GIFT OF 
 Class of 1900 
 
Character Sketches in Rhyme 
 and Other Verses 
 
 BY 
 
 CHAS. ANTHONY DOYLE 
 
 San Francisco 
 
 The WESTERN PUBLISHING CO. 
 
 1911 
 
+**. 
 
 Title, Sab-Titles and Matter 
 COPYRIGHTED 1911 By CHAS. ANTHONY DOYLE 
 
 The Blair-Murdock Company 
 
 San Francisco 
 
 IQII 
 
Contents 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 FOREWORD 5 
 
 To D. S. R 7 
 
 IN SERIOUS MOOD 
 
 A Phantasy n 
 
 A Question for the Masters 21 
 
 At Sutro Heights 23 
 
 My Temple 25 
 
 Two Little Girls of Mine 26 
 
 Sierra to the Singer 28 
 
 Song 3i 
 
 A Ballad for the Gael 33 
 
 Our Mothers 39 
 
 His Monuments 4 1 
 
 To Joaquin Miller 43 
 
 Below the Cliff House 44 
 
 Looking Forward 45 
 
 A Call to the Hills 47 
 
 IN DIALECT 
 
 Two Idylls of the Old Town 51 
 
 The Social South of the Slot 5* 
 
 The Proposal 55 
 
 The Same Old Game 60 
 
 "Aisy Come an Aisy Go" 62 
 
 Rhymes Without Reason 66 
 
 The Tale of the Whangeree 66 
 
 The Chemical Cat 68 
 
 Brannigan s Lawn 7 1 
 
 Gloom in Darktown 74 
 
 Kennedy s Cure 77 
 
 From a Perry Street Front Stoop 79 
 
 Fellowship $3 
 
 The Cats av Kilkenny 84 
 
 TOWN BALLADS AND PLAIN STATEMENTS 
 
 Where You Live Every Day 89 
 
 A Song for the Down and Out 92 
 
 Mother Hubbard Up to Date 95 
 
 The Danger Line 98 
 
 Don t Stay at the Grave Too Long 100 
 
 In Parting 101 
 
 744252 
 
Foreword 
 
 To MARY KARMA, AND HELEN: 
 
 You have always been my most indulgent readers, and, 
 for that reason and one other / wish to divide with you 
 the responsibility of this very unnecessary adventure. I 
 shall hardly blame the armored cruisers of the critics for 
 broad-siding me as an unlicensed privateer, but (and this 
 is the other reason) perhaps your sweet presence on the 
 voyage may disarm them of their hostility. 
 
 I recall that many of these songs and jingles were 
 primarily written for your amusement. You both re 
 member, 
 
 "The grieving lad who stood 
 Disconsolate beside the flood" 
 
 there mourning in tears the loss of his little wooden boats 
 with their paper sails. Dear, kindly Mr. Brannigan often 
 told you fairy lore on the lawn, and you saw enough of 
 Mr. Kennedy to know he considered his one medicine a 
 specific for every form of pain. I can personally testify 
 that, after I had informed your curiosity that a Whang- 
 eree was a male Whangeroo, you embarrassed me very 
 much indeed by wanting to know what was a Whangeroo. 
 Now that we three are much older, we know there are 
 many Whangerees and W hanger oos in this happy, silly, 
 old, best of worlds. They do not wear tails and throw 
 cocoanuts at each other from the trees, to be sure, but they 
 wear tremendous plumes and they throw other things and 
 often take to perilous voyages when it might have been 
 better had they stayed at \orne. 
 
 I repeat that I feel these songs and jingles belong to 
 you, and, now since they are offered to the public, not only 
 to you, but to any and all readers who invest them with 
 their passing attention and good-natured indulgence. To 
 all such readers, therefore, and to you, my dearest Helen 
 and Karma, what follows is sincerely dedicated. 
 
 CHAS. ANTHONY DOYLE. 
 
 BERKELEY, November 2ist, 1911. 
 
To D. S. R.: 
 
 YY7ELL, Dan, here I am on the back of 
 * * Pegasus, 
 
 And now that I m mounted, I must 
 At the risk of a spill 
 Climb the sacred old Hill 
 With the slogan, "Parnassus or bust!" 
 
 Ah! well, if the comrades who follow the 
 
 journey 
 
 Here and there find a laugh or a thrill; 
 If one song of good cheer 
 They discover, Dan, here 
 I ll dismount at the foot of the hill. 
 
 C. A. D. 
 
IN SERIOUS MOOD 
 
A Phantasy " > 
 
 T MET him on a mountain s dismal height, 
 -*- Whence to escape the little things of earth 
 My eager feet had led me of a day. 
 He stood, tall, gaunt and pitiful and glared 
 With eyes whose savage fire proclaimed a soul 
 Held bondage in a dreadful tenement. 
 And, with a cry whose agony was tense 
 With fright and suffering, he swiftly fled. 
 Then paused and looked at me. I beckoned him 
 With easy gestures while he stood all mute 
 And timid to my quick approach. 
 
 He spoke : 
 "Art come to rob me of my dreams?" "Nay, 
 
 nay," 
 
 I answered him; "my brother, tell me why 
 With bruised feet, gaunt face and wild beast 
 
 skins, 
 
 Thou keepst a desolate vigil in this waste. 
 Is it some madness of a frenzied brain, 
 
 11 
 
Or sha.rest thou with me a fierce desire 
 To flee the mockeries of a heartless world?" 
 With dull, dead eyes he hovered o er my speech; 
 Then, creeping close to me, he said : 
 
 "Full well 
 
 I know the place, for here once on a time, 
 Ere Discord damned my soul to solitude, 
 I met a vision of ethereal grace, 
 Pregnant with all those harmonies of mind 
 That typify the higher seraphim. 
 My eyes in reverent wonder feasted on 
 Her charms of face, and poise, and flowing hair; 
 My lonely soul absorbed the singular spell 
 As the dry ground draws the summer rain 
 Beneath it s panting soil. I seemed to feel 
 A new existence and why not? Before, 
 I was alone and often vaguely yearned 
 For some pale moon to temper my hot sun 
 And soothe my utter loneliness. 
 
 12 
 
"And there there she stood, much as an angel 
 
 might, 
 
 With bouyant feet and undulating poise, 
 And stretched her arms to me her matchless 
 
 arms 
 Of purest white thus pleading me to come. 
 
 "Her eyes how blue, how bright, how wonder- 
 
 ful; 
 Her hair how like thin, wimpled webs of 
 
 gold; 
 Her brow how white; her neck how sweetly 
 
 arched; 
 Her mouth how fit for music and kind words! 
 
 "Awed by the conflict in my spell-bound soul 
 For how with angels dare men parley words? 
 Speechless, I neared her, looked into her eyes, 
 And she in mine as earnestly, and so, 
 Beneath the stars that placid holy night, 
 Love s child was born and baptized with our 
 tears. 
 
 13 
 
"I asked of her to be a friend to me 
 In thought, in act, in sympathy and soul; 
 To share with me this solitude where she 
 Had come so strangely and so suddenly. And 
 
 when 
 
 I pleaded thus, she answered me in words 
 Which sounded like sweet music in a dream. 
 She placed her alluring arms about my neck 
 And let me clasp her close: then as the breeze 
 Betossed her golden hair, I brushed it back 
 With loving hands and pressed a passionate kiss 
 Upon her cheek, and so we mutely sealed 
 This deathless tryst of ours. 
 
 "Thence for a while 
 Our lives mingled in peaceful destiny 
 As streams start from a mountain-side and blend 
 In dear communion in the vale, where, clasped 
 Together, they race joyous to the sea. 
 
 14 
 
"We roamed with both arms intertwined, 
 The mountain s broad plateau, all covered o er 
 With stately trees and dainty foliage, 
 And sang full blithesome songs, or lightly 
 
 laughed 
 
 To mark a playful happening, or plucked 
 Some tender little plant and from its leaves 
 Considered Nature s marvelous laws and mys 
 tic chemistry. 
 
 Then, in the quiet eve, we sought our bower, 
 Hid neath an arch of swaying firs and pines, 
 And lying at full length upon a couch 
 Of downy leaves, I let my head recline 
 Upon her pulsing bosom while she sang 
 Sweet songs and lulled me to repose. 
 
