University of California Berkeley 
 
 Purchased from the 
 
 Margaret I. and 
 Augusta M. Higginson Fund 
 
OAK AND IVY 
 
 BY 
 
 PAUL DUNBAR 
 
 DAYTON OHIO 
 
 PRESS OF UNITED BRETHREN PUBLISHING HOUSE 
 1893 
 
TO HER 
 
 WHO HAS EVER BEEN 
 MY GUIDE, TEACHER, AND INSPIRATION, 
 
 THIS LITTLE VOLUME IS 
 
 atelg htaerifoir. 
 
OAK AND IVY. 
 
 io 
 
 Mother Race! to thee I bring 
 This pledge of faith unwavering, 
 
 This tribute to thy glory. 
 
 1 know the pangs which thou didst feel, 
 When Slavery crushed thee with its heel, 
 
 With thy dear blood all gory. 
 
 Sad days were those, ah, sad indeed ! 
 But through the land the fruitful seed 
 
 Of better times was growing. 
 The plant of freedom upward sprung, 
 And spread its leaves so fresh and young,- 
 
 Its blossoms now are blowing. 
 
 On every hand in this fair land 
 Proud Ethiope's swarthy children stand 
 
 Beside their fairer neighbor; 
 The forests flee before their stroke, 
 Their hammers ring, their forges smoke, 
 
 They stir in honest labor. 
 5 
 
OAK AND IVY. 
 
 They tread the fields where honor calls; 
 Their voices sound through senate halls 
 
 In majesty and power. 
 To right they cling; the hymns they sing 
 Up to the skies in beauty ring, 
 
 And bolder grow each hour. 
 
 Be proud, my Eace, in mind and soul; 
 Thy name is writ on Glory's scroll 
 
 In characters of fire. 
 
 High 'mid the clouds of Fame's bright sky 
 Thy banner's blazoned folds now fly, 
 
 And truth shall lift them higher. 
 
 Thou hast the right to noble pride, 
 Whose spotless robes were purified 
 
 By blood's severe baptism. 
 Upon thy brow the cross was laid, 
 And labor's painful sweat-beads made 
 
 A consecrating chrism. 
 
 No other race, or white or black, 
 When bound, as thou wert, to the rack, 
 
 So seldom stooped to grieving; 
 No other race, when free again, 
 Forgot the past and proved them men 
 
 So noble in forgiving. 
 
 Go on and up! Our souls and eyes 
 Shall follow thy continuous rise; 
 
 Our ears shall list thy story 
 From bards which from thy root shall spring, 
 And proudly tune their lyres to sing 
 
 Of Ethiopia's glory. 
 
OAK AND IVY. 
 
 A 
 
 The air is dark, the sky is gray, 
 The misty shadows come and go, 
 
 And here within ray dusky room 
 
 Each chair looks ghostly in the gloom. 
 Outside the rain falls cold and slow, 
 
 Half-stinging drops, half-blinding spray. 
 
 Each slightest sound is magnified, 
 For drowsy quiet holds her reign; 
 
 The burnt stick on the fireplace breaks, 
 
 The nodding cat with start awakes, 
 And then to sleep drops off again, 
 
 Unheeding Towser at her side. 
 
 I look far out across "the lawn, 
 Where huddled stand the silly, sheep; 
 
 My work lies idle at my hands, 
 
 My thoughts fly out like scattered strands 
 Of thread, and on the verge of sleep 
 
 Still half awake I dream and yawn. 
 
 What spirits rise before my eyes! 
 
 How various of kind and form! 
 Sweet memories of days long past, 
 The dreams of youth that could not last, 
 
 Each smiling calm, each raging storm, 
 That swept across my early skies. 
 
 Half seen, the bare, gaunt-fingered boughs 
 Before my window sweep and sway, 
 
 And chafe in tortures of unrest. 
 
 My chin sinks down upon my breast; 
 I cannot work on such a day, 
 
 But only sit and dream and drowse. 
 
OAK AND IVY. 
 
 a iplngght* Anmtj* 
 
 I've a humble little motto 
 
 That is homely, though it's true, 
 
 Keep a pluggin' away. 
 It's a thing when I've an object 
 That I always try to do, 
 
 Keep a pluggin' away. 
 When you've rising storms to quell, 
 When opposing waters swell, 
 It will never fail to tell, 
 
 Keep a pluggin' away. 
 
 If the hills are high before 
 
 And the paths are hard to climb, 
 
 Keep a pluggin' away. 
 And remember that success 
 Comes to him who bides his time, 
 
 Keep a pluggin' away. 
 From the greatest to the least, 
 None are from the rule released. 
 Be thou toiler, poet, priest, 
 
 Keep a pluggin' away. 
 
 Delve away beneath the surface, 
 There is treasure farther down, 
 
 Keep a pluggin' away. 
 Let the rain come down in torrents, 
 Let the threat'ning heavens frown, 
 
 Keep a pluggin' away. 
 When the clouds have rolled away, 
 There will come a brighter day 
 All your labor to repay, 
 
 Keep a pluggin' away. 
 
OAK AND IVY. 
 
 There'll be lots of sneers to swallow, 
 There'll be lots of pain to bear, 
 
 Keep a pluggin' away. 
 If you've got your eye on heaven, 
 Some bright day you'll wake up there, 
 
 Keep a pluggin' away. 
 Perseverance still is king; 
 Time its sure reward will bring; 
 Work and wait unwearying, 
 
 Keep a pluggin' away. 
 
 A little bird, with plumage brown, 
 Beside my window flutters down, 
 A moment chirps its little strain, 
 Then taps upon my window pane, 
 And chirps again, and hops along, 
 To call my notice to its song; 
 But I work on, nor heed its lay, 
 Till, in neglect, it flies away. 
 
 So birds of peace and hope and love 
 Come fluttering earthward from above, 
 To settle on life's window sills, 
 And ease our load of earthly ills; 
 But we, in traffic's rush and din 
 Too deep engaged to let them in, 
 With deadened heart and sense plod on, 
 Nor know our loss till they are gone. 
 
10 OAK AND IVY. 
 
 To the cold, dark grave they go 
 Silently and sad and slow, 
 From the light of happy skies 
 And the glance of mortal eyes. 
 In their beds the violets spring, 
 And the brook flows murmuring; 
 But at eve the violets die, 
 And the brook in the sand runs dry. 
 
 In the rosy, blushing morn, 
 See, the smiling babe is born ; 
 For a day it lives, and then 
 Breathes its short life out again. 
 And anon gaunt- visaged Death, 
 With his keen and icy breath, 
 Bloweth out the vital fire 
 In the hoary-headed sire. 
 
 Heeding not the children's wail, 
 Fathers droop and mothers fail; 
 Sinking sadly from each other, 
 Sister parts from loving brother. 
 All the land is filled with wailing, 
 Sounds of mourning garments trailing, 
 With their sad portent imbued, 
 Making melody subdued. 
 
 But in all this depth of woe 
 This consoling truth we know : 
 There will come a time of rain, 
 And the brook will flow again ; 
 Where the violet fell, 'twill grow, 
 When the sun has chased the snow. 
 See in this the lesson plain, 
 Mortal man shall rise again. 
 
OAK AND IVY. 11 
 
 Well the prophecy was kept; 
 Christ "first fruit of them that slept "- 
 Rose with vic'try-circled brow ; 
 So, believing one, shalt thou. 
 Ah! but there shall come a day 
 When, unhampered by this clay, 
 Souls shall rise to life newborn 
 On that resurrection morn. 
 
 ctober. 
 
 October is the treasurer of the year, 
 
 And all the months pay bounty to her store; 
 The fields and orchards still their tribute bear, 
 
 And fill her brimming coffers more and more. 
 But she, with youthful lavishness, 
 Spends all her wealth in gaudy dress, 
 
 And decks herself in garments bold 
 
 Of scarlet, purple, red, and gold. 
 
 She heedeth not how swift the hours fly, 
 
 But smiles and sings her happy life along; 
 She only sees above a shining sky; 
 
 She only hears the breezes' voice in song. 
 Her garments trail the woodlands through, 
 And gather pearls of early dew 
 
 That sparkle, till the roguish Sun 
 
 Creeps up and steals them every one. 
 
 But what cares she that jewels should be lost, 
 
 When all of Nature's bounteous wealth is hers? 
 Though princely fortunes may have been their cost, 
 
 Not one regret her calm demeanor stirs. 
 Whole-hearted, happy, careless, free, 
 She lives her life out joyously, 
 
 Nor cares when Frost stalks o'er her way 
 
 And turns her auburn locks to gray. 
 
12 OAK AND IVY. 
 
 It's all a farce, these tales they tell 
 
 About the breezes sighing, 
 And moans astir o'er field and dell, 
 
 Because the year is dying. 
 
 Such principles are most absurd, 
 I care not who first taught 'em; 
 
 There's nothing known to beast or bird 
 To make a solemn autumn. 
 
 In solemn times, when grief holds sway 
 
 With countenance distressing, 
 You'll note the more of black and gray 
 
 Will then be used in dressing. 
 
 Now purple tints are all around; 
 
 The sky is blue and mellow; 
 And e'en the grasses turn the ground 
 
 From modest green to yellow. 
 
