GARMINA nA.imLY ' ^^zoi Book fl47C 11 FRKShXTED }{Y J 14- ''A/^^.^^-<^'^^----^^ ^ tX^IJli C A R M I N A CARMINA By T. A. DALY Author of " Canzons " NEW YORK JOHN LANE COMPANY MCMXIV Copyright by T. A. Daly, 1906, 1907, 1908 Copyright by John Lane Company, 1909 The Plimpton Press Norwood Mass. US. A. Co "HERSELF" AUTHOR'S NOTE The verses in this collection were printed originally in the " Catholic Standard and Times," with the exception of four of those in Italian dialect. For permission to include these in this book thanks are due to the " American Maga- zine," "Reader Magazine," and "Associated Sunday Magazines." Of the seventy-eight titles between these covers ten are reprinted, with some slight revisions, from the author's first book of verse, " Canzoni." CONTENTS ITALICE PAGE Two 'Mericana Men 3 Da Sweeta Soil 5 Leetla Joe 8 ^•'•^ A Guide to Italy lo Da Boy from Rome 13 Da Coward Dagoman 15 ^^' Padre Angelo 18 In the Hurly-Burly 22 Apologia Pro Vita Sua 24 Mia Carlotta 27 The Lonely Honeymoon 29 To the Dyspeptic 32 Leetla Giorgio Washeenton 35 The Busy Wife 38 The Audience 41 Da Besta Frand 44 All's Well That Ends Well 47 The Laborer and his Hire 49 Between Two Loves 52 The April Wind 54 Three to One 5^ The Italian Moon 58 His Interested Friend 60 ^ Padre Domineec 62 Een Napoli 64 Giuseppe to His Dog 65 The Harbinger 67 An After-Dinner Thought 69 Yearning 72 ix CONTENTS PAGE GlAC FiNELLI 74 From a Car Window 76 4 . Da Leetla Boy 79 HIBERNICE The Meltin' o' the Snow 83 The Irish National Bird 86 The Irish Bird-Charmer 88 CORDAYLIA O' THE AlLEY 90 Heartless Sheila Shea 93 Tele Song of the Thrush 95 The Ould Apple Woman 97 The Mourner 100 Ould Phelim McKeone 105 The Irish Bachelor 109 A Song of Riches iii The Homing Girl 113 News o' the World 117 The Son of his Father 119 The Peaceable Race 121 The Day We Celebrate 124 Mona Machree 126 Ould Barney to the Boy 128 Glimmerings of Patriotism 130 A Bit of a Riddle 133 CORNAYLIUS Ha-HA-HA-HaNNIGAN 136 The Pauper at the Gate 139 The Omadhaun 142 ANGLICE Hark Ye! Merrie Gleemen! 147 October 149 The Castle Impregnable 151 The Poet 154 On a May Morning 156 To a Robin 157 CONTENTS xi PAGE The Journey's End 159 All Hallows Eve 160 The Day of the Circus Horse 161 To THE Joy-Bringer 163 SONGS OF THE MONTHS A Song for January 167 A Song for February 169 A Song for March 171 A Song for April 173 A Song for May 176 A Song for June . 178 A Song for July 180 A Song for August 182 A Song for September 184 A Song for October 186 A Song for November 189 A Song for December 190 L'ENVOI To a Tenant 192 I T A L I C E TWO 'MERICANA MEN BEEG Irish cop dat walk hees beat By dees peanutta stan', First two, t^ree week w'en we are meet Ees call me "Dagoman.'* An' w'en he see how mad I gat, Wheech eesa pleass heem, too. Wan day he say: " Wat's matter dat, Ain't 'Dago' name for you? Dat's 'Mericana name, you know. For man from Eetaly; Eet ees no harm for call you so. Den why be mad weeth me?" First time he talka deesa way I am too mad for speak. But nexta time I justa say: "All righta Meester Meeck!" O! my, I newa hear bayfore Sooch langwadge like he say; C A R M I N A An' he don't look at me no more For mebbe two, free day. But pretta soon agen I see Dees beeg poleecaman Dat com' an' growl an' say to me; "Hallo, Eyetalian! Now, mebbe so you gon' deny Dat dat'sa name for. you." I smila back an' mak' reply: "No, Irish, dat'sa true." "Ha! Joe," he cry, "you theenk dat we Should call you 'Merican?" "Dat's gooda 'nough," I say, "for me, Eef dat's w'at you are, Dan." So now all times we speaka so Like gooda 'Merican: He say to me " Good moma, Joe," I say, "Good moma, Dan." C ARMIN A DA SWEETA SOIL ALL weenter-time I work for deeg Da tranch een ceety street, An' I am looka like da peeg An' smal jus' 'bout as sweet, Baycause my han's, my face, my clo'es Ees dirty as can be, An' sewer-gas ees een my nose An' steeck all ovra me. More dirty an' more mean I feel Dan I am look to you; My soul eenside ees seeck, but steell, Wat am I gona do? Ees notheeng sweet een ceety street For mak' me better man. All men an' theengs dat I am meet Mak' meanness all dey can. An' all dey speak ees ogly words An' do som' ogly theeng. So even, too, dose leetla birds, Dat ought be glad an' seeng, C AR MIN A Dey fight each other een da dirt For dirty food dey eat. Ah! so my soul eenside ees hurt For work een ceety street. But yestaday! Oh, yestaday, I leeve, I breathe again! Da boss ees sand me far away For work een countra lane. How can I mak' you ondrastand — You are so grand, so reech — To know da joy I feel, my frand, For deeg dees countra deetch? I sweeng my peeck, an' Oh! da smal, Wen first I turn da sod! So sweet! Escuse me eef I tal Ees like da breath of God. So pure da soil, like Eetaly, I stoop an' taka piece An' den — Oh! donta laugh at me — I talk to eet and keess! An' while I do dees foola theeng An' mak' so seelly tears, C A R M I N A Ees com^ a pritta bird an' seeng Hees music een my ears. You know dees 'Mericana bird, Weeth breast so lika flame, So red; I do not know da word You say for call hees name, But w'at he seeng ees plain to me. An' dees ees part of eet: "Ees spreeng, ees spreeng een Eetaly, So sweeta, sweeta, sweet!" Oh, eef you weesh da Dagoman, Dat com' for leeve weeth you, To be da gooda 'Merican An' love dees countra, too, I ask you tak' heem by da hand, Away from ceety street. An' show heem first dees granda land Where eet ees pure an' sweet. C A R M I N A LEETLA JOE LEETLA Joe he always say: "Wen I am beeg man som' day, Eef so be I gona grow Strong an' fat so like my Pop, I weell go for be a cop, Mebbe so." Soocha talk for four-year-old! Dough he brag so beeg an' bold Een wan handa you could hold Leetla Joe. Leetla Joe he lay hees cheek On my breast w'en he ees seeck. Squeeze my arm an' tal me: "Oh! Pretta soon I gona gat Granda muscle lika dat. Wen I grow Like my Pop how proud I be! Justa wait an' you weell see." Ah! so sweet to hug to me Leetla Joe! C AR MIN A But, baycause I'm 'fraid dat he Wan day would be 'shame' of me, — 'Shame' for call me "Pop" an' know, Wen he's fina 'Merican, I'm so poor old Dagoman — Wen I go Where hees grave ees on da heell, Dere ees joy for me to feel Dat my heart can keep heem steell Leetla Joe. v/ lo CARMINA A GUIDE TO ITALY EH? You are sail for Eetaly? Oh, my! I weesh I gon' weeth you! I show you all da place to see An' all da besta peopla, too; An' evratheeng you want, my frand. So you could know, w'en you are through, All theengs een dat so granda land — Oh, my! I weesh I gon' weeth you! Eh? Sure! I know da Ian' so wal I geeve advice bayfore you go; I tal you all you want me tal. Wat ees eet you weell like for know? Da churcha? No, not Rome, my frand. I tal you eef you want for see Da fines' wans een all da land You musta go for Napoli. Da music? You are fond of eet? Wal den, baylieve me eef I say Ees no wan play so gran', so sweet CARMINA II Like Banda Napoli ees play. Wat kinda wine? Chianti! Oh, My frand, you must have taste of dat. Da best ees mak' from grapes dat grow- By NapoH, so beeg, so fat — Eh? Where da besta peopla leeve? Wal, now, I want you com' to me Bayfore you sail an' I weel geeve You names som' frands een Napoli — Eh? Where da pritta ladies ees? Ah, my! Ravenna ees da place, Not Napoli, for findin' dese. Ravenna girls ees gotta face So sweet, an' teeth so white as snow, So brighta eyes, so black da hair — Ravenna ees my town? Oh! no. My Rosa she ees com' from dere. You know, I com' from Napoli, Dat's how I know so mooch to tal About da besta theengs to see; You see, I know dem vera wal. 12 CARMINA Eh ? Wal, good-day, my frand. Oh, no, I glad for tal you w'at to do Een Eetaly, bayfore you go — Oh, my, I weesh I gon' weeth you! CARMINA 13 DA BOY FROM ROME TO-DAY ees com' from Eetaly A boy ees leeve een Rome, An' he ees stop an' speak weeth me - I weesh he stay at home. He stop an' say ^' Hallo," to me, An' w'en he standin' dere I smal da smal of Eetaly Steell steeckin' een hees hair, Dat com' weeth heem across da sea, An' een da clo'es he wear. Da peopla bomp heem een da street, De noise ees scare heem, too; He ees so clumsy een da feet He don't know w'at to do, Dere ees so many theeng he meet Dat ees so strange, so new. He sheever an' he ask eef here Eet ees so always cold. 14 CARMINA Den een hees eye ees com^ a tear — He ees no vera old — An', oh, hees voice ees soun' so queer I have no heart for scold. He look up een da sky so gray, But oh, hees eye ees be So far away, so far away. An' w'at he see I see. Da sky eet ees no gray to-day At home een Eetaly. He see da glada peopla seet Where warma shine da sky — Oh, while he eesa look at eet He ees baygeen to cry. Eef I no growl an' swear a beet So, too, my frand, would I. Oh, why he stop an' speak weeth me, Dees boy dat leeve een Rome, An' com' to-day from Eetaly? I weesh he stay at home. C A R MIN A 15 DA COWARD DAGOMAN INEWA see Eetalian Dat ees so scare', so coward man, Like Malatesta, from Milan. You bat my life, hees — w'at you call ? - Hees " cheecken-heart " eet ees so small You can no find da theeng at all! Eh? Don't you read een paper how Somebody stab heem een da row Dat happen lasta Frida' night? Eh? No, he ees alive all right; But now w'en he ees gattin' wal, An' all poleece ees ask heem tal Who ees da man dat cut heem so, He justa say: "I don'ta know." Now, w'at you theenk sooch coward man Like Malatesta from Milan? I tal you w'at, eet mak' me seeck — Eh? sure he know who do da treeck! But he ees scare' for tal, my frand. For dat he fear da Blacka Hand. i6 CARMINA Eh? Wat? Of course ees true. I know, Or else I would no tal you so. Yes, I am sure! baycause I see Dat bada man from Seecily, Dat leeve een jail mos* all hees life, Giuseppe Galdi, pull hees knife An' den, so lika cat, so queeck, He mak' da jompa — So ! — an' steeck Poor Malatesta deesa way! Den — presto! he is gon' an' — eh? Why I don't tal dem w'at I see? Me tal poleece? Escusa me! You see, I jus' was gona say So queeck da bad man run away — An', too, my eyes ees poor at night — You see, ees mebbe so I might Be wrong 'bout Galdi. Sooch meestak' Ees posseeble, you know, to mak'. Baysides, w'at for I care ? You see, Eet ees no beezaness for me. Da man dat's cut he ees da best To tal poleece for mak' arrest. But Malatesta, from Milan, C A R MIN A 17 He eesa coward Dagoman; Hees cheecken-heart eet ees so small You can no find da theeng at all! i8 C A R M I N A v/ PADRE ANGELO TJADRE Angelo he say: A ^^Why you no gat married, eh? You are maka playnta mon' For gon' taka wife, my son." "No; I am too beeza man 'Tandin' dees peanutta stan\ I no gatta time for play Fooleeshness weeth girls," I say. "My! you don'ta tal me so?" Ees say Padre Angelo. Bimeby, mebbe two, free day, Younga girl she com' an' say: "Padre Angelo ees here? No? Eet eesa vera queer! Heesa housakeepa say I gon' find heem deesa way." While she eesa speaka so Ees com' Padre Angelo. "Rosa! you are look for me?" C A R M I N A 19 He ees say to her, an' she Say: ''Oh, pleass, go homa, queeck, You are want' for som' wan seeck. I am sand for find you here." ''Ah! da seecka-call, my dear. Com','' say Padre Angelo, "Deesa younga man ees Joe; Shaka han's bay fore we go." So I am shak' han's weeth her — Leetla han' so sof like fur — Den she bow to me an' go Weetha Padre Angelo. Bimeby, s'pose two, free day more, She ees com' jus' like bayfore. An' she aska me: "You know Where ees Padre Angelo? Housakeep' she tal me wait Eef he don't be vera late." So I tal her taka seat An' to hav' som' fruit for eat. Den I talk to her an' she Smila sweet an' talk to me; 20 CARMINA How long time I donta know. Den com' Padre Angelo. "Oh," she say, "go homa queeck, You are want' for som' wan seeck." "My!" he say, "dese seecka-call! I am gat no peace at all." "Oh, wal, com', my dear," he say, An' he takin' her way. I am sad for see her go Weetha Padre Angelo. Many times ees lika dat. Peopla always seem for gat Seecka when he ees away. Rosa com' mos' evra day. An' som' time she gatta stay Pretta longa time, you know, Teell com' Padre Angelo. Steell I no gat any keeck How mooch peopla gatta seeck; I am feela glad dey do — Rosa, she no keeckin', too. C A R MIN A 21 Lasta night my Rosa she Go to Padre weetha me, An' I tal heem: " Pretta soon — - Mebbe so da firsta June — Rosa gona be my wife!'' He ees s'prise', you bat my hfe! ''Wat?" he say, an' rub hees eyes, "Dees ees soocha glada s'prise! My! you don'ta tal me so?" Ees say Padre Angelo. 