^ Entile, Eoije anb Eotiert C ©tDens( Book /m /rJ< ^ Copyright}] /^/^r COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT A SMILE, LOVE AND A TEAR A little book of Verses, Tragedy, Sentiment and Humorous Dialect BY ROBERT T. OWENS I "Man a pendulum siuinging between a smile and a tear." Byron. "Still to us at twilight comes love's old sweet song jj^ARnetV^JTAJTjp BOSTON THE GORHAM PRESS 1915 Copyright, 1915, by Robert T. Owens All Rights Reserved The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A. SEP 20 1915 5)CI,A410536 DEDICATION To Mrs. Alfred Wagstaff Jr. who said of her husband: "What is the world compared to you — To having you, holding you, knowing you true! Is there a heart gain half so sweet As when you kneel at my feet, Loving me, telling me you are mine? Is there a victory more divine Than that I am loved, and loved so well? PREFACE I KNOW of no object for which these verses were written. They have many faults and many metrical errors. I have no hopes that they will be received by the cultured few. But I hope, as I send these verses out to the reading public that they will find a welcome around the homely and humble firesides. The sayings of Monte Patton are not counter- feited, or manufactured out of somebody's head ; but they have been written, as they were spoken by an illiterate mountaineer. Ten years from now, I would say, all of the Tennessee mountaineers will be under the sod. Their quaint and homely sayings should be preserved for posterity. In order that the best of that picturesque life and language may be preserved, I have written down the sayings of Monte Patton. Robert T. Owens CONTENTS A Few Remarks of Monte Patton 1 1 Napoleon at the Close of the Campaign of 1814 21 The Bearer of the White Banner 27 The Death of Pretty Sadie 29 The Time is Ripe for Universal Peace 31 The Wild Violet 38 Cumberland Mattie 40 Dearest 42 The Mountaineer's Sorrow 43 Sweetheart 45 A SMILE, LOVE AND A TEAR A FEW REMARKS OF MONTE PATTON A Mountaineer From East Tennessee MY name is Monte Patton. I never had any larning in scule, and I never expect to have any larning in scule or out of scule. I don't know from a hole in the ground or X from a saw hoss. 1 wiuld give any thing if I could write an order for some corn liquor. ' "I wois all through the Civil War and the uncivil war has been all through me. I wus all through the battle of Murfreesboro and partly in the battle of Chickamauga, but while the battle of Chickamagua wus a guien on I left for the mountains. "I left for two reasons. One reason wus that the bomb shells, bullets, smoke, cannon balls and grape shot were a-flying so fast that I couldn't see how to shoot daylight through the blood thirsty Yankees. The other reason wus that jest before the fight of Chickamauga I had sassed one of them of- ficers and the next day I wus a guien to be shot unto death. "While thar wus a rrionstrous charge a guien on II A FEW REMARKS OF MONTE PATTON against that Violetcrane, the Yankee general, I left for my log cabin in the mountains, I hated to do it, but I wanted to save the old hide of mine. You'ens would have done the same thing if you'ens had been in the shape I wus. I made a good soldier what time I wus than And I wus thar enough too suit me. "They arrested me some time ago and took me down to Knoxville, Tennessee, a city of fifty thou- sand people and the biggest city in America. They said that I had sold moonshine liquor. I pleadged 'Not guilty.' "The lawyers said that if I pleaded guilty I would have to lay thar in jail for six months. So T thought it best to plead 'Not guilty.' "I hated to plead 'Not guilty,' but my old woman and my nine children would have starved to death for some corn bread if I had pleaded guilty. If you'ens are arrested for selling moonshine liquor and provided it is made out off the malt of your own corn and you have a house full of bawling kids my advice to you would be to plead 'Not guilty.' "Knoxville has a monstrous hotel of ten rooms. While I wus thar in Knoxville I went to see the richest lady in the city. I had been their guide in the mountains. 12 A FEW REMARKS OF MONTE PATTON "She axk me how all of my folks were thar at home. " 'My wife,' Sais I, 'Is not very well. She is putry porly and puny in her jints. She went to help me lift up a cow brute that had got down in the woods and she busted the striffin in her hip and you could have hearn the striffin pop when it broke two hundred yards.' Thar were a lot of other rich ladies thar in the room. They were mighty purty. "While I wus thar in Knoxville I went to ride on the street car and I said to the man that was a-run- ning the car, 'I'll be doust if I can see what is a-run- ning this thing,' and the man said that the stuf¥ that wus a-running the car you couldn't see. So I loud that the running stuilF wus some kind of oil. "I am not living with