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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 VAGROM VERSE
 
 VAGROM VERSE 
 
 BY 
 
 This is your charge : you shall comprehend all vagrom 
 
 DOGBERRY 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 
 
 fiibersibe $te, <ambribge
 
 Copyright, 1838, 
 BY CHARLES HENRY WEBB. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 ONE HUNDRED COPIES BOUND ENTIRELY UNCUT, WITH 
 PAPER LABEL.
 
 (WITH HAT IN HAND,) 
 
 I dedicate my verse to those 
 Who really do not like my prose. 
 If these all like and buy my verse 
 Then Joan must knit a larger purse. 
 
 v 
 
 J 
 
 904084
 
 (AT THE DOOR.) 
 
 I do not come in purple dressed, 
 In pride of trolls and catches ; 
 
 I come in rags and stand confessed 
 A poet of shreds and patches. 
 
 I bring to you but vagrant rhymes, 
 Born in all sorts of weather, 
 
 Of different moods, at different times, 
 Now gotten first together. 
 
 If some go lame, and the foot-gear 
 Of others needs revamping, 
 
 You -will not think it very queer 
 So long they've been a-tramping. 
 
 But since I come in humble frame, 
 Perhaps you 'II lift your latches, 
 
 And take me in for -what I am, 
 A poet of shreds and patches.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 With Hat in Hand 5 
 
 At the Door 7 
 
 Alec. Dunham's Boat 13 
 
 "Little Mamma" . . 16 
 
 Deacon Brown 21 
 
 Revenge 26 
 
 With a Nantucket Shell 27 
 
 Autumn Leaves 29 
 
 A Ditty to Dottie Dimple 31 
 
 March 35 
 
 Three Songs: 
 
 I. The King and the Pope ... 36 
 
 II. Croquet 3 s 
 
 III. Wind-bound 4 
 
 Theology on the Desert 41 
 
 Written to Miss "Kitten" 43 
 
 My Boy at the Berkeley 45 
 
 The Outside Dog in the Fight ... 48
 
 X CONTENTS. 
 
 FAGR 
 
 " Colored People Allowed in this Car " 49 
 
 The Two Furrows 53 
 
 Too Late 56 
 
 Das Meermadchen 57 
 
 To "J. W. H., Jr." 60 
 
 One Christmas 63 
 
 New Year's 66 
 
 Three Examples of English Verse : 
 
 I. Triolet 63 
 
 II. Rondeau 68 
 
 III. Villanelle 69 
 
 A Lyric to Lily 71 
 
 Her Name was Felicia 73 
 
 As to Five O'Clock in the Morning . 75 
 
 In a Bay Window 77 
 
 A Dark Night 79 
 
 Our Idols 80 
 
 My Rival 82 
 
 Discarded 83 
 
 In Aquarelle 84 
 
 Which ? 85 
 
 Sonnet 86 
 
 Sloop and Cutler 87 
 
 Do I know Him ? 92 
 
 Love's Ante-crematory Farewell ... 94 
 
 The Friend of Ages Ago 97
 
 CONTENTS. XI 
 
 PACK 
 
 My Father too 
 
 To my Bric-a-brac Brothers .... 103 
 
 Talk 105 
 
 The Visit 106 
 
 Recollections of Grant 108 
 
 The Widow's Mite no 
 
 To the Coggia Comet in 
 
 C-n-y M. D-p-w 116 
 
 Three Wall Street Waifs : 
 
 I. The Lay of Dan'l Drew . . . 123 
 
 II. Drew and the Commodore . . 125 
 III. On the Reopening of a Trust 
 
 Company 129 
 
 L'Envoi Extraordinaire 131
 
 VAGROM VERSE. 
 
 ALEC. DUNHAM'S BOAT. 
 
 THERE she lies at her moorings, 
 
 The little two-master, 
 Answering not now 
 
 The call of disaster. 
 Loose swings the rudder, 
 
 Unshipped the tiller; 
 Crossing the Bar so, 
 
 One sea would fill her ! 
 
 Foresail and mainsail 
 
 In loose folds are lying : 
 Naked the mast-heads 
 
 No pennon flying; 
 Seaweed and wreck 
 
 Alike may drift past her ; 
 There lies the pilot-boat 
 
 Where is her master ?
 
 14 VAC ROM VERSE. 
 
 Lantern at Great Point, 
 
 Brightly it burns ; 
 Beacon on Brant Point 
 
 The signal returns. 
 Far out to sea 
 
 Sankoty flashes; 
 White on the shore 
 
 The crested wave dashes. 
 
 Strident No'th-easter 
 
 And smoky Sou'-wester 
 Call for the pilot-boat, 
 
 Eager to test her. 
 And a ship on the Bar, 
 
 Just where the waves cast her ! 
 Moored lies the pilot-boat 
 
 Where is her master ? 
 
 Oh, barque driving in, 
 
 God send that you lee get, 
 Past Tuckernuck shoals, 
 
 The reefs of Muskeget. 
 There go minute guns ; 
 
 Now faster and faster 
 But no more to their aid 
 
 Flies the little two-master.
 
 ALEC. DUNHAM'S BOAT. 
 
 For the pilot one night 
 
 Left his boat as you see her 
 Light moored, that at signal 
 
 He ready might free her. 
 But not from her moorings 
 
 Came the pilot to cast her, 
 Though a signal he answered 
 
 One set by the Master. 
 
 Gone, say you, and whither? 
 
 Do you ask me which way 
 Went good pilot as ever 
 
 Brought ship into bay ? 
 Who shall say how he cast off, 
 
 If to starboard or larboard ? 
 But of one thing I 'm sure 
 
 The pilot 's safe-harbored !
 
 1 6 VAGROM VERSE. 
 
 LITTLE MAMMA. 
 
 WHY is it the children don't love me 
 
 As they do Mamma ? 
 That they put her ever above me 
 
 u Little Mamma " ? 
 I 'm sure I do all that I can do. 
 What more can a rather big man do, 
 Who can't be Mamma 
 Little Mamma ? 
 
 Any game that the tyrants suggest, 
 " Logomachy," which I detest, 
 Doll-babies, hop-scotch, or base-ball, 
 I 'm always on hand at the call. 
 When Noah and the others embark, 
 I 'm the elephant saved in the ark. 
 I creep, and I climb, and I crawl 
 By turns am the animals all. 
 
 For the show on the stair 
 
 I 'm always the bear,
 
 LITTLE MAMMA. l^ 
 
 The chimpanzee, or the kangaroo. 
 It is never, " Mamma, 
 Little Mamma, 
 Won't youf" 
 
 My umbrella 's the pony if any 
 
 None ride on Mamma's parasol ; 
 
 I 'm supposed to have always the penny 
 
 For bon-bons, and beggars, and all. 
 
 My room is the one where they clatter 
 
 Am I reading, or writing, what matter ! 
 
 My knee is the one for a trot, 
 
 My foot is the stirrup for Dot. 
 
 If his fractions get into a snarl 
 
 Who straightens the tangles for Karl? 
 
 Who bounds Massachusetts and Maine, 
 
 And tries to " bound " flimsy old Spain ? 
 
 Why, 
 It is 7, 
 
 Papa, 
 Not Little Mamma ! 
 
 That the youngsters are ingrates,don't say. 
 I think they love me in a way 
 As one does the old clock on the stair, 
 Any curious, cumbrous affair 
 That one 's used to having about, 
 2
 
 1 8 VAGROM VERSE. 
 
 And would feel rather lonely without, 
 I think that they love me, I say, 
 In a sort of a tolerant' way ; 
 
 But it 's plain that papa 
 Isn't Little Mamma. 
 
 Thus when twilight comes stealing 
 
 a-near, 
 
 When things in the firelight look queer, 
 And shadows the play-room enwrap, 
 They never climb into my lap 
 And toy with my head, smooth and bare, 
 As they do with Mamma's shining hair; 
 Nor feel round my throat and my chin 
 For dimples to put fingers in, 
 Nor lock my neck in a loving vice 
 And say they 're " mousies " that 's 
 mice 
 
 And will nibble my ears, 
 
 Will nibble and bite 
 With their little mice-teeth, so sharp and 
 
 so white, 
 
 If I do not kiss them this very minute 
 Don't-wait-a-bit-but-at-once-begin-it, 
 
 Dear little Papa ! 
 
 That's what they say and do to 
 Mamma.
 
 LITTLE MAMMA. 19 
 
 If, mildly hinting, I quietly say that 
 Kissing 's a game than more can play at, 
 They turn up at once those innocent eyes 
 And I suddenly learn to my great surprise 
 
 That my face has " prickles " 
 
 My mustache tickles. 
 If storming their camp I seize a pert 
 
 shaver, 
 
 And take as a right what was asked as a 
 favor, 
 
 It is, "Oh, Papa, 
 
 How horrid you are 
 
 You taste exactly like a cigar ! " 
 
 But though the rebels protest and pout, 
 And make a pretence of driving me out, 
 I hold, after all, the main redoubt, 
 Not by force of arms nor the force of will, 
 But the power of love, which is mightier 
 
 still. 
 
 And very deep in their hearts, I know, 
 Under the saucy and petulant " Oh," 
 The doubtful " Yes " or the naughty " No," 
 They love Papa. 
 
 And down in the heart that no one sees, 
 Where I hold my feasts and my jubilees,
 
 20 VAGROM VERSE. 
 
 \ know that I would not abate one jot 
 Of the love that is held by my little Dot 
 Or my great big boy for their little 
 
 Mamma, 
 
 Though out in the cold it crowded Papa. 
 I would not abate it the tiniest whit, 
 And I am not jealous the least little bit ; 
 For I '11 tell you a secret : Come my dears, 
 And I '11 whisper it right-into-your- 
 
 ears 
 I too love Mamma ! 
 
 "Little Mamma!"
 
 DEA CON BR WN. 2 1 
 
 DEACON BROWN. 
 
 A DIALECTIC EXCUSE FOR A GOOD MAN. 
 
 IT 's Deacon Brown yer askin' about ? 
 
 He hain't been round fer a year ; 
 They planted him last kibbage time, 
 
 Which is why he is n't here. 
 Fer p'raps ye 've obsarved, as a gin'ral 
 thing, 
 
 Thet this livin' under ground 
 Fer a year or two don't make one feel 
 
 Pretty much like sloshin' round. 
 
 His kerricter, eh ? What, old Deac. 
 Brown ? 
 
 Well, I 'm ruther 'shamed to say 
 Thet he wa'n't much the sort o' saint 
 
 Sot up by Harte and Hay. 
 He never cussed in his nat'ral life 
 
 I mention this with consarn ; 
 He did n't know how, though he might a 
 know'd 
 
 Ef he hed a car'd ter larn.
 
