Class Book COMES ONE WITH A SONG BY / FRANK L. STANTON Author of " Songs of the Soil " INDIANAPOLIS AND KANSAS CITY THE BOWEN MERRILL CO. ^ 1899 1U G849 Copyright, 1898 by Tne Bowen-Merrill Company. OCT 1 ^. 1«98, :) ^"■' cosy 'ess. ■ TO MY WIFE AND DAUGHTER LEONA AND MARCELLE CONTENTS Comes One With a Song Proe7n One Country I The Woodland Thrush 3 The Warning 5 October 7 Time's Up 10 The Graveyard Rabbit I2 A Song of Harvest 14 In Evidence 16 The Love Gage 17 With My Pipe 18 So Many ! " 21 Little Bit of a Fellow 22 The Story of the Wood 23 The Rapier 27 When Jennie Rode to Mill With Me 28 Chuck Will's Widow 30 A Little Thankful Song 32 Clarisse 34 Light On the Hills 35 Linnie's Hair 37 Motherhood 39 His Grandmother's Way 40 Beneath the Mistletoe 42 When the Little Boy Ran Away 43 CONTENTS The Ships At Sea 46 At the Twilight Gate 48 Eugene Field 54 A Boj's View of It 55 With Old-Time Friends 57 A Song of Love 60 A Memory of Him 61 The Faces He Loved to the Last 63 In Love's Tender Keeping 65 His Mother's Kiss 66 Our Poetry Farm 67 A Song of Seasons 70 A Kilted Genius 71 At the Turn of the Road 73 The Runaway Toys 74 Retribution 76 The Christmasse Children 77 Annetta Jones — Her Book 79 Love's Way 81 " The Grenadiers " 82 From the Shadow 84 The Love Lights of Home 88 Summer's Farewell 90 Indian Summer Day 91 A Holiday Note 93 The Old Rail Fence 94 A Song in June 97 The Reapers 99 Weary for Her 100 A Song of Thanks 102 The Singer Crowned 103 CONTENTS The Sky for You 105 Going Home to Mary 106 A Providential Christmas 108 A Rainy Day 115 Taking the Babj-'s Picture 117 A Happy Fellow 121 This World 123 The Christmas Fiddle 124 Ten Acres for Him 127 The Little One 129 A Know-Nothing Fellow 131 How I Spoke the Word 133 The Famous Mulligan Ball 136 Sweet Little Woman of Mine 139 According to John 140 Why the Wedding Waits 141 Thirty Years After 143 The Flag of Our Country 146 The Fight 147 The Warship Dixie 148 The Billville Debate 150 The Veterans 153 A Southern Volunteer 155 Old "Bob White" 157 Pray in' for Rain 158 The Rattlesnake's Song 160 "Little Tin Ho'n" 162 A Lullabj' 164 Miss Nancy 165 The Thrush Song 166 Sweet, My Honey 167 xiii CONTENTS A Summer Song i68 The Lost Birds 170 Rabbit Song 172 Mister Blizzara""' ^-^ 173 His Dream- Money 175 A Plantation Ditty 176 A Doubter in the Fold 177 Miss Lucy's Way 178 Morning Song 180 Young Miss 181 Miss Liza 183 The Children 184 At Devil's Lake 186 A Summer Lyric 188 Tiger Lilies 190 Morning Fires for Mary 191 The Veteran's Dream 192 In Thy New Year 194 With April Violets 196 His " Favor " 198 A Winter Night 199 XIV In ihe strife and the tumult that sweeps us along Comes one with a song. In the storm of the nations — the wrath for tlie wrong, Comes one with a song, And over the rage of the people the skies See the light of a lovelier morning arise ; — There are prayers on Love's lips, and the light 's in Love's eyes Comes one with a song. In the rude clamor and crush of the throng Comes one with a song. The winds have foretold him ; rills rippled along Of one with a song. And the sword 's in the scabbard, and soft as the dew On the lips of the lilies — God's white thoughts of you — Love's dear arms enfold you; light breaks from the blue! — Comes one with a song. ^ ONE COUNTRY I AFTER ALL, One country, brethren ! We must rise or fall With the Supreme Republic. We must be The makers of her Immortality ; Her freedom, fame. Her glory or her shame — Liegemen to God and fathers of the free ! II After all- Hark! from the heights the clear, strong, clarion call And the command imperious: "Stand forth, Sons of the south and brothers of the north ! Stand forth and be As one on soil and sea — Your country's honor more than empire's worth! " I ONE COUNTRY III After all, 'Tis Freedom wears the loveliest coronal; Her brow is to the morning; in the sod She breathes the breath of patriots ; every clod Answers her call And rises like a wall Against the foes of liberty and God ! THE WOODLAND THRUSH IN the deep woods remote A sweeter minstrel dwells Than ever piped a morn or twilight note In all the song-swept dells. It is no voice that soars Unwearying to the blue ; Transient — elusive — even while Love adores: A phantom of the dew! A sense of silver bells Swayed by light winds ; — a thrill Keen as the leaf feels when the spring sap swells And sculptures it at will. And ere the lips can say A song hath been — aware Of mystery the soul hath lost its way — Doubting and dreaming there, 3 THE WOODLAND THRUSH As one in shadowed bowers Of Sleep may hear a strain Which haunts the memory in his waking hours, Nor makes its meaning phiin. Soft as a ripple's plash Against the shore's shelled walls, — that the mystic melody would dash Down like the waterfalls ! Yet all the wood is stirred From violet to pine ; And I have heard — and yet I have not heard A melody divine ! Voice of the woodland thrush ! Dewdrop of song, that fears The rustling of a leaf — a rose's blush, And dies when Love appears ; — 1 lose myself in thee As one who, billow-tost And drowning, hears strange music in the sea, Lulled by the sound and .... lost! 4 THE WARNING WAS the tree thrilled by the wind ? There was never a sky-blown breath. So still the day — so ghostly gray, It seemed a soul in death. Yet through each leaf a tremor ran Like the blood in the veins of a man. Through each leaf a tremor Wild and svv^ift and keen ; And the thrilling leaves — the unwilling leaves, Seemed over a grave to lean. And through the round limbs ever ran The thrill of the rope at the throat of a man ! And the leaves moaned in the light. And the light they did condemn, And cried to the tempest and the night To darken over them. And the sun sank low, and his last beams ran To the leaves, as if red with the blood of a man, 5 THE WARNING And the silence is broken. . . . And hark! A shout — a shriek in the glen, — A ghostly face in the dark. And the sky grows black . . . and then — The limbs and the leaves feel the blight and the ban Of the blood of a man ! OCTOBER 1 WOULD I had a rhyme wherewith to robe her- The fair October! But rhyme on rhyme my fancy vainly w^eaves: — At hide and seek in her red realm of leaves. I can not paint her melancholy, sober — The glad October! Even glad, Though all the world's wan singers call her sad, And sorrowful and wise. While her complaining eyes Droop in a mournful mist! But I have seen her cheek, by sunlight kissed, Wear the wild peach's bloom, The while each wind-blown tress Fell from her forehead, gleaming in the gloom With unimagined light and loveliness ! OCTOBER Through dream-enchanted hours Of summer, when for weariness the flowers Sank from the fierce sun's sight With thoughts of star-trysts in the cool twilight, And dew-plashed bowers Of unseen spirits of the violet night, — Far off she felt the red rose at her lips, And thrilled the thorn's blood to her finger tips; The slow sap tingling through the veiny leaf ; The gold grain climbing to the sunny sheaf, — The breath and death of lilies — these she knew. And in sweet secret places, under blue And kindly skies. With pity in her eyes, Wrought golden vesture — silvered with sunrise, To deck their death withal ; And many a coronal ; And fashioned her red leaves into sea-waves To ripple round their graves ! OCTOBER Tears, but the light of tears! A moment mourns she for the dying years, Anon to race Sylph-like through crimson woodlands, in the embrace Of rival winds that toss about her face Her shiny ringlets, clamoring to sip The red wine of her lip ! And in the gathered glory of the day, Wending her glorious and golden way To gorgeous groves, rose-radiant with May ! I would I had a rhyme wherewith to robe her— The fair October! But rhyme on rhyme my fancy vainly weaves:- In red recesses of her realm of leaves I do not find her melancholy — sober, — The glad October ! TIME'S UP! TIME'S up for love and laughter: We drained the banquet cup, And now the dark comes after, And lights are out. . . . Time's up! O lovers in sweet places. With lips of song and sigh, Come forth with pallid faces And kiss your last good-by! O sweet bride at the marriage, Impatient at thy gates, Beside a sable carriage A ghostly groomsman waits ! O statesman, crowned and splendid, The laurel leaves thy brow ; The long debate is ended — The halls are voiceless now. lO time's up! Time's up for wooing, winning — For doubt, for dream, for strife; For sighing and for sinning — For love, for hate, for life! Time's up. . . . The dial's mark is On the last hour complete. Lie down there, where the dark is. And dream that Time was sweet! II THE GRAVEYARD RABBIT IN the white moonlight, where the willow waves, He halfway gallops among the graves — A tiny ghost in the gloom and gleam. Content to dwell where the dead men dream, But wary still: For they plot him ill : For the graveyard rabbit hath a charm (May God defend us ! ) to shield from harm ! Over the shimmering slabs he goes — Every grave in the dark he knows ; But his nest is hidden from human eye Where headstones broken on old graves lie. Wary still ! For they plot him ill : For the graveyard rabbit, though skeptics scoff, Charmeth the witch and the wizard off! 12 THE GRAVEYARD RABBIT The black man creeps, when the night is dim, Fearful, still, on the track of him; Or fleety follows the way he runs, For he heals the hurts of the conjured ones. Wary still I For they plot him ill ; The soul's bewitched, that would find release. To the graveyard rabbit go for peace ! He holds their secret — he brings a boon Where winds moan wild in the dark o' the moon ; And gold shall glitter and love smile sweet To whoever shall sever his furry feet! Wary still ! For they plot him ill : For the graveyard rabbit hath a charm (May God defend us!) to shield from harm! 13 A SONG OF HARVEST SING a song of harvest — sing it, ring it sweet : Set it to the music of the ripple of the wheat ! Sweetheart, sweetheart, Reaping as we go, A kiss amid the music And the wheat would never know ! Sing a song of harvest — sing it, ring it true ! Symphonies of sunlight and mysteries of dew ; Sweetheart, sweetheart. Summer sighs to go ; A kiss amid the music And the wheat would never know. Sing a song of harvest — of many a golden tithe ; Set it to the tinkle and the twinkle of the scythe ; Sweetheart, sweetheart. Loves a reaper, too ; Love is in the music And the thrilling heart of you. A SONG OF HARVEST Sing a song of harvest like the ripple of a stream, Till the shadows kiss the meadows and the stars above us dream ; Sweetheart, sweetheart, Summer sighs to go ; A kiss amid the music And the wheat would never know. 15 IN EVIDENCE THIS is the spot where the man was slahi ; Never a blade of grass hath grown — For all the sunlight and all the rain — Where he fell in the dark alone ! This is the marked and the unblessed place — And the earth keeps the print of his murdered face. Slain that night as he rode along To the lips of the woman who loved him best ; For the hate in his rival's heart was strong As the love in his victim's breast. And while he mused on the victory won, There came a flash from the ambushed gun. A flash, and a fall in the dark. But lo! Between the slain and the slayer lies That spot, which even the winter's snow Hides not from human eyes. That spot whose evil no priest may ban — With the awful mask of the murdered man. i6 THE LOVE GAGE A RED rose at Lucinda's feet: Ho ! gallants — east and west, Who'll race that royal rose to greet — Who'll wear it on his breast? A red rose at Lucinda's feet: Who loves Lucinda best? A red rose at Lucinda's feet: Ho ! gallants — speed amain ! That rose hath known her kisses sw^eet — Her lips its crimson stain ! A red rose at Lucinda's feet: What knight the rose will gain? A red rose at Lucinda's feet: See where her lips have pressed! Through light and storm sure-mettled — fleet, Speed, lovers, east and west! A red rose at Lucinda's feet: Who loves Lucinda best ? 17 WITH MY PIPE WHEN the wind blows cold and shrilly through the black December night, And the oak logs pile the chimney and the flame is leap- ing bright; Then witch tales are in order, and the children cease their play, I light my pipe contentedly and puff and puff away ! Puff, puff, puff! Though the wind the casement cuff, A full pipe of tobacco Brings me happiness enough! Is sleep the time for dreaming? Well, I dream my dreams awake: I love the varying visions that a wreath of smoke can make ; The scent of my tobacco makes me reconciled to stay In a world which hath no sorrow but a pipe can puff away, |8 WITH MY PIPE Puff, puff, puff! Let the world go smooth or rough, A pipe of rich tobacco Brings me happiness enough. In the blue smoke round me curling rise the Carolina hills. The sunlight on the meadows and the ripple on the rills ; And the valleys of Virginia seem to blossom with the May, And I hear the reapers singing as I puff and puff away. Puff, puff, puff! What though fortune should rebuff? A pipe of fine tobacco Brings me happiness enough. Old friends I loved come smiling through each misty wreath that curls ; I hear the fiddler's music — see the red lips of the girls; WITH MY PIPE The snows of life's December have a rainbow-tinted ray, And a sweet face I remember makes me sigh and puff away. Puff, puff, puff. Life is rosy — life is rough ; But a pipe of sweet tobacco Brings me happiness enough. But I smile, for I'm contented, and no visions can pro- voke When the frosty air is scented with old-time tobacco smoke ; The girls I loved are married, and their golden locks are gray ; Be my blessing to them carried as I puff and puff away ! Puff, puff, puff. Let the wind the casement cuff: A pipe of rare tobacco Brings me happiness enough ! 