"-P sit ^\ ,o- • X .V'"V >* ^ • 1 ^. ^ U^^,.% V c^ •'fife*. ^ ^ - CAPTAIN D. L,. PAYNE. These are his meeds : Homes fill the plains Where he, a martyr, walked in chains, And every place where once he stood Proclaims the glories of his good ! Songs from tbe Souths west Country ** *t *e 18$ jfreeman j£, niMller, a. HD, Author of " Oklahoma, and Other Poems," etc. ; Professor of the English Language and Literature in the Oklahoma Agricultural and Mechanical College Wew 22orh Ube Knickerbocker (press t898 VED /, Copyright, 1898 BY FREEMAN E. MILLER All Rights Reserved x-Ufff To His Excellency Hon. CASSIUS M. BARNES Governor of Oklahoma Territory Whose Life has been Given to the Development of the Southwest Country and to whose Heart that Favored Land is as Dear as an Only Child This Volume is Respectfully Inscribed I never doubt the songs we sing Through all the ages grow in grace, Till in their angel anthems ring The loves and longings of the race ; They treasure up for deafened ears The murmurs of the cycled years, Till at the last in music roll Their thunders through the mystic soul ! The most of the poems in this volume are printed here for the first time ; several, however, have appeared in the Cen- tury Magazine, the Youth 's Companion, Peterson's Magazine, the Bachelor of Arts, the Overland Monthly, and other copyrighted publications ; and to their editors thanks are hereby given for permission to reprint. CONTENTS. Captain Payne and His Home in Oklahoma, Frontispiece. The Southwest Country SONGS FROM THE SOUTHWEST COUNTRY. The Opening of Oklahoma : At Morning, — The Desert Land At Noon, — The Race for Homes At Night, — The Desert Conquered The Ballad of the Alamo The Battle of the Washita . The Plaint of the Tenderfoot Slaughtering the Ponies David L. Payne .... Kansas The Stampede .... A Song for the Settler . Lines on Captain Payne's Cabin Mountain Song .... " When the Golden-Rod is Yellow On the Shanky-Tank Oklahoma The Mississippi .... The Plains By the Overland Trail . " Where Custer Fell " 7 9 19 27 32 36 39 42 45 47 48 49 50 52 52 53 54 54 Contents. The Cowboy Poet The Sunflower . SONNETS. Books .... The Teacher On the Great Pyramid In a Public Library . At Rossetti's Grave . New England . Immutable . The Mightiest . Lilith Absent Preoccupied A Dream To To The One Who Understands Sympathy . Unforgetting . The Door of Life Inaction To the Rescue . MISCELLANEOUS. At Eastertide . The Old Range Road The Night . " O My Heart, Be Brave Again Creeds The Conqueror . Immortal . Mind .... Dreamer and Singer The Roses . PAGE 55 55 59 59 6o 6i 6i 62 63 63 64 65 65 66 67 67 68 69 69 70 7i 72 75 79 85 88 90 93 95 96 98 100 Contents. ix PAGE Greed .......... 102 Playing Horse . 104 A Glad Playfellow . 106 The On-March . 108 The Dreamer 110 The Stars .... 112 The Little Boy's Hair "3 The Little Dead Baby "5 Renunciation 117 " There, My Heart, Be Still \ Minute " 118 A Ramble .... 120 Unforgetting . 121 The Minor Chord 123 In the Night 124 Save the Boys . 127 Take It Easy 128 My Love .... 129 A Health .... 130 Loneliness .... 131 In Memory of Eugene Field 133 A Suppliant 134 Motherhood 135 The Commonplaces . 136 Joy Abides .... 137 The Hours 138 Undismayed 139 " Alas ! My Own Harp ! " . 140 Faith 141 Beneath the Pines 141 In Lotus Land . 142 An Epitaph 143 Life's Trinity . 143 Forsaken .... 144 Bud and Bloom . 144 The Musician 145 Love and Death 145 Contents. Death The Dead Singer The Angelus Birth's Miracle Two Prayers Ambition Love .... The Poet . The Minstrel's Power Life .... Tradition . The Creation of Art God's Children . In a Volume of Poems Hero and Singer To-Day and To-Morrow The Dead Seer . One Saying To a Singer I Never Saw Limited Truth's Mightiness . Self-Made . The Dead Waif A Prayer . Duty .... IN DIALECT. The Faith Cure .... Ole Jim Hankins .... The Banks of Turkey Run Moralizin's "'Fore Willyum Writ a Book " " When the Roas'in'-Ears is Plenty " Put'er Thayre fer Ninety Days !" At Fweddie's L'Envoi THE SOUTHWEST COUNTRY. O TUPENDOUS reach of vale and mountain-side, ^ Of wooded continents and seas of plain, Of grassy oceans glad with isles of grain, Where trains of traffic, ships of commerce, ride ; Far distances that rouse prodigious pride And clamor hope to hosts that strive in vain, — Productive empires boundless, whose rich gain Shall crown with plenteousness the nations wide ! Thou hast achieved already ! Thy frontiers Are mighty with the holy labors wrought By nameless heroes of exalted quest ; And in thy bosom sleep the pioneers Who thrilled thy silences with sudden thought And woke the vastness of the great southwest ! Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country THE OPENING OF OKLAHOMA. APRIL 22, [889. At Morning, — The Desert Land. T N silence, lone and tenantless but fair, The desert stands, as on the morn it stood When God first breathed upon the brooding earth, And all the throbbing life of wood and field, Of rounded hills and valleys wide, appeared In shades and shapes of beauty ; when fond hands With sweet adornment glorified the world, Sowed blossoms o'er the gaping mountain-sides, And wreathed the vales with gladness, while the streams Flowed with bright waters that in music sang Over the gentle ripples. Perfect world ! New from its Maker's hands, it mutely stood, Expectant, ready, for its master, Man ; So stands the desert now, unvexed, unmarred, By man's relentless labor, sweet and fair 1 2 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. As when God looked upon the new-born earth, Beheld its perfect comeliness, and said, " Lo, all is good ! " The grasses waving bend Before the dewy breezes ; willows nod Beside the scanty streams, and scattered woods Breathe sighs of longing welcome ; the wild birds, Croaking wild cries instinct with fear's alarm, Shriek out exultant curses ; the fierce beasts, Bloody from battle with their fellows, go With haste unwonted to their savage lairs ; But Nature rules, an empress on whose realm No foreign footstep falls in rebeldom. No lazy smoke from chimneys made with hands Floats in the air ; no human voices vex The hills and valleys ; no rude labors mar The swarded prairies' velvet lawns of peace ; No laughter light, no anguished chorus, floats From aught save Nature and her savage slaves, While through the moanings of their restless dreams There comes no warning of impending change, Of empire's mighty march ; and man with feet Shod with the steel of progress fleet and swift, Beneath whose tread the wilderness shall change, And at the echoes of whose coming, toil Shall wake the ages from their solemn sleep, Order to chaos yield her kingdoms large, That order may a grander kingdom gain — And man shall plant his banners flaunting far With civilization and her thousand arts That lead and lift the nations to the sky. Zbe ©pcning of ©Maboma. At Noon, — The Race for Homes. Behold ! As from the shades of night An army gathers full of might, And strong with constant courage stands 'Tween civilized and savage lands, Where, vast in power, the legion waits The turning of the desert gates, That men of might may enter in And labor all her glories win ! Lo, where these thousands make assail, The barren ages all shall fail, And swift advancement far be hurled O'er sleeping empires and the world ! The morning hours haste hurried by ; The noon, — the noon is drawing nigh ! The anxious host with restless eyes Marks well each rapid hour that flies, While hope, exulting, wildly rolls The highest, such as filled the souls Of Jason and his comrades bold Who sought the famous fleece of gold, And bound in one adventurous band Brought treasures from a foreign land. Impatient steeds with fretting feet Upon the trampled grasses beat ; The dins of harsh, discordant cries Above the thrilling thousands rise ; Shrilly the scattered children call, And soft the words of women fall, Songs from tbe Southwest Country. While men with voices hushed and weak Their low commands impatient speak ; Till suddenly a mighty cry, A shout of warning, smites the sky : "Attention! Ho, Attention here ! Attention ! Lo, The noon is near ! " O'er hill and brake Resounds the warning cry ; The moment great is nigh ; The hosts awake ; Awake, to strive with mad delight, Awake, to win the friendly fight ! And from the camps anear and far, Where nervous haste and hurry are, Vast legions gather on the plain, Till chaos and confusion reign ; The neighing steed with quickened pace Impatient seeks the vantage-place ; The slower ox with lightened load Stands waiting in the crowded road, And wagon, buggy, carriage, cart, Vehicles formed with rudest art, All forward, forward, forward dart, Swift-forming on the level ground Where most advantage may be found. " Line up ! Ho, there ! Line up ! Line up ! " Gbe Opening of ©Rlaboma. The hurried order smites the air ; Above the silent prairies fair Unseen progression holds her cup, Filled to the brim with magic seeds That harvests hold for human needs. Excitement grows on beasts and men ; The saddle-girths are tightened o'er, The stirrups lengthened out once more, And silence softly falls again ; Each bit and buckle, strap and band, Is tested o'er with careful hand, Till man and beast, in chosen place, Stand ready for the coming race. The circling sun His morning race has fully run ; A waving hand Signals above the brief command That sight and sense will understand, — And open swings the desert land ! A shot ! A hundred, thousand more The grassy meadows echo o'er ; A shout ! From countless throats a shout On rolling wings leaps madly out ! A yell, a raging roar, that flies On bounding winds o'er hill and glen, And 'round the land electrifies A thousand living miles of men ! A mammoth stir, A sudden dash, Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. Swift whip and spur Together clash, And wheels on wheels that totter, crash ! They 're off ! They 're off ! Away ! Away ! In mad array ! No stop nor stay ! The hurried charge they ride to-day Would shame and scoff The Tartar, Turk, and Romanoff ! The race is on ; The host is gone ; All forward thrust Through clouds of dust ; The thronging legions madly ride O'er hill and dale, With hurried pace unsatisfied, In fierce assail Where none may fail ; And one by one, exhausted sheer, The racing thousands disappear ; Till only shadows dimly blent Tell where the mounted armies went, Like shifting shadows, faint and dim, Or ghostly spectres, gaunt and grim, Beyond the far horizon's rim ! Behold ! Adown the valleys bright The last lone straggler fades from sight, And only hasty hoof-beats say, In echoes from the far-off hills, Gbe ©pening of ©fclaboma. 7 What thousands rode the race to-day With hopeful hearts and fearless wills ; What hosts with hands that build and bless Found homes amid the wilderness ! At Night, — The Desert Conquered. Ten thousand tents above the wilderness, Conquered so quickly from the lonely realms And brought beneath man's sceptre of control, To tremble at his feet and slowly change Before the forming touches of his hand, Mark cities newly born, that swift shall grow The wonders of an age all wonderful. Ten thousand camp-fires in the valleys broad, Bright torches of the newer life, whose fires Advancement's magic hands have widely built, Show where new homes are founded, and the strife Which man and nature shall forever wage Hath here beginning ; transformation throws Her kindly sceptre o'er the lonely lands. The virgin grasses thrill beneath the tread Of hurried feet ; the wild birds hiding flee, And savage beasts to savage haunts retire. Secluded springs, untouched by human lips, Unvexed by human shadows, since the morn When first they flowed from earth's abundant breast, Mirror unwonted faces, fondly press Soft touches to the unfamiliar lips. In night's dear arms of rest the wearied hosts Fall on the conquered fields like warriors old 8 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. And dream of homes wrought from the wilderness ; Of porches wide with clustered blossoms wreathed, Of lasting shades and tender breezes cool, Love's gentle looks, and songs of happy birds, Plenty and progress in a land of might Rich in the boundless wealth that blesses man And leads his longings forward to the tall Results of time and toil's unfailing growth. Empires arise of pride and promise full, With conquest high, like prince and peasant won On fields historic where the clash of arms, The battle's thunder, and the striving host, Shook earth's foundations through the lowest depths And filled the farthest ages with their might. Dreams fill with wondrous fancies far-off days, The hills and valleys that with sudden homes Man's tireless hands have clothed ; but prophecy Inspires the tender dreams, and time shall fill Out to the utmost all that fancy forms, All that she brings from shadows and beholds, Brighter and greater than the dreams she dreamed. The world shall search the years' vast volumes o'er With eagerness and, wearied, rest in vain, To find another scene for precedent. THE BALLAD OF THE ALAMO. /^\ IT'S East and West and North and South, ^> —it 's the Old World and the New ; — // 's every place that the human race has warred and tvandered through ; But not the years that the ancients lived, nor the years that the moderns know, Such deeds have wrought as the men who fought at the Church of the Alamo ! " What see you, frightened sentinel, that thus you bend your eyes ? Do herds of cattle or packs of wolves o'erwhelm you with surprise ? " " 'T is neither wolves nor cattle that march and march again ; ' 'T is Santa Anna's army, — 't is twice three thou- sand men ! " " Nay, nay, my faithful guardsman ! — God's curses on the foe ! — You must be mad or drunken, — your eyes deceive you so ! io Songs from tbe Soutbwcst Country. For Santa Anna 's far away with all his blare and boast, Afraid to battle freedom's few with his unnum- bered host ! " " 'T is he, — the Greaser ! he, I know ! There — yonder — in the west ! Mine eyes do not deceive me, — no ! His lances are at rest ; The long lines sweep and forward creep, beneath the gleaming sun ! O God of Freedom, help us now ! They 're fifty to our one ! " " Ho, troopers, to your saddles now ! You — you .' Ride — ride — your best ! To where yon guardsman says he sees the Greasers in the west ; Right bold ye are ! Ride fast and far ! And, prove it ill or well, Bring back report ! We '11 make work short with these wild imps of hell ! " Forth, forth they ride ; up yon hillside, with hoofs that spurn the ground, The horses gallop, gallop on, with faint and fainter sound ; And o'er the summit, passing down, the horsemen slowly sink, With courage whirled into that world which waits beyond the brink. Zbc JBallaD of tbe Hlamo. u " A musket-shot ? A pistol-shot ? Ride, ride, ride, men, for life ! A hundred lancers after them ! God ! for an equal strife ! Fling wide the gates ! There safety waits for all who love the Star ; And Death's red wounds to all that dare with it to offer war ! " And yonder comes the armied host ! Ah, guard, your eyes were true ! And yonder comes the horse and foot that shall make short of you ! Short shift of you, short shift of us, — they 're fifty to our one ! The battle would be over here before the fight begun ! " The Church ! The Church ! Its courts are wide, its walls are firm and strong ! " O'er Brazos' stream, with herd and team, the heroes move along ; They are not first, they are not last, of those who from the foe Found refuge sure and safe, secure, within the Alamo ! Now pause, ye foes ! Your leader well the strength and power has known Of hearts and souls aflame for right and for their country's own ! i2 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. Beyond your arms, despising harms, triumphant over ills, They '11 meet attack and hurl you back, while every bullet kills ! " A messenger ! A Flag of Truce ! What does the Wolf presume ? Thinks he that we '11 surrender now ? Too well we know that doom ! But ride you forth and meet him there, and bring his word to me : A cannon-shot from hell red-hot my sole reply shall be ! " The Greaser Dog ! ' Surrender at discretion ; with a word, If you persist in holding out, your hearts shall have the sword ! ' Ho, gunner, pull the lanyard now ! A throat of flame shall show How such commands from despot lips receive the answer ' No ! ' " Now look you, comrade soldiers ! On San Fernando's towers A blood-red rag supplants the Flag ! No quarter shall be ours ! But his the blood whose coward flood shall run the valleys through ! Now ' God and Texas ' be our cry for God and Texas, too ! " Zbc ;JBallaD of tbe alamo. 13 The foe draws nigh ; and thundering high wild roars the cannonade ; And yonder o'er the rolling stream a hasty bridge is made ; But the rifles of the Texans are aimed at heart and head, And like the leaves in autumn-time the Mexicans are dead! Loud ring the cries of conflict ! Loud roll and roar the guns, And nearer, nearer, creep the lines to Freedom's watching sons ; Each single night with deadly might the batteries leap and glow, While every road is garrisoned with thousands of the foe. "Thrice welcome, men from Gonzales ! Thrice wel- come, one and all ! You 've hurried far and here you are, and here we '11 fight and fall ; You '11 find some neat diversion sweet before you leave, my braves, But arms all true of thirty-two are worth a thousand slaves ! " Now yonder on the eastern road the skirmished horsemen fight ; Now yonder by the river-side the jackals flame at night ; 14 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. But closer draw the batteries, — the Wolf will have his own ! Send, send for help, brave Travis ! You are too weak alone ! " Now saddle up your swiftest horse, and draw the cinches tight, — It is a wild and lonely ride that you must make to-night ! Away to Houston at the front, and tell him that we call For men to help and men to hope and men to save us all ! " And should relief not come to us, — we never shall retreat ! Our flag shall float, — we will not yield, — to die for home is sweet ! Like soldiers who can ne'er forget love to their land is due, — We all shall live with honor still, and die with honor too ! " And hasten, Bonham, hasten, on steeds that gallop mad ! Away, away ! No stop nor stay ! Away to Goliad ! For Fannin with his strong right arm and his three hundred men Shall overthrow the Greaser foe and scourge him home again ! " Gbe JBallao of tbe alamo. 15 Then Travis called his men to him : " The end is near," said he ; " But yet there 's room to slip the doom, for all who care to flee ! As for myself, here shall I stay, whatever fate may chance : Let him who wills to share my ills across this line advance ! " Then down he stooped and drew his sword, and on the trampled sod He traced a line of straight design : " For Texas and our God," In grim prayer rose from lips of those, and up he glanced, to find Eight score and more had stepped it o 'er, and none were left behind ! There are men and women that perish ; they die on the sea and the shore, For the storm and the plague and the bullet are awake and at work evermore ; But the angels above who are watching sing gladly with glorified breath When the men who may choose base living refuse and go bravely down to the death ! Be ready, O ye heroes, by despot arms assailed ! For Houston is at Washington and Fannin's men have failed ; 16 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Gountrg. Your eyes are tired with watching, your hope and help are gone, And Santa Anna's savage hosts will storm the fort at dawn ! The bugles blare the frenzied " Charge ! " The bands Deguelo play ; The cry, " No quarter," leaps and rolls above the morning gray ; Now God protect the heroes there ! If Santa Anna wins, Each Texan there shall slaughter share, if once the work begins. In yonder plaza stands the chief beside the hidden gun, While forward, forward, in attack the footmen rush and run ; To north and east, to north and west, the thronging thousands swarm, And oh, the horrid wings of death that ride upon the storm ! On still they sweep ! Is there no help — no arm outstretched to save ? Alas, that might can conquer right, the many slay the brave ! Like shambled sheep the thousands leap across the wall, — and — then — From room to room — they drive — to — doom — the still unconquered men ! XTbe JBallao of tbe Blamo. 