r •/' ^/5e^s\ :■■-'■■'' j :■}-;/. aim tA/ZX Book ~ni 1 fiqyrighfN 1 1 > Z COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. Bjthe ^amc^uth or: Drifted In $1.50 Songs of Two Centuries 1.50 In Old School Days 1.50 Farm Ballads 1.25 Farm Legends . 1.25 Farm Festivals 1.25 City Ballads 1.25 City Legends 1.25 City Festivals . 1.25 Rhymes of Our Planet 125 Over the Hill to the Poor House 2.00 The Old Infant and Similar Stories 1.25 Poems for Young Americans 1.25 A Thousand Thoughts . .50 MAILED AT PRICES ABOVE-NAMED BY Every Where Pub. Co., Brookljn, N. Y. A THOUSAND MORE VERSES BY WILL CARLETON. NEW YORK : EVERY WHERE PUBLISHING COMPANY. «A Copyright; 1912, by will cakleton. all rights reserved. CU320455 FIRST WOK The word "\ from the Latin \ a line or row. It means, as applied to literature ;iza, as is often supposed, but a line of poetry, or that which its author claims or :<^nates as such. The author of thi writ- ing more or less verses all through his I thus far, inserts the word "more" between the second and fourth worJ^ book's title. There will be found a thousand ve: in the book., and perhaps 8 tew in addition, for good (or bad) measure. Some people like to carry poems around, and read them as they have time and oppor- tunity. That is why this edition of the book is made of suitable size to be a guest of the FIRST WORDS. pocket, or of the traveling-case, or of the mesh-bag. More explanations will be found, in Ital- ics, opposite some of the poems. These are used, because an introduction to a subject in prose, often makes the reader more likely to read the poem itself. CONTENTS. PAGE The Christmas Bells' Mission ... 9 New Year and Old Year 11 The Deacon's Christmas Dance . 13 The Dictagraph 19 Tommy as Santa Claus 21 Don't Let Them Bury Me Deep 25 The Belle of the New Year ... 27 A Prophecy 33 A Valentine to Heaven 3c The Long Lent-Tide 37 The Firecracker Boy 41 Converse with August . . . . 45 The Wreck of the Liner 49 Eagle and Aeroplane 59 The Sea-Bird in Town (33 Educating the Family 69 In September 73 The Fool That Drops the Match . . 75 Conqueror, and Conquered .... 77 CONTENTS. PAGE Learning Rory CTMore 79 On the Elysian Fields O Where Will Be 87 State's Evidence 89 To the Last Mosquitress . .91 To Dead 'Butterflies . 93 Automobilia .95 The Welcome-- A Parody 97 ne O'Clnck Gun 99 Disenchanted 103 October's Contrast 105 In the Wiv. : the Maine 107 lis, on the Maine 109 The Funeral of the Maine .... 112 The Rose's Lament 114 The Kidnap, tayer . . . 119 The .... . 125 In Mexico 129 Indian Summer .... 131 The Coming of Greeley . 133 Arbutus 137 Advice to Others 139 Autumn Weather 141 A Thousand More Verses. THE CHRISTMAS BELLS' MISSION. Sadness and Gladnes e walk together, As oft they had done before: Sadness was sighing, and Gladness reply- ing With jewels of laughter galo: "How on this earth can you find any mirth. When sorrow is sown in your sight " "How can you sigh," was the merry reply, "When all of the world is so bright?" Jauntily swinging, the Christmas bells' ringing. Came merrily sweet to the ear: 9 A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. Sadness, unheeding despondency's plead- ing, Sent upward a sweet smile of cheer. But Gladness a tear dropped, warm and sincere, For the pain that the Christ-Martyr bore; And each miw the other: and Sadness and Gladness Twined arms, and were friends ever- more. KT 10 NEW YEAR AND OLD YEAR. NEW YEAR AND OLD YEAR. Said New Year to Old Year, "Of all you arc bereft." Said Old Year to New Yea "I still have mem'ries left." Said New Year to Old Year, What rank you all above Said Old Year to New Year. "The Friends I loved and low." ;m; 11 Dancing, done rightly, is an attractive ana healthful custom. Who docs not lore to roup of children engaged in tJiis beautiful arid innocent sport? But when the amusement is employed to plant rile seeds of passion that may soon Spring into plants of shame and woe, the com- mon decency of a nation must regulate it and restrain it, if that nation wishes to lire. If all the dances could boast of as happy and beneficial a termination as the one rudely described as occurring in the "Heathen Na- tion ," there would be no supervision or re- straint necessary. THE DRAGON'S CHRISTMAS DA THE DEACONS CHRISTMAS DANCE. Brother, do you recoil set, in some spiritu- ual vacation, Of the Christmas night we spent, over in the "Heathen Nation"? (That was what our people called it, since it hadn't the same appearin' As a place that antedated it a dozen years in clearin'). [So said Ahab Adams, banker—owning holdings few could purchase, To his brother, leading pastor 'mongst a hundred city churches.] Those hard times out in the wood-lots how as boys we used to pass 'em! Not a person went ag'in us, but we had the words to sass 'em ! 'Ceptin' Dad and Mother: Dad held with- in the voice ingredients 13 A THOUSAND WORE VERS1 That could close the dictionary on all words except obedience. And amongst the other orders this one through my memory glances: Whatsoever else you do, don't you go to any dances Christmas came — we 'tended church; learned once more that we was sin- ners; Had a mother-meal at home — food enough for fifteen dinners; Fed the horses, stalled the cattle, soothed small pains that shot across us, An' went up to bed at nine, by the clock that helped to boss us. Then I recollect you, brother — my! who now would ever think it! Whispered, "Youth is full of syrup: let us go and help to drink it!" Then we sneaked out of the window — Still as chaos 'fore creation — Startin' for a Christmas dance — over in the "Heathen Nation." 14 t 1 1 r m Mercy! didn't it make a flutter, when the people saw appearin' Four strong husky youthful Christians, come from Deacon Adams' clearin'! Still those sinners — not disposed t in' time with small su: Didn't let us interfere with the reg'lar exercises: They rushed to us good an' hearty — not as brands plucked from the burnin' But as Deacon Adams' prisoners from cold storage now returnin'. An' the fiddle — how it thrilled us! — every kind of thought revealin': Scoldin', cryin', grumblin', shoutin', whis- p'rin', singin', warblin', squealin' — Brother, have you any wonder, as we read those memory-pages, That we fellers went to dancin' jest as if we danced for wages? Was't a wonder that we shrunk, appre- hensive 'mid the laughter, IS A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. When our straight-browed father rushed in — havin' followed slyly after? Any wonder if the father, when he felt the animation From the heads and hearts and heels of that risin' generation, When he saw them cleanly dancin' till the timbers seemed to totter, Recollected youthful pastimes, when his blood was somewhat hotter? 'Special'}' when a fair-faced girl, with a red head like a beacon, meed up softly to him, saying, "Dance a hornpipe with me, Deacon?" I- it any wonder that he threw all restraint aside, untethered, An' let loose a hundr'd antics that for forty years he'd gathered? Brother, don't you recollect how he whirled an' jumped an' twisted? He showed them there people capers that they didn't know existed. 16 THE DEACON'S CHRISTMAS DANCE. An' he murmured unto me, in the red-hot of the revel, "David danced before the Lord — I will try it on the devil !" Everybody on the job cheered our Dad like all creation: He was soon the crackerjack of the whole dumbed Heathen Nation! But remember our surprise an' the laughs that jumped around us, When our dear old mother entered — bav- in' missed an' chased an' found But she al'ays had some fun layin' round with her religion: An' her toes took wings forthwith, that would give points to a pigeon! She eclipsed the red-head gal — took the cake without much bother, Makin' folks around there love her — even more than they did father. Well, I guess you'll hev to own it, that 'ere fast night was a sprinter! 17 A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. And the sort of genial climate that you don't get every winter! That was Dads an' Mom's last dancin': but they brewed such admiration, That their influence never died in that wicked Heathen Nation: An' you recollect, when Dad a revival there inserted, More than half the folks that lived near, swung right in an' got converted. Then you says — "In cornerin' sinners, do not feel too much above 'em: Kind of make 'em understand that, like David, you're one of 'em." 18 THE DICTAGRAPH. THE DICTAGRAPH "// can be placed in almost an, with- out the occupants kn - Dictagraph — dictagraph — You will make some people laugh, You will make more pc - q\ When around their words you c Was the . Par or nigh, Such a shrewd and subtle sj Lov^ .1 have long forbidden Small boys under sofas hidden. Rut you now will soon condemn Something that will discount them. Guests that throng the big hotel. Watch its nooks and crannies well; Talk not of your own affairs — Listeners may be down-stairs. Counseling villains, low and high, Keep a lookout for the spy; If you have not done so yet. Learn the deaf-dumb alphabet. 