%r# nrs LIBRARY OF CONGRESS mm ii hi: 018 603 968 3 PS 3505 .R945 P6 1893 Copy 1 POEMS WILL L. CROWE BEING A COLLECTION OF ORIGINAL SONGS, RECITATIONS, AND OTHER POEMS, NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED. PUBLISHED FOR THE AUTHOR Entered, according to act of Congress, in the year 1893, by WILLIAM LEWIS CROWE in the office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. TO CRITICS Ere you criticise a sermon, Write a sermon of your own; Ere you criticise a poem, First compose a rival one: And if thus, on equal footing, You make judge, and judged appear; Then, you'll be an honest critic, And, I think, much less severe. \ CONTENTS PAGE. Epistle to my Muse 13 Black-eyed Bessie 14 Lines to Miss 16 Moses Gripe's Preparations for Marriage 16 Nebraska Scenery 17 The Bliss and the Miseries of Love 19 Bigotry 20 Epistle to a Friend who had just Graduated. .. 23 Love's Effect 23 When our Conscience is Clear 25 After the Rain 26 Canadian-Americans' Song 27 Comparisons 28 The Greatest of Men 29 My Pine Tree Canoe 30 Only a Friend 31 Advice to Young Fellows in Love 32 Dark Weather 34 Hard Workers 35 A Bright Light Ahead 36 Stella 37 Evening Meditations 38 Nobody's Great till He' s Dead 40 Politeness at Home and Ahroad 41 The Old Beggar Man 42 CONTENTS I Always said "Good Morning!" with the rest.. . 43 We, are Never too Old to Learn 44 Tom Inconstant' s Heart 45 A Bachelor's Confession 46 The Old Log House in the Wood 47 Jennie, I'm Coming to You! . . 48 Mat McCrate's Wake 49 Anger and Beauty 52 The Watcher , . 52 The Shipwreck 54 A Night Disturbance 56 EARLIER POEMS. Spring . . . 57 A Kiss on the Sly 58 Ethel Mary 59 God's Care for Us Below 60 A Child's Recitation for Christmas 61 The Farmer Boy 62 The Clane Pay Sthraw ... 64 The Value of Time , 65 The Old Apple Tree 66 Love and Divorce 67 A Tableau 69 A Farewell 71 An African's Paean 72 Slanderers 73 Mine Horrible Frau 74 The Bashful Young Man 76 An Old Man's Soliloquy 77 Wishing 78 Simon Simple's Novel 79 CONTENTS Let the Young Folks have their Fun 81 Life 82 PRELIMINARY REMARKS. I was born in Bruce county, Canada, on March 19th, 1866. My father, who is a farmer, moved to Howard coun- ty, Neb., in 1881, and settled near St. Paul, where we still reside. I refrain from giving a lengthy autobiography, as I do not regard these works as being of sufficient im- portance to require it; but a slight knowledge of the author and his early home is necessary to an under- standing of some of these writings. I am far from thinking that these poems are models of correctness, for they have all been composed while I was engaged in some kind of farm work. I have never had time to write anything very weighty or deep, if I have the ability to do so. My time, now, is too much occupied with my farm work to permit me to write them with the care I should like to be- stow upon them; so the reader, I trust, will pardon improprieties he may meet. Some of these compositions have been handed around in manuscript, and recited in schools and literary societies, where they seemed to give satisfac- tion; and it is the thought that they might entertain at such gatherings, or afford pastime to the reader, that induces me to have them published. \ My hopes are not very exalted as to how my intro- duction to the public, through this humble volume, 10 PRELIMINARY REMARKS. II will be received; but I look forward, hopefully, to a time when circumstances will enable me to study more, so that if I write another book, it will be more correct and meritorious. In concluding these remarks, I wish to express my thanks to my good friend, Mrs. Fannie R. Wallace, for the much kind advice and help I have received from her, both as my Sabbath-school teacher of some years ago, and as a critic of my writings; and also to my loving wife, Minnie, for preparing my manuscripts and my meals while I have been husking my corn. W. L. Crowe. CROWE'S POEMS. EPISTLE TO MY MUSE. Composed while cultivating corn. Oh, come to me, poetic muse, And let thy presence charm A lonely bard who works so hard On this Nebraska farm! Mount Pegasus, fair Erato, And from Parnassus' brow Take flight to me, o'er land and sea; You'll find me at the plow. The hours drag so slowly by, And, oh! the day is long, Without thee to inspire me To compose a rhyme or song. The withering breath of Aeolus, The scorching beams of Sol, Both parch my lips, and make hot drops Of perspiration fall. But in thy sweet Castalian fount, Just let my lips be wet; Then lost in rhyme, both Father Time And thirst, HI soon forget. 