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Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la mdthode. 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 MICROCOPY RESOLUTION TEST CHART (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) 1.0 i.l m 150 2.8 iU -, J.o IBC r II 1 4.0 2.5 ill T9 lIM 2.2 2.0 .8 1.25 1.4 1.6 := APPLIED \MAGB Inc =?"■ I6f"< Tost Main Street F-= r(oc ester, New York 14609 USA ■SSS (716) 482 - OJOO - Pl-one = (716) 288 - 5989 - Fax FARM BALLADS FARM FESTIVALS AM) FARM LEGENDS BY WILL CARLETON TORONTO THE MUSSON BOOK COMPANY, Limited LONDON SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, AND COMPANY LIMITEn [All rights reserved] PREFACE. |HESE poems have been written under various, and, in some cases, difficult, conditions : in the open air " with team afield ; " in the student's den, with the ghof • . of unfinished lessons hovering gloomily about ; amid the rush and roar of railroad travel, which trains of thought are not prone to follow; and in the editor's sanctum, where the dainty feet of the Muses do not often deign to tread. Crude and unfinished as they are, the author has yet had the assurance to publish them, from time to time, in different ptriodicals, in which, it is but just to admit, they have been met by the people with un- expected favour. While his judgment has often failed to endorse the kind words spoken for them, he has naturally not felt it in his heart to file any remon- strances. He has been asked, by friends in all parts of the eouiiiry, to put his poftrng into a more durabic forrn v! PREFACE. than they have hitherto possessed; and it is m accordance with these requests that he now presents « Farm Ballads " to the public. Of course he does not expect to escape, what he needs so greatly, the discipline of severe criticism , for he is aware that h( as often wandered out of the beaten track, and has many times been too regardless of the established rules of rhythm, in his (oftentimes vain) search for the flowers of poesy. But he believes that The People are, after all, the true critics, and will soon ascertain whether there are more good than poor things in a book ; and whatever may be their verdict in thi? case, be has made up his mind to be happy. W. C ■ 1 CONTENTS. FARM BALLADS. Betsy and T Ark Out . How Bktsy and I Mads Uf . Gone v» : a Handsomer Man , Johnny Rich .... Out of the Old House, Nancy Over the Hill to the Poor-Housk . Over the Hill from the Poor-Housb Uncle Sammy .... Tom was Goin' for a Poet Goin' Home To-Day . . Out o' the Fire , , , PAOB I 13 as 37 47 59 71 81 89 97 los OTHER POEMS. The New Church Organ The Editor's Guests . The House where We wers Wed . Ous Arm¥ of the Dead 121 127 14a MS Vlll CONTENTS. Apple Blossoms . Apples Growing One and Two . The Fading Flower Autumn Days . Death-Doomed , Up the Line How we Kept the Day FAUB 156 »59 163 165 172 *75 tAom 153 156 159 163 165 172 *75 BETSEY AND I ARE OUT. \i ,i BETSEY AND I ARE OUT, ^^^RAW up the papers, lawyer, and I make 'em good and stout ; For things at home are crossways, and Betsey and I are out. We, who have worked together so long as man and wife, Must pull in single harness for the rest of oux nat'ral life. " What is the matter ? " say you. I swan it 's hard to tell ! Most of the years behind us we *ve passed by very well ! FAUM BALLADS. If 9 ! I have no other v^oman, she has no other man — Only we 've lived together as long as we ever can. So I have talked with Betsey, and Betsey has talked with me, And so we've agreed together that we can't never agree ; Not that we've catched each other in any terrible crime ; We 've been a-gathering this for years, a little at a time. There was a stock of temper we both had for a start, Although we never suspected 'twould take us two apart ; I had my various failings, bred in the flesh and bone ; 1.^ BETSEY AND I ARE OUT. 5 And Betsey, like all good women, had a tempef of her own. The first thing I remember whereon we disagreed Was something concerning heaven— a difference in our creed ; We arg'ed the thing at breakfast, we arg'ed the thing at tea, And the more we arg'ed the question, the more we didn't agree. And the next that I remember was when we lost a cow ; She had kicked the bucket for certain, the question was only — How ? I held my own opinion, and Betsey another had ; And when we were done a-talkin', we both of us was mad. FARM BALLADS. And the next that I remember, it started in a joke ; But full for a week it lasted, and neither of us spoke. And the next was when I scolded because she broke a bowl ; And she said I was mean and stingy, and hadn't any soul. And so that bowl kept pourin* dissensions in our cup ; And so that blamed cow-creature was always a-comir' up; And so that heaven we arg'ed no nearer to us got, But it gave us a taste of something a thousand times as hot. And so the thing kept workin', and all the self- same way ; BETSEY AND I ARE OUT. in Always somethin' to arg'e, and somethin' sharp to say ; And down on us came the neighbours, a couple dozen strong, And lent their kindest sarvice for to help the thing along. And there has been days together — and many a weary week — We was both of us cross and spunky, and both too proud to speak ; And I have been thinkin' and thinkin', the whole of the winter and fall, If I can't live kind with a woman, why, then, I won't at all. And so I have talked with Betsey, and Betsey has talked with me, And we have agreed together that we can't never agree; FANM BALLADS \ < And what is hers shall be hers, and what is mine shall be mine ; And I '11 put it in the agreement, and take it to her to sign. Write on the paper, lawyer — the very first paragraph — Of all the farm and live-stock that she shall have her half; For she has helped to earn it, through many a weary day, And it 's nothing more than justice that Betsey has her pay. Give her the house and homestead— a man can thrive and roam ; But women are skeery critters, unless they have a home ; And I have always determined, and never failed to sav. BFTSEY AND I ARE OUT. That Betsey should never want a home if i was taken away. There is a Httle hard money that 's drawin' tol'rable pay: A couple of hundred dollars laid by for a rainy day; Safe in the hands of good men, and easy to get at; Put in another clause there, and give her half of that. Yes, I see you smile, sir, at my givin' her so much ; Ves, divorce is cheap, sir, but I take no stock in such I True and fair I married her, when she was blithe and young ; And Betsey was al'ays good to me, exceptin' with her tongue. I fO FARM R A r. LADS, \ Once, when I was young as you, and not so smart, perhaps, For me she mittened a lawyer, and several other chaps ; And all of them was flustered, and fairly taken down, And I for a time was counted the luckiest man in town. Once when I had a fever— I won't forget it soon — I was hot as a basted turkey and crazy as a loon ; Never an hour went by me when she was out of sight- She nursed me true and tender, and stuck to me day and night. And if ever a house was tidy, and ever a kitchan rlean, BETSEV AND J AXE OUT. 11 Her house and kitchen was as tidy as any I ever seen ; And I don't complain of Betsey, or any of her acts, Excepting when we've quarrelled, and told each other facts. So draw up the paper, lawyer, : nd I '11 go home to-night, And read the agreement to her, and see if it *s all right ; And then, in the mornin', I '11 sell to a tradin' man I know, And kiss the child that was left to us, and out in the world I '11 go. And one thing put in the paper, that irst to me didn't occur ; That when I am dead at last she '11 . jring me back tu her ; « i 13 FARM BALLADS. And lay me under the maples 1 planted years ago, When she and I was happy before relied so. we quar- And when she dies I wish that she would be laid by me, And, lyin' together in silence, perhaps we will agree ; And, if ever we meet in heaven, I wouldn't think it queer If we loved each other the better because quarrelled here. we HOW BETSEY AND I MADE UP. HOW BETSEY AND I MADE UP, 1 VE us your hand, Mr Lawyer : how do you do to-day ? You drew up that paper — I s'pose you want your pay. Don't cut down your figures ; make it an X or a V ; For that 'ere written agreement was just the makin' of me. Goin' home that evenin' I tell you I was blue, Thinkin' of all my troubles, and what 1 was goin' to do ; 1! l6 FARM BALLADS. And if my horses hadn't been the steadiest team alive, They 'd 've tipped me over, certain, for I couldn't see where to drive. No— for I was labourin' under a heavy load ; No— for I was travellin' an entirely different road ; For I was a-tracin' over the path of our Uvea ag'in, And seein' where we missed the way, and where we might have been. I ii And many a corner we 'd turned that just to a quarrel led, When I ought to 've held my temper, and driven straight ahead ; And the more I thought it over the more these memories came, HO W BE TSE y AND I MADE UP. \ y And the more I struck the opniion that I the most to blame. was And things I had long forgotten kept risin' in my mind, Of little matters betwixt us, where Betsey was good and kind ; And these things flashed all through me, as you know things sometimes will When a feller's alone in the darkness, and every- thing is still. "But," says I, "we're too far along to take another track, And when I put my hand to the plough, I do not oft turn back ; And 'tain't an uncommon thing now for couples to smash in two ; " And so I set my teeth together, and vowed I 'd see it through. i8 FARM BALLADS. 1 it: ill When I come in sight o' the house, 'twas some'at in the. night, And just as I turned a hill-top I see the kitchen h'ght ; Which often a han'some pictur' to a hungry person makes, But it don't interest a feller much that's goin' to pull up stakes. A.nd when I went in the house, the table was set for me — As good a supper s 1 ever saw, or ever want to see ; And I crammed the agreement down my pocket as well as I could, And fell to eatin' my victuals, which somehow didn't taste good. And Betsey, she pretended to look about the house, ^OW BETSEY AND I MADE UP, '9 But she watched my side coat-pocket like a cat would watch a mouse ; And then she went to foolin' a little with htr cup, And intently readin' a newspaper, a-holdin' it wrong side up. And when I 'd done my supper, I drawed the agreement out, And gave it to her without a word, for she knowed what 'twas about ; And then I hummed a little tune, but now and then a note Was bu'sted by some animal that hopped up in my throat Then Betsey she got her specs from off the mantel-shelf, And read the article over quite softly to her^ self: FARM BALLADS. i ill Read it by little and little, for her eyes is gettin' old, And lawyers' writin' ain't no print, especially when it 's cold. And after she 'd read a little she give my arm a touch, And kindly said she was afraid I was 'lowin' her too much ; But when she was through, she went for me, hef face a-streamin' with tears. And kissed me for the first time in over twenty years ! I don't know what you'll think, sir — I didn't come to inquire — But I picked up that agreement and stufifed it in the fire ; And I told her we 'd bury the hatchet alongside oi tne cow j ii now BRTSEY AND I MADE UP. 21 And we struck an agreement never to have another row. And I told her in the future I wouldn't speak cross or rash If half the crockery in the house was broken all to smash ; And she said, in regards to heaven, we' d try and learn its worth By startin' a branch establishment and runnin' it here on earth, Aiul so we sat a-talkin' three-quarters of the night, And opened our hearts to each other until they both grew light ; And the days whei. t was winnin' her away from so many men Was nothin' to that evenin' I courted her over again. 1 Ill 22 FARM BALLADS. \% ' :.i iCI I- . il Next mornin' an ancient virgin took pains to call on us. Her lamp all trimmed and a-burnin' to kindle another fuss ; But when she went to pryin' and openin' of old sores, My Betsey rose politely, and showed her out-of- doors. ;i jt Since then I don't deny but there's been a word or two ; But we've got our e;-s wide' open, and knov* just what to do: When one speaks cross the otiier just meets it with a laug-h. And the first one 's ready to give up consider- able more than half. Maybe you 'II think me soft, sir. a-talkin this style, • in » ffOlV BETS BY AND / AfADh UP. 23 But somehow it does me lots of good to tell it once in a while : And I do it for a compliment — 'tis so that you can see That that there written agreement of yours was just the makin' of me.- So make out your bill, Mr Lawyer : don't stop short of an X ; Make it more if you want to, for I have got the checks. T 'm richer than a National Bank, with all its treasures told, For I 've got a wife at home now that 's wort.i her weight in gold. ■•ir« ♦ GONE WITH A HANDSOMER MAN. GONE WITH A HANDSOMER MAN. JOHN. ^S'VE worked in the field all day. H R a-ploughin' the " stony streak ; " I 've scolded my team till I 'm hoarse ; I 've tramped till my legs are weak ; iVe choked a dozen swears (so's not to tell Jane fibs) When the plough-p'int struck a stone and the bandies punched my ribs. 1 've put my team in the barn, and rubbed their sweaty coats ; 28 FARM BALLADS. I 've fed 'em a heap of hay and half a bushel of oats ; And to see the way they eat makes me like eatin' feel. And Jane won't say to-night that I don 't make out a meal. Well saidl the door is locked! but here she's left the key, Under the step, in a place known only to her and me ; I wonder who's dyin' or dead, that she's hustled off pell-mell : But here on the table 's a note, and probably this will tell. Good God ! my wife is gone ! my wife is gone astray ! The letter it says, " Good-bye, for I 'm a-going away ; GONE WITH A HANDSOMER MAN. 2() I Ve lived with you six months, John, and so far I 've been true ; But I 'm going away to-day with a handsomer man than you." A han'somer man than me I Why, that ain't much to say ; There's han'somer men than me go past here every day. There 's han'somer men than me — I ain't of the han'some kind ; But a lovin'er man than I was I guess she 'h never find. Curse her ! curse her ! I say, and give my curses wings ! May the words of love I 've spoke be changed to scorpion stings ! Oh, she filled my heart with joy, she emptied my heart of doubt, fr: 50 FARM BALLADS. And now, with a scratch of a pen, she lets my heart's-blood out ! Curse her ! curse her ! say I ; she 'II some time rue this day ; She'll some time learn that hate is a game that two can play ; And long before she dies she '11 grieve she evei was born ; And I '11 plough her grave with hate, and seed it down to scorn ! come a As sure as the world goes on, there '11 time when she Will read the devilish heart of that han'somer man than me ; And there '11 be a time when he will find, as others do, That she who is false to one can be the san;e with two GONE WITH A HANDSOMER MAN. 31 And when her face grows pale, and when her eyes grow dim, And when he is tired of her and she is tired of him, She'll do what she ought to have done, and coolly count the cost ; And then she '11 see things clear, and know what she has lost. And thoughts that are now asleep will wake up in her mind, And she will mourn and cry for what she has left behind ; And maybe she '11 sometimes long for me— for me — but no ! I Ve blotted her out of my heart, and I will not have it so. And yet in her girlish heart there was somethin' or other she had 32 FARM BAU^ADS. That fastened a man to her, and wasn't entirely bad ; And she loved me a little, I think, although it didn't last ; But I mustn't think of these things— I Ve buried 'em in the past. I '11 take my hard words back, nor make a bad matter worse ; She '11 have trouble enough; she shall not have my curse ; But I '11 live a life so square— and I well know that I can — That she always will sorry be that she went with that han'somer man. n % 1 1 my Ah, here is her kitchen dress ! it makes poor eyes blur ; It seems, when I look at that, as if 'twas hold ing her. GONE WITH A HANDSOMER MAN. 33 V And here are her week-day shoes, and there is her week-day hat, And yonder 's her weddin' gown : I wonder she didn't take that. 'Twas only this mornin' she came and called me her " dearest dear," And said I was makin* for her a regular paradise here ; O God ! if you want a man to sense the pains of hell, Before you pitch him in just keep him in heaven a spell ! \X9 Good-bye ! I wish that death had severed two apart. V^ou Ve lost a worshipper here— you 've crushea a loving heart. I '11 worship no woman again ; but I guess I '11 learn to Dra\ ill if 34 FARM BALLADS. And kneel as you used to kneel before you run away. And if I thought I could bring my words on heaven to bear, And if I thought I had some little influence there, I would pray that I might be, if it only could be so, As happy and gay as I was a half an hour aga JANE {entering). Why, John, vhat a litter here ! you Ve thrown things all around 1 Come, what 's the matter now ? and what 've you lost or found ? And here 's my father here, a-waitin' for supper, too ; I 'vc been a-riding with him — he 's that "hand- somer man than you." run GONE WITH A HANDSOMER MAN, 35 Hal ha! Pa, take a seat, wh'le I put the kettle on, And get things ready for tea, and kiss my dear old John. Why, John, you look so strange I Come, what has crossed your track ? I was only a-joking, you know j I 'm willing to take it back. ve JOHN {aside). Well, now, if this ain't a joke, with rather a bitter cream ! h seems as if I 'd woke from a mighty ticklish dream ; And I think she " smells a rat," for she smiles at me so queer ; I hope she don't ; good Lord 1 I hope that they didn't hear i f ' t ■ il!r' t; >' w 36 PAHA/ BALLADS, 'Twas one of her practical drives— she thoujrht I 'd understand I But I '11 never break soi^ again till I get the lay of the land. But one thing 's settled with me— to appreciate heaven well, *ris good for a man to have some fifteen minutes of hell ,11 M ought le lay eciatc ifteen JOHNNY RICH. AISE the light a little, Jim, For it 's getting rather dim, And, with ruch a storm a-howlin', 'twill not ' to douse the glim. Hustle down the curtains, Lu ; Poke the fire a little, Su ; This is somethin' of a flurry, mother, somethin* of a— u'hew ! Goodness gracious, how it pours I How it beats ag'in the doors 1 Vou will have a i ard one, Jimmy, when you go to do the chores I 40 FARM BALLADS. Do not overfeed the gray ; Give a plenty to the bay ; And be careful with your lantern when you go among the hay. See the horses have a bed When you Ve got 'em fairly fed ; Feed the cows that's in the stable, and the sheep that 's in the shed ; Give the spotted cow some meal, Where the brindle cannot steal ; For she 's greedy as a porker, arid as slipp'ry as an eel. Hang your lantern by the rin^. On a nail, or on a string ; For tlie Durham calf '11 bunt it, if there's any such a thing : He 's a handsome one to see, And a knowin' one is he : JOHNNY RICH. 41 I stooped over t'other morning-, and he up and went for me ! Rover thinks he hears a noise ! Just keep still a minute, boys ; Nellie, hold your tongue a second, and be silent with your toys. Stop that barkin', now, you whelp, Or I '11 kick you till you yelp ! Ves, I hear it ; 'tis somebody that 's callin' out for help. Get the lantern, Jim and Tom, Mother, keep the babies calm, And we '11 follow up that halloa, and we '11 see where it is from. *Tis a hairy sort of night For a man to face and fight ; And the wind is blowin'- — —Hang it, Jimmy, bring another iigiit ? 42 FARM BALLADS. Ah ! 'twas you, then, Johnny Rich, Yelh'ng out at such a pitch, For a decent man to help you, while you fell into the ditch : 'Tisn't quite the thing to say, But we ought to Ve let you lay, While your drunken carcass died a-drinkin* water anyway. And to see you on my floor, And to hear the way you snore. Now we 've lugged you under shelter, and the danger all is o'er ; And you lie there, quite resigned, Whisky deaf, and whisky blind, And it will not hurt your feelin's, so I guess I 'U free my mind. Do you mind, you thievin' dunce, tlnwt ^'r«!! fz-i'KK^^ »»»-• ^^^1 J JOHNNY RICH. 43 Takin' all the biggest apples, leavin' all the littlest runts ? Do you mind my melon-patch — How you gobbled the whole batch, Stacked the vines, and sliced the greenest melons, just to raise the scratch ? Do you think, you drunken wag, It was anything to brag, To be cornered in my hen-roost, with two pul- lets in a bag ? You are used to dirty dens ; You have often slept in pens ; I've a mind to take you out there now, and roost you with the hens ! Do you call to mind with me How, one night, you and your three Took my waggon all to pieces for to hang it on a tree ? 44 FARAf BALLADS. How you hung it up, you eels, Straight and steady, by the wheels ? I Ve a mind to take you out there now, and hang you by your heels ! How, the Fourth of last July, When you got a little high, Vou went back to Wilson's counter when you thought he wasn't nigh ? How he heard some specie chink, And was on you in a wink, And you promised if he 'd hush it, that you never more would drink ? Do you mind our temperance hall ? How you 're always sure to call, And recount your reformation with the biggest speech of all ? How you talk, and how you sing, i i..it -.iiv. ptcujjc iii just me tUing — JOHNNY RICH. 45 How you sign it every winter, and then smash it every spring ? Do you mind how Jennie Green Was as happy as a queen When you walked with her on Sunday, looking sober, straight, and clean ? How she cried out half her sight, When you staggered by, next night, Twice as dirty as a serpent, and a hundred times as tight ? How our hearts with pleasure warmed When your mother, though it stormed, Run up here one day to tell us that you truly had reformed ? How that very self-same day, When upon her homeward way, She run on you, where you 'd hidden, full three- quarters o'er th« bay i jtM 46 FARM BALLADS, I Oh, you little whisky-keg Oh, your horrid little &gg ! You 're goin' to destruction with your swiftest foot and leg ! I 've a mind to take you out Underneath the water-spout, Just to rinse you up a little, so you '11 know what you 're about I But you 've got a handsome eye, And, although I can't tell why, Somethin' somewhere in you always lets you get another try : So, for all that I have said, I 'i aot douse you ; but, instead, I will strip you, I will rub you. I will put yoii into bed 1 OUT OF THE OLD HOUSE, NANCY. OUT OF THE OLD HOUSE, NANCY, ^^UT of the old house, Nancy— moved up L^ Pyi into the new ; All the hurry and worry is just as good as through. Only a bounden duty remains for you and I— And that 's to stand on the door-step, here, and bid the old house good-bye. What a shell we Ve lived in, these nineteen or twenty years ! Wonder it hadn^t smashed in, and tumbled about our ears ; 50 FARM BALLADS. \ Wonder it's stuck together, and answered till to-day ; But every individual log was put up here to stay. Things looked rather new, thou^^h, when this old house was built ; And things that blossomed you would 've made some women wilt ; And every other day, then, as sure as day would break. My neighbour Ager come this way, invitin* me to " shake." And you, for want of neighbours, was sometimes blue and sad, F"or wolves and bears and wild-cats was the nearest ones you had ; But lookin ahead to the clearin', we worked with all our might, OUT OF THE OLD HOUSE, NANCY. 5 1 Until we was fairly out of the woods, and things was goin' right. Look up there at our new house !— ain't it a thing to see ? Tall and big and handsome, and new as new can be; All in apple-pie order, especially the shelves, And never a debt to say but what we own it all ourselves. Look at our old log-house— how little it now appears I But it 's never gone back on us for nineteen or twenty years ; An* T won't gc back on it now, or go to pokin' fun — There's such a thing as praisin' a thing for the good that it has done. f iij nil i'! ill 52 FARM BALLADS, Probably you remember how rich wc was that night, When we was fairly settled, an' had things snug and tight : We feel as proud as you please, Nancy, over our house that 's new, But we felt as proud under this old roof, and a good deal prouder too. Never a handsomer house was seen beneath the sun : Kitchen and parlour and bedroom— we had 'em all in one ; And the fat old wooden clock that we bought when we come West, Was tickin' away in the corner there, and doin* its level best. Trees was all around us, a-whisperin' cheering words ; OUT OP THd OLD HOUSE, NANCY, 53 Loud was the squirrel's chatter, and ,«weet the songs of birds ; And home grew sweeter and brighter — our courage began to mount — And things looked hearty and happy then, .it^d "vork appeared to count. find h« re one night it happened, when things was goin' bad, vVe fell Jii a deep old quarrel — the first we eve! had ; And when you give out and cried, then I, like a fool, give in, And then we agreed to rub all out, and start the thing ag'in. Here it was, you remember, we sat when the day was done. And you was a-makin' clothing that wasn't for eitJter one ; %'Wi 54 FARM BALLADS. And often a soft word of love I was soft enough to say, And the wolves was howlin' in the woods not twenty rods away. Then our first-born baby — a regular little joy, Though I fretted a little because it wasn't a boy: Wa'n't she a little flirt, though, with all her pouts and smiles ? Why, settlers come to see that show a half-a- dozen miles. Vonder sat the cradle— a homely, home-made thing, And many a night I rocked it, providin' you would sing; And many a little squatter brought up with us to stay — And so that cradle, for many a year, was never put away. OUT OF THE OLD HOUSE, NANCY. 55 How they kept a-comin', so cunniii' and fat and small ! How they growed 1 'twas a wonder how we found room for 'em all ; But though the he ise was crowded, it empty seemed that day When Jennie lay by the fireplace there, and moaned her life away. And right in there the preacher, with Bible and hymn-book, stood, "'Twixt the dead and the living," and "hoped 'twould do us good ; " And the little whitewood coffin on the table there was set, And now as I rub my eyes it seems as if I could see it yet Then that fit of sickness it brought on you, you know ; mBsmmmmmm 56 FA/?M BALLADS. i Just by a thread you hun^, and you e'en a'most let go ; And here is the spot I tumbled, an' give the Lord his due, '^Vlien the doctor said the fever 'd turned, an' he could fetch you through. Ves, a deal has happened to make this old house dear : Christenin's, funerals, vveddin's — what haven't we had here ? Not a log in this buildin' but its memories has got, And not a nail in this old floor but touci as a tender spot. Out of the old house, Nancy — moved up into the new ; All the hurry and worry is ju^t as good as through ; Rut I tell you a thing right here, that I ain't ashamed to say, OUT OF THE OLD HOUSE, NANCY. 57 There's precious things in this old house we never can take away. Here the old house will stand, but not as it stood before : Winds will whistle through it, and rains will flood the floor ; And over the hearth, once blazing, the snow- drifts o-ft will pile. And the old thing will seem to be a-mournin' all the while. Fare you well, old house ! you *re naught that can feel or see. But you seem like a human being — a dear old friend to me ; And we never will have a better home, if my opinion stands, Until we commence a-keepin' house in the house not made with hands. p? OVER THE HILL TO THE POOR-HOUSE, OVER THE HILL TO THE POOR-HOUSE, |VER the hill to the poor-house I 'm trudgin' my weary way — I, a woman of seventy, and only a trifle gray — I, who am smart an' chipper, for all the years I 've told, As many another woman that 's only half as old. Over the hill to the poor-house — I can't quite make it clear t fill. II 1' 1 1 1 a 63 /><-^J/ BALLADS. Over the hill to the poor-house— it seems so horrid queer! Many a step I've taken, a-toilin' to and fro; But this is a sort of journey I never thought to go- What is the use of heapin' on me a pauper's shame ? Am I lazy or crazy ? am I bh'nd or lame ? True, I am not so supple, nor yet so awful stout ; But charity ain't no favour, if one can live with- out. I am willin' and anxious an' ready any day To work for a decent livin', an' pay my honest way; For I can earn my victuals, an' more too, I'll be bound, If anybody only is wiiiin' to have me round. OVER THR HILL TO THE POOR-HOUSE. 63 Once I was young an' han'some — I was, upon my SOI! I — Once my cheeks was roses, my eyes as black as coal ; And I can't remember, in them days, of hearin* people say, For any kind of a reason, that I was in their way. Tain't no use of boastin', or talkin* over-free, But many a house an' home was open then to me ; Many a han'some offer I had from likely men, And nobody ever hinted that I was a burden then. And when to John I was married, sure he was good and smart, But he and all the neighbours would own I done my part ; ^1' * ' Hi 64 /P^A"^ BAU.ADS. Vox life was all before me, an' I was young an* strong, And I worked the best that I could in tryin' to t I I -I*.; 111 1 J«^ #1 i f ^ < m . % : . .i 1 t ^^ i t.J And so we worked together : and life was hard, but gay, With now and then a baby for to cheer us on our way ; Till we had half-a-dozen, an' all growed clean and neat, An' went to school like others, an' had er . jgh to eat. So we worked for the childr'n, and raised em evnry one ; Workv.J for 'eiii summer and winter, just as we ou^ht to 've done ; Only perhaps we humoured *em, which some 4 11 OVER THE HILL TO THE POOR-HOUSR. 6$ i But every couple's childr'n 's a heap the best to them. Strange how much we think uf our blessed little ones ! — I 'd have died for my daughters, I 'd have died for my sons ; And God he made that rule of Xovf:. ; but when we 're old and gray, I Ve noticed it sometimes somehow fails to work the other way. Strange, another thing : when our boys an* girls was grown. And when, exceptin' Charley, they'd left us there alone ; When John he nearer an' nearer rome, an* dearer seemed be. The Lord of hosts he come one day an* took him away from me. 66 FARM BALLADS. Still I was bound to struggle, an* never to ringe or fail- Still I worked for Charley, for Charley was now my all ; And Charley was pretty good to me, with scarce a word or frown, Till at last he went a-courtin', and brought a wife from town. She was somewhat dressy, an' hadn't a pleasani smile — She was quite conceity, and carried a heap o* style ; But if ever I tried to be friends, I did with her, I know ; But she was hard and proud, an' I couldn't make it go. She had an edication, an' that was good foi her; OVER THE HILL TO THE POOR-HOUSE, 67 But when she twitted me on mine, 'twas carry- in' things too fur ; An' I told her once, 'fore company (an* it almost made her sick), That I never swallowed a grammar, or 'et a 'rithmetic. wa.H So 'twas only a few days before the thing done — They was a family of themselves, and I another one; And a very little cottage one family will do, But I never have seen a house that was big enough for two. An' I never could speak to suit her, never could please her eye, An' it made me independent, an' then I didn't try; I Is: ■;, 11 1 -i; f I h 1 5! 1' 1 V . 1 6B FARM BALLADS. But I was terribly staggered, an' felt it like a blow, When Charley turned ag'in mc, an' told me I could go. 1 went to live with Susan, but Susan's house was small, And she was always a-hintin' how snug it was for us all ; And what with her husband's sisters, and what with childr'n three, Twas easy to discover that there wasn't room for me. An' then I went to Thomas, the oldest son I 'vc got, For Thomas's buildings 'd cover the half of an acre lot ; But all the childr'n was on me — I couldn't stand their sauce — OVER THE HILL TO THE POOR-HOUSE. 69 And Thomas said I needn't think I was comin' there to boss. An' then I wrote to Rebecca, my girl who h'ves out West, And to Isaac, not far from her— some twenty miles at best ; And one of 'em said 'twas too warm there for any one so old, And t'other had an opinion the climate was too cold. So they have shirked and slighted me, an' shifted me about — So they have wellnigh soured me, and wore my old heart out ; But still I 've borne up pretty well, an' wasn't much put down, Till Charley went to the poor-master, and put me on the town Si: i ii> !! I ■ ■ ■ . N^ I, 1 = 70 /'/l^iJ/ BALLADS. Over the hill to the poor-house — my childr'n dear, good-bye I Many a night I *ve watched you when only God was nigh ; And God '11 judge between us ; but I will al'ays pray That you shall never suffer the half I do to-day. OVER 1HE HILL FROM THE POOR-HOUSE, I ll IvT f . flfi If' Ui OVER THE HILL FROM THE POOR-HOUSE. WHO was always counted, they say, Rather a bad stick any way, Sph'ntered all over with dodges and tricks, Known as "the worst of the Deacon's six; " I, the truant, saucy and bold, The one black sheep in my father's fold, " Once on a time," as the stories say, Went over the hill on a winter's day— Over the hill to the poor-house. Tom could save what twenty could earn ; But givin' was somethin' he ne'er would learn ; 1 Ml III Ji i, J.} 74 f'/f^iV BALLADS. Isaac could half o* the Scriptur's speak— Committed a hundred verses a week ; Never forgot, an' never slipped ; But " Honour thy father and mother" he skipped; So over the hill to tJte poor-house. As for Susan, her heart was kind An' good — what there was of it, mind ; Nothin' too big, an' nothin' too nice, Nothin' she wouldn't sacrijfice For one she loved ; an' that 'ere one Was herself, when all was said an' done. An* Charley an* 'Becca meant well, no doub^ But any one could pull 'em about ; An' all o' our folks ranked well, you see, Save one poor fellow, and that was nse ; An' when, one dark an' rainy night, A neighbour's horse went out o' sight. II OVER THE HIIJ. FROM THE POOR-HOUSE, 75 They hitched on me, as the guilty chap That carried one end o' the halter-strap. An' I think, myself, that view of the case Wasn't altogether out o' place ; My mother denied it, as mothers do, But I am inclined to believe 'twas true. Though for me one thing might be said — That I, as well as the horse, was lead ; And the worst of whisky spurred me on, Or else the deed would have never been done. But the keenest grief I ever felt Was when my mother beside me knelt, An' cried an* prayed, till I melted down, As I wc Idn't for half the horses in town. I kis-c I her fondly, then an' there, An' sw.n I Henceforth to be honest and square; I served my sentence — a bitter pill Some fellows should take who never will ; 76 FARM BALLADS. \h And then I decided to go " out West," Concludin' 'twould suit my health the best ; Where, how I prospered, I never could tell, But Fortune seemed to like me well, An' somehow every vein I struck Was always bubblin' over with luck. An', better than that, I was steady an' true, An* put my good resolutions through. But I wrote to a trusty old neighbour, an' said, " You tell 'em, old fellow, that I am dead, An' died a Christian ; 'twill please 'em more, Than if I had lived the same as before." But when this neighbour he wrote to me, •* Your mother's in the poor-house," says he, I had a resurrection straightway, An' started for her that very day. And when I arrived where I was grown, OOd iU-i. T 1 1 I. • i vuuK guuQ iiiixc uiiii. i. siiouiani dc Known ; OVER THE HILL FROM THE POOR-HOUSE. 7/ But I bought the old cottage, through and through, Of some one Charley had sold it to And held back neither work nor gold, To fix it up as it was of old. The same big fireplace wide an' high, Flung up its cinders towards the sky ; The old clock ticked on the corner-shelf— I wound it an' set it agoin' myself; An' if everything wasn't just the same, Neither I nor money was to blame ; Then — over the hill to the poor-house ! One blowln', blusterin' winter's day, With a team an' cutter I started away ; My fiery nags was as black as coal (They some'at resembled the horse I stole) ; I hitched, an* entered the poor*house door— A poor old woman was scrubbin' the floor ; "■Wt m ■i m %:X W 78 FARM BALLADS. She rose to her feet in great surprise, And looked, quite startled, into my eyes; I saw the whole of her trouble's trace In the lines that marred her dear old face ; *' Mother ! " I shouted, " yc ir sorrows is done J Vou 're adopted along o' your horse-thief son, Come over the hillfrovi the poor-house I " She didn't faint ; she knelt by my side, An' thanked the Lord, till I fairly cried. An' maybe our ride wasn't pleasant an' gay, An' maybe she wasn't wrapped up that day ; An' maybe our cottage wasn't warm an' bright, An' maybe it wasn't a pleasant sight, To see her a-gettin' the evenin's tea, An' frequently stoppin' and kissin' me ; An' maybe we didn't live happy for years. In spite of my brothers' and sisters' sneers. \x^u_ _rt iiO Oitcxi Siiiu, as I have heard, i Oy£^ THE i Whenever he does a deed that 's white, It 's credited to him fair and right. An' when you hear the great bugle's notes, An' the Lord divides His sheep an' goats ; However they may settle my case, Wherever they may fix my place, My good old Christian mother, you '11 scc» Will be sure to stand right up for me. With over the kill from the poor- /touse. MICROCOPY RESOLUTION TEST CHART , ANSI and ISO VEST CHART No. 2) 1.0 IIIIM »56 2.8 12 114.0 2.5 2.2 2£ 1.8 1.4 1.6 _J >1PPUED_I M/1GE Inc ^? 1653 East Main Street =-^ Rochester, Ne« York 14609 USA "-^ (716) 482 - 0300 - Phone =^ (716) 288 - 5989 - Fax UNCLE SAMMY. jOME men were born for great things, Some were born for small ; Some — it is not recorded Why they were born at all ; But Uncle Sammy was certain he had a legiti- mate call. Some were born with a talent, Some with scrip and land ; Some with a spoon of silver, And some with a different brand ; But Uncle Sammy came holding an argument in each hand. ,m iif P l! Jl I 82 FARM BALLADS, Arguments sprouted within hi in. And twinked in his little eye ; He lay and calmly debated When average babies cry, And seemed to be ponderirg gravely whether to live or to die. But prejudiced on that question He grew from day to day, And finally he concluded 'Twas better for him to stay ; And so into life's discussion he reasoned and reasoned his way. Through childhood, through youu*, into manhood Argued and argued he ; And he married a simple maiden, Though scarcely in love was she ; UNCLE SAMMY, 83 ether and into But he reasoned the matter so clearly she hardly could help but agree. And though at first she was blooming, And the new firm started strong, And though Uncle Sammy loved her, And tried to help her alonp. She faded away in silence, and 'twas evident something was wrong. Now Uncle Sammy was faknful, And various remedies tried ; He gave her the doctor's prescriptions, And plenty of logic beside ; But logic and medicine failed him, and so one day she died. He laid her away in the churchyard, So haggard and crushed and wan ; And reared her a costly tombstone II I'll 84 FARM BALLADS. With all of her virtues on ; And ought to have added, " A victim to argu- ments pro and con." For many a year Uncle Sammy Fired away at his logical forte : Discussion was his occupation, And altercation his sport ; He argued himself out of churches, he argued himself into court. But alas for his peace and quiet, One day, when he went it bUnd, And followed his singular fancy, And slighted his logical mind, And married a ponderous widow that wasn't of the arguing kind ! Her sentiments all were settled, Her habits were planted and grown, UNCLE SAMMY. «5 Her heart was a starved little creature That followed a will of her own ; And she raised a high hand with Sammy, and proceeded to play it alone. Then Sammy he charged down upon her With ail of his strength and his wit, And many a dextrous encounter, And many a fair shoulder-hit ; But vain were his blows and his blowing : he never could budge her a bit He laid down his premises round her, He scraped at her with his saws ; He rained great facts upon her, And read her the marriage laws ; But the harder he tried to convince her, the harder and harder she was. She brought home all her preachers, As many as ever she could — 86 FARM BALLADS. ii i |! With sentiments terribly settled, And appetites horribly good — Who sat with him long at his table, and ex- plained to him where he stood. And Sammy was not long in learning To follow the swing of her gown, And came to be faithful in watchinp- The phase of her smile and her frown ; And she, with the heel of assertion, soon tramped all his arguments down. And so, with his life-aspirations Thus suddenly brought to a check And so, with the foot of his victor Unceasingly pressing his neck — He wrote on his face, "I'm a victim," and drifted—a logical wreck. Anrl farm*>rc iirVi<-km U^ U«J i VKCLE SAMMY, 87 To corners tight and fast, Would wink at each other and chuckle, And grin at him as he passed, As to say, "My ambitious old fellow, your whiffletree 's straightened at last." Old Uncle Sammy one morning Lay down on his comfortless bed, And Death and he had a discussion, And Death came out ahead ; And the fact that she failed to start him was only because he was dead. The neighbours laid out their old neighbour, With homely but tenderest art ; And some of the oldest ones faltered, And tearfully stood apart ; For the crusty old man had often unguardedly liM t I' i! y; t si "■' 88 FA/eM BALLADS. But on his face an expression Of quizzical study lay, As if he were sounding the angel Who travelled with him that day, And laying the pipes down slyly for an argu^ ment on the way. And one new-fashioned old lady Felt called upon to suggest That the angel might take Uncle Sammy, And give him a good nighi's rest, And then introduce him to Solomon, and tell him to do his best J fi IJ TOM WAS COIN' FOR A POET, I 1 n • 'iP till il i' i f II 1 1 m i ■ TOM WAS COIN' FOR A POET, THE FARMER DISCOURSES OF HIS SON. OM was goin' for a poet, an' said he 'd a poet be ; One of these long-haired fellers a fellet hates to see ; One of these chaps for ever fixin' things cute and clever ; Makin' the world in gen'ral step 'long to tune an' time, An' cuttin' the earth into slices an' saltin' it down into rhyme- i m 8 i|!^ I w ft :n f 92 FAXM BALLADS. Poets are good for sometliin', so long as they stand at the head ; But poetry 's worth whatever it fetches in butter an' bread. An' many a time I've said it: it don't do a fellow credit, To starve with a hole in his elbow, an' be con- sidered a fool, ^o after he 's dead, the young ones '11 speak hi* pieces in school. An' Tom, he had an opinion that Shakspeare an* all the rest, W'ith all their winter clothin', couldn't make ^tm a decent vest ; But that didn't ease my labours, or help him among the neighbours, Who watched him from a distance, an' held hi, mind in doubt, TCM WAS GOm' FOR A POET. 93 An' wonderec* if Tom wasn't shaky, or knew what he was about. Tom he went a-sowin', to sow a field of grain ; But half of that 'ere sowin' was altogether in vain. For he was al'ays a-stoppin', and gems of poetry droppin' ; And metaphors, they be pleasant, but much too thin to eat ; And germs of thought be handy, but never gro\* up to wheat Tom he went a-mowin', one broilin' summer's day, And spok quite sweet concernin' the smell of the new-mowed hay. But all o' his useless chatter didn't go to help the matter, 94 FARM BAIXADS. Or make the grief less searchin' or the pain less hard to feel, When he made a clip too suddent, an* sliced his brother's heel. li! ■i I I ' Tom he went a-drivin' the hills an' dales across; But, scannin' the lines of his poetry, he dropped the lines of his hoss. The nag ran fleet and fleeter, in quite irregular metre ; An' when we got Tom's leg set, an* had fixed him so he could speak. He muttered that that adventur' would keep him a-writin' a week. Tom he went a-ploughin', and couldn't have done it worse ; He sat down on the handles, an' went to spinnin* « rf^fiSM ■ j' WAS GO/N* FOR A POET. 95 lie wrote it nice and pretty — an agricultural ditty ; But all o' his pesky measures didn't measure an acre more, Nor his p'ints didn't turn a furrow that wasn't turned before. Tom he went a-courtin' ; — she liked him, I suppose ; But certain parts of courtin' a feller must do in prose. He rhymed her each day a letter, but that didn't serve to get her ; He waited so long, she married another man from spite, An' sent him word she'd done it, an' not to forget to write. Tom at last got married; his wife was smart and stout, g6 FARM BALLADS. And she shoved up the window and slung his poetry out. An' at each new poem's creation she gave it circulation ; An' fast as he could write 'em, she seen to their puttin' forth, An' sent 'em east an' westward, an' also south an' north. ii' I' ' i I- Till Tom he struck the opinion that poetry didn't pay, An* turned the guns of his genius, an' fired 'em another way. He settled himself down steady, an' is quite well off alreadv : 9 An' all of his life is verses, with his wife the first an' best, An' ten or a dozen childr'n to constitute the rest his GOIN' HOME TO-DA y. I GOirr HOME TO-DA V, jY business on the jury's done — the quibblin' all is through — I've watched the lawyers right and left, and give my verdict true ; I stuck so long unto my chair, I thought I would grow in ; And if I do not know myself, they'll get me there ag'in ; But now the court 's adjourned for good, and I have got my pay ; I'm loose at last, and, thank the Lord, I'm going iiome to-day. ii A: i- m i 1 > 1 lOO FAHAf BALLADS. I Ve somehow felt uneasy like, since first day 1 come down ; It is an awkward game to play the gentleman in town ; And this 'ere Sunday suit of mine on Sunday rightly sets ; iJut when I wear the stuff a week, it somehow galls and frets. I 'd rather wear my home-spun rig of pepper- salt and gray — I '11 have it on in half a jiff, when I get home to- day. as I have no doubt my wife looked out, as well any one — As well as any woman could—to see that things was done : For though Melinda, when I 'm there, won't set her foot outdoors. goin' home to-day. lOI She 's very careful, when I 'm gone, to tend to all the chores. But nothing prospers half so well when I go off to stay, And I will put things into shape, when I get home to-day. The mornin' that I come away, we had a little bout ; I coolly took my hat and left, before the show was out. For what I said was naught whereat she ought to take offence; And she was always quick at words and ready to commence. But then she 's first one to give up when she has had her say ; And she will meet me with a kiss, when I go home to-day. 102 FARM BALLADS. \4M ■ itti My little boy— I '11 give 'em leave to match him, if they can ; It 's fun to see him strut about, and try to be a man! The gamest, cheeriest little chap, you'd ever want to see ! And then they laugh because I think the child resembles me. The little rogue ! he goes for me, like robbers for their prey ; Me '11 turn my pockets inside out, when I get home to-day. My little girl— I can't contrive how it should happen thus — That God could pick that sweet bouquet, and fling it down to us ! My wife, she says that han'some face will some day make a stir ; COIN* HOMF. TOD A Y. 103 And then I laugh, because she thinks the child resembles her. She '11 meet me half way down the hill, and kiss me, any way ; And light my heart up with her smiles, when I go home to-day ! If there's a heaven upon the earth, a fellow knows it when He's been away from home a week, and then gets back again. If there 's a heaven above the earth, there often, I '11 be bound, Some home-sick fellow meets his folks, and hugs 'em all around. But let my creed be right or wrong, or be it as it may. My heaven is just ahead of me— I'm going I m ? : ifhi ili OUT a THE FIRE. [As told in 1880.] EAR of '71, children, middle of the fall, On one fearful night, children, we wellnigh lost our all. True, it wa'n't no great sum we had to lose that night, But when a little 's all you 've got, it comes to a blessed sight. I was a mighty worker, in them 'ere difficult days, I'll .