=^% \0 ^.. >^ ^ ,-0' v' .^^ *-, ■^, ^^ "oo" ^^ V^^ V^ 8 1 "^ <^ x^^.. d -^^ v^ -^^ ^^A v^ d-' N - »:.^ HOME-FOLKS Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2010 with funding from The Library of Congress http://www.archive.org/details/homefolks01rile h NEGHBORLY POEMS SKETCHES IN PROSE, WITH INTERLUDING VERSES AFTERWHILES PIPES O' PAN (Prose and Verse) RHYMES OF CHILDHOOD FLYING ISLANDS OF THE NIGHT GREEN FIELDS AND RUN= NING BROOKS ARMAZINDY A CHILD-WORLD HOME-FOLKS OLD-FASHIONED ROSES (English Edition) THE GOLDEN YEAR (English Edition) POEMS HERE AT HOME RUBllYlT OF DOC SIFERS CHILD-RHYMES, WITH HOOSIER PICTURES RILEY LOVE-LYRICS (Pictures by Dyer) HOME-FOLKS / JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY m INDIANAPOLIS THE BOWEN-MERRILL COMPANY PUBLISHERS Library of Cotigre^a Two Copies ^ECtiVED NOV 14 1900 Copyria;ht oi'.try SECONO COPY Dei'vKcd to OROtti DIVISION NOV 16 1900 75A70 4- ^oo Copyright 1900 BY JAMES WHITCOMB RiLEY Braunworth, Munn & Barber Printers and Binders Brooklyn, N. Y. TO MYRON W. REED . . . "In this business I knew that I had the world, the planets, and the myriad stars for my companions, and we were all journeying along together fulfilling the same divine order." —Joel Chandler Harris. CONTENTS Proem page As Created 18 At Crown Hill 157 At His Wintry Tent 109 At Sea 136 Ballad with a Serious Conclusion, A . . . . 102 Ballade oe the Coming Rain, The 70 Bed, The 159 Cassander 95 Christ, The 66 Christmas Along the Wires 19 Edge of the Wind, The 138 Emerson 53 Enduring, The 152 Equity—? 119 Eugene Field 101 Feel in the Christmas-Air, A 81 From Delphi to Camden 73 Green Grass of Old Ireland, The 107 Henry W. Grady 38 • Hired Man's Faith in Children, The .... 154 His Love of Home 42 CONTENTS PAGE Home Ag'in 43 Home-Folks 1 Home-Voyage, The 13 Hymn Exultant 61 Idiot, An 150 In the Evening 122 Let Something Good Be Said 33 Lincoln 57 Loving Cup, The 87 Mister Hop-Toad 8 Moonshiner's Serenade 124 Mother Sainted, The 65 Mr. Foley's Christmas 133 My Dan cin '-Days is Over 34 Name oe Old Glory, The 4 Naturalist, The 155 Noblest Service, The 147 Old Guitar, The 148 O Life ! O Beyond ! 39 On a Fly-Leae 83 On a Youthful Portrait oe Stevenson ... 70 One With a Song 131 Onward Trail, The 55 Oscar O. McCulloch 86 Our Boyhood Haunts 11 Our Queer Old World 110 Peace-Hymn oe the Republic, A 129 CONTENTS PAGE Red Riding Hood 64 Rhymes oe Ironquill 115 Say Something to Me 89 ^ermon op the Rose, The . ' 84 Short'nin' Bread Song, A 92 Silent Singer, The 126 Smitten Purist, The 120 Song of the Road, A 62 Them Old Cheery Words 163 To Robert Louis Stevenson 68 To THE Judge 78 To "Uncle Remus" 67 Traveling Man, The 71 Uncle Sidney's Logic 16 Unheard, The 113 What the Wind Said 139 Whittier . 54 Wholly Unscholastic Opinion, A 91 Your Height is Ours 59 HOME-FOLKS PROEM Tou Home- Folks : — Aid your grateful guest — Bear with his 'pondering^ wandering ways : When idlest he is busiest^ Being a dreamer of the days. Humor his silent^ absent moods — His restless quests along the shores Of the old creek^ wound through the woods ^ The haws, pawpaws and sycamores : The side-path hom^e — the back-way past The old pump and the dipper there ; The afternoon of dreamy fune — The old porch, and the rocking-chair. Tea, bear with him. a little space — His heart must smoulder on a while Ere yet it flames out in his face A wholly tearless smile. HOME-FOLKS Home-Folks! — Well, that-air name, to me, Sounds jis the same as foetry — That is, ef poetry is jis As sweet as I've hearn tell it is! Home-Folks — 'they're jis the same as kin — All brung up, same as vje have bin, Without no overpowerin' sense Of their oncommon consequence ! They've bin to school, but not to git The habit fastened on 'em yit So as to ever interfere With other work 'at's waitin' here: Home-Folks has crops to plant and plow, Er lives in town and keeps a cov*^ ; But whether country-jakes er town-, They know when eggs is up er dowi I I HOME-FOLKS La ! can't you sfot 'em — when you meet 'Em anywheres — in field er street? And can't you see their faces, bright As circus-day, heave into sight? And can't you hear their "Howdy!" clear As a brook's chuckle to the ear, And alius find their laughin' eyes As fresh and clear as morning skies ? And can't you — when they've gone away Jis feel 'em shakin' hands, all day? And feel, too, you've bin higher raised By sich a meetin' ? — God be praised ! Oh, Home-Folks! you're the best of all 'At ranges this terestchul ball, — But, north er south, er east er west. It's home is where you're at your best. — 2 HOME-FOLKS It's home — it's home your faces shine, In-nunder your own fig and vine — Your fambly and your neighbers 'bout Ye, and the latchstring hangin' out. Home-Folks — at home^ — I know o' one Old feller now 'at haint got none. — Invite him — he may hold back some — But you invite him, and he'll come. THE NAME OF OLD GLORY Old Glory! say, who, By the ships and the crew. And the long, blended ranks of the gray and the blue, — Who gave you, Old Glory, the name that you bear With such pride everywhere As you cast yourself free to the rapturous air And leap out full-length, as we're wanting you to?— Who gave you that name, with the ring of the same. And the honor and fame so becoming to you ? — Your stripes stroked in ripples of white and of red, With your stars at their glittering best overhead — By day or by night Their delightfulest light 4 THE NAME OF OLD GLORY Laughing down from their little square heaven of blue!— Who gave you the name of Old Glory? — say, who — Who gave you the name of Old Glory? The old banner' lifted^ and falter htg then In vague lisps and whispers fell silent again. II Old Glory, — 'Speak out! — we are asking about How you happened to "favor" a name, so to say, That sounds so familiar and careless and gay As we cheer it and shout in our wild breezy way — We — the crowds every man of us, calling you that — We — Tom, Dick and Harry — each swinging his hat And hurrahing "Old Glory! " like you were our kin. When — Lord! — we all know we're as common as sin! And yet it just seems like you humor us all And waft us your thanks, as we hail you and fall Into line, with you over us, waving us on Where our glorified, sanctified betters have gone. — 5 THE NAME OF OLD GLORY And this is the reason we're wanting to know — (And we're wanting it so ! — Where our own fathers went we are willing to go-)— Who gave you the name of Old Glory — O-ho! — Who gave you the name of Old Glory? The old flag unfurled with a billowy thrill For an instant^ then wistfully sighed and was still. Ill Old Glory: the story we're wanting to hear Is what the plain facts of your christening were, — For your name-**-just to hear it, Repeat it, and cheer it, 's a tang to the spirit As salt as a tear; — • And seeing you fly, and the boys marching by, There's a shout in the throat and a blur in the eye And an aching to live for you always — or die, If, dying, we still keep you waving on high. And so, by our love For you, floating above, 6 THE NAME OF OLD GLORY And the scars of all wars and the sorrows thereof, Who gave you the name of Old Glory, and why Are we thrilled at the name of Old Glory? The7i the old banner leaped^ like a sail in the blasts And fluttered an audible answer at last, — IV And it spake, with a shake of the voice, and it said: — By the driven snow-white and the living blood-red Of my bars, and their heaven of stars overhead — By the symbol conjoined of them all, skyward cast. As I float from the steeple, or flap at the mast. Or droop o'er the sod where the long grasses nod, — My name is as old as the glory of God. . . . . So I came by the name of Old Glory. MISTER HOP-TOAD Howdy, Mister Hop-Toad! Glad to see you out! Bin a month o' Sund'ys sencel seen you hereabout. Kind o' bin a-layin' in, from the frost and snow? Good to see you out ag'in, it's bin so long ago! Plows like slicin' cheese, and sod's loppin' over even ; Loam's like gingerbread, and clods's softer 'n de- ceivin' — Mister Hop-Toad, honest-true — Springtime — don't you love it? You old rusty rascal you, at the bottom of it! Oh, oh, oh! I grabs up my old hoe ; But I sees you, And s' I, "Ooh-ooh! Howdy, Mister Hop-Toad! How-dee-do!" 8 MISTER HOP-TOAD Make yourse'f more comfo'bler — square 'round at your ease — Don't set saggin' slanchwise, with your nose below your knees. Swell that fat old throat o' yourn and lemme see you swaller; Straighten up and h'ist your head! — Tou don't owe a dollar! — Hain't no mor'gage on your land — ner no taxes, nuther ; Tou don't haf to work no roads, even ef you'd ruther. 