20 so MANY! SO many stars in the infinite space — So many worlds in the light of God's fac< So many storms ere the thunders shall cease — So many paths to the portals of Peace. So many years, so many tears — Sighs and sorrows and pangs and prayers. So many ships in the desolate night — So many harbors, and only one Light. So many creeds like the weeds in the sod — So many temples, and only one God. 21 LITTLE BIT OF A FELLOW LITTLE bit of a fellow— Couldn't get him to sleep, And the mother sighed As he tossed and cried : "He's such a trouble to keep!" Little bit of a fellow — Couldn't get him to sleep. Little bit of a fellow! — But the eyes of the mother weep ; For one sad night That was lost to light God smiled and kissed him to sleep. Little bit of a fellow! — And he wasn't a trouble to keep! 22 THE STORY OF THE WOOD WHAT said the Wood in the fire To the little boy that night — The little boy of the golden hair, As he rocked himself in his little arm-chair- When the blaze was burning bright ? The Wood said: "See Wliat they've done to me ! I stood in the forest, a beautiful tree, And waved my branches from east to west, And many a sweet bird built its nest In my leaves of green That loved to lean In springtime over the daisies* breast! 23 THE STORY OF THE WOOD *'From the blossoming dells Where the violet dwells The cattle came with their clanking bells And rested under my shadows sweet ; And the winds that went over the clover and wheat Told me all that they knew Of the flowers that grew In the beautiful meadows that dreamed at my feet! *'And the wild wind's caresses Oft rumpled my tresses ; But sometimes, as soft as a mother's lip presses On the brow of the child of her bosom, it laid Its lips on my leaves, and I was not afraid ! And I listened, and heard The small heart of each bird As it beat in the warm nest the mother had made ! "And in springtime sweet faces Of myriad graces Came beaming and gleaming from flowery places ; 24 THE STORY OF THE WOOD And under my grateful and joy-giving shade, With cheeks like primroses the little ones played ; And the sunshine in showers Throup^h all the brisfht hours Bound their beauteous ringlets with silvery braid. "And the lightning Came brightening From far skies, and frightening The wandering birds that were tossed by the breeze And tilted like ships on black, billowy seas! But they flew to my breast And I rocked them to rest, While the trembling vines clustered and clung at my knees ! "But how soon," said the Wood, "Fades the memory of good! Though with sheltering love and sweet kindness I stood. THE STORY OF THE WOOD The forester came with his ax gleaming bright, And I fell like a giant, all shorn of his might! Yet still there must be Some sweet mission for me : For have I not warmed you and cheered you to- night?" So said the Wood in the fire To the little boy that night — The little boy of the golden hair, As he rocked himself in his little arm-chair — When the blaze was burning bright. 26 THE RAPIER HERE In the dark the scabbard hangs, and red The rapier is with rust; The cruel hand that wielded it lies dead In dim, forgotten dust. For forth a soldier to the battle fared — Forth from a woman fair, Whose kiss the conflict to his soul endeared, And met the rapier there. And w^hen, far hidden in the cannon's smoke And in the crimson rain, The man reeled lifeless from the rapier's stroke. The woman, too, was slain ! 27 WHEN JENNY RODE TO MILL WITH ME WHEN Jenny rode to mill with me The daisies bared their bosoms ; The spring winds rumpled every tree And stirred a storm of blossoms. The squirrels scampered from the hedge, The cows were in the clover ; The lilies rimmed the river's edge And dusky doves flew over. The white road seemed to welcome us, By shaken dewdrops dented ; The groves with song were tremulous, By lonely violets scented. The mad wind seemed to envy all The curls beneath her bonnet, And let the dew-dashed blossoms fall In twinkling showers on it. 28 WHEN JENNY RODE TO MILL WITH ME How well the way old "Milton" knew In all the springtime weather ; His back was broad enough for two, And so — we rode together! He loitered in the light and song ; He knew the spell that bound me, And that the way was never long While Jenny's arms were round me! The rose had then no cruel thorn To mar the moment's blisses; The miller took his toll in corn, And I took mine in kisses. But time has left us far apart ; Yet, though the years are many, The dear old road runs round the heart That frames the face of Jenny. And I would give the world to see The daisies' milk-white bosoms Where Jenny rode to mill with me Amid a storm of blossoms? 29 CHUCK WILL'S WIDOW OVER the fields and the woodlands you hear it * ' Wlll-marrled-the-widow ! ' * Now it is distant, and now you are near it : " Will-married-the-widow ! '* Nothing is told Of his grace or his gold — If Willie was young, or the widow was old ; Only that statement comes over the wold : " Will-married-the-widow ! " How it is echoing far down the valley : * ' Will-married-the-widow ! '* Under the stars where the fairy forms rally: ' ' Will-married-the-widow ! '* Foolish, or wise, Will was after the prize ; But whether the widow had brown or blue eyes The mystic musician sings not to the skies: But — "Will-married-the-widow!" 30 CHUCK WILL S WIDOW Why from the woods that monotonous singing; "Will-married-the-widow ! " Why not the bells, with a jubilant ringing; If ' ' Will-married-the-widow ! ' ' Did Will run away With the widow that day — Away o'er the world in a chariot gay? Was there any objection ? He never will say ! But — " Will-married-the-widow ! ' ' Over the fields and the woodlands you hear it: "Will-married-the-widow ! " ' Tis a will-o'-the-wisp ; but you're never too near it ; "Will-married-the-widow!" Married her — ho! 'Twas a long time ago ; But why, is a secret you never will know: Let us hope 'twas a love match, for weal or for woe, When Will-married-the-widow! 31 A LITTLE THANKFUL SONG FOR what are we thankful for ? For this For the breath and the sunlight of life : For the love of the child, and the kiss On the lips of the mother and wife. For roses entwining, For bird and for bloom, And hopes that are shining Like stars in the gloom. For what are we thankful for? For this: The strength and the patience of toil ; For even the dreams that are bliss — The hope of the seed in the soil. For souls that are whiter From day unto day; And lives that are brighter From going God's way. 32 A LITTLE THANKFUL SONG For what are we thankful for ? For all : The sunlight — the shadow — the song; The blossoms may wither and fall, But the world moves in music along! For simple, sweet living, ('Tis love that doth teach it) A heaven forgiving And faith that can reach it! S3 CLARISSE KISS you? Wherefore should I, sweet? Casual kissing I condemn; Other lips your lips will meet When my kisses die on them! Should I grieve that this should be ? Nay — if you will kiss, kiss me ! Love you ? That were vainer still ! If you win my love to-day, When the morrow comes you will Lightly laugh that love away ! Should I grieve that this should be ? Nay — if you must love, love me! Wherefore play these fickle parts ? Life and love will soon be done ! Think you God made human hearts Just for you to tread upon ? Will you break them, nor repine? If you will, Clarisse, break mine! 34 LIGHT ON THE HILLS DYING, they lifted his curly head, And he looked to the east, and smiling said ; "It's light on the hills!" And he went away, in the morning bright, With that last, sweet, quivering word of " Light" On the lips Death kissed to a silence long. . . . So ends the sighing, and so ends the song. And I think that Death, with his icy breath. Was kind to him ; and I'm friend with Death For that light on the hills! Back of it — back of it glooms the Night, Dark and lonely ; but all was light When his lips were laid in the silence long. . . . So ends the sighing, and so ends the song. 35 LIGHT ON THE HILLS If I remember his brief, bright years With the pang at the heart — with the falling of tears, There is light on the hills ! But he sleeps beneath, and the light's above, And something is lost to the world in love. And heaven knows this ; but it does no wrong. . . . So ends the sighing, and so ends the song. " There is light on the hills." So we sing, so we say. When God sends His angel to kiss it away — There is light on the hills ! And we kneel in the darkness and say that we trust. When heaven's not as dear as our love in the dust! — As the love that it reaps — that it keeps from us long. . . . So ends the sighing, and so ends the song. 36 LINNIE'S HAIR OVER my dreaming heart I wear A little lock of Linnie's hair; A soft wind from the far, sweet west, Kissing it, tossed it to my breast, And with sweet farewells left it there — This little lock of Linnie's hair. And not the long and lonesome years, With days of sorrow, nights of tears ; And not the changing of the skies — The sundered hands, the darkened eyes, Haved dimmed the beauty, golden fair. Of this lone lock of Linnie's hair. Ere her sweet kiss on it was cold I wrought for it a frame of gold ; But gold is bought and sold ; and so, My heart enshrined it long ago. And down to death that heart shall bear This little lock of Linnie's hair. 37 linnie's hair O ships upon the tropic seas ! Your sails bend not to any breeze As sweet as that which tenderly Tossed Linnie's tresses over me! And left this witness lying there — Which I in life and death shall wear- This little lock of Linnie's hair! 38 MOTHERHOOD THOU shalt have grace where glory Is forgot ; The love all luminous in the w^orld's last night; Thy children's arms shall be thy necklace bright, And all love's roses clamber to thy cot. And if a storm one steadfast star should blot From they pure heaven, God's angels shall relight The lamps for thee, and make the darkness white ; The lilies of His love shall be thy lot! He shall give all His angels charge of thee ; Thy coming and thy going shall be known. Their steps shall shine before thee radiantly. Lest thou shouldst dash thy foot against a stone. The cross still stands. Who shall that love condemn Whose mother-lips kissed Christ at Bethlehem ? 39 HIS GRANDMOTHER'S WAY TELL you, gran' mother's a queer one, shore — Makes yer heart go pitty-pat ! If the wind jest happens to open a door, She'll say there's " a sign " in that! An' if no one ain't in a rockin'-chair An' it rocks itself, she'll say: "Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Oh, my! I'm afeared 'at somebody is goin' to die!" An' she makes me cry — She makes me cry! Once wuz a owl 'at happened to light On our tall chimney-top. An' screamed an' screamed in the dead o' night, An' nuthin' could make it stop! An' gran' ma — she uncovered her head An' almos' frightened me out the bed : "Oh, dear! Oh, my! I'm certain 'at some one is goin' to die ! " An' she made me cry— » She made me cry! 40 HIS GRANDMOTHER S WAY Jest let a cow lean over the gate An' bellow, an' gran' ma — she Will say her prayers, if it's soon or late, An' shake her finger at me ! An' then, an' then you'll hear her say: "It's a sign w'en the cattle act that way! Oh, dear! Oh, my! I'm certain 'at somebodj^'s goin' to die!" Oh, she makes me cry — She makes me cry! Skeeriest person you ever seen ! Always a-huntin' fer "signs" ; Says it's "spirits" 'at's good, or mean, If the wind jest shakes the vines! I always feel skeery w'en gran'ma's aroun' — An' think 'at I see things, an' jump at each soun' "Oh, dear! Oh, my! I'm certain 'at somebody's goin' to die!" Oh, she makes me cry — She makes me cry! 41 BENEATH THE MISTLETOE HOW do Sweet Margaret's dimples race Around the roses of her face ! And I dare swear the force that stirs The flower that doth her bosom grace, Is that tumultuous heart of hers ! Who'll wager on the dimple race? My glove, my glory and my bliss That love can catch them with a kiss ! How do Sweet Margaret's fingertips Shield the rare ruby of her lips ! But I dare swear her snow-white hand That doth the crimson so eclipse. Shall fall before her heart's command! Who'll race the rose-way to her lips? My glove, my glory and my bliss Love wins the ruby with a kiss ! 42 WHEN THE LITTLE BOY RAN AWAY WHEN the little boy ran away from home The birds in the treetops knew, And they all sang "Stay!" But he wandered away Under the skies of blue. And the Wind came whispering from the tree : "Follow me — follow me!" And it sang him a song that was soft and sweet, And scattered the roses before his feet That day — that day When the little boy ran away. The Violets whispered: "Your eyes are blue And lovely and bright to see ; And so are mine, and I'm kin to you. So dwell in the light with me!" But the little boy laughed, while the Wind in glee Said: "Follow me — follow me!" 43 WHEN THE LITTLE BOY RAN AWAY And the Wind called the clouds from their home in the skies And said to the Violet: "Shut your eyes!" That day— that day When the little boy ran away. Then the Wind played leap-frog over the hills And twisted each leaf and limb ; And all the rivers and all the rills Were foaming mad with him ! And 'twas dark as the darkest night could be, But still came the Wind's voice: "Follow me!" And over the mountain, and up from the hollow Came echoing voices, with: "Follow him — follow!" That awful day When the little boy ran away ! Then the little boy cried: "Let me go — let me go!" For a scared — scared boy was he ! But the Thunder growled from a black cloud : "No !" And the Wind roared: "Follow me !" And an old gray Owl from a treetop flew, Saying: "Who are you-oo? Who are you-oo?" 44 WHEN THE LITTLE BOY RAN AWAY And the little boy sobbed: "I'm lost away, And I want to go home w^here my parents stay!" Oh, the awful day When the little boy ran away ! Then the Moon looked out from a cloud and said "Are you sorry you ran away? If I light you home to your trundle bed. Will you stay, little boy, will you stay?" And the little boy promised — and cried and cried- He would never leave his mother's side; And the Moonlight led him over the plain And his mother welcomed him home again. But oh, what a day When the little boy ran away ! 