^JU ; 111 N: 'i l! [o8 FARM BALLADS. For work is a good investment, and almost always pays ; But when ten years' hard labour went smokin* into the air, I doubted all o' the maxims, an' felt that it wasn't fair. (Jp from the East we had travelled, with all of our household wares, Where we had long been workin' a piece of land on shares ; But how a fellow 's to prosper without the rise of the land. For just two-thirds of nothin', I nc/er could un- derstand. Up from the East we had travelled, me and my folks alone, And quick we went to workin' a piece of land of our own ; OUT O THE PIRR. 109 Small was our backwoods quarters, and things looked mighty cheap ; But everything we put in there, we put in there to keep. So, with workin' and savin', we managed to get along ; Managed to make a livin', and feel consid'able strong ; And things went smooth and happy, an* fair as the average run, Till everything went back on me, in the fall of '71. First thing bothered and worried me, was 'long o' my daughter Kate ; Rather a han'some cre'tur*, and folks all liked her gait Not so nice as them sham ones in yeller-covered books; ij m fffltgBW»WSWiTI.-gyMlg iBii i' i i J. 1 » 3 ' f! ' ill 110 /■/i^iV/ BALLADS, But still there wa'n't much discount on Kathc* fine's ways an' looks. And Katherine's smile was pleasant, and Kathe- rine's temper good, And how she came to like Tom Smith, I never understood ; Kor she was a mornin'-glory, as fair as you ever see, And Tom was a shag-bark hickory, as green as green could be. " Like takes to like," is a proverb that 's nothin' more than trash ; And many a time I 've seen it all pulverised to smash. For folks in no way sim'lar, I 've noticed ag'ia and ag'in, Will often take to each other, and stick together like sin. OUT O* THE PIRR, III Next thing bothered and worried mc, was long of a terrible drouth ; And me an' all o' my neighbour'? was some'at down in the mouth. And week after week the rain held off, and things all pined an' dried, And we drove the cattle miles to drink, and many of 'em died. And day after day went by us, so han'some and so bright, And never a drop of water came near us, day or night ; And what with the neighbours* grumblin', and what with my daily loss, I must own that somehow or other I was gettin* mighty cross. And on one Sunday evenin' I was comin' down the lane 112 FARM BALLADS. %i\ |,=: 13 5 ''ill From meetin', where our preacher had stuck ana h\xr\^ for rain, And various slants on heaven kept workin* in my mind, And the smoke from Sanders* fallow was makiri' me almost blind ; I opened the door kind o* sudden, an* there my Katherine sat, As cosy as any kitten along with a friendly cat ; An* Tom was dreadful near her — his arm or* the back of her chair — And lookin' as happy and cheerful as if there was rain to spare. " Get out of this house in a minute ! " I cried, with all my might : " Get out, while I 'm a-talkin* t " — Tom's eyes showed a bit of nght ; OUT d THE FIRE, "3 But he rose up, stiff and surly, and made me a civil bow, And mogged along to the doorway, with never a word of row. And I snapped up my wife quite surly when sho asked me what I 'd said, And I scolded Kate for cryin*, and sent her up- stairs to bed ; And then I laid down, for the purpose of gettin' a little sleep, An' the wind outside was a-howlin', and puttin' it in to keep. Twas half-past three next mornin', or maybe 'twas nearer four — The neighbours they came a-yellin' and pound- in' at my door ; "Get up! get up!" they shouted: "get upl || H 114 FARM BALLADS. ll 1 ■i '4: lilt: i ■« I The woods are all a-burnin' ! the wind is blowin' it here!" If ever it happens, children, that you get catched, some time, With fire a-blowin' toward yov, as fast as fire can climb, You '11 get up and get in a hurry, as fast as you can budge ; It 's a lively season of the year, or else I ain't no judge I Out o' the dear old cabin we tumbled fast as we could — Smashed two-thirds of our dishes, and saved some four-foot wood ; With smoke a-settlin' round us and gettin' into our eyes, And fire a-roarin' an' roarin' an' drowndin' all of our cries. OUT O THR FIRS. lis And just as the roof was smokin', and wc hadn't long to wait, I says to my wife, " Now get out, and hustle, you and Kate ! " And just as the roof was fallin*, my wife she come to me, With a face as white as a corpse's face, and " Where is Kate ? " says she. An* the neighbours come runnin* to me, with faces black as the ground, And shouted, " Where is Katherine ? she 's no- where to be found !" An* this is all I remember, till I ' und myselt next day A-lyin' in Sanders* cabin, a mile an* a half away. ii6 FARM BALLADS, If ever you wake up, children, with somethin' into your head, Concernin' a han'some daughter, that 's lyin' still an' dead, All scorched into coal-black cinders — -perhaps you may not weep. But I rather think it '11 happen you '11 wish you 'd a-kept asleep. 1 J And all I could say was, " Kath'rine, O Katli* 'rine, come to me ! " And all I could think was " Kath'rine ! " and all that I could see Was Sanders a-standin' near to me, his fingei into his eye, And my wife a-bendin' over me, and tellin' me not to cry ; When, lo I Tom Smith he entered — his face lit up with grins — % OUT O' THE FIRR. 117 4 And Kate a-hangin* on his arm, as neat as a row of pins ! And Tom looked glad, but sheepish ; and said " Excuse me, Squire, But I 'loped with Kate, and married her an hour before the fire/* Well, children, I was shattered ; 'twas more than I could bear — And I up and went for Kate an' Tom, and hugged 'em then and there ! And since that time, the times have changed, an' now they ain't so bad ; And — Katherine, she 's your mother now, and— Thomas Smith 's your dad. 1 1 ■f : I t ! t ni 'M] IniMi' ! el ' ' •< 1. k i OTHER POEMS. i fr •ml 1 Hi :• ^ iMi i I 1 1 i ! III! 1 I i \ OTHER POEMS. THE NEW CHURCH ORGAN. HEY 'VE got a brand-new organ, Sue, For all their fuss and search ; They 've done just as they said they 'd do, And fetched it into church. They 're bound the critter shall be seen, And on the preacher's right They've hoisted up their new machine, In everybody's sight 122 OTHER POEMS. ,yj ' . ii' They 've got a chorister and choir, Ag'in' my voice and vote ; For it was never my desire, To praise the Lord by note ! I Ve been a sister good an' true For five-an'-thirty year ; I 've done what seemed my part to do, An' prayed my duty clear ; I 've sung the hymns both slow and quick, Just as the preacher read, And twice, when Deacon Tubbs was sick, I took the fork an' led ! And now, their bold, new-fangled ways Is comin' all about ; And I, right in my latter days, Am fairly crowded out ! To-day the preacher, good old dear, With tears all in his p^'pr THE NEW CHURCH ORGAN. 123 Read, " I can read my title clear To mansions in the skies." I al'ays liked that blessed hymn — I s'pose I al'ays will ; It somehow gratifies my whim, In good old Ortonville ; But when that choir got up to sing, I couldn't catch a word ; They sung the most dog-gondest thing A body ever heard ! Some worldly chaps was standin' near ; An' when I see them grin, I bid farewell to every fear, And boldly waded in. I thought I 'd chase their tune along, An' tried with all my might ; But though my voice is good an' strong, il couiun t steer \\ r ight j ■ "il ■i^ U n< llfi U i''' If ft '11 1' If ' i ,:., 124 OTHER POEMS. When they was high, then I was low, An' also contrawise ; An' I too fast, or they too slow, To "mansions in the skies." An' after every verse, you knov/, They play a little tune ; I didn't understand, an' so I started in too soon. I pitched it pretty middlin' high, I fetched a lusty tone. But oh, alas ! I found that I Was singin' there alone ! They laughed a little, I am told ; But I had done my best; And not a wave of trouble rolled Across my peaceful breast. And Sister Brown — I could but look— She sits fight front of me ; THE NEW CHURCH ORGAN. 125 She never was no singin'-book, An' never went to be ; But then she al'ays tried to do The best she could, she said ; She understood the time right through, An' kep' it with her head ; But when she tried this mornin', oh, I had to laugh, or cough 1 It kep' her head a-bobbin' so, It e'en a' most came off ! An' Deacon Tubbs — he all broke down, As one might well suppose ; He took one look at Sister Brown. And meekly scratched his nose. He looked his hymn-book through and through, And laid it on the seat, And then a nensive sicrh he drew. And looked completely beat ;il : f 126 OTHER POEMS. An' when they took another bout, He didn't even rise ; But drawed his red bandanner out, An' wiped his weepin' eyes. til ! I I 've been a sister, gfood an' true, For five-an'-thirty year ; I 've done what seemed my part to do, An' prayed my duty clear ; But Death will stop my voice, I know, For he is on my track ; And some day I to church will go, And never more come back ; And when the folks gets up to sing— Whene'er that time shall be — I do not want no patent thinj; A-squcalin' over me I \\ i THE EDITOR'S GUESTS, i i if I 91! I jHE Editor sat in his sanctum, his coun- tenance furrowed with care, His mind at the bottom of business, his feet at the top of a chair, His chair-arm an elbow supporting, his right hand upholding his head. His eyes on his dusty old table, with different documents spread : There were thirty long pages from Howler, with underlined capitals topped. m*. 128 OTHER POEMS. And a short disquisition from Growler, request- ing his newspaper stopped ; There were lyrics from Gusher, the poet, con- cerning sweet flow' rets and zephyrs, And a stray gem from Plodder, the farmer, describing a couple of heifers ; There were billets from beautiful maidens, and bills from a groc ;r or two, And his best leader hitched to a letter, which inquirea if he wrote it, or who ? There were raptures of praises from writers of the weekly mellifluous school, And one of his rival's last papers, informing him he was a fool ; There were several long resolutions, with names telling whom they were by, Canonising some harmless old brother who had done nothing worse than to die ; 1 i THP. editor's guests. 129 There were traps on that table to catch him, and serpents to sting and to smite him ; There were gift enterprises to sell him, and bitters attempting to bite him ; There were long staring "ads" from the city, and money with never a one, Which added, " Please give this insertion, and send in your bill when \'ou 're done ; " There were letters from organisations— their meetings, their wants, and their laws — Which said, " Can you print this announcement for the good of our glorious cause ? " There were tickets inviting his piesence to festivals, parties, and shows, Wrapped in notes with " Please give us a notice " demurely slipped in at the close. In short, as his eye took the table, and ran o'er its ink-spattered trash, '^1 ! \ !■ ii • 'ni i I Mi m 1 n i ^»i 'I; 130 OTHER FORMS. There was nothing it did not encounter, excepting perhaps it was cash. The Editor dreamily pondered on several pon- derous things, On different lines of action, and the pulling of different strings ; Upon some equivocal doings, and some unequi- vocal duns; On how few of his numerous patrons were quietly prompt-paying ones ; On friends who subscribed " just to help him," and wordy encouragement lent, And had given him plenty of counsel, but never had paid him a cent ; On vinegar, kind-hearted people were feeding him every hour, Who saw not the work they were doing, but wondered that " printers are sour: " lit 11 THE EDJTOJi's Gf.aSTS 131 On several intelligent townsmen, /hose kindness was so without stint That they kept an eye on his business, and told him just what he should print; On men who had rendered him favours, and never pushed forward their claims, So long as the paper was crowded with "locals" containing their names ; On various other small matters, sufficient his temper to roil, And finely contrived to be making the blood of an editor boil ; And so one may see that his feelings could hardly be said to be smooth, And he needed some pleasant occurrence his ruffled emotions to soothe : He had it ; for lo ! on the threshold, a slow and reliable tread. m .5*1 'ill m i'l^ ili'' I l-lfiH P< 132 OTHER POEMS. And a farmer invaded the sanctum, and these are the words that he said : " Good-mornin', sir, Mr Printer ; how is your body to-day ? I 'm glad you 're to home ; for you fellers is al'ays a runnin' away. Y"our paper last week wa'n't so spicy nor sharp as the one week before : But I s'pose when the campaign is opened, you'U be whoopin' it up to *em more. That feller that 's printin' The Smasher is goin* for you perty smart ; And our folks said this mornin' at breakfast, they thought he was gettin' the start. But I hushed 'em right up in a minute, and said a good wo»-d for you ; I told 'em I b'lieved you was tryin' to do jusl as well as you knew ; THE editor's guests. »33 And I told 'em that some one was sayin', and whoever 'twas it ie so, That you can't expect much of no one man, nor blame him for what he don't know. But, layin' aside pleasure for business, I've brought you my little boy Jim ; And I thought I would see if you couldn't make an editor outen of him. " My family stock is increasin', while other folks' seems to run short, t've got a right smart of a family—it 's Oiie of the old-fashioiied sort : There's Ichabod, Isaac, and Israel, a-workin' away on the farm — They do 'bout as much as one good boy, and make things go off like a charm. There's Moses and Aaron are si; ( nes, and slip like a couple of eels ; -1*1 OTHER POEMS, But they 're tol'able steady in one thing — they al'ays git round to their meals. There 's Peter is busy inventin' (though what he invents I can't see), And Joseph is studyin' medicine — and both oi 'em boardin' with me. There's Abram and Albert is married, each workin' my farm for myself, And Sam smashed his nose at a shootin', and so he is laid on the shelf. The rest of the boys are all growin', 'cept this little runt, which is Jim, And I thought that perhaps I 'd be makin' ao editor outen o' him. "He ain't no great shakes for to labour, though I 've laboured with him a good deal, And give him some strappin' good arguments I know he couldn't help but to feel : \\\ THE EDITOR S GUESTS. 135 But he 's built out of second-growth timber, and nothin' about him is big Exceptin' his appetite only, and there he 's as good as a pig. . I keep him a-carryin' luncheons, and fiUin' and bringin' the jugs, And take him among the pertatoes, and set him to pickin' the bugs ; And then there is things to be doin' a-helpin the women indoors ; There 's churnin' and washin' of dishes, and other descriptions of chores ; But he don't take to nothin' but victuals, and he 'II never be much, I 'm afraid, So I thought it would be a good notion to lam him the editor's trade. His body 's too small for a farmer, his judgment is rather too slim, 136 OTHER POEMS. But I thought we perhaps could be makin' an editor outen o' him I wy " It ain't much to get up a paper — it wouldn't take him long for to learn ; He could feed the machine, I 'm thinkin', with a good strappin' fellow to turn. And things that was once hard in doin', is easy enough now to do ; Just keep your eye on your machinery, and crack your arrangements right through. 1 used for to wonder at readin', and where it was got up, and how ; But 'tis most of it made by machinery — I can see it all plain enough now. And poetry, too, is constructed by machines of different designs, Each one with a gauge and a chopper to see to the length of the lines ; THE EDITORS GUESTS. m And I hear a New York clairvoyant is runnin' one sleeker than grease, And a-rentiti her heaven-born productions at a couple of dollars a-piece ; An' since the whole trade has growed easy, 'twould be easy enough, I 've a whim, If you was agreed, to be makin' an editor outen of Jim!" Tl. ; Editor sat in his sanctum, and looked the old man in the eye, Then glanced at the grinning young hopeful, and mournfully made his reply : " Is your son a small unbound edition of Moses and Solomon both ? Can he compass his spirit with meekness, and strangle a natural oath ? Can he leave all his wrongs to the future, and uaiiy iiis iicSi L iii. ISIS ;.iic%;n. i i" fl! 3 i3; ii 138 OTHER POEMS, Can he do an hour's work in a minute, and hVe on '->. sixpence a week ? Can he courteously talk to an equal, and brow- beat an impudent dunce ? Can he keep things in apple-pie order, and do half a dozen at once ? Can he press all the springs of knowledge, with quick and reliable touch, And be sure that he knows how much to know, and knows how to not know too much ? Does he know how to spur up his virtue, and put a check-rein on his pride ? 1*1?^ Can he carry a gentleman's manners within a rhinoceros' hide ? Can he know all, and do all, and be all, with cheerfulness, courage, and vim ? If so, we perhaps can be makin' an editor 'outen of him.'" m \ THA editor's guests. 139 The farmer stood curiously listening, while woa- der his visage o 'erspread ; And he said, " Jim, I guess we '11 be goin' ; he 's probably out of his head." But lo ! on the rickety stair-case, another reliable tread, And entered another old farmer, and these are the words that lie said ; " Good-morning, sir, Mr Editor, how is the folk? to-day ? I owe you for next year's paper ; I thought I 'd come in and pay. And Jones is agoin' to take it, and this is his money here ; I shut down on lendin' it to him, and coaxed him to try it a year. And here is a few little items that happened last week in our town : ri I « I '11 ill III : i I; U l\ 140 OTHER POEMS. I thought they 'd look good for the paper, and so I just jotted 'em down. And here is a basket of cherries my wife picked expressly for you ; And a small bunch of flowers from Jennie — she thought she must send somethin' too. You're doin' the politics bully, as all of oui family agree ; Just keep your old goose-quill a-floppin*, and give *em a good one for me. And now you are chuck full of business, and I won't be takin' your time ; I 've things of my 1 I must 'tend to — good- day, sir, I b'lieve I will climb." The Editor sat in his sanctum and brought down his fist with a thump : •• God bless that old farmer," he muttered, " he 's a regular Editor's trump." m i THE editor's guests. 141 And 'tis thus with our noble profession, and thus it will ever be : still There are some who appreciate its labours, and some who perhaps never will. But in the great time that is coming, when loudly the trumpet shall sound, And they who have laboured and rested shall come from the quivering ground ; When they who have striven and suffered to teach and ennoble the race. Shall march at the front of the column, each one in his God-given place, As they pass through the gates of The City with proud and victorious tread, The editor, printer, and " devil," will travel not far from the head 1 i .i I ■ i ii n THE HOUSE WHERE WE WERE WED, \ \\ I'VE been to the old farm-house, good- wife, Where you and I were wed ; Where the love was born to our two hearts That now lies cold and dead. Where a long-kept secret to you I told, In the yellow beams of the moon, And we forged our vows out of love's own gold, THE HOUSE WHERE WE WERE WED. I43 I passed through all the old rooms, good-wife ; I wandered on and on ; I followed the steps of a flitting ghost, The ghost of a love that is gone. And he led me out to the arbour, wife, Where with myrtles I twined your hair ; And he seated me do^vn on the old stone step. And left me musing there. The sun went down as it used to do, And sunk in the sea of night ; The two bright stars that we called ours Came slowly into my sight ; But the one that was mine went under a cloud- Went under a cloud, alone ; And a tear that I wouldn't have shed for the world, Fell down on the old gray stone. But there be words can ne'er be unsaid, And deeds can ne'er be undor^c. tiimm ■ 144 OTHER POEMS. Except perhaps in anothei worlJ, Where life 's once more begun. And maybe some time in the time to come, When a few more years are sped, We '11 love again as we used to love, In the house where we were wed. i'i ffi. OUR ARMY OF THE DEAD. |Y the -dge of the Atlantic, where th«» waves of Freedom roar, And the breezes of the ocean chant a requiem to tlie shore, On the Nation's eastern hill-tops, where its corner-stone was laid, On the mountains of New Encr^and, where our fathers toiled and prayed, Mid old Key-stone's rugged riches, which the miner's hand await, ill a 'I i|i ili^i ill 4 ■ I i '4- III 146 OTHER POEMS, Mid the never-ceasing commerce of the busy Empire State, With the country's love and honour on eacli brave, devoted head, Is a band of noble heroes— is our Army of the Dead. On the lake-encircled homestead of the thriving Wolverine, On the beauteous Western prairies, with their carpeting of green, By the sweeping Mississippi, long our country's pride and boast. On the rugged Rocky Mountains, and the weird Pacific coast, In the listless, sunny Southland, with its blossoms and its vines, On the bracing Northern hill-tops, and amid theil murmuring pines, OUK ARMY OP TUP. DEAD. 147 Over all our happy country — over all our Nation spread, Is a band of noble heroes — is our Army of the Dead. ! ■ I Not with musket, anj w ith sabre, and with glad heart beating fast ; Not with cannon t »t !iath thundered till the bloody war was past ; Not with voices that are shouting with the vim of victory's note ; Not with armour gaily glistening, and with flags that proudly float ; Not with air of martial vigour, nor with steady, soldier tramp, Come they grandly inarching to us— for the boys are all in camp. Withforgetfulness upon it— each within his earthy bed. ''1 I ■i ■ m '^.S.i III 'i ■ |l mi :M ; ; f ■ 1 1 1 i 148 OTHER POEMS. Waiting for his marching orders— is our Army of the Dead. Fast asleep the boys are lying, in their low and narrow tents, And no battle-cry can wake them, and no orders call them hence ; And the yearnings of the mother, and the anguish of the wife, Can not with their magic presence call the sol dier back to life ; And the brother's manly sorrow, and the father's mournful pride, Can not give back to his country him who for his country died. They who for the trembling Nation in its hour of trial bled, Lie, in these its years of triumph, with out Army of the Dead. for OUR ARMY Oh THE DEAD. 149 When the years of Earth are over, and the cares of Earth are done, When the reign of Time is ended, and Eternity begun, When the thunders of Omniscien e on our wakened senses roll, And the sky above shall wither, and be gathered like a scroll ; When, among the lofty mountains, and across the mighty sea, The sublime celestial bugler shall ring out the reveille, Then shall march with brightest laurels, and with proud, victorious tread, To their station up in heaven, our Grand Army of the Dead 1 ouf ! i -: 1 i m I': ^ \ Jil 3 ■.■ ■ ; 11^1 \(-': 1 ^|i|::; '^ 4 ; > J Hlii'i '' 1 ml - 1! J ill . n mwmmmm^m i ill; !■ o ■■■■.• APPLE-BLOSSOMS, [NDERNEATH an apple tree Sat a maiden and her lover ; And the thoughts within her he Yearned, in silence, to discover. Round them danced the sunbeams bright, Green the grass-lawn stretched before them J While the apple-blossoms white Hung in rich profusion o'er them. Naught within her eyes he read APPLE BLOSSOMS, 151 Though their light, he after said, Quivered swiftly through and through him ; Till at last his heart burst free From the prayer with which 'twas laden, And he said, " When wilt thou be Mine for evermore, fair maiden ? " " When," said she, " the breeze of May With white flakes our head shall cover, I will be thy bridling gay — Thou shalt be my husband-lover." " How," said he, in sorrow bowed, " Can I hope such hopeful weather ? Breeze of May and Winter's cloud Do not often fly together." Quickly as the words he said, From the west a wind came sighing. And on each uncovered head Sent the apple-blossoms flying; i I in :• i Ml 152 OTHER POEMS. " • Flakes of white ! ' thou 'rt mine," said he, " Sooner than thy wish or knowing ! " " Nay, I heard the breeze," quoth she, " When in yonder forest blowing. ** APPLES GROWING. NDERNEATH an apple-tree Sat a dame of comely seemingf With her work upon her knee, And her great eyes idly dreaming. O'er the harvest-acres bright, Came her husband's din of reaping ; Near to her, an infant wight Through the tangled grass was creeping. On the branches long and high, And the great green apples growing, Rested she her wandering eye, \xr:4.u 1. 1.:.-- 1 ?__ 1 11^ <-> 54 OTHER POEMS, *' This," she said, " the shelter is, Where, when gay and raven-headed, I consented to be his, And our willinj^- hearts were wedded. 1I!J ** J.aughing: words and peals of mirth, Long ate changed to grave endeavour ; Sorrov/ii winds have swept to earth Many a blossomed hope forever Thunder-heads have hovered o'er — Storms my path have chilled and siiaded Of the bloom my gay youth bore, Some has fruited— more has faded* Quickly, and amid her sighs, Through the grass her baby wrestled, Smiled on her its father's eyes, And unto her bosom nestled. APPLES GROWING. 155 And with sudden, jo)'OUs glee, Half the wife's and half the mother's, «* Still the best is left," said she : •• I have learned to live for othera." f ■i bii A I m It 'iji ]\ • '■{ i It If,. ^ 1 1' ■ liii C?iV^ ^A^i:? TWO, F you to me be cold, Or I be false to you, The world will go on, I think, Just as it used to do ; The clouds will flirt with the moon, The sun will kiss the sea, The wind to the trees will whisper, And laugh at you and me ; But the sun will not shine so bright, The clouds will not seem so white, ONE AND TWO, 157 To one, as they will to two ; So I think you had better be kind, And I had best be true, And let the old love go on, Just as it used to do. II. If the whole of a page be read, If a book be finished through, Still the world may read on, I think, Just as it used to do; For other lovers will con The pages that we have passed. And the treacherous gold of the binding Will glitter unto the last. But lids have a lonely look, And one may not read the book — It opens only to two ; So I think you had better be kind, 1 1 1 ■ 1 ■■ ^ 1 If i: ; '1 |L ..,,1 1 M 1 ! M ■ I 158 OTHFR POEMS. And I bad ucst be true. And let the reading go on, Just as it used to do. III. If we who have sailed together Flit out of each other's view, The world will sail on, I think, Just as it used to do , And we may reckon by stars That flash from difFrent skies, And another of loves pirates May capture my lost prize ; But ships long time together Can better the tempest weather Than anv other two i So I think you had better be kind. And I haU Lest be truf That we together may sail Just as we used tc do. ^^< ♦», vf>^ ':■ ja«-'-:Ui/:-'-i^---: j&'ilS^^ '/^>^K-^ ti^A wmk -sW.' /v- X\ ■* ., : \ 'nuL fly IfeM*^ .«W^^-i%,f ■: ilfi'l ■^/ HI ^^^B#yvJ^K' '.'-^■■i^;^ ^SA: *,. . . ■ THE FADING FLOWERS, HERE is a chillness in the air — A coldness in the smile of day ; And e'en the sunbeam's crimson glare Seems shaded with a tinge of gray. Weary of journeys to and fro, The sun lov^ creeps adown the y ; And on the shivering earth below, The long, cold shadows grimly lie. i6o OTHER FORMS. \ '■: » J \]' til w But there will fall a deeper shade, More chillu.g than the Autumn's breath: There is a flower that yet must fade, And yield its sweetness up to death. She sits upon the window-seat, Musing in mournful silence there, While on her brow the sunbeams meet. And dally with her golden hair. She gazes on the sea of II -ht That overflows the western skies, Till her great soul seems plumed for flight From out the window of her eyes. I Bi f^ ill |HHBa J : [It Ml:' ■Jl 1 :■,■: ^^Ri ^H| 1 Bl " 1 Hopes unfulfilleo have vexed her breast, Sad smiles have checked the rising sigh ; Until her weary heart confessed, Reluctantly, that she must die. rMi& FAi^ti'tU \ t^OifAAS. I6i And she has thought of all the ties — The golden ties — that bind her here ; Of all that she has learned to prize, Of all that she has counted dear; The joys of body, heart, and mind, The pleasures that she loves so well ; The grasp of friendship, warm and kind, And love's delicious, hallowed spell. And she has wept, that she must lie Beneath the snow-wreaths, drifted deep, With no fond mother standing nigh, To watch her in her silent sleep. And she has prayed, if it might be Within the reach of human skill, And not averse to Heaven, that she Might live a little longer stilL f\" l62 OTHER POEMS. li: 4 m But earthly hope is gone ; and now Comes in its place a brighter beam, Leaving upon her snowy brow The impress of a heavenly dream : That she, when her frail body yields, And fades away to mortal eyes, Shall burst through Heaven's eternal fields, And bloom again — in Paradise. M I J t;,t A UTUMN DA YS. ELLOW, mellow, ripened days, Sheltered in a golden coating ; O'er the dreamy, listless haze. White and dainty cloudlets floating; Winking at the blushing trees, And the sombre, furrowed fallow ; Smiling at the airy ease Of the southward-flying swallow. Sweet and smiling are thy ways, Bea Jteous, golden. Autumn days I 11 If! 164 OTHER POEMS. Shivering, quivering, tearful days, Fretfully and sadly weeping ; Dreading still, with anxious gaze, Icy fetters round thee creeping ; O'er the cheerless, withered plain, Woefully and hoarsely calling ; Pelting hail and drenching rain On thy scanty vestments falling- Sad and mournful are thy ways, Grieving, wailing. Autumn days t I DEATH-DOOMED. [HEY'RE taking me to the gallows, mother — they mean to hang me high ; They 're going to gather round me there, and watch me till I die ; All earthly joy has vanished now, and gone each mortal hope, — They '11 draw a cap across my eyes, and round my neck a rope ; The crazy mob will shout and groan — the priest will read a prayer, The drop will fall beneath my feet and leave me in the air. i66 OTHER POEMS. ! I el n 1 I H^ They think I murdered Allen Bayne ; for so the Judge has said, And they '11 hang me to the gallows, mother- hang me till I 'm dead ! The grass that grows in yonder meadow, the lambs that skip and play. The pebbled brook behind the orchard, that laughs upon its way, The flowers that bloom in the dear old garden. the birds that sing and fly, Are clear and pure of human blood, and, mother, so am 1 1 By father's grave on yonder hill — his name with- out a stain — I ne'er had malice in my heart, or murdered Allen Bayne ! T5„«. f«r/>lvr» crnnd men have found me eruiltv, for SO the Judge has said, 'I, l3^. '*■. DBA TH'DOOMED. 167 And they '11 hang me to the gallows, mother- hang me till I 'm dead ! The air is fresh and bracing, mother ; the sun shines bright and high ; It is a pleasant day to live — a gloomy one to die ! It is a bright and glorious day the joys of earth to grasp — It is a sad and wretched one to strangle, choko and gasp ! But let them damp my lofty spirit, or cow me if they can ! They send me like a rogue to death — I *11 meet it like a man ; For I never murdered Allen Bayne ! but so the Judge has said, And they '11 hang me to the gallows, mother- hang me till I 'm dead t Ur m imn ■u, ': I I* if I' ■ i i68 OTHER POEMS. Poor little sister 'Bell will weep, and kiss me as I lie ; But kiss her twice and thrice for me, and tell her not to cry ; Tell her to weave a bright, gay garland, and crown me as of yore, Then plant a lily upon my grave, and think o! me no more. And tell that maiden whose love I sought, that I was faithful yet ; But I must lie in a feloh's grave, and she had best forget My memory is stained forever ; for so the Judge has said, And they 11 hang me to the gallows, mother — hang me till I 'm dead 1 Lay me not down by my father's side ; for once, I mind, he said II DEA TH'DOOMED. 169 tl No child that stained his spotless name should share his mortal bed. Old friends would look beyond his grave, to my dishonoured one, And hide the virtues of the sire behind the recreant son. And I can fancy, if there my corse its fettered limbs should lay, His frowning skull and crumbling bones would shrink from me away; But I .«wear to God I 'm innocent, and never blood hrve shed ! And they '11 hang me to the gallows, mother — hang me till I 'm ff ead I Lay me in my cofhn, mother, as you 've some- times seen me rest : One of my arms beneath my head, the other on my breast 'I ill 1:1 H: ft 1 1 •: H-fi i ■ !*■ : 'i ?'■ . '' t- 1 i i' - n iT'ii-^ ' 1 ■ it 1:! 1 4^ i • 1 >■', 1 f, ^ .' 1 (-' . . 1 ■f 1 Place my Bible upon my heart — nay, mother, do not weep — And kiss me as in happier days you kissed me when asleep. And for the rest— for form or rite— but little da I reck ; But cover up that cursed stain— ^//^ dlack mark on my neck ! And pray to God for His great mercy on my devoted head ; For they '11 hang me to the gallows, mother- hang me till I 'm dead I But hark ! I hear a mightv murmur among the jostling crowd ! A cry I— a shout ! — a roar of voices ! — it echoes long and loud I DBA TH-DOOMED. 171 There dashes a horseman with foaming steed and tightly-gathered rein I He sits erect I— he waves his hand !— good Heaven ! 'tis Allen Bayne I The lost is found, the dead alive, my safety is achieved ! For he waves his hand again, and shouts, " The prisoner is reprieved 1 " Now, mother, praise the God you love, and raise your drooping head ; For the murderous gallows, black and grim, is cheated of its dead ! i ;;ii lu- hi \m > . 'i '4 :;l!! ,| 3 U ! if' UP THE LINE, 1 1 ROUGH blinding storm and clouds of night, We swiftly pushed our restless flight ; With thundering hoof and warning neigh, We urged our steed upon his way Up ^he line. Afar the lofty head-light gleamed ; Afar the whistle shrieked and screamed ; And glistening bright, and rising high, Our flakes of fire bestrewed the sky, Up the line. ' u. UP THE UNS. 173 Adown the long, complaining track, Our wheels a message hurried back ; And quivering throuj^h the rails ahead, Went news of our resistless tread, Up the line. The trees gave back our urn and shout, And flung their shadow arms about ; And shivering m their coats of gray, They heard us roaring far away, Up the line. The wailing storm came on apace, And dashed its tears into our face ; But steadily still we pierced it through. And cut the sweeping wind in two, Up the line. A rattling rush across the ridge, A thunder-peal beneath the bridge ; MICROCOPY RESOLUTION TEST CHART (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) 1.0 I.I 1.25 m 2.8 13.6 . nil 4.0 1.4 II 2.5 2.2 2.0 1.8 1.6 ^ APPLIED IIVMGE Inc S^- 1653 East Mam Street ^£ Roctiesler, New York 14609 USA JSS (716) 482 - 0300 - Phone = (716) 288 - 5989 - Fax ■:H, I i Mi I'll t li iili I 'I 174 OTHER POEMS. And valley and hill and sober plain Re-echoed our triumphant strain, Up the line. And when the Eastern streaks of gray Bespoke the dawn of coming day, We halted our steed, his journey o'er. And urged his giant form no more, Up the line. ^1^'^ V r i I ^ ri. v HOV/ WE KEPT THE DA Y. I. [HE great procession came up the street, With clatter of hoofs and trar^n of feet ; There was General Jones to ^fuide the van, And Corporal Jinks, his right-hand man ; And each was riding his high horse, And each had epaulettes, of course ; And each had a sash of the bloodiest red, And each had a shako on his head ; And each had a sword by his left side, .J _^ _.!. l-._ J 1.!. ._i__l._ 1_- J J «aiiu cacii iiuu uis iiiuu^aiauiic iicvviy uycu i li ■■ Ir' Sftac-, Hi i til ^ ' 176 OTHER POEMS. And that was the way We kept the day, The great, the grand, the glorious day, That gave us — Hurray ! Hurray ! Hurray ! (With a battle or two, the histories say,) Our National Independence ! 11. The great procession came up the street^ With loud da capo, and brazen repeat ; There was Hans, the leader, a Teuton born. A sharp who worried the E flat horn ; And Baritone Jak'- ind Alto Mike, Who never playeu .>- • 1 83 OTHER POBMS, (With a clash of arms, Pat. Henry would say,) Our wordy Independence I VI. The marshal his hungry compatriots led, Where Freedom^s viands were thickly spread, With all that man or woman could eat, From crisp to sticky— from sour to sweet There were chickens that scarce had learned to crow, And veteran roosters of long ago ; There was one old turkey, huge and fierce, That was hatched in the days of President Pierce ; Of which, at last, with an ominous groan, The parson essayed to swallow a bone ; And it took three sinners, plucky and stout, To grapple the evil and bring it out. And still the dinner went merrily on, /Vila Tam<»e an<4 T <«'>•• —-.J TT_ * • • . iiii^ j„.z.x.t, oiiu 2j\i\jy rtHu jnannan and john I—*— NO IV WB KEPT THE DAV. 183 Kept winking their eyes and smacking their lips, And passing the eatables into eclipse. And that was the way The grand array Of victuals vanished on that day, That gave us — Hurray t Hurray I Hurray t (With some starvation, the records say,) Our well-fed Independence 1 VII. The people went home through the sultry night, In a murky mood and a pitiful plight ; Not more had the rockets' sticks gone down, Than the spirits of them who had "been to town ; " Not more did the fire-balloon collapse, Than the pride of them who had known mishaps. There were feathers ruffled, and tempers roiled, And several brand-new dresses spoileo ; 1 84 OTHER POEMS. h '' There were hearts that ached from envy's thorns, And feet that twinged with tran.,jled corns ; There were joys proved empty, through and through, And several purses empty, too ; And some reeled homeward, muddled and late, Who hadn't taken their glory straight ; And some were fated to lodge, that night, In the city lock-up, snug and tight; And that was the way The deuce was to pay. As it always is, at the close of the day. That gave us — Hurray/ Hurray! Hurray t (With some restrictions, the fault-finders say,) That which, please God, we will keep for aye^ Our National Independence I Printed by Dallantyne, Hanson &■ ca Edinburgh ■*> London ii ar giiii Mynif i i r / oms, and late, FARM FESTIVALS. I I 5i liirrfniriMMnrifililM TO S/ST£JiS AND BROTHER, ALL GONE ON THROUGH SAD, MYSTERIOUS MISTS INTO THE GREAT BRIGHTNESS. IS ^ :1| PREFACE. [OT all the festivals oi' the farm have been attempted in these pages ; there are still more in the author's heart than in his book. Such only have been selected as might best help tc express the thoughts, fancies, and memories which were uppermost in his mind, and (in a few cases) to garner certain poems already written. Some of the characters were drawn from people the author has known — some of the incidents from scenes in which he has partici- pated ; but the names used are, of course, all fictitious, though taken at random from such •• IP 61.'' ■ ! PREFACE. m ill as are liable to be found in any farming com- munity. With these few words of introduction, he re- spectfully presents to the public this third number of The Farm Series, and will be more than pleased, should it gain as kind and generous a greeting as have its predecessors. W. C I i CONTENTS. The Festjval of Reminiscence ; or, The Pioneer Meet I NO . . • • • jHcluding Song of the Axe The First Settler's Story Eliphalet Chapin's Wedding . The Second Settler's Story . Sleep, Old Tioneer 1 . TnF Festival of Praise ; or, Tiianksgivino Day The Festival of Good Cheer ; or, Christmas Monologues Tjie Festival of Anecdote ; or, An Evening in THE Country Store Including Our Travelled Pars^m A Dirge of the Lake . The Dead Student . The Death-Bridge of the T. y The Lightning-Rod Dispenser The Festival of Clamour ; or, MttTlNG • . ♦ • The lowN 9 \2 IS 33 37 44 47 6i 6) 70 80 ^\ S7 99 107 viii CONTENTS. The Festival of Melody ; or, The Singing- School . ..... The Festival of Industry; or, The County Fair Including Dialogue of the Horses Song of the Reaper . , , , The Labouring Men .... The Tramp's Story . , , , The Festival of Injustice ; or, The Lawsuit . The Festival of Disreason ; or, The Debate . The Festival of Reunion ; or, The Golden Wedding ...... The Festival of Memory ; or, Converse with the Slain ...... 114 126 127 130 138 144 152 161 173 »7S «M&' 114 1 2d 127 »3o 138 144 J 52 161 FARM FESTIVALS. »73 »78 THE FESTIVAL OF REMINISCENCE ; OR, THE PIONEER MEETING, I. ITHIN a grove, where maples strove To keep their sweet-tongued goods, Met, worn with years, some pioneers— The Old Guard of the woods ; Who came once more to linger o'er The grim work of their primes, Renewing here the grief and cheer Of happy, hard old times. Rough clad were they — unkempt and gray^ — With lack of studied ease — 1 1 I" 10 FARM FESTIVALS. Yet beauty-strown with charms their own, Like brave old forest trees. Their eyes seemed still to flash the will Of spirits sent to win ; Their hands were marred ; their cheeks were scarred By deep wounds from within. With awkward ^^race and earnest face Of effort-bought repose, With troubled ease and shaking knees, Their president arose. The crowd in view from him first drew That flustered word " Ahem ! " He who when found on equal ground, Could talk so free with them. ('Tis strange hovy one who well has known His friends, from day to day, Those same ones fears, when he appears On higher ground than they !) But he arose, and his snub nose Twanged with a sound immense ; Which bugle-blast about him cast, Gave him self-confidence. And while a look ^jf reverence took His anxious-wrinkled face, He begged the good old elder would Invoke the throne of grace. THE FESTIVAL OF REMINISCENCE. II A sweet old man, of clean-cut plan And undissembling air, Rose in his place, with fervent face, And made a business prayer. He never threw his voice into A sad uncalled-for wail ; He ne'er aspired to make Heaven tired, With gossip weak and stale ; He did not ask a toilless task, Or claim undue reward. He did not shout opinions out, Or " dance before The Lord " ; He did not prate of town or state, Suggesting them by name ; With his calm voice, no precepts choice, Or general orders, came. — Thanks— many a one— for favours done, Hopes— modest-clothed— for more, Praise, love, and fear, and all sincere, And then his words were o'er. So old was he, it seemed to me. In this strong, feeble prayer, He knocked once more at Heaven's front door, And left his message there. With side-turned head, the chairman said, «T«_ U„1„ ♦•U:«, «i«rtfin' Mf^nO" I' 1 1 u FARM FESTIVALS. My eldest son, George Washington, Will perpetrate a song." Uncouth of view, George W. Rose in his ample tracks, And gave, in voice not over choice, The loud Si < I f.il- i SONG OF THE AXE. They called me off of the hard couch of my rest — " Wake up ! wake up ! for the morning breaks I " they said. To the bath of the white-hot fire they bared my breast— The lash of the iron sledge fell on my head. Far and near My pain-cries bounded ; Shrill and clear The anvils sounded ; " Work ! " they cried ; " The day has broke ! The forests wide Await the stroke Of the serpent-spring of the woodman's cordy arm, As it flings the white-toothed axe against the THE FESTIVAL OF REMINISCENCE. t3 The noon shall gleam on many a prosperous farm, And the growing grain the forest's child shall be." I went to the streetless city of the wood — I carried there destruction's surest pang ; The tree that many a hundred years had stood, Now fell at the touch of my silver-gleaming fang. Far and wide My voice was calling Every side The trees were falling ; " Cease," I said, ** Your barbarous cheer, And bow the head, For death is near ! " And the oak-tree gazed at its steadily gaping wound, And nursed the stinging pain that it could not tell ; Then grandly drooped, with an agony-moaning sound, And dashed and crashed through the brush, ^_j ^1 1 :«~ r^n 14 FARM FESTIVALS. I ' 1' Lttii Wherever are heard my voice's ominous sounds, The half-clad feet of the homeless millions run ; li.cy pitch their tents of wood on my battle grounds — They eat the fruits of the work that I have done. Toil that dares Is tenfold glorious ; All earth shares Its march victorious ; " Haste ! " it cries : " Your venturous deeds Will win a pri':e For human needs ! " So I strike the keynote of the national song Of empires that shall star through future years ; And the artist-tribes do but my strains prolong, For I am the pioneer of pioneers. II. Came speeches, then, by withered men. In languai^sL br-jsque and plain ; And, as it hapj 'n ^'-ost of t'.em tapped The remin;3ccncj vein. S«.,J r THE FESTIVAL OF REMINISCENCE. >5 Age loves through ways of )lden days With Memory's lamp to grope; A? proud Youth peers at future years, Lit by the torch of Hope. How far between are Memory's scene And Hope's unclouded view ! False is each one, and overdone — Yet both are very true. And toward the close, there calmly rose A sad-eyed veteran hoary, And with a fair and modest air, Told THE FIRST settler's STORY. It ain't the funniest thing a man can do— Existing in a country when t's new ; Nature — who moved in first — a good long while — Has things already somewha her own style, And she don't want her wo -dland splendours battered, Her rustic furniture broke up nd scattered, Her paintings, which long yea. s ago were done By that old splendid artist-kin the Sun, Torn down and dragged in Civ: isation's gutter, n- crAA fr» TMirrha<;p settlers' brc id-and-buttcf. ill ■' 16 FARM FESTIVALS. ri'!'