— ^'^t '-' - ^■l' '*^2l. Down beside the Babbling Brooklet, heak the Cow Bells coming Home. [Pane 27] PECULIAR POEMS DANIEL O. LANTZ, l0^Mf^^?^ CHICAGO: ^^^or w.r< ^^"^^i^ D. O. LANTZ & CO., PUBLISHERS. 1883. T< U5 Entered according to Act of Congress, in ttie year 1883, by DANIEL 0. LANTZ, In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington- TO MY MOTHER PREFACE TDECULIAR POEMS were written under peculiar circumstances. At almost all hours of the day ; in business and out of business ; amid the perplexing peculiarities of the printing office, as well as in the quietude of the home circle. If the reader can find an^^thiug in them to entertain, amuse or instruct, the author will feel himself doubly repaid for the time spent in their production. He has been induced to publish these poems in book form by the repeated requests of friends and of those who ought to have known better. Yet, however this may be, he has determined to enjoy himself, whether the critics enjoy his poems or not. CONTENTS. PECULIAR POEMS. PAOB The Fighting Schoolmaster^ ----- 13 Bells we Loved in Childhood, - - - - - 27 Along the Shore, .-.--. 31 Maud, the Milkmaid, - - - - - - 33 Peter, the Plowhoy, ------ 35 The Gold Leaf Fast Express, - - - - - 39 Blue Eyed Bess, ...... 43 The Bidl Dog at the Gate, - - - - - 47 Our Boats at Sea, ..---. 51 The Old House by the Lane. - - - - - 53 Bells of Clyde, ..---- 63 The New Year, - - - - - - - 65 PATHETIC POEMS. Our Fallen Heroes, ------ 69 Only a Flower, - - - - - - - 71 Charlie Ross, ------- 72 CHllie Bell, ------- 73 James A. Garfield, ...--- 75 Th^ Old Year, - - 77 LLUSTRATIONS. PAGK "Dot/TC besirlf. the Bahbliny liroolcht. hear the C master Were more than their natures could shed, So up jumped one of the number, And this is about what was said : mwH JS>-h , 11 " Look here, squire, 'taint no use to be puttin' us in with a lot o' cattle that haint got no brains, for I want you to understand, sir, that we has, an that we don't puppose to be hoodwinked by any of yoa starched city chaps.' "That's chowder," came a voice from the crowd ; "that's the kind of' hair pins we are." " Go in, Gib," another voice shouted ; " he's too fresh for this market. he is." " Whack it up to him," shouted a third ; " we'll stand by j-our bod^^, Gibler." " We has busted this school business more'n wonst," the speaker con tinned, " and knocked the shins off o' weightier men than you is, so you had better shut up your gol blasted preachin' or we'll shut you up — you bet we will." 2iO PECULIAR POEMS. As he finished he dropped like a pumpin, But not until after he swore ; And mising his seat in his hurry, He fell co-whack on the floor. The school room was quiet as Hades As the teacher, with resolute tread, Stepped hastily down from the platform, And this is about what he said : ' I expected to manage jo\x scholars With kindness, and not with the rult3 I wanted to preach you and teach you The value of love in a school ; But it seems you cater to terror, And long to be battered and blue ; So well open our school with a war whoop, And scalp a scholar or two." Now, on!}' the Saturday previous Some one from over the way Had left two dumb-bells of iron, And apparently left them to stay ; And principally all of the morning The boys had been trying their heft — To swing these ponderous missiles — But every one had got left. They had clinched and pinched and twisted. Had rubbed their hands and spit ; But with all their furious endeavors. Not one had swung them a bit. Stooping down, like an enraged tiger, He lifted them up from the floor And placed them with ease on his shoulders. And rested a moment or more. Then, with the strength of a giant. He hoisted them over his head, And threw them hither and thither As though but a handful of lead : THE FIGHTING SCHOOLMASTER. 21 He swung them and raised them and flung them, And managed them both with such ease, And seemed to whirl them and twirl them And toss them wherever he'd please. Till at last, with the strength of a lion. He threw them up mto the air, Letting them fall with a vengeance. Smashing a bench and a chair. Then, hurriedl}' opening the satchel And spilling its contents out, He proceeded to put on his armor. Which made him look savage and stout. The armor consisted of dirk-knives. Two pistols — one for each side — A six-shooting Colt's revolver And a belt, unusually wide. At the opposite end of the school room, Just over Ben Butcher's head, He pinned up a target of paper With corners covered with red ; 22 PECULIAR POEMS. Then, stepping back to the platform And ordering the scholars still, He proceeded to give them a lesson Of a different kind of skill. Drawing a dirk from its socket, He whirled it with terrible force, Sticking it into the target, But breaking the plastering, of course. The scholars were wild with excitement. And some of the little girls wept ; They clung to the skirts of the elders. And close to them timidly crept. - ^ -, m Then drawing a mammoth revolver, He sent forth a torrent of balls That shattered the target to atoms And started a dozen of squalls. The girls grew almost frantic, And one little runt of a lad Was wringing his hands and shouting " By golly, the teacher is mad. The teacher is mad as a hornet ; The teacher is mad, I say ; Whj' don't some of you over- grown fellows Git up and take him away ? " THE FIGHTING SCU L 31 ASTER. 