22 CARMINA IN THE HURLY-BURLY 1 GOTTA stand een Walla Street, But beez'ness don'ta pay, For no wan here got time for eat; So I gon' mova 'way. Grand, reecha men dey hurry past Een sunshine, een da rain; An' oh, dey go so fast, so fast, Eet geeve my heada pain. I gotta fines' fruit far sal You findin' anywhere. But steell I mighta jus' as wal Be dead fur w'at dey care. Ees only wan theeng here I love — Dose birds dat feed een street; I s'pose you mebbe call dem "dove" — Eh? "Peegeon?" Yes, dat's eet. All day dey fly about my stand An' som' of dem I mak' For justa seet upon my hand An' eata nut an' cak'. CARMINA 23 But steell da 'Mericans go by An' nevva look at me. Dey got so strange look een da eye; I wondra w'at dey see. Wance only was dere wan so good An' kind to stop een street An' throw dose pretta birds som' food An' wait for watch dem eat. "Ah! here," I theenk, "ees granda man," But pretta soon I see Ees justa drunka 'Merican — So drunk as he can be. So I am seeck weeth Walla Street, For beez'ness don'ta pay; Ees no wan here got time for eat, So I gon' mova 'way. 24 CARMINA APOLOGIA PRO VITA SUA W'AT for you call me ''Dago man," An' mak' so bada face? Ees no room for Eetalian Een deesa bigga place? I s'pose you are more better dan Da Dago man could be. But, pleassa, Meester 'Merican, I ask you wait and see. How long you leeve een deesa land? Eh? Thirta-seven year? Ees onla seexa mont', my frand, Seence I am comin' here. I weesh you geeve me time for try An' see w'at I can do. So mebbe I gon' be, bimeby, So gooda man like you. Baycause I am so strong, I guess I gon' do pretta wal. CARMINA 25 So long I 'tand to beezaness An' jus' bayhave mysal'. My leetla cheeldren, too, ees strong — Eh? You no gotta none? You married, Meester? Eh? How long? T waive year! an' no got wan? Oh, I am sad for you, my frand — Eh? Why you laugh at me? Escuse! I do not ondrastand; I am so strange, you see. My ^'keeds ees no good breed," you say? Ah! wal, ees mebbe not, But dey weell be more good som' day Dan dose you don'ta got; An' dey be stronga 'Merican, More strong dan you are, too. Ees notta many Dago man So skeenny lika you. Oh! pleass, my frand, no gatta mad! Shak' han' bayfore you go. Escusa me! I am so sad For speakin' to you so. 26 CARMINA But why you call me "Dago man'' An' mak' so bada face? Ees no room for Eetalian Een deesa bigga place? CARMINA 27 MIA CARLOTTA GIUSEPPE, da barber, ees greata for "mash," He gotta da bigga, da blacka moustache, Good clones an' good styla an' playnta good cash. W'enevra Giuseppe ees walk on da street. Da peopla dey talka, "how nobby! how neat! How softa da handa, how smalla da feet." He leefta hees hat an' he shaka hees curls. An' smila weeth teetha so shiny like pearls; Oh, manny da heart of da seelly young girls He gotta. Yes, playnta he gotta — But notta Carlotta! Giuseppe, da barber, he maka da eye, An' lika da steam engine puffa an' sigh, For catcha Carlotta w'en she ees go by. 28 C A R M I N A Carlotta she walka weeth nose in da air, An' look through Giuseppe weeth far-away stare, As eef she no see dere ees som'body dere. Giuseppe, da barber, he gotta da cash, He gotta da clo'es an' da bigga moustache. He gotta da seelly young girls for da " mash," But notta — You bat my life, notta — Carlotta. I gotta! CARMINA 29 THE LONELY HONEYMOON YOU know dees Joe dat use' to go For work weeth me, Signor? He's marry, yestaday, you know, An' gon' for Baltimore; An' so deesgusta man like Joe You nevva see bayfore! Eh? No, da girl's all right, my frand; Dat's mak' eet harder, too. Ha ! wait an' you weell ondrastand — I tal eet all to you. You see, dees Joe long time ago Gat Rosa for hees mash. An' evra seence he worka so For mak' an' save da cash, Baycause he want gat marry soon An' mebbe takin', too, Dees — w'at you calla — " honeymoon," Like 'Mericana do. Wan day he tak' fi'-dollar note 30 C A R M I N A An' go to steamsheep store An' buy two teecket for da boat Dat sail for Baltimore. An' den he tal me: "Shut your mout' An' justa looka wise. Dees theeng ees no for talka 'bout; Eet gona be su 'prise." So, w'en dey marry yestaday He smile so proud, Signor, W'en he ees keess her cheek an' say: "We sail for Baltimore!" Ah! den, my frand, so sadda sight You nevva see. Oh, my! Poor Rosa she ees gat so white An' ees baygeen to cry. "Ees dees," she say, "a weddin' treep? Sooch fooleeshness you speak! I no can stand eet een a sheep, Da sea ees mak' me seeck." Poor Joe, he swear an' den he keess, An' coax an' beg her so. For theenk of all dat she weell meess — But no, she weell no go. CARMINA 31 ''O! Rosa mia!" Joe ees cry, "Your heart eet ees a stone, For dat you mak* me say 'good-bye* An' tak' da treep alone!'' Oh, lonely honeymoon, an' oh» So sadda man, Signor, Dat gotta leave hees wife an' go Alone for Baltimore! So hearta-broka man like Joe You nevva see bayfore. 32 CARMINA TO THE DYSPEPTIC MY frand, you would like I should tal w'at I theenk; You weesh me advisin* you, too? Wal, den, eet ees justa da food an' da dreenk; Dat's all dat's da matter weeth you! O! 'Merican man, you are maka meestak' For eat a so moocha da meat. Wat for you no learn, for your stomacha sak', Wat theengs ees da besta for eat? You lika roas' beef an' you lika da pie, An' all so reech fooda like dat; An' den you weell growl an' you wondra for why Sooch pain een da stomach you gat. You evva see Dagoman seeck from hees food? I bat you fi'-doUa, not mooch! Bay cause for hees eatin' he finda more good Een fruit an' da salad an' sooch. CARMINA ^;^ Da vegetabals dat ees grow een da spreeng Ees vera bes' food you can gat, So how you gon' 'scusa dees fooleesha theeng You do to Giuseppe Baratt' ? Giuseppe — Giuseppe da barber, you know — He tal me you com' een hees place. An', while he ees shave you, you growl at heem so An' maka sooch frown weeth your face, Baycause he no lika da same kinda food Dat mak' a man cranky like you. You tal heem da stuff dat he eat ees no good; He tal me you swear at heem, too — Eh? Yes, dees young onion dat grow een da spreeng, So tender, so juicy, so sweet! You think ees no right he should eat soocha theeng ? Dat's vera bes' food you can eat! You would no be crank eef you theenk like I theenk; 34 CARMINA You gona be happier, too. You no ondrastan^ da good food an' good dreenk; Dat's all dat's da matter weeth you. CARMINA 35 LEETLA GIORGIO WASHEENTON YOU know w'at for ees school keep out Dees holiday, my son? Wal, den, I gona tal you ^bout Dees Giorgio Washeenton. Wal, Giorgio was leetla keed Ees leeve long time ago, An* he gon* school for learn to read An* write hees nam', you know. He moocha like for gona school An* learna hard all day, Baycause he no gat time for fool Weeth bada keeds an* play. Wal, wan cold day w*en Giorgio Ees steell so vera small, He start from home, but he ees no Show up een school at all! Oh, my! hees Pop ees gatta mad An* so he tal hees wife: 36 CARMINA *^Som leetla boy ees gon' feel bad To-day, you bat my life!" An' den he grab a bigga steeck An' gon' out een da snow An' lookin' all aroun' for seek Da leetla Giorgio. Ha! w'at you theenk? Firs' theeng he see Where leetla boy he stan', All tangla up een cherry tree, Weeth hatchet een hees han'. *^Ha! w'at you do?" hees Pop he say, *^W'at for you busta rule An' stay away like dees for play Eenstead for gon' to school?" Da boy ees say: ^'I no can lie, An' so I speaka true. I stay away from school for try An' gat som' wood for you. I theenka deesa cherry tree Ees gooda size for chop, An' so I cut heem down, you see, For justa help my Pop." Hees Pop he no can gatta mad, C A R M I N A 37 But looka please' an' say: ''My leetla boy, I am so glad You taka holiday." Ees good for leetla boy, you see. For be so bright an' try For help hees Pop; so den he be A granda man bimeby. So now you gotta holiday An' eet ees good, you know, For you gon' do da sama way Like leetla Giorgio. Don't play so mooch, but justa stop, Eef you want be som' good. An' try for help your poor old Pop By carry home som' wood; An' mebbe so like Giorgio You grow for be so great You gona be da Presidant Of dese Unita State'. 38 C A R M I N A THE BUSY WIFE SEE dat, Signer? See, dere she go. Ah! look, she wave her hand! She's Rosa; dat's my wife, you know. Oh, granda girl, my frand. Ees notheeng look to me so sweet An' mak' me feel so good Like Rosa walkin' down da street Weeth bigga loada wood. So easy, weeth eet on her head. She eesa sweeng along, You theenk eet ees a hat eenstead — Eh? how ees dat for strong? I no could find een all da worl', You justa bat my life! Anudder soocha fina girl Like Rosa for da wife. Eh? Sure, I gotta mon' enough. Eh? w'ata for I mak' Her carry home sooch heavy stuff? Oh! my, you are meestak'. CARMINA 39 I do not mak' her do dees theeng. I mighta be a cop — I mighta even be da Keeng — I no could mak' her stop. She Hke for doin' deesa way; She gat her work to do For keep her beezy alia day, So lika me an' you. Eh? Sure she ees Eetalian, An' I am proud — Eh ? Wat ? ^'She no be gooda 'Merican So long she doin' dat?" I s'posa w'at you say ees true, But den, you see, Signor, Ees playnta theeng dat she might do Ees gona hurt her more. Of course, som' day I want dat she Be gooda 'Merican, But not so good dat she weell be Ashame' of Dagoman. Som' 'Mericana girls, of course, Dey theenk they are so good, Dey rather work for gat Divorce 40 CARMINA Eenstead for carry wood! So, notheeng look to me so sweet, An' mak' me feel so good, Like Rosa walkin' down da street Weeth bigga loada wood. CARMINA 41 THE AUDIENCE 1MAK' not moocha mon' to-day, So few ees hear da tunes I play. Long time bayfore da sun ees shine I tak^ dees street pian' of mine An' pull eet out from ceety street To countra lane, where cool an' sweet Da morneeng breeza blow, an' where All theengs ees beautiful an' fair. Oh, here, I theenk, I gona find Som' peopla so good-heart' an' kind Dey weell be glad for hear me play An' notta tal me "gona 'way!" Lika mosta do dat I am meet Wen I am play een ceety street. I walk an' walk, but eet ees queer I meet so few da peopla here; Ees only wan or two, but steell I look for more. I climb da heell An' travel down da hotta road. 42 CARMINA Da street pian' ees heavy load; I am baygeen for feel da heat, An' so, bimeby, I stop an' seet Een shady place bayside da way. Oh, I am mad! I growl an' say: ^^I mak' not moocha mon' to-day. Wat for you com', O! foola man! Where no wan hear your street pian' ?" But, den, w'at s'pose ees happen me? Firs' theeng you know, ees leetla tree Mak' funny noisa where eet stan's. So like as eef eet clap eets ban's! Den gentla feengers een da air Dey com' an' pull me by da hair; Ees som'thing een dees sweeta breeze Dat speak to me an' coax an' tease. An' den da sky, so wide, so blue, Eet seem to smile an' coax me, too. So all theengs speak, as eef dey say: "Com', let us have da music. Play!" I play wan tune — yes, two, free, four, C A R M I N A 43 Like w'at I nevva do bayfore! I stop. Da sky cry: ''More!" An' den I play dem evra wan agen. So, too, I leeft my voice an' seeng. Da breeze say ''More!" to evratheeng. So all day long ees lika dat. O! 