19 Just before the child happens in some way or other to lose the sweet and winsome Santa Claas superstition, he is a wonderfully inter- esting study, in his combination of the actual and the legendary. The Santa Claus story is one that the world will not willingly let die. Whether the enterprising little fellow rcp- Iging in the following reflec- tions, knows the whole truth, in Santa Claus . or a part oj it. or none of it, way he left to the imagination of the reader — who probably can remember at about what time he himself [or she herself) learned the real state of such matters. Of course we all wish it were true. TOMMY AS SANTA CLAUS. TOMMY AS SANTA CLAUS. Ef I was only Santa Claus A Christmas eve all through, On your tin-type I'd show you what A five-year old could do! They say that boys is smarter n Than former fav'ritc sons — I ruther judge that that perhaps Depends upon the one But anyway 1 think I know How dif'rent it would be, Ef I was only Santa Claus, An' Santa Claus was mc I wouldn't have no deers nor sleds Them's happened long enough : I'd build an air-ship big an' deep To carry lots of stuff; An' Jack could run one — so he says An' he's the one ter know — 21 A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. An' then at nine p. in. I'd up An' yell out "Let her go!" An' we could take ten times as much As if we had a sled. An' use a wireless telegraph, An' order goods ahead. No chimney-stunts for mine! I'd have To go along with me, A good converted burglar, that Could pick the locks, you see: An' then I'd crawl up to the kids, An' use my new Hash light, An' look their faces o'er an' see What gifts would hit 'em right; An' then I'd wish that I could watch An' see their wake-up joys, An' give 'bout twice as much to girls As what I would to boys; An' I don't b'lieve I'd call upon The richest chil'ren first; I'd go among the tots I thought Was needin' me the worst. 22 TOMMY AS SANTA CLAUS. I'd say these gilt-edged kids has pops To buy their Chris'mas stuff. Though I'll leave somethin' to piece out. If they don't git enough; But most of all the traps shall go In stockins coarse, I'd - I'd bust 'em all! an' leave more To start 'em in next day . Then there's some folks, I've he old That kids again they : They'd all git somethin' took to em. If Santa Claus was me. I'd make 'em think of good old time- When friends that they had got, Would give 'em things no matter if Twas Chris'mas day or not. I'd sure have somethin' they would need Ol'-fashioned, but first-rate: Twould be a good chance to close out Things not quite up to date. An' then I'd go to him himself: An' wake him up, an' say, 25 A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. "Dear Santa Claus you've made more bright Full many a Christmas day! I've brought a present here I hope You'll take from me all right; It's just a kiss — like I give Pop When he comes home at night. An' I shall pray, when I get back, That you will prosp'rous be, An' buy an airship of your own, An' alwavs send for me." 24 don't let them bury me deep. DON'T LET THEM BURY ME DEEP. (One Little Girl's Last 11 Lift me a bit in my bed, father, Press your warm lip to my cheek. Put your arms under my head, father, I am so tired and so weak! I cannot stay long awake, now — Many a night I shall sleep! — Promise one thing for my sake, now — Don't let them bury me deep! Look! who has come for me now, father, Standing so near to my bed? Some one is kissing my brow, father, Mother, I thought you were dead! See! she is smiling so bright to you, Motions to us not to weep! Tis not "good-bye" but "good-night" to you, They cannot bury me deep! 25 The first railroad-trains were interesting but prosaie affairs. The locomotive ivas a rude boiler with a primitive smokestack at one end, and a wood box at the other — all traveling at a moderate pace, on a track of wooden rails. The ears were mere stage- coaches tied to each other. There was much interest in the enterprise, but no sentiment. Xow, there is a most wonderful change in that respect, as in others. The railroad is as full of romance and sentiment, as is the ocean. The locomotive is often the sweet- heart of the driver. The guild of railroad- toilers has its loves, its hates, its fancies, its superstitions. Ghosts are not uncom- monly seen by railroad folk, or their fancies. Legends abound among them, full of senti- ment. THE BELLE OF IMF. NFW YEAR. THE BELLE OF THE NEW YEAR. (Veteran Engine-driver's Story.) Oh, no! I'm not toiling on railroads, although I wasn't built for to shirk: I just limp around in the shops, here, and criticise other folks' work. And there's plenty more classy can do that and haven't got my chance to explain And never went down an embankment, along with an engine or train. Twas on a bright morning — the New Year of Eighteen and eighty, and one: The Boss of our shop says, "An engine blue-blooded as sin, is just done: And who shall we get for to drive her, that's shown he can dare and can do? My Boss says his Boss says the honor is mostly pertainin' to you. 21 A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. "You take her, and court her, and keep her, as long, let it be understood, As you two can manage together, and do what we call 'making good'; And don't fret her too much at starting — an engine's a woman, you know; The more that you study her temper, the better at last she will go. "This here is a love-child: there's people that works in the place, don't for- get. Put part of their souls in her make-up, to have h^r the niftiest yet. And when they do that for an engine, the fact is close-guessed, if not known, That they pile up a sort of prescription, that gives her a soul of her own." I went in there where she was standing; I looked for first time in her eyes, The boys, they had kept her in cover, God bless 'em, their friend to surprise; And if there was ever an engine that mor- tals an angel might call, 28 THE BELLE OF THE NEW YEAR. Twas her that stood there 'mongst the others — the certified Queen of them all. I said "Shall we travel together, my Beauty?" ('twas foolish, I guess) But out of her glorious splendor, I thought that she smiled me a "Yes"; Her picture was taken, in grand size; that night, to the big dance it came : I christened her "Belle of the New Year" — and that was thereafter her name. My best girl, she almost grew jealous: she says, with her dear little pout, "You'd better go marry this wonder you're thinking and raving about: I wish she'd get smashed!" then a mo- ment, her face was like snow to the view : And she clasped my hand, saying, "Forget it! for that would perhaps murder you!" 29 A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. Well, Belle and I journeyed together, two years, through the storm and the sun, With a love which is — what is the word for't? "Platonic", I think is the one; And she learned to talk back to me often: she knew how to laugh and be sad, And to sulk, and to give me my lesson, when things veered a bit to the bad. But never was schedules filled sleeker, or passengers treated more grand, Than they was by the "Belle of the New Year" with me holding fast to her hand; And naver was confidence closer, that more and more steadfastly grew, Than that which gained slowly and surely, and then made its home with us two. Still, life has its curves unexpected, and bridges to trap you and me; And that was a terrible winter — of eigh- teen and eighty and three: Two years we had been the star-sprinters, in sunshine, and starlight, and shade, 30 THE BELLE OF THE NEW YEAR. And compliments gemmed us like roses, 'most all of the journeys we made. And that night, we scrapped with a blizzard, that evertything ugly con- tained! But the "Belle of the New Year" kept working, and never one second com- plained; Not an inch could we see from the pilot; but still we was bound to "make good"; And work to our time-card as nearly as, battling that snow-storm, we could. "Keep up to your best, my brave beauty!" I yelled, and believed she could hear, "It isn't very far to the term'nus — the rest and the shelter are near." But a broken rail— sneak-thief of safety! — the Belle drew a long wailing breath, Then fell on her side, and went rolling a hundred feet down to her death. 