'F I was you, 2iVi^Jixed like you, I railly wouldn't keer To swop fer life and hop right in the presidential cheer ! Oh, oh, oh! I hauls back my old hoe ; But I sees you^ And s' I, "Ooh-ooh! Howdy, Mister Hop-Toad ? How-dee-do!" 9 MISTER HOP-TOAD 'Long about next Aprile, hoppin' down the furry, Won't you mind I ast you what 'peared to be the hurry ? — Won't you mind I hooked my hoe and hauled you back and smiled? — W'y, bless you, Mister Hop-Toad, I love you like a child! S'pose I'd want to 'flict you any more'n what you air? — S'pose I think you got no rights 'cept the warts you wear? Hulk, sulk, and blink away, you old bloat-eyed rowdy ! — Hain't you got a word to say? — Won't you tell me "Howdy"? Oh, oh, oh! I swish round my old hoe ; But I sees you, And s' I, "Ooh-ooh! Howdy, Mister Hop-Toad ! How-dee-do ! ' ' ID OUR BOYHOOD HAUNTS Ho ! I'm going back to where We were youngsters. — Meet me there, Dear old barefoot chum, and we Will be as we used to be, — Lawless rangers up and down The old creek beyond the town — Little sunburnt gods at play, Just as in that far-away: — Water nymphs, all unafraid, Shall smile at us from the brink Of the old millrace and wade Tow'rd us as we kneeling drink At the spring our boyhood knew, Pure and clear as morning-dew: And, as we are rising there. Doubly dow'rd to hear and see, We shall thus be made aware Of an eerie piping, heard High above the happy bird II pUR BOYHOOD HAUNTS In the hazel : And then we, Just across the creek, shall see (Hah ! the goaty rascal ! ) Pan Hoof it o'er the sloping green, Mad with his own melody, Aye, and (bless the beasty man!) Stamping from the grassy soil Bruised scents oijieur-de-lis^ Boneset, mint and pennyroyal. 12 THE HOME-VOYAGE GENERAL HENRY W. LAWTON- — FELL AT SAN MATEO, DEC. I9, 1 899. IN STATE, IN- DIANAPOLIS, FEB. 6, 1900. Bear with us, O Great Captain, if our pride Show equal measure with our grief's excess In greeting you in this your helplessness To countermand our vanity or hide Your stern displeasure that we thus had tried To praise you, knowing praise was your distress: But this homecoming swells our hearts no less — Because for love of home you proudly died. Lo ! then, the cable, fathoms 'neath the keel That shapes your course, is eloquent of you ; The old flag, too, at half-mast overhead — We doubt not that its gale-kissed ripples feel A prouder sense of red and white and blue, — The stars— Ah, God, were they interpreted! 13 THE HOME-VOYAGE In Strange lands were your latest honors won — In strange wilds, with strange dangers all beset ; With rain, like tears, the face of day was wet, As rang the ambushed foeman's fateful gun: And as you felt your final duty done. We feel that glory thrills your spirit yet, — When at the front, in swiftest death, you met The patriot's doom and best reward in one. And so the tumult of that island war, At last, for you, is stilled forevermore — Its scenes of blood blend white as ocean foam On your rapt vision as you sight afar The sails of peace, and from that alien shore The proud ship bears you on your voyage home. Or rough or smooth the wave, or lowering day Or starlit sky — you hold, by native right, Your high tranquillity — the silent might Of the true hero — so you led the way To victory through stormiest battle-fray, Because your followers, high above the fight, Heard your soul's lightest whisper bid them smite For God and man and space to kneel and pray. THE HOME-VOYAGE And thus you cross the seas unto your own Beloved land, convoyed with honors meet, Saluted as your home's first heritage — Nor salutation from your State alone. But all the States, gathered in mighty fleet, Dip colors as you move to anchorage. 15 UNCLE SIDNEY'S LOGIC Pa wunst he scold' an' says to me, "Don't ^/<7y so much, but try- To study more, and nen you'll be A great man, by an' by." Nen Uncle Sidney says, "You let - Him be a boy an' play. — The greatest man on earth, I bet, 'Ud trade with him today!" i6 CHRISTMAS ALONG THE WIRES AS CREATED There* s a space for good to bloo7Ji ht Every heart of man or woman^ — And however wild or hujnan^ Or however brhn^ned with gall^ Never heart may beat without it; And the darkest heart to doubt it Has something good about it After all. CHRISTMAS ALONG THE WIRES Scene — Hoosier R. R. station^ Washout Glen, Night — Interior of Telegraph Office — Single operator's table in some disorder — lunch-bas- ket^ litter of books and sheet-music — a flute and a guitar — Rather good-looking young man^ evi- dently in charge^ talking to cofnmercial traveler , /^iVCZ70iV-Station-— Pilot Knob— Say "the operator there Is a girl — with auburn hair And blue eyes, and purty, too, As they make 'em !"— That'll do!— They all know her 'long the Line — Railroad men, from President Of the road to section-hand! — And she knows us — the whole mob 19 CHRISTMAS ALONG THE WIRES Of US lightnin^ -sling ers — Shoo! — Brownie^ s got us all down fine ! Though she's business^ understand, Brownie she just beats the band ! Brownie she's held up that job Five or six years anyhow — Since her father^ s death, when all The whole road decided now Was no time for nothin' small, — It was Brownie^ s job ! Since ten Years of age she'd been with him In the office. Now, I guess, She was sixteen, more or less — Just a girl, but strong and trim, And as independent, too. And reliable clean through As the old man when he died Two mile' up the track beside His red-light, one icy night When the line broke down — and yet He got there in time, you bet, To shut off a wreck all right ! 20 CHRISTMAS ALONG THE WIRES Yes, so77ie life here, and romance — Pilot Knob, though, and Roachdale, And this little eight-by-ten Dinky town of Washout Glen Have to pool inhabitants Even for enough young men To fill out a country dance, — All chip in on some joint-date, And whack up and pony down And combine and celebrate, — Say, on Decoration Day — Fourth o' July — Easter, or Circus-Day, or Christmas^ say — All th7'ee towns, and right-o'-way For two extrys, — one from here — One down from the Knob. Well, then Roachdale is herself again ! Like last Christmas, when all three Towns collogued, and far and near Billed things for a Christmas-tree At old Roachdale. Now mark here: — 21 CHRISTMAS ALONG THE WIRES I had leave, last Holidays, And was goin' home, you see, Two weeks — and the Company Sent a man to fill my place — An old chum of mine, in fact, I'd been coaxin' to arrange Just to have his dressin'-case And his latest music packed And come on here for a change. He'd been here to visit me Once before — in summer then, — Come to stay "just two or three Days," he said- — and he staid ten. When he left here then — Well, he Was clean gone on Brownie — wild And plum silly as a child ! Name — MacClintock. Most young men Stood 'way back when Mac was round. Fact is, he was Jine^ you know — Silver-tenor voice that went Up among the stars, and sent The girls back to higher-tone' Dreams than they had ever known ! A good-looker — stylish — slim — 22 CHRISTMAS ALONG THE WIRES And wore clothes that no man downed — Yes, and smoked a good cigar And smelt right ; and used to blow A smooth flute — And a guitar No man heard till he heard him I — Say, some midnight serenade — Oomkf how drippin'-sweet he played I Boys^ though, wasn't stuck on Mac So blame much, — especially Roachdale operator. — He Kind o' had the inside-track On all of us, as to who Got most talk from Brownie, when She had nothin' else to do But to buzz us now and then Up and down the wires, you know ; And we'd jolly back again 'Bout some dance — and "Would she go With us or her Roachdale beau?" (Boys all called him "Roachy" — see?)- Wire her, "Was she 'Happy now?' " And "How's 'Roachy,' anyhow?" Or, "Say, Brownie, who's the jay You was stringin' yesterday?" 23 CHRISTMAS ALONG THE WIRES And I've sat here when this key- Shot me like a battery, Just 'cause Brownie wired to say That "That box o' fruit, or flowers, That 'I'd' sent her came O K, — To beguile the weaiy hours Till we met again!" — Then break Short off — for the Roachdale cuss Callin' her, and onto us. 'Course he^ d sent 'em — no mistake! Lord^ she kej^t that man awake I Yet he kept her fooled : His cheek And pure goody-goody gall Hid from hei' — if not from all — A quite vivid '-'•yellow streak.