'Mericana man, I gat Som' curses an' som' food to eat, Wen I am play een ceety street, But here da sky, da breeze, da tree, Dey speak Eetalian to me! I mak' not moocha mon' to-day, So few ees hear da tunes I play. But where is reecher man dan I Dat play to breeze, an' tree, an' sky? \/ 44 C AR MIN A DA BESTA FRAND NO keeck my dog! Ha! don'ta dare! For jus' so queeck you do, You Meester 'Merican, I swear I brack your face for you! Eh? Wat? Well, den, dat's alia right, But let my Carlo be. Escusa me for gat excite'; Com', look! I smila! See? ^ I want be frand weeth you, eef dat . You wanta be my frand, But Carlo ees bes' frand I gat Een all dees bigga land. An' he ees firsta 'Merican For com' w'en I am blue An' mak' me feela like man — I tal eet all to you. W'en I am com' from Eetaly, Jus' landa from da sheep, Som' thief he tak' my mon' from me C A R M I N A 45 An' — presto ! — he ees skeep. An' w'en I find ees gon', oh, my! I scream, I pull my hair, An' justa run aroun' an' cry Like crazy man an' swear. Wen com'sa beeg poleecaman, I ask, I beg dat he Weell catcha thiefa eef he can — He justa laugh at me! I sect een street — I am so blue — An' justa hold my head An' theenk ''w'at am I gona do?" An' weesh dat I am dead. Som' peopla com' an' look, but dey Jus' smile an' notta care; So pretta soon dey gon' away An' leave me seettin' dere. How long I seet I no can tal; I pray, I cry, I curse — I bat you eef I go to hal I no could feel more worse! But while I seet ees som'theeng sof Dat touch my cheek an' w'en 46 CARMINA I tak' my hand for brush eet off Eet touch my cheek agen. I look. Ees justa leetla cur Dat wag hees yellow tail! An' blood ees on hees yellow fur, An' dere ees old teen pail Tied on bayhind. Poor leetla pup! But steell he leeck my hand, As eef he say to me: *' Cheer up! I gona be your frand." I hug heem up! I am ashame' For let heem see dat he Ees justa dog, but alia same Ees better man dan me. So! dees ees Carlo, Meester Man; I introduce to you. Da true, da kinda 'Merican; Da first I evva knew! CARMINA 47 ALL^S WELL THAT ENDS WELL I AM so glad as I can be; I seeng, I dance, Signer! Ah! sooch a lucky man like me You nevva see bayfore! Eet ees so like w'en sky ees gray, Den — queeck! — da sun bust through An' drivin' all da cloud away — I tal eet all to you. My wife an' me we no can gat To mak' our minds da same, W'en leetla boy ees com', for w'at We gona call hees name. My Rosa, dat's my wife, she say She gotta besta right For call da keed her owna way, An' so, my frand, we fight. She say she want her fadder's name, ''Giovanni," but, you see, I want ''Giacobbe" jus' da same. 48 CARMINA Wheech ees da name for me. Wal, den dees theeng excite us so An' mak' so bigga fuss, Ees com' my reecha Uncla Joe For feexin' theengs for us. But w'en we find how hard eet seem For feex, he tal us: '^Wal, I theenk ees best you calla heem ^Giuseppe' for mysal'!" Dees mak' da case so bothersom', My brain ees eena whirl; I almost weesh w'en keed ees com' He gona be a girl. Eh? No, he was no borna w'en We fighta deesa way, No baby eesa leevin' den, But see! ees com' to-day Not only wan of heem, but three! Eh? ^^Treeplets?" Yes, Signor. Ah! soocha lucky man like me You nevva see bayfore! CARMINA 49 THE LABORER AND HIS HIRE HALLO! Signer, I ain't see you For manny, manny day. I wondra moocha w'at you do All time you was away, All deesa seexa mont' or more Dat you are gon' from home. I s'pose you went out Wes', Signor — Eh? No? You was een Rome? An' Pareess, too? Wal, wal, my fraud, W'at joy you musta feel To see all dose so granda land Where you have been. But steell You musta worka longa while For save da mon' to go. Eh? Deal een stocks ees mak' your pile? Escuse! I deed not know. I weesh dat dere was soocha treep For Dagoman like me; Ees manny now dat taka sheep 50 CARMINA For home een Eetaly — Eh? w'at ees dat? You say dees men Are mean as dirt een street For com' an' maka mon' an' den To run back home weeth eet? I am su'prise weeth you, Signor, For hear you talk like dees. Da mon' we gat by workin' for We do weeth as we pleass. You say dey leave no theeng bayhind For deesa mon' dey mak'; Escuse, Signor, but you weell find Dey pay for all dey tak'. Dey pay for eet weeth harda toil, Weeth gooda road an' street, Weeth crops dat spreenga from da soil An' geeve you food for eat, Weeth wheat dat mak' your bread so good, Weeth grape dat mak' your wines, An', yes, dey pay eet weeth deir blood On railroads, een da mines! W'at deed you geeve for w'at you mak' Een deesa stocka deal? C A R M I N A 51 Not wan good theeng for all you tak', Not wan, Signor! But steell You say dees men no gotta right To do da theeng dey do. Escusa me for gat excite'. I would shak' hands weeth you. Ees Creesmas'-time, so let us be Good 'Mericana men. Shak' hands! Eet ees a joy to me For see you home agen. C2 CARMINA V ' BETWEEN TWO LOVES I GOTTA love for Angela, I love Carlotta, too. I no can marry both o' dem, So w'at I gona do? Oh, Angela ees pretta girl, She gotta hair so black, so curl, An' teeth so white as anytheeng. An' oh, she gotta voice to seeng, Dat mak' your hearta feel eet must Jomp up an' dance or eet v^eell bust. An' alia time she seeng, her eyes Dey smila like Italia's skies. An' makin' flirtin' looks at you — But dat ees all w'at she can do. Carlotta ees no gotta song, But she ees twice so big an' strong As Angela, an' she no look So beautiful — but she can cook. C A R M I N A 53 You oughta see her carry wood! I tal you w'at, eet do you good. Wen she ees be som'body's wife She worka hard, you bat my Hfe! She nevva gattin' tired, too — But dat ees all w'at she can do. Oh, my! I weesh dat Angela Was strong for carry wood, Or else Carlotta gotta song An' looka pretta good. I gotta love for Angela, I love Carlotta, too. I no can marry both o' dem, So w'at I gona do? 54 CARMINA THE APRIL WIND EH? Wat? You theenk I looka change' ? Ah! so I am, an' eet ees strange. My frand, you evva hear me growl For dat da Northa weend ees howl An' sweep Broadway weeth snow ? Ah! no. Baycause I am so tough An' hard, dough weenter storms was rough, Dey no could mak' me colda 'nough, How mooch dey steeng an' blow. Yet here am I, dat was so strong For laugh at weends all weenter long, Now lika babe, too soft an' weak To fight wan leetla weend dat sneak Aroun' dees place to-day. No 'Mericana weend ees blow Like dees bayfore. Eet com' an' go An' catch at me an' teass me so Eet steal my heart away. CARMINA 55 Eet sneaka from dat leetla street — Ha! dat's eet now! You feelin' eet? Tak' ofiF your hat an' lat eet play All through your hair — so ! deesa way — Ah! now ees gonM Dat's all. Eh ? Wat ? " Jus' breeza from da sea ? " Ah! no, ees more dan dat to me; Eet eesa voice from Eetaly Dat call, an' call, an' call! 56 CARMINA THREE TO ONE SIGNOR, remember yestaday, How mad I am baycause you say Dat nearly all Eetalian Ees good-for-nothing, lazy man? Ah! lees'en, pleass, an' you weell be Ashame' for w'at you say to me. Wen I have tal you w'at I see. Eef you no theenk I speaka true I got som' weetness here for you; Here ees not only wan but three: Antonio, Gregorio An' me. I speak for all an' tal of eet; To-day ees com' een deesa street Beeg stronga man for deeg da tranch. You theenk ees mebbe Dootch or Franch, Dees granda, bigga, stronga man? Ah! no, eet ees Eetalian! CARMINA 57 He no can speaka 'Merican, But, oh! da way he drive da peeck An' sweeng da spade, so strong, so queeck, Ees mak' us proud as we can be — Antonio, Gregorio An' me. You theenk ees lazy man dat weell So work, from earla morn' onteell Da stars ees shina from da sky, He pile seex hondra spadeful high Bayside da tranch w'en he ees through — Eh? how I know dat dees ees true? Ha! now is where I catcha you! All day, right here een deesa street, We seet an' watch heem doin' eet! Wan weetness? No! here eesa three: Antonio, Gregorio An' me. 58 C A R M I N A THE ITALIAN MOON YOUR "honey-moon^'? Wat ees eet? Eh? Eet ees da "moon of love'' you say? Wal, mebbe so, Signor, but oh, You don'ta know, you don'ta know! You could not know onteell you see Da moon dat shine een Eetaly. Here eesa moon, but eet ees cold; EetaHan moon ees ball of gold! So warm, so sof, you wondra why Eet steeck together een da sky; You theenk eet gona malt an' run Like lumpa butter een da sun. So, too, eets — w'at you call ? — eets "beam" Dat streama down on you, dey seem So theeck, so reecha, lika cream. An' you can feel dem on your tongue Wen you are seeng your lova song. An' warm an' sweet you feel dem slide Right down your throat, onteell eenside CARMINA 59 Your heart dey rest, an' eet ees hold No longer blood, but justa gold! You cannot know of love onteell Sooch moonlight een your heart you feel. Wat for you smile? Eet eesa true! For so, w'en I am young like you. Wan night weeth Rosa by da shore Of Napoli I felt, Signor. You say dees moon dat shine to-night Ees gooda 'nough for you ? All right. ^ I s'pose dat you are love your wife, But oh, Signor, you bat my Hfe, You eat her up eef you could be Where shines da moon een Eetaly. 6o CARMINA HIS INTERESTED FRIEND ESCUSE me dat I don'ta mak' You walcom' here, Signor. You see, I 'fraid for mak' meestak'; I gotta stung bay fore. Ees notta many 'Merican — Oh, vera, vera few — : Dat com' to dees peanutta-stan' An' say '^ Hallo!" like you. You speak so fine, you know so mooch, Ees hard for me to see Wat for you want be fraud weeth sooch A dumba man like me. Las' week grand man like you ees com' An' maka frandly so. I am so proud — but oh, so dumb — I tal heem all I know. He ees so eenterest een me An' speak so kind, so sweet, I am so proud as I can be An' brag a leetla beet. C A R M I N A 6i I tal how mooch I mak' a day An' w'at I savin', too, An' weeth my bigga mout' I say More theengs dan w'at ees true. Now, who you s'pose ees dees unknown. Good, kinda frand to me? Ees presidant for bank dat own All deesa property! To-day dees kinda man he sent To me hees agent man. To say I gotta pay more rent For dees peanutta-stan'. Baycause I mak' so beeg meestak' An' gotta stung bayfore, Escuse me eef I don'ta mak' Mooch talk weeth you, Signor. 62 C A R M I N A PADRE DOMINEEC PADRE Domineec McCann He ees great beeg Irish man. He ees growla w'en he speak. Like he gona go for you Jus' for busta you in two. My! he talk so rough, so queeck, You weell weesha you could be Som'where elsa w'en you see Padre Domineec. Padre Domineec McCann Stop at dees peanutta-stan' W'en my leetla boy ees seeck; Talk so rough he mak' me cry, Say ees besta boy should die So he go to Heaven queeck! He ees speak so cold to me Nevva more I wanta see Padre Domineec. C A R M I N A 63 Den gran' doctor com\ Ees queer! Wen I ask who sand heem here, He jus' smile an' weell no speak Only justa for to say: ''You no gotta cent to pay, I gon' feex dees boy dat's seeck." ******* beeg-hearta man, an' true! 1 am gattin' on to you, Padre Domineec! 64 CARMINA EEN NAPOLI HERE een Noo Yorka, where am I Seence I am landa las' July, All gray an' ogly ees da sky, An' cold as eet can be. But steell so long I maka mon', So long ees worka to be done, I can forgat how shines da sun Een Napoli. But oh, w'en pass da boy dat sal Da violets, an' I can smal How sweet dey are, I no can tal How seeck my heart ees be. I no can work, how mooch I try. But only seet an' wondra why I could not justa leeve an' die Een Napoli. CARMINA 65 GIUSEPPE TO HIS DOG HI! Carlo, jompa down from dere, You lazy dog! Com', see, Dees jontleman would have dat chair For seet an' talk weeth me. Eh? w'at! you gona growl an' bite? Aha ! I show you den — Don't go, Signor. Wal, alia right; I hope you com' agen. Ha! Carlo, w'at you theenka dat? You drive da man away, You lazy, ogly lumpa fat, You good-for-nothing! Eh? Seence time w'en I was kind to you An' peeck you from da street Ees not wan leetla theeng you do For earn da food you eat. Eef you would even chase da rat You might be worth to keep. But, no, you are so dumb, so fat, 66 CARMINA You jus' can eat an' sleep. How dare you do sooch ogly treeck An' growla so like dat? Jus' wait onteell I gat my steeck — Now, see w'at you weell gat! Eh? Don'ta roll your eyes at me; Keep steell your taila, too, No leeck my handa! Don't you see Dat I am cross weeth you ? Ha! Stop! You theenk dees mak' me feel You love me like you should? Not mootch! Jus' keep dat taila steell An' I weell beat you good. You theenk baycause I gat so few Da frauds dat lova me, I am afraid for whippin' you? Jus' close your eyes an' see! Aha! so now you run away. O! wal, dees steeck weell keep; I gona beat you good som' day — Som' day w'en you are 'sleep. CARMINA 67 THE HARBINGER EES com' da spreeng!" da peopla say, "An' weenter-time ees gon' away." I hope ees true, baycause, you know, I am so seeck weeth ice an' snow; I am so seeck eenside my soul For