vx/ ( A> ~ Y- A. r^ AND THISTLEDOWN. BY 5. Q. LAPIUS. COLUMBUS, o. : HANN & ADAIR, PRINTERS AND I;IM>I:K-S, 1896. Entered according to act of Congress in the year 1896, by J. B. NAYLOR, In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. PS X V ~ <- This is book number....!.. j of an author's edition of two hundred copies only. \ vxx^\5 yp OsJ^X B r o ^ INDEX. PAGE. After the Battle 17 Along the Dust White River Road 33 A Memory 146 An Autumn Idyl 107 An OP Time Voleutiiie 125 A t the Country Store 1 50 Autumn 128 A Wild, Wet Night 80 Blossom and Fruit Id!) Blue Eyes are Peeping at Me . . 56 Campin' Out 181 Chris'mas Down at Gran'pa's 1 10 Cradle and Coffin 78 Cupid is Abroad To-Night 92 Dan Tucker 71 Dedicatory 6 Doodle-up, Doodle-down 101 Down at Hughes's OP Shop 1 1;4 Easter on tue Farm 168 Far Out on the Azure Sea 41 Frolic in the Firelight 2"> Goldenrod and Thistledown 7 < ; run 'daddy Longlegs 54 ( iran'pa's Chris'mas in the City 176 Gray Dawn 31 Here's a Glass to Old Time 22 He wa- My Friend 1 ^ How Santa Clans Comes 62 Jack Frost, the Artist 58 Like 'er Ma 143 Lock-Tender John . s4 Love Astray 20 Mine Little Comrade 51 Miss Dandeli'n . (t Money Musk 131 My Pa He's 'ist a Dockerrnan 153 Newton Ridge 47 No Chris'mas Like Ther' Ust to Be 121 Pop-Paw Time 1 1 J> Shut-Eye Town 18 Sight-ou-Seeu 115 Sleep 67 Sometime Somewhere 4-"> Summer Night 105 'Tis a Rare Old World 49 The Big Barn Mow 134 The Buckwheat Bloom 103 The Bumble Bee 158 The Castle of Dreams 82 The Chipmunk 1 "> The Country Doctor !)5 The Final Test US The Honest Old Chestnut Tree 13 The Little White School-House 160 The Mitten loo The Night Wind 1!) The Old Brass Band l;!7 The OP Fence Row 185 The I'ixy Bund ill) The Summer Shower 7(i The Thunder Storm 7> That Jolly OP Chap in the Moon 140 Three Little Soldiers 11 Those Summer Days of Long Ago us Turn Back the Clock of Time .'17 We're a Comiu' to V'r Show 17:: When the Year ( trows Old ^7 Who Wins His Way at Home 4-"> Winter Night Lullaby :!! Winter in the I/i|> o' Spring K'>2 DEDICATORY. To mine own little "pixy band"- Of whom and for whom many of These jingles were written this Book is lovingly dedicated." Goldenrod and Thistledown. O, little book ! And everywhere Thou goest banish darksome care- God's gladsome sunshine furnish free To every heart that asketh thee ; Until each face of youth or age That bendeth o'er thy printed page Doth welcome thee with smile and nod Far brighter than the goldenrod ! Go, little book and fare-thee-well ! What fate awaitheth, none may tell. But where thou bidest be thy part To lift and gladden some sad heart; To tinge and brighten some dark place, And chase away from some wan face The soul-sick look, the work-worn frown More lightly than the thistledown ! S. Q. L. MALTA, OHIO, July 2o, 1896. GOLDENROD AND TH ISTLEDOWN. Miss Dandeli'n. T ITTLE Miss Dandeli'n, roguish and fair, Shakes her gold curls in the soft summer air; Lifts her wee face to the bold, smiling sun Waiting for kisses. Ah, isn't it fun ! Has for proprieties never a care Little Miss Dandeli'n, roguish and fair! Pretty Miss Dandeli'n, sweet and demure, Thoughts of a lover can scarcely endure ; Hides her fresh face from the sun's ardent gaze, Ponders and dreams through the long summer days. Older and wiser she's grown, to be sure- Pretty Miss Dandeli'n, sweet and demure ! Stately Miss Dandeli'n, prim and precise, Swaying her willowy form to entice One chilly smile from her recreant love, Swinging his way through the blue arc above. Tresses of silver and features of ice- Stately Miss Dandeli'n, prim and precise. 10 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDO WN. Faded Miss Dandeli'n, grim and austere, Watches and waits for her love to appear ; Learning the lesson so bitter to learn Love once rejected may never return. Over her memory drop we a tear Faded Miss Dandeli'n, grim and austere ! GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 11 Three Little Soldiers. T^HREE little soldiers paper caps, Corn-stalk guns and shoulder straps Harked to the spring bird's early call ; Shouldered arms, and one and all Dropped into line and marched one day, Over the hills and far away. Three little soldiers, tired and sore, Back from the bloodless, mimic war, Clustered around their mother's knee Told their tales in childish glee ; Tales of a mock-heroic fray Over the hills and far away. ^ '','- % :; ; * ^ % % Three bonny youths their mother's pride With tear-dimmed eyes and hurried stride, Left at their bleeding country's call Home and kindred all in all; Went in the morning cold and gray, Over the hills and far a\vav. 1- GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. Under their blood-stained uniform Three young hearts, once brave and warm, Stirred by the bugle's piercing peal, Throb no more with loyal zeal. Three sturdy forms are lifeless clay Over the hills and far away ! GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 13 The Honest Old Chestnut Tree. OUCH an honest old tree ! And he smiled as he stood Like a giant of eld, In the edge of the wood ; For the summer was ended, The autumn grown old, And his pockets were bulging With treasures of gold. But that imp of the universe, Cunning Jack Frost Caring much for a frolic And naught for the cost Won the Old Chestnut's heart By his flattering wiles, Till he showered down the gold In great glittering piles. 14 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. Not content with all this Jack must do even worse, So he loosened the strings Of the poor fellow's purse ; Then he called in the wind 'Twas a little too bad And together they took Every coin that he had. Yes, they left the Old Chestnut To hunger and cold, And remorselessly squandered His treasures of gold ; And they chuckled and whistled In infinite glee, At the joke they had played On the honest old tree. GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 15 The Chipmunk. A JOLLY well-fed monk is he With fat-jowled face and unshorn crown. A world of knavish thievery Is hid beneath that striped gown. He comes not with extended palms A begging friar trusting luck ; He has no need of people's alms, This thievish woodman Friar Tuck. He's quite devout; he tells his beads With worthy zeal, at night and morn What matter that they're golden seeds From some poor farmer's field of corn ! He claims to live a celibate- Yet I believe, without a doubt, That I have seen his black-eyed mate Peep from the door, when he was out! 16 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. Within his narrow, leaf-lined cells, Securely hidden 'neath the ground, This feasting, plethoric rascal dwells ; His ill-got booty piled around. And yet, in spite of all his guile, He's seldom greeted with a frown ; More often he receives a smile The monk that wears a striped gown. GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 17 After the Battle. A RIDERLESS horse in the leafy lane, Covered with foam, and the broken rein Trailing beneath his feet ; A pale, ghastly face in the wan moonlight, Washed by the dews of the silent night, Free from the dust and heat. A blood-stained coat and a broken blade Gripped by a powder-grimed hand, that laid Many a foeman low ; A hoof-beaten field and a crimson sod Mark where the demon of death has trod, Smiting both friend and foe. LE ENVOI. A maiden leans far o'er her window-sill, Waiting and watching and longing still Fearing the news to learn. The sounds of retreat swell the midnight air; She brushes a tear, as she utters a prayer. For him who will ne'er return ! 18 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. Shut-Eye Town. WHEN the bees came in from their work to rest, And the shadows crept o'er the dark'ning west ; When the swallows slept 'neath the sloping eaves, And the night dew moistened the drooping leaves ; When the stars peeped out and the sun went down, Then the baby started for Shut-Eye Town. When the bees returned to the honeyed feast, And the shadows swept from the bright'ning east ; When the swallows chirped in the apple trees, And the moist leaves stirred in the morning breeze ; When the sun peeped up and the stars went down, Then the baby parted from Shut-Eye Town. LE ENVOI. But she smiled at the close of one summer day Then she softly, silently slipped away ; And that city old must be wondrous fair, For the darling child is still ling'ring there ; So our eyes are wet and our hearts bowed down That our precious baby's at Shut-Eye Town. GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN li> The /Night Wind. LAUGHING and crying, the Night Wind came Over the hills from the boundless West Sounding the trump of immortal fame, Bearing a message of sin and shame, Or a sigh from a childless mother's breast ; Laughing that life is a summer day, Crying that men grow old and gray ! Rejoicing and sobbing, the Night Wind sped Over the hills to the distant East- Sobbing with those who were watching the dead, W r ith the fatherless one that was crying for bread, And rejoicing with those at the marriage feast; Sobbing that life is a brittle span, Rejoicing that 'tis not the all of man. Coming and going, the Night Wind said : 41 I laugh with the living, careless and gay ; I sigh for the dying and weep o'er the dead, And rejoice with those that are newly wed, And sorrow with those that watch and pray For the current of life gleams bright in the sun, Then swift through the dismal shades must run !" 20 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. Love Astray. O ! he went astray At the peep 'o day, With his lute strings all a-tinkle, With his head upright And his face alight, And his merry eyes a-twinkle. Where the daisies nod O'er the roadside sod, And the chipmunk finds a cover, Where the dust is gray Down the broad highway, Are the tracks of my truant lover. Then his course he took O'er the pebbly brook And across the fields of clover, Where the wild bees boom In the fragrant bloom And the sunshine dances over ; GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 21 And his nimble feet Trod the golden wheat Where the shy quails pipe and hover, And the pathway brown Toward the distant town Bears the tracks of my truant lover. Ah ! the hours slip by And I seek him high And low 'tis a sad endeavor ! For his voice is mute And his tinkling lute Seems lost and gone forever. And my heart strings ache And my heart strings break As I onward toil to find him ; But the quest is vain, For the prize I gain- Is the tracks he leaves behind him ! 22 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. Here's a Glass to Old Time. T T ERE'S a glass to old Time ! Not the one that he bears To measure humanity's sorrows and cares, But a glass of cut crystal, whose sparkles combine With the crimson and gold of its honey and wine. Let us drink, as our lips to the goblet we press, To the hope that his shadow may never grow less ; And extolling his virtues in metrical rhyme Drain a bumper a beaker to old Father Time. In the morning of life when we tickle our toes With the sedges that grow where the meadow brook flows, When our hearts are as light as the zephyr that trips To the hum of the bee, where the honey-dew drips ; Then old Time is our comrade our leader, I ween, And we faithfully follow through shadow and sheen, With our faces aglow and our bare feet agrime Here's a beaker a bumper to old Father Time. GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 23 In the sultry noontide, when the road trails away O'er the hilltops afar, like a ribbon of gray ; When our hearts are aflame and our temples abeat And we're bearded and bronzed in the midsummer heat; Then old Time is our helper abroad in the fields He garners the gold that the harvest land yields. Side by side to the summit of manhood we climb Let us quaff to the friendship of old Father Time ! In the sweet, dewy eve, when we're kissed by the breath Of the mists that arise from the river of death, Hand in hand with old Time we stray down to the boat And he aids us in setting our frail craft afloat ; With a sweep of his scythe he divides the last strand Of the rope then he waves a farewell with his hand. 'Tis the act of a friend, free from malice or crime Here's a tear to the memory of old Father Time ! 24 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN Then a glass to old Time ! Not the one that empow'rs Him to measure our lives by the length of the hours ; But a goblet of crystal, whose sparkles combine With the crimson and gold of its honey and wine. Let us drink to his health, to his boundless success, To the hope that his shadow may never grow less ; And recounting his favors in metrical rhyme Drain a bumper a beaker to old Father Time ! GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 25 Frolic in the Firelight. OH ! the firelight plays on the cabin wall As the beech wood snaps and crackles ; And the eight-day clock standing stiff and tall, Seems to nod and smile to the merry call, Till the hoarse wind mutters, u Balance all!" Then the dancers slip their shackles. They are boots and shoes in a zigzag row, Now freed from the feet that wore them ; And they all leap forth in the firelight's glow, And they madly caper heel-and-toe, And the music sounds and the sweet strains flow From the crackling blaze before them. There are Tom's old shoes, with their knotted string, And they join in a noisy scuffle ; There are grandpa's pumps, and they quickly swing Into line and skip to the Highland Fling, Or they nimbly cut the Pigeon Wing And indulge in a double-shuffle. 