GIFT OF MICHAEL REE^E AFTERWHILES Qgoo&sfig JJames HEflifcomB (gife^ NEGHBORLY POEMS SKETCHES IN PROSE WITH INTERLUDING VERSES AFTERWHILES PIPES O PAN AT ZEKES- BURY. (Prose and Verse) RHYMES OF CHILDHOOD THE FLYING ISLANDS OF THE NIGHT GREEN FIELDS AND RUN NING BROOKS ARMAZINDY A CHILD-WORLD HOME-FOLKS HIS PA S ROMANCE (Portrait by Clay) _ _ _, GREENFIELD EDITION Sold only in sets. Eleven volumes uniformly bound in sage-green cloth, gilt top .............. $13.50 The same in half-calf ...... 27.50 OLD-FASHIONED ROSES (English Edition) THE GOLDEN YEAR (English Edition) POEMS HERE AT HOME RUBAIYAT OF DOC SIFERS THE BOOK OF JOYOUS CHILDREN RILEY CHILD-RHYMES (Pictures by Vawter) RILEY LOVE-LYRICS (Pictures by Dyer) RILEY FARM-RHYMES (Pictures by Vawter) AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE (Pictures by Christy) OUT TO OLD AUNT MARY S (Pictures by Christy) A DEFECTIVE SANTA GLAUS (Forty Pictures by Relyea and Vawter) * AFTERWHILES JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY I INDIANAPOLIS THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY PUBLISHERS :SE COPTBIQHT 1887, 1898, BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY PRESS OF BRAUNWORTH & CO. BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS BROOKLYN, N. Y. TO MY MOTHER ELIZABETH CONTENTS AFTERWHILES PAGB Proem 3 HERE WEISER 7 THE BEAUTIFUL CITY 10 LOCKERBIE STREET 13 DAS KRIST KINDEL 15 ANSELMO 20 A HOME-MADE FAIRY TALE 21 THE SOUTH WIND AND THE SUN 23 THE LOST Kiss 32 THE SPHINX 34 IP I KNEW WHAT POETS KNOW 35 IKE WALTON S PRAYER 37 A ROUGH SKETCH 40 OUR KIND OF A MAN 41 THE HARPER 43 OLD AUNT MARY S 44 ILLILEO 47 vii CONTENTS PAGE THE KING . . 49 A BRIDE 51 THE DEAD LOVER 52 * A SONG 53 WHEN BESSIE DIED 55 THE SHOWER 57 / A LIFE-LESSON - A SCRAWL 59 AWAY 60 - WHO BIDES His TIME 62 FROM THE HEADBOARD OF A GRAVE IN PARAGUAY . . 64 LAUGHTER HOLDING BOTH His SIDES 65 -FAME 66 > THE EIPEST PEACH 71 A FRUIT-PIECE 72 > THEIR SWEET SORROW 74 JOHN MCKEEN 76 OUT OF NAZARETH 79 SEPTEMBER DARK 81 WE TO SIGH INSTEAD OF SING 83 THE BLOSSOMS ON THE TREES 85 LAST NIGHT AND THIS 87 viii CONTENTS PAGE A DISCOURAGING MODEL 88 BACK FROM A Two- YEARS SENTENCE 89 THE WANDERING JEW 91 BECALMED 94 To SANTA GLAUS 96 WHERE THE CHILDREN USED TO PLAY 98 A GLIMPSE OF PAN 100 SONNETS PAN 105 DUSK 106 JUNE o .... 107 SILENCE 108 SLEEP 109 HER HAIR 110 DEARTH Ill A VOICE FROM THE FARM 112 THE SERENADE 113 ART AND LOVE , 114 LONGFELLOW 115 * INDIANA 116 TIME 117 GRANT AT BEST AUGUST 8, 1885 119 ix CONTENTS IN DIALECT PAGE * OLD-FASHIONED ROSES 127 GRIGGSBY S STATION 129 * KNEE-DEEP IN JUNE .132 WHEN THE HEARSE COMES BACK 138 A CANARY AT THE FARM 142 A LIZ-TOWN HUMORIST 144 KINGRY S MILL 146 JONEY 150 * LIKE His MOTHER USED TO MAKE 154 THE TRAIN-MISSER 156 GRANNY 158 OLD OCTOBER 160 JlM 162 *To ROBERT BURNS 165 A NEW YEAR S TIME AT WILLARDS S 168 THE TOWN KARNTEEL 178 REGARDIN TERRY HUT 180 LEEDLE DUTCH BABY . 183 DOWN ON WRIGGLE CRICK 185 WHEN DE FOLKS is GONE 189 THE LITTLE TOWN o TAILHOLT 191 v % LITTLE ORPHANT ANNIE 193 x AFTERWHILES PROEM Where are they the Afterwhiles Luring us the lengthening miles Of our lives f Where is the dawn With the dew across the lawn Stroked with eager feet the far Way the hills and valleys are? Where the sun that smites the frown Of the eastward-gazer down? Where the rifted wreaths of mist O er us, tinged with amethyst. Round the mountain s steep defilesf Where are all the afterwhilesf Afterwhile and we will go Thither, yon, and too and fro From, the stifling city streets To the country s cool retreats From, the riot to the rest Where hearts beat the placidest: Afterwhile, and we will fall Under breezy trees % and loll 3 PROEM In the shade, with thirsty sight Drinking deep the blue delight Of the skies that will beguile Us as children afterwhile. Afterwhile and one intends To be gentler to his friends, To walk with them, in the hush Of still evenings, o" 1 er the plush Of home-leading fields, and stand Long at parting, hand in hand: One, in time, will joy to take New resolves for some one s sake, $nd wear then the look that lies Clear and pure in other eyes He will soothe and reconcile His own conscience afterwhile. Afterwhile we have in view Afar scene to journey to, Where the old home is, and where The old mother waits us there, Peering, as the time grows late, Down the old path to the gate. How we ll click the latch that locks In the pinks and hollyhocks, 4 PROEM And leap up the path once more Where she waits us at the door! How we ll greet the dear old smile, And the warm tears afterwhile! Ah> the endless afterwhiles! Leagues on leagues, and miles on miles, In the distance far withdrawn, Stretching on, and on, and on, Till the fancy is footsore And faints in the dust before The last milestone s granite face. Hacked with: Here Beginneth Space. O far glimmering worlds and wings, Mystic smiles and beckonings, Lead us through the shadowy aisles, Out into the afterwhiles. HERR WEISER HERR WEISER ! Threescore-years-and-ten, A hale white rose of his countrymen, Transplanted here in the Hoosier loam, And blossomy as his German home As blossomy and as pure and sweet As the cool green glen of his calm retreat, Far withdrawn from the noisy town Where trade goes clamoring up and down, Whose fret and fever, and stress and strife, May not trouble his tranquil life ! Breath of rest, what a balmy gust! Quit of the city s heat and dust, Jostling down by the winding road, Through the orchard ways of his quaint abode. Tether the horse, as we onward fare Under the pear-trees trailing there, 7 HERR WEISER And thumping the wooden bridge at night With lumps of ripeness and lush delight, Till the stream, as it maunders on till dawn, Is powdered and pelted and smiled upon. Herr Weiser, with his wholesome face, And the gentle blue of his eyes, and grace Of unassuming honesty, Be there to welcome you and me ! And what though the toil of the farm be stopped And the tireless plans of the place be dropped, While the prayerful master s knees are set In beds of pansy and mignonette And lily and aster and columbine, Offered in love, as yours and mine ? What, but a blessing of kindly thought, Sweet as the breath of forget-me-not! What, but a spirit of lustrous love White as the aster he bends above ! What, but an odorous memory Of the dear old man, made known to me 3 HERR WEISER In days demanding a help like his, As sweet as the life of the lily is As sweet as the soul of a babe, bloom-wise Born of a lily in paradise. THE BEAUTIFUL CITY THE BEAUTIFUL CITY ! Forever Its rapturous praises resound ; We fain would behold it but never A glimpse of its glory is found : We slacken our lips at the tender White breasts of our mothers to hear Of its marvellous beauty and splendor ; We see but the gleam of a tear ! Yet never the story may tire us First graven in symbols of stone Rewritten on scrolls of papyrus And parchment, and scattered and blown By the winds of the tongues of all nations, Like a litter of leaves wildly whirled Down the rack of a hundred translations, From the earliest lisp of the world. 10 THE BEAUTIFUL CITY We compass the earth and the ocean, From the Orient s uttermost light, To where the last ripple in motion Lips hem of the skirt of the night, But the Beautiful City evades us No spire of it glints in the sun No glad-bannered battlement shades us When all our long journey is done. Where lies it? We question and listen; We lean from the mountain, or mast, And see but dull earth, or the glisten Of seas inconceivably vast: The dust of the one blurs our vision, The glare of the other our brain, Nor city nor island Elysian In all of the land or the main ! We kneel in dim fanes where the thunders Of organs tumultuous roll, And the longing heart listens and wonders, And the eyes look aloft from the soul : n THE BEAUTIFUL CITY But the chanson grows fainter and fainter, Swoons wholly away and is dead ; And our eyes only reach where the painter Has dabbled a saint overhead. The Beautiful City! O mortal, Fare hopefully on in thy quest, Pass down through the green grassy portal That leads to the Valley of Rest ; There first passed the One who, in pity Of all thy great yearning, awaits To point out The Beautiful City, And loosen the trump at the gates. 12 LOCKERBIE STREET SUCH a dear little street it is, nestled away From the noise of the city and heat of the day, In cool shady coverts of whispering trees, With their leaves lifted up to shake hands with the breeze Which in all its wide wanderings never may meet With a resting-place fairer than Lockerbie street! There is such a relief, from the clangor and din Of the heart of the town, to go loitering in Through the dim, narrow walks, with the sheltering shade Of the trees waving over the long promenade, And littering lightly the ways of our feet With the gold of the sunshine of Lockerbie street. 3 LOCKERBIE STREET And the nights that come down the dark pathways of dusk, With the stars in their tresses, and odors of musk In their moon- woven raiments, bespangled with dews, And looped up with lilies for lovers to use In the songs that they sing to the tinkle and beat Of their sweet serenadings through Lockerbie street. O my Lockerbie street ! You are fair to be seen Be it noon of the day, or the rare and serene Afternoon of the night you are one to my heart, And I love you above all the phrases of art, For no language could frame and no lips could repeat My rhyme-haunted raptures of Lockerbie street. 4 DAS KRIST KINDEL I HAD fed the fire and stirred it, till the sparkles in de light Snapped their saucy little fingers at the chill December night ; And in dressing-gown and slippers, I had tilted back "my throne" The old split-bottomed rocker and was musing all alone. I could hear the hungry Winter prowling round the outer door, And the tread of muffled footsteps on the white piazza. floor; But the sounds came to me only as the murmur of a stream That mingled with the current of a lazy-flowing dream. 15 DAS KRIST KINDEL Like a fragrant incense rising, curled the smoke of my cigar, With the lamplight gleaming through it like a mist- enfolded star; And as I gazed, the vapor like a curtain rolled away, With a sound of bells that tinkled, and the clatter of a sleigh. And in a vision, painted like a picture in the air, I saw the elfish figure of a man with frosty hair A quaint old man that chuckled with a laugh as he ap peared, And with ruddy cheeks like embers in the ashes of his beard. He poised himself grotesquely, in an attitude of mirth, On a damask-covered hassock that was sitting on the hearth ; And at a magic signal of his stubby little thumb, I saw the fireplace changing to a bright proscenium. 16 DAS KRIST KINDEL And looking there, I marvelled as I saw a mimic stage Alive with little actors of a very tender age ; And some so very tiny that they tottered as they walked, And lisped and purled and gurgled like the brooklets, when they talked. And their faces were like lilies, and their eyes like purest dew, And their tresses like the shadows that the shine is woven through ; And they each had little burdens, and a little tale to tell Of fairy lore, and giants, and delights delectable. And they mixed and intermingled, weaving melody with jy> Till the magic circle clustered round a blooming baby- boy; And they threw aside their treasures in an ecstasy of glee, And bent, with dazzled faces and with parted lips, to DAS KRIST KINDEL Twas a wondrous little fellow, with a dainty double- chin, And chubby-cheeks, and dimples for the smiles to blos som in ; And he looked as ripe and rosy, on his bed of straw and reeds, As a mellow little pippin that had tumbled in the weeds. And I saw the happy mother, and a group surrounding her That knelt with costly presents of frankincense and myrrh; And I thrilled with awe and wonder, as a murmur on the air Came drifting o er the hearing in a melody of prayer: By the splendor in the heavens, and the hush upon the sea, And the majesty of silence reigning over Galilee, We feel Thy kingly presence, and we humbly bow the knee And lift our hearts and voices in gratefulness to Thee. Thy messenger has spoken, and our doubts have fled and gone As the dark and spectral shadows of the night before the dawn; And, in the kindly shelter of the light around us drawn, We would nestle down forever in the breast we lean upon. 18 DAS KRIST KINDEL You have given us a shepherd You have given us a guide, And the light of Heaven grew dimmer when You sent him from Your side, But he comes to lead Thy children where the gates will open wide To welcome his returning when his works are glorified. By the splendor in the heavens, and the hush upon the sea, And the majesty of silence reigning over Galilee, We feel Thy kingly presence, and we humbly bow the knee And lift our hearts and voices in gratefulness to Thee. Then the vision, slowly failing, with the words of the refrain, Fell swooning in the moonlight through the frosty window-pane ; And I heard the clock proclaiming, like an eager sentinel Who brings the world good tidings, "It is Christmas- all is well 1" ANSELMO YEARS did, I vainly seek the good Lord s grace, Prayed, fasted, and did penance dire and dread; Did kneel, with bleeding knees and rainy face, And mouth the dust, with ashes on my head; Yea, still with knotted scourge the flesh I flayed, Rent fresh the wounds, and moaned and shrieked insanely ; And froth oozed with the pleadings that I made, And yet I prayed on vainly, vainly, vainly ! A time, from out of swoon I lifted eye, To find a wretched outcast, gray and grim, Bathing my brow, with many a pitying sigh, And I did pray God s grace might rest on him. Then, lo! a gentle voice fell on mine ears "Thou shalt not sob in suppliance hereafter; Take up thy prayers and wring them dry of tears, And lift them, white and pure with love and laughter!" So is it now for all men else I pray ; So is it I am blest and glad alway. 