gotta buy so moocha coal, An' overcoat, an' warma clo'es, An' hankacheef for blow my nose. *'Ees com' da spreeng!" da peopla say, An' so I am com' out to-day For justa see eef eet ees true. An' play da musica for you. Da weend ees colda 'nough for mak' Me wanta stop an' gona back, But som'theeng w'eesper een my ear: "Ees com' da spreeng! Da spreeng ees here!" 68 C A R M I N A "Ees com' da spreeng!" da peopla say Dat passa by an' hear me play ^^ Lucia" on my street-pian'. ^'O! see da Dago music-man!" Dey say: ^'dat's mean da weenter's past An' spreeng ees gattin' here at last." I nevva hear sooch funny theeng; Dey taka me for sign of spreeng! C A R M I N A 69 AN AFTER-DINNER THOUGHT /^H! my, Signer, how seeck I feel ^^ From som'theeng I have ate; I had wan oyster een my meal Dat wassa catch' too late! Oh! my, dat soocha leetla theeng Could mak' so bigga change! Dees morna I could dance an' seeng, But now I feel so strange, I no can 'tand to beezaness. But seeta theenkin' here; An' w'at I theenk you nevva guess — Eet ees so vera queer. I theenk upon dat greata man Dat ees da first to com' For findin' deesa granda Ian' — Creestoforo Colomb'. Ees Dagoman like me, you know — Eh? Yes, but wait, Signor; I tal you som'theeng, mebbe so, 70 C AR M IN A You nevva hear bay fore. I theenk upon Colombo w'en He beg hees Queen dat she Would justa geeve heem sheeps an' men For help heem cross da sea; But could no gat da theengs he need, How mooch he coax an' beg, Onteell she see da theeng he deed Weeth justa leetla egg. Aha! my frand, so you have read An' know da story, too ? He Stan' dat egg upon eets head, Like no wan else could do! An' so da Queen she clap her ban's An' tal Colombo den: "Now you can go for find dose lan's; I geeve you sheeps an' men." You know w'at happen after dat, Ees notheeng more to say; But here ees queera thought I gat Eenside my head to-day! Su'pose — I ask you now — su'pose Dat egg he bust was bad! CARMINA 71 You theenk da Queen would hold her nose An' smila just as glad ? You theenk she gona tal Colomb' She geeve heem sheeps an' sooch An' evratheeng he need to com' ? You bat my Hfe, not mooch! I tal you eef dat egg was bad As deesa taste I gat, Colombo, mebbe, woulda had Sooch troubla after dat Dees Ian' where now we are so glad Would no be founda yat! 72 C A R M I N A YEARNING IEEN love weeth Mag McCue. Ah! so sweeta 'Merican! Evra day I see her, too, Pass by dees peanutta-stan'. Once ees tal me smarta man: *^Eef a girl ees smile at you, Wavin' deesa way her han', Dat'sa mean she love you true.'' Oh, my leetla lady dear, Lasta time you passa here An' you smile upon me so, Eet ees mak' me feel so queer. Why ees dat, I lika know? I een love weeth Mag McCue. Ah! so sweeta 'Merican! I could know w'at I would do Eef she was EetaHan. But ees hard to ondrastan' C A R MIN A 73 Eef she really love me true Wen she smile an' wave her han' Lika lasta night she do. Oh, my leetla lady dear, Nexta time you passa here Would you mak' me glad an' proud? Don'ta wave your han' so queer, Pleassa, don'ta smile so loud. 74 CARMINA GIAC FINELLI W'EN Giac Finelli maka joke I laugha teell my sides ees broke. I weesh som'time dat you could be Jus' near enough to heem to see — You don'ta gotta be so near For dat you musta seet an' hear — Eet ees not dat you gotta pay Mooch notice to da words he say, Baycause een sooch artista way He tweest hees face an' move da han' All theengs ees plain to ondrastan', He ees so smarta Dagoman. Oh ! my, your sides dey would be broke Wen Giac Finelli maka joke. Two men dat play at cards wan night Ees got so mad an' so excite' Dey pull their knives an' gona fight. Up jompa Giac FinelH den An' eemitate dose fightin' men. CARMINA 75 He growl an' stampa 'roun' da place An' mak' sooch tweestin' of da face, Now justa lika deesa man An' now so like da othra wan, He mak' dem look sooch foolish sight Dey laugh an' jus' forgat to fight. Oh! my, eef dat time you could be Jus' near enough to heem to see. You laugha teell your sides ees broke Wen Giac Finelli maka joke. 76 C A R M I N A FROM A CAR WINDOW AH! yes, I been away to-day; You no could guess how far away. I s'pose you laugh eef I should say How mooch delight I had for be Wan leetla while een Eetaly — Ah! yes, I see you laugh at me. Wat use for tal you more, my frand? You justa no could ondrastand. No, w'at'sa use, my frand ? Eh ? Wal, Eet ees not mooch dat I can tal. I go to-day for ride een train. An* now here am I back again! Eh? How I gat to Eetaly? Eef you had been een train weeth me Here eesa theeng dat you would see, Eef queeck an' sharpa weeth your eye You catch eet while da train go by: A whita house, a beet of land C A R M I N A 77 Where piles of ripa corn ees stand, An' een baytween weeth leaves so green Ees shine da softa golda skeen Of — how-you-call ? — da "pumpakeen." Here on wan side by fence where twine Da purpla grape so fat weeth wine, Ees Stan' da man dat keep da place. You see how brown hees ban's an' face, How brown weeth sun da hat he wear On top hees curia blacka hair. How brown weeth dusta from da eart' Hees blacka pants, hees pinka shirt? An' dat mus' be hees wife dat stoop For feeda cheeckens eena coop. You evva see more brighta red Dan hankacheef dat's on her head? Oh, look da sky! I ask you, too, You evva see so granda blue? You evva see sooch sun dat roll So like shiny brassa bowl Een bottom side of sky an' speell Eets gold eensides against da heell? Look! here ees com' along da road 78 C A R M I N A Som' boys an' girls weeth wagonload Dat dey have gathra from de fieP. Oh, happy, happy girls an' boys! Eef train no mak' so moocha noise You woulda hear da sweeta sons: Dey singin' while dey marcha 'long. * * * * * * But even so, w'en all so dear You can no longer see an' hear, W'en queeck ees pass da flyin' train An' all ees 'Merican again. You steell can feel da song dey seeng, So lika leetla leevin' theeng, Dat move around eenside your breast An' justa weell no lat you rest — Eh? Wat ees dat? You don'ta see How I have been een Eetaly? Ah! wal, deed I no say, my frand, You justa no could ondrastand ? C A R M I N A 79 DA LEETLA BOY DA spreeng ees com'; but oh, da joy Eet ees too late! He was so cold, my leetla boy, He no could wait. I no can count how manny week. How manny day, dat he ees seeck; How manny night I seet an' hold Da leetla hand dat was so cold. He was so patience, oh, so sweet! Eet hurts my throat for theenk of eet; An' all he evra ask ees w'en Ees gona com' da spreeng agen. Wan day, wan brighta sunny day. He see, across da alleyway, Da leetla girl dat's livin' dere Ees raise her window for da air. An' put outside a leetla pot Of — w'at-you-call ? — forgat-me-not. So smalla flower, so leetla theeng! 8o C A R M I N A But steell eet mak' hees hearta seeng: "Oh, now, at las', ees com' da spreeng! Da leetla plant ees glad for know Da sun ees com' for mak' eet grow. So, too, I am grow warm and strong." So lika dat he seeng hees song. But, ah! da night com' down an' den Da weenter ees sneak back agen. An' een da alley all da night Ees fall da snow, so cold, so white. An' cover up da leetla pot Of — w'at-you-call ? — forgat-me-not. All night da leetla hand I hold Ees grow so cold, so cold, so cold! Da spreeng ees com' ; but oh, da joy Eet ees too late! He was so cold, my leetla boy, He no could wait. H I B E R N I C E THE MELTIN' O^ THE SNOW TIS cold th'-day," said John McCann, Upon the road to Mass. The sorra word said Mary Ann, But stopped to let him pass; Fur, shure, he was the bold young man An' she the modest lass. 'Twas not himself that would be balked So aisily, an' so He timed his steps wid hers an' walked Beside her, through the snow. But, oh, she passed upon her way, So modest an' so prim, 'Twas little he could think to say, An' less she said to him. But this he said when they were nigh The little chapel door: "A colder land, a colder sky, I have not seen before, 83 84 CARMINA Than this, for all its store of gold, For all it is so grand. I never knew the feel o' cold At home, in Ireland; But here, in these forsaken parts, The snows, the bitter storm, Creep even into Irish hearts That should be kind and warm. Oh, kind the maidens, Mary Ann, Who tread the Irish grass. This blessid day!" said John McCann, Upon the road to Mass. Small heed is where the heart is not, An* so, 'tis safe to say, 'Twas little that the pastor got From Mary Ann that day; No ears had she fur anny word But jisht that bold young man's. An', faix, the only thing she heard Was when he read the banns For two true hearts that soon would be In happy wedlock one. C A R M I N A 85 Then out she passed an' home went she Beneath the winter sun, An' knew before she turned her head Who was it walked beside. '^Ye heard the banns? Ah! well," he said, ^'There's one has found a bride. Thank God! one Irish heart is sweet. Though all the one I know That makes my own lone heart to beat Is cold an' hard as snow." "But now 'tis softer, John McCann" — Ochone! the modest lass! — ''The snow, I mean," blushed Mary Ann, Upon the road from Mass. Oh, bells were on the breeze that ran Along the buddin' grass. An' Spring, on tip-toe, waved her han' Th'-day to see them pass. When John an' Mary Ann McCann Came down the road from Mass. 86 CARMINA THE IRISH NATIONAL BIRD GOOD luck to the Eagle, America's bird, That stands for the land o' the free! Faix, I'm not the wan to be sayin' a word That'd ruffle its feathers. Not me! I'm proud o' the bird as I'm proud o' the land, An' glad to be under its wing, But there is another bird aiqually grand Whose praises I'm wishful to sing. Now let ye not pucker yer face wid a smile, 'Tis soberest truth that we've got A national bird in the Emerald Isle That's aisily king o' the lot! Aye! ^'national bird." He is certainly that. Though others may claim him at times, He's busiest most wid the fortunes of Pat At home, an' in far-away climes. C A R M I N A 87 An', faix, 'tis the Irish that love him the best An' welcome his favors the most; The man's not true Irish that has him for guest Widout feeHn' proud to be host. He seeks out the Irish regardless of place — At home or abroad in New York — So here's to the National Bird of the Race! Here's ''hip, hip, hurrah!" for the stork! 8S C A R M I N A THE IRISH BIRD-CHARMER WID more or less o' tuneful grace, As fits a Celtic singer, I've praised the "great bird of our race," The stork, the blessin'-bringer. When first to my poor roof he came, How sweetly he was sung to! I called him every dacint name That I could lay my tongue to. But glory be! that praise from me So pleased the simple crayture His visits here have come to be A sort o' second nature. I'm glad to see him now an' then, But, glory be to Heaven! If here he isn't back again. An' this is number seven! Och! though this gift o' song may be In manny ways a blessin'. It brings some popularity CARMINA 89 That gets to be disthressin\ Now, mind, I love this Irish bird — We couldn't live widout him — An', shure, I'll not take back a word I ever said about him, But now when all these mouths to feed Ate up our little savin's. The birds whose visits most we need Are ould Elijah's ravens. Begor' ! if they were 'round these days An' I could make them hear me, I'd sing them such a song o' praise 'Twould keep them always near me. 90 C A R M I N A CORDAYLIA O' THE ALLEY AT the corner o' the alley Sits Cordaylia McNally, At the corner o* the alley where the people come an' go, In a penitent procession, Passin' to an' from confession In the ould Church of St. Joseph that was builded long ago. Oh, 'tis well she knows there's many Has the charitable penny More convaynient to their fingers then than any other day, An' her tongue it is so sooth'rin' An' so mastherful deludth'rin' There are mortial few whatever she'll be lettin' get away. For, oh, the Irish eyes of her They twinkle at ye so. Ye hate to think the sighs of her C AR MIN A 91 Are part o' the disguise of her, So, faix, she has yer penny gathered in before ye know. There's small use in walkin' fasther In the hope o' sneakin' past her, Shure, she'll let ye go, unnoticed, wid yer little load o' sin. But, O! man, she has ye spotted. An' yer penny good as potted. Fur she knows that ye'll be softer comin' out than goin' in! Fur there's nothin' but good nature In the m'anest Irish crayture Whin he feels the soul inside o' him is cleansed of iv'ry blot. Should CordayHa then address ye Wid her sootherin' ''God bless ye!" 