26 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. Yes, and grandma's sandals swiftly wheel At the touch of the inspiration ; And they trip with a clicking toe and heel To the time of the Old Virginia Reel, Till they wildly whirl as they seem to feel A breath from the old plantation. Then the tiny shoes that the baby wore Tread light to the happy measure ; And the father's boots they are tens or more Crash down on the sanded cabin floor, While the old house shakes and the rafters roar With the boisterous sounds of pleasure. But the best of all, in the golden dusk, Are the mother's slippers dancing; L,ike the thistledown or the rustling husk, As the night wind whistles loud and brusque To the ancient tune of Money Musk, And the firelight gleams are glancing. GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN 27 So they dance till the fire burns dim and low And the hearth grows cold before them ; Till the fading fire-beams come and go And the black shades stagger to and fro, Then they all slip back in their zigzag row, To be found by the feet that wore them. 28 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. The Final Test. WHEN all is said and all is done, When all is lost or all is won In spite of musty theory, Of purblind faith and vain conceit, Of barren creed and sophistry ; In spite of all success, defeat The judge applies to worst and best, Impartially, this final test : What hast thou done with brawn and brain To help the world to lose or gain An onward step? Canst reckon one Unselfish, brave or noble deed) That thou nor counting cost hast done To help a brother's crying need ? Not what professed nor what believed But what good thing hast thou achieved ! Yea ! what attempted what achieved ? Be not dismayed, be not deceived ! The tinsel bauble called success The dross of wealth, the gloss of fame GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 29 That men throw up their hands to bless, Is but an empty breath a name. Far better is one word that slips In blessing from a beggar's lips ! I hold to this : The loftiest soul Of one great universal whole, Is but a weak and meager part ; The lowliest, by impulse fired To worthy act of brain or heart, Is heaven blessed and God-inspired A bit of his most wonderous plan ; And each a clod, and each a man ! The chosen few ! Prate not to me Of consecrated sanctity ; Nor stifle me, nor hedge me round With puzzles algebraical, To prove that this is holy ground 'Tis simply pharisaical! God's heart of love is deep and wide, And each soul has a place inside. GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. When all is said and all is done The battle lost, the battle won In spite of ancient theory, Of purblind faith and fruitless quest, Of threadbare creed and sophistry ; In spite of all this is the test : What hast thou done with brawn or brain To help the world a step to gain ! GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 31 Gray Dawn. '"PHE dense white fog in drowsy folds Bedecks the sleeping river's bed ; About the hills it hangs and holds In ragged patches overhead, It slowly, idly, drifts away. The sullen mill-dam booms and roars, And drenched with clouds of flying spray The wet, black rocks along the shores Frown darkly at the coining day. Gray dawn peeps in and sweetly smiles; A light breeze sweeping down the stream, Lifts high the fog in snowy piles ; The sun's first burning lances gleam Along the pebbled river banks, And misty hosts in mad retreat, Withdraw their broken, scattered ranks; The bold sun marks their sad defeat And dissipates their struggling flanks. 32 GOLDENROD AND TH ISTLDDOWN. Gray dawn gives place to ruddy day, The great sun swings thro' azure skies ; And skimming, where the ripples play, The screaming fish-hawks fall and rise. The glassy water, cool and clear, Reflects one solitary cloud ; And morning song-birds, far and near, Repeat their matins shrill and loud : " The night is done and day is here." GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 33 Along the Dust-White *River "Road. A LONG the dust-white river road The morning sun beams cringe and crawl. And in and out among the trees, Stirred gently by the lazy breeze, The tipsy shadows slip and sprawl ; They stagger o'er the prickly wall Of verdant hedge, and through the wheat, With tossing arms and flying feet, They nimbly dodge and madly run, Spurred onward by the rising sun. A squirrel startled by the sound Of wheels upon the sun-parched ground, Forsakes the breakfast he has found And seeks his sheltering abode Across the dust-white river road. 34 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. Along the dust-white river road The saucy red-bird chirps and trills ; His liquid notes resound and rise Until they meet the cloudless skies And echo o'er the distant hills. He steals, this rogue of crimson hue, The poplar's cup of honey-dew, And drains with many a gurgling note, Tne contents down his pulsing throat. The burning sun climbs high and higher, The noontide hour draws nigh and nigher, The bird forgets his cheery code And hides his drooping wings of fire Among the leaves along the road. Along the dust-white river road The fiery mid-day glare pours down ; The drowsy waters shimmer o'er The shining sands along the shore, And out across the meadows brown A stillness like the hush of death GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 35 Is mingled with the sultry breath Of timothy and clover blooms. One solitary work-bee booms Across the shorn and barren fields, Swift bent upon his homeward way ; But overcome by heat he yields And seeks a shelt'ring wisp of hay. A yoke of oxen pant and sway Beneath the driver's heavy goad ; The laden wagon grinds and groans And rattles o'er the heated stones Along the dust-white river road. Along the dust- white river road ! The weary sun plods down the west ; The silent shadows trooping back Upon their morning-traveled track, Among the waters sink to rest. The speeding sun beams leave the hills, And fling their gorgeous banners high Against the mottled, western sky ; 36 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. And coming night the valley fills With dewy odors, strange and sweet, Of fresh-mowed hay and rip'ning wheat ; And like a benediction rare Borne gently on the evening air Adown the highway comes the sound Of merry voices, homeward bound. Like giant specters, grimly loom The patient oxen and their load, And disappear within the gloom Along the dust-white river road. GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 37 Turn Back the Clock of Time. TURN back the clock of time ; let the hands mark morning, Still the weary pendulum and bind and leave it so ; Write upon the dial then, to give the people warning. " We have drifted backward to the days of long ago." Roll back the wheels of time ; let each rosy second Lengthen into minutes as it dallies to and fro ; Let the bright hours linger and the sunny days be reckoned Only by the bird-notes of the dreamy long ago. Turn back the clock of time ; let the clear brook's ripple Whisper of the long ago, amid the sun and gloom ; Let the brown bees hear the welcome message as they tipple At the golden nectar of the fragrant clover bloom. 38 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. Roll back the wheels of time hesitate no longer; Youthful days were better far than present days, I know. Let the dim eyes brighten and the feeble limbs grow stronger, Basking in the sunshine of the balmy long ago. Turn back the clock of time ; let the hands mark morning, Still the weary pendulum and bind and leave it so ; Write upon the dial then, to give the people warning. " We have drifted backward to the days of long ago.'' GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 39 Winter /Night Lullaby. OH, the winds sweep high and the winds sweep low- Rock-a-by, baby, by ! And they whimper and howl as they come and go, With their teeth of ice and their tongues of snow Rock-a-by, baby, by ! While the clouds scud fast, and the paly moon Chuckles and winks, and the firelight roon Flickers and flits to the wild winds' croon Rock-a-by, baby, rock-a-by ! Rock-a-by, baby, by ! Oh, the winds sweep low and the winds sweep high Hush-a-by, darling, hush ! For there's never a star in the midnight sky, And the gaunt trees moan as the winds go by Hush-a-by, darling, hush ! 40 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. But the fire glows red and the hearth grows warm, And you're cuddled and pressed to your mother's form, And sheltered and safe from the howling storm Hush-a-by, darling, hush-a-by ! Hush-a-by, darling, hush ! Oh, the winds sweep slow and the winds sweep fast! Sleep-a-by, dearie, sleep ! For the snowflakes ride on the wintry blast, And they dally and dance as the winds go past Sleep-a-by, dearie, sleep ! Let the winds sweep high, let the winds sweep low. Let the winds sweep fast, let the winds sweep slow, There is never a hurt for my dearie oh ! Sleep-a-by, dearie, sleep-a-by ; Sleep-a-by, dearie, sleep ! GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 41 Far Out on the Azure Sea, CAR out on the beautiful azure sea That mortals call the sky, Where the feathery vapors drift to lee As the soft winds idle by ; Where the lightsome ripples play and run From the dawn of day to the set of sun, There the fairy islands of cloudland be Far out on the azure sea. Far out on the darkening azure sea In the starbeam's paly light, Where the skeleton shadows flit and flee Through the warm midsummer night ; Where the bright waves dance in their silver shoon 'Round the crescent shallop we call the moon, There the crystal castles of cloudland be Far out on the azure sea. 42 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. Far out on the turbulent, azure sea Where the grim gods wage their war, Where the maniac winds sport wild and free And the storm-guns flash and roar; There the crescent shallop finds a grave, O'erwhelmed in the vaporous, foam-capped wave, And the ruined ramparts of cloudland be Far out on the azure sea. GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 43 Sometime So mewh ere. OOMETIME somewhere be it soon or late, At the daylight's close or its dawning, We shall wrestle awhile with the guards of fate And at last steal out through the western gate Where the desert of death is yawning ; And alone in the noonday glaring white, Or abroad with the shades of the black midnight, We shall traverse the sands till a city fair Shall arise in the distance sometime somewhere! Sometime somewhere be it late or soon, At the daylight's dawn or its closing ; In the langorous hush of the sultry noon In the wan midnight with its tawny moon We shall gaze on that scene imposing ; And the gates of the city shall open wide, And kissed by the breath of the flowers inside Shall our hearts be healed of their cankered care, And we shall be happy sometime somewhere ! 44 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. Sometime somewhere oh, glorious thought ! With the desert of death behind us, We shall rest in the land that our hearts have sought, And shall feast on the sweets that His love has bought And where never a want can find us. With the intricate puzzles of life made straight, And our burdens piled high at the outer gate, We shall bask in the sunshine of love ; and there Shall be happy forever sometime somewhere ! GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 45 Who Wins His Way at Home. honor to the man who goes In quest of unknown lands ; Who braves the waste of arctic snows The reach of tropic sands ; Who leaves a wake across the lakes Or o'er the salt-sea foam, Bnt honor more to him who makes Discoveries at home. Due credit to the man who wars Beneath death's sable wing, Who plants his flag on foreign shores, And conquers court and king ; Who takes his bright, keen sword and writes His name on heaven's dome But credit more to him who fights His battles hire at home. 46 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. The man who conquers homely hate L/ives opposition down, Is fit to rank among the great Is worthy of a crown. Upon the gilded page of fame, Within truth's massy tome, By rightful claim should be his name Who wins his way at home. All honor hath the prophet, save Within his native land E'en fools are great who find a grave Upon a foreign strand. The native sage but lives and dies To feed earth's fertile loam ; His credit lies beyond the skies He gets none here at home. 