Class _AiiL2:714- 
 Book 
 
 \ r 
 
 CopyrigMN?. 
 
 CQEffilGHT DEPOSm 
 
Green Fields and 
 Running Brooks 
 
 / 
 
 BY 
 
 JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY 
 
 J 3 
 
 INDIANAPOLIS 
 
 THE BOWEN-MERRILL COMPANY 
 1893 
 
 \) 
 
 

 Copyright 1892 
 By JAMES W. RILEY 
 
 (4) 
 
TO MY SISTERS 
 
 Elva and Mary 
 
 (5) 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Proem ......... 13 
 
 Artemus of Michigan, The ...... 146 
 
 As My Uncle Used to Say ...... 83 
 
 At Utter Loaf ........ 174 
 
 August ......... 66 
 
 Autumn ......... 183 
 
 Bedouin ......... 189 
 
 Being His Mother ....... 70 
 
 Blind 86 
 
 Blossoms on the Trees, The ...... 206 
 
 By Any Other Name ...... 134 
 
 By Her White Bed ....... 204 
 
 Chant of the Cross-Bearing Child, The .... 179 
 
 Country Pathway, A ....... 15 
 
 Cup of Tea, A ....... 143 
 
 Curse of the Wandering Foot, The ..... 107 
 
 Cyclone, The ........ 25 
 
 Dan Paine ......... 171 
 
 Dawn, Noon and Dewfall ...... 81 
 
 Discouraging Model, A . . . . . . . 207 
 
 Ditty of No Tone, A ...... . 22 
 
 Don Piatt of Mac-o-chee ...... 121 
 
 Dot Leedle Boy ....... 116 
 
 Dream of Autumn, A . . . . . . .5° 
 
 (7) 
 
8 CONTENTS. 
 
 
 Elizabeth ...... 
 
 i68 
 
 Envoy . ..... 
 
 224 
 
 Farmer Whipple — Bachelor .... 
 
 73 
 
 Full Harvest, A . . ... 
 
 . 85 
 
 Glimpse of Pan, A . 
 
 210 
 
 Go, Winter ...... 
 
 . 167 
 
 Her Beautiful Eyes ..... 
 
 115 
 
 Hereafter, The ...... 
 
 141 
 
 His Mother's Way ..... 
 
 45 
 
 His Vigil 
 
 . 132 
 
 Home at Night ..... 
 
 57 
 
 Home-Going, The ..... 
 
 29 
 
 Hoodoo, The ...... 
 
 148 
 
 Hoosier Folk-Child, The .... 
 
 . 58 
 
 How John Quit the Farm . . . . ■ 
 
 31 
 
 Iron Horse, The ...... 
 
 42 
 
 Iry and Billy and Jo .... 
 
 112 
 
 Jack the Giant-Killer 
 
 . 62 
 
 Jap Miller ...... 
 
 46 
 
 John Alden and Percilly ..... 
 
 . 175 
 
 John Brown ...... 
 
 142 
 
 John McKeen ...... 
 
 216 
 
 Judith ....... 
 
 I4S 
 
 June at Woodruff ..... 
 
 71 
 
 Just to Be Good ..... 
 
 56 
 
 Last Night— And This 
 
 . 208 
 
 Let Us Forget ..... 
 
 194 
 
 Little Fat Doctor, The ..... 
 
 97 
 
 Longfellow ...... 
 
 215 
 
 Lounger, A ...... 
 
 . 176 
 
 Monument for the Soldiers, A . . . 
 
 109 
 
 Mr. What's-His-Name ..... 
 
 . 220 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 My Friend ........ 201 
 
 Nessmuk ......... 82 
 
 North and South ....... 40 
 
 Old Retired Sea Captain, The . . . . . . loi 
 
 Old Winters on the Farm ...... 173 
 
 Old Year and the New, The ...... 139 
 
 On the Banks o' Deer Crick ..... 20 
 
 Out of Nazareth ......'. 211 
 
 Passing of A Heart, The ...... 203 
 
 Plaint Human, The ....... 133 
 
 Quarrel, The . . . . . . . . 137 . 
 
 Quiet Lodger, The . . . . . . .126 
 
 Reach Your Hand to Me . . . . . . igS 
 
 Right Here at Home ....... 95 
 
 Rival, The ........ m 
 
 Rivals, The; or the Showman's Ruse .... 149 
 
 Robert Burns Wilson ....... 103 
 
 Rose, The . . . . . . . . . 199 
 
 September Dark . . . . . . . 209 
 
 Shoemaker, The ........ 99 
 
 Singer, The ........ 84 
 
 Sister Jones's Confession ...... 106 
 
 Sleep ......... 170 
 
 Some Scattering Remarks of Bub's ..... 219 
 
 Song of Long Ago, A ...... 177 
 
 Southern Singer, A ....... 48 
 
 Suspense ........ 202 
 
 Thanksgiving . . . . . . . .181 
 
 Their Sweet Sorrow ....... 218 
 
 Them Flowers ........ 124 
 
 To an Importunate Ghost ...... 136 
 
 To Hear Her Sing ....... 68 
 
10 CONTENTS. 
 
 
 Tom Van Arden ..... 
 
 52 
 
 To the Serenader ...... 
 
 . 104 
 
 Tugg Martin ...... 
 
 igo 
 
 Twins, The ...... 
 
 . 187 
 
 Wandering Jew, The .... 
 
 213 
 
 Watches of the Night, The .... 
 
 . 130 
 
 Water Color, A ..... 
 
 24 
 
 We to Sigh Instead of Sing .... 
 
 . 205 
 
 What Chris'mas Fetched the Wigginses . 
 
 153 
 
 When Age Comes On ..... 
 
 • 223 
 
 Where-Away ...... 
 
 ' 27 
 
 While the Musician Played .... 
 
 . 64 
 
 Wife-Blessed, The 
 
 105 
 
 Wraith of Summertime, A . . . . 
 
 . 114 
 
Green Fields and 
 
 Running Brooks 
 
 (II) 
 
LIO ! green fields and running brooks ! 
 Knotted strings and fishing-hooks 
 Of the truant, stealing down 
 Weedy hackways of the town. 
 
 Where the sunshine overlooks, 
 By green fields and running brooks, 
 All intruding guests of chance 
 With a golden tolerance. 
 
 Cooing doves, or pensive pair 
 Of picnickers, straying there — 
 By green fields- and running brooks. 
 Sylvan shades and mossy nooks ! 
 
 And — O Dreamer of the Days, 
 
 Murmur er of roundelays 
 
 All unsung of words or books, 
 
 Sing green fields and running brooks ! 
 
 (13) 
 
A COUNTRY PATHWAY. 15 
 
 A COUNTRY PATHWAY. 
 
 I COME upon it suddenly, alone — 
 A little pathway winding in the weeds 
 That fringe the roadside ; and with dreams my own, 
 I wander as it leads. 
 
 Full wistfully along the slender way. 
 
 Through summer tan of freckled shade and shine, 
 I tatce the path that leads me as it may — 
 
 Its every choice is mine. 
 
 A chipmunk, or a sudden-whirring quail, 
 
 Is startled by my step as on I fare — 
 A garter-snake across the dusty trail 
 
 Glances and — is not there. 
 
 Above the arching jimson-weeds flare twos 
 
 And twos of sallow-yellow butterflies, 
 Like blooms of lorn primroses blowing loose 
 
 When autumn winds arise. 
 
 The trail dips — dwindles — broadens then, and lifts 
 
 Itself astride a cross-road dubiously. 
 And, from the fennel marge beyond it, drifts 
 
 Still onward, beckoning me. 
 
i6 A COUNTT{Y PAT HIV AY. 
 
 And though it needs must lure me miles on miles 
 Out of the public highway, still I go, 
 
 My thoughts, far in advance in Indian-file, 
 Allure me even so. 
 
 Why, I am as a long-lost boy that went 
 At dusk to bring the cattle to the bars, 
 
 And was not found again, though Heaven lent 
 His mother all the stars 
 
 With which to seek him through that awful night. 
 
 years of nights as vain ! — Stars never rise 
 But well might miss their glitter in the light 
 
 Of tears in mother-eyes! 
 
 So — on, with quickened breaths, I follow still — 
 
 My avant-courier must be obeyed ! 
 Thus am I led, and thus the path, at will. 
 
 Invites me to invade 
 
 A meadow's precincts, where my daring guide 
 Clambers the steps of an old-fashioned stile. 
 
 And stumbles down again, the other side. 
 To gambol there awhile 
 
 In pranks of hide-and-seek, as on ahead 
 
 1 see it running, while the clover-stalks 
 Shake rosy fists at me, as though they said — 
 
 "You dog our country-walks 
 
A COUNTRY PATHJVAY. ij 
 
 "And mutilate us with your wall<ing-stick ! — 
 We will not suffer tamely what you do 
 And warn you at your peril, — for we 'II sic 
 Our bumble-bees on you!" 
 
 But I smile back, in airy nonchalance, — 
 The more determined on my wayward quest, 
 
 As some bright memory a moment dawns 
 A morning in my breast — 
 
 Sending a thrill that hurries me along 
 
 In faulty similes of childish skips. 
 Enthused with lithe contortions of a song 
 
 Performing on my lips. 
 
 In wild meanderings o'er pasture wealth — 
 Erratic wanderings through dead'ning-Iands, 
 
 Where sly old brambles, plucking me by stealth, 
 Put berries in my hands : 
 
 Or, the path climbs a boulder — wades a slough— 
 Or, rollicking through buttercups and flags, 
 
 Goes gaily dancing o'er a deep bayou 
 On old tree-trunks and snags : 
 
 Or, at the creek, leads o'er a limpid pool 
 Upon a bridge the stream itself has made. 
 
 With some Spring-freshet for the mighty tool 
 That its foundation laid. 
 
i8 A COUI^TT{Y PATHWAY. 
 
 I pause a moment here to bend and muse. 
 With dreamy eyes, on my reflection, where 
 
 A boat-backed bug drifts on a helpless cruise, 
 Or wildly oars the air, 
 
 As, dimly seen, the pirate of the brool< — 
 The pike, whose jaunty hulk denotes his speed — 
 
 Swings pivoting about, with wary look 
 Of low and cunning greed. 
 
 Till, filled with other thought, 1 turn again 
 To where the pathway enters in a realm 
 
 Of lordly woodland, under sovereign reign 
 Of towering oak and elm. 
 
 A puritanic quiet here reviles 
 
 The almost whispered warble from the hedge. 
 And takes a locust's rasping voice and files 
 
 The silence to an edge. 
 
 In such a solitude my somber way 
 Strays like a misanthrope within a gloom 
 
 Of his own shadows — till the perfect day 
 Bursts into sudden bloom, 
 
 And crowns a long, declining stretch of space, 
 Where King Corn's armies lie with flags unfurled, 
 
 And where the valley's dint in Nature's face 
 Dimples a smiling world. 
 
A COUNTRY PATHIVAY. 19 
 
 And lo! through mists that may not be dispelled, 
 
 I see an old farm homestead, as in dreams. 
 Where, like a gem in costly setting held, 
 The old log cabin gleams. 
 
 O darling Pathway ! lead me bravely on 
 Adown your valley way, and run before 
 
 Among the roses crowding up the lawn 
 And thronging at the door, — 
 
 And carry up the echo there that shall 
 Arouse the drowsy dog, that he may bay 
 
 The household out to greet the prodigal 
 That wanders home to-day. 
 
ON THE BANKS O' DEER CRICK. 
 
 ON THE BANKS O' DEER CRICK. 
 
 ON the banks o' Deer Crick ! There 's the place fer 
 me!— 
 Worter slidin' past ye jes as clair as it kin be: — 
 See yer sliadder in it, and the shadder o' the sl<:y, 
 And the shadder o' the buzzard as he goes a-lazein' by; 
 Shadder o' the pizen-vines, and shadder o' the trees — 
 And I purt'-nigh said the shadder o' the sunshine and 
 
 the breeze ! 
 Well — I never seen the ocean ner 1 never seen the sea : 
 On the banks o' Deer Crick 's grand enough fer me ! 
 
 On the banks o' Deer Crick— mild er two from town— 
 'Long up where the mill-race comes a-loafni' down, — 
 Like to git up in there — 'mongst the sycamores — 
 And watch the worter at the dam, a-frothin' as she 
 
 pours : 
 Crawl out on some old log, with my hook and line. 
 Where the fish is jes so thick you kin see 'em shine 
 As they flicker round yer bait, coaxm' you to jerk, 
 Tel yer tired ketchin' of 'em, mighty nigh, as work.' 
 
 On the banks o' Deer Crick ! — Alius my delignt 
 Jes to be around there — take it day er night !^ 
 Watch the snipes and killdees foolin' half the day — 
 Er these-'ere little worter-bugs skootin' ever'way ! — 
 
ON THE BANKS O' DEER CRICK. 21 
 
 Snakefeeders glancin' round, er dartin' out o' sight ; 
 And dew-fall, and bullfrogs, and lightnin'-bugs at 
 
 night — 
 Stars up through the tree-tops— er in the crick below, — 
 And smell o' raussrat through the dark clean from the 
 
 old b'y-o! 
 
 Er take a tromp, some Sund'yj say, 'way up to 
 
 " Johnson's Hole," 
 And find where he 's had a fire, and hid his fishin'-pole: 
 Have yer " dog-leg," with ye and yer pipe and "cut- 
 
 and-dry " — 
 Pocketful o' corn-bred, and slug er two o' rye, — 
 Soak yer hide in sunshine and waller in the shade — 
 Like the Good Book tells us — " where there 're none to 
 
 make afraid!" 
 Well ! — I never seen the ocean ner I never seen the sea — 
 On the banks o' Deer Crick's grand enough fer me! 
 
22 A DITTY OF NO TONE. 
 
 A DITTY OF NO TONE— 
 
 Piped to the Spirit of John Keats. 
 I. 
 OULD that my lips might pour out in thy praise 
 
 w 
 
 A fitting melody — an air sublime, — 
 A song sun-washed and draped in dreamy haze — 
 
 The floss and velvet of luxurious rhyme : 
 A lay wrought of warm languors, and o'er-brimmed 
 With balminess, and fragrance of wild flowers 
 Such as the droning bee ne'er wearies of — 
 Such thoughts as might be hymned 
 To thee from this midsummer land of ours 
 Through shower and sunshine blent for very love. 
 
 11. 
 
 Deep silences in woody aisles wherethrough 
 
 Cool paths go loitering, and where the trill 
 Of best-remembered birds hath something new 
 
 In cadence for the hearing — lingering still 
 Through all the open day that lies beyond ; 
 Reaches of pasture-lands, vlne-wreathen oaks. 
 Majestic still in pathos of decay; — 
 The road — the wayside pond 
 Wherein the dragonfly an instant soaks 
 His filmy wing-tips ere he flits away. 
 
A DITTY OF NO TONE. 23 
 
 And I would pluck from out the dank, rich mould, 
 
 Thick-shaded from the sun of noon, the long 
 Lithe stalks of barley, topped with ruddy gold. 
 And braid them in the meshes of my song ; 
 And with them I would tangle wheat and rye, 
 And wisps of greenest grass the katydid 
 Ere crept beneath the blades of, sulkily, 
 As harvest-hands went by ; 
 And weave of all, as wildest fancy bid, 
 A crown of mingled song and bloom for thee. 
 
M A WATER-COLOR. 
 
 A WATER-COLOR. 
 
 T OW hidden in among the forest trees 
 ■*— ' An artist's tilted easel, ankle-deep 
 In tousled ferns and mosses, and in these 
 A fluffy water-spaniel, half asleep 
 Beside a sketch-book and a fallen hat — 
 A little wicker flask tossed into that. 
 
 A sense of utter carelessness and grace 
 
 Of pure abandon in the slumb'rous scene,— 
 As if the June, all hoydenish of face, 
 Had romped herself to sleep there on the green, 
 And brink and sagging bridge and sliding stream 
 Were just romantic parcels of her dream. 
 
THE CYCLONE. 25 
 
 THE CYCLONE. 
 
 O O lone I stood, the very trees seemed drawn 
 ^ In conference with themselves. — Intense — intense 
 Seemed everything ; — the summer splendor on 
 The sight, — magnificence ! 
 
 A babe's life might not lighter fail and die 
 Than failed the sunlight. — Though the hour was noon. 
 
 The palm of midnight might not lighter lie 
 Upon the brow of June. 
 
 With eyes upraised, I saw the underwings 
 Of swallows — gone the instant afterward — 
 
 While from the elms there came strange tsvitterlngs, 
 Stilled scarce ere they were heard. 
 
 The river seemed to shiver ; and, far down 
 ■ Its darkened length, I saw the sycamores 
 Lean inward closer, under the vast frown 
 That weighed above the shores. 
 
 Then was a roar, born of some awful burst ! — 
 And one lay, shrieking, chattering, in my path — 
 
 Flung — he or I — out of some space accurst 
 As of Jehovah's wrath : 
 
26 THE CYCLONE. 
 
 Nor barely had he wreaked his latest prayer, 
 Ere back the noon flashed o'er the ruin done, 
 
 And, o'er uprooted forests touseled there, 
 The birds sang in the sun. 
 
IVHERE-AIVAY. 
 
 WHERE-AWAY. 
 
 /^ THE Lands of Where- Away! 
 ^-^ Tell us — tell us — where are they? 
 Through the darkness and the dawn 
 We have journeyed on and on — • 
 From the cradle to the cross — 
 From possession unto loss. — 
 Seeking still, from day to day, 
 For the lands of Where-Away. 
 
 When our baby-feet were first 
 Planted where the daisies burst, 
 And the greenest grasses grew 
 In the fields we wandered through,- 
 On, with childish discontent. 
 Ever on and on we went, 
 Hoping still to pass, some day, 
 O'er the verge of Where-Away. 
 
 Roses laid their velvet lips 
 On our own, with fragrant sips ; 
 But their kisses held us not, 
 All their sweetness we forgot; — 
 Though the brambles in our track 
 Plucked at us to hold us back — 
 "Just ahead," we used to say, 
 "Lie the Lands of Where-Away." 
 
28 IVHERE-A IVAY. 
 
 Children at the pasture-bars, 
 
 Through the dusk, like glimmering stars. 
 
 Waved their hands that we should bide 
 
 With them over eventide : 
 
 Down the dark their voices failed 
 
 Falteringly, as they hailed, 
 
 And died into yesterday — 
 
 Night ahead and — Where-Away? 
 
 Twining arms about us thrown — 
 Warm caresses, all our own, 
 Can but stay us for a spell — 
 Love hath little new to tell 
 To the soul in need supreme, 
 Aching ever with the dream 
 Of the endless bliss it may 
 Find in Lands of Where-Away! 
 
THE HOME-GOING. 
 
 THE HOME-GOING. 
 
 ■\T /■£ must get home — for we have been away 
 " "^ So long it seems forever and a day ! 
 And O so very homesick we have grown, 
 The laughter of the world is like a moan 
 In our tired hearing, and its songs as vain, — 
 We must get home—we must get home again ! 
 
 We must get home: It hurts so, staying here. 
 Where fond hearts must be wept out tear by tear, 
 And where to wear wet lashes means, at best, 
 When most our lack, the least our hope of rest — 
 When most our need of joy, the more our pain — 
 We must get home — we must get home again ! 
 
 We must get home : All is so quiet there : 
 The touch of loving hands on brow and hair — 
 Dim rooms, wherein the sunshine is made mild — ■ 
 The lost love of the mother and the child 
 Restored in restful lullabies of rain. — 
 We must get home — we must get home again ! 
 
 We must get home, where, as we nod and 
 
 drowse. 
 Time humors us and tiptoes through the house. 
 
30 THE HOME-GOING. 
 
 And loves us best when sleeping baby-wise, 
 With dreams — not tear-drops — brimming our 
 
 clenched eyes, — 
 Pure dreams that know nor taint nor earthly stain- 
 We must get home — we must get home again ! 
 
 We must get home ; and, unremembering there 
 All gain of all ambitions otherwhere, 
 Rest — ^from the feverish victory, and the crown 
 Of conquest whose waste glory weighs us down.- 
 Fame's fairest gifts we toss back with disdain — 
 We must get home — we must get home again ! 
 
HOIV JOHN QUIT THE FARM. 31 
 
 HOW JOHN QUIT THE FARM. 
 
 NOBODY on tlie old farm here but Mother, me and 
 John, 
 Except, of course, the extry he'p when harvest-time 
 
 come on — 
 And then, I want to say to you, we needed he'p about, 
 As you 'd admit, ef you 'd a-seen the way the crops 
 turned out! 
 
 A better quarter-section, ner a richer soil warn't found 
 Than this-here old-home place 0' ourn fer fifty miles 
 
 , around! — 
 The house was small — but plenty-big we found it from 
 
 the day 
 That John — our only livin' son — packed up and went 
 
 away. 
 
 You see, we tuck sich pride in John — his mother more 'n 
 
 me — 
 That's natchurul ; but hoth of us was proud as proud 
 
 could be; 
 Fer the boy, from a little chap, was most onco'mmon 
 
 bright. 
 And seemed in work as well as play to take the same 
 
 delight. 
 
32 HOIV JOHN QUIT THE FARM. 
 
 He alius went a-whistlin' round the place, as glad at 
 
 heart 
 As robins up at five o'clock to git an airly start ; 
 And many a time 'fore daylight Mother 's waked me up 
 
 to say — 
 "Jest listen, David! — listen! — Johnny's beat the birds 
 
 to-day!" 
 
 High-sperited from boyhood, with a most inquirin' turn, — 
 He wanted to learn ever'thing on earth they was to 
 
 learn : 
 He 'd ast more plaguey questions in a mortal-minute 
 
 here 
 Than his grandpap in Paradise could answer in a year ! 
 
 And read! w'y, his own mother learnt him how to read 
 and spell ; 
 
 And " The Childern of the Abbey " — w'y, he knowed 
 that book as well 
 
 At fifteen as his parents! — and "The Pilgrim's Prog- 
 ress," too — 
 
 Jest knuckled down, the shaver did, and read 'em 
 through and through! 
 
HOH^ JOHN QUIT THE FARM. 33 
 
 At eighteen, Mother 'lowed the boy must have a better 
 
 chance — 
 That we ort to educate him, under any circumstance; 
 And John he j'ined his mother, and they ding-donged 
 
 and kep' on, 
 Tel I sent him off to school in town, half glad that he 
 
 was gone. 
 
 But — I missed him — w'y of course I did ! — The Fall and 
 
 Winter through 
 1 never built the kitchen-fne, er split a stick in two, 
 Er fed the stock, er butchered, er swung up a gambrel- 
 
 pin, 
 But what I thought 0' John, and wished that he was 
 
 home agin. 
 
 He 'd come, sometimes — on Sund'ys most — and stay the 
 
 Sund'y out ; 
 And on Thanksgivin'-Day he 'peared to like to be 
 
 about : 
 But a change was workin' on him — he was stiller than 
 
 before, 
 And did n't joke, ner laugh, ner sing and whistle any 
 
 more. 
 
34 HO IV JOHN QUIT THE FARM. 
 
 And his talk was all so proper; and 1 noticed, with a 
 
 sigh, 
 He was tryin' to raise side-whiskers, and had on a 
 
 striped tie, 
 And a standin'-collar, ironed up as stiff and slick as 
 
 bone ; 
 And a breast-pin, and a watch and chain and plug-hat 
 
 of his own. 
 
 But when Spring-weather opened out, and John was to 
 
 come home 
 And he'p me through the season, I was glad to see 
 
 him come; 
 But my happiness, that evening, with the settin' sun 
 
 went down, 
 When he bragged of " a position " that was offered 
 
 him in town. 
 
 "But," says I, "you'll not accept it?" "W'y, of 
 
 course I will," says he. — 
 "This drudgin' on a farm," he says, "is not the life 
 
 fer me; 
 I 've set my stakes up higher," he continued, light and 
 
 gay, 
 "And town 's the place fer me, and I 'm a-goin' right 
 
 away!" 
 
