not shall leade an aype in Hadys; +But all that do with gode men wed full quickylye +When that they be on dead go to ye seints full sickerly. + + + + +NORSE LULLABY + + +The sky is dark and the hills are white +As the storm-king speeds from the north to-night, +And this is the song the storm-king sings, +As over the world his cloak he flings: + "Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep;" +He rustles his wings and gruffly sings: + "Sleep, little one, sleep." + +On yonder mountain-side a vine +Clings at the foot of a mother pine; +The tree bends over the trembling thing, +And only the vine can hear her sing: + "Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep; +What shall you fear when I am here? + Sleep, little one, sleep." + +The king may sing in his bitter flight, +The tree may croon to the vine to-night, +But the little snowflake at my breast +Liketh the song _I_ sing the best,-- + Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep; +Weary thou art, anext my heart + Sleep, little one, sleep. + + + + +BÉRANGER'S "MY LAST SONG PERHAPS" +[JANUARY, 1814] + + +When, to despoil my native France, + With flaming torch and cruel sword +And boisterous drums her foeman comes, + I curse him and his vandal horde! +Yet, what avail accrues to her, + If we assume the garb of woe? +Let's merry be,--in laughter we + May rescue somewhat from the foe! + +Ah, many a brave man trembles now. + I (coward!) show no sign of fear; +When Bacchus sends his blessing, friends, + I drown my panic in his cheer. +Come, gather round my humble board, + And let the sparkling wassail flow,-- +Chuckling to think, the while you drink, + "This much we rescue from the foe!" + +My creditors beset me so + And so environed my abode, +That I agreed, despite my need, + To settle up the debts I owed; +When suddenly there came the news + Of this invasion, as you know; +I'll pay no score; pray, lend me more,-- + I--_I_ will keep it from the foe! + +Now here's my mistress,--pretty dear!-- + Feigns terror at this martial noise, +And yet, methinks, the artful minx + Would like to meet those soldier boys! +I tell her that they're coarse and rude, + Yet feel she don't believe 'em so,-- +Well, never mind; so she be kind, + That much I rescue from the foe! + +If, brothers, hope shall have in store + For us and ours no friendly glance, +Let's rather die than raise a cry + Of welcome to the foes of France! +But, like the swan that dying sings, + Let us, O Frenchmen, singing go,-- +Then shall our cheer, when death is near, + Be so much rescued from the foe! + + + + +MR. DANA, OF THE NEW YORK SUN + + +Thar showed up out'n Denver in the spring uv '81 +A man who'd worked with Dana on the Noo York Sun. +His name wuz Cantell Whoppers, 'nd he wuz a sight ter view +Ez he walked inter the orfice 'nd inquired fer work ter do. +Thar warn't no places vacant then,--fer be it understood, +That wuz the time when talent flourished at that altitood; +But thar the stranger lingered, tellin' Raymond 'nd the rest +Uv what perdigious wonders he could do when at his best, +Till finally he stated (quite by chance) that he hed done +A heap uv work with Dana on the Noo York Sun. + +Wall, that wuz quite another thing; we owned that ary cuss +Who'd worked f'r Mr. Dana _must_ be good enough fer _us_! +And so we tuk the stranger's word 'nd nipped him while we could, +For if _we didn't_ take him we knew John Arkins _would_; +And Cooper, too, wuz mouzin' round fer enterprise 'nd brains, +Whenever them commodities blew in across the plains. +At any rate we nailed him, which made ol' Cooper swear +And Arkins tear out handfuls uv his copious curly hair; +But _we_ set back and cackled, 'nd bed a power uv fun +With our man who'd worked with Dana on the Noo York Sun. + +It made our eyes hang on our cheeks 'nd lower jaws ter drop, +Ter hear that feller tellin' how ol' Dana run his shop: +It seems that Dana wuz the biggest man you ever saw,-- +He lived on human bein's, 'nd preferred to eat 'em raw! +If he hed Democratic drugs ter take, before he took 'em, +As good old allopathic laws prescribe, he allus shook 'em. +The man that could set down 'nd write like Dany never grew, +And the sum of human knowledge wuzn't half what Dana knew; +The consequence appeared to be that nearly every one +Concurred with Mr. Dana of the Noo York Sun. + +This feller, Cantell Whoppers, never brought an item in,-- +He spent his time at Perrin's shakin' poker dice f'r gin. +Whatever the assignment, he wuz allus sure to shirk, +He wuz very long on likker and all-fired short on work! +If any other cuss had played the tricks he dared ter play, +The daisies would be bloomin' over his remains to-day; +But somehow folks respected him and stood him to the last, +Considerin' his superior connections in the past. +So, when he bilked at poker, not a sucker drew a gun +On the man who 'd worked with Dana on the Noo York Sun. + +Wall, Dana came ter Denver in the fall uv '83. +A very different party from the man we thought ter see,-- +A nice 'nd clean old gentleman, so dignerfied 'nd calm, +You bet yer life he never did no human bein' harm! +A certain hearty manner 'nd a fulness uv the vest +Betokened that his sperrits 'nd his victuals wuz the best; +His face wuz so benevolent, his smile so sweet 'nd kind, +That they seemed to be the reflex uv an honest, healthy mind; +And God had set upon his head a crown uv silver hair +In promise uv the golden crown He meaneth him to wear. +So, uv us boys that met him out'n Denver, there wuz none +But fell in love with Dana uv the Noo York Sun. + +But when he came to Denver in that fall uv '83, +His old friend Cantell Whoppers disappeared upon a spree; +The very thought uv seein' Dana worked upon him so +(They hadn't been together fer a year or two, you know), +That he borrered all the stuff he could and started on a bat, +And, strange as it may seem, we didn't see him after that. +So, when ol' Dana hove in sight, we couldn't understand +Why he didn't seem to notice that his crony wa'n't on hand; +No casual allusion, not a question, no, not one, +For the man who'd "worked with Dana on the Noo York Sun!" + +We broke it gently to him, but he didn't seem surprised, +Thar wuz no big burst uv passion as we fellers had surmised. +He said that Whoppers wuz a man he 'd never heerd about, +But he mought have carried papers on a Jarsey City route; +And then he recollected hearin' Mr. Laffan say +That he'd fired a man named Whoppers fur bein' drunk one day, +Which, with more likker _underneath_ than money _in_ his vest, +Had started on a freight-train fur the great 'nd boundin' West, +But further information or statistics he had none +Uv the man who'd "worked with Dana on the Noo York Sun." + +We dropped the matter quietly 'nd never made no fuss,-- +When we get played for suckers, why, that's a horse on us!-- +But every now 'nd then we Denver fellers have to laff +To hear some other paper boast uv havin' on its staff +A man who's "worked with Dana," 'nd then we fellers wink +And pull our hats down on our eyes 'nd set around 'nd think. +It seems like Dana couldn't be as smart as people say, +If he educates so many folks 'nd lets 'em get away; +And, as for us, in future we'll be very apt to shun +The man who "worked with Dana on the Noo York Sun." + +But bless ye, Mr. Dana! may you live a thousan' years, +To sort o' keep things lively in this vale of human tears; +An' may _I_ live a thousan', too,--a thousan' less a day, +For I shouldn't like to be on earth to hear you'd passed away. +And when it comes your time to go you'll need no Latin chaff +Nor biographic data put in your epitaph; +But one straight line of English and of truth will let folks know +The homage 'nd the gratitude 'nd reverence they owe; +You'll need no epitaph but this: "Here sleeps the man who run +That best 'nd brightest paper, the Noo York Sun." + + + + +SICILIAN LULLABY + + +Hush, little one, and fold your hands; + The sun hath set, the moon is high; +The sea is singing to the sands, + And wakeful posies are beguiled +By many a fairy lullaby: + Hush, little child, my little child! + +Dream, little one, and in your dreams + Float upward from this lowly place,-- +Float out on mellow, misty streams + To lands where bideth Mary mild, +And let her kiss thy little face, + You little child, my little child! + +Sleep, little one, and take thy rest, + With angels bending over thee,-- +Sleep sweetly on that Father's breast + Whom our dear Christ hath reconciled; +But stay not there,--come back to me, + O little child, my little child! + + + + +HORACE TO PYRRHA + + +What