'Tis better to be best in Gaul Than second best at Rome ; 'Tis well to be the best at ail- But better, best at home. GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. /Newton "Ridge. TIP the long Newton Ridge where the highroad ^^ of gray Lies asleep in the blaze of the hot summer day, Where the byroads and hedges are drowsily sweet With the smell that exhales from the clover and wheat ; There the fields are as green and the flow'rs are as fair, And the lights on the scene are as rich and as rare As they were in the days of my youth, when I played At the turn of the road, in the apple tree's shade. Up the long Newton Ridge ! Why, it seems but a night Since I gazed up the road, as it trailed out of sight, And I thought that the dust-cloud, the summer breeze whirled O'er the treetops afar, marked the end of the world ; 48 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. And the village whose chimneys were issuing forth 'Their black volumes of smoke, a few miles to the north, Was a city of wealth whose inhabitants rolled O'er their pavements of pearl, in their coaches of gold. Up the long Newton Ridge I am dreaming to-day Of its by-roads of green and its high-roads of gray ; And my soul's peeping back through a chink in the wall Of the years that divide, as I strive to recall All the dear sunny faces that smiled as they played At the turn of the road, in the apple tree's shade; And the song in my heart is a plank in the bridge Over which I stray back to that long Newton Ridge. GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 49 Tis a Rare Old World T 'IS a rare old world, 'Tis a fair old world That unfolds to our mortal view ; With the mountains green And the seas between, And the clouds in the arching blue ; With the fragrant flow'rs And the dewy bow'rs A most beautiful place, I ween. 'Tis a neat old world And a sweet old world And the best we have ever seen. 'Tis a bright old world, 'Tis a light old world. Yet the puniest child at birth, As it opes its eye, With a mewling cry, Seems to challenge the big round earth ; 50 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. And it shuts its fists In the crowded lists Of inherited lust and sin 'Tis a bland old world And a grand old world, Yet we weep as we struggle in. 'Tis a mad old world, 'Tis a sad old world To the thousands of toiling men ; But the ceaseless strife For the bread of life Brings a speedy relief and then ! When our forms are prest To the brown earth's breast, Will the riddle be solved, no doubt. 'Tis a drear old world, And a dear old world Yet we smile as we hurry out ! GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 51 Mine Little Comrade. I ITTLE comrade comrade mine Cheeks of roses, lips of wine, Dimpled arms that oft entwine 'Round my neck, and eyes divine; I am thirty, grave and gray, Thou but five yet lackaday ! Rulest me in artless way Sweeter than the sweets of May. Little comrade, for thy sake Ah ! the journeys that we take Over mountain, sea and lake ; Strange discoveries we make. Arm in arm, by hook or crook, Spying out each hidden nook, Here a peep and there a look All within a story book ! 52 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. Little comrade, climb my knee ; Thou shalt journey hence with me, To the distant lands that be Far beyond the dark-blue sea. Nestle closer as we sail Let thy dear voice be the gale Piping out a cheery hail Unto every passing tale. Little comrade comrade mine- Flaxen tresses, silken fine, Azure eyes that glint and shine Like the corn flow'rs of the Rhine ; List thou, darling bend thy look, Here's a shepherd, plaid and crook, With his sheep beside a brook All within a story book ! Little comrade, let thy feet Press yon ancient city's street Bruising odors, rare and sweet, GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 53 From Italia's marguerite ; Northward turn a cunning glance- Keen as Scotia's thistle lance- Lead me then a nimble dance, Up across the fields of France. Little comrade comrade mine Cheeks of roses, lips of wine, Azure eyes that glint and shine Like the corn flow'rs of the Rhine ; We have waded every brook, Peered in every hidden nook, Ah ! the journey that we took All within a story book ! 54 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. Gran'daddy Longlegs. HTHROUGH the dreamlike mist that floats Up the path of childhood, Like a night bird's plaintive notes Piping from the wildwood, Comes the singsong threnody Of a farm-boy roaming Far adown the dewy lee, In the dusky gloaming: " Gran'daddy Longlegs With y'r strip-ed trousiz Take y'r longes' p'inter an' Tell me where my cows is !" O'er the clover rank and sweet Floats the cowbell's tinkle, Out beyond the rip'ning wheat Fireflies are a-twinkle ; GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 55 In and out among the hedge Nimble hares are leaping, And along the forest's edge Dark and dank, is creeping u Gran'daddy Longlegs, Tell me where my cows is, 'R I'll pull y'r p'inter off An spile y'r strip-ed trousiz !" Years of peace have come and gone Crash and blare of battle, Yet the farm-boy still plods on Hunting for the cattle ; And his singsong threnody Sets my pulses beating, Till my lips move lispingly All my soul repeating : " Gran'daddy Longlegs With y'r strip-ed trousiz Take y'r longes' p'inter an' Tell me where my cows is !" GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. Blue Eyes are Peeping at Me. A A 7HEN the birds sing their songs in the gray morning light, And the blushing east heralds the sun ; When my spirit awakes from the slumbers of night And rejoices that day is begun ; Then I hear a sweet voice 'tis a dear little girl's Shouting in innocent glee And a pair of blue eyes, from under brown curls, Are roguishly peeping at me. I'm at work in my office ~^ hear a low sound, And the door on its hinges swings wide ; I cease from my labor, and turning around Find a wee bonny form at my side. A sweet childish face is uplifted to mine, A small hand caresses my knee ; And from under brown tresses, silken and fine, Two blue eyes are peeping at me. GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 57 'Tis night, and ensconsed in my big easy chair I'm perusing a late magazine A small, graceful form has ascended the stair, And will quickly appear on the scene ; Then a speedy farewell to both paper and book, Au revoir to all sweet reverie For, sparkling with fun, from yon shadowy nook Blue eyes will be peeping at me. So I fondly imagine whatever I do, Or wherever I chance to be, That those little eyes so enchantingly blue Are continually peeping at me ; And I earnestly hope, when my sails are unfurled To embark on eternity's sea When I take a last look at this beautiful world, Those blue eyes'll be peeping at me ! 58 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. Jack Frost, the Artist. TACK FROST, the little artistic elf, Took palette and brush from off the shelf, And softly whispered : " A beautiful scene I'm going to fashion in silver sheen." So stretching his nimble legs he sped Away to the sleeping river's bed ; His magic brush swept once or twice, And the river was covered with crystal ice. The rocky hill, from base to dome, He painted in silver monochrome ; And high on the summit where hemlocks grow He whitened its surface with powdered snow. The brook that leaped from the moss-grown ledge He changed to a curtain, whose jeweled edge Swept over the ferns on the rock beneath, And held them locked in an icy sheath. GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN 59 Then over the meadows he swiftly flew, And silvered the grasses with frozen dew ; And all night long the merry elf Kept softly singing to himself: " This picture I'm painting will last, I 'know, For the paints that I'm using are ice and snow ; And the North Wind brought this brush to me, From his home in the frozen polar sea." The fairy picture faded away In the ardent rays of the sun, next day ; But little Jack Frost persistent sprite- Will paint it again some other night. Down from the north, in the midnight's hush, He'll silently come with palette and brush, And then by the light of the morn you'll see A picture of silver filigree. 60 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. The Pixy Band. WHEN I forsake the busy street And trail my foot-prints home at night, A band of naughty pixies meet Me on the steps, with keen delight ; They nimbly steal my hat, and take Away my overcoat and cane, My wet umbrella seize, and shake Adown my back the drops of rain ! In vain I plead : " Ah ! leave me go, And bar the way no longer, please ; Why will ye clog my footsteps so Why will ye hang about my knees?" They bend me down and mount my back, And heedless quite of bump or fall They make the floor a racing track, And speed me through the entrance hall. GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 61 We reach the parlor ; there they place For me my easy-cushioned chair, And pull my beard and pinch my face And comb awry my scanty hair. They call me " papa '' man alive ! Sure, fortune smites with heavy hand, When I, a youth of thirty-five, Am father to a pixy band ! L'ENVOI. Beside a row of drowsy heads, With moistened eyes each night I stand ; And bend and kiss them in their beds God bless my little pixy band ! 62 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. How Santa Claus Comes. "WOU have asked me for a rhyme ' Telling unto you the time And the mystic, mazy manner In which Santa Claus can climb Up the chimneys and the flues, Free from blister, burn or bruise, With a pack upon his back, of Toys and trinkets for the shoes Of the little people who, All the sleepy summer through, Watched and waited for the filling Of their shoes and stockings, too. As to time well, let me see ! When the north wind whistles free From the frozen fields of Greenland, Down across the Polar sea, GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 63 Till Jack Frost takes up the croon, Snaps his fingers at the moon And the snowflakes flit and flutter To the music of the tune ; Then with doughnuts, dolls and drums Skates and sleds and sugar-plums And a pack of pretty presents, Good old Santa always comes. In the wan and wintry night, When the moon is beaming bright And the snow-drifts glint and glisten In the mild and mellow light, Then, if you will lend an ear, Sounding faint but crystal clear, You will hear him as he cracks his Whip and chirrups to his deer ; Softly, softly, near or far, Not another sound to mar, Like the tinkle of a sleigh-bell Or the twinkle of a star. 64 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. That's the time he always comes, With his pack of dolls and drums, Balls and books and pretty presents, Skates and sleds and su^ar-plums ; Riding in a dancing sleigh Drawn by twenty deer, they say, Heltei-skelter, hurry-skurry Never pausing once to pay Toll, or give a single peep Whether roads are rough and steep ; Finning, fretting, never getting Time to take a minute's sleep, Such a hale and hearty sprite ! With two eyes as burnished bright As the twinkling stars above him, And a bushy beard of white ; With a broad back barely bent By the years that he has spent In the service of the children, And a waist protuberant ; GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 65 Belted, buckled, girded in From the pimple on his chin, To the dimple on his knee-cap Where his fur-topped boots begin ! That's old Santa, I declare ! Funny, fussy, debonair, With a wealth of health and humor And a plenteous stock of hair. And the chimneys? Ah, ''ma belle, I am cautious how I tell That he slips and scrambles down them, Like a toad into a well ; For I've waited oft to get Just a glimpse of him, and yet Spite of all my weary watching We have never, never met ! That's the way he always comes With his pack of dolls and drums, Nuts and candies, pretty presents, Tricks and toys and sugar-plums, 66 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN . And if you will lend an ear, Sounding faint but crystal clear, You will hear him as he cracks his Whip and chirrups to his deer; Softly, softly, near or far, Not another sound to mar Like the tinkle of a sleigh-bell Or the twinkle of a star ! GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 67 Sleep. T^HOU dear, anaesthetizing Sleep! In waves of slumber, warm and deep, Enfold me from the cold world's frown, And press my weary eyelids down With soothing touch ; about my head The fairy scenes of dreamland spread, And o'er my fevered spirit fling The shadow of thy drowsy wing ! For I'm aweary of the strife The ceaseless struggle men call life ; Would bend my throbbing temples low, Whilst list'ning to the rhythmic flow Of thy sweet strains ; within thy arms, Unmindful of earth's mad alarms And rasping cares, would sweetly rest Among thy slumbrous garments pressed]! 