 22 V AC ROM VERSE. 
 
 But it makes it rough fer the chap thet gets 
 
 The writin' of his biog., 
 To hev ter confess he 's a-slingin' ink 
 
 Over sich a bump on a log, 
 Who did n't amount to shucks in a row, 
 
 Who never war out on a tear, 
 And fer tacklin' a neat little game of 
 " draw," 
 
 Could n't tell a full from a pair. 
 
 Fer the Deac. jest war a common cuss 
 
 O' the most ornariest kind, 
 Who never looked out o' the winder o' sin, 
 
 And dursn't raise a blind. 
 Ye 've no idee how parvarse he was ; 
 
 I 've hearn him remark this limb ! 
 Thet though he war raised in a Christian 
 land, 
 
 One wife war enough fer him. 
 
 P'raps the Deac., ef he 'd hed the rearin' 
 o' some, 
 
 Would a panned out better in verse ; 
 But when a man comes of stock like hisn, 
 
 It 's hard to be bad an' worse. 
 Onfortunit-like fer the Deac. an' me, 
 
 He 'd careful raisin' to hum ;
 
 DEACON BROWN. 23 
 
 An' ycr can't 'spect much of a chap, yer 
 
 know, 
 Onless he sprouts from a slum. 
 
 Ef he 'd been a high-toned gambolier, 
 
 Or the rough of a minin' camp, 
 With a bushel of sin in his kerricter, 
 
 An' a touch of Sairey Gamp ; 
 Or an injineer or an injin thar 
 
 Any kind of a rum-histin' lout, 
 P'raps he 'd a done some pretty big thing 
 
 Fer me ter be splurgin' about. 
 
 But he jest plugged on in a no 'count way, 
 
 A-leadin' a good squar life, 
 Till the war kem on ; then he pulled up 
 stakes, 
 
 An' said good-by ter his wife. 
 I 've hearn tell a grittier man nor him 
 
 In battle never trod, 
 
 An' he did n't let down in the face of 
 Death, 
 
 Although he b'lieved in a God. 
 
 It 's queer how he fout at Fredericks- 
 burg 
 The Deac. jest went in wet,
 
 24 FAG ROM VERSE. 
 
 A-pray'n an' shoot'n, an' every time 
 
 A-fetchin' his man, you bet. 
 Yet he wa'n't sustained by the soothin' 
 
 thought, 
 
 When he fell, October 'leventh, 
 Thet he 'd knock'd spots out the com- 
 
 mandiments 
 An' been special rough on the seventh. 
 
 Jest over beyont thet turnip patch, 
 
 Some twenty holes yer kin see 
 Thet air filled by chaps who went from 
 here 
 
 To fight 'gin Gineral Lee. 
 They went from here 'bout plantin' time, 
 
 They kem back when corn was ripe, 
 An' we buried 'em by thet walnut tree 
 
 All chaps o' the Deacon's stripe. 
 
 We '11 cross over thar to the old man's 
 grave, 
 
 And I guess I '11 be gittin' then 
 Yer pardin, stranger, I allers unroof 
 
 At the grave o' thet sort o' men. 
 I Ve been gassin' away promiscus like, 
 
 But now I make bold ter say, 
 It don't foller on a man 's a sneak 
 
 'Cause he lives in a decent way.
 
 DEACON BROWN. 25 
 
 I know some folks reck'n contrairywise, 
 
 An' sling their ink quite free, 
 But they hain't got holt the right end on it, 
 
 Accordin' to my idee. 
 An' thet 's why I 've sort o' been chippin' 
 in, 
 
 A-pleadin' the Deacon's excuse, 
 Fer you know we all can't be gamblers 
 and thieves 
 
 An' all women need n't be loose !
 
 26 VAC ROM VERSE. 
 
 REVENGE. 
 
 REVENGE is a naked sword 
 
 It has neither hilt nor guard. 
 Wouldst thou wield this brand of the 
 Lord ? 
 
 Is thy grasp then firm and hard ? 
 
 But the closer thy clutch of the blade 
 The deadlier blow thou wouldst deal, 
 
 Deeper wound in thy hand is made 
 It is thy blood reddens the steel. 
 
 And when thou hast dealt the blow, 
 When the blade from thy hand has 
 
 flown, 
 
 Instead of the heart of the foe 
 Thou mayst find it sheathed in thine 
 own !
 
 WITH A NANTUCKET SHELL. 27 
 
 WITH A NANTUCKET SHELL. 
 
 I SEND thee a shell from the ocean beach ; 
 
 But listen thou well, for my shell hath 
 speech. 
 
 Hold to thine ear, 
 And plain thou 'It hear 
 Tales of ships 
 That were lost in the rips, 
 Or that sunk on shoals 
 Where the bell-buoy tolls, 
 
 And ever and ever its iron tongue rolls 
 
 In a ceaseless lament for the poor lost 
 souls. 
 
 And a song of the sea 
 Has my shell for thee ; 
 The melody in it 
 Was hummed at Wauwinet, 
 And caught at Coatue 
 By the gull that flew 
 Outside to the ship with its perishing crew.
 
 28 VAC ROM VERSE. 
 
 But the white wings wave 
 Where none may save, 
 And there 's never a stone to mark a grave. 
 
 See, its sad heart bleeds 
 
 For the sailors' needs ; 
 
 But it bleeds again 
 
 For more mortal pain, 
 
 More sorrow and woe 
 
 Than is theirs who go 
 With shuddering eyes and whitening lips 
 Down in the sea on their shattered ships. 
 
 Thou fearest the sea ? 
 
 And a tyrant is he, 
 A tyrant as cruel as tyrant may be ; 
 
 But though winds fierce blow, 
 
 And the rocks lie low, 
 
 And the coast be lee, 
 
 This I say to thee : 
 
 Of Christian souls more have been 
 wrecked on shore 
 
 Than ever were lost at sea !
 
 A UTUMN LEA VES. 29 
 
 AUTUMN LEAVES. 
 
 THE melancholy days have come 
 
 Of which the poet sings, 
 Of wailing winds and naked woods, 
 
 And other cheerful things. 
 
 The robin from the glen has flown, 
 
 And there Matilda J. 
 Now roams in quest of autumn leaves 
 
 To press and put away. 
 
 These in the sere, to school-girls dear, 
 Are found where'er one looks, 
 
 On hill, in vale, in wood, in field 
 But mostly in my books. 
 
 If I take up the Unabridged 
 Some curious word to scan, 
 
 Rare leaves are sped of green and red, 
 Or maybe black and tan.
 
 30 VAGROM VERSE. 
 
 And, too, from delf, on every shelf, 
 
 From pictures on the wall, 
 Autumnal leaves descend in sheaves 
 
 With them 'tis always fall. 
 
 O autumn leaves, rare autumn leaves ! 
 
 Not rare, alas ! in-doors, 
 The wild wood strew, all seasons through, 
 
 But not our parlor floors ! 
 
 For now I know a solemn truth 
 
 I did suspect before, 
 These leaves that autumn branches bear 
 
 Are an autumnal bore.
 
 DITTY TO DOTTY DIMPLE. 31 
 
 A DITTY TO DOTTY DIMPLE. 
 
 TELL me, Miss Dimple, 
 
 Rosebud and buttercup, 
 Will you be as charming 
 
 When you grow up ? 
 Will your hair keep its yellow, 
 
 Your lips keep their curl ? 
 Will you always, as now, be 
 
 My own little girl? 
 
 Or will you grow up to be 
 
 " Grandmamma Dimple," 
 A dear little grandmamma, 
 
 Wearing a wimple, 
 Through spectacles peering 
 
 And snipping out follies 
 Red ribbons and sashes 
 
 For grandmamma's dollies ?
 
 32 V AC ROM VERSE. 
 
 Some sunshine, some shadow, 
 
 Occasional showers, 
 But never quite clouded, 
 
 This friendship of ours ; 
 Just one little jangle 
 
 I remember, don't you ? 
 When Gwendolen's tresses 
 
 Got tangled with glue. 
 
 Ah, that was a morning ! 
 
 How all were appalled, 
 When a sudden disaster 
 
 Snatched Gwendolen bald ! 
 I ran with my glue-pot, 
 
 But the brush was too big 
 For a toilet so dainty, 
 
 And we dabbled the wig. 
 
 Now, sweetheart, you promise 
 
 To live with us two, 
 But greatly I fear me 
 
 Yes, Dimple, I do 
 Some voice you '11 find sweeter 
 
 Than that of mamma, 
 Some one you '11 love dearer 
 
 Than your own dear papa.
 
 DITTY TO DOTTY DIMPLE, 33 
 
 But tell me, Miss Dimple, 
 
 Will any young sprig 
 Love you just as papa does, 
 
 When you grow to be big ? 
 Will he fly to aid you 
 
 With comfort and glue, 
 When you find your doll 's hollow, 
 
 And the sawdust sifts through ? 
 
 Will he guide your footsteps 
 
 Lest they falter and fall 
 Your tumbles, your troubles, 
 
 Will he share them all ? 
 And when others don't know 
 
 Why the little girl cries, 
 Will he read the reason 
 
 Writ in your blue eyes ? 
 
 As has been will be ever, 
 
 The world holds its way ; 
 The old have their years, 
 
 And the young have their day. 
 But I 'm jealous this moment 
 
 Of whom, do you guess ? 
 Of that rival's arrival 
 
 In ten years or less ! 
 3
 
 34 VAGROM VERSE. 
 
 And though seeming submissive 
 
 While my little girl grows, 
 If I were a wizard, 
 
 And my wand were this rose, 
 Once, twice, I would wave it 
 
 Yes, a third time and say : 
 " Let my daughter be ever 
 
 The Dot of to-day ! "
 
 MARCH. 35 
 
 MARCH. 
 
 THE earth seems a desolate mother 
 Betrayed like the princess of old, 
 
 The ermine stripped from her shoulders, 
 And her bosom all naked and cold. 
 
 But a joy looks out from her sadness, 
 For she feels with a glad unrest 
 
 The throb of the unborn summer 
 Under her bare, brown breast.
 
 36 VAGROM VERSE. 
 
 THE KING AND THE POPE. 
 
 THE King and the Pope together 
 
 Have written a letter to me ; 
 
 It is signed with a golden sceptre, 
 
 It is sealed with a golden key. 
 
 The King wants me out of his eyesight ; 
 
 The Pope wants me out of his See. 
 
 The King and the Pope together 
 Have a hundred acres of land : 
 I do not own the foot of ground 
 On which my two feet stand ; 
 But the prettiest girl in the kingdom 
 Strolls with me on the sand. 
 
 The King has a hundred yeomen 
 Who will fight for him any day, 
 The Pope has priests and bishops 
 Who for his soul will pray : 
 I have only one little sweetheart, 
 But she '11 kiss me when I say.
 
 THE KING AND THE POPE. 37 
 
 The King is served at his table 
 
 By ladies of high degree ; 
 
 The Pope has never a true love, 
 
 So a cardinal pours his tea : 
 
 No ladies stand round me in waiting, 
 
 But my sweetheart sits by me. 
 