my wife now and never expect to agin. I use to beat her with a clapboard and be doust if that old durn roll of a thing didn't leave me for sich a little thing as that. She is a bad egg. Her name is Marthy. She is a viaggerous wild kind of a durn roll of a thing. She left a good husband and a good father to her and my four- teen children. I'll be doust if she didn't leave a good husband. I wus as gentle as a little lamb when I wus at home and when I wus not thar. Of course I jest raised nine out of the fourteen chil- 13 A FEW REMARKS OF MONTE PATTON dren, but if you raise nine out of fourteen that is doing purty well. "I named my oldest boy after George Washing- ton, the deschiver of America and my oldest girl after that Bloody Mary, the mother of Nicodemus. "By gorsh, what a pitty that Marthy left a good husband. All that old durn roll thing had to do wus to keep the meet for the children, sew some patches, do the washing and get a little wood; I always provided the bread when I wus not a scout- ing from the revinue officers. Then I had to have all of the corn bread that I could get a holt of to live on myself. Your own stomach is the first thing to preserve. " A revinue officer is the Devil. A revinue officer is jest simple perfectly ridiculous. He is worse than old Marthy. A revinue officer has no right to arrest me for selling the wild cat liquor that is made out of my own corn. When I work all summer to raise a crop of corn, the corn is mine. I have earn it by working, sweating and straining my jints in the hot sun and if I want to make it into moonshine liquor it is none of a revinue officer's durn business. "A revinue officer is a low down cull who keeps a poor man from selling his wild cat liquor and making a living for his wife and kids and takes you away from your cabin, a good cold spring and the 14 A FEW REMARKS OF MONTE PATTON mountains and put you in jail and lets you lay thar for six months and suffer for mountain air. I wouldn't vote for none of them revinue officers to save their souls from Hell. Thar wus a judge a-running down here and they said that he had been a revinue collector and I didn't vote for that old durn roll of a judge. I wish I could destroy revinue from the face of the Earth! "I'm a religious man. In my young days I gave myself to the Devil and as I grew older I saw the error of my wild life and I thought I would try to get religion. They were having a big revival on wild cat branch ; and I started going to the mourn- ers' bench, and I went thar for six months and I couldn't get religion to save my life. "The Devil wus sot in me so strongly that he hated to let me go. So I thought one day that if I couldn't get religion that night I would jump in Chucky River and drown myself. But that day I laid down on the mountain and went to sleep, and when I 'waked up I wus alright. So that night while a monstrous shouting wus a guien on by the good folks of wild cat branch I got as much religion as I wanted. The preacher said that I would have to forgive old Marthy, but I told him I would go back to the Devil before I would forgive that old cruel and unfaithful wife. 15 A FEW REMARKS OF MONTE PATTON "I have been trj'ing to marry sense I got a divorce from Marthy, but I can't find no one to suit me. I Avant a good woman or none a tawl. A good woman is like them flowers I seen in the flower garden at Knoxville, but a bad woman is like a revinue officer that makes j^ou scout out in the woods with-out corn bread and in the cold with-out fire. "When I wus a j^oung man I wus engaged to seventeen girls. I wus a good looking man then. I had the purtiest black hair and the purtiest white pearly teeth j^ou'ens ever laid eyes on. My teeth were so stout I could crack warnets with them teeth of mine. What a fool I wus to give up all of them seventeen girls for that old Marthy. One time I !?plit with her when I wus a-sparking of her and I never would have went back to her if she hadn't went to a-kissing and a-hugging of me. She prom- ised to love my old jints always with the last drop o' her blood, but she lied like a 'possum. Like a fool I married the Devil out of the seventeen. "Times are not what they use to be. I use to make the best wild cat liquor that ever went down a man's throat. Moonshine liquor is the purest liquor on earth. It is made from good corn that grows in the pure air of the mountains. They don't have no pure liquor now days. I have seen the time i6 A FEW REMARKS OF MONTE PATTON when you could make all of the wild cat liquor you wanted to and sell all you wanted to without being troubled with a revinue officer. "Yes sir, by gorsh, you could go out in the country ; and sell the liquor and come back through the moun- tains where the laurels were so purty and see them stars above and the moonlight falling through the trees; and you could know that you could go to