68 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. Those Summer *Days of Long Ago '"PHOSE summer days of long ago! I seem to feel and know them still The berry blossoms white as snow, The crimson clover on the hill ; The sleepy highroad, old and gray, That yawned and stretched, and crept away Within the woodland, cool and black, And never, never more come back ! I seem to feel the idle breeze That loitered down the shady ways ; To hear the drowsy drone of bees, And know within my soul the blaze Of truant sunbeams dancing bright Adown the highroad out of sight. I seem to see the low rail fence, That worming onward mile on mile, GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 69 Was redolent with pungent scents Of sassafras and camomile. Within a fence rail tall and bare, The saucy bluebird nested there ; 'Twas there the largest berries grew, As every barefoot urchin knew ! And swiftly, shyly creeping through The tangled vines and brambles dense The mingled sunshine and the dew The Bob White perched atop the fence ; And, flinging toil and care away, He piped and lilted all the day. Those summer days of long ago ! The noisy catbird flitted o'er The dogwood's yeasty waves of snow The dark green wood the further shore ; And I, a barefoot boy of ten, Stole tiptoe down the mossy glen To count the baby birds at rest Within their snugly hidden nest. 70 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. Across the stubble fields of gold Ashimmer in the pulsing heat Those dreamy noontide hours of old Come trooping back with flying feet, Until I seem to feel and know Those summer days of long ago ! GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 71 *Dan Tucker. ' r ~PIS a summer night and a harvest moon, 'Tis an old time country party ; There are lusty lads- in their heavy shoon, There are buxom lasses hearty ; And the noise floats out through the open door, Till the night wind soft rejoices At the shuffling feet on the cabin floor, And the hum of merry voices. Oh! its- " OP Dan Tucker's come to town Swingin' the ladies all aroun' ; First to the east an' then to the west An' then to the one 'at he loves best. Git out o' the way fer ol' Dan Tucker He's too late to git his supper !" Oh, the noon of night and the starry skies Oh, the young hearts wildly beating ! And the ruby lips and the shining eyes Are the old, old tale repeating; 72 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. And the misty moon, as it climbs the hill Where the dewdrops glint and glisten, Has a smile for the lonely whippoorwill That has quit his song to listen. And it's " OP Dan Tucker's come to town Salutin' the ladies up an' down ; First to the east an' then to the west An' then to the one 'at he loves best. Jine the chorus loud an' hearty, An' we'll 'ave a jov'al party !" Oh ! it's" Ol' Dan Tucker's come to town " To the tune of a squeaky fiddle, And" Salutin' the ladies all aroun' " Is the bashful swain in the middle ; And " first to the east an' then to the west'' How he claps his hands and dances, " An' then to the one 'at he loves best " Does he turn his loving glances. GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 73 For it's " Apple cider, punkin pie The gray cat kicked out the black cat's eye; Shanghai chickens grows so tall, Takes a week for the'r aigs to fall ! Hey, Jim-a-long ! Aint she a posey? Hey, Jim-a-long, Jim-a-iong Josey !" As the pale moon dies in the distant west And the farm cock hurls his warning, As the ghostly fog at the wind's behest Shakes hands with the rosy morning ; Then the lights fade out, and the flying feet That have danced through a night of pleasure, Creep home through the dust and the golden wheat To the strain of the same old measure ! Oh! its " Ol' Dan Tucker's come to town Salutin' the ladies all aroun' ; First to the north an' then to the south An' then to the one with the sweetest mouth. Git out o' the way fer ol' Dan Tucker He's too late to git his supper !" GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. When /Night Stalks in. \ \ 7 HEN Night stalks in ! A veil of sombre, ragged lace Is thrown across the moon's fair face. The demons of the upper air Are howling, shrieking everywhere ; They raise one universal shout As heaven's lamps are blotted out And haggard Night, amidst the din, Is swiftly, surely ushered in. When Night stalks in ! The sooty clouds drop slowly down, And fogs of dingy yellow crown The chimney tops. The feeble glare Of lamps illumes the outer air ; Anon the sweeping rain and sleet Invade the darkened, slush-paved street, And revelry and death and sin With gruesome Night are ushered in. GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN 75 When Night stalks in ! The river lashed by icy rain With sullen moan betrays its pain, And rushing past the bridge's piers It foams and frets in useless tears. Along the wet, deserted street, Where traffic's pulse was wont to beat, Dense blackness holds ; and o'er the town Night's sable garment settles down. 76 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. The Thunder Storm. A CROSS the zigzag line of hills That wall the verdant valley in, The rumble of the thunder mills, With muttering, fast increasing din Comes rolling down. Great banks of smoky clouds outspread Along the dark horizon's rim ; The furnace fires flash amber red And show the night-sky black and grim Above the town. The fiery tempest's formed, released ; A momentary space it holds, Then howling like a frenzied beast It shakes the lightning from its folds, And booms and roars. OOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 77 The vivid flashes, bluish white, The tossing, shivering trees reveal And cut athwart the inky night, Like flashing blades of polished steel ; The rain downpours. The storm sweeps o'er. The frowning hills Stand outlined in the feeble light, A broken wave of moonshine spills And puts the dusky clouds to flight ; The sky grows clear. A glad bird twitters 'mong the trees ; The sullen storm growls far away As down the eastern skies it flees, To meet the coming King of Day ; The morn draws near. 78 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. Cradle and Coffin. '"THE cradle, indeed ! 'Tis the coffin, I trow, : For it shelters the nearest to death that we know; Just a faint bit of fire in oblivion's dark Bursting into a flame dying out as a spark ; Infin'tesimal atom of infinite worth Hid away mid the sorrows and sins of the earth. 'Tis the nearest to death that we know and the gloom Of uncertainty serves as the walls of the tomb. The coffin, forsooth ! 'Tis the cradle of God ; And eternity's infant will gambol and nod, When the dark clouds of ignorance roll from its view And the sun-drops of knowledge come filtering through. It will prattle and smile in this hour of its birth, And the pitiful toys that it juggled on earth Will be cast from its hand to be valued no more For the glorious treasures that God has in store. GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 79 The cradle, the coffin but terms at the best ; The one savors of toil and the other of rest ; The one leads up to manhood its folly, its curse, And the other leads well, it can never be worse. 'Tis the cradle that bids us to wake and to weep, 'Tis the coffin invites us to slumber and sleep ; And eternity's infant will gambol and nod When it wakens at last in the cradle of God ! 80 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. A Wild, Wet /Night. ' '""PIS a wild, wet night ! And the cutting blast Strips the sail in shreds, from the creaking mast Of a helpless ship that is drifting fast Upon the rocks ; And the mad waves gnash at the rock-bound shore Till their hungry jaws are with foam flecked o'er, While the lightnings flash and the thunders roar Like earthquake shocks. 'Tis a drear, old night ! On the cruel bar Lies a stark form lashed to a broken spar, And the harsh winds laughs and a single star Looks coldly down ; While the glad waves toy with the golden hair On the dead man's brow that is broad and fair, And the pale moon smiles that his features wear A frozen frown. GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 81 L'ENVOI. 'Tis a clear, warm day ! And a cottage stands Where the rough hills meet with the yellow sands ; And among the gorse on the brown uplands A song-bird trills. There's a white face pressed to the window pane, There's a wan cheek wet with the tear-drop's rain, And the soft wind whistles a funer'l strain Across the hills ! 82 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. The Castle of Dreams. T HAVE parted the golden-fringed curtain, That hangs at the portal of sleep ; I have passed through the twilight uncertain, Where the winds of forgetfulness sweep ; And I bask in a light warm and tender That o'er me caressingly streams, While I gaze on the beauty and splendor Of the mystical Castle of Dreams. Here the fountains are ceaselessly spraying A fragrance exotic and rare, And unseen hands of spirits are playing A soft and voluptuous air ; Here the sweetest of song-birds are singing Till my soul is ablaze, and it seems That the music of heaven is ringing Through the mystical Castle of Dreams. GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 83 In this castle most beautiful flowers Are mingling their tropical blooms, And I catch mid the evergreen bowers The breath of their subtle perfumes ; From the star-lighted ceiling suspended, The bright lamp of destiny gleams, And its rays like a rainbow are blended In the mystical Castle of Dreams. In this castle the goblet of pleasure, As it presses the dreamer's moist lip, Has never a limit of measure Knows never a halt nor a slip. Here they plan no vain things for the morrows, But bask in the present's glad beams ; And they shut out the world and its sorrows From the mystical Castle of Dreams ! 84 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. Lock-Tender John. WN on the bank of the fair inland river Stands the lone cottage of Lock-Tender John; 'Round it the autumn winds whistle and shiver, O'er it the gray clouds sweep lazily on. Softly the clear waters murmur the story Lovingly, lispingly telling it o'er, Till the gaunt sycamores, aged and hoary, Whisper and bend to the reeds on the shore. Here in the years that have glimmered and vanished Ere the white cottage had gone to decay Here, like a criminal ruthlessly banished, Dwelt the old lock-tender, wrinkled and gray. Whether the dial marked midnight or morning, Whether the weather brought sunshine or rain, John's eager ears caught the boat-whistle's warning John's bony hands gripped the arm of the crane. GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 85 Bright were his eyes as the crystalline bubbles Dancing away in the sun's brightest gleam ; Free was his mind from all sorrows and troubles Calm as the face of the swift-flowing stream. Gruff was his voice as the loud billows dashing Under the dam at the base of the rock, White was his hair as the creamy foam flashing Staunch was his heart as the walls of the lock. Seasons rolled by, and each year's panorama Showed him more feeble, as scene followed scene ; " Finis " appeared at the close of life's drama Only a few fleeting pictures between. One dreary night when the cloud racks were flying, Racing like specters across the black sky- When the sad wind was complaining and sighing, John nestled down on his pallet to die. There in the stillness of midnight, unbroken Save by the tick of the clock on its shelf, Breathing a prayer though the words were un spoken John closed accounts 'twixt his God and himself; GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. Then breaking in like an echoing dream-note Drowning the voice of the querulous clock Came the faint, faraway call of a steamboat, Saying: "Come, open the gates of the lock.' 1 Never by him had the summons been slighted ! Tottering up from his couch at the call, Pleading for strength his dim lantern he lighted Then staggered down to the crane on the wall. Slowly the grim gates swung open, and smiling There at his post the old lock-tender died Just as the great steamer rounded the piling, Passed through the gateway and floated inside! Down on the bank of the fair inland river Stands the lone cottage of Lock-Tender John ; 'Round it the autumn winds whistle and shiver, O'er it the gray clouds sweep lazily on ; Softly the song-birds are telling the story Trilling it forth from their hearts and their throats : " Angels swung open the bright gates of glory To him who had opened the gates for the boats !" GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 87 When the year Grows Old. \ \ J HEN the year grows old, When the sunflower's gold Turns to common dross and crumbles Into brown and earthy mold, When the sunlit skies And my truelove's eyes Fade and pale before the splendor Of the aster's purple dyes ; Then the copse-entangled byways, And the forests and the fields, Flecked with bits of flaming crimson That the fiery maple yields, Feel the touch of melancholy That the fleeting moments hold, And the hilltops wear a halo When the year grows old. 88 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. When the year grows old, And the fall wind cold Pipes and whistles down the highway Like a hoiden overbold, When the gray clouds frown And the thistledown Flits and trips a merry measure In its silver-spangled gown ; Then the hazelnuts are falling In a mad and mazy trance, And the rustling leaves are calling To the thistle's airy dance ; Yet a touch of melancholy Rests upon the wood and wold. And the sun is veiled and hazy When the year grows old. When the year grows old When the bright days fold Their phantom tents and speed adown The centuries untold; GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 89 When the moments fly, And the hours slip by Like the shuffle of a footstep Or the twinkle of an eye ; Then the sumac glad in glory Holds the ford above the mill, And the oak tree, grim and hoary, Guards the pass upon the hill ; But a taste of melancholy To the sons of men is doled, That the earth is filled with folly And the year grows old ! 