 And the King with his golden sceptre, 
 The Pope with Saint Peter's key, 
 Can never unlock the one little heart 
 That is opened only to me. 
 For I am the Lord of a Realm, 
 And I am the Pope of a See ; 
 Indeed, I 'm supreme in the kingdom 
 That is sitting just now on my knee !
 
 38 VAGROM VERSE. 
 
 CROQUET. 
 
 OUT on the lawn, in the evening gray, 
 Went Willie and Kate. I said, " Which 
 
 way ? " 
 
 And they both replied, " Croquet, cro 
 quet ! " 
 
 The evening was bright with the moon of 
 May, 
 
 And the lawn was light as though lit by 
 day; 
 
 From the window I looked to see cro 
 quet. 
 
 Of mallets and balls, the usual display; 
 The hoops all stood in arch array, 
 And I said to myself, " Soon we '11 see 
 croquet."
 
 CROQUET. 39 
 
 But the mallets and balls unheeded lay. 
 And the maid and the youth? side by 
 
 side sat they ; 
 And I thought to myself, Is that croquet ? 
 
 I saw the scamp it was light as day 
 Put his arm round her waist in a loving 
 
 way, 
 And he squeezed her hand, was that 
 
 croquet ? 
 
 While the red rover rolled forgotten away, 
 He whispered all that a lover should say, 
 And kissed her lips, what a queer 
 croquet ! 
 
 Silent they sat 'neath the moon of May, 
 But I knew by her blushes she said not 
 
 Nay; 
 And I thought in my heart, Now that 's 
 
 croquet !
 
 40 VAGROM VERSE. 
 
 WIND-BOUND. 
 
 Oh, the wind blows north, 
 And the wind blows south 
 
 Would a man dare kiss 
 His love on the mouth ? 
 
 But the wind now east, 
 And the wind now west 
 
 She wears a dagger 
 Under her vest ! 
 
 Yes, maids have their moods 
 But a man may try ; 
 
 Blow the wind as it will, 
 He can only die.
 
 THEOLOGY ON THE DESERT. 41 
 
 THEOLOGY ON THE DESERT. 
 
 THE sands of the desert glowed hot and 
 
 red, 
 
 The sun of the desert beat down, 
 Till it blistered the top of the Carmelite's 
 
 head 
 Just the round shaven spot on his crown. 
 
 An Arab swept up, bare-chested and 
 
 brown ; 
 
 " My tent-door stands open," he said. 
 The monk found a wine-skin under his 
 
 gown; 
 The Arab gave dates and bread. 
 
 ' Kind Allah, we thank thee ! " the Arab 
 cried, 
 
 When our simple repast was spread. 
 I fell to at once, but the monk replied, 
 
 " Nay, Sheik, thank the Lord instead ! "
 
 42 VAC ROM VERSE. 
 
 Then the two argued loud and the two 
 
 argued long 
 
 As to how the grace should be said ; 
 But before they got at the right or the 
 
 wrong 
 I had finished both dates and bread. 
 
 When they turned to me I could not 
 declare 
 
 On a point so exceedingly fine; 
 But I rode away on the Arab's mare 
 
 With my friend the Carmelite's wine ! 
 
 Just where my thanks are due I cannot 
 decide, 
 
 But honors are easy, I think ; 
 So Allah I thank for the mare I ride, 
 
 The Lord for the wine I drink.
 
 TO MISS "KITTEN." 43 
 
 WRITTEN TO MISS "KITTEN." 
 
 (A VERY LITTLE BODY.) 
 
 IF you had a little lover, 
 Little Kitten, 
 A very little lover, 
 But dreadfully smitten, 
 What would you say, 
 And what would you do, 
 If this little lover 
 Were littler than you ? 
 
 To love one below you 
 
 Never is right ; 
 
 How could you loojc up to 
 
 A man of less height ? 
 
 And then a short-coming 
 
 Always is wrong. 
 
 If you loved him so little, 
 
 Could you love him long ?
 
 44 VAC ROM VERSE. 
 
 A lover should reach 
 The reason, you see 
 Just up to your heart 
 When he 's on his knee. 
 If he stood but that high, 
 I wonder, Miss Kitten, 
 Would you give sigh for sigh, 
 Or give him the mitten ?
 
 MY BOY AT THE BERKELEY. 45 
 
 MY BOY AT THE BERKELEY. 
 
 SAVE us ! what are these soldiers all, 
 
 In uniforms of blue, 
 With real guns and bayonets, 
 
 And real brass buttons too ? 
 
 It is a noble regiment 
 
 As one would care to see. 
 The veterans must be quite sixteen ; 
 
 Cadets none less than three. 
 
 And towering in the bristling ranks 
 
 There goes, as I 'm alive, 
 Above the average four feet six, 
 
 One giant of nearly five. 
 
 " Attention /" now the warriors form ; 
 
 " Knees straight and shoulders square, 
 Heels on a line, eyes to the front ! " 
 
 And look ! my boy is there.
 
 46 VAC ROM VERSE. 
 
 Cross-belts, waist-belt, and cartridge-box 
 With several dreadful " rounds ; ' 
 
 The gun alone can scarcely weigh 
 An ounce less than two pounds. 
 
 But at the order, " Carry ARMS ! " 
 
 Up goes that gun so grim. 
 Why, in these arms but yesterday, 
 
 It seems, I carried him. 
 
 " Right shoulder ARMS ! " Now look at 
 that ! 
 
 The sturdy little elf ! 
 I 've half a mind to break the ranks, 
 
 And " shoulder ""him myself. 
 
 That private with a general's air, 
 
 In uniform of blue, 
 Seems such a funny burlesque of 
 
 The babe that once I knew. 
 
 To-day, with belt and glittering gun 
 
 He marches in platoon ; 
 Of old, his full equipments were 
 
 A bib and shining spoon. 
 
 Ah ! different then the orders came 
 From the regimental head, 
 
 " Don't tip your bowl so much, my son ; 
 You '11 spill your milk and bread ! "
 
 MY BOY AT THE BERKELE Y. 4 7 
 
 I told him stories on my knee, 
 
 Stories that were not true ; 
 If I should tell them to him now, 
 
 I think he 'd run me through. 
 
 For now he knows geography, 
 And can such things expound 
 
 As why the seasons march straight on, 
 And why the earth goes round. 
 
 Arithmetic, zoology, 
 
 German and French and such, 
 I 'd count myself a learned man 
 
 If I knew half as much. 
 
 But what most awes me in the boy, 
 And strikes me dumb and still 
 
 With a sense of insignificance, 
 Is when I see him drill ; 
 
 When, with " both feet turned out alike," 
 I see him stand MY SON ! 
 
 His martial " chin drawn slightly in " 
 Behind that awful gun !
 
 48 V AC ROM VERSE. 
 
 THE OUTSIDE DOG IN THE 
 FIGHT. 
 
 You may sing of your dog, your bottom 
 deg, 
 
 Or of any dog that you please, 
 I go for the dog, the wise old dog, 
 
 That knowingly takes his ease, 
 And, wagging his tail outside the ring, 
 
 Keeping always his bone in sight, 
 Cares not a pin in his wise old head 
 
 For either dog in the fight. 
 
 Not his is the bone they are fighting for, 
 
 And why should my dog sail in, 
 With nothing to gain but a certain chance 
 
 To lose his own precious skin ? 
 There may be a few, perhaps, who fail 
 
 To see it in quite this light, 
 But when the fur flies I had rather be 
 
 The outside dog in the fight.
 
 COLORED PEOPLE ALLOWED. 49 
 
 "COLORED PEOPLE ALLOWED 
 IN THIS CAR." 
 
 1860. 
 
 INDEED, this permission is worthy of 
 praise ! 
 
 You '11 allow our dark brother to ride if 
 he pays ; 
 
 Though of course we must seat him aloof 
 and afar 
 
 Swart Night from blonde Day has a sep 
 arate car. 
 
 Where this condescension shall cease, 
 
 who can say? 
 Perhaps, the next thing, we '11 allow him 
 
 to pray ; 
 And the sexton of Grace with a grace 
 
 rather new 
 Will pocket his sixpence and show him a 
 
 pew. 
 
 4
 
 50 VAGROM VERSE. 
 
 By the way, I 've a curious longing to 
 
 know 
 
 How the races were classified ages ago. 
 I wonder if Noah that primitive tar 
 When he launched the vast hull of his 
 
 water-way car, 
 Placed a notice outside, that was good for 
 
 the trip, 
 Permitting the " colored " to ride in his 
 
 ship ;' 
 Or did a conductor mount guard in the 
 
 ark, 
 Admitting light skins and excluding the 
 
 dark ? 
 
 And I wonder if God, when the morn 
 
 he unfurled, 
 Thought of placing a label like this on the 
 
 world ; 
 When he fashioned and grooved each orb 
 
 in its place, 
 And the great solar train went whirling 
 
 through space, 
 Was there placard affixed to planet or 
 
 star 
 Like your " Colored people allowed in this 
 
 car"?
 
 COLORED PEOPLE ALLOWED. 51 
 
 There 's an old-fashioned car, of a build 
 
 rather queer, 
 Unadapted for comfort, dark, dampsome 
 
 and drear, 
 And it starts from a depot perhaps you 
 
 have seen, 
 Where the ivy grows rankly, the willow 
 
 waves green ; 
 It goes from our shores, but it comes not 
 
 again 
 All ranks and complexions are one on this 
 
 train. 
 
 You start, my fair friend ; I confess 't is 
 
 not right 
 That the Ethiop race should thus ride with 
 
 the white. 
 Ho ! gather your shroud and shrink to 
 
 one side ; 
 No need to converse though together ye 
 
 ride. 
 This train travels swift ; at the first 
 
 station-star 
 Perhaps they '11 appoint you a separate 
 
 car ! 
 
 Or you may not complain I doubt on 
 
 the whole 
 If hue of the skin can give tint to the soul ;
 
 52 V AC ROM VERSE. 
 
 And 't were better by far that no scorn- 
 shafts you fling 
 
 Who knows what queer changes that 
 morrow may bring? 
 
 Thus De Vere and old Pompey my 
 
 point to explain 
 Might knock at St. Peter's and both knock 
 
 in vain ; 
 Or it might someway hap I '11 give you 
 
 the doubt 
 
 That one was admi tted,the other barred out. 
 And which were the favored is not very 
 
 clear 
 Pompey's worth might outbalance the 
 
 blood of De Vere ! 
 
 Ere we part, my fair friend, let me give 
 you a hint, 
 
 Since you value yourself on your skin and 
 its tint : 
 
 When you 've taken this train that is 
 waiting for you, 
 
 And the shores of Eternity loom on your 
 view, 
 
 You may just chance to stand the wrong 
 side of the bar, 
 
 While your " colored " companion 's " al 
 lowed in the car ! "
 
 THE TWO FURROWS. S3 
 
 THE TWO FURROWS. 
 1861. 
 