31 A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. She bravely wrenched free from the coaches — the passengers stayed safe and sound, The fireman jumped into the darkness — we buried him when he was found; But the Belle wrapped her dear arms around me, as together we made the grim dive; And my best girl came next day there and found me — all crippled, and bruised — but alive. buried the Belle in a garden: 'twas sentiment, maybe you'll say, But what are the goods of life good for, if one blocks the heart's right of way? I built up a monument o'er her, and oft my best girl — now my wife — Strews flowers o'er the Belle of the New Year, and thanks her for saving my life. 32 A PROPHECY. A PROPHECY. Have you seen the balloon vieing With the lofty clouds in Hying? Or the aeroplane's resistance To the tyrannies of distance? How those hardy, fearless range Grope their paths through deadly dangers! How their mother Earth oft maims them, When, at times she rudely claims them! Or, in bonds no power can sever, Clasps them to her heart forever! Low beneath the sad winds' sighing, Scores of them are meekly lying — They who sped through many a nation. O'er applause and admration. But time comes, when thousands gaily Those grand heights will traverse daily. 33 This poem was read at a "Valentine Break- w York. Among the many that were presented there, it was mentioned as the only sad one. And yet. the fact was excused, and kind words came from all parts of the spacious hall of feasting: for it was known that the author had very recently sustained one of the most terrible losses in the world, and there were not a few present, who knew by experience what that meant. A VALENTINE TO HEAVEN. A VALENTINE TO HEAVEN. I know not how these lines to send, Dear soul that took the starward flight — And yet our Past a hope doth lend That thou canst read me as I write. And if not so, thou yet wilt know These whispers that are thine and mine: For God hath ways to make it so — And thou shalt be my valentine. But if by some good messenger This word must seek thy cherished name, Thy heart, I hope, will yet infer Wherefrom the earthly message came: Some little ways of thought or phrase — Some hidden thrill 'twixt line and line, That we two knew in olden days — Will tell who wrote the valentine. 35 A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. Sweet one, they cannot make me fear That stately Heaven can check thy glee, Or bar me from the comrade-cheer That made the earth like Heaven to me! For e'en amid thy toil to rid Of pain and sin our suff'ring race, Oft came th* merry laugh unbid, That never lost its girlhood-grace. So while the silver jest goes round, And while the air gives gold of mirth, I feel thy h^art may yet be found Among the merriments of earth. Heaven were a task, could I not bask Within that merry glance of thine: And so, 'twixt smile; and t^ar, I ask Thee, Dear, to he my Valentine! 36 THE LONG LENT-TIDE. THE LONG LENT-TIDE. She sat in the parlor, a maiden onoe more — Uncrimped, and unrouged, and un- gloved: But her sweet face a frown of anxiety wore, As she gazed at the man that she loved. "Oh what can I do to my soul to be true She was murmuring, over and o'er, "So's to suffer in ways for the d( Lenten da\ That I never have suffered before? 4 T have banished the sweetmeats that shortened the day — All the gems of the palate I shun: And my pearls and my diamonds cower away, From the light of the lamps and the sun. 37 A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. And the thrill-haunted halls and the plays and the balls And the opera's voices of flame. Are as nothing to me: or at most they must be On the doubly-locked door, just a name! But I do not as yet feel that I have attained What the spirit of sacrifice meant; That my soul in its fights with my body has gained All the discipline offered by Lent. I depend upon you: tell me something to do That of sacrifice true is a part!" — Twas the maiden's request, of the man she loved best, And the one she had robbed of his heart. Then he smiling said, "That which you love best, my dear, Excepting your family ties, 38 THE LONG LENT-TIDE. You should fling from your life for a week and a year, If on wings of the soul you would rise." And she said, 'That is you! and 'tis only my due, That you go, till the sad time is spent! If you love me, dear, now help me keep the strange vo And with heart bowed in sadness, he went. 39 Upon Thomas Jefferson's venerable head are heaped the praise and the blame of our Fourth-of-July tumult and racket. He it was who first suggested that firecrackers should be bumed y cannon fired, and pyro- technics let loose on the anniversary of our nation's birth. Perhaps he regretted it, when he grew old and infirm. The recent reforms in that respect are no doubt best for the public good: the "Safe and Sane Fourth" is spreading — to the nation s benefit and the surgeon's loss. But no one can help sympathizing with the poor urchin, one of whose most delicious luxuries of life is, to make a noise. THE FIRECRACKER EOY. THE FIRECRACKER BOY. On the steps of a house, still and sad as a mouse With no goods to destroy, Unreservedly pained at the stillness that reigned, Sat the firecracker boy. 'There is nothin' to do, all this Fourth o'J'ly through," He said, glancing around: "There is no proper way for to work or to play, If you can't make no sound! You can set in deep thought how George Wash'ton once fought, An' didn't never tell lies; An' how he — an' some more — waded knee-deep in gore, Almost up to their eyes; 41 A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. You can say 'No one swipes any sparklers or stripes From the banner 't means Us, Or to give it display in.no improper way, If they don't want a fuss;' We can tell how our gran'thers fit worse than wild panthers, Concernin' this flag, Which, in school, when we studied, no kid that's full-blooded, Could help but to brag; We can sit an' say 's'posin' there rushed any foes in To do us some dirt, We would straighten up stiff, an' take part in the tiff, Though we went dead or hurt'; We kin sit an' reflect in a manner correct, Feelin' Patr'tism's thrill, An' it's all straight an' true: but what good kin it do, Ef we've got to keep still? "An' these folks that forbid us to lift up the lid 42 THE FIRECRACKER BOY. In the old-fashioned way, They can noise up an' down, through the country or town, Ev'ry night — ev'ry day; An' their mob'les kin creak an' their whistles kin speak, Sayin' 'Out of the way!' An' we boys hev to mind 'em, or lay down behind 'em, Dead, 'fore we are gray. "An the bands' horns can sing like some many-voiced thing. An' the drummers kin pound, An' there's no one I see 'cept us men that's to be, Re'lly stinted in sound: An' the day it is free, jest as fur's I kin see, In the general joy. For all hands to make noise — 'ceptin' only jest boys!" Moaned the firecracker boy. 43 It would be interesting^ to sonic one who had nothing else to do, if he would audit up the months of the year, and of all years, and learn which had produeed the most distin- guished people. Perhaps the result might even hare a scientific value. I happened to write this in August, and used such material as eame to my mind: but could with a little research and patience with myself \ have extended the poem into several pages more. And even then, the record might be surpassed by other months. CONVERSE WITH AUGUST. CONVERSE WITH AUGUST. August — August — stormy or fair! What do you bring in your sultry air? Tender mornings and starlit skies — Golden clouds with the glad sunrise; Cooling zephyrs and stifling heats — Thunders rolling in lofty street Lightning aiming at towers and trees — Chill rains dripping from floating seas. August — August — stormy or fair! What have you seen men do and dare?- Oh, it was on my third bright day, Gallant Columbus marked his way Far to the empire yet to be, Out where the sunset kissed the sea: He had no nation when all was done, But he had found a place for one. August, August, stormy or fair. When did you give the world despair ?- 45 A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. Once in my midst, an August morn Told that a Bonaparte was born: One that would swim Ambition's flood — One that would drench the earth with blood: Yet with his sword would cut in twain Many a petty tyrant's chain. August, August, stormy or fair, When did a wizard stroke your hair? — Once, when my days were half way through, Came a child from the far-off blue — Soon to cover with laurels grand, All the hills of his fatherland. That was the Scottish Walter Scott: Never his name will be forgot! August, August, stormy or fair, What have you more that is sweet and rare? — Millions of babies: born to bless This great land in its comeliness, 46 CONVERSE WITH AUGUST. Or by Indolence' wiles or worse, Making their coming into a curse. Will their staying be ill, or well? — God and the world will some time tell. 4? \< r< i h is a more terrible and portentous ■ an- disaster taken place, than the one a thousand miles east of New York, on the night of April 15. All elasses of society were represented in this sea-slau filter ; all tes of mentality were robbed away from the earth. I say this iras portentous, for it indicated that no ship could for many years, if ever, be built large enough and strong enough to be surely sate from destruction from the ocean. 