90 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. The Summer Shower. PHE frown on the face of the noonday sun 'Neath the silvery cloud-drifts creeping, The rattle of rain-drops one by one, Where the tall grass waves and the shadows run And the freshening breeze is sweeping ; The scream of the startled, homeless bird And the wild bee's hurried humming, The bleating cries of the frightened herd Tell the summer shower is coming. The patter of rain in the village street, Like a bevy of fairies tripping ; The thunder's crash and the lightning's sheet Where the trailing clouds and the brown earth meet And the streams from the low eaves dripping ; The war that the tawny billows wide In the gullies are madly waging, And the barefoot urchin that stems the tide Show the summer shower is raging. GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 91 The quivering flash as the lightning dies And the roll of the distant thunder, The glittering rainbow that spans the skies Where the columns of feathery vapor rise And the blue sky showing under; The changing hues of the rip'ning grain Where the sunshine and shade are blended Mark the close of the sweet, refreshing rain ; And the summer shower is ended. 92 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. Cupid is Abroad To-/Night. LYING hoofs and jingling bells, On the air the music swells ; Frozen spume- flakes floating wide, From the steeds on either side ; Swaying sled with merry load Down the sheeted, moonlit road Glides, an engine strong and swift, Through each deep, opposing drift ; Beauty's cheeks are crimsoned bright Cupid is abroad to-night ! Shouting boys and laughing girls, Sparkling eyes and shining curls, Foaming steeds and creaking sleighs Ploughing through the snowy ways. Merry jest and happy song Cheer the crowd that speeds along, GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 93 By the farm-house grim and dark, Where the watch- dog's wicked bark Makes the horses shy with fright Cupid is abroad to-night ! Crescent moon and twinkling stars Strew the road with silver bars, Mingling with the dismal shade By the tossing treetops made. Here doth naughty Cupid hide, Bow and quiver at his side, Waiting to discharge a dart At some blushing maiden's heart ; See, the red lips change to white- Cupid is abroad to-night ! Slender form kept safe from harm By a strong encircling arm ; Lovelit eyes and ruby lips, Fingertips meet fingertips ; 94 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. Hand clasps hand and then, you know, Cupid leaps from out the snow, Finishes the work begun Two hearts pierced instead of one. Hear him laugh the merry sprite Cupid is abroad to-night ! GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 95 The Country Doctor. '"PHE country doctor ! Let the bard Whose lyre is tuned to idle praise His locks unshorn, his face uumarred By sweat and grime, his hands unscarred By daily toil in dulcet lays, In empty word and hollow phrase Recount the annals of the great ; Let him record and celebrate Their noble deeds ; their pomp and state, Their wisdom all perpetuate. A humbler theme to you I bring The smell of flow'rs, the breath of spring, The flutter of the blue bird's wing, And with it all I bring to you The country doctor, good and true. The country doctor ! Him whose life From sun to sun is daily rife With bootless toil and ceaseless strife ; 96 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. Whose sturdy frame is made to feel The summer's flame, the winter's steel I come to sing in praise of him. His soul is fat, his purse is slim, His eyesight keen, his foresight dim For caring naught for pow'r or pelf, While there's a crust upon the shelf, He works for fun and boards himself! Ah ! ye, who traverse city streets On swaying springs and cushioned seats, The difficulties that he meets The bumps and jolts ye little know. Through seas of mud, o'er wastes of snow, Where icy tempests howl and blow, In pouring rain, where torrents flow And sheen and shadow come and go, Astride the sorriest of nags And armed with spur and saddlebags, He onward works his weary way ; And be it night or be it day, GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 97 He never falters nor looks back Adown the steep and rugged track, But sets his teeth and onward plods Himself a clod among the clods ! I've said " a clod among the clods.' 1 'Twere better, " god among the gods !" For sacrificing hours of ease And striving hard to do and please, And winning but the dregs and lees Of life's sweet wine, he fights disease With clenched hands and bated breath And knows no conqueror but death. It shames me not to tell the truth An unkempt, muddy god, forsooth! Besmeared bespattered leggings, suit From crown of hat to sole of boot, And oft-times tumbled in the wave That seems to yawn a watery grave, He bobs serenely on the flood And swims about the sea of mud. For lo ! his pockets are so light He can not disappear from sight. 98 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. No scientific friend has he Who ends his name "A. M., M. D." Or tacks thereto a " Ph. G." To help him in perplexity, And earn them both a handsome fee ; But when he finds a knotty case, A problem that he dare not face, He sends his patient off to town To some physician of renown. (God save the mark ! All, all are great Who dwell within the city's gate ! ) And this great man dilates his eyes And rubs his hands, looks wondrous wise- And nimbly gobbles up the prize ! The city doctor counts his gold, Makes fresh deposits in the banks, And sends the country doctor, old A neatly-worded note of thanks ! To church the city doctor goes, (Ye need not smile and wink at me And strive his spotless name to smirch ; GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 99 I'm told on good authority The city doctor goes to church.) To take an hour's profound repose, To hear the gilded organ ring, To say his pray'rs and nod and doze And see the sweet soprano sing ; The organ peals, the tenor squeals- Great Scott ! how good that doctor feels. The self-same hour, the same-self date, The country doctor, sport of fate, Moves up some gully's rocky course, Astride his rhubarb-colored horse ; The only anthem that he hears, The only tune that greets his ears Is murmured by the evening breeze Which moans u Old Hundred" thro' the trees! The city doctor spends his days In crowded marts and traveled ways; At night he sees the latest plays, And rests his half-enchanted gaze 100 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. On some new "star" that lights the stage A star of most uncertain age, Of whom the critics rant and rage. The country doctor, poor, despised His purse half starved and undersized Contents himself to stay at home ; The only stars he ever knows Are those that rest in heaven's dome And light the waste of winter snows. The country doctor ! Blessed be he Who sets the weary sufferer free From burning fever, racking pain And countless ills and does it, too, Without a thought or hope of gain ; Without a single cent in view ! I come to sing in praise of him, Whose soul is fat, whose purse is slim, Whose eyesight keen, whose foresight dim ; For caring naught for fame or pelf, While there's a crust upon the shelf He works for fun and boards himself ! GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 101 Doodle-Up, Doodle-Down. F~~\OWN the dusty highway where the truant ' breeze Loiters o'er the roadside sod, On within the woodland where the giant trees Welcome them with smile and nod, Twain of dainty maidens, with their finger-tips Delving in each tiny mound, Breathe this cabalistic message from their lips: " Doodle, doodle-up, doodle-down ! Doodle, doodle-up, doodle-down, doodle-down Doodle, doodle-up, doodle-down !" 4k Doodle, doodle-up !" and the nimble insect clown Wriggles through the yellow mold ; " Doodle, doodle-up !" and the straying curls of brown Mingle with the curls of gold. Eager little faces, bodies bending low, Nodding little sun-kissed crowns, Rosy lips all keeping up the pantomimic show; 102 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. "Doodle, doodle-up, doodle-down ! Doodle, doodle-up, doodle-down, doodle-down Doodle, doodle-up, doodle-down !" " Doodle, doodle-down !" and the comic clown in gray Quickly disappears from sight ; " Doodle, doodle-down !" and the shining curls of day Mingle with the curls of night. Merry little voices, happy little hearts, Faces where the sunbeams drown ; Laughing eyes a peeping, keen as Cupid's darts " Doodle, doodle-up, doodle-down ! Doodle, doodle-up, doodle-down, doodle-down Doodle, doodle-up, doodle-down !" GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 103 The Buckwheat Bloom. H, the buckwheat bloom ! Oh, the buckwheat bloom ! Where the sunbeams sleep and the wild bees boom, Where the brown leaves fall and the sweet winds croon Through the lengthened shades of the afternoon ; There the white fields lie in the wood's embrace And the stream slips by with a smiling face 'Twixt the roadside fence and the woodside gloom Are the fragrant billows of buckwheat bloom. Oh, the buckwheat bloom ! Oh, the buckwheat bloom ! When the skies are soft and the gray hills loom Through the distant reaches of amber light When the goldenrod by the stream is bright ; Then I love to stray where the warm winds catch At the milk-white spray in the buckwheat patch From the roadside fence to the woodside gloom Through the fragrant billows of buckwheat bloom. 104 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. Oh, the buckwheat bloorn ! Oh, the buckwheat bloom ! When the blackbird swings on a bending plume Of the golden corn, as it nods and sways In the yellow light of the autumn days; Then I close my eyes, and my senses yield To the spell that lies in the buckwheat field 'Twixt the roadside fence and the woodside gloom 'Mong the fragrant billows of buckwheat bloom. GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 105 Summer /Night. \ A HLLOW bows dip in the murm'ring stream, Tiny waves lap on the sandy shore; Far o'er the water the moon's bright beam Silvers the ripples that gently roar. There in the shadow a row-boat lies Nothing the night or the silence mars, Save in the distance a night-bird cries Under the light of the burning stars. Off to the southward the city lights Flicker and dance in the flowing stream ; There at the base of yon rocky heights Fires in a steamer's red furnace gleam. Discord is off to the land of dreams- Nothing the half-holy silence mars, Save in the distance a wild bird screams Under the light of the burning stars. 106 GOLDKNROD AND THISTLEDOWN. Dews are caressing the meadow's breast ; Perfume of flowers pervades the air, Lulling the mind to a passive rest Free from all worry and want and care. Fireflies are flitting in flaming arcs Nothing the mystical silence mars, Save in the distance a watch-dog barks Under the light of the burning stars. GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 107 An Autumn Idyl. '"THE mid day sun rides overhead His smiling face a copper-red, And through the crisp, frost-bitten air From grassy knoll to hilltop bare A hazy vapor breathes ; Like one who laughing at a joke Exhales a puff of fragrant smoke, And hiding half his jolly face, Behind the folds of floating lace Peeps through the filmy wreathes. Adown yon hazel-lined ravine, The ragged sandstone cliffs between, Where fallen leaves, all gold and red, Are clogging fast the stony bed, A silver ribbon shines; And through the smoky atmosphere There floats aloft now dull, now clear The water's tinkling sound, and then It whispers through the rocky glen, Like night wind in the pines. 108 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. Among the shocks of bladed corn, Where plenty fills her lavish horn, A flock of black-birds speeding south Have paused to feed each hungry mouth, And chatter, fight and scream. Across the ploughed and seeded fields Where fresh-cast grain a harvest yields The chipmunk, sleek and brown a pair Of south-bound geese divides the air ; Their snowy pinions gleam. The year is growing rich and old. The yellow corn, like heaps of gold, And purple grapes, whose clusters shine Like amethysts from Asia's mine, Are riches vast, untold ; The luscious apples overhead Are precious rubies, shining red. The hale year hums a harvest song Enjoys his wealth thinks life is long; But he is growing old ! GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 109 Blossom and Fruit !. ! her cheeks were the pink of the crabapple blows, And her breath was the essence of perfume that flows From the heart of the blossom ; and bathing her lips Was the nectar divine that the honey-bee sips. And that bonny May morn with the wind in the south As the bee to the blossom I clung to her mouth, Till I reeled like a man that is drunken with wine, And entreated and plead: "Oh, my darling, be mine!" L' ENVOI. She has altered somewhat since she honored my suit, And to-day she resembles the well-matured fruit ; So I'm looking for Cupid the treacherous elf For I've found her the acid crabapple itself ! 