23 But just at that moment the master Mounted the platform and said : " The scholars will now come to order, We will lay aside powder and lead. " We shall now trj' the lessons a season And all who may wish to learn, I shall do my utmost to help them In every conceivable turn. I shall give all my orders promptly, And as promptly I want them obeyed No ' ifs ' or ' ands ' in the matter, Unless you care to be slayed. " Will big Ben Butcher and Broadus, Young Willis and Timothy Good, Tom Murphy and Hickory Harker Now go to the shed for some wood ? And Gibler, our ambitious speaker, Who thought the young teacher a fool You step, .young man, to the doorway, And ring the bell for the school." Cocking the smoking revolver ; Seeing they each failed to start ; He leveled it firm at the leader And aimed it straight for his heart. 24 PECULIAR POEMS. My orders are prompt and decisive ; I'll handle you rough in a trice ; Young men, I always mean business And never intend to speak twice." They arose like sheep-stealing canines, Witli heads bent down to the floor : And not one word did they utter As they marched, full of fright, to the door. The good natured fathers and mothers Who had often been snubbed in the face By these impudent, coarse-fisted fellows. Unfit for a civilized place Winked at each other and chuckled, As the boys went silently past. As to say, " You ambitious young rascals, Your whiffletree's straightened at last. ' A few gentle words to the scholars When the boys came back from the shed, Dispelled all their fears and misgivings And filled them with courage instead. There was pride in his noble bearing, And a manly, dignified air, As he stepped to the desk on the platform And opened the school with a prayer. THE FIGHTING SCHOOLMASTER. 25 The little neat brown-colored school-house Yet stands at the foot of the hill ; The lassies and lads of the country Are wending their wa>' to it still ; But the bushwhacker bullies have vanished, They have each learned a lesson since then, And each in their various professions Are upright, industrious 3'oung men. The school is considered the finest And best managed school in the land ; The teacher is counted a hero, And all of his doings are grand ; He lives where the smoke of his chimney Like wreathes, o'er the playground curls ; He is loved by the scholars and parents, And married to one of the girls. 1 ^t^4^3 Bells we Loved in Childhood, cow BELLS. WAY in the distant meadow, Just over tlie sunset hill, Down where the violets blossom ^ So fragrant and so still, The cows are busily grazing The young and tender gi-ass, While a sound of rustic music Leaps forth from bells of brass. Colink, colink, colink, cothud — Eating, drinking and chewing cud : Keeping it up the livelong day — . This is what the cow-bells saj'. Down beside the babbling brooklet, On its banks with moss o'ergrown, In the golden hue of sunset, Hear the cow-bells coming home ; Clinking through the dusky barnyard, Round the old, familiar well — In the cornfields, in the orchard, Everywhere we hear that bell : Colink colink, colink, colink, Plenty to eat, plenty to drink. Keeping it up the livelong day — Tliis is what the cow-bells say. PECULIAR POEMS. There are sweetly chiming church bells, Sacred in their mellow tone ; There are vesper bells at evening, Telling of a day that's flown ; There are brazen bells at midnight, Ringing out a wild alarm ; But the bells we loved in childhood Are the cow-bells on the farm : Colink, colink, colink, colink — Oft in life we hear them clink ; Deep in our heart they ring to-day, Chasing sorrow and care away. Strange we cherish the homely thing, Battered, bent, dingy and worn — Only a cow-bell hung by a string And rang in the early morn ; Rang at evening, time again — Rang as we crept to the old fireside- Rang when our hearts were full of pain For our little Lou that died : Colink, colink, colink, colink, Oft we hear their rustic clink ; Deep in our hearts they ring to-day, Chasing sorrow and care away. We have drifted from our childhood — We have wandered far away ; We have sought for wealth and comfort, Till our locks are turning gray. Out upon life's troubled ocean, Tossed amid the waves and foam ; We still hear a wild commotion — ' Tis the cow-bells coming home : Colink, colink, colink, colink, Only in memory they clink — Only in dreams we hear again The sound of their glad refrain. When our Hearts were Fui>r- of pain for our Littf-k Lop that died. Along thf: Shore. 