!^l' ! 11 m I'll) She don't want things exposed, from porch to closet — And so she kind o' nags the man who does it. She carries in her pockets bags of seeds, As general agent of the thriftiest weeds; She sends her blackbirds, in the early morn, To superintend his fields of planted corn ; She gives him rain past any duck's desire — Then maybe several weeks of quiet fire ; She sails mosquitoes — leeches perched on wings — To poison him with blood-devouring stings ; She loves her ague-muscle to display. And shake him up— say every other day ; With careful, conscientious care, she makes Those travellin' poison-bottles, rattlesnakes ; She finds time, 'mongst her other family cares, To keep in stock good wild-cats, wolves, and bears ; She spurns his offered hand, with silent gibes. And compromises with the Indian tribes (For they who've wrestled with his bloody art Say Nature always takes an Indian's part). In short, her toil is every day increased, To scare him out, and hustle him back East ; Till fin'Uy, it appears to her some day, That he has made arrangements for to stay j THE FESTIVAL OF REMINISCENCE. fj Then she turns 'round, as sweet as anything, And takes her new-made friend into the ring, And changes from a snarl into a purr : From mother-in-law to mother, as it were. Well, when I first infested this retreat, Things to my view looked frightful incomplete ; But Nature seemed quite cheerful, all about me, A-carrying on her different trades without me. These words the forest seemed at me to throw : " Sit down and rest awhile before you go ;" From bees to trees the whole woods seemed to say, " You're welcome here till you can get away, But not for time of any large amount ; So don't be hanging round on our account." But I had come with heart-thrift in my song, And brought my wife and plunder right along ; I hadn't a round-trip ticket to go back, And if I had, there wasn't no railroad track ; And drivin' east was what I couldn't endure : I hadn't started on a circular tour. My girl-wife was as brave as she was good, And helped me every blessM way she could ; She seemed to take to every rough old tree, Ac c\ner'\or aa when firist shc tOOk tO me. B i 111 If FARM FESTIVALS. i ('I She kep' our little log-house neat as wax ; And once I caught her fooling with my axe. She learned a hundred masculine things to do: She aimed a shot-gun pretty middlin' true, Although, in spite of my express desire. She always shut her eyes before she'd fire. She hadn't the muscle (though she /lad the heart) In out-door work to take an active part ; Though in our firm of Duty & Endeavour, She wasn't no silent partner whatsoever. When I was logging, burning, choppin' wood — She'd linger 'round, and help me all she could, And kept me fresh-ambitious all the while, And lifted tons, just with her voice and smile. With no desire my glory for to rob, She used to stan' around and boss the job ; And when first-class success my hands befell, Would proudly say, " We did that pretty well! ' She was delicious, both to hear and see — That pretty wife-girl that kep' house for me I Sundays, we didn't propose, for lack o' church, To have our souls left wholly in the lurch ; And so I shaved and dressed up, well's I could. vM/>t>Lr rirtTtnrr t-f\ K*> crr\r\r Ar f. THE FESTIVAL OF REMINISCENCE. 19 My wife was always bandbox-sleek ; and when Our fat old bull's-eye watch said half-past ten ('Twas always varying from the narrow way, And lied on Sundays, same as any day), The family Bible from its high perch started (The one her mother gave her when they parted,) The hymn-book, full of music-balm and fire — The one she used to sing in in the choir — One I sang with her from — I've got it yet— - The very first time that we rea//y met ; (I recollect, when first our voices gibed, A feeling that declines to be described ! And when our eyes met — near the second verse — A kind of old-acquaintance look in hers, And something went from mine, which, I declare, I never even knew before was there— And when our hands touched — slight as slight could be — A streak o' sweetened lightnin* thrilled through me! But that's enough of that ; perhaps, even now, You'll think I'm softer than the law '11 allow ; But you'll protect an old man with his age, For yesterday I turned my eightieth page ; Besides, there'd be less couples falling out if such things were more freely talked about) ! H ao FARM FESTIVALS. i' Well, we would take these books, sit down alone, And have a two-horse meeting, all our own ; And read our verses, sing our sacred rhymes, And make it seem a good deal like old times. But finally across her face there'd glide A sort of sorry shadow from inside ; And once she dropped her head, like a tired flower, Upon my arm, and cried a half an hour. I humoured her until she had it out. And didn't ask her what it was about. I knew right well : our reading, song, and prayer Had brought the old times back, too true and square. The large attended meetings morn and night ; The spiritual and mental warmth and light ; Her father, in his pew, next to the aisle ; Her mother, with the mother of her smile ; Her brothers' sly, forbidden Sunday glee ; Her sisters, e'en a'most as sweet as she ; Her girl and boy friends, not too warm or cool ; Her little scrub class in the Sunday-school ; The social, and the singings and the ball ; And happy home-cheer waiting for them all— These marched in close procession through hef mind. And didn't forget to leave their tracks behind. THE FESTIVAL OF REMINISCENCE. 21 You married men — there's many in my view — Don't think your wife can ali wrap up in you, Don't deem, though close her life to yours may grow, That you are c*ll the folks she wants to know ; Or think your stitches form the only part Of the crochet-work of a woman's heart. Though married souls each other's lives may burnish, Each needs some help the other cannot furnish. Well, neighbourhoods meant counties, in those days ; The roads didn't have accummodating ways ; And maybe weeks would pass before she'd see — And much less talk with — any one but me. The Indians sometimes showed their sun-baked faces, But they didn't teem with conversational graces ; Some ideas from the birds and trees she stole, But 'twasn't like talking with a human soul ; And finally I thought that I could trace A, half heart-hunger peering from her face. Then she would drive it back, and shut the door; Of course that only made me see it more. 'Twas hard to see her give her life to mine. Making a steady effort not to pine ; 22 FARM FESTIVALS. *Twas hard to hear that laugh bloom out each minute, And recognise the seeds of sorrow in it. No misery makes a close observer mourn, Like hopeless grief with hopeful courage borne; There's nothing sets the sympathies to paining, Like a complaining woman, uncomplaining I It always draws my breath out into sighs, To see a brave look in a woman's eyes. i: Well, she went on, as plucky as could be. Fighting the foe she thought I did not see, And using her heart-horticultural powers To turn that forest to a bed of flowers. You cannot check an unadmitted sigh, And so I had to soothe her on the sly. And secretly to help her draw her load ; And soon it came to be an up-hill road. Hard work bears hard upon the average pulse, Even with satisfactory results ; But when effects are scarce, the heavy strain Falls dead and solid on the heart and brain. And when we're bothered, it will oft occur We seek blame-timber; and I lit on her ; And looked at her with daily lessening favour, For what I knew she couldn't help, t' save her. THE FESTIVAL OF REMINISCENCE. 23 (We often — what our minds should blush with shame for — Blame people most for what they're least to blame for.) Then there'd a misty, jealous thought occur, Because I wasn't earth and heaven to her, And all the planets that about us hovered, And several more that hadn't been discovered ; And my hard muscle-labour, day by day, Deprived good-nature of the right of way ; And 'tain't no use — this trying to conceal From hearts that love us— what our own heartf feel ; They can't escape close observation's mesh — And thoughts have tongues that are not made of flesh. And so ere long she caught the half-grown fact : Commenced observing how I didn't act ; And silently began to grieve and doubt O'er old attentions now sometimes left out — Some kind caress— some little petting ways- Commenced a-staying in on rainy days (I did not see 't so clear then, I'll allow ; But I can trace it rather acc'rate now) ; And Discord, when he once had called and seen us, Came round quite often, and edged in between us. m i ;'^>: mm ' 1 Ir 1 ■Klflll' : ! ' B 1 ' H « it «4 FARM FESTIVALS. One night, I came from work unusual late, Too hungry and too tired to feel first-rate — Her supper struck me wrong (though I'll allow She hadn't much to strike with, anyhow) ; And when I went to milk the cows, and found They'd wandered from their usual feeding ground, And may ^e 'd left a few long miles behind 'em, Which I must copy, if I meant to find 'em, Flash-quick the stay-chains of my temper broke, And in a trice these hot words I had spoke : " You ought to 've Kept the animals in view, And drove 'em in ; you'd nothing else to do. The heft of all our life on me must fall ; You just lie round, and let me do it all." That speech — it hadn't been gone a half a minute. Before I saw the cold black poison in it ; And I'd have given all I had, and more, To 've only safely got it back in-door. I'm now what most folks " well-to-do " would call : I feel to-day as if I'd give it all. Provided I through fifty years might reach, And kill and bury that half-minute speech. THE FESTIVAL OF REMINISCENCE. «5 Boys flying kites haul in their white-winged birds; You can't do that way when you're flying words. Things that we think may sometimes fall back dead ; But God Himself can't kUl them when they're said. She handed back no words, as I could hear ; She didn't frown — she didn't shed a tear ; Half proud, hili crushed, she stood and looked me o'er, Like some one she had never seen before I l^ut such a sudden anguish-lit surprise I never viewed before in human eyes. (I've seen it oft enough since, in a dream ; It sometimes wakes me, like a midnight scream!) That night, while theoretically sleeping, I half heard and half felt that she was weeping ; And my heart then projected a design To softly draw her face up close to mine, And beg of her forgiveness to bestow, For saying whr ^ we both knew wasn't sa I've got enough, of this world's goods to do me. And make my nephews painfully civil to me: I'd give it all to know she only knew How near I came to what was square and true. ,rJ»ar£ if'!, 1 y.:' liHii^ ft !" { ' 26 F^i?J\/ FESTIVALS. But somehow, every single time I'd try, Pride would appear, and kind o' catch my eye, And hold me, on the edge of my advance, With the cold steel of one sly, scornful glance. Next morning, when, stone-faced, but heavy- hearted, With dinner pail and sharpened axe I started Away for my day's work — she watched the door, And followed me half-way to it or more ; And I was just a-turnii ;j round at this. And asking for my usual good-bye kiss ; But on her lip I saw a proudish curve, And in her eye a shadow of reserve ; And she had shown — perhaps half unawares — Some little independent breakfast airs — And so the usual parting didn't occur. Although h° eyes invited me to her, Or rather half-invited me ; for she Didn't advertise to furnish kisses free : You always had — that is, I had — to pay Full market price, and go more 'n half the way. So, with a short " Good-bye," I shut the door, And left her as I never had before. Now, when a man works with his muscle smartly, It makes him un into machinerv. oartlv : *•- -.^- -- -.-71.- - W • THE FESTIVAL OF REMINISCENCE. 27 And any trouble he may have on hand Gets deadened like, and easier to stand. And though the memory of last night's mistake Bothered me with a dull and heavy ache, I all the forenoon gave my strength full rein, And made the wounded trees bear half the pain. But when at noon my lunch I came to eat, Put up by her so delicately neat — Choicer, somewhat, than yesterday's had been, And some fresh, sweet-eyed pansies she'd put in — " Tender and pleasant thoughts," I knew they meant — It seemed as if her kiss with me she'd sent ; Then I became once more her humble lover, And said, " To-night I'll ask forgiveness of her." I went home over-early on that eve, Having contrived to make myself believe. By various signs I kind o' knew and guessed, A thunder-storm was coming from the west. ('Tis strange, when one sly reason fills the heart, How many honest ones will take its part ; A dozen first-class reasons said 'twas right That I should strike home early on that night.) Half out of breath, the cabin door I swung, With tender heart-words trembling on my ionuue w ^mr 9 f8 FARM FESTIVALS. But all within looked desolate and bare ; My house had lost its soul — she was not there ! A pencilled note was on the table spread, And these are something like the words it said: " The cows have strayed away again, I fear ; I watched them pretty close; don't scold me, dear. And where they are, I think I nearly know : I heard the bell not very long ago — * * « « ♦ • I've hunted for them all the afternoon ; I'll try once more — I think I'll find them soon. Dear, if a burden I have been to you, And haven't helped you as I ought to do, Let old-time memories my forgiveness plead ; I've tried to do my best — I have, indeed. Darling, piece out with love the strength I lack, And have kind words for me when I get back." I I Scarce did I give this letter sight and tongue — Some swift-blown rain-drops to the window clung, And from the clouds a rough, deep growl pro ceeded ; My thunder - storm had come, now 'twasu't needed. THE FESTIVAL OF REMINISCEi\CK. «9 I rushed out-door; the air was stained with black ; Night had come early, on the storm-cloud's back. And everything kept dimming to the sight, Save when the clouds threw their electric light ; When, for a flash, so clean-cut was the view, I'd think I saw her — knowing 'twas not true. Through my small clearing dashed wide sheets of spray, As if the ocean waves had lost their way ; Scarcely a pause the thunder-battle made. In the bold clamour of its cannonade. And she, while I was sheltered, dry and warm, Was somewhere in the clutches of the storm ! She who, when storm-frights found her at her best, Had always hid her white face on my breast ! My dog, who'd skirmished 'round me all the day, Now, crouched and whimpering, in a corner lay ; I dragged him by the collar to the wall — I pressed his quivering muzzle to a shawl — "Track her, old boy!" I shouted: and he whined. Matched eyes with me, as if to read my mind — Then with a yell went tearing through the wood. I followed him. as faithful as I could. mil' n if. '•: 30 FARM FESTIVALS. No pleasure-trip was that, through flood and flame ! We raced with death ; — we hunted noble game. All night we dragged the woods without avail ; The ground got drenched — we could not keep the trail. Three times again my cabin home I found, Half hoping she might be there, safe and sound; But each time 'twas an unavailing care : My house had lost its soul ; she was not there ! -ijai li ri When, climbing the wet trees, next morning- sun Laughed at the ruin that the night had done, Bleeding and drenched — by toil and sorrow bent — Back to what used to be my home I went. But, as I neared our little clearing-ground — Listen ! — I heard the cow-bell's tinkling sound ; The cabin door was just a bit ajar ; It gleamed upon my glad eyes like a star I ** Brave heart," I said, " for such a fragile form ! She made them guide her homeward through the storm ! " Such pangs of joy I never felt before : "You've come !" I shouted, and rushed through THE FESTIVAL OF REMINISCENCE. 3« Yes, she had come — and gone again. — She lay With all her young life crushed and wrenched away — Lay — the heart ruins of our home among — Not far from where I killed her with my tongue. The rain drops glittered 'mid her hair's long strands, The forest-thorns had torn her feet and hands, And 'midst the tears — brave tears — that one could trace Upon the pale but sweetly resolute face, I once again the mournful words could read — " I've tried to do my best — I have, indeed." And now I'm mostly done; my story s o'er ; Part of it never breathed the air before. 'Tisn't over-usual, it must be allowed. To volunteer heart-history to a crowd, And scatter 'mongst them confidential tears, But you'll protect an old man with his years ; And wheresoe'er this story's voice can reach, This is the sermon I would have it preach : Boys flying kites haul in their white- winged birds ; V. ^»*^*^'4- ^i-k ♦■Vt'^4' mtrr^^r lirHi ;u vail i, \^'w L.2ic&*>. rrc&j «T/Nt« • nun r\r^ \-- »• li ill III 'I i' n : '!! 5? * 3« Fi4/2M FEST/F/ILS. " Careful with fire," is good advice, we know : " Careful with words," is ten times doubly so. Thoughts unexpressed may sometimes fall back dead ; But God Himself can't kill them when they're said ! You have my life-grief: do not think a minute •Twas told to take up time. There's business in it. It sheds advice ; whoe'er will take and live it, Is welcome to the pain it costs to give it. III. With added calm, untangling from The twists of bench repose, When silence called, serene and bald, The President arose ; And with bowed head he humbly said, " To help this meetin' 'long. My second one, James Madison, Will now submit a song." James M. appeared, his infant beard Hopes for the future shedding. And sung in strains of anxious pains THE FESTIVAL OF REMINISCENCE. ELIPHALET CHAPIN'S WEDDING. 'Twas when the leaves of Autumn were by tempest-fingers picked, Eliphalet Chapin started to become a benedict ; With an ancient two-ox waggon to bring back. his new-found goods, He hawed and gee'd and floundered through some twenty miles o' woods ; With prematrimonial ardour he his horned steeds did press, But Eliphalet's wedding journey didn't bristle with success. Oh no, Woe, woe 1 With candour to digress, Eliphalet's wedding journey didn't tremble with success. He had not carried five miles his mouth-disputed face. When his wedding garments parted in some inconvenient place ; He'd have given both his oxen to a wife that now was dead. For her company two minutes with a needle and a thread. » r hi 1 ' w ( r It |: 1 1 1 1 1 > 1' 1 [1 1 1' m '1 t I 1 1 i; ii Ei; : 1 ! IHu MK ! 1 ii 1 34 FARM FESTIVALS. ^im But he pinned them up, with twinges of occa- sional distress, Feeling that his wedding wouldn't be a carnival of dress : " Haw, Buck ! Gee, Bright ! Denied pretty mess ! " No; Eliphalet was not strictly a spectacular success. He had not gone a ten-mile when a wheel demurely broke, A disunited family of felloe, hub, and spoke; It joined, with flattering prospects, the Society of Wrecks ; And he had to cut a sapling, and insert it 'neath the " ex." So he ploughed the hills and valleys with tha; Doric wheel and tire, Reeling that his wedding journey was not all he could desire. " Gee, Bright ! G'long, Buck!" He shouted, hoarse with ire I No; Eiiphalet's wedding journey none in can- dour could admire ! He had not gone fifteen miles with extended lacc tut iut ii, Ii ■%.5:»-l IIP THE FESTIVAL OF REMINISCENCE. 35 When Night lay down upon him hard, and kept him there till morn; And when the daylight chuckled at the gloom within his mind, One ox was " Strayed or Stolen," and the other hard to find. So yoking Buck as usual, he assumed the part of Bright (Constituting a menagerie diverting to the sight); With " Haw, Buck ! Gee, Buck ! Sha'n't get there till night ! " No ; Eliphalet's wedding journey was not one intense delight. Now, when he drove his equipage up to his sweetheart's door, The wedding guests had tired and gone, just half an hour before ; The preacher had from sickness an unprofitable call, And had sent a voice proclaiming that he couldn't come at all ; The parents had been prejudiced by some one, more or less. And the sire the bridegroom greeted with a different word from '* bless. p . m a ,. _, ipi-;^ ■5 I i( ! ' i\ 36 FARM FESTIVALS. " Blank your head, You blank!" he said; "We'll break this off, I guess!** No; Eliphalet's wedding was not an unqualified success. Now, when the bride saw him arrive, she shook her crimson locks, And vowed to goodness gracious she would never wed an ox ; And with a vim deserving rather better social luck, She eloped that day by daylight with a swarthy Indian "buck," With the presents in the pockets of her woollen wedding-dress; And "Thmgs ain't mostly with me," quoth Eliphalet, " I confess." No — no ; As things go, No fair mind 'twould impress. That Eliphalet Chapin's wedding was an un- alloyed success. Eliphalet Chapin started home THE FESTIVAL OF REMINISCENCE. 37 IV. Once more unbend the President, With face grown sadly long, And said, " How many »nore, if any, Such verses has that song?" With smile unchanged, the minstrel ranged Four fingers and a thumb, And said, "There'll be just ninety-three More stanzas yet to come." With look of dread, the father said, " You need not sing 'em here. But get your man home, if you can, Some time this coming year." Without a frown, James M. sat down. Stripped of his vocal glory ; And then an old rough patriarch told THE SECOND SETTLER'S STORY. A han'some night, with the trees snow-white, And the time say ten or more. Saw wife and me, with a well-fed glee, Drive home from Jackson's store. There was wife and I, and some things folks buy, And our horses and our sleigh ; 'K: U 38 FARM FESTIVALS. And the moon went along with its lantern strong, And lit us as light as day. We'd made roads good, drawin' logs and wood, For thirty years ago ; And the wear and tear had sustained repair From Road Commissioner Snow. As we trotted along, our two-thread song Wove in with the sleigh-bells' chimes ; Our laugh run free, and it seemed to me We was havin' first-rate times. I said " first-rate," but I do not say't On a thoroughly thorough plan ; I had won my wife, in legitimate strife, Away from her first young man. 'Twas a perfect rout, and a fair cut-out, With nothing sneaky or wrong ; But I wondered so as to whether or no She had brought her heart along ! A woman half-won is worse than none, With another man keepin' part ; It's nothin to gain her body and brain, If she can't throw in her heart. And I felt and thought that I sometimes caught A chiiiness out o' her mind ; VI ii! THE FESTIVAL OF REMINISCENCE. She was too much prone to thinkin' alone, And rather too coldly kind. 39 But things seemed right this partic'lar night, And better than average folks ; And we filled the air with music to spare, And complimentary jokes. Till, as I reckoned, about a second All happened to be still — A cry like the yell of hounds from hell Came over a neighbouring hill. It cut like a blade through the leafless shade ; It chilled us stiff with dread ; We looked loud cries in each other's eyes And—" Wolves!" was all we said. The wolf! grim scamp and forest-tramp Why made, I never could see ; Beneath brute level— half dog, half devil— The Indian animal, he ! And this was a year with a winter more drear Than any we'd ever known ; It was '43 ; and the wolves, you see, Had a famine of their own. That season, at least, of man and beast They captured many a one ; And we knew, by the bite of their voice that night. That tliey hadn't come out for fun. I ♦o FARM FESTIVALS. m i:ii i!!' A "h mil My horses felt need of all their speed, And every muscle strained ; But, with all they could do, I felt and knew That the hungry evils gained. 'Tvvas but two miles more to our own house door, Where shelter we would find, When I saw the pack close on to our track, Not a hundred yards behind. Then I silent prayed : " O God ! for aid — Just a trifle — I request I Just give us. You know, an even show, And I'll undertake the rest." Then I says to my wife, " Now drive for life 1 They're a-comin' over-nigh ! And I will stand, gun and axe in hand, And be the first to die." As t^ . ribbons she took, she gave me a look Sweet memory makes long-lived : I thought, " I'll allow she loves me now ; The rest of her heart has arrived." I felt I could fight the whole o' the night, And never flinch or tire 1 In danger, mind you, a woman behind you Can turn your blood to fire. When they reached the right spot. I left 'em a SflOC. THE FESTIVAL OF REMINISCENCE. 4« Hut it wasn't a steady aim — 'T wasn't really mine — and they tipped me a whine, And came on all the same. Their leader sped a little ahead, Like a gray knife from its sheath; With a resolute eye, and a hungry cry, And an excellent set of teeth. A moment I gazed — my axe I raised — It hissed above my head — Crunching low and dull, it split his skull, And the villain fell back dead ! It checked them there, and a minute to spare We had, and a second besides : With rites unsaid they buried their dead In the graves of their own lank hides. They made for him a funeral grim — Himself the unbaked meat ; And when they were through with their bar- becue, They started for more to eat! I ll If With voices aflame, once more they came ; But faster still we sped, And we and our traps dashed home perhaps A half a minute ahead. My wife I bore through the open door, I' m*.-^- 'N 4* FARM FESTIVALS. T: i^UM Where a log-fire glowed in its brick abode — By my mother faithfully kept ; From its depths raising two faggots blazing, I leaped like lightning back ; I dashed the brands, with my blistering hands, In the teeth of the howling pack. " Come on ! " I said, " with your fierce lips red, Flecked white with poison foam ! Waltz to me now, and just notice how A man fights for his home ! " They shrunk with fright from the feel and sight O' this sudden volley of flame ; With a yell of dread, they sneaked and fled, As fast as ever they came. As I turned around, my wife I found Not the eighth of an inch away : She looked so true and tender, I knew That her heart had come — to stay. She nestled more nigh, with love-lit eye, And passionate-quivering lip ; And I saw that the lout that I cut out Had probably lost his grip. Doubt moved away, for a permanent stay, And never was heard of more ! My soul must own that it had not known The soul of my wife before. THE FESTIVAL OF REMINISCENCE. 43 As I staunched the steam on my foaming team, These thoughts hitched to my mind: Below or above some woman's love, How little in life we find! A man'll go far to plant a star Where fame's wide sky is thrown, But a longer way, for some woman to say, " I love you for my own." And oft as I've worked, this thought has lurked 'Round me, with substantial aid : Of the best and worst men have done since first This twofold world was made : Of the farms they've cleared — of the buildin's reared — The city splendours wrought — Of the battle ^Id, where, loth to yield, The right - ainst the right has fought ; Of the measured strains of the lightning-trains, The clack of the quick-spoke wire — Of the factory's clash and the forge's flash, An' the furnace's plumes of fire; Be't great or small — nine-tenths of all Of every trade and art, Be't right or wrong — is merely a song To win some woman's heart. la m y " 44 FARM FESTIVALS. tVil « iff H ■ i V With haste well meant, the President Laboriously arose, And said, " 'Tis near the time, I fear, This meetin' ought to close. But ere we grieve this spot to leave, To help the meetin' 'long, My youngest one, T. Jefferson, Will f^r [ upsms^fmsmm II ! !« F^- i i I ♦6 F/4i?M FESTIVALS. Careless crowds go daily past you, Where their future fate has cast you, Leaving not a sigh or tear ; And your wonder-works outlast you— Brave old pioneer 1 Little care the selfish throng Where your heart is hid, Though they thrive upon the strong, Resolute work it did. But ottr memory-eyes have found you, And we hold you grandly dear : With no work-day woes to wound you- With the peace of GOD around you— Sleep, old pioneer ! TJJE FESTIVAL OF PRAISE; OR, THANKSGIVING-DA Y. IS in the thriftful Autumn days, When earth is overdone, And forest trees have caught the blaze Thrown at them by the sun, When up the gray smoke puffs and curls From cottage chimney-lips. And oft the driving storm unfurls The black sails of his ships, Or Indian Summer, dimly fair, May walk the valleys through, And paint the glass walls of the air In tints of dreamy blue, When Summer is mislaid and lost Among- the leaflets dead.. \\ hi\tn 111 48 i' I I § FARM FESTIVALS. And Winter, in white words of frost, Has telegraphed aheid, When far afield the farmer blows His fingers numbed with cold, And robs from stately corn-hill rows, Their pocket-books of gold, When, with a weird and horn-like note, The cloud-geese southward fly, In branches leafed with wings, that float Along the liquid sky, When to their meals the gobblers strut. In gastronomic mood, And little dream that they are but A food-devouring food, When chains adorn the chimney-vests, Of apples hung to dry, And in his barrel-coffin rests The porker, doomed to die, Or, still the recent cruel sport Of knife-engendered pangs. His blushing corpse, with lessened port. Upon the gallows hangs ; 'Tis then good prosperous folks display A reverential cheer. And thank their Maker one whole day For all the rest the year. THE FESTIVAL OF PRAISE. 49 The President proclaims that thus His duty does direct; The Governor has written us Unto the same effect ; Now let the housewife's nets be cast, And all the poultry kind Begin to realise, at last, For what they were desij^ned ; Now rob your fowl-yards of their game, Till tables groan, anon, That they who eat may do the same A little farther on ; Now let your clans of cousins meet, And talk their blessings o'er, And thank The Lord for what they eat, By eating all the more ; Now let your industry's reward Achieve a fair display. And hearts and stomachs thank The Lord. Alternately all day 1 The patriarch-farmer, worn and tanned, Has all his heart alive To sight his married children, and Assist them to arrive. The open gate he rushes through, Vv ifrh cf^n ciirr>rfcini-r f'w U I, mi '{■ 111 50 <,; ii in: ;f i. LiJ ^ V \\\ , i ; . H| FARM FESTIVALS. And hails the first that drives in view, " Ho ! ho ! you've come at last ! " He helps his daughter-in-law alight, With elephantine grace, Aad kisses hard each toddling wight, All o'er its tender face ; And soon as "Mother" comes and throws The woman-greeting scream, Together with his son he goes, To help him stall his team. So constantly new-comers gain Old greeting from the sire. And soon they form a sparkling chain, Around a blazing fire. And Reminiscence deftly trips Them and "old times" between, And tempts their conversation-lips With memories sweet and keen. Old happenings are handled o'er, In stories somewhat true ; The family all is raised once more, Here in an hour or two. There is no speech too dull to quote— The last tale is the best ; Biograpny and anecdote Are each an honoured guest. The family-liar may be here ; And is not greatly grieved, THE FESTIVAL OF PRAISE. 51 To know his tales, unduly queer, Are kindly disbelieved ; A-many words are gaily spoke, Illiterately bright; And every crippled, veteran joke, Is stirred up to the sight ; And tales are told of childhoods tipped With follies wisely hid, And how the good boy oft was whipped For what the bad one did ; Of many a brain and muscle bout, By plastic memory fed, In which the one who tells comes out Invariably ahead (For people's lives, you know full well. Two sets of things recall : The one of which they often tell, The other not at all) ; The children romping rush and lurk, And demonstrate their lungs; The women ply their knitting-work With unimpeded tongues. Live fast, you selfish, thankful throng, For hfe to-day is fair, And when the dinner comes along, Take in a goodly share ! The future keeps just out of view, And sorrow waits ahead ; FARM FESTIVALS. There may be days when some of you Will beg a bit of bread. The blessings of this day do not Secure a future one ; This is to thank The Lord for what He has already done. And every laugh, however gay, '^y grief shall yet be quelled ; O'er each heart that is here to-day A funeral must be held. Laugh on again, with careless voice, As soon as grace is said ! God loves to see His folks rejoice, No matter what's ahead. You're sure of this Thanksgiving-day, Whose blessings on you fall ; A million thanks you should display For having lived at all. Grief should be checked, with crafty plan, But ne'er by dreading nursed ; Care for the future all you can, Then let it do its worst ! The remnants of the poultry tribes Lugubriously confer ; Each selfish-sad the loss describes That worries him or her. 77/£ FESTIVAL OF PRAISE. They who survive man's greedy choice— The thinnest of the clans— With half-raised foot and tremMing voice Discuss their future plans. ' Tiie turkey-orphan now and then Around her wildly looks ; Her sire is in yon tyrant's den ; She smells him as he cooks. The mother of the crowing wights Whose necks were lately wrung, Leaves her spasmodic appetites. And plies her mournful tongue Or scratches absently about, Her luckless prey to view, Forgetting, as she picks them out, That worms have mothers, too. Her helpmeet, whose defiant' crow Struck morning's earliest chimes, Has left her side not long ago. And gone to warmer climes'; Her dearest friend of heart and kith, Her gossip and her aid, The one that she changed cackles with Whenever either laid, Has very suddenly moved on— ^ With close-tied yellow legs— To where, in days for ever gone, She shinned 5.1 — -B' ixiz -bb* 54 FARM FESTIVALS. ':'i The hateful Now each moment mocks The over-happy Then ; Throuj^h sonow's vale she sadly stalks, A crushed and broken hen. Cheer up, old gir), and do not nnnd Fate's death-envenomed gibes ! God's bird-regards are not confined Unto the sparrow tribes. By Him your shrill, queer mercy-prayer Was never once unheard ; He built you with as curious care As any other bird. Fling off the grief that round you crept, Your cherished loves to lose ; Contact with friends is nought except A list of interviews ; And each and all must have an end — Stars rise, when others set — If you live right, old speckled friend, You have a future yet Brush by the care that blocks your way \ Strike a progressive mood ! Fly round, and make a nest, and lay, And hatch another brood ! The pauper will, as like as not, This festive day abhor, »i THE FESTIVAL OF PRAISE. 51 And try to find what he has got To thank his Maker for. With grim suspense of gratitude He views his last disease, His ragged bed and broken food, And says, " It isn't tliese ! " He brushes, with his mournful eye, An ancient coat or hat. And, standing back, with rueful sigh, Reflects, " It isn't that I " He thinks of various friends he had, Who do not stand him true ; And, with a frown indignant sad. Remarks, " It isn't you ! " And still, he knows his meal to-day May show unusual cheer. For Charity, when people pray. Creeps soitly up to hear; And when their eye she slyly brings To their abundant shelves, They send the paupers various things They do not want themselves. But food bestowed is apt to be Unshapely to the eye, And something of a parody On food that people buy. Though may be given with good grace, And motive quite sincere, f*.r jlr f , ii 9 III ) ill , 111 li iiiiii ! iiHi .'1 ( V ; _jiiiJ! 56 FARM FESTIVALS. The poor of the provision race Comes often also hce : The fowl, unclogged with fleshly pelf; The bread-loaf underdone ; The hash, a dinner of itself — Ten courses merged in one ; The steak, once stoutly clinging nigh Some over-aged bull ; The meek and lowly veteran pie, Of reminiscence full. ]?ut emptin( ns must ever yet Deem any filling rare ; And stomachs love to work which get Much leisure time to spare. With hearts that thanks can well afford. They gather, hungry clan, Around the mildly-festal board, And do the best they can. Here two old men, of meek intent, The past are dwelling on: How they might have done different, If they had different done ; They look back, and discern the cause Of each misfortune past, And whose rascality it was That ruined them at last ; Ah me 1 they might be wealthy men, With honours on their brow, THE FESTIVAL OF PRAISE. !7 If they had calculated then As well as they do now I The idiot in a corner lurks, And eats in bland disgrace; Perhaps because his good mind works In an unhandy place. You idiot boy, I like you much ! Relationship I find ; Perhaps, indeed, we all are such To the celestial minci. Perchance the charter angels haul Us under laughter's ban, Because we've fallen, since The Fall, A good deal lower than Themselves, whose sails have had a chance At Heaven's progressive breeze, While we 'gainst headwinds must advance, And toss on passion-seas. You idiot boy, be vaguely glad ; Your puzzled griefs discharge I You have some rich relations, lad ; Your family is large. I rather think, that through some trade Not understood below, Arrangements some time will be made To give your mind a show. The old wife feebly gnaws a bone— Her wits are half awhirl ; ss FARM FESTIVALS. I To-day she is a withered crone : She was a handsome girl. Here is a drudge who's never shirked Her duty, it appears ; And for herself has only worked In these her feebler years. Here is — but let us turn away From life's pain-printed leaf! I have known comely hair turn gray With other people's grief. Good-bye, dear ones I for you are dear To souls that yearn above ; If graves could open, you would hear Some genuine words of love. The smiles that once your brows caressed Are still upon you thrown ; Your lips are yet by love-lips pressed ; 'Tis but the types are gone. Good-bye, dear ones ! for you are dear To One most high of place ; And He, with research long and clear, Has studied up your case ! He knows your mind and body pains, And when to soothe them out ; He knows what yet for you remains; He knows what He's about. Your humble path is not agleam At this praise-spangled date ; THE FESTIVAL OF PRAISE. 59 Your thank-material none can deem Bewilderingly great ; But some day, when the time is fit- On some joy-lighted morn — You'll thank Him for the whole of it, As sure as you are born I The God above ! what can we say Or do, with eyes so dim, To make this Thursday-Sabbath day Thanksgiving-day to Him ? What love, though grace and beauty clad. Can thrills to Him impart, Who all the love has always had Of every brain-fed heart ? What can we sing to one whose verse Eternal song unbars ? What give to Him whose cloud-fringed purse Is crammed with gleaming stars? A doubly pious way consists, When we our thanks would bring, In recollecting He exists In every living thing ; That when or beast or man we touch With pity-helping- care, 'Tis known in heaven just as much As if we did it there • SOBii ft \U]l i M '1 l«3 60 FARM FESTIVALS. That when our voice in kind behalf Of any grief is heard, Heaven's wondrous gold*foiled phonograph Is taking every word ; That when a heart the earth-heart serves, Of diamond or clod, It thrills the universe's nerves, And glads the soul of God, THE FESTIVAL OF GOOD CHEER; OR, CHRISTMAS MONOLOGUES. [farmer.] [LOW — blow — bushels o' snow — As if you had lost your senses f Rake with your might long winrows white, Along o' my walls an' fences ! Hover and crowd, ye black-faced cloud I Your looks with comfort mingled ; The more o' ye falls on these strong walls, The better my house is shingled. Swarm, swarm, pale bees o' the storm I You bid the world look whiter ; Your very ire but pokes my fire, nu iiiaivca liic ui»2c Durn Dngntci i i i': [1 1' I |h|«il 62 FARM FESTIVALS. I ha' worked away more 'n one hot day, With the harvest-forge a-glowing, To kindle the cheer of Summer here, When cold winds should be blowing. I ha' braced my form 'gainst many a storm, When the gale blew helter-skelter — O'er side-hills steep, through snow-drifts deep, I ha' climbed, to make this shelter. My debts are raised, The Lord be praised t They left my old heart lighter ; That mortgage I fed to the fire-mouths red— And it made the flame burn brighter ! There's a smile that speaks, in the plump red cheeks Of the apples in these dishes ; They go down square, with a business air Of consultin' my stomach's wishes. I am feelin' the charms of comfort's arms, Which never opened wider. With the sober frown of my doughnuts brown. And the laugh of my sweet-kept cider. (Of course I know that this all must go, In a whirl of death or sorrow ; But there's notiiing lost in the work it cost, If 1 knew I should die to-morrow !) THE FESTIVAL OF GOOD CHEER. 6? My mind will play, this Christmas-day, Round the sad-faced little stranger That smiled on them at Bethlehem ; And I wish it had been my manger ! I'd ha' told 'em square to get out o' there, For I hadn't o'er much o* shed-room, And move that lad and what else they had. Straight into my parlour bedroom. 'Twas a story too true, and stranger, too, Than fairy tale or fable ; Ar^awkward thing for that preacher king To be tossed about in a stable ! 'T would ha' been a joy to ha' given that boy A quiet heart ovation, Before He was known as heir to a throne, Or had struck His reputation. But I think I've read some words He said, In one of His printed sermons, " Of the least of these," in which one sees The poor, the weak, the infirm 'uns ; So I b'lieve I know ten turkeys or so Each one a fat old sinner — Who'll wend their way to the poor-house t'day, And probably stay to dinner. Growl— growl— ye storm-dogs, howl As if ye was try in' to tree me! 1^, . « 1 li PI ■ ) 1 ' «4 F^RM F??ST/TMLS. For all o' your tricks, n;y grown-up chicks Are comin' to-day to see me I My best I've done iov evf^^cy one— My heart gets their caressing; U seem.5 to me like a Christmas tree, Hun; round with evcy blessing. (Of cours; I k low that this all must go; But grief wasn'v made to borrow, And I'd get my pay for the fact to-day, If I knew I should die to-morrow!) [farmer's wife.] Let's see — there'll be ten — eleven — twelve— on this side, The old table's growing too small ; Our larder, as well as our hearts must provide, And our hearts will make room for them all. There'll be Jim with his jokes (and I hope they'll be new, Not those he has told twice before) ; There'll be Sam with his stories, more startling than true. Which always remind him of more; There'll be Kate, with her fat little pig of a lad, Whose stomacii unceasingly wCgs ; THE FESTIVAL OF GOOD CHEER. 65 And her other one, who, though not cut out for bad, Js a hurricane mounted on leo-s • There'll be John, with his tiny brown tribe of brunettes, And Lue, with her one little blonde; And Tom, with two armfuls of wife and their pets, A trifle too startlingly fond ! For 'tis dangerous business— this loving too well — It somehow brings Heaven over-near; When our hearts their sweet stories too' noisily tell, ^ The angels are certain to hear ; The angels are certain to hear what we say, In their search for the brightest and best'; And they're likely to carry our prizes away,' To make Heaven more happy and blest. ' of a Though our table be short, yet our hearts extend wide — liiis loows witii no stinginess chilled • E 66 FARM FESTIVALS. li; P 11 ^ li Let's see : there'll be ten— eleven— twelve— on this side — And— the chair that will never be filled. Oh my poor darling boy, lying silent to-day, With the storm spading snow on your breast! The an<,-els, they found you, and made you thcii prey, In their search for the brightest and best ! My boy-love ! I did not believe you would go ! How I begged and implored you to wake, As you lay here so white, on that dark day of woe, That they brought you home, drowned, from the lake ! And whoever may come, and whatever betide, You still have your room and your chair; Is it true that I feel you sometimes at my side, And your lips on u\y forehead and hair? The house will be running clear over with glee, We all shall be merry to-day ; But Christmas is never quite Christmas to me, With one of my loved ones away. THE FESTIVAL OF ANECDOTE on, ANE VENIlSrG IN THE CO UNTR V STORE. I. |N evenino^ in the quaint old country store ! While Winter's feet were kicking at the door, And Winter's white-nailed fingers striving hard To raise the windows he himself had barred ; Save when he chased upon their weary rounds, Through tracks of air, his yelling tempest- hounds. Bark louder, storm-dogs ! to our dreamy sight. Your voices make the fire-cheer twice as bright, Promoting high beyond a moment's doubt, ^ ... .,.,._ ^a.^-J^v^u3 siicivca aoout. 68 FARM FESTIVALS. m There's little you'll be wanting, cheap or dear, That has no^ something somewhat like it, here ; Whatever honest people drink or eat, Or pack heir bodies in, from head to feet, Want what you may. you'll get it-search no more — Or imitation of it— in this store. The body's needs not only here you find, But food, too, for the sympathies and mind ; For in one corner, fed by many lands, The small post-office Jignifiedly stands, With square, red-numbered boxes in its arms, V^'ell stocked with white and biown-enveloped charms. Here the lithe girl, irresolutely gay, Asks if there's " any thing for us to-di.. " Here the farm lad, who wilier fields ivould seek, Comes for the country paper once a wc.k. Tlirough this delivery port-hole there is hurled Pnnted bombardment from the outside world ; The great, far world, who - heart-throbs, up and down, Strike pulses, e'en within this quiet town. The quaint, well- populated country store I Au ,t^:¥c,\Af^ mirth-t oductivc shorc, THE FESTIVAL OF ANECDOTE. 