 "But, oh! 
 The change the awful change when Nature 
 
 seemed 
 To rend her jagged summits. Foaming streams 
 
 15 
 
Formed swiftly on the mountain-side and 
 
 dashed 
 Furiously down dizzy depths. The dark clouds 
 
 marched, 
 Like soldiers to a bloody fray, in great black 
 
 columns, 
 And they met and burst, and the harsh thunder 
 
 rolled 
 
 Like juggernauts of doom along the sky, 
 While rain in torrents fell upon the earth 
 And drenched me standing on the infernal 
 
 height. 
 
 "Then, bove the wrathful tempest s vehemence, 
 I called to her My life, my soul, to come 
 To me. 7 No answer soothed my loneliness ; 
 Yet once methought I heard her sybil voice 
 Cry out to me in tones which fainter grew 
 As she increased her foul estrangement from 
 me. 
 
What she said 
 
 I could not hear; but this I know: her voice 
 Pierced my soul like steel ; my throbbing brain 
 Seemed reeling with a writhing pain ; I sank 
 To earth bewildered and benumbed. 
 
 "For hours 
 
 Senseless there I must have lain, for when 
 I rose twas morn. ... I saw the very spot 
 Where in the past I met her who had been 
 My comfort and my curse. 
 
 "The mount 
 
 Seemed rent from peak to bed below, and down 
 The horrible abyss a torrent rushed 
 With fearful speed and maddened energy. 
 My waking thought was that I had but dreamed, 
 And so I reached my hand for her but she 
 Was gone 
 
 Gone, 
 
 Gone, 
 
 Gone, 
 
 17 
 
"The thought beat on my soul 
 Like hammers on a forge. I madly stamped 
 The ground in bitterness of spirit once 
 Approached the abyssmal brink with deadly 
 
 purpose, but 
 
 Withheld the fatal step, for in my ears 
 I seemed to hear a voice cry out: This is 
 The bitter damning end of thy delusion ; 
 Thy feet hath crushed the grapes, so thou must 
 
 drink 
 
 The wine and if thou findst it gall, think Hell 
 Is sourer! And I started up and laughed 
 With an insane complacency, and said: 
 So sayest thou? Well, then, so let it be 
 I ll pledge Hell s fire to thee in every glass! 
 Thus shouting, once again I sank 
 Exhausted on the repelling ground. 
 
 "Still here in spirit on the mountain-top 
 I stand and gaze across the dread abyss, 
 With mournful eyes, expecting to behold 
 
 18 
 
The radiant being of my golden past. 
 I wait and hope and hoping, still do live- 
 Not for myself, but for my astral soul. 
 I often wake weird voices in the vale 
 By crying out: 
 
 My dream! 
 
 My life! 
 
 My soul! 
 
 Art lost? 
 
 Art lost? 
 
 Art lost? 
 
 "And mocking demons thunder in my ears: 
 
 f Dream! 
 
 Life! 
 
 Soul! 
 
 Lost! 
 
 Lost! 
 
 Lost! " 
 
 19 
 
A song of a soul that lived alone . . . 
 
 And loved with a strong endeavor: 
 A sinister measure of weary moan 
 
 For a love that is lost forever? 
 The song sayeth not and how shall I say? 
 
 Ask the stars above or the dead below 
 I give you the tale . . . read it ... place it 
 away . . . 
 
 And think no more . . it is better so. 
 
 20 
 
A Question for the Masters 
 
 rr^WO men went forth to realize their lives 
 ** One armed with dreadful weapons of 
 
 Defense ; 
 
 With craft of speech and threatening artifice, 
 And crouched for Conquest treacherous and 
 
 tense, 
 He trampled living things so they were dead; 
 
 Swept men aside and knew no thrill but Gain. 
 Blood, Woe, and Ruin marked his conquering 
 
 course, 
 
 Til, battle-worn, upon a bed of pain, 
 Surrounded by rich trophies of his Pride, 
 He fought the last grim Battle lost and 
 died. 
 
 The other man went forth, loving the Earth, 
 The Earth and all things quick and living 
 
 there; 
 Armed only with strong hands to help the Weak; 
 
 21 
 
With bright hopes and kind words to scatter 
 
 everywhere. 
 He, too, fought gallantly, but fought to free 
 
 The bonds of Suffering and to banish Wrong 
 But the first man had crept near him while he 
 
 slept 
 And killed him and passed valiantly along. 
 
 So Love and Hate contend from day to day 
 God knows which wins; but, Masters, can you 
 say? 
 
i 
 
 At Sutro Heights 
 
 CAN see you standing there, 
 Wistful face and wind-tossed hair 
 Where the sea, 
 Far below the Sutro Heights, 
 Holds the red sun s dying lights 
 
 Solemnly; 
 
 And again your hand I press 
 With Love s silent tenderness, 
 My Marie. 
 
 Nor the bitterness of years, 
 Nor their dreariness and tears 
 
 Can dismiss 
 
 That sweet hour of hope and youth 
 When our hearts unsullied truth 
 
 Knew the bliss 
 Of the Love to us revealed, 
 And the deathless vows we sealed 
 
 With a kiss. 
 
Here again at sunset s hour, 
 Lone I stand and feel the power 
 
 Of that spell ; 
 Trailing banners of the sun 
 Signal day is drear and done 
 
 Hark! the swell 
 Of the loyal, friendly sea 
 Seems to say: "She loveth thee, 
 
 All is well!" 
 
 I believe Love s will be done 
 Farewell, Heights and Sea and Sun, 
 
 Sweet farewell! 
 Shall I find you waiting me, 
 
 My Marie? 
 
 24 
 
My Temple 
 
 ]i yTY Temple is the peaceful Wood, 
 -***-* Its Dome the arching sky above; 
 Its Choir the wild-birds choralhood 
 
 That chants clear canticles of Love. 
 And singing brooks which seek the seas 
 
 Their minors and sweet trebles call, 
 While winds witch music from the trees 
 
 Then dumbly on my knees I fall, 
 And Peace and Hope come to me from 
 
 The kind God who is over all. 
 
 Nor am I one lone Worshipper 
 
 List to the linnet s thrilling prayer! 
 Mark where the grasses lightly stir 
 
 The med lark reverently is there, 
 And, Oh ! the call to Heaven it peals 
 
 So pure, so faithful and so free 
 My soul the immortal service feels 
 
 And thrills with strange security; 
 Then twilight s Benediction falls, 
 
 And the stars swing o er God s Sanctuary. 
 
 25 
 
Two Little Girls of Mine 
 
 T KNOW four stars in a wonderful sky 
 
 Which shine as stars never shone above; 
 I listen to music of marvelous power, 
 
 Thrilled with its beautiful measures of Love. 
 I know two hearts more tender and true 
 
 Than other hearts ever could be, I trow, 
 And now do you wish me to tell to you 
 
 The secrets of these rare things I know? 
 Then listen! the music so near divine, 
 The Hearts so tender, the Stars a-shine 
 
 Are the Voices, the Hearts, and the Eyes so 
 
 bright 
 Of two little girls of mine. 
 
 Two little girls of mine! some day 
 
 My ears shall not hear your voices of song, 
 
 And the Stars of my soul shall fade away 
 And oh! then the nights shall be weary and 
 long 
 
 26 
 
For two Proud Princes will take you from me 
 That your Eyes and your Voices and Hearts 
 
 be theirs 
 So tis written in Life that life must be 
 
 But no, I shall banish my foolish despairs, 
 For your Love and your Faith shall still round 
 
 me twine 
 
 Like roses which bloom on a brave old vine; 
 And so that your Princes be brave and true, 
 They may come but I shall follow them, too 
 For my soul shall always abide with you 
 Two little girls of mine! 
 
 27 
 
Sierra to the Singer 
 
 "And so I wait nor fear the tide 
 That comes so swiftly on to hide 
 My little light. The mountains glow; 
 I have their promise and I know." 
 -From "The Promise of the Sierra" D, S. Richardson. 
 
 f"T^HY gentle measures rise and fall 
 With buoyant music undefiled, 
 Thou heard st the distant mountains call; 
 
 On thee the vales and rivers smiled ; 
 Thou knew st their language, felt their thrall 
 And listened like a musing child. 
 
 Your candid eyes swept true and far 
 And caught the marvels of the wood; 
 
 You knelt where God s real temples are; 
 Where strange cathedral shadows brood; 
 
 You knew the dread Yosemite 
 And vast Sierra s solitude. 
 