20 A HOME-MADE FAIRY TALE BUD, come here to your uncle a spell, And I ll tell you something you mustn t tell For it s a secret and shore- nuf true, And maybe I oughtn t to tell it to you ! But out in the garden, under the shade Of the apple-trees, where we romped and played Till the moon was up, and you thought I d gone Fast asleep, That was all put on ! For I was a-watchin something queer Goin on there in the grass, my dear! Way down deep in it, there I see A little dude-Fairy who winked at me, And snapped his fingers, and laughed as low And fine as the whine of a mus-kee-to ! I kept still watchin him closer and I noticed a little guitar in his hand, 21 A HOME-MADE FAIRY TALE Which he leant ginst a little dead bee and laid His cigarette down on a clean grass-blade, And then climbed up on the shell of a snail Carefully dusting his swallowtail And pulling up, by a waxed web-thread, This little guitar, you remember, I said ! And there he trinkled and trilled a tune, "My Love, so Fair, Tans in the Moon!" Till, presently, out of the clover-top He seemed to be singing to, came, k pop! The purtiest, daintiest Fairy face In all this world, or any place ! Then the little ser nader waved his hand, As much as to say, "We ll excuse you!" and I heard, as I squinted my eyelids to, A kiss like the drip of a drop of dew ! 22 THE SOUTH WIND AND THE SUN O THE South Wind and the Sun! How each loved the other one Full of fancy full of folly Full of jollity and fun ! How they romped and ran about, Like two boys when school is out, With glowing face, and lisping lip, Low laugh, and lifted shout! And the South Wind he was dressed With a ribbon round his breast That floated, flapped and fluttered In a riotous unrest, And a drapery of mist From the shoulder and the wrist Flowing backward with the motion Of the waving hand he kissed. 2 3 THE SOUTH WIND AND THE SUN And the Sun had on a crown Wrought of gilded thistle-down, And a scarf of velvet vapor, And a ravelled-rainbow gown ; And his tinsel-tangled hair, Tossed and lost upon the air, Was glossier and flossier Than any anywhere. And the South Wind s eyes were two Little dancing drops of dew, As he puffed his cheeks, and pursed his lips, And blew and blew and blew ! And the Sun s like diamond-stone, Brighter yet than ever known, As he knit his brows and held his breath, And shone and shone and shone ! And this pair of merry fays Wandered through the summer days ; Arm-in-arm they went together Over heights of morning haze 24 THE SOUTH WIND AND THE SUN Over slanting slopes of lawn They went on and on and on, Where the daisies looked like star-tracks Trailing up and down the dawn. And where er they found the top Of a wheat-stalk droop and lop They chucked it underneath the chin And praised the lavish crop, Till it lifted with the pride Of the heads it grew beside, And then the South Wind and the Sun Went onward satisfied. / Over meadow-lands they tripped, Where the dandelions dipped In crimson foam of clover-bloom, And dripped and dripped and dripped ; And they clinched the bumble-stings, Gauming honey on their wings, And bundling them in lily-bells, With maudlin murmurings. THE SOUTH WIND AND THE SUN And the humming-bird that hung Like a jewel up among The tilted honeysuckle-horns, They mesmerized, and swung In the palpitating air, Drowsed with odors strange and rare, And, with whispered laughter, slipped away, And left him hanging there. And they braided blades of grass Where the truant had to pass ; And they wriggled through the rushes And the reeds of the morass, Where they danced, in rapture sweet, O er the leaves that laid a street Of undulant mosaic for The touches of their feet. By the brook with mossy brink Where the cattle came to drink, They trilled and piped and whistled With the thrush and bobolink, 26 THE SOUTH WIND AND THE SUN Till the kine in listless pause, Switched their tails in mute applause, With lifted heads and dreamy eyes, And bubble-dripping jaws. X And where the melons grew, Streaked with yellow, green and blue, These jolly sprites went wandering Through spangled paths of dew ; And the melons, here and there, They made love to, everywhere, Turning their pink souls to crimson With caresses fond and fair. X Over orchard walls they went, Where the fruited boughs were bent Till they brushed the sward beneath them Where the shine and shadow blent ; And the great green pear they shook Till the sallow hue forsook Its features, and the gleam of gold Laughed out in every look. 2 7 THE SOUTH WIND AND .HE SUN And they stroked the downy cheek Of the peach, and smoothed it sleek, And flushed it into splendor ; And, with many an elfish freak, Gave the russet s rust a wipe Prankt the rambo with a stripe, And the wine-sap blushed its reddest As they spanked the pippins ripe. Through the woven ambuscade That the twining vines had made, They found the grapes, in clusters, Drinking up the shine and shade Plumpt, like tiny skins of wine, With a vintage so divine That the tongue of fancy tingled With the tang of muscadine. And the golden-banded bees, Droning o er the flowery leas, They bridled, reigned, and rode Across the fragrant breeze, 28 THE S<CUTH WIND AND THE SUN Till in hollow oak and elm They had groomed and stabled them In waxen stalls oozed with dews Of rose and lily-stem. Where the dusty highway leads, High above the wayside weeds They sowed the air with butterflies Like blooming flower-seeds, Till the dull grasshopper sprung Half a man s height up, and hung Tranced in the heat, with whirring wings, And sung and sung and sung ! s And they loitered, hand in hand, Where the snipe along the sand Of the river ran to meet them As the ripple meets the land, Till the dragon-fly, in light Gauzy armor, burnished bright, Came tilting down the waters In a wild, bewildered flight. 29 THE SOUTH WIND AND THE SUN And they heard the killdee s call, And afar, the waterfall, But the rustle of a falling leaf They heard above it all ; And the trailing willow crept Deeper in the tide that swept The leafy shallop to the shore, And wept and wept and wept! And the fairy vessel veered From its moorings tacked and steered For the centre of the current Sailed away and disappeared: And the burthen that it bore From the long-enchanted shore "Alas! the South Wind and the Sun!" I murmur evermore. For the South Wind and the Sun, Each so loves the other one, For all his jolly folly And frivolity and fun, 30 THE SOUTH WIND AND THE SUN That our love for them they weigh As their fickle fancies may, And when at last we love them most, They laugh and sail away. THE LOST KISS I PUT by the half-written poem, While the pen, idly trailed in my hand, Writes on, "Had I words to complete it, Who d read it, or who d understand?" But the little bare feet on the stairway, And the faint, smothered laugh in the hall, And the eerie-low lisp on the silence, Cry up to me over it all. So I gather it up where was broken The tear-faded thread of my theme, Telling how, as one night I sat writing, A fairy broke in on my dream, A little inquisitive fairy My own little girl, with the gold Of the sun in her hair, and the dewy Blue eyes of the fairies of old. Twas the dear little girl that I scolded "For was it a moment like this," I said, "when she knew I was busy, To come romping in for a kiss ? 32 THE LOST KISS Come rowdying up from her mother, And clamoring there at my knee For < One ittle kiss for my dolly, And one ittle uzzer for me! " God, pity the heart that repelled her, And the cold hand that turned her away, And take, from the lips that denied her, This answerless prayer of to-day ! Take, Lord, from my mem ry forever That pitiful sob of despair, And the patter and trip of the little bare feet, And the one piercing cry on the stair ! I put by the half-written poem, While the pen, idly trailed in my hand, Writes on, " Had I words to complete it ; Who d read it, or who d understand?" But the little bare feet on the stairway, And the faint, smothered laugh in the hall, And the eerie-low lisp on the silence, Cry up to me over it all. THE SPHINX I KNOW all about the Sphinx I know even what she thinks, Staring with her stony eyes Up forever at the skies. For last night I dreamed that she Told me all the mystery Why for aeons mute she sat : She was just cut out for that ! 34- IF I KNEW WHAT POETS KNOW IF I knew what poets know, Would I write a rhyme Of the buds that never blow In the summer-time? Would I sing of golden seeds Springing up in ironweeds ? And of raindrops turned to snow, If I knew what poets know ? Did I know what poets do, Would I sing a song Sadder than the pigeon s coo When the days are long? Where I found a heart in pain, I would make it glad again ; And the false should be the true, Did I know what poets do. 35 IP I KNEW WHAT POETS KNOW If I knew what poets know, I would find a theme Sweeter than the placid flow Of the fairest dream : I would sing of love that lives On the errors it forgives ; And the world would better grow If I knew what poets know. IKE WALTON S PRAYER I CRAVE, dear Lord, No boundless hoard Of gold and gear, Nor jewels fine, Nor lands, nor kine, Nor treasure-heaps of anything. Let but a little hut be mine Where at the hearthstone I may hear The cricket sing, And have the shine Of one glad woman s eyes to make, For my poor sake, Our simple home a place divine ; Just the wee cot the cricket s chirr Love, and the smiling face of her. I pray not for Great riches, nor 37 IKE WALTON S PRAYER For vast estates and castle-halls, Give me to hear the bare footfalls Of children o er An oaken floor New-rinsed with sunshine, or bespread With but the tiny coverlet And pillow for the baby s head ; And, pray Thou, may The door stand open and the day Send ever in a gentle breeze, With fragrance from the locust-trees, And drowsy moan of doves, and blur Of robin-chirps, and drone of bees, With after-hushes of the stir Of intermingling sounds, and then The goodwife and the smile of her Filling the silences again The cricket s call And the wee cot, Dear Lord of all, Deny me not! IKE WALTON S PRAYER I pray not that Men tremble at My power of place And lordly sway, I only pray for simple grace To look my neighbor in the face Full honestly from day to day Yield me his horny palm to hold, And I ll not pray For gold; The tanned face,^ garlanded with mirth, It hath the kingliest smile on earth; The swart brow, diamonded with sweat, Hath never need of coronet. And so I reach, Dear Lord, to Thee, And do beseech Thou givest me The wee cot, and the cricket s chirr, Love, and the glad sweet face of her! 39 A ROUGH SKETCH I CAUGHT, for a second, across the crowd Just for a second, and barely that A face, pox-pitted and evil-browed, Hid in the shade of a slouch-rim d hat With small gray eyes, of a look as keen As the long, sharp nose that grew between, And I said: Tis a sketch of Nature s own, Drawn i the dark o the moon, I swear, On a tatter of Fate that the winds have blown Hither and thither and everywhere With its keen little sinister eyes of gray, And nose like the beak of a bird of prey ! 40 OUR KIND OF A MAN THE kind of a man for you and me ! He faces the world unflinchingly, And smites, as long as the wrong resists, With a knuckled faith and force like fists : He lives the life he is preaching of, And loves where most is the need of love ; His voice is clear to the deaf man s ears, And his face sublime through the blind man s tears ; The light shines out where the clouds were dim, And the widow s prayer goes up for him ; The latch is clicked at the hovel door And the sick man sees the sun once more, And out o er the barren fields he sees Springing blossoms and waving trees, Feeling as only the dying may, That God s own servant has come that way, Smoothing the path as it still winds on Through the golden gate where his loved have gone. 4 OUR KIND OF A MAN n The kind of a man for me and you ! However little of worth we do He credits full, and abides in trust That time will teach us how more is just. He walks abroad, and he meets all kinds Of querulous and uneasy minds, And, sympathizing, he shares the pain Of the doubts that rack us, heart and brain ; And, knowing this, as we grasp his hand, We are surely coming to understand ! He looks on sin with pitying eyes E en as the Lord, since Paradise, Else, should we read, Though our sins should glow As scarlet, they shall be white as snow? And, feeling still, with a grief half glad, That the bad are as good as the good are bad, He strikes straight out for the Right and he Is the kind of a man for you and me ! THE HARPEP LIKE a drift of faded blossoms Caught in a slanting rain, His fingers glimpsed down the strings of his harp In a tremulous refrain : Patter and tinkle, and drip and drip ! Ah ! but the chords were rainy sweet ! And I closed my eyes and I bit my lip, As he played there in the street. Patter, and drip, and tinkle ! And there was the little bed In the corner of the garret, And the rafters overhead ! And there was the little window Tinkle, and drip, and drip ! The rain above, and a mother s love, And God s companionship ! 