Book -( D^T ^ CopiglitN?. IS^ COPYRIGHT DEPOSIIV Three Senses -By Cari C, Countryman Part I. Good Sense Part II. Incense Part III. Nonsense VRESEMTATIOJW E "D I T I O JW LYCEUMITE PRESS LIBRARY of CONGRESS Two Copies Received JAN 6 1909 CopyriK.it jtntry CLASS OU XXc, No :^PvVi3 /9aS COPYRIGHT CARL C COUNTRYMAN 1898-1908 'i^ Contents Page Part I — Good Sense. I Hain't Got No Home 11 Sold an' Gone 18 The Work of God 24 The Man That Walks 26 Query on Man 29 Consecration . . : 31 God Is Love 32 Dead, But the World Moves On 34 Success 36 A Hymn 37 Ode Three 38 New Year's Resolves 39 Part II — Incense. Baby Mine 43 Ode Four 45 Aniorosa Carmina Collegialia 47 Ode Seven 50 Ode One 51 Ode Two 54 Ode Twelve 56 Ode Five 57 The Prettiest Woman 58 An Acrostic 61 Part III — Nonsense. Ethel May 65 Ode Eight 72 "In It" 74 Notes 79 Part I. GOOD SENSE I Hain't Got No Home I'm trav'lin' up and down Through city an' through town, I'm wandrin' here an' there Like a soul that doesn't care Where it's goin' ; I'm hired out to travel Fer my readin' an' recitin' But where I'll be a-goin' After readin' all my writin' I'm not knowin', Fer I hain't got no home. The cyars ar' big an' fine On the finest kind o' line, The enjine's tough an' strong To carry us along To where we're pintin'; The cyars are fixed for sleepin' A-runnin' easy, swift an' light, Their rollin' an' their rockin' Make 'em of all earth's things jest right To spend the night in To the feller ez hain't got no home. n I see along the road The farmers on a load Of straw er hay er grain, An' then I see again Children playin'; I see the winders lighted, Sometimes, when passin' in the night, 'N' I wonder if the children A-kneelin' by the bright home light Think of prayin' Fur fellers ez hain't got no home. I see the medders green, The hosses slick an' clean. An' mules an' pigs an' sheep, 'N' it's mighty hard to keep From cryin' To see the colts a-jumpin' An' the winter wheat a-wavin' As if it hed been thinkin' An' its waves fur me ben %avin'; It's tryin' To a feller ez hain't got no home. 'N' I wanter get off there An' hop inter a pair O' boots an' jump an' run An' hev a pile o' fun An' foller The cows home from the pascher An' feed the pigs and sheep an' hosses. Applause an' all hands clappin' An' even gains ten times the losses Ar' holler To the feller ez hain't got no home. I wanter go each day An' dally 'long the way From school, an' fear at home Thet there'll be sure to come A spankin'; An' chase the turkey gobblers An' own an' name the chickens, Not in my heart a-thinkin' Of feelin' like the dickins Nor rankin* With fellers ez hain't got no home. 13 i wanter go an' play An' mow the hay away An' carry grain in sacks An' pitch the wheat an' flax 'N' oats an' clover; An' sit at home of evenin's Eatin' corn an' nuts an' tellin' Old stories, but all them things — Playin', crackin' jokes an' yellin' — Is all over 'N' I hain't got no home. The hotels where I eat Are neatest kind o' neat, With gas an' steam an' things, An' elevator brings You a-sudden To any floor you're wantin'; Waiters too at meals an' plenty Of grub in thirteen courses. Pies an' cakes an' more than twenty Kinds o' puddin" To tempt the feller ez hain't got no home. 14 But what's the use o' food No matter how so good When you don't never feel A-hungrin' for a meal O' your vittles; I wanter stop this livin', Go back home and hunt the cellar Fur pies an' be a-havin' Bowls o' soup hot for each feller From the kittles; "Twould seem good to the feller ez hain't got no home. An' when I'm old an' gray, My life all gone away An', sick with many ills, Money gone for doctors' bills — Me a-dyin' — My friends will raise me money Fur a place fur me to sleep in; They'll ask "Where's he a-livin'?" An' I'll hear some one a-weepin' An' replyin' He hain't got no home. 15 But when I'm dead an' gone An' when I wake up on A better, brighter shore, Where death can be no more, I'll be a-seein' My mother's robe the whitest An' I'll hear her softly sayin' In tones the very sweetest, I've ben watchin', too, an' prayin' Fur you, bein' My boy thet didn't have no home. Yes, when my knell is rung An' when my dirge is sung 'N' I'm lyin' in the ground, With dead folks all around Me a-moldin'. My friends will raise me money — Folks will quickly stop their fightin' An' build a modest tombstone. On it they will be a-writin' This is holdin' A feller thet didn't hev no home. 16 But he was good an* true An' honest all way through, We're sure thet he will stand Where, in a better land, Skies is meller; Fur he was surely worthy them things An' so we'll stop our weepin' A-trustin' thet our former comrade Who's now so sweetly sleepin' Is a feller Thet hez gone to his best home. 17 Sold an' Gone Sometimes when a feller, dad, Is travelin' all aroun' An' only stoppln' fur a day Or so in any town, Without a home where he can go, Without home joys fur him to know; With strangers all aroun' him, dad, An' tho' they're kind enuff They can't be jest what old friends is Whose friendship's tried and tuff Who've known fur years him and his kin, An' stood by them through thick an' thin. Ah! when a feller's thus ways, dad, The queerest feelin' creeps Right up his back, sometimes, an' down. An' then his old heart leaps Up in his throat — an' achin' comes At seein' others in their homes. It seems as if — if he could see The old homestead again An' wander 'round among the spots In which he hasn't ben Fur years, 'twould ease him of his pain Ef he could see them sights again. 18 Fur there is always places, dad. A feller wants to see, May be a spring, may be a hill. May be an old oak tree, May be a place where he has played. May be a grave in quiet shade. I've wisht to see the old home, dad, Fur many a long, long day, An' thought of places on an' roun' The farm so far away — I've wisht to see the sights again. That I recall to mind so plain. I've wisht to walk along the road From town, an' think of what Adventures fur us little kids Had happened at each spot — The swimmin' pools, the creek, the bridge, The bluffs, the road along the ridge. The fishin' places, rocks an' run — The wat'rin' place — an' stand An' think of what took place there When it was on our land. An' cross the gully in the trees — Tall oaks a-swayin' in the breeze — 19 You jest kin see the old home, dad, An' I have thought so much Thet when I got to that place, dad, I'd stop an' let old thoughts an' such Of childhood's times run through my head, Mem'ries all of hours that's sped. I've thought of how I'd wander roun' An' stop along the way; Why, here I fisht an' here I swum An' here I used to play An' here I killed an old muskrat, Here I did this, here I did that. An' here's the cow paths in the woods. Known but to Roll an' me, An' here's the spring an' here's plum grove An' here's the but'nut tree An' here's the broad, flat roun' That used to be our circus groun'. I can't begin to tell