S&JSiS\^^^J*y^ y4yi LIBRilRYOFCONGRESSj :.^^i,. ; UNITED .STATES OF AMKIUCA f ^?r:i -' ■<zJk^i 36 THE CASTLE. Z\)c Castle. r^^' XCE I reared myself a castle \S^^-- In the kingdom of the Soul — Reared a grand, majestic castle In the kingdom of the Soul. As I gazed upon my dwelling "With my l)osom proudly swelling, All my feelings, grandly welling, Eose beyond the earth's control; And, through tempests wildly roaring. Sped my happy spirit, soaring Onward, onward to my castle In the kingdom of the Soul. There it stood in all its beauty In the kingdom of tho Soul — All its architectural beauty In the kino-dom of the Soul. THE CASTLE. 37 0, the liappy, liappy hours Passed amid those blooming bowers 1 Where the vines around the towers Creeping, slowly upward stole ; While an angel-voice was singing, And a happ}^ laugh was ringing. Sweetly ringing through that castle In the kingdom of the Soul. I no longer have a castle In the kingdom of the Soul — Xo suljlimely towering castle In the kingdom of the Soul. For the demon, Desolation, Hath destroyed its fair foundation ; And his shouts of exultation, Like the deafening thunders, roll O'er my spirit crushed and broken ; And he leaves but memory's token To recall to mind that castle In the kingdom of the Soul. 38 THE CASTLE. I am standing mid the ruins In the kingdom of the Soul — Mid the crumbling, shattered ruins In the kingdom of the Soul. And the weeds have choked the flowers Blooming once within these bowers; And the vine-encircled towers, All in fragments, round me roll. Slimy reptiles here are crawling; And a demon-laugh, appalling. Echoes through these gloomy ruins ' In the kinofdom of the Soul. UNFOR(iOTTEN. 39 Hnforgattcu. IIY beauty shone on me, when first ^(^ My love for thee had birth, ^ As morning's beams in glory burst Upon the waking earth. I saw thee, loved thee, sought thy hand; My heart was drawn to thee: As summer sunshine to the land Thy presence was to me. But clouds on winter's evening blast Obscured the sunshine bright, And all my hopes went out at last In dark and starless night. 40 UNFORGOTTEN. We parted friends, but 0, how sad That parting was to me 1 Thy voice bade me forget I had Linked thoughts of love and thee. Since then I, under other skies, Have sought dark Lethe's stream ; But thoughts of thee will ever rise, And oft in fevered dream I call thy name, and start from sleep To mourn my lonely lot ; For I my weary way must keep — Thou canst not be forgot. WRECKED. 41 lllvcckcb, ^(dftli^ heart is at sea, tempest-tost and dis- 4 cK trest— ^ 0, when shall it enter the haven of rest ? Driven hither and thither — the sport of the gale — Without rudder or compass or rigging or sail, My heart is at sea, tempest-tost and distrest — 0, when shall it enter the haven of rest ? Once proudly its sails were unfurled to the breeze, And swiftly it s}ied o'er the sun-gilded seas ; While nearer and nearer, majestic and grand, Appeared the bright shore of a beautiful land. With proud, swelling sail o'er the waters it pressed 42 WRECKED. Toward the Harbor of Beauty — the haven of rest. But soon from its decks rose a cry of despair; For the Demons of Death were abroad in the air; And the wild tempest rose in its power and mio^ht, And the beautiful harbor was shrouded in night ; And my heart, wrecked and shattered, and sorely opprest. Was borne far away from the haven of rest. And now the fierce lightnings that crash throuo-h the air Light the face of the Pilot, all mute with despair, As, through the thick darkness, amid the wild roar, His eye seeks in vain for the beautiful shore. 0, my heart is at sea, tempest-tost and distrest — When, when shall it enter the liaven of rest ? THE PLAINS OF DAKOTA. 43 2;l)c |!3lains of Dakota. ■fif^j\ ^ tlie plains of Dakota I am resting (|)^^\£if to-night — 4%^ On the cold, barren ground while the ^"^ stars' feeble light The shadowy landscape is dimly revealing. As sleep's gentle presence is over me stealing ; My closing eyes hiding the great, starry dome While my soul wanders back to my far-distant liome. Dear home, where, a child, I roamed fearless and free. In the cold, l)arren wild, I am dreaming of thee ! 