' r f A CopightN?_ CORfRIGHT DEPOSm POEMS of WORTH With a PROSE SUPPLEMENT ADAPTED FOR USE IN THE STUDY OF ORAL ENGLISH IN ELEMENTARY SCHOOLS, JUNIOR HIGH SCHOOLS, AND HIGH SCHOOLS. Compiled Especially for Use in the Warren City Schools By MARJORIE B. RICE SUPERVISOR OF THE ORAL EXPRESSION DEPARTMENT OF THE WARREN' CITY SCHOOLS lit I III IK PRINTCRAFT CO., PUBLISHERS, CLEVELAND, OHIO -?ft \\ .ft Copyrighted by Marjorie B. Rice, 1921. JAN -6 1922 ©CI.A653438 - To the pupils of the Warren City Schools, and other institutions of learning, who by the cultivation of speech and the art of Oral Expression become fitted to organize their thoughts and to express themselves by voice and action. To teachers seeking material of worth for literary in- terpretation, and entertainment. To readers desiring to present to the public the most wholesome poetry of the present time. This volume is hereby dedicated by the author. Note The editor acknowledges her indebtedness to the fol- lowing authors and publishers for the use of copyrighted poems : Mrs. Natalia Whitted Price, for the "Patchwork Quilt," from Lyric Prose and Verse. Messrs. D. Appleton & Co. for the poems by William Cullen Bryant. The Bobbs-Merrill Company for the poems by James Whitcomb Riley, and Wallace Bruce Amsbary. Messrs. Houghton Mifflin Company for the poems by Henry W. Longfellow, Alice Cary, Phoebe Cary, James Russell Lowell and John Greenleaf Whittier. The Macmillan Company for the poem by Vachel Lindsay. Dodd Meade & Co for the poems by Paul Laurence Dunbar. Henry Holt & Company for the poem by Margaret Widdemer. George H. Doran Company for the poems by Joyce Kilmer. Harcourt, Brace & Company Inc. for the poems by T. A. Daly. W. B. Conkey Company for the poems by Ella Wheeler Wilcox. Willis Music Co. for the poem by Paul Bliss. Dodge Publishing Company for the poems- by Ed- mund Vance Cooke. Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co. for the poems by Sam Walter Foss. Reilly & Lee Co. for the poems by Edgar A. Guest. Forbes & Company for the poems by Ben King, and Strickland Gilliland. John Lane Company for the poem by Angela Morgan. T. S. Dennison Co. for the poems by Lytton Cox. G. P. Putnam's Sons for the poem by William Henry Drummond. Thomas Y. Crowell Company for the poems by Al- fred Tennyson, Edgar Allan Poe, Robert Burns, Sir Walter Scott, Rudyard Kipling and Burges Johnson. Charles Scribner's Sons for the poems by Robert Louis Stevenson, H. C. Bunner, Henry Van Dyke and Eugene Field. Frederick A. Stokes & Co. for the poem by Alfred Noyes. Harper Bros, for the poem by John D. Wells. Table of Contents Page Oral Expression 1 Breathing Exercises 3 Vocal Energy 3 Oratorical Selections 4 Pronunciation 8 Articulation 8 •Oral Reproduction 10 Current Events 11 Oral Composition 12 Description 12 Narration 13 Exposition 16 Original Stories 17 Improving the Vocabulary 17 Argumentation 18 Debate. 18 Pantomime 21 Extemporaneous Talks 21 Extemperaneous Plays 22 Poems for Oral English in Junior High Schools and High Schools Hamlet's Soliloquy William Shakespeare 23 Seven Ages of Man William Shakespeare 24 Reputation William Shakespeare 24 Mercy William Shakespeare 25 Man William Shakespeare 25 Mother O' Mine Rudyard Kipling IS Mandalay Rudyard Kipling 26 When Earth's Last Picture Rudyard Kipling 30 If '.Rudyard Kipling 30 Verses of Eriendship and Faith Henry Van Dyke 31 The Builders Henry Van Dyke 32 America for Me Henry Van Dyke 33 Solitude Ella Wheeler Wilcox 34 My Ships Ella Wheeler Wilcox 35 Smile Arthur Chamberlain 35 Thanatopsis William Cullen Byrant 36 The Flower of Mending Vachel Lindsay 36 Joyce Kilmer 37 Roofs Joyce Kilmer 37 The House with Nobody in It Joyce Kilmer 38 low 4ngela Morgan 39 Rini; Out Wild Bells -Hired Tennyson 40 The Bugle Sou- lifred Tennyson 41 ng the Bar -Hfred Tennyson 41 Nobility Alice Cary 42 nber I lice Cary 43 The Poet and His Song Paul Laurence Dunbar 44 In Flanders Fields R. IV. Lillard 45 Answer of America Edgar Allen Poe 45 Poems of piortlj m . mi Page Lochinvar ^ Sir Walter Scott 47 Captain! My Captain! Walt Whitman 48 The First Snowfall James Russel Lowell 49 Barbara Frietchie .John Greenleaf Whittier 50 The Barefoot Boy John Greenleaf Whittier 52 Opportunity Sir Walter Scott 54 The Blue and the Gray Francis Miller Finch 55 Daybreak Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 56 Hiawatha's Wooing Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 57 Christmas Bells Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 62 The Village Blacksmith Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 63 The Day is Done Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 64 The Necklace of Pearls Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 65 The Arrow and the Song Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 66 Song Margaret Widdemer 66 A Man's a Man for A' That Robert Burns 67 Breathes There a Man With Soul So Dead.Sz'r Walter Scott 68 Star Spangled Banner Francis Scott Key 68 Independence Bell Anonymous 69 How did you Die Edmund Vance Cooke 71 Somebody's Mother Anonymous 72 Apple Blossoms George Martin 73 The Landing of the Pilgrims Joaquin Miller 74 Columbus Joaquin Miller 75 A Leap for Life Walter Colton 76 Abou Ben Adhem I^eigh Hunt 77 Mrs. Lofty and I Anonymous 77 Your Flag and My Flag '. Wilbur D. Nesbit 78 Little Boy Blue Eugene Field 79 Jim Bludsoe John Hay 80 The Daffodils William Wordsworth 81 Aux Italiens Rober Bulwer Lytton 82 Sacred Selections The Wild White Rose Ellen H. Willis 86 My Master Anonymous 87 The Night Cometh Anonymous 88 The Water Mill Anonymous 89 The Inn that Missed It's Chance Amos R. Wells 91 The House by the Side of the Road Sam Walter Foss 92 In My Father's House Anonymous 93 Poems for Entertainment What the Choir Sang About the New Bonnet. . M. T. Morrison 95 Money Musk Anonymous 96 An Old Sweetheart of Mine James Whitcomb Riley 98 Be the Fellow That Your Mother Thinks Your AveAnonymous . 99 Just for a Girl Anonymous 100 Swinging in the Grape-vine Swing Hubbard T. Smith 100 The Fool and the Little Court Lady Anonymous 101 Bill Mason's Bride Bret Harte 102 :|9oems of ^ortlr Counting Daisy Petals Lytton Cox Marjery Gray Inonymous Hullo Sam W 'alter Foss Home Edgar A. Guest Hum I'm Not Me /Inonymous 1 it for I at Inonymous Highwayman Alfred Noyes Men Pierre r Wallace Bruce Amsbary The Habitant William Henry Drummond The 1 m Gee-Gee Fred Cape irque at Old Ste. Anne Wallace B. Amsbary IV Captaine of De Marguerite Wallace B. Amsbary The Ould Plaid Shawl Anonymous He Wasn't In It inonymous Kentucky Philosophy Harrison Robertson The Smack in School W. P. Palmer In the Usual Way Anonymous Signs of the Times Paul Laurence Dunbar In the Morning Paul Laurence Dunbar Little Brown Baby Paul Laurence Dunbar The Old Front Gate Paul Laurence Dunbar Encouragement Paul Laurence Dunbar Da Farmer T. A. Daly All's Well That Ends Well T. A. Daly Mia Carlotta T. A. Daly Between Two Lovers T. A. Daly The Lonely Honeymood T. A. Daly The Harbinger T. A. Daly Alia for Rosa T. A. Daly Wishes T. A. Daly The New Patriot T. A. Daly 'I illie Olson Anonymous An "If" for Girls Eli°abelh L. Otis Billy He's in Trouhle Anonymous The Turkey's Dream .- Anonymous Her Folks and Hiz'n Ben King If I Can Be by Her Ben King The Pessimist Ben King If I Should Die To-night Ben King Sittin' hy the Fire Anonymous Me an' Pap an' Mother Strickland W. Gillian Finnigin to Flannigan Strickland W. Gillian The Family Group .Strickland W. Gillian The Hired Man Says John D. Wells Mrs M alone and the Censor Edgar A. Guest The Jersey Cow Inonymous Page 03 Poems for Oral Expression Department in Elementary Schools The Wind Robert Louis Stevenson 160 n Children Robert Louis Stevenson 161 I he Cow Robert Louis Stevenson 1M Robert Louis Stevenson 162 The Weaving of tin Flag Lutton Cox I'.. jjjJoems of pJortlj Page One Two Three H. C. Bunner 163 Suppose Phoebe Cary 164 The Sandman Margaret Vandergrift 165 Shopping for Sleep Anonymous 166 Hurrah for the Flag Anonymous 167 The Spicier and the Fly Mary Howitt 167 The Children's Hour Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 169 Hiawatha's Childhood Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 170 The Owl and the Pussy Cat Edward Lear 172 The Flag Goes By Henry Holcomb Bennett 173 The Duel Eugene Field 174 The Night Wind Eugene Field 175 The Sugar Plum Tree Eugene Field 176 Wynken Blynken and Nod .Eugene Field 177 The Raggedy Man James Whitcomb Riley 178 Our Hired Girl James Whitcomb Riley 179 Little Orphant Annie James Whitcomb Riley 180 Only One Mother George Cooper 181 They Didn't Think Phoebe Cary 181 Raining Rrobert Loveman 183 Poems for Fall and Winter Autumn Leaves George Cooper 184 How the Leaves Came Down Susan Coolidge 184 Time Enough Anonymous 185 September Helen Hunt Jackson 186 October's Bright Blue Weather Helen Hunt Jackson 187 October's Party Anonymous 188 Three Little Chestnuts Anonymous 189 Little Snowflakes Anonymous 189 The Frost Hannah F. Gould 190 The Little Kittens Anonymous 191 The Wonderful Weaver George Cooper 192 Poems for Christmas Hang Up the Baby's Stocking Anonymous 193 Christmas Nahun Tate 194 A Visit from St. Nicholas Clement .C Moore 194 O Little Town of Bethlehem Philipps Brooks 196 While Shepherds Watch Their Flocks By Night Margaret Deland 197 Christmas Song Lydia A. C. Ward 198 Poems for Spring A Spring Song ' Anonymous 199 A Laughing Chorus Anonymous 199 Cock Robin and Jenny Wren Anonymour 200 The Burial of Poor Cock Robin Anonymous 203 The Bluebird Emily II. Miller 205 Who Stole the Bird's Nest Lydia M. Childs 205 Pussy Willow Anonymous 207 The Year's at the Spring Robert Browning 208 ^pocma of JBJortlj Page Wishes and Work Anonymous 208 A Quarrel in the Oven Anonymous 208 Lily's Ball Anonymous 209 Spring Song Anonymous 210 Rohert of Lincoln William Cullen Bryant 211 The Chicken's Mistake Phoebe Cary 212 Four Little Clouds Anonymous 213 The F" i rs t Snowdrop Julia M. Dana 214 The Heart of a Seed Anonymous 214 At 1 aster Time Laura E. Richards 215 Three Little Trees Anonymou 216 Come Away Comrades Olive F. Smith 216 An Arbor Day Tree Anonymous 216 Planting the Tree Grace L. Driver 217 The Faries Tea Party Inonymous 217 Washington's Birthday Margaret Songster 218 Poems for Entertainment Mammy's Pickaninny Lucy Dean Jenkins 220 Sister's Best Fellow Joe Lincoln 221 His New Brother Joe Lincoln 222 The Minuet Mary Mapes Dodge 223 Candle-lightin' Time Paul Laurence Dunbar 224 When We Haven't Said Our Prayers Paul Bliss 225 The Patchwork Quilt Natalia Whitted Price 226 Jane Jones Ben King 227 The Doll's Wooing Eugene Field 228 Seein' Things Eugene Fields 229 Jest 'Fore Christmas Eugene Fields 230 A Christmas Kid Anonymous 231 The Dead Doll Anonymous 232 Dolly's Complaint Anonymous 234 The Janitor's Child Anonymous 235 The Boyless Town Anonymous 236 Naughty Zell Anonymous 237 A Boy's Conclusion Anonymous 238 Cookin' Things Burges Johnson 239 Was You liver Spanked Burges Johnson 240 At the Zoo Anonymous 240 My Sore Thumb Burges Johnson 241 If I Was Er Horse Burges Johnson 241 Grandma Pays the Bill Inonymous 242 Growing Indignity Wilbur D. Nesbit 243 The Lost Baby Anonymous 244 When the Minister Comes to Tea Anonymous 245 Wiggly Waggly Polliwog Inonymous 246 M.i and the Auto Edgar A. Guest 247 Practising Time Edgar A. Guest 248 Caster (»il Eds^ar A .Guest 249 A Fellar's Hat Ed^ar A. Guest 249 Bud Discusses Cleanliness Ed^ar A. Guest 250 The Fidgets Strickland W. Gillilan 251 Tin- Crooked Window Lane Strickland W. Gilliland 252 The Scapegoat Inonymous 253 JInems of pWifj Page The Moo-Cow-Moo Edmund Vance Cooke 253 On the Judgment Day Edmund Vance Cooke 254 Somebody Did Anonymous 255 Piller Fights D. A. Ellsworth 256 A Besetting Sin Edmund Vance Cooke 257 Daisy's Faith Anonymous 259 Little Joe's Flower Anonymous 260 ^pacma of ptartl] Oral Expression Oral Expression is the science and art of expression by voice, speech and action. As a science it treats of the elements, or principles, underlying all expression, as an art it embodies the correct use of these principles. Skill in the use of the principles of expression is an .accomplishment in ordinary conversation. A refined and correct pronunciation of words is one of the founda- tion stones upon which all excellence in Oral Expression must be built — however, much we may deride the mechan- ics of speech, we are forced to acknowledge their impor- tance= — in studying phonation two things are important. First : Simplicity and clearance of statement. Second : A keen sense of sound. It is the purpose of vocal culture to develop that which is good in the voice, correct its imperfection, and acquire skill in its use. The chief attributes of a good voice, are Purity, Strength, and Flexbility. Purity of tone requires free vibration of the vocal cords, healthfulness of the res- onant cavities, and the vocalization of all breath used. Strength depends upon the breadth of vibrations and the power to project and sustain tones. Flexibility is dependent upon the elasticity of the vocal cords and the power to vary tones through the scale of pitch. The voice as an instrument consists of organs and muscles. The vocal organs are the Lungs, the Trachea, and Bronchi, the Larynx, the Pharnyx, the Nasal Cavities and the Mouth. The chief muscles used in voice production are the Diaphragm, the Abdominal Muscles and the Rib Muscles. The Law of correct breathing for voice production is as follows : In Respiration there should be an increase in the size 6f the waist and lower part of the chest, in Expiration a decre Page One ^Joems of ptartlf The first step in securing Vocal Energy is the mas- tery of physical exercises that help develop the muscles of the diaphragm, the abdomen, the chest, the trunk, the thorax, and the throat. BREATHING EXERCISES For the Lungs : (1) Fully inflate the lungs, retain the breath, strike the chest gently five times with open palms, and then ex- hale the breath quickly in the whispered sound of HA ! (2) Place hands on the hips, inhale and sustain the breath while bending the body to the right four times, to the left four times and then alternately four times. For the Vocal Cords : Inhale, then exhale slowly with the sharpest possible whisper of HA. For the Pharnyx and Nasal Cavities. Inhale and exhale slowly through the nostrils with an aspirate sound. For the Abdominal Muscles. Use the muscles in panting like a dog, closing by one quick expulsion of breath. Let the throat muscles be free, whisper the following — Rush on to Victory, Save 1 the Day. For the Diaphragm. Draw in the breath with vigor through a small open- ing of the lips, exhale with equal vigor, with lips com- pressed. For the Rib Muscles : Inhale and distend ribs as far as possible — then con- tract them in expiration. SHORT DAILY DRILLS FOR THE DEVELOP- MENT OF VOCAL ENERGY Two minutes in deep breathing. Two minutes in deep reading. Two minutes in shouting. Two minutes in oratorical speaking. The First Step, Deep Breathing. The object is to get into the habit of filling all the cells of the lungs with air; inhale slowly for twenty or Page Two •JjJiuuns nt Hllortli thirty seconds; exhale for the same length of time. If thirty seconds of time are used, it will be quite a sure test that the lungs are being well filled. The Second Step ; Deep Reading. The object is to secure fullness of voice by resonance in the large cavity of the chest. Example for practice. From Guide Harold by Lord Byron. Roll on thou deep and dark blue ocean — roll ! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain, Alan marks the earth with ruin — his control Stops with the shore ; upon the watery plain The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, When for a moment, like a drop of rain, He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown. The Third Step ; Shouting. The object of this step is to secure the maximum of power in vibration and resonance. Example for practice. (From "The Building of the Ship.") By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State ! Sail on, O Union strong and great ! Humanity with all its fears, With all the hopes of future years, Is hanging breathless on thy fate! We know what Master laid thy keel, What workmen wrought thy ribs of steel, Who made each mast, and sail, and rope, What anvils rang, what hammers beat, In what a forge and what a heat, Were shaped the anchors of thy hope ! Fear not each sudden sound and shock, 'Tis of the wave and not the rock; 'Tis but the flapping of the sail, And not a rent made by the gale! In spite of rock and tempest's roar, In spite of false lights on the shore, Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea! Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee, Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears. Our faith triumphant o'er our fears. Are all with thee — are all with thee ! Page Three •jJacms of JHoriij The Fourth Step; Oratorical Speaking. The object of this step is to prepare the student for the exacting demands of public speaking. Examples for practice. DEDICATION OF GETTYSBURG CEMETERY Abraham Lincoln Fourscore and seven years ago our fathers brought forth upon this continent a new nation, conceived in Lib- erty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battlefield of that war. We are met to dedicate a portion of it as the final resting place of those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this. But in a larger sense we cannot dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here have consecrated it far beyond our power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here ; but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us, the living, rather to be dedicated to the unfinished work that they have thus far so nobly carried on. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us ; that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they here gave their last full measure of devotion ; that we "here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain ; that this nation shall, under God, have a new birth of freedom, and that government of the people, by the people, and for the people, shall not perish from the earth. NOLAN'S SPEECH (Extract from "The Man Without a Country") Edward Everett Hale For your country, boy, and for that flag, never dream a dream, but of serving her as she bids you, though the service carry you through a thousand terrors. No mat- ter what happens to you, no matter who flatters you or who abuses you, never look at another flag, never let a night pass but you pray God to bless that flag. Remem- ber, boy, that behind all these men you have to deal with, behind officers, and government, — that you belong to Her as you belong to your mother. Stand by Her, boy, as you would stand by your mother. Page Four ijjloems of piortl] THE NATIONAL FLAG 1 1 1 \k\ Ward B EEC HER A thoughtful mind, when it sees a nation's flag, sees not the flag, but the nation itself. When the French tri- color rolls out to the wind, we see France. When the found Italian flag is unfurled, we see unified Italy. \\ hen the united crosses of St. Andrew and St. George, on a fiery ground, set forth the banner of old England, we see not the cloth merely ; there rises up before the mind the idea of that great monarchy. This nation has a banner, too; and wherever this flag comes, and men behold it, they see in its sacred emblaz- onry no ramping lion and no fierce eagle, no embattled castles or insignia of imperial authority; they see the symbols of light. It is the banner of dawn. It means liberty ; and the galley slave, the poor, oppressed con- script, the trodden-down creature of foreign despotism, sees in the American flag the very promise of God. If one, then, asks me the meaning of our flag, I say to him : It means just what Concord and Lexington meant, what Bunker Hill meant. It means the whole glorious Revolutionary War. It means all that the Dec- laration of Independence meant. It means all that the Constitution of our people, organizing for justice, for liberty, and for happiness, meant. Our flag ca/ries American ideas, American history, and American feelings. Beginning with the colonies, and coming down to our time, in its sacred heraldry, in its glorious insignia, it has gathered and stored chiefly this supreme idea: divine right of liberty in man. Every color means liberty ; every thread means liberty ; every form of star and beam or stripe of light means liberty — not lawlessness, not license, but organized, institutional liberty — liberty through law, and laws for liberty! This American flag was the safeguard of liberty. Not an atom of crown was allowed to go into its insignia. Not a symbol of authority in the ruler was permitted to go into it. It was an ordinance of liberty by the people for the people. That it meant, that it means, and, by the rig of God, that, it shall mean to the end of time! I Fnder this banner rode Washington and his armies. re it Burgoyne laid down his arms. Tt waved on the highlands at West Point, When Arnold would have surrendered these valuable fortresses and precious lega- his night was turned into day and his treachery was Page Five •poems of pJortlj driven away by the beams of light from this starry banner. It cheered our army, driven out from around New York, and in their painful pilgrimages through New Jersey. This banner streamed in light over the soldiers' heads at Valley Forge and at Morristown. It crossed the waters rolling with ice at Trenton, and when its stars gleamed in the cold morning with victory, a new day of hope dawned on the despondency of this nation. Our states grew up under it. And when our ships began to swarm upon the ocean to carry forth our com- merce, and Great Britain arrogantly demanded the right to intrude her search warrants upon American decks, then up went the lightning flag, and every star meant liberty and every stripe streamed defiance. The gallant fleet of Lake Erie — have you forgotten it? The thun- ders that echoed to either shore were overshadowed by this broad ensign of our American liberty. Those glori- ous men that went forth in the old ship Constitution car- ried this banner to battle and to victory. The old ship is alive yet. Bless the name, bless the ship, bless her his- toric memory, and bless the old flag that waves over her yet! How glorious, then, has been its origin ! How glorious has been its history ! How divine is its meaning ! Accept it in all its fullness of meaning. It is not a painted rag. It is a whole national history. It is the Constitution. It is the government ; and for the sake of its ideas rather than its mere emblazonry, be true to your country's flag. NORTH AMERICAN INDIANS Charles Sprague Not many generations ago, where you now sit en- circled with all that exalts and embellishes civilized life, the rank thistle nodded in the wind and the wild fox dug his hole unscared. Here lived and loved another race of being. Beneath the same sun that rolls over your head the Indian hunter pursued the panting deer ; gazing on the same moon that smiles for you, the Indian lover wooed his dusky mate. Here the wigwam blaze beamed on the tender and helpless, and the council-fire glared on the wise and daring. Now they dipped their noble limbs in your sedgy lakes, and now they paddled the light canoe along your rocky shores. Here they warred ; the echoing whoop, the bloddy grapple, the defying death-song, all Page Six ^pocms of piortlj were here; and when the tiger-strife was over, here curled the smoke of peace. Here too, they worshipped; and from many a dark bosom went up a fervent prayer to the Great Spirit. He had not written His laws for them on tables of stone, hut He had traced them on the tables of their hearts. The poor child of nature knew not the God of revelation, hut the God of the universe he acknowledged in every- thing around. Pie beheld Him in the star that sank in beauty behind his lonely dwelling; in the sacred orb that flamed on him from His mid-day throne; in the flower that snapped in the morning breeze ; in the lofty pine that defied a thousand whirlwinds ; in the timid warbler that never left its native grove; in the fearless eagle, whose untried pinion was wet in clouds ; in the worm that crawled at his feet ; and in his own matchless form, flowing with a spark of that light, to whose mysterious sources he bent in humble though blind adoration. And all this has passed away. Across the ocean came a pilgrim bark, bearing the seeds of life and death. The former were sown for you ; the latter sprang up in the path of the simple native. ■ Two hundred years have changed the character of a great continent, and blotted forever from its face a whole peculiar people. Art has usurped the bowers of nature, and the anointed children of education have been too powerful for the tribes of the ignorant. Here and there a stricken few remain ; but how unlike their bold, untamable progenitors. The In- dian of falcon glance and lion bearing, the theme of the touching ballad, the hero of the pathetic tale, is gone, and his degraded offspring crawls upon the soil where he walked in majesty, to remind us how miserable is man when the foot of the conqueror is on his neck. As a race, they have withered from the land. Their arrows arc broken, their springs are dried up, their coun- cil-fire has long since gone out on the shore, and their war-cry is fast fading to the untrodden west. Slowly and sadly they climb the distant mountains, and read their doom in the setting sun. They are-shrinking before the mighty tide which is pressing them away; they must soon hear the roar of the last wave which will settle over them forever. Ages hence, the inquisitive white man, as he stands by some growing city, will ponder on the struc- ture of their disturbed remains, and wonder to what manner of persons they belonged. They will live only in the songs and chronicles of their exterminators. Let Page Seven JJoeme of JIEortlj these be faithful to their rude virtues as men, and pay due tribute to their unhappy fate as a people. PRONUNCIATION Pronunciation is the utterance in a single impulse of the elements that constitute a word. The pronunciation of words is established by the usage of people of intellect. The dictionary is a record of that usage and should be followed by students. In the application of the phonetic sounds in pronun- ciation there are four requirements : (1) Correct quality of vowel sound; (2) Clear ar- ticulation; (3) Correct syllabication; (4) Proper accent. Quality of vowel sound is the shading given to the vowels in different positions of the articulating organs. The following table is a simple form by which the vowels may be presented : TABLE OF VOWEL SOUNDS SIMPLE DIPHTHONGAL 1 a as in all 7 e.as in term 13 a as in ale = a+e 2 ( a as | a as in arm 8 i as in pin 14 i as in ice=a+e in ask 9 ( do as in ooze ( o*b as in look IS 6 as in old=6+6b 3 3 as in at 16 oi as in oil=a+e 4 a as in care 10 o as in ox 17 ou as in our=a+ob- 5 e as in eve 11 u as in up 18 u as in use = i+6» 6 e as in met 12 u as in urge or y+oo LIST OF WORDS FOR PRACTICE all alms ask bat fair daughter aunt class larnyx share wharf almond after palmistry air vault Nevada grass paramount garnish dawn half fast jasper there dreary measure earn bid near hedge dirge rhythm gleam beck kernel lyrical query less g7rd dish lenient west myrrh mirror bode oi = a+e ou=a+ob duke board poise bough blue court buoy drowsy tune Dora oyster vouch new trow choice sour dew ' ARTICULATION Articulation is the linking together of the elements of a word. This term is used chiefly with reference to the execution of consonants. Distinct pronunciation depends on the nimble use of the organs of articulation, namely the tongue, the teeth, the lips, and the palate. Sound is made in the glottis and when it reaches the Page Eight •$Joems of ^ortfy mouth, the tongue, teeth and lips form it into syllables and words. (orrcct pronunciation of the vowel sounds secures elegance and refinement in speech but distinctness in speech depends upon the articulation of the consonants. Therefore the First Step in the practice is the mas- tery of the consonantal elements. Following is a table for that use: TABLE OF CONSONANT SOUNDS Ttcth and Tongue Palate. T ongue and Palate. Teeth and Tongue. Lips and Teeth. Lips. r as in rap eh as in church th as in thin f as in file b as in babe r ' " war d " " did th " " thine v " " valve m "^"imaim s cerse 1 " gag p r "£"fp>peS sh " push ) " judge w " " woe y ' " yet d " cake wh " " when z " zone 1 " " lull z azure n t " nun song " " tent The Second Step is the mastery -of final combinations. It is the final consonants that we fail to articulate. The method of practice is as follows: Take for example, the final combination Ik. ( 1 ) Articulate the 1, then the k. (2) Articulate the combination Ik. (3) Pronounce the word milk. Articulate the following words in the same way: Id — bold, cold ; Ik — silk, bulk ; lp — help, scalp ; nd — band, land; If — elf, gulf; lm — helm, film; Is — calls, halls; nk — crank, link. The Third Step is the pronunciation of words of many syllables. The object of this step is to distribute the articulative energy. Method of practice, pronounce each of the following words four times in success with force: Absolutely, angularly, accurately, agitated, accessory, etc The Fourth Step is the mastery of difficult combina- tions in sentences. Learn to say the following sentences, increasing the rate of speed : Bring a bit of buttered brown bran bread. Eight gray geese in a green field grazing. Page Nine "Poems of JUIorilj Six thick thistle sticks. Lucy likes light literature. A big, black bug bit a big, black bear. The Fifth Step is reading. Newspaper articles in the form of current events, es- says, biographical sketches should be read aloud. Syllabication is the process of dividing words into syllables. A syllable is an element or combination of elements uttered with a single impulse of the voice and constitut- ing a word or part of a word. A syllable may contain one sound or as many as seven. In pronunciation there must be a separate syllable for each vowel or diphthong. ACCENTUATION Accent is the special weight put upon one syllable of a word to distinguish it from the rest. Accent is to a word what emphasis is to a phrase. A strong accent is one of the chief .features of the English language. Variation of accent in English serves to distinguish parts of speech, as between a noun and a verb, an adjec- tive, and an adverb, a noun and an adjective. ORAL REPRODUCTION The importance of Oral Reproduction can hardly be overestimated. The ability to think and to speak when standing be- fore an audience is one of the most valuable accomplish- ments that a young person can have. We are judged by what we say ; if we cannot express ourselves our knowledge is of no value to us in a commercial sense. In commercial, industrial, civic, social, religious, and edu- cational life there has grown up a remarkable demand for effective speaking. Today the schools must prepare for actual life, for, whether our graduates wish it or not, they will be looked up to as leaders in the democracy of social and civic activity. ' They must therefore be taught to express themselves well. The time for a boy or girl to learn to express their thoughts is while they are in school. If they do not learn to speak easily and fluently then they are not likely to learn to do so after leaving school. One of the simplest forms of Oral Reproduction is Story Telling. Every pupil in the class should read one Page Ten ^pocms of purify of the following well known stories, and be prepared to tell it to the class in as interesting a way as possible: The Great Stone Face — Hawthorne. The Pied Piper of Hamlin — Browning. The King of the Golden River — Ruskin. King Robert of Sicily — Longfellow. The Elephant's Child — Kipling. Ali Baba and the borty Thieves — Arabian Nights. In preparing to tell a story keep the following points in mind. f Erect, J Not touching desk, 1. Position. 1 Not tw j st j n g anc j turning, (, Hands not in pockets. 2. Looking at audience. , ~ \ Loud enough, 3. Tone. {Quality. 4. Enunciation. Every word and syllable clear-cut, ( ing and -ed sounded. i Grammatical errors, Choice of words, Repetition of and -er, etc. 6. Knowledge of subject. There is one very simpletest by which you can judge while you are speaking whether you are telling your story well or not. Are you holding the attention of the members of the class? If you find that you are not, try to find the reasons for your failure and to strengthen your weak points. CURRENT EVENTS In most schools considerable time is devoted to Cur- rent Events and this makes an excellent opportunity for ( )ral Recitation. It is impossible to give subjects that will be applicable at the time these lessons are studied but the teacher may assign a current subject and the pupils may be required to study it carefully. This will lead to discussion in class, the value of which can hardly be over- emphasized. Many people i, r o through life without the skill or the courage to enter into general discussions, however great tbeir interest in tbe subject being con- sidered. Page Eleven •))f oems of JIUorifj ORAL COMPOSITION We spend a large part of our time outside of school in telling our friends about things that interest us or in listening to them as they tell us of their experiences. All these are forms of composition. The word composition means putting together. We put words together to express our thoughts. Composi- tion is the expression of thoughts in Oral or Written English. Good Topics for Oral Composition : Something that the pupil did during his vacation that especially interested him, as a picnic, or a trip. Something that he saw, as a game, a parade, a fire, a runaway, or an accident. Be sure that the pupil is familiar with the incidents. An outline may be arranged as follows : An Introduction. The Events in Order. The Conclusion. In the introduction he should tell what he is going to talk about, describe circumstances, the persons who took a part. For the body of the talk, bring out the most inter- esting, incidents. For the conclusion sum up the result. DESCRIPTION Perhaps the best definition of description is this : A description is a word picture. The purpose of descrip- tion is to make the class see what the speaker sees or feels. He may have visited the National Capitol during his vacation — perhaps he may choose to tell the class about the White House, so that they could see it in their imagination. Generally the most essential and characteristic points are mentioned first, the lesser details are left in the back- ground. The skill of the speaker is shown by his ability so to guide the imagination of the class that the picture develops in the mind as a picture on a canvas. A description should be arranged according to a defi- nite order. When we see a building that is new to us, at first we get a general impression as of massiveness or great height. Then we notice details. The details should be described in the order in which we should see them, beginning at any given point. In describing a building Page Twelve ;$Joems of ^flrth we begin at the top or the bottom and mention details in order. Lei the first lesson in description be a description of a. building. As the court house, a store, a school building or a church. The second a description of a person. This must be accurate. Suppose that your house has been robbed and you are called upon to furnish a description of the thief, to be of any value it must be so accurate a policeman will recognize the man from your description. It is worth while to learn to see accurately and to describe accu- rately. Select one of the following and be prepared to give a description. The most interesting person whom you know, an army officer, a private soldier, a baseball player, a street car conductor, a circus clown. The description of a person may be confined wholly to his outward appearance, or it may describe character- istics only, or it may be a combination of the two. Describe one of the following characters found in literature : John Alden (from Courtship of Miles Standish) — Longfellow. Portia (from Merchant of Venice) — Shakespeare. Aladdin (from Arabian Nights). George Washington (from Life of Washington) — Edward Everett. '1 he third lesson may be a description of a storm. Describe the worst storm that you can remember. Make your description as vivid as possible. The fourth, a description of a bit of scenery in or near your city or town. Make it as beautiful as possible. Tl>e fifth a description of interiors, be prepared to describe, a room in your school building, the interior of a store, a church, a drug store, an engine room, the wait- ing room at a doctor's office, a theatre, the manual training room, and the domestic science room. NARRATION A narrative is an orderly account of an event or a series of events. The purpose of narration is to give an account of events that have occurred or that might occur, so clearly that the listener will understand the things that happened as well as if he had seen them for himself. Page Thirteen Querns of pJorilj A narrative is usually told to give information to the hearer. In order that he may understand the narrative clearly, it is often necessary to describe the place, the circumstances, and the characters that are introduced ; and for this reason description usually forms a part of a narrative. In almost every narrative there is some point at which the interest is greatest, and at which the real end is reached. This point is called the climax. In general the climax should be near the end of the narrative. In telling a narrative care should be taken to preserve unity. Another point to keep in mind is coherence. In gen- eral, unity and coherence can best be secured by follow- ing the order in which the events occurred, or the time order. A third point is not to change the tense of the verbs. This means that you should not begin a narrative in the present tense and then change to the past, or vice versa. A narrative may be divided into three parts : (1) The introduction, in which the time, the place, and the conditions are so explained that the hearer may readily understand the account that follows. (2) The narration of the events. (3) The conclusion, which gives the results of the events. Let the first lesson in narration be a real or an imag- inary trip to Niagara Falls, or some other place of inter- est, and the following outline may be used : . . ( Starting point. Introduction j Embarking and starting . f Course. Weather The Voyage i piaces sighted and visite d. i. Interesting events. ! Arrival at Falls. Description of Falls. The return. Lesson 2. Clearness. In addition to unity and coherence and correct Eng- lish, other qualities are essential in a narrative. One of these is Clearness. This means that the narrative should Page Fourteen ^9oentB of JlHortlj be so told that the hearer can follow it easily and under- stand it readily. Tell a narrative simply and clearly, choosing one of the following subjects : Answering an advertisement ; Learning to drive a car; The first time I went to a circus; A narrow escape; A day in the country ; Lost on a drive. Lesson 3. Movement. ' Another essential quality in an interesting narration is movement. Movement in narration means that one event follows another in rapid succession. The following subjects are suggestive : A game in which you took part; Finding a pocket- book ; A dream ; The travels of a dime ; A lost package. Lesson 4. Vividness. Vividness is another desirable feature in a narrative. It is difficult to explain how this result can be obtained. It is largely due to the spirit of the narrator — the expres- sion, the voice, and the gestures of the speaker aid in conveying the interest to the listener. Select one of the following subjects and make the narrative as vivid as possible: A frightened horse ; An automobile accident ; A ten- nis match ; An experience with a snake ; A ride in an aeroplane ; An auto that would not go. Lesson 5. Humorous Narratives. The ability to tell a humorous story well is a valu- able accomplishment. To a great extent this ability is a gift, but those who do not have the gift may cultivate it with practice. Select one of the following stories and be prepared to tell it to the class. How Tom Sawyer Whitewashed the Fence — Mark Twain. Uncle Remus Stories — Joel C. Harris. Sam Weller's Valentine, from Pickwick Papers — Dickens ( Chapter 5). >\' 6. Historical Narratives. Historical subjects often furnish material for nar- ratix ■ Read one of the following narratives and be prepared II it ti> the class. Page Fifteen poems of ptoriI| Paul Revere's Ride — Henry W. Longfellow. Barbara Frietchie — John Greenleaf Whittier. Horatius at the Bridge — Macaulay. The Boston Tea Party. Columbus Discovering America. The Death of Abraham Lincoln. EXPOSITION Exposition is a clear and orderly explanation. To be of value an explanation must be clear, definite, and accu- rate. In explaining how to do something or to make something that requires time for the process, the best way to secure clearness and definiteness in your expla- nation is to follow the order which corresponds to the development of the thing to be done or made. Lesson 1. Explain one of the following subjects simply and clearly: How to make a box ; How to make a cake ;• How to make a blue-print ; How to make an apron ; How to pre- pare the ground for a garden ; Explain the character of ground needed for growing rice; How to raise peanuts. Lesson 2. Be prepared to explain one of the follow- ing subjects : Why stamps are used on letters ; Why tickets are sold by railroads ; Why automobiles are licensed ; Why it is necessary to have traffic policemen ; How the fire- men locate a fire. Lesson 3. Practical Home Subjects. Name and explain in a general way the common method of lighting and heating houses ; Explain the ad- vantages and disadvantages of each ; Explain under what conditions each kind is used ; Explain the "cold pack" method of canning fruits and vegetables and explain its advantages over other methods. Lesson 4. Simple Science. Make an outline and explain one of the following : The life history of a frog; The life history of a but- terfly ; How pearls are formed ; Value of forests in con- serving moisture ; The parts of a flower. Lesson 5. All young people like to play games but it is not so easy to explain one so simply and clearly that a boy or girl who has never played the game can under- stand it readily. Page Sixteen ■poems of $$orttj Explain how to play tennis; croquet ; baseball; foot- ball ; golf. Lesson 6. It is a great accomplishment to be able to direct a person clearly and accurately so that he can find his way to a certain place. Direct a stranger who is in your schoolroom to one of the points named below : To your post office; To your park; To a physician's office ; To another school building ; To the office of a coal dealer; To a railroad station. ORIGINAL STORIES A story is usually a combination of description, nar- ration and sometimes explanation. Description is nec- essary because you need to know the surroundings. The account of the events that happen is narration. It is sometimes necessary to explain things connected with the story. In nearly every story there is a definite plot that can be told in a few words. Lesson 1. Select one of the following subjects for which you can imagine a good plot. Write the plot in the form of an outline, using your outline as a guide to tell a story. The hidden treasure ; On a train with no money ; A strange adventure ; A generous act ; A discovery ; A for- tunate accident ; A rescue in an auto. IMPROVING THE VOCABULARY Have pupils begin the preparation of a working list of words, the pronunciation of which troubles them. Let it be arranged alphabetically. At regular intervals have this list brought to class for pronunciation and discussion. In discussing the desirability of fluency in speech and the aids in acquiring it, point out the difference between real fluency and mere speed. The latter is often mis- taken for the former. The amount of time to be given to the subjects of Slang and Errors in speech will depend upon the class. Go as slowly as is necessary, always driving home the fact that it is by our speech we are most often judged, and that we should admit no expressions by which we are unwilling to he judged. Page Seventeen •poems of piorirf ARGUMENTATION Among yourselves you are always discussing ques- tions that come up in connection with your school life. Suppose a change is made in your schedule, you have a very definite opinion as to whether it is advisable or not. Perhaps you discuss the matter with your school-mate, he thinks the change is a good one and you do not agree with him, you argue about it. He gives his reasons for thinking it is wise, and you give your reasons for think- ing it is not. This is an argument. In giving your arguments in favor of a subject, try to make definite points and state the points clearly. As an illustration, if you are to speak in favor of school fire drills, you may make your points like this. We should have school fire drills for the following reasons : 1. They protect the lives of the pupils. 2. They relieve the parents of worry. 3. They lessen the responsibility of the teacher. Each point should be explained at length in a con- vincing way. Lesson 1. Choose one of the following, consider it carefully and be prepared to give arguments in favor of it. Written examinations ; Free text books for pupils ; Clean streets ; A school athletic field ; Good roads ; Read- ing the daily papers. Lesson 2. Choose one of the following subjects and be prepared to state arguments against it. Make an out- line and bring it to class : Reading novels ; Sunday baseball ; Killing birds ; Sun- day moving pictures ; Written examinations ; Leaving school to go to work. Lesson 3. Choice of sides. Select one of the fol- lowing and consider it carefully. Be prepared to state arguments on the affirmative or the negative side. Make an outline of your points. People should give money to beggars ; Home study ; Offering prizes. DEBATE When arguments on both sides of a question are to be given, the subject is called a question for debate. Those who speak in favor of a subject as it reads are Page Eighteen Jocms of pWtl] said to be on the Affirmative side of the question and those who speak against it are said to be on the Negative side. Each pupil should try to make clear definite points and he should state these points distinctly. The teacher should select a pupil to act as chairman and during the debate he should always be addressed as Mr. Chairman. At the opening of the debate the chair- man arises and says The sub- ject of the debate is The debaters today are Affirmative ; and , , Negative. Each speaker is allowed five minutes and three minutes will be allowed for refutation ; the speaker must stop when time is called. The first speaker on the Affirmative is The first speaker comes forward and addresses the chair: "Mr. Chairman, honorable judges, worthy opponents, and friendly classmates, the question for debate is 'Resolved, that ' We, the Affirma- tive, believe that it is and will endeavor to prove it to you." After the first speaker has concluded his argument the Chairman announces : "The first speaker for the Negative is " The Negative speaker comes forward and addresses the Chair the same way as the first speaker on the Affirmative ; this order continues until all of the speakers on each side have spoken. Each leader is allowed to speak twice, the Negative leader speaking first. The second time he tries to refute the arguments presented by his opponents and for this reason the second speech is called a refutation. The refutation is for the purpose of answering the points made by the opponents and it is not expected that any new arguments will be presented in this part of the debate. Each speaker in closing his refutation may say something like this: "Since I have shown (repeating his original arguments) and since I have refuted the argu- ments that (giving arguments refuted) I maintain that it is ( is not) In preparing material for a debate a brief should he constructed and when given orally this brief may be as notes. Page Nineteen ^Joems of piortfy A brief is an outline that contains all of the reason ing to be found in the finished argument. Divide the brief into three parts and mark them "Introduction,'' "Discussion" and "Conclusion." Rules for the Introduction. Put into the introduction sufficient explanation for a complete understanding of the discussion. This expla- nation usually involves — 1. A definition of terms. 2. An explanation of the meaning of the ques- tion. 3. A statement of the issues. 4. Put into the introduction only statements ad- mitted by both sides. Rules for the Discussion. 1. Phrase each principal statement in the discus- sion so that it will read as a reason for the truth or falsity of the question. 2. Phrase each subordinate statement in the dis- cussion so that it will read as a reason for the truth of the statement to which it is subordi- nate. 3. The connectives to be used are "as," "be- cause," "for" and "since." 4. Make no unsupported statements unless they are generally admitted to be true. 5. After all evidence state in parenthesis the source from which it came. 6. Phrase refutation so that the argument to be answered is clearly stated. Rules for the Conclusion 1. Put into the conclusion a summary of the es- sential points established in the discussion. An argument should not have an abrupt or jerky ending. A conclusion should contain no new proof. A conclusion should not refer to a point that has not already been made. A conclusion must reaffirm the question ex- actly as stated at the beginning. Page Twenty •poems of pfortlj Select one of the following, consider it carefully, be prepared to state arguments on the affirmative or the negative side. Make an outline of your points. Resolved, that country life is better than city life. Resolved, that there should be no written examina- tions. Resolved, that each town or city should provide free moving pictures for the school children. Resolved, that it is for the interest of a city (town) to spend money for schools rather than good roads. Resolved, that the ability to speak well in public will be of more value to a pupil after he leaves school than the ability to Write correctly. EXTEMPORANEOUS TALKS The plan of an extemporaneous talk corresponds to the plot of a stpry or play. All such talks should have an Introduction, a Main Discussion, and a Conclusion. The object of an Introduction is to put the speaker on good terms with his audience and awaken interest in his theme or proposition. Different kinds of talks naturally require more or less elaboration of the main Discussion, but it is best to arrange all facts and incidents in the order of their happening. Every talk should be rounded out in the conclusion so that it does not stop short, and leave an unfinished im- pression. Make an outline and be prepared to talk on one of the following subjects : The life of Theodore Roosevelt. The life of Frances Willard. The Life of Florence Nightingale. The History of the Steel Industry. The Story of Electricity. FAN 1UM1ME Any play in which the actors express their meaning by action without dialogue is called a pantomime, or nas/eant. Page Twenty-one Querns of JHforilj Allow the pupils to use their originality in this work. Good suggestions for pantomimes are : A school room scene; An orchestra; A choir; A mu- sic lesson; A Red Cross relief scene; A famous painting. EXTEMPORANEOUS PLAYS After the pupils have learned to act without words they can readily use their own words and make up sim- ple plots in the form of extemporaneous plays. The timid student will often forget himself in the excitement of such a play when every other means has failed to ac- complish this. Good suggestions for simple plots are : Scenes in a union depot; Scenes in a department store ; Scenes in a school-room ; scenes in an employment agency. Page Twenty-two Poems For Oral English Department In Junior High Schools and High Schools Hamlet's Soliloquy ("Hamlet," Act. III., Scene 1.) William Shakespeare To be or not to be ; that is the question ; Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them. To die ; to sleep ; No more : and, by a sleep to say we end The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to. 'Tis a consummation Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep ; To sleep ? Perchance to dream ! ay, there's the rub ; For in that sleep of death what dreams may come When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause ; there's the respect That makes calamity of so long life: For who would bear the whip and scorns of time, The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, The pangs of despised love, the law's delay, The insolence of office and the spurns That patient merit of the unworthy takes When he himself might his quietus make With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life, But the dread of something after death, The undiscover'd country, from whose bourn No traveler returns, puzzles the will And makes us rather bear those ills we have , Than fly to others that we know not of? Thus conscience does make cowards of us all ; And thus the native hue of resolution Is sickled o'er with the pale cast of thought, And enterprises of great pitch and moment, With this regard their currents turn awry, And lose the name of action. Page Twenty-three ^Joema of pioritj The Seven Ages of Man ("As You Like it.," Act II., Scene 3.) William Shakespeare All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players ; They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms ; Then the whining school-boy, with his satchel And shining, morning face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad Made to his mistress' eye-brow. Then a soldier Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard, Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel, Seeking the bubble reputation Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the Justice, In fair round belly with good capon lined, — With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut, Full of wise saws and modern instances; And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts Into the lean and slippered pantaloon, With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side; His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide For his shrunk shank ; and his big, manly voice, Turning again toward childish treble, pipes And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, That ends this strange eventful history, Is second childishness, and mere oblivion, Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything. Reputation ("Othello," Act III., Scene 3.) Good name in man and woman, dear my lord, Is the immediate jewel of their souls; Who steals my purse, steals trash; 'tis something, nothing ; 'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands ; But he, that filches from me my good name, Robs me of that which not enriches him, And makes me poor indeed. Page Twenty-four ■jJiunus of jUiinrili Mercy (From "Merchant of Venice," Act. IV., Scene 1.) William Shakespeare lh'' quality of mercy is not strained; It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath : it is twice blest, — It blesseth him that gives and him that takes: 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes The throned monarch better than his crown : His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, The attribute to awe and majesty, Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings; But mercy is above this sceptred sway, — It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, It is an attribute to God himself ; And earthly power doth then show likest God's, When mercy seasons justice. Man ("Hamlet," Act. II., Scene 2.) What a piece of work is man ! How noble in reason ! How infinite in faculties ! In form and movement, how express and admirable ! In action, how like an angel ! In apprehension, how like a God ! The beauty of the world ! The paragon of animals ! Mother O' Mine Rudyard Kipling If I were hanged on the highest hill, Mother O' Mine, O Mother O' Mine, I know whose love would follow me still, Mother O' Mine, O Mother O' Mine. If I were drowned in the deepest sea, Mother O' Mine, O Mother O' Mine, I know whose tears would come down to me, Mother O' Mine, O Mother O' Mine. If I were damned of body and soul. Mother O' Mine, O Mother O' Mine, I know whose prayers would make me whole, Mother O' Mine, O Mother O' Mine. Page Twenty-five ^Joems of JUorirf Mandalay Rudyard Kipling By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin' eastward to the sea, There's a Burma girl a-settin', an' I know she thinks o' me ; For the wind is in the palm-trees, an' the temple-bells, they say ; "Come you back, you British soldier; come you back to Mandalay." Come you back to Mandalay, Where the old Flotilla lay ; Can't you 'ear their paddles chunking from Rangoon to Mandalay ? On the road to Mandalay, Where the flyin'-fishes play, An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay. 'Er petticut was yeller an' 'er little cap was green, An' her name was Supi-yaw-lat — jes' the same as The- baw's Queen, An' I seed her fust a-smokin' of a whackin' white cheroot, An' a-wastin' Christian kisses on an 'eathen idol's foot ; Bloomin' idol made o' mud — : Wot they called the Great Gawd Budd — Plucky lot she cared for idols when I kissed 'er where she stud ! On the road to Mandalay. When the mist was on the rice fields an' the sun was droppin' slow, She'd git 'er little banjo an' she'd sing "Kullalo-lo," With 'er arm upon my shoulder an' her cheek agin my cheek We useter watch the steamers an' the hathis pilin' teak. Elephants a-pilin' teak In the sludgy, squdgy creek, Where the silence 'ung that 'eavy you was 'arf afraid to speak ! On the road to Mandalay. Page Twenty-six ■}lTninns of 3$ortl| But that's all shove be'ind me — long ago an' fur away, An' there ain't no 'buses runnin' from the Benk to Mandalay ; An' I'm learnin' 'ere in London what the ten-year sodger tells ; "If you've 'eard the East a-callin', why, you won't 'eed nothin' else." No, you won't 'eed nothin' else But them spicy garlic smells An' the sunshine an' the palm-trees an' the tinkly temple- bells, On the road to Mandalay. I am sick o' wastin' leather on these gritty pavin'-stones, An' the blessed Henglish drizzle wakes the fever in my bones ; Tho I walks with fifty 'ousemaids outer Chelsea to the Strand, An' they talks a lot o' lovin', but wot do they under- stand ? Beefy face an' grobby 'and — Law, wot do they understand? I've a neater, sweeter maiden in a cleaner, greener, land, On the road to Mandalay. Ship me somewheres east of Suez where the best is like the worst, Where there aren't no Ten Commandments, an' a man can raise a thirst ; For the temple-bells are callin', an' it's there that I would be- By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin' lazy at the sea — On the road to Mandalay, Where the old Flotilla lay, With our sick beneath the awnings when we went to Mandalay, On the road to Mandalay, Where the flyin'-fishes play, An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay. Page Twenty-seven ^oeme of JHfforitj Gunga Din Rudyard Kipling You may talk o' gin and beer When you're quartered safe out 'ere, An' you're sent to penny fights an' Aldershot it ; But when it comes to slaughter You will do your work on water, An' you'll lick the bloomin' boots of 'im that's got it, Now in Injia's sunny clime, Where I used to spend my time A-servin' of 'Er Majesty, the Queen, Of all them black-faced crew The finest man I knew Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din, He was "Din, Din, Din, You limping lump o' brick dust, Gunga Din, Hi, slippery hitherao, Water, get it, Panee loa, You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din." The uniform 'e wore Was nothin' much before, An' rather less than 'arf o' that behind, For a piece o' twisty rag An' a goatskin water-bag Was all the field-equipment 'e could find, When the sweatin' troop-train lay In a sidin' through the day, Where the 'eat would make your bloomin' eyebrows crawl, We shouted "Harry By," Till our throats were bricky-dry, Then we wopped 'im 'cause 'e couldn't serve us all. It was "Din, Din, Din, You 'eathen, where the mischief 'ave you been? You put some juldee in it Or I'll marrow you this minute If you don't fill up my helmet, Gunga Din." 'E would dot an' carry one Till the longest day was done; An' 'e didn't seem to know the use o' fear. If we charged or broke or cut, You could bet your bloomin' nut, 'E 'd be waitin' fifty paces right flank rear. Page Twenty-eight ^limits of Purify With is mussick on 'is back, 'E would skip with our attack, An' watch us till the bugles made "Retire," An' for all 'is dirty 'ide 'E was white, clear white, inside When 'e went to tend the wounded under fire ; It was "Din, Din, Din," With the bullets kickin' dust spots on the green, When the cartridges ran out, You could hear the front-files shout, "Hi, ammunition — mules an' Gunga Din." I shan't forgit the night When I dropped be'ind the fight With a bullet where my belt-plate should 'a' been. I was chokin' mad with thirst, An' the man that spied me first Was our good old grinnin', gruntin' Gunga Din. 'E lifted up my 'ead, An' he plugged me where I bled, An' 'e guv me 'arf-a-pint o' water-green ; It was crawlin' and it stunk, But of all the drinks I've drunk, I'm gratefullest to one from Gunga Din, It was "Din, Din, Din," 'Ere's a beggar with a bullet through 'is spleen ; 'E's chawin' up the ground, An' 'e's kickin' all around ; For Gawd's sake git the water, Gunga Din. 'E carried me away To where a dooli lay, An' a bullet come an' drilled the beggar clean, 'E put me safe inside, An' just before 'e died ; "I 'ope you liked your drink," sez Gunga Din. So I'll meet 'im later on At the place where 'e is gone — Where it's always double drill and no canteen ; 'E r ll be squattin' on the coals, Given drink to poor damned souls, An' I'll get a swig in hell from Gunga Din. Yes, Din, Din. Din. Though I've belted you and flayed you, By tin- living God that made you, You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din. Page Twenty-nine •poema of pJortfy When Earth's Last Picture is Painted Rudyard Kipling When earth's last picture is painted, and the tubes are twisted and dried, When the oldest colors have faded, and the youngest critic has died, We shall rest, and, faith, we shall need it — lie down for an aeon or two, Till the Master of All Good Workmen shall set us to work anew. And those that were good shall be happy; they shall sit in a golden chair; They shall splash at a ten-league canvas with brushes of comets' hair; They shall find real saints to draw from — Magdalene, Peter, and Paul ; They shall work for an age at a sitting and never be • tired at all. And only the Master shall praise us, and only the Master shall blame; And no one shall work for money, and no one shall work for fame ; But each for the joy of the working, and each, in his separate star, Shall draw the Thing as he sees It for the God of Things as They Are. If Rudyard Kipling If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you ; If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too ; If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies, Or being hated don't give way to hating, And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise; If you can dream — and not make dreams your master If you can think — and not make thoughts your aim, If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster And treat those two imposters just the same; Page Thirty ^ocrns of pJortfy I f you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools; If you can make one heap of all your winnings And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, And lose, and start again at your beginnings, And never breathe a word about your loss; I f you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To serve your turn long after they are gone, And so hold on when there is nothing in you Except the Will which says to them : "Hold on !" If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, Or walk with Kings — nor lose the common touch, If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you, If all men count with you, but none too much; If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds' worth of distance run, Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it, And — which is more — you'll be a Man, my son ! Verses of Friendship and Faith Henry Van Dyke Four Things Four things a man must learn to do If he would make his record true; To think without confusion clearly; To love his fellow-men sincerely ; To act from honest motives purely ; To trust in God and Heaven securely. Tin; Prison and the Angel Self is the only prison that can ever bind the soul ; Love is the only angel who can bid the gates unroll; And when he conies to call thee, arise and follow fast; His way may lie through darkness, but it leads to light at last. The Way Who seeks for heaven alone to save his soul, May keep the path, but will not reach the goal; While he who walks in love may wander far, But God will bring him where the Blessed are. Page Thirty-one foetus of JHUnrtrr The Arrow Life is an arrow therefore you must know What mark to aim at, how to use the bow- Then draw it to the head, and let it go. If All the Skies If all the skies were sunshine, Our faces would be fain To feel once more upon them The cooling splash of rain. If all the world were music, Our hearts would often long . For one sweet strain of silence, To break the endless song. If life were always merry, Our souls would seek relief, And rest from weary laughter In the quiet arms of grief. The Builders Henry Van Dyke O Thou whose boundless love bestows The joy of life, the hope of Heaven; Thou whose unchartered mercy flows O'er all the blessings Thou hast given. Thou by whose light alone we see; Thou by whose truth our souls set free Are made imperishably strong; Hear Thou the solemn music of our song. Grant us the knowledge that we need To solve the questions of the mind ; Light Thou our candle while we read, And keep our hearts from going blind ; Enlarge our vision to behold The wonders Thou hast wrought of old; Reveal thyself in every law, And gild the towers of truth with holy awe. Be Thou our strength when war's wild gust Rages around us, loud and fierce ; Confirm our souls and let our trust Be like a wall that none can pierce ; Page Thirty-two "Poems of piortl] Give us the courage that prevails, The steady faith that never fails, Help us to stand in every fight Firm as a fortress to defend the right. O God. make of us what Thou wilt; ( ruide Thou the labour of our hand ; Let all our work be surely built As Thou, the architect, hast planned; But whatsoe'er thy power shall make "Of these frail lives, do not forsake Thy dwelling. Let thy presence rest Forever in the temple of our breast. America for Me Henry Van Dyke 'Tis fine to see the Old World, and travel up and down Among the famous palaces and cities of renown, To admire the crumbly castles and the statues of the kings — But now 1 think I've had enough of antiquated things. So it's home again, and home again, America for me, My heart is turning home again, and there I long to be, In the land of youth and freedom beyond the ocean bars, Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars. Oh, London is a man's town, there's power in the air ; And Paris is a woman's town, with flowers in her hair ; And it's sweet to dream in Venice, and it's great to study Rome ; Hut when it comes to living there is no place like home. I like the German fir-woods, in green battalions drilled; I like the garden of Versailles with flashing fountains filled; But, oh, to take your hand, my dear, and ramble for a day In the friendly western woodland where Nature has her way. Page Thirty-three Poems of JSIorilj I know that Europe's wonderful, yet something seems to lack: The Past is too much with her, and the people looking back. But the glory of the Present is to make the Future free, — We love our land for what she is and what she is to be. Oh, it's home again, and home again, America for me. I want a ship that's westward bound to plough the rolling sea, To the blessed Land of Room Enough beyond the ocean bars, Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars. Solitude Ella Wheeler Wilcox Laugh and the world laughs with you ; Weep, and you weep alone. For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth, But has trouble enough of its own. Sing, and the hills will answer; Sigh, it is lost on the air. The echoes bound to a joyful sound, But shrink fom voicing care. Rejoice, and men will find you ; Grieve, and they turn and go. They want full measure of all your pleasure, But they do not need your woe. Be glad, and your friends are many ; Be sad, and you lose them all, There are none to decline your nectared wine, But alone you must drink life's gall. Feast, and your halls are crowded ; Fast, and the world goes by. Succeed and give, and it helps you live, But no man can help you die. There is room in the halls of pleasure For a long and lordly train, But one by one we must all file on Through the narrow aisles of pain. Page Thirty-four Jfoena of •ffiorilj My Ships Ella Wheeler Wilcox If all the ships I have at sea — Should come a-sailing home to me, Ali well, the harbor could not hold So many ships as there would be, It all my ships came home to me. If half my ships now out at sea Should come a-sailing home to me, Ah well, 1 should have wealth as great As any king that sits in state, So rich the treasure there would be In half my ships now out at sea. If but one ship I have at sea Should come a-sailing home to me, Ah well, the storm clouds then might frown, For if the others all went down, ' Still rich and glad and proud I'd be, If that one ship came home to me. If that one ship went down at sea, And all the others came to me, Weighed down with gems and wealth untold, Of riches, glory, honor, gold, The poorest soul on earth I'd be, If that one ship came not to me; Oh, skies, be calm ; oh, winds, blow free, Blow all my ships safe home to me; But if thou sendest some awrack, To never more come sailing back, Send any — all that skim the sea, But send my love ship back to me. Smile Arthur Chamberlain When everything goes crooked, \nd seems inclined to rile, Don't kick nor fuss nor fight ; Just you smile. Page Thirty- five Joeing of ptortl] It's hard to learn the lesson But learn it if you'd win, When people tease and pester, Just you grin. But when someone tries to do you By taking more than half, Be patient, firm and pleasant, Just you laugh. But if you find you're stuffy, Sometimes of course you will. And cannot smile, or grin, or laugh Just keepi still. Thanatopsis (From the Poem.) William Cullen Bryant So live, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan which moves To that mysterious realm, where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, Scourged to his dungeon, but sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch . About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. The Flower of Mending Vachel Lindsay When dragon-fly would fix his wings, When snail would patch his house, When moths have marred the over-coat Of tender Mister Mouse, The pretty creatures go with haste To the sunlit blue-grass hills Where the Flower of Mending yields the wax And webs to help their ills. The hour the coats are waxed, and webbed, They fall into a dream, And when they wake the ragged robes Are joined without a seam. Page Thirty-six ijJJoems of 339orth My heart is but a dragon fly, My heart is but a mouse, My heart is but a haughty snail, In a little stony house, Your hand was honey-comb to heal, Your voice a web to bind, You were a Mending Flower to me, To cure my heart and mind. Trees Joyce Kilmer I think that I shall never see A poem as lovely as a tree. A tree whose hungry mouth is prest Against the earth's sweet growing breast. A tree who looks at God all day And lifts its leafy arms to pray, A tree who may in summer wear A nest of robins in her hair Upon whose bosom snow has lain, Who intimately lives with rain. Poems were made by fools like me, But only God could make a tree. Roofs Joyce Kilmer The road is wide and the stars are out and the breath of night is sweet, And this is the time when wanderlust should seize upon my feet. Rut I'm glad to turn from the open road and the star- light on my face, And leave the splendor of out-of-doors for a human dwelling place. I never have known a vagabond who really liked to roam. All up and down the streets of the wOrld and never have a home, The tramp who slept in your barn last night and left at the break of day Will wander on until he finds another place to stay. Page Thirty-seven Poems of JUorirf The Gipsy man sleeps in his cart with canvas overhead, Or else he crawls into a tent when it is time for bed, He will take his ease upon the grass as long as the sun is high But when it is dark he wants a roof to keep away the sky. If you will call the Gipsy a vagabond I think you do him wrong, For he never goes a-traveling but he takes his home along. And the only reason a road is good, as every wanderer knows, Is just because of the homes, the homes, the homes to which it goes. They say life is a highway and its milestones are the years, And now and then there's a toll-gate where you pay your way with tears, It's a rough road and a steep road and it stretches broad and far, But it leads at last to a Golden Town where Golden Houses are. The House with Nobody in It Joyce Kilmer Whenever I walk to Suffern along the Erie track I go by a poor old farm-house with its shingles broken and black I suppose I've passed it a hundred times, but I always stop for a minute And look at the house, the tragic house, the house with nobody in it. I never have seen a haunted house, but I hear there are such things ; That they hold the talk of spirits their mirth and sor- rowings. I know that house isn't haunted and I wish it were I do, For it wouldn't be so lonely if it had a ghost or two. This house on the road to Suffern needs a dozen panes of glass, And somebody ought to weed the walk and take a scythe to the grass. Page Thirty-eight ijjlocnts of 33Harth Jt needs new paint and shingles and vines should be trimmed and tied, But what it needs most of all is some people living inside. If 1 had a bit of money and all my debts were paid I'd put a gang of men to work with brush and saw and spade. I'd buy that place and fix it up the way that it used to be, And I'd find some people who wanted a home and give it to them free. Xiiw a new home standing empty with staring window and door, Looks idle perhaps and foolish, like a hat on its block in the store. But there's nothing mournful about it, it cannot be sad and lone For the lack of something within it that it has never known. But a house that has done what a house should do a house that has sheltered life, That has put its loving wooden arms around a man and his wife, A house that has echoed a baby's laugh and helped up his stumbling feet, Is the saddest sight, when it's left alone, that ever your eyes could meet. So whenever I go to Suffern along the Erie track I never go by the empty house without stopping and looking back. \ et it hurts me to look at the crumbling roof and the shutters fallen apart, For I can't help thinking the poor old house is a house with a broken heart. Afterglow Angela Morgan When the hills came down to drink From the twilight's purple well, At the valley's tender brink, Ere they huddle close to rest, Shineth Venus from the west. Page Thirty-nine ^jioema of ;HJartIj When the hills come down to taste Of the mellow afterglow, Softly, softly, without haste, Making music as they go, Faint and rhythmically slow, Earth is all a shadowed pool Where the soul may drink its fill : Where the fretful human will In the darkness and the cool Seeth Venus like a flower Hanging silver in the west, Swinging in her saffron tower, Calling, calling like a bell. And the heart may find its rest; Deeply knowing all is well. Ring Out Wild Bells Alfred Tennyson Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky, The flying cloud, the frosty light : The year is dying in the night; Ring out, wild bells, and let him die. Ring out the old, ring in the new, Ring, happy bells, across the snow: The year is going, let him go; Ring out the false, ring in the true. Ring out the grief that saps the mind, For those that here we see no more; Ring out the feud of rich and poor, Ring in redress to all mankind. Ring out a slowly dying cause, And ancient forms of paltry strife ; Ring in the nobler modes of life, With sweeter manners, purer laws. Ring out the want, the care, the sin, The faithless coldness of the times ; Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes, But ring the fuller minstrel in. Page Forty ■jLWntJ uf oBtfrtb Ring out false pride in place and blood, The civic slander and the spite; Ring in the love of truth and right, Ring in the common love of good. Ring nut old shapes of foul disease; Ring out the narrowing lust of gold; Ring out the thousand wars of old, Ring in the thousand years of peace. Ring in the valiant man and free, The larger heart, the kindlier hand ; King out the darkness of the land, Ring in the Christ that is to be. The Bugle Song Alfred Tennyson The splendor falls on castle walls And snowy summits old in story ; The long light shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. O hark, O hear, how thin and clear, And thinner, clearer, farther going, O sweet and far, from cliff and scar, The horns of Elfland faintly blowing, Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying; Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. O love, they die in yon rich sky, They faint on hill, or field, or river; Our echoes roll from soul to soul, And grow forever and forever. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying. Crossing the Bar Alfred Tkxnvson Sunset and evening star, And one clear call for me, And may there be no moaning at the bar. When I put out to sea. Page Forty-one •Querns of JSJorilj But such a tide as moving seems asleep, Too full for sound and foam, When that which drew from out the boundless deep Turns again home. Twilight and evening bell, And after that the dark, And may there be no sadness of farewell, When I embark; For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place The flood may bear me far, I hope to see my Pilot face to face When I have crossed the bar. Nobility Alice Cary True worth is in being, not seeming, In doing, each day that goes by Some little good — not in dreaming Of great things to do by and by. For whatever men say in blindness And spite of the fancies of youth, There's nothing so kingly as kindness And nothing so royal as truth. We get back our mete as we measure, We cannot do wrong and feel right, Nor can we give pain and gain pleasure, For justice avenges each slight. The air for the wing of the sparrow, The bush for the robin and wren, But always the path that is narrow And straight for the children of men. 'Tis not in the pages of story The heart of its ills to beguile Though he who makes courtship to glory Gives all that he hath for her smile. For when from her heights he hath won her, Alas ! it is only to prove , That nothing's so sacred as honor, And nothing so loyal as love. Page Forty-two llWnts nf IHnrtft We cannot make bargains for blisses, Nor catch them like fishes in nets, And sometimes the thing onr life misses Helps more than the thing which it gets. For good lieth not in pursuing Nor gaining of great nor of small, I'.ut jnst in the doing and doing As we would be done by, by all. Through envy, through malice, through hating Against the world, early and late, No jot of our courage abating, Our part is to work and to wait. And slight is the sting of his trouble Whose winnings are less than his worth, For he who is honest is noble Whatever his fortune or birth. November Alice Cary The leaves are fading and falling, The winds are rough and wild, The birds have ceased their calling, But let me tell you, my child, Though day by day, as it closes Doth darker and colder grow, The roots of the bright red roses Will keep alive in the snow. And when the winter is over, The boughs will get new leaves, The quail come back to the clover, And the swallow back to the eaves. The robin will wear on his bosom A vest that is bright and new, .And the loveliest way-side blossom Will shine with the sun and dew. The leaves today are whirling. The brooks are all dry and dumb, Hut let me tell you, my darling, The spring will be sure to come. Page Forty-three •Jloems of piorih There must be rough, cold weather, And winds and rains so wild ; Not all good things together Come to us here, my child. So, when some dear joy loses Its beauteous summer glow, Think how the roots of the roses, Are kept alive in the snow. The Poet and His Song Paul Laurence Dunbar A song is but a little thing, And yet what joy it is to sing ! In hours of toil it gives me zest, And when at eve I long for rest ; When cows come home along the bars, And in the fold I hear the bell, As Night, the shepherd, herds his stars, I sing my song, and all is well. There are no ears to hear my lays, No lips to lift a word of praise ; But still, with faith unfaltering, I live and laugh and love and sing. What matters yon unheeding throng? They cannot feel my spirit's spell, Since life is sweet and love is long, I sing my song and all is well. My days are never days of ease; I till my ground and prune my trees. When ripened gold is all the plain, I put my sickle to the grain. I labor hard, and toil and sweat, While others dream within the dell ; But even while my brow is wet, I sing my song, and all is well. Sometimes the sun, unkindly hot, My garden makes a desert spot; Sometimes a blight upon the trees Takes all my fruit away from me: And then with throes of bitter pain Rebellious passions rise and swell ; But — life is more than fruit or grain, And so I sing, and all is well. Page Forty-four TJimus of JBUortlj In Flanders Fields Lieut. Colonel John McCrae In Flanders Fields the poppies blow Between the crosses row on row, That mark our place ; and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing fly, Scarce heard amidst the guns below ; We are the dead, short days ago we lived, Felt dawn, saw sunset glow, loved and were Loved, — and now we lie in Flanders Fields. Take up our quarrel with the foe, To you from falling hands, we throw The torch, be yours to hold it high If ye break faith with us who die, We shall not sleep tho' poppies blow In Flanders Fields. Answer of America R. W. LlLLARD Rest ye in peace Ye Flanders dead, The fight ye so bravely led We have taken up and will keep, True faith with ye who lie asleep With each a cross to mark his bed And poppies blowing over head Where once his life's blood ran red So let your rest be sweet and deep, In Flanders Fields. Fear not that ye have died in vain The torch ye threw to us was caught ; Ten million hands will hold it high And Freedom's light shall never die. We learned the lesson ye taught In Flanders Fields. Annabel Lee Edgar Allen Poe It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden lived, whom you may know- Page Forty-five. Poems of pJorify By the name of Annabel Lee ; And this maiden, she lived with no other thought Than to love, and be loved by me. I was a child and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea ; But we loved with a love that was more than love, I and my Annabel Lee, With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven Coveted her and me. And this was the reason that long ago, In this kingdom by the sea, A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling My beautiful Annabel Lee; So that her high-born kinsmen came, And bore her away from me, To shut her up in a sepulchre, In this kingdom by the sea. The angels, not so happy in heaven, Went envying her and me, Yes! that was the reason (as all men know) In this kingdom by the sea, That the wind came out of the cloud by night, Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee. But our love it was stronger by far than the love, Of those who were older than we, Of many far wiser than we ; And neither the angels, in heaven above, Nor the demons down under the sea, Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Annabel Lee. For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee, And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee. And so, air the night-tide I lie down by the side Of my darling, my darling, my life, and my bride, In her sepulchre there by the sea, In her tomb by the sounding sea. Page Forty-six ^.Iunns of J0JortI| Lochinvar Sir Walter Scott O, young Lochinvar is come out of the west, Through all the wide Border his steed was the best ; And, save his good broadsword, he weapon had none, He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone. So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, There never was knight like the young Lochinvar. He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for stone^ He swam the Eske River where ford there was none, But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate, The bride had consented, the gallant came late : For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall, Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all. Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword, (For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word), "O, come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?" "I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied; — Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide, — And now I am come, with this lost love of mine, To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine ; There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar." The bride kissed the goblet ; the knight took it up, He quaffed off the wine, and threw down the cup. She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh. With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye, He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar, — "Now tread we a measure," said young Lochinvar. So stately his form, so lovely her face, That never a hall such a galliard did grace ; While her mother did fret, and her-»father did fume, And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume ; And the bridesmaidens whispered, "'Twere better by far To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar." Page Forty-seven •jfJoems of piorilj One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, When they reached the hall-door, and the charger stood near; So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, So light to the saddle before her he sprung; "She is won! we are gone! over bank, bush, and scaur; They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar. There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan ; Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran; There was racing and chasing on Cannobie lea, But the lost bride of Netherby, ne'er did they see, So daring in love, and so dauntless in war; Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar? O Captain! My Captain! Walt Whitman O Captain ! my Captain ! our fearful trip is done, The ship has weather'd every wrack, the prize we sought is won, The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring ; But O heart ! heart ! heart ! O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fatten cold and dead. O Captain ! my Captain ! rise up and hear the bells ; Rise up — for you the flag is flung — for you the bugle trills, For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths — for you the shores a-crowding, For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning ; Here, Captain ! dear father ! This arm beneath your head ! It is some dream that on the deck You've fallen cold and dead. Page Forty-eight ^Joems of 3$orilj My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still, My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will, The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done, From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won ; Exult, O shores! and ring, O bells! But I with mournful tread, Walk the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. The First Snowfall James Russell Lowell The snow had begun in the gloaming, And busily all the night Had been heaping field and highway With a silence deep and white. Every pine and fir and hemlock Wore ermine too dear for an earl, And the poorest twig on the elm tree Was ridged inch deep with pearl. From sheds new-roofed with Carrara Came Chanticleer's muffled crow; The stiff rails softened to swan's down And still fluttered down the snow. I stood and watched by the window ' The noiseless work of the sky, And the sudden flurries of snowbirds, Like brown leaves whirling by. I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn, Where a little headstone stood ; How the flakes were folding it gently, As did robins the Babes in the Wood. Up spake our own little Mabel, Saying, "Father, who made the snow?" And 1 told her of the good All-Father Who cares for us here below. Page Forty-nine •Jloems of JOSIortl] Again I looked at the snow-fall, And I thought of the leadened sky That arched o'er our first great sorrow, When the mound was heaped so high. I remembered the gradual patience That fell from the cloud like snow, Flake by flake, healing and hiding The scars that renewed our woe. And again to the child I whispered, "The snow that husheth all, Darling, the merciful Father Alone can make it fall !" Then, with eyes that saw not, I kissed her And she, kissing back, could not know That my kiss was given to her sister, Folded close under deepening snow. Barbara Frietchie John Greenleaf W hitter Up from the meadows rich with corn, Clear in the cool September morn, The clustered spires of Frederick stand, Green-walled by the hills of Maryland. Round about them orchards sweep, Apple and peach tree fruited deep, Fair as a garden of the Lord To the eyes of that famished rebel hoard, On that pleasant morn of early fall When Lee marched over the mountain-wall ; Over the mountains winding down, Horse and foot, into Frederick town. Forty flags with their silver stars, Forty flags with their crimson bars, Flapped in the morning wind ; the sun Of noon looked down, and saw not one. Page Fifty ^ocms of Jllmth Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then, Bowed with her forescore years and ten; Bravest of all in Frederick town, She took up the flag the men hauled down ; In her attic window the staff she set, To show that one heart was loyal yet. Up the street came the rebel tread, Stonewall Jackson riding ahead. Under his slouch hat left and right He glanced ; the old flag met his sight. "Halt!" the dust brown ranks stood fast; "Fire!" out blazed the rifle-blast. It shivered the window pane and sash ; It rent the banner with seam and gash. Quick as it fell from the broken staff Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf. She leaned far out of the window-sill, And shook it forth with a royal will. "Shoot, if you must, this old gray head, But spare your country's flag," she said. A shade of sadness, a flush of shame, Over the face of the leader came : The nobler nature within him stirred To life at that woman's deed and word: "Who touches a hair of yon gray head Dies like a dog ! March on !" he said. All day long through Frederick street Sounded the tread of marching feet : All day long that free flag tost Over the head of the rebel host. Ever its torn folds rose and fell On the loyal winds that loved it well ; And through the hill-gaps sunset light Shone over it with a warm good-night. Barbara Frietchie's work is o'er, And the rebel rides on his raids no more. Page Fifty-one Immune of portly Honor to her ! and let a tear Fall for her sake, on Stonewall's bier. Over Barbara Frietchie's grave Flag of Freedom and Union, wave! Peace and order and beauty draw Round thy symbol of light and law : And ever the stars above look down On thy stars below in Frederick town. The Barefoot Boy John Greenleaf Whittier Blessings on thee, little man, Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan ! With thy turned-up pantaloons, And thy merry whistled tunes ; With thy red lips, redder still, Kissed by strawberries on the hill ; With the sunshine on thy face, Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace: From my heart I give thee joy; I was once a barefoot boy ! Prince thou art, the grown-up man Only is republican. Let the million-dollared ride, Barefoot, trudging at his side, Thou hast more than he can buy, In the reach of ear and eye : Outward sunshine, inward joy, Blessings on thee, barefoot boy ! Oh, for boyhood's painless play ; Sleep that wakes in laughing day; Health that mocks the doctor's rules; Knowledge (never learned of schools), Of the wild bee's morning chase, Of the wild flower's time and place, Flight of fowl, and habitude Of the tenants of the wood ; How the tortoise bears his shell, How the woodchuck digs his cell, And the groundmole sinks his well ; How the robin feeds her young, How the oriole's nest is hung, Page Fifty-two •jjWms of BllnrtlT Where the whitest lilies blow, Where the freshest berries grow, Where the ground-nut trails its vine, Where the wood-grape's clusters shine, Of the black wasp's cunning way, Mason of his walls of clay, And the architectural plans Of gray-hornet artisans! For, eschewing books and tasks, Nature answers all he asks ; Hand in hand with her he walks, Face to face with her he talks, Part and parcel of her joy, Blessings on thee barefoot boy ! Oh, for boyhood's time of June, Crowding years in one brief moon, When all things I heard or saw, Me, their master, waited for; I was rich in flowers and trees, Humming-birds and honeybees ; For my sport the squirrel played, Plied the snouted mole his spade ; For my taste the blackberry cone Purpled over hedge and stone ; Laughed the brook for my delight Through the day and through the night, Whispering at the garden wall, Talked with me from fall to fall ; Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond, Mine the walnut slopes beyond, Mine, on bending orchard trees, Apples of Hesperides ! Still, as my horizon grew, Larger grew my riches too ; All the world I saw or knew Seemed a complex Chinese toy, Fashioned for a barefoot boy! Oh for festal dainties spread, Like my bowl of milk and bread, Pewter spoon and bowl of wood, On the doorstone gray and rude! O'er me like a regal tent, Cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent, Page Fifty- three Poems of piorilj Purple-curtained, fringed with gold, Looped in many a wind-Swung fold ; While for music came the play Of the pied frog's orchestra; And, to light the noisy choir, Lit the fly his lamp of fire; I was monarch : pomp and joy Waited on the barefoot boy ! Cheerily, then, my little man, Live and laugh as boyhood can, Though the flinty slopes be hard, Stubble-spread the new-mown sward, Every morn shall lead thee through Fresh baptisms of the dew ; Every evening from thy feet Shall the cool wind kiss the heat. All too soon these feet must hide In the prison-cells of pride, Lose the freedom of the sod, Like a colt for work be shod, Made to tread the mills of toil Up and down in ceaseless moil ; Happy if their track be found Never on forbidden ground, Happy if they sink not in Quick and treacherous sands of sin. Ah ! that thou couldst know thy joy Ere it passes, Barefoot Boy ! Opportunity Sir Walter Scott Master of Human Destinies am I, Fame, Love, and Fortune on my footsteps wait Cities and Fields I walk; I penetrate Deserts and seas remote and passing by Hovel and mart and palace, soon or late I knock unbidden once at every gate; If sleeping, wake ; if feasting rise before I turn away. It is the hour of fate, And they who follow me reach every state Mortals desire, and conquer every foe Save Death; but those who doubt or hesitate, Condemned to failure, penury, and woe, Seek me in vain, uselessly implore, I answer not and I return no more. Page Fifty-four "Poems of pfortlj The Blue and the Gray Francis Miles Finch By the flow of the inland river, Whence the fleets of iron have fled, Where the blades of the grave grass quiver, Asleep are the ranks of the dead, Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment day — Under the one, the Blue; Under the other, the Gray. Ihcse in the robings of glory; Those in the gloom of defeat; All, with the battle blood gory, In the dusk of eternity meet. Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment day — Under the laurel, the Blue; Under the willow, the Gray. From the silence of sorrowful houis The desolate mourners go, Lovingly laden with flowers, Alike for the friend and the foe, Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment day — Under the roses, the Blue ; Under the lilies the Gray. So, with an equal splendor, The morning sun-rays fall, With a touch impartially tender On the blossoms blooming for all, Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment day : Broidered with gold, the Blue ; Mellowed with gold, the Gray. So, when the summer calleth On forest and field of grain, With an equal murmur falleth • The cooling drip of the rain, Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment day : Wet with the rain, the Blue; Wet with the rain, the Gray. Page Fifty-five ;jj§aems of Ploril] Sadly, but not with upbraiding, The generous deed was done; In the storm of the years that are fading, No braver battle was won; Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment day : Under the blossoms, the Blue; Under the garlands the Gray. No more shall the war-cry sever, Or the winding rivers be red ; They banish our anger forever When they laurel the graves of our dead. Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment day — Love and tears for the Blue; Tears and love for the Gray. Daybreak Henry Wadsworth Longfellow A wind came up out of the sea, And said, "O mists, make room for me." It hailed the ships, and cried, "Sail on, Ye mariners, the night is gone." And hurried landward far away, Crying, "Awake ! it is the day." It said unto the forest, "Shout! Hang all your leafy banners out !" It touched the woodbird's folded wing, And said, "O bird, awake and sing," And o'er the farms, "O chanticleer, Your clarion blow ; the day is near." It whispered to the fields of corn, •"Bow down, and hail the coming morn." It shouted through the belfry-tower, "Awake, O bell ! proclaim the hour." It crossed the churchyard with a sigh, And said, "Not yet ; in quiet lie." Page Fifty-six ^poerna of piortlj Hiawatha's Wooing Henry Wadsworth Longfellow "As unto the bow the cord is, So unto the man is woman, Though she bends him, she obeys him, Though she draws him, yet she follows, Useless each without the other!" Thus the youthful Hiawatha Said within himself and pondered, Much perplexed by various feelings, Listless, longing, hoping, fearing, Dreaming still of Minnehaha, Of the lovely Laughing Water, In the land of the Dacotahs. "Wed a maiden of your people," Warning said the old Nokomis ; "Go not eastward, go not westward, For a stranger, whom we know not ! Like a fire upon the hearth-stone Is a neighbor's homely daughter, Like the starlight or the moonlight Is the handsomest of strangers!" Thus dissuading spake Nokomis, And my Hiawatha answered Only this : "Dear old Nokomis, Very pleasant is the firelight, But I like the starlight better, Better do I like the moonlight !" Gravely then said old Nokomis : "Bring not here an idle maiden, Bring not here a useless woman, Hands unskilful, feet unwilling; Bring a wife with nimble fingers, Heart and hand that move together, Feet that run on willing errands !" Smiling answered Hiawatha : "In the land of the Dacotahs Lives the Arrow-maker's daughter, Minnehaha, Laughing Water, Handsomest of all the women. Page Fifty-seven ^poema of piortlj I will bring her to your wigwam, She shall run upon your errands, Be your starlight, moonlight, firelight, Be the sunlight of my people !" Still dissuading said Nokomis: "Bring not to my lodge a stranger From the land of the Dacotahs ! Very fierce are the Dacotahs, Often is there war between us, There are feuds yet unforgotten, Wounds that ache and still may open Laughing answered Hiawatha : "For that reason, if no other, Would I wed the fair Dacotah, That our tribes might be united, That old feuds might be forgotten, And old wounds be healed forever !" Thus departed Hiawatha To the land of the Dacotahs, To the land of handsome women ; Striding over moor and meadow, Through interminable forests, Through uninterrupted silence. With his moccasins of magic, At each stride a mile he measured ; Yet the way seemed long before him, And his heart outrun his footsteps; And he journeyed without resting, Till he heard the cataract's thunder, Heard the Falls of Minnehaha Calling to him through the silence. "Pleasant is the sound!" he murmured, "Pleasant is the voice that calls me !" On the outskirts of the forest, 'Twixt the shadow and the sunshine, Herds of fallow deer were feeding, But they saw not Hiawatha ; To his bow he whispered, "Fail not!" To his arrow whispered, "Swerve not!" Sent it singing on its errand, To the red heart of the roebuck; Page Fifty eight •jUocms of JHnrth Threw the deer across his shoulder, And sped forward without pausing. At the doorway of his wigwam Sat the ancient Arrow-maker, In the land of the Dacotahs, Making arrow-heads of jasper, Arrow-heads of chalcedony. At his side, in all her beauty, Sat the lovely Minnehaha, Sat his daughter, Laughing Water, Plaiting mats of flags and rushes; Of the past the old man's thoughts were, And the maiden's of the future. He was thinking, as he sat there, Of the days when with such arrows He had struck the deer and bison, On the Muskoday, the meadow; Shot the wild goose, flying southward, On the wing, the clamorous Wawa; Thinking of the great war-parties, How they came to buy his arrows, Could not fight without his arrows. Ah, no more such noble warriors Could be found on earth as they were! Now the men were all like women, Only used their tongues for weapons ! She was thinking of a hunter, From another tribe and country, Young and tall and very handsome, Who one morning, in the Spring-time, Came to buy her father's arrows, Sat and rested in the wigwam, Lingered long about the doorway, Looking back as he departed. She had heard her father praise him, Praise his courage and his wisdom; Would he come again for arrows To the Falls of Minnehaha? On the mat her hands lay idle, And her eyes were very dreamy. Through their thoughts they heard a footstep, Heard a rustling in the branches, Page Fifty-nine ^Joems of Purify And with glowing cheek and forehead, With the deer upon his shoulders, Suddenly from out the woodlands Hiawatha stood before them. Straight the ancient Arrow-maker Looked up gravely from his labor, Laid aside the unfinished arrow, Bade him enter at the doorway, Saying, as he rose to meet him : "Hiawatha, you are welcome !" At the feet of Laughing Water Hiawatha laid his burden, Threw the red deer from his shoulders ; And the maiden looked up at him, Looked up from her mat of rushes, Said with gentle look and accent: "You are welcome, Hiawatha !" Very spacious was the wigwam, Made of deer-skin dressed and whitened, And so tall the doorway, hardly Hiawatha stooped to enter, Hardly touched his eagle-feathers As he entered at the doorway. Then uprose the Laughing Water, From the ground fair Minnehaha, Laid aside her mat unfinished, Brought forth food and set before them, Water brought them from the brooklet, Gave them food in earthen vessels, Gave them drink in bowls of bass-wood, Listened while the guest was speaking, Listened while her father answered, But not once her lips she opened, Not a single word she uttered. Yes, as in a dream she listened To the words of Hiawatha, As he talked of old Nokomis, Who had nursed him in his childhood, As he told of his companions, Chibiabos, the musician, And the very strong man, Kwasind, And of happiness and plenty Page Sixty Querns of ^ortrf In the land of the Ojibways, In the pleasant land and peaceful. "After many years of warfare, Many years of strife and bloodshed, There is peace between the Ojibways And the tribe of the Dacotahs." Thus continued Hiawatha, And then added, speaking slowly : "That this peace may last forever, And our hands be clasped more closely, And our hearts be more united, Give me as my wife this maiden, Minnehaha, Laughing Water, Loveliest of Dacotah women !" And the ancient Arrow-maker Paused a moment ere he answered, Smoked a little while in silence, Looked at Hiawatha proudly, Fondly looked at Laughing Water, And made answer very gravely : "Yes, if Minnehaha wishes; Let your heart speak, Minnehaha !" And the lovely Laughing Water Seemed more lovely, as she stood there, Neither willing nor reluctant, As she went to Hiawatha, Softly took the seat beside him, While she said, and blushed to say it, "I will follow you, my husband!" This was Hiawatha's wooing! Thus it was he won the daughter Of the ancient Arrow-maker, In the land of the Dacotahs! From the wigwam he departed, Leading with him Laughing Water; Hand in hand they went together, Through the woodland and the meadow, Left the old man standing lonely At the doorway of his wigwam, Heard the Falls of Minnehaha Calling to them from the distance, Page Sixty-one •poems of JHortlj Crying to them from afar off : "Fare thee well, O Minnehaha!" And the ancient Arrow-maker Turned again unto his labor, Sat down by his sunny doorway, Murmuring to himself, and saying : "Thus it is our daughters leave us, Those we love, and those who love us ! Just when they have learned to help us, When we are old and lean upon them, Comes a youth with flaunting feathers, With his flute of reeds, a stranger Wanders piping through the village, Beckons to the fairest maiden, And she follows where he leads her, Leaving all things for the stranger!" Christmas Bells Hanry Wadsworth Longfellow I heard the bells on Christmas Day Their old, familiar carols play, And wild and sweet The words repeat Of peace on earth, good- will to men ! And thought how, as the day had come, The belfries of all Christendom. Had rolled along The unbroken song Of peace on earth, good-will to men ! And in despair I bowed my head ; "There is no peace on earth," I said ; "For hate is strong And mocks the song Of peace on earth, good-will to men !" Then pealed the bells more loud and deep : "God is not dead ; nor doth He sleep ! The Wrong shall fail, The Right prevail, With peace on earth, good- will to men !" Page Sixty-two poems of JHfortlj The Village Blacksmith Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Under a spreading chestnut tree The village smithy stands; The smith, a mighty man is he, With large and sinewy hands; And muscles of his brawny arms Are strong as iron bands. His hair is crisp, and black, and long, His face is like the tan; His brow is wet with honest sweat, He earns whate'er he can. And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man. Week in, week out, from morn till night You can hear his bellows blow ; You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, With measured beat and slow, Like a sexton ringing the village bell, When the evening sun is low. And children coming home from school, Look in at the open door ; They love to see the flaming forge, And hear the bellows roar, And catch the burning sparks that fly Like chaff from a threshing floor. He goes on Sunday to the church, And sits among his boys; He hears the parson pray and preach, He hears his daughter's voice Singing in the village choir, And it makes his heart rejoice. It sounds to him like her mother's voice Singing in Paradise! He needs must think of her once more, How in the grave she lies ; And with his hard, rough hand he wipes A tear out of his eyes. Page Sixty-three foetus of pJortlr Toiling, — rejoicing, sorrowing, Onward through life he -goes ; Each morning sees some task begun, Each evening sees it close. Something attempted, something done, Has earned a night's repose. Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, For the lesson thou hast taught! Thus at the flaming forge of life Our fortunes must be wrought ; Thus on its sounding anvil shaped Each burning deed and thought ! The Day Is Done Henry Wadsworth Longfellow The day is done, and the darkness Falls from the wings of Night, As a feather is wafted downward From an eagle in his flight. I see the lights of the village Gleam through the rain and the mist, And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me That my soul cannot resist : A feeling of sadness and longing, That is not akin to pain, And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles the rain. Come, read to me some poem, Some simple and heartfelt lay, That shall soothe this restless feeling, And banish the thoughts of day. Not from the grand old masters, Not from the bards sublime, Whose distant footsteps echo Through the corridors of Time. For, like strains of martial music, Their mighty thoughts suggest Life's endless toil and endeavor ; And to-night I long for rest. Page Sixty-four ■jJnnus of ^ortl] Read from some humble poet, Whose songs gushed from his heart, As showers from the clouds of summer, Or tears from the eyelids start; Who, through long days of labor, And nights devoid of ease, Still heard in his soul the music Of wonderful melodies. Such songs have power to quiet The restless pulse of care, And come like the benediction That follows after prayer. And the night shall be filled with music, And the cares, that infest the day, Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, And as silently steal away. The Necklace of Pearls 11 i:\kv W'adsworth Longfellow "Once in an ancient city, whose name I no longer re- member, Raised aloft on a column, a brazen statue of Justice Stood in the public square, upholding the scales in its left hand, And in its right a sword, as an emblem that justice presided Over the laws of the land, and the hearts and homes of the people. Even the birds had built their nests in the scales of the bal- ance, Having no fear of the sword that flashed in the sunshine above them. But in the course of time the laws of the land were cor- rupted ; Might took the place of right, and the weak were op- pressed, and the mighty Ruled with an iron rod. Then it chanced in a nobleman's palace That a necklace of pearls was lost, and ere long a sus- picion Fell on an orphan girl who lived as maid in the household. Page Sixty-five •jjJoema of JHUorilj She, after form of trial, condemned to die on the scaffold, Patiently met her doom at the foot of the statue of Justice. As to her Father in heaven her innocent spirit ascended, Lo ! o'er the city a tempest rose ; and the bolts of the thunder Smote the statue of bronze, and hurled in wrath from its left hand Down on the pavement below the clattering scales of the balance, And in the hollow thereof was found the nest of a mag- pie, Into whose clay-built walls the necklace of pearls was inwoven." The Arrow and the Song Henry Wadsworth Longfellow I shot an arrow into the air, It fell to earth, I knew not where ; For, so swiftly it flew, the sight Could not follow it in its flight. I breathed a song into the air, It fell to earth, I knew not where; For who has sight so keen and strong That it can follow the flight of song? Long, long afterward, in an oak I found the arrow, still unbroke; And the song, from beginning to end, I found again in the heart of a friend. Song Margaret Widdemer The Spring will come when the year turns, As if no Winter had been, But what shall I do with a locked heart That lets no new year in ? The birds will go when the Fall goes, The leaves will fade in the' field, • But what shall I do with an old love Will neither die nor yield? Page Sixty-six |.Wms of pWtlj Oh, youth will turn as the world turns And dim grow laughter and pain, Bill how shall I hide from an old dream I never may dream again ? A Man's a Man for A' That Robert Burns Is there for honest poverty That hangs his head, an' a' that? The coward slave, we pass him by; And dare be poor for a' that ! For a' that, an' a' that; Our toils obscure, an' a' that ; The rank is but the guinea's stamp The man's the gowd for a' that! What tho' on hamely fare we dine, Wear hodden-gray, an' a' that; Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine ; A man's a man for a' that, For a' that, an' a' that ; Their tinsel show, an' a' that; The honest man, though e'er sae poor, Is king o' men for a' that! You see yon birkie ca'ed a lord, Wha struts an' stares, an' a' that Tho' hundreds worship at his word, He's but a coof for a' that ! For a' that, an a' that ; His riband, star, an' a' that ; The man o' independent mind, He looks, and laughs at a' that ! A prince can mak' a belted knight, A marquis, duke, an' a' that: Rut an honest man's aboon his might Gude faith, he mauna fa' that ! For a' that, an' a' that. Their dignities, an' a' that, The pith o' sense, an" pride o' worth, Are higher ranks than a' that ! Page Sixty-seven •jJJoemB of ^Unrirj Then let us pray that come it may (As come it will for a' that), That sense an' worth, o'er a' the earth, May bear the gree, an' a' that! For a' that, an' a' that ! It's coming yet for a' that That man to man, the world o'er Shall brothers be for a' that! Breathes There a Man With Soul So Dead Sir Walter Scott Breathes there the man, with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land? Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, As home his footsteps he hath turned, From wandering on a foreign strand? If such there breathe, go, mark him well; For him no minstrel raptures swell. High though his titles, proud his name, Boundless his wealth as wish can claim; Despite those titles, power, and pelf, The wretch, concentered all in self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown, And, doubly dying, shall go down To the vile dust, from whence he sprung, Unwept, unhonored, and unsung. The Star-Spangled Banner Francis Scott Key O, say, can you see, by the dawn's early light, What so proudly we hailed, at the twilight's last gleam- ing? Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the peri- lous fight, O'er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly stream- ing; ... And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air, Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there : O, say, does that Star-Spangled Banner yet wave O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave? Page Sixty-eight ^ocms af 335ortl| ( >n that shore, dimly seen through the midsts of the deep, Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes, What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep, Vs it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses? Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam, In full glory reflected now shines on the stream: 'Tis the Star-Spangled Banner ; O, long may it wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave! And where are the foes who so vauntingly swore .That the havoc of war, and the battle's confusion, A home and a country should leave us no more? Their blood has washed out their foul footstep's pollution. No refuge could save the hireling and slave From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave ; And the Star- Spangled Banner in triumph doth wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave ! ( ), thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand Between their loved homes and the war's desolation; Blest with victory and peace, may the heav'n-rescued land Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation ! Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just, And this be our motto, "In God is our trust" ; And the Star-Spangled Banner in triumph shall wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave! Independence Bell (Author Unknown) There was a tumult in the city, In the quaint old Quaker town, And the streets were rife with people Pacing restless up and down — People gathering at corners, Where they whispered each to each, And the sweat stood on their temples With the earnestness of speech. As the bleak Atlantic currents Lash the wild Newfoundland shore, So they beat against the State-House, So they surged against the door ; Page Sixty-nine ^Dcma of ^Uorirj And the mingling of their voices Made a harmony profound, Till the quiet street of Chestnut Was all turbulent with sound. "Will they do it?" "Dare they do it?" "Who is speaking?" "What's the news?" "What of Adams?" "What of Sherman?" "Oh, God grant they won't refuse !" "Make some way there !" "Let me nearer !" "I am stifling !" "Stifle, then ! When a nation's life's at hazard, We've no time to think of men !" So they beat against the portal, Man and woman, maid and child ; And the July sun in heaven On the scene looked down and smiled. The same sun that saw the Spartan Shed his patriot blood in vain, Now beheld the soul of freedom, All unconquered, rise again. See. ! See ! The dense crowd quivers Through all its lengthy line, As the boy beside the portal Looks forth to give the sign ! With his little hands uplifted, Breezes dallying with his hair, Hark ! with deep, clear intonation, Breaks his young voice on the air. Hushed the people's swelling murmur, List the boy's exultant cry ! "Ring!" he shouts, "Ring! grandpa, ' Ring ! Oh, ring for Liberty !" Quickly at the given signal The old bellman lifts his hand, Forth he sends the good news, making Iron music through the land. How they shouted ! What rejoicing ! How the old bell shook the air, Till the clang of freedom ruffled The calmly-gliding Delaware ! Page Seventy Poems of pJortlj How the bonfires and the torches Lighted up the night's repose, And from the flames, like fabled Phoenix, Our glorious Liberty arose ! That old State House bell is silent, Hushed is now its clamorous tongue ; But the spirit it awakened Still is living, ever young; And when we greet the smiling sunlight On the fourth of each July, We will ne'er forget the bellman Who, betwixt the earth and sky, Rung out loudly, "Independence"; Which, please God, shall never die ! How Did You Die? Edmund Vance Cooke Did you tackle the trouble that came your way, With a resolute heart and cheerful? Or hide your face from the light of day, With a craven soul and fearful? Oh, a trouble's a ton, or a trouble's an ounce, Or a trouble is what you make it: And it isn't the fact that you're hurt that counts, But, only, how did you take it? You are beaten to earth? Well, well, what's that? Come up with a smiling face. It's nothing against you to fall down flat, But to lie there — that's the disgrace. The harder you're thrown, why, the higher you bounce; Be proud of your blackened eye ! It isn't the fact that you're licked that counts; It's how did you fight — and why? And though you be done to death, what then? If you battled the best you could, If you played your part in the world of men, Why, the Critic will call it good. Death comes with a crawl, or comes with a pounce, And whether he's slow or spry, It isn't the fact that you're dead that counts, But only how did you die? Page Seventy-one ^Joem© ai Purify Somebody's Mother (Selected) The woman was old and ragged and gray, And bent with the chill of the winter's day ; The street was wet with a recent snow, And the woman's feet were aged and slow. She stood at the crossing, and waited long, Alone, uncared for, amid the throng Of human beings who pass'd her by, Nor heeded the glance of her anxious eye. Down the street, with laughter and shout, Glad in the freedom of "school let out," Came the boys like a flock of sheep, Hailing the snow piled white and deep. Past the woman so old and gray Hastened the children on their way, Nor offer'd a helping hand to her, — So meek, so timid, afraid to stir. Lest the carriage-wheels or the horses feet Should crowd her down in the slippery street At last came one of the merry troop, — The gayest laddie of all the group. He paused beside her, and whisper'd low, "I'll help you across if you wish to go." Her aged hand on his strong, young arm She placed, and so, without hurt or harm, He guided the trembling feet along, Proud that his own were firm and strong; Then back again to his friends he went, His young heart happy and well content. "She's somebody's mother, boys, you know, For all she's aged and poor and slow ; And I hope some fellow will lend a hand To help my mother, you understand. If ever she's poor and old and gray, When her own dear boy is far away." And "Somebody's Mother" bowed low her head In her home that night, and the prayer she said Was, "God be kind to the noble boy, Who is somebody's son and pride and joy." Page Seventy-two ^.Wnts of ^ortlj Apple Blossoms George Martin Have you seen an apple orchard in the spring, In the spring? An English apple orchard in the spring? When the spreading trees are hoary With their wealth of promised glory And the mavis pipes his story In the spring. Have you plucked the apple blossoms In the spring, in the spring? And caught their subtle odors In the spring? Pink buds bursting in the light, Crumpled petals, baby white, Just to touch them a delight, In the spring. Have you walked beneath the blossoms In the spring, in the spring? Beneath the apple blossoms In the spring? Where the pink cascades were falling And the silver-brooklets brawling And the cuckoo-bird was calling In the spring. Have you seen a merry bridal In the spring? In an English apple country In the springy? Where the brides and maids wear Apple blossoms in their hair, Apple blossoms everywhere In the spring. If you have not, then you know not In the spring, in the spring, Half the color, beauty, wonder, Of the spring, No sight do I remember, half so precious Half so tender, as the apple blossoms render, In the spring. Page Seventy-three ^toems of JSffnrtif The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers in New England Felicia Hemans The breaking waves dashed high On a stern and rock-bound coast, And the woods against a stormy sky, Their giant branches tossed; And the heavy night hung dark, The hills and waters o'er, When a band of exiles moored their bark On the wild New England shore. Not as the conqueror comes, They, the true-hearted, came; Not with the roll of the stirring drums, And the trumpet that sings of fame; Not as the flying come, In silence and in fear: — They shook the depths of the desert gloom With their hymns of lofty cheer. Amidst the storm they sang, And the stars heard and the sea ; And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang To the anthem of the free ! The ocean eagle soared From his nest by the white wave's foam ; And the rocking pines of the forest roared, — This was their welcome home ! There were men with hoary hair Amidst the pilgrim band ; Why had they come to wither there, Away from their childhood's land? There was woman's fearless eye, Lit by her deep love's truth ; There was manhood's brow serenely high, Arid the fiery heart of youth. What sought they thus afar? Bright jewels of the mine? The wealth of seas, the spoils of war? They sought a faith's pure shrine ! Page Seventy-four ^ocms of 33fltfrtli Aye, call it holy ground, The soil where first they trod. They have left unstained what there they found- Freedom to worship God. Columbus (Joaquin Miller) Behind him lay the gray Azores, Behind the Gates of Hercules ; Before him not the ghost of shores, Before him only shoreless seas. The good mate said : "Now must we pray, For lo ! the very stars are gone. Speak Adm'r'l; what shall I say?" "Why, say : 'Sail on ! sail on ! and on !' " "My men grow mutinous day by day ; My men grow ghastly wan and weak." The stout mate thought of home; a spray Of salt wave washed his swarthy cheek. "What shall I say, brave Adm'r'l, say, If we sight naught but seas at dawn?" "Why, you shall say, at break of day : 'Sail on ! sail on ! sail on ! and on !' " They sailed and sailed, as winds might blow, Until at last the blanched mate said : "Why, now not even God would know Should I and all my men fall dead. These very winds forget their way, For God from these dread seas is gone. Xow speak, brave Adm'r'l; speak and say" — He said : "Sail on ! sail on ! and on !" They sailed. They sailed. Then spoke the mate "This mad sea shows his teeth to-night; He curls his lip, he lies in wait, With lifted teeth, as if to bite: Brave Adm'r'l, say but one good word; What shall we do when hope is gone?" The words leapt as a leaping sword: "Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!" Page Seventy-five •poems of JHorilj Then pale and worn, he kept his deck, And peered through darkness. Ah, that night Of all dark nights ! And then a speck — A light ! A light ! A light ! A light ! It grew, a starlit flag unfurled! It grew to be Time's burst of dawn. He gained a world ; he gave that world Its grandest lesson : "On sail on !" A Leap for Life Walter Colton Old Ironsides at anchor lay In the harbour of Mahan ; A dead calm rested on the bay, — The waves to sleep had gone; When little Hal, the Captain's son, A lad both brave and good, In sport up shroud and rigging ran, And on the main truck stood. A shudder shot through every vein, All eyes were turned on high, There stood the boy, with dizzy brain, Between the sea and sky : No hold had he above, below ; Alone he stood in air ; To that far height none dared to go, No aid could reach him there. We gazed, but not a man could speak, With horror all aghast; In groups, with pallid brow and cheek, We watched the quivering mast ; The atmosphere grew thick and hot, And of a lurid hue : — As riveted unto the spot, Stood officers and crew. The father came on deck; he gasp'd "O, God thy will be done !" Then suddenly a rifle grasped, And aimed it at his son. "Jump far out, boy, into the wave ! Jump, or I fire," he said, "That chance alone your life can save Jump, jump!" The boy obey'd. Page Seventy-six |Jnema of piortli He sunk, — he rose, — he lived, — he moved,- And for the ship struck out ; On board we hail'd the lad beloved, With many a manly shout. His father drew, in silent joy, Those wet arms round his neck, And folded to his heart his boy, Then fainted on the deck. Abou Ben Adhem Leigh Hunt Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!) Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, And saw, within the moonlight of his room, Making it rich and like a lily in bloom, An angel, writing in a book of gold; Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold, And to the presence in the room he said, "What writest thou?" The vision raised its head, And with a look made of all sweet accord, Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord." "And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so," Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low, But cherrily still ; and said, "I pray thee, then, Write me as one who loves his fellow-men." The angel wrote and vanished. The next night It came again, with a great awakening light, And showed the names whom love of God had blessed, And, lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest. Mrs. Lofty and I Anonymous Mrs. Lofty keeps a carriage, So do I ; She has dapple grays to draw it, None have I ; She's no prouder with her coachman Than am I With my blue-eyed laughing baby, Trundling by ; I hide his face lest she should see The cherub boy, and envy me. Page Seventy-seven jjjlaema of Purify Her fine husband has white fingers, Mine has not; He could give his bride a palace, Mine a cot; Hers comes home beneath the starlight, Ne'er cares she; Mine comes home in the purple twilight, Kisses me, And prays that He who turns life's sands Will hold His loved ones in His hands. Mrs. Lofty has her jewels, So have I ; She wears hers upon her bosom, Inside I ; She will leave hers at Death's portal, By-and-by ; I shall bear my treasure with me When I die; For I have love, and she has gold ; She counts her wealth ; — mine can't be told. She has those who love her station, None have I ; But I've one true heart beside me — Glad am I ; I'd not change it for a kingdom, No, not I; God will weigh it in His balance, By-and-by ; And the difference define 'Twixt Mrs. Lofty 's wealth and mine. Your Flag and My Flag Wilbur D. Nesbit Your flag and my flag, And how it flies to-day, In your land and my land And half a world away, Rose red and blood red, The stripes forever gleam, Snow white and soul white — The good forefather's dream; Sky blue and true blue, With stars to gleam aright, The gloried guidon of the day, A shelter through the night. Page Severity-eight •poems of JUSortlj Your flag and my flag. To every star and stripe, The drums beat as hearts beat, And fifers shrilly pipe. Your flag and my flag — A blessing in the sky Your hope and my hope — It never hid a lie. Home land and far land, And half the world around, Old Glory, here's our glad Salute and ripples to the sound. Your flag and my flag, And oh ! how much it holds — Your land and my land, Secure within its folds, Your heart and my heart, Beat quicker at the sight ; Sun kissed and wind tossed — Red and blue and white, The one flag, the great flag, The flag for me and you — Glorified all else beside — The red, and white, and blue. Little Boy Blue Eugene Field The little toy dog is covered with dust, But sturdy and stanch he stands ; * And the little toy soldier is red with rust, And his musket moulds in his hands. Time was when the little toy dog was new, And the soldier was passing fair, And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue Kissed them and put them there. "Now, don't you go till I come," he said, "And don't you make any noise!" So toddling to his trundle-bed, He dreamed of the pretty toys. And as he was dreaming, an angel song Awakened our Little Boy Blue, — Oh, the years are many, the years are long, But the little toy friends are true ! Page Seventy-nine •|3a£ms of piortlj Ay, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand, Each in the same old place, Awaiting the touch of a little hand, The smile of a little face. And they wonder, as waiting the long years through, In the dust of that little chair, What has become of our Little Boy Blue Since he kissed them and put them there. Jim Bludsoe John Hay Wall, No ! I can't tell where he lives, Because he don't live, you see ; Leastways, he's got out of the habit Of livin' like you and me. Whar have you been for the last three years, That you haven't heard folks tell How Jimmy Bludsoe passed in his checks, The night of the Prairie Belle? He warn't no saint — them engineers Is all pretty much alike One wife in Natchez-Under-the-Hill, And another one here in Pike. A careless man in his talk was Jim, And an awkward man in a row But he never flunked, and he never lied I reckon he never knowed how. And this was all the religion he had To treat his engine well ; Never be passed on the river; To mind the pilot's bell ; And if ever the Prairie Belle took fire, A thousand times he swore, He'd hold her nozzle agin the bank Till the last soul got ashore. All boats has their day on the Mississip', And her day came at last, — The Movastar was a better boat, But the Belle, she wouldn't be passed, And so came a-tearin' along that night, The oldest craft on the line, With a nigger squat on her safety-valve, And her furnaces crammed, rosin and pine. Page Eighty Poems of JWcrtlf The fire burst out as she cleared the bar, And burnt a hole in the night, And quick as a flash she turned and made For that wilier-bank on the right. Ther' was runnin' and cursin', but Jim yelled out Over all the infernal roar, "I'll hold her nozzle agin the bank Till the last galoot's ashore." Thro' the hot, black breath of the burnin' boat Jim Bludsoe's voice was heard, And they all had trust in his cussedness, And know'd he would keep his word. And sure's you're born, they all got off Afore the smokestacks fell, And Bludsoe's ghost went up alone In the smoke of the Prairie Belle. He warn't no saint — but at judgment I'd run my chance with Jim Alongside of some pious gentleman That wouldn't shook hands with him. He'd seen his duty, a dead sure thing, And went f er it thar and then ; And Christ ain't a-goin' to be too hard On a man that died for men. The Daffodils William Wordsworth I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils, Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the Milky Way, They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay : Ten thousand saw I. at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced, but they Outdid the sparkling waves in glee; A poet could not but be gay Page Eighty-one ;Jf oems of JUorttj In such a jocund company. I gazed, and gazed, but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought For oft, when on my couch I lie, In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils. Aux Italiens Robert Bulwer Lytton At Paris it was, at the opera there; And she looked like a queen in a book that night, With the wreath of pearl in her raven hair, And the brooch on her breast so bright. Of all the operas that Verdi wrote, The best, to my taste, is the Trovatore; And Mario can soothe, with a tenor note, The souls of purgatory. The moon oh the tower slept soft as snow ; And who was not thrilled in the strangest way, As we heard him sing, while the gas burned low, "Non ti scordar di me?" The emperor there, in his box of state, Looked grave; as if he had just then seen The red flag wave from the city gate, Where his eagles in bronze had been. The empress, too, had a tear in her eye: You'd have said that her fancy had gone back again, For one moment, under the old blue sky, To the old glad life in Spain. Well ! there in our front-row box we sat Together, my bride betrothed and I ; My gaze was fixed on my opera hat, And hers on the stage hard by. Page Eighty-two Jloems of JUlnrtlt And both were silent, and both were sad; Like a queen she leaned on her full white arm, With that regal, indolent air she had; So confident of her charm. I have not a doubt she was thinking then ( )f her former lord, good soul that he was, Who died the richest and roundest of men, The Marquis of Carabas. I hope that, to get to the kingdom of heaven Through a needle's eye he had not to pass ; I wish him well for the jointure given To my lady of Carabas. Meanwhile, I was thinking of my first love As I had not been thinking of aught for years ; Till over my eyes there began to move Something that felt like tears. I thought of the dress that she wore last time, When we stood 'neath the cypress-trees together, In that lost land, in that soft clime, In the crimson evening weather ; Of that muslin dress (for the eve was hot) ; And her warm, white neck in its golden chain ; And her full, soft hair, just tied in a knot, And falling loose again ; And the jasmine flower in her fair, young breast; (O the faint, sweet smell of that jasmine flower!) And the one bird singing alone to his nest ; And the one star over the tower. I thought of our little quarrels and strife, And the letter that brought me back my ring; And it all seemed then, in the waste of life, Such a very little thing! For I thought of her grave below the hill, Which the sentinel cypress-tree stands over ; And I thought, "Were she only living still, How I could forgive her and love her !" Page Eighty-three •Jjioems of JUoritf And I swear, as I thought of her thus in that hour, And of how, after all, old things are best, That I smelt the smell of that jasmine flower Which she used to wear in her breast. It smelt so faint, and it smelt so sweet, It made me creep, and it made me cold ! Like the scent that steals from the crumbling sheet Where a mummy is half unrolled ; And I turned and looked; she was sitting there, In a dim box over the stage ; and drest In that muslin dress, with that full soft hair, And the jasmine in her breast! I was here, and she was there; And the glittering horse-shoe curved between : From my bride betrothed, with her raven hair And her sumptuous scornful mien, To my early love, with her eyes downcast, And over her primrose face the shade, (In short, from the future back to the past,) There was but a step to be made. To my early love from my future bride One moment I looked. Then I stole to the door, I traversed the passage; and down at her side I was sitting, a moment more. My thinking of her, or the music's strain, Or something which never will be exprest, Had brought her back from the grave again, With the jasmine in her breast. She is not dead, and she is not wed ! But she loves me now, and she loved me then ! And the very first word that her sweet lips said, My heart grew youthful again. The marchioness there, of Carabas, She is wealthy, and young, and handsome still; And but for her, well, we'll let that pass ; She may marry whomever she will. Page Eighty- four •JJoems of JHffortrf But I will marry my own first love, With her primrose face, for old things are best; And the flower in her bosom, I prize it above The brooch in my lady's breast. The world is filled with folly and sin, And love must cling where it can, I say : For beauty is easy enough to win ; But one isn't loved every day. And I think in the lives of most women and men, There's a moment when all would go smooth and even If only the dead could find out when To come back and be forgiven. But O the smell of that jasmine flower ! And O that music ! and O the way That voice rang out from the donjon tower, "Non ti scorder di me, Non ti scordar di me!" Page Eighty-five Sacred Selections The Wild White Rose Ellen H. Willis It was peeping through the brambles that little, wild white rose, Where the hawthorn hedge was planted, my garden to enclose, All beyond was fern and heather, on the breezy, open moor ; All within was sun and shelter, and the wealth of beauty's store. But I did not heed the fragrance of flow'ret or of tree; For my eyes were on that rosebud, and it grew too high for me. In vain I strove to reach it through the tangled mass of green, It only smiled and nodded behind its thorny screen. Yet through that summer morning I lingered near the spot : Oh, why do things seem sweeter if we possess them not? My garden buds were blooming, but all that I could see Was that little mocking wild rose hanging just too high for me. So in life's wiser garden there are buds of promise, too, Beyond our reach to .gather, but not beyond our view ; And like the little charmer that tempted me astray, They steal out half the brightness of many a summer's day. Oh ! hearts that fail with longing for some forbidden tree, Look up and learn a lesson from my white rose and me. 'Tis wiser far to number the blessings at my feet Than ever to be sighing for just one bud more sweet. My sunbeams and my shadows fall from a pierced hand, I can surely trust His wisdom since His heart I under- stand ; And maybe in the morning, when His blessed face I see, He will tell me why my white rose grew just too high for me. (Musical Accompaniment "Hearts and Flowers") Page Eighty-six ^pmnns of 339orlI| My Master Selected I had walked life's path With an easy tread. 1 had followed where pleasure And comfort led 'Til at last — by chance In a quiet place, I met My Master Face to Face. With fortune and fame And wealth for a goal Much thought for the body But none for the soul. I had entered to win, In life's mad race — When I met My Master, Face to Face. I had built my castles, And reared them high. 'Til their towers pierced The blue of the sky. I had sworn to rule With an iron mace When I met My Master Face to Face. I saw Him, knew Him, And blushed to see How His eyes full of pity — Were fixed on me. I faltered and fell At His feet that day, And my castles melted And vanished away. Melted and vanished And in their place, I knew naught else, But my Master's face. I cried aloud — "Oh make me meet To follow the marks Of Thy wounded feet." Page Eighty-seven ^oems of JUJUorftf My thought is now For the souls of men. I had lost my life To find it again. E'er since alone In that holy place. My Master and I Stood Face to Face. (Musical Accompaniment "Face to Face.") The Night Cometh Anonymous An angel passed through a busy street ; His step was swift, his smile was sweet, And he sped in the path of the rising sun, Saying, softly, "The day is begun, The Night Cometh." He met a child, who laughed and ran, Chasing the butterflies with her fan, A circlet of lilies, white and fair, Crowning her waving, yellow hair; And stopping, he asked, in a gentle tone, "Do you love the Master, my little one?" She raised her beautiful, sunlit head, "I am one of 'His little lambs," she said. "Then do," said the angel, "as He commands; Your work is ready, it waits your hands !" The child made answer, "I'll not forget. I shall do my work ere the sun is set ; But it's going to be such a long, long day ; It is morning now, I want to play !" The angel watched her in sad surprise, As she flitted away with the butterflies ; And he sped in the path of the rising sun, Whispering softly, "Will the work be done? The Night Cometh." An hour flew by, and the child lay dead — A stain on the beautiful, sunlit head, A stain which the lilies could not hide, Though they spread their waxen petals wide; And the weepers heard in a voice divine, Like the solemn moan of a wind stirred pine, "The Night Cometh." Page Eighty-eight IJocma of JOUortlj The angel passed through the busy street, And met a man with hurrying feet, "Stay !" he cried, "are you one of those Who love the Master and hate His foes?" "Oh, yes !" he replied ; "My name is enrolled In the book of the Church, I am safe in the fold." "Then do," said the angel "as He commands; Your work is ready, it waits your hands!" "Good Sir," said the man, "I shall do my work •All in good season, I'm never a shirk; Just now I am busy, as you must see. But sometime — yes, sometime — I hope to be free To work for the master ; I'm still in my prime With life before me, — there's plenty of time!" The angel watched him, speeding along With a troubled brow through the jostling throng, And he followed the path of the setting sun Whispering softly, "Will the work be done? The Night Cometh." The years rolled by, through a city street A man walked slowly, with tottering feet ; His form was, bent, and his face was old, And his heart was as hard as his silver and gold; But he seemed to hear, like a mournful rhyme, "Life is before me there's plenty of time!" And those who were nearest him, heard him say, "It is growing dark — I have lost the day! The Night Cometh." The Water Mill Anonymous Oh, listen to the water-mill, throughout the live-long day How the clicking of the wheel wears hour by hour away ; How languidly the autumn wind stirs the withered leaves As in the fields the reapers sing while binding up the sheaves. A solemn proverb strikes my mind and as a spell is cast, The mill will never grind again with water that is past. Soft summer winds revive no more leaves strewn o'er earth and main, The sickle never more shall reap the yellow garnered grain ; The rippling stream flows ever on, ave tranquil, deep and still, Page Eighty-nine •poems of pJorilj But never glideth back again to the busy water-mill. A solemn proverb speaks to all, with meaning deep and vast; The mill will never drive again with water that is past. Oh, take this lesson to thy soul, dear loving heart and true, For golden years are fleeting by and youth is passing too ; Ah ! learn to make the most of life, nor lose one happy day, For time ne'er brings sweet joy again, refused or thrown away; Nor leave one tender word unsaid ; the kindness strewn broadcast, The mill will never drive again with water that is past. Oh, the wasted hours of youth that have swiftly drifted Alas, the good we might have done all gone out with a sigh, Love that could have once been saved by a single kindly word, Thoughts conceived, but ne'er expressed, perishing un- penned, unheard, Oh, take the lesson to thy soul, forever clasp it fast : The mill will never grind again with water that is past. Work on while yet the day is bright, thou man of strengthened will, For streamlet ne'er doth useless glide by busy water-mill ; Nor wait until tomorrow beam with brightness on thy way, For all that thou canst call thy own lies in the phrase today, Possession, power, blooming health, must all be lost at last; The mill will never grind again with water that is past. Love thy God and fellow-man thyself considered last, For come it will when thou must scan dark errors of the past. Soon will this fight for life be o'er and earth recede from view, And Heaven in all its glory shine, where all is pure and true; Then thoul't see more clearly still the proverb deep, but vast; The mill will never grind again with water that is past. Page Ninety •|jJocms of J00rtl| The Inn That Missed Its Chance (The Landlord Speaks, — 28 A. D.) Amos R. Wells What could be done? The inn was full of folk, lli> Honor, Marcus Lucius, and his scribes Who made the census; honorable men From farthest Galilee, come hitherward .To be enrolled ; high ladies and their lords, The rich, the rabbis, such a noble throng As Bethlehem had never seen before And may not see again, and there they were Close herded with their servants, till the inn Was like a hive at swarming-time, and I Was fairly crazed among them. Could I know that they were so important? Just the two, no servants, just a workman Sort of man, leading a donkey, and his wife Thereon drooping and pale, I saw them not Myself, my servants must have driven them Away, but had I seen them, how was I to know? Were inns to welcome stragglers up and down In all our towns from Beersheba to Dan Till He should come? And how were men to know? There was a sign they say, a heavenly light Resplendent ; but I had no time for stars And there were songs of angels in the air Out on the hills ; but how was I to hear Amid the thousand clamors of an inn? Of course if I had known them, who they were, And who was He that should be born that night, Had I known, I would have turned the whole inn Upside down, His Honor, Marcus Lucius, and the Rest and sent, them all to stables, had I known. So you have seen him, stranger, and perhaps Again will see him. Prithee, say for me, I did not know; and if he comes again As he will surely come, with retinue and Banners and an army, tell my Lord that All my inn is his to make amends. Alas, alas, to miss a chance like that; This inn that might be chief among them all The birth-place of Messiah, had I known. Page Ninety-one ^poema of ptarilj The House by the Side of the Road Sam Walter Foss There are hermit souls that live withdrawn In the place of their self content; There are souls like stars, that dwell apart, In a f ellowless firmament ; There are pioneer souls that blaze their paths Where the highways never ran — But let me live by the side of the road And be a friend to man. Let me live in a house by the side of the road, Where the race of men go by — The men who are good and the men who are bad, As good and as bad as I. I would not sit in the scorner's seat, Or hurl the cynic's ban — Let me live in a house by the side of the road And be a friend to man. I see from my house by the side of the road, By the side of the highways of life, The men who press with the ardor of hope, The men who are weak with the strife. But I turn not away from their smiles nor their tears, Both parts of an infinite plan — Let me live in my house by the side of the road And be a friend to man. I know there are brook-gladdened meadows ahead And mountains of wearisome height; That the road stretches on through the long afternoon And passes away to the night. But still I rejoice when the travelers rejoice, And weep with the mourners who moan, Nor live in my house by the side of the road Like a man who dwells alone. Let me live in my house by the side of the road, Where the race of men go by, They are good, they are bad, they are weak, They are strong, wise, foolish, so am I, Then why should I sit in the scorner's seat, Or hurl the cynic's ban? Let me live in my house by the side of the road, And be a friend to man. Page Ninety-two •jjloems of ^ortf| In My Father's House Anonymous In our sleep we ofttimes wander In a dreamland bright and fair, In a land where flowers of beauty With sweet fragrance scent the air. There's a dream, a golden vision, Of a heavenly land so bright That I dreamed of, could I only Now to you its message write. Lo, I wandered in a country Beautiful beyond compare, Golden harps were ever sounding Heavenly music in the air, Rivers, too, as clear as crystal, Fountains with their silver spray, And the light of that blest country Clearer was, than light of day. As I stood in silent wonder, One bright form came softly near, As I looked I knew my Savior, In His hands the nail prints clear. Then He touched me on the shoulder As He spake in gentle tone, "In my Father's House are mansions, Mansions built by love alone." "Each one here doth claim a mansion," "Where is mine?" I then replied, "Come with me," He softly whispered, Then I glided by His side. Now rny heart stood still in wonder, Mansions fair did meet my gaze, Some they were not yet completed, Others stately domes did raise. And I prayed and longed so earnest That I could claim one as mine, Then a voice, it was my Savior's, Saying, "This my child is thine." As I looked I saw a structure Of a grand foundation plan, Nothing else, x]o walls, no towers, Work left off where it began. Page Ninety-three IJoems of JHUorttj "Lord," I cried in anguish sorely, "Why unfinished work is mine ?" And his voice was full of sadness As he spoke those. words, divine. "In my Father's. House are mansions, Don't you. see and understand, God is the -great Master Builder, Ye are workers 'neath His hands." "For by each unselfish action, b And by every gentle word, Ye are building heavenly mansions In the City of your God. Back to earth my child go calmly And thy cwork take up with zeal, - : Lay thy treasure in this kingdom Where no thieves break through- nor steal.' "Lord," 1 f 'cried in anguish sorely, "I was blind, I did not care, 'Twas the things, of earth I cherished, Not my heavenly, iriansibns fair,, But my life is m thy .keeping, All I have and ahi is Thine, r Lead, O lead me in thy footsteps," , ; ".. To that heavenly life, divine." 'Twas a drearn^. -but there's a message, , Meant for all this world to know, Just pass on a word of kindness, In life's pathway here below. Beai ye one another's burden, As ye walk along the road, Those the stones that build your mansion, In the heavenly home of God. ; Just to help: on life's .short journey, Some poor soul along the way, Just to take their hand in kindness, And a gentle word to say. J ; What is wealth or what is pleasure, We shall leave those all behind When we crdss the heavenly portal We immortal joys shall find. ■ ^ ' ? Page -Ninety-four Poems for Entertainment What the Choir Sang About the New Bonnet M. T. Morrison A foolish little maiden bought a foolish little bonnet, With a ribbon, and a feather, and a bit of lace upon it; And that the other maidens of the little town might know it, She thought she'd go to meeting the next Sunday just to show it. But though the little bonnet was scarce larger than a dime, The getting of it settled proved to be a work of time; So when 'twas fairly tied, all the bells had stopped their ringing, And when sue came to meeting, sure enough the folks were singing. So this foolish little maiden stood and waited at the door ; And she shook her ruffles out behind and smoothed them down before. "Hallelujah ! hallelujah !" sang the choir above her head. "Hardly knew you! hardly knew you!" were the words she thought they said. This made the little maiden feel so very, very cross, That she gave her little mouth a twist, her little head a toss ; For she thought the very hymn they sang was all about her bonnet, With the ribbon, and the feather, and the bit of lace upon it. And she would not wait to listen to the sermon or the prayer, But pattered down the silent street, and hurried up the stair, Till she reached her little bureau, and in a band-box on it, Had hidden, safe from critics' eye, her foolish little bonnet. Which proves, mv little maidens, that each of you will find In every Sabbath service but an echo of your mind; And the silly little head, that's filled with silly little airs, Will never get a blessing from sermon or from prayers. Page Ninety-five Poems of pioril] Money Musk (Selected) Ah, the buxom girls that helped the buxom boys — The nobler Helens of humbler Troys, As they stripped the husks with the rustling fold, From eight-rowed corn as yellow as gold. By the candlelight in pumpkin bowls, And the gleams that showed fantastic holes, In the quaint old lantern's tattooed tin, From the hermit glim set up within. By the rarer light in girlish eyes As dark as wells, or as blue as skies, I hear the laugh when the ear is red, And I see the blush with the forfeit paid. The cedar cakes with the ancient twist The cider cup that the girls have kissed, And I see the fiddler through the dusk, As he twangs the ghost of "Money Musk." The boys and girls in a double row, Wait face to face till the magic bow Shall whip the tune from the violin, And the merry pulse of feet begin. (The remainder of the poem is read to the music, Money Musk) In shirt of check and tallowed hair The fiddler sits in bulrush chair, Like Moses' basket stranded there, On the brink of Father Nile. He feels the fiddle's slender neck, Picks out the notes with thrum and check ; And times the tune with nod and beck, And thinks it a weary while. All ready ! now he gives the call, Cries, "Honor to the ladies all." The jolly tides of laughter fall And ebb in a happy smile. Page Ninety-six •Pimus of JtWh But down comes the bow on every string "First couple join right hand and swing!" As light as any bluebird's wing "Swing once and a half times round." While Mary Martin all in blue, Calico gown and stockings new, And tinted eyes that tell you true Dance all to the dancing sound. She flits about big Moses Brown, Who holds her hands to keep her down And thinks her hair a golden crown, And his heart turns over once. His cheek with Mary's breath is wet, It gives a second sommerset ! He means to win that maiden yet, Alas, for the awkward dance. "Your stoga boot has crushed my toe, I'd rather dance with one-legged Joe, You clumsy fellow," "Pass below !" And the first pair dance apart. Then "Forward Six," advance, retreat, Like midges gay in sunbeam street, 'Tis the Money Musk by merry feet, And the Money Musk by heart. "Three quarters around your partners swing!' "Across the set !" the rafters ring, The girls and boys have taken wing, And have brought their roses out. 'Tis "Forward Six!" with rustic grace Oh, rarer far than — "Swing to place!" Than golden clouds of old point lace, They bring the dance about. Then, clasping hands all — "Right and left !" All swiftly weave the measure deft, Across the woof in loving weft And the Money Musk is done. Oh! dancers of the rustling husk, Good-night, sweethearts 'tis growing dusk, Good-night for aye to Money Musk, For the march of life begun. Pag« Ninety-seven ^oema of JUTarify An Old Sweetheart of Mine James Whitcomb Riley As one who cons at evening o'er an album all alone, And muses on the faces of the friends that he has known, So I turn the leaves of fancy till, in shadowy design, I find the smiling features of an old sweetheart of mine. The lamplight seems to glimmer with a flicker of sur- prise, As I turn it low to rest me of the dazzle in my eyes And light my pipe in silence, save a sigh that seems to yoke It's fate with my tobacco and to vanish with the smoke. Tis a fragrant retrospection — for the loving thoughts that start Into being are like perfume from the blossom of the heart ; And to dream the old dreams over is a luxury divine When my truant fancy wanders with that old sweetheart of mine. Though I hear, beneath my study, like a fluttering of wings, The voices of my children, and the mother as she sings, I feel no twinge of conscience to deny me any theme When Care has cast her anchor in the harbor of a dream. In fact, to speak in earnest, I believe it adds a charm To spice the good a trifle with a little dust of harm, For I find an extra flavor in Memory's mellow wine That makes me drink the deeper to that old sweetheart of mine. A face of lily-beauty, with a form of airy grace, Floats out of my tobacco as the genii from the vase ; And I thrill beneath the glances of a pair of azure eyes As glowing as the summer and as tender as the skies. I can see the pink sunbonnet and the little checkered dress, She wore when first I kissed her and she answered the caress, With the written declaration that, "as surely as the vine Grew round the stump," she loved me, that old sweet- heart of mine. Page Ninety-eight ^Joems of 3$orth And again I feel the pressure of her slender, little hand, As we used to talk together of the future we had planned. When 1 should be a poet, and with nothing else to do But write the tender verses that she set the music to. When we should live together in a cozy, little cot Hid in a nest of roses, with a fairy garden-spot, Where the vines were ever fruited, and the weather ever fine, And the birds were ever singing for that old sweetheart of mine. When I should be her lover forever and a day, And she my faithful sweetheart till the golden hair was gray : And we should be so happy that when either's lips were dumb They would not smile in Heaven till the other's kiss had come. But, ah ! my dream is broken by a step upon the stair, The door if softly opened,, and my wife is standing there ; Yet with eagerness and rapture all my visions I resign To greet the living presence of that old sweetheart of mine. Be the Fellow That Your Mother Thinks You Are AXONVMOUS ' While walking down a crowded city street the other day, I heard a little urchin, to his comrade turn and say, "Say, Jimmy, let me. tell you I'd be as happy as a clam, If I only was the feller that my mother thinks I am, She thinks I am an angel, and she knows her little lad, Would never stoop to nothing that was ugly, mean, or bad, Lots of times I sit and wonder what I would give, Gee Whiz! If I only was the feller that my mother thinks I is." My friend, be yours a life of toil, or undulated joy, You still can learn a lesson from this ragged, barefoot boy, ' Don't aim to be an earthly saint with eyes fixed on a star, Just try to be the fellow that your mother thinks you are. Page Ninety-nine ^fosma of Purify Just for a Girl Selected Many a throne has had its fall For a girl, just a girl, Many a king was made to crawl For a girl, just a girl, When the hero goes to war He may battle for the right But it's likelier by far When he sallies forth to fight It's for a girl, just a girl. When the doctor learns to say, "It's a girl, just a girl," Father answers in dismay, "What, a girl, just a girl?" Why the sorrow and dismay, Why the anger they display? Some day some strong man Will swear that the world was made For a girl, just a girl. Why did Adam take a bite? For a girl, just a girl, Why was Troy swept out of sight? For a girl, just a girl. And would heaven be so bright And men achieve it? If they might not claim forever there A girl, just a girl. Swinging in the Grape-vine Swing Hubbard T. Smith When I was a boy on the old plantation, Down by the deep bayou, The fairest spot in all creation, Under the arching blue, When the wind swept over the cotton and corn To the long, slim loop, I would spring, With brown feet bare and hat brim torn, And swing in the grape-vine swing, Swinging in the grape-vine swing, Laughing where the wild birds sing, I dream and sigh for the days gone by, Swinging in the grape-vine swing. Page One Hundred Poems of JSortlj Out over the water lilies, bonnie and bright, Back to the moss grown trees, With ringing laugh and heart as light, As a rose tossed by the breeze, The mocking birds' all echoed my glee, And I longed for no angel's wing, I was as near heav'n as I wished to be, While swinging in the grape-vine swing. I'm weary at morn and I'm weary at night, Fretted and sore at heart, And care is sowing my locks with white, As I wend through the fevered mart. I'm weary of the world's pride and pomp, For to me no joy it can bring, I would barter it all for one day's romp, And a swing in the grape-vine swing. Swinging in the grape-vine swing, Laughing where the wild birds sing, I dream and sigh for the days gone by, Swinging in the grape-vine swing. The Fool and the Little Court Lady (Selected) He was a merry, merry fool so gay, She was a little court lady, He jangled his bells by night and by day, She sang in the green ways shady. She sang to the queen with the sad, sad, face, Who sighed, "Ah me !" as she listened, "My crown for a day of such girlhood's grace." And a tear in her dark eye glistened. The grave king looked at his jester gay, And sighed as he smiled at the chaffing, "My kingdom to be this fool for a day, Whose life is a time for laughing." They met as the sun slipped down in the sea, The fool and the little court lady. But a queer jester he and a sorry singer she, As they passed down the green ways shady. Page One Hundred and One Prmms of piortlj For, "I would I were the king." this queer fool saia, "I'm tired of my jesting and my laughter," And, "Oh to be" the queen!" sighed the merry little maid "And to wear a gorgeous robe, forever after." Then he bobbed a little bow and a little courtesy she, As they passed down the green ways shady, But "Alack !" quoth the queer little fool, quoth he, And "Alas," sighed the little court lady. Bill Mason's Bride Bret Harte Half an hour till train time, sir, An' a fearful dark time, too ; Take a look at the switch lights, Tom, Fetch in a stick when you're through. On time? well, yes, I guess so — • Left the last station all right; She'll come round the curve a-flyin' ; Bill Mason comes up to-night. You know Bill? No? He's engineer, Been on the road all his life. I'll never forget the mornin' He married his chuck of a wife. 'Twas the day the mill hands struck, Just off work, every one ; They kicked up a row in the village And killed old Donovan's son. Bill hadn't been married mor'n an hour, Up comes a message from 'Kress, Orderin' Bill to go up there, And bring down the night express. He left his gal in a hurry, And went up on Number One, Thinking of nothing but Mary, And the train he had to run. And Mary sat down by the window To wait for the night express ; And, sir, if she hadn't a' done so, She'd been a widow, I guess. For itfnust a* been nigh midnight When the mill hands left the Ridge; Page One Hundred and'" 3Fwo ^oerns of pJortl] They come down — the drunken devils, Tore up a rail from the bridge. But Mary heard 'em a-workin' .And guessed there was somethin' wrong And in less than fifteen miuutes, Bill's train it would be along! She couldn't come here to tell us, A mile — it wouldn't a' done ; So she jest grabbed up a lantern, And made for the bridge alone. Then down came the night express, sir, And Bill was makin' her climb! But Mary held the lantern, A-swingin' it all the time. Well, by Jove ! Bill saw the signal, And he stopped the night express, And he found his Mary cryin', On the track, in her weddin' dress ; Cryin' an laughin' for joy, sir, An' holdin' on to the light Hello ! here's the train — good-bye, sir, Bill Mason's on time tonight. Counting Daisy Petals Lytton Cox Coming from the little school With our lessons done, Road just like a golden path In the evening sun. Then I'd tote her pile of books On the homeward way, While she'd hold a daisy up And shyly she would say : One I love, two I love, Three I love I say, Then I'd stoop and snatch a kiss, And shyly look away. Girltime. boytime, that was joytimc All of life was play, Picking daisy petals off At the close of day. Page One Hundred and Three Iloems of piortfy Then the years flew quickly by, Where we scarcely knew, She piled up her golden curls Dropped her eyes of blue. When the summer moon was bright Softly gleaming stars, I would go a-courting her By the pasture bars. One I love, two I love, Three I love I say, Four I love with all my heart I'd stoop and try to say. But her eyes so flustered me I'd grow pale with fright, And I'd guess I'd better not 'Til some other night. Sometimes I'd get awful blue, Girls seemed mighty queer, Other fellows wanting her Came from far and near. And to tease me she'd say soft Just the same old rhyme That she used to speak to me Back in school-day time. One I love, two I love, Three I love I say, Four I love with all my heart And five I cast away. And she'd look right straight at me While she laughed in glee, And my heart went pit-a-pat Scared as I could be. Now alone I take the road Coming home at night, But I know she's waiting there In the fading light. By the little cottage gate Under evening skies, Watching up the golden road Love light in her eyes. Eyes are just as blue and bright Hair as shining gold, Page One Hundred and Four |Wuts of JUnrth As they used to seem to me In the days of old. As she'll hold a daisy up In the old, sweet way, While 1 stoop and kiss her lips Both of us will say. One I love, two I love, Three I love I say, Four I love with all my heart Forever and a day. Six she loves, seven he loves Eight both love alway, Thus we say love's rosary At the close of day. Marjery Grey (Author Unknown) ( This is a very old poem, only original copy in exist- ence and is positively true.) Fair the cabin cabin walls were gleaming In the sunbeams' golden glow, On that lovely April morning Near a hundred years ago; And upon the humble threshhold Stood the young wife Marjery Grey With her fearless blue eyes glancing down The lonely forest way, In her arms her laughing baby With its father's dark hair played, As he lingered there beside them Leaning on the trusty spade; "I am going to the wheat lot," with A smile said Robert Grey. "Will you be too lonely Marjery, if I leave you all the day?" Then she smiled a cheerful answer Ere she spoke a single word and the tone, Of her replying, was as sweet as song of bird; "No," she said, "I'll take the baby and go stay with Annie Brown. You must meet us there, dear Robert, Ere the sun has quite gone down." Page One Hundred and Five ^pocm0 ai piorify Thus they parted, strong and sturdy, All day long he labored on spading up The fertile acres from the stubborn forest won. And when laughing shadows warned him That the sun was in the west, Down the woodland aisles he hastened Whispering, "Now for home and rest." But when he had gained the clearing Of their friend a mile away, neither wife Nor child was waiting there to welcome Robert Grey. "Oh, she is safe at home," Said Annie, "for she went an hour ago While the woods were still illumined By the sunset's golden glow. Back he sped, but night was falling And the path he scarce could see, Here and there his feet were guided onward, Onward by some deep gashed tree. When at length he gained the cabin Black and desolate it stood, Cold the hearth, the windows rayless, In the stillest solitude. With a murmured prayer, a shudder A sob of anguish wild — back he darted Through the forest, calling on his wife and child. Soon the startled settlers gathered from The clearing far and near and the Solemn woods resounded with their Voices ringing clear. Torches flared and fires were kindled, And the horn's long peal rang out. While the startled echoes answered To the sturdy woodman's shout ; But in vain their sad endeavor Night by night and day by day, For no sign or token found they Of the wife of Robert Grey. Woe! woe! for pretty Marjery, with her babe Upon her arm, on her homeward way she started, Fearing nothing that could harm. With a lip and brow untroubled and a heart In utter rest, through the dim woods Page One Hundred and Six ^Jocms of pJortlj She went singing to the darling on her breast. But in sudden tenor, pausing, gazed She round in blank dismay. \\ here were all the white, scarred hemlocks Pointing out the lonely way? God of Mercies, she had wandered from the pathway. Not a tree giving mute but kindly warning, Could her straining vision see. Twilight deepened into darkness,' And the stars came out on high; All was silent in the forest, save the owl's low boding cry. Round about her in the midnight Stealthy shadows softly crept, and the babe Upon her bosom, closed its eyes and slept; Hark! A shout, and in the distance She could see the torches gleam. But alas! She could not reach it, and it Vanished like a dream. ■■>..• Then another shout and another, But she shrieked and sobbed in vain Rushing wildly toward a presentee She could never, never gain. . O, the days so long and dreary. O, the nights More dreary still. More than once she heard the sounding, Of the horn from hill to hilh - ;; . More than once a smouldering fire, In some sheltered nook she found; And she knew her husband's footprints close Beside it on the ground. Pawned the fourth relentless morning, And the sun's unpitying eye looked JJpon the haggard mother, looked to see the baby die. All day long its plaintive moaning, Wrung the heart of Marjery Grey. All night long her bosom cradled it. A pallid thing of clay. Three days more she bore it with her ( hi her rough and toilsome way, Till across its marbled features Stole the plague spot of decay. Page One Hundred and Seven Poems of JH$orii| Then she knew that she must leave it — In the wilderness to sleep, Where the prowling wild beasts only Watch above its grave should keep. Dumb with grief she sat beside it, Oh, how long she never knew. There the tales her mother told her Of the dear All Father true. When the skies were brass above her And the earth was cold and wet, And when all her tears and pleadings Brought no answer down from Him. Up she rose still pressing onward Through the forest far and wide, Till the May flowers bloomed and perished, And the sweet June roses died. Was she doomed to roam forever o'er this desolate earth, She the last and only being in those wilds of human birth? Sometimes from her pathway wolf or black bear stole away, But never once did human presence Bless the sight of Marjery Grey. One chill morning in October, when the woods were bare and brown, Through the ancient streets of Charlestown With a strange, bewildered air — Walked a gaunt and pallid woman Whose disheveled locks of brown, O'er her naked head and shoulders In the wind was streaming down. Wondering glances fell upon her ; Women veiled their modest eyes, Ere they slowly ventured near her Drawn by pitying surprise. " 'Tis some crazy one," they whispered. Back her tangled locks she tossed — "Oh, kind hearts, have mercy on me, For I am not mad but lost." Then she told her piteous story, In a vague, disjointed way, Page One Hundred and Eight JJoema of JQUortrf And with cold, white lips she murmured, "Take me home to Robert Grey." "But the river," said they pondering, "We are on the eastern side." How crossed you its turbid waters Deep the channel is, and wide? But she said she had not crossed it, In her strange, erratic course, She had wandered far to northward Till she reached its fountain source. In the dark Canadian forests, And then blindly roaming on Down the wild New Hampshire valleys, Her bewildered feet had gone. O ! The joy bells, sweet their ringing, On the frosty, autumn air. O! the boats across the river, How they leaped the tale to bear. O ! The wondrous, golden sunset, Of that blest October day, When the weary wife vyas folded To the heart of Robert Grey. . Hullo! Sam Walter Foss Wen you see a man in woe, Walk right up and say, "Hullo" Say "Hullo and how-d'ye do," "How's the world a usin' you? Slap the fellow on the back, Bring your han' down with a whack ; Waltz right up, an' don't go slow, Grin and shake an' say "Hullo." Is he clothed in rags or sho'? Walk right up and say "Hullo!" Rags is but a cotton roll Jest for wrappin' up a soul ; An' a soul is worth a true Hale an' hearty "how-d'ye do !" Don't wait for the crowd to go, Walk right up and say "Hullo!" Page One Hundred and Nine poems of JUoriij Wen big vessels meet, they say, They salute an' sail away. Jest the same are you and me, Lonesome ships upon a sea; Each one sailing his own jog For a port beyond the fog. Let your speakin' trumpet blow, Lift your horn an' cry "Hullo!" Say "Hullo" an' "how d'ye do," Other folks are good as you. Wen you leave your house of clay, Wanderin' in the Far-away, Wen you travel through the strange Country t'other side the range, Then the souls you've cheered will know Who ye be, an' say "Hullo !" Home Edgar A. Guest It takes a heap o' livin' in a house t' make it home, A heap o' sun an' shadder, an' ye sometimes have t'roam Afore ye really 'predate t»he things ye lef' behind, An' hunger fer 'em somehow, with 'em alius on yer mind, It don't make any difference how rich ye get t' be, How much yer chairs an' tables cost, how great yer luxury ; It ain't home t' ye, though it be the palace of a king, Until somehow yer soul is sort o' wrapped round every- thing. Home ain't a place that gold can buy or get up in a minute ; Afore it's home there's got t' be a heap o' livin' in it; Within the walls there's got t' be some babies born, and then Right there ye've got t' bring 'em up t' women good, an' men; And gradjerly, as time goes on, ye find ye wouldn't part With anything they ever used — they've grown into yer heart ; The old high chairs, the playthings, too, the little shoes they wore Ye hoard ; an' if ye could ye'd keep the thumb-marks on the door. Page One Hundred and Ten |3ocme of piortlf Ye've got t' weep t' make it home, ye've got t' sit an' sigh An' watch beside a loved one's bed, an' know that death is nigh ; An' in the stillness o' the night t' see Death's angel come, An' close the eyes o' her that smiled, an' leave her sweet voice dumb. Fer these are scenes that grip the heart, an' when yer tears are dried, Ye find the home is dearer than it was, an' sanctified ; An' tuggin' at ye always are the pleasant memories O' her that was an' is no more — ye can't escape from these. Ye've got t' sing and dance fer years, ye've got t' romp an' play. An' learn t' love the things ye have by usin' 'em each day ; Even the roses 'round the porch must blossom year by year Afore they 'come a part o' ye, suggestin' someone dear Who used t' love 'em long ago, an' trained 'em jes' t' run The way they do, so's they would get the early mornin' sun ; /Ye've got t' love each brick an' stone from cellar up t' dome ; It takes a heap o' livin' in a house t' make it home. Hum Um, Not Me Anonymous Co'se ah ain't sayin' Ah won't do, Des what my country want me to. But dey's one job dat Ah fo'see, Ain't gwine to tach itself to me, Hum Um, not me. Dat dis heah ahplane stuff no, not me boss Ah'll bah some other kind of cross, Lak drive a mule er tote a gun, But Ah ain't flirtin' wif de sun, Hum Um, not me. Ef Ah must do a loop de loop, Let it be roun' some chicken coop. It ain't gwine be up whah de crows Kin say Ah's trampin' on dere toes, Hum Um, not me. Page One Hundred and Eleven •Jjlaems of piortfy It sho' looks sweet, Ah don' deny, To be a oozin' roun' de sky. But dat's fo' folks in de mood, To pass up love, an' gin, an' food. Down heah Ah firs' saw light ob day, Down heah am whah Ah's gwine to stay, Folks Ah don't keer to hab ma feet git Too blamed proud to walk de street, Hum Um, not me. So Ah'll des wait till Gabriel brings Dem ( good ol' fashioned angel wings, Den as Ah pass de ahplanes by in pity, Ah'll look down an' sigh, Hum Um, not me. Tit for Tat Anonymous ''Good mornin', Miss Katie," cried young Dickie Fee, "Good mornin' again, it's yourself shure I see, Lookin' bloomin' as iver ;" but Kate turned away, As she said, "Mister Dickie, I wish you good-day, You're a heartless desaiver, now don't spake a word, Pritty stories about you and that Nora O'ive heard. You kna you danced with her that day at the fair, And praised her gray eyes and her very rid hair. You called her an angel, and said in love you had fell, And at night when you parted, you kissed her as well." Then young Dickie gave a sly wink, as he said, "Just a whisper, dear Katie, this way turn your head, I desaived her, my darlin', that's true, For I shut both my eyes, Katie, and fancied 'twas you." "Well, O'ive no time to stay, so good-bye, Dickie Fee, You may desaive her, but you can't desaive me. I'm not to be blarnyed — Dick, a word in your ear, You had better be off, for my dad's coming here !" "Your dad's coming is he? Is that him I see, Just bobbin' behind that old black-thorn tree? Why, that's Paddy McGwin." "Oh !" said Kate with a sneer, "You've got your eyes open at last, Dickie dear; Well, he's coming to meet me — now listen, my lad, If Paddy should kiss me, shure, and won't you be glad? For when his lips meet mine, why, what will I do, But just shut both my eyes, dear, and fancy 'tis you." Page One Hundred and Twelve •Pnrms of ;Blnrtl| The Highwayman Alfred Noyes The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees, The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas, The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor, And the highwayman came riding, riding, riding — The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn door. He'd a French cocked hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin, A coat of the claret velvet and breeches of brown doe- skin ; They fitted with never a wrinkle : his boots were up to the thigh ! And he rode with a jeweled twinkle, His pistol butts a twinkle, His rapier hilt a twinkle, under the jeweled sky. Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard, And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred ; He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there But the landlord's black-eyed daughter, Bess, the landlord's daughter, Plaiting a dark, red love-knot into her long,black hair. And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked Where Tim, the hostler, listened ; his face was white and peaked ; Hi> eyes were hollow of madness, his hair like mouldy hay, But he loved the landlord's daughter, The landlord's red-lipped daughter, Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say — kiss, my bonnie sweetheart, I'm after a prize tonight. But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morn- ing light ; Yet, if they press me sharply, and hurry, and harry me through the day, Page One Hundred and Thirteen •jJoems of Pfarti] Then look for me by moonlight, I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way." He rose upright in the stirrups ; he scarce could reach her hand, But she loosened her hair i' the casement! His face burnt like a brand As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast ; And he kissed its waves in the moonlight, (Oh, sweet, black waves in the moonlight!) Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and gal- loped away to the west. Part Two He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon; And out o' the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon, When the road was a gipsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor, A red-coat troop came marching, marching, marching, King George's men came marching, up to the old inn- door. They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead, But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed ; Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side ! There was death at every window, And hell at one dark window ; For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride. They had tied her up to attention, with many a snicker- ing jest ; They had bound a musket beside her, with the barrel be- neath her breast ! "Now keep good watch !" and they kissed her. She heard the head man say — • Look for me by moonlight, Watch for me by moonlight; I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way ! Page One Hundred and Fourteen Jlocma of pWtfy She twisted her hands behind her, but all the knots held good! She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood ! They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years, Till, now, on the stroke of midnight, Cold, on the stroke of midnight, The tip of one finger touched it ! The trigger at least was hers! The tip of one finger touched it; she strove no more for the rest ! Up ; she stood up to attention, with the barrel beneath her breast, She would not risk their hearing, she would not srive again ; For the road lay bare in the moonlight; And the blood of her veins in the moonlight; Blank and bare in the moonlight throbbed to her love's refrain. Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse's hoofs ringing clear; Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear? Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill. The highwayman came riding, riding, riding! The . red-coats looked to their priming. She stood up, straight and still ! Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence ! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night ! Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light! Her eyes grew wide for a moment ; she drew one last breath, Then her finger moved in the moonlight, Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him — with her death. He turned ; he spurred to the Westward ; he did not know who stood Rowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood ! Not till the dawn he heard it, and slowly blanched to hear Page One Hundred and Fifteen ^jfocme of JlUorilj How Bess, the landlord's daughter, The landlord's black-eyed daughter, Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there. Back he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky, With the white road smoking behind him, and his rapier brandished high ! Blood-red were his spurs i' the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat; When they shot him down on the highway, Down like a dog on the highway, And he lay in his blood on the highway, With the bunch of lace at his throat. And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees, When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas, When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor, A highwayman comes riding, riding, riding, A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn door. Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn yard; And he taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred ; He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there But the landlord's black-eyed daughter, Bess, the landlord's daughter, Plaiting a dark, red love-knot into her long, black hair. Mon Pierre Wallace Bruse Amsbary (From the Ballads of the Bourbannais) It ees to-morrow morning dat I marray Pierre Minot I wander if I mak' a dream, Or if it can't be so ; But still I see hees picture dere, It hang opon de wall ; He ees de bol' Pierre Minot, He's gat head of dem all. Page One Hundred and Sixteen ijflocms of piortl] I nevere shall forget firs' tarn', 1 meet dat beeg garcon, 1 see h 'right 'way opon my heart He seem to be moch gone ; I t'ink dat's veree bol' of heem, Of course I mak, resent, For heem to fall on lof wid me Before I am consent. But somehow here dese French boys, dey Hav' gat it on der min', Dat dey can hav' de gairl dey wan' Wen dey can mak' de fin', I say to me, myself, I say, I'll geeve heem une lessone, I'll mak' heem know not where he ees, Or where he want to gone. I soon is see, I gat ma man, He tak' me off wan side, He wan' to know if Sunday nex' I wid heem tak' a ride, I say to heem, "Young Lettellier Was ask me do dat, too ; I'm verree sorry, M'sieu Pierre, I cannot go wid you." Dat was a story dat I tell About young Lettellier, But when Pierre meet heem on de road, I t'ink it was nex' day, He mak' present of two black eye, He tears hees hat in piece, He use heem op mos' mighty rough, Lettellier's wan beeg geese. An' den two weeks is pass away, No wan is com' near me, Not even Pierre, who I was sure, He could not let me be : De boys dey all is drop me lak' Wan hot potato ball, I wander w'at dat all is mean, An' what keep 'way dem all. An' w'en t'ree week is come an' pass An' Sunday's here again, I'm gat to be a lonely gairl Page One Hundred and Seventeen I^aems of pJortfy An' dis is happen den ; I see a bran' new buggy com' Down road where we leeve at, It's drive by Pierre Minot, it ees, My heart go pit-a-pat. But w'at you t'ink was in ma min', Wen he go drivin' by, . An' not look h'right or to de lef ' But hoi' hees head so high ! An' den I stamp my heel wid rage, I grin' beneat' my feet De rose I pick for heem to geeve, My heart turn col' lak' sleet. For years all of de garcon here Dey do jus' w'at I say — An' now dis bol' Pierre Minot, He wan' to ac hees way; An' so I cry for long, long, tarn', Den look down by de gate An' op de padt walk Pierre Minot, De man I — almos' hate. He whistle tune — "Apres du Bal," An' "High Born Lady," too, An' tip hees hat an' bow to me. An' say, "How do you do? I not expec' to fin' you home, I t'ought you go away An' h'ride along each Sunday tarn', Wid dat young Lettelier." He also say, "I t'ought you had Mor' taste dan tak' a ride Wid man dat's got free four black eyes, I t'ought I would decide To come an' geeve you wan gran' spin 'Way down chemin public, Hein ! Bientot, you come wid me, . An' be about it quick!" Wat's more to do I am not know, I'm almos' 'fraid refuse, He mak' me gat my hat an' com' ; To say no is "no" use, Page One Hundred and Eighteen JIoentB of -IJortlj He lif me op in de high seat, Unhitch an' jump in too, An' soon we male' t'ree forty gait — My ! how dat horse he flew. De boggay he has got red wheels, De wheels she's rubber tire — An' w'en dey go spin down de road Dey seem lak' dere on fire; 1 almos' t'ink if Pierre not hoi' Mos' clos' on tight to me, I would be fri'ht ver' near to death, I's scare' as I can be. But somehow w'en hees gr'ad, beeg arm Was hoi' me roun' de wais' ! I don' gat w'ite som' mor' wid fear, But turn red on de face. < >h my wid rage I'm mad wid heem Wat could a poor gairl do, For hav' a man cut op lak' dat, An' ac' lak' hees bran' new? Den Pierre look op an' catch ma eye, An' w'en to me he say, "Rosalie, dear, w'at do you t'ink, Ees it not pretty day?" I say to heem, "De day's all right, But any fool would know All 'bout dat 'fore dey spec' it out, An' tell you 'bout it so." De twilight com', we're jogging 'long De road down L'Arable Way, An' Pierre keep talkin' all de'tam,' I can't gat word to say. He tell me, "Dere is une fine farm, How do you lak' the trees, Dat line de orchard on de lef, For keep out nort' win' breeze? Dere is new house a building op De roof is almos' done. I order dat for you an' me W'en you an' me are wan." An' den he smile on de same way; I use to do dat, too, Page One Hundred and Nineteen ^0em0 of pJorilj Wen I had garcon on de string, An' keep dem in a stew. I try to gat away from heem, But Pierre gat tighter grip, An' den he talk mos' different, As 'long de road we skip ; He say, "Ma Rosalie, ma chere," In voice dat's sof an' low, I nevere heard so sweet a soun' As he is speak, dat so. "Ah, mon ami, can you not see I treat you rough because, Dat's only way to keep out reach Your pretty tiger claws." An' w'en he see de leddle tear, He fol' me to hees breas' An' kees me once, maybe t'ree tarn, An' smood me wid caress. An' den he ax w'en I marray An' nevere from heem part. An' den som't'ing jump on my t'roat, I t'ink it was my heart; I cannot speak a word to heem, My face all blush wid red, No better he ees understan' If hundred word I said. It is tomorrow morning dat I marray Pierre Minot, I wander if I mak' a dream, Or if it can be so. But still I see hees picture dere, It hang upon de wall ; He is Mon Pierre I lof so well, He's bes' man of dem all. The Habitant William Henry Drummond De place I get born, me, is up on de reever Near foot of de rapide dat's call Cheval Blanc Beeg" mountain behin' it, so high you can't climb it An' whole place she's mebbe two honder arpent. Page One Hundred and Twenty "Poems of J^ortlj De fader of me, he was habitant farmer, Ma gran' fader too, an' hees fader also, Dey don't mak' no monee, but dat isn't fonny For it's not easy get ev'ryt'ing, you mus' know — All de sam' dere is somet'ing dey got ev'ryboddy, Dat's plaintee good healt', wat de monee can't geev, So I'm workin' away dere, an' happy for stay dere On farm by de reever, so long I was leev. O ! dat was de place w'en de spring tarn she's comin', Wen snow go away, an' de sky is all blue — W'en ice lef de water, an' sun is get hotter An' back on de medder is sing de gouglou. W'en small sheep is firs' comin' out on de pasture, Deir nice leetle tail stickin' up on deir back, Dey ronne wit' deir moder, an' play wit' each oder An' jomp all de tarn jus' de sam' dey was crack — An' ole cow also, she's glad winter is over, So she kick herse'f up, an' start off on de race Wit' de two-year-old heifer, dat's purty soon lef her, W'y ev'ryt'ing 's crazee all over de place ! An' down on de reever de wil' duck is quackin' Along by de shore leetle san' piper ronne — De bullfrog he's gr-rompin' an' dore' is jompin' Dey all got deir own way for mak' it de fonne. But spring's in beeg hurry, an' don't stay long wit' us An' firs' t'ing we know, she go off till nex' year, Den bee commence hummin', for summer is comin', And purty soon corn's gettin' ripe on de ear. Dat's very nice tarn for wake up on de mornin' An' lissen de rossignol sing ev'ry place, Feel sout' win' a-blowin', see clover a-growin', An' all de worl' laughin' itself on de face. Mos' ev'ry day raf it is pass on de rapide De voyageurs singin' some old chanson 'Bout girl down de reever, too bad dey mus' leave her But comin' back soon wit' beaucoup d'argent. An' den w'en de fall an' de winter come roun' us, An' bird of de summer is all fly away, W'en mebbe she's snowin' an' nort' win' is blowin' An' night is mos' t'ree tarn so long as de day. Page One Hundred and Twenty-One ^oemsi of piortfy You t'ink it was bodder de habitant farmer ? Not at all — he is happy an feel satisfy, An' cole may las' good w'ile, so long as de woodpile Is ready for burn on de stove bye an' bye. Wen I got plaintee hay put away on de stable, So de sheep an' cow, dey got no chance to freeze, An' de hen all togedder — I don't min' de wedder — De nort' win' may blow jus' so moche as she please. An' some cole winter night how I wish you can see us Wen I smoke on de pipe, an' de ole woman sew By de stove of T'ree Reever, ma wife's fader geev her On day we get marry, dat's long tarn ago. De boy an' de girl, dey was readin' its lesson, De cat on de corner she's bite heem de pup, Ole "Carleau" he's snorin' an' beeg stove is roarin' So loud dat I'm scare purty soon she bus' up. Philomene — dat's de oldes' — is sit on de winder An' kip just so quiet lak wan leetle mouse, She say de more finer moon never was shiner — Very fonny, for moon isn't dat side de house. But purty soon den, we hear foot on de outside, An' some wan is place it hees han' on de latch, Dat's Isidore Goulay, las' fall on de Brule He's tak' it firs' prize on de grand ploughin' match. Ha ! ha ! Philomene ! dat was smart trick you play us Come help de young feller tak' snow from hees neck, Dere's not'ing for hinder you come off de winder Wen moon you was look for is come, I expec, — Isidore, he is tole us de news on de parish 'Bout hees Lajeunesse Colt — travel two forty, sure, 'Bout Jeremie Choquette, come back from Woon- socket An' t'ree new leetle twin on Madame Vail lancour'. But nine o'clock strike, an' de chil'ren is sleepy, Mese'f an' ole woman can't stay up no more ; So alone by de fire — 'cos dey say dey ain't tire — We lef Philomene an' de young Isidore. Page One Hundred and Twenty-Two "Poems of pWtlj I s'pose dcy be talkin' beeg lot on de kitchen 'Bout all de nice moon dey was see on de sky, For I'hilomene's takin' long tarn get awaken Nex't day, she's so sleepy on bote of de eye. Dat's wan of dem t'ings, ev'ry tarn on de fashion, ' An' 'bout nices' t'ing dat was never be seen. Got not'ing for say me — I spark it sam' way me W'en I go see de moder ma girl Philomene. We leev very quiet 'way back on de contree Don't put on sam style lak de big village, W'en we don't get de monee you t'ink dat is fonny An' mak' plaintee sport on de Bottes - Sauvages. But I tole you — dat's true — I don't go on de city I f you geev de fine house an' beaucoup d'argent — I rader be stay me, an' spen' de las' day me On farm by de rapide dat's call Cheval Blanc. The Tin Gee-Gee Fred Cape I was strolling one day, down the Lowther Arcade, That place for children's toys — Where you can purchase a dolly or a spade, For your good little girls and boys. And as I passed a certain stall, Said a little wee voice to me: "Oh, I am a Colonel, in a little cock'd hat, And I ride on a tin gee-gee." Then I looked, and a little, tin soldier I saw, In his little cocked hat so fine ; He'd a little tin sword, that shone in the light, As he led a glittering line Of tin hussars, whose sabres flashed in a manner a la militaree, Whilst that little, tin soldier he rode at their head, So proud on his tin gee-gee. Then that little tin soldier he sobbed and he sighed, So I patted his little tin head. "What vexes your little tin soul?" said I, And this is what he said ; Page One Hundred and Twenty-Three ^jloems of piartij "I've been on this stall a very long time, And I'm marked one-and-nine, as you see, While just on the shelf above my head, There's a fellow marked two-and-three. Now he hasn't got a sword and he hasn't got a horse, And I'm quite as good as he; Then why mark me at one-and-nine, And him at two-and-three? There's a pretty little dolly girl over there, and I'm madly in love with she; But now that I'm only marked one-and-nine, she turns up her nose at me, She turns up her little wax nose at me and flirts with two-and-three. "And, oh ! she's dressed in a beautiful dress, It's a dress I do admire; She has pearly, blue eyes that open and shut, When worked inside by a wire. And, once on a time, when the folks had gone, she winked her eye at me, But now that I'm only marked one-and-nine she turns up her nose at me, She turns up her little snub nose at me, And 'carries on' with two-and-three." "Cheer up, my little tin man," said I, "I'll see what I can do ; You're a fine, little fellow, and it is a shame That she should so treat you." So I took down the label from the upper shelf, and I labelled him two-and-three, And I marked the other one, one-and-nine, which was very, very wrong of me. But I felt so sorry for that little tin soul, As he rode on his tin gee-gee. Now that little tin soldier he puffed with pride, At being marked two-and-three; And that saucy, little dolly-girl smiled once more, For he'd risen in life, do you see ! And it's so in this world, for I'm in love with a maiden of high degree, But I am only marked one-and-nine, and the other chaps two-and-three ; And a girl never looks at one-and-nine, With a possible two-and-three. Page One Hundred and Twenty-Four ijJoenta of JHJJortlj De Cirque at Ol' Ste. Anne Wallace Bruce Amsbrary l From the Ballads of the Bourbannais) I'm ride overe from Papinear, premier-classe cirque for see, I );it s advertise for com' Ste. Anne an' mak' som' fun vid me. J'm tak' along my Julie gairl, I gat her on de way, Ve're off for have une jolie tarn', a full all holiday. \ e >ee de animal so vil', gran' lion in de cage, Ik's valk it op an' down aroun' lak he vas in a rage. Regardes monkey an' giraffe vit neck so long an' slim, You's almos' need a telephone to say "hello" at him. Beeg crowd was all de cage aroun' for see w'at dey could see, Dey wan' to gal dere money's wort', mos' squeeze de life off me ; We see de zebra; den I t'ink wil' man from Borneo, An' w'en we gat t'roo dat moch dere into beeg tent we go. I'm buy pop-corn, also peanut, donnay to my Julie, Ve's rat it all togedder op, Oh my, we have une spree! Nex' t'ing ve sat in hippodrome, in deux grand reserve seat — I pay ten cent cxtray for dem for view dey can't be beat. So moch for sec dat's goin' on, I'm gat all mix op yet; It's .ill so good I can't mak' out jus' w'ere ma eyes for set. ■ man vas op on high trapeze, an' pretty lady — Oo ! She's hang l>v teeth an' hair, by gar! t'row keeses at you, too! A' w'en my eyes light on dat gairl, Julie vas gat jealous; She mak' de lips so poutin', so vid rage she nearly bus'; An' den I tak' her sof, white ban' an' hold it gentle so, An' try to feex it up all h'right, but fin' it quite hard go. Julie vas feel moch better ven dat lady go avay, She laugh vid me at funny clown, at all de t'ings he say; excentrique come elephan' stan' right out on his head, An' dm he lay upon de groun', preten' dat she is dead. One Hundred ami Twenty-Five jjlosms of pJorilj De acrobat he's tumble roun' all overe de whole place; De ring man shout an' crack his whip at horses in de race. Den ve tak' in de concert grand, an' lak' dat might' well, too, An' w'en ve see de peoples go, ve know dat show vas t'roo. An' w'en I'm takin' Julie home dat night de moon vas shine — I'm mak' it to her mighty plain, I'm ax for her to be mine ; But Julie say she very 'fraid, I'm lof Ma'm'selle Tra- peese, Because she grand an' t'row de kees. (I no like Julie tease.) An' so I up an' tole yer dat I lof jus' her onlee. Her cheeks dey blush de colour rouge, her eyes flash lak' de sea, Her lips vas lak de gran' sunset, I can no' long keep 'vay, I'm mak' de smack right on de spot, Oh, vat a holiday! I'm mak' de marry quite ver' soon, an' now, you under- stan' Pourquoi I tak' my Julie gairl pour cirque at ol' St. Anne. De Captaine of De "Marguerite' Wallace Bruce Amsbary (From The Ballads of the Bourbonnais) You vant to know who 'tis I am? You're stranger man, I see ; I don't min' tell you som't'ing Concern' de life of me. My fadder's com' from Canadaw, 'Long wid Pere Chiniquy, 'Vay in de early fifty year To Ian' of libertee. An' I am born here on de State, An' rose soon high to be De Captaine of de Marguerite Dat sails de Kankakee. De people all is know me here When I vent down de street, Vit' moch respec' dey bow to me, Ven evere dem I'd meet. De ladies call me "Captaine," De men is call me "Cap;" Page One Hundred and Twenty-Six Querns of ,liilortI| De children overe de 'hole place Dey's nios'lv call me "Pap;" I'm "caractere publique," dey say Wat evere dat may be, I'm Captaine of de Marguerite Dat sails de Kankakee. An' u'en de Great Beeg Var bus' out — In nineteen seventeen, No more paytr'otic man dan me I tink you nevere seen. I've now de chance to go to front; I vill be brave, bol' man An' finish up de Bosch by gar! But I fight not on Ian', I go upon ze gentlemen Of var, I say to me : I'm Captaine of de Marguerite Dat sails de Kankakee. An' den I put de Marguerite In dry dock for avile; I gat me to Chicago town My face is all wan smile; Dey mak' recruit for navey dere, For seaman advertise ; De ofiicere he's dress' lak doode, Say : I's mos' undersize. "Vat exper'ence it is you have, My man?" he say to me. Den 1 tol' heem 'bout de Marguerite Dat sails de Kankakee. An' ven he hear me all of dis, Pie mak' de gran' salute An' say: he vill accept me — Mighty glad of dat to boot; Ven M'sieu Adm'ral Simms by gar! De Boss man of de fleet, Vos hear dat I join de navey Vill lif heem off hees feet. All of dis talk I hear I t'ink Is gratify to me aptaine of de Marguerite Dat sails de Kankakee. Page One Hundred and Twenty-Seven ^jloems ai piottl] An' ven ve lay de mine barage All overe de Nort' Sea I's man de boat dat's go in front To mak' de way all free. Sometime dose bullet dey com' fas' An' death Hee's com' dere too; An' in dat hell of fire an' smoke Vos awful how-de-do, It's differante from quiet tarns Dan ven I go to sea. I was Captaine of de Marguerite Dat sails de Kankakee. An' ven we meet a submarine I's cut up wan beeg dash. I's on de little chaser dat Is smash 'em all to smash. De British boat, an' Frenchman too Were not in it at all wid us We mak' 'em scat lak' grasshoppere Wid shells we mak' 'em bus' I's man behin' de gun — I's drop De depth bomb don't you see "ee Captaine of de Marguerite Dat sails de Kankakee. / a ven de war is overe, ± gat Honerab' Discharge It's den I t'ink I've tam to t'ink Of Rosalie Le Farge. Dat girl shee's twice refuse me wance; But now dat I'm hero Shee's t'ink about me two, t'ree tam Before shee's let me go. Shee's glad I no mak' bait for shark Dat's swim upon de sea But still de Captaine of my boat Dat sails de Kankakee. At home dey meet me wid brass ban', Sky rocket and flambeau ; Dey turn de town upside overe To me de rose dey t'row ; I's ride in state to Cite Hall, To me day mak' a speak, I try to mak' wan, too, but I Gat meex up an' I steek ; Page One Hundred and Twenty-Eight ffitrema of 33ffortf| I's talk about de country dat I save, an' 'bout de flag, An' den I set me down again — For me I no lak' brag. It's not become de hero man To speak an' talk so free Nor de Captaine of de Marguerite Dat sails de Kankakee. An' den dere vas de gran' banquay To honneur me dey geeve, De maire an' all de council here In Kankakee dat leeve. Dey mak' a toas', I geeve wan back, Ve haf ' some jollie fon ; An' den we sing an' laugh an' shout Den de 'hole place we rone; Dey's fill me op wid cognac Till again I's on de sea Former Captaine of de Marguerite Dat sails de Kankakee. An' now I'm com' back from de var I t'ink I's rose op high, If I keep on a going op I'll gat on top de sky. Dey say I vas premiere factor In fight opon de sea. An' now when I go down de street Here's w'at dey say to me; De ladies call me "Admiral," De men is call me "Ad," De children overe de 'hole place Dey's lov' to call me "Dad," Dat's why I wear de plume superb Commander Gran' you see For I'm Admiral now of de 'hole fleet Dat sails de Kankakee. So many people ask me, "Ad, Who is it win de fight An' put de Bosch upon de blink An' finish heem up right? It ees wan questione delicate I