you, dad. The thoughts that cum to me — What nooks an' paths an' dells an' groves 'Twould gladden me to see — A thousand fancies swum before my eyes, A thousand mem'ries such as never dies. A thousand thoughts run through my head Of what I'd do an' say, Of where I'd go and when and hew When I should chance to stay Aroun' the old farm that I was brought up on — The dear old home of ourn that's sold an" gone. I've ben to see the old home, dad; When I stepped off the train 'Twas afternoon an' I was ast to stop In town time an' again. But though they tried with all their might, I'll see the dear old home to-night. An' then I walked along the road An' saw the places where I spoke of, but they ain't the same As when us folks was there; They ain't the same an' yet they be, They don't seem quite the same to me. The bridge is moved four rods up stream. The walnut tree's cut down — The biggest, tallest tree it was In all the country roun' — An' Hamlin's run, where water flowed so cool A-gurglin' down the rocks and made a pool Right in the road, is filled up now. A shute's put in, an' then Right up the gully in plain sight You see a slaughter pen An' house, an' what was once wild-flower beds Is strewed with cattle legs an' horns an' heads; The wat'rin' place ain't used no more, An' where we used to pick Our hazel nuts is cleared off now, An' where they were so thick Corn an' pertaters grow, an' here I stand. But can't jest make it seem like our land. The house an' barn are much the same — Some trees are cut away. The spring's dried out, the path's grown up, But look what side I may I can't see much of any change — An' yet it's strange — it's all so strange. The barn is there, though painted brown. The house has got a stoop Aroun' the south side now. I can't Tell why my spirits droop, An' yet they do; I'm not to blame — The same — the same — yet not the same. 22 I climb the hill an' wander off The way we went to school, An' grit my teeth an' stop my tears — Don't say, dad, I'm a fool — It ain't the old home I've ben on; The old home's sold — yes, sold an' gone. Yes, sold an' gone, an' dead an' gone, An' all I've left is thoughts An' names an' mem'ries dear an' sweet About all precious spots. It ain't the old home I've ben on. The old home's sold — yes, sold an' gone. 23 The Work of God Ah, how illustrious is he Who, in the face of destiny, Pursues an upright course; Who boldly throttles fate's decree, And makes an opportunity What others make a curse. Who sorely is with choler pent — Mayhap with baser passions rent — And fiery, untamed mood; Yet curbs his fury till 'tis spent, And turns his soul's unworthy bent To work his noblest good. Or who, tho poor and lowly born, Exposed to cursed, unrighteous scorn Of all the world beside. In no wise deems himself forlorn, But bravely makes his feelings, torn. Expel unholy, godless pride. Or he, who sprung from those untaught- Almost without the gift of thought — Becomes a learned man; And, when the noble fight is fought. Enjoys the boon that toil hath bought In earth's most cultured clan. 24 Or he who, born 'mid vice and crime In lowest depths of moral slime, And like the earthly clod, Relieves himself of grievous grime, And learns, in acts and thoughts sublime, To honor Christ and God. He who has all this duty done Makes, with his course so nobly run, The world to understand With self-control — a virtue won — Of all the creatures 'neath His sun God's greatest work is man. The Man That Walks To S. L. W. The way is stony, rough and steep; The hills are high, the valleys deep: And stout must be his heart, As people pass of every mind, In vehicle of every kind, Bike, auto, saddle, carriage, cart. By the man that walks. With watchful eye and ready twist. The haughty automobilist Whirls by, nor deigns to sound his gong; Poles, fences, bridges, houses, trees. Stones, holes, two tracks are all he sees, As swiftly whizzes he along Past the man that walks. But when the mountain height he gains And gazes on the far stretched plains, His soul mounts up on joyful wings; No dust-fraught vehicles are here So God and Nature draw more near And up he lifts his voice and sings — Does the man that walks. So in earth's choicest dells and nooks — In peaceful shade, by pearly brooks — On mountain height, in forest glade — Alone, alone, but filled with glee. Alone, alone, with spirit free, 'Mid scenes God's hand alone has laid. Is the man that walks. And when, at length, he reaches town And at the table sits him down With charming gusto he employs The various kinds of wholesome food, Potatoes, meat and all things good Comprise the meal that he enjoys — Of the man that walks. And when, at night, he seeks his rest, He is with sweetest slumbers blest. Whilst prickling care is left behind Till, when he wakes at early dawn, All trace of weariness has gone Refreshed in body, soul and mind. Is the man that walks. What matchless privilege has he God's wondrous universe to see! What wealth of scenery untold! 27 How often on the mountain height The sun's reflected, mellow light Turns all the world to gold — For the man that walks! Receives he many jibes the while But learns to suffer them — and smile- Endure slights lightly — and forgive- He learns to hunger, eat with zest. Be satisfied, tire, sleep, and rest In short, he learns to truly live — Does the man that walks. Query on Man What is man, O God, That Thou art mindful of him And tal^eth heed Unto the voice of his cry? At first the infant, Smail monarch of his little world, Yet fretting and crying The months away. And then, the joyous child. Forgetful of sorrows past And blind to those ahead, Yet whose very joys Become so soon but bitter memories of the past To make the present life more bitter. And then, the thoughtless, careless youth With heights of joy and depths of pain un- speakable In ecstasy of requited love Or throes of disappointment — All soon forgot as he turns his eyes Toward the alluring future When he will achieve Fame, fortune and great happiness. And then long life, Full of turns and changes, Vague hopes, some victories — more defeats- Disappointments, sorrows, pains — Joy and grief Mingled indescribably — Vain aches and wonderings "Who are we?" "Whence came we?" "What purpose serve we?" "Whither are we going?" And after all experiences, death And a soul launched into eternity. And this is all of life — So free and yet so dear. So long and yet so short, So bitter yet so sweet. To those That know thee not. And yet. Thou, God, Wilt bend Thine ear to hear him. To those that call upon Thy name, Thou givest faith to understand And eyes to see This life aright — The brightness of Thy love, The image of Thy countenance. Thy care of what is thine — Thy hand thru all, Leading thru eternal ages The whole wide world to Thee. Consecration Father, hear me while I pray: Turn my heart from sin away. Fix my thoughts on things above, Fill my