HOJV JOHN QUIT THE FARM. 35 
 
 And go he did! — his mother clingin' to him at tlie 
 
 gate, 
 A-pleadin' and a-cryin'; but it hadn't any weiglit. 
 I was tranquiller, and told her 't warn't no use to 
 
 worry so, 
 And onclasped her arms from round his neck round 
 
 mine — and let him go ! 
 
 I felt a little bitter feelin' foolin' round about 
 
 The aidges of my conscience; but I didn't let it out; — 
 
 I simply retch out, trimbly-like, and tuck the boy's 
 
 hand, 
 And though I did n't say a word, I knowed he 'd 
 
 understand. 
 
 And — well! — sence then the old home here was mighty 
 
 lonesome, shore ! 
 With me a-workin' in the field, and Mother at the 
 
 door. 
 Her face ferever to'rds the town, and fadin' more and 
 
 more — 
 Her only son nine miles away, a-clerkin' in a store ! 
 
36 HOIV JOHN QUIT THE FARM. 
 
 The weeks and months dragged by us; and sometimes 
 
 the boy would write 
 A letter to his mother, sayin' that his work was light, 
 And not to feel oneasy about his health a bit — 
 Though his business was confmin', he was gittin' used 
 
 to it. 
 
 And sometimes he would write and ast how / was 
 
 gittin' on, 
 And ef I had to pay out much fer he'p sence he was 
 
 gone ; 
 And how the hogs was doin', and the balance of the 
 
 stock, 
 And talk on fer a page er two jest like he used to 
 
 talk. 
 
 And he wrote, along 'fore harvest, that he guessed he 
 
 would git home, 
 Fer business would, of course, be dull in town. — But 
 
 didn't come: — 
 We got a postal later, sayin' when they had no trade 
 They filled the time " Invoicin' goods," and that was 
 
 why he staid. 
 
HOIV JOHN QUIT THE FARM. 37 
 
 And then he quit a-writin' altogether: Not a word — 
 Exceptin' what the neighbers brung who 'd been to 
 
 town and heard 
 What store John was clerkin' in, and went round to 
 
 inquire 
 If they could buy their goods there less and sell their 
 
 produce higher. 
 
 And so the Summer faded out, and Autumn wore 
 
 away, 
 And a keener Winter never fetched around Thanks- 
 
 givin'-Day ! 
 The night before that day of thanks I 'II never quite 
 
 fergit, 
 The wind a-howlin' round the house — it makes me 
 
 creepy yit! 
 
 And there set me and Mother — me a-twistin" at the 
 
 prongs 
 Of a green scrub-ellum forestick with a vicious pair of 
 
 tongs, 
 And Mother sayin', ''^ David! David!'' in a' undertone, 
 As though she thought that 1 was thinkin' bad-words 
 
 unbeknown. 
 
38 HOIV JOHN QUIT THE FARM. 
 
 " 1 've dressed the turkey, David, fer to-morrow," 
 
 Mother said, 
 A-tryin' to wedge some pleasant subject in my stubborn 
 
 head, — 
 "And the mince-meat I 'm a-mixin' is perfection mighty 
 
 nigh ; 
 And the pound-cake is delicious-rich — " "Who'll eat 
 
 'em?" I-says-I. 
 
 "The cramberries is drippin'-sweet," says Mother, 
 
 runnin' on, 
 P'tendin' not to hear me; — "and somehow I thought 
 
 of John 
 All the time they was a-jellin' — fer you know they 
 
 alius was 
 His favorz'^^— he likes 'em so!" Says I, "Well, s'pose 
 
 he does?" 
 
 "Oh, nothin' much!" says Mother, with a quiet sort 
 
 o' smile — 
 "This gentleman behind my cheer may tell you after 
 
 while ! " 
 And as I turned and looked around, some one riz up 
 
 and leant 
 And put his arms round Mother's neck, and laughed in 
 
 low content. 
 
HO IV JOHN QUIT THE FARM. 39 
 
 " It 's me," he says — " your fool-boy John, come back 
 
 to shake your hand ; 
 Set down with you, and talk with you, and make you 
 
 understand 
 How dearer yit than all the world is this old home 
 
 that we 
 Will spend Thanksgivin' in fer life — jest Mother, you 
 
 and me ! " 
 
 Nobody on the old farm here but Mother, me and John, 
 Except of course the extry he'p, when harvest-time 
 
 comes on ; 
 And then, I want to say to you, we need sich he'p 
 
 about, 
 As you 'd admit, ef you could see the way the crops 
 
 turns out! 
 
40 NORTH AND SOUTH. 
 
 NORTH AND SOUTH. 
 
 OF the North I wove a dream, 
 All bespangled with the gleam \ 
 Of the glancing wings of swallows 
 Dipping ripples in a stream, 
 That, like a tide of wine, 
 Wound through lands of shade and shine 
 Where purple grapes hung bursting on the vine. 
 
 And where orchard-boughs were bent 
 Till their tawny fruitage blent 
 
 With the golden wake that marked the 
 Way the happy reapers went ; 
 Where the dawn died into noon 
 As the May-mists into June, 
 And the dusk fell like a sweet face in a swoon. 
 
 Of the South I dreamed : And there 
 Came a vision clear and fair 
 
 As the marvelous enchantments 
 Of the mirage of the air; 
 And I saw the bayou-trees, 
 With their lavish draperies. 
 Hang heavy o'er the m.oon-washed cypress-knees. 
 
NORTH ^ND SOUTH. 41 
 
 Peering from lush fens of rice, 
 I beheld the Negro's eyes, 
 
 Lit with that old superstition 
 Death itself can not disguise ; 
 And I saw the palm tree nod 
 Like an oriental god, 
 And the cotton froth and bubble from the pod. 
 
 And I dreamed that North and South, 
 With a sigh of dew and drouth, 
 
 Blew each unto the other 
 The salute of lip and mouth ; 
 And I wakened, awed and thrilled— 
 Every doubting murmur stilled 
 In the silence of the dream I found fulfilled. 
 
42 THE IRON HORSE. 
 
 THE IRON HORSE. 
 
 NO song is mine of Arab steed — 
 My courser is of nobler blood, 
 And cleaner limb and fleeter speed, 
 
 And greater strength and hardihood 
 Than ever cantered wild and free 
 Across the plains of Araby. 
 
 Go search the level desert-land 
 From Sana on to Samarcand — 
 Wherever Persian prince has been 
 Or Dervish, Sheik or Bedouin, 
 And I defy you there to point 
 
 Me out a steed the half so fine — 
 From tip of ear to pastern-joint — 
 
 As this old iron horse of mine. 
 
 You do not know what beauty is — 
 You do not know what gentleness 
 His answer is to my caress ! — 
 
 Why, look upon this gait of his, — 
 
 A touch upon his iron rein — 
 He moves with such a stately grace 
 
 The sunlight on his burnished mane 
 Is barely shaken in its place ; 
 And at touch he changes pace, 
 'H^And, gliding backward, stops again. 
 
THE IRON HORSE. 43 
 
 And talk of mettle — Ah ! my friend, 
 
 Such passion smoulders in his breast 
 That when awakened it will send 
 
 A thrill of rapture wilder than 
 
 Ere palpitated heart of man 
 
 When flaming at its mightiest. 
 And there 's a fierceness in his ire — 
 
 A maddened majesty that leaps 
 Along his veins in blood of fire, 
 
 Until the path his vision sweeps 
 Spins out behind him like a thread 
 
 Unraveled from the reel of time, 
 
 As, wheeling on his course sublime, 
 The earth revolves beneath his tread. 
 
 Then stretch away -my gallant steed! 
 
 Thy mission is a noble one : 
 
 You bear the father to the son. 
 And sweet relief to bitter need ; 
 You bear the stranger to his friends ; 
 
 You bear the pilgrim to the shrine, 
 And back again the prayer he sends 
 
 That God will prosper me and mine, — 
 The star that on thy forehead gleams 
 Has blossomed in our brightest dreams. 
 Then speed thee on thy glorious race ! 
 The mother waits thy ringing pace ; 
 
44 THE IRON HORSE. 
 
 The father leans an anxious ear 
 The thunder of thy hoofs to hear ; 
 The lover listens, far away, 
 To catch thy keen exultant neigh ; 
 And, where thy breathings roll and rise, 
 The husband strains his eager eyes. 
 And laugh of wife and baby-glee 
 Ring out to greet and welcome thee. 
 Then stretch away ! and when at last 
 
 The master's hand shall gently check 
 Thy mighty speed, and hold thee fast, 
 
 The world will pat thee on the neck. 
 
HIS MOTHER'S WAY. 45 
 
 HIS MOTHER'S WAY 
 
 TOM PS 'ud alius haf to say 
 Somepin' 'bout "his mother's way."- 
 He lived hard-like — never jined 
 Any church of any kind. — 
 'It was Mother's way," says he, 
 'To be good enough fer me 
 And her too, — and certinly 
 
 Lord has heerd her pray! " 
 Propped up on his dyin' bed, — 
 ' Shore as Heaven 's overhead, 
 I 'm a-goin' there," he said — 
 "It was Mother's way." 
 
46 JAP MILLER. 
 
 JAP MILLER. 
 
 JAP MILLER down at Martinsville 's the blamedest 
 feller yit! 
 When he starts in a-talkin' other folks is apt to quit! — 
 'Pears like that mouth o' his'n wuz n't made fer nuthin' 
 
 else 
 But jes' to argify 'em down and gether in their pelts: 
 He '11 talk you down on tariff ; er he '11 talk you down 
 
 on tax, 
 And prove the pore man pays 'em all — and them 's 
 
 about the fac's ! — 
 Religen, law, er politics, prize-fightin', er base-ball — 
 Jes' fetch Jap up a little and he '11 post you 'bout 'em 
 
 all. 
 
 And the comicalist feller ever tilted back a cheer 
 And tuck a chaw tobacker kind o' like he did n't keer. — 
 There 's where the feller's stren'th lays, — he 's so com- 
 mon-like and plain, — 
 They haint no dude about old Jap, you bet you — nary 
 
 grain ! 
 They 'lected him to Council and it never turned his 
 
 head. 
 And did n't make no differunce what anybody said, — 
 He did n't dress no finer, ner rag out in fancy clothes ; 
 But his voice in Council-meetin's is a turrer to his foes. 
 
JAP MILLER. 47 
 
 He's fer the pore man ever' time! And in the last 
 
 campaign 
 He stumped old Morgan County, through the sunshine 
 
 and the rain, 
 And helt the banner up'ards from a-trailin' in the dust, 
 And cut loose on monopolies and cuss'd and cuss'd and 
 
 cuss'd! 
 He 'd tell some funny story ever' now and then, you 
 
 know, 
 Tel, blame it! it wuz better 'n a jack-o'-lantern show! 
 And I 'd go furder, yit, to-day, to hear old Jap norate 
 Than any high-toned orator 'at ever stumped the State ! 
 
 W'y, that-air blame Jap Miller, with his keen sircastic 
 
 fun, 
 Has got more friends than ary candidate 'at ever run ! 
 Do n't matter what his views is, when he states the 
 
 same to you, 
 They alius coincide with your 'n, the same as two and 
 
 two: 
 You can't take issue with him — er, at least, they haint 
 
 no sense 
 In startin' in to down him, so you better not commence. — 
 The best way 's jes' to listen, like your humble servant 
 
 does, 
 And jes' concede Jap Miller is the best man ever wuz! 
 
A SOUTHERN SINGER. 
 
 A SOUTHERN SINGER. 
 
 Written in Madison Cawein's "Lyrics and Idyls." 
 
 TTEREIN are blown from out The South 
 ■*■ *■ Songs blithe as those of Pan's pursed 
 
 mouth — 
 As sweet in voice as, in perfume, 
 The night-breath of magnolia-bloom. 
 
 Such sumptuous languor lures the sense — 
 Such luxury of indolence — 
 The eyes blur as a nymph's might blur, 
 With water-lilies watching her. 
 
 You waken, thrilling at the trill 
 Of some wild bird that seems to spill 
 The silence full of winey drips 
 Of song that Fancy sips and sips. 
 
 Betimes, in brambled lanes wherethrough 
 The chipmunk stripes himself from view, 
 You pause to lop a creamy spray 
 Of elder-blossoms by the way. 
 
 Or where the morning dew is yet 
 Gray on the topmost rail, you set 
 A sudden palm and, vaulting, meet 
 Your vaulting shadow in the wheat. 
 
A SOUTHERN SINGER. 49 
 
 On lordly swards, of suave incline, 
 Entessellate with shade and shine. 
 You shall misdoubt your lowly birth. 
 Clad on as one of princely worth : 
 
 The falcon on your wrist shall ride — 
 Your milk-white Arab side by side 
 With one of raven-black. — You fain 
 Would kiss the hand that holds the rein. 
 
 Nay, nay. Romancer! Poet! Seer! 
 Sing us back home— from there to here: 
 Grant your high grace and wit, but we 
 Most honor your simplicity. — 
 
 Herein are blown from out the South 
 Songs blithe as those of Pan's pursed mouth- 
 As sweet in voice as, in perfume, 
 The night-breath of magnolia-bloom. 
 
50 A DREAM OF AUTUMN. 
 
 A DREAM OF AUTUMN. 
 
 1\ A ELLOW hazes, lowly trailing 
 
 ■^ ' *■ Over wood and meadow, veiling 
 
 Somber skies, with wildfowl sailing 
 
 Sailor-like to foreign lands ; 
 And the north-wind overleaping 
 Summer's brink, and floodlike sweeping 
 Wrecks of roses where the weeping 
 Willows wring their helpless hands. 
 
 Flared, like Titan torches flinging 
 Flakes of flame and embers, springing 
 From the vale the trees stand swinging 
 
 In the moaning atmosphere; 
 While in dead'ning-lands the lowing 
 Of the cattle, sadder growing, 
 Fills the sense to overflowing 
 
 With the sorrow of the year. 
 
 Sorrowfully, yet the sweeter 
 Sings the brook in rippled meter 
 Under boughs that lithely teeter 
 
 Lorn birds, answering from the shores 
 Through the viny, shady-shiny 
 Interspaces, shot with tiny 
 Flying motes that fleck the winy 
 
 Wave-engraven sycamores. 
 
A DREAM OF AUTUMN. 51 
 
 Fields of ragged stubble, wrangled 
 With rank weeds, and shocks of tangled 
 Corn, with crests like rent plumes dangled 
 
 Over Harvest's battle-plain ; 
 And the sudden whir and whistle 
 Of the quail that, like a missile, 
 Whizzes over thorn and thistle, 
 
 And, a missile, drops again. 
 
 Muffled voices, hid in thickets 
 Where the redbird stops to stick its 
 Ruddy beak betwixt the pickets 
 
 Of the truant's rustic trap ; 
 And the sound of laughter ringing 
 Where, within the wild-vine swinging, 
 Climb Bacchante's schoolmates, flinging 
 
 Purple clusters in her lap. 
 
 Rich as wine, the sunset flashes 
 Round the tilted world, and dashes 
 Up the sloping west and,SE»ia^es 
 
 Red foam over sky and sea-—"*"""^'--.^ 
 Till my dream of Autumn, paling 
 In the splendor all-prevailing. 
 Like a sallow leaf goes sailing 
 
 Down the silence solemnly. 
 
52 TOM VAN ARDEN. 
 
 TOM VAN ARDEN. 
 
 T^OM VAN ARDEN, my old friend, 
 ^ Our warm fellowship is one 
 Far too old to comprehend 
 Where its bond was first begun : 
 Mirage-like before my gaze 
 Gleams a land of other days. 
 Where two truant boys, astray, 
 Dream their lazy lives away. 
 
 There 's a vision, in the guise 
 
 Of Midsummer, where the Past 
 Like a weary beggar lies 
 hi the shadow Time has cast; 
 And as blends the bloom of trees 
 With the drowsy hum of bees, 
 Fragrant thoughts and murmurs blend, 
 Tom Van Arden, my old friend. 
 
 Tom Van Arden, my old friend. 
 
 All the pleasures we have known 
 Thrill me now as I extend 
 This old hand and grasp your own — 
 Feeling, in the rude caress. 
 All affection's tenderness; 
 Feeling, though the touch be rough, 
 Our old souls are soft enough. 
 
TOM VAN ARDEN. 53 
 
 So we 'II make a mellow hour : 
 
 Fill your pipe, and taste the wine — 
 Warp your face, if it be sour, 
 I can spare a smile from mine; 
 If it sharpen up your wit. 
 Let me feel the edge of it — 
 I have eager ears to lend, 
 Tom Van Arden, my old friend. 
 
 Tom Van Arden, my old friend, 
 Are we "lucky dogs," indeed? 
 Are we all that we pretend 
 In the jolly life we lead? — 
 Bachelors, we must confess, 
 Boast of "single blessedness" 
 To the world, but not alone — 
 Man's best sorrow is his own! 
 
 And the saddest truth is this, — 
 Life to us has never proved _ 
 What we tasted in the kiss 
 Of the women we have loved : 
 Vainly we congratulate 
 Our escape from such a fate 
 As their lying lips could send, 
 Tom Van Arden, my old friend! 
 
54 TOM VA^ ARDEN. 
 
 Tom Van Arden, my old friend, 
 
 Hearts, like fruit upon the stem, 
 Ripen sweetest, I contend, 
 As the frost falls over them : 
 Your regard for me to-day 
 Makes November taste of May, 
 And through every vein of rhyme 
 Pours the blood of summertime. 
 
 When our souls are cramped with youth 
 
 Happiness seems far away 
 
 In the future, while, in truth. 
 
 We look back on it to-day 
 
 Through our tears, nor dare to boast,- 
 " Better to have loved and lost!" 
 Broken hearts are hard to mend, 
 Tom Van Arden, my old friend. 
 
 Tom Van Arden, my old friend, 
 
 1 grow prosy, and you tire; 
 Fill the glasses while I bend 
 To prod up the failing fire, . . 
 You are restless : — I presume 
 There 's a dampness in the room. — 
 Much of warmth our nature begs, 
 With rheumatics in our legs ! . . . 
 
TOM VAN ARDEN. 55 
 
 Humph! the legs we used to fling 
 
 Limber-jointed in the dance, 
 When we heard the fiddle ring 
 Up the curtain of Romance, 
 And in crowded public halls 
 Played with hearts like jugglers'-balls. — 
 Feats of mountehanks, depend ! — 
 Tom Van Arden, my old friend. 
 
 Tom Van Arden, my old friend, 
 Pardon, then, this theme of mine: 
 
 While the fire-light leaps to lend 
 
 . Higher color to the wine, — 
 I propose a health to those 
 Who have homes, and home's repose, 
 Wife- and child-love without end! 
 . . . Tom Van Arden, my old friend. 
 
JUST TO BE GOOD. 
 
 JUST TO BE GOOD. 
 
 TUST to be good— 
 '-' This is enough — enough ! 
 
 O we who find sin's billows wild and rough, 
 Do we not feel how more than any gold 
 Would be the blameless life we led of old 
 While yet our lips knew but a mother's kiss? 
 Ah ! though we miss 
 All else but this, 
 
 To be good is enough! 
 
 It is enough — 
 
 Enough — just to be good! 
 To lift our hearts where they are understood; 
 To let the thirst for worldly power and place 
 Go unappeased; to smile back in God's face 
 With the glad lips our mothers used to kiss. 
 Ah ! though we miss 
 All else but this, 
 
 To be good is enough! 
 
HOME AT NIGHT. 57 
 
 HOME AT NIGHT. 
 
 WHEN chirping cricl-cets fainter cry, 
 And pale stars blossom in the sky, 
 And twilight's gloom has dimmed the bloom 
 And blurred the butterfly: 
 
 When locust-blossoms fleck the walk, 
 And up the tiger-lily stalk 
 The glow-worm crawls and clings and falls 
 And glimmers down the garden-walls : 
 
 When buzzing things, with double wings 
 Of crisp and raspish flutterings. 
 Go whizzing by so very nigh 
 One thinks of fangs and stings : — 
 
 O then, within, is stilled the din 
 Of crib she rocks the baby in, 
 And heart and gate and latch's weight 
 Are lifted — and the lips of Kate. 
 
58 THE HOOSIER FOLK-CHILD. 
 
 THE HOOSIER FOLK-CHILD. 
 
 'X'HE Hoosier Folk-Child — all unsung— 
 *■ Unlettered all of mind and tongue; 
 Unmastered, unmolested — made 
 Most wholly frank and unafraid : 
 Untaught of any school — un vexed 
 Of law or creed — all unperplexed— 
 Unsermoned, aye, and undefiled, 
 An all imperfect-perfect child — 
 A type which (Heaven forgive us!) you 
 And I do tardy honor to, 
 And so, profane the sanctities 
 Of our most sacred memories. 
 Who, growing thus from boy to man, 
 That dares not be American? 
 Go, Pride, with prudent underbuzz — 
 Go whistle! as the Folk-Child does. 
 
 The Hoosier Folk-Child's world is not 
 Much wider than the stable-lot 
 Between the house and highway fence 
 That bounds the home his father rents. 
 His playmates mostly are the ducks 
 And chickens, and the boy that " shucks 
 
THE HOOSIER FOLK-CHILD. 59 
 
 Corn by the shock," and talks of town, 
 
 And whether eggs are " up " or " down," 
 
 And prophesies in boastful tone 
 
 Of "owning horses of his own," 
 
 And "being his own man," and "when 
 
 He gets to be, what he '11 do then."— 
 
 Takes out his jack-knife dreamily 
 
 And makes the Folk-Child two or three 
 
 Crude corn-stalk figures, — a wee span 
 
 Of horses and a little man. 
 
 The Hoosier Folk-Child's eyes are wise 
 
 And wide and round as Brownies' eyes : 
 
 The smile they wear is ever blent 
 
 With all-expectant wonderment, — 
 
 On homeliest things they bend a look 
 
 As rapt as o'er a picture-book. 
 
 And seem to ask, whate'er befall. 
 
 The happy reason of it all : — 
 
 Why grass is all so glad a green, 
 
 And leaves — and what their lispings mean ; — 
 
 Why buds grow on the boughs, and why 
 
 They burst in blossom by and by — 
 
 As though the orchard in the breeze 
 
 Had shook and popped its popcorn-trees, 
 
 To lure and whet, as well they might, 
 
 Some seven-league giant's appetite! 
 
6o THE HOOSIER FOLK-CHILD. 
 
 The Hoosier Folk-Child's chubby face 
 Has scant refinement, caste or grace, — 
 From crown to chin, and cheek to cheel-c, 
 It bears the grimy water-streak 
 Of rinsings such as some long rain 
 Might drool across the window-pane 
 Wherethrough he peers, with troubled frown, 
 As some lorn team drives by for town. 
 His brow is elfed with wispish hair. 
 With tangles in it here and there. 
 As though the warlocks snarled it so 
 At midmirk when the moon sagged low. 
 And boughs did toss and skreek and shake, 
 And children moaned themselves awake, 
 With fingers clutched, and starting sight 
 Blind as the blackness of the night! 
 
 The Hoosier Folk-Child !— Rich is he 
 
 In all the wealth of poverty ! 
 
 He owns nor title nor estate. 
 
 Nor speech but half articulate, — 
 
 He owns nor princely robe nor crown ; — 
 
 Yet, draped in patched and faded brown. 
 
 He owns the bird-songs of the hills— 
 
 The laughter of the April rills ; 
 
 And his are all the diamonds set 
 
 In Morning's dewy coronet, — 
 
THE HOOSIER FOLK-CHILD. 6i 
 
 And his the Dusk's first minted stars 
 That twinlile through the pasture-bars, 
 And litter all the skies at night 
 With glittering scraps of silver light; — 
 The rainbow's bar, from rim to rim, 
 In beaten gold, belongs to him. 
 
62 JACK THE GIANT-KILLER. 
 
 JACK, THE GIANT-KILLER. 
 
 Bad Boys Version. 
 