^^ — Awful' jealous, don't you see? — Felt he had a right to be, Maybe, bein' engaged. — An^ they Were engaged— that's straight. — "G A!"*- Well : MacClintock when he come Down from York to take this job, And stopped off at Pilot Knob ♦Telegraphers' abbreviation for "'Go ahead. 24 CHRISTMAS ALONG THE WIRES For '•Hnstructions^^' there was some Indications of unrest At Roachdale right from the start,— "Roachy" wasn't aw fur smart, Maybe, but he done his best — With such brains as he possessed, — Anyway he made one play That was brilliant — of its kind — And 7naintained it — From the day That MacClintock took my key And I left on No. 3, "Roachy" opened up on Mac And just loved him! — purred and v/hined 'Cross the wires how tickled he Was to hear that Mac was back, And how glad the girls would be And the young-folks everywhere, As he'd reason to believe, — And how, even then^ they were 'Shapin' things at old, Roachdale For a blow-out, Christmas-eve, That would turn all others pale! — First a Christmas-Tree^ at old 25 CHRISTMAS ALONG THE WIRES Armory Hall, and then the floor Cleared, and — " "Come in out the cold!" Breaks MacClintock — "Don't I know?- Dancin', say, from ten till four — Maybe daylight 'fore we go! — With Ben Custer's Band to pour Music out in swirlin' rills And back-tides o' waltz-quadrilles Level with the window-sills! — Roachy, you're a bird I — But, say, — How am I to get away From the office here?" Well, then "Roachy" wires him back again: — "That's O K,— I call a man Up from Dunkirk; got it all Fixed. — So Christmas-eve, you can Collar the seven-thirty train For Roachdale — the same that he Comes on. — Leave your office-key In the door: he'll do the rest." Then "old Roachy" rattled through A long list of who'd be there,— 26 CHRISTMAS ALONG THE WIRES Boys and girls that Mac knew best — One name, though, that had no bare Little mention anywhere! Then he shut off, as he said, For his supper About ten Minutes Mac was called agaiii — With a click that flushed him red As the signal-flag — and then Came like music in the air — "Yes, and Brownie will be there!" Folks tell me, that Christmas-Tree, Dance and whole blame jamboree, Looked like it was goin' to be A blood- curdlin' tragedy. People 'long the roads, you know — Well, they've had experience With all sorts of accidents, And they've learnt so77ie things, — and so When an accident or wreck Happens, they know some ?na7t's '•^ break' Is responsible, and hence — Well — they want to break his neck! 27 CHRISTMAS ALONG THE WIRES So it happened, Christmas-eve, At Roachdale^ — MacClintock there Cocked back in the barber-chair At eight-forty, and no train Down yet from the Knob, and it Due at eight-ten sharp. The strain Was a-showin' quite a bit On the general crowd ; and when Purty soon the rumor spread — Wreck had probably occurred — Someone said somebody said That he'd heard somebody say, '-''Operator at the Glen Was to blame for the delay — Fact is, he had run away From his ofKce — Even then Was in Roachdale — there to be Present at the Christmas-Tree And the 'shindig' afterward, Wreck or no wreck!" . . . Mac sat up. Whiter than the shavin'-cup. . .. . Back of his face in the glass He stared into he could see 28 CHRISTMAS ALONG THE WIRES A big crowd there — and, alas! Not in all that threatening throng One friend's face of sympathy — One friend knowin' right from wrong! He got on his feet — erect — Nervy ; — faced the crowd, and then Said: "/am MacClintock from The Glen-office, and I've come To your Christmas festival By request of one that all Of you honor, gentlemen, — Your most trusted citizen — Your own operator here At the station-office — where He'll acquit 7ne of neglect. And will make it plain and clear Who the sub. is he sent there To my office at the Glen — Or, if not one there, — who then Is indeed the criminal? . . . I am going now to call On him. — Join me, gentlemen. — 29 CHRISTMAS ALONG THE WIRES I insist you come with me." Well, a sense of some respect Caught 'em, — and they followed, all, Silently, though sullenly. Fortunately, half a square Brought 'em to the station and The crowd there that packed the small Waiting-room on every hand. With a kind o' general stand Round the half-door window through Which "old Roachy," in full view. Sat there, smilin' in a sick Sort o' way, yet gloryin', too, In the work he had to do. Mac worked closer, breathin' quick At the muttered talk of some Of the toughest of the crowd ; Till, above the growl and hum Of the ominou-s voices, he Heard the click of "Roachy's" key, — And his heart beat 'most out 'loud As he heard him wirin' : — "Yes, 30 CHRISTMAS ALONG THE WIRES Trouble down at Glen^ I guess. Glen's fool-operator here — What's-his-name ? — M acClintock. — Fear Mob will hang him. — -Mob knows he Left his office. — And no doubt Wreck there on account of it. People worked-up here — and shout Now and then to 'Take him out!' — 'Hang him'! — and so forth." . . . Mac lit Through the half-door window at 'Roachy's' table like a cat: — He was white^ but ^Roachy^s' face Made a brunette out o' Ms\ Mac had pinned him in his chair Helpless — and a message there Clickin' back from Pilot Knob. — "Tell these people, word for word,'* Mac says, "what this message is! — - Tell ^ an. — Hear me P'^ 'Roachy' heard And obeyed: — " 'We sized your job On MacClintock. — Knob here sent A sub. there. — And all O K At Glen office. — Tie-up here — One hour's wait — all fault of mine. 31 CHRISTMAS ALONG THE WIRES ''Hang MacClintock,' did you say? '•Hang MacClintock ?' — Certainly, — Hang him on the Christmas-Tree, With a label on for tne^ — I'll be there on Number Nine.' " 32 LET SOMETHING GOOD BE SAID When over the fair fame of friend or foe The shadow of disgrace shall fall ; instead Of words of blame, or proof of thus and so, Let something good be said. Forget not that no fellow-being yet May fall so low but love may lift his head : Even the cheek of shame with tears is wet. If something good be said. No generous heart may vainly turn aside In ways of sympathy ; no soul so dead But may awaken strong and glorified, If something good be said. And so I charge ye, by the thorny crown, And by the cross on which the Savior bled, And by your own souls' hope of fair renown, Let something good be said ! 3 33 MY DANCIN'-DAYS IS OVER What is it in old fiddle-chunes 'at makes me ketch my breath And ripples up my backbone tel I'm tickled most to death ? — Kindo' like that sweet-sick feelin', in the long sweep of a swing, The first you ever swung in, with yer first sweet- heart, i jing! — Yer first picnic-— yer first ice-cream — ^yer first o' everything 'At happened 'fore yer dancin'-days wuz over ! I never understood it — and I s'pose I never can, — But right in town here, yisterd'y, I heerd a pore blind-man A-fiddlin' old "Gray Eagle"— ^;^^-sir! I jes stopped my load O'hay and listened at him — yes, and watched the w^ay he "bow'd," — 34 MY DANCIN -DAYS IS OVER And back I went, plum forty year', with boys and girls I knowed And loved, long 'fore my dancin'-days wuz over! — At high noon in yer city, — with yer blame Mag- netic-Cars A-hummin' and a-screetchin' past — and bands and G. A. R.'s A-marchin' — and fire-ingines. — All the noise, the whole street through, Wuz lost on me! — I only heerd a whipperwill er two, It 'peared-like, kindo' callin' 'crostthe darkness and the dew. Them nights afore my dancin'-days wuz over. T'uz Chused'y-night at Wetherell's, er We'nsd'y- night at Strawn's, Er Fourth-o'-July-night at uther Tomps's house er John's! — 35 MY DANCIN -DAYS IS OVER With old Lew Church from Sugar Crick, with that old fiddle he Had sawed clean through the Army, from At- lanty to the sea — And yit he'd fetched her home ag'in, so's he could play fer me Onc't more afore my dancin'-days wuz over! The woods 'at's all ben cut away wuz growin' same as then ; The youngsters all wuz boys ag'in 'at's now all oldish men ; And all the girls 'at then wuz girls — I saw 'em, one and all, As ^lain as then — the middle-sized, the short- and-fat, and tall — And, 'peared-like, I danced "Tucker" fer 'em up and down the wall Jes like afore my dancin'-days wuz over! 36 MY DANCIN -DAYS IS OVER Yer J)0-leece they can holler "Say! you, Uncle! drive ahead ! — You can't use all the right-o'-way ! " — fer that wuz what they said! — But, jes the same, — in spite of all 'at you call "interprise And prog-gress of yoz^-iolks Today," we're all of fom bly-ties — We're all got feelin's fittin' fer the tears 'at's in our eyes Er the smiles afore our dancin'-days is over. 37 HENRY W. GRADY ATLANTA, DEC. 23, I True-hearted friend of all true friendliness ! — Brother of all true brotherhoods! — Thy hand And its late pressure now we understand Most fully, as it falls thus gestureless And Silence lulls thee into sweet excess Of sleep. Sleep thou content! — Thy loved Southland Is swept with tears, as rain in sunshine ; and Through all the frozen North our eyes confess Like sorrow — seeing still the princely sign Set on thy lifted brow, and the rapt light Of the dark, tender, melancholy eyes — Thrilled with the music of those lips of thine, And yet the fire thereof that lights the night With the white splendor of thy prophecies. 