 The seed burs all with laughter crack 
 
 On featherweed and jimson; 
 And leaves that should be dressed in black 
 
 Are all decked out in crimson. 
 
 A butterfly goes winging by ; 
 
 A singing bird comes after; 
 And Nature, all from earth to sky, 
 
 Is bubbling o'er with laughter. 
 
 The ripples wimple on the rills, 
 
 Like sparkling little lasses; 
 The sunlight runs along the hills, 
 
 And laughs among the grasses. 
 
OAK AND IVY. 13 
 
 The earth is just so full of fun 
 
 It really can't contain it; 
 And streams of mirth so freely run 
 
 The heavens seem to rain it. 
 
 Don't talk to me of solemn days 
 In autumn's time of splendor, 
 
 Because the sun shows fewer rays, 
 And these grow slant and slender. 
 
 Why, it's the climax of the year, 
 The highest time of living ! 
 
 Till naturally its bursting cheer 
 Just melts into thanksgiving. 
 
 Dr. Scones Weroton jMattljeiDS, .Mason, 
 
 All round about, the clouds encompassed me; 
 
 On every side I looked, my weary sight 
 
 Was met by terrors of Plutonian night; 
 And chilling surges of a cruel sea 
 That beat against my stronghold ceaselessly, 
 
 Eoared rude derision at my hapless plight; 
 
 And hope, which I had thought to hold so tight, 
 Slipped from my weak'ning grasp and floated free. 
 
 But when I thought to flee the unequal strife, 
 As wearied out I could not bear it more, 
 Fate gave the choicest gem of all her store, 
 
 And noble Matthews came into my life. 
 He warmed my being like a virile flame, 
 And with his coming, light and courage came! 
 
14 OAK AND IVY. 
 
 A Summer 
 
 It's hot to-day. The bees is buzzin' 
 
 Kinder don't-keer-like aroun', 
 An' fur off the warm air dances 
 
 O'er the parchin' roofs in town. 
 In the brook the cows is standin'; 
 
 Childern hidin' in the hay; 
 Can't keep none of 'em a workin', 
 
 'Cause it's hot to-day. 
 
 It's hot to-day. The sun is blazin' 
 
 Like a great big ball o' fire; 
 Seems as ef instead o' settin' 
 
 It keeps mountin' higher an' higher. 
 I'm as triflin' as the childern, 
 
 Though I blame them lots an' scold; 
 I keep slippin' to the spring house, 
 
 Where the milk is rich an' cold. 
 
 The very air within its shadder 
 
 Smells o' cool an' restful things, 
 An' a roguish little robin 
 
 Sits above the place an' sings. 
 I don't mean to be a shirkin', 
 
 But I linger by the way 
 Longer, mebbe, than is needful, 
 
 'Cause it's hot to-day. 
 
 It's hot to-day. The horses stumble 
 
 Half asleep across the fiel's; 
 An' a host o' teasin' fancies 
 
 O'er my burnin' senses steals, 
 Dreams o' cool rooms, curtains lowered, 
 
 An' a sofy's temptin* look; 
 Patter o' composin' raindrops 
 
 Or the ripple of a brook. 
 
OAK AND IVY. 15 
 
 I strike a stump! That wakes me sudden; 
 
 Dreams all vanish into air. 
 Lordy! how I chew my whiskers; 
 
 'Twouldn't do fur me to swear. 
 But I have to be so keerful 
 
 'Bout my thoughts an' what I say; 
 Somethin' might slip out unheeded, 
 
 'Cause it's hot to-day. 
 
 Git up, there, Suke! you, Sal, git over! 
 
 Sakes alive! how I do sweat. 
 Every stitch that I've got on me, 
 
 Bet a cent, is wringin' wet. 
 If this keeps up, I'll lose my temper. 
 
 Gee there, Sal, you lazy brute! 
 Wonder who on airth this weather 
 
 Could 'a' be'n got up to suit? 
 
 You, Sam, go bring a tin o' water; 
 
 Dash it all, don't be so slow! 
 'Pears as ef you tuk an hour 
 
 'Tween each step to stop an' blow. 
 Think I want to stand a meltin' 
 
 Out here in this b'ilin' sun, 
 While you stop to think about it? 
 
 Lift them feet o' your'n an' run. 
 
 It ain't no use; I'm plumb fetaggled. 
 
 Come an' put this team away. 
 I won't plow another furrer; 
 
 It's too mortal hot to-day. 
 I ain't weak, nor I ain't lazy, 
 
 But I'll stand this half day's loss 
 'Fore I let the devil make me 
 
 Lose my patience an' git cross. 
 
16 OAK AND IVY. 
 
 Songs. 
 
 A bee that was searching for sweets one day 
 Through the gate of a rose garden happened to stray. 
 In the heart of a rose he hid away, 
 And forgot in his bliss the light of day, 
 As sipping his honey he buzzed in song; 
 Though day was waning, he lingered long, 
 For the rose was sweet, so sweet. 
 
 A robin sits pluming his ruddy breast, 
 And a madrigal sings to his love in her nest: 
 "Oh, the skies they are blue, the fields are green, 
 And the birds in your nest will soon be seen!" 
 She hangs on his words with a thrill of love, 
 And chirps to him as he sits above, 
 For the song is sweet, so sweet. 
 
 A maiden was out on a summer's day 
 With the winds and the waves and the flowers at play ; 
 And she met with a youth of gentle air, 
 With the light of the sunshine on his hair. 
 Together they wandered the flowers among; 
 They loved, and loving they lingered long, 
 For to love is sweet, so sweet. 
 
 Bird of my lady's bow'r, 
 
 Sing her a song; 
 Tell her that ev'ry hour, 
 
 All the day long, 
 Thoughts of her come to me, 
 
 Filling my brain 
 With the warm ecstasy 
 
 Of love's refrain. 
 
OAK AND IVY. 17 
 
 Little bird! happy bird! 
 
 Being so near, 
 Where e'en her slightest word 
 
 Thou mayest hear, 
 Seeing her glancing eyes, 
 
 Sheen of her hair, 
 Thou art in paradise, 
 
 Would I were there. 
 
 I am so far away, 
 
 Thou art so near; 
 Plead with her, birdling gay, 
 
 Plead with my dear. 
 Rich be thy recompense, 
 
 Fine be thy fee, 
 If through thine eloquence 
 
 She hearken me.- 
 
 Sunset 
 
 The river sleeps beneath the sky, 
 
 And clasps the shadows to its breast; 
 The crescent moon shines dim on high; 
 And in the lately radiant west 
 The gold is fading into gray. 
 Now stills the lark his festive lay 
 And mourns with me the dying day, 
 
 While in the south the first faint star 
 
 Lifts to the night its silver face, 
 And twinkles to the moon afar 
 Across the heaven's graying space ; 
 
 Low murmurs reach me from the town, 
 As Day puts on her somber crown, 
 And shakes her mantle darkly down, 
 
18 OAK AND IVY. 
 
 Stt Summer 
 
 When summer time has come, and all 
 
 The world is in the magic thrall 
 
 Of perfumed airs that lull each sense 
 
 To fits of drowsy indolence; 
 
 When skies are deepest blue above, 
 
 And flow'rs aflush, then most I love 
 
 To start, while early dews are damp, 
 
 And wend my way in woodland tramp 
 
 Where forests rustle, tree on tree, 
 
 And sing their silent songs to me; 
 
 Where pathways meet and pathways part, 
 
 To walk with Nature heart by heart, 
 
 Till wearied out at last I lie 
 
 Where some sweet stream steals singing by 
 
 A mossy bank ; where violets vie 
 
 In color with the summer sky, 
 
 Or take my rod and line and hook, 
 
 And wander to some darkling brook. 
 
 Where all day long the willows dream, 
 
 And idly droop to kiss the stream, 
 
 And there to loll from morn till night 
 
 Unheeding nibble, run, or bite 
 
 Just for the joy of being there 
 
 And drinking in the summer air, 
 
 The summer sounds, and summer sights, 
 
 That set a restless mind to rights 
 
 When grief and pain and raging doubt 
 
 Of men and creeds have worn it out; 
 
 The birds' song and the water's drone, 
 
 The humming bees' low monotone, 
 
 The murmur of the passing breeze, 
 
 And all the sounds akin to these, 
 
 That make a man in summer time 
 
 Feel only fit for rest and rhyme. 
 
OAK AND IVY. 19 
 
 Joy springs all radiant in my breast; 
 Though pauper poor, than king more blest, 
 The tide beats in my soul so strong 
 That happiness breaks forth in song, 
 And rings aloud the welkin blue 
 With all the songs I ever knew. 
 time of rapture! time of song! 
 How swiftly glide thy days along 
 Adown the current of the years, 
 Above the rocks of grief and tears! 
 'Tis wealth enough of joy for me 
 In summer time to simply be. 
 
 When storms arise 
 And darkening skies 
 About me threat'ning lower, 
 To thee, Lord, I lift mine eyes; 
 To thee my tortured spirit flies 
 For solace in that hour. 
 
 Thy mighty arm 
 Will let no harm 
 Come near me nor befall me. 
 Thy voice shall quiet my alarm; 
 When life's great battle waxeth warm, 
 No foeman shall appall me. 
 