 •T^ELL you a story — an' it's a fac': — 
 ■■■ Wunst wuz a little boy, name wuz Jack, 
 An' he had sword an' buckle an' strap 
 Maked of gold, an' a " 'visibul cap ; " 
 An' he killed Gi'nts 'at et whole cows- 
 Th' horns an' all — an' pigs an' sows! 
 But Jack, his golding sword wuz, oh! 
 So awful sharp 'at he could go 
 An' cut th' ole Gi'nts clean in two 
 Fore 'ey knowed what he wuz goin' to do! 
 An' one ole Gi'nt, he had four 
 Heads, and name wuz " Bumblebore " — 
 An' he wuz feered o' Jack — 'cause he, 
 Jack, he killed six — five — ten— three, 
 An' all o' th' uther ole Gi'nts but him : 
 An' thay wuz a place Jack haf to swim 
 'Fore he could git t' ole "Bumblebore" — 
 Nen thay was "griffuns" at the door: 
 But Jack, he thist plunged in an' swum 
 Clean acrost ; an' when he come 
 
JACK THE GIANT-KILLER. 63 
 
 To th' uther side, he thist put on 
 His " 'visibu! cap," an' nen, dog-gone! 
 You could n't see liim at all ! — An' so 
 He slewed the "griffuns" — boff, you know! 
 Nen wuz a horn hunged over his head, 
 High on th' wall, an' words 'at read, — 
 'Whoever kin this trumput blow 
 Shall cause the Gi'nt's overth'ow! " 
 An' Jack, he thist reached up an' blowed 
 The stuffin' out of it! an th'owed 
 Th' castul-gates wide open, an' 
 Nen tuck his gold sword in his han', 
 An' thist marched in t' ole " Bumblebore," 
 An', 'fore h'e knowed, he put 'bout four 
 Heads on him — an' chopped 'em off, too! — 
 Wisht 'at I'd been Jack!— don't you? 
 
64 IVHILE THE MUSICIAN PLAYED. 
 
 WHILE THE MUSICIAN PLAYED. 
 
 OIT was but a dream I had 
 While the musician played !- 
 And here the sky, and here the glad 
 
 Old ocean kissed the glade — 
 And here the laughing ripples ran, 
 
 And here the roses grew 
 That threw a kiss to every man 
 That voyaged with the crew. 
 
 Our silken sails in lazy folds 
 
 Drooped in the breathless breeze: 
 As o'er a field of marigolds 
 
 Our eyes swam o'er the seas ; 
 While here the eddies lisped and purled 
 
 Around the island's rim, 
 And up from out the underworld 
 
 We saw the mermen swim. 
 
 And it was dawn and middle-day 
 
 And midnight — for the moon 
 On silver rounds across the bay 
 
 Had climbed the skies of June — 
 And there the glowing, glorious king 
 
 Of day ruled o'er his realm, 
 With stars of midnight glittering 
 
 About his diadem. 
 
IVHILE THE MUSICIAN PLAYED. 65 
 
 The seagull reeled on languid wing 
 
 In circles round the mast, 
 We heard the songs the sirens sing 
 
 As we went sailing past ; 
 And up and down the golden sands 
 
 A thousand fairy throngs 
 Flung at us from their flashing hands 
 
 The echoes of their songs. 
 
 O it was but a dream 1 had 
 
 While the musician played — 
 For here the sky, and here the glad 
 
 Old ocean kissed the glade ; 
 And here the laughing ripples ran. 
 
 And here the roses grew 
 That threw a kiss to every man 
 
 That voyaged with the crew. 
 
66 AUGUST. 
 
 AUGUST. 
 
 A DAY of torpor in the sullen heat 
 Of Summer's passion : In the sluggish stream 
 The panting cattle lave their lazy feet, 
 With drowsy eyes, and dream. 
 
 Long since the winds have died, and in the sky 
 There lives no cloud to hint of Nature's grief ; 
 
 The sun glares ever like an evil eye, 
 And withers flower and leaf. 
 
 Upon the gleaming harvest-field remote 
 The thresher lies deserted, like some old 
 
 Dismantled galleon that hangs afloat 
 Upon a sea of gold. 
 
 The yearning cry of some bewildered bird 
 Above an empty nest, and truant boys 
 
 Along the river's shady margin heard— 
 A harmony of noise — 
 
 A melody of wrangling voices blent 
 With liquid laughter, and with rippling calls 
 
 Of piping lips and trilling echoes sent 
 To mimic waterfalls. 
 
AUGUST. 67 
 
 And through the hazy veil the atmosphere 
 Has draped about the gleaming face of Day, 
 
 The sifted glances of the sun appear 
 In splinterings of spray. 
 
 The dusty highway, like a cloud of dawn, 
 Trails o'er the hillside, and the passer-by, 
 
 A tired ghost in misty shroud, toils on 
 His journey to the sky. 
 
 And down across the valley's drooping sweep, 
 Withdrawn to farthest limit of the glade. 
 
 The forest stands in silence, drinking deep 
 Its purple wine of shade. 
 
 The gossamer floats up on phantom wing ; 
 
 The sailor-vision voyages the skies 
 And carries into chaos everything 
 
 That freights the weary eyes : 
 
 Till, throbbing on and on, the pulse of heat 
 Increases — reaches— passes fever's height. 
 
 And Day sinks into slumber, cool and sweet, 
 Within the arms of Night. 
 
68 TO HEAR HER SING. 
 
 TO HEAR HER SING. 
 
 TO hear her sing — to hear her sing- 
 It is to hear the birds of Spring 
 In dewy groves on blooming sprays 
 Pour out their blithest roundelays. 
 
 It is to hear the robin trill 
 
 At morning, or the whip-poor-will 
 
 At dusk, when stars are blossoming — 
 
 To hear her sing — to hear her sing! 
 
 To hear her sing — it is to hear 
 The laugh of childhood ringing clear 
 In woody path or grassy lane 
 Our feet may never fare again. 
 
 Faint, far away as Memoiy dwells, 
 
 It is to hear the village bells 
 
 At twiliglit, as the truant hears 
 
 Them, hastening home, with smiles and te^rs. 
 
 Such joy it is to hear her sing. 
 We fall in love with everything — 
 The simple things of every day 
 Grow lovelier than words can say. 
 
TO HEAR HER SING. 69 
 
 The idle brooks that purl across 
 The gleaming pebbles and the moss, 
 We love no less than classic streams — 
 The Rhines and Arnos of our dreams. 
 
 To hear her sing — with folded eyes, 
 It is, beneath Venetian skies, 
 To hear the gondoliers' refrain. 
 Or troubadours of sunny Spain. — 
 
 To hear the bulbul's voice that shook 
 The throat that trilled for Lalla Rookh ; 
 What wonder we in homage bring 
 Our hearts to her — to hear her sing! 
 
70 BEING HIS MOTHER. 
 
 BEING HIS MOTHER. 
 
 "DEING his mother, — ^when he goes away 
 -^ I would not hold him overlong, and so 
 
 Sometimes my yielding sight of him grows O 
 So quick of tears, I joy he did not stay 
 To catch the faintest rumor of them ! Nay, 
 
 Leave always his eyes clear and glad, although 
 
 Mine own, dear Lord, do fill to overflow; 
 Let his remembered features, as I pray. 
 Smile ever on me ! Ah ! what stress of love 
 
 Thou givest me to guard with Thee thiswise: 
 
 Its fullest speech ever to be denied 
 Mine own— being his mother! All thereof 
 
 Thou knowest only, looking from the skies 
 
 As when not Christ alone was crucified. 
 
JUJ^E AT IVOODRUFF. 71 
 
 JUNE AT WOODRUFF. 
 
 OUT at Woodruff Place— afar 
 From the city's glare and jar, 
 With the leafy trees, instead 
 Of the awnings, overhead ; 
 With the shadows cool and sweet, 
 For the fever of the street; 
 With the silence, like a prayer. 
 Breathing round us everywhere. 
 
 Gracious anchorage, at last. 
 From the billows of the vast 
 Tide of life that comes and goes, 
 Whence and where nobody knows- 
 Moving, like a skeptic's thought. 
 Out of nowhere into naught. 
 Touch and tame us with thy grace, 
 Placid calm of Woodruff Place ! 
 
 Weave a wreath of beechen leaves 
 For the brow that throbs and grieves 
 O'er the ledger, bloody-lined, 
 'Neath the sun-struck window-blind ! 
 Send the breath of woodland bloom 
 Through the sick man's prison room, 
 Till his old farm-home shall swim 
 Sweet in mind to hearten him ! 
 
72 JUNE AT WOODRUFF. 
 
 Out at Woodruff Place the Muse 
 Dips her sandal in the dews, 
 Sacredly as night and dawn 
 Baptize lilied grove and lawn : 
 Woody path, or paven way — 
 She doth haunt them night and day, — 
 Sun or moonlight through the trees, 
 To her eyes, are melodies. 
 
 Swinging lanterns, twinkling clear 
 Through night-scenes, are songs to her- 
 Tinted lilts and choiring hues, 
 Blent with children's glad halloos ; 
 Then belated lays that fade 
 Into midnight's serenade — 
 Vine-like words and zithern-strings 
 Twined through all her slumberings. 
 
 Bless6d be each hearthstone set 
 Neighboring the violet! 
 Blessed every rooftree prayed 
 Over by the beech's shade ! 
 Blessed doorway, opening where 
 We may look on Nature— there 
 Hand to hand and face to face — 
 Storied realm, or Woodruff Place. 
 
FARMER lVHIPPLE.—^ACHELOT{. 73 
 
 FARMER WHIPPLE.— BACHELOR. 
 
 I T 'S a mystery to see me — a man o' fifty-four, 
 
 * Who 's lived a cross old bachelor fer thirty year' 
 
 and more — 
 A-lookin' glad and smilin' ! And they 's none o' you 
 
 can say — 
 That you can guess the reason why I feel so good 
 
 to-day ! 
 
 I must tell you all about it ! But I '11 have to deviate 
 A little in beginnin', so 's to set the matter straight 
 As to how it comes to happen that 1 never took a 
 
 Vv'ife — 
 Kind o' " crawfish " from the Present to the Springtime 
 
 of my life ! 
 
 I was brought up in the country : Of a family of 
 
 five — 
 Three brothers and a sister — I 'm the only one alive, — 
 Fer they all died little babies; and 'twas one o' 
 
 Mother's ways, 
 You know, to want a daughter; so she took a girl to 
 
 raise. 
 
74 FARMER IVHIPPLE.— 'BACHELOR 
 
 The sweetest little thing she was, with rosy cheeks, 
 
 and fat — 
 We was little chunks o' shavers then about as high as 
 
 that! 
 But someway we sort o' suited-Uke: ! and Mother she 'd 
 
 declare 
 She never laid her eyes on a more lovin' pair 
 
 Than we was ! So we growed up side by side fer 
 
 thirteen year'. 
 And every hour of it she growed to me more dear! — 
 Wy? even Father's dyin', as he did, I do believe 
 War n't more affectin' to me than it was to see her 
 
 grieve ! 
 
 I was then a lad o' twenty; and I felt a flash o' pride 
 In thinkin' all depended on me now to pervide 
 Fer Mother and fer Mary ; and I went about the place 
 With sleeves rolled up— and workin', with a mighty 
 smilin' face. — 
 
 Fer sompin' else was workin' I but not a word I said 
 Of a certain sort o' notion that was runnin' through 
 
 my head, — 
 " Someday I 'd mayby marry, and a brother's love was one 
 Thing — a lover's was another!" was the way the notion 
 
 run! 
 
FAT{MER lVHIPPLE.—^ACHELO% 75 
 
 I remember onc't in harvest, when the " cradle-in' " was 
 
 done — 
 When the harvest of my summers mounted up to 
 
 twenty-one — 
 I was ridin' home with Mary at the closin' 0' the day — 
 A-chawin' straws and thinkin', in a lover's lazy way ! 
 
 And Mary's cheeks was burnin' like the sunset down 
 
 the lane: 
 1 noticed she was thinkin', too, and ast her to explain. 
 Well — when she turned and kissed me, with her arms 
 
 around me — law ! 
 I 'd a bigger load 0' heaven than I had a load 0' straw ! 
 
 1 don't p'tend to learnin', but I'll tell you what's a 
 
 fac', 
 They 's a mighty truthful sayin' somers in a' 
 
 almanack — 
 Er somers — 'bout "puore happiness" — perhaps some 
 
 folks '11 laugh 
 At the idy — " only lastin' jest two seconds and a 
 
 half."— 
 
 But its jest as true as preachin'!— fer that was a sister's 
 
 kiss. 
 And a sister's lovin' confidence a-tellin' to me this: — 
 
76 FAT{MER IVHlPPLE.—'BACHELOTi. 
 
 " She was happy, iein' promised to the son o' farmer 
 
 Brown.^'' — 
 And my feelin's struck a pardnership with sunset and 
 
 went down ! 
 
 I don't know how I acted— I don't know what I said, 
 Fer my heart seemed jest a-turnin' to an ice-cold lump 
 
 o' lead; 
 And the hosses kindo' glimmered before me in the road, 
 And the lines fell from my fingers — and that was all I 
 
 knowed — 
 
 Fer — well, I do n't know how long— They 's a dim remem- 
 
 berence 
 Of a sound o' snortin' hosses, and a stake-and-ridered 
 
 fence 
 A-whizzin' past, and wheat-sheaves a-dancin' in the air, 
 And Mary screamin' "Murder!" and a-runnin' up to 
 
 where 
 
 / was layin' by the roadside, and the wagon upside 
 
 down 
 A-leanin' on the gate-post, with the wheels a whirlin' 
 
 round ! 
 And I tried to raise and meet her, but I couldn't, with 
 
 a vague 
 Sorto' notion comin' to me that I had a broken leg. 
 
FAT{MER WHIPPLE.— "BACHELOl^. 77 
 
 Well, the women nussed me through it; but many a 
 
 time I 'd sigh 
 As I 'd keep a-gittin' better instid o' goin' to die, 
 And wonder what was left me worth livin' fer below, 
 When the girl I loved was married to another, don't 
 
 you know! 
 
 And my thoughts was as rebellious as the folks was 
 
 good and kind 
 When Brown and Mary married — Railly must a-been my 
 
 mind 
 Was kindo' out o' kilter ! — fer I hated Brown, you see, 
 Worse'n pi^en — and the feller whittled crutches out fer 
 
 me — 
 
 And done a thousand little ac's o' kindness and 
 
 respec' — 
 And me a-wishin' all the time that I could break his 
 
 neck ! 
 My relief was like a mourner's v/hen the funeral is 
 
 done 
 When they moved to Illinois in the Fall o' Forty-one. 
 
 Then I went to work in airnest — I had nothin' much in 
 
 view 
 But to drownd out rickollections — and It kep' me busy, 
 
 too! 
 
78 FARMER lVHIPPLE.—TACHELO% 
 
 But I slowly thrived and prospered, tel Mother used to 
 
 say 
 She expected yit to see me a wealthy man some day. 
 
 Then I 'd think how little monef was, compared to 
 
 happiness — 
 And who 'd be left to use it when I died I could n 't 
 
 guess ! 
 But I 've still kep ' speculatin' and a-gainin' year by 
 
 year, 
 Tel I 'm payin' half the taxes in the county, mighty 
 
 near! 
 
 Well ! — A year ago er better, a letter comes to hand 
 Astin' how I 'd like to dicker fer some Illinois land — 
 " The feller that had owned it," it went ahead to state, 
 "Had jest deceased, insolvent, leavin' chance to 
 speculate," — ' 
 
 And then it closed by sayin' that I 'd "better come and 
 
 see," — 
 I 'd never been West, anyhow — a most too wild fer me, 
 I 'd alius had a notion ; but a lawyer here in town 
 Said I 'd fmd myself mistakend when I come to look 
 
 around. 
 
FARMER lVHIPPLE.—'BACHELO% 79 
 
 So I bids good-bye to Mother, and I jumps aboard the 
 
 train, 
 A-thlnkin' what 1 'd bring her when I come back home 
 
 again — 
 And ef she 'd had an idy Miiat the present was to be, 
 I think it's more 'n likely she'd a-went along with me! 
 
 Cars is awful tejus ridin', fer all they go so fast! 
 But finally they called out my stoppin'-place at last: 
 And that night, at the tavern, I dreamp' I was a train 
 O' cars, and sheered at sumpin', runnin' down a country 
 lane! 
 
 Well, in the mornln' airly — after huntin' up the man — 
 The lawyer who was wantin' to swap the piece 0' land — 
 We started fer the country ; and I ast the history 
 Of tlie farm — its former owner — and so-forth, etcetery ! 
 
 And — well — it was inter estin' — I su'prised him, I suppose, 
 By the loud and frequent manner in which I blowed my 
 
 nose ! — 
 But his su'prise was greater, and it made him wonder 
 
 more, 
 When I kissed and hugged the widder when she met 
 
 us at the door ! — 
 
8o FATiMER lVHIPPLE.—^ACHELOT{. 
 
 It was Mary : They 's a feelin' a-hidin' down in here- 
 of course I can 't explain it, ner ever make it clear. — 
 It was with us in that meetin', I do n't want you to 
 
 fergit ! 
 And it makes me kind o' nervous when I think about 
 
 it yit! 
 
 I bought that farm, and deeded it, afore I left the town, 
 With "title clear to mansions in the skies," to Mary 
 
 Brown ! 
 And fu'thermore, I took her and the childern — fer you 
 
 see, 
 They 'd never seed their Grandma — and I fetched 'em 
 
 home with me. 
 
 So now you 've got an idy why a man o' fifty-four. 
 Who's lived a cross old bachelor fer thirty year' and 
 
 more, 
 Is a-lookin' glad and smilin' !— And I 've jest come into 
 
 town 
 To git a pair o' license fer to many Mary Brown, 
 
D/iJVN, NOON AND DEIVFALL. 8i 
 
 DAWN, NOON AND DEWFALL. 
 
 I. 
 
 D 
 
 AWN, noon and dewfall ! Bluebird and robin 
 Up and at it airly, and the orchard-blossoms 
 bobbin' ! 
 Peekin' from the winder, half-awake, and wishin' 
 I could go to sleep agin as well as go a-fishin' ! 
 
 II. 
 
 On the apern o' the dam, legs a-danglin' over. 
 Drowsy-like with sound o' worter and the smell o' 
 
 clover : 
 Fish all out a visitin' — 'cept some dratted minnor! 
 Yes, and mill shet down at last and hands is gone to 
 
 dinner. 
 
 III. 
 
 Trompin' home acrost the fields : Lightnin'-bugs a 
 
 blinkin' 
 In the wheat like sparks o' things feller keeps a- 
 
 thinkin' : — 
 Mother waitin' supper, and the childern there to 
 
 cherr me! 
 And fiddle on the kitchen-wall a-jist a-eechin' fer me! 
 
82 NESSMUK. 
 
 NESSMUK. 
 
 I HAIL thee, Nessmuk, for the lofty tone 
 Yet simple grace that marks thy poetry! 
 True forester thou art, and still to be, 
 Even in happier fields than thou hast known. 
 Thus, in glad visions, glimpses am I shown 
 
 Of groves delectable — "preserves" for thee — 
 Ranged but by friends of thine — I name thee 
 three : — 
 First, Chaucer, with his bald old pate new-grown 
 With changeless laurel; next, in Lincoln-green, 
 Gold-belted, bowed and bugled, Robin Hood; 
 And next, Ike Walton, patient and serene: 
 These three, O Nessmuk, gathered hunter-wise. 
 Are camped on hither slopes of Paradise 
 
 To hail thee first and greet thee, as they should. 
 
AS MY UNCLE USED TO SAY. 83 
 
 AS MY UNCLE USED TO SAY. 
 
 I 'VE thought a power on men and things, 
 
 ■■• As my uncle ust to say, — 
 
 And ef folks don't work as they pray, i jings ! 
 
 W'y» they ain't no use to pray! 
 Ef you want somepin', and jes dead-set 
 A-pleadin' fer it with both eyes wet. 
 And tears won't bring it, w'y, you try sweat, 
 
 As my uncle ust to say. 
 
 They 's some don't know their A, B, Cs, 
 
 As my uncle ust to say, 
 And yit don't waste no candle-grease, 
 
 Ner whistle their lives away! 
 But ef they can't write no book, ner rhyme 
 No ringin' song fer to last all time. 
 They can blaze the way fer the march sublime, 
 
 As my uncle ust to say. 
 
 Whoever 's Foreman of all things here. 
 
 As my uncle ust to say, 
 He knows each job 'at we 're best fit fer, 
 
 And our round-up, night and day : 
 And a-sizin' His work, east and west, 
 And north and south, and worst and best 
 I ain't got nothin' to suggest. 
 
 As my uncle ust to say. 
 
84 THE SINGER. 
 
 THE SINGER. 
 
 ■\1 7HILE with Ambition's hectic flame 
 
 ' * He wastes the midnight oil, 
 And dreams, high-throned on heights of fame, 
 To rest him from his toil, — 
 
 Death's Angel, like a vast eclipse, 
 
 Above him spreads her wings, 
 And fans the embers of his lips 
 
 To ashes as he sings. 
 
A FULL HARVEST. 85 
 
 A FULL HARVEST. 
 
 SEEMS like a feller 'd ort '0 jes' to-day- 
 Git down and roll and waller, don't you know, 
 
 In that-air stubble, and flop up and crow, 
 Seein' sich craps ! I '11 undertake to say 
 There 're no wheat 's ever turned out thataway 
 
 Afore this season .'—Folks is keerless tho', 
 
 And too fergitful — 'caze we 'd ort '0 show 
 More thankfulness !— Jes' looky hyonder, hey?— 
 
 And watch that little reaper wadin' thue 
 That last old yaller hunk 0' harvest-ground — 
 
 Jes' natchur'ly a-slicin' it in-two 
 Like honey-comb, and gaumin' it around 
 
 The field — like it had nothin' else to do 
 
 On'y jes' waste it all on me and you ! 
 
BUND. 
 
 BLIND. 
 
 "W'OU think it is a sorry thing 
 
 * That I am blind. Your pitying 
 Is welcome to me; yet indeed, 
 1 think I have but little need 
 Of it. Though you may marvel much 
 That we, who see by sense of touch 
 And taste and hearing, see things you 
 May never look upon ; and true 
 Is it that even in the scent 
 Of blossoms we find something meant 
 No eyes have in their faces read, 
 Or wept to see interpreted. 
 
 And you might think it strange if now 
 
 I told you you were smiling. How 
 
 Do I know that? I hold your hand — 
 
 Its language I can understand — 
 
 Give both to me, and I will show 
 
 You many other things I know. 
 
 Listen : We never met before 
 
 Till now? — Well, you are something lower 
 
 Than five-feet-eight in height; and you 
 
 Are slender; and your eyes are blue — 
 
BUND. 87 
 
 Your mother's eyes — your mother's hair — 
 Your mother's likeness everywhere 
 Save in your walk — and that is quite 
 Your father's; nervous. — ^Am I right? 
 I thought so. And you used to sing, 
 But have neglected everything 
 Of vocalism — though you may 
 Still thrum on the guitar, and play 
 A little on the violin, — 
 I know that by the callous in 
 The finger-tips of your left hand — 
 And, by-the-bye, though nature planned 
 You as most men, you are, I see, 
 "Z.^/^handed," too, — the mystery 
 Is clear, though, — your right arm has been 
 Broken, to " break " the left one in. 
 And so, you see, though blind of sight, 
 I still have ways of seeing quite 
 Too well for you to sympathize 
 Excessively, with your good eyes. — 
 Though once, perhaps, to be sincere, 
 Within the whole asylum here, 
 From cupola to basement hall, 
 I was the blindest of them all ! 
 
 Let us move further down the walk — 
 The man here waiting hears my talk, 
 
BLWD. 
 