44 THE PLAINS OF DAKOTA. A child again, I trudge along AVith ragged boys — a happ}' throng ; Each his little satchel bearing, To the old school-house repairing. Xow upon long benches seated Little lessons are repeated ; Xow temptation, unresisted, Places pins all bent and twisted On the spot where Sammy Brown, Unsuspecting, sits him down. 8ammy, with a cry of pain, Quickly rises to explain, Just as little Tommy Bacon With a coughing tit is taken. Lo I the teacher, fiercely turning, (With his head chock-full of learning,) Rolls his angry eyes around Till the guilty one is found. And the dreaded birch and rule To silence awes the villas^e school. THE PLAINS OF DAKOTA. 45 Again the scene has changed. I see A sweet, pale face, with look of sadness. Mj mother, smiling, comes to me — Receives me in her arms with gladness. I within her eyes am gazing — Eyes to me forever dear ; Pouring all my childish sorrows In my mother's listening ear ; In lier loving arms reposing, Xestling on her gentle breast. Softly there my eyes are closing. Softly sinks my soul to rest. The years have flown swiftly, and now, at a hound, I have traversed the highway to manhood, and found A joy, scarcely less than the angels' al)Ove, 46 THE PLAINS OF DAKOTA. In tlie richest of blessings, — a maiden's pure love. While the bells, gaily ringing, proclaim the glad day When the words softly spoken shall bind us for aye ; While my heart thrills with joy in that moment of bliss When the vows at the altar are sealed with a kiss ; While I bask in the rays of the sunlight of love, — ^ly eyes open wide; stars are shining above ; My dreams are dispelled by their dim, twink- ling light. On the plains of Dakota I am weeping to-night. THE FOREST STREAM. 47 ^\)t /orcst Stream. w ^ AR from my thoughts, ye haunts of menl Let me awake from life's sad dream, And be a happy boy again Beside my native stream ! Again I hear the rustling leaves ; Again I press the velvet sod ; My soul a blessing noAv receives ! I hear the music of the spheres, And, rolling back the tide of years, Draw nearer unto God I Here once I roamed, a happy child, ^N^or aught of evil dreamed ; When grassy mead and woodland wild With life and beauty teemed ; 48 THE FOREST STREAM. When life itself seemed ever new, — A never-ending line; When birds and flowers of every hue, And rocks and trees and streamlet too Were mine — were wholly mine. I knew and loved each sight and sound : The tender ivy clinging round The oak, whose waving branches spread Their canopy of green overhead, Inwove w^ith many a golden thread And fringed with rays of light ; The old, familiar, mossy stone Where I would sit for hours alone, I knew that they were all my own, Xor dreamed of legal right. Familiar spot I How often I, Beneath the soft, autumnal sky, Reclining on my grassy bed, Have watched the white clouds overhead. THE FOREST STREAM. 49 In fleeting shapes of beast and bird, And things whose names I ne'er had heard — With forms unknown, with waving wings, But wliich to me Avere livino; thini>:s ! Have dreamed away the liours until The sun behind 3'on distant hill His o-olden banners furled. These hills where earth and heaven met ; Where stars in glory rose and set; Whence the last rays of sunlight gleamed. Then to my childish wisdom seemed The confines of the world. Sweet stream, I come again to thee ! Upon thy banks, so dear to me. My boyhood I again renew. ^ The rippling of thy waters through Their native woodlands wild Brings peace unto my troubled breast. And lulls my weary soul to rest; 50 THE FOREST STREAM. Thy gentle, ceaseless, onward flow Sings lullabies as soft and low And soothing as a mother's voice Is to her fevered child. >^^pai^ llir ?Dolonim» ICxHT upon Olivet 1 Shining in glory, The moon, star-attended, looks down from on high, i^ight when all Israel rehearses the story Of bondage beneath the Egyptian sky; Telling their children, with pride, how Jehovah Delivered their fathers from Pharaoh's hand ; Of the desolate fields and the waterless fountains, When barrenness stretched from tlie sea to the mountains ; When the rivers were blood and the wells putre- 54 VIR DOLORUM. And the flocks and the herds and the people were dying — Destroyed by the Lord to enforce his demand ; Of the wild, piercing wail of the niiDthers of Egypt, The night the death-angel swept over the land. IGHT in Gethsemane I Softly, in silence, J \ The dew-drops are falling like tears from ^y the sky. Flashing and sparkling and basking in moon- light, The beautiful Kedron glides joyously by. IN'ight in Gethsemane! Groaning in anguish. While his disciples are slumbering there, Bowed witli the sins of the world, and its sorrows, Jesus of Nazareth is kneeling in prayer : vir dolorum. 