lElP FLDWER5 EVGENE>FIELI) MONVMENT CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY THIS BOOK IS ONE OF A COLLECTION MADE BY BENNO LOEWY 1854-1919 AND BEQUEATHED TO CORNELL UNIVERSITY Cornell University Library PS 1667.F4 Field flowers :a small bunch of the most 3 1924 021 979 129 * The original of this book is in the Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924021979129 This BOOK IS A CEBTinCATE TMAT TMLBC MAS BQCN SUBSCBIBLD TO TME EUGENE riEL'D AIONL'MENT 50U\'ENIB FUND THE SUAA or ONE r)OI'l'-\B. AND TME SAAAE IS AXCCBIDlTrn TO M Da\TC_ ti y ^f J^vi)' o^cJUj^- ^jU}> Ur^^^ 6^^^' To t-c-Q.^ -->*vc/ it L-tt^-l.^^4^ •-^ -'l-o-'^^ 't. C' h> Vvu*- vti-^-"-^/ ^ ■• CMJ/Uy^J dliX<(^, FIEIPFIDWQS A'^MAU-'BVNCH^OF^THE.MO^T^FI^GR^NTOF E)IAS30M5^G?{rHERE^^FRPMOTE,BROADACREi'OF EVGE"NE'FIELD3^FARM'OFLOVE PVBnSHEDVNCEif, _ __ _ THE APPROWll- OF THIS. ' "- -^ MONVMENT COMMITTEE ■JORTHepVRPOSB OF CRSttlNGAFVND.THEpRoCEBDS of-m(A. WILLIE E9lffiILY DIVIDED BETWEEN THE FAMILY 07THfiLAT£ - > ■EVGENE IIEm AN-D THE FVND FORTH^^BVILDING °r A- ' f M ONVME NT 1° THE|^Ej^oRy OF THEgsiovg) poExoE C- HIEDHOOD MONVMENT FVND COMvHTTEE Design by Stanford White Press of A. L. Swift 6 Co., Chicago ^imz .^,. DEDICATED TO THE LOVERS OFTHE CHASTE AND BE \UTIFUL THE WORLD OVER ARE THESE INSPIRED THOUGHTS OF A GENTLE POET The publication cf this book is made possible by the kind contributions of the artists, by the generous advertising of the newspapers and maga- zines, and by the help of the individuals whose liberal subscriptions through this medium have largely increased the Monument Souvenir Fund Desitio by R M Hynes '•',:i, 'i :: I I /■■ /'■'v \ ' f ///f ' Ij^ .//* '<*v \ T/^ 'y*^ "Come, iuy these flowers, of tloom perennial, "*■'■, *l 4|^ I' /^'•^^"s^it and let us build a monument to Eugene Field.' >r ■ ,[ Drawing bj Reginald B. Birch PEICE ONI: DOLl'AB lOC ADDinONit rOB POSUGC EUGENE riEI'D /MONUMENT SOUVENIB f UND. 130 A\ONEOE ir.. CHICAOO ^- 1 f _ i sr :■-■ ' The Dream Ship. When the world is fast asleep. Along the midnight skies — As though it were a wandering cloud — The ghostly Dream Ship flics. An angel stands at the Dream Ship's helm. An angel stands at the prow. And an angel stands at the Dream Ship's side With a rue-wreath on her brow. The other angels, silver-crowned. Pilot and helmsman are. And the angel with the wreath of rue Tosseth the dreams afar. The dreams they fall on rich and poor. They fall on young and old: And some are dreams of poverty. And some are dreams of gold. And some are dreams that thrill with joy. And some that melt to tears. Some arc dreams of the dawn of love. And some of the old dead years. On rich and poor alike they fall. Alike on young and old. Bringing to slumbering earth their |oys And sorrows manifold. The friendless youth in them shall do The deeds of mighty men. And drooping age shall feel the grace Of buoyant youth again. The king shall be a beggarman — The pauper be a king — In that revenge or recompense The Dream Ship Dreams do bring. So ever downward float the dreams That are for all and me. And there is never mortal man Can solve that mystery. But ever onward m its course Along the haunted skies — As though It were a cloud astray — The ghostly dream-ship flies. Two angels with their silver crowns Pilot and helmsman are. And an angel with a wreath of rue Tosseth the dreams afar. 'M^ ' h. 1 Iira« int; by W. L.Taylor TiiE OriOVA'. SHIP &. 1 : >. !!| ■As though it were a wandering dond The ghostly Dream Ship flics. " By courtesy of Ladies' Home Jonrml Little Mistress Sans-Merci Farcth world-wide, fancy free; Trotteth cooing to and fro. And her cooing is command — Never ruled there yet. I trow. Mightier despot in the land. And my heart it lieth where Mistress Sans-Merci doth fare. Little Mistress Sans-Merci — She hath made a slave of me! "Co." she biddeth, and 1 go — "Come." and I am fain to come — Never mercy doth she show. Be she wroth or frolicsome. Yet am 1 content to be Slave to Mistress Sans-Merci! Little Mistress Sans-Merci Hath become so dear to me That I count as passing sweet All the pain her moods impart. And I bless the little feet That go trampling on my heart: Ah. how lonely life would be But for little Sans-Merci! Little Mistress Sans-Merci, Cuddle close this night to me. And the heart, which all day long Ruthless thou hast trod upon. Shall outpour a soothing song For Its best beloved one — All Its tenderness for thee. Little Mistress Sans-Merci! DRAWING S BY V c "Little Misttcss Sans-Mcrci Fucth world -Tide, £«iicy tree' 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 (or dearie!" Deep in the hill the veoman 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; 'Tis not of the hill-folk, dwarfed and old. Nor the song of the yeoman, staunch and bold. And the burden it beareth is not of gold; But Its "Love, love ! — nothing but love,— Mother's love for dearie!" Drawings by Carl Wem tz Frederic Remington ■Mother is rocking thy lonly bed." Drawing by Gcoigc Wharton Edwards Over the Hills and Far Away. Over the hills and far away, A little boy steals from his morning play. And under the blossoming apple tree He lies and he dreams of the things to be: Of battles fought and of victories won. Of wrongs o'erthrown and of great things done- Of the valor that he shall prove some day. Over the hills and far away — Over the hills, and far away! Over the hills and far away It's. oh. for the toil the livelong day! But it mattereth not to the soul aflame With a love for riches and power and fame! On, O man! while the sun is high — On to the certain joys that lie Yonder where blazeth the noon of day. Over the hills and far away — Over the hills, and far away! Over the hills and far away. An old man lingers at close of day: Now that his journey is almost done. His battles fought and his victories won — The old-time honesty and truth. The trustfulness and the friends of youth. Home and mother — where arc they? Over the hills and far away — Over the years, and far away! Drawings tv Frank O. Small R. W. Taylor "Over the hills and far airay \ji old man lingers at dose of day.' Henry SandhaiK Jes' 'Fore Christmas. Father calls mc William, sister calls mc Will. Mother calls me Willie — but the fellers call me Bill? Mighty glad I ain't a girl — ruther be a boy Without them sashes, curls an' things that's worn by Fauntleroy! Love to chawnk green apples an' go swimmin' in the lake — Hale to take the castor-ile they give f'r belly-ache! Most all the time the hull year roun' there ain't no flies cr me. But jes' fore Christmas I'm as good as I km be! Cot a yaller dog named Sport ~ sick 'im on the cat; Fust thing she knows she doesn't know where she is at! Cot a dipper-sled, an' when us boys go out to slide 'Long comes the grocery cart an' we all hook a ride! But, sometimes, when the grocery man is worrited and cross. He reaches at me with his whip, and larrups up his hoss: An' then I laff and holler; "Oh, you never teched me! ' But jes' fore Christmas Fm as good as I kin be! Cran'ma says she hopes when I git to be a man Fll be a missionerer like her oldcs' brother Dan, As wuz ct up by the cannib'ls that lives in Ceylon's isle. Where every prospeck pleases an' only man is vile! But gran ma she had never been to see a Wild West show. Or read the life uv Daniel Boone, or else I guess she'd know That Buffalo Bill an' cowboys is good enough f'r me — Excep' |es' fore Christmas, when Fm good as I kin be! Then ol Sport he hangs around, so solium like an' still — His eyes they seem a-sayin': "What's er matter, little Bill? " The cat she sneaks down off her perch, a-wonderin' what's become Uv them two enemies uv hern that used ter make things hum! But I am so perlite and stick so earnestlike to biz. That mother sez to father: "How improved our Willie is! " But father, havin' been a boy hisself, suspicions me. When, jes' fore Christmas, Fm as good as I kin be! For Christmas, with its lots an' lots uv candies, cakes an' toys. Wuz made, they say, f'r proper kids, and not f'r naughty boys! So wash yer face, and brcsh yer hair, an' mind yer p's an' q's. An' don't bust out yer pantaloons. an' don't wear out yer shoes: Say yessum to the ladies, an' yessir to the men. An' when they's company don't pass yer plate f'r pie again; But, thinkin' uv the things you'd like to see upon that tree, Jes' 'fore Christmas be as goo!- as you km be! Drawiog by C ] Tiylor 'How imDrovcil our Willie is! ' . but the fcUcrs all mc Bill. Drawing by C. ]. Tjvlcr Be My Sweetheart. Sweetheart, be my sweetheart When birds are on the wing. When bee and bud and babbling flood Bespeak the birth of spring; Come, sweetheart, be mv sweetheart And wear this poseY-ring. Sweetheart, be mv sweetheart In the golden summer glow Of the earth aflush with the gracious blush Which the ripening fields foreshow: Dear sweetheart, be my sweetheart. As into the noon we go. Sweetheart, be my sweetheart. When falls the bounteous year. When the fruit and wine of tree and vine Give us their harvest cheer; O sweetheart, be my sweetheart. For winter it draweth near. Sweetheart, be my sweetheart When the year is white and old, When the iire of youth is spent, forsooth. And the hand of age is cold; Yet, sweetheart, be my sweetheart. Till the year of our love be told. VC Marginal Design by W. Granville Smith "Come, sweetheart, tc my siiectheart.' Drawing by W. Granville Smith A Little Bit of a Woman --"^' A little bit o{ a -woman came Athwart my path one day: bo tiny was she that she seemed to be A pixy strayed from the misty sea. Or a -wandering greenwood fay. "Oho. you little elf ! " I cried. "And what are you doing here? So tiny as you will never do For the brutal rush and hullaballoo Of this practical world. 1 fear." "Voice have I. good sir, ' said she. " Tis Soft as an angel's sigh: But to fancy a word of yours were heard In ill the din of this world's absurd ! " Smiling. I made reply. "Hands have I, good sir. she quoth. "Marry, and that have you! But amid the strife and the tumult rife In all the struggle and battle for life. What can those wee hands do? " "Eves have I. good sir." she said. "Sooth, you have.' quoth 1. "And tears shall flow therefrom. I trow. And they betimes shall dim with woe. As the hard, hard years go by! " That little bit of a woman cast Her two eyes full on me. And they smote me sore to my inmost core. ■ '- And they hold me slaved forevermore. — Yet would I not be free. That little bit of a woman's hands Reached up into my breast And rent apart my scoffing heart. — And they buffet still with such sweet art As cannot be expressed. Thai little bit of a woman's voice Hath grown most wondrous dear: Above the blare of all elsewhere (An inspiration that mocks at care ) It riseth full and clear. Dcur one, I bless the subtle power That makes me wholly thine: And Im proud to say that I bless the day When a little woman wrought her way Into this life of mine. Irving R. Wile ■Eyes hive 1, good sir,' slie said. Drawing by A. B. WcnzcU Barb ara. Blithe was the youth that summer day. As he smote at the ribs of earth. And he plicd his pick with a merry click. And he whistled anon in mirth; And the constant thought of his dear one's face Seemed to illumine that ghostly place. The gaunt earth en\ied the lover's )oy. And she moved, and closed on his head: With no one nigh, and with never a cry. The beautiful boy lay dead: And the treasure he sought for his sweetheart fai Crumbled, and clung to his glorious hair. Fifty years is a mighty space In the human toil for bread: But to Love and to Death 'tis merely a breath, A dream that is quickly sped,— Fifty years, and the fair lad lay Just as he fell that summer day. At last came others in quest of gold. And hewed in that mountain place; And deep in the ground one time they found The boy with the smiling face: All uncorrupt by the pitiless air. He lay, with his crown of golden hair. They bore him up to the sun again. And laid him beside the brook. And the folk came down from the busy town To wonder and prate and look; And so. to a world that knew him not. The boy came back to the old-time spot. Old Barbara hobbled among the rest,— Wrinkled and bowed was she,- And she gave a cry, as she fared anigh, "At last he IS come to me! " And she kneeled by the side of the dead boy there. And she kissed his lips, and she stroked his hair. "Thine eyes are sealed, O dearest one! And better it is 'tis so. Else thou mightst see how harsh with me Dealt Life thou couldst not know; Kindlier Death has kept thee fair; The sorrow of Life hath been my share." Barbara bowed her aged face. And fell on the breast of her dead; And the golden hair of her dear one there Caressed her snow-white head. Oh. Life IS sweet, with its touch of pain: But sweeter the Death that joined those twain. Drawing by Marv Hillock Footc Some Time Last night, my darling, as you slept, I thought I heard you sigh. And to your little crib 1 crept. And watched a space thereby; And then 1 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 arc too young to know it now. But some time vou may know! Drawings by Alice Barber Stephens ]. T. McCutcheon Look backward, then, into the years. And sec me here to-night — See. O my darling! how my tears Arc falling as 1 write: And feel once more upon your brow The kiss of long ago — ^ ou are too young to know it now. But some time vou shall know. g? V5 ■£ "Sleep, little pigeon, and told yout wings. Drnwint! by Eric Pipe Pm^ iClllfc^:^^- O0O0OOOO0p^0900C(^^V?b0Gji0O000G0000000g^£)00O000O00O0000000000000000000000Qag'^^ '*vr -s ■ SDOooooooa9ofXSoooooooooQ''^S2)00ooa«ooooooooo -.•fjra^T^r^ V ;-r The Rock a-by Lady. The Rock-a-by Lady from Hushaby street Comes stealing; comes creeping; The poppies they hang from her head to her feet. And each hath a dream that is tiny and fleet — She bnngeth her poppies to you, my sweet. When she findeth you sleeping. There is one little dream of a beautiful drum - "Rub-a-dub!" it gocth; There IS one little dream of a big sugar-plum. And lo! thick and fast the other dreams come Of popguns that bang, and tin tops that hum And a trumpet that bloweth. And dollies peep out of those wee little dreams With laughter and singing; And boats go a floating on silvery streams. And the stars peek-a-boo with their own misty gleams. And up. up, and up. where the Mother Moon beams. The fairies go winging. Would you dream all these dreams that are tiny and fleet? They'll come to you sleeping; So shut the two eyes that are weary, my sweet. For the Rock-a-by Lady from Hushaby street. With poppies that hang from her head to her feet. Comes stealing; comes creeping. Drawing by E. W. Kembic '■'^' ,,?s^^ 7> ^.t5^v. '1 aint aleard uv snakes Drawing by A. B. Ftost tm^ Seein' Thin gs- I aint afeard uv snakes, or toads, or bugs, or worms, or mice. An' things at girls are skeerd uv I think are awful nice! I'm pretty brave, I guess, an' vet I hate to go to bed. For, when I m tucked up warm an snug an when my prayers are said. Mother tells me "Happv dreams! " an' takes away the light. An' leaves me Ivin' all alone an' seein' things at night! Sometimes thev re in the corner, sometimes they re by the door. Sometimes thev re all a-standin in the middle uv the floor; Sometimes thev are a-sittin' down, sometimes thev re walkin' round So softlv an' so creepy-like thev never make a sound. Sometimes thev are as black as ink, an other times thev re white — But the color aint no difference when vou see things at night! Once, when I licked a feller at had lust moved on our street. An father sent me up to bed without a bite to eat, I woke up in the dark an saw things standin in a row, A-lookin' at me cross-eved an' p'lntin' at me — so! Oh, my! I wuz so skeered that time I never slep' a mite — It's almost alluz when I'm bad I see things at night! Luckv thing I aint a girl, or Id be skeered to death! Bein' Im a bov, I duck my head an' hold my breath: An' I am, oh! so sorrv I m a naughty bov, an' then I promise to be better an' I say my prayers again. Gran'ma tells me that's the only way to make it right When a feller has been wicked an' sees things at nisht! An' so, when other naughty boys would coax me into sin, I trv to skwush the Tempter's voice at urges me within; An' when they's pie for supper, or cakes at's fat an' nice, I want to — but I do not pass my plate f'r them things twice: No, ruther let Starvation wipe me slowlv out o' sight Than I should keep a-livin' on an' seein things at night! Pra wings by W. A. Rogers "I woke Dp in the dark an' saw things standin' in a tow. Orawlog by W. A. Rogers. -»^- The Tea-Gown. My lady has a tea-gown That IS wondrous fair to see,— It IS flounced and ruffed and plaited and puffed. As a tea-gown ought to be: And I thought she must be |esting Last night at supper when She remarked, by chance, that it came from France. And had cost but two pounds ten. Had she told me fifty shillings. I might (and wouldn't you?) Have referred to that dress in a way folks express By an eloquent dash or two; But the guileful little creature Knew well her tactics when She casually said that that dream in red Had cost but two pounds ten. Yet our home is all the brighter For that dainty, sensient thing. That floats away where it properly may. And clings where it ought to cling; And I count myself the luckiest Of all us married men That I have a wife whose (oy in life Is a gown at two pounds ten. It isn't the gown compels me Condone this venial sin; It's the pretty face above the lace. And the gentle heart within. And with her arms about me I say, and say again. ■' 'Twas wondrous cheap."- and I think a heap Of that gown at two pounds ten! klargioals bv Abby E. Under-nocd ^?:?i^'^>v ,i^ >^ < up in the attic where I slept When I was a boy, a little boy. In through the lattice the moonlight crept. Bringing a tide of dreams that swept Over the low, red trundle bed. Bathing the tangled curly head. While moonbeams played at hide-and-seek With the dimples on the sun-browned cheek — When I was a boy, a little boy! And, oh! the dreams — the dreams I dreamed! When I was a boy, a little boy! For the grace that through the lattice streamed Over my folded eyelids seemed To have the gift of prophecy. And to bring me glimpses of times to be When manhood's clarion seemed to call — Ah! that was the sweetest dream of all — When I was a boy, a little boy! I'd like to sleep where I used to sleep. When I was a boy. a little boy! For in at the lattice the moon would peep. Bringing her tide of dreams to sweep The crosses and griefs of the years away From the heart that is weary and faint to-day: And those dreams should give me back again A peace I have never known since then — When I was a boy, a little boy! Drawiogs bT Harry Fcnn W. H. Drake Jewish Lullaby. My harp is on the willow tree, Else would I sing, O love, to thee A song of long ago,— Perchance the song that Miriam sung Ere yet Judsea's heart was wrung By centuries of woe. The shadow of those centuries lies Deep in thy dark and mournful eyes: But hush ! and close them now. And in the dreams that thou shalt dream The light of other days shall seem To glorifv thy brow. I ate my crust in tears to-day, As, scou'^ged, I went upon my way. And y n my darling smiled,— Ay, beating at my breast, he laughed; My anguish curdled not the draught, Twas sweet with love, my child. Our harp is on the willow tree: I have no song to sing to thee, As shadows round us roll: But hush! and sleep, and thou shalt hear Jehovah's voice that speaks to cheer Judsea's fainting soul. "And in the dreams that thou shalt dream. Drawlag bj Chis. C. Cnrran The Brook. I looked in the brook and saw a face — Heigh-ho, bur a child was I ! There were rushes and willows in that fjacc. And they clutched at the brook as the brook ran by; And the brook it ran its own sweet way. As a child doth run in heedless play. And as It ran I heard it say: "Hasten with me To the roistering sea That IS wroth with the flame of the morning sky!" Drawings by Charles Graham Wm. Schmcdtgen I look in the brook and see a face — Heigh-ho, but the years go by! The rushes are dead in the old-time place. And the willows I knew when a child was I, And the brook it seemeth to me to say. As ever it stealeth on its way — Solemnly now, and not in play: "Oh, come with me To the slumbrous sea That 13 gray with the peace of the evening sky! " Heigh-ho, but the years go by — §§^ I would to Cod that a child were I ! 'I look in the brook and sec a face.' Drawing by Charles Mente ML MAiNNIKiX IJALL UY iOL \\>U(J\ A. Orawinij l)y Frederic Remington en - C S-V. F O S ^ O o in 5I \i\t^ jUWU^ "t^/ ^Tj~o to ttJn^^j^jtJ) Mm€>j -Atx«Jtr ^J v4n>> ^Cl-o 'ioCcit^ ov-tL* -fca^ ♦**.-* l)^'"^ vH-vc-t) .A^ ft-"-" *V-a^ ■^\l^ei\%\*.^ Q , 4**- rj. \A»/t^ "^^^^ Mrtrw (tuV — a » -vv ci*X.»^ « ^\ e, t^^tu .\vca4/» "Wv%* fitMMjj dtiti F»c-similc of Original MS. of •Little Boy Bine." -Owned by Mrs. Augusta C. Ballantync f * < > 3 H 11 J ! 1 ■J ■>^4;.i^t