13 14 CROWE'S POEMS. Then till old faithful hunger's clock Proclaim it time to dine, I turn the soil, and know no toil, Till Phoebus doth decline. Oh, charming fay of Helicon! Pray, leave thy genial clime, That I with thee, in poesy, May pass away my time; Then with each row of corn I plow, A stanza we'll compose; Thus time will fly, and night draw nigh, Before the toiler knows. I would that men on public works Could court a muse like thee; They'd care not then if eight or ten Their hours of work should be; But thou dost love in solitude With some recluse to be; Some exiled wretch or lonely "bach," Who can none court but thee. BLACK-EYED BESSIE. 'Tis sunny spring, and everything Is looking fresh and green; Each hill and dale and grassy vale Presents a pleasant scene; But naught I see enraptures me, Or thrills me with such joy, As does the flash, through the dark eyelash, Of black-eyed Bessie's eye. BLACK-EYED BESSIE. 15 Each low ravine, so deep and green. Looks beautiful in June, Lit by the bright and lucid light Of sun, or stars and moon; But all that we on earth can see, or in the starry sky, Cannot entrance like one gay glance Of black-eyed Bessie's eye. Some men delight to go each night To glut themselves with beer; And then come home, foul from its foam, To the one they once called dear; To festivals, and banquet halls, Some go to gormandize; But my heart's greed is but to feed On black-eyed Bessie's eyes. Each evening when some nice young men Have the'r work or business done; In billiard halls, they roll round balls, And think they're having fun! In quiet homes some play at games,— But let me have a ride, On a lovely night, when the sky is bright, By black-eyed Bessie's side! Some love to climb the heights, sublime, Of mountains rough and hoar; Some love to be beside the sea Where winds and waters roar; But having placed around her waist, My arm, when none espy, — I'm in a trance beneath the glance Of black-eyed Bessie's eye. 16 crowe's poems. LINES. You fault not my rhyme, nor my thoughts as they're drest; But my subjects, you say, are not always the best; You say, I should choose something grand and sub- lime; But what's on my mind most, must be in my rhyme. Then don't criticize too severely my themes; I write of what gives me the most pleasant dreams; Yet I'll do as you say, — "Choose a subject sublime; " — But what's on my mind most, must be in my rhyme. And though I should search, long and often, to find That grandest of themes to my poetic mind, I am sure I'd decide on yourself every time; — For what's on my mind most,, must be in my rhyme. MOSES GRIPE'S PREPARATIONS FOR MAR- RIAGE. "Yes, I think it's 'bout time when a man's forty-four, An' has 'bached' twenty years, to 'bach it' no more; So I'm goin' to git married to Isabel Grey; She's healthy and stout, so I think it will pay. "This bakin's a bother; — then with no one 'roun', My pigs have to starve while I'm gone to the town; Now my grain must be stacked, and then hayin' comes on, An I can't very well do sich work all alone; "If she's willin' to help, I think I kin afford To take her, and give her her clothin' and board. If she's 'greeable, I'll niver grudge, I'm sure, This trouble I have gittin' ready for her. NEBRASKA SCENERY. I 7 "I have made a new milk-stool, and cushioned it well With canvas and hay, for my dear Isabel; I have bought a large staffchurn, and two ridin' plows, Which we'll pay for with butter from seventeen cows. "I hev bought lots of lime, an' some brushes, an* brooms, So that she can clean up the house when she comes ; I engaged seven boarders the very same day, — Informing them, — I am the one takes the pay.' "Then, I took my old slop-barrel, and sawed it in two; On a wheel-barrow, one half, I fixed with a screw. It is one of the lightest and handiest rigs