69 Where masculine barks take refuge from dis- tress, In the port of an evening's uhee fulness. The rusty stove, with wood-fed heat endowed, Shoots hot invisible arrows at the crowd, To which the chewing population nigh Send back a prompt and vigorous reply, And find time for side-battles i,f retort, In various moralled stories, long and short : From one that's smart and good enough to print, To one that has a hundred hell-seer'- in't. Here laws are put on trial by debate, Here solved conundrums, both of Church and State; Here is contested, with more voice than brain, Full many a hot political campaign ; The half-surmised shortcoming of the Church Are opened to some sinner's anxious search ; And criticibiiis the ministe; gets here, From men who have not heard him once a year. Or maybe some inside the sacred fold No longer their experiences can 1 id Within the floe , who'v- harked to them so oft, Invariably referring u^m aloft, That, tired of this monotony, the^. yearn A little gfodlps*! «:\/tnr>DfViv ♦■^ « f: ■; I Hi f*!' 70 PAR^f FESTIVALS. And maybe it is one of these, who now, With elevated feet and earnest brow, And face where sentiment flits to and fro, Tells sorrows he has felt not long ago : [OUR TRAVELLED PARSON.] For twenty years and over, our good parson had been toiling, To chip the bad meat from our hearts, and keep the L(Ood from spoiling; But suddenly he wilted down, and went to look- ing sickly. And the doctor said that something must be put up for him quickly. So we kind o' clubbed together, each according to his notion. And bought a circular ticket, in the lands across the ocean ; Wrapped some pocket-money in it— what we thought would easy do him — And appointed me committee-man, to go and take it to him. I found him in his study, looking rather worse than ever ; And told him 'twas decided that his flock and he should sever. THE FESTIVAL OP ANECDOia. 71 Then his eyes grew big with wonder, and it seemed almost to blind 'em, And some tears looked out o' window, with some others close behind 'em ! But I handed him the ticket, with a little bow of deference. And he studied quite a little ere he got the proper reference ; And then the tears that waited — great unman- ageable creatures — Let themselves quite out o' window, and came climbing down his features. I wish you could ha' seen him, when he came back, fresh and glowing. His clothes all worn and seedy, and his face all fat and knowing ; I wish you could ha' heard him, when he prayed for us who sent him, Paying back with compound int'rst every dollar that we'd lent him ! 'Twas a feast to true believers—'twas a blight on contradiction — To hear one just from Calvary talk about the crucifixion ; •Twas a damper on those fellows who pretended they could doubt it, To have a man who'd been there stand and tell 72 FARM FESTIVALS. i; ,1 Why every foot of Scripture, whose location used to stump us, Was now regularly laid out with the different points o' compass ; When he undertook a subject, in what nat'ral lines he'd draw it I He would paint it out so honest that it seemed as if you saw it. And the way he went for Europe ! oh, the way he scampered through it ! Not a mountain but he clim' it— not a city but he knew it ; There wasn't any subject to explain, in all crea- tion, But he could go to Europe and bring back an illustration ! So we crowded out to hear him, quite instructed and delighted ; *Twas a picture-show, a lecture, and a sermon — all united ; And my wife would rub her glasses, and serenely pet her Test'ment, And whisper, "That 'ere ticket was a splendid good investment." Now, after six months* travel, wc was most of us all ready i. To settle down a little, so 's to live more staid and steady ; To develop home resources, with no foreign cares to fret us, Using house-made faith more frequent; but our parson wouldn't let us ! To view the same old scenery, time and time a^ain he'd call us — Over rivers, plains, and mountains he would any minute haul us ; He slighted our soul-sorrows, and our spirits' aches and ailings, To get the cargo ready for his regular Sunday sailings ! Why, he'd take us off a-touring, in all spiritual weather. Till we at last got home-sick and sea-sick all together ! And " I wish to all that's peaceful," said one free-expressioned brother, •' That The Lord had made one cont'nent, an* then never made another ! " Sometimes, indeed, he'd take us into old, familiar places, And pull along quite nat'ral, in the good old Gospel traces; hi I 74 FARM FESTIVALS. But soon my wife would shudder, just as if a chill had got her, Whispering, " Oh, my goodness gracious ! he's a-takin' to the water ! " And it wasn't the same old comfort, when he called around to see us ; On some branch of foreign travel he was sure at last to tree us ; All unconscious of his error, he would sweetly patronise us. And with oft-repeated stories still endeavour to surprise us. And the sinners got to laughing; and thai finally galled and stung us, To ask him, Wouldn't he kindly once more settle down among us ? Didn't he think that more home produce would improve our soul's digestions ? They appointed me committee-man to go and ask the questions. I found him in his garden, trim an' buoyant as a feather ; He shook my hand, exclaiming, " This is quite Italian weather ! How it 'minds me of the evenings when, youi distant hearts caressing, THE FESTIVAL OF ANECDOTE, 75 Upon my dear good brothers, I invoked God's choicest blessing I " I went and told the brothers, "No; I csuinot bear to grieve him ; He's so happy in his exile, it's the proper place to leave him. I took that journey to him, and right bitterly I rue it ; But I cannot take it from him ; if you want to, go and do it." Now a new restraint entirely seemed next Sunday to enfold him, And he looked so hurt and humbled, that I knew that they had told him. Subdued-like was his manner, and some tones were hardly vocal ; But every word and sentence was pre-eminently local I Still, the sermon sounded awkward, and we awkward felt who heard it ; 'Twas a grief to see him steer it— 'twas a pain to hear him word it. "When I was abroad " — was maybe half a dozen times repeated, But that sentence seemed to choke him, and wai n I «■/ '1 1 »'r* •! »^ **--..•*• —..1 ,.4. _ -1 m > m T^ FARM FESTIVALS. As weeks went on, his old smile would occasionally brighten, But the voice was growing feeble, and the face began to whiten ; He would look off to the eastward, with a wistful, weary sighing, And 'twas whispered that our pastor in a foreign land was dying. The coffin lay 'mid garlands, smiling sad as if they knew us ; The patient face within it preached a final sermon to us ; Our parson /md gone touring — on a trip he'd long been earning — In that wonder-land, whence tickets are not issued for returning ! O tender, good heart-shepherd! your sweet smiling lips, half-parted, Told of scenery that burst on you, just the minute that you started ! Could you preach once more among us, you might wander, without fearing ; You could give us tales of glory that we'd never tire of hearing ! THE FESTIVAL OF ANECDOTE. 77 1 II. The grave sends fascination with its fear : We shrink and dread to see it yawning near, But when on others falls the endless spell. We like to talk about it mighty well ; And handle o'er, with fear-abated breath, The gruesome, grim particulars of death. Never can horror so a tale unfold, But curious mortals love to hear it told. As if they were not of the race they view, And subject to the same conditions, too. When the last speaker had a period found, And placed his parson safely under-ground, Mortality of every phase and age Became at once the conversational rage • And he was sachem of our gossip-tribe. Who had the dolefulest death-pangs to describe. Most well I recollect, of course (though least). My own addition to the horror-feast. I had seen two men hanged, for some red crime Committed in drink's murder-harvest time ; By sheriff-usher through the jail-yard shown. They walked unto this funeral of their own :' Their rites were said by one in priesthood** g" ise; Two emnt\' rnffinc la-cr Uafn,-^ *-U^:^ i 7l» t ARk FBS'ii i' aL^. One scarcely yet had left youth's pleasure-vale; (His mother waited for him near the jail.) The other had his tutor betJi in crime, And sold the devil half a manhood's time. They did not flinch, when first frowned on their sight Their gallows death-bed, standing bolt-up- right: But when the youngster turned and took his place, A cold wind brushed the noose against his face; Then first that feigned indifiference seemed to fail; Death, when it came, made not the boy more pale. (I saw him in the coffin, after this; It was a face that woman-eyes would kiss.) Close to his side, notice the older pass : Teacher and pupil, standing in one class. This rogue had learned a knack to calmly die, And glanced the younger wretch a cold good- bye ; But he, unmagnetised froai past control, With silent-moving lips pcayed for his soul. (The black cap hid the last part of his prayer. And shut it in, but could not keep it there.) He had prayed for his body, had he known ; For whil** the? nlder died without a OToaa. "ii H THE FESTIVAL OF ANECDOTE. 7P lie; [leir •up- his ice; I to lore le, the two went bounding er. When with a " thud ! " high, He struggled, gasped, and wailed, but could not die. Till the slow-gripping rope had choked hiir quite. And strong men fainted at the piteous sight. (I thought I told this pretty middling well; But was eclipsed by an old sea-dog swell, Anchored by age in our calm rustic bay, ' Who'd seen twelve Turks beheaded in one day.) Then followed accidents, by field and flood. Such as had fettered breath or loosened blood ; Fires, earthquakes, shipwecks, and such cheer- ful themes, Furnished material for our future dreams. And when at last there came a little pause (The silent horror-method of applause), A lad, with face appropriately long, Said, " Jacob, won't you sing that little song That you sat up all t'other night to make, About a- children drownded in the lake ? " Jacob, wAQSi^ efforts none had need to urge Promptly materialised the following dirge; i: ifi>[ iiif U ii !: I iii 80 FARM FESTIVALS. [a dirge of the lake.] On the lake — on the lake — The sun the day is tinging ; The sky's rich hue shows brighter blue Above its forest fringing. The breezes high blow far and nigh White cloudlets, like a feather; The breezes low sweep to and fro, And wavelets race together. Up the lake — up the lake — The busy oars are dipping ; The blades of wood that cleave the flood, With streamlets fresh are dripping. A graceful throng of golden song Comes floating smoothly after , Like silver chains, ring loud the strains Of childhood's merry laughter. By the lake — by the lake — The lilies' heads are lifting, And into night the warmth and light Of happy homes are drifting. The bright sun-rays upon them gaze. In pity unavailing; With laughing eyes, between two skies They for the grave are sailing. THE FESTIVAL OF ANECDOTE. In the lake— in the lake— The barcre is sinking steady A startled hush, a frantic nis'hl The feast of Death is ready I A pleading cry, a faint reply, A frenzied, brave endeavour— And o'er them deep the wavelets creep And smile as sweet as ever. 8i Neath tlie lake-'neath the lake- The wearied forms are lying • They sleep away their gala-day— Too fair a day for dyino- 1 With hands that grasped, a^nd noticing clasped With terror-frozen faces, ^^a^pea, In slimy caves and gloomy graves, They nestle to their places. From the lake— from the lake— They one by one are creepino-. Their very rest is grief-possessed! And piteous looks their sleeping Upon no face is any trace Of sickness' friendly warning But sad they lie 'neath even-sky Who were so gay at morninr. \ II li lib Pill'! W ~ In :' r. 82 FARM FESTIVALS. O'er the lake — c er the lake — A spectre bark is sailing ; There is no cry of danger nigh, There is no sound of wailing. They who have died gaze from its side— » Their spirit-faces <^^lowing ; For through the skic ; the life-boat plies, And angel hands are rowing. li : Ji III. There was among our various-tcmi ored crowd, A graduate ; who, having last year ploughed The utmost furrow of scholastic lore, Now boarded with his father, as ucfore. His course was hard, but he had mastered all: Aquatics, billiards, flirting, and base-ball ; And now, once more to rural science turned, Was leisurely unlearning what he'd learned. The death-theme made him sad and serious- eyed, About a college comrade who had died ; And with a sudden, strong sigh-lengthened breath, He gave this boyish paragraph of death: m 7 7/ FESTIVAL OF ANECP^TE. «3 [THE DEAD STUDENT.] 'Twas mighty slow to make it seem as {( poor Brown was dc;ad ; 'Twas only just the day he died, he had to take his bed ; The before, he played first-base, and ran ^ ^rland down ; And n to slip away so sly-'twas not at all like Brown. 'Twas hard for my own life to leave that fellow's life behind ; 'Tis work, sometimes, to get a man well laid out in your mind ! It wouldn't have shook me very much, long after all was o'er, To hear a whoop, and see the man go rushin- past my door! "^ Poor Brown !-so white and newly still within nis room he lay ! I called upon him. as it were, at noon the second day. A-rushing into Brownie's room seemed awk- ward-hke, and queer; We hadn't spoken back and forth for some- thin sr like a venr I 11 MICROCOPY RESOLUTION TEST CHART (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) 1.0 I.I 1.25 Hi ] 2.8 II 3.2 1 3.6 14.0 1.4 I 2.5 2.2 2.0 1.8 1.6 A APPLIED IMAGE Inc =-' I6b3 East Main Street r-S; Rochester, New York 14609 USA gg (716) 482 - 0300 - Phone = (716) 288 - 5989 - Fax (i it ! Si ' "'I II i i^ ti u Jj !* lit Iff 84 FARM FESTIVALS. We never pulled together square a single night or day : Whate'er direction I might start, Brown went the other way ; (Excepting in our love affairs; we picked a dozen bones About a girl Smith tried to get, who fin'lly married Jones.) He worked against me in our class, before my very eyes ; He opened up and scooped me square out of the Junior prize ; I never wanted any place, clean from the last to first. But Brown was sure to have a friend who wanted it the worst ; In the last campus rush, we came to strictly business blows. And with the eye he left undimmed, T viewed his damaged nose; In short, I came at last to feel~I own it with dismay — That life would be worth living for, if Brown were out the way. THE FESTIVAL OF ANECDOTE. H He lay within his dingy room, as white as drifted snow — Things all around were wondrous neat the women fixed them so ; Twas plain he had no hand in that, and naught about it knew ; To Ve seen the order lying round, it would have made him blue! A bright bouquet of girlish flowers smiled on the scene of death, And through the open window came a sweet geranium-breath; Close-caged, a small canary bird, with glossy, yellow throat, Tripped drearily from perch to perch, and never sung a note ; With hair unusually combed, sat poor McFar- land near. Alternately perusing Greek, and wrestling with a tear ; A homely little giri of six, for some old kind- ness' sake, Sat sobbing in a corner near, as if her heart would break ; I '^1 I f , ! i \ f" I if li m > " 1 I ' 86 FARM FESTIVALS. The books looked pale and wretched - like, almost as if they knew, And seemed to be a-whispering their titles to the view; His rod and gun were in their place ; and high where all could see, Gleamed jauntily the boating-cup he won last year from me ; I lifted up the solemn sheet ; the honest, manly face Had signs of study and of toll that death c mid not erase ; As western skies at twilight mark where late the sun has been, Brown's face showed yet the mind and soul that late had burned within. He looked so grandly helpless the? 5on that lonely bed— Ah mel these manly foes are foes no more when they arc dead ! "Old boy," said I, "'twas half my fault; this heart makes late amends." I grasped the white cold hand in mine— and Brown and I were friends. THE FESTIVAL OF ANECDOTE. 8? IV. " That was a sudden death, 'twill be allowed," Said a half-Yankeed Scotchman in the crowd ; "We never know what paths may help or kill ; Death has a-many ways to work his will. It is his daily study and his care, To utilise earth, water, fire, and air. Seduce them from their master man's employ, And make the traitors murder and destroy. Men call this ' accident.' Of one I know, That came about not very long ago. Where I once lived, three thousand miles away; I read it in my paper, yesterday." Then, with a strong voic o that came not amiss, He told the story, something like to this : [the death-bridge of the tay.] The night and the storm fell together upon the old town of Dundee, And, trembling, the mighty firth-river held out its cold hand toward the sea. Like the dull-booming bolts of a cannon, the wind swept the streets and the shores ; It wrenched at the roofs and the chimneys — it crashed 'gainst the windows and doors; 88 FAR^f FESTIVALS. ii i i *'■', , i i- t ' It. ■ 1 I'll ■ Like a mob that is drunken and frenzied, it surged through the streets up and down, And screamed the sharp, shrill cry of " Murder!" o'er river and hill-top and town. It leaned its great breast 'gainst the belfries — it perched upon minaret and dome — Then sprang on the shivering firth-river, and tortured its waves into foam. *Twas a night when the landsman seeks shelter, and cares not to venture abroad ; When the sailor clings close to the rigging, and prays for the mercy of God. Look ! the moon has come out, clad in splendour, the turbulent scene to behold ; She smiles at the night's devastation — she dresses the storm-king in gold. She kindles the air with her cold flame, as if to her hand it were given To light the frail earth to its ruin, with the tenderest radiance of heaven. Away to the north, ragged mountains climb high through the shuddering air ; They bend their dark brows o'er the valley, to read what new ruin is there. Along the shore-line creeps the city, in crouch- ing and sinuous shape, THE FESTIVAL OF ANECDOTE. 89 With firesides so soon to be darkened, and doors to be shaded with crape! To the south, Hke a spider-web wavin^j, there curves, for a two-mile away, This world's latest man-devised wonder — the far-famous bridge of the Tay. It stretches and gleams into distance; it creeps the broad stream o'er and o'er, Till it rests its strong, delicate fingers in the palm of the opposite shore. But look ! through the mists of the southward, there flash to the eye, clear and plain. Like a meteor that's bound to destruction — the lights of a swift-coming train I O cruel and bloodthirsty tempest ! we sons of humanity know, Wherever and whene'er we find you, that you are our faithfullest foe ! Vou plough with the death-pointed cyclone wherever life's dwellings may be; You spur your fire-steeds through our cities — you scuttle our ships on the sea. The storm-shaken sailor has cursed you; white hands have implored you in vain; And still you have filled Death's dominions, and laughed at humanity's pains. I : i;.i;i I.! I t' i ' ' I 90 FARM FESTIVALS. But ne'er in the cave where your dark deeds are plotted and hid from the light, Was one half so cruel and treacherous as this you have kept for to-nif,dit! You lurked 'round this bridge in its building; you counted each span and each pier; ' You marked the men's daily endeavours — you looked at them all with a sneer; You laughed at the brain-girded structure ; you deemed it an easy-fought foe, And bided the time when its builders your easy- plied prowess should know. O tempest I feed full with destruction ! fling down these iron beams from on high ! But temper your triumph with mercy, and wait till the train has gone by ! O angels ! sweet guardian angels ! — who once in the body drew breath, Till, wearied, you found the great river, and crossed on the black bridge of death, You who, from the shores of the sun-land, fly back on the wings of the soul, And round your frail earth-loves yet hover, and strive their weak steps to control, Look out through the mists to the southward ! — the hearts on yon swift-coming train, THE PBSTIVAL OF ANECDOTE. 91 So light and so happy this moment, are rushing to terror and pain ! Oh whisper a word to the driver, that till morn- ing the bridge be not braved ; At the cost of a night lost in waiting, the years of these lives may be saved ! On yon cheer-freighted train there are hundreds, who soon beyond help will be hurled ; Oh whisper to them the dread secret, before it is known to the worJd ! On this home-lighted shore are full many who wait for their friends, blithe and gay ; They will wait through full many a night-time- through many a sorrow-strewn day. The trim evening lamps from the windows their comfort-charged beauty will shed ; The fire will burn bright on the hearthstone its rays will be cheerful and red ; The sun will come out of the cold sea — the morning will rise clear and bright, But death will eclipse all its radiance, and darken your world into night 1 Mid the lights that so gaily are gleaming yon city of Dundee within, Is one that is waiting a wanderer, who long o'er the ocean has been. m . 1 i] '«■ Pin I 'i ^ I I ! I 9* FARM FESTIVALS. His age-burdened parents are watching from the window that looks on the firth, For the train that will come with their darling — their truest-loved treasure on earth. ** He'll be comin' the nicht," says the father, " for sure the hand-writin's his ain ; The letter says, ' Ha' the lamp lichted — I'll come on the seven o'clock train. For years in the mines I've been toiling, in this wonderfu' West, o'er the sea ; My work has brought back kingly wages — there's plenty for you an' for me. Your last days shall e'en be your best days ; the high-stepping youngster you knew, Who cost so much care in his raising, now'U care for himself and for you. Gang not to the station to meet me ; ye never need run for me more; But when ye shall hear the gate clickit, ye maun rise up an' open the door. We will hae the first glow of our greeting when nae one o' strangers be nigh, We will smile out the joy o' our meeting on the spot where we wept our good-bye. Ye maun put me a plate on the table, an' set in the auld place a chair ; An* if but the good Lord be willing, doubt never a bit I'll be there. THE FESTIVAL OF ANECDOTE. 93 So sit ye an' wait for my coming (ye will na' watch for me in vain), An' see me glide over the river, along o' the roar o' the train. Ye may sit at the southernmost window, for I will come hame from that way ; I will fly where I swam, when a youngster, across the broad Firth o' the Tay.* " So they sit at the southernmost window, the parents, with hand clasped in hand, And gaze o'er the tempest-vexed waters, across to the storm-shaken land. They see the bold acrobat-monster creep out on the treacherous line ; Its cinder-breath glitters like star-dust — its lamp-eyes they glimmer and shine. It braces itself 'gainst the tempest — it fights for each inch with the foe — With torrents of air all around it — with torrents of water below. But look ! look ! the monster is stumbling, while tremble: -he fragile bridge-wall — They strugj^Ic like athletes entwining — then both like a thunderbolt fall I Down, down through the dark the train plunges, with speed unaccustomed and dire; I lit: Hill 94 FARM FESTIVALS. It glows with its last dying beauty — it gleams like a hail-storm of fire I No wonder the mother faints death-like, and clings like a clod to the floor ; No wonder the man flies in frenzy, and dashes his way though the door ! He fights his way out through the tempest ; he is beaten and bafBed and tossed ; He cries, " T/i£ train's ganq- off the Tay Brig i lend help here to look for the lost' " Oh, little to him do they listen, the crowds to the river that flee; The news, like the shock of an earthquake, has thrilled through the town of Dundee. Like travellers belated, they're rushing to where the bare station-walls frown ; Suspense twists the blade of their anguish — like maniacs they run up and down. Out, out, creep two brave, sturdy fellows, o'er danger-strewn buttress and piers ; They can climb 'gainst that blast, for they carry the blood of old Scotch mountaineers. But they leave it along as they clamber ; they mark all their h?.nd-path with red ; Till they come where the torrent leaps bridge- less — a grave dancing over its dead. A moment they gaze down in horror; then creep from the death-laden tide, mm. ■nrs FESTIVAL OP ANECDOTE. 95 With the news, "There's nae help for our loved ones, save God's mercy for them who have died ! " How sweetly the sunlight can sparkle o'er graveo where our best hopes have la«n ' How brightly its gold beams can glisten on faces that whiten with pain ! Oh, never more gay were the wavelets, and careless in innocent glee, And never more sweet did' the sunrise shine over the town of Dundee. But though the town welcomed the morning, and the firth threw its gold lances back On the hearts of the grief-stricken people death's cloud rested heavy and black. And the couple who waited last evening their man-statured son to accost, Now laid their heads down on the table, and mourned for the boy that was lost. "Twas sae sad," moaned the crushed, a-ed ^^ mother, each word dripping o'er with a t?ar, bae far he should come for to find us, anJ then he should perish sae near! O Robin, my bairn ! ye did wander far from us for mony a day, And when ye ha' come back sae near us, why could na' ye come a' the way ? " I I 96 FARM FESTIVALS. - I kag come a' the way," said a strong voice, and a bearded and sun-beaten face Smiled on them the first joyous pressure of one long and filial embrace : « I cam° on last nicht far as Newport ; but Maggie, my bride that's to be, She ran through the storm to the station, to get the first greeting o' ^Q. I leaped from the carriage I . Kiss her; she held me sae fast and sae ticht, The train it ran off and did leave me ; I could na' get over the nicht. I tried for to walk the brig over— my head it was a' in a whirl — I could na'— ye know the sad reason— I had to go back to my girl ! I hope ye'U tak' kindly to Maggie; she's pro- mised to soon be my wife ; She's a darling wee bit of a lassie, and her fondness it saved me my life." *1 1 1 'h ! , ,Vj ii 1, 1 1 , i ''■': i i ., ..! The night and the storm fell together upon the sad town of Dundee, The half-smothered song of the tempest swept out like a sob to the sea ; The voice of the treacherous stori.i-king, as jnoiirning for them he had slain j TUB FESTIVAL OF ANECDOTE. 07 T voice, I of one rt ; but tion, to she held I could head it I had to le's pro- and her ipon the :st swept king, as O cruel and bloodthirsty tempest I your false tears are shed all in vain ! Beneath the dread roof of this ruin your sad victims nestle and creep ; They hear not the voices that call them ; if they come, they will come in their sleep. No word can they tell of their terror, no step of the dark route retrace, Unless their sad story be written upon the white page of the face. Perchance that may speak of their anguish when first came the cr-sh of despair; The long-drawn sua^^cnse of the instant tht;y plunged through the shudderin ^ air ; The life-panoramas that flitted swift past them, with duties undone ; The brave fight for life in a battle that stroivr death already had won ; The half-stifled shouting of anguish the aid of high Heaven to implore; The last patient pang of submission, when efl"ort was ended and o'er. But, tempest, a bright star in heaven a message of comfort sends back, And draws our dim glances to skyward, away from thy laurels of black: Thank God that whatever the darkness that covers His creature's dim sight, / !' h r Hiih il: li m 1 ■ ; .n i 9» F>1/?M FEST/r/lLS. He always vouchsafes some deliverance, throws some one a sweet ray of light ; Thank God that the strength of His goodness from dark depths ascended on high, And carried the souls of the suffering away to the realms of the sky ; Thank God that His well-tempered mercy came down with the clouds from above, And saved one from out the destruction, and him by the angel of love. V. What mind-smith who can trace the subtle links That join a man's ideas, when he thinks ? Given the thought by which he's pleased or vexed. Who can predict what one will strike him next ? Given a memory, who can tell us all The other memories that its voice may call? Given a fancy, who betimes can read What other unlike fancies it may breed ? Given a fact, who surely can foreknow What distant relatives may come and go ? Beneath our thoughts, thoughts hidden thickly teem; Each mind is but u btieau; auove a THE FESTIVAL OF ANECDOTE. 99 Given a story, what dissimilar one May't not remind you of before 'tis done ! Scarce had the Scotchman's tale been fairly told, When a quaint farmer, wrinkled but not old, Hastened to execute a cross-legged change, And with no consciousness of seeming strange, Leaped from the thought-depths thar had him immersed, His conversational puff-ball sharply burst, Contributing, with countenance severe These notes, from his pecuniary career, As if the average listener it might strike, That the two tales were sing'larly alike : [THE LIGHTNING-ROD DISPENSER.] Which this railroad smash reminds me, in an underhanded way, Of a lightning-rod dispenser that came down on me one day ; Oiled to order in his motions— sanctimonious in his mien — Hands as white as any baby's, an' a face unnat'ral clean ; Not a wrinkle had his raiment, teeth and linen &-Kh I > m> i 1' III 11 6 "1 ] 1 11^' ^3: 1 1 lOO FARM FESTIVALS. 8 Hi i And his new-constructed neck-tie was an inter- estin' sight 1 , , j 4.1, 4. Which I almost wish a razor had made red that white-skinned throat, And that new-constructed neck-tie had composed a hangman's knot, Ere he brought his sleek-trimmed carcase for my woman-folks to see, And his buzz-saw tongue a-runnin' for to gouge a sash in me ! Still I couldn't help but like him-as I fear I al'ays must. The gold o' my own doctrines in a fellow-heap o' dust ; , T £ J '^,„ For I saw that my opinions, when I fired em round by round, . Brought back an answerin' volley of a mighty similar sound. ^ I touched him on religion, and the joys my heart had known: And I found that he had very similar notions of his own ! I told him of the doublings that made sad my boyhood years : . v ..u * Why, he'd laid awake ^tiU morning with that same old breed of fears 1 m THE FESTIVAL OF ANECDOTE. toi I pointed up the pathway that I hoped to heaven to go : Ke was on that very ladder, only just a round below ! Our politics was different, and at first he galled and winced ; But I arg'ed him so able, he was very soon convinced. And 'twas gettin' tow'rd the middle of a hungry Summer day — There was dinner on the table, and I asked him, would he stay ? And he sat him down among us — everlastin* trim and neat — And he asked a short crisp blessin' almost good enough to eat ! Then he fired up on the mercies of our Ever- lastin' Friend, Till he gi'n The Lord Almighty a good first- class recommend ; And for full an hour we listened to that sugar- coated scamp — Talkin' like a blessed angel— eatin' like a blasted tramp ! My wife— she liked the stranger, smiling on him, warm and sweet ; Bn '' II I it! 11 ' ! i' w 1 ;i ! ,: m 1 ^'|; Dlf li; i:r [ w ill^ll ' ^ ! i i :':| 1 i ' I l! 102 FARM FESTIVALS. (It al'ays flatters women when their guests are on the eat I) And he hinted that some ladies never lose their youthful charms, And caressed her yearlin' baby, an' received it in his arms. My sons and daughters liked him— for he had progressive views, And he chewed the cud o' fancy, and gi'n down the latest news ; And / couldn't help but like him— as I fear I al'ays must. The gold of my own doctrines in a fellow-heap o' dust. He was chiselUn' desolation through a piece of apple-pie. When he paused an' gazed upon us, with a tear in his off-eve, And said, " O happy family 1— your joys they maKe me sad ! They all the time remind me of the dear ones once / had ! A babe as sweet as this one ; a wife almosi as fair; A little girl with ringlets— like that one over THE FESTIVAL OF ANECDOTE. 103 But had I not neglected the means within my way, Then they might still be living, and loving me to-day. " One night there came a tempest ; the thunder- peals were dire ; The clouds that marched above us were shoot- ing bolts of fire ; In my own house I lying, was thinking, to my blame. How little I had guarded against those bolts of flame. When crash .'—through roof and ceiling the deadly lightning cleft, And killed my wife and children, and only I was left ! " Since then afar I've wandered, and naught for life have cared, Save to save others' loved ones whose lives have yet been spared ; Since then, it is my mission, where'er by sorrow tossed, To sell to worthy people good lightning-rods at cost. With sure and strong protection I'll clothe your buildings o'er; 104 FARM FESTIVALS. Ml; 'Twill cost you— twenty dollars {perhaps a trifle more; Whatever else it comes to, at lowest price I'll put; You simply sign a contract to pay so much per foot)." I_signed it ! while my family, all approvin', stood about ; The villain dropped a tear on't — but he didn't blot it out ! That self-same day, with waggons came some rascals great and small ; They hopped up on my buildin's just as if they owned 'em all ; They hewed 'em and they hacked 'em — ag'in' my loud desires — They trimmed 'em off with gewgaws, and they bound 'em down with wires ; They hacked 'em and they hewed *em, and they hewed and hacked 'em still, And every precious minute kep' a runnin' up the bill. !i. To find my soft-spoke neighbour, did I rave and rush an' run : He was suppin' with a neighbour, just a few miles further on. THE FESTIVAL OF ANECDOTE. los " Do you think," I loudly shouted, " that I need a mile o' wire, For to save each separate hay-cock out o' heaven's consumin' fire ? Did you think, to keep my buildin's out o' some uncertain harm, I was goin' to deed you over all the balance of my farm ? " He silenced me with silence in a very little while, And then trotted out the contract with a re- assuring smile ; And for half an hour explained it, with exas- peratin' skill, While his myrmurdums kep' probably a-runnin' up my bill. He held me to that contract with a firmness queer to see ; 'Twas the very first occasion he had disagreed with me ! And for that 'ere thunder story, ere the rascal finally went, I paid two hundred dollars, if I paid a single cent. And if any lightnin'-rodist wants a dinner- dialogue I , lit W: ii: 106 FARM FESTIVALS. With the restaurant department of an enter- prisin' dog, . Let him set his mouth a-runnin', just mside my outside gate ; , , j .* And I'll bet two hundred dollars that he don t have long to wait. VI. "Time to shut up," the lean storekeeper said: •'It's time that honest folks should be m bed. And all this crowd I honest hold to be, And penniless, so far as I can see ; If there's a cent here, it's well out of sight ; My cash-box has not seen it; friends, good- night!" IM fH ' % THE FESTIVAL OF CLAMOUR; OR, THE TOWN MEETING. WAS our regular annual town-meeting; And smooth as a saint could desire, Our work we were swiftly completing, Till it came to electing a " Squire " ; Which office retained a slight vestige Of old country power, as it were, And most of the honour and prestige A township like ours could confer. Which office (with latitude speaking), Commencing nobody knew when, Had long been relentlessly seeking Two very respectable men ; For in virtuous political cases, 'Tis known as the regular plan, to8 FARM FESTIVALS. Tli-it the man must not seek for the places ; The places must seek for the man. But past these two men, and around them, The squireship had happened to roam, And, strangely, had never yet found them, Although they were always at home ; And manfully laid fear behind them ; And whispered to friends far and wide, That if office was anxious to find them, They never were going to hide ! And now, in undignified action, Themselves and their partisans fought, To decide, to their own satisfaction. Which one 'twas the office had sought. A half day we clamoured and voted, And each to success drew him nigh, But neither as victor was quoted : It always resulted " a tie ; " AH voted for one or the other ; Except two young barbarous e'ves, Who, simply proceedings to bother, Kent voting, like sin, for themselves ; THE FESTIVAL OF CLAMOUR. 109 (Except a few Imes it was noted, Some charges of self-love to smother, A conf'rence they had, ere they voted, Then proceeded to "go" for each other !) So all of our voting and prating, To neither side victory brought, While the office stood patiently waiting To find out which one it had sought. Till, tired of these semi-reverses, A few of the worst of each clan Loaded up their word-guns with sly curses, And fired at the opposite man. And morally petrified wretches, These t'vo men to be were allowed, In small biographical sketches That began to appear in the crowd. The one, as a swindler high-handed, Was painted unpleasantly plain ; With pockets like bladders expanded, And filled with unstatesman-like srain : They stated that all his life-labours Were tingled with pecuniary sin : :t 'IH.I I If pi 11; ihi h II i i 1 ! i , Mil ' Bit 1 ! •. ll 1' Hi ll HO FARM FESTIVALS. That things left out nights by his neighbours, They frequently failed to take in ; They claimed that his business transactions Flowered out at the people's expense ; And named, as among these subtractions, Three dollars and twenty-nine cents. No odds that he stoutly denied it — It hushed not the clamour at all ; Yet all the more fiercely they cried it. And chalked the amount on the wall. And a letter was found that convicted This man to have some time been led To have some time somehow contradicted Some things that he some time had said. But really, until very recent, His name had not been a bad word ; Bui naught he had done that was decent. To the minds of his foes now occurred. His nature was kindly intentioned, And free from ungenerous taint ; A fact not obtrusively mentioned. In his enemies bill of comflaint. ■ H u B w >i» m IM. I UI I W m3 p BanL ! Haa ^ ;-^vg. ! ^ THE FESTIVAL OF CLAMOUR. Ill He rose from a low, humble station ; His boy-life was sturdy and good ; He was hard-striving youth's inspiration ; T/iey kept that as still as they could. He had sown gold successes for others ; He cast a kind glance upon all ; No true men but what were his brothers ; They did not chalk that on the wall. He was cultured, and broad, and discerning; Strong thoughts on his countenance sat ; He dwelt by the fountains of learning ; They never accused him of that. In short, had he heard the malicious Black words that were throttling his cause, He'd have shuddered to learn what a vicious Unholy old villain he was ; And, terms theological using, He e'en might have wished he were dead, Had not the same linguistic bruising Adorned his antagonist's head. They said he was haughty in greeting \ Above all his neighbours he felt, And to make him look slender in meeting, Wor e nnripr 112 FARM FESTIVALS. That he always had hoped and expected The place he now openly sought, But knew not enough, if elected, The office to fill as he ought ; That he jus*- hummed the ancient tune" Tariff,"^ When other folks shouted and sang ; That he once had the luck to be sheriff, When a woman was sentenced to hang ; That his mind he had long been diverting With future political fame, His head in a barrel inserting, And shouting out " Squire " to his name; And while, like a ball, the words bounded, And doubled themselves, o'er and o'er, He pondered how pompous it sounded, And went on and did it some more ; And that this rather terse conversation, And having been oft at it caught, Comprised all the qualification He had for the office he sought. Now his life had the grim, noble beauty The deed-painter's brush loves to tell ; He was one who had studied his duty, THE FESTIVAL OF CLAMOUR. "3 lie was one of the bravest and quickest To shield threatened Liberty's form ; He stood where the bullets were thickest, To cover her safe from the storm ; Well framed for his foes* admiration — Well-named by his friends "The Superb"; A part of the edge of the nation — His whole life a transitive verb; — He was worthy and grand — who could doubt it .' His fame was as fresh as the morn ; But /its foemen forgot all about it, A nd drabbled his name with their scorn. No odds how turned out the election, Concerning the lesson I'd teach ; But my conscience that night, on reflection, Made me this political speech : " 'Tis over high time you repented, You servile young partisan hound, For being to day represented In that idiot asylum of sound 1 "Henceforth, in these conflicts exciting, Learn, whether by speech or by pen, V^\t\\ principles sword to be fighting. And not to be slandering" men!' I! I'll ' I \ lk:\ fi I I, f THE FESTIVAL OF MELODY ; OR, THE SINGING-SCHOOL. [R. ABRAHAM BATES was a tune- stricken man, Built on an exclusively musical plan ; With a body and soul that with naught could commune, Unless it might somehow be set to a tune. His features, harmoniously solemn and grim, Resembled a doleful old long-metre hymn ; His smile, half-obtrusively gentle and calm, Suggested the livelier notes of a psalm ; And his form had a power the appearance to lend Of an overgrown tuning-fork, set upon end. They who his accomplishments fathomed, averred That he knew every tune that he ever had heard ; , rwa FESTIVAL OF MELODY. „, And^his^wife had a sec-et we all helped he~r That^he frequently snored a rough tune in his '"'Tnwt^ttlltr'"''-^''^'^-^''''- And a general impression that no one was near He w.th forefinger stretched to its fullest com- mand, WouM^beat quadruple time on the palm of his Wth T'^ his singing-school habits would cling) VVith his ** Down efr i-wtVh- . i j ^^' right,up! Si'ngr ''• "P' '°""' '^"- II ™ wightr""'" "' ""■ '° " '""^-'^'"'■"s When he 'stood in the schoolhouse, on long Winter nights, ^ With a dignity born our young souls to over- whehn, Proclaiming the laws of his musical realm t The black-board behind him frowned fierce on our sight, On which he oarad'^H h- • -i -ic ^urauva ilia urinies oi notes I Hii III!.- Ii6 hARM FESTIVAL:i. And sent on a raid through our eyes to our throats ; From the scenes of which partly harmonious turmoils They issued, head-first, with our breath as their spoils. How (in his partfcular specialty) grand He looked, as he tiptoed, with baton in hand, And up, down, and up, in appropriate time, Compelled us that slippery ladder to climb, As he flourished his weapon, and marched to and fro. With his " Do, re, mi, fa, sol, la, sol, la, si, do !" Nathaniel F. Jennings! how sadly you tried. With your eyes a third closed, and your mouth opened wide. To sport an acceptable voice, like the rest, And cultivate powers that you never possessed ! They were just out of music, it used to be said. When they drafted the plan of your square, shaggy head. You fired at each note, as it were, in the dark, As an amateur rifleman would at a mark ; And short of opinion, till after the shot, Of whether you'd happen to hit it or not. E'en then you didn't know, till your sharp eye was told THE FESTIVAL OF MELODY. "7 By the way that the master's would flatter or scold. The latter more oft; for your chances, sad wight, Were seven to be wrong against one to be right, And ne'er was a tune so mellifluously choice, You could not embitter the same, with your voice. But though your grim head hadn't the shade of a tone, Your heart had a musical style of its own ; And we all found it out, 'neath the forest-trees wild, The last night we hunted for Davis's child. *• May as well give it up," said our leader : " No good ; We've hunted three days and three nights in this wood ; We may as well look at it just as it is : He's eaten or starved, long enough before this." And Davis spoke up : " It's a fact, boys : he's right;" But he leaned 'gainst a tree, looking death-like and white. Vou exclaimed, when your eyes his mute agony met, " I'll be blanked if I'll stand this ! I'll hunt a week vet ! " M n IIIK "J ill lljll 118 FARM FEStlVALS. Poor Davis crept round till he got by your side, Caught hold of your hand like a baby, and cried, A picture of grateful, incompetent woe — (Twas rather dramatic, as incidents go ;) Then we all of us yelled, in -> magnetised cry, An absurd proposition to find him, or die. It was only an hour and a quarter from then Your wing-shout came skurrying o'er woodland and glen, As if to go round the whole world 't would strive, •' I've found the young blank, an' he's here and aJive !" Your voice had, as usual, less music than might, Put you led a remarkable chorus that night ; An anthem cf joy swelled from many a throat, And you, as our chorister, gave the first note. When your hand was near squeezed out of shape by your mates, None shook it more warmly than Abraham Bates ; Who, suggesting (to you) an impossible thing, Shouted, " Down, up I down, up 1 Sing ! " Little Clarissa Smith ! how you thrilled through us a 11. !' 1 THE FESTIVAL OF MELODY. iig When you made that young soul-sweetcncd voice rise and fall ! The whippoorwill's voice is sweet-spoken and true, Hut not with a heart and a spirit like you ; The lark trails the music of earth through the skies, But the flame of her song does not flash from her eyes ! Our girl prima-donna!— Your fame was not spread, Nor by world-wide applauses your vanity fed ; But you star with a grand brilliant company, now : The laurels of heaven have encircled your brow. 'Twas a dreary procession you led on that day When so still in the old-fashioned cofiin you lay; No delicate casket, grief-laden with care, And trimmed with exotics expensive and rare, Had ever more tears on its occupant shed Than you, in your old-fashioned Dffin of red. 