17 Here Travis fell ; here Bonham died ; here Evans perished, too ; There Crockett fell, by danger slain, who danger never knew ; There Bowie, on his bed of death, with pistols made reply To all his foes required of him, and taught them how to die ! How red and rare the deep wounds stare ! The Church this Sabbath day Knows scenes that none e'er saw before who gathered here to pray ; For dead and dying Mexicans are counted hundreds five, And of the gallant Texans not one is left alive ! God rest them well ! Their blood and brawn were gifts to liberty ; They died to save the Lone Star Flag, and make their people free ; And love shall keep their holy sleep and twine sweet garlands when The heart of Freedom mourns above brave Travis and his men. O, it ' s East and West and North and South, — it 's the Old World and the JVetv ; It 's every place that the human race has 7varred ana wandered through ; 18 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Gountrg. But not the years that the ancients lived nor the years that the moderns know Such deeds have wrought as the men who fought at the Church of the Alamo ! THE BATTLE OF THE WASHITA. (The battle of the Washita was fought November 28, 1868, near the present town of Cheyenne, Roger Mills County, Oklahoma, between General Custer's Seventh Cavalry and Black Kettle's band of Indians.) "V ^HERE are battles by populous cities and battles where business roars ; There are battles in song-famous valleys and battles on ballad-sung shores j But the battles that conquered the prairies and laid the red devils to rest Are the battles of bounty and blessing that live in the lives of the West. There 's many a soldier lives in song whose deathless deeds were bold, But Custer was much the bravest man that ever had heart of gold ; There 's many a regiment rolled in fame, but none could braver be Than the men who rode to the Washita in the Seventh Cavalry ! The savage tribes in paint and plume have danced the dance of war, And bursting from the far southwest have wandered fast and far ; 19 so Songs from tbe Soutbvvest Country. And where they sweep the settler's keep in fire and smoke has fled, While settler, wife, and children, — all are lying scalped and dead ! The swart Cheyenne and Kiowa, the tall Arapahoe, Comanche, and Apache fierce, have joined the fiendish foe ; And swift along the far frontier with fire and slaugh- ter, too, They 've scourged the Kansas hills and plains with deeds that demons do. " Ho, to your saddles, Custer ! " Then thundered Sheridan ; " There 's work to do for such as you and for your gallant men ; I trust you well in everything ; with neither wait nor word Drive back these beasts into their lairs and make them feel your sword ! " " My boys are quick and tireless, sir ; no blade of grass shall grow Beneath our feet until we meet and slay the savage foe ; With lively pains we '11 scour the plains ; we '11 soothe to rest again The seven seas of broad prairies and give them back to men ! " abe battle of tbe Tlfllasbita. 21 " Now, red-skins, to your villages, and pray the Manitou, For Custer and his cavalry are on the trail for you ! And you shall feel their swords of steel, — 't is war's relentless law, — And see your lodges stained with blood beside the Washita." It was a gallant regiment that marched from old Fort Hays To hunt the prowling savages in those October days ; High beat their hearts and fearless, and plagues of want and woe Were bred to fall on each and all that dared to be a foe ! It 's southward over Kansas the eager troopers press ; It 's past Fort Dodge, and on and on, into the wil- derness ; It 's marching, marching, through the day, it 's mounting guard by night, Until at last the game is treed ; now, soldiers, to the fight ! " Ho, troopers, do you see it ? Here runs the re- cent trail ! Not far the Indian village now ; your mission shall not fail ; 22 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. Ere long the murdered white men, the women worse than slain, By your brave arms avenge their harms, and rest at peace again." Through sleet and snow the soldiers go ; what mat- ters wind or cold ? Their strong hearts warm defy the storm, with cour- age brave and bold ; Though quick-sands yawn and ice impedes, yet uncomplainin gly They forward march where Custer leads — the Seventh Cavalry ! " Now steadily and silently, O scouts, with caution crawl ! A single sound may reach the foe, and warn him once for all ; Too far we come, too far we march ; 't were ever- more our shame, If some neglect should rouse him now, and rob us us of our game. " Ho, ho ! Ho, ho ! Here ashes glow ! We now are near at last ; Heard ye that howl ? A snapping cur growls o'er his rough repast ! And — lower still ! Ye gods, what ill ! A baby's fretful cry ! Alas, that men such deeds must do, and little ones must die ! " Cbe Battle of tbe THUagblta. 23 Now to the east and to the west and to the north and south, The men in silence find their way across the val- ley's mouth ; O sleeping red-skins, to your prayers ! Invoke the Manitou, For Custer and his cavalry are all surrounding you ! It 's little rest the soldiers take ; it 's little sleep they know, So cold the night howls overhead, so deep the drifted snow ; But tired limbs and heavy eyes have hastened far away, For " Garryowen " and the " Charge " shall sound at break of day. " The East grows pale ; the shadows fail ! When will the bugle blow ? Whose that command which lags behind, — which keeps us waiting so ? " Hark ! Loud and clear with cheer on cheer the " Charge " rings on the air, And, ere the lodges leap awake, the strong-limbed men are there ! Now steady, steady, steady, men ! Be cautious through the strife ! Each lodge leaps up, the village wakes, with savage, naked life ! 24 Songs trom tbe Soutbwest Country. On fast and far ! On, lines of war ! Like tigers for their prey, Sweep onward still o'er highest hill, and every foe- man slay ! But yonder, yonder fires the foe from every far ravine ! And yonder, yonder, through the trees, the skulk- ing braves are seen ! And there, and here, from tepees near, the swarthy squaws reveal With deadly rifles aimed too well, the deadly hate they feel ! Let not that dirge wake pity now ! Hard, hard let hearts remain ! So shrieked, so mourned white women, too, o'er babes and husbands slain ! 'T is but the death-song born of fear ; if Death is master there, God let them know how fierce is woe that prays a hopeless prayer ! Behind each bush a foeman lurks — behind each rock and tree ; Charge right and left ! Charge back and forth, till every one shall flee ! Red hearts must feel the stroke of steel ; for still their victims cry For vengeance on the ruthless foe, — for vengeance mountains high ! Gbe JBattle of tbc TKHasbita. 25 Up hill, down vale, the troopers charge ; and fast the warriors all Before the swords of righteous wrath in terror flee and fall ; And every stroke writes down in blood what ne'er was writ before, " Black Kettle and his savage band shall ride the plains no more ! " Now rest ye, gallant troopers all ! The weary chase is done ; The savages are loose no more, the battle has been won ; These ghastly forms — five score and more — pro- claim how well have wrought Your soldier arms, your soldier swords, that leaped with righteous thought. O sleepers on the wide, wide plains ! O mangled, murdered men ! Not unavenged you rest to-day for all you suffered then ! Your savage foes are silent now ; these stains upon the snow Are red as those beside your doors a few short weeks ago! ******* Where thus the white and red man strove, some thirty years ago, The stains no more make red the soil, and greenest grasses grow ; 26 Songs from tbe Soutbwcst Country. And happy homes where roses twine and children laugh and play- Have filled with peace the vast frontiers since that eventful day. No more the war-paint redly glows upon the war- rior's face ; No more the war-dance reels and roars through all a savage race ; No more the bands of mounted braves in haste and hurry ride To murder men and ply the torch, through all the borders wide. No more red hands and redder hearts have king- doms for their reigns ; No more the war-whoops roll and ring across the desert plains ; No more the war-drums send abroad their doleful melody, Since Custer led his gallant men, — the Seventh Cavalry ! There are battles by populous cities and battles ivhere business roars ; There are battles in song-famous valleys and battles on ballad-sung shores; But the battles that conquered the prairies and laid the red devils to rest Are the battles of bounty and blessing that live in the lives of the West ! THE PLAINT OF THE TENDERFOOT. J~\OWN along the Cimarron where the currents twine, There I met an immigrant in eighteen eighty-nine ; He was all alone and his heart was stone, — he had gathered bitter fruit, And his hoarse voice rang as he sadly sang the Plaint of the Tenderfoot : From Indiana it was I came, some seventeen days ago, To find me a farm in the " Beautiful Land " that the boomers have tried to blow ; And in those few days I have lived more ways than the brutes of the jungles do ; I have seen more things than a bird with wings could flutter or fly up through ; And if ever I do get home again, though bacon and bread be slack, I '11 be content with a bit of both, and a clean shirt to my back. I have learned some things that are valuable ; it is now quite plain to me This opening up new lands to the world isn't what it is said to be ; 27 28 Songs trom tbe Soutbwest Country. With the " sooner " before and the " sooner " behind, the honest man has no chance ; They '11 gobble his claim and blacken his name and take every cent in his pants : And if ever I do get home again, no matter how much I lack, I '11 be content with an empty purse, and a clean shirt to my back. I stopped at Arkansas City, and bought me a horse and cart ; I crossed the Strip in elegant style, with a high and hopeful heart ; And " overland fish " was all my grub, and my drink was the water white Which rose in the tracks that the cattle made, through the dews of the chilly night ; And if ever I do get home again, they may call me white or black, But I '11 be content with an oat-straw bed, and a clean shirt to my back. I travelled a hundred miles, I think, and I slept on the ground, I know ; I never have washed or shaved my face since fifteen days ago ; For the wild wolves howled and ran them round in the most alarming curves, And I am not used to that sort of thing, — it is wear- ing on my nerves Zbc flMatnt of tbe ftenoerfoot. 29 And if ever I do get home again, I may fall into wrong and rack, But I '11 be content with a quiet place, and a clean shirt to my back. I ran a race for a dozen miles, — a wild and a reck- less race, — That far surpassed Dick Turpin's ride or a London steeple-chase ; And when I stopped, not a single soul, — not a thing was there in sight, — But a vast amount of the meanest land that ever lay out at night ; And if ever I do get home again, I '11 stay in the beaten track, And be content with a good clean face, and a clean shirt to my back. But in half an hour on that very claim there were six men holding it, (I never hold out for a swine myself and I know when it 's time to quit ;) So I sold my right for a paltry five, and had given the buyer ten To take** the quarter and let me go and live in the world again "; And if ever I do get home again, no matter how small my pack, I '11 be content with a good whole skin, and a clean shirt to my back. 30 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. I never was used to rifles much and pistols take my sand, And the boomers that love this soil so much have one or the other at hand ; And grub 's too dear for a man out here, and if I should the State receive, I never would stay but would up and away, as soon as I ever could leave ; And if ever I do get home again, I '11 sail on a safer tack, And be content with the breath of life, and a clean shirt to my back. I 've driven that horse on water and grass some thousands of miles, I know ; I 've shivered with cold and thirsted for drink and famished for eatables so ! But you never can see what a fool you can be till you turn yourself over and try, And you cannot be sure what a broncho '11 endure from the pauper-born look of his eye ; And if ever I do get home again, then death to the boomer's clack ! For I '11 be content with my hair slicked up, and a clean shirt to my back. Here 's the horse and cart and the love of my heart to whoever will ship me home ; Should I live as long as Methuselah did, I never again will roam ; Gbe UMaint of tbe Henoerfoot. 31 I '11 return elate to the Hoosier State, — it is far too good for me ! This opening up new lands to the world is n't what it is said to be ; And if ever I do get home again, I '11 stay till the earth shall crack, And be content with a six-foot-two, and a clean shirt to my back ! Down along the Cimarron, where the currents twine, There I met an immigrant in eighteen eighty-nine ; He was all alone and his heart was stone, — he had gathered bitter fruit, And his hoarse voice rang as he sadly sang this Plaint of the Tenderfoot ! SLAUGHTERING THE PONIES. (After the battle of the Washita, eight hundred Indian ponies, which had been captured, were shot under General Custer's order, to prevent their re-capture by the Indians from whom they had been taken.) Battle is Battle and War is War ; Soldiers must do what their swords abhor ; And he who wins in the fierce assails Stiff ers and sins, like the one who fails. " Round up the horses, troopers ; we march at early- dawn ; Round up the horses quickly, — the forage all is gone; And take the Indian ponies, — eight hundred, so you say, — And shoot them in the valley about the break of day." The battle all is over ; the warriors far have fled, Save something like a hundred braves that slumber stark and dead ; The captured squaw and papoose are under guard, to be The trophies of the victors, — the Seventh Cavalry. Slaucjbtertng tbe ponies. 33 It is a hundred miles or more ere they can reach again The quarters full of forage for jaded beasts and men ; The savages are everywhere ; a few short hours, and they Will ambush all the narrow trails and challenge to the fray. The captives must be guarded, too, and all must march in haste ; With famine fourteen hours ahead, there is no time to waste ; 'T were folly deep the spoils to keep while facing such a foe, For, thus encumbered, all would die, while march- ing through the snow. " Round up the horses, troopers ; the forage all is gone; And, sergeant, take the ponies and slaughter them at dawn ; Eight hundred Indian ponies once dead, and we shall find Our enemies dismounted a hundred miles behind ! " ****** The bugle wakes the sleepers ; the east is purple quite, And " Boots and Saddles " rouses the camp at morning light ; 34 Songs from tbe Soutbvvest Country. 'T is time that all were moving ; the rations are so small The soldiers and the captives can hardly eat at all. It 's back to Old Cantonment they go with horse and men ; It 's back to hear the praises of warlike Sheridan ; It 's back from all their hardships, with rest and victory Upon the famous banners of the Seventh Cavalry ! " Forward ! " the order echoes ; and forward up the hill, The soldiers and their captives move swiftly with a will ; For well the weary troopers with eager longings know That cozy barracks warm and snug are just across the snow. They march in silence forward ; hark ! Through the valley runs The rolling roar of firing from half a hundred guns ; The horses leap in terror ; a soldier mutters low, " They 're killing off the ponies we captured from the foe ! " Yet fainter grows the firing, and fainter, fainter still, Till single shots alone are heard across the wooded hill ; Slaugbtecing tbe pontes. 35 Then silence falls behind them, and all the troopers know Eight hundred Indian ponies are dead upon the snow ! Upon a swinging gallop the troop belated comes And joins the marching columns, but silent are the drums ; And as they swing in squadron each trooper's eyes are dim, Because some helpless pony received a shot from him ! Excusable? Assuredly! No censure dare befall! To win excuses everything ; 't is failing blames it all! They won ; they won it bravely ; who dares to question aught Of all the mighty deeds they did, when once the deeds are wrought ? These piles of bones, you ask me ? These piles of bones they made That cold November morning at War's heroic trade, When Custer slaughtered quickly here in the drifted snow Eight hundred Indian ponies, some thirty years ago ! Battle is Battle and War is War; Soldiers must do what their swords abhor; And he who wins in the fierce assails Suffers and sins, tike the one who fails ! T DAVID L. PAYNE. IS he that finds New hopes for human grieving, New homes for men and women, who is great ; He frees their minds, He conquers their bereaving, And leads them forth,— the builders of the state. Not he that fills The world with blood and battle Is most the hero, though he win a crown ; The brute that kills Is worse than brutal cattle That blindly crush their weaker fellows down. Though wars may rage, In bread, not blood, is glory, — The plow is more exalted than the sword ; Who tells his age Advancement's mighty story Thrills all the future with each potent word. And such was Payne : His country's battles over, He stormed the desert, — bade the thousands come ; 36 Davlo X. fl>a£ne. 37 Of wood and plain He made himself a rover, Homeless to win the homeless hosts a home. A new Crusade He preached, a second Hermit, A savage land from wildness to redeem ; He slowly made, Whatever fools may term it, A mighty force that realized his dream. He first conceived A homeless people making Glad homes of plenty where the coyotes ran ; He first believed This hidden land, forsaking Its desert ways, would leap the thrones of man. He broke no law, And yet the law's defenders Upon his guiltless head their vengeance poured ; The lion's paw That only helpless renders Tossed him, poor victim, and the lion roared ! And foolish men, Both civilized and savage, Swore he was wrong, and cursed with venom white ; They called him then An outlaw, born for ravage, A bandit chief, and locked him from the light. 33 Songs from tbe Soutbwest dountcg. The soldiers came And led him forth in fetters, — A free man chained in Freedom's nooning time ; The prison shame, The dungeon damp, in letters Burning with blackness, branded him with crime. Yet forth he walked, Defying force and faction, A martyr scourged and beaten for his cause ; And as he talked, Demanding onward action, He shamed the people for their shameful laws. His ardent hopes, Like some divine aroma, Pervaded all the globe with sweet perfume ; And o'er the slopes Advanced young Oklahoma, His child of light, to make the desert bloom. This be his fame : The prison cell defying, He led mankind where bayonets blocked the way ; So shall his name In hearts of love undying Live through the ages to the farthest day. For those that lead, Despising death and danger, The ages build Fame's restless telegraph ; BaviO %. lpa^nc. 39 He led, indeed ; And for the careless stranger Who knew him not, this be his epitaph : He dreamed and wrought, And dreaming wrought unceasing To shape his dreams and fill them to the full ; He dreamed and thought Of mighty States increasing, And gave his life to make them possible! KANSAS. CHE felt, they say, ^ The battle-storms of earth, The cannons cradled her, The war-drums beat fierce lullabies At her wild birth ; Yet she in danger found a paradise, And bowed, — its worshipper ! 'T was thus she roused The multitudes to arms, And made the nations feel The precepts they had taught and talked Of hurts and harms ; Until God came and led her, and she walked The child of sword and steel. 40 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. What though she loves The Novel and the New ? What though she sometimes fall When scaling heights of sky and star To find the True ? For him that strives, God's angels shall unbar The gates of all in all ! What though her wounds Be many and severe ? What though her shoulder bend Beneath the crushing loads She does not fear ? Travel is easy in the beaten roads, — Ease has no worthy end. Though bruises come, The brave pursue the quest ; Though failure and defeat Their harsh, ignoble measures sing, To strive is best ; To sloth the Fates no crowns of laurel bring, And conquering is sweet. Who never strives Forever falls and fails Where Terror sways her hosts And Force with all the fraud of greeds Makes fierce assails ; 'T is only he that battles on and bleeds Deserves his boasts. "Kansas. 