3 RIGHTLY beams the lake of Cora, Down beneath the rocky hill ; Surging ever, darkened never ; Those proud waves are laughing still. On the shore, evermore, In the sunlight, in the shade ; Buried half beneath the sand Precious stones and shells are laid. On the brin}^ ocean's foam Some have sought the world's renown, Leaving friends, and wealth and home, And in tall ships have gone down. Others stand upon the sand, Searching long the lone beach o'er ; Gathering gems of brilliant hue. As they're washed along the shore. ?>'! PECULIAR roKMS. 80, upon the shore of time, We may gather jewels rare ; If we only seek the good, We can find them everj'where. ]^ut alas ! how man}- pass Heedless by the golden ore Scattered all along life's way — Precious stones along the shore Maud, the Milkmaid. iNDER a cow-shed clingy and old A maiden sits at twilight hour, Dreaming of one who is young and bold ' J^^ ' Till the milk in the pail gets sour. jy 'Tis the brightest dream her life will know ; Little maid of the dairy snow. Beyond the barn-yard — late, so late ! Out in the hazy moonlight air. Two forms recline on an open gate, And one is Maud, the milk-maid fair. Ah, Maud ! I know, I know, I know Cupid is queen of the dairy snow ! Somebod3's son was seen last night Through the lattice and blinds of blue, Unusually close to someone's right. And someone seemed to like it, too. Ah, Maud ! I know, I know, I know Somebody's daughter will have to go ! They tell it all over town to-day. Just how they looked — ^just how they stood — For a wedding took place over the way. And somebody's daughter has gone for good. And the years will come and the years will go To the happy maid of the dairy snow. Peter, the Plowboy, V^MIK ETER, the plowboy, wa'nt so slow— A lively lad, I'd have you know ; None of your fops, with moustache curls, [^ Who dream of nothing but the girls. But full of solid common sense, And never gave the least offense ; As bright a boy as you could find — One of the real old-fashioned kind. Mabel, a maid of Farmer Grreen, A likely lass as e'er was seen. Was counted by the neighbors 'round As fine a girl as could be found. Mabel was like a rose in bloom — No getting 'round that, I presume. Her nut-brown hair and eyes of gray Captured all the boys that way. Peter was shy of plumes and curls. And courted furrows more than girls ; But bright-ej^ed Mabel, prim and slim, Was just a mite too much for him. 36 PECULIAR POEMS. Over she went, one summer's morn, To his waving field of new-grown corn. Just as the sun peeped o'er the hill And all the world was bright and still. " Whoa haw, haw gee, gee whoa, haw, whoa ! What's the matter, I'd like to know With neighbor Green — good morning. May ; What's the matter across the way ? " " Why, Peter," and her eyes went down As she spied a rent in her rustic gown, And gave her apron several blows — To knock the dust off, I suppose. " Why, Peter, Pa is sick, you know ; It seems so hard to make things go ; The cows destroy the corn and hay, And sheep keep bothering every day. " The nags are always into rows. Turned in the barnj^ard with the cows ; The pigs keep rooting everything, And all our work is back this spring. " Pa needs a man, and wishes you. Because, he says, you're good and true ; I've tried to do the best I can ; But papa says he wants a man." " Your papa wants a man, so-so ; Well, maybe, Mabel, I can go ; But you must promise, when you can, To always help the hired man." Then Mabel shook her nut-brown curls And whispered : " Ain't you 'fraid of girls ? Why, Peter ! Peter ! now take care ! For love is raging everywhere ! PETER, THE PL WB Y. Over the snow, one winter s daj-, Peter the plowboy sailed away ; Over the hills, with bliss complete — Over the hills to the parsonage street. The priest was pleased — the}" always are Whene'er they meet a bridal pair ; He tied the knot — he said for life — And Peter and Mabel were man and wife. MORAL. The world is fickle at the best ; Parsons must live with all the rest : And lads must many when they will^ Kiss the bride and settle the bill. "^^^ The Gold Leaf Fast Express, ^HE Gold Leaf runs her best to-night," The engineer replied To little bright-eyed Genevieve, His only hope and pride. " We're half an hour late or so ; Old ' Tomahawk ' must climb. And run her very