 THE spring-time came, but not with mirth ; 
 
 The banner of our trust 
 And with it the best hope of earth 
 
 Was trailing in the dust. 
 
 The farmer saw the shame from far, 
 And stopped his plough afield : 
 
 " Not the blade of peace, but the brand 
 
 of war 
 This arm of mine must wield. 
 
 " When traitor hands that flag would stain, 
 Their homes let women keep ; 
 
 Until its stars burn bright again 
 Let others sow and reap ! "
 
 54 VAC ROM VERSE. 
 
 The farmer sighed : " A lifetime long 
 The plough has been my trust, 
 
 And sure it were an arrant wrong 
 To leave it now to rust ! " 
 
 With ready strength the farmer tore 
 
 The iron from the wood, 
 And to the village smith he bore 
 
 That ploughshare stout and good. 
 
 The blacksmith's arms were bare and 
 brown, 
 
 His bellows wheezed and roared. 
 The farmer flung the ploughshare down : 
 
 " Now forge me out a sword ! " 
 
 The blacksmith wrought with skill that 
 day, 
 
 The blade was keen and bright, 
 And still where thickest is the fray 
 
 The farmer leads the fight. 
 
 Not as of old that blade he sways 
 To break the meadow's sleep, 
 
 But through the rebel ranks he lays 
 A furrow broad and deep.
 
 THE TWO FURROWS. 55 
 
 And though his fields stand sere and 
 brown, 
 
 The farmer keeps his vow; 
 Right well he knows what blessings crown 
 
 The furrow of the plough. 
 
 " But better is to-day's success," 
 
 So ran the farmer's word, 
 " For nations yet unborn shall bless 
 
 This furrow of the sword ! "
 
 5 6 VAGROM VERSE. 
 
 TOO LATE. 
 
 Too late thy honeyed words, 
 
 Too late thy tears ; 
 A life is told by grief, 
 
 And not by years. 
 
 And I have lived the woe 
 
 In one brief day 
 Of twice three-score and ten - 
 
 My heart is gray. 
 
 Thou canst not stir its pulse 
 
 With hope nor fear ; 
 The day is well-nigh done, 
 
 And night is near. 
 
 Go ! bathe no more the brow 
 Thy lips once pressed 
 
 For I am weary now, 
 And I would rest.
 
 DAS MEERMADCHEN. 57 
 
 DAS MEERMADCHEN. 
 
 On, Spring is blithe and Summer gay, 
 The Autumn golden and Winter gray ; 
 
 But the seasons come and the seasons go, 
 All alike to me in their ebb and flow, 
 
 Since the day I rode by the cheating sea, 
 And one of its maidens had speech with 
 me. 
 
 Her skin was whiter than words can speak, 
 The blush of the sea-shell lit her cheek ; 
 
 Her lips had ripened in coral caves, 
 Her eyes were blue as the deeper waves ; 
 
 And her long yellow hair fell fair and free 
 In a shower of amber upon the sea. 
 
 " Knight, gallant knight, a boon I pray : 
 Give me to ride thy charger gray ! "
 
 58 VAGROM VERSE. 
 
 " Oh, ships for the sea, but steeds for the 
 
 shore, 
 I '11 give thee a boat with a golden oar ! " 
 
 " Nay, gallant knight, no charm has the 
 
 sea ; 
 I would dwell on the green earth ever with 
 
 thee ! " 
 
 For her speech was fair as her face was 
 
 fair ; 
 Had she asked my soul, it was hers, I 
 
 swear ! 
 
 And I led her light as sea-birds flit 
 Where my steed stood champing his 
 golden bit. 
 
 The stirrups of silver were wrought in 
 
 Spain ; 
 My hand into hers put the silken rein. 
 
 And that is the last, though the stars are 
 
 old, 
 I saw of my steed with his housings of 
 
 gold. 
 
 Was ever such folly in all the world wide ? 
 But who would have thought a mermaid 
 could ride,
 
 DAS MEERMADCHEN. 59 
 
 Or a maiden of earth, of air, or the wave, 
 Should fly from her love with the wings 
 he gave ? 
 
 Faithless and loveless I walk by the shore, 
 Never a maiden has speech with me more. 
 
 But this brings not back my charger gray, 
 Nor the false, false love who rode him 
 away.
 
 60 VAGROM VERSE. 
 
 TO "J. W. H., JR." 
 
 (ON SUDDENLY SEEING A COPY OF THE 
 "NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.") 
 
 IT pleases me one friend to see 
 
 With a familiar mien, 
 And fresh as in the olden time, 
 
 I mean the magazine ; 
 Jocose as when we both were young, 
 
 Some twenty years ago, 
 When I was a contributor, 
 
 And you were " Brooklyn Jo." 
 
 Yes, in a wicked world like this, 
 
 Where much to us seems strange, 
 It comforts one to find a friend, 
 
 Or thing, that does not change. 
 Here's one that outwardly, at least, 
 
 Stands to old colors true, 
 And comes in buff, as though to say, 
 
 " I 'm an 'old buffer ' too." 
 
 And yet it has not grown in girth, 
 Nor has it lost a page ;
 
 TO "J. W. H.,JR." 6 1 
 
 I try the hinges of the back 
 
 There is no creak of age ; 
 But one of us is growing thin, 
 
 And one 's already stout ; 
 I am rheumatic when it rains; 
 
 And you well, is it gout ? 
 
 Just as of old its stories run, 
 
 Our stories do not race ; 
 And for ourselves a seemly walk 
 
 Were clearly our best pace. 
 However, I was never fast, 
 
 As all the world must know ; 
 And you a Joseph always were, 
 
 Although we called you Jo. 
 
 But sadder changes years have brought : 
 
 When I to Franklin fare 
 To see the sons, whose fathers, too, 
 
 Did business on the Square, 
 I find the same old counting-room, 
 
 But, with a sorrow keen, 
 I miss the voices now unheard, 
 
 The faces now unseen. 
 
 And yet I count no empty chair : 
 The dear old boys are dead,
 
 62 VAC ROM VERSE. 
 
 But other boys, for whom they built, 
 Are reigning in their stead ; 
 
 And busy in the rooms I see 
 An ever-lengthening row 
 
 Of boys in training for the toil 
 To come when you boys go. 
 
 For toil and care come with the crown, 
 
 To age the young heir's brow ; 
 Quite reverential is my style 
 
 When I address you now. 
 But there 's a river yet to cross ; 
 
 Near and more near its flow 
 If we meet on the farther bank, 
 
 I '11 call you " Brooklyn Jo ! "
 
 ONE CHRISTMAS. 63 
 
 ONE CHRISTMAS. 
 
 WITH Morning's first blush our two little 
 
 ones woke 
 Like twin roses they laughed in their 
 
 bed; 
 For the day and their rest both smilingly 
 
 broke, 
 
 And their cheeks, like the dawning, 
 were red. 
 
 Soon a patter of footsteps we heard on 
 
 the stair, 
 Light as summer rain dropping from 
 
 eaves 
 Each little foot, blushing because it was 
 
 bare, 
 Seemed a rosebud with five open leaves. 
 
 Away to the hearth-stone they stole on 
 
 tip-toe, 
 
 And their laugh was a glad Christmas 
 hymn,
 
 64 VAC ROM VERSE. 
 
 Their hearts were so full that they must 
 
 overflow, 
 
 And their stockings were chock to the 
 brim. 
 
 There were pea-guns and whistles, and 
 
 harlequin-jacks 
 That would dance though a monk pulled 
 
 the string, 
 And crumpets and trumpets and all the 
 
 knickknacks 
 
 That Kriss Kringle is certain to 
 bring. 
 
 Such blasts of tin trumpets, such volleys 
 
 of peas ! 
 You 'd have thought that they stormed 
 
 a Redan : 
 But our rampart, the sofa, they carried 
 
 with ease, 
 And Tabby, its garrison, ran. 
 
 Now the chimney at daybreak had plagued 
 
 us with smoke, 
 As smokers, alas, often do, 
 And here was a story to tell the small folk, 
 When they wondered what troubled 
 the flue.
 
 ONE CHRISTMAS. 65 
 
 For we told them the steeds that Saint 
 
 Nicholas drove, 
 
 Left standing outside in the snow, 
 Perhaps snuggled in, filling chimneys 
 
 above, 
 
 While their master filled stockings 
 below. 
 
 The little ones fully accepted this creed, 
 As soon they 'd have doubted their 
 
 prayers, 
 And I envied their faith ; we old Gentiles 
 
 have need 
 Of a credence as ready as theirs. 
 
 When we doubt what was dear to our 
 
 childish belief, 
 For this is the wisdom of men, 
 Thinking that to be wisdom that only is 
 
 grief, 
 Indeed, are we wiser than then? 
 
 For oft when my soul trails her wings in 
 
 the dust, 
 
 And would rest from the struggle without, 
 I ask of myself: Is it folly to trust ? 
 Is it wisdom to question and doubt ? 
 5
 
 66 VAC ROM VERSE. 
 
 NEW YEAR'S. 
 
 THE Seen from the Unseen 
 Is bounded by a breath, 
 
 So very faint the line 
 We scarce know which is death. 
 
 We scarce know when to laugh, 
 And never when to weep ; 
 
 We smile when babes are born, 
 We mourn when old men sleep. 
 
 Blithe rings the natal chime, 
 And sadly sobs the knell, 
 
 The priest who prays below 
 Is wiser than the bell. 
 
 Last night while Dian slept, 
 Strange wonders filled the sky ; 
 
 An infant softly crept, 
 A pa^ ghost shuddered by.
 
 NEW YEAR'S. 67 
 
 Twelve round and ripened moons 
 Dropped from their withered stem ; 
 
 And twelve fair blossoms came, 
 To ripe and fall like them. 
 
 The clouds, like pale-faced nuns, 
 Hung weeping o'er a bier ; 
 
 While gray and hooded hours 
 Were bearing out the year. 
 
 Fair speed the funeral train ! 
 
 But to each year its due : 
 There cypress for the Old 
 
 Here roses for the New ! 
 
 Let gladness fill the cup, 
 We drink a courtly toast, 
 
 Health to the living heir ! 
 Peace to the graybeard's ghost !
 
 68 VAGROM VERSE. 
 
 THREE EXAMPLES OF ENG 
 LISH VERSE. 
 
 Fifty thousand socialists around old St. Paul's, 
 and English poets are writing Triolets ! ! ! 
 
 E. C. STEDMAN. 
 
 I. 
 
 TRIOLET. 
 
 WHILE they write Triolets, 
 The masses are rising, 
 With curses and threats, 
 While they write Triolets 
 (How their anger it whets ! ) ; 
 
 Nor is it surprising, 
 While they write Triolets, 
 
 That the masses are rising. 
 
 n. 
 
 RONDEAU. 
 