41 She seeks the New, — She loves its laughing youth ; She leaves the Old, as fear Forsakes the ways of pestilence ; And for the truth, Warm in the heart of high Omnipotence, She struggles year by year. Her heart, her hope, Is boundless as her plains ; She walks the starry ways, She leaps the vale and mountain-side, For endless gains ; Her faith haunts all the far horizons wide With voice of prayer and praise ! And so to thee, O Kansas, unto thee, Proud child of tale and song, Whom brave men filled with hope and health, Let blessings be ! Thou hast the soul of empires, commonwealth Whose infancy was strong ! Free blood fast bounds Along the sleepy veins At mention of thy name ; Thine eyes are on the future, great With wondrous gains ; Such be thy glory, and the years elate Shall justify thy fame ! THE STAMPEDE. "\ 1 7"E took our turn at the guard that night, just * * Sour-dough Charlie and I, And as we mounted our ponies, there were clouds in the western sky ; And we knew that before the morning the storm by the north wind stirred Would scourge the plains with its furies fierce and madden the savage herd ; But we did not shrink the danger ; we had ridden the plains for years, — The crash of the storm and the cattle's cry were music in our ears. We drove the herd to a circle ; for the winds were calm, and we knew That somewhere near to the midnight shift the storm-fiends would be due ; We rode the rounds unceasingly, and we worked with an anxious will Until the cattle were lying down and the mighty herd was still, And only the musical breathing of the bedded beasts arose As we rounded the living circle and guarded their light repose. TZbe Stampe&e. 43 Then the storm came on in anger ; the winds of a sudden turned, The lightnings flamed through the seething skies, and the prairies blazed and burned ; The thunders rolled like an avalanche, and they shook the rocking world, That trembling quaked as the storm so wild its ban- ners of blaze unfurled ; The fires flew over the frightened herd and leaped from horn to horn Till horrible clamors rose and fell in chaos of fear forlorn. The herd awoke in a minute ; but we rode through the flashing ways And sang with a will the olden songs we learned in our childhood days ; The human voice has a wondrous power, and the wildest beast that moans Forgets its fear in a dream of peace at the sound of its tender tones ; And on through the blinding flashes and on through the dark and the light, We rode with the old songs ringing, and we prayed for the death of night. I never could tell how it happened ; there came a tremendous crash, A wolf jumped out of the chaparral, — and the herd was off in a flash ! And Charlie was riding before them ; then I saw him draw his gun 44 Songe from tbe Soutbwest Country. And fire at the plunging leaders, till he turned them one by one ; Then the darkness fell, — I could not see, — and then in the blinding light My pard went down, and the maddened herd swept on through the savage night ! Him I found where the cattle rushed in the wild of their wandering, Broken and beaten by scores of hoofs, a crushed and a mangled thing ! And his pony lay with a broken leg, as dead as a rotten log, Where its foot had slipped in the hidden hole of a worthless prairie-dog. We buried him there — you can see the stones — and whether we die or live, We gave him the best of a funeral that a cowboy camp can give. His name ? It was Sour-dough Charlie, sir ; and whether a good or bad, We called him that for a score of years — it was all the name he had ! I found a locket above his heart, with a picture there of grace That showed a girl with a curly head and a most uncommon face ; Hero, you say ? Well, maybe so ; for I know it is oft confessed That he 's the kind of a man it takes for the work here in the West. A SONG FOR THE SETTLER. r I "HERE are songs for the valiant soldier -*■ Who fights for his native shore And carries her dauntless banners On a hundred fields or more ; There are songs for the gallant sailor Who conquers the crested foam, — Then a song for the prairie settler, — The man in the dug-out home ! He battles the boundless prairies, He sabres the savage soil, He masters the foes that face him, With the might of his tireless toil ; The plow is the flashing weapon That slaughters the sodden loam, And over them all he triumphs, — The man in the du°-out home. What matters the howling blizzard, The hot winds and the heat ? Through summer and winter he marches With the tread of victorious feet ; 45 46 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. He turns the sod and he sows it, — He reaps, whatever may come, And Plenty crowns with her blessedness The man in the dug-out home. He toils, and the barren desert, Forgetting its former days, Transforms itself to a garden, With a garden's wondrous ways ; And contentment fills his bosom While morning and evening gloam, — He 's a king that owns his kingdom, — The man in the dug-out home ! His coming is swift and silent ; He carries no sounding drum, But the savage hosts of the desert flee Whenever his legions come ; He conquers the untamed prairies, He masters the stubborn land, Till towns and cities and commonwealths Arise at his regal hand. O man in the prairie dug-out, Your peaceful arts are best, You have made new homes for the hopes of men, You have built the wondrous West ; And all that it holds exalted, And all that it prizes true, Would never have been without the toil Of a hero such as you ! ILtnes on Captain lpagne's Gabtn. 47 Then a song for the valiant settler, And a song for his humble home ! For the valleys laugh and the prairies bloom Wherever his feet may roam ! He scatters the countless blessings That never their bounties cease, This man that is more than hero In his dug-out home of peace ! LINES ON CAPTAIN PAYNE'S CABIN. T 1 WITHIN this humble cabin dwelt v * A man who mankind's longing felt ; Who bravely strove and proudly wrought To fill his one heroic thought ; Who, seeking homes for thousands, made His bold incursions unrepaid, Though this, his castle, rose to bless With peace the savage wilderness, A light that saw, as once did he, The mighty commonvvealrhs to be. His was the mind that dared receive What others only half believe ; His was the heart that knew the need And dared the homeless hundreds lead ; His were the feet that dared to stand Undaunted in the savage land ; And his the hands that crowned his plan, And gave the desert back to man. 48 Sonos from tbe Soutbwest Country. These are his meeds : Homes fill the plains Where he, a martyr, walked in chains, And every prison where he came Is holy with his holy fame ; The vales with towns are thicker set Than once with sword and bayonet, And every place where once he stood Proclaims the glories of his good. He dared ; he did ; and thus 't is so He reaps rewards that heroes know : A name that grateful people crown With lofty praise and high renown ; For kindly Heaven to him sent A commonwealth for monument ; Undying, unforgotten, then, While lives a loving race of men ! MOUNTAIN SONG. A WAY to the mountains, away, away ! ■**• Beyond the desolate plains that rise From hollow vales where the rivers play, To the snowy summits that reach the skies ! The treasures of gold for our coming wait Beyond the desert so grim and gray ; Then a sigh and a tear for the loved ones here, And away to the mountains, away, away ! " mben tbe ^ the steers of my thoughts in herds, Where I round them up for the branding-iron and I lariat them with words ; Then away to the great corrals of books do I drive the unruly throng, Till the world appears at the stock-yard pens and receives them there in song ! THE SUNFLOWER. T N pomp this princess of the prairie stands, A crown of gold upon her head sublime ; She sways her sceptre o'er the gorgeous lands And rules, the mistress of the realms of time ; But from her eyes no glances earthward run : She gazing worships toward her god, the sun ! SONNETS. 57 BOOKS. *T^HESE are not ink and paper ! They are souls ■■■ That strove in travail ; they are lives of tears ; The brain-throbs and the heart-beats of long years Writhe in dumb agony upon these scrolls ! Here smiles the Hope that like an ocean rolls From Deed to Duty ; here weep doubts and fears In bosoms tremulous ; here Love endears Disconsolate toil and endless hate controls. Aye, these are inspiration ! In the low Sad hours of weakness, they are stores of might ; They treasure truths eternal, and they glow With stars brought earthward from unmeasured Night ; Somewhat of God's great verities they know, Somewhat of Man's far future and its light ! THE TEACHER. T3EH0LD the Priest of Knowledge! On the *-* heights Where vast Omniscience over-arching broods, He stands w T ith Truth, in whose infinitudes Blaze the swung censers and the altar lights ; 59 60 Songs from tbe Southwest Country. There he, beloved of Wisdom and her rites, Receives the verities and endless goods, The graces of old Nature's wondrous moods, And all the stars of Glory's happy nights. Lo, at the touching of his finger-tips, Earth's bended millions lose their burdened years, Unshackled slaves are masters of their fears, And Fate destroys her serpent-woven whips ; At his fond whispers men forget their tears And chant the songs of God's Apocalypse ! ON THE GREAT PYRAMID. T T ERE Time uplifts the curtains of the Past, -*- -*- And shows what hides behind them. Lo, I stand Upon the gravestones of a mighty land Like yonder Sphinx, unspeaking to the last ! There sweep the sacred Nile's great waters vast ; There Cairo sits ; and there the Libyan sand Spreads shadowless. There Goshen's plains ex- pand, Where Jacob and his children broke their fast ; There, farther on, the ancient land of Ur, Whence Abram journeyed, meets the rounded sky; Yon heaps of rubbish Memphis, Ghizeh, were, And here entombed old Egypt's glories lie Ghastly and silent, though the world comes nigh And stirs the dust once animate in her ! Bt IRoesetti's ©rave. 61 IN A PUBLIC LIBRARY. *T^HESE walls are hero-haunted. Prisoned here Are princes of enchantment. King and sage, Great knight and warrior from romantic age, In all their wealth of glorious deeds appear. The mad magician and the saintly seer, The brave and great, their mighty struggles wage ; Fair ladies and base men o'er silent page Move on forever through each changing year. Here sleeps the fabled and here lives the true ; Who kept his faith and who that faith betrayed ; The heart of honor and the soul of shame ; The worthless censure reap, the worthy, fame ; Some bring new burdens, some their fellows aid, But all are here, O child of joy, for you ! AT ROSSETTI'S GRAVE. T T E sleeps in sight and hearing of the sea, Its music and its murmurs ; fondly reach Incessant voices of angelic speech Across his grave and all its mystery. The restless waves with sounds of solemn glee Beat softly on the Kentish shores, and teach The winds that linger on the lonely beach The songs of his exalted melody. 62 Songs from tbe Soutbweet Countrg. Great Art he served, — she was his life and light ; Sweet Music sang, — she was his happiness ; Till Glory twined his royal brows with might, And Fame's fond chorus lulled his soul's dis- tress ; Then Death, God's angel, came and in the night, Soothed him to slumber with Love's kind caress. NEW ENGLAND. \T O common history hers. Great Freedom filled ■*■ ^ Her infant nostrils with the winds of power, Love led her childish feet, and Labor thrilled Her youthful yearnings into fruited flower ; Then commonwealths and cities rose that hilled Her matron brows with Plenty's gorgeous dower, And Art's imperial armies, service-skilled, Clothed her in garbs of glory hour by hour. Heroic children of heroic days Drank virtue, faith, and valor from thy breast, Along thy hills and valleys, brooks and bays ; Then crossing prairie, scaling mountain crest, They roamed the deserts and the lonely ways, And empires reared through all the boundless West ! £be ZlRigbttest. 63 IMMUTABLE. T^RET not thyself because the world and thee A May stand in opposition. What though coarse Mob-hordes of error hurl invectives hoarse And surging curse and threaten like a sea ? What though foul serpents dark with calumny Circle their horrid folds, and evil Force Chain thy poor limbs ? Seek Wisdom at her Source : If Truth be thy companion, thou art free ! One day the rabble with uncovered head And silent face shall gather at thy grave, Shall heap thy tomb with Honor's holy bread For all the stones malignant malice gave ; Lo, there the world remorseful tears shall shed, And crown thee master whom it slew a slave ' THE MIGHTIEST. A /TAN'S Thought is greater than his life. His *-**■■ soul Is more abiding than the nimble breath That moves his lips with love's divine control And leaves them voiceless at the gates of death. Beyond the darkened wayside where he gropes In mystic shadows for the paths of light, 64 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. He lives enraptured in the larger hopes That float before him like the stars of night. Great Thoughts, like drum-beats in the battle, come To rouse through ages all the hosts of earth, To conquer here a long millennium, And thrill the nations into newer birth ; Man's life is measure of a few small tears ; His Thought is endless as the ceaseless years ! LILITH. TV J EN call her fair. Madonna brows of white l\x with midnight hair encircled ; childish eyes Of liquid wonders wide ; uncertain-wise Her dimpled cheeks of blossom. Jewels bright Flood her full bosom with the stars of night ; Soft laces billow cloud-wreaths of the skies ; Her slightest footfalls breathe sweet melodies, And all her movements echo music light. But, Childhood, be thou fearful ! Her desires Burn most voluptuous under draperies thin ; Her soul of guilty lewdness never tires ; Her passions ravage all the hearts they win ; Her lips are crimson with the scarlet fires, And eat for bread the wages of her sin ! preoccupied. 65 ABSENT. [" STOOD before her cottage in the gloom And knew it was deserted. Longings came And urged my drooping lips with loud acclaim To summon her from all her ways of bloom. Shut doors and darkened windows ! O, the doom That weights the heart with absence of a name ! I stood and gazed with all my senses lame Before the temple of her silent room ! The grasses whispered, "She shall come again ! " The roses said, " She 's coming, coming soon ! " The song-birds cried, " For us she longs and longs ! " For me alone no promise waited then, For me alone the world was out of tune, And silent then were all its happy songs ! PREOCCUPIED. "W'ES, I am strange at times, and people shake ■*■ Their sage heads wisely at my empty face, My vacant eyes of wonder, and they place Their fingers to their foreheads. Never wake Their narrow souls with melodies that break In glorious music from the fields of grace ; 66 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. For their rude gaze no sons of Heaven make Such wonders as my yearnings fondly trace. They nothing know of where my soul is then, — My rapt, enraptured soul, which eye to eye Meets visions that are seldom seen by men, — My soul which hears God's music pipe on high, And feeds on raptures such as blossom when The child of time walks in the Bye and Bye. A DREAM. r I A HIS dream is sweet, — would God it were for -*- aye ! My soul is clothed with freedom, and in might Soars upward as an angel of delight, While there my body lies, — poor piece of clay ! Those are my friends yet living. What they say Sounds on my quickened senses. Helpless quite Am I to greet them ; but these hosts in white, — Ah, these are friends I knew but yesterday ! And am I dead ? Nay, nay, but living ! Those Who scatter tears upon the silent face Of that still body are the dead ones ! Woes And agonies and anguish have a place In all the years they wander, but the rose Of God's eternal pleasures gives me grace ! £o . 67 TO . T COUNT as lost the years I knew thee not, — A The desert years that longed to know the bloom Of laughing springs, the summers of perfume, And fruited autumns in each barren spot ; When all my life, with fiercest longings hot, And hopes unsatisfied, groped in the gloom Of perished fancies, and, distract with doom, Faced horribly the future's horrid lot. But hope smiles upward from thy laughing lips, Love miracles the trusting of thine eyes, And joy leaps at the touching of thy hands ; O, wreathe me with thy rosy finger-tips ! For life seems heaven in the deep surprise Of knowing one who sees and understands ! TO PHE long, dear thoughts of thee that absence brings Are sweet and sacred ever ! How I trace The tender fulness of thy kindly face Through all the dreams to which my rapture clings ! And from thy lips of happy laughter rings Incessant music whose mysterious grace Hides in my heart and finds a dwelling-place Where all my hope with fondest fancy sings ! 68 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. Fate played me false when far my feet she drew From thy companionship, and led me past The gladness and the sunshine leaping there ; And still to-day with evils not my due My life from thee is held in fetters fast, And countless devils mock my constant prayer ! THE ONE WHO UNDERSTANDS. CHE needs no language. Hers the soul that brings The songs of gladness for the sobbing cries, The smiles of rapture to the tearful eyes, And all the grace of God's angelic things ; Upon her lips a choir cherubic sings, And from her hands fall Love's divine sup- plies ; Her touch is eloquent of Paradise, And every motion seems a throb of wings. What sweet contentment fills the placid place Where calm she sits with silent lips and hands And holds in ecstasy of rapt embrace The heavy heart-soul with her sweet commands I Methinks that heaven blossoms in the face Of her who sees, and, seeing, understands. TUnfovgettfug. 69 SYMPATHY. A S some great flower whose imperial bloom ***• Fills all the desert with supreme delight, And pours from heart of glory day and night The laughing streams of purified perfume, Yet dying droops and withers in the doom Hurled fiercely down from Noon's relentless height, — So shrank my life in conflict, conquered quite, Helpless and hopeless, praying for the tomb. But one there came with kindness in her eyes, And on her lips the lessons angels teach ; She brought me dews reviving, rains that reach From blessed fountains of benignant skies : My veins throb wines of valor, and I rise Strong-armed, stout-hearted, at her tender speech ! UNFORGETTING. A S these pale roses, crushed and faded so, ^*- Dry as the withered stubble, faintly keep The gorgeous nights of starry splendors deep, The happy days of sunshine and their glow, — As in their hearts the morns they used to know, The gentle noons and eves of shadow sleep, And tender odors, full of fondness, creep 70 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. From treasured fragrance of the Long Ago, — So my poor soul, a shrivelled, worthless thing, Remembrance holds of half-forgotten spheres Where first it felt the sunshine of the spring And drank the nectars of the golden years ; And now and then, between the plash of tears, It sobs the music that it used to sing. THE DOOR OF LIFE. "T^EATH is the door of Life. There frightened *-* flees The hard, ignoble world of warring creeds, The realm of narrow hopes and selfish deeds, The crime and curse of murder and disease. The small, bombastic fools that sore displease, The swollen knaves and microscopic breeds, Stay far behind, and happiness succeeds With songs of rapture and the shades of ease. The gods are then companions of our days, The noblemen of nature and the great, The royal hearts that found the world too small ; And through the vast, illimitable ways, Where Peace and Joy, sweet servants, gladly wait, We walk with Truth, and Love is All in All. IFnaction. 71 INACTION. (On account of the well-recognized precedents in such mat- ters, the Administration does not think the present stage of affairs in Cuba justifies any change in the attitude of the Gov- ernment. — Press despatch.) \ \ THAT ! must thou pause, my Country, cring- * ^ ing low- Before these puppets made of precedent ? Thou unto whom the wrathful ages lent Their swarming forces to o'ercome thy foe ? Break off thy cobweb fetters ! Dost thou know How from thy lips imploring prayers were sent When thou wert feeble, till thy chains were rent And all thine enemies met overthrow ? Arise and act ! These be heroic times, And men are heroes when they duty do ; These precedents are idols, and all climes Shall worship kneeling only God the True ; Behold thy banner waving ! In its view A sin 'gainst freedom is the worst of crimes ! 72 Songs from tbe Southwest dountrs. TO THE RESCUE. "VTEA, send thy succor quickly ! Far too long, - 1 With heart unheeding and with palsied hands, Great Freedom's First-born slow and slothful stands, While armied legions 'round her neighbor throng ; Force striving after murder, fierce and strong, Poises the dripping dagger ; thus commands Obeisance unto despots, and his brands Make desolate the Ocean's Pearl with wrong ! And what though tyrants bluster ? In thy youth, O, land of life's best longings, they cursed thee, And thou didst fear not ! Drive the wolves un- couth Back to their darkness, till the western sea Rolls fetterless ! Unsheathe thy sword for Truth, And swear, God willing, Cuba shall be free ! MISCELLANEOUS. 73 o AT EASTERTIDE. iVER hill and over dale, Over mountain, over vale, Hear, oh, hear All the music sweet and clear From the horns of Easter blowing, Like a river flooded flowing Over meadows far and near ! Wheresoe'er the echoes drift, How the sleeping blossoms lift In a resurrection swift From the horrid graves they knew When the winds of winter blew ! How the joyous, jocund throats Of the happy birds Open wide and fling Outward, up, a song that floats Sweeter far than human words, Full of tender, laughing notes, Where they soar and sing ! 