ii^JLl %JT SUMMER Cornell University Library PS 2704.S7 1908a Riley songs of summer / 3 1924 022 036 903 RILEY SONGS OF SUMMER Cornell University Library 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/cu31924022036903 QtJooRa 6g Stamce na>8Wcom6 (We^ ♦ ♦♦ NEGHBORI.Y POEMS SKETCHES IN PROSE WITH INTERLUDING VERSES AFTERWHILES PIPES O' PAN AT ZEKESBURY (Prose and Verse) RHYMES OF CHILDHOOD THE FLYING ISLANDS OF THE NIGHT GREEN FIELDS AND RUNNING BROOKS ARMAZINDY A CHILD-WORLD HOMEFOLKS HIS PA'S ROMANCE (Portrait by Clay) GREENFIELD EDITION Sold only in sets. Eleven volumes uniformly bound in sage- green cloth, gilt top $13.50 The same in half-calf 27.00 OLD-FASHIONED ROSES (English Edition) THE GOLDEN YEAR (English Edition) POEMS HERE AT HOME RUBA'iYAT OF DOC SIFERS THE BOOK OF JOYOUS CHILDREN RILEY CHILD-RHYMES (Pictures by Vawter) RILEY LOVE-LYRICS (Pictures by Dyer) RILEY FARM-RHYMES (Pictures by Vawter) RILEY SONGS O' CHEER (Pictures by Vawter) AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE (Pictures by Christy) OUT TO OLD AUNT MARY'S (Pictures by Christy) A DEFECTIVE SANTA CLAUS (Party Pictures by Relyea and Vawter) RILEY SONGS OF SUMMER JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY WITH PICTURES BY WILL VAWTER INDIANAPOLIS THE BOBBS-MERR1LL COMPANY PUBLISHERS Copyright 1S83, 1S87, 18SS, 1890, 1891, 1S92, 1894, 1896, 1S97, 1S9S, 1S99, 1900, 1901, 1903, 1905, 1907, 1908 by James Whitcomb Ri!sy All kijr/its Reserved •J typ-iffo PRESS OF BBAUNWORTH &. CO. BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS BROOKLYN. N. Y. TO LEE O. HARRIS TEACHER, FRIEND AND COMRADE THE SUMMER-TIME 0, the summer-time to-day Makes my words Jes' flip up and fly away Like the birds! — ' Taint no use to try to sing, With yer language on the wing, Jes' too glad fer anything But to stray Where 'f may Piue the sunny summer weather of the day 1 . Lordyl what a summer-time Fer to sing! But my words flops out o' rhyme. Anal they wing Furder yit beyent the view Than the swatters ever flew, Er a mortal wanted to — 'Less his eye Struck the sky Be he h'ndo' sort o' thought he'd like to fly! Ef I COULD sing — sweet and low— And my tongue Could twitter, don't you know, Ez I sung Of the summer-time, 'y J'mgsl All the words and birds and things That kin warble, and hes wings, Would jes' swear And declare That they never heerd sicfi singin' anywhere! CONTENTS All-Golden, The 124 An Old Friend 25 At Ninety in the Shade 82 August 49 Ballade of the Coming Rain, The .... 153 Circus Parade, The ........ 74 Clover, The ( , . 116 Country Pathway, A . 143 Dawn, Noon and Dewfall 161 Down Around the River 59 Fishing Party, The 97 Full Harvest, A , . 115 Glimpse of Pan, A 72 He and I 178 Hoosier Spring-Poetry 103 In Swimming-Time . 89 In the South 52 June 177 King, The 137 Knee-Deep in June 108 Laughing Song 57 Little Red Ribbon, The 46 Lullaby 94 McFeeters' Fourth 27 Me and Mary 67 Muskingum Valley, The 155 Noon Interval, A • 170 CONTENTS— Continued Old-Fashioned Roses ........ 133 Old Hay-Mow, The 162 Old Swimmin'-Hole, The ....... iiq On the Banks o' Deer Crick 41 On the Sunny Side ........ 173 Pansies 107 Pomona 64 Shower, The 3S Slumber-Song 135 Song, A 171 Sudden Shower, A 166 Summer's Day, A 19 Them Flowers 54 Thoughts Fer the Discuraged Farmer ... 33 To Loll Back in a Misty Hammock .... 40 Tree-Toad, The 87 Up and Down Old Brandywine 1S2 Voice From the Farm, A 79 When June Is Here 32 When the Green Gits Back in the Trees . 159 While the Musician Played 101 With the Current . . 128 Wraith of Summertime, A . . . 80 Yellow-Bird, The 140 RILEY SONGS OF SUMMER A SUMMER'S DAY THE Summer's put the idy in My head that I'm a hoy again ; And all around's so bright and gay I want to put my team away, And jest git out whare I can lay And soak my hide full of the day ! But work is work, and must be done — Yit, as I work, I have my fun, Jest fancyin' these furries here Is childhood's paths onc't more so dear : 19 A SUMMER S DAY And as I walk through medder-lands, And country lanes, and swampy trails Whare long" bullrushes bresh my hands ; And, tilted on the ridered rails Of deadnin' fences, "Old Bob White" Whissels his name in high delight, And whirrs away. I wunder still Whichever way a boy's feet will — Whare trees has fell, with tangled tops Whare dead leaves shakes, I stop fer breth Heerin' the acorn as it drops — H'istin' my chin up still as deth, And watchin' clos't, with upturned eyes, The tree where Mr. Squirrel tries To hide hisse'f above the limb, But lets his own tale tell on him. I wunder on in deeper glooms — Git hungry, hearin' female cries From old farm-houses, whare perfumes, Of harvest dinners seems to rise And ta'nt a feller, hart and brane, With memories he can't explane. I wunder through the underbresh, Whare pig-tracks, pintin' to'rds the crick, 20 A SUMMER S DAY Is picked and printed in the fresh Black bottom-lands, like wimmern pick Theyr pie-crusts with a fork, some way, When bakin' fer camp-meetin' day. I wunder on and on and on, Tel my gray hair and beard is gone, And ev'ry wrinkle on my brow Is rubbed clean out and shaddered now With curls as brown and fare and fine As tenderls of the wild grape-vine That ust to climb the highest tree To keep the ripest ones fer me. I wunder still, and here I am Wadin' the ford below the dam — The worter chucklin' round my knee At hornet-welt and bramble-scratch, And me a-slippin' 'crost to see Ef Tyner's plums is ripe, and size The old man's wortermelon-patch, With juicy mouth and drouthy eyes. Then, after sich a day of mirth And happiness as worlds is wurth — 23 A SUMMER S DAY So tired that heaven seems nigh about,- The sweetest tiredness on earth Is to git home and flatten out — So tired yon can't lay flat enugh, And sorto' wish that you could spred Out like molasses on the bed, And jest drip off the aidges in The dreams that never comes again. -4 AN OLD FRIEND HEY, Old Midsummer ! are you here again, With all your harvest-store of olden joys, — Vast overhanging meadow-lands of rain, And drowsy dawns, and noons when golden grain Nods in the sun, and lazy truant boys Drift ever listlessly adown the day, Too full of joy to rest, and dreams to play. -5 AN OLD FRIEND The same old Summer, with the same old smile Beaming upon us in the same old way We knew in childhood ! Though a weary while Since that far time, yet memories reconcile The heart with odorous breaths of clover-hay; And again I hear the doves, and the sun streams through The old barn-door just as it used to do. And so it seems like welcoming a friend — An old, old friend, upon his coming home From some far country — coming home to spend Long, loitering days with me : And I extend My hand in rapturous glee : — And so you've come ! — Ho, I'm so glad! Come in and take a chair: Well, this is just like old times, I declare! McFEETERS' FOURTH IT was needless to say 'twas a glorious day, And to boast of it all in that spread-eagle way That our Forefathers had since the hour of the birth Of this most patriotic republic on earth ! But 'twas justice, of course, to admit that the sight Of the old Stars-and-Stripes was a thing of delight In the eyes of a fellow, however he tried To look on the day with a dignified pride That meant not to brook any turbulent glee Or riotous flourish of loud jubilee ! -7 MC FEETERS FOURTH So argued McFeeters, all grim and severe, Who the long night before, with a feeling of fear, Had slumbered but fitfully, hearing the swish Of the sky-rocket over his roof, with the wish That the boy-fiend who fired it were fast to the end Of the stick to for ever and ever ascend! Or to hopelessly ask why the boy with the horn And its horrible havoc had ever been born ! Or to wish, in his wakefulness, staring aghast, That this Fourth of July were as dead as the last! So, yesterday morning, McFeeters arose, With a fire in his eyes, and a cold in his nose, And a guttural voice in appropriate key With a temper as gruff as a temper could be. He growled at the servant he met on the stair, Because he was whistling a national air, And he growled at the maid on the balcony, who Stood enrapt with the tune of "The Red-White-and- Blue" That a band was discoursing like mad in the street, With drumsticks that banged, and with cymbals that beat. 28 Mc FEETERS FOURTH And he growled at his wife, as she buttoned his vest, And applausively pinned a rosette on his breast Of the national colors, and lured from his purse Some change for the boys — for fire-crackers — or worse ; And she pointed with pride to a soldier in blue In a frame on the wall, and the colors there, too; And he felt, as he looked on the features, the glow The painter found there twenty long years ago, And a passionate thrill in his breast, as he felt Instinctively round for the sword in his belt. What was it that hung like a mist o'er the room? — The tumult without — and the music — the