 And is disturbed; besides, ht may 
 Not be quite friendly anyway. 
 In fact — (this will be far enough ; 
 Sit down) — the man just spoken of 
 Was once a friend of mine. He came 
 For treatment here from Burlingame — 
 A rich though brilliant student there, 
 Who read his eyes out of repair. 
 And groped his way up here, where we 
 Became acquainted, and where he 
 Met one of our girl-teachers, and. 
 If you '11 believe me, asked her hand 
 In marriage, though the girl was blind 
 As I am — and the girl declined. 
 Odd, wasn't it? Look, you can see 
 Him waiting there. Fine, isn't he? 
 And handsome, eloquently wide 
 And high of brow, and dignified 
 With every outward grace, his sight 
 Restored to him, clear and bright 
 As day-dawn ; waiting, v/aiting still 
 For the blind girl that never will 
 Be wife of his. How do I know? 
 You will recall a while ago 
 I told you he and I were friends. 
 In all that friendship comprehends, 
 
BLWD. 89 
 
 I was his friend, I swear! why now, 
 
 Remembering his love, and how 
 
 His confidence was all my own, 
 
 I hear, in fancy, the low tone 
 
 Of his deep voice, so full of pride 
 
 And passion, yet so pacified 
 
 With his affliction, that it seems 
 
 An utterance sent out of dreams 
 
 Of saddest melody, withal 
 
 So sorrowfully musical 
 
 It was, and is, must ever be — 
 
 But I'm digressing, pardon me. 
 
 / knew not anything of love 
 
 In those days, but of that above 
 
 All worldly passion, — for my art — 
 
 Music, — and that, with all my heart 
 
 And soul, blent in a love too great 
 
 For words of mine to estimate. 
 
 And though among my pupils she 
 
 Whose love my friend sought came to me 
 
 I only knew her fingers' touch 
 
 Because they loitered overmuch 
 
 In simple scales, and needs must be 
 
 Untangled almost constantly. 
 
 But she was bright in other ways, 
 
 And quick of thought ; with ready plays 
 
90 BLIND. 
 
 Of wit, and with a voice as sweet 
 
 To listen to as one miglit meet 
 
 In any oratorio — 
 
 And once I gravely told her so,— 
 
 And, at my words, her limpid tone 
 
 Of laughter faltered to a moan, 
 
 And fell from that into a sigh | 
 
 That quavered all so wearily, '^ 
 
 That I, without the tear that crept \ 
 
 Between the keys, had known she wept; ' 
 
 And yet the hand I reached for then 
 
 She caught away, and laughed again. 
 
 And when that evening I strolled 
 
 With my old friend, I, smiling, told 
 
 Him I believed the girl and he 
 
 Were matched and mated perfectly: 
 
 He was so noble ; she, so fair 
 
 Of speech, and womanly of air; 
 
 He, strong, ambitious ; she, as mild 
 
 And artless even as a child ; 
 
 And with a nature, I was sure. 
 
 As worshipful as it was pure 
 
 And sweet, and brimmed with tender things 
 
 Beyond his rarest fancyings. 
 
 He stopped me solemnly. He knew. 
 
 He said, how good, and just, and true 
 
BLMD. 91 
 
 Was all I said of her; but as 
 
 For his own virtues, let them pass, 
 
 Since they were nothing to the one 
 
 That he had set his heart upon ; 
 
 For but that morning she had turned 
 
 Forever from him. Then I learned 
 
 That for a month he had delayed 
 
 His going from us, with no aid 
 
 Of hope to hold him,— meeting still 
 
 Her ever firm denial, till 
 
 Not even in his new-found sight 
 
 He found one comfort or delight. 
 
 And as his voice broke there, I felt 
 
 The brother-heart within me melt 
 
 In warm compassion for his own 
 
 That throbbed so utterly alone. 
 
 And then a sudden fancy hit 
 
 Along my brain ; and coupling it 
 
 With a belief that I, indeed. 
 
 Might help my friend in his great need, 
 
 I warmly said that I would go 
 
 Myself, if he decided so. 
 
 And see her for him — that I knew 
 
 My pleadings would be listened to 
 
 Most seriously, and that she 
 
 Should love him, listening to me. 
 
92 BLIND. 
 
 Go ; bless me ! And that was the last — 
 The last time his warm hand shut fast 
 Within my own — so empty since, 
 That the remembered finger-prints 
 I 've kissed a thousand times, and wet 
 Them with the tears of all regret! 
 
 I know not how to rightly tell 
 
 How fared my quest, and what befell 
 
 Me, coming in the presence of 
 
 That blind girl, and her blinder love. 
 
 I know but little else than that 
 
 Above the chair in which she sat 
 
 I leant — reached for, and found her hand, 
 
 And held it for a moment, and 
 
 Took up the other — held them both — 
 
 As might a friend, I will take oath : 
 
 Spoke leisurely, as might a man 
 
 Praying for no thing other than 
 
 He thinks Heaven's justice: — She was blind, 
 
 I said, and yet a noble mind 
 
 Most truly loved her ; one whose fond 
 
 Clear-sighted vision looked beyond 
 
 The bounds of her infirmity, 
 
 And saw the woman, perfectly 
 
 Modeled, and wrought out pure and true 
 
 And lovable. She quailed, and drew 
 
BUND. 93 
 
 Her hands away, but closer still 
 I caught them. "Rack me as you will!" 
 She cried out sharply — " Call me ' blind ' — 
 Love ever is — I am resigned ! 
 Blind is your friend ; as blind as he 
 Am I — but blindest of the three — 
 Yea, blind as death — you will not see 
 My love for you is killing me!" 
 
 There is a memory that may 
 Not ever wholly fade away 
 From out my heart, so bright and fair 
 The light of it still glimmers there. 
 Why, it did seem as though my sight 
 Flamed back upon me, dazzling white 
 And godlike. Not one other word 
 Of hers I listened for or heard, 
 But I saw songs sung in her eyes 
 Till they did swoon up drowning-wise, 
 As my mad lips did strike her own 
 And we flashed one and one alone! 
 Ah ! was it treachery for me 
 To kneel there, drinking eagerly 
 That torrent-flow of words that swept 
 Out laughingly the tears she wept? — 
 
94 BLIND. 
 
 Sweet words ! O sweeter far, maybe, 
 Than light of day to those that see, — 
 God knows, who did the rapture send 
 To me, and hold it from my friend. 
 
 And we were married half a year 
 Ago, — and he is — waiting here. 
 Heedless of that — or anything, 
 But just that he is lingering 
 To say good-bye to her, and bow — 
 As you my see him doing now, — 
 For there's her footstep in the hall ; 
 God bless her ! — help him ! — save us all ! 
 
RIGHT HERE AT HOME. 95 
 
 ^ RIGHT HERE AT HOME. 
 
 RIGHT here at home, boys, hi old Hoosierdom, 
 Where strangers aUus joke us when they come, 
 And brag 0' their old States and interprize — 
 Yit settle here ; and 'fore they realize, 
 They're "hoosier" as the rest of us, and live 
 Right here at home, boys, with their past fergive'! 
 
 Right here at home, boys, is the place, I guess, 
 Fer me and you and plain old happiness: 
 We hear the World 's lots grander — likely so, — 
 We '11 take the World 's word fer it and not go. — 
 We know its ways aint our ways — so we '11 stay 
 Right here at home, boys, where we know the way. 
 
 Right here at home, boys, where a well-to-do 
 Man 's plenty rich enough — and knows it, too, 
 And's got a' extry dollar, any time, 
 To boost a feller up 'at wants to climb 
 And 's got the git-up in him to go in 
 And git there, like he purt'- nigh alius kin ! 
 
96 RIGHT HERE AT HOME. 
 
 Right here at home, boys, is the place fer us! — 
 
 Where folks' heart's bigger 'n their money-pu's'; 
 
 And where a common feller 's jes as good 
 
 As ary other in the neighberhood : 
 
 The World at large don't worry you and me 
 
 Right here at home, boys, where we ort to be ! 
 
 Right here at home, boys — jes right where we air!— 
 Birds do n't sing any sweeter anywhere : 
 Grass don't grow any greener 'n she grows 
 Acrost the pastur* where the old path goes, — 
 All things in ear-shot 's purty, er in sight, 
 Right here at home, boys, ef we si^e 'em right. 
 
 Right here at home, boys, where the old home-place 
 
 Is sacerd to us as our mother's face, 
 
 Jes as we rictcollect her, last she smiled 
 
 And kissed us — dyin' so and rickonciled, 
 
 Seein' us all at home here — none astray — 
 
 Right here at home, boys, where she sleeps to-day. 
 
THE LITTLE FAT DOCTOR. 97 
 
 THE LITTLE FAT DOCTOR. 
 
 T T E seemed so strange to me, every way — 
 ^ •*■ In manner, and form, and size, 
 From the boy I knew but yesterday, — 
 I could hardly believe my eyes ! 
 
 To hear his name called over there, 
 
 My memory thrilled with glee 
 And leaped to picture him young and fair 
 
 In youth, as he used to be. 
 
 But looking, only as glad eyes can, 
 
 For the boy I knew of yore, 
 I smiled on a portly little man 
 
 I had never seen before! — 
 
 Grave as a judge in courtliness — 
 
 Professor-like and bland — 
 A little fat doctor and nothing less, 
 
 With his hat in his kimboed hand. 
 
 But how we talked old times, and " chaffed " 
 Each other with "Minnie" and "Jim"— 
 
 And how the little fat doctor laughed. 
 And how I laughed with him ! 
 
THE LITTLE FAT DOCTOR. 
 
 'And it's pleasant," I thought, "though I yearn 
 to see 
 
 The face of the youth that was, 
 To know no boy could smile on me 
 
 As the little fat doctor does!" 
 
THE SHOEMAKER. 99 
 
 THE SHOEMAKER. 
 
 T^HOU Poet, who, like any lark, 
 
 * Dost whet thy beak and trill 
 
 From misty morn till murky dark, 
 
 Nor ever pipe thy fill: 
 Hast thou not, in thy cheery note. 
 
 One poor chirp to confer — 
 One verseful twitter to devote 
 
 Unto the Shoe-ma-ker? 
 
 At early dawn he doth peg in 
 
 His noble work and brave ; 
 And eke from cark and wordly sin 
 
 He seeketh soles to save ; 
 And all day long, with quip and song, 
 
 Thus stitcheth he the way 
 Our feet may know the right from wrong, 
 
 Nor ever go a stray. 
 
 Soak kip in mind the Shoe-ma-ker, 
 
 Nor slight his lasting fame: 
 Alway he waxeth tenderer 
 
 In warmth of our acclaim ; — 
 Aye, more, than any artisan 
 
 We glory in his art 
 Who ne'er, to help the under man, 
 
 Neglects the upper part. 
 
THE SHOEMAKER. 
 
 But toe the mark for him, and heel 
 Respond to thee in kine — 
 
 Or kid — or calf, shouldst thou reveal 
 A taste so superfine : 
 
 Thus let him jest — join in his laugh — 
 Draw on his stock, and be 
 
 A shoer'd there's no rival half- 
 Sole liberal as he. 
 
 Then, Poet, hail the Shoe-ma-ker 
 
 For all his goodly deeds, — 
 Yea, bless him free for booting thee- 
 
 The first of all thy needs! 
 And when at last his eyes grow dim. 
 
 And nerveless drops his clamp, 
 In golden shoon pray think of him 
 
 Upon his latest tramp. 
 
THE OLD RETIRED SEA CAPTAIN. loi 
 
 THE OLD RETIRED SEA CAPTAIN. 
 
 nPHE old sea captain has sailed the seas 
 ^ So long, that the waves at mirth, 
 Or the waves gone wild, and the crests of these, 
 
 Were as near playmates from birth : 
 He has loved both the storm and the calm, because 
 
 They seemed as his brothers twain, — 
 The flapping sail was his soul's applause, 
 
 And his rapture, the roaring main. 
 
 But now — like a battered hulk seems he, 
 
 Cast high on a foreign strand, 
 Though he feels " in port," as it need must be. 
 
 And the stay of a daughter's hand — 
 Yet ever the round of the listless hours, — 
 
 His pipe, in the languid air — 
 The grass, the trees, and the garden flowers. 
 
 And the strange earth everywhere! 
 
 And so betimes he is restless here 
 
 In this little inland town. 
 With never a wing in the atmosphere 
 
 But the wind-mill's, up and down ; 
 His daughter's home in this peaceful vale. 
 
 And his grandchild 'twixt his knees — 
 But never the hail of a passing sail. 
 
 Nor the surge of the angry seas ! 
 
D2 THE OLD RETIRED SEA CAPTAIN. 
 
 He quits his pipe, and he snaps its necl< — 
 
 Would speal<, though he coughs instead, 
 Then paces the porch like a quarter-deck 
 
 With a reeling mast o'erhead ! 
 Ho ! the old sea captain's cheeks glow warm, 
 
 And his eyes gleam grim and weird, 
 As he mutters about, like a thunder-storm. 
 
 In the cloud of his beetling beard. 
 
ROBERT BURNS IVILSON. 103 
 
 ROBERT BURNS WILSON. 
 
 WHAT intuition named thee? — Through what 
 thrill 
 Of the awed soul came the command divine 
 Into the mother-heart, foretelling thine 
 Should palpitate with his whose raptures will 
 Sing on while daisies bloom and lavrocks trill 
 There undulating ways up through the fine 
 Fair mists of heavenly reaches? Thy pure line 
 Falls as the dew of anthems, quiring still 
 The sweeter since the Scottish singer raised 
 His voice therein, and, quit of every stress 
 Of earthly ache and longing and despair. 
 Knew certainly each simple thing he praised 
 Was no less worthy, for its lowliness, 
 Than any joy of all the glory There. 
 
I04 TO THE SERENA DER. 
 
 TO THE SERENADER. 
 
 TWINKLE on, O sweet guitar, 
 * Let the dancing fingers 
 Loiter where the low notes are 
 
 Blended with the singer's : 
 Let the midnight pour the moon's 
 
 Mellow wine of glory- 
 Down upon him through the tune's 
 
 Old romantic story! 
 
 I am listening, my love, 
 
 Through the cautious lattice, 
 Wondering why the stars above 
 
 All are blinking at us ; 
 Wondering if his eyes from there 
 
 Catch the moonbeam's shimmer 
 As it lights the robe I wear 
 
 With a ghostly glimmer. 
 
 Lilt thy song, and lute away 
 
 In the wildest fashion : — 
 Pour thy rippling roundelay 
 
 O'er the heights of passion ! — 
 Flash it down the fretted strings 
 
 Till thy mad lips, missing 
 All but smothered whisperings, 
 
 Press this rose I 'm kissing. 
 
THE WIFE-BLESSED. 105 
 
 THE WIFE-BLESSED. 
 
 I. 
 
 IN youth he wrought, with eyes abhir, 
 Lorn-faced and long of hair- 
 In youth — in youth he painted her 
 
 A sister of the air — 
 Cculd clasp her not, but felt the stir 
 Of pinions everywhere. 
 
 II. 
 
 She lured his gaze, in braver days, 
 
 And tranced him sirenwise ; 
 And he did paint her, through a haze 
 
 Of sullen paradise. 
 With scars of kisses on her face 
 
 And embers in her eyes. 
 
 III. 
 
 And now — nor dream nor wild conceit- 
 Though faltering, as before — 
 
 Through tears he paints her, as is meet. 
 Tracing the dear face o'er 
 
 With lilied patience meek and sweet 
 As Mother Mary wore. 
 
io6 SISTER JONES'S CONFESSION. 
 
 SISTER JONES'S CONFESSION. 
 \ 
 
 T THOUGHT the deacon liked me, yit 
 
 *■ I warn't adzackly shore of it — 
 
 Fer, mind ye, time and time agin, 
 
 When jiners 'ud be comin' in, 
 
 I 'd seed him shal<[in' hands as free 
 
 With all the sistern as with me! 
 
 But jurin' last Revival, where 
 
 He called on me to lead in prayer. 
 
 An' kneeled there with me, side by side, 
 
 A-whisper'n' "he felt sanctified 
 
 Jes' tetchin of my gyarment's hem," — 
 
 That settled things as fur as them- 
 
 Thare othe?' wimmin was concerned! — • 
 
 And — well!— I know I must a-turned 
 
 A dozen colors ! — Flurried ? — la ! — 
 
 No mortal sinner never saw 
 
 A gladder widder than the one 
 
 A-kneelin' there and wonderun' 
 
 Who 'd pray !— So glad, upon my word, 
 
 1 railly could n't thank the Lord ! 
 
THE CURSE OF THE IVANDERWG FOOT. 107 
 
 THE CURSE OF THE WANDERING FOOT. 
 
 A LL hope of rest withdrawn me? — 
 ^~^ What dread command hath put 
 This awful curse upon me — 
 
 The curse of the wandering foot! 
 Forward and backward and thither, 
 
 And hither and yon again- 
 Wandering ever! And whither? 
 
 Answer them, God ! Amen. 
 
 The blue skies are far o'er me— 
 
 The bleak fields near below: 
 Where the mother that bore me? — 
 
 Where her grave in the snow? — 
 Glad in her trough of a coffin — 
 
 The sad eyes frozen shut 
 That wept so often, often. 
 
 The curse of the wandering foot! 
 
 Here in your marts I care not 
 
 Whatsoever ye think. 
 Good folk many who dare not 
 
 Give me to eat and drink : 
 Give me to sup of your pity — 
 
 Feast me on prayers ! — O ye, 
 Met I your Christ in the city 
 
 He would fare forth with me— 
 
io8 THE CURSE OF THE JVANDERING FOOT. 
 
 Forward and onward and thither, 
 
 And hither again and yon, 
 With milk for our drinl< together 
 
 And honey to feed upon— 
 Nor hope of rest withdrawn us, 
 
 Since the one Father put 
 The blessed curse upon us — 
 
 The curse of the wandering foot 
 
A MONUMENT FOR THE SOLDIERS. 109 
 
 A MONUMENT FOR THE SOLDIERS. 
 
 A MONUMENT for the Soldiers! 
 And what will ye build it of? 
 Can ye build it of marble, or brass, or bronze, 
 
 Outlasting the Soldiers' love? 
 Can ye glorify it with legends 
 
 As grand as their blood hath writ 
 From the inmost shrine of this land of thine 
 To the outermost verge of it? 
 
 And the answer came : We would build it 
 
 Out of our hopes made sure, 
 And out of our purest prayers and tears, 
 
 And out of our faith secure : 
 We would build it out of the great white truths 
 
 Their death hath sanctified. 
 And the sculptured forms of the men in arms, 
 
 And their faces ere they died. 
 
 And what heroic figures 
 
 Can the sculptor carve in stone? 
 Can the marble breast be made to bleed, 
 
 And the marble lips to moan? 
 Can the marble brow be fevered? 
 
 And the marble eyes be graved 
 To look their last, as the flag floats past. 
 
 On the country they have saved? 
 
A MONUMENT FOR THE SOLDIERS. 
 
 And the answer came : The figures 
 
 Shall all be fair and brave, 
 And, as befitting, as pure and white 
 
 As the stars above their grave! 
 The marble lips, and breast and brow 
 
 Whereon the laurel lies, 
 Bequeath us right to guard the flight 
 
 Of the old flag in the skies ! 
 
 A monument for the Soldiers ! 
 
 Built of a people's love, 
 And blazoned and decked and panoplied 
 
 With the hearts ye build it of! 
 And see that ye build it stately. 
 
 In pillar and niche and gate, 
 And high in pose as the souls of those 
 
 It would commemorate! 
 
 i 
 
THE RIVAL. 
 
 THE RIVAL. 
 
 ISO loved once, when Death came by I hid 
 Away my face, 
 And all my sweetheart's tresses she undid 
 To make my hiding-place. 
 
 The dread shade passed me thus unheeding; and 
 
 I turned me then 
 To calm my love — kiss down her shielding hand 
 
 And comfort her again. 
 
 And lo! she answered not: And she did sit 
 
 All fixedly. 
 With her fair face and the sweet smile of it. 
 
 In love with Death, not me. 
 
IRY AND BILLY AND JO. 
 
 IRY AND BILLY AND JO. 
 
 TRY an' Billy an' Jo !— 
 •I Iry an' Billy's the bqys, 
 
 An' Jo's their dog, you know, — 
 Their pictur 's took all in a row. 
 
 Bet they kin kick up a noise — 
 
 Iry and Billy, the boys. 
 And that-air little dog Jo ! 
 
 Irf's the one 'at stands 
 
 Up there a-lookin' so mild 
 An' meek — with his hat in his hands, 
 
 Like such a 'bediant child — 
 {Sakes-alive !) — An' Billf he sets 
 In the cheer an' holds onto Jo an' sweats 
 Hisse'f, a-lookin' so good ! Ho-ho ! 
 Iry an' Billy an' Jo! 
 
 Yit the way them boys, you know, 
 
 Usen to jes turn in 
 An' fight over that dog Jo 
 
 Wuz a burnin'-shame-an'-a-sin ! — 
 
IR Y AND BILL Y AND JO. 113 
 
 Iry he V argy 'at, by gee-whizz ! 
 That-air little Jo-dog wuz his! — 
 An' Billy he^d claim it wuzn't so — 
 'Cause the dog wuz his'n\ — An' at it they'd go, 
 Nip-an'-tugg, tooth-an'-toenail, you know — 
 Iry an' Billy an' Jo ! 
 
 But their Pa — (He wuz the marshal then)- 
 
 He 'tended-like 'at he jerked 'em up; 
 An' got a jury 0' Brickyard men 
 An' helt a trial about the pup : 
 An' he says he jes like to a-died 
 When the rest 0' us town-boys testified — 
 Regardin', you know, 
 Iry an' Billy an' Jo. — 
 
 'Cause we all knowed, when the Gjypsies they 
 
 Camped down here by the crick last Fall, 
 They brung Jo with 'em, an' give him away 
 
 To Iry an' Billy fer nothin' at all ! — 
 So the jury fetched in the verdick so 
 
 Jo he ain't neether 0' theirn fer shore — 
 
 He's both their dog, an' jes no more! 
 
 An' so 
 
 They 've quit quarrelin' long ago, 
 
 Iry an' Billy an' Jo. 
 
114 A WRAITH OF SUMMERTIME. 
 
 A WRAITH OF SUMMERTIME. 
 
 IN its color, shade and shine, 
 'T was a summer warm as wine, 
 With an effervescent flavoring of flowered 
 
 bough and vine, 
 And a fragrance and a taste 
 Of ripe roses gone to waste, 
 And a dreamy sense of sun- and moon- and 
 star-light interlaced. 
 
 'Twas a summer such as broods 
 
 O'er enchanted solitudes, 
 
 Where the hand of Fancy leads us through 
 
 voluptuary moods, 
 And with lavish love out-pours 
 All the wealth of out-of-doors, 
 And woos our feet o'er velvet paths and 
 
 honeysuckle floors. 
 
 'Twas a summertime long dead, — 
 
 And its roses, white and red. 
 
 And its reeds and water-lilies down along 
 
 the river-bed, — 
 O they all are ghostly things — 
 For the ripple never sings, 
 And the rocking lily never even rustles as 
 
 it rings! 
 
HER BEAUTIFUL EYES. 115 
 
 ^ HER BEAUTIFUL EYES. 
 
 OHER beautiful eyes ! they are as blue as the dew 
 On the violet's bloom when the morning is new, 
 And the light of their love is the gleam of the sun 
 O'er the meadows of Spring where the quick shadows 
 
 run : 
 As the morn shifts the mists and the clouds from the 
 
 skies — 
 So I stand in the dawn, of her beautiful eyes. 
 
 And her beautiful eyes are as midday to me, 
 When the lily-bell bends with the weight of the bee, 
 And the throat of the thrush is a-pulse in the heat, 
 And the senses are drugged with the subtle and sweet 
 And delirious breaths of the air's lullabies — 
 So I swoon in the noon of her beautiful eyes. 
 
 O her beautiful eyes ! they have smitten mine own 
 As a glory glanced down from the glare of The Throne ; 
 And I reel, and I falter and fall, as afar 
 Fell the shepherds that looked on the mystical Star, 
 And yet dazed in the tidings that bade them arise — 
 So I grope through the night of her beautiful eyes. 
 
ir6 DOT LEEDLE BOY. 
 
 DOT LEEDLE BOY. 
 
 OT 'S a leedle Ghristmas story 
 Dot I told der leedle folks— 
 Und I vant you stop dot laughin' 
 
 Und grackin' funny jokes! — 
 So-help me Peter-Moses ! 
 