highest speed To get to Clyde on time." The sky grew black with heavy clouds, The lightnings streaked the west. And birds went sailing swiftly past To shelter in their nest. To Genevieve, who worried some, The night was full of woe ; For well she knew the fearful speed The train would have to go. But big, broad Ben, the engineer, With throttle in his grasp And Bible hanging near his side Within its iron clasp, 4U PE C UL I A R P E M S. Laughed at her fears and counseled her To never brood distress ; • For God," said he, " is with the man Who runs the fast express." ' For twenty years, and maybe more, I've run upon this track, And never had a tilt so bad But somehow I got back. T always keep that book, my child, A hanging very near ; And then I read it when I can, And never, never fear." Loud rang the noisy engine bell, As orders came to go The driving-wheels began to move In revolutions slow ; A happy child was Genevieve — All fear had left her now ; For she was sure her papa's God Would keep them safe, somehow. The heavy train went thundering on O'er hills and prairies vast, And people all along the road Were startled as it passed. Some said, 'twas dangerous running With all the speed they had ; While others loud asserted The engineer was mad. Some claimed, a white-winged spectre Followed the train that night, And hovered o'er the engine cab, A little to the right, And seemed to light the stormy way With hands and sword of flame ; But no one knew its mission there, Or guessed from whence it came. THE GOLD LEAF FAST EXPRESIS. 41 Out in the sleet and darkness ; Out in the wind and rain ; Out in a night of disaster Thundered the midnight train ! Smashing, crashing, dashing along ; Flashing on with heels of fire ; On and on and onward Like the lightning on the wire ! Hark ! was it the sound of the wind, Or the noise of the flying train That starts the stalwart man of nen^e And makes him look again ? No ! 'tis the sound of a river — A river deep and wide — See ! the massive bridge is swung ! Swung to the other side Ah ! the signal lights were missing On their posts at IMacori, And the drunken signal servant Let the fast express go by ! Shame to moneyed men of millions — Men who ought to stop and think ; Who will place in such an office Those they know will surely drink ! Down brakes ! shrieked the whistle, Along the river coast ; And stalwart men, as quick as thought, Were instant at their post ; And never a train, with such a load. Was shackled with such skill ; And never a train, in such a space, Came to a dead stand-still. What a chasm yawned below them ! What a gulf of dread ! Strong men shuddered at the sight, Then quickly turned their head. 42 PECULIAR POEMS. Some cheered the faithful engineer And loudly spoke his praise, And vowed that he should never want, The balance of his days. But little, bright-eyed Genevieve, Not scarcely nine years old, Shook back her heavy, hanging hair, In ringlets bright as gold, And whispered to the brawny man, When in his fond caress : " God's hand was on the throttle Of the Gold Leaf Fast Express.'' Blue Eyed Bess, fairer form than blue-eyed Bess E'er graced the larboard lea ; She greets me with a welcome hand When I come back from sea. Along the shore — the pebbled shore- Where waters lave her feet, She watches with the restless stars, Her sailor bo}' to gi-eet. Full many a day, o'er bog and bay. With blithesome, winsome Bess, 1 hie to hills and vie with rills Till evening shades grow less ; For life is filled with sunlight hue, And all seems bright to me When roving with my fairy queen Along the troubled sea. Far out on the fathomless deep I some day swift will glide, Over roUicksome, rolling waves, With Bessie as my bride. Then heave ahead, yo ho, boys, ho ! Then heave ahead, yo ho ! I'm a rover wild on the sea, And blue e^'ed Bessie's beau. 'She Watchks with the Rkstless Stars Her Sailor Boy to Greet." Thi: Bulldog at the Gate. "PAINT HEART NEVER WON FAIR LADY. BUSINESS looking bulldog At Deacon Brown's, one day, Created a sensation By having things his way. 