That a woman could wish for, for sloppin' the pigs. "A look, I am sure, would do any man good, At the ax I have bought her for choppin' her wood; — Now, if she don't appreciate all I hev done, Then she's one of the meanest gals under the sun." NEBRASKA SCENERY. What is there on these Western plains an artist would admire? What, here, would rouse in orator his eloquence and fire? What is there that the natur' list would view with wild delight? What scenery to inspire the pensive Western bard to write? Through clover fields, o'er pebbly beds, no babbling brooklets flow; We see no lakes, bedecked with isles, where rare wild flowers grow; 1 8 crowe's poems. No tall and stately forest trees; no springs nor brook- lets clear, No grand or lovely scenery for admiration here. A murky kind of ditch the name of "creek" or "river" takes; And, here and there, some stagnant mudholes proudly we call "lakes; " And on the banks, where sandburs bloom, and many a cactus grows, To muse on Nature's beauties, may the Western bard repose. At last, when eventide has come, unfinished is his lay; And through the bogs and sagebrush, he homeward plods his way; With muddy shoes, and torn clothes, the bogs at length are passed; With eyes chock-full of drifting sand, he reaches home at last. Nor do the muses oft descend to court the farmer boy, While these bleak winds around him sweep, which harass and annoy; If e'er he wields his pen, 'tis not to write of tranquil bliss; But, from his soul, he writes in rhyme some ardent wish like this: — "Would that I might transported be to some seques- tered vale, — Across which, ruthless Aeolus no more shall ride the gale; Where I might spend one peaceful spring, and never hear his roar. — BLISS AND MISERIES OF LOVE. ig Or where Nebraska's howling winds should buffet me no more." * THE BLISS AND THE MISERIES OF LOVE. One evening, at Fireholef we camped for the night, And tethered our team on the green, Where we spent many hours with laughter and song, And talking of what we had seen. But Ericcson generally gayest of all, That evening was pensive and mum; Till someone said, "jack what's the matter to-night? And what has you looking so glum?" "Oh!" said he, "I'm not thinking of what we see here, While we o'er the Yellowstone rove; But the pleasures and sorrows, the joys and vexations, And the bliss, and the miseries of love. "I know very well, Will, that you have been there; And you, Tom, have felt Cupid's dart; And Lew, Pve no doubt that some beautiful maid Once captured and fractured your heart. "If you ever were deeply in love with a maid That you feared didn't care much for you, You know how each look that she gives you affects, And makes you feel happy or blue. "What varied emotions each moment you feel! Now pleasure, now misery or pain; Now you bask in her smile; now you wither and shrink At her look of reproach or disdain. * Though there's little in Nebraska scenes an artist would desire; And but little for the natur'list or poet to admire: Yet. the gardeners and farmers, of these fertile vales and plains. Find as near perfection, this, as any land the earth contains. t In the Yellowstone National Park. 20 crowe's poems. "You think, 'The most favored of mortals am I', As you steal from her lips a sweet kiss; But next evening you secretly spy Billy Jinks Enjoying the very same bliss. "Oh! unmerciful fate! unrequited love, How cruel and painful thy sting! The jilted and heart-broken lover, alone, Knows the terrible anguish you bring! "Never once in my life has my love been returned By the girl I desired to woo; Though annoyed by the amorous glances and smiles Of all other maids that I knew. "Hdw happy, indeed, should the married man be, Who has captured the one he loves best; Who no more feels the jealousies, fears and sus- pense, That rankle the poor lover's breast!" BIGOTRY. In science, in religion, and in politics we find That a bitter sort of bigotry exists among mankind. It ruins friendship, and our hearts with enmity imbues, Making foes of all who differ in their doctrines or their views. Yet, our doctrines are but patrimonies, be they bad or good; We take them from our fathers as an infant takes its food; Pure and sacred these inheritances are in our own sight; Those of other creeds are foolish, those of ours alone are right. BIGOTRY. 