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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 Chap. -. Copyright No. 
 
 SheltfljSTf J E ^ 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
ELLEN : HER BCX)K 
 
This is not an '^edition de luxe", 
 (The **fashiondi,ble set " among books). 
 But a. modest edition **for lo-ve/* 
 (Though ** money'' may buy alt aho<ve 
 What in lo<ve I ha-ve printed for her 
 Whose poet lam, — nor demur); 
 ^ut more than t'mo hundred, 'tis sure, 
 €^(pr money nor to've may procure, 
 ^or this is the limit, no more 
 cMay be had though an angel tmplore; 
 And each book bears a number, g* v,. 
 Signed and sealed in due order by me, 
 
 (Jal) Her X Father, 
 
Heaven ties abottt tis in the infancy of our 
 children. — (Adapted from Words'worth*) 
 
Blen 
 
'^A.'VJX^^ /f4^^- 14^A^ifevi^.^ 
 
 
 H n '^T%e-*'iJ- > 
 
PVBLISHED FOR THE AVTHOR BY THE CADMVS 
 PRESS J> PVBLISHERS TO THE CADMVS CLUB ^j* 
 FOR SALE ONLY AT "THE CADMVS CORNER" 
 STROMBERG & TENNEY'S .«« GALESBVRG >*« ILL'S 
 
 -fS* 
 
 A ..5*' 
 ? 
 
 tS' 
 
 ,.H? 
 
 Copyright ^897, by 
 JOHN HUSTON FINLEY 
 
 PRINTED BY THE WAGONER-MEHLER COMPANY 
 G ALESBVRG ^ ILLINOIS 
 
€S/ 
 
 PREFACE 
 
 There is no need of preface except to 
 make acknowledgment of the artistic 
 contribtJtion of Miss Marion Crandafl to 
 the beauty of this book in her sketches; to 
 express appreciation of the quaint Norse- 
 like luUaby by Mr. Arnold Grieg of Edin- 
 burg, to which the words of ** The Poor 
 Poet^ have been sung by him; to 
 thank the editors of a number of periodi- 
 cals, especially of The Century, The Inde- 
 pendent, The Interior f The cAdvance, 
 and The Chica,go ^^cord, for permission 
 to reprint verses w^ch appeared first in 
 their columns, and to express indebted- 
 ness to Mr. Allen Ayrault Green for sev- 
 eral photographs made expressly for this 
 collection. 
 
 This Book has been written for Ellen. 
 K others find aught of interest or pleasure 
 in it the author will be gratified. But 
 he has full compensation in the future 
 appreciation of this volume of personal 
 and domestic verse by the Little Critic 
 for whose eyes it has been printed and 
 for whose heart it holds many a prayer. 
 
 December J, J897. 
 
<y^ Pegisus 
 
MY PEGASUS 
 
 The Muses keep a livery, 
 
 Hard by the classic fount, 
 And here^s the horse they've let to me 
 
 As my poetic mount. 
 
 They call him Pe§fasus, you know, 
 (At home they call him ''Peg''); 
 
 He lost his wings some time ago, 
 He's slightly lame of leg. 
 
 But he will gallop, trot, or walk, 
 (And sometimes even rack); 
 
 And never is he known to balk 
 "With Ellen on his back. 
 
 Whene'er we want a Pegasus, 
 
 I'm always satisfied 
 If they send down a horse to us 
 
 That ''any child can ride." 
 
 So hear his tiny, pattering feet 
 Upon the pavement ring, — 
 
 My Pegasus comes down the street, 
 My Muse begins to sing. 
 
The Toor Toet 
 
THE 
 POOR 
 POET'S 
 
 LULLABY 
 
 The capboard's bare^ my child; oh, hyc, 
 
 Bye low; 
 I hear the wolfie^s hungfry cry — 
 Bye Iow» 
 So gfo to sleep, my pretty one, 
 While father takes his inky gfun 
 And hunts a little bunny-bun 
 For baby^s breakfast* Bye low, bye. 
 Bye low ! 
 
THE POOR POET'S LULLABY 
 
 ARNOLD GRIEG. 
 
 ^a.^ifi 
 
 Copyrighted, 1897 
 
There, little one, don't cry; oh, bye. 
 
 Bye low; 
 Good wood and coal come very high — 
 Bye low^ 
 Your father's gfot an old '^sheepskin' 
 To wrap his darling baby in. 
 But there's no coal in binny-bin 
 To cook the bunny-bun* Oh, bye, 
 Bye low ! 
 
 So f ather'll write a rhyme, or try,— 
 
 Bye low, — 
 Which some kind editor will buy. 
 Buy low; 
 And then he'll take the money-mun 
 To catch the little bunny-bun 
 And buy a tiny tunny-ton 
 Of coal to cook it with* Oh, buy. 
 Buy low! 
 