43 OLD AUNT MARY S WASN T it pleasant, O brother mine, In those old days of the lost sunshine Of youth when the Saturday s chores were through, And the "Sunday s wood" in the kitchen, too, And we went visiting, "me and you," Out to Old Aunt Mary s? It all comes back so clear to-day ! Though I am as bald as you are gray- Out by the barn-lot, and down the lane, We patter along in the dust again, As light as the tips of the drops of the rain, Out to Old Aunt Mary s ! We cross the pasture, and through the wood Where the old gray snag of the poplar stood, Where the hammering "red-heads" hopped awry, And the buzzard "raised" in the "clearing" sky And lolled and circled, as we went by Out to Old Aunt Mary s. 44 OLD AUNT MARY S And then in the dust of the road again ; And the teams we met, and the countrymen; And the long highway, with sunshine spread As thick as butter on country bread, Our cares behind, and our hearts ahead Out to Old Aunt Mary s. Why, I see her now in the open door, Where the little gourds grew up the sides and o er The clapboard roof ! And her face ah, me ! Wasn t it good for a boy to see And wasn t it good for a boy to be Out to Old Aunt Mary s? The jelly the jam and the marmalade, And the cherry and quince "preserves" she made! And the sweet-sour pickles of peach and pear, With cinnamon in em, and all things rare I And the more we ate was the more to spare, Out to Old Aunt Mary s! 45 OLD ATJNT MARY S And the old spring-house in the cool green gloom Of the willow-trees, and the cooler room Where the swinging-shelves and the crocks were kept- Where the cream in a golden languor slept While the waters gurgled and laughed and wept Out to Old Aunt Mary s. And O my brother, so far away, This is to tell you she waits to-day To welcome us : Aunt Mary fell Asleep this morning, whispering "Tell The boys to come!" And all is well Out to Old Aunt Mary s. TLLILEO ILLILEO, the moonlight seemed lost across the vales The stars but strewed the azure as an armor s scattered scales ; The airs of night were quiet as the breath of silken sails, And all your words were sweeter than the notes of nightingales. Illileo Legardi, in the garden there alone, With your figure carved of fervor, as the Psyche carved of stone, There came to me no murmur of the fountain s under tone So mystically, musically mellow as your own. You whispered low, Illileo so low the leaves were mute, And the echoes faltered breathless in your voice s vain pursuit ; And there died the distant dalliance of the serenaded s lute: And I held you in my bosom as the husk may hold the fruit. 47 IL.LILEO Illileo, I listened. I believed you. In my bliss, What were all the worlds above me since I found you thus in this? Let them reeling reach to win me even Heaven I would miss, Grasping earthward ! I would cling here, though I clung by just a kiss. And blossoms should grow odorless and lilies all aghast And I said the stars should slacken in their paces through the vast, Ere yet my loyalty should fail enduring to the last. So vowed I. It is written. It is changeless as the past. Illileo Legardi, in the shade your palace throws Like a cowl about the singer at your gilded porticos, A moan goes with the music that may vex the high repose Of a heart that fades and crumbles as the crimson of a rose. THE KING THEY rode right out of the morning sun A glimmering, glittering cavalcade Of knights and ladies and every one In princely sheen arrayed ; And the king of them all, O he rode ahead, With a helmet of gold, and a plume of red That spurted about in the breeze and bled In the bloom of the everglade. And they rode high over the dewy lawn, With brave, glad banners of every hue That rolled in ripples, as they rode on In splendor, two and two ; And the tinkling links of the golden reins Of the steeds they rode rang such refrains As the castanets in a dream of Spain s Intensest gold and blue. And they rode and rode ; and the steeds they neighed And pranced, and the sun on their glossy hides Flickered and lightened and glanced and played Like the moon on rippling tides ; 49 THE KING And their manes were silken, and thick and strong, And their tails were flossy, and fetlock-long, And jostled in time to the teeming throng, And their knightly song besides. Clank of scabbard and jingle of spur, And the fluttering sash of the queen went wild In the wind, and the proud king glanced at her As one at a wilful child, And as knight and lady away they flew, And the banners flapped, and the falcon, too, And the lances flashed and the bugle blew, He kissed his hand and smiled. And then, like a slanting sunlit shower, The pageant glittered across the plain, And the turf spun back, and the wildweed flower Was only a crimson stain. And a dreamer s eyes they are downward cast, As he blends these words with the wailing blast: 1 It is the King of the Year rides past! " And Autumn is here again. 5 A BRIDE "O I AM weary! " she sighed, as her billowy Hair she unloosed in a torrent of gold That rippled and fell o er a figure as willowy, Graceful and fair as a goddess of old : Over her jewels she flung herself drearily, Crumpled the laces that snowed on her breast, Crushed with her fingers the lily that wearily Clung in her hair like a dove in its nest. And naught but her shadowy form in the mirror To kneel in dumb agony down and weep near her! Weary ? of what ? Could we fathom the mystery ? Lift up the lashes weighed down by her tears And wash with their dews one white face from her history, Set like a gem in the red rust of years ? Nothing will rest her unless he who died of her Strayed from his grave, and, in place of the groom, Tipping her face, kneeling there by the side of her, Drained the old kiss to the dregs of his doom. And naught but that shadowy form in the mirrot To kneel in dumb agony down and weep near her I 5 1 THE DEAD LOVER TIME is so long when a man is dead ! Some one sews ; and the room is made Very clean ; and the light is shed Soft through the window-shade. Yesterday I thought : "I know Just how the bells will sound, and how The friends will talk, and the sermon go, And the hearse-horse bow and bow! " This is to-day; and I have no thing To think of nothing whatever to do But to hear the throb of the pulse of a wins: That wants to fly back to you. A SONG THERE is ever a song somewhere, my dear ; There is ever a something sings alway : There s the song of the lark when the skies are clear, And the song of the thrush when the skies are gray. The sunshine showers across the grain, And the bluebird trills in the orchard tree ; And in and out, when the eaves dip rain, The swallows are twittering ceaselessly. There is ever a song somewhere, my dear, Be the skies above or dark or fair, There is ever a song that our hearts may hear There is ever a song somewhere, my dear There is ever a song somewhere ! There is ever a song somewhere, my dear, In the midnight black, or the mid-day blue : The robin pipes when the sun is here, And the cricket chirrups the whole night through. 53 A SONG The buds may blow, and the fruit may grow, And the autumn leaves drop crisp and sear ; But whether the sun, or the rain, or the snow, There is ever a song somewhere, my dear. There is ever a song somewhere, my dear, Be the skies above or dark or fair, There is eve** a song that our hearts may hear * There is ever a song somewhere, my dear There is ever a song somewhere ! 54 WHEN BESSIE DIED "If from your own the dimpled hands had slipped^ And ne^er would nestle in your palm again; If the white feet into the grave had tripped" WHEN Bessie died We braided the brown hair, and tied It just as her own little hands Had fastened back the silken strands A thousand times the crimson bit Of ribbon woven into it That she had worn with childish pride Smoothed down the dainty bow and cried- When Bessie died. When Bessie died We drew the nursery blinds aside, And, as the morning in the room Burst like a primrose into bloom, 5S WHEN BESSIE DIED Her pet canary s cage we hung Where she might hear him when he sung And yet not any note he tried, Though she lay listening folded-eyed. When Bessie died We writhed in prayer unsatisfied : We begged of God, and He did smile In silence on us all the while ; And we did see Him, through our tears, Enfolding that fair form of hers, She laughing back against His love The kisses we had nothing of And death to us He still denied, When Bessie died When Bessie died. THE SHOWER THE landscape, like the awed face of a child, Grew curiously blurred ; a hush of death Fell on the fields, and in the darkened wild The zephyr held its breath. No wavering glamour-work of light and shade Dappled the shivering surface of the brook; The frightened ripples in their ambuscade Of willows thrilled and shook. The sullen day grew darker, and anon Dim flashes of pent anger lit the sky ; With rumbling wheels of wrath came rolling cn The storm s artillery. The cloud above put on its blackest frown, And then, as with a vengeful cry of pain, The lightning snatched it, ripped and flung it down In ravelled shreds of rain : While I, transfigured by some wondrous art, Bowed with the thirsty lilies to the sod, My empty soul brimmed over, and my heart Drenched with the love of God. 57 A LIFE-LESSON THERE! little girl; don t cry! They have broken your doll, I know; And your tea-set blue, And your play-house, too, Are things of the long ago ; But childish troubles will soon pass by.- There! little girl ; don t cry! There! little girl ; don t cry! They have broken your slate, I know; And the glad, wild ways Of your school-girl days Are things of the long ago ; But life and love will soon come by. There! little girl ; don t cry! There! little girl ; don t cry! They have broken your heart, I know ; And the rainbow gleams Of your youthful dreams Are things of the long ago ; But heaven holds all for which you sigh, There! little girl ; don t cry! 5* A SCRAWL I WANT to sing something but this is all I try and I try, but the rhymes are dull As though they were damp, and the echoes fall Limp and unlovable. Words will not say what I yearn to say They will not walk as I want them to, But they stumble and fall in the path of the way Of my telling my love for you. Simply take what the scrawl is worth Knowing I love you as sun the sod On the ripening side of the great round earth That swings in the smile of God. 59 AWAY I CANNOT say ? and I will not say That he is dead. -He is just away! With a cheery smile, and a wave of the hand^ He has wandered into an unknown land, And left us dreaming how very fair It needs must be, since he lingers there. And you O you, who the wildest yearn For the old-time step and the glad return, Think of him faring on, as dear In the love of There as the love of Here ; And loyal still, as he gave the blows Of his warrior-strength to his country s foes. 60 AWAY Mild and gentle, as he was brave, When the sweetest love of his life he gave To simple things: Where the violets grew Blue as the eyes they were likened to, The touches of his hands have strayed As reverently as his lips have prayed : When the little brown thrush that harshly chirred Was dear to him as the mocking-bird ; And he pitied as much as a man in pain A writhing honey-bee wet with rain. Think of him still as the same, I say: He is not dead he is just away ! 61 WHO BIDES HIS TIME WHO bides his time, and day by day Faces defeat full patiently, And lifts a mirthful roundelay, However poor his fortunes be, He will not fail in any qualm Of poverty the paltry dime It will grow golden in his palm, Who bides his time. Who bides his time he tastes the sweet Of honey in the saltest tear ; And though he fares with slowest feet, Joy runs to meet him, drawing near; The birds are heralds of his cause ; And, like a never-ending rhyme, The roadsides bloom in his applause, Who bides his time. 62 WHO BIDES HIS TIME Who bides his time, and fevers not In the hot race that none achieves, Shall wear cool-wreathen laurel, wrought With crimsom berries in the leaves ; And he shall reign a goodly king, And sway his hand o er every clime, With peace writ on his signet-ring, Who bides his time. FROM THE HEADBOARD OF A GRAVE IN PARAGUAY A TROTH, and a grief, and a blessing, Disguised them and came this way, And one was a promise, and one was a doubt, And one was a rainy day. And they met betimes with this maiden, And the promise it spake and lied, And the doubt it gibbered and hugged itself, And the rainy day she died. LAUGHTER HOLDING BOTH HIS SIDES AY, thou varlet ! Laugh away ! All the world s a holiday! Laugh away, and roar and shout Till thy hoarse tongue lolleth out ! Bloat thy cheeks, and bulge thine eyes Unto bursting ; pelt thy thighs With thy swollen palms, and roar As thou never hast before ! Lustier ! wilt thou ! peal on peal ! Stiflest? Squat and grind thy heel- Wrestle with thy loins, and then Wheeze thee whiles, and whoop again! FAME ONCE, in a dream, I saw a man, With haggard face and tangled hair, And eyes that nursed as wild a care As gaunt Starvation ever can ; And in his hand he held a wand Whose magic touch gave life and thought Unto a form his fancy wrought And robed with coloring so grand, It seemed the reflex of some child Of Heaven, fair and undefiled A face of purity and love To woo him into worlds above : And as I gazed with dazzled eyes, A gleaming smile lit up his lips As his bright soul from its eclipse Went flashing into Paradise. 