2^-^ 
 

 
FARM LEGENDS 
 
 BY WILL CARLETON 
 
 AUTHOR OF " FARM. BALLADS" 
 
 ILLUSTRATED 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS 
 
 FRANKLIN SQUARE 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1875, by 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 
 
 * * ! 
 
 * < I i , ,/ 
 
TO 
 
 THE MEMORY OF A NOBLEMAN, 
 
 MY 
 FARMER FATHER. 
 
 775700 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 THE "Farm Ballads" have met with so kind and general a recep 
 tion as to encourage the publishing of a companion volume. 
 
 In this book, also, the author has aimed to give expression to the 
 truth, that with every person, even if humble or debased, there may be 
 some good, worth lifting up and saving ; that in each human being, though 
 revered and seemingly immaculate, are some faults which deserve pointing 
 out and correcting; and that all circumstances of life, however trivial they 
 appear, may possess those alternations of the comic and pathetic, the good 
 and bad, the joyful and sorrowful, upon which walk the days and nights, 
 the summers and winters, the lives and deaths, of this strange world. 
 
 He would take this occasion to give a word of thanks to those who 
 have staid with him through evil and good report; who have overlooked 
 his literary faults for the sake of the truths he was struggling to tell ; and 
 who have believed what he knows that he is honest. 
 
 With these few words of introduction, the author launches this sec 
 ond bark upon the sea of popular opinion ; grinds his axe, and enters once 
 more the great forest of Human Nature, for timber to go on with his boat 
 building. 
 
 W. C. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 FARM LEGENDS. 
 
 PACK 
 
 The School-master s Guests 1 V 
 
 Three Links of a Life 26 
 
 Rob, the Pauper 40 
 
 The Three Lovers 51 
 
 The Song of Home 65 
 
 PauVs run off with the Show 69 
 
 The Key to Thomas 1 Heart 73 
 
 The Doctor s Story 76 
 
 The Christmas Baby 80 
 
 OTHER POEMS. 
 
 Cover them Over 8*7 
 
 Rifts in the Cloud 92 
 
 Some Time 100 
 
 Brothers and Friends 103 
 
 Gone Before 109 
 
 The Little Sleeper Ill 
 
 Tis Snowing 113 
 
 The Burning of Chicago 115 
 
 The Railroad Holocaust 123 
 
 The Cable 125 
 
 Ship " City of Boston" 127 
 
 The Good of the Future 129 
 
 The Joys that are Left 130 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 PAOB 
 
 "They stood in the Shade of the western Door" Frontispiece. 
 
 "A Class in the Front, with their Readers, were telling, with difficult Pains" 19 
 
 "And nodded olliquely, and muttered, Them ere is my Sentiments tew " 23 
 
 " When grave Saw Beese, the Indian Chief, had leaded the Neck of the pale-face Miss " 28 
 
 "Hiding e en from the Dark Ms Face 35 
 
 "E en in your Desolation you are not quite unblest" 38 
 
 u Himself on the Door-stone idly sitting " 42 
 
 "He runs and stumbles, leaps and clamper*" 46 
 
 Rol), the Pauper 50 
 
 "And Bess said, Keep still, for there s Plenty of Boom " 55 
 
 " Several Times he, with Policy stern, repressed a Desire to break out of the Churn 1 .. 5? 
 
 "And there his plump Limbs through the Orifice swung " 60 
 
 "Alice, the country Maiden, with the sweet loving Face 64 
 
 "My Boy! come in! come in!" 71 
 
 "I threw them as far as I could throw" 78 
 
 The Christmas Baby 80, 81, 82, 83 
 
 " They who in Mountain and Hill-side and DelV 90 
 
 Some Time 100 
 
 "And loudly wild Accents of Terror came pealing from Thousands of Throats " 119 
 
 Ship "City of Boston" 127 
 
FARM LEGENDS. 
 
FARM LEGENDS. 
 
 THE SCHOOL-MASTER S GUESTS. 
 
 THE district school-master was sitting behind his great book-laden desk, 
 Close-watching the motions of scholars, pathetic and gay and grotesque. 
 
 As whisper the half-leafless branches, when Autumn s brisk breezes have 
 
 come, 
 His little scrub-thicket of pupils sent upward a half-smothered hum. 
 
 Like the frequent sharp bang of a wagon, when treading a forest path o er, 
 Resounded the feet of his pupils, whenever their heels struck the floor. 
 
 There was little Tom Timms on the front seat, whose face was with 
 standing a drouth 
 
 And jolly Jack Gibbs just behind him, with: a; Vainy./ew rptfcjfi for a 
 mouth. v> , , . -> 
 
 There were both of the Smith boys, as studious as if they bore names 
 
 that could bloom ; 
 And Jim Jones, a heaven-built mechanic, the slyest young knave in the 
 
 room, 
 
 With a countenance grave as a horse s, and his honest eyes fixed on a 
 
 pin, 
 
 Queer-bent on a deeply laid project to tunnel Joe Hawkins s skin. 
 
 2 
 
x g Farm Legends. 
 
 There were anxious young novices, drilling their spelling-books into the 
 
 brain, 
 Loud-puffing each half-whispered letter, like an engine just starting its 
 
 train. 
 
 There was one fiercely muscular fellow, who scowled at the sums on his 
 
 slate, 
 And leered at the innocent figures a look of unspeakable hate, 
 
 And set his white teeth close together, and gave his thin lips a short, 
 
 twist, 
 As to say, "I could whip you, confound you! could such things be 
 
 done with the fist !" 
 
 There were two knowing girls in the corner, each one with some beauty 
 
 possessed, 
 In a whisper discussing the problem which one the young master likes 
 
 best. 
 
 A class in the front, with their readers, were telling, with difficult pains, 
 How perished brave Marco Bozzaris while bleeding at all of his veins; 
 
 And a boy on the floor to be punished, a statue of idleness stood, 
 Making faces at all of the others, and enjoying the scene all he could. 
 
 ii. 
 
 Around; Vy^re tli-p \j r i)]-Is ;gray and dingy, which every old school-sanctum 
 
 /*?*. : ; /::: . . * , 
 With << m^ny^a .tre-\k,oii ibeA r surface, where grinned a wood-grating of 
 
 lath. 
 
 A patch of thick plaster, just over the school-master s rickety chair, 
 Seemed threat ningly o er him suspended, like Damocles sword, by a hair. 
 
 There were tracks on the desks where the knife-blades had wandered 
 
 in search of their prey ; 
 Their tops were as duskily spattered as if they drank ink every day. 
 
The School-masters Guests. 21 
 
 The square stove it puffed and it crackled, and broke out in red-flaming 
 
 sores, 
 Till the great iron quadruped trembled like a dog fierce to rush out-o - 
 
 doors. 
 
 White snow-flakes looked in at the windows ; the gale pressed its Jips to 
 
 the cracks ; 
 And the children s hot faces were streaming, the while they were freezing 
 
 their backs. 
 
 IIL 
 
 Now Marco Bozzaris had fallen, and all of his suff rings were o er, 
 And the class to their seats were retreating, when footsteps were heard 
 at the door ; 
 
 And five of the good district fathers marched into the room in a row, 
 And stood themselves up by the hot fire, and shook off their white 
 cloaks of snow ; 
 
 And the spokesman, a grave squire of sixty, with countenance solemnly 
 
 sad, 
 Spoke thus, while the children all listened, with all of the ears that they 
 
 had: 
 
 " We ve come here, school-master, intendin to cast an inquirin eye 
 
 round, 
 Concernin complaints that s been entered, an fault that has lately been 
 
 found ; 
 
 To pace off the width of your doin s, an witness what you ve been about, 
 An see if it s payin to keep you, or whether we d best turn ye out. 
 
 " The first thing I m bid for to mention is, when the class gets up to 
 
 read, 
 
 You give em too tight of a reinin , an touch em up more than they need; 
 You re nicer than wise in the matter of holdin the book in one han , 
 An you turn a stray g in their doin s, an tack an odd d on their a?V. 
 There ain t no great good comes of speakin the words so polite, as /see, 
 Providin you know what the facts is, an tell em off jest as they be. 
 
22 Farm Legends. 
 
 An then there s that read in in corncert, is censured from first unto 
 
 last; 
 
 It kicks up a heap of a racket, when folks is a-travelin past. 
 Whatever is done as to readin , providin things go to my say, 
 Shn n t hang on no new-fangled hinges, but swing in the old-fashioned 
 
 way. 11 
 
 And the other four good district fathers gave quick the consent that was 
 
 due, 
 And nodded obliquely, and muttered, " Them ere is my sentiments tew." 
 
 " Then, as to your spellin : I ve heern tell, by them as has looked into 
 
 this, 
 That you turn the u out o your labour, an make the word shorter than 
 
 tis; 
 
 An clip the k off o yer musick, which makes my son Ephraim perplexed, 
 An when he spells out as he ought r, you pass the word on to the 
 
 next. 
 They say there s some new-grafted books here that don t take them letters 
 
 along ; 
 
 But if it is so, just depend on t, them new-grafted books is made wrong. 
 You might just as well say that Jackson didn t know all there was about 
 
 war, 
 As to say that old Spellin -book Webster didn t know what them letters 
 
 was for." 
 
 And the other four good district fathers gave quick the consent that was 
 
 due, 
 And scratched their heads slyly and softly, and said, "Them s my 
 
 sentiments tew. 1 1 
 
 "Then, also, your rithrnetic doin s, as they are reported to me, 
 
 Is that you have left Tare an Tret out, an also the old Eule o Three; 
 
 An likewise brought in a new study, some high-steppin scholars to 
 
 please, 
 
 With saw-bucks an crosses and pot-hooks, an w s, x, ?/ s, and z s. 
 We ain t got no time for such foolin ; there ain t no great good to be 
 
 reached 
 By tiptoein childr n up higher than ever their fathers was teached." 
 
The School-masters Guests. 25 
 
 And the other four good district fathers gave quick the consent that was 
 
 due, 
 And cocked one eye up to the ceiling, and said, " Them s my sentiments tew" 
 
 " Another thing, I must here mention, comes into the question to-day, 
 Concernin some things in the grammar you re teachin our gals for to say. 
 My gals is as steady as clock-work, an never give cause for much fear, 
 But they come home from school t other evenin a-talkin such stuff as 
 
 this here : 
 / lov^ an Thou lovest? an He loves? an Ye love, an You love, an 
 
 They 
 An they answered my questions, It s grammar twas all I could get 
 
 em to say. 
 
 Now if, stead of doin your duty, you re carryin matters on so 
 As to make the gals say that they love you, it s just all that / want to 
 
 know 
 
 IV. 
 
 Now Jim, the young heaven-built mechanic, in the dusk of the evening 
 
 before, 
 Had well-nigh unjointed the stove-pipe, to make it come down on the 
 
 floor ; 
 
 And the squire bringing smartly his foot down, as a clincher to what he 
 
 had said, 
 A joint of the pipe fell upon him, and larruped him square on the head. 
 
 The soot flew in clouds all about him, and blotted with black all the place, 
 And the squire and the other four fathers were peppered with black in 
 the face. 
 
 The school, ever sharp for amusement, laid down all their cumbersome 
 
 books, 
 And, spite of the teacher s endeavors, laughed loud at their visitors looks. 
 
 And the squire, as he stalked to the doorway, swore oaths of a violet hue ; 
 And the four district fathers, who followed, seemed to say, " Them s my 
 sentiments tew" 
 
26 
 
 Farm Legends. 
 
 THREE LINKS OF A LIFE. 
 
 A WORD went over the hills and plains 
 
 Of the scarce-hewn fields that the Tiffin drains, 
 
 Through dens of swamps arid jungles of trees, 
 
 As if it were borne by the buzzing bees 
 
 As something sweet for the sons of men ; 
 
 Or as if the blackbird and the wren 
 
 Had lounged about each ragged clearing 
 
 To gossip it in the settlers hearing; 
 
 Or the partridge drum-corps of the wood 
 
 Had made the word by mortals heard, 
 
 And Diana made it understood ; 
 
 Or the loud-billed hawk of giant sweep 
 
 Were told it as something he must keep; 
 
 As now, in the half-built city of Lane, 
 
 Where the sons of the settlers strive for gain, 
 
 Where the Indian trail is graded well, 
 
 And the anxious ring of the engine-bell 
 
 And the Samson Steam s deep, stuttering word 
 
 And the factory s dinner-horn are heard ; 
 
 Where burghers fight, in friendly guise, 
 
 With spears of bargains and shields of lies; 
 
 Where the sun-smoked farmer, early a-road, 
 
 Rides into the town his high-built load 
 
 Of wood or wool, or corn or wheat, 
 
 And stables his horses in the street; 
 
 It seems as to each and every one 
 
 A deed were known ere it well be done, 
 
f ~~ 
 
Three Links of a Life. 29 
 
 As if, in spite of roads or weather, 
 
 All minds were whispering together; 
 
 So over the glens and rough hill-sides 
 
 Of the fruitful land where the Tiffin glides, 
 
 Went the startling whisper, clear and plain, 
 
 " Therds a new-born laby over at Lane /" 
 
 Now any time, from night till morn, 
 
 Or morn till night, for a long time-flight, 
 
 Had the patient squaws their children borne; 
 
 And many a callow, coppery wight 
 
 Had oped his eyes to the tree-flecked light, 
 
 And grown to the depths of the woodland dell 
 
 And the hunt of the toilsome hills as well 
 
 As though at his soul a bow were slung, 
 
 And a war-whoop tattooed on his tongue ; 
 
 But never before, in the Tiffin s sight, 
 
 Had a travail bloomed with a blossom of white, 
 
 And the fire-tanned logger no longer pressed 
 His yoke-bound steeds and his furnace fire ; 
 And the gray -linked log-chain drooped to rest, 
 And a hard face softened with sweet desire: 
 And the settler-housewife, rudely wise, 
 With the forest s shrewdness in her eyes, 
 Yearned, with tenderly wondering brain, 
 For the new-born baby over at Lane. 
 
 And the mother lay in her languid bed, 
 
 When the flock of visitors had fled 
 
 When the crowd of settlers all had gone, 
 
 And left the young lioness alone 
 
 With the tiny cub they had come to see 
 
 In the rude-built log menagerie; 
 
 When grave Baw Beese, the Indian chief, 
 
 As courtly as ever prince in his prime, 
 
 Or cavalier of the olden time, 
 
 Making his visit kind as brief, 
 
 Had beaded the neck of the pale-face miss, 
 
Farm Legends. 
 
 And dimpled her cheek with a farewell kiss; 
 When the rough-clad room was still as sleek, 
 Save the deaf old nurse s needle-click, 
 The beat of the grave clock in its place, 
 With its ball-tipped tail and owl-like face, 
 And the iron tea-kettle s droning song 
 Through its Roman nose so black and long, 
 The mother lifted her baby s head, 
 And gave it a clinging kiss, and said : 
 
 Why did thou come so straight to me, 
 
 Thou queer one ? 
 Thou might have gone where riches be, 
 
 Thou dear one ! 
 
 For when twas talked about in heaven. 
 To whom the sweet soul should be given, 
 If thou had raised thy pretty voiqe, 
 God sure had given to thee a choice, 
 
 My dear one, my queer one I 
 
 " Babe in the wood" thou surely art, 
 
 My lone one : 
 But thou shalt never play the part, 
 
 My own one ! 
 
 Thou ne er shalt wander up and down, 
 With none to claim thee as their own ; 
 Nor shall the Redbreast, as she grieves, 
 Make up for thee a bed of leaves, 
 
 My own one, my lone one ! 
 
 Although thou be not Riches flower, 
 
 Thou neat one, 
 Yet thou hast come from Beauty s bower, 
 
 Thou sweet one ! 
 
 Thy every smile s as warm and bright 
 As if a diamond mocked its light; 
 Thy every tear s as pure a pearl 
 As if thy father was an earl, 
 
 Thou neat one, thou sweet one! 
 
Three Links of a Life. 31 
 
 And thou shalt have a queenly name, 
 
 Thou grand one : 
 A lassie s christening s half her fame, 
 
 Thou bland one ! 
 
 And may thou live so good and true, 
 The honor will but be thy due; 
 And friends shall never be ashamed, 
 Or when or where they hear thee named, 
 
 Thou bland one, thou grand one ! 
 
 E en like the air our rule and sport 
 
 Thou meek one, 
 Thou art my burden and support, 
 
 Thou weak one ! 
 Like manna in the wilderness, 
 A joy hath come to soothe and bless ; 
 But tis a sorrow unto me, 
 To love as I am loving thee, 
 
 Thou weak one, thou meek one ! 
 
 The scarlet-coated child-thief waits, 
 
 Thou bright one, 
 To bear thee through the sky-blue gates, 
 
 Thou light one ! 
 
 His feverish touch thy brow may pain, 
 And while I to my sad lips strain 
 The sheath of these bright-beaming eyes, 
 The blade may flash back to the skies, 
 
 Thou light one, thou bright one ! 
 
 And if thou breast the morning storm, 
 
 Thou fair one, 
 And gird a woman s thrilling form, 
 
 Thou rare one : 
 
 Sly hounds of sin thy path will trace, 
 And on thy unsuspecting face 
 Hot lust will rest its tarnished eyes, 
 And thou wilt need be worldly-wise, 
 
 Thou rare one, thou fair one ! 
 
32 Farm Legends. 
 
 O that the heaven that smiles to-day, 
 
 My blest one, 
 May give thee light to see thy way, 
 
 My best one I 
 
 That when around thee creeps The Gloom, 
 The gracious God will call thee home, 
 And then, increased a hundredfold, 
 Thou proudly hand Him back His gold, 
 My best one, my blest one ! 
 
 n. 
 