38 *'0 LIFE! O BEYOND!" Strange — strange, O mortal Life, The perverse gifts that came to me from you ! From childhood I have v^anted all good things : You gave me few. You gave me faith in One Divine — above your own imperious might, mortal Life, while I but wanted you And your delight. 1 wanted dancing feet, And flowery, grassy paths by laughing streams ; You gave me loitering steps, and eyes all blurred With tears and dreams. I wanted love, — and, lo ! As though in mockery, you gave me loss. O'erburdened sore, I wanted rest: you gave The heavier cross. 39 '*o life! o beyond!'* I wanted one poor hut For mine own home, to creep away into: You gave me only lonelier desert lands To journey through. Now, at the last vast verge Of barren age, I stumble, reel, and fling Me down, with strength all spent and heart athirst And famishing. Yea, now, Life, deal me death, — Your worst — your vaunted worst ! . . . Across my breast With numb and fumbling hands I gird me for The best. 40 ''HOME AG'IN" HIS LOVE OF HOME '•As love of native land^^^ the old Tnan said, '■Er stars and stripes a-wavin' overhead, Er nearest kith-and-kin, er daily bread, A Hoosier's love is fer the old homestead,^ HOME AG'IN' I'm a-feelin' ruther sad, Fer a father proud and glad As / am — my only child Home, and all so rickonciled! Feel so strange-like, and don't know What the mischief ails me so ! 'Stid o' bad, I ort to be Feelin' good pertickerly — Yes, and extry thankful, too, 'Cause my nearest kith and kin , My Elviry's schoolin' 's through, And F got her home ag'in — Home ag'in with me ! Same as ef her mother'd been Livin', I have done my best By the girl, and watchfulest; 43 "home AG in Nussed her — keerful' as I could — From a baby, day and night, — Drawin' on the neighberhood And the women-folks as light As needsessity 'u'd 'low — 'Cept in "teethin'," onc't, and fight Through black-measles. Don't know now How we ever saved the child ! Doc he'd give her up, and said, As I stood there by the bed Sort o' foolin' with her hair On the hot, wet pillar there, "Wuz no use!" — And at them-air Very words she waked and smiled — Yes, and knozued me. And that's where I broke down, and simply jes Bellered like a boy — I guess! — Women claimed I did, but I Alius belt I didn't cry But wuz laughin', — and I wuz^ — Men don't cry like women does ! Well, right then and there I felt 'T 'uz her mother's doin's, and, Jes like to myse'f, I knelt 44 "home ag'in Whisperin,' "I understand." . . . So I've raised her, you might say, Stric'ly in the narrer way 'At her mother walked therein — Not so quite religiously, Yit still strivin'-like to do Ever'thing a father could Do he knowed the tnother would Ef she'd lived — And now all's through And I' got .her home ag'in — Home ag' in with me ! And I' been so lonesome, too. Here o' late, especially, — "Old Aunt Abigail," you know, Ain't no company ; — and so Jes the hired hand, you see — Jonas — like a relative More — sence he come here to live With us, nigh ten year' ago. Still he don't count much, you know, 45 "HOME AG'IN" In the way o' company — Lonesome, 'peared-like, 'most as me! So, as /say, I' been so Special lonesome-like and blue, With Elviry, like she's been, 'Way so much, last two or three Year' — But now she's home ag'in — Home ag'in with me ! Driv in fer her yisterday, Me and Jonas — gay and spry, — We jes cut up, all the way! — Yes, and sung! — tell, blame it! I Keyed my voice up 'bout as high As when — days 'at I wuz young — 'Buckwheat-notes" wuz all they sung. Jonas bantered me, and 'greed To sing one 'at town- folks sing Down at Split Stump 'er High-Low — Some new "ballet," said, 'at he'd Learnt — about "The Grapevine Swing." And when he quit, /begun 46 ''HOME AG IN ' To chune up my voice and run Through the what's-called "scales" and "do- Sol-me-fa's" I ust to know — Then let loose old iavortte one, "Hunters o' Kentucky V My I Tel I thought the boy would diet And we both laughed — Yes, and still Heerd more laughin' , top the hill ; Fer we'd missed Elviry's train, And she'd lit out 'crosst the fields, — Dewdrops dancin' at her heels, And cut up old Smoots's lane So's to meet us. And there in Shadder o' the chinkypin. With a danglin' dogwood-bough Bloomin' 'bove her — See her now! — Sunshine sort o' flickerin' down And a kind o' laughin' all Round her new red parasol, Tryin' to git at her! — well — like /jumped out and showed 'em how — Yes, and jes the place to strike That-air mouth o' hern — as sweet 47 "home ag'in" As the blossoms breshed her brow Er sweet-williams round her feet — White and blushy, too, as she "Howdied" up to Jonas, and Jieuked her head, and waved her hand. *'Hey!" says I, as she bounced in The spring-wagon, reachin' back To give me a lift, "whoop-ee!" I-says-ee, "you're home ag'in — Home ag'in with me!" Lord! how wild she wuz, and glad, Gittin' home! — and things she had To inquire about, and talk — Plowin', plantin', and the stock — News o' neighberhood ; and how Wuz the Deem-girls doin' now, Sence that-air young chicken-hawk They was "tamin' " soared away With their settin'-hen, one day? — (Said she'd got Mame's postal-card 'Bout it, very day 'at she 48 "HOME AG IN Started home from Bethany.) How wuz produce — eggs, and lard?— Er wuz stores still claimin' "hard Times," as usual? And, says she. Troubled-like, "How's Deedie — say? Sence pore child e-loped away And got back, and goin' to 'ply Fer school-license by and by-- And where' s 'Lijy workin' at? And how's 'Aunt' and 'Uncle Jake' ? How wuz 'Old Maje' — and the cat? And wuz Marthy's baby fat As his 'Humpty-Dumpty' ma? — Sweetest thing she ever saw! — Must run 'crosst and see her, too. Soon as she turned in and got Supper fer us — smokin'-hot — And the 'dishes' all wuz through. — " Sich a supper! Wy, I set There and et, and et, and et! — Jes et on, tel Jonas he Pushed his chair back, laughed, and says, "I could walk his log!" and we All laughed then, tel 'Viry she 4 49 "HOME AG IN Lit the lamp — and I give in! — Riz and kissed her: "Heaven bless You!" says I — "you're home ag'in— Same old dimple in your chin, Same vs^hite apern," I-says-ee, 'Same sweet girl, and good to see As your mother ust to be, — And I' got you home ag'in — Home ag'in with me!" I turns then to go on by her Through the door — and see her eyes Both wuz swimmin', and she tries To say somepin' — can't — and so Grabs and hugs and lets me go. Noticed Aunty'd made a fire In the settin'-room and gone Back where her p' serves wuz on B'ilin' in the kitchen. I Went out on the porch and set, Thinkin'-like. And by and by Heerd Elviry, soft and low, 50 "HOME AG IN At the organ, kind o' go A mi-anderin' up and down With her fingers 'mongst the keys — •'Vacant Chair" and "Old Camp-Groun' Dusk was moist-like, with a breeze Lazin' round the locus'-trees — Heerd the hosses champin', and Jonas feedin', and the hogs — Yes, and katydids and frogs — And a tree-toad, som'er's. Heerd Also whipperwills. — My land I — All so mournful ever'where — Them out here, and her in there, — 'Most like 'tendin' services! Anyxuay, I must 'a' jes Kind o' drapped asleep, I guess; 'Cause when Jonas must 'a' passed Me, a-comin' in, I knowed Nothin' of it — yit it seemed Sort o' like I kind o' dreamed 'Bout him, too, a-slippin' in, And a-watchin' back to see Ef I wuz asleep, and then Passin' in where 'Viry wuz ; 51 **HOME Ag'in'' And where I declare it does 'Pear to me I heerd him say, Wild and glad and whisperin' — 'Peared-like heerd him say, says-ee, *'Ah! I'got you home ag'in — Home ag'in with me!" EMERSON CONCORD, APRIL 2^, iSSz What shall we say? In quietude, Within his home, in dreams unguessed. He lies ; the grief a nation would Evince must be repressed. Nor meet Is it the loud acclaim His countrymen would raise — that he Has left the riches of his fame The whole world's legacy. Then, prayerful, let us pause until We find, as grateful spirits can, The way most worthy to fulfill The tribute due the man. Think what were best in his regard Who voyaged life in such a cause: Our simplest faith were best reward — Our silence, best applause. 