110 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. Chris'mas "Down at Gran'pa's. 7\ l\ Y pa, you know, 's a docker-man An' we live in the city ; An' pa thinks it's the proper plan But ma says : " It's a pity 'At little folks can't have a place To stretch theirselves, an' romp an' race An' git the freckles on the'r face An' run an' jump 'an frolic ; To hear the hum 'o honey bees An' git green apples from the trees " " W'y sure," says pa, " an' colic!' 1 ' 1 My gran'pa lives 'way over down The track the railroad follers, ' An in a place called Clovertown, Among the hills an' hollers. He has the bigges', warmes' han' An' he's the goodes', bestes' man 'At ever lived 'r ever can GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. Ill My gran'pa is, I guess, sir ; An' my ma says 'at we'n he dies He'll climb right up the starry skies An' live in heaven yes, sir ! My gran'ma's good as him 'r near ! An' they're ist allus happy, An' he calls gran'ma, " mammy dear " An' gran'ma calls him " pappy ;" My ma says : " Gran'ma's growin' old, But true as steel an' good as gold An' half 'er worth was never told ;" An' pa says: "Now, ther's gran'pa His heart's so big an' growin' fast, His breast won't hold it all at last; He's ist as good as gran'ma !" Well, my pa said las' holiday : " Ef you be good an' min' me I'll pack you up an' run away Wher' not a soul can fin' me. 112 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. We'll ist slip down an' take the train- An' let 'er snow 'r let 'er rain We'll never grumble n'r complain Ef we git safe to gran'ma's ; An' ther' we'll stay a solid week An' you can all play hide-an'-seek In that big barn o' gran'pa's." W'en we got on the cars to ride The ingine was a tootin', So we ist took our seats inside An' went a skallyhootiri* /" Nen ma said, " whew" an' pa he joked An' 'lowed 'at even ingines smoked, An' shocked his sides 'an coughed an' choked Ist acted awful funny ; Nen w'en the man said, " Tickets, please," W'y pa he squirmed an' shocked his knees, An' said, " I ain't no money !" GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 113 Well, ma she fairly had to grin To see him cut such capers, An' pa said, " I'm a boy ag'in " An' gived the man some papers. Nen w'en we got to gran'pa's place, W'y ther' was gran'pa's good ol' face An' gran'ma with 'er cap o' lace, A waitin' fer to greet us ; An' ma runned up 'mos' out o' breath An' nearly hugged 'em both to death To think they'd come to meet us. Oh ! we ist had the bestes* times, Fer gran'pa toP us stories An' gran'ma read us heaps o' rhymes 'Bout heaven an' its glories; An' 'en w'en Chris'mas eve corned 'roun' A great big snow was on the groun', An' gran'pa 'lowed he heard the soun' 114 GOLDKNROD AND THISTLEDO WN. O' Santy's deers a prancin' ; An' grau'ma peeked at me an' said : " W'y look at little curly-head 'Er eyes is fairly dancin'. " An' Santy Claus corned sure enough Nobody heard 'im knockin' An' put ist heaps an' loads o' stuff In everybody's stockin'. We had a Chris'mas dinner, too, An' pa said : " Wat am I to do ? Ther's ist so much I can't git through !" An' 'en he smiled at gran'ma; An' ma spoked up an' said : " Oh ! dear, I know I'll want to come nex^ year Fer Chris'mas here with gran'pa!" GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 115 Sight-on-Seen. \S IND o' tradin' sight-on-seen ! 'F I can make you understand- 'F I can tell you what I mean, Jine with me, an' hand in hand Le's jest up an' slip away 'Along the shadders cool an' gray ; Swap the dust fer fresh-mowed hay, Dandeli'us an' fields o' green, Change September back to May Jest like tradin' sight-on-seen. Swan to gracious ! 'f I could see Them ol' days 'an be once more Somethin' like I ust to be, Tough an' hearty to the core ; 116 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN Feel my pockets bulgin' wide With the'r load o' things inside Marbles, hooks an' lines an' dried Fishin' worms an' stuff I-jing ! I'd jest swap the years between Now an' then, fer any thing Kind o' tradin' sight-on-seen. 'Taint no use o' waitin' ! Le's Natcherly jest amble back Down the road to happiness ; 'Long the ol' foot-beaten track Runnin' up from Bingham's mill, Through the Geddes place until Tired an' tuckered out we stop, Zigzag back an' forth, an' drop Down acrost the Bishop hill. Cool our bare feet in the grass, Where the beech trees lock an' lean Up above us as we pass ; Sort o' tradin' sight-on-seen. GOLDENROD AND TH 1STLEDO VVN. Ill Le's 'xchange this feverish life, Gallin' care an' sharp distress Trade these busy days o' strife Fer an hour o' idleness. Le's stretch out an' bat our eyes At the depth o' summer skies, Where the turkey-buzzard lies Anchored in the upper air ; Far above the hilltops, where Mingled waves o' shade an' sheen Lap among the gold an' green, Harvest fields an' pastur' lands Tradin' with 'em sight-on-seen. Sort o' tradin' sight-on-seen ! 'F I could make you understand 'F I could tell you what I mean, Step by step an' hand in hand We'd jest creep an' lazy on, Down the wood path to the pon'- Like we done in days that's gone ; 118 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. Stretch full length upon the steep Overhangin' bank an' peep At two pairs o' blue eyes keen, Smilin' at us through the deep, Dim an' sleepy water-screen Tradin' with us sight-on-seen. 'Taint no use o' wishin', though ! Life jest hurries on an' on Ust to wait fer days to go, Now it seems they're up an' gone 'Fore we have a chance to see Where we are ; an' there we be Glancin' at eternity ! Yet, if I could have my way Gi' me back the fresh-mowed hay, Dandeli'ns an' fields o' green ; Turn September back to May- Jest like tradin' sight-on-seen ! GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN 119 Pop-Paw Time. A \ J 'EN the hazel-nut drops from its rustlin' pod An' the woods 're a painted dream, Wen the sycamore ball at the season's call Floats away on the dancin' stream, Then I feel like I ust to feel years ago, An' I natcherly talk in rhyme, Per in some way I know by the marks that show It's a gittin' 'bout pop paw time. I can see the bald slope o' the sand-rock field An' the windin' ol' county road, An' the patch on the hill where we'd eat our fill O' the best ones that ever growed ; I can see the ol' fence where we ust to rest, After makin' the weary climb An' with silent accord we'ld thank the Lord That he ever made pop-paw time ! 120 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. Oh ! we're grizzled ol' men who were merry lads, An' the seasons go hurryin' on, But the pop-paw patch where the red-birds hatch Is the same as in years that's gone ; An' the fall wind sings as it ust to sing, Like the breath of a distant chime, An' the rip'nin' fruit is as sure to suit Fer it's jest comin' pop-paw time. Wen the world appears cold an' my lot looks hard, An' this life seems a tangled snare, Then I gaze through my tears at those distant years An' I lose every earthly care ; Fer the heart of a mortal won't go far wrong, An' he'll never do no great crime, If he'll think o' the days an' the wildwood ways That he traveled in pop-paw time ! GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. /No Chris'mas Like Ther' Ust to Be. talk o' Chris'mas goodness me ! It's nothin' like it ust to be, When me an' Hank an' Poke an' Jake 'Ld whet our teeth on sorghum cake The kind that mother ust to make Until our very jaws 'Id ache; An' stand around the pot o' lard That she 'ad hung out in the yard, An' watch the doughnuts bilin' hard An' lookin' fat an' crisp an' brown, As they was bobbin' up an' down. With dirty face?, greasy paws An' happy hearts we waited ; 'cause We knowed them things meant Santa Claus. Ther' aint no Chris'mas No, siree ! It's nothin' like it ust to be. 122 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. Don't speak o' pies, sir mercy sake ! Ther' nothin' like she ust to bake Fer me an' Hank an' Poke an' Jake Ther's Doc an' Sam I 'most fergot An' we 'Id eat 'em sizzlin' hot, An' cough an' choke ; the tears 'Id rise An' burn an' smart our hungry eyes, Fer eatin' them 'ere hot mince pies. An' Chris'mas eve that stingy Doc 'Ld alluz aim to hang his sock Right underneath the wooden clock, An' in the center o' the row ; He thought he had a better show Fer Santa Claus to see it there. Don't speak o' Chris'mas ! I declare The times has changed; It's plain to see They're nothin' like they ust to be. Don't mention fun, sir! That 'ere Hank Was up to ev'ry sort o' prank. He dearly loved to tease that lank, GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 123 Impatient, fiery-tempered Poke Who didn't somehow like a joke A bit more'n a cat likes smoke. So Hank 'Id say : " Poke's sech a pig, He thinks his socks ain't hardly big Enough to hold his sheer o' things, That Santa Claus at Chris'mas brings; We'll have to take some straps an' strings An' tie 'em 'round his trouser legs, An hang 'em on the hick'ry pegs Where pap hangs up the pouch an' gun.'' An' then they'd tussel ! W'y the fun O' now-a-days you'll all agree Ain't nothin' like it ust to be ! An' Santa Claus ! I ain't no doubt You people don't know nothin' 'bout The time we had a-findin' out Who Santy re'ly was ; fer pap 'Ld rub his shins an' stretch an' gap, 1-4 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDO VVN . As if he's goin' to take a nap A-thinkin up some clever trap To git us youngsters off to bed. An' when we'd gone he'd up an' spread The ashes on the hearth, an' tread Among 'em till you'd re'ly swear That Santy had been walkin' there ; An' scratch the sut all off the flue To show us where he'd wiggled through. No, sir, ther' ain't no times like we But p'raps the change is jest in me, An' I ain't like I ust to be ! GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 125 An Ol' Time Volentine. T T'S nothin' to boast of n'r what you'ld call, Nowadays, much of a volentine; But sweeter'n honey an' bitter as gall 'Re the memories it brings to this heart o' mine. Crumpled an' creased is the tear-blotted page ; Kind of a musty an' mildewed smell Lingers about it the essence of age Strivin' the record o' years to tell. Up in one corner all splattered with blood Cuddles a true lover's heart-an'-hand, Woven so close that the fiery flood O' war never ruptured the brittle band. There, underneath it, some writin' I view Speakin' as only such brief words can- Dated on volentine day, sixty-two : "" This is my answer to Bob from Nan." 126 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. That's what I sent to my true lover boy Battlin' away fer his native land ; Wrote him a message o' hope an' joy Sent him a volentine heart-an'-hand. Oh ! but his purty blue eyes flashed bright So they 'ave told me an' sad months through He kep' it concealed from his comrades' sight, Buttoned away in his blouse o' blue. Kep' it and cherished it two long years, Carried it with him through marches an' fights ; Baptized it with kisses an' bathed it in tears Thought of it days an' dreamed of it nights. Then, when the struggle was almost done An' the people was liftin' the'r hands to bless Jest when the vic'try was nearly won, He gave up his life in the Wilderness. There in the bullet- ploughed thicket o' death Heaped with the shot-mangled Blue an' Gray, He muttered my name with his latest breath ; Then by the faint, feeble glimmer o' day, GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 127 Scribbled these words on my volentine Last loyal thought of a dyin' man, Wrote in a zigzag an' tremulous line : " This is my farewell from Bob to Nan." Years 'ave gone by, but I keep it to-day 'Long with his pocket-book, badge an' rings ; All of 'em sacredly treasured away Bitter an' sweet 're the mem'ries it brings. Fettered an' bound by a true lover's band, Hearts may grow old, but they still beat true ; Only a volentine heart-an'-hand A time-yellowed hand an' a heart o' blue ! 