55 If it be possible, take this cup from me — All things are possible, Father, avith thee. Bitter the cup — overflowing with bitter- ness ; Father, remove it, remove it from me. Yet, if thy avrath must be poured out upon ME — Redeeming the world by the death of thy SON If I MUST BE LED LIKE A LAMB TO THE SLAUGHTER, Not my will. Father, but thy will be done ! r r «ORN in Jerusalem! Sunliglit is flinging Its garlands of glory o'er hill and ravine. - J ' Far in the olive groves sweetly are singing The birds in their fullness of joy at the scene. Morn in Jerusalem ! Lo, a great multitude Unto the Roman Pretorium bring 56 VIR DOLORUM. Jesus the IS'azarene, bound, unresisting, In garb of a peasant, yet more than a king ; Him, who had come for the good of humanity — Leaving his high, his celestial home. Condemned by the priests and the council lor blasphemy. Charged before Pilate with treason to Eome. Meekly he Avalks in the midst of the multitude, Raging like lions released from their den. As onward they Ijear him from Pilate to Herod And backward from Herod to Pilate again. Swaying and surging with turbulent motion — Swaying and surging like waves of the ocean When lashed into fury and crested with foam ; Shouting and clamoring. Death to the Xazarene I While they the life of a robber and murderer Crave as a boon from their masters of Rome. They who but yesterday shouted hosannas — Making; the walls of Jerusalem ring. VIR DOLORUM. 57 Waving their palms as an army their banners, Ready to crown him their leader and king, ^ow cry. Away with him 1 Let him l)e cruci- fied I We unto C^sar forever will clino^ ! '00^'' upon Calvary ! Clouds of thick dark- ness Hang round the mountain, suspended in air : As though the drear regions of hell were de- serted, And all its dark legions were hovering there. High on the cross hangs the victim suspended ; Darker the shadow descends from the skies. Until at last, the great agony ended. Yielding to death. It is finished ! he cries. Jerusalem shuddered! Wild echoes upstarted. Leaped down from the mountain and rushed o'er the plain. 05 VIR DOLORUM. The Light from the Holy of Holies departed ; The veil of the Temple was sundered in twain. Israel, then were thy barriers broken — As God's chosen people thy banners were furled ! The stream that flows outward from Calvary's mountain Bears on to oblivion the sins of the world 1 ISCELLANIES. ^fpHE daylight has faded, and, far in the west, The star of the evenino; is sinkins; to rest. The gray of the landscape invites to repose ; The dew-drops are fresh on the cheek of the rose, Which, basking all day in the sun's cheering light, Xow breathes in sweet fragrance. Good night, love, good night I The songs of the birds are all hushed save the shrill. The love-laden notes of the lone whip-poor-will. 62 GOOD NIGHT. And the cry of the owl in the old hollow tree. O, sad are the thoughts that they bring unto me! For darkness has come and has banished the light ; And now I must leave thee. — Good night, love, good night I Good night ! and may visions of joy and of love Fill the hours of thy sleeping ; may Peace, like a dove. With white, folded wings, make her home in thy breast. And the songs of the Seraphim lull thee to rest. Surrounding thy pillow, may angels of light Keep watch o'er thy slumber. — Good night, love, good night ! I LOVE YOU. 63 3 CoDc Doit. ^ARLIKG, I love you! Far dearer to me Than the gold of the earth Or the gems of the sea Is the hope that ere long I may call you my own. Darlhig, I love you — I love you alone ! Darling, I love you ! It grieves me to see With what icy indifference You look upon me, When for days and for weeks And for months you have known. Darling, I love you — I love you alone ! 64 I LOVE YOU. Darling, I love you, In spite of your frown ! I love — I will love you Until I go down To the grave of my fathers- Witli fame, or unknown. Darling, I love you — I love you alone 1 THE poet's apology. 65 Myk H^ scornful frown it needed not, 1^1 in) ^OY haughty air so queenly, ^ To teach my broken spirit what It felt, alas I too keenly. Xo bitter taunts, no cruel wrongs, No words of scorn were needed, To tell me that my tender songs Were all by thee unheeded. Yet blame me not if still I sing (As is the poet's duty) In praise of thee, the fairest thing In all the realm of Beauty. 