 A word went over the many miles 
 
 Of the well-tilled land where the Tiffin smiles, 
 
 And sought no youthful ear in vain : 
 
 " There s a wedding a-coming off at Lane /" 
 
 They stood in the shade of the western door 
 
 Father, mother, and daughter one 
 
 And gazed, as they oft had gazed before, 
 
 At the downward glide of the western sun. 
 
 The rays of his never-jealous light 
 
 Made even the cloud that dimmed him bright; 
 
 And lower he bent, and kissed, as he stood, 
 
 The lips of the distant blue-eyed wood. 
 
 And just as the tired sun bowed his head, 
 The sun-browned farmer sighed, and said : 
 
 And so you ll soon be goin away, 
 
 My darling little Bess; 
 And you ha been to the store to-day, 
 
 To buy your weddin -dress ; 
 
 And so your dear good mother an I, 
 Whose love you long have known, 
 
 Must lay the light o your presence by, 
 And walk the road alone. 
 
Three Links of a Life. 33 
 
 So come to-night, with mother and me, 
 
 To the porch for an hour or two, 
 And sit on your old father s knee, 
 
 The same as you used to do ; 
 
 For we, who ha loved you many a year, 
 
 And clung to you, strong and true, 
 Since we ve had the young Professor here, 
 
 Have not had much of vou ! 
 
 But lovers be lovers while earth endures; 
 
 And once on a time, be it known, 
 / helped a girl with eyes like yours 
 
 Construct a world of our own ; 
 
 And we laid it out in a garden spot, 
 
 And dwelt in the midst of flowers, 
 Till we found that the world was a good-sized lot, 
 
 And most of it wasn t ours ! 
 
 You re heavier, girl, than when you come 
 
 To us one cloudy day, 
 And seemed to feel so little at home, 
 
 We feared you wouldn t stay ; 
 
 Till I knew the danger was passed, because 
 
 You d struck so mortal a track, 
 And got so independent an cross, 
 
 God never would let you back ! 
 
 But who would ever ha had the whim, 
 
 When you lay in my arms an cried, 
 You d some time sit here, pretty an prim, 
 
 A-waitin to be a bride! 
 
 But lovers be lovers while earth goes on, 
 
 And marry, as they ought; 
 And if you would keep the heart you ve won, 
 
 Remember what you ve been taught : 
 3 
 
Farm Legends. 
 
 Look first that your wedded lives be true, 
 With naught from each other apart; 
 
 For the flowers of true love never grew 
 In the soil of a faithless heart. 
 
 Look next that the buds of health shall rest 
 Their blossoms upon your cheek : 
 
 For life and love are a burden at best 
 If the body be sick and weak. 
 
 Look next that your kitchen fire be bright, 
 And your hands be neat and skilled ; 
 
 For the love of man oft takes its flight 
 If his stomach be not well filled. 
 
 Look next that your money is fairly earned 
 
 Ere ever it be spent ; 
 For comfort and love, however turned, 
 
 AVill ne er pay ten per cent. 
 
 And, next, due care and diligence keep 
 That the mind be trained and fed ; 
 
 For blessings ever look shabby and cheap 
 That light on an empty head. 
 
 And if it shall please the gracious God 
 
 That children to you belong, 
 Remember, my child, and spare the rod 
 
 Till you ve taught them right and wrong ; 
 
 And show em that though this life s a start 
 
 O 
 
 For the better world, no doubt, 
 Yet earth an heaven ain t so far apart 
 As many good folks make out. 
 
 in. 
 
 A word went over the broad hill-sweeps 
 Of the listening land where the Tiffin creeps 
 
Three Links of a Life. 
 
 "She married, holding on high her head; 
 But the groom was false as the vows he said ; 
 With lies and crimes his days are checked; 
 The girl is alone, and her life is wrecked" 
 
 The midnight rested its heavy arm 
 
 Upon the grief-encumbered farm ; 
 
 And hoarse-voiced Sorrow wandered at will, 
 
 Like a moan when the summer s night is still 
 
 HIDING E EN FROM THE DARK HIS FACE." 
 
 And the spotted cows, with bellies of white, 
 And well-filled teats all crowded awry, 
 Stood in the black stalls of the night, 
 Nor herded nor milked, and wondered wl^. 
 And the house was gloomy, still, and cold ; 
 And the hard-palmed farmer, newly old, 
 Sat in an unfrequented place, 
 Hiding e en from the dark his face ; 
 And a solemn silence rested long 
 On all, save the cricket s dismal song. 
 
 But the mother drew the girl to her breast, 
 And gave to her spirit words of rest : 
 
36 Farm Legends. 
 
 Come to my lap, my wee-grown baby ; rest thee upon my knee ; 
 
 You have been traveling toward the light, and drawing away from me ; 
 
 You turned your face from my dark path to catch the light o the sun, 
 
 And tis no more nor less, my child, than children ever have done. 
 
 So you joined hands with one you loved, when we to the cross-road 
 
 came, 
 And went your way, as Heaven did say, and who but Heaven to 
 
 Blame? 
 
 You must ngt weep that he you chose was all the time untrue, 
 Or stab with hate the man whose heart you thought was made for you. 
 The love God holds for your bright soul is more to get and give 
 Than all the love of all of the men while He may bid them live. 
 So let your innocence stanch the wound made by another s guilt ; 
 For Vengeance blade was ever made with neither guard nor hilt. 
 
 AVho will avenge you, darling? The sun that shines on high. 
 
 He will paint the picture of your wrongs before the great world s eye. 
 
 He will look upon your sweet soul, in its pure mantle of white, 
 
 Till it shine upon your enemies, and dazzle all their sight. 
 
 He ll come each day to point his ringer at him who played the knave ; 
 
 And tis denied from him to hide, excepting in the grave. 
 
 Who will avenge you, darling? Your sister, the sky above. 
 Each cloud she floats above you shall be a token of love ; 
 She will bend o er you at night-fall her pure broad breast of blue, 
 And every gem that glitters there shall flash a smile to you. 
 And all her great wide distances to your good name belong ; 
 Tis not so far from star to star as twixt the right and wrong. 
 
 AVho will avenge you, darling? All the breezes that blow. 
 They will whisper to each other your tale of guiltless woe ; 
 The perfumes that do load them your innocence shall bless, 
 And they will soothe your aching brow with pitying, kind caress. 
 They will sweep away the black veil that hangs about your fame: 
 There is no cloud that long can shroud a virtuous woman s name. 
 
 Who will avenge you, darling? The one who proved untrue. 
 His memory must undo him, whate er his will may do; 
 
Three Links of a Life. 
 
 39 
 
 The pitch-black night will come when he must rnect Remorse alone ; 
 
 He will rush at your avenging as if it were his own. 
 
 His every sin is but a knot that yet shall hold him fast ; 
 
 For guilty hands but twine the strands that fetter them at last. 
 
 Lay thee aside thy grief, darling ! lay thee aside thy grief! 
 
 And Happiness will cheer thee beyond all thy belief! 
 
 As oft as winter comes summer, as sure as night comes day, 
 
 And as swift as sorrow corneth, so swift it goeth away ! 
 
 E en in your desolation you are not quite unblest : 
 
 Not all who choose may count their woes upon a mother s breast. 
 
4O Farm Legends. 
 
 ROB, THE PAUPER. 
 
 ROB, the Pauper, is loose again. 
 
 Through the fields and woods he races. 
 He shuns the women, he beats the men, 
 
 He kisses the children s frightened faces. 
 There is no mother he hath not fretted ; 
 There is no child he hath not petted ; 
 There is no house, by road or lane, 
 He did not tap at the window-pane, 
 And make more dark the dismal night, 
 And set the faces within with white. 
 
 Rob, the Pauper, is wild of eye, 
 
 Wild of speech, and wild of thinking; 
 Over his forehead broad and high, 
 
 Each with each wild locks are linking. 
 Yet there is something in his bearing 
 Not quite what a pauper should be wearing : 
 In every step is a shadow of grace ; 
 The ghost of a beauty haunts his face ; 
 The rags half-sheltering him to-day 
 Hang not on him in a beggarly way. 
 
 Rob, the Pauper, is crazed of brain : 
 
 The world is a lie to his shattered seeming. 
 
 No woman is true unless insane ; 
 
 No man but is full of lecherous scheming. 
 
 Woe to the wretch, of whate er callin^. 
 
 O) 
 
 That crouches beneath his cudgel s falling ! 
 
 Pity the wife, howe er high-born, 
 
 Who wilts beneath his words of scorn ! 
 
 But youngsters he caresses as wild 
 
 As a mother would kiss a rescued child. 
 

Rob, the Pauper. 43 
 
 He hath broke him loose from his poor-house ceil ; 
 
 He hath dragged him clear from rope and fetter. 
 They might have thought ; for they know full well 
 
 They could keep a half-caged panther better, 
 Few are the knots so strategy-shunning 
 That they can escape his maniac cunning; 
 Many a stout bolt strives in vain 
 To bar his brawny shoulders strain ; 
 The strongest men in town agree 
 That the Pauper is good for any three. 
 
 He hath crossed the fields, the woods, the street : 
 He hides in the swamp his wasted feature; 
 
 The frog leaps over his bleeding feet; 
 
 The turtle crawls from the frightful creature. 
 
 The loud mosquito, hungry-flying, 
 
 For his impoverished blood is crying; 
 
 The scornful hawk s loud screaming sneer 
 
 Falls painfully upon his ear; 
 
 And close to his un startled eye 
 
 The rattlesnake creeps noisily by. 
 
 He hath fallen into a slough of sleep. 
 
 A haze of the past bends softly o er him. 
 His restless spirit a watch doth keep, 
 
 As Memory s canvas glides before him. 
 Through slumber s distances he travels ; 
 The tangled skein of his mind unravels ; 
 The bright past dawns through a cloud of dreams, 
 And once again in his prime he seems ; 
 For o r ;er his heart s lips, as a kiss, 
 Sweepeth a vision like to this : 
 
 A cozy kitchen, a smooth-cut lawn, 
 
 A zephyr of flowers in the bright air straying; 
 
 A graceful child, as fresh as dawn, 
 
 Upon the greensward blithely playing ; 
 
 Himself on the door-stone idly sitting, 
 
 A blonde-haired woman about him flitting. 
 
. , Farm Legends. 
 
 She fondly stands beside him there, 
 And deftly toys with his coal-black hair, 
 And hovers about him with her eyes, 
 And whispers to him, pleading-wise: 
 
 Rob, why will you plague my heart? why will you try me so? 
 Is she so fair, is she so sweet, that you must need desert me? 
 
 1 saw you kiss her twice and thrice behind the maple row, 
 And each caress you gave to her did like a dagger hurt me. 
 
 Why should for her and for her smiles your heart a moment hunger? 
 
 What though her shape be trim as mine, her face a trifle younger? 
 
 She does not look so young to you as I when we were wed; 
 
 She can not speak more sweet to you than words that I have said ; 
 
 She can not love you half so well as I, when all is done ; 
 
 And she is not your wedded wife the mother of your 
 
 son. 
 
 O Rob, you smile and toss your head ; you mock me in your soul ; 
 
 You say I would be overwise that I am jealous of you ; 
 And what if mv tight-bended heart should spring beyond control ? 
 
 Mv jealous tongue but tells the more the zeal with which I love you. 
 Oh, we might be so peaceful here, with nothing of reproving ! 
 Oh, we might be so happy here, with none to spoil our loving! 
 Why should a joy be more a joy because, forsooth, tis hid? 
 How can a kiss be more a kiss because it is forbid ? 
 Why should the love you get from her be counted so much gain, 
 When every smile you give to her but adds unto my pain ? 
 
 O Rob, you say there is no guilt betwixt the girl and you : 
 
 Do you not know how slack of vows may break the bond that s 
 
 dearest ? 
 You twirl a plaything in your hand, not minding what you do, 
 
 And first you know it flies from you, and strikes the one that s 
 
 nearest. 
 
 So do not spoil so hopelessly you ne er may cease your ruing; 
 The finger-post of weakened vows points only to undoing. 
 Remember there are years to come, and there are thorns of woe 
 That you may grasp if once you let the flowers of true love go 
 Remember the increasing bliss of marriage undefiled ; 
 Remember all the pride or shame that waits for yonder child ! 
 
" HE RUNS AND STUMBLES, LEAPS AND CLAMBERS, 
 
 THROUGH THE DENSE THICKET S BREATHLESS CHAMBERS. 
 
Rob, the Pauper. 47 
 
 n. 
 
 Eob, the Pauper, awakes and runs; 
 
 A clamor corneth clear and clearer. 
 They are hunting him with dogs and guns; 
 
 They are every moment pressing nearer. 
 Through pits of stagnant pools he pushes, 
 Through the thick sumac s poison bushes ; 
 He runs and stumbles, leaps and clambers, 
 Through the dense thicket s breathless chambers. 
 The swamp-slime stains at his bloody tread ; 
 The tamarack branches rasp his head. 
 
 From bog to bog, and from slough to slough, 
 
 He flees, but his foes come yelling nearer ; 
 And ever unto his senses now 
 
 The long-drawn bay of the hounds is clearer. 
 He is worn and worried, hot and panting; 
 He staggers at every footstep s planting ; 
 The hot blood races through his brain ; 
 His every breath is a twinge of pain ; 
 Black shadows dance before his eyes ; 
 The echoes mock his agonv-cries. 
 
 They have hunted him to the open field ; 
 
 He is falling upon their worn-out mercies. 
 They loudly call to him to yield ; 
 
 He hoarsely pays them back in curses. 
 His blood-shot eye is wildly roaming; 
 His firm-set mouth with rage is foaming ; 
 He waves his cudgel, with war-cry loud, 
 And dares the bravest of the crowd. 
 There springs at his throat a hungry hound ; 
 He dashes its brains into the ground. 
 
 Eob, the Pauper, is sorely pressed. 
 
 The men are crowding all around him. 
 He crushes one to a bloody rest, 
 
 And breaks again from the crowd that bound him. 
 
4 8 Farm Legends. 
 
 The crash of a pistol comes unto him 
 
 A well-sped ball goes crushing through him; 
 
 But still he rushes on yet on 
 
 Until, at last, some distance won, 
 
 He mounts a fence with a madman s ease, 
 
 And this is something of what he sees: 
 
 A lonely cottage, some tangled grass, 
 
 Thickets of thistles, dock, and mullein ; 
 A forest of weeds he scarce can pass, 
 
 A broken chimney, cold and sullen ; 
 Trim housewife-ants, with rush uncertain, 
 The spider hanging her gauzy curtain. 
 The Pauper falls on the dusty floor, 
 And there rings in his failing ear once more 
 A voice as it might be from the dead, 
 And says, as it long ago hath said : 
 
 Eob, I have a word to say a cruel word to you : 
 
 I can not longer live a lie the truth for air is calling! 
 
 1 can not keep the secret locked that long has been your due, 
 
 Not if you strike me to the ground, and spurn me in my foiling! 
 He came to me when first a cloud across your smile was creeping- 
 He came to me he brought to me a slighted heart for keeping ; 
 He would not see my angry frown ; he sought me, day by day ; 
 I flung at him hot words of scorn, I turned my face away. 
 I bade him dread my husband s rage when once his words were known. 
 He smiled at me, and. said I had no husband of my own! 
 
 Eob, his words were overtrue ! they burned into my brain ! 
 I could not rub them out again, were I awake or sleeping I 
 
 1 saw you kiss her twice and thrice rny chidings were in vain 
 And well I knew your wayward heart had wandered from my keeping. 
 
 I counted all that was at stake I bribed my pride with duty ; 
 I knelt before your manly face, in worship of its beauty ; 
 I painted pictures for your eyes you were too blind to see ; 
 I worked at all the trades of love, to earn you back to me ; 
 I threw myself upon your heart; I plead and prayed to stay; 
 I held my hands to you for help you pushed them both away ! 
 
Rob, the Pauper. 49 
 
 He came to me again ; he held his eager love to me 
 
 To me, whose weak and hungry heart deep desolation dreaded ! 
 
 And I had learned to pity him ; but still my will was free, 
 
 And once again I threatened him, and warned him I was wedded. 
 
 He bade me follow him, and see my erring fancy righted. 
 
 We crept along a garden glade by moonbeams dimly lighted ; 
 
 She silent sat mid clustering vines, though much her eyes did speak, 
 
 And your black hair was tightly pressed unto her glowing cheek.... 
 
 It crazed me, but he soothed me sweet with love s unnumbered charms ; 
 
 I, desolate, turned and threw myself into his desolate arms ! 
 
 O Rob, you know how little worth, when once a woman slips, 
 May be the striking down a hand to save herself from falling! 
 
 Once more my heart groped for your heart, my tired lips sought your lips ; 
 But twas too late twas after dark and you were past recalling. 
 
 Tis hard to claim what once is given; my foe was unrelenting; 
 
 Vain were the tempests of my rage, the mists of my repenting. 
 
 The night was dark, the storm had come, the fancy-stare of youth 
 
 Were covered over by the thick unfading cloud of truth ; 
 
 So one by one the stars went back, each hid its pale white face, 
 
 Till all was dark, and all was drear, and all was black disgrace. 
 
 Rob, good-by ; a solemn one ! tis till the Judgment-day. 
 
 You look about you for the boy ? You never more shall see him. 
 He s crying for his father now full many miles away; 
 
 For he is mine you need not rage you can not find or free him. 
 We might have been so peaceful here, with nothing of reproving 
 We might have been so happy here, with none to spoil our loving 
 As I, a guilty one, might kiss a corpse s waiting brow, 
 
 1 bend to you where you have fallen, and calmly kiss you now ; 
 As I, a wronged and injured one, might seek escape s glad door, 
 I wander forth into the world, to enter here no more. 
 
 in. 
 