21 Yet, should sons forever tread the path their fathers trod so long, With eyes and ears closed up, for fear they find their doctrine wrong? — As useles as the library that never leaves the shelf, Are reasoning powers to him who never reasons for himself. All our tenets should stand trial, careful scrutiny, and quest; If they're false, we ought to know it, and if true they'll stand the test. He who but to one idea clings, and vows it must be true, Because a man whose word is law, expressed it as his view; Who cannot trust his reasoning powers to judge of wrong and right, Should have the little change he needs for ape or par- asite. Some adhere to an opinion just from blinded prejudice, Scorning e'en to think of others that to them appear amiss; Other's pride in their ancestors' lore, to them convic- tion bears, That all opinions must be wrong that don't agree with theirs. Though a pride in our own doctrine is inbred in every sect, Yet, for others' inborn views we ought to have a due rtsptct. 22 Crowe's poems. We should not despise the negro for his color, cr his name, When we can thank but chance of birth that we are not the same; For creeds and color, titles, looks, that sully or en- hance, Are fortunes, or misfortunes, but inherited by chance. Got as heir-looms, or the dower of an undeserving bride, Titles, beauty, or our doctrines give no grounds for bigot pride. Hence we should see the vanity of prejudice and pride, And take no fop, or bigot, for our pattern or our guide; — Were you born beneath a lucky star, to you no honor's due; Nor does it justify contempt of those less blest than you. If Fate thought fit to make you white, then let her have your thanks; And if your'e black, ascribe it, just, to one of Nature's pranks. Hereditaments are many, and our own acquirements few, And to kings for their position there's but little honor due; And though we may take some pride in work that we alone have done, Yet, 'tis foolish to be vain of what our efforts haven't won; love's effect. 23 Or without research and reasoning, to adhere to any creed, Just because our fathers held it, and to nothing else gave heed. EPISTLE. TO A FRIEND WHO HAD JUST GRADUATED. In school, while we're seeking for knowledge, we find Satisfaction and joy in improving the mind; But we're apt to find out, that whate'er height attained, From its practical use, little pleasure is gained. The high aspirations and hopes of our youth, Oft are cruelly crushed, and we wake to the truth, That most of us must be content to pursue Some work beneath that which we're fitted to do. And, if by rare fortune we win a great name, And reach the top round of the ladder of fame; We, like Solomon, turn from the greatness and glare, And say: "All is vanity — trouble and care!" If we realize all that we hope for, or not, Disappointment will, generally, fall to our lot; For the realized future is seldohi as bright As we see it in fancy, ere coming to light. Yet, although I disparage ambition for fame, In life, I would never say, "Lower your aim." But rate not too highly your talents or lore, And the death of your hopes you'll less deeply deplore. LOVE'S EFFECT. Two handsome young plow boys are Peter and Mike, Who, to-day, are both plowing for old farmer Peck; 24 crowe's poems. Both are good jolly lads, with a relish for fun, And each has a sweet-heart, "as fair as the sun!" Last night Peter went to see Daisy Coquette, And Mike went to see farmer Jones' daughter Bet, — Let us hide in the shade of this thick willow hedge, Where they turn every round, and my honor Pll pledge, That something before very long will throw light On how each fellow fared with his sweet-heart last night. Hark! list to that music! that whistler's no snipe; He's whistling a jig tune — "The Fisher's Hornpipe:" Note the shrill lively flourish he adds at the end — Come and peep through this hole where I'm looking, my friend. Did you hear that low chuckle, so rapturous like? Say, which fellow is it? It's Mike, yes, it's Mike! Oh! just take a look at that grin on his mug; He's thinking of when he gave Betty the hug! See his cheeks, how they're swelling! He's dropping his jaw! He can hold in no longer; — Hark — "ha — ha — ha — ha!" Now he turns on the corner; — "Get up! come round! gee!