'Not a young man in that section — Not a boy for miles around — But detested this 'ere canine. This bulldog sure and sound. He was shy, and shrewd and ugly, And mean as mean could be — One of those short-eared critters A fellow hates to see. He stuck to that front gateway Like plaster to a wall ; And all around those quarters No other dog would crawl. The Deacon had a daughter. And one 'twas hard to beat — A charming little maiden. And most uncommon sweet : 48 PECULIAR POEMS. But boys who cared to woo her Were slow to try their fate With eighty pounds of bulldog A watching at the gate. Now Hezekiah Rathfon Would have sooner lost his hat, And twenty more just like it, And maybe double that. Than tackle such a critter Without a little aid ; And so he kept his distance With others, in the shade. He didn't feel quite ready To raise much of a breeze. And somehow felt uncertain Somewhere about the knees. Whene'er he thought of Eva, Sweet Evalena Brown, The Deacon's charming daughter — The pride of all the town. It might as well be mentioned That on the whole it's best To always keep supplied with nerve, No matter what the test ; As girls and time don"t vary, And neither of them wait For bashful, weak-kneed lovers Around the front yard gale. There's no bulldog prowling round At Deacon Brown's to-day. And everything is quiet — The bulldog's gone away : But Master Harry Carter Was there one night till ten, And if you'd been a scouting You'd caught him there again. THE BULLDOG AT THE GATE. 49 This Harry is a hero, boys, Just multiplied by eight ; And don't you ever forget it When bulldogged at the gate. With love and grit he bravely strode Where none dared go before, And found this savage canine Was iron — nothing more. The Deacon said his daughter Should wed so brave a lad — A boy that want afraid of dogs Could earn his bread and shad. And now they live upon the hill — ■ The finest place in town — With this same savage bulldog A frowning fiercely down. Our Boats at Sea. boats went out to sea, Upon a mission grand ; Two vessels on the deep, Went sailina: from the land. One laden with its gems And weight of golden ore. Could scarel}' onward move. While pulling from the shore. It had no room for aught Of love, or friendship true — One of the meanest boats That ever manned the blue. The other little craft Was quite a sight to see Bounding over billows, Unfettered as a bee. It had no costly gems ; No envied wealth of weight, As on it swiftly sped With human love as freight. 52 PEC UL lAR POEMS. At night a storm arose, And waves began to roll ; And lightnings filled the earth, And gleamed from pole to pole. But o'er the breaking waves This little craft was seen, Far out upon the deep Amid the lightnings gleam. While the selfish, costly boat. With timbers bright and new, Went down beneath the waves With gems and fated crew. We can never, never know The worth of love sublime. Until our boats go out to sea — The restless sea of time Where adverse winds arise. And sorrows billows roll ; Where envy, hate and scorn Will try the troubled soul. For ores and glittering gold Can never fill the heart ; This human boat will never float When hope and love depart. The Old House by the Lanf A. OH[ELISTlv/a:A.S FOEly/t. HEW, Sallie ! how fine you look In your bran-new city gown ; Got to be some pumpkins now, Since the old man moved to town. Grot some new-fledged notions Of the very latest style ; Goin' to be a masher, eh, And make the fellers bile ? •No use a talkin', Sallie, You allers were quite pert — A dashin' sort of damsel. And something of a flirt ; But that don't count in make-ups Among the general class ; You're rated mor'n average — I reckon you will pass ! "Way dow)» in old Plum Holler You used to make things hum, A ten din' cows and bosses. And makin' butter come ; 54 PEC UL I A R FOE .\f S . And many a meal I've taken That want so slow or plain, You got up in half a jiff, In the old house by the lane. " In those days you were nimble — Fleet as a yearlin' roe ; And when you sat for business It always had to go. So that old rustic cabin Was prim for weeks and weeks, And you just kept things bobbin' And lookin' out for leaks. "But those days all have vanished With happy days of yore, The sleet and snows of winter Now beat upon the floor. The roof is black and leaky — All ready to decay ; The high, old-fashioned chimney Is crumbling every day. "The stairs are bent and shaky, The ceiling's tumbling down ; Yet some of this had fallen Before we moved to town. The kitchen floor is useless And almost worn in two, And caved in several feet around The hole that Dick fell through. "The garden gate is hingeless ; The walks with grass are grown ; The flowers all have withered — The ones you called your own. And all around is wasting For lack of thought and care ; There's scarcely one thing as it was - There's ruin everywhere. THE OLD HOUSE BY THE LANE, 55 " Last night I stood, in fancy, There by the old stairway, And listened to the wild winds That 'round the cabin play ; When up from the old fireplace, So warm for many years, F'amiliar forms kept rising — My eyes grew dim with tears. ' Kight there, is where we gathered The close of every day ; There is where we knelt and prayed When Minnie passed away. There, by the open window, We bent beside our dead. And kissed the lifeless forehead Till stars shone overhead. 