soul with perfect love. Give me ears thy voice to hear, Give me will that voice to fear; Give me strength that will to do, Give me hands that strength to show. Take me as I am, O Lord, my God, Purge me with thy ever chastening rod; To thy service consecrate Thou me, Draw me ever nearer, nearer Thee. Nearer Thee in every thought of mine. Till my heart is fashioned like to Thine; Grace, strength, love and faith to me impart, Till I'm perfect, Father, as Thou art. 31 God is Lov^ I have wandered afar thru the kingdoms of men, And sought for the world's greatest gift; I have fathomed all secrets that lie in man's ken, The present and past ages' drift. I have traveled abroad as the knights did of old, And feasted on beauty and power; I have revelled in wisdom, and sought and found gold. And dwelt in both hovel and tower. I have tasted of pleasures the whole gamut thru. Appeased fond ambition's great maw; When I wearied of one, I have sought some- thing new, But never my world treasure saw. Then I searched in my heart, and in it was enshrined Man's greatest, best gift from above; And it lies in each heart, mayhap rough, un- refined, Yet there, and its name we call "love." 'Tis the greatest of things in this wide earth below. And in the vast realm that's beyond; Where 'tis given the Lord's deepest secrets to know, There love, purest love, is enthroned. And 'twill rule all our lives and make Heaven appear; Relieve us from error's sad thrall. It will reign over these: Death, Sin, Hell, Hate and Fear, For Love is our God, Lord of all. Dead, But the World Moves on Crepe hangs upon the door, Within is settled deepest gloom — Hushed voices, noiseless steps Pale, trembling lips, a darkened room, A sundered tie, a presence gone — Dead, but the world moves on. Dead but the world moves on! Moves on alike to all; Moves on with smiles and joy; Moves on 'mid death and pall; Moves on nor stops to drop a tear Beside the corpse upon the bier. It may be, quite as people say, " 'Twere best for us that this is true," And yet, it seems, 'twould ease the pain And give us strength to start anew. If but the world would cease its smile And mourn and weep with us awhile. Oh, this world is full of graves! Each heart's a living tomb Of hopes and joys and loves Of which it was the womb Which, when they reach their greatest height, Are struck and shattered in a night. 34 Ah, there are those we'd rather die Than lose, and hopes there are On which we build our future lives; With them, death-struck, we'd rather die by far Than live alone when they are gone — Dead, while the world moves on. But 'tis not ours to choose, oh heart I Ours but to breathe a prayer! Ours but to live manlike 'mid men! Ours but to do and dare! Ours but to dry our eyes and smile — Drive pain out with love the while! Ours but to make a means — not end — Of genius, power, pelf, Affliction, fame or circumstance; Ours but to conquer self; Ours but to use our life's short span To serve our God and fellow man. 35 Success You say the world is rough and hard, my boy, And life a weary uphill road — A struggle in vain and full of pain With an alway increasing load? The world is rough and hard, my boy, And stern the ways of fate. Strife without, within — eternal strife — to win The honors that wait at Labor's gate. So is the marble rough and hard, my boy, And what would you think of one Who ever should, with tools of wood, Keep trying to carve a stone? Take but the chisel, Industry, The mallet. Truth, and above All else beside whate'er betide Strike with the arm of Love. One smile will cut more edges off Than many an injured frown. A laugh of cheer will bring you near To those who else would cast you down. Take Love and Faith and Industry, And laugh and smile and cheer and bless And by your toil thru life's turmoil, Carve on the world's hard stone "Success." A Hymn Oh, heavenly source of light and love — Thou spirit most divine — Pervade my spirit from above, And make thine essence mine. Oh, do I leave stern virtue's path, Or faith or wisdom lack? Ne'er give thou way to grievous wrath- Do thou. Love, bring me back. And do 1 fall or go astray. I may not ask, "Relent": Thou, Justice, wilt assume thy sway Until I may repent. Thus, God of earth and heaven, reign In justice as in love. And banish from the world all pain. All sin and shame remove. 37 Ode Three Were I to choose, dear Berta, a husband for you, I'd seek a man brave, tender, devoted and true. 'Twould not be 'mid proud fashion's bold pomp and vain blare, Nor yet, 'mid wealth's gay, showy enticements and glare; Nay, nay, I would not seek for position or pride Or wealth or power or title for you as a bride. For what are all these for a soul to live on; A flame — nay, flash — nay, twinkle — and then they are gone. What are all these and travel and palace and dome Beside the sweet, calm joy of a dear little home? Nay, not a Croesus, nobleman, nor other than An earnest, honest, loving — yes. God-fearing — man, To bring you peace, contentment, and happi- ness, too, I'd seek if I were choosing a husband for you. 88 New Year's Resolves The old year now ends, The new one begins; Man vows swift amends For last year's sad sins. But the years pass by With no seemly token, And vows e'er so high Are made to be broken. Part II. INCENSE Baby Mine Bit of sunshine, Sky-blue-eyed, Sent from heaven To my side, With us mortals To abide — Mamma's darling. Papa's pride — Baby mine. Fairest beauty Ever spied, Far surpassing All beside; Take papa's knee For a ride; Here and there and Yon we glide — Baby mine. Bit of sweetness. Golden hair; Baby-liKe face. Ah! so fair; No other one Anywhere, Howe'er sweet, Can compare — Baby mine. 43 Dimpled darling — Oh, how rare — Catching people Like a snare; Tiny object Of our care, And none the less Of our prayer — Baby mine. How we love thee None can tell; None can feel but Hearts that swell Like unto ours. And as well In whose own homes Babies dwell — Baby mine. Could we lose thee? Nay, not so! Shouldst thou leave us, We must go; To maturity Wilt thou grow, Bearing that love None can know — Baby mine. Ode Four You've told me, love, "Good-bye, You have not told me why; I cannot leave you yet; But yesterday I hoped to-day Our wedding day to set. But yesterday your smile of love Raised me to heaven above From out the sordid haunts of men; Do not to-day send me away; Nay, love, but smile again. Those eyes, so deep and blue, Have read my love for you No words of mine could tell; Oh, can it be that ne'er on me Those eyes in love shall dwell? Those arms, so soft and white. Have clasped this neck, love, tight; Those lips 'gainst mine have oft been pressed; This heart so true that beats for you Has felt yours answer at my breast. 45 Will ne'er those arms by me be felt? Will ne'er those lips to kisses melt? Your heart an answer give To my heart beat? My love! my sweet! Bid my fond hopes to live. Nay? Then my hopes are vain, My life is doomed to pain; Farewell! if we must part. The love so rare for you I bear, I'll bury in my heart. No stone shall mark its resting place, No time its scar can e'er efface; But in its heart-tomb where No mortal eye aught can descry, My buried love is there. Amorosa Carmina Collegialia (College Love Songs) The Prep Lessons are hard, Dances are few, Honey is sweet, So, too, are you. The Freshman Now let me dream, do let me dream, Of days so short ago When you went out to parties there. And I went, too — your beau! But now I'm here; I've got a girl; Yet often long for home, And when we have vacation, dear, To your sweet arms I'll come. The Sophomore There's the sweetest girl in our town That I have ever seen. Her eyes are like two diamonds. Her face fair to be seen. I long to see her often, now. And in the night I dream Of how I've always gazed upon That brow of purest cream. And when I'm through at college, And clasp her form once more, I'll taste those sweetest roses In the "kiss behind the door." The Junior Now when I'm off at college I am thinking oft of thee; Say, when yon are at the dish pan, Do you ever think of me? I am lonely, Julia, darling, Knowing not what I may do; You, and you alone, relieve me, Write and say you're lonely, too. How the moons are slow in changing, How the days like ages fly; But we still can think beforehand I'll come home by and by. By and by we'll walk together. As we've done so oft before; By and by you, little sweetheart, Shall be mine forever more. 48 The Senior By no vain deception Of mental perception, Which, by the way, is known, I have reached the conception Of my joyful reception When to your arms I've flown. This joyless extension Grows into suspension Making one often groan; This fruitful contention Of inner attention Tells me you're sad and lone. In this, your condition Of awful perdition, Won't you come to my arms? With subtle transition To joyful fruition, We'll live Without alarms. When tender ovation Brings comely flirtation. Forth Cupid sends his darts; A blissful sensation Of our close relation Creeps o'er my heart of hearts. By friendly attraction Or loving reaction You have a warm place there; A longer protraction In bringing distraction Will drive me to despair. Is this the direction Of your sweet selection? Nothing you have to fear; Just make the election To take my protection, You see, I love you, dear. Ode Seven A Valentine Oh, maiden fair, in whose sweet sight All other things are commonplace, And dainty nymphs e'en take their flight With one glance at thy matchless face; Earth's grandest, greatest joy to me would be To steal from thy pure lips a kiss. While sipping nectar such as this, to me Would be eternal, boundless bliss. Ode One To Zetecalian A merry rhyme In shortest time T write — not for offence — So do not chime, With lips sublime, "Oh, come from off the fence." Could I beguile You for a while. My heart would swell and break; Which, should you smile In bonny style, A higher leap would take. But should you frown And throw this down; Should any such betide, With no fair crown My head around, I'm sure I'd suicide. Had I the power For one short hour To sing a new, sweet tune. My head would tower Where starlights flower And strike against the moon. 51 But, woe is me! The fates decree That I should meditate; And thus you see, So void of glee, I scratch my empty pate. There is a gem For diadem More priceless far than purest gold- A rare white gem — The fit emblem Of purity from days of old. This diamond bright, Tho such a sight, Tho crowning jet-black hair, Oh, never might, When in your sight. Seem even passing fair. The roses sweet Our vision greet, Their petals full unfurled; With color meet, With smell replete. They ravish all the world. 52 But, oh, the fame They ne'er can claim — This tribute is but due — From them as same, And very tame, All eyes are turned on you. Oh, could my pen, I wail again, A worthy tribute bring, The sons of men Would ne'er again Dare to attempt to sing. My fame would spread, Ere I was dead. To Jupiter and Mars; And when I'd fled To earthy bed 'Twould reach the farthest stars. Though giving pain, The fact is plain That that is not my place; I'll never gain That honored plane, And so I'll "close my face." 53 Ode Two Had I the power of Jupiter I'd let no finite hand deter Me from service proud or mean To her so fair — past all compare — Whom I fain would make my queen. I'd bid my vassals linger nigh By day and night with jealous eye And wave all care aside, That no alarm or earthly harm Should e'er my love betide; And genii, gods, goddesses and all. Should ever wait upon her beck and call. Ten thousand thousand fairy hands and feet Should spend their might by day and night To make her every moment calm and sweet. Her slightest want should be supplied, No wish of hers should be denied That could one joy for her complete; From first to last I'd freely cast The universe down at her feet. 54 But yet, alas! 'twas not my fate To be assigned so high a state, For I am but a man; nor can I offer more of worldly store Than almost any other man. I cannot offer gold nor lands, Nor slaves to wait for her commands. But what I can impart — More priceless far than world or star- Is my own manly heart. A philanthropic mind, a heart — a soul — above All habits low of speech or deed — a boundless love — A heart — a soul — a life to her most true — These things I have to give, my vow for her to live — My life — my all — and this I hereby do. 55 Ode Tw^elve Behind each masterpiece of art That meets the soul's demands, Some graceful woman, in her part Of loved or loving, stands. Each sweetest tone, each dearest sight, Each greatest charm of earth. In which mankind doth take delight, In love doth have its birth. Beast, Bird, Fish — every living thing In earth beneath or sky above — Doth each its tender message bring, Hath each its note of love. The lark on lofty pinion soars High o'er earth's sordid throng And, rising, fervently outpours Its love in joyous song. Loud at the early sunrise hour, Speaks out the turtle dove To herald days awakening power And boldly coos its love. The modest lily of the field Puts forth its fragile bloom With sweetness nothing else can yield And breathes its love in sweet perfume, 56 And I gaze into your dear eyes — Blue as the sky above — Hold tightly close the form I prize And gently whisper, "Love!" Ode Five I hoped and dreamed in days of old My heart was live and blithe and free But love formed hopes and dreams of gold, Crushed, changed to aches and pains to me. Those hopes and dreams and aches and pains Of languored days long spent and sped Are gone, as snows upon the plains. Are gone for aye — my heart is dead. Thus thought I, conning the Siren's part- Deceptive, shallow, fickle, vain — But your sweet, gentle, guileless heart Has roused my own to life again. Again I hope, again I dream, again I build my castles, wondrous fair, And fondly prophesy times when You are undisputed mistress there. 67 The Prettiest Woman To Miss Helen Gould. I see the blamedest feller, Bob, Down to Calkinses' last night, To the Baptist people's sociable; You can bet that he was right. My, but he could speak an' play an' sing- Whistle like a bird er anything. Of all the faces that he made When he went to speak a piece. He'd act an' talk an' look jest like Dutchy Kraut er Mike Gillease, Man er woman er what he saw fit — Got us to laughing like to split. But he was awful common, Bob, When he found out I had ben In Cuby, ast me all about Boys he'd knowed an' where an' when We hed fit an' how it all was done, Made me feel as if I was some one. He got to talkin' 'bout the girls. Said as how his wife must be The prettiest woman in the world Then we argued fur to see Who is the prettiest woman anywhere — No two persons named the same one there. 58 One said that Mrs. Cleveland is, One said Cleopatra, one Said Lillian Russell, one Queen Bess, One Martha Washington, Venus, Ada Rehan and some more That I'd never heard about before. An' finally, they turned to me. Said, "Well, Pete, what do you think?' An' Johnny White turned right around, Grinned an' give a little wink. Said as how he knowed as how I'd say Saidee Trott was prettiest any day. But when they got their laff all out, I jest straightened up an' said, "These folks is good enough but yet. Of all women live or dead, Prettiest ever walked beneath the sun, I tell you that Helen Gould's the one." "If I was paintin' angels, now I can tell you what, I'd make Them all like Helen Gould. I'd put Her face everywhere; I'd take Off the Liberty Statue's stone head. Put on Helen Gould's sweet face instead. "Folks say Jay Gould was awful bad But they must mistook the man; Such good can't come from so much bad — Don't see how it ever can. I'll jest lay my pile that we don't know How er where he made his dollars go." "Now, if I worshipped statues, folks, I'd want her face on mine, An' on the coins an' everything — That's the end of my hull line." Then who'd speak right up but old John White — Said, "I reckon mebby Pete's 'bout right." 60 An Acrostic "W — ill you be my bride," I — asked my love one day, "L — et me live for you, L — ove, tell me that I may." I — heard the answer sweet A — nd tho the word I'll not repeat M — arriage followed at an early day. A — las 'twas not for aye — N — or long e'er we parted, my wife and I, D — ivorce was granted by and by. E — ver 'tis the things we've lost M — ake the greatest void, 'tis said, M — y heart and hers within a year A — gain were towards each other led. G — o bid the guests to come U — p to the second marriage feast A — nd let them see the splicing of the bond Y — ou never more will see released. 61 Part III. NONSENSE Ethel May 'Tain't every feller that you see Has got as pert a sis as me, Fer Sue's as smart as she can be. She's ben to college quite a spell, An' shows up there 'mongst 'em right well. Fer readin' Lating, Greek an' such, An' talkin' Spanish, French an' Dutch, She simply can't be beat, I'll swear; An' as fer that planner there. You'd think, to hear the old thing tear 'Twould get right up an' rip an' rare. An' she a-sittin' calmly there As if she didn't never care What her fingers did, nor where they went, An' they a-goin' lickety blinkin' bent Till the old pianner everythin' but splits An' she gives a couple partin' bangs an' quits. Oh, she's the sweetest girl in town, Or in the country all aroun'; An' when we go to church, well, well. If I don't cut the biggest swell; I never look at country people, But keep a-gazin' at the steeple — 'N'at Sal Jones, the gal I used ter spark An' hug an' kiss of evenin's arter dark Till Tom White cut me out— I stick 65 My nose up mighty high an' quick When she looks 'round, an' gaze at space As if I'd never seed her face; An' while the preacher talks about our sins All 1 think of is, "Sue an' me's twins." O' course Sue's got a chum away At school; her name is Ethel May; She's comin' out to visit here — 'Cuz Sue wentihome with her last year — An' stay at least three weeks; An' now she up an' speaks An' says she'll come this afternoon — I didn't 'spect her quite so soon. I'll skin to Miller's in a hurry An' borry their spick span new surrey, An' bring our racin' colts aroun'. An' show Miss Ethel — an' the town — That when I'm slicked up in my best I hold my head up with the rest. I'll talk off to her kind o' bluff An' make her think I'm just the stuff. Sue says she's awful smart, But course she'd take her part. I'll notice her enough to show Fer love of Sue, I'll gladly go Her friends and schoolmates, too; But, course, they're not "in it" with Sue. In every place, by day or night, Sue an' me's jest "out of sight." It's gettin' 'long the time o' day Fer me to go an' meet Miss May. I guess I'll ride awhile about An' when the train's a-pullin' out I'll drive along up to the landin', Close by the spot where she'll be standin' An' turn the rig a little bit As if I didn't care a whit Fer what she said er done, an' say, "I s'pose that this is Ethel May; I can't get out there, I'll be beat. But jump right in the hinder seat. These colts is feelin' good ter-day, An' when they get a little gay It's all a feller wants ter do To tend ter them. My sister Sue Didn't have no time to come to town, An' so I thought I'd drive aroun';" An' then I'll give her lots of guff, An' fill her up with piles of stuff About the town an' everythin' We see along until we bring Up home. I'll fool her, I'll allow. Gosh! there's her train a-comin' now. Whoa, Bill! whoa, Bess! Steady there! Don't you go to rip an' rare! I wonder if that's her a-talkin' 67 With the agent? Now she's walkin' Right down this way. What was it I Was goin' to say to her? Myl my! I can't think o' nuthin'. "Yep, I'm Jim. Sue's to home." I never felt so slim! An' there, she's dim right in with me; Should think she'd have nuff sense to see The hinder seat is just her place. But, now, I'll look once at her face — Red hair; golly! reddish, sandy skin — Pretty, is she? That's too gol durned thin! There, she saw me lookin'! Get up, there. Bill an' Bess! Gee whiz! Get up! I swear! Can't you move along? I wonder What time it is? Two-ten. Thunder! What is it makes my head itch so? I never saw this team so slow. What time did I say it was? Oh, yes. Can't remember anything, I guess. Well, here we are home. Ain't I glad! An' still, it makes me awful mad That she's ben talkin' all the way 'N'l couldn't think of "nit" to say. Well, what's the "diff?" Here goes to do The chores, an' pickin' cherries, too. ***** Three weeks gone by — it doesn't seem Three days. I didn't never dream How fast time flew, nor that I'd give a cent How long she stayed with us or when she went. But now she's really gone. Well, I'll be beat! She isn't pretty, but she's awful sweet. An' pop, he says — the slickest thing of all — As I can go to college in the fall. ;{: * * 4; 4: Three short years have passed away — Doesn't seem more than a day — Since I entered college, and yet, really, now, I'm a Senior. It is grateful, I'll allow, And passing pleasant just to know How changed I am from that ago. Sue says Miss May is coming soon — Now, really, 'tis this afternoon. I'll get a rig and man, and dress To kill, and slightly make her guess That I'm a dude. I'll curl my beard And get my monocle all geared To eighty-eight; sling on more dog than All others with coachman, footman And everything beside to take Her 'round, and home, and make Her feel surprised. Right now it's time To go prepare for eyes sublime. ***** 'Awnd this is shuah Miss May? Aw, me! Baw Jowve! Ahm awful glawd to see Yuh! Jawn, help the lady in. Gad! thwee twooly yeahs it's been Since you wuh heah, and you aw not Changed by a single, tiny dot. Sue'll be awful glad to know That you've come, awnd you cawnot go Befaw a month. Now, Jawn, don't dwive So vewy fast, me mon alive." Now, I'm running a great bluff; She don't like that kind of stuff; But, seeing that I have begun, I'm bound to have a mint of fun. Home so soon? How time does glide When you're sitting side by side With her in whom you take most pride; How short does seem each carriage ride. And I've been talking all the way homeward, While she's been silent, thinking very hard. I've met a few girls in my day, But never other half so gay. Two weeks have gone, and all too fast. Another visit almost past. "Gowing home to-morrow? Now, Miss May, Aw you weally shuah you cawnot stay The month out? Well, if we must pawt, I want to say befaw you stawt That I'm no fool, and hence no dude, Altho for fun, you see, I've stood The role two weeks; so here goes my 70 Monocle from out my eye, This stiff sky-scraper off my throat — I can't say I did ever dote On them. But now I want to say, Just for your ears, sweet Ethel May, In my big loving eyes you're worth The most of any girl on earth; So say the word, and I will come. When through at school to bring you home 'Tis said! One kiss! Yes — two! three! four! And yet, so sweet, a dozen more! There, there, you smile — the deed is done — In one short year we two'll be one. 71 Ode Eight Through Linden, when the sun was low, I passed, a year and more ago; And there — oh, heart; why flutter so? I met a charming maiden. Summer went and autumn came; At A , in teacher's meeting tame, Once more, with joy, I met the same Bewitching, laughing maiden. Another summer came our way, When once upon a sorry day, I met a man whose homestead lay In Linden near that maiden. I said I knew a maiden there — A maiden sweet — a maiden rare. That day, I learned to my despair, A man would wed that maiden. Oh, fatal day whene'er we met! O day how much more fatal yet That made her someone else's pet, That self same naughty maiden. 72 O, Linden, girt with many hills! O, Linden, free from business ills! O, Linden, full of tucks and frills! The home of charming maidens. But Linden, sorrow not for me, For my bold happy heart you see Is from snares and meshes free, Of all designing maidens. Yes, gone are all those aching pains, And now I search where Cupid reigns, And seek for Beauty, Wealth and Brains, In one adored, sweet maiden. 73 *'In If* The rich man stood in his parlor door A thing he'd often done before — And spurned the agents of the poor. He wasn't "in it." They asked him to give of his great wealth To those who had neither gold nor health. "They'd a-had it if they'd sense to win it." And he wasn't "in it." And so with charities, churches and things, He grunts and smiles to himself as he sings, "I'll stop a-givin' before I begin it." So he wasn't "in it." Past the hospital door on a cold winter's day Went a hearse in which a rich coffin lay, Whose draping had taken weeks to spin it. He was "in it." A soul had knocked at heaven's gate; St. Peter sternly said to wait While he looked in his record book — it took but a minute. For he was "in it." Quoth St. Peter, "You've made a great sell, For you've bought a ticket straight to — well, Your elevator goes down in a minute. He was "IN IT." 74 NOTES NOTES My indulgent friend: — I have such a horror of long prefaces that. I have not attempted to do anything in the way of a preface but ap- pend this chronicle of observations and inci- dents in the form of notes so that they will be out of the way of all but the specially interest- ed. By producing these, I hope to save the labors of the posthumous commentator. With- out further explanation let us proceed. '*I Hain*t Got No Home** was begun during the summer after I was out of college. Work was continued for a year and the final transcript made, I think, late in 1894. A number of persons to whom I submitted the manuscript thought it very creditable and I was encouraged to send a copy to Current Literature. It was, however, returned with printed thanks. I think I submitted it to Mc- Clure's also, with the same result. After this I laid the manuscript away with the idea that perhaps it was not much good anyway. Two years later, however, I took it out and read it again. Being struck with it, I immediately committed it to memory. I think the first time I gave it in public was at Athol, Mass. I at- tended a meeting of the Executive Committee of the Christian Endeavor of tlie First Congre- gational Church of that city and recited the poem. This resulted in my reading it again at the public program I gave for the same soci- ety shortly afterward. It also resulted in my having an edition of 500 copies of the poem struck off. These I kept for sale during the next year. About this time I made my first professional trip to the middle west and visited Lodi, Wis. I had with me my manuscript of this poem and while calling on a young lady read her what I had written. She received it with such responsive feeling that I immediately wrote at the top, "Dedicated to Nettie M. Mills," and handed her the original manuscript. I was further encouraged while visiting Albert Lea the following summer or early fall of 1898 when I read the poem to a school friend of mine, Mrs. Bert Clements, who was quite poetically inclined, being a friendly rival of mine in school days. She said of the poem that it was like Riley only so much better than Riley ever wrote. Comparisons are odious — but this one coming when it did, as it did and whence it did was very grateful to me. From that time the i)oem has met with a great deal of favor wherever I have read it. It has been i 80 called the greatest American dialect poem and a large number of other most complimentary things have been said. Altho I feel most thankful for all of these and full of hope that others may enjoy the lines, I am not ready to reproduce any of the comments here but desire to have the verses stand on their own merits with each hearer or reader. I have been asked if the poem referred to myself. To a large extent it does. Since 1894, when my father left Perry, X. Y., we have had no settled place of abode and I have had no place that could be properly termed a home. The wife of a relative once, after hearing me read the poem, said with tears in her eyes that their home was always open to me and I have been pleased to accept their hospitality on two or three occasions. After a visit to Geneva, N. Y., I received the following verses from one of the auditors: With a most humble apology to Mr. Carl C. Countryman. To the Y. M. C. A. Where they had a gay Young man to entertain them, Two girls in gray Went out one day For fun, and who can blame them? 81 "Now," said the young man, As the laughter rang, "I've some poems for sale if you wish them." But the maids — they knew — 'Twas sad but true. That they would have to miss them. So the maid with a curl, A brown-eyed girl. There was nothing there to screen them; Just looked with woe At her companion, oh, For they hadn't a cent between them. Epilogue. Our homes are not complete. Our ways — not always sweet — We want that book before we vow to mend them; And please will you Those poems do Right up and straightway send them To Blanche M. Wintzer, 4 Park Place, Geneva, N. Y. After hearing me recite the poem in Buffalo, N. Y., a lady said, "Why, Mr. Countryman, with your capabilities and your opportunities, I should not think you would find it hard to find a young lady to make a home for you." "Alas, madam," I replied, "appearances are 82 very deceiving. You never can tell from the looks of a toad how far he can't jump." "Perhaps," continued the lady, "you are too particular." "That may have something to do with the case," I responded, "but the fact is Them as I want I can't get and them as I can get, the devil himself wouldn't have." I told a young lady that once and she said, "Mr. Countryman, that's not true. You under- estimate yourself." I related this incident to another young lady who remarked' "Opinions differ." •*Sold an' Gone" I am unable to place exactly the period of this poem. I think it was produced during 1895-'96. The theme was, of course, suggested by our old home in the woods at Iowa Palls, where my life from the ages of seven to four- teen years was spent and to which I was nat- urally very much attached. We, my brother and I, left with a firm determination to buy it back some day. I was the first of the family to view it again in the winter of 1892-'93, when I spent my Senior Christmas vacation there. The feelings that arose in my breast are best described in the verses of the poem. While I have not used "Sold an' Gone" so much I think it has been accorded atDout the same re- ception as "I Hain't Got No Home." **The Work of God" Which I consider of greatest merit of any of these poems, was also written during the years 1903-"04. I had several persons in view in writing this, notably a Prof. Bishop, for- merly of Perry, N. Y., now of Buffalo State Normal school, who rose by his unaided efforts from poverty, Rev. A. J. Canfield, D. D., then of Chicago, now of Worcester, Mass., our won- derful presidents, Washington and Lincoln, the former because he bridled his own fierce pas- sion, and the latter because he rose from the lowest obscurity to such position — not rela- tively but intrinsically. Times are when all the fates seem to work against man — when he seems to be without a friend and those to whom he naturally looks for support and encouragement fail him most. Illustrious indeed is he who doggedly — or bet- ter, persistently — labors on not only in spite of discouragements but makes those very hard- ships and rebuffs and discouragements instru- ments toward building up his manhood. He must indeed be near to God, who "maketh the wrath of man to praise Him." It is a proverb that "He who serves most abjectly rules most haughtily." How many people rise from servile positions to press most hardly on those beneath them. How many say in their anger, "If ever I have power I'll use it." How illustrious then is he who "makes his feelings, torn, expel unholy. God- less pride!" who makes his swelling heart the reservoir of human sympathy to be called into use when he has acquired distinction and power. It is a common circumstance that some mem- ' ber of a family usually considered not more than half bright, shows unusual intellectual capacity. A clergyman of western New York once told this story in regard to a prominent clergyman of his denomination: Some years ago in the village of Cortland, N. Y., lived a certain lad highly esteemed for his brightness and character. The good friends urged that he enter the ministry, pointing out that he must become a great ornament to that profession. Finally he was persuaded to enter the divinity school. At the same time a not overly bright scion of a half-witted family voluntarily concluded to enter the same school. Of course, he received little encouragement, but he persisted. A^ter following the two through the wanderings of a quarter century or more, my friend concluded: "Now the dull boy is occupying one of the most prominent pulpits of the denomination while the brilliant boy is preaching in some obscure parish in Massachusetts." All this is very commendable indeed, but he who springs from those apparently without moral perception to become a good man achieves the greatest success and he who ac- complishes all these things — has learned to master self completely — is unquestionably the greatest work of God. ♦'The Man That Walks" These verses were partially written during my 2,000 mile tramp from Chicago to Portland, Me., and thence to Washington, D. C, in the summer of 1908, and completed during my election visit to Chicago that fall. This ex- plains the opportunity and the inspiration. "Query on Man" This screed was written about 1897, I think, though I find no date on the manuscript and I cannot locate it exactly. When preparing for this edition of the book I searched for the copy and finally found it. I do not know what to call it. I suppose I may as well say "Prose poem" and let it go at that. It ought to stimulate thought at least. "Consecration" and "God is Love" I think these must have been written in the 5'ear 1900. I remember I had them put in typewriter type in Buffalo in the fall of 1901 and sent them to a music writer to have set to music, but I was not ready to meet the financial requirements at that time, conse- quently nothing came of it. "Dead. But the World Moves On" This was written in the spring of 1899, with the exception of the last stanza. I sent it thus to my mother after the death of my dear brother, Rollin, in August of that year, and she gave the criticism that it seemed to her in- complete, so I added the last stanza. "Success" This poem was written, I think, in 1899, though it may have been a little earlier or a little later. I believe I sent it to Success Mag- azine but it was returned unharmed and was accompanied by a delicate little printed slip so familiar to the eyes of budding genius (?). 87 **A Hymn" I believe this poem was composed about 1896. I think no special occasion gave rise to its production. **Ode Three** On the occasion of my visit to Lodi, Wis., in 1897, after an absence of seven years, I was requested by an old friend. Miss Berta Chris- tier, to write a poem in her honor. This is the result. •*Ne'sv Year's Resolves Was written in my diary in 1897 and when I gathered the material for "Three Senses," I considered this poem fit to be included. It seems that one must feel a little melancholy at the close of a year unproductive of the hopes he carried in his breast at the begin- ning and hence this rather doleful tone, true as it may be to life. PART II.-INCENSE *'Baby Mine'* While visiting at Newell, la., in the winter of 1896-'97, a few verses of this poem rang in my ears in my early waking moments. Hastily jotting them down I returned from breakfast and finished the poem. This I contributed to that week's issue of the Newell Mirror. "Ode Four" Ode four was written in the spring of 1898 at Lodi, Wis. I had in mind the story of a lad I knew east who was engaged to be married to one of the girls of town. But a new school teacher came to town and the girl left her lover for the chance of capturing the school teacher, failing in the attempt. The two had been together since youth and as both seemed to be very affectionate, the townspeople had approved the match. But it was a sad blow to the young man. I could but feel for him. "Amorosa Carmina Collegialia" I had something of this kind in view during my college course, after hearing an essay or poem written by Ben Jones, a fellow student, in something the same style. It was started I think before I left college but not completed till the summer afterwards. •*Ode Seven** This was written on the occasion of a val- entine party in Lodi, Wis., in 1897. **Ode One*' At nearly the close of my senior year in college or in the spring of 1893, our young Indies' literary society, the Zetecalian, being about to celebrate their quarter century anni- versary, asked me through its president, my classmate, Louise Bradford, if I would write some verses for the occasion. I complied and began the work, but the function was post- poned and finally given up entirely. During the summer following I finished the verses. "Ode Two'* This poem was begun in Minneapolis in the spring of 1898, in honor of a young lady whose name I have forgotten. It was continued at Horton, la., during the summer and trium- phantly completed in the fall at Osage, la., in honor of a charming but vain and fickle maid named Marie Ewartson, who entranced me but failed to keep faith with me. Though cut quite deeply I recovered presently to laugh heartily at my passion. "Ode Twelve'* This ode was written in the spring of 1908 with no particular person in view though I be- lieve I did when I completed it intend to hand it to a certain coy lass in Chicago whom I had accompanied to one or two places. I left the last word of the last stanza blank and wrote below: "Give me the chanst and I'll show you." I never handed her the poem. **Ode Five" In numbering these little bits, I have fol- lowed the adroit and illustrious example of the Latin bard, Horace. Ode five was written about 1900. I cannot say exactly when. That is, the first part was. In 1904, I spent the summer with father in Arkansas. There I met a college girl named Emma Liffring. I need not enter into a discussion of our rela- tions nor our subsequent brief correspondence. I finally received my letters back and I have them labeled "The love letters of a fool." I wrote the latter part for her. It is surely strange to what idiotic lengths an idle fancy may carry us against our best judgment. But I handed her this poem and another labeled, I think, "Ode Six." I cannot find the manuscript of the latter. **The Prettiest Woman'* This was written in 1901. That fall I sent it to Miss Helen Gould. Whether it ever came to her eye or not I cannot say. At least I heard nothing from her in any way. '*An Acrostic" The room where I lodged in New Haven in 1898 belonged to the establishment of a lady who had divorced her husband about a year before. They were re-married while I was a roomer in the house and I wrote this for their benefit. 92 PART III.-NONSENSE. "Ethel May" A little speech that I use in Introducing this selection to an audience is as follows: "When in college I chanced to be elected to the proud position of class poet. I thought that it was necessary to distinguish myself and the class in some way so I wrote these verses and named them after one of the young ladies in the class who had some of the characteristics of the heroine of these verses. Her first two names were Ethel May. I did not mention the last but that does not make any difference for it has been changed since — altho I was not re- sponsible for the change." I had been thrown more or less into the company of the aforesaid young lady in classes and had a high regard for her. The first I remember of the conception of the poem is saying to my brother jestingly regarding the lady what the hero said regarding the heroine in the last lines of the second part: "She isn't pretty but she's awful nice." The poem was begun in 1895 and completed the follow- ing year. It was first published with "In it" on a leaflet printed, I think, in 1897-'98. 93 **Ode Eight** The Linden referred to is a small village in western New York. In company with a friend of mine, Charles Owen, I drove from Perry to Alexander in the summer of 1894. We stopped at Linden and I met a young lady, Miss Howard. In the fall I attended teachers' institute at Attica and met her again. The poem tells for itself what remains. In the fall of 1895, I gave a reading in Linden and carried these verses with me. I allowed the young lady, now^ married, to read them, but did not read them in public — as she observed, "It was just as well that you didn't." The printer omitted one stanza in the first edition. ♦•In It" I heard Leland T. Powers at the close of an impersonation of David Copperfield read a fragment he said he had clipped from a news- paper. It was something like the above verses. Wishing afterward to have such verses, tho not knowing where to obtain those Mr. Powers recited, and thinking I might possibly improve on them anyway, I wrote "In It." This v;as first printed in my brother's paper, "The Silver Springs Signal," and afterward in the leaflet with Ethel May as before stated. In 94 the first edition one stanza was omitted by the printer. With these notes I leave future editions of "Three Senses" in the hands of my friends, the sometimes critical and sometimes indul- gent public. JAN e V903