66 FAME Then tardy Fame came through the door And found a picture nothing more. And onoe I saw a man, alone, In abject poverty, with hand Uplifted o er a block of stone That took a shape at his command And smiled upon him, fair and good A perfect work of womanhood, Save that the eyes might never weep, Nor weary hands be crossed in sleep, Nor hair that fell from crown to wrist, Be brushed away, caressed and kissed. And as in awe I gazed on her, I saw the sculptor s chisel fall I saw him sink, without a moan, Sink lifeless at the feet of stone, And lie there like a worshipper. Fame crossed the threshold of the hall, And found a statue that was all. FAME III And once I saw a man who drew A gloom about him like a cloak, And wandered aimlessly. The few Who spoke of him at all, but spoke Disparagingly of a mind The Fates had faultily designed : Too indolent for modern times Too fanciful, and full of whims For, talking to himself in rhymes, And scrawling never-heard-of hymns, The idle life to which he clung Was worthless as the songs he sung! I saw him, in my vision, filled With rapture o er a spray of bloom The wind threw in his lonely room ; And of the sweet perfume it spilled He drank to drunkenness, and flung His long hair back, and laughed and sung And clapped his hands as children do At fairy tales they listen to, 68 FAME While from his flying quill there dripped Such music on his manuscript That he who listens to the words May close his eyes and dream the birds Are twittering on every hand A language he can understand. He journeyed on through life, unknown, Without one friend to call his own ; He tired. No kindly hand to press The cooling touch of tenderness Upon his burning brow, nor lift To his parched lips God s freest gift > No sympathetic sob or sigh Of trembling lips no sorrowing eye Looked out through tears to see him die. And Fame her greenest laurels brought To crown a head that heeded not. And this is Fame ! A thing, indeed, That only comes when least the need: The wisest minds of every age The book of life from page to page FAME Have searched in vain ; each lesson conned Will promise it the page beyond Until the last, when dusk of night Falls over it, and reason s light Is smothered by that unknown friend Who signs his nom de glume. The End. THE RIPEST PEACH THE ripest peach is highest on the tree And so her love, beyond the reach of me, Is dearest in my sight. Sweet breezes bow Her heart down to me where I worship now! She looms aloft where every eye may see The ripest peach is highest on the tree. Such fruitage as her love I know, alas ! I may not reach here from the orchard grass. I drink the sunshine showered past her lips As roses drain the dewdrop as it drips. The ripest peach is highest on the tree, And so mine eyes gaze upward eagerly. Why why do I not turn away in wrath And pluck some heart here hanging in my path ? Love s lower boughs bend with them but, ah me! The ripest peach is highest on the tree ! A FRUIT-PIECE THE afternoon of summer folds Its warm arms round the marigolds, And, with its gleaming fingers, pets The watered pinks and violets That from the casement vases spill, Over the cottage window-sill, Their fragrance down the garden walks Where droop the dry-mouthed hollyhocks. How vividly the sunshine scrawls The grape-vine shadows on the walls ! How like a truant swings the breeze In high boughs of the apple-trees ! The slender "free-stone" lifts aloof, Full languidly above the roof, A FRUIT-PIECE A hoard of fruitage, stamped with gold And precious mintings manifold. High up, through curled green leaves, a pear Hangs hot with ripeness here and there. Beneath the sagging trellisings, In lush, lack-lustre clusterings, Great torpid grapes, all fattened through With moon and sunshine, shade and dew, Until their swollen girths express But forms of limp deliciousness Drugged to an indolence divine With heaven s own sacramental wine. THEIR SWEET SORROW THEY meet to say farewell : Their way Of saying this is hard to say. He holds her hand an instant, wholly Distressed and she unclasps it slowly. He lends his gaze evasively Over the printed page that she Recurs to, with a new-moon shoulder Glimpsed from the lace-mists that infold her. The clock, beneath its crystal cup, Discreetly clicks" Quick ! Act I Speak up! A tension circles both her slender Wrists and her raised eyes flash in splendor, Even as he feels his dazzled own. Then, blindingly, round either thrown, They feel a stress of arms that ever Strain tremblingly and "Never! IVever!" 74 THEIR SWEET SORROW Is whispered brokenly, with half A sob, like a belated laugh, While cloyingly their blurred kiss closes,- Sweet as the dew s lip to the rose s. 75 JOHN McKEEN JOHN McKEEN, in his rusty dress, His loosened collar, and swarthy throat, His face unshaven, and none the less, His hearty laugh and his wholesomeness, And the wealth of a workman s vote! Bring him, O Memory, here once more, And tilt him back in his Windsor chair By the kitchen stove, when the day is o er And the light of the hearth is across the floor, And the crickets everywhere ! And let their voices be gladly blent With a watery jingle of pans and spoons, And a motherly chirrup of sweet content, And neighborly gossip and merriment, And old-time fiddle-tunes! JOHN M KEEN Tick the clock with a wooden sound, And fill the hearing with childish glee Of rhyming riddle, or story found In the Robinson Crusoe, leather-bound Old book of the Used-to-be ! John McKeen of the Past! Ah, John, To have grown ambitious in worldly ways ! To have rolled your shirt-sleeves down, to don A broadcloth suit, and, forgetful, gone Out on election days ! John, ah, John! did it prove your worth To yield you the office you still maintain? To fill your pockets, but leave the dearth Of all the happier things on earth To the hunger of heart and brain ? Under the dusk of your villa trees, Edging the drives where your blooded span Paw the pebbles and wait your ease, Where are the children about your knees, And the mirth, and the happy man? 77 JOHN M KEEN The blinds of your mansion are battened to ; Your faded wife is a close recluse ; And your " finished" daughters will doubtless do Dutifully all that is willed of you, And marry as you shall choose ! But O for the old-home voices, blent With the watery jingle of pans and spoons, And the motherly chirrup of glad content, And neighborly gossip and merriment, And the old-time fiddle-tunes I OUT OF NAZARETH 4 HE shall sleep unscathed of thieves Who loves Allah and believes." Thus heard one who shared the tent, In the far-off Orient, Of the Bedouin ben Ahrzz Nobler never loved the stars Through the palm-leaves nigh the dim Dawn his courser neighed to him ! He said: " Let the sands be swarmed With such thieves as I, and thou Shalt at morning rise, unharmed, Light as eyelash to the brow Of thy camel, amber-eyed, Ever munching either side, Striding still, with nestled knees, Through the midnight s oases. 79 OUT OF NAZARETH "Who can rob thee an thou hast More than this that thou hast cast At my feet this dust of gold ? Simply this and that, all told ! Hast thou not a treasure of Such a thing as men call love? " Can the dusky band I lead Rob thee of thy daily need Of a whiter soul, or steal What thy lordly prayers reveal ? Who could be enriched of thee By such hoard of poverty As thy niggard hand pretends To dole me thy worst of friends ? Therefore shouldst thou pause to bless One indeed who blesses thee : Robbing thee, I dispossess But myself. Pray thou for me! " He shall sleep unscathed of thieves Who loves Allah and believes. 80 SEPTEMBER DARK i THE air falls chill ; The whippoorwill Pipes lonesomely behind the hill : The dusk grows dense, The silence tense ; And lo, the katydids commence. ii Through shadowy rifts Of woodland, lifts The low, slow moon, and upward drifts, While left and right The fireflies light Swirls eddying in the skirts of Night. 81 SEPTEMBER DARK m O Cloudland, gray And level, lay Thy mists across the face of Day ! At foot and head, Above the dead, O Dews, weep on uncomforted ! WE TO SIGH INSTEAD OF SING " RAIN and rain ! and rain and rain! " Yesterday we muttered Grimly as the grim refrain That the thunders uttered : All the heavens under cloud All the sunshine sleeping ; All the grasses limply bowed With their weight of weeping. Sigh and sigh ! and sigh and sigh ! Never end of sighing ; Rain and rain for our reply Hopes half drowned and dying; Peering through the window-pane, Naught but endless raining Endless sighing, and, as vain, Endlessly complaining. 83 WE TO SIGH INSTEAD OP SING Shine and shine ! and shine and shine ! Ah! to-day the splendor! All this glory yours and mine God! but God is tender! We to sigh instead of sing, Testerday, in sorrow, While the Lord was fashioning This for our To-morrow ! THE BLOSSOMS ON THE TREES BLOSSOMS crimson, white, or blue, Purple, pink, and every hue, From sunny skies, to tintings drowned In dusky drops of dew, I praise you all, wherever found, And love you through and through; But, Blossoms On The Trees, With your breath upon the breeze, There s nothing all the world around As half as sweet as you ! Could the rhymer only wring All the sweetness to the lees Of all the kisses clustering In juicy Used-to-bes, To dip his rhymes therein and sing The blossoms on the trees, "O Blossoms on the Trees," He would twitter, trill, and coo, 85 THE BLOSSOMS ON THE TREES "However sweet, such songs as these Are not as sweet as you : For you are blooming melodies The eyes may listen to!" 86 LAST NIGHTAND THIS LAST night how deep the darkness was ! And well I knew its depths, because I waded it from shore to shore, Thinking to reach the light no more. She would not even touch my hand. The winds rose and the cedars fanned The moon out, and the stars fled back In heaven and hid and all was black ! But ah ! To-night a summons came, Signed with a tear-drop for a name, For as I wondering kissed it, lo, A line beneath it told me so. And now the moon hangs over me A disk of dazzling brilliancy, And every star-tip stabs my sight With splintered glitterings of light I A DISCOURAGING MODEL JUST the airiest, fairiest slip of a thing, With a Gainsborough hat, like a butterfly s wing, Tilted up at one side with the jauntiest air, And a knot of red roses sown in under there Where the shadows are lost in her hair. Then a cameo face, carven in on a ground Of that shadowy hair where the roses are wound; And the gleam of a smile, O as fair and as faint And as sweet as the masters of old used to paint Round the l ? ps of their favorite saint ! And that lace at her throat and the fluttering hands Snowing there, with a grace that no art understands, The flakes of their touches first fluttering at The bow then the roses the hair and then that Little tilt of the Gainsborough hat. Ah, what artist on earth with a model like this, Holding not on his palette the tint of a kiss, Nor a pigment to hint of the hue of her hair Nor the gold of her smile O what artist could dare To expect a result half so fair? 88 BACK FROM A TWO- YEARS SENTENCE BACK from a two-years sentence ! And though it had been ten, You think, I were scarred no deeper In the eyes of my fellow-men. "My fellow-men" ? sounds like a satire, You think and I so allow, Here in my home since childhood, Yet more than a stranger now ! Pardon! Not wholly a stranger, For I have a wife and child : That woman has wept for two long years, And yet last night she smiled ! Smiled, as I leapt from the platform Of the midnight train, and then All that I knew was that smile of hers, And our babe in my arms again! 89 BACK FROM A TWO-YEARS* SENTENCE Back from a two-years sentence But I ve thought the whole thing through,- A hint of it came when the bars swung back And I looked straight up in the blue Of the blessed skies with my hat off! O-ho ! I ve a wife and child : That woman has wept for two long years, And yet last night she smiled ! THE WANDERING JEW THE stars are falling, and the sky Is like a field of faded flowers ; The winds on weary wings go by ; The moon hides, and the tempest lowers ; And still through every clime and age I wander on a pilgrimage That all men know an idle quest, For that the goal I seek is REST ! I hear the voice of summer streams, And, following, I find the brink Of cooling springs, with childish dreams Returning as I bend to drink But suddenly, with startled eyes, My face looks on its grim disguise Of long gray beard ; and so, distressed, I hasten on, nor taste of rest. 9 THE WANDERING JEW I come upon a merry group Of children in the dusky wood, Who answer back the owlet s whoop, That laughs as it had understood ; And I would pause a little space, But that each happy blossom-face Is like to one His hands have blessed Who sent me forth in search of rest. Sometimes I fain would stay my feet In shady lanes, where huddled kine Couch in the grasses cool and sweet, And lift their patient eyes to mine ; But I, for thoughts that ever then Go back to Bethlehem again, Must needs fare on my weary quest, And weep for very need of rest. Is there no end ? I plead in vain : Lost worlds nor living answer me. Since Pontius Pilate s awful reign Have I not passed eternity? 92 THE WANDERING JEW Have I not drunk the fetid breath Of every fevered phase of death, And come unscathed through every pest And scourge and plague that promised rest ? Have I not seen the stars go out That shed their light o er Galilee, And mighty kingdoms tossed about And crumbled clod-like in the sea ? Dead ashes of dead ages blow And cover me like drifting snow, And time laughs on as twere a jest That I have any need of rest. 93 BECALMED WOULD that the winds might only blow As they blew in the golden long ago ! Laden with odors of Orient isles Where ever and ever the sunshine smiles, And the bright sands blend with the shady trees, And the lotus blooms in the midst of these. Warm winds won from the midland vales To where the tress of the Siren trails O er the flossy tip of the mountain phlox And the bare limbs twined in the crested rocks, High above as the sea-gulls flap Their lopping wings at the thunder-clap. 94 BECALMED III Ah ! that the winds might rise and blow The great surge up from the port below, Bloating the sad, lank, silken sails Of the Argo out with the swift, sweet gales That blew from Colchis when Jason had His love s full will and his heart was glad When Medea s voice was soft and low. Ah! that the winds might rise and blow! 95 TO SANTA GLAUS MOST tangible of all the gods that be, O Santa Claus our own since Infancy! As first we scampered to thee now, as then, Take us as children to thy heart again. Be wholly good to us, just as of old: As a pleased father, let thine arms infold Us, homed within the haven of thy love, And all the cheer and wholesomeness thereof. Thou lone reality, when O so long Life s unrealities have wrought us wrong: Ambition hath allured us, fame likewise, And all that promised honor in men s eyes. Throughout the world s evasions, wiles, and shifts, Thou only bidest stable as thy gifts: A grateful king re-ruleth from thy lap, Crowned with a little tinselled soldier-cap : TO SANTA CLAUS A mighty general a nation s pride Thou givest again a rocking-horse to ride, And wildly glad he groweth as the grim Old jurist with the drum thou givest him : The sculptor s chisel, at thy mirth s command, Is as a whistle in his boyish hand ; The painter s model fadeth utterly, And there thou standest, and he painteth thee Most like a winter pippin, sound and fine And tingling-red that ripe old face of thine, Set in thy frosty beard of cheek and chin As midst the snows the thaws of spring set in. Ho ! Santa Claus our own since Infancy Most tangible of all the gods that be ! As first we scampered to thee now, as then, Take us as children to thy heart again. 