48 THE WRECK OF THE LINER. THE WRECK OF THE LINER. The night is a vision of splendor; the stars hang in clusters on high; The oft-troubled ocean is resting i\nd smiles at her sister, the sky. The storms that have fought through the winter from battle's confusion arc free; And only the children of zephyrs arc playing about on the sea. What more could wild wastes of the waters throw into a sweet silent song, To welcome the pilgrims of pleasure that traverse their regions along? What less could they do in that star- light so strangely unclouded and bright, To guard 'gainst the traps that are waiting to plunge a whole world into night? 49 A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. Here glows on this sea's mottled surface a mammoth of beauty and grace: This is not a ship, but a palace, that flits through the regions of space! It carries in untold abundance all things that the fancy can please — Few kings in this world ever journey sur- rounded with splendors like these. No wish and no whim but is granted from only a gesture or word, If also the yellow disc's rattle, or rustling of bank-notes be heard. The rest-rooms are lavish and stately; the banquet-halls silver-and-white ; The couches that nourish the slumbers, are beautiful nests of delight. And all of this grandeur seems saying, in words at the deep waters cast, "Bow low to proud man, ancient Ocean! — your terrors are conquered at last!" What names does this argosy carry: — the paltry? — the mean? — the unknown? 50 THE WRECK OF THE LINER. Or such as the world has already through many vast distances thrown? It carries a true Peace Apostle, who fought his way up toward the sun, And, scanning two worlds, conjured mar- vels in helping the uplift of one; It carries a capital's idol — a boon to a President's sight — Because he is not upon one day, hut all days, a chivalrous knight; It carries some makers of fortunes, some rulers of monies and marts, Who keep their great riches in wide hands, and not in the depths of their hearts; It carries the pure souls of women whom angels are watching tonight, And who in the hour when earth dark- ens, will make even Heaven more bright: It carries its fugitive hundreds, who in their own homes were oppressed, But now grand air-castles are building, away in the glittering West; 51 A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. It carries the day-by-day toiler, who all of his muscle must give, For prosperous mortals' permission that he and his loved ones may live; Rut all are to learn the great lesson — they long should have known, pru- dence deems — That man cannot conquer the oceans, except in illusory dreams. O ship-chiefs! the world has two oceans! — the one to your efforts gives way — The other is frozen to mountains that trap you for many a day. Just now watchful men through the ether flashed tidings of woe in your path: Why rush at the half-hidden monsters, as if you were seeking their wrath? Though you for the coining of money your own lives to venture are prone, What right have you over these thousands who lent you the care of their own? O ship-chiefs, your ways are mysterious: they give your long training the lie; 52 THE WRECK OF THE LINER. What mandate has told you to hasten, with murderous danger so nigh? Have you not, when peril was frowning, or welcome security smiled, Been taught the great axiom that caution and safety are parent and child? The ship races on: its vast regions arc flooded with billows of light; Till, wearied with even the good die some sojourners welcome the night, While others still cling to their revels. and plunging in pleasure more deep. Look forward as oft in the home life, for small hours to soothe them asleep. But many a grave man has handed to darkness the care of his cares, And many a child has seen Heaven through clear unstained windows of prayers, And many a woman o'er-wearied, the sojourn of Morpheus has blessed, So she to the dictums of fashion can fling some defiance, and rest; 53 A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. But all look ahead to one morning when, nearing the spires and the domes, They leave with new feelings of freedom, this grand floating home, for their homes. What craft looms upon the horizon, with chilling and ominous breath? It sailed from white deserts of North Land — it carries a cargo of death. It needs not of chart or of compass: it wrecks not of grief or of pain; It spares not the dead or the living — it counts not the lists of its slain. O watchman be keen to your duty! These moments are treasures untold! For time at a stress has a value not reck- oned in silver or gold. O man you have thrown a defiance at all that destruction can do, Your brothers and sisters are praying the boasts of your prowess be true! O tranquil but pitiless ocean! your cruel- est storm-clouds are nought 54 THE WRECK OF THE LINER. To this starlit evening that flashes on ice- mantled graves dearly bought! This fair night will hear moans of anguish that soon must encompass the world: Not tossed, this vast home on the waters, 'gainst billows tumultously hurled, But steadily cov'ring the false hopes of frighted humanity o'er, The ship from its flight o'er the billows must fall to the sea's solemn floor. Nought, nought but the heart can e'r pic- ture the agonies known and un- known, That throng through the night's desolation, with horrors unspeakable strown: The wrenching from halls of the banquet, to roofs of the desolate wave; The wearisome watching for rescue, to come from the far-distant brave; The crushing of new-made devices that serve not to save, but to kill, The life-boats that turn into death-boats, for lacking of seamanship skill; 55 A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. The hurried and agonized partings that come with this terrible doom, And shroud the sweet love of a lifetime by changing the sea to a tomb; The cry of the child for its parent, the wife's and the husband's vain call, The prayers of the righteous invoking the aid of the Father of all; The fragile flotillas with women too brave their own sorrow to tell, Like slaves at the galley-oars toiling, still hoping that all will be well; The grief of the half-thousand toilers who, prisoned with clinging bolts nigh, Have nought they can do for escaping except in that prison to die; The tremulous strains of musicians, who, just from the pleasure-hall's glare, Creep "Nearer to God", when around them are dancing the ghosts of despair; The cries of the maimed and the dying, who languish o'er death-beds of waves, 56 THE WRECK OF THE LINER. On ruins of yesterday's splendor that soon are to dig them their graves; O great God! You saw all this anguish, You deemed it was best to be s But all for the best is intended: You know what we never can know. 57 The birds that have travelled so long between the unfeathered raees and the sky, cannot understand tlie balloon and the aero- plane. The smaller ones give these formid- able-looking engines of the air a wide berth, while the larger and more powerful ones sometimes attach them and their occupants. As the science of Aviation continues to make progress, birds of all sizes will no doubt learn to get out of the way as soon as they can, when they view an air-craft ap- proaching: and we may yet see bird-hunts from aeroplanes or dirigibles, as one of the approved sports of the day. EAGLE AND AEROPLANE. EAGLE AND AEROPLANE. Who are you, speeding along this way Above my head? Why do you come to the clouds today? The eagle said. Had you not heard that pathways high Only were made for such as I? Did you not know that from your birth, You were appointed to walk the earth? Do as you long were wont to do : Stab my mountains and creep them through; Swim your rivers or bridge them o'er; Ferry the seas from shore to shore ; Plunge through halls of a starless deep, Where the hosts of the tempests sleep And count their dead; But you were made not, as was I, On the wings of the winds to fly! The eagle said. 59 A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. What in my country do you seek? What is of wealth on the mountain peak? Which of the gems has it begot? Where is its gold, excepting what The sun has shed, You who squander the hoards you save — Haughty slaves of the "yellow slave"? The Eagle said. Dig in the earth for earth that buys: Clutch with your greedy hands and eyes, What, if it win your poor heart, will Serve but to make you greedier still — By food unfed; What do you care for the sky above Mora than to aid your own self-love? The eagle said. Even your daring flight today — So the gossiping birdlets say, With gold is wed: You, a hero of skies, indeed! Back to your stony dens of greed, By avarice fed! Then did the bird, with beak