 Rob, the Pauper, is lying in state. 
 
 In a box of rough-planed boards, unpainted, 
 He waits at the poor-house grave-yard gate, 
 
 For a home by human lust untainted. 
 
 4 
 
Farm Legends. 
 
 They are crowding around and closely peering 
 
 At the face of the foe who is past their fearing ; 
 
 The men lift children up to see 
 
 The arms of the man who was good for three ; 
 
 The women gaze and hold their breath, 
 
 For the man looks kingly even in death. 
 
 Thev have gone to their homes anear and far 
 Their joys and griefs, their loves and hating : 
 
 Some to sunder the ties that are, 
 
 And some to cooing and wooing and mating. 
 
 They will pet and strike, they will strive and bl under. 
 
 And leer at their woes with innocent wonder ; 
 
 They will swiftly sail love s delicate bark, 
 
 With never a helm, in the dangerous dark ; 
 
 They will ne er quite get it understood 
 
 That the Pauper s woes were for their good. 
 
The Three Lovers. 51 
 
 THE THREE LOVERS. 
 
 HERE S a precept, young man, you should follow with care. 
 If you re courting a girl, court her honest and square. 
 
 Mr. Liakim Smith was a hard-fisted farmer, 
 
 Of moderate wealth, 
 
 And immoderate health, 
 Who fifty-odd years, in a stub-and-twist armor 
 
 Of callus and tan, 
 
 Had fought like a man 
 
 His own dogged progress, through trials and cares, 
 And log-heaps and brush-heaps and wild-cats and bears, 
 And agues and fevers and thistles and briers, 
 Poor kinsmen, rich foemen, false saints, and true liars ; 
 Who oft, like the " man in our town," overwise, 
 Through the brambles of error had scratched out his eyes, 
 And when the unwelcome result he had seen, 
 
 Had altered his notion, 
 
 Reversing the motion, 
 
 And scratched them both in again, perfect and clean ; 
 Who had weathered some storms, as a sailor might say, 
 And tacked to the left and the right of his way, 
 Till he found himself anchored, past tempests and breakers, 
 Upon a good farm of a hundred-odd acres. 
 
 As for Liakim s wife, in four words may be told 
 
 Her whole standing in life : 
 
 She was Liakim s wife. 
 
 Whereas she d been young, she was now growing old, 
 But did, she considered, as well as one could, 
 When HE looked on her hard work, and saw that twas good. 
 
52 Farm Legends. 
 
 The family record showed only a daughter; 
 
 But she had a face, 
 
 As if each fabled Grace 
 
 in a burst of delight to her bosom had caught her, 
 ( >r as if all the flowers in each Smith generation 
 Had blossomed at last in one grand culmination. 
 Style lingered unconscious in all of her dresses; 
 She d starlight for glances, and sunbeams for tresses. 
 Wherever she went, with her right royal tread, 
 Kach youth, when he d passed her a bit, turned his head ; 
 And so one might say, though the figure be strained, 
 She had turned half the heads that the township contained 
 
 Now Bess had a lover a monstrous young hulk ; 
 
 A farmer by trade 
 
 Strong, sturdy, and staid ; 
 
 A man of good parts if you counted by bulk ; 
 A man of great weight by the scales; and, indeed, 
 A man of some depth as was shown by his feed. 
 His face was a fat exclamation of wonder; 
 His voice was not quite unsuggestive of thunder ; 
 His laugh was a cross twixt a yell and a chuckle; 
 
 He d a number one foot, 
 
 And a number ten boot, 
 
 And a knock-down reserved in each separate knuckle. 
 He d a heart mad in love with the girl of his choice, 
 "Who made him alternately mope and rejoice, 
 By dealing him one day discouraging messes, 
 And soothing him next day with smiles and caresses. 
 
 Now Bess had a lover, who hoped her to wed 
 
 A rising young lawyer more rising than read ; 
 
 Whose theories all were quite startling; and who, 
 Like many a chap 
 In these days of strange hap, 
 
 Was living on what he expected to do ; 
 
 While his landlady thought twould have been rather neat 
 Could he only have learned, 
 Till some practice was earned, 
 
The Three Lovers. 53 
 
 To subsist upon what he expected to eat. 
 He was bodily small, howe er mentally great, 
 And suggestively less than a hundred in weight. 
 
 Now Bess had a lover young Patrick ; a sinner, 
 
 And lad of all work, 
 
 From the suburbs of Cork, 
 
 Who worked for her father, and thought lie could win her. 
 And if Jacob could faithful serve fourteen years through, 
 
 And still thrive and rejoice, 
 
 For the girl of his choice, 
 He thought he could play the same game one or two. 
 
 Now Liakim Smith had a theory hid, 
 
 And by egotism fed, 
 
 Somewhere up in his head, 
 That a dutiful daughter should always as bid 
 Grow old in the service of him who begot her, 
 
 Imbibe his beliefs, 
 
 Have a care for his griefs, 
 And faithfully bring him his cider and water. 
 So, as might be expected, he turned up his nose, 
 Also a cold shoulder, to Bessie s two beaux, 
 And finally turned them away from his door, 
 Forbidding them ever to enter it more ; 
 And detailed young Patrick as kind of a guard, 
 With orders to keep them both out of the yard. 
 So Pat took his task, with a treacherous smile, 
 
 And bullied the small one, 
 
 And dodged the big tall one, 
 And slyly made love to Miss Bess all the while. 
 
 But one evening, when Liakim and wife crowned their labors 
 
 With praise and entreating 
 
 At the village prayer-meeting, 
 
 And Patrick had stepped for a while to some neighbor s, 
 The lawyer had come, in the trimmest of dress, 
 
 And, dapper and slim, 
 
 And small, e en for him, 
 
54 Farm Legends. 
 
 Was holding a session of court with Miss Bess. 
 
 And Bess, sly love-athlete, was suited first rate 
 
 At a flirtation -mi 11 with this legal light-weight ; 
 
 And was listening to him, as minutes spun on, 
 Of pleas he could make, 
 And of fees he would take, 
 
 And of suits that he should, in the future, have won ; 
 
 When just as the cold, heartless clock counted eight, 
 
 Miss Bessie s quick ear caught a step at the gate. 
 
 " Tis mother !" she cried : " oh, go quick, I implore ! 
 
 But father 11 drive round and come in the back-door! 
 
 You can not escape them, however you turn ! 
 
 So hide for a while let me see in this churn !" 
 
 The churn was quite large enough for him to turn in 
 
 Expanded out so, 
 
 By machinery to go, 
 
 Twould have done for a dairy-man-Cy clops to churn in 
 Twas fixed for attaching a pitman or lever, 
 To go by a horse-power a notion quite clever, 
 Invented and built by the Irishman, Pat, 
 Who pleased Mrs. Liakim hugely by that. 
 
 The lawyer went into the case with much ease, 
 And hugged the belief 
 That the cause would be brief, 
 
 And settled himself down with hardly a squeeze. 
 
 And Bess said, "Keep still, for there s plenty of room, " 
 
 And shut down the cover, and left him in gloorn. 
 
 But scarcely were matters left decently so, 
 In walked not her mother, 
 But worry and bother ! 
 
 The mammoth young former, whose first name was Joe. 
 
 And he gleefully sung, in a heavy bass tone, 
 Which came in one note 
 From the depths of his throat, 
 
 "I m glad I have come, since I ve found you alone. 
 
 Let s sit here a while, by this kerosene light, 
 
The Three Lovers. 
 
 An spark it a while now with all of our might." 
 
 And Bessie was willing; and so they sat down, 
 
 The maiden so fair and the farmer so brown. 
 
 They talked of things great, and they talked of things small, 
 
 55 
 
 "AND BESS SAID, KKKP STILL, FOR TIIKKK S PLENTY OF ROOM, 
 AND SHUT DOWN THE COVER, AND LEFT HIM IN GLOOM." 
 
 Which none could condemn, 
 And which may have pleased them, 
 But which did not interest the lawyer at all ; 
 And Bessie seemed giving but little concern 
 To the feelings of him she had shut in the churn. 
 
56 Farm Legends. 
 
 Till Bessie just artlessly mentioned the man, 
 And Joe with a will to abuse him began, 
 And called him full many an ignoble name, 
 
 Appertaining to " Scrubby," 
 
 And "Shorty," and "Stubby," 
 And other descriptions not wide of the same; 
 And Bessie said naught in the lawyer s behalf, 
 But seconded Joe, now and then, with a laugh ; 
 And the lawyer said nothing, but winked at his fate. 
 
 And, somewhat abashed, 
 
 And decidedly dashed, 
 
 Accepted Joe s motions sans vote or debate. 
 And several times he, with policy stern, 
 Repressed a desire to break out of the churn, 
 "Well knowing he thus might get savagely used, 
 
 And if not quite eaten, 
 
 Would likely be beaten, 
 And probably injured as well as abused. 
 
 But now came another quick step at the door. 
 And Bessie was fearful, the same as before ; 
 And tumbling Joe over a couple of chairs, 
 
 With a general sound 
 
 Of thunder all round, 
 
 She hurried him up a short pair of back-stairs ; 
 And close in the garret condemned him to wait 
 Till orders from her, be it early or late. 
 Then tripping her way down the staircase, she said. 
 "I ll smuggle them off when the folks get to bed. 5 
 
 It was not her parents ; twas crafty young Pat, 
 Returned from his visit; and straightway lie sat 
 Beside her, remarking, The chairs were in place, 
 So he would sit near her, and view her sweet face. 
 So gayly they talked, as the minutes fast flew, 
 Discussing such matters as both of them knew, 
 While often Miss Bessie s sweet laugh answered back, 
 For Pat, be it known, 
 Had some wit of his own, 
 
The Three Lovers. 
 
 And in irony s efforts was sharp as a tack. 
 
 And finally Bessie his dancing tongue led, 
 By a sly dextrous turn, 
 To the man in the churn, 
 
 And the farmer, who eagerly listened o erhead ; 
 
 Whereat the young Irishman volubly gave 
 
 57 
 
 " SKVKKAL TIMES HE, WITH POLICY STERN, 
 REPRESSED A DESIRE TO BREAK OUT OF THE CHURN." 
 
 A short dissertation, 
 Whose main information 
 Was that one was a fool, and the other a knave. 
 
 Slim chance there must be for the world e er to learn 
 How pleasant this was to the man in the churn ; 
 
58 Farm Legends. 
 
 Though, to borrow a figure lent by his position, 
 He was doubtless in somewhat a worked-up condition. 
 It may ne er be sung, and it may ne er be said, 
 How well it was liked by the giant o erhead. 
 He lay on a joist for there wasn t any floor 
 
 And the joists were so few, 
 
 And so far apart too, 
 
 He could not, in comfort, preempt any more ; 
 And he nearly had knocked through the plastering quite, 
 And challenged young Pat to a fair and square fight ; 
 But he dared not do elsewise than Bessie had said, 
 For fear, as a lover, he might lose his head. 
 
 But now from the meeting the old folks returned, 
 And sat by the stove as the fire brightly burned ; 
 And Patrick came in from the care of the team ; 
 And since in the house there was overmuch cream, 
 He thought that the horses their supper might earn, 
 
 And leave him full way 
 
 To plow early next day, 
 By working that night for a while at the churn. 
 
 The old folks consented ; and Patrick went out, 
 Half chuckling, for he had a shrewd Irish doubt, 
 From various slight sounds he had chanced to discern, 
 That Bess had a fellow shut up in the churn. 
 
 The lawyer, meanwhile, in hfs hiding-place cooped, 
 Low-grunted and hitched and contorted and stooped, 
 But hung to the place like a man in a dream ; 
 And when the young Irishman went for the team, 
 To stay or to fly, he could hardly tell which ; 
 
 But hoping to get 
 
 Neatly out of it yet, 
 He concluded to hang till the very last hitch. 
 
 The churn was one side of the house, recollect, 
 
 So rods with the horse-power outside could connect ; 
 
 And Bess stood so near that she took the lamp s gleam in 
 
The Three Lovers. 61 
 
 While her mother was cheerfully pouring the cream in ; 
 
 Who, being near-sighted, and minding her cup, 
 
 Had no notion of what she was covering up ; 
 
 But the lawyer, meanwhile, had he dared to have spoke, 
 
 Would have owned that he saw the whole cream of the joke. 
 
 But just as the voice of young Patrick came strong 
 And clear through the window, : A11 ready! go long!" 
 And just as the dasher its motion began, 
 
 Stirred up by its knocks, 
 
 Like a jack-in-the-box 
 
 He jumped from his damp, dripping prison and ran, 
 And made a frog-leap o er the stove and a chair, 
 With some crisp Bible words not intended as prayer. 
 
 All over the kitchen he rampaged and tore, 
 
 And ran against every thing there but the door; 
 
 Tipped over old Liakim flat on his back, 
 
 And left a long trail of rich cream on his track. 
 
 " Ou ! ou! tis a ghost!" quavered Liakirn s wife; 
 
 "A ghost, if I ever saw one in my life!" 
 
 " The devil !" roared Liakim, rubbing his shin. 
 
 "No! no!" shouted Patrick, who just then came in: 
 
 "It s only a lawyer; the devil ne er runs 
 To bring on him a laugh- 
 In the shape of a calf; 
 
 It isn t the devil ; it s one of his sons ! 
 
 If so that the spalpeen had words he could utther, 
 
 He d swear he loved Bessie, an loved no one butther." 
 
 Now Joe lay full length on the scantling o erhead, 
 
 And tried to make out 
 
 What it all was about, 
 
 By list ning to all that was done and was said ; 
 But somehow his balance became uncontrolled, 
 And he on the plastering heavily rolled. 
 It yielded instanter, came down with a crash, 
 And fell on the heads of the folks with a smash. 
 And there his plump limbs through the orifice swung, 
 
62 Farm Legends. 
 
 And he caught by the arms and disgracefully hung, 
 His ponderous body, so clumsy and thick, 
 Wedged into that posture as tight as a brick. 
 And Liakirn Smith, by amazement made dumb 
 
 At those legs in the air 
 
 Hanging motionless there, 
 Concluded that this time the devil had come; 
 And seizing a chair, he belabored them well, 
 While the head pronounced words that no printer would spell 
 
 And there let us leave them, mid outcry and clatter, 
 To come to their wits, and then settle the matter; 
 And take for the moral this inference fair: 
 Jf you re courting a girl, court her honest and square. 
 
T/te Song of Home. 65 
 
 THE SONG OF HOME. 
 
 "SiNG- me a song, my Alice, and let it be your choice, 
 
 So as you pipe out plainly, and give me the sweet o your voice; 
 
 An it be not new-fashioned : the new-made tunes be cold, 
 
 An never awake my fancy like them that s good an old. 
 
 Fie on your high-toned gimcracks, with rests an beats an points, 
 
 Shaking with trills an quavers creakin in twenty joints ! 
 
 Sing me the good old tunes, girl, that roll right off the tongue, 
 
 Such as your mother gave me when she an I was young." 
 
 So said the Farmer Thompson, smoking his pipe of clay. 
 
 Close by his glowing fire-place, at close of a winter day. 
 
 He was a lusty fellow, with grizzled beard unshorn, 
 
 Hair half combed and flowing, clothing overworn ; 
 
 Boots of. mammoth pattern, with many a patch and rent; 
 
 Hands as hard as leather, body with labor bent ; 
 
 Face of resolution, and lines of pain and care, 
 
 Such as the slow world s vanguards are ever doomed to bear ; 
 
 While from his eyes the yearnings of unemployed desire 
 
 Gleamed like the fitful embers of a half-smothered fire. 
 
 Alice, the country maiden, with the sweet, loving face, 
 Sung these words to an old air, with an unstudied grace : 
 
 "There s nothing like an old tune, when friends are far apart, 
 To mind them of each other, and draw them heart to heart. 
 New strains across our senses on magic wings may fly, 
 But there s nothing like an old tune to make the heart beat high. 
 
 * The scenes we have so oft recalled when once again we view, 
 Have lost the smile they used to wear, and seem to us untrue ; 
 We gaze upon their faded charms with disappointed eye ; 
 And there s nothing like an old tune to make the heart beat high. 
 
 5 
 
66 Farm Legends. 
 
 "We clasp the hands of former friends we feel again their kiss 
 But something that we loved in them, in sorrow now we miss ; 
 For women fade and men grow cold as years go hurrying by ; 
 And there s nothing like an old tune to make the heart beat high 
 
 "The forest where we used to roam, we find it swept away; 
 The cottage where we lived and loved, it moulders to decay ; 
 And all that feeds our hungry hearts may wither, fade, and die; 
 There s nothing like an old tune to make the heart beat high." 
 
 " That was well sung, my Alice," the farmer proudly said, 
 When the last strain was finished and the last word had fled ; 
 " That is as true as Gospel ; and since you ve sung so well, 
 I ll give you a bit of a story you ve never heard me tell. 
 
 " When the cry o the axes first through these parts was heard, 
 
 I was young and happy, and chipper as a bird; 
 
 Fast as a flock o pigeons the days appeared to fly, 
 
 With no one round for a six mile except your mother an I. 
 
 Now we are rich, an no one except the Lord to thank ; 
 
 Acres of land all round us, money in the bank ; 
 
 But happiness don t stick by me, an sunshine ain t so true 
 
 As when I was five-an -twenty, with twice enough to do. 
 
 " As for the way your mother an I made livin go, 
 Just some time you ask her of course she ought to know. 
 When she comes back in the morning from nursing Rogers wife, 
 She ll own she was happy in them days as ever in her life. 
 For I was sweet on your mother; why should not I be? 
 She was the eral I had fought for she was the world to me ; 
 
 O O f 
 
 And since we d no relations, it never did occur 
 
 To me that I was a cent less than all the world to her. 
 