97 WHERE THE CHILDREN USED TO PLAY THE old farm-home is Mother s yet and mine, And filled it is with plenty and to spare, But we are lonely here in life s decline, Though fortune smiles around us everywhere : We look across the gold Of the harvests, as of old The corn, the fragrant clover, and the hay; But most we turn our gaze, As with eyes of other days, To the orchard where the children used to play. O front our lifers full measure And rich hoard of worldly treasure We often turn our weary eyes away, And hand in hand we wandet Down the old path winding yonder To the orchard where the children used to play. WHERE THE CHILDREN USED TO PLAY Our sloping pasture-lands are rilled with herds ; The barn and granary-bins are bulging o er; The grove s a paradise of singing birds The woodland brook leaps laughing by the door ; Yet lonely, lonely still, Let us prosper as we will, Our old hearts seem so empty everyway We can only through a mist See the faces we have kissed In the orchard where the children used to play. Ofrom our life s full measure And rich hoard of worldly treasure We often turn our weary eyes away^ And hand in hand we wander Down the old path winding yonder To the orchard where the children used to play. 99 A GLIMPSE OF PAN I CAUGHT but a glimpse of him. Summer was here. And I strayed from the town and its dust and heal, And walked in a wood, while the noon was near, Where the shadows were cool, and the atmosphere Was misty with fragrances stirred by my feet From surges of blossoms that billowed sheer Of the grasses, green and sweet. And I peered through a vista of leaning trees, Tressed with long tangles of vines that swept To the face of a river, that answered these With vines in the wave like the vines in the breeze, Till the yearning lips of the ripples crept And kissed them, with quavering ecstasies, And wistfully laughed and wept. 100 A GLIMPSE OF PAN And there, like a dream in a swoon, I swear I saw Pan lying, his limbs in the dew And the shade, and his face in the dazzle and glare Of the glad sunshine ; while everywhere, Over, across, and around him blew Filmy dragon-flies hither and there, And little white butterflies, two and two, In eddies of odorous air. 101 SONNETS PAN THIS Pan is but an idle god, I guess, Since all the fair midsummer of my dreams He loiters listlessly by woody streams, Soaking the lush glooms up with laziness ; Or drowsing while the maiden-winds caress Him prankishly, and powder him with gleams Of sifted sunshine. And he ever seems Drugged with a joy unutterable unless His low pipes whistle hints oi it far out Across the ripples to the dragon-fly That, like a wind-born blossom blown about, Drops quiveringly down, as though to die Then lifts and wavers on, as if in doubt Whether to fan his wings or fly without. I0 5 DUSK THE frightened herds of clouds across the sky Trample the sunshine down, and chase the day Into the dusky forest-lands of gray And sombre twilight. Far, and faint, and high, The wild goose trails his harrow, with a cry Sad as the wail of some poor castaway Who sees a vessel drifting far astray Of his last hope, and lays him down to die. The children, riotous from school, grow bold And quarrel with the wind whose angry gust Plucks off the summer-hat, and flaps the fold Of many a crimson cloak, and twirls the dusi In spiral shapes grotesque, and dims the gold Of gleaming tresses with the blur of rust 106 JUNE QUEENLY month of indolent repose ! I drink thy breath in sips of rare perfume, As in thy downy lap of clover-bloom 1 nestle like a drowsy child and doze The lazy hours away. The zephyr throws The shifting shuttle of the Summer s loom And weaves a damask-work of gleam and gloom Before thy listless feet. The lily blows A bugle-call of fragrance o er the glade; And, wheeling into ranks, with plume and spear, Thy harvest-armies gather on parade ; While, faint and far away, yet pure and clear, A voice calls out of alien lands of shade : AH hail the Peerless Goddess of the Year! 107 SILENCE THOUSANDS of thousands of hushed years ago, Out on the edge of Chaos, all alone I stood on peaks of vapor, high upthrown Above a sea that knew nor ebb nor flow, Nor any motion won of winds that blow, Nor any sound of watery wail or moan, Nor lisp of wave, nor wandering undertone Of any tide lost in the night below. So still it was, I mind me, as I laid My thirsty ear against mine own faint sigh To drink of that, I sipped it, half afraid Twas but the ghost of a dead voice spilled by The one starved star that tottered through the shade And came tiptoeing toward me down the sky. loS SLEEP THOU drowsy god, whose blurred eyes, half awink, Muse on me, drifting out upon thy dreams, I lave my soul as in enchanted streams Where revelling satyrs pipe along the brink, And, tipsy with the melody they drink, Uplift their dangling hooves, and down the beams Of sunshine dance like motes. Thy languor seems An ocean-depth of love wherein I sink Like some fond Argonaut, right willingly, Because of wooing eyes upturned to mine, And siren-arms that coil their sorcery About my neck, with kisses so divine, The heavens reel above me, and the sea Swallows and licks its wet lips over me. 109 HER HAIR THE beauty of her hair bewilders me Pouring adown the brow, its cloven tide Swirling about the ears on either side And storming round the neck tumultuously: Or like the lights of old antiquity Through mullioned windows, in cathedrals wide Spilled moltenly o er figures deified In chastest marble, nude of drapery. And so I love it. Either unconfined ; Or plaited in close braidings manifold ; Or smoothly drawn ; or indolently twined In careless knots whose coilings come unrolled At any lightest kiss ; or by the wind Whipped out in flossy ravellings of gold. 1 10 DEARTH I HOLD your trembling hand to-nightand yet I may not know what wealth of bliss is mine, My heart is such a curious design Of trust and jealousy! Your eyes are wet So must I think they jewel some regret, And lo, the loving arms that round me twine Cling only as the tendrils of a vine Whose fruit has long been gathered : I forget, While crimson clusters of your kisses press Their wine out on my lips, my royal fair Of rapture, since blind fancy needs must guess They once poured out their sweetness otherwhere, With fuller flavoring of happiness Than e en your broken sobs may now declare. Ill A VOICE FROM THE FARM IT is my dream to have you here with me, Out of the heated city s dust and din Here where the colts have room to gambol in, And kine to graze, in clover to the knee. I want to see your wan face happily Lit with the wholesome smiles that have not been In use since the old games you used to win When we pitched horseshoes : And I want to be At utter loaf with you in this dim land Of grove and meadow, while the crickets make Our own talk tedious, and the bat wields His bulky flight, as we cease converse and In a dusk like velvet smoothly take Our way toward home across the dewy fields. 112 THE SERENADE THE midnight is not more bewildering To her drowsed eyes, than, to her ears, the sound Of dim, sweet singing voices, interwound With purl of flute and subtle twang of string, Strained through the lattice, where the roses cling And, with their fragrance, waft the notes around Her haunted senses. Thirsting beyond bound Of her slow-yielding dreams, the lilt and swing Of the mysterious delirious tune, She drains like some strange opiate, with awed eyes Upraised against her casement, where, aswoon, The stars fail from her sight, and up the skies Of alien azure rolls the full round moon Like some vast bubble blown of summer noon. ART AND LOVE HE faced his canvas (as a seer whose ken Pierces the crust of this existence through) And smiled beyond on that his genius knew Ere mated with his being. Conscious then Of his high theme alone, he smiled again Straight back upon himself in many a hue And tint, and light and shade, which slowly grew Enfeatured of a fair girl s face, as when First time she smiles for love s sake with no fear. So wrought he, witless that behind him leant A woman, with old features, dim and sear, And glamoured eyes that felt the brimming tear, And with a voice, like some sad instrument, That sighing said, "I m dead there ; love me here ! LONGFELLOW THE winds have talked with him confidingly ; The trees have whispered to him ; and the night Hath held him gently as a mother might, And taught him all sad tones of melody : The mountains have bowed to him ; and the sea, In clamorous waves, and murmurs exquisite, Hath told him all her sorrow and delight Her legends fair her darkest mystery. His verse blooms like a flower, night and day; Bees cluster round his rhymes ; and twitterings Of lark and swallow, in an endless May, Are mingling with the tender songs he sings. Nor shall he cease to sing -in every lay Of Nature s voice he sings and will alway. INDIANA OUR Land our Home ! the common home indeed Of soil-born children and adopted ones The stately daughters and the stalwart sons Of Industry: All greeting and godspeed! O home to proudly live for, and, if need Bej proudly die for, with the roar of guns Blent with our latest prayer.- So died men once. . Lo, Peace ! ... As we look on the land THEY Its harvests all in ocean-overflow Poured round autumnal coasts in billowy gold- Its corn and wine and balm&d fruits and flow rs/-*- We know the exaltation that they know Who now, steadfast inheritors, behold The Land Elysian, marvelling "This is ours!" ri6 TIME THE ticking ticking ticking of the clock ! That vexed me so last night! " For though Time keeps Such drowsy watch," I moaned, "he never sleeps, But only nods above the world to mock Its restless occupant, then rudely rock It as the cradle of a babe that weeps! " I seemed to see the seconds piled in heaps Like sand about me ; and at every shock O the bell, the pil&d sands were swirled away As by a desert-storm that swept the earth Stark as a granary floor, whereon the gray And mist-bedrizzled moon amidst the dearth Came crawling, like a sickly child, to lay Its pale face next mine own and weep for day. 117 TIME Wait for the morning! Ah! we wait indeed For daylight, we who toss about through stress Of vacant-armed desires and emptiness Of all the warm, warm touches that we need, And the warm kisses upon which we feed Our famished lips in fancy ! May God bless The starved lips of us with but one caress Warm as the yearning blood our poor hearts bleed! . . . A wild prayer! bite thy pillow, praying so Toss this side, and whirl that, and moan for dawn ; Let the clock s seconds dribble out their woe, And Time be drained of sorrow ! Long ago We heard the crowing cock, with answer drawn As hoarsely sad at throat as sobs. . . . Pray on ! 118 GRANT AT REST AUGUST 8, 1885 119 Sir Launcelot rode overthwart and endlong in a wide forest^ and held no path but as wild adventure led him. . . . And he returned and came again to his horse, and took off his saddle and his bridle, and let him pasture; and unlaced his helm, and ungirdled his sword, and laid him down to sleep upon his shield before the cross. AGE; OF CHIVALRY. I2O GRANT WHAT shall we say of the soldier, Grant, His sword put by and his great soul free ? How shall we cheer him now or chant His requiem befittingly? The fields of his conquest now are seen Ranged no more with his arm&d men But the rank and file of the gold and green Of the waving grain is there again. Though his valiant life is a nation s pride, And his death heroic and half divine, And our grief as great as the world is wide, There breaks in speech but a single line : We loved him living, revere him dead ! A silence then on our lips is laid: We can say no thing that has not been said, Nor pray one prayer that has not been prayed, But a spirit within us speaks: and lo, We lean and listen to wondrous words That have a sound as of winds that blow, And the voice of waters and low of herds ; 121 GRANT And we hear, as the song flows on serene, The neigh of horses, and then the beat Of hooves that skurry o er pastures green, And the patter and pad of a boy s bare feet. A brave lad, wearing a manly brow, Knit as with problems of grave dispute, And a face, like the bloom of the orchard bough, Pink and pallid, but resolute ; And flushed it grows as the clover-bloom, And fresh it gleams as the morning dew, As he reins his steed where the quick quails boom Up from the grasses he races through. And ho! as he rides what dreams are his? And what have the breezes to suggest? Do they whisper to him of shells that whiz O er fields made ruddy with wrongs redressed? Does the hawk above him an Eagle float? Does he thrill and his boyish heart beat high, Hearing the ribbon about his throat Flap as a Flag as the winds go by? 122 GRANT And does he dream of the Warrior s fame This Western boy in his rustic dress ? For, in miniature, this is the man that came Riding out of the Wilderness ! The selfsame figure the knitted brow The eyes full steady the lips full mute And the face, like the bloom of the orchard bough, Pink and pallid, but resolute. Ay, this is the man, with features grim And stoical as the Sphinx s own, That heard the harsh guns calling him, As musical as the bugle blown, When the sweet spring heavens were clouded o er With a tempest, glowering and wild, And our country s flag bowed down before Its bursting wrath as a stricken child. Thus, ready mounted and booted and spurred, He loosed his bridle and dashed away! Like a roll of drums were his hoof-beats heard, Like the shriek of the fife his charger s neigh! 