45 THE SHIPS AT SEA THE ship has put to sea, And the sailors merrily 'Neath the wind-blown sails are singing of the fairy shores to be. They are singing, they are singing, While the harbor-bells are ringing Farewell unto the brave ship like a gull the ocean wing- ing ! They ask not where they steer 'Neath the stormy skies and clear, But their trust is in their captain, and the billows bring no fear. Though thick the dangers throng, Yet the voyage is not long, And the dark brings dreams of morning in the rosy realms of song. 46 THE SHIPS AT SEA They dream, in storm and star, Of the shores where white ships are, And dreaming, hear the music of the harbor-bells afar. Fair shores, in peace empearled. Where the sea-torn flags are furled. Whose songs of welcome win them from God's high- way o'er the world. And so, they sail, and dream Of a lovelier morning's beam. With all their white sails bending, and all their lights a-gleam. They fare through storm and night, But no dangers can affright ; For their trust is in their captain, and the harbor is in sight ! 47 AT THE TWILIGHT GATE OLD, old, old! . . . And I think I've lived my day, And folks that are old as I am had better be out of the way ; Had better be lying asleep under the grasses deep, Where the crickets cry for lonesomeness, and the long, cold shadows creep. Old, old, old! . . It was only a year ago — A month — a day — as I may say, I stood where the vio- lets blow. And the wind came over the meadows whispering — whispering sweet. And the birds sang in the blossoms that rained their red at my feet. My eyes were as blue as the sky then — blue as the sky, and bright, And if ever a tear came trembling, it was lost in the April light ; 48 AT THE TWILIGHT GATE The red o' the rose was on my cheek — so wrinkled now and old, And he said my curls were shiny with all o' the sun- flower's gold. I was there at the golden gate, and he was standing by ; And the doves were flying over, an' we heard the kil- dee's cry; And the silver bells o' the thrushes were tinkling in copses dim, And the sweetest o' the violets I kissed and gave to him. And some one was calling — calling to come to the house- hold cares, And I mind that when he left me my cheeks were wet with tears — Not the tears that I weep to-day, for they are bitter, and bum! But the tears of a first, sweet love — that had no lessons to learn. Old, old, old! . . . An' yet, it was yesterday My little ones were around me, and knelt at my knees to pray 4 49 AT THE TWILIGHT GATE The child-prayers, morning and evening, with the love- light on each brow — Asking God to bless the mother that God's forgotten now! And then, while I was dreaming sweet dreams 'neath a morning sky. They came to me and kissed me a last and sad good-by ; And some sent comfort to me from far and far away, And some I'll see no more — no more, until God's judg- ment day. If my children were around me- -could I see in the fire- light's shine That's flickering out like my life, the face — the face of a child of mine, And hear him call me, "Mother!" d'ye think that I'd mind to-day The looks that tell me I've lived too long — the lips that wish me away? 5° AT THE TWILIGHT GATE I held 'em in my arms — I nursed 'em at my breast, And I said: "In God's good time they'll come to lead me into rest; And the twilight will be sweet, an' they'll shelter my age from harms, And death'U come like a dream, an' I'll fall asleep in their arms." But here I wait alone — alone while the shadows creep. And hear the crickets crying in the graveyard grasses deep ; They seem to be calling, calling — and the shadows seem to say: ''You are only a shadow in the light, and the light must have its way!" The world has left me alone. How strange that the good Lord sends To youth a rosy pathway, and plenty of love and friends ; And twines the arms of your children round you in life's sweet May ; And then, when the night falls dreary, takes the love and the light away ! 5' AT THE TWILIGHT GATE Love that wooed an' won me — all o' the love He gave, Comes to me now in the darkness like echoes over my grave ; And strange, and strange that he leaves me here, where now no love is seen, When 'twixt my own and heaven there^s only a grave of green ! At every click o' the latch at morn, or evening late, I raise my eyes and ask 'em if Death is at the gate? But Life comes in with cheeks of bloom, and rose and violet; And I clasp my wrinkled hands and moan: "Not yet — not yet — not yet !" And then Life brings a violet and lays it in my hand. And once more at the gate of Life beside my own I stand ; And the silver bells o' the thrushes tinkle in copses dim ; But the sweetest o' the violets were those I kissed for him! 5? AT THE TWILIGHT GATE Old, old, old ! . . . And I know that I've spent my day; The world that I am living in is far and far away ; Far and far away, where the old-time meadows be ; And none to take my hand now, and walk that way with me ! Better far to be lying under the grasses deep Where the crickets cry for lonesomeness, and the long, last shadows creep ; There will be violets sweet to grow over my grave so dim ; But the sweetest of the violets were those I kissed for him! 53 EUGENE FIELD FADES his calm face beyond our mortal ken, Lost in the light of lovelier realms above ; He left sweet memories in the hearts of men And climbed to God on little children's love. 54 M' A BOY'S VIEW OF IT OTHER — she's always a-sayln% she is, Boys must be looked after — got to be strict; When I tear my breeches like Billy tears his, It helps *em considerable when I am licked! But it ain't leapin' over the fence or the post — It's jest that same lickin* at tears 'em the most! ^Mother — she's always a-sayin' to me, Boys must have people to f oiler 'em roun' ; Never kin tell where they're goin' to be ; Sure to git lost, an' then have to be foun*. An' then — when they find 'em, they're so full of joy They can't keep from lovin' an' lickin' the boy! There's Jimmy Johnson — got lost on the road; Daddy wuz drivin' to market one day, Fell out the wagon, an' nobody knowed Till they come to a halt, an' his daddy said: "Hey! Wonder where Jimmy is gone to?'* But Jim — Warn't no two bosses could keep up with him ! 55 A BOY*S VIEW OF IT Jest kept agoln', an* got to a place Where wuz a circus ; took up with the clown, Cut off his ringlets and painted his face, An* then come right back to his daddy's own town! An' what do you reckon? His folks didn't know. An' paid to see Jimmy that night in the show ! An' there's Billy Jenkins — he jest run away (Folks at his house wuzn't treatin' him right) ; Went to the place where the red Injuns stay ; An' once, when his daddy wuz travelin' at night An' the Injuns took after him, hollerin' loud. Bill run to his rescue, an' scalped the whole crowd ! No use in talkin' — boys don't have no show! Wuzn't fer people a-follerin' 'em roun', Jest ain't no tellin' how fast they would grow ; Bet you they'd fool everybody in town I But mother — she says they need lickin', an' so They're too busy hollerin' to git up an' grow! 56 WITH OLD-TIME FRIENDS HOW welcome on this winter night Would be the comfortable light Of some old, mossy, gabled inn Where Canterbury folk have been ! A corner where the Boar's Head sign Invited travelers to dine ; Where friend Jack Falstaff all forlorn Came posting from Gad's Hill that morn And boisterously called for sack, And beat the rogues in buckram back! How welcome by the bright blaze there The prince's pleasantry to hear ! To have "lean Jack" a toast propose Where burned the fly on Bardolph's nose ! 57 WITH OLD-TIME FRIENDS Or, housed with Justice Shallow slim, Prate of the days of youth with him ! What more, good friends, hath life to win Than one's own ease in one's own inn? How fair would be the Christian luck That led my steps to Friar Tuck ; To see in his deceptive cell The hero of Saint Dunstan's well. And mark him spread his homely fare To Richard Coeur de Lion there ; And by some secret spell or sign Transform the water into wine ! Ah, w^ere we there, each merry wight Would have a rouse this winter night ! 'Sdeath ! but the friendly folk of old Had arts wherewith to charm the cold ! The coaches lumbering along Were rife with story and with song ; And o'er the frozen ways and white The inn-fires flashed their cheerful light; 58 WITH OLD-TIME FRIENDS What cared they for the wintry hail In the companionship of ale? The hooded friar told his tale ; No more the justice meant — the jail ; Mine host beamed rosy-faced and fair, And joined the nightly revel there ! Zounds ! how the memory lures me back ! Sirrah, a cup of sack — of sack ! 59 A SONG OF LOVE HOW love is wrought about us In stormy scenes and fair! Within us and without us All life is love, my dear ! Love in the wild winds blowing — Love in the dark and light, The reaping and the sowing, The red rose and the white. Love in the blue above us, Love in the boundless deep ! O Love, still lead and love us Till on thy breast we sleep. 60 A A MEMORY OF HIM LITTLE Book of Western Verse' Without the skies are snowing ; The spirits of the night rehearse Life's drama; winds are blowing. The phantom flakes against the pane ; They cling there weirdly — whitely ; And yet the bloom is on the grain And summer winds blow lightly ! Flutelike across far fields of wheat And plains to sunset streaming Drifts southward, mystical and sweet, A dreamer's voice in dreaming. A dreamer in the dark unseen : But where the maples shiver The light illuminates the green — The song thrills through the river. 6i A MEMORY OF HIM And here, beside the windy blaze, With night and storm around me, An echo from melodious days — The dreamer's voice hath found me! And one unto my heart is prest, Sweet memories of him bringing ; And one smiles on the mother's breast, Lulled by his gentle singing. And one — asleep beneath the storm, Life's gi'ace, life's glory summing; Whose curls may keep the violets warm, Loved well the dreamer's coming. O storm without! and light within! O wan snows coldly gleaming! What hope, what joy hath life to win.^ Read me the dreams I'm dreaming! But lo! above his life's page beams A light no storm shall smother ; God's own good-morning to thy dreams. Singer, and friend, and brother! 63 THE FACES HE LOVED TO THE LAST ENDED — the roar and the rattle, The clash and the clamor that made The wrath and the red of the battle — The shouts of the charging brigade. And over his rest in the meadow The shadow forever is cast, But faces smile sweet from the shadow — The faces he loved to the last! His sword rusts in silence beside him — His brave heart is hidden in dust ; But whatever his country denied him, He was true to his love and his trust. And under the light and the blossom — Like spirits that speak from the past, They found on the dust of his bosom The faces he loved to the last. 63 THE FACES HE LOVED TO THE LAST The last lips that kissed him and blessed him When he went to the death-darkened strife ; The child-arms that clasped and caressed him And kissed his heart's love into life! They smile from the shadows around him — In death's dim embraces held fast ; They were there on his breast when they found him — The faces he loved to the last. And death becomes tender and human, That still, in the ruin of years, Hath spared the sweet face of a woman And given it back to our tears ! And the rose would seem sweeter above him For all of the dark shadows cast, Could he know that these faces still love him — The faces he loved to the last ! 64 IN LOVE'S TENDER KEEPING HOLD me a little away from the world, Dear arms ! with your tenderest clinging; The bird with its breast to the blue singeth sweet, But the stars never answer its singing. The cold lights but lure us to lead us astray ; The thorn's in the red of the rose of the May — Lead me to love, dear, and teach me to pray. Hold me a little away from the world. Dear arms ! with your firm clasp and tender; For the lights on the heights stream through desolate nights — A tempest of tears in the splendor. 'Tis the gleam and the dream that would lead us astray : The keen thorns have crimsoned the roses of May — Lead me to love, dear, and teach me to pray. 65 HIS MOTHER'S KISS IT was her wont when, tired of play, He to her bosom crept. With golden hair in disarray, To kiss him as he slept. And still her plea would be but this: *'I shall not wake him with a kiss !*' So heavenly-sweet his sleeping face — So beautiful and bright, I know the angels lift the lace To kiss my boy good-night ! For still he smiles in dreams of bliss: "How should I wake him with a kiss?" So did his mother say ; and when God whispered His sweet will, She only moaned: "He sleeps !" and then, Kneeling, she kissed him still. And weeping, murmured only this : "I can not wake him with a kiss !'* 66 OUR POETRY FARM IF ever, my dearest, your will is Inclined to the meadows that charm, When you're spending a day with the lilies. Pray, pause at our Poetry Farm. It's far from the poetry-makers Who dwell in grim castles of gloom ; It covers the loveliest acres That ever gave birth to a bloom ! There's a Pegasus placidly plowing (I have reined him with jessamine vines), And off he goes braying and bowing While I pull at the redolent lines. Around him the wild doves are winging — The sunbeams sweet messages send. And the mocking bird's musical singing Lures him on to the furrow's bright end. 6^ OUR POETRY FARM When the world is athrill with the May-time And the sap's in the gladdened green trees, In the deeps of the flowery daytime We win the wild kiss of the breeze. And red and white roses come climbing In the mystical song-laden hours ; And sweetly the heather bell's chiming, As we plow up rare poems in flowers ! We lightly pass over the stubble, And reap where the goldenrods gleam ; The sharp thorns we circuit — like trouble, And drift where the white daisies dream. The sunflower's our epic, that rises And fearlessly flames to the sky ; And there a rare love-song surprises Where velvety violets lie. We gather them all, and we bind them In little bright bundles of song: 'Come find them, ye lovers ! Come find them, And bring all your sweethearts along!" 68 OUR POETRY FARM And they come, from the loneliest places, And they come from the East and the West And they leave with the light on their faces, And a red rose of love on each breast ! So, my dear, if it ever your will is To seek the green meadows that charm, When you're out for a day with the lilies, Pray, pause at our Poetry Farm I 69 A SONG OF SEASONS THERE'S joy, my dear, in the youth o' the year, When the hearts o' the bright buds break And the skies are blue as the eyes o' you, And the blooms blow over the lake. There's joy, my dear, for the world is fair. And love is the sweetest blossom there ! There's joy, my dear, in the noon o' the year. When the hai-vest hints o' gold, And the soft sun streams with its gleams and dreams On your beautiful hair unrolled. There's joy, my dear, for the world is fair. And love is the blossom that's brightest there. There's joy, my dear, in the gray o' the year, When the snows are drifting white. And the cold winds cry to the starless sky And the last rose weeps: "Good-night V There's joy, my dear, for the world is fair, While your love like a lily is blooming there ! 70 A KILTED GENIUS HIS mother is his worshiper And followeth east and west To kiss the noisy trumpeter Who summons me from rest. (He hath so much the look of her I needs must love him best !) That he in sculpture shall excel I do devoutly trust, For he hath wrought a miracle On my dear Shakespeare's bust: Tasso beside him fares not well — His laurel laid in dust ! For learning all the world shall seek His footstool — so I deem ; He hath a play-house built of Greek And many a Latin theme. Homer hath kissed his rosy cheek And Dante shared his dream. 7' A KILTED GENIUS That Art shall flourish 'neath his sway There is no cause to doubt ; Finding a Rembrandt far too gray And somber round about, With little lines of red to-day He brought its beauties out ! Soldier and citizen and sage And scholar shall he be ; His life a book wherein no page Hath any print of me ; — He doth partake of some great age In Time's obscurity! His mother is his worshiper And followeth east and west; Whate'er he loves she doth prefer To call that thing most blest ! (He hath so much the look of her I needs must love him best !) 72 AT THE TURN OF THE ROAD WHERE the rough road turns, and the valley sweet Smiles bright with its balm and bloom, We'll forget the thorns that have pierced the feet And the nights with their grief and gloom, And the sky will smile, and the stars will beam, And we'll lay us down in the light to dream. We shall lay us down in the bloom and light With a prayer and a tear for rest, As tired children who creep at night To the love of a mother's breast. And for all the grief of the stormy past, Rest shall be sweeter at last — at last ! Sweeter because of the weary way And the lonesome night and long. While the darkness drifts to the perfect day With its splendor of light and song. The light that shall bless us and kiss us and love us And sprinkle the roses of heaven above us ! 73 THE RUNAWAY TOYS THE Hobby Horse was so tired that day, With never a bite to eat, That he whispered the Doll: "I shall run away !'* And he galloped out to the street With the curly-headed Doll Baby on his back ; And hard at his heels went the Jumping Jack ! And the little boy — he never knew, Though the little Steam Engine blew and blew ! Then the Humming Top went round and round, And crashed through the window-pane, And the scared Tin Monkey made a bound For the little red Railroad Train The painted Duck went "Quack ! quack ! quack !" But the Railroad Train just whistled back ! Till the Elephant saw what the racket meant And packed his trunk and — away he went ! 74 THE RUNAWAY TOYS The little Toy Sheep in the corner there Was bleating long and loud ; But the Parrot said "Hush !" and pulled his hair, And he galloped off with the crowd ! And the Tin Horn blew and the Toy Drum beat, But away they went down the frightened street, Till they all caught up with the Railroad Train, And they never went back to their homes again ! The blue policeman and all the boys Went racing away — away ! For a big reward for the runaway Toys Was cried in the streets that day. But they kept right on round the world so wide, While the Little Boy stood on the steps and cried. Where did they go to, and w^hat did they do ? Bored a hole to China and — dropped through ! 75 RETRIBUTION ONCE, when I was poor, Love knocked at my door, "Some sad wretch," I cried, "who begs, And my cup drained to the dregs !'* So I cursed him from the light Out into the homeless night. • ••••• Once, with golden store, I knocked at Love's sweet door. "Some sad wretch," he cried, "whose gold Deems that love is bought and sold !" So he cursed me from the light Out into the homeless night. 76 THE CHRISTMASSE CHILDREN YE tin horn bloweth loud and long Adoun ye noisy street ; For Christmasse cometh, and a song For Christmasse time is meet, And ye shall do the Christ no wrong To love the children sweet. The joys that shineth in the eyes Of children charmeth still ; There is no man so great and wise But there shall drink his fill Of all the light of jDaradise, Shining of Christ His will. And be it trump or tinsel horn That pleaseth them to play, They, maken merrie, shall adorn The Christ's own holiday. For Christ Himself a child was born And loveth them alway ! 11 THE CHRISTMASSE CHILDREN They bloom, the roses of the earth, By all its sunshine blest; And that lone cot of love hath dearth Wherein no children nest. And he hath more than jewel's worth Who loveth children best. Wherefore, let children merrie make While bells of Christmasse chime, And to thine heart the darlings take And sing them in thy rhyme. Thou shalt do this for Christ His sake, At His own Christmasse time ! 7S A ANNETTA JONES— HER BOOK RARE old print of Shakespeare — his works, in boards of brown, With quaint engravings; here and there the yellowed leaves turned down Where sweet, love-breathing Juliet speaks, and as I lean and look. Traced in pale, faded ink, these words: "Annetta Jones: Her Book.'* Now, this old print of Shakespeare I prize, because 'tis rare — The gem of all my library, in dust and glory there ; I marvel much at Hamlet's ghost, and Banquo's pict- ured bones. But w^ho — ye gods of ancient days, was this "Annetta Jones?" 79 ANNETTA JONES HER BOOK I think I've heard that name before, — Jones ? — Jones ? — I but that "Annetta," With odd embroidery around the first and final letter, Is sweet and quaint. . . . She was no saint, prim — grim ! for I discover By these sublime, marked sentences, Annetta had a lover! And I believe her eyes were blue — her lips as cherries • red, And many a shy, sweet kiss they knew, and tender words they said ; And from her powdered brows gold hair fell cloud-like — soft and sweet, Down-streaming, gleaming, dreaming in her silver-slip- I pered feet! She lived — she loved — was wedded ; the romance of her life Perchance was toned a trifle when her lover called her "wife;" But what a glorious fate is hers ! for as I lean and look Her name still shines with Shakespeare's: — "Annetta Jones: Her Book." So LOVE'S WAY COME," said Love, upon a day; "Come, and fare my rosy way ; If perchance the thorns we meet They shall make the roses swxet." So with Love I passed along : All the world was sweet with song ; Never thorn was mine, for he Hid them in his heart from me! 8i ''THE GRENADIERS" TO R. S. P. PIGOTT was singing "The Grenadiers," and I in the shadow sat, And thought of the time when the emperor stood there in his old cocked hat, And said to the guards at Waterloo, when his star was sinking dim: "There lies the road to Brussels!" and how they died for him ! Pigott was singing "The Grenadiers," and I in the shadow kept Time to his voice's silvery chime ; and it may be that I wept When "My Emperor is Taken" came ringing high and true And I saw the Old Guard charging for the Man of Waterloo ! 32 " THE GRENADIERS " Pigott was singing "The Grenadiers," and a star rose in the night, And I saw him there, in the lurid air, still gazing upon the fight With his gray coat wrapped around him and the En- glish hosts in view — The man for whom the Old Guard died on the field of Waterloo ! Pigott was singing "The Grenadiers," and the battle raged again, And the world around seemed crimson with the blood of heroes slain ! Pigott was singing "The Grenadiers," and I, in the shadow, knew The Ghost of the Man — the wondrous Man, of the field of Waterloo ! S3 FROM THE SHADOW ARE the little ones all at home ? Answer me quickly — fearlessly, Sweet ! For I have been out in the world today, and Death has been reaping the street ; And it's voiceless for lack of a child's sweet voice — and a man's I held most dear: Are the little ones all at home, my love, — and the shadow passed so near? Yes — thank God ! — they are coming ! Beat — O glad heart — beat ! Music of children's voices, and children's pattering feet ! Living, to meet — to miss me — full in my arm's em- brace, — Climb to my heart and kiss me, and toss your curls in my face ! 84 FROM THE SHADOW God be praised of His mercy — for the stay of the iron rod, For these that I call my children are only a breath from God— The waft of a rose-leaf from him ; and oft in the lone- some night I fancy the Shadow is near them, and weep till the dawn of light. Come to the happy heart of me — come, ere the Shadow fall! A kiss and a clasp for you — and you ! There is room in my love for all ! Come, unheeding the glad, sweet tears that from my eyelids shine ; Tonight — tonight, in the dear home-light, with your mother's hand in mine ! O as I walked in the street today — In the chill and trampled street. The solemn shadow blurred the way and hid a child's face sweet, 85 FROM THE SHADOW And a woman went a-wailing, and the heart in a man fell dead, And fast to the dear home-valleys I dreamed the Shadow fled. And I could not toil for weeping ; for I heard the wo- man moan, And the Shadow was on my soul, and what if it struck — my own ? And my heart would not be steadfast when the Shadow passed from view. And, dreaming, I came unknowing to the dear sweet hearts of you ! All home, — thank God ! — save one, and she has been so long away We have ceased to weep when the shadows creep and gloom o'er the hills of gray To the violet acres of God, where they neither sow nor reap; Where Love is a rose in the sod — a song that sings her to sleep. 86 FROM THE SHADOW Warm hands and hearts at the bright home fires ! The wind is abroad in the night, And the rain's on the hills . . . but the Shadow has passed from my weeping sight ; Up to my arms ! unheeding the eyes where the glad tears shine, — Tonight — tonight, in the sweet home-light, and your mother's hand in mine ! 87 THE LOVE LIGHTS OF HOME THE bird to the nest and the bee to the comb When the night from the heavens falls dreary, And Love to the light in the windows of home — The light of the love of my dearie ! And Love to the light, like a swallow in flight, When the storm blows the stars from the blue of the night ; And a kiss from the red rose, a smile from the white. In the gardens that bloom for my dearie ! The ships to the harbor from over the foam. When the way has been stormy and weary. And Love to the light in the windows of home — The light of the love of my dearie ! 88 THE LOVE LIGHTS OF HOME And Love to the light, like the bloom from the blight, When the spring suns weave wonders of red and of white. And the darkness of winter is kissed to the bright In the gardens that bloom for my dearie. The bird to the nest and the bee to the comb, And never a night shall fall dreary While the lights in the beautiful windows of home Are lit by the love of my dearie ! And Love to the light, like a bird from the night, Where angels in lilies Love's litanies write, And a kiss from the crimson, a smile from white, In the gardens that bloom for my dearie ! 89 SUMMER'S FAREWELL THE maples seem to murmur, the lilies seem to sigh, For Summer says good-by, For Summer says good-by ; And the dew upon the daisy's like a tear-drop from the sky, For Summer says good-by — Good-by ! The sunflower fain would follow, the lily whispers, "Stay!" When Summer says good-by, When Summer says good-by ; In all the crimson closes the roses weep; "Delay !" When Summer says good-by — Good-by ! But she calls her children 'round her 'neath the sorrow of the sky. And kisses them good-by, And kisses them good-by ; Then passes from their presence, while the echo of a sigh Drifts heavenward with "Good-by — Good-by!" 90 INDIAN SUMMER DAY THERE'S a lulling song of locusts and the hum of golden bees And you almost hear the sap flow through the thrilled veins of the trees ; And the hazy, mazy, dazy, dreaming world around you seems Like a mystic land enchanted — like a paradise of dreams ! Blue smoke from happy huts — A rain of ripened nuts ; And far o'er meadows ringing Sweet sounds as of a woman singing "Comin' through the rye — "Comin' through the rye !" And then the faint, uncertain, silver tenor of a bell That summons all the winds to prayer in many a clois- tered dell ; 91 INDIAN SUMMER DAY And then — a thrush's music from groves with golden gleams, The wild note of the mocking-bird — and still the dreams — the dreams ! Blue smoke from happy huts — A rain of ripened nuts ; And far, o'er golden meadows ringing, Sweet sounds as of a woman singing "Comin' through the rye — *'Comin' through the rye !" 92 A HOLIDAY NOTE WITHOUT — the snow ; within — the glow Of flames from oak logs hissing, And lips that 'neath the mistletoe Are red enough for kissing ! 