'There we cracked the walnuts. And cracked our fingers, too, With the sham old useless hammer The boys bought of a Jew. There, man}' a Christmas evening. And New Years, too, for that. We stuffed the empty stockings And made them full and fat. 'There is where our Catharine With Philip used to fight. And speculate on mai'riage For half a winter's night ; Till one bright eve in autumn A breeze began to blow — The night he popped the question And found it wa'nt no go. 'I stood it like a Sultan In that old, gloomy place. Until my Betsy's form arose And looked me in the face ; 56 PECULIAR POEMS. Then all of bygone memories Of nine and forty years Rubhed in upon the old man And crowded out the tears. "Do'nt talk to me of fashion — Of all that's rare and fine ; I'd sooner be a hermit And chalk another line. I take no stock in fix-ups — They gall and fret me so — Id rather live with grangers And have a well-earned row. "I'm old and somewhat feeble ; 1 scarce can get about ; I'm no great shakes at labor, For ' work and I are out.' But I would spend my money — If such thing could be done — Out in that little cabin Where life was first begun. "Say, Sallie, don't be vexed with me And think the old man weak ; For of these things I've often thought. And never cared to speak ; But when my time has come to go And I am freed from pain, I wish you'd lay me 'neath the shade Of the old house by the lane." "The millionaire is childish ; " That's what they used to say Whene'er he spoke of comfort In the old house far away. They said his mind was shaky — A trifle risky now — That it wa'nt no use to reason With the miser, anyhow. THE OLD HOUSE BY THE LANE. 57 But Sallie knew far better Than all the rest could know, What made his mind to wander — His steps so very slow. She knew, how oft at twilight, After the evening prayer, He spoke of the old homestead And forms that once were there. But she kept her daily secret, As she managed home affairs. And brought down each old relic From up three flights of stairs, And shipped them to the country — To the dear old home again. And put them in their places In the low house by the lane. "It's the snuggest, cutest cottage, Beneath the blazing sun ; " That's what Sallie told them, When asked what she had done. "I've got things now to rights again. And put on few repairs ; I've had a bran-new chimney built And straightened up the stairs. "I've put new paint upon the wall ; Repaired the risky floor. And hung the old gi-een curtains up, Just as they were before. T tell 3^ou the old homestead Puts on a different face ; There's life and beauty everywhere — It's quite another place. "What will I do next ? ' say you ? Well, this is what I'll do — Now things are in the best of shape And all the work is through : PE C UL lAR FOE M S . On Christmas I will manage To get him home once more, And have old friends and neighbors Around him as before. ' The puddings and the pastries, The turkej's and the rice, Shall all be served in tip-top shape And everything be nice — All in apple-pie order, If Sallie knows herself; Nor shall one thing be missing Around that mantle shelf" Brightly fires in the cottage gleamed, That merry Chrietmas day ; Care and trouble had taken wings And every heart was gay. The quaint, old-fashioned table Was spread with dainties rare, And each old, time-worn neighbor On hand to do his share. How happy the old man was ! And Sallie was happy, too ; Helping him enjoy himself, Just as he used to do ; Talking of corn and 'taters He used to raise on halves ; Of the sheep and stubborn porkers, And scrubby little calves. Of the mammoth mountain melons That grew so woundrous fine — Of boys that boarded by the day Around each well filled vine ; Of huskin' bees and parties And picnics in the grove ; Of cand3'-pulls and nut-cracks Around the kitchen stove. THE OLD HOUSE BY THE LAXE. 59 Long, long he sat, rehashing His deeds and doings old, Around that rustic table Till the victuals all got cold. But after every tempest There comes a quiet spell, And the old man seemed to wander From those he loved so well. He was musing at the splendor Of the silent setting sun ; The day was slowly fading And the twilight had begun ; And he seemed like one enraptured With the golden, mystic light, Away, o'er snow-clad hillsides, Fast vanishing from sight. How long he watched the shadows That were not long to last ; Yet they did not dare to rouse him — He was dreaming of the past. The zephyrs brushed the white locks From off his aged head ; But they did not wake the dreamer — Tlie millionaire was dead. All night the screeching sign boards Kept up a dismal sound , All night the angry wild winds Swept o'er the frozen ground ; "While just beyond the hillside, So