66 DRINKING SONG. mrinkinqi Song. '^^ OME ADES, fill your glasses high, ^i&\ AVhile the hours are fleeting ; Let the breeze which passes by Bear to her our greeting — Her whose power my soul has owned In ni}^ breast a palace I have reared, and there enthroned Lovely Lady Alice. Gather round the brimming bowl 1 Drain the crystal chalice I Drink to her who rules my soul — Drink to Lady Alice ! DRINKING SONG. 67 Let us c|uaif the rosy wine — From its treasures borrow Dreams of bliss and joys divine ; Banish care and sorrow — Till our souls are soaring, free From every thought of malice ; Then our lips will worthy be To speak the name of Alice. Gather round the 1 u'imming bowl 1 Drain the crystal chalice 1 Drink to her who rules my soul — Drink to Lady Alice 1 ^. 68 RECONCILIATION. Ucconciliaticn. ') ^ ^ TIIAIS'Iv thee, love, for smiles and ^y^% frowns — ^^(iv- por warmtli and coldness since I've known thee ; For every changing mood in which Thy changeful mind has shown thee. I thank tliee for thy cruel words — Those words that caused our separation ; Else I had never known the joy Of reconciliation. PARADISE. 69 I HAD often read with doubt, j^^^. Ere I had seen the portals, '\^^ The holy book which told al)out Paradise for mortals. That radiant land beyond the skies Seemed something so ideal ; But since I looked in thy bright eyes Paradise is real. 70 THE JOURNEY. ^\)t 3inxruct3. ^ AIR child, where art thou going ? ,5 I asked a bright-eyed boy Wliose golden locks were flowing As he bounded on in joy. His cheeks were flushed and ruddy In the morning air so cool. He replied, I go to study, And he pointed to the school. Young man, where art thou going With brightly polished gun And glittering sabre glowing In the rays of the noonday sun ? THE JOURNEY. 71 ! I long to live in story As my country's strongest shield, And I go to seek for glory On the bloody battle-field. Old man, where art thou o-oino; — . AYhat great journey hast begun As thy silvery locks are glowing In the rays of the setting sun ? He raised his head so hoary Toward heaven's brilliant dome, And his eyes seemed lit with glory As he said — I'm o-oins^ home ! 72 TO ETTA. ilo €ttn. O J I <■"-..,< o) J£ffSHE tliirstiiio" traveler in his dreams, ys^Ss^^ffi While resting on the desert sand, ? ^fel^ Beholds with joj' the cooling streams That deck his native land ; The sailor wrecked upon the sea, While clinging to a floating spar. Dreams of his home and longs to he Where all his dear ones are ; The waiting saint as death draws near. With age and want and pain opprest, With eye of faith sees heaven appear. And longs to be at rest : So I, whose thirst for home and love Wrought fevered visions in my sleep ; TO ETTA. 73 Whose hopes Avere wrecked as, like the dove, I wandered o'er the trackless deep. Sought love's pure stream which in its strength I knew must somewhere flow for me — Sought home and heaven until at length I found them all in thee. IPPLES ®l)c a5ucninq Cl)aut at ^ccotink W.E sat alone in the organ loft ^^/ As the funeral train approached tlie A^ip, door ; The man whose skill had won the heart And charmed the ear of Leonore. With bated breath and parted lips And eyes uplifted would she drink The strains that flowed from the finger tips Of the oro-anist at Accotink. 78 THE EVENING CHANT AT ACCOTINK. Xor with Ills notes alone he wooed The lovely maid, sweet Leonore, But with his vows he oft pursued Her even to her father's door. But there he stopped, for, be it known. The poor musician dared not think That he could claim for his alone The richest girl of Accotink. " Xo, no, my daughter shall not wed," Her stern old father oft would say, " A man who for his daily bread ClaAVS ivory on the Sabbath day." 'No^Y that the father's voice was hushed In death's dread silence evermore. What strano;e sensations o'er him rushed As the corpse was brought to the open door ! THE EVENING CHANT AT ACCOTINK. 79 He heard not the sobs of the grief-stricken ones ; He saw not the coffin as borne up the aisle By the best and the noblest of Accotink's sons ; To him 'twas a wedding — his own — all the while. As he sat with his lingers caressing the keys, And dreamed of the bliss that awaited him soon, While the parson was praying, and all on their knees, He struck the first chords of his favorite tune. How it startled them all as a grand wedding march Filled the chancel, the aisle, and the echoing arch. And even crept up in the spire I And, 0, the wild waltzes, fandangoes, and such That sprang from the keys at the magical touch Of the organist up in the choir ! 