 Ot 's no time for monkeyshlne', 
 Ober I vas told you somedings 
 Of dot leedle boy of mine! 
 
 Ot vas von cold Vinter vedder, 
 
 Ven der snow vas all about — 
 Dot you have to chop der hatchet 
 
 Eef you got der saur kraut! 
 Und der cheekens on der hind-leg 
 
 Vas standin' in der shine 
 Der sun shmile out dot morning 
 
 On dot leedle boy of mine. 
 
 He vas yoost a leedle baby 
 
 Not bigger as a doll 
 Dot time I got acquaintet — 
 
 Ach ! you ought to heard Mm squall !- 
 I grackys ! dot 's der moosic 
 
 Ot make me feel so fine 
 Ven first I vas been marriet — 
 
 Oh, dot leedle boy of mine! 
 
 i 
 
DOT LEEDLE BOY. 117 
 
 He look' yoost like his fader ! — 
 
 So, veil der vimmen said 
 "Vot a purty leedle baby!" 
 
 Katrina' shake der head. . . . 
 I dink she must a-notice 
 
 Dot der baby vas a-gryin', 
 Und she cover up der blankets 
 
 Of dot leedle boy of mine. 
 
 Vel, ven he vas got bigger, 
 
 Dot he grawl und bump his nose, 
 Und make der table over, 
 
 Und molasses on his glothes — 
 Dot make Mm all der sveeter, — 
 
 So I say to my Katrine 
 " Better you vas quit a-shpankin' 
 
 Dot leedle boy of mine ! " 
 
 I vish you could a-seen id — 
 
 Ven he glimb up on der chair 
 Und shmash der lookin'glasses 
 
 Ven he try to comb his hair 
 Mit a hammer! — Und Katrina 
 
 Say "Dot's an ugly sign!" 
 But 1 laugh und vink my fingers 
 
 At dot leedle boy of mine. 
 
ii8 DOT LEEDLE BOY. 
 
 But vonce, dot Vinter morning, 
 
 He shlip out in der snow 
 Mitout no stockin's on 'im. — 
 
 He say he "vant to go 
 Und fly some mit der birdies ! " 
 
 Und ve give 'im medi-cine 
 Van he catch der "parrygoric"— 
 
 Dot leedle boy of mine ! 
 
 Und so I set und nurse 'im, 
 
 Vile der Christmas vas come roun', 
 Und I told 'im 'bout " Kriss Kringle," 
 
 How he come der chimbly down : 
 Und I ask 'im eef he love 'im 
 
 Eef he bring 'im someding fine? 
 ^'Nicht hesser as mein fader ^^ 
 
 Say dot leedle boy of mine. — 
 
 Und he put his arms aroun' me 
 
 Und hug so close und tight, 
 I hear der gclock a-tickin' 
 
 All der balance of der night! . . . 
 Someding make me feel so funny 
 
 Ven I say to my Katrine 
 *' Let us go und fill der stockin's 
 
 Of dot leedle boy of mine." 
 
DOT LEEDLE BOY. iig 
 
 Veil. — Ve buyed a leedle horses 
 
 Dot you pull 'im mit a shtring, 
 Und a leedle fancy jay-bird — 
 
 Eef you vant to hear 'im sing 
 You took 'im by der top-knot 
 
 Und yoost blow in behine — 
 Und dot make much spectakel — 
 
 For dot leedle boy of mine ! 
 
 Und gandies, nuts and raizens — 
 
 Unt I buy a leedle drum 
 Dot I vant to hear 'im rattle 
 
 Ven der Gristmas morning come ! 
 Und a leedle shmall tin rooster 
 
 Dot vould crow so loud und fine 
 Ven he sqveeze 'im in der morning, 
 
 Dot leedle boy of mine ! 
 
 Und— vile ve vas a-fixin' — 
 
 Dot leedle boy vake out ! 
 I fought he been a-dreamin' 
 
 " Kriss Kringle " vas about, — 
 For he say — '''Dot's him! — I see 'tm 
 
 Mit der shtars dot make der shine!'' 
 Und he yoost keep on a-gryin' — 
 
 Dot leedle boy of mine, — 
 
DOT LEEDLE BOY. 
 
 Und gottin' vorse und vorser — 
 
 Und tumble on der bed ! 
 So — van der doctor seen id, 
 
 He kindo' shake his head, 
 Und feel his pulse — und visper 
 
 "Der boy is a-dyin'." 
 You dink I could ielieve id? — 
 
 Dot leedle hoy of mine ? 
 
 1 told you, friends — dot 's someding, 
 
 Der last time dot he speak 
 Und say "Goot-bye, Kriss Krtngle ! " 
 
 — Dot make me feel so veak 
 I yoost kneel down und drimble, 
 
 Und bur-sed out a-gryin' 
 ' ' Meiii Gott, mein Gott im Himmel ! — 
 
 Dot leedle boy of mine ! ' ' 
 
 Der sun do n't shine dot Gristmas ! 
 
 . . . Eef dot leedle boy vould liff^d- 
 No deefer-en' ! for Heaven vas 
 
 His leedle Gristmas-gift! . . . 
 Und der rooster, und der gandy, 
 
 Und me — und my Katrine — 
 Und der jay-bird — is a-vaiting 
 
 For dot leedle boy of mine. 
 
DONN PUTT OF MAC-0-CHEE. 
 
 DONN PIATT OF MAC-O-CHEE. 
 
 I. 
 
 DONN Piatt— of Mac-o-chee — 
 Not the one of History, 
 Wlio, witli flaming tongue and pen, 
 Scatlies thie vanities of men ; 
 Not tlie one wliose biting wit 
 Cuts pretense and etclies it 
 On tlie brazen brow tliat dares 
 Filcli tlie laurel thiat it wears : 
 Not the Donn Piatt whose praise 
 Echoes in the noisy ways 
 Of the faction, onward led 
 By the statesman ! — But, instead, 
 Give the simple man to me, — 
 Donn Piatt of Mac-o-chee ! 
 
 II. 
 
 Donn Piatt of Mac-o-chee! 
 Branches of the old oak tree. 
 Drape him royally in fine 
 Purple shade and golden shine ! 
 
1 
 
 DONN PUTT OF MAC-O-CHEE. 
 
 Emerald plush of sloping lawn % 
 
 Be the throne he sits upon ! 
 
 And, O Summer sunset, thou 
 
 Be his crown, and gild a brow 
 
 Softly smoothed and soothed and calmed 
 
 By the breezes, mellow-palmed 
 
 As Erata's white hand agleam 
 
 On the forehead of a dream. — 
 
 So forever rule o'er me, 
 
 Donn Piatt of Mac-o-chee ! ' 
 
 III. 
 
 Donn Piatt of Mac-o-chee: 
 
 Through a lilied memory 
 
 Plays the wayward little creek ; 
 
 Round thy home at hide-and-seek — 
 
 As I see and hear it, still 
 
 Romping round the wooded hill, 
 
 Till its laugh-and-babble blends 
 
 With the silence while it sends 
 
 Glances back to kiss the sight, 
 
 In its babyish delight. 
 
 Ere it strays amid the gloom 
 
 Of the glens that burst in bloom 
 
 Of the rarest rhyme for thee, 
 
 Donn Piatt of Mac-o-chee! 
 
 { 
 
DONN PIATT OF MAC-O-CHEE. 123 
 
 IV. 
 
 Donn Piatt of Mac-o-chee ! 
 What a darling destiny 
 Has been mine — to meet him there — 
 Lolling in an easy chair 
 On the terrace, while he told 
 Reminiscences of old — 
 Letting my cigar die out, 
 Hearing poems talked about; 
 And entranced to hear him say 
 Gentle things of Thackeray, 
 Dickens, Hawthorne, and the rest, 
 Known to him as host and guest — 
 Known to him as he to me — 
 Donn Piatt of Mac-o-chee! 
 
124 THEM FLOIVERS. 
 
 THEM FLOWERS. 
 
 T^AKE a feller 'at 's sick and laid up on the shelf, 
 ■*■ All shaky, and ga'nted, and pore— 
 Jes ail so knocked out he can 't handle hisself 
 
 With a stiff upper-lip any more; 
 Shet him up all alone in the gloom of a room 
 
 As dark as the tomb, and as grim. 
 And then take and send him some roses in bloom. 
 
 And you can have fun out o' him ! 
 
 You 've ketched him 'fore now — when his liver 
 was sound 
 
 And his appetite notched like a saw — 
 A-mockin' you, mayby, fer romancin' round 
 
 With a big posy-bunch in yer paw ; 
 But you ketch him, say, when his health is away. 
 
 And he 's flat on his back in distress. 
 And then you kin trot out yer little bokay 
 
 And not be insulted, I guess ! 
 
 You see, it's like this, what his weaknesses is, — 
 Them flowers makes him think of the days 
 
 Of his innocent youth, and that mother o' his, 
 And the roses that she us't to raise :— 
 
THEM FLOIVERS. 125 
 
 So here, all alone with the* roses you send — 
 Bein' sick and all trimbly and faint, — 
 
 My eyes is — my eyes is — my eyes is — old friend — 
 Is a-leakin' — 1 'm blamed ef they ain't! 
 
126 THE QUIET LODGER. 
 
 THE QUIET LODGER. 1 
 
 T^HE man that rooms next door to me: 
 * Two weeks ago, this very night, 
 He took possession quietly, 
 As any other lodger might— 
 But why the room next mine should so 
 Attract him I was vexed to know, — 
 Because his quietude, in fine. 
 Was far superior to mine. 
 
 "Now, 1 like quiet, truth to tell, 
 A tranquil life is sweet to me — 
 But this," I sneered, "suits me too well.— 
 He shuts his door so noiselessly. 
 And glides about so very mute, 
 In each mysterious pursuit, 
 His silence is oppressive, and 
 Too deep for me to understand." 
 
 Sometimes, forgetting book or pen, 
 
 I 've found my head in breathless poise 
 Lifted, and dropped in shame again, 
 Hearing some alien ghost of noise — 
 Some smothered sound that seemed to be 
 A trunk-lid dropped unguardedly. 
 Or the crisp writhings of some quire 
 Of manuscript thrust in the fire. 
 
THE QUIET LODGER. 127 
 
 Then I have climbed, and closed in vain 
 
 My transom, opening in the hall ; 
 Or close against tlie window-pane 
 Have pressed my fevered face, — but all 
 The day or night without held not 
 A sight or sound or counter-thought 
 To set my mind one instant free 
 Of this man's silent mastery. 
 
 And often I have paced the floor 
 
 With muttering anger, far at night, 
 Hearing, and cursing, o'er and o'er, 
 The muffled noises, and the light 
 And tireless movements of this guest 
 Whose silence raged above my rest 
 Hoarser than howling storms at sea— 
 The man that rooms next door to me. 
 
 But twice or thrice, upon the stair, 
 
 I 've seen his face — most strangely wan, — 
 Each time upon me unaware 
 He came — smooth'd past me, and was gone. — 
 So like a whisper he went by, 
 I listened after, ear and eye, 
 Nor could my chafing fancy tell 
 The meaning of one syllable. 
 
128 THE QUIET LODGER. 
 
 Last night I caught him, face to face, — 
 
 He entering his room, and I 
 Glaring from mine: He paused a space 
 And met my scowl all shrinkingly, 
 But with full gentleness : The key 
 Turned in his door — and I could see 
 It tremblingly withdrawn and put 
 Inside, and then — the door was shut. 
 
 Then silence. Silence! — why, last night 
 
 The silence was tumultuous. 
 And thundered on till broad daylight; — 
 O never has it stunned me thus! — 
 It rolls, and moans, and mumbles yet. — 
 Ah, God ! how loud may silence get 
 When man mocks at a brother man 
 Who answers but as silence can ! 
 
 The silence grew, and grew, and grew, 
 Till at high noon to-day 'twas heard 
 Throughout the house ; and men flocked through 
 The echoing halls, with faces blurred 
 With pallor, gloom, and fear, and awe. 
 And shuddering at what they saw — 
 The quiet lodger, as he lay 
 Stark of the life he cast away. 
 
 I 
 
 ^ 
 
THE QUIET LODGER. 129 
 
 So strange to-night — those voices there, 
 
 Where all so quiet was before : ^ 
 They say the face has not a care 
 Nor sorrow in it any more — 
 His latest scrawl : — " Forgive me — You 
 Who prayed, ' they know not what they do ! ' " 
 My tears will never let me see 
 This man that rooms next door to me! 
 
I30 THE IVATCHES OF THE NIGHT. 
 
 THE WATCHES OF THE NIGHT. 
 
 OTHE waiting in the watches of the night! 
 hi the dartcness, desolation, and contrition and 
 affright ; 
 The awful hush that holds us shut away from all 
 delight : 
 The ever weary memory that ever weary goes 
 Recounting ever over every aching loss it knows — 
 The ever weary eyelids gasping ever for repose — 
 In the dreary, weary watches of the night ! 
 
 Dark — stifling dark — the watches of the night ! 
 With tingling nerves at tension, how the blackness 
 
 flashes white 
 With spectral visitations smitten past the inner sight! — 
 What shuddering sense of wrongs we 've wrought 
 
 that may not be redressed — 
 Of tears we did not brush away — of lips we left 
 
 unpressed, 
 And hands that we let fall, with all their loyalty 
 unguessed ! 
 Ah! the empty, empty watches of the night! 
 
THE IVATCHES OF THE NIGHT. 131 
 
 What solace in the watches of the night? — 
 
 What frailest staff of hope to stay — what faintest shaft 
 
 of light? 
 Do we dream and dare believe it, that by never weight 
 of right 
 Of our own poor weak deservings, we shall win the 
 
 dawn at last — 
 Our famished souls find freedom from this penance 
 
 for the past, 
 In a faith that leaps and lightens from the gloom 
 that flees aghast — 
 Shall we survive the watches of the night? 
 
 One leads us through the watches of the night — 
 
 By the ceaseless intercession of our loved ones lost to 
 
 sight 
 He is with us through all trials, in His mercy and His 
 might ; — 
 With our mothers there about Him, all our sorrow 
 
 disappears. 
 Till the silence of our sobbing is the prayer the 
 
 Master hears. 
 And His hand is laid upon us with the tenderness of 
 tears 
 In the waning of the watches of the night. 
 
132 HIS VIGIL. 
 
 HIS VIGIL. 
 
 CLOSE the book and dim the light, 
 1 shall read no more to-night. 
 No — I am not sleepy, dear — 
 Do not go : sit by me here 
 In the darkness and the deep 
 Silence of the watch I keep. 
 Something in your presence so 
 Soothes me — as in long ago 
 I first felt your hand — as now — 
 In the darkness touch my brow: 
 I 've no other wish than you 
 Thus should fold mine eyelids to. 
 Saying nought of sigh or tear — 
 Just as God were sitting here. 
 
THE PLAINT HUMAN. 133 
 
 THE PLAINT HUMAN 
 
 SEASON of snows, and season of flowers, 
 Seasons of loss and gain ! — 
 Since grief and joy must alike be ours, 
 Why do we still complain? 
 
 Ever our failing, from sun to sun, 
 
 O my intolerent brother: — 
 We want just a little too little of one. 
 
 And much too much of the other. 
 
134 BY ANY OTHER. NAME. 
 
 BY ANY OTHER NAME. 
 
 P IRST the teacher called the roll, 
 -*■ Clos't to the beginnin', 
 "Addeliney Bowersox!" 
 
 Set the school a-grinnin'. 
 Wintertime, and stingin'-cold 
 
 When the session took up — 
 Cold as ive all looked at her, 
 
 Though she could n't look up ! 
 
 Total stranger to us, too — 
 
 Country-folks ain't alius 
 Nigh so shameful unpolite 
 
 As some people call us !— 
 But the honest facts is, then, 
 
 Addeliney Bower- 
 Sox's feelin's was so hurt 
 
 She cried half an hour! 
 
 My dest was acrost from her'n: 
 
 Set and watched her tryin' 
 To p'tend she didn't keer, 
 
 And a kind o' dryiu' 
 Up her tears with smiles — tel I 
 
 Thought, "Well, 'Addeliney 
 Bcmersox'' is plain, but she's 
 
 Party as a piney ! " 
 
BY ANY OTHER NAME. I35 
 
 It 's be'n many of a year 
 
 Sence that most oncommon 
 Cur'ous name 0' Bowersox 
 
 Struck me so abomin- 
 Nubble and outlandish-like! — 
 
 I changed it to Adde- 
 Liney Datihenspeck — and that 
 
 Nearly killed her Daddy! 
 
136 TO AN IMPORTUNATE GHOST. 
 
 TO AN IMPORTUNATE GHOST. 
 
 GET gone, thou most uncomfortable ghost! 
 Thou really dost annoy me with thy thin 
 
 Impalpable transparency of grin ; 
 And the vague, shadowy shape of thee almost 
 Hath vext me beyond boundary and coast 
 
 Of my broad patience. Stay thy chattering chin. 
 
 And reel the tauntings of thy vain tongue in, 
 Nor tempt me further with thy vaporish boast 
 
 That I am helpless to combat thee! Well, 
 Have at thee, then ! Yet if a doom most dire 
 
 Thou wouldst escape, flee whilst thou canst ! — Revile 
 Me not, Miasmic Mist! — Rank Air! retire! 
 
 One instant longer an thou haunt'st me, I '11 
 Inhale thee, O thou wraith despicable ! 
 
THE QUARREL. 137 
 
 THE QUARREL. 
 
 THEY faced each other: Topaz-brown 
 And lambent burnt her eyes and shot 
 Sharp flame at his of amethyst. — 
 'I hate you! Go, and be forgot 
 As death forgets!" their glitter hissed 
 (So seemed it) in their hatred. Ho ! 
 Dared any mortal front her so? — 
 Tempestuous eyebrows knitted down — 
 Tense nostril, mouth — no muscle slack, — 
 And black — the suffocating black — 
 The stifling blackness of her frown! 
 
 Ah ! but the lifted face of her ! 
 And the twitched lip and tilted head ! 
 Yet he did neither wince nor stir,— 
 Only — his hands clenched ; and, instead 
 Of words, he answered with a stare 
 That stammered not in aught it said. 
 As might his voice if trusted there. 
 
 And what — what spake his steady gaze?— 
 Was there a look that harshly fell 
 To scoff her? — or a syllable 
 Of anger? — or the bitter phrase 
 That myrrhs the honey of love's lips, 
 Or curdles blood as poison drips ? 
 
138 THE QUARREL. 
 
 What made their breasts to heave and swell 
 
 As billows under bows of ships 
 
 In broken seas on stormy days? 
 
 We may not know — nor thej> indeed — 
 
 What mercy found them in their need. 
 
 A sudden sunlight smote the gloom ; 
 
 And round about them swept a breeze, 
 
 With faint breaths as of clover-bloom ; 
 
 A bird was heard, through drone of bees, — 
 
 Then, far and clear and eerily, 
 
 A child's voice from an orchard-tree — 
 
 Then laughter, sweet as the perfume 
 
 Of lilacs, could the hearing see. 
 
 And he — O Love ! he fed thy name 
 
 On bruised kisses, while her dim 
 
 Deep eyes, with all their inner flame. 
 
 Like drowning gems were turned on him. 
 
THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEIV. 139 
 
 THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEW. 
 
 I. 
 
 S one in sorrow looks upon 
 The dead face of a loyal friend, 
 By the dim light of New Year's dawn 
 I saw the Old Year end. 
 
 Upon the pallid features lay 
 
 The dear old smile— so warm and bright 
 Ere thus its cheer had died away 
 
 In ashes of delight. 
 
 The hands that I had learned to love 
 With strength of passion half divine, 
 
 Were folded now, all heedless of 
 The emptiness of mine. 
 
 The eyes that once had shed their bright 
 Sweet looks like sunshine, now were dull, 
 
 And ever lidded from the light 
 That made them beautiful. 
 
140 THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEIV. 
 
 II. 
 
 The chimes of bells were in the air, 
 And sounds of mirth in hall and street, 
 
 With pealing laughter everywhere 
 And throb of dancing feet: 
 
 The mirth and the convivial din 
 Of revelers in wanton glee. 
 
 With tunes of harp and violin 
 In tangled harmony. 
 
 But with a sense of nameless dread, 
 I turned me, from the merry face 
 
 Of this newcomer, to my dead; 
 And, kneeling there a space, 
 
 I sobbed aloud, all tearfully : — 
 By this dear face so fixed and cold, 
 
 O Lord, let not this New Year be 
 As happy as the old ! 
 
THE HEREAFTER. 141 
 
 THE HEREAFTER. 
 
 HEREAFTER! O we need not waste 
 Our smiles or tears, whate'er befall; 
 No happiness but holds a taste 
 
 Of something sweeter, after all ; — 
 No depth of agony but feels 
 
 Some fragment of abiding trust, — 
 Whatever death unlocks or seals, 
 The mute beyond is just. 
 
142 JOHN BROWN. 
 
 JOHN BROWN. 
 
 XTl 7RIT in between the lines of iiis life-deed 
 ^^ We trace the sacred service of a heart 
 Answering the Divine command, in every part 
 Bearing on human weal : His love did feed 
 The loveless; and his gentle hands did lead 
 The blind, and lift the weak, and balm the smart 
 Of other wounds than rankled at the dart 
 hi his own breast, that gloried thus to bleed. 
 He served the lowliest first — nay, them alone — 
 The most despised that e'er wreaked vain breath 
 In cries of suppliance in the reign whereat 
 Red Guilt sate squat upon her spattered throne. — 
 For these doomed there it was he went to death. 
 God! how the merest man loves one like that! 
 
A CUP OF TEA. 143 
 
 A CUP OF TEA. 
 
 T HAVE sipped, with drooping lashes, 
 *- Dreamy draughts of Verzenay; 
 1 have flourished brandy-smashes 
 
 In the wildest sort of way; 
 I have joked with "Tom and Jerry" 
 
 Till "wee hours ayont the twal ' — 
 But I 've found my tea the very 
 
 Safest tipple of them all ! 
 
 'Tis a mystical potation 
 
 That exceeds in warmth of glow 
 And divine exhilaration 
 
 All the drugs of long ago — 
 All of old magicians' potions — 
 
 Of Medea's filtered spells — 
 Or of fabled isles and oceans 
 
 Where the Lotos-eater dwells! 
 
 Though I 've reveled o'er late lunches 
 
 With &/d:5/ dramatic stars, 
 And absorbed their wit and punches 
 
 And the fumes of their cigars — 
 Drank in the latest story, 
 
 With a cock-tail either end, — 
 I have drained a deeper glory 
 
 In a cup of tea, my friend. 
 
144 A CUP OF TEA. 
 
 Green, black, Moyune, Formosa, 
 
 Congou, Amboy, Pingsuey — 
 No odds the name it knows — ah ! 
 
 Fill a cup of it for me ! 
 And, as I clink my china 
 
 Against your goblet's brim, 
 My tea in steam shall twine a 
 
 Fragrant laurel round its rim. 
 
JUDITH. 145 
 
 JUDITH. 
 
 t~\ HER eyes are amber-fine — 
 
 ^^ Dark and deep as wells of wine, 
 
 While her smile is like the noon 
 
 Splendor of a day of June. 
 
 If she sorrow — lo ! her face 
 
 It is like a flowery space 
 
 In bright meadows, overlaid 
 
 With light clouds and lulled with shade. 
 
 If she laugh — it is the trill 
 
 Of the wayward whippoorwill 
 
 Over upland pastures, heard 
 
 Echoed by the mocking-bird 
 
 In dim thickets dense with bloom 
 
 And blurred cloyings of perfume. 
 
 If she sigh — a zephyr swells 
 
 Over odorous asphodels 
 
 And wan lilies in lush plots 
 
 Of moon-drown 'd forget-me-nots. 
 
 Then, the soft touch of her hand — 
 
 Takes all breath to understand 
 
 What to liken it thereto!— 
 
 Never roseleaf rinsed with dew 
 
 Might slip soother-suave than slips 
 
 Her slow palm, the while her lips 
 
 Swoon through mine, with kiss on kiss 
 
 Sweet as heated honev is. 
 