'T is a time, tender time, Full of rich and royal rhyme, Ever full of happy song and glee And the mighty magic sunny of angelic melody. 75 76 Songs trom tbe Soutbwest Country. Gabriel sounds his trumpet wide ; 'T is the joyous Eastertide ! Yester eve the world was dead In the cold embrace of night ; Morning brought the life and light, And the shadows quickly fled, And the brooding shadows far away have fled. Over prairie, over wood, Over all the solitude, See, oh, see All the buds and blossoms wee, How they come with rapture leaping From the heavy shadows sleeping Where the storms of winter be ! When the Spring, the angel, calls With creative voice that falls Through the dark and dismal halls Where they hidden lie asleep, Suddenly they live and leap ! How their tender beauty thrills With its gentle grace All the darkened earth, All the rivers, all the rills, With a tenderness that fills Every solitary place With a newer birth ! Oh, the Spring, laughing Spring ! Ever full of joys that bring To the wooded valley and the plain Gorgeous glories full of spendor that shall ever- more remain ! St JEastertloe. 77 Gabriel blows his music wide ; 'T is the joyous Eastertide ! Yester eve the earth was lone In the winter time of wrong ; Morning came with light and song, And the sorrows fast have flown, And the heavy sorrows far away have flown ! Let the longings rule and reign Over heart and over brain ! Glad and gay Are the songs that sound alway, That in chorus warble tender From a thousand throats of splendor All the bright and happy day. Robin, lark, and linnet sing, Wren and bluebird music bring, Borne on swift and joyous wing From the sunny homes afar Where the balmy breezes are. How their carols roll and rise As they scatter wide All their treasured glees, Sweet as songs of Paradise Underneath elysian skies, Till the plain and mountain-side Reel with melodies ! Oh, the days, perfect days, When we walk in holy ways, And the pleasant paths wherein we go Heaven's gentle benedictions and earth's purest pleasures know ! 78 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. Gabriel blows with pomp and pride ; ' T is the joyous Eastertide ! Yester eve the earth was sad, And her hills and valleys bare ; Morning clothed her sweet and fair, And she trips a maiden glad, Trips a maiden blest with beauty, who is most divinely clad ! Let the life be glad and gay, — 'T is the resurrection day ! Gabriel calls From their ghost-enchanted halls Every warble choice and choral, Every blossom fond and floral, And the sweetest music falls ! As the flowers of beauty leap From their cradles dark and deep, Let thy soul in rapture sweep Through the aisles of glory long On the wings of psalm and song ! Joyous be thou in the glee Of the flowers that bloom, Of the birds that sing, Till enchanted melody Fills the race with revelry, And no shade or shadowed gloom Dwells within the spring ! Time of cheer, soothing cheer ! When millennial days are near, Gbe ©ID iRange IRoafc. 79 Pleasures hurry onward like a flood, And the erring ones are angels, angels that are great and good. Gabriel calls our souls away, — ' T is the resurrection day ! Yester eve with droop and sigh Life was all despairing fears ; Morning wipes away our tears In the golden Bye and Bye, In the dreamed-of, in the sought-for, in the longed-for Bye and Bye ! THE OLD RANGE ROAD. /^\ RANGE Road wide and wonderful, that paths of heaven made Through all the olden, golden ways where childish fancies played, Every inch of all your gladness is so eloquent to-day Of all we told each other in the years that went away ! — So eloquent of joyousness, my heart is like a prayer, And I would fold and fondly hold and keep you always there ! We had delightful dearnesses of rapture, you and I, When living, in the Long Ago, the laughing Bye and Bye, When every mortal passing us was angel good and wise, 80 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. That wandered out of heaven's gates and back to Paradise, And all the worlds so wonderful came with them one and all, And stayed with us and played with us, — but left us mean and small ! And how we hoped to follow them some happy day to come, — Those glory-dreams of conquering, of might and masterdom ! We 'd march across the continent, we 'd sail across the sea, And take whatever pleasured us to sceptre you and me ; And all the wealth and wonder, the palace and the throne, We 'd confiscate and capture and make them all our own ! And over you and unto me men walked miraculous, And brought the stranger countries directly home to us ; Oh, how we listened, — you and I, — to all the tales they told Of Indians and of pirates, of cocoanuts and gold ; And how, through all the after-dreams that haunted night and day, Their anecdotes looked in again and glorified the way ! Gbe ©10 IRange IRoafc. 81 There was the sailor who had gone across the seas of calm, And, castaway, had lived awhile amid the isles of palm ; Who sported with the cannibals and taught them so complete They learned at last that mission-men are never good to eat ; But finally a ship hailed he, and coming to his home, Found wife and children all were dead, — which made him love to roam ! There was the soldier who had been his country's stay and shield At Winchester and Gettysburg when carnage swept the field ; Who marched with Sherman to the sea and tri- umphed o'er the foe, But left a leg and arm behind because of fighting so ; And as he fought and marched away and told his tales again The hearts of us were strangely moved to do the deeds of men. And then that little fellow ! the thin, dyspeptic one, Who sat and told his stories till night was nearly done ! 82 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. He lived in big Chicago, was rich as heart's desire, And had a wife and little ones, before the awful fire ; But it burned up his family and all he had of worth, Which sent him forth a wanderer all up and down the earth. The juggler and the showman, too, who made their livings thus, The tinman and the ragman came, and all dis- coursed to us ; The Irish-linen peddler, the man who soldered tins, Who told us all their stories of all their outs and ins ; And there were scores of others whose doings large and vast Inspired to do as they did, when childhood should be passed ! And so our hearts were opened, old Range Road, yours and mine, To all earth's dismal shadow and all its golden shine ; And those that went along you went over me and through, And beckoned me to follow them and prove their tales to you ; And so we looked with longing through happy cycles when I 'd wander full of wonder down the mighty years of men. XLbc ©ID IRange IRoafc. 83 And here I am and here you are, old Comrade, much the same As when I left you long ago to climb the hills of fame ; I meet you and I greet you, and call you all my own Beyond the years of vagrancy my truant feet have known ; And in your eyes and face and hands I feel as not before A perfectness of tenderness they never knew of yore. The stories that they brought were true ; the won- ders that they told Revealed the world of men and things and all they have and hold ; But after all my wanderings through all that men may do I 'm weary of their heartlessness and hasten home to you ; And 'spite of all that 's happened since, the days we used to know Sing in my soul forevermore the songs of long ago ! There ! Let me take your hand in mine and feel your friendly face, And lay us heart to heart again in childhood's warm embrace ! 84 Sonas from tbc Soutbvvest Country. We are not old or broken down ; we both are young as when I left the vales of childhood for the rugged hills of men ; These hairs upon our foreheads are only white with truth, — These tears upon our eyelids are happy tears of youth ! We used to quarrel a little. You thought me reck- less quite ; I called you old and fogy and foolish day and night : And thus we bickered somewhat ; but after all we 've seen, We know each other better now with fifty years between ; For lives of work and wisdom hold never such sur- prise As gazes down the future through childhood's ten- der eyes. Let us forgive each other ! Of all the good and true, I find you best and truest, and hold my heart to you ; I hold it close and closer, and let you clasp it there With something born of rapture between a praise and prayer ; And through the years unending, the years of good and ill, We '11 laugh and play together, — forever children still ! THE NIGHT. r^i the Night ! ^^^ When the might Of the boundless heavens bright Fills the hopes with satisfaction and the longings with delight ; When the roll And the toll Of Life's thunders lose control, And a wondrous diapason sounds the organs of the soul ; And a hymn Faintly dim Haunts the far horizon's rim, Like the lilt of angel music in the chants of cherubim ! In the still Hours that fill Fiendish fancies full of ill, To the innocent upwander all the wants of wish and will ; And the wide Fields of pride Send their monarchs side by side 8^ 86 Songs from tbe Southwest Country. With the holy saints and martyrs that were crossed and crucified ; Till despair Weights the air With the moaning cries of care, And the world kneels by the Father in a sin-subdu- ing prayer ! In the weird, Wild, and feared Realms of silence, cherub-cheered, How we clasp in fond embraces all that time and toil endeared ! How the strife Fiercely rife With the roll of drum and fife, Dies away in tender music of a more exalted life, And the small Leaps the wall Where the less and little fall, Till thyself is nothing, nothing, and thy God is All in All ! Then the tears Leave the years, And the foolish frights and fears List to whispers high and holy heard alone by prophet's ears ; And the cry, Sob, and sigh Cbe IMgbt. 87 Leave the stricken soul for aye, As he wanders in the wonders of the blessed Bye and Bye ; And the woe Demons know In the dungeons dark below Never shades the dreams he cherished in the happy Long Ago ! How the gay Raptures play, As our ships that sailed away, All are anchored safe at harbor in the waters of the bay ! As the trust Of the just Soars above the dew and dust Till the " may " of faith and fancy overcomes the might of " must" ; And Love drips Pain's eclipse From the Saviour's finger-tips, And the world is wed to Heaven in the Lord's Apocalypse ! O the Night ! When the might Of the boundless heavens bright Fills our hopes with satisfaction and our longings with delight ; 88 Songs from tbe Soutbweet Country. When the roll And the toll Of Life's thunders lose control, And a wondrous diapason sounds the organs of the soul ; And a hymn Faintly dim Haunts the far horizon's rim, Like the lilt of angel music in the chants of cherubim ! O MY HEART, BE BRAVE AGAIN!" O my heart, Be brave again ! Bear thy part A man of men ! These dark things of awe and error Swift shall vanish with their terror, And the fears that frighten so Down the dying years shall go, Till the days rejoice resplendent with the hopes that sweetly shine Through the vistas of the future and its Edens that are thine ! What if ways Seem rough with wrong Through the days Of sigh and song ? "© ME f>eart, JBe JBrave again!" s g Thou shalt clasp the hearts that love thee, Thou shalt climb the hills above thee, Thou shalt reach the land that seems All the heaven of thy dreams, And a glorifying whisper shall exalt thy deepest care To the blessed benediction of a cherub's perfect prayer. Drive thy fears And doubts away ! Down the years Are pleasures gay ; These distressing clouds of sadness Only veil the suns of gladness ; These unholy weeds of woe Only hide the blooms below ; And the sun shall lift the blossoms till their ten- derness shall stream Through the laughter of thy longing and the dear- ness of thy dream ! Bear the blows That fortune gives ! Sorrow knows Each one that lives. Be a man that bravely faces All his failures and disgraces ; Be a man that struggles strong, — Arm of might and soul of song ! go Songs trom tbe Soutbwest Country. Till the sceptres of the raptures thrust thy fierce detractors down, And the world's ignoble shouters tremble at thy robe and crown ! Joys for thee Shall crowding come In that free Millennium, And the woes that weeping vex thee Never, never shall perplex thee ! For the years of Bye and Bye Shall with rapture sanctify All the weary ways we wander through the crags of blight and blame To the high and holy hilltops in the glory-lands of fame ! T CREEDS. 'ALK not to me Of stern decree, — Of creeds that bind their betters ; There is no grace In things that place The human soul in fetters ! Wake not the fear, Start not the tear, That speaks of wondrous terror ; GreeDs. 91 Man's heart is gold, Its worth untold, In spite of all his error. No more rehearse The priestly curse, The ban for unbelieving ; No more condemn The souls of them That over guilt are grieving. The haughty soul Who claims control Because of vestments holy, Has never felt The good that dwelt In Christ, the meek and lowly ! In hands that feed, In hearts that bleed, Truth sees her greatest teacher. Far more than all The bans that fall From lips of priest or preacher. For lives that lift The souls adrift, The hosts of hate are yearning ; To such as know Their grief and woe, The sons of men are turning. 92 SOH06 from tbe Soutbweet Country. There is no creed Like human need To teach the grace of giving ; There is no prayer Like tender care To teach the love of living ! The bended knee, It seems to me, Is not with service gifted ; No blessings rise From folded eyes Unless the heart 's uplifted ! Destroy the chains That bind the brains ! 'T is what we are that saves us ; No mere belief Can conquer grief And all the hate that braves us. Tear up the creeds ! 'T is worthy deeds, From hands and hearts out-given, Shall put to rout Man's dark and doubt, And lead him up to heaven ! T THE CONQUEROR. HE man who has found All the dreams that he knew, Feels the deeds he can do ! There is power over pain, There is charm for the chain, In the hopes he has crowned With the garlands of gain ; And a giant he stands In the mystical might of his heart and his hands ! The longings that leap From the lips, uncontrolled, Are the masters of gold, Of the fagots and thrones, Of the stars and the stones, That the multitudes keep ; And they beckon and bring All the glories and gifts of the pauper and king. With hope in thy heart And with love in thy life, What is struggle or strife ? Not a taunt nor a tear, Not a failure nor fear, Not a pang nor a smart, Shall envenom thee here, Shall environ the soul That has yielded to love and its happy control. 93 94 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. What matters it, then, Though the black of the blast On thy pathway be cast ? In the truth of thy trust, In the might of thy "must," Thou shalt monarch the men With their dreams in the dust, And the stars of thy love Shall arise in the sky as the stars rise above. Who harvests the sheaves Of the grain that he sought, Follows ever his thought Through its throb and its thrill, Through its wonder and will, And the truth he believes Through the errors of ill ; And he conquers at last, — O'er the future supreme through the might of his past ! O Life that is long On the grief-laden slopes, Be thou true to thy hopes ! All the dear of thy dreams, All the thrill of their themes, Shall assemble in song, By the joy-giving streams ; And the deeds of thy hands Shall ennoble the races through all of the lands ! T IMMORTAL. HE life that is lived Never dies from the world ! On the height of the hills, On the rush of the rills, Over achings and ills, Are its banners unfurled ; And it struggles and strives Through uncountable lives, Till it conquering rolls Through the darks and the deeps of unceasable souls ! The life that is lived Has a wonderful power ! On the mountains of might, On the narrows of night, On the black and the bright, Are its turret and tower ; Its commands have a place In the realms of the race, And it rules through the years All the nations of laughter and peoples of tears. The life that is lived Has unmeasured extent ! 95 96 Songs from tbe 5outbwe8t Country. Through the present and past, Through the vague and the vast, From the first to the last, Is it centred and sent ; For its miracles reach Over silence and speech, Till its boundary springs O'er the outermost edge of unendable things ! The life that is lived, — What a masterful thing ! How it soars in man's thought, In the truths he has taught, In the deeds he has wrought, Like a bird on the wing ! 'T is an unsetting sun Endless journeys to run, And its blessings so hurled That a life which is lived never dies from the world ! MIND. \T O master mine ! Eternal king ^ ^ Of Cosmos and of Chaos, I The awful arts of time defy, And all diseases death may bring ; Creation wheels her wondrous ways Through starry circles vague and vast, And age on ages hurries past, To me as swiftly as the days. dfttnfc. 97 Before dim Reason thought, I was ; Before the first beginnings, I Was monarch of the Whence and Why, The How and Where, the primal Cause ; Before the dreams of Time and Space, I ruled the empires of To Be ; Extent was measureless for me, Eternity my dwelling-place ! The great, eternal, mighty Force, I reign, I rule, command, compel ; In me is Paradise and Hell, And 'round me Nature wheels her course ; All happiness and Truth I find, All Sorrows at my motion fall ; The Cause, the Source, the End of all, Enduring, wondrous, deathless Mind ! An atom of myself, a thing, I planted in a lump of clay ; It grew to greatness in a day, And called itself a man, a king ; It caught the lightning, chained thestorm, It felled the woods, and walked the waves, Explored the skies, dug earth's dim caves,. And sought to know my Face and Form. Toward me he toils ; his golden age Is in the future, not the past, For I alone am great at last In vacant fool or sapient sage ; Songs from tbe Soutbwest Gountrg. And upward, onward, shall he strive, This atom mine that walks the earth, Despising all his humble birth And seeking me to learn, and live. From farthest brain to farthest brain, While suns and stars and systems grow, The sovereign One above, below, I live, I leap, I rule, I reign ; The monarch of all things that are, Of all that is and is to be, My sceptre leaps with forces free From sun to sun and star to star ! DREAMER AND SINGER. ' I "HE world laughed long at his pensive face -■• And the wistful gaze of his tender eyes, But he knew the glint of a wondrous grace And the perfect pleasures of Paradise ; And the scenes he saw were so fair and bright That the wise men longed for the fond array ; For an angel dreamed in his heart by night, And a little bird sang in his soul by day. The words of his mouth made a music sweet That rippled and rang with the notes of glee, And sad hosts echoed the strains replete With all of their rhythmical rhapsody ; ©reamer anO Singer. 99 And he sang a song, till they knew his might, Till they kissed his feet on the public way ; For an angel dreamed in his heart by night, And a little bird sang in his soul by day. His years were happy with joys divine, And his longings lived in a far-off land ; And sweeter than drops of the sweetest wine Were the hopes he only could understand ; And all the hours of his days were light, And all the loves of his life were gay ; For an angel dreamed in his heart by night, And a little bird sang in his soul by day. There are gifts divine that are more than great, And prouder than sceptres that monarchs wear ; And what to him were the pomp of state And the tinselled splendor that glittered there ? The sorrows and troubles from him took flight, And the tears at his coming fled far away ; For an angel dreamed in his heart by night, And a little bird sang in his soul by day. What mattered it, then, if a ragged coat And a broken cap were the garbs he wore ? That crusts were his food ? For he sang the note Of a tender song, and he wept no more ! And we know, we know, that his love was bright, That his life was the roll of a roundelay ; For an angel dreamed in his heart by night, And a little bird sang in his soul by day. ioo Songs from tbe Soutbwcst Country. And he is greater than czars and kings ! The world may praise them awhile in fear, But wreathes its laurels for him who sings And soothes the anguish of toil and tear ; And he is enthroned on Love's far height While kingdoms crumble and crowns decay ; For an angel dreams in his heart by night, And a little bird sings in his soul by day ! W THE ROSES. HAT do the roses know Of the noon and the night ? What of the dark through which they grow Up to the life and light ? Above are the stars and the dew, Below are the soil and the sod ; How it happened they never knew, But they sprang from stone and clod ! What do the roses know Of the shriek and the song ? What of the breeze that blesses so, What of the gale that is strong ? Above are the skies of the bright, Below are the seas of the shade, And full of beauty by day and night Do their hot cheeks flush and fade. TLbe iRoaes. io] What do the roses know Of the dreams that they dream ? What of the fancies that spring and flow- Forth in a bountiful stream ? They bud and they blossom and die, They wither and shrivel and fade ; Does all they were in the ashes lie Where the petals low are laid ? What do the roses know Of the dead or the dust ? What of a life where they shall blow Glad as the garlands of trust ? Do they at the touch of the hand With rapture astart and athrill, Feel joys their hearts cannot understand That are strong as wish and will ? What do the roses know ? We are all of the truth ! Life that is red in their hearts aglow, — Is life of my life, in sooth ! The dreams they dream in the dew Are dreams that I cannot control, — These hopes of mine are the hopes that grew In the depths of a rose's soul ! What do the roses know ? They are peers of the wise ; Ever they struggle from earth below, Ever they long for the skies ! 102 Soiujs from tbe Southwest Country. They prize the dreams of a darling hope, As much as the children of men, And here and there on a sunny slope 1 shall meet them all again ! GREED. A \ WHEREVER the man upturns the soil, Wherever he sows the seed, There dwells a monster that mocks his toil, And the monster's name is Greed ! And year by year, as men garner in The harvest they reap in pain, The monster sits by the bursting bin, And he feasts on the golden grain. There is never a home in the world so wide That is far from his haunts away ; If he shuns the palace with all its pride, Yet he enters the hut to stay ; And where the race in its sorrow strives On the barren heath or hill, He claims his armies of human lives And his legions of human will. He gathers the rose from the rounded cheek And the red from the rare young lip, And the strongest arm in the world is weak At the touch of his finger-tip ; ©reefc. IQ 3 And the happy song is a mournful wail, And the laugh is a shriek of fright ; For the world grows fierce and is thin and pale In the awe of his appetite. Then Sin with her bitter herbs of grief, And Vice with her potions wild, With ready promise of long relief Win woman and man and child ! For what is Virtue when want is near, And what is the fairest fame ? They are all undone at the doom they hear In the shriek of the monster's name ! It 's Oh, for the tears that are nightly shed When he cometh to claim his own ! And Oh, for the curses that heap his head Where the millions of men make moan ! It 's Oh, for the children that helpless cry, For the women that wail and weep, A-faint for the crust that his hands deny And the crumb that his fingers keep ! Then ho, for the hero with shining shield And a spear like the lance of God, To whose hard blow shall the monster yield, And the curse of the toiler's sod ! A thousand ages of glory stay For the Knight of the Noble Deed, For the strong, brave heart who shall come and slay The monster of human Greed ! PLAYING HORSE. T TP and down the pathway lined ^ With sweet grasses intertwined, Where the orchard's bud and bloom Fill the air with fond perfume, Rides a hero brave and bold As the fabled knights of old, On a charger that he deems Wondrous as his wondrous dreams ! Firm he sits the reins to clasp More securely in his grasp ; Swift the spurs descending clank Deeply in the tender flank ; Cruel swings the savage whip, Pliant to his finger-tip, And his charger gallops gay 'Round the wonder world away ! Forth he journeys fast and far Where the gnomes and fairies are, And he gladly enters in Lands where happy dreams begin ! Lingers he a little while Where the pleasures bow and smile ; 104 flMavtiui Iborse. 105 Then away around the ring ! ' T is the land where Fun is king ! Oh, the happy birds that throng All the ways he hastes along, And the gorgeous flowers that blow Over every land below ! And each little boy, with curls Dear and dainty as a girl's, Stands with playthings waiting for Every little visitor ! Tired, he ceases from his quest ! Horse and rider both may rest ! Now the steed that galloped gay Munches at the brambled hay ; But the rider, never still, Restless in his wish and will, Dreams a greater dream and then Calls himself a man of men ! Ah, my little dreamer, we All are dreams in some degree, And we learn as on we go Dreams are dearest things we know ! Blest if over blooming meads We may ride our gallant steeds, Till, life ended, o'er the hill Forth we venture dreaming still ! A GLAD PLAYFELLOW. HTHERE »S a happy little fellow ■*■ I am sure you 'd like to meet, For his ways are all so pleasant And his manners are so sweet ; And his greetings are so hearty, And his words so joyous, too, That I know you 'd run to meet him If he *d show his face to you. There was never yet a person Ever looked into his face, Ever touched his rosy fingers, Ever saw his joyous grace, — That would want to be without him, That would leave him far or say He is not the best playfellow That has ever come his way. Oh, his hair is glad and golden, And his eyes are brightly blue, And his features are as handsome As the fairies ever knew ; And his lips are happy ever In the music that he sings, 1 06 B <3lao playfellow. 107 For he finds the perfect pleasures In the most imperfect things. He is most accommodating, For whate'er your age and size He can make the things about you Always pleasant, if he tries ; And whatever wish you cherish He will make your fortune fit, Till you clap your hands delighted At the gladsomeness of it ! It is true that you may miss him As you wander down the years, But you 're pretty sure to find him In among the toils and tears ; For in unexpected places Where you never thought to see, He is oftenest appearing With his happy face of glee. But I know if you should meet him You will find him quite so fair That your heart can ne'er forget him, But will follow everywhere ; It will follow him forever Through the worlds below, above, For his dwelling-place is Pleasure ; And his name ? — his name is Love ! THE ON-MARCH. O, Progress is no swift release from error, - L/ No sudden sun that banishes the night ; Through weary cycles, Man, the burden-bearer, Gropes in the dark and struggles toward the light. 'T is not in death-throes where the battle rages, And nations heap the winrows of their slain, That Freedom leaps across the darkened ages, And Truth unchains the bondmen of the plain. And from the fields where armies meet despoiling, No love-born carols hush the cries of wrong ; But, through the yearning years with anguish toiling, Man makes himself the instrument of song. Lo, where the tireless thinker works and wonders, Where Man and God in fellowship unite, There leaps the Thought to majesty that thunders Through endless ages with unceasing might ! Some seer, enraptured at his dreams of duty, In grave speech frames a precept or a law, And years long after mankind lives in beauty The gorgeous glories that the prophet saw ! 108 Gbe ©ns/Hbarcb. 109 Some teacher from his closet tells the nations The words of Truth, the Deeds that men should do ; And they through sorrows and deep tribulations Toil fiercely on to prove his lessons true ! Man's Mind is greater than his brawn or bullet ; His Thought far vaster than his Labor stands ; Men's hopes are higher than the world, and rule it, — Their hearts are stronger than their helpless hands ! Development unwearied outward courses Through deepest darkness with unresting tides ; Brain-throbs and heart-beats are the deathless forces That lead us, lift us, where the day abides. Still up and onward, up and forward, surges The toiling race, near-drawing to the goal, While Truth with whips of righteous anger urges The craven fool to prove a Master Soul. Quote not the past ! Its regal courts were rabble, A puny herd of worse than worthless things ; The world moves upward from their childish bab- ble— The tireless toilers are the only kings ! Yea, Man himself, the fruit of long endeavor, Grows from the smallness of his ancient youth, And shall, at last perfected, stand forever An angel shaped and fashioned to the Truth ! THE DREAMER. T T E dreamed a dream ; and far his hopes -*■ -*- Went roaming o'er the mountain slopes They climbed the summits coldly tall, They crossed the high horizon's wall, And lingered where the morning star Illumined royal realms afar ; — Men shook their heads : " He is unfit For life," they said. What mattered it ? He dreamed a dream. He dreamed a dream ; and in his soul He heard mysterious music roll ; He saw sweet visions weirdly rise Before the longings of his eyes, And knew the good of Man eclipse The joys of God's Apocalypse ; — They said : " He has nor wish nor will " ; He heeded not ; what matter still ? He dreamed a dream ! He walked the ways in rags that felt The horrid homes in which he dwelt ; And now and then in lonely days He sang some simple roundelays, Gbe Dreamer. Until the hungry, hardened throngs Knew something of his tender songs ; — " On foolish things his heart is set," The thousands said. No matter yet ! He dreamed a dream ! And lo, he lost his dream, and died, To find it on the other side ! And o'er his coffin bent a few With hearts of grief and eyes of dew, Till they a vision saw, and sought The music that he tamed and taught ; And year by year a grateful throng Bows low to bless the Man of Song Who dreamed a dream. Ah, life is more than tears or toil, Its wages more than sin or soil, And from its holy hands are shed Diviner gifts than blows or bread ; Who dreams a dream is greater far Than crowds and crowns and kingdoms are, And stars and skies and systems roll To palm and praise the mystic soul That dreams a dream ! THE STARS. C TARS and the seas of the night ! Stars and the deeps of the dawn ! And the dim of the dusk is athrob with the light For the ships that are sailing on ! What if the hurricanes blow ? What of the billow r and blast ? The harbor waits, and the sailors know They shall anchor in port at last. Life and the power of its pain ; Life and the doom of its death ; And the ghastly ghosts of the wandering slain With their foul and pestilent breath ! What if it sicken and fall ? What if it wither and die ? It only goes to the All in All In the worlds of the Bye and Bye. Love and the joys of its trust ; Love and the gold of its go in ; And the agonies fierce when its blossoms are dust And its raptures have perished in pain ! What if it wander and weep ? What if it murmur and moan ? The heart of the Master is never asleep, And the lover shall come to his own. Zbc Xittle JBov'6 1bair. 113 Man and the might of his hope ; Man and the curse of his care ; And the footsteps that falter and fingers that grope In the dim and the dusk of despair ! What if he stumble and fail ? What if he perish, in sooth ? The lights are above him ; at last he shall scale All the hills of the true and the Truth ! Stars and the seas of the night ! Stars and the deeps of the dawn ! And the dim of the dusk is athrob with the light For the ships that are sailing on ! What if the hurricanes blow ? What of the billow and blast ? The harbor waits, and the sailors know They shall anchor in port at last ! THE LITTLE BOY'S HAIR. T T IS mother and I cut the little boy's hair ! -*- ■*■ Hair that grew where the years begin, Bright and sunny and fondly fair As the baby dreams it was tangled in ! And tears came into our eyes that day, — Tears for the baby that left us then, — For oh, we knew when he went away He never would come to our home again ! *i4 Songs from tbe Soutbweet Country. His mother and I cut the little boy's hair ! Twisted curls that the fairies made, Hung by his brows in the breezes where The blessed feet of the children played ! It woven was with the fancies true, The hopes that ever with childhood dwell, And held the joys that our baby knew, The low, sweet laughter he loved so well ! His mother and I cut the little boy's hair ! Faces grave with a grief sublime, Eyes so guilty they would not dare To look aloft as we did the crime ! Our hands upgathered the golden glow, They clutched the glories miraculous ! What vandals we ! But he could not know The deep emotions that mastered us ! His mother and I cut the little boy's hair ! "You," we whispered, "are now a man ! " Mourning deep in our hearts the rare Sweet grace that grew where the years began And all that day there were tears that shone Within the lids of our tender eyes, And soft we wept to ourselves alone Where none could enter and sympathize. His mother and I cut the little boy's hair ! Life is longer than children know ; Day by day there is more of care Than heaped the hearts of the Long Ago ! Gbe OLtttlc 2)eaD JBabg. 115 For these are the curls that we cut off then, As dear as the boy with his dreams of Good, Who laid them by for the toils of men, In the long-lost years of his babyhood ! THE LITTLE DEAD BABY. HP HERE 'S a little dead baby just over the way, For a little white ribbon hangs down by the door, And the house that was happy with music and play Is encompassed with gloom and rejoices no more ; And the shutters are closed and the curtains are drawn, And the bird by the window is songless to-day ; For the bright of the blossoms went out at the dawn With the little dead baby just over the way. There 's a little dead baby just over the way, And a little white coffin all hidden from view ; And a poor little mother kneels lowly to pray By the beautiful face of the baby she knew ; But the Lord of her soul with a gladness unguessed To her heart gives a joy that shall anguish allay ; And her faith lives as pure as the blooms on the breast Of the little dead baby just over the way. There 's a little dead baby just over the way, And a desolate look never noticed before ; n6 Bonc,6 from tbe Soutbweet Country. And the children are silent, and tearfully say, " The baby won't laugh at our pranks any more ! " And the old people walk with a sorrowful tread As the tears of regret down the faded cheeks stray, For they worshipped each hair on the bright curly head Of the little dead baby just over the way. There 's a little dead baby just over the way, And the hushes of awestricken silences throng Through the jest of the crowd and the merriment gay With the rapture and revel of laughter and song ; And the world bows its head with a sorrowful face Where the stars of compassion their glories array, While the angels come down full of love to the place Of the little dead baby just over the way. Oh, the little dead baby just over the way ! There 's a Presence that clothes it with dearness divine ; And I feel in my heart the omnipotent sway Of the grief I should know if that baby were mine ! And I mourn with the mourning, and ask from above That the Father will comfort when sorrows dis- may, While my soul is a fountain that flows full of love For the little dead baby just over the way ! RENUNCIATION. T/' ISS me, love, before you leave me ! -*■ *- Here the cherished hope shall end ; I shall bravely, though it grieve me, Lose the lover in the friend ! Forward where your longings lift you ! Nay, I '11 never bar the way ! May the joyous breezes drift you To the harbor lights of day ! Kiss me, love, before you leave me ! To your heart once fold me fast ! Though the future may deceive me, I shall treasure still the past ! What shall matter wintry weather ? Memory is deathless youth ; We shall tread the years together, Down the dewy slopes of truth ! Kiss me, love, before you leave me ! These poor tears of mine are naught, Yet this parting shall bereave me Of the dearest things I thought ; But nor will nor wish may falter ! Shall the wooed be less than wife ? Here I lay upon the altar All the longings of my life ! 117 n8 Songe from tbe Soutbwest Country. Kiss me, love, before you leave me ! These are only foolish themes ! May the price I pay achieve me Crowns for all your hopes and dreams ; But remember what was given : One sad woman slew her love, Faced her fate, and left her heaven, — You shall gain the heights above ! Kiss me, love, before you leave me ! Here the cherished hope shall end ; I shall bravely, though it grieve me, Lose the lover in the friend ! Forward where your longings lift you ! Nay, I '11 never bar the way ! May the joyous breezes drift you To the harbor lights of day ! "THERE, MY HEART, BE STILL A MINUTE." *"pHERE, my heart, be still a minute ; -*■ Don't you worry so ! There 's a song if we begin it Everywhere we go ! What if days of happy boy-time Never come again ? We shall find the perfect joy-time Down the ways of men ! "Gbere, mg Ibeart, JBe Still a Ainute." 119 When the darkest hours are over, Morn with fingers bright Shall the sweetest blooms discover, Grown within the night ; Never ruin, but entwined it Vines of sympathy ; Never cloud, but stars behind it Lit the tender sky ! Yours and mine is friendship stronger Than the world receives ; You and I are comrades longer Than the world believes ; You rejoice in all my gladness, Every laugh I know ; Let me banish all your sadness, — Don't you worry so ! Let your lips forget to quiver ; Brush the tears away ! Never hour but was a giver Of the glad and gay ! What 's the use of getting gloomy, When the skies are blue ? All the meadow lands are bloomy For the likes of you ! There, my heart, be still a minute ; Don't you worry so ! There 's a song if we begin it Everywhere we go ! izo Songs from tbe Soutbvvest Coming. What if days of happy boy-time Never come again ? We shall find the perfect joy-time Down the wavs of men ! A RAMBLE. \\TE wandered with fond feet beyond the town * And all the stifled streets of dust and smoke, Until we rested in the country fields. It was a place where angels might have walked : A rounded vale of solitude and song, That weary souls of longing fondly dream When fainting with the fevers of their toil And bending with the burdens of the years. Green slopes of summer grasses, kindly wreathed With speckled lawns of clovers red and white, Spread their soft carpets on the bounding earth Where playful sheep and lowing cattle grazed. An infant stream with limpid waters low Crept slowly through the mossy margins wide, And singing kissed the pebbles with kind lips That lingered on the ripples. Far above, The ancient, gabled mill with throbbing wheels Beat sombre music from the careless waves. A brooding elm hung over, in whose shade The sultry hours of sleepy silence wane, And all the heart's dear yearnings are at rest. TUnforgetttng. 121 Birds in the scattered trees companionless Heaped lullabies upon the tender air, While wide-winged swallows touched the water's breast And twittered in their merry ecstasies. Some lonely quail with cheerful whistle called His absent comrade from the bearded field. While over all the arching sky of blue In rapture caught the valley in its arms And smoothed the tiny wrinkles from its brow. And there we two, the friends of other years When life was in the distance of our dreams, Lay on the grasses all that summer day And talked again of joys we used to know, Of longings crushed and tender hopes that died, And years that fled as dreams go down the night ; Till shadows brought the dewy breath of eve And twilight drove us from the lovely scene, With such fond pleasures ringing in our hearts As cheered our bosoms in the times of yore, When boyhood looked beyond his foolish ways And dreamed of glory in the years to be. UNFORGETTING. T7ORGET thee, dearest ? Till the tide ■*- Forgets the orb that lifts the sea, My heart shall leap with naught beside Abiding thoughts of thee, — of thee ! 122 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. Until the rose forgets the dew That cools and feeds with fine control, My soul shall know, as once it knew, The raptures of a kindred soul. Till longing sleeps and love is dead And darkness falls and griefs destroy, My heart shall treasure all we said And hold our happy hopes of joy. Through all the days I wander where Thy presence makes a Paradise ; Through all the nights I slumber there Beneath the heavens of thine eyes. Though suns should leap across our ways And starry systems intervene, My soul would break each bond that stays, And scale the heights that rise between. What if a thousand worlds upheave ? The lover's heart will find his own, And, though a storm-tossed absence grieve, He clasps her, and is not alone. Each moment I caress thy face, Each moment feel thy hands in mine, Each moment in thy close embrace I thrill with kisses thrice divine. XLbc rtlMnor dborD. 123 And all the hours from dark to dawn, And all from dawn to dark, I see Thy darling face, and wander on Enchanted paths that lead to thee. Nay, dear, think not I can forget ; The days may hasten o'er the hill, The nights may come with darkness, yet My heart shall hold thee, — hold thee still ! THE MINOR CHORD. A sweet bird sings In prison shadows where the griefs are sorest, And gladly rings The wondrous music of his native forest ; But all his songs Breathe evermore some minor strain of sadness, And through them throngs No more the old free melody of gladness ; For something sobs and sighs In every song he tries. His lay seems quite the sweetest ever heard, But oh, the bird, the bird ! A singer sings, Far from the days of childhood glad and golden, Fantastic things The angels taught him in the cycles olden ; But anguish dwells 124 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. In every strain his throbbing bosom utters, And sorrow swells In every note that from him falls and flutters ; In every song he knows Sob life's unceasing woes. They say his harmonies forever linger ; But oh, the sad, sad singer ! There are no songs Praiseworthy save the singer's heart has known them ; Their truth belongs Alone and only to the lives that own them ! In every note Of touching tenderness that overmasters, Divinely float The voiceless anthems of unnamed disasters, — In every perfect strain, Some hope that died in pain ! Do they forget, who crown the ones that bring them, The prices paid to sing them ? IN THE NIGHT. f^\H, the stillness and the sweetness of the night ! ^^^ How the soul arousing rises from the mysteries of dreams, Ere the beautifying brightness of the morning's purple light Through the golden vales of glory like a flooded river streams ! In tbe IWtgbt. 125 Then the hand of some glad angel with a tender touch unbars All the fairy fields of fancy with unfading blooms bedight, And we wander there as happy as the twinkles of the stars, In the stillness and the sweetness of the night. In the stillness and the sweetness of the night Comes a holier inspiration than the days can ever know, And seraphic shapes of shadow in their glory- garments white Summon memories of music from the lyric Long Ago; Oh, the gates of heaven open, and the happy hosts of joy Soothe the heart away from sorrow with their melodies of might, Till the years are young forever and the old man is a boy, In the stillness and the sweetness of the night ! In the stillness and the sweetness of the night Faintly sound the witching murmurs of a thou- sand eerie things From the thrilling throats of darkness on the forest- haloed height And the leaping lips of laughter where the rest- less river sings ; 126 Songs from tbe Soutbwcst Country. Oh, the voices of the ages God's prophetic lessons teach To the heavy heart that hungers for the rhapsodies of right, And the secrets of the silence lisp their hopes in happy speech, In the stillness and the sweetness of the night ! In the stillness and the sweetness of the night, Oh, the soul breaks out of prison in a glorified release From the fetters of its weakness and the bondage of its blight, To the blessed benedictions and the plenitudes of peace ! And on wings of joyous rapture, far among the great and good, How it soars with love and longing to its ancient palace bright, And beholds cherubic wonders only known and understood In the stillness and the sweetness of the night ! SAVE THE BOYS. CAVE the boys ; they make the treasures ! ^ Vain is all thy strain and striving, Worthless all thy narrow measures Made to further thrift and thriving. Souls are priceless ; of thy brother, Of his sons, thou art the keeper ; Save the boys ; endeavors other Are unworthier and cheaper. Save the boys ; they make the nations ! Haste the marches up and onward ; Banish all the fierce temptations From the paths we travel dawnward ; Laws can break each galling fetter ; Love can lift from shame and scorning , Save the boys ; and purer, better Men shall reach the Gates of Morning. Save the boys ; they make the future ! Hearts and lives and hopes are pleading For the death of sins that nurture Curse and crime for hosts succeeding ; Millions low in prayer are craving Good which fills the earth with leaven ; Save the boys ; and in their saving, Save the human race for heaven ! Save the boys ; they make the ages ! Conquer Vice with Virtue's rigor ; 127 128 Sonus from tbe Soutbwest Country. Battle brutishness like sages ; Swing the scythe of Truth with vigor. Duty, now ! Be coward never ! Time shall tell thy fame in story ; Save the boys ; the Great Forever Looks to thee and them for glory ! TAKE IT EASY ! HPAKEiteasy! What's the use Of your haste and hurry ? Life can offer no excuse For the waste of worry ; When you get to mixing things Hope becomes a bubble, For there 's never heart that sings O'er the tears of trouble. Take it easy ! He that frets Never knows the pleasures, And the richest poorest gets In love's golden treasures ; If to sadness you are cold, She from you will sever ; Treat her kindly, and the old Jade will stay forever ! Take it easy ! Life 's a crown, — Like a monarch wear it ; If a burden weight it down, Happy be and bear it ! flfoy Xove. 129 Drink the nectars from the skies, Which the gods bequeath you ! And in rapture you shall rise Leaving earth beneath you ! Flowers of beauty bloom and bless All the ways you wander, And the songs of blessedness Chime from over yonder. Don't get blue ! The world is bright, Beautiful, and breezy ; Life is but one long delight If, — you take it easy ! MY LOVE. T CRIED with a cry to my love ; A And my soul with a jubilant thrill Strode over the oceans between her and me, And over the mountains of ill ; But never an answer arose from her lips, And never a joyous reply Came out of the distance and tenderly hushed The terrible sob of the cry. I prayed with a prayer to my love ; And high on the wings of its hope My heart hurried far through the valleys of time And over eternity's slope ; But she uttered no word where the silences lay To banish my yearning despair, 130 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. And lost in the seas where the surges are vast Were the throbs of my desperate prayer. I sang with a song to my love, Under the stars and the night, And the feet of my song o'er the ways of the world Sped swift in their longings for light ; And when she drew near in the purples of dawn, It seemed I had known her so long, — This heart of my heart and this soul of my soul That heeded my summons of song ! Not the terror of cry, not the pathos of prayer, Did she hear in the silences wide, But she hastened away at the carols of song With her jubilant feet to my side ; I know not, I know not, the land or the sea, The mountain or stream she had known ; I know not the path that she came, — but I know That she came, and is only my own ! A HEALTH. \70UR health as you leave us ! *■ We know what you think, — Yes, that is man's Babel, — No wonder you shrink ! 'T is right to be happy ? Aye, truly, I hold, And life has more in it Than laurels and gold. ILoneltness. 131 Then up with life's cup, — Here 's a bumper to gladden ! May the sorrows that dance On the highways of chance Never gather so near as to sadden ; Wherever you linger, wherever you stray, May roses and lilies entangle your way ! It is joy that I wish you, Unclouded by care ; It is crowning of purpose, Fulfilling of prayer ; It is all that you hope for And all that you deem The love of your longing, The dear of your dream ! Then up with life's cup ! There is wine in the chalice ! Let us rouse us a laugh As we cheerily quaff Like a thirsty old king in his palace. Your health, your good health ! 'T is enough for your worry To capture the pleasures as onward you hurry. LONELINESS. P\EAD she is, and the glowing embers -*— ^ Fancy fired in the olden days All are ashes, and life remembers Few, indeed, of her words and ways. 132 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. It was eve and the year was vernal, Soft the breeze, and the sky was fair, — Hearts are hungry and love eternal, — Oh, the tints of her face and hair ! Slow we walked with our happy faces Down the deeps of the darkened gloom, And our souls in their love-embraces Wedded there in the orchard bloom. It was nothing ! A hand-clasp only, Just a kiss in the shadows low ; But my heart when she went was lonely, And I wept in my sorrow so. It was nothing ! But from me never Lifts the touch of her tender lips ; Through my veins there will romp forever Thrills that fell from her finger-tips ! It was nothing ! We parted, — parted. — Ne'er to meet in the world again ; She with love of the good glad-hearted, I so sad with the griefs of men. Dead she is, and she lies out yonder Cold as the gravestones are and white ; But forever our souls shall wander Hand in hand through the fields of light ! IN MEMORY OF EUGENE FIELD. (Died Nov. 4, 1895.) AIT ELL, bear the empty cage away ; * * Our lips with wondrous woes are white ; The bird that warbled all the day Has left us lonely in the night. He sang of fields and orchard blooms, And groves that gave delightful shade ; Of perfect flowers whose fond perfumes Fell where delighted children played. The raptures of the homely joys Romped in his tender roundelays, And fun and frolic like a boy's Beside him wandered all his ways. Glad children paused from play to hear The pipes melodious that he blew, And Age with happy step drew near To know forgotten dreams anew. His music waked the smiles that leap From joyous deeps of angel eyes, And held the hopes that happy creep From hearts as pure as Paradise. i33 134 Songs from tbe Southwest Country. The race has lost a fondest friend, The children one that laughed with them, The countless hosts in sorrow blend Their sobs to sound his requiem. Yes, bear the empty cage away ! Our lips with wondrous woes are white ; The bird that warbled all the day Has left us lonely in the night. A SUPPLIANT. /^~\ GOD ! When Dreams of Good are dead, ^^ And buried low they lie, — When Hope is gone and Love is fled, — Then let me die ! The heart may sing o'er faded flowers, Beside the bursting leaf ; But tears unceasing sob the hours Of Winter's grief. The soul with lofty courage weds Where mountains meet the sun, But where the prairie's level spreads It sinks undone. The night with all its wail and woe, Bleak winds and bitter skies, Forgets the darkness if it know The morn shall rise. /ifootberbooo. 135 Life undismayed can feel the thorn And walk the plains by night, If blossom, mountain-side, and morn Be still in sight. When dreams of better things are dead, And buried low they lie, — When Hope is gone and Love is fled, — Then let me die ! MOTHERHOOD. TV /T OTHERHOOD ! Motherhood ! ■*•*-*■ More than any brotherhood, More than any other hood Underneath the skies ; Let me sing a song to you, Glad and true and strong to you, Till the stars belong to you, Earth and Paradise ! More than glees and gratitudes Are your sweet beatitudes, Born in Heaven's latitudes, Where the joys abide ; Angel hearts that treasure you Ever come to pleasure you, Bringing gifts that measure you With the glorified. Then a happy song to you While the joys belong to you 136 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. And no shade of wrong to you Floods the days with tears ! Motherhood ! Motherhood ! More than any brotherhood, More than any other hood, Laughing through the years ! THE COMMONPLACES. A H, the childish commonplaces ! Like the old *^*- familiar faces, How they peep forever outward from the skies of Long Ago, And their rhapsodies of laughter follow fondly on and after All the winding ways of glory that our fairest fancies know ! Oh, the happy commonplaces ! How remembrance interlaces In the sombre soul of shadow all the shine it ever knew, Till the yearning years of sorrow from their blessed brothers borrow All the raptures that with magic throw a halo over you ! And the joyous commonplaces ! How their music madly races Through the heart and soul aweary, and the joys abiding brings ; Gbe Commonplaces. 137 For from out the gates of golden, from the cycles bright and olden, Comes the angel of Jehovah with the cherubim and sings ! And the careless commonplaces ! Full of laugh- ter's gladdest graces, How the murmurs of their voices fall across the ways we go, And the carols they are singing, rich and royal chorus bringing, Soothe the bruises of the battle and the weary wounds of woe ! Oh, from you I cannot sever ! And forever and forever I shall drink your magic music, gaze upon your forms divine, Till again with glad embraces we shall meet, O Commonplaces, And shall wander on unwearied where the stars of heaven shine ! JOY ABIDES. T^HE Troubles are feathers that flee ■*■ O'er Pleasure's unchangeable sea, The bubbles that darken the wave, The brambles that tangle the wild ; But Hope is a blossom that gladdens the grave, And Life is the laugh of a child. 138 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. The Sorrows that sadden us here Like mists of the morn disappear ; For Joy with her light and her love Fills all of the world with her glees, And mortals in ships that are launched from above Sail over eternity's seas. Then sing all the lullabies long That Pleasure is crooning in song ! They silence the clatter and din That echo where error has trod ; If Hate be as old as the demons of sin, Yet Love is enduring as God ! THE HOURS. A A/"ITH bandaged eyes beside the way I stood, Where one by one in swift procession passed The muffled hours and tossed their gifts at me, — Crowns, kingdoms, stars, and what they all contain. They mocked my hands that beat the darkness there, Reclaimed their bounties, and with savage scorn And taunts of bitterness went o'er the hills. But all was not denied me ; as I clutched In deep anxiety of groping hands, I caught some ribbon, rose, or wisp of hair, Some screed of song, some sentence of the heart, TnnDtemageD. 139 Some child's fond plaything sanctified with love, But mourned for crowns my blindness could not gain. And when my heart was weary with its years, Then Wisdom came and made mine eyes to see ; And lo, my trinkets were the keys of life, More precious than the stars for which I wept ! A : UNDISMAYED. S long as the Spring with her blossoms Bends over the beautiful lea, — As long as the bird with its music Sings all of its carols for me, — My soul for its longings shall struggle, My Hope battle on with a will, Till the blossoms of Spring are all faded, — The bird and its music are still ! As long as the song of the singer Sounds over the valleys of earth, — As long as the lips of the lover Are red with the raptures of mirth, — My heart shall renew its endeavor, My life in its longing shall trust, Till the song of the singer is weary, And Love is a dream of the dust ! ALAS, MY OWN HARP! A LAS, my own Harp ! In the shadows of night 'T is our fortune to sing all the numbers we know, And murmur in darkness the songs of delight That shall soften our sadness and weaken our woe. But cease not thy strains ! We forever will pour From the deeps of our days, full of yearning and youth, Though Fame should encircle our brows never- more, Sweet songs that are happy with honor and truth ! Let the strains of thy measures unceasingly flow, Though marred in their music by murmurs of mine ; Should Glory ne'er crown them, 't will cheer thee to know Love hath blest with her roses these carols of thine ; Then sway the sweet strings ! Let the melodies move With the raptures that never seem harsh or un- couth ; Some heart full of longing shall listen and prove How great are the songs of thine honor and truth ! 140 JSencatb tbe pines. 141 FAITH. T IKE a comet strange and wild, ■"— ' Through the trackless regions vast Reels the Soul from ages past, God's companion, Heaven's child ; Nothing tells it of the great Planets where it rolled and whirled ; Nothing knows it of the fate That has flung it on the world. Here it wanders dark or dim Till it creeps apart alone, Past the far horizon's rim Through eternities unknown ; But He brought it from the deep, — He will all its wanderings keep, And it never once shall move From His law or from His love ! BENEATH THE PINES. DENEATH the Pines on drowsy wings, *-* My sleepy hammock sways and swings, While through half-open, half-shut eyes Creep lazily the far-off skies And all the world that sobs and sings. From Music's feather-throated kings, A perfect chorus rising rings 142 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. And soothes me with its lullabies, Beneath the Pines. O happy hours ! An angel brings Glad visions of divinest things, Where half asleep I hear the cries Of Nature's anthems gently rise, And dream of never-fading springs, Beneath the Pines ! IN LOTUS LAND. T N Lotus Land the lazy beams -*- Fall slothfully, the dawdling streams Creep sluggishly from hill to sea, And sweet oblivion sleepily The soul from toil and care redeems. No guilt or guile of sinful themes, No glare of Passion's lurid gleams, Turns innocence to misery, In Lotus Land. O Life, where love unsated seems, Where savage wrong triumphant teems, Where all unwelcome things that be Bring deathless tears and woes to thee, Forsake thy cares and clasp thy dreams In Lotus Land ! Xtfe's GrtnttE. 143 AN EPITAPH. A BOVE the monumented dead ■**■ I stooped and read : " This was a king ! His empire was the latest : He ruled himself ! " Let minstrels come and sing ! Let monarchs call him greatest ! Not power nor pelf, Not glory gathered from an earthly thing, O man of might, can ever closely draw So vast a rebel to the rule of law ! Thou wast a prince whose far dominions spread Before the living and beyond the dead ! LIFE'S TRINITY. T IFE sinned in childhood, and with anguish sore ■■— ' Crept slowly outward through a hopeless way ; Sweet love and laughter joyed its lips no more ; The Sword of Flame barred Eden's Yesterday ! A Saviour comes from mangers of the Beast, With modest bearing, clothed in coarse array, Is without resting-place, esteemed the least, Thorn-crowned and crucified : He is To-day. i44 ♦ Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. The tomb yields glories of God's endless power ; Life knows guilt lost and hope bestowed again ; The night fades out, and morning hour by hour Opes wider still To-morrow's gates for men ! FORSAKEN. OVE one day bade us both good-bye,— ■*— ' The old, old Love that we knew so well ! Flashed with anger he could not quell, He would not list to our lonely cry. Oh the sorrow, the sob, and sigh ! The ghastly horror and hate of hell ! Love one day bade us both good-bye, — The old, old Love that we knew so well ! Ah, we never may scale the sky Where the darling dreams of our fancies dwell, And we may never with rapture swell Anthems caroled by hosts on high : Love one day bade us both good-bye ! BUD AND BLOOM. /^V STREAMS that change to bud and bloom, ^-^^ That bless the desert lands, Your loving waters find their doom Beneath the burning sands, But worlds of green and grasses grow Where'er your benedictions flow ! TLove anD Deatb. 145 So may the currents of mine hours Yield only gifts of love, Till where they flow the fruits and flowers Of gladness rise above : What though the desert be their doom, O streams that change to bud and bloom ! THE MUSICIAN. O HE plays ; and from her finger-tips ^-' Falls music little children know ; She sings ; and from her happy lips Leaps laughter of the Long Ago ! Ah, singer, there is that in thine Which breathes a music half divine, And leaping in thy strains there seems The voice of long-forgotten dreams, Till life forsakes the ways of men And laughs a careless child again ! LOVE AND DEATH. A SHAPELESS Form through shining ways ■** of light Sped swiftly, far from Hate and Horror flown, And where Love ruled the armied angels white Dropt his dread spear and climbed the golden throne. 146 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. " Hence, Monster," Love commanded. " Nay, not so," Death answered him ; " my brother, thou shalt share Thy realms with me." And, sceptre-laden, lo, Transformed he stood, the fairest angel there ! DEATH. WHERE meet the Bounded and the Boundless Good, A weary Soul that earth's deep anguish knew, Faint in the falling shadows dimly stood And prayed the gates to let him enter through. A thin, white Hand, scarce visible, with might Turned the vast hinges, and he walked alone From Man the Mote to God the Infinite, Comrade of Truth and heir of the Unknown. THE DEAD SINGER. SWEET Music was his Church and Creed ; He knew her chimes and loved to ring them ; The Muses, his good friends, indeed, Taught him their songs and how to sing them ! JBfrtb's /llMracle. 147 Who doubts that he shall know beyond His brothers all without endeavor, And in their chorused anthems fond His happy heart shall sing forever ! THE ANGELUS. " I "WO peasants, homeward from the fields of toil, Hear holy music in their hasty quest : Their longings leave the sorrows of the soil, And sweetly wander in the vales of rest. Not theirs the Knowledge that is Guilt and Grief ! Not theirs the doubt that drives their God away! Behold ! In trustfulness of fond Belief, They bow their heads and lift their hearts to pray ! BIRTH'S MIRACLE. "F^ROM God's great mountains in the vast Un- ■■■ known, A halting soul moves helpless down the slopes ; On Time's broad portals pauses, lost and lone, And knocks for entrance into human hopes. Then Love with fondest travail, in her soul The awful anguish that his life shall know, Clasps firm his fingers and with calm control Leads him in terror to Man's ways of woe ! 148 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. TWO PRAYERS. "BREACH me to live, O Wisdom!" Thus in *■ youth Prayed I, ere Yearning to Resolve had grown ; " Enwreathe my brows with garlands of the Truth, And lead my footsteps through the far Un- known ! " " Teach me to die, O Wisdom ! " Thus in throes Of pain implored I, after life's long quest ; " Lull my tired longings into sweet repose, And hide my soul in everlasting rest ! " AMBITION. \ 17 HERE 'S your glory, fickle Fame? * * Here 's the service that I brought you ; Here 's the worship ; can I claim Nothing for the deeds I wrought you ? I 'm so weary ; toil 's distressing ; Sick, I scout your foolish snares ; Yet I 'd rather have your blessing Than the crown a monarch wears ! LOVE. TlfHO knows the life of the tree ? * * Who knows the life of the rose ? Who knows if the life that is moving me Is the life of the bud that blows ? Gbe Ablnstrel's power. 149 Whatever it be, I shall call it Love That came to a world of woe, — That came from the stars of the skies above To live in the stars below ! THE POET. A IX ORE than the Prophet and the Priest, •*■'-*■ Than Soldier, Sage, and King, He brings to men through fast and feast The truths that seraphs sing ; He rules enthroned o'er Sword and Crown ! In God's Most Holy Place, He calls His kindest blessings down, And meets Him face to face ! THE MINSTREL'S POWER. (~~* LORY and power and place, ^-* And the gifts they bring, Yield to the gladness and grace Of the hearts that sing, Taught by the stars and the suns that rise Music that murmurs of Paradise ; For the minstrel knows Truths that only to him unclose. i5o Songs from tbe Soutbweet Gountrg. LIFE. r I ^O all but wisdom and the wise, -*■ Life is a beggar lean and old, Who wears large hunger in his eyes And shivers with the cruel cold. But no ! She reigns a princess fair, With cheery cheeks and happy hair, With laughters leaping from her lips, And joys upon her finger-tips ! TRADITION. A GIANT, many-sided, old, and great, Bestrode the highways where the nations grope, Defied the sons of men with swords of hate, And drove them backward from the hills of hope, Till one insurgent rebel smote him sore ; And lo, the Giant terrified no more ! THE CREATION OF ART. A SHAPELESS Chaos void and lifeless lay * Before a dreamer in his mighty hour ; He breathed his life between the lips of clay, And all the empty arteries throbbed with power ; Then, leaping at the Master mind's control, It stood an angel with its maker's soul ! fbeio anD Singer. 151 GOD'S CHILDREN. GOD'S children, Time and Nature, build in sand Man's wondrous empires full of wealth and might, Art's castles reared in playtime's warm delight, But quickly scattered with unheeding hand ; New races, nations, peoples, — what are they ? Mere baubles fashioned in Creation's play ! IN A VOLUME OF POEMS. CTRANGER, pause where poet sings ^ Music of divinest things ; For, angelic, pure, and fair, Something of his life is there, — Something of his heart and soul Where the wondrous measures roll ! HERO AND SINGER. r 1 "EN thousand swords in battle strove, *■ Ten thousand heroes felled their foes, And Glory twines no wreaths above Forgotten graves where they repose ; One singer sang his toils and tears, And lo. he lives through endless years ! i53 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. TO-DAY AND TO-MORROW. r I ^ HOUGH narrow, poor, and small, ■*■ To-day is infinite With possibles of might ; To-morrow, vast and all From Time's great shore to shore, Is finite evermore. THE DEAD SEER. THROUGHOUT the solemn wonders of the Night And all the gorgeous glories of the Day, God's angels with the Wisdom of delight Taught him the Truth and told him what to say ; Till Mercy called him from the valleys lone, And made him Master of the vast Unknown ! ONE SAYING. /^\NE saying the centuries cherish ^-^ And treasure again and again : Live not in the books that perish, But live in the lives of men ; For the books shall cease at the set of sun, But the lives of men, — they are never done ! 5elf=dlbaOe. 153 TO A SINGER I NEVER SAW. \\T HAT though we wander life along v * Through distant lands and gusty weather? The finger-tips of tender song Shall link our dreaming souls together, And every note I sing shall be Sweet echoes of a voice from thee ! LIMITED. DETWEEN the oceans of the Night, *~* Life walks the narrow lands of Light ; And o'er the plains of thought and will The rivers of existence flow ; Men sail the trailing streams, but know How little of the seas they fill ! TRUTH'S MIGHTINESS. 'THE sons of might that conquer here -*- Win vict'ries not with wild alarms ; Truth naked, stript of sword and spear, Is greater than a world in arms ! SELF-MADE. A FAITHFUL soul among the swine-herds wrought With patient hands, nor dreamed of higher things; But lo ! At last the nations found him, taught To sway the sceptres of a hundred kings ! 154 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. THE DEAD WAIF. A HELPLESS one, sin-summoned from the sky, ■*■*■ A moment lingered in the ways of men ; Then God's fond mercy heard its lonely cry, And lo, He drew it to his heart again ! A PRAYER. T7ILL up my heart, O Father, with relief ■*■ While close I lean for comfort on Thy breast ; I, weary child, heart-broken with my grief, Creep in the dark and sob myself to rest ! DUTY. T""\0 thy best deed ! It is not lost *-^ Though hid from Glory's gorgeous light ; God's altar fires are just as bright When one soul worships, as a host ! IN DIALECT. 155 THE FAITH CURE. C PEAKIN' of religen now, ^ I ain't posted much, en hain't Aney idee aneyhow 'Bout the way they make a saint From a sinnin' sort of man On the hallylooyer plan ; Howsumever, I admit It 's a good 'nuff thing to git, When a feller 's brimmin' full Of the kind thet 's practicull ! Now, fer instunce ! Thayre 's ole Bill Wimpler in the south of town ; Got religen fit to kill, Hallylooyered up en down, En let off a young cyclone Down thayre on his prayin' bone, Clar in sight of heaven's throne, Sweepin' through the happy skies On a shout thet satisfies ! Alius wuz a purty good Easy-goin' feller through Thick en thin of things thet would Knock the end-gate outen you ! Wuz a blacksmith, Bill wuz ; stout, Stouter, too, 'an all git out ; i57 158 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. Tall like ; en he wuz a man On the spider-legged plan ; Could jist hold a hoss, en drive Hoss-shoes on him, sakes alive ! En when Bill grabbed holt the foot Of some mule, en said, " Whoa, brute ! Makes no diff'runce whut a fool Once wuz thet-air plegged mule, He 'd jist bow his head, en lay His long ears back thataway, Tell ole Bill wuz plum clean through Drivin' on the last blame shoe ! Mendin' plows en broke machines Wuz his main holt, too ; fer he Could with wires en tom-fool-ree, Fans en flops en shakes en screens, With contrapshuns, balls, en springs, Make the most awdashus things Run by steam er walked by hoss, Feller ever come across ! Uster loaf with him fer days, Meddertatin' on his ways, En a sort of fishin' through, Jist to find out fer myse'f, Whayre his money cantered to, En whut laid him on the shelf ! Wuzzent feared of work a bit ! I kin hear his big anvill, Seems to me, a-ringin' yit Gbe ffaitb Cure. 159 'Fore the sun dumb up the hill ; Never stopped to eat a bite Tell the daytime quit fer night ; But fer all, I jist declare, Never had a cent to spare ! Pore ? Pore don't spell it ! Pore Ez a snake, en then some more ! Alius crowded him to git Groc'ry bills paid up, en yit He made lots of money, jist Rollin' in, hand over fist ! Dident drink ner gamble, ner Fool away his substance fer Aney bad, ferbidden things Made of vain imaginings ; But he some way couldent make Nothin' fer his pocket's sake, But it tumbled out agin Faster 'an he stuffed it in ! Now, us neighbors wundered some (Neighbors will, the best of um !), En we talked it kind of out, How it all had come about ; But not one knowed whut it wuz Thet wuz botherin' Bill en — us ! But ole Bill one loafin' day, Suddent like, which wuz his way, Leaked the idee, I tell you, Whut it wuz, clean through en through, Circus, side-show, concert, too ! 160 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. Sally, — thet 's his wife, — you see, One of them thayre womern wur, Thinks theyr sick ! How well she *d be Somepin' 'ud be wrong with her, En thayre 's one dizzease she had, — Doctors comin' — mighty bad ! So the same of course wuz took By the fam'bly pocket-book, Tell it wilted like, en wur Hunderd times ez sick ez her ; Fer she never seemed the wuss Of her fits so dangeruss, While it shrivelled up so thin Nary cent wuz hidin' in ! Sally wuz a leetle, short, Sawed-off woman, — jist thet sort ; Fat ? Like pippins in the fall When theyr hearts of meller mursh Dangle on the branches tall Waitin' fer the winds to sqursh ! When I 'd see her waddlin' by Swingin' arms both right en lef, — I 'm ashamed of it, but I Wushed she'd fall en bust herse'f, En spill every orful bad Blame dizzease she thort she had ! Kep' a cubberd full of pills, — Patent med'cine git-ups fer Zbe jfaltb Cure. 161 All new-fangled sorts of ills No one ever had but her ! Ev'ry pad en poultice, too, 'Lectric things en strings en sich, Warranted to pull her through From newmowny to the itch, Made no diff 'runce which wuz which ; But each one 'ud, well or ill, Make her sick en sicker still, En jist keep her sick ; en she Swallered all the theeory Thet ole Naytcher 's jist a school Run fer some drug-mixin' fool, En she put dependence in Doctor bills en medicine ! I hain't no seerious dissent to Doctors ; sometimes they will do, En you like to have 'em come 'Twixt you en millennium, En jist yank you, sick en sore, From the happy, golden shore ; But ef kep' about the place All the time, they fall from grace. When they git acquainted, — well, Then they ruther lose theyr spell Over me ; the plegged smell Of theyr clothes en things about Puts my stummick all to rout Like the stuff they ladle out ! i62 Songs from tbe Southwest Country. Sally, though, found much delight Keepin' doctors thayre in sight Clar from mornin' ontell night, En she swallered down theyr stuff Like she couldent git enough ; So she went on quite a spell Doct'rin' up en gittin' well, En relapsin' back agin Whayre she fust had started in ! Never seemed to gain but she Lost it all, en 'en 'ud be VVuss 'n ever ; nuthin', though, Dang'russ like, fer all her show En her mopin' signs of woe ; But the neighbors' fokes, you know, Like they will, jist shook theyr heads, Speckilatin' thet she 'd die Sure some day, en be ez dead 's Mackerel dried up, by en by ; En they went en worried on Whut 'ud Bill do in thet case With them childern when she 's gone Yander to thet healthy place ; En some feller 'lowed with her Jist removed, thet Bill 'ud shore Do lots better 'an before, Whutsoever might occur ; En perdicted thet the town Ez a health-reesort 'ud gain Ef she 'd break life's brickie chain ;- Reppytation had run down Gbe jfaitb Cure. 163 Orful low en fur en wide 'Cause of illnesses she tried ; — En Jim Summers said he thort, When she reached the heavenly port, It quite doubtful ef she wur Happy in them mansions fur Without somepin ailin' her ! Wull, one summer, when she got Sort of risin' in her head, Bile er somepin, like as not, En wuz railly sick, they said, She jist had a rousin' spell ! Kep' Bill dancin* day en night Puttin' hot things on her, tell Blistered so she wuz a sight ; Had a high-jinks time ; jist walked, Wrung her hands, en cried en cried, Yelled en bellered out, en talked Days en nights of suicide ! En we thort, the way she tore, Thet she 'd kick the bucket shore ! In the neighborhood thayre stayed Ole Miss Watkins, — an ole maid Er grass-widder,— don't know which ; But the fokes said she wuz rich, En on thet account could do Aneything she wanted to Without people talkin' ; she 164 Songs from tbe Soutbvvest Country. In religen, too, you see, Differed from the rest of us In her faith rediculuss ! She believed with nary doubt Sickness alius comes about From our meanness croppin' out, En good people sich as her Never sick ner porely wur ! I remember when she took With newmowny onct, en lay Fer a week or two, they say, With a all-fired scarey look, Tell her feechers sot ; — thet 's why Ever'body said she 'd die ; But she said she wuzzent sick, — Jist a leetle tired wuz all, — En stuck to it ! Wouldent call Aney doctor in, ner do Things thet people hurry to, When they trump Death's leadin' trick ; Womern bawled aroun' a spell, En she jawed 'em like, ontell All at onct she got up well ! En the womern wuz thet mad, — Said they shorely knowed she wur Jist pretendin' thet she had Some dizzease a-holt of her ! En went on so over it Some won't reckergnize her yit, Er speak to her hearty loud When they meet her in a crowd ! Cbe ffattb Cure. 165 Now, when Sally got thet bile In her head, Miss VVatkins come With her sort of dusty smile, Runnin' resk of martyrdom ; Tolt her ef she *d jist believe Nuthin' ailt her, she 'd receive Lovin' faith, thet comes en brings Health en healin' in its wings, En so forth ; en Sally she, So deestracted with the pain, Kind of took it in, you see, En she axt her to remain En to tell her out en out Things she never heerd about ! Now, thayre wuz thet very day Feller at Miss Watkins home Thort like she did ; en he come Down to Wimpler's right away, Bein 's Sally done invite Him to cure her bile up right ; Wuz from some place, — don't know whayre, — Wichita, er som'ers thayre : Wuz a priest, — er teacher, — er Somepin womern hanker fer ; He jist talked to Sally good, Rubbed her head and prayed with her, Tell the whole blame neighborhood Called him looney en clean gone, Tryin' his fool doctern on Thet thayre woman ailin' so, — 166 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. Sich a hopeless case, you know ! Fer we knowed, through thin en thick Sally's trade wuz bein' sick, En we thort she 'd work it some Spite of faith en Christendom ! Wull, sir, she jist swallered down All he tolt her ; en her bile Busted in a leetle while Arter thet ; en all the town Laughed a lot, en people said She 'd got wuss things in her head 'An her bile had ever been ; But ef she 'd git somepin in Thet 'ud do fer medicine, — Somepin thet wuz ruther cheap, — It might he'p her out a heap, En Bill's pocket-book 'ud git Full salvation outen it ! Ever see the mirth en might Of a happy proselyte ? Thet wuz Sally ! Tolt it quick She wuz done with bein' sick, — She had overcome the sin Thet had brought dizzeases in ; En she said, en so it seemed, Sickness wuz a thing she 'd dreamed,- Thet she wuz not sick afore, En she wouldent be no more ; So she th rowed her bottles all, XLbc ffattb Cure. 167 Full en empty, pads en strings, Pills en plasters, wires en springs, Sich as purfic saints condemn, — In a basket in the hall ; En she toted the display To the garden right away, — Dug a hole en buried 'em ! Said ez close to faith she 'd stick Ez she had at bein' sick ! Things went forrard purty fast, Soon as thet thayre bile wuz past ; Arter Sally got her fill En wuz cured of ev'ry ill, Her religen tackled Bill All to onct, en he give in, Sayin' he wuz sick of sin, — This wuz more 'an medicine ! Bill wuz shorely happies' one Ever lived sence time begun When he got religen thayre Ez he knelt en tried a prayer ; Like enough he wuz assured Thet his pocket-book wuz cured, En the doctor-bills 'ud quit Grabbin' dollars outen it, — En I hold it, at them rates, Cheapes' cure in seven States ! Saw Bill jist the other day ; He 's accumulatin' wealth 1 68 Songs from tbe Soutbweet Country. Sence they all learnt thataway How to keep theyrselves in health Bought a farm en paid the cash One year arter thet thayre bile En theyr sickness went to smash ; Wears a rich, contented smile, Drives a kerridge big en fine, En wears clothes ez good ez mine. Whut ef no one else concurs In thet faith of his en hers ? It is plain to all about Thet his pocket-book is stout, Healed ferever on thet day Sally found the faith-cure way ! Ez I said I say agin, Speakin' of religen now, Cure fer sickness en fer sin, — - I ain't posted much, en hain't Aney idee aneyhow Whut is done to make a saint From a sinnin' sort of man On the hallylooyer plan ; But it 's shorely somepin fine When you git the genyouine Payin' kind, thet 's easy took En will he'p the pocket-book, — Fillin' all your longin's full Of the sort thet 's practicull, En jist eaches fer the spot, Like the kind thet Sally got ! OLE JIM HANKINS. f^LEJim Hankins,— you knowed him- ^-^ Beas'ly awk'erd, tall, en slim, Like the Lord had made him rough Outen secon'-handed stuff, En 'en seein' he 'd played hob Never finished up his job ! Uster live 'way up the crick Whayre the woods en bresh is thick, In a leetle cabin throwed Over thayre along the road. Traded hosses all the time, En he 'd work his jaws en spout Haff a day er more about Some ole hoss he thort sublime ! Aw, you knowed him ! Blamedest one Ever lived sence time begun ' Took the yaller janders some When the tradin' season come, En he yallered on en on Tell his ellerkence 'uz gone, En he couldent talk a bit ; Seems to me I see him yit Weepin' like his heart 'uz wrung, 'Cause he couldent wag his tongue, Like a easy-run machine, 169 i7o Songs from tbe Soutbvvcst Country. 'Bout the hosses he had seen. Don't remember ! Wull, I swow ! Why, I see the feller now ! How he lived, ez some men do, — Ole hoss trader through en through, — En the people fer en wide Come to see him when he died ! Wush you could a-knowed ole Jim 'Fore the janders tackled him ! Ganglin'-like en sort of slow, He a-hitchin' 'long 'ud go, Er he santered 'round en lit His ole pipe en puffed a bit : Swallered smoke ontell it riz Through thet peaked nose of his ; Hawked en hawked, en 'en he 'd spit, Tell he 'd wet en kind of spile, In his free en easy style, 'Bout a front yard full of ground Thet wuz layin' thayre around ; Er he 'd take his yaller twist Of terbacker in his fist, En sock in his teeth, en pull Tell his mouth wuz brimmin' full ; Then he 'd work his nimble jaw Up en down acrost the chaw In his happy, keerless way, Fer the likes of haff a day ! Uster be the bigges' fun, ©le 3tm Danfttns. J 7i Jist to set en watch him squirt Juicy mouth-fulls at the dirt, Like some long, infernal gun Would its buzzin' bullets throw At the breast-works of a foe ; Whew, but he could spit it hard ! Hit a bull's-eye twenty yard, En wuz never knowed to miss When he squoze them lips of his ! Wush you could a-knowed ole Jim 'Fore the janders tackled him ! Uster dress the queeres', too ! Wore the bigges' size of shoe,— Number ten er thayreabout. — With his toes a-stickin' out ; Said he 'd turned 'em out fer grass With the horned, four-footed class ! Round-a-bout en overhalls Kivered shins en sunken breast, En his hick'ry shirt wuz best To pertect him from the squalls, Ragin' storms 'en winds thet blowed On the wintry ways he knowed ; En upon his head of hair, Shaggy-like, he 'd alius wear His ole cap of coon-skin hide With the fur on outer side, En the striped'st tail you 'd find Stickin' proudly out behind, 172 Songs from tbe Soutbweet Country. Bobbin' up en down on high Like a banner in the sky ! Never had a gallus on, Ner a collar ner a tie ; Said his natchurl way 'd be gone Ef he 'd wear them horrid things, — Frills en furbelows en strings, — Thet the han'some fellers git When they spark en spruce a bit ; En his whiskers long en rough Suited him jist good enough, Ef terbacker juice got in Ez it wundered down his chin ! Wush you could a-kno\ved ole Jim 'Fore the janders tackled him ! Beat'nes' feller ever seen ! Alius puzzled my machine How ole Hankins got so smart In the tradin'-hosses art. Fokes called him a kind of fool Thet in manners couldent shine, — But in his peculeyer line He wuz born to run en rule ; Never had a word to say When jist common things en sich, Very pore er very rich, Come around his lonesome way ; Never knowed jist which wuz which ; But when some new hoss wuz by, ©le Jim Ifoankins. 