80 THE EVEXINd CHANT AT ACCOTINK. Then rose the cry, as lierce tumult Through all the congregation spread, "Who is the man that dares insult The sacred memory of the dead ? " They dragged him from the organ stool And brought him to the altar rail ; " Cast out," they cried, '^ the drunken fool ! Xor hearkened they unto his tale. "You are dismissed," the parson said — " Dismissed," said he, " in deep disgrace. How dare you thus insult the dead. Or thus profane this holy place ? " That night he wandered forth alone — He wandered hy the river's brink ; But what Ijefell was never known Amono- the folks at Accotink. THE EVENING CHANT AT ACCOTINK. 81 Yet oft, they say, when silence reigns. And twilight falls on church and spire, The organ's solemn, dirge-like strains And plaintive chantings fill the choir : '' Whisky Straight, thou scourge of earth By means of thy infernal drink I lost my honor, lost my berth, And found my death at Accotink 1 " s^e^^^ /- <^ ^^ 82 OLD GORMAN. ©15 ©oviuaiL LD GORMAX is a man of means — _^ Plas wealth at his connnancl, 7&^ And in his choice of food he leans To the fattest of tlie land. He, always in the eating mood, Heeds not the voice of reason. But craves the highest-seasoned food AiForded hy the season. When he has mustered all the aids His appetites employ, And cayenne pepper w^arms his throat, He feels such inward joy OLD GORMAN. 88 That from liis swiftly-moving cliiii Roll tears in utter rout : Which tell of raging fires within That put the w^aters out. The sad effects of suppers late He never stops to (piestion, Although his tailings indicate Success in indigestion. Yet all his wealth, old Gorman knows, Small pleasure now can yield ; The gout has settled in his toes ; He cannot get them healed. 0, baneful wealth ! 0, cursed fate ! Unutterable woe 1 High living from his high estate Has brought old Gorman low^ ! 84 OLD GORMAN. His face is flushed ; his eyes are red ; Pain dwells in every liml) ; And, down upon his downy bed, All things are up with him. 80 there he lies and dams his eyes To keep the tears from rising ; But not until old Gorman dies Will he cease gormandizing. ^j^Aa.o' ELEGY. 85 Dn the Peath of ^usie's ^itten. j^ERE lie the remains of a poor little cat ^ Whose fangs never entered the throat of ^' a rat. He never awakened the wild midnight For free from all guile was this kitten of Susie's. Come, Pussies and Kitties, come weep for the brave — The promising champion, now laid in the grave! And, Tommies, rejoice ! ye escaped from sore bruises When Death laid his hand on this kitten of Susie's. »b ELEGY. What wild caterwaulings encircle the earth ! What wails of posterity cheated of birth ! What warriors and maidens the feline race loses By the early demise of this kitten of Snsie's ! And Susie, fair Susie, sits mourning her pet ; Her breast heaves with anguish, her cheeks they are wet ; Deep grief for her loss her fair bosom infuses: And ni}' heart it is grieved by this sadness of Susie's. JEMMY M BRIDE. 87 3cmmij illcBriic. n" ^'^Mlitl'^ ^'^'^ known far and wide — was old '"^"^il HI Jei^^^^y ^IcBride, I fe%^^ ^ free-hearted Irishman fresh from the bog ; He'd been drunk for ten years — since his okl mother died And left him the money that bought him his grog. He came home one night and, as was his delight, Called in his three neighbors, Mike, Patrick, and J(^hn ; They were friends lirm and fast while his money might last. But ready to drop him when that should be i2:one. • 88 JEMMY m'bRIDE. '' Musha, nayburs," said he, ''all our pleasures are o'er, Fur life is a burthen unless we are drunk ; I have spint the last oint, and that jug on the floor Contanes the procaids of the ould woman's thrunk — " May God rist her sowl 1 Micky, All up the bowl. And to-night, like a lord, 111 retire to my bed, But, och ! not a taste ! like an ignorant baste I'll be so])er to-morrow. — I'd rather be dead I " Xext morning the body of Jemmy McBride Was found in his cabin, life-burdened no more ; JEMMY m'bRIDE. 