123 GRANT And over his shoulder and backward blown, We heard his voice, and we saw the sod Reel, as our wild steeds chased his own As though hurled on by the hand of God ! And still, in fancy, we see him ride In the blood-red front of a hundred frays, His face set stolid, but glorified As a knight s of the old Arthurian days: And victor ever as courtly, too, Gently lifting the vanquished foe, And staying him with a hand as true As dealt the deadly avenging blow. So, brighter than all of the cluster of stars Of the flag enshrouding his form to-day, His face shines forth from the grime of wars With a glory that shall not pass away : He rests at last: he has borne his part Of salutes and salvos and cheers on cheers But O the sobs of his country s heart, And the driving rain of a nation s tears ! 124 IN DIALECT OLD-FASHIONED ROSES THE T ain t no style about em, A ad they re sorto pale and faded, Yit the doorway here, without em, Would be lonesomer, and shaded With a good eal blacker shadder Than the morning-glories makes, And the sunshine would look sadder Fer their good old-fashion sakes. I like em cause they kindo - Sorto make a feller like em! And I tell you, when I find a Bunch out whur the sun kin strike em, It allus sets me thinkin O the ones at used to grow And peek in thro the chinkin O the cabin, don t you know! .27 OLD-FASHIONED ROSES And then I think o mother, And how she ust to love em When they wuzn t any other, Less she found em up above em! And her eyes, afore she shut em, Whispered with a smile and said We must pick a bunch and putt em In her hand when she wuz dead. But, as I wuz a-sayin , They ain t no style about em Very gaudy er displayin , But I wouldn t be without em, Cause I m happier in these posies, And the hollyhawks and sich, Than the hummin -bird at noses In the roses of the rich. 128 GRIGGSBY S STATION PAP S got his patent-right, and rich as all creation ; But where s the peace and comfort that we all had before? Le s go a-visitin back to Griggsby s Station Back where we ust to be so happy and so pore ! The likes of us a-livin here! It s jest a mortal pity To see us in this great big house, with cyarpets on the stairs, And the pump right in the kitchen ! And the city ! city ! city! And nothin but the city all around us ever wheres ! Climb clean above the roof and look from the steeple, And never see a robin, nor a beech or ellum tree ! And right here in ear-shot of at least a thousan* people, And none that neighbors with us or we want to go and see! 129 GRIGGSBY S STATION Le s go a-visitin back to Griggsby s Station Back where the latch-string s a-hangin from the door, And ever neighbor round the place is dear as a relation Back where we ust to be so happy and so pore ! I want to see the Wiggenses, the whole kit-and-bilin% A-drivin up from Shallor Ford to stay the Sunday through ; And I want to see em hitchin* at their son-in-law s and pilin Out there at Lizy Ellen s like they ust to do! I want to see the piece-quilts the Jones girls is makin ; And I want to pester Laury bout their freckled hired hand, And joke her bout the widower she come purt* nigh a-takin , Till her Pap got his pension lowed in time to save his land. Le s go a-visitin back to Griggsby s Station Back where they s nothin aggervatin any more, Shet away safe in the woods around the old location-* Back where we ust to be so happy and so pore ! 130 GRIGGSBY S STATION I want to see Marindy and he p her with her sewin , And hear her talk so lovin of her man that s dead and gone, And stand up with Emanuel to show me how he s growin , And smile as I have saw her fore she putt her And I want to see the Samples, on the old lower eighty, Where John, our oldest boy, he was tuk and burried for His own sake and Katy s, and I want to cry with Katy As she reads all his letters over, writ from The War. What s in all this grand life and high situation, And nary pink nor hollyhawk a-bloomin at the door ? Le s go a-visitin back to Griggsby s Station Back where we ust to be so happy and so pore! KNEE-DEEP IN JUNE TELL you what I like the best Long about knee-deep in June, Bout the time strawberries melts On the vine, some afternoon Like to jes git out and rest, And not work at nothin else ! Orchard s where I d ruther be Needn t fence it in fer me ! Jes the whole sky overhead, And the whole airth underneath Sorto so s a man kin breathe Like he ort, and kindo has Elbow-room to keerlessly Sprawl out len thways on the grass 132 OF THE ^ UNIVERSITY .Q. OF ^i/FORH^ KNEE-DEEP IN JUNE ^ g *s==f^ Where the shadders thick and soft As the kivvers on the bed Mother fixes in the loft Allus, when they s company! in Jes* a-sorto lazin there S lazy, at you peek and peer Through the wavin leaves above. Like a feller ats in love And don t know it, ner. don t keer! Ever thing you hear and see Got some sort o interest Maybe find a bluebird s nest Tucked up there conveenently Fer the boy at s ap to be Up some other apple-tree ! Watch the swallers skootin past Bout as peert as you could ast ; Er the Bob-white raise and whiz Where some other s whistle is. 133 KNEE-DEEP IN JUNE IV Ketch a shadder down below, And look up to find the crow Er a hawk, away up there, Pearantly froze in the air! Hear the old hen squawk, and squat Over ever chick she s got, Suddent-like ! and she knows where That-air hawk is, well as you! You jes bet yer life she do I Eyes a-glitterin like glass, Waitin till he makes a pass ! Pee-wees* singin , to express My opinion, s second class, Yit you ll hear em more er less; Sapsucks gittin down to biz, Weedin out the lonesomeness ; Mr. Bluejay, full o sass, In them base-ball clothes o* his, 34 KNEE-DEEP IN JUNE Sportin round the orchard jes Like he owned the premises ! Sun out in the fields kin sizz, But flat on yer back, I guess, In the shade s where glory is! That s jes what I d like to do Stiddy fer a year er two ! VI Plague! ef they ain t somepin in Work at kindo goes ag in My convictions! long about Here in June especially ! Under some old apple-tree, Jes a-restin through and through, I could git along without Nothin else at all to do Only jes a-wishin you Wuz a-gittin there like me, And June was eternity ! 35 KNEE-DEEP IN JUNE VII Lay out there and try to see Jes how lazy you kin be ! Tumble round and souse yer head In the clover-bloom, er pull Yer straw hat acrost yer eyes And peek through it at the skies, Thinkin of old chums at s dead, Maybe, smilin back at you In betwixt the beautiful Clouds o gold and white and blue ! Month a man kin railly love June, you know, I m talkin of! VIII March ain t never nothin new! Aprile s altogether too Brash f er me ! and May I jes* Bominate its promises, Little hints o sunshine and Green around the timber-land KNEE-DEEP IN JUNE A few blossoms, and a few Chip-birds, and a sprout er two, Drap asleep, and it turns in Fore daylight and snows ag in! But when June comes Clear my th oat With wild honey! Rench my hair In the dew ! and hold my coat ! Whoop out loud! and th ow my hit!- June wants me, and I m to spare! Spread them shadders anywhere, I ll git down and waller there, And obleeged to you at that ! 37 WHEN THE HEARSE COMES BACK A THING at s bout as tryin as a healthy man kin meet Is some poor feller s funeral a-joggin long the street: The slow hearse and the hosses slow enough, to say the least, Fer to even tax the patience of the gentleman deceased! The low scrunch of the gravel and the slow grind of the wheels, The slow, slow go of ev ry woe at ev rybody feels! So I ruther like the contrast when I hear the whip-lash crack A quickstep fer the hosses, When the Hearse Comes Back! Meet it goin to rds the cimet ry, you ll want to drap yer eyes But ef the plumes don t fetch you, it ll ketch you o*h- erwise 138 WHEN THE HEARSE COMES BACK You ll haf to see the caskit, though you d ort to look away And conomize and save yer sighs fer any other day! Yer sympathizin won t wake up the sleeper from his rest Yer tears won t thaw them hands o his at s froze acrost his breast ! And this is why when airth and sky s a gittin blurred and black I like the flash and hurry When the Hearse Comes Back! It s not cause I don t predate it ain t no time fer jokes, Ner cause I got no common human feelin fer the folks ; I ve went to funerals myse f , and tuk on some, perhaps Fer my heart s bout as mal able as any other chap s, I ve buried father, mother But I ll haf to jes git you To " excuse me," as the feller says. The p int I m drivin to 39 WHEN THE HEARSE COMES BACK Is, simply, when we re plum broke down and all knocked out o whack, It he ps to shape us up, like, When the Hearse Comes Back! The idy! wadin round here over shoe-mouth deep in woe, When they s a graded pike o joy and sunshine, don t you know! When evening strikes the pastur , cows ll pull out fer the bars, And skittish-like from out the night ll prance the happy stars. And so when my time comes to die, and I ve got ary friend At wants expressed my last request I ll, mebby, rick- ommend 140 WHEN THE HEARSE COMES BACK To drive slow, ef they haf to, goin long the oufard track, But I ll smile and say, "You speed J em When the Hearse Comes Back!" *4 A CANARY AT THE FARM FOLKS has be n to town, and Sahry Fetched er home a pet canary, And of all the blame , contrary, Aggervatin things alive! I love music that s I love it When it s free and plenty of it; But I kindo git above it, At a dollar-eighty-five ! Reason s plain as I m a-sayin% Jes the idy, now, o layin Out yer money, and a-payin Fer a wilier-cage and bird, When the medder-larks is wingin* Round you, and the woods is ringin With the beautifullest singin That a mortal ever heard ! 142 A CANARY AT THE FARM Sahry s sot, tho . So I tell her He s a purty little feller, With his wings o creamy-yeller, And his eyes keen as a cat; And the twitter o the critter Pears to absolutely glitter! Guess I ll haf to go and git her A high-priceter cage n that! A LIZ-TOWN HUMORIST SETTIN round the stove, last night, Down at Wess s store, was me And Mart Strimples, Tunk, and White t And Doc Bills, and two er three Fellers o the Mudsock tribe No use tryin to describe ! And says Doc, he says, says he, "Talkin bout good things to eat, Ripe mushmillon s hard to beat! " I chawed on. And Mart he lowed Wortermillon beat the mush. "Red," he says, " and juicy Hush! I ll jes leave it to the crowd! " Then a Mudsock chap, says he, " Punkin s good enough fer me Punkin pies, I mean," he says, " Them beats millons! What say, Wess?" 144 A LIZ-TOWN HUMORIST I chawed on. And Wess says, " Well, You jes fetch that wife of mine All yer wortermillon-rzVz^, And she ll bile it down a spell In with sorghum, I suppose, And what else, Lord only knows! But I m here to tell all hands Them p serves meets my demands! " I chawed on. And White he says, " Well, I ll jes stand in with Wess- I m no hog! " And Tunk says, " I Guess I ll pastur out on pie With the Mudsock boys! " says he; 11 Now what s yourn? " he says to me: I chawed on fer quite a spell Then I speaks up, slow and dry, "Jes tobacker! " I-says-I. And you d ort o heerd em yell! 45 KINGRY S MILL ON old Brandywine about Where White s Lots is now laid out, And the old crick narries down To the ditch that splits the town, Kingry s Mill stood. Hardly see Where the old dam ust to be ; Shallor, long, dry trought o grass Where the old race ust to pass ! That s be n forty years ago Forty years o frost and snow Forty years o shade and shine Sence them boyhood-days o mine ! All the old landmarks o town Changed about, er rotted down ! Where s the Tanyard ? Where s the Still ? Tell me where s old Kingry s Mill? Don t seem furder back, to me, I ll be dogg d ! than yisterd y, Since us fellers, in bare feet And straw hats, went through the wheat, 146 KINGRY S MILL, Cuttin crost the shortest shoot Fer that-air old ellum root Jest above the mill-dam where The blame* cars now crosses there ! Through the willers down the crick We could see the old mill stick Its red gable up, as if It jest knowed we d stol d the skiff! See the winders in the sun Blink like they wuz wonderun* What the miller ort to do With sich boys as me and you ! But old Kingry ! who could fear That old chap, with all his cheer? Leanin at the window-sill, Er the half-door o the mill, Swoppin lies, and pokin* fun, J N jigglin like his hoppers done Laughin grists o gold and red Right out o the wagon-bed ! I 47 KINGRY S MILL What did he keer where we went? Jest keep out o devilment, And don t fool around the belts, Bolts, ner burrs, ner nothin else Bout the blame machinery, And that s all I ast! " says-ee. Then we d climb the stairs, and play In the bran-bins half the day! Rickollect the dusty wall, And the spider-webs, and all! Rickollect the trimblin spout Where the meal come josslin out- Stand and comb yer fingers through The fool-truck an hour er two Felt so sorto* warm-like and Soothin to a feller s hand! Climb, high up above the stream, And " coon" out the wobbly beam And peek down from out the lof Where the weather-boards was off 148 KINGRY S MILL, Gee-mun-nee I w y, it takes grit Even jest to think of it ! Lookin way down there below On the worter roarin so ! Rickollect the flume, and wheel, And the worter slosh and reel And jest ravel out in froth Flossier n satin cloth ! Rickollect them paddles jest Knock the bubbles galley-west, And plunge under, and come up, Drippin like a worter-pup ! And, to see them old things gone That I onc t was bettin on, In rale p int o fact, I feel Kindo like that worter- wheel, Sorto drippy-like and wet Round the eyes but paddlin yet, And, in mem ry, loafin still Down around old Kingry s Mill ! 