 IN corsets laced, in high-heeled shoes, 
 Too fine a woodland way to choose,
 
 EXAMPLES OF ENGLISH VERSE. 69 
 
 With mincing step and studied strut, 
 Is this an English goddess ? Tut 
 Some masker from the Parlez-voos ! 
 
 Poet ! thou of sinewy thews, 
 
 Wilt thou free ways and walks refuse, 
 To mince instead through paths close 
 shut, 
 
 In corsets laced ? 
 
 1 cannot for I Ve old-time views 
 Follow the poet who pursues 
 
 The Rondeau, with its rabbit scut, 
 Or triumphs in a Triolet, but 
 There may be those who like the Muse 
 In corsets laced ! 
 
 in. 
 
 VILLANELLE. 
 
 JEAN PASSER AT, I like thee well; 
 
 Thou sang'st a song beyond compare - 
 But I 've not lost a tourterelle, 
 
 Nor can I write a Villanelle ! 
 
 Thou did'st ; and for that jewel rare, 
 Jean Passerat, I like thee well.
 
 70 VAGROM VERSE. 
 
 Now many a twittering hirondelle 
 The plumes of thy lost dove would 
 
 wear 
 But I Ve not lost a tourterelle, 
 
 Could not, indeed, true turtle tell, 
 If real or mock I could not swear. 
 Jean Passerat, I like thee well, 
 
 True heart that would go "aprks elle" 
 
 An aspiration I would share, 
 But I 've not lost a tourterelle, 
 
 And am content on earth to dwell, 
 
 There are some men they cannot spare ! 
 Jean Passerat, I like thee well, 
 But I 've not lost a tourterelle /
 
 A LYRIC TO LILY. 7 1 
 
 A LYRIC TO LILY. 
 
 (Who feared that I would not be industrious 
 even if I were a honey-bee.) 
 
 IF I were a honey-bee 
 
 What would I do ? 
 I '11 tell to no other, 
 
 Darling, but you : 
 Near the heart of the Lily, 
 
 Folding my wings, 
 Think it no harm, darling, 
 
 'T is a bee sings, 
 
 There I would linger 
 
 All of the day ; 
 None of the garden 
 
 Should tempt me away. 
 The Tulip, proud lady, 
 
 I would disdain ; 
 The Violet's blue eyes should 
 
 Woo me in vain ;
 
 72 VAGROM VERSE. 
 
 The tears of the Blue-bell 
 
 Ever might fall ; 
 The Rose and the Woodbine 
 
 Cling to the wall ; 
 The Cowslip and Daisy 
 
 Lie in the sun : 
 I would not kiss them, 
 
 Never a one. 
 
 But alone with my Lily 
 
 Ever I 'd rest, 
 Shrined in the whiteness 
 
 Of her fair breast ; 
 Think it no harm, darling, 
 
 Only you see 
 That I 'd make honey 
 
 Were I a bee !
 
 HER NAME WAS FELICIA. 73 
 
 HER NAME WAS FELICIA. 
 
 WHEN soft and sweet the summer moon 
 Smiled down, and all was peace, 
 
 And every pulse of mine kept tune, 
 I learned her name, Felice. 
 
 First on the beach, then in the brine 
 (Some thought it was my niece), 
 
 She laid her little hand in mine, 
 And said she was Felice. 
 
 And all who sat along the shore 
 And watched the tide's increase, 
 
 Knew I was Felix o'er and o'er. 
 Did they think her Felice ? 
 
 Still swings on high the self-same moon; 
 
 Still all around seems peace. 
 Still sit I on the sandy dune ; 
 
 But where is she, Felice ?
 
 74 VAGROM VERSE 
 
 The summer moon still swings on high- 
 Oh, summer, must you cease ? 
 
 Infelicissimus am I ; 
 But she is still Felice.
 
 FIVE IN THE MORNING. 75 
 
 AS TO FIVE O'CLOCK IN THE 
 MORNING. 
 
 IT is all very well for the poets to tell, 
 
 By way of their song adorning, 
 Of milkmaids who rouse, to manipulate 
 
 cows, 
 
 At Five o'clock in the morning ; 
 And of moony young mowers who bundle 
 
 out doors 
 
 The charms of their straw-beds scorn 
 ing 
 
 Before break of day, to make love and hay, 
 At Five o'clock in the morning ! 
 
 But, between me and you, it is all untrue 
 
 Believe not a word they utter ; 
 To no milkmaid alive does the finger of 
 Five 
 
 Bring a beau or even bring butter. 
 The poor sleepy cows, if told to arouse, 
 
 Might do so with some suborning ; 
 But the sweet country girls, would they 
 show their curls 
 
 At Five o'clock in the morning?
 
 76 VAGROM VERSE. 
 
 It is all very well to sing or to tell, 
 
 But if I were a maid, all forlorn-ing, 
 And a lover should drop in the clover, to 
 
 pop, 
 
 At Five o'clock in the morning, 
 If I liked him, you see, I 'd say, " Please 
 
 call at Three ; " 
 
 If not, I 'd turn on him with scorning : 
 " Don't come here, you flat, with conun 
 drums like that, 
 At Five o'clock in the morning ! "
 
 IN A BAY-WINDOW. 77 
 
 IN A BAY-WINDOW. 
 
 AH, yes, there 's a change in the weather; 
 
 It does look a little like snow, 
 Though in this recess it seems summer, 
 
 And around us these red roses blow. 
 
 There is scarcely a theme we 've not 
 touched on 
 
 Secluded, but talking at large 
 From the latest lyric of Locker 
 
 To the very last freak of Lafarge. 
 
 And now it has come to the weather, 
 As you say, there 's a feeling of snow ; 
 
 But do you not think it was warmer 
 In this window one winter ago ? 
 
 Whose landscape, that one near the 
 
 curtain ? 
 
 It is good? I really don't know; 
 I am thinking, instead, of the picture 
 Then seen where these Jacqueminots 
 blow.
 
 78 VAGROM VERSE. 
 
 Just the same sweet profusion of roses, 
 
 A lady, a silken divan, 
 A vase, was it Wedgwood or Minton ? 
 
 And a gentleman holding a fan. 
 
 Was the talk then of art and the weather ? 
 Who could say ? for their voices were 
 
 low; 
 
 But none then who saw them together 
 Thought it looked in the slightest like 
 snow. 
 
 Must I look at that thing on the easel? 
 Naughty nymph, and a bad Bougue- 
 reau ! 
 
 But you plainly prefer any picture 
 To the one whose each detail you know. 
 
 You think it unwise to recall things ? 
 
 Unwise ! It is wrong, on my life ! 
 The weather 's so different this winter, 
 
 You are married, and I have a wife. 
 
 Around us the same crimson curtains, 
 Just as warmly the Jacqueminots glow ; 
 
 But I feel the same chill that you speak 
 
 of,- 
 In the air there is certainly snow !
 
 A DARK NIGHT. 79 
 
 A DARK NIGHT. 
 
 THERE is darkness on the earth to-night, 
 There is darkness in my heart ; 
 
 And from the gloom to sudden sight 
 Strange spectres stir and start. 
 
 And by my side these spectres stalk 
 With slow remorseless tread ; 
 
 Oh, God ! that things like these should 
 
 walk, 
 Though graves give up their dead. 
 
 To lay such ghosts as these I wist 
 
 All masses were in vain, 
 Though prayer should rise like morning 
 mist, 
 
 And beads should fall like rain. 
 
 For the dead that fill my heart to-night 
 No cerements have nor crave ; 
 
 You could not hide them from my sight 
 Though earth were all a grave.
 
 8o VAGROM VERSE. 
 
 OUR IDOLS. 
 
 POOR idols, how they fade and fall 
 Their changeful fanes within ! 
 
 And only niches in the wall 
 Tell that a shrine has been. 
 
 And "Ah," you cry, "then Love is nought, 
 Arid Faith is lifeless grown !" 
 
 But is this seeming unfaith wrought 
 By changefulness alone ? 
 
 We love not what our idols are ; 
 
 We worship what they seem. 
 And if we worshipped from afar, 
 
 We still might love and dream. 
 
 A star perchance were not a star 
 If one could reach the skies ; 
 
 A touch tells what our idols are 
 And then devotion dies.
 
 IDOLS. 8 1 
 
 Too near the shrine ; ah, woe the day 
 
 That so requites a trust ! 
 We find our idols' feet are clay, 
 
 And hurl them to the dust. 
 
 So in its rage the ruthless blast 
 Spares not the fairest flowers : 
 
 The sin of the Iconoclast 
 His punishment is ours. 
 
 By unlit altars groping still 
 His fate is thine and mine 
 
 Better a fane that false gods fill 
 Than one without a shrine.
 
 82 VAC ROM VERSE. 
 
 MY RIVAL. 
 
 HE stands him all smiling and bland 
 Just there where the tapestries fall ; 
 
 The wine cup he holds in his hand 
 Throws a dabble of red on the wall. 
 
 See, he smiles to himself as he sips 
 Of his wine in the alcove apart ! 
 
 Will he smile when my dagger's thin lips 
 Shall drink the red wine of his heart ? 
 
 II. 
 
 There 's a dead man out in the night, 
 
 Under the stars he lies ; 
 And the dews in a monotone drip, 
 
 Cold tears from unsorrowing eyes. 
 
 He was my rival once. 
 
 Whose now is the better fate ? 
 He married the girl of his love ; 
 
 I murdered the man of my hate !
 
 DISCARDED. 83 
 
 DISCARDED. 
 
 LAST night I lay on her breast ; 
 To-day I lie at her feet. 
 Then to her heart I was pressed ; 
 Now you tread on me, sweet ! 
 
 Ah, lightly as possible, pray 
 Grace for your one rose of last night ! 
 If perhaps I look faded to-day, 
 Are you quite so fresh in this light ? 
 
 And though nice of you dropping that 
 
 tear, 
 There are some who may think it my 
 
 due, 
 
 Did it never occur to you, dear, 
 That the flower may have wearied of you?
 
 84 VAC ROM VERSE. 
 
 IN AQUARELLE. 
 
 WHAT of Nantucket ? 
 
 Quakers and quiet ; 
 Westerly winds, 
 
 And some sameness of diet. 
 
 What of Bar Harbor ? 
 
 Mermaids that menace ; 
 Flirtings, striped skirtings, 
 
 Lots of lawn-tennis. 
 
 Better my cat-boat 
 
 Only two in it 
 (Wind from the westward) 
 
 Bound for Wauwinet!
 
 WHICH. 85 
 
 WHICH? 
 
 WE parted, and mine eyes were wet. 
 
 Thine, too, i think were brimming - 
 With tears or brine ? Love, I forget. 
 Could it be both ? I think not yet 
 
 You know we were in swimming.
 