53 WHITTIER— AT NEWBURYPORT SEPTEMBER 7, 1 892 Hail to thee, with all good cheer! Though men say thou liest here Dead, And mourn, all uncomforted. By thy faith refining mine. Life still lights those eyes of thine, Clear As the Autumn atmosphere. Ever still thy smile appears As the rainbow of thy tears Bent O'er thy love's vast firmament. Thou endurest — shalt endure, Purely, as thy song is pure. Hear Thus my hail : Good cheer ! good cheer ! 54 THE ONWARD TRAIL MYRON W. REED, DENVER, JAN. 3O, 1 899 Just as of old, — with fearless foot And placid face and resolute, He takes the faint, mysterious trail That leads beyond our earthly hail. We would cry, as in last farewell, But that his hand waves, and a spell Is laid upon our tongues : and thus He takes unworded leave of us. And it is fitting: — As he fared Here with us, so is he prepared For any fortuning the night May hold for him beyond our sight. The moon and stars they still attend His wandering footsteps to the end, — He did not question, nor will we, Their guidance and security. 55 THE ONWARD TRAIL So, never parting word nor cry:— We feel, with him, that by and by Our onward trails will meet and then Merge and be ever one again. 56 LINCOLN A PEACEFUL LIFE ; — ^just toil and rest — All his desire ; — To read the books he liked the best Beside the cabin fire — God's word and man's ; — to peer sometimes Above the page, in smouldering gleams, And catch, like far heroic rhymes, The onm arch of his dreams. A peaceful life ; — to hear the low Of pastured herds, Or woodman's ax that, blow on blow. Fell sweet as rhythmic words. And yet there stirred within his breast A fateful pulse that, like a roll Of drums, made high above his rest A tumult in his soul. 57 LINCOLN A peaceful life ! . . . , They haled him even As One was haled Whose open palms were nailed toward Heaven When prayers nor aught availed. And, lo, he paid the selfsame price To lull a nation's awful strife And will us, through the sacrifice Of self, his peaceful life. 58 YOUR HEIGHT IS OURS TO RICHARD HENRY STODDARD, AT THE STODDARD BANQUET BY THE AUTHORS' CLUB, NEW YORK, MARCH 25, 1 897 O PRINCELY poet! — kingly heir Of gifts divinely sent, — Your own ! — nor envy anywhere, Nor voice of discontent. Though, of ourselves, all poor are we, And frail and weak of wing, Your height is ours — your ecstasy — Your glory, when you sing. Most favored of the gods, and great In gifts beyond our store, We covet not your rich estate, But prize our own the more. — 59 YOUU HEIGHT IS OURS The gods give as but gods may do — We count otir riches thus, — They gave their richest gifts to you, And then gave you to us. 60 HYMN EXULTANT FOR EASTER Voice of Mankind, sing over land and sea — Sing, in this glorious morn! The long, long night is gone from Calvary — The cross, the thong and thorn; The sealed tomb yields up its saintly guest, No longer to be burdened and oppressed. Heart of Mankind, thrill answer to His own, So human, yet divine! For earthly love He left His heavenly throne — For love like thine and mine — For love of us, as one might kiss a bride, His lifted lips touched death's, all satisfied. Soul of Mankind, He wakes — He lives once more ! O soul, with heart and voice Sing ! sing ! — the stone rolls chorus from the door — Our Lord stands forth. — Rejoice! Rejoice O garden-land of song and flowers; Our King returns to us, forever ours ! 6i A SONG OF THE ROAD O I WILL walk with you, my lad, whichever way you fare, You'll have me, too, the side o' you, with heart as light as air; No care for where the road you take's a-leadin' — — anywhere, — It can but be a joyful jant the whilst j^t^^^ journey there. The road you take's the path o' love, an' that's the bridth o' two — And I will walk with you, my lad — O I will walk with you. Ho! I will walk with you, my lad, Be weather black or blue Or roadsides frost or dew, my lad — O I will walk with you. 63 A SONG OF THE ROAD Aye, glad, my lad, I'll walk with you, whatever winds may blow, Or summer blossoms stay our steps, or blinding drifts of snow ; The way that you set face and foot's the way that I will go. And brave I'll be, abreast o' you, the Saints and Angels know! With loyal hand in loyal hand, and one heart made o' two. Through summer's gold, or winter's cold, it's I will walk with you. Sure, I will walk with you, my lad, As love ordains me to, — To Heaven's door, and through, my lad, O I will walk with you. ex RED RIDING HOOD Sweet little myth of the nursery story — Earliest love of mine infantile breast, Be something tangible, bloom in thy glory Into existence, as thou art addressed! Hasten! appear to me, guileless and good — Thou art so dear to me. Red Riding Hood! Azure-blue eyes, in a marvel of wonder. Over the dawn of a blush breaking out ; Sensitive nose, with a little smile under Trying to hide in a blossoming pout — Couldn't be serious, try as you would, Little mysterious Red Riding Hood ! Hah! little girl, it is desolate, lonely. Out in this gloomy old forest of Life! — Here are not pansies and buttercups only — Brambles and briers as keen as a knife ; And a Heart, ravenous, prowls in the wood For the meal have he must,-— Red Riding Hood ! THE MOTHER SAINTED And yet she does not stir, — Such silence weighs on her We hear the drip Of teardrops as we press Our kisses answerless On brow and lip. . Not even the yearning touch Of lips she loved so much She made their breath One with her own, will she Give answer to and be Wooed back from death. And though he kneel and plead . Who was her greatest need, And on her cheek Lay the soft baby-face In its old resting-place, She will not speak. 65 THE CHRIST * 'Father!" (so The Word) he cried,- "Son of Thine, and yet denied; By my brothers dragged and tried, Scoffed and scourged, and crucified, With a thief on either side — Brothers mine, alike belied, — Arms of mercy open wide. Father! Father!" So he died. 66 TO "UNCLE REMUS" We love your dear old face and voice — We're all Miss Sally's Little Boys, Climbin' your knee. In ecstasy, Rejoicin' in your Creeturs' joys And trickery. The Lord who made the day and night, He made the Black man and the White ; So, in like view. We hold it true That He haint got no favor//^ — Onless it's you. 67 TO ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON— on his first visit to america Robert Louis Stevenson! Blue the lift and braw the dawn O' ye'r comin' here amang Strangers wha hae luved ye lang! Strangers tae ye we maun be, Yet tae us ye're kenned a wee By the writin's ye hae done, ' Robert Louis Stevenson. Syne ye've pit ye'r pen tae sic' Tales it stabbt us tae the quick — Whiles o' tropic isles an' seas An' o' gowden treesuries — Tales o' deid men's banes ; an' tales Swete as sangs o' nightingales When the nune o' mirk's begun — Robert Louis Stevenson. 66 TO ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON Sae we hail thee ! nane the less For the "burr" that ye caress Wi' ye'r denty tongue o' Scots, Makin' words forget-me-nots O' ye'r bonnie braes that were Sung o' Burns the Poemer — And that later lavrock, one Robert Louis Stevenson. 69 ON A YOUTHFUL PORTRAIT OF STEVENSON A FACE of youth mature ; a mouth of tender, Sad, human sympathy, yet something stoic In clasp of lip ; wide eyes of calmest splendor, And brow serenely ample and heroic: — The features — all — lit with a soul ideal .... O visionary boy ! what were you seeing. What hearing, as you stood thus midst the real Ere yet one master-work of yours had being? Is it a foolish fancy that we humor — Investing daringly with life and spirit This youthful portrait of you ere one rumor Of your great future spoke that men might hear it?— Is it a fancy, or your first of glories. That you were listening, and the camera drew you Hearing the voices of your untold stories And all your lovely poems calling to you ? 