146 THE ART EM US OF MICHIGAN. 
 
 THE ARTEMUS OF MICHIGAN. 
 
 GRAND HAVEN is in Michigan, and in possession, 
 too. 
 Of as many rare attractions as our party ever knew: — 
 The fine hotel, the landlord, and the lordly bill of fare, 
 And the dainty-neat completeness of the pretty waiters 
 
 there ; 
 The touch on the piano in the parlor, and the trill 
 Of the exquisite soprano, in our fancy singing still ; 
 Our cozy room, its comfort, and our thousand grateful 
 
 tho'ts. 
 
 And at our door the gentle face 
 
 Of 
 
 H. 
 
 Y. 
 
 Potts ! 
 
 His artless observations, and his drollery of style. 
 
 Bewildered with that sorrowful serenity of smile — 
 
 The eye's elusive twinkle, and the twitching of the lid, 
 
 Like he didn't go to say it and was sorry that he did. 
 
 O Artemus of Michigan ! so worthy of the name. 
 
 Our manager indorses it, and Bill Nye does the same — 
 
 You tickled our affection in so many tender spots 
 
 That even Recollection laughs 
 
 At 
 
 H. 
 
 Y. 
 
 Potts! 
 
THE ART EM US OF MICHIGAN. 147 
 
 And hark ye ! O Grand Haven ! count your rare 
 
 attractions o'er— 
 The commerce of your ships at sea, and ships along 
 
 the shore ; 
 Your railroads, and your industries, and interests untold, 
 Your Opera House — our lecture, and the gate-receipts in 
 
 gold !— 
 Ay, Banner Town of Michigan ! count all your treasures 
 
 through — 
 Your crowds of summer tourists, and your Sanita- 
 rium, too; 
 Your lake, your beach, your drives, your breezy groves 
 
 and grassy plots. 
 But head the list of all of these 
 With 
 
 H. 
 
 Y. 
 
 Potts! 
 
148 THE HOODOO. 
 
 THE HOODOO. 
 
 OWNED a pair o' skates onc't.— Traded 
 Per 'em, — stropped 'em on and waded 
 Up and down the crick, a-waitin' 
 Tel she 'd freeze up fit fer skatin'. 
 Mildest winter I remember — 
 
 More like Spring- than Winter-weather ! — 
 Did n't frost tel bout December- 
 Git up airly ketch a feather 
 Of it, mayby, 'crost the winder — 
 Sunshine swinge it like a cinder! 
 
 Well — I waited — and kep* waitin' ! 
 
 Couldn't see my money's w'oth in 
 Them-air skates and was no skatin' 
 
 Ner no hint o' ice ner nothin' ! 
 So, one day — along in airly 
 Spring — I swopped 'em off — and barely 
 Closed the dicker, 'fore the weather 
 
 Natchurly jes slipped the ratchet. 
 And crick — tail-race — all together. 
 
 Froze so tight cat couldn't scratch it ! 
 
THE RIVALS; OR THE SHOWMAN'S RUSE. 149 
 
 THE RIVALS; OR THE SHOWMAN'S RUSE 
 
 A TRAGI-COMEDY, IN ONE ACT. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 The Rivals 
 
 BILLY Miller -> 
 
 JOHNNY WILLIAMS / 
 
 TOMMY WELLS Conspirator 
 
 Time — Noon : SCENE— Country Town — Rear view of the 
 Miller Mansion, showing Barn, with practical loft-window 
 opening on alley-way, with colored- crayon poster beneath, 
 announcing :—" BILLY MILLER'S Big Show and Mon- 
 stur Circus and Equareum ! A shour-bath fer Each 
 and All fer 20 pins. This Afternoon ! Don't fer git 
 the date!" Enter TOMMY WELLS and JOHNNY 
 Williams, who ga^e awhUe at poster, TOMMY secretly 
 smiling and winking at BILLY MILLER, concealed at 
 loft-window above. 
 
 TOMMY (to JOHNNY). 
 
 Guess 'at Billy haint got back, — 
 Can 't see nothin' through the crack — 
 Can 't hear nothin' neither — No ! 
 . . . Thinks he 's got the dandy show, 
 Don't he? 
 
I50 THE RIVALS; OR THE SHOIVMAN'S RUSE. 
 
 JOHNNY (scornfully)— 
 
 'Course! but what / care? — 
 He haint got no show in there! — 
 What 's he got in there but that 
 Old hen, cooped up with a cat 
 An' a turkle, an' that thing 
 'At he calls his "circus-ring?" 
 ^^ What a circus-ring ! " I'd quit! 
 Bet mine's twic't as big as it! 
 
 TOMMY— 
 
 Yes, hut j/ou got no machine 
 
 Wat you bathe with, painted green, 
 
 With a string to work it, guess ! 
 
 JOHNNY (contemptuously) — 
 
 Folks don't bathe in circuses! — 
 Ladies comes to mine, you bet! 
 r got seats where girls can set; 
 An' a dressin'-room, an' all, 
 Fixed up in my pony's stall — 
 Yes, an' I' got carpet, too, 
 Fer the tumblers, and a blue 
 Center-pole ! 
 
THE RIVALS; OR THE SHO^VMAN'S RUSE. 151 
 
 TOMMY— 
 
 Well, Billy, he's 
 Got a tight-rope an' trapeze, 
 An' a hoop 'at he jumps through 
 Head-first ! 
 
 JOHNNY— 
 
 Well, what 's that to do — 
 Lightin' on a pile 0' hay? 
 Haint no actm' thataway ! 
 
 Tommy- 
 Do n't care what you say, he draws 
 Bigger crowds than you do, 'cause 
 Sense he started up, I know 
 All the fellers says his show 
 Is the best-un ! 
 
 JOHNNY— 
 
 Yes, an' he 
 Better not tell things on me! 
 His old circus haint no good ! — 
 'Cause he's got the neighberhood 
 Down on me he thinks 'at 1 'm 
 Goin' to stand it all the time; 
 Thinks ist 'cause my Pa don't 'low 
 Me to fight, he's got me now^ 
 
152 THE RIVALS; OR THE SHOWMAN'S RUSE. 
 
 An' can say I lie, an' call 
 
 Me ist anything at all! 
 
 Billy Miller thinks I am 
 
 'Feared to say 'at he says "dam" — 
 
 Yes, and worser ones ! and I 'm 
 
 Goin' to tell his folks sometime ! — 
 
 An' ef he don't shet his head 
 
 I '11 tell worse 'an that he said 
 
 When he fighted Willie King— 
 
 An' got licked like ever'thing ! — 
 
 Billy Miller better shin 
 
 Down his Daddy's lane agin, 
 
 Like a cowardy-calf, an' climb 
 
 In fer home another time! 
 
 Better— 
 {Here BILLY leaps down from the loft upon his unsuspecting 
 victim; and two minutes later, JOHNNY, with the half of a 
 straw hat, a bleeding nose, and a straight rent across one 
 trouser-knee, makes his inglorious — exit.'\ 
 
IV HAT CHRIS' MAS FETCHED THE IVIGGWSES. i^l, 
 
 WHAT CHRIS'MAS FETCHED THE 
 WIGGINSES. 
 
 ^1 HNTERTIME, er Summertime, 
 ^^ Of late years I notice I 'm, 
 Kindo'-like, more subjec' to 
 What tlie weather is. Now, you 
 Folks 'at lives in town, I s'pose, 
 Thinks its bully when it snows ; 
 But the chap 'at chops and hauls 
 Yer wood fer ye, and then stalls, 
 And snapps tuggs and swingletrees. 
 And then has to walk er freeze, 
 Haint so much "stuck on" the snow 
 As stuck in it — Bless ye, no ! — 
 When its packed, and sleighin's good, 
 And church in the neighberhood, 
 Them 'at 's got their girls, I guess. 
 Takes 'em, likely, more er less. 
 Tell the plain facts o' the case. 
 No men-folks about our place 
 On'y me and Pap — and he 
 'Lows 'at young folks' company 
 
154 IVHAT CHRISTMAS FETCHED THE IVIGGINSES. 
 
 Alius made him sick! So I 
 Jes don't want, and jes don't try! 
 Chinkypin, the dad-burn town, 
 'S too fur off to loaf aroun' 
 Either day er night — and no 
 Law compellin' me to go ! — 
 'Less 'n some Old-Settlers' Day, 
 Er big-doin's thataway — 
 Then, to tell the p'inted fac', 
 I 've went more so 's to come back 
 By old Guthrie's 'still-house, where 
 Minors has got licker there — 
 That 's pervidin' we could show 'em 
 Old folks sent fer it from home ! 
 Visit roun' the neighbers some, 
 When the boys wants me to come. — 
 Coon-hunt with 'em ; er set traps 
 Fer mussrats ; er jes, perhaps. 
 Lay in roun' the stove, you know. 
 And parch corn, and let her snow ! 
 Mostly, nights like these, you '11 be 
 (Ef you' got a writ fer me) 
 Ap' to skeer me up, I guess, 
 In about the Wigginses. 
 Nothin' roun' our place to keep 
 Me at home — with Pap asleep 
 
IVHAT CHRISTMAS FETCHED THE IVIGGINSES. I55 
 
 'Fore it 's dark ; and Mother in 
 
 Mango pickles to lier chin ; 
 
 And the girls, all still as death, 
 
 Piecin' quilts. — Sence 1 drawed breath 
 
 Twenty year' ago, and heerd 
 
 Some girls whispern' sp 's it 'peared 
 
 Like they had a row o' pins 
 
 In their mouth— right there begins 
 
 My first rickollections, built 
 
 On that-air blame old piece-quilt! 
 
 Summertime, it 's jes the same — 
 'Cause I 've noticed,— and I claim. 
 As I said afore, I 'm more 
 Subjec' to the weather, shore, 
 'Proachin' my majority, 
 Than 1 ever ust to be ! 
 Callin' back last Summer, say, — 
 Don't seem hardly past away — 
 With night closin' in, and all 
 S' lonesome-like in the dew-fall: 
 Bats— ad-drat their uglv muggs !— 
 Flickern' by; and ligh':'n -l:ugs 
 Huckstern' roun' the airly night 
 Little sickly gasps o' light; — 
 Whip-poor-wills, like all possess'd, 
 Moanin' out their mournfullest ; — 
 
156 IV HAT CHRIS' MAS FETCHED THE IVIGGINSES. 
 
 Frogs and katydids and things 
 Jes clubs in and sings and sings 
 Tlieir ding-dangdest ! — Stock 's all fed, 
 And Pap 's washed his feet far bed ; — 
 Mother and the girls all down 
 At the milk-shed, foolin' roun'^ 
 No wunder 'at I git blue, 
 And lite out— and so would you ! 
 I caint stay aroun' no place 
 Whur they haint no livin' face: — 
 'Crost the fields and thue the gaps 
 Of the hills they 's friends, perhaps, 
 Waitin' somers, 'at kin be 
 Kindo' comfertin' to me ! 
 
 Neighbers all is plenty good. 
 Scattered thue this neighberhood ; 
 Yit, of all, I like to jes 
 Drap in on the Wigginses. — 
 Old man, and old lady too, 
 'Pear-like, makes so much o' you — 
 Least, they 've alius pampered me 
 Like one of the fambily. — 
 The boys, too, 's all thataway — 
 Want you jes to come and stay;— 
 Price, and Chape, and Mandaville, 
 Poke, Chasteen, and "Catfish Bill"— 
 
IV HAT CHRISTMAS FETCHED THE IVIGGIhlSES. 157 
 
 Poke 's the runt of all the rest, 
 But he 's jes the beatinest 
 Little schemer, fer fourteen, 
 Anybody ever seen! — 
 "Like his namesake," old man claims, 
 "Jeems K. Poke, the first 0' names! 
 Full 0' tricks and jokes — and you 
 Never know what Poke '5 go' do ! " 
 Genius, too, that-air boy is, 
 With them awk'ard hands 0' his; 
 Gits this blame pokeberry-juice, 
 Er some stuff, fer ink — and goose- 
 Quill pen-p'ints : And then he '11 draw 
 Dogdest pictures yevver saw! 
 Er make deers and eagles good 
 As a writin '-teacher could ! 
 Then they 's two twin boys they 've riz 
 Of old Coonrod Wigginses 
 'At 's deceast — and glad of it, 
 'Cause his widder 's livin' yit! 
 
 Course the boys is mostly jes' 
 Why I go to Wigginses.— 
 Though Melviney, sometimes, slie 
 Gits her slate and algebry 
 And jes' sets there ciphern' thue 
 Sums old Ray hisse'f caint do! — 
 
158 WHAT CHRIS'MAS FETCHED THE WIGGINSES. 
 
 Jes' sets there, and tilts her chair 
 Forreds tel, 'pear-lil<e, her hair 
 Jes' sptlls in her lap — and then 
 She jes' dips it up again 
 With her hands, as white, I swan. 
 As the apern she 's got on ! 
 
 Talk o' hospitality!— 
 
 Go to Wigginses with me — 
 
 Overhet, or froze plum thue. 
 
 You '11 find welcome waitin' you : — 
 
 Th'ow out yer tobacker 'fore 
 
 You set foot acrost that floor, — 
 
 " Got to eat whatever 's set — 
 Got to drink whatever 's wet!" 
 Old man's sentimuns — them 's his— 
 And means jes the best they is ! 
 Then he lights his pipe ; and she, 
 The old lady, presen'ly 
 She lights her'n ; and Chape and Poke. 
 I haint got none, ner don't smoke, — 
 (In the crick afore their door— 
 Sorto so 's 'at I 'd be shore — 
 Drownded mine one night and says 
 
 "I won't smoke at IVtggmsesJ") 
 Price he 's mostly talkin' 'bout 
 Politics, and "thieves turned out"— 
 
WHAT CHRISTMAS FETCHED THE IVIGGINSES. 159 
 
 What he 's go' to be, ef he 
 
 Ever "gits there"— and "we'll see!" — 
 
 Poke he 'lows they 's blame few men 
 
 Go' to hold their breath tel then ! 
 
 Then Melviney smiles, as she 
 
 Goes on with her algebry. 
 
 And the clouds clear, and the room 's 
 
 Sweeter 'n crabapple-blooms ! 
 
 (That Melviney, she' got some 
 
 Most surprisin' ways, I gum! — 
 
 Don't 'pear like she ever saj/s 
 
 Nothin', yit you '11 Msten jes 
 
 Like she was a-talkin', and 
 
 Half-way seem to understand, 
 
 But not quite, — Poke does, I know, 
 
 'Cause he good as told me so, — 
 
 Poke 's her favo-rite ; and he — 
 
 That is, confidentially— 
 
 He's my favo-rite — and I 
 
 Got my whurfore and my why!) 
 
 I haint never ben no hand 
 
 Much at talkin', understand. 
 
 But they 's thoughts 0' mine 'at 's jes 
 
 Jealous 0' them Wigginses ! — 
 
 Gift 0' talkin 's what they' got. 
 
 Whether they want to er not.— 
 
i6o IVHAT CHRISTMAS FETCHED THE IVIGGINSES. 
 
 F'r instunce, start the old man on 
 Huntin'-scrapes, 'fore game was gone, 
 'Way back in the Forties, when 
 Bears stold pigs right out the pen, 
 Er went waltzin' 'crost the farm 
 With a bee-hive on their arm ! — 
 And — sir, ping! the old man's gun 
 Has plumped over many a one, 
 Firin' at him from afore 
 That-air very cabin-door! 
 Yes — and painters, prowlin' 'bout, 
 Alius darkest nights. — Lay out 
 Clost yer cattle. — Great, big red 
 Eyes a-blazin' in their head, 
 Glittern' 'long the timber-line — 
 Shine out some, and then zm-shlne, 
 And shine back — Then, stiddy! whizz! 
 'N there yer Mr. Painter is 
 With a hole bored spang between 
 Them-air eyes! Er start Chasteen, 
 Say, on blooded racin'-stock, 
 Ef you want to hear him talk ; 
 Er tobacker — how to raise. 
 Store, and k-yore it, so 's she pays : 
 The old lady— and she '11 cote 
 Scriptur' tel she '11 git yer vote ! 
 
JVHAT CHRIS'MAS FETCHED THE IVIGGINSES. i6i 
 
 Prove to you 'at wrong is right, 
 Jes as plain as black is white : 
 Prove when you 're asleep in bed 
 You 're a-standin' on yer head, 
 And yer train 'at 's goin' West, 
 'S goin' East its level best; 
 And when bees dies, it's their wings 
 Wears out— and a thousand things! 
 And the boys is "chips," you know, 
 "Off the old block"— So I go 
 To the Wigginses, 'cause — jes 
 'Cause I like the Wigginses — 
 Even ef Melviney she 
 Hardly 'pears to notice me ! 
 
 Rid to Chinkypin this week — 
 Yisterd'y.— No snow to speak 
 Of, and didn't have no sleigh 
 Anyhow; so, as I say, 
 I rid in — and froze one ear 
 And both heels— and I don't keer! — 
 " Mother and the girls kin jes 
 Bother 'bout their Chris'mases 
 Next time fer theirse'vs, I jack ! " 
 Thinks-says-I, a-startin' back, — 
 Whole durn meal-bag full of things 
 Wropped in paper-sacks, and strings 
 
t62 IVHAT CHRISTMAS FETCHED THE IVIGGINSES. 
 
 Liable to snap their holt 
 
 Jes at any little jolt! 
 
 That in front o' me, and wind 
 
 With nicks in it, 'at jes skinned 
 
 Me alive ! — I 'm here to say 
 
 Nine mile' hossback thataway 
 
 Would a-walked my log ! But, as 
 
 Somepin' alius comes to pass, 
 ' As I topped old Guthrie's hill, 
 
 Saw a buggy, front the 'Still, 
 
 P'inted home'ards, and a thin 
 
 Little chap jes climbin' in. 
 
 Six more minutes I were there 
 
 On the groun's! — And course it were— 
 
 It were little Poke — and he 
 
 Nearly fainted to see me! — 
 " You ben in to Chinky, too ? " 
 " Yes ; and go' ride back with you," 
 
 I-says-I. He he'pped me find 
 
 Room fer my things in behind — 
 
 Stript my hoss's reins down, and 
 
 Put his mitt' on the right hand 
 
 So 's to lead— " Pile in!" says he, 
 " But you 've struck pore company!" 
 
 Noticed he was pale — looked sick, 
 
 Kindo-like, and had a quick 
 
IVHAT CHRIS'MAS FETCHED THE IVIGGINSES. 163 
 
 Way 0' flickin' them-air eyes 
 O' his roun' 'at didn't size 
 Up right with his usual style — 
 S' I, "You well?" He tried to smile, 
 But his chin shuck and tears come. — 
 "I've run 'Ftnej> 'way from home!" 
 
 Don't know jes what all occurred 
 Next ten seconds — Nary word, 
 But my heart jes drapt, stobbed thue, 
 And whirlt over and come to. — 
 Wrenched a big quart bottle from 
 That fool-boy ! — and cut my thumb 
 On his little fiste-teeth— helt 
 Him snug in one arm, and felt 
 That-air little heart 0' his 
 Churn the blood 0' Wigginses 
 Into that old bead 'at spun 
 Roun' her, spilt at Lexington! 
 His k'niptions, like enough, 
 He'pped us both, — though it was rough- 
 Rough on him, and rougher on 
 Me when last his nerve was gone. 
 And he laid there still, his face 
 Fishln' fer some hidin'-place 
 Jes a leetle lower down 
 In my breast than he 'd yit foun' ! 
 
i64 WHAT CHT{IS'MAS FETCHED THE IVIGGINSES. 
 
 Last I kindo' soothed him, so 's 
 He could talk. — And what you s'pose 
 Them-air revelations of 
 Poke's was? ... He 'd ben writin' love- 
 Letters to Melviney, and 
 Givin her to understand 
 They was from "a young man who 
 Loved her," and— "the violet's blue 
 'N sugar's sweet" — and Lord knows what! 
 Tel, 'peared-like, Melviney got 
 S' interested in "the young 
 Man," Poke he says, 'at she brung 
 A' answer onc't fer him to take, 
 Statin' "she'd die fer his sake," 
 And writ fifty xs "fer 
 Love-kisses fer him from her!" 
 I was standin' in the road 
 By the buggy, all I knowed 
 When Poke got that fer. — " That 's why," 
 Poke says, " I 'fessed up the lie — 
 Had to — 'cause 1 see," says he, 
 " 'Viney was in airnest — she 
 Cried, too, when I told her. — Then 
 She swore me, and smiled again. 
 And got Pap and Mother to 
 Let me hitch and drive her thue 
 
IVHAT CHT{IS'MAS FETCHED THE IVIGGINSES. 165 
 
 Into Chinkypin, to be 
 At Aunt 'Rindy's Chris'mas-tree — 
 That's to-night," Says I, "Poke — durn 
 Your lyin' soul! — 's that beau 0' hern — 
 That — she — loves — Does he live in 
 That hellhole 0' Chinkypin ? " 
 
 " No," says Poke, " er 'Viney would 
 Went some other neighberhood." 
 
 "Who is the blame whelp?" says I. 
 
 "Promised 'Viney, hope I 'd die 
 Ef I ever told ! " says Poke, 
 Pittiful and jes heart-broke — 
 
 " 'Sides that 's why she left the place, — 
 'She caint look him in the face 
 Now no more on earth ! ' she says. — " 
 And the child broke down and jes 
 Sobbed ! Says I, " Poke, I p'tend 
 T' be jyou7' friend, and your Pap's friend, 
 And your Mother's friend, and all 
 The bofs^ friend, little, large and small— 
 The whole fambiiys friend — and you 
 Know that means Melvhief, too. — 
 Now— you hush yer troublin' !— 1 'm 
 Go' to he'p friends ever' time — 
 On'y in this case, jyou got 
 To he'p me — and, like as not 
 
1 66 IVHAT CHRISTMAS FETCHED THE IVIGGINSES. 
 
 I kin he'p Melvlney then, 
 And we'll have her home again. 
 And now, Poke, with your consent, 
 I 'm go' go to that-air gent 
 She 's in love with, and confer 
 With him on his views o' her. — 
 Blast him ! give the man some show. — 
 Who is he? — Pm go' to know I'''' 
 Somepin' struck the little chap 
 Funny, 'peared-like. — Give a slap 
 On his leg — laughed thue the dew 
 In his eyes, and says: "//'s^ow.'" 
 
 Yes, and — 'cordin' to the last 
 Love-letters of ours 'at passed 
 Thue his hands — we was to be 
 Married Chris'mas. — " Gee-mun-«^^ / 
 Poke," says I, "it's suddent—y'xi 
 We hin make it! You're to git 
 Up tomorry, say, 'bout three — 
 Tell your folks you 're go' with me ; — 
 We '11 hitch up, and jes drive in 
 'N take the town o' Chinkypin ! " 
 
GO, IVWTER. 167 
 
 GO, WINTER! 
 
 GO, Winter ! Go thy ways ! We want again 
 The twitter of the bluebird and the wren ; 
 Leaves ever greener growing, and the shine 
 Of Summer's sun — not thine, — 
 
 Thy sun, which mocks our need of warmth and love 
 And all the heartening fervencies thereof, 
 It scarce hath heat enow to warm our thin 
 Pathetic yearnings in. 
 
 So get thee from us ! We are cold, God wot. 
 Even as thou art. — We remember not 
 How blithe we hailed thy coming. — That was O 
 Too long^too long ago ! 
 
 Get from us utterly ! Ho ! Summer then 
 Shall spread her grasses where thy snows have been, 
 And thy last icy footprint melt and mold 
 In her first marigold. 
 
i68 ELIZABETH. 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 May I, i8gi. 
 
 I. 
 ■pLIZABETH! Elizabeth! 
 ■'— ' The first May-morning whispereth 
 Thy gentle name in every breeze 
 That lispeth through the young-leaved trees, 
 New raimented in white and green 
 Of bloom and leaf to crown thee queen ; — 
 And, as in odorous chorus, all 
 The orchard-blossoms sweetly call 
 Even as a singing voice that saith 
 Elizabeth ! Elizabeth ! 
 
 II. 
 