128 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. Autumn. T CAN ketch his husky whisper borne upon the ' passin' breeze, An' the echo of his footsteps as he steals among the trees ; I can hear his plaintive whistle as he winds his distant horn, An' the rustle of his garments as he hurries through the corn ; Fer he's comin in his splendor decked in colors rich an' grand An' he'll bring his legions with him fer to ockypy the land, An' they'll plant the'r crimson standards on the hilltops overhead When the goldenrod's a bloomin' an' the shoe- make's growin' red. He has called his clans together to prepare 'em fer the raid, An' the locus'es 're busy each a whettin' up his blade ; GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 129 While the wild geese speedin' southward pipe a doleful funer'l strain, Per grim death'll reap a harvest as he follers in his train. Yet he tries to give a warnin' to a few especial friends, An' the light an' nimble thistle-down's the messenr ger he sends; But it loiters an' it tarries till the precious time has sped An' the goldenrod's a bloomin' an' the shoemake's growin' red. He's a comin' he's a comin' to fulfill his cherished boast, An' the fields'll flame in splendor with the glory of his host. He will flaunt his gorgeous banners like the vaunted knights of old, An' the burnished woods'll glisten with the glitter of his gold ; 130 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. But a somber shade o' sadness will be hoverin' over all, An' a minor chord o' sorrow rise above his martial call, While the winds'll sob an' shiver to the measure of his tread When the goldenrod's a bloomin' an' the shoe- make's growin' red ! GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 131 Money Musk. /^~\N the ol' back porch at Rugby's, Where the grapevines clumb the eaves, An' the moonlight slantin' through 'em Fell in broken, silver sheaves; Where the smoky torches spluttered On the'r pegs ag'in the wall, An' the whippoorwill was singin' In the poplar big an' tall ; Where the bloomin' roses scented All the silent summer dusk, There's where Rugby played the fiddle An' we danced the Money Musk. I'ld git you fer a pardner Ev'ry time I had a chance If I had to take another, Then I didn't care to dance ; 132 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. An' y'r black eyes snapped with laughter As you moved about the porch, While y'r dark hair streamed behind you Like the smoke from off a torch. How y'r milky teeth was shinin' Like a nubbin from the husk, As you shook the floor at Rugby's To the tune o' Money Musk. There the lightnin' bugs was swarmin' 'Bout the house in burnin' show'rs, Like a storm o' sparks a fallin' On the fragrant, dewy flow'rs ; An' the tinkle of a cow-bell Floated down the grassy lane, While a screech-owl in the distance Was at work predictin' rain. But grim jealousy was tearin' At my heart with claw an' tusk, Per you'd danced with Billy Johnson To the tune o' Money Musk. GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDO VVN. 133 Can it be that forty years has gone Sence Harper lean an' tall, Ust to nearly strike the ceilin' When they shouted " balance all?" Can it be y'r hair is frosted, An' y'r eyes 're not so bright As they ust to be at Rugby's On a sultry summer night? Well, I thank the stars above me That you're still my Kitty Rusk That I ust to promenade with To the tune o' Money Musk ! 134 QOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. The Big Barn-Mow. r I ^HERE was rosy hours o' sunshine in my child hood days, When I feasted on the bright an' golden scene ; There was dewy hours o' shadder 'long the cool highways, When I lolled beneath the hedges dark an' green ; There was happy hours o' laughter down the fern- lined glen An' my hungry heart is famished fer 'em now But o' all the treasured places that my soul knowed then, I am longin fer the big barn-mow ! Thinkin' o' the moss-growed eaves, Dreamin' o' the garnered sheaves, List'nin' fer the tread O' the raindrops overhead Longin' fer the big barn-mow ! GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 135 How I ust to love to nestle, ou a warm June day, Where the wasps had built the'r nests along the comb With my body softly cradled on the waves o' hay, An' my senses soothed to slumber in its foam ; While the fragrant breezes stealin' through the wide barn door Gently dallied with the curls upon my brow, An' the chaff went wildly dancin' 'crost the ol' barn floor Jest a dreamin' in the big barn-mow ! Cuddlin' in the fresh-mowed hay, Up beneath the rafters gray ; Catchin' what was said By the swallers overhead Dreamin' in the big barn-mow ! Ah ! them precious days 'ave vanished an' the years 'ave gone That contained the fullest measure o' my joy; But I'm clingin' to the'r mem'ry, an' I still dream on 13(5 GOLDKNROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 'Bout the barn in which I frolicked when a boy. When the balmy winds o' summer stir my scant, gray hair, Then it sort o' sets me thinkin' that somehow I 'ave left my soul entangled in the cobwebs there, Still a swingin' in the big barn-mow ! Swayin' in the rus'lin' breeze, Harkin' to the dronin' bees ; Shrinkin' half in dread From the spiders overhead Swingin' in the big barn-mow ! GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 137 The Old Brass Band. I've a hungry heart fer melody, an eager ear fer tunes, An' I've heard some touchin' music in my day, Fer I've slumbered to the lullabies the night-wind croons, An' I've wakened to the robin's cheerful lay ; I've regaled my inner natchur on the red-bird's trills, When the sassy varlet ockypied the land, An' I've feasted on the murmur o' the ripplin' rills But they're nothin' to the ol' brass band. I've rejoiced to ketch the whisper o' the wind swept leaves, An' I've shuddered at the ocean's angry roar; I've harkened to the rustle o' the golden sheaves An' the honey-bees a buzzin' 'round the door, 138 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN . But ther' aint a note o' music in the whole wide earth That can touch me like a fairy's magic wand, That can fill my legs with ginger an' my heart with mirth Like the music o' the ol' brass band. Ah ! but don't I jest remember how the Timms' Band boys Ust to play before the ol' town hall, Till the whippoorwill was drownded in the waves o' noise An' the liquid notes was floatin' over all ; Till the children left the'r playin' an' the women stopped the'r walk, An' the lovers strollin' through the dewy shade, Quit the'r gentle cooin' 'cause they couldn't hear each other talk Fer the music that the ol' band played ! They'ld start with " Annie Laurie " sweetest tune I ever heard An' the solemn sounds 'Id echo far away, GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 139 Then they'd give a taste o' " Listen to the Mockin' Bird," An' they'd foller that with " Darlin' Nelly Gray," Till the dreamy notes 'Id quiver in the starlit skies An' the people held the'r breath on ev'ry hand Till I'd find the teardrops tricklin' from my half- shet eyes, As I listened to the ol' brass band ! Ther's a heap o' solid comfort to a man like me, In the thought that when we leave this earthly sphere, When the golden goblet's broken an' the soul's set free We shall sing the happy songs we sung when here i But I'll never be contented wtth the music there, Though the golden harps be pealin' loud an' grand, If ther' aint a brassy flavor in the air somewhere Jest a mem'ry o' the ol' brass band ! 140 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. That Jolly OP Chap in the Moon. T T E'S a prodigal chap is the Man in the Moon v An' I can't understand him, I swan ! Per he stays out o' nights from December to June, And he squanders his change till he finds party soon That his very last quarter is gone ; Then instead o' behavin' hisself as he should, An' reformin' his habits as most people would W'y, it seems that possessed by the spirit o' sin He gits ready to do it all over ag^in ! He's a curious critter this Man in the Moon An' he stays out so late of a night That he seldom gits home till the next afternoon, Lookin' sickly an' pale an' as wild as a loon A dejected an' miser'ble sight ; GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 141 Then he'll tumble in bed an' the curtains he'll pull, An' the next time you see him he's probably full Hidin' under a cloud, while avoidin' a dun, An' attemptin' to borry a light from the sun! Yet, the Man in the Moon is a friend to us all He's a good-natured, jolly ol' elf; But he's livin' so high an' his sal'ry's so small That you'd possibly find, should you happen to call, He's existin' on moonshine itself. You may call him a luny ol' rogue, if you please, An' insist that his diet is limburger cheese, But he's stood all the shafts that 'ave ever been hurled An' he never has yet turned his back on the world! Ah ! a faithful ol' friend is the Man in the Moon An' he never refuses to lend ; With his face all aglow an' his heart all atune He will grant to the meanest this heavenly boon, 142 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN That he'll wait an' he'll watch to the end. In the lone, silent night through the winder he'll peep, An' he'll bend o'er the face of the dear one asleep, Till a halo of heaven encircles her head An' a dreamy smile lights up the face o' the dead ! GOLDENROD AND TH ISTLEDOWN. 143 Like 'er Ma. QOMEHOW things jest sort o' seem Like a misty, hazy dream, Sence my little gal is gone Her my heart was set upon. Yeller curls was on 'er head- Golden ringlets you 'ave said ; Blue as indigo her eyes You'd compared 'em to the skies; Pinkish nose, an' right beneath Rows o' white an' shiny teeth, Dimpled cheeks an' well, you see, Like 'er ma, an' not like me ! I can see her plain to-day Jest as when she went away ; See the smiles that run an' race One another 'cross 'er face, Up an' down an' everywhere Hidin' in the dimples there. 144 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. When we ust to take a walk How that little gal 'Id talk 'Bout the blossoms on the trees, 'Bout the birds an' flowers an' bees ; She liked purty things, you see Like 'er ma, an' not like me ! I was alluz big an' rough, Sort o' made o' knotty stuff, But my wife, it's mighty plain, Has a some'at smoother grain. Fer that little gal o' mine Was o' timber straight an' fine ; An' her manners was polite 'Cause 'er ma had learnt 'er right; Yes, mam, ma," an' "yes, sir," when She was talkin' to the men. She was smart as she could be Like 'er ma, an' not like me ! GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 145 But my little gal is gotie Her I ust to dote upon ; An' the world looks ruther dim Sence she went to live with Him. Seems as if the sun don't shine, An' the posies droop an' pine ; Days 're long an' nights 're drear 'Cause the little thing aint here. No one peeks from 'hind the door, There's no playthings on the floor; Life don't have no charm, you see Hardly, fer 'er ma an' me ! 14H GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. A Memory. A M I a feelin' lonesome? Well, It's ruther hard fer me to tell. I've been a settin' here a thinkin' 'Bout the weather; sort o' drinkin' In the sunshine an' a blinkin' At the landscape ; Then my ol' eyes got to winkin', An' a haze was in the air Must 'ave been some teardrops there ? Mebby ! All to onct behind my chair I heard a noise ; an' then a pair O' chubby arms was 'round my neck, An' two red lips ag'in my ear Was murm'rin' low an' soft an' clear: " Gran'pa, let me comb y'r hair!" My-o-my ! It took me back Along life's dusty wagon-track, Down through the shadders thick an' black GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 147 To them sweet, lazy days in June Long years ago. I thought o' how we'd rest at noon, Out on the ol' front porch at home. The swallers hatchin' 'neath the comb 'Ld pant an' gap', with heavin' breast An' wings spread out acrost the nest Jest sufferin' with the heat That beat In fiery waves Down on the roof above the porch, Till things seemed hot enough to scorch. 'Twas jest one stretch o' deep-blue skies Without a cloud ; Ol' Bose, the dog, 'Id close his eyes An' whinin', snappin', at the flies 'Ld try to sleep ; but 'twa'nt no go The little mischiefs pestered so. He'd wag his great tail to an' fro, 148 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOW N . An' gittin' up with amblin' pace An' look o' misery on his face, He'd try to find a cooler place. His red an' drippin' tongue lolled out, He'd look about An' seek relief. The mornin' glories closed the'r cups; An' me stretched out there in the shade, An' jest arrayed In nothin' but my pants an' shirt Not carin' fer the dust an' dirt 'Ld hear A soundin' low an' soft an' clear Upon the hot an' smother'n' air: 41 Say, Jimmy, let me comb y'r hair!" An' then I'd wake an' roughly shove My long hair back ; an' there above Like wing-tips of a snow-white dove Ten little fingers soft with love GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 149 Was fondlin' 'round my sunburnt face. Ah, little sister ! years 'ave gone An' she has swiftly traveled on, Far up the shinin' golden stair That leads to heaven over there ; An' yet to-day I seem to hear A whisper'n' through the atmosphere, An' soundin' low an' soft an' clear Say, Jimmy, let me comb y'r hair !" I'd better come an' take a walk Around the place with you, an' talk O' cheerfuler things? Well, mebby so ! Jest hand me down my cane ; I'll go. 150 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. At the Country Store. * ( '""PHAT tale o' yours reminds me of "- And Jonas crossed his legs And knocked the ashes from his pipe Upon a box of eggs " A feller that I ust to know, His name was Jim Van Horn, Who cleared a twenty-acre lot An' planted it in corn. So far, so good ; fer corn's all right A ruther payin' crop, But Jim's was that 'ere triflin' kind That's only fit to pop. The neighbors laughed at him a sight He didn't keer a darn An' in the fall he shucked it out An' piled it in the barn, Along o' several bar'ls o' black GOLDENROD AND TH ISTLEDOWN. 