'Twas strange how the unstudiea wiles of your art Had soothed and delighted the average heart ; How much of heaven's glory had glittered and smiled i M ! ■! :i' 1 1 M t 1' 1 20 FARM FESTIVALS. Through the cultureless voice of an innocent child. You looked very pretty, and half saucy, there, With natural flowers in your girlish-combed hair; And a little old half- worn- out book on your breast, Containing the hymns that you used to sing best. The roughest old villain that lived in our town Stood back from the grave, and, with head hanging down. Was heard, in a reverent whisper, to say, " Heaven needed that voice, and God took it away." And Abraham Bates, who, 'twas general belief, Had never before given rein to a grief, Felt sorrow sweep over his hearf. like a storm. When it came, as it were, in a musical form ; And choked down and sobbed, with eyes filled to the brim. While attempting to lead in the funeral hymn, And long when the sound ot tliat sorrow had waned, In his rough old heart - caverns its echo re- mained ; And audible tears to the surface would spring, Of that " Down, left, up ! down, left, up 01 tig f »» ,r«» THE FESTIVAL OF MELODY. ISI Mrs. Caroline Dean, ho^ you revelled in song! There was no singing-school to which you didn't belong, Save in some locality far away, so That you and your meek little husband couldn't go. What a method was yours, of appearing pre- pared To make every tune in the note-book look scared ! Your voice was voluminous, rather than rich, And not predistinguished for accurate pitch ; 13ut you seemed every word to o'erpoweringly feel, And humbled and drove away skill with your zeal. The villain referred to above, on the day That you and your larynx were safe stowed away, Didn't make the remark he was credited with At the time of the burial of Clarissa Smith, But muttered, as low with himself he com- muned, " I suppose she will do, when they get her retuned." Though the strains of the choir sounded weak and afraid t»!tiiout your sopranos stcTitofian aid, ! f 'I , t ^iW'' JiikiiM . I tl% FARM FESTIVALS. k^ Mr. Abraham Bates, if I was not deceived, Worked lighter in harness, and acted reheved ; And when the hymn stated you "lovely and mild," And "as summer breeze gentle," he very near smiled ; For those who had learned his biography, knew He had rather encounter a tempest than you, When he dared, with a placating, angular smile, To venture a hint on }-our musical style. You remember how promptly he wilted, among The tropical rays of your scorn-blazing tongue ; For your talents you easily turned, when you chose. From fancy-gemmed song into plain business prose. You knew how to make him as miserably meek As a tin-peddler's horse at the close of the week. You knew how to make a most desperate thing That " Down, left, right, up I Sing ! " Sweet hymn-tunes of old !— You had blood in your hearts, That pulsed glowing life through your several parts : From bass to soprano it surgingly climbed, A «? rrranrllir fl-jo rVinrrl's. rtf 1: I /\s V \^S.t.\^l^^J Ox y^ur mciody CiiUiiCu I if ^ THE FESTIVAL OF MELODY. 123 " Cor ination " that brought royal splendours in view, And solemn " Old Hundred," invariably new — That golden sledge -hammer, of ponderous grace, That drove every word like a wedge to its place ; " lialerma," of melody full to the brim, And "Pleyel's" grandly plaintive melodious hymn ; With others, that memory's ear loves to meet. Which, with different names, might have sounded less sweet. Then with what a loud concatenation of sounds We charged in our might on the glees and the rounds ! There was nothing, though polished, or harsh and unkempt, That we had not courage enough to attempt ; And if tunes, when sugr:jestion of murder arrives. Were not gifted, like cats, with a number of lives, There's many a living and healthy old strain, We'd have sent long ago to repose with the slaia O strong Winter nights! when all earth was aglow I '.»''^« 124 FARM FESTIVALS. With crystal stars dancing on meadows of snow ; When the blade of youth, hiked with pleasure's gold wreath, Flashed out of its home like a sword from a sheath, And advanced o'er the plains and the hill-tops, to dare The quick-cutting edge of the frost-tempered air ! How through foaming drifts we careened to and fro, And tossed the white waves with our ship of the snow, Which fluttered far back, as we sailed swift along, A streamer of rich elementary song ! ill ' 1 : .* i hi O tall, queenly nights I to eternity's haze You have followed your short little husbands of days; But jewelled and braided with youth-freshened strains. Your memory-ghosts walk the hills and the plains. Not one of life's glittering subsequent nights, With feverish pleasures and costly delights, THE FESTIVAL OF MELODY. '*5 On treasure-fringed harbours and sail- whitened bays, Not nights lit with fashion's cold, variable blaze, Not when the gay opera's beauty-sown song Plants passion's red flowers in the hearts of the throng ; No nights, dressed in splendour and carried with grace, Old brave Winter nights, can e'er stand in your place ; Till the long one of death may perhaps bring us nigh To the star-lighted singing-school held in the sky. ■A- - |,''ii'l li;?::iH' MIf flif ]i F i 1 f' ■ ^-^ h : ;r ? ' '! A ^^^tt ^ ^ ^ 1 f"j^ygB 1 ^^^1^ H&i^V^i/S M r £ ^ 1 ^^^^^ The And The The The The The The The The The Just THE FESTIVAL OF INDUSTRY; OR, THE COUNTY FAIR. I. HEY brouofht the best and sleekest of their flocks — The milkiest cow, the squarest-shoul- dered ox ; bull, with mimic thunder in his cry, lightning in each eager, wicked eye ; sheep that had the heaviest garments worn, cock that crowed the loudest in the morn ; mule, unconscious hypocrite and knave, horse, proud high-born Asiatic slave ; playful calf, with eyes precocious-bright, hog — grim quadrupedal appetite ; Indian corn-ears, prodigal of yield, golden pumpkin, nugget of the field ; mcrriest-e} ed potatoes, nursed in gloom, resurrected from their cradle-tomb ; I i« THE FESTIVAL OF INDUSTRY. ^77 Rich apples, mellow-cheeked, sufficient all To ve tempted Eve to fall-to make them fall • Ihe grapes, whose picking served strong vines to prune, The peach-rich alto of the orchard's tune • The very best the farmer's land had grown,' They brought to this menagerie of their own ^ut listen ! from among the scattered herds ' Lame to my hearing these equestrian words • [DIALOGUE OF THE HORSES.] FIRST HORSE. We are the pets of men— The pampered pets of men I There is naught for us too gentle and gocj In the graceful days of our babyhood : We frisk and caper in childish glee— Oh, none so pretty and proud a's we! They cheer and cherish us in our play— Oh, none so smilingly sweet as they ! And when a little our hves have grown. Each has a table and room his own A waiter to fill his bill of fare, A barber to clean and comb his hair. Yes, we are the pets of men I The pampered pets of men ! i: ; i I' They show us, gaily dressed and proud, To the eager eyes of the clamorous crowd ; They champion us in the rattling race, They praise our beauty and cheer our pace ; They keep for us our family trees — They trumpet our names beyond the seas ; They hang our portraits on their walls, And paint and garnish and gild our stalls. Yes, we are the pets of men — The pampered pets of men ! SECOND HORSE. We are the slaves of men— The menial slaves of men ! They lash us over the dusty roads, They bend us down with murderous loads ; They fling vile insults on our track, And know that we can not answer back ; In winds of Winter, or Summer sun, The tread of our toil is never done ; And when we are weak, and old, and lame, And labour-stiffened, and bowed with shame, And hard of hearing, and blind of eye, They drive us out in the world to die. Yes, we are the slaves of men — • The slaves of selfish men ! They draft us into their bloody spites, They spur us, bleeding, into their fights; THE FEbTIVAL OF INDUSTRY 124 They poison our souls with their senseless ire, And curse us into a storm of fire. And when to death we are bowed and bent, And take the ball that for them was meant, Alone they leave us to groan and bleed, And dash their spurs in another steed ! Yes, we are the slaves of men — The slaves of brutish men ! ! I II. The grim mechanic waved a hardened hand — Behold 1 on every side his trophies stand ; The new-made plough, with curving iron beam, The thresher, with its snowy plume of steam ; The cultivator, striped, gay, and proud, With new ideas and dental wealth endowed ; The windmill, now once more at work for men, Like some old help discharged and hired again ; The patent churns, whose recommends would seem To promise butter, almost without cream ; Sewing-machines, of several-woman power, And destitute of gossip, sweet or sour. The loud piano raised its voice on high, And sung the constant chorus, Who will buy ? The patent washer strove to clinch the creed' llirtt cleanliness and laziness ajjreed ; I ! w flT'l^ i 1 1 ' 1 1 f i .pli! 1 1 1 i 1 : i liiil 1 li: I- t i ■ ]■! 1 . ! ■ 1 fl i'l ^ iv 1 ■ *! 1 ! if i •i Ui 1, i iik 130 FARM FESTIVALS. The reaper, resting idly on its wheel, Held forth a murderous arnfi of iron and steel. And seemed to think 'twas waiting over-long 13efore it might begin its rattling song: [song of the reaper.] My grandfather was right little and old, And crooked and worn was he ; But his teeth were good, and his heart was bold, And he swam the waves of a sea of gold, But he couldn't keep up with me — me — me — Couldn't keep up with me. Then hie ! away to the golden plain ! We will crash and dash through glistening grain, And gather the wealth of earth and sun, And the world will eat when our work is done ! My father he was bent and lean, But a wide-spread hand had he; And his fingers they were long and clean, And he swung his broadsword bright and keen But he never could fight with me — me— me — Never could fight with me ! Then hie! away where the sunlight sleeps, And the wide-floored earth a granary keeps ; iteel. ong 3 bold. -me — THE FESTIVAL OF INDUSTRY. «3i We will capture its bushels, one by one, And the world will eat when our work is done ! The grai---stalk bows his bristling head, As I clatter and clash along, The stubble it bends beneath my tread, The stacker's }ellow tent is spread, And the hills throw back my song my song — The hills throw back my song ! Then hie ! where the food of nations glows, And the yellow tide of the harvest flows. As we dash and crash and glide and run; And the world will eat when our work is done ! ii ■M gram, done! i keen -me— 'OS : III. Edge deftly with me into "Ploral Hall," Where toil's handwriting, on each crowded wall, Weighs Industry in balance, o'er and o'er, And finds the greater part not out-of-door. The bread loaf, in an unobtrusive place. Displays its cheerful, honest featured face, A coin of triumph, from the mintage struck, Of chemistry, skill, faithfulness, and luck. What statesman, moulding laws, can understand Ihe far-eved cunnincr of a hr.iicptiM'ff:»'o t, — j s I i il m li !l^ 1 1 1 t 1 1 1 ' 'If 1 t 1 u 1 ■liSWili 'I »32 F/1K.1/ FESTIVALS. What queen her subjects with more anxious eyes Can watch, than she her " emptyings," as they rise ? What conquest gives what warrior more delight Than she has, when her baking comes out right ? (Ah me ! we oft know not, till over-late, What things are truly small, and what are great ! •Tis sometimes hard to tell, in God's vast sky, What's actually low, and what is high !) Here rests, not over-free from pain and ache, Bread's proud, rich, ciry-nurtured cousin, Cake : Gay-plumaged as his sisters are, the pies — Food chiefly for the palate and the eyes. These canned fruits, like the four-and-twenty birds Imprisoned in the nursery ballad's words, Will be expected, when at last released, To sing sweet taste-songs for some Winter feast. Proudly displayed, rich trophies there are found Of the fierce needle's thread - strewn battle- ground : This is a bed-quilt— its credentials show — Stitched by a grandame, centuries ago ; That is embroidery, made this very year, ■Q,. -, ..^4-^^^^A rr^ioo wIt^ '= liirHncT near. THE FESTIVAL OF INDUSTRY. »33 The picture family is abroad to-day, Dressed up in every gaze-enticing way : Here an oil-painting pleads for truthful art, Wrought by some local genius with his heart ; He sighs to see his soul misunderstood, And hear them call the picture " pr'tty good." Work on, poor boy, with courage that en- dures : Stars have burst forth from blacker clouds than yours. Feel with your own heart — think with your own mind, And make the canvas speak the thoughts they find ! The eyes may not be very far away That will, on some glad, unexpected day, Bring other eyes within your weird control, And lift your name alongside of your soul. This is the town photographer's display ; Who shows his showiest patrons here to-day. He places in his pillory of frames The faces of the town's most talked-of names : The mayor, with his eyebrows stiffly arched, And collar unconditionally starched, Shows, through this careful chemical design, His last majority, in every line. His wife hangs in an advantageous place, \ir:i.i- j: 1 i t.:-- :_ i r 134 FARM FESTIVALS. I \ nhii Wi- i^ -fit t From the sun-artist's thrifty, cunnin?^ trade : Photography, you are a flatt'ring jade ! Some of their subjects dangling hero a*" - found — A settlement of faces chistcrs round — A kind of kingdom, as it were, in sport : The mayor holding photographic court. Each one in half-fictitious splendour's dressed, And each is doing his pictorial best. The artist, grinning down a look of gall, Worked for these baby-pictures most of all ; Dear, dear ! How low he had to bow and scrape. To keep his infant popinjays in shape, And hold the sinless villain's glance in check, To save his shadow enterprise from wreck ! To keep this little wandering Arab-eye He made himself a mis'^'illaneous guy ; He was this petty tyrant's vassal true, His portrait-painter, and court-jester, too; And, that a first-class picture might be done, Made himself into a ridiculous one ; Said " Hooty-tooty," and that sort of thing, And made the rattle-box insanely sing. But, passing from these posy-sprinkled bowers (For children's features are the facial flowers). Come with me, where white hands have thickly strewn The horticultural house-pets they have grown. THE FESTIVAL OF INDUSTRY. 135 What are but weeds beneath a southern sky, Are here, as house-plants, rat. J precious-high, As villains go to uncongei ial climes, But, being less known, have better social times, eSo our old Mullein, here of deference scant, Struts round in England as " The Velvet Plant;" And "Cactus" — Thistle when in south-land met — Is here a prickly flower, to keep and pet.) But woman's wand-like nature can, indeed, Make beauty spring from e'en a common weed ; How much more, when, around some flower- gem rare She throws the setting of her tender care ! Sweet window-gardeners ! with dainty arts Tracing the floral language of your hearts, Making The Home, with these gay- liveried slaves, A bloom-fed island 'mid the winter-waves ; In which the frost-bit caller can commune With bright hours stolen from some day in June. 'Tis your sweet, cultured taste that bids us call This niche of labour's temple " Floral Hall." in IV. The people stood about on every side. And keenlv thcst; familiar wonders eved. s\ Mil 136 FARM FESTIVALS. Kach minute seeking some new ocular prize; But, as they gazed about, their greedy eyes On nothing queerer than mankind could fall, And so they watched each other most of all. There was the thrifty farmer: quickly he Had seen about all that he wished to see, And knew, while up and down condemned to roam, How much more he would feel at home, at home. The farmer's wife, with smiles of rural grace O'erflowing from her soul into her face, Screamed loud as each acquaintance hove in view, And gave the cordial cry, " How de7V you dew ? " The farmer's boy bore vigour in his tread, And in his hands a block of gingerbread ; The farmer's girl was somewhat prone to flirt, Watched by her mother, lest she conie to hurt ; Whose words had full as much effect as when, Around some pond, an anxious-eyed old hen To draw away her gosling-children strives, ft.nd take them from their life, to save their lives. The doctors, lawyers, merchants, and that kind, Looked round, their old-time customers to find, Or shun — and smiling 'mid the verbal din, Dilated on i/ierr country origin. THE FESTIVAL OF INDUSTRY '37 A writer for the Agricultural Press, Who farmt (J (on foolscap) with complete success. Who raised great crops of produce in a wink, And tilled large farms with paper, pen, and ink — Who, sitting in-door, at a regular price, (jave large amounts of good out-door advice, And, as his contribution to the Fair, Had brought himself and an oration there- Arose, in somewhat over- conscious strength, And gave his views at any amount of length. As when the sun at morning upward crowds His kingly path through thickly gathered clouds. Sometimes, behold! these vapou -birds have flown. Driven by his rays, and left him there alone, So from this lumiii.iry, fancy-fired, The sadden, audience gradually retired ; Though still stayed where they were when he began, Tiiree children, and a very deaf old man. And even these showed signs of weakening, When the sad poet rose, and with a fling ( »r paper that a ragman might rejoice, Remarked, in timidly defiant voice: ** Spirits of earth-dead agricuit; r sts ! If the ghost ear to rhvthmjc nonsense lists I! ! i« f,ri . : , gH-sdiii - "' 1 I;'' 138 FARM FESTIVALS. (And if I have a hearing, that must be, For I'm not jostled by mortality) — Spirits, if you should deem attention due To one who soon must starve his way to you (A process that this rich world, by-the-way, Is aiding quietly, from day to day, Seeming to think the poet's proper place Is 'mongst his own — ahem ! — angelic race) Oh list to me, said spirits, here declare My contribution to the County Fair To be a drop of rhythm from off my pen, Which I denominate THE LABOURING MEN. Who are the labouring men ? We are the labouring men : We, the muscle of tribes and lands, With sun-trod faces and horn-gloved hands ; With well - patched garments, stained and coarse — With untrained voices, heavy and hoarse ; Who brave the death of the noontide heats — Who mow the meadows and pave the streets; Who push the plough by the smooth-faced sod, Or climb the crags with a well-filled hod. Yes- — we are the labouring men — u and ts; sod, THE FESTIVAL OF INDUSTRY. 139 And each, somewhere in the stormy sky, Has a sweet love-star, be it low or high: For pride have we to do and dare, And a heart have we — to cherish and care ; And power have we : for lose our brawn, And where were your flourishing- cities gone? Or bind our hands or fetter our feet, And what would the gaunt world find to eat ? Ay, where were your gentry then ? For we are the labouring men ! Who are the labouring men ? We are the labouring men : We who stand in the ranks of trade, And count the tallies that toil has made; Who guard the coffers of wealth untold, And ford the streams of glistening gold ; Who send the train in its breathless trips, And rear the buildings, and sail the ships; And though our coats be a trifle fine. And though our diamonds flash and shine, Yet we are the labouring men — The genuine Labouring men ! We bolt the gates of the angry seas ; W^e keep the nation's granary keys; The routes of trade we have built and planned Are veins of life to a hungry land. 11 f40 FARM FESTIVALS. And power have we in our peaceful strife, For a nation's trade is a nation's life ; And take the sails of our commerce in, Where were your " artisans' pails of tin ? " Ay, where were your " labourers " then ? For we are the labouring men ! I: 11 ; ■ ; H Who are the labouring men ? We are the labouring men : We of the iron and water way, Whom fire and steam, and tide obey ; Who stab the sea with a prow of oak — Who blot the sky with a cloud of smoke ; Who bend the breezes unto our wills, And feed the looms and hurry the mills ; Who oft have the lives of a thousand known, In the hissing valves that hold our own ! Yes, we are the labouring men — The genuine labouring men ! And though a coat may a button lack. And though a face be sooty and black, And though the words be heavy of flow, And new-called thoughts come tardy and slow, And though rough words in a speech may blend, A heart's a heart, and a friend's a friend I And power have we : but for our skill, .A 4.1 1J 1_!!l anu Liic oca wuuxu Kiit j And where were your gentry then ? Ay, we are the labouring men ! Who are the labouring men ? We are the labo unng men We of the mental toil and strain, Who stall the body and lash the brain ; Who wield our pen when the world's asleep, And plead with mortals to laugh or weep ; Who bind the wound and plead tiie cause, Who preach the sermons and make the laws ; Who man the stage for the listening throng, A'"^ fight the devils of Shame and Wrong. Yes, we are the labouring men — The genuine labouring men ! And though our hands be small and white, And though our flesh be tender and light, And though our muscle be soft and low, Our red-blood-sluices are swift of flow ! We've power to kindle Passion's fire With the flame of rage and fell desire ; Or quell, with soothing words and arts, To throbs of grief, the leaping heart,5. And who shall question, then. That we are the labouring men ? Who are NOT the labouring men ? '42 FARM FESTIVALS. ^ i: They who creep in dens an-', lanes T;:» rob their betters of honest gains, The rich that stoop to devour the poor; The tramps that beg from door to door; The rogues who love a darkened sky, And steal and rob, and cheat and lie; The loafing wights and senseless bloats Who drain their pockets to wet their throats! They're not the labouring men — The genuine labouring men! And all true hearts that the price would give For honest joy and a right to live, And every soul to truth alive, Willing to thrive and let others thrive, Should rise with a true and steady hand, And mark these foes with a villain-brand ; And shame them into the ranks of toil, Or crush them under their kindred soil, Away from the labouring men — The genuine labouring men ! V. Before the reading of this rhyme had ceased, A crowd near by, that gradually increased, Had gathered round a tramp, old, bent, and gray. Who somehow through the gates had made his way, THE FESTIVAL OF INDUSTRY •43 5! ay, his For human pity rather than for pelf: This clanless gipsy, wandering by himself. No face and brow more wrinkles could have worn; His clothes were most spectacularly torn ; But something in his general effect Drew from the throng a rough, unkempt respect; For crushed old age, in heart-enlightened lands, Carries a pathos with it that commands. He had been talking to the one most near: Those standing by were not averse to hear, And soon about him formed a massive riner: His audience swelled like valley- streams in spring. Crowds gather crowds by wondrous swift degrees ; One comes to see what 'tis another sees. For curiosity has ever shown A greedy-grasping avarice of its own, And few there are in this world, high or low, Who do not like to know what others know. He, with no oratorical display, Spoke to the farmers in their own rough way, And they looked at him as some prophet cast Out of the dusty cobwebs of the past, With nineteenth-century rags about him hung, And current lack of grammar on his ton''''uc. h-i i Hi h i^: 144 FARM FESTIVALS. He tvas a prophet ; for he clear could see The past — dead father of what is to be ; He who what has been faithfully can tell, May prophesy the future pretty well. With half-defiant and half-modest air, His sad eyes flashing, and his silver hair Tinged by the sun's last rays of autumn-gold This is the story that the old man told : i I.. [the tramp's story.] If experience has gold in it (as discerning folks agree), Then there's quite a little fortune stowed away somewhere in me, And I deal it out regardless of a regular stated price, In rough-done-up prize packages of common- sense advice The people they ai take it, or run round it, as they please ; But the best thing they'll find in it is some words like unto these : Worm or beetle — drought or tempest — on a farmer's land may fall; But for first-class ruination, trust a mortgag' 'gainst them all. iMH THE FESTIVAL OF INDUSTRY. On m y vveddin'-day my father touched kindly on the arm, And handed me the papers for an eighty »45 me far With the stock an' tool acre independent start s an' buildin's for a n Saying, «' Here's a wedding present from my muscle and my heart ; And except the admonitions you have taken from my tongue, And the reasonable lickin's that you had when you was }'oung, And your food and clothes and schoolin' (not so much as I could wish, For I had a number eatin' from a some'at scantv dish). And the honest love you captured when you first sat on my knee. This is all I have to give you-so expect no more from me." People 'd said I couldn't marry the sweet o-irl I tried to court, ^^ Till we smilingly submitted a minority report • Then they laid their theories over, with a quick- ness queer to see, And said they knew we'd marry, but we never 146 FARM FESTIVALS. But we did not frame and hang up all the neighbours had to say, But ran our little heaven in our own peculiar way ; We started off quite jolly, wondrous full of health and cheer, And a general understanding that the road was pretty clear. ai So we lived and toiled and prospered ; and the little family party That came on from heaven to visit us were bright, and hale, and hearty ; And to-day we might ha' been there, had I only just have known How to lay my road down solid, and let well enough alone. But I soon commenced a-kicking in the traces, I confess ; There was too much land that joined me that I didn't yet possess. When once he gets land-hungry, strange how ravenous one can be ! 'Twasn't long before I wanted all the ground that I could see. So I bought another eighty (not foreboding any harm), THE FESTIVAL OF INDUSTRY. M7 And fDt that and some down-money put a mortgage on my farm. Then I bought another forty— hired some cash to fix up new — And to buy a covered carriage, and of course the mortgage grew. Now my wife was square against this, 'tis but right that you should know (Though I'm very far from saying that I think it's always so) ; But she went in hearty with me, working hard from day to day, For we knew that life was business, now we had that debt to pay. We worked through spring and winter— through summer and through fall But that mortgage worked the hardest and the steadiest of us all ; It worked on nights and Sundays— it worked each holiday — It settled down among us, and it never went away. Whatever we kept from it seemed a'most as bad as theft ; It watched us every minute, and it ruled us right and left. mmm 1 ! i ! i W . mi fl 1 t ■ 1 LLlliiiiiiU 148 FARM FESTIVALS. The rust and blij^ht were with us sometimes, and sometimes not; The dark-browed, scowling mortgage was for ever on the spot. The weevil and the cut-worm, they went as well as came ; The mortgage stayed for ever, eating hearty all the same. It nailed up every window — stood guard at every door — And happiness and sunshine made their home with us no more. Till with failing crops and sickness we got stalled upon the grade. And there came a dark day on us when the interest wasn't paid ; And there came a sharp foreclosure, and I kind o' lost my hold, And grew weary and discouraged, and the farm was cheaply sold. The children left and scattered when they hardly yet were grown ; My wife she pined an perished, an' I found my- self alone. What she died of was "a mystery," an' the doctors never knew ; But / knew she died oimorf^a^ge — just as well 's I wanted to, THE FESTIVAL OF INDUSTRY. 149 If to trace a hidden sorrow were within the doctors' art, They'd ha' found a mortgage lying on that woman's broken heart. Two diflferent kinds of people the devil most assails : One is the man who conquers—the other he who fails. But still I think the last kind are soonest to give up, And to hide their sorry faces behind the sha-ne- ful cup ; Like some old king or other, whose name I've somehow lost, They straightway tear their eyes out, just when they need 'em most. When once I had discovered that the debt I could not pay, I tried to liquidate it in a rather common way: I used to meet in private a fellow-financier, And we would drink oursel- es worth ten thou- sand dollars clear ; As easy a way to prosper as ever has been found; But one's a heap sight poorer when he gets back to the grc ruuiiu. ^y 150 FARM FESTlVALb. 'i' : I ' Of course I ou<^ht to ha' braced up, an' worked on all t;ie same; I ain't a-tryin' to shirk out, or cover up from blame ; But still I think men often, it safely may be said, Are driven to temptations in place of being led ; And if tliat tyrant mortgage hadn't cracked its whip at me, I shouldn't have constituted the ruin that you see. For though I've never stolen or defaulted, please to know, Yet, socially considered, I am pretty middlin* low. I am helpless an' forsaken— I am childless an' alone ; I haven't a single dollar that it's fair to call my own; My old age knows no comfort, my heart is scant o' cheer, The children they run from me as soon as I come near. The women shrink and tremble — their alms are fear-bestowed — The dogs howl curses at me, and hunt me down the road. THE FESTIVAL OF INDUSTRY. iSi My home is where night finds me; my friends are few and cold ; Oh, little is there in this world for one who's poor and old ! But I'm wealthy in experience, all put up in good advice, To take or not to take it — with no difference in the price ; You may have it, an' ti'.rive on it, or run round it, as you f lease, But I generally ; .'vtj it wrapped in some such words as these : Worm or beetle — drought or tempest — on a farmer's land may fall ; But for first-class ruination, trust a mortgage Against t/tem all. V Hi u THE FESTIVAL OF INJUSTICE; OR, THE LA WSUIT. [HERE was a lawsuit in our town: Two honest farmers, White and Brown, Who'd been near neighbours all their lives, Had from the same home lured their wives, Had interchanged celestial views, On Sundays, from adjoining pews, Subjecting thus, in the same church, Their neighbours' sins to weekly search; Had shared each golden Christmas chime, And "changed works" every harvest time ; Had felt a partnership, half hid. In everything they said and did ; Had always, on tcwn-meeting day, Talked, yelled, and voted both one way ; \Vho each, whate'er he wished to do, iiad ail the influence of the two THE FESTIVAL OF INJUSTICE. «53 (And two united, as men run, Are more than twice as strong as one) ; Whose children, through youth's sun and shade, Had with each other fought and played — These men fell out, one raw March day, In something like the following way : White had a sheep he boasted o'er : Value two dollars — maybe more. Brown did a brindle dog possess ; Value, two cents, or maybe less. The sheep, one night, was killed by stealth ; The dog retained his usual health. White felt the separation-shock As if the sheep had been a flock; And reaped a crop of mental blues (We always value what we lose). Brown's heart the theory could not hear, Which White propounded to his ear, That his dog's life should make amends (No cur so mean but has his friends). White vowed, in words profanely deep, That Brown's canine had killed his sheep (Which accusation was o'er-true ; The dog himself well knew it, too). Brown, unconvinced and anger-eyed, . Insisted that hi! ;? is neighbour lied. »54 FARM FESTIVAL!*. U '■ ; !, White skirmished round, by day and night, In hopes to shoot the dog at sight ; Brown kennelled him beneath his bed, And sent bad language out instead. Suit for the sheep was brought by White ; Brown fought him back with all his might. Thus are the reasons jotted down, Why we'd a lawsuit in our town. White's lawyer was, when fairly weighed, The meanest of that tempted trade ; With all the vices of his clan, And not a virtue known to man. In almost every calling, he Had shown how little, men can be ; Had demonstrated, teaching schools, That small men can be monstrous fools, And by strong pupils, once or more, Was taught the object of the door ; Had preached awhile, at his own call. With hearers few, or none at all (For soul'' to cling are seldom prone Round men who have none of their own) ; At farming once had tried his hand, But iziness grows poor on land. He had, for half a month or more. n^^. >i^. XJI^tiii Sa,l\,Sli.LAli m ^ ^^..^i.. a \,Kjuiiny oiuiC, Where, though his talents he ne'er hid, Some of the cash somebody did ; And he, before his sphere enlarged, By his employer was discharged. Then his frouzed head and lantern-jaw Had fin'ily drifted toward the law (Not to it — candour must admit — But only just in sight of it); And so he took a dead-head trip, On pettifoggery's pirate ship, Coming at last, it may be said, To be '^s brazen figure-head. This wolf became, at one fell leap. Attorney for White's missing sheep. Brown's lawyer equal praise would beaf ; Ah me ! they were a pretty pair 1 Such villains cast no shade of blame On any honest lawyer's name ; There are those do not hew their life Into the kindling-wood of strife, To fire men'r. hearts and homes in turn, That they may rob them as they burn ; Who only take such causes as The eternal Right already has ; Who, when a client comes along Upon the fragile stilts of wrong. TS6 FAKM FESTIVALS. U'! I'll And strives to make law help him bear His weight through Error's putrid air, Show him the sin on which he's bent, Induce him, maybe, to repent, And send him home, with altered plan, A wiser and not poorer man. Such, with strong heart, and head, and hand, Are benefactors to the land ; It is not to the craft's disgrace That there were none such in this case. Scarce did the rage-envenomed din Have leisure fairly to begin, Through the thick crowd an old man strode, Making himself a ragged road; With gestures lower than his looks, Upset a pile of huge law-books, Inked a half-quire of legal cap, Also Brown's lawyer's left-hand lap; Ignoring, with a scorn profound, The judge and jury clustering round, He climbed his greatest tiptoe-height, And made this speech to Brown and White: So you're at it, sure enough — Side-hold, square-hold, kick and cuff- Any way to down each other, if it's only brought about \ THE FESTIVAL OF INyUSTlCE. »57 With two rogues in your employ, For to hollo out "S't boy!" An* to superintend your pockets, an' pick up what rattles out. An* your folks, too, it appears, Have been gettin' by the ears, All prepared to hate each other, for forever an' a day The devil gives a shout When a family falls out ; But what is that to you 'uns, if you only have your way ? An' your friends an* neighbours, too, Have been wranglin' over you ; Your example has been followed, as to brother fightin' brother ; There is more bad blood round here Than '11 drain off in a year; 13ut what is that to you 'uns, if }'ou only bleed each other ? Can our church such things endure ? You're agoin' to bu'st it, sure I An' the hosts of sin are ready to begin their triumph revel ; But what would you 'uns give I y^ ^a^ « ^11 *^U i\j saw Skit. Ltx e s «S8 FARM FESTIVALS. So you just can clinch together, an' go roliinj^ toward the devil ? And the Lord that o'er us reigns : He has taken extra pains For to put you two in harness, so's to pull to- gether square ; 'Stead o' which you kick an' bite. With a reg'lar ten-mule spite ; Oo you think that, strictly speaking, you're a- treatin' on Him fair? you law-bamboozled fools ! You old self-ground devil's-tools ! Do you know you're sowin' ruin .:.ut o' hell's half-acre, lot ? Do you know when smart men fight They Calamity invite, Who comes round an' stays for ever, till he eats up all they've got ? O you poor cat's-paws of spite ! Ain't there 'nough things for to fight-— Ain't there rust an' blight an' tempest—ain't there misery sore an' deep Ain't there ignorance an' wroncr, An' what woes to them belong, But that you must fight each other 'bout a brindle dog and sheep ? THE FESTIVAL OF INJUSTICE. '59 Why, man is just one race, In a very ticklish place, With a thousand forces fightin' for to lay him on the shelf; Don't it strike you, foolish men, As a losin' busuiess, then, When he tears down his defences, an' goes fightin' of himself? An' these lawyers round here gawkin' — Who has tried to stop my talkin' — If they come it once too often, I — I vow I'll smash 'em both ; What d'ye s'pose they care ior you^ Or for what they say or do ? For they don't pay no expenses, an' they ain't put under oath. Shake han's now, an' be friends, An' say, Here the matter ends, An' divide the costs between you — what has so far been incurred ; It'll make this world less sad — It'll make all heaven glad I "Peace on earth," is just as good news as the angels ever heard. Here the judge spoke, with angry air : " We have no iurisdictinn th*>rf> • i6o FARM FESTIVALS. It's more than all our work is worth, To keep things steady here on earth ; We can't pretend, best we can do, To litigate for angels too. I hereby fine you, for this sport, Ten dollars, for contempt of court. And you will in the jail be laid, Until the little sum is paid. Remove this person from the place, And let us go on with the case." With look most cheerful and polite, The old man turned to Brown and White, Saying, "For your good I made this speech: Pray lend me. now, five dollars each. I've been a-throwin' you advice You couldn't ha' bought at any price. If you will give my words an ear, They're worth ten thousan' dollars clear." His eloquence had no avail; They took the old man off to jail. The suit went on — please don't forget— And, I believe, isn't finished yet. 1 11 V nil 1 . s ■ TTniEEIi i ( THE FESTIVAL OF DIS-REASOA^- OR, THE DEBATE. I HEY came in sleighs and cutters down the snow-paved country-road — No farmhouse in the district but sent something of "a load," No home so high or humble, but threw in its mental mite Toward an equitable judgment on the issue ol the night ; For the question to be settled was an elemental one; Namely, whether fire or water had the greater damage done. O Peace ! thy famous mantle is a lovely thiri<7 to view, But what unimportant matters can suffice to war It Liiiuugiij t63 FARM FESTIVALS. IsJuvv ". liurec-month had this "district" been by thee as much inspired, As a first-class sumtucr evening, when the sun has just retired ; Till some indiscreet J crater fired the battle's signal gun, Asking whether fire or water had the greater damage done. As wnen the liousewife, whisking through her culinary toil, Bathes the inside of a kettle, it will foam and seethe and boil, As when a brawry blacksmith, his hot iron all agleam, Stabs the unsuspecting water, it will hiss and yell and scream, So the most pronounced convulsions it had ever kiown as yet. Made life lively in this neighbourhood when fire and water met. Not when the choir, one Sunday, chirpea a F c-.'ar-sounding song ; Not when the pa;>tor married diametrically wrong ; Not when the new schoolnaster, with a sweet and cheer; sr" le THE FESTIVAL OF DIS-REASON. «63 Flogged three champion schoolhouse bullies in improved athletic style ; Had there been so fierce excitement. — Naught more bitter words can make, Than discussion where the parties haven't any thing at stake. O War 1 thy grim material pauses not at guns and sword*? : There are caiiipaigns of opinion — there are carnages of words ! Now that neighbourhood, so peaceful till this unexpected day, Formed itself, as if by magic, in belligerent array, Full of empty emulation, and disinterested ire ; About half denouncing water — the remainder fighting fira There were deadly feuds en^jndered, in that clash of word and will, That have crept through generations, and are living even still ; There were families embittered — sacred friend- ships r.iit in twain — In that well-nigh useless contest of ' heart and of th • brain. For the fight on this occasion had grown bitter f FARM FESTIVALS. In proportion as the issue was of little con- seqr :nce. Old Squire Taylor took liis children out of school, witho' t delay, When the teacher caught Volcanoes in an underhanded way ; Deacon Stebbins, it was whispered, gave his son a whipping rare, Just for drawing on the Deluge in his verse at morning prayer ; And the good but shrewd old preacher — half in love and half in fear — Scarcely mentioned fire or water in his sermons for a yeai; There were fisticuffs and lawsuits bred among the brawny men — Women who ne'er borrowed sugar at each other's house again ; And the children called their playmates, when they fell out, in their games, " Water-fowl," and " Papa's fire-bug," and such- like endearing names ; While a keen demand existed 'mongst the people, great and small, For the evening when this question should be settled once for all J tlti THE FESTIVAL OP DIS•REASO^. 165 They came in sleds and cutters down the snow- paved country roads; They swarmed like bees in anger, from the depths of their abodes; They urged their bell-fringed coursers; they hurried, with one will, To the little old red schoolhouse at the summit of the hill. For 'twas there that the discussion was ap- pointed to take place, And the fiercest of debaters meet each other face to face. O little old red schoolhouse ! your prosperous days are flown ! You are a sad old schoolhouse, decrepit and alone. Within your grimly ruins, now half crumbled to the ground, The wind repeats its lessons, in a listless, droning sound ; The snow-flakes leap your windows, and cluster on your floor, Or, like belated youngsters, creep slyly through the door; No more incipient maidens softly to your portals come, With pantalettes of nanl-^/»n nnA e...--^^.. .•*..•_,._ gum; I 1 66 FARM FESTIVALS. 1 f :: .tii I:! No more the idle urchin, wrapped in secret hardihood, Daily strives to make you useful in the line of kindling-wood ; No more the youthful chalk-fiend traces inco- herent scrawls, And startling hieroglyphics, on your dim and dingy walls ; Your painted rival perches on the yonder neigh- bouring hill ; The restless feet that sought you are lying very still. The flowers of many summers upon their graves have grown ; You are a sad old schoolhouse, decrepit and alone. But you have had your triumphs ; and, if accounts be right. You were not over-lonely on that famous winter night I • Oh, what a crowd had gathered, and how wide awake they were. To see this mighty struggle of the elements occur! The buds and blooms of beauty of that region had turned out, Also all the brain and muscle of the country (i. 5 i^miHiM 1 1! THt, FESTIVAL OF DIS-REASON. 1 6; For, as some one gravely mentioned — 'twas an interesting time — A trial whose attorneys gloried in their clients' crime. There was Corporal Joseph Bellamy, a veteran fierce and gray, Whose left leg took a furlough on the field of Monterey, And who whispered, " How'd the Waterites get away, he'd like to know, With the fire that burned the powder in our war with Mexico ? " There was Captain Abel Stockwell, who the raging main had ploughed, And had some old claim of wreckage which he wished to get allowed ; There was Andrew Clark, a bully, who remarked, he couldn't debate, But could lick the biggest waterin'-trough that spouted in the State ; There was pretty Jessie Miller, with her blush- ing face half hid. Who didn't say much on the question — ^just be- cause her lover did ; There was " Uncle Sammy," smiling gay and happy — nothin'^f loth P|l!i' I Si Wn 168 FARM FESTIVALS. To dispute with either faction, or, if necessary, both J ^ There was dear old Sister Dibble, amiable and pleasant-eyed, Who agreed with all she talked to, and no matter on which side; There was Uncle James K. Hopkins, who espoused one cause to-day, And to-morrow morning early, always thought the other way ; There was Township Treasurer Hawley, who a theory could frame, That The Law of Compensation made them both destroy the same; There was Road Commissioner Reynolds, who, as president, would state The true meaning of the question they had come there to debate ; 'Sut was checked by Uncle Sammy, with his back firm 'gainst the wall, Who declared, as if astonished, that that wasn't it at all ! So an hour they wrangled, trying to discover beyond doubt! ' What it was that all the people had been quarrelling about. THE FESTIVAL OF DIS-REASON. 169 As well might be imagined, 'twas a trifle ludicrous To hear this crowd discussing as to what they should discuss; Until the conversation reached the pure asser- tive stage, The pattering of word-drops turned to thunder- peals of rage, And young Napoleon Peaslee, with his black eyes opened wide, Shook his fist at several others, and informed them that they lied. When this argument was stated ('tis a not un- common one), Andrew Clark bobbed up his body, like the rammer of a gun When the load at last is driven, and remarked with aspect hot, * That into his department the discussion now had got ; Then, striding o'er three benches, to the speaker he drew nigh, And advanced a heavy argument at Napoleon s nearest eye As when the thrifty farmer his cold yard with fodder strews. 170 FARM FESTIVALS. < !» 55 ■ t- Two sturdy youthful bullocks will develop different views, And join belligerent issue — then their rage infects the herd, Till the peacefullest old mulley feels her blood with battle stirred, So this meeting joined in conflict ; and affairs assumed a shape As if sin's unpleasant future had effected an escape. No prestige was respected, in the storm of rage that rose ; The deacon shook ten knuckles underneath the elder's nose ; The squire upset the sheriff, with undignified display, When the latter " Peace " demanded, in a very warlike v/ay ; And even Sister Dibble her fat fist to shakebegan, And vowed to goodness gracious that she wished she was a man 1 E'en the stove — a shattered veteran, which for many years had stood On two legs, and two frail crutches made of bricks and blocks of wood, And, like some worthy people who are nothing if not plumb, THE FESTIVAL OF DIS-REASON. 