€My 'Blessed Wee SkilUgattee 
 
THE LIGHT O' SKILLIGALLEE' 
 
 "When summcr^s hot breath wilts the corn 
 And there's no dewy eve nor morn 
 To rest a body faint and worn^ 
 I sometimes cross a Northern sea 
 To bring the springf-time back to me; 
 I sail for far Skilligallee^ 
 The Ligfht o' far Skilligfallee, 
 That points the way to St* Marie* 
 Skilligalligl Skilligfalleel 
 
 I seek the springf-time with its flowers, 
 The spring-time with its April showers, 
 The springf-time with its scented bowers, 
 The spring: that's flown beyond that sea 
 And carried all away from me, 
 Away beyond Skilligfallee, 
 The Ligfht o' far Skilligfallee, 
 That points the way to St. Marie* 
 Skilligfalligl Skilligfallee! 
 
 *A Light-house on the He a.u Gaiety far up Lake Michi- 
 gan, the name of <=u)hich has been, by the lake sailors, cor- 
 rupted into **SkiLligallig'' and **Skilligallee/' 
 
Beyond that Light there's rest and peace. 
 Beyond that Ligfht life takes new lease, 
 Beyond that Ligfht all troubles cease; 
 From all that irks, one there is free. 
 Up there beyond that Northern sea. 
 Up there beyond Skilligallee, 
 The Ligfht o' far Skilligfallee, 
 That points the way to SU Marie. 
 Skilligfalligf! Skilli§fallee! 
 
 The years have brought my summer days 
 With heat and dust, when one oft prays 
 For sprin§f's cool breath, or autumn's haze; 
 But God has set a light for me 
 Just by the side of my life's sea, 
 A very small Skilligallee, 
 With eyes of my own St* Marie, 
 A wee, blue-eyed Skilligallee* 
 Skilligallig! Skilligallee! 
 
 Though rough the way, though dark the skies, 
 
 "Whene'er I see those precious eyes. 
 
 My courage all the world defies; 
 
 I'm young again; from care I'm free; 
 
 The spring comes back again to me* 
 
 God keep you long by my life's sea. 
 My blessed, wee Skilligallee, 
 With eyes of my own St* Marie! 
 SkilHgallig! Skilligallee! 
 
TO DOMIDUCA* 
 
 Oh, thou, who know^st the roads 
 That mark the hills and plains, 
 The place of men^s abodes, 
 The highways and the lanes; 
 The paths that forests thread. 
 The ways that wild beasts tread, 
 The stars that shine overhead; 
 The streams in every mood. 
 The fields by every rood. 
 The swamps where poisons brood, 
 Wise Domiducal 
 Lead home this little one. 
 
 If she should stray. 
 Keep watch by star and sun, 
 Drive harm away. 
 
 Brave Domiduca! 
 Lead thou, at last, her feet. 
 
 By thy kind light. 
 To that celestial street 
 "Where there's no night. 
 Dear Domiduca! 
 
 * One of the ** tittle gods'' dear to the Roman hornet — she 
 'who ^watched o<ver one's safe home-coming. 
 
THE FIRST WORD 
 
 Fve heard the sky-lark singfing 
 
 Along his heavenward flight; 
 IVc heard the church-hells ringing 
 
 Upon a Christmas night; 
 Fve heard the mother crooning 
 
 Her dreamy luUahy; 
 Fve heard the saints attuning 
 
 Their praise to Him on high; 
 Fve heard the organ swelling 
 
 With animating sound; 
 Fve heard the fountain welling 
 
 "With laughter from the ground; 
 Fve heard the thunders rolling 
 
 Adown Niagara's hill; 
 Fve heard the goblins bowling 
 
 Along the Kaaterskill; 
 Fve heard the North-wind moaning 
 
 Among the Norway pines; 
 Fve heard the Fauni droning 
 
 Beneath the Apennines; 
 Fve heard the ^*angels'^ thrumming 
 
 On harps of human make; 
 Fve heard old Nature humming 
 
 The tune that cures all ache; 
 Fve heard — but why should I prolong 
 
 This catalogue? For, ah! 
 There is no other speech nor song 
 
 When Ellen says 'Ta-pa*'' 
 
THE DISCOVERY OF A TOOTH 
 
 My father says that Christopher C. 
 Was the §freatest man of his century. 
 For he had a notion 
 That over the ocean 
 There was a land — the home of the free — 
 That wasn^t in the g^eogfraphy; 
 
 And so he went and discovered it straigfht, 
 (But found it in a most barbarous state), 
 October the twelfth, I think, was the date. 
 In fourteen ninety-two A» D* — 
 So my father he says, and he 
 Ou§fht to know. 
 
 But father says that Christopher C*, 
 Who guessed at the earth^s sphericity, 
 Was but such another 
 As my little mother. 
 Who dreamt one day of an island of pearl 
 Behind the lips of her little girl. 
 
 And so she went and discovered it straight, 
 ('Twas set in coral, the records state), 
 October the seventh, I think, was the date, 
 In eighteen ninety-four A. D* — 
 So my mother she says, and she 
 Ought to know. 
 
Eugene Field 
 
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 ^»»A'*»vD 
 
 cW^e, (^.l». /^5^. 
 
TO EUGENE FIELD 
 
 G>me, put away thy tirumpctt little one^ 
 
 And leave thy noisy play, 
 For he is sleeping:, thougfh the autumn sun, 
 
 Has bfougfht another day. 
 
 For he is sleeping, thy good friend and mine. 
 
 Who gave this trump of tin 
 To thee, and that red, noisy drum of thine 
 
 Thou^lt muffle its harsh din* 
 
 For he is sleeping, who with loving pen 
 
 Sat often all night long 
 To make day brighter for his fellow-men. 
 
 To sweeten life with song. 
 
 Thou wouldst not rouse him from his sleep? 
 Thou wouldst? 
 Ah, child, thou speak*st the ache 
 My own heart feels* Oh, if with trump thou 
 couldst — 
 Couldst his long slumber break. 
 
 The blare of trumpet and the beat of drum. 
 Dear child, he'll hear no more; 
 
 His hearfs succumbed at last to one who's come, 
 In silence through his door. 
 
WHERE HOLLYHOCKS GROW 
 
 There's a leg^end very oidf 
 That a precious pan of gold 
 
 Is by fairy hands concealed 
 Where the rainbow's vsiticd haes 
 Melt in haze, that all imbues 
 
 With its dyes the distant field* 
 
 But no man has found such store. 
 Though he's digged and hunted o'er 
 
 All the earth to catch its glint; 
 And I've come to think this meed 
 Is, forsooth, but rainbow seed. 
 
 Coined in Nature's gen'rous mint. 
 
 So where clumps of hollyhock 
 
 In their bright-dyed blossoms mock 
 
 Heaven's colors manifold, 
 There, I know, the hopeful arch. 
 In its stately cross-sky march. 
 
 Deep has trod its seeds of gold* 
 
y 
 
 MY SUNFLOWER 
 
 Out upon the sunburnt plains^ 
 Ftinging all the roads and lanes, 
 Whispering nigfhts to lonesome swains 
 On their creafcingf, gfroaningf wains, 
 Catchingf at their horses' manes, 
 
 Like coy fairies, 
 Grows a simple, comely flower. 
 Child of heaven's golden dower. 
 Born in some delightsome hour 
 When a transient summer shower 
 Changed as if by magic power 
 
 All the prairies. 
 
 Sunlit halo round its face, 
 Strong, of hardy, frontier race. 
 Straight, but of becoming grace, 
 Tall, as when the gilded mace 
 Rises o'er the populace 
 
 Agitated; 
 Parsee priest and clock in one. 
 Following the regnant sun 
 From the morn till day is done. 
 As devout as patt'ring nun 
 Seeking daily benison. 
 
 Never sated* 
 
Worshiper of heavcn^s ligfht, 
 Art thou Zoroaster^s sprite^ 
 Seeking; in thy constant flight 
 Lands where never comes the ni§fht, 
 Where thy face shall ne'er lose sight 
 
 Of the Sun God? 
 Ah! my child^ I see thee there, 
 Golden-haloed, wondrous fair, 
 Looking always from life's care 
 Toward the light that burns fore'er 
 In the realm to which thou'rt heir 
 
 Of the one GodI 
 
A BIRTHDAY PRAYER 
 
 Keep this little lights oh Father^ 
 
 Burning: year on year — 
 Driving; back the dark about it 
 
 "With its rays of cheer* 
 
 Keep these little feet, oh Father, 
 
 Standing: here to-day 
 By the side of life's first mile-stone, 
 
 Always in Thy way* 
 
 Keep this little heart, oh Father, 
 
 Loving, pure, and true, 
 That when come the evening shadows 
 
 Naught shall be to rue* 
 
 Keep this little one, oh Father, 
 Near me through life's task — 
 
 In His name, who blessed the children, 
 This I humbly ask* 
 
TO HER MOTHER 
 
 -sv 
 
 How deep's the sea? 
 How deep? Ah me, 
 
 For plummet! — 
 As deep as sky 
 Of cloud is high. 
 
 Or summit 
 Of yon tall peak 
 That aye doth seek 
 
 Its double 
 Beneath the sea 
 When it is free 
 
 From trouble* 
 
 How deep's the sea 
 Love's ar§fosy 
 
 Doth travel? 
 No pen of mine 
 Can rhythmic line 
 
 Unravel, 
 Thaf s longf enougfh 
 Or strong: enough 
 
 To measure — 
 As deep, my love. 
 As thou'rt above 
 
 All treasure. 
 
FROM 
 
 GOD'S MEADOW 
 
 A load of new-mown clover hay- 
 Passed down a city street, 
 Where men are busy all the day 
 
 In buyingf, selling wheat — 
 The wheat that grows but in the brains 
 
 Of those who sell or buy, 
 That never catches heaven's rains 
 
 Nor hears the reape/s sigh, — 
 Where multitudes in frenzy rage 
 
 Beneath the orif lamme 
 Of Fortune blind who throws the gage 
 
 To prosper or to damn; 
 Here passed the fragrant meadow load. 
 