89 From his neck to the rafters a rope had been tied, And his feet lacked six inches of touchino- the floor. Then a crowd gathered round, and a jury was found, And they sat on the body of Jemmy McBride. The doctors all said that old Jemmy was dead, And the jury agreed that it teas suicide. '' Fur," said Mike, ''we wur all in his cabin last night. An' we talked o' the glories o' Erin's green isle, An' we sung her ould songs as our hearts grew so light — But the whisky was fast disappearin' the while. 90 JEMMY m'bRIDE. '' Thin a sadness prevailed Avhere afore liad been mirth ; Our sorrows an' Erin's brought tears to aich eye ; An' Jemmy he said he was tired o' this earth — Whin the whisky was gone thin he wanted to die 1 " So, wliin no more remained — whin the last dhrop was dhrained, An' poor Jemmj^'s heart Avas as heavy as lead, We said our good-byes wid big tears in our eyes, An' thin suicided him till he was dead. " Fur Jemmy, d ye see, had been kind to us three — Like brothers Ave'd been since liis ould mother died ; JEMMY m'bRIDE, 91 An' wicl him in disthress, shure we could'nt do less Than that bit uv a fayvur fnr Jemmy McBride." 92 THE HEAD OF THE FAMILY. ^[)t Sjtdb of tl)c /amilij ^s^ k ESIDE a farmer's cottage door ^ His boys and girls were playing ; ^ Along the dusty road a poor Wayfaring man was straying. A hungry man in search of work — 'No honest labor scorning ; And many a mile had traveled he That sultry summer morning. And now, as he drew near the house With fear and apprehension, These meny, laughing little ones Arrested his attention. THE HEAD OF THE FAMILY. 93 The sight of broad and smiling fields— Of children bright and cheery, And sound of ringing laughter soothed The traveler worn and weary. '' I'll ask for work once more," said he, l^ew hope in him upspringing. As in his ears those sounds of glee From children's lips were ringing. With cheerful heart he trudged along, But, as he reached the door, Was startled by such sounds as he Had never heard before. It seemed as though within that house A storm was fiercely raging. Or savages in bitter strife Were then and there enga2:ing. 94 THE HEAD OF THE FAMILY. lie knocked, and then there came a hill— A calm the storm succeeding ; The door was opened by a man Whose face was torn and bleeding ; A woman's hands clutched in his hair ; Her face adorned with scratches ; Upon the floor great spots of gore And tufts of hair in patches. Around the room the crumbling walls AYere battle-stained and battered ; And broken chairs and crockery Avare Promiscuously were scattered. " Are you the boss ? " the traveler asked, As they again collided. " That question, stranger," said the man, '•'As yet is undecided." A MUSICAL MISFORTUNE. 95 1i iltusical iWsfovtunc, ;^^ power to }>lay the ])lano-fortay CA/ How many the Fates will importune ! ^ But I crawl with ease o'er the ivory keys And that is m}^ greatest misfortune. 'T was only last night that I stopped in at Sue's, To call on the girl of my heart ; But only to iind what a lover may lose B}^ the practice of musical art. The golden-winged moments flew rapidly past — Perhaps 'twas an hour or more ; For time was unnoted by us — till, at last, Sam Jones swaggered in through the door. 96 A MUSICAL MISFORTUNE. (I hate his hhick whiskers and glossy mustaclies ; His hair with its frizzles and curls ; His neatness of dress, and his free, easy manners ; For these are all liked l)y the girls.) He drew up a chair whei^e we eozily sat On the sofa (disturbing my dream.) He inveigled sweet Sue in a raml)ling chat About " music " my favorite theme. Then remarked, "Sir, they say that to hear when you play Is a treat that the gods might enjoy.*' He smiled as he spoke, for he thought it a joke My sweet tete-a-tete to destroy. Then Susie spoke softly^ and with a sweet smile Exposing each white, 2'>early dental, " Do play uth a tliolo, or thing uth a thong ; Thomething thoothing and thweet — thenti- mental."' A MUSICAL MISFOKTUNE. 97 As I could not resist Susie's sweet, winning manner, Of course, with a smile, I complied. So I seated myself at Miss Susie's piano, And Jones popped him down by her side. I played /or^e,|?/a?zo, and t\iQn inanissimo — What sound was that I then heard ? I turned quickly round and I saw Susie kiss him, ! I could not utter a word. She leaned on his breast in a soft, loving manner ; His right arm encircled her middle ; And, though I had striven to play the piano, I found I had played second fJcUe ! 