 86 VAGROM VERSE. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 LAST night in blue my little love was dressed ; 
 And as she walked the room in maiden grace 
 I looked into her fair and smiling face, 
 And said that blue became my darling best. 
 But when, next morn, a spotless virgin vest 
 And robe of white did the blue one displace, 
 She seemed a pearl-tinged cloud, and I was 
 
 space ! 
 She filled my soul as cloud-shapes fill the 
 
 West. 
 
 And so it is that, changing day by day, 
 Changing her robe, but not her loveliness, 
 Whether the gown be blue, or white, or gray, 
 I deem that one her most becoming dress. 
 The truth is this : In any robe or way, 
 I love her just the same, and cannot love her 
 
 less !
 
 SLOOP AND CUTTER. 87 
 
 SLOOP AND CUTTER. 
 
 A HAPPENING TO THE " HILDEGARD." 
 
 THE "Hildegard " she had sprung a knee, 
 Or a rib, perhaps 
 (The nomenclatter does n't much matter 
 Aboard of a yacht when they spring who 
 
 knows what ? 
 
 And the thingum-bob-stay has been car 
 ried away 
 And never brought back by the what 's- 
 
 its-name tack ; 
 
 And with implied hitches at ideal breeches, 
 The tar late so jolly growls gruffly, " By 
 
 golly!" 
 Or, " Shiver my timbers, there 's a leak in 
 
 the limbers ! "
 
 88 VAC ROM VERSE. 
 
 But this is a lapse : 
 
 Starting fresh from " perhaps " ) 
 
 Something that laps and stops up gaps 
 
 Rib, knuckle, or knee 
 
 Gave way, and no longer d d out the sea 
 
 (That 's not the word quite that we dash 
 
 out of sight, 
 But I blanked it, you see, lest the editor 
 
 might), 
 
 Which now with a din came rushing in, 
 Drowning the gin, 
 Metamorphosing Chateau into singularly 
 
 flat eau, 
 
 Dampening sheets, ruining meats, 
 And cheeses and chintzes fit for Kron 
 
 Prinzes, 
 
 Filling with water everything fillable 
 (Till even Schiedam was n't worth its last 
 
 syllable) ; 
 Very little the wonder that our skipper 
 
 said, " Thunder ! " 
 (Thought perhaps something harder as he 
 
 looked at the larder) 
 And sent a hand and two feet up the 
 
 mast 
 To hail the first pump or packet that 
 
 passed
 
 SLOOP AND CUTTER. 89 
 
 (With that hole in the bow our bark was 
 
 bow-wow). 
 
 But never a ghost of picket or post 
 Hove up on our view, though we 
 
 heaved all we knew. 
 Nothing showed up, in fine, but abundance 
 
 of brine, 
 Which now came in thicker (spoiling more 
 
 liquor), 
 Till it certainly looked that our goose was 
 
 cooked, 
 And that crew and passengers all were 
 
 booked. 
 When just at this juncture, when the 
 
 horrible puncture 
 In our starboard knee (which admitted 
 
 the sea) 
 Gaped wider and wider, showing all inside 
 
 her, 
 And 't was just on our lips that we 'd pass 
 
 in our chips, 
 From aloft came the hail, " Sail ho ! ho ! 
 
 a sail ! " 
 (Why they always say " ho," I really don't 
 
 know; 
 
 But it seems to be a way of the sea) 
 And of course to the stranger we sig 
 nalled our danger,
 
 90 VAGROM VERSE. 
 
 To show him our leek set an onion at the 
 
 peak ; 
 And that more they might guess at our 
 
 terrible stress, 
 From a port-hole we showed her a case 
 
 once filled with " Roeclerer." 
 She was sailing close-haul'ed, but aghast 
 
 and appalled, 
 When they made out our case there was 
 
 changing of base : 
 " At the sheets ! are you ready ? Now keep 
 
 her off steady ! " 
 And with the wind free down she ran on 
 
 our lee. 
 
 " Ahoy ! " said she, and "Ahoy! " said we 
 (They always begin in that fashion at 
 
 sea). 
 And then with insistence they offered 
 
 assistance. 
 
 " Since you must be fed, why, I '11 board 
 
 you," she said. 
 " Or if that does n't gee, then you may 
 
 board me. 
 All my windows are bay, and they look on 
 
 the sea. 
 The one thing you '11 miss, to round out 
 
 your bliss
 
 SLOOP AND CUTTER. 91 
 
 And make it supreme, is just a little 
 beam ! " 
 
 Now when our stout skipper, with a glass 
 
 in his flipper, 
 From a sort of a trestle made out that 
 
 strange vessel, 
 " Great Scott ! " we heard him mutter, 
 
 " it 's just a blamed cutter ! 
 Go aboard that thing I and my crew ? 
 I '11 be fuller indeed (and dee deed) if I do ! 
 Though never a man of us leaves this spot, 
 If we drown at all it '11 be in a YACHT ! " 
 None argue with Herman when he 
 issues a firman! 
 
 That 's how we came to come home in a 
 
 dory; 
 And I 'd feel rather hurt if you doubted 
 
 my story.
 
 92 VAGROM VERSE. 
 
 DO I KNOW HIM? 
 
 Do I know him, this same Mr. Bright, 
 Who writes all the books and reviews; 
 
 Who parcels Parnassus by right, 
 And dictates terms to the Muse ? 
 
 Why, we bow at the club, for form's sake 
 (Both belong to the Fiddlededee), 
 
 But I never ask him what he '11 take, 
 And he certainly never asks me. 
 
 We cut in as partners at whist, 
 And then I know him to my cost ; 
 
 My trump signal always is missed, 
 The odd trick just as certainly lost. 
 
 We meet on the Pillowsham nights 
 You know those hebdomadal treats, 
 
 Where one young woman recites, 
 And another young woman repeats.
 
 DO I KNOW HIM? 93 
 
 Where it 's literature, music, and art 
 (With agnostics by way of relief), 
 When he takes the floor, I depart ; 
 Life is so uncommonly brief. 
 
 We are friends, I 'm perfectly sure ; 
 But this seems the status, alas : 
 He thinks /am but a flaneur 
 I think him a ponderous ass.
 
 94 VAGROM VERSE. 
 
 LOVE'S ANTE-CREMATORY 
 FAREWELL. 
 
 " O William ! " she cried, " strew no blos 
 soms of spring, 
 
 For the new ' apparatus ' might rust ; 
 But say that a handful of shavings you '11 
 
 bring, 
 And linger to see me combust. 
 
 "Oh, promise me, love, by the fire-hole 
 
 you '11 watch ; 
 
 And when mourners and stokers con 
 vene, 
 
 You will see that they light me some sol 
 emn, slow match, 
 And warn them against kerosene. 
 
 " It would cheer me to know, ere these 
 
 rude breezes waft 
 My essences far to the pole, 
 That one whom I love will look to the 
 
 draught, 
 And have a fond eye on the coal.
 
 ANTE-CREMATORY FAREWELL. 95 
 
 " Then promise me, love," and her 
 
 voice fainter grew, 
 " While this body of mine calcifies, 
 You will stand just as near as you can to 
 
 the flue, 
 And gaze while my gases arise. 
 
 " For Thompson Sir Henry has found 
 out a way 
 
 (Of his ' process ' you 've surely heard 
 tell) 
 
 How you burn like a parlor-match gen 
 tly away, 
 
 Nor even offend by a smell. 
 
 " So none of the dainty need sniff in dis 
 dain 
 
 When my carbon floats up to the sky ; 
 And I 'm sure, love, that you will never 
 
 complain 
 
 Though an ash should blow into your 
 eye. 
 
 "Yes, promise me, love," and she mur 
 mured low, 
 " When the calcification is o'er,
 
 96 VAGROM VERSE. 
 
 You will sit by my grave in the twilight 
 
 glow 
 I mean, by the furnace door. 
 
 "That often, my love, while the seasons 
 
 revolve 
 
 On their noiseless axles, the years, 
 You will visit the kiln where you saw me 
 
 resolve, 
 And leach my pale ashes with tears."
 
 THE FRIEND OF AGES AGO. 97 
 
 THE FRIEND OF AGES AGO. 
 
 Should auld acquaintance be forgot ? 
 Yes, if you Adjust as lief as not. 
 
 THERE are several things that trouble 
 
 one's age, 
 
 And work for a man much woe, 
 Such as gout, and doubt, debts that 
 
 will run, 
 
 And rhyme that will not flow. 
 But when all has been said, do we not 
 
 most dread, 
 
 Of the many bores that we know, 
 That ubiquitous ban, the woman or man 
 Who knew one " ages ago " ? 
 
 In youth you were young, and foolish 
 
 perhaps ; 
 
 You flirted with high and with low, 
 Had one love on the hill, and one down 
 
 by the mill, 
 
 Yet never were wicked, ah, no ! 
 7
 
 98 VAGROM VERSE. 
 
 And this friend knew you in a far-away 
 
 way, 
 
 In a way that was only so so, 
 Just enough to give hue to the cry about 
 
 you : 
 " Oh, I knew him ages ago ! " 
 
 You are married now and quite circum 
 spect ; 
 
 Your pace, like your speech, is slow. 
 You tell in a bank, keep silent in church, 
 
 Are one it is proper to know ; 
 But this vigilant friend will never consent 
 
 That your virtues unchallenged shall 
 
 go. 
 
 Though she never demurs, but only avers 
 That she knew you " ages ago." 
 
 And sure I am that if ever I win 
 
 To the place where I hope to go, 
 To sit among saints, perhaps the chief, 
 
 In raiment as white as snow, 
 Before me and busy among the blest 
 
 Perhaps in the self-same row 
 I shall find my ban, this woman or man 
 
 Who knew me " ages ago,"
 
 THE FRIEND OF AGES AGO. 99 
 
 And shall hear the voice I so oft have 
 
 heard 
 
 A voice neither sweet nor low 
 As it whispers still with an accent shrill 
 
 The refrain that so well I know: 
 " Oh, you need n't be setting much store 
 
 by him; 
 
 This new angel 's not much of a show. 
 He may fool some saint who isn't ac 
 quaint ; 
 But / knew him ages ago."
 
 100 VAGROM VERSE. 
 
 MY FATHER. 
 
 WHO hailed me first with rapturous joy, 
 And did not fret and feel annoy 
 When the nurse said, "Why ! she 'j a boy ! "? 
 My Father. 
 
 Who gave that nurse a half-a-crown, 
 To let him hold me did I frown ? 
 Of course he held me upside down. 
 My Father. 
 
 Who ne'er to cut my hair did try, 
 Imperilling by turns each eye, 
 And leaving all the lines awry ? 
 My Father. 
 
 Who set me in the barber's chair 
 Instead, and had him cut my hair 
 Like my big brother's, good and square ? 
 My Father.
 
 MY FATHER. IOI 
 
 Who, when I had a little fight 
 Because Tom tore my paper kite, 
 And trousers, said I did just right ? 
 My Father. 
 