— She's a jewel, is Betty;" (singing) "Te ride dumde!" But who is this hard-looking type of our race, With that terrible woe-begone look in his face? See his grim-looking countenance. Listen, I pray! "Confound the durned women!" I hear Peter say. Now he jerks up his horses, his angry eyes flash; Then he raises his whip, brings it down with a slash; WHEN OUR CONSCIENCE IS CLEAR. 2$ "She's the meanest gal living she couldn't bewo'se! Git up tha! Come 'roun' Jack! You lazy old cuss! — Sich a blamed plow to guide as this I've niver seen! — Git up! Steady! Haw! Gee! Jack! What do you mean? — This world's all a humbug, and women are too — I wish I could leave both. By hokey! I do." Thus muttering gloomily, onward goes Pete, So we may now sneak from our shady retreat; And we know, just as well as if we had been there, How each lad was treated last night by his Fair. So here's my advice to all fellows that court; — If you want much vexation, go courting a flirt; But, if you would be happy, with heart free from pain, Court good honest Bettie, though ever so plain. WHEN OUR CONSCIENCE IS CLEAR. At the grey dawn of morn, when the sun's placid light Just begins to appear; And the mists are dispersed by its streamers, so bright, From the east of our sphere; — As its golden rays flow o'er each meadow and stream; As they dance on the water, and sparkle and gleam; How fair, and how lovely, these beauties all seem, When our conscience is clear! When that grander and lovelier picture, at night, Is unveiled to our eye; More beautiful e'en than the sun's golden light, The star-studded sky; As we think of the motions of each shining sphere, How grand does the plan of creation appear! But grander it seems, if our conscience is clear, As we gaze up on high. 26 Crowe's poems. Our hearts are so joyful, our faces so bright, When we've no guilt to bear, We're happy all day and retire at night With nothing to fear; We love to give praise to our Maker in prayer; For everything seems so attractive and fair; And we see His benevolent works everywhere, When our conscience is clear. But when we have guilt weighing down on our heart, From whate'er cause it be; Instead of the rapture these scenes should impart, No beauty we see; When a mean, wicked action is weighing us down, And our heart feels a load, — on our face is a frown — While the still voice of conscience we struggle to drown, Oh, how wretched are we! Would this world be a place full of beauty, and peace, And joy, and good cheer, Our endeavor must be from all evil to cease, Then Elysium is here. Then we fear neither man nor the death-angel' s sword, But live in the sunshine and smile of the Lord; And the joys that it gives us are ample reward When our conscience is clear. AFTER THE RAIN. The clouds are all scattered that brought us the rain, And we welcome the sun in its brightness again; It comes with its heat and its myriad darts, To dry up the moisture and gladden our hearts. And its rays, in dispelling the atmosphere damps, Give scent to the flowers, and growth to all plants; CANADIAN AMERICANS' SONG. 2^ The crickets and birds chirp a lustier song, And the brooks babble more as they ripple along. All nature seems wakened to music and glee, — Frogs croaking, and insects in wild jamboree; Birds swelling their throats for their highest-keyed lays; While the naturalist lists in ecstatic amaze. When we're bathed in the mists and the sun's mellow light, Our hearts are more joyful, our faces more bright; We inhale a deep breath of the purified air, Which makes our hearts buoyant, and drives away care. But if we, at such times, wear a visage of gloom, When all nature is singing, and sweet flowers bloom, We should feel it a shame that our Maker should see His unthinking, dumb creatures more joyful than we. CANADIAN AMERICANS' SONG. From the forests, streams and lakes of our dear Cana- dian home, We have come to this land of the West, Where we mingle with men of all races and