 "But it is often doubtful which way a tree may fall; 
 AVhen you are tol ble certain, you are not sure at all. 
 When you are overconscious of travel in right that day 
 Look for a warnin guide-post that points the other way. 
 For when you are feeling the safest, it very oft falls out 
 You rush head-foremost into a big bull-thistle o doubt. 
 
 " Twas in the fall o 50 that I set out, one day, 
 
 To hunt for deer an turkey, or what come in my way; 
 
The Song of Home. 67 
 
 And wanderin through the forest, my home I did not seek 
 Until I was gone from the cabin the better part of a week. 
 
 " As Saturday s sun was creeping its western ladder down, 
 I stopped for a bit of supper at the house of Neighbor Brown. 
 He was no less my neighbor that he lived ten miles away ; 
 For neighborhoods then was different from what they are to-day. 
 
 "Now Mrs. Brown was clever a good, well-meaning soul 
 
 And brought to time exactly things under her control. 
 
 By very few misgoings were her perfections marred. 
 
 She meant well, with one trouble she meant it most too hard. 
 
 "Now when I had passed the time o day, and laughed at Brown s las 
 
 jokes, 
 
 Nat rally I asked em if they had seen my folks. 
 Whereat she shrugged her shoulders quite dangerously-wise, 
 And looked as if a jury was sittin in her eyes; 
 And after a prudent silence I thought would never end, 
 Asked if my wife had a brother, or cousin, or other friend ; 
 For some one, passing my cabin, she d heard, had lately found 
 Rather a sleek an han some young fellow hanging round ; 
 Of course it was a brother, or somethin of that sort? 
 I told her twas a brother, and cut my supper short. 
 
 " Which same was wrong, as viewed through a strictly moral eye ; 
 But who, to shield his wife s name, wouldn t sometime tell a lie? 
 Twas nothing but a lie, girl, and for a lie twas meant : 
 If brothers sold at a million, she couldn t ha raised a cent 
 
 " Home I trudged in a hurry who could that fellow be ? 
 Home I trudged in a hurry, bound that I would see ; 
 And when I reached my cabin I thought twas only fair 
 To peep in at the window an find out what was there. 
 
 " A nice, good-fashioned fellow as any in the land 
 
 Sat by my wife quite closely, a-holdin of her hand, 
 
 An whispering something into her willin -listenin 7 ear, 
 
 Which I should judge by her actions she rather liked to hear. 
 
68 Farm Legends. 
 
 " Now seeing such singular Join s before my very eyes, 
 The Devil he came upon me, and took me by surprise ; 
 lie put bis hand on my mouth, girl, and never a word I said, 
 But raised my gun an aimed it straight at the stranger s head. 
 
 " Lightly I touched the trigger ; I drew a good long breath 
 Mv heart was full o Satan, my aim was full o death; 
 But at that very instant they broke out, clear an strong, 
 A-singing, both together, a good old-fashioned song. 
 
 "That simple little song, girl, still in my ears does ring; 
 
 Twas one I had coaxed your mother while courting her to sing; 
 
 Never a word I remember how any verses goes, 
 
 But this is a little ditty that every body knows: 
 
 How though about a palace you might forever hang, 
 
 You ll never feel so happy as in your own shebang. 
 
 " It woke the recollections of happy days an years 
 I slowly dropped my rifle, an melted into tears. 
 
 It was a neighbor s daughter, made on the tomboy plan, 
 
 Who, keeping my wife company, had dressed like a spruce young man. 
 
 An full of new-born praises to Him where they belong, 
 
 I thanked the Lord for makin the man who made that good old song. 
 
Paul s run off with the Show. 69 
 
 PAUL S RUN OFF WITH THE SHOW, 
 
 JANE, tis so it is so! 
 
 How can I his mother bear it? 
 
 Paul s run off with the show ! 
 
 Put all his things in the garret 
 
 All o his working gear ; 
 
 He s never a-going to wear it, 
 
 Never again coming here. 
 
 If he gets sick, deaf, or blind, 
 
 If he falls and breaks his leg, 
 
 He can borrow an organ an grind, 
 
 He can hobble about and beg. 
 
 Let him run good luck behind him f 
 
 I wonder which way they went? 
 
 I suppose I might follow an find him. 
 
 But no ! let him keep to his bent ! 
 
 I m never a-going to go 
 
 For a boy that runs off with the show I 
 
 Lay his books up in the chamber; 
 He never will want them now ; 
 Never did want them much. 
 He al ays could run and clamber, 
 Make somersets on the mow, 
 Hand-springs, cart-wheels, an such, 
 And other profitless turning ; 
 But when it came to learning, 
 He would always shirk somehow. 
 
 I was trimming him out for a preacher, 
 When he got over being wild 
 
7O Farm Legends. 
 
 (Tie was always a sturdy creature 
 A sinfully thrifty child) ; 
 A Cartwright preacher, perhaps, 
 As could eat strong boiled dinners, 
 Talk straight to saucy chaps, 
 And knock down fightin sinners. 
 I told him of all Heaven s mercies, 
 Raked his sins o er and o er, 
 Made him learn Scripture verses, 
 Half a thousand or more ; 
 I sung the hymn-book through him, 
 I whipped the Bible into him, 
 In grace to make him grow : 
 What did such training call for? 
 AYhat did I name him Paul for? 
 To have him run off with a show ? 
 
 All o the wicked things 
 
 That are found in circus rings, 
 
 I taught him to abhor em ; 
 
 But he always was crazy for em. 
 
 I know what such follies be ; 
 
 For once in my life woe s me 
 
 Let s see 
 
 Twas the fall before Paul was born 
 
 I myself was crazy for shows. 
 
 How it happened, Goodness knows : 
 
 But howe er it did befall 
 
 Whate er may ha been the reason 
 
 For once I went to all 
 
 The circuses of the season. 
 
 I watched em, high an low, 
 
 Painfully try to be jolly ; 
 
 I laughed at the tricks o the clown : 
 
 I went and saw their folly, 
 
 In order to preach it down : 
 
 Little enough did I know 
 
 That Paul would run off with a show I 
 
Paul s run off with the Show. 
 
 What 11 they do with the boy ? 
 They ll stand him upon a horse, 
 To his exceeding joy, 
 To teach him to ride, of course. 
 Sakes ! he can do that now ! 
 
 7 1 
 
 "MY BOY! COME IN! COME IN!" 
 
 He can whip old Jim to a jump, 
 
 And ride upon him standing, 
 
 And never get a thump 
 
 Never a bit of harm. 
 
 He has trained all the beasts on the farm, 
 
72 Farm Legends. 
 
 From the ducks to the brindle cow, 
 To follow his commanding. 
 Sakes ! that it should be so ! 
 Ilim s I ve brought up i the bosom 
 Of church, and all things good : 
 All my pains I shall lose em- 
 Might have known that I would. 
 I had hopes beyond my countin , 
 I had faith as big as a mountain ; 
 But somehow I knew all the while 
 He d turn out in some such style 
 Always had that fear. 
 
 Well, he s never comin back here. 
 
 If he comes to any harm, 
 
 If he falls an sprains his arm, 
 
 If he slips and breaks his leg, 
 
 He can hobble about an beg. 
 
 He can Who is that boy out there, Jane ? 
 
 Skulkin long by the railroad track, 
 
 Head an feet all bare, Jane, 
 
 One eye dressed in black? 
 
 My boy ! Come in ! come in ! 
 
 Come in ! come in ! come in ! 
 
 Come in you sha n t be hurt. 
 
 Corne in you shall rest you shall rest. 
 
 Why, you re all over blood an dirt! 
 
 Did they hurt you? well, well, it s too bad. 
 
 So you thought the old home the best? 
 
 You won t run off ag in? 
 
 Well, come in, come in, poor lad; 
 
 Come in come in come in ! 
 
The Key to Thomas Heart. 73 
 
 THE KEY TO THOMAS HEART. 
 
 RIDE with me, Uncle Nathan? 
 
 I don t care an I do. 
 
 My poor old heart s in a hurry ; I m anxious to get through. 
 My soul outwalks my body; my legs are far from strong; 
 An it s mighty kind o you, doctor, to help the old man along. 
 
 I m some at full o hustle; there s business to be done. 
 I ve just been out to the village to see my youngest son. 
 You used to know him, doctor, ere he his age did get, 
 An if I ain t mistaken, you sometimes see him yet. 
 
 We took him through his boyhood, with never a ground for fears; 
 But somehow he stumbled over his early manhood s years. 
 The landmarks that we showed him, he seems to wander from, 
 Though in his heart there was never a better boy than Tom. 
 
 He was quick o mind an body in all he done an said; 
 But all the gold he reached for, it seemed to turn to lead. 
 The devil of grog it caught him, an held him, though the while 
 He has never grudged his parents a pleasant word an smile. 
 
 The devil of grog it caught him, an then he turned an said, 
 By that which fed from off him, he henceforth would be fed; 
 An that which lived upon him, should give him a livin o er; 
 An so he keeps that groggery that s next to Wilson s store. 
 
 But howsoe er he s wandered, I ve al ays so far heard 
 That he had a sense of honor, an never broke his word ; 
 An his mother, from the good Lord, she says, has understood 
 That, if he agrees to be sober, he ll keep the promise good. 
 
74 Farm Legends. 
 
 An so when just this rnornin these poor old eyes o mine 
 Saw all the women round him, a-coaxin him to sign, 
 An when the Widow Adams let fly a homespun prayer, 
 An he looked kind o wild like, an started unaware, 
 
 An glanced at her an instant, an then at his kegs o rum, 
 I somehow knew in a minute the turnin -point had come; 
 
 "THE MOTHER, WHO CARRIES THE KEY TO THOMAS HEART." 
 
 An he would be as good a man as ever yet there s been, 
 Or else let go forever, an sink in the sea of sin. 
 
The Key to Thomas Heart. 75 
 
 An I knew, whatever efforts might carry him or fail, 
 There was only one could help God to turn the waverin scale ; 
 An I skulked away in a hurry I was bound to do my part- 
 To get the mother, who carries the key to Thomas heart. 
 
 She s gettin old an feeble, an childish in her talk; 
 
 An we ve no horse an buggy, an she will have to walk ; 
 
 But she would be fast to come, sir, the gracious chance to seize, 
 
 If she had to crawl to Thomas upon her hands an knees. 
 
 Crawl? walk? No, not if I know it! So set your mind at rest. 
 Why, hang it! I m Tom s customer, and said to be his best! 
 But if this blooded horse here will show his usual power, 
 Poor Tom shall see his mother in less than half an hour. 
 
76 Farm Legends. 
 
 THE DOCTOR S STORY. 
 
 GOOD folks ever will have their way 
 Good folks ever for it must pay. 
 
 But we, who are here and everywhere, 
 The burden of their faults must bear. 
 
 We must shoulder others shame 
 Fight their follies, and take their blame; 
 
 Purge the body, and humor the mind; 
 Doctor the eyes when the soul is blind; 
 
 Build the column of health erect 
 On the quicksands of neglect : 
 
 Always shouldering others shame 
 Bearing their faults and taking the blame I 
 
 n. 
 
 Deacon Rogers, he came to me ; 
 " Wife is agoin to die," said he. 
 
 "Doctors great, an doctors small, 
 Haven t improved her any at all. 
 
The Doctor s Story. 
 
 "Physic and blister, powders and pills, 
 And nothing sure but the doctors bills! 
 
 "Twenty women, with remedies new, 
 Bother my wife the whole day through. 
 
 "Sweet as honey, or bitter as gall 
 Poor old woman, she takes ern all. 
 
 "Sour or sweet, whatever they choose; 
 Poor old woman, she daren t refuse. 
 
 "So she pleases whoe er may call, 
 An Death is suited the best of all. 
 
 "Physic and blister, powder an pill 
 Bound to conquer, and sure to kill!" 
 
 in. 
 
 Mrs. Rogers lay in her bed, 
 
 Bandaged and blistered from foot to head. 
 
 Blistered and bandaged from head to toe, 
 Mrs. Rogers was very low. 
 
 Bottle and saucer, spoon and cup, 
 On the table stood bravely up; 
 
 Physics of high and low degree; 
 Calomel, catnip, boneset tea; 
 
 Every thing a body could bear, 
 Excepting light and water and air. 
 
 rv. 
 
 I opened the blinds; the day was bright, 
 And God gave Mrs. Rogers some light. 
 
78 
 
 Farm Legends. 
 
 "I TilUEW THEM AS FAli AS I COULD THROW." 
 
 I opened the window ; the day was fair, 
 And God gave Mrs. Rogers some air. 
 
 Bottles and blisters, powders and pills, 
 Catnip, boneset, sirups, and squills ; 
 
 Drugs and medicines, high and low, 
 I threw them as far as I could throw. 
 
 "What are you doing?" my patient cried; 
 "Frightening Death," I coolly replied. 
 
 " You are crnzy !" a visitor said : 
 I flung a bottle at his head. 
 
Tke Doctor s Story. 79 
 
 v. 
 
 Deacon Rogers lie came to me; 
 "Wife is a-gettin her health," said he. 
 
 U I really think she will worry through; 
 She scolds me just as she used to do. 
 
 "All the people have poohed an slurred 
 All the neighbors have had their word; 
 
 " Twere better to perish, some of em say, 
 Than be cured in such an irregular way." 
 
 VI. 
 
 "Your wife," said I, "had God s good care, 
 And His remedies, light and water and air. 
 
 "All of the doctors, beyond a doubt, 
 Couldn t have cured Mrs. Rogers without." 
 
 TO 
 
 The deacon smiled and bowed his head; 
 "Then your bill is nothing," he said. 
 
 " God s be the glory, as you say ! 
 
 God bless you, doctor! good-day! good-day!" 
 
 VIII. 
 
 If ever I doctor that woman again, 
 I ll give her medicine made by men, 
 
8o 
 
 Farm Legends. 
 
 THE CHRISTMAS BABY. 
 
 "Tha rt welcome, little bonny brid, 
 But shouldn t ha come just when tha did: 
 Teitnes are bad." 
 
 English Ballad. 
 
 HOOT! ye little rascal! ye come it on me this way, 
 Crowdin yerself amongst us this blusterin winter s day, 
 Knowin that we already have three of ye, an seven, 
 An tryin to make yerself out a Christmas present o Heaven ? 
 
 
 Ten of ye have we now, Sir, for this world to abuse ; 
 
 An Bobbie he have no waistcoat, an Nellie she have no shoes, 
 
 An Sammie he have no shirt, Sir (I tell it to his shame), 
 
 An the one that was just before ye we ain t had time to name! 
 
 An all o the banks be smashin , an on us poor folk fall ; 
 An Boss he whittles the wages when work s to be had at all ; 
 
The Christmas Baby. 
 
 A 
 
 An Tom he have cut his foot off, an lies in a woful plight, 
 An all of us wonders at rnornin as what we shall eat at night; 
 
 An but for your father an Sandy a-findin somewhat to do, 
 An but for the preacher s woman, who often helps us through, 
 An but for your poor dear mother a-doin twice her part, 
 Ye d a seen us all in heaven afore ye was ready to start! 
 
2 Farm Legends. 
 
 An now ye have come, ye rascal! so healthy an fat an sound, 
 A-weighhr, I ll wager a dollar, the full of a dozen pound! 
 With yer mother s eyes a flashin , yer father s flesh an build, 
 An a good big mouth an stomach all ready for to be filled ! 
 
 No, no! don t cry, my baby! hush up, my pretty one! 
 Don t get my chaff in yer eye, boy I only was just in fun. 
 Ye ll like us when ye know us, although we re cur us folks; 
 But we don t get much victual, an half our livin is jokes! 
 
 Why, boy, did ye take me in earnest? come, sit upon my knee; 
 I ll tell ye a secret, youngster, I ll name ye after me. 
 Ye shall have all yer brothers an sisters with ye to play, 
 An ye shall have yer carriage, an ride out every day ! 
 
 Why, boy, do ye think ye ll suffer? I m gettin a trifle old, 
 But it 11 be many years yet before I lose my hold ; 
 An if I should fall on the road, boy, still, them s yer brothers, there, 
 An not a rogue of em ever would see ye harmed a hair! 
 
 Say ! when ye come from heaven, my little namesake dear, 
 
 Did ye see, mongst the little girls there, a face like this one here? 
 
 That was yer little sister she died a year ago, 
 
 An all of us cried like babies when they laid her under the snow! 
 
The Christmas Baby. 
 
 Hang it! if all the rich men I ever see or knew 
 Came here with all their traps, boy, an offered em for you, 
 I d show em to the door, Sir, so quick they d think it odd, 
 Before I d sell to another my Christmas gift from God! 
 
OTHER POEMS. 
 
OTHER POEMS. 
 
 COVER THEM OVER 
 
 COVER them over with beautiful flowers; 
 Deck them with garlands, those brothers of ours; 
 Lying so silent, by night and by day, 
 Sleeping the years of their manhood away: 
 Years they had marked for the joys of the brave; 
 Years they must waste in the sloth of the grave. 
 All the bright laurels they fought to make bloom 
 Fell to the earth when they went to the tomb. 
 Give them the meed they have won in the past; 
 Give them the honors their merits forecast: 
 Give them the chaplets they won in the strife; 
 Give them the laurels they lost with their life. 
 Cover them over yes, cover them over 
 Parent, and husband, and brother, and lover: 
 Crown in your heart these dead heroes of ours, 
 And cover them over with beautiful flowers. 
 