 28 
 
And thrilled with Nature s passionate thought- 
 Your soul uplifted, tense and strong 
 
 In adoration deeply fraught 
 With love of truth, with hate of wrong, 
 
 Paused in your pilgrimage, and wrought 
 A glorious offering of Song. 
 
 Oh! could the Hills reply to you! 
 
 The Crags, the Inland Seas, the Plain! 
 Their answer: "Friend, thy songs are true; 
 
 Their harmonies with us remain; 
 Abide with us ; renew, renew 
 
 Thy dear devotion sing again. 
 
 "Come to us from the selfish town, 
 Where Mammon lifts his brazen face; 
 
 Forget the curse of Power and Crown, 
 The Shylocks in the market place; 
 
 The Sun rides full ere it goes down, 
 Sing one more song of tender grace! 
 
 29 
 
"Come where your Mountains wait to greet; 
 
 Come where the white Sierras glow; 
 Come where the marvelous rivers meet; 
 
 Come to the promise which you know 
 For, faithful Singer, we repeat: 
 
 We love you so ! we love you so ! 
 
 30 
 
Song 
 
 T OVE is like a butterfly 
 *~* That flits from flower to flower, 
 And daintily dines 
 As it shimmers and shines 
 Midst the sweets of a fairy Bower. 
 Love is a Cherub with tiny wings, 
 Armed with a Bow of Gold, 
 And a quiver of darts 
 For maidens hearts 
 (Or so the tale has been told.) 
 
 Forever and a day 
 Forever and a day, 
 The little god hides 
 Neath heather sides, 
 
 Or down by a quiet river, 
 To pinion its darts 
 In Lovers hearts 
 
 Yet always full is the Quiver. 
 
 31 
 
Love its voice is sweet and low, 
 
 Yet heard, how swift, how clearly! 
 To Cupid s caress 
 We joyfully press 
 But pay for it oh! how dearly! 
 Love is a vision which comes at night 
 To hearts that are sad and cold; 
 Alas! with the Dawn 
 The vision is gone 
 (And so has the tale been told.) 
 
 Forever and a day 
 Forever and a day 
 
 The little god hides 
 
 Neath heather sides, 
 Or down by a quiet river, 
 
 To pinion its darts 
 
 In Maidens 7 hearts 
 Yet always full is the Quiver. 
 
 32 
 
A Ballad for the Gael 
 
 STILL thru the sweep of the long, sad ages, 
 The faithful Celt on Patrick s Day 
 Reverts in thought with a tender yearning 
 To dear old Ireland, far away. 
 
 He sees in fancy her valley vistas, 
 The Munster Galtees before him lie; 
 
 Shimmering dreams of waving flower fields, 
 Spangled with shamrocks, greet his eye. 
 
 The Kildare Curragh again reechoes 
 
 Martial shouts of brawny men; 
 The low, vague drone of drowsy cattle 
 
 Rises from many a dale and glen. 
 
 And then as the bright day draws to a waning, 
 Under the twilight s creamy fleece 
 
 The silver call of the village vespers 
 Greets his ears like a breath of peace. 
 
 33 
 
Again the exile enters the cottage, 
 
 Where Plenty hung from the rafter-tree; 
 
 His Irish mother, close to the fireplace, 
 Plies at her spinnet tranquilly. 
 
 But the vision fades and the dreamer wakens 
 From the spell a truant fancy planned, 
 
 With a sigh for the days of vanished boyhood 
 And a loyal tear for his Native Land. 
 
 Time shall never chill his devotion, 
 
 Distance never can tempt his soul 
 To forget the land where the lordly Shannon, 
 
 And the Lee and the Liffey waters roll. 
 
 For next to the Irish mother who bore him, 
 His love is plighted with patriot heart 
 
 To darling Erin and that betrothal 
 Hands of iron shall never part. 
 
 Tyrants tried it with rack and bloodshed, 
 Traitors tried it with bribes of gold, 
 
 But Might was futile and wealth was powerless 
 To conquer a Faith that is ages old. 
 
 34 
 
Twas strengthened first when brutal Cromwell, 
 Lusting for murder, thirsting for power, 
 
 Came like a plague to peaceful Ireland 
 With his Norman hordes in an evil hour. 
 
 Twas baptized with the blood of innocent 
 infants, 
 
 Shed by Strongbow s cruel hand 
 And confirmed by legions of loyal martyrs 
 
 Who offered their lives for native land. 
 
 That Love has triumphed thru sieges of Famine, 
 It has lessened the Exile s bitter pain; 
 
 Trampled and crushed by the heels of despots, 
 God has nursed it to life again. 
 
 And as long as a fetter remains to pinion 
 
 Erin down to Oppression s toil; 
 As long as a tenant pays his tribute 
 
 To alien masters for native soil; 
 
 35 
 
As long as the curse of English conquest 
 Sullies the isle that once was pure, 
 
 As long as Truth is a blight to tyrants, 
 So long will the love of the Celt endure. 
 
 O Neill and his dauntless clans have vanished, 
 O Connell rests in a wakeless sleep ; 
 
 Giant Grattan and martyred Emmet 
 Freedom s vigil no longer keep ; 
 
 But the holy cause that fired their spirits 
 
 To battle a stubborn tyrant s will, 
 Thru the death and ruin of ruthless ages, 
 
 Has valiant heroes to guard it still. 
 
 For men may die and their deeds die with them, 
 Loves may languish, friendships sever, 
 
 But the years of truth are the years of Heaven 
 And Freedom lives as a God forever. 
 
 36 
 
She is living now and her bounding pulses 
 Throb as strong as in days of yore, 
 
 When, under the banner of Green, brave Erin 
 Routed the Dane from her peerless shore. 
 
 The Task is on, and with soulful efforts, 
 Shoulder to shoulder, hand to hand, 
 
 They press to the breach with brain and ballot 
 For God and Faith and Native Land. 
 
 No more at the throne of English mercy 
 The stricken Celt kneels humbly down ; 
 
 No longer he craves the foe s forbearance 
 Nor cowers at the tyrant s gloomy frown. 
 
 The hands of his masters at last are palsied; 
 
 They cannot strike him to earth again ; 
 Erect and fearless he meets their numbers 
 
 Genius for genius, brain for brain. 
 
 37 
 
Have hearts of iron, ye sons of Erin; 
 
 The struggle and pain at last shall cease; 
 In the clearing sky is the Arch of Promise, 
 
 Foretelling the d%wn of Freedom and Peace. 
 
 Watch thru the night for that Peace and Free 
 dom, 
 
 Stand to your purpose and marshal your men; 
 For God shall soon lean out from the Heavens 
 
 And answer your prayer with a great Amen. 
 
 38 
 
Our Mothers 
 
 Calvary s Height, close by the Cross she 
 stood 
 While Christ, her Son, achieved his martyrhood. 
 
 A symbol she, set there by God above 
 
 To show the immortal strength of mother-love. 
 
 Since then by many a Cross, in many a land, 
 Our faithful mothers have maintained their 
 stand ; 
 
 Cheering us on while Life retained a breath, 
 And constant in the shadow e en of Death. 
 
 Yea, no neglect, no thoughtlessness so vile 
 But what that Love watched steadfast all the 
 while. 
 
 In sin and sorrow, sickness and disgrace, 
 Forgiving all, enduring all her face. 
 
 Calm and transfigured with celestial glow, 
 She watches Man, oh! what a love to know! 
 
 39 
 
"Our Mother" sons and daughters of the race, 
 Bright be the heart-shrine where she has her 
 place; 
 
 Tender the love and loyal the offering 
 That, with true devotion, to her shrine you 
 bring. 
 
 "Mother" never was sweeter music heard, 
 Since the first child, wondering, whispered the 
 grand word. 
 
 Word that defines our rarest, truest dower; 
 Symbol of Love eternal, truth and power. 
 
 Yea, power for Virtue treacherously assailed, 
 When every plea, when every prayer had failed. 
 
 Has struck the bestial tempter dumb with fear 
 By whispering "Mother" in his tortured ear. 
 
His Monuments* 
 
 T TE learned to listen in the grass, 
 * -* He knew the thoughts of toiling bees ; 
 He spoke the language of the flowers, 
 
 He heard the voices of the trees ; 
 And life to him was richly full 
 
 Of Nature s holiest mysteries. 
 
 For him no lure of coward gold; 
 
 No bartering in the market-place; 
 No thought of self, no greed for Gain 
 
 Which chills and kills our gold-mad race 
 A father of the fields, he wrought 
 
 God s landscapes to enrich and grace. 
 
 He planted flowers, he planted trees, 
 
 And watched them lift and thrive and thrill 
 
 With Life s delirious joy and strength 
 In field and meadow, dale and hill 
 
 Ten thousand trees, ten million flowers 
 His love brought forth, are living still. 
 
 41 
 
Now worn with all the glorious toil, 
 He sleeps below sweet Nature s breast; 
 
 Beneath the poppy, pink and rose, 
 Beneath the oaks he loved the best 
 
 What God-like monuments are his! 
 
 What rest, what peace, what perfect rest! 
 
 And shall he lie forgotten there? 
 
 Nay, nay! for those ten thousand trees 
 He reared shall chant their requiems; 
 
 His children flowers, his plants yea, these, 
 Shall seed and bloom commemorative 
 
 For him through all the centuries! 
 
 * In the death of Andrew D. Pryal, California lost one of 
 its sincerest, most unselfish and distinguished horticulturists, 
 floriculturists and plant experimenters. His life was dedicated 
 to th e propagation and protection of all plant and tree life. 
 
 42 
 
To Joaquin Miller 
 
 ARD of the West, whose prophecies in Song 
 Have filled a world with wonder and 
 
 delight, 
 
 Sweet be the calm and glorious the dreams 
 Which visit thee upon thy Sunset Height. 
 And may the homage of thy loved West 
 Be to thy spirit ever manifest. 
 
 Yea, may the singular music of the seas 
 Thy seas, oh! Bard, bear to thee songs of 
 
 Peace, 
 
 So shall the mighty Hills wave messages 
 Of Love and loyalty that shall not cease. 
 Stand fast! Immortal minstrel, peace to 
 
 thee; 
 
 The whole world guards thy deathless 
 memory. 
 
 43 
 
B 
 
 Below the Cliff House 
 
 ESIDE the Beach one Summer s day 
 I watched a band of children play. 
 
 With little boats they gaily tried 
 To safely launch upon the tide. 
 
 I asked a grieving lad who stood 
 Disconsolate beside the flood: 
 
 "Why weep you here uncomforted?" 
 "Because my boats are lost," he said; 
 
 "Of those I sent across the sea 
 Not one has yet returned to me!" 
 
 How many, like that child, design 
 To sport upon the Beach of Time; 
 
 To cast across the Flood of Years 
 
 Their Hopes, with never a thought of tears. 
 
 But Oh, ye countless Souls that mourn, 
 How few if any Hopes return ; 
 
 How many on Life s Beach await, 
 Heartbroken and disconsolate. 
 
 44 
 
Looking Forward 
 
 rr\UE Temples shall be stripped of Gold 
 -** And Kings of crown and diadem ; 
 The Creeds teach Truths too long untold 
 
 Too long forgot and scorned by them 
 And men shall follow, as of old, 
 The gentle Christ of Bethlehem. 
 
 Shall follow just as children take 
 Unfalteringly the father s hand 
 
 And walk with him in utter faith 
 From sea to sea, from land to land, 
 
 The world to real Life shall wake 
 For all the world will understand. 
 
 Shall follow safe and sane and true, 
 With song and gladness, and shall give 
 
 As man to man, the tender due 
 Of love and mercy, so all live 
 
 Endowed with power of mercy, too 
 (So once, in peace, the faithful Twelve 
 
 Took up and followed Christ the Jew!) 
 
 45 
 
It should be so, it shall be so 
 
 Too long the reign of Power and Pride; 
 Too long have martyrs died for Truth 
 
 Since Christ for Truth was crucified. 
 War, waste and wretchedness must cease, 
 
 And Peace and Truth with men abide. 
 
 I know not how, I know not when, 
 But lo! the Signs are near and far 
 
 And thru the night Truth s magi-men 
 Are following once more the Star 
 
 Some day we all shall find again 
 Where Justice, Love and Mercy are. 
 
 Sneer, Neros, on your thrones of Power, 
 Laugh, Mumblers, in your golden Shrine, 
 
 Blare, trumps of War, that Men may cower- 
 Christ s Cause is mightier than thine. 
 
 "Ye know not nor the Day or Hour" 
 Beware, when forms Truth s battle-line! 
 
 46 
 
A Call to the Hills 
 
 "VTEA, I was worn and my spirit seemed dead, 
 ** And I cried to Man and to God : 
 "Oh! give me this day my daily bread, 
 
 You see how I plan and plod; 
 I toil by the Temples where Plenty is spread 
 Strike! Moses of Mammon, the Rod." 
 
 "There are bairns, and beautiful ones, to feed, 
 
 And I am their hope of gain; 
 I wear your livery, I mumble your creed, 
 
 Yet only the few attain ; 
 Oh! City of Greed, is there no repose, 
 
 No meed for my wretched Pain?" 
 
 And a Voice crept into my heart and spoke: 
 
 "Abandon the gold-mad street; 
 Come with me to the Hills and my bounty 
 
 invoke 
 
 And thy peace it shall be complete, 
 And my Earth shall yield thee thy wants, and my 
 
 yoke 
 Shall be light, and my burden sweet." 
 
 47 
 
IN DIALECT 
 
Two Idylls of the Old Town 
 
 I THE "SOCIAL SOUTH THE SLOT." 
 
 "Say, Lizzie, will youse come wit me dis evenin 
 
 if I call? 
 Dere s goin to be a Social up at Federation Hall. 
 
 It s a Benefit for Clancy Breen, de guy dat had 
 
 a spill 
 While foolin wid a buzz-saw down at Darby 
 
 Graydon s mill. 
 
 We ll have a corkin time for keeps it ll be 
 
 clean out of sight, 
 For de Rosebud Social Club has framed a big 
 
 turn-out tonight. 
 
 Dere s a silver-plated pitcher for de best team 
 
 on de floor, 
 Youse kin see it on de way up-town in Isaacs 
 
 tailor store. 
 
 51 
 
It s an invintation social see? de rule is, youse 
 
 must show 
 Yer ticket at de door an Clementina street 
 
 don t go. 
 
 Likewise de gang from Butchertown will have 
 
 to stay away, 
 For dey re wearin cuffs an full-dress shirts in 
 
 f ac , dey re highly gay. 
 
 It s class wid us from soup to nuts an Liz, I 
 
 gotta hunch 
 Dat youse an me will cop dat silver pitcher off 
 
 de bunch!" 
 
 "Say, Jimmie," answered Liz, "will any cannery 
 
 girls be dere? 
 Dey d put a dead cold frost on any social where 
 
 dey were. 
 
 For skirts like Maggie Jacobson for meanness 
 
 can t be beat; 
 I wouldn t walk a-past her on de same side of de 
 
 street 
 
 52 
 
An if dey lets into the social such a good-fer- 
 
 nottin ham, 
 I m for stayin home an sleepin cross-me-heart, 
 
 Jim-sure-I-am. 
 
 Y ure sure dat she ain t comin ? well, all right 
 
 then, I ll be dere 
 As soon as I kin change me rags and lace an 
 
 comb me hair. 
 
 Me new dress ain t quite ready but I ll finish it 
 
 by eight 
 An I ll meet youse roun de corner now-fer- 
 
 Gaw s-sake-don t-be-late." 
 
 That evening Liz and Jimmie at Federation Hall 
 Wiggled with set faces through the dances of the 
 ball. 
 
 And when the "function" terminated Jimmie 
 
 "stood the treat" 
 In Bolz s coffee parlor up at Fourth and Market 
 
 street. 
 
 53 
 
The coffees, backed by "sinkers," four in time 
 
 were duly "hit," 
 And Lizzie chewed her gum while Jimmie 
 
 rolled a cigarette. 
 
 And then, with little fingers linked, the tender, 
 loving pair 
 
 Walked homewards to the music of some whis 
 tled minstrel air; 
 
 And neither bloody Butchertown nor Clemen 
 tina street 
 
 Was there to cast reflection on the Rosebud Club 
 elite! 
 
II THE PROPOSAL. 
 
 "Say, Lizzie, I been feelin kinda leery in me 
 
 gait, 
 An I m jest a-goin to cough it up an give it to 
 
 youse straight. 
 
 Dere s no good use in stallin when you got dat 
 
 kind of pain, 
 So I ll spit it out, no matter if it drives me heart 
 
 insane. 
 
 Well, de fact is I been troubled troubled, Liz 
 
 dat s what I said 
 Most everything I t rows into me stomach feels 
 
 like lead. 
 
 Me wind ain t what it used to be, I ain t up to 
 me speed; 
 
 If I gets de least bit nervous, why me nose be 
 gins to bleed! 
 
 55 
 
If I run a block or chase a car me heart starts in 
 
 and beats; 
 Now it ain t because I m boozin nor a-smokhr 
 
 cigareets, 
 
 For I haven t took a beer nor smoked a cigareet 
 a-tall 
 
 Since de night we copped de pitcher up at Fed 
 eration Hall. 
 
 Dis t ing s been goin on some time, aldough 1 
 
 never said 
 A word to make youse t ink dat wheels was run- 
 
 nin in me head; 
 
 For I t ought I d fight it out alone and beat it to 
 
 a fraz, 
 But it s got a wrastlin hold on me yes, Liz, 
 
 dat s what it has; 
 
 So I gets me nut a-workin wid de partick ler 
 
 view 
 Of findin out de trouble an I m talkin 
 
 straight it s you! 
 
 56 
 
It isn t nuthin diffrent and it can t go on no 
 
 more, 
 For de fellers is dead wise to me down at de 
 
 wholesale store. 
 
 So don t youse be hard-hearted jest because youse 
 
 have de drop; 
 
 You re me only trouble, Lizzie, an de trouble s 
 got to stop! 
 
 We been doubled up togedder, Liz, for several 
 
 seasons now; 
 We been to lots of rackets an we ain t had any 
 
 row; 
 
 I ve tried to treat youse decently de best what I 
 
 could do 
 If dere s any kick a-comin , Liz, it oughtn t come 
 
 from you. 
 
 I been workin prutty steady an I got de folks to 
 
 tank 
 For puttin all me dough in de Hibernia Savings 
 
 Bank. 
 
 57 
 
Me muther lets me have the bedroom set dat s 
 
 painted blue, 
 De quilt an China dishes an some other t ings 
 
 for you; 
 
 Likewise de hair-clot sofa in de front room we 
 
 kin take 
 An I ll brung me big accordeon, jest for old 
 
 acquaintaince sake. 
 
 In f ac , I ll do most anyt ing youse can expect of 
 
 me, 
 If youse ll only toe de scratch an talk up honest 
 
 see? 
 
 I can t be troubled like I been much longer an 
 
 I won t 
 So here s de proposition: Do we hitch or do we 
 
 don t? 
 
 Hull on a minute don t youse speak because I m 
 
 feelin blue; 
 Jest whistle if yeh don t an pull me necktie if 
 
 yeh do!" 
 
 58 
 
Full gloomy Jimmie looked as though by sorrow 
 
 overawed, 
 While Lizzie bit her nails and absent-mindedly 
 
 said "Gawd!" 
 
 Far down the alley Jimmie gazed and vacant 
 
 was his glance 
 As that of some ecstatic being staring in a trance ; 
 
 Til he felt his colored necktie slipping swiftly 
 
 from his shirt 
 Then he said: "It s all right, Liz, I knew youse 
 
 wouldn t do me dirt. 
 
 I knew youse wouldn t," Jimmie cried; and 
 
 Lizzie looked demure 
 As she fixed his tie, and slapped his face and, 
 
 said to him: "Why-sure!" 
 
 59 
 
The Same Old Game 
 
 TTS the same mad whirl; 
 
 Sunshine first an darkness after; 
 Craft o man an faith o girl; 
 
 Hell an hatred; love an laughter; 
 Jest the lights an shades o life, 
 
 Heart-fires cold, an then a-flame 
 Call it peace, or call it strife 
 It s jest the same ol game. 
 
 It s the same graft fer gold, 
 
 It s the same thrill o prize; 
 Of creatures bought and sold 
 
 By treachery and lies. 
 What fills up the histories? 
 
 Chase of wealth an power an name 
 Fought thru all the centuries 
 
 It s jest the same ol game. 
 
 Gee! the risin o the sun, 
 
 An the ripple o the creek; 
 Evenin s peace when day is done 
 
 60 
 
An the quiet trees speak; 
 Then the starlight an the dreams 
 
 That flood the soul with livin flame 
 Yes, there s times Life doesn t seem 
 
 To be the same ol game. 
 
 Can t we strike the false gods dead? 
 
 Can t we stick to Love an Truth? 
 Can t we follow lessons said 
 
 By the firesides of our Youth? 
 Lore o nature; lore o peace; 
 
 Love of toil an honest name 
 Try them on, an life l cease 
 
 To be the same ol game. 
 
 We kin reach the real height 
 
 Where the voice o duty calls 
 How? why jest to flash joy s light 
 
 Everywhere pain s shadow falls. 
 Jest to think o fellow man, 
 
 Jest to heal the wounds o Shame; 
 Jest to follow God s own plan 
 
 Meanin God s own game. 
 
 61 
 
4( 
 
 Aisy Come an Aisy Go" 
 
 in a little narrer street 
 In front av Gorman s grocery store, 
 Ould Doogan smokes his clay dhudeen 
 
 An tilts his chair agin th door. 
 An while he cuts his twisted plug 
 An watches men pass to and fro, 
 Says he, wid philosophic mug: 
 "They re aisy come an aisy go." 
 
 A full-faced man is he, of years; 
 
 Red-shirted, too, with beard galore, 
 An crimsoned from the many beers 
 
 Which daily down his throttle pour. 
 Large-jawed an stiff in gait an limb, 
 
 Wit little eyes that shrewdly glow; 
 An all day long says he to him: 
 
 "It s aisy come an aisy go." 
 
 He rolls the baccy in his hands, 
 He stomps it in his ancient pipe; 
 
He takes a match, assumes a stand 
 An lights it with a mighty swipe. 
 
 He sees the smoke in circles roll, 
 While in the pipe the embers glow; 
 
 "An , faith," sez he, "smoke s loike a soul 
 Tis aisy come an aisy go." 
 
 At night when honest toil, alive 
 
 To pleasure seeks the Gorman s place 
 To have a game av "forty-five," 
 
 There may be seen his shining face. 
 He reads the daily papers thru, 
 
 Bout sthrikes an politics an so 
 An winds up wid his private view 
 
 "They re aisy come an aisy go." 
 
 An so does Doogan smoke an doze, 
 An thus his time he idly spends 
 
 The flies that clushter on his clothes 
 His only confidential friends. 
 
 "It s pleasant weather Doogan," cries 
 Some neighbor, "don t ye think tis-so?" 
 
 63 
 
Sez Doogan (rousin up the flies) 
 
 "It s aisy come an aisy go." 
 Tis said that wanst, in years gone by, 
 
 Poor Doogan loved a comely maid; 
 She jilted Doogan on the sly 
 
 An left him lonely an dismayed; 
 But whin the news was brought to him 
 
 He stopped the tears that thried to flow, 
 An only said, wid visage grim: 
 
 "She s aisy come an aisy go." 
 
 Since Molly jilted him life seems 
 
 A fraud, a mockery an a lie, 
 An men an other things are dhreams 
 
 Too small to think of earnestly; 
 "I have," sez he, "me views av life 
 
 They re quick to say but harrud to know; 
 I m thinkin joy is moshtly sthrife, 
 
 An aisy come an aisy go." 
 
 64 
 
To Earth wid all its teemin things, 
 
 To man wid all his sunny hopes, 
 To beasts a-foot an birruds a-wing, 
 
 An seas that sthrike the border slopes; 
 To loves that paint life s lonely skies, 
 
 To much above and mosht below, 
 Ould Doogan s Irish phrase applies: 
 
 "THEY RE AISY COME AN AISY GO." 
 
 65 
 
T 
 
 Rhymes Without Reason 
 
 I THE TALE OF THE WHANGEREE. 
 
 HERE once was a whimsical Whangeree 
 That lived in a shady cocoa tree, 
 And whimpered and sighed day after day 
 To a flirtative Whangeroo over the way; 
 But sigh as he would she turned her head, 
 And he chittered and wailed: "I wish I were 
 
 dead; 
 
 For why shall I live and suffer, too, 
 For love of a heartless Whangeroo? 
 Ah! me," wept he, 
 (Poor Whangeree!) 
 As he shuddered his tail in the cocoa-tree. 
 
 Now it happened to pass that the Whangeree 
 
 Was caught in his doleful reverie, 
 
 And taken off in a mighty boat 
 
 And dressed in pants and a velvet coat, 
 
 To dance in the streets of a sea-port town 
 
 66 
 
And catch the pennies that pattered down. 
 
 He brooded and pined for the brown-eyed maid 
 
 He left in the far-away Congo glade. 
 
 "Chick-a-chee!" sobbed he, 
 
 (Drear Whangeree!) 
 "Oh! I wish I were back in the cocoa-tree." 
 
 But maidens are false and fickle, too, 
 And so was this heartless Whangeroo ; 
 "I m sorry," she said, u he has gone away; 
 He was very amusing, I m free to say; 
 Yet now that he s gone he is not, I see, 
 The only monk in the cocoa-tree! 
 There s another Whangeree stout and hale, 
 And I ll make HIM sigh and twist his tail! 
 
 "Tee! hee!" laughed she, 
 
 "Poor Whangeree I" 
 As she braided her tail in the cocoa-tree. 
 
 67 
 
II THE CHEMICAL CAT. 
 
 There s a chemical shop way down in the gloom 
 Of a street on the Flat, in a little back-room, 
 Where a crusty old Chemist keeps working away 
 With his gases and acids the whole of the day. 
 The place is so smelly and gloomy and drear, 
 That no one would care to partake of its cheer, 
 Save a strange-looking object on top of a vat 
 The chemist s companion, the Chemical Cat. 
 
 Now this marvelous cat has a history strange 
 That is told by the felines abroad on the range 
 Of the neighboring rooves in those hours of the 
 
 night 
 When boot-jacks are thrown and the moon sheds 
 
 her light. 
 For tis said that this Tom milk and mice doth 
 
 eschew 
 
 To unnaturally dine upon HO2. 
 A diet un-feline you ll join me in that 
 For a real self-respecting and God-fearing Cat! 
 
 68 
 
For breakfast it eats up a plate of blue mas 
 And washes it down with some liquified gas ; 
 For dinner it takes a few pieces of chalk 
 (And rosins its toes to be firm in its walk). 
 Its whiskers are dyed a most beautiful green, 
 Its hind legs are covered with red bisalene; 
 Its tail is sea-green and its forelegs are blue, 
 Its back is seal-brown and its stomach is, too. 
 Faith! there s mighty few people would dare to 
 
 cry "Scat!" 
 At this terribly tinted, strange, Chemical Cat! 
 
 Thus lonely and shunned by its fellow felines 
 (And tis shunned, by the by, upon strict color 
 
 lines ) 
 
 This odd-looking object may daily be seen, 
 Chewing carbolized cotton or else Paris green; 
 While the crusty old Chemist keeps working 
 
 away 
 As I mentioned before, with his drugs all the 
 
 day; 
 
And the one fear which haunts it is that it may 
 
 dine 
 
 Upon mixtures which into a flame will combine, 
 Which, igniting the gas, stored inside like a 
 
 drum, 
 Would explode with the force of an anarchist 
 
 bomb: 
 
 So in fear of its life, all alone on the vat 
 Sits this bleached, dyed and gas-guzzling Chem 
 ical Cat. 
 
 70 
 
Brannigan s Lawn 
 
 ORANNIGAN works on the lawn all day, 
 -^ Brannigan s hair is scanty and grey; 
 
 Brannigan s hands are knotty and black; 
 Brannigan limps on "wan ind" of his back. 
 
 But Brannigan thinks as the moments pass 
 And he gathers the chickweed out of the grass ; 
 
 And says he in his musical Irish voice: 
 "Faith, I m ould as Methusel, but me spirits 
 rejoice ; 
 
 I m ould as Methusel without kith or kin, 
 And I m full of wrinkles I am an sin, 
 
 But the Lorrud is good, an I m cam I m cam 
 Whin I thinks of me ind, sir, I am / am!" 
 
 Brannigan once had a wife and three 
 Of "the lov liest childre you could see"; 
 
 71 
 
But one of them married and two of them died, 
 Then followed the wife to the other side. 
 
 "I m alone in the wurruld, but I m patient an 
 
 brave," 
 Says he, "tho I ve wan of me legs in the grave; 
 
 Tis here I am an 7 tis here I ll be 
 
 Til Gab rel blows up his troompet for me. 
 
 Tis the lonely loikes of meself that s found 
 That friends are scarcer than fairy ground. 
 
 Whin yure ould an nashty an wrinkled an grey, 
 Wherever ye go yure in somebody s way; 
 
 Faith, I ve found it out since I losht me Liz 
 Tis yure hand that s yure frind, sir, it is 
 it is." 
 
 Then he pauses and gives you a serious view 
 "Faith, yure mother, sir, well may be proud av 
 you! 
 
 72 
 
Yure a good man born an a gintleman bred, 
 Luck an fortune is starin you sthraight ahead. 
 
 Well, I m happy meself, fer I m never broke 
 If I ve the price of a dhrink an a bit of a smoke. 
 
 Yes, a cup av coffee an a dime or two 
 An Lorrud bless you, an sure, I am thankful 
 to you !" 
 
 Then Brannigan stoops and the chick-weed flies, 
 And he looks up cunningly out of his eyes ; 
 
 And you meet his look and he straightens his 
 
 phiz 
 And he s "cuttin the grass, sir" he is he is. 
 
 73 
 
Gloom in Darktown 
 
 \ H ain t no count ... Ah nevah might . . 
 * ^ Ah couldn t be no good; 
 Mos everyone dat looks at me 
 
 Knows Ah ain t what Ah should. 
 They ain t no room foh argyment, 
 
 Ah m dead wrong . . . Ah m sham ; 
 Make no mistake bout me, Suh, 
 
 Ah m n-no good . . . dat s what I am. 
 
 Jess see dem shoes ... no sole ... no heel . . . 
 
 Wohn down . . . wohn down . . . <wohn down 
 From trapassin roun to git a job 
 
 No work foh me in dis town ; 
 Mah clo es is bum . . . mah talk is bum . . . 
 
 Face like a buhrned-out ham; 
 Ah m nach ly bad . . . Ah look like suspishin 
 
 Ah m no good . . . dat s what Ah am. 
 
Ah made a quartah t other day 
 
 A-sawin up some wood . . . 
 Gave a s loonman de quartah to change . . . 
 
 He sez: "Dat money s n-n-no good!" 
 Ah sez: "Jess so!" ... he sez: "You no good 
 youseff." 
 
 Said Ah b lieved him ... he hit me a slam 
 Ah sez: "G on, Boss! hit me some moh . . . 
 
 Ah m n-n-no good . . . dat s what I am!" 
 
 They ain t no cuhr foh mah disease ... 
 
 They cain t be, for it s me; 
 
 Ah m my own trouble . . . mah body ain t 
 right . . . 
 
 Folks jest have to leave me be . . . 
 Ah m skayed of mahsef . . . Ah m a double 
 cross . . . 
 
 Ah m a babe dat was bohn in a jam . . . 
 Ah m what you try to git away from . . . 
 
 Ah m n-no good . . . dat s what Ah am. 
 
 75 
 
Ah got no good use in livin . . . 
 
 Ain t half way fit to be daid . . . 
 Ah m in mah own way in de daytime, 
 
 An Ah cain t sleep still in mah bed . . . 
 Cain t say nothin good . . . cain t do nothin 
 good . . . 
 
 Ah m a left-over . . . Ah m a clam! 
 Keep moovin way fuhm me, Mistah . . . Ah m 
 
 ketchin . . . 
 Ah m n-n-no good . . . dat s what ah am. 
 
 NOTE. The profound conviction of the stout colored gentleman 
 who supplemented a request for "ten cents" by solemnly and 
 slowly declaring his unworth in this world, induced the above 
 verses. I can see him as he shifted away with the coin, now 
 and then turning to assure me that he was "n-no good !" until, 
 as he slouched out of speaking distance, he half turned his head 
 and shook his hand sadly I knew his final message was his first 
 that I was to always remember he was "nach ly n-no good." 
 
 76 
 
Kennedy s Cure 
 
 j^ENNEDY sits on the butter-box 
 -*^ Outside of the Gorman s grocery store, 
 And watches the laborers pounding rocks 
 
 While he pulls on his clay dhudeen galore; 
 And once in a while when a small street man 
 
 Who is down on his luck with nothing to do, 
 Comes wheeling around with his "jimmy-can," 
 
 Says Kennedy : "What is the matther wit you? 
 Yure eyes look dull an yure face is pale, 
 
 Whin yure tongue is yellow tis a timely 
 
 warnin 
 Take a dose av salts an a whishkey punch 
 
 An you l be a well man in th mornin . 
 
 For he s the physician of Langton street, 
 
 No matter whatever the ill, 
 Whether measles or mumps or corns on the feet, 
 
 His remedy works true still. 
 
 77 
 
"Whin yure sick live up to yure common sense 
 An the traits that yure folks was born in 
 
 Take a whiskhey punch an a dose of salts 
 An you l be a well man in the mornin . 
 
 "Sure, what is the use of thim nashty drugs 
 
 That ye take wid a spoon, ye gummach! 
 Divil a dhrop o th sthuff ye see 
 
 Th docthor put in his stomach. 
 But whin he s sick, sir, he takes a glass 
 
 An puts a stout ould horn in, 
 Takes his whishkey punch wid a dose av salts 
 
 An wakes up a well man in the mornin . 
 
 Jist look at poor little Jimmy Dunn, 
 
 That was buried this blessed day; 
 He dhrank a drug-store rest his soul! 
 
 While the docthors were laughing away; 
 But what was the use to give him advice 
 
 Whin it only brought me his scornin ? 
 Yet, a whishky punch an a dose av salts 
 
 An he d been a well man this mornin . 
 
 78 
 
From a Perry Street Front Stoop 
 
 TT S true for you, my good woman, I m feeling 
 
 -** fine to-day, 
 
 And more contented than I ve been this six- 
 week anyway; 
 
 Yes, tis me can rest in comfort with the baby on 
 the stoop 
 
 Long Pat s got a job, and Johnny s over of the 
 croup. 
 
 Between the rent man worrying me both mor 
 ning, noon and night; 
 
 Bills piling up like shavings and divil a cent in 
 sight, 
 
 You can well believe, good woman, that me 
 - shoulders had to stoop 
 
 Until Pat got a job and Johnny mended of the 
 croup. 
 
 Twas money, money all the time for this thing 
 or for that; 
 
 79 
 
Cam-f rated oil for Johnny s throat, and tobacco 
 
 for old Pat 
 Lord forgive me for getting mad him sitting 
 
 on the stoop, 
 And him without a job and Johnny busting 
 
 with the croup. 
 
 God knows and all the neighbors knows that s 
 
 living on the street 
 I worked the knuckles off me hands and the 
 
 bunions off me feet 
 With making both ends touch and, faith, twas 
 
 me was in the soup 
 Until Pat got a job and Johnny mended of the 
 
 croup. 
 
 Sure, I clouted him, I was that mad when I 
 
 traced him up one night 
 To Mister Gorman s grocery and him playing 
 
 cards and tight; 
 
 80 
 
"Divil twist you, Pat," says I, "and do you think 
 
 I ll be your dupe, 
 And you without a job, and Johnny groaning 
 
 with the croup? 
 
 "I d thank you, Mister Gorman," says I, "if 
 
 you d give that man no beer; 
 I d thank you, Mister Gorman," says I; "Now, 
 
 Pat, get out of here; 
 Get out, you lazy Gummach, and get back to 
 
 your own stoop ; 
 For it s little you think of work and your poor 
 
 boy Johnny s croup." 
 
 Missis Brady stole me hens because she saw me 
 
 hands were tied . . . 
 Faith, I threw it up to her this morning 
 
 she was that mad she cried! 
 Divil miend you, Missis Brady, says I, and 
 
 why didn t you steal the coop . . . 
 And my man without a job and Johnny gagging 
 
 with the croup! 
 
"Shame on you, common woman, it s reported 
 
 you should be 
 For thieving, just because I couldn t keep me 
 
 eyes on ye; 
 Sure I d almost pray the chickens would give 
 
 your brats the roop, 
 Only Pat s got a job and Johnny s over of the 
 
 croup. 
 
 "Well, I hope you re feeling s as well as I am, 
 
 good woman, this blessed day. 
 Pat s coming from the stable soon ... I sent 
 
 Johnny for some tay, 
 And while the kitchen s cooling off, thinks I, I ll 
 
 rest me on the stoop . . . 
 Long Pat s got a job d you see? and Johnny s 
 
 over of the croup." 
 
Fellowship 
 
 FROM MISTER DOOGAN S POINT OF VIEW. 
 
 YE live yure life, an ye live as ye please, 
 An ye pack wid yure own ould Clan; 
 An ye buy yure bread an yure mate an 
 
 yure cheese 
 
 The mosht and the cheapest ye can ; 
 Ye gather yure gold, clutch be clutch til ye 
 
 die- 
 But, frind, lave me toss ye this tip: 
 There s wan thing ye ll never deceive nor buy, 
 An that is thrue fellowship. 
 
 For tis borrun of th soul that ud die for you 
 
 Of th heart that kin weep in song; 
 Of brawn and brains that is tinse an thrue, 
 
 Of Faith that is manly an sthrong; 
 Of th Mercy that stops the timpted lie 
 
 From makin the firsht bad slip 
 Yes, gold is gold, but it niver can buy 
 
 Strong, brave, good fellowship. 
 
 83 
 
The Cats av Kilkenny 
 
 cats av Kilkenny are frolicsome crea- 
 
 tures, 
 Wid whishkers as stiff as a porcupine s 
 
 quills; 
 While the f aymales have beautiful claws an fine 
 
 features 
 
 That ud fill any Tom wid a million av thrills. 
 An the downiest fur! 
 An mosht blarneyin purr! 
 Always ready for any ould scrimmage and 
 
 scratch 
 
 Sure, there isn t enny 
 Cats in th wurruld 
 Like the rollickin , frolickin Cats av Kilkenny. 
 
 The Cats av Kilkenny sometimes are quite 
 
 pleasin , 
 
 (An full av the good-natured divil at that!) 
 But, faith, if they re rubbed the wrong way wid- 
 
 out reason, 
 
 84 
 
Be the Powers! they ll fight at the dhrop av a 
 
 hat! 
 
 Yes, they ll glare an 7 they ll glower 
 On fence an Round Tower, 
 For they re divils on knowin with who to have 
 
 spats ; 
 
 And throughout Ireland s nation 
 They ve a great reputation 
 For hatin land agents an peelers an rats! 
 Sorra the enny 
 Cats in the wurruld 
 
 Like the blashtering, mashtering Cats av 
 Kilkenny. 
 
 Now, the cats av Kilkenny, I m plazed to explain 
 
 that 
 The first two in hist ry were transformed from 
 
 men; 
 The first Tom was Cromwell, the faymale a 
 
 Dane that 
 
 85 
 
Was thrapped in a bog at the siege av Lough 
 
 Glen. 
 
 Twas a fairy whose magic 
 Doomed thim to the tragic 
 Existence of cats "an ye divils!" sez she, 
 Scratch an meaouw up and down 
 Thru ould Kilkenny town, 
 An kape fightin an bitin til poor Ireland s 
 
 free!" 
 
 Then she tapped them quite gaily 
 Wid her blessed shillaylee 
 An sure now you ve the cause of the Cats av 
 Kilkenny. 
 
 86 
 
TOWN BALLADS AND PLAIN 
 STATEMENTS 
 
Where You Live Every Day 
 
 T AM tired of the City, its traffic and din; 
 * Of its alleys of shame and its mansions of sin; 
 Of its pride of false living, its commerce by 
 
 stealth, 
 
 Of its pathos of poverty, swagger of wealth; 
 Of its boulevard brazenry, presumption and 
 
 pose, 
 And its judgment of men by their bank-books 
 
 and clothes; 
 
 So I want to get back to the country again, 
 To the farm and the orchard, the meadow and 
 
 plain; 
 To the deep-bosomed valleys, beflowered and 
 
 green, 
 
 Where warm-hearted Nature forever is Queen; 
 Where the clover airs balmily blow on your 
 
 cheek, 
 Where you live every day and not just once a 
 
 week. 
 
 89 
 
Oh! the pity, the pain and the despond of life, 
 Where the minions of Mammon are always in 
 
 strife ; 
 
 Where dishonesty, envy and lust crowd the hives 
 And the foul lure of Gold leads its slaughter of 
 
 lives. 
 
 Ah! City! your mansions and cafes are bright 
 With their tinkle of glasses, their music and 
 
 light; 
 
 Your avenues teem with Pomp s gaudy parade, 
 But Poverty s children crouch dumb in the 
 
 shade 
 
 And I m sick of it all to the country again, 
 Where health and clean living are prized more 
 
 than gain ; 
 Where hearts are unselfish and mean what they 
 
 speak 
 Where you live every day and not just once a 
 
 week. 
 
 90 
 
Good-bye to you, City. Good-bye to your pride, 
 Good-bye to the heartaches your blandishments 
 
 hide; 
 Good-bye to your marts and your sky-scrapers 
 
 tall, 
 And may God help the failures you lured to 
 
 their fall. 
 
 For I and my sweetheart are faced to the hills, 
 Upbuilded by God at Creation s first thrills; 
 We shall breath of the clover; our toil shall be 
 
 rest; 
 
 And our friends shall be those who are time- 
 tried and best. 
 
 The linnet shall wake us at dawn s rosy light, 
 And the cricket s sweet chirp lull our sleeping 
 
 at night; 
 And we ll know by the roses which bloom on 
 
 each cheek 
 That we live every day and not just once a 
 
 week! 
 
 91 
 
A Song for the Down and Out 
 
 WELL, son, are you feeling the stings of 
 defeat 
 
 After struggling to conquer Success? 
 Do you think there s a JINX that you sim 
 ply can t beat? 
 
 Do your creditors harry and press? 
 Are your clothes getting seedy? your cash run 
 ning low? 
 
 Do you fear all your courage has fled? 
 Then forget it you re only commencing to 
 
 show 
 A man s never down til he s dead. 
 
 No physician prescribes for himself when he s 
 
 in, 
 
 For he knows that his brain isn t clear; 
 So when you re disheartened and weakened in 
 
 will 
 Why let some hopeful guy give you cheer. 
 
 92 
 
Smile up at your creditors say that you ll try 
 
 To a finish and come out ahead; 
 Keep a-hustling; you ll have plenty cash by- 
 and-by 
 
 They can t put you down til you re dead. 
 
 I know it s a tough proposition to strive, 
 Meeting many a cruel rebuff, 
 
 With you battling to keep soul and body alive, 
 And the world seeming cold oh! it s tough! 
 
 But, gee! when you ve kept up the desolate fight 
 And you win ain t it great for the head? 
 
 Keep a-chasing the Jinx, son, his goat is in 
 
 sight- 
 Play to win you re not down til you re dead. 
 
 Here s my hand, chum; you play on the good- 
 
 fellow s side; 
 
 Cut the "Dead march in Saul" try a jig/ 
 Three cheers for you! Now for that Marathon 
 stride . . . 
 
 93 
 
Oh! you winner! get busy and dig 
 A good-natured world, son, is there with the 
 
 Boost, 
 
 Though the grouches may hammer instead 
 Never mind them their chickens will have a 
 
 low roost 
 YOU LL be up when the knockers are dead. 
 
 94 
 
Mother Hubbard Up to Date 
 
 ^TTMIE rhymes of our childhood sometimes 
 * have a meaning 
 
 Which the thoughtful can put to good 
 
 use; 
 Yes, there s many a text for a practical sermon 
 
 In the jingles of dear Mother Goose. 
 When youVe gambled your time and side 
 
 stepped the good chances, 
 Just recall, in your lonely despair, 
 How Old Mother Hubbard once went to the 
 
 cupboard 
 And found that "the cupboard was bare." 
 
 If you ve money in plenty your friends are 
 
 alluring; 
 
 They re the best of good fellows just then; 
 They have money to lend you, are glad to be 
 
 friend you, 
 And declare you a prince among men. 
 
 95 
 
But when Luck takes a turn and you crave for 
 
 their help well 
 
 You find that the "bunch" isn t there 
 Yes, my dear Mother Hubbard, you go to the 
 
 cupboard 
 And discover it s terribly bare. 
 
 Tho there may be exceptions, this rule is a true 
 
 one 
 
 There s ten grafters for one real friend 
 It is not what you are that concerns them, by far, 
 But it s just what you ve got what you spend! 
 With the end of your pile they have passed the 
 
 last smile 
 
 They re too busy to think of your care 
 There you are, Mother Hubbard! you have gone 
 
 to the cupboard 
 And found it was dismally bare! 
 
 96 
 
I don t mean that the whole world is selfish and 
 
 vicious 
 
 Not at all make your friends spend away; 
 But be sure you deposit some "bones" in the 
 
 "closed- 
 Mother Hubbard may need them some day. 
 You take pleasure in giving, but as for the ask 
 ing 
 
 Well, you know if youVe ever been there 
 So, my dear Mother Hubbard, when you go to 
 
 the cupboard 
 Have it fixed that the cupboard s not bare. 
 
 97 
 
The Danger Line 
 
 T"\ID you wake with a start wondering where 
 *~* you were at? 
 
 Then lay back to soberly think; 
 But decide that the very best thing you could do 
 
 Would be "skid" to the nearest drink? 
 Did you slip past the breakfast you couldn t eat 
 
 And rush to the beer and the wine? 
 Did you join in some prosperous grafter s 
 treat? 
 
 Then you re on the Danger Line. 
 
 It is foolish enough, son, to jolly the "crowd" 
 
 When you re "kidding" for daily pelf; 
 But, listen! there s only a grave and a shroud 
 
 For the fellow who kids himself. 
 A few "rounds" of drink and you say and be 
 lieve 
 
 "The world is all mine all mine!" 
 Yet it s only yourself that you deceive 
 
 For you re on the Danger Line. 
 
You d not do an act to wife, mother or child 
 
 That would threaten their lives with disgrace, 
 You d declare the accuser was brutal and wild 
 
 If he said such a thing to your face 
 But, man, are there loved ones who prosper or 
 lose 
 
 By some acts good or bad that you do? 
 Are you dragging their souls to the bars where 
 you booze? 
 
 Are they on the Danger Line too? 
 
 99 
 
Don t Stay at the Grave Too Long 
 
 Past is a grave which we tenderly strew 
 With flowers of Remembrance alway, 
 For the Loves and the Friendships we 
 
 once fondly knew 
 In the hours of a dead yesterday. 
 It is sweet that we visit the tomb of the Past, 
 Its memories still near us should throng; 
 Yet recall that Life presses us on to a Task 
 And don t stay at the Grave too long. 
 
 Yes, tis tender to think of the dear days a-gone 
 
 When ambition was lusty and young; 
 To remember the sweet hopes we built upon 
 
 And the thrill of old loves we sung; 
 For the dear, vanished Memories now buried 
 
 away 
 
 Crave a loyalty steady and strong; 
 Let us cherish the Past and its graves but, 
 say 
 
 Don t stay at the Grave too long. 
 
 100 
 
In Parting 
 
 ELOVED West, thou art all song and glad- 
 
 ness ; 
 Thy seas are symphonies, thy sparkling 
 
 streams 
 
 Sing joyous lyrics while they run thy moun 
 tains 
 And giant woods are vibrant with grand 
 
 themes. 
 
 From the Sierras to the Sunset seas 
 Peal forth, to accordant souls, thy glorious 
 melodies. 
 
 Deem it not strange if I, one of thy children, 
 Spelled by the music of hill, wood and sea, 
 Should like a child shrill forth in mimic trebles 
 Some note of song, however vainlessly. 
 For West, thou art my mother, and I fling 
 My truant song to thee because I cannot 
 help but sing. 
 
 101 
 
I feel, however, humbly, all thy glory, 
 
 Air, sea and sky bear me thy marvelous song; 
 
 Tomes of the past have given my soul thy story 
 
 How beautiful thou art! how brave! how 
 
 strong! 
 
 Oh ! Guardian of the World s last destiny 
 Would that thy child could sing a truer 
 
 song for thee. 
 
 
 My little note is sung I pass along 
 Forgive the singer and forget the song. 
 
 102 
 
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 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY