1 315T I MKul ■X '^ S^ 3 *" D ^ a Hi P hi a M >-* tilXFy fl [\ \ „ •» * Kg* J ■ ■■!■■ ■■ mnmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm i i n i n ■rn ii rm i M iiw '" " ^v,,^*^ m WX ^f* LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. Shelf WMi? Yours truly, LYMAN WETHERBEE, The Home on the Hillside, BY LYMAN WETHERBEE, ILLUSTRATED. WAB r iei89 1896. S. F. FINCH, PRINTER, Adrian, Mich. Zb Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1896, By LYMAN WETHERBEE, In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. PREFACE. In presenting this little volume to the Public, I am con- strained to give a brief explanation. When I commenced writing verses it did not occur to me that I should ever publish them in book form — wrote them merely for my own gratification and amusement. However, at the very earnest request of many warm friends, I consented to have a few of them published in different papers, which receiv- ed favorable comment, and since then having received very flat- tering testimonials from some of Hudson's most cultured and worthy people, among whom I would respectfully mention J. J. Wood, of the Hudson Republican, ■ also Doctors J. B. Welch and J. R. Dodge, have thought best to offer a part of my com- positions in book form. These poems were written in various places and under various conditions. In the woodland pastures while sitting on a huge felled tree, surrounded by my beautiful flock of Shrop- shires with their playful lambs jumping on and off the old charred tree on either side of me, or while driving along the highway, pausing 'neathsome refreshing shade, or in the lonely hours of night when all nature seemed hushed in silence, when the cold world was not frowning on me. While some of these poems were written from pure imagination, others are from life, but in no instance have I sought to exaggerate or wound the feelings of anyone. With this brief explanation, I offer these crude and un- finished effusions. $)4Maa^ / feij4cvy6^ x - TO My Children. CONTEiNTS. 1. Ode to the Yellow Rose. 37. 2. Come Home, Dear Old Grandma. 3. The Old Farm Bell. 38. 4. Mrs. Stebbins. 39. 5. Two Little Urchins. 40. 6. Music. 7. To Alma, at the Old Homestead. 41. 8. The Sportsman. 42. 9. When I was a Bo v. 43. 10. My Last Tooth. 44. 11. An Inscription. 45. 12. Ingratitude. 46. 13. The Young Man Dude. 47. 14. Nonsense. 48. 15. Hope and Despair. 49. 1(3. Beautiful Woman. 50. 17. To an Old Cast-off Coat, 51. 18. Winter. 52. 19. Childhood's Recollections. 53. 20. The Cold Winter Blasts. 54. 21. Regrets. 55. 22. There is Poetry in all Nature 56. Everywhere. 57. 23. Weep not for me, Dear Mother. 58. 24. Fleeting Time. 59. 25. The Twilight Stroll. 60. 26. I Would be Wise. 61. 27. Farewell, my Native Land. 62. 28. The Little Sycamore Leaf. 63. 29. Nothing to Live for. 64. 30. Little Flo. 65. 31. Little Flo's Reply. 66. 32. The Afternoon Stroll. 67. 33. Better Days. 34. To Liars. 68. 35. My Happiest Days. 69. 36. Sorrow. 70. An Advertisement— To Tin Ped- dlers. Little Dot. The Afternoon Stroll. My Sixtieth Birthday Anniver- sary. The Serenade. The Old Gossips. The Peasant's Lament. Sublime Niagara, Little Daisv. The Dead Bird. Where Will They Lay Me. ' Dear Father Come Home. An Autograph Verse. Depravity. Worth Unappreciated. A True Story. The Little Girl's Wish. The Charming Young Bride. A Little Waif. Good-by to Papa. The Miniature Sailboat. The Brave Boys. Affection. My Mother's Grave. To Uncle Jason and Aunt Susan. The Telegraph Lady. To His Mother and Sister. Little Clifford. The Old Clock on the Wall. Puss and the Yellow Bird. She Thought That Love was Onlv This. The Cricket on the Hearth. To Maudy. Ode to the Wren. The Home on the Hillside. Ode to the Yellow Rose. beautiful rose, of color so rare ! No other I've seen that was so fair; In the breezes you waft your golden head, While beneath you, all tattered, your com- rades are spread. The bee, from your bosom, sweet nectar would sip; By the maiden so fair you are pressed to her lips; And again, to your bosom awhile would repose That charming little maiden's delicate nose. You adorn the bosom of 3 r outh in his pride; You are entwined in the wreath of the fairest bride; You are laid on the breast of the loved that have died; You are the fairest of flowers; your equal's defied. Come Home, Dear Old Grandma. ■ -•■ ■ Come home, dear old grandma, To your fireside once more; Let me sit on your lap As in days of yore. Wrap your checkered apron Around your dear boy; Let him pla3 r , as you used to, With pictures and toys. Smooth back from his forehead, Those ringlets of gold; Tell over the stories That once you told. Sing to me, grandma, Just as vSweet and low, The songs that you sang Long years ago. But where you are, grandma, We know not, now, But you'll smooth back the curls No more from my brow. IS-, " "I'' OLD FARM BELL. Jn^ Ring, ring, ring the old farm bell, For breakfast, dinner and tea, Your sounds so clear I love to hear, But you ring no more for me. I bought and placed you Where you hang, many years ago, But you never failed to peal a chime Through Winter's sleet and snow. Then ring, ring the old farm bell, Those sounds so sweet and clear, And while you ring my eyes grow dim, With many a falling tear. Then ring, ring, ring for the twilight meal, Then ring, ere they dine at noon — But your sounds so clear, no more will I hear, When I'm gone to give others room. But who will care w T hen I am gone? Will any lend a tear? Will the babbling brook as it winds and crooks, Run less pure and clear? 'Twill make no difference when I'm gone, The sun just as brightly will shine, And the moon, as it peers from a cloudlet, Will appear no less grand and sublime. And the stars just as brightly will twinkle, There'll be fruit on the low trailing vine, And the birds ever warble as sweetly — Build their nests in the willow or pine. And the lad and the lassie, in the twilight, Will linger at the garden gate, And the babe run to meet dear papa, And chide him that he tarried so late. And thus it will be forever, While we battle for life so brave, Up from the cradle And dowm to the grave. firs. Stebbins. ♦ ■•■.♦ Most likely you've heard of farmer Stebbins' wife, Who made her husband so unhappy nearly all of his life. Farmer Stebbins had toiled both early and late, And 'tis said had amassed a very handsome estate. While his wife could work, but took more to style, And kept running him in debt more and more all the while. Farmer Stebbins resolved that it was of no use To further put up with her cruel abuse. And to dispose of his wife in some way or other, He would take his chances in getting another; And at last conceived a most novel plan, Whereby to dispose of his dear Peggy Ann. There was an ex-Judge's wife, that lived down the river, Who would aid and assist in any scheme that was clever, So the ex-Judge's wife wrote Mrs. Stebbins a letter Requesting her to call and not to forget her. Mrs. Stebbins, much elated with the attentions paid her, Was ready to do all the Judge's wife bade her. "I'm to give a grand dinner," the Judge's wife said, "And for manager and captain, shall place you at the head." Our guests will be ladies all of first rank, I will make the selections to avoid any crank, Each lady will ride a very fine steed, And must not lack in style, nor even in speed. The procession will start from farmer Stebbins' lawn, June twenty-first, at ten in the morn. Mrs. Stebbins, meanwhile the auspicious event, Had replenished her wardrobe to her heart's con- tent. The appointed hour at last arrived, With the guests sailing in like bees to a hive, 'Twas a splendid sight as ever you see — Numbering in all some forty- three. Mrs. Stebbins was first to appear on the scene, More gorgeous arrayed than ever a queen; And her dress it dazzled in the rays of the sun, And the company declared they were all outdone. And then the brown ass was led to the door All saddled and bridled and tinseled o'er; He was sleek and round, but gaunt as a rail, For no water had he drank, not even a pail. Mrs. Stebbins being ready, she gave the command, "Please ride four abreast," then led the van. This once docile ass now seemed in a rage, He brayed and bellowed like a lion in his cage; He frightened the ladies till some of them said, "I wish that confounded old ass was dead," Then reared and threw Mrs. Stebbins over his head. It now really seemed that the play had begun, For the ladies all laughed, both old and young; And some of them laughed to split their sides, While others kept laughing, and laughed 'till they cried. Mrs. Stebbins at last emerged from the pile, And mounted the ass and rode off in good style, Then 'twas clitter-to-elatter down the street, The ass throwing fire from all of his feet. The procession led out at break-neek speed, Mrs. Stebbins and the ass far in the lead; And the people ran out along the highway, And anxiously enquired, "What in the devil's to pay ? ' ' This faithful old ass, once so gentle and meek, Had not tasted of water for more than a week, And when the deep river at last he espied, All efforts proved futile the famished beast to guide, When headlong he plunged in the river so wide. Mrs. Stebbins now shrieked and wrung her hands, "Pray tell me now, my good old man, Is this that scheme or whereby plan ? ' ' "That's just the size, dear Peggy Ann." Then she sank in the river to rise no more, But the poor old ass soon swam ashore; Now the ladies assembled and some of them said, "What shall we do since our leader is dead ? " Then Mrs. Perkins spoke up and so did Miss Skinner, Saying, "We propose to march on and take in a good dinner ! " And so they all did for the tables were long set, And I haven't a doubt but they are eating yet. TiQ0