and wing, 60 EAGLE AND AEROPLANE. Straight at the throat of the airman spring, Looking a rage he could not speak, Tearing away with claws and beak. But from the bold intruder came Five sharp volleys of blinding flame, And piercing lead: Symbol of heroism, beware! Doff the emperorship of air! The echoes said. Maimed and bleeding, and sick with hate, Fluttered the bird to his Berce-eyed mate, Whsre, on a ragged rock and gray, She with her callow fledgelings lay. Do not again such conflict dare, Screamed this lioness of the air: Men will yet journey here in crowds: You are no more the King of Clouds. Man is the only mortal who Whate'er he wills to do, will do. Though he be wayward oft, and wild, 61 A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. Still he is God's own well-loved child- From angels bred: If he will only do and dare, He can yet rule Earth, Sea, and Air! The eagless said. 62 THE SEA-BIRD IN TOWN. THE SEA-BIRD IN TOWN. Look upward! the sea-bird is coming to town ! He has left his wide home floored with billows of blue, And is winging invisible paths up and down, O'er our river that cleaves the great city in two. O'er the long wave that dashes to sea- ward each day, Long miles toward the sunrise; then fights its way back Through oceans of men that are flinging the spray Of love and of hate— gifts and greed— on their track. From great lofty windows, proud mortal; gaze where 63 A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. This eagle-like bird spurns the roofs for the air! How he laughs and screams downward at domes and at spires! How he scorns all the goals of mens deeds and desires! For he heeds not the splendors beneath him — Or clouds that with bays might en- wreath him: He thinks of the callow young children at home At his nest in the rocks where the white breakers foam, His children — so weak and so helpless are they! And he di earns his way homeward still clutching his prey, Dreams of miniature sea-birds who'll grasp with delight The treasures he brings from his far speedy flight. How his life is a strife and a play — 64 THE SEA-BIRD IN TOWN. Bird spun from the sun and the clay! He can float — feathered boat — on the sea, Though the waves — restless graves — clamber free; He can fly toward the sky in his mirth, Though the clouds — leaden shrouds — clothe the earth; He can pierce through the fierce light- ning's glare — He can sleep in the deep thund'rou- air. His mattress the spray and his pillow his breast, And the whole heaving ocean the couch of his rest. Tis as if a poor crushed-down and earth- burdened soul In a prison of needs- in a tyrant's con- trol— Whose body away from the spirit had died, Had now sprung to the freedom long sadly denied! 65 A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. Safe from harm let him fly! for we mind of sad loss, When the famed Ancient Mariner's dead albatross With the wound of the cross-bow upon him, still threw The black luck of death on a bold, merry crew. Free and proud let him swim! for the treasures bel6w In the great tossing deep, where he glides to and fro, Gathered year after year, since The Ship had its birth, Far surpasses in wealth all the cities of earth. Come again in our ken, bird of cheer! "Luck" hath claim to thy name: bring it here! Tell our home — tell this dome-bordered shore — To be great is its fate evermore; That no gale shall bewail its re- treats — 66 THE SEA-BIRD IN TOWN. And no earthquake have birth in its streets; That no pestilence threading its joy-loving throngs, Shall turn its gay measures to funeral- songs; That no foe will build deaths on its wave- girded walls, Or strew fear and despair through its homes and its halls, From the far-away sea and their "rockets' red glare", Or the ominous bird-ships that now sail the air; That 'twill teach the great truth for the whole world to see, How a city can live, though its subjects be free! And, menacing meanness and welcoming worth, Be greatest of all the great cities of earth ! 67 How can this country fail to become one of the best educated ones in the world, as Jong as people are willing to make such sac- rifices for their children ? Who but must admire their self -abnegation in favor of those who are coming on to fill their places? Of course, sometimes, they overdo it: and it strikes me these parents did. - = = '/r?^'>nc way or another. Few notable poems, but have been parodied {and often by able hands) again and again. ==#^#^#== O WHERE WILL BE. O WHERE WILL BE. A PARODY. Oh where will be the cats that yawl — one hundred years from now? And dogs that in the night-time call. u Bow- wow- wow- wow-wow- wow'* ? We do not know : we only know that Time sometimes is good. And Death may do a lot of things that language never could. Oh where will be the fellow-man — what- ever he deserves, That whistles in the railway-car, and rasps our trembling nerves? We do not know: we only hope that ere a century goes. His improvised and doleful tune may reach a blessed close. 87 A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. And where will be the gentle maid who strikes our fancy dumb, By wagging up and down her jaw around the sizzling gum? We do not know: posterity however, yet may hope That her descendants will espouse another kind of "dope." And where will be the dear small boy, an hundred years to come, Who, when his neighbor wants to sleep, exploits the festive drum? The sweet and guileless little scamp — the innocent young rogue — May be in lands where harps are used, and drums are not in vogue. Oh where will be — if this be not a query brusque and raw, In what world of the future — my dear neighbors' motherinlaw? For in whichever one she ends her stren- uous earthly race, He wants to make some inquiries about the other place. 88 state's evidence. STATE'S EVIDENCE. (Suggested by Recent New York Evei What troubles arise betwixt brother and brother, When rascals fall out, and go shooting each other! What worry and grief it is certain to make, When gamblers find out that their In are the stake! When men "higher up" the ^ad mourner^ must join. As well as the victims who furnished the coin ! Then they who of dreariest facts have possession, Procure them some sackcloth, and run to confession; And each learns and studies the great task betimes, The art of confessing another man's crimes. 89 // we did not hate the mosquito so bitterly, perhaps we would study it. We would find that it exists all over the earth, even in the Arctic regions, and is one of the plagues of explorers. The male ones live upon such plants as they can find; relieving them, probably, of superfluous juices, which they can do better without. Having no nerves, the plants make no resistance, and the male insect has the pleasure of predatory dining, with none of its dangers. The female, however, has more courage, and attacks the thin-skinned human race, not seeming to apprehend any trouble, until the palm of a sturdy hand comes crash- ing against its frail anatomy. TO THE LAST MOSQUITRESS. TO THE LAST MOSQUITRESS. "Only the fetna itc." Last wing-vampire of the season! Final of uncounted numbers! You, for some sufficient reason, Sing a requiem to my slumbers. All the friends that you have known Twined in merriment or pain, From your gentle side have flown. Or at sanguine feasts were slain. Are you oldwife, mem'ry-laden. Or a matron, blithe and bustling, Or some fair insectile-maiden, For a placid future hustling? Were you watched by winged swain, As you fluttered to and fro? Are you — with or without brain. Handsome, as mosquitoes go? 91 A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. Have you pedigree to tell? Did a grandame boast the process Of the sinking of a well In proud Caesar's strong proboscis? Did fair Cleopatra pause In her international cooing, To extend bejewelled claws For your ancestress' undoing? Anyhow, you are my guest: In the lamplight's faint refulgence, Go ahead and do your best, At one unrestrained indulgence! Take your drop of blood, I say! Mine a thousand times could fill you : — ■ Guiltless vampire, go your way: I'd be hanged before I'd kill you! P2 TO DEAD BUTTERFLIES. TO DEAD BUTTERFLIES. Sun-gilded things, jewels with wings, Joying, with tremulous motion, How overhead gaily you sped, Through the air's crystalline ocean! Born into glee, fluttering free From the cold coffins that bound you, Bright did you blaze, mid the warm days. And the new freedom around you! Once you were down., worm-like and brown, In the weeds' chill-spreading shadows: Then, death defying, far you were flying Over the gardens and meadows. 