'Tis not you will dare to judge if she's de- servin' it or not. For, oh, the Irish eyes of her They twinkle at ye so. 92 CARMINA Ye hate to think the sighs of her Are part o' the disguise of her, So, faix, she has yer penny gathered in before ye know. C ARMINA 93 HEARTLESS SHEILA SHEA SHURE, the parish is so quiet, Sheila Shea, All the folks are saddened by it In a way. An' the whole o' thim are waitin' Fur the joy o' celebratin' Somethin' lively; like a weddin', let us say. Shure, ye know it is the duty Of a girl that's blessed wid beauty To be careful not to let it waste away. D'ye hear me. Sheila Shea? Shure, how can ye be so gay, Wid such quiet all about ye, that ye sing the livelong day? Has no sense o' sorrow found ye, Sheila Shea? Faix, the world revolves around ye, An' it's gray. 94 C A R M I N A Still, the spell will soon be broken, Fur, although ye have not spoken Sorra word o' what I've begged of ye to say, If ye will not grace a weddin', 'Tis meseP will soon be dead, an' There's some comfort in a funeral, anny- way. D'ye hear me. Sheila Shea? Shure, how can ye be so gay, Wid my breakin' heart so near ye that ye sing the livelong day? CARMINA 95 THE SONG OF THE THRUSH AH! the May was grand this morninM Shure, how could I feel forlorn in Such a land, when tree and flower tossed their kisses to the breeze? Could an Irish heart be quiet While the Spring was runnin' riot, An* the birds of free America were singin' in the trees? In the songs that they were singin' No familiar note was ringin', But I strove to imitate them an' I whistled like a lad. Oh, my heart was warm to love them For the very newness of them — For the ould songs that they helped me to forget — an' I was glad. So I mocked the feathered choir To my hungry heart's desire, 96 C A R M I N A An' I gloried in the comradeship that made their joy my own, Till a new note sounded, stillin* All the rest. A thrush was trilHn' ! Ah! the thrush I left behind me in the fields about Athlone! Where, upon the whitethorn swaying He was minstrel of the Mayin', In my days of love an* laughter that the years have laid at rest; Here again his notes were ringin' ! But I'd lost the heart for singin' — Ah! the song I could not answer was the one I knew the best. CARMINA 97 THE OULD APPLE WOMAN WID her basket of apples comes Nora McHugh, Wid her candies an' cakes an' wan thing an' another, But the best thing she brings to commind her to you Is the smile in her eyes that no throuble can smother. An' the wit that's at home in the tip of her tongue Has a freshness unknown to her candy and cake; Though her wares had been stale since ould Nora was young, There is little complaint you'd be carin' to make. Well I mind, on a day, I complained of a worm That I found in an apple, near bitten in two. 98 C A R M I N A ''But suppose ye had bit it, an' where'd be the harm? For, shure, this isn't Friday," said Nora McHugh. O Nora McHugh, you've the blarneyin' twist in you, Where is the anger could drame o' resistin' you? Faix, we'll be sp'ilin' you. Blind to the guile in you. While there's a smile in you, Nora McHugh. It was Mistress De Vere, that's so proud of her name. Fell to boastin' wan day of her kin in the peerage — Though there's some o' thim same, years ago whin they came To this glorious land, was contint wid the steerage — C AR M IN A 99 An' she bragged of her ancistry, Norman an' Dane, An' the Hke furrin ancients that's thought to be swell. ^'Now, I hope," said ould Nora, "ye'll not think me vain. Fur it's little I care fur ancistry mesel'; But wid all o' your pedigree, ma'am, I be- lieve 'Tis mesel' can go back a bit further than you, Fur in me you perceive a descindant of Eve, The first apple woman," said Nora Mc- Hugh. O Nora McHugh, sich owdacious frivolity! How can you dare to be jokin' the quality? Still, we'll be sp'ilin' you, Bhnd to the guile in you, While there's a smile in you, Nora McHugh. loo C A R M I N A THE MOURNER OUT o' bed of a mornin' was Mary McCroal Before ever a sunbeam had cut its first caper, An' had fetched from her door-step her bit of a roll An' her wee jar o' milk an' her mornin' newspaper. Then, the while she was wettin' her kittle o' tay. She'd the paper forninst her ould specks as she read What she held "the importantest news o' the day" — An' that same was no more nor the list o' the dead. She could aisily wait fur the bit an' the sup, But the hunger fur news she could never control, C A R M I N A loi Readin' wan colyume down an' the nixt colyume up, Till: "Here's wan at St. Ann's," cried ould Mary McCroal, "May the Lord rest his soul!" She'd make way wid her tay in two minyutes or less, An' she'd ready the table an' lay the cloth on it, An' she'd deck hersel' out in her dacint black dress An' her cashymere shawl an' her ould velvet bonnet. Then 'twas off at a trot to the Church o' St. Ann — To be there when the corpse an' the mourners came in. Shure, what odds if she never had heard o' the man. Nor had knowledge at all of a wan of his kin ? Faix, 'twas litde, indeed, that the corpse needed care, I02 C A R M I N A An' no bar to his soul on the way to its goal, If no wan o' the mourners there bowin' in prayer Prayed as strong or as long as ould Mary McCroal: "May the Lord rest his soul!" Ye might canvass the parish; not wan on the list — Not a wan — but would tell ye he couldn't remember Anny funeral Mass that she ever had missed, Under roses o' June or in snows o' De- cember; An' there's some that'd smile, recoUectin' the sight Of a red flannel petticoat, aye! an' a show Of a dacint clane stockin', ould-fashioned an' white, Whiskin' over the graves in the dust or the snow. There was some might have said, wid a shake o' the head, C A R M I N A 103 She was jisht an ould crow. But ye'd find, on the whole, Not a wan o' thim all, when they buried their dead, But was glad o' the prayers of ould Mary McCroal. May the Lord rest her soul! Aye! "the Lord rest her soul." Ah! the church was so bare When she lay there th'-day, fur the mourners were few. But, shure, why should she care that the only wans there Were the sexton, the priest, an' ould woman or two? An' what odds if the prayers at her passin' were brief As the ride to the grave, when those prayers had been said? An' what need was there here fur the trap- pin's o' grief? Fur, shure, death was a joy to this friend o' the dead. I04 C A R M I N A Ah! 'tis well to believe that the prayers that she prayed Fur the many before her who shared of her dole, They have gathered together an' woven an' made As a ladder o' light fur ould Mary Mc- Croal. May the Lord rest her soul ! C A R M I N A 105 OULD PHELIM McKEONE WAS there iver a man, Since creation began, Wid such lack of a dacint respect for his own. So conthrary of mind, Wid a tongue so unkind, As the plague of our parish, ould Phelim McKeone? We'd a meetin* last night fur ^'Horne Rule . an' the Right," To discuss ways an' means an' to hit on a plan That'd make fur success in the glorious fight, An' to name fur our leader the logical man. Now, of course we were blessed wid the gift o' the gab, An' we gave our opinions fur this an' fur that. io6 C A R M I N A There was orators there like O'Kane an' McNab, Who were wiUin' to fight at the drop o' the hat, An' so fixed in their notions that nayther would give, Fur they'd have no opinion was right but their own. Whin ^^ Hurrah fur the British, an' long may they live!" At the top of his voice yelled ould Phelim McKeone. "Aye! an' long may they live," yelled ould Phelim McKeone, "Fur if British heads failed ye whin lookin' fur fight, Ye'd have nothin to do but be whackin' yer own. An' whoever ye choose fur yer leader th'-night, Shure, he has me condolince on winnin' the place. C A R M I N A 107 Fur there's little o' joy or 0' p'ace that he'll know, Wid the jealous designs 0' the rest o' the race, Who the minute he's up will be pulHn' him low. Aye! 'tis jealousy's streak in the red o' yer blood That has checked us an' kept us from knowin' the joy An' the blessin' of Ireland free, as we should. Oh! I've waited these seventy year, man an' boy. But I've waited in vain, to be greetin' the day Whin the land that I love should come into its own. So 'Hurrah fur the British that scorn ye!' I say. An' I bid ye good night!" cried ould Phe- lim McKeone. Was there iver a man. Since creation began. io8 C A R M I N A Wid such lack of a dacint respect for his own, So conthrary of mind, Wid a tongue so unkind. As the plague of our parish, ould PheHm McKeone? C A R M I N A 109 THE IRISH BACHELOR HERE fur yer pity or scorn, I'm pre- sintin' ye Jerry McGlone. Trustin' the life of him will be previntin' ye Marrin' yer own. Think of a face wid a permanint fixture of Looks that are always suggistin' a mixture of Limmons an' vinegar. There! yeVe a pic- ture of Jerry McGlone. Faix, there is nothin' but sourest gloom in this Jerry McGlone. Chris'mas joy, anny joy, niver finds room in this Crayture of stone. Cynical gloom is the boast an' the pride of him. An' if a laugh iver did pierce the hide of him, Faix, I beHeve 'twould immajiate, inside of him. Change to a groan. no CARMINA Whisht! now, an' listen. I'll tell ye the throuble wid Jerry McGlone. He preferred single Hfe rather than double wid Molly Malone. Think of it! Think of an Irishman tarryin' While there's a purty girl wishful fur mar- ryin' ! Arrah! no wonder the divils are harryin' Jerry McGlone. Ah! but there's few o' the race but would scorn to be Jerry McGlone. Shure, we all know that a Celt is not born to be Livin' alone. Oh, but we're grateful (I spake for the laity) Grateful fur women the bountiful Deity Dowers wid beauty an' virtue an' gaiety. All for our own! CARMINA III A SONG OF RICHES I'VE a dollar in me pocket An' wid wealth o' health I'm blest, An' me pixture's in a locket On a pretty colleen's breast. An' I'll be as rich th'-morrow, If the Lord continues kind, So there isn't room for sorrow In a corner of me mind. What the future may be bearin' I have Httle care to know, Shure, we'll none of us be carin' In a thousand years or so. Ye have spoke the word that's bound ye, Kate machree, to be me wife; Here's two arms to put around ye An' to work for ye for life, An' to make a home that's pleasant, Ay, an' fit to have ye in. Faix, there's no time like the present. 112 CARMINA Katie darlin* to begin. Then, through fair an' stormy weather, If we're dacint here below, Shure, we still may be together In a thousand years or so. CARMINA 113 THE HOMING GIRL '^T^WAS the gran' time the girls had at J- Katie Breen's th'-day To sind off wid God-speed her cousin, Mary Carr, Fur 'tis Mary is the wise girl that laid away her pay, An' now she's fur the ould home away in Castlebar. 'Twas Kate Breen, the good soul, that got the party up An' passed 'round the kind word for iv'ry wan to come. Fur th' ould fr'inds to drop in an' have the bit an' sup. An' cheer the heart o' Mary Carr before she started home. 'Twas mesel' came whin Mary came this manny year ago, So gladly an' proudly I wint th'-day to call, 114 CARMINA An' I walked in me fine clones wid Patrick Kane, me beau; But now I am the sorry girl I iver wint at all. Shure, Mary Carr's the plain thing, an' timid as a mouse — 'Tis small wonder no man had iver liked her style — But the sorra wan of all thim that gathered in the house Had the half o' the happiness that twinkled in her smile. Whin she spoke o' the ould joys she'd dreamed so much about — The green grass, the glad birds, the bles- sid Irish sky. Thin wan girl, a young girl that hadn't long bin out, She flung up her two ban's an' oh, but she did cry. The girls looked at Mary Carr an' all their eyes were dim, CARMINA 115 An' I looked at Patrick Kane a-standin' be the wall, There was pride, aye! an' comfort in the thought o' havin' him. But, oh, I was the sorry girl I'd iver come at all. An' walkin' home, the two of us, he axed me why I cried. ^^Shure," sez I, ''who wouldn't cry fur sake o' Mary Carr?" Oh, it was the black lie, an' shure, I knew I Hed — Not a wan of all me tears but fell for Castle- bar! 