t^im» M£ARON( BALLADS T.A.DALY Class Book '. CopightB?. ■?^ ^SQ-? CQEflSIGHT DEPOSm McARONI BALLADS BY THE SAME AUTHOR CARMINA CANZONI MADRIGALI SONGS OF WEDLOCK 'trJhnf^r - ,,,.-, Ruhicam Road Page 8i McARONI BALLADS AND OTHER VERSES BY T. A. DALY Frontispiece by HERBERT PULLINGER m NEW YORK HARCOURT, BRACE AND HOWE 1919 V .i> v^■' COPYRIGHT, 1 91 9, BY HARCOURT, BRACE AND HOWE, INC. m 22 1919 THE QUINN 81 BODEN COMPANY RAHWAY N J ©CI.A5366G8 tJU THE MEMORY OF JOYCE KILMER ARGUMENT TX/f y title has a foreign look; 1 VJ. The sort of Latin label One might expect upon a hook Devoted to the table. Yet '^ Macaroni'^ 's come to be A word of many meanings, (One Noah Webster, LL.D., Explains its Yankee leanings) And some of these, I think, will fit The facts and personages My puny pipings cause to Hit Among these printed pages. If, still, you deem my plain intent Too delicately subtle, I've yet another argument To offer in rebuttal: Since these my verses scarce may claim Much share of fame or boodle, But merely aim to laud the name Of Mr. Yankee Doodle, May I — whose Pegasus, mayhap, Like his, is but a pony — Not stick a feather in my cap^ Andcallit McAroni? CONTENTS PAOB FOR goodness' sakM 3 THE SECOND COMING 5 DA FINE ITALIAN HAND ..... 7 FLAG O' MY LAND . . . . . . lO DA FLUTE EEN SPREENG . . . . . 12 ON A MARCH MORNING ..... I4 MARCHA-MONTH I5 A " TITANIC " MOTHER . . . . . 1 7 SO GLAD FOR SPREENG . . . . . . 1 9 GOOD FRIDAY — 1917 21 APRIL . . .23 RAVIOLI 24 THE CONSTANT POET 26 G. SCALABRARTA — FINANCIER . . . . 28 BALLADE OF THE TEMPTING BOOK . . . 3 1 DA wheestlin' barber 33 A LITTLE KERRY SONG 36 DA VERRA LEETLA BABY 38 A VALENTINE * 4O LEETLA GIUSEPPINA 42 BALLADE OF THE STRANGE WORD ... 44 CHERRY PIE 46 EEN COURT 47 THE MARINE 50 vii viii CONTENTS PAGE DA JOB DAT RAN AWAY 53 THE MAN AT THE TURNPIKE BAR • • • 55 AT A HALL-ROOM WINDOW 57 TWO DAYS 59 DA FARMER 6l TO A LITTLE GIRL OF FIVE 63 THE SEA EAGLES OF COLUMBIA .... 64 DA QUEENA BEE 66 WHAT THE FARMER SAW 69 THE SIX-0*CLOCK RUSH 7I THE CHILDLESS WOMAN . . . • . 73 IN A SLEEPER, ID A.M * • 75 DA WISA CHILD *jy^ PITY THE POOR POET 79 TO IGNACE PADEREWSKI 80 RUBICAM ROAD 81 TO A BEREAVED MOTHER 84 FOR OLD LOVERS 86 THE LOVE-SONG 87 WHEN THE MISSUS COOKS 90 RICHES .92 SINGLE PHILOSOPHY 93 THE ACE TO HIS QUEEN 95 THE CAGED BIRD .97 CIDER 99 WISHES lOI IN PRAISE OF SCRAPPLE IO3 PLEASURES OF THE POOR I06 THE FAT MAN YEARNS I08 DA LEETLA DOCTOR IIO CONTENTS ix PAGE A SONG FOR NOVEMBER . . . . . 112 TO A SANDWICHMAN II3 FIRESIDE DREAMS . . . . . . . II4 SINCE PATSY shea's A SCOUT . . . .1X6 FORTISSIMO . .119 APPLYING THE SERMON 121 ALONG THE WISSAHICKON 124 DA POSTA CARD FROM NAPOLI . . . . I26 SONG OF THE SCUTTLE ...... I28 IN FRANCE 131 THE TREASURE BOX I34 DA VOICE DA GERMANS MEESSED . . . . I36 ROSA's CURIOSITY I4O- IN PRAISE OF ST. STEPHEN .... I42 DA PUP EEN DA SNOW I44 TO AN AUTHOR 147 ONE OF US 148 TO A RICH MAN , . I49 McARONI BALLADS FOR GOODNESS' SAK'! "T7NOR goodness' sakM " She say to me — X/ Dees girl, dees Angela Mari' Dat soon my wife ees gona be — " Bayfore I go for leeve weeth you, You gotta habit, you mus' br'ak; Dees swearin' talk eet weell not do, For goodness' sak' ! " " For goodness' sak' ! eefs mak' me sad," She say, " for hear you speak so bad." An' I say, " Wal, w'en I am mad, I feel eef I no swear a few Dat som'theeng sure ees gotta br'ak; So w'at da deuce I gona do. For goodness' sak'? " " ' For goodness' sak' ! * dat's joosta w'at You oughta say w'en you are hot ! " She say; " So promise you weell not Mak' swear words now for seexa week. Or you can tak' your presents back! Here's strongest langwadge you must speak : ' For goodness' sak' ! ' " 3 McARONI BALLADS For goodness' sak' I'm tonga-tied, So dat she weell be satisfied, Dees girl dat gona be my bride ; But you, you guys dat know me — Wal! I hope dat you weell not meestak* What I am theenkin' w'en I yal: " For goodness' sak' ! " McARONI BALLADS THE SECOND COMING (A Lincoln's Birthday fancy, 1917) CLUTCHING their bosomed wealth, they made their cry : " Oh, that our Lincoln's strong, unbending frame Might loom against this wild, war-crimsoned sky!*' . . . And Lincoln came. He was as when he lived, the quaint and queer Rough casket of the living heart of gold. " And these," he thought, ** save they no longer sneer. Are as of old." But they, with lifted faces all aflame, Beheld their hopes new blossoming and cried : " We have no leaders worthy of the name; Be thou our guide! " McARONI BALLADS He bent on them his cryptic smile once more; He gave them timely truth in rough-hewn jests And laid accusing finger on the sore In their own breasts. And all his words Pride's ancient armor found, And all his words rebuilt dismantled years, For lo! the faces circling him around Grew dark with sneers. McARONI BALLADS DA FINE ITALIAN HAND JOE GESSAPALENA can't write hees own name, But he can write othra theengs, justa da same ; An' mebbe you, too, Bayfore he ees through, Weell read w'at he's wrote an' be glad dat he came. You see, eet ees verra good theeng for dees Joe He com' to dees countra so long time ago, Bayfore dey baygeen dese new eemigrant laws Dat mak' you know readin* an' writin', bay- cause Da 'Merican story he's makin' to-day Ees justa wrote down een a deefferent way. Eh? Pleassa, my frand, I'll esplain, eef you wait! K You evva been up een Conne'tica State An' see dose ole farms dat's so full weetha stone 8 McARONI BALLADS Dat mos' evra farmer ees leavin' alone, Baycause dey ain't fit for nobody to own? Wal, Joe he ees buy wan o' dem lasta year An' now he ees doin' som' writin' up dere; An' even hees firsta year's work was so good He sure ees da talk for da whole neighbor- hood ! You no ondrastand? O! my frand, you are slow ! Wal, he weell esplain eet. So speaka dees Joe: " I write weeth no pen, but I taka my hoe An' I use eet so wal weeth my stronga right han' Dat I write, een Italian, all over dees Ian' All da treecks I have learned, all da theengs dat I know Dat weell charma da plants an' jus' maka dem grow! But — O! here now ees com' da mos' wondra- ful theeng! — Dough I write on my fields een Italian een spreeng. You can read, een da summer, all over my Ian' McARONI BALLADS Soocha message da harvest speaks, plain *Merican, Even dose dat mak' laws mebbe might ondra- stanM" Joe Gessapalena can't write hees own name, But he can write othra theengs, justa da same; An' mebbe you, too, Bayfore he ees through, Weell read w'at he's wrote an' be glad dat he came. 10 McARONI BALLADS FLAG O* MY LAND UP to the breeze of the morning I fling you, Blending your folds with the dawn in the sky; There let the people behold you, and bring you Love and devotion that never shall die. Proudly, agaze at your glory, I stand, Flag o* my land! flag o* my land! Standard most glorious! banner of beauty! Whither you beckon me there will I go. Only to you, after God, is my duty; Unto no other allegiance I owe. Heart of me, soul of me, yours to com- mand, Flag o* my land! flag o' my land! Pine to palmetto and ocean to ocean. Though of strange nations we get our in- crease. Here are your worshipers one in devotion. Whether the bugles blow battle or peace. McARONI BALLADS ii Take us and make us your patriot band, Flag o' my land! flag o* my land! Now to the breeze of the morning I give you Ah ! but the days when the staff will be bare ! Teach us to see you and love you and live you When the light fades and your folds are not there. Dwell in the hearts that are yours to command, Flag o* my land! flag o' my land! 12 McARONI BALLADS DA FLUTE EEN SPREENG DERE was a time w*en I could shoot Profess' Agrandinallo, For dat he played upon da flute All nighta long hees '' toot! toot! toot! " An' made a seeckness een my head Wen I was layin' een my bed. O! manny, manny time I swore Wen he was livin' nexta door — Dat crazy music- fallow ! Wan day een March, wan happy day. Profess' Agrandinallo He took hees theengs an' moved away Where I no more could hear heem play. Ah! den da nights was full with sleep. So beautiful, so long an' deep! An* I was glad dat nevva more I gona hear heem nexta door — Dat crazy music-fallow ! McARONI BALLADS 13 But, ah ! my frand, I deed not feel How mooch, how mooch I meesed heem. How dear hees music was, onteell Las' night beside my weendow-seell, From somVhere far off down da street, I heard hees flute so soft an* sweet! O ! my, eet made my heart so glad Dat was so lonely an' so sad I justa coulda keesed heem! 14 McARONI BALLADS ON A MARCH MORNING THERE'S a tulip in this air Last night never knew; Strange, faint perfume's everywhere. 'Round the dawn's gates, too, Cloudy curtains stir, and lo! Rosy-flushed are they. Trembling with the joy to know God has passed this way. McARONI BALLADS 15 MARCHA-MONTH HERE ees com' da time of year Best of all! Lika trumpet een my ear Ees eets call. Lika trumpet far away First I hear eet yestaday W*en a weend dat's sailed da sea Com* along dees street to me And eet touch my hair an' say : "I am here!" Now ees com' da time of year I should seeng; Far Italian scenes so near Eet can breeng. Home, een March-month, I could go Where ees steell da mountain snow Findin' on da sunny side Of som' feeg-tree, where dey hide, Violets dat cry : " Hallo ! We are here ! " i6 McARONI BALLADS Here ees com* dat time of year; But no note Of da song dat once was dear Feells my throat. Ah! eef only now, to-day, She dat's verra far away — Farther dan Italian shore — Comin' weeth da Spreeng once more, Joost could touch my hand an' say : *'l am here!" McARONI BALLADS 17 A TITANIC MOTHER OCH ! 'tis come again, April, the same fine air Breathin' in from the sea — An' the lad inunder it still, somewhere, That was born o' me — Let them wag their heads, for 'tis little I care What they do be sayin', that think me quare — An* why wouldn't I be? O! my grief that my flesh that was his flesh, too, Should withhold me from him ! But I know what my soul, when it's free, will do. It will dive an' swim To the cold sea-caves where I'll find my Hugh— Where the quality lies all one with the crew — And I'll comfort him. i8 McARONI BALLADS t — — — Sure, I'd know him twenty times twelve months dead, For he's bone o' my bone — An' what way would my soul be comforted In God's heaven alone? — He will lie with his right arm under his head, But there's never another could find his bed But his mother — his own. An' why wouldn't I hear him call from the deep On this April morn? Sure, I've felt his call, and myself asleep An' himself unborn ! An' they do be sayin' that quare things creep From the depths o' the sea when the spring tides leap Of an April morn. McARONI BALLADS 19 SO GLAD FOR SPREENG EEF somebody com' to-day To dees fruita-stan' an' say: " Wa't? Banana two for fi'? Seems to me dat's verra high ! " I would look up een da sky Where da sun ees shine so bright, An' da clouds so sof an' white Sail like boats I use' to see Een da bay at Napoli; An' so softa theeng I am, I would notta care a dam Eef da customer should be Sly enough for taka three ! Eef like dat you com* to-day Mebbe so I justa say: " See da Tony McAroni ! He ees verra lazy thing, Wat da deuce he care for money? Here ees com' da spreeng! " Eef to-day I had a wife An' she say: " My love! my Ufe! 20 McARONI BALLADS I mus* have fi'-dollar note For da new spreeng hat an* coat," Theenk I gona grab her throat, Bang her head agains' da wall? Eh! To-day? Oh, not at all! She would look so pretta dere Weeth da sunshine on her hair, I would look at her, an* den I would tal her: " Taka ten!" Eef I had a wife to-day I am sure dat I would say: "All right, Mrs. McAroni, I am verra softa theeng. Wat de deuce I care for money? Here ees com' da spreeng! " McARONI BALLADS 21 GOOD FRIDAY— 1917 THE die is cast for war! So be it then ! And in the deep heart's core Of earnest men An augury of good For human brotherhood Through spilth of guiltless blood Is born again. With honor, scorning loss. Or blame or praise, The nation lifts its cross This day of days; And under war-lit skies, Unto His patient eyes It dares, all reverent-wise, Its own to raise. The storm-wrack blots the sun. So be it then ! For God, when all is done. Shall reign again. 22 McARONI BALLADS From all that horror dreamed, From good that evil seemed Shall rise a world redeemed! Amen ! Amen ! McARONI BALLADS 23 APRIL HERE comes April ! filmy-fair, Green of cap and kirtle, Silver dew-drops in her hair And a sprig of myrtle. Here comes April up the land, Irish as Killarney, Subject to no man's command, Proof against his blarney. Smiles or tears she wears at will; Often she's " desateful," But what gifts she's pleased to spill Take them and be grateful! No directing mortal hands Touch this quaint equation; She is Irish, and demands Self-determination. 24 McARONI BALLADS RAVIOLI SIGNOR DEL VECCHIO, dees ees for you, Also your partner, Signor Magazzu. Nevva bayfore have I soocha dalight, Nevva sooch fina good eatin* has been Stucka so playnta eensida my skeen Like een your restaurant Saturday night! Dere was som' seelly old Irishman dere, Fat an' so beeg lika frog een hees chair, Stuffin' hees stummick weeth soup an' weeth bread, Teell you gon' theenk he would bust an' be dead. No, but he don't; he ees steell on da job, Eatin* da feesh an' da — how-you-call? — " squab." Porco ! Dat's only kind food he can see ; Geeve heem hees skeenaful — so, lat heem be- But, " RavioH " ! Ah ! dat's for me ! McARONI BALLADS 25 Paste for da noodle rolled out teell eet's theen, Fine tendra cheecken cut up to put een; Put dem togethra — so, presto ! — an' mak' Beautiful, reech leetla cracker or cak'. Den you weell cook for da sauce upon dese Mushroom, tomat' an' da fine Roma cheese. Breeng dem to table so hot as can be; Breeng dem more playnta, more playnta! Oh, gee! Dat's " Ravioli " an' dats'a for me ! Signor del Vecchio, healtha for you ! Also your partner, Signor Magazzu. Nevva bayfore have I soocha dalight, Nevva sooch beautiful eatin' has been Stucka so playnta eensida my skeen Like een your restaurant Saturday night ! 26 McARONI BALLADS THE CONSTANT POET ONCE more, my muse, 'tis time to be in- voking The offices of good St. Valentine. This year 'tis Phyllis' name that I am yoking In verse with mine. Last year it was a ballad to Miranda, The year before a triolet to Dot. No doubt I seem a fickle goose — or gander — But I am not. I hesitate to contemplate the number Of female names I've fashioned to my rhyme. Whene'er I rouse my weary muse from slumber About this time. I've breathed my love for Dolly, Grace and Cora; In other years I've run to Nell and Belle. How many times I've yearned for Bess and Dora I cannot tell. McARONI BALLADS 27 Now in the charms of Phyllis I am basking, And all the love I bear her must be told. For if it's not, my Mary will be asking If IVe grown cold. The secret's out! The name's imaginary; I never knew a " Phyllis " in my life. All names are merely pseudonyms for " Mary," And she's my wife. 28 McARONI BALLADS G. SCALABRARTA, FINANCIER GIUSEPPE SCALABRART He's gotta huckster-cart Dat he ees push.aroun' Da streets een deesa town, Wherevra dere's enough To buy hees fruit an' stuff. But wan day een hees cart Dees fallow Scalabrart' Ees carry, for a change, A load dat's verra strange. Here ees da way of eet: Dere's lady een wan street Dat owe heem seexty cent. An' act so like she meant She nevva gona pay ; An' she's gon' move away, For on da house wan day He see a sign dat say : " Dees Property For Sell." Giuseppe reeng da bell, McARONI BALLADS 29 An' w*en she com' he say: " My seexty cent; you pay Eef mebbe so I find Som'body dat'sa mind For buy da house from you? " She laugh an', " Eef you do," She say, " an' I can gat My price — four thousan' flat — I pay your beell on sight." Giuseppe say : " All right." Eet's nexta morna w'en He reeng da bell agen; Da lady com' an' say: " I want no fruit to-day." But he say: " Waita, pleass! Dese fruits no grow on trees; Com', lady, looka dese!" Den een hees cart he shows — Now, w'at you gon' su'pose? — Een undra pile of rags Ees old teen cans an' bags. An' dere ees som' of dese Dat's full weeth ten-cent piece; so McARONI BALLADS An' some weeth neeckels, too, An' pennies; an' a few Weeth feefty, twanty-fi', An' som' got notes so high As fi', ten-dollar beell! He say : " Now, eef you weell, Pleas', lady, be so kind To count all dese, you'll find Four thousan' dollar here — No, notta quite, but near — You see, I hate Hke hal For losin' w'at you owe, Dat seexty cent, you know. And so I theenk eet wal For buy da house mysal'." McARONI BALLADS 31 BALLADE OF THE TEMPTING BOOK SOMETIMES when I sit down at night And try to think of something new. Some odd conceit that I may write And work into a verse or two, There often dawns upon my view, The while my feeble thoughts I nurse, A little book in gold and blue — '' The Oxford Book of EngUsh Verse." And though I try, in wild affright At thought of all I have to do, To keep that volume out of sight. If I so much as look askew I catch it playing peek-a-boo. Then work may go to — pot, or worse! I'm giving up the evening to '' The Oxford Book of English Verse." O ! some for essays recondite, And some for frothy fiction sue, But give to me for my delight One tuneful tome to ramble through; 32 McARONI BALLADS To hear the first quaint " Sing Cuccu ! ' And all those noble songs rehearse Whose deathless melodies imbue " The Oxford Book of English Verse." L'Envoi Kind Reader, here's a tip for you : Go buy, though skinny be your purse And other books of yours be few, " The Oxford Book of English Verse." McARONI BALLADS 33 DA WHEESTLIN' BARBER LAS' night you hear da op'ra? J Eef you was uppa stair An* eef you know Moralli You mebbe saw heem dere. Moralli? He's a barber, But verra bright an' smart, An' crazy for da op'ra; He knows dem all by heart. He's alia tima wheestlin'. An' often you can find Jus' from da tune he wheestles Wat thoughts ees een hees mind. Eef you would ask a question, Da answer you would gat Ees notheeng but som' music — Ha! w'at you theenk of dat? Xas' week hees wife, Lucia — Fine woman, too, is she — She gave to heem som' babies. Not only wan, but three! 34 McARONI BALLADS Eef to your shop som' neighbors Should breeng sooch news to you Eet sure would jus' excite you To say a word or two; But deesa Joe Moralli, Dees music-crazy loon, He never stopped hees wheestlin' — But justa changed hees tune. Dees answer from hees music Was all dat dey could gat: " Trio from * Trovatore/ " Ha! w'at you theenk of dat? He nevva stopped hees wheestlin* Dat " Trovatore " tune, Not even w'en he's dreenkin' Weeth frauds een da saloon. He wheestled eet dat evenin' Wen home he went to see Hees granda wife, Lucia, An' leetla babies three. But w'en he stood bayfore dem He was so full weeth dreenk. He looked upon dose babies An' wheestle — Wat you theenk? McARONI BALLADS 35 O! den da tune he wheestled Was — how-you-call-eet? — " pat : " " Sextetta from Lucia." Ha! w'at you theenk of dat? 36 McARONI BALLADS A LITTLE KERRY SONG THERE'S grand big girls that walks the earth, An' some that's gone to glory, That have been praised beyond their worth To live in song and story. O ! one may have the classic face That poets love to honor, An' still another wear the grace O' Venus' self upon her; Some tall an' stately queens may be. An' some be big an' merry — Och ! take them all, but leave for me One little girl from Kerry ! Sure, Kerry is a little place. An' everything's in keepin' : The biggest heroes of the race In little graves are sleepin'; An' little cows give little crame, Fur little fairies take it; An' little girls think little shame To take a heart an' break it. McARONI BALLADS 37 Och! here's a little Kerry lad That would be O ! so merry, If but your little heart he had, O ! little girl from Kerry ! 38 McARONI BALLADS DA VERRA LEETLA BABY IRISH Padre Tommeeckbride Laughed an' laughed onteell he cried. Always he ees do dat way At mos* evra theeng I say. Ees no matter w'at I spoke, He would tak* eet for a joke ; Eet's a shame to tease a man Wen he do da best he can! Now, for eenstance, yestaday Dere's a chrees'nin' down our way; Eef s a baby calF " Carlotf " Dat my cousin Rosa's got. O! so small, jus' two weeks old — Een wan handa you could hold! Wal, I am da wan dat stand For dees leetla child, my fraud — How you call een deesa land? " Godda-father? " Yes, dat's me! Wal, w'en all ees done, you see, An* da child ees bapatize'. Padre Tommeeckbride, he cries: McARONI BALLADS 39 " Evrabody com* dees way. We must write eet down," he say. While he's writin' een da book, From my pocket here I took Twenta-fi'-cent piece, my frand. An* I put eet een hees hand. " Thanks ! " he say, an* smiles at me. Den Bianca Baldi, she — While da padre looks at eet — Wheespers: " Dat*s a leetle beet! " " Sure,** I tal her, " dat'sa true. But da baby*s leetla, too.** Irish Padre Tommeckbride Laughed an* laughed onteell he cried. Always he ees do dat way At mos* evratheeng I say; Eet*s a shame to tease a man W*en he do da best he can! 40 McARONI BALLADS A VALENTINE THERE was a time, when we were young together And all the thorns of life were yet to seek, This day brought roses, in the wintriest weather, To burn your cheek. Oh, not alone the wanton winds that sought you Were wont your lilies to incarnadine; Your roses deepened when the postman brought you My valentine. The words I wrote, my still fond breast re- members, Were leaping tongues from out a heart of fire; They breathed, nor have they lost in graying embers Young love's desire ! MgARONI ballads 41 But now, my dear, this fervent song I sing you Has holier designs on heaven's wealth; I pray this little valentine may bring you The rose of health. 42 McARONI BALLADS LEETLA GIUSEPPINA JOE BARATTA'S Giuseppina She's so cute as she can be; Justa com' here from Messina, Weeth da resta family. Joe had money in da banka — He been savin' for a year — An' he breeng hees wife, Bianca, An' da three small children here. First ees baby, Catarina, Nexta Paolo (w'at you call Een da Inglaice langwadge " Paul "), An' da smartest wan of all — Giuseppina ! Giuseppina justa seven, But so smart as she can be; Wida-wake at night-time even, Dere's so mooch dat's strange to see. W'at you theenk ees mos' surprise her? No; ees not da buildin's tall; Eef, my frand, you would be wisa You mus' theenk of som'theeng small. McARONI BALLADS 43 Eet's an ant! Wen first she seena Wan o' dem upon da ground, How she laughed an* danced around: " O ! * Formica/ he has found Giuseppina ! " "O!" she cried to heem, "Formica" (Dat's Italian name for heem), " How you gatta here, so queecka? For I know you no can sweem; An' you was not on da sheepa. For I deed not see you dere. How you evva mak* da treepa? Only birds can fly een air. How you gat here from Messina? O! at las' I ondrastand! You have dugga through da land Jus' to find your leetla frand, Giuseppina ! ** 44 McARONI BALLADS BALLADE OF THE STRANGE WORD (See Webster's Unabridged) THESE warm spring days When skies are blue I yearn for ways My youth once knew; When cares were few And never great, Vd nothing do But "apricate." To-day my gaze Meandering through What Webster says — How language grew! — Chance brought to view That word ornate. Don't " fuss " or " stew," But "apricate." Small good life pays To me or you, When worry sways The health askew. McARONI BALLADS 45 To reimbue With " pep " our state, We shouldn't " rue," But "apricate." UEnvoi Ye gods! we sue, From morn till late: Let's nothing- do But " apricate." 46 McARONI BALLADS CHERRY PIE O CHERRY pie! A song for thee! Let not the crusts close-wedded be. But puffed and flaky, plumped with meat, And all the red heart dripping sweet With luscious oozings syrupy. Ah! that's the cherry pie for me! I'll want two " helpin's ; " maybe three — Who ever got enough to eat O' cherry pie? What odds if in our dreams we see Nightmares and goblins? We'll agree, Though Pain usurp Joy's earlier seat. No collywobs can quite defeat The gustatory pleasures we Owe cherry pie. McARONI BALLADS 47 EEN COURT 1WAS een court wan day las* week. An' eet was strange to me. I like eet not; steell, I would speak Of som'theeng dere I see. To you, dat know da court so wal, I s'pose eet's notheeng new, But you are kind, so lat me tal Dees leetla theeng to you: Da " Judge " — I theenk dey call heem so- Da bossa for da place. He's fine, beeg, han'som' man, an* O! Sooch kindness een da face. Wal, soon dey breeng a prisoner dere, A leetla boy; so small Dat teell dey stand heem on a chair I did not see at all! Poof leetla keed, I s'pose he might Be tan year old or less; I nevva see sooch sorry sight, Sooch peecture of deestress. 48 McARONI BALLADS " Dees ees a verra badda child," Ees say da bigga cop Dat hold hees arm; "he's runna wild, An' so I tak' heem up." You theenk so smalla keed like dat Would cry, for be so scare' ; But no, he tweest hees ragged hat An' justa nevva care. Den speaks da Judge, an' O! so sweet, Like music ees hees voice. He tals heem how da ceety street Ees notta place for boys. At first da boy looks roun' da place, So like he nevva heard, But soon he watch da Judge's face An' dreenks een evra word. " My child, would you not like to go Where dere ees always food, A gooda home, where you may grow For be da man you should?" Da boy mak's swallers een hees throat As eef he try to speak. But no wan near could hear a note, Hees voice eet was so weak. McARONI BALLADS 49 " Eh? Wat was dat? " da Judge he said. "Wat deed you say, my dear?" An' den he leaned hees han'som' head Down close to heem to hear. I s'pose da boy's so strange, so wild, He deed not ondrastand; He only knew dat Judge so mild Was sure to be hees fraud. An* so hees skeenny arms reached out — He deed not try to speak — But, leeftin' up hees leetla mout' He keessed heem on da cheek! O! hal, my fraud, don't be ashame* For w'at ees een your eye! Weeth me, weeth all, eet was da same, We could not halp but cry; Not tears for dat we was so sad. But for da joy to find A leetla boy dat was so glad, A man dat was so kind ! 50 McARONI BALLADS THE MARINE IN assorted shades of green You have painted The Marine, And a deal of yarns about him you've been spin- ning; He has much to say to you Of his red and white and blue, So he'd like to have your ear and take his inning : ''Back of Freedom's earliest glimmer, When the night was never dimmer, ^And before the light of hope upon the mountain top was shed. There were men whose steel Hashed splendid When the long black night was ended ^And the sun looked in upon them Wound the Nch tion's trundle bed; And in that electric air, With the laurel in our hair. We Colonial Marines, of the victor forces deans. We were there! When the ships of Jones and Barry Sallied gayly forth to harry McARONI BALLADS 51 And to take the proudest vaunters of the British navy's might, When that most helov'd commander To the foe's demand *' Surrender I '' Made his lion-hearted answer, " We have fust begun to fight! " Who were first and most to dare In the battle lantern's glare? We, as landsmen or as tars, still the myrmidons of Mars, We were there! In those sailing ships of wonder. When, with taffrail seething under. From the gun-decks came the thunder of a broad- side dealing woe; And with Perry, Hull — and later — With the dashing young Decatur, In the war wherein no waters saw our yielding to the foe. We were not denied our share Of the battle joy so rare; For the easing of our spleens, we amphibious Marines, We were there! 52 McARONI BALLADS Out of iron ships were hollowed In the leaping years that followed, And they've changed the style of fighting , hut they haven't changed the men; Shall we, first of Yankee yeomen To repel those ancient foemen, Let an ocean stay our vengeance, if it failed to stay it then? Nay, in France the ever fair When Old Glory takes the air. The ubiquitous Marine, as becomes the fighting dean. Will be there! " June, 1917 McARONI BALLADS 53 DA JOB DAT RAN AWAY NOT evra Dagoman like me Can find hees place een deesa Ian*. Som', sure, must disappointa be; But worst of all you evva see Ees Vinci, da Venetian. You see, dees Vinci had a frand Dat com' las' year to deesa land An' gotta job out West, you know, Dat suit heem verra wal; an' so He sant hees folks back home wan day A peecture posta-card dat say: " Here's work for all, an' gooda pay ! " "Ah!" cries dees Vinci, w'en he see Da posta-card, " dat's place for me." An' just so queeck as eet could be He tooka sheep an' cross da sea. He deed not stop, he would not rest Onteell he's een dat town out West. But den — Oh, my, eet mak' you seeck To hear da badda words he speak. 54 McARONI BALLADS " Dat damma posta-card ! " he cry, " Eet was a lie! eet was a lie! I nevva see a town so dry!" Oh, sure, eet was a shame, my frand. Eh? w'at? Oh, don't you ondrastand? Dat peecture-card hees frand ees sand Was wan dat showed da town w*en eet Had playnta water een da street, Wen floods was heavy lasta year — Yes! Vinci ees a gondolier. Not evra Dagoman like me Can find hees place een deesa Ian*. Som', sure, must disappointa be; But worst of all you evva see Ees Vinci, da Venetian. McARONI BALLADS 55 "THE MAN AT THE TURNPIKE BAR" I WAS fifty-odd year on the Lancaster Pike, Takin' the toll, takin' the toll; But it's never again I'll be doin' the like, Since we've lost the conthrol, lost the con- throl. An* it's manny a thraveler usin' the road Will be glad o' their freedom; ye'd know be their laughter now. But for all they're so free here's one heart wears a load, Wid no wish to go on, but to sit an' look afther now. Oh, the wonders o' Beauty I caught wid me eye, Takin' the toll, takin' the toll 1 For to «tand like a king, wid the world sthreamin' by. Is a feast for the soul, food for the soul. 56 McARONI BALLADS For there wasn^t a day that I stood in that place But was blessed wid the grace of some dacint girl's laughter, now, Or the turn of a head or the gleam of a face, That I'll often an' often be glad to look afther now! Never again will I stand, d'ye mind, Takin' the toll, takin' the toll; Ah! but the Beauty I've seen is still kind, An' it's food for my soul, food for my soul. Pick the two eyes from my head, if you will, Faith, ye can't rob me o' fifty years' laugh- ter, now; No! nor of takin' my toll from them still, All the dear roads that I sit an' look afther, now! McARONI BALLADS 57 AT A HALL-ROOM WINDOW SHE lives in the Square below me there. Ah ! me, if she'd only love me. But she walks abroad with her head in the air Supremely oblivious of me. Time was when the Square was queenly, too, Ere Commerce, changing old orders. Found a foothold here for the parvenu, For shops, for us bachelor boarders. The house of her fathers, square and brown. Grand manse of the olden city. Seems looking down on the tawdry town With a mixture of scorn and pity. This look of her house, austere, aloof, Rests now on her high-bred features. When she issues forth from beneath her roof To walk among meaner creatures. I sit at my window under the eaves And yearn to be there beside her, But a gulf between like the ocean heaves. For never a gulf was wider. 58 McARONI BALLADS She lives in the Square below me there — Ah! me, if she'd only love me! She lives in the Square below me there, But moves in a circle above me. McARONI BALLADS 59 TWO DAYS OLD Mike Clancy went for a stroll, An' warm an' clear was the sky. But he came back home with clouds on his soul An' a glint o' rain in his eye. "Och! cold it is out there," sez he; " The street's no place these days fur me ; Wid motors runnin' through the town The way they're like to knock ye down, Wid all the rush an' moidherin' noise. The impudence of upstart boys. An' girls, that walk as bold as brass. An' I'ave small room fur ye to pass. In twenty blocks, or mebbe more, I saw no face I'd seen before, Or care, indeed, to see agen! Wat's come of all the dacent men. The kindly friends, I use' to meet In other days upon the street? 'Tis here at home's the place fur me; Och! cold it is out there," sez he. 6o McARONI BALLADS Old Mike Clancy went for a stroll, An' cold an' gray was the sky, But he came back home with warmth in his soul An' a gUnt o' sun in his eye. " O ! sure, this day was fine," sez he, "An' who d'ye think walked up to me? A man I thought long dead — Tim Kane! Och! didn't we talk, there in the rain, The soft, kind rain we use' to know — O ! not so very long ago — An' didn't we have a dale to say? • He's eighty-two years old come May — An' I'm no more than sivinty-nine ! An' didn't he stan' there straight an' fine? It done me good, the look in his eye, An' how he laughed an' slapped his thigh; * I'm good,' sez he, * fur ten years, too ! ' An' faith I do believe it's true. A man's as old as he feels, d'ye see? — O! sure, this day was fine," sez he. McARONI BALLADS 6i DA FARMER IDON'TA care eef all dees town Turn upsi' down, An' earth-quake com' along som' day An' bust eet up. I gona 'way; I won't be dere! At last I gona turn my face From evratheeng een deesa place. I don'ta care. I don'ta care for town nohow; I'm farmer now! I gotta house dat Stan's alone, Three leetla rooms — but all my own — Wan bed, two chair, Wan stove, two table an' wan wife. So for dees town, you bat my life, ^ I don'ta care! I don'ta care for ceety street; Eet smals not sweet. 62 McARONI BALLADS But now I know how mooch eet's worth To own som* leetla cleana earth, To own som' air Daf s sweet as wine upon da breath — Here even eef I starve to death, I don'ta care! McARONI BALLADS 63 TO A LITTLE GIRL OF FIVE 1WISH your eyes might always look As big with love as now they seem. It cannot be ! Your picture-book, Whose leaves we turned together, took Away my dream. It was the old man on that page Who bore the hour-glass and scythe. That rude reminder of old age! With what a rush of inward rage He made me writhe! He stirred you, too, to frown and say: " The ugly thing! And who is he? " " That man, my dear," I said, " some day Is going to come and steal away Your heart from me." "Oh, no!" you said. But it is true; Unless in some way we contrive To fill that old man's path with glue And keep me forty-eight, and you Forever five! 64 McARONI BALLADS THE SEA-EAGLES OF COLUMBIA Behind him lay the gray Azores ; Behind the Gates of Hercules; Before him not the ghost of shores, Before him only shoreless seas. — From Joaquin Miller's " Columbus." COLUMBIA'S eagles of the sea Arose and took the trackless main; They were the first, and they were three — As were the caravels of Spain. Before them lay the gray Azores, Before them night, nor glint of dawn, But through the gloom that veiled those shores They still sailed on, and on, and on! The spirit of the Genoese, Be sure, was burning in each breast In flight across those chartless seas Where first his galleons braved the west. From out that west now grown so great His eagles winged into the dawn, And, matching his disdain of fate, With courage high, sailed on and on! McARONI BALLADS 65 What joy, what thrill was theirs, to be The first through that vast void to fly, And, poised above the central sea. Meet morning coming up the sky! Still toward the sun those eagles flew; Two, faltering in the fog, were gone! But one, through mists and rifts of blue, With dauntless faith sailed on and on. A speck on ocean's rim appears! It grows! It glistens in the sun. The happy eagle swoops and veers Along the shore. The goal is won! O great and valiant Genoese! Thy sons inherit thee! 'Tis done! They, too, across thy trackless seas Have borne thy slogan : " Sail ! sail on ! " 66 McARONI BALLADS DA QUEENA BEE MEESTER, eef you nevva see Housa full weeth busy bee, Leetla workers an' deir queen, I would like for takin' you Where I eentroduce you to Giacobini's Pasqualin'. She ees weedow, Pasqualin*; Wen dees fallow Giacobin* Dies an' leaves her lasta fall. He ain't leave mooch else at all; Justa leetla baker-store An' seex babies — notheeng more! All are girls, dese babies, too; Wat da deuce she gona do? Wait, my fraud, an' you weell know. An' I bat you you could go Manny mile bayfore you see Soocha house for eendustry. Wen her husband up an' die She ain't got no time to cry; McARONI BALLADS 67 She must work an' nevva stop. Dere's da babies, dere's da shop, An' da house dey're leevin' een; She mus' keep dem fine an' clean — An' da babies happy, too. Wat da deuce she gona do? Som' day I weell show to you; Som' day you mus' go an' see How dey play at " Busy Bee." Com', su'pose eet ees da day Wen at cleanin' house dey play : Evra leetla girl weell stan' Weeth her leetla brush een han', Leetla bucket, leetla broom. For to scrub an' sweep da room. Den weell say dees Pasqualin' : " Leetla bees, I am your queen, Wen I geeve da word baygeen; Work an' seeng an' follow me. Work an' seeng an' lat me see Who can be da besta bee!" Den dey laugh an' seeng an' go Makin' joy weeth labor so 68 McARONI BALLADS Eet ees done bayfore dey know. So een all theengs, day by day, Makin' work so lika play, Pasqualina found da way! Com*, den, som* day we weell go, An* you weell be proud to know Giacobini's Pasqualin' ; An* dose leetla busy bee Wen dey grow up, you weell see, Evra wan hersal' a queen! McARONI BALLADS 69 WHAT THE FARMER SAW JOHN D. Rockefeller, he Seemed as pleased as pleased could be. Seen him stop, stoop down an' pass Long lean fingers through the grass, Pull 'em out an' smile a smile Slick as his own Standard He; Them long fingers seemed to hold Somethin' precious, mebbe gold — Anyways, John D. Rockefeller, he Seemed as pleased as pleased could be. Seen him shake his head an' stand With the treasure in his hand, Gloatin' on it, figgerin' out What his find was worth, no doubt, Turnin' of it 'round an' 'round — Must 'a' been a pearl he'd found — Anyways, I 70 McARONI BALLADS John D. Rockefeller, he Seemed as pleased as pleased could be. Snuck up closer, as I passed; Seen jist what it was at last That had tickled of him so; Looked an' seen it plain, but sho! Blamed thing wusn't much at all — Nothin* but a golf-game ball! An' yit John D. Rockefeller, he Seemed as pleased as pleased could be. McARONI BALLADS 71 THE SIX-O'CLOCK RUSH COME on! the day's work's done; Wash up, and off we go ! Say, wait a bit, don't run ; No need to hurry so! Boats, subways, trolleys, trains, There's lots of them, you know — But what about those stains? Wash up before you go! Get rid of labor's grime; Wash up before you go! Soap, and a little time, Make hands as white as snow. Come, make the soapsuds foam! Remember what you owe To those who wait at home. Wash up before you go! Hands, face — aye! heart and mind, Wash up before you go! Leave business cares behind; In soapsuds let them flow! 72 McARONI BALLADS That frown, that ugly scowl, Don't take that with you ! No, Leave that upon the tow'l — Wash up before you go! McARONI BALLADS 73 THE CHILDLESS WOMAN WHEN I was but a little tot And wore a checkered pinafore, I mothered baby-dolls a lot; So did my playmate, Emmy Moore. And yet her brood of make-believes Was not to be compared with mine — In all the scenes that memory weaves Still fresh and fair their faces shine! I was the prouder mother then, And, likely, dreamed more dreams than she, But all my dreams are "might-have-been," While all of hers have come to be. We've both been mated many a year. And both our heads are growing gray, But childless now I linger here And watch her seven out at play. It cannot be that He who put The mother-yearning in my soul Designed forevermore to shut The gleaming gateway of its goal. 74 McARONI BALLADS I sometimes think if, quite resigned, I envy not my playmate's seven, My dolls, transfigured, I shall find Within the nurseries of Heaven ! McARONI BALLADS 75 IN A SLEEPER, lo A.M. 1AZY lady, languid loiterer, ^ Lying late in " Lower 9," You are apt to curse with goitre, or Something worse, this neck of mine, Rubbering, rubbering, as I do. Here across the aisle from you. We, your curious fellow-travelers, Left our berths long hours ago; And we sit here — caustic cavilers — Wondering why you are so slow. Now and then the porter, too. Casts an ebon frown at you. One thing surely very certain is — Aye ! as plain as any pike — That behind that dark green curtain is Some one very lady-like. Still I'm prophesying through Nothing but that dainty shoe. 76 McARONI BALLADS Lazy lady! Won't you hurry now? Time is flying on to noon. It's for me to start to worry now; We'll be at my station soon, And before my journey's through I would like a glimpse at you. Stirring now? Too late! Forever, ma'am, Faceless, formless unto me! Better so, perhaps, for never, ma'am, Could you measure up to be Half so lovely to the view, Half the queen I fancy you I McARONI BALLADS 77 DA WISA CHILD ALL right, I know. All right, signer; ^ Da same old question like bayfore! But you are not da only frand Dat com' to dees peanutta stand An' look me een da eye an' say: "Com'! why no gat married, eh?" To-day com' wan more wise dan you, Dat mebbe gona halp me, too. Do you remembra long ago. Wen first you speaka to me so, How dat I mak' confess' to you Dere was two fina girls I knew, But dat I like dem both so wal Eet was too hard for me to tal Wheech wan be besta wife for me? Wan girl was Angela, and she Was jus' so pretta as can be; An' she could seeng so sweet eet mak' Your hearta jomp so like eet br'ak. But dat was all dat she could do. An' den dere was Carlotta, too, 78 McARONI BALLADS Dat was da verra besta cook. But had no song or pretta look Like Angela, but steell was good For keep da house and carry wood. An' I was sad dat time, baycause I want a wife, but steell da laws Dey would not lat me marry two — So w'at da deuce I gona do? An' you — you had no word to say ; But here to me ees com* to-day A leetla girl, good frand o' mine, Dat's only eight year old, or nine, But verra mooch more wise dan you. An' w'at you s'pose she tal me do? " Tak' Angela ! " she say. " Why not? Den both of you could pay Carlof To carry wood an' cooka too. An' justa keep da house for you." McARONI BALLADS 79 PITY THE POOR POET THE poet burns, the whole night through, His " midnight oil," to weave a few Fresh-fashioned stanzas, grave or gay, Which in the pubHc prints next day- May earn a word of praise from you. 'Tis not an easy thing to do. When thoughts go lame and rhymes askew; So, many an imperfect lay The poet burns. Small wonder if, for cheer, he brew That "bracer" (this may be untrue; I only quote what people say) Which once drove carking care away And brought such inspiration to The poet Burns. 8o McARONI BALLADS TO IGNACE PADEREWSKI ("I have to speak about a country which is not yours in a language which is not mine." — Opening words of Paderewski before playing for the Polish Victims' Relief Fund.) NOT yours? The softly spoken word Whose simple native pathos stirred — As surely as the melodies You drew divinely from the keys — The deeps of every soul that heard? The faltering tongue, the practiced hand, Whichever you use, great-hearted Pole! You speak what all can understand — The Language of the Soul. Not ours? This land of which you tell, Where Kosciusko fought and fell, And now a tortured nation stands. With streaming eyes and empty hands, Heroic in the face of hell? Not yours alone this holy ground; Of one great whole it is a part — What hills, what sundering seas shall bound The Country of the Heart? McARONI BALLADS 8r RUBICAM ROAD WHERE, in all the wide world, is the loveliest street? There are milHons of roads trod by billions of feet. And the question, if asked of each traveler you meet. Will produce a reply of a different mode. There are many in this unregenerate day Who will speak for " Fifth avenue," aye, or " Broadway," But the fortunate few who are wiser will say: " It is Rubicam Road ! " O ! then sneer, if you will, and make game of our claim; Aye! and have your rude fling at the old- fashioned name And the rural aroma that clings to the same. Yet no beauty so rare ever glimmered and glowed From the lamps of the tall-towered towns of the world, 82 McARONI BALLADS Upon streets where humanity jostled and swirled, As the beauty that's daily and nightly unfurled Over Rubicam Road. Here's a street of the city, yet skirting a wood Where the town's brazen clamors but seldom intrude; " Rus in urbe," indeed with all graces imbued That old Horace himself might have shrined in an ode ! For the shadows are coolest, the sun is most bright. The queen moon and the stars shed the kind- liest light. And the peace is the sweetest that droppeth at night Over Rubicam Road. You will never believe it, and yet it is true! I can prove it to you, sir — and you, sir — and you! You have only to go there and do as I do. You have simply to go and take up your abode — McARONI BALLADS 83 Be the latter as humble and plain as it may — Where Her kiss in the morning that speeds you away Will be drawing you back, at the close of the day, Into Rubicam Road. 84 McARON I BALLADS TO A BEREAVED MOTHER OH, say not that your little son is dead; The word too harsh and much too hopeless seems, Believe, instead, That he has left his little trundle bed To climb the hills Of morning, and to share the joy that fills God's pleasant land of dreams. Nay, say not that your little son is dead. It is not right, because it is not true. Believe, instead, He has but gone the way that you must tread. And, smiling, waits In loving ambush by those pearly gates, To laugh and leap at you. No knight that does you service can be dead. Nor idle is this young knight gone before. McARONI BALLADS 85 Believe, instead, Upon an envoy's mission he hath sped That doth import Your greatest good; for he at heaven's court Is your ambassador. 86 McARONI BALLADS FOR OLD LOVERS THE sap is bubbling in the tree, The pink buds herald spring. Yet winter holds for you and me One charm to which we cling. The April sun grows warm by noon, Its daylight skies are bright; But the cool evenings bring the boon Of a wood fire at night. The greening sod of April days Is lovely to the eye. But firmer, lovelier turf is May's And kindlier glows the sky. Let striplings to the greenwood go For April's chill delight. But we two still shall bless the glow Of a wood fire at night. McARONI BALLADS 87 THE LOVE-SONG YOU often hear me speak of Joe, Da barber — ^Joe Baruccio? An' Giacomo Soldini? He Ees fruita merchant Hka me. Wal, dey are love da sama signorina. Dees fallow from da barber shop He use' for seeng weeth Granda Op', An' Giacomo, he ees so slow He was no good at all w'en Joe Would seeng to her an' play da mando- lina. " Maria mia ! days are long (So made dees fallow Joe hees song), Baycause dey keepa me so far From where you are, O ! brighta star, Maria mia ! " An'^ Giacomo, w'at could he do? He jus' would say w'en Joe was through : "Me, too, Maria!" McARONI BALLADS Dees Joe he deed not care at all. Wen he would go to mak' hees call, Eef Giacomo was also near; He was so proud he deed not fear Dat anny wan could steal dat signorina. Deed he not have da sweeta voice For mak' da female heart rejoice? But ah ! Maria, deed she care Dat annybody else was dere To hear heem seeng an' play da mando- lina? " Maria mia ! eet ees wrong (So made dees Joe wan night hees song) To waste your time weeth two or three Wen you could be alone weeth me, Maria mia ! " Poor Giacomo! w'at could he do? He jus' could say w'en Joe was through: "Me, too, Maria!" Maria laugh an' shak' her head ; Her eye ees bright, her cheek ees red. An' when she rise up from her chair An' Stan bayfore dose lovers dere. You nevva see so pretta signorina. McARONI BALLADS 89 " We wasta time," she say, " too long; So now I, too, weell seeng a song; An' deesa song dat I weell seeng Eet ees so verra leetla theeng I weell not need at all da mandolina: " * Maria mia ! ' so you seeng, But lova-song ain't everatheeng! So, Joe, good-night ! But you — O ! stay, My Giacomo, dat jus' can say: 'Me, too, Maria!'" Ah! Giacomo, w'at could he do? He jus' could say, w'en she was through: "Me? O! Maria!" 90 McARONI BALLADS o WHEN THE MISSUS COOKS UR Ellen is an honest cook, though over- fond of salt; And having mentioned that I've named her one important fault. She's prompt enough with breakfast and her coffee's always good, And the Missus says she's never very waste- ful of the food. I understand her luncheons are as fine as they can be. Though, of course, that's merely hearsay, for they're seldom served to me. But though her Sunday dinner is her master- piece, no doubt. My fancy flies to Thursday, which is Ellen's Ah ! then the household Juno, stepping down to charm her Jove, The finest cook in all the world is at the kitchen stove. McARONI BALLADS 91 Fve had my share of costly fare that makes the waistcoats swell, And I am one that's prone to dine not wisely, but too well; IVe sampled all the table d'hotes and a la cartes on earth, I've tasted all the banquets and I know just what they're worth, But when I yearn to stuff myself to apoplectic gout, My fancy flies to Thursday, which is Ellen's " avenin' " out. 92 McARONI BALLADS RICHES IF we are poor and do not know , The numerous delights that flow From horns of plenty choked with gold, We lack as well the cares untold That hand in hand with riches go. We have our home wherein, although The outer world be white with snow, We keep our hearts from growing cold, If we are poor. We can't go in for pomp and show, But here are She and I, and O! That dimpled little One-year-old! Love's riches here are manifold. Dear Lord, we pray Thee keep us so. If we are poor. McARONI BALLADS 93 SINGLE PHILOSOPHY ALLA time you say, "Why don't you marry?" Now, I gona speaka plain to you: I won't nevva marry; no, sir, nevva! For eet ees not healthy theeng to do. How I know? Signor, eet's verra seemple. I been single fallow all my life, An' so long I'm strong an' wal an' happy W'ata for I bother weeth a wife? I ain't mak' so moocha playnta money, Steell I gotta 'nough for all I need, An' I don'ta want no woman bossa Keeckin' at mos' evra theeng I deed. Eh? You theenk som' time I weesh be mar- ried? Sure ! jus' once dat weesh ees com* to me. Lasta month I gat som' kinda fever, An' I am so seeck as I can be. Eet ees pretta tough for single fallow Wen he's feelin' verra seeck een bed, 94 McARONI BALLADS An' he would be glad eef som' good woman Lay her softa hand upon hees head. My! I felt so bad, signor, I tal you — Eet*s da truth I speak, you bat my life ! — Eef mos* anny woman com* an' ask me I would tak' her den for be my wife! Wat? O! no, I'm stronga now an' better — Eh? I am su'prise' you cannot see; Only w'en I'm seeck I theenk for marry, So eet ees not healthy thing for me. McARONI BALLADS 95 THE ACE TO HIS QUEEN MY biplane, taking The faint light breaking Through pink clouds, foamy Where dawn comes creeping, Swings *round through Heaven, Times seven-times-seven — A heaven duller Of warmth and color Than that below me Where thou art sleeping! A sky-hung warden, Above thy garden, In circles swinging Times out of number, I await the hour Of dawn's full flower, ^When, sinking nearer That Heaven so dearer, My motor's singing Shall break thy slumber. 96 McARONI BALLADS My motor's humming Shall tell my coming, Ere thou canst even My form discover; Oh, then, my lady! Be up and ready. And, v^hile Time lingers, With kiss on fingers. Lean out from Heaven And pay thy lover ! McARONI BALLADS 97 THE CAGED BIRD GIACOMO SARPATTI, lasta spreeng, Catcha seengin' bird upon a bush; Freckles on da breast an' browna wing — How you call een Anglaice langwadge? "Thrush?" Een Italia " tordo " ees da word; Eet ees verra pretta seengin' bird. Wal, he maka fina cage for eet, An' eet's een hees yard all summer long; Early evra morn eet seenga sweet, Sweeta, too, da evenings weeth eets song. " Ah ! " he say, " so long my bird ees seeng, Alia time for me eet ees da spreeng." " Wen da weenter com*," say Giacomo, " Een my warma keetchen I no care; I weell nevva mind da frost an* snow, For my bird weell maka summer dere. Pretta soon I gona tak' heem een; Jus* so soon da colda nights baygeen,** 98 McARONI BALLADS But he wait, dees Giacomo, too long! Out dere een da yard hees bird could see Manny theengs dat mak* heem stop hees song; He could see all othra birds dat's free Flyin* down da sky eento da Sout*, An* dere was no music een hees mout*. Een da yard I see da cage to-day, But dere ees no bird een eet no more! "Wat ees dees?" I ask heem, an' he say: " O ! I jus' forgot to shut da door." W*en I laugh, he growl an' tal me : " Hal ! I know justa how eet feel mysal'." McARON I BALLADS 99 CIDER LAS' night Frost wuz purt' nigh here ; J Seen his tracks at break o' day. Ole Mount Poke stands out real clear, Though he's eighteen mile away. Flapjacks tasted comfortin', Coffee never drunk so good; Sure signs winter's settin' in Round about this neighborhood. Yet this wagon I'm a-drivin' Down the holler, up the hill, Holds a load o' things thet's hivin' Most o' summer's honey still; Thar'll be two, three bar'ls to fill — Mebbe more — when we're arrivin* At the Cider Mill. Apples fine, but nothin' like Old times. Seems ter me somehow When I was a little tike They wuz plentif'ler than now; Sweeter, too, they wuz, them days, An' the new juice of 'em went loo McARONI BALLADS Slicker down my throat. Leastways Thar wuz somethin* different, Winesap, Spy, Bellflower an' Pippin, All as one then to my tongue ; Long as thar wuz honey drippin' From press-spout or bar'I bung I jes* clung an' sucked an' clung, Sipped an' sipped an' kept on sippin* — Thet's when I wuz young. Sweets like thet hez lost their power. Nowadays I often say: " Sweet hain't sweet until it's sour," Cider strikes me jest that way. Leastways here's a truth I hold From my own exper'encin' : 'Taint new cider, but the old, Gits ye feelin' young agin. Take yer fill o* fresh juice, sonny; I don't want a single drop. But when it gits actin' " funny," Sizzin'-like an* bubblin' up, Like bees buzzin' in the cup, Leavin' stingers in the honey, Lemme have a sup ! McARONI BALLADS loi WISHES SOMETIMES, w*en beezaness ees bad An' I am sad, I weesh I was not born at all, Or dat I could be w'at-you-call A "domb theeng," like a stona wall; Dat cannot speak or see or hear, Or hope or fear! I s'pose, my frand, you nevva gat So bad as dat; I s'pose, baycause you do so wal, You always weesh to be yoursal*. You nevva say, like me, " O ! hal ! I am no good; I weesh I might Drop outa sight ! " Mos* times I weesh dat I could be Som* kind of tree ; For I could be alive an' steell Not have to work for evra meal. An' weenter cold I would not feel — An' I could mak' more pleasure, too, Dan now I do. I02 McARONI BALLADS All summer, cool would be da shade My branches made With greena leaves dat I would wear, An' birds would com' an' seenga dere. Den een da fall, w'en I was bare, I would not have to do a theeng But sleep teell spreeng! McARONI BALLADS 103 IN PRAISE OF SCRAPPLE OUT upon your gibes ironic! You who've never known the tonic Toothsomeness of savory scrapple Dare to judge it? Well, I never! When no morsel of it ever Greased your graceless Adam's apple. When the northwest wind is blowing, Sharp enough for frost or snowing, And the days of muggy weather Have departed altogether. All our husbandmen are getting Butcher knives laid out for whetting. And some morning with the dawn Comes the porcine slaughter on. Let's not morbidly be dealing With the scuffling and the squealing. But, the gruesome parts deleting. Get us to the joys of eating. Well, then, when hog-killing's through This is what the housewives do : 104 McARONI BALLADS Clean a pig's head, nicely, neatly. Boil till meat leaves bones completely. When it's cold remove all greases. Chop meat into Httle pieces; Put the liquor and the meat Back again upon the heat, Slowly stirring cornmeal in Till it is no longer thin. Pepper, salt and sage they bring For its proper seasoning. When the mess is thick and hot It is lifted from the pot. Poured then into pans to mold And so left until it's cold. So ends Chapter L The sequel Is a breakfast v^ithout equal! Come! it is a nippy morning, Frosty lace, the panes adorning, Takes the sun from many angles And the windows glow with spangles. From the kitchen range are rising Odors richly appetizing; McARONI BALLADS 105 Paradise is in the skillet, For the scrapple slices fill it, And each flour-encrusted piece Smiling in its fragrant grease Takes a coat of golden tan From the ardor of the pan. Crisp and brown the outer crust, oh ! Food to rouse the gourmand's gusto From your platter gives you greeting; Truly this is royal eating! Out upon your gibes ironic! You whoVe never known the tonic Toothsomeness of savory scrapple, Dare to judge it? Well, I never! May no morsel of it ever Grease your graceless Adam's apple ! io6 McARONI BALLADS PLEASURES OF THE POOR OH, what I like's a touring car, A comfy, headache-curing car, A wholly reassuring car That takes you from your door, And whirls you through proximity To absolute sublimity, With perfect equanimity, A hundred miles or more; That whisks you through the scenery, Of wooded slope and greenery. And drops you at a beanery Where millionaires are fed; Then out into the night again To storm a fairy height again. And revel in the flight again. Before it's home to bed. Oh, then, in kneeling attitude. With many a pious platitude I raise a prayer of gratitude For friends more rich than L McARONI BALLADS 107 Such motoring! I'll say for it I'm ready any day for it, Since I don't have to pay for it — The best of reasons why ! io8 McARONI BALLADS THE FAT MAN YEARNS THOUGH Tve had my share of the pleas- ure that men in a lifetime taste, And my chin is of double measure, and I'm rather thick in the waist, There's a joy Time cannot smother — though the years have laid it away — It was lugging the basket for mother, on the Saturday market day. On a frosty morn in December, with the holi- days near at hand, 'Oh, the market that I remember was a regular fairyland ! When the boisterous winds were icy and eager to nip the nose. All the odors about were spicy, and each cab- bage became a rose; And the things that are often dull, or but com- monplace things to see, Were a perfect riot of color and light and beauty to me, McARONI BALLADS 109 As we stopped at one or another of the stalls that were on our way, When I carried the basket for mother on the Saturday market day. Oh! I didn't growl at the number or weight of the things I bore, For I knew that I'd soon encumber my ribs with their share — or more; That the sausage and sirloin and scrapple and other rich morsels would throng On the heels of the juicy red apple I munched as I shuffled along. But if now I could once be repeating that long-vanished journey of joy — Though I'm fond, just as fond of good eating as ever I was as a boy — I would let my old appetite smother, and take but a kiss for my pay. Could I carry the basket for mother on next Saturday market day! no McARONI BALLADS DA LEETLA DOCTOR W'EN I am beeg," says he — Dat leetla keed of mine — " Gran' doctor I weell be, An' Oh, so smart an' fine You weell be proud of me; Wen I am beeg," says he. " You beeg enough," she say — Hees madre, dat's my wife — "I like you deesa way; Eef only all your life Like deesa you could stay! You beeg enough," she say. " You are too beeg," I cry. " You crowd your madre's heart, Eef you grow more, oh my ! You bust eet all apart! No room dere now have I; You are too beeg," I cry. McARONI BALLADS iii " Wen I am beeg," says he, " I feex all dat for you. Eef hearts can bust, you see Dey can be menda, too! Gran* doctor I weell be Wen I am beeg," says he. 112 McARONI BALLADS A SONG FOR NOVEMBER A GRAY old hag, in cloak and hood . Of somber gray, Gleaning gray twigs and bits of wood At close of day, November creeps across the land.. Yet magic gifts are in her hand — Her fagots cold need but a spark And hearth-stone room, And warmth of June from out the dark Will burst to bloom. Of foster-mothers tenderest, Close-harboring Earth's sleeping seeds within her breast Until the spring. Let gray November clasp the land. Yet from her lean but kindly hand Let us, dear heart, her fagots take, And on this stone A warm and cheery June-time make; Our own, our own ! McARONI BALLADS 113 TO A SANDWICHMAN IN languid, after-luncheon mood, To-day I watched you in the throng. My mild, appraising eye pursued The crude incitements unto food Upon the signs you bore along. " Big Oyster Stews " and '* Six Large Raw" And " Pepper-hash and Crackers Free " Upon your swaying signs I saw, And marveled that your drooping jaw So lean and lantern-like should be. Ah ! brother, when the evening bell Rings curfew to this toil of thine, I hope one stew, warm, rich of smell And grateful to the tongue, may dwell Betwixt thy wishbone and thy spine! 114 McARONI BALLADS FIRESIDE DREAMS AN old colonial fire-place! XJL What memories cling around it! Such quaint carved frame, such hallowed stone, I'd often dreamed that I might own, And now at last IVe found it. It graced a sporting squire's hall — Those pegs once held his rifle — Long years before the sordid clown. Who bought the mansion, tore it down And sold this for a trifle. He was, in truth, a sordid wretch This clod who took my money. " I wonder why folks get so daft About such junk," he said and laughed, As though he thought it funny. Poor wretch, indeed ! What soul had he To conjure up the spirit McARONI BALLADS 115 Of kindly cheer and olden grace That once endowed that fire-place, And still is hovering near it? But I, who've starved in rented flats, How could I help but love it? And so IVe stored my prize away Against the coming of that day When I'll be master of it. And you, my friends, you, too, shall bless The happy day I found it, For I'll invite you all to call As soon as I've the wherewithal To build a house around it. ii6 McARONI BALLADS SINCE PATSY SHAY'S A SCOUT 1USETER run wit' Patsy Shay Wen him an' I wuz small, But since he's got religion, say! He's proud as hellenall! Dey wuz a time w'en him an' I Wuz twins in dese here scenes, An' useter rob, an' cuss, an' lie, Like reg'lar human bein's. W'en him an' I wuz nine or so We owned de world, we did. But den somebody had ter go An' spoil de bloomin' kid; An' now he never chums wit' me Or shows up hereabout — Oh, things ain't like dey useter be Since Patsy Shay's a scout. Four years ago, w'en we wuz eight. We up an' run away. An' watched a chanct ter hop a freight Ter see de U. S. A. McARONI BALLADS 117 We made it up ter go out West — Where bears an' cowboys grew An' Indians an' all the rest — An' we'd of done it, too; But some one must of told a cop About our little game, Because he come an' made us stop — Gee! Wuzn' 'at a shame? We said w'en we wuz twelve we meant Ter go, wit'out a doubt, But now de time has came an' went — An' Patsy Shay's a scout! I seen dis Patsy yisterd'y, A-marchin' past our court. An' hully chee! he seemed ter be A reg'lar Christian sport. A soldier hat wuz on 'is bean, An' big shoes on 'is feet An' all de fixin's in between Wuz fancy an' complete; A kid's-size suit o' army clo'es, A watch stuck on 'is wrist, A hankercher ter blow 'is nose — Oh, nothin' wuzn' missed. ii8 McARONI BALLADS He useter be my chum, but, say, De worl's toined inside out, An* now he seems so fur away Since Patsy Shay's a scout. I wouldn' mind if some one come An' made me Christian, too. Dis Hfe I lead is purty bum; I'm game fur som'pin new. I hear dese guys is out fur coin, An' if dey raise enough I guess a lot o' kids will join Dat onct wuz mighty tough. I ain't a-sayin' I'll be one; I'm twelve years old, yer see. An' I ain't on'y jist begun To feel me oats, b'chee! But if dey git some coin to spend An' want ter fit me out, I'll try ter be deir little friend — Since Patsy Shay's a scout. McARONI BALLADS 119 FORTISSIMO MY frand, you have been kind To me een manny way. You tal me I weell find Da gooda wife som' day; " Som' girl weell com* along," You say, " an' smile on you — Dat's her! " But som'theeng's wrong; Eet ain'ta comin' true. I am afraid I need Som' othra kind of sign Dat I can easy read An* know da girl ees mine. Eef only dere would be Som' seemple kind of treeck For know she's mash weeth me I sure would grab her queeck ! Eh? Sure, you bat my life ! Dere's som' have smiled; but w'en I ask: "You be my wife?" Dey start to smile agen. I20 McARONI BALLADS You theenk dat pleasa me An' mak' me glad an' proud? Ah! no, my frand; you see, Dey smile too blama loud! McARONI BALLADS 121 APPLYING THE SERMON "y^ THE pastor'd a sermon was splendid V-/ this mornin'," Said Nora O'Hare, " But there's some in the parish that must have had warnin' An' worshiped elsewhere; But wherever they were, if their ears wasn't burnin'. Troth, then, it is quare ! " " * There are women,' sez he, * an' they're here in this parish. An' plentiful, too, Wid their noses so high an' their manners so airish. But virtues so few 'Tis a wonder they can't see how much they resemble The proud Pharisee. Ye would think they*d look into their own souls an' tremble Such sinners to be. 122 McARONI BALLADS Not at all! They believe themselves better than others. An' give themselves airs Till the pride o' them strangles all virtues, an' smothers The good o' their prayers.' "That's the w^ay he wint at them, an', faith, it was splendid — But v^asted, I fear, Wid the most o' the women for whom 'twas intended, Not there for to hear. An' thinks I to meself, walkin' home, what a pity That Mary Ann Hayes An' Cordelia McCann should be out o' the city This day of all days. "But, indeed, 'twas a glorious sermon this mornin'," Said Nora O'Hare, McARONI BALLADS 123 " Though Fm sorry that some o' the parish had warnin' An' worshiped elsewhere; But wherever they were, if their ears wasn't burning Troth, then, it is quare ! " 124 McARONI BALLADS ALONG THE WISSAHICKON THE red and gold and silver haze Of early Indian summer days Along the Wissahickon! Dan Cupid, could there ever be A likelier place on land or sea Wherein to plan your Arcady And let your love plots thicken? There earliest stirred the feet of spring, There summer dreamed on drowsy wing! And autumn's glories longest cling Along the Wissahickon. On winter nights ghost-music plays (The bells of long-forgotten sleighs) Along the Wissahickon, And many a silver-headed wight Who drove that pleasant road by night Sighs now for his old appetite For waffles hot and chicken. And grandmas now, who then were belles? McARONI BALLADS 125 How many a placid bosom swells At thought of love's old charms and spells Along the Wissahickon. You, Gloriana, you who know The word, low spoken long ago. Along the Wissahickon, The word that was the golden key To ope the gates of Arcady For one man. Come ! and walk with me Where sweetest memories quicken, That once again the charms that brood Through all the sylvan solitude May bless the wooer and the wooed — Along the Wissahickon. 126 McARONI BALLADS DA POSTA-CARD FROM NAPOLI SO, you gon' sail for Italy? Ah, fine! — Wat can you do for me? Oh, notheeng, please; I don'ta care — I weesh you joy while you are dere, An' I'll be glad for see you w'en Da sheep ees breeng you home agen — Eh? No! Oh, please don't sand to me No peecture-card from Napoli! Oh, yes, wan time da letter-man Breeng soocha card to deesa stan'; Eet was from gentleman like you Dat wanted to be kinda, too. Eet showed da town, da bay — but, oh, I deed not need; so wal I know! Ah! no, please don'ta sand to me No peecture-card from Napoli. Oh, wal, Signor, you are so kind. So good to me, I would no mind Eef you would send me wan from Rome. Eh? Rome? No, dat ees not my home. McARONI BALLADS 127 Deed I not joost esplain to you I weell no care w'at else you do So long you don'ta sand to me No peecture-card from Napoli? 128 McARONI BALLADS SONG OF THE SCUTTLE (After Eugene Field) OH, ye who are fond of music (and some of you may recall Field's " clink of the ice in the pitcher the boy brings up the hall "), I challenge ye all to name me a song of a rarer tone Than here in my cozy kitcHen I know for my very own. I grant you your harps or fiddles, your sym- phony bands or jazz. Or the latest vocahzation that Gluck or Mc- Cormack has; You may take 'em for me and welcome, for nothing on earth compares With the rattle of coal in the scuttle that Mom drags up the stairs! A helpless creature is Mother. She bothers me quite a bit And routs me out of the comfy chair in the kitchen where I sit McARONI BALLADS 129 To get her the tallow candle from its place on the cellarway shelf — For Mother is thin and little and couldn't reach it herself — And then there's the trouble to light it. But when that trick is done And I settle back by the fire the reward of my labor's won, For up from the depths of the cellar ascends the sweetest of airs — 'Tis the rattle of coal in the scuttle that Mom drags up the stairs. The bucket in which she gathers the nuggets that may be found Along the tracks of the Reading emits but a wooden sound, And her day-long comings and goings I scarcely notice at all For her feet in wrappings of burlap go softly along the hall; But when in the winter twilight arises a treble clear It stirs me here in my corner to cock up a drowsy ear 130 McARONI BALLADS To catch the deHghtful music so soothing to all my cares — The rattle of coal in the scuttle that Mom drags up the stairs. Time was, when the carbon nuggets were easy to get and keep, The song of the brimful scuttle had a bass note full and deep. But then Mom handled a shovel instead of a tablespoon, And now there's a dwindling treble in the half-filled scuttle's tune. Yet here by the kitchen fire, I dare you to name me a song To play on my tender emotions and get to me half so strong As the one that finds me drowsing, sprawled out on the kitchen chairs — The rattle of coal in the scuttle that Mom drags up the stairs. McARONI BALLADS 131 IN FRANCE Sergeant Mack: WE'RE done wid the thransport. Thank Heaven we're here! But wid all the sea-trampin' weVe lately- been havin', Sure the feet on the end o' me pins are still queer, An' I feel like a mule wid the string-halt an' spavin. An' the scenes at the dock! Such a mur- therin' clatter; There was ructions enough to be raisin' the dead ! I was proud of our outfit, but what was the matter Wid Pete Malatest'? Was he out of his head? ^ Corporal Jlroni: Oh, Sarj', eet was funny. You know w*en we Ian' An' our fallows was movin' deir theengs on da dock. 132 McARONI BALLADS We was watchin* dat smart engineer capitan Dat was bossin' da gang weeth da tackle an' block. Malatest' he was wan dat was peecked for dat job, An' I know he was tryin' for doin' hees best, But you see he ees clumsiest kind of a slob. An' he alia time got een da way of da rest. Den dat smart engineer, dat's so quiet bay- fore. He joosta start een an' he swear lika hal. An' dees Pete Malatest', w'en de capitan swore. He looked een hees face an' he lat out a yal; An' he put hees two ban's on da capitan's chest, An' he smiled weetha joy. Den I hearda heem say: "You are Meester Jeem Newell, I worked weeth out West; I joost deed not know teell you swore dat ole way; McARONI BALLADS 133 But so soon as you deed I was sure eet was you, For I worked weetha you on da P. D. & Q ! " Dey was railaroad men in Wyoming, you see ! An' da capitan, too, was so pleased as could be, An' he shooka Pete's han'; an' Pete looka so please' I thought he was sure gona geeve heem a keess. But he said : " Eet was joosta like home w'en you swore — Oh, Meester Jeem Newell, please do eet som' more ! " 134 McARONI BALLADS A THE TREASURE BOX H! here's the box! And there's his baby shoe; And there his Uttle christening robe and cap! I mind that springtime Sunday long ago They brought him back and laid him in my lap. He was a stirring youngster, and his feet Outgrew no shoes that weren't first out- worn. I mind that day he ran out in the street, And it a bare twelve months since he was born. *Twas flags was in it then, and fifes and drums ; A passing band of lads that fought with Spain. Flags always called him so. * * * How plainly comes My last sight of him marching to the train ! McARONI BALLADS 135 And here's the box, with all his baby things; And here's another treasure it must hold — The last flag and his own! The flag that brings His glory home! O little star of gold! 136 McARONI BALLADS DA VOICE DA GERMANS MEESSED GIUSEPPE SCALABRELLA ees re- turna from da war, An' soocha happy Dagoman you nevva see bayfore. He tooka playnta hands weeth heem w*en first he start away, But he ees only gotta wan for workin* weeth to-day. He walked upon a coupla legs bayfore da war began, But now he's gotta crutcha-steeck for tak* da place of wan. Giuseppe Scalabrella ees so glad as he can be; You oughta hear da happy songs dat he ees seeng for me. Giuseppe was a laborman dat use' for deeg da tranch Bayfore he go weeth Oncla Sam for halp to save da French; McARONI BALLADS 137 He was wan fina laborman bayfore he went to war, But now he sure ees nevva gona deega tranch no more. You theenk dat dees would mak' heem joost so sad as he could be — But you should hear da happy songs dat he ees seeng for me. He nevva chirped bayfore, but now he don*ta do a theeng But seet aroun' da house an' seeng, an' seeng, an' seeng, an' seeng! " I tal you, Tony, how eet ees," he say to me to-day ; " Da firsta battle I am een dey shoot my hand away ; An' w'en I was een hospital da time eet was so long, I could no read, an' so you see I busted eento song. I don'ta know da way eet com', but eet's so easy — See? " An' den you should a hear da happy songs he seeng for me! 138 McARONI BALLADS " Wen I am wal agen," he say, " dey said I could no fight. But steell I went for more — an' dat's da time I got eet right! Dey shoot me een da lefta leg — an look da way I am. But all da time een hospital I seeng my songs, by dam ! An' evrabody com' an' say : * How wondra- fuleeshe!'" An' den you shoulda hear da happy songs he seeng for me. "An' joost bayfore dey sand me home, my capitan he said: * I s'pose you theenk da way you're treemmed you might as wal be dead. But Oncla Sam ees feex eet so he gona find a trade For evra crippled soldier, so you need no be afraid ; You no can deeg da tranch no more, but steell you should rayjoice Baycause dose damma Germans deed no shoot you een da voice ! * McARONI BALLADS 139 Da 'Merican Caruso now, you see, I gona be!" An* den you shoulda hear da happy songs he seeng for me. I40 McARONI BALLADS ROSA'S CURIOSITY MY frand, you like for buy a hat? Fine greena seelka wan I gat, Weeth redda, whita feathah een. So styleesh hat you nevva seen! Eh? No? Too bad! for eef you do, I sal eet pretta cheap to you. Where deed I gat? Wal, eef you pleass, I tal to you. Ees lika dees: My Rosa — dat's my girl, you know — She alia time ees tease me so An* aska dees an* dat, for try An' guess w'at prasant I am buy For geeve to her on Chrees'mas Day; But alia time I laugh an' say: " No ! No ! eet ees su'prise for you, An' eet ees gona pleass you, too. I have eet bought an' put away For keep for you teell Chrees'mas Day." She stamp da foot an' say : " O ! my. You tease me so you mak' me cry. McARONI BALLADS 141 You are so mean as you can be Baycause you weell no tal to me." My frand, she coax so lika dat At las' I say: " Eet eesa hat! " O ! den, my frand, for sure she cry, An* look so sad an' say : " O ! why You tal me w'at eet gona be? I want eet be su'prise for me. You just are wan beeg, seelly theeng — Baysides, I theenk eet be a reeng." Ha! w'at you theenka dat, my frand? Dese girls ees hard for ondrastand. So, queeck I say: " Eet ees no true; I justa maka joke weeth you." So now, you see, I musta gat A reeng eenstead for deesa hat; An' den, how mooch she coax an' tease, I weell no tal her w'at eet ees. But here ees steell da hat! O! pleass. My frand, eef eet should be you meet Sopi'body walkin' on da street Dat look for buy da styleesh hat, I have da cheap wan he can gat. 142 McARONI BALLADS IN PRAISE OF ST. STEPHEN HERE'S the feast o' St. Stephen, This Christmas Day's morrow. An' it's past all believin' The comfort I borrow At the thought of him there In the cold mornin' air, An' meself steppin' back to a world full o' sorrow. For with all the soft beauty O' Christmas behind ye. When it's back to cold duty Tliis day has consigned ye, Faith, there's need of the aid Of a saint unafraid To withstand the blue devils that's likely to find ye. Tall and bright is the miter O' Stephen, the martyr; A knight and a fighter By Christ the Lord's charter. McARONI BALLADS 143 And it's well if ye stand Within touch of his hand In a world that is given to traffic and barter. Lucky you, if ye're wearin' This sainf s nomenclature, For, belike, ye'll be sharin' His valorous nature; For there's none of his name In the pages o* fame That was anything less than a two-fisted crayture. So upon this gray mornin'. In hope o' receivin' His good help in the scornin', O* groanin* and grievin'. Here's the ballad I raise In the merited praise Of the worshipful martyr and fighter, St. , Stephen! 144 McARONI BALLADS DA PUP EEN DA SNOW DEED you evra see Joy Gona wild weeth delight, Jus* so lika small boy Wen som' brighta new toy Mak's heem crazy excite'? You would know w'at I mean Eef you jus' coulda seen — Not so long time ago — How my leetla fat pup Ees first play een da snow. O ! I scream an' I roar An' so shaka weeth laughtra, Dat my sides dey are sore For mos' three-four days aftra. An' how mooch I would try, I no speak weeth sooch skeell I could put een your eye W'at ees fresh een mine steel! : How dat leetla pup romp All aroun' da whole place, McARONI BALLADS 145 How he bark, how he jomp An' fall down on hees face; How he fight, how he bite An' ees tumble aroun', Teell hees cover' weeth white Lik a leetla fat clown; Wat su'prise fill hees eyes Wen he see da flakes sail, How he bark at da skies, How he chasa hees tail. O! I weesh I could show How ees looka, dat pup, How he puff an' he blow Wen hees leecked by da snow An' ees gotta geeve up. An' I sposa, no doubt. You would say I am fibbin* Wen I say hees tongue's out Lika yarda peenk ribbon — O! how mooch I would try, I no speak weeth sooch skeell I could put een your eye Wat's so fresh een mine steell. 146 McARONI BALLADS But I weesh you had been Where you, too, coulda seen Wat delighta me so — How my leetla fat pup Ees first play een da snow! McARONI BALLADS 147 TO AN AUTHOR 1AST night at last I found a chance ^ To dip into your new romance. The night was wild without, but fair This valley of my easy chair; As, with your book, I settled there Before the cheery grate, The clock struck eight I read the opening chapter through. And after that I never knew — Nor cared, indeed — how fared the night Beyond those borders of delight Wherein my spirit winged its flight; For other ears, not mine, The clock struck nine. The while your book was in my hands My soul sojourned in other lands, But then, ah ! then — I cannot tell Just what it was that broke the spell. Perhaps it was the book that fell — I woke, and, sakes alive! The clock struck five. 148 McARONI BALLADS ONE OF US HE comes again ! His roug-h-shod feet Familiar here, in field and street, Have led him back to tread once more The paths he knew before the war. The tasks that he takes up again Are humble now, as they were then; But, look you! on his swarthy brow There shines a new-won glory now. He craves no favor, makes no plea, But this his proper speech might be: " I speak not Anglaice verra wal ; But while I was away, een Hal, I deed som' leetla theeng or two Dat made me mooch more lika you. Dere was a time you call me * Wop.' But now I ask you, please, to stop. My tongue ees Wop, but — God be thank' ! — My hands an* heart an' soul ees Yank! " McARONI BALLADS 149 TO A RICH MAN WHAT worries me and makes me blue May seem a little thing to you; But then, you see, you have a lot Of cash and bonds, perhaps a yacht — Your bills are paid, but mine are due. You say you have your troubles, too; A jaded heart, a jaundiced view Of life? Thank heaven that is not What worries me! My heart trips light, my wife's beats true; We pluck life's roses, not its rue. And so when next you ask me what My worries are, what cares Tve got, I'll answer you with courage new: "What? Worries? Me?!"