171 Had no single earthly merit save its equilibrium, Lost even that; and, falling 'mid this clash of frantic souls, Smashed, and emptied out a bushel of the liveliest kind of coals. As when the juvenile shepherd scares his flock of timid sheep Through the narrows of a fence-gap, they will rush and plunge and leap. So the bravest, and the strongest, and the fiercest that were there, Loitered not upon their journey to the free and open air J Which, flying from their presence, rushed into the open door, And scattered coals and fire-brands all about the schoolhouse floor. "It's a-burnin' up the buildin'i" was the uni- versal shout : " We'll be taxed to build another, if we do not put it out ! " The debaters, each forgetting his rhetoric ends and aims, Rushed in with snow and water, to subdue the rising flames; And 'twas even hard to tell there, when the victory was wonj f n! |5. p. 1 . i I :v> ii! 1 !4 h'v ?' -U 1 ii si; i'i\: 172 F/I/?3/ FESTIVALS. Whether fire or whether water had the greater damage done. They drove their sleip^hs and cutters homeward o'er the snowy road ; Their clothes were wet and freezing their hearts with anger glowed ; E'en those agreeing differed; cutting up the question, they Disagreed on its divisions, and disputed by the way. And only one was happy who to this affair had come ; And he was under-witted, and was also deaf and dumb. O thinkers and debaters ! be moderate and more slow ; You can't make true opinions — they have to seed and grow. Be generous in your conflicts ; look very sharp to see What points you can discover whereon you may agree ; Remember, mere assertion to mere brutishness comes nigh, And the shallowest of arguments is the poisoned words. '* You lie ! " THE FESTIVAL OF REUNION; OR, THE GOLDEN WEDDING. I AKE up, wife 1— the black cloak o^ Night begins to fade, And far in the east The Morning his kitchen fire has made ; And ht IS neating red-hot his stove of iron-gray, And stars are winking and blinking before the light o' da>% Mind you what I «•. s; dohi', jiist fifty years agone ? — Brushing my Sunday raiment an' puttin' my best Ic ks on ; Clothin' myself in courage, so none my fright would see ; An' my coward heart within, the while, was t r ; ) i I III i74 FARM FESTIVALS. Ten mile wood an' bramble, and three mile field an' dew, In the cold smile of morning, I walked, to marry you; No horse had I but my wishes— no pilot but a star; But my boyish heart it fancied it heard you from afar I So through the woods I hurried, an' through the grass an' dew, An' little I thought o' tiring, the whole of my journey through ; Things ne'er before nor after do so a man rejoice, As on the day he marries the woman of his choice I And then our country wedding— brimful o* grief an' glee, With every one a-pettin' an' jokin' you an' me; The good cheer went and came, wife, as it some- times has done When clouds have chased each other across the Summer sun. There was your good old father, dressed up in weddin' shape. !l .. if • '^.a-^i^-aaEafea? THE FESTIVAL OF REUNION. »75 you With all the homespun finery that he could rake an' scrape ; And your dear-hearted mother, the sunlight of whose smile Shone through the showers of tear-drops tha stormed her face the while ; Also your sisters an' brothers, who hardly seemed to know How they could scare up courage to let their sister go ; An' cousins an' schoolhouse comrades, dressed up in meetin' trim, With one of them a-sulkin' because it wasn't him; An' there was the good old parson, his neck all dressed in white, A bunch o' texts in his left eye, a hymn-book in his right ; And the parson's virgin daughter, plain an' severely pure, Who hoped we should be happy but wasn't exactly sure j And there was the victuals, seasoned with kind ,111 176 FARM FESTIVALS. I i •> And holly-wreaths with breastpins of rubies, up above ; An' there was my heart a-wonderin' as how such things could be, And there was the world before us, and there was you and me. Wake up, wife I that gold bird, the Sun, has come in sight. And on a tree-top perches to take his daily flight I He is not old and feeble ; an' he will sail away, As he has done so often since fifty years to-day. Vou know there's company coming — our daughters an' our sons : There's John, and James, and Lucy, an' all their little ones ; And Jennie, she will be here, who in her grave doth lie (Provided company ever can come from out the sky) ; ^^ And Sam — I am not certain as he will come, or not ; They say he is a black sheep— the wildest of the lot. it r-'i THE FESTIVAL OF REUNION. 177 Before a son's dishonour, a father's love stands dumb; But still, somehow or other, I hope that Si will come ! am The tree bends down its bra s to its children from above — The son is lord of the father, J rules him with his love ; And he will e'er be longed for, though far they be apart, tor the drop of blood he carries, that came from the father's heart. Wake you, wife I the loud sun has roused the sweet Daylight, And she has dressed herself up in red and yellow and white; She has dressed herself for us, wife— for our weddin'-day once more — And my soul to-day is younger than ever it was before ! MICROCOPY RESOIUTION TEST CHART (ANSI ond ISO TEST CHART No. 2) 1.0 I.I 1.25 m m 56 2.8 I 3.2 IIIIIM 1.4 II 2.5 2.2 2.0 .8 ^ /APPLIED IIVMGE Inc ^T". 1653 East Main Street r-£ Rochester, New York 14609 USA ^S (716) 482 - 0300 - Phone =S (716) 288 - 5989 - Fax • I ' ■; ( ,; I 1^ »'| u t,- i \v- p ill: USi! TIf£ FESTIVAL OF MEMORY; OR, CONVERSE WITH THE SLAIN. [Read at the National Cemetery on the Custis Farm, ArlingtOB Heights, Va., Decoration Day, 1877.] |ERE where the Nation's domes salute our eye, And lift their fingers up to freedom's sky, Here where, by green-flagged hill and flowery glade, ' Camps evermore the Nation's dead bricrade And, though our stars upon the dav are tossed White, gleaming head-stones tell of what they cost, ^ And Triumph's guns are decked with Sorrow's strain, Let us hold converse with the Nation's slain. I. Strong men fast asleen With coverlets wrought of clay. THE FESTIVAL OF MEMORY. 179 Do soft dreams o'er you creep, Of friends who are here to-day ? Do you know, O men low lying In the hard and chilly bed, That we, the slowly dying. Are giving a day to the dead ? Do you know that sighs for your deaths Across our heart-strings play, E'en from the last faint breaths Of the sweet-lipped mouth of May ? When you fell, at Duty's call, Your fame it glittered high, As leaves of the sombre Fall Grow brighter though they die. Men of the silent bands, Men of the half-told days, Lift up your spectre hands. And take our heart-bouquets. [response.] Our heads droop on the world's broad breast ; Our work is done, and we have gone to rest. These footsteps, lingering round our bed, The sun that shines, the storm that sweeps o'erhead, The summer hour, when naught sounds nigh Save the low, drowsy humming of the fly, Or the wind's moan when day is done. All fat^A <-kii«- £?1ooi-» oriA oil fo ll" O'"'* r^n** <(S.i • t'» i8o FARM FESTIVALS. } ) 'f: ^ i!.;il ; ( When morning sows the sky with gold, To blossom forth at noon a million-fold, When, shaded from the setting sun, The weary father clasps his little one, While she whose chastened love ne'er die Leans on them with her patient mother-eyes, When the brown frame of even-time Is pictured deep with Gong and laughter's chime ; Of all these sweet and pure and blest. Not one avails to call us from our rest. Fought we for wealth ? We own, to-day, Death's tattered robes, and six jood feet of clay. For noisy Fame's bright coronets ? The world applauds us, but it soon forgets. And yet, on royal robes we fall : We fought for Love— and Love is king of all. Women, whose rich graves deck The work of Stri. -ed spade, Shining wrecks of ta^ wreck This tempest of war aas made, You whose sweet pure love Round every suffering twined, Whose hearts, like the sky above, Bent o'er all human kind, Who walked through hospital streets, 'TTurivf iirliif/ ^ -jm THE FESTIVAL OF MEMORY. l8l Counting the last heart-beats Of men who were slowly slain ; Whose thrilling voices ever Such words of comfort bore, That many a poor boy never Such music had heard before ; Whose deeds were so sweet and gracious, Wherever your light feet trod, That every step seemed precious, As if it were that of God ; Whose eyes so divinely beamed. Whose touch was so tender and tru2, That the dying soldier dreamed Of the purest love he knew ; O martyrs ui more than duty I Sweet-hearted woman-braves! Did you think, in this day's sad beauty, That we could forget your graves ? Could you think, of these yearning hours, None from your memory grew ? That we brought a garden of flowers, And never a blossom for you ? Great is the brave commander. With foemen round him slain. But greater far, and grander, Is she who can soothe a pain. Not till selfish blindness Has clouded every eye, Wf i ' ' ii n 9 ■: ' i iii |m \\ i 1. l" \ li' 1 I \i ; ! I' ' 1 1 If! lilt It I i II :> li iliii" 182 FARM FESTIVALS. Not till mercy and kindness Have flown back to the skjr, Not till a heart that is human Within this world beats not, Shall the kind deeds of a woman Be ever by man forgot. Heaven's best evangels, Artists of mercy's arts, Earth-types of the angels, Take these flowers from our hearts, [response.] Sound and deep our bodies sleep 'Neath a bright green covering, Slender shades of tender blades Over us are hoverinsr. Fragrant sheaves of floweret leaves Sweetest odours fling to us, Merry birds with music- words Perch aloft and sing to us. Butterflies, with wings of eyes, Flash a kindly cheer to us, Stalks of clover, like a lover, Bend and whisper near to us. And we bless, with thankfulness, All the flowers you give to us, And we greet, with feelings meet A 1! ti-U^ 1 1- 4 ill i^ic iiuuis you iive 10 US , THE FESTIVAL OF MEMORY. 183 But while we, 'neath hill and lea, Floral favours owe to you, We above, with smiles of ' *e. Blooms of blessings throw to you. Once we stood, in doubtful mood. On a hill-top, listening- Gazing where, supremely fair, Heaven's domes were glistenmg: Widowed wives, whose own good lives Their great grief had cost to them ; Mothers who till death were true, Maids whose loves were lost to them ; They who strove, with deeds of love, To keep back the dy'uv^ ones. Until they were drawn, one day, 'Mongst the heavenward flying ones ; So we stood, in doubtful mood, On a hill-top, listening, Gazing where, supremely fair. Heaven's domes were glistening ; Wondering why there came not nigh Some who all had dared for us, Sad together wondering whether Our sweet dead yet cared for us I At a sound we turned around : They had stolen near to us. They whom we had yearned to see— They who were so dear to us ; "V^^' '*. b, 184 FARM FESTIVALS. So, while you these heroes true Praise, and with flowers cover them, We above throw looks of love, And caresses, over them, III. Men who fell at a loss, Who died 'neath failure's frown, Who carried Strife's red cross, And gained not Victory's crown, Whose wrong fight was so brave That ii won our sad applause, Who sleep in a hero's grave. Though clutched by the corpse of a causcj Sleep sweet I with no misgiving, By bitter memories fed, That we, your foes when living, Can be your foes when dead.* Your fault shall not e'en be spoken; You paid for it on the pall ; The shroud is Forgiveness' token, And Death makes saints of all. Your land has in its keeping Our brothers, doomed to die : Their souls went upward, sweeping Through storms of a southern sky ; The dead sons of our mothers Reach for your hands of clay ; So we, with your living brothers, Would clasp glad hands to-day ; W ^$ m, if THE FESTIVAL OF MEMORY. t8| lusc; That this young Queen of Nations, As famous as the sun, Which has lived through tribulations A hundred years and one, Shall wrap the centuries round her Again and yet again, Till their gleaming braids have wound her In a thousand years and ten I [response.] From our dead foemen comes no chiding forth ; We lie at peace ; Heaven has no South or North. With roots of tree and flower and fern and heather, God reaches down, and clasps our hands together. ill IV. Men of the dark-hued race, Whose freedom meant — to dl« Who lie, with pain-wrought face Upturned to the peaceful sky, Whose day of jubilee, So many years o'erdue Came — but only to be A day of death to you ; The flowers of whose love grew bright, E'en in Oppression's track. The mills of whose hearts ran right, Though under a roof of black ; Crushed of a martyred race, Jet-jewelry of your clan, i86 FARM FESTIVALS. You showed with what good grace A man may die for man. To cringe and toil and bleed, Your sires and you were born ; You grew in the ground of greed, You throve in the frost of scorn ! But now, as your fireless ashes Feed Liberty's fruitful tree, The black race proudly flashes The star-words " We are free ! " Men who died in sight Of the long-sought promise-land, Would that these flowers were bright As your deeds are true and grand ! [response.] Oh ! we had hearts, as brave and true As those that lighter covering knew; Love's flowers bloomed in us, pure and bright, As if the vases were of white ! And we had homes, as sweet and rare As if our household gods were fair ; But Death's was not the only dart That came to force our joys apart I And we had souls, that saw the sky, And heard the angels singing nigh ; But oft in gloom those souls would set. As if God had not found them yet ! > THE FESTIVAL OP MEMORY. 187 Columbia brought us from afar— She chained us to her triumph-car; She drove us, fettered, through the street, She lashed us, toiling at her feet ! We prayed to her, as prone we lay; She turned her scornful face awayl She glanced at us, when sore afraid; We rose, and hurried to her aid ! White faces sunk into the grave- Black faces, too— and all were brave ; Their red blood thrilled Columbia's heart- It could not tell the two apart. V. Boys, whose glojsy hair Grows gray in the age of the grave, Who lie so humble there, Because you were strong and brave ; You, whose lives cold set Like a Winter sun ill-timed, Whose hearts ran down ere yet The noon of your lives had chimed; V 3X1, who in the sun Of girlhood's smiles were basking, Who left fresh hearts all won — White hands to be had for asking ; You, whose bright true faces Are dimmed with clouds of dust, I t88 FARM FESTIVALS. ■ i !^ Who hide in the gloomy places, And crinn^e in the teeth of rust; Do you know your fathers are near, The wrecks of their pride to meet ? Do you know your mothers are here, To throw their hearts at your feet? Do you know the maiden hovers O'er you, with bended knee, Dreaming^ what royal lovers Such lovers as you would be ? Ruins of youthful graces, Strong buds crushed in Spring, Lift up your phantom faces, And see the flowers we bring. [response.] Wc struck our camp at break of day— wc marched into the fight ; We laid the rose of pleasure down, and grasped the thorns of right. The drum's roll was joy to us; the fife was sweetly shrill ; The waving of our country's flag— it made our pulses thrill. They cheered us as we walked the streets ; they marched us to and fro ; And they who stayed spoke loud to us how brave THE FESTIVAL OF MEMORY. 1 39 ■WC pcd vas 3ur ley ive Our faces set with iron deeds that yet were to be done ; Our muskets clean and bright and new, and glistening in the sun ; It was so like some tournament — some grander sort of play — That time we bravely shouldered arms, and marched, marched away 1 There came a sudden dash of tears from those who said good-bye — We set our teeth togetiier tight, and ma ic, them no reply. There leaped a moisture to our eyes, but Pride was there, on guard, And would not pass the aching tears that came so fierce and hard. 'T would never do to droop our heads so early in the fray I So gallantly we shouldered arms, and marched, marched away. But when the cold and cruel ni^^ht about our tents did creep, And Memory took the midnight watch, and Pride had gone to sleep. When hard Endurance threw aside the mask that he had worn. And all we had a day ago ?eemed ever from us torn, ! 1 m iiiifi [i ill 190 F/l/?Ar FESTIVALS. And when the boy within us had to perish for the man, 'Twas then the holiday was done-'twas then the hght began I Full many arts of agony can Trouble's hand employ; And none of them ' ut she will use upon a home-sick boy I The old house came back to us; and every scene was there, The bright and cheerful morning hour-the singing and the prayer ; (Before us, every olden scene in perfect outline lay; There never was a view so clear that seamed so far away !) The neat and tidy noon-time --the svenincr banquet spread — ^ The smiles that flew from face to face—the pleasant words we said ; The evening ramble down the road— 'twas then our fight began, When first the boy within us had to perish for the man 1 The morning broke; and ere t.K dark retreated from the sun. Came shuddering through the fresh air a heavy signal-gun ; THE FESTIVAL OF MEMORY. iqi And oh! it was a grand time wiien, through the battle's cry, We went, to show, if needs must be, how bravely boys could die 1 It seems so like some brilliant dream — that glory-painted day, We turned our faces toward the fight, and marched, marched away ! But when, the frantic battle done, we lay amid the slain, Our blue^-ats trimmed with crimson blood — our bo-iies stabbed with pain — When, with no friend to care for us, we stretched us out to die, Without a shelter to our heads except the distant sky ; 'Twas then the agony of war, in all its woe we knew; We ordered up our hearts' reserves, and fought the battle through 1 But soon, the hand of suffering its heavy weight upbore — And sweet Relief came near to us, and opened heaven's door : The spirit brave from every clime gave welcome to their band ; r>ij U-— ^—^ «.>-iMo^ •r>fn Anr ^V#»o onrl ctr^cr\pA us by the hand ! I 192 FARM FESTIVALS. We were the honoured guests of heaven-the heroes of the day; With laurel- wreaths upon our brows, we marched marched away ! VI. Sleep well, O sad-browed city I Whatever may betide, Not under a nation's pity, But 'mid a nation's pride. The vines that round you clamber. Brightest shall be, and best ; You sleep in the honour-chamber— Each one a royal guest. Columbia e'er will know you, From out her glittering towers. And kisses of love will throw you. And send you wreaths of flowers • And e'er in realms of glory ' Shine bright your starry claims; Angels have heard your story, And God knows all your names. Printfcd by Bali.antynb, Hanson &* Co, Edinburgh £r> London sn — the arched :; fm tii ■|;: i III' 1|; ; /iV THE ^AMP. AUTHOR. Paper boards, is. each. FARM BALLADS. FARM LEGENDS. FARM FESTIVALS. Ihe above, in One Volume, cloth gilt, gilt edges, 3s. 6d. J\iper boards, is. each. CITY BALLADS. CITY LEGENDS. CITY FESTIVALS. 'I'lip above, in OxR Volume, doth gilt, gilt edges, 3s. 6d. LONDON: SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON AND COMPANY, Limited. TO THE MEMOR Y OF A NOBLEMAN, MY FARMER FATHER. I I '. ^ ' s«i.-r' ml ■ i PREFACE. [HE " Farm Ballads " have met with so kind and general a reception as to encourage the publishing of a companion volume. In this book, also, the author has aimed to give expression to the truth, that with every person, even if humble or debased, there may be some good worth lifting up and saving : that in each human being, though revered and seemingly imma- culate, are some faults which deserve pointing out and correcting ; and that all circumstances of life, however trivial they appear, may possess those alternations of the comic and pathetic, the good and bad, the joyful and sorrowful, upon which walk the davs and nichts. the summers and wintfrs. the lives and deaths, of this strange world. Vlll PREFACE. He would take this occasion to give a word of thanks to those who have stayed with him through evil and good report; who have overlooked his literary faults for the sake of the truths he was struggling to tell ; and who have believed— what he knows— that he is honest. With these (ew words of introduction, the author launches this second bark upon the sea of popular opinion ; grinds his axe, and enters once more the great forest of Human Nature, for timber to go on with his boat-building. W. C. I ii I ij 'I iff Uk ■,*??! :-n>!img!temimssj i^iHm iii L word of through 3ked his he was ■what he e author popular lore the o go on VV. C. CONTENTS. .farm ILegentia. The Schoolmaster's Guests . , , II Three Links of a Life .... 22 Rob, the Pauper ..... 40 The Three Lovers . . , . 56 The Song of Home .... 76 .Vaul's run off with the Show . . 87 The Key to Thomas' Heart . . . , 93 The Doctor's Story ... , 98 The Christmas Baby . , . , . 103 ©t^er Poema. Cover them Over ..... III Rifts in the Cloud . . , , , 118 Some Time ..,..,, 135 Brothers and Friends .... 139 Gone Before ..,.«, 152 >n- !?■' ■ IV m i ■ ■, ■ 1 r CONTENTS. The Little Sleeper ; 'Tis Snowing The Burning of Chicago The Railroad Holocaust The Cable . Ship "City of Boston" . The Good of the Future The Joys that are Left 158 162 166 178 182 185 188 I9( ^58 l62 1 66 178 182 185 188 1 91 FARM LEGENDS. THE SCHOOLMASTER'S GUESTS. I! HE district schoolmaster was sitting behind his great book-laden desi<, Close-watching the motions of scholars, pathetic and gay and grotesque. As whisper the half-leafless branches, when autumn's brisk breezes have come, Hic iif-flp crriil-»-l-V»ir>l?'r^rl oc ,v they drank ink every day. mished, a 1 enjoying THE SCHOOLMASTER'S GUESTS «5 The square stove it puffed and it crackled, and broke out in red-flaming sores, rill the great iron quadruped trembled like a dog fierce to rush out-o'-doors. gy, which ce, where I be school- nded, like *'here the search of White snow-flakes looked in at the windows ; the gale pressed its lips to the cracks ; And the children's hot faces were streaniino- the while they were freezing their backs. III. Now Marco Bozzaris had fallen, and all of his suff'rings were o'er, And the class to their seats were retreating, when footsteps were heard at the door ; And five of the good district fathers marched into the room in a row, And stood themselves up by the hot fire, and sliook off their white cloaks of snow ; N i Sm i^;' nm h 'li n. < i6 FARM LEGENDS. And the spokesman, a grave squire of sixty, with countenance solemnly sad, Spoke thus, while the children all listened with all of the ears that they had : " We've come here, schoolmaster, intendin* to cast an inquirin' eye 'round, Concernin' complaints that's been entered, an* fault that has lately been found ; To pace off the width of your doin's, an' wit- ness what you've been about, An' see if it's payin' to keep you, or whether we'd best turn ye out. **The first thing I'm bid for to mention is, when the class gets up to read, You give 'em too tight of a reinin', an' touch em* up more than they need ; You're nicer than wise in the matter of holdin' the book in onehan'. An' you turn a stray g in their doin's, an' trek an odd flf on their an\ n * i»- 1 THE SCHOOLMASTER'S GUESTS. n There ain't no great good comes of speakin' the words so polite^ as / see, Providin* you know what the facts is, an* tell 'em off jest as they be. An' then there's that readin' in corncert, is censured from first unto last ; It kicks up a heap of a racket, when folks is a-travelin' past. Whatever is done as to readin,' providin' things go to my say, Sha'n't hang on no new-fangled hinges, but swing in the old-fashioned way." And the other four good district fathers gave quick the consent that was due, And nodded obliquely, and muttered, " Them *ere is my senthnents tew^ *♦ Then, as to your spellin' : I've heern tell, by them as has looked into this, That vou turn the u out o' your labour, an' make tlie word shorter than 'tis ; i8 FARM LEGENDS. 1- ■ '■ An' clip the k off o* yer musick, which makes my son Ephraim perplexed, An' when he spells out as he ought'r, you pass the word on to the next. They say there's some new-grafted books here that don't take them letters along ; But if it is so, just depend on't, them new- grafted books is made wrong. You might just as well say that Jackson didn't know all there was about war. As to say that old Spellin'-book Webster didn't know what them letters was for." And the other four good district fathers gave quick the consent that was due. And scratched their heads slyly and softly, and said, " T/iem's my sentiments tew!' •* Then, also, your 'rithmetic doin's, as they are reported to me, 1 r^ '-n. mM^^^ >-V««4> ^\\ is tiiac you nave leit larc uu nci out, o.ix also the old Rule o' Three • THE SCHOOLMASTER'S GUESTS. «9 I makes t'r, you [ books along ; im new- )n didn't A^ebster as for." ers gave d softly, s tew. as they An' likewise brought in a new study, some high-steppin' scholars to please, With saw-bucks an' crosses and pot-hooks, an' ze/'s, x, y s, and £%. We ain't got no time for such foolin' ; there ain't no great good to be reached By tiptoein' childr'n up higher than ever their fathers was teached." \nd the other four good district fathers gave quick the consent that was due, And cocked one eye up to the ceiling, and said, " Them's my sentiments tew^ *• Another thing, I must here mention, comes into the question to-day, Concernin some things in the grammar you're teachin' our gals for to say. My gals is as steady as clock-work, an' never give cause for much fear. But thev com.e hom-e from school t'other evenin a-talkin* such stuff as this here : 1 ! 20 FARM LEGENDS. Ai )^ • / love' an' * Tkou lovestl an ' He loves! an' • Ye love! an' ' You love' an' ' They — ' An' they answered my questions, ' It's gram- mar' — 'twas all I could get 'em to say. Now if, 'stead of doin' your duty, you're carryin' matters on so As to make the gals say that they love you, it's just all that / want to know ; — " IV. Now Jim, the young heaven-built mechanic, in the dusk of the evening before, Had well-nigh unjointed the stove-pipe, to make it come down on the floor ; And the squire bringing smartly his foot down, as a clincher to what he had said, A joint of the pipe fell upon him. and larrupec^ him square on the head. I ne SOOl new hi ClUUUa aii auwu«, liiiit, tiJiU blotted with black all the place. THE SCHOOLMASTER'S GUESTS. 31 rs, an gram- say, you're ^e you, ;chanic, )ipe, to And the squire and the other four fathers were peppered with black in the face. The school, ever sharp for amusement, laid down all their cumbersome books, And, spite of the teacher's endeavours, laughed loud at their visitors' looks. And the squire, as he stalked to the door- way, swore oaths of a violet hue ; And the four district fathers, who followed, seemed to say, " Them's my sentiments tew " lis foot ad said, irrupec) i Im: :ir. ^^m ^: it' THREE LINKS OF A LIFE, I. WORD went over the hills and plains Of the scarce-hewn fields that tht Tiffin drains, Through dens of swamps and jungles of trees As if it were borne by the buzzing bees As something sweet for the sons of men ; Or as if the blackbird and the wren Had lounged about each ragged clearing To gossip it in the settlers' hearing ; Or the partridge drum-corps of the wood Had made the word by mortals heard, And Diana made it understood ; Or the loud-billed hawk of giant sweep Were told it as something he must keep , M-i^ ,_ 1 plains hat tht )f trees es len ; ring ood 1. ep sep, THREE LINKS OF A LIFE. «3 As now, in the half-built city of Lane, Where the sons of the settlers strive for gain, Where the Indian trail is graded well, And the anxious ring of the engine-bell And the Samson Steam's deep, stuttering word And the factory's dinner-horn are heard ; Where burghers fight, in friendly guise, With spears of bargains and shields of lies ; Where the sun-smoked farmer, early a-road, Rides into the town his high-built load Of wood or wool, or corn or wheat. And stables his horses in the street ; — It seems as to each and every one A deed were known ere it well be done, As if, in spite of roadi. or weather. All minds were whispering together ; So over the glens and rough hill-sides Of the fruitful land where the Tiffin glides, Went the startling whisper, clear and plain, *' There s a new-born baby over at Lane I " 24 FARM LEGENDS. ',1 :! M * ,i' Wow any time, from night till morn, Or morn till night, for a long time-flight, Had the patient squaws their children borne; And many a callow, coppery wight Had oped his eyes to the tree-flecked light, And grown to the depths of the woodland dell, And the hunt of the toilsome hills as well, As though at his soul a bow were slung, And a war-whoop tatooed on his tongue ; But never before, in the Tifiin's sight. Had a travail bloomed with a blossom of white. And the fire-tanned logger no longer pressed His yoke-bound steeds and his furnace fire ; And the gray-linked log-chain drooped to rest. And a hard face softened with sweet desire ; And the settler-housewife, rudely wise. With the forest's shrewdness in her eyes, Yearned, with tenderly wondering brain, For the new-born baby over at Lane. t« THREE LINKS OF A LIFE. 2S And the mother lay in her languid bed, When the flock of visitors had fled — When the crowd of settlers all had gone, And left the young lioness alone With the tiny cub they had come to see In the rude-built log menagerie ; When grave Baw Beese, the Indian chief, As courtly as ever prince in his prime, Or cavalier of the olden time, Making his visit kind as brief, Had beaded the neck of the pale-face miss, And dimpled her cheek with a farewell kiss; When the rough-clad room was still as sleek, Save the deaf old nurse's needle-click, The beat of the grave clock in its place, W^ith its ball-tipped tail and owl-like face, And the iron tea-kettle's droning song Through its Roman nose so black and long, The mother lifted her babv's head. And gave it a clinging kiss, and said • ! i ' •6 FARM LEGENDS. ijiii ! i s li: ;i«.ir 11 Why did thou come so straight to me, Thou queer one ? Thou might have gone where riches be, Thou dear one ! For v/hen 'twas talked about in heaven, To whom the sweet soul should be given, If thou had raised thy pretty voice, God sure had given to thee a choice. My dear one, my queer one! " Babe in the wood ' thou surely art. My lone one : But thou shalt never play the part, My own one! Thou ne'er shalt wander up and down, With none to claim thee as their own ; Nor shall the Redbreast, as she grieves, Make up for thee a bed of leaves, My own one, my lone o e ! Although thou be not Rich s' flower, Thou neat one, ::|: > me, es be, eaven, )e given, :e, ice, art. t, down, own ; grieves, Yet thou hast come from Beauty's bower, Thou sweet one ! Thy every smile's as warm and bright As if a diamond mocked its light ; Thy every tear's as pure a pearl As if thy father was an earl, Thou neat one, thou sweet one ! And thou shalt have a queenly name, Thou grand one : A lassie's christening's half her fame, Thou bland one ! And may thou live so good and true, The honour will but be thy due ; And friends shall never be ashamed, Or when or where they hear thee named, Thou bland one, thou grand one ! >wer. E'en like the air— our rule and sport- Thou meek one, Thou art my burden and support, Thou weak one ! :rw^. FraTif|:llPII ! H: I'M '■>> il" i I . ' .!^ iliiii t8 FARM LEGENDS. Like manna in the wilderness, A joy hath come to soothe and bless ; But 'tis a sorrow unto me, To love as I am loving thee, Thou weak one. thou meek one ! The scarlet-coated child-thief waits, Thou bright one, To bear thee through the sky-blue gates, Thou light one ! His feverish touch thy brow may pain, And while I to my sad lips strain The sheath of these bright-beaming eyes, The blade may flash back to the skies, Thou light one, thou bright one ! And if thou breast the morning storm, Thou fair one, And gird a woman's thrilling form, Thou rare one : Sly hounds of sin thy path will trace. And on thy unsuspecting face THREE LINKS OF A LIFE. 39 ^ss; ne ! 5, 2 gates, pain, \g eyes, kies, ne! orm, Hot lust will rest its tarnished eyes, And thou wilt need be worldly-wise, Thou rare one, thou fair one ! Oh, that the heaven that smiles to-day. My blest one. May give thee light to see thy way, My best one ! That when around thee creeps The Gloom, The gracious God will call thee home. And then, increased a hundredfold, Thou proudly hand Him back His gold, My best one, my blest one I IL A word went over the many miles Of the w ell-tilled land where the Tiffin smiles, And sought no youthful ear in vain : *• There's a wedding a-coming off at Lane ! " :e. Thev stood in the shade of the western door — Father, mother, and daughter one — II 30 FARM LEGENDS. mm ir nil II St, And gazed, as they oft had gazed before, At the downward glide of the western sun. The rays of his never-jealous light Made even the cloud that dimmed him bright ; And lower he bent, and kissed, as he stood. The lips of the distant blue-eyed wood. And just as the tired sun bowed his head, The sun-browned farmer sighed, and said : And so you'll soon be goin* away, My darling little Bess ; And you ha been to the store to-day, To buy your weddin'-dress ; And so your dear good mother an* I, Whose love you long have known, Must lay the light o* your presence by, And walk the road alone. So come to-night, with mother and me, To the porch for an hour or two, And sit on vour old father's knee, The same as you used to do ; T.iREE LINKS OF A LIFE. 31 For we, who ha' loved you many a year, And clung to you, strong and true, Since we've had the young Professor here, Have not had much of you ! But lovers be lovers while earth endures ; And once on a time, be it known, / helped a girl with eyes like yours Construct a world of our own ; And we laid it out in a garden spot, And dwelt in the midst of flowers, Till v/e found that the world was a good- sized lot, And most of it wasn't ours ! You're heavier, girl, than when you come To us one cloudy day. And seemed to feel so little at home, We feared you wouldn't stay ; You'd struck so mortal a track, !! Hill i I'il II'! ■ ' , I) SilB LM w ^ I; 32 FARM LEGENDS. And got SO independent an' cross, God never would let you back ! But who would ever ha had the whim, When you lay in my arms an' cried, You'd some time sit here, pretty an' prim, A-waitin' to be a bride ! But lovers be lovers while earth goes on, And marry, as they ought ; And if you would keep the heart you've won. Remember what you've been taught : Look ifirst that your wedded lives be true, With naught from each other apart ; For the flowers of true love never grew In the soil of a faithless heart. Look next that the buds of health shall rest Their blossoms upon your cheek ; X \jt. iiiQ aau luvc uic a uurucu at uest If the body be sick and weak. THREE LINKS OF A LIFE. 33 1, i, rim, on, you've t : rue, 11 rest Look next that your kitchen fire be bright, And your hands be neat and skilled ; For the love of man oft takes its fliijht If his stomach be not well filled. Look next that your money is fairly earned Ere ever it be spent ; For comfort, and love, however turned. Will ne'er pay ten per cent. And, next, due care and diligence keep That the mind be trained and fed ; For blessings ever look shabby and cheap That light on an empty head. And if it shall please the gracious God That children to you belong. Remember, my child, and spare the rod Till you've taught them right and wrono- ; And show 'em that though this life's a start For the better world, no doubt. Yet earth an' heaven ain't so far apart As many good folks make out. *%<,: ! i'i I ' i ! nil 34 FARM LEGENDS. III. A word went over the broad hill-sweeps Of the listening land where the Tiffin creeps : " S/ie vtarried, holding on high her head; But the groom was false as the vows he said ; With lies and crimes his days are checked; The girl is alone, and her life is wrecked!* The midnight rested its heavy arm Upon the grief-encumbered farm ; And hoarse-voiced Sorrow wandered at will, Like a moan when the summer's night is still ; And the spotted cows, with bellies of white, And well-filled teats all crowded awry, Stood in the black stalls of the night, Nor herded nor milked, and wondered why. And thp liniicp^ ixrac ct\c\r\m\r cfill on/'l ooLl • And the hard-palmed farmer, newly old, THREE LINKS OF A LIFE. eps creeps : id; e said; ked; kedr sred at t is still : " white, » id why. . cold ; old, 35 Sat in an unfrequented place, Hiding e'en from the dark his face; And a solemn silence rested long On all, save the cricket's dismal song. But the mother drew the girl to her breast, And gave to her spirit words of rest : Come to my lap, my wee-grown baby; rest thee upon my knee ; You have been travelling toward the light, and drawing away from me ; You turned your face from my dark path to catch the light o' the sun, And 'tis no more nor less, my child, than children ever have done. So you joined hands with one you loved, when we to the cross-road came. And went your way, as Heaven did say, and v/ho but Heaven to blame ? ■'■ «wcjj uiUL nc you cnose was ail »ett.t-J5, XX\J\ the time untrue, !T: !Ji !P i 'I 'H i : m >M ■-'.■■'* i. ■ «ffi ' *^ 1 Jpl 36 F^i?A/ LEGENDS. Or Stab with hate the man whose heart you thought was made for you. The love God holds for your bright soul is more to get and give Than all the love of all of the men while He may bid them live. So let your "nnocence stanch the wound made by another's guilt ; For Vengeance blade was ever made with neither guard nor hilt. Who will avenge you, darling ? The sun that shines on high. He will paint the picture of your wrongs before the great world's eye. He will look upon your sweet soul, in its pure mantle of white, Till it shine upon your enemies, and dazzle all their sight. He'll come each day to point his finger at him who played the knave ; THREE LINKS OF A LIFE. 37 art you soul is hile He ,d made de with sun that wrongs its pure d dazzle finger at And 'tis denied from him to hide, excepting in the grave. Who will avenge you, darling? Your sister, the sky above. Each cloud she floats above you shall be a token of love ; She will bend o'er you at night-fall her pure broad breast of blue, And every gem that glitters there shall flash a smile to you. And all her great wide distances to your good name belong ; 'Tis not so far from star to star as 'twixt the right and wrong. Who will avenge you, darling ? All the breezes that blow. They will whisper to each other your tale of guiltless woe ; The nerfumes that do load them vour inno- cence shall bless. il\ . 38 FARM LEGENDS. hi'.v^f^l And they will soothe yo^r aching brow with pitying, kind caress. They will sweep away the black veil that hangs about you/ fame : There is no cloud that long can shroud a vir- tuous woman's name. Who will avenge you, darling ? The one who proved untrue. His memory must undo him, whate'er his will may do ; The pitch-black night will come when he must meet Remorse alone ; He will rush at your avenging as if it were his own. His every sin is but a knot that yet shall hold him fast ; For guilty hands but twine the strands that fetter them at last. Lay thee aside thy grief, darling 1 — lay thee aside thy grief ! m m THREE LINKS OF A LIFB. 39 w with » il that i a vir- I And Happiness will cheer thee beyond all thy belief 1 As oft as winter comes summer, as sure as night comes day, And as swift as sorrow cometh, so swift it goeth away ! E'en in your desolation you are not quite unblest : Not all who choose may count their woes upon a mother's breast. «^^p^ i: iii li I" % ' b i ROD, THE PAUPER. I. OB, the Pauper, is loose again. Through the fields and woods he races. He shuns the women, he beats the men, He kisses the children's frightened faces. There is no mother he hath not fretted ; There is no child he hath not petted ; There is no house, by road or lane, He did not tap at the window-pane, And make more dark the dismal night, And set the faces within with white. Rob, the Pauper, is wild of eye, Wild of speech, and wild of thinking ; Over his forehead broad and high. Each with each wild locks are linking. ROB, THE PAUPER. 41 Yet there is something in his bearing Not quite what a pauper should be wearing : In every step is a shadow of grace ; The ghost of a beauty haunts his face ; The rags half-sheltering him to-day Hang not on him in a beggarly way. Rob, the Pauper, is crazed of brain : The world is a lie to his shattered seemmg. No woman is true ur ss insane ; No man but is full of lecherous scheming. Woo to the wretch, of whate er calling, That crouches beneath his cudgel's falling 1 Pity the wife, bowe'er high-born, Who wilts beneath his words of scorn I But youngsters he caresses as wild As a mother would kiss a rescued child. He hath broke him loc>se from his poor-house cell ; He hath dragged him clear from rope and fetter. !' FARM LEGENDS. M\m They might have thought; for they know full well They could keep a half-caged panther better. Few are the knots so strategy-shunning That they can escape his maniac cunning ; Many a stout bolt strives in vain To bar his brawny shoulders' strain ; The strongest men in town agree, That the Pauper is good for any three. He hath crossed the fields, the woods, the street ; He hides in the swamp his wasted feature ; The frog leaps over his bleeding feet ; The turtle crawls from the frightful creature The loud mosquito, hungry-flying, For his impoverished blood is crying ; The scornful hawk's loud screaming sneer Falls painfully upon his ear ; And close to his unstartled eye The rattlesnake creeps noisily by f.t ROB, THE PAUPER. 43 ey know panther ling nning ; ee. )ods, the feature ; t; creature ^ : sneer He hath fallen into a slough of sleep, A haze of the past bends softly o'er him His restless spirit a watch doth keep, As Memory's canvas glides before him. Through slumber's distances he travels ; The tangled skein of his mind unravels; The bright past dawns through a cloud of dreams, And once again in his prime he seems ; For over his heart's lips, as a kiss, Sweepeth a vision like to this : A cozy kitchen, a smooth-cut lawn, A zephyr of flowers inthebright air stray mg; A graceful child, as fresh as dawn, Upon the greensward blithely playing ; Himself on the door-stone idly sitting, A blonde-haired woman about him flitting. She fondly stands beside him there, And deftly toys with his coal-black hair, And hovers about him with her eyes, And whispers to him, pleading-wise : 44 FARM LEGENDS. iiJM' If m i' JfS'J' ■ PP Rob ! why will you plague my heart ? why will you try me so ? Is she so fair, is she so sweet, that you must need desert me ? 1 saw you kiss her twice and thrice behind the maple row. And each caress you gave to her did like a dagger hurt me. Why should for her and for her smiles your heart a moment hunger ? What though her shape be trim as mine, her face a trifle younger ? She does not look so young to you as I when we were wed ; She cannot speak more sweet to you than words that I have said ; She cannot love you half so well as I, when all is done ; And she is not your wedded wife — the mother of your son. 11 R r\rv f Trrvn ct-nijo or»/H f/-»oc> mr/-\iif" nafiA • \'r\\\ ■V,- if.-!-' . yv.'vi wjiiliiC Qiii-i L\_rJO Vv/Lli iiv,cx'^ , yvJU mock me in your soul ; m t ? why lat you behind i like a js your ine, her I when u than , when e — the ROB, THE PAUPER. 45 You say I would be overwise — that I am jealous of you ; And what if my tight-bended heart should spring beyond control ? My jealous tongue but tells the more the zeal with which I love you. Oh, we might be so peaceful here, with nothing of reproving ! Oh, we might be so happy here, with none to spoil our loving ! Why should a joy be more a joy because, forsooth, 'tis hid ? How can a kiss be more a kiss because it is forbid ? Why should the love you get from her be counted so much gain. When every smile you give to her but adds unto my pain ? \/ ivuu; ; y-KJU say mcic jd hkj ^Uili. uclWiAl lliC girl and you : ■ ■ 46 FARM LEGENDS. k Do you not know how slack of vows may break the bond that's dearest ? You twirl a plaything in your hand, not minding what you do, And first you know it flies from you, and strikes the one that's nearest. So do not spoil so hopelessly you ne'er may cease your ruing ; The finger-post of weakened vows points only to undoing. Remember there are years to come, and there are thorns of woe That you may grasp if once you let the flowers of true love go. Remember the increasing bliss of marriage undefiled ; Remember all the pride or shame that waits ibr yonder child ! II. Rob. the Pauoer. awakes and runs : A clamour cometh clear and clearer. ROB, THE PAUPER. 47 ws may nd, not ou, and 'er may } points ne, and let the larriage at waits r. They are hunting him with dogs and guns ; They are every moment pressing nearer. Through pits of stagnant pools he pushes, Through the thick sumac's poison bushes ; He runs and stumbles, leaps and clambers, Through the dense thicket's breathless chambers. The swamp-slime stains at his bloody tread ; The tamarack branches rasp his head. From bog to bog, and from slough to slough ; He flees, but his foes come yelling nearer ; And ever unto his senses now The long-drawn bay of the hounds is clearer. He is worn and worried, hot and panting ; He staggers at every footstep's planting ; The hot blood races through his brain j His every breath is a twinge of pain ; " -^ ■v«au\-c Lrv,iv^i\, u;3 eyes J The echoes mock his agony-cries. I'-o- ^-... ilK.^ ! ll3!S3i£ i ■'.] i«li k HHHpHiPHPni f' . 1 i 1 1 |, .. .!.,: it ; 48 FARM LEGENDS. They have hunted him to tlie open field ; He is falling upon their worn-out mercies. They loudly call to him to yield ; He hoarsely pays them back in curses. His blood-shot eye is wildly roaming ; His firm-set mouth with rage is foaming; He waves his cudgel, with war-cry loud, And dares the bravest of the crowd. There springs at his throat a hungry hound ; He dashes its brains into the ground. Rob, the Pauper, is sorely pressed. The men are crowding all around him. He crushes one to a bloody rest, And breaks again from the crowd that bound him. 1 ^ crash of a pistol comes unto him — A well-sped ball goes crushing through him ; But still he rushes on — yet on — Until, at last, some distance won, He mounts a fence with a madman's ease And this is something of what he sees : ROB, THE PAUPER. 49 field; mercies. irses. r • > » ningr; oud, Y hound ; 1. i him. Dwd that Tl — ugh him ; F5 ease ies: A lonely cottage, some tangled grass, Thickets of thistles, dock, and mullein ; A forest of weeds he scarce can pass, A broken chimney, cold and sullen ; Trim housewife-ants, with rush uncertain, The spider hanging her gauzy curtain. The Pauper falls on the dusty floor. And there rings in his failing ear once more A voice as it might be from the dead, And says, as it long ago hath said : Rob ! I have a word to say — a cruel word — to you : I cannot longer live a lie — the truth for air is calling ! 1 cannot keep the secret locked that lono- is has been your due, Not if you strike me to the ground, and spurn me in my falling! smile was creeping — fWf 50 FARM LEGENDS. •in ttf .'. He came to me — he brought to me a slighted heart for keeping ; He would not see my angry frown ; he sought me, day by day ; I flung at him hot words of scorn, I turned my face away. I bade him dread my husband's rage when once his words were known. He smiled at me, and said I had no husband of my own ! Rob ! his words were overtrue ! they burned into my brain ! I could not rub them out again, were I awake or sleeping ! 1 saw you kiss her twice and thrice — my chid- ings were in vain — And well I knew your wayward heart had wandered from my keeping. T />rMint'=»H qU fVint wn<; at stake — I bribed mv pride with duty ; ill' ROB, THE PAUPER. SI slighted e sought I turned ge when husband I knelt before your manly face, in worship of its beauty ; I painted pictures for your eyes you were too blind to see ; I worked at all the trades of love, to earn you back to me ; I threw myself upon your heart ; I plead and prayed to stay ; I held my hands to you for help — you pushed them both away ! ;y burned 1, were I -my chid- heart had )ribed mv He came to me again; he held his eager love to me — To me, whose weak and hungry heart deep desolation dreaded ! And I had learned to pity him ; but still my will was free, And once again I threatened him, and warned him I was wedded. ..V- tJa■a^^ ln^^ ixjiiKjy, iiim, iiiiCi see luy errinc fancy righted. 52 FARM LEGENDS. We crept along a garden glade by moon- beams dimly lighted ; She silent sat 'mid clustering vines, though much her eyes did speak, And your black hair was tightly pressed unto her glowing cheek. . . . It crazed me, but he soothed me sweet with love's unnumbered charms ; I, desolate, turned and threw myself into his desolate arms ! O Rob ! you know how little worth, when once a woman slips, May be the striking down a hand to save herself from falling ! Once more my heart groped for your heart, my tired lips sought your lips ; But 'twas too late — 'twas after dark — and you were past recalling. i IS naru lo ciiimi wiiai, uiiv-c is ^ivcn , my foe was unrelenting ; Run, THE PAUPER. 53 Vain were the tempests of my rage, the mist3 of my repenting. The night was dark, the storm had come, the fancy-stars of youth Were covered over by the thick unfading cloud of truth ; So one by one the stars went back, each hid its pale white face, Till all was dark, and all was drear, and all was black disgrace. C Rob ! good-bye ; a solemn one ! — 'tis till the Judgment-day. You look about you for the boy ? You never more shall see him. He's crying for his father now full many mileo away ; For he is mine — you need not rage — you cannot find or free him. Vvc niigiiL nave uccu .su pcaceiui nere, with nothing of reproving — « f '■ I n .1. ■ ■ < m 54 FARM LEGENDS. We might have been so happy here, with none to spoil our loving — As I, a guilty one, might kiss a corpse's waiting brow, I bend to you where you have fallen, and calmly kiss you now ; As I, a wronged and injured one, might seek escape's glad door, I wander forth into the world, to enter here no more. III. Rob, the Pauper, is lying in state. In a box of rough-planed boards, unpainted, He waits at the poor-house grave -yard gate. For a home by human lust untainted. They are crowding around and closely peer- ing At the face oi the foe who is past their fear- ing ; I IT. ROB, THE PAUPER. 55 e, with lorpse's m, and ht seek er here )ainted, e-yard id. y peer- The men lift children up to see The arms of the iwan who was good for thrcft ; The women gaze and hold their breath, For the man looks kingly even in death. They have gone to their homes anear and far— TV/^ir joys and griefs, their loves and hati'g ; Scn-ie to 5 under the ties that are, A..d some to cooing and wooing and mat- ing. They will pet and strike, they will strive and blunder. And leer at their woes with innocent wonder; They will swiftly sail love's delicate bark, With never a helm, in the dangerous dark ; They will ne'er quite get it understood That the Pauper's woes were for their good. lir fear- mi II ■■■• Mi^'i Hi! |r:!- 11 1 i' THE THREE LOVERS. ERE'S a precept, young man, you should follow with care : If you're courting a girl, court her honest and square. Mr. 'Liakim Smith was a hard-fisted farmer, Of moderate wealth, And immoderate health, Who fifty-odd years, in a stub-and-twist armour Of callus and tan, Had fought like a man His own dogged progress, through trials and cares, And log-heaps and brush-heaps and wild-cats anc .1 be ars, ik ii liiiiBl 'iU.^^: THE THREE LOVERS. 57 And agues and fevers and thistles and briars, Poor kinsmen, rich foemen, false saints, and true liars ; Who oft, like the •' man in our town," over- wise, Through the brambles of error had scratched out his eyes, And when the unwelcome result he had seen, Had altered his notion, Reversin the motion, And scratched them both in again, perfect and clean ; Who had weathered some storms, as a sailor might say, And tacked to the left and the right of his way, Till he found himself anchored, past tempests and breakers, Upon a good farm of a hundred-odd acres. As for 'Liakim's wife, in four words mav be told i 58 FARM LEGENDS. Her whole standing in life ; She was 'Liakim's wife. Whereas she'd been young, she was now growing old, But did, she considered, as well as one could, When HE looked on her hard work, and saw that 'twas good. The family record showed only a daughter ; But she had a face, As if each fabled Grace In a burst of delight to her bosom had caught her, Or as if all the flowers in each Smith genera- tion Had blossomed at last in one grand cu.mina- tion. Style lingered unconscious in all of her dresses ; She'd starlight for glances, ar . sunbeams for tresses. Wherever she went, with her right royal tread, iht% !| THE THREE LOVERS. 59 Each youth, when he'd passed her a bit, turned his head ; And so one might say, though the figure be strained, She had turned half the heads that the town- ship contained. N ow Bess had a lover — a monstrous young hulk; A farmer by trade — Strong, sturdy, and staid ; A man of good parts — if you counted by bulk ; A man of great weight — by the scales ; and, indeed, A man of some depth — as was shown by his feed. His face was a fat exclamation of wonder ; His voice was not quite unsuggestive of thunder ; His laup"h was a cross 'twixt a yell and a chuckle ; > H .1 ' 6o FARM LEGENDS. He'd a number one foot, And a number ten boot, And a knock-down reserved in each separate knuckle. He'd a heart mad in love with the girl of his choice, Who made him alternately mope and rejoice, By dealing him one day discouraging messes, And soothing him next day with smiles and caresses. Now Bess had a lover, who hoped her to wed — A rising young lawyer — more rising than read ; Whose theories all were quite startling ; and who. Like many a chap I n these days of strange hap, Was living on what he expected to do ; While his landladv thouj^ht 'twould have been rather neat THE THREE LOVERS. 6l Could he only have learned, Till some practice was earned, To subsist upon what he expected to eat. He was bodily small, howe er mentally great, And suggestively less than a hundred in weight. Now Bess had a lover — young Patrick ; a sinner, And lad of all work, F rom the suburbs of Cork, Who worked for her father, and thought /le could win her. And if Jacob could faithful serve fourteen years through, And still thrive and rejoice, For the girl of his choice, He thought he could play the same game one or two. Now 'Liakim Smith had a theory hid, And bv ecrotism fed. Somewhere up in his head, I i!rt if' i 62 FARM LEGENDS. i! Ilii « }?'^i' yi f -..J Thai a dutiful daughter sliould always as bid Grow old in the service of him wl\o begot her, Imbibe his beiiets, Have a care for his griefs, And faithfully bring him !us cider and water. So, as might be expected, he turned up his nose, Al >o a cold shoulder, to Bessie's two beaux, And finally turned them away from his door. Forbidding them ever to enter it more ; And detailed youns Patrick as kind of a guard, With orders to keep them both out of the yard. So Pat took his task, with a treacherous smile, And bullied the small one, And dodged the big tall one, And slyly made love to Miss Bess all the while. But one evening^, when 'Liakim and v/ife crowned their labours THE THREE LOVERS. 63 . as bid > begot water, up his )eaux, is door. - » d of a le yard, s smile, all the d v.'ife With and entreating At the village prayer-meeting, And Patrick had stepped for a while to some neighbour's, The lawyer had come, in the trimmest of dress, And, dapper and slim, And small, e'en for him, Was holding a session of court with Miss Bess. And Bess, sly love-athlete, was suited first rate At a flirtation-mill with this legal light-weight ; And was listening to him as minutes spun on. Of pleas he could make. And of fees he would take, And of suits that he should, in the future, have won; When just as the cold, heartless clock counted eight, Miss Bessie's quick ear caught a step at the gate. \ 64 FARM LEG ENDS. 031 "Tis mother! "she cried: *'oh, go quick, I implore ! But father '11 drive 'round and come in the back-door ! You cannot escape them, however you turn ! So hide for a while— let me see — in this churn ! " The churn was quite large enough for him to turn in — Expanded out so, By machinery to go, 'T would have done for a dairy- man-Cyclops to churn in. 'Twas fixed for attaching a pitman or lever, To go by a horse-power — a notion quite clever, Invented and built by the Irishman, Pat, Who pleased Mrs. 'Liakim hugely by that. The lawyer went into the case with much ease, And hugged the belief That the cause would be brief, THE THREE LOVERS. «5 And settled himself down with hardly a squeeze. And Bess said, " Keep still, for there's plenty of room," And shut down the cover, and left him in gloom. But scarcely were matters left decently so, In walked — not her mother, But — worry and bother ! — The mammoth young farmer, whose first name was Joe. And he gleefully sung, in a heavy bass tone, Which came in one note From the depths of his throat, " I'm glad I have come, since IVe found you alone. Let's sit here a while, by this kerosene light. An' spark it a while now with all of our might." And Bessie wns wfllincr* nnH en ♦•%«,, „^«. down, s 66 FARM LEGENDS. W !5|t''' ■ The maiden so fair and the farmer so Lrown. 1 -xey talked of things great, and they talked of things small, ' Which none could condemn, A'. ! which may have pleased them, But which did not interest the lawyer at all ; And Bessie seemed giving but little concern To the feelings of him slie had shut in the churn. Till Bessie just artlessly mentioned the man And Joe with a will to abuse him began, And called him full many m ignoble name, Appertaining to " Scrubby," And " Shorty," and " Stubby," And other descriDtions not wide of the sp ^ ; And Bessie said naught in the lawyer's behalf, But se onded Joe, now and then, with a laugh ; And the lawyer said nothing, but winked at his late, And, somewhat abashed. And aecidr-dly .^ashtci, THE THREE LOVERS. Accepted Joe's motions sans vote or debate. And several times he, with policy stern, Repressed a desire to break out )f the churn, Well knowing he thus might get savagely used, And if not quite eaten, Would likely be beaten, And probably injured as well as ibused. But now came another quick step at the ^oor, And Bessie was fearful, the same as bcfort ; And tumbling Joe over a couple of chairs, With a general sound Of thunder all round. She hurried him up a short pair oi back-stairs ; And close in the garret condemned him to wait Till orders from her, be it early or late. Then tripping her wav down the s ircase, she said, " I'll smuggle them off when the folk o-et i-o bed." ■ ^ 6S FARM LEOENDS. mm !(' i'"^ It was not her parents ; 'twas crafty young Pat, Returned from his visit ; and straightway /te sat Beside her, remarkinpf, The chairs were in place, So he would sit near her, and view her sweet face. So gaily they talked, as the minutes fast flew, Discussing such matters as bot^ of them knew, While often Miss Bessie's sweet laugh answered back, For Pat, be it known. Had some wit of his own. And in irony's efforts was sharp as a tack. And finally Bessie his dancing tongue led, By a sly dext'rous turn, To the man in the churn, And the farmer, who eagerly listened o'er- head; Whereat the young Irishman volubly gave IF? .i:i •* t THE THREE LOVERS. A short dissertation, Whose main information Was that one was a fool,and the other a knave. were m Slim chance there must be for the world e'er to learn How pleasant this was to the man in the churn ; Though, to borrow a figure lent by his posi- tion, He was doubtless in somewhat a worked-up condition. It may ne'er be sung, and it may ne'er be said, How well it was liked by the giant o'erhead. He lay on a joist — for there wasn't any floor And the joists were so few, And so far apart too, He could not, in comfort, preempt any more ; And he nearly had knocked through the plastering quite, lallenged young Pat to a fair and square fight ; And III ^f•^ < 70 FARM LEGENDS. But he dared not do elsewise than Bessie had said, For fear, as a lover, he might lose his head. U .' But now from the meeting the old folks returned, And sat by the stove as the fire brightly burned ; And Patrick came in from the care of the team ; And since in the house there was overmuch cream, He thought that the horses their supper might earn, And leave him full way To plow early next aay, By working that night for a while at the churn. The old folks consented ; and Patrick went out. Half chuckling, for he had a shrewd Irish doubt, THE THREE LOVERS. 71 From various slight sounds he had chanced to discern, That Bess had a fellow shut up in the churn. The lawyer, meanwhile, in his hiding-place cooped, Low-grunted and hitched and contorted and stooped, But hung to the place like a man in a dream ; And when the young Irishman went for the team, To stay or to fly, he could hardly tell which ; But hoping to get Neatly out of it yet, He concluded to hang till the very last hitch. The churn was one side of the house, recol- lect, So rods with the horse-power outside could connect ; And Bess stood so near that she took the lamp's gleam in 7a FARM LEGENDS. M ■i' m; ^ ■ I While her mother was cheerfully pouring the cream in ; Who, being near-sighted, and minding her cup, Had no notion of what she was covering up ; But the lawyer, meanwhile, had he dared to have spoke, Would have owned that he saw the whole cream of the joke. But just as the voice of young Patrick came strong And clear through the window, " All ready ! go 'long ! " And just as the dasher its motion began, Stirred up by its knocks, Like a jack-in-the-box, He jumped from his damp, dripping prison — and ran, And made a frog-leap o'er the sto^e and a chair, With some crisp Bible words not intended W cia I/rclV'Ci pray* THE THREE LOVERS. 73 All over the kitchen he rampaged and tore, And ran against everything there but the door ; Tipped over old 'Liakim flat on his back, And left a long trail of rich cream on his track. " Ou ! ou ! 'tis a ghost !" quavered 'Liakim's wife; " A ghost, if I ever saw one in my life ! " " The devil I " roared 'Liakim, rubbing his shin. "No! no!" shouted Patrick, who just then came in : " It's only a lawyer ; the devil ne'er runs — To bring on him a laugh — In the shape of a calf; It isn't the devil ; it's one of his sons I If so that the spalpeen had words he could utther^ He'd swear he loved Bessie, an' loved no one butther." h ffi h'l rt If I f 74 F/4AM/ LEGENDS. Now Joe lay full length on the scantling o'erhead, And tried to make out What it all was about, By list'ning to all that was done and was said ; But somehow his balance became uncon- trolled, And he on the plastering heavily rolled. It yielded instanter, came down with a crash, And fell on the heads of the folks with a smash. And there his plump limbs through the orifice swung, And he caught by the arms and disgracefully hung, his ponderous body, so clumsy and thick, Wedged into that posture as tight as a brick. And 'Liakim Smith, by amazement made dumb At those legs in the air Hanging motionless there, 1HE THREE LOVERS. 75 :antling id was uncon- id. L crash, with a j^h the cefully Concluded that this time the devil had come ; And seizing a chair, he belabored them well, While the head pronounced words that no printer would spell. And there let us leave them, 'mid outcry and clatter, To come to their wits, and then settle the matter ; And take for the moral this inference fair : If you're courting a girl, court her honest and square. lick, brick, made QM n: i % T THE SONG OF HOME. m-r-: U: ING me a song, my Alice, and let it be your choice, So as you pipe out plainly, and give me the sweet o* your voice An* it be not new-fashioned : the new-made tunes be cold, An* never awake my fancy like them that's good an' old. Fie on your high-toned gimcracks, with rests an' beats an' points, Shaking with trills an* quavers — creakin* in twenty joints ! Sing me the good old tunes, girl, that roll right off the tongue. Such as your mother gave me when she an' I was young." THE SONO OF HOME. 11 So said the Farmer Thompson, smoking his pipe of clay, Close by his glowing fire-place, at close of a winter day. He was a lusty fellow, with grizzled beard unshorn. Hair half combed and flowing, clothing over- worn ; Boots of mammoth pattern, with many a patch and rent ; Hands as hard as leather, body with labour bent ; Face of resolution, and lines of pain and care, Such as the slow world's vanguards are ever doomed to bear ; While from his eyes the yearnings of unem ployed desire Gleame»i like the fitful embers of a half- smotUe.ed fire. Alice, the country maiden, with the sweet loving face, m fli ii 1 1 ,\WKi 11 I 11 ! : ■ -I .■ I ^ .' t IE' t ijjd < - It 78 F^/?M LEGENDS. Sung these words to an old air, with an un- studied grace : '•There's nothing like an old tune, when friends are far apart, To 'mind them of each other, and draw them heart to heart. New strains across our senses on magic wings may fly, But there's nothing like an old tune to make the heart beat high. " The scenes we have so oft recalled when once again we view, Have lost the smile they used to wear, and seem to us un- true ; V/e gaze upon their faded charms with disappointed eye ; And there's nothing like an old tune to make the heart beat high. " We clasp the hands of former friends— we feel again their kiss — But something that we loved in them, in sorrow now we miss ; For women fade and men grow cold as years go hurrying by; And there's nothing like an old tune to make the heart beat high. " The foresf where we used to roam, we find it swept away ; The cottage where we lived and loved, it moulders to decay ; And all that feeds our hungry hearts may wither, fade, and die ; There's nothing like an old tune to make the heart best high." 1 an un- ds are far n heart to nay fly, the heart in we view, I to us un- nted eye ; the heart gain their V now we ' hurrying the heart pt away ; ulders to ler, fade, earl best THE SONG OF HOME. 79 *' That was well suiv^, my Alice," the farmer proudly said, Vvlien the last strain was finished, and the last word had fled ; *' That is as true as gospel ; and since you've sung so well, I'll give you a bit of a story you've never heard me tell. "When the cry o' the axes first through these parts was heard, I was young and happy, and chipper as a bird; Fast as a flock o' pigeons the days appeared to fly, With no one 'round for a six mile except your mother an' I. Now we are rich, an' no one except the Lord to thank ; Acres of land all 'round us, money in the bank ; But happiness don't stick by me, an* sun- I sh ine am t so true nlf 'fi I In • ill lit II II i' ^^^B ^ 80 F^#?Af LEGENDS. As when I was five-an'-twenty, with twice enough to do. "As for the way your mother an' I made livln* go, Just some time you ask her— of course she ought to know. When she comes back in the morning from nursing Rogers' wife, She'll own she was happy in them days as ever in her life. For I was sweet on your mother ; — why should not I be ? She was the gal I had fought for — she was the world to me ; And since we'd no relations, it never did occur To me that I was a cent less than all the world to her. " But it is often doubtful which way a tree may fall THE SO VO OF HOME. 81 th twice I made urse she ing from days as * ; — why she was ver did all the \''hen you are tou certain, you are not sure at all. When you are overconscious of travelih right — that day Look for a warn in' guide-post that points the other way. For when you - feeling the safest, it very oft falls 01 You rush head remost into a big bull-thistle o' doubt. " Twas in the fall o' '50 that I set out, one day. To hunt for deer an* turkey, or what come in my way ; And wanderin' through the forest, my home I did not seek Until I was gone from the cabin the better part of a week. ^ a tree roo /\^r\r%m •'Ac S^* i'*'^^v'«5 Clin i»" - ladder down, MICROCOPY RESOLUTION TEST CHART (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) 1.0 I.I 1.25 m m m b.uu III 2.8 1 3.2 11 3.6 14.0 1.4 2.5 2.2 2.0 .8 1.6 j= APPLIED IIVMGE I ^■— '■• '653 East Main Street r^S Rochester. New York 14609 USA •-^ (716) 482 - 0300 - Phone ^= (716) 288 - 5989 - Fax ¥\l I- ;: I .: = 4' !i.i! J--5'*5'f J . ' R*' 83 FARM LEGENDS. I Stopped for a bit of supper at the house of Neighbour Brown. He was no less my neighbour that he lived ten miles away ; For neighbourhoods then was different from what they are to-day. •' Now Mrs. Brown was clever — a good, well- meaning soul — And brought to time exactly things under her control. By very few misgoings were her perfections marred. She meant well, with one trouble — she meant it 'most too hard. " Now when I had passed the time o' da)', and laughed at Brown's last jokes, Nat'rally I asked 'em if they had seen my folks. Whereat she shrugged her shoulders quite dangerously-wise, THE SONG OF HOME. 83 i house of : he lived rent from ood, well- igs under erfections >he meant e o* da}', ces, seen my ers quite And looked as if a jury was sittin' in her eyes; And after a prudent silence I thought would never end, Asked if my wife had a brother, or cousin, or other friend ; For some one, passing my cabin, she'd heard, had lately found Rather a sleek an* han'some young fellow hanging round ; Of course it was a brother, or somethin' of that sort ? I told her 'twas a brother, and cut my supper short. *' Which same was wrong, as viewed through a strictly moral eye ; But who, to shield his wife's name, wouldn't sometime tell a lie ? 'Twas nothing but a lie, girl, and for a lie 'twas meant : If brothers sold at a million, she couldn't ha' raised a cent. >ll 84 FARM LEGENDS. ii ' " Home I trudged in a hurry — who could that fellow be ? Home I trudged in a hurry, bound that I would see ; And when I reached my cabin I thought 'twas only fair To peep in at the window an' find out what was there. " A nice, good-fashioned fellow as any in the land Sat by my wife quite closely, a-holdin* of her hand, An' whispering something into her willin' listenin' ear. Which I should judge by her actions she rather liked to hear, •* Now seeing such singular doin's before my very eyes. The Devil he came upon me, and took me by surprise ; THE SONG OF HOME. 85 i He put his hand on my mouth, girl, and never a word I said, But raised my gun an' aimed it straight at the stranger's head. "Lightly I touched the trigger; I drew a good long breath — My heart was full o' Satan, my aim was full o' death ; But at that very instant ihey broke out, clear an' strong, A-singing, both together, a good old-fashioned song. « That simple little song, girl, still in my ears does ring; 'Twas one I had coaxed your mother while courting her to sing ; Never a word I remember how anv verses goes, But this is a little ditty that everybody knows : IV i 86 FARM LEGENDS. How though about a palace you might for ever hang, You'll never feel so happy as In your own shebang. "It woke the recollections of happy days an' years — I slowly dropped my rifle, an' melted intc tears. Miiir^s "It was a neighbours daughter, made on the tomboy plan, Who, keeping my wife company, had dressed like a spruce young man. An* full of new-born praises to Him where they belong, I thanked the Lord for makin* the man who made that good old song." •AJUL »a?«K««— ':k )ur own PAUL'S RUN OFF WITH THE SHOW. ANE, 'tis so — it is so! How cafi I — his mother — bear it ? Paul's run off with the show ! Put all his things in the garret- All o' his working gear ; He's never a-going to wear it, Never again coming here. If he gets sick, deaf, or blind. If he falls and breaks his leg, He can borrow an organ an' grind, He can hobble about and beg. Let him run — good luck behind him 1 I wonder which way they went ? I suppose i might follow an' find him.— 88 FARM LEGENDS. 1^ J3 li IHHh ^BHHi III IHhHh ni i ijHHHttjR Hi ! JlllnUniJjy Si ' fflBBFJ n' ll^BBR n nHUlK 1 i^HI I :f But no ! let him keep to his bent ! I'm never a-going to go For a boy that runs off with the show ! Lay his books up in the chamber ; He never will want them now ; Never c/i'd want them much. He al'ays could run and clamber, Make somersets on the mow, Hand-springs, cart-wheels, an' such, And other profitless turning ; But when it came to learning, He would always shirk somehow. I was trimming him out for a preacher. When he got over being wild (He was always a sturdy creature A sinfully thrifty child) ; A Cartwright preacher, perhaps, As could eat strong boiled dinners. Talk straight to saucy chaps, And kno'^^ rl^..,», c^Uj.'.^ • "*^ tvi.^jvrL \j.\jv\,n iii^niiii smners. PAUL'S RUN OFF WITH THE SHOW 5wf I told him of all Heaven's mercies, Raked his sins o'er and o'er, Made him learn Scripture verses, Half a thousand or more ; I sung the hymn-book through him, I whipped the Bible into him, In grace to make him grow : What did such training call for .•* What did I name him Paul for ?— To have him run off with a show ? »•) ,er. All o' the wicked things That are found in circus rings, I taught him to abhor 'em ; But he always was crazy for 'em. I know what such follies be ; For once in my life — woe's me Let's see — 'Twas the fall before Paul was torn— I myself was crazy for shows. How it happened, Goodness knows ; But howe'er it did befall — ^4" f if, I I I FARM LEGENDS. Whate'er may ha' been the reason — For once I went to all The circuses of the season, I watched 'em, high an* low, Painfully try to be jolly ; I laughed at the tricks o' the clown : I went and saw their folly, In order to preach it down : Little enough did I know That Paul would run off with a show! What'll they do with the boy ? They'll stand him upon a horse, To his exceeding joy, To teach him to ride, of course. Sakes ! he can do that now ! He can whip old Jim to a jump, And ride upon him standing, And never get a thump — Never a bit of harm. He has trained all the beasts on the farm, From the ducks to the brindle cow, PAUL'S RUN OFF WITH THE SHOW. 9« To follow his commanding. Sakes ! that it should be so I Him's I've brought up i' the bosom Of church, and all things good : All my pains — I shall lose 'em- Might have known that I would. I had hopes beyond my countin', I had faith as big as a mountain ; But somehow I knew all the while He'd turn out in some such style — Always had that fear. Well, he's never comin' back here. If he comes to any harm, If he falls an' sprains his arm, If he slips and breaks his leg, He can hobble about an' beg. He can — Who is that boy out there, ^ane, Skuikin' 'long by the railroad track, Head an' feet all bare. Janej One eye dressed in black ? I t" ,•■ 92 FARM LEGENDS. My boy ! Come in ! come in I Come in ! come in ! come in ! Come in — you shan't be hurt. Come in — you shall rest — you shall lest. Why, you're all over blood an' dirt ! Did they hurt you? — well, well, it's too bad. So you thought the old home the best ? You won't run off ag'in ? Well, come in, come in, poor lad ; Come in — come in — come in ' «/< •fHi M4 THE KEY TO THOMAS' HEART, [IDE with me, Uncle Nathan ? . . . I don't care an' I do. My poor old heart's in a hurry ; I'm anxious to get through. My soul outwalks my body ; my legs ^re far from strong ; An' it's mighty kind o' you, doctor, to help the old man along. I'm some'at full o' hustle ; there's business to be done. I've just been out to the village to see my youngest son. You used to know him, doctor, ere he his age did get, n 1 f T |ir% *• r%A I e^^r\ !• i *«.ii ti i cini u iiii3t£in.di, y\JU SUiiiCUiiiCS ;jcc him yet. r '.'. ! 94 FARM LEGENDS. i I ! We took him through his boyhood, with never a ground for fears ; But somehow he stumbled over his early manhood's years. The landmarks that we showed him, he seems to wander from, Though in his heart th'^re was never a better boy than Tom. He was quick o' mind an' body in all he done an' said ; But all the gold he reached for, it seemed to turn to lead. The devil of grog it caught him, an held him, though the while He has never grudged his parents a pleasant word an' smile. The devil of grog it caught him, an' then he turned an' said, By that which fed from off him, .e hencefortii would be fed ; THE KEY TO THOMAS' HEART. 95 i, with 3 early im, he L better ,e done lied to 1 held leasant hen he lefortii An' that which lived upon him, should give him a livin' o'er ; An' bO he keeps that groggery that's next to Wilson's store. But howsoe'er he's wandered, I've al'ays so far heard That he had a sense of honour, an' never broke his word ; An' his mother, from the good Lord, she says, ha^ nderstood That, if he agrees to be sober, he'll keep the promise good. An' so when just this mornin' these poor old eyes o' mine Saw all the women round him, a-coaxin' him to sign, An' when the Widow Adams let fly a home- spun prayer, An* he looked kind o' wild like, an' started unaware, I 96 FARM LEGENDS. ■ mi-: An* glanced at her an instant, an' then at his kegs o' rum, I somehow knew in a minute the turnin'-point had come ; An' he would be as good a man as ever yet there's been, Or else let go for ever, an* sink in the sea of sin. An* I knew, whatever efforts might carry him or fail, There was only one could help God to turn the waverin' scale ; An* I skulked away in a hurry — I was bound to do my part — To get the mother, who carries the key to Thomas' heart. She's gettin' old an' feeble, an' childish in her talk ; An' we've no horse an' buggy, an* she will have to walk : jii^ THE KEY TO THOMAS* HEART. 97 Bl5 ihe would be fast to come, sir, the gracious chance to seize, If she had to crawl to Thomas upon her hands an' knees. Crawl ? — walk ? No, not if I know it ! So set your mind at rest. Why, hang it! I'm Tom's customer, and said to be his best ! But if this blooded horse here will show his usual power. Poor Tom shall see his mother in less than half an hour. i iil: H ill m ilui if; :ir h '. :'■ m THE DOCTOR'S STORY, I. 00 D folks ever will have their way— • Good folks ever for it must pay. But we, who are here and everywhere, The burden of their faults must bear. We must shoulder others' shame — Fight their follies, and take their blame ; Purge the body, and humour the mind ; Doctor the eyes when the soul is blind ; Build the column of health erect On the quicksands of neglect : Always shouldering others* shame- Bearing their faults and taking the blame I THE DOCTOR'S STORY. 99 II. Deacon Rogers he came to me ; " Wife is agoin' to die," said he. •* Doctors great, an' doctors small, Haven't improved her any at all. " Physic and blister, powders and pills, And nothing sure but the doctors' bills I '• Twenty women, with remedies new, Bother my wife the whole day through. " Sweet as honey, or bitter as gall — Poor old woman, she takes 'em all. " Sour or sweet, v/hatever they choose ; Poor old woman, she daren't refuse. ** So she pleases whoe'er may call, An' Death is suited the best of all. *' Physic and blister. Dowder an' nJlI— . Bound to conquer, and sure to kill I " 100 FARM LEGENDS. III. Mrs. Rogers lay In her bed, Bandaged and blistered from foot to head. Blistered and bandaged from head to toe, Mrs. Rogers was very low. Bottle and saucer, spoon and cup, On the table stood bravely up ; Physics of high and low degree ; Calomel, catnip, boneset tea ; Everything a body could bear, Excepting light and water and air. I. IV. I opened the blinds ; the day was bright, And God gave Mrs. Rogers some light. I opened the window : the dav was fair. - ■ f r And God gave Mrs. Rogers some air. THE DOCTOR'S STORY. lOI to head, d to toe, Bottles and blisters, powders and pills, Catnip, boneset, sirups, and squills ; Drugs and medicines, high and low, I threw them as far as I could throw. ** What are you doing ? " my patient cried ; '• Frightening Death," I coolly replied. " You are crazy ! " a visitor said : I flung a bottle at his head. r. 5 bright, 2 light. as fair. e air. V. Deacon Rogers he came to me ; '• Wife is a-gettin' her health," said he. " I really think she will worry through ; She scolds me just as she used to do. " All the people have poohed an' slurred — All the neighbours have had their word ; » TTx>i'w t--i_i«.i-i i.\j ^-v^i ion, ouiiic ui ciii bay, Than be cured in such an irregular way." lifiii U l.i m 101 FARM LEGENDS. VI. "Your wife," said I, "had God's good care, And His remedies, light and water and air. " All of the doctors, beyond a doubt, Couldn't have cured Mrs. Roofers without." VII. The deacon smiled and bowed his head ; " Then your bill is nothing," he said. " God's be the glory, as you say ! God bless you, doctor! good-day! good-day!" VIII. If ever I doctor that woman again, I'll give her medicine made by men. od care, and air. ithout." lead ; Dod-day!" ^S^^^^^^OK^^Bi >''M\J^ ^^^^M^^psKk ^^.^^u^LJ^j^c:.^^'^^ THE CHRISTMAS BABY. ** Tha'rt welcome, little bonny brtd, But shouldn't ha' come just when tha' did t Teimes are bad." English Ballad, [GOT ! ye little rascal ! ye come it on me this way. Crowdin' yerself amongst us this blusterin' winter's day, Knowin* that we already have three of ye, an' seven, An' tryin' to make yerself out a Christmas present o' Heaven ? Ten of ye have we now, Sir, for this world to abuse ; yVfj' Robbie he have no waistcoat, an' Nellie she have no shoes, HI' I f l¥ It 1 ■ 1 ^^^^nnni ft mv 'h aBSn P' 1 1 i 104 FARM LEGENDS. An Sammie he have no shirt, Sir (I tell It to his shame), An' the one that was just before ye we ain't had time to name ! An' all o' the banks be smashin', an' on us poor folk fall ; An' Boss he whittles the wages when work's to be had at all ; An' Tom he have cut his foot off, an lies in a woful plight, An* all of us wonders at mornin' as what we shall eat at night ; An' but for your father an' Sandy a-findin' somewhat to do, An' but for the preacher's woman, who often helps us through. An' but for your poor dear mother a-doin' twice her part, Ye'd 'a seen us all in heaven afore ye was readv to start 1 I tell it we am t i' on us n work's n' lies in what we a-findin' ho often THE CHRISTMAS BABY. 105 An' now^^ have come, ye rascal ! so healthy an' fat an' sound, A-weighin', I'll wager a dollar, the full of a dozen pound ! With yer mother's eyes a-flashin, yer father's flesh an' build, An' a good big mouth an' stomach all ready for to be filled I No, no ! don't cry, my baby ! hush up, my pretty one ! Don't get my chaff in yer eye, boy — I only was just in fun. Yell like us when ye know us, although we're cur' us folks ; But we don't get much victual, an' half our livin' is jokes 1 r a-doin' ye was Why, boy, did ye take me in earnest ? come, sit upon my knee ; I'll tell ve a secret, vounarster. I'll name ye after me. '(!• i'l' T06 FARM LEGENDS. Ye shall have all yer brothers an' sisters with ye to piay, An' ye shall have yer carriage, an' ride out every day ! ill:: Why, boy, do ye think ye'll suffer? I'm gettin' a trifle old, But it'll be many years yet before I losp my hold; An' if I should fall on the road, boy, still, them's yer brothers, there, An' not a rogue of 'em ever would see ye harmed a hair ! Say! when ye come from heaven, my little namesake dear. Did ye see, 'mongst the little girls there, a face like this one here ? That was yer little sister — she died a year ago. An' all of us cried like babies when they laid her under the sno^ THE CHRIST '.tA^ BABY. 107 :rs with ide out ? I'm Dse my y, still, see ye Hang it! if all the rich men I ever see or knew Came here with all their traps, boy, an' offered 'cm for you, I'd show 'em to the door, Sir. so quick they'd think it odd, Before I'd sell to another my Christmas gift from God 1 y little lere, a a year ey laic) 1 ^■'-- :.:„;ri' la i ■ : iL,. ,. if 11 f ' w % \i ! iffi V ': ■ i Hi ^^. ■ i ■L.. Hiii HP "' ■ OTHER POEMS. if OTHER POEMS. COVER THEM OVER. [OVER them over with beautiful flowers ; Deck them with garlands, those brothers ofours; Lying so silent, by night and by day, Sleeping the years of their manhood away : Years they had marked for the joys of the brave ; Years they must waste in the sloth of the grave. All the bright laurels they fought to make bloom Fell to the earth when they went to the tomb. J'^^ 112 FARM LEGENDS. Give them the meed they have won in the past ; Give them the honours their merits forecast ; Give them the chaplets they won in the strife ; Give them the laurels they lost with their life. Cover them over — yes, cover them over — Parent, and husband, and brother, and lover ■: Crown in your heart these dead heroes of ours, And cover them over with beautiful flowers. Cover the faces that motionless lie, Shut from the blue of the glorious sky : Faces once lit with the smiles of the gay — Faces now marred by the frown of decay. Eyes that beamed friendship and love to your own ; Lips that sweet thoughts of affection made known ; Brows you have soothed in the day of distress ; Cheeks you have flushed by the tender caress. pt.i >a.?r .s-H()ii ' COVKK THEM OVER. »»3 I in the •recast ; i strife ; eir life, '^er — lover •: of ours, lowers, ray- cay, ove to \ made day of caress. Faces that brightened at War's stirring cry ; Faces that streamed when they bade you good-bye ; Faces that glowed in the battle's red flame. Paling for naught, till the Death Angel came. Cover them over— yes, cover them over- Parent, and husband, and brother, and lover: Kiss in your hearts these dead heroes of ours, And cover them over with beautiful flowers. Cover the hands that are resting, half-tried, Crossed on the bosom, or low by the side : Hands to you, mother, in infancy thrown ; Hands that you, father, close hid in your own ; Hands where you, sister, when tried and dis- mayed, Hung for protection and counsel and aid ; Hands that you, brother, for faithfulness knew ; Hands that you, wife, wrung in bitter adieu. Bravely the cross of their country they bore ; Words of devotion they wrote with their gore; H 114 FARM LEGENDS. 1 m iij ''. 1: • 1 Ui; M i I' m If i , Grandly they grasped for a garland of light, Catching the mantle of death-darkened night. Cover them over— yes, cover them over- Parent, and husband, and brother, and lover : Clasp in your hearts these dead heroes of ours, And cover them over with beautiful flowers. Cover the feet that, all weary and torn. Hither by comrades were tenderly borne: Feet that have trodden, through love-lighted ways, Near to your own, in the old happy days ; Feet that have pressed, in Life's opening morn, Roses of pleasure, and Death's poisoned thorn. Swiftly they rushed to the help of the right. Firmly they stood in the shock of the fight. Ne'er shall the enemy's hurrying tramp Summon them forth from their death-guarded camp ; COVER THEM OVER. "S L of light, fied night, over — ind lover : heroes of ul flowers, torn, borne : )ve-lighted )y days ; ;'s opening 5 poisoned " the right, f the fight, tramp ath-ofuarded Ne'er, till Eternity's bugle shall sound, Will they come out from their couch in the ground. Cover them over — yes, cover them over — Parent, and husband, and brother, and lover : Rough were the paths of those heroes of ours— Now cover them over with beautiful flowers. Cover the hearts that have beaten so high, Beaten with hopes that were born but to die ; Hearts that have burned in the heat of the fray, Hearts that have yearned for the homes far away ; Hearts that beat high in the charge's loud tramp, Hearts that low fell in the prison's foul damp. Once they were swelling with courage and will. Now they are lying all pulseless and still ; Once they were glowing with friendship and love. Now the great souls have gone soaring above. Il6 FARM LEGENDS. i Bravely their blood to the nation they gave, Then in her bosom they found them a grave. Cover them over — yes, cover them over — Parent, and husband, and brother, and lover : Press to your hearts these dead heroes of ours, And cover them over with beautiful flowers. One there is, sleeping in yonder low tomb, Worthy the brightest of flow'rets that bloom. Weakness of womanhood's life was her part ; Tenderly strong was her generous heart. Bravely she stood by the sufferer s side, Checking the pain and the life-bearing tide ; Fightingtheswift-sweeping phantom of Death, Easing the dying man's fluttering breath ; Then, when the strife that had nerved her was o'er, Calmly she went to where wars are no more. Voices have blessed her now silent and dumb ; Voices will bless her in long years to come. Cover her over — yes, cover her over — Blessings, like angels, around her shall hover; COVER THEM OVER. 117 -y gave, a grave. Dver — id lover : IS of ours, flowers. ^ tomb, It bloom, her part ; leart. ;ide, ng tide ; of Death, reath ; rved her no more, id dumb; 3 come, r — ill hover; Cherish the name of that sister of ours. And cover her over with beautiful flowers. Cover the thousands who sleep far away— Sleep where their friends cannot find them to-day ; They who in mountain and hill-side and dell Rest where they wearied, and lie where they fell. Softly the grass-blade creeps round their repose ; Sweetly above them the wild flow'ret blows ; Zephyrs of freedom fly gently o'erhead, Whispering names for the patriot dead. So in our minds we will name them once more, So in our hearts we will cover them o'er • Roses and lilies and violets blue Bloom in our souls for the brave and the true. Cover them over— yes, over them over- Parent, and husband, and brother, and lover : Think of those far-awav hern^c r^f r^vr^ And cover them over with beautiful flowers. I Ii8 FARM LEGENDS. P .:3. , }■ . m When the long years have crept slowly away, E'en to the dawn of Earth's funeral day ; When, at the Archangel's trumpet and tread, Rise up the faces and forms of the dead ; When the great world its last judgment awaits ; When the blue sky shall swing open its gates, And our long columns march silently through, Past the Great Captain, for final review ; Then for the blood that has flown for the right. Crowns shall be given, untarnished and bright ; Then the glad ear of each war- martyred son Proudly shall hear the good judgment, "Well done." Blessings for garlands shall cover them over — Parent, and husband, and brother, and lover* C,r,f\ will rewnrH those dead heroes of ours, And cover them over with beautiful flowers. ly away, day; id tread, lead ; udgment its gates, silently 'iew ; I for the hed and iyred son udgment, er them nd lover * of ours, [ flowers. RIFTS IN THE CLOUD. [Graduating Poem, June 17, 1S69,] IFE is a cloud — e'en take it as you may ; Illumine it with Pleasure's transient ray; Brighten its edge with Virtue ; let each fold E'en by the touch of God be flecked with gold, While angel-wings may kindly hover near, And angel-voices murmur words of cheer, Still, life's a cloud, for ever hanging nigh. For ever o'er our winding pathways spread, Ready to blacken on some saddened eye, And hurl its bolts on some defenceless head. Hl'-f P^^ i ISO Fi4/?^ LEGENDS. 'ill;! I- i ^ " Yes, there are lives that seem to know no ill ; Paths that seem straight, with naught of thorn or hill. r^j^y^ The bright and glorious sun, each welcome Flashes upon the flowers that deck their way, And the soft zephyr sings a lullaby, 'Mid rustling trees, to please the ear and eye : And all the darling child of fortune needs, And all his dull, half-slumbering caution heeds, While fairy eyes their watch above him keep, Is breath to live and weariness to sleep. But life's a cloud ! and soon the smiling sky May wear the unwelcome semblance of a frown, And the fierce tempest, madly rushing by, May raise its dripping wings, and strike him down 1 When helpless infancy, for love or rest Lies nestling to a mother's yearning breast, While she, enamoured of its ways and wiles As motliers only are, looks down and smiles 4 RIFTS IN THE CLOUD. 131 ^ no ill ; ught of [day, velcome eir way, nd eye : seds, n. heeds, n keep, sp. ng sky ce of a ?by, . strike t, reast, wiles smiles i And spies a thousand unsuspected charms In the sweet babe she presses in her arms. While he, the love-light kindled in his eyes. Sends to her own, electrical replies, A ray of sunshine comes for each caress, From out the clear blue sky of happiness. But life's a cloud I and soon the smiling face The frowns and tears of childish grief may know, And the love-language of the heart give place To the wild clamour of a baby's woe. The days of youth are joyful in their way ; Bare feet tread lightly, and their steps are gay. Parental kindness grades the early path. And shields it from the storm-king's dreaded wrath. But there are thorns that prick the infant flesh, And bid the youthful eyes to flow afresh. mj^r'f^r '4^A f;! 122 FARM LEGENDS. Thorns that maturer nerves would never feel, With wounds that bleed not less, that soon they heal. When we look back upon our childhood days, Look down the long and sweetly verdant ways Wherein we gaily passed the shining hours, We see the beauty of its blooming flowers. We breathe its fresh and fragrant air once more. And, counting all its many pleasures o'er, And giving them their natural place of chief, Forget our disappointments and our grief Sorrows that now were light, then weighed us down, . And claimed our tears for every surly frown. For life's a cloud, e'en take it as we will, The changing wind ne'er banishes or lifts ; The pangs of grief but make it darker still, And happiness is nothing but its rifts. There is a joy in sturdy manhood still ; Bravery is joy ; and he who says, I will, RIFTS IN THE CLOUD. 