 Upon thy breast 
 Secure I rest 
 
 From sorrow and vexation, 
 No more by sinful cares oppressed, 
 But in thy presence ever blest, 
 O God of my salvation! 
 
20 OAK AND IVY. 
 
 A jBcmfo Song* 
 
 Oh, dere's lots o' care an' trouble 
 
 In dis world to swaller down; 
 An' ol' Sorrer's purty lively 
 
 In her way o' gittin' roun'. 
 Yet dere's times when I furgit 'em, 
 
 Aches an' pains an' troubles all, 
 An' it's when I take at ebenin' 
 
 My oP banjo f um de wall. 
 
 'Bout de time dat night is fallin' 
 
 An' my daily wu'k is done, 
 An' above de shady hilltops 
 
 I kin see de settin' sun; 
 When de quiet, restful shadders 
 
 Is beginnin' jes' to fall, 
 Den I take de little banjo 
 
 F'um its place upon de wall. 
 
 Den my fam'ly gadders roun' me 
 
 In de fadin' o' de light, 
 As I strike de strings to try 'em 
 
 Ef dey all is tuned er-right. 
 An' it seems we're so nigh heaben 
 
 We kin hyeah de angels sing 
 When de music o' dat banjo 
 
 Sets my cabin all er-ring. 
 
 An' my wife an' all de chillen, 
 
 Male an' female, small an' big, 
 Even up to gray-haired granny, 
 
 Seem jes' boun' to do a jig; 
 Till I change de style o' music, 
 
 Change de movement an' de time. 
 An' de ringin' little banjo 
 
 Plays an ol' heart-feelin' hime. 
 
OAK AND IVY. 21 
 
 An' somehow my th'oat gits choky, 
 
 An' a lump keeps try in' to rise, 
 Like it wan'ed to ketch de water 
 
 Dat was flowin' to my eyes; 
 An' I feel dat I could sorter 
 
 Knock de socks clean off o' sin 
 As I hyeah my po' ol' granny 
 
 Wid her trernblin' voice jine in. 
 
 Den we all th'ow in our voices 
 
 Fur to he'p de chune out too, 
 Like a big camp-meetin' choiry 
 
 Tryin' to sing a mou'nah th'oo. 
 An' our th'oats let out de music, 
 
 Sweet an' solemn, loud an' free, 
 Till de rafters o' my cabin 
 
 Echo wid de melody. 
 
 Oh, de music o' de banjo, 
 
 Quick an' deb'lish, solemn, slow, 
 Is de greates' joy an' solace 
 
 Dat a weary slave kin know! 
 So jes' let me hyeah it ringin', 
 
 Do' de chune be po' an' rough, 
 It's a pleasure; an' de pleasures 
 
 O' dis life is few enough. 
 
 Now, de blessed little angels 
 
 Up in heaben, we are told, 
 Don't do nothin' all dere lifetime 
 
 'Ceptin' play on ha'ps o' gold. 
 Now I think heaben'd be mo' homelike 
 
 Ef we'd hyeah some music fall 
 F'um a real ol'-fashioned banjo, 
 
 Like dat one upon de wall. 
 
22 OAK AND IVY. 
 
 tje r tones* 
 
 You kin talk about yer anthems 
 
 An' yer arias an' sich, 
 An' yer modern choir singin' 
 
 That you think so awful rich ; 
 But you orter heerd us youngsters 
 
 In the times now far away, 
 A singin' o' the ol' tunes 
 
 In the ol'-fashioned way. 
 
 There was some o' us sung treble, 
 
 An' a few o' us growled bass, 
 An' the tide o' song flowed smoothly 
 
 With its complement o' grace; 
 There was spirit in that music, 
 
 An' a kind o' solemn sway, 
 A singin' o' the old tunes 
 
 In the ol'-fashioned way. 
 
 I remember oft o' standin' 
 
 In my homespun pantaloons, 
 On my face the bronze an' freckles 
 
 O' the guns o' youthful Junes, 
 Thinkin' that no mortal minstrel 
 
 Ever chanted sich a lay 
 As the ol' tunes we was singin' 
 
 In the ol'-fashioned way. 
 
 The boys 'ud always lead us, 
 
 An' the girls 'ud all chime in, 
 Till the sweetness o' the singin' 
 
 Robbed the list'nin' soul o' sin; 
 An' I ust to tell the parson 
 
 'Twas as good to sing as pray, 
 When the people sung the ol' tunes 
 
 In the ol'-fashioned way. 
 
OAK AND JF1. 23 
 
 How I long agin to hear it, 
 
 Pourin' forth from soul to soul, 
 With the treble high an' meller, 
 
 An' the bass's mighty roll ; 
 But the times is very diff' rent, 
 
 An' the music heerd to-day 
 Ain't the singin' o' the ol' tunes 
 
 In the ol'-fashioned way. 
 
 Little screechin' by a w T oman, 
 
 Little squawkin' by a man, 
 Then the organ's twiddle-twaddle, 
 
 Jest the empty space to span, 
 An' ef you should even think it, 
 
 'Tisn't proper fur to say 
 That you want to hear the ol' tunes 
 
 In the ol'-fashioned way. 
 
 But I think that some bright mornin', 
 
 When the toils of life is o'er, 
 An' the sun o' heaven arisin' 
 
 Glads with light the happy shore, 
 I shall hear the angel chorus, 
 
 In the realms o' endless day, 
 A singin' o' the ol' tunes 
 
 In the ol'-fashioned way. 
 
 Cnllabrj. 
 
 Sing me, sweet, a soothing psalm, 
 Holy, tender, low, and calm, 
 Full of drowsy words and dreamy, 
 Sleep half seen where the sides are seamy; 
 Lay my head upon your breast; 
 Sing me to rest. 
 
24 OAK AND IVY. 
 
 QtaroL 
 
 Ring out, ye bells! 
 
 All Nature swells 
 With gladness at the wondrous story, 
 
 The world was lorn, 
 
 But Christ is born 
 To change one sadness into glory. 
 
 Sing, earthlings, sing! 
 
 To-night a King 
 Hath come from heaven's high throne to bless us, 
 
 The outstretched hand 
 
 O'er all the land 
 Is raised in pity to caress us. 
 
 Come at his call; 
 
 Be joyful all; 
 Away with mourning and with sadness! 
 
 The heavenly choir 
 
 With holy fire 
 Their voices raise in songs of gladness. 
 
 The darkness breaks, 
 
 And Dawn awakes, 
 Her cheeks suffused with youthful blushes. 
 
 The rocks and stones 
 
 In holy tones 
 Are singing sweeter than the thrushes. 
 
 Then why should we 
 
 In silence be, 
 When Nature lends her voice to praises; 
 
 When heaven and earth 
 
 Proclaim the truth 
 Of Him for whom that lone star blazes? 
 
OAK AND IVY. 25 
 
 No, be not still, 
 
 But with a will 
 Strike all your harps and set them ringing; 
 
 On hill and heath 
 
 Let every breath 
 Throw all its power into singing! 
 
 Welcome 
 
 TO THE WESTERN ASSOCIATION OF WRITERS. 
 
 " Westward the course of empire takes its way,"- 
 So Berkeley "said, and so to-day 
 The men who know the world still say. 
 The glowing West, with bounteous hand, 
 Bestows her gifts throughout the land, 
 And smiles to see at her command 
 Art, science, and the industries, 
 New fruits of new Hesperides. 
 So, proud are you who claim the West 
 As home land; doubly are you blest 
 To live where liberty and health 
 Go hand in hand with brains and wealth. 
 So here's a welcome to you all, 
 Whate'er the work your hands let fall, 
 To you who trace on history's page 
 The footprints of each passing age; 
 To you who tune the laureled lyre 
 To songs of love or deeds of fire; 
 To you before whose well-wrought tale 
 The cheek doth flush or brow grow pale; 
 To you who bow the ready knee 
 And worship cold philosophy, 
 A welcome warm as Western wine, 
 And free as Western hearts, be thine. 
 Do what the greatest joy insures, 
 The city has no will but yours! 
 JUNE 27, 1892. 
 
26 OAK AND IVY. 
 
 tje ODlb Apple ffiree. 
 
 There's a memory keeps a runnin' 
 
 Through my weary head to-night, 
 An' I see a picture dancin' 
 
 In the fire flames' ruddy light; 
 'Tis the picture of an orchard 
 
 Wrapped in autumn's purple haze, 
 With the tender light about it 
 
 That I loved in other days. 
 An' a standin' in a corner 
 
 Once again I seem to see 
 The verdant leaves an' branches 
 
 Of an old apple tree. 
 
 You perhaps would call it ugly, 
 
 An' I don't know but it's so, 
 When you look the tree all over 
 
 Unadorned by memory's glow; 
 For its boughs are gnarled an' crooked, 
 
 An' its leaves are gettin' thin, 
 An' the apples of its bearin' 
 
 Wouldn't fill so large a bin 
 As they ust to. But I tell you, 
 
 When it comes to pleasin' me, 
 It's the dearest in the orchard, 
 
 Is that old apple tree. 
 
 I would hide within its shelter, 
 
 Settlin' in some cozy nook, 
 Where no calls nor threats could stir me 
 
 From the pages o' my book. 
 Oh, that quiet, sweet seclusion 
 
 In its fullness passeth words! 
 It was deeper than the deepest 
 
 That my sanctum now affords. 
 Why, the jaybirds an' the robins, 
 
 They was hand in glove with me, 
 As they winked at me an' warbled 
 
 In that old apple tree. 
 
OAK AND IVY. 27 
 
 It was on its sturdy branches 
 
 That in summers long ago 
 I would tie my swing, an' dangle 
 
 In contentment to an' fro, 
 Idly dreamin' childish fancies, 
 
 Buildin' castles in the air, 
 Makin' o' myself a hero 
 
 Of romances rich an' rare. 
 I kin shet my eyes an' see it 
 
 Jest as plain as plain kin be, 
 That same old swing a danglin' 
 
 To the old apple tree. 
 
 There's a rustic seat beneath it 
 
 That I never kin forget. 
 It's the place where me an' Hallie 
 
 Little sweetheart ust to set, 
 When we'd wander to the orchard 
 
 So's no listenin' ones could hear 
 As I w r hispered sugared nonsense 
 
 Into her little willin' ear. 
 Now my gray old wife is Hallie, 
 
 An' I'm grayer still than she, 
 But I'll not forget our courtin' 
 
 'Neath the old apple tree. 
 
 Life for us ain't all been summer, 
 
 But I guess we've had our share 
 Of its flittin' joys an' pleasures, 
 
 An' a spriuklin' of its care. 
 Oft the skies have smiled upon us; 
 
 Then again we've seen 'em frown, 
 Though our load was ne'er so heavy 
 
 That we longed to lay it down. 
 But when death does come a callin', 
 
 This my last request shall be, 
 That they'll bury me an' Hallie 
 
 'Neath the old apple tree. 
 
28 OAK AND IVY. 
 
 Sames Mtyttcomb Kiletj. 
 
 FROM A WESTERNER'S POINT OF VIEW 
 
 No matter what you call it, 
 
 Whether genius, gift, or art, 
 He sings the simple songs that come 
 
 The closest to your heart. 
 Fur trim an' skillful phrases, 
 
 I do not keer a jot; 
 'Tain't the words alone, but feelin's, 
 
 That tech the tender spot. 
 An' that's jest why I love him, 
 
 Why, he's got sech human feelin', 
 An' in ev'ry song he gives us, 
 
 You kin see it creepin', stealin'. 
 Through the core the tears go tricklin', 
 
 But the edge is bright an' smiley; 
 I never saw a poet 
 
 Like that poet Whitcomb Riley. 
 
 His heart keeps beatin' time with our'n 
 
 In measures fast or slow; 
 He tells us jest the same ol' things 
 
 Our souls have learned to know. 
 He paints our joys an' sorrers 
 
 In a way so stric'ly true, 
 That a body can't help knowin' 
 
 That he has felt them too. 
 If there's a lesson to be taught, 
 
 He never fears to teach it, 
 An' he puts the food so good an' low 
 
 That the humblest one kin reach it. 
 Now in our time, when poets rhyme 
 
 For money, fun, or fashion, 
 'Tis good to hear one voice so clear 
 
 That thrills with honest passion. 
 So let the others build their songs, 
 
 An' strive to polish highly, 
 There's none of them kin tech the heart 
 
 Like our own Whitcomb Riley. 
 
OAK AND IVY. 29 
 
 The sun hath shed its kindly light, 
 
 Our harvesting is gladly o'er, 
 Our fields have felt no killing blight, 
 
 Our bins are filled with goodly store. 
 
 From pestilence, fire, flood, and sword 
 We have been spared by thy decree, 
 
 And now with humble hearts, O Lord, 
 We come to pay our thanks to thee. 
 
 We feel that had our merits been 
 
 The measure of thy gifts to us, 
 We erring children, born of sin, 
 
 Might not now be rejoicing thus. 
 
 No deed of ours hath brought us grace; 
 
 When thou wert nigh our sight was dull, 
 We hid in trembling from thy face, 
 
 But thou, O God, wert merciful. 
 
 Thy mighty hand o'er all the land 
 Hath still been open to bestow 
 
 Those blessings which our wants demand 
 From heaven, whence all blessings flow. 
 
 Thou hast, with ever watchful eye, 
 Looked down on us with holy care, 
 
 And from thy storehouse in the sky 
 Hast scattered plenty everywhere. 
 
 Then lift we up our songs of praise 
 To thee, Father, good and kind; 
 
 To thee we consecrate our days ; 
 Be thine the temple of each mind. 
 
 With incense sweet our thanks ascend; 
 
 Before thy works our powers pall ; 
 Though we should strive years without end, 
 
 We could not thank thee for them all. 
 
30 OAK AND IVY. 
 
 ffio jEtss jMartj iBrtttcm. 
 
 When the legislature of Kentucky was discussing the passage of a separate- 
 coach bill, Miss Mary Britton, a teacher in the schools of Lexington, Kentucky, 
 went before them, and in a ringing speech protested against the passage of the 
 bill. Her action was heroic, though it proved to be without avail. 
 
 God of the right, arise 
 
 And let thy pow'r prevail; 
 Too long thy children mourn 
 
 In labor and travail. 
 Oh, speed the happy day 
 
 When waiting ones may see 
 The glory -bringing birth 
 
 Of our real liberty! 
 
 Grant thou, gracious God, 
 
 That not in word alone 
 Shall freedom's boon be ours, 
 
 While bondage-galled we moan! 
 But condescend to us 
 
 In our o'erwhelming need; 
 Break down the hind'ring bars, 
 
 And make us free indeed. 
 
 Give us to lead our cause 
 
 More noble souls like hers, 
 The memory of whose deed 
 
 Each feeling bosom stirs; 
 Whose fearless voice and strong 
 
 Rose to defend her race, 
 Roused Justice from her sleep, 
 
 Drove Prejudice from place. 
 
 Let not the mellow light 
 
 Of Learning's brilliant ray 
 Be quenched, to turn to night 
 
 Our newly dawning day. 
 
OAK AND IVY. 31 
 
 To that bright, shining star 
 
 Which thou didst set in place, 
 With universal voice 
 
 Thus speaks a grateful race: 
 
 "Not empty words shall be 
 
 Our offering to your fame; 
 The race you strove to serve 
 
 Shall consecrate your name. 
 Speak on as fearless still; 
 
 Work on as tireless ever; ) 
 And your reward shall be 
 
 Due meed for your endeavor." 
 
 Wtyittter. 
 
 Not o'er thy dust let there be spent 
 The gush of maudlin sentiment; 
 Such drift as that is not for thee, 
 Whose life and deeds and songs agree, 
 Sublime in their simplicity. 
 
 Nor shall the sorrowing tear be shed; 
 O singer sweet, thou art not dead! 
 In spite of time's malignant chill, 
 With living fire thy songs shall thrill, 
 And men shall say, "He liveth still!" 
 
 Great poets never die, for Earth 
 Doth count their lives of too great worth 
 To lose them from her treasured store; 
 So shalt thou live for evermore 
 Though far thy form from mortal ken- 
 Deep in the hearts and minds of men. 
 
OAK AND IVY. 
 
 Wutthtg Song. 
 
 The November sun invites me, 
 
 And although the chill wind smites me,. 
 
 I will wander to the woodland 
 
 Where the laden trees await; 
 And with loud and joyful singing 
 I will set the forest ringing, 
 As if I were king of Autumn, 
 
 And Dame Nature were my mate, 
 
 While the squirrel in his gambols 
 Fearless round about me ambles, 
 As if he were bent on showing 
 
 In my kingdom he'd a share; 
 While my warm blood leaps and dashes,. 
 And my eye with freedom flashes, 
 As my soul drinks deep and deeper 
 
 Of the magic in the air. 
 
 There's a pleasure found in nutting, 
 All life's cares and griefs outshutting, 
 That is fuller far and better 
 
 Than what prouder sports impart. 
 Who could help a carol trilling 
 As he sees the baskets filling? 
 Why, the flow of song keeps running 
 
 O'er the high walls of the heart. 
 
 So when I am home returning, 
 When the sun is lowly burning, 
 I will once more wake the echoes 
 
 With a happy song of praise, 
 For the golden sunlight blessing, 
 And the breezes' soft caressing, 
 And the precious boon of living 
 
 In the sweet November davs. 
 
OAK AND IVY. 33 
 
 After 
 
 A POEM OF FAITH. 
 
 I think that though the clouds be dark, 
 That though the waves dash o'er the bark, 
 Yet after while the light will come, 
 And in calm waters safe at home 
 
 The bark will anchor. 
 Weep not, my sad-eyed, gray-robed maid, 
 Because your fairest blossoms fade, 
 That sorrow still o'erruns your cup, 
 And even though you root them up, 
 
 The weeds grow ranker. 
 
 For after while your tears shall cease, 
 And sorrow shall give way to peace; 
 The flow'rs shall bloom, the weeds shall die, 
 And in that faith seen, by and by 
 
 Thy woes shall perish. 
 Smile at old Fortune's adverse tide, 
 Smile when the scoffers sneer and chide. 
 Oh, not for you the gems that pale, 
 And not for you the flow'rs that fail; 
 
 Let this thought cherish: 
 
 That after while the clouds will part, 
 And then with joy the waiting heart 
 Shall feel the light come stealing in, 
 That drives away the cloud of sin 
 
 And breaks its power. 
 And you shall burst your chrysalis, 
 And wing away to realms of bliss, 
 Untrammeled, pure, divinely free, 
 Above all earth's anxiety 
 
 From that same hour. 
 
 3 
 
34 OAK AND IVY. 
 
 o tlje jltami 
 
 Kiss me, Miami, thou most constant one! 
 
 I love thee more for that thou changest not. 
 When Winter comes with frigid blast, 
 Or when the blithesome Spring is past 
 
 And Summer's here with sunshine hot, 
 Or in sere Autumn, thou hast still the pow'r 
 To charm alike, whate'er the hour. 
 
 Kiss me, Miami, with thy dewy lips; 
 
 Throbs fast my heart e'en as thine own breast beats. 
 My soul doth rise as rise thy waves, 
 As each on each the dark shore laves 
 
 And breaks in ripples and retreats. 
 There is a poem in thine every phase; 
 Thou still has sung through all thy days. 
 
 Tell me, Miami, how it was with thee 
 When years ago Tecumseh in his prime 
 
 His birch boat o'er thy waters sent, 
 
 And pitched upon thy banks his tent. 
 In that long-gone, poetic time, 
 
 Did some bronze bard thy flowing stream sit by 
 
 And sing thy praises, e'en as I? 
 
 Did some bronze lover 'neath this dark old tree 
 Whisper of love unto his Indian maid? 
 
 And didst thou list his murmurs deep, 
 
 And in thy bosom safely keep 
 The many raging vows they said? 
 
 Or didst thou tell to fish and frog and bird 
 
 The raptured scenes that there occurred? 
 
 But, O dear stream, what volumes thou couldst tell 
 To all who know thy language as I do, 
 
 Of life and love and jealous hate ! 
 
 But now to tattle were too late, 
 Thou who hast ever been so true. 
 
 Tell not to every passing idler here 
 
 All those sweet tales that reached thine ear. 
 
OAK AND IVY. 35 
 
 But, silent stream, speak out and tell me this: 
 I say that men and things are still the same ; 
 
 Were men as bold to do and dare? 
 
 Were women then as true and fair? 
 Did poets seek celestial flame, 
 
 The hero die to gain a laureled brow, 
 
 And women suffer, then as now? 
 
 Like the blush upon the rose 
 
 When the wooing south wind speaks, 
 Kissing soft its petals, 
 
 Are thy cheeks. 
 
 Tender, soft, beseeching, true, 
 Like the stars that deck the skies 
 
 Through the ether sparkling, 
 Are thine eyes. 
 
 Like the song of happy birds, 
 When the woods with spring rejoice, 
 
 In their blithe awak'ning, 
 Is thy voice. 
 
 Like soft threads of clustered silk 
 O'er thy face so pure and fair, 
 
 Sweet in its profusion, 
 Is thy hair. 
 
 Like a fair but fragile vase, 
 Triumph of the carver's art, 
 
 Graceful formed and slender, 
 Thus thou art. 
 
 Ah, thy cheek, thine eyes, thy voice, 
 And thy hair's delightful wave 
 
 Make me, I'll confess it, 
 Thy poor slave! 
 
36 OAK AND IVY. 
 
 (Wje "Ctjrottic Sicker." 
 
 It was at the town convention 
 
 Fur to nominate a mayor, 
 An' things had been progressin' 
 
 In a way both cool an' fair; 
 An' we thought that we had finished 
 
 In a manner mighty slick, 
 When up rose the chronic kicker 
 
 Fur to kick, kick, kick. 
 
 Then we felt our feathers fallin', 
 
 Nor we didn't laugh no more, 
 While some quite impatient fellers 
 
 Made a bee line fur the door; 
 An' we listened, an' we listened, 
 
 While the clock the hours ticked, 
 To that derned old chronic kicker 
 
 As he kicked, kicked, kicked. 
 
 Next we held a conf'rence meetin' 
 
 In our little mission church, 
 Fur a cheap an' worthy pastor 
 
 We were in an earnest search ; 
 We had jest made our agreement 
 
 (An' 'twas come to very quick), 
 When up rose the chronic kicker 
 
 Fur to kick, kick, kick. 
 
 An' we heard the birds a whistlin' 
 
 In the air so sweet an' cool, 
 While we all sat there a list'nin' 
 
 To that flambergasted fool; 
 But I'm sure the Lord was min'ful, 
 
 Fur no thorn our conscience pricked, 
 When we nodded while that kicker 
 
 Stood an' kicked, kicked, kicked. 
 
OAK AND IVY. 37 
 
 Next 'twas in a baseball battle, 
 
 Overlooked by boys in trees, 
 Where no act of bat or baseman 
 
 Could this chronic kicker please, 
 Until weary with his yellin', 
 
 Some one hit him with a brick, 
 An' he lay down in the diamond 
 
 Fur to kick, kick, kick. 
 
 But Death, that great policeman, 
 
 By no frowns or kicks defied, 
 At last came up an' seized him, 
 
 An' so, with a kick, he died; 
 But he, jest before the fun'ral, 
 
 Made the undertaker sick, 
 As the coffin couldn't hold him 
 
 For that everlastin' kick. 
 
 I love the dear old ballads best, 
 
 That tell of love and death, 
 Whose every line sings love's unrest 
 
 Or mourns the parting breath. 
 I love those songs the heart can feel, 
 
 That make our pulses throb; 
 When lovers plead or contrites kneel 
 
 With choking sigh and sob. 
 
 God sings through songs that touch the heart, 
 
 And none are prized save these. 
 Though men may ply their gilded art 
 
 For fortune, fame, or fees, 
 The muse that sets the songster's soul 
 
 Ablaze with lyric fire, 
 Holds nature up, an open scroll, 
 
 And builds art's funeral pyre. 
 
38 OAK AND IVY. 
 
 Sort r>' jBlcm. 
 
 I don't believe in 'ristercrats 
 
 An' never did, you see; 
 The plain ol' homelike sorter folks 
 
 Is good enough fur me. 
 0' course, I don't desire a man 
 
 To be too tarnal rough, 
 But then I think all folks should know 
 
 When they air nice enough. 
 
 Now, there is folks in this here world, 
 
 From peasant up to king, 
 Who want to be so awful nice 
 
 They overdo the thing. 
 That's jest the thing that makes me sick, 
 
 An' quicker than a wink 
 I set it down that them same folks 
 
 Ain't half so good's you think. 
 
 I like to see a man dress nice, 
 
 In clothes becomin', too; 
 I like to see a woman fix 
 
 As women orter do ; 
 An' boys an' gals I like to see 
 
 Look fresh an' young an' spry, 
 We all must have our vanity 
 
 An 7 pride before we die. 
 
 But I jedge no man by his clothes, 
 
 Nor gentleman nor tramp; 
 The man that wears the finest suit 
 
 May be the biggest scamp, 
 An' he whose limbs are clad in rags 
 
 That make a mournful sight, 
 In life's great battle may have proved 
 
 A hero in the fight. 
 
OAK AND IVY. 39 
 
 I don't believe in 'ristercrats; 
 
 I like the honest tan 
 That lies upon the healthful cheek 
 
 An' speaks the honest man; 
 I like to grasp the brawny hand 
 
 That labor's lips have kissed, 
 For he who has not labored here 
 
 Life's greatest pride has missed, 
 
 The pride to feel that yo'r own strength 
 
 Has cleaved fur you the way 
 To heights to which you were not born, 
 
 But struggled day by day. 
 What though the thousands sneer an' scoff, 
 
 An' scorn yo'r humble birth? 
 Kings are but subjects; you are king 
 
 By right o' royal worth. 
 
 The man who simply sits an' waits 
 
 Fur good to come along, v^ 
 
 Ain't worth the breath that one would take 
 
 To tell him he is wrong. 
 Fur good ain't flowin' round this world 
 
 Fur ev'ry fool to sup; 
 You've got to put yo'r see-ers on, 
 
 An' go an' hunt it up. 
 
 Good goes with honesty, I say, 
 
 To honor an' to bless; 
 To rich an' poor alike it brings 
 
 A wealth o' happiness. 
 The 'ristercrats ain't got it all, 
 
 Fur much to their su' prise, 
 That's one of earth's most blessed things 
 
 They can't monopolize. 
 
40 OAK AND IVY. 
 
 'Tis an old deserted homestead 
 
 On the outskirts of the town, 
 Where the roof is all moss-covered, 
 
 And the walls are tumbling down; 
 But around that little cottage 
 
 Do my brightest mem'ries cling, 
 For 'twas there I spent the moments 
 
 Of my youth, life's happy spring. 
 
 I remember how I used to 
 
 Swing upon the old front gate, 
 While the robin in the tree tops 
 
 Sung a night song to his mate; 
 And how later in the evening, 
 
 As the beaux were wont to do, 
 Mr. Perkins, in the parlor, 
 
 Sat and sparked my sister Sue. 
 
 There my mother heaven bless her! 
 
 Kissed or spanked as was our need, 
 And by smile or stroke implanted 
 
 In our hearts fair virtue's seed; 
 While my father, man of wisdom, 
 
 Lawyer keen, and farmer stout, 
 Argued long with neighbor Dobbins 
 
 How the corn crops would turn out. 
 
 Then the quiltings and the dances 
 
 How my feet were wont to fly, 
 While the moon peeped through the barn chinks 
 
 From her stately place on high. 
 Oh, those days, so sweet, so happy, 
 
 Ever backward o'er me roll; 
 Still the music of that farm life 
 
 Rings an echo in my soul. 
 
OAK AND IVY. 41 
 
 Now the old place is deserted, 
 
 And the walls are falling down; 
 All who made the home life cheerful, 
 
 Now have died or moved to town. 
 But about that dear old cottage 
 
 Shall my mem'ries ever cling, 
 For 'twas there I spent the moments 
 
 Of my youth, life's happy spring. 
 
 of w. c 
 
 Thou arrant robber, Death! 
 Couldst thou not find 
 Some lesser one than he 
 To rob of breath, 
 Some poorer mind 
 Thy prey to be? 
 
 His mind w r as like the sky, 
 
 As pure and free; 
 His heart was broad and open 
 
 As the sea. 
 
 His soul shone purely through his face, 
 And Love made him her dwelling place. 
 
 Not less the scholar than the friend, 
 
 Not less a friend than man ; 
 The manly life did shorter end 
 
 Because so broad it ran. 
 
 Weep not for him, unhappy Muse! 
 
 His merits found a grander use 
 
 Some other-where. God wisely sees 
 
 The place that needs his qualities. 
 
 Weep not for him, for when Death lowers 
 
 O'er youth's ambrosia-scented bowers 
 
 He only plucks the choicest flowers. 
 
42 OAK AND IVY. 
 
 An tt) 
 
 How sweet the music sounded 
 
 That summer long ago, 
 When you were by my side, love, 
 
 To list its gentle flow. 
 
 I saw your eyes ashining, 
 
 I felt your rippling hair, 
 I kissed your pearly cheek, love, 
 
 And had no thought of care. 
 
 And gay or sad the music, 
 With subtle charm replete ; 
 
 I found in after years, love, 
 'Twas you that made it sweet. 
 
 For standing where we heard it, 
 
 I hear again the strain ; 
 It wakes my heart, but thrills it 
 
 With sad, mysterious pain. 
 
 It pulses not so joyous 
 As when you stood with me, 
 
 And hand in hand we listened 
 To that low melody. 
 
 Oh, could the years turn back, love! 
 
 Oh, could events be changed 
 To what they were that time, love, 
 
 Before we were estranged; 
 
 Wert thou once more a maiden 
 Whose smile was gold to me; 
 
 Were I once more the lover 
 Whose word was life to thee, 
 
OAK AND IVY. 43 
 
 God! could all be altered, 
 The pain, the grief, the strife, 
 
 And wert thou as thou shouldst be 
 My true and loyal wife! 
 
 But all my tears are idle, 
 
 And all my wishes vain. 
 AVhat once you were to me, love, 
 
 You may not be again. 
 
 For I, alas! like others, 
 
 Have missed my dearest aim. 
 
 1 asked for love. Oh, mockery ! 
 Fate comes to me with fame! 
 
 Dat). 
 
 Why deck with flow'rs these humble mounds? 
 Why gather round this fast decaying mold? 
 Why doth remembrance keep her solemn rounds 
 And wrap these sleepers in her loving fold? 
 Why kneel, ye silent mourners, here 
 To drop the reverential tear? 
 Flesh is but dust when parted from the breath. 
 
 Flesh is but dust, but worth of soul is gold! 
 'Tis not the dust we honor, but the brave 
 And noble spirits that it once did hold. 
 So kneel w T e weeping at the grave, 
 As at the door through which have passed, 
 To enter into mansions vast, 
 The heroes who have gone to meet 
 A dearer destiny than dirgeful death. 
 
44 OAK AND IVY. 
 
 jlelandjolta. 
 
 Silently without my window, 
 Tapping gently at the pane, 
 Falls the rain. 
 
 Through the trees sighs the breeze 
 Like a soul in pain. 
 
 Here alone I sit and weep; 
 
 Thought hath banished sleep. 
 
 Wearily I sit and listen 
 To the water's ceaseless drip. 
 To my lip 
 
 Fate turns up the bitter cup, 
 Forcing me to sip ; 
 
 'Tis a bitter, bitter drink. 
 
 Thus I sit and think, 
 
 Thinking things unknown and awful, 
 Thoughts on wild, uncanny themes, 
 Waking dreams. 
 
 Specters dark, corpses stark, 
 Show the gaping seams 
 
 Whence the cold and cruel knife 
 
 Stole away their life. 
 
 Bloodshot eyes all strained and staring, 
 Gazing ghastly into mine; 
 Blood like wine 
 
 On the brow clotted now 
 Shows death's dreadful sign. 
 
 Lonely vigil still I keep; 
 
 Would that I might sleep! 
 
 Still, oh, still, my brain is whirling! 
 
 Still runs on my stream of thought; 
 
 I am caught 
 In the net fate hath set. 
 
 Mind and soul are brought 
 To destruction's very brink; 
 Yet I can but think! 
 
OAK AND IVY. 45 
 
 Eyes that look into the future, 
 
 Peeping forth from out my mind, 
 
 They will find 
 Some new weight, soon or late, 
 
 On my soul to bind, 
 Crushing all its courage out, 
 Heavier than doubt. 
 
 Dawn, the Eastern monarch's daughter, 
 
 Rising from her dewy bed, 
 
 Lays her head 
 'Gainst the clouds' somber shrouds 
 
 Now half fringed with red. 
 O'er the land she 'gins to peep; 
 Come, O gentle Sleep! 
 
 Hark! the morning cock is crowing; 
 
 Dreams, like ghosts, must hie away; 
 
 'Tis the day. 
 Rosy morn now is born; 
 
 Dark thoughts may not stay. 
 Day my brain from foes will keep; 
 Now, my soul, I sleep. 
 
 fife: 
 
 A crust of bread and a corner to sleep in, 
 A minute to smile and an hour to weep in, 
 A pint of joy to a peck of trouble, 
 And never a laugh but the moans come double; 
 And that is life! 
 
 A crust and a corner that love makes precious, 
 With the smile to warm and the tears to refresh us; 
 And joy seems sweeter when cares come after, 
 And a moan is the finest of foils for laughter; 
 And that is life! 
 
46 OAK AND IVY. 
 
 I wist not that I had the pow'r to sing, 
 
 But here of late they say my songs are sweet. 
 Is it because my timid numbers ring 
 
 With love's warm music that doth ever beat 
 Its melody within my throbbing heart? 
 
 If so, what else can roguish Cupid do? 
 I know him master of the archer's art; 
 
 Is he a trained musician too? 
 
 Mflorn nt 
 
 You bid me hold my peace 
 And dry my fruitless tears, 
 
 Forgetting that I bear 
 A pain beyond my years. 
 
 You say that I should smile 
 And drive the gloom away; 
 
 I would, but sun and smiles 
 Have left my life's dark day. 
 
 All time seems cold and void, 
 And naught but tears remain; 
 
 Life's music beats for me 
 A melancholy strain. 
 
 I used at first to hope, 
 But hope is past and gone; 
 
 And now without a ray 
 My cheerless life drags on. 
 
 Like to an ash-stained hearth 
 When all its fires are spent; 
 
 Like to an autumn wood 
 
 By storm winds rudely shent, 
 
OAK AND IVY. 47 
 
 So sadly goes my heart, 
 
 Unclothed of hope and peace; 
 It asks not joy again, 
 
 But only seeks release. 
 
 " Break me my bounds, and let me fly 
 
 To regions vast of boundless sky ; 
 
 Nor I, like piteous Daphne, be 
 
 Root-bound. Ah, no! I would be free 
 
 As yon same bird that in its flight 
 
 Outstrips the range of mortal sight; 
 
 Free as the mountain streams that gush 
 
 From bubbling springs, and downward rush 
 
 Across the serrate mountain's side, 
 
 The rocks o'erwhelmed, their banks defied, 
 
 And like the passions in the soul, 
 
 Swell into torrents as they roll. 
 
 Oh, circumscribe me not by rules 
 
 That serve to lead the minds of fools! 
 
 But give me pow'r to work my will, 
 
 And at my deeds the world shall thrill. 
 
 My words shall rouse the slumb'ring zest 
 
 That hardly stirs in manhood's breast; 
 
 And as the sun feeds lesser lights, 
 
 As planets have their satellites, 
 
 So round about me will I bind 
 
 The men who prize a master mind ! " 
 
 He lived a silent life alone, 
 And laid him down when it was done; 
 And at his head was placed a stone 
 On which was carved a name unknown! 
 
48 OAK AND IVY. 
 
 (Dtt tije KttJer, 
 
 The sun is low, 
 
 The waters flow, 
 
 My boat is dancing to and fro. 
 