 Cover the faces that motionless lie, 
 Shut from the blue of the glorious sky : 
 Faces once lit with the smiles of the gay 
 Faces now marred by the frown of decay. 
 Eyes that beamed friendship and love to your own ; 
 Lips that sweet thoughts of affection made known ; 
 Brows you have soothed in the day of distress; 
 Cheeks you have flushed by the tender caress. 
 
88 Other Poems. 
 
 Faces that brightened at War s stirring cry ; 
 Faces that streamed when they bade you good-by; 
 Faces that glowed in the battle s red flame, 
 Paling for naught, till the Death Angel came. 
 Cover them over yes, cover them over 
 Parent, and husband, and brother, and lover: 
 Kiss in your hearts these dead heroes of ours, 
 And cover them over with beautiful flowers. 
 
 Cover the hands that are resting, half-tried, 
 Crossed on the bosom, or low by the side : 
 Hands to you, mother, in infancy thrown; 
 Hands that you, father, close hid in your own ; 
 Hands where you, sister, when tried and dismayed, 
 Hung for protection and counsel and aid ; 
 Hands that you, brother, for faithfulness knew; 
 Hands that you, wife, wrung in bitter adieu. 
 Bravely the cross of their country they bore; 
 Words of devotion they wrote with their gore ; 
 Grandly they grasped for a garland of light, 
 Catching the mantle of death-darkened night. 
 Cover them over yes, cover them over 
 Parent, and husband, and brother, and lover: 
 Clasp in your hearts these dead heroes of ours, 
 And cover them over with beautiful flowers. 
 
 Cover the feet that, all weary and torn, 
 
 Hither by comrades were tenderly borne : 
 
 Feet that have trodden, through love-lighted ways, 
 
 Near to your own, in the old happy days ; 
 
 Feet that have pressed, in Life s opening morn, 
 
 Eoses of pleasure, and Death s poisoned thorn. 
 
 Swiftly they rushed to the help of the right, 
 
 Firmly they stood in the shock of the fight. 
 
 Ne er shall the enemy s hurrying tramp 
 
 Summon them forth from their death-guarded camp; 
 
 Ne er, till Eternity s bugle shall sound, 
 
 Will they come out from their couch in the ground. 
 
Cover Them Over. 89 
 
 Cover them over yes, cover them over 
 Parent, and husband, and brother, and lover: 
 Rough were the paths of those heroes of ours 
 Now cover them over with beautiful flowers. 
 
 Cover the hearts that have beaten so high, 
 Beaten with hopes that were born but to die; 
 Hearts that have burned in the heat of the fray, 
 Hearts that have yearned for the homes far away ; 
 Hearts that beat high in the charge s loud tramp, 
 Hearts that low fell in the prison s foul damp. 
 Once they were swelling with courage and will, 
 Now they are lying all pulseless and still ; 
 Once they were glowing with friendship and love, 
 Now the great souls have gone soaring above. 
 Bravely their blood to the nation they gave, 
 Then in her bosom they found them a grave. 
 Cover them over yes, cover them over 
 Parent, and husband, and brother, and lover : 
 Press to your hearts these dead heroes of ours, 
 And cover them over with beautiful flowers. 
 
 One there is, sleeping in yonder low tomb, 
 Worthy the brightest of flow rets that bloom. 
 Weakness of womanhood s life was her part; 
 Tenderly strong was her generous heart. 
 Bravely she stood by the sufferer s side, 
 Checking the pain and the life-bearing tide ; 
 Fighting the swift-sweeping phantom of Death, 
 Easing the dying man s fluttering breath; 
 Then, when the strife that had nerved her was o er, 
 Calmly she went to where wars are no more. 
 Voices have blessed her now silent and dumb; 
 Voices will bless her in long years to come. 
 Cover her over yes, cover her over 
 Blessings, like angels, around her shall hover ; 
 Cherish the name of that sister of ours, 
 And cover her over with beautiful flowers. 
 
Other Poems. 
 
 "THEY WHO IN MOTNTAIN AND HILI.-SIDE AND DEI.L 
 REST WI1EKE THEY \\EAKIE1), AND LIE ^VHEKE TI1EY FELL." 
 
 Cover the thousands who sleep far away 
 
 Sleep where their friends can not find them to-day; 
 
 They who in mountain and hill-side and dell 
 
 Host where they wearied, and lie where they fell. 
 
 Softly the grass-blade creeps round their repose; 
 
 Sweetly above them the wild flow ret blows: 
 
 Zephyrs of freedom fly gently o erhead, 
 
 Whispering names for the patriot dead. 
 
 So in our minds we will name them once more, 
 
 So in our hearts we will cover them o er: 
 
Cover Them Over. 91 
 
 Eoses and lilies and violets blue 
 Bloom in our souls for the brave and the true. 
 Cover them over yes, cover them over 
 Parent, and husband, and brother, and lover: 
 Think of those far-away heroes of ours, 
 And cover them over with beautiful flowers. 
 
 When the long years have crept slowly away, 
 E en to the dawn of Earth s funeral day; 
 When, at the Archangel s trumpet and tread, 
 Rise up the faces and forms of the dead ; 
 When the great world its last judgment aw;. 
 When the blue sky shall swing open its gates, 
 And our long columns march silently through, 
 Past the Great Captain, for final review; 
 Then for the blood that has flown for the right, 
 Crowns shall be given, untarnished and bright; 
 Then the glad ear of each w r ar-martyred son 
 Proudly shall hear the good judgment, "Well done. 7 * 
 Blessings for garlands shall cover them over 
 Parent, and husband, and brother, and lover : 
 God will reward those dead heroes of ours, 
 And cover them over with beautiful flowers. 
 
92 Other Poems. 
 
 RIFTS IN THE CLOUD. 
 
 [GRADUATING POEM, JUNE 17, 1869.] 
 
 LIFE is a cloud e en take it as you may ; 
 Illumine it with Pleasure s transient ray ; 
 Brighten its edge with Virtue; let each fold 
 E en by the touch of God be flecked with gold, 
 While angel-wings may kindly hover near, 
 And angel-voices murmur words of cheer, 
 Still, life s a cloud, forever hanging nigh, 
 
 Forever o er our winding pathways spread, 
 Ready to blacken on some saddened eye, 
 
 And hurl its bolts on some defenseless head. 
 
 Yes, there are lives that seem to know no ill ; 
 
 Paths that seem straight, with naught of thorn or hill 
 
 The bright and glorious sun, each welcome day, 
 
 Flashes upon the flowers that deck their way, 
 
 And the soft zephyr sings a lullaby, 
 
 Mid rustling trees, to please the ear and eye; 
 
 And all the darling child of fortune needs, 
 
 And all his dull, half-slumbering caution heeds, 
 
 While fairy eyes their watch above him keep, 
 
 Is breath to live and weariness to sleep. 
 
 But life s a cloud ! and soon the smiling sky 
 
 May wear the unwelcome semblance of a frown, 
 And the fierce tempest, madly rushing by, 
 
 May raise its dripping wings, and strike him down ! 
 
 When helpless infancy, for love or rest, 
 Lies nestling to a mothers yearning breast, 
 While she, enamored of its ways and wiles 
 As mothers only are, looks down and smiles, 
 
Rifts in the Cloud. 93 
 
 And spies a thousand unsuspected charms 
 In the sweet babe she presses in her arms, 
 While he, the love-light kindled in his eyes, 
 Sends to her own, electrical replies, 
 A ray of sunshine comes for each caress, 
 From out the clear blue sky of happiness. 
 But life s a cloud ! and soon the smiling face 
 
 The frowns and tears of childish grief may know, 
 And the love-language of the heart give place 
 
 To the wild clamor of a baby s woe. 
 
 The days of youth are joyful in their way ; 
 
 Bare feet tread lightly, and their steps are gay. 
 
 Parental kindness grades the early path, 
 
 And shields it from the storm-king s dreaded wrath. 
 
 But there are thorns that prick the infant flesh, 
 
 And bid the youthful eyes to flow afresh, 
 
 Thorns that maturer nerves would never feel, 
 
 With wounds that bleed not less, that soon they heaL 
 
 When we look back upon our childhood days, 
 
 Look down the long and sweetly verdant ways 
 
 Wherein we gayly passed the shining hours, 
 
 We see the beauty of its blooming flowers, 
 
 We breathe its fresh and fragrant air once more, 
 
 And, counting all its many pleasures o er, 
 
 And giving them their natural place of chief, 
 
 Forget our disappointments and our grief. 
 
 Sorrows that now were light, then weighed us down, 
 
 And claimed our tears for every surly frown. 
 
 For life s a cloud, e en take it as we will, 
 
 The changing wind ne er banishes or lifts; 
 The pangs of grief but make it darker still, 
 
 And happiness is nothing but its rifts. 
 
 There is a joy in sturdy manhood still ; 
 Bravery is joy ; and he who says, I WILL, 
 And turns, with swelling heart, and dares the fates, 
 While firm resolve upon his purpose waits, 
 
94 
 
 Other Poems. 
 
 Is happier for the deed; and he whose share 
 Is honest toil, pits that against dull care. 
 And yet, in spite of labor, faith, or prayer, 
 
 Dark clouds and fearful o er our paths are driven 
 They take the shape of monsters in the air, 
 
 And almost shut our eager gaze from heaven ! 
 
 Disease is there, with slirny, loathsome touch, 
 With hollow, blood-shot eyes and eager clutch, 
 Longing to strike us down with pangs of pain, 
 And bind us there, with weakness galling chain. 
 Ruin is there, with cunning ambush laid, 
 Waiting some panic in the ranks of trade, 
 Some profitless endeavor, or some trust 
 By recreant knave abused, to snatch the crust 
 From out the mouths of them we love the best, 
 And bring gaunt hunger, an unwelcome guest. 
 Disgrace is there, of honest look bereft, 
 Truth in his right hand, falsehood in his left, 
 Pride in his mouth, the devil in his eye, 
 His garment truth, his cold black heart a lie, 
 Forging the bolts to blast some honored name; 
 
 Longing to see some victim wronged or wrong; 
 To see him step into the pool of shame, 
 
 Or soiled by loved ones that to him belong. 
 
 A dark cloud hovers over every zone 
 The cloud of ignorance. The great unknown, 
 Defying comprehension, still hangs low 
 Above our feeble minds. When we who now 
 Have stumbled neath the ever-varying load 
 That marks the weary student s royal road, 
 Have hurried over verbs in headlong haste, 
 And various thorny paths of language traced ; 
 Have run our muddled heads, with rueful sigh, 
 Gainst figures truthful, that yet seemed to lie; 
 Have peeped into the Sciences, and learned 
 How much we do not know; have bravely turned 
 
Rifts in the Cloud. 95 
 
 Our guns of eloquence on forest trees, 
 
 And preached grave doctrines to the wayward breeze; 
 
 When we have done all this, the foggy cloud, 
 
 With scarce a rift, is still above us bowed ; 
 
 And we are children, on some garden s verge, 
 
 Groping for flowers the opposing wall beneath, 
 Who, flushed and breathless, may at last emerge, 
 
 With a few scanty blossoms for a wreath. 
 
 But never was a cloud so thick and black, 
 
 But it might some time break, and on its track 
 
 The glorious sun come streaming. Never, too, 
 
 So but its threads might bleach to lighter hue, 
 
 Was sorrow s mantle of so deep a dye. 
 
 And he who, peering at the troubled sky, 
 
 Looks past the clouds, or looks the cloud-rifts through, 
 
 Or, finding none, remembers their great worth, 
 And strikes them for himself, is that man who 
 
 Shows the completest wisdom of this earth. 
 
 When one stands forth in Reason s glorious light, 
 
 Stands in his own proud consciousness of right, 
 
 Laments his faults, his virtues does not boast, 
 
 Studies all creatures and himself the most 
 
 Knowing the way wherewith his faults to meet, 
 
 Or, vanquished by them, owning his defeat, 
 
 He pays the penalty as should a man, 
 
 And pitches battle with the foe again ; 
 
 When, giving all their proper due and heed, 
 
 He yet has power, when such shall be the need, 
 
 To go his way, unshackled, true, and free, 
 
 And bid the world go hanged, if needs must be, 
 
 He strikes a rift for his unfearing eye 
 
 Through the black cloud of low servility : 
 
 A cloud that s decked the Orient all these years; 
 
 Neath whose low-bending folds, mid groans and tears, 
 
 Priestcraft has heaped its huge, ill-gotten gains, 
 
 And tyrants forged their bloody, clanking chains; 
 
96 Other Poems. 
 
 A cloud, that when the Mayflowers precious cnp 
 The misty, treacherous deep held proudly up, 
 By waves that leaped and dashed each other o er, 
 But onward still the ark of Freedom bore, 
 Some fair and peaceful Ararat to find, 
 Plumed its black wings, and swept not far behind. 
 To-day it lowers o er this great, free land 
 
 O er farms and workshops, offices and spires- 
 Its baleful shadow casts on every hand, 
 
 And darkens Church and State and household fires. 
 
 It is a thing to pity and to blame, 
 A useless, vile, humiliating shame, 
 A silent slander on the Heaven-born soul, 
 Decked with the signet of its own control, 
 A flaw upon the image of our God, 
 When men, obedient to some Mogul s nod- 
 When men, the sockets of whose addled brains 
 Are blessed with some illuminate remains 
 Wherefrom the glim of reason still is shed, 
 Blow out the light, and send their wits to bed ; 
 And, taking as their sole dictator, then. 
 Some little, thundering god of speech or pen, 
 Aping submissively the smile or frown 
 Of some great brazen face that beats them down, 
 Or silenced by some lubricated tongue, 
 Covered with borrowed words and neatly hung 
 They yield their judgments up to others wills, 
 And take grave creeds like sugar-coated pills; 
 And, with their weakness tacitly confessed, 
 Like the un feathered fledgelings of a nest, 
 When the old bird comes home with worms and flies- 
 . With half a smile and half a knowing frown, 
 They open wide their mouths, and shut their eyes, 
 And seem to murmur softly, "Drop it down" 
 
 He who will creep about some great man s feet, 
 The honeyed fragrance of his breath to meet, 
 
Rifts in the Cloud. 97 
 
 Or follow him about, with crafty plan, 
 And cringe for smiles and favors, is no man. 
 A fraction of a man, and all his own, 
 Although his numerator be but one, 
 With unity divided up so fine 
 
 That thousands range themselves beneath the line 
 Ay, one so insignificantly small 
 That quick accountants count him not at all- 
 Is better far, and vastly nobler, too, 
 
 Than some great swelling cipher among men, 
 Naught of itself, and nothing else to do 
 
 Except to help some little one count ten ! 
 
 Let us e en strike, with courage true endowed. 
 
 Straight at the centre of this murky cloud, 
 
 And sweep its worthless vapor from the earth. 
 
 Take sense for coin; opinions at their worth; 
 
 Conviction at its cost; dictation, when 
 
 Our minds and souls are bankrupt hardly then ! 
 
 When Freedom s sons and daughters will do this, 
 
 Our land will know a day of happiness, 
 
 Fit for such joy as never yet was seen, 
 
 E en when Emancipation tried her keen 
 
 Bright blade upon the galling chains of steel. 
 
 And stamped the action with the nation s seal. 
 
 E en when the cable its initial spark 
 
 Brought flashing through the ocean s deep and dark ; 
 
 E en when was fixed, with far-resounding strokes, 
 
 With song, and praise, and thankfulness, and mirth, 
 The golden fastening of the chain that yokes 
 
 The two great restless oceans of the earth ! 
 
 But over all, and round about us spread, 
 
 Hangs the black cloud of Death : a thunder-hend, 
 
 Yet ominously silent; moving on, 
 
 While from its threatening folds, so deep and dark, 
 The forked lightning, ever and anon, 
 
 Shoots for some life, and never fails its mark. 
 
 7 
 
98 Other Poems. 
 
 There was one classmate is not here to-day; 
 
 Many an oak is blasted on its way, 
 
 Many a growing hope is overthrown. 
 
 What might have been, his early growth had shown ? 
 
 \Vhat was, our love and tears for him may tell; 
 
 He lived, he toiled, he faded, and he fell. 
 
 When our friend lay within that narrow room 
 
 Men call a coffin in its cheerless gloom 
 
 Himself the only tenant, and asleep 
 
 In a long slumber, terrible and deep; 
 
 When at the open door his pale, sad face 
 
 Appeared to us, without a look or trace 
 
 Of recognition in its ghastly hue, 
 
 Soon to be hid forever from our view ; 
 
 When, with his sightless eyes to heaven upturned, 
 
 Wherefrom his royal soul upon them burned. 
 
 He waited for his last rites to be said, 
 
 With the pathetic patience of the dead ; 
 
 When tenderly his manly form we lay 
 
 In its last couch, with covering of clay; 
 
 Who in that mournful duty had a part, 
 
 But felt the cloud of Death upon his heart? 
 
 But when we thought how his unfettered soul. 
 
 Free from his poor sick body s weak control, 
 
 Pluming its wings at the Eternal throne, 
 
 Might take through realms of space its rapid flight, 
 And rind a million joys to us unknown, 
 
 The cloud was rifted by a ray of light. 
 
 Old class of 69 ! together, still, 
 
 We ve journeyed up the rough and toilsome hill; 
 
 Seeking the gems to labor ne er denied, 
 
 Plucking the fruits that deck the mountain-side,. 
 
 Now, in the glory of this summer day, 
 
 We part, and each one goes his different way. 
 
 Let each, with hope to fire his yearning soul, 
 
 Still hurry onward to the shining goal. 
 
 The way at times may dark and weary seem, 
 
 No ray of sunshine on our path may beam, 
 
Rifts in the Cloud. 
 
 The dark clouds hover o er us like a pall, 
 And gloom and sadness seem to compass all ; 
 But still, with honest purpose, toil we on ; 
 
 And if our steps be upright, straight, and true, 
 Far in the east a golden light shall dawn, 
 
 A.nd the bright smile of Grod come bursting through. 
 
 99 
 
100 
 
 Other Poems. 
 
 SOME TIME. 
 
 STRONG and terrible Ocean, 
 
 grand and glorious Ocean, 
 restless, stormy Ocean, a million fathoms o er! 
 When never an eye was near thee to view thy turbulent glory, 
 When never an ear to hear thee relate thy endless story, 
 
 What didst thou then, Ocean? Didst toss thy foam in air, 
 With never a bark to fear thee, and never a soul to dare? 
 
Some Time. 101 
 
 "Oh, I was the self-same Ocean, 
 The same majestic Ocean, 
 
 The strong and terrible Ocean, with rock-embattled shore ; 
 I threw my fleecy blanket up over my shoulders bare, 
 I raised my head in triumph, and tossed my grizzled hair; 
 
 For I knew that some time some time 
 White-robed ships would venture from out of the placid bay, 
 Forth to my heaving bosom, my lawful pride or prey; 
 
 I knew that some time some time 
 Lordly men and maidens my servile guests would be, 
 And hearts of sternest courage would falter and bend to me." 
 
 O deep and solemn Forest, 
 sadly whispering Forest, , 
 
 lonely moaning Forest, that murmureth, -evtirropro ! >, ; > , 
 When never a footstep wandered across thy sheltered meadows, 
 When never a wild bird squandered his music mid thy shadows, 
 What didst thou then, O Forest? Didst robe thyself in green,. 
 
 And pride thyself in beauty the while to be unseen? 
 "Oh, I was the self-same Forest, 
 The same low-whispering Forest, 
 
 The softly murmuring Forest, and all of my beauties wore. 
 I dressed myself in splendor all through the lonely hours; 
 I twined the vines around me, and covered my lap with flowers; 
 
 For I knew that some time some time 
 Birds of beautiful plumage would flit and nestle here ; 
 Songs of marvelous sweetness would charm my listening ear; 
 
 1 knew that some time some time 
 
 Lovers would gayly wander neath my protecting boughs, 
 And into the ear of my silence would whisper holy vows." 
 
 fair and beautiful Maiden, 
 
 pure and winsome Maiden, 
 O grand and peerless Maiden, created to adore! 
 When no love came to woo thee that won thy own love-treasure,. 
 When never a heart came to thee thy own heart-wealth could measure 
 What didst thou then, Maiden? Didst smile as thou smilest now, 
 With ne er the kiss of a lover upon thy snow-white brow? 
 
I02 Other Poems. 
 
 "Oh, I was the self-same Maiden, 
 
 The simple and trusting Maiden, 
 
 The happy and careless Maiden, with all of my love in store. 
 I gayly twined. my tresses, and cheerfully went my way; 
 I took no thought of the morrow, and cared for the cares of the day 
 
 For I knew that some time some time 
 Into the path of my being the Love of my life would glide, 
 And we by the gates of heaven would wander side by side." 
 
Brothers and Friends. 103 
 
 BROTHERS AND FRIENDS. 
 
 [REUNION or ALPHA KAPPA PHI SOCIETY, JUNE 1C, 1875.] 
 
 WOULD I might utter all rny heart can feel! 
 
 But there are thoughts weak words will not reveal 
 
 The rarest fruitage is the last to fall; 
 
 The strongest language hath no words at all. 
 
 When first the uncouth student comes in sight 
 A sturdy plant, just straggling toward the light- 
 Arriving at his future classic home, 
 He gazes at the high-perched college dome, 
 Striving, through eyes with a vague yearning dim, 
 To spy some future glory there for him, 
 A child in thought, a man in strong desire, 
 A clod of clay, vexed by a restless fire, 
 
 When, with hard hands, and uncongenial locks, 
 And clothes as speckled as young Jacob s flocks, 
 Homesick and heart-sick, tired and desolate, 
 He leans himself gainst Learning s iron gate, 
 While all the future frowns upon his track, 
 And all the past conspires to pull him back; 
 When, with tired resolution in his looks, 
 He bends above the cabalistic books, 
 And strives, with knitted forehead throbbing hot, 
 To learn what older students have forgot; 
 And wonders how the Romans and the Greeks 
 Could cry aloud and spare their jaws and cheeks; 
 And wants the Algebraic author put 
 On an equation, tied there, head and foot, 
 
IO4 Other Poems. 
 
 Which then, with all Induction s boasted strength, 
 
 May be expanded to prodigious length ; 
 
 When he reflects, with rueful, pain-worn phiz, 
 
 What a sad, melancholy dog he is, 
 
 And how much less unhappy and forlorn 
 
 Are all those students who are not yet born ; 
 
 When Inexperience like a worm is twined 
 
 Around the clumsy ringers of his mind, 
 
 And Discipline, a stranger yet unknown, 
 
 Struts grandly by and leaves him all alone; 
 
 What cheers him better than to feel and see 
 
 Some other one as badly off as he? 
 
 Or the sincere advice and kindly aid 
 
 Of those well worked in Study s curious trade? 
 
 What help such solace and improvement lends 
 
 As the band-grasp of Brothers and of Friends? 
 
 When, with a wildly ominous halloo, 
 
 The frisky Freshman shuffles into view, 
 
 And shouts aloud the war-cry of his clan, 
 
 And makes friends with the devil like a man ; 
 
 When, looking upward at the other classes, 
 
 He dubs them as three tandem-tearns of asses, 
 
 And, scarcely knowing what he does it for, 
 
 Vows against them unmitigated war, 
 
 And aims to show them that though they may tread 
 
 In stately, grand procession o er his head, 
 
 The animated pathway that they scorn, 
 
 May sometimes bristle with a hidden thorn ; 
 
 When, with a vigilance that to nothing yields, 
 
 He scans the fruitage of the neighboring fields, 
 
 And in the solemn night-time doth entwine 
 
 Affection s fingers round the melon-vine ; 
 
 When the tired wagon from its sheltering shed 
 
 To strange, uncouth localities is led, 
 
 And, with the night for a dissecting-room, 
 
 Is analyzed amid the friendly gloom ; 
 
 When the hushed rooster, cheated of his cry, 
 
 From his spoiled perch bids this vain world good-bye; 
 
Brothers and Friends. 105 
 
 When, in the chapel, an unwilling guest, 
 
 And living sacrifice, a cow doth rest; 
 
 When from the tower, the bell s notes, pealing down. 
 
 Rouse up the fireman from the sleeping town, 
 
 Who, rushing to the scene, with duty fired, 
 
 Finds his well-meant assistance unrequired, 
 
 And, creeping homeward, steadily doth play 
 
 Upon the third commandment all the way ; 
 
 When are played off, with mirth-directed aims, 
 
 At the staid Alma Mater, various games, 
 
 As feline juveniles themselves regale 
 
 In the lithe folds of the maternal tail, 
 
 And when these antics have gone far enough, 
 
 Comes from her paw a well-considered cuff, 
 
 What more to soothe the chastened spirit tends 
 
 Than sympathy from Brothers and from Friends? 
 
 When the deep Sophomore has well begun 
 
 The study of his merits, one by one, 
 
 And found that he, a bright scholastic blade, 
 
 Is fearfully and wonderfully made ; 
 
 Discovers how much greater is his share 
 
 Of genius than he was at first aware ; 
 
 When, with a ken beyond his tender age, 
 
 He sweeps o er History s closely printed page, 
 
 Conjecturing how this world so long endured, 
 
 With his co-operation unsecured ; 
 
 When, with his geometrical survey 
 
 Trigonometrically brought in play, 
 
 He scans two points, with firm, unmoved design 
 
 To join them sooner than by one straight line; 
 
 When he, with, oratorio hand astir, 
 
 Rolls back the tide of ages as it were; 
 
 When Cicero he decides for reading fit, 
 
 And tolerates happy Horace for his wit; 
 
 When he across Zoology takes sight, 
 
 To see what creatures were created right, 
 
 And looks the plants that heaven has fashioned through, 
 
 To see if they were rightly finished, too ; 
 
io6 Other Poems. 
 
 When be his aid to any cause can lend, 
 
 In readiness, on short notice, to ascend 
 
 From any well-worn point, secure and soon, 
 
 In his small oratorical balloon, 
 
 Expecting, when his high trip s end appears, 
 
 Descent upon a parachute of cheers; 
 
 When he decides, beneath a load of care, 
 
 What whiskered monogram his face shall wear; 
 
 When, from his mind s high shoulders cropping out, 
 
 Linguistic feathers constantly do sprout, 
 
 Which, ere they meet the cool outsider s scoff, 
 
 Kequire a quiet, friendly picking-off; 
 
 What better to this operation lends 
 
 Than the critiques of Brothers and of Friends? 
 
 When the spruce Junior, not disposed to shirk, 
 
 Begins to get down fairly to his work, 
 
 Strives to run foremost in the college race, 
 
 Or at least fill a creditable place : 
 
 When he bears, o er the rough and hard highway. 
 
 The heat and burden of the college day, 
 
 And hastes his mental lungs all out of breath 
 
 As if it were a race of life and death ; 
 
 When with some little doubt his brain is fraught, 
 
 That he s not quite so brilliant as he thought, 
 
 And he would strengthen his lame talent still, 
 
 By wrapping round the bandage of his will ; 
 
 When, undergoing the reaction drear 
 
 That follows up the Sophomoric year, 
 
 He finds each task much harder than before, 
 
 And tarries long at every phrase s door, 
 
 And pauses o er his dull oration s page, 
 
 Then tears it into pieces in a rage; 
 
 When, had he fifty ink-stands, he could throw 
 
 Each at some devil fraught with fancied woe; 
 
 And when, perchance, atop of all this gloom, 
 
 In his heart s world there s yet sufficient room 
 
 For Cupid to come blundering through the dark, 
 
 And make his sensibilities a mark, 
 
Brothers and Friends. 107 
 
 And, viewing each the other from afar, 
 Learning and Love frown miserably, and spar; 
 What for his trouble-phantoms makes amends 
 Like the support of Brothers and of Friends? 
 
 When, with a strengthened soul and chastened brain, 
 
 The Senior who has labored not in vain 
 
 Looks back upon the four eventful years 
 
 Most fruitful that in his past life appears, 
 
 When he stands, somewhat shadowed by remorse, 
 
 In the bright Indian Summer of the course, 
 
 And muses, had each opportunity 
 
 Been seized, how smooth his present path might be; 
 
 When, having blundered through each college hall, 
 
 Bumping his head gainst Inexperience wall, 
 
 There burst upon him through the window-panes, 
 
 Broad Knowledge deep ravines and fertile plains: 
 
 When, standing at the door, with gaze of doubt, 
 
 He draws on his world-wrappings, and looks out 
 
 Into the chillness of the winter s day, 
 
 And almost wishes that he still might stay, 
 
 What nearer to his beating heart extends 
 
 Than parting with his Brothers and his Friends? 
 
 When he at last has bid the school good-by, 
 
 And finds that many matters go awry; 
 
 Finds much amid Earth s uncongenial fog, 
 
 Not mentioned in the college catalogue; 
 
 Finds that The World, in writing his name down, 
 
 Forgets, somehow, to add the letters on 
 
 Which serve to make his fellow-mortals see 
 
 How little rests behind a big degree; 
 
 Finds, also, that it is inclined to speak 
 
 Elsewise than in the Latin or the Greek; 
 
 Finds that the sharp blade of his brightened mind 
 
 Gets dulled upon the pachydermal kind; 
 
 That The World by Declension understands 
 
 The sliding-down of houses, stocks, and lands ; 
 
io8 Other Poems. 
 
 And that Translation means, in this world s bother, 
 
 Translation from one pocket to another; 
 
 Mistrusts that if The World has, as is sung, 
 
 A tail by which, perchance, it may be slung, 
 
 The blessed place so many hands infold, 
 
 He can not find whereon he may take hold ; 
 
 Finds that he best makes ground o er this world s road, 
 
 As he his college nonsense doth unload ; 
 
 What sweeter sound with Life s alarum blends 
 
 Than the kind voice of Brothers and of Friends ? 
 
 ******* 
 
 And so, to-day, we live our old lives o er 
 
 The Freshman gay, the smiling Sophomore, 
 
 The anxious Junior, and the Senior proud, 
 
 The care-immersed Alumnus, sober-browed; 
 
 To shake once more the quick-responding hand, 
 
 To trade in jokes no others understand ; 
 
 Our fish-lines into Memory s ponds to throw 
 
 For stories which were left there long ago 
 
 (Which, like most fishy ventures, as is known, 
 
 Through many changing years have bred and grown); 
 
 To beat the big drum of our vanity, 
 
 To clash the cymbals of our boisterous glee ; 
 
 To bind again the old-time friendships fast, 
 
 -To fight once more the battles of the past. 
 
 Beneath the blue of the clear sunlit sky, 
 
 Beneath the storm-cloud, rudely lingering nigh, 
 
 From night to night from changing day to day 
 
 The Alpha Kappa Phi has won its way. 
 
 And as the lichen plant, when tempest-torn, 
 
 And roughly from its native hill-side borne, 
 
 Sucks moisture from the whirlwind s shivering form, 
 
 And grows, while yet hurled onward by the storm, 
 
 And when at last its voyage well is o er, 
 
 Thrives sweeter, purer, stronger than before, 
 
 The Alpha Kappa Phi has ever grown 
 
 Stronger for all the struggles it has known ; 
 
 And, mid the smiles and frowns that heaven out-sends, 
 
 Our hearts still beat as Brothers and as Friends. 
 
Gone Before. 109 
 
 GONE BEFORE. 
 
 PULL up the window-lattice, Jane, and raise me in my bed, 
 
 And trim my beard, and brush my hair, and from this covering free 
 
 me, 
 And brace me back against the wall, and raise my aching head, 
 
 And make me trim, for one I love is coming here to see me; 
 Or if she do not see me, Jane, twill be that her dear eyes 
 
 Are shut as ne er they shut before, in all of their reposing; 
 For never yet my lowest word has failed of kind replies, 
 
 And ever still my lightest touch has burst her eyelids closing; 
 
 So let her come to me. 
 
 They say she s coming in her sleep a sleep they can not break; 
 
 Ay, let them call, and let them weep, in dull and droning fashion ! 
 Her ear may hear their doleful tones an age and never wake; 
 
 But let me pour into its depth my words of burning passion ! 
 Ay, let my hot and yearning lips, that long have yearned in vain, 
 
 But press her pure and sacred cheek, and wander in her tresses ; 
 And let my tears no more be lost, but on her forehead rain, 
 
 And she will rise and pity me, and soothe me with caresses; 
 
 So let her come to me. 
 
 silver-crested days agone, that wove us in one heart! 
 
 golden future years, that urged our hands to clasp in striving! 
 There is not that in earth or sky can hold us two apart; 
 
 And I of her, and she of me, not long may know depriving! 
 So bring her here, where I have long in absence pining lain, 
 
 While on my fevered weakness crashed the castles of our building 
 
1 10 Other Poems. 
 
 And once together, all the woe and weary throbs of pain 
 That strove to cloud our happiness shall be its present gilding; 
 
 So let her come to me. 
 
 n. 
 
 They brought her me they brought her me they bore her to my bed; 
 
 And first I marked her coffin s form, and saw its jewels glisten. 
 I talked to her, I wept to her, but she was cold and dead ; 
 
 I prayed to her, and then I knew she was not here to listen. 
 For Death had wooed and won my love, and carried her away. 
 
 How could she know my trusting heart, and then so sadly grieve 
 
 me! 
 Her hand was his, her cheek was his, her lips of ashen gray ; 
 
 Her heart was never yet for him, however she might leave me; 
 
 Her heart was e er for rne. 
 
 O waves that well had sunk my life, sweep back to me again ! 
 
 I will not fight your coming now, or flee from your pursuing! 
 But bear me, beat me, dash me to the land of Death, and then 
 
 I ll find the love Death stole from me, and scorn him with my wooing! 
 Oh, I will light his gloomy orbs with jealous, mad surprise ; 
 
 Oh, I will crush his pride, e en with the lack of my endeavor; 
 The while T boldly bear away, from underneath his eyes, 
 
 The soul that God had made for me to lose no more forever; 
 
 Ay, she will go with me. 
 
 Pull down the window-lattice, Jane, and turn me in my bed, 
 
 And not until the set of sun be anxious for my waking; 
 And ere that hour a robe of light above me shall be spread, 
 
 And darkness here shall show me there the morn that now is breaking. 
 And in one grave let us be laid my truant love and me 
 
 And side by side shall rest the hearts that once were one in beating; 
 And soon together and for aye our wedded souls shall be, 
 
 And never cloud shall dim again the brightness of our meeting, 
 
 Where now she waits for me. 
 
The Little Sleeper. in 
 
 THE LITTLE SLEEPER. 
 
 THERE is mourning in the cottage as the twilight shadows fall, 
 For a little rose-wood coffin has been brought into the hall, 
 
 And a little pallid sleeper, 
 
 In a slumber colder, deeper 
 
 Than the nights of life could give her, in its narrow borders lies. 
 With the sweet and changeful lustre ever faded from her eyes. 
 
 Since the morning of her coming, but a score of suns had set, 
 And the strangeness of the dawning of her life is with her yet; 
 
 And the dainty lips asunder 
 
 Are a little pressed with wonder, 
 
 And her smiling bears the traces of a shadow of surprise, 
 But the wondering mind that made it looks no more from out her eyes. 
 
 Twas a soul upon a journey, and was lost upon its way ; 
 Twas a flash of light from heaven on a tiny piece of clay ; 
 
 Twas more timid, and yet bolder, 
 
 It was younger, and yet older, 
 
 It was weaker, and yet stronger, than this little human guise, 
 With the strange unearthly lustre ever faded from its eyes. 
 
 They will bury her the morrow; they will mourn her as she died; 
 I will bury her the morrow, and another by her side; 
 
 For the raven hair, but started, 
 
 Soon a maiden would have parted, 
 
 Full of fitful joy and sorrow gladly gay and sadly wise; 
 With a dash of worldly mischief in her deep and changeful eyes. 
 
 I will bury her the morrow, and another by her side : 
 
 It shall be a wife and mother, full of love and care and pride; 
 
 Full of hope, and of misgiving; 
 
 Of the joys and griefs of living; 
 
1 1 2 Other Poems. 
 
 Of the pains of others being, and the tears of others cries; 
 With the love of God encompassed in her smiling, weeping eyes. 
 
 I will bury on the morrow, too, a grandame, wrinkled, old ; 
 
 One whose pleasures of the present were the joys that had been told ; 
 
 I will bury one whose blessing 
 
 Was the transport of caressing 
 
 Every joy that she had buried every lost and broken prize; 
 With a gleam of heaven-expected, in her dim and longing eyes. 
 
 I will joy for her to-morrow, as I see her compassed in, 
 For the lips now pure and holy might be some time stained with sin ; 
 And the brow now white and stainless, 
 And the heart now light and painless, 
 
 Might have throbbed with guilty passion, and with sin-encumbered sighs 
 Might have surged the sea of brightness in the bright and changeful eyes. 
 
 Let them bury her to-rnorrow let them treasure her away ; 
 Let the soul go back to heaven, and the body back to clay ; 
 
 Let the future grief here hidden, 
 
 Let the happiness forbidden, 
 
 Be for evermore forgotten, and be buried as it dies, 
 And an angel let us see her, with our sad and weeping eyes. 
 
Tis Snowing. 113 
 
 TIS SNOWING. 
 
 FIRST VOICE. 
 
 Hurra! tis snowing! 
 On street and house-roof, gently cast, 
 The falling flakes come thick and fast; 
 They wheel and curve from giddy height, 
 And speck the chilly air with white! 
 Come on, come on, you light-robed storm! 
 My fire within is blithe and warm, 
 
 And brightly glowing! 
 My robes are thick, my sledge is gay ; 
 My champing steeds impatient neigh; 
 My silver-sounding bells are clear, 
 With music for the muffled ear; 
 And she within my queenly bride 
 Shall sit right gayly by my side; 
 
 Hurra! tis snowing! 
 
 SECOND VOICE. 
 
 Good God! tis snowing! 
 From out the dull and leaden clouds^ 
 The surly storm impatient crowds; 
 It beats against my fragile door, 
 It creeps across my cheerless floor; 
 And through my pantry, void of fare, 
 And o er my hearth, so cold and bare, 
 
 The wind is blowing; 
 And she who rests her weary head 
 Upon our hard and scanty bed, 
 Prays hopefully, but hopeless still, 
 For bright spring days and whip-poor-will ; 
 8 
 
I 
 14 Other Poems. 
 
 The damp of death is at her brow, 
 The frost is at her feet; and now 
 Tis drearily snowing. 
 
 FIRST VOICE. 
 
 Hurra! tis snowing! 
 Snow on ! ye can not stop our ride, 
 As o er the white-paved road we glide: 
 Past forest trees thick draped with snow, 
 Past white-thatched houses, quaint and low 
 Past rich-stored barn and stately herd. 
 Past well-filled sleigh and kindly word, 
 
 Right gayly going! 
 Snow on ! for when our ride is o er, 
 And once again we reach the door, 
 Our well-filled larder shall provide, 
 Our cellar-doors shall open wide; 
 And while without tis cold and drear, 
 Within, our board shall smile with cheer, 
 
 Although tis snowing! 
 
 SECOND VOICE. 
 
 Good God! tis snowing! 
 Rough men now bear, with hurried tread, 
 My pauper wife unto her bed ; 
 And while, all crushed, but unresigned, 
 I cringe and follow close behind, 
 And while these scalding, bitter tears 
 The first that stain my manhood years 
 
 Are freely flowing, 
 Her waiting grave is open wide, 
 And into it the snow-flakes glide. 
 A mattress for her couch they wreathe; 
 And snow above, and snow beneath, 
 Must be the bed of her who prayed 
 The sun might shine where she was laid; 
 
 And still tis snowing! 
 
The Burning of Chicago. \ \ 5 
 
 THE BURNING OF CHICAGO. 
 
 TWAS night in the beautiful city, 
 The famous and wonderful city, 
 The proud and magnificent city, 
 The Queen of the North and the West. 
 
 The riches of nations were gathered in wondrous and plentiful store; 
 The swift-speeding bearers of Commerce were waiting on river and shore; 
 The great staring walls towered skyward, with visage undaunted and bold, 
 And said, "We are ready, Winter! come on with your hunger and 
 
 cold! 
 Sweep down with your storms from the northward ! come out from your 
 
 ice-guarded lair! 
 
 Our larders have food for a nation ! our wardrobes have clothing to spare! 
 For off from the corn-bladed prairies, and out from the valleys and hills, 
 The farmer has swept us his harvests, the miller has emptied his mills; 
 And here, in the lap of our city, the treasures of autumn shall rest, 
 In golden -crowned, glorious Chicago, the Queen of the North and the 
 West!" 
 
 ii. 
 
 Twas night in the church -guarded city, 
 
 The temple and altar-decked city, 
 
 The turreted, spire-adorned city, 
 
 The Queen of the North and the West. 
 
 And out from the beautiful temples that wealth in its fullness had made, 
 And out from the haunts that were humble, where Poverty peacefully 
 
 prayed, 
 Where praises and thanks had been offered to Him where they rightly 
 
 belonged, 
 In peacefulness quietly homeward the worshiping multitude thronged. 
 
n6 Other Poems. 
 
 The Pharisee, laden with riches and jewelry, costly and rare, 
 Who proudly deigned thanks to Jehovah he was not as other men are ; 
 The penitent, crushed in his weakness, and laden with pain and with sin ; 
 The outcast who yearningly waited to hear the glad bidding, " Come in ;" 
 And thus went they quietly homeward, with sins and omissions confessed, 
 In spire-adorned, templed Chicago, the Queen of the North and the West. 
 
 m. 
 
 Twas night in the sin-burdened city, 
 The turbulent, vice-laden city, 
 The sin-compassed, rogue-haunted city, 
 Though Queen of the North and the West. 
 
 And low in their caves of pollution great beasts of humanity growled; 
 
 And over his money -strewn table the gambler bent fiercely, and scowled ; 
 
 And men with no seeming of manhood, with countenance flaming and 
 fell, 
 
 Drank deep from the fire-laden fountains that spring from the rivers of 
 hell; 
 
 And men with no seeming of manhood, who dreaded the coming. of day, 
 
 Prowled, cat-like, for blood-purchased plunder from men who were bet 
 ter than they ; 
 
 And men with no seeming of manhood, whose dearest-craved glory was 
 shame, 
 
 Whose joys were the sorrows of others, whose harvests were acres of 
 flame, 
 
 Slunk, whispering and low, in their corners, with bowie and pistol tight- 
 pressed, 
 
 In rogue -haunted, sin -cursed Chicago, though Queen of the North and 
 the West. 
 
 rv. 
 
 Twas night in the elegant city, 
 
 The rich and voluptuous city, 
 
 The beauty-thronged, mansion-decked city r 
 
 Gay Queen of the North and the West. 
 
The Burning of Chicago. 1 1 7 
 
 And childhood was placidly resting in slumber untroubled and deep ; 
 
 And softly the mother was fondling her innocent baby to sleep; 
 
 And maidens were dreaming of pleasures and triumphs the future should 
 
 show, 
 
 And scanning the brightness and glory of joys they were never to know ; 
 And firesides were cheerful and happy, and Comfort smiled sweetly around ; 
 But grim Desolation and Ruin looked into the window and frowned. 
 And pitying angels looked downward, and gazed on their loved ones 
 
 below, 
 And longed to reach forth a deliverance, and yearned to beat backward 
 
 the foe; 
 But Pleasure and Comfort were reigning, nor danger was spoken or 
 
 guessed, 
 In beautiful, golden Chicago, gay Queen of the North and the West. 
 
 v. 
 
 Then up in the streets of the city, 
 The careless and negligent city, 
 The soon to be sacrificed city, 
 Doomed Queen of the North and the West, 
 Crept, softly and slyly, so tiny it hardly was worthy the name, 
 Crept, slowly and soft through the rubbish, a radiant serpent of flame. 
 The South -wind and West -wind came shrieking, "Rouse up in your 
 
 strength and your ire ! 
 For many a year they have chained you, and crushed you, demon of 
 
 fire! 
 For many a year they have bound you, and made you their servant and 
 
 slave ! 
 
 Now, rouse you, and dig for this city a fiery and desolate grave! 
 Freight heavy with grief and with wailing her world-scattered pride and 
 
 renown ! 
 Charge straight on her mansions of splendor, and battle her battlements 
 
 down ! 
 And we, the strong South-wind and West-wind, with thrice-doubled fury 
 
 possessed, 
 Will sweep with you over this city, this Queen of the North and the 
 
 West!" 
 
1 1 8 Other Poems. 
 
 VL 
 
 Then straight at the great, quiet city, 
 The strong and o erconfident city, 
 The well-nigh invincible city, 
 Doomed Queen of the North and the West. 
 
 The Fire-devil rallied his legions, and speeded them forth on the wind, 
 With tinder and treasures before him, with ruins and tempests behind. 
 The tenement crushed neath his footstep, the mansion oped wide at his 
 
 knock ; 
 And walls that had frowned him defiance, they trembled and fell with 
 
 a shock ; 
 
 And down on the hot, smoking house-tops came raining a deluge of fire; 
 And 1 serpents of flame writhed and clambered, and twisted on steeple and 
 
 spire ; 
 
 And beautiful, glorious Chicago, the city of riches and fame, 
 Was swept by a storm of destruction, was flooded by billows of flame. 
 The Fire-king loomed high in his glory, with crimson and flame-stream 
 ing crest, 
 
 And grinned his fierce scorn on Chicago, doomed Queen of the North 
 and the West. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Then swiftly the quick-breathing city, 
 The fearful and panic-struck city, 
 The startled and fire-deluged city, 
 Bushed back from the South and the West. 
 
 And loudly the fire-bells were clanging, and ringing their funeral notes; 
 And loudly wild accents of terror came pealing from thousands of throats: 
 And loud was the wagon s deep rumbling, and loud the wheel s clatter 
 
 and creak ; 
 And loud was the calling for succor from those who were sightless and 
 
 weak ; 
 And loud were the hoofs of the horses, and loud was the tramping of 
 
 feet; 
 
 And loud was the gale s ceaseless howling through fire-lighted alley and 
 street : 
 
i 
 
The Burning of Chicago. 121 
 
 But louder, yet louder, the crashing of roofs and of walls as they fell ; 
 
 And louder, yet louder, the roaring that told of the coming of hell. 
 
 The Fire -king threw back his black mantle from off his great blood- 
 dappled breast, 
 
 And sneered in the face of Chicago, the Queen of the North and the 
 West. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 And there, in the terrible city, 
 The panic-struck, terror-crazed city, 
 The flying and flame-pursued city, 
 The torch of the North and the West, 
 
 A beautiful maiden lay moaning, as many a day she had lain, 
 In fetters of wearisome weakness, and throbbings of pitiful pain. 
 The amorous Fire-king came to her he breathed his hot breath on her 
 
 cheek ; 
 She fled from his touch, but he caught her, and held her, all pulseless 
 
 and weak. 
 
 The Fire-king he caught her and held her, in warm and unyielding em 
 brace ; 
 
 He wrapped her about in his vestments, he pressed his hot lips to her face; 
 Then, sated and palled with his triumph, he scornfully flung her awaj^, 
 And, blackened and crushed in the ruins, unknown and uncoffined, she 
 
 lay 
 
 Lay, blackened and crushed by the Fire-king, in ruined and desolate rest, 
 Like ravished and ruined Chicago, the Queen of the North and the West. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Twas morn in the desolate city, 
 The ragged and ruin-heaped city, 
 The homeless and hot-smoking city, 
 The grief of the North and the West. 
 But down from the West came the bidding, " O Queen, lift in courage 
 
 thy head ! 
 
 Thy friends and thy neighbors awaken, and hasten, with raiment and 
 bread." 
 
I22 Other Poems. 
 
 And up from the South came the bidding, "Cheer up. fairest Queen of 
 
 the Lakes! 
 
 For comfort and aid shall be coming from out our savannas and brakes!" 
 And down from the North came the bidding, "0 city, be hopeful of 
 
 cheer! 
 
 We ve somewhat to spare for thy sufferers, for all of our suffering here !" 
 And up from the East came the bidding, "0 city, be dauntless and bold! 
 Look hither for food and for raiment look hither for credit and gold!" 
 And all through the world went the bidding, " Bring hither your choicest 
 
 and best, 
 For weary and hungry Chicago, sad Queen of the North and the West!" 
 
 x. 
 
 O crushed but invincible city! 
 O broken but fast-rising city ! 
 O glorious and unconquered city, 
 Still Queen of the North and the West! 
 
 The long, golden years of the future, with treasures increasing and rare, 
 Shall glisten upon thy rich garments, shall twine in the folds of thy hair! 
 From out the black heaps of thy ruins new columns of beauty shall rise, 
 And glittering domes shall fling grandly our nation s proud flag to the 
 
 skies! 
 From off thy wide prairies of splendor the treasures of autumn shall 
 
 pour, 
 The breezes shall sweep from the northward, and hurry the ships to thy 
 
 shore ! 
 For Heaven will look downward in mercy on those who ve passed under 
 
 the rod, 
 
 And happ ly again they will prosper, and bask in the blessings of God. 
 Once more thou shalt stand mid the cities, by prosperous breezes caressed, 
 grand and unconquered Chicago, still Queen of the North and the 
 West! 
 
The Railroad Holocaust. 123 
 
 THE RAILROAD HOLOCAUST. 
 
 [NEW HAMBURG, N. Y., FEBRUARY, 1871.] 
 
 OVER the length of the beaten track, 
 Into the darkness deep and black, 
 
 Heavy and fast 
 
 As a mountain blast, 
 
 With scream of whistle and clang of gong, 
 The great train rattled and thundered along. 
 
 Travelers, cushioned and sheltered, sat, 
 Passing the time with doze and chat; 
 
 Thinking of naught 
 
 With danger fraught; 
 Whiling the hours with whim and song, 
 As the great train rattled and thundered along. 
 
 Covered and still the sleepers lay, 
 Lost to the dangers of the way; 
 
 Wandering back, 
 
 Adown life s track, 
 A thousand dreamy scenes among; 
 And the great train rattled and thundered along. 
 
 Heavily breathed the man of care ; 
 Lightly slept the maiden fair; 
 
 And the mother pressed 
 
 Unto her breast 
 
 Her beautiful babes, with yearning strong; 
 And the great train rattled and thundered along. 
 
 Shading his eyes with his brawny hand, 
 Danger ahead the driver scanned ; 
 
 And he turned the steam, 
 
 For the red light s gleam 
 
124 Other Poems. 
 
 Flashed warning to him there was something wrong; 
 But the great train rattled and thundered along. 
 
 "Down the brakes!" rang the driver s shout: 
 "Down the brakes!" sang the .whistle out: 
 
 But the speed was high, 
 
 And the danger nigh, 
 
 And Death was waiting to build his pyre ; 
 And the train, dashed into a river of fire. 
 
 Into the night the red flames gleamed; 
 High they leaped and crackled and streamed: 
 
 And the great train loomed, 
 
 Like a monster doomed, 
 
 In the midst of the flames and their ruthless ire 
 In the murderous tide of a river of fire. 
 
 Roused the sleeper within his bed ; 
 A crash, a plunge, and a gleam of red, 
 
 And the sweltering heat 
 
 Of his winding-sheet 
 
 Clung round his form, with an agony dire; 
 And he moaned and died in a river of fire. 
 
 A-nd they who were spared from the fearful death, 
 Thanked God for life, with quickened breath, 
 
 And groaned that, too late, 
 
 From a terrible fate 
 
 To rescue their comrades was their desire, 
 Ere they sunk in a river of death and fire. 
 
 Pity for them who, helpless, died, 
 And sunk in the river s merciless tide; 
 
 And blessings infold 
 
 The driver bold, 
 
 Who, daring for honor, and not for hire, 
 Went down with his tram in the river of fire. 
 
The Cable. 125 
 
 THE CABLE. 
 
 PEAL the clanging bell! 
 
 Thunder the brazen gun ! 
 Over the earth in triumph swell 
 
 The notes of a victory won! 
 Not over field and ditch and corse ; 
 Not by musketry, cannon, and horse; 
 Not by skirmishes bloody and fell ; 
 Not by the whiz of shot and shell ; 
 But men of will and thought, 
 
 Men of muscle and brain, 
 
 Have planned, and toiled, and suffered, and fought 
 And conquered the raging main ! 
 
 Far from an Eastern shore, 
 
 By the second ark is brought, 
 Spanning the dusky distance o er, 
 
 A line of glowing thought! 
 
 Dashing through ripples and torrents and waves, 
 Courting the gloom of mariners graves; 
 Hastily threading the ocean aisles, 
 And bringing to naught three thousand miles! 
 For men of will and thought, 
 
 Men of muscle and brain, 
 
 Have planned, and toiled, and suffered, and fought, 
 And conquered the raging main ! 
 
 Time in his car, indeed, 
 
 Flits fast from place to place; 
 But restless Thought has dared his speed, 
 
 And Thought has won the race! 
 