perfumed, posie-dizened sirrah, + With smiles for diet, +Clasps you, O fair but faithless Pyrrha, + On the quiet? +For whom do you bind up your tresses, + As spun-gold yellow,-- +Meshes that go, with your caresses, + To snare a fellow? + +How will he rail at fate capricious, + And curse you duly! +Yet now he deems your wiles delicious, + _You_ perfect, truly! +Pyrrha, your love's a treacherous ocean; + He'll soon fall in there! +Then shall I gloat on his commotion, + For _I_ have been there! + + + + +THE TWENTY-THIRD PSALM + + +My Shepherd is the Lord my God,-- + There is no want I know; +His flock He leads in verdant meads, + Where tranquil waters flow. + +He doth restore my fainting soul + With His divine caress, +And, when I stray, He points the way + To paths of righteousness. + +Yea, though I walk the vale of death, + What evil shall I fear? +Thy staff and rod are mine, O God, + And Thou, my Shepherd, near! + +Mine enemies behold the feast + Which my dear Lord hath spread; +And, lo! my cup He filleth up, + With oil anoints my head! + +Goodness and mercy shall be mine + Unto my dying day; +Then will I bide at His dear side + Forever and for aye! + + + + +THE BIBLIOMANIAC'S BRIDE + + +The women-folk are like to books,-- + Most pleasing to the eye, +Whereon if anybody looks + He feels disposed to buy. + +I hear that many are for sale,-- + Those that record no dates, +And such editions as regale + The view with colored plates. + +Of every quality and grade + And size they may be found,-- +Quite often beautifully made, + As often poorly bound. + +Now, as for me, had I my choice, + I'd choose no folio tall, +But some octavo to rejoice + My sight and heart withal,-- + +As plump and pudgy as a snipe; + Well worth her weight in gold; +Of honest, clean, conspicuous type, + And _just_ the size to hold! + +With such a volume for my wife + How should I keep and con! +How like a dream should run my life + Unto its colophon! + +Her frontispiece should be more fair + Than any colored plate; +Blooming with health, she would not care + To extra-illustrate. + +And in her pages there should be + A wealth of prose and verse, +With now and then a _jeu d'esprit_,-- + But nothing ever worse! + +Prose for me when I wished for prose, + Verse when to verse inclined,-- +Forever bringing sweet repose + To body, heart, and mind. + +Oh, I should bind this priceless prize + In bindings full and fine, +And keep her where no human eyes + Should see her charms, but mine! + +With such a fair unique as this + What happiness abounds! +Who--who could paint my rapturous bliss, + My joy unknown to Lowndes! + + + + +CHRISTMAS HYMN + + + Sing, Christmas bells! +Say to the earth this is the morn +Whereon our Saviour-King is born; + Sing to all men,--the bond, the free, +The rich, the poor, the high, the low, + The little child that sports in glee, +The aged folk that tottering go,-- + Proclaim the morn + That Christ is born, + That saveth them and saveth me! + + Sing, angel host! +Sing of the star that God has placed +Above the manger in the east; + Sing of the glories of the night, +The virgin's sweet humility, + The Babe with kingly robes bedight, +Sing to all men where'er they be + This Christmas morn; + For Christ is born, + That saveth them and saveth me! + + Sing, sons of earth! +O ransomed seed of Adam, sing! +God liveth, and we have a king! + The curse is gone, the bond are free,-- +By Bethlehem's star that brightly beamed, + By all the heavenly signs that be, +We know that Israel is redeemed; + That on this morn + The Christ is born + That saveth you and saveth me! + + Sing, O my heart! +Sing thou in rapture this dear morn +Whereon the blessed Prince is born! + And as thy songs shall be of love, +So let my deeds be charity,-- + By the dear Lord that reigns above, +By Him that died upon the tree, + By this fair morn + Whereon is born + The Christ that saveth all and me! + + + + +JAPANESE LULLABY + + +Sleep, little pigeon, and fold your wings,-- + Little blue pigeon with velvet eyes; +Sleep to the singing of mother-bird swinging-- + Swinging the nest where her little one lies. + +Away out yonder I see a star,-- + Silvery star with a tinkling song; +To the soft dew falling I hear it calling-- + Calling and tinkling the night along. + +In through the window a moonbeam comes,-- + Little gold moonbeam with misty wings; +All silently creeping, it asks, "Is he sleeping-- + Sleeping and dreaming while mother sings?" + +Up from the sea there floats the sob + Of the waves that are breaking upon the shore, +As though they were groaning in anguish, and moaning-- + Bemoaning the ship that shall come no more. + +But sleep, little pigeon, and fold your wings,-- + Little blue pigeon with mournful eyes; +Am I not singing?--see, I am swinging-- + Swinging the nest where my darling lies. + + + + +"GOOD-BY--GOD BLESS YOU!" + + +I like the Anglo-Saxon speech + With its direct revealings; +It takes a hold, and seems to reach + 'Way down into your feelings; +That some folk deem it rude, I know, + And therefore they abuse it; +But I have never found it so,-- + Before all else I choose it. +I don't object that men should air + The Gallic they have paid for, +With "Au revoir," "Adieu, ma chère," + For that's what French was made for. +But when a crony takes your hand + At parting, to address you, +He drops all foreign lingo and + He says, "Good-by--God bless you!" + +This seems to me a sacred phrase, + With reverence impassioned,-- +A thing come down from righteous days, + Quaintly but nobly fashioned; +It well becomes an honest face, + A voice that's round and cheerful; +It stays the sturdy in his place, + And soothes the weak and fearful. +Into the porches of the ears + It steals with subtle unction, +And in your heart of hearts appears + To work its gracious function; +And all day long with pleasing song + It lingers to caress you,-- +I'm sure no human heart goes wrong + That's told "Good-by--God bless you!" + +I love the words,--perhaps because, + When I was leaving Mother, +Standing at last in solemn pause + We looked at one another, +And I--I saw in Mother's eyes + The love she could not tell me,-- +A love eternal as the skies, + Whatever fate befell me; +She put her arms about my neck + And soothed the pain of leaving, +And though her heart was like to break, + She spoke no word of grieving; +She let no tear bedim her eye, + For fear _that_ might distress me, +But, kissing me, she said good-by, + And asked our God to bless me. + + + + +HORACE TO PHYLLIS + + +Come, Phyllis, I've a cask of wine + That fairly reeks with precious juices, +And in your tresses you shall twine + The loveliest flowers this vale produces. + +My cottage wears a gracious smile,-- + The altar, decked in floral glory, +Yearns for the lamb which bleats the while + As though it pined for honors gory. + +Hither our neighbors nimbly fare,-- + The boys agog, the maidens snickering; +And savory smells possess the air + As skyward kitchen flames are flickering. + +You ask what means this grand display, + This festive throng, and goodly diet? +Well, since you're bound to have your way, + I don't mind telling, on the quiet. + +'Tis April 13, as you know,-- + A day and month devote to Venus, +Whereon was born, some years ago, + My very worthy friend Maecenas. + +Nay, pay no heed to Telephus,-- + Your friends agree he doesn't love you; +The way he flirts convinces us + He really is not worthy of you! + +Aurora's son, unhappy lad! + You know the fate that overtook him? +And Pegasus a rider had-- + I say he _had_ before he shook him! + +Haec docet (as you must agree): + 'T is meet that Phyllis should discover +A wisdom in preferring me + And mittening every other lover. + +So come, O Phyllis, last and best + Of loves with which this heart's been smitten,-- +Come, sing my jealous fears to rest, + And let your songs be those _I've_ written. + + + + +CHRYSTMASSE OF OLDE + + +God rest you, Chrysten gentil men, + Wherever you may be,-- +God rest you all in fielde or hall, + Or on ye stormy sea; +For on this morn oure Chryst is born + That saveth you and me. + +Last night ye shepherds in ye east + Saw many a wondrous thing; +Ye sky last night flamed passing bright + Whiles that ye stars did sing, +And angels came to bless ye name + Of Jesus Chryst, oure Kyng. + +God rest you, Chrysten gentil men, + Faring where'er you may; +In noblesse court do thou no sport, + In tournament no playe, +In paynim lands hold thou thy hands + From bloudy works this daye. + +But thinking on ye gentil Lord + That died upon ye tree, +Let troublings cease and deeds of peace + Abound in