173 Spread his mouth en let 'er fly ! Whut he knowed about a hoss, Hosses' ages, ways, en looks, Would a-filled a dozen books No man ever come across ! Never seen him downed er beat When you took him in his line, Fer a man had best resign When he tried to work a cheat On ole Hankins, 'bout the worth Of the hosses of the earth ; En regardin' his own trade He wuz alius thayre, — en stayed ! Wush you could a-knowed ole Jim 'Fore the janders tackled him ! But he had a heart ez kind Ez the womern folks, en wide Ez the wants onsatisfied Thet upon our paths we find ; Nary kid in all the land But a-shoutin' loud 'ud run Fer to grab him by the hand, With a heart as full of fun Ez a — millon is of juice When a feller lets it loose ! Sacks of candy en sich things Fer which babies raise a row, — Tops en marvels, knives en strings, — In his pockets wuz, somehow ; 174 Songs from tbc Soutbwest Country. People alius welcomed Jim To theyr homes en honored him, Like he wuz a king of might Thet wuz fetchin' 'em delight ! None thayre wuz but he would do Level best to pull 'em through, En they alius praised en blest Whut he did, like all possest ! Carried widder womern flour, Wood, en vittles, by the hour, En wuz like a daddy to Orphan kids the country through. Never saved his money, though, — Fellers like him don't, you know ! Never keered fer pride er pelf Ner a copper fer hisself, But the best man happ'nin' round On the top side of the ground, — Give the last blame cent he had Jist to make some feller glad ! Wush you could a-knowed ole Jim 'Fore the janders tackled him ! Led a sort of lonesome life, Ez some fokes remarked of Jim ; Never found the stripe of wife Thet 'ud jist agree with him ; Though the older settlers say Thet when he wuz but a boy Clean chuck-full of purfic joy, ©le Jim Ibanfeins. 175 He 'd a sweet heart glad en gay, But she pined away en died, Leavin' him onsatisfied, En through all the seasons grum His pore heart a vacuum ! No relations of his own, Walked the ways thet he had known, — Cows, ner pigs, ner other fokes ; Fer he alius lived alone, Chawed terbacker, told his jokes ; Took things jist ez easy thayre Ez he could most aney whayre, Like a 'coon of highes' type When the roas'in' ears is ripe ! His ole dawg en hoss wuz all Thet he keered to have about, En he kep' them in his call Jist to sort of he'p him out When he got to feelin' blue En not knowin' whut to do ! But at feller-mortals he Drawed the line, ez all could see, Though he never harmed a man Fer ez I have ever heerd, En he never wuz afeerd Of his shadder, ner could be ; Fer he took the gospel plan, En he made hisself as good Ez he wushed his fellers would, — Jist ez good ez good could be, Ez he alius seemed to me ! 176 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Countig. Wush you could a-knowed ole Jim 'P'ore the janders tackled him ! But when Jim got sick in bed, En ole Death with floppin' wings Hovered all around his head, En the darkes' kinds of things Come around whayre he wuz spread, - Seemed to me the earth en sky 'Ud be blackened by en by ! Saddes' sight you ever seed, — Railly made my ole heart bleed, — When he rared up kind of weak On his elbow, fer to speak, En he said : " I never keer How the Lord may treat me here, But it strikes me ruther bad En it makes me sort of sad, 'Cause I 've got to go away Whayre the juice-harps alius play, Whayre no bosses trot before, En hoss-traders trade no more ; But ef I could trade agin 'Fore I leave the trails of sin, I could pass my checks, en know Work wuz over here below ! " Wull, sir, when he once got through, All the people thayre jist cried, Bellered out en blubbered, too, Like the whole creation 'd died ; Zhe JBanfcs of Zuvkey IRun. 177 But I — stepped — right up — to — Jim — Knowin' whut he wanted most ; Traded hosses thayre with him 'Fore his consciousness wuz lost (Made ten dollars ; only time Jim got euchered on a dime !), En acrost the river he Peaceful like en quietly Waded through the worters deep, Like a youngster gone to sleep ! En ef heaven is over thayre Whayre them angel bein's air, I 'm jist shore 't wuz made fer Jim En all fellers good ez him ! Wush you could a-knovved ole Jim 'Fore the janders tackled him ! THE BANKS OF TURKEY RUN. T IKE a thousen birds of brightness from the isles ^-^ of summer seas, Rickollections full of gladness come with songs en lullabies, En I listen to the carols thet with gentle voices^roll Full of tenderness en beauty down upon my weary soul ; Fer thayre 's one thet keeps a-singin' with a song thet 's never done, En I see the bendin' willers on the banks of Turkey Run ! 178 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. En agin I be a youngster with a youngster's foolin' dreams, With his highfalutin' notions en his fiddle-faddle schemes With the laughin' en the cryin', with the sorrer en the joy, Thet is jumbled up together in the bosom of a boy ; En agin my airly fancies in a fairy loom air spun Underneath the dancin' shadders on the banks of Turkey Run. En agin I be a school-boy with the other merry lads, When Joe en Jerry, Bill en I wuz only leetle tads, — When a half a dozen marvels en a kivered ball wuz worth, With a knife of Barlow pattern, all the treasures of the earth ; En the soundin' sort of thunder from a poppin* kind of gun Sot our faces all a-giggle on the banks of Turkey Run. It 'ud tickle aney feller jist to see the solemn look, When the master wuz a-watchin', thet we fastened on the book ; But the mischief stickin' in us, like pertaters in a sack, It wuz never hard to empty when the teacher turned his back ! O, the paper wads we tumbled thet 'ud weigh about a ton, In thet crazy-cornered school-house on the banks of Turkey Run ! Zbc JBanfcs of GurfceE IRun. 179 How we uster chase the robins en the rabbits in the woods, How we gethered bloomin' posies in the sighin' solitudes ! How we wundered all the medders in our roamin's o'er en o'er, How we teetered in the branches of the beech en sycamore ! Er we watched the rompin' minners ez they rassled in theyr fun, While we nearly bust a-laughin', on the banks of Turkey Run ! How we uster go a-fishin', when the day wuz git- tin' late, With a bent pin fer a fish-hook en a fish-worm fer a bait ! With a leetle line of cotton en a hazel fer a pole, How we sought the softes' places by the wides', deepes' hole ! How we tee-hee-ed at the nibbles, caught the fishes one by one, With the bigges' kind of prowess, on the banks of Turkey Run ! When the sun wuz burnin' shavin's in the heatin' stove of June, En the clock upon the mantel wuz a-knockin' off the noon ; When the beams in bunches blistered as they never did afore, x8o Songs from tbe Soutlnvest Country. En the sweat wuz drippin', droppin', from the mouth of every pore, How we skipped acrost the medders, how our swim- min' wuz begun In the cool en crystal waters 'tween the banks of Turkey Run ! O, the smilin' days of childhood ! O, the loudly- laughin' years ! When contentment brings the moments nary trace of toils er tears ! When the pleasures jine the longin's en the fairy fingers roll All theyr heaps of angel music in upon the blazin' soul ! O, my Joe, en Bill, en Jerry ! Trustin' comrades, you wuz won Whayre my bare feet brushed the grasses on the banks of Turkey Run ! O, them airly ties air busted ! But I offen wait en weep Whayre the pleasures of my boyhood in theyr leetle cradles sleep, Rocked by angel hands of glory full of gladness onexpressed, Tell theyr eyes air soothed to slumber by the lul- labies of rest ; Yit I sometimes like to wake 'em, jist to see theyr foolish fun, Back through all the dismal shadows, to the banks of Turkey Run ! Gbe JBanfcs of GurfceE IRun. 181 En alas ! Thayre wuz another ! She wuz fairer than the rest, En she alius had a hearin' fer the wushes of my breast, — Alius wuz a chunk of sunshine en a piece of quiet glee, Alius had a smile of welcome en a tender word fer me ; En without her wuz no shinin', en of happiness wuz none Rompin' through them days of childhood on the banks of Turkey Run. O, her home wuz in a cottage whayre the mornin'- glories hung, En the airly birds of Aprile with theyr sweetes' music sung ! Thayre wuz roses 'round her winder, thayre wuz roses 'round her door, Thet wuz stickin' full of blushes, but they seemed to blush the more When her eyes wuz seen a-peepin', en her cheeks shone like the sun From thet cozy leetle cottage on the banks of Tur- key Run ! Many en many a time we wundered in the grassy medder-land With our wishes thayre together en our longin's hand in hand ; 182 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. How we dreamed about the future, when the world should give me fame, En when she would be thrice noble to be worthy of my name ! Thus we dreamed en thus we fancied ; others might my boyhood shun, But I found her kind, my sweetheart, on the banks of Turkey Run ! But the times have been a-changin' sence them airly years of joy When she wuz jist a leetle girl en I a leetle boy, — When Joe en Jerry, Bill en I, together wuz at play, With our hearts ez light ez feathers every minute of the day, En at twilight sunk to slumber tell the mornin' wuz begun In the gloomy, silent forests on the banks of Turkey Run ! Bill en Joe have gone a-rovin' on a fortune-huntin' quest Through the silver mines en Injuns in the mount- ings of the West ; But the janders come to Jerry with a solemn sort of call, Tell they painted him ez yaller ez a punkin in the fall; En to-day I saw his tombstone ez it glittered in the sun Over in the leetle churchyard, on the banks of Turkey Run ! Cbe JBanfes of GurfceE IRun. 183 En, alas, my precious sweetheart ! Like a posy- blossom white Did she slowly fade en wither, tell her spirit took its flight ! Like an angel into heaven did she slowly, calmly creep, Tell her lovely life wuz over en her longin's went to sleep ; En the tollin', tollin' church-bells dropt the dirges one by one Ez we laid her by the wilier on the banks of Turkey Run ! Thayre a leetle cross of marble marks the silent, sacred shade Whayre the blossom en the beauty of my ole sweet- heart is laid ; En the summer has a sadness thet is cryin' through the years, En my heart is full of sorrer en my eyes air full of tears ; Fer I 've alius had a failin', sence her friendship fust I won, Fer thet lovin' leetle maiden, on the banks of Turkey Run ! But them days air past ferever in the years of Long Ago, En a wishin' to be wealthy has enraptured Bill en Joe ; Death has taken jerry ; only I, of all the boys, 184 Songe from tbe Soutbweet Country. Am remainin' to remember all them airly angel joys; But to-night I see theyr faces ez they peep in full of fun, En agin we 're boys together, on the banks of Turkey Run ! MORALIZIN'S. XHAYRE 'S nuthin' in the world thet 's haff So full of comfort as a laff, En nuthin' like a healthy grin To make a feller glad agin ! It ain't the weepin' sort of chap Thet goes a-groanin' when the crap Of wheat is provin' kind of small En corn gits frost-bit in the fall, Who never finds a thing amiss Er gits the bigges' hunks of bliss ! I uster know a feller-man Thet seemed to foller sich a plan ; Fer it wuz his besettin' pride To keep hisself onsatisfied, En nuthin' ever come en fit Eggsackly ez he wanted it. When purfic joys wuz standin' by, He 'd jist go off alone, en try To stuff the sweet en shinin' days With sorrers all contrairy ways ; /Ifcoralt3tn'0, 185 En when the times wuz purty tough, It seemed he couldent cry enough, But magnified his leetle keers, En wushed he wuz a bar'l of tears, Close by the sea, to tumble in En never find hisself agin ! He alius stuffed his place fer brains A-heapin' up with woes en pains, En had a pile of his own sense A-savin' up fer Providence ; Fer he had plannin's mighty nice, En could a-give the Lord advice About the way to hold the strings En git the purfic run of things ! But somehow fellers sich as him Have chances thet is kind of slim At findin' in these narrer years A han'kerchief fer all theyr tears ; Fer in the purty strains of song Thayre 's alius notes a-goin' wrong, En summer showers have alius growed A mud-hole in the smoothes' road. 'Cause somepin goes a leetle bad Hain't aney reason to be sad, For thayre is heerd a thousen songs To every dozen of our wrongs, En it makes trouble deeper yit To bawl en blubber over it ! 1 86 Songs from tbe Soutbvvest Country. A man had better laff en grin En fetch the pleasures back agin, When life is lookin' kind of black En loads git heavy on his back, Fer things air shore to have theyr way Whatever he kin do er say ! To gether up the joys thet bless These human days with happiness, En larn to take things ez they come, Has alius been the bigges' sum Thet ever made a mortal wet His throbbin' brain with hones' sweat ; It 's sort of strange, but yit our keers Git leetler with the passin' years, En rale old fokes air apt to find Theyr discontentments quite resigned ; Fer him thet knows the blessed art Of garnerin' pleasures in his heart, Gits happy, tell he thinks he must Jist sure en sartin go en bust, Too joyous fur to keep en hold The laffs none ever bought fer gold ! A feller mussent hope to find Things jest a'cordin' to his mind, Fer naytcher with her star en sun Wuz shorely made fer more 'an one, En number seven shoes won't suit The natcherl size of every foot, En whut '11 make a dozen glad, 'ffore TiatllEum TKttrit a ;JBoofe. 187 Ez like ez not '11 make one sad ; But fer myse'f I calkilate Thet man is master of his fate ; En well I know fer man en boy This world is heapin' up with joy, En all we do to git enough Is, jist grab han'fuls of the stuff En cram our longin' bosoms full Of gladness irresistabull, Tell him thet laughs en grins the best Gits bigger blisses 'an the rest ! 'FORE WILLYUM WRIT A BOOK. F' l ORE Willyum VVilkins writ a book, We alius called him Bill, fer short, En hardly give a secon' look At him beyant the common sort ; Fer he wuz one of us, en we Jist never thort he 'd ever do Some big, oncommon thing, en be Renownin' all the country through. I met him fust one rainy night When fast I rid my ole hoss Dick Kersplash to town with all my might, En brung the doctor purty quick ; En when we got back, in her lap My wife wuz holdin' him, by zook ! A most onlikely leetle chap, — 'Fore Willyum writ a book. Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. I knowed him when he uster be A leetle freckled cuss thet wur Same ez the boys belonged to me, — No purtier ner likelier ; With britches rolled up, fixed complete, En ole straw hat no pup 'ud hook, En big stone-bruises on his feet, — 'Fore Willyum writ a book ! But now he 's got a great big name, — Bill 's growed to Willyum mighty quick, En with the purty gal called Fame They say he 's gittin' orful thick ; But he ain't happier now instid, Than when fer city ways he shook The home thet smiles ez smile it did, 'Fore Willyum writ a book ! He wears a long-tail coat, en curls, En tall plug-hats, en spotted ties, Talks through his nose at painted girls Thet wear gold glasses on theyr eyes ; But I jist know his soul don't sing Ez glad en free ez when he took The cows to pasture in the spring, — 'Fore Willyum writ a book ! En some fool college 'way down East Has doctored him an LL.D., En all sich fol-de-rol, — at least, Jake Johnson tells the same to me ; I s'pose he hardly knows the fokes He uster, 'fore us he forsook " TIClbcn tbe TRoas'tn^Ears is plentg." 189 To dawdle 'round with city blokes, — 'Fore Willyum writ a book ! They say them big bugs do him proud ; He hobbies with the good en great, En jist enthooses every crowd Comes out to hear him speckilate ; But somehow I can't picture him 'Cept as a boy down by the brook, A-fishin' in the shadders dim, — 'Fore Willyum writ a book ! En should I meet him som'ers now, Ole times 'ud pore my bosom full Of them ole things, en on my brow Romp glories irresistabull ; With quiverin' lip en teary lid I 'd grab his hand with happy look, — Shout " Howdy, Bill ! " as shout I did 'Fore Willyum writ a book ! "WHEN THE ROAS'IN'-EARS IS PLENTY." TALK about the joys of winter ! Whut 's the fun of foolin' round With the posies dead en buried, en the snows upon the ground ? When the wind 's a-tossin' blizzards in a most dis- tressin' way Tell you have to set a-straddle of the fire-place all the day ! igo Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. But I tell ye life 's a-livin' when the summer grows the grass Over all the nooks en crannies whayre a feller's feet kin pass, En the whole world seems of heaven but a half for- gotten type, When the roas'in'-ears is plenty en the worter- millons ripe ! Roas'in'-ears is best of eatin', though not very much fer style, — Shuck an armfull fer yer dinner, sot 'em on en let 'em bile ; Salt 'em well, en smear some butter on the juicy cobs ez sweet Ez the lips of maple-sugar thet yer sweetheart has to eat ! Talk about ole Mount Olympus en the stuff them roosters spread On theyr tables when they feasted, — nectar drink, ambrosia bread ! Why, I tell ye, fellers, never would I swop the grub I swipe When the roas'in'-ears is plenty en the worter-mil- lons ripe ! Near the sugar-camps of glory is the worter-millon patch, Like a great big nest of goodies thet is jist a-gone to hatch ; "TKflben tbe TRoas'in'sBars is plenty." 191 En ye take yer thumb en finger in an ecstasy so drunk Thet ye hardly hear the music of theyr dreamy plunky-plunk ! En the griefs air gone ferever, en the sorrers lose control Ez ye feed the angel in ye on the honeys of a soul, En ye smack yer lips with laughter while the birds of heaven pipe, — When the roas'in'-ears is plenty en the worter-mil- lons ripe ! O, the darlin' days of summer when the stars of plenty shine With the apples in the orchard en the grapes upon the vine ; When the hedges bud en blossom, en the medders rich en rare Breathe the perfume of the clovers like an incense everywhayre ! En the world seems like yer mother, with the tender hands thet bless All the restless race of struggle with a heaped-up happiness, En her han'kerchiefs of gladness from yer eyes the weepin's wipe, When the roas'in'-ears is plenty en the worter-mil- lons ripe ! PUT 'ER THAYRE FER NINETY DAYS ! "\ 1 7"ULL, ole Jim ! of all the strays ! * * Put 'er thayre fer ninety days ! Glad to see ye ! Whayre ye been Sence ye last come rollin' in ? How 's yer fokes ? en leetle Jim, — Whut about the gals en him ? Tell me all in quickes' phrase, — Put 'er thayre fer ninety days ! Put 'er thayre fer ninety days ! How it warms my heart to raise To yer face my happy eyes En to hear yer kind replies ! It 's put near a life-time sence You en me saw them events Thet return through cloud en haze, — Put 'er thayre fer ninety days ! Put 'er thayre fer ninety days, While upon yer face I gaze ! Not changed much sence we wuz boys Thinkin' mischief most of joys ; Older some en sobered some By the jolty roads ye 've come, 192 " pilfer Cbasre fer miners Dags!" 193 But yer tender naytcher stays, — Put 'er thayre fer ninety days ! Put 'er thayre fer ninety days ! Yes, life is a tangled maze, Full of sorrers en of songs, Cryin's, laffin's, rights, en wrongs ; But from fountains of distress Bubble streams of happiness, En the stars in darkness blaze, — Put 'er thayre fer ninety days ! Put 'er thayre fer ninety days ! Whut ye sayin' ? Joy betrays,— Fam'bly dead ? En leetle Jim ? Gals en mother dead with him ! O, my own heart, pardner, knows Somepin of the deepes' woes ! Yit fer all its grief, life pays, — Put 'er thayre fer ninety days ! Put 'er thayre fer ninety days ! Let yer hand be one thet stays ; Pitch yer tent en camp with me All the years thet yit shall be ! Love shall heal yer heart, en bring Music fer us both to sing, En our tears '11 roll in praise, — Put 'er thayre fer ninety days ! 194 Songs trom tbe Soutbwest Country. Put 'er thayre fer ninety days ! Wisdom wreathes us with her bays, En around our lives entwine Lessons thet air shore devine ! En we '11 live, — yes, live, — en love Tell the Father up above Grabs our hands in his, en says, " Put 'er thayre fer ninety days ! " AT FWEDDIE'S. [" LIKE Fweddie mighty well ! Fweddie 's got a dog what plays Hide en seek, en he can tell Whare you go to, funniest ways ! He ist puts his paws up thare 'Crost his eyes en shets 'em tight, Tell he comes en hunts you whare You are hided out of sight ! He can play ball, too, en fetch What you say fer him to bring, — Jump into the pond, en ketch Sticks en hats en ever'thing ! Gits 'em in his mouth en takes Races 'round a time er two, En he barks, en shakes en shakes Dirty worter over you ! at tfwe&Dte's. 195 Fweddie's pony 's Tiddle-wink ; Littlust one you ever see ! Cuter 'n Curly, too, I think, — Only 'bout as high as me ! Me en him got on en rode, — Bofe togever ist like one, — Didunt make much of a load, En wuz ist the mostest fun ! Fweddie hit 'im wiv a stick, Right thare by the worter-trough, En the pony tried to kick Up his heels en throw us off ! Then he run en run, tell we Got purshed off by that big limb, — Fweddie said 'at some time he 'D ride the meanness out of him ! I like Fweddie, — yes, I do, Mighty well, en Fweddie he En his dog en pony, too, Thinks a orful sight of me ; En when all of us git out Havin' fun en bein' glad, We ist know a heap about Goodest times boys ever had 196 Songs from tbe Southwest country. L'ENVOI. T HAVE sung you a song A Whether worthy or not, Whether righteous or wrong ; I have sung you a song Whether little or long ; Though it soon be forgot, I have sung you a song Whether worthy or not ! H ^ v" 4 *j^l> ^ a?* . * 4V ^ /"g^^V. , 'O- ■<* „' A^ o^f* +* ,&*•'■'•* O A> c° N °» ^ r\ ^ ** -i^r- ^ ** -lifer \ / •* Vv A"* »^\W/k° ^ & *bV* w *Ov a"* ►*< A °c **?» / '/ «P^ V HEMflBS^HnHMHiSBH LIBRARY OF CONGRESS