 Who, when Tom licked me black and blue, 
 Did not turn in and lick me too 
 Saying V was his duty so to do? 
 My Father. 
 
 Who told me courage always wins, 
 And taught me to "put up my fins," 
 Till I could knock Tom off his pins? 
 My Father. 
 
 Who did not always make me plank 
 My pennies in that old tin " Bank," 
 Where I could only hear them clank ? 
 My Father. 
 
 Who, when I wished to buy a toy, 
 Ne'er thought 'twould give me much 
 
 more joy 
 
 To send tracts to some heathen boy ? 
 My Father.
 
 102 VAGROM VERSE. 
 
 Who bought for me the loveliest toys, 
 And said, "Though books he more enjoys, 
 We can't indulge these little boys " ? 
 My Father. 
 
 Who gave me next a glorious gun ; 
 And who at last when all was done 
 Left all he had to me, his son ? 
 My Father.
 
 MY BRIC-A-BRAC BROTHERS. 103 
 
 TO MY BRIC-A-BRAC BROTHERS. 
 
 FOUR and twenty tea-bells 
 Tinkling little chimes ; 
 
 Just as many poets 
 Tinkling little rhymes. 
 
 When great bells are silent, 
 Little ones may ring ; 
 
 When great poets are voiceless, 
 Little ones may sing. 
 
 Little bells and brothers 
 
 (Do not take it ill), 
 All vibration ceases 
 
 Once your tongues are still. 
 
 There are tones and voices 
 
 That can never die ; 
 I can only think of 
 
 Tennyson and " I ! "
 
 104 VAGROM VERSE. 
 
 Still there may be others 
 Of the rhyming gentry, 
 
 Who each month slip past some 
 Editorial sentry ; 
 
 Bound to live, "i6mo," 
 
 So let us agree : 
 I '11 read all your verses 
 
 If you sing of me.
 
 TALK. 105 
 
 TALK. 
 
 IT seems to me that talk should be, 
 
 Like water, sprinkled sparingly ; 
 
 Then ground that late lay dull and dried 
 
 Smiles up at you revivified, 
 
 And flowers of speech touched by 
 
 the dew 
 
 Put forth fresh root and bud anew. 
 But I 'm not sure that any flower 
 Would thrive beneath Niagara's shower I 
 So when a friend turns full on me 
 His verbal hose, may I not flee? 
 I know that I am arid ground, 
 But I 'm not watered Gad ! I 'm drowned!
 
 106 VAC ROM VERSE. 
 
 THE VISIT. 
 
 WEARING a suit of simple gray, 
 I called upon a friend one day. 
 
 He straight unlocked his cedar room ; 
 My senses swam with the perfume. 
 
 From shelves that hung at wondrous 
 
 height, 
 He took down wear that dimmed my 
 
 sight : 
 
 Breeches that buckled at the knee, 
 " Smallclothes," but much too large for 
 me, 
 
 Laced doublets, and cross-gartered hose ; 
 It was a wondrous wealth of clothes. 
 
 But 'twas not meant that I should share; 
 They were not shown for me to wear.
 
 THE VISIT. 107 
 
 'T was only meant that I should see 
 How very fine a man was he. 
 
 And while he walked in brave array, 
 I sat there in my simple gray : 
 
 Think you that when I left his door, 
 I went much richer than before ?
 
 io8 VAGROM VERSE. 
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF GRANT. 
 
 " I KNEW him well," the old man said; 
 
 " We were together in fight : 
 /with the Left when the charge was led ; 
 
 The General of course had the Right. 
 
 " I stood by his side," the old man said, 
 " When a bullet whizzed down the line 
 
 Scarce forty feet from the General's 
 
 head 
 And but little farther from mine. 
 
 " Did I blench at the storm ? " the old man 
 
 said, 
 
 " Ah, sir, the bravest may; 
 And from childhood up I 've been always 
 
 afraid 
 Of finding myself in the way." 
 
 " Shall I write thee down, O Hero," I said 
 " As a friend of the fallen chief,
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF GRANT. 109 
 
 And blazon thy name beside that of the 
 
 dead 
 In a glorious alto-relief ? " 
 
 " Nay, his friends were many," the old 
 
 man said, 
 
 "A greater distinction I want, 
 Just say I 'm the one who when all was 
 
 done 
 Wrote no ' Recollections of Grant ! ' "
 
 HO VAC ROM VERSE. 
 
 THE WIDOW'S MITE. 
 
 THE widow's mite ! Ah, who with eye 
 Unmoistened does the dole descry ? 
 Dropped in response to misery's moan, 
 This largess of the woman lone 
 Can king or emperor outvie ? 
 
 Gentle the hand that does supply 
 The modest alms ; but if she try 
 Her power, bound hand and foot we own 
 The widow's might. 
 
 Right well we know how maidens shy, 
 When swains approach, still turn and fly ; 
 But when pursued by lovers prone, 
 And begged to make her mercy known, 
 The widow won't, ah, then we sigh, 
 
 The widows might !
 
 TO THE COGGIA COMET. HI 
 
 TO THE COGGIA COMET. 
 
 ECCENTRIC orb, shot madly from thy 
 
 sphere, 
 Planet without a plan, dost travel on thine 
 
 ear, 
 
 A courier out of place, 
 Through wide expanse of space, 
 
 Bent on a bender ? 
 
 Nebulous known, indef'nite, fluctuating, 
 Of volume vast, but thin, wide-circulat 
 ing, 
 
 Thou holy, high, translated Legal Ten 
 der, 
 
 Approach, come nigher! obliging ac 
 quiesce, 
 For, lo ! neat-handed gentry of the Press 
 
 Would fain go through thee, 
 And I though unaccustomed quite to 
 
 vapor, 
 
 And not detailed by any morning paper 
 Am here to interview thee.
 
 112 VAC ROM VERSE. 
 
 Give us thy lineage, and thy plans define, 
 Length over all and sure thy Water 
 
 Line; 
 
 We have one end of thy ancestral vine, 
 We know thy sire 
 To be Coggia. 
 
 But round the record ; tell us of thy dam. 
 Art thou not worth one ? Is thy flourish 
 
 flam? 
 Art thou indeed but a transparent 
 
 sham, 
 In all tradition linked with woe and 
 
 slaughter 
 In fact, a vapid cheat that won't hold 
 
 water ? 
 
 But whether yes or no, 
 Pray tell us further, apropos 
 Of water, ramping round, eccentric, 
 
 crabbed, 
 
 Ere thou com'st nearer, tell us, art thou 
 rabid ? 
 
 Has Sirius bit thee ? 
 Art threatening still because the starry 
 
 cops 
 
 Shoot like our own, and after many pops 
 Have failed to hit thee ?
 
 TO THE COGGIA COMET. 113 
 
 If nought 's the matter 
 With thy medulla oblongata, 
 And thou 'rt not mad, though at thee 
 
 thus we stare, 
 Tell us the chance of fancy stocks up 
 
 there ; 
 What are the movements now of bull and 
 
 bear? 
 
 Do things all round look blue ? 
 Art thou the ghost of Daniel Drew? 
 That Milky Way, where all the small stars 
 
 meet, 
 
 Is 't there, O Comet, that they milk the 
 street ? 
 
 Aquarius with his pot, 
 Who waters, waters, with one ceaseless 
 
 drip, 
 And only rests at times to dry his scrip, 
 
 Is that man Sage, or not ? 
 Earnings of railroads, are they sometimes 
 
 " pooled " ? 
 
 The little fishes, are they ever fooled ? 
 And the Great Bear, is his true name Jay 
 
 Gould? 
 Would things roll smooth along the taurine 
 
 track 
 
 If 't were not for one baleful orb Cam- 
 mack?
 
 H4 VAC ROM VERSE. 
 
 Thou canst not tell ! ah, yes, one ought 
 
 to know, 
 Thou 'rt up above, and brokers meet 
 
 below ! 
 
 Have they newspapers up above the 
 
 moon? 
 
 In thee I seem to see a glorified "Tribune," 
 Some "Times" translated, or a "World" 
 
 made sweet. 
 Thy tail, what is it but an extra sheet ? 
 
 That tail, O Comet, gives another text 
 For questions : ends it here, complete, 
 
 convexed, 
 
 Or is 't "to be continued in our next,"- 
 In the next world, like Braddon's, Wilkie 
 
 Collins', 
 And that most "Ancient History " known 
 
 as Rollin's, 
 Which, when we thought we 'd captured 
 
 its last " colume," 
 
 Always outflanked us with another vol 
 ume ? 
 
 Swaggering through space with baleful, 
 
 angry glare, 
 Art thou the "bouncer" of the upper air?
 
 TO THE COGGIA COMET. 115 
 
 Wilt knock us out unless we " up and 
 
 dust," 
 Snatch us bald-headed, bust our ancient 
 
 crust ? 
 If that 's thy game, put up thy fins ; why, 
 
 dumb it, 
 Earth 's full of grit. Thou canst not come 
 
 it, Comet !
 
 Il6 VAC ROM VERSE. 
 
 TO C-N-Y M. D-P-W, ESQ. 
 
 AN ODE. 
 
 [IF UNRECOGNIZABLE BLANKS ARE HERE 
 SUBSTITUTED FOR REAL NAMES, IT IS SIMPLY 
 OUT OF DEFERENCE TO THE MODESTY OF IN 
 DIVIDUALS.] 
 
 I wish I were you, 
 C. M. D-p-w! 
 Once I wished to be a king, 
 A Cham, or some such thing ; 
 In my thirsting titular 
 I 'd have even been the Tzar. 
 Then they spelled it with a " C," 
 Now we see it with a " T ; " 
 But it matters very little 
 How they spell a fellow's title, 
 When he 's sitting on a bomb 
 Which may explode quite near, 
 And the title questioned here 
 He may haply read quite clear, 
 Next breath, in Kingdom Come.
 
 TO C-N-Y M. D-P-W, ESQ. 
 
 But before this bomb device 
 I thought it would be nice 
 Just to sit upon a throne, 
 In a state all, all mine own, 
 Beneath a Russian sky 
 (Every other man a " Ski "), 
 And say " we " instead of " I," 
 " We " to this and " we " to that 
 (E. g., " We smell a rat "), 
 And then issue a fiat, 
 Suppressing by decree 
 All who did n't smell like me, 
 I mean, all who 'd not agree, 
 As the Tzar does on his throne, 
 And R-id in the Tribune. 
 
 Now, rather I 'd be you, 
 Be C-un-y M. D-p-w! 
 In the realm where you preside 
 Blowing up is never tried. 
 There 's a deal of clubbing, true, 
 And some blowing off they do ; 
 But this treat is different far 
 From that given to the Tzar 
 On one's nerves it does n't jar. 
 
 Then at dinner-tables, too, 
 
 When the air with smoke got blue,
 
 Il8 VAGROM VERSE. 
 