98 THE PRODIGAL. ''Bring liither the fatted calf and kill it.""— Luke x\ :'23. >,vr^ HE crystal tide of Jordan swept U^ AVhere fruitful vineyards smiled ; An aged father "wildly "wept O'er his repentant child. His long-lost, erring, suffering son, For "^vhom his heart had yearned — ■ His idolized but -wayward one — - His wanderer had returned. " He lives ! He lives ! whom I thought dead My soUy though sin-beguiled ! Bring forth the richest robe," he said, "And place it on my child ! THE PRODIGAL. 99 " Throw open wide my mansion door ; Let every heart be light ; Call old and young and rich and poor Unto my feast to-night ! " There's music on the evening air From harp and pipe and voice ; And up to heaven the angels bear The glad refrain : " Rejoice ! " As darkness falls upon the earth, And stars in heaven shine, The banquet halls are filled with mirth — The guests are glad with wine. " Long life," they shout, " to the boy returned ! " The rosy wine they quaif. 'Tis a joyful night for all concerned Except the fatted calf I 100 BREVITY. I T X loved a fair maiden with dark, flashing ^^^(ic- Where the fires of deep passion did smolder ; Afid I longed for the day when, possessed of the prize. In my arms I should gently enfold her. To that bliss I aspired although Kature — so mean — Had wofully shortened my stature ; But a spider-like rival appeared on the scene And spread his nets slyly to catch her. BREVITY. 101 And though I could invite her to poesy's feast By the verse of my artful contrival, I was forced to admit that, in stature at least, I was far overtopped by my rival. I wooed her with verses. I brought to her feet The rich gems of my art in profusion ; And cherished, the while, a deliciously sweet But, alas ! evanescent delusion. I fondly believed that my genius alone, (Which is destined to endless survival,) Was more than a match for the muscle and bone Of tlie one extra foot of my rival. So I wooed her with verses, — with figures of speech ; Every line with my ardor was laden ; I sought by poetical measures to reach The heart of the obdurate maiden. 102 BREVITY. But she answered my pleadings, with voice low and sweet, " To no purpose my presence you're haunting ; You woo me in vain with poetical feet While a foot to your stature is wanting ! " ^ter4«^^™ THE villaCtE cobbler. 103 il{)t llillagc Cobbler COBBLER dwelt in Moreham town For many years together ; % His all of fortune and renown Was centered in his leath S her. He sometimes swore such horrid oaths— To swearing he was prone — Tiiat though he found his neighbors' soles, 'Tis feared he lost his own. Yet, ever in a merry mood. He never was downcast ; Although he knew his next day's food Depended on his last. 104 THE VILLAGE COBBLER. Within his shop there came, one day, A man, who staggered slowly ; The cobbler swore at him and said, " You're drunk, by— all that's holy ! '' He tottered to a vacant chair, A pitiable sight. And made reply : " It is not I, But these blamed boots that's tight 1 " Beliold me ! me who g'dily stept From out your shop this morn ; Amazed to find what anguish slept In my one little corn. '' I strode along, with step elate, Escorting Sally Rivers ; But ere I reached her garden gate My gait was knocked to shivers I THE VILLAGE COBBLER. 105' " I tried to talk of love. Alas 1 Mj lips with pain were dumb. My swelling foot — 0, fearful pass ! — An aclier had become. '' The village bojs, all mocking, said : ' There goes old Bill}' Carter ; He thinks he is some punkins, but He's only a toe-martja- ! " ^' All bootless was my wrath, for she- She laughed at their grimaces ; And I, in these, had thought to step At once in Sally's graces ! " They give me fits ! " The cobbler smiled Looked fearless and undaunted. " My friend," said he, '' you came to me And said 'twas ' tits ' you wanted ! " lOtj THE VILLACtE cobbler. " Aha ! jou joke," the martyr spoke. " Thus, then, the matter stands : 111 take these boots from off my feet And leave them on your hands ! " He spoke in harsh and angry tone. The while his brow grew dusky. The corn had so absorbed him that His voice was even husky. lie tried in vain to draw them from His swollen feet, and then — The cobbler showed him to the door And booted him ao:ain ! ^ <•■ "' ■ • : : '^:" ^'0"•^:^V■r:<4^••%^?^^;• LIBRARY OF CONRRPco 018 597 239 2