climes — Here, where all men are equally blest. Cho. Then for Canada, hurrah! For the States all, hurrah ! Hurrah for our homes old and new! Between them may peace and good will never cease, And their friendship be lasting and true. We are neighbors and brothers, our countries are one Our language and creed are the same; 28 Crowe's poems. Let us live as one family in love and in peace, With no more bloody feuds of shame. We were loyal to old England one hundred years ago, While our brothers here for independence fought, But we'll be just as loyal to this land, now our home, Whose liberty the blood of heroes bought. Our industry and thrift are well known where'er we go, And bring credit to the country where we dwell — We'll be true to Uncle Sam, and our old Canadian home And we'll ne'er disgrace the homes we love so well. COMPARISONS. Come boys, let us go out, in fancy, to-day, To a gathering of maidens, all pretty and gay; Place Modesty, Frankness, and Candor, beside Hypocrisy, Boldness, Deception and Pride. Now place the pretending, deceitful coquette Near the frank honest maid, whether blonde or bru- nette; They both may be very attractive and fair; But, how do the flirt and sweet maiden compare? Take the sharp and stern maid, with the eagle's keen eye, Place beside her the maid, meek and gentle and shy; Now, view, for a moment, this ill-mated pair, — Oh! how do the thistle and lily compare? Now a masculine maid, with a bold brazen face, Near a shy, modest, innocent maiden we'll place; Now, view these two different beings placed there, — Oh! how do the he-maid and angel compare? THE GREATEST OF MEN. 2§ A good maiden preacher may win our respect, And convince us of folly, or sinful neglect; A woman's-rights maiden may fill us with awe, By her deep erudition and knowledge of law; But, boys, I believe, on this point we agree, While we deeply respect every maiden we see: The frank, modest maiden, as meek as a dove, Is the maid, of all others, that captures our love. THE GREATEST OF MEN. The greatest of men have some weakness or flaw, Not a one of perfection can boast; Their persistence or daring now holds us in awe And now these in their failings are lost. Alexander and Bonaparte conquered the world, And grew rich from their plunder and pelf; But, though at their names the world trembled, we're told, Yet neither could conquer himself. The great Bonaparte by a snuffbox was killed; Edgar Poe by the rum bottle slain; And Lord Byron's sweet harp, in his young manhood, stilled, By the passions he could not restrain. But I need not a number of instances state, To prove what I say to be true; For all who can read, know how few of the great, Were able themselves to subdue. Many men have attained a great name in the world, And subdued every external foe; 30 crowe's poems. But their passions and appetites held them enthralled, And their end was disgraceful and low. Inconstancy has been to many a ban, Others' tempers have caused their downfall; But he who can conquer himself, is the man Who is greatest and wisest of all. MY PINE-TREE CANOE. I left the verdant wildwood, Where I spent my early childhood, And bade my home and loving friends adieu; But the friends that seemed the nearest My affections, and the dearest, Were the river and the forest And my "Pine-Tree Canoe." Cho. Rowing down the river, — Where the sunbeams dance and quiver, Seated in my Pine-Tree Canoe; Viewing woods and heather In the lovely summer weather, — Oh, delightful scenes! forever Must I bid you all adieu? That canoe — when first I made it — With what pleasure I surveyed it, And concluded it would carry quite a crew! Then down to the shore I hauled it, And into the stream I rolled it, — And the name I always called it Was, "My Pine-Tree Canoe. There the river, deep and silent, Wound around a fairy island, ONLY A FRIEND. 