70 THE TRAVELING MAN Could I pour out the nectar the gods only can, I would fill up my glass to the brhn And drink the success of the Traveling Man, And the house represented by him ; And could I but tincture the glorious draught With his smiles, as I drank to him then, And the jokes he has told and the laughs he has laughed, I would fill up the goblet again — And drink to the sweetheart who gave him good- bye With a tenderness thrilling him this Very hour, as he thinks of the tear in her eye That salted the sweet of her kiss ; To her truest of hearts and her fairest of hands I would drink, with all serious prayers. Since the heart she must trust is a Traveling Man's, And as warm as the ulster he wears. 71 THE TRAVELING MAN II I would drink to the wife, with the babe on her knee, Who awaits his returning in vain — Who breaks his brave letters so tremulously And reads them again and again ! And I'd drink to the feeble old mother who sits At the warm fireside of her son And murmurs and weeps o'er the stocking she knits, As she thinks of the wandering one. I would drink a long life and a health to the friends Who have met him with smiles and with cheer — To the generous hand that the landlord extends To the wayfarer journeying here: And I pledge, when he turns from this earthly abode And pays the last fare that he can, Mine Host of the Inn at the End of the Road Will welcome the Traveling Man ! 72 FROM DELPHI TO CAMDEN I From Delphi to Camden— little Hoosier towns, — - But here were classic meadows, blooming dales and downs ; And here were grassy pastures, dewy as the leas Trampled over by the trains of royal pageantries ! And here the winding highway loitered through the shade Of the hazel-covert, where, in ambuscade. Loomed the larch and linden, and the greenwood- tree Under which bold Robin Hood loud hallooed to me! Here the stir and riot of the busy day Dwindled to the quiet of the breath of May ; 73 FROM DELPHI TO CAMDEN Gurgling brooks, and ridges lily-marged and spanned By the rustic bridges found in Wonderland ! II From Delphi to Camden, — from Camden back again! — And now the night was on us, and the lightning and the rain ; And still the way was wondrous with the flash of hill and plain, — The stars like printed asterisks — the moon a murky stain ! And I thought of tragic idyl, and of flight and hot pursuit ! And the jingle of the bridle, and cuirass, and spur on boot. As our horses' hooves struck showers from the flinty bowlders set In freshet-ways of writhing reed and drowning violet. 74 FROM DELPHI TO CAMDEN And we passed beleaguered castles, with their battlements a-frown; Where a tree fell in the forest was a turret toppled down ; While my master and commander — the brave knight I galloped with On this reckless road to ruin or to fame was— Dr. Smith! 75 tMe ballade Of the coming rain When the morning swoons in its highest heat, And the sunshine dims, and no dark shade Streaks the dust of the dazzling street, And the long straw splits in the lemonade; When the circus lags in a sad parade. And the drum throbs dull as a pulse of pain, And the breezeless flags hang limp and frayed — O then is the time to look for rain. When the man on the watering cart bumps by. Trilling the air of an old fife-tune, With a dull, soiled smile, and one shut eye, Lost in a dream of the afternoon ; When the awning sags like a lank balloon. And a thick sweat stands on the window-pane, And a five-cent fan is a priceless boon — O then is the time to look for rain. 76 THE BALLADE OF THE COMING RAIN When the goldfish tank is a grimy gray, And the dummy stands at the clothing store With a cap pulled on in a rakish way, And a rubber-coat with the hind before ; When the man in the barber chair flops o'er And the chin he wags has a telltale stain. And the bootblack lurks at the open door — O then is the time to look for rain. 77 TO THE JUDGE A VOICE FROM THE INTERIOR OF OLD HOOP-POLE TOWNSHIP Friend of my earliest youth, Can't you arrange to come down And visit a fellow out here in the woods — Out of the dust of the town? Can't you forget you're a Judge And put by your dolorous frown And tan your wan face in the smile of a friend — Can't you arrange to come down? Can't you forget for a while The arguments prosy and drear, — To lean at full-length in indefinite rest In the lap of the greenery here ? 78 TO THE JUDGE Z^an't you kick over "the Bench,'* And "husk" yourself out of your gown Fo dangle your legs where the fishing is good — Can't you arrange to come down? Bah ! for your office of State ! And bah ! for its technical lore ! What does our President, high in his chair, But wish himself low as before ! Pick between peasant and king, — Poke your bald head through a crown Dr shadow it here with the laurels of Spring ! — Can't you arrange to come down? •'Judge it" out here^ if you will, — The birds are in session by dawn ; Yow can draw, not complaints^ but a sketch of the hill And a breath that your betters have drawn ; Y'ou can open your heart, like a case, To a jury of kine, white and brown, And their verdict of "Moo" will just satisfy you! — Can't you arrange to come down ? 79 TO THE JUDGE Can't you arrange it, old Pard? — Pigeonhole Blackstone and Kent! — Here we have "Breitmann," and Ward, Twain, Burdette, Nye, and content! Can't you forget you're a Judge And put by your dolorous frown And tan your wan face in the smile of a friend- Can't you arrange to come down? 80 A FEEL IN THE CHRIS'MAS-AIR They's a kind o' feel in the air, to me, When the Chris'mas-times sets in. That's about as much of a mystery As ever I've run ag'in ! — Fer instunce, now, v^hilse I gain in weight And gineral health, I svs^ear They's a goneness somers I can't quite state — A kind o' feel in the air. They's a feel in the Chris'mas-air goes right To the spot where a man lives at! — It gives a feller a' appetite — They ain't no doubt about that! — And yit they's so77tefin' — I don't know what — That follers me, here and there. And ha'nts and worries and spares me not — A kind o' feel in the air! A FEEL IN THE CHRIS'mAS-AIR They's 2ifeel, as I say, in the air that's jest As blame-don sad as sweet! — In the same ra-sho as I feel the best And am spryest on my feet, They's alius a kind o' sort of a' ache That I can't lo-cate no-where ; — But it comes with Chris^mas^ and no mistake !- A kind o' feel in the air. Is it the racket the childern raise ? — W'y, not — God bless 'em! — no I — Is it the eyes and the cheeks ablaze — Like my own wuz, long ago? — Is it the bleat o' the whistle and beat . O' the little toy-drum and blare O' the horn? — No! no I — it is jest the sweet — The sad-sweet feel in the air. ^3 ON A FLY-LEAF IN JOHN BOYLE O'rEILLY's POEMS Singers there are of courtly themes — Drapers in verse — who would dress their rhymes In robes of ermine ; and singers of dreams Of gods high-throned in the classic times ; Singers of nymphs, in their dim retreats, Satyrs, with scepter and diadem ; But the singer who sings as a man's heart beats Well may blush for the rest of them. I like the thrill of such poems as these, — All spirit and fervor of splendid fact — Pulse, and muscle, and arteries Of living, heroic thought and act! — Where every line is a vein of red And rapturous blood all unconfined As it leaps from a heart that has joyed and bled With the rights and the wrongs of all mankind. 83 THE SERMON OF THE ROSE Willful we are, in our infirmity Of childish questioning and discontent. Whate'er befalls us is divinely meant — Thou Truth the clearer for thy mystery ! Make us to meet what is or is to be With fervid welcome, knowing it is sent To serve us in some way full excellent, Though we discern it all belatedly. The rose buds, and the rose blooms, and the rose Bows in the dews, and in its fulness, lo, Is in the lover's hand, — then on the breast Of her he loves, — and there dies. — And who knows What fate of all a rose may undergo Is fairest, dearest, sweetest, loveliest? Nay, we are children : we will not mature. A blessed gift must seem a theft ; and tears Must storm our eyes when but a joy appears In drear disguise of sorrow ; and how poor We seem when we are richest, — most secure 84 THE SERMON OF THE ROSE Against all poverty the lifelong years We yet must waste in childish doubts and fears That, in despite of reason, still endure ! Alas ! the sermon of the rose we will Not wisely ponder ; nor the sobs of grief Lulled into sighs of rapture, nor the cry Of fierce defiance that again is still. Be patient — patient with our frail belief, And stay it yet a little ere we die. O opulent life of ours, though dispossessed Of treasure after treasure ! Youth most fair Went first, but left its priceless coil of hair — Moaned over, sleepless nights, kissed and caressed Through drip and blur of tears the tenderest. And next went Love — the ripe rose glowing there. Her very sister! . . . //is here, but where Is she^ of all the world the first and best? And yet how sweet the sweet earth after rain — How sweet the sunlight on the garden-wall Across the roses — and how sweetly flows The limpid yodel of the brook again ! And yet — and yet how sweeter, after all. The smoldering sweetness of a dead red rose. 85 OSCAR C. McCULLOCH INDIANAPOLIS, DEC. 12, 1 89 1 What would best please our friend, in token of The sense of our great loss? — Our sighs and tears ? Nay, these he fought against through all his years, Heroically voicing, high above Grief's ceaseless minor, moaning like a dove. The paean triumphant that the soldier hears. Scaling the walls of death, midst shouts and cheers. The old flag laughing in his eyes' last love. Nay, then, to pleasure him were it not meet To yield him bravely, as his fate arrives ? — Drape him in radiant roses, head and feet. And be partakers, while his work survives, Of his fair fame, — paying the tribute sweet To all humanity — our nobler lives. 86 THE LOVING CUP Tranced in the glamor of a dream Where banquet-lights and fancies gleam And ripest wit and wine abound, And pledges hale go round and round, — Lo, dazzled with enchanted rays — As in the golden olden days Sir Galahad — my eyes swim up To greet your splendor, Loving Cup ! What is the secret of your art. Linking together hand and heart Your m3^riad votaries who do Themselves most honor honoring you ? What gracious service have you done To win the name that you have won ? — Kissing it baclrirom tuneful lips That sing your praise between the sips ! Your spicy breath, O Loving Cup, That, like an incense steaming up, 87 THE LOVING CUP Full-freighted with a fragrance fine As ever swooned on sense of mine, Is rare enough. — But then, ah me! How rarer every memory That, rising with it, wreathes and blends In forms and faces of my friends! Loving Cup ! in fancy still, 1 clasp their hands, and feel the thrill Of fellowship that still endures While lips are theirs and wine is yours ! And while my memory journeys down The years that lead to Boston Town, Abide where first were rendered up Our mutual loves, O Loving Cup! SS SAY SOMETHING TO ME Say something to me ! I've waited so long — Waited and wondered in vain ; Only a sentence would fall like a song Over this listening pain — Over a silence that glowers and frowns, — Even my pencil to-night Slips in the dews of my sorrow and wounds Each tender word that I write. Say something to me — if only to tell Me you remember the past ; Let the sweet words, like the notes of a bell, Ring out my vigil at last. O it were better, far better than this Doubt and distrust in the breast, — For in the wine of a fanciful kiss I could taste Heaven, and — rest. 89 SAY SOMETHING TO ME Say something to me! I kneel and I plead, In my wild need, for a word; If my poor heart from this silence were freed, I could soar up like a bird In the glad morning, and twitter and sing, Carol and warble and cry Blithe as the lark as he cruises awing Over the deeps of the sky. 90 A WHOLLY UNSCHOLASTIC OPINION Plain hoss-sense in poetry-wrltin' Would jes knock sentiment a-kitin' ! Mostly poets is all star-gazin' And moanin' and groanin' and paraphrasin' ! 91 A SHORT'NIN' BREAD SONG— PIECED OUT Behine de hen-house, on my knees, Thought I hearn a chickin sneeze — Sneezed so hard wi' de whoopin'-cough I thought he'd sneeze his blame head off. Chorus Fotch dat dough f'um de kitchen-shed — Rake dem coals out hot an' red — Putt on de oven an' putt on de led, — Mammy's gwineter cook some short' nin'- bread. O I' got a house in Baltimo' — Street-kyars run right by my do' — Street-kyars run right by my gate, Hit's git up soon and set up late. Chorus 92 A SHORt'nIN' bread song PIECED OUT De raincrow hide in some ole tree An' holler out, all hoarse, at me Sayes, "When I sing, de rain hit po' So's you ain't 'bleedged to plow no mo' !" Chorus Ole man Toad, on High-low Hill, He steal my dram an' drink his fill,— Heels in the path, an' toes in the grass-— I-Iit ain't de fus' time an' shain't be de las' ! Chorus When corn-plantin' done come roun', Blackbird own de whole plowed-groun', Corn in de grain, as I've hearn said, Dat's de blackbird's short'nin' bread. Chorus De sweetes' chune what evah I heard Is de sairanade o' de mockin'-bird; Whilse de mou'nfullest an' de least I love Is de Sund'y-song o' de ole woods-dove. Chorus 93 A SHORT NIN BREAD SONG PIECED OUT I nevah ain't know, outside o' school, A smartah mare dan my ole mule, — I holler ''Wo," an' she go "gee," Des lak' de good Lord chast'nin' me. Chorus Hit's no houn'-pup I taken to raise Hain't nevah jes'ly airn' my praise: De mo' cawn-pone I feed dat pup, De mo' he des won't fatten up. Chorus I hangs a hoss-shoe ovah my head, An' I keeps a' ole sieve under de bed. So, quinchiquently, I sleep soun', Wid no ole witches pester'n' roun'. Chorus I jine de chu'ch las' Chuesday night, But when Sis Jane ain't treat me right I 'low her chu'ch ain' none o' mine, So I 'nounce to all J done on-jine. Chorus 94 CASSANDER "Cassander! O, Cassander! " — her mother's voice seems cle'r As ever, from the old back-porch, a-hollerin' fer her — Especially in airly Spring — like May, two year' ago— Last time she hollered fer her, — and Cassander didn't hear! Cassander wuz so chirpy-like and sociable and free, And good to ever'body, and wuz even good to me Though / wuz jes a common — well, a farm- hand, don't you know, A-workin' on her father's place, as pore as pore could be ! Her bein* jes a' only child, Cassander had her way A good-'eal more'n other girls; and neighbers ust to say 95 CASSANDER She looked most like her Mother, but wuz turned most like her Pap, — Except he had no use fer town-ioSk.^ then — nox yit to-day I I can't claim she incouraged me: She'd let me drive her in To town sometimes, on Saturd'ys, and fetch her home ag'in, Tel onc't she 'sensed "Old Moll" and me, — and some blame city-chap. He driv her home, two-forty style, in face o' kith and kin. She even tried to make him stay fer supper, but I 'low He must 'a'-kindo' 'spicioned some objections. — Anyhow, Her mother callin' at her, whilse her father stood and shook His fist, — the town-chap turnt his team and made his partin' bow. 96 CASSANDER *'Cassander! Tou^ Cassander!" — hear her mother jes as plain, ^And see Cassander blushin' like the peach-tree down the lane, Whilse I sneaked on apast her, with a sort o' hangdog look, A-feelin' cheap as sorghum and as green as sugar- cane! (You see, I'd skooted when she met her town' beau — when, in fact, Ef I'd had sense I'd stayed fer her. — But sense wuz what I lacked ! So I'd cut home ahead o' her, so's I could tell 'em what Wuz keepin' her. And — -you know how a jealous fool '11 act I) I past her, I wuz sayin/ — but she never turnt her head ; I swallered-like and cle'red my th'oat — but that wuz all I said ; 97 CASSANDER And whilse I hoped fer some word back, it wuzn't what I got. — That girl '11 not stay stiller on the day she's layin' dead! Well, that-air silence lasted! — Ust to listen ever'- day I'd be at work and hear her mother callin' thata- way; I'd sight Cassander, mayby, cuttin' home acrost the blue And drizzly fields ; but nary answer — nary word to say! Putt in about two weeks o' that — two weeks o' rain and mud, Er mostly so: I couldn't plow. The old crick like a flood: And, lonesome as a borried dog, I'd wade them old woods through — The dogwood blossoms white as snow, and red- buds red as blood. 98 CASSANDER Last time her mother called her — sich a morning like as now: The robins and the bluebirds, and the blossoms on the bough — And this wuz yit 'fore brekfust, with the sun out at his best, And bosses kickin' in the barn — and dry enough to plow. "Cassander! (9, Cassander!" . . . And her only answer — What ? — A letter, twisted round the cookstove-damper, smokin'-hot, A-statin': "I wuz married on that day of all the rest. The day my husband fetched me home — ef you ain't all fergot!" "Cassander! O, Cassander!" seems, alius, 'long in May, I hear her mother callin' her — a-callin% night and day — 1 99 CASSANDER ^'Cassander! O, Cassander!" alius callin', as I say, ■Cassander! O, Cassander!" jes a-callin' that- away. lOO EUGENE FIELD With gentlest tears, no less than jubilee Of blithest joy, we heard him, and still hear Him singing on, with full voice, pure and clear, Uplifted, as some classic melody In sweetest legends of old minstrelsy ; Or, swarming Elfin-like upon the ear, His airy notes make all the atmosphere One blur of bird and bee and lullaby. His tribute : — Luster in the faded bloom Of cheeks of old, old mothers ; and the fall Of gracious dews in eyes long dry and dim ; And hope in lovers' pathways midst perfume Of woodland haunts; and — meed exceeding all,— The love of little children laurels him. lOI A BALLAD— WITH A SERIOUS CONCLUSION Crowd about me, little children — Come and cluster 'round my knee While I tell a Jittle story That happened once with me. My father he had gone away A-sailing on the foam, Leaving me — the merest infant — And my mother dear at home ; For my father was a sailor, And he sailed the ocean o'er For full five years ere yet again He reached his native shore. And I had grown up rugged And healthy day" by day, Though I was but a puny babe When father went away. I02 A BALLAD Poor mother she would kiss me And look at me and sigh So strangely, oft I wondered And would ask the reason why. And she would answer sadly, Between her sobs and tears, — "You look so like your father, Far away so many years!'* And then she would caress me And brush my hair away. And tell me not to question, But to run about my play. Thus I went playing thoughtfully — For that my mother said, — ' ' Tou look so like your father I ' ' Kept ringing in my head, — So, ranging once the golden sands That looked out on the sea, I called aloud, "My father dear, Come back to ma and me!'* 103 A BALLAD Then I saw a glancing shadow On the sand, and heard the shriek Of a seagull flying seaward, And I heard a gruff voice speak: 'Aye, aye, my little shipmate, I thought I heard you hail; Were you trumpeting that seagull, Or do you see a sail?" And as rough and gruff a sailor As ever sailed the sea Was standing near grotesquely And leering dreadfully. I replied, though I was frightened,- "It was my father dear I was calling for across the sea — I think he didn't hear." And then the sailor leered again In such a frightful way. And made so many faces I was little loath to stay. 104 V A BALLAD But he Started fiercely toward me — Then made a sudden halt And roared, "/think he heard you!" And turned a somersault. Then a wild fear overcame me, And I flew off like the wind. Shrieking '•'-Mother!'' — and the sailor Just a little way behind! And then my mother heard me, And I saw her shade her eyes, Looking toward me from the doorway, Transfixed with pale surprise For a moment — then her features Glowed with all their wonted charms As the sailor overtook me. And I fainted in her arms. When I awoke to reason I shuddered with affright Tijl I felt my mother's presence With a thrill of wild delight— A BALLAD Till, amid a shower of kisses Falling glad as summer rain, A muffled thunder rumbled, — "Is he coming 'round again?" Then I shrieked and clung unto her, While her features flushed and burned As she told me it was father From a foreign land returned. I said — when I was calm again, And thoughtfully once more Had dwelt upon my mother's words Of just the day before, — "I don't look like my father. As you told me yesterday — I know I don't — or father Would have run the other way." io6 THE GREEN GRASS OF OLD IRELAND The green grass av owld Ireland ! Whilst I be far away, All fresh an' clean an' jewel-green It's growin' there to-day. Oh, it's cleaner, greener growin' — All the grassy worrld around, It's greener yet nor any grass That grows on top o' ground! The green grass av owld Ireland, Indade, an' balm 't 'u'd be To eyes like mine that drip wid brine As salty as the sea ! For still the more I'm stoppin' here, The more I'm sore to see The glory av the green grass av owld Ireland Ten years ye've paid my airnin's — I've the I'avin's on the shelf, Though I be here widout a queen An' own meself meself : THE GREEN GRASS OF OLD IRELAND I'm comin' over steerage, But I'm goin' back firrst-class, Patrolin' av the foremost deck For firrst sight av the grass. God bless yez, free Ameriky! I love yez, dock and shore! I kem to yez in poverty That's worstin' me no more. But most I'm lovin' Erin yet, Wid all her graves, d'ye see, By reason av the green grass av owld Ireland. :o8 AT HIS WINTRY TENT SAMUEL RICHARDS ARTIST DENVER, COLORADO Not only master of his art was he, But master of his spirit — winged indeed For lordliest height, yet poised for lowliest need Of those, alas ! upheld less buoyantly. He gloried even in adversity. And won his country's plaudits, and the meed Of Old World praise, as one loath to succeed While others were denied like victory. Though passed, I count him still my master-friend, Invincible as through his mortal fight, — The laughing light of faith still in his eye As, at his wintry tent, pitched at the end Of life, he gaily called tome "Good-night, Old friend, good-night — for there is no good-bye.'* 109 OUR QUEER OLD WORLD Fer them ^afs here in airliest infant stages^ Ifs a hard world : Fer them ' at gits the knocks of boyhood's ages^ Ifs a mean world: For them 'at nothin' s good enough they'regittin% Ifs a bad world: Fer them 'at learns at last whafs right andfttin\ Ifs a good world. The Hired Man. It's a purty hard world you find, my child — It's a purty hard world you find! You fight, little rascal ! and kick and squall, And snort out medicine, spoon and all! When you're here longer you'll change yer mind And simmer down sorto' half-rickonciled. But now — Jee!- J^ !-mun-nee! It's a purty hard world, my child! no OUR QUEER OLD WORLD It's a purty mean world you're in, my lad — It's a purty mean world you're in ! We know, of course, in your schoolboy-days It's a world of too many troublesome ways Of tryin' things over and startin' ag'in, — Yit your chance beats what your parents had. But now — O ! Fire-and-tow I It's a purty mean world, my lad! It's a purty bad world you've struck, young chap — ■ It's a purty bad world you've struck — But study the cards that you hold, you know, And your hopes will sprout and your mustache grow, And your store-clothes likely will change your luck. And you'll rake a rich ladybird into yer lap! But now — Doubt All things out. — It's a purty mean world, young chap! Ill OUR QUEER OLD WORLD It's a purty good world this is, old man — I 's a purty good world this Is! For all its follies and shows and lies — It's rainy weather, and cheeks likewise, And age, hard-hearin' and rheumatiz. — We're not a-faultin' the Lord's own plan — All things jest At their best. — It's a purty good world, old man! 113 THE UNHEARD One in the musical throng Stood forth with his violin ; And warm was his welcome, and long The later applause and the din. — He had uttered, with masterful skill, A melody hailed of men ; And his own blood leapt a-thrill, As they thundered again. II Another stood forth. — And a rose Bloomed in her hair — likewise One at her tremulous throat — And a rapture bloomed in her eyes. Tempests of cheers upon cheers, Praises to last a life long; Roses in showers of tears — All for her song. 11^ THE UNHEARD III One sat apart and alone, Her lips clasped close and straight, Uttering never a tone That the World might hear, elate — Uttering never a low Murmurous verse nor a part Of the veriest song — But O The song in her heart! 114 THE RHYMES OF IRONQUILL I've alius held — till jest of late — That Poetry and me Got on best, not to 'sociate — That is, 'most poetry ; But t'other day my son-in-law^ Milt — ben in town to mill — Fetched home a present-like, fer Ma, — The Rhymes of Ironquill. Milt ust to teach ; and, 'course, his views Ranks over common sense; — That's biased me, till I refuse 'Most all he rickommends. — But Ma she read and read along And cried, like women will, About that "Washerwoman's Song'* In Rhymes of Ironquill. 8 115 THE RHYMES OF IRONQUILL And then she made me read the thing, And found my specs and all : And I jest leant back there — i jing — My cheer ag'inst the wall — And read and read, and read and read^ All to myse'f — ontll I lit the lamp and went to bed With Rhymes of Ironquill ! I propped myse'f up there, and — durnt — I never shet an eye Till daylight! — hogged the whole concern Tee-total, mighty nigh ! — I'd sigh sometimes, and cry sometimes, Er laugh jest fit to kill — Clean ca^tured-Y