'Twas Mary Carr that came wid me this manny year ago. Now 'tis she that's turnin' back an' bound fur home alone. Still, should I be grudgin' her the ould de- lights she'll know? Haven't I a newer joy an' sweeter fur me own? ii6 C A R M I N A Oh, Patrick Kane's the good man an' fond as wan could be; An' shure I was the proud girl that walked wid him to call On Mary Carr that's not the half as fortunit as me — But, oh, I am the sorry girl I iver wint at aU. CARMINA 117 NEWS O' THE WORLD IS it news o' the world that yeVe afther? I'm sorry to say There is little o' joy or o' laughther That's in it th'-day. Shure, there's no thin' but promise o' fightin' An' throuble ahead. Not a glimmer o' peace shone to brighten The gloom that I read In the clouds that were rumbHn' an' rollin' Out yonder th'-day, Where Cornaylius Gavin wint stroUin' Wid Kitty McCrea. sic ;{: ^ H< 3|c H< H< Is it news o' the world ye are wishin'? 'Tis lucky ye came. Fur 'tis I'm in the pleasant position To furnish that same. Oh, the joy an' the peace that's adornin' This counthry is grand ! Take this comfortin' message this mornin': ii8 CARMINA AlFs well in the land ! 'Tis the news that I heard in the gloamin', At close o' th'-day, Jisht a whishper that came to me, roamin' Wid Kitty McCrea. CARMINA 119 THE SON OF HIS FATHER OH! my, oh! my, the years go by Like sheep the dogs are harryin*; But late I had a Hspin' lad. An' now he talks o' marryin' ! Lord bless me! but he has the strut Of one that's grand an' knows it; No lass so prim that looks at him But Hkes his cut an' shows it. An', faix, 'twould do your heart good, too, To hear him at the blarney; There's scarce a lass that sees him pass But wears a smile for Barney — Our Barney — A wishful smile for Barney. Tho' Cupid lays cute snares these days When Barney goes philanderin'. An' all his traps hold geese, perhaps, None takes this bold young gander in. Ah! none as yet, but there's a net I20 C A R M I N A That will, one day or other, An' her I'd name to bait the same Is one like me, his mother. Aye! sure as fate, he'll take for mate Sweet, roguish Nora Kearney, Who meets his wiles with scornful smiles, As once I did with Barney — My Barney, The father of ^'our" Barney. C ARM IN A 121 THE PEACEABLE RACE w 'HO says that the Irish are fighters be birth?" Says Httle Dan Crone. "Faix, there's not a more peaceable race on th' earth, If ye Pave 'em alone. "Tim O'Toole? Well, I grant ye now, there is a lad That's beset wid the curse o' pugnacity bad, But he's jisht th' ixciption that's pro\in' the rule; An' what else could ye ask from a lad like O'Toole? Shure, he's sich a big mountain o' muscle and bone, Sizin' up to the heft o' some siventeen stone, That he fair aggravates iv'ry other bould buck To be wishful to thump him a Httle for luck, 122 CARMINA An' to prove that there's others as clever as him. Now, I ask ye, suppose ye was sturdy as Tim, Don't ye think 'twould be right ye should take a delight In defindin' yer tide an' testin' yer might?" Says little Dan Crone. "Is it me? Arrah! now it is jokin' ye are. But I bid ye be careful an' not go too far. Shure, it's true I'm no more nor the height o' yer waist, But there's manny a bigger has sampled a taste O' the knuckles that's bunched in this httle ould fisht. Where's the dog wouldn't fight whin his tail gets a twisht? Do I hunt fur the throuble? Mayhap, now, it's thrue Upon certain occasions that's jisht what I do. CARMINA 123 Shure, how else would they know — I'm that stunted an' small — I'd the heart of a man in me body at all?" Says little Dan Crone. '^Well, thin, keep yer opinion. 'Tis little it's worth," Says little Dan Crone. "Faix, we're jisht the most peaceable race on the earth, If ye I'ave us alone." 124 C A R M I N A THE DAY WE CELEBRATE L'AVE the yellow gold to Jews — Fur it's little that they lose — L'ave the balance o' world power to the Saxon; Though they scarce could do it worse, L'ave them run the universe, 'Tis fur little that they have that we'd be axin'. Sorra wan of us that cares Fur their high an' mighty airs, Or the robes o' r'yal purple an' the linen stiff wid starch. But there's wan day in the year When they mustn't interfere — Shure, the whole world is Irish on the Sev- enteenth of March! Oh, it's little that we hold Of dominion or of gold In the blessid isle that saw us first a nation, C A R M I N A 125 But we made all lands our own As we spread from zone to zone; So, come all o' yel an' share our jubilation. Oh, the music in the air! An' the joy that's ivrywhere — Shure, the whole blue vault o' heaven is wan grand triumphal arch, An' the earth below is gay Wid its tender green th'-day. Fur the whole world is Irish on the Seven- teenth o' March! 126 C A R M I N A MONA MACHREE MONA Machree, I*m the wanderin* creature now, Over the sea; Slave of no lass, but a lover of Nature, now, Careless an' free. Nature, the goddess of myriad graces. Pours for lorn lovers a balm that effaces Scars from the heart, in these smilin' new places Far to the eastward an' far to the south of you. Sweet are the grapes that she gives me to eat. Red are her pomegranates, luscious an' sweet. Dreamy the breath of her flowers in the heat — But, oh, the red mouth of you, Mona Machree! C A R M I N A 127 Mona Machree, though it's here that the money is, Rather for me Dreams an' drowsed rovin's through blooms where the honey is, Wild as a bee. She, the new goddess to whom I'm be- holden. Snares me in days that are scented an' golden E'en as the tresses your temples enfoldin', Aye, an' the blue, when the sun has for- saken it. Blossoms with jewels, night-lamps of her throne. Bright as two passionless eyes I have known. Ah! it is here that my heart is my own — But, oh, the dull ache in it, Mona Machree! 128 C A R M I N A OULD BARNEY TO THE BOY ARRAH! Barney ma bouchal, 'tis courtin' ye are, An' you but jisht out o' your dresses! 'Tis the light in your eye, like a new-risen star. That this news to yer father confesses. Now ye're off to the town, For the sun has gone down, An' the spell o' the gloamin' is o'er ye. Faith, ye're started like me, But it's lucky ye'll be If ye end like yer father before ye. Oh, the glamour o' night Breeds a passion too light For a dacint long Hfe-time's adornin', But the blessin' that cheers All the slow-wheelin' years Is the love that blooms warm in the mornin'. CARMINA 129 Arrah! Barney ma bouchal, whin I was a lad I courted wan lass an' another. But the sorra bit comfort from anny I had Till I came on the heart o' your mother. Oh, her charms they were rare In the dusk, at the fair. At the dance, in the house she was born in. But her soul wasn't found Till I happened around Where she sang at her work in the mornin' ! Oh, the glamour 0' night Breeds a passion too light For a dacint long life- time's adornin'. But the blessin' that cheers All the slow-wheelin' years Is the love that blooms warm in the mornin*. 130 C A R M I N A GLIMMERINGS OF PA- TRIOTISM OCH! the Fourth o' July! Shure, I wonder will I Ever grow to be glad fur it's deafenin' thun- der. Will the cannon by day An' the rocket by night Ever whisk me away On a spree o' delight? Now, I wonder. Faix, at prisint 'tis Httle I mind to be told Of a fight that is more nor a century old, An' all thim that was in it long laid in the mold. ^^They were heroes," sez you, An' all that may be true; But what comfort at all could I find in that boast. Or in blazin' away at a red-coated ghost CARMINA 131 Whin a shot at a Hve wan would cheer me the most? What's a fight past an' gone to a fight yet to be? Oh, if anny sich come to this land 0' the free, Jisht a fight fur the joy of it, count upon me! An' how manny good men In that Glorious Row Had the thought of this then That I have of it now? Faix, I wonder. An' this lady, Columbia stately an' grand, Wid the shield at her side an' the sword in her hand, Shure, she seems to be queen, if there's wan in the land. "She's the Red, White, an' Blue That we'd die fur," sez you. Would I fight for her, too? Wid the best o' good grace, 132 CARMINA Wid the blood o' me heart's core, me fancy would trace Added beauties to those that you see in her face. Fur she'd have a wee tilt to her nose in the air, An' a wild Irish rose in the gold of her hair, An' her eyes would be those of sweet Kitty O'Hare. Ah! how manny brave men In that Glorious Row Fought their fight fur Her then As I'd fight for Her now? Faix, I wonder. C A R M I N A 133 A BIT OF A RIDDLE THRUE fur you, Kitty Kane, as you said but this minute, Life's a quare kind o' riddle, a plague at the best; Shure, I know of but wan compinsation that's in it, Jisht wan thing that's so sweet it makes up fur the rest. It begins wid a ''y" an' it ends wid a ''u" — You may pucker yer brow, that's as much as I'll tell. An', besides, don't ye see, 'tis but my point o' view; You must work out your riddle o' Hfe fur yersel'. You must look fur your joy in another direc- tion, An' I beg you to light in yer innocent 134 C A R M I N A Jisht a spark o' sweet pity to aid the inspec- tion, Since the thing is so small, an' so lowly it lies. It begins wid an "m'' an' it ends wid an Oh, it's little it merits your notice, 'tis true. Still there's good in it, too, though that same may but be A reflection of all that is sweetest in you. Och! the bothersome riddle! I wonder now whether We could make our luck betther if we should combine? Faix, I think if we'd jisht put our two heads together We could spell in wan word all your joy, dear, an' mine. It begins wid a "u" an' it ends wid an "s." There's the sum o' my joy an' the sum o' your own! C A R M I N A 135 Och! the riddle o' life's so disthressin' to guess, Nayther wan of us, dear, could have solved it alone. 136 C A R M I N A CORNAYLIUS HA-HA-HA- HANNIGAN 'rx^WAS the godfather stuttered, or may- A hap the priest; But, be that as it may, it is certain, at least. That the wan or the other was surely to blame Fur presentin' the lad the quare twisht to his name. For there at the christ'nin', Wid iv'ry wan list'nin'. Now didn't his Riverence, Father O'Flan- igan, Wid nervousness stam'rin', Bechune the child's clam'rin^ Baptize it 'XornayHus Ha-Ha-Ha-Hanni- igan!" Wid these words from the priest, shure, the cute little rogue CARMINA 137 Up an' stopped his own mouth wid his chubby kithogue, An' the dimples broke out an' proceeded to chase All the tears an' the frowns from his inno- cint face. For, faix, he was afther Absorbin' the laughther Stuck into his name by good Father O'Flan- igan! Now that's the thruth in it, An' so from that minute Sure, iv'ry wan called the lad "Ha-Ha-Ha- Hannigan." Now, the ^'ha! ha! ha!" stuck to him close as his name, For the sorra a tear could be drownin' the same. Not a care iver touched him from that bles- sid day But his gift o' the laughter would drive it away. 138 C A R M I N A Wid jokin' an' chafBn' He niver stopped laughin', Or if he did stop he immajiate began agin; An' iv'ry wan hearin' His laughter so cheerin' Jisht joined in the mirth o' young "Ha-Ha- Ha-Hannigan." Shure, the throubles o' life are so palthry an' small 'Tis a pity we let thim disthurb us at all. There is niver a care but would Pave us in p'ace If we'd only stand up an' jisht laugh in its face. Faix, life were a pleasure If all had the treasure Conferred so unthinkin' by Father O'Flan- igan; If all could but borrow That cure-all for sorrow Possissed by ^^Cornaylius Ha-Ha-Ha-Han- nigan!" C A R M I N A 139 THEPAUPERAT THEGATE IF Father Mack was not so old He'd know the thing to do. He'd never let the parish hold So impudent a shrew And bitter-hearted common scold As Mary Ann McHugh. She's made the mother heart in me As heavy as a stone, This happy day that was to be The proudest I have known, Whose sun this mornin' rose and smiled, His blessin's full to pour Upon the wedding of my child, Marie Eleanore. Oh, never was there bride more glad; No cloud was in her sky, And every blessed thing she had That ever wealth could buy. You would not find, where'er you'd search. 