126 Other Poems. 
 
 Man is as naught in. Time s fierce clasp, 
 But Thought can escape his greedy grasp; 
 And Time shall have perished, by-and-by, 
 But the soul of Thought can never die! 
 Thunder the guns as you ought! 
 
 Well may the church-bells chime! 
 For man, with the Heaven-given sword of Thought, 
 lias conquered the Scythe of Time! 
 
Skip "City of Boston? 127 
 
 SHIP "CITY OF BOSTON." 
 
 "We only know she sailed away, 
 And ne er was heard of more." 
 
 WAVES of the ocean that thunder and roar, 
 Where is the ship that we sent from our shore? 
 Tell, as ye dash on the quivering strand, 
 Where is the crew that comes never to land? 
 Where are the hearts that, un fearing and gay, 
 Broke from the clasp of affection away? 
 
 Where are the faces that, smiling and bright, 
 Sailed for the death-darkened regions of night? 
 Waves of the ocean, that thunder and roar, 
 Where is the ship that we sent from our shore? 
 
 Storms of the ocean, that bellow and sweep, 
 Where are the friends that went forth on the deep ? 
 Where are the faces ye paled with your sneer? 
 Where are the hearts ye have frozen with fear ? 
 
128 Other Poems. 
 
 Where is the maiden, young, tender, and fair? 
 Where is the grandsire, of silvery hair? 
 Where is the glory of womanhood s time? 
 Where the warm blood of man s vigor and prime? 
 Storms of the ocean, that bellow and pour, 
 Where is the ship that we sent from our shore? 
 
 Birds of the ocean, that scream through the gale, 
 What have } 7 e seen of a wind-beaten sail? 
 Perched ye for rest on the shivering mast, 
 Beaten, and shattered, and bent by the blast? 
 Heard ye the storm-threatened mariner s plea, 
 Birds of the bitter and treacherous sea? 
 Heard ye no message to carry away 
 Home to the hearts that are yearning to-day? 
 Birds of the ocean, that hover and soar, 
 Where is the ship that we sent from our shore? 
 
 Depths of the ocean, that fathomless lie, 
 Where is the crew that no more cometh nigh? 
 What of the guests that so silently sleep 
 Low in thy chambers, relentlessly deep? 
 Cold is the couch they have haplessly won ; 
 Long is the night they have entered upon ; 
 Still must they sleep till the trumpet o erhead 
 Summons the sea to uncover its dead. 
 Depths of the ocean, with treasures in store, 
 Where is the ship that we sent from our shore? 
 
The Good of the Future. 129 
 
 THE GOOD OF THE FUTURE. 
 
 WHY is the mire in the trodden street. 
 And the dark stream by the sewer borne, 
 
 Spurned from even under our feet, 
 
 Grudged by us e en the look of scorn ? 
 There is fresh grass in its gloom 
 There are sweetness and bloorn ; 
 There is pulse for men to eat 
 There are golden acres of wheat. 
 
 But so it is, and hath ever been : 
 
 The good of the future is e er unseen. 
 
 Why is the mud of humanity spurned 
 
 E en from the tread of the passer-by ? 
 Why is the look of pity turned 
 
 From the bare feet and the downcast eye? 
 
 There is virtue yet to spring 
 
 From this poor trodden thing; 
 
 There are germs of godlike power 
 
 In the trials of this hour; 
 But so it is, and hath ever been : 
 The man of the future is e er unseen. 
 
130 
 
 Other Poems. 
 
 THE JOYS THAT ARE LEFT. 
 
 IF the sun have been gone while we deemed it might shine; 
 If the day steal away with no hope-bearing sign ; 
 If the night, with no sight of its stars or its moon, 
 Bat such clouds as it hath, closes down on our path over-dark and o er- 
 soon; 
 
 If a voice we rejoice in its sweetness to hear, 
 Breathe a strain for our pain that glides back to our ear; 
 If a friend mark the end of a page that was bright, 
 Without pretext or need, by some reptile-like deed that coils plain in 
 our sight; 
 
 If life s charms in our arms grow a-tired and take wing; 
 If the flowers that are ours turn to nettles and sting; 
 If the home sink in gloom that we labored to save, 
 And the garden we trained, when its best bloom is gained, be enriched 
 by a grave; 
 
 Shall we deem that life s dream is a toil and a snare? 
 Shall we lie down and die on the couch of despair? 
 Shall we throw needless woe on our sad heart bereft? 
 Or, grown tearfully wise, look with pain-chastened eyes at the joys that 
 are left? 
 
 For the tree that we see on the landscape so fair, 
 When we hie to it nigh, may be fruitless and bare; 
 While the vine that doth twine neath the blades of the grass, 
 With sweet nourishment rife, holds the chalice of life toward our lips as 
 we pass. 
 
The Joys that are Left. 
 
 So with hope let us grope for what joys we may find ; 
 Let not fears, let not tears make us heedless or blind; 
 Let us think, while we drink the sweet pleasures that are, 
 That in sea or in ground many gems may be found that outdazzle the 
 star. 
 
 There be deeds may fill needs we have suffered in vain, 
 There be smiles whose pure wiles may yet banish our pain, 
 And the heaven to us given may be found ere we die; 
 For God s glory and grace, and His great holy place, are not all in the 
 sky. 
 
INTERESTING BOOKS 
 
 FOR 
 
 HOME READING 
 
 Carleton s Farm Ballads, 
 
 Farm Ballads. By WILL CARLETON. Illustrated. Square 8vo, Ornamental 
 Cloth, $2 00 ; Gilt Edges, $2 50. 
 
 Carleton s Farm Legends, 
 
 Farm Legends. By WILL CARLETON. Illustrated. Square 8vo, Ornamental 
 Cloth, $2 00 ; Gilt Edges, $2 50. 
 
 Carleton s Young Folks Centennial Rhymes, 
 
 Young Folks Centennial Rhymes. By WILL CARLETON. Illustrated. Post 
 8vo, Cloth, $1 50. 
 
 Harper s Cyclopaedia of British and American Poetry, 
 
 Harper s Cyclopaedia of British and American Poetry. Edited by EPES SAR 
 GENT. Large 8vo, nearly one thousand pages, $4 50. 
 
 Tennyson s Poetical Works, 
 
 The Poetical Works of ALFRED TENNYSON, Poet-Laureate. Complete Edition, 
 with The Idyls of the King arranged in order. With numerous Illustrations 
 and Three Characteristic Portraits. 8vo, Paper, $1 00 ; Cloth, $1 50. 
 
 Tennyson s Songs, with Music, 
 
 Sonss from the Published Writings of Alfred Tennyson. Set to Music by va 
 rious Composers. Edited by W. G. CUSINS. With Portrait and Original Il 
 lustrations by Winslow Homer, C. S. Reinhart, A. Fredericks, and Jessie Curtis. 
 Royal 4to, Cloth, Gilt Edges, $5 00. 
 
 Tennyson s Lover s Tale, 
 
 The Lover s Tale. A Poem. By ALFRED TENNYSON, Poet-Laureate. 32 mo, 
 Paper, 10 cents; Cloth, 25 cents. 
 
 Shakspere : A Critical Study of his Mind and Art, 
 
 By EDWARD DOWDEN, LL.D., Professor of English Literature in the University 
 of Dublin,Vice-President of "The New Shakspere Society." 12mo, Cloth, $1 75. 
 
 Coleridge s Ancient Mariner, Illustrated by Dore, 
 
 The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. By SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. Illustra 
 ted by GUSTAVE DORE. A Large and Sumptuous Volume. Folio, Cloth, $10 00. 
 
 Mahaffy s Greek Literature, 
 
 A History of Classical Greek Literature. By J. P. MAHAFFY. 2 vols., 12mo, 
 Cloth, $4 00. 
 
Inti ri-xthi<i ]><><>ks for Home Rea<lnxj. 
 
 Uolfe s English Classics, 
 
 English Classics. Edited, with Notes, by W. J. ROLFE, A.M. Ill d. Small 
 4to, Flexible Cloth, 56 cents per volume; Paper, 40 cents per volume. 
 
 SELECT POEMS OF GOLDSMITH. SELECT POEMS OF THOMAS GRAY. 
 
 SHAKI.SPKARE S MERCHANT OF VENICE. THE TEMPEST. HENRY VIII. JULIUS 
 C^SAR. RICHARD II. MACBETH. MIDSUMMER NIGHT S DREAM. HENRY V. 
 KIN<; JOHN. As You LIKE IT. HENRY IV. Part I. HENRY IV. Part II. 
 HAMLKT. Mini ADO ABOUT NOTHING. ROMEO AND JULIET. OTHELLO. 
 TWELFTH NKJIIT. THE WINTER S TALE. RICHARD III. KING LEAR. TAMI.V; 
 OF THE SlIKKW. CORIOLANUS. ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 CYMIJKUXE. MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. ALL S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 MEASURE FOR M i:\sr UK. Two GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. LOVE S LABOUR S LOST. 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 Cowper s Task, 
 
 The Task. A Poem in Six Books. By WILLIAM COWPER. 32mo, Paper, 
 20 cents ; Cloth, 35 cents. 
 
 English s American Ballads, 
 
 American Ballads. By THOMAS DUNN ENGLISH, LL.D. 32mo, Paper, 25 
 cents ; Cloth, 40 cents. 
 
 Our Children s Songs, 
 
 Our Children s Songs. Illustrated. 8vo, Ornamental Cover, $1 00. 
 
 Poets of the Nineteenth Century, 
 
 Poets of the Nineteenth Century. Selected and Edited by the Rev. ROBERT 
 ARIS WILLMOTT. With English and American Additions, arranged by EVERT 
 A. DUYCKINCK, Editor of " Cyclopedia of American Literature." Comprising 
 Selections from the Greatest Authors of the Age. New and Enlarged Edition. 
 Superbly Illustrated with 141 Engravings from Designs by the most Eminent 
 Artists. In elegant small 4to form, printed on Superfine Tinted Paper, richly 
 bound in Extra Cloth, Bevelled, Gilt Edges, $5 00 ; Half Calf, $5 50 ; Full 
 Turkey Morocco, $9 00. 
 
 Shakspeare s Dramatic Works, 
 
 The Dramatic Works of William Shakspear.e, with the Corrections and Illus 
 trations of Dr. JOHNSON, G. STEEVENS, and others. Revised by ISAAC REED. 
 Illustrated. 6 vols., Royal 12mo, Cloth, $9 00 ; Sheep, $11 40* 
 
 Shakspeare s Dramatic Works and Poems, 
 
 The Dramatic Works and Poems of William Shakspeare. With Notes, Orig 
 inal and Selected, and Introductory Remarks to each Play, by SAMUEL WELLER 
 SINGER, F.S.A., and a Life of the Poet, by CHARLES SYMMONS, D.D. Illustra 
 ted. 1 vol., 8vo, Sheep, $4 00 ; 2 vols", 8vo, Cloth, $4 00 ; Sheep, $5 00 ; 
 Half Calf, $8 50. 
 
 Ballads of Battle and Bravery, 
 
 Ballads of Battle and Bravery. Selected by W. G. M CABE. 32mo, Paper, 
 25 cents; Cloth, 40 cents. 
 
Interesting Books for Home Reading. 
 
 Halpine s (Miles O Reilly) Poems, 
 
 The Poetical Works of CHARLES G. HALPINE (Miles O Reilly). Consisting of 
 Odes, Poems, Sonnets, Epics, and Lyrical Effusions which have not heretofore 
 been collected together. With a Biographical Sketch and Explanatory Notes. 
 Edited by ROBERT B. ROOSEVELT. Portrait on Steel. Post 8vo, Cloth, $2 50. 
 
 Bayne s Lessons from My Masters, 
 
 Lessons from My Masters : Carlyle, Tennyson, and Rusldn. By PETER BAYNE, 
 M.A., LL.D. 12mo, Cloth, $1 75. 
 
 Osgood s American Leaves, 
 
 American Leaves : Familiar Notes of Thought and Life. By Rev. SAMUEL 
 OSGOOD, D.D. 12mo, Cloth, $1 75. 
 
 Sir Walter Scott s Poems, 
 
 The Lay of the Last Minstrel, 
 
 32mo, Paper, 20 cents; Cloth, 35 cents. 
 
 The Lady of the Lake, 
 
 32mo, Paper, 25 cents; Cloth, 40 cents. 
 
 Marmion, 
 
 A Tale of Flodden Field. 32mo, Paper, 25 cents; Cloth, 40 cents. 
 
 Sheridan s Plays, 
 
 The Rivals and The School for Scandal. Comedies. By RICHARD BRINSLEY 
 SHERIDAN. 32mo, Paper, 25 cents; Cloth, 40 cents. 
 
 The Book of Gold, and other Poems, 
 
 By J. T. TROWBRIDGB. Ill d. 8vo, Ornamental Covers, Gilt Edges, $2 50. 
 
 The Poets and Poetry of Scotland : 
 
 From the Earliest to the Present Time. Comprising Characteristic Selections 
 from the Works of the more Noteworthy Scottish Poets, with Biographical 
 and Critical Notices. By JAMES GRANT WILSON. With Portraits on Steel. 
 2 vols., 8vo, Cloth, $10 00; Cloth, Gilt Edges, $11 00; Half Calf, $14 50; 
 Full Morocco, $18 00. 
 
 Deshler s Afternoons with the Poets, 
 
 Afternoons with the Poets. By C. D. DESHLER. 16mo, Cloth, $1 75. 
 
 Songs of Our Youth, 
 
 Set to Music. By Miss MULOCK. Square 4to, Cloth, $2 50, 
 
 Sermons Out of Church, 
 
 By Miss MULOCK. 12mo, Cloth, $1 25. 
 
 King Arthur, 
 
 A Poem. Bv LORD LYTTON. 12mo, Cloth, $1 75. 
 
Interesting Books for Home Reading. 
 
 English Men of Letters, Edited by John Morley, 
 
 (12 mo, Cloth, 75 cents a volume.) 
 
 JOHNSON. By Leslie Stephen. GIBBON. By J. C. Morison. SCOTT K. II. 
 I lutton. SHELLEY. By John Addington Symonds. HUME. By Professor Huxley. 
 GOLDSMITH. By William Black DEFOE. By William Minto. BURNS. By 
 Principal Shairp. SPKNSER. By Dean Church. THACKERAY. By Anthony Trol- 
 lope. BURKE. By John Morley. MILTON. By Mark Pattison. SOUTIIEY. By 
 Kdward Dowdrn. CHAUCER. By Adolplms William Ward. BUNYAN. By James 
 Anthony Froude. COWPKK. By Goldwin Smith. POPE. By Leslie Stephen. 
 BYRON. By John Nichol. LOCKE. By Thomas Fowler. WORDSWORTH. By 
 F. W. II. Myers. DRYDEN. By G. Saintsbury. HAWTHORNE. By Henry James, 
 Jr. LANDOR. By Sidney Colvin. DE QUINCEY. By David Masson. LAMB. By 
 Alfred Ainger. BENTLEY. By R. C. Jebb. DICKENS. By A. W. Ward. GRAY 
 By E. W. Gosse. SWIFT. By Leslie Stephen. STERNE. By H. D. Traill. 
 
 Cox s Why We Langli, 
 
 Why We Laugh. By SAMUEL S. Cox. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 
 
 Mason s Samuel Johnson, 
 
 Samuel Johnson : His Words and His Ways ; What He said, What He did, 
 and What Men Thought and Spoke Concerning Him. Edited by E. T. MASON. 
 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 
 
 Bigclow s Bench and Bar, 
 
 Bench and Bar: a Complete Digest of the Wit, Humor, Asperities, and Amen 
 ities of the Law. New Edition, greatly Enlarged. By L. J. BIGELOW. Crown 
 8vo, Cloth, $2 00. 
 
 Egleston s Villages and Village Life, 
 
 Villages and Village Life, with Hints for their Improvement. By NATHANIEL 
 HILLTER EGLESTON. Post 8vo, Cloth, $1 75. 
 
 Goldsmith s Poetical Works, 
 
 Poetical Works of Oliver Goldsmith. With Illustrations by C. W. Cope, 
 A.R.A., Thomas Creswick, J. C. Horsley, R. Redgrave, A.R.A., and Frederick 
 Tayler, Members of the Etching Club. With a Biographical Memoir, and 
 Notes on the Poems. Edited "by BOLTON CORNEY. 8vo, Cloth, Bevelled 
 Boards, $3 00 ; Cloth, Gilt Edges, $375; Turkey Morocco, Gilt Edges, $7 50. 
 
 Goldsmith s Plays, 
 
 Goldsmith s Plays. 32mo, Paper, 25 cents; Cloth, 40 cents. 
 
 Goldsmith s Poems, 
 
 Goldsmith s Poems. 32mo, Paper, 20 cents; Cloth, 35 cents. 
 
 Friends Worth Knowing, 
 
 Glimpses of American Natural History. By ERNEST INGERSOLL. Illustrated. 
 Squaie 16mo, Cloth, $1 00. 
 


 RETURN CIRCULATE . ARTMENT 
 
 TO + 202 Main Library 
 
 LOAN PERIOD 1 
 HOME USE 
 
 2 
 
 3 
 
 4 
 
 5 
 
 6 
 
 ALL BOOKS MAY BE RECALLED AFTER 7 DAYS 
 
 Renewals and Recharges may be made 4 days prior to the due date. 
 
 Books may be Renewed by calling 642-3405. 
 
 DUE AS STAMPED BELOW 
 
 MAR241988 
 
 FORM NO. DD6, 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, BERKELEY 
 BERKELEY, CA 94720 
 
 s 
 
U.AR 15 19ii 
 
 775700 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 U.C. BERKELEY LIBRARIES 
 
 BODlD237bfl