 All redolent of June, 
 Just when the offices overflowed 
 
 Upon the street at noon; 
 And many a rushing broker stopped 
 
 To catch the sweetened breeze. 
 As if o'er heaven's walls had dropped 
 
 Some blossoms from its trees* — 
 The wheat, the gold are quite forgot. 
 
 The clover's round his feet. 
 The light of boyhood days is shot 
 
 Adown that darkened street* 
 
So when along my naffow way 
 
 Of homely drudgfery^ 
 Hemmed in by walk that dark the day 
 
 Of what my life would be, 
 There come the toddling steps of one 
 
 From far celestial mead, 
 Whose face like burnished morning sun, 
 
 From drowsy vigils freed, 
 Through all the gloomy corners trails 
 
 The light of that fair land — 
 "Who brings the breath of scented vales 
 
 By whispering forests fanned; 
 Then Earth, which was but darkened street 
 
 Of sordid entities. 
 Becomes a trysting place where meet 
 
 The two Eternities* 
 
 ^^-. l.>^ ^ 
 
AT EIGHTEEN 
 
 MONTHS 
 
 My EUen^s eighteen months to-day; 
 Good Father Time, canst thou not stay 
 The gfently dropping^ grains of sand 
 And pass with thy transformingf hand 
 This image of the woman grown^ 
 This little queen upon her throne, 
 Who tries in primal speech to tell 
 Her wants, her joys — her woes as well — 
 Who toddles, tumbles when she walks. 
 Whose laugh the rippling brooklet mocks. 
 Who puts her lips close to my ear 
 And tells me what none else may hear 
 About the fairies that she sees 
 About the dogs and birds and trees } 
 Oh stay thy hand. Good Father, stay. 
 And leave her as she is to-day, 
 A baby-girl of eighteen moons. 
 The best of all God^s blessed boons — 
 My baby Ellen* 
 
AT EIGHTEEN 
 
 YEARS 
 
 My Ellen's eighteen years to-nigfht, 
 For Time in dreams has dimmed my sight; 
 He does not listen to my prayer, 
 He turns his glass for answer — there! 
 My Ellen stands a maiden now — 
 Her mother's eyes, her mother's brow* 
 She thrills a multitude with songf, 
 Or with her fingers holds the throng; 
 There's music even when she talks, 
 There's grace and beauty when she walks* 
 She's fair; her features wear no mask; 
 She's all that parent's heart could ask* 
 Again her lips approach my ear — 
 There are no other words more dear — 
 No! do not stay thy hand for me, 
 But make her what my dreams foresee, 
 A happy maid of eighteen years. 
 In whom all loveliness appears — 
 My daughter Ellen. 
 
THE STREET WHERE I DWELL 
 
 The street where I dwell is longf. 
 The street where I dwell is wide; 
 
 From sky to sky 
 
 It travels by 
 
 Great trees of gfreen 
 
 That forward lean 
 
 To fleck with shade 
 
 This way, man-made, 
 
 "Where once gfrew rank, 
 
 By brooklet^s bank, 
 
 The prairie grass; 
 
 Where Indian lass 
 
 Plticked flowers, wild gfrown, 
 
 By Heaven sown. 
 
 And tawny brave 
 
 His arrow drave 
 
 At bird or beast 
 
 For savagfe feast; — 
 I like no way in all the world beside 
 
 As this my street, 
 
 Where little feet 
 
 Run down to meet 
 My homeward steps at eventide. 
 
 The street where I dwell is long. 
 The street where I dwell is wide; 
 
 The blue skies bend 
 
 To tell my end 
 
 And whence I came. 
 
 For fleet or lame 
 
But journey I 
 
 From sky to sky, 
 
 As journeyed they 
 
 Who trod this way 
 
 In other days, 
 
 And, hid by haze 
 
 That dims our sight, 
 
 Roam fields bedight 
 
 With brighter flowers. 
 
 Or hunt for hours 
 
 The caribou 
 
 Of Manitou;— 
 Vd love not Heaven with all its joy, beside, 
 
 Though gold its street. 
 
 If little feet 
 
 Came not to meet 
 My homeward steps at eventide* 
 
THE FIRE-WORSHIPER 
 
 Dear is the fire that burns afar 
 In blazingf sun^ in silent star; 
 
 But a dearer fire 
 
 Is the dreamy pyre 
 That burns on my own hearthstone* 
 
 Dear is the ray of beacon li§fht 
 That warns the mariner by nigfht; 
 
 But a dearer ray 
 
 Is that Ii§fhts the way 
 To rest at my own threshold* 
 
 Dear is the flame of candles tall 
 Cer banquet board in festal hall; 
 
 But a dearer flame 
 
 If a bookman, claim — 
 That burns at my own bed's head* 
 
 Dear is the light of amethyst. 
 Or paler §:em that tells of tryst; 
 
 But a dearer ligfht 
 
 Is that flashes bright 
 Beneath my Ellen's eyelids* 
 
LINES TO MY BICYCLE 
 
 My chiefest pride 
 
 Is father's 'IdeT 
 
 —''Our Special Ide^— 
 
 Which we bestridet 
 
 Beatified^ 
 
 And tandem glide, 
 
 ?uite satisfied 
 o ride and ride 
 A ''Special Ide^ 
 Forever, 
 
 As high and low 
 We gaily go. 
 The breezes blow, 
 The cattle low. 
 The babies crow. 
 The farmers "whoa,^ 
 Electrified 
 To see us ride 
 A "Special Ide^ 
 Together, 
 
 Hack, wagon, dray. 
 Give right of way, 
 None say me nay; 
 I hold full sway. 
 Brook no delay; 
 All quick obey, 
 Quite terrified 
 Whene'er I ride 
 The "Special Ide'' 
 With father. 
 
This is for mc 
 The greatest glee, 
 To spin with thee. 
 At father's knee, 
 Past flower and tree 
 Past bird and bee, 
 O'* Special Ide'' 
 My joy and pride, — 
 There is beside 
 None other! 
 
 And when the night 
 Turns out the light. 
 And pillows white 
 To sleep invite, 
 In cycling flight 
 I still delight. 
 Unsatisfied; 
 And still I ride 
 A ^^Special Ide'' 
 In Dreamland* 
 
TO "LITTLE GIRLIE" 
 
 I walked one springs-time morningf all alone 
 To where the flowers their heads in winter hide, 
 
 But gloomily, though sky with sunlight shone, 
 For Little Girlie was not at my side^ 
 
 The Robin hopped about, sedate and sad — 
 HeM waited vainly for her voice since dawn; 
 
 The Meadow-lark in notes no longer glad 
 
 Sang ''Where, oh where, has Little Girlie gone?'' 
 
 The Pansies turned their faces anxiously. 
 The Roses whispered as I passed their way. 
 
 The Daffodils and Lilies asked of me, 
 
 ''Oh where is sweet-voiced Little Girlie, pray?'' 
 
 Then came the Flowers that she loved best,I knew. 
 With eyes as blue as Little Girlie's own. 
 
 And they were filled with tears of morning dew, 
 For they had spied that I was there alone* 
 
 I spoke, and quick their faces all grew bright: 
 ''Our Little Girlie's gone to country far, 
 
 "But you, sweet Flowers, shall go to her dear sight 
 "To bear our love and tell how lone we are*" 
 
WHEN THERE WERE THREE CANDLES 
 A 
 
 LITTLE DINNER 
 
 given by 
 
 A LITTLE LADY 
 
 on 
 
 HER THIRD BIRTHDAY 
 
 to 
 
 HER LITTLE FRIENDS 
 
 of the School 
 for 
 
 LITTLE FOLKS 
 
 March JO 
 
 J897 
 
 MENU: 
 
 There was a good woman (you know her name, too), 
 She had so many children she didn't know what to doj 
 So she gave them some 
 BROTH 
 And . . . with . . . it . . . some 
 BREAD 
 
 and 
 
 COOKIES 
 
 And . . . ORANGES . . . sweet, 
 
 Then ♦ • • instead 
 
 ofa . . ♦ . WHIPPING . . aU'rotind 
 
 She ♦ . . gave . ♦ • a . . . sweet 
 
 KISS 
 
 To every small boy and every wee miss. 
 
 I thtnk she's far better, and Fm stire you do, too. 
 
 Than the cruel old woman that lived in the shoe. 
 
The Stranger 
 
THE STRANGER 
 
 A stranger came she to our door 
 And straight we took her in, 
 
 A traveler from a foreign shore, 
 "With neither kith nor kin* 
 
 Scant clothed was she for this cold earth, 
 Scant thatched her little head, 
 
 But soon in ermine was she girth 
 And laid in eider bed« 
 
 We gave her drink and food fore-stored 
 
 To feed such travelers; 
 *We kissed the stranger and implored 
 
 Our blessings might be hers* 
 
 Who aught hath done to these, the least, 
 
 ''Hath done it unto Me'',— 
 Whoso hath clothed or given feast 
 
 Or healed or set men free* 
 
 And is our Heaven completely won 
 
 By such sweet ministries ? 
 Perchance 'tis so our Heaven's begun 
 
 'Mid earth's perplexities. 
 
MARGET : A HARVEST LULLABY 
 
 Sleep ye, my Margfet, 
 
 Sleep ye, my sweetj 
 Hearken! the cricket 
 
 Sings in the wheat! 
 
 Cheep, cricket, cheep. 
 Cradle your <=whe3.t; 
 
 Steep, Marget, sleep. 
 My Marguerite, 
 
 Sleep ye, my Margfet, 
 
 Sleep ye, my love; 
 Deep grow the shadows, 
 
 Stars peep above. 
 
 Creep, shado^ws, creep. 
 
 Over the skies; 
 Steep, Marget, sleep. 
 
 Shut your blue eyes. 
 
 Sleep ye, my Marget, 
 
 Hush ye, your cry? 
 See Father^s sickle 
 
 Hangs in the sky. 
 
 Reap, sickle, reap 
 Blessings for thee; 
 
 Sleep, Marget, sleep. 
 My Margery, 
 
 «^ Sleep ye, my Marget, 
 •-~i:-???- Sleep ye, my pearl, 
 Sleep ye my precious 
 Darling wee girL 
 
 Keep, angels, keep 
 
 'atch o er my pet; 
 
 10, Marget, s' 
 !y Margaret, 
 
 Sleep, Marget, sleep. 
 
S^i long d is smce she 'went forth 
 From Hearoens fairest firth, 
 
 cAnd sailed on clouds by <zvesi and north 
 For fairest spot of Earth* 
 
 3(pt long — but she h^s found it fair. 
 
 And full of lo'ving friends, 
 c4nd to these all she bids me bear 
 
 The lo've her kind heart sends* 
 
 ^ut lam <very slo<w of pen — 
 
 To all leant indite 
 The measure of her lo^e — but then. 
 
 Your lo've she does requite* 
 
ffffffffFtfiil 
 
 cMa.ria.n and Ellen 
 
A NEIGHBORHOOD SHOWER 
 
 Fair is the day, 
 
 Skies azure hue, 
 Happy at play 
 
 Black eyes and blue* 
 
 Dark grows the day, 
 
 Skies lower, alack! 
 Ended their play. 
 
 Blue eyes and black* 
 
 Swift follows rain. 
 Homeward these two — 
 
 At window pane 
 Black eyes and blue* 
 
 Soon the shower's o'er. 
 Sunshine comes back. 
 
 Tears fill no more 
 Blue eyes and black. 
 
 "Whose are the black? 
 
 Marian's,— bright 
 As meteor's track 
 
 On winter's night* 
 
 Whose are the blue? 
 
 Ellen's, — deep 
 As heaven's hue 
 
 In summer sleep* 
 
JKeoeccet 
 
TO REBECCA 
 
 **BzckY/* she's a rare, gfood child, 
 
 Daughter of the prairie, 
 Sweet as flowers that there grow wfld, 
 
 Happy as a f airy^ 
 
 Sammers lives she far away, 
 Where the fields are sunny; 
 
 Just where fairies like to stay — 
 Where the bees find honey^ 
 
 Winters lives she snug at home, 
 Just where fairies would be. 
 
 When the bees are in the comb— 
 If they always could be! 
 
 So my *' Becky'' flits about 
 
 'Tween the farm and city. 
 Sipping sweets to ^ivc them out — 
 
 "^ Becky," bright and pretty* 
 
 When you see my ''Becky" clad 
 
 In her garments airy. 
 You will think a glimpse you've had 
 
 Of a real live fairy. 
 
™-l 
 
 ^ 
 
 :1 
 
 "^Dorothy 
 
TO DOROTHY 
 
 Oh, Dorothy, Dorothy, Double-U, 
 
 Fm very reluctant to trouble you,— 
 
 But there is one thingf I should like to know 
 
 And perhaps you can tell me whether 'tis so. 
 
 Are you a daughter of Eigfht-six, 
 The class of your father — very prolix 
 In virtues and talents and strongf of mind, — 
 Genius and virtue in one combined? 
 
 Oh, Dorothy, brown-eyed, red-cheeked lass. 
 Are you a daugfhter of this gfreat class — 
 The gfreatest and brightest since Eighty-two, 
 (Or so they think and of course you do) ? 
 
 Or are you a daughter of Eighty-seven, 
 Your mother's class, that like unto leaven 
 Is spreading all over this lump of earth 
 To make it a place of larger worth? 
 
 A class that commingles with charity 
 Rare beauty, and keeps them at parity; 
 That isn't contented with what's within reach. 
 But Brahmin and Turk is trying to teach. 
 
 Or are you a daughter of both, forsooth? 
 — Ah, there I think I have hit the truth. 
 That beauty and charity rare you mix 
 With the mental strength of Eighty-six. 
 
 Oh, Dorothy, Dorothy, Double-U, 
 You're fortunate very if this is true. 
 And may you transmit to Nineteen-eleven 
 The best of both Eighty-six and -seven. 
 
g^t/M 
 
TO RUTH 
 
 Ruth, dear, winsome little Ruth, 
 Would you like to know the truth? 
 Then Til tell it you, forsooth, 
 
 Little Ruth: 
 I love very little girls 
 That have pretty golden curls 
 More than boys; for girls are pearls. 
 
 Little Ruth, 
 Tossed up from God's ocean deep. 
 Left 'mid sand by tide at neap 
 On the shore, for us to keep. 
 
 Little Ruth, 
 Till God wants them back, forsooth,- 
 This is what I think's the truth, 
 Ruth, my precious little Ruth, 
 
 Little Ruth* 
 
My Cousin William ( and Presion) 
 
MY COUSIN WILLIAM 
 
 My Cousin William is my Uncle William^s son, 
 So is the story of his precious life begfun — 
 
 Unless you're fond of archaeologfy 
 And wish to trace his linea§:e still farther back, 
 In which event you'll find you're on King "Wil- 
 liam's track, 
 
 King Will of Norman genealogy. 
 
 My Cousin William's sober as a county judge 
 And all my girlish pranks he but pronounces 
 '^ fudge,"— 
 As solemn as the church doxology. 
 Some day, perhaps, he'll sit upon the supreme 
 
 bench. 
 Or else with cold and stately arguments he'll 
 quench 
 All those who're wrong in their theology. 
 
 At any rate, my Cousin William will be great; 
 Some day, who knows, he may be Gov'nor of the 
 State; 
 
 Perchance, Professor of Psychology 
 In some great college, such as Knox; or own a bank. 
 Or be a wholesale merchant of the foremost rank. 
 
 Or write a book on ichthyology* 
 
 My Cousin William is the coming man, no doubt, 
 And I'm the coming woman who is talked about 
 
 And talked about, with much tautology; 
 But if my cousin is as good as his pa-pa. 
 And I'm as sweet and kind as my mam-ma, — 
 
 We'll not be 'shamed of our necrology* 
 
Louise 
 
TO LOUISE* 
 
 These quaint and dainty little gfirls^ 
 In kerchieft cap and peepingf curls^ 
 
 Just come from o'er the seas, 
 I send with these sweet flowers to tell 
 The love I cannot speak so well, — 
 
 My love for dear Louise* 
 
 Though falling snows drift deep about, 
 
 Though winds blow cold and chill without, 
 And stark stand all the trees, 
 
 Still like the amaranth of old 
 
 These flowers shall bloom through heat and cold- 
 Shall bloom for sweet Louise* 
 
 The snows have drifted deep about. 
 The winds blown cold and chill without. 
 
 And stark stand all the trees; 
 But at His upper mansion's gate. 
 These messengers shall daily wait 
 
 With flowers for our Louise. 
 
 ^Sent <with Crust's picture of t<=wo girls carrying hyacinths 
 and pinks, to Louise* 
 
TO ALBERT 
 
 YouVe heard of Albert, Prince of Wales, 
 
 Victorians petted son, 
 Who cares not that the kingdom fails 
 
 If hut his horse has won; 
 
 Who's getting: rather bald and stout, 
 
 And sometimes fears lest he 
 May after all not quite live out 
 
 Another jubilee; 
 
 Who's fond of dinners, fond of clothes. 
 This grown-up child of Guelph, 
 
 Who's fond of golf, who labor loathes. 
 Who's fondest of himself* 
 
 He's not the Albert that I mean; 
 
 Mine is a Prince of Boys, not Wales, 
 And he's the son, too, of a queen 
 
 Whose jar of cookies never fails* 
 
 A first-rate head's beneath his crown 
 Whene'er his ample hat is on; 
 
 He's quite the best boy in our town. 
 And I'm— well I'm his ''Uncle John/' 
 
THE FAMOUS RIDE OF CORPORAL 
 PARK AND LITTLE PHIL 
 
 Up from their beds at break of day- 
 There leaped two boys and straightaway 
 They g^roomed their horses^ ** Field'' and ^'Ide/' 
 For they had vowed 'fore night to ride 
 To Sheffield, four and fifty miles away* 
 
 They mounted each his iron steed, 
 All cleaned and oiled for lightning speed, — 
 Then up they spun "Wataga's road 
 While horses shied and farmers **whoaed" — 
 And Sheffield five and forty miles away* 
 
 Despatches sent to mothers dear, 
 Again they mount and soon they near 
 Oneida's stores, where they must stop 
 To lunch on cakes and ice cold pop — 
 With Sheffield only forty miles away* 
 
Down dale, up hill they gaily go, 
 On **ldc^^ and ^* Field/' now fast, now slow, 
 And soon they run a-spinning down 
 The streets of staid Altona town,— 
 
 And Sheffield five and thirty miles away* 
 
 With pumping tired, with hunger gaunt. 
 They reach a Galva restaurant. 
 Sandwich and steak and milk and pie 
 Soon disappear, with many a sigh 
 
 For Sheffield, five and twenty miles away* 
 
 Again they start with rested heels, 
 No one is tired (except their wheels). 
 But wheels go faster when they're tired. 
 And hoys when properly inspired; 
 
 Yet Sheffield's more than fifteen miles away. 
 
 The road is rough, the way is steep- 
 Legs, arms and wheels all in a heap — 
 But heroes are not daunted so. 
 They're up again and on they go 
 
 To Sheffield, now but seven miles away* 
 
 At length they climb the last steep hill. 
 Brave Corp'ral Park and Little Phil; 
 Sheffield is theirs; the battle's won; 
 And now for two days' solid fun 
 
 With Galesburg four and fifty miles away* 
 
TO EU-NI-CE 
 
 Every shrub and prairie tree^ 
 "Whether flower or berry be 
 
 The gift you bear; 
 Don your best for Eu-ni-ce> — 
 
 Blossoms in your hair. 
 