 The eve is still, 
 
 Yet from the hill 
 
 The killdeer echoes loud and shrill. 
 
 The paddles plash, 
 
 The wavelets dash, 
 
 We see the summer lightning flash; 
 
 While now and then, 
 
 In marsh and fen 
 
 Too muddy for the feet of men, 
 
 Where neither bird 
 
 Nor beast has stirred, 
 
 The spotted bullfrog's croak is heard. 
 
 The wind is high, 
 
 The grasses sigh, 
 
 The sluggish stream goes sobbing by. 
 
 And far away 
 
 The dying day 
 
 Has cast its last effulgent ray; 
 
 While on the land 
 
 The shadows stand 
 
 Proclaiming that the eve's at hand. 
 
 Once when my soul was newly shriven, 
 When perfect peace to me was given, 
 Pervading all in all with currents bright, 
 I saw shine forth a mighty Light; 
 And myriad lesser lights to this were joined, 
 Each light with every other light entwined; 
 
OAK AND IVY. 49 
 
 And as they shone a sound assailed my ears, 
 
 Alike the mighty music of the spheres. 
 
 The greater light was Love and Peace and Law, 
 
 And it had power toward it the rest to draw; 
 
 It was the Soul of souls, the greatest One, 
 
 The Life of lives, of suns the Sun. 
 
 And floating through it all, my soul could see 
 
 The Christ-light, shining for humanity; 
 
 And silently I heard soft murmurs fall, 
 
 "Look up, earth child; the light is all." 
 
 Sotjtt 
 
 Of noble minds and noble hearts 
 
 Old Ireland has goodly store; 
 But thou wert still the noblest son 
 
 That e'er the Isle of Erin bore. 
 A generous race, and strong to dare, 
 
 With hearts as true as purest gold, 
 With hands to soothe as well as strike, 
 
 As generous as they are bold, 
 This is the race thou lovedst so ; 
 
 And knowing them, I can but know 
 The glory thy whole being felt 
 
 To think, to act, to be, the Celt! 
 
 Not Celt alone, America 
 
 Her arms about thee hath entwined; 
 The noblest traits of each grand race 
 
 In thee were happily combined. 
 As sweet of song as strong of speech, 
 
 Thy great heart beat in every line. 
 No narrow partisan wert thou; 
 
 The cause of all oppressed was thine! 
 The world is cruel still and cold, 
 But who can doubt thy life has told? 
 Though wrong and sorrow still are rife 
 Old Earth is better for thy life! 
 4 
 
50 OAK AND IVY. 
 
 Columbian 
 
 Four hundred years ago a tangled waste 
 
 Lay sleeping on the west Atlantic side; 
 Their devious ways the Old World's millions traced 
 
 Content, and loved and labored, dared and died, 
 While students still believed the charts they conned, 
 
 And wallowed in their thriftless ignorance, 
 Nor dreamed of other lands that lay beyond 
 
 Old Ocean's dense, indefinite expanse. 
 
 II 
 
 But deep within her heart old Nature knew 
 
 That she had once arrayed, at Earth's behest, 
 Another offspring, fine and fair to view, 
 
 The chosen suckling of the mother's breast. 
 The child was wrapped in vestments soft and fine, 
 
 Each fold a work of Nature's matchless art; 
 The mother looked on it with love divine, 
 
 And strained the loved one closely to her heart. 
 And there it lay, and with the warmth grew strong 
 
 And hearty, by the salt sea breezes fanned, 
 Till Time with mellowing touches passed along, 
 
 And changed the infant to a mighty land. 
 
 Ill 
 
 But men knew naught of this, till there arose 
 
 That mighty mariner, the Genoese, 
 Who dared to try, in spite of fears and foes, 
 
 The unknown fortunes of unsounded seas. 
 O noblest of Italia's sons, thy bark 
 
 Went not alone into that shrouding night. 
 dauntless darer of the rayless dark, 
 
 The world sailed with thee to eternal light. 
 
OAK AND IVY. 51 
 
 The deer haunts that with game were crowded then 
 
 To-day are tilled and cultivated lands; 
 The schoolhouse tow'rs where bruin had his den, 
 
 And where the wigwam stood the chapel stands; 
 The place that nurtured men of savage mien 
 
 Now teems with men of Nature's noblest types; 
 Where moved the forest-foliage banner green, 
 
 Now flutters in the breeze the stars and stripes! 
 
 OCTOBER 21, 1892. 
 
 Cark. 
 
 Though the winds be dank, 
 And the sky be sober, 
 
 And the grieving day 
 
 In a mantle gray 
 Hath let her waiting maiden robe her, 
 
 All the fields along 
 
 I can hear the song 
 Of the meadow lark, 
 
 As she flits and flutters, 
 
 And laughs at the thunder when it mutters. 
 
 happy bird, of heart most gay 
 
 To sing when skies are gray! 
 
 When the clouds are full, 
 And the tempest master 
 
 Lets the loud winds sweep 
 
 From his bosom deep 
 Like heralds of some dire disaster, 
 
 Then the heart, alone, 
 
 To itself makes moan; 
 And the songs come slow, 
 
 While the tears fall fleeter, 
 
 And silence than song by far seems sweeter. 
 
 Oh, few are they along the way 
 
 Who sing when skies are gray! 
 
52 OAK AND IVY. 
 
 Sealing. 
 
 As a quiet little seedling 
 Lay within its darksome bed, 
 
 To itself it fell a talking, 
 And this is what it said: 
 
 "I am not so very robust, 
 But I'll do the best I can"; 
 
 And the seedling from that moment 
 Its work of life began. 
 
 So it pushed a little leaflet 
 
 Up into the light of day, 
 To examine the surroundings 
 
 And show the rest the way. 
 
 The leaflet liked the prospect, 
 So it called its brother, Stem; 
 
 Then two other leaflets heard it, 
 And quickly followed them. 
 
 To be sure, the haste and hurry 
 Made the seedling sweat and pant; 
 
 But almost before it knew it 
 It found itself a plant. 
 
 The sunshine poured upon it, 
 And the clouds they gave a shower; 
 
 And the little plant kept growing 
 Till it found itself a flower. 
 
 Little folks, be like the seedling, 
 Always do the best you can; 
 
 Every child must share life's labor 
 Just as well as every man. 
 
OAK AND IVY. 53 
 
 And the sun and showers will help you 
 Through the lonesome, struggling hours, 
 
 Till you raise to light and beauty 
 Virtue's fair, unfading flowers. 
 
 A SONG. 
 
 Poor withered rose, she gave it me, 
 Half in revenge and half in glee; 
 Its petals not so pink by half 
 As are her lips when curled to laugh, 
 As are her cheeks when dimples gay 
 In merry mischief o'er them play. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Forgive, forgive, it seems unkind 
 To cast thy petals to the wind; 
 But it is right, and lest I err 
 So scatter I all thoughts of her. 
 
 Poor withered rose, so like my heart, 
 That wilts at sorrow's cruel dart. 
 Who hath not felt the winter's blight 
 When every hope seemed warm and bright? 
 Who doth not know love unreturned, 
 E'en when the heart most wildly burned? 
 
 Poor withered rose, thou liest dead; 
 Too soon thy beauty's bloom hath fled. 
 'Tis not without a tearful ruth 
 I watch decay thy blushing youth; 
 And though thy life goes out in dole, 
 Thy perfume lingers in my soul. 
 
54 OAK AND IVY. 
 
 Confirmation* 
 
 He was a poet who wrote clever verses, 
 And folks said he had fine poetical taste; 
 
 But his father, a practical farmer, accused him 
 Of letting the strength of his arm go to waste. 
 
 He called on his sweetheart each Saturday evening, 
 As pretty a maiden as man ever faced, 
 
 And there he confirmed the old man's accusation 
 By letting the strength of his arm go to vjaist. 
 
 Worct: A Smnctbe. 
 
 Ah, Nora, my Nora, the light fades away, 
 
 While Night like a spirit steals up o'er the hills; 
 The thrush from his tree where he chanted all day, 
 
 No longer his music in ecstasy trills. 
 Then, Nora, be near me; thy presence doth cheer me, 
 
 Thine eye hath a gleam that is truer than gold. 
 I cannot but love thee; so do not reprove me, 
 
 If the strength of my passion should make me too bold. 
 
 CHOEUS. 
 
 Nora, pride of my heart, 
 
 Rosy cheeks, cherry lips, sparkling with glee, 
 Wake from thy slumbers, wherever thou art; 
 
 Wake from thy slumbers to me. 
 
 Ah, Nora, my Nora, there's love in the air, 
 
 It stirs in the numbers that thrill in my brain; 
 Oh, sweet, sweet is love with its mingling of care, 
 
 Though joy travels only a step before pain. 
 Be roused from thy slumbers and list to my numbers; 
 
 My heart is poured out in this song unto thee. 
 Oh, be thou not cruel, thou treasure, thou jewel; 
 
 Turn thine ear to my pleading and hearken to me. 
 
OAK AND IVY. 55 
 
 ffioemtig* 
 
 The moon begins her stately ride 
 
 Across the summer sky; 
 The happy wavelets lash the shore, 
 
 The tide is rising high. 
 
 Beneath some friendly blade of grass 
 
 The lazy beetle cowers; 
 The coffers of the air are filled 
 
 With offerings from the flowers. 
 
 And slowly buzzing o'er my head 
 
 A swallow wings her flight; 
 I hear the weary plowman sing 
 
 As falls the restful night. 
 
 LINES ON READING DRIFTWOOD. 7 
 
 Driftwood gathered here and there 
 Along the beach of time; 
 Now and then a chip of truth 
 'Mid boards and boughs of rhyme; 
 Driftwood gathered day by day, 
 The cypress and the oak, 
 Twigs that in some former time 
 From sturdy home trees broke. 
 Did this wood come floating thick 
 All along down " Injin Oik"? 
 Or did kind tides bring it thee 
 From the past's receding sea 
 Down the stream of memory? 
 
56 OAK AND IVY. 
 
 The tear another's tears bring forth, 
 The sigh which answers sigh, 
 
 The pulse that beats at other's woes, 
 E'en though our own be nigh, 
 
 A balm to bathe the wounded heart 
 Where sorrow's hand hath lain, 
 
 The link divine from soul to soul 
 That makes us one in pain, 
 
 Sweet sympathy, benignant ray, 
 Light of the soul doth shine; 
 
 In it is human nature giv'n 
 A touch of the divine. 
 
 Farewell, farewell, my love Irene; 
 
 The pangs of sadness stir my breast; 
 Though many miles may intervene, 
 
 My soul's with thine, in East or West. 
 Go where thou wilt, to wealth or fame; 
 Win for thyself or praise or blame, 
 My love shall ever be the same, 
 My love Irene. 
 
 Farewell, farewell, my love Irene; 
 
 Oh, sad decree, that we must part! 
 The wound is deep, the pain is keen 
 
 That agitates mine aching heart. 
 My feverish eyes burn up their tears; 
 I cannot still my doubts and fears; 
 And this one sigh the night wind hears, 
 My love Irene. 
 
OAK AND IVY. , 57 
 
 Farewell, farewell, my love Irene; 
 
 The morning's gray now floods the sky; 
 The sun peeps from his misty screen ; 
 
 Mine only love, good-bye, good-bye. 
 All love must fade, all life must die, 
 The smile must turn into the sigh. 
 Alas! how hard to say good-bye, 
 My love Irene. 
 
 Common 
 
 I like to hear of wealth and gold, 
 And El Doradoes in their glory ; 
 
 I like for silks and satins bold 
 To sweep and rustle through a story. 
 
 The nightingale is sweet of song; 
 
 The rare exotic smells divinely; 
 And knightly men who stride along, 
 
 The role heroic carry finely. 
 
 But then, upon the other hand, 
 Our minds have got a way of running 
 
 To things that aren't quite so grand, 
 Which, maybe, we were best in shunning. 
 
 For some of us still like to see 
 The poor man in his dwelling narrow, 
 
 The hollyhock, the bumblebee, 
 The meadow lark, and chirping sparrow. 
 
 We like the man who soars and sings 
 With high and lofty inspiration; 
 
 But he who sings of common things 
 Shall always share our admiration. 
 
58 OAK AND IVY. 
 
 mtt' fiaxk* 
 
 He stood beside the station rail, 
 
 A negro aged and bent and frail. 
 
 His palsied hands like the aspen shook, 
 
 And a mute appeal was in his look; 
 
 His every move was pained and slow, 
 
 And his matted hair was white as snow. 
 
 He noted our questioning looks, and said, 
 
 With a solemn shake of his hoary head: 
 
 " I reckon you're wonderin', an' well you may, 
 
 Whar an oF man lak me's a goin' to-day. 
 
 I've lived in this town fur thirty years, 
 
 An' known alike my joys an' tears, 
 
 An' I've labored hard year out, year in; 
 
 But now I'm a goiii' back agin 
 
 To the blue grass medders an' fiel's o' co'n 
 
 In the dear ol' State whar I was bo'ii. 
 
 It's the same ol' tale that I have to tell, 
 
 An' thar's few o' my race but knows it well, 
 
 When fust the proclamation come 
 
 I felt too free to stay at home. 
 
 Freedom, it seemed, was a gift divine, 
 
 An' I thought the whole wide world was mine. 
 
 Then I was spry, an' my hair was black, 
 
 An' this troublesome crook wasn't in my back; 
 
 My soul was allus full o' song, 
 
 Fur my heart was light, an' my limbs was strong, 
 
 An' I wasn't afeared to show my face 
 
 To the sturdiest worker on the place. 
 
 Well, I caught the fever that ruled the day, 
 
 An', finally, northward made my way. 
 
 They said that things were better North, 
 
 An' a man was held at his honest worth. 
 
 Well, it may be so, but I have some doubt, 
 
 An' thirty years ain't wiped it out. 
 
OAK AND IVY. 59 
 
 Thar was lots of things in the North to admire, 
 
 Though they hadn't the warmth an' passion an' fire 
 
 That all my life I'd been ust to seein' 
 
 An' thought belonged to a human bein'. 
 
 An' a thing I could'nt help but miss 
 
 Was the real oP Southern heartiness. 
 
 But year after year I worried along, 
 
 While deep in my heart the yearnin' strong 
 
 Grew stronger an' fiercer to visit once more 
 
 The well loved scenes o' my native shore. 
 
 But money was skeerce, an' time went on, 
 
 Till now full thirty years have gone 
 
 Ere I turn my aged steps to roam 
 
 Back to my ol' Kaintucky home, 
 
 Back to the ol' Kaintucky sights, 
 
 Back to the scene o' my youth's delights, 
 
 Back whar my heart was full o' glee, 
 
 Back whar I fust found liberty. 
 
 E'en now as I think the ol' times o'er, 
 
 An' o' the joy they held in store, 
 
 Yes, even now, on life's dark side, 
 
 My heart swells out with honest pride. 
 
 Oh, praise the Lamb, that I shall see 
 
 Once more the land so dear to me. 
 
 Don't mind an ol' man's tears, but say 
 
 It's joy, he's goin' back to-day." 
 
 Enthroned upon the mighty truth, 
 Within the confines of the laws, 
 
 True Justice seeth not the man, 
 But only hears his cause. 
 
 Unconscious of his creed or race, 
 She cannot see, but only weighs; 
 For Justice with unbandaged eyes 
 Would be oppression in disguise. 
 
60 OAK AND IVY. 
 
 The moon has left the sky, love, 
 
 The stars are hiding now, 
 And frowning on the world, love, 
 
 Night bares her sable brow. 
 The snow is on the ground, love, 
 
 And cold and keen the air is. 
 I'm singing here to you, love; 
 
 You're dreaming there in Paris. 
 
 But this is Nature's law, love, 
 
 Though just it may not seem, 
 That men should wake to sing, love, 
 
 While maidens sleep and dream. 
 Them care may not molest, love, 
 
 Nor stir them from their slumbers, 
 Though midnight find the swain, love, 
 
 Still halting o'er his numbers. 
 
 I watch the rosy dawn, love, 
 
 Come stealing up the east, 
 While all things round rejoice, love, 
 
 That Night her reign has ceased. 
 The lark will soon be heard, love, 
 
 And on his way be winging; 
 When Nature's poets wake, love, 
 
 Why should a man be singing? 
 
INDEX. 
 
 A Banjo Song 20 
 
 A Career 47 
 
 A Drowsy Day 7 
 
 After While 33 
 
 An Easter Ode.. 10 
 
 An Old Memory 42 
 
 A Question 46 
 
 A Summer Pastoral.... 14 
 
 A Thanksgiving Poem 29 
 
 Christmas Carol 24 
 
 Columbian Ode 50 
 
 Common Things 57 
 
 Confirmation 54 
 
 Evening 55 
 
 Goin' Back 58 
 
 Hymn , 19 
 
 In Summer Time 18 
 
 James Whitcomb Riley 28 
 
 John Boyle O'Reilly 49 
 
 Justice 59 
 
 Keep a Pluggin' Away 8 
 
 Life 45 
 
 Love's Pictures 35 
 
 Lullaby 23 
 
 Melancholia 44 
 
 Memorial Day..... 43 
 
 Merry Autumn 12 
 
 My Love, Irene 56 
 
 My Sort o' Man 38 
 
 Night of Love 60 
 
 Nora: A Serenade 54 
 
 Nutting Song 32 
 
 October 11 
 
 Ode to Ethiopia 5 
 
 On the Death of W. C 41 
 
 On the River 48 
 
 Poor Withered Rose 53 
 
 61 
 
62 INDEX. 
 
 Sonars. 16 
 
 Son-d 37 
 
 Sunset 17 
 
 Sympathy 56 
 
 The "Chronic Kicker" 36 
 
 The Light 48 
 
 The Meadow Lark 51 
 
 The Old Apple Tree 26 
 
 The Old Homestead 40 
 
 The Ol' Tunes 22 
 
 The Seedling 52 
 
 The Sparrow 9 
 
 To Dr. James Newton Matthews, Mason, Illinois 13 
 
 To Miss Mary Britton 30 
 
 To Pfrimmer 55 
 
 To the Miami 34 
 
 Welcome Address 25 
 
 Whittier 31 
 
 Worn Out..' 46 
 

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