your log cabin in peace; and knowing that no rev- inue officer would trouble you. "That wus the summer time, but when the fall came and the leaves were so red and yallar, you could hunt bares, deer, mountain coons, 'possums and wild cats and have a wild time, I love to hear the music of the bare hound as she shoves her legs over the pine ridges. When the winter came, }^ou could sot around the fire place and ete bare meat, deer and crack warnets and have a good old time. "But them times have gone never to return. No, the good old times will never come agin. The men that use to make moonshine liquor and live in log cabins have gone like the deer and bare from these mountains. They are cutting down the timber and the log cabins are falling down. The good old hands that moved backward and forth the shuttles of the old fashion loom and wove them 'linsey dresses are nearly all under the sod. 17 A FEW REMARKS OF MONTE PATTON "The men and wimen that were made by the rain, storms, thunder and snow that came over the moun- tains are passing beyond the mountain of trouble and hardships. Men like me are passing away like the timber that has been cut and slashed from them mountains over yander that once wus so purty. I feel that I'm alone in the world. And more than that I live alone in my cabin by myself without a wife or a child to say a kind word. "I know what the law ought to be. Thar in court a lawyer will get up; and read it right thar from a law book and the lawyer from the other side will get up ; and read the law some other way ; and the judge will make it out thar to be some other way; and they will send it to the supreme court and that court thar will make it out to be some other way and the time they get trough with it they don't know whether it is the law or not. I could make some home made law that would be better than that. "I swapped nags with breech-looder Dave and his son fllint lock Bill and the boss that I got from them cull scoundrels d rapped dead before I got the blasted thing home. Them fellows are the meanest culls on wild cat branch. Breach-looder and his son flint lock Bill waylaid me on the road that goes up wild cat branch and those blood thirsty culls picked up a two hundred pound rock and hit me on i8 A FEW REMARKS OF MONTE PATTON one of my lame jints. "The next time I see them sneaking I'm going to stomp out their livers through their hides. Yallar Ab will do it some too if they give him any of their sass. One night when it wus a snowing like uncivil fury and the wind wus a blowing as cold as the North pole, them rotten culls nailed up a gate on wild cat branch that I had to pass through. And I had to get off of my nag and prize the blasted gate open with a crow-bar, and frozed the very nails of my toes and fingers plum off and I broke a jug of wild cat liquor that I could have sold to yallar Ab for two dollars. Them heathens will come to some bad end. "Some folks say thar is no Hell. I wouldn't give up Hell for any thing. I like to hear a preacher a-preaching of Hell. I like to hear him when he scares a lot of kids half to death, when he makes the infernal lake of fire pop up through the floor. When yallar Ab and me goes to Heaven (Yallar Ab has bought at least ten wagon loads of wild cat liquor from me), we can stand at the golden gate and see breach-looder Dave and his son flint lock Bill and old Marthy in Hell. How I will lafif when I hear their jints a poping and cracking in Hellfire and brimstone. That will be Heaven enough for me and yallar Ab. 19 A FEW REMARKS OF MONTE PATTON "One time I had a little cold and the endfluend- ways on top of the cold and I wus not feeling very well; so I took a dose of caster oil, two doses of laudanum and one dose of calamine. I wanted to be certain that something knocked the enfluendways. And then I goes to work and I cooks up a old roster and make lot of gravy and you'ens ought to have saw me ete my belly full of that roster and that gravy, and I also ete a cup full of brown sugar. In about a half an hour I started down the road to the store; and when I had went about two hun- dred yards I began to get a little sick; and as I went on down the road I began to get a little sicker. "If I wus to jump up dead this minet I would tell you that I throwed up roster for three miles and a half down the road. And at last I got so sick that I be doust if I could get any firther; and yallar Ab had to come and haul me home in his goat wagon. It wusn't the roster or the medicine that made me sick. But I know that old Marthy put some kind of pizen in my coffee. I have not been well sense. That pizen settled in my jints. I wish I had a holt of that old Devil. I would destroy ever jint in her from the end of her years to the end of her toe nails." 20 NAPOLEON AT THE CLOSE OF THE CAMPAIGN OF 1814 O'er the soldier's tent hovered the wing of the night, And a grenadier came dashing through the gloom; That bold rider was a news bearer of an inglorious fight, That threatened to hurl Napoleon's glory to doom. At the Imperial Tent the rider drew his rein. The words of the rain soaked soldier sounded awful and low; "It pains my heart to tell the news of the river Seine, But Paris has surrendered to the wild hordes of Russia's snow." A smile flashed over the Emperor's brow of steel; Napoleon laughed and laughed, as he had ne'er before, "Ha, ha, ha! It takes my mind from the bloody battle field. To see a soldier full of fun in these days of gore." Then a natural frown came over that gloomy soul ; "Why should I laugh with this clown of bonny France ? The Imperial Eagle must reach to-morrow's goal, I must begin a plan where to hurl my bloody lance." "From this Imperial Tent my grenadier be-gone! I am a man that wields the sword of blood, I must begin a battle at to-morrow's dawn — 21 NAPOLEON AT CLOSE OF CAMPAIGN Clowns must not trample Napoleon's glory in the mud! Speak your shallow wit to the bayonets alone, My sword's too bright to clash with humor's lance, No time to make a circus ring out of my throne — Be-gone or I will drum you from the army of France." The brave grenadier pointed to the Throne Divine; "I swear by the God of battles — stormy battle fields, Paris has surrendered to the Prussians beyond the Rhine ; And Russia is grinding the Eagle under their heels." Napoleon shook his sword at the grenadier's breast; "You fool! There is no God ruling on high. No army could have taken the Imperial Eagle's nest, Paris surrendered ! Paris surrendered ! You tell a lie." "Paris, grenadier, is a queen of a mighty empire; No wild Cossack dares to thunder at her ramparts. There no Prussian dares to light his campfire, A battle field shall never be seen by its merry hearts." The grenadier lifted a banner that by shells was torn, "This battle tattered flag I've carried over plains of death ; I swear by this Eagle through blood I've borne, Your Empire's Queen has breathed her last breath." 22 NAPOLEON AT CLOSE OF CAMPAIGN Then Napoleon saw a soul in whom truth did dwell, "What cowards surrendered Paris to that Russian horde? Then they have surrendered Paris to that wild Cossack's hell ! He that surrendered Paris will feel my gleaming sword." That great mind that had so often flashed in the clash of steel, Who had so often performed miracles on death's bloody plain. Who had so often shattered thrones by his iron heel, 'I hen went mad like a mind that was wild and insane. History's saddest scene of war or peace is taking place now, The Emperor's voice sounded above a battle's roar; No battle ever saw such a storm that swept over his brow. The grenadier fainted who had never quailed in war or gore; That great Napoleon knocked his tent in a swollen stream. And madly flung the grenadier against the rampart. And the worn-out army awoke from its slumber and dream, And the bugler sounded a note for a wild charge to start. Napoleon spoke eloquent of his glory and his pains, "Paris is the heart of my free and great domain; 23 t NAPOLEON AT CLOSE OF CAMPAIGN Which sends liberty streaming through all European veins, Giving glory and freedom along the banks of the Seine. Fond Paris suffered all the agonies of dying pain, With martyr's blood flowing from her breast in shame. To sink the throne of tyrants to the bottom of the Seine, That liberty might reign over the tower of Notre Dame. "My cannons made that liberty blow out the 'Reign of Terror;' My grenadiers have carried that liberty to the ends of the Earth, My sword has caused that liberty, kingdoms to bury. My bayonets have caused that liberty to make empires a dearth. Paris! Paris! 'Tis where I so often in fame did roam. Where my warriors from battle won in triumph have returned, Paris is liberty's throne. Fame's throne and my home — Prom that throne Eve given laws that judges might learn. "Paris is the home of the fond pure wife of my breast," (And the first tear came to the stern warrior's eyes),— 24 NAPOLEON AT CLOSE OF CAMPAIGN "And an Austrain scoundrel now her lips hath pressed, And her purity will be ruin before to-morrow's sunrise. my God of battles, this is enough to run me wild — IV'Iy darling child, Paris is your cradle and your home ! Those Austrian scoundrels have stolen my pretty child, Those Prussian dogs have uncrowned even the King of Rome! "I wish some mighty God in Chaos did dwell, God would slay the Assyrians at my Imperial com- mand ; 1 wish there was a Hades that I might uproot Hell, And hurl it against that bold savage Russian band. I'll go alone to defend liberty o'er the Earth I've spread, The crown of Divine Monarchy must forever lie in dust. The laws I've written must not be numbered with the dead. The sword of Louis XIV must in oblivion ever rust. "No more heart throbs unless I save the darling wife of mine — My lips must feel again the kisses of my fair child, I'll go alone and save my fond pure wife from rapine — 25 NAPOLEON AT CLOSE OF CAMPAIGN The King of Rome shall never ride a Cossack's steed so wild. I may have deserted my army in the desert of the Nile, Or sacrificed my legions in snow to save this life of mine ; But Napoleon will never desert his Paris and his child- Queen of France, King of Rome! You shall not go beyond the Rhine. "When gaining victory after victory in my Italian Campaign ; I seized the standard and charged o'er Areola through blood : Single handed I'll go and charge over the bridge of the Seine, I'll wear again the diadem that Prussia has trampled in the mud. I'll take this sword of Marengo and I'll make it drink gore, I'll drive Divine monarchy from the cradle of the King of Rome; I'll put down this 'Reign of Terror' as I did in the days of yore. Alone, alone and single handed I'll retake an em- pire and my home!" 26 THE BEARER OF THE WHITE BANNER The folloicing verse was written a few days after the assassination of ex-Senator Carmack. He was a great Tennessean who knew no retreat, A hero who did not know how to surrender, Who dared to bear white banners on "salooning" street. And was right and honor's great and brave de- fender. On the scroll of honor shall his name e'er be ; And his fame shall forever be a fireside story, As the youth beckon light of the land of the free. And his name is written in the Nation's glory. But a murderer's bullet has crashed through his dauntless breast, In a city where Jimmie Polk is enshrined ; A land where the dust of brave men are at rest, A place where peace and joy so often have chimed. The tomb of Jackson is hidden under a cloud, A woman's heart is broken by the shadows of tears, And the white banner's bearer has been wrapped in his shroud ; And even the bravest have fears for the coming years. And justice — from my native State has fled, And murder over its sacred ground does tread. And the white banner and ribbon with blood are red; 27 THE BEARER OF THE WHITE BANNER And the great brilliant orator and writer lies dead And the battle by ring-rule and mm has been won, And a starless night is falling on Tennessee's shore, And even the bravest, "The holy war," now shun, And the folded white banner is trailing in gore. The retreat of white warriors is wild and broken, But united again shall be this scattered clan ; When white banner's bearer, from tomb has spoken. His soul shall again lead the heroic band. His militant note, o'er shattered host, shall float. His defiance and song shall awake the scattered throng. And the united host at the sound of the dead orator's note. Shall dethrone the ring, rum, murders and a host of wrong. 28 THE DEATH OF PRETTY SADIE A little town rests in Tennessee hills so sweet, While a pretty river the lovely scene does greet, The bluffs cast their shadows in the river that winds, 'Tis there that oft have wandered the feet of mine, There thickly grow the green maple trees so shady, It was there that liv'd the sweet little girl, Sadie, There the high green hills, around the town are winding. It is there the red climbing rose is entwining; But the bells are now tolling o'er the lovely scene. Merriment is hushed in a spot so serene. Faded, faded forever is the blooming rose, The laughter on Sadie's lips is forever close. Sadie, you've gone from the shady town so serene, Soon you will be sleeping where the grass is so green. I once saw snow flakes fall on apple trees in bloom, O! a far sadder scene has now fallen with its doom, Death's snow has now sadly wooed a heart of gold, Chilling, chilling forever a lovely sweet soul. You were blooming into womanhood, pretty girl, O! why was your sweet life taken from this cold world ? The rose was too tender for the winds that blow, Sadie, you were too sweet for the cold land below. Sadie, you've gone from the shady town so serene. Soon you will be sleeping where the grass is so green. 29 THE DEATH OF PRETTY SADIE Though the river, around the bend may lovely flow, Though the fragrant wild flowers, on the cliffs may grow, Sadie, your laughter has hushed its sweet refrain, No Sadie, those fair eyes will never flash again ; Sadie, though the red climbing rose may bloom and climb. Sister will hear no more the merry voice of thine. Sadie, you've gone from the shady town so serene. Soon you will be sleeping where the grass is so green. It is so sad to be torn from your sister's breast, 'Tis sad that your lips, your fond father will no more press. It is so sad to be torn from dear home's hearth-side. Sad to be torn from where you sweetly did abide. Sad for sweetheart to weep o'er the silent heart of thine, Sad to leave loved-ones forever on the cliffs of time. Sadie, you've gone from the shady town so serene, Soon you will be sleeping where the grass is so green. 30 THE TIME IS RIPE FOR UNIVERSAL PEACE THERE was a time when we gloried in slaughter and the desolation of war. The glorification of war was on the lips of art and song. We were thrilled when nations went forth to murder each other. We rejoiced over the mangled forms of humanity that fell in the shock of battle. It was so sweet to our ears to think of some poor boy shot through the lungs; and his life's blood ebbing away on some battle field, far from the love and care of his loved ones at home. But that time has gone. The world does not, now, rejoice over the sufferings of humanity. Therefore the time must be ripe for universal peace. Old men have told me about the Civil War — cruel and bloody. Then a man shouldered his rifle and went over to a happy home, and shot down one of his neighbors — that was war — that was earthly hell. But that time has gone. You do not believe in it now. The time is ripe for the war drum to cease to beat; and the war steed to fan the air no more. There is no battle joy or glory on battle fields; but they are bloody fields of pain. A great 31 TIME IS RIPE FOR UNIVERSAL PEACE hole gashed in a soldier's side, is agony; and a broken heart for a mother, that is waiting for the news of the battle, — that is war. It used to be that theology was saturated with war and blood. It is strange that men would have prayed to Christ, and then marched forth to shoot each other's brains out. But to-day the civilized world claims it is a Christian world. Religion's leader was not for war. He said "I came not to destroy men's lives," and again, "For they that take the sword shall perish with the sword." Therefore, if we are walking in the footsteps of the Prince of Peace, we ought to admit that the time is ripe for universal peace. If we are not willing to accept the teaching of Christ, we are hypocrites, we are not Christians, but savages who are engaged in savages' wars. But I have faith, there is something in religion; and the time is ripe for war to end. He who commanded the storm on Galilee to be at peace; is waiting to command the storm of war, that is raining blood and tears, to be at peace. We are no longer on the frontiers. The bad men and desperadoes no longer pump their "shooting irons" and "forty fours." And why should the nations be upon the frontiers, and wave the bloody flags and with cannon balls hurl the souls of men 32 TIME IS RIPE FOR UNIVERSAL PEACE to eternity through pain and agony? The fact that the social life of the frontiers has gone, and the desperadoes make their wild rides no more; is an indication that the time is ripe for the nations to be taken from the frontiers, and to stop forever the hail storms of bullets. The people make empires and republics. There- fore, if the people have reformed the social life of nations, and have disarmed the cut-throats and bad men, it is evident that the time is ripe to disarm the nations. The fact that we do not believe in the gun play of bad men, is an indication that the sentiment is against the gun play of nations. The people know they can disarm nations of civilized savages, as they have disarmed law breakers. The world to-day believes with the Irishman who, on being asked why he didn't go to war, he said, "I don't want to leave my mother a damn orphant;" or the soldier who, having swallowed five or six quinine pills through a mistake, wanted to be dis- charged on the ground that he had busted his durn gall. Some people may say, that because George Wash- ington and his army engaged in war, men should ever refuse to give up war. It may have been neces- sary for George Washington to go to war. It, also, may have been necessary for him to own slaves. 33 TIME IS RIPE FOR UNIVERSAL PEACE The founders of our Republic recognized war and slavery. And I delight to honor the soldiers of Valley Forge, and, also, those who wore the blue and gray; but why should we hate a man because he owned slaves before the Civil War? Even the constitution of this Republic made it possible for slavery to exist. But fifty years ago we advanced far enough to abolish slavery, and sweep away for- ever that power which gave white men the right to wring their bread from the sweat of other men's faces. And to-day we have advanced so far that we are crying out to abolish war — war more cruel than slavery ever dared to be. Slavery did not put a thousand dollars in a negro and then kill him; but those who go to war expect to murder and be killed. We have advanced so far that we believe it wrong for nations to take young men away from their homes and send them to suffer untold agonies, and to die on the gory fields of war. Some will say it does not look much like peace in Europe. But the tender flesh of men' can not much longer endure those rapid firing devils, and big machine guns that were invented by the friends of hell. After