93 THE OLD RAIL FENCE THE old rail fence with aimless angles Curved round the scented fields of old And wild, blown vines in quaintest tangles Bloomed there in purple and in gold. And winds went over, cool and sweet, With rivery ripples in the wheat. The white road to the river knew it — ' The river running wild and fleet ; A cabin-path went winding to it. With light prints of a boy's bare feet. And cattle in the woods at morn Roamed by and nipped the bending corn. In corners cool the plowman rested When rang the welcome bells of noon ; And there the thrush and partridge nested And sang the mocking-birds of June. 94 THE OLD RAIL FENCE And winds were sweet with muscadines, And blooms were on the melon-vines. There twilight paused in rosy dreaming, And o'er the riot of the rills When starlight on the world was streaming Rose the love-song of whippoorwills. And with the music and the stars Love met his sweetheart at the bars. There, with the evening shadows falling. In cabin door a woman stands ; And far and sweet her voice is calling, And children heed her beckoning hands. There, for the weary ones that roam. Twinkle the dreamy lights of Home. The corn still waves and vines are clinging ; The larks are hid in bending grain ; The birds sing, as my heart is singing, Where, lonely in the woodland rain. The old rail fence — its service o*er — Curves round the blossoming fields no more. 95 THE OLD RAIL FENCE Yet, there I halt my horse, and sighing, Above the old rail fence I lean. The snows upon life's pathway lying Have left one living glimpse of green ! And still, through change of time and art. The old rail fence runs round my heart ! 96 A SONG IN JUNE DRY upon the field and plain- Dry on copse and clover ; Not a single drop of rain To tilt the lily over ! Whistle for the wind in vain : Not a blossom quivers ! Not a diamond drop of rain To dimple drow^sy rivers. O for just a rumpling breeze O'er the prospect sunny! One — to blow the golden bees Flowerward, to the honey! Just a whiff to stir the still Daisies in the meadow, And to toss o'er vale and hill Clouds of rainy shadow ! 7 97 A SONG IN JUNE O the fainting field and plain ! O the thirsting clover! Not a single drop of rain To tilt the lily over! 98 THE REAPERS THE long day's toil was over — A bird sang in a tree ; The sunshine kissed the clover Good-by, and — she kissed me ! Then lovelier seemed the sunshine, And sweeter sang the bird ; And if the clover listened My throbbing heart it heard. For all day long, a-reaping In fields of silver shine, I felt her heart a-creeping And cuddling close to mine. And lighter seemed the labor. And winsomer the wheat That spread its golden tresses For the falling of her feet. And when the toil was over A bird sang in a tree ; The sunshine kissed the clover Good-night, and — she kissed me! 99 WEARY FOR HER I*M weary For my dearie From the mornin' to the night; I'm missin' Of her kissin' An' her footsteps fallin' light — O I'm weary For my dearie From the mornin' to the night ! I'm weary For my dearie When the lark flies o'er the loam ; When the meadows Feel the shadows An' the cows come lowin' home — ■ O I'm weary For my dearie An' she's far away from home! lOO WEARY FOR HER I'm weary For my dearie When the hearthstone flickers bright ; When the lily Dews fall chilly An' the hollows hold the night — O I'm weary For my dearie An' her black eyes beamin' bright! So weary For you, dearie — An' you're hidin' from my sight — An' the blossom Seeks your bosom, An' the snow falls ghostly-white, Where you're sleepin' An' I'm weepin' From the mornin' to the night! lOI A SONG OF THANKS THANKFUL for strength in strife : For faith more steadfast than the stars above ; Thankful that life is life, And love is love. Thankful for homes, and herds That hide the hills ; for harvests ultimate ; For the sweet, prattling words Of children at the gate. For Hope's "Good-morning," and Faith's sweet "Good-night," when we are realmed in rest. Led by an unseen hand Safe to an unseen breast. I02 THE SINGER CROWNED THE light came softly streaming The day the singer died ; They whispered, "He is dreaming;'* He lay so tranquil-eyed. No vision of Death's river Flashed on the waiting throng ; The pale lips seemed to quiver Still with Immortal song. And nations came and crowned him With laurels of their love ; The deathless glory round him Seemed like to that above. But greater than all glory Of worlds, or worlds to be, Was Love's last, sweetest story In Love's simplicity. 103 IS L THE SINGER CROWNED For to the singer, sleeping, Where none could heed or mark, A little child came creeping, With lilies in the dark. And 'mid the laurels gleaming, With trembling hands and fair, Laid them above his dreaming — Kissed them, and left them there. 104 THE SKY FOR YOU OTHE future sky is the bluest sky, With never a cloud in view; But the sky today is the truest sky, And that is the sky for you ! For the w^ork you have to do ; For the lives that lean on you ; Or gold, or gray, 'Tis the sky today. And that is the sky for you ! There's a bird that sings to the future sky, Where the blossoms drip with dew; But the bird today makes the song of May, And that is the song for you ! For the work you have to do ; For the hearts that cling to you, 'Tis the sweetest song As it thrills along. And that is the song for you. 105 GOING HOME TO MARY BIRDS seemed singing all the way Going home to Mary ; Roses on a winter's day, Going home to Mary. I can hear my heart beat time With the bells that sweetly chime ; Happiest man that lives when I'm Going home to Mary ! Far away her smile I see, Going home to Mary ; How it lights the way for me. Going home to Mary ! There, in groves where nests the dove, In a cot with blooms above, Still she lights the lamp o' love — Going home to Mary ! 1 06 GOING HOME TO MARY Down the walk come pattering feet, Going home to Mary ! Children's arms and kisses sweet, Going home to Mary ! Rob' comes climbing to my knee, Katie wants a kiss from me ; ■'Loves me all the world," says she,— Home with love and Mary. Shine the lights forever more, Going home to Mary ! Love still leads me to the door, Going home to Mary! For her sake my toil is sweet, For her sake my heart'll beat Till it's dust beneath her feet — Going home to Mary ! 107 A PROVIDENTIAL CHRISTMAS WHEN our sweet Mary run away (It's fifteen year this Christmas Day) An' married, 'peared like William, he, Would lose his mind etarnally! Fer he wuz sot ag'in it so — Our Mary marryin' of yoe^ Dave Spinks' boy, he up an' said He'd almos' ruther see her dead An' buried! Fer that Joe, he jest Outdone the patience of the best. No larnin' ; head as hard as wood ; An' what some folks would call "no good.*' But gals is strange ; an' Mary, she, Somehow, could alius git 'roun' me. When I'd say "No!" her blue eyes jes' Looked right in mine an' twinkled "Yes!" So when the corn wuz to be groun' — On days when William warn't aroun' — I08 A PROVIDENTIAL CHRISTMAS Here'd come that Joe from Spinks' place, A-sparkin* Mary 'fore my face! But once he come too frequent ; 'peared To like the risk: said he warn't 'feared Of William ketchin' him. But — my! Jest in the twinklin' of a eye We heard a footstep in the hall, An' William come an' — ketched us all! I rickollect it jest as well As ef 'twuz yesterday. . . . Hearn tell Of people "mad as thunder" ? Shoo! William wuz thunder' n' lightnin', too! He looked at me, he looked at Mary, An' we — we kinder looked contrary. An' then I poked the fire to jest Give my scart eyes a chance to rest! Then William sorter started back — Wheeled 'roun' an' reached up to the rack An' got his rifle ! raised it — cocked The trigger, an' the door thar — locked! 109 A PROVIDENTIAL CHRISTMAS Mary an' me a-screamin' ; Joe — None of us ever 'peared to know Jest how he did ; but in a flash Joe went out by the winder-sash, An' took it with him — shore as fate ! Likewise ten palin's an' t\iQ gate! An' with all that encumberence Cl'ared a big ditch an' ten-rail fence! Not much was said when Joe wuz gone The night — it went a-wearin' on, With me not raisin' of my head, An' Mary hidin' out in bed. An' fer two days — or mebbe three — William, he never speaks to me; An' when he did, 'twuz jest to say, Ef once more that chap crost his way He'd cheat the gallus; an' went on Jest thataway. But Joe wuz gone Fer good, an' like a man of sense, William went fixin' up his fence An' winder-sash. no A PROVIDENTIAL CHRISTMAS But one dark night, When William wuz a-sleepin' right An' dreamin' pleasant dreams, I hears A noise outside, then, creakin' stairs; An' I wakes William, but — too late ! The door stood open, an' the gate Had been swung to 'fore he got down. An' Joe an' Mary gone to town! I knowed they'd fotched us all to taw. An' William wuz Joe's father-in-law! No use to talk 'bout William ! He Wuz mad, an' had a right to be ; An' so wuz I. But while I cried, William was at the station : tried To stop 'em all by telegraph — Spent 'bout two dollars an' a half — When word came they wuz married, shore I *'I'll never see her face no more!" Said William. Fer about a year He went on like he didn't care III A PROVIDENTIAL CHRISTMAS To hear a word of her. When she Would write long letters home to me, An' ask ef she could come ; an tell How Joe wuz doin' mighty well — Had bought a house an' lot o' Ian' On this here new instalment plan, An' wuz a different kind of Joe From the old one we use to know — He'd take no int'rust — never read A letter; not one word he said. But one thing give me hope, fer he Would alius listen patiently. But when two year had passed (believe It happened on a Christmas Eve — Course, I^ d seen Mary in that time, And give her baby many a dime!) We sot one night — a lonesome pair — In sight o' Mary's vacant chair. An' oh! so lonesome 'peared the place, The tears come tricklin' down my face. 1X3 A PROVIDENTIAL CHRISTMAS Then William, he reached over an' Smoothed back my hair, an' took my han', An' said: "Ef Mary'd come tonight, I reckon it would be all right: I^m feelin' lonesome, too!" I'm one That b'lieves in Providence, an' none Kin shake my faith. He hadn't said Them words before I raised my head, Heard feet outside, clost by the door; An' then a voice we'd hearn before! An' then, two voices ; then a knock — Not loud. . . . The key turned in the lock. The door wuz opened wide, an* oh ! Thar stood our Mary an' her Joe, An' that sweet baby on her breast ! Is't any use to tell the rest — How Mary said, "Kin we come in?" An' William, "You jest bet you kin!" How the child crowed and 'peared to be A-reachin' fer the arms o' me ! 8 .13 A PROVIDENTIAL CHRISTMAS An' William sorter squared his jaw, Then laughed, an' called Joe son-in-law ! An' kissed the baby, an' jumped 'roun' Like he'd been lost, an' jest wuz found ! Been many a merry Christmas sence, But that wuz special Providence ! »H A RAINY DAY WOMEN likes a rainy clay — suits 'em to a "t" ; Men-folks set aroun' an' growl, mis'bul as kin be ; It's women's time fer rumagin' in chists an' trunks an' things ; Fer readin' old love letters an' foolin' with old rings. I sometimes watch Maria when the groun's been wet a spell, An' the rain is fallin' lonesome, an' nobody's feelin' well; How she bustles roun' as busy as a bumble-bee an' takes The pictur's down an' dusts 'em till a feller has the shakes ! A RAINY DAY An' the old chist inside out'ards — quilts an' patches on the floor; An' the letters what I writ her, — spellin' through 'em all once more ; An* she smiles while she's a-readin', an' sometimes you'll see a tear A-fallin' on the paper that she's kep' fer twenty year! An' then I've got to comfort her, an' so I makes a show. An' tells her it's the rainy day what hurts her feelin's so ; An' jest one tvord — it starts her on the biggest kind of cry, Till I almos' wish thar'd never been no happy days gone by! That's how the weather does 'em — these women! Never saw A fine, sunshiny day but they was layin' down the law. But rainy days is women's time fer lookin' over things, Fer readin' old love letters and foolin' with old rings. ii6 M' TAKING THE BABY'S PICTURE I OLLY, she made it up that she — Seein' the baby had jest turned three Months — an' maybe a day or two — An' 'twuz 'bout decided his eyes wuz blue An' all o' the hair that he had wuz red An' startin' to blossom roun' his head; Molly, she made it up that she Would take the baby, the gals an' me, An' have the little one's pictur' took To have at home in the album book. II That warn't much to decide, but wait — Thar's trouble comin', an' lots to state! Fer, though the baby enjoyed the ride — Rocked in the wagon, from side to side. An' never a time on the journey cried, 117 TAKING THE BABY S PICTURE When we sot him down in the pictur' tent — Whar they made tintypes fer the settlement, 'Twuz a change surprisin' he underwent! Fer when he seen that contraption tall, What takes yer face, an' yer clothes an' all, P'inted at him, he give a squall (His mother holdin' — fer fear he'd fall) An' they couldn't git him that time at all ! Ill Then the man — he held up a dollar bright. An' says: ''Look here! — Now we'll git him right!" An' the baby opened his mouth so wide It 'peared like the dollar would drap inside ! But the man kept holdin' it fur away — The baby laughin', an' in fer play; 'An' now," he hollered, "we'll git him shore!" An' p'inted that thing at his face once more. Lordy! it wuzn't no use at all! It took his mother — the gals, an' all To hold him still in the high old chair — Kickin' an' screamin' ! . . . They called him "Dear," ii8 TAKING THE BABY's PICTURE An' "Honey," an' "Purty;" but 'twarn't no use He kept on yellin', an' jest kicked loose! IV How many times that feller tried To git that baby, I can't decide! He give him candy — a rattle — more Things than they keep in a Christmas store ! An' lost six hours, he said; an' then He was one o' the maddest o' pictur' men ! An' he says to the mother: "Ef I wuz you I'd strop that baby — that's what I'd do! Fer he's 'bout the worst that I ever seen — With a temper p'intedly bad an' mean! An' now," says he, "you have got to pay Fer all o' the time that I lost today!" An' went on talkin' jest thataway. Well, the mother, she fell to cryin', an' Told him he warn't much of a man 119 TAKING THE BABY's PICTURE To talk that way o' the sweetest one An' purtiest baby under the sun ! An' she wuz sart'in he didn't have none! Then, I chipped in — fer she kept on cryin' — An' said: "That young'un, old boy, is mine!" An' then we clinched ! . . . an' we fit an' font Fer half a hour, or nigh about — Till the pictur' man wuz knocked clean out ! An' the baby's pictur' wuz never took To keep at home in the album book ! 1 20 A HAPPY FELLOW HE wuz the happiest feller alive: Don't keer how trouble would try him ; Lovin' his brothers An' doin' to others Jest like he'd have 'em do by him. Summer or winter — he still wuz content: Don't keer how corn wuz a-sellin' — Wheat tumblin' over An' "corners" on clover — Trouble kep' cl'ar of his dwellin' ! Sunshine or cyclones, it still wuz the same — Never wuz rattled a minute ; Take all his money, An' skies wuz still sunny; "Providence — providence in it!*' 121 A HAPPY FELLOW That wuz his sayin', no matter what come, And when, with the love of a brother, That never counts loss, Wants no crown fer a cross — He laid down his life fer another, — He jest sorter smiled 'fore his spirit took flight To heaven (ain't no better man in it !), Went under the rod With them last words: "Thank God ! Providence — providence in it!" 122 THIS WORLD THIS world that we're a-livin' in Is mighty hard to beat ; You git a thorn with every rose, But ain't the roses sweet I 123 T THE CHRISTMAS FIDDLE *HAR'S somethin' In a fiddle's sound that somehow shakes an' fills My soul with sweeter music than the song of whippoor- wills, Or the wild notes of the mockin' bird when spring is in her prime, But best of all I loves 'em when they're play in' Christ- mas time ! When the cabin fires air blazin' an' the holly-berries red With temptin' twigs of mistletoe air hangin' overhead ; When a feller's eyes air chasin' of the dimples of the An' he's lost his way forever in the tangle of their curls. Then I likes to hear the fiddle, for it's most uncommon sweet ; Thar's a twinkle in my eyes then an* a fidget in my feet ; 124 THE CHRISTMAS FIDDLE When the gyrls air gittin' ready fer the dancin', soon to be, It's halleluiah season to the very soul of me! When I see the old-time fiddler who's heard the fiddle sing Fer many a frosty winter — in summer time, in spring, Lay by his coat an' strike a note, it's "Brethren, bar the door!" Fer I know that trouble's comin' on that cabin's sandy floor! W^hen I hear that : "Swing your partners ! " — they know whar /'// be foun' — My arms jest full of sweetness an' the room a-goin' roun' ! An', "Ladies to the center ! " an' "Han's roun' !" thafW do! Fer a gyrl's ban's mighty tender when she's holdin' ban's with you ! The heavy hail kin patter on the shingle roof on high ; The snow kin beat the snowbirds from their cradles clost the sky, 1-5 THE CHRISTMAS FIDDLE The cows kin miss the clover on the hillside fur an' free, But in joy I'm rollin' over when the fiddle sings to me! But it's alius sweeter, sweeter when the holly's hangin' high An' the Christmas lamps air lighted in the winders of the sky; An' I think ef I wuz dyin' I would still be feelin' prime As the liveliest angel flyin', with a fiddle Christmas time! 126 T TEN ACRES FOR HIM 'ALK erbout this here country "goin' to ruin" — why, You might as well say that the Lord's away from the bend o' the big blue sky! It's still the same ole country — the biggest one an' the best; An* I'm willin' to take ten acres an' trust the Lord fer the rest! Never no reason in it — "goin' to ruin!" see! — The sun climbs up from the hills an' says "Good morn- in' " to you an' me, An' a sweet "good night" when he's goin' to the west whar the shadders stay, An' somethin' that sorter whispers: "I'll see you at break o' day!" 127 TEN ACRES FOR HIM Never no reason in it! I'm willin' to take my chance ; You'd better git out the supper things — the gals air comin' to dance. Talk 'bout "goin' to ruin" — we're happy from east to west, An' I'm willin' to take ten acres an' trust the Lord fcr the rest! IZS THE LITTLE ONE I AIN'T af eared on Death to look — on the Ian', or the fur-off sea ; Fer Death once come to my home an' took a little one off from me ; An' thar wuzn't a smile for a lonesome while in the home whar she use to be, — I ain't afeared o' Death sence he took a little one off from me ! 6"^^ wuzn't afeared! . . . fer day by day — still, on the mother's breast, Uncomplainin' she went away, — we whisperin' : "God knows best!" Never a word from her lips wuz heard as the days an' the nights went on — Only the arms roun' the mother after the soul wuz gone ! I reckon it's right, but somehow I'm alius wantin' to know Jest why the good Lord took her from the ones that loved her so? 9 129 THE LITTLE ONE Minister says: '* 'Twuz to bring us all close in the Master's keep;" But for her I'd take my chances out with the poor, lost sheep ! Ef I only knowed she wuz livin' — thar, whar she use to be — Ef only she had the daylight, an' the darkness come on me! Ef only, when the shadders come up from the cloudin' west, I could hear the mother callin' her home, an' rockin' her still to rest ! But she's gone the way that we all must go, an' the mother an' me must moan ; She wuz sich a leetle bit of a thing to go in the dark alo7te ! But sweet, an' uncomplainin' she lived her happy day An' I ain't af eared on Death to look sence the little one went that way ! 130 A KNOW-NOTHING FELLOW THE harvest winds air sweeping over valleys cool an' deep ; The fields air ripe fer reapin', but — I dunno how to reap! The hay is stacked an' ready — the teamsters look alive ; The mules air puUin' steady, but — I dunno how to drive ! Jest stand idle By the fiel' an' hill ; Dunno nothin', An' I never will ! Fiddle's jest a-goin', an' they tell me it's my chance; Gals air mighty purty, but — I dunno how to dance ! Comin' to the doorway — axin' of me in, Wantin' me to marry, but — I dunno how I kin! Jest stand idle By the fiel' an' hill; Dunno nothin', An' I never will ! A KNOW-NOTHING FELLOW Folks — they take an' tell me that they never seen the like! Never ever in the way when lightnin's goin' to strike ; Say the time is flyin' while I'm a-standin' by ; Do much better dyin' , but — I dunno how to die ! Jest keep loafin' By the fiel' an' hill ; Dunno nothin*, An' I never will ! 132 HOW I SPOKE THE WORD THE snow come down in sheets of white An' made the pine trees shiver; 'Peared like the world had said good-night An' crawled beneath the kiver. The river's shiny trail wuz gone — The winds sung out a warnin' ; The mountains put their nightcaps on An' said: "Good-by till mornin'!" 'Twuz jest the night in fiel' an' wood When cabin homes look cozy, An' fine oak fires feel mighty good, An' women's cheeks look rosy. An' that remin's me. We wuz four, A-settin' by the fire ; But still it 'peared ten mile or more Betwixt me an' Maria ! HOW I SPOKE THE WORD The old man — he wuz readin', at The middle, nigh the mother; An' from two corners, 'crost the cat, We jest looked at each other. An* though Maria said no word, Each bright eye, like a rover, Kep' talkin', till I sorter heard: "Speak, John, an' have it over!" An' then I speaks ! I give a cough, (The way we all begin it ! ) Then reeled the English langwidge off At 'bout a mile a minute! "I've got some feelin's to express," I said, "about Maria!" (The old man eyed me, then said: "Yes; She's most too nigh the fire!") "I don't mean fire," I floundered on (He shet the dog-eared pages), "I thought I'd ax — " He stopped me: "John, You want a raise in wages?" 134 HOW I SPOKE THE WORD "No, sir!" (I caught that eye of his, An' then I fit an' floundered ! ) "The thing I want to tell you is — " Says he: "The old vcidiYe^s founder edP'^ "No, sir! it ain't about no hoss!" (My throat begin to rattle!) "I see," he said, "another loss In them fine Jersey cattle!" An' then I lost my patience ! Then I hollered high and higher (You could 'a heard me down the glen) : ''No, sir! I want Maria ! ' ' "An' now," says I, "the shaft'll strike: He'll let that statement stay so ! " He looked at me astonished-like, Then yelled: " Why didn't you say so?'^ 135 THE FAMOUS MULLIGAN BALL DID ever you hear of the Mulligan ball — the Mulli- gan ball so fine, Where we formed in ranks, and danced on planks, and swung 'em along the line? Where the first Four Hundred of the town moved at the music's call? There was never a ball in the world at all — like the famous Mulligan ball ! Town was a bit of a village then and never a house or shed From street to street and beat to beat was higher than Mulligan's head ! And never a theater troup came round to 'liven us spring or fall. And so Mulligan's wife she says, says she: "Plaze God, I'll give a ball!" 136 THE FAMOUS MULLIGAN BALL And she did — God rest her, and save her, too ! (I'm liftin' to her my hat !) And never a ball at all, at all, w^as half as fine as that ! Never no invitations sent — nothin' like that at all ; But the v^hole Four Hundred combed their hair and w^ent to the Mulligan ball. And *'Take yer places !" says Mulligan, ''an* dance till you shake the wall !" And I led Mrs. Mulligan off as the lady that gave the ball; And we whirled around till we shook the ground, with never a stop at all ; And I kicked the heels from my boots — please God — at the famous Mulligan ball. Mulligan jumped till he hit the roof, and the head of him went clean through it ! The shingles fell on the floor pell-mell ! Says Mulligan : ''Faith, I knew it!'' 137 THE FAMOUS MULLIGAN BALL But we kept right on when the roof was gone, with never a break at all ; We danced away till the break o' day at the famous Mulligan ball. But the best of things must pass away like the flowers that fade and fall, And it's fifty years, as the records say, since we danced at Mulligan's ball ; And the new Four Hundred never dance like the Mulli- gans danced — at all, And I'm longing still, though my hair is gray, for a ball like Mulligan's ball! And I drift in dreams to the old-time town, and I hear the fiddle sing; And Mulligan sashays up and down till the rafters rock and ring! Suppose, if I had a woman*s eyes, maybe a tear would fall For the old-time fellows who took the prize at the famous Mulligan ball ! 138 SWEET LITTLE WOMAN OF MINE SHE ain't any bit of a angel — This sweet little woman o' mine ; She's jest a plain woman, An' purty much human — This sweet little woman o' mine. Fer what would I do with a angel When I looked for the firelight's shine? When six little sinners Air wantin' their dinners ? No ! Give me this woman o' mine! I've hearn lots o' women called "angels," An' lots o' 'em thought it wuz fine ; But give 'em the feathers. An' me, in all weathers. This sweet little woman o' mine. I jest ain't got nuthin' agin 'em — These angels — they're good in their line, But they're sorter above me ! Thank God that she'll love me — This dear little woman o' mine. 139 ACCORDING TO JOHN MY John — he ain't rollin' in riches, But he's mine when his money is gone ; An' I tell him my sweetest religion Is the gospel accordin' to John. His han's they air hard with the toilin', He's up with the lark o' the dawn; But I cheer him along with my singin' — The songs o' the gospel o' John ! An' still in the joy an' the sorrow While the sunset o' life's comin' on, My dearest an' sweetest religion Is the gospel accordin' to John ! 140 WHY THE WEDDING WAITS 1 SORTER thought I'd speak my mind next time I went to see Elviry, but — they'll never make a orator of me ! Fer ever' time I struck a word I'd sorter choke an' cough, An' that's why I can't tell you when the weddin's comin' off! I looked at her a-settin' by the fire blazin' bright — Her cheeks like two red roses an' her eyes like lakes o' light, An' I think I said 'twuz snowin' — kinder keerless like an' free, — An' that's why I can't tell you when the weddin' is to be! HI WHY THE WEDDING WAITS The quiet — it got painful ; you could hear a feather fall; We wuz 'bout as interestin* as the shadders on the wall ; But last I said: "Elviry !" an' she turned an' looked at me, An' that's why I can't tell you when the weddin' is to be! I'm good at campaign speeches, an' I alius win my race ; Kin speak my mind in meetin' an' sing "Amazin' Grace !" But when Elviry' s by my side I lose my pedigree, An' that's why I can't tell you when the weddin' is to be! If women didn't look so sweet, an' didn't keep so still, P'r'aps 'twould come as easy as rollin' down a hill; But when I say: "Elviry!" she's shore to look at me. An' that's why I can't tell you when the weddin' is to be! 142 THIRTY YEARS AFTER BEEN thirty year sence the fightin' — though it don't seem long as that Sence I follered "Stonewall" Jackson, with nary shoe or hat, Through the valleys o' Virginny an' ev'rywhar' else he went — Thirty year sence I got back home to the burnt-out settlement. But the world, it's been a-movin', fer I am a-gittin' An' still, somehow, when I look around \feel it slippin' away; The roses come in the spring-time — the frost is shore in the fall, But still it seems to a old man's dreams like thar warn't no war at all. H3 THIRTY YEARS AFTER A change is come to the country ; the fields whar I use to plow Is paved with stone, an' the steeples is risin' above 'em now; The woods whar I went a-huntin' is roarin' with noisy crowds, An' the lakes whar I done my fishin' is gone clean up in the clouds. Oh, the country, it's a-movin', an' 'pears to be movin' right; Thar's a brighter sun in the daytime, an' lots more stars by night ; The people's a-comin' closer, an' larnin' the Golden Rule- Lots o' the women votin' an' the niggers goin' to school. Whenever I git to thinkin' — as I do think — o' the war, A-tryin' constant to figger out the things we was fightin' fer, I kinder decide it was Providence a-workin' its wisest ends — Purify in* through fire an' makin' us better friends. 