 Elizabeth! Lo, lily-fair, 
 
 In deep, cool shadows of thy hair, 
 
 Thy face maintaineth its repose.— 
 
 Is it, O sister of the rose. 
 
 So better, sweeter, blooming thus 
 
 Than in this briery world with us? — 
 
 Where frost o'ertaketh, and the breath 
 
 Of biting winter harrieth 
 With sleeted rains and blighting snows 
 All fairest blooms— Elizabeth ! 
 
ELIZABETH. 169 
 
 III. 
 
 Nay, then ! — So reign, Elizabeth, 
 Crowned, in thy May-day realm of death! 
 Put forth the scepter of thy love 
 In every star-tipped blossom of 
 The grassy dais of thy throne! 
 Sadder are we, thus left alone, 
 But gladder they that thrill to see 
 Thy mother's rapture, greeting thee. 
 Bereaved are we by life— not death — 
 Elizabeth ! Elizabeth ! 
 
170 SLEEP. 
 
 SLEEP. 
 
 ORPHANED, I cry to thee: 
 Sweet sleep !_ O kneel and be 
 A mother unto me ! 
 
 Calm thou my childish fears : 
 Fold — fold mine eyelids to, all tenderly, 
 And dry my tears. 
 
 Come, Sleep, all drowsy-eyed 
 And faint with languor, — slide 
 Thy dim face down beside 
 
 Mine own, and let me rest 
 And nestle in thy heart, and there abide, 
 A favored guest. 
 
 Good night to every care, 
 
 And shadow of despair! 
 
 Good night to all things where 
 
 Within is no delight ! — 
 Sleep opens her dark arms, and, swooning 
 there, 
 
 I sob: Good night — good night! 
 
DAN PA IKE. 171 
 
 DAN PAINE. 
 
 /^LD friend of mine, whose chiming name 
 ^-^ Has been the burthen of a rhyme 
 Within my heart since first I came 
 To know thee in thy mellow prime; 
 With warm emotions in my breast 
 That can but coldly be expressed, 
 And hopes and wishes wild and vain, 
 I reach my hand to thee, Dan Paine. 
 
 Tn fancy, as I sit alone 
 
 In gloomy fellowship with care, 
 I hear again thy cheery tone. 
 And wheel for thee an easy chair; 
 And from my hand the pencil falls — 
 My book upon the carpet sprawls, 
 As eager soul and heart and brain. 
 Leap up to welcome thee, Dan Pain 
 
 A something gentle in thy mein, 
 
 A something tender in thy voice. 
 Has made my trouble so serene, 
 I can but weep, from very choice. 
 And even then my tears, I guess. 
 Hold more of sweet than bitterness. 
 And more of gleaming shine than rain. 
 Because of thy bright smile Dan Paine. 
 
172 DAN PAINE. 
 
 The wrinkles that the years have spun 
 
 And tangled round thy tawny face, 
 Are kinked with laughter, every one. 
 And fashioned in a mirthful grace. 
 And though the twinkle of thine eyes 
 Is keen as frost when Summer dies, 
 It can not long as frost remain 
 While thy warm soul shines out, Dan Paine. 
 
 And so I drain a health to thee:— 
 May merry Joy and jolly Mirth 
 Like children clamber on thy knee, 
 And ride thee round the happy earth ! 
 And when, at last, the hand of Fate 
 Shall lift the latch of Canaan's gate, 
 And usher me in thy domain, 
 Smile on me just as now, Dan Paine. 
 
OLD JVINTERS ON THE FARM. 17^ 
 
 OLD WINTERS ON THE FARM 
 
 T HAVE jest about decided 
 
 ■■■ It 'ud keep a town-hoy hoppin' 
 
 Fer to work all winter, choppin' 
 Fer a' old fire-place, like / did! 
 Lawz ! them old times wuz contrairy !— 
 
 Blame backbone 0' winter, 'peared-like, 
 
 JVouldfi't break ! — and I wuz skeerd-like 
 Clean on into Fehuary ! 
 
 Nothin' ever made we madder 
 Than fer Pap to stomp in, layin' 
 On a' extra fore-stick, sayin' 
 
 **Grown'hog's out and seed his shadder!" 
 
174 ^T UTTER LOAF. 
 
 AT UTTER LOAF. 
 
 I. 
 
 A N afternoon as ripe with heat 
 -**• As might the golden pippin be 
 With mellowness if at my feet 
 
 It dropped now from the apple-tree 
 
 My hammock swings in lazily. 
 
 II. 
 
 The boughs about me spread a shade 
 That shields me from the sun, but weaves 
 With breezy shuttles through the leaves 
 
 Blue rifts of skies, to gleam and fade 
 Upon the eyes that only see 
 Just of themselves, all drowsily. 
 
 III. 
 
 Above me drifts the fallen skein 
 Of some tired spider, looped and blown, 
 
 As fragile as a strand of rain, 
 Across the air, and upward thrown 
 By breaths of hayfields newly mown — 
 
 So glimmering it is and fine, 
 
 I doubt these drowsy eyes of mine. 
 
AT UTTER LOAF. 175 
 
 IV. 
 
 Far-off and faint as voices pent 
 In mines, and heard from underground, 
 
 Come murmurs as of discontent, 
 And clamorings of sullen sound 
 
 The city sends me, as, I guess, 
 
 To vex me, though they do but bless 
 
 Me in my drowsy fastnesses. 
 
 V. 
 
 I have no care. I only know 
 
 My hammock hides and holds me here 
 
 In lands of shade a prisoner: 
 While lazily the breezes blow 
 
 Light leaves of sunshine over me. 
 And back and forth and to and fro 
 
 I swing, enwrapped in some hushed glee, 
 
 Smiling at all things drowsily 
 
176 A LOUKIGER. 
 
 A LOUNGER. 
 
 T TE leant against a lamp-post, lost 
 
 ^ ^ In some mysterious reverie: 
 
 His head was bowed ; his arms were crossed ; 
 
 He yawned, and glanced evasively : 
 Uncrossed his arms, and slowly put 
 
 Them back again, and scratched his side — 
 Shifted his weight from foot to foot. 
 
 And gazed out no-ward, idle-eyed. 
 
 Grotesque of form and face and dress, 
 
 And picturesque in every way — 
 
 A figure that from day to day 
 Drooped with a limper laziness ; 
 
 A figure such as artists lean, 
 
 In pictures where distress is seen, 
 Against low hovels where we guess 
 
 No happiness has ever been. 
 
A SONG OF LONG AGO. 177 
 
 ^ A SONG OF LONG AGO. 
 
 A SONG of Long Ago : 
 Sing it liglitly — sing it low- 
 Sing it softly — like the lisping of the lips we 
 
 used to know 
 When our baby-laughter spilled 
 From the glad hearts ever filled 
 With music blithe as robin ever trilled ! 
 
 Let the fragrant summer-breeze, 
 
 And the leaves of locust-trees, 
 
 And the apple-buds and blossoms, and the 
 
 wings of honey-bees, 
 All palpitate with glee. 
 Till the happy harmony 
 Brings back each childish joy to you and me. 
 
 Let the eyes of fancy turn 
 
 Where the tumbled pippins burn 
 
 Like embers in the orchard's lap of tangled 
 
 grass and fern, — 
 There let the old path wind 
 In and out and on behind 
 The cider-press that chuckles as we grind. 
 
1 78 A SONG OF LONG AGO. 
 
 Blend in the song the moan 
 
 Of the dove that grieves alone, 
 
 And the wild whir of the locust, and the 
 
 bumble's drowsy drone ; 
 And the low of cows that call 
 Through the pasture-bars when all 
 The landscape fades away at evenfall. 
 
 Then, far away and clear, 
 
 Through the dusky atmosphere. 
 
 Let the wailing of the kildee be the only 
 
 sound we hear : 
 O sad and sweet and low 
 As the memory may know 
 Is the glad-pathetic song of Long Ago! 
 
THE CHAhIT OF THE CROSS-BEARING CHILD. 179 
 
 THE CHANT OF THE CROSS-BEARING 
 CHILD. 
 
 T BEAR dis cross dis many a mile. 
 ■*■ O de cross-bearin' chile — 
 De cross-bearin' chile! 
 
 I bear dis cross 'long many a road 
 Wha' de pink ain't bloom' an' de grass done mowed. 
 O de cross-bearin' chile — 
 De cross-bearin' chile! 
 
 Hits on my conscience all dese days 
 Fo' ter bear de cross ut de good Lord lays 
 On my po' soul, an' ter lif my praise. 
 O de cross-bearin' chile — 
 De cross-bearin' chile! 
 
 I 's nigh-'bout weak ez I mos' kin be, 
 Yit de Marstah call an' He say, — " You 's free 
 Fo' ter 'cept dis cross, an' ter cringe yo' knee 
 To no n'er man in de worl' but me!" 
 O de cross-bearin' chile — 
 De cross-bearin' chile! 
 
i8o THE CHANT OF THE CROSS-BEARING CHILD. 
 
 Says you guess wrong, ef I let you guess — 
 Says you 'spec' mo', an'-a you git less : — 
 Says you go eas', says you go wes', 
 An' whense you fine de road ut you like bes' 
 You betteh take ch'ice er any er de res' ! 
 O de cross-bearin' chile — ■ 
 De cross-bearin' chile! 
 
 He build my feet, an' He fix de signs 
 Dat de shoe hit pinch an' de shoe hit bines 
 Ef I on'y w'ah eights an-a wanter w'ah nines; 
 I hone fo' de rain, an' de sun hit shines, 
 An' whilse I hunt de sun, hits de rain I fines. — 
 O-a trim my lamp, an-a gyrd my lines ! 
 O de cross-bearin' chile — 
 De cross-bearin' chile! 
 
 I wade de wet, an' I walk de dry: 
 I done tromp long, an' I done dim high; 
 An' I pilgrim on ter de jasper sky. 
 An' I taken de resk fo' ter cas' my eye 
 Wha' de Gate swing wide an' de Lord draw nigh, 
 An' de Trump hit blow, an' I hear de cry, — 
 "You lay dat cross down by an' by! — 
 O de Cross-bearin' Chile — 
 De Cross-bearin' Chile!" 
 
THANKSGIVING. i8i 
 
 THANKSGIVING. 
 
 LET us be thankful — not only because 
 Since last our universal thanks were told 
 We have grown greater in the world's applause, 
 And fortune's newer smiles surpass the old — 
 
 But thankful for all things that come as alms 
 From out the open hand of Providence: — 
 
 The winter clouds and storms — the summer calms - 
 The sleepless dread — the drowse of indolence. 
 
 Let us be thankful — thankful for the prayers 
 Whose gracious answers were long, long delayed, 
 
 That they might fall upon us unawares. 
 And bless us, as in greater need, we prayed. 
 
 Let us be thankful for the loyal hand 
 That love held out in welcome to our own, 
 
 When love and only love could understand 
 The need of touches we had never known. 
 
 Let us be thankful for the longing eyes 
 That gave their secret to us as they wept, 
 
 Yet in return found, with a sweet surprise. 
 Love's touch upon their lids, and, smiling, slept. 
 
1 82 THANKSGIVING. 
 
 And let us, too, be thankful that the tears 
 Of sorrow have not all been drained away, 
 
 That through them still, for all the coming years, 
 We may look on the dead face of To-day 
 
AUTUMN. 183 
 
 AUTUMN. 
 
 A S a harvester, at dusk, 
 ■**■ Faring down some woody trail 
 Leading homeward through the musk 
 Of may-apple and pawpaw, 
 Hazel-bush, and spice and haw, — 
 So comes Autumn, swart and hale. 
 Drooped of frame and slow of stride, 
 But withal an air of pride 
 Looming up in stature far 
 Higher than his shoulders are; 
 Weary both in arm and limb, 
 Yet the wholesome heart of him 
 Sheer at rest and satisfied. 
 
 Greet him as with glee of drums 
 And glad cymbals, as he comes ! 
 Robe him fair, O Rain and Shine! 
 He the Emperor — the King — 
 Royal lord of everything 
 Sagging Plenty's granary floors 
 And out-bulging all her doors; 
 He the god of corn and wine. 
 Honey, milk, and fruit and oil — 
 Lord of feast, as lord of toil — 
 Jocund host of yours and mine ! 
 
i84 . AUTUMN. 
 
 Ho ! the revel of his laugh ! — 
 
 Half is sound of winds, and half 
 
 Roar of ruddy blazes drawn 
 
 Up the throats of chimneys wide, 
 
 Circling which, from side to side, 
 
 Faces — lit as by the Dawn, 
 
 With her highest tintings on 
 
 Tip of nose, and cheek, and chin — 
 
 Smile at some old fairy-tale 
 
 Of enchanted lovers, in 
 
 Silken gown and coat of mail, 
 
 With a retinue of elves 
 
 Merry as their very selves, 
 
 Trooping ever, hand in hand, 
 
 Down the dales of Wonderland. 
 
 Then the glory of his song! — 
 Lifting up his dreamy eyes — 
 Singing haze across the skies ; 
 Singing clouds that trail along 
 Towering tops of trees that seize 
 Tufts of them to stanch the breeze; 
 Singing slanted strands of rain 
 In between the sky and earth. 
 For the lyre to mate the mirth- 
 
AUTUMN. 185 
 
 And the might of his refrain: 
 Singing southward-flying birds 
 Down to us, and afterwards 
 Singing them to flight again ; 
 Singing blushes to the cheeks 
 Of the leaves upon the trees — 
 Singing on and changing these 
 Into pallor, slowly wrought, 
 Till the little, moaning creeks 
 Bear them to their last farewell, 
 As Elaine, the lovable. 
 Was borne down to Lancelot, — 
 Singing drip of tears, and then 
 Drying them with smiles again. 
 
 Singing apple, peach and grape. 
 
 Into roundest, plumpest shape; 
 
 Rosy ripeness to the face 
 
 Of the pippin ; and the grace 
 
 Of the dainty stamin-tip 
 
 To the huge bulk of the pear, 
 
 Pendant in the green caress 
 
 Of the leaves, and glowing through 
 
 With the tawny laziness 
 
 Of the gold that Ophir knew, — 
 
 Haply, too, within its rind 
 
 Such a cleft as bees may find, 
 
AUTUMN. 
 
 Bungling on it half aware, 
 And wherein to see them sip 
 Fancy lifts an oozy lip, 
 And the singer's falter there. 
 
 Sweet as swallows swimming through 
 
 Eddyings of dusk and dew. 
 
 Singing happy scenes of home 
 
 Back to sight of eager eyes 
 
 That have longed for them to come, 
 
 Till their coming is surprise 
 
 Uttered only by the rush 
 
 Of quick tears and prayerful hush: 
 
 Singing on, in clearer key. 
 
 Hearty palms of you and me 
 
 Into grasps that tingle still 
 
 Rapturous, and ever will ! 
 
 Singing twank and twang of strings — 
 
 Trill of flute and clarinet 
 
 In a melody that rings 
 
 Like the tunes we used to play. 
 
 And our dreams are playing yet! 
 
 Singing lovers, long astray, 
 
 Each to each ; and, sweeter things, — 
 
 Singing in their marriage-day, 
 
 And a banquet holding all 
 
 These delights for festival. 
 
 \ 
 
THE T IV INS. 187 
 
 THE TWINS. 
 
 ONE 'S the pictur' of his Pa, 
 And the other of her Ma— 
 Jes the bossest pair 0' babies 'at a mortal 
 
 ever saw ! 
 And we love 'em as the bees 
 Loves the blossoms of the trees, 
 A-ridin' and a-rompin' in the breeze ! 
 
 One's got her Mammy's eyes — 
 
 Soft and blue as Apurl-skies — 
 
 With the same sort of a smile, like — Yes, and 
 
 mouth about her size, — 
 Dimples, too, in cheek and chin, 
 'At my lips jes wallers in, 
 A-goin' to work, er gittin' home agin. 
 
 And the other — Well, they say 
 
 That he 's got his Daddy's way 
 
 O' bein' ruther soberfied, er ruther extry gay, — 
 
 That he either cries his best, 
 
 Er he laughs his howlin'est — 
 
 Like all he lacked was buttons and a vest ! 
 
THE TIVINS. 
 
 Look at her! — and look at him! — 
 
 Talk about yer " Cheru-&m2 .' " 
 
 Roll 'em up in dreams together, rosy arm 
 
 and chubby limb! 
 O we love 'em as the bees 
 Loves the blossoms of the trees, 
 A-ridin' and a-rompin' in the breeze! 
 
BEDOUIN. 189 
 
 BEDOUIN. 
 
 OLOVE is like an untamed steed! — 
 So hot of heart and wild of speed, 
 And with fierce freedom so in love, 
 The desert is not vast enough, 
 With all its leagues of glimmering sands, 
 To pasture it! Ah, that my hands 
 Were more than human in their strength. 
 That my deft lariat at length 
 Might safely noose this splendid thing 
 That so defies all conquering ! 
 Ho! but to see it whirl and reel — 
 The sands spurt forward — and to feel 
 The quivering tension of the thong 
 That throned me high, with shriek and song! 
 To grapple tufts of tossing mane — 
 To spurn it to its feet again, 
 And then, sans saddle, rein or bit, 
 To lash the mad life out of it! 
 
ipo TUGG MARTIN. 
 
 TUGG MARTIN. 
 
 I. 
 
 'yUGG Martin's tough— No doubt o' that! 
 * And down there at 
 
 The town he come from word 's bin sent 
 Advisin' this-here Settle-ment 
 To kindo' humor Tugg, and not 
 To git him hot. — 
 Jest pass his imperfections by, 
 And he 's as good as pie ! 
 
 II. 
 
 They claim he 's wanted bacl< there. — Yit 
 
 The officers they mostly quit 
 Inststin' when 
 
 They notice Tugg's so back'ard, and 
 
 Sorto' gives 'em to understand 
 He druther not! — A Deputy 
 (The slickest one you ever see !) 
 
 Tackled him last — "disguisin' then," 
 
 As Tugg says, "as a gentlemen!" — 
 You'd ort o' hear T^igg tell \t\—AfyJ 
 I thought I 'd di'e .' 
 
TUGG MARTIN. 191 
 
 III. 
 
 The way it wuz : — Tugg and the rest 
 
 The boys wuz jest 
 A-kindo' gittin' thawed out, down 
 At "Guss's Place," fur-end 0' town, 
 One night, when, first we knowed. 
 
 Some feller rode 
 Up in a buggy at the door, 
 And hollered fer some one to come 
 
 And fetch him some 
 Red-licker out — And whirped and swore 
 That colt he drove wuz " Thompson's'^ shore! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Guss went out, and come in agin 
 
 And filled a pint and tuck it out — 
 Stayed quite a spell— then peeked back in, 
 Half-hid-like where the light wuz dim. 
 And jieuked his head 
 At Tugg and said, — 
 "Come out a minute — here's a gent 
 
 Wants you to take a drink with him," 
 
192 TUGG MARTIN. 
 
 V. 
 
 Well — Tugg laid down his cards and went — 
 In fact, we all 
 
 Got up, you know, 
 Star tin'' to go — 
 When in reels Guss aginst the wall, 
 
 As white as snow, 
 Gaspin', — "He's tuck Tugg! — IVher's my gun?' 
 
 And-sir, outside we heerd 
 The hoss snort and kick up his heels 
 
 Like he wuz skeerd. 
 And then the buggy-wheels 
 Scrape — and then Tugg's voice hollerun', — 
 '7'm bested! — Good-hye, fellers!'''' . . . 'Peared 
 S' all-fired suddent. 
 Nobody couldn't 
 Jest git it fixed, — tel hoss and man, 
 
 Buggy and Tugg, off through the dark 
 Went like the devil beatin' tan- 
 Bark ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 What could we do? . . . We filed back to 
 The bar : And Guss jest looked at us, 
 And we looked back "The same as you," 
 
TUGG MARTIN. 193 
 
 Still sajyin' nothln' — And the sap 
 It stood in every eye, 
 And every hat and cap 
 Went off, as we teched glasses solemnly, 
 
 And Guss says-he : 
 "Ef it's 'good-bye' with Tugg, fer shore, — I say 
 
 God bless him ! — Er ef they 
 
 Aint railly no need to pray, 
 I 'm not reniggin'' — board 's the play, 
 And here 's God bless him, anyway ! " 
 
 VII. 
 It must a-bin an hour er so 
 We all set there, 
 Talkin 0' pore 
 
 Old Tugg, you know, 
 'At never wuz ketched up before — 
 When — all slow-like — the door- 
 Knob turned — and Tugg come shamblin' in. 
 Hand-cuffed! — 'at's what he wuz, I swear! — 
 
 Yit smilin,' like he hadn't bin 
 Away at all ! And when we ast him where 
 The Deputy wuz at,— "I don't know wA^r^," Tugg 
 said, — 
 
 "All / know is— he's dead." 
 
194 LET US FORGET. 
 
 LET US FORGET. 
 
 T ET us forget. What matters it that v/e 
 
 •*— ' Once reigned o'er happy realms of long-ago, 
 
 And talked of love, and let our voices low. 
 And ruled for some brief sessions royally? 
 What if we sung, or laughed, or wept maybe? 
 
 It has availed not anything, and so 
 
 Let it go by that we may better know 
 How poor a thing is lost to you and me. 
 
 But yesterday I kissed your lips, and yet 
 Did thrill you not enough to shake the dew 
 
 From your drenched lids — and missed, with no 
 regret, 
 Your kiss shot back, with sharp breaths failing you ; 
 
 And so, to-day, while our worn eyes are wet 
 
 With all this waste of tears, let us forget ! 
 
JOHN ALDEN AND PERCILLY. 195 
 
 JOHN ALDEN AND PERCILLY. 
 
 \1 7E got up a Christmas-doin's 
 "'^ Last Christmas Eve — 
 Kindo' dimonstration 
 
 'At I railly believe 
 Give more satisfaction — 
 
 Take It up and down — 
 Than ary Intertainment 
 
 Ever come to town ! 
 
 Railly was a theater — 
 
 That 's what it was, — 
 But, beln' In the church, you know, 
 
 We had a "Santj/ Clause^' — 
 So 's to git the old folks 
 
 To patternlze, you see, 
 And back the instltootlon up 
 
 Kindo' morally. 
 
 Schoolteacher writ the thing — 
 
 (Was a friend 0' mine). 
 Got it out 0' Longfeller's 
 
 Pome "Evangeline"— 
 Er some'rs — 'bout the Purituns — . 
 
 ^«^way, the part 
 "John Alden " fell to me— 
 
 And learnt it all by heart! 
 
196 JOHl^ ALDEN AND PERCILLY. 
 
 Claircy was " Perctlly" — 
 
 (Schoolteacher 'lowed 
 Me and her could act them two 
 
 Best of all the crowd) — 
 Then — blame ef he didn't 
 
 Git her Pap, i jing ! — 
 To take the part o' " Saiitj^ Clause,^' 
 
 To wind up the thing. 
 
 Law ! the fun o' practisun ! — 
 
 Was a week er two 
 Me and Claircy didn't have 
 
 Nothin'-else to do! — 
 Kep' us jes a-meetin' round, 
 
 Kindo' here and there, 
 Ever' night rehearsin'-like, 
 
 And gaddin' ever'where! 
 
 Game was wo'th the candle, though !- 
 
 Christmas Eve at last 
 Rolled around. — And 'tendance jes 
 
 Couldn't been su'passed ! — 
 Neighbers from the country 
 
 Come from Clay and Rush — 
 Yes, and 'crost the county-line 
 
 Clean from Puckerbrush! 
 
JOHN ALDEN AND PERCILLY. 197 
 
 Meetin'-house jes trimbled 
 
 As "Old Santy" went 
 Round amongst the childern, 
 
 With their pepperment 
 And sassafrac and wintergreen 
 
 Candy, and " a ball 
 O' popcorn," the preacher 'nounced, 
 
 "Free fer each and all! " 
 
 Schoolteacher suddently 
 
 Whispered in my ear, — 
 "Guess I got you: — Christmas- gift ! — 
 
 Christmas is here ! ' ' 
 I give him a gold pen. 
 