Europe is ruined financially, after we have heard the painful cry of half a million broken-hearted mothers, after the flower of her heroes is under the 34 TIME IS RIPE FOR UNIVERSAL PEACE sod, after her brightest j^oiing men have been crip- pled for life, after her sweetest homes have been given to the flames, after her haughty thrones have been shaken, after desolation and famine is following in the paths of the war lords' iron heel, I believe universal peace will arise over the wreck and ruins of this awful war. You may say that the war lords will never let universal peace come because they would lose their jobs. When any trade becomes of no use to the community, it dies out by the very nature of the thing. When the state ceases to demand soldiers to defend it, the military profession — that trade of butchery, — will die out. We know that the profession of train robbing does not defend a community ; and we are coming to realize that the military profession in this en- lightened day is not following in the paths of men like Washington ; nor is it working for the good of the state; but it is out on battle fields to place the laurels on "heroes," to murder, to butcher and to under-mine the foundations of nations. In the days gone by, when the war bugle echoed from hill to hill, when the earth quaked with the roar of cannons, when the banners waved in the sunlight, when the shells shrieked through the heavens, and martial music charmed the air, there 35 TIME IS RIPE FOR UNIVERSAL PEACE may have been battle joy or something glorious to ride in a wild charge or to die in battle won or lost. But how is it now? Listen! Submarines steal silently and without warning under a battle- ship and blow it to atoms. Can sailors who are expecting such things endure the nervous strain ? The battle of Austerlitz was decided in one day ; but soldiers in the last war have dug into the earth like moles and are living in the mud, sand and blood like dogs — not one day, but nearly six months. That is a living death. Would an artist care to paint such a hell? Where are the rampart charges? The rapid firing guns have made them a sickening slaughter. Where are the flank movements that have won so many victories? Look up! the aero- planes are on the wing. Bombs are dropped on wives and mothers. Men may ride into death; but they cannot see the darlings of the hearthstone slaughtered. Be careful, O! King, how you touch ofF the infernal machine of war. You have in- vented too much. Napoleon's soldiers could not endure the "legions of snow" on the bleak plains of Russia. How long can the soldiers endure the iron rain that is now shattering ramparts of stone? Four millions have already fallen. My God! only one million in the Civil War of the United States. O! Emperors! your iron cannons do not last long! 36 TIME IS RIPE FOri UNIVERSAL PEACE Your iron soldiers cannot last long! War will destroy war. Peace on earth and good will towards men will yet be sung over the broken cannon. Universal peace will yet descend upon earth. 37 THE WILD VIOLET My sweetheart is in the heart of Tennessee, Where the mountains are so sweet and wild ; And no sweeter at sunset is the wild mountain lea, Than the sweet bonny heart of that Nature's fair child. O dear is the blushing violet in a rugged ravine, But O the blushing wild heart of the mountain's dreams ; The heart that I have won where the ferns grow so serene, Is far more sweeter than mountain laurel on limpid streams. O, for a bow and a fiddle to make the air bloom. For the heart of a Wild Violet in a lonely lea. O, for a banjo to play away the night and gloom. For the heart of a maiden in darling Tennessee. Many are those of splendor I could have won. But, little girl, I will woo none of those belles; For I swear by the sacred cross there is none, But one for whom my heart with rapture swells. You're the one with whom I'll sail o'er life's stormy sea. Your heart as a star through the gloom will shine; That sweet heart of thine in the storm will pilot me. And in storm or shine your soul will ever be mine. O, for a bow and a fiddle to make the air bloom. For the heart of a Wild Violet in a lonely lea. O, for a banjo to play away the night and gloom. For the heart of a maiden in darling Tennessee. 38 THE WILD VIOLET If in oblivion's narrow vale it is my fate to plod, You will still follow me to the mountain lonely and bare ; You'll drive away heart aches as I turn the mountain sod, By chanting your wild song on the dewy morning air. I may be crowned with the laurels of fame ; But I'll marry no shallow song and glittering eyes, I'll marry my wild song bird of a homely name, And her lips of sunrise will hush the heart-wrung sighs. O, for a bow and a fiddle to make the air bloom. For the heart of a Wild Violet in a lonely lea. O, for a banjo to play away the night and gloom. For the heart of a maiden in darling Tennessee. 39 CUMBERLAND MATTIE The Cumberland River of Tenessee's flowing, In a scene of hills and valleys that are all at rest; O'er its w^aters the bluffs their shadows are throw- ing, When shattered clouds are sparkling with gold in the west. There in school days, at eve, on bluffs I did wander, Finding fossils of rocks of the Silurian age; Over which many silent hours I did ponder, In a spot of views, bluffs, flowers and shade. Dimly seeing the beauty of the poet's grand dream, As I stroll in solitude to dream or ponder; Over hills, in the valleys, or by the wide stream, Gathering wild grapes for my love as I did wander. In that scene, with sweet Mattie, often I did stroll, When the starlight over the bluffs and hills did start ; And cloud broken moonlight linked her to my soul. As her moonlit eyes fell with rapture in my heart. Soon I left for my mountain river grand and wild, There I waited for a letter in my cottage home; But no darling letter came from my fair sweet child, And then my heart grew gloomy in my mountain home. 40 CUMBERLAND MATTIE Then on my homeland mountain foothills of dew, The fragrant wild violets were opening in bloom ; Wild music floated sweetly, o'er the brook, where they grew, And from the crags fell the shadows of the moon. When I awoke on the morrow, a chilly morn Came a-sailing with its cold icy lips of woe ; Kissing the sweet wild violet? that were early born, Wrapping hearts of violets in burial sheet of snow. And I sadly thought of Mattie, sweet sunny soul, That turn'd from me like a cloud of chilling snow, Freezing, freezing the violets of love of my soul. Breaking my heart like the violets in the cold snow. O ! from the violets has gone the laughing sunshine. And Mattie, the violets are in the cold, cold snow; And sweet Mattie you have turn'd from the heart of mine, Sweetheart you've left me with the violets in the snow. The violets die, they raise no cry against the snow, — Die violets, raise no cry, bloom no more forever! I'll raise no cry because Mattie loved another, no, — But how sad Mattie, "No never no," forever. 41 DEAREST The birds leave in the winter for the blooming bough ; But sweeter will be their songs after winter's dearth. Dearest, my heart's laurel, I am leaving you now — Dearest, it is parting that makes love sweeter on earth. The song bird will return to woo his mate in the glen. Where the dewy laurels on laughing streams are growing. Dearest, from the wild west I will come to you again. Where the pure air over the mountain is blowing. 42 THE MOUNTAINEER'S SORROW The icy lips of snow are kissing the sunny hills; The green valleys are fading under winter's sad reign; Winter's fingers are gripping the wheels at the corn mills ; And the cold northern winds are beating against the window pane. Want and hunger are in the mountaineer's humble home ; There are tears in the eyes of many a shivering, suffering child ; There are heart-aches wherever in these hills we roam ; There are many cries for bread from the bleak mountain so wild. Where is he who will heed the cry of the toddling child ? Who will give the poor a bushel of corn or a loaf of bread? Who will comfort the sick in the glens so lonely and wild? Who will ease a broken heart at a sorrowing death bed? What does it matter if they give the mountaineer a stone? They can kick the broken hearted out in the snow! Let the child cry on for a drink of milk or a bone! Let the sick drink the bitter cups of sorrow and woe! 43 THE MOUNTAINEER'S SORROW The Good Samaritan has eternally gone to the golden way; The mountaineers with empty sacks are standing at his door; Though their hearts are singing a heartfelt lay ; That good heart, so full of charity throbs no more. Do you ask me the Good Samaritan's name? We called him "Uncle Henry" in the clover blooms below ; The world wrote o'er his grave of tears, "Unknown to fame;" Angels call him "Love" where the golden lilies blow. Fondly do we hope as we pray and kneel ; That his spirit still watches o'er these beautiful vales, And that some young man will make his life, Uncle Henry's ideal, And bring joy and bread to these mountain dales. Or swing back the golden gate and let him return home. We have saddled his horse on the shores of time; Heaven may need him on the pearly rivers to roam But we need him, far more, in the world of hate and crime. 44 SWEETHEART Sweet is the sun rising over the blue wild mountains, When purple and pink the dewy morning glows ; Pretty is the moonlight falling on the shadowed fountains, Where the fragrance of the red rhododendron blows. But sweeter than murmuring streams is sweet- heart's voice of song; The glow on her cheeks is dearer than the morning sunrise. The music of her voice is like the chiming of a sacred gong — A holy kiss is like kneeling at the throne of bliss beyond the skies. 45