144 THIRTY YEARS AFTER I think we're a-doin' better than we done 'fore the trouble come ; Got use' to the stars an' stripes once more an' done beat sense in the drum ! I've danced to "Yankee Doodle" on the mountain an' the plain, An' I've heerd 'em cheerin' "Dixie" from Texas clean to Maine ! Old things is changed in a twinklin* — it's hard to on- ravel how^ But, north an' south, under one old flag they're "Marchin' through Georgy" now; An' I'm glad I lived to see it, an' spite o' my years I'm bound Ef I don't jest feel, from head to heel, like shakin' hands all round ! lo 145 THE FLAG OF OUR COUNTRY SHE'S up there — Old Glory — she's wavmg o'erhead ; She dazzles the nations with ripples of red, And she'll wave for us living, or droop o'er us dead — She's the flag of our country forever ! She's up there — Old Glory — no tyrant-dealt scars, No blur on her brightness — no stain on her stars ; The brave blood of heroes hath crimsoned her bars — She's the flag of our country forever! {46 THE FIGHT OTHE glory and the story of the fight, The dashing of the war steeds in the strifc- The charge, and the retreat, And the flag the winding sheet Of faces staring starward from the strife — Lost to life. And the wailing of the mother and the wife ! O the glory and the story of the fight ! The leaving for the battleground of Fate — With glory for the goal, Where the cannon thunders roll, And kisses for the woman at the gate, Who shall wait For the unreturning footsteps, long and late ! . ■47 THE WARSHIP DIXIE THEY'VE named a cruiser "Dixie" — that's what the papers say — An* I hears they're goin' to man her with the boys that wore the gray ; Good news ! It sorter thrills me and makes me want to be Whar the band is playin' "Dixie" an' the "Dixie" puts to sea. They've named a cruiser "Dixie," an', fellers, I'll be boun' You're goin' to see some fightin' when the "Dixie" swings eroun' ! Ef any o' them Spanish ships'll strike her east or west. Jest let the ban' play "Dixie" an' the boys'll do the rest ! 148 THE WARSHIP DIXIE I want to see that "Dixie" — I want to take my stan' On the deck of her, an' holler; "Three cheers for Dixie Ian' !" She means we're all united — the war hurts healed away, An' "Way Down South in Dixie" is national to-day ! I bet she's a good 'un ! I'll stake my last red cent Thar ain't no better timber in the whole blamed settle- ment ! An' all their shiny battleships beside that ship are tame, Fer, when it comes to "Dixie," thar's somethin' in a name ! Here's three cheers an* a tiger — as hearty as kin be. An' let the ban' play "Dixie" when the "Dixie" puts to sea ! She'll make her way an' win the day from shinin' east to west — Jest let the ban' play "Dixie" an' the boys'll do the rest! 149 THE BILLVILLE DEBATE BRETHERIN had a meetin' — jest as lively as could be; Subject for discussion: "Is Salvation Really Free?" Fer the rival meetin' houses talked it out from dark to dav^n, That they'd save the Presbyterians, but — the Methodists wuz gone ! The Baptists said 'twuz sartin as the mornin' follered night That they had the road to glory an' wuz runnin' of it right; An' the proud Episcopalians said the thing wuz plain as day That they'd have to take the gospel the Episcopalian way! THE BILLVILLE DEBATE The Methodists was 'mong 'em an' holdin' to their place, An' stickin' to their privilege of fallin' 'way from grace ; An' so, they met together, jest as earnest as could be, To settle that big question: "Is Salvation Really Free?" They talked from dark to day-time — they shouted out their views ; They made the pulpit trimble — ripped the rallin' off the pews ; But they come to no decision till a preacher says, says he: "It's sartin, in this neighborhood, salvation's really free ! "An' I'll prove it! Come up, brethren, till you're all in hearin' reach : Jest tell me whar's that salary you promised me to preach ? You've been feedin' on the gospel till the souls of you are fat, An' the preacher's coat is threadbare an' the wind howls through his hat! THE BILLVILLE DEBATE *'You listen to the sarmont, but the whole contented crowd, When we takes up a collection, are a-snorin' long and loud! Can't hear the hymn we're singin' — the basket never see. An' it's my onbiased jedgment that you've got salva- tion free!" The Presbyterian preacher said he'd sign his name to that; The Baptists said 'twuz sartin that the brother had it pat! The Episcopalians j'ined him thar: 'Twuz plain as plain could be The people in that neighborhood had got salvation free ! One man laid down a dollar ; another one give five ; Then tens an' twenties fluttered till the meetin' looked alive I An' the last seen of the preachers — they wuz jottin' down their notes An' havin' of their measures took fer bran new broad- cloth coats! 152 w THE VETERANS E met at Chickamauga. I hadn't seen him since We looked across the trenches and his bullet made me wince ; But we both shook hands in friendship, as hearty as could be, Though he had marched with Sherman and T had marched with Lee. We walked across the battlefield where once the bullets flew, And the green and bending grasses felt the fall of crim- son dew, And we talked the whole thing over where the flag was waving free How he had marched with Sherman and I had served with Lee. THE VETERANS The drums had ceased then* beating. We saw no sabers shine, The hair about his forehead fell as snowy white as mine, And voices seemed to call us o'er the far, eternal sea, Where the men who marched with Sherman are in camp with those of Lee. We parted ; eyes grew misty, for we knew that never- more, Would we meet until the roll-call on the other peaceful shore. But both shook hands in friendship as hearty as could be. Though he had marched with Sherman and I had fought with Lee. 154 A SOUTHERN VOLUNTEER YES, sir, I fought with Stonewall, And faced the fight with Lee ; But if this here Union goes to war. Make one more gun for me ! I didn't shrink from Sherman As he galloped to the sea ; But if this here Union goes to war, Make one more gun for me ! I was with 'em at Manassas — The bully boys in gray ; I heard the thunders roarin' Round Stonewall Jackson's way; And many a time this sword of mine Has blazed the route for Lee, But if this old Union goes to war. Make one more gun for me ! A SOUTHERN VOLUNTEER I'm not so full o' fightin' Nor half so full o' fun As I was back in the sixties When I shouldered my old gun. It may be that my hair is white (Such things, you know, must be). But if this old Union's in for fight. Make one more gun for me ! I hain't forgot my raisin', Nor how, in sixty-two Or thereabouts, with battle shouts, I charged the boys in blue ; And I say, I fought with Stonewall And blazed the way with Lee, But if this old Union's in for war, Make one more gun for me ! 56 OLD "BOB WHITE" WHEN peas is ripe you hear the call : "Bob White!" In music sweet the clear notes fall : "Bob White!" (He wants to let his sweetheart know — That's why he keeps a-callin' so.) Acrost the medder an' the swamp : "Bob White!" From woodlands where the rabbits romp; "Bob White!" Still, still he calls that name o' his (I wonder where his sweetheart is?) From dewy mornin' up to night: "Bob White!" An' ringin' down the sweet twilight: "Bob White!" From break o' day to evenin' dim, He calls his sweetheart home to him ! PRAYIN' FOR RAIN NEVER seen weather so powerful dry — Burnt up the hill an' the plain ; An' I says to the deacon: "We'll perish," says I; "We'd better be prayin' for rain." An' "You're right," says the deacon, an' so we got down An' soon had 'em prayin' all over the town! They prayed before breakfas', petitioned at noon: "Good Lord, sen' the rain, sen' the rain! We hain't had a drap sence the middle o' June — The dry drought has ruint the grain. The hills are on fire, an' the heat up on high Is makin' big cracks in the blue o' the sky!" They prayed in the mornin' and hollered all night. Till at last come the ghost of a cloud — A rollin' o' thunder — a flashin' o' light. An' the big rain all over the crowd ! It swelled up the rivers, it deluged the town — An' still the mad angels kep' flingin' it down! PRAYIN FOR RAIN Never seen weather so powerful wet ! Ruint the corn an' the rye; An' I says to the deacon: "We're sufferin' yet, We'd better be prayin' fer dry !" An' "You're right," says the deacon; an' so we got down, An' soon had 'em prayin' all over the town! 59 THE RATTLESNAKE'S SONG I PAUSE to sew a button on In some dim swamp or dell, And when it's time for breakfast I ring my rattle-bell. My glance is keen and killing — It charms them north and south ; The birds o' May — they lose their way And hop into my mouth ! Zip ! Zoon ! That's the tune That charms 'em in the woods o' June ! The hounds that bay the woodlands Where wild the hunters tread, Beware my den, in swamp or glen, Or 'neath my fangs fall dead | 1 60 THE RATTLESNAKE S SONG For, zip ! I am upon them, Even while my rattle rings ; Swift as a flash where thunders crash, Or as the panther springs. Zip ! Zoon ! That's the tune That charms 'em in the woods o' June ! Yet wary am I of the world : I lowly make my bed, And there I hide me, coiled and curled- A price upon my head ; And who shall slay me praise shall win: But who shall dare to tread Where low I lie, with watchful eye. Nor 'neath my fangs fall dead? Zip! Zoon! That's the tune That charms *em in the woods o' June! II i6i * 'LITTLE TIN HO'N" ?nnWUZ a year ago, on a Chris'mus mo'n, 1 Dat we hearn him blow en blow; En' his mammy call him, "Little Tin Ho'n"- Chrismus, a year ago. His mammy — she name him so, Fer de music what he blow; He wuz all she had, En hit des too bad Dat he out dar, under de snow ! We des sot by on dat Chris'mus mo'n Fer ter heah him blow en blow ; En I never knowed dat a little tin ho*n Could stir up de feelin's so! But somehow, I 'peared ter know Dat him en de ho'n would go. He wuz all we had, En hit des too bad Dat he out dar, under de snow ! 162 *' LITTLE TIN HO'n '* En de Chris' mus come w'en de Christ wuz bo'n, En de Chris'miis bugles blow; But day's nuttin' sweet ez de little Tin Ho'n Dat lef us a year ago. Nuttin' so sweet, I know, Ez de music what he blow ; He wuz all we had. En hit des too bad Dat he out dar, under de snow ! 163 A LULLABY SICH a li'l' feller, en he settin' up so wise! Say he like his daddy, but he got his mammy's eyes; Angel tuck en drap him fum a winder in de skies — By-bye, honey, twell de mawnin'. Sich a li'r feller, in de cunnin'es' er cloze! Say he love his daddy, but his mammy's what he knows ! Foun' him in de springtime, en dey tuck him fer a rose — By-bye, honey, twell de mawnin'. Sich a li'l' feller, en he talkin' like a man! By-bye, by-bye, kiss yo' li'l' han' ; Lots er li'T chillun in de sleepy Ian' — By-bye, honey, twell de mawnin*. 164 MISS NANCY OH, I wonder whar Miss Nancy gone, Fer de latch is on de do', En de sunflower say: "She gone dis way," En de sun don't shine no mo'. Oh, I wonder whar Miss Nancy gone, Fer de place look mighty still ; En de win', he say: "Ef she gone my way I'll find her, dat I will." Oh, I wonder whar Miss Nancy gone. While de shadders creep an' creep, En de w'ipperwill Fum crost de hill Say: "I'm singin' her ter sleep!" Oh, I wonder whar Miss Nancy gone, Fer de sun gone vis'tin', too; But de moonlight say: "Ef she cross my way, "I'll light her home to you I" 165 THE THRUSH SONG BROWN t'rush singin' in de woods fur off; "Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, tinkle-tink!" Dewdrap fallin' on de roseleaf sof ; "Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, tinkle-tink!" O little honey! Can't I coax you out? Is you got a lover You a-singin' erbout? Brown t'rush singin' whar de vines run 'cross; "Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, tinkle-tink!" Wes' win' callin' fer de li'l' chile dat los' : "Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, tinkle-tink!" O little honey! Can't I coax you out? Er is you got a lover You a-singin' so erbout? 1 66 SWEET, MY HONEY SWEET, my honey, dry yo' eyes, When de rain come drappm' fum de lonesome skies ; De vvorl' git thirsty fer a drap er dew. En de sun gvvine kiss it ter a rose fer you! Sweet, my honey. It'll soon be sunny — Smile en dry yo' eyes ! Sweet, my honey, dry yo' eyes. When de stars done drownded in de rainy skies ; De sun des ridin' in a bend o' blue, En he'll kiss de rain draps ter a rose fer you. Sweet, my honey, It'll soon be sunny — Smile en dry yo' eyes ! 167 A SUMMER SONG DE river crawl erlong so slow — Wid not a word to say, Look lak he dunno whar ter go En sorter los' he way. Hot times in Georgia- Hot times, I say ; Green trees whar de furrow end- Chillun cl'ar de way! De co'n blades dusty ez kin be En want de rain ter come ; Dey ax de wind ter lef de tree En frolic wid 'em some. Hot times in Georgia — Hot times, I say ; Shade tree at de furrow end — Chillun cl'ar de way! 1 68 A SUMMER SONG De mockin' bird done fol' he wing En fly fum fiel' en plain; He say: " Hit des too hot ter sing; I wish dat raincrow'd rain!" Hot times in Georgia — Hot times, I say; Shade trees at de furrow end, Chillun cPar de way! 169 THE LOST BIRDS DE mockin' bird don fol' his wing En hide away fum fros' ; He des ain't got no heart ter sing, Kase all he chillun los'. Los' away En gone astray — En so he mo'nful night en day. He buir a stravv^ nes' fur away, In blossoms sof ' en deep ; En dar he tell he chillun stay, En sing 'em all ter sleep. But de Win' — he say: "Come, fly away!" En so he miss 'em night en day. 170 THE LOST BIRDS He look up at de big blue sky What change fum long ergo, En t'ink: He larn 'em how ter fly, En den — dey lef him so ! Los' away En gone astray — Dat why he mo'nful night en day. En so, he take en fol' he wing En hide away fum fros' ; He des ain't got no heart ter sing, Wid all he chillun los'. Los' away — Los' — los' away! En so, he mo'nful night en day. 171 RABBIT vSONG 01 want you, Mr. Rabbit, ter lem me pass- Rabbit in de brier patch, Rabbit in de brier patch ; O I want you, Mr. Rabbit, ter lem me pass, Fer I ain't see my lover sence Sunday las', En I gittin' in de grass, O I gittin' in de grass — Lem me pass, Mr. Rabbit, lem me pass! O I want you, Mr. Rabbit, ter lem me pass — Rabbit in de brier patch, Rabbit in de brier patch ; O I want you, Mr. Rabbit, ter lem me pass, Fer de sun is a sinkin' en de dark comin' fas', En my lover lookin' purty in de biglookin' glass- Lem me pass, Mr. Rabbit, lem me pass ! 172 MISTER BLIZZARD MIST£:R blizzard, he come 'long, Say: "Dis country nice!" Shake de winder wid he song — Hang de house wid ice ! Oh, believer, Walk de slippeiy way ; De winter col' Freeze up yo' soul, But you'll git warm some day! Mister Blizzard puff en blow — Shake me 'twell I blue! Peepin' — creepin' in de do'— "Br'er, whar is you?" Oh, believer. Walk de slippery way ; De winter col' Freeze up yo' soul. But you'll git warm some day! MISTER BLIZZARD Mister Blizzard sling de sleet — Snow fall in de night ; Des so Afraid he'll pinch her feet Ole worl' tu'nin' white ! Oh, believer, Walk de slippery way ; De winter col' Freeze up yo' soul, But you'll git hot some day! 174 HIS DREAM-MONEY DE oP owl holler, en de ol' owl scream, En I wants dat money what I see in my dream ; Oh, my honey! I wants dat money — Dat money what I see in my dream! De graveyard rabbit by de ol' mill stream. En I wants dat money what I see in my dream ; Bless God, honey ! I wants dat money — Dat money what I see in my dream ! Ol' witch ridin' on de pale moonbeam, En I wants dat money what I see in my dream ; Bless God, honey ! I wants dat money — Dat money what I see in my dream ! 175 A PLANTATION DITTY DE gray owl sing fum de chimbly top : "Who — who — Is — ^you-oo ?" En I say: "Good Lawd, hit's des po' me, En I ain't quite ready fer de Jasper Sea ; I'm po' en sinful, en you 'lowed I'd be ; Oh, wait, good Lawd, 'twell ter-morrer!" De gray owl sing fum de cypress tree : ' 'Who — who — is — ^you-oo ?" En I say: "Good Lawd, ef you look you'll see Hit ain't nobody but des po' me, En r like ter stay 'twell my time is free; Oh, wait, good Lawd, 'twell ter-morrer!" 176 A DOUBTER IN THE FOLD DE 'gator eat de sturgeon, De sturgeon eat de perch ; De perch, he take de minnow in : Now, how dat go in church ? De heathen say: "I hongry: Dey lef me in de lurch." He eat de missionary up : Now, how dat go in church ? It's trouble, trouble, trouble: You's mixed up on de way; I hopes de Lawd'll specify Dese t'ings on Jedgment Day! 12 177 MISS LUCY'S WAY DE Bee hum in de blossom vine, De Bird break out in song ; De Sun, he say: "I 'bleege ter shine,'* Wen Miss Lucy pass erlong. O de bird break out in song Wen Miss Lucy pass erlong. En de Red Rose say He'll lean her way, Wen Miss Lucy pass erlong. De River stop w^har her footstep pass. Do' de tide run fas' en strong, En he say: "I'm heah fer yo' lookin' glass," Wen Miss Lucy pass erlong. I7§ MISS LUCY S WAY O de Bird break out in song W*en Miss Lucy pass erlong, En de River say ''Hit's a holiday," Wen Miss Lucy pass erlong. De Vi'let say: "I'm kin ter you, En you musn't treat me wrong;" En de green trees — dey bows "Howdy do!'' Wen Miss Lucy pass erlong. O, de whole wor'd sing a song Wen Miss Lucy pass erlong. Hit sing en sing Fer de weddin' ring Wen Miss Lucy pass erlong. 179 MORNING SONG ODE Sun rise up at de break er day, En he shine twell de sky tu'n blue ; En de Sun he say: * 'Hit's a long, long way, En I got no time fer ter stop en play!" En he shine all day, he shine all day, For he don't sleep late lak' you ! O de Sun he rise at de break er day. En de stars say: "Howdy do !" But de Sun he say: "You must cl'ar de way; Fer I'm on my road, en I des can't stay; My task is took fer ter shine all day, Fer I don't sleep late lak' you!" :8o YOUNG MISS YOUNG miss — she gone ter meetin* A-lookin' fit ter kill ; She dress up so she make a show, She'll ketch dem beaus — she will! She up en out fo' sun-up, En cook, en sweep, en milk; She stir roun' some, en dat how come Young miss she dress in silk. Her han* des soft ez peaches, Her cheek des red ez rose ; En dat what make dem brier take En ketch on ter her cloze. De sunbeam run longside er her Des lak it run a race, De river stop its quollin' En try ter steal her face. i8i YOUNG MISS De rabbit say: "She comin' !" En hoi' his years up high ; De mockin' bird, he hear de word En sing ez she go by! En when she git in meetin' De organ start ter play ; De preacher look en shet de book En dunno what ter say! En yit, she rise fo' sun-up, En cook, en sweep, en milk; She stir roun' some, en dat how come Young miss she dress in silk! 82 MISS LIZA EVER'WHAR Miss Liza walk You'll fin' dem vi'lets blue; En goodness knows De sweetes' rose — Hit go long dat way, too. Oh, Miss Liza! Sweet ez honeycomb, Dar's always some one at de gate "Miss Liza, is you home?'* Ever' time Miss Liza sing You heahs dem mockin' birds; Dey up en say: "Dat's des de way!" En try ter larn de words. Oh, Miss Liza! Sweet ez honeycomb, Dar's always some one at de gate "Miss Liza, is you home?" THE CHILDREN DE good Lawd en de Marster Dat make de easy yokes Doan love de growed up sinners Lak little bits er folks. Dey tell him: "Lawd, de chillun Des lonesome ez kin be!" En den His arms He open, En calls 'em: "Come ter Me!" He doan ax why dey mother Doan rock 'em all ter res' ; He call 'em ter de kingdom En take 'em to His bre's'. En sence dat day de chillun — Bekaze He love 'em so. Seem des so close to heaven Dey doan have fur ter go ! 184 THE CHILDREN Dey mighty close de city Whar sweet dc music rings ; Dey see de lights a-shinin' En touch de angels' wings. En when dey tell de Marster Dey lonesome ez kin be, Still — still His arms He open En call 'em: *'Come ter Me!' 85 AT DEVIL'S LAKE AT Devil's Lake the days are lone ; Night has no star to call her own, And winds o'er glooms of cypress moan. For there they led Leweny With the ribald shout of many; They gathered ghostly round him — They scourged him and they bound him, And fathoms deep they drowned him In the Devil's deadly Lake ! The mists are crawling o'er the pines, Where never moon unclouded shines ; Grim ghosts are gliding through the vines. For there they led Leweny, With the savage shout of many. O pale the moon was beaming! At his wife's side he lay dreaming; But he saw the death-eyes gleaming In the Devil's deadly Lake! i86 AT DEVIL S LAKE Ye startle at the phantom owl ; Ye hear the wolves for hunger howl ; But shapes more dread than panthers' prowl ! For 'twas there they led Lewen}', With the brutal cries of many ; From weeping wife and mother ; From sister and from brother, For the black crime of another — To the Devil's deadly Lake! "Spare ye," he cried, "the rope, the knife! Let justice hold and judge my life ; Slay not my children and my wife!" But there they slew Leweny, With the hellish hate of many ; With thongs they scourged and bound him, And fathoms deep they drowned him. And the grim ghosts wailed around him In the Devil's lonely Lake! :S7 A SUMMER LYRIC I'M not so much on summer when the lilies wilt away, And the rose in windless gardens is a pallid ghost of May; When the very woods are breathless, and the valley and the plain, As they glisten seem to listen for the falling of the rain. And over twinkling meadows Where the dusty daisies throng And dream of dewy shadows Comes * 'the weary plowman's" song: "Gee! Haw, thar! Git along!" I'm not so much on summer, though the rivers as they run With winsome, windy ripples seem to catch and cool the sun ; And toss their shining dewdrops where the green banks droop and dream. And tempt the thirsting thrushes where the scarlet ber- ries gleam. 1 88 A SUMMER LYRIC While far across the meadows Where the dusty daisies throng — Low-listening for the shadows, Comes that "weary plowman's" song: "Gee! Haw, thar! Git along!" But O the glad September, when the wind is in the pines And the gusty groves are sweetened by the swaying muscadines ! Where the red fox leaves his cover, and the winding of the horn, Like a love song to a lover, makes the melody of morn ! Then, o'er the ringing meadows. Moves the merry, cheery throng. In the gray of chilly shadows, And we never miss that song — "Gee! Haw, thar! Git along!" 89 TIGER LILIES TO love her still my will is — My ruin and my rest. (She weareth tiger lilies — Tiger lilies on her breast.) She deems not love a jew^el, Nor cares if love be blest ; The infinitely cruel ! (Tiger lilies on her breast.) A song she makes of sighing . Ho! lovers, east and west, — She smiles where Love lies dying. (Tiger lilies on her breast.) ic^o MORNING FIRES FOR MARY THIS here war's a cruel sight — Turns your life contrary ; (Think I'll stay at home an' light Mornin' fires fer Mary ! ) Think o' marchin' day an' night — Sick, an' sad, an' weary! (Think I'll stay at home an' light Mornin' fires fer Mary ! ) 'Course, the country's cause is right. But — I'm stationary! Ef they kilt me, who would light Mornin' fires fer Mary? Three cheers fer the boys that fight! War is too contrary Fer a man they raised ter light Mornin' fires fer Mary ! [91 THE VETERAN'S DREAM SETTIN' down by Kennesaw, Got to thinkin' on the days Of the formin' an' the stormin' Of the ranks along the ways. June sun all the land wuz warmin', But I seen the war-fires blaze ! Settin' down by Kennesaw, Seen the boys in battle fall ; Skies — they thundered, an' I wondered, Sence they had no clouds at all ! In some sperrit land I'd blundered, — Heard the ghostly captains call. Seen the boys that wore the gray Chargni' on the ranks of blue ; Dashin' — clashin' — an' the flashin', Of the bright swords, drippin' dew. Heard the cannon balls a-crashin' — Makin' deadly pathways through. 192 THE veteran's DREAM Then the scene wuz changed : The blue With the gray stood — side by side ; An' one flag come into view — (Thar wuz bullet holes to hide, An' a missin' star or two ; But — the boys marched side by side!) Side by side, they marched away At a sudden bugle-call ; No more blue an' no more gray I- — Jest one flag to wave for all ! Marched into a brighter day, Answerin' to that bugle-call! Which wuz right, an' which wuz wrong — Didn't matter: Ranks looked thin. But they marched — true hearts an' strong — Other fights for them to win . . I'd been dreamin' purty long, But — I'm in the war ag'in! 13 193 L IN THY NEW YEAR I ORD God, in Thy New Year Ilccd Thou our song and prayer; Thy world, O Lord, is sweet With flowery prints of feet Of children, who for rest Climb to the mother's breast. But oft the mother weeps Where in the rose-strewn deeps Love with the children sleeps. Spare them life's little while Ere they make heaven smile. II Lord God, in Thy New Year Heed Thou our song and prayer: As fledged birds leave the nest. So from the mother's breast Wander the children sweet: — Sharp thorns are at their feet, 194 IN THY NEW YEAR Shed from life's starless skies Blindness falls on their eyes. Lead them through darkest night, Lord, to Thy light— Thy light! Shield them life's little while Ere they make heaven smile. Ill Lord God, in Thy New Year Heed Thou our song and prayer: Which is the way to tread Heavenward above our dead ? Which the true way that leads Starward from stormy creeds ? Lo ! we are wrapped in night ; Unbind more stars of light! Arch in Thy heaven again Rainbows of hope to men ! Lead us through darkest night. Lord, to Thy light— Thy light! This is our song and prayer, Lord, in Thine own New Year ^95 WITH APRIL VIOLETS I HAD rather bring you riches — the gold I dream for you : But — take these April violets I reaped in fields of dew. I weep that Fortune flies me : for winter winds blow cold — But God gave some the violets, and God gave some the gold. I had rather bring you riches; for Life's fair table spread Is mocked when Poverty must pray over a crust of bread ; When the sweetest love of life must starve, or beggared palms must hold To hearts that hate the violets and lock from Love the gold. 196 WITH APRIL VIOLETS I had rather bring you riches — to lure with golden art The longing from Love's eyes, dear, the hunger from Love's heart; What grace that for the breast of Love Life's violets I twine ? They win not worldly welcomes like raiment silken-fine. And you should be a queen, and I — thankful to see you so. But the fool is in the palace, and Love's own unshel- tered go. Yet, take these April violets — all that my life can hold — And coin them with thy kisses, dear, to treasuries of gold! 97 HIS "FAVOR'' AIN'T he like his mammy? Favor 'bout de eyes: Calls ter mind his daddy, Settin' up so wise ! Favor ever'body, Till ain't a favor lef ; But I tell you who he favor mos' : His own, sweet, purty se'f ! Cryin', looks like grandpa — Wrinkles make him kin ; But tell me who he favor When he laughs de dimples in! Done favor ever'body. Till ain't a favor lef ; But I tell you who he favor mos* : His own, sweet, purty se'f! 198 A WINTER NIGHT PILE on the logs ! the bright flames start And up the roaring chimney race ; How grateful should we be, sweetheart, For just this little fireplace ! I said to-day that I was poor. And poor in some things I may be, But there's a shelter — who needs more? And your bright eyes to shine for me. Draw near, and sum our blessings, sweet ; While we are housed and clothed and fed The bleak winds hound from street to street Souls that share not life's daily bread. While we, safe harbored from the storm, Have all our happy hearts desire, There's many a weak and wounded form Bends o'er a hearth without a fire. 199 A WINTER NIGHT Thank God for home ! and if a knock Sounds at the door this icy night, Oh, let us hasten to unlock And bring a brother to the light ! It was for this God's gifts were lent — To light the way for those that roam ; It was for this that Christ was sent — To shelter those that had no home! THE END 200 \o 'hU