Chrystantie; +For on this morn ye Chryst is born + That saveth you and me. + + + + +AT THE DOOR + + +I thought myself indeed secure, + So fast the door, so firm the lock; +But, lo! he toddling comes to lure + My parent ear with timorous knock. + +My heart were stone could it withstand + The sweetness of my baby's plea,-- +That timorous, baby knocking and + "Please let me in,--it's only me." + +I threw aside the unfinished book, + Regardless of its tempting charms, +And opening wide the door, I took + My laughing darling in my arms. + +Who knows but in Eternity, + I, like a truant child, shall wait +The glories of a life to be, + Beyond the Heavenly Father's gate? + +And will that Heavenly Father heed + The truant's supplicating cry, +As at the outer door I plead, + "'T is I, O Father! only I"? + +1886. + + + + +HI-SPY + + +Strange that the city thoroughfare, + Noisy and bustling all the day, +Should with the night renounce its care, + And lend itself to children's play! + +Oh, girls are girls, and boys are boys, + And have been so since Abel's birth, +And shall be so till dolls and toys + Are with the children swept from earth. + +The self-same sport that crowns the day + Of many a Syrian shepherd's son, +Beguiles the little lads at play + By night in stately Babylon. + +I hear their voices in the street, + Yet 't is so different now from then! +Come, brother! from your winding-sheet, + And let us two be boys again! + +1886. + + + + +LITTLE CROODLIN DOO + + +Ho, pretty bee, did you see my croodlin doo? + Ho, little lamb, is she jinkin' on the lea? + Ho, bonnie fairy, bring my dearie back to me-- +Got a lump o' sugar an' a posie for you, +Only bring back my wee, wee croodlin doo! + +Why, here you are, my little croodlin doo! + Looked in er cradle, but didn't find you there, + Looked f'r my wee, wee croodlin doo ever'where; +Ben kind lonesome all er day withouten you; +Where you ben, my little wee, wee croodlin doo? + +Now you go balow, my little croodlin doo; + Now you go rockaby ever so far,-- + Rockaby, rockaby, up to the star +That's winkin' an' blinkin' an' singin' to you +As you go balow, my wee, wee croodlin doo! + + + + +THE "HAPPY ISLES" OF HORACE + + +Oh, come with me to the Happy Isles + In the golden haze off yonder, +Where the song of the sun-kissed breeze beguiles, + And the ocean loves to wander. + +Fragrant the vines that mantle those hills, + Proudly the fig rejoices; +Merrily dance the virgin rills, + Blending their myriad voices. + +Our herds shall fear no evil there, + But peacefully feed and rest them; +Neither shall serpent nor prowling bear + Ever come there to molest them. + +Neither shall Eurus, wanton bold, + Nor feverish drouth distress us, +But he that compasseth heat and cold + Shall temper them both to bless us. + +There no vandal foot has trod, + And the pirate hosts that wander +Shall never profane the sacred sod + Of those beautiful Isles out yonder. + +Never a spell shall blight our vines, + Nor Sirius blaze above us, +But you and I shall drink our wines + And sing to the loved that love us. + +So come with me where Fortune smiles + And the gods invite devotion,-- +Oh, come with me to the Happy Isles + In the haze of that far-off ocean! + + + + +DUTCH LULLABY + + +Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night + Sailed off in a wooden shoe,-- +Sailed on a river of misty light + Into a sea of dew. +"Where are you going, and what do you wish?" + The old moon asked the three. +"We have come to fish for the herring-fish + That live in this beautiful sea; + Nets of silver and gold have we," + Said Wynken, + Blynken, + And Nod. + +The old moon laughed and sung a song, + As they rocked in the wooden shoe; +And the wind that sped them all night long + Ruffled the waves of dew; +The little stars were the herring-fish + That lived in the beautiful sea. +"Now cast your nets wherever you wish, + But never afeard are we!" + So cried the stars to the fishermen three, + Wynken, + Blynken, + And Nod. + +All night long their nets they threw + For the fish in the twinkling foam, +Then down from the sky came the wooden shoe, + Bringing the fishermen home; +'T was all so pretty a sail, it seemed + As if it could not be; +And some folk thought 't was a dream they'd dreamed + Of sailing that beautiful sea; + But I shall name you the fishermen three: + Wynken, + Blynken, + And Nod. + +Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes, + And Nod is a little head, +And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies + Is a wee one's trundle-bed; +So shut your eyes while Mother sings + Of wonderful sights that be, +And you shall see the beautiful things + As you rock on the misty sea + Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three,-- + Wynken, + Blynken, + And Nod. + + + + +HUGO'S "FLOWER TO BUTTERFLY" + + +Sweet, bide with me and let my love + Be an enduring tether; +Oh, wanton not from spot to spot, + But let us dwell together. + +You've come each morn to sip the sweets + With which you found me dripping, +Yet never knew it was not dew + But tears that you were sipping. + +You gambol over honey meads + Where siren bees are humming; +But mine the fate to watch and wait + For my beloved's coming. + +The sunshine that delights you now + Shall fade to darkness gloomy; +You should not fear if, biding here, + You nestled closer to me. + +So rest you, love, and be my love, + That my enraptured blooming +May fill your sight with tender light, + Your wings with sweet perfuming. + +Or, if you will not bide with me + Upon this quiet heather, +Oh, give me wing, thou beauteous thing, + That we may soar together. + + + + +A PROPER TREWE IDYLL OF CAMELOT + + +Whenas ye plaisaunt Aperille shoures have washed and purged awaye +Ye poysons and ye rheums of earth to make a merrie May, +Ye shraddy boscage of ye woods ben full of birds that syng +Right merrilie a madrigal unto ye waking spring, +Ye whiles that when ye face of earth ben washed and wiped ycleane +Her peeping posies blink and stare like they had ben her een; + +Then, wit ye well, ye harte of man ben turned to thoughts of love, +And, tho' it ben a lyon erst, it now ben like a dove! +And many a goodly damosel in innocence beguiles +Her owne trewe love with sweet discourse and divers plaisaunt wiles. +In soche a time ye noblesse liege that ben Kyng Arthure hight +Let cry a joust and tournament for evereche errant knyght, +And, lo! from distant Joyous-garde and eche adjacent spot +A company of noblesse lords fared unto Camelot, +Wherein were mighty feastings and passing merrie cheere, +And eke a deale of dismal dole, as you shall quickly heare. + +It so befell upon a daye when jousts ben had and while +Sir Launcelot did ramp around ye ring in gallaunt style, +There came an horseman shriking sore and rashing wildly home,-- +A mediaeval horseman with ye usual flecks of foame; +And he did brast into ye ring, wherein his horse did drop, +Upon ye which ye rider did with like abruptness stop, +And with fatigue and fearfulness continued in a swound +Ye space of half an hour or more before a leech was founde. +"Now tell me straight," quod Launcelot, "what varlet knyght you be, +Ere that I chine you with my sworde and cleave your harte in three!" +Then rolled that knyght his bloudy een, and answered with a groane,-- +"By worthy God that hath me made and shope ye sun and mone, +There fareth hence an evil thing whose like ben never seene, +And tho' he sayeth nony worde, he bode the ill, I ween. +So take your parting, evereche one, and gird you for ye fraye, +By all that's pure, ye Divell sure doth trend his path this way!" +Ye which he quoth and fell again into a deadly swound, +And on that spot, perchance (God wot), his bones mought yet be founde. + +Then evereche knight girt on his sworde and shield and hied him straight +To meet ye straunger sarasen hard by ye city gate; +Full sorely moaned ye damosels and tore their beautyse haire +For that they feared an hippogriff wolde come to eate them there; +But as they moaned and swounded there too numerous to relate, +Kyng Arthure and Sir Launcelot stode at ye city gate, +And at eche side and round about stode many a noblesse knyght +With helm and speare and sworde and shield and mickle valor dight. + +Anon there came a straunger, but not a gyaunt grim, +Nor yet a draggon,--but a person gangling, long, and slim; +Yclad he was in guise that ill-beseemed those knyghtly days, +And there ben nony etiquette in his uplandish ways; +His raiment was of dusty gray, and perched above his lugs +There ben the very latest style of blacke and shiny pluggs; +His nose ben like a vulture beake, his blie ben swart of hue, +And curly ben ye whiskers through ye which ye zephyrs blewe; +Of all ye een that ben yseene in countries far or nigh, +None nonywhere colde hold compare unto that straunger's eye; +It was an eye of soche a kind as never ben on sleepe, +Nor did it gleam with kindly beame, nor did not use to weepe; +But soche an eye ye widdow hath,--an hongrey eye and wan, +That spyeth for an oder chaunce whereby she may catch on; +An eye that winketh of itself, and sayeth by that winke +Ye which a maiden sholde not knowe nor never even thinke; +Which winke ben more exceeding swift nor human thought ben thunk, +And leaveth doubting if so be that winke ben really wunke; +And soch an eye ye catte-fysshe hath when that he ben on dead +And boyled a goodly time and served with capers on his head; +A rayless eye, a bead-like eye, whose famisht aspect shows +It hungereth for ye verdant banks whereon ye wild time grows; +An eye that hawketh up and down for evereche kind of game, +And, when he doth espy ye which, he tumbleth to ye same. + +Now when he kenned Sir Launcelot in armor clad, he quod, +"Another put-a-nickel-in-and-see-me-work, be god!" +But when that he was ware a man ben standing in that suit, +Ye straunger threw up both his hands, and asked him not to shoote. + +Then spake Kyng Arthure: "If soe be you mind to do no ill, +Come, enter into Camelot, and eat and drink your fill; +But say me first what you are hight, and what mought be your quest." +Ye straunger quod, "I'm five feet ten, and fare me from ye West!" +"Sir Fivefeetten," Kyng Arthure said, "I bid you welcome here; +So make you merrie as you list with plaisaunt wine and cheere; +This very night shall be a feast soche like ben never seene, +And you shall be ye honored guest of Arthure and his queene. +Now take him, good sir Maligraunce, and entertain him well +Until soche time as he becomes our guest, as I you tell." + +That night Kyng Arthure's table round with mighty care ben spread, +Ye oder knyghts sate all about, and Arthure at ye heade: +Oh, 't was a goodly spectacle to ken that noblesse liege +Dispensing hospitality from his commanding siege! +Ye pheasant and ye meate of boare, ye haunch of velvet doe, +Ye canvass hamme he them did serve, and many good things moe. +Until at last Kyng Arthure cried: "Let bring my wassail cup, +And let ye sound of joy go round,--I'm going to set 'em up! +I've pipes of Malmsey, May-wine, sack, metheglon, mead, and sherry, +Canary, Malvoisie, and Port, swete Muscadelle and perry; +Rochelle, Osey, and Romenay, Tyre, Rhenish, posset too, +With kags and pails of foaming ales of brown October brew. +To wine and beer and other cheere I pray you now despatch ye, +And for ensample, wit ye well, sweet sirs, I'm looking at ye!" + +Unto which toast of their liege lord ye oders in ye party +Did lout them low in humble wise and bid ye same drink hearty. +So then ben merrisome discourse and passing plaisaunt cheere, +And Arthure's tales of hippogriffs ben mervaillous to heare; +But stranger far than any tale told of those knyghts of old +Ben those facetious narratives ye Western straunger told. +He told them of a country many leagues beyond ye sea +Where evereche forraine nuisance but ye Chinese man ben free, +And whiles he span his monstrous yarns, ye ladies of ye court +Did deem ye listening thereunto to be right plaisaunt sport; +And whiles they listened, often he did squeeze a lily hande, +Ye which proceeding ne'er before ben done in Arthure's lande; +And often wank a sidelong wink with either roving eye, +Whereat ye ladies laughen so that they had like to die. +But of ye damosels that sat around Kyng Arthure's table +He liked not her that sometime ben ron over by ye cable, +Ye which full evil hap had harmed and marked her person so +That in a passing wittie jest he dubbeth her ye crow. + +But all ye oders of ye girls did please him passing well +And they did own him for to be a proper seeming swell; +And in especial Guinevere esteemed him wondrous faire, +Which had made Arthure and his friend, Sir Launcelot, to sware +But that they both ben so far gone with posset, wine, and beer, +They colde not see ye carrying-on, nor neither colde not heare; +For of eche liquor Arthure quafft, and so did all ye rest, +Save only and excepting that smooth straunger from the West. +When as these oders drank a toast, he let them have their fun +With divers godless mixings, but _he_ stock to willow run, +Ye which (and all that reade these words sholde profit by ye warning) +Doth never make ye head to feel like it ben swelled next morning. +Now, wit ye well, it so befell that when the night grew dim, +Ye Kyng was carried from ye hall with a howling jag on him, +Whiles Launcelot and all ye rest that to his highness toadied +Withdrew them from ye banquet-hall and sought their couches loaded. + +Now, lithe and listen, lordings all, whiles I do call it shame +That, making cheer with wine and beer, men do abuse ye same; +Though eche be well enow alone, ye mixing of ye two +Ben soche a piece of foolishness as only ejiots do. +Ye wine is plaisaunt bibbing whenas ye gentles dine, +And beer will do if one hath not ye wherewithal for wine, +But in ye drinking of ye same ye wise are never floored +By taking what ye tipplers call too big a jag on board. +Right hejeous is it for to see soche dronkonness of wine +Whereby some men are used to make themselves to be like swine; +And sorely it repenteth them, for when they wake next day +Ye fearful paynes they suffer ben soche as none mought say, +And soche ye brenning in ye throat and brasting of ye head +And soche ye taste within ye mouth like one had been on dead,--Soche +be ye foul conditions that these unhappy men +Sware they will never drink no drop of nony drinke again. +Yet all so frail and vain a thing and weak withal is man +That he goeth on an oder tear whenever that he can. +And like ye evil quatern or ye hills that skirt ye skies, +Ye jag is reproductive and jags on jags arise. + +Whenas Aurora from ye east in dewy splendor hied +King Arthure dreemed he saw a snaix and ben on fire inside, +And waking from this hejeous dreeme he sate him up in bed,-- +"What, ho! an absynthe cocktail, knave! and make it strong!" he said; +Then, looking down beside him, lo! his lady was not there-- +He called, he searched, but, Goddis wounds! he found her nonywhere; +And whiles he searched, Sir Maligraunce rashed in, wood wroth, and cried, +"Methinketh that ye straunger knyght hath snuck away my bride!" +And whiles _he_ spake a motley score of other knyghts brast in +And filled ye royall chamber with a mickle fearfull din, +For evereche one had lost his wiffe nor colde not spye ye same, +Nor colde not spye ye straunger knyght, Sir Fivefeetten of name. + +Oh, then and there was grevious lamentation all arounde, +For nony dame nor damosel in Camelot ben found,-- +Gone, like ye forest leaves that speed afore ye autumn wind. +Of all ye ladies of that court not one ben left behind +Save only that same damosel ye straunger called ye crow, +And she allowed with moche regret she ben too lame to go; +And when that she had wept full sore, to Arthure she confess'd +That Guinevere had left this word for Arthure and ye rest: +"Tell them," she quod, "we shall return to them whenas we've made +This little deal we have with ye Chicago Bourde of Trade." + + + + +BÉRANGER'S "MA VOCATION" + + +Misery is my lot, + Poverty and pain; +Ill was I begot, + Ill must I remain; +Yet the wretched days + One sweet comfort bring, +When God whispering says, + "Sing, O singer, sing!" + +Chariots rumble by, + Splashing me with mud; +Insolence see I + Fawn to royal blood; +Solace have I then + From each galling sting +In that voice again,-- + "Sing, O singer, sing!" + +Cowardly at heart, + I am forced to play +A degraded part + For its paltry pay; +Freedom is a prize + For no starving thing; +Yet that small voice cries, + "Sing, O singer, sing!" + +I _was_ young, but now, + When I'm old and gray, +Love--I know not how + Or why--hath sped away; +Still, in winter days + As in hours of spring, +_Still_ a whisper says, + "Sing, O singer, sing!" + +Ah, too well I know + Song's my only friend! +Patiently I'll go + Singing to the end; +Comrades, to your wine! + Let your glasses ring! +Lo, that voice divine + Whispers, "Sing, oh, sing!" + + + + +CHILD AND MOTHER + + +O mother-my-love, if you'll give me your hand, + And go where I ask you to wander, +I will lead you away to a beautiful land,-- + The Dreamland that's waiting out yonder. +We'll walk in a sweet posie-garden out there, + Where moonlight and starlight are streaming, +And the flowers and the birds are filling the air + With the fragrance and music of dreaming. + +There'll be no little tired-out boy to undress, + No questions or cares to perplex you, +There'll be no little bruises or bumps to caress, + Nor patching of stockings to vex you; +For I'll rock you away on a silver-dew stream + And sing you asleep when you're weary, +And no one shall know of our beautiful dream + But you and your own little dearie. + +And when I am tired I'll nestle my head + In the bosom that's soothed me so often, +And the wide-awake stars shall sing, in my stead, + A song which our dreaming shall soften. +So, Mother-my-Love, let me take your dear hand, + And away through the starlight we'll wander,-- +Away through the mist to the beautiful land,-- + The Dreamland that's waiting out yonder. + + + + +THE CONVERSAZZHYONY + + +What conversazzhyonies wuz I really did not know, +For that, you must remember, wuz a powerful spell ago; +The camp wuz new 'nd noisy, 'nd only modrit sized, +So fashionable sossiety wuz hardly crystallized. +There hadn't been no grand events to interest the men, +But a lynchin', or a inquest, or a jackpot now an' then. +The wimmin-folks wuz mighty scarce, for wimmin, ez a rool, +Don't go to Colorado much, excep' for teachin' school, +An' bein' scarce an' chipper and pretty (like as not), +The bachelors perpose, 'nd air accepted on the spot. + +Now Sorry Tom wuz owner uv the Gosh-all-Hemlock mine, +The wich allowed his better haff to dress all-fired fine; +For Sorry Tom wuz mighty proud uv her, an' she uv him, +Though _she_ wuz short an' tacky, an' _he_ wuz tall an' slim, +An' _she_ wuz edjicated, an' Sorry Tom wuz _not_, +Yet, for _her_ sake, he'd whack up every cussid cent he'd got! +Waal, jest by way uv celebratin' matrimonial joys, +She thought she'd give a conversazzhyony to the boys,-- +A peert an' likely lady, 'nd ez full uv 'cute idees +'Nd uv etiquettish notions ez a fyste is full uv fleas. + +Three-fingered Hoover kind uv kicked, an' said they might be durned +So far ez any conversazzhyony was concerned; +_He'd_ come to Red Hoss Mountain to tunnel for the ore, +An' _not_ to go to parties,--quite another kind uv bore! +But, bein' he wuz candidate for marshal uv the camp, +I rayther had the upper holts in arguin' with the scamp; +Sez I, "Three-fingered Hoover, can't ye see it is yer game +To go for all the votes ye kin an' collar uv the same?" +The wich perceivin', Hoover sez, "Waal, ef I _must_, I _must_; +So I'll frequent that conversazzhyony, ef I bust!" + +Three-fingered Hoover wuz a trump! Ez fine a man wuz he +Ez ever caused an inquest or blossomed on a tree!-- +A big, broad man, whose face bespoke a honest heart within,-- +With a bunch uv yaller whiskers appertainin' to his chin, +'Nd a fierce mustache turnt up so fur that both his ears wuz hid, +Like the picture that you always see in the "Life uv Cap'n Kidd." +His hair wuz long an' wavy an' fine as Southdown fleece,-- +Oh, it shone an' smelt like Eden when he slicked it down with grease! +I'll bet there wuzn't anywhere a man, all round, ez fine +Ez wuz Three-fingered Hoover in the spring uv '69! + +The conversazzhyony wuz a notable affair, +The bong tong deckolett 'nd en regaly bein' there; +The ranch where Sorry Tom hung out wuz fitted up immense,-- +The Denver papers called it a "palashal residence." +There wuz mountain pines an' fern an' flowers a-hangin' on the walls, +An' cheers an' hoss-hair sofies wuz a-settin' in the halls; +An' there wuz heaps uv pictures uv folks that lived down East, +Sech ez poets an' perfessers, an' last, but not the least, +Wuz a chromo uv old Fremont,--we liked that best, you bet, +For there's lots uv us old miners that is votin' for him yet! + +When Sorry Tom received the gang perlitely at the door, +He said that keerds would be allowed upon the second floor; +And then he asked us would we like a drop uv ody vee. +Connivin' at his meanin', we responded promptly, "Wee." +A conversazzhyony is a thing where people speak +The langwidge in the which they air partickulerly weak: +"I see," sez Sorry Tom, "you grasp what that 'ere lingo means." +"You bet yer boots," sez Hoover; "I've lived at Noo Orleens, +An', though I ain't no Frenchie, nor kin unto the same, +I kin parly voo, an' git there, too, like Eli, toot lee mame!" + +As speakin' French wuz not my forte,--not even oovry poo,-- +I stuck to keerds ez played by them ez did not parly voo, +An' bein' how that poker wuz my most perficient game, +I poneyed up for 20 blues an' set into the same. +Three-fingered Hoover stayed behind an' parly-vood so well +That all the kramy delly krame allowed he wuz _the_ belle. +The other candidate for marshal didn't have a show; +For, while Three-fingered Hoover parlyed, ez they said, tray bow, +Bill Goslin didn't know enough uv French to git along, +'Nd I reckon that he had what folks might call a movy tong. + +From Denver they had freighted up a real pianny-fort +Uv the warty-leg and pearl-around-the-keys-an'-kivver sort, +An', later in the evenin', Perfesser Vere de Blaw +Performed on that pianny, with considerble eclaw, +Sech high-toned opry airs ez one is apt to hear, you know, +When he rounds up down to Denver at a Emmy Abbitt show; +An' Barber Jim (a talented but ornery galoot) +Discoursed a obligatter, conny mory, on the floot, +'Till we, ez sot up-stairs indulgin' in a quiet game, +Conveyed to Barber Jim our wish to compromise the same. + +The maynoo that wuz spread that night wuz mighty hard to beat,-- +Though somewhat awkward to pernounce, it was not so to eat: +There wuz puddin's, pies, an' sandwidges, an' forty kinds uv sass, +An' floatin' Irelands, custards, tarts, an' patty dee foy grass; +An' millions uv cove oysters wuz a-settin' round in pans, +'Nd other native fruits an' things that grow out West in cans. +But I wuz all kufflummuxed when Hoover said he'd choose +"Oon peety morso, see voo play, de la cette Charlotte Rooze;" +I'd knowed Three-fingered Hoover for fifteen years or more, +'Nd I'd never heern him speak so light uv wimmin folks before! + +Bill Goslin heern him say it, 'nd uv course _he_ spread the news +Uv how Three-fingered Hoover had insulted Charlotte Rooze +At the conversazzhyony down at Sorry Tom's that night, +An' when they asked me, I allowed that Bill for once wuz right; +Although it broke my heart to see my friend go up the fluke, +We all opined his treatment uv the girl deserved rebuke. +It warn't no use for Sorry Tom to nail it for a lie,-- +When it come to sassin' wimmin, there wuz blood in every eye; +The boom for Charlotte Rooze swep' on an' took the polls by storm, +An' so Three-fingered Hoover fell a martyr to reform! + +Three-fingered Hoover said it was a terrible mistake, +An' when the votes wuz in, he cried ez if his heart would break. +We never knew who Charlotte wuz, but Goslin's brother Dick +Allowed she wuz the teacher from the camp on Roarin' Crick, +That had come to pass some foreign tongue with them uv our alite +Ez wuz at the high-toned party down at Sorry Tom's that night. +We let it drop--this matter uv the lady--there an' then, +An' we never heerd, nor wanted to, of Charlotte Rooze again, +An' the Colorado wimmin-folks, ez like ez not, don't know +How we vindicated all their sex a twenty year ago. + +For in these wondrous twenty years has come a mighty change, +An' most of them old pioneers have gone acrosst the range, +Way out into the silver land beyond the peaks uv snow,-- +The land uv rest an' sunshine, where all good miners go. +I reckon that they love to look, from out the silver haze, +Upon that God's own country where they spent sech happy days; +Upon the noble cities that have risen since they went; +Upon the camps an' ranches that are prosperous and content; +An' best uv all, upon those hills that reach into the air, +Ez if to clasp the loved ones that are waitin' over there. + + + + +PROF. VERE DE BLAW + + +Achievin' sech distinction with his moddel tabble dote +Ez to make his Red Hoss Mountain restauraw a place uv note, +Our old friend Casey innovated somewhat round the place, +In hopes he would ameliorate the sufferin's uv the race; +'Nd uv the many features Casey managed to import +The most important wuz a Steenway gran' pianny-fort, +An' bein' there wuz nobody could play upon the same, +He telegraffed to Denver, 'nd a real perfesser came,-- +The last an' crownin' glory uv the Casey restauraw +Wuz that tenderfoot musicianer, Perfesser Vere de Blaw! + +His hair wuz long an' dishybill, an' he had a yaller skin, +An' the absence uv a collar made his neck look powerful thin: +A sorry man he wuz to see, az mebby you'd surmise, +But the fire uv inspiration wuz a-blazin' in his eyes! +His name wuz Blanc, wich same is Blaw (for that's what Casey said, +An' Casey passed the French ez well ez any Frenchie bred); +But no one ever reckoned that it really wuz his name, +An' no one ever asked him how or why or whence he came,-- +Your ancient history is a thing the Coloradan hates, +An' no one asks another what his name wuz in the States! + +At evenin', when the work wuz done, an' the miners rounded up +At Casey's, to indulge in keerds or linger with the cup, +Or dally with the tabble dote in all its native glory, +Perfessor Vere de Blaw discoursed his music repertory +Upon the Steenway gran' piannyfort, the wich wuz sot +In the hallway near the kitchen (a warm but quiet spot), +An' when De Blaw's environments induced the proper pride,-- +Wich gen'rally wuz whiskey straight, with seltzer on the side,-- +He throwed his soulful bein' into opry airs 'nd things +Wich bounded to the ceilin' like he'd mesmerized the strings. + +Oh, you that live in cities where the gran' piannies grow, +An' primy donnies round up, it's little that you know +Uv the hungerin' an' the yearnin' wich us miners an' the rest +Feel for the songs we used to hear before we moved out West. +Yes, memory is a pleasant thing, but it weakens mighty quick; +It kind uv dries an' withers, like the windin' mountain crick, +That, beautiful, an' singin' songs, goes dancin' to the plains, +So long ez it is fed by snows an' watered by the rains; +But, uv that grace uv lovin' rains 'nd mountain snows bereft, +Its bleachin' rocks, like dummy ghosts, is all its memory left. + +The toons wich the perfesser would perform with sech eclaw +Would melt the toughest mountain gentleman I ever saw,-- +Sech touchin' opry music ez the Trovytory sort, +The sollum "Mizer Reery," an' the thrillin' "Keely Mort;" +Or, sometimes, from "Lee Grond Dooshess" a trifle he would play, +Or morsoze from a' opry boof, to drive dull care away; +Or, feelin' kind uv serious, he'd discourse somewhat in C,-- +The wich he called a' opus (whatever that may be); +But the toons that fetched the likker from the critics in the crowd +Wuz _not_ the high-toned ones, Perfesser Vere de Blaw allowed. + +'T wuz "Dearest May," an' "Bonnie Doon," an' the ballard uv "Ben Bolt," +Ez wuz regarded by all odds ez Vere de Blaw's best holt; +Then there wuz "Darlin' Nellie Gray," an' "Settin' on the Stile," +An' "Seein' Nellie Home," an' "Nancy Lee," 'nd "Annie Lisle," +An' "Silver Threads among the Gold," an' "The Gal that Winked at Me," +An' "Gentle Annie," "Nancy Till," an' "The Cot beside the Sea." +Your opry airs is good enough for them ez likes to pay +Their money for the truck ez can't be got no other way; +But opry to a miner is a thin an' holler thing,--The +music that he pines for is the songs he used to sing. + +One evenin' down at Casey's De Blaw wuz at his best, +With four-fingers uv old Wilier-run concealed beneath his vest; +The boys wuz settin' all around, discussin' folks an' things, +'Nd I had drawed the necessary keerds to fill on kings; +Three-fingered Hoover kind uv leaned acrosst the bar to say +If Casey'd liquidate right off, _he'd_ liquidate next day; +A sperrit uv contentment wuz a-broodin' all around +(Onlike the other sperrits wich in restauraws abound), +When, suddenly, we heerd from yonder kitchen-entry rise +A toon each ornery galoot appeared to recognize. + +Perfesser Vere de Blaw for once eschewed his opry ways, +An' the remnants uv his mind went back to earlier, happier days, +An' grappled like an' wrassled with a' old familiar air +The wich we all uv us had heern, ez you have, everywhere! +Stock still we stopped,--some in their talk uv politics an' things, +I in my unobtrusive attempt to fill on kings, +'Nd Hoover leanin' on the bar, an' Casey at the till,-- +We all stopped short an' held our breaths (ez a feller sometimes will), +An' sot there more like bumps on logs than healthy, husky men, +Ez the memories uv that old, old toon come sneakin' back again. + +You've guessed it? No, you hav n't; for it wuzn't that there song +Uv the home we'd been away from an' had hankered for so long,-- +No, sir; it wuzn't "Home, Sweet Home," though it's always heard around +Sech neighborhoods in wich the home that _is_ "sweet home" is found. +And, ez for me, I seemed to see the past come back again, +And hear the deep-drawed sigh my sister Lucy uttered when +Her mother asked her if she 'd practised her two hours that day, +Wich, if she hadn't, she must go an' do it right away! +The homestead in the States 'nd all its memories seemed to come +A-floatin' round about me with that magic lumty-tum. + +And then uprose a stranger wich had struck the camp that night; +His eyes wuz sot an' fireless, 'nd his face wuz spookish white, +'Nd he sez: "Oh, how I suffer there is nobody kin say, +Onless, like me, he's wrenched himself from home an' friends away +To seek surcease from sorrer in a fur, seclooded spot, +Only to find--alars, too late!--the wich surcease is not! +Only to find that there air things that, somehow, seem to live +For nothin' in the world but jest the misery they give! +I've travelled eighteen hundred miles, but that toon has got here first; +I'm done,--I'm blowed,--I welcome death, an' bid it do its worst!" + +Then, like a man whose mind wuz sot on yieldin' to his fate, +He waltzed up to the counter an' demanded whiskey straight, +Wich havin' got outside uv,--both the likker and the door,-- +We never seen that stranger in the bloom uv health no more! +But some months later, what the birds had left uv him wuz found +Associated with a tree, some distance from the ground; +And Husky Sam, the coroner, that set upon him, said +That two things wuz apparent, namely: first, deceast wuz dead; +And, second, previously had got involved beyond all hope +In a knotty complication with a yard or two uv rope! + + + + +MEDIAEVAL EVENTIDE SONG + + +Come hither, lyttel childe, and lie upon my breast to-night, +For yonder fares an angell yclad in raimaunt white, +And yonder sings ye angell as onely angells may, +And his songe ben of a garden that bloometh farre awaye. + +To them that have no lyttel childe Godde sometimes sendeth down +A lyttel childe that ben a lyttel lambkyn of his owne; +And if so bee they love that childe, He willeth it to staye, +But elsewise, in His mercie He taketh it awaye. + +And sometimes, though they love it, Godde yearneth for ye childe, +And sendeth angells singing, whereby it ben beguiled; +They fold their arms about ye lamb that croodleth at his play, +And beare him to ye garden that bloometh farre awaye. + +I wolde not lose ye lyttel lamb that Godde hath lent to me; +If I colde sing that angell songe, how joysome I sholde bee! +For, with mine arms about him, and my musick in his eare, +What angell songe of paradize soever sholde I feare? + +Soe come, my lyttel childe, and lie upon my breast to-night, +For yonder fares an angell yclad in raimaunt white, +And yonder sings that angell, as onely angells may, +And his songe ben of a garden that bloometh farre awaye. + + + + +MARTHY'S YOUNKIT + + +The mountain brook sung lonesomelike, and loitered on its way +Ez if it waited for a child to jine it in its play; +The wild-flowers uv the hillside bent down their heads to hear +The music uv the little feet that had somehow grown so dear; +The magpies, like winged shadders, wuz a-flutterin' to an' fro +Among the rocks an' holler stumps in the ragged gulch below; +The pines an' hemlocks tosst their boughs (like they wuz arms) and made +Soft, sollum music on the slope where he had often played; +But for these lonesome, sollum voices on the mountain-side, +There wuz no sound the summer day that Marthy's younkit died. + +We called him Marthy's younkit, for Marthy wuz the name +Uv her ez wuz his mar, the wife uv Sorry Tom,--the same +Ez taught the school-house on the hill, way back in '69, +When she marr'd Sorry Tom, wich owned the Gosh-all-Hemlock mine! +And Marthy's younkit wuz their first, wich, bein' how it meant +The first on Red Hoss Mountain, wuz truly a' event! +The miners sawed off short on work ez soon ez they got word +That Dock Devine allowed to Casey what had just occurred; +We loaded up an' whooped around until we all wuz hoarse +Salutin' the arrival, wich weighed ten pounds, uv course! + +Three years, and sech a pretty child!--his mother's counterpart! +Three years, an' sech a holt ez he had got on every heart! +A peert an' likely little tyke with hair ez red ez gold, +A-laughin', toddlin' everywhere,--'nd only three years old! +Up yonder, sometimes, to the store, an' sometimes down the hill +He kited (boys is boys, you know,--you couldn't keep him still!) +An' there he'd play beside the brook where purpul wild-flowers grew, +An' the mountain pines an' hemlocks a kindly shadder threw, +An' sung soft, sollum toons to him, while in the gulch below +The magpies, like strange sperrits, went flutterin' to an' fro. + +Three years, an' then the fever come,--it wuzn't right, you know, +With all us old ones in the camp, for that little child to go; +It's right the old should die, but that a harmless little child +Should miss the joy uv life an' love,--that can't be reconciled! +That's what we thought that summer day, an' that is what we said +Ez we looked upon the piteous face uv Marthy's younkit dead. +But for his mother's sobbin', the house wuz very still, +An' Sorry Tom wuz lookin', through the winder, down the hill, +To the patch beneath the hemlocks where his darlin' used to play, +An' the mountain brook sung lonesomelike an' loitered on its way. + +A preacher come from Roarin' Crick to comfort 'em an' pray, +'Nd all the camp wuz present at the obsequies next day; +A female teacher staged it twenty miles to sing a hymn, +An' we jined her in the chorus,--big, husky men an' grim +Sung "Jesus, Lover uv my Soul," an' then the preacher prayed, +An' preacht a sermon on the death uv that fair blossom laid +Among them other flowers he loved,--wich sermon set sech weight +On sinners bein' always heeled against the future state, +That, though it had been fashionable to swear a perfec' streak, +There warn't no swearin' in the camp for pretty nigh a week! + +Last thing uv all, four strappin' men took up the little load +An' bore it tenderly along the windin', rocky road, +To where the coroner had dug a grave beside the brook, +In sight uv Marthy's winder, where the same could set an' look +An' wonder if his cradle in that green patch, long an' wide, +Wuz ez soothin' ez the cradle that wuz empty at her side; +An' wonder if the mournful songs the pines wuz singin' then +Wuz ez tender ez the lullabies she'd never sing again, +'Nd if the bosom of the earth in wich he lay at rest +Wuz half ez lovin' 'nd ez warm ez wuz his mother's breast. + +The camp is gone; but Red Hoss Mountain rears its kindly head, +An' looks down, sort uv tenderly, upon its cherished dead; +'Nd I reckon that, through all the years, that little boy wich died +Sleeps sweetly an' contentedly upon the mountain-side; +That the wild-flowers uv the summer-time bend down their heads to hear +The footfall uv a little friend they know not slumbers near; +That the magpies on the sollum rocks strange flutterin' shadders make, +An' the pines an' hemlocks wonder that the sleeper doesn't wake; +That the mountain brook sings lonesomelike an' loiters on its way +Ez if it waited for a child to jine it in its play. + + + + +IN FLANDERS + + +Through sleet and fogs to the saline bogs + Where the herring fish meanders, +An army sped, and then, 't is said, + Swore terribly in Flanders: + "--------!" + "--------!" +A hideous store of oaths they swore, + Did the army over in Flanders! + +At this distant day we're unable to say + What so aroused their danders; +But it's doubtless the case, to their lasting disgrace, + That the army swore in Flanders: + "--------!" + "--------!" +And many more such oaths they swore, + Did that impious horde in Flanders! + +Some folks contend that these oaths without end + Began among the commanders, +That, taking this cue, the subordinates, too, + Swore terribly in Flanders: + Twas "------------!" + "--------" + +Why, the air was blue with the hullaballoo + Of those wicked men in Flanders! + +But some suppose that the trouble arose + With a certain Corporal Sanders, +Who sought to abuse the wooden shoes + That the natives wore in Flanders. + Saying: "--------!" + "--------" + +What marvel then, that the other men + Felt encouraged to swear in Flanders! +At any rate, as I grieve to state, + Since these soldiers vented their danders +Conjectures obtain that for language profane + There is no such place as Flanders. + "--------" + "--------" + +This is the kind of talk you'll find + If ever you go to Flanders. +How wretched is he, wherever he be, + That unto this habit panders! +And how glad am I that my interests lie + In Chicago, and not in Flanders! + "----------------!" + "----------------!" + +Would never go down in this circumspect town +However it might in Flanders. + + + + +OUR BIGGEST FISH + + +When in the halcyon days of old, I was a little tyke, +I used to fish in pickerel ponds for minnows and the like; +And oh, the bitter sadness with which my soul was fraught +When I rambled home at nightfall with the puny string I'd caught! +And, oh, the indignation and the valor I'd display +When I claimed that all the biggest fish I'd caught had got away! + +Sometimes it was the rusty hooks, sometimes the fragile lines, +And many times the treacherous reeds would foil my just designs; +But whether hooks or lines or reeds were actually to blame, +I kept right on at losing all the monsters just the same-- +I never lost a _little_ fish--yes, I am free to say +It always was the _biggest_ fish I caught that got away. + +And so it was, when later on, I felt ambition pass +From callow minnow joys to nobler greed for pike and bass; +I found it quite convenient, when the beauties wouldn't bite +And I returned all bootless from the watery chase at night, +To feign a cheery aspect and recount in accents gay +How the biggest fish that I had caught had somehow got away. + +And really, fish look bigger than they are before they are before they're + caught-- +When the pole is bent into a bow and the slender line is taut, +When a fellow feels his heart rise up like a doughnut in his throat +And he lunges in a frenzy up and down the leaky boat! +Oh, you who've been a-fishing will indorse me when I say +That it always _is_ the biggest fish you catch that gets away! + +'T 'is even so in other things--yes, in our greedy eyes +The biggest boon is some elusive, never-captured prize; +We angle for the honors and the sweets of human life-- +Like fishermen we brave the seas that roll in endless strife; + +And then at last, when all is done and we are spent and gray, +We own the biggest fish we've caught are those that got away. + +I would not have it otherwise; 't is better there should be +Much bigger fish than I have caught a-swimming in the sea; +For now some worthier one than I may angle for that game-- +May by his arts entice, entrap, and comprehend the same; +Which, having done, perchance he'll bless the man who's proud to say +That the biggest fish he ever caught were those that got away. + + + + +THIRTY-NINE + + +O hapless day! O wretched day! + I hoped you'd pass me by-- +Alas, the years have sneaked away + And all is changed but I! +Had I the power, I would remand + You to a gloom condign, +But here you've crept upon me and + I--I am thirty-nine! + +Now, were I thirty-five, I could + Assume a flippant guise; +Or, were I forty years, I should + Undoubtedly look wise; +For forty years are said to bring + Sedateness superfine; +But thirty-nine don't mean a thing-- + _À bas_ with thirty-nine! + +You healthy, hulking girls and boys,-- + What makes you grow so fast? +Oh, I'll survive your lusty noise-- + I'm tough and bound to last! +No, no--I'm old and withered too-- + I feel my powers decline +(Yet none believes this can be true + Of one at thirty-nine). + +And you, dear girl with velvet eyes, + I wonder what you mean +Through all our keen anxieties + By keeping sweet sixteen. +With your dear love to warm my heart, + Wretch were I to repine; +I was but jesting at the start-- + I'm glad I'm thirty-nine! + +So, little children, roar and race + As blithely as you can, +And, sweetheart, let your tender grace + Exalt the Day and Man; +For then these factors (I'll engage) + All subtly shall combine +To make both juvenile and sage + The one who's thirty-nine! + +Yes, after all, I'm free to say + I would much rather be +Standing as I do stand to-day, + 'Twixt devil and deep sea; +For though my face be dark with care + Or with a grimace shine, +Each haply falls unto my share, + For I am thirty-nine! + +'Tis passing meet to make good cheer + And lord it like a king, +Since only once we catch the year + That doesn't mean a thing. +O happy day! O gracious day! + I pledge thee in this wine-- +Come, let us journey on our way + A year, good Thirty-Nine! + +Sept. 2, 