3 1 Where wild fruits and flowers in abundance grew; Where the singing birds abounded, And their joyous notes resounded, Whilst I slowly sailed around it In my Pine-Tree Canoe. Oh! many happy hours Have I spent among the flowers, On that isle bedecked with violets pink and blue; Or, when in my boat, when passing By the grassy shores a-fishing, With the crystal waters washing Round my Pine-Tree Canoe. In my dreams, I sometimes wander To that island over yonder, And go sailing round it as I used to do; Though I'm happy when embarking, Yet I feel the tear-drops starting, When the hour comes for parting With my Pine-Tree Canoe. ONLY A FRIEND. A few pleasant rides I may take by your side, — I may call you my friend, you say — never my bride; I may talk of the flowers or bright stars above; But, you say, I must never more mention my love. But one with the beauty and learning of thee, I had ne'er hoped would wed a plain fellow like me; So, as in my love I have not been deceived, I'm not disappointed, — I only feel grieved. 32 CROWE'S POEMS. Yes, somebody's darling, my heart is so full That I act rather soft, and my company is dull; I sit absent-minded, as if in a spell, But that I'm not naturally so you know well. While I stifle my words — while I strive to suppress The deep, hopeless love which I dare not express; While my heart almost bursts with crushed hopes and dismay, How can I — oh! how can I laugh and be gay? I can give a ghost smile at your light, careless words, Which thrill my sad heart like the gay songs of birds; But beneath that face-smile is Rejection's keen dart, Which was hurled by your hand, and sticks fast in my heart! And the pain and the grief which I strive to conceal, I know oft my voice or my face doth reveal; And my gloom takes your pleasure away from our ride; Yet, oh! let me sit here awhile by your side! Though the bliss of your company, a very short spell, Is all I can have, dearest, do not rebel! But, through pity for me, and the love I bear you, Let me give you one kiss e'er I bid you adieu! ADVICE TO YOUNG FELLOWS IN LOVE. My boy, are you deeply in love with a maid That calls you a softling or fool? Then don't feel dismayed by her sneers and tirade, But just keep good-natured and cool. Don't allow her to think she alone has your heart, But with other maids riding be seen; ADVICE TO YOUNG FELLOWS IN LOVE. 33 While you sit in a way, "to prevent" — you may say — "A cold draft from passing between." No, don't let her have all the fun to herself, While you worry and sorrow and fret; She'll be so overjoyed, if she sees you're annoyed, That she'll cause you to suicide yet. When your heart feels like bursting to tell her your love, And your words seem to stick in your throat, Just try, if you can, to act like a man, And more favor you'll have in your suit. If you fear that she deems your attentions a bore, Cause her not constant dread that she's tracked; But whene'er you on her can a favor confer, Be ready and willing to act. Don't compliment her syith too many sweet names, Like Honey, or Sweetie, or Pet; But show her that you are a friend kind and true, And, perhaps, you may capture her yet. American maidens are artful and pert, And thankless for favors bestowed; Yet their every caprice that deprives us of peace Seems to act on our love like a goad. Independent, are they, as the country they love, — A profession each wants of her own, So that she may be independent and free To marry or let it alone. Be patient, dear boy! let her work for a while With types, with her pen, or in school; And the time will soon conic when she'll long for a home Where she as the mistress may rule. 34 CROWE'S POEMS. And here, I believe, she will finally own Is the haven of true freedom's boast; Where no more, she is bound every day to be found, Spite of weather or health, at her post But now, as she steps from the school, feeling vain From graduate honors she's got; Don't think she will view an alliance with you As the great thing in life to be sought. But if you believe she alone is the one You could love all the days of your life; Just patiently wait, and keep trusting in fate, And this maiden may yet be your wife. For, I've oft known a man whom a maid treated worse Than a cur e'er was used in its life, Who is now daily met, at the door of his hut, With a kiss from that maiden — his wife. DARK WEATHER. When an unbroken week of dark weather Has hid the bright sun from our sight; And through the grim darkness of ether, No star shades its glimmer at night;