 I 've seen sinners seize on you ; 
 Seen the ruddy chairman rise 
 With a twinkle in his eyes, 
 Showing plainly by his air 
 That he thought his joke was rare, 
 Haply for the first time bruited, 
 To say he 'd been depewted 
 To call upon D-p-w 
 And then look right at you. 
 
 Now I know revenge is weak, 
 It is nobler to be meek ; 
 But provoked by such a tweak, 
 Even I 'd get up and speak ! 
 
 Yet on the whole, D-p-w, 
 I would rather far be you 
 Than any king or pope 
 I know * or ever hope 
 To know in all Europe. 
 
 Why, even the fore-mentioned Tzar, 
 Wide as his foot Steppes are, 
 Cannot travel so far as you in your car, 
 And without the least danger of scath or 
 of scar. 
 
 1 Personally, that is.
 
 TO C-N-Y M. D-P-W, ESQ. 119 
 
 But if rightly I read, Mr. D-p-w, 
 There is trouble ahead, even for you. 
 There are threats in the air, ominous 
 
 threats, 
 And I hear, here and there, rumors and 
 
 bets 
 
 Of some station awaiting at least, nom 
 inating 
 
 " C-un-y D-p-w." 
 And with "oh" and "alas," for I know 
 
 how you pass 
 
 As a coin good and true, 
 I say in my soul, Will they now find a 
 
 hole 
 
 A hollow in you ? 
 Though current before, accepted and 
 
 hugged, 
 When it comes to this pass will they say 
 
 you are " plugged." 
 
 As it is, all around are devoted, 
 Unquestioned you 're quaffed to and 
 
 quoted, 
 
 And even the Press never hazards a guess 
 That so much as a taint of wickedness, 
 The faintest tinge that is not true blue, 
 Colors D-p-w.
 
 120 VAC ROM VERSE. 
 
 And watching afar the swing of your 
 
 car, 
 Which it seemed to me you had hitched 
 
 to a star, 
 I have wondered what your small vices 
 
 are, 
 
 If, indeed, you had any that did n't show. 
 Run for an office, then I '11 know ! 
 For there 's nothing ever you 've said or 
 
 done 
 
 That '11 not be shown to the noonday sun. 
 Of course you 've never done anything bad, 
 But were you Saint P-l, or Sir Galahad, 
 Or even J-n P-l but I '11 nothing add. 
 
 I will only say, and I mean it, too, 
 If you take this white bait that they offer 
 
 to you, 
 And go in for the regular White House 
 
 stew, 
 I shall cease to repine that your shoes are 
 
 not mine. 
 And I 'd rather by far stand in those of 
 
 the Tzar 
 When the canvass is through ; 
 
 And I would '/ be you, 
 
 C. M. D-p-w !
 
 WALL-STREET WAIFS. 121 
 
 THREE WALL-STREET WAIFS. 
 I. 
 
 THE LAY OF DAN 5 L DREW. 
 
 IT was a long lank Jerseyman, 
 And he stoppeth one of two : 
 
 " I ain't acquaint in these here parts ; 
 I 'm a lookin' for Dan'l Drew. 
 
 " I 'm a lab'rer in the Vinnard ; 
 
 My callin' I pursue 
 At the Institoot at Madison, 
 
 That was built by Dan'l Drew. 
 
 " I 'm a lab'rer in the Vinnard ; 
 
 My worldly wants are few ; 
 But I want some pints on these here 
 sheers 
 
 I 'm a-lookin' for Dan'l Drew." 
 
 Again I saw that laborer, 
 
 Corner of Wall and New ; 
 lie was looking for a ferry-boat, 
 
 And not for Daniel Drew.
 
 122 VAGROM VERSE. 
 
 Upon his back he bore a sack 
 
 Of stuff that men eschew ; 
 Some yet moist scrip was in his grip, 
 
 A little " Waybosh " too. 
 
 He plain was long of old R. I., 
 And short of some things " new." 
 
 There was never another laborer 
 Got just such "pints " from Drew. 
 
 At the ferry-gate I saw him late, 
 
 His white cravat askew, 
 A-paying his fare with a registered share 
 
 Of stock "preferred" by Drew. 
 
 And these words came back from the 
 Hackensack, 
 
 " If you want to gamble a few, 
 Just get in your paw at a game of Draw, 
 
 But don't take a hand at DREW ! "
 
 WALL-STREET WAIFS. 123 
 
 II. 
 
 DREW AND THE COMMODORE : A LEGEND 
 OF THE STREET. 
 
 CORNELIUS, the Great Cornerer, 
 
 A solemn oath he swore, 
 That in his trousers pockets he 
 
 Would put one railroad more. 
 And when he swore, he meant it, 
 
 That stout old Commodore. 
 
 Swear words have a significance 
 That makes one's marrow creep, 
 
 When launched by men whose early home 
 Has been upon the deep ; 
 
 We think the old salt's briny oath 
 He easily can keep. 
 
 It served him well, the Commodore, 
 His battling with the breeze : 
 
 Knowing the ropes, he took and swung 
 The biggest line with ease, 
 
 As one should do who all his life 
 Had been upon the seize.
 
 124 VAGROM VERSE. 
 
 Not following now the seas, instead 
 
 You saw him behind bays. 
 He almost always held a pair, 
 
 And none were swift to raise : 
 Being on stocks, 't was plain that he 
 
 Must have his way and ways. 
 
 A railway king ay, every inch, 
 And standing six feet high ; 
 
 His arms all railway branches, 
 His feet all termini 
 
 If you doubt me, there are his tracks 
 To witness if I lie ! 
 
 He was the Hudson River's bed, 
 The Harlem's bed and Board, 
 
 The Central's too, whose cattle-cars 
 Through half the country roared ; 
 
 His pockets were the depots in- 
 To which these railroads poured. 
 
 Such share of shares were quite enough 
 
 To serve a common mind, 
 But not the stout old Commodore's, 
 
 He for an eyrie pined, 
 As though he were the eagle bird 
 
 By chance and never blind.
 
 WALL-STREET WAIFS. 125 
 
 But brooding on this Erie sat 
 And quite on the same lay 
 
 Good Drew, who, feathering his nest, 
 Affirmed, by yea and nay, 
 
 Before he 'd budge he 'd see them all 
 Much farther than I '11 say. 
 
 Said he unto the Commodore, 
 
 "Your barque is on the sea, 
 But do not steer for Erie's ile, 
 
 Since that 's been struck by me. 
 Go, man of sin, and leave me here 
 
 To my Theology ! " 
 
 To railroad men the dearest ties 
 
 On earth are railroad ties ; 
 So little wonder Daniel spoke 
 
 In anger and surprise. 
 Tears would not flow ; the Commodore, 
 
 It seems, had dammed his eyes. 
 
 " When Greek meets Greek, then comes 
 the tug" 
 
 Which is all wrong, you know. 
 Unfriendly fires burn fast enough 
 
 Without the help of tow, 
 Especially when Coke is on, 
 
 And several lawyers blow.
 
 126 VAGROM VERSE. 
 
 Such eerie sights, such eerie sounds 
 
 Came from this Erie crew, 
 It seemed, indeed, a den of Lines 
 
 Prepared for Daniel Drew ! 
 Not strange that he at last resolved 
 
 To make his own ado. 
 
 Fleeing from jars perhaps the jug 
 
 He thought of foreign lands, 
 And to his brethren said, "Arise, 
 
 These Bonds put off our hands ; 
 We will into New Jersey, where 
 
 My Seminary stands." 
 
 'T was thus Drew's barque and eke 
 his bite 
 
 Fell on the Jersey shore ; 
 Shut in by Fate as by a gate 
 
 Or by a Commodore. 
 There was no drewbridge in the land, 
 
 On which he could cross o'er. 
 
 The gage of war that he threw down, 
 A " broad-gauge " and a free 
 
 Was picked up by the Commodore, 
 A gauger great, per sea ; 
 
 Who as he liked could get and hold 
 The weather-gage or lee.
 
 WALL-STREET WAIFS. 127 
 
 'T was plain that if in the tournay 
 Where these queer knights did tilt, 
 
 The Commodore should keep his seat 
 And Drew should be the spilt, 
 
 Drew might make tracks, but Erie would 
 Thenceforth be Vander-built. 
 
 While if, in drawing to his hand, 
 
 The Commodore did not 
 Quite fill his flush, and Drew's draw 
 should 
 
 Beat him but by a spot, 
 He 'd lose his age and lose the deal, 
 
 And Drew would take the pot. 
 
 Just how the joust did terminate 
 
 Nobody knows nor cares ; 
 No need to ask how fares the fight 
 
 When two fight for our fares, 
 And whiche'er one does win will plough 
 
 The public with his shares ! 
 
 We scarce did sing, Long live the Ring ! 
 
 But Daniel long lived he, 
 Until his School conferred on him 
 
 Exceeding high degree ; 
 Doubling his D's until, indeed, 
 
 He was, at last, D D !
 
 128 VAGROM VERSE. 
 
 As for the stout old railway King, 
 Who once did rule the wave, 
 
 And sometimes rather waived the rule 
 Odd tricks to serve or save, 
 
 In games like this, to me the King 
 Looks very like the Knave !
 
 WALL-STREET WAIFS. 129 
 
 III. 
 ON THE REOPENING OF A TRUST COMPANY. 
 
 BREAK, break, break, 
 
 On thy " Old Lake Shore," T. C, 
 Then resume and take down thy shutter, 
 
 But not, if you please, for me. 
 
 Oh, well for the Orphan Boy 
 That they shell out the swag to-day ! 
 
 Oh, well for the Lady in Black 
 That again they 've concluded to pay ! 
 
 And the wise old noodles go on 
 Discounting most any one's bill ; 
 
 And it may be the touch of a varnished 
 
 hand 
 Is busy again at the till ! 
 
 Break, break, break ! 
 
 You are open again, I see ; 
 But the bouquet that clings to a dog that 
 
 was dead 
 
 Is not aromatic to me ! 
 9
 
 (V ENVOI EXTRAORDINAIRE^ 
 
 It has (once} been said that of tongue or 
 
 pen 
 The saddest words are, "// might have 
 
 been." 
 
 But it seems to me and it may to you 
 These words in a way are consoling too. 
 For instance, end of the road at last, 
 My rhymes and I now things of the past, 
 You can surely say of my vagrant verse 
 That, all things considered, it might have 
 
 been worse. 
 For I give you my word, as a minstrel 
 
 bold, 
 Songs even less tuneful I might have 
 
 trolled. 
 
 If there seem too much from my scrap- 
 book store, 
 There 's comfort in this : it might have 
 
 been more. 
 For I pledge you my faith, both as poet and 
 
 man,
 
 I3 2 VAGROM VERSE. 
 
 There are bolts yet unhurled in my bar 
 bican. 
 
 And this burden of verse that you now 
 have resigned, 
 
 It might have been epic if I W had a 
 mind!
 
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