1889. + + + + +YVYTOT + + +_Where wail the waters in their flaw +A spectre wanders to and fro, + And evermore that ghostly shore +Bemoans the heir of Yvytot_. + +_Sometimes, when, like a fleecy pall, +The mists upon the waters fall, + Across the main float shadows twain +That do not heed the spectre's call_. + +The king his son of Yvytot +Stood once and saw the waters go + Boiling around with hissing sound +The sullen phantom rocks below. + +And suddenly he saw a face +Lift from that black and seething place-- + Lift up and gaze in mute amaze +And tenderly a little space, + +A mighty cry of love made he-- +No answering word to him gave she, + But looked, and then sunk back again +Into the dark and depthless sea. + +And ever afterward that face, +That he beheld such little space, + Like wraith would rise within his eyes +And in his heart find biding place. + +So oft from castle hall he crept +Where mid the rocks grim shadows slept, + And where the mist reached down and kissed +The waters as they wailed and wept. + +The king it was of Yvytot +That vaunted, many years ago, + There was no coast his valiant host +Had not subdued with spear and bow. + +For once to him the sea-king cried: +"In safety all thy ships shall ride + An thou but swear thy princely heir +Shall take my daughter to his bride. + +"And lo, these winds that rove the sea +Unto our pact shall witness be, + And of the oath which binds us both +Shall be the judge 'twixt me and thee!" + +Then swore the king of Yvytot +Unto the sea-king years ago, + And with great cheer for many a year +His ships went harrying to and fro. + +Unto this mighty king his throne +Was born a prince, and one alone-- + Fairer than he in form and blee +And knightly grace was never known. + +But once he saw a maiden face +Lift from a haunted ocean place-- + Lift up and gaze in mute amaze +And tenderly a little space. + +Wroth was the king of Yvytot, +For that his son would never go + Sailing the sea, but liefer be +Where wailed the waters in their flow, + +Where winds in clamorous anger swept, +Where to and fro grim shadows crept, + And where the mist reached down and kissed +The waters as they wailed and wept. + +So sped the years, till came a day +The haughty king was old and gray, + And in his hold were spoils untold +That he had wrenched from Norroway. + +Then once again the sea-king cried: +"Thy ships have harried far and wide; + My part is done--now let thy son +Require my daughter to his bride!" + +Loud laughed the king of Yvytot, +And by his soul he bade him no-- + "I heed no more what oath I swore, +For I was mad to bargain so!" + +Then spake the sea-king in his wrath: +"Thy ships lie broken in my path! + Go now and wring thy hands, false king! +Nor ship nor heir thy kingdom hath! + +"And thou shalt wander evermore +All up and down this ghostly shore, + And call in vain upon the twain +That keep what oath a dastard swore!" + +The king his son of Yvytot +Stood even then where to and fro + The breakers swelled--and there beheld +A maiden face lift from below. + +"Be thou or truth or dream," he cried, +"Or spirit of the restless tide, + It booteth not to me, God wot! +But I would have thee to my bride." + +Then spake the maiden: "Come with me +Unto a palace in the sea, + For there my sire in kingly ire +Requires thy king his oath of thee!" + +Gayly he fared him down the sands +And took the maiden's outstretched hands; + And so went they upon their way +To do the sea-king his commands. + +The winds went riding to and fro +And scourged the waves that crouched below, + And bade them sing to a childless king +The bridal song of Yvytot. + +So fell the curse upon that shore, +And hopeless wailing evermore + Was the righteous dole of the craven soul +That heeded not what oath he swore. + +An hundred ships went down that day +All off the coast of Norroway, + And the ruthless sea made mighty glee +Over the spoil that drifting lay. + +The winds went calling far and wide +To the dead that tossed in the mocking tide: + "Come forth, ye slaves! from your fleeting graves +And drink a health to your prince his bride!" + +_Where wail the waters in their flow +A spectre wanders to and fro, + But nevermore that ghostly shore +Shall claim the heir of Yvytot_. + +_Sometimes, when, like a fleecy pall, +The mists upon the waters fall, + Across the main flit shadows twain +That do not heed the spectre's call_. + + + + +LONG AGO + + +I once knew all the birds that came + And nested in our orchard trees; +For every flower I had a name-- + My friends were woodchucks, toads, and bees; +I knew where thrived in yonder glen + What plants would soothe a stone-bruised toe-- +Oh, I was very learned then; + But that was very long ago! + +I knew the spot upon the hill + Where checkerberries could be found, +I knew the rushes near the mill + Where pickerel lay that weighed a pound! +I knew the wood,--the very tree + Where lived the poaching, saucy crow, +And all the woods and crows knew me-- + But that was very long ago. + +And pining for the joys of youth, + I tread the old familiar spot +Only to learn this solemn truth: + I have forgotten, am forgot. +Yet here's this youngster at my knee + Knows all the things I used to know; +To think I once was wise as he-- + But that was very long ago. + +I know it's folly to complain + Of whatsoe'er the Fates decree; +Yet were not wishes all in vain, + I tell you what my wish should be: +I'd wish to be a boy again, + Back with the friends I used to know; +For I was, oh! so happy then-- + But that was very long ago! + + + + +TO A SOUBRETTE + + +'Tis years, soubrette, since last we met; + And yet--ah, yet, how swift and tender +My thoughts go back in time's dull track + To you, sweet pink of female gender! +I shall not say--though others may-- + That time all human joy enhances; +But the same old thrill comes to me still + With memories of your songs and dances. + +Soubrettish ways these latter days + Invite my praise, but never get it; +I still am true to yours and you-- + My record's made, I'll not upset it! +The pranks they play, the things they say-- + I'd blush to put the like on paper, +And I'll avow they don't know how + To dance, so awkwardly they caper! + +I used to sit down in the pit + And see you flit like elf or fairy +Across the stage, and I'll engage + No moonbeam sprite was half so airy; +Lo, everywhere about me there + Were rivals reeking with pomatum, +And if, perchance, they caught your glance + In song or dance, how did I hate 'em! + +At half-past ten came rapture--then + Of all those men was I most happy, +For bottled beer and royal cheer + And têtes-à-têtes were on the tapis. +Do you forget, my fair soubrette, + Those suppers at the Cafe Rector,-- +The cosey nook where we partook + Of sweeter cheer than fabled nectar? + +Oh, happy days, when youth's wild ways + Knew every phase of harmless folly! +Oh, blissful nights, whose fierce delights + Defied gaunt-featured Melancholy! +Gone are they all beyond recall, + And I--a shade, a mere reflection-- +Am forced to feed my spirit's greed + Upon the husks of retrospection! + +And lo! to-night, the phantom light, + That, as a sprite, flits on the fender, +Reveals a face whose girlish grace + Brings back the feeling, warm and tender; +And, all the while, the old-time smile + Plays on my visage, grim and wrinkled,-- +As though, soubrette, your footfalls yet + Upon my rusty heart-strings tinkled! + + + + +SOME TIME + + +Last night, my darling, as you slept, + I thought I heard you sigh, +And to your little crib I crept, + And watched a space thereby; +And then I stooped and kissed your brow, + For oh! I love you so-- +You are too young to know it now, + But some time you shall know! + +Some time when, in a darkened place + Where others come to weep, +Your eyes shall look upon a face + Calm in eternal sleep, +The voiceless lips, the wrinkled brow, + The patient smile shall show-- +You are too young to know it now, + But some time you may know! + +Look backward, then, into the years, + And see me here to-night-- +See, O my darling! how my tears + Are falling as I write; +And feel once more upon your brow + The kiss of long ago-- +You are too young to know it now, + But some time you shall know. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, A LITTLE BOOK OF WESTERN VERSE *** + +This file should be named 8lbwv10.txt or 8lbwv10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, 8lbwv11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, 8lbwv10a.txt + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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