bleak, so cold, so bare. At home, in his little cottage. Was the lifeless millionaire. l..i.ji.mri^'3^'JU\ i- ii-MP Bells of Clydl WEDDING BELLS. ',9 ING, Beautiful Bells! Beautiful BeUs of Clyde ! Over the hilltops, meadows and bowers ; ^H'T ^^i Over the prairies, now covered with flowers ; ' a|f^ Over the hearts that are happy ^o-day ; Over the forms in their bridal array. Ring, Beautiful Bells ! Beautiful Bells of Clyde ! Ring, Beautiful Bells ! Beautiful Bells of Clyde ! Ring out in gladness your notes of good cheer Ring in the pleasures of many a year ; Ring to the honor of those who have wed ; Ring out the message that " Love is not dead." Ring, Beautiful Bells ! Beautiful Bells of Clyde ! Ring, Beautiful Bells ! Beautiful Bells of Clj^de ! Ring to them peace in sweetest refrain ; Ring to them blessings, again and again ; Ring to them greetings of music and song ; Ring to them health and prosperity long. Ring, Beautiful Bells ! Beautiful BeUs of Clyde ! The New Year, THE New Year, glad and free ! Fearless, tearless, careless, bold ; Light of every home is he — Pride of all, the young and old ; Everything is filled with life. Every heart is full of cheer, Every business has its strife In the active, glad New Yeai-. In the busy halls of trade, In the rumbling, rolling mill, "Where commercial gains are made And the wheels are never still ; Into mansions, gi-and and high. Into hovels, low and brown. Gleams the same light from the sky, Comes the New Year's blessing down. Bells from every church and tower Peal aloud their silvery notes, Telling of the New Year's power, From their noisy, brazen throats, Tell of joy through all the land ; Tell of coming days of gold ; Tell of peace on every hand ; Tell of shepherds in the fold. iS PECULTAK POEMS. Joyous, jovial, happy year, Chasing gloom and doubt away ; Bringing light and love and cheer Out of darkness into day. Glad we hail thy crimson light, Hail it with the harp of praise ; Hail it by our firesides bright, Through the coming endless days Like the falling of the dew On the withered grass and flower, Like the sunshine of the true. Into hearts grown old and sour : Like an eagle in its flight, Over hilltops bright and clear, Comes the gentle morning light Of the joyous, glad New Year. ^yi^^ PATHETIC POEMS Our Fallen Heroes, FOR DECORATION DAY. ^ NCE more we are strewing flowers — Beautiful flowers of May — O'er our Nation's fallen heroes i^f" Who long since passed away ; The boys who quietly slumber 'Neath low mounds, cold and damp — The boys of our martyred array, Our boys in the silent camp. To-day our thoughts are straying, As we bow beside our dead. And we seem to hear the bugle, And our massive army tread, We stand again by the ramparts, Where death is raging high. While the din and smoke of battle Rolls up to the blind black sky. We hear the soldiers cheering, When their wildest charge is made We can see them proudly marching On their doleful death parade ; PATHETI C FOE M S. And we catch the shouts of triumph On the fields of human gore, From the wounded and the dying, When the battle strife is o'er. Once more we can hear the beating Of the mournful muffled drum ; Again in their broken columns The war-worn comrades come ; And we mark the vacant places As the troops in sorrow tread, Of the brave boys out on furlough — Our grand army of the dead. Once more we are wreathing flowers O'er moldering forms in blue — Garlands of lovely flowers, That 'round the hearthstone grew ; As fresh as the dews of heaven, As bright as the noon-day glare, Refreshed by many tender tears And the breath of a mother's prayer. Once more we are strewing flowers — Beautiful flowers of Ma}' — O'er our Nation's fallen heroes, Who long since passed away ; The boys who quietly slumber, 'Neath low mounds, cold and damp — The boys of our martyred army, Our boys in the silent camp. Only a Flower. NLY a flower, with light leaves, twirled Along the busy street ; ' Only a flower, crushed and whirled Beneath the tramp of feet. Only a flower — a fair, frail thing — Lost on the wayside high ; Only a flower of early spring, In beauty left to die. Only a flower, fresh and white In its mossy bed of green ;. That bloomed alone in the lovely light Of an August month serene. Only a flower drooped and died One pleasant summer day, In the dark hair of a blushing liride, While wedding guests were gay. Only a flower wreathed her breast Where death had left his dart ; Only a flower was laid to rest, Above her pulseless heart. Only a flower upon her tomb Is left to mark the spot ; Only a flower o'er us will bloom When we shall be forgot. Charlie Ross. [Christian K. Ross, the father of Charlie Ross, is quoted as saying: "The only tidinfirs I