boom Of the cannon — the blare of the bugle and fife? — No matter ! — M cFeeters was kissing his wife, And laughing and crying and waving his hat Like a genuine soldier, and crazy, at that! — Was it needless to say 'twas a glorious day And to boast of it all in that spread-eagle way That our Forefathers had since the hour of the birth Of this most patriotic republic on earth? I n v». WHEN JUNE IS HERE WHEN June is here — what art have we to sing The whiteness of the lilies midst the green On noon-tranced lawns? Or Hash of roses seen Like redbirds' wings? Or earliest ripening Prince-Harvest apples, where the cloyed bees cling Round winey juices oozing' down between The peckings of the robin, while we lean In under-grasses, lost in marveling? Or the cool term of morning, and the stir Of odorous breaths from wood and meadow walks, The bobwhite's liquid yodel, and the whir Of sudden flight; and, where the milkmaid talks Across the bars, on tilted barley-stalks The dewdrops' glint in webs of gossamer? THOUGHTS FER THE DISCURAGED FARMER THE summer winds is sniffin' round the bloomin' locus' trees ; And the clover in the pastur is a big day fer the bees, And they been a-swiggin' honey, above board and on the sly, Tel they stutter in theyr buzzin' and stagger as they fly. The flicker on the fence-rail 'pears to jest spit on his wings And roll up his feathers, by the sassy way he sings; And the hoss-fly is a-whettin'-up his forelegs fer biz, And the off-mare is a-switchin' all of her tale they is. 33 THOUGHTS FER THE DISCURAGED FARMER You can hear the blackbirds jawin' as they toiler up the plow — Oh, theyr bound to git theyr brekfast, and theyr not a-carin' how ; So they quarrel in the furries, and they quarrel on the wing- But theyr peaceabler in pot-pies than any other thing: And it's when I git my shotgam drawed up in stiddy rest, She's as full of tribbelation as a yeller-jacket's nest; And a few shots before dinner, when the sun's a-shin-- in' right, Seems to kindo'-sorto' sharpen up a feller's appetite! They's been a heap o' rain, but the sun's out to-day, And the clouds of the wet spell is all cleared away, And the woods is all the greener, and the grass is greener still ; It may rain again to-morry, but I don't think it will. Some says the crops is ruined, and the corn's drownded out, And propha-sy the wheat will be a failure, without doubt ; But the kind Providence that has never failed us yet, Will be on hands onc't more at the 'leventh hour, I bet! 34 THOUGHTS FER THE DISCURAGED FARMER Does the medder-lark complane, as he swims liigh and dry Through the waves of the wind and the blue of the sky ? Does the quail set up and whissel in a disappinted way, Er hang his head in silunce, and sorrow all the day? Is the chipmuck's health a-failin' ? — Does he walk, er does he run ? Don't the buzzards ooze around up thare jest like they've alius done? Is they anything the matter with the rooster's lungs er voice? Ort a mortul be complainin' when dumb animals re- joice? Then let us, one and all, be contentud with our lot ; The June is here this morning, and the sun is shining hot. Oh ! let us fill our harts up with the glory of the day, And banish ev'ry doubt and care and sorrow fur away ! Whatever be our station, with Providence fer guide, Sich fine circumstances ort to make us satisfied; Fer the world is full of roses, and the roses full of dew, And the dew is full of heavenly love that drips fer me and you. 37 THE SHOWER THE landscape, like the awed face of a child, Grew curiously blurred ; a hush of death Fell on the fields, and in the darkened wild The zephyr held its breath. No wavering glamour-work of light and shade Dappled the shivering surface of the brook; The frightened ripples in their ambuscade Of willows thrilled and shook. 33 THE SHOWER The sullen day grew darker, and anon Dim flashes of pent anger lit the sky ; With rumbling wheels of wrath came rolling on The storm's artillery. The cloud above put on its blackest frown, And then, as with a vengeful cry of pain, The lightning snatched it, ripped and flung it down In ravelled shreds of rain : While I, transfigured by some wondrous art, Bowed with the thirsty lilies to the sod, My empty soul brimmed over, and my heart Drenched with the love of God. 39 TO LOLL BACK IN A MISTY HAMMOCK TO loll back, in a misty hammock, swung From tip to tip of a slim crescent moon That gems some royal-purple night of June — To dream of songs that never have been sung Since the first stars were stilled and God was young And heaven as lonesome as a lonesome tune : To lie thus, lost to earth, with lids aswoon; By curious, cool winds back and forward flung, With fluttering hair, blurred eyes, and utter ease Adrift like lazy blood through every vein ; , And then, — the pulse of unvoiced melodies Timing the raptured sense to some refrain That knows nor words, nor rhymes, nor euphonies, Save Fancy's hinted chime of unknown seas. 40 ON THE BANKS O' DEER CRICK ON the banks o' Deer Crick ! There's the place fer me!— Worter slidin' past ye jes as clair as it kin be : — See yer shadder in it, and the shadder o' the sky, And the shadder o' the buzzard as he goes adazein' by ; Shadder o' the pizen-vines, and shadder o' the trees — And I purt'-nigh said the shadder o' the sunshine and the breeze! Well — I never seen the ocean ner I never seen the sea ; On the banks o' Deer Crick's grand enough fer me ! 4i ON THE BANKS O r DEER CRICK On the banks o' Deer Crick — mild er two from town — 'Long up where the mill-race comes a-loafin' down, — Like to git up in there — 'mongst the sycamores — And watch the worter at the dam, a-frothin' as she pours : Crawl out on some old log", with my hook and line, Where the fish is jes so thick, you kin see 'em shine As they flicker round yer bait, coaxin' you to jerk, Tel yer tired ketchin' of 'em, mighty nigh, as work! On the banks o' Deer Crick ! — Alius my delight Jes to be around there — take it day er night ! — Watch the snipes and killdees foolin' half the day — Er these-'ere little worter-bugs skootin' ever' way! — ■ Snakefeeders glancin' round, er dartin' out o' sight; And dew-fall, and bullfrogs, and lightnin'-bugs at night — Stars up through the tree-tops — er in the crick be- low, — And smell o' mussrat through the dark clean from the old b'y-o ! 42 ON THE BANKS 0' DEER CRICK Ei' take a tromp, some Sund'y, say, 'way up to "John- son's Hole," And find where he's had a fire, and hid his fishin'-pole : Have yer "dog-leg" with ye and yer pipe and "cut-and- dry"- Pocketful o' corn-bred, and slug er two o' rye, — Soak yer hide in sunshine and waller in the shades — Like the Good Book tells us — "where there're none to make afraid !" Well ! — I never seen the ocean ner I never seen the sea — On the banks o' Deer Crick's grand enough fer me! 45 1 THE LITTLE RED RIBBON THE little red ribbon, the ring and the rose ! The summertime comes and the summertime goes— And never a blossom in all of the land As white as the gleam of her beckoning hand! The long winter months, and the glare of the snows ; The little red ribbon, the ring and the rose ! And never a glimmer of sun in the skies As bright as the light of her glorious eyes ! Dreams only are true; but they fade and are gone — ■ For her face is not here when I waken at dawn ; The little red ribbon, the ring and the rose Mine only; hers only the dream and repose. I am weary of waiting, and weary of tears, And my heart wearies, too, all these desolate years, Moaning over the one only song that it knows, — The little red ribbon, the ring and the rose ! 46 AUGUST ADA Y of torpor in the sullen heat Of Summer's passion : In the sluggish stream The. panting cattle lave their lazy feet, With drowsy eyes, and dream. Long since the winds have died, and in the sky There lives no cloud to hint of Nature's grief; The sun glares ever like an evil eye, And withers flower and leaf. 49 AUGUST Upon the gleaming harvest-field remote The thresher lies deserted, like some old Dismantled galleon that hangs afloat Upon a sea of gold. The yearning cry of some bewildered bird Above an empty nest, and truant boys Along the river's shady margin heard — A harmony of noise — A melody of wrangling voices blent With liquid laughter, and with rippling calls Of piping lips and thrilling echoes sent To mimic waterfalls. And through the hazy veil the atmosphere Has draped about the gleaming face of Day, The sifted glances of the sun appear In splinterings of spray. The dusty highway, like a cloud of dawn, Trails o'er the hillside, and the passer-by, A tired ghost in misty shroud, toils on His journey to the sky. SO AUGUST And down across the valley's drooping sweep, Withdrawn to farthest limit of the glade, The forest stands in silence, drinking deep Its purple wine of shade. The gossamer floats up on phantom wing; The sailor-vision voyages the skies And carries into chaos everything That freights the weary eyes : Till, throbbing on and on, the pulse of heat Increases — reaches — passes fever's height, And Day sinks into slumber, cool and sweet, Within the arms of Night. 51 ~0^ wvm mmi^m^^^'l^^'^^ y ^^'V^^ IN THE SOUTH THERE is a princess in the South About whose beauty rumors hum Like honey-bees about the mouth Of roses dewdrops falter from ; And O her hair is like the fine Clear amber of a jostled wine In tropic revels ; and her eyes Are blue as rifts of Paradise. 52 IN THE SOUTH Such beauty as may none before Kneel daringly, to kiss the tips Of fingers such as knights of yore Had died to lift against their lips : Such eyes as might the eyes of gold 1 Of all the stars of night behold With glittering envy, and so glare In dazzling splendor of despair. So, were I but a minstrel, deft At weaving, with the trembling strings Of my glad harp, the warp and weft Of rondels such as rapture sings, — I'd loop my lyre across my breast, Nor stay me till my knee found rest In midnight banks of bud and flower Beneath my lady's lattice-bower. And there, drenched with the teary dews. I'd woo her with such wondrous art As well might stanch the songs that ooze Out of the mockbird's breaking heart ; So light, so tender, and so sweet Should be the words I would repeat, Her casement, on my gradual sight, Would blossom as a lily might. 53 THEM FLOWERS TAKE a feller 'at's sick and laid up on the shelf, All shaky, and ga'nted, and pore — Jes all so knocked out he can't handle hisself With a stiff upper-lip any more ; Shet him up all alone in the gloom of a room As dark as the tomb, and as grim, And then take and send him some roses in bloom, And you can have fun out o' him ! You've ketched him 'fore now — when his liver was sound And his appetite notched like a saw — A-moekin' you, mayby, fer romancin' round With a big posy-bunch in yer paw ; But you ketch him, say, when his health is away, And he's flat on his back in distress, And then you kin trot out yer little bokay And not be insulted, I guess ! You see, it's like this, what his weaknesses is, — Them flowers makes him think of the days Of his innocent youth, and that mother o' his. And the roses that she us't to raise : — So here, all alone with the roses you send — Bein' sick and all trimbly and faint, — My eyes is — my eyes is — my eyes is — old friend — Is a-leakin' — I'm blamed ef they ain't ! 54 LAUGHING SONG SING us something full of laughter; Tune your harp, and twang the strings Till your glad voice, chirping after, Mates the song the robin sings : Loose your lips and let them flutter Like the wings of wanton birds, — Though they naught but laughter utter, Laugh, and we'll not miss the words. 57 LAUGHING SONG Sing in ringing tones that mingle In a melody that flings Joyous echoes in a jingle Sweeter than the minstrel sings : Sing of Winter, Spring or Summer, Clang of war, or low of herds; Trill of cricket, roll of drummer — Laugh, and we'll not miss the words. Like the lisping laughter glancing From the meadow brooks and spring: Or the river's ripples dancing To the tune the current sings — Sing of Now, and the Hereafter; Let your glad song, like the birds', Overflow with limpid laughter — Laugh, and we'll not miss the words. 58 DOWN AROUND THE RIVER NOON-TIME an' June-time, down around the river ! Have to furse with 'Lizey Ann — but lawzy ! I fergive her ! Drives me off the place, an' says 'at all 'at she's a-wish- in', Land o' gracious ! time'll come I'll git enough o' fishin' ! Little Dave, a-choppin' wood, never 'pears to notice ; Don't know where she's hid his hat, er keerin' where his coat is, — Specalatin', more'n like, he hain't a-goin' to mind me, An' guessin' where, say twelve o'clock, a feller'd likely find me ! 59 DOWN AROUND THE RIVER Noon-time an' June-time, down around the river ! Clean out o' sight o' home, an' skulkin' under kivver Of the sycamores, jack-oaks, an' swamp-ash an' el- lum — Idies all so jumbled up, you kin hardly tell 'em ! — Tired, you know, but lovin it, an' smilin' jes' to think 'at Any sweeter tiredness you'd fairly want to drink it! Tired o' fishin' — tired o' fun — line out slack an' slacker — . All you want in all the world's a little more tobacker ! Hungry, but a-hidin' it, er jes' a-not a-keerin : — King-fisher gittiu up an' skootin' out o' hearin' ; Snipes on the t'other side, where the County Ditch is, Wadin' up an' down the aidge like they'd rolled their britches ! Old turkle on the root kindo'-sorto' drappin' Intoo th' worter like he don't know how it happen ! Worter, shade an' all so mixed, don't know which you'd orter Say : th' worter in the shadder — shadder in the worter! 60 W&t DOWN AROUND THE RIVER Somebody hollerin' — 'way around the bend in Upper Fork — where yer eye kin jes' ketch the endin' Of the shiney wedge o' wake some muss-rat's a-makin' With that pesky nose o' his ! Then a sniff o' bacon, Corn-bred an' 'dock-greens — an' little Dave a-shinnin' 'Crost the rocks an' mussel-shells, a-limpin' an' a-grin- nin', With yer dinner fer ye, an' a blessin' from the giver. Noon-time an' June-time, down around the river ! 63 POMONA OH, the golden afternoon! — Like a ripened summer day That had fallen oversoon In the weedy orchard-way — As an apple, ripe in June. He had left his fishrod leant O'er the footlog by the spring — Clomb the hill-path's high ascent, Whence a voice, down showering, Lured him, wondering as he went. 64 POMONA Not the voice of bee nor bird, Nay, nor voice of man nor child, Nor the creek's shoal-alto heard Blent with warblings sweet and wild Of the midstream, music-stirred. 'Twas a goddess ! As the air Swirled to eddying silence, he Glimpsed about him, half aware Of some subtle sorcery Woven round him everywhere. Suavest slopes of pleasaunce, sown With long- lines of fruited trees Weighed o'er grasses all unmown But by scythings of the breeze In prone swaths that flashed and shone Like silk locks of Faunus sleeked This, that way, and contrawise, Thro' whose bredes ambrosial leaked Oily amber sheens and dyes, Starred with petals purple-freaked. 65 POMONA Here the bellflower swayed and swung, Greenly belfried high amid Thick leaves in whose covert sung Hermit-thrush, or katydid, Or the glowworm nightly clung. Here the damson, peach and pear; There the plum, in Tyrian tints, Like great grapes in clusters rare ; And the metal-heavy quince Like a plummet dangled there. All ethereal, yet all Most material, — a theme Of some fabled festival — Save the fair face of his dream. Smiling o'er the orchard wall. ME AND MARY ALL my feelin's in the Spring Gits so blame contrary, I can't think of anything Only me and Mary ! "Me and Mary!" all the time, "Me and Mary!" like a rhyme, Keeps a-dingin' on till I'm Sicko' "Me and Mary!" 67 ME AND MARY "Me and Mary ! Ef us two Only was together — Playin' like we used to do In the Aprile weather !" All the night and all the day I keep wishin' thataway Till I'm gittin' old and gray Jes on "Me and Mary !" Muddy yit along the pike Sence the AVinter's freezin', And the orchard's back'arddike Bloomin' out this season ; Only heerd one bluebird yit — Nary robin ner tomtit ; What's the how and why of it? 'Spect it's "Me and Mary !" Me and Mary liked the birds — That is, Alary sorto' Likecl 'em first, and afterwards, W'y, I thought I'd ort'o. And them birds — ef Mary stood Right here with me, like she should - They'd be singin', them birds would, All fer me and Mary. 68 ME AND MARY Birds er not, I'm hopin' some I can git to plowin' ! Ef the sun'll only come, And the Lord allowin', Guess to-morry I'll turn in And git down to work ag'in; This here loaferin' won't win, Not fer me and Mary ! Fer a man that loves, like me, And's afeard to name it, Till some other feller, he Gits the girl — dad-shame-it! Wet er dry, er clouds er sun — Winter gone er jes begun — Outdoor work fer me er none, No more "Me and Mary !" 7i A GLIMPSE OF PAN I CAUGHT but a glimpse of him. Summer was here, And I strayed from the town and its dust and heat And walked in a wood, while the noon was near, Where the shadows were cool, and the atmosphere Was misty with fragrances stirred by my feet From surges of blossoms that billowed sheer O'er the grasses, green and sweet. 7^ A GLIMPSE OF PAN And I peered through a vista of leaning trees, Tressed with long tangles of vines that swept To the face of a river, that answered these With vines in the wave like the vines in the breeze. Till the yearning lips of the ripples crept And kissed them, with quavering ecstasies, And gurgled and laughed and wept. And there, like a dream in a swoon, I swear I saw Pan lying, — his limbs in the dew And the shade, and his face in the dazzle and glare Of the glad sunshine; while evervwhere, Over, across, and around him blew Filmy d'ragonflies hither and there, And little white butterflies, two and two, In eddies of odorous air. 73 THE CIRCUS PARADE THE Circus ! — The Circus ! — The throb of the drums, And the blare of the horns, as the Band-wagon comes; The clash and the clang of the cymbals that beat, As the glittering pageant winds down the long street! In the Circus parade there is glory clean down From the first spangled horse to the mule of the Clown, With the gleam and the glint and the glamour and glare Of the days of enchantment all glimmering there ! 74 THE CIRCUS PARADE And there are the banners of silvery fold Caressing the winds with their fringes of gold, And their high-lifted standards, with spear-tips aglow, And the helmeted knights that go riding below. There's the Chariot, wrought of some marvelous shell The Sea gave to Neptune, first washing it well With its fabulous waters of gold, till it gleams Like the galleon rare of an Argonaut's dreams. And the Elephant, too, ( with his undulant stride That rocks the high throne of a king in his pride), That in jungles of India shook from his flanks The tigers that leapt from the Jujubee-banks. Here's the long, ever-changing, mysterious line Cf the Cages, with hints of their glories divine From the barred little windows, cut high in the rear, Where the close-hidden animals' noses appear. Here's the Pyramid-car, with its splendor and flash, And the Goddess on high, in a hot-scarlet sash And a pen-wiper skirt ! — O, the rarest of sights Is this "Queen of the Air" in cerulean tights! 77 THE CIRCUS PARADE Then the far-away clash of the cymbals, and then The swoon of the time ere it wakens again With the capering tones of the gallant cornet That go dancing - away in a mail minuet, The Circus! — The Circus! — The throb of the drums, And the blare of the horns, as the Band-wagon comes; The clash and the clang of the cymbals that heat. As the glittering" pageant winds down the long street. A VOICE FROM THE FARM I T is my dream to have you here with me, ' Out of the heated city's dust and din — Here where the colts have room to gambol in, And kine to graze, in clover to the knee. I want to see your wan face happily Lit with the wholesome smiles that have not been In use since the old games you used to win When we pitched horseshoes : And I want to be At utter loaf with you in this dim land Of grove and meadow, while the crickets make Our own talk tedious, and the bat wields His bulky flight, as we cease converse and In a dusk like velvet smoothly take Our way toward home across the dewy fields. 79 A WRAITH OF SUMMERTIME IN its color, shade and shine, 'Twas a summer warm as wine, With an effervescent flavoring of flowered bough and vine, And 1 a fragrance and a taste Of ripe roses gone to waste, And a dreamy sense of sun- and moon- and star-light interlaced. 80 A WRAITH OF SUMMERTIME 'Twas a summer such as broods O'er enchanted solitudes, Where the hand of Fancy leads us through voluptuary moods, And with lavish love out-pours All the wealth of out-of-doors. And woos our feet o'er velvet paths and honeysuckle floors. 'Twas a summertime long dead 1 , — ■ And its roses, white and red, And its reeds and water-lilies down along the river-bed, — O, they all are ghostly things — For the ripple never sings, And the rocking lily never even rustles as it rings ! 81 AT NINETY IN THE SHADE HOT weather ? Yes ; but really not, Compared with weather twice as hot. Find comfort, then, in arguing" thus, And you'll pull through victorious ! — For instance, while you gasp and pant And try to cool yourself — and can't — With soda, cream and lemonade, The heat at ninety in the shade, — Just calmly sit and ponder o'er These same degrees, with ninety more On top of them, and so concede The weather now is cool indeed ! 82 U AT NINETY IN THE SHADE Think — as the perspiration dews Your fevered brow, and seems to ooze From out the ends of every hair — Whole floods of it, with floods to spare- Think, I repeat, the while the sweat Pours down your spine — how hotter yet Just ninety more degrees would be, And bear this ninety patiently! Think — as you mop your brow and hair, With sticky feelings everywhere — How ninety more degrees increase Of heat like this would start the grease ; Or, think, as you exhausted stand, A wilted "palmleaf" in each hand — When the thermometer has done With ease the lap of ninety-one ; O, think, I say, what heat might do At one hundred and eighty-two — Just twice the heat you now declare, Complainingly, is hard to bear. Or, as you watch the mercury Mount, still elate, one more degree, And doff your collar and cravat, And rig a sponge up in your hat, 85 AT NINETY IN THE SHADE And ask Tom, Harry, Dick or Jim, If this is hot enough for him — Consider how the sun would' pour At one hundred and eighty-four — Just twice the heat that seems to be Affecting you unpleasantly, The very hour that you might find As cool as dew, were you inclined. But why proceed when none will heed Advice apportioned to the need ? Hot weather ? Yes ; but really not, Compared with weather twice as hot I 86 THE TREE-TOAD SCUR'C 'Tv< 'OUS-LIKE," said the tree-toad, 've twittered fer rain all day ; And I got up soon, And hollered tel noon — But the sun, hit blazed away, Tel I jest dumb down in a crawfish-hole, Weary at hart, and sick at soul ! "Dozed away ter an hour, And I tackled the thing agin : And I sung, and sung, Tel I knowed my lung Was jest about give in ; And then, thinks I, ef hit don't rain now, They's nothin' in singin', anyhow ! 87 THE TREE-TOAD "Onc't in a while some farmer Would come a-drivin' past ; And he'd hear my cry, And stop and. sigh — Tel I jest laid back, at last, And I hollered rain tel I thought my th'oat Would bust wide open at ever' note ! "But I fetched her!— O, / fetched her — 'Cause a little while ago, As I kindo' set, With one eye shet, And a-singin' soft and low, A voice drapped down on my fevered brain, A-sayin', — 'Ef you'll jest hush I'll rain!' " V, - IN SWIMMING-TIME /""^LOUDS above, as white as wool, ^— ' Drifting over skies as blue As the eyes of beautiful Children when they smile at you : Groves of maple, elm and beech, With the sunshine sifted through Branches, mingling each with each, Dim with shade and bright with dew Stripling trees, and poplars hoar, Hickory and sycamore, And the drowsy dogwood, bowed Where the ripples laugh aloud, And the crooning- creek is stirred To a gaiety that now Mates the warble of the bird, Teetering on the hazel-bough. 89 IN SWIMMING-TIME Grasses long and fine and fair As your schoolboy-sweetheart's hair Backward stroked and twirled and twined By the fingers of the wind : Vines and mosses interlinked Down dark aisles and deep ravines, Where the stream runs, willow-brinked. Round a bend where some one leans, Faint, and vague, and indistinct As the like-reflected thing In the current shimmering. Childish voices, further on, Where the truant stream has gone, Vex the echoes of the wood Till no word is understood — Save that we are well aware Happiness is hiding there : — There, in leafy coverts, nude Little bodies poise and leap, Spattering the solitude And the silence, everywhere — Mimic monsters of the deep !— 9C ^ $ IN SWIMMING-TIME Wallowing in sandy shoals — Plunging headlong out of sight, And, with spurtings of delight, Clutching hands, and slippery soles, Climbing up the treacherous steep, Over which the spring-board spurns Each again as he returns ! Ah ! the glorious carnival ! Purple lips — and chattering teeth- Eyes that burn — But, in beneath, Every care beyond recall — Every task forgotten quite — ■ And again in dreams at night, Dropping, drifting through it all ! 93 LULLABY 'HE maple strews the embers of its leaves O'er the laggard swallows nestled 'neath the T eaves ; And the moody cricket falters in his cry — Baby-bye ! — And the lid of night is falling o'er the sky — Baby- bye ! — The lid of night is falling o'er the sky ! The rose is lying pallid, and the cup Of the frosted calla-lily folded up ; And the breezes through the garden sob and sigh — . Baby-bye ! — O'er the sleeping blooms of summer where they lie — Baby-bye ! — O'er the sleeping blooms of summer where they lie! Yet, Baby — O my Baby, for your sake This heart of mine is ever wide awake, And my love may never droop a drowsy eye — Baby- bye! — Till your own are wet above me when I die — Baby- bye! — Till your own are wet above me when I die. 94 M%1> ■St**'' THE FISHING PARTY WUNST we went a-fishin'— Me An' my Pa an' Ma all three, When they was a pic-nic, 'way Out to Hanch's woods, one day. An' they was a crick out there, Where the fishes is, an' where Little boys 'taint big an' strong - , Better have their folks along ! 97 THE FISHING PARTY My Pa he ist fished an' fished ! An' my Ma she said she wished Me an' her was home ; an' Pa Said he wished so worse'n Ma. Pa said ef you talk, er say Anything, er sneeze, er play, Hain't no fish, alive er dead, Ever go' to bite ! he said. Purt' nigh dark in town when we Got back home ; an' Ma savs she, Now she'll have a fish fer shore ! An' she bnyed one at the store. Nen at supper, Pa he won't Eat no fish, an' says he don't Like 'em. — An' he pounded me . When I choked ! . . . Ma, didn't he ? 98 WHILE THE MUSICIAN PLAYED OIT was but a dream I had While the musician played ! — And here the sky, and here the glad Old ocean kissed the glade — And here the laughing ripples ran, And here the roses grew That threw a kiss to every man That voyaged with the crew. Our silken sails in lazy folds Drooped in the breathless breeze : As o'er a field of marigolds Our eyes swam o'er the seas ; While here the eddies lisped and purled Around the island's rim, And up from out the underworld We saw the mermen swim. IOI WHILE THE MUSICIAN PLAYED And it was dawn and middle-day And midnight — for the moon On silver rounds across the bay Had climbed the skies of June — And there the glowing, glorious king Of day ruled o'er his realm. With stars of midnight glittering" About his diadem. The seagull reeled on languid wing In circles round the mast, We heard the songs the sirens sing As we went sailing past ; And up and down the golden sands A thousand fairy throngs Flung at us from their flashing hands The echoes of their songs. O., it was but a dream I had While the musician played — For here the sky, and here the glad Old ocean kissed the glade; And here the laughing ripples ran, And here the roses grew That threw a kiss to every man That voyaged with the crew. 102 HOOSIER SPRING-POETRY WHEN ever'thing's a-goin' like she's got-a-goin now, — The maple-sap a-drippin', and the buds on ever' bough A-sorto' reachin' up'arcls all a-trimblin', ever' one, Like 'bout a million brownie-fists a-shakin' at the sun ! The childern wants their shoes off 'fore their breakfast, and the Spring Is here so good-and-plenty that the old hen has to sing ! — When things is goin' thisaway, w'y, that's the sign, you know, That ever'thing's a-goin' like we like to see her go ! Oh, ever'thing's a-goin' like we like to see her go ! Old Winter's up and dusted, with his dratted frost and snow — The ice is out the crick ag'in, the freeze is out the ground, And you'll see faces thawin' too ef you'll jes look around ! — 103 HOOSIER SPRING-POETRY The bluebird's landin' home ag'in, and glad to' git the chance, 'Cause here's where he belongs at, that's a settled cir- cumstance ! And him and mister robin now's a-chunin' fer the show. Oh, ever'thing's a-goin' like we like to see her go! The sun ain't jes p'tendin' now! — The ba'm is in the breeze — The trees'll soon be green as grass, and grass as green as trees ; The buds is all jes eechin', and the dogwood down the run Is bound to bust out laughin' 'fore another week is done; The bees is wakin', gap'y-like, and fumblin' fer their buzz, A-thinkin', ever-wakefuler, of other days that wuz, — When all the land wuz orchard-blooms and clover, don't you know. . . . Oh, ever'thing's a-goin' like we like to see her go ! 104 M i k M ? . Is M -■ iwm "w **:'' >^ ; jm IH. R AN PANSIES ANSIES ! Pansies ! How I love yon pansies ! Jaunty-faced, laughing-lipped and dewy-eyed with glee ; Would my song but blossom in little five-leaf stanzas As delicate in fancies As your beauty is to me ! But my eyes shall smile on you, and my hands infold you, Pet, caress, and lift you to the lips that love you so, That, shut ever in the years that may mildew or mould you, My fancy shall behold you Fair as in the long ago. 107 KNEE-DEEP IN TUNE HP ELL y:u what I like the best— 1 'Long about knee-deep in June, 'Bout the time strawberries melts On the vine, — some afternoon Like to jes' git out and rest, And not work at nothin' else ! II Orchard's where I'd rttther be — Needn't fence it in fer me ! — Jes' the whole sky overhead, And the whole airth underneath— Sorto' so's a man kin breathe Like he ort, and kindo' has Elbow-room to keerlessly Sprawl out len'thways on the grass Where the shadders thick and soft As the kivvers on the bed Mother fixes in the loft Alius, when they's company! 1 08 KNEE-DEEP IN JUNE III Jes' a-sorto' lazin' there— ■ S'lazy 'at you peek and peer Through the wavin' leaves abo* e, Like a feller 'at's in love And don't know it, ner don't keer ! Ever'thing you hear and see Got some sort o' interest — Maybe find a bluebird's nest Tuckedl up there conveenently Fer the boy 'at's ap' to be Up some other apple-tree ! Watch the swallers skootin' past 'Bout as peert as you could ast; Er the Bob-white raise and whiz? Where some other's whistle is. IV Ketch a shadder down below, And look up to find the crow — • Er a hawk, — away up there, 'Pearantly froze in the air ! — ■ Hear the old hen squawk, and squat Over ever' chick she's got, 109 KNEE-DEEP IN JUNE Suddent-like ! — and she knows where That-air hawk is, well as you ! — You jes' bet yer life she do ! — Eyes a-glitterin' like glass, Waitin' till he makes a pass ! V Pee-wees' singin', to express My opinion, 's second class, Yit you'll hear 'em more er less ; Sapsucks gittin' down to biz, Weedin' out the lonesomeness ; Mr. Bluejay, full o' sass, In them base-ball clothes o' his, Sportin' round the orchard jes' Like he owned the premises ! Sun out in the fields kin sizz, But flat on yer back, I guess, In the shade's where glory is ! That's jes' what I'd like to do Stiddy fer a year er two! no ' I : AY. KNEE-DEEP IN JUNE VI Plague ! ef they ain't somepin' ir Work 'at kindo' goes ag'in' My convictions ! — 'long about Here in June especially ! — Under some old apple-tree, Jes' a-restin' through and through, I could git along without Nothin' else at all to do> Only jes' a-wishin' you Wuz a-gittin' there like me, And June was eternity ! VII Lay out there and try to see Jes' how lazy you kin be ! — Tumble round and souse yer head In the clover-bloom, er pull Yer straw hat acrost yer eyes And peek through it at the skies, Thinkin' of old chums 'at's dead, Maybe, smilin' back at you In betwixt the beautiful Clouds o' gold and' white and blue !- Month a man kin railly love — June, you know, I'm talkin' of! 113 KNEE-DEEP IN JUNE VIII March ain't never nothin' new ! — * Aprile's altogether too Brash fer me ! and May — I jes' 'Bominate its promises, — Little hints o' sunshine and Green around the timber-land — A few blossoms, and a few Chip-birds, and a sprout er two, — Drap asleep, and it turns in 'Fore daylight and snows ag'in ! — But when June comes — Clear my th'oat With wild honey ! — Rench my hair In the dew ! and hold my coat ! Whoop out loud ! and th'ow my hat !- June wants me, and I'm to spare! Spread them shadders anywhere, I'h git down and waller there, And obleeged to you at that ! A FULL HARVEST SEEMS like a feller'd ort 'o jes' to-day- Git clown and roll and waller, don't yon know. In that-air stubble, and flop up and crow, Seem' sich craps ! I'll undertake to say There're no wheat's ever turned out thataway Afore this season ! — Folks is keerless tho', And too fergitful — 'caze we'd ort 'o show More thankfulness ! — Jes' looky hyonder, hey ? — And watch that little reaper wadin' time That last old yaller hunk o' harvest-ground — Jes' natchur'ly a-slicin' it in-two Like honey-comb, and gaumin' it around The field — like it had nothin' else to do On'y jes' waste it all on me and you ! US THE CLOVER SOME sings of the lily, and daisy, and rose, And the pansies and pinks that the Summertime throws In the green grassy lap of the meclder that lays Blinkin' up at the skyes through the sunshiney days ; But what is the lily and all of the rest Of the flowers, to a man with a hart in his brest That was dipped brimmin' full of the honey and dew Of the sweet clover-blossoms his babyhood 1 knew ? I never set eyes on a clover-field now, Er fool round a stable, er climb in the mow, But my childhood conies back jest as clear and as plane As the smell of the clover I'm sniffin' again; And I wunder away in a bare-footed dream, Whare I tangle my toes in the blossoms that gleam With the dew of the dawn of the morning of love Ere it wept ore the graves that I'm weepin' above. And so I love clover — it seems like a part Of the sacerdest sorrows and joys of my hart ; And wharever it blossoms, oh, thare let me bow And thank the good God as I'm thankin' Him now ; And I pray to Him still fer the stren'th when I die, To go out in the clover and tell it good-bye, And lovin'ly nestle my face in its bloom While my soul slips away on a breth of purfume. :i6 THE OLD SWIMMIN'-HOLE OH ! the old swimmin'-hole ! Whare the crick so still and deep Looked like a baby-river that was laying half asleep, And the gurgle of the worter round the drift jest below Sounded like the laugh of something we onc't ust to know Before we could remember anything but the eyes Of the angels lookin' out as we left Paradise; But the merry days of Youth is beyond our controle, A.nd it's hard to part ferever with the old swimmin'- hole. 119 THE OLD SWIMMIN -HOLE Oh ! the old swimmin'-hole ! In the happy days of yore, When I ust to lean above it on the old sickamore, Oh ! it showed me a face in its warm sunny tide That gazed back at me so gay and glorified, It made me love myself, as I leaped to caress My shadder smilin' up at me with sich tenderness. But them days is past and gone, and old Time's tuck his toll From the old man come back to the old swimmin'-hole. Oh ! the old swimmin'-hole ! In the long, lazy days When the hum-drum of school made so many run-a- ways, How pleasant was the jurney down the old dusty lane, Whare the tracks of our bare feet was all printed so plane You could tell by the dent of the heel and the sole They was lots o' fun on hands at the old swimmin'- hole. But the lost joys is past ! Let your tears in sorrow roll Like the rain that ust to dapple up the old swimmin'- hole. Thare the bullrushes growed, and the cattails so tall, And the sunshine and shadder fell over it all ; 120 THE OLD SWIMMIN -HOLE And it mottled the worter with amber and gold Tel the glad lilies rocked in the ripples that rolled ; And the snake-feeder's four gauzy wings fluttered by Like the ghost of a daisy dropped out of the sky, Or a wownded apple-blossom in the breeze's controle, As it cut acrost some orchurd to'rds the old swimmin'- hole. Oh ! the old swimmin'-hole ! When I last saw the place, The scenes was all changed, like the change in my face ; The bridge of the railroad now crosses the spot Whare the old divin'-log lays sunk and fergot. And I stray down the banks whare the trees ust to be — But never again will theyr shade shelter me ! And I wish in my sorrow I could strip to the soul, And dive off in my grave like the old swimmin'-hole. 123 THE ALL-GOLDEN THROUGH every happy line I sing I feel the tonic of the Spring. The clay is like an old-time face That gleams across some grassy place An old-time face — an old-time chum Who rises from the grave to come And lure me back along the ways Of time's all-golden yesterdays. Sweet day ! to thus remind me of The truant boy I used to love — To set, once more, his finger-tips Against the blossom of his lips, And pipe for me the signal known By none but him and me alone ! II I see, across the school-room floor, The shadow of the open door, And dancing dust and sunshine blent Slanting the way the morning went, And beckoning my thoughts afar Where reeds and running waters are ; 124 n THE ALL-GOLDEN Where amber-colored bayous glass The half-drown'd weeds and wisps of grass. Where sprawling frogs, in loveless key, Sing on and on incessantly. Against the green wood's dim expanse The cattail tilts its tufted lance, While on its tip — one might declare The white "snake- feeder" blossomed there! Ill I catch my breath as children do In woodland swings when life is new, And all the blood is warm as wine And tingles with a tang divine. My soul soars up the atmosphere And sings aloud where God can hear, And all my being leans intent To mark His smiling wonderment. O gracious dream, and gracious time, And gracious theme, and gracious rhyme — ■ When buds of Spring begin to blow In blossoms that we used to know And lure us back along the ways Of time's all-golden yesterdays ! 12', WITH THE CURRENT D AREST mood of all the year ! *■ > Aimless, idle, and content — Sky and wave and atmosphere Wholly indolent. Little daughter, loose the band From your tresses — let them pour Shadow-like o'er arm and hand Idling at the oar. 128 WITH THE CURRENT Low and clear, and pure and deep, Ripples of the river sing — Water-lilies, half asleep, Drowsed 1 with listening : Tremulous reflex of skies — Skies above and skies below, — Paradise and Paradise Blending even so ! Blossoms with their leaves unrolled Laughingly, as they were lips Cleft with ruddy beaten gold Tongues of pollen-tips. Rush and reed, and thorn and vine, Clumped with grasses lithe and taii- With a web of summer-shine Woven round it a'ii. Back and forth, and to and fro — Flashing scale and wing as one, — Dragon-flies that come and go, Shuttled by the sun. i.n WITH THE CURRENT Fairy lilts and lullabies. Fine as fantasy conceives, — Echoes wrought of cricket-cries Sifted through the leaves. O'er the rose, with drowsy buzz, Hangs the bee, and stays his kiss, Even as my fancy does, Gypsy, over this. Let us both be children — share Youth's glad voyage night and day, Drift adown it, half aware, Anywhere we may. — Drift and curve and deviate, Veer and eddy, float and flow, Waver, swerve and undulate, As the bubbles go. 132 OLD-FASHIONED ROSES THEY ain't no style about 'em, And 1 they're sorio' pale and faded, Yit the doorway here, without 'em, Would be lonesomer, and shaded With a good 'eal blacker shadder Than the morning-glories makes, And the sunshine would look sadder Fer their good old-fashion' sakes. 133 OLD-FASHIONED ROSES I like 'em 'cause they kindo'- Sorto' make a feller like 'em ! And I tell you, when I find a Bunch out whur the sun kin strike 'em, It alius sets me thinkin' O' the ones 'at used to grow And peek in thro' the chinkin' O' the cabin, don't you know ! And then I think o' mother, And how she ust to love 'em — When they wuzn't any other, 'Less she found 'em up above 'em ! And her eyes, afore she shut 'em, Whispered with a smile and said We must pick a bunch and putt 'em In her hand when she wuz dead. But, as I wuz a-sayin', They ain't no style about 'em Very gaudy er displayin', But I wouldn't be without 'em, — 'Cause I'm happier in these posies, And the hollyhawks and sich, Than the hummin'-bird 'at noses In the roses of the rich. 134 ' THE KING THEY rode right out of the morning sun- A glimmering, glittering cavalcade Of knights and ladies and every one In princely sheen arrayed ; And the king of them all, O he rode ahead, With a helmet of gold, and a plume of red That spurted about in the breeze and bled In the bloom of the everglade. And they rode right over the dewy lawn, With brave, glad) banners of every hue That rolled in ripples, as they rode on In splendor, two and two ; And the tinkling links of the golden reins Of the steeds they rode rang such refrains As the castanets in a dream of Spain's Intensest gold and blue. 137 THE KING And they rode and rode ; and the steeds they neighed And pranced, and the sun on their glossy hides Flickered and lightened and glanced and 1 played Like the moon on rippling tides; And their manes were silken, and thick and strong, And their tails were flossy, and fetlock-long, And jostled in time to the teeming throng, And their knightly song besides. Clank of scabbard and jingle of spur, And the fluttering sash of the queen went wild In the wind, and the proud king glanced at her As one at a wilful child, — And as knight and lady away they flew, And the banners flapped, and the falcon, too, And the lances flashed and the bugle blew, He kissed his hand and smiled. — And then, like a slanting sunlit shower, The pageant glittered across the plain, And the turf spun back, and the wildweed flower Was only a crimson stain. And a dreamer's eyes they are downward cast, As he blends these words with the wailing: blast : "It is the King of the Year rides past!" And Autumn is here again. 138 SLUMBER-SONG SLEEP, little one! The Twilight folds her gloom Full tenderly about the drowsy Day, And all his tinseled hours of light and bloom Like toys are laid away. Sleep ! sleep ! The noon-sky's airy cloud of white Has deepened wide o'er all the azure plain ; And, trailing through the leaves, the skirts of Night Are wet with dews as rain. But rest thou sweetly, smiling in thy dreams, With round fists tossed like roses o'er thy head, And thy tranc'd lips and eyelids kissed with gleams Of rapture perfected. 139 THE YELLOW-BIRD HEY ! my little Yellow-bird, What you doing- there ? Like a flashing sun-ray, Flitting everywhere : Dangling down the tall weeds And the hollyhocks, And the lordly sunflowers Along the garden-walks. Ho ! my gallant Golden-bill, Pecking 'mongst the weeds, You must have for breakfast Golden flower-seeds : Won't you tell a little fellow What you have for tea? — 'Spect a peck o' yellow, mellow Pippin on the tree. 140 A COUNTRY PATHWAY 1COME upon it suddenly, alone — A little pathway winding in the weeds That fringe the roadside ; and with dreams my own, I wander as it leads. Full wistfully along' the slender way, Through summer tan of freckled shade and shine, I take the path that leads me as it may — Its every choice is mine. A chipmunk, or a sudden-whirring quail, Is startled by my step as on I fare 1 — A garter-snake across the dusty trail Glances and— is not there. 