149 JONEY HAD a hare-lip Joney had : Spiled his looks, and Joney knowed it: Fellers tried to bore him, bad But ef ever he got mad, He kep still and never showed it. Druther have his mouth all pouted And split up, and like it wuz, Than the ones at laughed about it. Purty is as purty does ! Had to listen ruther clos t Fore you knowed what he wuz givin* You ; and yet, without no boast, Joney he wuz jest the most Entertainin talker livin ! Take the Scriptur s and run through em, Might say, like a auctioneer, And ud argy and review em At wuz beautiful to hear! JONEY Hare-lip and inpediment, Both wuz bad, and both ag in him But the old folks where he went, Feared like, knowin his intent, Scused his mouth fer what wuz in him. And the childern all loved Joney And he loved em back, you bet! Putt their arms around him on y None had ever kissed him yet! In young company, someway, Boys ud grin at one another On the sly ; and girls ud lay Low, with nothin much to say, Er leave Joney with their mother. Many and many a time he s fetched em Candy by the paper sack, And turned right around and ketched em Makin mouths behind his back! JONKY S prised, sometimes, the slurs he took. - Chap said onc t his mouth looked sorter Like a fish s mouth ud look When he d be n jerked off the hook And plunked back into the worter. Same durn feller it s su prisin , But it s facts at stood and cherred From the bank that big babtizin Pike-bridge accident occurred !- Cherred for Joney while he give Life to little childern drowndin I Which wuz fittenest to live Him at cherred, er him at div And saved thirteen lives ? . . . They found one Body, three days later, floated Down the by-o, eight mile* south, All so colored-up and bloated On y knowed him by his mouth 1 JONEY Had a hare-lip Joney had Folks at filed apast all knowed it. Them at ust to smile looked sad, But ef he thought good er bad, He kep still and never showed it. Druther have that mouth, all pouted And split up, and like it wuz, Than the ones at laughed about it. Purty is as purty does ! 53 LIKE HIS MOTHER USED TO MAKE "Uncle Jake s Place," St. Jo, Mo., 1874. "I WAS born in Indiany," says a stranger, lank and slim, As us fellers in the restarunt was kindo guyin him, And Uncle Jake was slidin him another punkin pie And a* extry cup o coffee, with a twinkle in his eye, "I was born in Indiany more n forty year ago And I hain t be n back in twenty and I m workin back ards slow; But I ve et in ever restarunt twixt here and Santy Fee, And I want to state this coffee tastes like gittin home, to me! "Pour us out another, Daddy," says the feller, warrnin up, A-speakin crost a saucerful, as Uncle tuk his cup, "When I seed yer sign out yander," he went on, to Uncle Jake, " Come in and git some coffee like yer other used to make* 154 LIKE HIS MOTHER USED TO MAKE I thought of my old mother, and the Posey County farm, And me a little kid ag in, a-hangin in her arm, As she set the pot a-bilin , broke the eggs and poured em in" And the feller kindo halted, with a trimble in his chin : And Uncle Jake he fetched the feller s coffee back, and stood As solemn, fer a minute, as a* undertaker would; Then he sorto turned and tiptoed to rds the kitchen door and nex , Here comes his old wife out with him, a-rubbin of her specs And she rushes fer the stranger, and she hollers out, "It s him! Thank God we ve met him comin ! Don t you know yer mother, Jim?" And the feller, as he grabbed her, says, "You bet I hain t forgot But," wipin of his eyes, says he, "yer coffee s mighty hot!" 155 THE TRAIN-MISSER At Union Station LL where in the world my eyes has bin Ef I hain t missed that train ag in ! Chuff ! and whistle ! and toot ! and ring ! But blast and blister the dasted train ! How it does it I can t explain! Git here thirty-five minutes before The durn thing s due! and, drat the thing! It ll manage to git past shore! The more I travel around, the more I got no sense ! To stand right here And let it beat me ! LI ding my melts ! I got no gumption, ner nothin else ! Ticket Agent s a dad-burned bore ! Sell you a ticket s all they keer! Ticket Agents ort to all be THE TRAIN-MISSER Prosecuted and that s jes what ! How d I know which train s fer me? And how d I know which train was not? Goern and comin and gone astray, And backin and switchin ever -which-way! Ef I could jes sneak round behind Myse f, where I could git full swing, I d lift my coat, and kick, by jing! Till I jes got jerked up and fined ! Fer here I stood, as a durn fool s apt To, and let that train jes chuff and choo Right apast me and mouth jes gapped Like a blamed old sandwitch warped in two! 57 GRANNY GRANNY S come to our house, And ho ! my lawzy-daisy ! All the childern round the place Is ist a-runnin crazy ! Fetched a cake fer little Jake, And fetched a pie fer Nanny, And fetched a pear fer all the pack That runs to kiss their Granny ! Lucy Ellen s in her lap, And Wade and Silas Walker Both s a ridin on her foot, And Polios on the rocker; And Marthy s twins, from Aunt Marinn s, And little Orphant Annie, All s a-eatin gingerbread And giggle-un at Granny! Tells us all the fairy tales Ever thought er wundered And bundance o other stories Bet she knows a hunderd ! 158 GRANNY Bob s the one fer " Whittington," And " Golden Locks" fer Fanny! Hear em laugh and clap their hands, Listenin at Granny ! Jack the Giant-Killer" s good; And "Bean-Stalk" s another! So s the one of <Cinderell " And her old godmother; That-un s best of all the rest Bestest one of any, Where the mices scampers home Like we runs to Granny ! Granny s come to our house, Ho ! my lawzy-daisy ! All the childern round the place Is ist a runnin crazy ! Fetched a cake fer little Jake, And fetched a pie fer Nanny, And fetched a pear fer all the pack That runs to kiss their Granny ! 59 OLD OCTOBER OLD October s purt nigh gone, And the frosts is comin on Little heavier every day Like our hearts is thataway ! Leaves is changin overhead Back from green to gray and red, Brown and yeller, with their stems Loosenin on the oaks and e ms; And the balance of the trees Gittin balder every breeze Like the heads we re scratchin on! Old October s purt nigh gone. I love Old October so, I can t bear to see her go Seems to me like losin some Old-home relative er chum Pears like sorto settin by Some old friend at sigh by sigh 1 60 OLD OCTOBER Was a-passin out o sight Into everlastin night ! Hickernuts a feller hears Rattlin down is more like tears Drappin on the leaves below I love Old October so ! Can t tell what it is about Old October knocks me out! I sleep well enough at night And the blamedest appetite Ever mortal man possessed,- Last thing et, it tastes the best ! Warnuts, butternuts, pawpaws, lies and limbers up my jaws Fer raal service, sich as new Pork, spareribs, and sausage, too.- Yit, fer all, they s somepin bout Old October knocks me out 1 161 JIM HE was jes a plain, ever -day, all-round kind of a jour., Consumpted-lookin but la ! The jokeiest, wittiest, story-tellin , song-singin , laugh- in est, jolliest Feller you ever saw ! Worked at jes coarse work, but you kin bet he was fine enough in his talk, And his feelin s too! Lordy ! ef he was on y back on his bench ag in to-day, a- carry in on Like he ust to do ! Any shopmate ll tell you there never was, on top o dirt, A better feller n Jim ! You want a favor, and couldn t git it anywheres else You could git it o him ! Most free-heartedest man thataway in the world, I guess ! Give up ever nickel he s worth And, ef you d a-wanted it, and named it to him, and it was his, He d a-give you the earth ! 162 JIM Allus a reachin out, Jim was, and a-he ppin* some Pore feller onto his feet He d a-never a-keered how hungry he was hisse f, So s the feller got somepin to eat! Didn t make no differ nce at all to him how he was dressed, He ust to say to me, "You togg out a tramp purty comfortable in winter time, a-huntin a job, And he ll git along! " says he. Jim didn t have, ner never could git ahead, so overly much O this world s goods at a time. Fore now I ve saw him, more n onc t, lend a dollar, and haf to, more n likely, Turn round and borry a dime ! Mebby laugh and joke about it hisse f fer a while then jerk his coat, And kindo square his chin, Tie on his apern, and squat hisse f on his old shoe-bench, And go to peggin ag in! 163 JIM Patientest feller, too, I reckon, at ever jes natchurly Coughed hisse f to death! Long enough after his voice was lost he d laugh in a whisper and say He could git ever thing but his breath "Ton fellers," he d sorto twinkle his eyes and say, "Is a-pilin onto me A mighty big debt fer that-air little weak-chested ghost o mine to pack Through all Eternity! " Now there was a man at jes peared-like, to me, At ortn t a-never a-died ! "But death hain t a-showin no favors," the old boss said "On y to Jim!" and cried: And Wigger, who puts up the best sewed-work in the shop Er the whole blame neighborhood, He says, " When God made Jim, I bet you He didn t do anything else that day But jes set around and feel good! " 164 TO ROBERT BURNS SWEET Singer that I loe the maist O ony, sin wi eager haste I smacket bairn-lips ower the taste O hinnied sang, I hail thee, though a blessed ghaist In Heaven lang! For, weel I ken, nae cantie phrase, Nor courtly airs, nor lairdly ways, Could gar me freer blame, or praise, Or proffer hand, Where "Rantin Robbie and his lays Thegither stand. And sae these hamely lines I send, Wi jinglin words at ilka end, In echo o the sangs that wend Frae thee to me Like simmer-brooks, wi mony a bend O wimplin glee. 65 TO ROBERT BURNS In fancy, as, wi dewy een, I part the clouds aboon the scene Where thou wast born, and peer atween, I see nae spot In a the Hielands half sae green And unforgot! I see nae stoned castle-hall, Wi banners flauntin ower the wall And serf and page in ready call, Sae grand to me As ane puir cotter s hut, wi* all Its poverty. There where the simple daisy grew Sae bonnie sweet, and modest, too, Thy liltin filled its wee head fV Q sic a grace, It aye is weepin tears o* dew Wi droopit face. Frae where the heather bluebells fling Their sangs o fragrance to the Spring^ To where the lavrock soars to sing, 166 TO ROBERT BURNS Still lives thy strain, For a* the birds are twittering Sangs like thine ain. And aye, by light o sun or moon, By banks o Ayr, or Bonnie Doon, The waters lilt nae tender tune But sweeter seems Because they poured their limpid rune Through a thy dreams. Wi brimmin lip, and laughin* ee, Thou shookest even Grief wi glee, Yet had nae niggart sympathy Where Sorrow bowed, But gavest a j thy tears as free As a thy gowd. And sae it is we loe thy name To see bleeze up wi sic a flame, That a pretentious stars o fame Maun blink asklent, To see how simple worth may shame Their brightest glent. 167 A NEW YEAR S TIME AT WILLARDS S THE HIRED MAN TALKS THERE S old man Willards ; an his wife ; An* Marg et S repty s sister; an* There s me an I m the hired man ; An* Tomps McClure, you bet yer life ! Well, now, old Willards hain t so bad, Considerin the chance he s had. Of course, he s rich, an sleeps an eats Whenever he s a mind to : Takes An leans back in the Amen-seats An* thanks the Lord fer all he makes. That s purty much all folks has got Ag inst the old man, like as not I 168 A NEW YEAR S TIME AT WILLARDS S But there s his woman jes the turn Of them- air two wild girls o hern Marg et an S repty allus in Fer any cuttin -up concern Church festibals, and foolishin Round Christmas-trees, an* New Year s sprees- Set up to watch the Old Year go An New Year come sich things as these ; An* turkey-dinners, don t you know! S repty s younger, an more gay, An purtier, an finer dressed Than Marg et is but, lawzy-day ! She hain t the independentest ! "Take care!" old Willards used to say, "Take care! Let Marg et have her way, An S repty, you go off an play On your melodeum!" But, best Of all, comes Tomps ! An I ll be bound, Ef he hain t jes the beatin est Young chap in all the country round 1 169 A NEW YEAR S TIME AT WILLARDS S Ef you knowed Tomps you d like him, shore! They hain t no man on top o ground Walks into my affections more ! An all the Settlement ll say That Tomps was liked jes thatawa^ By ever body, till he tuk A shine to S repty Willards. Then You d ort o see the old man buck An h ist hisse f, an paw the dirt, An hint that "common workin -men That didn t want their feelin s hurt Ud better hunt fer { comp ny where The folks was pore an didn t care ! "- The pine-blank facts is, the old man, Last Christmas was a year ago, Found out some presents Tomps had got Fer S repty, an hit made him hot- Set down an tuk his pen in hand An writ to Tomps an told him so On legal cap, in white an black, An give him ies to understand 170 A NEW YEAR S TIME AT WILLARDS S "No Christmas-gifts o * lily-white An* bear s- ile could fix matters right," An wropped em up an sent em back! Well, S repty cried an snuffled round Consid able. But Marg et she Toed out another sock, an* wound Her knifrin up, an* drawed the tea, An then set on the supper-things, An went up in the loft an dressed An through it all you d never guessed What she was up to! An* she brings Her best hat with her an her shawl, An gloves, an* redicule, an all, An injirubbers, an comes down An tells em she s a-goin to town To he p the Christmas goin s-on Her Church got up. An go she does The best hosswoman ever was ! "An what ll WE do while you re gone?" The old man says, a-tryin to be Agreeable. "Oh! you?" says she, A NEW YEAR S TIME AT WILLARDS S "Tbu kin jaw S repty, like you did, An slander Tomps! " An off she rid! Now, this is all Fm goin to tell Of this-here story that is, I Have done my very level best As fur as this, an here I "dwell," As auctioneers says, winkin sly: Hit s old man Willards tells the rest. ii THE OLD MAN TALKS Adzackly jes one year ago, This New Year s day, Tomps comes to me-* In my own house, an whilse the folks Was gittin dinner, an he pokes His nose right in, an says, says he: I got yer notean read it slow! You don t like me, ner I don t j>/0," He says, "we re even there, you know! But you ve said, furder, that no gal Of yourn kin marry me, er shall, 172 A NEW YEAR S TIME AT WILLARDS S An I d best shet off coming too! " An* then he says, " Well, them s YOUR views;- But, havin talked with S repty, toe Have both agreed to disagree With your peculiar notions some ; An , that s the reason, I refuse To quit a-comin here, but come- Not fer to threat, ner raise no skeer An spile yer turkey-dinner here, But, jes fer S repty s sake, to sheer Yer New Year s. Shall I take a cheer? " Well, blame-don! ef I ever see Sich impidence ! I couldn t say Not nary word ! But Mother she Sot out a cheer fer Tomps, an* they Shuk hands an turnt their back on me. Then I riz mad as mad could be! But Marg et says, "Now, Pap! you set Right where you re settin ! Don t you fret! An , Tomps -you warm yer feet! " says she, 73 A NEW YEAR S TIME AT WILLARDS S "An throw yer mitts an comfert on The bed there! Where is S repty gone?