 And case to hold the thing. — 
 And Claircy whispered "Christmas-gift!" 
 
 And 1 give her a ring. 
 
 "And now," says I, "jes watch mt — 
 
 Christmas-gift," says I, 
 "/'jw a-goin' to git one — 
 ^ Santy s^ comin' by!" — 
 Then I rech and grabbed him : 
 
 And, as you '11 infer, 
 'Course I got the old man's, 
 And he gimme her J 
 
198 REACH YOUR HAND TO ME. 
 
 REACH YOUR HAND TO ME. 
 
 REACH your hand to me, my friend, 
 With its heartiest caress — 
 Sometime there will come an end 
 To its present faithfulness — 
 
 Sometime I may ask in vain 
 For the touch of it again, 
 When between us land or sea 
 Holds it ever back from me. 
 
 Sometime 1 may need it so, 
 
 Groping somewhere in the night, 
 It will seem to me as though 
 Just a touch, however light. 
 
 Would make all the darkness day, 
 And along some sunny way 
 Lead me through an April-shower 
 Of my tears to this fair hour. 
 
 O the present is too sweet 
 
 To go on forever thus ! 
 Round the corner of the street 
 Who can say what waits for us? — 
 
 Meeting — greeting, night and day. 
 Faring each the self-same way — 
 Still somewhere the path must end. — 
 Reach your hand to me, my friend! 
 
THE ROSE. 199 
 
 THE ROSE. 
 
 TT tossed its head at the wooing breeze; 
 ^ And the sun, like a bashful swain, 
 Beamed on it through the waving trees 
 
 With a passion all in vain, — 
 For my rose laughed in a crimson glee, 
 And hid in the leaves in wait for me. 
 
 The honey-bee came there to sing 
 His love through the languid hours, 
 
 And vaunt of his hives, as a proud old king 
 Might boast of his palace-towers : 
 
 But my rose bowed in a mockery, 
 
 And hid in the leaves in wait for me. 
 
 The humming-bird, like a courtier gay, 
 Dipped down with a dalliant song, 
 
 And twanged his wings through the roundelay 
 Of love the whole day long: 
 
 Yet my rose turned from his minstrelsy 
 
 And hid in the leaves in wait for me. 
 
THE ROSE. 
 
 The firefly came in the twilight dim 
 
 My red, red rose to woo — 
 Til! quenched was the flame of love in him, 
 
 And the light of his lantern too, 
 As my rose wept with dewdrops three 
 And hid in the leaves in wait for me. 
 
 And I said : I will cull my own sweet rose — 
 
 Some day I will claim as mine 
 The priceless worth of the flower that knows 
 
 No change, but a bloom divine — 
 The bloom of a fadeless constancy 
 That hides in the leaves in wait for me! 
 
 But time passed by in a strange disguise, 
 
 And I marked it not, but lay 
 In a lazy dream, with drowsy eyes. 
 
 Till the summer slipped away. 
 And a chill wind sang in a minor key : 
 "Where is the rose that waits for thee?" 
 
 I dream to-day, o'er a purple stain 
 Of bloom on a withered stalk, 
 
 Pelted down by the autumn rain 
 In the dust of the garden-walk. 
 
 That an Angel-rose in the world to be 
 
 Will hide in the leaves in wait for me. 
 
MY FRIEND. 
 
 MY FRIEND. 
 
 ^^TTE is my friend," I said, — 
 AA "Be patient ! " Overhead 
 The skies were drear and dim ; 
 And lo ! the thought of him 
 Smiled on my heart — and then 
 The sun shone out again ! 
 
 "He is my friend ! " The words 
 Brought summer and the birds ; 
 And all my winter-time 
 Thawed into running rhyme 
 And rippled into song, 
 "Warm, tender, brave, and strong. 
 
 And so it sings to-day. — 
 So may it sing alway ! 
 Though waving grasses grow 
 Between, and lilies blow 
 Their trills of perfume clear 
 As laughter to the ear, 
 Let each mute measure end 
 With "Still he is thy friend." 
 
202 SUSPENSE. 
 
 SUSPENSE. 
 
 A WOMAN'S figure, on a ground of night 
 Inlaid with sallow stars that dimly stare 
 
 Down in the lonesome eyes, uplifted there 
 As in vague hope some alien lance of light 
 Might pierce their woe. The tears that blind her sight- 
 
 The salt and bitter blood of her despair — 
 
 Her hands toss back through torrents of her hair 
 And grip toward God with anguish infinite. 
 
 And O the carven mouth, with all its great 
 Intensity of longing frozen fast 
 
 In such a smile as well may designate 
 The slowly-murdered heart, that, to the last. 
 
 Conceals each newer wound, and back at Fate 
 Throbs Love's eternal lie — " Lo, I can wait!" 
 
THE PASSING OF A HEART. 203 
 
 THE PASSING OF A HEART. 
 
 O TOUCH me with your hands — 
 For pity's sake! 
 My brow throbs ever on with such an ache 
 As only your cool touch may take away ; 
 And so, ! pray 
 
 You, touch me with your hands ! 
 
 Touch — touch me with your hands. — 
 
 Smooth back the hair 
 You once caressed, and kissed, and called so fair 
 That I did dream its gold would wear alway, 
 And lo, to-day — 
 
 O touch me with your hands! 
 
 Just touch me with your hands, 
 
 And let them press 
 My weary eyelids with the old caress. 
 And lull me till I sleep. Then go your way. 
 That Death may say : 
 
 He touched her with his hands. 
 
204 BY HER IVHITE BED. 
 
 BY HER WHITE BED. 
 
 BY her white bed I muse a little space: 
 She fell asleep — not very long ago, — 
 And yet the grass was here and not the snow — 
 The leaf, the bud, the blossom, and — her face ! — 
 Midsummer's heaven above us, and the grace 
 Of Love's own day, from dawn to afterglow ; 
 The fireflies' glimmering, and the sweet and low 
 Plaint of the whip-poor-wills, and every place 
 In thicker twilight for the roses' scent. 
 Then night. — She slept — in such tranquility, 
 I walk atiptoe still, nor dare to weep, 
 Feeling, in all this hush, she rests content — 
 That though God stood to wake her for me, she 
 Would mutely plead: "Nay, Lord! Let him so 
 sleep." 
 
IVE TO SIGH INSTEAD OF SING. 205 
 
 WE TO SIGH INSTEAD OF SING. 
 
 ^^ DAIN and rain! and rain and rain!" 
 ••■^ Yesterday we muttered 
 Grimly as the grim refrain 
 
 That the thunders uttered : 
 All the heavens under cloud — 
 
 All the sunshine sleeping ; 
 All the grasses limply bowed 
 
 With their weight of weeping. 
 
 Sigh and sigh! and sigh and sigh! 
 
 Never end of sighing ; 
 Rain and rain for our reply — 
 
 Hopes half-drowned and dying ; 
 Peering through the window-pane, 
 
 Naught but endless raining — 
 Endless sighing, and, as vain. 
 
 Endlessly complaining. 
 
 Shine and shine ! and shine and shine ! 
 
 Ah! to-day the splendor! — 
 All this glory yours and mine — 
 
 God! but God is tender! 
 We to sigh instead of sing, 
 
 Yesterday, in sorrow, 
 While the Lord was fashioning 
 
 This for our To-morrow ! 
 
2o6 THE BLOSSOMS ON THE TREES. 
 
 THE BLOSSOMS ON THE TREES. 
 
 OLOSSOMS crimson, white, or blue, 
 -*— ' Purple, pink, and every hue, 
 From sunny skies, to tintings drowned 
 
 In dusky drops of dew, 
 I praise you all, wherever found, 
 
 And love you through and through ; — 
 But, Blossoms On The Trees, 
 With your breath upon the breeze. 
 There's nothing all the world around 
 
 As half as sweet as you ! 
 
 Could the rhymer only wring 
 
 All the sweetness to the lees 
 Of all the kisses clustering 
 
 In juicy Used-to-bes, 
 To dip his rhymes therein and sing 
 
 The blossoms on the trees, — 
 "O Blossoms on the Trees," 
 
 He would twitter, trill and coo, 
 " However sweet, such songs as these 
 
 Are not as sweet as you:— 
 For you are blooming melodies 
 
 The ej/es may listen to ! " 
 
A DISCOURAGING MODEL. 207 
 
 A DISCOURAGING MODEL. 
 
 JUST the airiest, fairiest slip of a thing, 
 With a Gainsborough hat, like a butterfly's wing, 
 Tilted up at one side with the jauntiest air, 
 And a knot of red roses sown in under there 
 Where the shadows are lost in her hair. 
 
 Then a cameo face, carven in on a ground 
 Of that shadowy hair where the roses are wound ; 
 And the gleam of a smile O as fair and as faint 
 And as sweet as the masters of old used to paint 
 Round the lips of their favorite saint! 
 
 And that lace at her throat — and the fluttering hands 
 Snowing there, with a grace that no art understands, 
 The flakes of their touches— first fluttering at 
 The bow — then the roses — the hair — and then that 
 Little tilt of the Gainsborough hat. 
 
 O what artist on earth with a model like this. 
 Holding not on his palette the tint of a kiss, 
 Nor a pigment to hint of the hue of her hair, 
 Nor the gold of her smile— O what artist could dare 
 To expect a result half so fair? 
 
2o8 LAST NIGHT— AND THIS. 
 
 LAST NIGHT— AND THIS. 
 
 T AST night — how deep the darkness was ! 
 "— ' And well I knew its depths, because 
 I waded it from shore to shore, 
 Thinking to reach the light no more. 
 
 She would not even touch my hand. — 
 The winds rose and the cedars fanned 
 The moon out, and the stars fled back 
 In heaven and hid — and all was black ! 
 
 But ah! To-night a summons came, 
 Signed with a teardrop for a name, — 
 For as I wondering kissed it, lo, 
 A line beneath it told me so. 
 
 And now — the moon hangs over me 
 A disk of dazzling brilliancy, 
 And every star-tip stabs my sight 
 With splintered glitterings of light! 
 
SEPTEMBER DARK. 209 
 
 SEPTEMBER DARK. 
 
 I. 
 
 THE air falls chill ; 
 The whip-poor-will 
 Pipes lonesomely behind the hill: 
 The dusk grows dense, 
 The silence tense ; 
 And lo, the katydids commence. 
 
 II. 
 
 Through shadowy rifts 
 
 Of woodland, lifts 
 
 The low, slow moon, and upward drifts, 
 
 While left and right 
 
 The fireflies' light 
 
 Swirls eddying in the skirts of Night. 
 
 III. 
 
 O Cioudland, gray 
 
 And level, lay 
 
 Thy mists across the face of Day! 
 
 At foot and head. 
 
 Above the dead, 
 
 O Dews, weep on uncomforted ! 
 
A GLIMPSE OF PAN. 
 
 A GLIMPSE OF PAN. 
 
 T CAUGHT but a glimpse of him. Summer was 
 * here, 
 
 And I strayed from the town and its dust and heat, 
 And walked in a wood, while the noon was near. 
 Where the shadows were cool, and the atmosphere 
 
 Was misty with fragrances stirred by my feet 
 From surges of blossoms that billowed sheer 
 
 O'er the grasses, green and sweet. 
 
 And I peered through a vista of leaning trees, 
 Tressed with long tangles of vines that swept 
 
 To the face of a river, that answered these 
 
 With vines in the wave like the vines in the breeze, 
 Till the yearning lips of the ripples crept 
 
 And kissed them, with quavering ecstacies. 
 And gurgled and laughed and wept. 
 
 And there, like a dream in a swoon, I swear 
 I saw Pan lying, — his limbs in the dew 
 
 And the shade, and his face in the dazzle and glare 
 
 Of the glad sunshine ; while everywhere. 
 Over, across, and around him blew 
 
 Filmy dragonflies hither and there. 
 And little white butterflies, two and two, 
 In eddies of odorous air. 
 
OUT OF NAZARETH. 
 
 "H 
 
 OUT OF NAZARETH. 
 
 E shall sleep unscathed of thieves 
 Who loves Allah and believes." 
 Thus heard one who shared the tent, 
 In the far-off Orient, 
 Of the Bedouin ben Ahrzz — 
 Nobler never loved the stars 
 Through the palm-leaves nigh the dim 
 Dawn his courser neighed to him ! 
 
 He said: "Let the sands be swarmed 
 
 With such thieves as I, and thou 
 Shalt at morning rise, unharmed, 
 
 Light as eyelash to the brow 
 Of thy camel, amber-eyed, 
 Ever munching either side. 
 Striding still, with nestled knees, 
 Through the midnight's oases. 
 
 ' Who can rob thee an thou hast 
 More than this that thou hast cast 
 At my feet— this dust of gold? 
 Simply this and that, all told ! 
 Hast thou not a treasure of 
 Such a thing as men call love? 
 
OUT OF NAZARETH. 
 
 " Can the dusky band I lead 
 Rob thee of thy daily need 
 Of a whiter soul, or steal 
 What thy lordly prayers reveal? 
 Who could be enriched of thee 
 By such hoard of poverty 
 As thy niggard hand pretends 
 To dole me — thy worst of friends? 
 
 Therefore shouldst thou pause to bless 
 One indeed who blesses thee: 
 
 Robbing thee, I dispossess 
 But myself. — Pray thou for me!" 
 
 He shall sleep unscathed of thieves 
 Who loves Allah and believes. 
 
THE IVANDERmC JEW. 213 
 
 THE WANDERING JEW. 
 
 T^HE stars are failing, and the sky 
 *^ Is like a field of faded flowers ; 
 The winds on weary wings go by ; 
 The moon hides, and the temptest lowers ; 
 And still through every clime and age 
 I wander on a pilgrimage 
 That all men know an idle quest. 
 For that the goal 1 seek is— REST ! 
 
 I hear the voice of summer streams, 
 
 And, following, I find the brink 
 Of cooling springs, with childish dreams 
 Returning as I bend to drink — 
 
 But suddenly, with startled eyes. 
 My face looks on its grim disguise 
 Of long gray beard ; and so, distressed, 
 I hasten on, nor taste of rest. 
 
 I come upon a merry group 
 
 Of children in the dusky wood. 
 Who answer back the owlet's whoop. 
 That laughs as it had understood ; 
 And 1 would pause a little space, 
 But that each happy blossom-face 
 Is like to one His hands have blessed 
 Who sent me forth in search of rest. 
 
214 THE JVANDERING JEIV. 
 
 Sometimes I fain would stay my feet 
 In shady lanes, where huddled kine 
 Couch in the grasses cool and sweet, 
 And lift their patient eyes to mine; 
 But I, for thoughts that ever then 
 Go back to Bethlehem again, 
 Must needs fare on my weary quest, 
 And weep for very need of rest. 
 
 Is there no end? I plead in vain: 
 
 Lost worlds nor living answer me. 
 Since Pontius Pilate's awful reign 
 Have I not passed eternity? 
 
 Have I not drank the fetid breath 
 
 Of every fevered phase of death. 
 
 And come unscathed through every pest 
 
 And scourge and plague that promised rest? 
 
 Have I not seen the stars go out 
 
 That shed their light o'er Galilee, 
 And mighty kingdoms tossed about 
 And crumbled clod-like in the sea? 
 Dead ashes of dead ages blow 
 And cover me like drifting snow. 
 And time laughs on as 'twere a jest 
 That I have any need of rest. 
 
LONGFELLOIV. 215 
 
 LONGFELLOW. 
 
 nPHE winds have talked with him confidingly ; 
 •"■ The trees have whispered to him ; and the night 
 
 Hath held him gently as a mother might, 
 And taught him all sad tones of melody: 
 The mountains have bowed to him ; and the sea, 
 
 In clamorous waves, and murmurs exquisite, 
 
 Hath told him all her sorrow and delight — 
 Her legends fair — her darkest mystery. 
 
 His verse blooms like a flower, night and day; 
 Bees cluster round his rhymes ; and twitterings 
 
 Of lark and swallow, in an endless May, 
 Are mingling with the tender songs he sings. — 
 
 Nor shall he cease to sing — in every lay 
 
 Of Nature's voice he sings — and will alway. 
 
2i6 JOHN McKEEN. 
 
 JOHN MCKEEN. 
 
 JOHN McKEEN, in his rusty dress, 
 His loosened collar, and swarthy throat; 
 His face unshaven, and none the less. 
 His hearty laugh and his wholesomeness, 
 And the. wealth of a workman's vote! 
 
 Bring him, O Memory, here once more, 
 
 And tilt him back in his Windsor chair 
 By the kitchen-stove, when the day is o'er 
 And the light of the hearth is across the floor, 
 And the crickets everywhere! 
 
 And let their voices be gladly blent 
 
 With a watery jingle of pans and spoons, 
 And a motherly chirrup of sweet content. 
 And neighborly gossip and merriment. 
 And old-time fiddle-tunes! 
 
 Tick the clock with a wooden sound. 
 
 And fill the hearing with childish glee 
 Of rhyming riddle, or story found 
 In the Robinson Crusoe, leather-bound 
 Old book of the Used-to-be ! 
 
JOHN McKEEN. 217 
 
 John McKeen of the Past! Ah, John, 
 
 To have grown ambitious in worldly ways ! — 
 To have rolled your shirt-sleeves down, to don 
 A broadcloth suit, and, forgetful, gone 
 Out on election days ! 
 
 John, ah, John ! did it prove your worth 
 To yield you the office you still maintain? 
 
 To fill your pockets, but leave the dearth 
 
 Of all the happier things on earth 
 To the hunger of heart and brain ? 
 
 Under the dusk of your villa trees, 
 
 Edging the drives where your blooded span 
 Paw the pebbles and wait your ease, — 
 Where are the children about your knees. 
 And the mirth, and the happy man? 
 
 The blinds of your mansion are battened to ; 
 
 Your faded wife is a close recluse ; 
 And your "finished" daughters will doubtless do 
 Dutifully all that is willed of you. 
 
 And marry as you shall choose! — 
 
 But O for the old-home voices, blent 
 
 With the watery jingle of pans and spoons, 
 And the motherly chirrup of glad content, 
 And neighborly gossip and merriment. 
 And the old-time fiddle-tunes ! 
 
2i8 THEIR SIVEET SORROIV. 
 
 THEIR SWEET SORROW. 
 
 THEY meet to say farewell : Their way 
 Of saying this is hard to say.— 
 He holds her hand an instant, wholly 
 Distressed — and she unclasps it slowly. 
 
 He bends hts gaze evasively 
 
 Over the printed page that she 
 Recurs to, with a new-moon shoulder 
 Glimpsed from the lace-mists that enfold her. 
 
 The clock, beneath its crystal cup. 
 Discreetly clicks— " 0?«c^.' ^d! Speak up!'" 
 
 A tension circles both her slender 
 
 Wrists — and her raised eyes flash in splendor, 
 
 Even as he feels his dazzled own. — 
 Then, blindingly, round either thrown. 
 They feel a stress of arms that ever 
 Strain tremblingly— and ''''Never! Never!" 
 
 Is whispered brokenly, with half 
 
 A sob, like a belated laugh, — 
 While cloyingly their blurred kiss closes. 
 Sweet as the dew's lip to the rose's. 
 
SOME SCATTERING REMARKS OF BUB'S. 219 
 
 SOME SCATTERING REMARKS OF BUB'S. 
 
 WUNST I tooked our pepper-box lid 
 An' cut little pie-dough biscuits, I did, 
 And cooked 'em on our stove one day 
 When our hired girl she said I may. 
 
 Honeys the goodest thing — Oo-ooh ! 
 And blackberry-pies is goodest, too ! 
 But wite hot biscuits, ist soakin'-wet 
 Wiv tree-mullasus, is goodest yet! 
 
 Miss Maimie she's my Ma's friend, — an' 
 She's purtiest girl in all the Ian' ! — 
 An' sweetest smile an' voice an' face — 
 An' eyes ist looks like p'serves tas'e' ! 
 
 I ruiher go to the Circus-show; 
 But, 'cause my parimts told me so, 
 1 ruther go to the Sund'y School, 
 'Cause there I learn the goldun rule. 
 
 Say, Pa, — what is the goldun rule 
 'At 's alius at the Sunday School ? 
 
MR. IVHATS-HIS-NAME. 
 
 MR. WHAT'S-HIS-NAME. 
 
 T^HEY called him Mr. What's-his-name : 
 * From where he was, or why he came, 
 Or when, or what he found to do, 
 Nobody in the city knew. 
 
 He lived, it seemed, shut up alone 
 
 In a low hovel of his own ; 
 
 There cooked his meals and made his bed. 
 
 Careless of all his neighbors said. 
 
 His neighbors, too, said many things 
 Expressive of grave wonderings, 
 Since none of them had ever been 
 Within his doors, or peered therein. 
 
 In fact, grown watchful, they became 
 Assured that Mr. What's-his-name 
 Was up to something wrong — indeed. 
 Small doubt of it, we all agreed. 
 
 At night were heard strange noises there. 
 When honest people everywhere 
 Had long retired; and his light 
 Was often seen to burn all night. 
 
MR. IVHArS-HIS-NAME. 
 
 He left his house but seldom — ^^then 
 Would always hurry back again, 
 As though he feared some stranger's knock, 
 Finding him gone, m.ight burst the lock. 
 
 Beside, he carried, every day. 
 At the one hour he went away, 
 A basket, with the contents hid 
 Beneath its woven willow lid. 
 
 And so we grew to greatly blame 
 This wary Mr. What's-his-name, 
 And look on him with such distrust 
 v^His actions seemed to sanction just. 
 
 But -C^en he died — he died one day — 
 Dropped in the street while on his way 
 To that old wretched hut of his — 
 You '11 think it strange — perhaps it is — 
 
 But when we lifted him, and past 
 The threshold of his home at last, 
 No man of all the crowd but stepped 
 With reverence, — Aye, quailed and wept! 
 
 What was it? Just a shriek of pain 
 I pray to never hear again — 
 A withered woman, old and bowed. 
 That fell and crawled and cried aloud— 
 
MR. WHAT'S-HIS-NAME. 
 
 And kissed the dead man's matted hair — 
 Lifted his face and kissed him there — 
 Called to him, as she clutched his hand, 
 In words no one could understand. 
 
 Insane? Yes. — Well, we, searching, found 
 An unsigned letter, in a round 
 Free hand, within the dead man's breast: 
 " Look to my mother — / ^m at rest. 
 
 ' You '1 find my money safely hid 
 Under the lining of the lid 
 Of my work-basket. It is hers, 
 And God will bless her ministers ! " 
 
 And some day — though he died unknown — 
 If through the City by the Throne 
 I walk, all cleansed of earthly shame, 
 I '11 ask for Mr. What's-his-name. 
 
IVHEN AGE COMES ON. 223 
 
 WHEN AGE COMES ON. 
 
 WHEN Age comes on ! — 
 The deepening dusk is where the dawn 
 Once glittered splendid, and the dew 
 In honey-drips, from red rose-lips 
 
 Was kissed away by me and you. — 
 And now across the frosty lawn 
 Black foot-prints trail, and Age comes on— 
 And Age comes on ! 
 And biting wild-winds whistle through 
 Our tattered hopes— and Age comes on ! 
 
 When Age comes on !^ 
 
 O tide of raptures, long withdrawn. 
 
 Flow back in summer-floods, and fling 
 Here at our feet our childhood sweet. 
 
 And all the songs we used to sing !... 
 Old loves, old friends — all dead and gone — 
 Our old faith lost — and Age comes on — 
 And Age comes on ! 
 
 Poor hearts ! have we not anything 
 But longings left when Age comes on? 
 
224 ENVOY. 
 
 <6 
 
 ENVOY. 
 
 TUST as of old! The world rolls on and on; 
 ^ The day dies into night — night into dawn — 
 Dawn into dusk — through centuries untold. — 
 Just as of old. 
 
 Time loiters not. The river ever flows, 
 Its brink or white with blossoms or with snows ; 
 Its tide or warm with Spring or Winter cold: 
 Just as of old. 
 
 Lo ! where is the beginning, where the end 
 Of living, loving, longing? Listen, friend ! — 
 God answers with a silence of pure gold — 
 Just as of old. 
 
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