143 A COUNTRY PATHWAY Above the arching jimson-weeds flare twos And twos of sallow-yellow butterflies, Like blooms of lorn primroses blowing loose When autumn winds arise. The trail dips — dwindles — broadens then, and lifts Itself astride a cross-road dubiously, And, from the fennel marge beyond it, drifts Still onward, beckoning me. And though it needs must lure me mile on mile Out of the public highway, still I go, My thoughts, far in advance in Indian-file, Allure me even so. Why, I am as a long-lost boy that went At dusk to bring the cattle to the bars, And was not found again, though Heaven lent His mother all the stars With which to seek him through that awful night. O years of nights as vain ! — Stars never rise But well might miss their glitter in the light Of tears in mother-eyes ! 144 A COUNTRY PATHWAY So — on, with quickened) breaths, I follow still — My avant-courier must be obeyed ! Thus am I led, and thus the path, at will, Invites me to invade A meadow's precincts, where my daring guide Clambers the steps of an old-fashioned stile, And stumbles down again, the other side, To gambol there a while In pranks of hide-and-seek, as on ahead I see it running, while the clover-stalks Shake rosy fists at me as though they said — "You dog our country-walks "And mutilate us with your walking-stick ! — We will not suffer tamely what you do And warn you at your peril, — for we'll sic Our bumblebees on you !" But I smile back, in airy nonchalance, — The more determined 1 on my wayward quest, As some bright memory a moment dawns A morning in my breast — 147 A COUNTRY PATHWAY Sending a thrill that hurries me along In faulty similes of childish skips, Enthused with lithe contortions of a song Performing on my lips. In wild meanderings o'er pasture wealth — Erratic wanderings through dead'ning-lands, Where sly old brambles, plucking me by stealth, Put berries in my hands : Or the path climbs a boulder — wades a slough — ■ Or, rollicking through buttercups and flags, Goes gaily dancing o'er a deep bayou On old tree-trunks and snags : Or, at the creek, leads o'er a limpid pool Upon a bridge the stream itself has made, With some Spring-freshet for the mighty tool That its foundation laid. I pause a moment here to bend and muse, With dreamy eyes, on my reflection, where A toat-backed bug drifts on a helpless cruise, Or wildly oars the air, 148 A COUNTRY PATHWAY As, dimly seen, the pirate of the brook — The pike, whose jaunty hulk denotes his speed — Swings pivoting- about, with wary look Of low and cunning greed. Till, filled with other thought, I turn again To where the pathway enters in a realm Of lordly woodland, under sovereign reign Of towering oak and elm. A puritanic quiet here reviles The almost whispered warble from the hedge, And takes a locust's rasping voice and files The silence to an edge. In such a solitude my somber way Strays like a misanthrope within a gloom Of his own shadows — till the perfect day Bursts into sudden bloom, And crowns a long, declining stretch of space, Where King Corn's armies lie with flags unfurled, And where the valley's dint in Nature's face Dimples a smiling world. 151 A COUNTRY PATHWAY And lo ! through mists that may not be dispelled, I see an old farm homestead, as in dreams. Where, like a gem in costly setting held, The old log cabin gleams. O darling Pathway! lead me bravely on Adown your valley-way, and run before Among the roses crowding up the lawn And thronging at the door,— And carry up the echo there that shall Arouse the drowsy dog, that he may bay The household out to greet the prodigal That wanders home to-day. I=!2 THE BALLADE OF THE COMING RAIN WHEN the morning swoons in its highest heat, And the sunshine dims, and no dark shade Streaks the dust of the dazzling street, And the long straw splits in the lemonade; When the circus lags in a sad parade, And the drum throbs dull as a pulse of pain, And the breezeless flags hang limp and frayed — - O then is the time to look for rain. 153 THE BALLADE OF THE COMING RAIN When the man on the watering cart bumps by, Trilling the air of an old fife-tune, With a dull, soiled smile, and one shut eye, Lost in a dream of the afternoon ; When the awning sags like a lank balloon, And a thick sweat stands on the window-pane, And a five-cent fan is a priceless boon — O then is the time to look for rain. When the goldfish tank is a grimy gray, And the dummy stands at the clothing store With a cap pulled on in a rakish way, And a rubber-coat with the hind before; When the man in the barber chair flops o'er And the chin he wags has a telltale stain. And the bootblack lurks at the open door — - O then is the time to look for rain. 154 THE MUSKINGUM VALLEY THE Muskingum Valley ! — How longin' the gaze A feller throws back on its long summer-days, When the smiles of its blossoms and my smiles wuz one- And-the-same, from the rise to the set o' the sun : Wher' the hills sloped as soft as the dawn down to noon, And the river run by like an old 1 fiddle-tune, And the hours glided past as the bubbles 'ud glide, All so loaferin'-like, 'long the path o' the tide. In the Muskingum Valley — it 'peared like the skies Looked lovin' on me as my own mother's eyes, While the laughin'-sad song of the stream seemed to be Like a lullaby angels was wastin' on me — 155 THE MUSKINGUM VALLEY Tel, swimmin' the air, like the gossamer's thread, 'Twixt the blue underneath and the blue overhead, My thoughts went a-stray in that so-to-speak realm Wher' Sleep bared her breast as a piller fer them. In the Muskingum Valley, though far, far a-way, I know that the winter is bleak there to-day — No bloom ner perfume on the brambles er trees — Wher the buds used to bloom, now the icicles freeze. — That the grass is all hid 'long the side of the road Wher' the deep snow has drifted and shifted and blowed — And I feel in my life the same changes is there, — The frost in my heart, and the snow in my hair. But, Muskingum Valley! my memory sees Not the white on the ground, but the green in the trees — Not the froze'-over gorge, but the current, as clear And warm as the drop that has jes trickled here; Not the choked-up ravine, and the hills topped with snow, But the grass and the blossoms I knowed long ago When my little bare feet wundered down wher' the stream In the Muskingum Valley flowed on like a dream. '^56 ;:•»•■ Vj* ,;. WHEN THE GREEN GITS BACK IN THE TREES T N Spring, when the green gits back in the trees, *■ And the sun comes out and stays, And yer hoots pulls on with a good tight squeeze, And you think of yer bare- foot days ; When you ort to work and you want to not, And you and yer wife agrees It's time to spade up the garden-lot, When the green gits back in the trees — Well! work is the least o' my idees When the green, you know, gits back in the trees ! 159 WHEN THE GREEN GITS BACK IN THE TREES When the green gits back in the trees, and bees Is a-buzzin' aroun' ag'in, In that kind of a lazy go-as-you-please Old gait they bum roun' in ; When the groun's all bald whare the hay-rick stood, And the crick's riz, and the breeze Coaxes the bloom in the old dogwood, And the green gits back in the trees, — ■ I like, as I say, in sich scenes as these, The time when the green gits back in the trees! When the whole tail-feathers o' Wintertime Is all pulled out and gone! And the sap it thaws and begins to climb, And the swet it starts out on A feller's forred, a-gittin' down At the old spring on his knees — I kindo' like jest a-loaferin' roun' When the green gits back' in the trees — Jest a-potterin' roun' as I — durn — please — - When the green, you know, gits back in the trees! DAWN, NOON AND DEWFALL DAWN, noon and dewfall ! Bluebird and robin Up and at it airly, and the orchard-blossoms bob- bin' ! Peekin' from the winder, half-awake, and wishin' I could go to sleep agin as well as go a-fishin' ! On the apern o' the dam, legs a-danglin' over, Drowsy-like with sound o' worter and the smell o' clover : Fish all out a-visitin'- — 'cept some dratted minnor! Yes, and mill shet down at last and hands is gone to dinner. Trompin' home acrost the fields: Lightnin'-bugs a-blinkin' In the wheat like sparks o' things feller keeps a-think- in' : — Mother waitin' supper, and the childern there to cherr me! And fiddt'j on the kitchen-wall a-jist a-eechin' fer me! 161 THE OLD HAY-MOW THE Old Hay-mow's the place to play Fer boys, when it's a rainy day! I good-'eal ruther be up there Than down in town, er anywhere ! When I play in our stable-loft, The good old hay's so dry an' soft, An' feels so fine, an' smells so sweet, I 'most ferget to go an' eat. An' one time wunst I did ferget To go 'tel dinner was all et, — - An' they had short-cake — an' — Bud he Hogged up the piece Ma saved fer me i Nen I won't let him play no more In our hay-mow where I keep store An' got hen-eggs to sell, — an' shoo The cackle-un old hen out, too ! 162 THE OLD HAY-MOW An' nen, when Aunty she was here A-visitun from Renssalaer, An' bringed my little cousin, — he Can come up there an' play with me. But, after while — when Bud he bets At I can't turn no summersetts, — I let him come up, ef he can Ac' ha'f-way like a gentleman! 165 A SUDDEN SHOWER BAREFOOTED boys scud up the street, Or scurry under sheltering sheds ; And school-girl faces, pale and sweet, Gleam from the shawls about their heads. Doors bang; and mother-voices call From alien homes ; and rusty gates Are slammed ; and high above it all, The thunder grim reverberates. And then, abrupt, — the rain ! the rain ! — The earth lies gasping ; and the eyes Behind the streaming window-pane Smile at the trouble of the skies. The highway smokes ; sharp echoes ring ; The cattle bawl and cow-bells clank ; And into town comes galloping The farmer's horse, with steaming flank. 166 A SUDDEN SHOWER The swallow dips beneath the eaves, And flirts his plumes and folds his wings ; And under the catawba leaves The caterpillar curls and clings. The bumblebee is pelted down The wet stem of the hollyhock; And sullenly, in spattered brown, The cricket leaps the garden-walk. Within, the baby claps his hands And crows with rapture strange and vague ; Without, beneath the rose-bush stands A dripping rooster on one leg. A NOON INTERVAL A DEEP, delicious hush in earth and sky — A gracious lull — since, from its wakening', The morn has been a feverish, restless thing In which the pulse of Summer ran too high And riotous, as though its heart went nigh To bursting with delights past uttering: Now, as an o'erjoyed child may cease to sing All falteringly at play, with drowsy eye Draining the pictures of a fairy-tale To brim his dreams with — there comes o'er the day A loathful silence, wherein all sounds fail Like loitering tones of some faint roundelay . . . No wakeful effort longer may avail — - The wand waves, and the dozer sinks away. 170 T A SONG HERE is ever a song somewhere, my clear; There is ever a something sings alway : There's the song of the lark when the skies are clear, And the song of the thrush when the skies are gray. The sunshine showers across the grain, And the bluebird trills in the orchard trees ; And in and out, when the eaves drip rain, The swallows are twittering ceaselessly. There is ever a song somewhere, my dear, Be the skies above or dark or fair, There is ever a song that our hearts may hear — There is ever a song somewhere, my dear — There is ever a song somewhere ! There is ever a song somewhere, my dear, In the midnight black, or the mid-day blue : The robin pipes when the sun is here. And the cricket chirrups the whole night through. 171 A SONG The buds may blow, and the fruit may grow, And the autumn leaves drop crisp and sear ; But whether the sun, or the rain, or the snow, There is ever a song somewhere, my dear. There is ever a song somewhere, my dear, Be the skies above or dark or fair, There is ever a song that our hearts may hear — There is ever a song somewhere, my dear — There is ever a song somewhere ! 172 ON THE SUNNY SIDE HI and whoop-hooray, boys ! Sing a song of cheer! Here's a holiday, boys, Lasting half a year ! Round the world, and half is Shadow we have tried ; Now we're where the laugh is, — On the sunny side! Pigeons coo and mutter, Strutting high aloof Where the sunbeams flutter Through the stable roof. Hear the chickens cheep, boys, And the hen with pride Clucking them to sleep, boys, On the sunny side ! 173 ON THE SUNNY SIDE Hear the clacking guinea ; Hear the cattle moo; Hear the horses whinny, Looking out at you ! On the hitching-block, boys, Grandly satisfied, See the old peacock, boys, On the sunny side ! Robins in the peach-tree; Bluebirds in the pear; Blossoms over each tree In the orchard there ! All the world's in joy, boys, Glad and glorified As a romping boy, boys, On the sunny side! Where's a heart as mellow? Where's a soul as free? Where is any fellow We would rather be ? Just ourselves or none, boys, World around and wide, Laughing in the sun, boys, On the sunny side ! 174 JUNE O QUEENLY month of indolent repose! I drink thy breath in sips of rare perfume, As in thy downy lap of clover-bloom I nestle like a drowsy child and doze The lazy hours away. The zephyr throws The shifting shuttle of the Summer's loom And weaves a damask-work of gleam and gloom Before thy listless feet. The lily blows A bugle-call of fragrance o'er the glade; And, wheeling into ranks, with plume and spear, Thy harvest-armies gather on parade ; While, faint and far away, yet pure and clear, A voice calls out of alien lands of shade : — All hail the Peerless Goddess of the Year ! 177 HE AND I JUST drifting on together — He and I — As through the balmy weather Of July Drift two thistle-tufts imbedded Each in each— by zephyrs wedded — - Touring upward, giddy-headed, For the sky. And, veering up and onward, Do we seem Forever drifting downward In a dream, Where we meet song-birds that know us, And the winds their kisses blow us, While the years flow far below us Like a stream. And we are happy- — very — He and I — Aye, even glad and merry Though on high The heavens are sometimes shrouded By the midnight storm, and clouded Till the pallid moon is crowded From the sky. 178 #*•**- iWSUBBttKK&&, HE AND I My spirit ne'er expresses Any choice But to clothe him with caresses And rejoice; And as he laughs, it is in Such a tone the moonbeams glisten And the stars come out to listen To his voice. And so, whate'er the weather, He and I, — With our lives linked thus together, Float and fly As two thistle-tufts imbedded Each in each — by zephyrs wedded — Touring upward, giddy-headed, For the sky. 181 UP AND DOWN OLD BRANDYWINE UP and down old Brandywine, In the days 'at's past and gone — With a dad-burn hook-and-line And a saplin'-pole — i swan ! I've had more fun, to the square Inch, than ever a»ywhere! Heaven to come can't discount mine Up and down old Brandywine ! Hain't no sense in wishin' — yit Wisht to goodness I could jes ! 'Gee" the blame' world round and git Back to that old happiness ! — Kindo' drive back in the shade "The old Covered Bridge" there laid 'Crosst the crick, and sorto' soak My soul over, hub and spoke ! 182 UP AND DOWN OLD BRANDYWINE Honest, now ! — it hain't no dream 'At I'm wantin', — but the fac's As they wuz ; the same old stream, And the same old times, i jacks! — Gim me back my bare feet — and Stonebruise too! — And scratched and tanned ! And let hottest dog-days shine Up and down old Brandy wine ! In and on betwixt the trees 'Long the banks, pour down yer noon, Kindo' curdled with the breeze And the yallerhammer's tune; And the smokin', chokin' dust O' the turnpike at its wusst — Saturd'ys, say, when it seems Road's jes jammed with country teams! — Whilse the old town, fur away 'Crosst the hazy pastur'-land, Dozed-like in the heat o' day Peaceful' as a hired hand. Jolt the gravel th'ough the floor O' the old bridge ! — grind and roar With yer blame' percession-line — Up and down old Brandywine ! i85 UP AND DOWN OLD BRANDYWINE Souse me and my new straw-hat Off the foot-log ! — what / care ? — Fist shoved in the crown o' that — Like the old Clown ust to wear. Wouldn't swop it fer a' old Gin-u-wine raal crown o' gold ! — Keep yer King ef you'll gim me Jes the boy I ust to be ! Spill my fishin'-worms ! er steal My best "goggle -eye" ! — but you Can't lay hands on joys I feel Nibblin' like they ust to do ! So, in memory, to-day Same old ripple lips away At my "cork" and saggin' line Up and down old Brandywine ! There the logs is, round the hill, Where "Old Irvin" ust to lift Out sunfish from daylight till Dew-fall— 'fore he'd leave "The Drift" And give us a chance — and then Kindo' fish back home again, Ketchin' 'em jes left and right Where we hadn't got "a bite" ! =-. ~ . UP AND DOWN OLD BRANDYWINE Er, 'way windin' out and in, — Old path th'ongh the iurnweeds And dog-fennel to yer chin — Then come suddent. th'ongh the reeds And cat-tails, smack into where Them-air woods-hogs list to scare Us clean 'crosst the County-line, Up and down old Brandywine! But the dim roar o' the dam It 'ud coax us furder still To'rds the old race, slow and ca'm, Slidin' on to Huston's mill — Where, I 'spect, "The Freeport crowd" Never warmed to us er 'lowed We wuz quite so overly Welcome as we aimed to be. Still it 'peared-like ever'thing — Fur away from home as there — Flad more relish-like, i jing ! — Fish in stream, er bird in air ! O them rich old bottom-lands, Past where Cowden's Schoolhouse stands ! Wortermelons — master-mine! Up and down old Brandywine ! 189 UP AND DOWN OLD BRANDYWINE And sich pop-paws ! — Lumps o' raw Gold and green, — jes oozy th'ough With ripe yaller — like you've saw Custard-pie with no crust to : And jes gorges o' wild plums, Till a feller'd suck his thumbs Clean up to his elbows! My! — Me sonic more er 1cm me die! Up and down old Brandywine ! . . ! . Stripe me with pokeberry-juice ! — Flick me with a pizenvine And yell "Yip!" and lem me loose! — Old now as I then wuz young, ; F I could sing as I have sung, Song 'ud surely ring dee-vine Up and down old Brandywine ! : : ;