have ever received of Charlie since he was stolen was the demand for a ran- som of $30,000. If I had paid that I would have had him long before this As it Is I have spent feO.OOO, and have not got him. I have examined more than three hundred lost children in the search, some of whom had been stolen, but none of them was Charlie. Charlie is lost, and the little spark of hope which was kept alive for many years is at last extinguished. The little kidnaped boy is mourned as dead "] HEN the sunlight's golden glory Fades in beauty o'er the plain, And the shadows tell their story Of the night that soon shall reign How we wait, and watch and listen For a form so bright and fair — Laughing ej-es that fairly glisten, Cherry lips, and waving hair. 0, we miss the merry laughter Ringing through the open door ; Miss a sweet voice gaily singing. We so oft have heard before ; And the room is drear and cold — Vacant stands his little chair ; Grone our child with curls of gold — Stolen after morning prayer. Weary waiting for his coming, We have put our trust in God ; While the sands of life are running We must bow beneath His rod. So the gathering shadows fall. And we mourn our boy as dead ; So in Fancy's gloomy hall We have wreathed his youthful head. Crillik Bell, HERE the cold, west winds are sighing, Sighing through the mournful trees, And the wild bird sings her sweetest, Floating down upon the breeze ; Where the angels watch are keepinjy Through the lonely hours of night — There our Crillie Bell is sleeping In her robes of snowy white. Whisper not, 0, dreamy visions, That our darling's form is near ; Death has robbed us of our loved one — We her voice no more can hear. Where the many wild birds warble In the Greenwood's quiet dell — Where the willows wave above her. Sweetly sleeps our Crillie Bell. FA THE TI C P () EM H . Soon beyond the mystic river, Where the crystal fountain flows, We shall meet our household angel, Far away from all life's woes. Round the great white thi'one in Heaven, Where the blessed millions dwell, We shall tread the golden pathway With our darling, Crillie Bell. James A. Garfield. FOR MEMORIAL DAY. OT to the silent, sleeping clay, At rest in peace this mournful day ; Not to the pale and wasted brow ^ Where dust to dust is mingling now Not to the doleful funeral train With dirge on dirge of solemn strain Turn we our thoughts to him to-day Who in his manhood passed away. But to the soul that's grand and true — To noble deeds he dared to do; To loyal acts by day and night, To earnest efforts for the right To pure, unsullied humble life ; To love of home, of child, and wife ; To charity in lowest spheres. That will not die with coming years. 76 PATHETIC J'OEMS. To hands that led a mother's form Through summer's heat and winter's storm, And steered our drifting ship of slate From reeking rocks and perils great. To words of wisdom, words of love ; To sacred trust in things above ; To Christian fortitude and zeal ; To patriotic will of steel, Garfield, thy form lies 'neath the sod, Thy ransomed soul is with its God ; But down the aisles of endless days A grateful world will speak thy praise. I n every land, in every clime. Thy household name will grow sublime ; Till over all the earth and sea Thy name will blend with liberty. The Old Year. Ifl INGr the bells proudl}', wardens of Time ! Ring the bells softly o'er error and crime ! King the bells gently o'er moldering clay ! '^C^IToW for the Old year, now passing away. ^ Ring, for the work of the faithful is done ! Ring for a Nation whose honor is won ! Ring for the light of Prosperity's dawn ! Toll, slowly toll, for the year that is gone ! Ring to the millions, the freedmen of Earth ! Ring to the gi'eetings of music and mirth ! Ring to the lands our farmers have tilled ! Ring for the cribs and granaries filled ! Ring for the wealth of our mines — not a few ! Ring for the happy — the honest — the true ! Ring for the hearts that are guileless to-day ! Toll for those gone in their weakness astray ! Ring, for the sound of the hammer is heard ! Ring, for the centre of business is stirred ! Ring to the trowel, the plane and the plow ! Toll, slowly toll, for the sorrowing now ! Ring out the tidings of good-will to men ! Ring to America's progi'ess again ! Ring, for the threshold of Treason is crossed ! Toll, slowly toll, for the cause that is lost ! Ring for the prospects that gladden each home ! Ring for the bright days that now are to come ! Ring for the absence of sorrow and pain ! Ring in the pleasures of childhood again ! Ring all the wayward ones into the Right ! Ring those in error from weakness to might ! Ring out all heresies ! Ring in the true ! Ring out the dying Year into the New !