93 (>//, the automobile! what shall pedestrians do with it? Scarcely any one but can remem- ber sundry narrow eseapes from its swift- whirling wheels, and hundreds and perhaps thousands are in the cemetery, on aecount of the escapes being left out. The laws that have been made with which to regulate this newer sort of transportation, stem almost as evasive as the machines themselves: but let us hope that some day it will be made reasonably safe to walk abroad in the public roads. AUTOMODILIA. AUTOMOBILIA. Ten men walking along the street, Hailing the joys that mortals meet: Comes an auto of swift design — Now, alas! there ari only nine. Nine men crossing the public way, Full of the joy of the golden day; Sounds the whistle a bit too late — Now, dear me! there are only eight. Eight young children upon the road, Playing in front of their abode: Comes a smart recruiter of heaven — Now, you note, there are only seven. Seven men crossing the busy street, Little knowing what they will meet: Comes a craft of the River Styx— Now, if you count, there are only six. 95 A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. Six men running a touring-car, Pondering not how safe, but far; One of them reaches home alive — Hospitals shelter the other five. joy-riders unsafe to meet, Riding amuck in the midnight strc Fifty miles per the hour or more: Now there are merely parts of four. One poor fellow who stays at home, Never abroad in the streets to roam: Ho. is in the invalid ranks — But he as yet is living, thanks. 96 THE WELCOME — A PARODY. THE WELCOME A PARODY. come in the evening, or come in the morning, Come when you're looked Foi >me without warning'* — Come when it's easy, or come with endeavor; Come when you're stupid, or come when you're clever. But please — if you care for me — don't stay forever! 97 Some of US in Brooklyn frequently set our watches by the nine p. m. gun at the Navy Yard. Whatever else goes or comes, that ^t note of welcome and defiance goes sweeping over the city, as if to say, "A bless- ing for those who conic to us with good intent— a grave for those who come to rob or injure us" THE NINE O CLOCK GUN. THE NINE O'CLOCK GUN. When the dark of the day nestles down, And the stars hang their lamps in the skies, When New York, the old world-famous town, Part in flame part in shadow land lies, When 'tis time that the children be wed To the innocent white-pillowed bed, But grim villains from over the earth Soon will prowl to dishonor their birth, Thus wren Night her first finger has pressed On the brow of the world, gently striving To soothe into much-needed rest, With the magics of tender contriv- ing; Then thund'ring o'er roof-top and tower, 99 A THOUSAND MORT. VERSES. Comes the first mighty stroke of an hour: Then again, as at set of the sun, Comes the boom of the nine-o'clock gun. From the wave-guarded nest where our fighting-boats rest, When they've homed the far-away seas, Comes this signal of power at the even- ing's mid-hour, That the timid may slumber at ease. That the hearts of the West may with confidence rest, In the good will of nations around: But the mailed hands of might are all readly to smite, Should that friendship a treach'ry be be found. So God grant that our peace with the world may not cease! But the flowers of a garden are nought, Unless, shunning neglect, there is power to protect, When by cruel desire they are sought. 100 THE NINE CLOCK HUN. So let nations "disarm", if they look for a charm In the ease of a duty undone. — Gentle peace is our choice: hut w must rejoice In the boom of the nine-o'clock gun. #^63h^- 101 There is a great difference of opinion as to the desirability of gum -chewing in public. Some do not mind an occasional exhibition of it; some tolerate it; others abhor it. It has often been doubted whether musicians could do their best work while jamming their jaws up and down. It is remembered and stated that "Blind Tom", the famous negro pianist, frequently chewed gum while play- ing the most splendid compositions: but some say that his work was all inspiration, and he did not know whether he had anything in his mouth, or indeed whether he had any mouth, until after his selection was finished. The author of this takes no sides on the subject: he merely tries to reproduce the feelings of an ultra-imaginative music-lover, under cer- tain circumstances. DISENCHANTED. DISENCHANTED. I saw the moving pictures trace Some several passions of the soul: But most of all I watched the face Of the piano's fair control. How well she followed up and down, The swift events that flittered there! She voiced each view of field and town, From radiant hope to black despair. Whatever of fancy or of fact The whirling films were wont to do, She with the most exquisite tact, Made the piano tell it, too. I crept up on her, as it were, The glories of her art to trace: 103 A THOUSAND MORT VERSES. 1 almost fell in love with her, In that somewhat unusual place. j I nearer lurked: but oh, such pains Disastrous were: my heart went dumb: Right 'midst the most bewild'ring strains, The little beast was chewing gum. 104 OCTOBER CON! OCTOBER'S CONTRAST October held a carnival, When Summer days had fled; His halls were trimmed with blue and gold, And banners flaming red. Now all the world with fowl and fruit Were at his table fed; The richest wines of bough or vines Before his guests were spread. October held a funeral When Summer nights were fled; And all the leaves and all the vines And all the flowers were dead. The richly-colored drapery Was burial-robes instead, And shorn of pride, he lay and died Upon a lowly bed. 105 The destruction of a great American war- ship, in a foreign harbor, was one of the great tragic events of the century. It will be one of the mysteries of all centuries — for the real history of that terrible explosion that has been heard around the world again and again ever since, will never be told, or, if it is told, will not be credited excepting by a part of humanity. Among its results was the freeing of Cuba from the tyranny of Spain; but the lessons learned from it were, if possible, still more valuable. IN THE WRECKAGE OF THE MAINE. IN THE WRECKAGE OF THE MAINE. In the farm-lands or the city Grieved a woman — sad — alone; 'Neath God's everlasting pity She was weeping for her own. Cabinets had toiled and wrangled, Statesmen could not soothe her pain — For that) weary heart was tangled In the wreckage of the Maine. Through the golden: halls of fashion Moved a lady tall and fair; Round h^r gleamed the flames of passion On the soft magnetic air. Suitors bowed and bent above her, But their wiles were all in vain : She was thinking of a lover In the wreckage of the Maine. 107 A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. On a cot, a sailor lying Bowed his soul in silent prayer; Through the long days he was dying; But his tears were falling there, For the gallant fellow-seamen Who might r^st, while Time should reign, In that sepulchre of freemen, 'Neath the wreckage of the Maine. On a continent of splendor Was a nation calmly grand — Freedom's natural defender — Honest labor's helping hand: And it spoke, half kind, half cruel: "Liberty, O Haughty Spain, Soon may grasp another jewel From the wreckage of the Maine!" 108 CORALS, ON THE MAINE. CORALS, ON THE "MAINE." The warrior ship had moored beneath the waves, Its tangled depths were crowded thick with graves: Each jewelled sword had bent a shattered knee Before the rusting sabres of the sea. True patriots could not let their heroes lie Without one glance of pity from the sky: So delved among those caverns of despair. And all the ghosts of ruin slumb'ring there. No gleaming triumph of the builder's toil, But one demoniac moment served to spoil; And hearts long loved and cherished night and day, 109 A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. Were in a midnight tempest swept away. It was a lesson to our minds — alas! That warning: how or when it comes to pass, This world must heed the universal touch, And fall in Ruin's ever-waiting clutch. But lo! — amid that sad and silent place, Were tiny craftsmen of the coral race! Those unobtrusive "toilers of the sea" — Those builders of the islands yet to be. With placid thrift, they plied their wizard- trade, Close-clinging to the fragments War had made, As if those had been summoned to their call: They knew not that the wrecks were wrecks at all. It was a lesson to our hearts! — with joy We felt that Ruin is in God's employ; And there are builders that we cannot see, 110 CORALS, ON THE "MAINE." Erecting grander worlds for you and me. It was a lesson to our souls! — above The gloomy graves of those we loved and love, The joys they sought, our martyred lads may know, On spirit islands, Fashioned long a. KW in A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. THE FUNERAL OF THE MAINE. Out of the harbor she sought long ago, Harbor that welcomed, but served not to save, Under the clouds, bending piteous and low, Crept the great ship to her grave. Not from the battle's tumultuous breath, Not from the glory of victory's morn : — But from her travail of flame and of death, Lo! a republic was born. Not in the arms of this Queen of the Wrecks, Lingered the dust of her far-famous dead: Forests of palms hailed the flag on her decks — Roses above her were spread. 112 THE FUNERAL OF THE MAINE. Long had she waited her funeral-day, Lying in rough state mid sunlight or gloom: Now the world's plaudits each step of the way Followed her path to the tomb. Full sixty fathoms we buried her 1 'Neath the rough sea and the ne'er- changing skies: Far from molesting of friend or of foe, Heedless of tempests she lies. Lies in the arms of the ocean-waves pressed, With the wet sea-roses over her spread, While, with the love of a nation caressed, Arlington cares for her dead. 113 A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. THE ROSES LAMENT. Another summer-time has gone, where all the seasons go — The autumn winds will soon be here, and whistle to and fro; The drooping leaves, in gaudy sheaves, have closed their fall display, And shown that everything must have its night, as well as day. The winter peers, O Mamma, from its icy parapet, And I — a bleak and lonely flower — have not been gathered yet! When summer came, you recollect, we left the town behind, And fished along the fertile sea, to sec what I could find: I hooked Adolphus Arthur Jenckes, and played on him awhile 114 THE ROSES LAMENT. My swellest gowns and bathing-suits, and best assorted smile. But when I brought him safe to land, 'twas with new-opened eyes: Young Mr. Jenckes proved and was proved a barber in disguise! Wd found a most divine hotel, with all our plans in tune, Where eligible men at hops were thick as leaves in June; I dawdled round with threi young shrimps and mildly was enraged, To find that every one of them was sev- eral times engaged! When earnestness has been cajoled, tha one that suffered weeps: It's hard to do the flirting-game, when one must play at keeps! We went where people who ar3 sick pur- sue a jolly round, And drink such portions of the sea as bubble from the ground; 115 A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. We stepped into a boarding-house tumult- uously serene, And where I made myself, I thought, quite proper to be seen. "Ralph's diamonds proposed to me — no rivalship I feared — Until, you recollect, Mamma, his second wife appeared. And then, that millionaire — oh my! we wandered by the lake, And I fell in, before his ^yes, by pre- arranged mistake: Allowed myself to consciousness restored, when best 'twould be, And thought, "He's saved my life! of course he'll have to marry me!" How I to my preserver clung, with all the strength I had! But 'twasn't the millionaire: — 'twas poor old unexpected Dad. > I've had to take, you know, since first from maidenhood I grew, 110 THE ROSE S LAMENT. Three tucks within my age, Mamma, and there's another due; Unless the angels intervene, I fear 'twill never be, That Hymen crosses o'er my path, and swings his torch at me. I'll try once more next summer: when, if something doesn't befall, I'll think I'll have to go through life an "Auntie", after all. 117 ill the ultra-mean things that arc done in this world (and there are plenty of them, Hem the kidnapping of a child is one <>t the very worst. A villain who can play upon the homesickness of a little one, and the terrible anguish of a parent, for the saki ..', has no right to ex\ men the law, or from any human being who lias a heart. It is pleasant to dwell upon the fact, that in this case, there iras one member of tlie gj Who did have a heart, when at last it was reached. THE KIDNAPPED BOY S PRAYER. THE KIDNAPPED ROYS PRAYER. The deed was done — the game was caught: the robbers grimly smiled And chuckled at how easy 'twas to steal a helpless child. A lure into a carriage-door, a rush through gleam and gloom, A manufactured jail within a rude and dreary room; A warning to a homesick boy to keep dis- creet and still, With threatenings from men who knew an hundred ways to kill; A letter to the stricken sire with, money its demand, And hints of death if so the coin came promptly not to hand; And night fell down upon the seene, anil left the boy alone, 119 A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. With no one there save God Himself, of all he e'er had known. Of you who read this simple tale, the strongest must agree That 'mong all homesick, heartsick lads, the wretchedest was he. This was the first of all his nights when none he loved was there; The first that he had ever known without a mother's prayer. But he, still brave, in spite of all the ter- rors round him thrown, Pushed back a sob, and said "I guess I'll have to pray alone. "O Lord, of course you're on to this — know all about the case, An' why you let 'em bring me here to such a shabby place; It's goin' to make Pop rippin' mad — an' tempt him for to swear — An' Mom — I'm sure this instant now she's joinin' me in prayer; 120 THE KIDNAPPED BOYS PRAYER. An' Sister Mabe is. grievin' 'cause this mornin' when we stood An' scrapped about that little game, she said I wan't no good; An' Brother Rob has one the less to tell his stories to, An' Auntie Grace is worryin' 'round, not knowin' what to do; And Baby's gone just half to sleep, quite sure things isn't right, Because, you see, I didn't come and kiss him 'sweet good-night'; An' Ninelives won't be half a cat without me in the shed, To pick a romp and scrap with him before he goes to bed; An' when tomorrow mornin', boys comes round there on the sly, An' gives our little curly squeal, they won't get no reply; An' Teacher she will sort of mope an' feel a little sad, 121 A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. An' state that now she's lost the most mis- chievous boy she had; (An' yet she thought she liked me, too, an' said 'twas very sweet — That time with stones I plunked a dog that bit her on the street;) In truth, O Lord, I think they all would love to see me back, Though not so glad as / would be to take the home'ard track; An' if you'll help me out o' this, I tell you straight and true, Whenever it is so I can, I'll do as much for you." Of course it was a rough young prayer — in neither prose nor rhyme — ■ Or grammar, such as one might use, in youth's or manhood's time; But still it may have worked more good than words discreet and fair; For God knows many curious ways with which to answer prayer. 122 THE KIDNAPPED BOY S PRAYER. The bandit guard — an old gray rogue — was listening at the door, And caught some talk, the like of which, he ne'er had heard before. But echoes of a boyhood past came tolling through his brain, And his crude heart had softnesses that worked the youngster gain. "Come with me, kid", he whispered soft: the two foes sneaked away, Perhaps ten minutes from the time the boy commenced to pray. They crept through many hidden paths not fruitless of alarms, But when next morning smiled, the boy was in his mother's arms. 123 The good people of the country (and there are many of them) who are laboring in the interests of universal peace, are doing a \rand work. They hare already, no doubt, prevented several bloody and expensive wars. Their plans, when successful, will settle most of the national disputes, by means of courts of arbitration. This means, really, and expensive lawsuits. But none of the nations ought to disarm, in anticipation of such a result. When a decision is made, they must be ready to enforce it, against any nation that refuses to abide by it. THE STINGLESS BEE. THE STINGLESS BEE. A hiver of thought, through nights and days Forever inventing some new thing, Was trying in long Burbankian v To fashion a bee without a sting. field and Forest this friend could go," He mused, as he toiled, one summer day, "And never a fight and never a foe Its mission of splendor could delay. "The time that it now in strife may use, Could go to the peaceful help of men; E'en children fondle it as they choose, And never be stung — by bees — again 125 A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. "The syllable 'less', this planet o'er On many a word has power to please; And I shall be known, forever more, As first deviser of stingless bees." That night there came to his restless bed, A queen-bee, wrapped in a filmy dream: A halo of power adorned her head — Her eyes were soft with the mother- gleam. "Strive not," she said, "ingenious one, To rob my child of its sole defense, Or from the treasures that he has won, To say to him 'Helpless go you hence!' "If through great floods of the life-strewn air, Unarmed we speed him upon his way, The humblest insect lingering there, May mark him out for an easy prey. -"If into a honeyed flower he. creep, To harvest its swaying mines of gold, 126 THE STINGLESS BEE. Then wingless robbers on him can leap^ - The sparrow's God may his death behold. "And how of the treasures my palace boasts, That man and woman so gaily share? — Wild bees from the woods, in armored hosts, With looted riches will fill the a>!" The hiver now, in his vision-dream, A call from the tombs of patriots h~ard : "Our monarch of sweets, 'twould surely seem, Has given this nation a warning- word!" 127 What will finally become of our neighbor- republic on the south? It is as large as France; as large as Great Britain; as large as Ireland; Germany; as large as A ustro- Hungary: in fact, nearly as large as all those countries put together. It has a coast-line of 6,000 miles; it has all climates, all soils, and all metals. It has an ancient history that challenges the admira- tion of the most brilliant scholars; and a modern one that arouses the sympathy of the world. Meanwhile, it is iiarassed by civil war, overrun by rebels, and threatened with one lution after another. Will we be obliged to adopt it, in order to save it from hopeless anarchy, and add twenty seven new stars to our own glorious nag :- IN .MEXICO. IN MEXICO. Pessimist, Pessimist, high and low. What did you find in Mexico? — Nothing novel in act or word, More than I ever have seen or heard; Men are yet as they long have been; Saints or sinners — whiche'er will win; Brother with brother and race with race, Bartering blood for power and place, Strong men dying by night and day. So the living could have their way, Thus it has been and is ever so, Where the pleasures and passions grow. Dreamer — delver in long-ago — What did you feel in Mexico? — ■ Shades of the Toltecs lingered there — Aztec conquerings filled the air; Cortez striking with greedy fangs — 129 A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. Guatimozin in torture-pangs; Star-flags greeting in bloody fray, Cerro Gordo and Monterey. Small Napoleon's empire-boast, Maximilian's unhappy ghost; All seemed wandering to and fro There in the hills of Mexico. Patriot, seeking the sunrise-glow, What did you love in Mexico? — Heroes teeming with bravery grand. Fighting for God and father-land, Still in the faith of duty strong, Whether their cause were right or wrong. Still did they suffer, toil, and fight, Still did they seek with brain and might, Something perhaps they could not see, But that they hoped was yet to be. Thus with their blood there yet may flow Future blessings for Mexico! 130 INDIAN SUMMER. INDIAN SUMMER. When the misty Second Summer Soothes again our wearied e\ Or the storm — unwelcome comer — Throws a frown upon the sky: Still, the steady truth divining. We may know the clouds are shining, And the sky above is fair; For the golden re. When the mist of Pleasure o'er us Bids the soul in languor stay, Or a sorrow looms before us, Sending night through all the day. Not exulting — not repining — We may know that Heaven is shining: With the eyes of faith and. prayer. Still we see that God is there. 131 When you go to Poult ney, Vermont, drive or walk over to Hast Poultney, and see the \Ct spot where Horaee Greeley came up the road from his home in Massachusetts, a .'way - a slender lad fifteen y< and asked for a position as appren- tice in the little old printing-office there, and I to contribute his services at forty dollars per year. A bctter-drcsscd. better- looking, and letter-groomed hoy, would prob- ably have obtained more. He immediately commenced "making good", and it was not many years before he became one of the leading editors of New York. His subse- quent history is a part of the history of our -ountry. THE COMING OF GREELEY. THE COMING OF GREELEY. Twas a day of summer quiet in the dusty village street; All the chair-haunts were deserted where the gossips loved to meet; Scarce a letter made its exit from the small postoffice door, And a lonely clock was ticking in the crude old country store. All the market-day's ambition back to farming lands had gone, And the sleepy dwelling-houses seemed to struggle with a yawn. Twas not quite a time for banners of success to be unfurled, Or to look for an invasion from a leader of the world. Look! into the street there enters one whose widely-spoken name 133 A THOUSAND MORE VE&SES. Soon will light this modest village with the starlit torch of fame! There is with you one whom Heaven has intended as a seer — One whose tones of honest wisdom all the world will stop to hear; Who will hold the thoughts of thousands in the hollow of his hand — Who will smite with leaden gauntlets a great Evil of the Land; One whose words of sturdy wisdom will be read by night and day, W'li r The Star-strown Language has pursued its gleaming way; Who in many a hut and palace will become an honor-guest, As he runs the blade of wisdom round the Ulcer of the West. Throng the O sleuths of wonders! here is something grand to see; What a prince of stately presence must this potentary be! 134 THE COMING OF GREELEY. He has come with milk-white horses and gold harness on them spread? There are music-masters playing — there are banners overhead? There are trumpets singing triumph from their bold and brazen lun- There are drum-head^ swiftly rolling music-morsels 'neath fceir tongi; There are soldiers maT^^ng brave through the village up and down. Fiercely guarding with their weapons o'er a never-threatened town? All at once from bonds of quiet, claims the thoroughfare relea And the windows all are glowing with the battle-flags of pea^ No! this hero of the future has no splen- dors to employ: He is not a princely ruler, but a poor and lonely boy. From the far-off country-regions, he has struggled here alone, 135 A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. To make good the high ambition that his heart so long has known. There is lack of preparation — there is negligence to spare — From his worn and dusty foot-gear, to his tangled flaxen hair; There is lack of boyish beauty, and of studied city grace, From the hard rough hands beside him, to the freckles in- his face. But a dogged resolution will not let his courage fail, And his valiant heart keeps saying, "I will conquer and prevail!" Did he conquer? — let the chapters of his brave life make reply: For the boyish village printer won a name that will not die. 136 ARBUTUS. ARBUTUS. Under the snow, under the snow, The leaves of the trailing arbutus grow; Toiling the earth that loves them nigh, But hoping to some day see the sky. Under the snow, under the snow. The flowers of the trailing arbutus glow; E'en in the dark their duty done, But hoping to some day kiss the sun. 137 M i could sooner tell twenty people what to than be one of the twenty to follow my own showing", Shakespeare makes one of his cheu say. The dramatist thus gave another proof of the taet that he wrote for all time or at least as long as human nature shall last. Everybody must admit that, and will always admit that the advice in the fol- lowing poem, is a great deal more easily given than obeyed. ADVICE TO OTHERS. ADVICE TO OTHERS. Smile — smile — smile all the while, And soon you will daily wear it: Grin — grin — what^'er you are in — And then you'll the better bear it. Hope, hope, to the end of your rope, Then struggle that rope to sever: Mope, mope, and you'll find good scope To follow the trade forever. Toil — toil — your share of the spoil Will come, some* way or other; Maybe in wealth, and maybe in health, And maybe the love of your brother. Give — give — 'tis the way to live, If good sound sense can guide it: Save — save — and not for the grave: But what you may need this side it. 139 A THOUSAND MORE VERSES. Fight — fight — with all of your might, Whenever the facts demand it: Cease — cease — bring cargoes of peace From victory, when you land it. Think — think — like one on the brink Of something too grave for laughter, Well — well — of the heaven or hell That follows us here and hereafter. Trust — trust — as indeed you must, God in his varied dealing: Wounds He will give that your soul may live, And then — attend to the healing. 140 AUTUMN WEATHER. AUTUMN WEATHER. Yellow, mellow, ripened days. Sheltered in a golden coating; O'er the dreamy, listless haze, White and dainty cloudlets floating; Winking at the blushing trees. And the sombre furrowed fallow; Smiling at the airy ease Of the southward-flying swallow: Sweet and smiling are thy ways, Beauteous, golden Autumn d Shivering, quivering, tearful da Fretfully and sadly weeping; Dreading still, with anxious gaze, Icy fetters round thee creeping; O'er the cheerless, withered plain. Woefully and hoarsely calling; Pelting hail and drenching rain On thy scanty vestments falling. Sad and mournful are thy ways. Grieving, wailing Autumn days! 141 SEP 19 1912 Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide Treatment Date: Sept. 2009 PreservationTechnologies A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 1 1 1 Thomson Park Drive Cranberry Township, PA 16066 (724)779-2111