151 Merlasses that he made Another one o' his idees That somehow never paid. Well, one day Jim fixed up some trade An' ambled off to town, An jest as he come home at night The barn was burnin' down. As true as I'm a settin here An' never told a yarn, That popcorn popped so tarnal big It swelled an' bu'st the barn ! It sounded like a cannon's roar ; The grains flew far an' wide, An' one ol' cow out in the field Give up the ghost an' died. She thought it was a snowstorm, sir, An' yieldin' up 'er breath ; She shivered once 'r twice an' then Dropped over froze to death. The popcorn an' rnerlasses mixed 152 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. An' packed down in the stalls, An' Jim, he cleared a fortune, sir, A sellin' popcorn balls!" Then Jonas caught his basket up And quickly slid away, For he who lies and leaves may live To lie another day. GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 153 My Pa He's 'ist a Docker-man, /\ l\ Y pa, he's 'ist a docker-man ; An' my ma said to me one day : " Your pa has goned an' tooked a bran' New baby-boy acrost the way, To Mrs. Giles ; an' maby, dear, If you be good an' ast him to, He'll bring a re'ly baby here A little bruzzer boy fer you !" Well, when my pa corned home at night, An' put his slippers on an' said He guessed he'd haf to go an' write A letter 'fore he went to bed, I climbed upon his knee an' 'en I hugged an' kissed him two 'r free, An' ast him if he wouldn't sen' An' git a bruzzer boy fer me. 154 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. He said he would; an' 'en he winked His eye at ma, an' coughed an' smiled An' said he kin' o' somehow finked He wouldn't diserpoint the child. I don't know what he meant, but ma 1st clapped 'er han's an' 'en she said It was a splendid joke on pa An' 'en they sent me off to bed. Well, when the baby corned, you know, 'Twas ist anuzzer girl ! an ma Was ist heart-sick about it, so She had to stay in bed ; an' pa He 'lowed the folks in babylan' Was out o' boys, an' so they sent A girl 'r didn't un'erstan' The km o' baby that he meant ! GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. The Mitten. RAN'MAM settin' by the fire Wiped 'er specs an' rubbed 'er lashes, Hitched 'er cheer a little nigher Dipped 'er pipe into the ashes ; Said in half pervokin' tone As she wound er' ball o' knittin' : " Better leave the gals alone, 'R you'll mebby git the mitten." "Well," said I, "I must agree You're uncommon good at guessin', Pokin' of y'r fun at me All because you see me dressin' ; I'm a goin' to spellin' school My, jest see how late it's gittin' !" Gran'mam said : " Don't be a fool, 'R you 11 mebby git the mitten." 156 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. Through the medder, down the road- With the stars above me blinkin', I kep' tusslin' with the load ; Keepin' up a mighty thinkin'. Here was purty Lizy Stone, Plump an' playful as a kitten " Better leave the gals alone, 'R you'll mebby git the mitten !" Wen the spellin' school was out An' the boys an' gals was matin' I a wraslin' hope an' doubt Stood there like a dunce a waitin' ; Felt my face a burnin' red While my heart was fairly splittin', " Now 'r never, Jim," I said u ,An' you'll mebby git the mitten !" GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 157 There she come, a purty pout 'Round 'er rosy lips a flittin' ; I jest stuck my elbow out 'R you'll mebby git the mitten !'' Well, I fixed the matter there All in 'bout a half a minute ; Got the mitten fair an' square But er' little hand was in it! 158 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. The Bumble Bee. TEST along 'bout now, while the skies 're blue An' the winds 're soft an' the summer's new,. 'S when when I like to loll in the medder-lot, 'Fore the dew dries off an' the sun grows hot ; With my face turned up an' my arms stretched out, An' the clover bloom an' the bees about, Till I lose myself an' my thoughts float free On the gauzy wings o' the bumble bee ! Oh ! there aint no trouble 'at's likely to come Where the clover's green an' the busy hum O' the bumble bee, as he splits the air, Seems to rid a body of every care ; Fer the mind gits lulled by his buzzin' din, Till the sense slips out an' the sleep slips in An' the soothin'est sound in the world to me, Is the drowsy drone o' the bumble bee ! GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 159 'Bout the first o' June 'r the last o' May, When the woods 're green an' the fields 're gay, Then I jest stretch out where the sunlight spreads 'Mong the dandeli'ns an' the clover heads; An' I listen there to that sing-song hum Till my eyes go shet an' my brain gits numb Fer the soothin'est music on earth to me Is the sleepy drone o' the bumble bee ! 160 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. The Little White School-House the wind-swept top o' the long clay ridge, Nestlin' close to the dark green wildwood, Where the beech limbs bend 'round its gable end Is the school-house I loved in childhood ; But its chimbley's gone an' the walls 're gray, While the moss on the roof is showin', An' the cold rains pour through the open door Where the jimpson an' burdock's growin'. In the flow'r-flecked years o' the golden past There I played as a barefoot gypsy, When the wild bee bent to the clover's scent Till his wings an' his legs got tipsy ; When the lazy winds swept the rioened grain Where the cradles was brightly gleamin', An' the sun-kissed haze o' the summer days Bore the sound o' the catbird's screamin.' GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 1<>1 'Cross the 'ol stone step crept the brier-torn feet O' the careless an' tardy scholar, While his face all grime told o' berry time An' the patch in the plundered holler. Here he'd lisp a story o' work at home, In a way that was most surprisin' But his fruit-stained lips an' his finger tips Spoke the truth there was no disguisin'. In the medder strip jest beyond the road Sleeps the form o' the gruff ol' master; But the headstone's gone with his name upon, An' the grave-lot's become a pastur'. Yet the school-house stands like a veter'n scarred, Fightin' time with a grim endeavor, An' though warped an' bent it's a monument O' the days that 're gone forever. 11 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN Winter in the Lap 'O Spring. IT'S the most pervokin' nonsense That I ever heerd about ! Here's the dandeli'ns a bloomin' An' the Johnny-jump-ups out, Here's the cherry trees in blossom An' the blue-birds on the wing But ol' Winter's still a lingerin' In the flow'ry lap o' spring. It's enough to make a body's Temper fairly bile an fizz Jest to see that gray ol' codger, Stiffened up with rheumatiz, Ljmpin' 'round among the posies But the most disgustin' thing Is to see the dotard lollin' In the lap o' rosy spring. GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN 163 u She's as purty as a picter " Poets say, an' praise 'er form ; Claim 'er eyes 're bright an' sparklin' An' 'er breath is sweet an' warm. But I own that it amazes Me to see the maiden fling Both 'er arms around ol' Winter I'm a little down on Spring ! W'y, it's set the people talkin' 'Bout the bold an' shameless pair, An' the peach trees 're a blushin' At the scanderlous affair ; Wile the robins 're so 'shamed, sir, That they skeercely dare to sing Per that villian's still a-cuddlin' In the lap o' balmy Spring ! GOLDENROD AND TH ISTLE DO W N . "Down at Hughes's Old Shop. r~\OWN at Hughes's ol' shop ! In the summers * ' gone by, When the pastur's was green an' the tint o' the sky Was as meltin'ly soft as the color that lies In the love-lighted depths of a baby's blue eyes ; Where the brown country road comin' in from the west Met the one from the east an' concluded to rest, Where the north road an' south road both come to a stop There us boys ust to frolic 'round Hughes's ol' shop. Jimmy Hughes the big smith with a pipe in his lips, With his apr'n tucked up an' his hands on his hips, Ust to stand in the door till some farmer rode in Then the bellows 'Id wheeze an' the work 'Id begin ; GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 1 ( ''"> An' the sweat drops 'Id gether an' start in a race Down the gullies an' seams on his wrinkled ol' face ; An' us barefooted youngsters 'Id garner the crop O' sparks from the anvil at Hughes's ol' shop. Down at Hughes's ol' shop ! Where the road up the ridge Brung the peppermint smell from the Deaver run bridge, Where the road from the west as it clambered the hill Bore the rumble an' roar o' the big water-mill ; An' the north road an' the south road was sweet with the scent That the dogwoods an' may apples lavishly lent There we ust to play marbles, an' black-man, an' hop- Step-an'-jump 'round the corner o' Hughes's ol' shop. 1R6 GOLDENROD AND TH ISTLEDO w N . There was little Ti Henry a big one fer noise, Jim Lutgen, George Teters, the three Darnell boys, Win Rogers, Wes Bishop, Gid Newton, Ev Scott, Marp Ellis, Charl Rivers an' some I've fergot. Oh, yes ; an' a feller I'll not tell his name Who has sence tried to climb the greased ladder o' fame; But they say he's got stuck sever'l miles from the top An' he ust to make rhymes down at Hughes's ol' shop. Down at Hughes's ol' shop ! When the mid winter sky Is as black as the night an' the winds whistle by ; When the giant oaks shiver an' shake in the blast An' the'r moanin' complaint seems a voice from the past ; GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 167 Then the ghosts o' the days that 're gone 'pear to creep From the dusty ol' shop where they've long been asleep, An' the'r tread is as light as the snowflakes that drop On the Newton Ridge Road, down at Hughes's ol' shop ! GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. Easter on the Farm. T NEVER think o' Easter day But what my mind begins to stray From present scenes, an' slip away Back down the tangled track o' years Bestrewed with boyish hopes and fears, Bedewed with sweet an' bitter tears Until the ol' home place appears; An' mem'ry with its subtle art, Begins to play a tender part Upon the strings o' my ol' heart. An' then an' then I seem to see The dear home-faces, seem to be A boy again an' feel the charm O' Easter Sunday on the farm. A week 'r two before the time, The price o' aigs 'Id alluz climb The up'ard grade. u It's jest a crime GOLDENROD AND TH ISTLEDOWN. 16J> To eat 'em " mam 'Id up an' say " I only hope the hens '11 lay A lot of 'em, to take away To market, fer I want to pay Fer winder-blinds 'an ev'ry thing To fix the spare room np this spring; You boys must hunt the nests, an' bring The aigs to me before they freeze. Ther' aint no use to whine an' tease Fer Easter aigs, an' whimper ' please;' The times is hard an' aigs is dear You got to go 'ithout this year !'' I'd wink at Hank, he'd wink at me ; We'd look at Poke an' find that he Was up to snuff, an' then us three 'Ld hurry out beneath the sheds An' hunt among the carts an' sleds An' thresh-machines an' wagon-beds, To find the aigs ; we'd scratch our heads 170 GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. An' scheme an' plan an' slap our laigs A-chucklin' how we'd hide them aigs. We'd search the dim an' dusty mows, The clover hay above the cows, An' in the bin behind the plows Among the oats we'd dig a hole, An' there we'd hide the aies we stole. Well, when the aigs quit comin' in, W'y mam 'Id scold an' we 'Id grin, An' pap 'Id growl: " It does beat sin About them hens; it 'pears that they Are jest determined they won't lay. They 're no account, I hope an' pray They'll go to Halifax an' stay !" An' mam 'Id answer: ''Good-land! John, To see the way you carry on ; But then, it does beat all I swan ! Them hens lay on an' never cease When aigs aint worth a cent apiece, GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 171 But when they're worth the'r weight in gold An' other folks has took an' sold A sight of 'em, we're in disgrace 'Ithout an aig upon the place !" So mam 'Id grumble an' lament, An' pap'ld scold an' give full vent To all his wrath an' discontent : " It's jest the way, now ! When you sent To market, you fergot about My plug-tobacker, I've no doubt, An' here I'm 'most entirely out; An' then you might 'ave saved a few Fresh aigs fer Easter Sunday, too I don't see what the boys '11 do." Then we'd rush off an' rob the bin An' bring the bushel basket in Chuck full o' aigs ; an' mam 'Id grin An' pap 'Id kind o' cough an' smile An' say he knowed it all the while ! l~l' GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN An' that's the reason why I say I never think o' Easter day, But what my thoughts '11 slip away Off down the traveled track o' years- Made musical with boyish cheers Until the big log-stable rears Its roof in sight, an' home appears; An' mem'ry, with its magic art, Begins to play a tender part Upon the chords o' my ol' heart. An' then an' then its good to see The dear home-faces, good to be A boy again an' know the charm O' Easter days upon the farm ! GOLDENROD AND THISTLEDOWN. 17.'! We're a Comin' to g'r Show. [TO THE ( OXKKDKHATE VETKKANS OK