123 lever {ed, that soon ood days, lant ways ^ hours, lowers, air once 1 o'er, of chief, grief, weighed y frown, will, or lifts ; er still, ifts. 11; ILL, And turns, with swelling heart, and dares the fates. While firm resolve upon his purpose waits, Is happier for the deed ; and he whose share Is honest toil, pits that against dull care. And yet, in spite of labour, faith, or prayer. Dark clouds and fearful o'er our paths are driven ; They take the shape of monsters in the air, And almost shut our eager gaze from heaven ! Disease is there, with slimy, loathsome touch, With hollow, blood-shot eyes and eager clutch, Longing to strike us down with pangs of pain, And bind us there, with weakness' galling chain. Ruin is there, with cunning ambush laid. Waiting some panic in the ranks of trade. By recreant knave abused, to snatch the crust ^ 5 . 124 F^/?A/ LEGENDS. ^M Ui i^!i HP'^' • ,1 From out the mouths of them we love the best, And bring gaunt hunger, an unwelcome guest. Disgrace is there, of honest look bereft, Truth in his right hand, falsehood in his left, Pride in his mouth, the devil in his eye, His garment truth, his cold black heart a lie. Forging the bolts to blast some honoured name ; Longing to see some victim wronged or wrong ; To see him step into the pool of shame, Or soiled by loved ones that to him belong. A dark cloud hovers over every zone— The cloud of ignorance. The great un- known, Defying comprehension, still hangs low Above our feeble minds. When we who now RIFTS IN THE CLOUD. 125 love the velcome his left, rt a lie, )noured iged or e, o him at un- V e who Have stumbled 'neath the ever-varying load That marks the weary student's royal road, Have hurried over verbs in headlong haste, And various thorny paths of language traced ; Have run our muddled heads, with rueful sigh, 'Gainst figures truthful, that yet seemed to lie; Have peeped into the Sciences, and learned How much we do not know ; have bravely turned Our guns of eloquence on forest trees, And preached grave doctrines to the way- ward breeze ; When we have done all this, the foggy cloud, With scarce a rift, is still above us bowed ; And we are children, on some garden's verge. Groping for flowers the opposing wall be- neath, Who, flushed and breathless, may at last p?mer0"e. With a few scanty blossoms for a wreath. I, Si 126 FARM LEGENDS. Ill But never was a cloud so thick and black, But it might some time break, and on its track The glorious sun come streaming. Never, too, So but its threads might bleach to lighter hue, Was sorrow's mantle of so deep a dye. And he who, peering at the troubled sky, Looks past the clouds, or looks the cloud- rifts through, Or, finding none, remembers their great worth, And strikes them for himself, is that man who Shows the completest wisdom of this earth. When one stands forth in Reason's glorious light. Stands in his own proud consciousness of right, RJFTS IN THE CLOUD. 127 black, 1 on its Never, ► lighter 'e. I sky, e cloud- :ir great lat man of this glorious sness of Laments his faults, his virtues does not boast, Studies all creatures — and himself the most — Knowing the way wherewith his faults to meet, Or, vanquished by tbem, owning his defeat, He pays the penalty as should a man, And pitches battle with the foe again ; When, giving all their proper due and heed, He yet has power, when such shall be the need. To go his way, unshackled, true, and free, And bid the world go hanged, if needs must be. He strikes a rift for his unfearing eye Through the black cloud of low servility : A cloud that's decked the Orient all these years ; Neath whose low-bending folds, 'mid groans and tears, Priestcraft has heaped its huge, ill-gotten gains. And tyrants forged their bloody, clanking chains ; :^r^^- ^■'T'lf^f" 1^ hV, I*. Ui I'M 138 FARM LEGENDS. A cloud, that when the Mayflower^s precious cup The misty, treacherous deep held proudly up, By waves that leaped and dashed each other o'er, But onward still the ark of Freedom bore. Some fair and peaceful Ararat to find, Plumed its black wings, and swept not far behind. To-day it lowers o'er this great, free land— O'er farms and workshops, offices and spires — Its baleful shadow casts on every hand. And darkens Church and State and house- hold fires. It is a thing to pity and to blame, A useless, vile, humiliating shame, A silent slander on the Heaven-born soiil, Decked with the signet of its own control, A flaw upon the image of our God, When men, obedient to some Mogul's nod— J; RIFTS IN THE CLOUD. 129 precious 'udly up, ch other bore, I, not far land — :es and i house- soul, itrol, i nod- When men, the sockets of whose addled brains Are blessed with some illuminate remains Wherefrom the glim of reason still is shed Blow out the light, and send their wits 'to bed ; And, taking as their sole dictator, then. Some little, thundering god of speech or pen, Aping submissively the smile or frown Of some great brazen face that beats them down, Or silenced by some lubricated tongue, Covered with borrowed words and neatly hung — They yield their judgments up to others' wills, And take grave creeds like sugar-coated pills ; And, with their weakness tacitly confessed. Like the unfeathered fledgelings of a nest,' Wnen the old bird comes hom^ w.Vh «....Lo and flies- I m •'m\ liiii 'h i •' 'i "II ir 1 u: 1!^ 130 FARM LEGENDS. With half a smile and half a knowing frown, They open wide their mouths, and shut their eyes. And seem to murmur softly, ''Drop it doivny He who will creep about some great man's feet, The honeyed fragrance of his breath to meet, Or follow him about, with crafty plan, And cringe for smiles and favours, is no man. A fraction of a man, and all his own, Although his numerator be but one, With unity divided up so fine That thousands range themselves beneath the line — Ay, one so insignificantly small That quick accountants count him not at all — Is better far, and vastly nobler, too, Thansomegreatswellingcipheramongmen, Naught of itself, and nothing else to do Except to help some little one count ten ! i> ■*•-*(? RIFTS IN THE CLOUD. 131 Let us e'en strike, with courage true endowed, Straight at the centre of this murky cloud, And sweep its worthless vapour from the earth. Take sense for coin ; opinions at their worth ; Conviction at its cost ; dictation, when Our minds and souls are bankrupt— hardly then ! When Freedom's sons and daughters will do this, Our land will know a day of happiness, Fit for such joy as never yet was seen. E'en when Emancipation tried her keen Bright blade upon the galling chains of steel. And stamped the action with the nation's seal. E'en when the cable its initial spark Brought flashing through the ocean's deep and dark ; E'en when was fixed, with far-resounding strokes. With song, and praise, and thankfulness and mirth, -f till! ; I,. M; iisiii Ih: 13a FARM LEGENDS. The golden fastening of the chain that yokes The two great restless oceans of the earth.' But over all, and round about us spread, Hangs the black cloud o^ Death : a thunder- head, Yet ominously silent ; moving on, While from its threatening folds, so deep and dark. The forked lightning, ever and anon, Shoots for some life, and never fails its mark. There was one classmate is not here to-day ; Many an oak is blasted on its way, Many a growing hope is overthrown. What might have been, his early growth had shown ; What was, our love and tears for him may tell; He lived, he toiled, he faded, and he fell. When our friend lay within that narrow room Men call a coffin— in its cheerless gloom m RIFTS IN THE CLOUD. 133 at yokes be earth .' ead, thunder- , so deep r fails its •e to-day ; n. rowth had him may he fell, rrow room gloom Himself the only tenant, and asleep In a long slumber, terrible and deep ; When at the open door his pale, sad face Appeared to us, without a look or trace Of recognition in its ghastly hue, Soon to be hid for ever from our view ; When, with his sightless eyes to heaven upturned, Wherefrom his royal soul upon them burned, He waited for his last rites to be said. With the pathetic patience of the dead ; When tenderly his manly form we lay In its last couch, with covering of clay ; Who in that mournful duty had a part, But felt the cloud of Death upon his heart ? But when we thought how his unfettered soul, Free from his poor sick body's weak control, Pluming its wings at the Eternal throne. Might take through realms of space its rapid flight, And find a million joys to us unknown, The cloud was rifted by a ray of light. mw'mni U4 FARM LEGENDS. Old class of '69 ! together, still, We've journeyed up the rough and toilsome hill; Seeking the gems to labour ne'er denied, Plucking the fruits that deck the mountain- side. Now, in the glory of this summer day, We part, and each one goes his different way. Let each, with hope to fire his yearning soul, Still hurry onward to the shining goal. The way at times may dark and weary seem, No ray of sunshine on our path may beam. The dark clouds hover o'er us like a pall, And gloom and sadness seem to compass all ; But still, with honest purpose, toil we on ; And if our steps be upright, straight, and true, Far in the east a golden light shall dawn, And the bright smile of God come burst- ing through. toilsome nied, lountain- rent way. ling soul, lal. iry seem, y beam, a pall, npass all ; ^e on ; light, and dawn, me burst- SOME TIME. STRONG and terrible Ocean, O grand and glorious Ocean, O restless, stormy Ocean, a million fathoms o'er ! When never an eye was near thee to view thy turbulent glory, When never an ear to hear thee relate thy endless story, What didst thou the**', O Ocean ? Did' : toss thy foam in ai: With never a bark to fear thee and never a soul to dare ? " Oh, I was the self-same Ocean, The saniC majestic Ocean, The strong and terrible Ocean, with rock- embattled shore ; I threw my ncccy blanket up over my shoulders bc.r'^. FARM LEGENDS. I raised my head in triumph, and tossed my grizzled hair ; For I knew that some time — some time — White-robed ships would venture from out of the placid bay, Forth to my heaving bosom, my lawful pride or prey ; I knew that some time — some time — Lordly men and maidens my servile guests would be, And hearts of sternest courage would falter and bend to me." O deep and solemn Forest, O sadly whispering Forest, O lonely moaning Forest, that murmureth evermore ! When never a footstep wandered across thy sheltered ineadows, When never a wild bird squandered his music 'mid thy shadows, Vv Iiat didst thou then, O Forest ? Didst robe thyself in green. '|:IH51 ■ ^m SOME TIME. 137 Dssed my le time — from out vful pride ne — ilc guests >uld falter urmureth cross thy lered his ? Didst And pride thyself in beauty the while to be unseen ? " Oh, I was the self-same Forest, The same low-whispering Forest, The softly murmuring Forest, and all of my beauties wore. I dressed myself in splendour all through the lonely hours ; I twined the vines around me, and covered my lap with flowers ; For I knew that some time — some time — Birds of beautiful plumage would flit and nestle here ; Songs of marvellous sweetness would charm my listening ear ; I knew that some time — some time — Lovers would gaily wander 'neath my pro- tecting boughs, And into the ear of my silence would whisper holy vows." O fair and beautiful Maiden, O pure and winsome Maiden, 138 FARM LEGENDS. O grand and peerless Maiden, created to adore ! When no love came to woo thee that won thy own love-treasure, When never a heart came to thee thy own heart-wealth could measure. What didst thou then, O Maiden ? Didst smile as thou smilest now, With ne'er the kiss of a lover upon thy snow- white brow ? " Oh, I was the self-same Maiden, The simple and trusting Maiden, The happy and careless Maiden, with ;ill of my love in store. I gaily twined my tresses, and cheerfully went my way ; I took no thought of the morrow, and cared for the cares of the day ; For I knew that some time — some time— Into the path of my being the Love of my life would glide, And we by the gates of heaven would wander side by side." eated to won thy thy own ' Didst ly snow- len, m, :h ull of leerfully d cared ; time— 2 of my wander K£ ^^Ti^jB^Byf^^i^PiSiTft 'WI/ liSIr ^^Bt^mvtQB ^^^^KWi ^^^m BROTHERS AND FRIENDS. [Reunion of Alpha Kappa Phi Society, June i6, 1875. ] [OULD I might utter all my heart can feel! But there are thouorhts weak words will not reveal. The rarest fruitage is the last to fall ; The strongest language hath no words at all. When first the uncouth student comes in sight — A sturdy plant, just struggling toward the light- Arriving at his future classic home, He gazes at the high-perched college dome, Striving, through eyes with a vague yearning Him _ , To spy some future glory there for him. ii ! lii-: i 140 FARM LEGENDS. A child hi thought, a man in strong desire, A clod of clay, vexed by a restless fire, When, with hard hands, and uncongenial locks. And clothes as speckled as young Jacobs flocks. Homesick and heartsick, tired and desolate, He leans himself 'gainst Learning's iron gate. While all the future frowns upon his track, And all the past conspires to pull him back, When, with tired resolution in his looks, He bends above the cabalistic books, And strives, with knitted forehead throbbing hot. To learn what older students have forgot ; And wonders how the Romans and the Greeks Could cry aloud and spare their jaws and cheeks ; And wants the Algebraic author put On an equation, tied there, head and foot, BROTHERS AND FRIENDS. 141 desire, ire, congenial I Jacob's lesolate, ron gate, J track, im back, loks, irobbing 3rgot ; and the iws and Which then, with all Reduction's boasted strength. May be expanded to prodigious length ; When he reflects, with rueful, pain-worn phiz. What a sad, melancholy dog he is, And how much less unhappy and forlorn Are all those students who are not yet born ; When Inexperience like a worm is twined Around the clumsy fingers of his mind, And Discipline, a stranger yet unknown, Struts grandly by and leaves him all alone ; What cheers him better than to feel and see Some other one as badly off as he ? Or the sincere advice and kindly aid Of those well worked in Study's curious trade ? What help such solace and improvement lends As the hand-grasp of Brothers and of Friends ? foot, V^hen. with a wildlv ominous halloo The frisky Freshman shuffles into view. I ilii; liH- i if' ■ III •J'> III 145 FARM LEGENDS. And shouts aloud the war-cry of his clan, And makes friends with the devil like a man ; When, looking upward at the other classes. He dubs them as three tandem-teams of asses, And, scarcely knowing what he does it for. Vows against them unmitigated war. And aims to show them that though they may tread In stately, grand procession o'er his head, The animated pathway that they scorn. May sometimes bristle with a hidden thorn ; When, with a vigilance that to nothing yields, He scans the fruitage of the neighbouring fields. And in the solemn night-time doth entwine Affection's fingers round the melon-vine ; When ae tired waggon from its sheltering shed To strange, uncouth localities is led, And, with the night for a dissecting-room, Is analysed amid the friendly gloom ; i! $ is clan, ke a man ; r classes, IS of asses, es it for, ■r, )ugh they s head, :orn, en thorn ; nothinp- [■hbourinof entwine vine ; helterino; BROTHERS AND FRIENDS, >43 room, When the hushed rooster, cheated of his cry, From his spoiled perch bids this vain world good-bye ; When, in the chapel, an unwilling guest, And living sacrifice, a cow doth rest ; When from the tower, the bell's notes, pealing down, Rouse up the fireman from the sleeping town, Who, rushing to the scene, with duty fired, Finds his well-meant assistance unrequired, And, creeping homeward, steadily doth play Upon the third commandment all the way ; When are played off, with mirth-directed aims, At the staid Alma Mater, various games. As feline juveniles themselves regale In the lithe folds of the maternal tail. And when these antics have gone far enough, Comes from her paw a well-considered cuff, What more to soothe the chastened spirit tends Than sympathy from Brothers and from Friends ? »44 FARM LEGENDS. iiiil 1 n: II ll!i- ir i'l i 1; ; 1 r:' ■! 1 1' : i I ^ ' -^1 ■4 •■ m 1 When the deep Sophomore has well begun The study of his merits, one by one, And found that he, a bright scholastic blade, Is fearfully and wonderfully made ; Discovers how much greater is his share Of genius than he was at first aware ; When, with a ken beyond his tender age, He sweeps o'er History's closely printed page, Conjecturiiig how this world so long endured, With his co-operation unsecured ; When, with his geometrical survey Trigonometrically brought in play, He scans two points, with firm, unmoved design To join them sooner than by one straight line ; When he, with oratoric hand astir, Rolls back the tide of ages — as it were ; When Cicero he decides for reading fit, And tolerates happy Horace for his wit ; When he across Zoology takes sight. To see what creatures were created right, BROTHERS AND FRIENDS. US ill begun le, istic blade, share re; er age, nted page, g endured, unmoved e straight ^ere; 5 wit ; It, [ right, And looks the plants that heaven has fashioned through, To see if they were rightly finished, too ; When he his aid to any cause can lend, In readiness, on short notice, to ascend From any well-worn point, secure and soon, In his small oratorical balloon, Expecting, when his high trip's end appears, Descent upon a parachute of cheers ; When he decides, beneath a load of care, What whiskered monogram his face shall wear; When, from his mind's high shoulders crop- ping out, Linguistic feathers constantly do sprout, Which, ere they meet the cool outsider's scoff. Require a quiet, friendly picking-off ; What better to this operation lends Than the critiques of Brothers and of Friends ? When the soruce Junior, nnt rH<;nnc:prl i-n cVtirt i J — -• — — I — .J., ,,. .., Begins to get down fairly to his work. ,! 146 FARM LEGENDS. M H i i! ' i |u t 1 1 1 \ 1 Strives to run foremost in the college race, Or at least fill a creditable place ; When he bears, o'er the rough and hard highway, The heat and burden of the college day, And hastes— his mental lungs all out of breath — As if it were a race of life and death ; When with some litde doubt his brain is fraught, That he's not quite so brilliant as he thouo-ht And he would strengthen his lame talent still, By wrapping 'round the bandage of his will ; When, undergoing the reaction drear That follows up the Sophomoric year, He finds each task much harder than before, And tarries long at every phrase's door, And pauses o'er his dull oration's page, Then tears it into pieces in a rage ; When, had he fifty inkstands, he could throw Each at some devil fraught with fancied woe ; BROTHERS AND FRIENDH. »47 ege race, and hard :e day, all out of ith ; is brain is le thought, talent still, of his will ; ear ear, an before, door, page, • >uld throw ith fancied And when, perchance, atop of all this gloom. In his heart's world there's yet sufficient room For Cupid to come blundering through the dark, And make his sensibilities a mark. And, viewing each the other from afar, Learning and Love frown miserably, and spar ; What for his trouble-phantoms makes amends Like the support of Brothers and of Friends ? When, with a strengthened soul and chastened brain. The Senior who has laboured not in vain Looks back upon the ibur eventful years Most fruitful that in his past life appears, When he stands, somewhat shadowed by remorse. In the bright Indian Summer of the course, And muses, had each opportunity Been seized, how smooth his present i ath might be ; I'il'i'f*' 14S FARM LEGENDS. Iy\ i!!)| i ippi' ! ' i~ i^ipii- When, having blundered through each college hall, Bumping his head 'gainst Inexperience' wall, There burst upon him through the window- panes, Broad Knowledge' deep ravines and fertile plains ; When, standing at the door, with gaze of doubt. He draws on his world-wrappings, and looks out Into the chillness of the winter's day, And almost wishes that he still might stay, What nearer to his beating heart extends Than parting with his Brothers and his Friends ? When he at last has bid the school good- bye, And finds that many matters go awry ; Finds much amid Earth's uncongenial fog, Not mentioned in the college catalogue; BROTHERS AND FRIENDS. •49 Finds that The World, in writing his name down, Forgets, somehow, to add the letters on Which serve to make his fellow-mortals see How little rests behind a big degree ; Finds, also, that it is inclined to speak Elsewise than in the Latin or the Greek ; Finds that the sharp blade of his brightei'ed minrl Get , diillef.; upon the pachydermal kind ; Thau The v/orld by Declension understands The siiuing-down of houses, stocks, and lands; And that Translation means, in this world's bother, Translation from one pocket to another ; Mistrusts that if The World has, as is sung, A tail by which, perchance, it may be slung. The blessed place so many hands infold. He cannot find whereon he may take hold ; Finds that he best makes ground o'er this world's road, As he his college nonsense doth unload • I i I'' »5o FARM LEGENDS. What sweeter sound with Life's alarum blends Than the kind voice of Brothers and of Friends ? And so, to-day, we live our old lives o'er — The Freshman gay, the smiling Sophomore, The anxious Junior, and the Senior proud. The care-immersed Alumnus, sober-browed , To shake once more the quick-responding hand, To trade in jokes no others understand ; Our fish-lines into Memory's ponds to throw For stories which were left there long ago (Which, like most fishy ventures, as is known, Through many changing years have bred and grown) ; To beat the big drum of our vanity, To clash the cymbals of our boisterous glee ; To bind arain the old-time friendshios fast To fight once more the battles of the past. BROTHERS AND FRIENDS. t^l rum blends ;rs and of ^es o er — iophomore, 3r proud, 2r-browed , responding stand ; Is to throw long ago res, as is have bred irous glee ; i ■"» the past. Beneath the blue of the clear sunlit sky, Beneath the storm-cloud, rudely lingering nigh, From night to night — from changing day to day — The Alpha Kappa Phi has won its way. And as the lichen plant, when tempest-torn. And roughly from its r itive hill-side borne. Sucks moisture from the whirlwind's shiver- ing form, And grows, while yet hurled onward by th has been ler, in its >tre ever r, but a g of her :Ier, And her smiling bears the traces of a shadow of surprise, But the wondering mind that made it looks no more from out her eyes. 'Twas a soul upon a journey, and was lost upon its way ; 'Twas a flash of light from heaven on a tiny piece of clay ; 'Twas more timid, and yet bolder, It was younger, and yet older. It was weaker, and yet stronger, than this little human guise. With the strange unearthly lustre ever faded from its eyes. They will bury her the morrow; they will mourn her as she died ; I will bury her the morrow, and another by her side ; For the raven hair, but started, Soon a maiden would have parted, Full of fitful joy and sorrow— gbdiy gay and sadly wise ; I |H 1 li • Hi ! * r 1 f ,1- ffo FARM LEGENDS. With a dash of worldly mischief in her deep and changeful eyes. I ''^ bury her the morrow, and another by her side : It shall be a wife and mother, fun of love and care and pride ; a' Li* ji hop^?, and of misgiving ; Of the joys and griefs of living ; Of the pains of others' being, and the tears of others' cries ; With the love of God encompassed in her smiling, weeping eyes. I will b'jry on the morrow, too, a grandame, wrinkled, old ; One whose pleasures of the present were he joys that had been told ; I will bur\ one whose blessinsf Was the transport of caressing Every ' ^-y tha^ she had buried — every Irst and broken prize ; heaven-expected, in her tlT-.VU _ VV illi A , •icam dim and 'onging eyes. li: , I in her deep another by full of love zing; ving; d the tears ;sed in her grandame, nt were he THE LITTLE SLEEPER. l6l Sing sing -every lost :ed, in h^t I will joy for her to-morrow, as I see her compassed in. For the lips now pure and holy mii^^ht be some time stained with sin ; And the brow now white a id stainless, And the heart now light and painless, Might have throbbed with guilty passion, and with sin-encumbered sighs Might have surged the sea of brightness in the bright and changeful eyes. Let them bury her to-morrow — let 'hew treasure her away ; Let the soul go back to heaven, and the body back to clay ; Let the future grief here hidden, Let the hanpiness forbidden, Be for evermore forgotten, and be buried as it dies, And an angel let us see her, with our sa6 and weeping eye m^ 'i V ''H '. "1 I* >>' 'TIS SNOWING. m- Jill l!L; ,.; FIRST VOICE. lURRAH! 'tis snowing! On street and house-roof, gently cast, The falling flakes come thick and fast ; They wheel and curve from giddy height, And speck the chilly air with white ! Come on, come on, you light-robed storm ! My fire within is blithe and warm, And brightly glowing ! My robes are thick, my sledge is gay ; My champing steeds impatient neigh; My silver-sounding bells are clear, With music for the muffled ear ; «{... 5 ii ingl liouse-roof, fast; height, e! 1 storm ! 'TIS SNOWINO. »«3 And she within—my queenly bride- Shall sit right gaily by my side ; Hurrah! 'tis snowing I SECOND VOICE. Good God ! 'tis snowing I From out the dull and leaden clouds, The surly storm impatient crowds ; It beats against my fragile door, It creeps across my cheerless floor; And through my pantry, void of fare. And o'er my hearth, so cold and bare, The wind is blowing ; And she who rests her weary head Upon our hard and scanty bed, Prays hopefully, but hopeless still, For bright spring days and whip-poor- will ; The damp of death is at her brow, The frost is at her feet ; and now 'Tis drearily snowing. i64 FARM LEGENDS. i H!^ iil Kim FIRST VOICE. Hurrah ! 'tis snowing ! Snow on I ye cannot stop our ride, As o'er the white-paved road we glide : Past forest trees thick draped with snow, Past white-thatched houses, quaint and low , Past rich-stored barn and stately herd, Past well-filled sleigh and kindly word, Right gaily going ! Snow on ! for when our ride is o'er. And once again we reach the door, Our well-filled larder shall provide, Our cellar-doors shall open v/ide ; And while without 'tis cold and drear, Within, our board shall smile with cheer, Although 'tis snowing ! SECOND VOICE. Good God ! 'tis snowing ! Rough men now bear, with hurried tread, My pauper wife unto her bed ; itiiii'l 'TIS SNOWING. ^65 gl de, e glide : ith snow, int and low , y herd, / word, yen )or, ide, - » drear, ith cheer, ^ing! ied tread, And while, all crushed, but unresigned, I cringe and follow close behind, And while these scalding, bitter tears — The first that stain my manhood years — Are freely flowing. Her waiting grave is open wide. And into it the snow-flakes glide. A mattress for her couch they wreathe ; And snow above, and snow beneath, Must be the bed of her who prayed The sun might shine where she was laid ; And still 'tis snowing I ^r 1 1' ; 1 m III IK 1 1 < 1 'V"V p.: THE BURNING OF CHICAGO. I. |WAS night in the beautiful city, The famous and wonderful city, The proud and magnificent city, The Queen of the North and the West. The riches of nations were gathered in wondrous and plentiful store ; The swift-speeding bearers of Commerce were waiting on river and shore ; The great staring walls towered skyward, with visage undaunted and bold, And said, "We are ready, O Winter! come on with your hunger and cold 1 Sweep down with your storms from the northward! come out from your ice- guarded lair! THE BURiMNG OF CHICAGO. 167 iGO. :iful city, lerful city, ficent city, i the West, athered in Commerce Dre; 1 skyward, 3ld, ^ter! come I! from the vour ice- Our larders have food for a nation ! our wardrobes have clothing to spare ! For off from the corn-bladed prairies, and out from the valleys and hills, The farmer has swept us his harvests, the miller has emptied his mills ; And here, in the lap of our city, the treasures of autumn shall rest. In golden-crowned, glorious Chicago, the Queen of the North and the West!" II. *Twas night in the church-guarded city, The temple and altar-decked city, The turreted, spire-adorned city, The Queen of the North and the West. And out from the beautiful temples that wealth in its fulness had made, And out from the haunts that were humble, where Poverty peacefully prayed, to Him where they righdy belonged. 1 68 FARM LEGENDS. In peacefulness quietly homeward the wor- shipping multitude thronged. The Pharisee, laden with riches and jewelry, costly and rare, Who proudly deigned thanks to Jehovah he was not as other men are ; The penitent, crushed in his weakness, and laden with pain and with sin ; The outcast who yearningly waited to hear the glad bidding, " Come in ;" And thus went they quietly homeward, with sins and omissions confessed, In spire-adorned, templed Chicago, the Queen of the North and the West. 1^- lf!il III. 'Twas night in the sin-burdened city, The turbulent, vice-laden city, The sin-compassed, rogue-haunted city, Though Queen of the North and the West. And low in their caves of pollution o-reat beasts of humanity growled ; i the wor- ld jewelry, ehovah he kness, and jd to hear VA'ard, with cago, the /Vest. THE BURNING OF CHICAGO. 169 city, ted city, the West. tion crrpnf And over his money-strewn table the gambler bent fiercely, and scowled ; And men with no seeming of manhood, with countenance flaming and fell, Drank deep from the fire-laden fountains that spring from the rivers of hell ; And men with no seeming of manhood, who dreaded the coming of day, Prowled, cat-like, for blood-purchased plunder from men who were better than they ; And men with no seeming of manhood, whose dearest-craved glory was shame, Whose joys were the sorrows of others, whose harvests were acres of flame, Slunk, whispering and low, in their corners, with bowie and pistol tight-pressed, In rogue-haunted, sin-cursed Chicago, though Queen of the North and the West. IV. *Twas night in the elegant city, The rich and voluptuous city. I70 FARM LEGENDS. Ill; m 'if) iff*'-- iWiSii ail iBii' '■Hi , :i The beauty-thronged, mansion-decked city, Gay Queen of the North and the West. And childhood was placidly resting in slumber untroubled and deep ; And softly the mother was fondling her inno- cent baby to sleep ; And maidens were dreaming of pleasures and triumphs the future should show, And scanning the brightness and glory of joys they were never to know ; And firesides were cheerful and happy, and Comfort smiled sweetly around ; But grim Desolation and Ruin looked into the window and frowned. And pitying angels looked downward, and gazed on their loved ones below, And longed to reach forth a deliverance, and yearned to beat backward the foe ; But Pleasure and Comfort were reignin^, nor danger was spoken or guessed. In beautiful, golden Chicago, gay Queen of the North and the West. ■I" el THE BURNING OF CHICAGO. m Jecked city, le West, [in slumber g her inno- lasures and ow, d glory of • lappy, and d; )oked into ward, and )W, ranee, and foe ; ng, nor Queen of V. Then up in the streets of the eity, The careless and negligent city, The soon to be sacrificed city, Doomed Queen of the North and the West, Crept, softly and slyly, so tiny it hardly was worthy the name, Crept, slowly and soft through the rubbish, a radiant serpent of flame. [ing, The South-wind and West-wind came shriek- •• Rouse up in your strength and your ire ! For many a year they have chained you, and crushed you, O demon of fire ! For many a year they have bound you, and made you their servant and slave ! Now, rouse you, and dig for this city a fiery anc^ desolate grave ! Freight l7e,:vy with grief and with wailing her world-scattered pnde and renown I harp-e straio-hton her mansions of splendour, and battle her battlements down I r^ Ill 17a FARM LEGENDS. III ff.'ii't it ! And we, the strong South-wind and West- wind, with thrice-doubled fury possessed, Will sweep with you over this city, this Queen of the North and the West ! " VI. Then straight at the great, quiet city. The strong and o'er-confident city, The well-nigh invincible city, Doomed Queen of the North and the West, The Fire-devil rallied his legions, and speeded them forth on the wind, With tinder and treasures before him, with ruins and tempests behind. The tenement crushed 'neath his footstep, the mansion oped wide at his knock ; And walls that had frowned him defiance, they trembled and fell with a shock ; And down on the hot, smoking house-tops came raining a deluge of fire ; And serpents of flame writhed and clambered, and twisted on steeple and spire ; THE BURNING OF CHICAGO. •73 id West- >ossessed, lis Queen :ity, he West, speeded im, with step, the lefiance, ock ; use-tops tnbered, And beautiful, glorious Chicago, the city of riches and fame, V^rss swept by a storm of destruction, was flooded by billows of flame. The Fire-king loomed high in his glory, with crimson and flame-streaming crest, And grinned his fierce scorn on Chicago, doomed Queen of the North and the West. VII. Then swiftly the quick-breathing city, The fearful and panic-struck city, The startled and fire-deluged city, Rushed back from the South and the West. And loudly the fire-bells were clanging, and ringing their funeral notes ; And loudly wild accents of terror came peal- ing from thousands of throats ; And loud was the waggon's deep rumbling, and loud the wheel's clatter and creak ; And loud was the calline^ for succour from those who were sightless and weak ; WW -"i! 1 h ] tw 11 ii ! 1 ''i 1 '\} < 1 >■ ^74 /'.^RA/ LEGENDS. And loud were the hoofs of the horses, and loud was the tramping of feet ; And loud was the g;Je\ ceaseless howling through fire-h'ghted alley and street; But louder, yet louder, the crashing of roofs and of walls as they fell ; And louder, yet louder, the roaring that told of the coming of hell. The Fire-king threw back his black mantle from off his great blood-dappled breast, And sneered in the face of Chica^ro, the Queen of the North and the West. viir. And there, in the terrible city. The panic-struck, terror-crazed city, The flying and flame-pursued city, The torch of the North and the West, A beautiful maiden lay moaning, as many a day she had lain. In fetters of wearisome weakness, and throb- blngs of pitiful pain. THE BURNING OF CHICAGO. »7S iorses, and s howling street ; I of roofs : that told :k mantle d breast, cai o, the ^est. ty. The amorous Fire ' '"'^ came to her — he breathed his li' ureath on her cheek ; She tied from his touch, hut he caught her, and held her, all pulseless and weak. The Fire-king he caught her and held her, in warm and unyielding embrace ; He wrapped her about in his vestments, he pressed ^ ' ot lips to her face ; Then, sated a ailed v/ith his triumph, he scornfully ilung her away. And, blackened and crushed in the ruins, unknown and uncoffmed, she lay — Lay, blackened and crushed by the Fire- king, in ruined and desolate rest, Like ravished and ruined Chicago, the Queen of the North and the West. Vest, > manv a id throb- IX. 'Twas morn in the desolate city, The ragged and ruin-heaped city. The homeless and hot-smoking city, Th( grief of the North and the West. MICROCOPY RESOLUTION TEST CHART (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) 1.0 I.I 1.25 1^ 2.8 1 2.5 |5.o — mil m \\2^ 2 2 I: m 2.0 «- u kLLLi. 1.8 1.4 1.6 A APPLIED IM/1GE Inc 1653 Eost Main Street Rochester, New York 14609 (716) 482 - 0300 - Phone (716) 288 - 5989 - Fax USA U'ii n ii ii ■; ^ 176 FARM LEGENDS. But down from the West came the biddinor, " O Queen, lift in courage thy head ! Thy friends and thy neighbours awaken, and hasten, with raiment and bread." And up from the South came the bidding, " Cheer up, fairest Queen of the Lakes ! For comfort and aid shall be coming from out our savannas and brakes ! " And down from the North came the bidding. " O city, be hopeful of cheer ! We've somewhat to spare for thy sufferers, for all of our suffering here ! " And up from the East came the bidding, " O city, be dauntless and bold ! Look hither for food and for raiment — look hither for credit and gold ! " And all through the world went the bidding, " Bring hither your choicest and best, For weary and hungry Chicago, sad Queen of the North and the West 1 ' X. O crushed but invincible city f O broken but fast-rising city ! iV ■till lliilli THE BURNING OF CHICAGO. 177 e bidding, head ! /aken, and d." e bidding, he Lakes! ning from )} le bidding, f sufferers, idding, " O nent — look he bidding, and best, sad Queen O glorious and unconquered city, Still Queen of the North and the West! The long, golden years of the future, with treasures increasing and rare. Shall glisten upon thy rich garments, shall twine in the folds of thy hair ! From out the black heaps of thy ruins new columns of beauty shall rise. And glittering domes shall fling grandly our nation s proud flag to the skies ! From off thy wide prairies of splendour the treasures of autumn shall pour. The breezes shall sweep from the nor* ,vard, and hurry the ships to thy shore I For Heaven will look downward in mercy on those who've passed under the rod, And happ'ly again they will prosper, and bask in the blessings of God. Once more thou shalt stand 'mid the cities, by prosperous breezes caressed, O grand and unconquered Chicago, still Queen of the North and the West ! M Mil M THE RAILROAD HOLOCAUST. [J^e7v Hamburs, N. K. February 1S7X.] jVER the length of the beaten track, Into the darkness deep and black, Heavy and fast As a mountain olast, W^th scream of whistle and clang of gong, The great train rattled and thundered alonr-. Travellers, cushioned and sheltered, sat Passing the time with doze and chat ; Thinkir, f naught With danger fraught ; Whiling the hours with whim and song, As the great train ratdedand thundered along. d still the sleepers lay, Lost to the dangers of the way ; JST. ten track, nd black, : of gong, iered alonr;. ed, sat :hat ; d song, idered along. THE RAILROAD HOLOCAUST. 179 Wandering back, Adown life's track, A thousand dreamy scenes among ; And the great train rattled and thundered along. Heavily breathed the man of care ; Lightly slept the maiden fair ; And the mother pressed Unto her breast Her beautiful babes, with yearning strong ; And the great train rattled and thundered along. Shading his eyes with his brawny hand. Danger ahead the driver scanned ; And he turned the steam, For the red light's gleam Flashed warning to him there was some- thing wrong ; But the great train rattled and thundered along. r.l\ i8o FARM LEGENDS. "Down the brakes!" rang the driver's shout : " Down the brakes ! " sang the whistle out : But the speed was high, And the danger nigh, And Death was waiting to build his pyre ; And the train dashed into a river of fire. Into the night the red flames gleamed ; High they leaped and crackled and streamed ; And the great train loomed, Like a monster doomed, In the midst of the flames and their ruthless ire — In the murderous tide of a river of fire. Roused the sleeper within his bed ; A crash, a plunge, and a gleam of red, And the sweltering heat Of his winding-sheet r-i -«„«^ bic fnrm with an agony dire; And he moaned and died in a river of fire. THE RAILROAD HOLOCAUST. i8i drivers ;le out : pyre; fire. And they who were spared from the fearful death, Thanked God for life, with quickened breath, And groaned thv*.^ ioo late, From a terrible fate To rescue their comrades was their desire, Ere they sunk in a river of death and fire. -d; treamed ; Tied, • ruthless fire. Pity for them who, helpless, died, And sunk in the river's merciless tide ; And blessings infold The driver bold, Who, daring for honour, and not for hire, Went down with his train in the river of fire. red, It ny dire ; - of fire. THE CABLE. |EAL the clanging bell ! Thunder the brazen gun ! Over the earth in triumph swell The notes of a victory won ! Not over field and ditch and corse ; Not by musketry, cannon, and horse; Not by skirmishes bloody and fell ; Not by the whiz of shot and shell ; But men of will and thought, Men of muscle and brain, Have planned, and toiled, and suffered, and fought, And conquered the raging main ! a:p M ■ s ..|^ » -. r XT — ^t.^^^ .^l^^—A ar iruni an i-:-aai.ciii dhwiv;, By the second ark is brought, !iii THE CABLE. i8j gun! nph swell •y won ! je; i suffered, main ! ht» Spanning the dusky distance o'er, A line of glovang thought ! Dashing through ripples and torrents and waves, Courting the gloom of mariners' graves ; Hastily threading the ocean aisles, And bringing to naught three thousand miles ! For men of will and thought, Men of muscle and brain, Have planned, and toiled, and suffered, and fought. And conquered the raging main ! Time in his car, indeed, Flits fast from place to place ; But restless Though, has dared his speed. And Thought has won the race ! Man is as naught in Time s fierce clasp. But Thought can escape his greedy grasp ; i^ r ■ f 1 \ . 1 ' ■ 1 1 : ? ; ■ -:' If u i ,1 11 184 FARM LEGENDS. And Time shall have perished, by and by, But the soul of Thought can never die ! Thunder the guns as you ought ! Well may the church-bells chime ! For man, with the Heaven-given sword of Thought, Has conquered the Scythe of Time ! mi md by, die! t! lime ! en sword r Time ! SHIP " CITY OF BOSTON." " We only know she sailed away, And ne'sr was heard of more." I'AVES of the ocean that thunder and roar, Where is the ship that we sent from our shore ? Tell, as ye dash on the quivering strand, Where is the crew that comes never to land ? Where are the hearts that, unfearing and gay. Broke from the clasp of affection away ? Where are the faces that, smiling and bright, Sailed for the death-darkened regions ol ni;;ht ? Waves of the ocean, that thunder and roar, Where is the ship that we sent from our shore ? m !!* ii. .i i86 FARM LEGENDS. Storms of the ocean, that bellow and sweep, Where are the friends that went forth on the deep ? Where are the faces ye paled with your sneer ? Where are the hearts ye have frozen with fear ? Where is the maiden, young, tender, and fair? Where is the grandsire, of silvery hair ? Where is the glory of womanhood's time ? Where the warm blood of man's vigour and prime ? Storms of the ocean, that bellow and pour. Where is the ship that we sent from our shore ? Birds of the ocean, that scream through the gale, What have ye seen of a wind-beaten sail ? Perched ye for rest on the shivering mast. Beaten, and shattered, and bent by the blast ? Iliiii iW THE " CITY OF BOSTON." r87 d sweep, th on the ^ith your >zen with ider, and air? time ? gour and d pour, from our rough the n sail ? I mast, he blast ? Heard ye the storm-threatened manner's plea, Birds of the bitter and treacherous sea ? Heard ye no message to carry away Home to the hearts that are yearning to- day ? Birds of the ocean, that hover and soar, Where is the ship that we sent from our shore ? Depths of the ocean, that fathomless lie, Where is the crew that no more cometh nigh ? What of the guests that so silently sleep Low in thy chambers, relentlessly deep ? Cold is the couch they have haplessly won ; Long is the night they have entered upon ; Still must they sleep till the trumpet o'erhead Summons the sea to uncover its dead. Depths of the ocean, with treasures in store. Where is tne smp uiai. wc ;=wi-. "— shore? w ill Iff ''' "■l' THE GOOD OF THE FUTURE. |HY is the mire ui the trodden street, And the dark stream by the sewer borne, Spurned from even under our feet, Grudged by us e'en the look of scorn ? There is fresh grass in its gloom — There are sweetness and bloom ; There is pulse for men to eat — There are golden acres of wheat. But so it is, and hath ever been : The good of the future is e'er unseen. Why is the mud of humanity spurned E'en from the tread of the j ,ser-by ? Whv is flip 1nr»lr r\f r\\l-\T i-fn-n^A - - — J — ^-« j_-n.y tui iiv-vi From the bare feet and the downcast eye ? T> i ^?^M THE GOOD OF THE FUTURE. 189 n street, e sewer There is virtue yet to spring From this poor trodden thing ; There are germs of godlike power In the trials of this hour ; But so it is, and hath ever been : The man of the future is e'er unseen. :orn ? Doni — om ; t— . leat. n. :d ■by? :ast eye ? THE yOYS THAT ARE LEFT. |F the sun have been gone while we deemed it might shine ; If the day steal away with no hope- bearing sign ; If the night, with no sight of its stars or its moon, But such clouds as it hath, closes down on our path over-dark and o'er-soon ; If a voice we rejoice in its sweetness to hear, Breathe a strain for our pain that glides back to our ear ; If a friend mark the end of a page that was bright, Without pretext or need, by some reptile- like deed that coils plain in our sight ; If life's charms in our arms grow a-tired and take wing ; :ft. e while we le; ;h no hope- its stars or s down on r-soon ; less to hear, that glides I page that »me reptile- 1 our sight ; row a-tired THE yOYS THAT ARE LEFT. 191 if the flowers that are ours turn to nettles and sting ; If the home sink in gloom that we laboured to save, And the garden we trained, when its best bloom is gained, be enriched by a grave ; Shall we deem that life's dream is a toil and a snare ? Shall we lie down and die on the couch of despair ? Shall we throw needless woe on our sad heart bereft ? Or, grown tearfully wise, look with pain-chas- tened eyes at the joys that are left ? For the tree that we see on the landscape so fair, When we hie to it nigh, may be fruitless and bare ; While the vine that doth twine 'neath the blades of the grass, 11''' ^■': 193 FARM LEGENDS. fc. With sweet nourishment rife, holds the chalice of life toward our lips as we pass. So with hope let us grope for what joys we may find ; Let not fears, let not tears make us heed- less or blind ; Let us think, while we drink the sweet pleasures that are. That in sea or in ground many gems may be found that outdazzle the star. There be deeds may fill needs we have suffered in vain, There be smiles whose pure wiles may yet banish our pain, And the heaven to us given may be found ere we die ; For God's glory and grace, and His great holy place, are not all in the sky. Pslnleil Vy P.ai t,ANTVNr, Hanson 4- Co. Edlaburgh &- London '4 i, . ds the chalice we pass. 'or what joys lake us heed- nk the sweet gems may be star. ^eds we have re wiles may may be found nd His great I the sky. t- CO.