 Hum your hymn^ oh honey bee^ 
 Dandelions, money free 
 
 Coin ye on the green, 
 For the dainty Eu-ni-ce, 
 
 For the little queen* 
 
 Children dance in jollity, 
 Join in glad equality, 
 
 This joyous day; 
 Dance around fair Eu-ni-ce, 
 
 The queen of May, 
 
TO FLORIBEL: MY PILOT 
 
 Here I sit as sole dictator 
 Of the little world I know, 
 
 Wandering as a navi§fator 
 Whither §fentle winds may blow, 
 With my FloribeL 
 
 Floribel is Palinurus, 
 
 Good as §fold and true as steel, 
 And no rocks will ever lure us 
 
 While she's standing: at the wheel. 
 My good FloribeL 
 
 Thus, in fair or cloudy weather 
 
 Daily we perambulate, 
 (^er and ambulo) together, 
 
 Galesburg streets in regal state — 
 I with FloribeL 
 
 Do you wonder at my Latin ? 
 
 Straight it came from Miss McCall, 
 For Fve learned it as Fve sat in 
 
 This same place — Fve learned it all 
 From my FloribeL 
 
 All the world's a panorama 
 
 Tore my wicker-wheeled throne. 
 
 And the children act a drama 
 Daily for me and my own. 
 My dear FloribeL 
 
 Some day, dear perambulator. 
 Many things will part us two. 
 
 And some other navigator. 
 He will sail away with you 
 And my FloribeL 
 
TO THE MAN OF THE HOUSE 
 WITH THE SKYWARD WINDOW 
 
 ''And thou shalt call him John 
 
 ''And joy though have and gladness,*' 
 So spoke an an§fel long: agfone 
 
 To priest who lived in sadness, 
 Because no son had come to him 
 
 To minister at altar, 
 To take his place when eye grew dim 
 
 And voice began to f alter* 
 
 And thou, oh priest of this new day, 
 
 Who in His temple dwellest, 
 "Who first dost hear what God doth say 
 
 And then to mankind tellest — 
 As thou hast called thine offspring " John,** 
 
 So may he banish sadness. 
 May he be herald of the dawn 
 
 Of thy great day of gladness* 
 
 And when thine eyes age-dimmed shall be. 
 
 And cannot see the star-light. 
 When with an inner eye thou'lt sec 
 
 The gleaming of a far light; 
 May he, whom thou hast given this name. 
 
 Stand in thy laboratory. 
 Which temple is, and thence proclaim 
 
 The coming of His glory* 
 
THE ANGELS, THE STAR, AND 
 THE VISION 
 
THE ANGELS 
 
 The angfels of God came to earth one night, 
 But they found all the world asleep, 
 
 Until they approached in their shining flight 
 Where the shepherds were watching their sheep* 
 
 The fisherman dreamt of the morrow's draught, 
 And the trader, he dreamt of gold; 
 
 The ploughman aloud in his slumber laughed 
 As he thought of the ''hundred fold/' 
 
 The angels of God all of these passed by, 
 
 A-dreaming of fishes and crops; 
 They sang of the Christ from that midnight sky 
 
 To the men on the lone hill tops* 
 
 THE STAR 
 
 A star ventured forth on a strange, new way, 
 
 From a far-away firmament. 
 And hastened to find where the young child lay. 
 
 As it swept from the Orient* 
 
 The fisherman dreamt of his shining draught. 
 
 And the trader of coffers filled; 
 The ploughman again in his slumber laughed 
 
 As he oreamt of the barns he'd build* 
 
 The Orient star gave no light for them. 
 For their troubles had closed their eyes; 
 
 The star drew alone to Bethlehem 
 
 The men who were watching the skies* 
 
THE VISION 
 
 The shepherds beheld with their heads all bared, 
 And the wise men worshiped afar; 
 
 The shepherds their flocks left alone, uncared, 
 And the wise men followed His stan 
 
 The fisherman g:oes to his daily toil, 
 "While the merchant for trade prepares; 
 
 The plougfhman returns to his stony soil — 
 The Christ had come unawares. 
 
 So, child, it is in the land of men: 
 They are blest who oft look above; 
 
 ^Tis when we look up, and 'tis only then. 
 We have visions of God's gfreat love* 
 
 '.^ 
 
If o'er a precipice thou find' si thy ^ivay. 
 Look up; a. dowri'wa.rd glance 'wat bring dismay 
 And certain death; 
 
 Courage f child, courage I 
 
 Or if across a plain thy <=a)ay doth lead. 
 Look out, not in; beholding other' s need 
 Forget thine OTvn; 
 
 Courage, child, courage! 
 
 But <whether precipice or plain thy path. 
 Look for^cvard <zoith bra've heart; he 'victory hath 
 Who ne'er looks back; 
 
 Courage, child, courage ! 
 
FUSTLEY