140 C A R M I N A A fashionabler flock, Than that assembled in the church At haff-pawst ten o'clock. Such elegance and wealth and style! It swelled my heart with pride, When my Marie walked down the aisle A happy, happy bride. Great crowds was there outside to wait And watch us passin' through, But first among them, by the gate, Stood Mary Ann McHugh; And clawin' with her skinny hand The bridal veil, she cried: "Oh, Mary Ellen, lass, you're grand! Was ever sweeter bride? 'Tis proud to-day your fathered be, For, glory be to God! 'Tis scarce a score o' years since he Was carryin' the hod." «t^ ^ sic stc dtc *'* My day was darkened after that; I was so mortified. Behind my carriage door I sat C A R M I N A 141 And cried, and cried, and cried. And now I've been to see the priest And, comfortless, come back. I thought some helpful word, at least, I'd get from Father Mack; But he's too old to understand, And so he merely smiled And took me gently by the hand And said to me: "My child, Our dead are wise, and if they've got One joy in you or me, 'Tis pride in what we are, not what We think we'd like to be." If Father Mack was not so old He'd know the thing to do. He'd never let the parish hold So impudent a shrew And bitter-hearted common scold As Mary Ann McHugh. 142 C A R M I N A THE OMADHAUN THE lads that wastes their days in school, They nod an' wink an' call me " fool," But, och! 'tis Httle mind I have to scold them. Wid all their books they've never read The half of all that's in me head; They couldn't un'erstan' it if I told them. Did y' ever catch a leprechawn ? Ye never did! For why? 'Tis gone Before ye know the crayture's nigh; For if ye held him wid yer eye He'd have to take ye to the spot Where all his gold is in the pot. But me they never hold in fear — Small care have fools for gold an' gear — So when they meet me on me way They stop to pass the time o' day. Did y' ever know the funny things C A R M I N A 143 A thrush can tell ye ? When he sings Close both yer ears wid ayther han* An' then as quick as e'er ye can L'ave loose, hold tight, I'ave loose, hold tight - But, och! ye'd never do it right! Did y' ever know jisht how and when 'Tis aisiest to catch a wren ? "The wren, the wren, the king o' birds, St. Stephen's Day, caught in the furze!" Lasht Stephen's Day mayhap ye heard Who was it snared the nimble bird Upon the bush that through the town The lads paraded up and down. The while they begged from door to door, The jinglin' coppers by the score. 'Twas me! I snared the wren an' got No ha'penny of all the lot. Not wan for me! They were so mean They spint it all at Kane's shebeen. Och, l'ave them wink an' call me "fool," Them lads that wastes their days in school, 144 C A R M I N A An' oulder wans that spiles their brains wid drinkin\ 'Tis they're the fools themsePs, no less. For sorra wan o' them could guess The knowledgable things I do be thinkin*. A N GL I C E HARK YE! MERRIE GLEE MEN! GOOD morrow! Men of gay employ, May peace attend your way, And may no note of grief alloy The merrie measure of your joy Upon this Christmas Day. And if, belike ye only think Of ale and goodly roast, Then may your songs beget the chink Of gold to buy the meat and drink Which ye esteem the most. But if, beneath the motley coat. Beat hearts for higher things, Ah! then ye know how weak the note He makes within his straining throat Who feels not what he sings. 147 148 C A R M I N A And all the glees and merrie trolls That ye may sing to-day, Are nothing to the song that rolls, Unheard by men, from grateful souls Of simple folk who pray. This day upon a manger-bed Was born the Godly Boy, Whose blood, another day, was shed That souls that hungered might be fed To their eternal joy. So, if your glees small comfort bring. Your hunger to allay, Your souls may still be banqueting. If ye the sweeter song will sing Of simple folk who pray. C A R M I N A 149 OCTOBER COME, forsake your city street! Come to God's own fields and meet October. Not the lean, unkempt and brown Counterfeit that haunts the town, Pointing, like a thing of gloom. At dead summer in her tomb; Reading in each fallen leaf Nothing but regret and grief. Come out, where, beneath the blue, You may frolic with the true October. Call his name and mark the sound, Opulent and full and round: '^October." Come, and gather from his hand Lavish largess of the land; Read in his prophetic eyes. Clear as skies of paradise, I50 C A R M I N A Not of summer days that died, But of summer fructified! Hear, O soul, his message sweet. Come to God's own fields and meet October. CARMINA 151 THE CASTLE IMPREG- NABLE SO, Wind of the North, you are faring forth To harry us once again. We've hearkened before to your call to war And welcome it now as then; Such strife is good when the sluggish blood Creeps slow in the veins of men. So, wind of the North, Come forth! Come forth! And harry us yet again. Yestereve he came, when the sunset's flame Had burned to an ashen grey. And we heard him first like a far, faint burst Of horns in the woodland way. But he gathered might as he rode the night; How bitter his strength, how great. We knew at last when his full-blown blast Rang loud at the outer gate. 152 C A R M I N A And each echoing note was a blow that smote On casement and roof and wall; And we heard, in the wood where the Titans stood, The noise of a great oak's fall. With buffet and blow, and the arrows of snow That drove in a smothering rack, He taunted us sore with the challenge of war, But gaily we flung it back. As we heaped great logs on the hearthstone dogs. And over our leagured dome. In a pennant of smoke from our chimney, broke The flag of the castle — Home! So his hordes swarmed forth all night from the north. Investing us as we lay, 'Till the mystic, white, half-luminous night Was merged in the whiter day. It was then we rose in our might to close CARMINA 153 At handygripes with the foe. Oh! the sally out for that fierce glad bout, Knee-deep in the swirling snow! Oh, the power to feel in his grapple of steel Such thrilling and panting bliss As the maiden knows, who requites with blows Her lover's audacious kiss. Oh, we felt no fear that our foeman here Waged war he could hope to win. For he wrought in the breast but a keener zest For all that was housed therein, For the love of life, for the babes, for wife, For joys that be, and to come. For all things there in our staunch, four- square. Impregnable castle — Home ! Yea! Wind of the North, come forth, come forth. And harry us yet again. Such strife is good when the sluggish blood Creeps slow in the veins of men. 154 C A R M I N A THE POET THE truest poet is not one Whose golden fancies fuse and run To moulded phrases, crusted o'er With flashing gems of metaphor; Whose art, responsive to his will, Makes voluble the thoughts that fill The cultured windings of his brain, Yet takes no sounding of the pain, The joy, the yearnings of the heart Untrammelled by the bonds of art. O! poet truer far than he Is such an one as you may be, When in the quiet night you keep Mute vigil on the marge of sleep. If then, with beating heart, you mark God's nearer presence in the dark. And musing on the wondrous ways Of Him who numbers all your days, Pay tribute to Him with your tears CARMINA 155 For joys, for sorrows, hopes and fears Which He has blessed and given to you, You are the poet, great and true. For there are songs within the heart Whose perfect melody no art Can teach the tongue of man to phrase. These are the songs His poets raise, When in the quiet night they keep Mute vigil on the marge of sleep. 156 C A R M I N A ON A MAY MORNING THE weary heart hath Night for peace, If Day deny it bliss, But Where's the heart would seek release From such a day as this? Night gave me rest and quiet breath Within that outer keep of Death Where Sleep is gentle warden, But, oh! the living joys that thrill Across this sunny window-sill That looks upon my garden! The joyance of the Spring is there. The moist earth breathes it on the air; And God's sweet prophets, making Their orisons in music, sing: "Sleep hath no peace except it bring A sweeter joy at waking." May I, one night, with peaceful brow, Pass Death, the grisly warden, And know the joy of life, as now I see it in my garden. CARMINA 157 TO A ROBIN I HEARD thee, joyous votary, Pour forth thy heart in one Sweet simple strain of melody To greet the rising sun. When he across the morning's verge his first faint flare had flung And found the crimson of thy breast the whisp'ring leaves among. In thine own tree Which sheltered thee. Thy mate, thy nest, thy young. I marked thee, sorrow's votary, When in the noon of day Young vandals stormed thy sacred tree And bore thine all away; The notes of grief that rent thy breast touched kindred chords in mine. For memories of other days, though slumber- ing, still confine 158 C A R M I N A In mine own heart The bitter smart Of sorrow such as thine. I hear thee now, sweet votary, Beside thy ruined nest, Lift up thy flood of melody Against the crimsoned west. Forgetful of all else in this, thy one sweet joyous strain. I thank thee for this ecstasy of my remem- bered pain; Thou liftest up My sorrow^s cup To sweeten it again. C A R M I N A 159 THE JOURNEY'S END GOOD-BYE, dear heart. Be thou, as I am, glad. Glad for the grace of loneliness and yearning My heart, far faring from thee, shall have had Ere its returning. Pluck future joy from out this present pain; Rejoice to know that these small seeds of sorrow Shall be Love's harvest when we meet again, Some bright to-morrow. i6o C A R M I N A ALL HALLOWS EVE A LOVER of true lovers all, I tune my heart to yours, All ye who hold, in cot or hall. One passion that endures; And though for love's lost morn ye pine Or in its noon delight, Your heart-song shall be merged with mine Upon this holy night. I sing with thee, O merry boy. At young love's opening door; I sigh with thee, lone man, whose joy Has been, but is no more. True love is deathless. Wherefore grieve? What was, again shall be. I sing, this sweet All Hallows Eve, Love's immortality. C A R M I N A i6i THE DAY OF THE CIRCUS HORSE IT was a fiery circus horse That ramped and stamped and neighed, Till every creature in its course Fled, frightened and dismayed. The chickens on the roadway's edge Arose, and flapped their wings, And making for the sheltering hedge Flew off like crazy things. Nor iron gates nor fences barred That mettled steed's career. It galloped right across our yard And filled us all with fear; And when it tossed its head and ran Straight through the pantry door, Cook almost dropped her frying-pan Upon the kitchen floor! i62 C A R M I N A It neighed and pranced and wheeled about And scampered off, but then We scarcely saw the creature out When it was in again. And so throughout the livelong day, Through house and yard and street, That charger held its fearsome way And only stopped to eat. But when, at dusk, a little lame, It slowly climbed the stairs. Behold! a gentle lady came And made it say its prayers. Now, what a wondrous change you see! 'Sh ! Come and take a peep — Here lies, as tame as tame can be, A little boy, asleep! C A R M I N A 163 TO THE JOY-BRINGER HAPPY, together we have watched our boys At merrymaking, by the summer sea, In autumn woods, beneath our own roof- tree, Nor ever wished to draw them from their toys For formal thanks to us; for through the noise Of their rough play and fresh, unfettered glee Rang praise enough, dear heart, for thee and me. Who, under God, are makers of their joys. Oh, then, dear lady, deem me not remiss In that I have but seldom set apart Thy name in praiseful song. My singing is. Like any child's, a thing devoid of art; But joy it hath and thine all praise for this — I sing beneath the shelter of thy heart. SONGS OF THE MONTHS A SONG FOR JANUARY ^rnpWAS Joy that laid the passing year, J- 'Tis Joy that speeds the new; All joy that I have known, my dear. Hath been and is in you. All peace and hope of peace, my dear, Forever lives in you. Like Janus, who with faces twain Kept watch in ancient Rome, My love shall front old days again And days that are to come. So, in this month of Janus, here Where merge the old and new, Howe'er my joy may turn, my dear, It must envisage you. Its past may count but twenty suns, Its future reacheth far; 167 i68 C A R M I N A Beyond the edge of time it runs, Beyond the utmost star. 'Twas Joy that laid the passing year, 'Tis Joy that speeds the new; All joy that I have known, my dear. Hath been and is in you. All peace and hope of peace, my dear, Forever lives in you. C A R M I N A 169 A SONG FOR FEBRUARY WHEN the gusts of midwinter have whitened The graves of the flowers Whose warm fragrance and beauty once brightened Our happiest hours, Shall we muse on one memoried pleasure And mourn for its dearth? Nay, my love, here is measure for measure — Here's home and the hearth. There is nothing of ill can betide me. Though all joys but my hearth be denied me. Where the kettle is singing its tune, And you sit on the settle beside me. It is June, it is June! For the joy one fleet season hath taken Another is born. lyo C A R M I N A Though our woods, by the thrushes for- saken, Stand cold and forlorn, And though, voiceless, the brooklet lies sleeping. Ice-bound in the earth — Ah! the warmth and the music upleaping At home, from the hearth! There is nothing of ill can betide me. Though all joys but my hearth be denied me. Where the kettle is singing its tune. And you sit on the settle beside me, It is June, it is June! CAR MI N A 171 A SONG FOR MARCH WHO sings of March must sing the mad, Lone man-at-arms, the straggler clad In motley white and brown — Who in the wake of Winter's flight Turns now to caper, now to fight — Half hector and half clown. One moment from a cloud-capped hill He blares his slogan, wild and shrill; The next, with gusty laughter, Outsteps the sunbeams as they dance. And leers, and flouts with backward glance, The maid who follows after. O! sing the maid. The light-heart maid. Who follows, follows after. He flees her down the lengthening days; She follows him through woodland ways. O'er hills and vales between. 172 CARMINA And sets for mark of victory On every bush and hedge and tree Her flag of tender green; And when her breath hath spiced the night With promise of the warm dehght Of young June's love and laughter, No other song may true hearts sing But "Speed thy passing, March, and bring The maid who follows after; The light-heart maid, The lily maid. Who follows, follows after." C A R M I N A 173 A SONG FOR APRIL {To Nancy on her fifth birthday) " T ET lovers raise -■— ' In April's praise Songs sprung of pagan fancy. But, oh, for me. With eyes to see Her very soul in Nancy, They cannot sing So sweet a thing As this that April taught me — The blessing of The little love Whom years ago she brought me. So, Loveling, come 1 we'll wander through Your native fields together. And I will make my song of you All out of April weather; Upon a time when God's great plans Were in his looms above us, 174 CARMINA And all His angel-artisans, Who cherish us and love us, Shot shining shuttles in and out To fashion April weather, The little angels sat about And sang and played together. Oh, you shall hear the game they played, So innocent and jolly; They took the weavers' shreds and made A little angel dolly! Of blended blossoms pink and white, The little angels made it. With every essence of delight Endowed it and arrayed it; With soft blue bits of April skies And sunlight's golden flashes They wrought the beauty of its eyes And of its hair and lashes. No shred the April weavers left But those small angels caught it, Inwove it in their mimic weft And fashioned it and wrought it. Then God, who watched their labour, smiled CARMINA 175 And took it and caressed it, And lo! it was a living child, For with His breath He blessed it. So when the weavers' work was done, All in the bright spring weather. Sweet April and the little one Came down to earth together. And straight to our own home she flew And gave you to your mother! Ay! sweet, the little child was you, Just Nancy and no other. O ! who may sing A sweeter thing Than this that April taught me. The blessing of The little love Whom years ago she brought me ? 176 CARMINA A SONG FOR MAY AWAKE! arise! grey dreams and slum- ber scorning, For every dormer looking on the east Is portal to the banquet hall this morning Where May hath called her lovers to her feast. Lo! as it were a pledging goblet, glowing In her rose fingers over which do run The golden bubbles poured to overflowing, Up, up, she lifts the sun! Oh, drink with her this airy wine of spring, That from her hands her winged breezes bring. Sweet philter for all hearts on earth that be! Hark! how the birds are drunk with it and sing; Mark, where the flushed winds spill it on the sea. How, lapping it, the waves go carolling; CARMINA 177 See how dull earth, meek flower and stately tree, Where'er the breezes haste it. Rejoice that they may taste it. Shall we, then, slumb'ring, waste it — This draught of ecstasy ? lovers all, in this sweet wine 1 pledge you and your loves and mine — A cup with you! Up! up! with you. And drink the May with me! 178 CARMINA A SONG FOR JUNE '^T^IS June! the glad time when I found A thee, O thou, my sweet flower of love! The dear olden glamour is 'round thee, The same tender sky bends above. New beauties the summer discloses, But none that can rival thee now; Not one of its fairest young roses Is perfect as thou. One June brings the red rose of passion And marks its frail beauty decline, But June upon June could not fashion The rose of a love such as thine. Not long in the gardens of pleasure Are love's sweetest flowers possessed; The love that hath leavening measure Of sorrow is best. CARMINA 179 This June its new beauties discloses, But none that can rival thee now. Not one of its fairest young roses Is perfect as thou. i8o C A R M I N A A SONG FOR JULY ''TT^IS the noon of the year. A As a toiler, oppressed By the labour and heat, Folds his hands on his breast. Drawing strength from his dreams, Lo! the earth swings at rest In the noon of the year. 'Tis the noon of the year. Ere it pass to its wane, Over full-bosomed trees. Over yellowing grain, Earth, the toiler, a-drowse, Must revive him again In the noon of the year. 'Tis the noon of the year. Come, be one with it, sweet! Love in idleness calls Through the languorous heat, C A R M I N A i8i Where the dream poppies nod In the wind-wimpled wheat, In the noon of the year. i82 C A R M I N A A SONG FOR AUGUST SINCE thou hast gone, I often see In garden closes Faint-visioned effigies of thee Among the roses; Some semblance of thy beauty's bloom, Some savour of the sweet perfume That clung around thee. But never was I fain to say "This rose is thine" until to-day — To-day I found thee. Where Poverty in squalor hes, Within the city, Where summer sears but never sighs With breath of pity, How little speaks of thee; but there Thy rose of roses, sweet and fair, I found this morning! The white rose in its broken pot An attic window's garden-plot I saw adorning. C A R M I N A 183 Ne'er bloomed a sweeter flower of love In greenest valley, Than that white rose, set high above The squalid alley. If anywhere on earth thou art, Here would'st thou hide thy mother heart In self-abasement; This rose must house thy spirit mild To cheer the little sickly child Behind that casement. , i84 C A R M I N A A SONG FOR SEPTEMBER There's a death-damp in the dawn And a fever in the noon; Summer's tender bloom is gone And her soul will follow soon. Yet the leaves upon her trees And her nodding flowers fling Benedictions down the breeze As they sing: "^Morituri salutamus/ But we shall not die in vain. We shall fill your dreams with beauty Till the summer comes again." There are voices in the night, And the calm stars overhead Are like tapers set a-light In the chamber of the dead. And the mourning katydid Sits and beats its strident wings, C A R M I N A 185 In its leafy-covert hid, And it sings: ''^Morituri salutamus/ But we shall not die in vain, We shall fill your dreams with beauty Till the summer comes again." i86 C A R M I N A A SONG FOR OCTOBER FRUITFUL October! so fair and calm, Singing of God and His charity, Every note of thy joyous psalm Chords of my heart give back to thee. Joy for the riches thy bounty yields Over the breadth of our smiling fields! Out of the months that have gone before. Gathering tribute for this thy store. E'en from the torpid December moon, From the vernal rains and the heats of June, All that was good thou hast drawn and brought. Nothing a loss; E'en from the dross. Alchemist marvellous, thou hast wrought Misted gold for thy noon's delights, Silver of frost for thy twinkling nights. Blest in thy blessing, all beauty now Glows as a diadem on thy brow. C A R M I N A 187 So, let me sing to thee, So, let me bring to thee Praise of the queen of my soul, for she, Bountiful bringer of joys to me. Wearing thy glory, is kin to thee. How hath she wrought with the passing years ? All of their pleasures and pains and tears. All their rose hopes and their pallid fears, , Through her sweet being have issued forth Fused into treasure of priceless worth. Look on the fruits of her alchemy. Lisping their music around her knee. Muse on the splendour of her sweet face, Motherly wisdom and maiden grace. Gold of your noon-time is in her hair; Aye, and your silver of frost is there. Tell me, October, oh, who so fair? Not even thou Weareth a brow Fuller of beauty or freer of care. Oh, for the guerdon of quiet bliss. For the yet warm heart and the cool sweet kiss i88 C A R M I N A Of her perfect loving; for this, for this, Fruitful October, so fair and calm. Singing of God and His charity, Every note of thy joyous psalm Chords of my heart give back to thee! C A R M I N A 189 A SONG FOR NOVEMBER WHEN crows croak in the leaden sky O'er prone grey field and spectral wood, And all that greets thine ear and eye Sends eerie echoes through thy blood, Oh, close the door and come within Where never winter's chill may win; For here, my dear. Proportioned to thy need of me The measure of my love shall be. When boding night-winds snarl and moan 'Round gabled roof and frosted pane, 'Tis not our common hearth alone That makes the winds' forebodings vain, But those twin sparks of fire divine It feeds from in thy heart and mine; For here, my dear, Thy need of me, my need of thee. The measure of our love must be. I90 C A R M I N A A SONG FOR DECEMBER THE earth's shroud is embossed With gems of twinkling frost; The heavens snap with cold. A wind mysterious thrills, Above the sleeping hills, With music sweet and old. The stars sang one December And shake with music yet; For aye they will remember. Although the world forget, The God-child's birth-cry ringing From out a lowly place That set the planets singing In farthest fields of space. From warm sweet depths of sleep Where little child-hearts keep Their faith until the morn, Beyond the sunset bars To shake the farthest stars C A R M I N A 191 Another song is borne. Their hopeful dreams ascending In waves of music flow, A joyous chorus blending With that of long ago. With song the night is teeming, But, oh, how mute we are. Who have nor faith for dreaming Nor wisdom of the star! 192 C A R M I N A L'ENVOI TO A TENANT OU found this house, dear lady, ovei Y run With noisome things that wait upon decay ^ All pent within it mouldering in the grey, Sick gloom of long disuse whose webs were spun Through all its halls. You entered, and, the sun And God's air coming with you, swept away All ugliness and squalor, on that day When first your life-long leasehold was be- gun. You tell me now your house, this heart of mine. Is warm and ever-beautiful and fair, And call me benefactor, nor divine C A R M I N A 193 How little debt you owe, how much I bear To you who made this shabby place a shrine On that sweet day when first you entered there. l;!':!':ii ii.i LlbMAriT yjr v^* 015 905 228 A Hfi !H 1 1 m nil iM ii i i Pi Mm ,,,j|,,i,i