- The cabbage is a-scortchin ! Ma, Stop cryin there an stir the slaw! " Well! what was Mother cryin fer? I half riz up but Marg et s chin Hit squared an I set down ag in I allus was afeard o her, I was, by jucks ! So there I set, Betwixt a sinkin -chill an sweat, An scuffled with my wrath, an shet My teeth to mighty tight, you bet! An yit, fer all that I could do, I eeched to jes git up an whet The carvin -knife a rasp er two On Tomps s ribs an* so would you ! Fer he had riz an faced around, An stood there, smilin , as they brung The turkey in, all stuffed an* browned Too sweet fer nose er tooth er tongue ! 74 A NEW YEAR S TIME AT WILLARDS S With sniffs o sage, an pVaps a dash Of old burnt brandy, steamin -hot, Mixed kindo in with apple-mash An mince-meat, an the Lord knows what! Nobody was a-talkin then, To filiate any awk ardness No noise o any kind but jes The rattle o the dishes when They d fetch em in an set em down, An fix an change em round an round, Like women does till Mother says, " Vittels is ready; Abner, call Down S repty she s up-stairs, I guess." And Marg et she says, " Ef you bawl Like that, she ll not come down at all! Besides, we needn t wait till she Gits down ! Here, Tomps, set down by me, An Pap: say grace!" . . . Well, there I was!- What could I do ! I drapped my head Behind my fists an groaned, an said: 44 Indulgent Parent! in Thy cause We bow the head an bend the knee, 75 A NEW YEAR S TIME AT WILLARDS S An break the bread, an pour the wine, Feelin " (The stair-door suddently Went bang! an S repty flounced by me) 11 Feelin ," I says, " this feast is Thine This New Year s feast" an rap-rap-rap! Went Marg et s case-knife on her plate An next, I heerd a sasser drap, Then I looked up, an , strange to state, There S repty set in Tomps s lap An huggin* him, as shore as fate! An Mother kissin him k-slap ! An Marg et she chips in to drap The ruther peert remark to me : "That grace o yourn," she says, "won t gee This hain t no New Tear s feast, " says she, "This is a INFAIR-Dinner. Pap!" An so it was ! be n married fer Purt nigh a week! Twas Marg et planned The whole thing fer em, through an through. I m rickonciled ; an , understand, 176 A NEW YEAR S TIME AT WILLARDS S T take things jes as they occur, Ef Marg et liked Tomps, Tomps ud do! But I-says-I, a-holt his hand, "I m glad you didn t marry HER Cause Marg et s my guardeen yes-sir! An S repty s good enough fer you! " 177 THE TOWN KARNTEEL THE town Karnteel! It s who ll reveal Its praises jushtifiable ? For who can sing av anything So lovely and reliable ? Whin Summer, Spring, or Winter lies From Malin s Head to Tipperary, There s no such town for interprise Bechuxt Youghal and Londonderry ! There s not Us likes in Ireland For twic t the week, be-gorries! They re playing jigs upon the band, Andjoomping there in sacks and and And racing, wid wheelborries! Karnteel it s there, like any fair, The purty gurrls is plinty, sure I And, man-alive ! at forty-five The legs av me air twinty, sure ! 178 THE TOWN KARNTEEL I lave me cares, and hoein , too, Behint me, as is sinsible, And it s Karnteel I m goin to, To cilebrate in principle ! For there s the town av all the land! And twic t the week, be-gorries! They re playing jigs upon the band, Andjoomping there in sacks and and-~* And racing , wid wheelborries! And whilst I feel for owld Karnteel That I ve no phrases glorious, It stands above the need av love That boasts in voice uproarious ! Lave that for Cork, and Dublin, too, And Armagh and Killarney, thin, And Karnteel won t be troublin you Wid any jilous blarney, thin ! For there s the town av all the land Where twic t the week, be-gorries! They re playing jigs upon the band, Andjoomping there in sacks and and And racing, wid wheelborries! 179 REGARDIN TERRY HUT SENCE I tuk holt o Gibbses Churn And be n a-handlin the concern, I ve travelled round the grand old State Of Indiany, lots, o late ! I ve canvassed Crawferdsville and sweat Around the town o Layfayette ; I ve saw a many a County-seat I ust to think was hard to beat: At constant dreenage and expense I ve worked Greencastle and Vincennes-^ Drapped out o Putnam into Clay, Owen, and on down thataway Plum into Knox, on the back-track Fer home ag in and glad I m back! I ve saw these towns, as I say but They s none at beats old Terry Hut! It s more n likely you ll insist I claim this cause I m prejudist, Bein born d here in ole Vygo In sight o Terry Hut ; but no, 180 REGARDIN TERRY HUT Yer clean dead wrong! and I maintain They s nary drap in ary vein O mine but what s as free as air To jest take issue with you there ! Cause, boy and man, fer forty year, I ve argied against livin here, And jawed around and traded lies About our lack o* enterprise, And tuk and turned in and agreed All other towns was in the lead, When drat my melts! they couldn t cut No shine a-tall with Terry Hut ! Take, even, statesmanship, and wit, And ginerel git-up-and-git, Old Terry Hut is sound clean through ! Turn old Dick Thompson loose, er Dan Vbrehees and where s they any man Kin even hold a candle to Their eloquence? And where s as clean A fi-nan-seer as Rile McKeen Er puorer, in his daily walk, In railroad er in racin stock 181 REGARDIN* TERRY HUT And there s Gene Debs a man at stands And jest holds out in his two hands As warm a heart as ever beat Betwixt here and the Jedgement Seat ! All these is reasons why I putt Sich bulk o faith in Terry Hut. So I ve come back, with eyes at sees My faults, at last, to make my peace With this old place, and truthful swear Like Gineral Tom Nelson does, 4 They hain t no city anywhere On God s green earth lays over us! " Our city government is grand " Ner is they better farmin -land Sun-kissed " as Tom goes on and says 11 Er dower d with sich advantages! " And I ve come back, with welcome tread, From journeyin s vain, as I have said, To settle down in ca m content, And cuss the towns where I have went, And brag on ourn, and boast and strut Around the streets o Terry Hut! 182 LEEDLE DUTCH BABY LEEDLE Dutch baby haff come ter town ! Jabber und jump till der day gone down Jabber und sphlutter und sphlit hees jaws Vot a Dutch baby dees Londsmon vas ! I dink dose mout vas leedle too vide Ober he laugh fon dot altso-side ! Haff got blenty off deemple und vrown ? Hey ! leedle Dutchman come ter town ! Leedle Dutch baby, I dink me proud Ober your fader can schquall dot loud Ven he vas leedle Dutch baby like you Und yoost don t gare, like he alvays do! Guess ven dey vean him on beer, you bet Dot s der because dot he aind veaned yet! Vot you said off he dringk you down ? Hey ! leedle Dutchman come ter town ! 183 LEEDLE DUTCH BABY Leedle Dutch baby, yoost schquall avay Schquall f on preakf ast till gisterday ! Better you all time gry und shout Dan shmile me vonce fon der coffin out! Vot I gare off you keek my nose Downside-up mit your heels und toes Downside, oder der oopside-down ? Hey ! leedle Dutchman come ter town ! 184 DOWN ON WRIGGLE CRICK Best time to kill a hog s -when he s fat " OLD SAW, MOSTLY, folks is law-abidin Down on Wriggle Crick, Seem they s no Squire residin* In our bailywick ; No grand juries, no suppeenies, Ner no vested rights to pick Out yer man, jerk up and jail ef He s outragin Wriggle Crick! Wriggle Crick hain t got no lawin , Ner no suits to beat ; Ner no court-house gee-and-hawin Like a County-seat; Hain t no waitin round fer verdicks, Ner non-gittin witness-fees ; Ner no thiefs at gits "new hearin s," By some lawyer slick as grease 1 DOWN ON WRIGGLE CRICK Wriggle Cricks s leadin spirit Is old Johnts Culwell, Keeps post-office, and right ne it Owns what s called "The G <aid Hotel" (Warehouse now) buys wheat and ships it; Gits out ties, and trades in st And knows all the high-toned * .^miers Twixt South Bend and Mis) iwauk . Last year comes along a feller Sharper an a lance Stovepipe-hat and silk umbreller, And a boughten all-wool pants, Tinkerin of clocks and watches; Says a trial s all he wants And rents out the tavern-office Next to Uncle Johnts. 1. He tacked up his k dentials, And got down to biz. Captured Johnts by cuttin stenchils Fer them old wheat-sacks o his. iS6 . DOWN ON WRIGGLE CRICK Fh.ed his clock, in the post-office- Painted fer him, clean and slick, C ost his safe, in gold-leaf letters, J. Cul wells s Wriggle Crick." / y kindo* job you keered to lesk him with, and bring, K M lix fer you jest appeared to 1*111*1 his hand to anything! Rin^o, er earbobs, er umbrellers Glue a cheer er chany doll, W y, of all the beatin fellers, rle jest beat em all ! Made his friends, but wouldn t stop there,- One mistake he learnt, That was, sleepin in his shop there. And one Sund y night it burnt! Come in one o jest a-sweepin All the whole town high and dry And that feller, when they waked him, Suffocatin , mighty nigh! ,8 7 DOWN ON WRIGGLE CRICK Johnts he drug him from the buildin , He pless Beared to be, And the women and the childern Drenchin him with sympathy! But I noticed Johnts helt on him With a extry lovin grip, And the men-folks gethered round him In most warmest pardnership ! That s the whole mess, grease-and-dopin* Johnt s safe was saved, But the lock was found sprung open, And the inside caved. Was no trial ner no jury Ner no jedge ner court-house-click. Circumstances alters cases Down on Wriggle Crick I i8S WHEN DE FOLKS IS GONE WHAT dat scratchin at de kitchin do ? Done heah n dat fob an hour er mo* ! Tell you, Mr. Niggah, das sho s yo bo n, Hit s mighty lonesome waitin when de folks is gone ! Blame my trap! how de wind do blow! An dis is das de night fob de witches, sho ! Dey s trouble gon to waste when de old slut whine, An* you heah de cat a-spittin when de moon don t shine I Chune my fiddle, an* de bridge go "bang!" An I lef er right back whah she allus hang, An de tribble snap short an de apern split When dey no mortal man wah a-tetchin hit! Dah! Now, what? How de ole j ice cracks! Spec dis house, ef hit tell plain fac s, Ud talk about de ha nts wid dey long tails on What das n t on y come when de folks is gone ! 189 WHEN DE FOLKS IS GONE What I tuk an done ef a sho -nuff ghos Pop right up by de ole bed-pos ? What dat shinin fru de front do crack? . . God bress de Lo d! hit s de folks got back! 190 THE LITTLE TOWN O TAILHOLT You kin boast about yer cities, and their stiddy growth and size, And brag about yer County-seats, and business enter prise, And railroads, and factories, and all sich foolery But the little Town o Tailholt is big enough fer me ! You kin harp about yer churches, with their steeples in the clouds, And gas about yer graded streets, and blow about yer crowds ; You kin talk about yer "Waters," and all you ve got to see But the little Town o Tailholt is show enough fer me ! They hain t no style in our town hit s little-like and small They hain t no u churches" nuther, jes the meetin - house is all; 191 THE LITTLE TOWN O* TAILHOLT They s no sidewalks, to speak of but the highway s allus free, And the little Town o Tailholt is wide enough fer me ! Some find it discommodin -like, Pm willin to admit, To hev but one post-office, and a womern keepin hit, And the drug-store, and shoe-shop, and grocery, all three But the little Town o Tailholt is handy nough fer me! You kin smile and turn yer nose up, and joke and hev yer fun, And laugh and holler " Tail-holts is better holts n none!" Ef the city suits you better, w y, hit s where you d ort o be- But the little Town o Tailholt s good enough fer me ! 193 LITTLE ORPHANT ANNIE LITTLE Orphant Annie s come to our house to stay, An wash the cups an saucers up, an brush the crumbs away, An shoo the chickens off the porch, an* dust the hearth, an sweep, An make the fire, an* bake the bread, an earn her board- an -keep ; An all us other childern, when the supper things is done, We set around the kitchen fire an has the mostest fun A-list nin to the witch-tales at Annie tells about, An the Gobble-uns at gits you Ef you Don t Watch Out! 93 LITTLE ORPHANT ANNIE Onc t they was a little boy wouldn t say his prayers, An* when he went to bed at night, away up stairs, His Mammy heerd him holler, an* his Daddy heerd him bawl, An* when they turn t the kivvers down, he wasn t there at all ! An they seeked him in the rafter-room, an* cubby-hole, an* press, An seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an* ever wheres, I guess ; But all they ever found was thist his pants an* rounda bout: An the Gobble-uns 11 git you Ef you Don t Watch Out! An one time a little girl ud allus laugh and grin, An make fun of ever one, an all her blood an kin ; 194 LITTLE ORPHANT ANNIE An* onc t, when they was company/ an* ole folks was there, She mocked em an* shocked em, an said she didn t care! An thist as she kicked her heels, an turn t to run an* hide, They was two great big Black Things a-standin by her side, An they snatched her through the ceilin fore she knowed what she s about! An the Gobble-uns 11 git you Ef you Don t Watch Out! An little Orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue, An the lamp-wick sputters, an* the wind goes woo-oo! An you hear the crickets quit, an the moon is gray, An the lightnin -bugs in dew is all squenched away, 195 LITTLE ORPHANT ANNTB You better mind yer parents, an* yer teachers fond an 1 dear, An churish them at loves you, an* dry the orphant s tear, An* he p the pore an* needy ones at clusters all about. Er the Gobble-uns 11 git you Ef you Don t Watch Out! 196 AN ,N.T,AL W1LL EE ASSESSED THIS BOOK ON THE DATE FO URTH OVERDUE. JAW 241933 MAY 1 1948 MAR 131935 JVJV, *5 * LD 21-50IH-8, -32 (L UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY